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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/gleasonspictoria03glea 


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Page. 

Annie  Selwin 38 

A  Sketct  from  Life 43 

A  Leaf  from  the  Heart 54 

Attendant  Angels 71 

A  Lion  for  ten  minutes 90 

Alice  Bourne 94 

A  Voice  from  Home 107 

At  Evening 110 

A  Song  of  Summer 1 23 

Autographs  and  Autography.  .158, 175, 

190,  206,  222,  238,  255,  270,  286,  302, 

318,  334,  350 

Allan  Moore 182 

A  Ballad 199 

Ashenputtel 211 

Acrostic 214 

A  Memento  for  the  Lonely 231 

A  Five  Hour  Fresh  Water  Bath..  231 

A  Madrigal  to  Love 231 

Address  to  the  Muse 246 

Autumn  Winds 254 

An  Angel  in  the  Clouds 259 

Australia 295 

Amie 295 

A  Song 299 

Annie  May 311 

Autumnal  Musings 315 

Autumn 323 

A  Maiden's  Tears 333 

AutumnMusing 391 

By  the  Brook 23 

Birds 39 

Blue-Eyed  Clara 135 

Be  Active 187 

Boarding  vs.  Housekeeping 330 

Beauty's    Offering ; 342 

Blind  Child 362 

Blow  the  Horn,  Hunter 391 

Childhood 23 

Castle  Building 43 

Carrie  Lee 62 

Covenanters'  Hymn 78 

Cling  to  the  Rock,  Boy 142 

Corrinne  Almanza,  a  Novelette, . .  146, 
162,  178,  194,210,  226,  243,  258 

Conclusive  Evidence 151 

Consolation 294 

Caspar  Isle 298 

Christos,  a  Poem 359 

Death  at  Sunset 75 

De  Soto 91 

Death  of  the  Righteous 91 

Day  followeth  Day 123 

Divine  Love 219 

Don't  give  up  the  Ship 262 

Daniel  Webster  at  Home 327 

Death  of  Webster 3,37 

December 375 

Daniel  Webster  as  a  Man,  a  States- 
man and  a  Jurist 398 

Ella 43 

Evening 54 

Edgar  Randolph 86 


Page. 

Edith  Stanfield 166 

Eddy  and  Willie 299 

Friendship 23,414 

Filling  up  Gaps 103 

Fear 118 

Fain   would  I  die  at  Sunset 135 

Fanny  Farley 234 

Farewell 279 

Faith  in  Death 359 

Freedom's  Avatar 374 

Gen.  W.  Scott 74 

Grace  Richmond 106 

God  keep  my  Memory  pure J07 

Good-By 142 

Guilt  and  Retribution 186 

Good-By,  Mama 263 

Hearts'  Secret 2,  17,  34,  50,  66,  82, 

98,114,  130 

Hope  on !  Hope  ever 27 

Humble  Worth 71 

Her  I  left  behind  me 238 

Here  in  the  silent  Shadowings ...  330 
Hymn  to  the  Stars 358 

I've  been  to  the  Woods./. 38 

IsabeUa /. 70 

In  the  Shade 110 

I  am  not  Lost 150 

I  met  her  in  theFestire  Crowd. . .  183 

I  do  not  ask  for  Fane  or  Wealth .  243 

I  stiU  Live 326,  336 

I  miss  thee.  Love 390 

Juan  and  Jola../ 119 

Joy  amid  Sorroy 215 

Jack  Frost / 406 

Love  and  Affection 14 

Look  on  the  Sunny  Side 43 

Lines  on  thedeath  of  Hon.  H.  Clay    71 

Letters 71 

Lilly  BW 106 

Lines  to  Emma 107 

Liberty  vl  Love 118 

Lines../. 123 

Lines  tpNature 139 

Love 142 

Lines  to  a  Streamlet 151 

Lines: 203 

Lov^concealed 203 

Life 214 

Leonora  to  Tasso 21 5 

Lines 235 

L/ttle  Eva 250 

Louis  Summerfield 250 

Life's  Dark  Hours 299 

Lines  to  Webster 331 

Leonora 343 

Last  Look  on  Nature 375 

Matthew  Alwin 10 

Mr.  Bumble's  Family 46 

Mark  Warland 68 

My  Hairy,  O 57 


Pag«. 

My  Childhood's  Hours 86 

Musings 110 

Myrria 110 

My  last  Moment 135 

My  routhful  Days 166 

My  Sweet  Rosabelle 166 

Mosquitoes 231 

Jfy  Answer 270 

Musings 295 

Modesty 315 

Memento  Mori 318 

Mount  Ida,  Troy,  N.  T 391 

Memento  Vivorum,  a  Story 406 

Napoleon 326 

November 346 

On  the  Fourth  of  July 14 

Our  Ship 22 

On  leaving  Hartford 23 

O  breathe  one  wish  for  me 22 

O  come  not  to  me 70 

Ode  to  America 71 

One  Short  Year 234 

October : 243 

O  give  me  back  my  snnny  SmUe .  247 

Obscurity 259 

Presumption 75 

Queen  Luna 126 

Remembrance 6 

Reformation 46 

Religion 230 

Remembered  Ones 283 

Rhyme  of  the  Autumn  Rain 414 

She  sleeps  in  the  Convent  Yard . .     26 

Summer  Eve 27 

Sonnet 39 

Stanzas 46 

Summer  Boarding 55 

Song 103 

Sorrow 138 

Silvia  Mazzani 138 

Shadows  of  the  Past 166 

Sadness 167 

Surrender  of  Troy 174 

Sonnet  to  Luellaceine 199 

Spirit 218 

Sonnet  to  Luellaceine 247 

Stanzas 267 

Shades  of  Evening 261 

Song  to  Night 339 

Story  of  a  Genius 374 

Song  of  the  Pilgrim  of  the  Alps . . .  403 

The  Lazzaroni 6 

The  Indian  Maiden 7 

The  Literary  Wife 14 

The  Two  Carpenters 22 

The  Four  Acre  Lot 23 

The  Royal  Favorite 26 

To  the  Estranged 27 

The  Visit 30 

To  a  Bride 39 


Page. 

To  Anna 42 

The  Haunted  Man 42 

To  a  Friend 46 

The  Three  Dollar  Bill 51 

To  Mrs.  E.  Chandler 55 

The  Lone  Heart. 55 

To  a  Friend  on  her  Birthday. ...     55 

The  Poet's  Dream 58 

To  a  Rosebud 59 

ToaKiss 59 

The  Woods 74 

There  is  a  God  above 75 

The  Victim  of  Temptation 75 

To  Mrs.  Augusta  Eaton 75 

The  Young  Philosopher 78 

The  Lass  of  Sachem's  Head 78 

Tripping  Down  the  Lane 90 

The  Past ■■  ■ .     90 

The  Death  of  Miss  Susan  Oakes . .     91 

Time  is  Money 91 

The  Sea  Shore 102 

The  Polish  Slave 102 

The  Evening  Star 103 

The  Prayer  of  the  Mariner's  Wife  122 

The  Young  Husband 122 

To  the  Absent  One 123 

The  Miner  of  the  Hartz 126 

To    the    Obelisk    at  St.  Peter's, 

Rome 126 

To-morrow 134 

The  two  Silk  Dresses 134 

The  Yellow  Domino 135 

The  Man  of  Taste 135 

Tribute  to  H.  W.  Longfellow 139 

The  Anniversary  of  our  Freedom .  142 
Travels  in  Palestine 142,  158, 174, 

190,  206,  222,  238,  254,  270,  286, 302, 
318,  334,  350,  366 

The  Soul's  Convoy 150 

The  Rescue 160 

The  Summer  Time 150 

The  Prince  of  Ayesha 151 

The  Dying  Girl 155 

The  Broken  Tie 158 

This  Auburn  Tress 170 

The  Colonel's  Legacy 179 

Turkey  and  the  Turks. .  .171,  183,  199, 

215,  230,  247,  267,  278,  295,  315,  326, 
343,  358,  378,  394,  402 

The  Twilight  Hour 183 

The  Suitor  to  his  Mistress- 187 

The  Departed 188 

Think  of  me 190 

The  Artist's  Bride 198 

The  Lonely  Heart 199 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest 202 

The  Cave  of  St.  Andrew 202 

The  Two  Homes 203 

ToLydia 206 

The  Smile  of  one  we  love 214 

To  Autumn 214 

The  Christian  to  his  Soul 215 

The  Old  Alchemist 218 

The  Red  Wig 219 

The  Sovereign  of  the  Seas 222 

To  the  Evening  Wind 230 

Thoughts 231 


Page. 

The  Aged 235 

TheMagicRing 246 

The  Light  of  the  West 259 

The  Happy  Mistake 262 

The  Fall  of  the  Leaf 266 

The  Secret  Sign 266 

The  Mameluke,  a  novelette.  .274,290, 
306,  322, 338,  354,  370,  386 

The  Hours  of  Childhood 278 

The  Green  Chamber 279 

The  Autumn  Trees 279 

The  Sailor's  Bride 282 

The  Poor  Cousin 282 

The  Oak  of  theForest 283 

The  Exile  Sisters 283 

The  Gem  of  the  Tropics 286 

The  Poor  Cousin 294 

The  Indian  Summer 298 

The  Book  of  the  Future 299 

The  Heai-t  that  loves  truly  can  never 

forget 302 

The  Crucifixion 310 

The  young  Doctor's  first  Patient. .   311 

The  Distant  City 327 

The  Maid  of  Alder  Valley 331 

The  Angel  Ladder 331 

Thoughts 334 

The  Halfway  Oak 332 

The  Walbridge  Family 347 

The  Sanctuary  won 347 

The  Way  to  Washington 359,  375, 

391,  407 

The  Crossed  Dollar 362 

The  Cottage  by  the  Sea 363 

"rhe  Evening  Cross 363 

The  Happiest  Home 375 

The  Aeronaut 382 

The  Child's  Prayer 387 

The  Humbled  Pharisee 390 

The  Life  of  Trial 394 

The  Hill  of  Science 398 

The  Stars 407 

The  Two  Wills 410 

The  Juniata  Valley 410 

The  Universal  Genius 414 

The  Blind  Boy's  Dream 414 

Unrequited  Love 43 

Uncle  Jefferson  and  his  Niece. . . .  310 

Visions  of  the  Night 375 

Works  of  Love 62 

Where  dwell  the  Angels? 107 

Wild  Violets 123 

Warning 1  (^2 

Where  is  gentle  May  ? 1 86 

Where  are  those  Flowers  ? 230 

Wilt  thou  thy  friend  forget  1 230 

Winter  is  coming 318 

Why  should  Spirits  talk  with  Men?  350 

Woman 359 

Where  have  they  vanished  ? 375 

Wood  Notes 375 

Woman's  Influence 390 

Yield  not  to  Sadness 39 


\ 


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Page. 
Allegorical  Representation  of  the 

Fourth  of  July 1 

American  House,  Boston 24 

Antique  Procession,  Danvers  Cele- 
bration   -     25 

Artists'  Ball,  Paris 116 

Anderson,  the  Wizard,  at  the  Melo- 

deon 193 

Astor  Library,  New  York 200 

Asf '  uption  of  the  Virgin 213 

A  Dancer  at  a  Turkish  Cafe 224 

Alms  House,  Blackwell's  Island.  225 

Australian  Gold  Fields— A  Cradler  228 

Dry  Diggings  on  the  Turon  228 

Claim  on  "         "       228 

Children  Cradling 228 

"Washing  the  Gold 228 

Method  of  removing  Goods  229 
Dodging  the  Commissioner  229 

PostOffice 229 

Disappointed  Goldaeeker. .   229 

Goldseekers'  Graves 229 

Eoad  through  the  Black  For- 
est    240 

Aubura,  N.  y .,  Rail  Road  Building 

and  State  Prison 280 

Fort  Hill  Cemetery 280 

A  Chinese  Water  Brave 400 

Allegorical  Picture  of  Christmas.  401 
Alms  House,  Deer  Island 408 

Blind  Asylum,  South  Boston 64 

Bust  of  Henry  Clay  in  Mourning.   105 

Bust  of  Madame  Malibran 108 

Boston  Ravine,  California 112 

Burningofthe  Steamer  Henry  Clay  117 
of  the  Ship  Robert  Center.   165 
Billy  Bowlegs,  and  other  Seminole 

Indians 257 

Bird  Market,  Paris S61 

Burmese  Soldier 268 

Baptist  Theological  School,  New- 
ton, Mass 289 

Battle  of  Waterloo 376,  377 

Black  Maria,  the  Prisoner's  own 

Omnibus 384 

Beacon  HUl  Reservoir 384 

Columbian  Artillery,  Boston 17 

Count  of  Paris  and  Duke  de  Char- 

tres 20 

Court  House,  Toronto,  Canada..     44 

Crossing  the  Rapids 44 

Clay  Medal — Obverse  side 64 

Reverse  side 64 

Crossing  the  Sierra  Nevada 117 

Church  of  Bodega 149 

Cape  Cod  Celebration 160 

Capture  of  a  Battery  at  Rome 165 

Camp  Meeting  near  Cincinnati.  . .  176 
Clipper  Ship  Oriental,  of  N.  York  188 
Camp  Meeting,  Eastham,  Mass.. .   192 

Prayer  Meeting 192 

Exhortation  and  Preaching  192 
Cathedral  (new)  St.  Johns,  N,  B..    197 

Croton  Dam,  New  York 248 

Caldwell,  Lake  George,  N.  Y 249 

Costoli'a  Columbus  Group 272 

California  Scenes — Bridge  across 

American  River 276 

Sacramento  Cemetery 276 

Miner  prospecting 276 

Native  Indian  Chief 277 

Indian  Squaw  and  Children  277 

California  Senorita 277 

California  Vaquero 277 

Chinaman    going     to     the 

Mines 277 

Court  House,  Pittsburgh,  Pa 304 

Curiosity 325 

Chincba  Islands,  Peru 352 

Commencement  of  first  Railroad  in 

Brazil. 404 

Castle  of  Pan,  Prison  of  Abd-el- 

Kader 405 

Canal  Boats  on  North  River 409 

Christmas  Tree 412 

Duke  of  Brabant  and  Count  of 
Flanders 21 

Donetti's  comic  Troupe  of  Trained 
Animals   33 


Detroit,  Michigan,  view  of  the  City  96 
Dukeof  Wellington— Statuette.  . .  96 
Departure  of  Ship  Lizzie  Webber 

for  Australia 180 

Donna  Petra  Camara  at  the  Madrid 

Theatre 220 

Driggs's  store,  interior  view 244 

Dog  Market,  Paris 260 

Disbrow's  Riding  School 304 

Dogs,  Series  of  Views — The  Ken- 
nel    356 

Day  Yard 356 

Keeper's  House 356 

Drawing  in  to  Feed 357 

Litter  of  Pups 357 

Feeding  the  Pack 357 

Don  Pedro  II.,  Emperor  of  Brazil  380 

Encampment  1st  Infantry,  Newton- 

ville,  Mass 113 

5th  Artillery,  Boston  Com- 
mon     144 

Elvira,  Gen.  Flores's  country  resi- 
dence     148 

Explosion  of  the  Steamer  Reindeer, 

on  the  Hudson  River 196 

Equestrian    Portrait    of   the    late 

Duke  of  Wellington 286 

Statue  of  "  308 

Egyptian  Frigate,  FaidGihaad. . .  404 

Fort  Hamilton,  New  York  Harbor    32 

Fishes — Ten  varieties  .  ■. 52,  53 

Farm  School,  Thompson's  Island    65 

Fetridge's  Arcade,  Boston 80 

Funeral  Procession  in  honor  of 

Henry  Clay,  New  York 104 

Floating  Houses,  etc.,  at  Guayaquil  149 
Fort  Independence,  Boston  Harbor  1 53 
Fishing  Party,  Boston  Harbor.  .  . .  209 
Fire  Department,  Berlin,  Prussia, 

8  engravings 340,  341 

Fish  Market,  Philadelphia 344 

Graziers'  Annual  Festival,  Gren- 
oble     140 

Girard  College,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  152 
Glen  Mary,  N.  P.  Willis's  country 

seat 169 

Great   Tortoise,   Zoological    Gar- 
dens, London 181 

Glen  Haven  Water  Cure,  Skane- 

ateles 281 

General  Warren  House,  Roxbury.   321 

Grace  Church,  New  York 408 

Gold  Ring  presented  to  Gen.  Frank 

Pierce 409 

Genin's  Bridge 416 

Hill,  Lincoln,  Geer  &  Co.'s  Store 

Exterior  view 164 

Interior,  first  floor 164 

"      second  "    164 

Horticultural    Exhibition,    Public 

Gardens,   Boston 256 

Montreal,  Canada 332 

Harvard  Monument,  Charlestown, 

Mass 372 

His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Albert  388 

Her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria 389 

Hunting  Scenes — Hare  in  full  run  396 
Hunter  leaping  a  ditch.  . . .   396 

Pack  in  full  cry 396 

Head  of  a  hound 396 

Deer  scenting  the  chase. . .  396 


Indian  Scenes — Encampment 

Scalp  Dance 

Rescue  of  Pocahontas 

Relics — Belt  worn  by  King 
Philip ; 

Tomahawks 

Moccasons  worn  by  Tecum- 
seh 

Pipe 

Comb 

Ichahoe,  View  of  the  Island 

Method  of  taking  Guano . . . 
Irish  Harvest  Scene 


Japanese  Marriage  Ceremony. '.  .;v; 
Method  of  Agriculture . 


124 
124 
124 

265 
265 

265 
265 
265 
300 
300 
'380 


Pago. 

Japanese  Perso&s  of  Rank 9 

Country  People 9 

Funeral  Ceremonies 9 

Praying  Machine 9 

J.  R.  Scott,  the  Tragedian,  as  In- 

gomar 152 

Klous's  Hat,  Cap  and  Fur  Store, 
Interior  view 236 

Loss  of  the  Cutter  Taney,  N.  Y. 

harbor 144 

Loss  of  the  Steamboiit  Atlantic, 

Lake  Erie 161 

Lawrence  Naval  Monument,  New 

York > 200 

Lunatic  Asylum,  Worcester,  Mass.  264 
Lincoln  Square,  "  "        264 

Life  Boat 268 

Ledger  and  Jayne*s  Buildings,  Phil- 
adelphia     360 

Mint,  Philadelphia,  Exterior  View    40 

Adjusting  Room 40 

Pressing  and  Milling  Room    41 
General  Pressing  and  Cut- 
ting Room 41 

Steam  Engine 48 

Coin  Press 48 

Metallic  Coffin  containing  remains 

of  Hon.  Henry  Clay 76 

Mens,  and  Mad'Ue  Dupres 84\ 

Meat  Market,  Paris, 85 

Mad'Ue   Rachel,   as   Valeria  and 

Lysisca 101 

Monument  Cemetery,  Philadelphia  129 
Mexican  Troops  on  the  March. . .  132 
Monument  to  Capt.  S.  Thompson, 

Buffalo,  N.Y 176 

Metropolitan  Hotel,  Opening  Din- 
ner    201 

Massachusetts   General    Hospital, 

Boston    208 

Moyamensing  Prison,  at  Philadel- 
phia, Pa 248 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots 252 

Musician  of  a  Turkish  Harem 256 

Muezzin  calling  to  Prayer 288 

Mission  of  San  Carlos,  California  293 
Monumental     Fountain,     Nimes, 

France 364 

Merchants*  Exchange,  New  York  369 

Niagara  Falls — Great  Rapids 36 

Little  Rapids 36 

American  Falls 36 

American  Falls  from  Ciana- 

da  side 37 

At  Sunset 37 

Table  Rock 37 

From  the  American  Shore  68 

View  of  the  Factories. ...  68 

From  the  Canada  side 68 

Suspension  Bridge 69 

Light  House 69 

Grand    Rapids   and   Horse 

Shoe 69 

Newport,  R.  I.,  View  of  the  City  56 

First  Beach 56 

Fort  Conanicut 57 

Old  Stone  MiU 57 

Gen.  Prescott's  Head  Quar- 
ters    57 

Gen.     Greene's  Birthplace  57 

Navy  Yard,  Charlestown-Perspec- 

tive  View 184 

Parade    Ground   and  Bar- 
racks . . . ; 1 84 

Rope  Walk 185 

Commodore's  House 185 

Nursery  Yacht 212 

N.  York  State  Fair,  Utica, — View 

,    Qf  Utica 232 

V^ew  of  the  Ground 232 

Bull,  "Hatton" 232 

■'"'Fieifer,  "Red Lady" 232 

Prize  Poultry 232 

Ayrshire  Bull,  Kilburn 232 

Hereford     Cow,      '*  Pretty 

Maid  " 232 

Naval  Combat  on  the  Seine,  Paris  240 

New  Hampshire  State  Fair 273 


Newburyport,      Mass.,  —  Putnam 

Free    School 305 

View  of  the  City 312 

Suspension  Bridge 312 

Oak  Hill  Cemetery 313 

City  Hall 313 

Old  South  Church 336 

Whiteaeld's  Monument...   336 

New  York  Bay  and  Harbor 337 

New  York  Firemen's  Block  to  the 
Washington  Monument 352 

New  Music  Hall,  Boston 385 

Old  Church,  Hingham,  Ms 112 

Owego,  N.  Y.,  View  of  the  Town  168 

Ostend,  Belgium 244 

Owasco  Lake,  New  York 281 

Osmanli,  the  Mameluke 396 

Portrait  of  Gen.  Frank  Pierce 16 

Gen.  Scott 32 

Henry  Clay 49 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter 80 

Victor  Hugo 116 

G.  Nourse,  Chief  of  Police, 

Boston 128 

Hon.  R.  Rantoul,  Jr 140 

John  S.  Thrasher 153 

0.   Sacket,    Yankee    Card 

Writer 156 

Madame  Sontag 172 

CountD'Orsay 180 

Mrs.  Ellis 188 

Audubon  the  Naturalist. . .   196 

Madame  Alboni 201 

Richard  Mather 265 

Rev.  John  Rodgers 265 

Donna   Corrinne  Almanza, 

(Fancy) 268 

Viscount  Hardinge 297 

Hon.  Abbott  Lawrence.  .. .  309 

J.  W.  Wallack 344 

Pierce  and  King 353 

Dr.  Addison  G.    Bragg...  372 

Lola  Montez 400 

Abd-el-Kader 405 

Procession  in  honor  of  Dan'l  Web- 
ster  ,>v72 

Poniard   presented    to  Faustin  I.,^ 

Emperor  of  Hayti ^76 

Pleasant  Mountain  House,  Maine  83 
Partridges  protecting  their  young     92 

Partridge  Shooting 92 

Pilot's  Monument,  Greenwood  Ce- 
metery,       97 

Prize  Medal  of  the  Amoskeag  Co. 

from  the  World's  Fair 100 

Potato  Plants — six  Engravings . .  133 
Portage  Falls,  Portage,  New  York  169 
Plymouth,  Ms.,  View  of  the  Town  216 

Pilgrim   Hall 216 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrims. .   217 

Pilgrim  Rock 217 

Parade  of  Col.  Wright's  Light  Dra- 
goons     242 

Prome,   Burman  Empire 245 

Procession  of  Brooklyn  Firemen  296 
Passing    Fireman's     Hall, 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y 296 

Ploughing  Match,  Bridgeport,  Ct.  297 
Plate  presented  to  F.  Gleason...  361 

Quincy,   Mass.— Birthplace  oi'  J. 

Q.  Adams ..  120 

Adams  Mansion 120 

Adams   Temple 121 

J.  Q.  Adams's  Tomb 121 

Granite  Quarries 128 

Rebecca  at  the  Well . . : 12 

Rescue  of  Ruez  Gonzales- "He art's 

Secret" ■18 

Reception   of  Hon.   Daniel  Web- 
ster on  Boston  Common 73 

Remains   of  Hon.  H.   Clay,  City 

Hall,  New  York 76 

Railway  Bridge,  Dresden,  ^axony  101 
Rangoon,  Burman  Empire,  View 

of  the  City 108 

Rail  Road  Bridge,  Portage,  N.  Y.  168 
Review      of    Providence    Marine 
Artillery,  Boston  Common....   177 


Page 

Rail  Road — Commencement  of  St. 

Andrews   r.nd   Quebec 181 

Review  of  Troops,  New  York 204 

Regatta  at  Hull 208 

Reform  School,  Westboro,  Mass..  249 

Regatta  at  Lisbon 293 

Representation  of  Trenton  Falls, 

New  York 400 

Sea  Serpent — five  Engravings ...  4,  5 
Salt  Works  at  Salines,  France.  . .     85 
Stewart's  Marble  Store,  Broadway, 
N.  Y.,  during  Hon.  Henry  Clay's 

Funeral 104 

St.  Helen's,  Oregon,  View  of  the 

Town 105 

Statue  of  Madame  Malibran 108 

Saratoga  Springs — Congress  Hall 

and  Spring,  1826 136 

United  States  Hotel 136 

Stanwix,  Union,   and  Con- 
gress Hall 136 

High  Rock,    Empire    and 

Iodine  Springs 137 

Congress    Spring   and  the 

Grounds 137 

Sierra    Madre    Mountains,    near 

Monterey 156 

Saratoga  Lake 160 

Squadron  with    Queen  Victoria, 

leaving  the  Isle  of  Wight 197 

Snuff-Box  presented  to  Dr.  Hitch- 
cock    200 

Summer  Residence  of  the   Kara 

Family,  Russia 212 

Swedish  Emigrants  passing  Glea- 

son's  Pictorial  Office 288 

Sutter's  Mill  at  Coloma,  Cal 292 

The  Finding  of  Moses 28 

Tomb  of  Madame  Malibran 1 08 

Travelling  Costume  of  a  Lady  of 

Guayaquil 148 

Traders  in  Oranges,  etc.,  in  Guay- 
aquil   149 

Turkish  Sultan's  State  Barge 292 

The  Prophecy  of  the  Flowers 324 

Thanksgiving 345 

The  Refuge  at  the  Altar 348 

Turkish  Gentleman 368 

Turkish  Arabat 368 

Trinity  Church,  New  York, 409 

University  Building,  New  York. .   145 

Victoria  Regia — a  mammoth  Lily     60 

before  opening 60 

in  full  flower 60 

under  part  of  the  leaf    60 
Victoria  Bridge,    near  Windsor, 

England 172 

View  of  Constantinople,  Seraglio 

Point 224 

View  of  City  of  Chicago 373 

West  Point — Hotel  from  the  Land- 
ing    88 

Kosciusko's  Monument. ...  88 

Encampment  of  the  Cadets  89 
Cadets'  Monument  and  Ce- 

meteiy 89 

Cadets  making  Fascines ...  89 
Water  Cure,  Han-odsburg,  Ky.  .  .  .  309 
Webster  Series  of  Views — Monu- 
mental Design 316 

Farm  at  Marshfield 320 

Room  in  which  he  died.  .  .  .  320 

Funeral  Procession 328 

Metallic  CofBn 328 

Tomb  at  Marshfield 328 

Remains  in  the  Library 328 

At  Home 328 

Whirling  Dervishes 332 

Webster    Funeral  Procession    at 

Boston 392 

Webster— Medallion  Head 393 

Yale's  Mammoth  Tent  at  the  Dan- 
vers Celebration 24 

Young  Artist  of  Quito 148 

Youle's  Shot  Tower,  New  York..  224 

Yenbenzeik,  from  Prome 245 


T?    r<Ti7ianvr  r  corner  bromfield 

r  .    U-ljJ!jii.i5Ux\  ,  1  AKD  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  JULY  3,  185: 


.V2. 


^'^S.  sTngu-?"!  Vol.  IIL  No.  1.— Whole  No.  53. 


THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

What  a  throng  of  recollections  crowfl  upon 
the  mind  at  the  simple  mention  of  this  day ;  and 
how  it  cairies  ns  back  to  our  lx)yhood  and  its  de- 
lights, and  bow  strong^ly  it  reminds  us  of  tlie 
blessings  of  our  country  and  her  early  sti-uggles 


for  the  possession  of  the  privileges  we  now  en-  the  other  heroes  of  the  war.     Below,  in  the  cen-  sentation  of  tbemoftth  of  July.     Altogether,  tbe 

joy.     The  engraving  which  our  artist  has  given  tre,  is  a  revolutionary  hero  relating  to  his  grand-  picture  is  a  very  chaste  and,  beautiful  one,  and 

us  below  is  emblematical  of  this  long  cherished  children  stories  of  the  "times  that  tried  men's  will  be  peculiarly  valuable  to  our  readers  at  this 

era.     The  Genius  of  Liberty,  preceded  by  Fame,  souls."     At  the  base  on  the  one  hand,  the  happy  appropriate  season  of  the  year,  when  the  day 

is  seen  pointing  to  the  author  of  tlie  Declaration  masses  are  seen  celebrating  the  great  national  and  date  are  now  before  us  and  in  celebration, 

of  Independence,  followed   by  "Washington  and  holiday ;  on  the  other,  is  seen  the  tj'pical  repre-  by  the  millions  of  our  liberty-loving  people. 


ALLEGORICAL   REPRESENTATION    OF    1;HE   FOURTH    OF    JULY.. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOIIIAL   DRAWING    llOO:^    COMPAXIOX. 


Euteicd  nccoiiling  lo  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  tlic  Clerk's  Olliee  of  tlic 
District  Court  of  Massucliusctts. 


[WIIITTEN    EXnir.SSI.Y   FOn   OI.EASON  8    PICTOItlAL,] 


T  H  E 


— oil, — 

■  ■■•' 

3,  Stoxnn  of  tm  (Wih  i§c  Cow  €(\i\i\\U^. 

BY    LIEUTENANT    MUKRAY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    ACCIDENT. 

The  soft  twilight  of  tlic  tropics,  thnt  loves 
to  linger  over  the  low  hititudcp,  after  the  de- 
parture of  the  long  suminicr's  day,  was  breath- 
ing in  zephyrs  of  aromatic  sweetness  over  the 
shores  and  plains  of  the  beautifnl  Queen  of  the 
jVntilles.  The  noise  and  bustle  of  the  day  had 
given  place  to  the  quiet  and  gentle  influences  of 
the  hour;  the  slave  had  laid  by  his  implements 
of  labor,  and  now  stood  at  case,  -while  tlie  sun- 
burnt overseers  had  put  off  the  air  of  vigilance 
that  they  had  worn  all  day,  and  sat  or  lounged 
lazily  with  their  cigars. 

Here  and  there  strolled  a  Montaro  from  the 
country,  who,  having  disposed  of  his  load  of 
fruit,  of  produce  and  fowls,  was  now  prepar- 
ing to  return  once  more  inland,  looking,  with 
his  long  Toledo  blade  and  heavy  spurs,  more 
like  a  bandit  than  an  honest  husbandman.  The 
evening  guu  had  long  since  boomed  over  the 
waters  of  the  land-locked  harbor  from  the  grim 
walls  of  Moro  Castle,  the  guard  had  been  relieved 
at  the  governor's  palace  and  the  city  walls,  and 
now  the  steady  martial  tread  to  the  tap  of  the 
dium  rang  along  the  streets  of  Havana,  as  the 
guard  once  more  sought  thcu-  barracks  in  the 
Plaza  des  Amies. 

The  pretty  senoritas  sat  at  their  grated  win- 
dows, nearly  on  a  level  with  the  street,  and  chat- 
ted through  tlie  bars,  not  unlike  prisoners,  to 
those  gallants  who  paused  to  address  them.  And 
now  a  steady  line  of  pedestrians  turned  their  way 
to  the  garden  that  fronts  the  governor's  palace, 
where  they  might  listen  to  the  music  of  the  band, 
nightly  poured  forth  here  to  rich  and  poor. 

At  this  peculiar  hour  there  was  a  small  party 
walking  in  the  broad  and  very  private  walk  that 
skirts  the  seaward  side  of  the  city,  nearly  oppo- 
fiite  the  Moro,  and  known  as  the  Plato.  It  is 
the  only  hour  in  which  a  lady  can  appear  outside 
the  walls  of  her  dwelling  on  foot  in  this  queer 
and  picturesque  capital,  and  then  only  in  the 
Plaza,  opposite  to  the  palace,  or  in  some  secluded 
and  private  walk  like  the  Plato.  Such  is  Creole 
and  Spanish  etiquette. 

The  party  referred  to  consisted  of  a  fine  look- 
ing old  Spanish  don,  a  lady  who  seemed  to  be 
his  daughter,  a  little  boy  of  some  twelve  or  thir- 
teen years,  who  might  perhaps  be  the  lady's 
brother,  and  a  couple  of  gentlemen  in  undress 
military  attire,  yet  bearing  sufficient  tokens  of 
rank  to  show  them  to  be  high  in  command.  The 
party  was  a  gay  though  small  one,  and  the  lady 
seemed  to  be  as  lively  and'  talkative  as  the  two 
gentlemen  could  desire,  while  they,  on  their  part, 
appeared  most  devoted  to  every  syllable  and 
gesture. 

There  was  a  slight  air  of  hauteur  in  the  lady's 
bearing ;  she  seemed  to  half  disdain  the  homage 
that  was  so  freely  tendered  to  her,  and  though 
she  laughed  loud  and  clear,  there  was  a  careless, 
not  to  say  heartless,  accent  in  her  tones,  that  be- 
trayed her  indifference  to  the  devoted  attentions 
of  her  companions.  Apparently  too  much  ac- 
customed to  this  treatment  to  be  disheartened  by 
it,  the  two  gentlemen  bore  themselves  most  cour- 
teously, and  continued  as  devoted  as  ever  to  the 
fail-  creature  by  their  side. 

The  boy  of  whom  we  have  spoken  was  a  noble 
child,  frank  and  manly  in  his  bearing,  and  evi- 
dently deeply  interested  in  the  maritime  scene 
before  him.  Now  he  paused  to  watch  the  throng 
of  craft  of  every  nation  that  lay  at  anchor  iu  the 


harbor,  or  which  were  moored,  after  the  fashion 
here,  with  their  stems  to  the  quay,  and  now  his 
fine  blue  eye  wandered  olF  over  the  swift  running 
waters  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  watching  for  a  mo- 
ment the  long,  heavy  swoop  of  some  distant  sea- 
fowl,  or  the  white  sail  of  some  clipper  craft  bound 
up  the  Gulf  to  New  Orleans,  or  down  the  narrow 
channel  thi'ough  the  Caribbean  Sea  to  some 
South  American  port.  The  old  don  seemed  in 
the  meantime  to  regard  the  boy  with  an  earnest 
pride,  and  scarcely  heeded  at  all  the  bright  sallies 
of  wit  that  his  daughter  was  so  freely  and  merrily 
bestowing  upon  her  two  assiduous  admirers. 

"  Yonder  brigantine  must  be  a  slaver,"  said 
the  boy,  pointing  to  a  rakish  craft  that  seemed  to 
be  stmggling  against  the  current  to  tlie  south- 
ward. 

"  Most  like,  most  like ;  but  what  does  she  on 
this  side  1  the  southern  shore  is  her  ground,  and 
the  Isle  of  Pines  is  a  hundred  leagues  from  here," 
said  the  old  don. 

"  She  has  lost  her  reckoning,  probably,"  said 
the  boy,  "and  made  the  first  land  to  the  north. 
Liicky  she  didn't  fall  in  with  those  Florida 
wreckers,  for  though  the  Americans  don't  carry 
on  the  African  trade  nowadays,  they  know  what 
to  do  with  a  cargo  if  it  gets  once  hard  and  fast 
on  the  reefs." 

"  What  know  you  of  these  matters?"  asked 
the  old  don,  turning  a  curious  eye  on  the  boy. 

"  0,  I  hear  them  talk  of  these  things,  and  you 
know  I  saw  a  cargo  '  run '  on  the  south  side  only 
last  month,"  continued  the  boy.  "  There  were 
three  hundred  or  more  filed  off  from  that  felucca, 
two  by  t^vo,  to  the  shore." 

"  It  is  a  slaver,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  "a 
little  out  of  her  latitude,  that's  all." 

"A  beautiful  craft,"  said  the  lady,  earnestly; 
"  can  it  be  a  slaver,  and  so  beautiful  ?" 

"  They  arc  clipper-built,  all  of  them,"  said  the 
old  don.  "  Launched  in  Baltimore,  United 
States." 

Senorita  Gonzales  was  the  daughter  of  the 
proud  old  don  of  the  same  name,  who  was  of  the 
party  on  the  Plato  at  the  time  we  describe.  The 
father  was  one  of  the  richest  as  well  as  noblest 
in  rank  of  all  the  residents  of  the  island,  being  of 
the  old  Castilian  stock,  who  had  come  from 
Spain  many  years  before,  and  after  holding  high 
office,  both  civil  and  military,  under  the  crown, 
had  at  last  retired  with  a  princely  fortune,  and 
devoted  himself  to  the  education  of  his  daughter 
and  son,  both  of  whom  we  have  already  intro- 
duced to  the  reader. 

The  daughter,  beautiful,  intelligent,  and  witty 
to  a  most  extraordinary  degree,  had  absolutely 
broken  the  hearts  of  half  the  men  of  rank  on  the 
island ;  for  though  yet  scarcely  twenty  years  of 
age,  Senorita  Isabella  was  a  confirmed  coquette. 
It  was  her  passion  to  command  and  enjoy  a  de- 
votion, but  as  to  ever  having  in  the  least  degree 
cherished  or  known  wliat  it  was  to  love,  the  lady 
was  entirely  void  of  the  charge ;  she  had  never 
known  the  tenderness  of  reciprocal  affection,  nor 
did  it  seem  to  those  who  knew  her  best,  that  the 
man  was  born  who  could  win  her  confidence. 

Men's  hearts  had  been  Isabella  Gonzales's 
toys  and  playthings  ever  since  the  hour  that  she 
first  had  realized  her  power  over  them.  And  yet 
she  was  far  from  being  heartless  in  reality.  She 
was  most  sensitive,  and  at  times  thoughtful  and 
serious ;  but  this  was  in  her  closet,  and  when 
alone.  Those  who  thought  that  the  sunshine  of 
that  face  was  never  clouded,  were  mistaken.  She 
hardly  received  the  respect  that  was  due  to  her 


better  underntandtng  uiul  natui-ally  strong  points 
of  character,  because  she  hid  them  mainly  behind 
an  exterior  of  captivating  mirthfnlneHS  and  never 
ceasing  smiles. 

The  cool  relVcsliiiig  sea  breeze  that  swept  in 
from  the  water  was  most  dcliciouK,  after  the 
scorching  heat  of  a  summer's  day  in  the  West 
Indies,  and  the  party  i)auscd  as  they  breathed  in 
of  its  freshness,  leaning  upon  the  parapet  of  the 
walk,  over  which  they  looked  down  upon  the 
glancing  waves  of  the  hay  far  beneath  them. 
The  moon  was  stealing  slowly  but  steadily  up 
from  l)chind  the  lofty  tower  of  Moro  Castle,  cast- 
ing a  dash  of  silvery  light  athwart  its  dark  bat- 
teries and  grim  walls,  and  silvering  a  long  wake 
across  the  now  silent  harbor,  making  its  rippling 
waters  of  golden  and  silver  hues,  and  casting, 
where  the  Moro  tower  was  between  it  and  the 
water,  a  long,  deep  shadow  to  seaward. 

Even  the  gay  and  apparently  thoughtless  Seno- 
rita Isabella  was  struck  with  delight  at  the  view 
now  presented  to  her  gaze,  and  for  a  moment  she 
paused  in  silence  to  drink  in  of  the  spirit-stimng 
beauty  of  the  scene. 

"How  beautiful  it  is,"  whispered  the  hoy,  who 
was  close  by  her  side. 

"  Beautiful,  ye;-i/  beautiful,"  echoed  Isabella, 
again  becoming  silent. 

No  one  who  has  not  breathed  the  soft  air  of 
the  south  at  an  hour  such  as  we  have  described, 
can  well  realize  the  tender  influence  that  it  exer- 
cises upon  a  susceptible  disposition.  The  whole 
party  gazed  for  some  minutes  in  silence,  appar- 
ently charmed  by  the  scene.  There  was  a  hal- 
lowing and  chastening  influence  in  the  very  air, 
and  the  gay  coquette  was  softened  into  the  tender 
woman.  A  tear  even  glistened  in  Ruez's,  her 
brother's,  eyes ;  but  he  was  a  thoughtful  and 
delicate-souled  child,  and  would  be  affected  thus 
much  more  quickly  than  his  sister. 

The  eldest  of  the  two  gentlemen  who  were  in 
attendance  upon  Don  Gonzales  and  his  family, 
was  Count  Anguera,  lieutenant-governor  of  the 
island  ;  and  his  comparuon,  a  fine  military  figure, 
apparently  some  years  the  count's  junior,  was 
General  Harero  of  the  royal  infantry,  quartered 
at  the  governor's  palace.  Such  was  the  party 
that  promenaded  on  the  parapet  of  the  Plato. 

As  we  have  intimated,  the  two  gentlemen  were 
evidently  striving  to  please  Isabella,  and  to  win 
from  her  some  encouraging  smile  or  other  token 
that  might  indicate  a  preference  for  their  atten- 
tions. Admiration  even  from  the  high  source 
that  now  tendered  it  was  no  new  thing  to  her, 
and  with  just  sufficient  archness  to  puzzle  tliem, 
she  waived  and  replied  to  their  conversation 
with  most  provoking  indifference,  lavishing  a 
vast  deal  more  kindness  and  attention  upon  a 
noble  wolf-hound  that  crouched  close  to  her  feet, 
his  big  clear  eye  bent  ever  upon  his  mistress's 
face  with  a  degree  of  intelligence  that  would  have 
formed  a  theme  for  a  painter.  It  was  a  noble 
creature,  and  no  wonder  the  lady  evinced  so 
much  regard  for  the  hound,  who  ever  and  anon 
walked  close  to  her. 

"You   love  the  hound?"  suggested  General 
Harero,  stooping  to  smooth  its  glossy  coat. 
"  Yes." 

"  He  is  to  be  envied,  then,  upon  my  soul,  lady. 
How  could  he,  with  no  powers  of  utterance,  have 
done  that  for  himself,  which  we  poor  gallants  so 
fail  in  doing  V 

*'  And  wdiat  may  that  be  V  asked  Isabella, 
archly  tossing  her  head. 

"  Win  thy  love,"  half  whispered  the  officer, 
drawing  closer  to  her  side. 

The  answer  was  lost,  if  indeed  Isabella  intend- 
ed one,  by  the  father's  calling  the  attention  of  the 
party  to  some  object  on  the  Itegla  shore,  oppo- 
site the  city,  looming  up  in  the  dim  light. 

Ruez  had  mounted  the  parapet,  and  with  his 
feet  carelessly  dangling  on  the  other  side,  sat 
gazing  off'  upon  the  sea,  now  straining  his  eye  to 
make  out  the  rig  of  some  dark  hull  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  now  following  back  the  moon's  glit- 
tering wake  until  it  met  the  shore.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  hound,  leaving  his  mistress's  side,  put 
his  fore  paws  upon  the  top  of  the  parapet  and  his 
nose  into  one  of  the  boy's  hands,  causing  him  to 
turn  round  suddenly  to  sec  what  it  was  that 
touched  him;  in  doing  which  he  lost  his  balance, 
and  with  a  faint  cry  fell  from  the  parapet  far 
down  to  the  water  below.  Each  of  the  gentle- 
men at  once  sprang  upon  the  stone  work  and 
looked  over  where  the  boy  had  fallen,  but  it 
would  have  been  madness  for  any  one,  however 
good  a  swimmer;  and  as  they  realized  this  and 
their  helpless  situation,  they  stood  for  a  moment 
dumb  with  consternation. 

At  that  moment  a  plunge  was  heard  in  the 
water  from  the  edge  of  the  quay  far  below  the 


jmrapet,  and  a  dark  form  was  traced  making 
its  way  througli  the  water  with  that  strong  bold 
stroke  that  shows  the  cfiort  of  a  confident  and 
powci'fu!  hwinimcr. 

"  'I'hank  God  nome  one  has  seen  his  fall  from 
liclow,  and  they  will  rescue  Iiim,"  said  Don  Gon- 
zales, springing  swiftly  down  the  Plato  steps, 
followed  by  Isabella  and  the  ofliccrs,  and  seek- 
ing the  street  that  led  to  the  quay  below. 

"O  hasten,  father,  hasten!"  exclaimed  Isa- 
bella, impatiently. 

"  Nay,  Isabella,  my  old  limbs  totter  with  fear 
for  dear  Ruez,"  was  the  hasty  reply  of  the  old 
don,  as  he  huiTicd  forward  with  his  daughter. 

"Dear,  dear  Kuez,"  exclaimed  Isabella,  hys- 
terically. 

D.ashing  by  the  guard  stationed  on  the  quay, 
who  presented  arms  as  his  superiors  passed,  they 
reached  its  end  in  time  to  see,  through  the  now 
dim  twilight,  the  efforts  of  some  one  in  the  water 
supporting  the  half  insensilde  boy  with  one  arm, 
while  with  the  other  he  was  struggling  with  al- 
most superhuman  effort  against  the  steady  set  of 
the  tide  to  seaward.  Already  were  a  couple  of 
seamen  lowering  a  quarter-boat  from  an  Ameri- 
can barque,  near  by,  but  the  rojjc  had  fouled  in 
the  blocks,  and  they  conld  not  loose  it.  A  cou- 
ple of  infantry  soldiers  had  also  come  up  to  the 
spot,  and  having  secured  a  rope  were  about  to 
attempt  some  assistance  to  the  swimmer. 

"  Heave  the  line,"  shouted  one  of  the  seamen. 
"  Give  me  the  bight  of  it,  and  111  swim  out  to 
him." 

"  Stand  by  for  it,"  said  the  soldier,  coiling  it 
in  his  hand  and  then  throwing  it  towards  the 
barque.  But  the  coil  fell  short  of  the  mark,  and 
another  minute's  delay  occurred. 

In  the  meantime  he  who  held  the  boy,  though 
evidently  a  man  of  cool  judgment,  powerful 
frame,  and  steady  purpose,  yet  now  breathed 
so  heavily  in  his  earnest  struggle  with  the 
swift  tide,  that  his  panting  might  be  distinctly 
heard  on  the  qua}'.  He  was  evidently  conscious 
of  the  efforts  now  making  for  his  succor  and  that 
of  the  bo}^,  but  he  uttered  no  words,  still  bending 
every  nerve  and  faculty  towards  the  stemming 
of  the  current  that  sets  into  the  harbor  from  the 
Gulf  Stream. 

The  hound  had  been  running  back  and  forth 
on  the  top  of  the  parapet,  half  prcpai"ing  every 
moment  for  a  spring,  and  then  deterred  by  the 
immense  distance  which  presented  itself  between 
the  animal  and  the  water,  it  would  run  back  and 
forth  again  with  a  most  piteous  howling  cry ; 
but  at  this  moment  it  came  bounding  down  the 
street  to  the  quay,  as  though  it  at  last  realized 
the  projaer  spot  from  which  to  make  the  attempt, 
and  with  a  leap  that  seemed  to  cany  it  nearly 
a  rod  into  the  waters,  it  swam  easily  to  the  boy's 
side. 

An  exclamation  of  joy  escaped  from  both  Don 
Gonzales  and  Isabella,  for  they  knew  the  hound 
to  have  saved  a  life  before,  and  now  prized  his 
sagacity  highly. 

As  the  hound  swung  round  easily  beside  the 
struggling  forms,  the  swimmer  placed  the  boy's 
arm  about  the  animal's  neck,  while  the  noble 
creature,  with  almost  human  reason,  instead  of 
struggling  fiercely  at  being  thus  entirely  buried 
iu  the  water,  save  the  mere  point  of  his  nose, 
worked  as  steadily  and  as  calmly  as  though  he 
was  merely  following  ins  young  master  on  shore. 
The  momentary  relief  was  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance to  the  swimmer,  who  being  thus  partially 
relieveil  of  Ruez's  weight,  once  more  struck  out 
boldly  for  the  quay.  But  the  boy  had  now  lost 
all  consciousness,  and  his  arm  slipped  away  from 
the  hound's  neck,  and  he  rolled  heavily  over, 
carrying  down  the  swimmer  and  himself  for  a 
moment,  below  the  surface  of  the  water. 

"  Holy  motlier  !  they  are  both  drowned!"  al- 
most screamed  Isabella. 

"Lost!  lost!"  groaned  Don  Gonzales,  with 
iiplifted  hands  and  tottering  form. 

"No!  no!"  exclaimed  General  Harero,  "not 
yet,  not  yet."  He  had  jumped  on  board  the 
barque,  and  had  cut  the  davit  ropes  with  hi.s 
sword,  and  thus  succeeded  in  launching  the  boat 
with  himself  and  the  two  seamen  in  it. 

At  this  moment  the  swimmer  rose  once  more 
slowly  with  his  burthen  to  the  surface ;  but  his 
efforts  were  so  faintly  made  now,  that  he  barely 
floated,  and  yet  with  a  nervous  vigor  he  ket)t  the 
boy  still  far  above  himself.  And  now  it  was 
that  the  noble  instinct  of  the  hound  stood  his 
young  master  in  such  importance,  and  led  him 
to  seize  with  his  teeth  the  boy's  clothes,  while 
the  swimmer  once  more  fairly  gained  his  self- 
possession,  and  the  boat  with  General  Harero 
and  the  seamen  came  alongside.  In  a  moment 
more   the  boy  with  his  preserver  and  the  dog 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


■were  safe  in  the  boat,  whicli  was  rowed  at  once 
to  the  qnay. 

A  shout  of  satisf-iction  rang  out  from  twenty 
voices  that  had  witnessed  the  scene. 

Isabella,  the  moment  they  were  safely  in  the 
boat,  fainted,  while  Count  Anguora  ran  for  a 
volante  for  conveyance  home.  The  swimmer 
soon  regained  his  strength,  and  when  the  boat 
reached  the  quay,  he  lifced  the  boy  from  it  him- 
self. It  was  a  most  striking  picture  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  eye  at  that  moment  on  the 
quay,  in  the  dim  twilight  that  was  so  struggling 
with  the  moon's  brighter  rays. 

The  father,  embracing  the  reviving  boy,  looked 
the  gratitude  he  could  not  find  words  to  express, 
wliile  a  calm,  satisfied  smile  ornamented  the 
handsome  features  of  the  soldier  who  had  saved 
Kuez*s  life  at  sucli  imminent  risk.  The  coat 
which  he  had  hastily  thrown  upon  the  quay 
when  he  leaped  into  the  water,  showed  him  to 
bear  the  rank  of  lieutenant  of  infanti-y,  and  by 
the  number,  he  belonged  to  General  Harero's 
own  division. 


CELVPTER  II. 

THE    BELLE    AND    THE    SOLtUER. 

"Whoever  has  been  in  Havana,  tliat  strange 
and  peculiar  city,  wliose  every  association  and 
belonging  seem  to  bring  to  mind  the  period  of 
centuries  gone  by,  whose  time-worn  and  moss- 
covered  cathedrals  appear  to  stand  as  grim  rcc- 
oi'ds  of  the  past,  whose  noble  palaces  and  resi- 
dences of  tlie  rich  give  token  of  the  fact  of  its 
great  wealth  and  extraordinary  resources — who- 
ever, we  say,  has  been  in  this  capital  of  Cuba, 
has  of  course  visited  its  well-known  and  far-famed 
Tacon  Paseo.  It  is  here,  just  outside  the  city 
walls,  in  a  beautiful  tract  of  land,  laid  out  in 
tempting  walks,  ornamented  with  the  fragrant 
flowei'S  of  the  tropics,  and  with  starues  and  foun- 
tains innumerable,  that  the  beauty  and  fashion 
of  the  town  resort  cacli  afternoon  to  drive  in  their 
volantes,  and  to  meet  and  greet  each  other. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  subsequent  to  that  of 
the  accident  recorded  in  the  preceding  cliapter, 
that  a  young  ofilicer,  off  duty,  might  be  seen  par- 
tially reclining  upon  one  of  the  broad  seats  that 
here  and  there  line  the  foot-path  of  the  circular 
drive  in  the  Paseo.  He  possessed  a  fine  manly 
figure,  and  was  perhaps  of  twenty-four  or  five 
years  of  age,  and  clothed  in  the  plain  undress 
nuiform  of  the  Spanish  army.  His  features  wei'C 
of  that  national  and  handsome  cast  that  is  pecu- 
liar to  the  full-blooded  Castilian,  and  the  pure 
olive  of  his  complexion  contrasted  finely  with  a 
moustache  and  imperial  as  black  as  the  dark 
flowing  liair  that  fell  from  beneath  his  foraging 
Ciip.  At  the  moment  when  we  introduce  him  he 
was  playing  with  a  small,  light  walking-stick, 
with  which  he  thrashed  liis  boots  most  immoder- 
ately ;  but  his  thoughts  were  busy  enough  in 
another  quarter,  as  any  one  might  conjecture 
even  at  a  single  glance. 

Suddenly  his  whole  manner  changed ;  he  rose 
quickly  to  his  feet,  and  lifting  his  cap  gracefully, 
he  saluted  and  acknowledged  the  particular  no- 
tice of  a  lady  who  bent  partially  forward  from  a 
richly  mounted  volantc,  drawn  by  as  richly  a  ca- 
parisoned horse,  and  driven  by  as  richly  dressed  a 
calesaro.  The  manner  of  the  young  officer  froin 
that  moment  was  the  very-  antipodes  of  what  it 
had  been  a  few  moments  before.  A  change 
seemed  to  have  come  over  the  spirit  of  his  dream. 
His  fine  military  figure  became  erect  and  digni- 
fied, and  a  slight  indication  of  satisfied  pride  was 
just  visible  in  the  fine  lines  of  his  expressive  lips. 
As  he  passed  on  his  way,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  he  met  General  Harcro,  who  stiffly  ac- 
knowledged his  military  salute,  with  anything  but 
kindness,  expressed  in  the  stern  lines  of  Ins  for- 
bidding countenance.  He  even  took  some  pains 
to  scowl  upon  the  young  soldier  as  they  passed 
each  other. 

But  what  cared  Lieutenant  Bczan  for  his 
frowns  ?  Had  not  the  belle  of  the  city,  the  beau- 
tiful, the  peerless,  the  famed  Senorita  Isabella 
Gonzales  just  publicly  saluted  him  ? — that  glo- 
rious being  whose  transcendent  beauty  had  been 
the  theme  of  every  tongue,  and  whose  loveliness 
had  enslaved  him  from  the  first  moment  he  had 
looked  upon  her — just  two  years  previous,  when 
he  first  came  from  Spain.  Had  not  this  high- 
bom  and  proud  lady  publicly  saluted  him  ?  Him, 
a  poor  lieutenant  of  infantry,  who  had  never 
dared  to  lift  his  eyes  to  meet  her  oivn  before, 
liowever  deep  and  ardently  he  might  have  wor- 
sliipped  her  in  secret.  AVliat  cared  the  young  offi- 
cer that  his  commander  had  seen  fit  thus  to  frown 
upon  him  \     True,  he  realized  the  power  of  mili- 


tary discipline,  and  partieulaidy  of  the  Spanish 
army ;  but  lie  forgot  all  else  now,  in  the  fact  that 
Isabella  Gon/ales  had  publicly  saluted  him  in 
the  paths  of  the  Paseo. 

Possessed  of  a  highly  chivalrous  disposition, 
Lieutenant  Bezau  had  few  confidants  among  his 
regiment,  who,  notwithstanding  this,  loved  him 
as  well  as  brothers  might  love.  He  seemed  de- 
cidedly to  prefer  solitude  and  his  books  to  the 
social  gatherings,  or  the  clubs  formed  by  his 
brother  officers,  or  indeed  to  join  them  in  any  of 
their  ordinary  sports  or  pastimes. 

Of  a  very  good  family  at  home,  he  had  the 
misfortune  to  have  been  born  a  younger  brother, 
and  after  being  thoroughly  educated  at  the  best 
schools  of  Madrid,  he  was  frankly  told  by  his 
father  that  lie  must  seek  his  fortune,  and  for  tl-e 
future  rely  solely  upon  himself.  There  was  but 
one  field  open  to  him,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to 
him,  and  that  was  the  army.  Two  years  before 
tlie  opening  of  our  story  he  had  enlisted  as  a 
third  lieutenant  of  infantry,  and  had  been  at  once 
ordered  to  the  West  Indies  with  his  entire  regi- 
ment. Here  promotion  for  more  than  one  gal- 
lant act  closely  followed  him,  until  at  the  time 
we  introduce  him  to  the  reader  as  first  lieutenant. 
Being  of  a  naturally  cheei-ful  and  exceedingly 
happy  disposition,  he  took  life  like  a  philosopher, 
and  knew  little  of  care  or  sorrow  until  the  time 
when  he  first  saw  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales — 
an  occasion  that  planted  a  hopeless  passion  in 
his  brejist. 

From  the  moment  of  their  first  meeting, 
though  entirely  unnoticed  by  her,  he  felt  that  he 
loved  her,  deeply,  tenderly  loved  her  ;  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  he  fully  realized  liow  immeasur- 
ably she  was  beyond  his  sphere,  and  consequently 
hopes.  He  saw  the  first  officials  of  the  island  at 
her  very  feet,  watching  for  one  glance  of  encour- 
agement or  kindness  from  those  dark  and  lus- 
trous eyes  of  jet ;  in  short,  he  saw  her  ever  the 
centre  of  an  admiring  circle  of  the  rich  and 
proud.  It  is  perhaps  strange,  but  nevertheless 
true,  that  with  all  these  discouraging  and  dis- 
heartening circumstances,  Lieutenant  Bczan  did 
not  lose  all  hope.  He  loved  her,  lowly  and  ob- 
scure though  he  was,  with  all  his  heart,  and  used 
to  whisper  to  himself  that  love  like  his  need  not 
despair,  for  he  felt  how  truly  and  honestly  his 
heart  warmed  and  his  pulses  beat  for  her. 

Nearly  two  entire  ycai-s  had  his  devoted  heart 
lived  on  thus,  if  not  once  gratified  by  a  glance 
from  her  eye,  still  hoping  that  devotion  like  his 
w^ould  one  day  be  rewarded.  T\niat  prophets  of 
the  future  arc  youth  and  love  !  Distant  as  the 
star  of  his  destiny  appeared  from  him,  he  yet 
still  toiled  on,  hoped  on,  in  his  often  weary  round 
of  duty,  sustained  by  the  one  sentiment  of  tender 
love  and  devotcdness  to  one  who  knew  him  not. 

At  the  time  of  the  fearful  accident  when  Kuez 
Gonzales  came  so  near  losing  his  life  from  the 
fall  he  suffered  off  the  parapet  of  the  Plato,  Lieu- 
tenant Bezan  was  officer  of  the  night,  his  rounds 
having  fortunately  brought  him  to  the  quay  at 
the  most  opportune  moment.  He  knew  not  who 
it  was  that  had  fallen  into  the  water,  but  guided 
by  a  native  spirit  of  daring  and  humanity,  he 
had  thrown  off  liis  coat  and  cap  and  leaped  in 
after  him. 

The  feelings  of  pleasure  and  secret  joy  expe- 
rienced by  the  young  officer,  when  after  landing 
from  the  boat  he  learned  by  a  single  glance  who 
it  was  he  had  so  fortunately  saved,  may  be  better 
imagined  than  described,  when  his  love  for  the 
hoy's  sister  is  remembered.  And  when,  as  we 
have  related,  the  prond  Senorita  Isabella  public- 
ly saluted  him  before  a  hundred  eyes  in  the 
Paseo,  he  felt  a  joy  of  mind,  a  brightness  of 
heart,  that  words  could  not  express. 

His  figure  and  face  were  such  that  once  seen 
their  manly  beauty  and  noble  outline  could  not  be 
easily  forgotten  ;  and  there  were  few^  ladies  in  the 
city,  whose  station  and  rank  would  permit  them 
to  associate  with  one  bearing  only  a  lieutenant's 
commission,  who  would  not  have  been  prond  of 
his  notice  and  homage.  He  could  not  be  igno- 
rant of  hi-  personal  recommendations,  and  yet  the 
young  officer  sought  no  female  society — his  heart 
knew  but  one  idol,  and  he  could  bow  to  but  one 
tlironc  of  love. 

Whetlier  by  accident  or  purposely,  the  lady 
herself  only  knew,  but  when  the  volante,  in  the 
circular  drive  of  the  Paseo,  again  came  opposite 
to  the  spot  where  Lieutenant  Bezan  was,  the 
Senorita  Isabella  dropped  her  fan  upon  the  car- 
riage-road. As  the  young  officer  sprang  to  pick 
it  np  and  return  it,  she  bade  the  calesaro  to  halt. 
Her  father,  Don  Gonzales,  was  by  her  side,  and 
the  lieutenant  presented  the  fan  in  the  most  re- 
spectful manner,   being  rewarded   by  a  glance 


from  the  lady  that  thrilled  to  Iiis  very  soul.    Don 
Gonzales  exclaimed : 

"By  our  lady,  but  this  is  the  young  officer, 
Isabella,  who  yesternight  so  promptly  and  gal- 
lantly saved  the  life  of  our  dear  Iluez." 

"  It  is  indeed  he,  father,"  said  the  beauty,  with 
much  interest. 

"Lieutenant  Bezan,  the  general  told  us,  I 
believe,"  continued  the  father. 

"  That  was  the  name,  father." 

"And  is  this  Lieutenant  Bezan'?"  asked  Don 
Gonzales,  addressing  the  officer. 

"  At  your  service,"  replied  lie,  bowing  respect- 
fully. 

"  Senor,"  continued  the  father,  most  caniestly, 
and  extending  at  the  same  time  his  hand  to  the 
blushing  r-oldier,  "  permit  me  and  my  daughter 
to  thank  you  sincerely  for  the  extraordinary  ser- 
vice you  rendered  to  us  and  our  dear  liuez  last 
evening." 

"  Senor,  the  pleasure  of  having  served  you 
richly  compensated  for  any  personal  inconven- 
ience or  risk  I  may  have  experienced,"  answered 
Lieutenant  Bezan  ;  saying  which,  he  bowed  low 
and  looked  once  into  the  lovely  eyes  of  the  beau- 
tiful Senorita  Isabella,  when  at  a  word  to  the 
calesaro,  the  volante  again  jiasscd  on  in  the  cir- 
cular drive. 

Bnt  the  young  officer  had  not  been  nnwatched 
during  the  brief  moments  of  conversation  that 
had  passed  between  him  and  the  occupants  of 
the  vehicle.  Scarcely  had  he  left  the  side  of  the 
volante,  when  he  once  more  met  General  Harero, 
who  seemed  this  time  to  take  some  pains  to  con- 
front him,  as  he  remarked  : 

"  What  business  may  Lieutenant  Bezan  have 
with  Don  Gonzales  and  his  fair  daughter,  that 
he  stops  their  volante  in  the  public  walks  of  the 
Paseo  V 

"  The  lady  dropped  her  fan,  general,  and  I 
picked  it  up  andreturned  it  to  her,"  was  the  gentle- 
manly and  submissive  reply  of  the  young  officer. 

"  Dropped  her  fan,"  repeated  the  general, 
snecringly,  as  he  gazed  at  the  lieutenant. 

"Yes,  general,  and  I  returned  it." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  commanding  officer,  with 
a  decided  empliasis. 

"  Could  I  have  done  less,  general  V  asked 
Lieutenant  Bezan. 

"  It  matters  not,  though  you  seem  to  be  ever 
on  hand  to  do  the  lady  and  her  father  some  ser- 
vice, sir.  Perhaps  you  would  relish  another  cold 
bath,"  he  continued,  with  most  cutting  sarcasm. 
"  Wlio  introduced  you,  sir,  to  these  people?" 

"No  one,  sir.  It  was  chance  that  brought  us 
together.  You  will  remember  the  scene  on  the 
quay." 

"I  do." 

"  Before  that  time  I  had  never  exchanged  one 
word  with  them." 

"  And  on  this  you  presume  to  establish  an  ac- 
quaintance ?" 

"  By  no  means,  sir.  The  lady  recognized  me, 
and  I  was  proud  to  return  the  polite  salute  with 
which  she  greeted  me." 

"  Doubtless." 

"  Would  you  have  me  do  othenvise,  sir  ?" 

"  I  would  have  you  avoid  this  family  of  Gon- 
zales altogether." 

"  I  trust,  general,  that  I  have  not  exceeded  my 
duty  either  to  the  father  or  daughter,  though  by 
the  tone  of  your  remarks  I  seem  to  have  incun-ed 
your  disapprobation,"  replied  Lieutenant  Bezan, 
firmly  but  respectfully. 

"  It  would  be  more  becoming  in  an  officer  of 
j'ourrank,"  continued  the  superior,  "to  be  nearer 
his  quarters,  than  to  spend  his  hours  off  duti,'  in 
so  conspicuous  and  public  a  place  as  the  Tacon 
Paseo.  I  shall  see  that  such  orders  are  issued 
for  the  future  as  shall  keep  those  attached  to  my 
division  within  the  city  walls." 

"  Whatever  duty  is  prescribed  by  my  superiors 
I  shall  most  cheerfully  and  promptly  respond  to. 
General  Harero,"  replied  the  young  officer,  as  he 
respectfully  saluted  his  general,  and  turning,  he 
sought  die  city  gates  on  the  way  to  his  barracks. 

"  Stay,  Lieutenant  Bezan,"  said  the  general, 
somewhat  nervously. 

"  General,"  repeated  the  officer,  witli  tlie 
prompt  military  salute,  as  he  awaited  orders. 

**  You  may  go,  sir,"  continued  his  superior, 
biting  liis  lips  with  vexation.  "Another  time 
will  answer  my  purpose  quite  as  well,  perhaps 
better.     You  may  retire,  I  say." 

"  Yes,  general,"  answered  the  soldier,  respect- 
fully, and  once  more  turned  away. 

Lieutenant  Bezan  was  too  well  aware  of  Gen- 
eral Harero's  intimacy  at  theliouse  of  Don  Gon- 
zales, not  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  re- 
buke and  exhibition  of  bitterness  on  the  part  of 


his  superior  towards  him.  The  general,  although 
he  possessed  a  fine  commanding  figure,  yet  was 
endowed  with  no  such  personal  advantages  to  I'cc- 
ommend  him  to  a  lady's  eye  as  did  the  young 
officer  who  had  thus  provoked  him,  and  he  could 
not  relish  the  idea  that  one  who  had  already  ren- 
dered such  signal  services  to  the  Senorita  Isabella 
and  her  father,  even  though  he  was  so  very  far 
below  himself  in  rank,  sliould  become  too  inti- 
mate with  the  family.  It  would  be  unfair  to- 
wards Lieutenant  Bezan  to  suppose  that  he  did 
not  i)ossess  sufficient  judgment  of  human  nature 
and  discernment  to  sec  all  this. 

He  could  not  but  regret  that  he  liad  incuiTcd 
the  ill  will  of  his  general,  though  it  was  unjustly 
entertained,  for  he  knew  only  too  well  how  rig- 
orous was  the  service  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
and  that  a  superior  officer  possessed  almcst  ab- 
solute power  over  those  placed  in  his  command, 
in  the  Spanish  army,  even  unto  the  sentence  of 
death.  He  had  too  often  been  the  unwilling 
spectator,  and  even  at  times  the  innocent  agent 
of  scenes  that  were  revolting  to  bis  better  feel- 
ings, which  emanated  solely  from  this  arbitrary 
power  vested  in  heartless  and  incompetent  indi- 
viduals by  means  of  their  military  rank.  Musing 
thus  upon  the  singular  state  of  his  affairs,  and 
the  events  of  the  last  two  days,  so  important  to 
his  feelings,  now  recalling  the  bewitching  glances 
of  the  peerless  Isabella  Gonzales,  and  now  ru- 
minating upon  the  ill  will  of  General  Harero,  he 
strolled  into  the  city,  and  reaching  La  Domini- 
ca's, he  threw  himself  upon  a  lounge  near  the 
marble  fountain,  and  calling  for  a  glass  o{  agrass, 
he  sipped  the  cool  and  grateful  beverage,  and 
wiled  away  the  hour  until  the  evening  parade. 

Though  Don  Gonzales  duly  appreciated  the 
great  service  tliat  Lieutenant  Bezan  had  done 
him,  at  sncli  imminent  personal  hazard,  too,  yet 
he  would  no  more  have  introduced  him  into  his 
family  on  terms  of  a  visiting  acquaintance  in 
consequence  thereof,  than  lie  would  have  boldly 
broken  down  any  other  strict  rule  and  principle 
of  his  ai'istocratic  nature ;  and  yet  he  was  not 
ungrateful.  Far  from  it,  as  Lieutenant  Bezan 
had  reason  to  know,  for  lie  applied  his  great  in- 
fluence at  once  to  the  governor-general  in  the 
young  officer's  behalf.  The  favor  he  demanded 
of  Tacon,  then  governor  and  commander-in-chief, 
■was  the  promotion  to  a  captaincy  of  him  who 
had  so  vitally  served  the  interests  and  welfare  of 
his  house. 

Tacon  was  one  of  the  wisest  and  best  governors 
that  Cuba  ever  had,  as  ready  to  reward  merit  as 
he  was  to  signally  punish  trickery  or  crime  of 
any  sort,  and  when  the  case  was  fairly  laid  before 
him,  bv  reference  to  the  rolls  of  his  military  sec- 
retary, he  discovered  that  Lieutenant  Bezan  had 
already  been  promoted  twice  for  distinguished 
merit,  and  replied  to  Don  Gouznlcs  that,  as  this 
was  the  ease,  and  the  young  soldier  was  found 
to  be  so  deserving,  he  should  cheerfully  comply 
with  his  request  as  it  regarded  his  early  promo- 
tion in  bis  company.  Thus  it  was,  that  scarcely 
ten  days  subsequent  to  the  meeting  in  the  Paseo, 
which  we  have  described,  Lieutenant  Bezan  was 
regularly  gazetted  as  captain  of  infantiy,  by  hon- 
orable promotion  and  approval  of  the  governor- 
general. 

Tills  good  fortune,  as  pleasant  to  him  as  it  was 
unexpected,  was  attributed  by  the  young  officer 
to  the  right  source,  and  was  m  reality  enhanced 
and  valued  from  that  very  fact. 

"  A  bumper,"  exclaimed  his  brother  officers, 
that  day  at  the  mess-table,  when  all  were  met. 
"A  bumper  to  Captain  Lorenzo  Bezan.  May 
he  never  draw  his  sword  without  cause ;  never 
sheathe  it  without  honor!" 

[to    be    COXTINUED.] 


TIBIE'S  PROGRESS. 

Alas  !  it  is  not  till  time  with  reckless  hand  has 
torn  out  half  the  leaves  from  the  book  of  human 
life,  to  light  the  fires  of  passion  with  from  day  to 
day,  that  man  begins  to  see  that  the  leaves  which 
remain  are  few  in  number,  and  to  remember 
faintly  at  fii'st,  and  then  more  cleaidy,  that  upon 
the  early  pages  of  that  book  was  i^Tittcn  a  story 
of  happy  influence  which  he  would  fain  read 
over  again.  Then  comes  listless  irresolution 
and  the  inevitable  inaction  of  despair;  or  else 
the  firm  resolve  to  record  upon  the  leaves  that 
still  remain  a  more  noble  history  than  the  child's 
story  with  which  the  book  began. — Longfellow. 


CRITICS. 

A  man  must  serve  his  time  at  every  trade, 
Save  censure ;  critics  all  are  readj"-made  : 
Take  hackneyed  jokes  from  Miller,  got  hy  rote, 
ivith  just  enough  of  learning  to  misquote  ; 
A  mind  well  skilled  to  forpe  or  tind  a  fault, 
A  turn  for  panning — call  it  Attic  salt — 
Fear  not  to  lie — H  viiW  seem  a  lucky  bit ; 
Shrink  not  from  blasphemy — 't  will  puss  for  wit ; 
Care  not  for  feeling,  pass  your  project  jest, — 
And  stand  a  critic^  hated  yet  caressed. 

Byron, 


GLEAS()N\S   PICTORIAL   DRAWII^G   ROOM    COMPANION. 


APPEARANCE    OF    THE    SEA  SEllPENT    WHEN    FIRST    SEEN    FROM    H.  B.  M.  SHIP    DiEDALUS. 


THE  GREAT  SEA-SERPENT. 

You  have  not  seen  his  snakeship,  perhaps  ? 
Well,  let  those  who  have  eyes  to  see,  see  him 
herewith — a  bona  fide  repi-esentation  of  a  most 
remarkable  creatm*e,  whose  htitural  propensities 
seem  to  lead  him  annually — -just  about  this  period 
of  the  year~-to  the  shores  of  Nahant  and  Cape 
Ann.  Last  year  he  visited  us,  and  year  before 
last ;  and  he  will,  beyond  a  doubt,  be  here  again 
this   year.     Of  course,  every  captain   that  sails 


out  of  Boston,  from  the  master  of  a  fishing 
smack  to  a  regular  liner,  has  seen  the  monster, 
and  very  many  are  the  wonderful  stories  they  re- 
late. That  there  is  such  a  creature,  however, 
there  can  be  but  little  doubt,  as  his  appearance 
has  so  often  been  alluded  to.  One  of  the  best 
descriptions,  and  on  the  very  best  authority,  is 
that  which  we  have  seen  in  the  report  of  an  Eng- 
lish officer  to  the  war  department  of  his  own 
country.     When   the  Dadalvs   frigate,   Captain 


M'Quhx,  which  aiTived  at  London,  not  long 
since,  was  on  her  passage  liome  from  the  East 
Indies,  between  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  and  St. 
Helena,  her  captain,  and  most  of  her  officers  and 
crew,  at  four  o'clock  one  afternoon,  saw  a  sea 
serpent.  The  creature  was  twenty  minutes  in 
sight  of  the  frigate,  and  passed  imder  her  quar- 
ter. Its  head  appeared  to  be  about  four  feet  out 
of  tlie  water,  and  there  was  about  sixty  feet  of 
body  in  a  straight  line  on  the  surface.     It  is  cal- 


culated that  there  must  have  been  mider  water  a 
length  of  thirty  or  forty  feet  more,  by  which  it 
propelled  itself  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  miles  an 
hour.  The  diameter  of  the  exposed  part  of  the 
body  was  about  sixteen  inches  ;  and  when  it  ex- 
tended its  jaws,  which  were  full  of  large  jagged 
teeth,  they  seemed  sufficiently  capacious  to  ad- 
mit of  a  tall  man  standing  upright  between 
them.  The  ship  was  sailing  north  at  the  rate  of 
eight  miles  an  hour-     The  Diedalns  left  the  Cape 


UWl 


TPE    l?]EA    SERPENT    PASSING    UNDER   THE    STERN    OF   THE   D^DALUS. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


HEAD    OF    THE    SEA    SERPENT    SEEN    BY    CAPT.    M'qUH.E. 


of  Good  Hope  on  the  30th  of  July  mid  reached 
St.  Helena  on  the  16th  of  August.  Next,  the 
foUowmg  very  interesting  report,  by  Captain 
M'Quhce,  was  forwarded  to  tlie  Admh'alty  : 

"  Her  Majesty's  Ship  Dicdalus,  Hamoaze,  Oct.  H. 

"  Sir  : — In  reply  to  your  letter  of  this  day's 
date,  rcc[uiring  information  as  to  the  truth  of  a 
statement  published  in  the  Times  newspaper,  of 
H  sea  serpent  of  extraordinary  dimensions  having 
been  seen  from  her  majestj-'s  ship  Dadalus,  un- 
der my  command,  on  her  passage  from  the  East 
Indies,  I  have  the  honor  to  acquaint  you,  for  the 
information  of  my  lords  commissioners  of  the 
admiralty,  that  at  5  o'clock,  P.  M.,  on  the  6th  of 
August  last,  in  latitude  24  degrees,  44  minutes 
south,  and  longitude  9  degrees,  22  minutes  east, 
the  weather  dark  and  cloudy,  wind  fresh  from 
tlic  nortlnvest,  with  a  long  ocean  swell  from  the 
southwest,  the  ship  on  the  port  tack  heading 
northeast  by  north,  something  very  unusual  was 
seen  by  Mr.  Sartoris,  midshipman,  i"apidly  ap- 
proaching the  ship  from  before  the  beam.  The 
circumstance  was  immediately  reported  by  him 
to  the  officer  of  tlie  watch,  Lieutenant  Edgai" 
Dnmimond,  wltli  whom,  and  Jlr.  William  Bai"- 
ret,  the  master,  I  was  at  the  time  walking  the 
quarter-deck.  The  ship's  company  were  at 
supper. 

"  On  our  attention  being  called  to  the  object, 
it  was  discovered  to  be  an  enormous  serpent, 
with  head  and  shoulders  kept  about  four  feet 
constantly  above  the  siu-face  of  the  sea  ;  and  as 
nearly  as  we  could  approximate  by  comparing  it 
with  the  length  of  what  our  maintopsail-yard 
would  show  in  the  watei-,  there  was  at  the  very 


least  sixty  feet  of  the  animal  a  fienr  (Peait,  no 
portion  of  which  was,  to  our  perception,  used  in 
propelling  it  throi\gh  the  water,  either  by  verti- 
cal or  horizontal  undulation.  It  passed  rapidly, 
but  so  close  under  our  lee  quarter  that  had  it 
been  a  man  of  ray  acquaintance  I  should  have 
easily  recognized  the  features  with  the  naked 
eye ;  and  it  did  not,  either  in  approaching  the 
ship,  or  after  it  had  passed  our  wake,  deviate  in 
the  slightest  degree  from  its  course  to  the  south- 
west, which  it  held  on  at  the  pace  of  from  twelve 
to  fifteen  miles  per  hour,  apparently  on  some 
determined  pui-pose. 

"  The  diameter  of  the  serpent  was  about  fifteen 
or  sixteen  inches  behind  the  head,  which  was, 
without  any  doubt,  that  of  a  snake  ;  and  it  was 
never,  during  tlie  twenty  minutes  that  it  contin- 
ued in  sight  of  our  glasses,  once  below  the  sur- 
face of  the  water — its  color  a  dai"k  brown,  with 
yelloAnsh-white  about  tlie  throat.  It  had  no  fins, 
but  something  like  the  mane  of  a  horse,  or  rather 
a  bunch  of  seaweed,  waslied  about  its  back.  It 
was  seen  by  the  quartermaster,  the  boatswain's 
mate,  and  the  man  at  the  wheel,  in  addition  to 
myself  and  officers  above  mentioned. 

"  I  am  having  drawings  of  the  sei7)ent  made 
from  a  sketch  taken  immediately  after  it  was 
seen,  which  I  hope  to  have  ready  for  transmis- 
sion to  my  lords  commissioners  of  the  admiralty 
by  to-morrow's  post.     I  have,  etc., 

"  Peter  M'Quh-e,  Captain. 

"  To  Admiral  Sir  W.  H.  Gage,  G.  C-  H." 

Dr.  Robert  Hamilton,  the  editor  of  the  Natu- 
ralist's Library,  describes  an  animal  apparently 
belonging  to  this  class,  which  was  stranded  on 


the  Isle  of  Stronsay,  one  of  the  Orkneys,  in 
1808.  It  was  first  seen  entire,  and  measm'ed  by 
reputable  individuals ;  and  its  remains  are  pre- 
served in  the  museum  of  the  university  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  in  the  museum  of  the  royal  college 
of  the  surgeons.  It  measured  fifty-six  feet  in 
length  and  twelve  in  circumference.  The  head 
was  small,  not  being  a  foot  in  length,  from  the 
snout  to  the  first  vertebra;  the  neck  was  slen- 
der, extending  fifteen  feet.  All  accounts  assign 
it  blow-holes.  On  the  shoulders,  something  like 
a  bristly  mane  commenced,  which  extended  to 
near  the  extremity  of  the  tail.  It  had  three  pair 
of  fins,  or  paws,  connected  with  the  body.  Dr. 
i"'leming  suggests  that  these  members  were, 
probably,  the  remains  of  pectoral,  ventral  and 
caudal  fins.  The  skin  was  smooth,  without 
scales,  and  of  a  gi-ayish  color.  The  eye  was  of 
the  size  of  the  seal's  ;  the  throat  was  too  naiTow 
to  admit  the  hand.  Various  other  accounts 
have  from  time  to  time  been  given  by  eye-wit- 
nesses, all  going  to  show  lliat  the  existence  of 
such  an  animal  may  be  considered  as  settled. 

The  dra^vings  refeired  to  in  the  above  l.'tter 
were  transmitted,  and  aix  here  given.  These  pic- 
tures represent  his  snakeship  in  various  states 
and  positions.  It  appears  that  he  is  no  modem 
invention  ;  for  as  early  as  1 740,  there  appeared 
accounts  of  those  who  had  seen  him.  Below, 
we  give  a  view  of  the  creature,  as  it  appeared  as 
seen  in  1740.  The  large  head  which  we  repre- 
resent  herewith,  is  very  like  a  seal's,  and  the 
body  generally  is  agile  and  eel-like.  The  divi- 
sions are  to  show  the  anatomical  form  of  the 
sea  serpent. 


THE    SEA    SERPENT. FAC-SIMILE   FROM    EGEDE's    WORK. 1740. 


GLEAS[)N'S    nC'TOPJAL   DRAAVIXG    nOO:M    CO^MPANION. 


[U'rltten  for  Olcnson'H  PictorJiil.] 
REIVIE:tlimANCE. 

BY  Wn.LIAM  W.  GlUDlKaB. 

I  'II  think  of  tliflo,  T  '11  thinli  of  theo, 
'W'lioti  morn  Il}<Iit;i  up  tlic  blushing  Hky  ; 

When  ovury  Mnl  in  on  it.t  wing, 
Autl  every  ihiImj  in  Ijciiting  high. 

1 11  thiiiU  of  tlu-o,  1  'II  thinlc  of  thco, 
Wlicn  hU  is  llri^;llt  in  nnturo'fl  bower; 

When  bri'iithcrt  her  frapa'ance  o'ov  tho  fl«n, 
And  joy  upcukH  forth  from  every  flower. 

3  'II  think  nf  theo,  1  '11  think  of  thee, 
When  ploiiflnre'H  cup  ia  flowiuR  nigh  ; 

When  every  heart  i.s  light  unci  free, 
And  hope  beams  fortli  from  bcauty'a  oyo. 

I  '11  think  of  thee,  I  '11  think  of  thco, 
When  evening's  qiiiot  hour's  caresB, 

Wakes  not  imoto  from  yonder  Ion, 
Antl  all  la  calm  on  natui-o's  breust. 

I  ni  think  of  thee,  I  'U  think  of  tlicc, 
When  autumn  strowH  the  forest  walk  ; 

When  sadness  marka  the  leiifloss  tree. 
And  sorrow  bows  the  withering  stalk. 

I  'II  think  of  thco,  I  "11  think  of  thee, 

"^^liero'or  1  tustc  of  soito.v's  eup  ; 
Then  will  I  turn  kind  thoughts  to  theo. 

Thy  thoughts  shall  buoy  my  spirit  up. 
i  — >*^  » 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE    LAZZARONI. 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  THE  CAREER  OF  ERA  DIAVOLO. 


BT   FRANCIS   A.   DURIVAGE. 

Among  the  many  foreigners  resident  at  Na^ 
pies,  in  the  year  IS — ,  was  a  young  American, 
by  tite  name  of  Walter  Randolph.  For  a  few 
weeks  after  his  arrival,  he  employed  himself  al- 
most "wlioUy  in  examining  the  marvels  of  tlio 
city  and  its  environs.  He  ascended  the  volcano 
more  than  once ;  he  wandered  whole  days 
among  the  vine-clad  hills ;  he  visited  the  famous 
grotto,  and  many  a  moonlight  night  he  passed 
upon  the  silver  waters  of  the  matchless  bay.  It 
was  on  one  of  these  aquatic  excursions  that  he 
was  happy  enoiagh  to  save  from  drowning  a  poor 
lazzaroni,  ■who  rejoiced  in  the  baptismal  name  of 
Carlo,  and  whose  gratitude  to  the  young  Ameri- 
cano was  boundless.  People  seem  to  value  their 
lives  in  exact  proportion  to  their  worthlessness. 
If  Carlo  had  tried  to  convince  a  French  philo;'0- 
pher  of  the  importance  of  his  preservation,  tlie 
Gaul  would  probably  hare  answered  that  he  did 
not  sec  the  necessity.  But  Randolph,  with  his 
poetical  euthusiasm,  could  easily  comprehend 
tlie  value  of  existence  to  so  poor  a  man  as  Car- 
lo, beneath  such  a  sky  as  tliat  of  Naples.  He  felt 
that  the  glories  of  that  transparent  atmosphere 
could  reconcile  the  lazzaroni  to  a  costume  of 
rags,  a  diet  of  maccaroni  and  nuts,  and  an  un- 
canopied  couch  upon  a  flight  of  steps  at  tlic  base 
of  a  noble's  palace. 

The  gratitude  of  the  rescued  man  was  bound- 
less; he  knelt  down  and  kissed  the  feet  of  the 
noble  "signer,"  the  "excellentissimo,"  and 
swore  etemal  fidelity.  The  American  regarded 
this  excessive  homage  with  some  contempt,  but 
he  pardoned  it  on  account  of  its  cliaracteristic 
nationality.  He  became  accustomed,  too,  to 
seeing  Carlo  sleeping  on  his  doorstep,  and  his 
daily  gratuities  to  the  hazzaroni  sustained  the  life 
lie  had  pi'cserved.  The  Kcapolitan  proved  an 
excellent  guide  in  the  city  and  its  environs,  and 
Randolph  had  no  reason  to  regrcthis  patronage. 
Carlo,  though  as  great  a  liar  as  the  rest  of  his 
trilie,  never  deceived  his  patron. 

At  last,  Randolph,  who  was  rich  and  without 
a  profession,  began  to  weary  of  his  idle  life,  and 
would  have  cpxitted  Naples  for  some  other  city, 
had  he  not  chanced  one  day  to  encounter  a  most 
eliarmiug  girl,  wh.osc  cxcpusite  figure  and  sweet 
face,  whose  dark  Italian  eyes, 

"  Sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen, 
Fiery,  loving  and  serene," 

made  him  give  up  instantly  a  projected  visit  to 
Rome,  unpack  bis  trunks  and  countermand  his 
vcttnrino. 

lie  fiew  to  Carlo,  and  described  the  beauty 
who  had  so  suddenly  captivated  his  imagination. 

''Pel'  Bacc/toT'  said  the  lazzaroni,  "  this  must 
be  no  other  than  Ninctta  CastclU,  the  daughter 
of  obi  Nicolo  Castelli,  a  retired  tradesman.  Ah! 
fhv  has  given  many  a  man  tlie  lieart-aclic,  sig- 
nor.  Hut  I  pray  your  excellency  to  dismiss  lier 
fitnn  your  mind," 

"Why  so,  Carlo?  Is  she  unwortliy  of  an 
honest  adiuiralion  '{" 

"Njt  so,  excellency.     She  is  ns  beaiiliful  as 


she  is  good — an  angel  of  virtue  and  charity.  But 
alas  !  she  is  doomed," 

"  To  the  convent !" 

**  No,  signor;  but  she  is  the  object  of  the  per- 
secutions of  Count  Fiiilto,  a  man  whom  she  as 
well  as  all  Naiiles  abhors.  He  is  powerful  and 
nndevolcnt.  Wo  to  the  man  who  presents  liim- 
seir  as  the  count's  rival !" 

"I  care  not  for  enmity,"  rei)lied  Randolph, 
wilh  a  scornrnl  lau;;h.  "  Ymi  have  given  mc 
only  an  additional  motive  for  courting  her  av- 
quaintancc — her  frieud-diip.    lias  she  !)rothcrs'f" 

"  She  has  no  friend  in  the  world  except  her 
old  father." 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  lives  V 

"  Surely,  signor,  I  were  no  Nea])olitan  else." 

"  Then,  Carlo,  to-night  you  shall  take  me  be- 
neath her  window." 

"  At  what  Iiour  ?" 

"  When  the  moon  rises." 

"And  where  .shall  I  meet  you,  signor?" 

"  Here  at  tJic  door  of  my  lodgings.'* 

"  I  will  not  fail,  excellency." 

The  intervening  time  passed  heavily  with 
Randolph.  The  little  that  had  fallen  from  the 
lazzai'oni  deepened  the  interest  he  Iiad  previous- 
ly felt  in  the  young  beauty.  Lovely,  ti-ue-iieart- 
cd,  the  object  of  an  unwelcome  suit,  the  romance 
of  his  wai'm  southern  nature  was  enlisted  in  her 
behalf 

At  the  appointed  hour,  taking  his  cloak  and 
guitar,  Randolph  followed  Carlo  to  the  hiunble 
residence  of  the  young  beauty.  It  was  a  deli- 
cious summer  night,  and  the  moon,  wliilc  it 
gilded  the  high  parapets  of  the  houses,  suffered 
all  beneath  to  repose  in  the  blackest  shadow. 

Randolph  touched  the  guitar  gracefully,  and 
sang  well  for  an  amateur.  His  serenade,  a  well- 
known  and  favorite  Neapolitan  air,  did  credit  to 
his  voice  and  skill.  At  its  conclusion,  a  lattice 
was  opened,  and  a  white  hand,  just  discernible 
in  the  reflected  moonlight,  tossed  him  a  fj-agrant 
orange  blossom.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and 
grateful  for  this  slight  token  of  interest,  retunied 
to  his  lodging  to  dream  till  daylight  of  Ninetta. 

The  very  next  day  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
secure  an  introduction  to  the  young  girl,  and  was 
as  much  delighted  with  her  intelligence  as  with 
her  beauty.  Day  after  day  he  sought  her  out, 
and  with  a  rapidity  that  sometimes  surprised 
him.self ;  liis  interest  ripened  into  warm  affection, 
which  was  reciprocated.  The  old  father  was 
gratified  by  the  engagement,  and  the  future 
seemed  to  smile  brightly  on  the  two  young  lov- 
ers. Even  Count  Fialto,  whom  Randolpli  once 
or  twice  encountered,  as  if  despairing  of  success, 
seemed  to  have  abandoned  the  field  to  his  foreign 
rival.     The  day  was  fixed  for  the  nuptials. 

One  afternoon,  Randolph  having  made  an  ex- 
cursion on  horseback,  in  the  environs  of  Naples, 
had  halted  in  the  shade  of  a  heavy  growth  of 
trees  that  skirted  the  road.  Ilere,  dismounting 
from  his  horse,  he  had  turned  him  loose  to  graze, 
and  stretched  upon  a  grassy  bank  was  musing 
over  his  approaching  happiness,  a  never-failing 
theme  of  meditation  to  a  young  man  in  ]iis 
position. 

Carlo,  who  always  accompanied  his  patron, 
running  by  Ids  stirrup,  or  holding  on  by  the  tail 
of  his  liorse,  had  also  imitated  Randolph's  ex- 
ample by  throwing  himself  at  full  length  upon 
the  grass,  only  he  selected  the  roadside  for  the 
place  of  his  repose,  for,  lazzaroni-likc,  he  ever 
preferred  the  sunlight  to  the  shade.  He  was 
just  sinking  into  a  luxurious  doze,  when  a  near 
footstep  startled  him.  Sitting  up,  he  beheld  a 
man  of  commanding  mien,  and  richly  attired, 
who  saluted  him  with  some  civility. 

"You  arc  Carlo,  the  lazzaroni,  I  believe?" 
said  the  stranger. 

"  Yes,  excellency." 

"And  attached  to  the  service  of  a  young 
American  by  the  name  of  Signor  Randolph  ?" 

"  I  have  that  honor,  excellency." 

"I  am  going  to  Naples  in  search  of  him," 
said  the  gentleman,  "  having  letters  of  introduc- 
tion fiom  his  friends  at  Rome.  Y'ou  will  please 
infonn  me  where  he  lodges." 

"  1  can  do  better  than  that,"  said  the  lazzaro- 
ni.  "  I  can  present  you  at  once  to  his  excellency." 

"Indeed  !"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  courteous 
smile,  "  that  is  an  unexpected  gratification." 

The  lazzaroui  rose,  and  led  the  stranger  into 
the  presence  of  liis  patron. 

"  Signor  Randolph,"  said  the  visitor,  "I  e.s- 
teem  myself  very  fortunate  in  meeting  you.  I 
am  the  bearer  of  a  letter  from  your  friend  AVil- 
son,  yonr  travelling  companion  ns  far  as  Rome," 
and  he  extended  a  letter. 

"Any  friend  of  Wilson's  is  mine,"  said  Ran- 


dolph, conrteoiisly  simking  hands  with  tlic 
Htrangcr,  and  then  glancing  at  the  letter.  "The 
Chevalier  Colonna,  I  perceive." 

"  That  is  my  name,"  said  the  stranger.  "1 
am  the  sole  rcjircsentativc  of  a  once  great  name. 
lint  wo  have  fallen  on  evil  days.  A  few  pictures 
and  a  ruined  palace  arc  all  tlint  remain  of  my 
once  i)rincely  patrimony." 

"  It  is  joy  and  pride  enough  to  be  a  native  of 
this  ^rlnrious  country,"  cried  Randolph,  entliusi- 
astically. 

Carlo,  the  introduction  finished,  retired  to  re- 
sume the  broken  thread  of  his  si'psfa. 

The  two  young  men  engaged  in  an  animated 
conversation — antiquities,  painting,  sculpture, 
music,  the  opera,  wore  discussed  with  taste  and 
interest.  Tlic  chevalier  was  so  fluent  and  fasci- 
nating that  time  rolled  on  unperceivcd,  till  Ran- 
dolph all  at  once  noticed  that  the  sky  was  grow- 
ing dark  with  night. 

"  It  is  time  we  shoidd  return  to  Naples,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  cried  tlio  stranger,  in  a  loud  voice, 
springing  to  his  feet.     "  The  hour  has  arriced!" 

In  an  instant  the  grove  was  filled  with  armed 
banditti,  and  the  muzzles  of  a  dozen  carbines 
were  levelled  at  the  head  of  tlie  American. 
Randolph  drew  a  pistol,  but  before  he  could 
cock  it,  it  was  snatched  from  his  hand  by  the 
chevalier. 

"Who  are  you,  scoundrel?"  cried  Randolph, 
in  choice  Italian. 

"You  are- complimentary,  excellency,  to  a 
gentleman  who  had  the  honor  of  an  introduction 
from  a  friend  of  yours." 

"  The  introduction  was  either  forged  or  stolen," 
retorted  Randolph. 

"  Right,"  replied  tlie  stranger. 

"  Of  course  you  are  not  the  Chevalier  Colon- 
na— " 

"  The  sole  representative  of  a  once  great 
name,"  interrupted  the  stranger,  laughingly 
quoting  his  own  words.  "No  more  than  you 
are,  signor." 

"  Then  who  arc  you  ?"  cried  Randolph,  stamp- 
ing his  foot  impatiently. 

The  stranger  raised  himself  to  his  fuU  height, 
and  fixing  his  eagle  glance  upon  the  young 
American,  replied: 

"  Men  call  me  Fra  Diavoh!" 

"  A  leader  of  footpads  and  cutthroats  !"  said 
Randolph,  scornfully.  "  Well,  the  chance  is 
yours.  Take  my  money  and  my  watch.  Here 
are  two  or  three  rings  of  value — take  all,  and  rid 
me  of  your  presence." 

A  crimson  glow  flushed  the  swarthy  cheek  of 
the  robber  at  the  first  words  of  his  prisoner,  and 
the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  convulsively  clutch- 
ed the  hilt  of  his  stiletto  ;  but  tlie  flush  passed 
away,  leaving  his  cheek  of  its  natural  sallow  hue, 
while  the  fire  in  his  eyes  gave  way  to  an  expres- 
sion almost  pensive  and  sad. 

"  Y'oung  man,"  he  said,  "it  is  evident  you 
know  me  not,  and  form  but  a  stranger's  estimate 
of  my  character.  I  am  no  footpad  or  assassin. 
If  I  were  the  first,  I  should  not  bid  you  retain 
your  property ;  if  I  were  the  second,  I  should 
not  withhold  the  command  to  fire.  Look  on 
these  men — every  eye  glances  along  a  carbine 
barrel  straight  to  your  heart;  there  is  a  finger 
on  every  trigger.  A  word  of  mine  would  con- 
sign you  to  instant  death  !" 

Fra  Diavolo,  for  it  was  indeed  that  celebrated 
bandit,  enjoyed  the  involuntary  shudder  which 
even  the  brave  Randolph  could  not  suppress  as  he 
marked  the  deadly  preparations  around ;  then,  at 
a  wave  of  his  hand,  the  robbers  recovered  their 
pieces, 

"  If  you  refuse  my  money,"  said  Randolph, 
"  you  will  suffer  me  to  mount  my  horse  and  re- 
turn to  Naples." 

"  Excuse  mc,"  said  Fra  Diavolo.  "  Y''ou  are 
a  gallant  young  fellow,  and  I  have  taken  a  fancy 
to  you.  You  must  up  with  me  to  the  mountains, 
and  see  how  we  Italian  outlaws  live." 

"Impossible!"  said  Randolph,  thinking  with 
agony  of  a  separation  from  his  betrotlicd  ;  "  there 
are  those  in  the  city  I  cannot  leave.  Hark  3'ou, 
I  am  rich ;  name  the  price  of  my  liberty,  and 
however  large  the  ransom,  I  will  send  it  }ou  by 
a  sure  hand." 

"  Who  will  be  your  messenger?"  asked  the 
robber  chief. 

"  Carlo,  the  lazzaroni." 

"  Umph !"  muttered  the  robber;  "lie  knows 
our  haunts,  for  we  have  trusted  him.  Go,  Mat- 
teo,"  he  added  to  his  lieutenant,  "  find  out  Car- 
lo, and  secure  this  gentleman's  horse,  and  bring 
them  both  hither." 

During  the  absence  of  his  ofllccr,  he  said,  ad- 
dressing his  prisoner : 


"Your  ofter  is  temjiting;  and  wci'c  I  alono 
concerned  in  this  affair,  I  might  accept  it.  But 
it  cannot  be.  In  fact,  your  liberty  wa.s  the  prize 
of  this  adventure.     You  must  go  with  us," 

"  Yon  have  an  accomplice,  then,"  cried  Ran- 
dolph, eagerly.  "Some  enemy  of  mine;  and 
yet  there  is  hut  one  man  at  Naples  I  can  suspect 
of  proninling  an  attempt  njmn  my  liberty.  Is 
it  Count  Fialto  ?" 

The  robber's  countenance  bore  the  keen  ficm- 
tiny  of  his  prisoner's  glance  without  quailing, 

"  Comit  Fialto!"  he  replied,  with  a  smile, 
"  Well,  yon  are  wicle  enough  of  the  mark," 

Here  the  lieutenant  returned,  out  of  breath. 

"Captain,"  said  he,  "Carlo  has  aliKcondcd, 
and  doubtless  earned  off  the  signer's  Iiorse,  I 
could  find  nothing  of  either." 

"  He  deserts  me,  too,"  thought  Randolph. 

"  Malediction  !"  cried  the  robber  chief,  "  No 
matter;  Carlo  is  true,  I  think.  But  we  must 
march,  comrades.  It  is  not  .safe  for  robbers  to 
remain  on  ground  where  cavalry  can  manoiuvre ; 
and  yet,  the  last  time  they  came  against  us,  Mat- 
teo,  we  emptied  a  few  saddles,  I  believe." 

The  lieutenant  smiled  grimly,  and  nodded  his 
head ;  and  then  the  robbers,  foiming  closely 
around  Randolph,  hurried  liim  along  through 
winding  paths,  till  they  began  to  ascend,  and 
were  soon  far  enough  from  the  city. 


The  following  morning  dawned  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  a  wild  eminence,  where,  amid  crags  and 
woods,  the  robber  chief  had,  like  an  eagle,  built 
his  mountain  nest.  The  banditti  were  sleeping 
on  their  arms,  except  a  few  who  were  posted  a.-s 
sentinels  at  various  points.  Fra  Diavolo  and 
his  prisoner  were  both  awake. 

"  You  made  but  a  sorry  meal  last  night,  sig- 
nor," said  the  chieftain.  "A  cup  of  wine  would 
have  cheered  up  your  spirits  ;  but,  to  say  the 
truth,  my  last  skin  was  exhausted  yestemoon." 

Randolph  made  an  inarticulate  reply,  for  his 
mind  was  far  away  with  Ninctta  in  her  lonely 
home. 

At  this  moment,  a  shrill  whistle  far  below  was 
answered  from  point  to  point,  as  if  by  the  moim- 
tain  echoes. 

The  next  moment,  emerging  from  a  wooded 
path,  a  male  and  a  female  peasant,  gaily  dressed 
in  their  lioliday  attire,  came  towards  the  chief- 
tain, bending  under  the  weight  of  heavy  wine- 
skins. 

"Halloo!"  cried  the  chieftain;  "come  you 
from  Mazetti  ?" 

"  Y^es,  please  your  excellency,"  cried  the  man. 

"  He  gave  you  the  passwords  ?" 

The  jieasant  nodded. 

"And  this  girl?" 

"  Is  my  sister,  please  your  excellency." 

"  A  right  comely  damsel,"  cried  the  robber. 
"  She  shall  give  me  a  kiss  ere  I  taste  her  wine," 

But  the  pea.<!ant  maid  shrunk  back,  and  clung 
trembling  to  her  brother. 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  the  robber;  "Fra  Diavolo 
never  forced  his  attentions  on  a  woman.  Y'"ou 
are  safe  here,  pretty  maiden,  as  in  your  own  cot- 
tage. What,  ho!  comrades;  up,  up,  here's 
wine  enough  for  all  I  But  hold,  fellow,  is  all 
safe  below?" 

"  Mazetti  bade  mc  tell  your  excellency  that  all 
is  quiet." 

"  Then  call  in  all  the  sentinels,  Matteo,  and 
let  us  be  mcny  together." 

The  robbers  grouped  themselves  together  on 
the  grass;  the  peasants  unpacked  their  stores, 
and  tlie  wine  and  jest  went  round  the  bandit 
group. 

What  was  there  in  the  air  of  the  peasant  girl 
that  sent  a  thrill  to  the  heart  of  Randolph  ?  Her 
hair,  unlike  the  raven  tresses  of  Ninetta,  had  the 
rich  auburn  hue  that  Titian  loved  to  paint;  her 
face  and  arms  were  sunburnt ;  but  there  was 
something  in  the  form  of  her  features — some- 
thing in  one  tender  glance  she  shot  upon  him 
that  reminded  him  of  his  beloved.  And  her 
companion  ;  he  was  trimly  dressed  and  neatly 
shaved,  and  yet  a  certain  something  in  his  air 
reminded  Randolph  of  Carlo. 

"  Y'ou  don't  drink,"  said  the  chieftain,  offer- 
ing Randolph  his  cup. 

"  I've  just  filled  for  the  signor,"  said  the  pea- 
sant girl,  putting  a  cup  in  Randolph's  hand.  In 
doing  so  she  stooped  and  whispered  in  his  ear; 
"Drink  none  of /(('i  wine.  I  will  take  care  of 
you." 

"  Yonr  health,  signor,"  said  Randolph,  bow- 
ing. 

"  My  pretty  maid,"  said  Fra  Diavolo,  gazing 
on  the  peasant  girl  with  admiration,  "  1  dispens- 
ed Willi  a  kiss  from  those  ros}'  lips;  bu  you 
must  pay  ibrfeit.     Y'ou  dance,  1  suppose?" 


GLEASON'S   riCTOPJAL   DRAAVITsTx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


"  Only  with  my  brother  here." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  robber.  "  Then  -while 
we  dnnk,  you  two  shall  dance.  What  shall  it 
bcl" 

"  The  Spanish  bolero,"  answered  the  peasant 
girl. 

"  As  for  music,"  said  the  brig:and,  "here's  a 
guitar,  hut  I  don't  know  the  bolero." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Randolph,  "but  if  you 
will  hand  me  the  instrument,  I  think  I  can  recall 
tixe  air." 

As  he  swept  his  fingers  over  the  strings,  the 
peasants  dashed  into  the  graceful  and  lively 
Spanl-^h  dance,  executing  it  to  the  admiration  of 
tlic  spectators. 

"Encora,  Encora!"  shouted  Fra  Diavolo. 
"  Once  more  the  bolero  !" 

"  Be  ready,"  said  the  peasant,  to  Randolph, 
"  to  commence  the  air  when  I  give  tlie  signal." 

"iVofC  (s  the  time!"  he  shouted,  in  a  loud  voice. 

In  an  instant,  twenty  carbineers  sprang  from 
as  many  points  of  the  surrounding  forest  on  tlie 
astounded  brigands.  The  robbei-s  seized  their 
arras  and  sprang  to  their  feet,  but  the  wine  they 
had  di-utdv  freely  had  been  drugged,  and  the 
shots  they  fired  were  wild  and  harmless.  Fling- 
ing down  their  carbines,  they  took  to  tlieir 
knives,  but  a  spell  seemed  playing  upon  them, 
and  their  poignards  fell  from  their  nerveless 
grasps.  Fra  Diavolo  alone  oft'ercd  a  desperate 
resistance. 

Early  in  the  conflict  the  peasant  had  seized 
Randolph,  and,  with  the  peasant  girl,  hunied 
him  to  a  place  of  comparative  safety. 

"  Excellency,"  said  the  peasant,  "don't  you 
know  mc  V 

■  "  That  voice !"  cried  tlie  bewildered  Randolph ; 
"  it  should  be  Carlo's." 

"  Yes,  excellency,  Carlo,  the  lazzaroni,  who 
sacrificed  his  darling  beard  and  rags  for  the  sake 
of  saving  you,  who  oven  w;ished  liimself  for  your 
sake,  excellency,"  he  added,  in  touching  allusion 
to  the  extent  of  his  sacrifice.  "  Wlien  I  found 
you  in  their  hands,"  he  added,  "  I  found  I  could 
do  nothing  better  than  carry  news  of  tlie  surprise 
to  the  city ;  so  I  mounted  your  horse  and  es- 
caped, I  warned  the  authorities,  but  it  was  too 
late  to  do  anything  that  night,  and  besides  I 
knew  enough  of  Fra  Diavolo  to  know  he  would 
not  harm  yon.  In  the  morning  the  commandant 
agreed  to  place  a  company  of  carbineers  under 
my  guidance.  I  knew  the  haunts  of  the  robbers, 
and  led  them  directly  to  the  spot." 

"  But  Ninetta — how  is  Ninetta  ?"  cried  Ran- 
dolph, eagerly. 

"Let  her  answer  for  herself,"  replied  Carlo, 
pointing  to  his  companion. 

She  had  torn  the  false  tresses  from  her  head, 
and  the  peasant  girl,  now  transformed  into  Nin- 
etta  Castelli,  stood  smiling  on  her  lover. 

"  And  you  could  dare  so  much  for  me !"  cried 
Randolph,  folding  her  in  liis  anns.  "  I  owe  you 
eternal  gratitude." 

The  conflict  had  now  ceased  ;  and  when  Ran- 
dolph and  his  companions  returned  to  the  scene 
of  action,  they  found  Fra  Diavolo  and  his  band 
in  the  hands  of  the  carbineers.  The  robber 
chieftain  cast  a  vcngefnl  and  menacing  glance  at 
Carlo,  but  refused  to  speak  a  word.  The  whole 
party  now  took  up  the  line  of  march  for  Naples, 
Fra  Diavolo  being  placed  in  the  centre  of  the 
column. 

On  the  tiial  of  the  celebrated  robber.  Count 
Fialto,  at  wliose  instigation  the  brigands  had 
carried  off  Randolph,  was  sufficiently  implicated 
to  secure  him  a  life-sentence  to  the  galleys.  Fra 
Diavolo  was  condemned  to  death,  but  on  the  eve 
of  the  execution  of  liis  sentence,  contrived  to 
effect  his  escape  and  retreat  to  the  mountains. 
By  many  it  was  thought  that  the  authorities, 
dreading  the  vengeance  of  his  comrades,  had 
connived  at  his  evasion. 

Randolph,  mamed  to  Ninetta,  returned  with 
his  bride  and  Iier  father  to  America,  whither 
Carlo,  the  lazzaroni,  accompanied  him  as  a  ser- 
vant. He  makes  a  very  acceptable  valet,  though 
he  is  somewhat  given  to  laTiiness  and  maccaroni, 
and  is  fond  of  telling  very  long-winded  stories 
of  adventures  in  the  environs  of  Naples.  Fra 
Diavolo  pursued  liis  career  for  some  years  long- 
er, but  was  finally  captured  and  condemned,  we 
believe,  to  imprisonment  for  life. 


I  have  seen  persons  who  gather  in  the  parlor 
choicest  flowers,  just  as  they  begin  to  open  into 
full  bloom  and  fragrance,  "lest  some  passer-by 
should  tear'  them  from  the  bu^h  and  destroy 
tliem.  Does  not  God  sometimes  gather  into 
heaven  young  and  innocent  children  for  the  same 
]Ta.=:on— lest  some  rude  hand  may  despoil  them 
of  their  beauty  ? 


[Written  for  Glcason^s  Pictorial.] 

THE   INDIAN   MAIDEN: 

— OR — 

KINDXESS   REWAEDED. 


BY    5IItS.    M.    E.    ROBINSON. 

About  the  year  1763,  the  celebrated  chieftain 
Pontiac,  with  a  large  number  of  warriors,  wo- 
men and  cliildren,  encamped  at  Detroit,  in  the 
vicinity  of  a  fort  garrisoned  by  three  hundred 
men,  and  commanded  by  Major  Gladwin.  From 
the  fii-st,  amicable  relations  had  been  established, 
and  so  raueh  friendliness  and  good  will  had  been 
manifested  on  the  part  of  the  Indians  that  tlie 
entire  confidence  and  trust  of  the  commander 
had  been  gained.  Unrestricted  trade  Avas  car- 
ried on,  for  the  former  brought  many  commodi- 
ties wliich  they  seemed  anxious  to  dirposc  of, 
and  which  were  not  unacceptable  to  the  garrison 
for  the  supply  of  their  wants. 

One  day,  soon  after  their  encampment.  Major 
Gladwin  was  within  the  fort,  conferring  with  one 
of  the  oflicei-s  respecting  a  measure  upon  which 
he  was  undecided,  when  a  messenger  from  their 
new  neighbors  was  announced.  Orders  were 
given  for  his  admittance,  and  immediately  a  tall, 
majestic -looking  Indian  made  his  appearance. 

"  What  does  my  red  brother  wish?"  said  the 
major,  after  the  usual  foniialilies  of  greeting  had 
been  interchanged. 

"  I  come  from  the  great  war-chief  Pontiac," 
he  replied.  "  Last  night  our  chiefs  and  waniors 
sat  long  over  the  council  fire.  Thej'  talked  of 
you,  brother." 

"  Return  my  thanks  for  the  remembrance," 
rejoined  Gladwin,  as  the  Indian  paused,  as  il' 
awaiting  some  reply. 

"  Tlie  great  chief  would  be  on  still  more 
friendly  terms  with  his  white  brothers.  He 
would  eat  with  him  ;  he  would  drink  with  him, 
and  with  him  would  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace," 
resumed  the  red  man.  "  He  is  not  unmindful  of 
the  kindness  of  the  pale  faces,  and  in  person 
would  make  new  promises  of  friendship,  and 
speak  his  thanks.  This  is  his  message.  Shall 
bis  wish  be  granted  V 

"  Assuredly,"  answered  the  commandant,  with- 
out the  least  hesitation.  "  I  am  grateful  for  this 
new  instance  of  fiiendship  on  tlie  part  of  your 
cliief,  and  willingly  assent  to  a  meeting  which 
will  tend  to  strengthen  the  bonds  of  brotherhood 
and  make  still  brighter  the  chaiu  of  peace  be- 
tween us.  To-monow,  at  ten,  we  will  be  in 
readiness." 

"  The  wliite  chief  is  good,"  said  the  Indian, 
with  dignity.  "  It  is  well ;  I  will  return  to  my 
people,"  and  turning  abruptly  he  left  the  fort. 

Major  Gladwin  congratulated  himself  on  this 
additional  instance  of  good  will  on  the  part  of 
Pontiac,  for  it  augured  well  for  the  future,  and 
he  knew  the  advantages  of  remaining  on  good 
terms  with  such  a  powerful  chief  too  well  to  let 
an  opportunity  pass  of  satisfying  them  of  his 
peaceable  intentions.  He  was  not  sorry  they 
were  to  meet,  as  he  surmised  such  a  measure 
could  not  have  otherwise  than  a  good  effect;  it 
would  indeed  "brighten  the  Ihiks  in  the  golden 
chain  of  peace,"  and  put  them  on  a  more  famil- 
iar footing  with  each  other. 

He  was  sitting,  engaged  in  tlicse  reflections, 
wlien  he  felt  a  liglit  touch  on  his  shoulder. 
Turning,  he  beheld  a  beautiful  Indian  maiden 
standing  quietly  by  liis  side. 

"  Ah,  Minnis  !"  he  exclaimed,  cordially  grasp- 
ing her  hand  and  smiling  a  welcome.  "How 
you  startled  mc  !  But  you  are  as  light  of  step 
as  ever ;  that  is  why  I  was  unaware  of  your 
presence.     TVTiat  news  to-day?" 

The  maiden  smiled  somewhat  sadly,  and  for 
answer  drew  a  pair  of  beautiful  moecasons  from 
beneath  lier  blanket,  and  with  native  grace,  ten- 
dered tliem  to  tlie  major.  On  a  previous  visit 
the  latter  had  shown  Minnis  a  curious  elk  skin, 
which  she  immediately  offered  to  form  into  some- 
thing useful  as  well  as  ornamental,  and  this  was 
the  result. 

"They  are  beautiful,  Minnis,  very  beautiful," 
said  the  commandant,  earnestly,  as  he  admiring- 
ly surveyed  the  ornamental  workmanship.  "I 
did  not  know  you  could  make  such  pretty  ones. 
I  fear  they  cost  you  much  time  and  labor." 

"If  they  plea.'^c  my  white  brother,  I  am  glad. 
It  was  the  best  the  poor  Indian  maiden  could 
do,"  she  replied. 

"  They  do  indeed  please  me,  and  I  only  fear  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  repay  you,"  added  the  ma- 
jor. And  saying  this,  he  attempted  to  place  a 
piece  of  money  within  her  hand.     But  slie  al- 


most indignantly  di-ew  back,  and  peremptorily 
refused  it. 

"Minnis  wishes  no  reward.  Tlie  white  chief 
has  been  kind  to  her,  and  the  red  maiden  can 
show  gratitude  as  well  as  her  white  sisters,"  was 
her  proud  rejily. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  will  not  receive  money,  I 
can,  at  least,  thank  you.  And  I  shall  insist  that 
you  keep  the  remainder  of  the  skin  which  you 
have  so  conscientiously  returned,  and  make  a 
pair  for  your  own  use,"  he  added. 

"  As  my  white  brother  pleases,"  was  the  brief 
reply,  as  she  mechanically  took  the  skin.  But 
the  Indian  maiden  seemed  reluctant  to  leave  the 
room  ;  her  movements  were  slow  and  unwilling, 
and  when  Gladwin  looked  up  and  found  himself 
alone,  he  could  not  but  remember  her  sad,  wist- 
ful, earnest  looks,  and  her  unusually  melancholy 
appearance.  This  was  unlike  her,  for  she  was 
generally  in  buoyant  spirits,  and  quite  talkative 
during  lier  visits  to  the  wliites.  The  major  had 
taken  an  unusual  interest  in  the  maiden,  for  she 
was  intelligent,  apt,  as  well  as  beautiful  in  per- 
son, and  manifested  an  uncommon  desh-e  to  ac- 
quire a  knowledge  of  civilized  life. 

As  night  came  on,  and  tlie  guard  (whose  bu- 
siness it  was  to  close  the  gates  and  see  that  no 
strangers  were  left  within),  were  performing  their 
duty,  word  was  brought  to  the  commandant 
that  an  Indian  woman  was  lurking  about  the 
fort.  He  directed  them,  in  some  sm*prise,  to 
conduct  her  to  his  presence,  which  was  immedi- 
ately done. 

"  Minnis !"  he  exclaimed,  in  astonishment.  "  I 
thought  it  was  a  stranger,  as  I  imagined  you  had 
left  some  hours  ago." 

"  It  is  only  me,  brother,"  she  replied. 

"  And  why  do  you  linger  1  The  gates  will 
soon  be  shut  for  the  night.  Can  I  do  aught  for 
you?"  asked  the  major,  kindly. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  take  away  the  skin,  as  the 
white  chief  values  it  so  highly,"  she  answered, 
with  evident  embaiTassmcnt. 

"  But  you  did  not  make  this  objection  before," 
he  added,  quickly.  "  I  do  not  quite  understand 
you,  Minnis." 

The  maiden  seemed  confused  at  this  remark, 
and  dropped  her  eyes  under  the  earnest  gaze  of 
her  interrogator. 

"  If  I  take  the  skin  away  to-night,  tlic  great 
captain  will  never  see  that  or  tlie  poor  Indian 
maiden  again,"  she  at  last  uttered,  after  a  most 
painful  pause. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  was  the  astonished  query. 

The  maiden  answered  not,  but  looked  quickly 
and  suspiciously  about  the  room,  and  then  with 
noiseless  step  crossed  the  apartment  and  closed 
the  door,  which  was  slightly  ajar.  This  done, 
she  returned  to  her  former  jjlace. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  this.  Your 
conduct  sadly  puzzles  mc,"  said  the  major,  who 
had  attentively  observed  all  these  singular  move- 
ments, and  thought  he  detected  a  desire  on  tlic 
part  of  Minnis  to  say  sonietliing,  were  she  not 
restrained  by  some  powerful  emotion.  "  Do  not 
fear  to  tell  me  anT,ihing  wliich  you  may  consider 
as  important  for  mc  to  know,  for  you  can  fully 
confide  in  me,"  he  added,  kindly.  "  You  may 
unhesitatingly  reveal  it,  and  will  run  no  risk  of 
betrayal." 

"  Did  not  one  of  my  people  visit  you  to-day  ?" 
she  asked,  still  looking  cautiously  around,  as 
though  expecting  one  of  her  tribe  to  rise  up  be- 
fore her  with  flashing  eyes  and  revengeful  looks. 

"  Yes ;  Pontiac  sent  a  messenger,  requcsthig 
to  meet  me  in  council,  for  the  purpose  of  strength- 
ening our  friendship,  and  to-morrow  was  named 
a  fitting  time,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"  It  is  a  plot ;  Pontiac  has  decreed  that  the 
pale  faces  shall  perish  before  another  sun  sinks 
in  the  west!"  she  whispered,  while  her  slioht 
figure  trembled  with  fear. 

"Tell  me  all — tell  me  quickly  !"  cried  Glad- 
win, much  excited.  "And  if  you  fear  harm, 
protection  and  safety  will  always  be  afforded  you 
here." 

"  To-morrow,  when  my  people  shall  come  to 
have  a  talk,  they  will  speak  fair,  but  yet  be  wary 
and  cunning  ;  and  if  my  white  brothers  be  not 
on  their  guard,  the  knife  and  tomahawk  will  do 
their  work  !"  said  Minnis,  in  a  low,  hunied  tone. 

"  And  is  there  not  some  signal  agreed  upon?" 
earnestly  asked  the  major. 

"  My  people  will  come  to  the  council  with  their 
guns  shortened,  that  tliey  may  conceal  them  be- 
neath their  blankets  ;  and  v^  hen  the  war-chief  is 
making  liis  speech,  and  draws  fortli  his  peace 
belt  of  wampum  and  presents  it  to  the  great  cap- 
tain, then  will  they  fall  upon  him  and  his  men." 

"  I  have  never  doubted  the  sincerity  of  your 


friendship  for  the  whites,  and  this  noble  instance 
of  fiiithfulness  confirms  it,"  added  Gladwin,  with 
much  feeling.  "  I  can  only  repeat  my  thanks 
for  the  important  service  you  have  rendered  me. 
Should  your  people  discover  that  you  liave  ever 
liintcd  this  thing  to  me,  I  tremble  for  your  safe- 
ty; you  will  have  nothing  to  hope  and  everv- 
thing  to  fear.  I  do  not  need  to  say  that  if  yon 
will  remain  with  us,  your  happiness  and  well 
being  will  be  my  care ;  and  if  you  go,  my  good 
wishes  will  go  with  you." 

"  I  will  go,"  replied  Minnis,  briefly  ;  and  after 
a  few  more  questions  on  the  part  of  the  major, 
she  was  conducted  without  the  fort,  and  the  gates 
securely  closed. 

After  imparting  this  important  discovery  to 
his  officers  and  men,  the  commandant  immedi- 
ately began  to  make  preparations  for  defence. 
He  repeated  as  much  of  the  plot  as  he  thought 
necessaiy  to  the  garrison,  and  instnictcd  them 
how  to  act  at  the  approaching  council.  He  also 
sent  messengers  to  all  the  traders  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  fort,  with  directions  to  be  upon  their 
guard. 

It  was  most  fortunate  that  he  liad  been  appria- 
ed  of  the  treacherous  plot  soon  enough  to  allow 
him  ample  time  for  preparation  ;  for  the  Indian 
girl  had  added,  as  she  left  his  presence,  that 
while  the  "  council "  was  sitting,  many  of  the 
warriors  would  assemble  within  the  fort,  armed 
alike,  on  the  pretence  of  trading.  Being  "fore- 
warned "  they  could  be  "  fore-armed,"  and  this 
could  be  prevented. 

Although  Major  Gladwin  had  no  particular 
fears  for  the  result,  yet  when  the  morning  dawn- 
ed, and  he  anxiously  cast  his  eyes  towards  the 
neighboring  encampment,  he  looked  ill  at  ease. 
In  fact,  every  countenance  wore  a  different  as- 
pect, and  uneasiness  of  mind  was  plainly  visible 
in  the  quick,  hun-ied  step  and  nervous  glances  ; 
though  it  liad  been  decided  that  they  should  ap- 
pear to  manifest  no  suspicion  in  the  presence  of 
the  Indians. 

Ten  o'clock  had  been  agreed  upon  as  the  hour 
for  the  council ;  and  as  the  hands  upon  the  dial 
indicated  its  nearness,  every  eye  was  turned  in 
the  direction  of  the  Indian  neighborhood. .  Punc- 
tual to  the  time,  Pontiac,  witli  his  thirty-six  chiefs 
and  a  long  train  of  warriors,  made  their  ajapear- 
ance.  Gladwin  received  them  with  his  usual 
urbanity,  and  when  a  stipulated  number  had  en- 
tered, the  gates  were  closed. 

Pontiac  seemed  somewhat  sui-prised  at  per- 
ceiving the  troops  under  arms,  and  keenly  scru- 
tinized them,  looking,  as  the  commandant 
thought,  slightly  disappointed. 

"  Why  does  the  big  captain  make  so  much 
parade  ?"  asked  the  chief,  of  Gladwin.  "  I  come 
to  talk  and  smoke,  not  to  fight  with  my  white 
brothers." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  answered  the  major, 
blandly.  "  But  the  great  chief  knows  that  the 
men  must  be  exercised  in  time  of  peace  as  well 
as  in  war." 

Pontiac  bowed  gravely,  seeming  satisfied  with 
the  answer,  the  major's  frank  demeanor  left  no 
room  for  suspicion.  After  the  customarv  cere- 
monies, Pontiac  commenced  his  speech,  and 
after  a  long  tirade,  highly  complimenting  the 
whites,  and  hoping  for  a  continuance  of  their 
friendship,  he  lowered  his  hand  to  give  the  desig- 
nated signal — that  of  drawing  forth  tlie  belt  of 
wampum. 

At  that  instant  the  chief  looked  up,  and  dis- 
covered the  major  and  his  attendants  in  the  act 
of  drawing  their  swords  from  their  scabbards ; 
while  the  ti'oops,  clenching  their  guns  with  finn- 
ness,  and  assuming  attitudes  of  defence,  assured 
him  that  his  well  laid  plot  was  suspected,  if  not 
entirely  understood.  With  all  his  bravery,  the 
chieftain  became  confused,  while  every  Indian 
showed  unmistakable  signs  of  astonishment. 

Finding  tiie  scheme  brought  to  light,  and  wish- 
ing to  avoid  an  open  discovery,  the'  ceremony  of 
passing  the  belt  was  omitted,  and  Pontiac  closed 
his  speech  with  many  profes:.ions  of  friendship 
for  the  English. 

The  commandant  arose  to  reply.  He  did  not 
reproach  Pontiac  for  his  treachery,  but  frankly 
told  him  he  could  not  ensnare  tliein  ;  they  knew 
his  whole  plan,  and  were  prepared  for  any  emer- 
gency. 

The  chief,  now  that  he  had  regained  his  pres- 
ence of  mind,  endeavored  to  excuse  himself,  and 
convince  the  major  that  they  were  still  good 
friends  to  the  whites,  and  wished  to  remain  so. 

The  latter  made  no  reply ;  but  stepping  to  the 
_^ warrior  next  him,  drew  aside  his  blanket,  and 
-pointed  to  the  short  gun  which  thus  became  ex- 
posed. This  silent  proof  of  their  faithlessness 
was  so  evident  that  it  covered  them  with  confusion. 

Gladwin  ordered  Pontiac  to  leave  tlie  fort,  or 
he  would  not  answer  for  the  consequences,  as  the 
indignation  of  the  garrison  had  alreadv  begun  to 
manifest  itself.  The  chief,  with  his  discomfited 
followers,  did  not  wait  for  a  second  permission, 
but  quickly  departed  without  a  word.  As  the 
last  disappeared,  and  the  gates  were  onec  more 
securely  fastened,  a  sensation  of  gratitude  filled 
every  heart  within  the  walls  of  tlie  fort.  Nor 
did  they  forget  thatthey  owed  their  almost  mirac- 
ulous escape  from  certain  death  to  Miuufs,  the 
red  daughter  of  the  forest. 


GLEASON'S    PlCTOrJAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


JAP/VNESE   MARRIAGE    CEREMONIES. 


CUSTOMS  AND  COSTUIVIES  OF  JAPAN. 

At  the  present  moment,  wlien  the  empire  of 
Japan  and  its  people  have  been  brouoht  so  prom- 
inently before  the  attention  of  the  pnblie,  through 
the  action  of  the  government  ofthc  United  States 
in  sending  an  armed  expedition  to  endeavor 
to  open  the  ports  of 
that  nation  to  our 
commerce,  it  is  -with 
pleasure  that  we  pre- 
sent to  om-  readers  a 
series  of  views  illus- 
trative of  the  customs 
of  that  most  singular 
people.  It  must  be 
borne  in  mind  that 
information  in  regard 
to  the  Japanese  is 
difficult  to  be  had, 
from  the  fact  that  their 
ports  are  liermetically 
sealed  against  the  en- 
trance of  foreigners, 
so  that  we  possess  lit- 
tle that  is  reliable. — 
The  following  state- 
ments may,  however, 
be  regarded  as  au- 
thentic. The  Japan- 
ae  are  a  mixed  race 
of  Mongul  and  Malay 
origin.  Their  lan- 
guage is  polysylla- 
bic, and  has  an  alpba- 
"bet  of  forty-seven  let- 
ters, which  are  written 
in  five  different  forms, 
one  of  which  is  used 
exclusively  by  the 
men,  and  another  by 
the  women.  The  peo- 
ple of  this  nation  are 
well  made,  active,  free 
and  easy  in  their  mo- 
tions, and  stout  limb- 
ed. The  men  are  mid- 
dle sized,  and  in  gen- 
eral not  corpulent, 
yellow  eonii)lexions, 
oblong  black  eyes, 
which  are  deeply  sunk 
in  the  head ;  short 
and  flat  noses,  broad 
head  and  black  hair. 
Tliey  arc  said  to  be 
an  intelligent  and  pro- 
vident people,  inquisi- 
tive and  ingenious, 
frank  and  good  liu- 
morcd,  upright  and 
honest,  brave  and  un- 
yielding, capable  of 
concealing  their  feel- 
ings in  an  extraordi- 
nai*y  degree,  but  dis- 
trustful, proud,  unfor- 


giving and  revengeful.  The  accompanying  il- 
lustrations will  give  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial 
a  general  idea  of  the  customs  and  manners  of 
the  people  and  of  their  agi-icultural  pursuits. 
The  first  of  the  series  is  a  representation  of  their 
marriage  ceremony.     The  bride  and  groom  are 


seen  within  a  small  temple  erected  over  a  gro- 
tesque idol,  who  holds  in  his  hand  a  chain,  sym- 
bolical of  the  binding  obligation  of  matrimony. 
In  their  hands  they  hold  burning  tapers,  which 
are  crossed  in  front  of  the  priest  who  is  perform- 
ing the  ceremony.     On  the  right  of  the  temple  is 


METIIOU    OF    AGEICULTUllE    AMONG    TIIE    JAPANESE. 


seen  the  dignitary  who  gives  away  the  bride,  and 
his  attendants.    "On  the  left  are  a  party  of  musi- 
dam,  who  are  perfonnmq  upon  gongs  and  other 
musical  instruments  ;  while  in  the  foreground  aro 
a  party  of  friends  offering  up  sacrifices  to  propi- 
tiate  the   god   or  idol.     Two  figures  are  repre- 
sented   bearing   aloft 
the   emblems   of   the 
woman's     duty     and 
obedience,  in  a  rude 
spinning    wheel    and 
staff.     On  the  left  is 
represented  their  \^'ay 
-,—  _-^  of  ti-avcUing,  on  the 

"  backs  of  oxen,  and  in 

rude  carts,  horses  be- 
ing very  scarce.  Their 
maiTiages  are  con- 
ducted with  many  ri- 
diculous ceremonies. 
The  emperor  gives 
the  brides  to  the  lords, 
who  peifonn  the  same 
office  for  their  vassals 
AVives  are  purchased 
of  their  relations  like 
cattle,  and  have  no 
more  choice  of  mas- 
ters than  they;  hence 
a  large  family  of 
daughtei-s  are  an  ex- 
cellent stock  in  trade 
to  their  parents  or 
guardians.  Afcer  the 
jjerformance  of  the 
ceremony,  shown  in 
the  engraving,  the 
party  proceeds  to  tiic 
house  of  the  groom, 
where  he  most  com- 
monly sees  his  wife's 
face  for  the  fii"st  time, 
it  havmg  been  closely 
veiled  until  now.  Her 
teeth  are  now  dyed 
black,  and  (in  some 
parts  of  the  empire) 
her  eyebrows  are  sha- 
ved off",  and  after  fes- 
tivity and  feasting  she 
is  waited  upon  to  her 
apartments,  where  she 
ever  after  remains  in  a, 
great  measure  seclud- 
ed from  the  world. 

Great  attention  is 
paid  to  agriculture 
among  the  Japanese, 
and  it  meets  with  con- 
siderable encourage- 
ment from  govcrr- 
ment.  Kice  is  the 
principal  grain,  wheat 
and  the  other  corial 
grains  being  but  little 
grown ,     0\\  the  other 


GLEASON'S    PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   EOOM    COMPANION. 


9 


JAPANESE   MAN    AND    AVOMAN  OF  RANK. 


JAPANESE    COUNTRY    PEOPLE. 


plains  trenches  are  dug  at  right  angles  and  intersecting  cacli  other,  for  the 
pui-posc  of  thoroughly  irrigating  the  land.  The  rice  is  planted  in  April, 
in  beds  between  the  trenches,  and  is  gathered  in  November,  and  from  the 
thorough  and  unniitigating  attention  given  to  its  culture,  yields  a  large 
and  highly  remunerative  crop,  liice  is  to  the  Japanese  what  potatoes  are 
to  the  Irish,  and  com  to  the  Yankee — his  staple.  Every  inch  of  ground, 
even  to  the  sides  of  steep  mountains,  are  rendered  available  by  building- 
stone  walls,  which  are  filled  in  "with  earth  until  they  present  level  plat- 
forms, whereon  their  gardens  arc  planted.  Our  second  illusti-ation  repre- 
sents their  mode  of  plowing  and  threshing,  the  latter  operation  being 
sometimes  pevfonned  by  beating  the  grain  against  upright  posts,  and  at 
others  by  being  threshed  on  mats  with  a  flail  having  three  swingles.  In 
the  background  is  represented  a  steep  acclivity,  on  the  sides  of  which  may 
be  seen  some  of  the  artificial  gardens  above  noticed. 

The  dress  of  the  Japanese  consists  generally  of  a  short  upper  garment 
with  wide  sleeves,  and  a  long  under  dress  reaching  to  the  heels,  after  the 
fashion  of  ladies  of  our  own  land,  except  that  they  are  not  so  full, 
which  renders  the  action  of  their  lower  limbs  very  much  constrained. 
Great  pains  arc  taken  with  the  hair,  which  is  oiled  and  gathered  in  a  tuft 
on  the  top  of  the  head.  The  only  difference  between  the  costume  of  tlic 
upper  and  lower  classes  is  that  the  gai-ments  of  tlie  former  are  of  silk, 
beautifully  embroidered,  while  those  of  the  latter  are  of  coai'se  stufi^,  and 
allow  of  more  freedom  of  movement.  The  accompanjnng  cuts  represent 
a  man  and  woman  of  high  rank,  and  two  rustiL:?,  on^.  of  whom  is  mounted 
on  a  species  of  buffalo,  which  is  much  used  by  the  lower  classes  as  a  beast 


JAPANESE    PRAYING  MACHINE. 


of  burden.  The  Japanese  wear  no  hats,  except  the  higher  orders,  who 
when  exposed  for  any  time  to  the  sun's  rays,  are  accompanied  by  a  ser- 
vant, who  carries  a  conical  cap  made  of  paper,  as  shown  in  the  engraving, 
which  covers  the  upper  part  of  their  master's  or  mistress's  person. 

Our  small  illustration  represents  the  praying  machine  of  the  Japanese. 
Every  mountain,  hill  or  clift"  on  the  high  road  is  consecrated  to  some  di- 
vinity, and  travellers  in  passing  these  arc  compelled  to  repeat  several 
prayers  at  each.  To  save  time,  however,  an  ujjright  post  is  erected,  in 
the  upper  end  of  which  is  an  iron  plate,  on  which  prayers  are  engraved, 
and  which  turns  like  a  sheave  in  a  block.  To  turn  this  round  is  equiva- 
lent to  repeating  the  prayer.  Hence  a  person  with  a  powerful  arm  can 
repeat  any  number  of  prayers  by  giving  the  plate  a  vigorous  turn. 

The  funeral  ceremony  of  the  Japanese  difl^ers  but  little  from  many  other 
Oriental  nations.  When  a  prince  or  great  man  dies,  it  is  customary  for 
ten  or  twenty  youths,  who  were  members  of  his  household,  to  put  them- 
selves to  a  voluntary  death  at  the  place  of  burning.  The  funeral  pile 
consists  of  odoriferous  woods,  gums,  spices,  oils,  etc.,  and  as  soon  as  it  is 
liglited,  the  relatives  and  friends  cast  upon  it  offerings  of  clotlis,  arms, 
food,  money,  flowers,  etc.,  imagining  they  will  be  of  some  service  to  the 
dead  in  the  other  world.  The  mausolea  in  which  the  ashes  of  the  o-reat  are 
deposited,  are  generally  very  magnificent,  and  arc  situated  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  towns.  One  of  them  is  shown  in  the  background  of  the 
ilhistration  below.  The  middle  and  lower  orders  bury  their  dead  with  no 
other  ceremonies  than  burning  some  odoriferous  woods  and  giims  Period- 
ical visits  are  paid  to  the  tombs,  and  festivities  are  held  in  honor  to  the  dead. 


FUNERAL  CEREMONIES  OF  THE  JAPANESE. 


10 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  GIcoboq'a  Pictorliil] 

MATT1IP]W   ALWIN: 

— OH — 

TTTK    ADDUCTION. 
A   TALE    OF   NAPOLEON'S   TIME. 

BT  E.  CUnT188  HINE,  U.  3.  N. 

Little  (lidst  thou  (Ircftin,  when  dnflhing 
Oil  tliy  wai'-linrw  tln■oll^'ll  the  mnkfl, 
Liko  n  Htrotmi  wliirh  burnt  its  biinkfl, 

■\Vliil.-  h.-lmi'ls  rlrl't,  iiiul  HiiliruH  i'lnntiliie, 
.Sliiiiir  :ii)<l  ."liivi'i'i'il  I'liMt  ai-ounil  tlicc, 
Of  till'  fiito  lit  Inst  wliich  foimil  thco. — Byron. 

It  WU3  ii  wild  mid  rug:god  scene  among  tlie 
pourinp:  Alps.  A  dark  ravine  or  f^orgc  ivoniid 
like  some  immense  serpent  among  tlic  overhang- 
ing erags  and  jutting  cliffs,  ■which  frowned  upon 
tlie  plain  that  stretched  fur  away  into  the  dim 
horizon  of  "  la  belle  France."  Many  a  wild  cas- 
cade rushed  with  impetuous  force  adown  the 
granite  sides  of  the  vast  mountain,  and  their 
hoarse  voices  rose  upon  the  air  like  the  low  growl 
of  distant  thunder,  and  resounded  among  the 
echoing  caves  and  sunless  glens  with  a  hollow 
and  unearthly  roar. 

At  the  bottom  of  tliis  winding  ravine  a  rugged 
road  had  been  shaped  by  the  hands  of  that  great 
army  which  the  eagle-eyed  Napoleon  was  now 
lending  on  to  crush  )us  Austrian  foes.  It  was  in 
this  place  but  a  narrow  pathway,  from  which  the 
rocks  had  been  with  immense  labor  rolled  down- 
ward to  the  plain,  but  itcnabled  the  armed  hordes 
who  bore  the  eagles  of  the  young  republic  to  pass 
onward  to  the  scene  of  strife  and  the  field  of  fame 
and  glory.  Even  now,  the  countless  legions  of 
the  great  army  of  Italy  had  crossed  by  means  of 
this  rugged  pathway  the  snow-crowned  summit 
of  the  Alps,  and  were  encamped  ou  the  other 
side,  from  which  towering  height  their  young 
leader  could  look  downward  upon  the  vine-clad 
hills  and  vales  of  the  land  of  promise.  Immense 
forests  of  heavy  timber  prevented  his  troops  from 
being  discovered  in  their  encampment  by  the 
enemy,  and  the  Frenchmen  were  now  enjoying 
a  season  of  repose  from  their  severe  toil,  ere  tliey 
descended  the  steeps  of  the  mountain  and  pounced 
upon  their  prey. 

It  was  near  the  sunset  of  a  gusty  day,  and 
shadows  already  began  to  settle  upon  the  dark 
ravine  which  furrowed  the  side  of  the  towering 
Alps.  A  solitary  horseman  slowly  advanced 
along  the  pass,  evidently  with  the  intention  of 
reaching  a  small  inn  which  an  adventurous  Sa- 
voyard had  erected  some  three  miles  up  the  wind- 
ing ascent  of  the  mountain.  He  was  a  man  ap- 
parently in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  life,  with  a 
frame  at  once  sinewy  and  hardy,  and  his  features 
were  regular  and  pleasing.  The  eye  in  particu- 
lar, black  and  flashing,  was  extremely  fine ;  and 
his  whole  appearance  was  that  of  a  man  who 
would  not  shrink  from  danger,  should  it  choose 
to  cross  his  path.  He  was  dressed  in  a  plain  suit 
of  black  cloth,  with  no  ornament  save  a  droop- 
ing ostrich  plume  in  his  round  hat,  but  suspended 
from  a  belt  around  his  waist  was  a  heavy  sabre, 
which  jingled  in  its  iron  scabbard  as  the  steed 
picked  his  way  along  the  rocky  and  uneven  road. 

"Well,  by  Jove!  I  must  be  near  the  spot, 
judging  from  the  description  given  me  at  St. 
C}T.  But  it  seems  as  if  I  was  never  to  come  to  a 
stopping-place,"  soliloquized  the  horseman,  at  the 
same  time  gazing  anxiously  through  the  thick 
forest  trees  that  hemmed  him  in,  and  along  the 
narrow  and  winding  road  as  far  as  circumstances 
would  permit ;  "  if  I  should  not  succeed  in  reach- 
ing the  inn  to-night,  I  should  be  compelled  to 
camp  out  here  under  the  trees,  with  the  blue  sky 
for  an  overcoat.  A  mighty  chilly  one  it  would 
prove  to  me,  too,  if  I'm  not  mistaken.  But  hal- 
loo !  who  comes  here  ?" 

This  interrogation  was  elicited  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  another  horseman,  slowly  descend- 
ing the  rugged  mountain  road,  and  who  had  just 
come  into  view  by  an  abnipt  turn  of  the  thor- 
oughfare. The  new-comer  was  mounted  on  a 
spirited-looking  horse  but  apparently  jaded,  for 
he  hung  his  head  and  plodded  onward  as  if  the 
reminiscence  of  a  comfortable  stable  was  flitting 
before  his  vision,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other 
object,  for  he  frequently  stumbled  against  the 
points  of  rocks  which  the  sappers  of  the  army 
had  not  entirely  removed  fiom  the  road.  Tlic 
rider  was  a  young  man  ;  to  judge  from  his  ap- 
pearance, not  move  than  six  or  scvcn-and-twonty 
years  of  age,  and  he  sat  erect  in  his  saddle,  as  if 
accustomed  to  its  use.  His  lithe  and  agile  form 
was  closely  enveloped  in  a  huge  gray  overcoat 
buttoned  to  the  chin,  whieh  completely  hid  hi.s 
imder  garments  from  obseiwation  ;  but  his  top- 
bootH  drawn  over  his  trousers,  and  his  gilded 


spurs,  bespoke  him  a  man  of  some  little  property, 
for  none  but  the  wealthier  classes  at  tliat  peiiofl 
indulged  in  such  luxuries  as  long  boots.  On  his 
Jiead  was  set  n  little  jaunty  three-cornered  hat, 
entirely  devoid  of  ornament,  and  in  one  of  his 
gloved  hands  he  bore  a  heavy  riding  whip,  while 
the  other  grasped  in  a  careless  manner  the  reins 
of  the  bridle.  His  features,  without  being  abso- 
lutely handsome,  were  eminently  striking,  and 
the  broad,  open  brow,  though  partly  shaded  by 
the  little  cocked  hat,  looked  as  if  it  contained  no 
little  intellect.  It  was  not  long  ere  the  two  triiv- 
cllcrs  met. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  my  friend,"  inquired  the 
first  of  these  horsemen,  thus  introduecd  to  the 
reader,  "how  far  it  may  chance  to  be  to  a  little 
inn,  kept  by  one  Monsieur  La  Grange,  I  think 
they  call  him  !  I  have  been  expecting  to  reach 
the  place  for  the  last  hour,  but  I  sec  no  signs  of 
it  as  yet." 

*'  Hum  !  it  seems  we  arc  in  the  same  predica- 
ment," replied  the  other.  "  I,  too,  am  desirous 
of  finding  that  inn,  but  I  think — nay,  I  am  al- 
most certain  that  I  have  passed  it.  I  am  some- 
what subject  to  fits  of  absent-mindedness,  and 
albeit  I  am  very  anxious  to  reach  my  goal,  I'll 
wager  ray  life  that  I  am  now  some  distance  be- 
yond it.  I  have  overshot  my  mark.  If  you  are 
intending  to  stop  for  the  night  at  the  same  place 
I  will  turn  about,  and  we  will  journey  together 
to  the  spot." 

*'  I  should  be  happy  to  do  so,"  replied  the 
other ;  and,  spurring  their  wearied  steeds,  the 
two  riders  advanced  side  by  side  along  the  nar- 
row, steep  and  rugged  pathway. 

'*  It  was  a  grand  undertaking  on  the  part  of 
Napoleon,  to  construct  this  road  over  the  Alps," 
said  the  first  horseman,  "  and  it  seems  as  if  that 
young  man  is  destined  to  make  his  mark  before 
he  dies." 

"  Ah !  you  think  so,  do  you "?  "  replied  the 
other,  bending  his  bright,  keen  eye  upon  him ; 
"  and,  pray,  what  may  liavc  induced  you  to  come 
to  that  conclusion  ?" 

"  His  bravery  in  quelling  the  revolt  of  the  sec- 
tions in  Paris,  and  his  genius  as  exhibited  upon 
the  bui-ning  plains  of  Eg'^qit,  where  the  silent  pyr- 
amids resounded  to  tiie  voice  of  his  heavy  can- 
non, and  his  victorious  army  nished  upon  the 
terrified  Mamelukes  like  some  mighty  river  that 
has  burst  its  banks." 

"  You  seem  to  be  an  admirer  of  Bonaparte," 
diyly  remarked  he  of  the  gray  coat. 

"  Do  1 1  Perhaps  if  you  knew  all  3'ou  would 
not  speak  so  confidently  in  regard  to  the  matter. 
So  far  from  admiring  him,  although  I  honor  his 
genius,  I  have  reason  to  hate  and  despise  him 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Is  he  not  the  en- 
emy of  my  country  V 

"  Your  country !"  replied  the  other,  in  a  tone 
of  amazement;  "surely  you  are  a  Frenchman, 
and  Napoleon  never  could  prove  an  enemy  to 
France." 

"  You  think  me  a  Frenchman,  because  I  speak 
the  language  so  fluently,  but  I  am  an  English- 
man, and  am  on  important  business.  In  fact  I 
have  been  selected  for  the  duty  in  hand  princi- 
pally because  I  have  such  a  perfect  knowledge 
of  the  Gallic  tongue." 

"  And  what  might  this  important  business  be  ?" 
inquired  the  other,  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon 
the  Englishman. 

"Ah  !  tluit's  a  secret  which  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  divulge." 

"  Perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  render  you  some 
assistance.  I  too  am  one  of  the  worst  enemies 
of  Napoleon  Bonaparte." 

"  That  indeed  alters  the  case.  And  were  I  to 
reveal  my  plans  to  you,  would  you  assist  me  in 
carrying  them  into  execution  1" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other,  promptly,  "if  it  is 
anything  in  the  shape  of  seizing  Napoleon,  I'm 
with  you.  I  should  feel  a  very  deep  interest  in 
regard  to  such  an  undertaking." 

"  You  look  honest,  my  friend,  and  I  think  I 
can  venture  to  trust  yovi,"  said  the  Englishman. 
"Listen,  then.  I  have  been  selected  by  one  of 
the  members  of  the  government  at  Paris,  wlio 
wishes,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  to  get  Napoleon 
out  of  the  way,  to  proceed  to  his  camp,  whieh  I 
suppose  must  now  be  somewhere  on  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain,  and,  after  enlisting  as  a 
volunteer  for  the  army,  to  watch  my  o])porlunil-y 
and  shoot  him,  as  he  appears  upon  parade,  or  if 
no  such  chance  offers,  to  clip  hi.'!  wings  in  the 
midst  of  some  battle.  Under  such  circumstances 
it  would  be  a  dilKeult  matter  to  ascertain  ivho  did 
the  deed." 

"An  excellently  contrived  plan,  truly,"  said 
the  other,  after  musing  for  a  few  moments  in  si- 


lence. "  And  will  you  i)ormit  mc  to  join  you  in 
yom*  ])raiseworthy  undci'taking?" 

"  With  much  pleasure,  monsiciu'." 

What  ,>haU  I  cull  your  name?" 

"  Matthew  Alwin.     And  yours?" 

"Mine — O — yes!  It's  of  no  consequence — 
but  you  can  if  you  clioosc  call  mc  Mottier." 

"  'Tis  well.  I  am  hap])y  to  have  found  nn 
ally." 

"  And  a  strong  ally  you  will  find  mc,  my 
friend,"  quietly  rejjlied  Mottier.  "  But  look, 
yonder  is  the  light  at  the  window  of  Monsieur 
La  Grange's  inn.  What  a  stupid  fellow  1  was  to 
have  passed  it.  It  is  a  way  I  have,  of  i-iding  with 
my  head  down  when  I  am  in  deep  study.  So 
my  absent-mindedness  has  caused  mc  to  travel 
much  further  than  I  had  need  to  have  done. 
However,  it  seems  I  am  rewarded  by  being  able 
to  join  in  an  exciting  adventure.  Little  does 
Napoleon  dream  of  the  danger  which  now  men- 
aces him." 

"  Ha !  ha  !  ha !"  laughed  Ahvin  ;  "  we'll  soon 
teach  iiim  a  lesson." 

"  Yes,  sueli  a  lesson  that  he  will  have  cause  to 
remember  it  initil  his  dying  day." 

By  this  time  the  two  travellers  had  drawn  up 
their  wearied  steeds  in  front  of  the  small  inn, 
and  Mott  er  was  shouting  loudly  to  the  inmates. 
In  a  moment  the  door  opened,  and  an  old  man, 
dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  mountaineer,  advanced 
and  welcomed  the  guests,  and,  taking  charge  of 
their  horses,  led  them  away  to  a  rude  stable  in 
the  rear  of  his  house,  while  the  joumeycrs  en- 
tered the  neat  tap-room  of  the  inn. 

It  was  a  small  but  comfortable  house,  hastily 
erected,  for  the  accommodation  of  such  few  trav- 
ellers as  might  chance  to  pass  along  that  newly- 
opened  mountain-road ;  but  it  was  constructed  of 
durable  materials,  and  its  few  rooms  wore  an  air 
of  neatness  and  comfort  which  are  often  vainly 
looked  for  in  inns  of  more  pretension. 

By  a  wood  fire,  blazing  cheerfully  in  the  huge 
chimney,  sat  a  comely-looking  matron,  who,  to 
judge  from  her  appearance,  might  have  weath- 
ered the  calms  and  storms  of  hfe  for  forty  years. 
A  sedate  but  pleasant  expression  rested  upon 
her  featiu-es,  and  she  seemed  cheerful  and  con- 
tented. At  a  little  distance  removed  from  her 
mother,  a  lovely  young  girl  was  seated  knitting, 
and  occasionally  pausing  from  her  work  to  look 
up  timidly  to  the  faces  of  the  travellers,  one  of 
whom,  to  judge  from  the  quick  glances  of  intel- 
ligence that  now  and  then  passed  between  them, 
she  had  seen  before. 

She  was  a  veritable  woodland  flower — that 
young  Agnes  La  Grange  ;  and  like  some  lovely 
rose  that  rears  its  gentle  but  modest  head,  un- 
seen and  unappreciated  in  the  midst  of  some 
great  dim  and  shadowy  forest,  afar  from  the 
haunts  of  man,  so  did  that  graceful  maiden  grow 
up  and  bloom  in  fragrance  and  in  beauty,  with 
none  to  pluck  it  from  its  parent  stem,  or  crush 
its  newly-opened  leaves. 

She  was  now  fifteen  years  of  age ;  but  so  rap- 
idly do  the  young  buds  of  beauty  in  the  sunny 
clime  where  she  was  born  expand  their  glowing 
petals,  she  was  already  a  fully-developed  woman. 
And  such  a  form — so  lithe,  so  agile,  and  so  fine- 
ly rounded  in  every  limb ;  such  an  exuberant 
swelling  of  the  finely  moulded  bust ;  such  shape- 
ly feet ;  such  white  and  tiny  hands — albeit  no 
jewels  sparkled  from  their  snow — they  would 
have  made  the  fortune  of  any  sculptor  avIio 
could  have  imitated  in  deathless  marble  their 
matchless  perfection.  Then,  too,  her  face  was 
so  witchiugly  beautiful,  and  the  red  blood  man- 
tled so  luxuriously  in  her  soft,  young  cheeks, 
while  her  jet  black  eyes  shone  like  midnight 
stars  in  the  wintry  heavens,  or  were  downcast 
and  melancholy,  when  a  shade  of  sorrow  flitted 
over  her  young  heart!  A  peerless  girl  was 
Agnes  La  Grange. 

And  so  thought  Matthew  Alwin,  if  we  might 
judge  coiTectl}'  from  the  enamored  looks  which 
he  every  now  and  then  threw  towards  her.  In 
fact,  it  seemed  utterly  impossible  for  him  to  keep 
his  eyes  off  her ;  and  he  watched  her  every  move- 
ment, as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse  which  she  ex- 
pects soon  to  spring  u))on  as  her  prey.  And  did 
^l^vin — irotdd  he  anticipate  the  seizure  of  that 
young  woodland  flower,  in  order  tliat  he  might 
frost-like  wither  its  beauty  and  its  bloom?  We 
shall  see. 

A  plain  supper  was  soon  smoking  on  the  hos- 
pitable board,  and  the  two  travellers  being  seat- 
ed, Mottier  did  ample  justice  to  it,  while  the 
Englishman,  isuUen  and  reserved,  partook  of  but 
little — although  the  fair  AgncS  ministered  to  his 
wants,  and  pressed  upon  him  the  wholesome 
viands  prepared  by  her  own  hands.  Pei'haps 
this  was  the  reason  why  he  did  not  cat ;   at  any 


rate,  he  .seemed  lost  in  a  reverie,  and  after  sitting 
for  a  few  moments,  he  rose  abruptly  fi'oin  the 
table,  and  calling  for  u  light,  demanded  to  be 
shown  to  his  apartment. 

No  sooner  was  he  alone,  than  sealing  himself 
upon  the  side  of  the  neat  conch  prejjared  for  his 
accommodation,  he  gave  vent  to  a  low  and  pro- 
tracted whistle — sueh  a  one  as  "unco wise"  peo 
ydc  indulge  in,  when  they  sujjposc  they  Iiavc 
nnidc  some  important  diseovery,  and  so  hug 
themselves  upon  their  own  shrcwdncsw. 

"  Well,  I  was  devilish  near  getting  myself  into 
a  pretty  scrape,  by  making  known  my  secrets  to 
that  sti'ange  traveller  whom  I  met,  and  who  I 
supposed  might  render  mc  g'reat  iLssistunce,  if  he 
would.  It  was  fortunate  for  mc  that  that  big 
gray  overcoat  which  he  wears  so  closely  I)nttoned 
up,  chanced  to  become  unfastened  for  a  moment. 
If  I  didn't  sec  the  glitter  of  a  gold  epanletle  un- 
der that  gannent,  my  name's  not  Alwin.  And 
then,  how  confused  he  looked,  and  how  <piickly 
he  rc-buttoned  his  outer  covering,  when  he  saw 
my  eyes  bent  upon  him.  I'll  lay  my  life  that 
it's  one  of  Bonaparte's  subalteni  ofliecrs  thus  dis- 
guised, and  that  he  has  been  drawing  me  on  in 
his  cunning  way  in  order  to  entrap  me.  Bnt 
he'll  find  that  I'm  not  to  be  canght  in  his  snare. 
I'm  too  old  a  fox  for  that.  I  shall  not  go  to  the 
camp  of  Napoleon  with  this  newly  found  ally ;  I 
have  another  scheme  in  view,  and  time  will 
develop  it." 

Having  uttered  this  soliloquy,  Alwin,  who  waa 
much  fiitigued  by  his  long  day's  joumcy,  threw 
himself  upon  the  bed,  and  quickly  sunk  into  a 
sound  and  dreamless  slnmber.  In  the  mean- 
time, how  fared  it  with  the  other  ti-avcUer  whom 
we  left  seated  at  the  table  below  ? 

After  the  Englishman  had  taken  his  departure 
from  the  supper  room,  Mottier  still  kept  his 
seat  quietly  at  the  board  and  continued  to  eat 
until  his  hunger  was  appeased,  when,  rising  from 
the  table,  the  young  Agnes  cleared  off  the  frag- 
ments of  the  supper,  and  having  made  every- 
thing snug  and  tidy,  she  seated  hei-self  in  a  chair 
at  a  little  distance  from  hira,  and  at  once  entered 
into  conversation. 

"  So  you  have  come  again,  Monsienr,  just  as 
you  promised  me  you  would  three  weeks  ago, 
when  you  passed  with  the  grand  army,"  archly 
remarked  tlie  young  girl,  as  she  looked  up  with 
a  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  eye;  "now  do  you 
know  that  I  thought  yon  were  only  flattering  me, 
and  that  I  never  should  behold  yonr  face  again  ?" 

"I  never  break  my  word,"  replied  Mottier, 
gravel 3'.  "  I  told  you  that  I  would  retuni  within 
three  weeks,  if  only  to  tell  yon  how  much  I  ad- 
mire the  beauty  of  my  little  Alpine  rose,  and  I 
have  come  as  I  promised." 

"And  it  seems  have  found  a  rival.  Did  you 
notice,  Victor,  how  that  strange  traveller,  who 
came  hither  with  you,  kept  his  eyes  upon  me  the 
whole  time  while  I  was  preparing  supper,  and 
attending  the  table.  I  ought  to  consider  myself 
highly  honored  by  his  notice." 

"  Hum !  yes ;  he  is  evidently  much  pleased 
with  your  beauty.     And  who  could  blame  him  ?" 

"  Flatterer !  there  you  are  again  !  You  are 
enough  to  turn  the  head  of  any  young  girl  with 
your  honeyed  words  !  But  who  is  this  stiangor  ?" 

"  0,  he's  a  man  that  I  fell  in  with  upon  the 
road,  and  we  Iiavc  agreed  to  journey  to  the  camp 
of  the  army  together." 

"  He  jouniey  to  the  camp  ?  What  in  the  name 
of  all  that's  wonderful,  can  he  want  at  the  camp  ?" 

"  He  is  employed  by  one  of  the  enemies  of 
Bonaparte,  at  Paris,  to  proceed  to  the  army,  and 
after  entering  the  ranks  as  a  volunteer,  he  is  to 
watch  an  opportunity  and  assassinate  Napoleon. 
And  I  have  agreed  to  proceed  thither  with  liim, 
and  assist  him  in  his  projects.  In  other  words, 
we  have  formed  an  alliance." 

The  features  of  the  young  girl  wore  a  look  of 
wonder  and  astonishment  for  a  moment,  and 
then  she  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  as  clear,  as 
silvery,  and  as  musical  as  the  sound  of  a  hidden 
brooklet,  singing  along  its  flowery  banks  upon  a 
night  in  June. 

"  Well  done  !  well  done  !  You  no  doubt 
would  be  enabled  to  afford  him  every  fiicility  in 
the  prosecution  of  his  enterprise,  you  know  every 
locality  so  well.     He  !  he  !  he  !" 

"  Yes,  he  may  find  me  of  some  service  to  him. 
I  have  some  little  energy  when  I  undertake  a 

thing." 

"Bvt  you  must  keep  your  coat  buttoned, "  said 
Agnes,  in  a  low  whisper,  looking  cautiously 
around  the  apartment.  There  was  no  one  there 
save  themselves,  for  both  fatlier  and  mother  had 
retired. 

"  O,  don't  fear  for  my  pnulcncc,  I  shall  be 
very  cautious.     And  now  to  other  bnsinces.    Are 


GLEASOX'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


11 


you  prepared  to  accept  the  offer  I  made  you 
when  I  last  saw  you  ?  If  so,  I  am  prepared  to 
renew  it." 

"  I  have  thought  calmly  of  it,"  replied  the 
young  girl,  "  since  you  were  here,  and  I  have 
come  to  tlic  conclusion  that  I  cannot  comply 
with  your  request.  You  would  never  stoop  to 
man-j/  one  like  mc,  and  as  to  accompanying  you 
in  any  other  capacity  save  as  your  irife,  existing 
circumstances,  as  well  as  my  own  inclinations, 
would  prevent  me." 

"  Ah,  existing  circumstances  !  I  think  I  know 
what  they  are.  You  are  betrothed  to  a  young 
lieutenant  now  attached  to  the  grand  army,  by 
the  name  of  PiciTe  Landes,  and  you  are  deter- 
mined to  remani  true  to  him.     Is  it  not  so  V 

"  It  is,"  replied  Agnes,  holding  down  her 
head,  and  blushing;  "it  seems  you  know  my 

secrets." 

"  And  well  I  may.  Landes  is  my  best  and 
dearest  friend — he  saved  my  life  upon  the  battle- 
field. It  is  for  kim,  and  not  for  myself  that  I  am 
actnig.  I-Ic  pines  for  yon  incessantly,  and  as  he 
cannot  leave  his  company  in  order  to  urge  his 
suit,  and  induce  you  to  wed  him  at  once,  and 
follow  him  upon  his  dangerous  path,  he  has  be- 
sought me  to  return  here  and  endeavor  to  per- 
suade you  to  accompany  me  back  to  the  camp. 
/  seek  you  ?  Indeed  it  never  once  entered  my 
head ;  for  much  as  I  admire  your  matchless 
bcautv,  and  honor  the  choice  of  my  humble  and 
devoted  friend,  I  have  already  a  wife  of  my  own 
— a  fair  one,  too — and  one  wife,  you  know,  Ag- 
nes, is  enough  for  any  man." 

There  is  a  spark  of  latent  vanity  in  the  breast 
of  every  woman,  no  matter  how  good,  how  pure, 
and  how  virtuous  she  may  be.  She  does  not 
like  to  think  that  she  has  calculated  too  much 
upon  tlie  power  of  her  o^sti  attractions  ;  so  Agnes 
La  Grange,  though  she  was  pleased  to  find  that 
Mottier  was  not  inclined  to  persecute  her  with 
his  attentions,  and  that  he  only  acted  for  one 
whom  she  had  loved  almost  from  her  cradle, 
slightly  pouted  a  Hp  so  ripe,  so  red  and  tempt- 
ing, that  it  might  well  have  tempted  an  eremite 
to  forget  his  vows,  and  said  : 

"  I  shall  not  retuni  with  you  to  the  camp,  sir. 
If  Pierre  wishes  for  my  society,  lie  knows  where 
I  am  to  be  found  !" 

"  Well,  well,  I'll  bear  your  message  to  my 
young  friend  upon  the  morrow,  and  perluips  it  is 
better  that  you  should  not  accompany  me  upon 
this  occasion.  The  alliance  I  liave  formed  with 
this  prudent  and  cautious  Englishman,  would 
make  your  presence  with  us  somewhat  awkward. 
I  shall,  the  day  after  to-morrow,  permit  Landes 
to  come  back  here  with  an  escort  of  lancers,  and 
no  doubt  he  will  be  able  to  induce  you  to  join 
the  eagles  of  tlie  republic.  If  not,  he  can  cany 
you  off  by  force  of  arms." 

Saying  this,  Mottier  I'osc,  and  taking  a  light- 
ed taper  from  a  shelf,  retired  to  a  small  room 
pointed  out  by  Agnes,  and  throwing  liimself 
ready  dressed  upon  tlic  bed,  bright  and  glowing 
dreams  came  hovering  round  his  pillow,  and  in- 
vesting his  sleep  with  forms  of  radiant  beauty-. 
And  amid  those  fonns,  did  that  of  the  fair  wood- 
land flower  find  a  place  ?     Perhaps  so. 

Early  the  next  morning  tlie  t\vo  ti'avellers 
were  roused  from  their  slumbers  to  partake  of 
breakfast.  Mottier  came  out  and  took  his  seat 
at  the  table,  but  his  form  was  still  closely  envel- 
oped in  the  heavy  gray  great  coat  he  iiad  worn 
the  night  before.  Alwin  soon  joined  him,  and 
after  hastily  partaking  of  the  meal  set  before 
them,  they  both  rose,  and  paying  the  bill  of 
Monsieur  La  Grange,  they  mounted  their  steeds 
and  took  their  way  along  the  narrow  and  wind- 
ing ravine,  where  overhanging  rocks  and  giant 
crags  frowned  down  upon  the  passers-bv. 

Alwin  was  somewhat  moody  and  reserved. 
Gone  was  the  vivacity  with  which  he  had  be- 
fi-ayed  hi.5  plans  to  an  almost  perfect  stranger  on 
the  afternoon  before,  and  in  its  place  was  silence 
accompanied  by  regret  that  he  had  been  so  rash. 
But  he  had  evidently  some  deep  scheme  revolv- 
ing in  his  mind,  for  he  was  constantly  in  a  study, 
and  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  remarks  of 
Mottier,  save  to  answer  his  questions  Iiy  a  shnig 
of  the  shoulder,  or  by  a  gx'unt  of  petulance  and 
ill  nature.  The  "  ally,"  however,  paid  but  little 
attention  to  his  moroseness,  but  talked  and  talk- 
ed, as  if  he  loved  the  sound  of  liis  own  voice, 
and  endeavored  to  "  draw  out "  liis  companion 
by  every  means  in  liis  power.  In  particular,  did 
he  strive  to  ascertain  the  vavte  of  the  partizan  in 
Paris  who  had  dispatched  him  upon  this  mission. 
But  this  was  all  in  vain.  Alwin  was  as  close  as 
a  sealed  book,  and  repelled  every  effort  on  the 
part  of  Mottier  to  win  his  confidence.  The 
truth   is,  he   liad   been   making  ratlier  too  free 


with  a  small  flask  of  brandy  which  he  carried  in 
his  coat  pocket,  just  before  he  met  with  his  pi'cs- 
ent  ''ally."  and  under  such  circumstances  was 
imprudent  to  a  degree  whicli  afterwards  astonish- 
ed him.  But  as  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  began  to 
subside  he  saw  Iiis  error,  and  the  slight  glimpse 
of  the  epaulette  whicli  lie  caught  beneath  the 
heavv  grav  overcoat  of  his  companion,  showed 
him  the  folly  of  which  he  had  been  guilty.  But 
it  was  no  easy  matter  to  escape  at  once  from  the 
"  entangling  alliance "  into  which  he  had 
plunged,  so  he  resolved  to  accompany  Mottier. 
His  plans,  in  fact,  had  been  all  matured  beneath 
the  roof  of  the  inn,  and  he  only  waited  for  a 
suitable  season  to  put  them  into  execution.  But 
he  was  not  to  be  caught  off  his  guard  again. 
He  spurred  his  steed  onward  over  tlie  rugged 
road ;  but  sullen  and  silent,  he  repelled  every 
advance  on  the  part  of  his  neiglibor. 

In  this  way  the  two  horsemen  slowly  wound 
up  the  steep  sides  of  the  Alps,  and  by  noon  had 
arrived  at  a  point  from  wliieh  they  could  descend 
to  the  vast  plains  that  spread  below.  There, 
afar  in  the  blue  distance,  gleamed  the  sunny 
clime  of  Italy,  where  deeds  of  valor  were  so.on  to 
be  performed,  and  where  the  azure  skies  were 
doomed  to  be  hidden  by  the  smoke  of  iho  teiTihlc 
cannon  whose  thunders  sti'ow  the  gory  field  with 
slain. 

The  travellers  had  reached  a  sort  of  plain  in 
tlie  sliape  of  a  little  table-land  making  in  from 
the  steep  heights  of  St.  Bernard,  and  were  now 
witliin  four  miles  of  the  camp  of  the  grand  army, 
the  location  of  which  was  discovered  by  a  column 
of  smoke  that  arose  lazily  and  curlingly  from 
the  smouldering  watch-fires  through  the  leafy 
wilderness  that  shadowed  that  immense  host, 
and  every  now  and  then  a  subdued  murmur  rose 
to  the  ear  like  the  lo\y  wail  of  some  distant 
ocean,  as  its  surges  trample  down  the  sands  that 
pave  its  shores.  Mottier  knew  that  sound  to  be 
the  voice  of  that  tremendous  army  which  was 
soon  to  spread  like  some  teirible  hurricane  over 
tlie  plains  of  Italy,  and  his  eye  brightened,  and 
his  breath  came  thick  and  gaspingly,  as  he  gath- 
ered up  his  reins  more  firmly  in  his  grasp,  and 
straightened  himself  as  erect  and  pi-oudly  as  an 
iron  statue  in  his  saddle. 

*'  Do  you  hear  tliat  low  murmur,  do  you  see 
that  smoke  curling  upward  above  the  leafy  ti'cc- 
tops  ]"  inquired  he  of  Alwin,  while  his  quick 
stern  e3'e  was  bent  upon  him,  with  a  glance  that 
made  him  quail  in  sjiite  of  nimself,  "Do  you 
know  now  where  we  are  V 

"Yes,"  answered  Alwin,  sullenly,  "  I  know 
well  enough  where  we  are.  We  are  on  the  east- 
ern slope  of  the  Sau  Bernard,  and  yonder 
smoke  and  yonder  sounds  proceed  from  the  liid- 
den  camp  of  Napoleon." 

"  You  arc  right,  monsieur ;  and  now  let  us 
onward  and  prosecute  the  task  we  have  under- 
taken." 

"  One  moment,"  said  the  Englishman,  paus- 
ing, while  a  troubled  expression  stole  over  his 
features  ;  "  I  will  just  step  off  into  the  woods 
here,  by  the  wayside,  and  cut  me  a  whip  to  goad 
my  horse  onward,  and  tlien  we  will  proceed  as 
fast  as  you  like.  Just  hold  the  bridle,  if  you 
please,  until  I  return." 

And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Alwin 
dismounted,  and  handing  his  bridle  rein  to  Mot- 
tier, he  walked  off'  deliberately  into  the  woods 
until  he  was  out  of  sight  of  his  companion.  And 
did  he  return  again  ?  Not  he.  No  sooner  had 
he  reached  a  distance  of  some  hundred  yards 
from  the  spot  where  he  had  left  his  steed,  tlian 
he  burst  into  a  headlong  run  through  the  thick 
and  sombre  forest,  shouting,  as  he  darted  for- 
ward over  rocks  and  mouldering  trees,  up  hills 
and  do^\'n  dales,  "  'twas  well  done,  hy  Jupiter  ! 
I  was  near  getting  into  the  net.  My  plot  has 
failed  through  my  own  folh'-  and  imprudence. 
As  Old  Will  Shakspcare,  the  sheep-stealer,  once 
said  :  '  0,  that  men  should  put  an  enemy  into 
tlieir  mouths  to  steal  away  tlicir  brains  !'  And 
I  echo  the  sentiment.  However,  what's  done 
can't  be  helped  ;  so  here's  onward.  I  have  lost 
the  fifty  thousand  francs  reward — but  wh6  cares  ? 
And  now  for  the  lovely  Agnes  La  Grange !  I'll 
collect  one  flower  among  these  mountain  wilds, 
at  any  rate,  and  that  will  in  some  measure  com- 
pensate me  for  the  loss  of  the  francs.  Courage  ! 
Monsieur  Alwin !" 

Mottier,  left  alone  in  charge  of  the  two  horses, 
sat  quietly  awaiting  the  retu  -n  of  Alwin  for 
some  time, for  he  did  not  suspect  that  his  "ally" 
Iiad  decided  to  leave  him  so  unceremoniously. 
At  length,  however,  a  light  suddenly  broke  in 
upon  him,  and  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Well,  well,  Mr.  Bull  is  gone,  it  seems!  I 
wonder  if  lie  suspected  anything?     Hum!  per- 


haps so.  At  any  rate,  he's  off — that's  certain  ; 
so  I  may  as  well  pursue  my  way  back  to  the 
camp.  I  have  received  one  lesson,  at  any  rate 
— a  lesson  that  will  be  of  some  service  to  me  in 
future.  Sacrc  ! — assassins  ! — who  would  have 
thought  if?  Well,  let  'em  work!  I'll  teach 
them  a  tale  yet,  that  they  will  not  forget !  As- 
sassins !     Mon  Dieu !" 

And  tm'ning  the  horse  of  Alwin  adrift,  as  if 
he  had  no  further  use  for  him,  he  spunked  his 
own  steed  as  rapidly  down  the  rugged  sides  of 
the  mountain  as  his  safety  would  permit,  and 
was  soon  lost  to  view  amid  the  thick  woods 
Aviiich  spread  their  solemn  shade  in  silence  and 
in  solitude  from  the  base  to  the  very  summit  of 
those  snow-crowned  and  eternal  Alpo. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  these  events,  and  a 
wild  storm  was  sweeping  in  terrible  fury  over 
the  ragged  cliffs  and  down  the  dark  ravines  and 
sunless  glens  of  the  San  Bernard.  The  winds 
liowled  and  shrieked,  as  they  rent  the  limbs  from 
the  groaning  forest  trees,  or  uprooting  them, 
hurled  them  headlong  with  a  fearful  crash  down 
the  steep  sides  of  the  yawning  precipices,  and 
the  big  rain  drops  came  dancing  upon  the  earth, 
as  if  they  were  living  and  created  things,  and 
could  rejoice  in  the  wild  uproar  of  the  elements. 
It  was  near  midnight,  and  the  family  of  Mon- 
sieur La  Grange,  tlie  innkeeper,  were  seated 
around  the  blaze  of  a  cheerful  fire  that  glowed 
and  crackled  upon  the  hearth,  when  a  knocking 
was  suddenly  heard  at  the  only  door,  as  of  some 
one  seeking  admittance.  The  old  Savoyard, 
ever  alive  to  the  calls  of  humanity,  arose  and 
opened  the  door,  when  who  should  make  Ids  ap- 
pearance but  Matthew  Alwin,  an  old  acquaint- 
ance of  the  reader.  He  was  drenched  to  the 
skin  by  the  heavy  rain  to  which  he  had  been  ex- 
posed, and  ^looked  so  forlorn  and  pitifiil,  that 
neither  the  old  inn-keeper  nor  his  wife  recognized 
him  as  the  traveller  who,  a  few  nights  before, 
had  lodged  at  their  house.  Not  so,  however, 
with  Agnes.  Slie  bent  her  keen,  briglit  eye 
upon  him,  and  knew  him  at  once  ;  and  though 
woudcrhig  what  should  have  brought  him  back 
again  so  soon,  and  secretly  annoyed  at  tlie  cir- 
cumstance, siic  treated  him  with  every  civility, 
furnishing  him  with  dry  clothing,  and  doing  eve- 
rything in  her  power  to  render  him  comfortable. 
True,  she  sometimes  shrunk  from  the  sensual 
glance  whicli  she  detected  him  bending  upon 
her,  but  she  was  a  brave  girl,  and  subdued  any 
emotion  which  arose  in  her  bosom  almost  in  the 
moment  of  its  birth.  After  drying  his  clothes, 
and  partaking  of  some  refresh mejits,  wliich  he  dc- 
vom"ed  with  much  eagerness — for  he  had  lost  his 
way  and  had  been  roaming  about  the  mountain 
forests  for  seven  days,  with  nothing  to  cat  except 
some  hard  biscuit  which  he  chanced  to  have  in 
his  pocket — he  was  shown  by  Agnes  to  the  same 
room  which  he  had  occuiiied  before,  where  he 
threw  himself  all  dressed  upon  the  bed,  while  the 
landlord  and  his  wife  and  their  lovely  daughter 
quickly  sought  repose  in  the  arms  of  sleep. 

The  little  room  occupied  by  Agnes  opened 
u]]0u  a  sort  of  rude  verandah  or  piazza,  which 
Monsieur  La  Grange  intended  sliould  be  covered 
with  vines  on  the  arrival  of  another  smnmcr. 
Here  the  young  maiden  lay  for  some  time  listen- 
ing to  the  wicrd  raging  of  the  tempest  without, 
whicli  rattled  her  window  in  its  frame,  and  howl- 
ed through  the  suiTonnding  forests  like  the  voice 
of  some  terrible  fiend.  Lulled  at  length  by  these 
discordant  voices  she  fell  into  a  broken  slumber, 
and  dreamed  that  she  was  in  the  grasp  of  a  huge 
giant  with  hideous  features,  who  was  holding 
her  over  a  frightful  prccii>ice,  and  threatening 
to  drop  her  down  headlong,  unless  she  consented 
to  become  hit;  wife.  The  friglitful  dream  aroused 
her.  With  a  slight  shriek  she  awoke,  and  after 
rubbing  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  was  struck 
dumb  with  terror  on  beholding  in  her  apartment, 
and  standing  near  the  liead  of  the  bed,  the  figure 
of  Matthew  Alwin.  He  was  dressed  from  top 
to  toe,  and  in  his  right  hand  lie  bore  a  cocked 
pistol,  wdiilc  his  left  hand  held  a  lighted  taper. 

"  Get  up,"  said  lie,  in  a  low,  stern  tone;  "put 
on  your  clothes,  and  prepare  to  follow  me  out  of 
that  window  by  which  I  have  entered,  without  a 
moment's  delay!  But,  remember,  the  first  word 
}  ou  speak,  though  it  be  but  in  a  whisper,  or  tlie 
fir?t  soimd  you  make,  I'll  send  a  bullet  from 
this  loaded  pistol  through  your  brain  !  Get  up, 
I  say  I" 

Wliat  could  she  do  ?  Tcn-ificd  by  his  threats, 
ns  well  as  by  the  manner  in  wliich  he  uttered 
them,  tlic  poor  girl  arose,  ti-emblingly  donned 
her  apparel,  and  followed  the  monster  in  human 
shajie  from  lu'r  fatlicr's  dwelling. 

The  rain  had  ceased  its  peltings,  but  the  wind 
bowled    through    the    groaning  forests,  which 


tossed  their  arms  wildly  to  and  fro,  as  if  in  sup- 
plication. Beneath  the  gray  breaking  of  the 
early  dawn  Alwin  hurried  on,  leading  his  sor- 
rowful victim  along  the  craggy  ravines,  and 
vainly  endeavoring  to  accelerate  her  speed — for 
she  was  so  worn  with  fatigue  and  terror,  that  it 
was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  she  could  ac- 
commodate her  pace  to  that  of  her  relentless 
captor.  At  length,  just  after  sunrise,  and  when 
some  five  or  six  miles  from  her  home,  she  sud- 
denly resolved  to  go  no  further,  but  to  die  where 
she  was,  and  indicated  her  detennination  to 
Alwin. 

"  Very  well,  miss,  wc  shall  see,"  returned  he, 
rudely ;  "  I'll  give  you  an  hour  to  rest  yourself, 
and  then, if  you  refuse  to  accompany  me,  ^ourfiR.'" 
Tlie  hour  at  length  expired.  The  storm  had 
sunk  to  rest,  and  the  red  sun  came  wheeling  like 
a  ball  of  fire  over  the  crown  of  the  mountain. 
Alwin  rose  to  his  feet,  and  sternly  regarded 
Agnes  who,  still  seated,  gave  no  indications  of 
alarm. 

"  Are   you  going  to  get  up  and  proceed  with 
me  V  he  inquired,  in  a  rough  voice. 
"  Eor  what  purpose  ?" 

"  To  become  my  wife  when  wc  reach  Paris, 
or  perish  by  my  hand  !" 

"  Never !"  said  the  young  girl,  firaily.  "  I  will 
be  forced  to  accompany  you  no  longer  !" 

"  Take  thaf,  then,  you  young  hussy  !"  roared 
Alwin,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage,  as  he  deliberately 
aimed  his  pistol  at  her,  and  cocked  it  with  a 
sharp  click. 

But  he  did  not  fire.  Just  as  he  was  in  the  act 
of  pulling  tlie  trigger,  a  loud  shout  arrested  his 
attention,  and  the  next  instant  ten  cavalry  troops, 
headed  by  a  fine-looking  young  officer,  galloped 
up,  and  suiTounding  both  Alwin  and  Agnes,  cut 
off  every  avenue  of  escape.  The  next  instant 
several  of  the  troopers  had  dismounted  and  were 
securely  binding  the  Englishman  with  strong 
cords,  while  their  commander,  having  rushed  to 
the  maiden,  was  locked  in  her  embrace.  "Ag- 
nes!"— Picn-e !"  were  all  the  words  that  they 
could  utter.  He  had  come  just  in  season ;  the 
young  dove  had  found  its  mate. 

Alwin  was  tied  and  placed  on  one  of  the 
horses  behind  a  trooper,  while  Agnes  took  a  scat 
in  the  rear  of  her  lover  on  his  high-spirited 
charger,  and  reining  into  the  mountain  road,  off 
dashed  the  whole  party  for  the  camp  of  Napo- 
leon. Landes  had  arrived  at  the  inn  of  Monsieur 
La  Grange  about  sunrise,  having  spent  the  night 
in  a  sort  of  cave  he  had  discovered  on  the  pas- 
sage of  the  army  over  the  mountain  ;  but  what 
was  his  horror  on  learning  that  his  betrothed 
had  been  stolen  from  her  home  by  the  traveller, 
wlio  had  thus  repaid  them  for  their  kindness  and 
their  hospitality  !  Calling  his  men  to  their  sad- 
dles, he  mounted  his  own  steed,  and  started  off 
in  pursuit  of  the  wretch  who  had  robbed  him  of 
all  he  held  dear.  A  just  Providence  smiled  upon 
liis  designs,  and  he  succeeded  in  rescuing  her 
from  the  grasp  of  death,  just  at  the  instant  when 
he  had  reached  fortli  to  claim  her  as  his  own. 
***** 
Napoleon,  grave  and  thoughtful,  was  seated  in 
his  marquee,  as  if  waiting  the  approach  of  some 
one,  and  his  keen  eye  slionc  like  a  star  in  a  cold, 
clear,  wintiw  night.  Presently  an  aid  advanced 
and  reported  that  "the  party  had  arrived." 

"  Show  them  in,"  said  Napoleon,  in  his  quick, 
stern  voice. 

The  next  instant  Pierre  Landes  and  tlie  fair 
Agnes  entered  tlie  tent  accompanied  by  Alwin, 
who,  securely  bound,  no  sooner  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Napoleon,  than  he  started  back  with  dismay. 
He  recognized  Mottier,  liis  comrade  of  the  inn, 
to  whom  he  had  unwittingly  betrayed  his 
secrets. 

"Tell  me,"  said   Napoleon,  "who  emploj'cd 
you  to  assassinate  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  life." 
"  Monsieur  Sardine — member  of  the  council," 
tremblingly  answered  the  coward. 

"  'Tis  well — I  war  not  with  such  as  i/ou.  Al- 
roy,"  beckoning  to  an  aid-de-camp,  "  take  this 
Englit^h  wretch  and  give  him  in  cliaige  of  Ser- 
geant Junot  of  tlie  guai'ds,  with  orders  to  kick 
him  out  of  the  camp,  but  not  to  kill  him.  I  have 
pledged  my  word  to  spare  liis  life." 

"  Your  excellency's  orders  shall  be  promptly 
attended  to,"  replied  the  aid. 

The  next  day  PieiTC  Landes  was  wed  to  the 
fair  Agnes  La  Grange,  and  Napoleon  honored 
the  occasion  with  his  presence.  The  young  lieu- 
tenant rapidly  arose  in  his  profession  until  he 
reached  the  rank  of  general,  wlicn  at  the  close  of 
the  war  on  the  plains  of  Waterloo,  he  retired  to 
his  estate  in  Nonuiindie,  and  passed  the  remain- 
der of  his  days  with  his  yet  lovely  wife  ami 
handsome  cliildrcn. 


12 


GLEASON'S   PICTORLVL   DEAWING   KOOM   COMPANION. 


REBECCA  AT  TIIE  ^VELL. 

Our  tirtist  has  furnished  us  with  a  very  bcimti- 
ful  scene  herewith,  taken  from  the  famous  paint- 
ing of  "  Kehecea  at  the  Well,"  painterl  hy  Hor- 
ace Vcrnet.  Tliis  beautiful  picture  of  Rebceca 
at  the  well  is  one  of  those  which  may  be  viewed 
witli  unmitigated  pleasure.  A  simple  and  natu- 
ral incident  is  represented  with  equal  delicacjy 
and  vigor,  Landscape,  costume,  and  the  vari- 
ous objects  that  lill  up  tlio  same,  arc  all  in  ac- 
cordance with  wliat  we  know  of  the  history  of 
the  time  and  the  ])lace  identified  with  the  story. 
A  graceful  simplicity  pervades  the  whole.  Ahra- 
liam  had  become  old,  liis  beloved  partner,  Sarah, 
had  been  taken  fiom  him  by  death,  and  lie  desired 
to  see  his  race  perpetuated,  in  accordance  with  the 
announcement  which 
had  been  mivilc  to  him 
by  the  God  ho  wor- 
shipped. A  stranger 
in  a  foreign  land,  the 
daughters  of  Canaan, 
from  their  levity  or 
want  of  piety,  were 
not  sucli  as  to  make 
him  content  that  Isaac 
should  choose  a  wife 
from  among  them. 
He  desired  that  his 
son  might  obtain  a 
consort  from  the  land 
of  his  forefathers.  To 
accomplish  this  ob- 
ject, the  anxious  pa- 
rent resolved  to  send 
the  oldest  servant  of 
his  house  to  seek  one 
in  Mesopotamia.  The 
person  selected  to  go 
on  this  important  er- 
rand was  not  merely 
a  trusty  domestic ;  he 
held  an  important 
post,  and,  high  in  the 
patriarch's  confidence, 
we  read  that  "he 
ruled  over  all  that 
Abraliam  had."  He 
was  therefore  a  man 
of  station,  as  the  jjos- 
sessions  of  Abraliam 
were  great,  and  his 
flocks  and  herds  nu- 
merous. Before  the 
servant  set  out  upon 
his  jouraey,  the  mas- 
ter took  the  precau- 
tion of  swearing  him, 
according  to  the  forms 
then  in  use  among  the 
Jews,  that  he  would 
not  choose  a  wife  for 
his  son  from  the 
daughters  of  Canaan. 
A  natural  fear  came 
over  the  man,  that  it 
would  not  be  in  his 
power  to  fulfil  the  wisli 
of  his  master.  Even 
in  the  event  of  his 
finding  a  woman  not 
a  Canaanite  fit  to  be- 
come the  wife  of  Isaac, 
he  doubted  if  she 
would  be  willing  to 
leave  her  country ;  but 
Abraham,  from  a  re- 
velation which  had 
been  made,  re-assured 
him,  by  telling  him 
that  "  the  Lord  God 
of  heaven  would  send 
his  angel  before,"  and 
secure  a  prosperous 
issue  to  his  undertak- 
ing. The  same  faith 
which  sustained  him 
when  tlic  sacrifice  of 
his  offspring  had  been 
culled  for,  satisfied 
him  that,  in  this  case 
likewise,  all  would  be 
well,  and  that  the 
Most  High  could  not 
deceive,  and  would 
not  leave  his  work  in- 
complete. We  are 
then  told  that  the  ser- 
vant took  his  depar- 
ture, and  journeyed  to 
the  city  of  Nahor.  On 
his  way  he  displayed 
great  pomp.  He  took 
ten  camels  with  him, 
"  for  all  the  goods  of 
his  master  were  in  his 

hand ;"  and  having  reached  Mesopotamia,  he 
made  the  camels  kneel  without  the  city  which  he 
was  about  to  enter.  It  was  evening,  and  the 
time  when  the  females  were  accustomed  to  go 
forth  to  draw  water,  and  he  then  prayed  the  Lord 
God  of  his  master  to  show  kindness  to  that  mas- 
ter, and  to  order  it  so,  that  when  he  should  ask 
a  damsel  to  let  him  drink  from  her  pitcher,  that 
she  should  offer  to  give  his  camels  water,  and 
that  he  miglit  know  by  this  his  suit  was  granted. 
The  narrative,  as  given  in  Genesis,  chapter  24, 
proceeds  : — "  And  it  came  to  pass  before  he  had 
done  speaking,  that,  behold,  Rebecca  came  out, 
who  wiLS  born  to  Bethuel,  son  of  Milcah,  the 
wife  of  Nahor,  Abraham's  brotlier,  with  her 
pitcher  upon  her  shoulder;  and  the  damsel  was 
very  fair  to  look  upon,  a  virgin,  neither  had  any 
man  known  her:  and  she  went  down  to  the  well, 
and  filled  her  pitcher,  and  came  up.  And  the 
servant  ran  to  meet  her,  and  said,  Let  me,  I  pray 


thee,  drink  a  little  water  of  thy  pitcher.  And 
she  said,  Driiik,  my  lord  :  and  she  luisted,  and 
let  down  licr  pitcher  upon  her  hand,  and  gave 
him  di'ink.  And  when  she  had  done  giving  him 
drink,  she  said,  1  will  draw  water  i'^r  thy  camels 
also,  until  they  luive  done  drinking.  And  she 
hasted,  and  emptied  her  pitcher  into  the  trougli, 
and  ran  again  unto  tlie  well  to  draw  water,  and 
drew  for  all  his  camels.  And  the  man,  wonder- 
ing at  her,  held  his  ])cace,  to  wit  whether  the 
Lord  had  made  his  journey  prosperous  or  not. 
And  it  came  to  pass,  as  the  camels  had  done 
drinking,  that  the  man  took  a  golden  earring  of 
half  a  shekel  weight,  and  two  bracelets  for  her 
hands  of  ten  shekels  weight  of  gold,  and  said, 
Whose  daughter  art  thou  i  tell  mc,  I  pray  thee  : 


AlilSONI. 

Marietta  Alljoni  was  born  at  Cesena,  in  1820, 
of  honorable  parents,  and  received  an  excellent 
education.  At  the  age  of  eleven,  slic  took  los- 
soiis  in  music  of  the  celebrated  Maestro  Bagioli. 
Eight  years  after  she  entered  the  Lyceum  of  Bo- 
logna, wlien  Rossini  was  its  director.  Her  first 
dfhut  was  at  Milan,  in  the  great  tlicafrc  of  La 
Scala,  where  she  continued  to  sing  durin^i  i\inv 
seasons.  Slie  then  sung  lliree  cnti;i;:i  nii-nis  nt 
Vienna,  and  made  her  mark  in  Si.  I'cti^rslturg. 
She  left  that  city  in  1845  for  Germany,  after 
which  time  she  made  no  engagements  with  mii^ 
nugers,  but  sang,  as  her  mood  prompted,  in  the 
principal  cities,  sliaring  in  London  the  triumphs 
of  Grisi,  Mario  and  Tamburini,  until  slie  came 


REBECCA  AT  THE  WELL SCENE  FROM  BIBLICAL  HISTORY. 


is  there  room  in  thy  father's  house  for  us  to  lodge 
in  "?  And  she  said  iinto  him,  I  am  the  daughter 
of  Bethuel  the  son  of  Milcah,  which  she  bare 
unto  Nahor.  She  said  moreover  unto  him.  We 
have  both  straw  and  provender  enough,  and 
room  to  lodge  in.  And  the  man  bowed  down 
his  head,  and  worshipped  the  Lord."  The  ar- 
tist, following  scripture,  has  made  the  damsel 
Rebecca  "  very  fair  to  look  upon."  In  her  per- 
son we  mark  the  glow  of  health  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  youth.  With  no  sinister  expression  in 
his  countenance,  it  is  obvious,  while  he  drinks 
from  her  pitcher,  that  the  faithful  servant  of 
Abraham  is  thinking  of  something  more  than 
quenching  his  thirst.  He  gazes  on  the  young 
aiitl  biautiful  .Tewess  with  earnest  curiosity  and 
inlciisi^  inti  rest,  regarding  her  as  the  future  wife 
of  Isaac;  and  evidently  exults  that  he  has  not 
prayed  to  the  God  of  Abraham  in  vain,  satisfied 
that  his  success  is  no  longer  doubtful. 


to  Paris,  where  the  rapture  of  her  admirers  had 
no  precedent,  both  at  the  Italian  and  Grand  Ope- 
I'a  houses.  Recently  she  has  been  exciting  great 
enthusiasm  in  Belgium.  And  her  last  public  ap- 
pearance was  in  Paris,  on  the  13th  of  May,  at  a 
grand  solemnity  in  the  theatre  of  the  Palace  of 
Versailles,  at  "which  Louis  Napoleon  assisted. 
She  was  the  great  star  of  the  occasion,  and  aston- 
ished and  delighted  everybody  by  her  singing. 
The  theatre  was  illuminated,  and  all  tlic  musical 
authorities  of  Paris  were  present.  Rachel,  the 
great  tragedian,  however,  had  too  much  patri- 
otic pride,  which  could  not  influence  Alboni,  being 
a  foreigner.  The  director  of  the  Grand  Opera 
made  ju'opositinns  to  her  to  sing  in  Halevy's  new 
opera  Lr  ,/ii//'J'Jir(nit,  and  otfcrcd  to  produce  ex- 
pres.sly  for  lior  a  jjict'C  of  lialfc's  :  Mamion  I'Es- 
caat,  the  "  chevul  de  Iictaille,"  of  Malibran.  But 
she  had  concluded  all  the  arrangements  for  a  trip 
to  America. — Dwight's  JourtiaJ.  of  Music. 


MEMNON. 

Returning  to  the  Temple  of  Koosneh,  we  took 
a  ])ath  over  the  plain,  through  fields  of  wheat, 
lupins  and  Icntiles,  to  the  two  colossi,  wliich  we 
had  already  seen  from  a  distance.  These  im- 
mense sitting  figures,  fifty-three  feet  above  the 
plain,  wiiich  has  buried  their  pedestals,  look  over 
the  side  of  vanquished  Thebes,  and  assert  the 
gnindcnr  of  which  they  and  Kai*nak  are  the  most 
f^lrikin;;  remains.  They  were  erected  by  Amu- 
ncph  III,  and  though  the  faces  are  totally  disfig- 
ured, the  full,  round,  beautiful  proportions  of  the 
colossal  arms,  shoulders  and  tliiglis  do  not  beUc 
the  marvellous  sweetness  of  the  features  which 
we  still  see  in  his  tomb.  Except  tlie  head  of 
Antonius,  I  know  of  no  ancient  portrait  so  beau- 
tiful as  Amunoph. 
The  long  and  luxuri- 
ant liair,  flowing  in  a 
hundred  ringlets,  the 
soft  gi'ace  of  the  fore- 
head, the  mild  sereni- 
ty of  the  eye,  the  fine 
thin  lines  of  the  nos- 
trils, and  the  feminine 
tcndemess  of  the  full 
lips,  triumph  over  the 
ci'umpcd  rigidity  of 
Egy))tian  sculpture, 
and  charm  you  with 
the  lightness  and  har- 
mony of  Greek  art. 
In  looking  on  that 
head,  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  the  sul> 
ject  overpowered  the 
artist,  and  led  him  to 
the  threshold  of  a  tim- 
er art.  Amunoph,  or 
Memnon,  was  a  poet 
in  soul,  and  it  was 
meet  that  his  statue 
should  salute  the  ris- 
ing sun  with  a  sound 
like  that  of  a  harp- 
string.  Modem  re- 
search has  wholly  an- 
nihilated this  beautiful 
fable.  Memnon  now 
sounds  at  all  hours  of 
the  day,  and  at  the 
command  of  all  tra- 
vellers who  pay  an 
Arab  five  piastres  to 
climb  into  his  lap. 
We  engaged  a  vender 
of  modern  scarabei, 
who  threw  off'  his  gar- 
ments, hooked  his 
fingers  and  toes  into 
the  cracks  of  the  pol- 
ished granite,  and 
soon  hailed  us  with 
"  Salamat!"  from  the 
knee  of  the  statue. 
There  is  a  certain 
stone  on  Memnon's 
lap,  which  gives  out 
a  fine  metallic  ring 
when  sharply  struck. 
Behind  it  is  a  small 
square  aperture,  invi- 
sible from  below, 
where  one  of  the 
priests  no  donln  sta^ 
tioned  himself  to  per- 
form the  daily  mira- 
cle. One  Arab  rap- 
ped on  the  anns  and 
body  of  the  statue, 
which  had  the  usual 
dead  sound  of  stone, 
and  rendered  tlie  mu- 
sical ring  of  the  sun- 
smitten  block  more 
striking.  Ancient  his- 
tory indeed  explicitly 
affirms  that  the  statue 
of  Memnon  uttered 
sounds  when  the  sun 
shone  upon  it,  and 
says,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  this  fact :  as 
to  the  mode,  however, 
in  which  this  was  ef- 
fected, great  diversity 
of  opinion  exists.  It 
has  been  thought  hy 
some  that  the  priests 
of  Thebes  might  have 
fabricated,  by  me- 
chanical art,  a  kind  of 
speaking  head,  the 
springs  of  which  were 
so  arranged  that  it 
sent  forth  sounds  at 
the  rising  of  the  sun.  Such  an  explanation, 
however,  is  altogether  unsatisfactory ;  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case  are  directly  against  it. 
The  more  generally  received  opinion  ascribes 
the  sound  to  some  peculiar  property  in  the  stone 
itself,  of  which  the  Egyptian  priests  artfully  took 
advantage,  though  in  what  way  is  quite  uncertain. 
An  avenue  of  sphinxes  once  led  from  the  co- 
lossi to  a  grand  temple,  the  foundations  of  which 
we  found  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  On 
the  way  are  the  fragments  of  two  other  colossi, 
one  of  black  granite.  The  enormous  substruc- 
tions of  the  temple  and  the  pedestals  of  its  col- 
umns have  been  sufficiently  excavated  to  show 
what  a  superb  edifice  has  been  lost  to  the  world. 
A  crowd  of  Arabs,  thrusting  upon  our  attention 
newly  baked  cinerary  urns,  newly  roasted  antique 
wheat,  and  images  of  all  kinds,  disturbed  our 
examination  of  the  ruins,  and  to  csca_pe  them 
we  rode  to  the  Memnonimu. — Eastern  Travels. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


13 


FREDERICK   GLEASON,   Profeietor. 

MATUKIN    M.    BALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTENTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER. 

"  The  Tisit,  or  the  Ill-Regulated  Family,"  a  story,  by 
Mrs.  M.  E.  iloEiNSOX. 

"  The  Royal  favorite,"  a  tale  of  the  early  history  of 
Spain,  by  Miss  Sarah  M.  Howe. 

"The  Two  Carpenters,  or  Pastime  Heal  and  Unreal,''  a 
eketch  for  mechanics,  by  Sti-vasds  Cobb,  Jr. 

"  The  Four  Acre  Lot,"  a  fine  prose  sketch,  by  Mrs.  E. 
Wellmont. 

"Lines  to  Anna,-'  by  Ellen  L.  Chandler. 

"  Look  on  the  sunny  side,"  by  Mrs.  M.  \V.  CUETIS. 

"  Evening,"  Unes,  by  Joes  F.  Jefferson. 

"  Sonnet,"  by  Kenneth  Sinclair. 

"  Unrequited  Love,"  verses,  by  J.  Alford. 

"  0  breathe  one  "Wish  for  me,"  by  iNrrs.  R.  T.  Eldredge. 

"  Reformation,"  a  poem,  by  J.  Y.  I^'eisrampel. 

"■Stanzas,"  by  M.M.  Parker. 

"  Carrie  Lecj''  verses,  by  S.  E.  CauRcn. 

"  Lines  to  a  Friend,"  by  Caroline  A.  IIatden. 

"  Friendship,"  by  Mart  N.  Dearborn. 

"  Yield  not  to  Sadness,"  verges,  by  W.  T.  HaSEE. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"We  shall  give  a  fine  picture  representing  the  Columbian 
Artillery  as  they  appeared,  a  few  daya  since,  drawn  up  in 
line  before  their  armory,  in  Cooper  street,  on  the  occasion 
of  their  anniversary.     Drawn  for  us  by  Mr.  Manning. 

A  fine,  large  picture,  representing  the  Count  de  Paris 
and  the  Duke  de  Chartrcs.  An  equestrian  picture  of 
beautiful  execution. 

Also  a  mate  for  the  above,  in  a  large  and  exceedingly 
fine  engraving  of  the  Duke  de  Brabant  and  the  Count  de 
Flanders. 

A  fine  and  interesting  picture  of  the  American  House, 
Boston.  One  of  the  largest  and  best  found  hotels  in  the 
United  States. 

A  very  excellent  and  truthful  representation  of  the  late 
Centennial  Celebration,  at  Danvers,  Mass.,  represented  by 
our  artist,  Mr.  Manning,  in  three  large  engravings,  faith- 
fully depicting  the  unique  and  most  curious  Procession, 
the  Tent  Scene,  and  other  interesting  events  of  the  day. 

An  admirable  and  very  interesting  scriptural  picture, 
from  a  celebrated  painting  called  "  The  Finding  of  Moses." 
An  engraving  that  will  greatly  please  our  readera. 

An  excellent  and  perfect  view,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade, 
of  Fort  Hamilton,  in  New  York  harbor. 

We  shall  present  a  fine  original  likeness  of  Gen.  Scott, 
the  whig  candidate  for  the  presidency.  It  will  be  a  timely 
and  acceptable  picture  to  hia  friends. 


THE  RUINED  ABBEY: 

— OR — 

THE  GIPSIES  OF  FOREST  HILL. 

A  ROIiAXCE  OF  OLD  ENGLAND. 

BT  PR.  J.  H.  ROBINSON. 

This  excellent  story,  just  completed  in  the 
Pictorial,  is  now  published  in  book  form,  and  is 
for  sale  at  all  of  the  periodical  depots.  It  is  one 
of  the  best  we  have  issued  for  a  long  time,  and 
is  well  worth  sending  to  distant  friends,  or  of 
preserving  in  a  convenient  form  for  reference. 
Those  fond  of  good  reading,  should  procure  a 
copy  for  perusal  at  leisure. 

^  -m*^  » 

SPLINTEES. 

The  Eavels  have  been  more  than  suc- 
cessful at  the  Howard  Athenaeum. 

The  priests  of  Ireland   are   preaching 

to  the  people  against  emigrating  to  Americu. 

A   State   Reform  School   for  girls  is 

talked  of  for  Massachusetts.     A  good  object. 

Michael   Conley  was    killed    on   the 

Western  Eailroad  track,  a  few  days  since. 

......  Madame  Celeste  has  taken  her  fare- 
well of  the  American  stage,  in  New  York  city. 

Moritz  Wagner,  the  renowned  German 

traveller,  is  coming  to  America. 

Miss  Kimberly  has  been  giving  Shak- 

spearian  readings  in  the  AYest. 

An   engine    exploded    lately    in    the 

Wamsulta  Mills,  New  Bedford ;  damage  S3000. 

The  New  Hampshire  Legislature  were 

not  prepared  to  pass  the  Maine  Liquor  Law. 

It  is  very  evident  thai  we  shall  soon 

have  a  penny  rate  of  postage  for  the  Atlantic. 

Wm.  Osgood  went  into  a  N.  York  gam- 
ing house,  lost  his  money — and  drow^ned  himself. 

We  see  by  the  papers  that  tlie  streets  of 

Gardiner,  Me.,  are  to  be  sprinkled — when  it  rains. 

It  is  said  that  Mr.  Webster  will  soon 

leave  the  cabinet,  and  return  to  Marshfield. 

Some  papers  are  talking  about  a  "  has- 
ty plate  of  soup."     Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

A  son  of  Elias  Gales  was  drowned  at 

Newton  Lower  Falls,  on  Sunday. 

The  little  Infant  Drummer  will  again 

perform  before  the  Bostonians. 

Catherine  Hayes  is  still  concerting  at 

the  north-west.     Very  popular. 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE. 

With  the  other  fine  arts,  architecture,  brought 
to  a  higli  degree  of  perfection  by  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  sank  into  decay  with  the  fall  of  tlieir 
imperial  power.  When  tlie  sent  of  empire  was 
removed  from  Rome  to  Byzantium,  the  efforts 
of  Constantine  to  make  his  favorite  city  rival  in 
architectural  glory  the  splendor  of  old  Rome 
failed  completely.     A  dark  period  occurred. 

The  chiircli  of  St.  Mark,  at  Venice,  a  creation 
of  modern  art,  in  the  beauty  of  its  proportions 
and  richness  of  its  style,  seems  to  stamp  the  tenth 
century — the  period  of  its  erection — as  the  era 
of  renewing  taste  in  architecture.  All  at  once 
the  Italians  suddenly  developed  their  latent 
genius  ;  and  ambitious  edifices  began  once  more 
to  adorn  their  cities  and  plains.  In  1016,  a 
splendid  cathedral  was  erected  at  Pisa,  by  Bus- 
chetto  da  Dulichio,  a  Greek  architect.  This 
building  is  encrusted  with  marble,  internally  and 
externally,  and  four  marble  columns  support  the 
elegant  roof.  The  architect  did  not  live  long 
enough,  however,  to  found  a  school,  and  his  fine 
cliurch  remained  a  long  while  without  a  rival. 

In  the  thu-teenth  centniy,  Nichola  da  Pisa 
erected  the  church  of  St.  Anthony,  at  Padua,  of 
which  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  it  excited  the  ad- 
miration of  Michael  Angelo.  In  this  and  the 
following  century,  the  great  cathedral  of  Stras- 
bm-g  was  erected.  Prom  this  time,  modem 
architecture  made  rapid  advances. 

In  England,  Trigo  Jones,  about  the  time  of 
Charles  II,  introduced  a  pure  style  of  art.  The 
modern  French  school  has  also  many  fine  speci- 
mens of  art. 

If  modern  architectm*e  do  not  possess  the  ele- 
gant simplicity,  the  dignified  richness  of  that  of 
the  ancient,  still  it  is  distinguished  by  variety,  by 
elegance,  by  daring  originality,  and  by  pictur- 
esqueness.  One  soon  wearies  of  the  monotony 
of  streets,  presenting  regular  colonnades,  uniform 
parallelograms  and  arches ;  but  the  mind  expe- 
riences a  constant  succession  of  agreeable  sur- 
prises in  the  very  angularities  and  eccentricities 
of  a  modern  city. 

Of  all  the  edifices  which  modern  art  has  erect- 
ed, none  is  more  striking  or  sublime  than  the 
famous  church  of  St.  Peter,  at  Rome,  which 
covers  an  area  of  227,069  feet.  Men  walking  on 
its  rich  Mosaic  pavement,  seem  dwarfed  to  in- 
sects in  comparison  with  the  vastness  of  the  space 
by  which  they  are  surrounded,  and  one  can  hard- 
ly realize,  in  the  midst  of  this  architectural  mag- 
nificence, that  it  is  the  work  of  human  hands. 

Our  own  country  is  too  young,  perhaps,  to 
look  for  architectural  excellence.  Comfortable 
and  commodious  dwellings,  we  have,  and  spa- 
cious buildings,  but  we  have  not  reached  that 
point  of  our  history  when  taste  will  demand  a 
splendid  and  original  school  of  architecture. 
The  time  will,  however,  come  when  we  shall  no 
longer  borrow  our  models  from  the  old  world  ; 
when  we  can  budd  a  chui'ch  without  depending  on 
some  Gothic  model,  or  a  bank  w'ithout  infring- 
ing on  the  Parthenon  at  Athens.  We  have  seen 
the  model  of  that  Parthenon  so  many  times  that 
we  are  really  sick  of  it.  It  has  obtruded  itself 
on  our  observation  under  a  thousand  false  pre- 
tences ;  sometimes  as  a  dwelling-house,  with 
green  blinds,  a  mahogany  street-door,  and  a  cu- 
pola; sometimes  as  a  shoe  store — the  pillars 
festooned  with  brogans,  and  anon  as  a  billiard 
room  and  oj'ster  saloon.  The  Gothic,  too,  has 
been  -wi-etchedly  hackneyed  and  caricatured,  until 
the  eye  is  weary  of  sharp  pinnacles,  and  wooden 
icicles,  and  steep  roofs.  We  hope  the  time  will 
come  when  an  American  citizen  will  be  obliged 
to  sleep  in  a  Gothic  bedroom,  dine  in  a  Chinese 
pagoda,  get  his  money  in  a  Grecian  temple,  and 
be  bmied  in  an  Egyptian  tomb.  Architecture  is 
surely  a  noble  art,  and  the  universality  of  its 
uses  should  encourage  true  genius  to  make  it  a 
study  and  a  field  for  the  development  of  the  in- 
tellectual and  imaginative  faculties.  By  all 
means  let  us  have  an  American  school  of  archi- 
tectm-e. 


THE  NOIUKEES. 

Well,  we  have  the  candidates  now  fairly  before 
us — Scott  and  Pierce — Pierce  and  Scott, — and 
the  battle  must  now  commence  in  earnest.  No 
doubt  there  is  much  disappointment  on  both 
sides  at  this  moment;  indeed  we  know  there  is  ; 
but  then  what  matters  if?  "Principles,  not 
men,"  should  be  the  motto  of  every  party.  It 
will  be  observed  that  we  this  week  give  a  very 
perfect  likeness  of  General  Frank  Pierce,  and 
next  week  we  shall  give  as  good  a  one  of  General 
Winfield  Scott. 


Query. — What  do  you  think,  gentle  reader,  of 
our  first  number  of  the  new  volume  ? 


OURSELVES. 

We  need  hardly  go  on  to  praise  the  appear- 
ance of  our  Pictorial  in  the  new  dress,  new  type, 
new  heading,  etc.,  in  which  we  come  before  the 
public  in  the  present  number.  It  will  speak  for 
itself,  and  yet  w6  would  call  attention  to  the  ex- 
quisite fineness  and  beauty  of  the  heading,  and 
also  to  the  great  purity  of  style  and  clearness  of 
effect  produced  by  the  new  t}'pe.  It  is  from  the 
establishment  of  Messrs.  Phelps  &  Dalton,  of 
this  city,  and  as  a  specimen  of  work,  is  highly 
creditable  to  that  house. 

It  will  also  be  observed  that  we  have  endeavor- 
ed to  improve  in  the  character  of  our  engrav- 
ings, and,  indeed,  this  we  have  done  every  week 
since  the  paper  commenced,  and  shall  continue 
to  do.  The  pictorial  department  of  the  number 
now  before  om:  readers  is  of  a  very  excellent  and 
perfect  character,  probably  surpassing  anything 
in  the  style  of  wood  engraving  ever  attempted  in 
this  country.  We  have  now  a  most  extensive 
and  experienced  corps  of  artists,  and  still  better 
work  than  heretofore  may  be  anticipated  in  the 
pictorial  department. 

That  the  value  of  the  Pictorial  is  increasing 
■with  every  number,  the  humblest  capacity  will 
perceive,  and  therefore  it  becomes  of  great  im- 
portance to  those  who  would  presen'C  so  elegant 
an  illumined  work  of  the  times  for  binding,  that 
they  subscribe  early  to  secure  the  numbers  com- 
plete from  the  first  of  the  volume ;  and  therefore 
the  present  moment  is  the  very  best  time  for  sub- 
scribers to  send  in  their  names  and  money  to  our 
office  of  publication. 

We  have  some  rare  and  beautiful  subjects  now 
in  hand  for  illustration,  whicli  will  be  brought 
out  promptly  from  week  to  week,  and  which  will 
delight  our  readers  by  their  tnithfulness  and  ar- 
tistic excellence. 


THE  PICTORL\L— VOLOIE  H. 

We  have  now  ready  for  delivery,  Volume  11 
of  the  Pictorial,  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with 
gilt  back  and  edges,  and  illumined  sides.  To 
this  we  have  added  a  new  and  splendid  frontis- 
piece— one  of  the  most  beautiful  engi-a\'ings  we 
have  ever  issued  from  this  establishment.  This 
title-page  represents,  above,  the  four  quai'ters  of 
the  earth — Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America — 
the  resources  from  which  are  drawn  the  matter 
and  illustrations  of  the  paper.  Below,  in  the 
centre  of  the  scene,  is  a  drawing-room,  with  ladies 
and  gentlemen  engaged  in  looking  over  the  paper 
and  conversation  ;  on  one  side,  at  the  base,  is  a 
rural  retreat,  on  the  other  a  seashore  view,  the 
whole  enclosed  in  a  border  of  scroll  work  enliv- 
ened with  cupids  sporting  and  holding  festoons 
of  flowers.  To  those  who  have  volume  1st  bound, 
we  need  only  say  that  this  second  volume  is  far 
superior  to  it  in  every  respect ;  but  to  those  who 
have  never  seen  the  Pictorial  bound,  we  can  only 
say,  come  and  look  for  yourselves.  We  are  also 
binding  up  the  volume  as  fast  as  handed  in  by 
om"  subscribers,  at  the  imprecedented  low  price 
of  one  dollar,  as  described  above.  Any  of  the 
back  numbers  that  may  have  been  injured  or  lost 
can  be  supplied  at  our  office  by  early  application. 


THE  SEA-SERPENT. 

Would  you  believe  that  the  famous  sea-ser- 
pent has  actually  made  his  appearance  off  tlie 
rock-bound  shores  of  Nahant  ?  So  it  is.  In  an- 
other place  you  wdl  find  a  likeness  of  his  snake- 
ship.  By  the  by,  there  are  some  delightful  at- 
tractions at  this  peninsula,  at  all  times  ;  to  say 
nothing  of  the  cool,  bracing  atmosphere,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  wilting  heat  of  the  town.  There 
is  the  Swallows'  Cave,  Pulpit  Rock,  the  Spout- 
ing Horn,  and  other  curiosities  ever  attracting 
the  visitor ;  and  when  by  examining  these  he  has 
created  a  good  appetite.  Col.  Drew,  of  the  famous 
Nahant  Hotel,  is  ready  to  pi-escribe  for  tlie  inner 
man  in  a  way  that  he  so  well  understands,  and 
which  renders  one  quite  at  home.  Col.  Drew's 
beautiful  steamer,  Josephine  Clifton,  is  now 
running  regularly  each  day  between  Nahant  and 
Boston. 


JrsT  so. — The  Post  says  the  public  houses  at 
Newport  are  being  filled  fast.  Several  "  leading 
citizens,"  and  some  of  "the  first  families,"  are 
there.  Owing  to  the  anti-liquor  law  of  Rhode 
Island,  visitors  take  their  medicine  with  them. 


In  this  eity,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Streetcr,  Mr.  James  F.  Crabo 
to  Miss  Delia  T.  Pollard. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Smithett,  Mr.  Asa  Worcester  to  Miss  Ellen 
M.  SVickers. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Porter,  Mr.  William  Kenne  to  Mies  Mary 
Currier. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Richard  Halls  to  Miss  Elizabeth 
N.  Gate.s. 

By  Mr.  Davis,  Mr.  Edward  H.  Eldridge  to  Miss  Lydia  B. 
Richardson, 

At  Roxbury,  by  Rev.  3Ir.  Putnam,  Mr.  A.  W.  Spencer 
to  Miss  Josephine  Vila. 

At  Brookline,  by  Rev.  Mr,  Sanger,  Mr.  S.  Merrill,  of  Na- 
tick,  to  Miss  Rebecca  R.  Blake. 

At  Walpole,  by  Rev.  Mr.  3Icrrick,  Mr.  John  P.  Prichard 
to  Miss  Elizabeth  A.  Tapley,  both  of  Charlestotra. 

At  Eastou,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Sheldon,  Mr.  Joshua  D.  Howard, 
of  South  Boston,  to  Miss  Lusanua  W,  Kimball. 

At  Worcester,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Colvcr,  Mr.  Joseph  W.  Col- 
bum  to  Miss  Charlotte  A.  Blunt,  both  of  Bostou. 

At  Essex,  by  Rev,  Dr.  Crowell,  Mr.  John  B.  Lane  to  MisB 
Elizabeth  C.  Choate. 

At  Waterville,  Me.,  Mr.  John  B.  Foster,  of  Portland,  to 
Miss  Ann  D,  Kobinson. 

At  Philadelphia,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Stevens,  Mr.  Lemuel  Coffin, 
formerly  of  Newburyport,  Ms.,  t^a  Miss  Amantine  Monges. 

At  Hallowell,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Albee,  Mr.  Joseph  A. 
Griffin,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Marj-  Jane  Dearborn. 

At  Tewksbury,  Ijy  Rev.  Mr.  Coggin,  Mr.  J.  N.  Goodhue, 
of  St.  Paul.  Minnesota,  to  Miss  Julia  A.  Kittredge. 


«-<V^#^: 


Explanation. — "  Cuffee,  is  that  the  second 
bell  V  "  No,  massa,  dat's  de  second  ringin*  ob 
de  fuss  bell.  "We  haven't  got  no  second  bell  in 
dis  ere  hotel." 


Bright. — The  planet  Venus  is  said  to   be 
more  brilliant  now  than  for  ten  years  past. 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Betsey  Howe,  50  ;  Mr.  Nath'l  Green- 
ough,  74  ;  Mi-a.  Matilda  Morse,  49  ;  Mr,  Job  Powers  ;  Mrs. 
Mary  Bean,  73:  Mr.  John  Grey,  77 — for  the  last  30  years 
insane  ;  Mr.  William  Hughins,  23 ;  Mrs.  E,  M.  T.  Jackson, 
82  ;  Mr.  Terrence  Sweeney,  57  ;  Mrs.  Mary  B.  Fuller,  48. 

At  Roxbury,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Ford,  72. 

At  Charlestown,  Mrs,  Diana  A,  Austin,  29, 

At  Salem,  Mr.  Jonas  Bettis,  61 ;  Miss  Louisa  Peabody, 
14;  Mr.  Henry  Thompson,  21. 

At  Concord,  Hon.  Phineas  How,  55. 

At  North  Scituate,  Mr.  Caleb  Bailey,  83- 

At  Amesbury,  Dr.  John  W.  Wadleigh,  of  Haverhill,  32. 

At  Haverhill,  Miss  Eliza  R.  Emerson,  27. 

At  Newburyport,  Mrs,  Polly  W,  DorrUl,  64. 

At  Rockport,  Mr.  Lemuel  ElweJl,  22. 

At  Nantucket,  Mrs.  Anna  Saudsbury,  63  ;  Mrs.  Eunice 
Husscv,  87  ;  Mrs.  Judith  Swain,  79. 

At  North  Hadley,  Mrs.  Olive  Smith,  85. 

At  Conway,  Dr.  George  Rogers,  73. 

At  Belchertown,  Mr.  Mark  Stacv,  87. 

At  Brookfield,  Mrs.  Mary  Smith,  96. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Martha  Dellano.  82. 

At  Westmoreland,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Cook,  85. 

At  Providence,  B,  I.,  Mrs,  Caroline  Olney,  55. 

At  New  York,  Mr.  Charles  J.  Hunt,  of  Boston. 

At  Washington,  D.  C,  Mr.  E.  M.  Cunningham,  60. 

At  Goshen,  Ind.,  Dr,  G.  H.  Parsons,  52. 

At  San  Francisco,  Mr.  Seth  G.  Cummings,  of  Maine,  48  ; 
Mr.  James  French,  of  New  Hampshire,  36  ;  Mr.  John  B. 
Emerson,  of  Massachusetts,  22. 


—  AND  — 

LITERACY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTOKIAL 

JDrftun«tj^H00tit  (SIotn^rtiTtoiT* 

A  Record  of  the  heautifu^  and  useful  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  pre.scnt,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  tbe  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whola 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  Oi  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a.  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  it^  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  m  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  ser^e,  with  line  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  tbc  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  ^vill  al.so  be 
given,  ivith  nimierous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  p2.per,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pro- 
Benting  in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fitleen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  ita  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  tha 
fund  of  amusement  it  aQbrds,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  ptrictest  and 
highest  toue  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  nil  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
th-it  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

TEEMS:    $2  00    FEB    VOLUME. 

OR,    S4  00    PER    ANN'UM, 

INVARIAULY    IX    ADVANCE. 

Each  six  montUs  completes  a  volume,  commencing  oa 
the  f.Tit  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  vslumes 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

[C7="  One  copy  ot  tuc  Flag  of  oub  Cnios,  and  one  copy 
of  the  PicTOKiAL  Drawing-Hoou  CoMi'AXioN,  oue  year, 
for  ©6  UO, 

[Cr"  The  PicTOKiAL  Drawing-Room  Companion  may  be 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  the 
country,  and  of  newsmen,  at  ten  cenla  per  single  copy 

Pubhshed  every  Saturday,  by 

F.   GLEASON,  Bosiox,  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  York. 
A.  WINCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS.  TAYLOR  &  Co.,  Ill  Balthnore  St.,  Baltimore. 
A.  C.  BAGLEY,  10  West  3d  Street,  Cmcinnati. 
J.  A.  ROYS.  43  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit. 
E.  K.  WOODWARD,  cor.  4th  and  Chesnut,  St.  Louis. 
V^y  Subseriplions  received  at  either  of  the  above  places 


14 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  OIoaflon'H  Plctoriftl.] 
ON  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

HT   JOHN   RUaSKI,. 

Hail!  thou  nHspiciouN,  glorious  morn, 
Which  gave  the  llrltlHh  chaps  their  corn; 
When  every  patriot  hero  liaU  flworn, 

From  that  day  forth, 
All  llritinh  tyranny  to  nconi, 

Id  uattt  or  north. 

Eronta  had  lang  preceded  thoflo, 
Destined  to  Diak  a  noblo  blcozo, 
Ah  lang  as  there  arc  hills  or  bcob, 

Or  dei'dfl  to  toll, 
"Where  urniios  mufltorod  thick  aa  hccs, 

And  Britinh  fell. 

The  tyrants  of  the  noblc'a  land. 
Had  i-odc  John  with  so  high  a  hand, 
That  they  dared  even  to  command 

The  patriots  here ; 
Thin  put  our  nation  to  a  stand, 

But  not  to  fear. 

At  Bunker's  hill  wc  gave  thorn  battle, 
And  put  to  proof  our  sterling  mettle, 
The  British  fled  away  like  cattle, 

Or  stricken  deer ; 
M'ha'  fell  not  on  the  field  o'  battle. 

Fled  fast  for  fear. 

Wu  met  the  cravens  aft  agjiin, 

And  gave  them  bucksliot  for  their  pain, 

Till  they  wore  thankful  to  refrain, 

And  did  decree, 
(Since  they  could  not  keep  ua  in  chain,) 

To  set  us  free. 

And  now  we  hnil  the  glorious  day, 
Which  first  gave  liberty  its  away, 
■Which  shed  its  first,  its  rising  ray 

On  this  hlest  shore  ; 
Here  may  it  take  its  lasting  stay. 

To  set  no  more  1 

[Writt«n  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  LITERARY  WIFE. 


BY    MRS.    CAllOHNE    OIINB. 

"  Well,  thank  my  stars,  my  wife  is  not  lite- 
rary," said  Morris  Scdley ;  a  remark  which  had 
been  elicited  hy  something  whicli  his  friend, 
Charles  Staniford,  had  been  saying. 

"Neither,"  said  Staniford,  in  reply,  "is  Wil- 
liam Barclay's  wife  what  would,  strictly  speak- 
ing, be  called  literary.  She  is  by  no  means  what 
would  be  called  a  blue  stocking." 

"  I  don't  know  what  ouglit  to  be  called  a  blue 
stocking,  then.  One  thing  is  certain,  she  is  eter- 
nally scribbling  for  the  magazines  and  news- 
papers." 

"  I  should  think  eternally  rather  a  strong 
word;  for  my  sister,  who  is  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  Mrs.  Barclay,  says  she  superintends  lier  do- 
mestic affairs,  and  does  all  the  plain  sewing  for 
Jie  family  ;  while,  as  you  and  I  both  know,  there 
is  no  lady  of  her  station,  who  dresses  with  more 
neatness  and  taste." 

"  All  this  may  be ;  but  depend  on  it,  'twill  be 
only  for  a  short  time.  The  cacoethes  sc7-iheiKU 
will  grow  upon  lier,  and  in  the  eonrsc  of  a  few 
years  slie  will  degenerate  into  a  downright  slat- 
tern, or,  what  I  consider  almost  the  same  thing, 
into  a  6(15  bleu  in  its  broadest  sense." 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Charles  Staniford,  as  he 
and  Sedley  parted  at  the  threshold  of  the  well 
filled  store  belonging  to  the  latter. 

It  is  well  that  mortals  are  not  gifted  with  the 
power  of  ubiquity.  If  they  were,  the  mind  of 
Morris  Sedley  might  have  been  seriously  dis- 
turbed ;  for  at  ttie  very  moment  he  was  thanking 
his  stars  that  his  wife  was  not  literary,  she  was 
seated  at  a  table,  on  whicli  she  was  leaning  in  a 
thoughtful  attitude,  with  a  sheet  of  paper  spread 
before  her,  and  a  pen  in  her  hand. 

Ellen  Sedley  was  young,  with  liandsome  fea- 
tures, and  a  fine,  transparent  complexion.  It 
might,  moreover,  be  said  of  her,  as  Lumqua — 
called  by  Europeans  the  Sir  Tliomas  La^vTcnce 
of  China — said  of  an  English  belle,  "lier  face 
talks."  She  had  already,  ur.der  an  a.ssumed 
name,  contributed  several  articles  to  a  popular 
periodical,  which  had  been  received  with  great 
favor,  and  it  was  predicted  that  she  would  take  a 
high  stand  among  the  most  popular  and  approved 
writers. 

She  had  not,  at  fir.st,  been  impelled  to  write, 
cither  from  a  desire  of  gain,  or  even  fame,  but 
nimply  to  give  expression  to  the  beautiful 
thoughts  which  ivoitld  well  up  fiom  the  depths  of 
lier  heart,  like  waters  fiom  the  crystal  fountain. 
She  did  not  think  them  worth  publisliing,  and 
liad  it  not  been  for  Eliza  Ray,  her  cousin,  whom 
ulic  permitted  to  read  Iier  effusions,  t!icy  would, 
in  all  prol)ability,  have  been  transfciTcd  from  her 


portfolios  to  the  fire,  when  that  receptacle  liud 
become  too  much  crowded.  She  was  not,  at 
that  time,  aware  that  M(H-ris  Sedley  entertained 
so  strong  a  prejudice  against  literary  Indies.  As 
soon  ns  she  ascertained  it,  by  some  casual  re- 
mark made  by  him  on  the  subject  soon  after 
their  marriage,  slie  sent  nothing  more  for  publi- 
cation. She,  however,  continucil  to  write  for  her 
own  amusement,  iind  tliat  of  her  only  eoniidant, 
Eliza  Hay.  Having  become  intercste<l  in  the 
characters  which  she  had  introduced  into  a  tale, 
already  commenced,  she  had  continued  it,  till  it 
had  promised  to  grow  into  a  good  sized  volume. 
Though  she  Sent  nothing  more  herself,  her 
cousin,  without  consulting  her,  forwarded  a  poem 
whicli  Iiad  struck  her  as  very  beautiful,  to  the 
publisher  of  the  periodical  to  which  slie  had  for- 
merly contributed.  Ellen  Sedley  imagined  that, 
with  the  exception  of  her  cousin,  there  was  not 
a  person  in  existence  who  suspected  that  a  single 
line  written  by  her  had  ever  been  printed.  In 
this,  she  was  deceived.  Her  chirograpliy,  which 
was  elegant,  as  well  as  somewhat  peculiar,  had 
betrayed  her  to  a  lady  of  her  acquaintance,  who 
had  by  some  chance  seen  one  of  her  stories  in 
manuscript.  The  lady  had  subsequently  pointed 
her  out  to  her  brother,  as  the  writer  of  a  scries 
of  tales,  which  she  knew  he  much  admired, 
though  she  refused  to  tell  him  her  name.  The 
brother,  whose  name  was  Stafford,  at  that  time 
had  no  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Sedley.  Not  long 
afterward,  the  two  gentlemen,  being  frequently 
thrown  together,  became  familiarly  acquainted. 

The  very  day  the  conversation  relative  to  lit- 
erary ladies  took  place  between  Mr.  Sedley  and 
Charles  Staniford,  Stafibrd  called  into  Mr.  Sed- 
ley's  store.  As  they  were  chatting  together, 
Stafford  took  up  a  paper  which  was  lying  on  the 
counter,  and  as  he  ran  his  eye  carelessly  over  its 
columns,  it  was  suddenly  airested  by  the  nom  de 
plume  which  had  been  adopted  b}'  Mi-s.  Sedley. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "I  am  glad  to  see  something 
from  the  pen  of  my  old  favorite.  Have  you  read 
iti"  he  asked,  pointing  out  a  piece  of  poetry  to 
Sedley. 

"  No ;  I  should  have  my  hands  full,  if  I  under- 
took to  read  all  such  trasli." 

"  Do  not  call  this  trash — it  is  a  perfect  gem — 
a  diamond  of  the  first  water.  Listen,  while  I 
read  it,  and  you  will  agree  with  me;"  and  with- 
out paying  any  attention  to  certain  deprecatory 
exclamations  on  the  part  of  Sedley,  he  read  the 
poem. 

Being  an  excellent  reader,  he  did  it  full  jus- 
tice, and  Sedley  was  constrained  to  acknowledge 
that  it  was  not  so  "  wishy-washy "  as  he  had 
anticipated. 

"  I  suppose  Barclay's  wife  wrote  it,"  said  he. 
"  0,  no,"  replied  Stafford,  "  Mrs.  Barclay, 
though  a  veiy  good  writer,  is  incapable  of  writ- 
ing anything  equal  to  this.  I  have  seen  the  lady 
who  wrote  it ;  my  sister  pointed  her  out  to  me 
one  day,  but  no  persuasion  could  induce  her  to 
tell  me  her  real  name.  One  thing,  however,  is 
certain.  She  is  as  beautiful  as  an  angel ;  and  if 
Louisa  had  not  told  me,  by  way  of  prevention, 
that  she  was  married,  I  certainly  should  have 
fallen  in  love  with  her.  By  the  golden  lyre  of 
Apollo,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  out  at  the  door, 
"  there  she  is  now.  Quick,  or  yon  wont  get  a 
sight  of  her." 

Sedley  ran  to  the  door,  and  looked  in  tlic  di- 
rection indicated  by  Stafford. 

"Do  you  mean  the  lady  in  the  palm-leaf 
shawl  r' 

"  No,  indeed,  the  one  in  the  black  mantilla. 
There,  she  turns  her  face  this  way.  Isn't  she 
beautiful '?" 

"  Why,  that  is  Ellen." 
"Ellen?     Who  is  Ellen f 
"  My  wife." 

"  Why,  I  thought  that  you  did  not  tolerate 
literaiy  ladies." 

"  You  thought  right — I  do  not  tolerate  them. 
Ellen  never  wrote  a  line  of  poetry  in  her  life." 
"  Are  you  certain  of  it  V 

"Yes,  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  am  certain  of 
it.  I  once  spent  three  months  in  a  family  where 
there  was  a  has  hleti,  and  ever  since,  I  have  en- 
tertained a  perfect  horror  of  the  whole  sister- 
hood, and  believe  that  I  should  be  able  to  detect 
one  of  them  at  once,  though  ever  so  closely  dis- 
guised. The  one  I  boarded  With  was,  as  she 
told  me,  writing  a  nniversal  history,  an  epic 
poem,  and  a  tragedy ;  and  compelled  herself  to 
work  on  one  or  the  other  of  them  sixteen  hours 
in  every  twenty-four.  That  I  cared  not  for,  if 
sliG  had  not  so  frequently  seized  me  by  the  .sleeve, 
or  a  coat-button,  and  compelled  me  to  listen  to 
her,  while  she  repeated  passages  from  her  poem 


and  tragedy.  Unfortunately,  she  had  seen  an 
engraving  from  the  i>orti'ait  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 
which  delineated  her  in  the  character  of  the 
Tragic  Muse ;  and  in  reciting  to  me  what  she 
termed  the  deeper  passages  of  her  tragedy,  she 
attempted  to  imitate  the  attitude  and  expression 
of  countenance  as  tliere  portrayed.  At  last,  I 
became  so  nervous  at  the  idea  of  being  obliged 
to  listen  to  her,  that  I  exclianged  my  boarding- 
place." 

"And  you  think  her  a  fair  specimen  of  the 
whole  class  of  literary  ladles?" 

"  I  know  of  no  reason  why  I  should  think 
otherwise." 

"  You  are  behind  the  times,  Sedley.  The 
opinion  you  express  would  have  been  well 
enough  suited  to  the  last  century,  and  it  may  bo, 
the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  but  not 
to  the  present  time.  Fomicrly,  people  imagined 
that  the  same  head  which  could  compose  a  figure 
in  rhetoric,  was  totally  incompetent  to  concoct  a 
pudding;  while  fijigcrs,  which  could  with  any 
dexterity  handle  a  pen,  would  be  sorely  puzzled 
in  attcmjjting  to  darn  a  stocking.  It,  however, 
has  been  pi-oved  by  actual  experiment,  that  the 
same  lady  may  compose  a  good  poem,  and  make 
a  still  better  pudding ;  that  she  may  write  pas- 
sable stories  and  sketches,  and  yet  by  no  means 
be  an  anomaly." 

Sedley  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  he 
said  : 

"  Since  you  like  literary  ladies  so  well,  I  ad- 
vise 3'ou,  if  ever  you  man-y,  to  select  one  for  a 
wife.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  content  with  one 
whose  tastes  arc  thoroughly  domestic." 

"  And  whose  personal  attractions  are  of  the 
first  order,"  said  Stafford,  smiling. 

So  certain  was  Sedley  that  his  wife  never  un- 
dertook to  write  anything,  except  a  school  com- 
position, or  a  familiar  letter,  that  he  scarce  gave 
the  circumstance  of  her  having  been  pointed  out 
to  him  as  the  authoress  of  the  poem  Stafibrd  had 
read  to  him,  a  second  thought. 

At  the  time  of  the  foregoing  conversation,  Mr. 
Scdley  was  one  of  the  most  prosperous  merchants 
in  the  city.  Six  montlis  afterward,  in  conse- 
quence of  some  lieavy  losses,  he  became  much 
embarrassed.  Ellen  saw  that  he  was  troubled 
about  something,  and,  in  answer  to  her  earnest 
inquiries,  he,  at  last,  reluctantly  confessed  to  her 
the  true  state  of  his  affairs.  He,  however,  by 
great  exertion,  continued  to  stem  the  tide  which 
threatened  to  overwhelm  them. 

Several  months  passed  in  this  manner,  when 
one  day  he  found  that  on  account  of  being  disap- 
pointed relative  to  the  receipt  of  a  sum  on  which 
he  had  confidently  counted,  he  should  be  unable 
to  meet  a  lieavy  pajTnent  due  the  bank.  The 
probable  consequence  of  this,  by  exciting  the 
alarm  of  several  to  whom  he  was  indebted,  would 
be  to  involve  him  in  ruin.  He  had  applied  to  a 
number  of  persons,  whom  he  had  from  time  to 
time  accommodated  in  the  same  way,  to  borrow 
the  necessary  amount,  but  not  a  single  applica- 
tion had  proved  successful.  In  one  hour  more 
the  bank  would  be  closed,  and  he  would  be  a 
bankrupt.  He  was  seated  in  the  inner  apartment 
of  his  store,  gloomy  and  despondent,  when  his 
Avife  entered,  with  a  face  radiant  with  smiles. 
His  first  emotion  at  seeing  her  appear  so  happy 
when  he  was  so  miserable,  savored  somewhat  of 
anger,  which  he,  however,  at  once  checked,  as 
mean  and  selfish. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  a  boon,"  said  she. 
The  vision  of  a  cashmere  shawl,  which,  previ- 
ous to  the  embarrassed  state  of  his  pecuniary  af- 
faii's,  he  had  voluntarily  promised  her,  rose  before 
him,  and  the  gloom  darkened  upon  his  brow. 

"  Will  you  not  promise  to  grant  it?"  said  she, 
regarding  with  some  alarm  the  sudden  change  in 
his  countenance. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  he  (he  was  still  haunt- 
ed witli  the  vision  of  the  cashmere  shawl.)  "  In 
less  than  an  hour  I  shall  be  known  as  a  mined 
merchant." 

"  That  is  what  I  suspected,  fiom  what  my 
brother  told  me,"  said  she,  "  and  on  that  I  found 
my  only  hope,  that  you  will  grant  what  I  came 
to  ask." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles  ;  what  is  it  you  came 
to  ask  ?" 

"  Your  forgiveness." 
"  On  what  account  ?" 

"  For  daring  to  have  a  talc  printed,  which  for 
the  last  three  years  I  ha\'c  amused  myself  by 
writing." 

Ellen,  arc  you  in  earnest?" 
"  I  am." 

"  And  you  did  this  witli  a  knowledge  that  a 
has  bleu  is  my  aversion  ?" 


"  I  plead  guilty." 

"  You,  at  least,  miglit  have  consulted  me." 

I  should,  only  I  feared  your  prohibition." 

"  You  did  ?" 

There  was  not  much  in  these  two  monosylla- 
bles, but  the  manner  in  which  they  were  »pokca 
was  expressive  ol' anger. 

"Ipcrceive,"  said  she,  "that  youdcem  my  of- 
fence unpai'donable ;  but  good,  you  know,  may 
sometimes  come  out  of  evil.  If  I  had  not  luul 
my  book  printed,  I  could  not  make  you  thi.s 
trifling  birthday  present."  (Sedley  was  that 
very  day  twenty-eight.) 

As  she  spoke  she  handed  him  a  roll  of  bank- 
bills. 

"  Please  count  them,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  believe 
there  is  rather  more  than  the  sum  you  are  in 
immediate  want  of." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Ellen,"  .said  he,  hastening  to 
obey  her,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  "  that 
this  will  prove  a  fairy  gift  —  that  before  I  can 
appropriate  them,  these  bills  will  change  to 
worthless  bits  of  paper." 

"  Tlierc  is  no  danger  tliat  the  gift  of  a  good 
fairy  will  change,"  said  she. 

"  Then  there  is  no  danger.  But  what  am  I 
to  understand?  Is  this  money  really  yours,  or 
have  you  been  more  successful  than  I,  and  bor- 
rowed it?  " 

"  It  was  mine,  but  now  belongs  to  you,  on 
condition  that  you  will  pardon  me  for  selling  the 
storj-,  this  day  published,  by  which  I  obtained 
it." 

"  I  accept  the  condition,  and  well  I  may,  for 
what  I  hold  in  my  hand  will  save  me  from  ruin. 
I  will  confess,  however,  tliat  I  am  rather  aston- 
ished at  finding  my  wife  a  blue-stocking." 

"  I  don't  think  the  term  applicable  to  me.  I 
have  always  had  the  impression  that  the  genuine 
blue-stocking  among  women,  is  much  the  same 
as  the  pedant  among  men,  and  at  the  present 
day  we  have  very  few  of  eirhcr.  I  can  moreover 
assure  you,  that  until  you  met  with  those  heavy 
losses,  which  caused  you  so  much  pecuniary  em- 
barrassment, I  never  thought  of  writing  a  line, 
except  for  amusement,  after  I  found  that  you  were 
somewhat  prejudiced  against  literary  ladies." 

"  Well,  I  will  own  that  my  prejudices  were,  at 
least  in  one  instance,  unreasonable.  But  how 
you  could  manage  to  write  a  book  without  my 
ever  having  caught  you  slipshod,  out  at  the  el- 
bows, with  dishevelled  hair,  or  ink-stained  fin- 
gers, or  without  ever  finding  my  wardrobe  out  of 
order,  or  my  meals  badly  prepared,  is  a  mystery 
to  me." 

"A  simple  statement  of  my  mode  of  procedure, 
at  some  time  when  you  have  the  leisure  to  listen, 
will,  I  think,  clear  up  the  mystery.  For  my  own 
part,  I  should  not  think  much  of  a  head  which 
had  no  room  for  anything  but  receipts  in  cookery 
and  Parisian  fashions." 


Ellen  Sedley's  book  proved  so  popular,  that  a 
second  edition  was  soon  called  for;  yet  there  was 
no  change  in  her  domestic  habits,  and  one  of  the 
uninitiated  would  never  have  suspected  that  she 
was  more  literary  than  her  neighbors. 

Stafford  and  otliers  among  Sedley's  friends  and 
acquaintances  did  not  fail  to  rally  him  on  the 
subject  of  his  aversion  to  ladies  of  a  literary  turn, 
which  he  invariably  bore  with  great  good  Iiumor. 
He  even  had  the  magnanimity  to  confess  that  his 
wife's  talents  had  saved  him  from  bankruptcy. 
"But  then  Ellen,"  he  was  in  the  habit  of  adding, 
"  was  an  exception  to  the  general  rule." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LOVE    AND    AFFECTION, 

BY  FINLET  JOUNSON. 

As  floivers  in  the  Gpring-timo 

Break  through  the  frozen  ground, 
And  their  rich  fragrance  scatter 

Upon  the  air  around  ; 
So  love  and  true  affection, 

As  in  the  soul  they  start, 
Break  through  the  frozen  groundwork 

Which  gathers  round  the  heart. 

If  hearts  arc  cold  ond  icy, 

Speak  thou  with  kindly  tone; 
And  warm  them  with  affection 

And  love,  which  is  thine  own; 
The  iciest  hearts  are  melted 

By  love's  endearing  voice, 
And  true  affection  causes 

The  sad  soul  to  rejoice. 

Distrust  all  those  who  love  you  extremely 
upon  a  very  slight  acquaintance,  and  without  any 
visible  reason.  Be  upon  your  guard,  too,  agninst 
those  who  confess,  as  their  weaknesses,  all  the 
cardinal  virtues. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


15 


ELOQUENT  TRIBVTE. 

The  following  is  copied  from  the  Trumpet  and 
TJnivei-salist  Miigiiziue,  and  is  from  the  pen  of 
the  editor,  Rev.  Thomas  Whittcmorc,  rchitivc 
to  the  late  decease  of  Rev.  Hosea  Ballon.  It  is 
not  common  for  men  in  tliese  mercenary  times, 
these  days  of  cold  selfishness,  to  speak  out  thus 
freely  and  honestly  from  the  heart.  AVe  are  at 
a  loss  which  most  to  admire — the  eloquence  of 
the  pass:\ge,  or  the  sincerity  which  dictates  it. 

"  For  myself  {for  I  will  tlirow  off  the  editorial 
style),  I  acknowledge  that  I  feel  most  deeply  the 
loss  of  this  steadfast  friend.  I  mourn,  not  for 
him,  hut  for  myself.  To  me  he  had  hecn  a  father. 
He  found  me  in  my  early  manhood,  and  drew 
me  out  from  seclusion.  He  taught  my  lips  to 
I>iay.  He  turned  my  attention  to  the  ministry  ; 
and'  he  sought  and  obtained  the  means  to  sup- 
port me  when  I  had  not  a  cent  with  which  to 
help  myself.  He  was  in  the  desk  with  me  ivlien 
I  stood  up  tremblingly  (in  the  Town  House  in 
Roxbury)  to  preach  my  first  sermon.  He  intro- 
duced me  to  the  society  in  Milford,  Mass.,  where 
I  hi\d  my  first  pastoral  charge,  and  where  I 
formed  the  tenderest  relation  of  human  life ;  and 
lie  was  the  cause  of  my  being  invited,  in  tlie  year 
1822,  to  settle  at  Cambridgeport,  where  I  ever 
since  have  lived.  For  six  years  thercjifter,  I 
associated  with  liim  in  conducting  the  '  Univer- 
salist  Magazine ;'  and  from  that  time  to  his 
death,  he  has  hecn  a  constant  contributor  to  the 
columns  of  the  '  Trumpet,'  refusing  for  the  last 
ten  years  all  pecuniary  compensation,  although 
repeatedly  pressed  upon  him.  He  has  been  the 
earnest,  steadfast  friend  of  my  wife  and  children ; 
my  eartlily  guide  and  counsellor,  who  has  re- 
proved me,  but  not  too  often  ;  my  teacher  to  the 
end  of  his  life  ;  a  man  of  whom  I  have  learned 
more  concerning  God  and  the  divine  word,  and 
tlie  relation  between  God  and  man,  than  I  have 
learned  from  any  other  human  source.  How 
can  the  event  of  such  a  man's  death  transpire, 
without  exciting  in  me  extraordinary  sensibility '? 
And  yet  I  am  not  inconsolable.  AVlien  I  reflect 
upon  what  he  was, — upon  the  length  of  his  life, — 
upon  the  great  measure  of  good  lie  accomplished. 
— upon  the  fact  that  he  was  permitted  (although 
so  much  away)  to  die  at  home,  surrounded  by 
his  most  exemplary  and  loving  children,  after  a 
very  brief  sickness,  and  to  die  so  gently,  almost 
in  the  act  of  binding  sheaves  in  the  harvest-field, 
— I  cease  to  mourn.  I  thank  God  that  I  saw 
him  within  an  hour  of  his  death,  and  that  he 
knew  me,  and  extended  his  Iiand,  and  tliat  I 
was  permitted  to  take  it  and  kiss  it.  And  now, 
although  there  never  will  be,  for  there  never  can 
be,  another  man  to  me  like  Father  Ballou,  I  will 
be  reconciled.  And  I  will  close  this  brief  sketch 
with  the  words  of  Job, — '  The  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name 
of  the  Lord.'  " 


AItrERICO-BOIIE3II.\iV  GLASS. 

A  recent  visit  to  Boston  gave  us  an  opportu- 
nity of  visiting  the  New  England  Glass  Works 
(says  a  contemporary),  which,  for  the  extent 
and  variety  of  their  operations,  probably  surpass 
all  others  in  the  country.  "We  were  repeatedly 
struck  with  the  fact,  new  to  us,  that  most  of  the 
exquisite,  richly  colored  and  decorated  glass 
ware,  which  is  so  much  admired  under  the  name 
of  "Bohemian  glass,"  is  manufactured  at  these 
works.  The  variety  and  beauty  of  the  articles 
manufactured  there  would  scarcely  be  credited  by 
one  not  a  visitor ;  but  we  assure  our  readers  that 
we  saw  many  works  that  could  not  be  surpassed 
in  Bohemia  or  anywhere  else  in  Europe.  The 
various  processes  by  which  the  different  colors 
and  the  rich  gilding  are  produced,  we  are  not 
prepared  to  describe ;  but  they  are  produced  at 
these  works  in  the  utmost  perfection.  The  com- 
pany has  the  advantage  of  a  charter  and  a  large 
capital,  which  enable  them  thus  to  compete  suc- 
cessfully with  foreign  manufacturers  in  this  work. 


The  "Whalers. — Letters  received  at  Warren, 
R.  L,  from  the  Sandwich  Islands,  dated  in  April 
last,  say  that  the  whalers  there  are  having  a  bad 
time,  particularly  with  their  crews.  Some  ships 
have  lost  half  their  crews  by  desertion,  others 
have  men  in  irons,  and  two  ships  have  been  set 
on  fire — wliieh  will,  as  the  writer  adds,  "be  tlie 
means  of  ruining  a  large  portion  of  the  voyages 
in  this  ocean." 


Lrsus  Natue.e. — In  Sheldon, Wyoming  coun- 
ty, there  is  a  girl  only  seven  years  of  age,  who 
has  a  full  moustache  on  the  upper  lip,  large 
enough  for  a  cavalry  ofticcr,  and  beard,  which, 
though  fit  only  for  "  a  middling  grenadier,"  is 
Urge  enough  to  be  the  envy  of  city  striplings  of 
21  or  22  years  of  age.  This  unusual  growth  of 
hair  began  when  she  was  five  years  old,  since 
which  time  it  has  been  repeatedly  plucked  out- 


Slave  Trade  ix  Brazil. — Advices  from 
Brazil  report  the  opening  of  parliament.  The 
emperor  in  a  speech  sa^^s  he  has  done  mucli  to 
suppress  the  slave  trade,  and  will  continue  his 
efforts  until  it  is  altogether  extinguished. 


lllaj]siiJe   ©atljcriugs. 

The  jail  of  Clermont  Co.,  Ohio,  is  tenantlcss. 

Mr.  Clay,  at  last  accounts,  was  barely  alive  at 
his  quarters  in  Washington. 

General  Wiufield  Scott  is  sixty-six  yeare  old, 
Daniel  Webster  is  seventy-one. 

Ttie  Chinese  are  about  to  commence  the  cul- 
ture of  tea  in  California. 

Mr.  Stevens,  of  the  Revere  House,  has  become 
lessee  of  the  Tremont  House. 

General  Caleb  Cushing  has  resigned  the  office 
of  mayor  of  Newburyport  for  his  judgeship. 

An  iron  bridge  is  to  be  thrown  across  the 
Nashua  River  at  Indian  Head. 

The  Ravel  Family,  forty  in  number,  are  very 
successful  at  the  Howard  Athcnaium. 

The  new  "  Musical  Hall,"  Boston,  is  fast  ap- 
proaching to  completion.     It  is  most  creditable. 

We  regret  to  see  by  the  New  Orleans  papers 
that  the  cholera  is  raging  there. 

The  Kentucky  tobacco  crop  has  been  recently 
injured  by  frosts. 

The  democratic  nominee  for  vice-president  has 
been  a  U.  S.  senator  for  thirty-two  years. 

Miss  Davenport,  accompanied  by  her  mother, 
has  been  on  a  visit  to  Niagara. 

Scrope  Davis,  the  wit,  the  scholar,  and  the 
early  friend  of  BjTon,  is  no  more. 

The  army  worm  is  playing  sad  havoc  in  the 
meadows  near  Franklin,  Tenn. 

Eighty-nine  head  of  yearling  mules  were  sold 
recently,  at  Bedford,  la.,  at  §48  each. 

Wives  should  see  to  it  that  the  lives  of  tlieir 
husbands  are  insured. 

A  wagoner  was  fined  S7.50,  recently,  at  Mays- 
ville,  for  severely  whipping  one  of  his  horses. 

Accounts  from  all  points  of  Illinois  represent 
the  wheat  cxop  to  be  in  a  most  flourishing  condi- 
tion. 

Upwards  of  fifty  ships  have  sailed  from  China 
for  California,  taking,  it  is  estimated,  about 
15,000  emigrants. 

The  cholera  has  made  its  appearance  on  the 
Mississippi,  and  fears  are  entertauaed  of  its  ra- 
pid spread. 

Mrs.  J.  W.  Ford,  wife  of  a  XJniversalist  m.inis- 
ter  at  Springfield,  came  near  losing  her  life  by 
drinking  a  swallow  of  washing  fluid  by  mistake. 

The  London  Builder  siiggests  tliat  the  "  exact 
outline  of  the  area  lately  occupied  by  the  Crys- 
tal Palace  should  be  planted  with  trees." 

A  son  of  Merrill  Wheeler,  and  Sara.  Tweedy 
(colored),  were  drowned  in  3?royjdence  harbor, 
lately,  by  tlie  upsetting  of  a  boat. 

Rachel  is  playing  before  the  Emperor  of  Rus- 
sia, at  Berliu,  having  left  i*ari3  earlier  in  the 
season  than  usual,  on  purpose. 

Patrick  McEvoy,  a  teamster  in  the  employ  of 
C.  P.  Talbot  ^  Co.,  of  Lowell,  fell  from  his  wa- 
gon in  Aiidover,  recently,  and  broke  his  neck. 

A  man  named  Pierce  Bickford  was  nearly 
killed  by  the  bursting  of  a  cannon  at  London, 
N.  H.,  lately.  If  he  recovers,  he  will  lose  the 
use  of  his  eyes  and  both  arms. 

Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  to  have  a  monument. 
The  promoters  of  the  scheme  are  Macaulay,  Hal- 
lam.  Lords  Mahon,  Brougham  an^  Jiansdowne, 
and  Sir  R.  Inglis. 

Mr.  McCormick  has  sent  outfiye  hundred  and 
eighty-one  reapers  and  mowing  machines  the 
pi-escnt  season.  One  was  sent  to  Germany,  one 
hundred  to  "  the  Jerseys,"  and  one  to  El  Dorado. 

Dr.  Henry  Andrus,  of  Chester,  Mass.,  has 
been  holdeu  in  SIOOO  to  take  his  trial  for  stealing 
notes  to  the  amount  of  $3000  fiom  Lydia  An- 
drus, his  aunt,  in  March  last.     He  procured  bail. 

The  average  length  of  Western  passages  per- 
fonned  by  the  Collins  line  is  ten  days,  twenty- 
one  hours  and  ten  minutes ;  of  the  Cunard, 
eleven  days,  four  hours  and  thirteen  minutes. 

A  vei'flicf;  of  §1000  damages  has  been  render- 
ed in  Providence  against  Jo.scph  Pinkham,  of 
New  England  Village,  in  Graflon,  for  breaking 
his  marriage  promise  ^vith  Martha  H.  E^olbrook, 
of  Providence. 

The  expense  of-  receiving  and  entertaining 
Kossuth,  in  Albany,  will  be  about  $1000,  The 
New  York  Times  estimates  the  amount  of  ma- 
terial aid  he  received  in  tjhis  country  at  about 
5150,000. 

Mr.  Caleb  Dnstin  was  shook  down  in  Ne\y 
York,  last  Saturday  week,  by  the  pocket-book 
droppers.  He  belongs  in  Derry,  N.  H.,  and 
paid  S20  for  his  initiation  into  tlie  mysteries  of 
the  art. 

The  London  Times  comments  upon  the  fact 
that  in  nine  cases  in  ten  of  wreck  or  disaster  at 
sea,  many  lives  are  lost  because  the  boats  pro- 
vided expressly  for  such  emergencies  are  either 
out  of  order  or  cannot  be  used. 

The  Empress  of  Russia  is  in  a  very  bad  state 
of  health  at  Potsdam,  scarcely  able  to  leave  her 
couch.  She  is  represented  as  being  extremelv 
debilitated,  and  supported  chiefly  by  medical 
stimulants. 

We  see  in  an  Edinburgh  paper  a  statement 
that  in  South  Carolina  not  a  single  divorce  has 
taken  place  since  the  close  of  the  revolutionary 
war  !  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  "  disunion,"  then, 
in  that  quarter. 

The  Bostonians,  ive  observe,  are  moving,  or 
preparing  to  move,  or  at  least  recommending  one 
another  to  move,  in  the  matter  of  providing  a 
band  of  music  to  play  in  the  evenings  on  the 
Common,  during  tlie  summer. 


Jorcigu   Ulisccllang. 

The  British  have  taken  Rangoon  and  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  cannon. 

Sir  Henry  L.  Bulwer  arrived  at  Florence  on 
the  19tli  nit.,  as  British  minister  to  Tuscany. 

During  the  first  week  m  June  it  was  expected 
that  sub-marine  telegraphic  communication 
would  be  established  between  England  and 
Leland. 

There  are  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety-two 
works  of  art  in  the  London  exhibition,  this  year. 
The  number  of  contributors  is  eight  hundred  and 
sixty-six. 

Gold  continues  to  come  in  from  the  Austi'alian 
placers.  The  Hinialayah  and  Sarah  Anna  from 
Port  Philippe,  bring  41,000  ounces,  valued  at 
XU0,000  sterling. 

In  Ital}',  Piedmont  excepted,  every  one  hun- 
dred and  fourteenth  man  of  the  population  is  in 
prison.  Every  four  hundredth  man  of  the  popu- 
lation is  in  exile. 

Lord  John  Russell  has  issued  an  address  to 
the  electors  of  London,  and  will  again  be  a  can- 
didate for  the  representation  of  the  metropolis 
at  the  ensuing  election. 

Col.  Eyre  has  had  a  severe  action  with  a  body 
of  Caffrcs,  in  which  he  lost  one  captain  and  sev- 
eral men.  The  12th  Lancers  also  had  a  smart 
brush  with  the  enemy. 

The  Portuguese  government  was  contemplat- 
ing a  revision  of  the  tariff' import-duties.  Anew 
cabinet  was  being  formed  with  the  Marquis 
d'Ageglio  as  president. 

At  Paris,  on  the  2-ith  of  May,  the  council  of 
state,  Louis  Napoleon  presiding,  adopted  a  bill 
of  public  instruction,  and  ordered  it  to  be  sent 
to  the  legislative  body. 

Lord  Stanley  states  officially  that  Great  Brit- 
ain lays  no  claim  to  the  Lobox  Guano  Island; 
but  the  admiral  on  the  station  has  sent  a  ship 
there  to  protect  British  interests. 

M.  de  Hackcron's  mission  from  Louis  Napo- 
leon to  the  emperors  of  Russia  and  Austria,  lias 
proved  a  complete  failure,  as  he  could  not  obtain 
an  audience  from  either  of  those  potentates. 

Maj.  Gen.  Cathcart,  the  new  governor,  had 
arrived  at  British  Caftraria,  and  commenced 
operations  wliere  Sir  Harry  Smith  left  off.  Noth- 
ing can  be  known  of  the  issue  for  an  arrival  or 
two. 

The  accounts  from  Paris  are  principally  occu- 
pied with  speculations  on  tiie  coalition  fonned 
against  Louis  Napoleon  by  the  northern  powers, 
during  the  visit  of  the  emperor  of  Russia  to  Vi- 
enna and  Berlin. 


SauLis  of  ©ollt. 


. . .  .Idle  men  are  dead  all  their  lives  long. 

If  you  would  know  the  value  of  money, 

earn  it. 

To  cm'c  a  fit  of  passion,  walk  out  into  the 

open  air. 

....  Genuine  politeness  is  the  first-born  off- 
spring of  generosity  and  modesty. 

.  . .  .Pride  is  a  vice,  which  inclines  men  to  find 
it  in  others,  and  to  overlook  it  in  tlicmselves. 

.  . .  .You  cannot  truly  love,  and  ought  not  to 
be  loved,  if  you  ask  anything  that  virtue  con- 
demns. 

....  Conceit  is  to  nature  what  paint  is  to 
beauty ;  it  is  not  only  needless,  but  impairs  what 
it  would  improve. 

...  .It  is  an  argument  of  a  truly  brave  dispo- 
sition in  a  learned  man,  not  to  assume  the  name 
and  character  of  one. 

....  Wise  men  are  instracted  by  reason,  men 
of  less  understanding  by  experience,  the  most 
ignoi'ant  by  necessity,  and  brutes  by  nature. 

, . . .  True  philosophy,  says  Plato,  consists 
more  in  fidelity,  constancy,  justice,  sincerity,  and 
in  the  love  of  our  duty,  than  a  great  capacity. 

....  Choose  the  company  of  your  superiors, 
whenever  yon  can  have  it;  that  is  the  right  and 
true  pride.  The  mistaken  and  silly  pride  is,  to 
prima-  among  inferiors. 

Balzac,  the  great  ^viiter  in  French  prose, 

who  ^-^xQ  harmony  and  majesty  to  a  pei'iod,  it  is 
said  did  not  grudge  to  bestow  a  week  on  a  page, 
and  was  never  satisfied  with  his  first  thoughts. 

Look  at  the  beautiful  star,  the  first  and 

the  brightest.  I  have  often  thought  it  was  like 
the  promise  of  life  beyond  the  tomI>— a  pledge  to 
us,  that,  in  the  depths  of  midnight,  the  earth 
shall  have  a  light,  unquenchable,  from  heaven. 

Guilt,   thougli   it    may    attain   temporal 

splendor,  can  never  confer  real  happiness.  The 
evil  consequences  of  our  crimes  long  survive 
their  commission,  and,  like  the  ghosts  of  the 
murdered  forever  haunt  the  steps  of  tlie  male- 
factor. 

"No   enjoyment,"   says    Sydney   Smith, 

"  however  inconsiderable,  is  confined  to'  the  pres- 
ent moment.  A  man  is  the  happier  for  life 
from  having  made  once  an  agreeable  tour,  or 
lived  for  any  length  of  time  with  pleasant  people, 
or  enjoyed  any  considerable  interval  of  innocent 
pleas  m'c." 

.  . .  .If  there  is  any  mannerism  that  is  univer- 
sal among  mankind,  it  is  that  of  coloring  too 
highly  tlie  things  we  describe.  We  cannot  be 
content  with  a  simple  relation  of  truth  ;  we  must 
exaggerate ;  we  must  have  "  a  little  too  much 
red  in  the  brush."  Who  ever  lieard  of  a  dark 
night  that  was  not  "  pitch  dark,"  of  a  stout  man 
who  was  not  "as  strong  as  a  horse." 


iJoltrr's  Bubget. 


Ladies  can  draw  a  beau  into  a  knot  at  the  hy- 
meneal altar. 

When  a  man  looks  a  little  pale,  thoughts  of 
kicking  the  bucket  naturally  suggest  themselves. 

The  only  two  great  watering  places  now  in 
the  Union  are  Maine  and  Massacliusetts. 

"My  inkstand  is  stationary,"  as  the  school- 
master said  when  he  found  it  nailed  to  his  desk. 

How  is  it  that  the  trees  can  put  on  a  new  dress, 
without  opening  their  trunks  ?  It  is  because  they 
have  out  their  summer  clothing. 

There  is  no  danger  of  a  missionary  ever  being 
lost,  from  this  one  fact :  they  always,  no  matter 
where  they  go,  leave  their  tracts  (tracks)  behind 
them. 

A  theatrical  friend  of  ours  had  a  most  remu- 
nerative benefit  a  few  evenings  ago,  and  has  not 
turned  up  since.  It  is  supposed  that  he  is  taking 
the  "Benefit  of  the  Act." 

Everybody  of  course  knows  that  Alboni  has 
arrived.  We  merely  take  this  opportunity  of 
expressing  our  surprise  that  a  lady,  luxuriating 
in  embonpoint,  should  be  called  All-bouey. 

"  John,"  said  a  cockney  solicitor  to  his  son, 
"  I  see  you'll  never  do  for  an  attorney,  you  have 
no  /(energy."  "  Skuse  me,  father,"  replied  John, 
"  what  I  want  is  some  of  your  chiclenary ." 

A  certain  barrister,  who  was  remarkable  for 
coming  into  court  with  dirty  hands,  observed, 
"that  he  had  been  turning  over  Coke."  "I 
should  have  thought  that  it  was  coals  you  had 
been  turning  over,"  observed  a  wag. 

"  You've  destroyed  my  peace  of  mind,  Betsy," 
said  a  desponding  lover  to  a  truant  lass.  "It 
can't  do  you  much  harm,  John,  for  'twas  an 
amazing  small  piece  you  had,  any  way,"  was  the 
quick  reply. 

A  young  lady  was  discharged  from  one  of  the 
largest  vinegar  houses  in  our  city,  one  day  last 
week.  She  was  so  stceet  that  the  vinegar  was 
kept  from  fermenting. — Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

"  What  a  pity,"  said  Jethro,  as  he  read  the 
above,  "  that  that  3"oung  lady  aint  in  Massachu- 
setts to  sweeten  vinegar  when  our  cider  rations 
are  stopped." — Sprii.njield  Post. 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

■\Vo  havo  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Drawing 
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Between  Four  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

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16 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


GENERAL  FRANKLIIV  PIERCE, 

DEMOCRATIC  CANniPATK  FOR  TIIK  PKEfllDKNCY. 

For  the  sketch  horcwith  given  of  the  Dcino- 
criitic  cJindidiUi.^  fni-  the  picsidciicv,  fo  aceom- 
pany  tlic  iinc  likmrss  liclow,  \vv  nrr  iinlchtcil  to 
the  lute  life  (if  (iniernl  I'iciTC,  imldished  sineo 
liis  nomination.  The  reader  mnst  make  allow- 
anee  for  tlie  earnest,  not  to  s!iy  fulsome  ehnracter 
of  the  style,  from  tiie  fact  of  the  book  being- pub- 
lished as  a  eainpai;^n  document.  As  ive  have 
nothing  to  do  witli  jiolities,  we  neither  endorse 
nor  deny  tlie  statements  of  tlie  general's  political 
friends  eonecrning  him.  Gen.  iVank  Pierce,  as 
he  signs  his  own  name,  was  bora  in  1804,  and  is 
consequently  48  years  old.  lie  is  the  son  of  tlio 
late  Gen.  Benjamin  Pierce, 
wlio  fought  so  nobly  during 
the  Revolutionary  war,  filled 
so  many  oHiees  of  trust  and 
])ower,  and  who  was  governor 
of  New  Hampshire  in  1827 
and  in  1829.  He  was  aman  of 
more  personal  popularity  than 
any  man  that  ever  lived  in  the 
State.  At  a  very  early  age 
Mr,  Pierce  was  elected  to  tlie 
legislature  of  New  Hamp- 
shire ;  and  having  for  several 
years  distinguished  himself, 
both  as  a  member  and  as  the 
Speaker  of  the  House,  he  was 
in  1833  sent  to  Congress  as 
the  Democratic  representative 
from  the  district  in  which  he 
was  born.  At  the  time  he 
appeared  in  Congress,  the 
lujstility  which  had  been  in- 
flamed against  Gen.  Jackson, 
liad  reached  and  passed  its 
culminating  point.  He  had 
had  to  contend  with  a  large 
majority  in  Congress,  and  this 
majority  was  bent  upon  liis 
rain  as  a  public  man.  All  the 
agencies  that  are  called  in  to 
crash  a  great  citizen  rising 
into  fame  had  been  tried. 
Calumny  had  exhausted  its 
venom,  and  hatred  had  belch- 
ed forth  all  its  malignity.  But 
the  heroic  old  man  had  gone 
through  it  all  unscathed — the 
people  of  the  country  had  ral- 
lied around  him,  and  placed 
the  seal  of  their  approbation 
upon  all  his  public  acts.  But 
there  was  still  a  very  power- 
ful organization  against  him, 
and  it  was  a  time  when  there 
was  no  half-way  policy  in 
Washington.  The  very  day 
that  a  man  took  his  seat,  he 
was  expected  to  make  his 
mai'k,  if  he  had  chai*acter 
enough  to  make  one.  Frank 
Pierce  had  ;  and  from  the  mo- 
ment he  entered  the  House  of 
Representatives  it  became  ev- 
ident enough  what  course  he 
would  take.  He  stood  by 
Gen.  Jackson  from  the  first 
to  the  last  hour  of  his  admin- 
istration. When  others  de- 
serted him,  Pierce  only  clung 
to  him  the  closer — when  no- 
body else  would  rise  in  his 
place.  Pierce  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  in  one  of  those  bold, 
brave,  fearless,  patriotic  and 
stirring  speeches,  in  which  he 
so  much  excels,  he  liurlcd 
back  the  tide  of  obloquy  and 
attack  upon  the  political  foes 
of  the  greatest  man  who  had 
filled  the  presidential  chair 
since  the  time  of  Washington. 
His  integrity  of  principle  won 
the  respect  of  Gen.  Jackson, 
and  he  reciprocated  the  kind- 
ness of  his  feelings  by  the  most 
deyoted  attachment.  He  was 
often  at  the  hospitable  board, 
and  by  the  genial  fireside  of 
that  great  patriot,  who  now 
sleeps  in  the  quiet  shades  of 
the  Hermitage.  He  loved  him 
with  an  affection  that  is  sel- 
dom felt  by  one  man  for 
another,  and  the  stcmness  of 
Jackson's  character  was  such, 
that  he  never  was  awed  into 
respect  for  any  man,  unless 
he  discovered  in  him  simplic- 
ity, honesty,  i-esolution  and 
patriotism.  Wliile  Mr.  Pierce 
was  still  a  member  of  the 
House  of  Representatives,  he 
was,  by  a  large  majority  of 
the  legislature  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, elected  a  member  of  the  United  States 
Senate  for  the  term  of  six  years,  commencing  in 
1837.  Here  he  remained  till  the  year  1842,  when 
he  resigned  his  office,  entirely  on  account  of  the 
ill  health  of  his  wife,  who  suffered  in  the  climate 
of  Washington.  During  his  ten  years  in  Con- 
gi-ess,  in  spite  of  the  earnestness  of  his  debate, 
the  unbending  steraness  of  his  political  inter- 
course— his  uncompromising  devotion  to  the 
great  principles  of  the  Democratic  party,  his 
warm  and  e  raest  defence  of  Gen.  Jackson,  his 
unwavering  dhorcnec  with  regard  to  the  feel- 
ings even  of  iiis  friends  to  the  strictest  construc- 
tion of  the  constitution  ;  yet  he  could  hardly  have 
made  or  had  a  personal  enemy  in  Washington, 
His  retirement  from  the  Senate  in  1842,  was  wit- 
nessed with  much  regret ;  and  when  he  left  tlic 


senate  chamber  for  the  last  time,  every  token  of 
respect  wjis  shown  to  him.  The  fathers  of  the 
Senate,  Clay,  Bcnlori,  King,  Calhoun  and  nnuiy 
others,  gathered  around  him  with  every  denioti- 
stration  of  liigli  ]>crsonid  regard,  and  every  assur- 
ance that  he  would  long  he  rememljcrcd  hy 
them.  Having,  from  tiie  time  his  education 
commenced,  fixed  his  eye  upon  the  law  as  the 
profession  to  foUowforlife,  Mr.  Pierce  had  given 
to  it  the  intenscst  study  after  he  left  college,  and, 
although  so  many  public  offices  were  forced  upon 
him,  that  his  studies  were  somewhat  interrupted, 
he  kept  the  great  object  of  Iiis  life  in  view,  and 
not  a  day  passed  away,  nor  has  till  the  present 
time,  without  adding  to  Ins   legal  knowledge  or 


the  wholp  stock  of  knowledge  ever  committed 
them,  when  called  on.  The  moment  siu-li  men 
have  to  speak,  or  write,  or  act,  all  that  they  have 
ever  read,  or  heard,  or  known,  or  had  a  chance 
to  know,  springs  to  their  aid  in  just  the  order 
they  want  to  use  it.  This  makes  a  I'cady  speak- 
er. This  quality,  possessed  in  so  eminent  a  de- 
gree by  Fi'ank  Pierce,  makes  him  a  great,  intel- 
ligent, and  practical  lawyer,  and  from  one  step 
to  another  lie  passed  all  the  grades  that  lie  be- 
tween the  stinlent  who  opens  Blackstonc,  and 
the  highest  principles  of  national  law.  He  is  a 
man  of  fact  and  not  of  fancy,  and  yet  there  is  a 
warm,  deejj-flowing,  generous  stream  of  feeling 
and   enthusiasm   running   through    his   nature. 


GENERAL  FRANKLIN  PIERCE,  DEMOCRATIC  CANDIDATE  FOR  TKE  PRESIDENCY. 


experience.  From  the  beginning  he  was  suc- 
cessful as  an  advocate.  He  Avas  always  eleai*- 
headed,  straight-forward,  acute  in  his  perceptions, 
earnest  in  his  studies,  curious  in  his  inquiries, 
and  remembering  all  that  he  heard  or  read,  emi- 
nently practical  in  the  turn  of  his  mind,  he  was 
able,  without  an  effort,  to  reduce  all  the  theories 
of  tlie  science  of  law  to  practical  conclusions. 
He  offers  a  striking  illustration  of  a  kind  of  in- 
tellect that  seems  to  be  somewhat  peculiar  to 
New  England  men — we  speak  of  a  mind  curious 
enough  to  be  always  seeking  for  light,  capacious 
enough  to  hold  everything,  and  yet  withal,  en- 
dowed with  that  rare  property  which  we  will  call 
the  chemical  power  of  aiTanging  for  itself,  without 
labor  to  its  possessor,  all  the  knowledge  he  has 
acquired.     Such  minds  furnish,  ready  for  use, 


which  makes  him  feel  the  tenderest  sympathy 
for  whatever  belongs  to  the  better  feelings,  and 
the  noblest  and  quickest  appreciation  of  every- 
thing there  is  in  young  men,  that  promises  to  do 
some  good  to  the  country.  He  never  repelled  a 
young  man  that  came  to  him  for  aid.  He  has 
aided  many  a  penniless  youth  of  talent  in  the 
eavly  struggle  to  gain  education,  and  under  his 
kind  auspices,  many  an  indigent  young  man  has 
been  encouraged  to  go  forward  noi)ly  on  the 
battle  of  life.  In  the  meantime  his  eminence  in 
his  profession  compelled  him  to  appear  in  many 
of  the  most  important  causes  that  were  tried  be- 
fore the  Circuit  Courts  of  the  United  States  and 
the  supreme  trilninal  of  New  Hampshire.  Public 
institutions  and  corporations  retained  him  as 
their  counsel,  and  he  has  always  managed  such 


causes,  like  all  others,  with  so  much  ability,  that 
he  is  justly  regarded  as  standing  at  the  very  head 
of  his  profession.  Something  more,  however, 
might  be  said  with  simple  verity;  for  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  his  professional  life  has  been, 
that,  after  laying  deep  the  foundations  of  his  argu- 
ment, with  the  taste  of  a  scholar  and  the  emotions 
of  an  orator,  he  always  gave  some  freedom  to 
the  activity  ami  energy  of  his  fancy,  in  graceful 
embellishments,  striking  appeals,  and  electric 
attacks — qualities  which  alone  can  give  the  fin- 
ishing stroke  to  the  fame  of  the  ban-Jster.  His 
cmineiici-  ill  thi-  bar  h:id  alicady  di.-sigiiated  him 
for  ihe  highest  ap|)ointment  in  his  native  State, 
and  lie  was  chosen  In'  Gen.  Jackson  as  the 
District  Attorney  of  the  Uni- 
ted States  for  New  llamj)- 
fihire.  Again,  on  the  acces- 
sion of  Mr.  Polk,  the  same 
office  was  ofil'ered  lo  him  ;  but 
not  feeling  it  liis  duty  to  ac- 
cept, when  another  good  man 
could  be  found,  and  wishing 
to  have  leisure  to  attend  to 
his  own  affairs,  which  lie  had 
so  long  neglected  for  the  pub- 
lic service,  and  desiring  to 
devote  himself  to  the  charities 
and  felicities  of  home,  he  de- 
clined the  nomination.  But 
his  professional  engagements 
and  domestic  repose  were  to 
be  again  disturbed  by  an  un- 
forseen  and  momentous  event. 
The  soil  of  tlie  United  States 
was  invaded,  and  the  lives 
and  property  of  our  citizens 
sacrificed  to  the  barbarous  as- 
saults of  the  stranger.  The 
nation  flew  to  arms.  The 
States  were  called  on  to  fur- 
nish volunteers  for  the  war, 
and  nobly  was  the  call  re- 
sponded to.  Descended  from 
a  martial  race,  Frank  Pierce 
could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion, and  breaking  away  from 
the  ties  of  his  family,  he  en- 
listed as  a  common  soldier, 
to  fight  the  battles  of  his  coun- 
try under  the  Union  eagle. 
But  that  such  a  man,  so  ca- 
pable of  leading  an  armj-, 
should  serve  in  tlie  ranks  asa 
common  soldier  was  not  al- 
lowed. His  country  needed 
the  aid  of  his  mind  as  well  as 
his  arm,  and  he  at  once  re- 
ceived a  commission  as  Brig- 
adier General  of  the  Volun- 
teers of  New  England.  The 
people  of  Concord  lost  no  time 
in  offering  to  the  general  a 
fresh  testimonial  of  their  af- 
fection, and  they  raised  the 
sum  of  S400,  and  purchased 
for  him  a  splendid  horse  to 
ride  in  battle.  When  they 
heard  the  noble  steed  was  dead 
they  sent  him  another.  These 
sums  were  not  raised  by  a  few 
personal  friends.  They  were 
made  up  by  small  but  numer- 
ous contributions  from  the 
great  body  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens— men  wlio  had  known 
him  from  cliildliood — who 
loved  him  for  Iiis  virtues — 
who  respected  him  for  his  life- 
long honesty,  and  who  knew 
he  would  rellect  honor  upon 
the  arms  of  the  country.  In 
March,  1847,  General  Pierce 
received  a  commission,  and 
took  command  of  2500  men 
for  the  Mexican  war.  In  June 
he  reached  Vera  Cruz,  and 
remained  in  Mexico,  taking 
an  active  part  in  various  bat- 
tles during  that  campaign 
which  ended  so  successfully 
for  the  American  arms.  On 
his  return  to  his  native  State, 
the  citizens  of  Concord,  and 
thewhole  State ofNew  Hamp- 
shire, wished  to  offer  some 
testimonial  to  General  Pierce, 
but  he  modestly  declined  ev- 
ery honor  that  was  proffered 
to  him,  and  as  he  had  always 
done  through  life,  was  more 
ready  to  aid  in  conferring 
honors  upon  his  comrades 
than  he  was  to  receive  them 
himself.  At  the  late  Demo- 
cratic Convention  in  Balti- 
more, General  Pierce,  on  the 
forty-ninth  ballot,  received  tlie 
nomination  of  that  pai-tj',  and 
now  stands  before  the  country  a  candidate  for 
the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people. 

Let  us  acknowledge  here  our  indel)tedncss  to 
Fetridge  &  Co.,  periodic  1  agents  and  publishers, 
72  Washington  street,  ft  r  the  original  daguer- 
reotype from  which  our  pi'ture  is  taken.  This 
well-known  and  enterprising  house  will  issue  in 
a  few  days  two  very  superior  likenesses  of  Gen- 
eral Pierce — the  one  a  lithograph,  tlie  other  a 
very  fine  steel  engraving.  The  public  can  thus 
supply  themselves  at  a  very  modest  charge 
with  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  the  Demo- 
cratic candidate  for  the  presidency  in  a  style 
suitable  for  framing.  The  Pictorial  and  Flag 
of  our  Union,  with  all  the  late  publications 
may  always  be  found  on  the  counter  of  Messrs. 
Fetridge  &  Co. 


1?     pTWiQAlM    (CORNTJU  BROMFIELD 
i< .  triiili  AOUiN  ,  j    AND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  JULY  10,  1852. 


"focT^IS^^iVoL.  III.  No.  2.— Whole  No.  54. 


THE  COLUMBIAN  AKTILLERY. 

Our  artist  has  sketched  for  us  helow  a  scene 
representing  one  of  the  best  artillery  companies 
of  this  city.  The  Columbian  artillery  company 
was  chartered  in  1798,  and  our  artist  has  given 
them  as  they  appeared  a  few  days  since,  before 
the  entrance  of  their  annory,  when  celebrating 
their  fifcy-fourth  anniversary — it  being  the  17th 
of  June — on  which  occasion  they  -visited  Quincy 


and  dined  with  Frcncli,  the  popular  and  gentle- 
manly landlord  of  tiie  Hancock  House.  This 
company,  in  common  with  our  artillery  regiments 
generally,  have  laid  aside  their  liea\'y  guns,  for 
ordinary  pm*poses,  and  pai'adc  as  infantry,  mak- 
ing a  most  spirited  and  soldier-like  appearance. 
They  turn  out  from  fifty  to  fifty-four  guns,  and 
produce  a  most  substantial  and  military  effect. 
1'be  uniform  of  the  corps  is  blue  and  red,  with 


bearskin  caps,  as  represented  in  tlie  skctcli. 
Their  armory  is  in  what  is  called  the  "  Gun 
House,"  Cooper  street,  and  the  company  is  em- 
phatically a  "North  End"  corps.  The  first 
commander  of  the  Columbian  xVrtillcry  was 
Robert  Gardner,  Esq. ;  the  present  efficient  and 
popular  commander  is  Elijali  Thompson.  This 
excellent  body  of  citizen  soldiery  were  never  in 
a  more  prosperous  condition  than  at  the  present 


time,  and  sbouhl  duty  call  them  into  actual  ser- 
vice, they  woukl  give  good  account  of  themselves. 
The  spirit  of  good  fellowship  and  brotherly  feel- 
ing that  has  so  long  characterized  this  company, 
is  worthy  of  all  praise  and  emulation,  and  should 
seiwc  to  promote  this  excellent  and  most  desir- 
able state  of  things  in  other  city  associations  of 
this  character.  We  wish  them  all  and  every 
worthv  success. 


TTTE    nOLUlVIBTAN    AKTTLLERV,    BOSTON. 


18 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


EDtci-cd  accoiiling  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlio  year  1852,  by  F.  Glea»on,  in  tlie  Clerli's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Mussuchusetts. 


[wniTTEN   EXPHESSLY   FOn   GLEASON'S   riCTORIAL.] 


THE 

— on, — 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 

%  Siwg  of  €m  m\>  if}i  Cow  €^i\U\hi$^ 

BY   LIEUTENANT   MURRAY. 

[continued.] 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    SUDDEN    INTRODUCTION. 

It  was  again  wight  in  tlie  capital ;  the  narrow 
streets  were  brilliantly  lif};hted  from  the  stove 
windows,  but  tlie  crowd  were  no  longer  there. 
The  heat  of  the  long  summer  day  had  wearied 
the  endurance  of  master  and  slave,  and  thousands 
had  already  sought  that  early  repose  which  is  so 
essential  to  the  dwellers  in  the  tropics.  Stillness 
reigned  over  the  drowsy  city,  save  that  the  soft 
music  which  the  governor-general's  band  dis- 
courses nightly  in  the  Plaza,  stole  sweetly  over 
the  scene,  until  every  air  seemed  heavy  with  its 
tender  influence  and  melody.  Now  it  swelled 
forth  in  the  martial  tones  of  a  military  band,  and 
now  its  cadence  was  low  and  gentle  as  a  fairy 
whisper,  reverberating  to  the  ear  from  the  oppo- 
site shore  of  Regla,  and  the  frowTiing  walls  of  the 
Cabanas  behind  the  Moro,  and  now  swelling 
away  inland  among  the  coffee  fields  and  sugar 
plantations. 

The  long  twilight  was  gone  ;  but  still  the  deep 
streak  of  golden  skirting  in  the  western  horizon 
lent  a  softened  hue  to  the  scene,  not  so  bright  to 
the  eye,  and  yet  more  golden  far  than  moonlight : 

"  Leaving  on  craggy  hills  and  running  streams 
A  softness  like  the  atmosphere  of  dreams.'- 

At  this  favorite  hour  the  Senorita  Isabella 
Gonzales  and  her  young  brother,  Ruez,  attended 
only  by  the  wolf  hound,  who  seemed  to  be  almost 
their  inseparable  companion,  were  once  again 
EtroUing  in  the  cool  and  retired  walk  of  the  Plato. 
The  lady  moved  with  all  the  peculiar  grace  so 
natural  to  the  Spanish  women,  and  yet  through 
all,  a  keen  observer  might  have  seen  the  lurking 
effects  of  pride  and  power,  a  consciousness  of  her 
own  extraordinary  beauty,  and  the  control  it 
gave  her  over  the  hearts  of  those  of  the  other  sex 
with  whom  she  associated.  Alas !  that  such  a 
trait  should  have  become  a  second  nature  to  one 
with  so  heavenly  a  form  and  face.  Perhaps  it 
was  owing  to  the  want  of  the  judicious  manage- 
ment of  a  mother,  of  timely  and  kindly  advice, 
that  Isabella  had  grown  up  thus  ;  certainly  it 
seemed  hard,  very  hard,  to  attribute  it  to  her 
heart,  her  natural  promptings,  for  at  times  she 
evinced  such  traits  of  womanly  delicacy  and 
tenderness,  that  those  who  knew  her  best  forgot 
her  coquetry. 

Her  brother  was  a  gentle  and  beautiful  boy. 
A  tender  spirit  of  melancholy  seemed  ever  upper- 
most in  his  heart  and  face,  and  it  had  heen  tlins 
with  him  since  he  had  known  his  first  early  grief 
— the  loss  of  his  mother — some  four  or  five  years 
before  the  present  period  of  our  story.  Isabella, 
though  she  was  not  wanting  in  natural  tender- 
ness and  affection,  had  yet  outgrown  the  loss  of 
her  parent;  but  the  more  sensitive  spirit  of  the 
boy  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock  it  had 
thus  received.  The  father  even  feared  that  he 
never  would  regain  his  happy  buoyancy,  as  lie 
looked  upon  his  pale  and  almost  transparent  fea- 
tures, while  the  boy  mused  thoughtfully  to  him- 
self sometimes  for  the  hour  together,  if  left  alone 
and  undisturbed. 

"Ruez,  dear,  we've  not  been  on  the  Plato  since 

that  fearful  night,"  said  Senorita  Isabella,  as  she 

rested  her  hand  gently  upon  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"  It  was  a  fearful  night,  sister,"  said  the  boy, 

recalling  the  associations  with  a  shudder. 

"And  yet  how  clear  and  beautiful  it  seemed 
just  before  that  terrible  accident." 
"I  remember,"  said  the  boy. 


"And  the  slaver  in  the  distance,  with  her  soft 
white  sails  and  treacherous  business." 

"And  the  sparkling  moon  npon  the  bay." 
"  It  was  very  beautiful ;  and  we  have  a  night 
now  almost  its  equal." 

"  Did  you  notice  how  stoutly  that  Lieutenant 
Bczan  swam  with  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  brother.  You  forget,  though,  that  he 
is  Captain  Bezan  now,"  she  added. 

"Father  told  me  so,"  said  the  boy.  "How 
fearfully  the  tide  ran,  and  the  current  set  against 
us !  He  held  me  way  up  above  the  water,  while 
he  was  quite  under  it  himself,"  continued  Ruez. 
"  I  was  sure  he  would  drown ;  didn't  it  seem  so 
to  you,  sister  V 

"It  did,  it  did;  the  deed  was  most  gallantly 
done,"  said  Isabella,  as  she  stooped  down  and 
kissed  her  brother;  "and  you  will  never  be  so 
careless  again,  Ruez?" 

"  No,  sister.  I  shall  he  more  careful,  but  I 
should  like  to  see  that  Captain  Bezan  again.  I 
have  never  seen  him  since  that  night,  and  his 
baiTacks  are  within  pistol  shot  from  here." 

"  Hark !  what  was  that  ?"  asked  Isabella,  stai-t- 
ing  at  some  minsual  noise. 

"  I  heard  nothing,"  said  the  hoy. 
"  There  it  is  again,"  she  continued,  nervously, 
looking  around. 

"Down,  Carlo,  doiiTi,"  said  the  boy,  sharply 
to  the  hound,  as  it  sprang  at  the  same  time  from 
a  crouching  posture,  and  uttered  a  deep,  angry 
growl,  peculiar  to  its  species. 

But  the  animal  seemed  too  much  aroused  to 
be  so  easily  pacified  with  words,  and  with  heavy 
bounds  sprang  towards  the  seaward  end  of  the 
Plato,  over  the  parapet  of  which,  where  it  joined 
a  lofty  stone  wall  that  made  a  portion  of  the  stone 
haiTacks  of  the  army,  a  man  leaped  to  the  ground. 
The  hound  suddenly  crouched,  the  moment  it 
fairly  reached  the  figure  of  the  new  corner,  and 
instead  of  the  hostile  attitude  it  had  so  lately 
assumed,  now  placed  its  fore  paws  npon  the 
breast  of  the  person,  and  wagged  its  tail  with 
evident  tokens  of  pleasure  at  the  meeting. 

"  That  is  a  veiy  strange  way  to  enter  the 
Plato,"  said  Isabella,  to  her  brother,  drawing 
nearer  to  his  side  as  she  spoke.  "I  wonder  who 
it  can  be  V 

"  Some  friend  of  Carlo's,  for  he  never  behaves 
in  that  way  to  strangers,"  said  the  boy. 

"  So  it  would  seem ;  but  here  he  comes,  be  he 
whom  he  may." 

"  By  our  lady!"  said  the  boy,  earnestly,  with 
a.  flash  of  spirit  and  color  across  his  usually  quiet 
and  pale  face.     "  Sister,  it  is  Captain  Bezan  ]" 

"  Captain   Bezan,    I  believe,"   said   Isabella, 
conrtesying  coolly  to  his  respectful  bow. 
"  The  same,  lady." 

"  Yon  have  chosen  a  singular  mode  of  intro- 
duction, sir,"  said  the  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales, 
somewhat  severely,  as  she  drew  herself  up  with 
an  air  of  cold  reserve. 

"  It  is  true,  lady,  I  liave  done  a  seemingly  rash 
action;  but  if  you  will  please  to  pause  for  one 
moment,  you  will  at  once  realize  that  it  was  the 
only  mode  of  introduction  of  which  a  poor  sol- 
dier like  myself  could  have  availed  himself." 
"  Our  hall  doors  are  always  open,"  replied 
Isabella  Gonzales. 

"  To  the  high  bora  and  proud,  I  grant  you, 
lady,  but  not  to  such  as  I  am." 

"  Then,  sir,"  continued  the  lady,  quickly,  "  if 
custom  and  propriety  forbid  you  to  meet  me 
through  the  ordinary  channels  of  society,  do  you 
not  see  the  impropriety  of  rueh  an  attempt  to  see 


nic    a«    that   wliich    you    liavc    hut   just   now 
made  ;" 

"Lady,  I  can  see  nothing,  hear  notliing  but 
my  unconqueralilc  love !" 

"  Love,  sir  !"  repcratt.-d  the  lady,  with  a  cm-1  of 
her  proud  but  beautiful  lip. 

"Ay,  love,  Lsahulla  Gonzales.  I'or  years  I 
have  loved  you  in  secret.  Too  humble  to  be- 
come known  to  you,  or  to  attract  your  eye,  even, 
I  have  yet  nursed  that  love,  like  the  better  angel 
of  my  nature  ;  have  dreamed  of  it  nightly ;  have 
prayed  for  the  object  of  it  nightly;  have  watclicd 
the  starry  heavens,  and  begged  for  some  noble 
inspiration  that  would  make  me  more  worthy  of 
thy  affection  ;  I  have  read  nothing  that  I  did  not 
couple  in  some  tender  way  with  thee;  have 
nursed  no  hope  of  ambition  or  fame  that  was  not 
the  nearer  to  raise  me  to  thee,  and  over  the  mid- 
night lamp  have  bent  in  earnestness  year  after 
year,  that  I  might  gain  those  jewels  of  the  mind 
that  in  intelligence,  at  least,  would  place  me  by 
thy  side.  At  last  fortune  befriended  me,  and  I 
was  able  by  a  mischance  to  him,  thy  brother,  to 
serve  thee.  Perhaps  even  then  it  might  have 
ended,  and  my  respect  would  still  have  curbed 
the  promptings  of  my  passion,  had  you  not  so 
kindly  noticed  me  on  the  Pasco.  0,  how  wildly 
did  my  heart  beat  at  that  gentle,  kind  and 
thoughtful  recognition  of  the  poor  soldier,  and 
no  less  quickly  beats  that  heax't,  when  you  listen 
thus  to  me,  and  hear  me  tell  you  how  deeply  I 
love." 

"  Audacity !"  said  Isabella  Gonzales,  really 
not  a  little  aroused  at  the  plainness  of  his  speech. 
"  How  dare  yon,  sir,  to  address  such  language 
to  me  V 

"Love  dares  do  anything  but  dislionor  the 
being  that  it  loves.  A  year,  lady,  a  month 
ago,  how  hopeless  was  my  love — how  far  off  in 
the  blue  ether  was  the  star  I  worshipped.  Little 
did  I  then  think  that  I  should  now  stand  so  near 
to  you — should  thus  pour  out  of  the  fullness  of 
my  enslaved  and  devoted  heart,  ay,  thus  look 
into  those  glorious  eyes." 

"  Sir,  you  are  impertinent !"  said  Isabella, 
shrinking  from  the  ardor  of  his  expression. 

"  Nay,  lady,"  said  the  young  officer,  profound- 
ly humble,   "it   is   hnpossible  for  such  love  as 
mine  to  lead  to  impertinence  to  one  whom  I  lit- 
tle less  than  worship." 
"Leave  me,  sir!" 

"  Yes,  Isabella  Gonzales,  if  you  will  repeat 
those  words  calmly  ;  if  you  will  deliberately  bid 
me,  who  have  so  often  prayed  for,  so  hoped  for 
such  a  moment  as  this,  to  go,  I  unll  go." 

"But,  sir,  you  will  compromise  me  by  this 
protracted  conversation." 

"  Heaven  forbid.  But  for  you  I  would  risk 
all  things — life,  reputation,  all  that  is  valuable  to 
me  in  life ;  yet  perhaps  I  am  forgetful,  perhaps 
t'ionghtless." 

"  What  strange  power  and  music  there  is  in 
his  voice,"  whispered  Isabella,  to  herself. 

Completel}'  puzzled  by  his  deep  respect,  his 
gallant  and  noble  bearing,  the  memory  of  his 
late  noble  conduct  in  saWng  Ruez's  life,  Isabella 
hardly  knew  what  to  say,  and  she  stood  thus  half 
confused,  trotting  her  pretty  foot  npon  the  path 
of  the  Plato  with  a  vexed  air.  At  last,  as  if 
struggling  to  break  the  spell  that  seemed  to  he 
hanging  over  them,  she  said  : 

"  How  could  one  like  you,  sir,  ever  dare  to 
entertain  such  feelings  towards  me  ?  the  auda- 
ciousness of  your  language  almost  strikes  me 
dumb." 

"Lady,"  said  the  young  soldier,  respectfully, 
"  the  sincerity  of  my  passion  lias  lieen  its  only 
self-sustaining  power.  I  felt  that  love  like  mine 
could  not  be  in  vain.  I  was  sure  that  such  af- 
fection was  never  planted  in  my  breast  to  bloom 
and  blossom  simply  for  disappointment.  Icoitld 
not  think  that  this  was  so." 

"  I  am  out  of  all  patience  with  his  imperti- 
nence," said  Isabella  Gonzales,  to  herself,  pet- 
tishly.    "  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  him." 

"  Sir,  you  must  leave  this  place  at  once,"  she 
said,  at  last,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  I  shall  do  so,  lady,  at  your  bidding ;  but  only 
to  pray  and  hope  for  the  next  meeting  between 
US,  when  you  may  perhaps  better  know  the  poor 
soldier's  heart." 

"Earewell,  sir,"  said  Isabella. 
"Farewell,  Isabella  Gonzales." 
"Are  you  going  .so  soon?"  asked  Ruez,  now 
approaching  them  fi-om  a  short  distance  in  the 
rear,  where  he  had  been  playing  with  the  hound. 
"  Yes,  Ruez,"  said  the  soldier,  kindly.    "  You 
are  quite  recovered,  I  trust,  from  the  effects  of 
that  cold  bath  taken  off  the  parapet  yonder." 
"  0  yes,  I  am  quite  recovered  now." 
"  It  was  a  high  leap  for  one  of  your  age." 


"  It  was  indeed,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  shudder 
at  the  reniembrunee. 

"  And,  U,  sir,  1  luivc  not  thanked  you  for  that 
gallant  deed,"  said  Isabella  Gonzales,  extending 
her  hand  incontinently  to  Captain  Bczan,  in  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  influenced  by  the 
sincerity  of  her  feelings,  Ids  noble  and  manly 
bearing,  and  the  kind  and  touching  words  he  had 
uttered  to  Ruez. 

It  would  be  ditlicult  for  us  to  dcBcribe  lier  as 
she  appeared  at  that  moment  in  the  soldier's  eye. 
How  lovely  slic  seemed  to  him,  when  dropping 
all  reserve  for  the  moment,  not  only  her  tongue, 
hut  her  eloquent  eyes  spoke  from  the  tenderness 
of  her  woman's  heart.  A  sacred  vision  would 
have  impressed  him  no  more  than  did  the  loveli- 
ness of  her  presence  at  that  moment. 

Bending  instinctively  at  this  demonstration  of 
gentle  courtesy  on  her  part,  he  pressed  her  hand 
most  respectfully  to  his  lips,  and,  as  if  feeling 
that  he  had  gone  almost  too  far,  with  a  gallant 
wave  of  th<j  hand  he  suddenly  disappeared  from 
whence  he  hud  so  lately  come,  over  the  seaward 
side  of  the  parapet  towards  the  army  barracks. 

Isabella  gazed  after  him  with  a  puzzled  look 
for  a  while,  then  said  half  to  herself  and  in  a 
pettish  and  vexed  tone  of  voice  : 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  he  should  kiss  my  hand. 
I'm  sure  I  did  not ;  and  why  did  I  give  it  to  him  ? 
How  thoughtless.  I  declare  I  have  never  met 
so  monstrously  impudent  a  person  in  the  entire 
course  of  my  life.  Very  strange.  Here's  Gen- 
eral Harero,  Don  Romonez,  and  Felix  Gavardo, 
have  been  paying  me  court  this  half  year  and 
mo]'e,  and  either  of  them  would  give  half  his  for- 
tune for  a  kiss  of  this  hand,  and  yet  neither  has 
dared  to  even  tell  me  that  they  love  me,  though 
I  know  it  so  well.  But  here  is  this  young  sol- 
dier, this  new  captain  of  infiintry,  wliy  he  sees 
me  hut  half  a  minute  before  he  declares  himself, 
and  so  boldly,  too  !  I  protest  it  was  a  real  insult. 
I'll  tell  Don  Gonzales,  and  I'll  have  the  fellow 
dishonored  and  his  commission  taken  from  him, 
I  will.  I'm  half  ready  to  cry  with  vexation. 
Yes,  I'll  have  Captain  Bezan  cashiered,  and  that 
directly,  I  will." 

"No  you  wont,  sister,"  said  Ruez,  looking  up 
cilmly  into  her  face  as  he  spoke. 
"  Yes  I  will,  brother." 

"  Still  I  say  no,"  continued  the  hoy,  gently, 
and  caressing  her  hand  the  while. 

"  And  why  not,  Ruez  ?"  asked  Isabella,  stoop- 
ing and  kissing  his  handsome  forehead,  as  the 
boy  looked  up  so  lovingly  in  her  face. 

"  Because  he  saved  my  life,  sister,"  replied 
Ruez,  smiling. 

"  True,  he  did  save  your  life,  Ruez,"  mur- 
mured the  beautiful  girl,  thoughtfully  ;  "  an  act 
that  we  can  never  repay ;  but  it  was  most  pre- 
suming for  him  to  enter  the  Plato  thns,  and  to — 
to—" 

"  Kiss  your  hand,  sister,"  suggested  the  boy, 
smiling  in  a  knowing  way. 

"  Yes,  it  was  quite  shocking  for  him  to  be  so 
familiar,  Ruez." 

"But,  sister,  I  can  hardly  ever  help  kissing 
you  when  you  look  kind  to  me,  and  I  am  sure 
you  looked  very  kind  at  Captain  Bezan." 

"  Did  I  f"  half  mused  Isabella,  biting  the 
handle  of  her  Creole  fan. 

"  Yes ;  and  how  handsome  this  Captain  Bezan 
is,  sistdf,"  continued  the  boy,  pretending  to  be 
engaged  with  the  hound,  wliom  he  patted  while 
he  looked  sideways  at  Isabella. 

"  Do  you  think  him  so  handsome?"  still  half 
mused  Isabella,  in  reply  to  her  brother's  remarks, 
while  her  eye  rested  upon  the  ground. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  boy,  with  spirit.  "  Don 
Miguel,  General  Harero,  or  the  lieutenant-gen- 
eral, are  none  of  them  half  so  good  looking,"  he 
continued,  referring  to  some  of  her  suitors. 

"Well,  he  is  handsome,  brother,  that's  true 
enough,  and  brave  I  know,  or  he  would  never 
have  leaped  into  the  water  to  save  your  life. 
But  I'll  never  forgive  him,  I'm  sure  of  that, 
Ruez,"  she  said,  in  a  most  decided  tone  of  voice. 
"  Yes  you  will,  sister." 

"No,  I  will  not,  and  you  will  vex  me  if  you 
say  so  again,"  she  added,  pettishly''. 

"  Come,  Carlo,  come,"  said  Ruez,  calling  to 
the  lionnd,  as  lie  followed  close  upon  his  sister's 
footsteps  towards  the  entrance  of  Don  Gonzales's 
house  on  the  Plato. 

The  truth  was,  Isabella  Gonzales,  the  proud 
beauty,  was  pleased ;  perhaps  her  vanity  was 
partly  enlisted  also,  while  she  remembered  the 
frankness  of  the  humble  soldier  who  had  poured 
out  his  devotions  at  her  feet  in  such  simple  yet 
earnest  strains  as  to  carry  conviction  with  every 
word  to  the  lady's  heart.  Homage,  even  from 
the  most  lowlv,  is  not  without  its  charm  to  beau- 


1 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


19 


ty,  and  the  proud  girl  mused  over  the  late  scene 
thoughtfully,  ay,  far  more  thoughtfully  than  she 
had  ever  done  before,  on  the  offer  of  the  richest 
and  proudest  cavalier. 

She  had  never  loved ;  she  knew  not  what  the 
passion  meant,  as  applied  to  tlie  opposite  sex. 
Universal  homage  had  been  her  share  ever  since 
she  could  remember ;  and  if  Isabella  Gonzales 
was  not  a  confirmed  coquette,  she  was  certainly 
very  near  being  one.  The  light  in  which  slie 
regarded  the  advances  of  Captain  Bezan,  even 
puzzled  herself;  the  phase  of  his  case  and  the 
manner  of  his  avowal  were  so  far  without  prece- 
dent, that  its  novelty  engaged  her.  She  still  felt 
vexed  at  the  young  soldier's  assurance,  but  yet 
all  unconsciously  found  herself  endeavoring  to 
invent  any  number  of  excuses  for  the  conduct  he 
had  exhibited ! 

"It  is  true,  as  he  said,"  she  remarked,  lialf 
aloud  to  herself,  "  that  it  was  the  only  way  hi 
which  he  could  meet  me  on  terms  of  sufficient 
equality  for  conversation.  Perhaps  I  should 
have  done  the  same,  if  I  were  a  high-spirited 
youth,  and  realhj  loved  !" 

As  for  Lorenzo  Bezan,  he  quietly  sought  his 
quarters,  as  happy  as  a  king.  Had  he  not  been 
succcssfnl  beyond  any  reasonable  hope  ?  Had 
he  not  told  his  love  ?  ay,  had  he  not  kissed  the 
hand  of  her  he  loved,  at  last,  almost  by  her  own 
consent  ?  Plad  not  the  clouds  in  the  horizon  of 
his  love  greatly  thinned  in  numbers  ?  He  was 
no  moody  lover.  Not  one  to  die  for  love,  but 
to  live  for  it  rather,  and  to  pursue  the  object  of 
his  afl^oction  and  regard  with  such  untiring  and 
devoted  service  as  to  deserve,  if  not  to  win,  suc- 
cess. At  least  this  was  liis  resolve.  Now  and 
then  the  great  difference  between  their  relative 
stations  would  lead  him  to  pause  and  consider 
the  subject ;  but  then  with  some  pleasant  sally 
to  himself  he  would  walk  on  again,  firmly  re- 
solved in  liis  own  mind  to  overcome  all  things 
for  her  whom  he  loved,  or  at  least  to  sti'ive  to 
do  so. 

This  was  all  very  well  in  thought,  but  in  prac- 
tice the  young  soldier  will  not  perhaps  find  this 
60  easy  a  matter.  Patience  and  perseverance 
are  excellent  qualities,  but  they  are  not  certain 
criteria  of  success.  Lorenzo  Bezan  had  aimed 
his  arrow  high,  but  it  was  that  little  blind  fellow, 
Cupid,  that  shot  the  bow.  He  was  not  to  blame 
for  it — of  course  not. 

"Ha!  Bezan,  whence  come  3'ou  mtli  so  bright 
a  face  V  asked  a  brother  officer,  as  he  entered 
his  quarters  in  the  barracks  of  the  Plaza  des 
Arines. 

"  From  wooing  a  fair  and  most  beautiful 
maid,"  said  the  soldier,  most  lionestly ;  though 
perhaps  he  told  the  truth  as  being  the  thing  least 
likely  to  be  believed  by  the  other. 

"Fie,  fie,  Bezan.  You  in  love,  man"?  A 
soldier  to  marry  1  By  our  lady,  what  folly  ! 
Don't  you  remember  the  proverb  1 

'  Men  dream  in  courtship,  but  in  wedlock  wake.'  " 

"  May  I  wake  in  that  state  with  her  I  love  ere 
a  twelvemonth,"  said  Lorenzo  Bezan,  smiling  at 
his  comrade's  sally  and  earnestness. 

"  Are  you  serious,  captain  ?"  asked  the  other, 
now  trying  to  half  believe  him. 

"Never  more  so  in  my  life,  I  assure  you," 
was  the  reply. 

"  And  who  is  the  lady,  pray  ?  Come,  relieve 
your  conscience,  and  confess." 

"Ah,  there  I  am  silent;  hername  is  not  for 
vulgar  cars,"  said  the  young  soldier,  smiling, 
and  with  really  too  much  respect  to  refer  lightly 
to  Isabella  Gonzales. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


CUBAN    BANDITTI. 


It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  but  almost  op- 
pressively hot  afternoons  that  so  ripen  the  fruits, 
and  so  try  the  patience  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
tropics,  that  we  would  have  Jhe  patient  reader 
follow  us  on  the  main  road  between  Alquezar 
and  Guiness.  It  is  as  level  as  a  parlor  floor,  and 
the  tall  foliage,  mostly  composed  of  the  lofty 
palm,  renders  the  route  shaded  and  agreeable. 
Every  vegetable  and  plant  are  so  peculiarly  sig- 
nificant of  the  low  latitudes,  that  we  must  pause 
for  a  moment  to  notice  tliem. 

The  tall,  stately  palm,  the  king  of  the  tropical 
foro;t,  with  its  tufted  head,  like  a  bunch  of  os- 
trich feathers,  bending  its  majestic  form  here 
and  there  over  the  verdant  and  luxuriant  under- 
growth, the  mahogany  tree,  the  stout  Ugnumvita^, 
the  banana,  the  fragrant  and  beautiful  orange 
and  lemon,  and  the  long,  impregnable  hedge  of 
the  dagger  albe,  all  go  to  show  us  that  we  are  in 
the  sunny  clime  of  the  tropics. 


The  fragrance,  too,  of  the  atmosphere  !  How 
soft  to  the  senses  !  This  gentle  zephp-  that  only 
rufiles  the  white  blossoms  of  the  lime  hedges,  is 
off  yonder  coffee  plantation  that  lies  now  like  a 
field  of  clear  snow,  in  its  fragrant  milk-wliite 
blossoms ;  and  what  a  bewitching  mingling  of 
heliotrope  and  wild  lioneysuckle  is  combined  in 
tlie  air !  how  the  gaudy  plumed  paiTot  pauses 
on  his  percli  beneath  the  branches  of  the  plantain 
tree,  to  inhale  the  sweets  of  the  hour ;  while  the 
chirps  of  the  pedoreva  and  indigo  birds  are  min- 
gled in  vocal  praise  that  fortune  has  cast  their 
lot  in  so  lovely  a  clime.  0,  believe  us,  you 
should  see  and  feel  the  belongings  of  this  beau- 
tiful isle,  to  appreciate  how  nearly  it  approaches 
to  your  early  ideas  of  faii-y  land. 

But,  alas !  how  often  do  man's  coarser  dis- 
position and  baser  nature  belie  the  soft  and  beau- 
tiful characteristics  of  nature  about  him ;  how 
often,  how  very  often,  is  the  still,  heavenly  influ- 
ence that  reigns  in  fragrant  flowers  and  babbling 
streams,  marred  and  desecrated  by  the  harshness 
and  violence  engendered  by  human  passions  ! 

In  the  midst  of  such  a  scene  as  we  have  de- 
scribed, at  the  moment  to  which  we  refer,  there 
was  a  fearful  struggle  being  enacted  between  a 
small  party  of  Montaros,  or  inland  robbers,  and 
tlie  occupants  and  outridei-s  of  a  volante,  which 
had  just  been  attacked  on  the  road.  The  ti-aces 
that  attached  the  horse  to  the  veliicle  had  been 
cut,  and  the  postilion  lay  senseless  upon  the 
ground  from  a  sword  wound  in  the  head,  while 
the  four  outriders  were  contending  with  thrice 
their  number  of  robbers,  who  were  armed  with 
pistols  and  Toledo  blades.  It  was  a  sharp  hand 
to  hand  fight,  and  their  steel  rang  to  the  quick 
strokes. 

In  the  volante  was  the  person  of  a  lady,  but 
so  closel}'  enshrouded  by  a  voluminous  rebosa, 
or  Spanish  shawl,  as  hardly  to  leave  any  of 
her  figure  exposed,  her  face  being  hid  from  fright 
at  the  scene  being  enacted  about  her.  At  her 
side  stood  the  figure  of  a  tall,  stately  man,  whose 
hat  had  been  knocked  off  his  head  in  the  strug- 
gle, and  whose  white  hairs  gave  token  of  his  age. 
Two  of  the  robbers,  who  had  received  the  con- 
tents of  his  two  pistols,  lay  dead  by  the  side  of 
the  volante,  and  having  now  only  his  sword  left, 
he  stood  thus,  as  if  determined  to  protect  her  by 
his  side,  even  at  the  cost  of  his  life. 

The  robbers  had  at  last  quite  ovennatchedthe 
four  outriders,  and  having  bound  the  only  one 
of  them  that  had  sufficient  life  left  to  make  him 
dangerous  to  them,  they  turned  theii-  steps  once 
more  towards  the  volante.  There  were  in  all 
some  thirteen  of  them,  but  three  already  lay  dead 
in  the  road,  and  the  other  ten,  who  had  some 
sharp  wounds  distributed  among  them,  now 
standing  together,  seemed  to  be  querying  whether 
they  should  not  revenge  the  death  of  their  com- 
rades by  killing  both  the  occupants  of  the  vo- 
lante, or  whether  they  should  pursue  their  first 
purpose  of  only  robbing  tlicm  of  what  valuables 
they  possessed. 

Fierce  oaths  were  reiterated,  and  angry  words 
exchanged  between  one  and  another  of  the  rob- 
bers, as  to  the  matter  they  were  hastily  discuss- 
ing, while  the  old  gentleman  remained  finn, 
grasping  the  hilt  of  his  well-tempered  sword,  and 
showing  to  his  enemies,  by  the  stern,  deep  resolve 
they  read  in  his  eye,  that  they  had  not  yet  con- 
quered him.  Fortunately  their  pistols  had  all 
been  discharged,  or  they  might  have  shot  the 
brave  old  man  without  coming  to  closer  quar- 
ters, but  now  they  looked  with  some  dread  upon 
the  glittering  blade  he  held  so  firmly  ! 

That  which  has  required  some  time  and  space 
for  us  to  describe,  was,  however,  the  work  of  but 
a  very  few  moments  of  time,  and  the  robbers, 
having  evidently  made  up  their  minds  to  take 
the  lives  of  the  two  persons  now  in  the  veliicle, 
divided  themselves  into  t^vo  parties  and  approach- 
ed the  volante  at  the  same  moment  on  opposite 
sides. 

"  Come  on,  ye  fiends  in  human  shape,"  said 
the  old  man,  flourishing  his  sword  with  a  skill 
and  strength  that  showed  he  .was  no  sti-anger  to 
its  use,  and  that  there  was  danger  in  him. 
"  Come  on,  ye  shall  find  that  a  good  blade  in  an 
old  man's  hands  is  no  plaything !" 

They  listened  for  a  moment :  yes,  that  half 
score  of  villains  held  back  in  dismay  at  the  noble 
appearance  of  the  old  man,  and  the  flashing  fire 
of  his  eye. 

"  Ha  !  do  you  falter,  ye  villains  ?  do  ye  fear  a 
good  sword  with  right  to  back  if?" 

But  hark !  what  sound  is  that  which  startles 
the  Montaros  in  the  midst  of  their  villany,  and 
makes  them  look  into  each  other's  faces  with 
such  consternation  and  fear  ?  It  is  a  very  un- 
frequented  spot — who   can  be  near  1     Scarcely 


had  the  sound  fallen  on  their  ears,  before  three 
horsemen,  in  undress  uniform  of  the  Spanish 
infantry,  dashed  up  to  the  spot  at  full  speed, 
while  one  of  them,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader 
of  the  party,  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  before 
the  others  could  follow  his  example,  was  engaged 
in  a  desperate  hand  to  hand  conflict  with  the 
robbers.  Twice  he  discharged  his  pistols  with 
fatal  effect,  and  now  he  was  fighting  swoi'd  and 
s\^'ord  witli  a  stout,  burly  Montaro,  who  was  ap- 
proaching that  side  of  tlie  volante  where  the  lady 
sat,  still  half  concealed  by  the  ample  folds  of  her 
rebosa,  though  tlie  approileli  of  assistance  had 
led  her  to  venture  so  far  as  to  partially  uncover 
her  face,  and  to  observe  the  scene  about  her. 

The  headlong  attack,  so  opportunely  made 
by  the  fresh  horsemen,  was  too  much  for  treble 
then-  number  to  withstand,  more  especially  as 
the  leader  of  them  had  met  with  such  signal  suc- 
cess at  the  outset — having  shot  two,  and  mortally 
wounded  a  third.  In  this  critical  state  of  affairs, 
the  remaining  banditti  concluded  that  disci-etion 
was  the  better  part  of  valor,  and  made  the  best 
of  their  time  and  remaining  strength  to  beat  a 
hasty  retreat,  leaving  the  old  gentleman  and  his 
companion  with  their  three  deliverers,  quite  safe 
in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

"  By  our  lady,  sir,  'twas  a  gallant  act.  There 
were  ten  of  those  rascals,  and  but  three  of  you," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  stepping  out  of  the  vo- 
lante, and  arranging  his  niffled  dress. 

"  Ten,  senor  f  a  soldier  would  make  nothing 
of  a  score  of  such  scapegraces  as  those,"  replied 
the  officer  (for  such  it  was  now  apparent  he  was), 
as  he  wiped  the  gore  from  his  reeking  blade 
with  a  broad,  green  leaf  from  the  roadside,  and 
placed  it  in  the  scabbard. 

One  of  the  soldiers  who  had  accompanied  the 
officer  had  now  cut  the  thongs  that  hound  the 
surviving  outrider,  who  was  one  of  the  family 
attaches  of  the  old  gentleman,  and  who  now 
busied  himself  about  the  vehicle,  at  one  moment 
attending  to  the  lady's  wants,  and  now  to  harness- 
ing the  horse  once  more. 

Removing  his  cap,  and  wiping  the  reeking 
perspiration  from  his  brow,  the  young  officer  now 
approached  the  volante  and  said  to  the  lady  : 

"  I  trust,  madame,  that  you  have  received  no 
further  injury  by  this  unfortunate  encounter  than 
must  needs  occur  to  you  from  fright." 

As  he  spoke  thus,  the  lady  tunied  quickly  from 
looking  towards  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  now 
on  the  other  side  of  the  vehicle,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment exclaimed : 

"  Is  it  possible,   Captain   Bezan,   that  we  are 
indebted  to  you  for  this  most  opportune  deliver- 
ance from  what  seemed  to  be  certain  desti'uction  ?" 
"  Isabella   Gonzales !"   exclaimed   the  young 
officer,  \vilh  unfeigned  sui"prise. 

"You  did  not  know  us,  then?"  she  asked, 
quickly,  in  reply, 

"  Not  I,  indeed,  or  else  I  sliould  sooner  have 
spoken  to  you." 

"  You  thus  risked  your  life,  then,  for  stran- 
gers ?"  she  continued. 

"  You  were  the  weakest  party,  were  attacked 
by  robbers  ;  it  only  required  a  glance  to  realize 
that,  and  to  attack  them  and  release  you  was  the 
next  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,"  replied 
the  soldier,  still  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead  and  temples. 

"  Father !"  exclaimed  Isabella,  with  undis- 
guised pleasure,  "  this  is  Captain  Bezan  !" 

"  Captain  Bezan  ?"  repeated  the  old  don,  as 
surprised  as  his  daughter  had  been. 

"At  your  service,"  replied  the  soldier,  bowing 
respectfully  to  Don  Gonzales. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  "what possible 
chance  could  have  brought  you  so  fortunately  to 
our  rescue  here,  a  dozen  leagues  from  the  city?" 
"  I  was  returning  with  these  two  companions 
of  my  company  from  a  business  trip  to  the  south 
side  of  the  island,  where  wc  had  been  sent  with 
despatches  from  Tacon  to  the  govenior  of  the 
department," 

"No,  matter,  what  chance  has  brought  you 
here,  at  all  events  we  owe  our  lives  to  you,  sir," 
said  Don  Gonzales,  extending  his  hand  cordi- 
ally to  the  young  officer. 

After  some  necessary  delay,  under  the  peculiar 
circumstances,  the  liorses  were  finally  arranged  so 
as  to  peiTiiit  of  proceeding  forward  on  the  road. 
The  bodies  of  the  servants  were  disposed  of,  and 
all  was  ready  for  a  start,  when  Isabella  Gonzales 
turned  to  her  father  and  pressing  his  ai-m  said  : 
"  Father,  how  pale  he  looks  !" 
"  AVho,  my  child!" 

"  Tliere,  see  how  very  pale !"  said  Isabella, 
rising  up  from  her  seat. 

"  Wlio  do  you  speak  of,  Isabella  V 


"  Captain  Bezan,  father ;  see,  there  he  stands 
beside  his  horse." 

"  He  does  look  fatigued  ;  he  has  worked  hard 
with  those  ^^llains,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Why  don't  he  mount  ?  The  rest  have  done 
so,  and  we  arc  ready,"  continued  the  old  man, 
anxiously. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  horsemen,  better 
understanding  the  case  than  eitlier  Isabella  Gon- 
zales or  her  father,  left  Iiis  well-trained  animal  in 
the  road,  and  hastened  to  his  officer's  side.  It 
required  but  a  glance  for  him  to  sec  that  his  cap- 
tain was  too  weak  to  moimt. 

Directing  the  outrider,  who  had  now  mounted 
one  of  the  horses  attached  to  the  volante,  and 
acted  as  postilion,  to  drive  towards  him  whom 
his  companion  was  partially  supporting,  Don 
Gonzales  asked  most  anxiously  ; 

"  Captain  Bezan,  you  are  ill,  I  fear  ;  are  you 
much  hurt  ?" 

"  A  mere  trifle,  Don  Gonzales;  drive  on,  sir, 
and  I  will  follow  you  in  a  moment." 

"  He  is  bleeding  from  his  left  arm  and  side, 
father,"  said  Isabella,  anxiously. 

"  You  are  wounded — I  fear  severely,  Captain 
Bezan,"  said  the  father. 

"  A  mere  scratch,  sir,  in  the  arm,  from  one  of 
the  unlucky  thrusts  of  those  Montaros,"  he  re- 
plied, assuming  an  indifference  that  his  pale  face 
belied. 

"  Ah  !  father,  what  can  be  done  for  him  ]" 
said  Isabella,  quickly. 

"I  am  unharmed,"  said  the  grateful  old  man, 
"and  can  sit  a  horse  all  day  long,  if  need  be. 
Here,  captain,  take  my  scat  in  the  volante,  and 
Isabella,  whom  you  have  served  at  such  heavy 
cost  to  yourself,  shall  act  the  nurse  for  you  until 
we  get  to  town  again." 

Perhaps  nothing,  save  such  a  proposition  as 
this,  could  possibly  have  aroused  and  sustained 
the  wounded  officer ;  hut  after  gently  refusing 
for  a  while  to  rob  Don  Gonzales  of  his  seat  in 
the  volante,  he  was  forced  to  accept  it  even  by 
the  earnest  request  of  Isabella  herself,  who  seem- 
ed to  tremble  lest  he  was  mortally  wounded  in 
their  behalf. 

Little  did  Don  Gonzales  know,  at  that  time, 
what  a  flame  he  was  feeding  in  the  young  offi- 
cer's breast.  He  was  too  intently  engaged  in  his 
O'mi  muid  with  the  startling  scenes  through  wliich 
he  had  just  passed,  and  was  exercised  with  too 
much  gratitude  towards  Captain  Bezan  for  his 
deliverance,  to  observe  or  realize  any  peculiarity 
of  appearance  in  any  other  respect,  or  to  ques- 
tion the  propriety  of  placing  him  so  intimately 
hy  the  side  of  his  lovely  child.  Isabella  had 
never  told  her  father,  or  indeed  any  one,  of  the 
circumstance  of  her  having  met  Captain  Bezan. 
on  the  Plato.  But  the  reader,  who  is  awai*e  of 
the  scene  referred  to,  can  easily  imagine  with 
what  feelings  the  soldier  took  his  seat  by  her 
side,  and  secretly  watched  the  anxious  and  assid- 
uous glances  that  she  gave  his  wounded  arm  and 
side,  as  well  as  the  kind  looks  she  bestowed  upon 
his  pallid  face. 

"  I  fear  I  annoy  you,"  said  the  soldier,  realiz- 
ing his  proximity  to  her  on  the  seat. 

"  No,  no,  by  no  means.  I  pray  you  rest  your 
arm  here,"  said  Isabella  Gonzales,  as  she  offered 
her  rebosa  supported  in  part  by  lier  o^vn  person  ! 
"  You  ai-e  too  kind — far  too  kind  to  me,"  said 
the  wounded  officer,  faintly ;  for  he  was  now  re- 
ally very  weak  from  loss  of  blood  and  the  pain 
of  his  wounds. 

"  Speak  not,  I  beseech  of  you,  hut  strive  to 
keep  your  courage  up  till  we  can  gain  the  aid  of 
some  experienced  surgeon,"  she  said,  supporting 
him  tenderly. 

Thus  the  party  drove  on  towards  the  city,  by 
easy  stages,  where  they  arrived  in  safety,  and 
left  Captain  Bezan  to  pursue  his  way  to  his  bar- 
racks, which  he  did,  not,  however,  until  he  had, 
like  a  faithful  courier,  reported  to  the  governor- 
general  the  safe  result  of  his  mission  to  the  south 
of  the  island. 

The  story  of  the  gallant  rescue  was  the  theme 
of  the  hour  for  a  period  in  Havana,  but  attacks 
from  robbers  on  the  road,  under  Tacon's  gov- 
ernorship, were  too  common  an  occurrence  to 
create  any  great  wonder  or  curiosity  among  the 
inhabitants  of  the  city.  But  Captain  Bezan  had 
got  wounds  that  would  make  him  remember  the 
encounter  for  life,  and  now  lay  in  a  raging  fever 
at  his  quarters  in  the  infantry  barracks  of  tlie 
Plaza  des  Armes. 

[to  be  continued.] 


Work  for  some  good,  be  it  ever  so  slowly  ; 
Cherish  some  flower,  be  it  ever  so  lowly  ; 
Lahor — all  labor  is  noble  and  holy. 

Mj^.  Osgood, 


20 


GLEASON^S   PICTOllIAJ.   1)  HAWING    llOOM 


ANION, 


COUNT  OF  PARIS-I>UKE  DE  CIIARTRES. 

This  splcndifl  ciifxravinp;  is  taken  tVoin  a  paiiit- 
inp  executed  at  Loiulnn  by  Mr.  AitVnl  dc  I  >iriix, 
and  represents  two  of  the  f^rainiehihlren  of  iln^ 
Into  Louis  Philipi)e,  ex-kin^Mil' the  French.  The 
fipires  of  tliesc  boys  arc  spirited  and  i;raccfnl, 
tlie  horses  true  to  tfie  Hte,  and  the  whole  scene 
full  of  K^-ixcc,  beauty  and  etVcct.  The  young 
count  and  duko  bear  historical  names,  and  the 
eliaiHT  only  of  a  revolution  cut  otV  the  Count  of 
r.'tris  iVnni"  the  throne  of  l-'rance.  These  chil- 
dren are  the  only  hopes  of  their  mother,  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans,  widow  of  the  Duko  of  Or- 
leans, the  eldest  son  of  Louis  l*hilippc.  AVlicn, 
in  the  sudden  whirlwind  of  1848,  Louis  Philippe 
foiiiul  tlnit  all  was  lost  to  himself,  in  the  midst 
of  the  roar  and  the  shouts  of  the  combatants,  that 
shook  the  walls  of  the  TuillerieSj  ho  wrote  these 
words  ;  "  I  abdicate  in  fa- 
vor of  my  R''iV»tlson ,  tho 
Count  of  Paris;  I  desire 
that  he  may  be  more  for- 
tunate than  L"  After  the 
flight  of  the  king,  the  duch- 
ess, with  lier  two  children, 
accompanied  by  the  Duke 
dc  Nemours,  whom  tlic 
kin^'  had  di'si-iuated  as  re- 
p.-nt,n'|)air<'d  to  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies.  Lamar- 
tinc  eloquently  describes 
her  appearance  as  follows  : 
"  Tlie  large  door  which  is 
opposite  tlie  tribune,  on  a 
level  with  the  highest  seats 
in  the  hall  was  thrown 
open.  A  lady  appeared — 
it  was  the  Duchess  of  Or- 
leaus.  She  was  dressed 
in  mourning.  Her  veil, 
half  raised  upon  her  Lon- 
net,  allowed  the  eye  to  rest 
iipou  a  face  impressed  with 
an  emotion  and  sadness 
which  set  off  her  youth 
and  beauty.  Her  pale 
cheeks  bore  traces  of  a 
widow's  tears,  and  the 
anxiety  of  a  mother.  It 
is  impossible  for  a  man  to 
look  upon  such  features 
without  feeling.  All  re- 
sentment to  the  monarchy 
vanished  from  the  heart. 
The  blue  eyes  of  the  prin- 
cess wandered  over  the 
space,  which  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  dazzle  them, 
as  if  to  ask  shelter  from  all 
eyes.  A  slight  blush,  the 
liglxt  of  hope  in  misfortune, 
and  joy  in  mourning,  ting- 
ed her  checks.  Her  smile 
of  gratitude  slione  through 
her  tears.  It  was  evident 
that  she  felt  herself  sur- 
rounded by  friends.  She 
held  in  her  right  hand  the 
young  king,  who  tottered 
on  the  steps, and  in  her  left, 
her  other  son,  the  young 
Duke  of  Chartres,  children 
whom  their  catastrophe 
was  a  show.  They  botli 
■wore  short  jackets  of  black 
clotli,  white  collars  fell 
from  their  necks  upon  their 
dresses  —  living  jjortraits 
of  the  children  of  Ciiarles 
I,  step|)cd  from  the  can- 
vass of  Vandyke.  Tlie 
Duke  of  Nemours,  fiiithful 
to  his  brother's  memory  in 
his  nephews,  walked  be- 
side the  duchess,  a  pro- 
tector who  would  soon 
need  protection  himself. 
The  countenance  of  this 
prince,  ennobled  by  mis- 
fortune, expressed  the 
brave  but  modest  satisfac- 
tion of  having  accomplish- 
ed a  duty  at  the  peril  of 
his  ambition  and  his  life. 
A  few  generals  in  uniform, 
and  officers  of  the  National 
Guard,  came  down  in  the 
■ferain  of  the  princess.  Slio 
saluted  the  motionless  as- 
sembly with  timid  grace, 
and  seated  herself  at  tho 
foot  of  the  tribune,  like  an 
accused  but  innocent  per- 
6on  before  a  tribxmal  from 

which  there  was  no  appeal,  who  had  just  listened 
to  the  cause  of  royalty.  At  this  moment  this 
cause  was  gained  in  the  hearts  and  eyes  of  all. 
Nature  will  always  tiiumph  over  policy  in  an 
assembly  of  men  moved  by  the  three  great  pow- 
ers of  woman  over  the  human  heart — youth,  ma- 
ternity and  pity.  Tliis  triumph,  however,  was 
but  of  brief  duration.  The  discussion,  con  acted 
■with  resei-ve  under  the  presence  of  tlr^  i^crson  so 
deeply  interested  in  the  decision,  was,  broken 
short,  by  the  influx  of  a  wave  of  .e  revolution — 
men,  hot  from  battle,  arm  d,  and  blood  and 
powder-stained,  burst  into-.ne  assembly.  It  was 
evident  that  royalty — •■  ,c  regency' — the  Count  of 
Paris — the  claim  o,  a  princess  of  the  blood — 
were  words  and  ininps  o"  no  meaning.  Nothing 
short  of  the  republic  would  satisfy  the  people. 
The  duchess  fled.  She  fell,  with  her  slender 
suite  and  children,  into  the  midst  of  a  tumult  of 
assailanls  that  deluged  the  outer  corridors  of  the 
tribunes.  She  with  difficulty  escaped  insult, 
suflbcatiou  and  death,  thanks  to  her  sex,  to  her 


veil,  which  prevented  recognition,  and  the  arms 
of  a  few  courageous  deputies.  Separated  by  the 
undnhitions  of  the  groups  trom  her  two  children 
and  ibc  Duke  of  Nennpurs,  she  ,'^ueei-edi-d,  with 
lirr  dcfrndeis,  in  tlircinllng  the  crowd  of  Insur- 
gents alone,  and  descending  ihc  staircase  which 
opened  in  the  Salle  dcs  Pas  Perdus.  The  Count 
of  Paris,  torn  by  the  ttnnult  from  his  tnother, 
and  pointed  out  to  tho  jjcoplc,  as  the  future  king, 
had  been  brutally  throttled  by  a  man  of  colossal 
stature.  A  national  guardsman,  who  was  look- 
ing for  the  boy,  and  witnessed  this  disgusting 
profanation,  beat  wp  the  arm  of  this  soulless  man 
by  a  blow  vigorously  dealt,  tore  liie  young  ]irinco 
away  from  him,  and  carried  him,  trembling  and 
soiled,  in  the  direction  of  his  mother,  who  burst 
into  tears  as  slio  ombmccd  him.  But  the  mother 
missed  her  other  child,  the  Httlo  Duke  of  Char- 


A  WORD  FOR  BARItERN. 

Horace  Smith,  in  his  "  GravitieB  and  Gayc- 
tics "  thus  rpmintly  discoursiis  respecting  the 
kniglit  of  the  shaving-diKh.  Jt  is  curious  how  a 
genius  can  find  a  theme  of  interest  even  in  a 
common-place  subject,  and  realize  the  truth  of 
Shakspearc's  apothegm,  of  finding  "sennons  in 
stones,  and  books  in  ruuinng  brooks  :" 

"  Where,  indeed,  is  tlie  barber  of  any  age  or 
country  against  wdioni  an  imputation  can  lie 
justly  levelled  ?  His  is  one  of  the  fine  arts  which 
pre-eminently  'emollit  mores,  nee  sunt  esse 
feros.'  As  iron,  by  attrition  with  the  magnet, 
obtains  some  of  its  power  of  attraction,  so  does 
he,  by  always  associating  with  his  superiors,  ac- 
quire a  portion  of  their  polish  and  urbanity. 
Shoemakers,  tailors,  and  other  artisans  of  lonely 
and  sedentary  hfe,  arc  generally  morose,  melan- 


CHILDREN  DANCING. 

I  dare  say  my  reader  1ms  observed  the  Rcarccly 
disguised  impatience  with  which  adult  votaries  of 
Terpsicliorc  look  on  at  infantine  dancing;  per- 
haps ho  has  felt  it  himself — perhaps  the  writer 
has  done  so  in  his  time.  Yet  the  dancing  of 
children  is,  in  sooth,  a  pleasant  and  a  pretty 
night;  and  I  have  never  felt  this  more  strongly 
than  on  occasions  when  the  floor  has  suddenly 
been  taken  possession  of  by  grown-up  dancers  in 
immediate  succession  to  these  little  ones.  Com- 
pare the  perfonnance  of  both,  and  you  will  not 
need  a  better  proof  that  grace  is  natural  and  not 
acquired  ;  nay  more,  that  it  may  be  lost  by  over 
ti-aining  and  artificiality.  I  was  following  with 
my  eyes  the  crowd  of  little  bright,  joyous  things, 
and  thinking  there  was  grace  in  all  their  move- 
ments— grace  equally  in  the  perfect  dancing  of 
some,  and  in  the  bounding 
disregard  of  art  in  otherH 
— in  their  boldness  or  bash- 
fulness  • —  dcmureness  or 
riot ; — there  was  grace,  I 
thought, in  thesmall  curly, 
velvct-tunickod  boy  of  sev- 
en or  eight,  pulling  the 
muslin  skirt  of  a  pretty 
lass  of  ten,  with  the  urgent 
plea — "  I  .say,  will  you 
dance  with  me  ?  do  now," 
and  in  the  precocious  co- 
quetiy  of  the  two-tailed 
fairy  as  she  disengaged 
herself  with  a  pirouette 
from  the  hands  of  her  too 
juvenile  suitor,  and  flung 
from  lier  laughing  blue 
eyes  such  an  irresistible 
invitation  toasmart,young 
middy  of  the  Havana  as 
brought  him  instantly  to 
her  side.  Away  they  flew 
round  the  room  in  each 
other's  anns  and  in  the 
polka,  that  child's  dance 
par  excellence;  and  some 
chord  in  my  memory  had 
just  been  struck  by  the 
piteous  spectacle  of  tho 
poor  little  mortified  fellow, 
wdio,  biting  his  finger  and 
slowly  shaking  his  wee 
round  figure,  at  length  ran 
and  buried  his  face  in  the 
lap  of  a  lady ;  my  atten- 
tion, I  say,  was  thus  en- 
grossed, when — pooh  !  in- 
to the  middle  of  the  Lilli- 
putian throng  rushed  a 
human  avalanche,  in  the 
shape  of  a  full-groMm — a 
very  full-groivn  couple  of 
polkists !  The  cavalier, 
though  not  old,  was  fat- 
tish,  and  had  a  small  round 
spot  of  baldness  on  the 
crown  of  his  head,  the  lady 
an  exorbitant  a-enoUne. — 
The  poetry  of  the  scene 
vanished  in  a  moment ! — 
Our  Antipodes. 


THE  COUNT  OF  PARIS  AND  THE  DUKE  DE  CHAUTRES. 


ti'cs.  She  called  to  liim  ■with  loud  cries,  and 
pressed  against  the  glasses  of  the  garden  to  see 
him  brought  from  a  distance.  The  child  had 
fallen  under  the  tumultuous  mass  of  people,  on 
the  way  from  the  ti'ibune  to  the  corridors.  He 
came  near  being  trampled  to  death,  but  he  was 
finally  placed  in  his  mother's  arms.  The  joy  of 
such  a  meeting  can  easily  be  imagined.  The 
fugitives  shortly  after  left  France,  and  the  whole 
of  the  Orleans  family  found  refuge  at  Clarcmont, 
in  England,  wdicre  they  have  since  resided.  In 
the  turns  and  (;hanges  so  common  to  French 
history,  it  cannot  be  certainly  averred,  that  be- 
fore many  years,  the  young  count,  whom  we  now 
see  saluting  us  so  gracefully  from  tlie  saddle, 
may  not  come  into  the  possession  of  the  legacy 
of  his  grandfather — the  throne  of  France.  Stran- 
ger things  have  happened  even  in  our  own  times. 
While  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift,  nor  the 
battle  to  the  strong,  the  devices  of  political  aspi- 
rants often  fail,  and  their  rapid  ascent  is  only 
equalled  by  their  precipitate  downfall. 


choly,  atrabilarious,  subject  to  religious  hypo- 
chondriacism ;  but  the  patron  of  the  bluff  is  loco- 
motive and  social  in  his  habits,  buoyant,  brisk, 
and  hilarious  in  his  temperament.  There  is  not, 
perliaps,  a  single  instance  of  a  fanatic  barber ; 
and  how  many  traiCs  are  recorded  of  tlicir  gen- 
erous forbearance.  Alfieri  was  so  nervously  sen- 
sitive, that  if  one  hair  was  pulled  a  little  tighter 
than  the  rest,  he  would  fly  into  a  paroxysm  of 
rage,  draw  his  sword,  and  threaten  to  destroy  the 
oficnder;  yet  such  was  his  confidence,  that  ho 
would  the  next  moment  submit  his  throat  to  his 
razor.  How  calm  and  dignified  was  the  reply  of 
one  of  this  class  to  the  pimple-faced  madman, 
who,  with  loaded  pistol  in  liis  hand,  compelled 
him  to  take  off  his  beard,  declaring  that  if  he  cut 
him  in  a  single  place,  he  would  instantly  blow 
out  his  brains.  After  successfully  accomplishing 
liis  difiicult  task,  he  was  asked  whether  ho  had 
been  terrified  during  the  operation.  *  No,  sir,' 
replied  he,  'for  the  moment  I  had  drawn  blood, 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  cut  your  throat !'  " 


AI»rERICAN  ARTISTS. 

In  Rome,  there  are  now 
residing  nine  American 
sculptors — Crawford,  Ives, 
Rodgers,  Teny,  Wilson, 
Story,  Bartholomew,  Ho- 
sier and  Greenough,  (his 
brother,  not  himself).  The 
painters  are  eight  in  num- 
ber— Bro^vn,  Hall,  Chap- 
man, Freeman,  Sanders, 
Innis,  Terry,  and  Von 
Patten.  In  Florence,  there 
arc — Powers,  Hart,  Gault, 
and  Akers,  all  sculptors  ; 
and  the  painters — Page, 
Kellogg,  and  Nichols.  In 
the  two  cities  there  are, 
t  h  0  r  e  f  o  r  e ,  twenty-four 
American  artists.  They  arc 
supported  chiefly  by  the 
chance  travellers,  of  w^hom 
the  majority  are  English. 
"  I  venture  to  assert,"  says 
the  correspondent  of  the 
Washington  Intelligencer, 
"  that  where  one  dollar  is 
.«pent  by  Americans,  in 
Europe,  upon  English  ar- 
tists, the  English  spend 
five  hundred  pounds  upon 
our  artists,  and  I  only 
wish  that  our  wealthy  men,  of  New  York  and 
Boston,  would  devote  more  attention  to  the  in- 
terests of  American  art,  instead  of  wasting  money 
in  buying  up  trash,  and  encouraging  imposition." 
The  foreign  commissions  keep  some  of  our  artists 
well  and  profitably  employed.  Ives  is  just  fin- 
ishing a  beautiful  female  figure,  representing 
Spring — a  girl  seated  on  a  bank  of  grass  and 
flowers,  decorating  her  hair.  He  has  completed 
his  Pandora — a  full  length  figure,  undressed — 
holding  in  her  left  hand  the  fatal  box.  A  bust 
of  General  Scott  is  among  his  recent  works,  and 
one  of  Mr.  H.  T.  Tuckerman.  Mr.  Rodgers,  of 
New  York,  has  cast  his  statue  of  Ruth,  and 
moulded  several  smaller  works,  among  wliich,  a 
Cupid  breaking  his  bow,  is  mentioned  wiih 
praise.  Mosier  is  fast  completing  a  statue  of 
Pocahontas,  and  Crawford  has  put  the  last 
touches  to  his  Jefferson  and  Patrick  Henry. 
Crawford  has  recently  executed  a  beautiful  and 
exquisite  little  group,  "  tho  Babes  in  tho  Wood." 
— Home  JournaL 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


21 


TtEE  DUKE  OF  BRABAIVT  AIVD  THE  COUNT 
OF  FiaJVDERS. 

Of  die  two  boys,  who  make  such  a  brilliant 
fig'iu-e  in  the  accompanj-ing  engraving,  nothing 
has  yet  been  recoi'dcd ;  indeed,  they  are  too 
young  to  have  obtained  personal  celebrity,  which 
may  perhaps  be  reserved  for  them  in  after  years. 
They  are  sons  of  the  king  of  Belgium.  They 
bear  no  distinguishing  stamp  of  royalty,  but 
have  only  the  gay  and  lively  air  of  a  couple  of 
gentlemen's  sons,  released  from  the  thi-aldora  of 
books  and  schooling  for  a  day  perhaps,  and  go- 
ing out  to  take  a  morning's  ride.  The  scene 
presented  is  a  park  belonging  to  their  father,  and 
the  building  in  the  distance  is  the  royal  residence 
of  Laken.  The  spirit  and  action  of  the  horses, 
the  graceful  etFect  of  light  and  shade,  and  the 
elegant  minuteness  of  tliis  engraving  ai'C  much 
to  be  admired.  It  pos- 
sesses a  tineness  and  deli- 
cacy wliich  render  it  very 
eftcctivc  as  a  work  of  art, 
while  its  tnithfulness  com- 
mends it  to  especial  notice. 


A  GAME  COCR. 

On  the  memorable  first  of  June  (Lord  Kowe's 
victory)  Captain  Berkley  conimanded  the  Marl- 
borough, and  broke  thi'ough  the  French  line  be- 
tween LTmpetuous  and  Le  Mucins,  eacli  of  su- 
perior force,  and  engaged  them  both.  On  going 
into  action  the  captain  ordered  all  the  live  stock 
to  be  thro^\^^  overboard,  but  at  the  humble  re- 
quest of  his  crew  permitted  them  to  retain  an  old 
game  cock,  with  which  they  (the  crew)  had 
fought  several  times,  and  always  with  success. 
In  the  action  the  Marlborough  was  so  severely 
handled  by  her  opponents  that  half  the  crew  were 
disabled,  her  captain  carried  wounded  below,  her 
mainmast  shot  away,  and  the  remainder  of  the 
men  driven  from  their  quarters.  At  the  very 
juncture  when  the  Marlborough  was  on  the  ])oint 
of  striking,  there  chanced  one  of  those  lulls  in 


THE  OLD  IVHALER. 

My  second  messmate  was  an  old  whaling  skip- 
per, witli  two  very  young  grand-cbilcb'en — little 
fatherless,  motherless,  helpless  creatures,  a  boy 
and  a  gn-1,  who  clung  together  all  day,  and  at 
night  slept  in  each  other's  arms ;  and  wdio  could 
not  bear  to  be  for  a  moment  out  of  sight  of  the 
old  sailor,  their  grandfather.  Looking  from  my 
berth  of  a  morning  through  the  Venetians,  I  felt 
the  moisture  rise  in  my  eyes  as  I  watched  the  bald 
and  gray  veteran  taking  his  little  proterjees  one  by 
one  from  their  common  crib,  carefully  washing 
and  dressing  them,  combmg  their  flaxen  locks, 
and  then  folding  away  their  bedding.  During 
the  day  he  would  feed  and  tend  them,  and  carve 
toys  for  them  with  liis  pocket  knife.  And  at 
night,  after  undressing  his  "  little  people,"  as  he 
called  them,  he  "  coiled  away  and  stowed  "  then- 


CHlIiDHOOD. 

I  can  endure  a  melan- 
choly man,  but  not  a  mel- 
ancholy child.  The  for- 
mer, in  whatever  slough 
he  may  sink,  can  raise  his 
eyes  either  to  the  kingdom 
of  reason  or  of  hope  :  but 
the  little  child  is  entirely 
weighed  doA\'n  by  one 
black  poison-drop  of  the 
present.  Think  of  a  child 
led  to  the  scaffold,  thiidc 
of  Cupid  in  a  Dutch  cof- 
fin ;  or  watch  a  buttei-fly 
after  its  four  wings  have 
been  torn  off,  creeping 
like  a  worm,  and  you  will 
feci  what  I  mean.  But 
wherefore  ?  The  first  has 
been  already  given.  The 
child,  like  the  beast,  only 
knows  purest,  though 
shortest  sorrow ;  one  which 
has  no  past  and  no  futm-e  ; 
one  such  as  the  sick  man 
receives  from  T\ithout,  the 
di-camer  from  himself  in 
his  asthenic  brain — finally, 
one  with  the  consciousness 
not  of  guilt  but  of  inno- 
cence. Cei'tainly,  all  the 
soiTows  of  children  are 
but  shortest  nights,  as 
their  joys  are  but  hottest 
days ;  and,  indeed,  both 
so  much  so,  that  in  the 
latter,  often  clouded  and 
starless  time  of  life,  the 
matured  man  only  long- 
ingly remembers  his  old 
childhood's  pleasm-e,  while 
he  seems  altogether  to 
have  forgotten  his  child- 
hood's grief.  This  weak 
remembrance  is  strangely 
conti'asted  with  the  oppos- 
ing one  in  dreams  and  fe- 
vers in  this  i-espect,  that 
in  the  t^vo  last  it  is  always 
the  cruel  sorrows  of  child- 
hood wOiich  retm-n ;  the 
dream,  this  mock-sun  of 
childhood,  and  the  fever, 
its  distorting  glass — both 
draw  forth  from  dark  cor- 
ners the  feai-s  of  defence- 
less childhood,  which  press 
and  cut  with  iron  fangs 
into  the  prostrate  soul. 
The  fan-  scenes  of  dreams 
mostly  play  on  an  after- 
stage,  whereas  the  fright- 
ful ones  choose  for  theu-s 
the  cradle  and  the  nursery. 
Moreover,  in  fevei-,  the 
ice-Iiands  of  the  fear  ot 
ghosts,  the  striking  one  of 
the  teachers  and  parents, 
and  every  claw  with  which 
fate  has  pressed  the  young 
heart,  stretch  themselves 
out  to  catch  the  w.ander- 
ing  man.  Parents,  consid- 
er then,  that  every  child- 
hood's Rupeit — the  name 
given  iu  Germany  to  the 
fictitious  being  employed 
to  frighten   children  into 

obedience — even  though  it  has  lain  chained  for 
tens  of  years,  yet  gets  loose  and  gains  mastery 
over  the  man  so  soon  as  he  finds  him  on  a  sick 
bed.  The  first  fright  is  more  dangerous  the 
sooner  it  happens  ;  as  the  man  grows  older,  he  is 
less  and  less  easily  frightened  ;  the  little  cradle 
or  bed-canop}''  of  the  child  is  more  easily  quite 
darkened  than  the  starry  heavens  of  the  man. 
— Jean  Paul  Rickter. 


THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  WAR. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  credit  or  adequately  con- 
ceive, even,  the  well  attested  statistics  of  war. 
AVhcn  sucli  a  philosopher  as  Dick,  or  such  a 
statesman  as  Burke,  brings  before  us  his  esti- 
mate of  the  havoc  which  this  custom  has  made 
of  human  life  in  all  past  time,  it  seems  utterly 
incredible — almost  inconceivable;  and  still  more 
are  we  staggered  by  the  formidable  array  of  iig- 
m-cs  employed  to  denote  the  sum  total  of  money, 
squandered  on  human  bntcheiy.  Baron  Von 
Kedcn,  perhaps  the  ablest  statician  of  the  age — 
tells  us  in  a  recent  work  of  his,  that  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe  alone  now  has  full  four  millions 
of  men  under  anus — more  than  half  its  popula- 
tion— between  the  ages  of  twenty  and  thirty ; 
and  that  the  support  of  this  immense  preparation 
of  war,  together  with  the  interest  and  cost  of  col- 
lection and  disbursement 
on  the  aggregate  of  its 
war  debts,  amount  to  more 
than  one  thousand  mil- 
lions a  year.  Let  any  man 
ti-y  to  fonn  an  adequate 
conception  of  what  is 
meant  by  either  of  these 
sums,  and  he  will  give  up 
the  effort  in  despair.  The 
Baron  estimates  the  war 
debts  now  resting  on  the 
States  of  Europe,  at  about 
$7,418,000,000;  how  shall 
we  estimate  what  this 
enoiTnons  sum  means  ? 
Sliall  we  count  ?  At  the 
rate  of  sixty  dollars  a  min- 
ute, ten  hours  every  day, 
for  three  hundred  days  in 
a  year,  it  would  take  niore 
than  eight  hundred  years 
to  count  the  present  war 
debt  of  Europe  alone. 
Let  us  look  for  a  moment 
at  what  England  wasted 
for  war  from  the  revolu- 
tion in  1688,  to  the  down- 
fall of  Napoleon  in  1815. 
The  sum  total,  besides  all 
that  she  spent  upon  her 
war  system  in  the  inter- 
vals of  peace,  was  about 
§10,150,000,000;  and  if 
we  add  the  interest  on 
her  war  debts  conti-acted 
in  that  period,  the  grand 
total  will  reach  nearly 
SI  7,000,000,000  !  At  six- 
ty dollars  a  minute,  for 
ten  iiom-s  in  a  day,  or 
tliirty-six  thousand  dollars 
a  day,  and  tliree  hundred 
days  in  a  year,  it  would 
require  more  than  one 
thousand  five  hundred  and 
seventy-five  years  to  count 
it  all.  Add  an  average  of 
$60,000,000  a  yeai-  for  the 
current  expenses  of  her 
war  establishment  since 
1815,  an  aggregate  of 
$2,800,000,000  ill  these 
thirty-five  years,  and  we 
have  a  sum  total  of  nearly 
tti'enty  thousand  mUh'o'is  I 
No  wonder  the  Old  World 
is  reeling  and  staggering 
under  the  burden  of  such 
an  enormous  expcnditm-e 
for  war  purjMses.  Twen- 
ty thousand  millions  of 
dollars  !  It  is  nearly  thir- 
ty times  as  much  as  all 
the  coin  now  supposed  to 
be  in  the  world ;  and  if 
these  twenty  thousand  mil- 
lions were  all  in  silver 
dollars  and  placed  in 
rows,  it  would  belt  the 
globe  more  than  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  times. — 
JBoston  Daily  Advei'tiser. 


THE   DUKE    OF    BRABANT   AND    THE    COUNT    OF    FLANDERS. 


HANDS  THE  SIGN  OF  RACE. 

There  are  some  men  who  cultivate  white 
hands  with  long  fair  nails.  For  nothing  else  do 
they  care  very  particularly — all  Is  well^  if  only 
their  hands  be  neat.  There  is  even  a  ridiculous 
notion,  that  elegant  hands  are  the  most  unequiv- 
ocal test  of  what  is  called  good  birth.  I  can  say, 
for  my  own  part,  that  the  finest  hands  I  ever  saw 
belonged  to  a  woman  who  kept  a  butcher's  shop 
in  Musselburg.  So  much  for  the  nonsense  about 
fine  hands. — Oiambers'  Pocket  Miscdlani/. 


the  roar  of  the  thundering  cannon  often  experi- 
enced in  general  action.  In  that  momentary  si- 
lence, when  the  falling  of  a  rope  might  be  heard, 
the  old  game  cock,  who  bad  escaped  the  human 
carnage,  hopped  up  upon  the  shattered  stump  of 
the  mainmast,  and,  with  a  loud  and  tiiumphant 
flapping  of  his  wings,  sent  forth  such  a  long  and 
lusty  challenge  as  to  be  heard  in  every  part  of 
the  disabled  ship.  No  individual  spoke  in  reply 
to  the  homely  but  touching  alamm  ;  one  univer- 
sal and  gallant  cheer  from  the  broken  crew 
ai"ose  ;  they  remembered  the  indomitable  courage 
of  the  bud  that  sat  undismayed  above  the  bleed- 
ing hoiTors  of  the  deck,  and  every  soul  on  board 
who  could  drag  their  limbs  to  quarters,  re-man- 
ned the  guns,  resumed  the  action,  and  forced 
their  opponents  to  sun'ender.  A  silver  medal 
was  sti'uek  by  order  of  Admiral  Berkley  ;  it  was 
hung  upon  the  neck  of  the  old  g,ame  cock,  who, 
in  the  parks  and  around  the  princely  halls  of  the 
Goodwood,  passed  the  remainder  of  his  downy 
days  in  honored  safety. — British  Naval  History. 


day  gear,  and  put  on  tlieir  night  clothes — his 
great  rough  hands  fumbling  the  small  tapes  into 
all  sorts  of  nautical  knots,  which  cost  him  a 
world  of  troid)le  to  undo  in  the  morning.  Then 
he  placed  them  in  their  bed — side  by  side  gen- 
erally, but  sometimes  with  their  heads  different 
ways — and,  having  "shipped"  the  panel  to  pre- 
vent them  from  falling  out,  he  would  sing  them 
to  sleep  with  a  hoarse  lullaby,  of  which  the  words 
"Yo!  heave  ho!"  and  "  TV^iack  Old  England's 
foe,"  fonned  the  burthen.  Then  he  listened  to 
their  light  breathing,  and,  assured  that  they 
slumbered,  dropped  his  furrowed  brow  on  the 
bed-panel  for  a  time,  as  though  he  blessed  and 
])rayed  for  them,  and,  posting  himself  on  a  bench 
below,  he  opened  an  old  chest,  and,  taking  out  a 
well-worn  book  and  putting  on  his  glasses,  he 
read  therein  sometimes  for  half  the  night,  so 
absorbed  in  its  contents  as  almost  to  be  wholly 
unconscious  of  every  other  object  or  event  tran- 
spiring around  him. — Our  Antipodes,  by  Colonel 
Mandy. 


A  TOUGH  YARN. 

A  gentleman  trolling 
lately  in  the  Gareloeh  for 
trout  hooked  what  he 
imagined  at  first  to  be  a 
salmon,  from  its  vigorous 
run,  but  by  degi'ces  be- 
came convinced  that  he 
had  caught  a  Tartar  of 
some  species  unknown. 
After  a  furious  contest  of 
nearly  tivo  hours  he  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  the  captive,  now  sullen  and 
exhausted,  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  tackled 
him  the  first  opportunity.  What  was  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  angler  and  boatman,  however,  to 
discover  that  the  monster  was  a  fish  of  the  shark 
species,  common  in  wai-m  latitudes,  though  a 
stranger  here.  It  was  hooked  on  the  exterior 
of  the  jaw,  otherwise  his  formidable  teeth  would 
have  made  short  work  with  the  tackle.  After 
capture  it  made  a  fearful  straggle  in  the  boat, 
and  was  with  difficulty  subdued  and  secured. 
It  was  a  female,  and  measured  four  feet  seven 
inches  in  length.  Immediately  upon  its  capture 
six  young  ones  launched  themselves  from  the 
parent  into  the  boat.  This  is  the  second  instance 
we  have  heard  of  the  capture  of  a  shark  in  tliis 
neighborhood. — Dumbarton  Herald. 


How  singular  it  is  that  everybody  is  out  of 
money  at  the  same  time.  Who^  ever  nndertook 
to  borrow  ten  dollars  without  finding  all  his  ac 
quaintances  had  "  a  little  note  to  take  up  V 


I 


22 


CxLEASON'S    riCTOrJAL   DUAWIXG   HOOM    f'O^IPANION. 


[Wrlltun  for  fJlcnson's  Pictorial.] 
OUR  SHIP. 

Lightly,  gaily,  nimbly,  Htiitoly, 
Swiftly  iiH  II  IjoundlnR  fawn  ; 

Gontly,  tonclorly,  Hcdatoly, 
GnK'f'fully  ns  ii  white  Bwan 

Comes  our  bnrk,  whoro  only  lately 
All  wiiB  trantnill  ne  the  dawn. 

Now  II  mnmnir  risrs  slowly 
In  our  vcHfcI'B  lonely  track  ; 

To  the  akicH  ho  heavenly,  lioly, 
From  the  dcdpn  bo  grim  and  black ; 

And  the  imKi'lf",  Rentle,  lowly, 
Send  It  sluiddei-ing,  wondering  hack. 

I  am  ga/.iiig,  full  of  wonder, 

At  the  gloviouH  myetcrj', 
How  our  ship  can  renii  asunder 

Whvch  that  riKe  so  fearfully. 
And  not  go  forever  under, 

To  the  Lctbo  in  the  eea. 

When  the  storm  ia  at  its  highcat. 
And  tUo  waves  roll  fiendishly. 

And  tlio  weird  winds  where  thou  flicst, 
Scorn  to  snatch  thee  from  the  sea ; 

Then!  ah,  then!  my  bouI  is  Highest 
A  wild  heaven  of  ecstasy  ! 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  TWO  CARPENTERS: 


PASTIME    REAL    AND    UNKEAL. 


A  SKETCH  FOR  MECHANICS. 


BY    SYLVANUS    COBB,   JK. 

Charles  Bracket  and  Ludlow  Weston  were 
apprentices  to  a  carpenter  by  the  name  of  Jonas 
"White.  They  were  nearly  of  the  same  age — about 
nineteen,  and  they  were  both  of  tliem  of  remark- 
ably good  disposition,  and,  withal,  very  punctual 
at  their  work.  Mr.  White  was  a  kind,  indulgent 
man,  and  his  woikmen  had  no  occasion  to  com- 
plain of  his  requirements. 

"  Charley,"  said  Ludlow  Weston,  one  evening 
after  they  had  closed  their  labors  upon  a  house 
that  iVIi".  White  was  erecting,  "lot  us  have  a  ride 
this  evening." 

"  No,"  returned  Charles  Bracket,  as  he  re- 
moved his  apron.  The  answer  was  short,  but 
yet  it  was  kindly  spoken. 

"Come,  do,"  m-ged  Ludlow.     "It  will  be  a 
beautiful  evening,  and  we  can  have  a  first  rate 
time.     Wont  you  go  1" 
"  I  cannot,  Lud." 
"But  why?" 

"  Because  I  am  otherwise  engaged,  and  beside, 
I  haven't  the  money  to  spare." 

"  Never  mind  the  engagement,  but  come  along, 
and  I  will  pay  the  expenses." 

"If  I  ever  join  with  a  companion  in  any  pas- 
time that  involves  pecuniary  expense,  I  sliall  al- 
ways pay  my  share ;  but  this  evening,  Lud,  I 
have  an  engagement  with  myself." 
"  And  what  can  it  be,  Charley  V 
"  I  borrowed  a  book  of  Mr.  White,  a  few  days 
since,  and  as  I  promised  to  return  it  as  soon  as 
I  finished  it,  I  desire  to  do  so  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, so  I  must  devote  this  evening  to  reading." 

"  And  what  is  the  subject,  pray  V  asked 
Ludlow. 

"  The  History  of  Architecture,"  returned 
Charles  Bracket. 

"  0,  bah !     Such  dry  stuff  as  that !" 
"It's  not  dry,  I  assure  you,  Lud." 
"  It  may  not  be  to  you,  but  it  is  to  me.    What, 
poring  over  architecture  all  night,  after  working 
hard  at  it  all  day  V 

"Yes,"  returned  Charles;  "because  I  am  thus 
enabled  to  Icam  more  of  the  different  branches 
of  our  business." 

"  Well,"  said  Ludlow,  with  a  slight  toss  of  tlie 
head,  "  for  my  part  I  learn  full  as  much  about 
the  carpenter's  trade  at  my  work  as  I  shall  ever 
find  use  for.  I  don't  see  the  use,  after  a  poor 
fellow  has  been  tied  up  to  mortices,  grooves, 
sills,  rafters,  sleepers,  and  such  matters,  all  day 
long,  to  drag  away  the  night  in  studying  the 
stuff  all  over  again." 

"Ah,  Lud,"  replied  Charles  Bracket,  "you 
don't  take  the  right  view  of  the  matter.  Evci-y 
man  makes  himself  honorable  in  a  peculiar  busi- 
ne.ss,  just  so  far  as  he  understands  that  business 
thoroughly,  and  a])plies  liimself  to  its  perfection. 
It  is  not  the  calling  or  trade  that  makes  the  man, 
but  it's  the  honest  enterprise  with  which  that 
calling  is  followed.  In  looking  about  for  a  busi- 
ness that  should  give  me  a  support  through  life, 
1  hit  upon  and  chose  the  one  in  which  we  are 
now  both  engaged,  and  when  I  did  so,  I  resolved 
that  I  would  make  myiiielf  uscfid  in  it.  Wc 
have  something  Ijcsidcs  mere  physical  strength 


to  employ  and  cultivate:  we  hiivo  a  mind  that 
must  labor,  and  that  mind  will  labor  at  some- 
thing. Now,  phyHical  labor  alpuo  Is  tedious  and 
unthankful ;  but  when  wc  combine  the  mental 
and  physical,  and  nmkc  them  assist  each  otlier, 
then  wc  Hud  labor  ii  source  of  comfort." 

"  Really,  Charley,  ytni  arc  (juite  a  philosopher, 
and  I  sup|)ose  what  you  say  is  true;  but  then  I 
should  like  to  know  if  it  don't  require  some  men- 
tal hilior  to  keep  up  with  the  instructions  of  our 
boss  now  ?  I  declare,  it  keeps  me  thinking  pretty 
sharply." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Charles ;  "  hut  after  all, 
the  only  mental  labor  you  perform  is  memory. 
Yon  only  remember  Mr.  White's  instructions, 
and  then  follow  them,  and  in  so  doing,  you  learn 
nothing  but  the  mere  method  of  doing  the  work 
you  are  engaged  on.  For  instance,  you  know 
how  long  to  make  the  rafters  of  the  house  wc  are 
now  building,  and  you  know  liow  to  let  them  in- 
to the  plates  ;  but  do  you  know  the  pliilosophical 
reason  for  all  this '?  Do  you  know  why  you  arc 
required  to  perform  your  work  after  given 
rules  V* 

"I  know  that  I  am  to  do  it,  and  that  wlien  I 
am  of  age,  I  shall  be  paid  for  doing  it,  and  I 
know  how  to  do  it.  That  is  enough,"  answered 
Ludlow,  witii  much  emphasis. 

"  It  is  not  enough  for  me,"  said  Ciuirles. 
"Every  piece  of  mechanism  has  a  science  in  its 
composition,  and  I  would  be  able  to  comprehend 
that  science  so  as  to  apply  it,  perhaps,  to  other 
uses.  In  short,  Lud,  I  would  be  master  of  my 
business." 

"And  so  would  I.  I  tell  you,  Charley,  I  be- 
lieve I  could  frame  a  house  now." 

"  Such  an  one  as  you  have  been  taught  to 
build,  Lud." 

"  Certainly.  EveryI)ody  must  be  taught  at 
first." 

"  True ;  and  everybody  may  gain  im]nove- 
ment  upon  the  instructions  of  others  by  self- 
culture." 

"  Then  you  wont  go  to  ride  this  evening?" 
said  Ludlow,  as  they  reached  their  boarding- 
house. 

"No." 

Here  the  conversation  ended.  That  evening 
Ludlow  Weston  hired  a  horse  and  chaise,  and 
went  to  ride;  while  Charles  Bracket  betook  him- 
self to  his  room,  and  was  soon  deeply  interested 
in  his  History  of  Architectui'e.  Some  parts  he 
would  read  over  several  times  so  as  to  tliorough- 
ly  comprehend  them,  and  occasionally  he  would 
take  notes,  and  copy  some  of  the  drawings.  Be- 
fore he  retired  to  his  rest,  he  had  finished  the 
book  ;  and  when  lie  arose  the  next  morning,  the 
subject  of  his  study  was  fresh  and  vivid  in  his 
mind,  and  lie  felt  happy  and  satisfied  with  him- 
self. 

"Ah,  Charley,  I  had  a  glorious  time  last 
night,"  said  Ludlow  Weston,  with  a  heavy  yawn, 
as  the  two  apprentices  met  before  breakfast. 

"  So  did  I,"  returned  Charles. 

"  At  your  dry  books,  eh  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  don't  envy  you.  Egad,  Charley,  the 
recollections  of  last  night's  ride  and  supper  will 
give  me  enjoyment  for  a  moutli." 

"  And  the  recollections  of  my  last  night's  study 
may  benefit  nic  for  a  lifetime." 

"  Bah  !"  said  Ludlow.  But  the  very  manner 
in  which  he  uttered  it  showed  that  he  did  not  ex- 
actly mean  it. 

A  mouth  had  passed  away,  and  it  was  Satur- 
day morning. 

"  Charley,"  said  Ludlow  Weston,  "  we  have 
not  got  to  work  this  afternoon.  Now,  Avhat  do 
you  say  to  joining  the  party  on  the  pond  ?  We 
have  got  the  boats  engaged,  and  wc  are  going  to 
have  a  capital  time.  I'm  going  to  carry  Sophia, 
and  you  must  take  Mary,  and  go  with  us." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  must  disappoint  you,  Lud; 
but  the  old  professor  at  the  academy,  as  he  has 
no  school  this  afternoon,  has  promised  to  give 
mc  some  assistance  in  my  studies  in  mensuration, 
and  it  would  be  a  disappointment  both  to  him 
and  myself  to  miss  the  opportunity." 

"  O,  bother  your  mensuration  !  Come  along. 
Mary  Waters  will  tliink  you  are  really  mean,  for 
Sophy  Cross  will  be  sure  to  tell  her  what  a  fine 
time  she  had  with  me." 

"No,  Mary  ivont,"  returaed  Charles.  "Af- 
ter I  have  fini.slicd  my  lesson,  I  am  going  to  take 
a  horse  and  chaise,  and  carry  her  out  to  visit  her 
sick  aunt,  whci"C  we  shall  spend  the  Sabbath. 
However,  I  hope  you  will  have  a  good  time,  and 
I  believe  you  will,  too." 

Mary  Waters  and  Sophia  Cross  were  botli  of 
them  good  girls,  and  they  really  loved  the  youths, 
whose  attentions  they  were  respectively  receiving. 


Charles  and  Ludlow  had  aln-aily  taikcrl  of  mar- 
riage, and  they  looked  fonvard  to  that  important 
event  witli  much  [jromisc  of  joy,  and  all  wlio 
knew  them  bad  reason  lo  believe  that  tlu^y  would 
both  make  good  husbands. 

Thus  time  glided  away.  Both  of  the  young 
men  laid  up  some  money,  and  they  were  both 
steady  at  their  work,  but  Charles  pursued  his 
studies  witli  unrcmittingdiligcncc,  while  Ludlow 
could  never  see  any  use  in  a  mere  carpenter's 
bothering  bis  brain  with  gcomcti-ical  properties, 
areas  of  figures,  volumes  of  solids,  mathematical 
roots  and  powers,  trigonometry,  and  a  thousand 
other  things  that  his  companion  spent  so  much 
time  over. 

Two  years  were  soon  swallowed  ujj  in  the  vor- 
tex of  time,  and  Charles  and  Ludlow  were  free. 
They  both  were  hired  by  their  old  master,  and 
for  several  months  they  worked  on  in  the  to^vn 
where  Mr.  White  resided.  Ludlow  Weston  was 
married  to  Sophia  Cross,  and  they  lioarded  with 
the  bride's  mother. 

"  Aint  you  ever  going  to  get  married  ?"  asked 
Ludlow,  as  he  and  Cliarles  were  at  work  together. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  get  a  house  to  put  a  wife 
into,"  quietly  returned  Charles. 

"  Why;  you  can  hire  one  at  any  time." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  I  wish  to  own  one." 

"  Tlien  poor  Mary  Waters  will  have  to  wait  a 
long  time  for  a  husband,  I'm  thinking." 

"Perhaps  so,"  Charles  said,  with  a  smile. 

Then  Ludlow  whistled  a  tune  as  he  continued 
his  work. 

"Boys,"  said  Mr.  White,  as  he  came  into  his 
shop  one  morning,  where  Charles  and  Ludlow 
were  at  work,  "  we  are  soon  likely  to  have  a  job 

in  S .     The  new  State  House  is  going  up  as 

soon  as  the  committee  can  procure  a  suitable 
plan,  and  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  to  contract 
for  a  good  share  of  the  carpenter's  work." 

"  Good !  AVe  shall  have  a  change  of  air," 
said  Ludlow,  in  a  meny  mood. 

That  evening  Charles  took  his  paper  from  the 
post-ofiice,  and  in  it  he  found  an  advertisement 
calling  for  an  architectural  plan  for  the  new 
State  House.  He  went  home,  locked  himself  up 
in  his  room,  and  devoted  half  the  night  to  in- 
tense thought  and  study.  The  next  day  he  pro- 
cured a  large  sheet  of  fine  drawing  paper,  and 
after  supper  he  again  betook  himself  to  his  room, 
where  he  drew  out  his  table,  spread  his  paper, 
and  then  taking  his  ease  of  mathematical  instru- 
ments, he  set  himself  about  his  task.  For  a 
whole  week  he  worked  every  niglit  till  twelve  or 
one  o'clock,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time,  his  job 
was  finished.  He  rolled  his  sheet  of  paper  care- 
fully up  in  a  substantial  wrapper,  and  having 
directed  it  to  the  committee,  he  entrusted  it  to 
the  care  of  the  stage-driver,  to  be  delivered  at  its 
destination  in  the  city  of  S . 

Nearly  three  weeks  rolled  away,  and  Charles 
began  to  fear  that  his  labors  had  been  useless. 
It  was  just  after  dinner.  Mr.  White  and  his 
men  had  commenced  work,  when  four  gentlemen 
entered  the  shop,  whose  very  appearance  at  once 
bespoke  them  to  be  men  of  the  highest  standing 
in  society. 

"  Is  there  a  Mr.  Charles  Bracket  here  ?"  asked 
one  of  them. 

"  That  is  the  man,  sir,"  retumed  Mr.  White, 
pointing  to  where  Charles,  in  his  checked  apron 
and  paper  cap,  was  at  work. 

The  stranger  seemed  a  little  surprised  as  he 
turned  his  eyes  upon  the  youth,  and  a  shade  of 
doubt  dwelt  upon  his  features. 

"  Is  your  name  Bracket,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  as  he 
went  np  to  where  the  young  man  stood. 

"It  is,  sir,"  replied  Charles,  trembling  with 
strong  excitement. 

"Did  you  draw  this  plan?"  continued  the 
sti'angcr,  opening  a  roll  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  I  did,  sir,"  answered  Charles,  as  he  at  once 
recognized  his  work. 

"  Did  you  originate  it?" 

"Every  part  of  it,  sir." 

The  stranger  eyed  the  young  carpenter  with  a 
wondering  look,  and  so  did  the  gentlemen  who 
accompanied  him.  Mr.  Wliitc  and  Ludlow 
Weston  wondered  what  it  all  meant. 

"Well,  sir,"  at  length  said  he  who  held  the 
plan,  "I  am  pot  a  little  surprised  that  one  like 
you  should  have  designed  and  drawn  this ;  but, 
nevertheless,  you  are  a  lucky  man.  Your  plan 
has  been  accepted  in  every  feature,  and  your  re- 
commendations have  all  been  adopted." 

The  effect  of  this  announcement  upon  Charles 
Bracket  was  like  an  electric  shock.  Objects 
seemed  to  swim  before  bis  eyes,  and  be  grasped 
the  edge  of  his  bench  for  support. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  White,  "  I  do  not  un- 
derstand tliis.     What  floes  it  all  mean  ?" 


"It  means,  sir,  that  this  young  man  has  de- 
signed a  complete  and  perfect  nrchiteclural  plan 
for  the  new  State  House,  and  that  it  luis  been 
unanimously  adopted  by  the  committee  from 
among  fifty  otiicrs  which  they  have  received  from 
different  parts  of  the  country." 

"  Charles,"  uttered  tlie  old  cari)cntei-,  wiping 
a  pride-ficnt  tear  from  his  cheek  as  he  gazed  upon 
his  former  apprentice,  "when  did  you  do  this  V 

"  Three  weeks  ago,  sir." 

"And  that's  what  kept  you  up  so  late  every 
night  for  a  wliole  week  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  There's  a  powerful  genius  there,  sir,"  said 
the  spokesman  of  the  visitors. 

"Ay,"  retumed  Mr.  White;  "and  there  has 
been  deep  and  powerful  application  there,  too. 
Charles  Bracket  has  been  with  me  from  a  boy, 
sir,  and  every  moment  of  bis  leisure  time  has 
been  devoted  to  the  most  intense  study." 

The  gentleman  looked  kindly,  flatteringly  upon 
the  young  man,  and  then  turning  to  Mr.  White, 
he  said : 

"  He  has  not  only  given  us  the  design,  but,  as 
you  can  see,  he  has  calculated  to  a  nicety  the 
number  of  bricks,  the  surface  of  stone,  the  quan- 
tity- of  lumber,  the  weight,  length,  size  and  fonn 
of  the  required  iron,  as  well  as  the  quantity  of 
other  materials,  and  the  cost  of  construction.  It 
is  a  valuable  document." 

Ludlow  Weston  was  dumb.  He  hung  down 
his  head,  and  thought  of  the  contempt  he  had 
cast  upon  his  companion's  studies. 

"Mr.  Bracket,"  continued  the  visitor,  "I  am 
authorized  by  the  State  committee  to  pay  you 
one  thousand  dollars  for  this  design,  and  also  to 
offer  you  ten  dollars  per  day  so  long  as  the  build- 
ing is  in  course  of  construction,  for  your  services 
as  superintending  architect.  The  first  named 
sum  I  will  pay  you  now,  and  before  I  leave,  I 
would  like  to  have  from  you  an  answer  to  the 
committee's  proposition." 

Before    the    delegation    returned    to    S , 

Charles  had  received  his  thousand  dollars  cash, 
and  accepted  the  offer  for  superintending  the 
erection  of  the  State  House. 

"Ah,  Charles,"  said  Ludlow  Weston,  after 
they  had  finished  their  supper,  "  you  have  indeed 
chosen  the  wisest  part.  I  had  no  thought  that  a 
eaiijenter  could  be  such  a  man." 

"  And  why  not  a  carpenter  as  well  as  any  one  ? 
It  only  requires  study  and  application." 

"  But  all  men  are  not  like  you." 

"Because  all  men  don't  try.  Let  a  man  set 
his  eyes  upon  an  honorable  point,  and  then  fol- 
low it  steadily,  unwaveringly,  and  he  will  he 
sure  to  reach  it.  All  men  may  not  occupy  the 
same  spliere,  and  it  would  not  be  well  that  they 
should  ;  but  there  are  few  who  may  not  reach  to 
a  degree  of  honorable  eminence  in  any  trade  or 
profession,  no  matter  how  humble  it  may  be." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  Charles  ;  but  it  is  too 
late  for  me  to  try  now.  I  shall  never  be  any- 
thing but  a  journeyman." 

"I  will  own,  Ludlow,  that  you  have  wasted 
the  best  part  of  your  life  for  study ;  but  there  is 
yet  time  and  opportunity  for  retrievement." 

Ludlow  did  try,  and  he  studied,  and  he  im- 
proved much,  but  he  was  unable  to  recall  the 
time  he  had  wasted.  He  had  now  a  family  upon 
his  care,  and  as  he  had  to  depend  altogether  upon 
his  hands  for  support,  he  could  not  work  much 
with  his  mind. 

Charles  Bracket  saw  tlie  building  he  had 
planned  entirely  finished,  and  he  received  the 
highest  encomiums  of  praise  from  the  chief  offi- 
cers of  the  State.  Business  flowed  in  upon  him, 
and  ere  many  years.  Bracket,  the  architect,  was 
known  throughout  the  Union.  When  he  led 
Mary  Waters  to  the  hymeneal  altar,  he  did  own 
one  of  the  prettiest  houses  in  his  native  town ; 
nor  did  "  poor  Mary  "  have  to  wait  long,  either. 

There  is  a  deep  moral  in  the  foregoing  for  our 
young  mechanical  readers,  and  we  have  no  doubt 
they  have,  ere  this,  discovered  it. 


[Written  for  Gleason'e  Pictorial.] 
O  BREATHE  OKE  WISH  TOR  3IE. 

Br    AIRS.   R.   T.   £I.D.'.£DGE. 

I  do  not  ask  thee,  friend,  to  think  of  me, 
When  mingling  with  the  young,  and  gay,  and  fair  ; 

In  fiiHhion'H  circles  drown  thy  thoughts  in  glee, 
0  give  me  not  a  passing  thought  while  there ! 

But  think  of  mc,  my  loved  and  early  friend, 
Should  thy  young  heai-t,  subdued  by  grief  or  care, 

E't-r  cause  tbco,  daily,  on  thy  knee  to  bend, 
0  bruiitho  a  wish  for  mo  in  every  ijrayer  I 


Adversity  is  apt  to  discover  the  genius,  pros- 
perity to  conceal  it. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


23 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
ON    LEAVING   H.UITFORD. 


Old  Hartford '.  dear  and  sacred  spot, 
Home  of  my  fiither's  childhood  days  ; 

Scenes  which  can  never  be  forgot, 
Shall  form  the  subject  of  my  lays  ; 

Hartford  I  I  prize  thy  ancient  name, 

0  may'st  thou  Uve  in  deathless  fiune. 

Here,  first  the  light  of  mortal  life 
Illumed  my  parents'  mental  sky  ; 

Here,  too,  hegan  with  them  the  strife, 
"WTiich  ends  when  in  the  grave  they  lie  '■, 

And  here  they  learned  that  cares  were  given, 

As  guides  which  lead  the  soul  to  heaven. 

1  lore  thee,  Hartford,  for  thy  worth, 
And  honor  thee  for  years  that 's  gone  ; 

No  other  spot,  on  this  broad  earth, 

More  brightly  beams  the  sun  upon. 
Thy  mansions  seem  a  blest  retreat. 
Where  sage  Content  has  fixed  her  seat. 

0  should  the  two-edged  sword  of  death 

Spare  nie  to  see  a  ripened  age  ; 
Down  to  the  latest  hour  of  breath. 

Thy  name  my  thoughts  shall  then  engage ; 
And  e'en  when  dying  I  will  pray, 
That  thou  may'st  never  meet  decay. 

Hartford !  farewell  I  I  now  depart, 

And  parting,  I  on  thee  bestow 
This  earnest  tribute  of  my  heart, 

This  fervent  blessing,  and  I  go  j 
On  thee,  0  Hartford,  rest,  increase, 
The  smiles  of  hope,  of  joy,  and  peace 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE   FOUR  ACRE   LOT. 

BV  MKS.  E.  WELLMONT. 

*' Nobody  to  write  a  letter  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Blimi.  "I  wonder  if  this  is  the  way  all  board- 
ing-school education  turns  out.  There's  my 
daughter  Sophy,  who  has  been  three  quarters  to 
the  academy,  and  here  she  cannot  draft  a  letter 
for  me  on  particular  business.  If  it  were  not 
pextaiuing  to  family  matters,  I  would  carry  it  to 
'Squire  Story,  or  Mrs.  Bragg;  but  they  are  both 
leaky  sources,  and  one  hates  to  have  all  their 
private  busiiicss  in  everybody's  mouth.  Sophy, 
dear,"  said  the  mother,  "  don't  you  think  you 
can  tell  your  aunt  what  I  bid  you  say?  It's  no 
matter  if  it  aint  all  grammar." 

"  But,  mother,  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my 
life,  as  to  write  a  long  letter.  To  be  sure,  I 
have  written  short  notes  to  Amy  Fry,  but  they 
were  nothing." 

And  the  poor  girl  took  up  her  "  French  Tele- 
machus,"  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  dictionary, 
began  to  interpret  the  meaning  of  the  next  sen- 
tence ;  then  she  had  an  exercise  to  \vTite,  a  his- 
tory lesson  to  commit,  a  page  in  rhetoric  to  re- 
peat, and  her  grammar  to  review.  But  all  thest 
were  in  the  ordinary  course — to  write  a  letter 
was  quite  a  different  affair. 

Mrs.  Blinn  was  greatly  troubled  to  get  the  let- 
ter written  without  giving  notoriety  to  its  con- 
tents. To  be  sure,  she  had  a  piece  of  business 
which  she  wished  executed  without  her  hus- 
band's knowledge  ;  and  as  this  is  always  a  haz- 
ardous business,  she  was  greatly  troubled  to  get 
it  executed.  She  thought  of  the  secretary  of  the 
sewing-circle ;  but  she  boarded  with  the  la^vyer's 
wife,  and  ten  chances  to  one,  some  bird  of  the 
air  would  carry  the  news  that  she  was  about  to 
deed  away  the  "  four  acre  lot,"  which  descended 
to  her  by  her  mother's  death.  But,  then,  as  it 
was  her  own,  and  her  husband  had  been  bene- 
fited by  it  for  years,  she  saw  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  dispose  of  it  and  raise  some  ready 
money,  which  would  help  her  to  a  heap  of  use- 
ful things,  which  her  ambitious  spirit  had  con- 
jured up  into  essentials.  And  they  had  so  preyed 
on  her  mind  that,  having  an  offer  to  sell  out  to 
Farmer  Eenton  at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  dol- 
lars per  acre,  the  bargain  was  all  privately  con- 
cluded, pi"ovided  her  sister's  husband  would 
make  out  the  deed — and  it  could  be  clandestinely 
managed  until  it  was  too  late  for  lier  husband  to 
help  himself.  But  who  ever  knew  such  a  scheme 
to  work  well  ? 

Farmer  Renton  seemed  particularly  anxious 
to  have  the  affair  consummated,  and  he  suggest- 
ed to  Mrs.  Blinn,  that  his  son,  the  clerk  in  a 
neighboi'ing  gi-oceiy,  would  be  at  home  that 
evening,  and  under  pretence  of  some  eiTand,  she 
could  drop  in  and  the  whole  matter  could  be 
arranged. 

Mrs.  Blinn,  thinking  only  of  the  four  Imndred 
dollars,  acceded  to  the  proposal.  All  the  con- 
fusion at  the  farm-house  was  that  evening  early 
subsided.     Mr.  Blinn  was  tired,  and  soon  found 


himself  in  a  comfortable  sleep  in  his  arm-chair ; 
and  Miss  Sophy  was  muttering  over  the  conju- 
gation of  some  French  verbs  which,  like  drop- 
ping rain,  rather  composed  her  father  the  more 
on  account  of  its  monotony. 

Mrs.  Blinn  was  absent  short  of  an  hour ;  yet 
in  that  space  of  time,  the  terms  upon  which  she 
agreed  to  sell  out  were  drawn  up  and  signed  by 
a  rude  attempt  at  writing,  which  could,  however, 
be  deciphered  as  Mari/  Blinn.  The  letter  was 
forwarded  to  her  sister's  husband,  who  was  a 
justice  of  the  peace ;  and  Mrs.  BUun  that  night 
dreiimed  only  of  a  new  Kjdderminster  cai-pet, 
with  a  large  running  vine  through  the  ccnti'e,  a 
mahogany-framed  looking-glass,  and  some  fancy 
chairs — all  of  which  would  cause  the  villagers  to 
stare,  as  she  should  have  the  next  sewing-circle 
appointed  at  her  liouse.  Farmer  Renton,  in  the 
meantime,  was  equally  solicitous  to  obtain  the 
lot,  as  he  had  an  assurance  that  the  land  would 
soon  quadruple  in  value ;  as  it  would  become 
available  for  building  lots  by  the  manufacturing 
company,  who  had  secretly  determined  on  erect- 
ing large  factories  upon  the  stream,  just  within 
sight  of  the  aforesaid  land.  So  he  knew,  when 
he  counted  out  the  hard  dollars  from  the  till  of 
his  old  blue  chest,  which  had  been  deposited 
more  than  twenty  years  ago,  lest  banks  should 
fail,  and  turnpikes  become  wortliless,  and  there 
should  be  a  famine  ;  and  in  such  a  case,  this  was 
emergencv  money,  which  always  made  him  feel 
happier  than  any  extra  interest,  where  he  could 
not  put  his  hand  any  moment  on  the  investment. 
But  judge  of  the  chagrin  of  both  parties,  when 
the  following  answer  arrived  to  the  letter  of  yes- 
terday.    It  ran  thus  : 

"  Mrs.  Blinn  is  not  probably  aware  that  to 
make  the  instrument  legal,  it  is  necessary  to  ob- 
tain her  husband's  signature  added  to  her  own. 
This  is  the  law  in  our  State ;  and  although  he 
cannot  convey  the  same  without  her  sanction, 
yet  it  is  equally  imperative  on  her  part  to  do  the 
same.  Yours,  etc., ." 

There  never  was  a  greater  drawback  to  all 
well-matured  plans.  The  poor  woman's  hopes 
were  so  crushed,  and  Farmer  Renton 's  schemes 
so  ten-ibly  disappointed ;  and  yet  more  than  all, 
and  worse  than  all,  that  young  man  had  let  out 
the  secret  of  his  father's  expected  speculation, 
and  some  gossipping  neighbor  had  rallied  Mr. 
Blinn  upon  his  want  of  foresight,  which  was 
strange  music  to  his  cars.  For  the  first  time 
during  their  conjugal  life  of  more  than  thirty 
years*  standing,  this  was  the  first  breach  of  con- 
fidence that  had  risen  between  their  mutual  in- 
terests, and  the  consequences  led  to  a  painful 
result. 

Mrs.  Blinn  determined  it  should  be  lier  last 
effort  at  concealment ;  and  as  the  law  interposed 
between  the  disastrous  effects  which  might  have 
followed  upon  the  execution  of  their  plans,  it  is 
to  be  hoped  it  did  not  forever  after  mar  their 
domestic  confidence  ;  hut  it  should  be  a  salutary 
lesson  to  all  wives  who  undertake  to  manage 
clandestinely  with  any  business,  supposing  there 
is  no  binding  obligation  between  the  interests  of 
man  and  wife. 

Then,  too,  a  thousand  little  events  are  thus 
exposed,  which  might  never  have  been  made 
public.  Mi"s.  Blinn,  upon  settling  the  next 
quarter's  bill  for  her  daughter,  inquu'cd  of  her 
teacher,  if  his  pupils  were  not  taught  the  epis- 
tolary style  of  writing  f  This  same  young  lady 
was  quoted  as  quite  an  adept  in  such  matters, 
and  upon  investigation,  it  was  found  that  all  her 
compositions  were  the  efforts  of  a  friend,  who 
was  paid  for  thus  helping  out  a  species  of  decep- 
tion which  materially  affected  Sophy's  good 
scholarship,  and  in  after  life  would  he  a  source 
of  deep  regret. 

But  Mrs.  Blinn's  mortification  ended  with  the 
reconciliation  of  her  husband ;  and  her  "  four 
acre  lot "  has  been  disposed  of  on  much  more 
advantageous  terms,  and  she  is  in  possession  of 
all  the  furniture  she  so  coveted,  and  more  than 
double  the  amount  is  already  invested  as  the 
product  of  her  husband's  sagacity  in  knowing 
how  to  drive  a  good  bargain. 


THE  LESSON  OF  TRAVEL. 

Toleration  is  the  great  lesson  of  travel.  As, 
in  a  small  way,  a  man  may  mortify  spiritual 
l)ride,  by  strolling  on  Sunday  in  a  western  city 
from  church  to  church,  each  of  which  is  regarded 
by  its  sect  as  the  ti-ue  straight  gate,  so  in  a  large 
way,  is  he  benefited  by  wintering  in  Rome  and 
then  shipping  at  Naples  for  the  east.  For  thus 
he  learns  the  truth  emphasized  with  all  magnifi- 
cence, that  neither  upon  this  mountain,  nor  yet 
at  Jemsalem,  is  the  only  spot  of  worship.  In 
Rome  you  have  seen  the  pomp  of  the  world's 
metropolis  suiTounding  the  Pope.  In  Damascus, 
the  meanest  beggar  in  the  bazaar  would  spit  upon 
the  Pope  with  loatliing. — Eastern  Travels. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
FRIENDSHIP. 

BY   MART   K.   DEARBORS. 


0  is  there  nought  in  friendship, 
Or  is  it  but  a  name ; 

An  ideal  of  the  poet's  dream, 
A  vision  of  the  brain  ? 

Doth  dark  deception  lurk  behind 

The  sweetest,  softest  smile ; 
Where  selfishness,  with  tyrant's  power. 

May  calculate  the  while  7 

Can  faithful  friends  alone  be  bought 

With  fame  or  tempting  gold  ; 
And  change,  as  wealth  or  fortune  fail. 

The  warm  heart  to  the  cold  ? 

Alas !  too  oft  may  this  be  said. 

And  said  with  fearful  truth  ; 
For  oft  have  many  found  it  thus, 

From  infancy  to  youth ! 

And  is  there  then  no  friendship  true, 
Xo  friendship  worth  the  name  ; 

Is  nought  of  ancient  honor  left, 
Doth  nought  of  truth  remain? 

1  trust  there  may,  but  'tis  a  plant 
Of  tender  growth,  and  rare  ; 

Transplanted  hero  from  brighter  skies, 
And  needs  a  purer  air. 

AN  AFFECT10N.\TE  SPIRIT. 

We  sometimes  meet  with  men  who  seem  to 
think  that  any  indulgences  in  afiectionate  feeling 
is  a  weakness.  They  will  return  from  a  journey 
and  greet  tlieir  families  with  distant  dignity,  and 
move  among  their  children  with  the  cold  and 
lofty  splendor  of  an  iceberg,  surrounded  with  its 
broken  fragments.  There  is  hardly  a  more  un- 
natural sight  on  earth  than  one  ot  those  families 
without  hearts. 

A  father  had  better  extinguish  his  son's  eyes 
than  take  away  his  heart.  Wiio  that  has  experi- 
enced the  joys  of  friendship,  and  knows  the 
worth  of  affection,  would  not  rather  lose  all  that 
is  beautiful  in  nature's  scenery,  than  be  robbed 
of  the  hidden  treasures  of  his  heart  ?  Who 
would  not  rather  bury  his  wife  than  bury  his  love 
for  her  ?  Who  would  not  rather  follow  his  child 
to  the  grave  than  entomb  his  parental  affection  ? 

Cherish,  then,  your  heart's  best  aftections.  In- 
dulge in  the  warm  and  gushing  emotions  of  fiUal, 
parental,  fraternal  love.  Tliink  it  not  a  iceak- 
ness.  God  is  love. — Love  everything  and  every- 
body that  is  lovely.  Tea.h  your  children  to 
love ;  to  love  the  flowers,  to  love  the  birds,  to 
love  tlieir  parents — to  love  their  God.  Let  it  be 
the  studied  object  of  your  domestic  culture  to 
give  them  warm  hearts  and  ardent  affections. 
You  cannot  make  the  cords  of  love  too  strong; 
and  be  assured  that  in  muturing  the  principles 
of  affection,  you  are  nurturing  the  principles  of 
virtue. —  Vermont  Fainily  Visitor. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
BY  THE  BROOK. 

BV   CHARLES  HENRY  STE^VART. 


Purling  through  the 

Babbling  o'er  the  mead. 
Now  thy  pathway  crosses  . 

Flowers  blue  and  red. 

Alas  :  poor  brook,  thou  'rt  weeping  1 

Is 't  that  we  must  part  ? 
Thy  murmur  then  is  keeping 

Voice  with  my  sad  heart. 

Ah,  kind  brook,  whilst  threading 
Vales,  I  've  loved  thy  tide  ; 

But  now  I  must  be  treading 
Manhood's  path  of  pride. 

Kind  brook,  may  I  slumber 

By  thee  when  I  die  ; 
May  thy  dimpling  number 

Still  my  requiem  sigh. 


FELINE  SAGACITY. 

Instances  of  canine  sagacity  almost  equalizing 
the  intelligence  of  reasoning  beings  being  fre- 
quently noticed,  the  following  incident  in  jjnssy's 
history  which  occuiTcd  in  this  village  in  the 
family  of  the  writer,  is  no  less  worthy  of  record. 
A  favorite  cat,  wliich  had  become  strongly  at- 
tached to  its  mistress,  and  daring  her  confine- 
ment to  her  room  by  sickness,  spent  most  of  its 
time  with  her,  manifesting  by  various  cat-like 
demonstrations  its  love  for  the  lady,  wished  one 
day  to  leave  the  room,  and  went  to  the  door, 
making  the  cij^tomary  signals  of  desire  to  depart 
— such  as  mewing  and  looking  wistfully  into  the 
face  of  its  invalid  friend,  who  quietly  remarked 
to  pussj-  that  she  could  not  get  up  to  let  her  out, 
upon  which  the  cat  deliberately  crossed  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  and  mounting  a  chair, 
seized  the  bell-rope  with  its  teeth,  giving  a  vigor- 
ous human  pull,  which,  as  the  cat  probably  reas- 
oned, brought  the  answerer  of  bells  to  the  door. 
Upon  its  being  opened,  Madam  Puss,  who  had 
returned  to  her  station,  walked  out. — Lewiston 
FaUs,  Me.,  Journal. 


To  all  married  men  be  this  caution, 
^^Tiich  they  should  duly  tender  as  their  life, 
Neither  to  dote  too  much,  nor  doubt  a  wife. 

Massinger. 


C03IPETENC'E. 

There  are  many  who  are  making  haste  to  be 
rich,  who  need  to  be  reminded  that  competency 
is  all  that  man  can  enjoy.  Beyond  the  attahi- 
mcnt  of  this  "golden  mean,"  every  acquisition 
becomes  mere  avarice,  by  whatever  name  it  may 
be  gilded.  As  long  as  man  is  in  pursuit  of  the 
true  medium  of  enjoyment,  so  strongly  expressed 
by  Agur  in  his  prayer,  he  is  happy,  and  happi- 
ness is  not  only  a  natural  concomitant  of  hLs 
eflbrts,  but  the  real  blessing  of  Providence  upon 
his  laudable  industiy.  But  as  soon  as  he  steps 
beyond  this  mark,  ajid  accumulates  for  the  sake 
of  the  accumulation,  he  loses  his  peace  of  mind  ; 
the  light  of  his  quietness  is  extinguished  in  anx- 
iety, and  his  happiness  is  gone  forever.  Hence- 
forward carping  care,  heart-consuming  solicitude, 
and  fears  and  terrors  without  number  and  with- 
out end,  embitter  his  whole  existence.  He  may 
succeed  in  what  he  undertakes,  hut  it  is  at  the 
expense  of  all  his  cheerfulness  of  heart  on  earth. 
He  may  reach  the  goal  of  his  endeavors,  but  it 
is  at  the  expense  of  every  noble  feehng,  of  every 
softening  emotion.  Avarice,  the  accumulation 
of  wealth  for  its  own  sake,  brings  with  it  its  own 
punislnnent  in  the  drying  up  of  every  fount  of 
human  affection  within  us,  in  the  disruption  of 
every  tie  with  which  the  charities  of  life  are 
hound,  and  in  the  conversion  of  the  heart  into  a 
substance  "  harder  than  a  millstone."  He  who 
aims  at  a  competence  alone  experiences  none  of 
these  evils.  He  has  sufBcicnt  for  the  wants  of 
himself  and  family,  whether  those  wants  are  real 
or  fictitious. 

With  all  the  income  which  lies  beyond,  he  can 
bless  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  be  a  benefac- 
tor to  the  human  race,  and  obtain  a  reputation 
infinitely  beyond  what  the  mere  acquisition  of 
wealth  could  give.  But  his  own  happiness  has 
been  most  abundantly  secured.  His  efforts  are 
blessed  in  all  that  quietness  of  feeling  which  the 
consciousness  of  a  competence  bestows  ;  beyond 
this,  he  cares  not.  If  Providence  should"  still 
smile  upon  his  labors,  he  knows  what  use  to  make 
of  such  occasions  of  property,  and  gives  not  the 
subject  an  anxious  thought. — Exchange. 


[Written  for  Glcasou's  Pictorial.] 
CHILDHOOD. 

BY  J.   CHERRY. 

How  sweet  the  hours  of  childhood. 

Just  budding  into  youth  ; 
Like  flowers  in  the  wildwood — 

Emblems  of  love  and  truth. 

Sweet  thoughts  and  pure  are  with  them, 

Shedding  radiance  divine ; 
While  truth  and  spotless  innocence, 

In  haloes  round  them  shine. 

The  sunny  hours  of  childhood. 

What  sweet  reflections  rise, 
As  old  associations 

Flit  past  before  my  eyes. 

Fond  memory's  recalling, 
With  a  sigh,  the  cherished  past ; 

While  tears  are  thickly  falling, 
Afi  leaves  before  the  blast. 

The  playmates  of  my  childhood 

Are  scattered  far  and  wide  ; 
But  oft  remembrance  brings  them, 

In  a  moment,  to  my  side. 

And  again  the  childish  prattle 
Of  our  school  boy  days  rings  out ; 

And  the  merry  laugh  and  rattle 
Of  our  noise  ends  in  a  shout. 

But  this  well  remembered  vision 
Leaves,  and  wandering  thoughts  return  i 

Yet  fond  memory  -s  ever  cUnging 
To  the  scenes  that 's  past  and  gone. 


THE  FIRST  INFANT  SCHOOL. 

Mr.  Wilderspin,  the  originator  of  infant  schools, 
gives  an  amusing  account  of  his  first  attempt  at 
managing  a  school  full  of  infants.  He  and  his 
wife  dreaded  the  day  of  opening,  and  they  found 
it  truly  dreadful.  "  When  the  mothers  were 
gone,  it  was  arduous  work  to  keep  the  little 
things  entertained  and  beguiled  at  all.  At  last, 
one  child  cried  aloud ;  tn'o  or  three  more  caught 
up  the  lamentation,  which  spread,  by  infection, 
till  evei-y  infant  of  the  whole  crowd  "was  roaring 
as  loud  as  it  could  roar.  After  vain  attempts  to 
pacify  them,  in  utter  despair  about  the  children, 
and  hoiTor  at  the  effect  upon  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood, the  worthy  couple  nished  from  the 
school-room  into  the  next  chamber,  when  the 
wife  sank  in  tears  upon  the  bed.  Her  husband 
was  no  less  i\Tetched;  this  din  of  woe  was  mad- 
dening :  something  must  be  done — but  what  ? 
In  the  freakishness  of  despaii",  he  seized  a  pole, 
and  put  on  the  top  of  it  a  cap  of  his  wife's,  which 
was  th-ying  from  the  wash-tub.  Ho  rushed  back 
into  the  school-room,  waving  his  new  apparatus 
of  instniction — giving,  as  he  found,  his  first  les- 
son on  objects.  The  effect  which  ensued  was 
his  lesson.  In  a  minute  not  a  child  was  crying. 
All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  cap ;  all  tears  stood 
still  and  dried  up  on  all  cheeks.  The  wife  now 
joined  him  ;  and  they  kept  the  children  amused, 
and  the  neighbors  from  stonning  the  doors,  till  the 
clock  stnick  twelve.  A  momentary  joy  entered 
the  hearts  of  the  Wilderspins  at  tJie  sound  ;  but 
it  died  away  as  they  sunk  down  exhausted,  and 
asked  each  other,  with  faces  of  dismay,  whether 
they  were  to  go  through  this  again  in  the  after- 
noon, and  every  day."  They  soon,  however, 
reduced  the  thing  to  a  system,  and  their  task  be- 
came first  endurable,  and  at  length  agreeable— 
JJome  JoumaL 


24 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


AMERICAN   IIOUSK,  ItOSTON. 

The  American  House  is  one  of  the 
finest  architectiinil  oninmcnrs  of  the  t-ity, 
])rcscuting  a  beautil'ul  front  ol'  llie  Itali;iii 
stylo.  The  main  biiikliiiji  is  112  leet 
front  on  Hanover  street,  with  two  wingH 
of  six  stories,  250  feet  deep  to  Sudbiuy 
street,  having  a  piissuge  between  them  of 
twenty  icct  in  width,  tlie  area  being  dis- 
IJO.scd  into  live  ditForent  conrts,  or  open- 
ings— thus  furnishing  light  and  air  abun- 
dantly, on  all  sides  ;  the  wliole  covering 
27,000  feet  of  land,  ercetcd  and  iinislicd 
at  ft  cost  of  about  $300,000.  It  has  340 
rooms,  and  will  nccommodate  500  jjcr- 
nons.  Tlio  huUcs'  and  gentlemen's  par- 
lors occupy  the  wliole  front  on  the  lirst 
floor,  npproached  by  wide  halls,  -with  am- 
ple receiving  rooms.  A  balcony  extends 
along  tiie  entire  front,  the  entrance  to 
which  is  from  the  oriole  windows  in  the 
parlor.  It  contains  suits  of  splendid 
rooms  for  private  families  and  parties 
travelling  together.  The  spacious  en- 
trance hall  or  gentleman's  exchange  on 
the  street  level,  extends  through  the  cen- 
tre of  the  building,  and  measures  160  feet 
in  length  by  thirty  in  width.  Besides 
five  main  stairways  leading  to  the  upper 
floor,  there  are  several  other  fiights  in  va- 
rious parts  of  the  American  House,  so 
that  in  the  case  of  fire,  or  for  any  other 
cause,  ample  means  of  egress  are  pro- 
vided. The  immense  structure  has  been 
built  upon  a  unique  plan,  combining  the 
utmost  convenience  of  arrangement  with 
great  elegance  and  thoroughness  of  finish, 
and  the  introduction  of  all  the  desired 
modern  improvements,  and  it  is  probably 
tlie  best  calculated  in  all  its  appointments 
for  a  large  busines,s  house,  of  any  in  the 
country.  A  number  of  our  best  artisans, 
mechanics  and  furnishers,  have  eontri- 
huted  their  skill  and  taste  to  this  noble 
pile,  which  of  itself  sufficiently  speaks 
their  praise,  as  seldom  is  tbex'C  found  in  a 
single  building  so  much  of  general  perfection. 
With  these  few  brief  remarks  relative  to  this  fa- 
vorite public  house,  let  us  recommend  our  dis- 
tant friends  when  they  visit  Boston,  to  remember 
the  American  House.  It  is  a  matter  of  no  slight 
imjjortance  w^hen  a  traveller  arrives  in  a  strange 
city,  for  him  to  know  "where  to  tell  the  hackman, 
who  takes  his  baggage,  to  drive  him.  His  own 
mind  is  relieved,  too,  of  a  burthen,  in  being  in- 
formed whither  he  can  go  and  be  sure  of  those 
comforts  and  elegant  accommodations  that  cost 
him  no  more  than  he  would  be  obliged  to  pay  at 
a  second-rate  hotel.  Besides  which,  one  likes  to 
hail  from  a  good  house  when  one  visits  a  new 
city.  To  persons  acquainted  with  Boston  and 
our  public  houses,  the  American  House  will  re- 
quire no  compliment  from  us  ;  but  to  our  distant 
readers,  this  advice  may  be  of  service ;  and  such, 
will  perhaps  profit  by  this  reference  to  one  of  the 
very  best  hotels  on  the  American  continent. 
AVo  propose  to  give,  from  time  to  time,  in  our 
pages,  original  views  of  some  of  our  best  hotels, 
in  various  parts  of  the  Union,  not  only  fur  the 
amusement  of  our  readers,  but  also  for  their 
real  benefit. 


THE  AJMIllUtiN  HOUSE.  BOSTON 


TIIE  DANVERS  CEKTENNIAL. 

On  AVedncsday,  June  16th,  the  town  of  Dan- 
vers  commemorated  the  one  hundredth  anniver- 
sary of  its  incorporation  as  a  town.  Our  artist, 
who  was  on  the  spot,  has  sketched  for  us  a 
graphic  delineation  of  the  scenes  of  the  day,  and 
on  this  and  the  accompanying  page,  we  give  a 
view  of  one  of  the  most  curious  and  grotesque 
celebrations  on  record.  From  an  early  hour  in 
the  morning,  vehicles  of  all  descriptions  were 
pouring  in  from  the  neighboring  towns,  crowded 
with  men,  women  and  children ;  and,  by  the 
time  the  procession  began  to  move,  the  spacious 
avenues  of  Danvers  were  lined  by  a  moving  nml- 
titude  of  happy  pcopk,  and  the  windows  of  her 
dwellings  radiant  with  beaming  eyes  and  smiling 
faces — ^presenting  a  spectacle,  of  itself  worth  a 
long  journey  to  witness,  and  such  as  can  be  seen 
hi  so  great  perfection,  in  no  quarter  of  the  world 
but  New  England.  Across  the  streets  in  several 
]>laces  were  fiags,  streamers  and  inscriptions  ;  the 
Battle  Monument  was  handsomely  ornamented, 
and  many  houses  displayed  chaste  decorations. 
The  procession,  under  the  direction  of  Dr.  S.  A. 
Lord,  chief  marshal,  was   adminiblj'^  arranged 


and  exceedingly  creditable  to  the  liberality,  taste 
and  ingenuity  of  the  Danvers  people.  Eirst 
came  the  Salem  Mechanic  Light  Infantry,  Capt. 
White,  numbering  fifty-six  guns.  They  made  a 
very  fine  appearance,  and  marched  to  the  in- 
spiring music  of  Smith's  ^alem  Brass  Band. 
Next  came  the  Eire  Department,  a  noble  body 
of  men,  nearly  400  strong,  led  off  by  Bond's 
Cornet  Band.  The  engines  were  profusely  dec- 
orated, and  the  gallant  firemen  formed  a  very 
attractive  featui-e  in  the  pageant.  Danvers 
has,  indeed,  we  think,  good  reason  to  be  proud 
of  her  efficient  fire  department.  After  these 
came  the  civic  procession — the  officers  of  tlie 
day,  invited  guests,  reverend  clergy,  committee 
of  arrangements  and  town  authorities,  in  ba- 
rouches and  carriages.  Among  the  ancient  wor- 
thies was  old  Master  Eppes,  in  the  strange  cos- 
tume of  the  day — a  character  well  personated 
Ity  one  of  the  Putnams.  The  grave  old  gentle- 
man mightily  amused  those  of  this  generation, 
who  thronged  around  him,  by  dwelling  sagely 
on  the  innovations  which  have  been  introduced 
while  he  had  been  asleep,  and  wdiich  now  dis- 
closed themselves  to  his  wondering  eyes.    Kcxt 


came  the  antique  procession,  wherein  iig- 
urcd  all  the  old  dresses,  implements,  ve- 
hicles and  liousehold  furniture,  that  could 
he  gathered  in  all  the  counti-y  lound — 
and  a  most  interesting  Right  it  ])resented. 
The  dignitaricH  of  the  last  and  preceding 
centuries  appeared  rcHtored  to  life,  and 
re-enacted  the  Hcencs  in  which  tliey  are 
depicted  on  the  page  of  history.  The 
humbler  classes  of  that  day,  loo,  had  their 
re|n'cscntat)VCB,  and  once  more  walked 
the  earth  as  when  alive.  Here  marched 
a  stui'dy  old  bachelor  of  1752,  in  cocked 
hat,  flowing  wjg,  scarlet  dress  coat  of  the 
ancient  style,  drab  breeches,  shoe  buckles, 
etc.  Then  the  Putnam  family — a  memo- 
rable household  group — a  venerable 
chaise,  with  a  lady  and  gentleman  of  the 
old  school — carts  containing  hand  weav- 
ers, hand  spinners,  market  women — a  ve- 
Jiicle  which,  with  its  trappings,  occupants, 
and  ring-boned  rosinante,  seemed  to  have 
Jiad  its  origin  before  the  flood — a  sleigh 
of  1752 — a  Blind  Hole  shoe  manufactory 
of  1789,  in  full  operation — Pottery  and 
other  occupations ;  showing  the  costumes, 
employments,  etc.,  of  various  periods 
from  1652.  Next  followed  the  fourteen 
district  schools,  led  oft'  by  the  Georgetown 
Brass  Band,  and  presenting  a  most  beau- 
tiful feature  in  the  procession.  Prom 
twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  children,  in  hol- 
iday an-ay,  could  not  fail  to  call  out  ex- 
clamations of  delight  from  every  specta- 
tor. Here  was  represented  a  trial  for 
witchcraft — tlic  court  and  its  officers  in 
full  blast.  The  chief  justice,  Cotton  Ma- 
ther, Rev.  Mr.  BuiToughs,  and  other  his- 
torical characters,  the  witnesses,  etc.,  were 
enacted  to  the  life.  Other  scenes  and 
groups,  finely  represented,  showing  the 
schools  of  1752  and  1852  in  contrast,  etc. 
The  pupils  of  the  Pirst  District  School, 
numlK-rJng  160,  males  and  females,  were 
uniformly  clad  in  Turkish  costume. 
Then  tlici*e  were  flower  girls,  Chinese, 
Scotch,  rural  representations,  a  pony  chaise,  u 
rustic  vehicle  drawn  by  twelve  oxen,  with  ban- 
ners and  inscriptions.  Finally  came  a  cavalcade 
of  nearly  300  horsemen,  iinder  the  marshalship 
of  Mr.  Prancis  Dane,  and  this  teiminated  the 
grand  programme  of  the  pageant  of  a  day  which 
will  long  be  remembered. 

One  great  fcarurc  of  the  day  was  the  superb 
display  of  Mr.  Yale's  famous  mammoth  tents. 
His  mammoth  tent  was  used  on  the  occasion  for 
the  dinner,  and  was  the  mh*aele  of  the  occasion. 
His  large  medium  tent  was  improved  for  the 
children  to  dine  under,  and  sixteen  hundred  little 
souls  sat  down  together  under  its  ample  canopy. 
Mr.  Yale  has  four  medium  size  tents  of  this  cal- 
ibre, wdiich  are  to  let  for  grand  picnics,  camp 
meetings,  celebrations,  etc.  His  largest  tent  is 
capable  of  covering  a  space  three  hundred  feet  in 
length!  The  dinner  on  the  above  occasion  was 
prepared  by  Mr.  Shennan,  of  Salem,  and  gave 
general  satisfaction.  In  short,  tlie  wdiole  affair 
reflects  the  greatest  credit  upon  the  getters-up  of 
the  celebration,  and  also  upon  all  concerned  in 
the  matter ;  and  our  pictures  of  the  same  cannot, 
Ave  think,  fail  to  please  them. 


vale's    mammoth    tent,    as    SPREAD    AT    THE    DANVERS    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DllAWIWCx.  HOOM    COMPANION. 


25 


SCENE   REPRESENTING    THE   ilNTIQUE   PROCESSION,   AT    THE    CENTENNIAL    CELEBRATION,   AT    D.iNraRS,    JLASS. 


26 


GLEASON'S   I'lCTOUlAL    DRAWING    EOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Olcaeon's  Pictorial.] 
SHE  SLEEPS  IN  THE  CONVENT  YARD. 

BY  F.  0.  BYLVANOS   HURLBUT. 

She  hfw  t'ono  to  flleop  !  she  hiin  gone  to  nlcep ! 
On  hor  pillow,  cold  and  Imrd  ; 
'Neath  tlic  omngo  lilomu, 
In  hor  narrow  tomh — 
She  Bleeps  in  tho  convent  yard. 

Sho  hnn  gone  to  roHt !  she  has  gone  to  rest  I 
The  lovely  and  the  fair ; 
Whilo  the  linnets  wing 
In  the  spangled  spring, 
By  tlio  evening  priniroHo  there. 

And  the  phitomil  and  tlie  robin  eiug, 
lu  tho  eyprcBS  overhead  ; 

Whilo  tlie  turtles  pine 

In  tho  (lowery  lime, 
O'er  the  long-forgotten  dead. 

Sho  hnfl  gone  to  i-cst !  she  has  gone  to  rest  I 
On  her  pillow,  cold  and  hard  ; 

AMiere  tho  orange  grows, 

And  the  linic  tree  hlows— 
She  slccpa  in  the  convent  yard. 

Sho  has  gone  to  sleep  1  she  has  gone  to  sleep  ! 
In  tho  spring-time  of  her  yeara  ; 

With  the  molting  dyes 

Of  her  gazelle  eyes, 
Her  roses  and  her  tears. 

She  has  gone  to  rest !  she  has  gone  to  rest  I 
She  sleeps  by  her  youthful  bard. 

Where  the  turtles  pine 

In  the  flowering  lime, 
In  the  lonely  convent  yard. 

He  fell  in  his  pride  on  the  field  of  blood, 
Was  laid  on  his  pillow  hard, 
"UTien  Celia  fled 
To  his  mossy  bed, 
To  pine  in  the  convent  yard. 

She  planted  flowers,  pale  flowers  around 
His  laureled  dust  above  ; 

And  the  birds  sang  sweet, 
As  she  came  to  weep, 
The  dewdrops  of  her  love. 

But  the  autumn  came,  and  the  winter  came, 
And  the  spring  was  gi-cen  and  gay. 
When  they  laid  her  deep, 
Where  the  violets  weep. 
In  the  ravislunents  of  May. 

And  side  by  side  'neath  the  orange  bloom, 
On  their  pillows,  cold  and  hard  ; 

They  lowly  lie 

Where  the  west  winds  sigh, 
In  the  gloomy  convent  yard. 

Mild  eve  may  smile  in  the  rosy  west, 

Through  the  Eldorado  gate, 

Where  they  used  to  stray, 

At  the  hush  of  day, 

Tor  the  evening  wind  to  wait. 

But  their  tombs  arc  there  by  the  flowering  lime, 
And  their  beds  are  cold  and  hard ; 

And  they  sweetly  rest 

'Neath  the  turtle's  nest, 
In  the  gloomy  convent  yard. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  ROYAL  FAVORITE. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  EAKLY  HISTOHY  OF  SPAIN. 

BY  MISS    SARAH  M.  HOWE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

In  a  richly-fumi-shcd  apartment  of  his  royal 
palace,  sat  tlie  king  of  Spain — a  dark  cloud  rest- 
ing npon  his  liauf;,lity  brow.  The  monarcli's 
thoughts  were  evidently  of  an  unpleasant  char- 
acter, for  liis  pale  Hps  were  tightly  compressed, 
and  ever  and  anon,  an  oath  or  angry  word  es- 
caped them,  betraying  the  evil  spirit  that  burned 
within  liis  bosom.  His  countenance — ever  ma- 
lignant and  repulsive — was  now  almost  demon- 
like in  its  cxprcs.sion  ;  and  his  dark  eyes  glittered 
fiercely  through  the  overhanging  brows  which 
shaded  them,  like  the  wildly-rolling  orbs  of  a 
beast  of  prey. 

His  only  attendant  was  a  young  man  of  not 
more  than  twenty  years  of  age,  and  wliosc  dress 
and  liearing  bespoke  him  to  be  of  royal  lineage. 
His  dark,  handsome  face  and  fascinating  smile 
Avould  favorably  impress  the  casual  observer; 
but  that  impression  would  he  changed,  upon  a 
closer  scnitiny,  to  one  of  distrust  and  fear. 
There  was  something  in  tlie  sparkling  eyes,  as 
be  turned  them  full  upon  the  king,  that  betrayed 
a  deceitful  heart ;  and  beneath  that  fascinating 
smile  lurked  an  expression  that  he  would  fain 
liave  concealed.  Yet  his  countenance  was  emi- 
nently handsome,  and  bis  shining  dark  hair, 
wliich  fell  in  curls  about  Ids  finely-moulded 
KhonbhirH,  gave  him  an  appearance  of  almost 
feminine  licauty.  Such  was  the  young  Prince 
Alvci-nc,  the  ncj)hew  of  tlie    Spanisli    monarch, 


and  universally  known  as  "tho  royal  favorite." 
The  monarch,  at  last,  raised  his  head,  and  fixing 
his  glittering  eyes  upon  his  companion's  counte- 
nance, spoke  in  an  earnest  tone  : 

"  Alvcrnc,  was  not  the  princess  much  excited 
when  she  spoke  thus  to  you  ?" 

Tlic  pleasant  smile  quickly  disappeared  from 
tlic  face  of  tlie  prince,  and  assuming  an  air  of 
sadness,  he  replied  ; 

"  Sho  was  calm  and  cold  when  first  she  in- 
formed mc  that  I  sliould  meet  with  no  favor 
from  her ;  but  as  I  passionately  entreated  her  to 
smile  once  upon  me,  she  became  much  excited, 
and  I  left  lier  in  anger." 

"And  sho  has  forbidden  you  to  agani  enter 
her  presence?" 

*'  She  has,  your  majesty.  She  told  me  I  could 
never  sit  upon  the  tlironc  of  Spain  hy  her  side 
— that  she  would  never  wed  one  so  steeped  in 
infamy  and  crime  as  she  believed  me  to  be — that 
she  knew  mc  to  be  false  to  my  king  and  country, 
and  branded  me  as  a  murderer!" 

"  Did  the  Princess  Veldima speak  thus  toi/ou?" 

"  She  did,  your  majesty." 

"  Bring  her  before  me,"  commanded  the  king, 
his  face  flushed  with  terrible  anger.  The  young 
prince  left  the  ajiartment;  and,  as  he  crossed  the 
large  hall,  he  muttered  :  "  The  haughty  Veldima 
shall  yet  be  my  bride,  and  I  tlie  king  of  Spain  !" 

A  few  moments  elapsed,  during  which  the 
king  paced  the  room  impatiently,  liis  whole  na- 
ture aroused.  At  length  the  door  of  tlic  apart- 
ment again  opened,  and  the  prince  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  a  richly-dressed  young  lady.  The  king 
stopped,  and  fixing  his  eyes  full  npon  her  coun- 
tenance, exclaimed ; 

"  Veldima !  hast  thou  this  day  refused  to  wed 
thy  cousin,  the  Prince  Alverne,  and  branded  him 
as  a  murderer  and  a  traitor  ?" 

"  Father,"  said  tlie  noble  young  princess, 
drawing  up  her  form  to  its  utmost  heiglit,  "  if 
Prince  Alveme  ever  sits  upon  the  throne  of 
Spain,  it  will  not  be  by  my  placing  the  cro^^'n 
upon  his  head !" 

**  Princess  Veldima!"  cried  the  angry  mon- 
arch, "  dost  thou  realize  wliat  tliou  hast  spoken  V 

"  I  do,  father/'  answered  the  proud  spirited 
daughter.  "But  three  days  have  passed  since  I 
saw  him  drive  his  dagger  through  the  heart  of  a 
fellow-creature,  when  he  thought  no  eye,  save 
that  of  the  AU-seeing  One,  witnessed  the  deed  !" 

The  prince  became  pale  as  marble,  and  seemed 
transfixed  to  the  spot  where  he  stood.  But  the 
king  noticed  not  liis  agitation,  for  his  attention 
was  fixed  entirely  upon  Veldima. 

"  You  shall  rue  tliese  words  !"  cried  he,  his 
eyes  flashing  fire.  "  They  are  false,  as  is  your 
own  proud  heart!  You  sliall  be  immured  in 
one  of  our  darkest  dungeons ;  and  if  then  you 
will  not  submit,  Prince  Alverne  shall  be  king  of 
Spain,  and  I  will  disinherit  you  forever  !  Ho, 
guards !"  lie  cried,  raising  his  voice,  "  arrest  this 
woman !" 

A  file  of  soldiers  entered  the  apartment,  to 
perfonn  the  bidding  of  the  king.  But  wonder 
and  surprise  were  visible  upon  their  features,  as 
lie  pointed  to  his  daughter,  who  stood  near  liim, 
with  a  proud  smile  of  courage  upon  her  features. 

"The  Princess  Veldima!"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  soldiers,  "  you  did  not  bid  us  arrest  her?" 

"  Obey  me  !"  thundered  the  king,  with  a  ges- 
ture of  i  npatience  ;  "  take  her  prisoner  !" 

Without  a  word  of  resistance,  knowing  that  it 
would  l>e  useless,  the  noble  princess  surrendered 
lierself  to  the  surprised  guards,  and  was  led  from 
the  palace.  The  royal  favorite  gazed  calmly  on 
the  proceedings,  but  spoke  not  a  word  till  the 
sounds  of  their  retreating  footsteps  died  away  in 
the  distance,  and  the  king  had  once  more  re- 
sumed his  seat. 


CHAI^TER    II. 

The  golden  sun  had  again  gilded  the  glitter- 
ing towers  of  the  Spanish  metropolis,  and  gave 
promise  of  a  cloudless  day.  Its  cheering  rays 
fell  through  the  barred  dungeon  window  upon 
the  fair  bead  of  the  beautiful  young  prisoner,  the 
royal  Princess  Veldima.  She  had  fallen  into  an 
uneasy  slumber,  and  heeded  not  the  brigJit  beams 
that  fell  upon  her  countenance,  for  her  thoughts 
were  far  away  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

She  was  suddenly  aroused  by  the  sound  of  the 
removal  of  the  bolts  and  bars  of  the  door,  and 
ere  she  had  time  to  spring  to  her  feet,  a  man, 
closely  muffled  in  a  heavy  cloak,  and  masked, 
entered  the  dungeon.  The  princess  gazed  at  the 
figure  in  surprise.  He  approached  licr,  and 
bending  his  head,  whispered  hastily  : 

"  Lady,  I  have  come  to  save  thee  !  Trust  mc, 
and  all  sliall  vet  be  well !" 


Veldima  endeavored  to  penetrate  the  dark 
mask  that  covered  the  strange  visitor'H  features, 
but  it  was  in  vain.  She  was  about  to  speak,  but 
he  prevented  her  by  whispering: 

"  Speak  not  above  your  breath,  huly !  ToUow 
mc  quickly,  if  you  would  save  your  life  and 
mine  !     I  have  perilled  all  to  rescue  thee  !" 

His  low,  cai'uest  voice  and  words  sent  a  thrill 
to  the  heart  of  the  young  pj-iucess,  and  I'ising, 
sho  placed  her  hand  in  his,  and  he  led  her  from 
the  cold,  cheerless  cell.  Ho  then  closed  the 
door,  and  placing  his  foot  upon  a  concealed 
spring  near  it,  a  trap-door  sprang  open,  disclos- 
ing a  long  flight  of  steps.  The  heart  of  the 
maiden  Iiounded  witli  hope.  They  stepped 
down,  and  the  masked  guide  closing  the  trap- 
door by  a  second  sjiring,  tlicy  were  now  in  almost 
Egyptian  darkness.  But  the  Pi-incess  Veldima 
knew  not  fear;  and  tightly  gntsping  the  aim  of 
her  protector,  she  descended  the  steps.  At 
length  they  reached  the  bottom,  and  traversing 
a  long,  winding  |)assage,  arrived  at  a  door, 
tlirough  the  key-hole  of  which  streamed  a  faint 
ray  of  light.  The  guide  drew  from  his  bosom  a 
small,  strangely-fashioned  key,  and  applying  it, 
the  door  sprang  open,  and  the  sun-rays  fell  in 
with  a  brightness  that  almost  blinded  the  eyes  of 
Veldima.  Nothing  was  visible  from  the  door, 
save  the  blue  water  of  the  river  which  glided 
noiselessly  by,  and  the  emerald  green  hanks  on 
the  opposite  aide,  covered  with  beautiful  flowers. 
The  princess  looked  up  inquiringly. 

*'  You  shall  soon  he  free,  fair  lady,"  said  the 
masked  guide,  as  he  stooped  and  took  up  the 
end  of  a  coil  of  ro])e,  which  was  there  fastened. 
He  soon  drew  a  boat  in  front  of  the  secret  door, 
which  opened  on  the  very  verge  of  the  water, 
and  assisting  the  princess  into  it,  sprang  in  him- 
self, but  not  without  throwing  the  cloak  he  had 
woni,  over  the  shoulders  of  the  maiden,  thereby 
entu'cly  concealing  her  person.  He  then  re- 
locked  the  door,  and  taking  up  an  oar  which  lay 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  propelled  the  light 
skifl'  swiftly  down  the  river. 

On  it  sped,  past  the  gay  and  stirring  city,  al- 
most unnoticed,  even  by  the  numerous  boats  that 
passed  them.  The  dark  cloak  entirely  concealed 
the  face  and  form  of  the  Princess  Veldima,  and 
the  mask  prevented  any  recognition  of  the  fea- 
tures of  her  companion,  by  those  who  might 
have  known  him.  At  length  the  boat  stopped 
in  a  small  unfrequented  cove  far  down  the  river, 
and  the  masked  guide,  turning  to  tlie  rescued 
lady,  said  : 

"  You  are  free,  fair  Princess  Veldima,  and 
need  no  longer  apprehend  danger  from  the  king, 
or  tlie  Prince  Alverne." 

She  raised  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  joy  and 
gratitude,  and  a  sweet  smile  wreathed  her  curved 

lips. 

"  I  cannot  thank  you  sufficiently,  noble  stran- 
ger," she  said,  taking  from  lier  finger  a  diamond 
ring  of  great  value,  and  extending  it  towards  her 
rescuer.  "  Take  this,"  she  continued,  "  as  a 
slight  proof  of  my  gratitude  for  this  noble  action ." 

The  stranger  placed  the  ring  in  his  bosom, 
and  after  a  few  more  words,  again  moved  swifdy 
down  the  river,  leaving  the  princess  standing 
alone  upon  the  bank.  She  watched  the  receding 
boat  for  a  few  moments,  then  turned  and  walked 
slowly  from  the  spot.  Whither  to  turn  her 
steps,  she  scarcely  knew ;  she  dared  not  return 
to  the  palace,  and  though  a  royal  princess,  she 
felt  it  to  be  tnie  that  she  was  an  escaped  prisoner. 
A  light  footstep  behind  her  broke  her  reverie, 
and  she  turned  to  ascertain  wlio  was  following. 
But  her  cheek  paled  quickly,  and  she  uttered  a 
cry  of  surprise  ;  for  tliere  before  her,  with  a  smile 
of  conscious  power  upon  his  countenance,  stood 
her  dreaded  cousin.  Prince  Alverne,  "Me  rojial 
favorite.'' 

Por  several  moments  both  were  silent.  The 
princess  stood  transfixed  to  the  spot  where  she 
had  first  beheld  Prince  Alverne,  her  countenance 
pale  as  marble,  and  expressive  of  surprise  and 
fear.  The  prince  gazed  upon  the  astonished 
lady,  with  a  smile  of  conscious  power  npon  his 
handsome  lips,  and  his  dark  eyes  glittering  with 
pleasure. 

"  We  have  met  once  more,  fair  lady,"  at 
length  spoke  the  royal  favorite,  "  and  when  you 
little  thought  of  such  a  meeting." 

"  I  confess  it.  Prince  Alverne,"  answered  Vel- 
dima, fixing  her  dark  oycs  upon  the  face  of  her 
cousin  ;  "  but  was  it  not  your  plan  to  surprise  me, 
and  again  drag  me  before  the  king'?" 

"  I  knew  not  that  you  had  escaped,  fair  prin- 
cess, until  I  saw  you  leave  the  boat  but  a  few 
moments  since.  This  meeting  has  surprised  me, 
if  possible,  as  much  as  it  has  yourself." 

"  And    now  tliat   I   am    once   more   in   your 


power,  do  you  intend  to  bring  mo  again  before 
my  royal  father?"  asked  tho  princess,  with  a 
slight  touch  of  irony  in  her  tone, 

"Fair  Princess  Veldima,"  said  the  prince 
sinking  gracefully  on  one  knee  before  her,  and 
assuming  an  attitude  of  the  deepest  devotion,  "  1 
take  no  advantage  of  my  power,  hut  to  declare 
again  my  burning  passion  fur  thee.  Lady,  I 
have  long  loved  tbcc.  Thou  hast  bcorned  me, 
and  refused  to  hear  mc.  But  I  Inivc  not  forgot- 
ten tboo,  and  once  more  I  lay  my  heart  at  thy 
feet.     Do  not  scorn  me,  lady !" 

"  Thy  words  are  fruitless,  Prince  Alveme, 
Speak  not  of  this  subject  again,  for  thou  hast  my 
final  answer,  and  I  cannot  retract  my  vow." 

"  Lady,  hear  mc  for  a  moment.  Your  father, 
the  king,  immured  you  in  a  cheerless  dungeon 
for  disobedience  to  his  wishes  in  this  matlcr. 
He  has  sworn  that  if  you  do  not  wed  me,  you 
shall  remain  there  until  your  proud  spirit  is  en- 
tirely crushed.  In  some  maimer,  but  I  kno'w 
not  how,  you  have  this  day  escaped.  But  even 
your  life  is  now  in  peril,  tbougJi  all  the  kingdom 
knows  that  you  are  the  rightful  heir  of  the  throne 
of  Spain.  Your  father  has  sworn  that  I  shall 
be  king  of  Spain,  even  if  I  receive  not  tljc  crown 
from  your  hand.  But  this  is  impossible  ;  for  the 
whole  kingdom  will  rise  against  me,  when  I  as- 
cend the  throne,  and  claim  their  rightful  sov- 
ereign, the  Princess  Veldima.  The  king's  oath 
must  be  fulfilled.  Be  my  bride,  sweet  princess, 
and  all  will  yet  be  well.  Thy  father  will  again 
receive  thee  to  his  arms — ^my  happiness  will  be 
complete — and  thou  yet  be  queen  of  Spain  !" 

"I  scorn  thee!"  cried  the  spirited  princess, 
drawing  her  proud  form  to  its  utmost  height, 
while  her  dark  eyes  flashed  with  an  angry  fire. 
"  I  scorn  thee  and  thy  ambition  !  I  know  that 
thou  hast  murdered  thy  fellow-man !  I  know 
that  thou  liast  perjured  thyself  to  the  king !  I 
know  the  iniquity  of  thy  heart !  Think  you  I 
would  give  my  hand  and  throne  to  one  so  steep- 
ed in  guilt  and  crime  ?  Again,  I  repeat,  I  scorn 
thee !" 

The  Prince  Alveme  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
gazed  fi.xedly  in  the  flashing  eyes  of  the  noble 
young  Princess  Veldima.  She  met  his  gaze 
witli  a  look  of  such  proud,  fearless  scora,  that 
his  eye  fell  before  it.  The  next  instant  he 
sprang  to  her  side,  and  drawing  a  glittering  dag- 
ger from  his  bosom,  pointed  it  to  the  heart  of 
the  noble  princess. 

"  Princess  Veldima  !"  cried  the  royal  favorite, 
his  eyes  flashing  fire,  "  swear  tome  that  you  will 
place  upon  my  head  the  ero\vn  of  Spain,  or  your 
death  shall  be  added  to  the  murders  that  aU'eady 
hang  upon  my  soul !" 

"  Would  you  bury  your  dagger  in  the  heart  of 
your  rightful  sovereign?"  fearlessly  asked  the 
princess. 

"Iwoidd  buiy  it  in  the  heart  of  every  sov- 
ereign in  Eiu'ope,  if  by  the  act  I  could  but  pos- 
sess their  thrones !"  madly  cried  the  prince, 
mo^^ng  the  dagger  nearer  to  the  heart  of  the 
princess. 

She  shuddered  at  his  words  and  manner,  yet 
her  self-possession  did  not  desert  her  at  this  mosj 
fearful  moment  of  her  life.  She  felt  the  need  of 
calmness  and  courage,  for  she  knew  the  prince 
rarely  spoke  in  i^ain. 

"Swear  to  me  that  I  shall  yet  be  a  king!" 
cried  the  prince,  fiercely ;  "  I  give  you  but  a 
short  time  to  decide  your  course — to  live  my 
bride  and  queen  of  Spain,  or  die  now  by  my  own 
hand !" 

The  princess  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  for  an 
instant,  in  prayer.  Then  fixing  them  upon  the 
passion-stamped  countenance  of  the  prince,  she 
said,  in  a  voice  of  thrilling  impressiveness  : 

"  Thou  shalt  never  wear  my  cro\vn,  or  sit 
xipon  my  throne !" 

"  Then  thy  death  shall  be  npon  my  soul  I" 
fiercely  muttered  the  prince.  But  a  hand  was 
laid  firmly  upon  the  arm  which  grasj^ed  the  dag- 
ger, and  a  clear,  commanding  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  Harm  her  not,  as  thou  vainest  thine  oivn 
Ufe  !" 

Prince  Alveme  started  quickly,  and  dropped 
the  dagger.  He  turned  and  beheld  the  masked 
stranger,  who  had  that  morning  rescued  the 
princess  from  the  dungeon.  Veldima  clasped 
her  hands  and  sprang  forward. 

"Who  art  thou?"  faltered  the  prince,  with  a 
vain  attempt  at  calmness,  though  his  tongue  was 
nearly  paralyzed  with  fear.  The  stranger  deigned 
no  reply,  but  still  grasped  the  arm  that  would 
liave  murdered  the  rightful  heiress  of  the  Span- 
ish throne. 

"  AVho  art  thou,  that  dai-es  speak  thus  to  the 
king's  favorite?"  said  the  prince,  endeavoring 
to  shake  oif  the  fear   that  bad  taken  possession 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWINCx   ROOM    COMPATs^ION. 


27 


of  his  house.  The  stranger  slowly  raised  the 
mask  from  his  face,  as  he  looseued  his  grasp  of 
the  prince's  arm.  Suddenly,  the  countenance  of 
Frince  Alverne  became  livid  with  fear  and  hor- 
ror ;  he  sprang  backward,  and  gazed  wildly  on 
the  stranger's  face,  revealed  by  the  removal  of 
the  mask,  then  muttering :  "  the  dead  have  risen 
to  foil  me  !"  foil  insensible  to  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  just 
faintly  brightening  the  hills  of  Spain,  and  bid- 
ding farewell  to  the  beautiful  earth  ere  they  left 
it  in  silent  darkness.  Moving  slowly  up  a  rug- 
ged path  that  led  up  the  side  of  one  of  the  snow- 
cro^vncd  mountains  of  Castile,  were  two  figures, 
each  -wi-apped  in  a  dark,  ample  cloak,  and 
mounted  upon  a  much-wearied  horse.  As  occa- 
sionally a  ray  of  sunlight  gleamed  upon  the  fea- 
tures of  the  youngest  rider,  it  showed  that  they 
were  those  of  our  fair  young  heroine,  the  royal 
princess  Veldima,  and  her  companion  was  no 
otlier  than  the  noble  stranger,  who  had  saved 
her  from  death  by  the  hand  of  the  royal  favorite. 

For  an  hour  more  the  wearied  horses  toiled  up 
the  rugged  mountain  path,  until  the  last  dying 
ray  of  the  setting  sun  had  faded  from  the  far 
distant  hills.  At  length  the  guide  halted  before 
a  huge  unshapely  rock,  which  seemed  to  guard 
the  entrance  to  one  of  those  mountain-caves 
which  are  known  only  in  the  rocky,  towering 
mountains  of  Castile. 

"We  have  at  length  reached  our  destination, 
fair  princess,"  said  the  guide,  as  they  dismounted 
and  entered  the  cavern.  All  was  now  dark  as 
the  regions  of  Erebus,  and  silent  as  the  grave. 
Princess  Veldima  could  not  repress  a  shudder, 
as  she  listened  to  the  unearthly  sound  of  her 
own  footsteps,  as  she  followed  her  conductor 
thi-ough  the  dark  passage  that  led  to  the  main 
portion  of  the  cavern.  Suddenly  the  guide 
stopped,  and  in  a  voice  that  rang  through  the 
cave  like  a  clarion,  he  shouted  : 

"  Ho,  my  followers  !  Give  entrance  to  your 
leader  \" 

In  another  moment  the  soimds  of  bolts  and 
bars  were  heard  being  removed,  and  a  large 
stone  door  was  slowly  opened,  disclosing  to  the 
astonished  eyes  of  the  princess  such  a  scene  as 
had  never  befoi'e  blessed  her  vision.  Though 
she  had  been  an  inmate  of  a  palace,  still  she  had 
never  viewed  such  a  scene  of  splendor  as  she 
now  gazed  upon.  She  stood  before  the  entrance 
to  a  hall  of  immense  size,  the  whole  length  of 
which  was  a  table  covered  with  the  choicest 
fruits  and  wines  of  every  land,  in  baskets  and 
cups  of  massive  gold,  which  reflected  back  the 
rays  of  a  hundred  brilliant  lights  with  glittering 
splendor.  The  stone  walls  were  concealed  by  a 
rich  drapery  of  crimson  velvet,  that  hung  in 
heavy  folds  to  the  floor,  which  wag  covered  with 
a  carpet  richer  than  any  the  surprised  princess 
had  ever  seen  in  the  royal  halls  of  her  father's 
palace.  Tliere  were  nearly  two  hundred  men  in 
this  almost  fairy  palace,  and  each  sprang  forward 
to  welcome  their  leader  as  he  entered,  mechani- 
cally followed  by  the  princess.  The  stone  door 
was  again  closed  and  barred  upon  the  inner  side, 
and  the  men  stood  silent,  awaiting  the  commands 
of  tlieir  leader,  and  gazing  with  curiosity  upon 
the  face  of  his  companion. 

"Eair  Princess  Veldima,"  said  her  stranger 
friend,  taking  her  hand  and  leading  her  forward, 
"  these  are  my  friends  and  followers,  and  there 
is  not  one  of  us  that  would  not  lay  down  his  life 
to  place  you  upon  the  throne  of  your  ancestors. 
My  follcnvers,  this  is  your  princess  ;  and  I  doubt 
not  each  one  of  you  will  swear  to  protect  her 
with  your  lives,  if  need  be." 

The  next  instant  a  ringing  shout  awoke  every 
sleeping  echo  of  the  vast  cave,  as  it  went  up 
from  every  heart  in  that  immense  hall,  "  Long 
live  the  Piincess  Veldima  !" 

"  My  noble  followers,"  said  their  leader,  his 
nandsome  face  lighting  up  with  pleasure,  "your 
fau-  princess  cannot  doubt  your  loyalty  to  her 
cause,  or  your  willingness  to  place  her  upon  the 
throne  of  her  royal  ancestors.  Her  father,  the 
present  king  of  Spain,  has  sworn  that  his  favor- 
ite, the  Prince  Alvenie,  shall  yet  wear  the  crown. 
To  gain  this  end,  lie  has  detennined  that  his 
noble  daughter  shall  wed  the  prince,  and  then 
his  royal  favorite  will  be  king  of  Spain,  as  the 
husband  of  its  queen.  The  heart  of  the  princess 
shi-inks  from  such  an  imion,  for  she  loves  not 
the  Prince  Alverne.  The  throne  of  Spain  is  her 
rightful  heritage,  as  the  last  descendant  of  its 
ancient  kings.  Will  you  strike  for  your  princess 
and  her  crown,  and  place  lier  upon  the  throne, 
sole  sovereign  of  Spain  V 


Again  the  vast  cave  rang  with  the  shouts  of 
the  noble  hand:  "Long  live  Queen  Veldima, 
sole  sovereign  of  Spain  !" 

The  sun  had  thrice  risen  and  set  over  the 
proud  Spanish  meti-opolis,  since  the  royal  Prin- 
cess Veldima  had  disappeared  from  the  palace. 
It  had  become  generally  known  that  she  had 
been  cast  into  one  of  the  darkest  dungeons  of  the 
city,  by  order  of  the  king ;  and  the  populace  had 
become  aroused  and  incensed  at  this  act  of  in- 
dignity to  their  future  queen,  and  there  was 
scarce  a  man  but  burned  to  revenge  it.  No  one 
knew  whither  she  had  gone ;  and  the  uncertainty 
of  her  fate  added  fuel  to  the  flame  already 
kindled. 

The  last  rays  of  the  setthig  sun  gleamed  in  at 
the  drapcried  window,  where  sat  the  king  of 
Spain,  his  mind  entirely  absorbed  by  the  thoughts 
that  were  passing  within  his  bosom.  His  brow 
was  clouded  with  a  dark  shade  of  care,  for  he 
already  suspected  the  spirit  that  was  rising 
against  him  in  the  city,  and  freely  would  he 
have  forgiven  his  daughter,  if  his  forgiveness 
could  but  have  brought  her  back  to  his  palace 
halls  once  more.  He  heeded  not  the  unusual 
stirring  of  the  people — he  heeded  not  their 
strange  movements,  and  saw  not  the  dark  band 
of  men,  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  glittering  steel, 
which,  at  that  moment,  wound  around  the  base 
of  the  mountain  and  entered  the  city.  He  not 
even  suspected  the  imminent  danger  that  was 
hanging  over  him,  until  upon  the  evening  air 
was  borne  to  his  ears  a  thrilling,  startling,  deep- 
toned  cry: 

"  Do^\-n  with  the  tyrant  and  usurper !  Long 
live  Queen  Veldima!" 

The  tvrant  king  knew  that  that  ci*y  was  his 
death-knell ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  think  of  flight. 
The  whole  city  was  in  a  wild  uproar.  Every 
man  of  the  excited  populace  echoed  that  fearful 
ciT,  and  grasping  his  weapons,  dealt  death  and 
destruction  to  the  soldiers  of  the  king,  who 
fought  with  a  courage  worthy  of  a  better  cause. 
Never  had  the  Spanish  city  been  the  scene  of 
such  a  terrific  warfare.  Several  of  the  stately 
mansions  had  been  set  on  fire,  and  the  red  flames 
gleamed  up  into  the  evening  sky,  and  liglited  up 
the  whole  city  with  a  fearful  brilliance.  Dark 
forms  moved  to  and  fro,  and  glittering  swords 
were  raised,  and  descended  with  a  deadly,  un- 
erring aim.  The  watchword :  "  Down  with  the 
tyrant !"  rang  clear  and  shrill  above  every  other 
cry,  for  it  was  repeated  from  a  thousand  tongues. 

The  whole  army  of  the  king  was  now  en- 
gaged in  the  battle.  Though  tlie  populace  fought 
desperately,  yet  they  at  length  began  to  give 
ground.  The  wild  shout  was  repeated  with  less 
thrilling  energy,  and  it  at  length  became  evident 
that  the  soldiers  must  conquer.  At  this  crisis 
the  king  appeared  upon  a  balcony  of  the  royal 
palace,  robed  in  his  full  regal  costume,  with  the 
crown  glittering  upon  his  brow,  and  in  a  voice 
of  firm  command,  shouted  to  his  followers  : 

"  Strike  for  your  king  !     Death  to  all  who — " 

"  Tyrant,  usui-jjer,  murderer !  I  have  thee 
now !"  cried  a  voice  that  made  the  blood  of  the 
guilty  king  fall  coldly  back  upon  his  heart,  as  he 
turned  to  confront  the  speaker.  But  the  next 
instant  he  gave  a  wild  shriek  of  horror,  and  fell 
back  upon  the  pavement,  a  lifeless  corpse  !  The 
stranger  caught  up  the  royal  crown  and  sceptre, 
and  disappeared  for  a  moment  within  the  palace, 
then  again  sprang  forward  to  the  conflict  of  life 
and  deatli. 

The  death  of  the  king  seemed  to  inspire  the 
almost  despairing  people  with  a  new  energy,  and 
to  have  upon  Ills  soldiers  a  contrary  influence. 
Ere  another  hour  had  passed,  the  victorious  pop- 
ulace were  masters  of  the  city,  and  the  soldiery 
completely  routed.  But  wliere  was  the  Princess 
Veldima  ? 

A  tali,  noble  form  sprang  up  the  steps  leading 
to  the  royal  palace,  and,  facing  the  excited  mul- 
titude, requested  for  a  moment  their  attention, 

"  Friends  and  countrymen,"  spoke  the  stran- 
ger, in  a  voice  that  commanded  the  attention  of 
all;  "but  few  of  you  have  been  aware  before  to- 
night, that  the  king  that  has  so  long  ruled  your 
countiy  was  not  the  rightful  heir  of  the  throne  of 
Spain,  but  a  wicked  usurper.  At  the  death  of 
King  Conrad  II,  it  was  known  to  but  few  that 
he  left  a  daughter,  then  but  two  years  of  age — 
for  the  somewhat  eccentric  king  cliose  to  keep  it 
a  secret.  The  throne  was  thus  left  without  a 
successor.  A  cunning  and  ambitious  nobleman, 
knowing  this,  successfully  personated  the  long- 
lost  brother  of  King  Conrad,  and,  by  forged  cer- 
tificates of  his  identity,  at  length  reached  the 
height  of  his  ambition,  the  tlirone  of  Spain. 
All  who  knew  that  the  late  king  left  a  su"  essor 


to  his  crown,  were  secretly  poisoned,  save  one. 
That  one  was  an  old  man,  who  escaped  to  the 
mountains,  with  his  only  son,  and  for  several 
years  lived  concealed  in  one  of  the  mountain 
caves  of  Castile,  rarely  visiting  the  city,  and 
then  in  disguise.  That  old  man,  who  was  my 
father,  compelled  me  to  swear  that  I  would  yet 
place  the  Princess  Veldima,  the  only  daughter 
of  Iving  Conrad,  upon  the  throne  of  her  ances- 
tors. In  the  meanwhile,  the  usui-per,  who  proved 
himself  a  t}Tant,  seeing  the  budding  beauty  of 
the  princess,  and  knowing  that  her  noble  quali- 
ties would  make  her  a  favorite  among  the  people, 
adopted  lier,  and  she  was  known  as  his  daughter. 
Desiring  that  his  family  should  yet  wear  the 
crown,  he  planned  a  union  between  his  nephew 
and  the  priiieessj  whereby  the  guilty  Prince  Al- 
verne would  be  king  of  Spain.  The  noble  prin- 
cess firmly  refused,  and  the  incensed  king  caused 
her  to  be  immured  in  a  common  dungeon,  from 
which,  three  days  since,  I  rescued  her.  Again 
her  life  was  menaced  by  the  Prince  Alvenie, 
when,  to  ensure  her  safety,  I  took  her  to  my 
mountain  cave,  Avhere  my  followers,  who  have 
made  themselves  so  famous  on  land  and  sea  by 
their  fearless  daring,  welcomed  their  princess 
with  enthusiasm  and  joy.  This  night  we  have 
conquered  the  usurper's  soldiery — he  and  his 
guilty  nephew  have  gone  to  their  last  account, 
and  the  Princess  Veldima  is  now  your  queen  !" 
At  this  moment  one  of  the  palace  doors  open- 
ed, and  a  light  form  stepped  out  upon  the  bal- 
cony, and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  speaker.  It 
was  the  princess ;  but  she  now  wore  the  splendid 
robe  of  a  Spanish  queen,  and  upon  her  regal 
brow  glittered  the  royal  diadem  of  Spain.  The 
next  instant  a  shout  went  up  from  the  assembled 
multitude,  that  echoed  from  the  far-off'  hills : 
"Long  live  Veldima,  true  queen  and  sovereign 
of  Spain !" 

The  princess  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  the 
one  who  stood  beside  her,  and  placed  upon  his 
brow  her  crown.  Again  a  ringing  shout  went 
up  from  the  assembled  people  :  "  Long  live  Or- 
land,  king  of  Spain  I" 

They  had  spoken  rightly.  It  was  indeed  the 
daring  Orland,  whose  feats  of  brai'ery  had 
sounded  over  land  and  sea.  The  princess  had 
now  given  her  lieart  with  her  hand  and  throne, 
and  well  worthy  of  them  was  her  noble  husband. 
The  royal  favorite  had  lost  his  life  in  the  conflict 
of  that  fearful  evening,  and  the  princess  feared 
no  more  his  crime-stained  hand.  Thus,  though 
life  may  be  beset  with  soitow,  still,  in  the  end, 
happiness  will  be  the  jjortion  of  the  vhtuous  and 
noble. 


pfVritten  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SU3IMER  EVE. 


Br  L.   M.   BROWN. 


[^yritten  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  THE  ESTRANGED. 

BY   OWEN    G.   WARREN. 

In  the  glad  sunshine  of  thy  lovely  spirit 

I  basked  awhile,  and  was  supremely  blest ; 
And  with  a  longing  sympathy  drew  near  it, 

As  to  a  shrine  of  everiasting  rest. 
A  cloud  has  come  between  us  now,  and  never 

Canst  thou  to  me  thy  joyous  Hght  impart ; 
Our  souls  are  sundered — I  shall  see  thee  ever 

Only  as  thou  art  pictured  on  my  heart. 

But  on  my  bosom's  golden  throne  I  've  set  thee, 

A  star-cro\vned  angel,  ever  in  my  sight ; 
And  could  not  hate  thee — could  not  now  forget  thee, 

However  changed,  however  veiled  in  night- 
I  have  been  blest — that  joy  shall  be  eternal, 

And  from  death's  portal  bear  my  soul  sublime  ; 
For  neither  powers  of  earth,  noi-  fates  supernal, 

Shall  snatch  the  memory  of  that  happy  time. 

CURIOUS,  BUT  NOT  AGREEABLE. 

I  have  no  sympathy  for  machinery ;  tlie  action 
of  machines  of  great  power  teirifles  me  by  its 
impassibility.  There  are  some,  above  all,  em- 
ployed for  beating  out  metals,  which  do  so  to  an 
alarming  extent.  AVhatever  tliese  may  happen 
to  seize  between  their  iron  teeth,  once  seized,  the 
thing  must  pass  through  a  hole  more  or  less 
great,  towards  which  all  fabrieahle  substances 
are  conducted.  Of  whatever  size  the  thing  may 
be  goes  in — let  it  be  a  beam  of  the  greatest  thick- 
ness— it  will  come  out  stretched  into  a  knitting 
needle  of  the  greatest  fineness.  As  for  the  ma- 
chine, it  merely  turns,  and  it  matters  not  to  it 
what  the  substance  may  be  which  it  lias  to  crush 
and  draw  out.  You  oft^er  it  an  iron — the  mon- 
ster draws  it  to  itself  and  devours  it.  You  don't 
take  your  hand  back  quickly  enough,  the  macliine 
pinches  the  end  of  your  linger,  and  all  is  over. 
You  may  cry  out,  but  if  there  be  no  one  present 
with  a  hatchet  to  cut  your  wrist  off,  after  the 
finger  comes  tlie  hand,  after  the  hand  the  arm, 
after  the  arm  the  head,  after  the  head  the  body. 
Nothing  will  avail  you ;  the  shortest  plan  for 
your  friends  is  to  look  out  for  you  on  the  other 
side  of  the  machine.  You  went  in  a  man,  you 
come  out  a  wire  ;  in  five  minutes  you  liave  gi^own 
two  hundred  feet ;  it  is  curious,  but  not  agreeable. 
— Pictures  of  Travels  in  the  South  of  France. 


Who  loveth  not  a  summer  eve, 
An  eve  in  the  month  of  June ; 

MTien  fragrance  fills  the  western  breeze, 
And  sweet  is  the  wood  bird's  tune? 

When  gently  waves  tlie  verdant  robe 
That  -s  o'er  the  pine  trees  thrown ; 

While  the  lovely  rose  so  meekly  bends 
To  the  wind  from  the  ocean  blown. 

Then  the  silver  dews  the  flowers  sip, 
And  fling  their  breath  on  the  air ; 

While  fairies  seem  to  girt  them  round, 
From  the  regions  of  the  fair. 

The  moon  shines  with  a  tender  glow, 
Plooding  the  green  vale  bright ; 

And  the  boughs  of  the  wide  old  wood 
Dance  gaily  in  her  hght. 

Now  bright  Arcturus's  steady  glow 

Joins  with  her  silver  beam  ; 
"Which  rests  upon  the  snow-white  sail. 

That  glides  adown  the  stream. 

Erom  the  forest  comes  a  low,  sweet  tone, 
Like  the  plaintive  note  of  bird  ; 

Which  mingled  with  the  waters'  rush, 
Is  all  the  sound  that 's  heard. 

Then  who  loveth  not  a  summer  eve, 
An  eve  in  the  month  of  June  ; 

When  fragrance  fills  the  western  breeze, 
And  sweet  is  the  wood  bird's  tune. 


HONORING  PARENTS. 

As  a  stranger  went  into  the  church-yard  of  a 
pretty  village,  he  beheld  tliree  children  at  a 
newly  made  grave.  A  boy  about  ten  years  of 
age  was  busily  engaged  in  placing  plats  of  turf 
about  it,  while  a  girl,  who  appeared  a  year  or 
two  younger,  held  in  lier  apron  a  few  roots  of 
wdd  flowers.  The  third  child,  still  younger, 
was  sitting  on  the  grass,  watching  with  thought- 
ful look  at  the  movements  of  the  other  two. 
They  wore  pieces  of  crape  on  their  straw  hats, 
and  a  few  other  signs  of  the  mourning,  such  as 
are  sometimes  worn  by  the  poor  who  struggle 
between  theh  poverty  and  their  afflictions. 

The  girl  began  by  planting  some  of  her  wild 
flowers  around  the  head  of  tlie  grave,  when  the 
stranger  thus  addressed  them  : 

"  Whose  grave  is  this,  children,  about  which 
you  are  so  busily  engaged  V 

"  Mother's  grave,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  did  your  father  send  you  to  place  these 
flowers  around  your  mother's  grave  V 

"  No,  sir,  father  lies  here  too,  and  little  Willie 
and  sister  Jane." 

"  "Wlien  did  they  die  1" 

"  Mother  was  buried  a  fortnight  yesterday,  sir, 
but  father  died  last  winter — they  all  lie  here." 

"  Then  who  told  you  to  do  this  '?" 

"  Nobody,  sir,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Then  why  do  you  do  it  ?" 

They  appeared  at  a  loss  for  an  answer ;  but 
the  stranger  looked  so  kindly  at  them  that  at 
length  tlie  eldest  replied,  as  tlie  tears  started  to 
his  eyes : 

"  0,  we  do  love  them,  sir." 

"  Then  you  put  these  grass  turfs  and  wild 
flowers  where  your  parents  are  laid,  because  3'ou 
love  them  ?" 

"  Yes  sh","  they  all  eagerly  replied. 

What  can  be  more  beautiful  than  sucli  nn  ex- 
hibition of  children  honoring  deceased  jjareuts  ? 
Never  forget  tlie  dear  parents  who  loved  and 
cherished  you  in  your  infant  days.  Ever  re- 
member their  parental  kindness.  Honor  their 
memory  by  doing  those  things  which  you  know 
would  please  them  when  alive,  by  a  particular 
regard  to  their  dying  commands,  and  eanying 
on  their  plans  of  usefulness.  Arc  your  parents 
spared  to  you  1  Ever  treat  them  as  you  will 
wish  you  had  done,  wlien  you  stand  a  lonely  or- 
phan at  their  graves.  How  will  a  remembrance 
of  kind,  afi'ectionate  conduct  towards  these  de- 
parted friends,  then  help  to  soothe  your  grief  and 
heal  your  wounded  heart. — Delaware  Gazette. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
HOPE    ON— HOPE    EVER. 

BY  CAROUNB   A.   HAYDEN. 

Did  not  the  future  grow  brighter  each  day, 

And  hope  lend  its  sunbeams  to  lighten  the  way  ; 

Vain  as  the  thoughts  of  the  dreamer  would  be, 

In  its  high  aspirations  our  destiny. 

Earth's  highest  wrought  visions  were  worthless,  if  fear 

Shadowed  over  the  hopes  they  held  out  to  us  liere. 

"nTiat  is  thy  destiny?  seest  thou  afar, 

In  the  distance,  a  bright  and  beaming  star, 

Leading  thee  on  thi-ough  the  tj^il  and  strife, 

Shedding  its  peace  on  the  turmoil  of  life  ; 

0  follow  it  truthfully  I  life  can  impart 

Nothing  sweeter  than  hope  to  the  trusting  heart. 


Riches,  without  meekness  and  thankfulness, 
do  not  make  any  man  happy;  but  riches  with 
them  remove  many  fears  and  cares.  Therefore 
my  advice  is,  that  you  endeavor  to  be  honestly 
rich  or  contentedly  poor;  but  be  sure  that  your 
riches  he  justh'  got,  or  you  spoil  all.  For  it  is 
said  :  "  He  that  loses  his  conscience  has  nothing 
left  tliat  is  worth  keeping." — Izaak  Walton. 


28 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROGM    COMPANION. 


THE  FINDING  OF  MOSES. 

Upon  this  paffc  our  nrtist  has  given  its  unothcr 
fine  sketch  from  Bitilc  history,  of  one  of  those 
strikin<i;  scenes  which  have  hcen  the  tlienic  of 
admiring  wonder  for  ages.  The  devout  Chris- 
tian has  rejoiced  to  note  the  remai-kahlo  sueecs- 
Kion  of  providences  which  trace  tiieir  origin  to 
this  starting-point,  and  the  mere  student  of  his- 
tory, viewing  the  subject  only  philosophically, 
has  regarded  the  connecting  links  of  tlic  chain 
of  events  as  at  least  of  a  singuhirly  fortuitous 
character.  If  it  be  the  province  of  art  to  perpe- 
tuate scenes  and  incidents  i-emarkablc  in  them- 
selves, ana  important  in  their  consequences,  it  is 
difficult  to  name  an  event  more  worthy  to  be 

S reserved,  than  this  subject  of  **  The  Pinding  of 
loses."  While  our  attention  is  drawn  to  it,  wo 
can  but  wonder  and  admire  the  ways  of  provi- 
dence, in  saving  from  destruction  an  infant,  who, 
in  Ills  manhood,  was  to  act  a  part  so  extraordi- 
nary, and  whoso  influence  was  to  be  felt  through 
all  suicrcdiit;;  iigcs.  A  brief  review  of  the  cir- 
cumstances \\  liicli  led  to  the  scene  the  artist  has 
brought  so  pleasingly  before  us,  may  not  be  im- 
pertinent. According  to  Josephus,  tliorc  existed 
among  the  Egyptians  a  prophecy,  that  a  Hclu'cw 
child  should  one  day  diminish  the  power  and 


and  daubed  it  with  slime  and  with  pitch,  and  put 
the  child  therein ;  and  she  laid  it  in  the  flags  hy 
the  river's  brink.  And  his  sister  stood  afar  oil', 
to  wit  what  would  be  done  to  him.  And  (lie 
daughter  of  Pharaoli  came  down  to  wash  her- 
self at  the  river;  and  her  maidens  walked  along 
by  the  river's  side ;  and  when  she  saw  the  ark 
among  the  flags,  she  sent  her  maid  to  fetch  it. 
And  when  she  had  opened  it,  slie  saw  the  child  : 
and,  behold,  the  babe  wept.     And  she  bad  com- 

Iiassion  on  him,  and  said,  This  is  one  of  the 
lebrcws'  cliildrcn.  Then  said  his  sister  to  Pha- 
raoh's daughter,  Shall  I  go  and  call  to  thee  a 
nurse  of  the  Hebrew  women,  that  she  may  nurse 
the  child  for  thee?  And  Pharaoh's  daughter 
said  to  her.  Go.  And  the  maid  went  and  called 
the  child's  mother.  And  Pharaoh's  daughter 
said  unto  Iicr,  Take  this  child  away,  and  nurse  it 
for  me,  and  I  will  give  thee  thy  wages.  And  the 
woman  took  the  child,  and  nursed  it.  And  tlie 
child  grew,  and  she  brought  him  unto  Pharaoh's 
daughter,  and  he  became  her  son.  And  slic 
called  his  name  Moses  :  and  she  said.  Because  I 
drew  him  out  of  the  water."  The  happy  discov- 
ery and  contrivance  which  restored  the  babe  to 
tlie  bosom  of  his  fond  mother,  put  him  in  safety, 
and  caused  him  to  grow  up  to  receive  the  com- 


what  .Tosephus  and  Philo  relate,  "  that  no  one 
could  sec  Moses  without  being  stniek  with  hi.-* 
beauty,"  and  that  "  at  his  birth  he  had  a  more 
clegnnt  and  beautiful  appearance  than  a  common 
child." 


THE  MAY  M ITU  SOME  PEOPLE. 

Deacon   S once  employed  a  col)Ider  to 

tukc  a  few  stitches  in  a  hoot,  for  wliich  service  he 
was  asked  half  a  dollar.  The  demand  was  con- 
sidered exorbitant,  but  the  deacon  was  not  a  man 
to  have  trouble  with  his  neighbor  on  a  trifling 
mutter,  so  without  a  word  of  objection  it  was 
cancelled. — "All  will  come  round  right  in  the 
end,"  he  said  to  himself, 

Next  morning,  the  deacon,  who  was  a  farmer, 
was  on  his  way  to  his  field  with  oxen  and  plough, 
when  the  cobbler  came  out  of  his  shop  and  ac- 
costed him. 

"Good  morning,  deacon.  You're  just  the 
man  I  hoped  to  sec.  The  case  is,  I've  hired  the 
field  yonder,  and  am  going  to  sow  it  with  wheat; 
hut  being  no  farmer  myself,  I  wish  you  would 
stop  and  give  me  something  of  an  insight  into 
the  business." 

The  other  was  about  excuse  himself,  for  he 


The  deacon  nuide  no  reply,  but  stood  await- 
ing the  question,  "  JIow  much  do  you  ask  for 
your  labor?"  He  waited  in  vain,  however;  the 
question  was  not  asked.  The  other  began  to 
speak  on  different  topics,  and  the  farmer,  un- 
willing to  lose  more  time,  turned  and  hurried 
away  to  where  he  had  left  his  team,  lie  had 
gone  some  distance  along  the  road,  when  a  voice 
was  heard  calling : 

"  Halloo,  deacon.     Hold  on  there  a  minute." 

The  deacon  turned  his  head,  and  his  neighbor, 
the  col)bler,  beckoned  him  back. 

"He's  just  thought  of  it,"  said  the  deacon  to 
himself,  half  impatient  at  being  again  stopped. 
"  My  triumph  is  likely  to  co.st  about  as  much  as 
it's  worth  ;  hut  I'll  have  it  after  all.  Urge  as  ho 
may,  I  wont  take  a  single  dime." 

So  saying,  he  secured  his  oxen  to  a  post  by 
the  roadside,  and  ran  hack  as  far  as  the  wall, 
against  the  opposite  side  of  which  tlic  cobbler 
was  carelessly  leaning. 

"  Why,  how  you  puff,  deacon !  there's  no  spe- 
cial haste  called  for.  I  merely  thought  to  ask 
wliethcr  you  don't  imagine  we  shall  have  rain 
soon.  You  farmers  pay  more  attention  to  these 
things  than  we  mechanics  do." 

The  deacon  coughed  a  full  minute,  and  then 


grandeur  of  Kgypt.  The  Israelites  established 
there  had  multiplied  so  fust  that  they  began  to 
appear  formidable  to  the  reigning  king,  and  Pha- 
raoh, in  consequence,  deemed  it  important  to  Ids 
security  to  prevent  the  farther  increase  of  their 
numbers;  and,  with  that  object  in  view,  he  or- 
dered the  midwives  who  miglit  be  in  attendance 
on  Hebrew  women  to  kill  every  male  child,  and 
the  parents,  in  some  cases,  to  murder  their  sons. 
It  was  after  this  that  the  wife  of  a  man  of  the 
house  of  Levi,  having  given  birth  to  a  boy,  and, 
with  the  natural  feelings  of  a  mother,  admiring 
the  goodly  appearance  of  her  offspring,  was  anx- 
ious to  avert  from  him  the  cruel  doom  which  had 
awaited  his  coming  into  existence.  She,  in  con- 
sequence, concealed  him  for  three  months;  but, 
at  length,  for  her  own  safety,  was  obliged  to  re- 
move lum  from  her  dwelling,  when  she  placed 
him  in  a  small  ark  by  the  side  of  the  Nile.  The 
Himply  beautiful  narrative  given  in  the  secoud 
chapter  of  Exodus,  thus  tells  what  occun'cd  : 
"And  there  went  a  man  of  the  house  of  Levi, 
and  took  to  wife  a  daughter  of  Levi.  And  the 
woman  conceived,  and  bare  a  son  :  and  when 
she  sasv  that  he  was  a  goodly  child,  she  hid 
him  three  months.  When  she  could  no  longer 
bide  him,  she  t«ok  for  him  au  ark  of  bulrushes, 


mauds  of  Ills  God,  to  lead  his  brethren  out  of 
captivity,  and,  by  his  wisdom,  to  control  refrac- 
tory and  idolatrous  spirits,  which  seemed  impa- 
tiently to  seek  their  own  perdition.  How  im- 
mensely important,  then,  was  the  incident  here 
pictured  !  It  was  not  merely  that  a  race  of  hu- 
man beings  might  be  released  from  intolerable 
bondage;  but  that  millions  then  unborn,  and 
lands  then  unknown,  should  prolitfrom  the  find- 
ing of  the  servant  of  God.  To  this  day,  in  all 
civilized  lands,  both  man  and  bea^^t  rejoice  in  tlie 
interesting  e\ent,  while  they  rest  from  tlieir  labor 
on  the  seventh  day.  Had  Moses  not  been  favor- 
ed by  the  Most  High,  had  he  not  been  the  great 
captain  he  was,  as  the  founder  of  the  sabbatic 
institution  (even  if  we  suppose  it  a  mere  inven- 
tion of  his  own),  he  would  have  deserved  ever- 
lasting gratitude,  as  a  benefactor  tu  the  world  at 
large.  The  beauty  and  eondcsiciidiiig  benevo- 
lence of  the  princess  are  strongly  marked  l)y  the 
artist.  Our  artist  has  been  very  Imppy  in  his 
faces.  All  exhibit  eager  interest  and  feminine 
compassion,  yet  there  is  no  sameness.  We  see 
the  anxious  sister  ready  to  spring  to  the  side  of 
tlie  princess,  in  the  cause  of  an  infant  brother, 
and  the  whole  spectacle  is  most  gratifying.  The 
countenance  of  the  child  is  in  accordance  with 


felt  particularly  anxious  to  finish  a  piece  ot 
l>loughing  that  day,  which  he  could  not  if  de- 
tained at  all,  when  remembering  the  boot  mend- 
ing, thought  he  ;  "  The  affair  is  coming  right  so 
soon.  Here  is  an  opportunity  for  illustrating 
the  Golden  Kule,  and  returning  good  for  evil. 
I  will  render  the  assistance  he  needs,  and  when 
asked  what's  to  pay,  will  answer  :  '  Nothing,  sir, 
nothing.  I  never  make  account  of  these  little 
neighborly  kindnesses.'  That  will  remind  him 
of  yesterday." 

So  the  deacon  readily  consented  to  do  as  re- 
quested ;  and  going  over  to  the  field,  commenced 
and  finished  sowing  a  bushel  of  grain  ;  scarcely 
thinking,  meantime,  of  how  his  team  was  stand- 
ing idle  in  the  cool  of  the  day ;  but  glorying  in 
anticipation  of  the  smart  his  neighbor  would 
suffer  from  the  living  coals  about  to  be  heaped 
upon  his  head.  The  employer,  wlio,  seated  on 
a  pile  of  stones  in  the  centre  of  the  field,  had 
watched  the  process  in  silence,  now  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  very  deliberately  advanced  towards  the 
obliging  farmer. 

"  Now,  for  my  revenge,"  thought  the  latter, 
seeing  him  about  to  speak ;  but  the  other  only 
carelessly  remarked  :  "  It  isn't  much  to  do  a 
thing  when  one  knows  how." 


answered  that  he  really  "couldn't  say,  but  it 
seemed  pretty  near  cool  enough  for  snow."  And 
having  given  this  opinion,  he  once  more  set  his 
face  farmward ;  musing  as  he  went,  whether  it 
might  not  have  been  well  to  have  attached  to  the 
Golden  Rule  a  modifying  claiise,  suited  to  deal- 
ing with  such  people  as  his  neighbor  of  the  awl 
and  last. 

The  deacon  loves,  to  this  day,  to  tell  the  story, 
and  laugh  over  it;  but  he  never  fails  to  add; 
"  Well,  well,  it  ended  just  as  it  should ;  inasmuch 
as  I  was  wickedly  calcidating  and  rejoicing  over 
mi/  neitjhbor's  kvmiliation ." — Western  journal. 


PARENTAL  RESPONSIBILITY. 

The  responsibility  of  educating  your  children 
is  one  you  cannot  csciq)c.  It  is  a  task  imposed 
on  you  by  Di\  iin'  Piovidence,  and  you  may  look 
witii  contidcmc  I'ur  guidimce  and  aid.  In  short, 
you  must  educate  your  child,  whether  you  choose 
It  or  not,  for  every  action,  every  word  and  look, 
the  very  tone  of  your  voice,  and  the  round  of  or- 
dinaiy  daily  events,  which  form  the  moral  at- 
mosphere in  which  he  breathes,  will  influence 
him  far  more  than  the  occasional  lessons  which 
he  receives,  ho\vcver  excellent. — Rcjlector. 


GLEASON'S    PICJTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


29 


TREDEEICK    GLEASON,   Pkoprietor. 

MATURIN    M.    BALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTENTS  OF  OUR  IVEXT  AUMKER, 

"  Annie  Sehvyn,  or  the  Lost  Ring,"  a  story,  by  H.\rriet 

N-  IlATn.VWAT. 

"  Mr.  Bumble's  Family,  or  Arriving  at  a  Fortune,"  a 
story,  by  Geo.  Canning  Hill. 

"A  Sketch  from  Life,"  by  Mrs.  E.  Wellmont. 

"  The  Haunted  Man,"  a  story,  by  Stlv.vncs  Cobb,  Jr. 

"To  a  Friend  on  her  Birthday,"  lines,  by  Caroline  A. 
Hai-den. 

•'A  Leaf  from  the  Heart,"  vcifscs,  by  W.  T.  Hilsee. 

"  Bu'ds,"  Unes,  by  J.  H.  Butler. 

'■  The  Withered  Oak,'"  a  poem,  by  John  D.  Johnson. 

"  Ella,"  verses,  by  Henry  J.  Kilmer. 

"The  Poet's  Dream,"  line.';,  by  Mary  N.  Dearborn. 

"  Castle  Building,"  verses,  by  John  Rdssel. 

ILLFSTEATIONS. 

We  shall  give  a  capital  picture,  faithfully  drawn  by  our 
arti:jt,  Mr.  C.'iapin,  representing  Donelti's  Wonderful  exhi- 
bition, at  the  Astor  Place  Opera  House,  New  York,  of  his 
trained  Monkeys.  Dogs,  and  Goats.     A  curiou.<)  scene. 

A  series  of  ^iews  of  Niagara  Falls,  of  gi-cat  beauty  and 
accuracy,  will  also  be  given,  embracing,  first,  a  view  of 
Niagara  River,  ttiken  from  Iris  Island — one  of  the  best 
scenes  the  spot  affords  ;  second,  the  Little  llapids  ;  third, 
the  Niagara  River,  and  American  Falls,  near  Hog's  Back; 
fourth,  the  American  Falls,  from  the  Canada  shore ;  fifth, 
the  Falls  at  sunset,  from  the  American  shore;  and  last. 
Table  llock.    A  most  valuable  and  interesting  series. 

Also  a  very  admirable  original  series  of  views  of  the 
United  States  Mint,  at  Philadelphia,  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
DcvereaiiTy  embracing,  first,  an  exterior  view  of  the  Mint ; 
second,  interior  of  the  Adjusting  Room  ;  third,  interior  of 
the  Pressing  and  Milling  Room  ;  fourth,  interior  of  the 
general  Pressing  and  Cutting  Room  ;  fifth,  a  specimen 
of  the  Coin  Press  used  for  producing  the  die  ;  and  sixth, 
the  principal  Steam  Engine  of  the  Mint. 

An  engraving  representing  a  vivid  scene  described  in 
the  first  chapter  of  our  new  novelette,  by  Lieutenant  Mur- 
ray, now  publishing  in  tliese  columns,  entitled,  "  The 
Heart's  Secret,  or  the  Fortunes  of  a  Soldier." 

A  very  accurate  view  of  the  new  Court  of  Law,  called 
Osgood  IIjUI,  at  Toronto,  Canada. 

A  capital  picture  of  French  art,  entitled  the  Rapids, 
giving  a  livid  water  scene. 


CURIOUS  CASE. 

The  Bath  (Mc.)  liirror  of  June  1st,  states 
that  a  Mrs.  Dan-ali,  residing  at  AVinnegance,  ap- 
parently died  on  the  Saturday  previous.  Prep- 
aration.s  were  made  for  her  funeral  the  Sunday 
following.  On  liandling  the  body  it  was  discov- 
ered to  be  slightly  warm,  and  there  were  other 
indications  that,  although  the  blood  was  not  per- 
ceptibly in  motion,  she  was  yet  alive.  The  lan- 
cet was  applied,  and  blood  flowed  quite  freely, 
and  the  application  of  a  glass  to  the  mouth  and 
nostrils  indicated  a  slight  respiration.  Up  to 
Thm'sday  her  condition  appeared  to  be  improv- 
ing, but  there  were  no  signs  of  consciousness. 
Her  body  was  to  be  kept  until  there  were  indica- 
tions of  decay. 


Sad  Mistake.— Two  children  of  Mr.  Fenni- 
more  of  Dubuque,  Iowa,  who  were  ill  with  the 
measles,  were  poisoned  recently  by  a  mistake  of 
the  druggist  in  putting  up  a  prescription  of  mu- 
riate of  morphia,  instead  of  syrup  of  ipecac. 


Chinese  Junk. — The  Chinese  junk  Keying, 
which,  it  will  be  recollected,  was  exhibited  in 
New  York  several  years  since,  was  recently  sold 
at  auction  in  London. 


Mlle.  Rosa  Jacques,  the  prima  donna,  is 
about  to  settle  in  Chicago,  Jier  services  having 
been  .secured  by  one  of  the  churches  in  that  city. 


GEMS  FEOM  SHAK3PEARE. 


—  A  woman's  fitness  comes  by  fits. 

—  Easy  it  is  of  a  cut  loaf  to  steal  a  shive. 

—  Winning  will  put  every  man  into  courage. 

—  The  world  is  still  deceived  with  ornament. 

—  I"ruits  that  blossom  first,  will  first  be  ripe. 

—  Love  all ;  tnist  a  few  ;  do  wrong  to  none. 

—  Good  words  arc  better  than  bad  strokes. 

—  'Tis  not  a  year  or  two  shows  us  a  man. 

—  Ill  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word. 

—  Were  man  but  content,  he  were  perfect. 

—  The  nature  of  bad  news  infects  the  teller. 

—  Ill  blows  the  wind  that  profits  nobody. 

—  He  is  well  paid  that  is  well  satisfied. 

—  Unhecdful  vows  may  heedfuUy  be  broken. 

—  Scorn  at  first  makes  after  love  the  more. 

—  A  good  man's  fortune  may  grow  out  at  heels. 

—  We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself. 

—  In  time  we  hate  that  which  we  often  fear. 

—  'Tis  in  ourselves  that  we  are  thus,  or  thus. 

—  How  hard  it  is  to  hide  the  sparks  of  nature. 


SU30IER. 

The  "  green  and  bowery  "  summer,  so  ardently 
sighed  after,  has  come  at  last,  and  hot  days, 
which  in  our  chilly  no-spring  we  voted  impossi- 
bilities, have  actually  been  realized.  How  the 
sun  has  revenged  himself  on  unbelievers  by  pour- 
ing down  floods  of  intolerable,  scalding,  scath- 
ing, inimitable  splendor !  Straw  hats  have 
been  no  kind  of  protection  ;  gossamer  jack«:;ts 
have  afforded  little  relief,  and  white  pantaloons 
have  been  but  a  slight  alleviation  of  misery.  If 
we  have  encountered  sucli  tropical  visitations  in 
June  and  July,  what  must  be  expected  in  the 
height  of  dog  days  in  this  city"? 

One  of  these  hot  days  in  the  city  puts  a  man's 
fortitude  to  the  severest  test.  Awnings,  water- 
carts,  ices,  fans  and  Venetian  blinds  are  inade- 
quate defences  with  the  thermometer  at  ninety 
and  rising,  amid  a  wilderness  of  brick  and  mortar, 
with  walls  and  sidewalks  to  radiate  tlie  meridian 
lustre.  Go  to  the  Common  on  such  a  day,  and 
your  feet  will  be  blistered  in  your  pilgrimage  in 
seaixh  of  coolness.  And  how  discouraging  it  is 
to  watch  the  pai'ched  foliage,  in  hope  of  discover- 
ing indications  of  the  presence  of  a  light  zephyr, 
and  see  not  a  leaf  tremble  on  its  slender  stem. 

Then  you  gaze  upon  the  sky  ;  not  a  shadow  of 
a  cloud  ;  but  a  vast  concave  arch  of  heated  as- 
pect, rendered  hot,  as  if  by  some  invisible  fur- 
nace. The  water  conveys  no  idea  of  coolness  in 
such  ;  a  falling  fountain  seems  like  boiling  liquid, 
and  you  instinctively  get  out  of  the  way  of  the 
drops,  lest  they  scald  you.  You  take  a  walk  on 
one  of  the  whaiwes,  and  gaze  into  the  tide  on 
which  the  sun's  rays  pour  fiercely  down,  and 
wonder  why  you  don't  see  lobsters,  cod  and 
halibut  already  boiled  and  floating  up  to  tlie 
surface. 

Talk  of  a  bath!  You  would  as  soon  jump 
into  a  cauldron.  Ton  eat  an  ice,  and  you  arc 
hotter  for  it — unless  indeed  it  gives  you  a  slight 
foretaste  of  cholera,  by  way  of  varying  yoiu*  en- 
joyments. After  all,  you  dctei-mine  to  escape 
from  the  city  into  the  country  for  a  few  days  or 
houi's,  and  see  what  the  temperament  is  there. 
Alas !  it  is  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire. 
Dusty  woods,  dusty  trees,  parching  fields,  gasp- 
ing cattle,  withering  grapes,  sunshine,  bm"iiing 
sunshine  everywhere.  But  you  lie  down  in  some 
shady  place,  exasperated  at  the  remark  of  a 
friend,  who  tells  yon  to  "keep  cool,"  and  make 
up  your  mind  to  sufter  with  fortitude — the  only 
philosopliical  thing  you  can  do. 

Perhaps  your  patience,  like  other  manifesta- 
tions of  virtue,  brings  its  own  rew^ard.  The 
bright  blue  of  the  sky  changes  into  a  deer-skin 
hue,  becomes  gray,  and  finally  leaden.  The 
wind  rises — clouds  of  dust  obscm-e  the  atmos- 
phere— the  birds  rush  wildly  to  their  woodland 
coverts — a  hea\'y-  rumbling,  like  the  muttering  of 
a  distant  artillery  train,  is  heard — then  come  pat- 
tering down  the  "  gracious  drops,"  hastily  ac- 
cumulating into  a  pouring,  drenching  shower, — 
and  what  is  more  delicious  than  a  summer  shower 
at  the»close  of  a  hot  day,  even  if  accompanied  by 
heavy  thunder  and  sharp  liglitning "?  It  braces 
up  the  unstrung  nerves,  and  gives  life  and  vigor 
to  the  mind. 

And  when  the  temporary  deluge  is  over — when 
the  clouds  roll  away  from  before  the  face  of  the 
majestic  sun — when  the  birds  fly  forth  again  in 
the  bright  an-,  uttering  their  joyous  songs  of 
praise,  then  indeed  do  we  appreciate  and  feel  the 
full  splendor  and  magnificence  of  summer !  then 
are  we  reconciled  to  the  bm-ning  heat,  without 
which  vegetation  would  not  flourish  in  this  our 
happy,  though  often  chilly,  northern  clime. 


A  aUEER  FELLOW. 

The  Boston  Post  tells  of  a  man  in  Maine  who 
kept  a  grocery  store,  and  when  he  sold  a  pint  or 
a  half  pint  of  rum,  always  put  his  thumb  into 
the  measui'e — an  enormous  large  thuml) — and  at 
the  end  of  twenty  years'  practice,  he  estimated 
that  he  had  sold  his  thumb  for  at  least  S5000, 
and  had  it  left  after  all.  What  an  old  soaker  it 
must  be;  fortunate  that  the  Maine  liquor  law 
has  been  passed,  if  they  have  come  to  this. 


Lady  Johnson,  the  only  daughter  of  Lord 
William  Campbell,  who.  was  once  provincial 
governor  of  South  Carolina,  died  lately  in  Eng- 
land. 


Arbitrary  Law. — Tlie  Turkish  government 
has  issued  a  mandate  forbiddhig  the  publication 
of  unauthorized  books. 


Minute. — The  thickness  of  leaf  gold  is  but 
the  282,000th  part  of  an  inch. 


OURSELVES. 

We  had  made  arrangements  for  a  large  in- 
crease in  our  subscription  list  at  the  commence- 
ment, last  week,  of  our  new  volume,  but  had  not 
counted  upon  the  degree  of  popularity  to  which 
the  Pictorial  has  actually  an'ived.  Subscribers 
have  poured  in  upon  us  from  far  and  near ;  lists 
of  names,  from  towns  where  we  have  heretofore 
sent  but  one  or  two  copies  of  our  paper,  have 
come  in  at  such  rate  as  to  render  a  large  increase 
of  our  regular  edition  necessary.  Thus  we  go. 
Our  efforts  are  appreciated — the  Pictorial  is 
really  v.aluable,  and  people  will  have  it.  This  is 
just  what  we  wish. 

A  paper  like  the  Pictorial  speaks  for  itself;  it 
needs  very  little  eulogium  from  us  ;  it  needs  but 
to  be  seen  to  be  liked  and  appreciated.  Tlie 
improvements  which  we  have  made  from  month 
to  month,  since  its  commencement,  have  been  of 
a  character  to  sm*prise  and  delight  oiu'selves; 
and  we  know  that  the  public  appreciate  these 
improvements,  by  the  extraordinary  patronage 
that  is  extended  to  us.  But  we  shall  not  rest 
here ;  we  are  resolved  to  live  up  to  our  never- 
varj'ing  motto — e^-cchior  ! 

Persons  desirous  to  preserve  the  Pictorial  for 
binding,  and  to  possess  it  complete,  will  at  once 
appreciate  the  necessity  of  subscribing  at  an 
early  stage  of  the  volume,  that  tliey  need  not 
miss  any  of  the  numbers ;  and  therefore  let  us 
impress  it  upon  them  to  subscribe  at  once.  En- 
close your  S2  to  the  office  of  publication,  and  by 
return  of  mail  you  will  receive  the  number  of  the 
paper,  and  thenceforth  it  will  become  a  weekly 
visitant  at  your  fireside. 

Persons  desiring  the  past  volumes  bound,  liave 
only  to  hand  them  in  to  our  oflSce,  where  we 
will  put  them  into  a  beautiful  shape,  with  gilt 
back,  gold  edges,  and  illumined  sides,  for  a 
charge  of  one  dollar  each.  Take  our  advice,  and 
preserve  this  illumined  record  of  the  times. 


A  PATTERN  YACHT. 

An  English  paper  says  Mr.  Veal,  a  working 
shipwright  of  the  Davenport  dockyard,  has 
made  himself  a  sailing  boat  upon  the  lines  sup- 
plied by  Ml'.  W.  Rundell,  also  a  shipwright  in 
the  dockyard,  after,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the 
America  yacht.  It  was  tried  against  the  picked 
boats  of  the  port,  and  it  has  beat  them  all.  Her 
hidl  and  her  sails  were  as  much  like  the  America 
as  possible.  The  boats  with  which  she  raced 
carried  mucli  more  canvass,  and  when  going  be- 
fore the  wind  got  ahead  of  the  America  model 
boat.  As  soon  as  it  became  needful  to  close 
haul,  she  overhauled  the  whole  of  tliem,  and 
won  in  gallant  style.  It  appeared  to  surprise 
many  practised  boat-builders  that  a  craft  with 
such  limited  sails  should  have  beaten  their 
"  crack  boats  :"  but  so  it  was. 


West  Point  Graduating  Class. — The  fol- 
lowing are  the  five  names  at  the  head  of  the  list 
of  the  class  just  graduated  at  West  Point:  1. 
Thomas  L.  Casey,  of  Rhode  Island  ;  2.  Newton 
P.  Alexander,  of  Tennessee  ;  3.  Geo.  W,  Rose, 
of  New  York  ;  4.  Geo.  B.  Mendell,  of  Pennsyl- 
vania;  5.  Joseph  C.  Ives,  of  Connecticut. 


Back  Numbers. — We  can  supply  all  the  hack 
numbers  or  any  one  of  them  that  may  be  desu'cd 
by  our  readers,  from  the  commencement  of  the 
Pictorial, 


Convicted. — Scheidcl  has  been  convicted  of 
murdering  a  constable  at  St.  Louis,  and  sen- 
tenced to  ninety-nine  years  imprisonment  in  the 
penitentiary. 


A  Century  Plant. — Mr.  Longworth,  of  Cin- 
cinnati, has  in  his  garden  a  century  plant  which 
is  expected  to  bloom  in  a  few  days. 


Brandy. — The  Cincinnati  Commercial  says, 
hundreds  of  barrels  of  whiskv  come  tlicre  daily, 
to  go  forth  as  brandy  and  other  spiritual  varieties. 


A  Long  Nap. — A  girl  16  years  of  age,  living 
at  St.  Malo,  is  said  to  have  been  asleep  six  weeks 
and  witliout  having  had  any  nourishment. 


Died. — William  King,  the  first  governor  of 
Maine,  died  at  Bath  recently,  aged  84. 


Cheap. — Barnum  pays  a  man  a  dollar  a  day 
and  his  board,  for  being  100  years  old. 


Granite  State. — Cass,  Webster,  Dickinson, 
Dix  and  Douglass,  were  born  in  New  Hampshire. 


In  this  city,  hy  Rev.  Mr.  5Iiner,  Mr.  George  K.  Smith  to 
Miss  Emma  B.  Benncr. 

By  Rev.  air.  Huntington,  Jlr.  Heniy  Brackett  to  Miss 
Sanih  S.  Holden. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Street«r,  Mr.  Daniel  Wise,  Jr.  to  Miss  Sa- 
brina  E.  Herpcy. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Flint,  Mr.  TTovey  K.  Clarke,  of  MarshaU, 
Mich.,  to  Miss  Martha  A.  Upham,  of  Cliarlestown. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Young,  Sir.  Tiiomas  J.  Allen  to  Miss  Caro- 
hne  Ealch  Williams. 

At  East  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Holland,  Mr.  Andrew 
li.  Perkins,  of  Mcdibrd,  to  Miss  Mary  W.  Rindge. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Boyden,  Capt.  Thomas  R.  Lewis 
to  Miss  Lydia  S.  Pickering. 

At  Andovcr.  by  Rev.  Mr.  Taylor,  "Wm.  A.  Dodge,  Esq., 
of  Barre,  Vt-,  to  Miss  Jennie  Green  Abbott. 

At  Newburyport,  Mr.  Charles  W.  Gumey  to  Miss  Char- 
lotte A.  Barrett. 

At  Sudbury,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Crane,  of  Weston,  Mr.  P.  B. 
Dow,  of  La^vrence,  to  Miss  Charlotte  Rice. 

At  Exeter,  N.  H.,  John  W.  Bolting,  Esq.,  of  Philadel- 
phia, to  Miss  Amelia  M.  Xahar  Howard,  of  Boston. 

At  Clarcmont,  N.  H.,  Mr.  Arthur  W.  Windett,  of  Chica- 
go, 111.,  to  Miss  Maria  E.  Kimball,  of  Bradford,  Ms. 

At  Antrim,  N.  H..  Mr.  Moses  Sargent,  aged  74,  to  Misa 
IJlalie  Vamum,  aged  15,  both  of  Candia. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Dr.  Charles  U.  Osgood  to  Miss  Annie 
W.  Appleton. 

At  Washington,  D.  C,  Cnustin  Browne,  Esq.,  of  New 
York,  to  Miss  Kate  Kveieth  Maynadier. 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Abigail  II.  Edwards,  31 ;  Frederick  W., 
sou  of  Mr.  George  Phippeo,  2  mos. ;  Miss  Ellen  Davidson  ; 
Chary  B.,  daughter  of  Mr.  E.  M.  Chandler,  20  mos. ;  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  A.  Hastings,  29 ;  ML<;s  Hannah  Greenough,  76  ; 
Capt.  Samuel  Ayres,  78. 

At  Boxhury,  Mr.  Charles  Grant,  of  New  York,  26. 

At  Charlestown,  Mrs.  Lucv  Perkins.  62. 

At  Chelsea,  .1.  Theodore  11.  Wheeler,  11. 

At  Cambridge,  Miss  Harriet  Clark,  53- 

At  Salem,  Mr.  George  West,  42  ;  Mr.  Ja's  Thornton.  90. 

At  Danvcrs,  Mrs.  Nelly  ^Y,  Osborn. 

At  Lowell,  Mrs.  Mary  Beals,  54. 

At  South  Weymouth,  Mr.  Alviu  Reed,  46. 

At  Newburyport,  Mr.  Robert  S.  Lane,  43. 

At  West  Ne'wbury,  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Todd,  of  Boston,  22. 

At  Ashbumhara,  Mr.  Cyrus  Fairbanks,  100. 

At  Taunton,  Miss  Ann  E.  Lindsey,  21. 

At  South  Dartmouth,  Capt.  Patrick  Gerry,  85. 

At  Springfield,  Mr.  Walter  Stebbins,  84. 

At  Pittsfield,  Mrs.  Catharine  Hunton. 

At  Kecne,  N.  H.,  Aaron  Appleton,  Esq.,  84. 

At  East  Sanbomton,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Clara  Blodgett,  35. 

At  Kennebunk,  Me.,  Mr.  Cyi-us  K.  Thompson,  printer. 

At  Portland,  Me..  Capt.  Seth  Bird,  79. 

At  Barre,  "Vt.,  Mrs.  Alice  J.  Tilcston,  33. 

At  Providence,  R.  I.,  Mrs.  Aniey  Richmond,  68- 

At  Windsor,  Ct.,  Mrs.  Anna  A.  BolJes,  of  Jlilford,  IMs.,  29  . 

At  New  York,  Mr.  Patrick  Brady,  105. 

At  Leicester,  N.  Y.,  Mr.  Isaac  Chase,  96. 

At  Bethany,  Pa.,  Mr.  Arthur  H.  Otis,  26. 

At  Mobile,  La,,  Miij.  Thomas  Sturtevant,  64. 


A  mmwmw  mmmim, 


LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURiSTAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

A  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  nscfid  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devot«d  to  original 
tales,  sketcLes  and  poems,  by  this 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news  ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     JCucIi  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLU.STIIATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  tiie  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  ail  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  he 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fi.sh  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satiu-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  mnnufacturcd  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
iurhes,  and  sLtty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  it::!  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  tho 
fund  of  amusement  it  affords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  toneof  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  souglit  after  for  its 
combined  cxcelleccics. 

TEEMS:    S2  00    PER    VOLTTME. 
OR,    S4  00    PER    ANNUM 

INVARIABLY  IN   ADVANCE. 

E.ich  six  months  completes  a  volume,  commeccing  on 
tho  i'.Tit  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  niakirg  two  volumes 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

Hy^  One  copy  of  the  FL.tG  op  our  Union,  and  one  copy 
of  the  PiCTORi.VL  Dr.\.win(J-11ooji  Companion,  one  year, 
for  So  00. 

^Zr"  The  Pictorial  Drawixc-Room  Companion  may  he 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  the 
country,  and  of  ncwsuien,at  Un  cents  per  single  <  opy 

Published  every  S.\.turd  vy,  by 

F.   GLEASON,   Eosro::.  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  York. 

A.  WINCH,  116  Chestnut  Street.  Philadelphia. 

BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  CO..  Ill  Baltimore  St..  Baltimore. 

A.  C.  BAGLEY,  10  West  Thinl  Sti-cet,  Cincinnati. 

J.  A.  ROYS.  43  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit. 

E.  K.  WOODU'ARD.  cor.  Fourth  and  Chesnut.  St.  Lonia. 


30 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DllAWING    PJ)0:M    COMPANION. 


[U'rlttcn  for  Oleanon'B  IMctoriul.] 

THE   VISIT: 

— OK — 

THE   ILL-llEOULATED   FAMILY. 

BY   MRS.   M.   E.   nODlNSOK. 

"I  AM  truly  glftd  to  sec  you,  Mrs,  Thomns/' 
resumod  Mrs.  Fay,  nftur  the  first  words  of  wel- 
coiUG  liad  l)cen  said,  "and  slmll  insist ujion  your 
Bpciidiny:  the  day  witli  nic." 

"  I  will,  with  pleasure,"  answered  the  visitor, 
as  she  gave  her  bonnet  and  shawl  into  the  liands 
of  her  hostess.  "  I  wished  much  to  sec  you  be- 
fore leaving  the  city,  for  once,  if  you  recollect, 
we  were  very  good  friends." 

"And  arc  so  now,  I  hope,"  added  Mrs.  Fay, 
with  a  smile.  "Absence,  on  my  part,  has  not 
succeeded  in  conquering  old  fricndsliips,  and  your 
face  strongly  reminds  me  of  my  younger  days. 
"Wc  are  happiest  in  youth,  after  all ;  what  a  pity 
we  cannot  always  remain  young." 

"  I  think  I  shall  be  obliged  to  differ  with  you 
a  little  on  tluit  subject ;  wc  will  leave  it,  however, 
for  future  discussion.  I  have  seen  you  but  twice 
since  your  wedding  day,  when  you  entered  the 
pale  of  matrimony  a  laughing,  happy  creature, 
anticipating  notliing  but  happiness  and  sunshine 
in  the  future." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Mrs.  Fay;  "but  the  experi- 
ence of  many  years  has  shown  me  the  fallacy  of 
such  sentiments." 

"  Wliy,  you  do  not  regret  the  step,  do  you  ?" 
"  Not  exactly  that ;  but  then  one  has  so  many 
cares,  and  children  arc  such  a  trial." 

"  The  latter  require  much  attention,  I  will 
allow,  and  on  the  whole  are  rather  troublesome 
comforts ;  but  I  believe  a  mother  is  amply  re- 
paid for  all  her  care  and  anxiety  respecting  her 
children,  when  they  reach  an  age  to  be  capable 
of  being  companions,  and  share  in  her  joys  and 
sorrows." 

"I  have  four  children,"  resumed  Mrs.  Fay. 
"Ellen  is  sixteen,  Henry  twelve,  Anna  ten,  and 
the  youngest  four.  The  boy  and  Anna  quarrel 
all  the  time ;  Ellen  has  her  own  way  in  every- 
thing, while  the  youngest  has  been  babied  so 
much  that  he  is  quite  as  bad  as  the  rest." 

"  But  do  you  manage  them  right?"  earnestly 
inquired  her  friend. 

"  I  try  to  correct  them  when  they  are  Avrong, 
but  it  does  no  good,  and  sometimes  I  think  the 
best  way  is  to  let  them  entirely  alone.  I  can 
truthfully  say  that  they  are  no  comfort  to  me 
whatever.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  tell  such  a  story ; 
but  as  you  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  truth  of 
what  I  say,  it  is  just  as  well." 

At  this  juncture,  and  before  the  lady  could  re- 
ply, the  door  was  thrown  violently  open,  and  a 
girl,  which  was  evidently  Anna,  rushed  into  the 
room,  threw  her  bonnet  nidely  upon  the  carpet, 
and  began  to  hum  snatches  of  a  song,  taking  no 
notice  of  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  Anna,  my  dear,  do  you  not  see  I  have  com- 
pany V  said  her  mother.  "  Come  and  speak  to 
the  lady." 

"  Yes,  come  ;  I  would  like  to  talk  with  you," 
added  the  lady,  in  a  winning  voice.  "  I  have  a 
little  girl  about  your  age." 

Anna  turned  slowly,  and  with  a  bold  stare 
scrutinized  Mrs.  Thomas  from  head  to  foot,  and 
then,  as  if  satisfied  with  the  result,  without  a 
word  stalked  out  of  the  room. 

"  That's  not  the  way  to  behave!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Fay.  "  But  if  you  will  go,  come  back  and 
get  your  bonnet.  That  is  a  fair  sample,"  she 
added,  in  a  lower  tone ;  "two  "or  three  times  a" 
day  I  pick  up  bonnets,  shawls,  rubbers,  etc.;  but 
of  what  use  is  it,  as  they  are  thrown  down  again 
immediately." 

The  girl  was  just  closing  the  door,  but  as  she 
happened  to  want  her  bonnet  before  joining  a 
troop  of  girls  in  the  street,  she  condescended  to 
obey. 

"  If  you  had  not  been  here,  she  would  not  have 
done  as  much  as  that,"  added  the  mother,  as  she 
arose  and  closed  the  street  door,  which  had  been 
slamming  for  the  last  fifteen  minutes.  "  No  one 
thinks  of  closing  a  door  in  the  house ;  but  I  sup- 
pose it  is  my  destiny  to  wait  upon  others,  and  I 
may  as  well  submit  with  a  good  grace." 

"  Your  children  arc  old  enough,  with  one  ex- 
ception, to  wait  upon  yon,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 
"  Perhaps  so ;  but  I  have  given  that  up  long 
ago." 

Mrs.  Thomas  changed  the  subject,  and  con- 
versed for  an  hour  upon  things  which  their  long 
fleparation  had  rendered  interesting. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  Mrs  i  ay,  abrupt- 
ly, after  a  short  pause ;  "  but  as  my  girl  left  me 


two  days  ago,  and  I  have  been  unalile  to  procure 
another  to  take  her  place,  I  am  obliged  to  sec  to 
my  work  myself,  and  must  accordingly  leave 
you  to  amuse  yourself  as  you  can." 

"  But  why  not  let  nie  go,  too  ';  perhaps  I  can 
assist  you,"  replied  the  lady.  "  I  can  at  least 
look  after  your  little  boy." 

"  Why,  bless  yon,  he  wont  let  you  come  with- 
in a  yard  of  him;  he  is  uncommonly  bashful. 
However,  I  nniy  find  something  for  you  to  do,  if 
you  will  overlook  any  little  want  of  ceremony." 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  polite  reply,  and  follow- 
ing her  hostess,  the  lady  groped  her  way  down 
the  dark  stairway  and  entered  the  kitchen. 

But  her  countenance  fell  as  she  stepped  over 
the  threshold.  She  thought  she  had  never  seen 
a  more  disordered  room,  or  so  many  unnecessary 
articles  collected  into  such  a  small  space.  A 
large  dog  lay  stretched  out  in  the  centre  of  tlie 
room,  which  Mrs.  Fay  soon  sent  growling  under 
the  table ;  a  noisy  parrot,  several  tamo  white 
rabbits,  and  two  cages  of  canaries,  completed  the 
live  stock  of  the  apartment.  A  pile  of  unironed 
clothes  lay  in  one  clmir,  and  a  very  handsome 
lamp  mat  under  a  dirty  nsipkin  in  another,  while 
the  only  two  empty  ones  had  been  inverted  and 
substituted  for  horses  by  some  of  the  children. 

One  was  handed  the  lady,  who  mechanically 
drew  her  dress  about  her,  and  adroitly  changed 
it  for  the  other,  as  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter, 
which  still  adhered  to  the  surface,  did  not  pos- 
sess sufficient  inducement  for  her  to  sit  upon  it. 
The  tabic  cover  had  been  pushed  off,  and  the 
aforesaid  large  dog  found  no  fault  with  it  as  abed. 
A  couple  of  pokers,  shovel  and  tongs  to  match, 
a  switch  and  a  broom  had  undisputed  possession 
of  the  space  in  front  of  the  cooking  stove,  while 
upon  the  latter  sat  a  coffee  pot,  two  flat  irons,  a 
tea  kettle,  a  dirty  looking  dish,  and  a  curling 
iron,  encircled  by  a  stream  of  ashes.  One  of  the 
curtains  was  sadly  torn,  and  hung  in  a  kind  of 
festoon  across  the  window,  which  gave  it  a  very 
picturesque  appearance ;  while  upon  the  seat 
were  scattered  hair  brushes,  pins,  combs,  curl 
papers,  not  forgetting  part  of  an  apple,  and  ma- 
ny dried  bits  of  cake. 

Mi's.  Thomas  glanced  at  the  objects  we  have 
enumerated,  and  then  took  a  cursory  look  at  the 
wet  sink  which  stood  in  a  corner.  We  shall  not 
attempt  to  descriljc  it,  but  if  the  reader  will  please 
endeavor  (judging  by  what  we  have  said  before) 
to  imagine  what  was  in  and  about  it,  they  are  at 
liberty  to  do  so.  Suffice  it  that  one  glance  was 
sufficient  for  tlie  visitor,  and  will  be  for  us. 

"  My  conscience  !"  cried  Mrs.  Fay.  "  Wliat  a 
bedlam  of  a  place  the  children  have  made  of  this 
room !  Why,  would  you  believe  it  ?  No  longer 
ago  than  last  night  I  swept  it  all  over  myself, 
and  now  who  would  know  if?" 

"  Who,  indeed  ?"  thought  her  companion. 

"  It  does  no  good  for  me  to  try,  for  it  is  labor 
lost.  Do  sit  down,  if  you  can  find  a  place,  while 
I  hunt  up  the  children.  I  wonder  where  Tom- 
my is  V  she  added,  stepping  to  the  door,  and 
screaming  the  boy's  name  with  all  the  strength 
of  her  lungs. 

But  no  Tommy  appeared ;  all  was  silent. 

"  I  wonder  wliere  the  little  plague  is  1  if  he  is 
out  of  my  sight,  some  mischief  is  brewing." 

At  that  moment  a  terrific  ci"ash  was  heard  in 
an  adjoining  closet.  The  two  hastily  sprang  to 
their  feet,  and  Mrs.  Fay  opened  the  door.  There 
lay  the  missing  Tommy  screaming  and  kicking, 
with  the  contents  of  ajar  of  pickles  and  one  of 
preserves  streaming  over  him.  Nor  was  this  all : 
the  chair  and  cricket  which  he  had  used  in  climb- 
ing, had  slipped  and  fallen  upon  him,  thereby 
causing  him  to  kick  violently  and  break  a  bottle 
filled  with  oil,  which  happened  to  be  standing 
near.  The  three  liquids — oil,  vinegar  and  syrup 
— had  no  objection  to  a  closer  acquaintance,  and 
joined  currents. 

Having  satisfied  herself  that  he  was  not  hurt, 
Mrs.  Fay  shook  Tommy  violently,  changed  his 
dress,  tied  him  into  a  chair,  and  placed  him  near 
Mrs.  Thomas,  while  she  tried  to  repair  the  mis- 
chief which  had  been  done.  The  lady,  however, 
felt  obliged  to  make  the  distance  greater  between 
herself  and  the  child,  who  amused  himself  in  a 
way  not  at  all  to  her  liking. 

This  proceeding  was  no  sooner  perceived  than 
he  sent  up  another  scream.  Mrs.  Fay  flew  to 
liini,  called  him  a  "  darling,"  and  wondered 
what  was  tlie  matter.  Tommy  made  no  reply, 
but  pointing  significantly  to  the  lady,  who  had 
the  temerity  to  offend  him,  cried  louder  than 
ever. 

His  mother  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
while  the  lady  remained  silent,  and  seemed  some- 
what perplexed.  After  a  moment's  pause,  the 
former  stepped  to   a  closet   and   brought  out  a 


large  titick  of  candy,  which  she  placed  in  the 
outstretched  hands  of  the  diiid,  with  t!ic  remark 
that  she  "  believed  the  ]joor  little  fellow  was  hurt 
inwardly."  Mrs,  Thonuis  Hmilcd,  the  outcry 
ceased  as  if  by  magic,  and  the  mother  Jigain 
commenced  to  disencumber  the  stove  and  make 
a  fire.     Just  then  the  eldest  boy  entered. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  Hcniy,"  said  she. 
"1  want  you  to  go  to  the  market  and  get  some 
steak ;  make  haste,  for  it  is  very  late." 

Butthelioy  renuuncd  in  his  seat.  Mrs.  Thom- 
as could  not  help  showing  some  astonishment, 
as  his  mother,  who  by  this  time  was  lieatcd  and 
flurried,  demanded  sharply  "  why  he  did  not 
obey  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to,"  he  returned.  "  I 
went  yesterday,  and  it's  Anna's  turn  to-day." 

"  That's  a  fib,  Mr.  Henry ;  for  I've  been  every 
day  this  week !"  retorted  the  girl,  who  was  just 
at  his  heels. 

"  Silence  !"  exclaimed  the  parent,  who,  in  the 
presence  of  her  friend  felt  obliged  to  make  somo 
show  of  authority.  "  One  of  you  go,  it  makes 
no  difference  which,  and  come  back  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  But  I  sha'n't  go,  for  Anna's  the  best  able  !" 
replied  Henry,  quite  firmly,  and  unabashed  by 
the  rebuking  glances  of  Mrs.  Thomas.  "  She's 
been  in  the  street  all  the  morning,  and  hasn't 
been  studying  as  I  have.     Make  her  go." 

"  She  can't  do  it,  nor  you  either,  Mr.  Impu- 
dence !  Been  at  school  indeed !  Who  played 
marbles  all  the  forenoon  in  the  court  ?"  was  the 
angry  rejoinder;  and  the  girl  ran  up  the  stau'S 
into  the  parlor,  followed  by  her  brother. 

"  You  see  just  how  it  is  !"  exclaimed  the  mo- 
ther, in  a  despairing  voice.  "I  am  a  slave  to 
my  children,  and  they  refuse  to  do  me  the  small- 
est favor.  Do  you  blame  me  for  being  discour- 
aged '?" 

"  I  fear  you  have  some  cause  to  be  so,  my 
friend ;  but  are  you  sure  that  the  fault  is  not 
your  own '?  Why  not  insist  upon  being  obeyed  V 
asked  Mi's.  Thomas,  seriously. 

"  They  are  past  my  control,"  sighed  the 
mother. 

"  But  it  is  never  too  late." 

"  The  three  oldest  are  too  large  for  me  to  man- 
age now ;  they  are  stronger,  physically,  than 
myself,  and  reasoning  has  no  effect  at  all.  But 
there  is  no  use  in  talking;  I  shall  have  to  get 
the  dinner  myself,  and  may  as  well  go  first  as 
last." 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  for  me ;  I  am  not  at 
all  particular,  and  as  you  have  had  so  many  an- 
noyances this  morning,  I  would  neither  go  nor 
send  for  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"I  have  a  great  mind  not  to,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. "  As  you  are  an  old  friend,  I  wont 
stand  upon  ceremony,  but  just  get  a  picked  up 
dinner."  And  saying  this,  Mrs.  Fay  untied  the 
boy,  and  requested  her  friend  to  keep  .an  eye  on 
him  while  she  went  in  search  of  something  where- 
with to  kindle  the  fire.  The  lady  willingly  as- 
sented, though  fearing,  from  former  demonstra- 
tions, that  she  might  get  more  than  she  bargained 
for ;  but  by  dint  of  coaxing,  she  succeeded  in 
keeping  him  quiet. 

While  thus  engaged,  she  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  the  change  which  years  had  wrought  in 
the  friend  of  her  youth.  Formerly  she  was  very 
neat  in  her  personal  appearance,  but  now  it  was 
the  reverse.  Her  dress,  which  was  not  quite 
whole,  nor  remarkably  clean,  was  slovenly  put 
on,  while  a  three  cornered  handkerchief  took  the 
place  of  a  collar  about  her  neck  ;  she  was  walk- 
ing around  slip-shod,  and  a  cap,  which  once 
claimed  to  be  white,  trimmed  with  a  smoky 
colored  ribbon,  was  put  on  awiy. 

The  two  had  once  been  intimate  friends,  but 
the  marriage  of  both,  and  the  great  distance  be- 
tween their  respective  homes,  combined  with 
other  disadvantageous  circumstances,  had  broken 
off  their  intercourse.  Mrs.  Fay,  however,  was 
tnily  glad  to  see  her  friend  ;  she  was  a  pleasant 
dispositioned  woman,  not  wanting  in  good  sense 
or  intelligence,  and  with  but  one  serious  fault ; 
she  was  much  too  yielding,  possessed  but  little 
firmness  of  purpose,  and  by  degrees  had  lost  all 
influence  over  her  children,  who  soon  saw  their 
advantage,  and  were  not  long  in  obtaining  a 
complete  mastery.  Her  wishes  were  disregard- 
ed, her  commands  unheeded,  her  threats  laughed 
at,  and  however  impertinent  in  character  their 
language  might  bc.it  could  only  be  resented; 
for,  were  a  struggle  for  authority  commenced, 
they  were  sure  to  gain  the  victory  and  have  their 
own  way. 

The  father,  wdio  was  wholly  devoted  to  his 
business,  saw  his  children  but  little ;  and  so  long 
as  they  did  not  materially  interfere  with  his  com- 


fort while  at  liome,  seldom  noticed  them,  save  to 
remark  that  they  were  "  a  great  tnjuhle,"  which 
observation  his  wife  most  fully  concurred  in. 
When  she  coinpluincd  of  their  disobedience,  and 
urged  him  to  interpose  Ids  authority,  he  would 
adci  that  she  could  "  d(j  with  them  as  she  pleased, 
but  on  no  account  to  bother  him  with  such  small 
mattei's ;  as  his  business  demanded  all  Iiis  time 
and  attention,  he  did  not  wish  to  have  his  mind 
disturbed  by  trifles." 

This  no  douI)t  had  a  tendency  to  discourage 
bis  wife,  who  found  it  the  most  quiet  if  not  the 
best  way  to  make  no  resistance,  and  let  things 
go  on  as- smoothly  as  they  might.  Although  not 
naturally  of  untidy  habits,  yet  her  attempts  at 
something  like  neatness  had  been  so  often  over- 
ruled that  she  had  imperceptibly  become  carelesa 
and  less  inclined  to  effort. 

Mrs.  Thomas  sighed,  and  doubted  not  that 
Mrs.  Fay  liad  spoken  truthfully,  when  she  avcired 
that  she  had  "  no  comfort  with  her  children." 
While  thus  engaged  in  reflection,  the  hostess  had 
been  preparing  the  "picked  uj)  dinner,"  and 
they  now  took  seats  at  the  table.  The  food 
which  was  placed  before  them  did  not  look  very 
inviting,  and  the  cloth  {judgiiig  from  sundry  evi- 
dences) Iiad  obviously  pcrfonned  duty  a  long 
time ;  but  Mrs.  Thomas  heroically  swallowed  a 
a  few  mouthfuls  of  the  thin,  unpalatable  soup, 
and  then  tiied  to  eat  a  piece  of  the  bumed,  dried 
bread.  It  was  something  of  a  failure,  notwith- 
standing, and  she  soon  laid  it  aside,  together 
with  some  quarters  of  half  stewed  apple,  which 
Mrs.  Fay  called  "  sauce." 

"  You  sec  I  have  treated  you  like  one  of  the 
family,"  said  the  latter.  "  I  used  to  put  myself 
to  considei'able  trouble  when  I  had  a  friend  to 
dinner,  but  now  I  think  it  is  just  as  well  to  put 
on  what  you  may  happen  to  have.  Have  a  piece 
of  this  cake  ?  I'm  afraid  if  you  don't  take  it  now, 
the  children  will  get  it  all.  I  don't  often  make 
pies,  it  is  so  much  work;  and  as  for  puddings, 
wc  think  they  are  not  healthy.  Henry,"  she  add- 
ed, "  don't  be  so  selfish  ;  three  pieces  arc  quite 
enough." 

Mrs.  Thomas  had  not  failed  to  observe  that 
Henry  and  Anna  had  helped  themselves  to  what- 
ever they  liked,  and  were  now  striving  to  see 
which  should  fare  the  best ;  to  the  imminent 
hazard  of  overturning  the  castor,  and  doing  some 
damage  with  their  forks,  which  were  all  the  while 
upraised. 

Having  ineffectually  tried  to  restore  order,  the 
mother  and  her  guest  retreated  to  the  parlor, 
leaving  them  to  "quarrel  it  out,"  as  the  former 
observed. 

"  This  is  my  daughter  Ellen,"  she  added,  as 
upon  their  entrance  a  young  lady  was  discover- 
ed lying  at  full  length  upon  a  sofa.  Without 
rising,  she  nodded  familiarly  in  answer  to  the 
salutation  of  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  I  wish  you  and  Anna  would  wash  the  dish- 
es," continued  Mrs.  Fay.  "I  am  tired,  and 
would  like  to  talk  with  this  lady,  who  is  an  old 
friend." 

"  Anna  may,  if  she  likes,  but  I  don't  wish  to 
soil  my  hands  in  the  water ;  besides,  I  am  going 
to  walk,  and  shall  want  my  dress  and  muslins 
pressed  out,"  answered  the  dutiful  daughter,  with 
a  long  yawn. 

"  The  sooner  you  arc  out  of  the  way  the  bet- 
ter," observed  her  mother,  and  excusing  herself 
to  her  guest,  went  below,  smoothed  the  dress, 
and  after  much  time  had  been  spent  in  searching 
for  a  glove,  which  was  eventually  found  under  a 
bed,  and  a  sunshade  which  had  been  rather  un- 
ceremoniously tumbled  into  a  basket  of  soiled 
linen,  her  toilet  was  completed,  and  she  left  the 
house,  it  must  be  confessed,  much  to  the  satis- 
faction of  Mrs.  Thomas. 

After  her  departure,  the  latter,  presuming  upon 
long  acquaintance,  earnestly  endeavored  to  con- 
vince Mrs.  Fay  of  the  error  into  which  she  had 
fallen  ;  as  a  friend,  she  warned  her  of  the  soitow 
and  disappointment  wdiich  would  most  surely  re- 
sult from  such  a  course,  and  urged  her,  for  the 
best  interests  of  her  children,  if  not  for  her  own 
sake,  to  make  one  more  effort. 

But  she  was  unsuccessful ;  for,  although  Mrs. 
Fay  admitted  the  truth  of  her  remarks,  she  had 
fallen  into  a  kind  of  apathy  respecting  the  sub- 
ject, and  repeatedly  said  "  it  was  of  no  use,"  at 
the  same  time  thanking  her  friend  for  her  kind 
wishes  and  the  interest  which  she  had  manifested. 
The  latter  left  at  the  close  of  the  day,  regret- 
ting that  the  visit  from  which  she  anticipated  so 
much  pleasure  had  not  been  one  of  unalloyed 
happiness;  but  from  that  time,  felt  an  increased 
satisfaction  in  the  society  of  her  own  obedient, 
affectionate  children,  and  perceived  still  gieater 
the  advantages  of  a  well-regulated  household. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPdAL   DRAWlNCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


31 


ENCOUNTER  WITH  A  BOA. 

Ml-.  Miison,  in  his  recently  published  work, 
"Pictui-es  in  Mexico,"  rehitcs  the  following  cir- 
cumstance, which  occuiTed  to  him  while  loiter- 
ing along  a  shady  path  in  the  forest :  "  I  stepped 
aside  for  a  moment  to  admire  a  rich  tuft  of  pur- 
ple flowers,  my  mule  having  plodded  on  about 
eight  or  ten  yards  ahead,  when,  as  I  turned  from 
the  flowers  towards  the  path,  a  sensation  as  of  a 
flasli  of  lightning  struck  my  sight,  and  I  saw  a 
brilliant  and  powciful  snake  winding  its  coils 
round  tlie  head  and  body  of  the  poor  mule.  It 
was  a  large  and  magnificent  boa,  of  a  black  and 
yellow  color,  and  it  had  entwined  the  poor  beast 
so  firmly  in  its  folds  that  ere  he  had  time  to  utter 
more  than  one  feeble  cry  he  was  crushed  and 
dead.  Tlie  perspiration  broke  out  on  my  fore- 
head as  I  thought  of  my  narrow  escape ;  and 
only  remaining  a  moment  to  view  the  movements 
of  the  monster  as  he  began  to  uncoil  himself,  I 
rushed  through  the  brushwood,  and  did  not  con- 
sider myself  safe  until  I  was  entirely  free  of  the 
forest." 

RELEASED. 

Mr.  John  Cunningham,  tlie  American  engi- 
neer, whose  imprisonment  in  Cuba  has  been  the 
subject  of  so  much  comment,  has  been  released. 
He  was  imprisoned  in  September  last,  for  being 
engineer  of  a  train  which  ran  oft'  the  track.  The 
Matanzas  courts  piled  up  fines,  costs  and  charges 
upon  him  at  so  round  a  rate,  that  he  abandoned 
all  ideas  of  ever  regaining  liberty.  An  appeal 
was  taken  to  the  superior  court  at  Havana,  where 
the  sentence  below  was  mitigated,  so  far  as  to 
order  the  discharge  of  the  prisoner  as  soon  as 
jail  fees  and  some  $85  fines  should  be  paid.  The 
jail  fees,  amounting  to  S800,  had  been  paid,  but 
the  fines,  for  lack  of  means  had  not,  when  a  sud- 
den mandate  arrived  from  government,  com- 
manding the  immediate  release  of  the  prisoner. 
It  is  supposed  that  this  order  was  in  consequence 
of  the  interference  of  the  United  States  goveni- 
ment. 


THE  EGG  TRADE. 

The  New  York  Express  says  that  from  one  to 
two  hundred  barrels  of  eggs  are  daily  received  in 
that  city  by  the  New  York  and  Erie  railroad,  and 
probably  as  many  more  by  the  Hudson  river  and 
other  roads  leading  to  that  city.  It  also  noticed 
the  arrival  of  100  baiTels  per  steamer  Empire 
City  from  New  Orleans,  and  says  this  is  a  curi- 
ous fact  in  the  history  of  the  egg  trade.  Cincin- 
nati eggs  travelling  to  New  Orleans,  a  distance 
of  1500  miles,  over  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  up 
the  Atlantic  to  the  city,  1500  miles  more,  con- 
Btitutes  one  of  the  wonders  of  modern  commerce. 
Such  a  voyage  was  hardly  contemplated  by  the 
Ohio  hens  when  they  cackled  so  proudly  over 
their  productions. 


HEALTH. 

The  existence  of  cholera,  on  the  water-courses 
of  the  West,  will  naturally  suggest  preventive 
means  to  avoid  it,  in  all  our  large  cities,  particu- 
larly Boston — and  among  these  means  none  are 
found  to  be  so  effective  as  cleanliness,  a  free  use 
of  water  and  of  lime — the  bucket  and  the  broom 
— and  a  total  abolishment  of  the  accumulated 
animal  filth,  that  is  apt  to  abound  in  certain  lo- 
calities. The  Boston  Board  of  Health  should 
take  care  of  all  this ;  and  the  other  authorities 
will  co-operate  to  secure  this  desirable  precau- 
tion, to  continue  to  Boston  the  merited  fame  of 
the  healthiest  city  in  the  Union. 


ENGLISH  NUNNERIES. 

The  ladies  of  England  manifest  considerable 
alarm  on  the  subject  of  the  Catholic  nunneries, 
which  have  increased,  arc  increasing,  and  as  they 
think,  ought  to  be  diminished.  The  ladies  of 
Gravesend  have  sent  a  petition  to  the  queen, 
praying  for  the  official  inspection  of  the  obnox- 
ious establishments.  A  similar  petition  has  been 
forwarded  from  the  ladies  of  Chatham,  the  sig- 
natures to  both  numbering  nearly  seven  thou- 
sand. An  opinion  seems  to  exist,  that  practices 
of  an  unla^vful  nature  prevail  in  nunneries. 


A  Lady  FRIGHTENED  TO  Death. — TheEock- 
ingham,  Va.,  Register  states  that  ]Mi-s.  Districk, 
\v\fe  of  Mr.  Jacob  Districk,  residing  near  Mount 
Crawford,  in  that  county,  was  frightened  to  death 
by  a  tree-frog,  which  her  daughter  threw  upon 
her  lap,  which  commenced  jumping  up  towards 
her  face,  and  so  frightened  her  that  she  died  in 
two  or  three  days. 


Hard.— A  hard  life,  that  of  a  cobbler — forever 
straggling  to  make  both  ends  meet. 


lUawsik   ffi>ail)mngs. 

There  is  not  yet  a  theatre  in  tlie  whole  State 
of  Texas. 

Congress  has  spent  another  week  doing 
nothing. 

Alexander  Bell,  of  New  Jersey,  was  robbed  at 
Panama  of  $3000. 

Tlie  California  papers  abound  with  details  of 
frightful  outrages  and  murders. 

General  Pierce  is  about  five  feet  eleven  inches 
in  height,  and  finely  proportioned. 

Never  within  the  last  twenty  years  has  politics 
been  so  near  a  dead  calm. 

Dr.  Abernethy  shot  M.  D.  Hoodinpile,  lately, 
at  Eayettcville,  Ala. 

Mr.  Edward  C.  Mayo,  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Scott,  died  at  Richmond,  a  few  days  since. 

The  Franklin  House,  at  Cincinnati,  has  been 
sold  to  a  gentleman  of  Columbus  for  $25,000. 

In  Alabama  there  is  every  prospect  of  a  flour- 
ishing and  abundant  crop. 

Ml-.  Johnston,  an  artist  of  Cincinnati,  has  gone 
East  to  paint  a  likeness  of  General  Pierce. 

A  Mrs.  Garland  has  been  arrested  near  Jones- 
boro',  Tcnn.,  for  the  murder  of  a  Mi-.  Hyder. 

A  little  child,  aged  about  two  years,  was  lately 
run  over  in  Northampton  Sti'cet,  and  severely 
injured. 

Two  hundred  and  foiiy-six  persons  have  been 
run  over,  during  the  past  twelve  months,  in  New 
York  city. 

Money,  on  first-class  security,  can  be  obtained 
in  ail  the  Atlantic  cities  at  5  per  cent.,  and  even 
less. 

A  schooner  of  150  tons  is  to  leave  Port  Stan- 
ley, on  Lake  Erie,  for  Australia  direct,  in  Au- 
gust.    She  is  to  be  fitted  in  yacht  style. 

It  is  said  that  a  military  command  has  been 
offered  to  General  Changaraier,  by  one  of  the 
South  American  republics. 

Officer  Ridgely,  wdio  recently  killed  the  slave 
he  was  arresting  at  Columbia,  Pa.,  is  lying  hope- 
lessly ill. 

A  fair  plaintiff  in  La  Grange,  Ky.,  has  recov- 
ered a  verdict  of  $4000  in  a  suit  for  "  breach  of 
promise." 

The  time  of  passage  to  San  Francisco  has  been 
reduced  to  24  daj's.  In  a  year  or  t^vo  it  will 
probably  be  done  in  15  or  18  days. 

Hon.  William  King  died  at  Bath.  Me.,  on  the 
17th  ult.,  aged  84  years.  He  was  the  first  gover- 
nor of  Maine,  and  has  been  an  eminent  politician. 
Capt.  Colby,  an  English  officer,  was  recently 
killed  by  a  tiger  which  he  was  hunting,  in 
Bengal. 

Enos  Humphreys,  principal  dyer  in  the  woolen 
factory  near  Staunton,  Va.,  fell  into  a  vat  of  hot 
liquid,  and  survived  but  a  few  hours. 

A  modem  critic  says,  that  most  men  have, 
like  Achilles,  a  vulnerable  spot — but  it  is  in  the 
head  and  not  in  the  heel. 

A  man  named  James  Tobin  lately  fell  out  of 
the  third  story  of  a  building  in  Theatre  Alley, 
and  was  severely  injured. 

Population  of  Pennsylvania  increased  in  ten 
vears  from  1,724,031  "to  2,311,786,  and  New 
York  from  2,418,957  to  3,097,844. 

The  cholera  attacked  a  train  on  the  plains, 
hound  for  California ;  ten  sickened  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  six  of  them  died  before  night. 

The  three  balls  usually  prefixed  to  the  shops  of 
pa\Mibrokers  are  said  to  indicate  that  it  is  two  to 
one  that  the  things  pledged  are  never  redeemed. 
A  daughter  of  Prince  Jerome  Bonaparte  is  a 
nun  in  the  convent  Les  Oiseaux.  She  recently 
invited  the  Arab  chiefs  to  visit  the  convent,  and 
they  were  very  much  pleased  with  their  reception. 
A  consignment  of  charcoal  iron,  from  the 
Acadian  {Nova  Scotia)  Iron  Works,  has  been 
received  at  Liverpool,  being  the  first  importation 
of  that  nature  from  the  colony. 

They  are  detemiined  to  have  the  ocean  penny 
postage.  A  large  meeting  at  London  lately 
adopted  resolutions  recommending  it  earnestly. 
Elihu  Burritt  spoke  on  the  occasion. 

Tlie  line  of  stages  from  Indianola  to  San  An- 
tonio is  now  running  through  tri-weekly.  This 
change  is  pretty  conclusive  evidence  of  the  great 
increase  of  travel  in  that  direction. 

On  the  100th  exhibition  of  Albert  Smitli's 
panorama  of  the  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  recently, 
he  presented  every  lady  of  the  crowded  assembly 
present  with  a  bouquet. 

An  attempt  is  to  be  made  to  set  the  Chinese 
in  California  to  cultivating  tea.  This  is  better 
than  driving  them  away,  and  may  turn  out  to  be 
as  productive  a  mine  as  the  gold  itself. 

The  silly  custom  of  withdrawing  the  glove 
from  the  hand,  or  saying,  "Excuse  my  glove," 
if  it  is  not  taken  off  when  people  shake  hands,  is 
getting  out  of  usage,  we  are  glad  to  see. 

A  young  man,  employed  in  a  tobacco  factory, 
became  deranged,  a  few  days  since,  at  Jersey 
city,  through  ^e  influence  of  the  fumes  of  that 
material. 

The  venerable  mother  of  tlie  Governor  of 
Hungary  is  accompanied  by  her  two  daughters, 
their  husbands,  and  their  nine  children.  The 
mother  of  Kossuth  is  of  small  stature,  and  about 
seventy  years  of  age. 

Italy  is  emphatically  a  land  of  music,  and  the 
phenomena  the  art  there  presents,  afford  ample 
evidence  that  its  ti-ue  origin  and  object  is  feeling. 
Public  enthusiasm  there  sustains  and  exalts 
music. 


Jonign  iilliscellaug. 

Rome  has  proved  a  quarry  for  the  world. 

Catrigny,  the  well-known  comic  actor,  is  dead. 

The  great  exhibition  was  to  open  at  Cork  on 
the  10th. 

At  the  last  accounts,  the  fighting  still  contin- 
ued at  Algeria. 

Tlie  French  fleet  lying  at  Palermo,  was  to 
have  sailed  for  Algeria  on  tlie  20th  of  May. 

A  full  amnesty  has  been  granted  to  all  desert- 
ers from  the  Frencli  merchant  service. 

An  aeronaut  named  Goalston,  was  killed  at 
Manchester,  England,  lately,  by  falling  from  his 
balloon. 

The  notorious  Madame  Lafarge,  who  has  been 
for  some  years  confined  in  a  maison  de  sante  at 
Rcmy,  has  received  a  free  pardon. 

The  Hobart  Town  Gazette,  of  January  2d, 
just  come  to  hand,  offers  .£2  reward  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  Meagher ! 

Mr.  Birch,  editor  of  The  World  newspaper,  has 
been  sentenced  to  one  year's  imprisonment  for 
bis  libel  on  Mi'S.  French,  a  widow  lady. 

A  perfect  system  of  electric  telegraph  commu- 
nication is  now  in  use  between  the  various  offices 
witliin  the  Bank  of  England. 

According  to  the  last  report  of  the  university 
commissioners,  a  student's  tobacco  bill  often 
amounts  to  £40  a  year. 

A  woman  was  sold  in  Nottingham  market- 
place, a  few  days  since,  by  her  husband,  for  a 
shilling,  including  a  new  rope,  value  sixpence, 
which  was  attached  to  her  neck ! 

In  Great  Britain,  for  the  half  year  ending  De- 
cember 31,  1851,  the  number  of  railway  passen- 
gers carried  was  47,509,392.  The  number  killed 
was  113,  or  one  in  about  400,000. 

A  railway  locomotive  recently  ran  off  without 
an  engineer,  near  Shrewsbury,  England,  and 
after  running  a  distance,  at  the  rate  of  seventy 
miles  an  hour,  overtook  a  train,  and  sma.shcd 
up  two  passenger  cars,  and  injured  a  number  of 
persons. 

The  opera  in  London  is  in  a  very  languishing 
condition.  Lumley  has  been  unable  to  pay  his 
artists,  and  a  regular  row  occurred  recently 
among  them,  in  which  the  manager  had  to  es- 
cape over  the  roof,  and  the  police  were  obliged 
to  interfere. 

The  British  West  India  Mail  Company  an- 
nounce their  intention  of  commencing  in  August 
next,  to  run  a  fast  steamer  between  Savannah, 
Georgia,  and  Nassau,  Saguc,  Jamaica  and  Cha- 
gres,  expecting  thereby  to  seciu*e  a  portion  of 
the  California  traffic. 


Joker's   BuLigct. 


Sanbs  of  (&olir. 


He  that  hath  no  money  needeth  no  purse. 

....  Many  preach,  and  but  few  practise  what 
they  preach  ;  for  they  never  apply  theh*  sermons 
to  themselves. 

....  Never  pride  yourself  on  ha^^ng  done  a 
particularly  wise  thing  ;  it  may  hereafter  show 
itself  to  have  been  particularly  foolish. 

....  Men  often  are  not  aware  of  what  se^^ere 
and  untiring  labor  they  are  capable,  until  they 
have  made  trial  of  their  strength. 

....  This  may  be  said  for  love — that  if  you 
,  strike  it  out  of  the  soul,  life  would  be  insipid, 
and  our  being  but  half  animated. 

....  That  calm  and  elegant  satisfiiction  which 
the  vulgar  call  melancholy,  is  the  true  and 
proper  delight  of  men  of  knowledge  and  virtue. 

....  I  tell  you  what  it  is — a  man  feels  some- 
thing like  a  man,  who  can  walk  the  streets  jing- 
ling a  spare  dollar  in  his  pocket,  knowing  that 
he  does  not  owe  a  red  cent  in  the  world. 

....  Self-knowledge  is  one  of  the  most  diffi- 
cult acquisitions  in  life.  Many  a  man  is  an  ass 
for  half  a  century  without  discovering  that  bray- 
ing is  not  eloquence. 

....  One  of  the  greatest  evils  of  the  world  is, 
men  praise  rather  than  practise  virtue.  The 
praise  of  honest  industry  is  on  everj'  tongue,  but 
it  is  very  rare  that  the  worker  is  respected  more 
than  the  drone. 

....  Literary  society,  unless  modified  by 
knowledge  of  the  world  or  generous  feeling,  is 
far  from  desirable.  Professed  authors  who  over- 
estimate their  vocation,  are  too  full  of  themselves 
to  be  agreeable  companions. 

....  How  nobly  music  mingles  with  the  lives 
of  the  good  and  great !  In  early  youth,  the 
author  of  the  Reformation  endeavored  to  support 
himself  by  singing  in  the  streets.  This  he 
quaintly  calls  "bread  music." 

....  Education  should  inspire  a  profound  love 
of  trutli,  and  teach  the  process  of  investigation. 
A  sound  logic — by  which,  we  mean  the  science 
and  art  which  instructs  us  in  tlie  true  laws  of 
reasoning  and  evidence — is  an  essential  part  of  a 
good  education. 

....  The  contemplation  of  disti-ess  softens  the 
mind  of  man,  and  makes  the  heart  better.  It 
extinguishes  the  seeds  of  en-vy  and  ill-will  to- 
wards mankind,  coiTCCts  the  pride  of  prosperity, 
and  beats  down  all  that  insolence  which  is  apt 
to  get  into  the  minds  of  the  fortunate. 

....  The  relation  of  walking  to  thought  is 
remarkable.  More  than  one  distinguished  writer, 
of  whose  habits  literary  biography  has  informed 
us,  found  the  influx  of  ideas  or  the  fiow^  of  ex- 
pi-ession  more  ready  and  salient  when  under  the 
influence  of  this  movement. 


Wliy  is  a  dinner  like  Spring  1  Because  a  sin- 
gle stvallow  never  makes  it. 

A  New  York  preparation  for  the  growth  of  the 
hair  is  called  the  "  Kathairon,"  Cai-kair-on  is 
an  ominous  title,  certainly. 

A  barrel  of  liquor  was  seized  in  Portland,  last 
week,  marked  "  prime  pork."  It  is  supposed  to 
be  a  portion  of  the  "  striped  pig." 

Mrs.  Partington  asks,  very  indignantly,  if  the 
bills  before  Congress  are  not  counterfeit  why 
there  should  be  such  difficulty  in  passing  them  ? 

Colonel  Christy  asks — Why  is  the  stern  of  a 
vessel  leaving  port  like  an  uncivil  gentleman  ? 
and  answers — Because  it  never  returns  a  how. 

The  Ohio  Statesman  says  Gen.  Pierce  was  a 
soldier  in  the  war  of  1812.  As  he  was  then  but 
eight  years  old,  he  must  have  been  attached  to  the 
h]fant-v\. 

N.  P.  Willis  supposes  the  West  India  Islands 
to  have  taken  the  name  of  the  Antilles  from  the 
legions  of  ants,  and  consequently  ant-hills  which 
pervade  them. 

Wanted — A  thin  man,  wdro  is  used  to  the  busi- 
ness of  collecting,  to  crawl  through  keyholes  and 
find  debtors  who  are  "  never  at  home."  Salary, 
nothing  the  first  year,  to  be  doubled  each  year 
after. 

Tlie  man  who  was  opposed  to  newspapers, 
paid  one  hundred  dollars  last  week  for  a  galvan- 
ized wail  1  In  going  to  Dayton,  he  always  takes 
the  canal,  no.  ing  aware  that  there  is  any  rail- 
road buCt  on  that  route. 

"Tom,"  said  a  man  to  his  friend,  a  day  or 
two  since,  "I  think  it  highly  dangerous  to  keep 
the  bills  of  small  banks  on  hand  nowadays." 
"  Tim,"  said  the  other,  "  I  find  it  far  more  diffi- 
cult than  dangerous." 

In  one  of  the  courts  out  West,  of  course,  a 
juryman  being  called  and  not  answering,  the 
usual  notice  that  he  w^ould  be  fined  was  pro- 
nounced against  him,  upon  which  a  person,  who 
stood  by,  very  gravely  said  to  the  court,  "  you 
may  fine  him  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I 
don't  think  you  will  ever  recover  the  fine,  for  I 
saw  him  buried  a  week  ago." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Dbawinq 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Tageants  at  homt  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  aud,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLUJIINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  IVhoIeeale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  IWIO^^ 

AX  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  KEFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  POR  THE  MrLLIO:^, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  tho 
leaiiin^  iveelcly  pnprr  in  tlie  Uniud  Slairs,  and  i^  litvrary^ 
contents  arc  allowed,  by  thebcstjudc'es,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
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to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  arc  regularly  engaged, 
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our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
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Publisder  and  Prqpcietor,  Boston,  Mass. 


32 


GLEASON'S    I'KTORIAL    DRAWING    llOOM    COMPATnION. 


YIEW  OF  FORT  HA^HLTON,  NEW  YORK  HARBOR. 


FORT  H^\J>IILTO]V,  NEW  YORK. 

Our  artist  hns  given  us  above  a  fine  view  of 
this  immense  fortress,  eight  miles  south  from 
New  York  city,  which,  in  connection  with  Fort 
Lafayette,  situated  in  front  of  Fort  Hamilton,  in 
the  water,  and  Fort  Tompkins  and  Fort  Dia- 
mond on  Staten  Island,  commands  not  only  the 
Narrows,  hat  the  bay  and  harbor  of  New  York. 
It  is  built  in  the  most  substantial  manner  of 
granite,  and  on  the  most  scientific  and  improved 
principles  of  military  tactics.  It  is  about  eight 
feet  thick  and  square,  and  will  hold  5000  men, 
and  is  said  to  be  impregnable.  It  is  surrounded 
by  a  ditch,  except  in  front.  It  mounts  eighteen 
heavy  guns  on  the  upper,  and  fourteen  on  the 
lower  tier,  besides  a  number  of  field-pieces  and 
two  or  three  furnaces  for  iieating  shot  red  hot. 
It  is  considered  one  of  the  finest  forts  in  the 
country ;  and  the  heaviest  cannon  balls  would 
have  but  little  effect,  backed  as  it  is  by  clay. 
The  view  is  taken  from  the  pier  belonging  to  the 
fort,  which  communicates  with  Fort  Laifiiyctte, 
situated  several  rods  from  the  sliore.  This  fort 
mounts  near  one  hundred  guns ;  it  is  in  the  form 
of  a  diamond,  and  so  called  till  Lafayette  came 
here  and  landed,  and  partook  of  a  splendid  ban- 
quet, after  which  it  took  the  name  of  Fort  La- 
fayette, and  the  new  fort  on  the  opposite  side — 
just  finished — took  the  name  of  Fort  Diamond. 
The  scenery  in  the  vicinity  is  magnificent,  and 
has  recently  become  a  place  of  fashionable  re- 
sort— chiefly  for  the  convenience  of  sea-bathing. 
One  of  the  largest  hotels  in  the  Union  is  in  the 
immediate  vicinity.  The  place  is  growing  rap- 
idly, and  property  is  held  at  an  immense  price. 
A  steamboat  communicates  from  New  York,  and 
a  stage  from  Brooklvn. 


DEGRADATION  OF  WORDS. 

Thus,  for  instance,  is  it  with  the  word  "  pmde,'* 
signifying,  as  now  it  does,  a  woman  with  an  over- 
scrupulous affectation  of  a  modesty  which  she 
does  not  i*eally  feel,  and  betraying  the  absence  of 
the  reality  by  this  over-precis  en  ess  and  niceness 
about  the  shadow.  This  use  of  the  word  must 
needs  have  been  the  result  of  a  great  corruption 
of  manners  in  them  among  whom  it  grew  up. 
Goodness  must  have  gone  strangely  out  of  fash- 
ion, before  things  could  have  come  to  this.  For 
"  prude,"  which  is  a  French  word,  mean  virtuous 
or  prudent;  "prud'homme"  being  a  nrian  of 
courage  and  probity.  But  where  morals  are 
greatly  and  almost  universally  relaxed,  virtue  is 
often  treated  as  hypocrisy,  and  thus,  in  a  disso- 
lute age,  and  one  disbelieving  the  existence  of 
any  inward  purity,  the  word  ** prude"  came  to 
designate  one  who  aflfected  a  virtue,  even  as  none 
were  esteemed  to  do  anything  more ;  and  in  this 
use  of  it,  which,  having  once  acquired,  it  con- 
tinues to  retain,  abides  an  evidence  of  the  corrupt 
world's  dislike  to  and  disbelief  in  the  realities  of 


goodness,  its  willingness  to  treat  them  as  mere 
hypocrisies  and  shows. 

Thus  "silly,"  written  "seely"  in  our  earlier 
English,  is,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  German  '*  selig," 
which  means  "  blessed."  We  see  the  word  in 
its  transition  state  in  our  early  poets,  with  whom 
"silly"  is  so  often  an  affectionate  epithet,  ap- 
plied to  sheep  as  expressive  of  their  liarmlessness 
and  innocency.  With  a  still  slighter  departure 
from  its  original  meaning,  an  early  English  poet 
applies  the  word  to  the  Lord  of  glory  himself, 
while  yet  an  infant  of  days,  styling  him  "  this 
harmless  silh/  babe."  But  here  the  same  pro- 
cess went  forward  as  with  the  words  "  simple  " 
and  "  innocent."  And  the  same  moral  pheno- 
menon repeats  itself  continually. 

The  French  have  their  "bonhommie"  with 
the  same  undertone  of  contempt,  the  Greeks  also 
a  well-known  word.  It  is  to  the  honor  of  the 
Latin,  and  is  very  characteristic  of  the  best  side 
of  Roman  life,  that  "simplex"  and  "simplici- 
tas  "  never  acquired  this  abusive  signification. — 
Trench  on  the  Study  of  Words. 


ROTHSCHILD'S  PILLAR. 

Mr.  Rothschild  was  a  constant  attendant  on 
'Change  every  Tuesdiiy  and  Friday ;  and,  for 
years,  was  in  the  habit  of  planting  himself  at  a 
particular  .spot,  with  his  back  to  the  pillar  kno^vn 
to  every  frequenter  of  the  Exchange  as  "  Roths- 
child's pillar;"  but,  alas  for  hmnan  greatness! 
he  was  on  one  occasion  doomed  to  experience 
the  sad  annoyance  that  he  had  no  especial  rigiit 
to  that  particular  spot.  A  person  of  the  name  of 
Rose,  possessed  of  great  courage  but  little  judg- 
ment, on  Tuesday  aftemoon,  pm-posely  placed 
himself  on  the  spot  hitherto  occupied  I)y  the  mil- 
lionaire. On  Mr.  Rothschild's  approach  he  re- 
quested the  party  to  move.  This  was  just  what 
the  other  expected,  and  what  he  was  prepared  to 
dispute.  He  argued  that  this  was  the  Royal 
Excliange,  free  to  all;  and  he,  as  a  British  sub- 
ject, liad  a  right  to  stand  there,  if  he  thought  fit. 
This  doctrine  could  not  of  course  be  disputed; 
but  ho  was  told  it  was  the  spot  that  Mr.  Roths- 
child invariably  occupied,  and,  as  such,  ought  to 
be  yielded :  but  no  ;  this  dogged  Rose,  being  a 
powerful  man,  defied  Mr.  Rothschild  and  all  his 
tribe  to  remove  him.  For  nearly  three  quarters 
of  an  hour — the  most  valuable  portion  of  the 
Exchange  time — did  lie  keep  possession  of  the 
pillar;  and  not  until  the  whole  business  of  the 
exchange  of  the  day  was  jeopardized  did  this 
silly  personage,  after  having,  as  he  said,  estab- 
lished his  right,  retire,  amidst  the  yells  and 
howls  of  all  the  merchants  there  assembled,  who 
fould  hardly  restrain  themselves  from  pergonal 
violence,  so  exasperated  were  they  by  the  dogged 
defiance  of  the  interloper. — Laicson  s  Histori)  of 
nnnkiiiq. 


GEN.  WIXFIELD  SCOTT WrilG  CANDIDATE  FOE  THE  PRESIDENCY. 


GENERAL  ^FINFIELD  SCOTT, 

WHIG    CANDIDATE    FOR    THE    PnESIDENCT. 

As  last  week  wc  gave  a  portrait  of  General 
Pierce,  the  Democratic  nominee  for  President, 
we  lierewith  present  a  fine  likeness  of  General 
Scott,  the  Whig  candidate  for  the  same  office. 
Of  the  life,  services  and  character  of  Winfield 
Scott,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  speak.  He  is 
confessedly  one  of  the  greatest,  if  not  the  great- 
est captain,  of  the  age.  The  scars  of  battle  are 
on  his  brow.  General  Scott  was  born  June  13, 
1786,  near  Petersburg,  Virginia,  and  is  in  his^ 
67th  year.  His  ancestiy  were  men  of  the  Low- 
lands of  Scotland.  They  were  engaged  in  the 
rebellion  of  1745,  and  one  of  them  was  slain  at 
Culloden.  In  1806,  Winfield  Scott  was  admitted 
to  the  bar,  and  emigrated  to  Charleston,  S.  C 
In  1808,  when  the  army  was  enlarged  by  an  act 
of  Congress,  he  became  a  captain  of  Light  Ar- 
tillery. In  1809,  he  was  ordered  to  New  Orleans, 
under  Gen.  Wilkinson.  On  the  breaking  out  of 
the  war  of  1812,  which  he  approved,  Scott  was 
appointed — having  perfected  himself  in  tactics 
in  the  meantime — lieutenant  colonel  of  Artilleiy, 
and  sent  to  the  Northern  frontier,  taking  post  at 
Black  Rock,  near  Buffalo.  On  the  13th  of  Oc- 
tober, 1812,  at  the  head  of  350  regulars  and  250 
volunteers — the  militia  at  Lewiston  having,  panic 
struck,  refused  to  cross  the  river — Scott  fought 
the  battle  of  Queenstown  Heights,  against  1300 
British.  The  Americans  were  repulsed,  and 
Scott  was  made  a  prisoner,  but  soon  released. 
On  the  27th  of  May,  1813,  he  stormed  Fort 
George,  and  pulled  down  the  flag  with  his  own 
hands.  March  9,  1814,  he  joined  in  the  capture 
of  Fort  Matilda,  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  On  July 
3,  1814,  he  captured  Fort  Erie.  On  the  6th,  he 
fouglit  the  battle  and  won  the  victory  of  Chippe- 
wa, where  the  non-invincibility  of  British  bayon- 
ets was  first  proved  to  the  world.  On  the  25th, 
he  fought  the  battle  of  Niagara  and  Lundy's 
Lane,  opposed  by  great  odds — ^^'^ictory  rewarded 
the  Americans.  Scott  had  two  horses  shot  under 
him,  and  was  twice  wounded  by  musket  shot. 
For  weeks  his  life  was  despaired  of.  Congress 
voted  him  thanks.  He  was  tendered  the  post  of 
Secretary  of  War  by  Madison,  but  declined  in 
deference  to  his  seniors.  Generals  Brown  and 
Jackson.  He  soon  after  visited  Europe,  entrust- 
ed with  important  diplomatic  functions,  for  tlie  " 
])erformance  of  which  he  received  the  thanks  of 
the  State  Department.  He  returned  to  the 
United  States  in  1816,  and  in  1817  married  a 
Miss  Mayo,  of  Richmond,  Va.,  by  whom  he  has 
several  daughters,  hut  no  living  son.  In  1832-3, 
he  won  the  compliments  of  General  Cass,  Secre- 
tary of  War,  for  his  conduct  in  the  Black  Hawk 
war.  He  was  also  engaged  in  the  Seminole  and 
Creek  wars.  In  1837-8,  he  was  engaged  in  set- 
tling the  troubles  growing  out  of  the  "Patriot 
war  "  on  the  Northern  frontier.  In  1840,  he  was 
a  prominent  candidate  for  the  Presidency.  In 
1841,  on  the  death  of  Macomb,  General  Scott 
was  called  to  the  entire  command  of  the  army. 
During  the  Nullification  agitation,  he  was  in 
command  at  Charleston  Harbor.  His  last  cam- 
paign in  Mexico  is  fresh  in  all  memories.  It  is 
summed  up  in  t)ie  brilliant  victories  of  Vera 
Cruz,  Cerro  Gordo,  Contreras,  Churubusco,  Mo- 
lino  del  Rey,  Cliapultepec,  and  the  City  of  Mex- 
ico, all  won  within  six  months.  AVellington  has 
declared  the  campaign  unsurpassed  jn  military 
annals,  and  yielded  to  Scott  the  name  of  the 
greatest  livhig  soldier. 


T?      riTl?Aan\T(  corner  BROiiriELD 
i<.     UIjI<jAk5UiN,  (  AND  TKE5I0ST  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  JULY  17,  1852. 


S2  TER  TOLmiE.  \  -rr 
10  Cts.  SLS'GLE.    (    V  OL. 


III.  No.  3.— Whole  No.  55. 


DONETXI'S  MONltEY  TROUPE. 

"Wc  present  below  an  engraving  illustrating  a 
scene  from  the  famous  and  most  remarkable  per- 
formance of  Donetti's  ti-ained  animals,  as  they 
lately  appeared  at  the  Astor  Place  Opera  House. 
Our  descriptive  sketch  is  taken  from  the  pro- 
gramme of  performance.  M.  Donetti,  an  Italian 
by  birth,  after  a  hard  study  of  thirty  years,  has 
succeeded  in  training  a  number  of  animals,  so  as 
to  make  them  do  his  bidding.  But  if  they  lose 
sight  of  him  only  for  a  moment,  their  savage 
instinct  instantly  returns  to  tliem.  M.  Donetti 
has  triumphed  over  them  only  by  the  power  of 
Jiis  eyes,  and  he  seldom  or  never  punishes  them. 
It  is  by  kindness  alone  lie  has  obtained  the  won- 
derful results  of  which  we  give  a  description. 
In  scene  1st,  the  curtain  rises  slowly  and  disclos- 
es a  table,  around  which  six  well  dressed  mon- 
keys of  different  species  are  sitting  do^vTi,  waiting 
for  their  supper.  They  sit  with  demure  faces, 
excepting  now  and  then  a  chattering  wliich  they 
hold  together,  resembling  the  chattering  of  men 
in  a  hurry  to  get  their  food.  I\Ime.  Rattafia, 
another  monkey,  dressed  in  a  blue  skirt  and 
short  gown,  with  cap  on  head,  comes  in  with  a 
pair  of  candles,  which  she  places  on  tlie  table, 
and  retires  to  bring  in  the  edibles,  and  with  a 


quickness  of  motion  and  propi'iety  of  conduct, 
which  ought  to  be  copied  by  a  number  of  our 
servants.  Mme.  Kattafia's  son,  a  little  tiny 
monkey,  dressed  as  a  cook,  with  w^hite  frock  and 
white  night  cap,  brings  in  a  plate  of  salad,  which 
is  placed  before  the  convivial  party,  which  is 
soon  devom*ed  with  gusto  by  the  hungry  crew  ; 
cakes,  nuts,  and  other  dainties  arc  brought  in, 
which  follows  the  salad.  Mme.  Rattafia  and  her 
son  bring  in  a  basket  of  wine,  each  monkey  re- 
ceives his  bottle,  which  he  seems  to  enjoy.  Tlic 
whole  scene  is  one  which  creates  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter. M.  Donetti  next  introduces  to  the  audience 
Le  Magot  d'Afrique,  a  handsomely-dressed  mon- 
key, who  jumps  on  a  slack  rope,  and  performs 
evolutions  on  it  which  put  to  shame  many  a 
slack-rope  dancer,  which  we  see  in  our  circuses. 
The  next  slack-rope  evolutionist  introduced  is 
La  Superbe  Madrille,  who  goes  through  the 
most  surprising  feats  of  tumbling  and  whirlhig 
on  tlie  rope,  to  the  great  enjoyment  of  the  audi- 
ence ;  such  a  happj'  set  of  faces  as  were  present 
at  the  representation,  are  seldom  met  on  any 
otiier  occasion.  General  Jocko,  with  sabre  in 
hand,  riding  on  a  beautiful  dog,  now  comes  in, 
followed  by  his  army  of  monkeys  on  foot,  the 
first  of  whom,  as  he  follows  on  his  hind  legs. 


leans  liis  head  on  the  dog's  tail,  while  the  other 
three,  also  bending  their  backs,  repose  in  like 
manner  upon  him  and  each  other,  perfomiing 
several  military  evolutions.  In  anotlier  scene, 
Mile.  Minie,  the  great  equestrienne,  comes  in, 
riding  on  a  magnificent  dog,  and  goes  through 
her  exercises  in  a  creditable  manner,  jumping  on 
and  off  lier  courser  with  the  greatest  agility,  and 
performing  in  imitation  of  the  circus  riders,  going 
through  all  her  feats  with  a  serious  face,  and 
with  the  greatest  apparent  satisfaction.  M.  Don- 
etti next  introduces  the  tight-rope  dancer,  a  man- 
drillc  of  ihe  largest  size,  who,  in  imitation  of  the 
rope  dancer,  has  his  feet  chalked,  and  then  com- 
mences his  dancing  and  jumping  on  the  rope 
with  a  balance  pole  in  his  hand.  At  the  rise  of 
the  curtain,  and  at  the  sound  of  mai'tial  music, 
tlie  Marchioness  of  Batavia  enters,  riding  in  her 
barouclie,  drawn  by  two  beautiful  white  poodles. 
Ou  the  box,  a  monkey  coachman  sits  with  the 
reins  in  his  hand,  and  cracking  his  wliip.  Be- 
hind the  carriage,  a  monkey  footman,  in  rich 
livery,  rides.  The  noble  monkey  lady  lias  oc- 
casion to  descend  from  her  carriage,  and  displays 
her  rich  costume.  She  remounts,  and  the  car- 
riage starts  at  a  rapid  rate,  one  of  the  lincli  pins 
gives  way,  the  barouche  is  upset,  the   monkey 


lady  falls  out,  but  fortunately  without  sustaining 
any  fracture,  a  chair  is  brought,  on  which  she 
sits  steadying  her  nerves  until  the  footman,  who 
has  run  about  to  repair  the  accident,  has  suc- 
ceeded in  recovering  the  wheel,  and  replacing  it; 
all  the  time  during  the  accident  the  coachman 
has  been  holding  his  dog  coursers  by  the  bridle, 
for  fear  of  their  running  away.  The  carriage  is 
repaired,  and  the  monkey  marchioness  re-enters 
her  carriage,  when  the  whole  equipage  drives  off. 
In  tlie  scene  of  "  The  Deserter,"  as  represented 
below,  a  dog,  dressed  as  a  soldier,  is  seen  walk- 
ing on  his  hind  legs,  and  carrying  a  musket  on^ 
his  shoulder,  leading  in  a  monkey,also  dressed  in 
uniform,  with  two  large  red  epaulets.  A  mon- 
key, dressed  as  a  clergyman,  with  wliite  band; 
projecting  from  his  throat,  brings  in  a  placarded 
sentence  of  condemnation  to  dcalky  to  be  shot  bi/  his 
comrades.  While  a  bell  is  slowly  tolling,tlie  mas- 
ter ties  a  white  handkerchief  around  the  head  of 
the  culprit,  who,  as  one  of  the  dogs  levels  a  gun 
at  him  and  then  fires  it  off,  drops  motionless.  A 
mournful  tune  is  heard,  and  a  monkey,  dressed 
as  a  grave-digger,  in  rusty  black  clothes,  wheeling 
in  a  black  cart,  puts  the  dead  monkey  into  it, 
and  takes  him  oft"  to  perform  the  burial.  The 
scene  is  altogether  very  unique. 


^;>i^i^;^^ 


BONETTl'S    COMIC  TROUPE  OF  TRAINED  ANIMALS. 


34 


GLEASON'S    l>I(;rORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


Entcvcd  Hccording  to  Act  of  Congi-css,  in  tlio  yenv  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  tlio  Clurli's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Mussadmsette. 


[WIIITTKN   EXrniiSSLT    FOR   OLEASON's    I'ICTORIAL.] 


THE 


OR, 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 

3.  Storg  vvf  Cove  rtnb  ffjc  im  €<ii\Uxk^f 


BY   LIEUTENANT   MURRAY. 


[CONTI 


CHAPTER   V. 


THE    WOUNDED    SOLDIER. 


The  fervor  and  heat  of  the  mid-day  atmos- 
phere had  boon  intense,  but  a  most  delightfully 
rcfresliing  sea  breeze  had  sprung  up  at  last,  and 
after  fanning  its  way  across  the  Gulf  Stream, 
was  dallying  now  with  the  palms  and  orange 
trees  that  so  gracefully  surrounded  the  marble 
statue  of  Ferdinand,  in  the  midst  of  the  Plaza,  and 
ruffling  the  marble  basin  of  water  that  hubbies 
forth  from  the  graceful  basin  at  its  base.  Light 
puffs  of  it,  too,  found  their  way  into  the  invitingly 
open  windows  of  the  governor's  palace,  into  an 
apartment  which  was  improved  by  General  Ha- 
rero.  Often  pausing  at  the  window  to  breathe 
in  of  the  delightful  atmosphere  for  a  'mo"ment, 
he  would  again  resume  Iiis  irregular  walk  and 
seemingly  absorbed  in  a  dreamy  frame  of  mind, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  outward  world  about 
him.  At  last  he  spoke,  though  only  communing 
with  himself,  yet  quite  aloud  : 

"  Strange,  very  strange,  that  this  Captain  Bc- 
zan  should  seem  to  stand  so  much  in  my  way. 
Curse  his  luck,  tlie  old  don  and  his  daughter 
feel  under  infinite  obligations  to  him  already, 
and  well  they  may,  as  to  the  matter  of  that.  If 
it  was  not  for  the  girl's  extraordinary  stock  of 
pride,  we  should  have  her  falling  in  love  with 
this  young  gallant  directly,  and  there  would  be 
an  end  to  all  my  hopes  and  fancies.  He's  low 
enough,  now,  however,  so  my  valet  just  told  me, 
and  ten  to  one,  if  his  physician  knows  his  case, 
as  he  pretends,  he'll  make  a  die  of  it.  He  is  a 
gallant  fellow,  that's  a  fact,  and  brave  as  he  is 
gallant.  I  may  as  well  own  the  fact  that's  what 
makes  me  hate  him  so  !  But  he  should  not  have 
crossed  my  path,  and  served  to  blight  my  hopes, 
there's  the  rub.  I  like  the  man  well  enough  as 
a  soldier,  hang  it.  I'd  like  half  the  army  to  be 
just  like  liim — they'd  be  invincible ;  but  he  has 
crossed  my  interest,  ay,  my  love ;  and  if  he  does 
get  up  again  and  crosses  me  with  Isabella  Gon- 
zales, why  then — well,  no  matter,  there  are  ways 
enough  to  remove  the  obstacle  from  ray  path. 

"By  the  way,"  he  continued,  after  crossing 
and  re-crossing  the  room  a  few  times,  "  what  a 
riddle  this  Isabella  Gonzales  is ;  1  wonder  if  she 
has  got  any  heart  at  all.  Here  am  I,  who  have 
gone  scathless  through  the  courts  of  beauty  these 
many  years,  actually  caught — surprised  at  last ; 
for  I  do  love  the  girl ;  and  yet  how  archly  she 
teazes  me  !  Sometimes,  I  think  within  myself 
that  I  am  about  to  win  the  goal,  when  di-op  goes 
the  curtain,  and  she's  as  far  away  as  ever.  How 
queenly  she  looks,  nevertheless.  I  had  much 
rather  be  refused  by  such  a  woman,  to  my  own 
mortification,  than  to  succeed  with  almost  any 
other,  if  only  for  the  pleasure  of  looking  into 
those  eyes,  and  reading  in  silent  language  her 
poetical  and  ethereal  beauty — I  might  be  happy 
but  for  this  fcllow,this  Captain  Bezan ;  he  troubles 
me.  Though  there's  no  danger  of  her  loving 
him,  yet  he  seems  to  stand  in  my  way,  and  to 
divert  her  fancy.  Thank,  Heaven,  she's  too 
proud  to  love  one  so  humble." 

Thus  musing  and  talking  aloud  to  himself, 
General  Harero  walked  back  and  forth,  and  back 
and  forth  again  in  his  apartment,  until  his  orderly 
brought  him  the  evening  report  of  his  division. 
A  far  different  scene  was  presented  on  the  other 
side  of  the  great  square,  in  the  centre  of  whicli 
stands  the  shrubbery  and  fountain  of  the  Plazn. 
Let  the  reader  follow  u.s  now  in.side  the  massive 
atone  walls  of  the   Spanish  barracks,  to  a  dimly 


NUED .  ] 

lighted  room,  where  lay  a  wounded  soldier  upon 
his  bed.  The  apartment  gave  token  in  its  furni- 
ture of  a  very  peculiar  combination  of  lilerary 
and  military  taste.  There  were  foils,  long  and 
short  swords,  pistols,  hand  pikes,  flags,  military 
boots  and  spurs  ;  hut  there  were  also  Shaks- 
peare, Milton, the  illustrated  edition  of  Cervantes's 
Don  Quixote,  and  a  voluminous  history  of  Spain, 
with  various  other  prose  and  poetic  volumes,  in 
different  languages.  A  guitar  also  lay  carelessly 
in  one  corner,  and  a  rich  but  faded  bouquet  of 
flowers  filled  a  porcelain  vase. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed  where  the  wounded  sol- 
dier lay,  stood  a  boy  with  a  quivering  lip  and 
swimming  eye,  as  he  heard  the  sick  man  moan 
in  his  uneasy  sleep.  Close  by  the  head  of  the 
bed  sat  an  assistant-surgeon  of  the  regiment, 
watching  what  evidently  seemed  to  be  the  turn- 
ing point  as  to  the  sufferer's  chance  for  life  or 
death.  As  the  boy  and  the  surgeon  watched 
him  thus,  gradually  the  opiate  just  administered 
began  to  affect  him,  and  he  seemed  at  last  to  fall 
into  the  deep  and  quiet  sleep  that  is  indicated  by 
a  low,  regular  and  uninternqjted  respiration. 

The  boy  had  not  only  watched  the  wounded 
man,  but  had  seemed  also  to  half  read  the  sur- 
geon's thoughts,  from  time  to  time,  and  now 
marked  the  gleam  of  satisfaction  upon  his  face 
as  the  medicine  produced  the  desired  effect  upon 
the  system  of  his  patient. 

"  How  do  you  think  Captain  Bezan  is.  to-day  ?" 
whispered  the  boy,  anxiously,  as  the  surgeon 
followed  him  noiselessly  from  the  sick-room  to 
the  corridor  without. 

"  Very  low,  master  Ruez,  very  low  indeed ;  it 
is  the  most  critical  period  of  his  sickness  ;  but  he 
has  gone  finely  into  that  last  nap,  thanks  to  the 
medicine,  and  if  he  will  but  continue  under  its 
influence  thus  for  a  few  hours,  we  may  look  for 
an  abatement  of  this  burning  thirst  and  fever, 
and  then — " 

"What,  sir?"  said  tlie  boy,  eagerly,  "what 
then  ?" 

"  Why,  he  maj/  get  over  those  wounds,  but  it's 
a  severe  case,  and  would  be  little  less  than  a 
miracle.  I've  seen  sicker  men  live,  and  I've 
seen  those  who  seemed  less  sick  die." 

"Alas  !  then  there  is  no  way  yet  of  decidincr 
upon  his  ease,"  said  the  boy. 

"None,  Master  Ruez ;  but  we'll  hope  for  tlic 
best ;  that  is  all  that  can  be  done." 

Ruez  Gonzales  walked  out  of  the  barracks  and 
by  the  guard  with  a  sad  countenance,  and  whis- 
tling for  Carlo,  who  had  crouched  by  the  parapet 
until  his  yoimg  master  should  come  out,  he 
turned  his  steps  up  the  C'aJla  de  Mercaderes  to  his 
home.  Ruez  sought  his  sister's  apartment,  and 
throwing  himself  upon  a  lounge,  seemed  moody 
and  unhappy.  As  he  reclined  thus,  Isabella  re- 
garded him  intently,  as  though  she  would  read  his 
thoughts  without  asking  for  them.  There  seemed 
to  he  some  reason  wliy  she  did  not  speak  to  him 
sooner,  but  at  last  she  asked  : 

"AVell,  Ruez,  how  is  Captain  Bezan,  to-day? 
have  you  been  to  the  barracks  to  inquire  V  She 
said  this  in  an  assumed  tone  of  indifference,  luit 
it  was  only  as;.uraed. 

"  Plow  is  lie  ?"  repeated  Ruez,  after  tinning  a 
quick  glance  of  his  soft  blue  eyes  upon  his  sis- 
ter's face,  as  though  he  would  readher  very  soul. 
Isabella/f//  his  glance,  and  almost  blushed. 

"  Yes,  brother,  pray,  how  is  Captain  Bezan, 
to-day?  do  you  not  know?" 

"  His  life  hangs  by  a  mere  thread,"  continued 
the  boy,  sadly,  resuming  again  his  former  posi- 


tion. "  The  surgeon  told  me  that  hin  recovery 
was  v(^ry  doidufui." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that,  Ruez?" 

"  Not  those  words,  sister,  but  tliat  which  was 
equivalent  (o  it,  however." 

"  lie  i.><  worse,  then,  much  worse?"  slic  con- 
tinued, in  a  hasty  tone  of  voice. 

"Not  worse,  sister,"  replied  Ruez.  "  I  did 
not  tiay  that  he  was  worse,  but  the  fever  i-agcs 
still,  and  unless  that  abates  within  a  few  hour.-J, 
deatli  must  follow." 

I.sabella  Gonzales  sat  herself  down  at  an  open 
balcony  and  looked  olf  on  the  distant  country  in 
silence,  so  long,  that  Ruez  and  the  hound  both 
fell  asleep,  and  knew  not  that  she  at  last  left  her 
seat.  The  warmth  and  enervating  influence  of 
the  atmosphere  almost  requires  one  to  indulge  in 
a  siesta  daily,  in  these  low  latitudes  and  sunny 
regions  of  the  earth. 

"  He  is  dying,  then,"  said  Isabella  Gonzales, 
to  herself,  after  having  sought  the  silence  and 
solitude  of  her  own  chamber,  "dying  and  alone, 
far  from  any  kindred  voice  or  hand,  or  even 
friend,  save  those  among  his  brothers  in  arms. 
And  yet  how  much  do  we  owe  to  him  !  He  has 
saved  all  our  lives — Ruez's  first,  and  then  both 
father's  and  mine;  and  in  this  last  act  of  daring 
gallantry  and  bravery,  he  received  his  death 
wound.  Alas  !  how  fearful  it  seems  to  me,  this 
strange  picture.  AVould  I  could  see  and  thank 
him  once  more — take  from  him  any  little  com- 
mission that  he  might  desire  in  his  last  moments 
to  transmit  to  his  distant  home — for  a  sister, 
motlier,  or  brother.  Would  that  I  could  smooth 
his  pillow  and  bathe  his  fevered  bi'ow  ;  I  know 
he  loves  me,  and  these  attentions  would  be  so 
grateful  to  him — so  delightful  to  me.  But  alas! 
it  would  be  considered  a  disgrace  for  me  to  visit 
him." 

Let  the  reader  distinctly  understand  the  feel- 
ings that  actuated  the  heart  of  the  lovely  girl. 
The  idea  of  loving  the  wounded  soldier  had 
never  entered  the  proud  but  now  humbled  Isa- 
bella's thoughts.  Could  such  a  thought  have 
been  by  any  means  suggested  to  her,  she  would 
have  spurned  it  at  once  ;  but  it  was  the  woman's 
sympathy  that  she  felt  for  one  who  would  have 
doubtless  sacrificed  his  lite  for  her  and  hers  ;  it  was 
a  simple  act  of  justice  she  would  have  perfonned  ; 
and  the  pearly  tear  that  now  wet  her  cheek,  was 
that  of  sympathy,  and  of  sympathy  alone.  Beau- 
tiful trait,  how  glorious  thou  art  in  all ;  but  how 
doubly  glorious  in  woman  ;  because  in  her  na- 
tiu-e  thou  art  most  natural,  and  there  thou  flndest 
the  congenial  associations  necessary  for  thy  full 
conception. 

General  Harero  had  judged  Isabella  Gonzales 
well  when  he  said  that  there  was  no  danger 
of  her  loving  Lorenzo  Bezan — she  had  too  much 
pride ! 

But  let  us  look  once  more  into  the  sick  room 
we  so  lately  left,  where  the  wounded  soldier  lies 
suffering  from  his  wounds.  A  volante  has  just 
stopped  at  the  barracks'  doors,  and  a  girl,  whose 
dress  betokens  her  to  be  a  servant,  steps  out, 
and  telling  her  errand  to  the  corporal  of  the 
guard,  is  permitted  to  pass  the  sentinel,  and  is 
conducted  to  the  sick  man's  room.  She  brings 
some  cooling  draughts  for  his  parched  lips,  and 
fragrant  waters  with  which  to  bathe  his  fevered 
temples  and  burning  forehead. 

"  Who  sends  these  welcome  gifts  to  Captain 
Bezan?"  asked  the  assistant-surgeon. 

"My  lady,  sir." 

"And  who  is  yom*  lady,  my  good  girl,  if  you 
please  ?"  he  asked. 

"  The  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales,  sir,"  was 
the  modest  reply  of  the  maid. 

"Ah,  yes;  her  brother  has  been  here  this  after- 
noon, I  remember,"  said  the  surgeon  ;  "  the  sick 
man  fell  asleep  then, and  hasnotyetawakencd." 

"  Heaven  grant  the  sleep  may  refi-esh  him  and 
restore  his  strength,"  said  the  girl. 

"Amen,  say  I  to  that,"  continued  the  sur- 
geon, "and  amen  says  every  man  in  the  regi- 
ment." 

"  Is  he  so  popular  as  that?"  asked  the  girl, 
innocently. 

"Popular,  why  he's  the  pet  of  the  entire  di- 
vision. He's  the  best  swordsman,  best  scholar, 
best — in  short  we  could  better  lose  half  the  other 
officers  than  Captain  Bezan." 

"  Do  you  think  him  any  better  than  he  was 
this  morning  ?" 

"The  sleep  is  favorable,  Itighly  favorable," 
replied  the  surgeon,  approaching  the  bedside ; 
but  in  my  judgment  of  the  case,  it  must  entirely 
depend  upon  the  state  in  which  he  wakes." 

"  Is  there  fear  of  waking  him,  do  you  think  ?" 
asked  the  girl,  in  a  whisper,  as  she  drew  nearer 
to  the  bed,  and  looked  upon  the  high,  pale  fore- 


head and  remarkably  handsome  features  of  the 
young  soldier.  Thou;.di  the  few  days  of  conlinc- 
nieut  which  he  had  hullered,  and  the  acute  pain 
he  had  endured  liy  them,  had  hollowed  his  cheeks, 
yet  he  was  handsome  still, 

"No,"  replied  the  surgeon,  to  her  question; 
"  he  will  sleep  quite  long  enough  from  the  opiate, 
quite  as  long  as  I  wish  ;  and  if  he  should  wako 
even  now,  it  would  not  I>e  too  soon." 

"  How  very  slightly  he  breathes,"  continued 
the  girl,  observantly. 

"  Very  ;  but  it  is  a  relief  to  sec  him  breathe  in 
tJiat  way,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

"  Stay,  did  he  not  murmur  something,  then  ?" 
asked  tlie  maid. 

"Possibly,"  replied  the  surgeon.  "He  has 
talked  constantly  during  his  delirium.  Pray,  my 
good  girl,  docs  he  know  your  mistress  very 
well '{" 

"I  think  not,"  was  the  reply.  "But  why  do 
you  ask  that '." 

"  Because  he  seems  constantly  to  dream  and 
talk  aliout  her  night  and  day.  Indeed  she  is  all 
he  has  spoken  of  since  the  height  of  hi..-  fever  was 
upon  him." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  girl,  musing  at  the  sur- 
geon's words  abstractedly. 

"  Have  you  not  heard  your  mistress  speak  of 
him  at  all  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is,  he  once  did  the  family  some 
important  service.  Do  you  say  that  lie  talked 
of  Senorita  Isabella  in  the  hours  of  his  delirium  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  in  looking  into  his  dressing-case,  a 
few  days  since,  to  find  some  lint  for  his  wounds, 
I  discovered  this,"  said  the  surgeon,  showing  the 
girl  a  miniature,  painted  on  ivory  with  great 
skill  and  beauty.  "  I  think  it  must  be  a  likeness 
of  the  Senorita  Isabella,"  lontinued  the  surgeon, 
"  though  I  have  never  seen  Iier  to  know  lier  but 
once." 

"  It  is  indeed  meant  for  her."  said  the  girl, 
eagerly  scanning  the  soft  and  delicate  picture, 
which  represented  the  Senorita  Isabella  Gon- 
zales as  sitting  at  an  open  window  and  gazing 
forth  on  the  soft,  dreamy  atmosjthere  of  a  tropi- 
cal sunset. 

"  You  think  it  is  like  lier  ?" 

"  0,  very." 

"  Well,  I  was  sure  that  it  was  meant  for  the 
lady  when  I  first  saw  it." 

"May  I  bathe  his  temples  with  this  Florida 
water  ?"  asked  the  girl,  as  she  observed  the  siek 
man  to  move  slightly  and  to  moan. 

"  Yes,  it  will  have  a  tendency  to  rouse  him 
gently,  and  it  is  now  time  for  him  to  wake." 

The  girl  smoothed  back  the  dark  locks  from 
the  soldier's  brow,  and  with  her  hands  bathed 
his  marble-like  forehead  and  temples  as  gently  as 
she  might  have  done  had  he  been  an  infant.  The 
stimulating  influence  of  the  delicate  spirits  she 
was  using  was  most  delightful  to  the  senses  of 
the  sick  man,  and  a  soft  smile  for  a  moment 
breathed  his  lips,  as  half  awake  and  half  dream- 
ing, he  returned  thanks  for  the  kindness,  min- 
gled with  Isabella's  name. 

The  girl  bent  over  his  couch  to  hear  the  words, 
and  the  surgeon  saw  a  tear  drop  upon  the  siek 
man's  hand  from  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  stood 
there!  In  a  moment  more  the  soldier  seemed 
to  arouse,  and  uttered  a  long  deep  sigh,  as  though 
relieved  from  some  heavy  weight  that  had  long 
been  oppressing  him,  both  mentally  and  physi- 
cally. He  soon  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked 
languidly  about  him,  as  if  striving  to  recall  his 
situation,  and  what  had  prostrated  him  thus. 

The  girl  stepped  immediately  back  from  the 
bedside,  as  she  observed  these  tokens,  and  drop- 
ing  the  rebosa  that  had  been  heretofore  confined 
veil-like  to  the  crown  of  her  head,  and  partially 
screened  her  features,  but  she  showed  most  un- 
mistakable signs  of  delight,  as  she  read  in  the 
soldier's  eyes  that  reason  had  once  more  returned 
to  her  throne,  and  that  Lorenzo  Bezan  was  once 
more  rational. 

"How  beautiful!"  uttered  the  sui-geon,  half 
aloud,  as  lie  stood  gazing  at  the  girl.  "  If  the 
mistress  be  as  lo\'cly  as  the  maid,  no  wonder 
Captain  Bezan  has  talked  of  her  in  his  delirium !" 

"  Step  hither,  step  hither,  he  is  awake  !"  whis- 
pered the  girl  to  the  surgeon. 

"  And  his  reason  too  has  returned,"  said  the 
professional  man,  as  soon  as  his  eyes  rested  on 
the  wounded  soldier's  face.  "  There  is  hope 
now  !" 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  its  infinite  mercy!"  said 
the  girl,  with  an  earnest  though  tremulous  voice, 
as  she  gathered  her  rebosa  about  her  face  and 
prepared  to  depart, 

"  He  will  recover  now  ?"  she  asked,  once  more, 
as  she  turned  towards  the  surgeon. 

"  With  care  and  good  nursing  we  may  hope 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


35 


so,"  was  the  reply  of  the  attendant,  who  still 
looked  earnestly  into  the  face  of  the  inquirer  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Mv  lady  knew  not  the  pecnniary  condition 
of  Captain  Bezan  at  this  time,  and  desired  that 
tliis  purse  mio;ht  be  devoted  to  his  convenience 
and  comfort ;  but  she  also  desires  that  this  may 
not  bo  knowni  to  him.  May  I  trust  to  you,  sir, 
in  tliis  little  matter  V 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasm-e  to  keep  the 
secret,  and  to  improve  the  purse  solely  for  the 
sick  man's  individnal  benefit,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  I  see  yon  arc  indeed  his 
friend,"  she  answered,  as  she  bowed  low  and 
withdrew. 

Scarcely  liad  the  door  closed  after  the  visitor, 
before  the  surgeon,  tm-ning  hastily  once  more  to 
the  miniature  he  had  shown,  examined  it  in  va- 
rious lights,  now  carefully  with  a  part  shaded  by 
the  hand,  and  now  as  a  whole,  and  now  near  to, 
and  then  at  a  distance. 

"  I  more  than  suspected  it,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  emphasis  ;  "  and  now  I  know  it ;  that  lady 
was  Scnorita  Isabella  Gonzales,  the  belle  of 
Havana !" 

And  so  indeed  it  was.  Unable  longer  to  re- 
sti-ain  her  desire  to  see  him  who  had  so  infinitely 
served  the  interests  of  herself  and  her  father's 
house,  the  proud  girl  had  smothered  every  ad- 
verse prompting  in  her  bosom,  and  donning  her 
dressing-maid's  attire,  had  thus  dressed  in  hum- 
ble costume,  stepped  into  a  volante,  and  ordering 
the  calesaro  to  drive  to  the  infantry  barracks, 
where  she  knew  the  sick  man  was,  had  entered 
as  we  have  seen,  under  pretext  of  bringing  neces- 
sities from  her  pretended  mistress  to  the  wounded 
soldier.  Her  scheme  had  succeeded  infinitely 
well,  nor  would  she  liave  betrayed  herself  to  even 
the  surgeon's  observant  eye,  had  it  not  been  for 
that  siii(//e  tear! 

"  What  angel  was  that  r'  whispered  the  sick 
man,  to  his  attendant,  who  now  approached  his 
bedside  to  administer  some  cooling  draught. 

"  You  have  been  dreaming,  my  dear  fellow," 
said  the  discreet  surgeon,  cautiously,  "  and  are 
already  much  better ;  keep  as  quiet  as  possible, 
and  we  will  soon  have  you  out  again.  Here, 
captain,  drink  of  this  fruit  water,  it  will  refresh 
you." 

Too  weak  to  argue  or  even  to  talk  at  all,  the 
sick  man  drank  as  he  was  desired,  and  Iialf  closed 
his  eyes  again,  as  if  he  thought  by  thus  doing  he 
might  once  more  bring  back  the  sweet  vision 
which  had  just  gladdened  his  feeble  senses. 

Like  a  true-hearted  fellow  as  he  was,  the  sur- 
geon resolved  not  to  reveal  the  lady's  secret  to 
any  one — not  even  to  his  patient ;  for  he  saw 
that  this  was  her  earnest  desire,  and  she  had  con- 
fided in  part  to  him  her  errand  there.  But  those 
who  saw  the  surgeon  in  the  after  part  of  that 
day,  marked  that  he  bore  a  depressed  and 
thoughtful  countenance. 

Isabella  Gonzales  had  filled  his  vision,  and 
very  nearly  his  heart,  also,  by  her  exquisite  love- 
liness and  beauty ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE    CHALLENGE. 


The  Tacon  Theatre  is  one  of  the  largest  in 
the  world,  and  is  situated  in  the  Paseo,  just  out- 
side the  city  walls.  You  enter  the  parquet  and 
first  row  of  boxes  from  the  level  of  the  street,  and 
above  this  ai'e  four  ranges  of  boxes,  besides  seats 
in  the  parquet  for  six  hundred  persons.  The  gild- 
ings are  elaborate  and  beautiful,  and  the  frescoes 
are  done  by  the  first  Italian  artists  ;  the  whole 
being  brilliantly  lighted  by  an  immense  chande- 
lier in  the  centre,  and  lesser  ones  pendant  from 
the  half  moon  of  boxes,  and  supplied  with  gas. 
It  is  a  superb  establishment,  and  when  it  is  filled 
with  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  city,  it  is  a 
brilliant  sight  indeed. 

It  is  nearly  a  month  subsequent  to  the  scene 
that  closed  the  last  chapter  of  our  story,  that  we 
would  carry  the  reader  with  us  within  the  bril- 
liantly lighted  wails  of  the  Tacon  Theatre.  How 
lively  and  gay  is  the  prospect  that  presents  itself 
to  the  eye — the  glittering  jewelry  and  diamonds 
of  the  fair  senoras  and  senoritas,  casting  back 
the  brilliant  light,  and  rivalled  in  lustre  by  the 
sparkle  of  a  thousand  e3'^es  of  jet.  The  gilded 
and  jewelled  fans  rustle  audibly  (what  would  a 
Spanish  or  Creole  lady  do  without  a  fan  ?) — the 
orchestra  dashes  off  in  a  gay  and  thrilling  over- 
t  ire,  intermingled  by  the  voices,  liere  and  there, 
of  merry  groups  of  the  audience,  while  the  stately 
figures  of  the  soldiers  on  duty  are  seen,  with  their 
many-colored  dresses  and  caps,  amid  the  throng, 
and  at  the  rear  of  the  boxes. 


In  a  centre  box  of  the  first  tier  sits  Senorita  Isa- 
bella Gonzales,  with  her  fat'ier,  brother,  General 
Harero,  and  a  party  of  friends.  All  eyes  are 
turned  towards  the  peerless  beauty — those  of  the 
ladies  with  envy  at  her  extraordinary  charms  of 
person,  and  those  of  the  young  cavaliers  and 
gentlemen  with  undisguised  admiration  at  the 
picture  of  loveliness  which  met  their  eyes.  Isa- 
bella herself  sat  with  an  easy  and  graceful  air  of 
unconsciousness,  bowing  now  to  the  meaningless 
compliments  and  remarks  of  General  Harero, 
and  now  smiling  at  some  pleasantry  of  Ruez, 
who  was  close  to  her  side,  and  now  again  regard- 
ing for  a  moment  the  tall,  manly  figure  of  an 
officer  near  the  proscenium  box,  who  was  on 
duty  there,  and  evidently  the  ofllcer  of  the  even- 
ing. This  may  sound  odd  to  a  rcpul)lican,  but 
no  assembly,  no  matter  how  unimportant,  is  per- 
mitted, except  under  the  immediate  eye  and  su- 
pervision of  the  military. 

"  There  is  Captain  Bezan,"  said  Ruez,  with 
undisguised  pleasure,  pointing  towards  the  pros- 
cenium box  where  the  young  officer  stood. 

"  Yes,  I  see  him,  Ruez,"  replied  Isabella, 
"  and  it  is  the  first  time  he  has  been  out  on  duty, 
I  think,  since  his  dangerous  and  protracted 
illness.'^ 

"  I  know  it  is  the  first  time,"  said  the  boy, 
"  and  I  don't  think  he's  hardly  able  to  be  out 
now.     How  very  pale  he  is  looking,  Isabella." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  very  pale,  Ruezi"  she 
asked,  turning  towards  the  soldier,  whose  arm 
and  sword  were  now  outstretched,  indicating  some 
movement  to  a  file  of  soldiers  on  tlie  other  side. 
"  He's  too  ill,  I  should  think,  to  be  out  in  the 
night  air." 

"  One  would  certainly  think  so,"  answered 
Isabella. 

"  His  company  was  ordered  out  to-night," 
said  Ruez,  "  and  though  the  surgeon  told  him  to 
remain  in,  he  said  he  must  be  with  his  command." 
"  You  seem  to  know  his  business  almost  as 
well  as  himself.  Master  Ruez,"  said  General  Ha- 
rero, who  had  overheard  the  remarks  relating  to 
Captain  Bezan. 

"  The  captain  and  I  are  great  friends,  famous 
friends,"  replied  Ruez,  instantly.  "He's  a  noble 
fellow,  and  just  my  idea  of  what  a  soldier  should 
be.  Don't  you  think  him  a  fine  soldier,  General 
Harero  ?"  asked  tlic  boy,  most  frankly. 

"  Humph  !"  ejaculated  the  general,  "  why,  yes, 
he's  good  enough  for  aught  I  know,  profession- 
ally. Not  quite  rough  and  tough  enough  for  a 
thorough  bred  one,  I  think,"  was  the  reply  of  his 
superior,  who  was  plainly  watching  Isabella 
Gonzales's  eyes  while  he  spoke  to  the  boy,  and 
who  was  anything  but  pleased  to  see  how  often 
she  glanced  at  Captain  Bezan. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  may  mean  by  rough 
uTid  tough,  general,"  said  Ruez,  with  evident 
feeling  evinced  in  his  voice  ;  "  but  I  know,  very 
well,  that  Captain  Bezan  is  as  brave  as  a  lion, 
and  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  man  in  your  ser- 
vice who  can  swim  with  such  weight  as  he  can 
do." 

"  May  be  not,"  replied  the  general,  with  as- 
sumed inditference. 

"  Then  why  say  that  he's  not  rough  and  tough '? 
that  means  something,"  continued  the  boy,  with 
not  a  little  pertinacity  in  defence  of  his  new 
friend. 

"  There's  some  difference,  let  me  tell  you. 
Master  Ruez,  between  facing  an  enemy  with 
blazing  gunpowder  before  your  eyes,  and  merely 
swimming  a  while  in  cold  water." 

"  The  very  wounds  that  came  so  near  proving 
fatal  to  Captain  Bezan,  prove  that  he  can  fight, 
general,  as  well  as  swim,"  said  Ruez,  rather 
smartly,  in  reply,  while  Isabella  Gonzales  glanced 
at  her  brother  with  evident  tokens  of  satisfaction 
in  her  face. 

"  You  are  enthusiastic  in  your  friend's  behalf," 
said  General  Harero,  coldly. 

"And  well  I  may  be,  since  I  not  only  owe 
him  my  own  life,  but  that  of  my  dear  sister  and 
father,"  continued  Ruez,  quite  equal  to  the  gen- 
eral's remark  in  any  instance. 

"  Certainly,  you  are  right,  Master  Ruez,"  said 
General  Harero,  biting  his  lips,  as  he  saw  that 
Isabella  was  regarding  him  with  more  than  ordi- 
nary attention. 

In  the  meantime  Lorenzo  Bezan  remained,  as 
in  duty  bound,  at  his  post,  while  many  an  admir- 
ing eye  was  resting  upon  his  fine  figure  and 
martial  bearing.  He  was  quite  unconscious  of 
being  the  subject  of  such  particular  remark  and 
criticism  within  the  hearing  of  her  he  so  nearly 
worshipped — the  beautiful  Isabella  Gonzales. 
Though  his  heart  was  with  her  every  moment, 
and  his  thonghts  were  never  off  the  box,  even 


where  she  sat,  yet  it  was  only  now  and  then  that 
he  permitted  himself  to  turn  his  eyes,  as  though 
by  accident,  towards  Don  Gonzales  and  his 
daughter.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  General  Ha- 
rero was  particularly  regarding  him,  and  he 
strove  to  be  less  thoughtful  of  Isabella,  and  if 
possible,  more  observant  of  his  regular  duty.  It 
is  the  duty  of  the  officer  of  the  niglit  for  the  oc- 
casion, to  fill  the  post  during  the  performance, 
where  the  young  officer  now  stood,  as  it  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  entire  house,  and  was  the 
point,  where,  by  an  order  from  him,  he  could  at 
once  summon  a  much  lai-ger  force  under  arms 
than  that  which  under  ordinary  circumstances 
was  required.  Each  division  of  the  guard  was 
set  from  this  point,  therefore  Captain  Bezan,  as 
was  his  custom,  remained  here  durnig  the  per- 
formance. 

"  It  must  be  very  tedious  to  stay  thus  stand- 
ing just  there,"  remarked  Ruez,  pointing  to 
Captain  Bezan,  and  speaking  to  Isabella. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  was  the  reply  of  his  sis- 
ter,  who   had   often  turned  that  way,  to  the  no 
small  annoyance  of  the  observant  General  Harero. 
"  A    soldier's    duty,"     replied    the    general, 
"should  content  him  with  his  post." 

It  was  nearly  the  middle  of  the  evening's  en- 
tertainment, when  turning  his  eyes  towards  the 
box  occupied  by  Don  Gonzales  and  his  party, 
Captain  Bezan  caught  the  eye  of  Isabella  Gon- 
zales, and  at  tlie  same  time  observed  distinctly 
the  peculiar  wave  of  the  fan,  with  which  a  Span- 
ish lady  invites  in  a  friendly  manner  the  approach 
of  a  friend  of  the  opposite  sex.  He  could  not 
be  mistaken,  and  yet  was  it  possible  that  the 
belle  of  all  that  proud  assemblage  deigned  openly 
to  notice  and  compliment  him  thus  in  public  ? 
Impelled  by  the  ardor  of  his  love,  and  the  hope 
that  he  liad  rightly  construed  the  signal,  he  ap- 
proached the  box  from  the  rear,  and  stepping  to 
its  back,  gave  soi^je  indication  to  one  of  his  or- 
derlies sufficiently  loud  in  tone  to  cause  Isabella 
and  her  father  to  turn  their  heads,  as  they  at  once 
I'ecognized  the  voice  of  tlie  young  officer. 

"Ah!  Captain  Bezan,"  said  Don  Gonzales, 
heartily,  as  lie  caught  the  young  officer's  eye, 
"glad  to  see  you  once  more  with  epaulets  on — 
upon  my  soul  I  am." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  soldier,  first  salut- 
ing in  due  form  his  superior,  and  then  bowing 
low  and  gracefully  to  Isabella  Gonzales,  who 
honored  him  with  a  gracious  smile. 

"You  are  looking  comparatively  well,  cap- 
tain," said  Don  Gonzales,  kindly. 

"  0  yes,  sir,  I  am  as  well  as  ever,  now,"  re- 
plied the  offieei",  clieerfuUj'. 

Ruez  Gonzales  loved  Lorenzo  Bezan  like  a 
brother;  first,  because  he  had  so  materially  served 
him  at  imminent  peril  of  his  own  life,  and  sec- 
ondly, because  he  saw  in  him  just  such  traits  of 
character  as  attracted  his  young  heart,  and 
aroused  it  to  a  spirit  of  emiilation.  "With  the 
privilege  of  boyhood,  therefore,  he  sprang  over 
the  seats,  half  upsetting  General  Harero  to  get 
at  tlie  young  officer's  side,  which,  having  accom- 
plished, he  seized  his  hand  familiarly.  General 
Harero  frowned  at  this  familiarity,  and  his  face 
grew  doubly  dark  and  frowning,  as  he  saw  now 
how  closely  Isabella  was  observing  the  young 
officer  all  the  while. 

"I  trust  you  find  yourself  quite  recovered, 
captain,  from  your  severe  illness,"  said  Isabella, 
reaching  by  her  father,  as  she  addressed  Lorenzo 
Bezan  kindly. 

"I  am  quite  recovered,  lady;  better,  if  possi- 
ble, than  before,"  he  replied,  respectfully.  "Mas- 
ter Ruez  has  been  a  constant  nurse  to  me, 
thoughtful  and  kind,"  he  continued,  as  he  looked 
down  upon  the  boy's  handsome  features  with  real 
affection  lighting  up  his  own  pale  face. 

Ruez  only  drew  the  closer  to  his  side  at  these 
words,  while  his  father,  Don  Gonzales,  watched 
both  the  soldier  and  his  boy  with  much  interest 
for  a  moment,  then  turning  to  General  Harero, 
he  made  some  earnest  and  complimentary  re- 
mark, evidently  referring  to  Captain  Bezan, 
though  uttered  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  which 
seemed  to  increase  the  cloud  on  the  general's 
brow. 

But  the  young  soldier  was  too  much  interested 
in  gazing  upon  the  lovely  features  of  Isabella,  to 
notice  this  ;  he  seemed  almost  entranced  by  the 
tender  vision  of  beauty  that  was  before  him.  At 
the  sime  moment  some  slight  disturbance  oc- 
curred in  a  distant  part  of  the  extensive  building, 
which  affiarded  a  chance  for  General  Harero  to 
turn  quickly  to  the  young  soldier  and  say  : 
"  Your  duty  calls  you  hence,  sir!" 
For  a  moment  tlie  blood  mantled  to  the  offi- 
cer's face  at  the  tone  of  this  remark,  but  suppress- 


ing his  feelings,  whatever  they  might  be,  with  a 
respectful  acknowledgement  of  the  order,  Lorenzo 
Bezan  hastened  to  the  quarter  from  whence  the 
noise  had  come,  and  by  a  simple  direction  obvi- 
ated the  trouble  immediately.  But  he  remem- 
bered the  bitter  and  insulting  air  of  his  superior, 
and  it  cut  him  to  tlic  quick,  the  more  keenly  too 
as  having  been  given  in  the  presence  of  Isabella 
Gonzales. 

As  he  returned  from  this  trifling  duty,  he  ne- 
cessarily again  passed  the  box  wliere  were  Don 
Gonzales  and  his  party,  and  seeing  Ruez  stand- 
ing there  awaiting  his  return,  he  again  paused 
for  a  moment  to  exchange  a  word  with  the  boy, 
and  once  more  received  a  pleasant  greeting 
from  Isabella  and  her  father.  At  this  but  reas- 
onable conduct,  General  Harero  seemed  nettled 
and  angry  beyond  all  control,  and  turning  once 
more  towards  Lorenzo  Bezan,  with  a  face  black  ■ 
with  suppressed  rage,  said: 

"It  strikes  me,  sir,  that  Captain  Bezan  would 
consult  his  own  interest,  and  be  best  performing 
his  ordinary  duty  by  maintaining  his  post  at  the 
proscenium !" 

"  I  proposed  to  i-eturn  there  immediately, 
General  Harero,  and  stopped  here  but  for  one 
moment,"  said  the  young  officer,  witli  a  burning 
cheek,  at  the  intended  insult. 

"Shall  I  put  my  words  in  the  form  of  an 
order  ?"  continued  General  Harero,  seeing  that 
Bezan  paused  to  assist  Ruez  once  more  over  the 
seats  to  his  position  in  the  box. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  general,"  replied  the 
officer,  biting  his  lips  with  vexation. 

"  I  declare,  general,"  said  Isabella,  unable 
longer  to  remain  quiet  at  his  repeated  insults  to 
tlie  young  officer,  "  you  soldiers  are  so  very  pe- 
remptory, that  you  half  disconcert  me." 

"  It  is  sometimes  necessary,"  was  the  quick 
and  stern  reply,  "  to  be  prompt  with  young  and 
headstrong  officers  who  do  not  well  understand 
their  duty,  or  rather,  I  may  say,  who  knowing 
their  duty,  fail  to  perform  it,"  emphasizing  the 
last  part  of  the  sentence. 

This  was  intended  not  only  for  the  lady's  ear, 
but  also  for  that  of  Lorenzo  Bezan,  who  barely 
succeeded  in  commanding  Iiis  feelings  for  the 
moment,  so  far  as  to  turn  silently  away  to  return 
to  his  post  of  observation.  The  effect  of  the 
scene  was  not  lost  upon  tlie  high-spirited  beauty. 
Isabella  had  marked  well  the  words  and  tone  of 
voice  with  which  General  Harero  spoke,  and  she 
saw,  too,  the  efi'ect  of  his  words  upon  the  free, 
manly  spirit  of  the  young  soldier,  and  from  that 
moment,  either  intentionall)',  or  by  accident,  she 
paid  no  further  attention  during  the  whole  even- 
ing to  General  Harero,  neither  turning  towards 
him,  nor  even  speaking  to  him  at  all. 

The  general,  of  course,  observed  this  particu- 
larly, desiring  as  he  did  to  stand  in  the  best  pos- 
sible light  as  it  regarded  Isabella's  favoi",  and 
imputing  her  conduct  to  the  presence  of  Captain 
Bezan,  aad  the  conversation  that  had  taken  place 
relative  to  his  duty  between  Captain  Bezan  and 
himself;  he  hated  the  young  officer  more  than 
ever,  as  being  in  some  degree  the  cause  of  pre- 
venting the  consummation  of  hii  hopes  as  it  re- 
garded the  favor  of  the  lady.  He  had  long  cher- 
ished a  regard  for  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Don 
Gonzales,  for  her  personal  charms,  as  well  as  the 
rich  coffers  which  her  father  could  boast.  As 
the  reader  has  already  sux'mised,  he  had  been  a 
constant  and  ardent,  though  unsuccessful  suitor, 
for  no  inconsiderable  period.  It  will  not,  there- 
fore, be  wondered  at,  that  he  should  have  felt 
very  sensitive  upon  this  point  As  he  passed 
Lorenzo  Bezan,  therefore,  at  the  close  of  the  per- 
formance, in  going  out  of  the  theatre  that  night, 
while  still  in  the  most  immediate  proximity  to 
Isabella  Gonzales,  her  father,  and  the  party  with 
them,  he  took  occasion  to  speak  very  loud,  and 
in  the  most  peremptory  manner  to  him,  saying : 
"  I  find  yon  exceedingly  lax.  Captain  Bezan, 
as  it  regards  the  exercise  of  your  duty  and  com- 
mand. You  will  report  yourself  to  me,  after 
morning  parade,  for  such  orders  as  shall  be 
deemed  proper  for  you  under  the  circumstances, 
as  a  public  reproof  for  dereliction  from  duty." 

"  Yes,  general,"  replied  the  young  officer,  with 
the  usual  salute  to  his  superior. 

Still  curbing  his  feelings,  the  young  officer 
contented  himself  with  a  kind  glance  from 
Isabella  Gonzales,  who  had  overheard  the  last 
act  of  petty  t}Tanny  on  the  general's  part,  and 
for  that  very  reason  redoubled  her  passing  notice 
and  smiles  upon  Captain  Bezan.  The  officer 
marched  his  company  to  their  barracks,  and  then 
sought  the  silence  and  quiet  of  his  own  room,  to 
think  over  the  events  of  the  past  evening. 

[to    be    COXTINUEJD.] 


36 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


A   VALUABLE    SERIES    OF    ILLUSTRATED    VIEAVS    OF    NIAGARA    FALLS. 


NIAGARA  RIVER. THE  GREAT  RAPIDS,  TAKEN  FROM  IRIS  ISLAND. 


We  present  herewith  a  series  of  views,  as 
promised  in  our  last  week's  paper,  representing 
Nia^^ara  Falls  in  many  phases.  We  arc  indebted 
for  them  to  the  grapliie  pencil,  and,  in  part,  for 
the  description,  to  the  pen  also  of  Baron  Regis 
de  Trobriand,  who,  since  his 
marriage  with  a  New  York  la- 
dy, has  become  almost  one  of 
us,  and  is  the  charm  and  pride 
of  New  York  society.  A  fine 
artist,  musician  and  critic,  an 
excellent  writer  and  polished 
gentleman,  he  eclipses,  by  the 
versatility  of  his  talent,  the 
famous  Count  d'Orsay.  The 
Little  Ra])ids,  which  separate 
Iris  Island  from  the  American 
shore,  although  still  more 
troubled  in  their  restricted  bed, 
which  is  filled  with  obstruc- 
tions, give  at  least  some  chance 
of  safety  in  case  of  shipwreck, 
as  well  by  the  number  of  small 
islands  which  are  scattered 
round,  as  by  the  bridge  which 
crosses  them.  This  wooden 
bridge,  of  irregular  construc- 
tion, is  securely  fixed,  notwith- 
standing the  shocks  it  receives 
from  the  waves,  upon  some 
heaps  of  rocks,  enveloped  with 
thick  oak  planks.  Horses  and 
carriages  pass  these  without 
hindrance ;  and  this  certainly 
is  not  one  of  the  least  striking 
sights  at  Niagara.  One  day  not 
long  shice,  at  the  time  this 
sketch  was  taken,  some  prome- 
naders,  who  were  leaning  upon 
the  parapets  of  the  bridge  to 
admire  the  fearful  turbulence 


of  the  waters,  as  they  dashed  against  the  posts, 
were  disturbed  from  their  contemplation  by  dis- 
tant cries  and  a  disturbance  upon  the  shore  near 
the  commencement  of  the  Rapids.  Soon  they 
observed  a  sail  boat  with  two  men,  which,  its  sail 


to  the  wind,  seemed  to  sti-uggle  against  the  cur- 
rent. The  uncertainty  of  their  manceuvres 
showed  the  laborious  stniggle  of  the  crew ;  but 
the  spectators  of  this  exciting  scene  were  still 
able  to  hope  for  the  safety  of  the  imprudent  fish- 


cr,^^-    .  - 


ermen,  when  the  breeze  died  away  and  left  them 
to  the  sole  resource  of  their  oars.     The  danger 
was  urgent;    they  dared  not   quit  theu-  oars  to 
take   down  the  sail,  which  Avas   no  longer  any- 
thing l)ut  an  embarrassment  to  them,  but  they 
redoubled  their  hopeless  exer- 
tions.    But  suddenly,  after  an 
almost  superhuman  effort,  one 
of  the   oars  breaks ;  the  boat 
^__  turns   round,   the   sail    strikes 

^^_  against  the  mast,  which  is  bent, 

^^^:  and  the  two  unfoi-tunates  feel 

-■:^^  themselves  driven  towards  the 

V5Mr-  Rapids.     Tumultuous  outcries 

-  -:3-::  are  heard  from  botli  shores  and 

from  the  bridge,  "  A  boat  on 
the  Rapids  !"  they  shout  on  all 
sides.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  the  village  streets  were 
filled  with  people  moving  to- 
wards the  river,  and  there  was 
already  a  crowd  upon  the 
bridge.  The  little  boat  had  al- 
ready stnick  like  a  cork  the 
line  of  the  first  reef;  it  had  just 
stnick  a  rock  half  covered  by 
the  waves  and  broke  its  mast ; 
I  the   sail,  which   the   stupor  of 

,     ^  the  shipwTCckcd  ones  had  pre- 

-       _  vented  them  from  taking  down, 

dragging  in  the  current.    They 
^i  saw  these  unfortunates  agitated 

with  despair,  stretching  their 
ai-ms  towards  the  shore,  and  by 
their  frantic  gestures,  and  their 
disordered  movements,  they  di- 
vined the  impnidence  caused 
-^  by  fear,  and  the  loss  of  all  pres- 

ence of  mind.  Ten  times  the 
little  vessel  appeared  to  strike 
against  the  i-eef,  or  to  be  over- 


NIAGAUA  RIVER  AND  AMERICAN  FALLS^  NEAR  HOG'S  BACK. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWIXG   ROOM    COIMPANIOX. 


37 


I  i/illii  All      fi  11 


NIAGARA  FALLS. AMERICAN  FALL,  TAKEN  FEiOM  THE  CANADA  SHORE. 


whelmed  in  the  whirlpool,  and  ten  times  they  saw  it  re-appear 
and  rise  upon  the  waves,  drawn  by  an  irresistible  force.  Nevcrtlie- 
Icss,  they  rapidly  approached  the  bridge,  and  a  thousand  shouts, 
a  thousand  contradictory  counsels  at  the  same  moment,  prevented 
the  ship\vrecked  ones  from  comprehending  but  the  horror  of  their 
situation.  Yet  tlicy  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  the  crowd  on 
the  parapets,  aud  they  seemed  at  last  to  remember  that  there  was 
their  last  chance  of  safety.  Botli  endeavored  to  remain  standing, 
as  well  as  the  frightful  jolts  of  the  boat  permitted  them,  and  they 
held  themselves  ready  for  a  last  attempt.  At  this  moment,  a  si- 
lence more  fearful  than  a  thousand  shrieks  reigns  am.ong  all — ■ 
they  hold  tlieir  breath — all  arms  arc  extended  towards  those  for 
whom  this  minute  is  a  decree  of  life  or  of  death,  liaised  up  by  a 
billow,  the  little  boat  bounds  against  a  bank  of  rocks,  turns 
round  several  times  in  a  whirlpool,  which  again  throws  it  up,  and 
launches  it  against  the  posts  of  the  bridge,  under  which  she  disap- 
pears. With  one  spring  the  spectators  rush  to  the  opposite  para- 
pet. The  boat,  empty  and  overturned,  ran  towards  the  cataract; 
but  near  it  struggled  a  man  in  the  midst  of  the  waves,  lost  with- 
out assistance.  They  reached  out  to  save  the  other,  who  fortu- 
nately was  rescued  from  his  very  perilous  situation.  The 
fii-st  bridge  built  upon  the  Rapids  was  situated  a  little  higher  up, 
aud  finished  in  1847;  it  was  carried  away  the  following  year. 
This  one,  re-built  immediately,  seems  as  if  it  ought  to  be  able  for 


TUE  F^\iL  AT  SUNSET,  AMERICUST  SIDE. 


a  long  time  to  resist  the  power  of  the  waters.  It  tenninates  at 
Bath  Island,  the  name  of  which  sufficiently  indicates  the  design. 
There,  a  second'  bridge  thrown  upon  a  more  contracted  part  of  the 
Kapids,  forms  a  continuation  to  the  first,  and  completes  the  direct 
communication  of  the  American  shore  with  Iris  Island.  Above 
and  under  this  bold  work,  little  islands  cro^vn  with  their  verdure 
the  white  shroud  of  the  waters.  Old  trees,  half  torn  up  by  the 
curi'cnts,  lay  in  ragged  abundance  awaiting  the  wave  that  must  at 
last  carry  them  away.  All  around  is  tumult,  agitation,  tempest. 
The  most  important  of  these  islands  is  Prospect  Island ;  it  divides 
in  two  the  American  Fall,  and  is  attached  to  Iris  Island  by  a 
bridge  thrown  over  a  sheet  of  watci",  which  forms  a  centre  fall. 
Seen  from  the  Canada  shore  the  American  Fall  docs  not  appear, 
perhaps,  quite  so  sti*iking  in  effect — the  softness  of  perspective 
detracting  from  their  boldness.  The  tower  represented  in  the 
view  near  Hog's  Back,  is  incessantly  assailed  by  gusts  of  wind, 
clouds  of  mist,  and  tlie  subterranean  shocks  which  are  felt  every- 
where about  the  cataracts.  Following  the  direction  of  the  winrl, 
it  rises  above  the  masses  of  vapor,  or  is  swathed  in  their  floating 
clouds.  These  vapors,  which  invariably  veil  the  foot  of  the  Falls, 
are  nowhere  so  compact  and  voluminous  as  in  the  centre  of  the 
Horse  Shoe.  There  they  assume  every  form,  every  aspect,  and 
every  shade.  According  to  the  hour  of  the  day  and  the  condi- 
tions of  the  atmosphere,  they  are  seen  to  rise  towards  the  sky  like 
a  vast  column,  to  spread  in   disordered 

■ ._  masses,  to  whirl  into  infinite  spirals,  or  to 

'^'^P^B.  disperse  in  floating  clouds.  Sometimes 
-  "--  they  swell  above"  the  Falls  like  a  sombre 
canopy  hanging  from  the  arch  of  the  firm- 
ament; at  another  time,  they  poise  lightly 
over  the  rays  of  the  sun,  from  whicli 
they  borrow  a  golden  lustre.  Some- 
times the  evening  twiliglit  envelops  tbc 
atmospliere  of  the  cataracts  in  a  dust  of 
"'  :  liame  nowhere  else  in  nature  to  be  found  ; 
and  some  hours  later,  in  the  midst  of 
pliantoms  of  mists,  the  lunar  bow  rises 
from  the  waves  in  the  splendor  of  the 
night,  and  binds  witli  its  enamelled  scarf 
the  light-house,  at  the  foot  of  which  each 
broken  wave  flings,  as  it  passes  by,  a  ra- 
diant bouquet  of  diamonds.  What  hours 
may  be  passed  here  and  what  dreams 
they  inspire !  For  every  soul  in  which 
the  divine  spark  is  kindled,  these  hours  of 
interest  are  without  truce,  and  these 
dreams  without  end.  In  vain,  after  days 
of  contemplation  and  evenings  of  enthusi- 
asm, you  turn  away  and  slowly  seek  your 
lodging.  By  day  as  by  night,  in  vitiil  as 
in  sleep,  you  belong  to  Niagara,  and  Niag- 
ara alone.  Its  giant  phantom  rises  inces- 
santly before  your  eyes  ;  its  solemn  \oicq 
speaks  ever  in  your  cars.  In  proportion 
as  all  the  sounds  of  liumanitT,-  are  hushed 
_,;,  around  you,  the  ceaseless  and  lofty  hymn 
of  the  cataracts  seizes  upon  silence. 
Sometimes  it  mutters  like  a  hundred  dis- 
-^  tant  tlmnders,  in  one  single  note,  v:ist  as 
heaven  ;  sometimes  it  chants,  and  modu- 
lates ierial  harmonies,  sweet  as  the  plaints 
of  the  mildest  summer  wind.  It  speaks 
to  your  awakened  soul ;  it  cradles  your 
sleep  in  dreams.  Everywhere  at  a  dis- 
tance the  earth  vibrates  and  answers  by 
its  tliroes  to  the  disturbance  of  the  at- 
mosphere. The  bed  on  which  you  lie 
quivers,  the  woodwork  creaks,  the  glass 
jnrs  in  the  sashes ;  and  when,  awakened 
with  a  start  by  some  dream  of  tempest, 
you  spring  up  to  see  from  what  quarter 
the  bolt  is  about  to  fall,  the  stars  ai-e 
shining  sweetly  in  the  sky,  and  the  flame 
of  your  night-lamp  flickers  in  the  midst  of 
the  sonorous  waves  which  the  echo  of 
these  strange  sounds  is  bringing  to  your 
car.  Human  activity,  insatiable  in  its 
conquestSjhas  begirt  Niagara  with  a  circle 
of  railroads  and  steamboats ;  it  has  im- 
posed upon  it  the  yoke  of  its  bridges,  the 


shame  of  its  factories,  and  perhaps  the  day  will  come  when  it  will 
rob  it  of  its  waters,  and  make  them  the  obedient  vassals  of  indus- 
trial despotism  ;  .and  then  the  traveller  will  measure  with  serene 
eye  and  sure  step  those  unknown  gulfs  which  our  generation  con- 
templates from  a  distance  with  afjright.  We  can,  of  course,  say 
nothing  new  of  Niagara.  One  might  as  well  undertake  to  write 
about  the  sun  in  the  way  of  novelty,  it  being  one  of  the  great  and 
wonderful  facts  of  the  creation — a  wonder  of  the  world.  These 
timely  scenes  will  be  valuable  to  our  readers,  inasmuch  as  it  will 
find  large  numbers  of  them  on  the  very  spot  and  amid  the  scenes 
that  we  have  herewith  depicted,  while  others  just  about  to  make 
the  journey  thither,  will  read  and  examine  these  pages  with  more 
than  ordinary  interest ;  and  when  they  shall  reach  the  scene,  and 
the  thunder  of  the  cataract  sounds  in  their  ears,  they  will  remem- 
ber our  Pictorial,  and  compare  the  reality  with  the  counterfeit 
presentment  as  given  in  our  pages.  Well,  we  know  of  no  more 
delightful  pilgrimage  than  the  one  thither,  or  one  which  seems  to 
present  more  of  real  attraction  and  unequalled  interest  than 
Niagara.  No  American,  who  can  afford  to  travel  at  all,  should 
fail  to  look  upon  tliis  wonder  of  nature's  handiwork.  It  is  almost 
the  first  resort  of  the  foreign  traveller,  who  is  then  prepared  to 
visit  the  Mammoth  Cave  of  Kentucky,  only  second  in  grandeur 
to  Niagara.  Tlie  readers  of  the  Pictorial  will  remember  the  series 
of  illustrations  of  the  cave  which  we  have  already  given. 


taiim::  rock. 


33 


GLEASON'S    nCTORTAL   DnAWIXG    TcOOM    CO^MPANION. 


[Written  for  tJlonHon'rt  Pictorial.] 
I  'VE  BEEN  TO  THE  WOODS. 

nV  J.  0.  BAKKK. 

J  'vo  been  to  the  woods,  tho  slifidy  wililwoodfl, 

Wboro  tho  I'uiry  win^'i'd  wphjr.t  pliiy  i 
^\'liuro  the  lieu  'h  on  tho  wing,  and  tlio  lust  aay  of  Bprlng 

Ib  clinmsd  by  Buminer  Jiway  ; 
When)  the  blackbon-y  vine,  liko  tho  ivy,  twines 

Hound  tho  fence,  and  Is  overywiioro  ficen  ; 
With  itH  blossomfl  ho  white,  gleaming  in  tlic  Kunlight, 

Liko  Huowllakes  uiinyling  with  green. 

I  'to  leaped  o'er  the  Btream,  and  Sttt  down  to  dream, 

■Nciitli  tho  boughs  of  the  wide-spreading  trees  ; 
And  Tvo  thrown  ofTniy  hat,  while  enraptured  I  sat 

To  catcli  evtry  breath  of  the  breozo  ; 
And  I  gazed  on  the  sky  etretchiii;';  clearly  on  high, 

While  the  feathery  clouds  I  counted  ; 
In  the  broad  ligbt  of  day  wati-hcd  the  wild  squirrel  play. 

As  the  trunk  of  the  oak  tree  he  mounted. 

How  littlo  I  thought,  when  these  (lowers  I  brought, 

And  cberished  them  fondly  with  care. 
That  the  white  bud  would  roam  from  its  dark  forest  home, 

To  nestle  in  fair  Ginnie's  hair ; 
That  Ularia  would  greet  the  heliotrope  sweet, 

"With  a  flash  which  her  bright  eyes  fired. 
And  I  'd  give  Emma,  too,  with  her  heart  so  true, 

Tho  blossoms  she  most  adn^ired. 

0,  I  'to  been  to  the  wootls,  the  beautiful  woods, 

'\\'here  I  fain  would  wander  ag;iin  : 
For  I  \l  rather  be  there  in  the  pure  sweet  air, 

Thau  roam  through  these  dwellings  of  men. 
There  nature  displays  to  our  wondering  gaze, 

Her  charms  'iieath  a  garland  of  flowers  ; 
And  the  bird  folds  lus  wings,  and  sweetly  sings 

A  love  chant  in  the  shadowy  bowers. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

ANNIE  SELAVYN: 

— OR — 

THE    LOST     RING. 

BY    HARRIET    N.    HATHAWAY. 

Brightly  stole  the  .summer  suii-sliinetlirough 
tlic  .small  windows  tlint  lighted  the  little  apart- 
ment oecupicd  by  the  "widow  Sclwyn  and  her 
three  children  ;  bnt  its  rays  did  not  fall  upon  a 
.■-■oft  rich  carpet,  but  upon  a  hard  nnpaintcd  floor ; 
yet  they  did  not  .sliine  a  wliit  the  less  cheerily, 
for  all  that.  The  room  was  plainly  furnished, 
still  taste  was  discernible  in  its  every  arrange- 
ment. In  one  corner  stood  the  neatly  made  bed, 
covered  with  its  snow-white  drapery;  and  under 
the  small  glass  was  an  oaken  table,  polished  so 
brightly  that  you  could  almost  see  the  reflection 
of  your  ftice  npon  its  smooth  sui-face,  and  on  it 
lay  quite  a  number  of  prettily  though  not  expen- 
.=ively  bound  books ;  while  here  and  there  might 
be  seen  a  few  articles  of  nice  fancy  work — such 
as  tufted  mats,  clove,  and  card  baskets,  small 
shell  pyramids;  and  over  the  mantel  stood  a 
porcelain  vase  of  prettily  arranged  flowers.  Two 
beautiful  birds,  which  occupied  a  cage  that  hting 
before  one  of  tlie  windows,  filled  the  whole  apart- 
ment with  their  melodious  warble,  occasionally 
pausing  as  they  flitted  from  side  to  side  of  their 
gilded  prison-house,  to  peck  and  twirl  the  wires 
that  impeded  their  flight,  as  though  they  would 
fain  break  from  their  durance  and  bathe  their 
wings  in  their  native  element. 

In  a  large  easy  chair  sat  a  woman,  who, 
though  sadly  wasted  by  disease,  still  bore  fi-aces 
of  more  than  ordinary  beauty;  while  at  a  win- 
dow, seated  on  a  low  stool,  was  a  beautiful  girl, 
apparently  of  some  eighteen  summers,  plying 
her  needle.  Swiftly  flew  hersmall  whitcfingers, 
as  she  wrought  the  many  richly-colored  flosses 
into  the  costly  fabric  before  her,  and  bright  buds 
and  green  leaves  seemed  to  spring  up  at  her 
touch,  as  though  by  enchantment.  Occasionally 
a  smile  would  dimple  her  fiiir  face  as  she  paused 
for  a  moment  to  admire  the  effect  of  the  last 
touch,  and  then  again  she  would  bend  to  her 
task,  if  possible  with  greater  alacrity  than  before. 
"Annie,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Selwyn,  who  had 
been  for  some  moments  drowsing,  but  had  now 
awakened,  "sewing  yet?  I  should  think  you 
would  be  weary ;  I  fear  you  will  make  yourself 
sick,  and  then  I  don't  know  what  would  become 
of  us.  Your  face  is  fluslicd,  and  your  eyes  look 
heavy ;  besides,  you  have  eaten  nothing  since 
the  morning,  for  there  stands  your  dinner  un- 
lasted  upon  the  dresser.  Do,  child,  lay  by  your 
work  at  once.  It  really  troubles  me  to  sec  you 
confine  yourself  so  closely. " 

"  Not  quite  yet,  motlier  dear,"  replied  Annie ; 
**just  let  me  flnish  this  one  Inid,  and  then  the 
work  is  done,  and  I'm  so  glad,  for  I  can  take  it 
to  Mr«.  Benson  to-niglit,  and  it  will  bo  quite  an 
agreeable  surprise  to  her ;  for  though  slic  want- 


ed it  very  much,  she  did  not  think  it  possible  for 
ino  to  comijletc  it  in  so  short  a  time." 

The  candle  was  lighted,  and  around  the  small 
tabic  were  seated  Mrs.  Selwyn  and  her  two 
younger  chihlren — Letta,  u  dark-eyed  girl  of 
thirteen,  and  Charlie,  a  pale-faced  boy  of  eleven. 

"  I'ast  eight  o'clock,"  said  Mrs.  Selwyn,  as 
she  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  tlie  oM  fasliionod 
time-piece  tliat  ticked  ujion  the  mantel,  "and 
Annie  not  here  yet.  I  do  not  know  where  she 
can  be  so  late.  Do,  Letta  dear,  run  to  the  street 
(h)or,  and  see  if  she  is  anywhere  in  sight." 

Letta  had  just  risen  to  go,  when  Annie  enter- 
ed, her  face  all  radiant  with  smiles;  and  without 
pausing  to  lay  aside  her  hat  and  shawl,  she  said, 
as  she  seated  herself; 

"  (),  mother,  you  can't  think  liow  delighted 
Mrs.  Benson  was  with  my  work !  and  she  says 
she  will  give  me  sewing  at  lier  house  for  three 
long  weeks,  and  only  think  what  a  help  it  would 
be  to  us.  You  should  have  that  nice  new  wrap- 
per which  you  have  so  long  needed,  and  Letta 
should  have  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  then  the  poor 
child  would  not  have  to  be  laughed  at  for  wear- 
ing ragged  ones,  and  Charlie  should  have  that 
nice  little  cap  with  bright  buttons,  which  he  has 
so  long  wanted." 

"  And  what  would  you  have,  Annie  V  said 
Mrs.  Selwyn,  as  she  gazed  with  all  a  mother's 
pride  upon  the  radiant  face  of  the  fair  speaker. 

"  0,  nothing,  mother,  just  now,  for  I'm  not  in 
want  of  anything." 

"  I'd  rather  go  without  the  cap,  Annie,"  said 
Charlie,  as  he  raised  his  pale  face  from  his  geog- 
raphy, "than  to  have  you  go  away." 

"And  I'll  go  without  the  shoes,"  chimed  in 
Letta,  "  and  I'll  not  eare  any  more  if  the  girls  do 
laugh  at  me,  if  you'll  stay  at  home,  Annie,  for 
we  shall  all  be  so  dreadful  k)ncsome." 

"  Take  good  eare  of  mother,  Letta,"  said  An- 
nie, as  she  lingered  at  the  door,  as  she  was  about 
to  leave  for  Mrs.  Benson's,  "  and  be  sure  to  show 
Charlie  about  his  lessons,  and  do  not  let  him  go 
late  to  school ;  remember  the  birds,  and  don't  let 
them  go  hungry,  and  look  out  puss  docs  not  get 
near  enough  to  them  to  do  them  harm." 

"  0  yes,  Annie,  I'll  do  everything  just  as  you 
always  have  done,"  replied  Letta,  who  felt  high- 
\y  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  her  newly  ac- 
quired responsibilities,  although  she  was  unfeign- 
edly  sorry  to  have  Annie  leave  home. 

"  Come  home  often,  Annie,"  said  Mrs.  Sel- 
wyn, "for  we  shall  be  lonely — very  lonely  with- 
out you." 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  will,  two  or  thi*ee  times  in 
the  week,  perhaps,  and  then  I  shall  be  with  you 
all  day  Sunday." 

It  was  with  a  light  heart  that  Annie,  after 
having  placed  her  band-box  in  the  pleasant 
chamber  allotted  to  her,  seated  herself  at  her 
sewing,  and  the  thought  of  the  comforts  her  ex- 
ertions would  bring  to  tho  loved  ones  at  home, 
lent  speed  to  her  fingers,  and  busily  indeed  did 
she  ply  her  needle. 

"  What  beautiful  girl  is  that,  sis,  who  sits  sew- 
ing in  the  sitting-room  ?"  said  Walter  Harring- 
ton, to  his  sister,  Mrs.  Benson. 

"  Annie  Selwyn,"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  she  is 
as  gentle  and  good  as  she  is  beautiful,  and  the 
most  expert  creature  at  her  needle  you  ever  saw. 
If  I  could  but  secure  her  services,  I  should  think 
myself  very  fortunate,  and  if  she  will  consent  to 
stay  with  me,  I  shall  dismiss  Eveline." 

Eveline,  who  was  in  the  next  room,  heard 
these  remarks  unknown,  and  a  malignant  expres- 
sion passed  over  her  face  as  she  munnurcd  to 
herself;  "  We'll  see  if  I'm  to  be  turned  off  for 
that  pert  little  hussy  !  I'm  as  good  as  she  is,  and 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  Eveline  Morse,  I'll  put  a 
stop  to  this." 

Annie  knew  nothing  as  yet  of  Mrs.  Benson's 
intentions,  still  she  felt  thci*e  was  something  for- 
bidding in  Eveline's  manner  towards  her,  but 
what  it  was  she  could  not  tell. 

Mrs.  Benson  stood  before  a  table,  carefully  lift- 
ing each  article  from  its  place,  while  each  mo- 
ment the  evident  expression  of  concern  upon  her 
face  deepened ;  and  not  finding  the  oliject  she  was 
in  search  of  there,  she  commenced  looking  care- 
fully about  the  carpet,  movuig  divans,  chairs, 
ottomans,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  At  this  mo- 
ment she  heard  Eveline's  well-known  step  in  the 
hall,  and  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Eveline,  Eveline,  come  here,  diild !  can  you 
tell  mc  anything  of  my  diamond  ring?  I'm 
(juite  sure  that  I  took  it  oJT  last  night  after  my 
return  fVom  the  opera,  and  placed  it  in  the  small 
box  upon  the  table,  and  now  it  is  nowhere  to  Itc 
fuund ;  do  you  not  remember  of  seeing  mc  do 


"  0  yes,  madam,  perfectly  well ;  for  I  noticed 
particniai-ly  the  bi'illiant  rays  reflected  from  it 
upon  ilie  table-cover  as  the  light  struck  upon  it." 

"  Well,  you  have  been  in  the  room  the  most 
of  the  morning;  has  any  one  else  been  in?" 

"Kg,  1  believe  not;  but  yes,  now  1  remember 
that  just  as  I  came  in,  I  met  Annie  Selwyn  going 
out,  and  she  said  as  I  passed  that  slie  came  down 
to  look  for  a  pattern  that  she  lost,  and  asked  me 
if  I  had  seen  it  anywhere,  and  then  she  hurried 
up  stairs,  and  the  last  I  saw  of  her  she  was  in 
her  room  sewing.  But,  of  course,  you  cannot 
suspect  her,  for  I  do  not  think  she  would  do  such 
a  thing,  if  it  was  to  save  her  from  starving." 

"  Walter,"  said  Mrs.  Benson,  to  her  brother, 
who  had  just  called  in,  "  I  have  something  of 
imjjortance  I  would  like  to  say  to  you,  and  I 
want  it  for  the  present  to  be  strictly  confidential. 
I  have  lost  my  diamond  ring  in  a  mysterious 
manner.  I  left  it  upon  the  table  last  night  when 
I  retired,  and  this  morning  it  is  missing,  and  I 
am  quite  sure  that  no  one  has  been  in  the  room 
but  Eveline  and  Annie  Selwyn  ;  and  I  cannot 
with  any  reason  suspect  Eveline,  for  though  she 
has  her  faults,  I  have  proved  her  to  be  strictly 
honest,  and  would  not  hesitate  at  this  moment  to 
trust  her  with  anything  in  the  house ;  and,  there- 
fore, I  am  forced  to  think  that  Annie  Selwyn 
knows  more  about  this  affair  than  she  would 
care  to  tell.  It  seems  hard  that  my  kindness  to 
her  should  be  thus  repaid,  and  when  I  look  into 
her  sweet  gentle  face  I  can  scarce  credit  my  own 
suspicions ;  and  yet  it  must  be  so.  I  have  not 
mentioned  a  word  of  this  as  yet  to  Mr.  Benson, 
for  I  scarcely  dare  to,  he  is  so  hasty.  !Now, 
Walter,  I  want  your  candid  advice." 

"I  must  say,  Ellen,  that  it  appears  highly 
mysterious,  but  don't  be  hasty  in  passing  judg- 
ment ;  remember  the  future  happiness  of  this 
young  girl  is  pending  upon  it,  and  I  am  loath  to 
think  that  such  a  beautiful  and  innocent  exterior 
can  hide  so  base  a  heart,  and,  in  fact,  I  will  not 
believe  this  until  there  is  proof,  positive,  against 
her." 

"  I  feci  all  this,  Walter,  as  sensibly  as  you  do, 
but  what  can  I  do  ^  If  it  were  right  for  mc  to 
do  so,  I  would  let  it  all  rest  here ;  but  the  ring 
Charles  presented  me  on  our  wedding  night,  and 
he  would  think  1  was  strangely  iudiflerent  to 
take  no  measures  to  regain  it." 

"  True,  Ellen,  and  now  I  think  of  it,  would  it 
not  be  best  to  call  the  girls  at  once,  and  inquire  into 
the  matter  ?  I  will  step  into  the  back  parlor  and 
lemain  a  silent  listener  to  wdiat  passes  between 
you." 

Annie  and  Eveline,  in  obedience  to  Mrs.  Ben- 
son's summons,  soon  entered  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Benson,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion, 
said : 

"  Girls,  I  am  about  to  speak  with  you  on  a 
subject  that  is  highly  painful  to  me,  and  I  regret 
the  urgent  necessity  that  forces  me  to  this  step  ; 
still,  duty  to  myself,  as  well  as  to  you,  compels 
me  to  do  this." 

"  Mrs.  Benson,"  said  Eveline,  after  she  had 
concluded  her  story,  "I  cannot  wonder  that  the 
disappearance  of  your  ring  seems  mysterious  to 
you  ;  but,  rather  than  to  be  in  the  least  implicat- 
ed in  so  disgraceful  an  affair,  I  will  allow  you  to 
search  every  article  that  belongs  to  me,  and  pre- 
sume Miss  Selwyn  will  consent  to  do  the  same 
rather  than  to  have  this  dark  suspicion  resting 
upon  us." 

Annie  had  stood  silent  and  almost  motionless, 
with  her  face  blanched  to  an  ashy  paleness  ;  but 
now  that  she  was  called  upon  to  speak,  she  said 
in  a  strangely  cold,  calm  voice  : 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Benson,  if  it  be  your  wish  ; 
you  ai'C  at  perfect  liberty  to  look  over  the  few 
articles  contained  in  my  box  ;"  and  rising,  she 
led  the  way  to  her  chamber,  scarce  conscious  of 
what  she  was  doing.  Mrs.  Benson  and  Eveline 
followed,  Mrs.  Benson  half  wishing  that  she  had 
remained  silent ;  but  she  strove  to  nerve  hex"self 
for  the  unpleasant  task  with  the  thought  that 
duty  demanded  it,  at  however  great  a  sacrifice  of 
feeling. 

The  last  article  but  one  had  been  taken  from 
Annie's  band-box,  and  Mrs.  Benson  breathed 
more  freely,  for  she  was  about  convinced  of  her 
innocence  ;  but  as  she  lifted  the  remaining  one, 
from  its  folds  fell  a  small  silk  purse,  and  unclasp- 
ing it  with  trembling  hand,  .she  drew  fiom  it  a 
small  package,  and  tearing  from  it  the  wrapper, 
before  her  sparkled  her  own  diamond  ring. 

Annie  uttered   one  wild   shriek,   as   her  eye 

rested  upon  it,  and  she  would  have  fallen  to  the 

floor  had  it  not  been  for  the  timely  assistance  of 

Eveline.     It  was  some  time  before  the  unhappy 

I  girl  was  restored   to   consciousness  ;  and  when 


she  revived,  llic  first  words  that  escaped  her  lips 
— all  pale  and  quivering  witli  tlic  intcn.-vjiy  of  her 
anguish — were : 

"  O  my  poor,  poor  mother!  how  will  she  bear 
this  ?  1  fear  it  will  kill  her  ;  but  God  knows  my 
innocence,  and  this  thought  shall  console  me." 

"  Poor  canting  hypocrite  !"  muttered  Eveline, 
while  a  malignant  smile  lighted  her  large  dark 
eyes,  "  her  piety  has  come  loo  late  to  save  her." 

We  will  not  stay  to  relate  the  conversation 
that  passed  between  Mrs.  Benson  and  Annie ; 
but  simply  say  that  ere  the  afternoon  had  closed, 
Annie  had  received  her  dues,  and  with  a  trem- 
bling step,  and  a  well  nigh  breaking  heart,  was 
threading  her  way  through  the  crowded  streets 
to  her  mother's  humble  dwelling. 

"Why,  Annie,  child,  what  has  brought  you 
home  to-night  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Selwyn,  as  she 
entered  their  small  apartment;  "we  were  not 
looking  for  you.  But  how  pale  you  look,  and 
I'm  quite  sure  you  have  been  weeping.  Do  tell 
me,  dear,  what  is  it  troubles  you  ?" 

"  O,  mother,  mother!"  cried  Annie,  as  she 
threw  her  unns  around  her  neck,  and  nestled  her 
throbbing  head  upon  her  bosom,  "  I  must  tell 
you  all,  or  my  heart  will  surely  break.  Only  (o 
think  of  it,  I  have  brought  min  and  disgrace 
upon  you — upon  us  all !  Mrs.  Benson  has  lost 
a  diamond  ring,  and  she  found  it  in  my  purse  ; 
how  it  come  there  I  cannot  tell ;  but  though 
there  is  no  possible  way  for  rae  to  prove  my  in- 
nocence, yet  there  is  One  who  knows  it.  O,  how 
ungi'atcful  she  thinks  me,  thus  to  repay  her  many 
kindnesses  !  and  how  she  wept  when  she  pressed 
my  hand,  just  before  I  left !  and  her  voice  cjuiv- 
ered  as  she  said:  'Annie,  I  pity  you  from  my 
heart,  I  do.'  Don't  blame  her,  mother,  she  can- 
not help  thinking  me  guilty;  and  yet,  I  would 
far  rather  have  died.  I  wish  I  could  die  now, 
mother,  O,  I  really  do  !" 

When  Annie  had  concluded  her  mournful  re- 
cital, the  mother  and  daughter  blent  their  tears 
in  silence ;  for  0  it  is  such  a  luxury  to  weej) ! 
such  a  relief  to  the  aching,  overcharged  heart ! 
At  length  Mrs.  Selwyn  said  ; 

"Annie,  my  child,  this  is  to  us  a  dark,  inscni- 
table  providence ;  but  there  may  yet  be  light  be- 
hind the  cloud.  Let  us  not  lose  our  confidence 
in  God,  for  has  he  not  promised  never  to  forsake 
those  who  tnist  in  hira  ?  In  this  trying  hour, 
human  consolation  can  avail  us  nothing.  Let 
us,  my  child,  seek  strength  and  comfort  from 
above." 

The  sable  curtain  of  night  had  fallen  around 
the  earth,  and  the  busy  hum  of  the  passers-by  had 
ceased.  Hushed  were  the  strains  of  mirth,  and 
sounds  of  revehy;  but  in  that  lonely  apartment 
of  woe  and  sorrow,  might  have  been  seen,  at  that 
late  hour,  that  heart-stricken  mother  and  daugh- 
ter low  upon  their  bendedknees,  communing  with 
that  Being  who  never  slumbers  nor  sleeps. 
Could  Annie's  accusers  but  have  seen  that  aged 
mother,  and  viewed  the  holy  light  that  irradiated 
her  face,  as  she  prayed  for  those  wdio  had  brought 
this  great  and  terrible  trouble  upon  them  ;  could 
they  have  looked  upon  the  beautiful  "  madonna" 
like  expression  of  the  upturned  face  of  the  fair 
young  creature  by  her  side,  and  have  heard  the 
fervent  responses  that  fell  from  her  quivering 
lips,  they  would  have  felt  that  she  was  all  too 
pure  to  be  guilty  of  so  dark  a  crime. 

The  evening  after  the  departure  of  Annie 
from  Mrs.  Benson's,  that  lady  and  her  husband 
were  seated  in  their  luxuriously  furnished  apart- 
ment. At  length  the  gentleman  raised  his  eye 
from  the  paper  that  he  had  been  perusing,  and 
gazing  silently  and  intently  upon  the  face  of  his 
young  wife  for  a  moment,  said  : 

"Ellen,  you  look  very  sad;  what  troubles 
you  ?" 

"  Not  sadder  than  I  feel,  Charles,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. "  I  am  thinking  about  poor  Annie  Sel- 
wyn; I  have  striven  all  the  evening  to  banish 
her  from  my  thoughts,  but  her  pale  sad  face  is 
constantly  before  me." 

"  0,  Ellen,  you  are  quite  too  sensitive.  For 
my  own  part,  instead  of  reproaching  yourself,  I 
think  you  may  take  considerable  credit  for  let- 
ting her  off  so  easily.  If  I'd  had  my  say  about 
the  affair,  she  should  have  been  made  a  public 
example,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  in  the  end  it 
would  have  been  better  for  her.  She  reminds 
me  of  the  story  of  the  viper  that  tumed  and 
stung  the  hand  of  the  one  who  had  kindly  nour- 
ished it.  Now,  pray  do  cheer  uj),  Ellen  dear, 
and  think  no  more  about  the  girl,  for  she  is  un- 
worthy of  your  thoughts." 

"  Well,  God  grant  that  her  innocence  may  yet 
be  proved,"  said  Mrs.  Benson,  as  she  sighed 
heavily,  and  then  relapsed  into  her  former  mus- 
ng  mood. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


39 


Weeks  came  and  went,  but  they  brought  no 
token  for  good  to  the  stricken  heart  of  Annie 
Sclwyn  ;  but  each  day  the  shadow  rested  darker 
around  her  path. 

"Mr.  Harrington,"  said  a  little  boy,  who  had 
long  resided  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Benson,  ad- 
dressing Mrs.  Benson's  brother,  Walter,  "  I  have 
something  I  want  to  tell  you,  and  so  I  followed 
you  into  the  garden.  I  have  thought  I  would 
tell  you  a  g-ood  many  times,  but  have  not  dared 
to  ;  but  last  week  when  Mrs.  Benson  sent  me  to 
carry  some  patterns  to  Annie  Selwyn — you  know 
her,  Mr.  Harrington,  the  girl  who  sewed  at  the 
house — she  came  to  the  door  when  I  knocked, 
and  O,  how  she  looked,  so  white  and  thin  !  and 
when  she  spoke  to  me,  her  voice  was  so  low  and 
sad  that  it  made  the  tears  come  into  my  eyes, 
and  I  had  to  hurry  away  without  speaking,  for 
my  throat  swelled  and  swelled,  so  that  I  could 
not  say  a  word,  and  when  I  got  away  where 
there  couldn't  anybody  see  me,  O,  how  I  cried ! 
and  then  my  throat  didn't  ache  so  anymore, 
and  that  day  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would 
tell  you  all,  the  first  chance  I  could  get." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  go  on,"  said  Walter,  as  he 

laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  his   head,  and 

smoothed  bis  damp,  dark  locks.     "  Come  into 

the  summer-house,  and  then  we  shall  be  out  of 

■  sight;  and  don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me  all." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  boy;  you  know  while 
Annie  Selwyn  was  here,  Mi'S.  Benson  lost  her 
diamond  ring,  and  it  was  found  in  her  purse, 
and  so  all  the  folks  believed  she  stole  it.  Well, 
that  morning — are  you  quite  sure  there's  no  one 
to  hear  me.  Mi-.  Harrington  ? — as  I  passed  her 
room  door,  which  stood  open,  I  saw  Miss  Eve- 
line bending  over  her  band-box,  and  when  she 
found  that  I  saw  her,  her  face  at  first  was  mighty 
pale,  and  then  red,  and  as  she  came  towards  me, 
a  small  green  purse  dropped  from  her  hand,  and 
a  ring  rolled  out  of  it  upon  the  floor.  She  picked 
it  up  quick,  and  then  said  : 

"  '  Henry,  if  you  wont  tell  what  you  have  seen, 
I'll  give  you  this  silver  half  dollar ;  come,  pro- 
mise me  now,  that's  a  good  boy-' 

" '  I  don't  want  the  money,'  said  I,  *  and  I 
guess  I  sha'n't  promise ;'  for  I  never  did  much 
like  Eveline,  she  was  so  spiteful. 

"'Well,  do  as  you  please,  Master  Henry,' 
said  she,  looking  at  me  so  ugly  with  her  great 
black  staling  eyes  that  it  quite  frightened  me ; 
'  but  if  you  dare  to  tell,  I'll  be  the  means  of  your 
leaving  this  house,  and  that  aint  all.' 

"  This  made  me  afraid  not  to  promise,  and  so 
I  did ;  and  when  I  heard  the  servants  say  that 
Annie  Selwyn  had  stolen  the  ring,  I  thought  if 
I  was  only  to  tell  what  I  knew,  it  might  help  to 
prove  that  she  did  not  stejiil  it,  and  I  knew  I 
ought  to,  but  somehow  I  could  not  find  courage ; 
but  the  other  day  when  I  saw  her  looking  so  al- 
tered, it  made  me  think  all  about  how  kind  she 
was  to  me,  just  as  gentle  as  if  she  had  been  my 
sister,  and  T  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  everything 
I  knew  about  the  ring,  in  spite  of  Miss  Eveline." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  did  not  come  to  this  de- 
termination before.  But  you  may  go  now,  and 
mind  that  you  do  not  breathe  a  word  of  this  to 
any  one,  until  called  upon,  and  then  do  not  be 
afraid,  but  relate  the  story  you  have  told  me, 
and  I  assure  you  no  harm  shall  come  to  you,  my 
boy." 

"O,  Walter,  Walter!"  cried  Mrs.  Benson, 
when  he  had  related  to  her  the  conversation  that 
had  passed  between  himself  and  Henry,  "only 
to  think  what  that  poor  girl  has  suffered  !  I  will 
call  Eveline  at  once,  and  make  her  confess  all. 
Heaven  be  praised,  it  is  not  too  late  to  make  res- 
titution, in  part,  to  poor  Annie  Selwi.-n  !" 

Consternation  was  written  upon  Eveline's 
every  feature,  as  Henry  proceeded,  at  the  request 
of  Mrs.  Benson,  to  relate  the  facts  in  regard  to 
the  ring ;  and  the  girl  seeing  no  chance  for  es- 
cape, at  once  o^\^led  her  guilt,  and  the  motives 
that  induced  her  to  commit  the  heartless  deed. 

The  lamp  burned  dimly  in  the  apartment  of 
widow  Selwyn,  and  its  flickering  rays  fell  upon 
the  pale  face  of  the  mother,  who  was  hanging 
over  the  bed  on  which  Annie  was  lying,  tossing 
from  side  to  side,  and  occasionally  moaning 
piteously. 

"  Mother,"  she  at  length  said,  "  what  is  to  be- 
come of  us  ?  I  heard  you  tell  Lctt^i  you  was 
burning  your  only  candle,  and  that  yoiu"  last 
stick  of  wood  was  upon  the  fire.  Besides,  you 
had  but  a  fourpenny  loaf  of  bread  in  the  house." 
"  This  is  all  true,  Annie  ;  but  I  comfort  my- 
self with  the  thought  that  our  Heavenly  Father 
*  sufFereth  not  even  a  sparrow  to  fall  to  the 
ground  without  liis  notice  ;'  and  docs  he  not  still 
'  temper  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  V     I  verily 


beliei'C  this,  and  I  will  trust  him  though,  he  hides 
his  fiice  from  me." 

*'  Your  words  sound  very  sweet  and  cheering 
to  me,  mother,"  replied  Annie,  as  she  turned 
upon  her  pillow  and  closed  her  eyes,  and  in  a 
few  moments  was  in  a  gentle  slumber. 

A  gentle  tap  at  the  door  soon  called  Sirs.  Sel- 
wyn from  her  post,  and  hastening  to  open  it,  be- 
fore her  stood  Mrs.  Benson  and  Walter  Har- 
rington. 

"Is  Annie  Selwyn  within'?"  was  the  inquiry 
that  greeted  her. 

"  She  is,"  was  the  response  of  Mi's.  Selwyn, 
as  she  pointed  towards  the  bed.  Mrs.  Benson's 
heart  was  full.  As  she  bent  over  the  emaciated 
form  of  Annie,  and  stood  gazing  silently  upon 
the  pale  face  before  her,  she  suddenly  unclosed 
her  eyes,  and  looking  steadily  at  Mrs.  Benson 
for  a  moment,  she  extended  her  hand,  and  a 
sweet  smile  played  over  her  countenance  as  she 
exclaimed : 

"  It  is  indeed  Mi-s.  Benson !  O  this  is  very, 
very  kind  of  you  !" 

For  some  moments  Mrs.  Benson's  tears  fell 
thick  and  fast  upon  the  little  thin  and  almost 
transparent  hand,  resting  so  confidingly  in  her 
o^Ti,  and  at  length  she  said  : 

"Annie,  will  you,  can  you  forgive  me  all  the 
bitter  injustice  I  have  unintentionally  done  you  ? 
Many  and  many  a  sleepless  night  have  I  spent 
since  the  unhappy  affair  in  regard  to  my  diamond 
ring,  thinking  of  you ;  and  if  ever  I  raised  a 
grateful  prayer  to  God,  it  was  that  hour  that 
brought  proof  of  your  perfect  innocence." 

Readily  did  Annie  extend  forgiveness  to  Mrs. 
Benson  ;  and  as  Walter  Harrington  sat  a  silent 
and  unseen  listener  to  the  words  that  fell  from 
Annie  Selw}Tx's  lips,  he  brushed  the  tears  from 
his  eyes  ever  and  anon,  for  he  had  never  wit- 
nessed so  holy  and  touching  a  display  of  Chris- 
tian humility  and  forbearance. 

The  widow's  prayer  that  night  was  as  a  song 
of  praise ;  and  words  would  be  inadequate  to 
describe  the  secret  happiness  that  was  nestling 
in  the  silent  depths  of  Annie  Selwyn's  heart. 

Firm  and  unchanging  was  die  friendship  that 
Mrs.  Benson  now  felt  for  the  sewing  girl,  hum- 
ble and  unpretending  as  she  was ;  and  it  was 
among  the  happiest  moments  of  her  life  when 
Walter  Harrington  claimed  her  as  his  wife,  and 
took  her  to  his  own  beautiful  home — the  home 
that  was  now  to  afford  a  refuge  for  'Mis.  Selwyn, 
Letta  and  Charlie;  and  whenever  Annie  reverted 
to  the  disappearance  of  the  diamond  ring,  and 
the  train  of  circumstances  connected  with  it,  she 
would  recall  her  mother's  words  :  "  Annie,  ray 
child,  ti-ust  in  God ;  there  may  yet  be  light  be- 
hind the  cloud." 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 
SONNET. 

DY   KENNETH    SINCLAIR. 

A  pledge  of  love  and  faith,  my  precious  ring. 

I  wear  thee,  gift  of  one  who  lovea  nie  well : 

Thy  beauty,  thy  worth,  my  song  cannot  tell, 
For  though  thou  art  a  tiny  little  thing, 
Affection  doth  a  halo  round  thee  fling. 

Thy  circlet  hath  for  me  a  magic  spell, 
Still  closely  to  my  finger  shalt  thou  cling, 

■\Vhile  thought  and  memory  in  my  bosom  dwell ; 
As  oft  thy  golden  baud  arrests  mine  eye, 

5Iy  heart  turns  back  unto  the  long  past  day 
When  first  fond  love  sprang  up,  0  ne'er  to  die  I 

For  her,  my  youthful  friend,  so  far  awaj-, 
"Who  counts  the  tedious  hours  flitting  by, 

Ere  we  may  meet,  to  part  no  more  for  aye. 


POETS  m  A  PUZZLE. 

I  led  the  horse  to  the  stable,  when  a  fresh  per- 
plexity arose.  I  removed  the  harness  without 
difficulty  ;  but,  after  many  strenuous  attempts,  I 
could  not  remove  the  collar.  In  despair,  I  called 
for  assistance,  when  aid  soon  drew  near.  Mr. 
Wordsworth  brought  his  ingenuity  into  exercise  ; 
but,  after  several  unsuccessful  efforts,  he  relin- 
quished the  achievement,  as  a  thing  altogether 
inipractical)lc.  Mr.  Coleridge  now  tried  his 
hand,  but  showed  no  more  grooming  skill  than 
his  predecessors;  for  after  twisting  the  poor 
horse's  neck  almost  to  strangulation,  and  tlie 
great  danger  of  his  eyes,  he  gave  up  the  useless 
task,  pronouncing  that  the  horse's  head  must 
have  (jroirn  (gout  or  dropsy)  since  the  collar  was 
put  on  ;  for  he  said  "  it  was  a  downriglit  impos- 
sibility for  such  a  huge  osfrontis  to  pass  through 
so  naiTow  a  collar !"  Just  at  this  instant  a  ser- 
vant girl  came  near,  and,  understanding  the 
cause  of  our  consteraation,  "La,  master,"  said 
she,  "yon  don't  go  about  the  work  in  the  right 
way.  You  should  do  like  this ;"  when,  turning 
the  collar  completely  upside  down,  she  slipped 
it  off  in  a  moment,  to  our  great  humiliation  and 
wondcnnent ;  each  satisfied  afresh  that  there  were 
heights  of  knowledge  in  the  world  to  which  we 
had  not  yet  attained. — Cottle's  Life  of  Coleridge. 

0  sin,  what  hast  thou  done  to  this  fair  earth ! 

Dana. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
BIRDS. 

BY  JOSEPH    U.   BUTLER. 

Ay  I  I  ever  have  loved  those  minstrels  mid. 
And  jo3"ed  in  their  music  when  I  was  a  child ; 
When  the  spring  came  forth  ^rith  her  early  flowers, 
And  the  birds  and  the  blossoms  were  on  the  bowers  ; 
Through  the  woods  and  the  meadows  I  wandered  away, 
AVhere  the  tall  trees  were  watching  the  streams  at  play  ; 
Where  the  violet  opened  its  sweet  blue  eye, 
Hid  deep  in  the  grass — it  was  so  shy  ! 

Where  the  primrose  looked  out  from  the  mossy  dell, 
On  its  beautiful  neighbor,  the  sweet  blue-bell; 
The  wild  bee  was  out  with  its  musical  fling, 
And  its  troubadour-soQg  to  the  lovely  spring. 
Away,  away,  through  the  wildwood  green, 
To  the  meiTy  dance  of  the  young  May  queen  ; 
irhcrevcr  my  footsteps  can  wander  free, 
The  birds  sing  my  welcome  from  every  tree. 

Their  melody  floats  on  the  gentle  air, 

0  I  fancy  that  spirits  fi-om  heaven  are  there  ; 
Singing  on,  singing  on  in  innocent  mirtb, 
To  lighten  the  sorrows  and  cares  of  earth. 
Beautiful  creatures  of  gladness  and  light, 
With  your  wiugs  of  a  hundi-ed  colors  bright ; 
\Micrever  I  wander,  wherever  I  dwell. 

Ye  are  there  with  your  happy  songs  as  well. 

Ye  build  on  the  tree-top  and  lowly  land, 
On  the  cottage  eve  and  the  mansion  grand  ; 
By  the  stream  and  the  ocean  I  hear  your  lays, 
In  the  stilly  setting  of  summer  days. 
In  the  solemn  homes  of  the  voiceless  dead. 
Your  notes  are  warbled — your  wings  outspread ; 
Ye  flit  ,around  o'er  the  pale,  cold  stone, 
Where  tlie  dead  are  sleeping  still  and  lone. 

Yes,  I  have  loved  you  from  boyhood's  hour. 
And  dear  to  me  yet  is  the  bird  and  the  flower ; 
The  proud-crested  eagle,  the  lord  of  the  air. 
Sits  throned  like  a  king  on  the  granite  bare  ; 
He  flaps  his  wings,  and  with  thrilling  cry 
He  mounts  where  the  sun  is  blazing  high  ; 
On  tireless  pinions,  proudly  and  grand, 
Bold  emblem,  he,  of  our  native  land- 

1  love  to  see  his  piercing  eye, 

And  list  to  his  fierce  and  startling  cry  ; 
Birds  I  ye  are  beautiful  all  I  see  the  dove, 

0  how  soft  her  eyes,  like  a  maiden's  love  '■ 
And  even  on  ocean's  flashing  foam, 
Where  the  gull  and  the  petrel  find  a  home  ; 

1  joy  to  watch  them  wheel  and  fly 
Over  the  bursting  billows  high. 

But  there  'a  a  fairy-Uke  creature  bright, 
Who  charms  me  oft  «ith  its  glorious  eiglit ; 
Its  wings  are  dyed  in  the  hues  of  heaven. 
It  seems  a  gift  by  spirits  given. 
lu  summer's  long  day,  the  music  is  heard 
Of  the  bright  and  beautiful  hununiog-hird  ; 
Birds  of  the  forest  I  ye  are  happy  and  free, 
Sporting  and  singing  from  tree  to  tree  ! 

Your  light  hearts  know  not  sorrow  or  care, 

Happy  ones  of  the  pathless  air  ; 

But  winter  will  come,  and  you  will  depart 

Like  the  cherished  joys  of  the  human  heart. 

Ye  will  fly  to  a  distant  region  fair, 

And  sing  your  welcome  wood-notes  there  ; 

0,  when  the  ■winter  of  death  shall  come, 

And  my  heart  shall  rest  iu  the  silent  tomb. 

Birds  of  the  woodlands  I  ye  fairy-Uke  things. 
Over  my  grave  spread  your  beautiful  wings  ; 
When  the  wild  flowers  peep  from  my  couch  of  sleep, 
Your  vigils  round  my  slumbers  keep  ; 
And  soar  and  sing  in  the  blessed  sun , 
Rejoice  that  my  pilgrimage  is  done ; 
Bid  me  '■  rest  in  peace  "  on  the  flowery  sod, 
Then  warble  an  anthem  to  nature's  God  1 


THE  LAUGHING  JACKASS. 

He  commences,  tlien,  by  a  low  cackling  sound, 
gradually  growing  louder,  like  that  of  a  Jien  in  a 
fuss.  Then,  suddenly  changing  his  note,  he  so 
closely  imitates  Puncli's  penny  tiumpet  that  you 
would  almost  swear  it  was  indeed  the  jolly  "  roo- 
to-too  "  of  that  public  favorite  you  heard.  Next 
comes  the  j^rolonged  bray  of  an  ass,  done  to  the 
life ;  followed  by  an  articulate  exclamation,  ap- 
parently addressed  to  the  listener,  sounding  very 
like  "U  what  a  Guy!"  And  the  whole  winds 
up  with  a  suppressed  chuckle,  ending  in  an  up- 
roarous  burst  of  laughter  which  is  joined  in  by  a 
dozen  others  hitherto  sitting  silent.  It  is  im- 
possible to  hear  with  a  grave  face  the  jocularities 
of  this  feathered  jester.  In  spite  of  all  reason- 
ing I  could  never  help  feeling  that  it  was  m^'^self 
he  was  quizzing! — Oni  Antipodes,  hy  Col.  Miindij. 

PUMSHMENT  IIV  SUMATR.\. 

The  natives  put  the  criminal  into  a  hole,  tie 
both  his  liands,  and  make  him  kneel  do^Mi.  The 
executioner  then  stabs  him  witli  a  spear  on  the 
left  shoulder,  the  criminal's  hands  are  loosened, 
and  the  executioner  jumps  upon  him,  pres.ses 
him  into  the  hole  and  covers  him  over  with  earth 
instantaneously.  If  two  people  fight,  and  blood 
is  drawn  on  the  head,  the  party  who  has  inilicted 
the  wound  pays  eight  doUai's,  a  goat,  one  eabong 
of  white  cloth,  and  a  bundle  of  seree  ;  the  goat  is 
sacrificed,  and  the  priests  are  assembled  to  pray. 
If  the  body  is  wounded,  the  fine  is  four  dollars, 
a  fowl,  yellow  rice  and  seree.  For  smaller 
offences,  flogging  with  a  rattan  is  the  usual  pun- 
ishment.— Anderson. 

For  most  men  (till  by  losing  rendered  sager). 

Will  back  their  own  opinions  \vith  a  wager. — Bijroti . 


AYARICE  Ol'TWITTED. 

The  case  of  John  Eyre,  Esq.,  who,  though 
worth  upwards  of  £30,000  was  convicted  at  the 
Old  Bailey,  and  sentenced  to  transportation,  was 
rendered  more  memorable  by  the  opportunity 
which  it  gave  Junius  to  impeach  the  integrity  of 
Lord  Mansfield,  who  was  supposed  to  have  erred 
in  admitting  him  to  bail.  An  anecdote  is  related 
of  Mr.  Eyre,  which  shows  in  a  stiiking  manner 
tlie  depravity  of  his  heart,  and  may  help  to  ac- 
count for  the  meanness  of  the  crime  of  which  he 
was  convicted.  An  uncle  of  his,  a  man  of  very 
considerable  property,  made  his  will  in  favor  of 
a  clergyman,  wlio  was  his  intimate  friend,  and 
committed  it,  unknown  to  the  rest  of  the  family, 
to  his  custody.  However,  not  long  before  his 
death,  having  altered  his  mind  with  regard  to 
the  disposal  of  his  wealth,  he  made  another  will, 
in  which  he  left  the  clergyman  only  £500,  leav- 
ing the  bulk  of  his  large  property  to  his  nephew 
and  heir-at-law,  Mr.  Eyre.  Soon  after  the  old 
gentleman's  death,  Mr.  Eyre,  rummaging  over 
his  drawers,  found  this  last  will,  and  perceiving 
the  legacy  of  £500  in  it  for  the  clergyman,  with- 
out any  hesitation  or  scruple  of  conscience,  put 
it  in  the  fire,  and  took  possession  of  the  whole 
effects,  in  consequence  of  his  uncle's  being  sup- 
posed to  have  died  intestate.  The  clergyman 
coming  to  town  soon  after,  and  inquiring  into 
the  circumstances  of  his  old  friend's  death,  asked 
him  if  he  had  made  any  will  before  he  died ;  on 
being  answered  hy  Mr.  Eyre  in  the  negative,  the 
clergyman  very  coolly  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
and  pulled  out  the  former  will,  which  had  been 
committed  to  his  care,  in  which  Mr.  Eyre  had 
bequeathed  him  the  whole  of  his  fortune, 
amounting  to  several  thousand  pounds,  except- 
ing a  legacy  of  £500  to  his  nephew. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  A  BRIDE. 

BT   OWEN   G.  TTAEBES. 

Well,  thou  art  lost — and  now  the  world 

Assumes  another  form ; 
The  sun  that  cheered  my  lonely  way, 

Is  veiled  in  cloud  and  storm. 
My  path  was  bright,  for  on  it  beamed 

A  ray  supremely  fair ; 
But  darkness  now  is  on  that  path, 

The  darkness  of  despair. 

The  world  to  me  is  now  a  blank, 

As  when  to  it  I  came  ; 
I  pause,  and  doubt,  if  on  its  face 

I  ought  to  write  my  name. 
All  things  seem  new,  and  I  must  now 

Forget  the  painful  past; 
And  now  begin  the  new  career, 

Where  fate  my  lot  has  cast. 

I  know  thou  canst  not  soon  forget 

The  tie  that  bound  our  souls  ; 
And  it  will  stronger  bind  us  yet. 

Though  sundered  as  the  poles. 
And  though  another  press  thee  now, 

Thy  thoughts  will  sometimes  turn 
To  him  in  whose  unchanging  heart 

31ore  during  feelings  burn. 

A  CHARACTER. 

"  Old  Bumblebee  "  was  the  cognomen  of  Mr. 
T.,  of  Newhuiyport.  He  gained  the  title  from 
the  fact  of  his  catching  a  bumblebee  one  day  as 
he  was  shingling  his  barn,  and  iu  attempting  to 
destroy  the  insect  with  his  hatchet,  cut  oft'  the 
ends  of  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  letting  the  in- 
sect go  unharmed.  Other  misJiaps  happened  to 
the  old  codger,  on  the  same  barn.  In  one  of  his 
abstractions,  lie  shingled  over  his  spare  hatchet ; 
and  cutting  a  small  aperture  in  the  building  to 
let  a  little  daylight  in,  this  man  actually  set  in  a 
wooden  pane,  as  being  economical  and  not  like- 
ly to  he  broken  !  Uncle  T.,  in  one  of  his  obliv- 
ious freaks,  nailed  his  left  ai-m  so  firmly  betwixt 
two  boards  of  a  fence  he  was  putting  up,  that  he 
had  to  call  for  help  to  get  extricated  from  his 
self-imprisonment.  He  once  put  a  button  on  the 
gate  instead  of  the  post.  But  the  rarest  freak  of 
all  was,  when  he  ran  tlirough  the  streets  witli 
his  hands  about  three  feet  asunder,  held  before 
him,  begging  the  passers-by  not  to  disturb  him, 
as  he  had  got  the  measure  of  a  doonvay  with  him  ! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
YIELD    NOT    TO    SADNESS. 

BY  VriLLIAH  T.  HU.SEE. 

When  care's  grim  spectres  round  thy  pathway  flit, 

And  hope  obscures  her  soul-enlivening  ray  ; 
0  do  not  with  dejected  spirit  sit, 

And  breathe  in  plaints  the  lagging  hours  away. 
For  all  must  through  affliction's  ordeal  pass. 

Must  scale  life's  barriers,  though  cragged  and  high  ; 
Must  onward  wend  o'er  highl.and  and  morass, 

Yet  ye  need  not  emit  the  h.Tpless  sigh. 

List  1  birds  are  wartiling  in  yon  sylvan  glen, 

And  gorgeous  flowers  are  carpeting  the  earth ; 
Raise  high  hope's  standard,  and  thy  heart  shall  then 

Participate  in  joyousness  and  mirtb  ; 
0  be  not  sad,  for  nature  aU  rejoices. 

And  teeming  plenty  crowns  the  vale  and  lea ; 
Hark!  hark  1  the  groves  resound  with  sweetest  voices, 

0  how,  0  how  can  ye  unhappy  be  \ 


All  our  trials  and  soitows  have  elements  of 
good  in  them  ;  hopeful  features  which  smile  upon 
us  in  gentle  reproof  of  our  unbelief  and  discour- 
agement. Now  and  then,  as  the  swift  shuttle 
passes,  we  catch  glimpses  of  bright  threads  weav- 
ing themselves  into  the  dark  web  of  our  affliction. 


4i) 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    llOCWI    COMPANION. 


EXTElUOil  VIEW  OF  TIIE  UNITED  STATES  MINT,  PHILADELPHIA. 


UNITED  STATES  MINT,  PinLADELPIIIA. 

On  this  and  the  following  page,  we  give  some 
very  fine  scenes  descriptive  of  the  United  States 
Mint  at  I*hiladclphia.  They  are  given  with 
great  accuracy  and  beauty  by  oui-  artist,  Mr. 
Devereaux.  Upon  the  last  page  are  also  two 
other  engi'avings,  by  the  same  artist,  represent- 
ing the  Coin  Press,  and  the  beautiful  steam  en- 
gine mentioned  below.  Tlic  United  States  Mint 
was  founded  in  1790,  and  the, business  of  coining 
commenced  in  1793,  in  the  building  occupied  at 
present  by  the  Apprentices'  Library.  It  was  re- 
moved in  1830  to  the  fine  building  it  now  occu- 
pies in  Chestnut  street  above  Olive  street.  The 
edifice  is  of  white  marble,  and  the  north  front 
opposite  to  Penn  square  is  123  feet  long,  with 
a  portico  60  feet  long,  of  six  Ionic  cohimns, 
and  the  soutli  front  on  Chestnut  street  has  a 
similar  portico.  Since  the  enormous  influx  of 
gold  from  California,  the  United  States  Mint  has 
become  an  object  of  more  than  common  attention 
and  interest,  and  tlie  place  is  usually  filled  with 
visitors,  watching  the  various  processes  which 
the  metal  goes  through  before  it  comes  out  a 
finished  coin.  The  ma- 
chinery and  apparatus 
by  which  tliese  are  ac- 
complished are  of  the 
most  complete  and  per- 
fect character.  The 
rooms  in  wliich  the 
smelting,  refining  and 
alloying  are  done,  are 
spacious  apartments,  in 
which  a  large  number 
of  workmen  are  cm- 
]jloyed.  Heaps  of  the 
rich  ores  are  to  be  seen 
laying  around,  as  they 
were  extracted  from  the 
mines,  or  gathered  in 
dust  from  the  sands  of 
the  mountain  streams 
of  California.     Bars  of 

the   pure  metal,  repre- 
senting many  thousand 

dollars    in    value,    arc 

passing  through  hands 

which,     like    those    of 

Midas,    seem    to    turn 

what    tlicy    touch   into 

gold.     The  heat  of  this 

place    is    insufferable ; 

fires  glow  witli  the  in- 
tensity  of    those    in   u 

foundry ;  the   men   are 

as  smutched  and  dust- 

begrimmed  as  those  in 

a  smithery ;  there  is  a 

suffocating  sensation  of 

hot  air,  steam  and  per- 

."ipiration  penetrating 

the  atmosphere,    which 

is  anything  but  pleasant 

to  experience,  when  the 

thermometer  is  palpita- 
ting under  a   Hummer 

temperature.    Crucibles 

arc  handled  witli  iron 

tong6  and  cotton   mit- 


tens, the  metal  is  shaped  into  bai's  and  then  re- 
duced to  the  requisite  fineness.  All  this  takes 
place  in  one  apartment.  In  another,  there  is  a 
most  beautiful  steam-engine  [sec  last  page], 
which  drives  the  rolling  and  stamping  machinery. 
This  engine  is  of  one  hundred  horse  power,  and 
works  the  rolls,  draw-benches,  and  cutting  press- 
es. It  is  called  a  steeple-engine,  and  has  two 
cylinders.  It  is  worked  by  boilers  forty  feet  in 
length,  and  forty  inches  in  diameter,  which  also 
works  a  ten  horse  and  five  horse  engine,  in  the 
separating  and  cleaning  apartments.  This  main 
engine  is  of  the  most  elegant  workmanship,  pol- 
ished like  a  piece  of  cutlery,  and  works  without 
the  least  perceptible  jar.  ITrom  this  room  the 
visitor  walks  into  that  where  the  rolling  machines 
are  at  work,  turning  out  the  metal  to  the  proper 
degree  of  thickness  which  each  particular  de- 
nomination of  coin  requires.  The  metal  is  oast 
into  ingots  14  inches  in  length,  and  about  5-8ths 
in  thickness  ;  they  are  then  rolled  to  very  near  the 
proper  thickness,  when  they  are  passed  through 
the  draw-benches  to  equalize  them ;  the  strips 
are  then  cut  at  the  presses ;  these  presses  cut  out 


from  two  hundred  to  two  hundi*ed  aud  sixty  a 
minute.  There  are  fourteen  men  employed  in  this 
room — two  for  each  pair  of  rolls.  The  pieces  cut 
then  pass  to  the  Adjusting  Room.  Here  each  piece 
is  weighed  separately  and  adjusted  witli  a  file. 
Light  and  inipcrrcct  pieces  are  re-melted.  There 
are  fifty-four  females  employed  in  this  room. 
The  pieces  are  then  taken  to  the  Milling  and 
Coining  Eoom.  Tlicre  are  from  two  hundred 
to  four  hundred  milled  in  a  minute,  according 
to  their  size.  In  another  apartment  the  coins 
are  cut  witli  a  punch  the  desired  si-ce  and  then 
stamped.  The  coins  are  placed  by  a  person 
seated  at  tlic  machine,  in  a  perpendicular  tube, 
down  which  they  descend,  one  at  a  time,  being 
seized  as  tlicy  drop,  by  a  part  of  the  machinery, 
which  pushes  the  coin  under  the  stamp,  whence 
it  falls  under  the  machine  into  a  glass-covered 
box.  This  part  of  the  process  used  in  former 
years  to  be  performed  by  a  press,  which  still  re- 
mains in  tlie  buikling,  worked  by  a  lever  and 
screw,  requiring  eight  men  to  laboriously  work 
at  it ;  now  the  process  requires  scarcely  any 
manual  labor  but  handling  the  pieces  of  coin. 


ADJUSTING  ROOM  OF  THE  UJNITED  STATES  MINT,  ITHLADELITIIA. 


The  rapidity  with  which  the  pieces  are  executed 
is  surprising — being  at  the  rate  of  from  seventy- 
five  to  two  hundred  per  minute.  Cents,  dollars, 
eagles,  double  eagles  are  turned  out  with  equal 
facility,  the  process  being  the  same  in  all.  Some 
idea  of  the  extensiveness  of  these  operations,  and 
of  the  metalliferous  fecundity  of  the  gold  pos- 
sessions of  the  United  States,  may  he  had,  when 
it  is  stated  that  in  one  mouth,  lately,  nearly 
three  millions  of  pieces,  gold,  silver  and  copper, 
were  coined,  and  that  nearly  four  millions  in 
value  are  coined  eveiy  month.  In  addition  to 
the  other  attractions  of  the  Mint,  there  is  a  most 
extensive  cabinet  of  coins,  ancient  and  modem 
(Roman,  Greek,  Chinese,  European),  which  is 
one  of  the  greatest  of  curiosities,  probably  to  be 
met  with  no  wliere  else  in  the  country.  The  offi- 
cers of  the  Mint  are  polite  and  attentive  to  visit- 
ors, and  endeavor  to  make  their  visit  one  of  ia- 
stiTietion  as  well  as  amusement.  It  is  under  the 
very  effective  management  of  Mr.  Dale,  the 
director.  We  have  more  than  ordinary  satisfac- 
tion in  presenting  so  very  fine  a  series  of  engrav- 
ings as  those  we  give  of  the  U.  S.  Mint  in  the 
present  number.  They 
are  critically  correct, 
and  our  readers  may 
i-ely  upon  their  truthful- 
ness, as  our  artist,  Mr. 
Devereaux,  passed  no 
inconsiderable  period  of 
time  in  making  the  ne- 
cessary drawings  for  the 
series,  within  the  walls 
of  the  Mint,  assisted  by 
the  gentlemanly  and  ur- 
bane director  and  ofli- 
cers  of  the  institution. 
The  subject  is  a  national 
one,  and  of  interest  to 
all,  and  is  of  a  character 
such  as  we  shall  con- 
tinue to  give  from  time 
to  time  in  the  pages  of 
the  Pictorial.  Scenes 
thus  depicted  by  a  series 
of  good  engravings, have 
additional  interest  and 
value  from  the  thorough 
manner  in  which  the 
artist  is  enabled  to  treat 
the  subject.  Any  of  our 
readers  who  may  now 
happen  to  visit  Phila- 
delphia, will  go  to  the 
Mint  under  standingly, 
and  can  there  test  the 
ti'uthfulncss  of  our  illus- 
trations, and  at  the  same 
time  doubly  enjoy  the 
subjects  of  investigation 
in  this  interesting  insti- 
tution,from  having  been 
hereby  familiarized  with 
the  operations,  the  ma- 
chinery, and  the  appear- 
ance of  the  internal  eco- 
nomy of  the  Mnit — one 
of  tiie  largest  in  the 
world. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOEIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COIMPANION. 


41 


ST0R3I  AT  SEA. 

Tlie  following  very 
good  description  of  a 
Htorm  at  sea,  and  esti- 
mate of  the  height  of 
waves,  is  coramiinicated 
to  the  Scientific  ^Vmcri- 
can,  by  C.  E.  M.  Wall ; 
"  Seeing  an  account  a 
few  days  ago,  in  the 
Jonrnal  of  Commerce, 
about  the  height  of 
waves,  etc.,  it  at  once 
appeared  to  me  the  in- 
formation was  not  de- 
rived from   the  proper 

\  source  to  be  published 

\  in  this  enlightened  age, 
for  no  person  of  tru3 
science  would  assume 
to  know  and  give  the 
depth  of  waves  alone, 
without  giving  the  ter- 
rific action  and  appear- 
ance of  the  ocean,  when 
the  tempestuous  blasts 
and  billows  are  at  their 
heights,  the  latter  being 
far  the  most  magnificent 
and  interesting.  There 
is  no  class  of  seamen 
more  exposed  or  expe- 
rienced than  whalemen, 
in  rough  weather  and 
stormy  seas;  other  class- 
es seldom  'lay  to'  long 
enough  to  weather  out 
a  storm,  which  com- 
monly lasts  three  day?, 
in  seas  tei-med  '  outside 
of  land.'  The  first  day 
of  the  gale  there  is  a 
short  cutting  sea,  with 
numerous  white  caps 
seen  in  every  direction, 
a  spray  now  and  then 

dashing  violently  over  the  bows,  and  appearing 
very  much  like  a  severe  storm  on  Lake  Erie. 
The  taking  in  of  light  sails,  lowering  of  yards, 
lashing  and  securing  boats,  bolting  down  the 
hatches,  etc.,  are  characteristics  of  the  first  day. 
Before  dawn  of  the  second  day,  the  large  sails 
are  all  furled,  and  the  storm  sails  set,  which  con- 
sist of  two  or  more  small  sails,  one  at  each  mast, 
close  to  the  deck,  which  serve  to  keep  the  ship 
steady.  The  ship  is  now  Maying  to,'  the  helm 
is  lashed,  and  the  watch  on  deck  takes  refuge  on 
the  weather  quarter.  The  seas  now  assume  every 
variety  of  shape,  the  entire  surface  being  cov- 
ered with  white  foam,  tossing,  boiling  and  hiss- 
ing, every  sea  threatening  to  overwhelm  the  ship, 
and  frequently  appearing  on  a  level  with  the 
topmast  head,  and  cannot  be  less  than  forty  feet 
high.  The  best  sea  legs  on  board  cannot  now 
cross  the  deck  without  grasping  and  holding 
with  the  hands.  The  gale  is  now  blowing  so 
severely  that  an  old  sailor  told  me  I  could  not 
go  upon  the  weather  rigging  without  creeping 
between  the  flaws  of  wind ;  here  was  every 
chance  for  exerting  strength  with  hands  and  feet. 
I  tried,  and  found  his  statement  correct.     With- 


PKESSING  AND  IMILLING  llOOJM  OF  THE  U.  S.  MtNT,  PHILADELPHIA. 


out  giving  any  account  of  the  terrors  or  dangers 
of  each  night,  or  of  wearing  ship,  I  wmU  go  to  the 
third  day,  the  wind  continuing  from  one  point. 
The  seas  at  this  time  are  running  parallel  with 
each  other,  and  are  much  heavier  and  broader 
than  the  day  before,  being  perfectly  smooth,  of  a 
deep  blue  color,  and  very  uniform,  many  of 
them  forming  one  vast  billow,  reaching  from  ho- 
rizon to  horizon,  and  running  at  the  rate  of 
twenty  miles  per  hour.  About  every  eighth  sea 
is  much  larger  than  the  rest,  and  assumes  a  lofty 
and  tcn-ific  appearance,  and  finally  curls  and 
breaks,  actually  overtaking  the  billow  in  advance, 
and  using  it  as  a  ground  floor  to  roll  upon,  leav- 
ing a  white  scroll  of  foam  across  the  ocean  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  making  a  noise  like 
the  roaring  of  distant  thimdcr.  This  sight  has 
never  yet  been  pictured  by  the  hand  of  an  artist ; 
a  skiif  may  now  ride  in  perfect  safety  on  the  in- 
termediate seas,  but  the  staunchest  ship  ever 
made  cannot  get  a  blow  from  one  of  these  bx-eak- 
ers,  without  getting  more  or  less  injured. 

During  a  voyage  of  twenty-three  months  in. 
the  ship  Candace,  of  New  London,  wc  were  in 
several  of  these  storms,  and  only  on  one  occasion 


one  of  these  seas  broke  square  on  us.  We  were 
rising  out  of  the  trough  of  the  sea,  when  the 
breakers,  as  it  were,  dropped  down  on  us ;  the 
third  mate  gave  the  alarm — the  top  ridge  was 
seen  curling  do^vn,  midway  between  the  fore  and 
fore-topmast  yards,  a  distance  of  twenty-five  feet 
from  tlie  deck.  The  sea,  pressing  downwards, 
waslied  the  men  in  a  wedging  fonn,  some  under 
coils  of  rigging,  others  between  the  pumps  and 
behind  the  spars,  and  some  with  difficulty  with- 
drew themselves  from  the  crevices  they  had  been 
forced  into.  The  sea  broke  the  starboard  bul- 
warks fore  and  aft,  breaking  fifteen  white  oak 
stanchions,  ten  inches  square,  short  off,  parting 
the  iron  of  the  main  chains,  sweeping  two  valu- 
able whale  boats,  davits,  lashings  and  all,  by  the 
board,  and  leaving  us  a  wreck  for  several  days. 
Counting  the  body  of  the  ship  ten  feet  out  of 
watei',  and  that  it  had  risen  five  feet  from  the 
bottom  of  the  trough,  it  would  leave  a  sea  of 
forty  feet.  During  the  same  voyage  in  the  In- 
dian Ocean,  we  saw  a  large  class  merchantman 
to  the  leeward  of  us ;  it  was  not  then  blowing 
sti'ong,  but  a  heavy  sea  was  running ;  our  cap- 
tain chose  to  run  down  and  speak  her;  she  was 


sailing  on  the  wind  and 
starboard  tack;  when 
getting  on  a  line  with 
her  course  we  luflcd  on 
the  larboard  tack,  which 
left  her  on  our  starboard 
one  point,  and  about 
six  hundred  yards  dis- 
tant. Both  ships  were 
now  nearing  each  other, 
and  both  settled  down 
in  the  trough  of  the  sea 
simultaneously  ;  the 
merchantman,  evident- 
ly alarmed  at  our  near 
approach,  ran  off  two 
points ;  this  caused  her 
to  follow  nearly  in  a  line 
of  the  ti'ough  of  the  sea, 
and  her  entire  masts 
were  completely  out  of 
sight  at  least  twenty 
seconds.  Both  ships 
came  up  side  by  side, 
one  sea  distant,  and 
spoke  each  other.  The 
merchantman  was  full 
rigged,  having  royal 
masts  and  sails  set;  her 
mast,  from  the  top  of  the 
main  royal,  was  judged 
by  the  officers  and  crew 
to  be  ninety  feet  to  the 
main  deck ;  her  body 
out  of  water  ten  feet, 
her  masts  inclined  4.^ 
degrees,  would  leave  a 
sea  of  fifty  feet.  This 
caused  much  wonder, 
even  to  the  old  sailors, 
it  being  a  sight  seldom 
seen,  and  was  witnessed 
by  the  whole  crew  of 
thirty-four  men,  at  the 
dog  watch, at  six  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  This 
sight  cannot  be  witnessed  only  on  like  occasions, 
which  of  course  are  very  rare  ;  but  still  will  prove 
that  the  height  of  waves  is  sometimes  as  great  as 
luis  been  represented  by  those  who  have  been 
placed  in  scenes  of  extraordinai-y  tempest." 


[See  p.  40  for  description.] 


THE  WAR  IN  SOUTH  AFRICA. 

An  English  soldier  writes  from  South  Afiica : 
"  We  have  fought  twenty-three  days  out  of  thir- 
ty-seven, and  rested  the  remainder.  The  ground 
the  enemy  occupies  consists  of  twenty  square 
miles,  very  large  rocks  and  ravines,  and  heavy 
bush.  We  are  almost  naked,  by  our  clothes  be- 
ing torn  off  om-  backs  in  scouring  through  the 
bush.  We  have  to  mend  them  with  pieces  of 
sheepskin  with  the  wool  on  them,  or  from  our 
comrades'  clothes  who  are  killed  in  the  bush.  If 
you  were  to  see  us  you  would  not  know  what 
we  were — red  jackets  mended  with  black  cloth, 
and  patches  of  all  descriptions,  and  our  faces 
black  with  the  hot-burning  sun  ;  but  thanks  to  a 
kind  Providence,  we  have  plenty  to  eat.  My 
comrade  was  wounded  the  last  day  we  were  fight- 
ing. He  was  shot  through  both  legs  above  the 
knees,  but  he  is  doing  vicU.." English  paper. 


GENEKAL  PRESSING  AKD  CUTTLSfG  ROOM  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  MINTj  PHILADELPHIA. 


[See  p.  40  for  UeBcnption.] 


42 


GLEASON'S   I'lCTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gleoflon'B  Pictorial.] 
TO  ANNA. 

BY   ELLEN    LOUIHE   CllANDLKll. 

I  '11  sing  tlico  a  song,  HWcot  Annn, 

Now  tho  fitura  nre  Bliiniiig  bi-l;,'ht, 
Ami  tho  moon  goes  Biniliiig  by  iiio, 

With  a  diiliqucscont  liglit ; 
Ana  thu  ftiiricrt  ou  tlio  liill-Kiao, 

Antl  tho  brownies  in  tho  ilull, 
Aro  tripping  along  to  the  muHio 

Of  the  valloj-lily  bt;!!— 
Now  tho  HUtiny  day  has  roHtoJ 

Her  lieiid  ou  the  night's  soft  breawt, 
And  tho  ungels  aro  climbing  the  cloud-Htairs, 

That  hang  in  the  misty  west ; 
And  the  silver  threads  of  the  moouliglit, 

Like  an  infant's  tresses,  swcci) 
All  over  tho  glade's  green  bosom, 

And  over  tho  dingle  deep. 

I  '11  ping  theo  a  song,  my  Annn, 

Of  the  days  all  golden  and  fitir, 
When  my  childish  hands  were  wreathing 

Fresh  buds  in  tliy  curling  hair. 
I  '11  whisper  thee  old-time  warbhngs, 

That  our  young  lips  used  to  praise, 
Till  thy  very  heart  goes  thrilling 

With  the  love  of  old-thnc  days  ; 
And  thy  voice  shall  murmur  blessing, 

In  words  that  are  dear  to  me, 
"With  the  light  in  thy  dark  eyes  gleaming, 

All  sunny  and  fair  to  see. 
And  I'll  pray  that  the  angols  love  thcu, 

And  keep  thee,  my  darling  fair, 
Till  the  light  of  the  heavenly  sunshine 

Shall  gleam  in  thy  soft,  brown  hair. 

^    ^»m^    > 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial] 

THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

A    SUSTGULAR   STOEY. 

BY  SYLVANUS    COBB,  JR. 

In  tlie  spring  of  1842, 1  chanced  to  be  in  Mes- 
sina, a  seaport  of  Sicily  ;  and  -while  there  I  was 

invited  to  visit  the  extensive  vintage  of  D i 

&  M 7.0.     Tlieir  location  ivas  in  a  pleasant 

valley  some  three  miles  back  from  the  city,  and 
beneath  a  portion  of  their  grounds  was  extended 
a  large  wine  vault,  embracing  an  area  of  nearly 

two  acres.     After  accompanying  M zo,  the 

junior  partner,  through  the  long  vine-arbors  and 
orange  groves,  we  descended  to  the  vault,  and 
after  passing  nearly  half  the  length  of  one  of  the 
pipe  tiers,  we  came  to  a  desk  where  a  man  was 
writing. 

"There  is  one  of  your  own  countrymen,"  said 

M zo,  "  and  he  will  accompany  you  through 

the  vaults." 

My  conductor  called  to  the  man.  who,  quickly 
dropping  his  pen,  stepped  down  from  the  stool 
and  came  forward.  He  was  employed  as  a  clerk 
in  the  exporting  department,  for  the  purpose  of 
filling  up  bills,  invoices,  etc.,  for  the  American 
and  English  merchants. 

"  You  will  find  him  a  strange  sort  of  a  man," 

whispered  M zo,  "  but  he  is,  notwithstanding, 

a  good  fellow." 

H ,  for  so  my  companion  had  called  him, 

was  a  tall,  well  made  man,  apparently  on  the 
better  side  of  forty,  and  he  had  a  pleasing,  intel- 
ligent look.  His  hair,  Avhich  was  quite  luxm'i- 
ous,  was  almost  white,  and  about  his  counte- 
nance there  were  evident  marks  of  suffering. 
His  eyes,  when  he  first  gazed  upon  me — which 
was  with  a  fuitive,  trembling  glance — had  an  in- 
expressible look  of  wildness  in  them,  and  a  cold, 
fearful  shudder  seemed  to  run  through  his  frame. 
Gradually  he  grew  more  composed,  and  as  he 
showed  me  around  among  the  pipe-flanked  ave- 
nues, casting  his  huge  lantern  licre  and  there  to 
show  me  the  ages  of  the  various  wines,  he  began 
to  talk  with  considerable  freedom,  though  he  yet 
betrayed  a  strangeness  of  manner,  a  sort  of  flar- 
ing of  voice  and  gesture,  that  could  not  fail  of 
exciting  my  curiosity.  A  casual  observer,  who 
might  have  judged  only  from  his  appearance, 
would  have  thought  him  slightly  insane ;  and 
even  I  felt  a  conviction  that  his  mind  was  not 
exactly  cotnme  il  faut,  or  at  any  rate,  not  quite 
comme  je  fun. 

"Do  you  reside  in  New  York  .'"  he  asked,  as 
we  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  extremity  of  the 
vault, 

I  told  him  that  I  did  not  belong  there,  though 
I  had  spent  part  of  the  winter  and  the  spring  of 
1841  and  '42,  in  that  city. 

"I  have  a  wife  in  that  State  somewhere,  and 
perhaps  a  child,  but  I  have  not  heard  from  them 
for  a  long  time." 

I  noticed  that  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  sleeve 
of  his  linen  jacket  as  he  spoke,  and  be  turned 
away,  an  though  to  hide  an  emotion  that  might 
he  tliouglit  unmanly. 


"  Does  she  not  write  to  you  ?"  I  asked. 

*'  She  knows  not  where  I  am." 

"  Do  1/011  not  write  '(" 

"  Mi-f  lie  uttered,  with  a  sudden  Ktnrt,  a  cold 
tremor  shaking  hi.s  frame  tlie  while,  "Ah,  sir,  I 
dare  not  trust  my  HU])crscriplion,  nor  my  auto- 
grai)h,  in — " 

He  hesitated — looked  at  me  wildly  i'ur  an  in- 
stant, and  then  stai-ting  on,  he  began  to  enlarge 
on  the  different  ages,  qualities  and  vintages  of 
the  wine.  Twice  I  tried  to  liring  him  back  to 
the  subject  he  had  so  abruptly  left,  but  it  was  of 
no  avail.  At  lengtb  we  came  ai'ound  to  the 
stejis  that  led  up  to  the  suifacc  of  terra  firma. 
The  sun  hail  already  set,  and  the  stars  were  be- 
ginning to  sparkle  in   the  blue  arch  above  us. 

H remarked  that  he  had  no  idea  it  was  so 

late,  and  added,  witli  the  happiest  smile  I  had  yet 
seen  him  express,  that  he  supposed  it  was  be- 
cause he  had  had  such  pleasant  comi:)any,  at  the 
same  time  assuring  me  that  I  was  the  only 
American  with  whom  he  had  held  a  social  con- 
verse for  over  a  year.  As  he  was  about  to  close 
the  vault  for  the  night,  I  proposed  he  should  ac- 
company me  to  my  cafe,  take  supjicr  with  nic, 
and  then  walk  wirh  me  about  the  city.  It  was 
some  time  before  he  would  consent  to  this  ar- 
rangement ;  and  while  he  was  considering  upon 
it,  I  could  sec  that  there  was  an  internal  struggle 
of  no  small  moment.  He  appeared  to  me  not 
unlike  a  man  who  is  debating  whether  he  shall 
attack  a  den  of  angry  rattlesnakes.  After  a 
while,  however,  he  consented  to  go,  though 
there  was  a  marked  reluctance  in  his  manner. 
He  extinguislied  the  light  in  his  lantern,  gazed 
up  and  down  the  long  avenues  to  see  that  no 
spark  of  fire  had  accidentally  been  dropped,  and 
then  he  followed  me  up  the  broad  stone  steps, 
and  having  secured  tlie  doors,  he  signified  that 
he  was  at  my  service.  The  direct  way  to  my 
cafe,  which  was  on  the  broad  quay,  lay  through 
the  heart  of  the  city ;  but  my  companion  insisted 
upon  taking  a  more  circuitous  route,  and  as  he 
led  the  way,  he  took  me  tlirough  the  narrowest 
and  darkest   streets  and  passages  he  coidd  find. 

"  Ml-.  C ,"  said  he,  as  we  were   emerging 

from  one  of  these  dark  passages,  "there  was  an 
American  merchantman  arrived  yesterday  from 
New  York,  and  I  know  not  who  may  have  come 
in  her.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  avoid  the 
public  places." 

In  an  instant  the  idea  flashed  upon  me  that 
my  companion  was  a  convict,  or,  at  least,  a 
criminal,  who  had  been  guilty  of  some  heinous 
crime  in  his  native  country,  and  was  consequent- 
ly afraid  of  detection.  The  more  I  thought  of 
it,  the  more  I  became  convinced  that  such  was 
the  fact,  and  I  could  now  account  for  his  strange 
conduct  in  this  fear,  and  in  the  gnawings  of  a 
guilt-burdened  conscience.  Yet,  he  was  a  wel- 
come companion  for  all  that,  and  I  felt  sure  that 
repentance  had  been  full  and  ample. 

H gazed  furtively  about  as  we  entered  the 

cafe;  and,  at  his  request,  I  ordered  supper  in  a 
private  room.  He  laughed  and  chatted  freely, 
and  the  more  I  saw  of  him  the  more  I  liked  him. 
After  we  had  finished  our  meal  we  started  on 
the  proposed  walk.  Itwas  nearly  eleven  o'clock 
when  we  thought  of  returning,  and  as  we  were 
passing  the  small  church  of  St.  Joseph,  I  noticed 
that  the  doors  were  open,  and  that  in  the  centre 
of  the  church  there  was  a  sable  bier,  around 
which  were  burning  a  number  of  wax  tapers.  I 
proposed  that  we  should  enter  and  look  for  a 
moment  at  the  corpse.  H made  no  objec- 
tions. In  one  of  the  confessionals  near  the  door 
sat  an  old  monk,  and  very  naturally  I  asked  of 
him  who  it  was  that  rested  upon  the  bier,  know- 
ing that  most  of  the  interments  from  tins  church 
were  in  behalf  of  charity. 

The  monk  informed  us  that  it  was  the  body  of 
a  man  who  had  come  on  shore  from  the  Ameri- 
can ship  that  came  in  the  day  before.  He  had 
been  very  sick  and  weak  when  he  left  the  ship, 
but  he  was  determined  to  land,  and  no  persua- 
sion of  the  crew  could  alter  him  in  his  determi- 
nation. He  had  reached  the  quay,  but  he  lived 
not  to  cross  it.  'The  kind  monks  of  St.  Joseph 
had  taken  charge  of  the  body. 

We  slowly,  reverently  approached  the  sombre 
scene.  Upon  the  breast  of  the  deceased  were 
the  various  articles  that  had  been  found  in  bis 
possession,  consisting  of  an  apparently  well-filled 
purse,  a  pocket  comb,  a  watch,  and  a  heavy 
double-barrelled  pistol,  the  latter  of  which  the 
monk  informed  us  had  been  found  loaded  with 
extraordinary  charges  of  powder,  balls  and  buck- 
shot. I  gazed  upon  the  face  of  the  dead,  and 
even  in  its  sunken,  mai-blc-like  rigidity,  there 
was  a  startling  expression  of  intense  resolution. 


as  though  Home  fell  purpose,  wliicli  even  death 
had  not  subdued,  sllll  dwelt  in  the  hushed  bosom. 
As  I  still  gazed  I  hejird  a  quick,  slificil  cry  at 
my  side,  and  ou  turning  I  was  half  frightened  by 
the  expression  of  my  companion's  countenance. 
His  eye-bulls  seemed  actually  starting  from  tlieir 
sockets,  his  mouth  was  half  open  and  fi.xcd,  his 
hands,  which  were  extended  towards  the  corse, 
treml)led  like  vil)ratiiig  harp-strings,  aiul  his  very 
hair  seemed  fretful.  He  moved  nearer  towards 
the  head  of  the  dead  man — looked  aucjtlier  mo- 
ment into  that  ]mllid  face,  and  then  sinking  upon 
his  knees,  he  clasped  his  hands  towards  heaven, 

"  Great  God,  I  thank  thee,  I  thank  thee ! 
thanks  !  thanks  !  thanks  !"  he  ejaculated  in  fran- 
tic tones,  and  then  he  arose  and  looked  once 
more  upon  tlie  features  of  the  corse.  Then  his 
eyes  wandered  to  the  heavy  pistol  that  lay  upon 
the  sable  pall,  and  while  a  cold  shudder  passed 
through  his  frame  he  took  me  by  the  arm. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  "  come  wilh  me  to 
your  cafe,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  strange  story." 

Without  heeding  the  mute  astonishment  of  the 

monk,  I  followed   H from  the  church,  and 

ere  long  we  were  seated  upon  a  balcony  that 
overlooked  the  beautiful  Straits  of  Messina.  My 
companion"'s  nerves  bad  become  somewhat  com- 
posed, and  I  could  see  that  there  was  an  intense 
satisfiiction  depicted  in  every  lineament  of  his 
countenance. 

"  Mr.  C ,"  he  commenced,  "  I  can  tell  you 

my  story  in  a  few  words.  Nearly  twenty  years 
ago,  I  fell  in  with  a  young  girl  in  the  city  of 
New  York.  On  my  part  the  acquaintance  soon 
ripened  into  a  love  of  the  warmest  and  most  ai-- 
dent  kind — and  it  was  as  pure  as  it  was  ardent; 
and  she  professed  the  same  feeling  towards  me. 
I  was  then  well  to  do  in  the  world,  being  a  clerk 
in  a  heavy  mercantile  house,  and  ere  long  itwas 
aiTanged  that  we  should  be  married.  About  a 
week  previous  to  the  time  set  for  this  ceremony, 
I  accidentally  heard  my  affianced  bride  use  some 
most  obscene  and  profane  language  in  company 
with  one  of  her  female  acquaintances.  You  can 
judge  of  my  feelings  under  those  circumstances 
much  better  than  I  can  describe  them.  I  turned 
awa}--  sick  at  heart,  and  on  the  very  next  day  I 
received  indubitalile  proofs  of  the  ntter  infidelity 
of  the  object  of  my  affections,  and  I  at  once 
broke  off  the  engagement.  Upon  being  ques- 
tioned by  some  of  my  companions  as  to  the 
cause  of  my  course,  I  unguardedly,  and  perhaps 
foolishly,  revealed  to  them  the  whole  secret. 
The  story,  as  having  come  from  me,  got  wings, 
and  it  soon  spread  among  the  lady's  acquaint- 
ances. 

"  A  few  days  afterwards  a  young  man  about 
my  own  age,  called  into  the  store  and  came  up 
to  the  desk  wdiere  I  was  writing.  His  hands 
were  nervously  clasped  together,  and  his  face 
was  livid  with  rage.  He  told  me  I  bad  forever 
blasted  the  reputation  of  his  sister — that  I  had 
faithlessly  deserted  her,  and  left  her  broken- 
hearted. I  attempted  to  reason  with  him,  but  I 
might  as  well  have  reasoned  witli  a  lightning 
bolt.  He  demanded  instant  satisfaction,  and 
proposed  that  I  should  accompany  him  over  on 
to  the  Long  Island  side  and  fight  him.  My  nat- 
ural timidity  would  have  prevented  me  from 
complying  with  such  a  request ;  but  I  had  also 
higher  scruples,  and  of  comse  I  refused.  Then 
he  called  me  a  base  coward,  and  swore  that  lie 
would  have  my  life.  I  complained  of  him  before 
a  justice;  he  was  apprehended,  publicly  tried, 
fined,  and  placed  under  bonds  to  keep  the  peace. 

"After  that  I  met  him  in  Broadway.  He 
stopped  me  and  whispered  in"  my  ear.  He 
swore  by  the  most  fearful  oath  a  man  could 
lake,  that  he  would  have  my  life,  and  that  he 
would  hunt  me  through  the  world  till  he  had  ac- 
complished his  purpose,  I  knew  that  he  meant 
just  what  he  had  said,  and  fear  began  to  take 
possession  of  my  bosom.  Many  times  I  discov- 
ered that  he  was  dogging  me  about,  but  I  always 
managed  to  keep  among  a  crowd  as  I  walked 
along  the  streets,  I  dared  not  bring  him  to 
trial  again,  for  I  miglit  fail  to  make  out  a  case, 
and  it  could  only  tend  to  incense  my  enemy 
still  more.  At  length  I  feared  to  walk  the 
streets,  for  one  night,  as  I  was  passing  a  dark 
alley  near  the  head  of  Cherry  Street,  I  heard 
the  report  of  a  pistol  close  to  me,  and  a  bullet 
passed  through  my  hat.  A  watchman  was 
quickly  on  the  spot,  but  nothing  was  to  be  found. 
I  Icnew  who  fired  that  pistol,  but  I  had  no  evi- 
dence !  I  felt  that  my  life  was  not  safe  in  the 
city,  and  secretly  I  moved  to  a  small  town  in 
the  western  part  of  Massachusetts,  where  I  en- 
gaged with  a  dry  goods  dealer.  Here  I  took  to 
myself  a  wife  ;    but  I  had  not  been  married  over 


a  month,  when  I  saw  my  enemy  pass  the  door  of 
the  store  and  look  in.  He  saw  me,  and  he 
pointed  his  finger  at  me.  The  cold  sweat  stood 
in  huge  droj)s  upon  my  bi'ow,  and  my  fears 
came  back  more  powerfully  than  ever.  At 
night  I  contrived  to  get  my  employer  to  go 
liomo  with  me,  and  on  the  way  I  heard  low, 
stealthy  stcjjs  behind  me.  I  knew  that  I  was 
dogged  !  '  You  are  mine ."  I  heard  a  voice  pro- 
nounce, as  I  turned  into  my  yard  ;  and  as  I 
turned,  I  saw  a  dusky  figure  moving  off  beneath 
the  shade  of  the  roadside  trees.  The  next  morn- 
ing I  sent  word  to  my  employer  that  I  was  sick, 
and  I  kept  the  house  all  day.  I  explained  all 
to  my  wife,  and  she  agreed  to  go  with  me  wher- 
ever I  wished.  Several  times  during  that  day  I 
saw  my  sworn  murderer  pass  the  house  and 
gaze  intently  up  at  the  windows,  but  he  did  not 
see  me. 

"  I  got  a  boy  to  go  to  the  stable  and  procure  u 
horse  and  wagon,  and,  after  dark,  to  take  it 
around  to  a  back  road,  nearly  a  mile  distant 
from  the  house.  My  wife  and  myself  tied  up 
such  articles  of  clothing  as  wc  could  carr}',  and 
taking  all  my  money  with  me,  we  stole  out 
through  the  back  garden,  and  gained  the  cross 
road  in  safety.  Tlie  wagon  was  there,  and  hav- 
ing entered  it,  the  boy  drove  us  off  at  a  good 
speed.  Just  at  daylight  we  reached  a  tavern 
where  a  stage  coach  was  almost  ready  to  start, 
and  the  boy  returned,  having  first  promised  to 
keep  inviolate  the  secret  of  my  flight.  The  stage 
was  bound  to  Lenox,  which  place  we  reached 
before  dark.  From  thence  I  went  to  Hudson, 
crossed  the  North  River,  and  made  my  way  to 
the  western  part  of  New  York,  where  I  bought 
me  a  small  cottage. 

"In  less  than  a  year  my  enemy  found  me 
again,  and  I  saw  him  standing  in  fi-ont  of  my 
house.  He  looked  wild  and  haggard,  but  I 
could  see  that  there  was  an  iron  determination 
upon  his  features.  One  night  I  heard  a  grating 
against  one  of  my  windows,  and  on  the  next 
moment  my  dog,  a  powerful  Newfoimdland,had 
sprang  from  his  kennel,  I  dared  not  go  down, 
for  I  knew  too  well  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 
The  noise  soon  ceased,  however,  and  on  the 
next  morning,  I  found  my  dog  laying  beneath 
the  window — dead !  The  villain  had  been  afraid, 
probably,  that  the  noise  might  have  disturbed 
the  neighbors,  and  he  had  for  the  present  desist- 
ed from  his  murderous  intent.  I  made  arrange- 
ments with  my  wife  to  keep  the  house,  and  tak- 
ing a  small  sum  of  money  with  me,  I  fled  from 
my  home ! 

"  I  went  to  New  Orleans,  and  there  m}'  enemy 
at  length  followed  me  !  For  three  years  I  skulk- 
ed from  place  to  place,  the  very  embodiment  of 
terror  and  weakening  fear ;  but  go  where  I  would, 
that  man  was  sure  to  haunt  me.  Six  different 
times  he  fired  at  me  with  his  pistol,  and  twice  he 
wounded  me.  Our  two  lives  seemed  now  to 
have  hut  one  end  and  aim.  His  was  to  take 
mine,  and  mine,  to  escape  his  fell  revenge  !  I 
became  almost  a  walking  skeleton — the  falling 
of  a  leaf  would  startle  me.  At  length  I  got  a 
chance  to  go  to  England.  I  was  in  London, 
standing  one  day  at  the  door  of  an  ale-house, 
when — O  God  ! — I  saw  my  life-hnnter  pass.  He 
was  as  pale  and  sunken  as  myself — restless  and 
nervous  ;  hut  his  black  eyes  gleamed  like  balls  of 
fire.  H;  did  not  see  me.  I  hmried  down  to  the 
Thames,  took  a  lighter  as  far  as  Gravesend,  and 
there  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  barque 
bound  directly  for  the  Mediten'anean.  I  got  a 
passage  in  her,  and  was  at  length  landed  in  thiy 
city,  where  I  have  been  «ver  since,  I  have  re- 
gained somewhat  of  my  former  health  and  spir- 
its, though  that  same  dread  fear  has  not  failed 
to  haunt  mc. 

"My  enemy  must  have  found  me  out,  even 
here;  but,  thank  God,  he  has  passed  from  the 
power  to  harm  me  more.  A  hand  mightier  than 
bis  has  stricken  him  down.  TTiat  iras  hi.-i  cold, 
powerless  corse  that  we  saw  to-night  in  the  chinch  ! 
If  my  wife  still  lives  I  shall  see  her  again." 
****** 

H did  meet  his  wife  again,  for  I  saw  them 

both  at  the  AVliite  Mountains  when  I  was  last 
there.  It  was  some  time  before  I  could  recog- 
nize, in  the  portly  gentleman  who  accosted  me, 
the  poor  haunted  man  I  had  met  in  Messina  ; 
but  when  I  realized  the  truth,  I  grasped  him 
warmly  by  the  hand,  received  an  introduction 
to  his  Avifc,  and  soon  wc  three  were  straying 
away  along  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  Ammo- 
n  00  sue. 


Fnith  loves  to  lean  on  time's  destroying  arm, 
And  age,  like  distance,  lends  a  double  chnrm. 

O.  11'.  Holi,u'. 


GLEASOX-S   PICTORIAL   DRAWIXCx    ROOM    CXBIPANIOX. 


43 


[^^"ritttn  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
UNREQUITED  liOVE. 

BY   J.   ALFORD. 

"  Let  sweet  reflection  sway  the  feeling  mind, 
And  gather  morals  from  each  budding  flower.-' 

Sec,  Clara,  how  yon  lovely  rose 

Buds  with  the  dawning  light ; 
And  as  the  day  comes  gliding  on, 

Looks  doubly  gay  and  bright. 
But  when  the  night  begins  to  spread 

Her  sable  mantle  round, 
Alaa  I  it  fades,  and  drooping  Ues, 

Neglected  on  the  ground. 

No  longer,  then,  with  killing  frowns, 

Give  pain  to  this  fond  heart, 
■\\'lien  thy  bright  smiles,  and  accents  sweet, 

Would  so  much  bliss  impart. 
Obdurate  still  ?— my  love  disdain  ?— 

Thou  triumph 'st  in  my  sorrow ; 
But  know,  proud  girl,  though  fair  to-day, 

Thy  charms  may  fade  to-morrow. 

But  I  will  cease  to  importune 

A  heart  so  cold  as  thine, 
For  there 's  no  hope  of  mutual  bUss, 

Lest  heart  to  heart  incline. 
On  life's  rough  sea  I'm  left  forlorn, 

The  sport  of  adverse  wind  ; 
To  sink  beneath  wild  ocean's  foam. 

And  leave  no  trace  behind. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

A  SKETCH  FKOM  LIFE. 

BY   3IKS.    E.    WELLMOXT. 

The  regular  swell !  His  face  is  a  mixture  of 
small-pox,  erysipelas  and  the  mumps  combined. 
His  figure  is  a  complete  bloat ;  and  then  look  at 
his  gait !  See  how  uneven  and  irregular  he 
moves  along ;  and  were  it  not  for  unmistakeable 
marks  of  one  of  his  "profession,"  he  might  be 
taken  for  a  tipsy  sailor  just  landed  from  the  ship. 
But  no ;  he  cames  a  large  gold-headed  cane, 
heavy  bushy  locks  are  appended  to  each  ear,  and 
hair,  if  nothing  else,  seems  to  have  found  a  con- 
genial soil  about  his  mouth  and  chin.  Where 
was  he  yesterday  'i  Why,  he  took  a  choice  spirit 
to  ride.  They  chartered  a  fleet  animal,  and  af- 
ter "  raising  tlie  wind  "  at  sundry  hotels  in  the 
vicinity,  they  daslied  into  another  vehicle,  broke 
off  both  shafts,  were  thrown  into  the  mud,  taken 
up  insensible,  and  conveyed  to  a  neighboring 
house,  where,  after  examination  and  a  copious 
ablution,  only  a  scratch  was  discoverable  above 
tlie  left  eye;  thus  verifying  the  adage,  that 
"  nought  is  never  in  danger."  The  horse  was 
returned  to  the  stable,  the  buggy  is  smashed  up 
by  the  roadside,  and  "  swell "  tells  the  owner  "  to 
help  himself  if  he  can."  How  is  he  to-day  ?  He 
has  just  swallowed  a  mint  jnlep,  and  bought  a 
ticket  for  a  friend's  "benefit;"  his  head  ach^s 
confoundedly;  he  has  a  mind,  however,  to  take 
a  game  at  billiards  ;  you  and  ho  will  run  for  luck, 
but  alas !  "  swell "  is  beaten,  and  his  last  six- 
pence is  gone ;  but  there  is  one  resource ;  his 
old  father  owns  a  fanm  in  the  country,  and  by 
dint  of  hard  labor,  his  mother  has  collected,  from 
eggs  and  butter,  money  enough  to  buy  Eunice  a 
sili  dress  before  the  fourth  of  July,  when  she  in- 
tends to  visit  her  brother,  Robert,  in  the  city  ; 
but  a  letter  anives  ;  it  b'.ars  marks  of  being  writ- 
ten in  haste,  and  its  contents  are  as  follows  : 

"  Dear  Mother  :  I  know  you  will  sympathize 
in  my  misfortunes.  I  was  thrown  from  a  chaise 
yesterday,  and  nan'owly  escaped  with  my  life." 
{Here  the  old  lady  is  seized  with  faintness.) 
Eunice  resumes  :  "  I  have  been  out  of  regular 
employment  for  the  last  three  months  ;  there's 
no  getting  a  place  ;  but  it  is  necessary  I  should 
remain  here  to  keep  a  look  out.  My  funds  are 
all  gone — paid  my  last  cent  to  my  landlady  for 
bo:ud  this  morning.  My  health  is  rather  poor. 
J  till  ('•  X  may  be  dropsical ;  have  a  pain  in  my 
eyi.',  >r ''nual  thirst,  and  an  uneasiness  about 
the  i'h'/-f  p-'_iich  a  few  dollars  might  remove." 
("Dear  K/!"  murmured  the  old  lady.)  "I 
have  thoughf^  you  and  Eunice  might  send  me  a 
shin  plaster  just  to  patch  over  these  uncomfort- 
able wounds.  I  have  plenty  of  jolly  fellows  who 
keep  up  my  spirits  ;  but  the -ready  rhino  is  indis- 
pensable to  my  maintaining  a  decent  appearance 
in  this  big  city.  You  had  better  say  nothing  to 
father  about  this  request ;  for  I  should  dislike  to 
cause  him  any  anxietj',  and  he  might  advise  my 
being  taken  home,  ivhick  is  out  of  the  que:itioii. 

"Tmly,  KoBEiiT." 

"  Poor  child !"  repeated  the  mother.  "  Dear 
Bob!"  said  Eunice,  "you  are  welcome  to  all  I 
have  gathered.  There  are  seventy-five  cjnts  in 
the  hook  and  eye  box,  one  dollar  in   ten  cent 


pieces  in  the  foot  of  a  stocking,  and  twenty-five 
cents  which  I  should  appropriate  to  my  annual 
subscription  to  the  library;  but  eveiy  cent  of  it 
shall  go  to  brother  ;  if  I  had  a  whole  Californian 
mine  it  would  be  none  too  much.  Yet  how  I  do 
wish  he  would  come  home  and  see  us." 

"And,  Eunice,  there's  twelve  dozen  of  eggs, 
and  that  large  cheese,  and  go  to  the  pork  tub, 
child,  and  take  out  a  large  piece,  and  run  over 
to  the  grocer's,  and  ask  him  what  discount  I 
must  make  for  him  to  send  me  the  money.  Let 
me  see,  I  have  four  dollars  and  fifty-seven  cents 
by  me.  Well,  we  will  make  it  up  to  twelve 
dollars,  and  that  will  give  the  boy  a  lift  for  a  lit- 
tle while." 

"Swell"  has  received  it.  He  first  takes  a 
boon  companion,  and  calls  for  a  glass  of  whisky 
punch  to  get  melloicecl,  as  he  calls  it ;  fells  on  his 
tailor  and  offers  to  take  a  ready  made  suit  on  six 
months  credit,  but  is  refused ;  swears  roundly, 
and  walks  out ;  goes  to  the  refectory  and  sups 
on  oysters  and  a  stiff  glass,  then  wends  his  way 
to  the  theatre,  drinks  between  the  acts,  makes  up 
to  a  night-walker,  is  overtaken  by  the  police, 
and  locked  up  in  the  watch-house.  The  next 
moraing  he  is  released ;  plays  a  game,  wins,  loses 
— all  gone  ;  drinks  by  invitation,  staggei*s,  grows 
boisterous,  is  represented  as  a  common  vaga- 
bond, and  sent  to  the  House  of  Correction  for 
three  months.  Information  is  communicated  to 
the  parents.  Wliat  a  liome  of  agony  is  there  ! 
troubles  unspeakable,  beyond  the  power  of  sym- 
pathy to  subdue  ;  for  there  is  a  disgrace  which 
dishonors  a  son,  and  sends  a  thrill  of  anguish 
into  the  hearts  where  he  was  fondly  nui'tured, 
which  has  never  been  written. 

Ten  yeai*s  ago  this  young  man  came  to  this 
city  in  all  the  simplicity  and  purity  of  his  early 
training,  and  was  a  salesman  in  a  well-establish- 
ed finii.  His  home  was  a  boarding-house — a 
cheap  house,  where  decent  food  and  lodging 
might  be  had  with  a  room  mate,  at  a  low  rate. 
That  companion,  however,  was  a  profligate 
young  man.  In  that  house  no  kindly  rebuke 
was  ever  administered,  provided  no  impi-oper 
behaviour  was  visible.  A  general  freedom  was 
allowed,  and  a  night  key  furnished  to  such 
hoarders  as  chose  to  pay  for  one.  It  had  no  at- 
ti-actions  as  a  home ;  and  after  the  duties  of  the 
day  were  ended,  the  young  man  felt  at  liberty  to 
see  the  wonders  in  a  strange  city.  At  first  his 
expenses  were  paid  to  decoy  him  without  any 
compunctions;  and  gradually,  as  his  "green 
habits  "  yielded  to  the  fascinations  of  unlawful 
desires,  a  sort  of  independent  action  that  made 
him  master  of  his  own  purse,  caused  him  to 
yield  to  the  solicitations  of  the  initiated;  and  his 
fall  was  just  as  certain  as  his  associates  were 
coiTupt.  He  soon  forgot  the  precepts  of  his 
rural  home ;  he  even  became  hardened  in  his 
aflfectionate  interest  for  those  whom  he  left  there. 
He  entered  no  lecture-room,  he  attended  no 
church,  he  cherished  no  love  of  purity,  but,  a  prey 
to  the  lawless  and  wild  dictates  of  an  imgovcmed 
spu'it,  his  doom  appeared  sealed,  and  "the  his- 
tory of  a  regular  swell  "  was  all  by  which  he  was 
known  in  this  community.  AVere  this  but  a  soli- 
tary instance  of  departure  from  rectitude,  the  ex- 
ample might  be  held  up  like  the  prodigal  son  in 
the  Sciiptm'es  ;  but,  unlike  him,  they  are  too  of- 
ten confirmed  blots  upon  creation,  and  never 
come  to  themselves,  and  retrace  their  steps. 

To  those  parents  who  are  meditating  a  ti^ans- 
fer  of  their  sons  to  a  great  metropolis,  we  would 
entreat  them  to  look  beyond  the  wages  they  se- 
cure, to  thi;  homes  tlwij  euter ;  sec  that  a  kind  care 
watches  over  them  ;  gather  about  them  such  in- 
fluences as  tend  to  confirm  and  strengthen  the 
rudiments  you  have  instilled  ;  and,  above  all,  do 
not  relax  your  own  interest  in  their  welfare. 
Write  to  them ;  be  ever  near  them  in  spirit,  and 
contrive  to  so  entwine  youi-selves  about  their 
hearts  that  the  slightest  dereliction  may  turn  their 
thoughts  to  that  ttmniscicnt  as  well  as  parental 
eye,  which  ever  watches  over  them. 


WONDERS  OF  THE  HE.iVENS. 

John  Herschel,  in  liis  Es.^^ay  on  the  power  of 
the  telescope  to  penetrate  into  space,  says  there 
arc  stars  so  infinitely  remote  as  to  be  situated  at 
the  distance  of  twelve  millions  of  millions  of 
millions  of  miles  from  our  earth  ;  so  that  light, 
which  travels  witli  tlie  velocity  of  twelve  millions 
of  miles  in  a  minute,  would  reciuire  two  millions 
of  years  for  its  transit  from  those  distant  orbs  to 
our  Qvra  ;  while  the  astronomer,  who  should  re- 
cord the  aspect  of  mutations  of  such  a  star,  would 
be  relating,  not  its  history  at  tlie  present  day,  but 
that  which  took  place  t^vo  millions  of  years  gone 
by.  What  is  our  earth  in  space  almost  infinite  ? 
and  still  more,  what  is  man,  that  he  should  be 
the  special  object  of  regard  to  tlie  Infinite  Author 
of  this  system  of  A\'orlds  '? — Enfjiish  paper. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
C.ISTLE  BUILDING. 

BY  JOHN   RUSSEL, 

A  raw  boned,  spunky,  Irish  lad. 
Who  his  own  share  of  blarney  had. 
Came  to  this  country — free  as  lard, 
To  find  a  home,  and  play  his  card. 
Says  Pat,  ''And  sure  I  've  come,  at  last, 
Where  I  'II  forget  my  sorrows  past ; 
Shillelaghs,  tithes  and  broken  pate. 
Here  are  unkno^Ti,  or  out  of  dat« ; 
And  nought  I  sec  before  my  eyes, 
For  such  a  lad  as  me,  but — rise  I 
Jackson,  and  Reilly,  and  Maguire, 
Their  very  names  my  breast  inspire  I 
But  stop  !  so  fast  I  must  not  meddle. 
My  first  resort  must  be  to  peddle  I 
I'ive  dollars  are  my  only  stock, 
All  safely  lined  within  my  sock  ; 
Which,  well  laid  out  at  pubhc  sale, 
To  yield  me  fifteen  will  not  fail. 
These  doubled,  trebled,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Will  put  me  in  a  handsome  store ; 
■Where  I  shall  court  the  public  notice. 
And  run,  perchance,  for  some  sleek  office. 
I  '11  be  a  red-hot  party  man, 
Until  they  dub  me  alderman  ; 
And  then  a  door  will  open  wide. 
For  any  size  and  sort  of  stride  ; 
For  there's  but  little  'twixt  the  mayor 
And  the  big  presidential  chair." 

"^^Tiile  these  thoughts  floated  in  his  brain, 

He  searched,  his  money  to  regain  ; 

Which,  holding  high  up  in  the  air, 

As  if  his  victory  to  share  ; 

A  most  unto^\'ard  blast  of  wind 

Came  impudently  from  behind, 

And  ere  Pat  could  a  speech  deliver. 

Blew  hopes  and  money  in  the  river  \ 

5I0KAL. 
Ne'er  sell  your  fish  nntil  you  catch  them. 
Nor  count  your  chickens  till  you  hatch  them. 

THE  CLOIATE  OF  AUSTRALIA. 

It  is  a  great  blessing,  too,  to  be  able  to  go 
abroad  in  an  ordinary  indoor  dress,  instead  of 
piling  ou  extra  pellicles,  graduated  according  to 
tlie  season.  Here  the  family  of  clogs,  galoshes, 
umbrellas,  etc.,  imported  from  Europe  by  the 
careful  emigrant,  arc  "  hungup  as  monuments  !" 
Chesterfield,  Benjamin, Taglioni  and  Mackintosh, 
are  sumptuary  nobodies  ;  and  Kicol  is  only  tol- 
erated in  his  most  gossamer  form.  I  am  aware 
of  the  existence  of  one  warming-pan  in  New 
South  Wales — one  only ;  and  I  shall  move  the 
owner  to  present  it  to  the  Sydney  museum  when 
she  returns  to  England — perfectly  certain  that  to 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  Anglo-Australian 
visitors  of  the  institution  the  intent  and  purposes 
of  the  implement  would  be  utterly  inscrutable. 
*  *  *  Yet  with  all  its  beauties  the  Australian 
climate,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  hard,  glaring,  al- 
most withering  in  its  excessive  aridity.  If  it 
does  not  prompt  to  languor  and  listlessness,  like 
that  of  some  other  souUiem  countries,  neither  is 
there  anything  voluptuous  in  it.  Byron's  dictum 
regarding  "  what  men  call  gallantry  "  and  "  cli- 
mates sultry  "  does  not  hold  good,  I  think,  with 
regard  to  New  South  Wales.  It  is  an  indirect 
libel  upon  it — happily!  Perhaps,  however,  so 
business-like  a  people  would  not  be  sentimental, 
romantic,  poetical  or  amorous,  under  any  skyey 
influences  ! — Onr  Antipodes. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LOOK  ON  THE  SUNNY  SLDE. 

BY  MRS.  M.  W.  CUETIS. 

Though  clouds  may  gather  to  dim  the  sky, 
And  summer  friends  may  pass  thee  by, 
When  adversity's  chains  are  over  the  flung. 
Or  the  heart  with  anguish  deep  is  wrung, 
Though  troubles  may  come  as  a  rolling  tide, 
Despair  not,  look  on  the  sunny  side. 

Remember  'tis  darkest  before  the  day. 
Then  watch  thee  for  the  sunbeam's  ray, 
'Twill  come  again  to  gladden  the  breast, 
And  set  thy  troubles  and  fears  at  rest ; 
Let  not  despair  in  thy  boi-om  hide, 
But  cheer  thee,  ajid  look  on  the  sunny  side. 

There  are  beautiful  spots  in  this  world  of  oui-s, 
Where  the  blossoming  glade  is  sweet  with  flowers ; 
There  arc  moments  of  happiness  radiant  with  light, 
There  are  hopes  will  outshine  death's  withering  blight ; 
Then  let  not  despair  in  thy  bosom  hide. 
But  cheer  thee,  and  look  on  the  sunny  side. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  WORD  "  BLACIiGUARDS." 

In  all  great  houses,  but  particularly  in  royal 
residences,  there  were  a  number  of  mean  and 
dirty  dependents,  whose  ofiice  it  was  to  attend 
the  woodyard,  sculleries,  etc.  Of  these — for  in 
the  lowest  depth  there  was  a  lower  still — the  most 
forlorn  wretches  seem  to  have  been  selected  to 
carry  coals  to  the  kitchen,  halls,  etc.  To  this 
smutty  regiment,  who  attended  the  progresses, 
and  rode  in  the  cars  witli  the  pots  and  kettles, 
which,  with  every  other  article  of  furniture,  were 
then  moved  from  palace  to  palace,  the  people  in 
derif^ion  gave  the  name  of  "blackguards" — a 
term  since  become  sufficiently  familiar,  and  nev- 
er before  properly  explained. —  Gifford's  Notes  to 
Ben  Jonson's  Plai/s. 


A  LONDON  PARLLA3IENT.ARY    REPORTER. 

Proby  had  never  been  out  of  London,  never 
in  a  boat,  never  on  the  back  of  a  horfce.  To  the 
end  of  bag-wigs  he  wore  a  bag ;  he  was  the  last 
man  that  walked  with  a  cane  as  long  as  himself, 
ultimately  exchanged  for  an  umbrella,  which  he 
was  never  seen  without  in  wet  weather  or  dry, 
yet  he  usually  reported  the  whole  debates  in  the 
I'eers  from  memoiy,  witliont  a  note,  for  the 
"  Morning  Chronicle,"  and  wrote  two  or  three 
novels,  depicting  the  social  manners  of  the  times  ! 
He  was  a  strange  feeder,  and  ruined  himself  in 
eating  pastry  at  the  confectioner's  shojis  (for  one 
of  whose  scores  Taylor  and  I  hailed  him) ;  he 
was  always  in  a  perspiration,  whence  George 
Colman  christened  him  "  King  Porus  ;"  and  he 
was  always  so  punctual  to  a  minute,  that  when 
he  arrived  in  sight  of  the  office  window,  the  re- 
mark used  to  be  :  "  There's  Proby — it  is  half  past 
two,"  and  yet  he  never  set  his  watcli.  If  ever  it 
came  to  right  time,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  if  you  ask- 
ed him  what  o'clock  it  was,  he  would  look  at  it, 
and  calculate  something  in  this  sort :  "  I  am 
twenty-six  minutes  past  seven — four,  twenty-one 
from  twelve,  forty — it  is  just  three  minutes  past 
three !" 

Poor,  strange,  and  simple,  yet  curiously-in- 
formed Proby,  his  last  domicil  was  the  Lambeth 
parish  workhouse,  out  of  which  he  would  come 
in  its  coarse  gray  garb,  and  call  upon  his  friends 
as  freely  and  unceremoniously  as  before,  to  the 
surprise  of  servants,  who  entertain  "an  'onid  " 
jealousy  of  paupers,  and  who  could  not  compre- 
hend why  a  person  so  clad  was  shown  in.  The 
last  letter  I  had  from  him  spoke  exultingly  of  his 
having  been  chosen  to  teach  the  young  children 
in  the  house  their  ABC,  which  conferred  some 
extra  accommodations  upon  him. — Tlie  Autobi- 
ography of  W.  Jerdan. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
ELLA. 

BY    HENEY  J.    KILMER. 

She  sleeps  beneath  yon  willow  tree, 

My  little  sister  dear ; 
Her  spirit  from  this  earth  is  free, 

Gone  to  another  sphere. 

'Twas  in  the  gentle  month  of  spring. 
And  the  blossoms  decked  each  tree, 

"Wlien  Ella's  spirit  took  its  wing. 
And  left  our  home  and  me. 

We  laid  her  'neath  the  clustering  boughs 

Of  yon  o'crspreading  tree, 
And  I  am  sad  and  lonely  now. 

Since  she  left  our  home  and  me. 

She  was  too  pure  a  bud  to  stay 
In  this  world  of  death  and  gloom  j 

So  God  has  called  our  Ella  away, 
To  a  land  where  ail  is  bloom. 

I  miss  her  sweet,  enchanting  tone, 

That  echoes  through  the  hall ; 
I  sit  in  quiet  and  alone, 

To  hear  her  footsteps  fall. 

But  ah  !  I  never  more  will  bear 

Her  gentle  voice  again  ; 
She's  gone  into  that  bUssful  sphere. 

Where  the  heart  is  free  from  pain. 

MOMENTS  OF  3IELODY. 

I  remember  once  strolling  along  the  margin 
of  a  stream,  in  one  of  those  low,  sheltered  val- 
leys on  Salisbury  Plain,  where  the  monks  of 
fonner  ages  planted  chapels  and  built  hermits' 
cells.  There  was  a  little  parish  church  near,  but 
tall  elms  and  quivering  alders  hid  it  from  the 
sight,  when,  all  on  a  sudden,  I  was  startled  by 
the  sound  of  the  full  organ  pealing  on  the  car, 
accompanied  by  rustic  voices,  and  the  willing 
choir  of  village  maids  and  cJiildrcn.  It  rose, 
indeed,  "like  an  exhalation  of  rich  distilled  per- 
fumes." The  dews  from  a  thousand  pastures 
were  gathered  in  its  softness ;  the  silence  of  a 
thousand  years  spoke  in  it.  It  came  upon  the 
heart  like  the  calm  beauty  of  death  ;  fancy  caught 
the  sound,  and  faith  mounted  on  it  to  the  skiis. 
It  filled  the  valley  like  a  mist,  and  still  poured 
out  its  endless  chant,  and  still  it  swells  upon  the 
ear,  and  wraps  me  in  a  golden  ti'ance,  drowning 
the  noisy  tumult  of  the  world. — Hazlitt. 

TRIBUTE  TO  WOMAN. 

There  is  something  about  woman  that  is  curi- 
ous, isn't  there  ?  This  morning  I  swept  the 
school  Iiouse.  I  thought  it  was  nicely  done.  I 
felt  proud.  Presently  some  girls  came  in  ;  and 
one,  true  to  the  instinctive  sense  of  neatness 
characteristic  of  her  sex,  took  the  broom.  She 
swept  after  mc — and,  good  gracious,  what  a 
change  !  It  seemed  as  if — well,  I  can't  tell ;  but 
when  slie  had  got  done,  I  had  a  very  poor  opinion 
of  my  house-keeping  powers,  I  assure  you.  The 
stove-hearth,  the  wood  by  the  stove,  all,  every- 
thing, put  on  that  look  which  only  woman  can 
give.  What  in  creation  is  it  that  makes  them 
give  such  an  air  to  things  I — CoiTesj'Oiidence  of 
Kn  ickcrbocker. 


OUR  PASSIONS. 

We  are  like  Adam  in  the  ei>ic  poem  ;  we  look 
upon  our  first  night  as  the  crack  of  doom,  and 
the  first  setting  of  the  sun  of  the  world.  We  be- 
wail our  friends  as  if  there  were  no  better  futu- 
rity yonder,  and  bewail  ourselves  as  if  there  were 
uo'bettcr  futurity  here;  for  all  onr  passions  are 
born  atheists  and  infidels. — Hichtei: 


Gnats  are  unnoticed  whereso'pr  they  fly. 

But  eagles  gazed  upon  by  every  ej  a.—Shahspeare. 


u 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL    DllAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


THE  NEW  COURTS  OF  LAW^  C05IM0NLY  CALLED  OSGOODE  HALL,  TORONTO,  CjVNADA. 


OSGOODE  HAIil*,  TORONTO. 

Toronto,  tlic  locjile  of  the  fine  buiUlins:;  repre- 
sented above,  in  the  spac-e  of  some  thirty  yei-irs, 
lias  become,  from  a  village  containing  a  few 
Inmdrcd  souls,  a  iloui'ishing  town  with  above 
twenty  tlionsand  inliabitants,  and  possessing 
most  of  the  comforts  and  many  of  tlic  luxuries  of 
the  generality  of  English  country  towns,  her 
seniors  by  centuries.  Some  fifteen  years  ago  the 
scat  of  government,  which  had  been  held  at  To- 
ronto, was  removed  to  Kingston ;  and  the  ab- 
sence of  a  resident  governor,  with  his  train  of 
officials,  as  also  of  a  hirge  garrison,  was  severely 
felt,  and  obliged  Toronto  to  apply  all  her  ener- 
gies to  overcome  her  loss.  The  strong  exertion 
of  inward  resources  is  seldom  without  its  reward, 
and  in  this  case  has  proved  how  far  more  bene- 


ficial in  its  results  is  reliance  on  native  industry 
than  on  foreign  support.  So  far  from  degener- 
ating, Toronto  has  continued  to  improve,  and  is 
now  the  most  flourishing  town  of  Western  Cana- 
da. After  Toronto  was  shorn  of  its  official 
greatness,  it  underwent  many  transformations  of 
its  public  buildings  ;  the  parliament  building  was 
converted  into  a  mad-house,  by  a  less  easy  trans- 
formation the  governor's  residence  became  a 
normal  school,  his  excellency's  stable  a  theatre, 
and  the  principal  barrack  sprouted  fortli  into  a 
lawyers*  hall.  The  accompanying  sketch  will 
show  that,  as  far  as  arcliitcetural  beauty  is  con- 
ceded, the  change  in  the  latter  case  has  been 
decidedly  for  the  better ;  but,  alas  !  where  are  ye 
now,  yc  gallant  93d  Highlanders,  who  once  call- 
ed Osgoode  Hall  your  barracks  'i     Hushed  are 


the  pibroch's  notes,  which  once  resounded 
in  this  placCjWhcrc  the  bustling  attorney  prepares 
his  bill  of  costs,  the  sage  barrister  rehearses  elo- 
quence, the  dignified  judge  dispenses  law.  Black 
goivns  and  green  bags  have  superseded  red  coats 
and  tartan  kilts,  and  melted  into  thin  air  are  the 
idle  crowds  which  would  once  collect  at  the  gate 
to  watch  the  manceuvres  of  those  stalwart  men, 
as  bedirked  and  bckilted  they  moved  in  proud 
consciousness  of  the  admiration  they  excited. 
Many  a  group  of  American  travellers  would  then 
stop,  and  utter  quaint  remarks  upon  the  breadth 
of  chest  and  ruddiness  of  eheek  of  these  moun- 
tain warriors ;  while  beneath  green  veils  and 
black  silk  dresses  (the  uniform  travelling  dress  of 
American  ladies)  a  fearful  struggle  would  take 
place  between  female  curiosity  and  Yankee  fas- 


tidiousness, till  the  spirit  of  Eve  conquers,  the 
green  veil'  is  thrown  back,  and  soft  expressive 
glances  of  undisguised  admiration  rest  on  those 
sturdy  forms,  "  horrid  bare  legs,"  notwithstand- 
ing !  The  population  of  Toronto  consists  chiefly 
of  the  descendants  of  New  England  loyalists — 
that  is,  British  subjects  who,  during  the  revolu- 
tionary war,  adhered  to  the  British  cause — and 
English,  Scotch  and  L'ish  emigrants ;  the  former 
well  merit  the  success  which  has  in  general  at- 
tended tlieir  efforts,  to  regain  by  industry  or 
talent  wliat  their  forefathers  had  sacrificed  to  an 
honorable  sense  of  duty;  while  the  latter  have 
themselves  principally  to  blame  if  they  fail  to 
better  tlieir  condition,  and  eventually  secure  to 
themselves  and  their  children,  competence  or 
independence. 


CROSSING  THE  RAPID!-. A  CANADIAN  SCENE. 


[I'or  dcauription,  soo  [iitifo  15.J 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRA\^^ING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


45 


PEEDERICK   GLEASON,   PKOpniETOR. 
MATURIN   IT.    BALLOU,   Editor. 

COKTEKTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMKER. 

"Mark  Warland,  or  Fortune  and  Favor,"  a  story,  by 
Geo.  Can.msg  IIill. 

•'  The  Three  Dollar  Bill,"  a  sketch  of  an  STery  day  truth, 
by  S.  CoDD,  Jr. 

"  Summer  Boarding,"'  a  story,  by  Mrs.  E.  "Wellmont. 

"  Works  of  Love,"  a  story,  by  Mrs.  S.  P.  Douckty. 

"  0  come  not  to  me."  Terses,  by  Miss  E.  Hicks. 

"My  Harrv,  0!"  a  song,  by  R.  G.  Staples. 

"  To  a  Kosebud,"  verses,  by  C.  Jillson. 

"  Lines  to  a  Kiss." 

*'  The  Loss  of  Sachem's  ITead,* ■  by  F.  W.  Rdssell. 

'■  The  Lone  Heart,''  lines,  by  J.  II.  Butler. 

•■There  is  a  God  above."  verses,  by  S.  BuRNnAsi. 

'-  To  Mrs.  E.  Chandler,"  a  poem,  by  Mrs.  R.  T.  Eldredge. 

'■  Covenanter's  nynin,"  lilies,  by  J.  Hukt,  Jr. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

We  shall  give  a  fine  full  length  portrait  of  the  late  Hon. 
Henry  Clay,  one  of  America's  honored  and  cherished  sons, 
and  for  wliom  the  land  is  in  mourning  from  east  to  west, 
from  north  to  south.     It  is  by  our  .artist,  Mr.  Roivsr. 

Also  the  famous  Clay  Medal,  presented  to  this  honored 
statesman,  will  be  correctly  delineated  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Wade. 

We  shall  present  a  very  interesting  set  of  scenes  illus- 
trating a  large  variAy  of  Fishes,  of  various  kinds,  and  in 
various  positions,  forming  an  admirable  eeries  of  natural 
history  illustrations,  covering  two  entire  pages  of  the 
Pictorial. 

A  very  beautiful  and  original  series  of  views  of  the  City 
of  Neivport,  R.  I.,  now  the  most  fashionable  watering 
place  io  America,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  CImpin.  The  series 
will  consist,  first,  of  a  view  of  the  City  of  Newport ;  second, 
a  view  of  the  First  Beach  and  Bathing  Point ;  third,  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Stone  Tower ;  fourth.  Fort  Conanicut,  opposite 
the  City  of  Newport ;  fifth,  an  engraving  of  Gen.  I'rescott's 
Head  Quarters;  and  sixth, Gen.  Greene's  Birthplace, form- 
ing one  of  the  finest  series  of  connected  pictures  we  have 
yet  published. 

The  Glass  House  for  the  Victoria  Regina,  at  Ghent,  will 
be  illustrated  most  accurately,  forming  a  capitJil  picture. 

Throe  engravings  will  be  given,  also,  of  this  famous 
plant,  discovered  on  the  river  Amazon,  in  South  America, 
representing,  first,  the  lily  before  opening;  second,  the 
lily  in  full  ttower;  and  third,  the  under  part  of  the  leaf, 
forming  a  most  interesting  series  of  illustrations  of  this 
marvellous  plant. 

An  original  and  very  beautiful  view,  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Mallory,  of  the  Blind  Asylum,  at  South  Boston.  A  fine 
picture. 


FUIVERALS. 

The  stupid  indiflPcrence  with  which  all  the 
Americans  regard  tlie  passage  of  a  funeral  pro- 
cession is  proverbial.  Now  the  French  people, 
from  a  regaid  to  the  feelings  of  mouniers,  as  well 
as  respect  for  the  memory  of  the  dead,  wlien 
they  meet  a  funeral  procession,  stand  still,  and 
uncover  in  the  street,  while  the  procession  pass- 
es. A  most  touching  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
the  dead.  "VVe  most  earnestly  wish  our  people 
had  the  heart  to  imitate  it. 


SPLINTERS. 


General  Lane  bets  SIOOO  that  Scott  will 

not  be  elected. 

....  Jenny  Lind,  at  last  accounts,  was  creat- 
ing a  great  furor  in  London. 

....  The  Boston  Bee  asks,  will  Scott  pierce 
Pierce,  or  will  Pierce  pierce  Scott  ? 

Burning  fluid  murdered  G.  L.  Bai-tlett, 

of  the  town  of  Mendon,  Mass. 

....  Michael  Weeks  was  killed  by  a  sun  stroke 
the  other  day,  at  Savannah,  Ga. 

....  Louis  Napoleon's  salary  is  just  about 
eight  cents  a  second!    Big  pay  that. 

Mi's.  Mowatt  has  just  closed  an  engage- 
ment for  her  professional  services  at  New  Orleans. 

....  They  have  a  magnificent  new  steamer  on 
the  Hudson  Eiver  called  the  "  Francis  Skiddy." 

Seven  railroads  will  terminate  at  Buffa- 
lo, N.  Y.,  before  the  year  1853. 

Queen  Victoria  has  been  on  a  visit  to  the 

Highlands  of  Scotland,  we  see. 

Milwaukie  has  shipped  50,000  dozens  of 

eggs  for  New  York,  this  season. 

Booth,  the  elder,  has  gone  to   California 

on  a  professional  theatrical  tour. 

....  The  small-pox  still  rages  very  severely 
in  the  city  and  suburbs  of  New  York. 

Coal  has   been   selling   at  Panama  for 

twenty-five  dollars  per  ton. 

C.  Dibdin  Pitt,  when  last  heard  from, 

was  playing  at  one  of  the  London  theatres. 

....  McAllister,  the  magician,  has  been  re- 
markably successful  in  Philadelphia. 

It  is  said  tliat  Mr.  Webster  will  shortly 

retire  from  public  life  altogetlicr. 

....  The  Hutchinson  Family  liave  gone  to 
sing  to  the  Californians.     Arrived  safe. 


FOREIGKERS. 

We  see  very  often  a  spirit  manifested  in  the 
public  press  against  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
our  foreign  population,  that  does  not  strike  us 
as  being  exactly  in  accordance  with  the  genius  of 
our  institutions.  People  seem  alarmed  lest  for- 
eigners should  become  so  numerous  as  to  outvote 
us,  and  in  the  end  overthrow  the  present  fonn  of 
government  in  the  United  States.  AVe  can  sym- 
pathize with  no  such  fear  as  tliis. 

In  lookmg  hack  but  a  little  way  in  our  history 
as  a  nation,  we  find  that  some  of  the  most  illus- 
trious names  in  our  State  and  army  records  are 
those  of  foreigners,  and  the  children  of  foreign- 
ers ;  indeed,  what  arc  we  all  but  tlic  descendants 
of  foreigners  ?  "UHien  would  our  freedom  have 
been  established,  but  for  the  assistance  rendered 
by  the  good  right  liands  of  foreigners "?  Need 
we  adduce  a  proud  list  of  names,  beginning, 
for  instance,  with  that  of  Lafayette  ?  No,  we 
will  not  suppose  that  our  readers  are  so  ignorant 
of  the  liLstory  of  our  country  as  to  require  us  to 
do  so. 

The  nature  of  our  institutions  and  government 
is  such,  that  in  their  very  construction  and  for- 
mation they  carry  the  idea  with  them  of  being  a 
home  for  the  oppressed  and  down-trodden  of 
every  land.  As  such,  America  is  the  admiration 
of  the  world ;  as  such,  let  her  ever  challenge  the 
love  of  the  great  and  good  of  Christendom,  and 
prove  her  right  to  be  cherislied  as  an  asylum  of 
freedom,  and  a  terror  to  tyrants,  in  the  bright 
example  she  exhibits. 

Eejiublicanism,  when  justly  administered,  is 
too  pure  and  good,  too  apparent  in  its  excellence 
and  value  to  all  wlio  have  actually  enjoyed  its 
rights  and  privileges,  for  us  to  fear  that  our 
adopted  citizens  will  ever  desire  to  live  under  any 
other  form  of  laws. 


CHARACTERISTIC. 

What  we  accomplish  by  conventions  and  mass 
meetings,  the  English  frequently  effect  by  din- 
ners. We  observe  in  late  London  papers  an  ad- 
vertisement, that  "  the  admirers  of  Swcdcnborg 
will  dine  together  to  celebrate  the  forty-third  an- 
niversary of  the  society  for  printing  and  publish- 
ing his  theological  works ;  tickets  twelve  shil- 
lings each."  Tills  is  a  curious  mode  of  honor- 
ing the  memory  of  the  most  spiritual  of  authoi's, 
and  of  promoting  the  dissemination  of  the  most 
spiritual  of  writings.  In  the  same  paper  there  is 
a  call  for  a  special  meeting  of  the  '*  Anti-CoiTup- 
tion  Societ}',"  for  the  purpose  of  "  tracing,  ex- 
posing and  punishing  any  bribery  or  treatbig  in 
ihe  coming  election."  Thus,  more  and  more 
are  the  duties  of  government  assumed  by  private 
organizations. 


CURE  FOR  CHOLERA. 

Sea  captains,  who  sail  out  of  Liverpool  now-a- 
days,  assert  that  they  care  no  more  for  Asiatic 
cholera  than  for  ordinary  colic,  or  sickness  of 
the  stomach.  They  have  a  remedy  which  they 
pronounce  infiillible,  and  so  accessible  and  sim- 
ple as  to  relieve  all  ajiprehension  of  fatal  results. 
We  shall  probably  tell  many  of  our  readers  no- 
thing new  when  we  state  the  prescription  :  Com- 
mon salt,  one  table-spoonful ;  red  pepper,  one 
tea-spoonful,  in  a  half  pint  of  hot  water.  Never- 
theless, as  we  have  heard  innumerable  instances 
of  its  use,  and  not  one  of  its  failure,  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  formula  may  do  no  harm.  It  is  at 
the  service  of  the  reader. 


THE  CINCINNATI  AGENCY. 

In  answer  to  numerous  inquires  as  to  the 
agency  of  our  paper  in  Cincinnati,  we  would  say 
to  all  that  iMr.  H.  E.  Edwards  is  not  our  agent, 
and  no  business  is  transacted  for  this  establish- 
ment by  him.  Persons  desiring  our  publications 
in  that  city,  or  the  State  of  Ohio  generally,  should 
apply  to  A.  C.  Bagley,  No.  10,  West  Third  St., 
who  will  answer  all  orders  promptly  and  honor- 
ahly.  We  may  have  more  to  say  in  a  future 
number  relative  to  our  Cincinnati  agency. 


FujfNT. — It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  city 
which  produces  the  odorous  and  world-renowned 
Cologne  water,  is  known  to  he  one  of  the  most 
filtbv  and  offensive  in  the  world. 


Iron  Works  sold. — The  Boonlon  iron 
works  in  New  Jersey  were  recently  sold  for 
S160,000,  not  one  quarter  their  first  cost. 


Gold  Digging. — William  Howitt,  the  poet, 
has  gone  off  to  the  Australian  diggings. 


True. — Suspicion  is  always  worse  than  fiact. 


ST.  PIERRE. 

Mr.  Willis  lets  nothing  escape  his  imaginative 
eye  in  his  travels.  In  a  late  letter  from  Marti- 
nique to  the  Home  Journal,  he  describes  a  visit 
to  the  liospital  as  follows  :  "  My  walk  this  morn- 
ing has  been  through  the  wards  of  a  military 
hospital — a  kind  of  walk  I  used  to  be  more  fond 
of,  in  days  when  the  picture  of  life  more  needed 
to  borrow  shading.  This  was  different,  in  some 
respects,  from  the  hospitals  I  have  seen ;  one 
might  covet  a  fever  to  be  so  lodged  and  tended. 
The  building  was  a  massive  and  imposing  one, 
shelved  on  a  terrace  close  to  the  bright  green 
hills  which  embosom  tlie  town,  and  i\ith  the 
courts  and  gardens  of  a  palace  around  it.  There 
were  two  picturesque  peculiarities — one  of  which 
had  a  touch  of  sentimental  also  :  the  attendants 
were  Sisters  of  Charity,  nuns  nicely  coiffed  in 
white,  and  with  their  black  crosses  suspended 
over  the  whitest  of  aprons,  whom  it  looked  as  if 
it  might  be  a  pleasure  to  be  nm-sed  by.  Then 
the  sixty  or  seventy  sick  soldiers  were  heavily 
bearded ;  and,  as  they  lay  reading,  or  sleeping, 
in  their  long  rows  of  white  beds,  their  heads  upon 
the  clean  pillows — mustaches,  imperials  and  all 
— were  studies  for  an  artist.  Grow  your  beard, 
if  you  wish  to  look  well  in  bed,  my  dear  general !" 


CANADIAN  RAPIDS. 

On  page  44  we  give  a  representation  of  a  Ca- 
nadian scene  on  the  rapids  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
showing  the  mode  of  navigation  adopted  by  the 
daring  boatmen  who  navigate  these  waters.  The 
pictiu-e  is  vivid,  spirited  and  life-like,  and  dis- 
plays the  stai'tling  and  adventurous  achievements 
daily  accomplished  by  these  nortliern  river  boat- 
men. Knowing  every  stone,  shoal  and  channel 
way,  they  perform  feats  of  seeming  impossibility 
in  comparative  safety,  and  with  entire  self-pos- 
session. In  the  frail  bark,  ^vhich  is  represented 
in  the  scene  depicted,  there  will  be  noticed  a 
group  of  travellers  ''amidships,"  in  whose  coun- 
tenances will  be  observed  the  terror  and  anxiety 
natural  to  their  situation.  They  are  passing 
from  some  thinly  populated  portion  of  the  coun- 
try to  another,  and  are  forced  to  adopt  this  haz- 
ardous mode  of  transportation.  However,  they 
pass  the  rapids  in  safety,  and  accidents,  notwith- 
standing the  dangerous  com-se,  rarely  occur,  so 
practical  and  self-possessed  are  the  steersman 
and  his  assistant  oarsman  in  the  management  of 
the  bark  at  the  most  critical  moments. 


"THE  HEART'S  SECRET." 

On  the  last  page  of  the  present  number  will  be 
found  an  illustration  relating  to  a  scene  in  the 
first  chapter  of  Lieutenant  Murray's  novelette, 
now  publishing  in  our  columns,  entitled  "  The 
Heart's  Secret."  The  scene  here  depicted  is  the 
quay  or  whaif  at  Havana,  nearest  to  the  Plato, 
from  whence  Licxitenant  Bezan  leaped  into  the 
bay  to  save  the  life  of  Ruez  Gonzales.  Having, 
after  a  fearful  struggle,  accomplished  his  noble 
purpose,  the  young  officer  is  seen  giving  the  half 
unconscious  boy  into  the  arms  of  his  father,  Don 
Gonzales.  Across  the  bay,  in  the  dim  twilight, 
is  seen  the  outline  of  Moro  Castle,  from  behind 
the  battlements  of  which,  the  moon  is  stealing 
up,  and  silvering  the  water  with  its  bright  but 
subdued  light.  On  the  quay  lays  the  coat,  where 
the  young  officer  hastily  threw  it,  as  he  leaped 
into  the  sea  to  save  the  boy's  life.  In  the  back- 
ground is  seen  Count  Anguera,  who  is  hastening 
for  a  volante  to  convey  Ruez  to  his  home. 


A  PRETTY  INCOME. 

According  to  a  statement  just  published  by 
order  of  the  House  of  Commons,  the  income  of 
Queen  Victoria's  eldest  son,  the  young  Prince  of 
Wales,  during  the  year  1S51,  from  tlie  Duchy  of 
Cornwall,  was  .£G1,272  2s.  7d.  Deducting  ex- 
penses for  surveys,  repairs,  etc.,  .£40,313  lls.6d. 
was  left,  which  amount  was  paid  over  to  the 
ti'ustces  of  the  prince  for  his  use.  A  snug  little 
amount  of  pocket  money  for  a  boy. 


What's  in  a  Name  ? — A  Minnesota  paper 

announces   the  man-iage  of  Thomas  H.  Curd, 

formerly  of  Ohio,  to  Miss  Whirling  Thunder,  a 

Winnebago  lady. 

<  ^■^  » 

Plain  Talk. — ^Lloyd's  London  Newspaper 
calls  the  Austrian  butcher.  Emperor  Francis  Jo- 
seph, "  the  best  of  the  cut-throats !" 


Queer. — It  is  obser\'ed  that  every  fifteen  years 
Lake  Erie  overflows  its  usual  bounds  by  a  flood 

of  many  feet's  elevation.  It  is  now  high  tide  there. 

■<  .»*»■  ■» 

Bad  Taste. — Gen.  Harrison's  tomb,  at  North 
Bend,  is  reported  by  a  late  visitor  to  be  in  a 
shamefully  neglected  and  ruinous  condition. 


In  this  city,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Miner,  Mr.  Abiel  H.  Butrick 
to  Miss  Sibyl  B,  Andrews. 

By  Kev.  Mr.  Gray,  Sir.  Francis  Revere  to  Miss  Eliza  J. 
Dexter. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Sharp,  George  W.  Tusbury,  Esq.,  to  Miss 
Ilavrictta  M.  Beats. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Howej  Mr.  Lorenzo  K,  Wliitconib  to  Misa 
Caroline  Morrison. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Ellis,  Mr.  Tincent  Dell  Lent  to  Sliss  Sarah, 
Jane  Bell. 

At  CharlGsto^-n,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Townley,  Mr.  J.  Alonzo 
Holt  to  Miss  Adehne  T.  Selby. 

At  Dorchos  ter,  Mr.  Stephen  Clapp  to  Miss  Martha  Clapp  ; 
Mr.  Charles  Frederick  Weir  to  Miss  Mary  Clapp. 

At  Salem,  Mr.  Uenry  G.  Hubon  to  Miss  Lydia  A  Clark ; 
Mr.  S.  Frederick  Hubon  to  Miss  Caroline  M.  Smith. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  CoUyer,  Mr.  Jonathan  Fish,  Jr., 
of  Worcester,  to  Miss  Azubah  Blanchard. 

At  Dunstable,  by  Rev.  Mr,  Adams,  Mr.  A.  N.  Swallow, 
of  Charlestown,  to  Miss  Rebecca  P.  Proctor. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Thomas,  Mr.  Alanson  Bor- 
den to  Miss  Mary  C.  Topsham. 

At  Southboro',  Mr.  Stimpson  Stacj',  of  Boston,  to  Miss 
Elizabeth  M.  Wilder,  of  Leominster. 

At  Lebinon,  N.  H.,  Dr.  Justin  E.  Stevens,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Sarah  Jane  Eldridge. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Chickering,  Mr.  Robert 
H.  Sherwood,  of  New  York,  to  Miss  Mary  Ncal. 

At  Newport,  R.  I.,  Mr.  Walter  L.  Russell,  of  New  York, 
to  Miss  Lizzie  al-  Rouudy, 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y-,  by  Rev,  Dr.  Young,  Mr.  James  0. 
Safford,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Nancy  M.  Potter,  of  Salem,  Ms. 


tf-^^^^- 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Caroline  R.  Duntlin,  25 ;  Mrs.  Georgi- 
ana  M.  Bi-adlee,  22  ;  Mrs.  Mary  Smith,  57  ;  Mr.  Alexander 
Edwards,  32;  Harriet  Mai-ia  Wright,  13:  Mr.  Joseph  G. 
Oakca.  30. 

At  CbarlestowTi,  Mr.  Horace  Everett,  47. 

At  East  Cambridge,  Mrs.  Sarah  Haley,  75. 

At  Lynn,  Miss  Susan  Am  Graves,  19. 

At  Danvers,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Hutcbinson,  82. 

At  Salem,  Capt.  George  N.  Cbeever,  37. 

At  Marblehcjid,  Mrs.  Sarah  Newhall,  (37. 

At  Beverly,  Mr.  Cornelius  Larcom,  51. 

At  Cohassett,  Capt,  Wmiam  Kilborn,  67. 

At  South  Scituate.  Mr.  Elisha  Foster,  77. 

At  North  Eridgewater,  Mr.  Barzillai  Carey,  72. 

At  Ipswich,  Miss  Caroline  Brown.  19. 

At  Gloucester,  Mi-s,  Ele-tnor  D.  Wonson,  33. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mrs.  Mary  Taber,  76. 

At  Nantucket,  Mrs,  Ann  Louisa  Cary,  45. 

At  Monson,  Ann  S.,  wife  of  Dr.  David  Callunfl. 

At  Springfield,  Mr.  Ezra  Lillie,  87. 

At  North  Chester,  Mr,  Amos  Elder,  47. 

At  Hamilton,  Mrs.  Annis  Foster,  80. 

At  Boscawen,  N.  H..  Mr.  John  Hornet,  77. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Miss  Kuth  Amanda  Hus,sey,  17. 

At  East  Vassalboro',  Me.,  Mrs.  Polly  Coffin,  57. 

At  Providence,  R.  I.,  Mr.  Elias  M.  Conner,  23. 

At  South  Kingston,  R.  I.,  Hon.  Lemuel  H.  Arnold,  61. 

At  Norwich,  Ct.,  Hon.  Roger  Huntington,  08- 

At  Schenectady,  N.  Y.,  Mrs.  Catharine  R.  Taylor. 

At  Farmington,  lU-,  Mrs.  Lydia  Smith,  35. 


A  mimnmm  smfm^m 


LITERAEY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


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with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
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contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  tiie  known  woild, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  castcra  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  bcautifi-il  eccncr.-,  taken  from  life,  ^^iU  also  be 
given,  with  niunerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
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printed  on  fine  satin-surfvco  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
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that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
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46 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  GleaHon'H  Pictorlnl.] 
STANZAS. 


DY  n.   MKIllt-VN    PAftKE. 

Evo  Uofl  down  with  the  BhadowHj 

Dow8  creep  into  tlio  floworH  ; 
rirds  liavo  covered  their  muaic  up 

In  I011V08  of  quiet  bowers. 

Enrth  is  dear  in  her  hoauty, 

CrJdi  as  a  ttoul  at  rent ; 
Fair  aa  a  young  wliite  dove  at  morn, 

With  (low  boadfl  on  lior  breast. 

Night  treads  soft  and  shrinkingly, 

Cares  have  stolen  away  ; 
Sleep  hail  opened  her  peaceful  wingR, 

And  thought  haa  ceused  to  play. 

Clouds  float  over  the  star-beams, 

Veiling  the  night  light  rare  ; 
And  the  sound  of  angel  wings  is  heard, 

Parting  tlie  pleasant  air. 

Morn  wakes  up  mth  hor  blushes, 

AVinda  come  over  the  hill, 
And  sprinkle  with  startled  blossoms, 

The  breast  of  the  laughing  rill. 

Songa  ring  out  through  the  woodland, 

Birds  aail  over  the  trees  ; 
Flowers  look  up  from  their  fragrant  sleep, 

A-sby  at  the  wild  young  breeze. 
<  i^»—  > 

[Written  for  Gleason'a  Pictorial.) 

MR.  BUMBLE'S  FAMILY: 

— OK — 

ARRIVING  AT   A    FORTUNE. 

BY  GEO.  CANNING  HILL. 

They  were  all  sitting  together  in  Mrs.  Bum- 
ble's snug  little  country  parlor — the  entire  Bum- 
ble family.  There  were  Mr.  Bumble,  and  Mrs. 
Bumble,  and  their  two  very  hopeful  offspring, 
Joshua  and  Jane — only  these  four.  And  a  hater 
of  everything  else  in  the  world,  could  he  have 
just  looked  in  upon  this  scene,  would  assuredly 
have  felt  his  ascetic  heart  reached  by  its  genial 
and  refining  influences. 

Yes  ;  Mr.  Bumble  and  wife,  and  their  two  chil- 
dren. There  they  were  in  that  country  parlor, 
the  twilight  of  a  summer  evening  just  beginning 
to  curtain  them  in.  A  bough  of  asparagus,  wild 
and  ragged  with  its  rambling  sprays,  was  stuck 
into  a  broken  pitcher  at  either  corner  of  the  open 
fire-place,  and  Mr.  Bumble  on  canvass  was  seri- 
ously staring  at  Mrs.  Bumble  on  canvass,  above 
the  very  high  and  very  narrow  mantel. 

Says  Mr.  Bumble — prefacing  his  speech  with 
a  very  eflfective  clearing  of  his  pipes,  that  made 
the  little  parlor  ring  as  with  the  rumbling  deto- 
nations of  an  organ — says  Mr.  Bumble  : 

"  Wife,  I  think  I  shall  broach  the  subject  noiv." 

Mrs.  Bumble  looked  up  surprisedly  into  his 
face,  and  merely  inquired  : 

"  What  subject,  Mr.  Bumble  V 

The  younger  Bumbles  looked  up  likewise. 
Joshua,  in  particular,  regarded  Ins  parent  with  a 
very  peculiar  look,  indeed,  certainly  significant 
of  something,  but  of  what  no  one  could  be  sup- 
posed to  know. 

"  You  must  know,  Mrs.  Bumble,"  replied  her 
husband,  very  deliberately,  "  that  my  situation 
in  life" — Joshua  looked  more  sharply  at  him — 
"  that  is,  my  affairs — I  mean,  Mrs.  Bumble — in 
short,  that  I  am  able  at  this  day  to  support  a 
more  respectable  style  of  living,  and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth,  whii-li  it  is  quite  unnecessary  for 
me  to  mention." 

Mrs.  B.  bowed  to  liim ;  Jane  smiled,  and 
Joshua  stroked  quite  vigorously  the  green  mous- 
tache he  had  just  begun  to  coax  out  into  a  visi- 
ble though  still  sickly  existence. 

"  I  have  at  length  sold  out  my  interest  in  the 
tallow-cIiMndlery  business,  and  I  now  intend  to 
keep  what  respectable  people  call  an  'establish- 
ment' of  my  own,"  said  Mi-.  Bumble. 

"  It's  what  I've  always  wanted;  it's  what  I  al- 
ways prayed  for!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bumble,  lift- 
ing both  hands.  "Now  we'll  see  if  those  Bid- 
dies will  feel  quite  as  grand  as  they  liave  this 
three  year — hardly  speaking  to  my  Jane  half  the 
time,  as  if  they  were  much  too  good  for  her! 
Noiv  we'll  see  how  thei/'ll  feel  about  it !" 

"0,  father!"  exclaimed  Jane,  her  face  light- 
ing very  strangely,  "I  am  overjoyed  !" 

"  Now  in  order  to  set  out  in  our  new  style  of 
living  as  we  ought,"  proceeded  Mr.  Bumble,  "I 
think  we  must  begin  with  taking  some  decided 
step." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  his  wife. 

'*  By  all  means !"  added  Jane. 

"  What  shall  that  step  be  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bum- 
ble,  addressing  himself  especially   to  his   son 


Joshua.  "  You,  Joslnm,  have  hud  advantages 
greater  than  ours  for  seeing  good  society,  and 
therefore  I  put  the  question  to  i/oit.  What  do 
i/ou  think  best  to  do,  Joshua  V 

"Father,"  replied  Joshua,  as  if  with  much 
thought,  still  continuing  to  stroke  his  green 
niouslaehe,  "  father,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  we 
ought  to  make  some  fashionable  excursion,  the 
first  thing  we  do  !" 

"  An  excursion  I  O,  yes,  an  excursion  !"  ex- 
claimed Iiis  sister,  already  fancying  liorsclf  on 
the  water. 

"  Yes,  Joshua  would  know  wliat  is  fashionable 
and  genteel,  and  tliem  things,  if  anybody  would," 
quoth  his  doting  mother. 

"  An  excursion,"  said  Mr.  Bumble.  "  Where 
shall  it  I)c  then,  Joshua?" 

"  Some  folks  prefer  Newport,"  said  Joshua; 
"  and  some  Saratoga,  and  some  again,  tlic  White 
Mountains,  and  some  Cape  May,  and  some 
Moosehcad  Lake.  Anybody  can  have  his 
choice." 

"  But  wliat  do  -i/on  tlunk  would  be  the  most 
genteel  V  pursued  his  father. 

"  Yes,  what  do  i/oa  think  would  V  persisted 
his  mother. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  give  tlie  preference  to 
Newport,"  he  tlioughtfnlly  replied.  The  look  of 
wisdom  he,  at  this  point,  assumed,  it  would  be 
out  of  our  power  to  describe.  "  Newport  is  the 
resort  of  the  most  fashionable,  as  well  as  the 
most  wealthy  people.  On  that  account,  I  give  it 
the  preference  for  ourselves.  It  will  be  a  much 
greater  thing  to  tell  of  next  winter,  that  we  went 
to  Newport  this  summer,  than  to  Naliant,  or  Co- 
hasset,  or  Moosehead.  You  know,  father,  a 
great  deal  in  these  matters  depends  upon  how 
they  arc  going  to  sound ;  and  I  like  the  sound 
of  Newport." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  added  his  well-awakened  sister. 

"Joshua's  right;  Josliua's  always  right,"  said 
his  fond  mother. 

"  Then  to  Newport  it  is,"  replied  Mr.  Bumble ; 
"  and  you  had  better  all  get  ready." 

Greater  results  never  grew  out  of  any  similar 
family  gathering.  It  was  on  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day  after  this  conversation,  it  being  what 
they  termed  "  bright  and  early,"  that  a  capa- 
cious carriage  received  the  entire  and  undivided 
Bumble  family,  and  rolled  them  away  to  the  cars. 
Upon  the  railroad,  their  time  was  brief,  admit- 
ting of  but  few  facilities  for  the  very  earnest 
character  of  their  ordinary  conversation.  But 
when  they  took  the  steamboat  at  Providence, 
and  their  own  eyes  beheld  for  themselves  the 
crowds  that  were  embarking  and  had  embarked, 
their  tongues  broke  suddenly  loose  from  their 
thraldom  ;  yet  their  hearts  more  than  half  mis- 
gave. They  looked  to  Joshua  for  advice  and 
example  both. 

"  Come  aboard,  father,"  said  he,  walking  over 
the  plank  with  his  sister.  "  We're  all  right,  I 
believe,     I'll  see  to  the  baggage  afterwards." 

And  Mr.  Joshua  Bumble  led  them  through 
long  lines  of  passengers,  up  steep  and  difficult 
steps  to  the  promenade  deck,  where  he  managed 
to  secure  a  seat  for  the  ladies  beneath  the  flap- 
ping awning. 

"  Ah,  this  is  fine !"  exclaimed  his  father. 
"  This  is  veri/  fine  !" 

"  Elegant !"  added  Mrs.  Bumble. 

Jane  Euml)le  only  looked  about  her  in  speech- 
less astonishment.  Josliua  went  to  look  after 
the  baggage,  and  to  secure  the  tickets,  having 
already  been  careful  to  secure  a  liberal  part  of 
his  father's  purse.  All  things  accomplislied,  the 
boat  at  lengtJi  shot  away  from  the  end  of  the 
wharf,  and  their  ears  and  eyes  were  full  for  at 
least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  succeeding.  That 
space  of  time  was  to  them  a  period  of  silence — 
perhaps  of  valuable  meditation. 

On  their  way  down  the  bay,  the  breeze  spring- 
ing up  refreshingly,  the  spirits  of  the  entire  party 
freshened  up  in  a  similar  manner.  Joshua  took 
additional  courage  on  seeing  his  friends  so  much 
at  their  ease,  and  went  over  tlie  boat  very  much 
at  random. 

In  the  course  of  his  peregrinations,  he  hap- 
pened to  reach  a  particular  spot  on  deck,  near 
which  sat  a  most  bewitching  young  lady.  A 
gentleman  stood  near  lier,  dressed  in  a  style  that 
with  many  would  be  considered  unquestionable. 
He  at  length  spied  Joshua,  and  ventured  to 
break  in  upon  his  reflections.  In  less  than  half 
an  hour,  Mr.  Joshua  Bumble  and  Mr.  Maddock 
were  apparently  the  friends  of  half  a  life-time's 
acquaintance.  It  was,  indeed,  most  wonderful, 
how  rapidly  the  cement  was  formed  between  two 
so  genial  and  sympathizing  natures.  Mr.  Mad- 
dock  invited   Joshua  down  to  the  bnr  to  drink 


with  him,  leaving  the  lady  quite  alone.  Joslnia 
of  course,  thought  this  not  only  all  right,  but  ex- 
actly in  the  eye  of  fashionable  and  gentlemanly 
practices.  So  the  two  fiiends  went  down  [deas- 
antly  together. 

The  stranger  insisted  on  becoming  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Bumble's  friends  ;  and  both  he  and  the 
lady  in  his  company  were  introduced — the  lattt-r 
with  no  special  cognomen.  IIcruMtlorlh  l)oth 
parties  united  tlieir  social  forces,  and  made  quite 
a  pleasant  union  on  deck.  Joshua  began  to  make 
love  to  the  strange  lady,  who  seemed  herself  not 
in  the  least  disposed  to  avoid  his  agreeable  ad- 
vances. Tilings  went  so  far  at  length,  that  lie 
actually  seated  himself  at  her  side,  and  addressed 
himself  to  her  during  pretty  much  tlic  rest  of  the 
sail  to  Newport. 

"You  go  to  the  Ocean  House?"  said  the 
strange  gentleman  to  the  Bumble  family,  as  they 
finally  touched  the  dock. 

The  rest  looked  instinctively  at  Joshua,  and 
he  eventually  mumbled  out,  "  yes,  yes,  certainly." 

"  We  have  secured  private  board,"  returned 
the  gay  stranger,  stroking  his  hirsute  face,  "No. 
17 Street.     Come  and  sec  us  often." 

"  We  will — we  certainly  will,"  said  Joshua, 
looking  very  tenderly  at  the  lady  ;  and  the  two 
very  interesting  strangers  waved  themselves 
away. 

"  How  agreeable  !"  remarked  Mrs.  Bumble, 
looking  after  them. 

"  No  such  people  in  Barborville,"  added  Jane 
Bumble. 

It  was  a  strange  and  mysterious  passage  in 
the  history  of  the  Bumble  family — their  passsge 
from  the  boat  to  the  hotel,  and  thence  to  their 
rooms.  It  was  evident  that  much  had  been  go- 
ing on  in  the  busy  world,  with  which  they  had  as 
yet  formed  no  personal  acquaintance. 

Mrs.  Bumble  at  length  sat  down  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  remarked,  as  with  her  last  departing 
breath,  that  she  was  "  most  crazy."  Jane  thought 
it  delightful ;  and  Joshua — he  was  full  of  lilue 
eyes,  and  auburn  curls,  and  gauze  dresses  with 
lively  figures.     His  tongue  ran  incessantly. 

We  need  not  stop  to  detail  too  particularly. 
The  Bumbles  took  their  meals  very  much  as 
other  families  of  wealth  are  wont  fd  do  at  such 
places,  and  made  almost  superhuman  efforts  to 
appear  at  their  ease.  They  watched  everybody 
with  Argus  eyes,  and  tried  to  do  exactly  as  every- 
body did.  They  solemnly  felt  this  to  be  their 
first  lesson  in  fashionable  life.  No  schoolboy's 
lesson  was  ever  harder  to  master. 

Mr.  Joshua  Bumble  began  to  be  absent  much 
of  his  time  from  his  family.  He  was  very  much 
in  the  company  of  Mr.  Maddock.  They  seemed  - 
inseparable  friends.  They  bathed  together, 
walked  together,  rode  together,  and  did  almost 
everything  else  together.  There  was  no  telling 
what  friends  were  ever  like  them  before. 

But  this  was  not  all.  Being  much  in  Mr. 
Maddock's  society,  he  naturally  saw  much  of  the 
lady.  He  thought  he  knew  enough  of  her  to 
know  that  she  was  not  Mr.  Maddock's  wife. 
He  felt  even  sure  of  that.  Still  he  knew  there 
was  some  mystery  about  it.  He  went  with  the 
lady  quite  often  to  the  sea-shore.  He  occasion- 
ally rode  with  her,  too.  At  all  these  times,  her 
companion  happened  very  fortunately  to  be 
absent. 

He  made  an  engagement  with  her  one  evening, 
just  at  dusk,  for  a  long  promenade  by  the  shore. 
It  was  a  witching  time,  and  the  soul  of  Joshua 
Bumble  was  full  of  love.  It  bad  all  along  been 
filling — now,  it  seemed  full.  He  seized  lier  hand 
fervidly,  and  told  her  all  the  secrets  of  his  wild 
heart.  It  was  indeed  an  exciting  history.  She 
simply  listened,  and  gently  encouraged  him. 

Just  at  that  same  hour,  too,  Mr.  Maddock  was 
in  the  parlor  of  the  Bumble  family,  at  the  hotel. 
All  seemed  to  wonder  where  Joshua  could  be — 
Mr.  Maddock  more  than  all. 

The  lady  invited  Joshua  to  return  with  her  to 
her  house.  Mr.  Bumble  ravenously  assented, 
and  they  soon  reached  home  together. 

They  were  sitting  on  a  sofa  in  the  lady's  par- 
lor, Joshua  Bumble  holding  her  white  hand. 
Her  blue  eyes  were  cast  down,  though  ever  and 
anon  she  glanced  nervously  to  the  door.  Joshua 
at  that  took  courage.  He  slipped  one  arm  about 
her  delicate  waist,  and  was  in  the  act  of  kissing 
her.  The  door  opened  suddenly,  and  Mr.  Bum- 
ble's party  all  came  in,  Mr.  Maddock  escorting 
them  !  As  soon  as  that  gentleman  saw  the  posi- 
tion in  which  Joshua  had  venturesomely  placed 
himself,  he  sprang  towards  him  with  the  ferocity 
of  a  tiger,  and  was  clutching  him  by  the  throat. 
Mrs,  Bumble  screamed  at  the  top  of  ber  voice, 
and  Miss  Jane,  if  possible,  pitched  her  melody 
several  notes  higher.    Mr.  Bumble,  senior,  seiz'  d 


his  son,  and  protested  that  there  must  be  some 
mistake.  But  Mr.  Maddock  knew  better.  He 
heard  nothing,  cither.  The  lady  fainted  and 
fell  to  the  floor.  The  gentlemen  stopped  hostll- 
ities  only  to  assist  her;  during  which  lime,  Joshua 
managed  to  make  his  escape,  his  mother  and 
sister  following  after,  with  their  devoted  oflers  of 
])rotcction. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  lady  was  restored 
to  consciousness.  Mr.  Maddock  upbraided  her 
for  her  conduct  cruelly.  She  wrung  her  hands 
and  wept  bitterly. 

Late  at  niglit,  Mr.  Bumble,  senior,  said  to  his 
wife:  "I  think  we  had  better  pack  up  and  go 
home.  I  have  just  barely  saved  Joshua's  life; 
but  it  cost  me  five  hundred  dollars  !" 

The  next  forenoon  the  Bumble  family  did 
leave;  but  the  accomplished  strangers  liad  left 
before  them,  jingling  their  cheaply  got  fund.s, 
and  pushing  oft"  for  a  new  field  for  their  very 
enterprising  laboi's. 


[Written  for  Oleason's  Pictorial.] 
REFOR3IATION. 

BY  J.   P.   WEI8HAMPEL,   JR. 


Wild  fiouls  ambitious,  toil  for  fume, 

Struggling  to  be  the  strongest ; 
Playing  with  common  men  a  game, 

That  each  may  rule  the  longest. 
Bartering  themselves,  they  sell  their  kin, 

M.iking  each  man  a  debtor  ; — 
Ah  !  it  is  thne  that  reform  begin  ; 

Wc  should  strive  to  make  men  better ! 

A  lead  these  souls  unscrupulous  take, 

In  the  road  all  men  are  racing  ; 
They  care  not  a  whit  for  their  brethren's  sake. 

So  eager  are  they  in  chasing. 
The  countless  crimes  of  the  men  called  great, 

Arc  printed  in  scarlet  letter, 
And  they  warn  us  now,  ere  it  be  too  late, 

We  should  strive  to  make  men  better! 

"NVe  live  in  the  mom  of  a  better  age. 

That  demands  no  human  killing  ; 
Our  race  is  sick  of  the  fearful  rage, 

That  delights  in  life-blood  spilling. 
Old  earth  recoils  as  she  turns  and  sees 

The  example  the  past  has  set  her  ; — 
Her  future  should  have  no  deeds  like  these ; 

We  should  strive  to  make  men  better  I 

A  LONDON  ALDERMAN'S  NOSE. 

Suppose  the  case  of  a  burly,  jovial,  corpulent 
alderman,  standing  heliind  such  an  appendage, 
with  all  its  indorsements,  riders,  addenda,  extra- 
parochial  appurtenances,  and  Taliacotian  s^^p- 
plements,  like  a  sow  with  her  whole  litter  of  pigs, 
or  {to  speak  more  respectfully)  like  a  venerable 
old  abbey,  with  all  its  projecting  chapels,  orato- 
ries, refectories  and  abutments ;  and  it  will  seem 
to  dilate  itself  before  its  wearer  with  an  air  of 
portly  and  appropriate  companionship.  I  speak 
not  here  of  a  simple  bottle-nose,  but  one  of  a 
thousand  bottles,  a  pol^q^e talons  enormity,  whose 
blushing  honoi-s,  as  becoming  to  it  as  the  stars, 
crosses  and  ribbons  of  a  successful  general,  are 
trophies  of  past  victories,  the  colors  won  in  tav- 
eni-campaigns.  They  recall  to  us  the  clatter  of 
knives,  the  slaughter  of  turtle,  the  shedding  of 
claret,  the  deglutition  of  magnums.  Escurient 
and  bibulous  reminiscences  ooze  from  its  surface, 
and  each  protuberance  is  historical.  One  is  the 
record  of  a  Pitt-club  dinner;  another  of  a  corpo- 
ration feast ;  a  third  commemorates  a  tipsy  ca- 
rousal, in  support  of  religion  and  social  order ; 
others  attest  their  owner's  civic  career,  "until, 
at  last,  he  devoured  his  way  to  the  lord  mayor's 
mansion,  as  a  mouse  in  a  cheese  makes  a  large 
house  for  himself  by  continually  eating;"  and 
the  whole  pendulous  mass,  as  if  it  heard  the  strik- 
ing up  of  the  band  at  a  public  dinner  on  the  en- 
trance of  the  viands,  actually  seems  to  wag  to 
the  tune  of  "  0,  the  roast  beef  of  Old  England  !" 
— Horace  Smith's  Gaieties  and  Gravities. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial. 1 
TO  A  FRIEND. 

BY   CAROLINE   A.   HAYDEN. 

Go,  mingle  with  the  world  again. 
It  may  not  tempt  thee  now  ; 

Too  much  of  deep  and  earnest  thought 
Is  stamped  upon  thy  brow. 

Thou  wilt  not  stoop  to  wear  the  chain 
Which  folly's  hand  may  weave; 

Thou  wilt  not  bend  before  a  shrine, 
Which  can  no  more  deceive. 

The  lessons  of  the  past  have  been 

The  guardians  of  thy  fate  ; 
And  still  around  thy  future  path 

Their  memories  shall  wait. 

Go,  nunglo  with  the  world  again, 

And  win  thyself  a  name  ; 
The  one  thou  leav'st  is  pure  and  good, 

But  still  unknown  to  fame. 

And  when  the  honors  time  must  bring 
Are  circling  round  thy  brow, 

Kemember  one  who  on  thy  head 
Invokes  life's  blessings  now. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOEIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


47 


A  liADY  PRACTITIOKER. 

A  con-espondent  of  tlie  New  York  Tribune 
says  :  "  A  lady  practitioner  of  medicine,  in  our 
village,  is  in  advance  of  the  recent  movement, 
for  she  has  been  a  professor  of  the  healing  art 
nearly  twenty  years.  She  studied  with  her  hus- 
band, who  is  a  physician  of  established  repute, 
and  commenced  practice  under  his  auspices, 
having  her  own  set  of  patients.  Their  nmnbcr 
rapidly  increased,  in  pan  owing  to  her  success, 
and  in  part,  it  is  supposed,  that  her  charges  were 
more  moderate  than  those  of  the  doctor.  He  is 
above  feeling  any  jealousy,  however,  of  the  ris- 
ing reputation  of  his  wife,  and  they  continue  to 
ride  their  respective  rounds  in  attendance  on  the 
hick.  The  lady  is  employed  chiefly  by  the  suffer- 
ing of  her  own  sex,  and  for  children,  and  pos- 
sesses the  entire  confidence  of  all  who  know  her. 
It  is  to  be  supposed  that  consultations  are  held 
in  difficult  cases.  Mi"s.  G.  is  a  woman  of  admir- 
able energy,  and  has  reared  a  large  family  of 
children,  seeing  to  the  concerns  of  her  household, 
as  well  as  attending  to  her  professional  duties. 
Those  interested  in  the  establishment  of  a  medi- 
cal college  for  women,  would,  perhaps,  like  to 
have  her  report  of  her  metliod  and  success  in  the 
treatment  of  disease." 


BUILDING  IN  NEW  YORK. 

The  Herald  contains  an  account  of  a  number 
of  new  buildings  now  going  up  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  chiefly  for  private  residences,  most 
of  which  that  journal  represents  as  of  magnifl- 
cent  and  beautiful  styles  of  architecture.  Among 
the  private  residences  is  one  for  Samuel  Nichol- 
son, estimated  to  cost  $40,000  ;  another,  for  J. 
Gibson,  $35,000  ;  and  a  number  for  dilferent  in- 
dividuals costing  from  slightly  beneath  $40,000 
to  $20,000  each.  M.  0.  Roberts  is  building  two 
that  will  cost  $50,000.  Eorty-two  of  these  mag- 
niticent  mansions  will  cost  an  aggregate  of 
$1,170,000,  averaging  $27,000  each.  One  firm 
of  two  partners  is  building  seven  that  are  to  cost 
$270,000  (nearly  $39,000  a  piece),  which,  when 
completed,   might  almost  be   styled   a  row  of 

palaces. 

<  »■»  > 

GOLD  IX  AUSTRALIA. 

The  Whitehaven  Herald  gives  the  following 
information  respecting  the  first  discovery  of  gold 
in  Australia :  "  The  first  piece  found  was  by  a 
native.  He  was  a  bushman.  The  scale  of  in- 
tellect of  the  Australians  is  remarkable  for  its 
lowness.  Seeing  his  master  counting  a  lot  of 
sovereigns,  he  said  he  had  found  a  picue  of '  yel- 
low stutf,*  far  bigger  than  all  those  together, 
which  he  had  hidden,  and  would  bring  it  to  his 
master,  if  he  would  give  him  a  new  suit  of  cor- 
duroy. Tlie  bargain  was  stmck,  after  whicli  the 
man  went  and  produced  a  lump  of  Golconda, 
weighing  one  hundred  and  six  pounds,  and  val- 
ued at  £5,077  4s.   6." 


VENERABLE  3IATRON. 

Madame  Eoussin,  of  Washington  county, 
Missouri,  is  ninety-seven  years  of  age,  and  in 
good  health-  She  has  seen  her  fom-th  genera- 
tion, amounting  to  three  hundred  and  thirty 
souls.  She  was  married  in  1775,  and,  as  may 
readily  be  supposed,  there  were  but  few  Ameri- 
cans resident  in  that  State  within  the  remotest 
period  of  her  recollection.  She  has  been  a  wid- 
ow for  thirty-nine  years.  By  her  marriage,  she 
was  the  mother  of  five  sons  and  five  daughters. 


A  Singular  Sight. — M.  Hue,  in  his  travels 
in  Tartary,  Thibet  and  China,  while  traversing 
a  mountain  region  in  the  Isaidcn  Mongol  coun- 
try, witnessed  the  strange  spectacle  of  a  herd  of 
yaks  frozen  in  the  stream  which  they  had  at- 
tempted to  cross.  The  ice  was  so  transparent 
that  they  looked  as  if  still  swimming;  but  the 
eagles  and  ravens  had  picked  out  their  eyes. 


Aktistic. — The  Indianapolis  papers  are  in- 
formed by  JMr.  Adams,  who  has  charge  of  the 
Greek  Slave,  now  exhibiting  at  that  place,  that 
he  has  within  a  day  or  two  received  du-ectious 
from  Mr.  Powers  to  send  the  statue  to  Europe, 
as  it  has  been  sold. 


CoMMEKCiAL. — A  compauy  is  forming  in 
London,  with  a  capital  of  two  millions  sterling, 
to  establish  a  line  of  steamers  between  that  city 
and  New  York. 


Sharks.  —  Three    sharks    w^ere    caught    in 
Charleston  harbor,  on  Tuesday  the  22d  ult. 


Dull  Times. — There  are  twenty-two  steam- 
boats now  laid  up  at  St.  Loui^. 


lUajjsiiie   ©atljcrings. 

The  penitentiary  system  is  said  to  work  well 
in  Texas. 

The  passage  from  Noifolk  to  New  York,  was 
made  last  week  by  a  steamer  in  25  hours. 

Eecent  frosts  in  Kentucky,  it  is  said,  have  de- 
stroyed whole  beds  of  tobacco  plants. 

The  violent  slamming  of  a  door  will,  it  is  said, 
kill  young  canary  birds  in  their  shell. 

The  cat-o'-nine  tails  must  have  as  many  lives 
as  tails,  or  it  never  could  have  lasted  so  long. 

The  fly  is  said  to  be  doing  great  damage  to 
the  wlieat  in  Albemarle,  Orange,  Amherst  and 
Culpepper  counties,  Virginia. 

Louis  Napoleon  has  been  vehemently  opposed 
in  the  council,  on  the  question  of  the  new  sump- 
tuary laws  that  he  has  indicated. 

A  strong  decoction  of  rue  is  an  inf;^llible  rem- 
edy for  tetter-worm.  It  is  as  simple  as  it  is  effi- 
cacious. 

Col.  George  C  Washington,  of  Montgomery 
County,  Md.,  has  a  field  of  rye  which  averages 
seven  feet  in  height. 

Over  fifty  instances  of  corporeal  punishment 
occurred  in  a  single  public  school  in  Williams- 
burgh,  New  York,  during  last  week. 

A  good  lotion  for  weak  eyes  is  said  to  be :  20 
drops  of  laudanum  and  five  drops  of  brandy,  in 
a  wine-glass  of  water,  applied  three  times  a  day, 
as  warm  as  the  eyes  can  bear  it. 

From  present  indications  the  grape  crop  of 
Pennsylvania  promises  to  be  most  abundant, 
and  the  prospect  for  a  full  harvest  exceeds  that 
of  any  previous  year. 

If  you  wish  to  re-fasten  the  loose  handles  of 
knives  and  forks,  make  your  cement  of  common 
brickdust  and  rosin,  melted  together.  Seal  en- 
gravers understand  this  recipe. 

Master  Paul  Julien,  the  child  violinist  from 
Paris,  has  an-ived,  and  will  soon  give  us  an  op- 
portunity of  judging  how  far  he  deserves  the  ce- 
lebrity which  preceded  him. 

The  artists  of  Boston  are  about  forming  an 
academy  of  the  fine  arts,  and  purpose  having 
semi-annual  exhibitions.  Governor  Boutwell 
has  been  elected  the  president. 

The  clip  of  Western  wool  this  year  is  estimated 
to  exceed  that  of  1851,  from  10  to  15  per  cent. 
In  the  State  of  Ohio  alone,  the  clip  is  now  esti- 
mated at  from  12,000,000  to  14,000,000  pounds. 
Abijah  Lamed,  the  notorious  burglar  and 
bank  robber,  was  convicted  on  the  26th  ult.,  in 
Cooperstown,  New  York,  of  the  robbery  of  the 
Otsego  County  Bank,  of  $35,000. 

Mr.  Thomas  Cole,  a  prominent  and  worthy 
citizen  of  Salem,  lately  died  of  heart  complaint, 
aged  72.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, in  the  class  of  1798 — the  class  of  Chan- 
ning,  Story  and  Tuckerman. 

A  Yankee  writing  from  the  West,  to  his  fath- 
er, speaks  of  its  great  matrimonial  facilities,  and 
ends  by  making  the  following  suggestion :  "  Sup- 
pose you  get  our  girls  some  new  teeth,  and  send 
them  out." 

Mr.  Humphrey,  a  dyer  in  the  employ  of  the 
Staunton  (Va.)  woolen  factory,  was  accidentally 
precipitated  into  a  vat  of  boiling  water,  lately, 
and  so  horribly  scalded  that  he  died  in  a  few 
hours,  iifterwards. 

Hon.  John  M.  Clayton  is  industriously  culti- 
vating his  farm,  three  miles  from  Newcastle, 
Delaware.  Instead  of  running  a  race  with  com- 
petitors in  the  political  field,  he  is  endeavoring 
to  distance  his  overseer  in  agricultural  pursuits. 
Madame  Goldschmidt  was  met,  on  her  arrival 
in  England,  by  an  offer  of  six  thousand  pounds 
for  twelve  concerts — a  snm  greater  than  has  ever 
been  gained  by  a  singer  in  Europe  by  a  similar 
engagement. 

The  supreme  court  of  Pennsylvania  is  still  in 
session  at  Harrisburg.  The  one  hour  rule  is  en- 
forced upon  attorneys  in  making  their  arguments. 
The  vast  amount  of  business  on  hand  renders 
the  rule  indispensable. 

A  rattlesnake  was  killed  in  Marion,  S.  C,  re- 
cently, measuring  five  feet  eleven  inches  in 
length,  and  eleven  and  three  quarter  inches 
around  the  largest  part  of  the  body,  with  seven- 
teen rattles  and  a  button. 

The  report  of  the  Board  of  Education  of  the 
city  of  New  York  shows  that  there  are  213 
schools  under  its  jurisdiction,  having  40,035 
scholar.5.  The  whole  number  of  children  taught 
during  1851  was  116,600,  and  the  whole  expen- 
diture for  the  year  amounted  to  $309,016  51. 

One  of  the  stones  in  the  Black  Eock  flouring 
mills,  near  Buffalo,  New  York,  burst,  lately, 
while  making  190  revolutions  per  minute.  The 
foreman,  Isaac  Lap,  and  a  hand  named  James 
Gann,  were  seriously  injured ;  the  latter,  it  is 
feared,  fatally.     The  building  was  much  torn. 

The  telegraph  wire  near  Galena,  111.,  was 
struck  lately  by  atmospheric  lightning,  and  melt- 
ed for  about  three  hundred  yards,  and  more  or 
less  injured  for  half  a  mile.  A  spectator  who 
saw  the  stroke,  describes  the  electrical  exhibition 
as  a  chain  of  fire,  stretching  both  ways  as  far  as 
he  could  see  across  the  landscape. 

A  large  bald  male  eagle  which,  with  its  mate, 
had  inhabited  "  Dole's  Woods,"  at  Stroudwater, 
Maine,  and  reared  young  year  after  year  for 
forty  or  fifty  years  past,  was  shot  a  few  days 
ago,  by  a  person  living  in  the  vicinity.  It  had 
lately  got  to  be  very  ferocious,  and  did  much 
damage  among  the  poultry  of  the  neighborhood. 
It  was  feared  it  might  next  attack  children,  and 
it  was  shot. 


J^onign   lllisccllaug. 

Sivori  is  playing  in  London. 

The  governor  of  Rangoon  had  offered  50  ru- 
pees for  every  head  of  a  white  man. 

The  weather  is  cold,  but  not  unfavorable  to 
the  growing  crops,  which  are  looking  well. 

Mr.  Hackett,  the  American  comedian,  is  at 
present  in  London,  making  up  a  company  for 
Niblo. 

American  books  are  now  sold  in  England,  at 
the  cost  price  of  importation,  with  a  small  addi- 
tion for  commissions. 

The  Independent  Dissenters  of  Lancashire, 
England,  are  going  to  erect  fifty  additional  inde- 
pendent chapels  in  that  county  within  the  next 
five  years,  at  an  expense  of  £150,000. 

The  persecuting  spirit  has  arisen  in  various 
parts  of  Germany,  and  the  attacks  seem  to  be 
mainly  directed  against  missionaries  or  colpor- 
tcui^  supported  by  American  and  British  Bap- 
tists. 

The  recent  foreign  advices  state  that  in  Swit- 
zerland the  Jews  are  persecuted  to  the  utmost 
degree.  In  the  cantons  of  Bale  they  have  been 
ordered  to  leave  the  country  within  ten  days, 
and  to  carry  away  their  goods. 

The  new  govemor  of  Malta,  a  strict  Presb}'- 
terian,  has  given  offence  to  the  military  and  in- 
habitants by  neglecting  the  carnival,  shutting  the 
military  up  for  three  days,  to  prevent  their  par- 
ticipation in  the  fun,  and  shunning  all  balls  and 
festivals. 

A  splendid  work  has  just  been  issued  from 
the  government  press  iu  France,  called  "  The 
Siege  of  Rome,"  being  a  comprchensire  account 
of  all  the  operations  of  the  French  army  before 
Rome  in  the  summer  of  1848.  It  is  finely  illus- 
trated with  maps  and  plans. 

From  Denmark,  it  is  stated  that  the  capital  is 
about  to  be  endowed  with  a  Crystal  Palace,  after 
the  designs  of  Professor  Hetsch.  This  edifice  is 
to  occupy  a  surface  of  four  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred square  metres — and  is  destined  for  exhibi- 
tion of  the  fine  arts. 

Rev.  J.  G.  Oncken,  while  assisthig  the  pastor 
of  a  Baptist  church  in  Berlin,  where  they  antici- 
pated a  time  of  revival,  was  ordered  to  leave  the 
Prussian  territory  without  delay.  He  had  been 
banished  in  1841,  and  again  in  1846,  but  sup- 
posed that  these  edicts  were  not  now  in  force. 

To  those  wlio  have  shall  be  given,  is  a  true 
saying,  and  therefore  we  are  not  surprised  to  hear 
that  a  movement  is  on  foot  in  London  to  pur- 
chase, by  public  subscription,  and  the  presenta- 
tion to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  of  Salter's  pic- 
ture of  the  Waterloo  banquet. 


lokcr'0  Buiiget. 


Sanbs  of  ©oli. 


....  True  love  and  high  morality  are  the 
same. 

Hasty  people  drink  the  nectar  of  exist- 
ence scalding  hot. 

....  He  who  would  die  sooner  or  later  than 
he  ought  is  a  coward. 

....  If  you  would  not  have  affliction  visit  you 
twice,  listen  at  once  to  that  it  teaches. 

....  He  who  loves  his  purse  alone  has  set  his 
affections  on  the  best  thing  about  him. 

....  With  what  different  eyes  do  we  view  an 
action  when  it  is  our  own  and  when  it  is  another's. 

What  we  wish  to  do  we  think  we  can  do, 

but  when  we  do  not  wish  a  thing  it  becomes  im- 
possible. 

....  It  were  well  if  old  age  were  traly  second 
childhood;  it  is  seldom  more  like  it  than  the 
berry  is  to  the  rose-bud. 

....  As  we  go  on  in  life  we  find  we  cannot 
afford  excitement,  and  we  leani  to  be  parsimoni- 
ous in  our  emotions. 

....  Instead  of  regretting  that  we  are  some- 
times deceived,  we  should  rather  lament  that  we 
are  ever  undeceived. 

....  As  the  heart  is  crushed  and  lacerated  by 
a  loss  in  the  afl^ections,  so  it  is  rather  the  head 
that  aches  and  suflf'ers  by  the  loss  of  memory. 

Cheerfulness  is  a  matter  which  depends 

fully  as  much  on  the  state  of  things  within  as  on 
the  state  of  things  without  and  around  ns. 

The  great  struggles  in  life  are  limited  to 

moments  ;  in  the  drooping  of  the  head  upon  the 
bosom, — in  the  pressure  of  the  hand  upon  the 
brow. 

....  Politeness  is  the  outward  ganuent  of 
good-will ;  but  many  are  the  nutshells  in  which, 
if  you  crack  them,  notliing  like  a  kernel  is  to  be 
found. 

Our  minds   are  like  ill-hung  vehicles, 

when  they  have  little  to  cairy  they  raise  a  pro- 
digious clatter,  when  heavily  laden  they  neither 
creak  nor  rumble. 

....  What  the  impulse  of  genius  is  to  the 
great,  the  instinct  of  vocation  is  to  the  mediocre ; 
in  every  man  there  is  a  magnet, — in  that  thing 
which  the  man  can  do  best  there  is  a  loadstone. 

....  One  Iialf  of  mankind  pass  their  lives  in 
thinking  how  they  shall  get  a  dinner,  and  the 
other  in  thinking  what  dinner  they  shall  get; 
and  the  first  are  much  less  injured  by  occasional 
fasts  than  are  the  latter  by  constant  feasts. 

....  In  matters  of  great  concern,  and  which 
must  be  done,  there  is  no  surer  arg-ument  of  a 
weak  mind  than  irresolution  ;  to  be  undetermined 
where  the  case  is  so  plain,  and  the  necessity  so 
urgent;  to  be  always _ intending  to  lead  anew 
life,  but  never  to  find  time  to  set  about  it. 


The  letter  A  makes  men  mean. 

When  is  a  fortune  like  an  appendage  to  a 
vessel •?     AVhen  it  is  amassed.     (A  mast.) 

A  coquette  is  said  to  be  a  perfect  incarnation 
of  Cupid,  as  she  keeps  her  beau  in  a  quiver. 

An  inquiring  individual  wants  to  know  how 
many  stories  Dickens's  Bleak  House  is  to  have. 

"  Wood  is  the  thing,  after  all,"  as  the  man 
with  the  wooden  leg  said  when  the  mad  dog 
bit  It. 

Why  is  a  beautiful  lady's  foot  like  a  romantic 
tale  of  olden  times  ?  Because  it  is  an  interesting 
leg-eml ! 

Why  is  a  blacksmith  like  a  counterfeiter  1 
Because  he  makes  a  living  hy  forging.  Take 
your  foot  oft'  that. 

After  all,  there  are  only  two  sorts  of  disease, 
says  a  French  doctor — one  of  which  you  die,  and 
the  other  of  which  you  don't. 

The  man  who  "  cracks  his  sides  "  ten  hours 
after  a  man  "  cracks  a  joke,"  arrived  late  last 
night,  by  a  very  slow  coach  indeed. 

Dr.  Francis  says  if  young  people  would  avoid 
palpitation  of  the  heart,  they  must  give  up  hug- 
ging and  kissing.  Youths  who  worship  moon- 
light will  please  notice. 

A  minister  at  camp  meeting  said,  "  If  the  lady 
w^ith  blue  hat,  red  hair,  and  cross  eyes,  don't 
stop  talking,  she  will  be  pointed  out  to  the  con- 
gregation." 

Did  you  ever  see  a  woman  who  did  not  want 
a  few  more  dry  goods,  or  a  young  lady  who  did 
not  look  upon  a  shawl  that  cost  under  ten  dol- 
lars, as  "  a  perfect  fright  ?" 

Suspect  a  man  who  shakes  hands  gingerly. 
Knuckles,  like  walnuts,  were  made  to  be  cracked. 
A  rascal  knows  no  more  about  a  hearty  welcome 
than  he  knows  about  contentment. 

A  dentist  presented  a  bill  for  the  tenth  time  to 
a  rich  skinflint.  "  It  strikes  me,"  said  the  latter, 
"that  this  is  a  pretty  round  bill."  "  Yes,"  re- 
plied the  dentist,  "I've  sent  it  round  often 
enough  to  make  ic  appear  so  ;  and  I  have  called 
now  to  get  it  squared." 


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48 


GLEASONS   riCTOrjAL    DRAWINd    ROOAF    COMPANION. 


EESCUX  OF  RUEZ  GOAZALEb. SCENE  FROM  ''THE  HEARTS  SECRET. 


ANECDOTES  OF  CHARLES  II, 

The  elder  Rirliai-d.son  ivas  fond  of  tcllino:  a 
charjiclcristic  story  of  tlie  king  and  kingly  honor. 
A  cut-pnrsc,  or  pickpocket,  with  as  much  cflion- 
tery  of  face  as  dexterity  of  finger,  had  got  into 
the  drawing-room  on  the  king's  hirthday,  dress- 
ed like  a  gentleman,  and  was  detected,  by  the  king 
himself,  taking  a  gold  snutf-box  out  of  a  certain 
earl's  pocket.  The  rogue,  wlio  saw  the  sove- 
reign's eye  upon  him,  put  his  finger  to  his  no?e, 
and  made  a  sign  to  the  king  with  a  wink  to  say 
nothing.  Charles  took  the  hint,  and  watching 
the  earl,  enjoyed  Jiis  feeling,  first  in  one  pocket 
and  then  in  another,  for  his  missing  box.  Tiie 
king  now  called  the  nobleman  to  him. 

"  You  need  not  give  yourself,"  he  said,  '*  any 
more  trouble  about  it,  my  lord ;  your  box  is 
gone ;  I  am  myself  an  accomplice ;  I  could  not 
help  it — I  was  made  a  confidant." 

"When  told  that  the  emperor  of  Morocco  had 


made  him  a  present  of  two  lions  and  thirty  os- 
triches, he  laughed,  and  said  he  knew  nothing 
more  proper  to  send  by  way  of  return  than  a 
flock  of  geese.  Of  Harrow  church,  standing  on 
a  hill,  and  visible  for  miles  round,  lie  is  said  to 
have  remarked  that  it  was  the  only  visible  church 
he  knew ;  and  when  taken  to  see  a  fellow  climb 
up  the  outside  of  a  church  to  the  very  pinnacle, 
and  there  stand  on  his  head,  he  off^cred  him,  on 
coming  do^^ii,  a  patent  to  prevent  anyone  doing- 
it  but  himself.  When  he  was  on  his  death-bed, 
the  queen  sent  him  a  message  that  she  was  too 
unwell  to  resume  her  post  by  the  couch,  and  im- 
plored pardon  for  any  offence  she  had  given  him. 
"  She  asks  my  pardon,  poor  woman,"  cried 
Charles;  "  I  ask  hers  with  all  my  heart;"  and 
in  his  last  moments  he  apologized  to  those  round 
him  for  the  trouble  he  had  caused.  He  had  been  a 
most  unconscionable  time  in  dying,  but  he  hoped 
they  would  excuse  him. — Stonj  of  Nell  Givjn. 


CREOLE  HOSPITALITY. 

The  following  \h  an  extract  from  N.  P.  AVil- 
lis'rt  hist  letter  from  Martiniijue,  Willis  has  a 
(lisrcrning  eye  for  whatever  is  tran.spiring;  and 
gathers  tluiughts  of  interest  where  most  other 
persons  would  find  notliing  to  elicit  notice,  or 
awaken  observation  : 

"  I  must  incorporate,  into  thifi  mention  of  the 
Kuburlw  of  St.  Pierre,  an  incident  which  occnn-i-d 
to  us  on  the  other  side  of  the  city,  and  which 
will  illustrate  the  kind  manners  of  these  uuccri- 
rnonitjus  dwellers  in  tlic  country.  Mr.  G.  ami 
myself  had  mounted  the  high  liill  which  over- 
looks the  bay,  shutting  in  the  town  on  tlie  south- 
cm  side,  but' found  it  difficult  to  get  a  view  with- 
out encroaching  upon  the  private  girninds  of  the 
beautiful  villas  which  edge  the  decliviry.  Seeing 
a  gate  temptingly  open,  however,  and  which  led 
to  a  terrace  overhanging  a  bold  jirccipiee  we  had 
walked  under,  we  ventured  in.  The  blinds  of 
the  house  were  closed,  as  it  was  still  the  lingei"- 
ing  hour  of  the  siesta ;  but  a  scat  stood  invitingly 
before  us,  and  upon  this  we  made  ourselves  com- 
fortable, supposing  we  had  done  .'^o  unobserved. 
The  city  lay  at  a  biscuit-toss  beneath  us,  tlie 
harbor  spread  away  before,  and  the  verdure-laden 
mountains  rose  in  grand  magnificence  beyond  ; 
and  we  were  giving  our  eyes  their  first  cursory 
feast  upon  all  this,  when  there  was  a  rattle  of 
opening  sliutters  in  the  house  behind.  A  bare- 
footed ncgress  was  at  our  elbow  the  next  mo- 
ment, with  the  compliments  of  madame  and  a 
request  that  we  would  walk  in.  Thinking  that 
we  might  have  been  mistaken  for  authorized  vis- 
itors, I  explained   that  we  were   only  intruders, 


desirous  of  getting  a  view  from  the  terrace,  and 
charged  the  servant  with  oin*  apology  and  a  hope 
that  we  should  not  give  the  lady  (jf  the  house 
any  trouble.  We  rose  to  go,  with  this,  but,  up- 
on the  portico  liefore  us,  stood  a  tall  and  slight 
lady,  of  a  manner  of  very  high-bred  repose  and 
ea-sy  self-po.ssession,  who  repeated  the  invitation 
with  a  graciou-iuess  it  was  impossible  to  decline. 
We  followed  her  into  a  large  drawing-room  fur- 
nished with  French  elegance  and  liixuriousnesR, 
aiul  after  enlightening  her  as  to  our  country  and 
our  purposes  of  travel,  conversation  turned  ujjon 
general  topics,  and  a  half-Jiour  passed  away  verv 
delightfully.  Two  lovely  children  bounded  in, 
after  a  whde,  giving  me  an  opportunity  of  de- 
scribing those  I  had  l(;ft  at  home,  aiid,  with 
these  more  jjcrsonal  topics,  we  wei'c  soon  as  well 
acquainted,  at  least,  as  a  letter  of  introduciion 
would  have  made  us.  The  mingled  ease  and 
dignity  of  our  fair  entertainer  impressed  my 
friend  as  well  as  myself  very  strongly.  It  was 
the  French  courtliness  with  the  Creole  abandon- 
ment to  indolent  grace.  The  setting  sun  was 
throwing  its  yellow  rays  into  the  room  when  we 
rose  to  go,  but  it  was  with  gi*eat  difficulty  wc  re- 
sisted a  pressing  invitation  to  remain  to  dinner, 
or  to  take  wine  or  some  refreshment  before  leav- 
ing. A  request  that  wc  would  repeat  our  visit, 
and  a  profusion  of  compliments  in  return  for 
our  expressions  of  grateful  pleasure,  sent  us  on 
our  way  with  renewed  wonder  upon  what  planet 
of  unworldlincss  wc  had  dropped — a  feeling 
which  every  new  change  we  have  as  yet  experi- 
enced in  Martinique,  seems  but  to  confirm  and 
brighten." 


COIN  PRESS  AT  THE  MINT,  PHILADELPHIA. 


[See  p.  40  for  description.] 


MAIN  STEAM  ENGINE  AT  TIIE  MINT,  PHILADELPHIA^, 


I'^Qc  p.  40 
for  .'.oflcviiiEinn.l 


MICHAEL  FARADAY. 

Michael  Faraday,  England's  most  eminent 
chemist,  was  borii  in  1794,  the  son  of  a  poor 
blacksmith.  He  was  early  apprenticed  to  one 
Ribcau,  a  book-binder,  in  Blandford  street,  and 
worked  at  the  craft  until  he  was  twenty-two  years 
of  age.  Whilst  an  apprentice,  his  master  called 
the  attention  of  one  of  his  customers,  Mr.  Dance, 
of  Manchester  street,  to  an  electrical  machine 
and  other  things  which  the  young  man  had 
made;  and  MrrDance,  who  was  one  of  the  old 
members  of  the  Royal  Institution,  took  him  to 
hear  the  last  four  lectures  which  Sir  Humphrey 
Davy  gave  there  as  professor.  Faraday  attend- 
ed, and  seating  himself  in  the  gallery,  took  notes 
of  the  lectures,  and,  at  a  future  time,  sent  his 
manuscript  to  Davy,  with  a  short  and  modest 
account  of  Iiimself,  and  a  request,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible, for  scientific  employment  in  the  labors  of 
the  laboratory.  Davy,  struck  with  the  clearness 
and  accuracy  of  the  memoranda,  and  confiding 
in  the  talents  and  pcrscAxrance  of  the  ^vl•iter, 
offered  him,  upon  the  occurrence  of  a  vacancy  in 
the  laborator}',  in  the  beginning  of  1813,  the  post 
of  assistant,  which  he  accepted.  At  the  end  of  the 
year  he  accompanied  Davy  and  his  lady  over 
the  continent,  as  secretary  and  assistant,  and  in. 
1815  returned  to  his  duties  in  the  laboratory, 
and  ultimately  became  FuUerian  Professor. 

Mr.  Paraday's  researches  and  discoveries  have 
raised  him  to  the  highest  rank  among  European 
philosophers,  while  his  faculty  of  expounding  to 
a  general  audience  the  result  of  his  recondite  in- 
vestigations, makes  him  one  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive lecturers  of  the  age.  He  has  selected  the 
most  difficult  and  perplexing  departments  of 
physical  science — the  investigation  of  the  recip- 
rocal relations  of  heat,  light  and  magnetism,  and 
electricity ;  and  by  many  years  of  patient  and 
profound  study,  has  contributed  greatly  to  sim- 
plify our  ideas  on  this  subject.  It  is  the  hope  of 
this  philosopher  that,  should  life  and  health  be 
spared,  ho  will  be  able  to  show  that  the  impon- 


derable agencies  just  mentioned,  are  so  many 
manifestations  of  one  and  the  same  force.  Mr. 
Faraday's  great  achievements  are  recognized  by 
the  learned  societies  of  every  country  in  Europe ; 
and  the  University  of  Oxford,  in  1832,  did  itself 
the  honor  of  enrolling  him  among  her  Doctors 
of  the  Law.  In  private  life  he  is  beloved  for  the 
simplicity  and  truthfulness  of  his  character,  and 
the  kindliness  of  his  disposition. — Me/i  of  the 
Times,  {/i  1852. 


A  TOUCinNG  INCIDENT. 

The  Louisville  Democrat  relates  the  following : 
"  An  aged  mother — a  woman  of  seventy  yearsof 
age — left  her  home  in  the  Emerald  Island  some 
ten  weeks  ago,  to  seek  the  abode  of  her  children, 
who  now  reside  at  Louisville.  Afier  a  tedious 
passage,  and  the  trouble  incident  to  a  long  jour- 
ney, she  reached  this  city  from  New  Orleans, 
last  Monday  night,  on  board  the  Alexander 
Scott,  and  soon  she  was  surrounded  by  her  chil- 
dren. Her  son  was  the  first  to  see  her,  and  he 
hastened  to  inform  his  sister  of  their  mother's 
arrival.  They  met — the  mother  and  thcdaugliter 
— in  one  long  embrace,  which  ouh-  ended  as  the 
infirm  mother  sank  with  excitement  to  the  floor. 
She  had  swooned  away  in  the  rapturous  enjoy- 
ment of  beholding,  once  more,  a  daughter  so 
long  lost.  She  pronounced  a  lilesying  upon  her 
children,  and  fainted  away.  Whenever  restorcl 
to  consciousness,  the  sight  of  her  children,  and 
the  pleasing  recollection  of  their  presence,  would 
overcome  her  with  emotions,  and  again  and 
again  she  would  faint  in  their  arms.  Physicians 
were  called  to  her  aid,  but  could  afford  her  no 
relief.  For  two  days  she  continued  in  this  con- 
dition, until  worn  out  by  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment, exhausted  nature  gave  way,  and  the 
mother  now  'sleeps  well'  in  the  new  green  eartli 
of  her  new  made  home.  How  strange,  how  sor- 
rowful, and  !xow  touching  are  the  incident-:  of 
life." 


■17   riT  1?  \  anxr  I  corner  bromfield 

r  .   U-JjJ!iAOUiN  ,  j    AND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  JULY  24,  1852. 


©2  PER  VOLiniE.  1  -17- 
10  Cts.  single,    f  V  OL. 


III.  No.  4.— Whole  No.  56. 


HENRY  CLAY. 

"We  are  gratified  to 
present  to  our  readers 
tlie  accompanying  por- 
trait of  one  of  America's 
favorite  sons,  whose  re- 
cent death,  at  a  ripe  old 
age,  has  sent  a  thrill  of 
sorrowful  feeling  over 
our  land.  Henry  Clay 
was  born  April  12, 1777, 
in  Hanover  county,  Vir- 
ginia. His  father  was  a 
Baptist  clergyman,  of 
small  means,  who  died 
when  his  son  was  only 
five  years  of  age.  He 
was  one  of  a  large  fami- 
ly of  children,  who  were 
left  under  the  care  of 
their  mother — a  firm- 
minded  and  truly  excel- 
lent woman.  Henry's 
early  advantages  con- 
sisted in  the  privilege 
of  attending  a  common 
country  Virginia  school ; 
and  such  were  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  wid- 
ow, that  thus  early,  he 
was  obliged  to  contri- 
bute to  the  support  of 
the  family.  His  work 
was  generally  on  the 
farm .  At  fourteen  years 
of  age  he  was  placed  in 
a  small  retail  shop  in 
Eichraond,  Va.  The 
next  year  lie  entered  the 
office  of  Mr.  Tinsley, 
clerk  of  the  high  com't 
of  chancery,  where 
among  other  valuable  ac- 
quaintances, he  attracted 
the  notice  and  acquired 
the  friendship  of  the  dis- 
tinguished and  beloved 
Chancellor  Wythe — one 
of  the  venerated  signers 
of  the  declaration  of  in- 
dependence. With  him 
the  poor  orphan  found 
a  patron  and  a  home. 
Under  the  direction  of 
his  great  benefactor,  and 
for  the  purpose  of  study- 
ing his  profession,  he  en- 
tered tlic  law  ofiice  of 
Robert  Brooke,  attorney 
general  of  the  State.  In 
1797  he  moved  to  Lex- 
ington, Ky.,  where,  be- 
fore he  commenced  the 
practice  of  the  law,  he 
devoted  some  months 
to  severe  study.  Such 
were  the  youthful  trials 
of  this  great  man.  The 
foundation  of  liis  long, 
eminent,  patriotic  and 
glorious  career  was  thus, 
not  family,  nor  wealth, 
nor  titles,  but  talents,  in- 
dustry, integrity,  and 
worth.  Our  space  will 
not  permit  a  like  detail 
of  a  progress  alike  hon- 
orable to  a  people  who 
saw  and  appreciated  liis 
value  as  a  man,  and  to 
the  patriot  who  devoted 
himself  zealously  to  the 
public  service.  This 
commenced  in  1797, 
when  he  toot  part  in  the 


PORTRAIT  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


debates  relating  to  the 
call  of  a  convention  to 
form  a  constitution  for 
Kentucky,  and  in  1798, 
when  he  zealously  en- 
tered the  field  against 
the  celebrated  alien  and 
sedition  laws.  As  soon 
as  he  was  eligible,  he 
was  elected  to  the  Legis- 
lature of  Kentucky.  He 
was  a  leading  member 
until  1806,  when  he  was 
?ent  to  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States,  to  fill  the 
place  occasioned  by  the 
resignation  of  General 
Adir.  This,  however, 
was  only  a  fraction  of  a 
term ;  and  at  the  close 
of  the  session,  Mr.  Clay 
was  again  chosen  to  a 
seat  in  tlie  Legislature. 
He  was  speaker  several 
years.  In  1809,  he  was 
a  second  time  elected  to 
the  United  States  Senate 
and  to  fill  a  fractional 
part  of  a  term.  This 
expired  in  1811,  when 
he  was  elected  a  member 
of  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. On  the  first 
ballot  he  was  elected 
speaker,  which  office  he 
filled  with  distinguished 
ability.  It  is  no  more 
than  justice  to  remark, 
that  thus  far  Mr.  Clay 
had  proved  himself 
equal,  and  more  than 
equal,  to  every  place 
wliich  he  had  been  call- 
ed upon  to  fill,  says  the 
Boston  Post.  Indeed, 
he  was  a  member  of  the 
republican  party,  and  so 
signal  had  been  his  elo- 
quence, his  patriotism, 
his  influence  and  liis  effi- 
ciency, as  to  have  had 
attracted  the  eyes  of  the 
nation.  He  nobly  sus- 
tained the  administra- 
tion of  Mr.  Madison  and 
the  war  of  1812.  After 
the  conclusion  of  the 
treaty  of  Ghent,  Mr. 
Clay,  with  Mr.  Adams 
and  Mr.  Gallatin,  went 
to  London,  where  a  com- 
mercial convention  be- 
tween this  country  and 
Great  Britain  was  con- 
cluded. Mr.  Clay  was 
again  elected  to  the 
House  of  Representa- 
tives in  1815,  and  again 
made  speaker.  Subse- 
quently, after  t\vo  years 
absence  from  Congress, 
he  was  re-elected  in  1 823, 
and  again  made  the 
speaker,  which  place  ho 
filled  until  1825,  when 
he  was  appointed  secre- 
tary of  State  by  John 
Quincy  Adams.  Mr. 
Clay  Avas  speaker  of  the 
House  from  1811  to 
1825,  with  the  exception 
of  two  years,  dm'ing 
which  time  he  voluntari- 
ly retired  from  congress. 
\Sp-t^  pnqf  fi4,] 


50 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  ©TSHJAsr  iPAiLiis  ©If  isnEiii'B'AiE'^  i^'^;;^S3''E"igiiiiio 

Entcrad  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlic  year  1852,  l)y  F.  Gleason,  in  tlio  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[written   liXI'ItEBSLY   FOR   GLEASOn's   I'ICTORIAL.] 


THE 


imV'B  SECiET: 


OR, — • 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 


BY   LIEUTENANT   MUKKAY. 


[CONTI 

CHAPTER  VI— [continued.] 
His  temples  burned  still  with  the  angry  flush 
that  the  insult  of  his  superior  officer  had  produced 
there,  and  throwing  liimsclf  into  a  chair,  he  re- 
called the  whole  scene  at  the  theatre,  from  his 
answering  Isabella's  friendly  signal,  until  the 
time  when  General  Harero  passed  him  at  the 
entrance,  and  for  the  last  time  reproved  him. 

He  weighed  the  cause  of  these  repeated  attacks 
upon  him  by  his  superior,  and  could  at  once  di- 
vine the  cause  of  tlicm.  That  was  obvious  to 
his  mind  at  the  first  glance.  He  could  not  but 
perceive  the  strong  preference  that  General  Ha- 
rero evinced  for  Isabella  Gonzales,  nor  could  he 
disguise  the  fact  to  his  own  heart  that  she  cared 
not  a  farthing  for  him.  It  required  but  a  vei-y 
simple  capacity  to  understand  this ;  any  party, 
not  interested  in  the  general's  favor,  could  easily 
discern  it.  But  the  general  counted  upon  his 
high  rank,  and  also  upon  the  fact  tiiat  his  family 
was  a  good  one,  though  his  purse  was  not  very 
long. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  remembered  not  alone  the  an- 
noyance of  that  evening.  He  had  not  yet  for- 
gotten the  insult  from  the  general  in  the  Paseo, 
and  coupling  that  with  other  events,  he  saw  very 
well  that  his  commanding  officer  was  decidedly 
jealous  of  him.  He  saw,  too,  that  there  was  not 
any  chance  of  matters  growing  any  better,  but 
that  on  the  contrary  they  must  continue  to  grow 
worse  and  worse,  since  he  had  determined,  come 
what  might,  he  should  pursue  his  love  with  the 
fair  lady  Isabella. 

Could  he  bear  to  be  insulted  thus  at  every 
turn  by  such  a  man  as  General  Harero  ?  No  ! 
He  felt  himself,  in  courage,  intellectual  endow- 
ments, birth,  ay,  everything  but  the  rank  of  a 
soldier,  to  be  moi'c  than  his  equal.  His  heart 
beat  quickly  when  he  recollected  that  the  latter 
taunt  and  threat  had  been  given  in  the  presence 
of  Don  Gonzales  and  his  daughter.  The  malig- 
nity, the  unfairness  of  this  attack  upon  him  at 
this  time,  was  shameful,  and  deserved  to  be  pun- 
ished. Brooding  upon  these  things  alone  and 
at  a  late  hour  of  the  night,  he  at  last  wrought 
himself  up  to  such  a  point,  perhaps  in  some  de- 
gree aggravated  by  his  late  wounds,  which  were 
hardly  yet  healed,  that  he  determined  he  would 
challenge  General  Harero  to  martial  and  mortal 
conflict. 

True  this  was  preposterous  in  one  of  his  rank, 
as  contending  against  another  so  vastly  his  supe- 
rior in  position  and  influence ;  but  his  feelings 
had  begun  to  assume  an  uncontrollable  charac- 
ter; he  could  not  bear  to  think  that  he  had  been 
thus  insulted  before  Isabella  Gonzales.  It  seem- 
ed to  him  that  she  would  think  less  of  liim  if  he 
did  not  resent  and  punisli  such  an  insult.  In  the 
heat  of  his  resentment,  therefore,  he  sat  down 
and  wrote  to  his  superior  as  follows  : 

"  General  Harero  :  Sir — Having  received, 
at  different  periods  and  under  peculiar  circum- 
stances, insults  from  you  that  neither  become  me 
as  a  gentleman  tamely  to  submit  to,  nor  you 
as  a  soldier  to  give,  I  do  hereby  demand  satis- 
faction. It  would  be  worse  than  folly  in  rac  to 
pretend  that  I  do  not  undei-stand  the  incentive 
that  goveiTis  you — 'the  actuating  motive  that  has 
led  to  these  attacks  upon  me.  In  my  duty  as  an 
officer  I  have  never  failed  in  the  least ;  this  you 
know  veiT^  well,  and  have  even  allowed  before 
now,  to  my  vci"y  face.  Your  attacks  upon  me 
are,  therefore,  plainly  traceable  to  a  spirit  of 
jealousy  as  to  my  better  success  with  the  Senorita 


NUED.] 

Gonzales  than  yourself.  Unless  I  greatly  mis- 
take, the  lady  herself  has  discovered  tliis  spirit 
within  your  breast. 

"Now,  sir,  the  object  of  this  note  is  to  demand 
of  you  to  lay  aside  the  station  you  hold,  and  to 
forget  our  relative  ranks  as  officers  in  the  Span- 
ish army,  and  to  meet  me  on  the  platform  of  our 
individual  characters  as  gentlemen,  and  render 
me  that  satisfaction  for  the  insult  which  you  have 
placed  upon  me,  which  I  have  a  right  to  demand. 
A  line  from  you  and  a  friend  can  easily  settle 
this  business.  Lorenzo  Bezan." 

Tliis  note  was  carefully  sealed  and  addressed, 
and  so  despatched  as  to  i-each  its  destination 
early  on  the  follow^ing  morning.  It  was  a  most 
unfortunate  epistle  for  Captain  Bezan,  and  could 
the  young  officer  have  calmly  considered  the 
subject,  he  would  never  have  been  so  impnident 
as  to  send  it  to  liis  superior.  So  long  as  he  bore 
the  petty  annoyances  of  General  Harero  without 
murmuring  he  was  strong,  but  the  step  he  had 
now  taken  greatly  weakened  his  cause  and  posi- 
tion. Perhaps  he  partly  realized  this  as  he  sent 
the  note  away  on  the  subsequent  morning ;  but 
he  felt  too  much  pride  to  relent,  and  so  only 
braced  himself  to  meet  the  result. 

The  note  gave  General  Harero  wiiat  he  w^ant- 
ed,  and  placed  Captain  Bezan  completely  at  his 
mercy.  It  gave  him  the  opportunity  to  do  that 
which  he  most  desired,  viz.,  to  arrest  and  im- 
prison tlie  young  officer.  Consulting  with  the 
governor  general,  merely  by  way  of  strengthen- 
ing himself,  he  took  his  opinion  upon  the  subject 
before  he  made  any  open  movement  in  the  prem- 
ises. This  ^yas  a  wary  step,  and  sen-ed  in  some 
degree  to  rob  the  case  of  any  appearance  of  pei*- 
sonality  that  it  might  otherwise  have  worn  to 
Tacon's  eye. 

The  result  of  the  matter  was,  that  before  ten 
o'clock  that  morning  the  note  conveying  the 
challenge  was  answered  by  an  aid-de-camp  and 
a  file  of  soldiers,  who  arrested  Captain  Bezan  for 
insubordination,  and  quietly  conducted  him  to 
the  damp  underground  cells  of  the  military  pris- 
on, where  he  was  left  to  consider  the  new  posi- 
tion in  which  he  found  himself,  solitary  and 
alone,  with  a  straw  bed,  and  no  convenience  or 
comfort  about  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    PRISONER. 

To  know  and  fully  realize  the  bitter  severity 
exercised  in  the  Spanish  prisons,  both  at  Madrid 
and  in  Havana,  one  must  have  witnessed  it. 
Cold,  dark  and  dreary  cells,  fit  only  to  act  as 
supports  to  the  upper  and  better  lighted  portions 
of  the  dismal  structure,  are  filled  by  those  per- 
sons who  have  incurred  in  any  way  the  displeas- 
ure of  the  military  board  of  commission.  Here, 
in  one  of  the  dampest  and  most  dreary  cells, 
immured  with  lizards,  tarantulas,  and  other  vile 
and  unwholesome  reptiles,  Captain  Bezan,  but 
so  very  recently  risen  from  a  sick  bed,  and  yet 
smarting  under  his  wounds,  found  himself.  He 
could  now  easily  see  the  great  mistake  he  had 
made  in  thus  addressing  General  Ilarero  as  he 
had  done,  and  also,  as  he  knew  very  well  the 
rigor  of  the  service  to  which  he  was  attached, 
when  he  considered  for  a  moment,  he  had  not 
the  least  possible  doubt  that  his  sentence  would 
be  death. 

As  a  soldier  he  feared  not  death  ;  his  profession 
and   experience,   which  had  already  made  him 


familiar  with  the  fell  destroyer  in  cvei-y  jjossiblc 
form  and  sliapc,  had  taught  him  a  fearlessness 
in  this  matter;  l)ut  to  leave  the  air  that  Isabella 
Gonzales  l>reathcd,  to  be  tlms  torn  away  from 
the  briglit  hopes  that  she  had  given  rise  to  in  his 
breast,  was  indeed  agony  of  soul  to  him  now. 
In  tlie  horizon  of  his  love,  for  the  first  time  since 
his  heart  had  known  the  passion,  the  sun  had 
risen,  and  the  genial  rays  of  hope,  like  young 
spring,  liad  commenced  to  warm  and  vivify  his 
soul.  Until  within  a  very  short  time  she  whom 
he  loved  was  to  him  as  some  distant  star,  tliat 
might  be  worsliippcd  in  silence,  but  not  ap- 
proached ;  but  now,  by  a  series  of  circumstances 
that  looked  like  providential  intei-fercnce  in  his 
bcluilf,  immense  bairiei's  had  been  removed. 
Tliinking  over  tliese  matters,  he  doubly  realized 
the  misstep  he  had  taken,  and  the  heart  of  the 
lone  prisoner  was  sad  in  tlic  depths  of  his  dreary 
dungeon. 

Many  days  passed  on,  and  Lorenzo  Bezan 
counted  each  hour  as  one  less  that  he  sliould 
have  to  live  upon  the  earth.  At  first  all  inter- 
course was  strictly  denied  him  with  any  person 
outside  the  prison  walls,  but  one  aftenioon  he  was 
delighted  as  the  doorof  his  cell  was  thrown  open, 
and  in  the  next  moment  Ruez  sprang  into  his 
anns, 

"My  dear,  dear  friend!"  said  the  boy,  with 
big  tears  starting  from  his  eyes,  and  his  voice 
trembling  with  mingled  emotions  of  pleasure  and 
of  grief. 

"Why,  Ruez,"  said  the  prisoner,  no  less  de- 
lighted than  was  the  boy,  "  how  was  it  possible 
for  you  to  gain  admittance  to  me  ?  You  are  the 
first  person  I  have  seen,  except  the  turnkey,  in 
my  prison." 

"  Everybody  refused  me ;  General  Harero  re- 
fused father,  who  desired  that  I  might  come  and 
see  if  he  could  not  in  some  way  serve  you.  At 
last  I  went  to  Tacon  himself.  0,  I  do  love  that 
man!  Well,  I  told  him  General  Harero  would 
not  admit  me,  and  when  I  told  him  all — " 
"All  of  what,  Ruez^" 

"  Wliy,  about  you  and  me,  and  sister  and  fa- 
ther. He  said,  *  Boy,  you  are  worthy  of  confi- 
dence and  love ;  here,  take  this,  it  will  pass  you 
to  the  prison,  and  to  Captain  Bezan's  cell ;'  and 
he  wrote  me  this  on  a  card,  and  said  I  could 
come  and  see  you  by  presenting  it  to  the  guard, 
when  I  pleased." 

"  Tacon  is  just,  always  just,"  said  Lorenzo 
Bezan,    "  and  you,   Ruez,   are  a  dear  and  true 
friend."     As  the  soldier  said  this,  he  turned  to 
dash  away  a  tear — confinement  and  late  sickness 
had  rendered  him  still  weak. 
"  Captain '?" 
"  Master  Ruez." 
"  I  hate  General  Harero." 
"  Why  so  V 

"  Because  sister  says  it  is  by  his  influence  that 
you  are  here." 

"  Did  Isabella  say  that  V 
"Yes." 

"  Well,  tell  me  of  your  father  and  sister,  Ruez. 
You  know  I  am  a  hermit  here." 

Lorenzo  Bezan  had  already  been  in  prison  for 
more  than  ten  days,  when  Ruez  thus  visited  him, 
and  the  boy  had  much  to  tell  him  :  how  General 
Harero  had  called  repeatedly  at  the  house,  and 
Isabella  had  totally  refused  to  see  him ;  and  how 
his  father  had  n-ied  to  reason  with  General  Ha- 
rero about  Captain  Bezan,  and  how  the  general 
had  declared  that  nothing  but  blood  could  wash 
out  the  stain  of  insubordination. 

AVith  the  pass  that  the  goveraor-general  had 
given  him,  Ruez  Gonzales  came  often  to  visit 
the  imprisoned  soldier,  but  as  the  day  appointed 
for  the  trial  drew  near,  Ruez  grew  more  and 
more  sad  and  thoughtful  at  each  visit,  for,  boy 
though  he  was,  he  felt  certain  of  Lorenzo  Bezan's 
fate.  He  was  not  himself  unfamiliar  with  mili- 
tary examinations,  for  he  was  bora  and  brought 
up  within  earshot  of  the  spot  where  tlicse  scenes 
were  so  often  enacted  by  order  of  the  military 
commission,  and  he  trembled  for  his  dearly  loved 
friend. 

At  length  the  trial  came ;  trial !  we  might 
with  more  propriety  call  it  a  farce,  such  being 
the  actual  character  of  an  examination  befoi'e 
the  military  commission  of  Havana,  where  but 
one  side  is  heard,  and  condemnation  is  sure  to 
follow,  as  was  the  case  so  lately  with  one  of  our 
own  countrymen  (Mr.  Thrasher),  and  before  him 
the  murder  by  tliis  same  tribunal  of  fifty  Ameri- 
cans in  cold  blood !  Trial,  indeed  !  Spanish 
courts  do  not  try  people ;  they  condemn  them  to 
suifer — that  is  their  business. 

But  let  us  confine  ourselves  to  our  own  case  ; 
and  suffice  it  to  say,   that   Captain   Bezan  wai 


found  guilty,  and  at  once  condemned  to  die. 
IliH  offence  was  rank  insubordination,  or  mutiny, 
as  it  was  designated  in  the  charge ;  but  in  con- 
sideration of  former  services,  and  his  undoubted 
gallantry  and  bravery,  the  sentence  read  to  the 
effect,  as  a  matter  of  exti-aordinary  leniency  to 
him,  that  it  should  be  pennitted  for  him  to  choose 
the  mode  of  liis  own  death — tliat  is,  between  the 
garote  and  being  sliot  ]>y  his  comrades. 

"  Let  me  die  like  a  soldier,"  replied  the  young 
officer,  as  tlie  question  was  thus  put  to  liim,  be- 
fore the  open  court,  as  to  the  mode  of  dcatli 
which  he  chose. 

"  You  are  condemned,  then,  Lorenzo  Bezan," 
said  the  advocate  of  tlie  court,  "  to  be  shot  by 
the  first  file  of  your  own  company,  upon  the  exe- 
cution field." 

This  sentence  was  received  with  a  murmur  of 
disapprobation  from  tlie  few  spectators  in  the 
court,  for  the  condemned  was  one  of  the  most 
beloved  men  in  the  sei-vicc.  But  the  young  offi- 
cer bowed  his  head  calmly  to  the  sentence,  though 
a  close  observer  miglit  liave  seen  a  slight  quiver 
of  his  handsome  lips,  as  he  struggled  for  an  in- 
stant witli  a  single  inward  thought.  What  that 
thought  was,  the  reader  can  easily  guess, — it  was 
the  last  link  that  bound  him  to  happiness. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  had  no  fear  of  death,  and  per- 
haps estimated  his  life  quite  as  lightly  as  any 
other  person  who  made  a  soldier's  calling  his 
profession ;  but  since  his  licart  had  known  the 
tender  promptings  of  love,  life  had  discovered 
new  chai-ms  for  him  ;  he  hvcd  and  breathed  in  a 
new  atmosphere.  Before  he  had  received  the 
kind  considerations  of  the  peerless  daughter  of 
Don  Gonzales,  he  could  have  parted  the  thread 
of  his  existence  with  little  regret.  But  now, 
alas  !  it  was  veiy  different;  life  was  most  sweet 
to  him,  because  it  was  so  fully  imbued  with  love 
and  hope  in  the  future. 

Wild  as  the  idea  might  have  seemed  to  any 
one  else,  the  young  officer  had  promised  his  own 
heart,  tliat  with  ordinary  success,  and  provided 
no  extraordinary  difficulty  should  present  itself 
in  his  path,  to  win  the  heart  and  love  of  the 
proud  and  beautiful  Isabella  Gonzales.  He  had 
made  her  chai-acter  and  disposition  his  constant 
study,  was  more  familiar,  perhaps,  with  her 
strong  and  her  weak  points  than  was  she  herself, 
and  believed  that  he  knew  how  best  to  approach 
her  before  whom  so  many,  vastly  higher  than 
himself,  had  knelt  in  vain,  and  truth  to  say,  for- 
tune seemed  to  have  seconded  his  hopes. 

It  was  the  death  of  all  these  hopes,  the  dashing 
to  earth  of  the  fairy  future  he  had  dreamed  of, 
that  caused  his  proud  lip  to  tremble  for  a  mo- 
ment.    It  was  no  fear  of  bodily  ill. 

General  Harero  had  accompUshed  his  object, 
and  had  triumiihed  over  the  young  officer,  whose 
impetuosity  had  placed  him  within  liis  power. 
Tlie  sentence  of  death  cancelled  his  animosity  to 
Lorenzo  Bezan,  and  he  now  thought  that  a 
prominent  cause  of  disagreement  and  want  of 
success  between  the  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales 
and  himself  was  removed.  Thus  reasoning  upon 
the  subject,  and  thus  influenced,  he  called  at  the 
house  of  Don  Gonzales  on  the  evening  following 
that  of  Captain  Bezan's  sentence,  expecting  to 
be  greeted  with  the  usual  courtesy  that  had  been 
extended  to  him.  Ruez  was  the  first  one  whom 
he  met  of  the  household,  on  being  ushered  to  the 
drawing-room  by  a  slave. 

"  Ah  !  Master  Ruez,  how  do  you  do  1"  said  the 
general,  pleasantly. 

"  Not  well  at  all !"  replied  the  boy,  sharply, 
and  with  undisguised  disUke. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  learn  that.  I  trust  nothing  se- 
rious has  affected  you." 

"  But  there  has,  though,"  said  the  boy,  with 
spirit;  "  it  is  the  rascality  of  human  nature  ;"  at 
the  same  moment  he  turned  his  back  coldly  on 
the  general  and  left  the  room. 

"  AVell,  that's  most  extraordinary,"  mused  the 
general,  to  himself;  "  the  boy  meant  to  hit  me, 
beyond  a  doubt." 

"Ah,  Don  Gonzales,"  he  said  to  the  father,  who 
entered  the  room  a  moment  after,  "  glad  to  see 
you  ;  have  had  some  unpleasant  business  on  my 
hands  that  has  kept  me  away,  you  see." 

"  Yes,  very  unpleasant,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, briefly  and  coldly. 

"  Well,  it's  all  settled  now,  Don  Gonzales, 
and  I  trust  we  shall  be  as  ^"ood  friends  as  ever." 
Receiving  no  reply  whatever  to  this  remark, 
and  being  left  to  himself.  General  Harero  looked 
after  Don  Gonzales,  who  had  retired  to  a 
balcou}'  in  another  purt  of  the  room,  for  a 
moment,  and  then  summoning  a  slave,  scut  his 
cai'd  to  Senorita  Isabella,  and  received  as  an 
answer  that  she  was  engaged.     Repulsed  in  every 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


51 


quarter,  he  found  himself  most  awkwardly  situ- 
ated, and  thought  it  about  time  to  beat  a  retreat. 

As  General  Harero  rose  and  took  his  leave  in 
the  niorit  formal  manner,  he  saw  that  his  path- 
way towards  the  Senorita  Isabella's  graces  was 
by  no  means  one  of  sunshine  alone,  but  at  that 
moment  it  presented  to  his  view  a  most  cloudy 
horizon.  The  unfortunate  connection  of  himself 
witli  tlie  sentence  of  Captain  Bezan,  now  as- 
sumed its  true  bearing  in  liis  eye.  Before,  he 
had  only  thought  of  revenge,  and  the  object  also 
of  getting  rid  of  his  rival.  Now  he  fully  realized 
that  it  had  placed  him  in  a  most  unpleasant  situ- 
ation, as  it  regarded  the  lady  herself.  Indeed 
he  felt  that  had  not  the  matter  gone  so  far,  he 
would  gladly  have  compromised  the  affair  by  a 
public  reprimand  to  the  young  officer,  such  as 
should  sufficiently  disgrace  him  publicly  to  satisfy 
the  general's  pride.  Butitwastoo  late  to  regret 
now,  too  late  for  him  to  turn  back — the  young 
soldier  must  die ! 

In  the  meantime  Lorenzo  Bezan  was  remanded 
to  his  dismal  prison  and  cell,  and  was  told  to 
prepare  for  the  death  that  would  soon  await 
him.  One  week  only  was  allowed  him  to  ar- 
range such  matters  as  he  desired,  and  then  lie 
was  informed  that  he  would  be  shot  by  Iiis  com- 
rades in  the  execution  field,  at  the  rear  of  the 
city  barracks.  It  was  a  sad  and  melancholy  fate 
for  so  young  and  brave  an  otficer  ;  but  the  law 
was  imperative,  and  there  was  no  reprieve  for 
him. 

The  cold  and  distant  reception  that  General 
Harero  had  received  at  Don  Gonzales's  house 
since  the  sentence  had  been  publicly  pronounced 
against  Captain  Lorenzo  Bezan,  had  afforded 
unmistakable  evidence  to  him  that  if  his  victim 
perished  on  account  of  the  charge  he  had  brought 
against  him,  his  welcome  with  Isabella  and  her 
father  was  at  an  end.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
As  we  have  said,  he  had  gone  too  far  to  retrace 
his  steps  in  the  matter.  Now  if  it  were  but  pos- 
sible to  get  out  of  the  affair  in  some  way,  he  said 
to  himself,  he  would  give  half  his  foitune.  Puz- 
zling over  this  matter,  the  disappointed  general 
paced  back  and  forth  in  his  room  until  past  mid- 
night, and  at  last  having  tired  himself  completely, 
hoth  mentally  and  physically,  he  carelessly  threw 
off  his  clothes,  and  summoning  his  orderly,  gave 
some  imimportant  order,  and  retu-ed  for  the 
night. 

More  than  half  of  the  time  allotted  to  the  pris- 
oner for  preparation  in  closing  up  his  connection 
with  life,  had  already  transpired  since  his  sen- 
tence had  been  pronounced,  and  he  had  now  but 
three  days  left  him  to  live.  Ruez  Gonzales,  im- 
proving the  governor-general's  pass,  had  visited 
the  young  officer  daily,  bringing  with  him  such 
luxuries  and  necessities  to  the  condemned  as  were 
not  prohibited  by  the  rules  of  the  prison,  and 
which  were  most  grateful  to  him.  More  so, 
because,  though  this  was  never  intimated  to  him, 
or,  indeed,  appeared  absolutely  obvious,  he 
thought  that  oftentimes  Isabella  had  selected 
these  gifts,  if  indeed  she  had  not  prepared  them 
with  her  o^vn  hands.  A  certain  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing prevented  him  from  saying  as  much  to  her 
brother,  or  of  even  questioning  him  upon  any 
point,  however  trivial,  as  to  any  matter  of  a  pe- 
culiar natm-e  concerning  Isabella.  Sometimes 
he  longed  to  ask  the  boy  about  the  subject,  but 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  so  ;  he  felt  that 
it  would  be  indelicate  and  unpleasant  to  Isabella, 
and  therefore  he  limited  himself  to  careful  inqui- 
ries concerning  her  health  and  such  simi)le  mat- 
ters as  he  might  touch  upon,  without  risk  of  her 
displeasure. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  took  the  announcement  of  liis 
fate  calmly.  He  felt  it  his  duty  to  pray  for 
strength,  and  he  did  so,  and  sought  in  tlic  holy 
silence  and  confidence  of  prayer  for  that  abiding 
and  inward  assurance  tKat  may  carry  us  through 
the  darkness  and  the  valley  of  death.  Ruez, 
poor  boy,  was  almost  distracted  at  the  realization 
of  the  young  soldier's  fate.  Boy  though  he  was, 
he  had  yet  the  feelings,  in  many  respects,  of 
manhood,  and  though  before  Lorenzo  Bezan  he 
said  nothing  of  his  coming  fate,  and  indeed 
struggled  to  appear  cheerful,  and  to  impart  a 
pleasant  influenee  to  the  prisoner,  yet  when  once 
out  of  his  presence,  he  would  cry  for  the  hour 
together,  and  Isabella  even  feared  for  the  child's 
reason,  unless  some  change  should  take  place 
ere  long. 

Wlien  his  mother  was  taken  from  him,  and 
their  home  made  desolate  by  the  hand  of  death, 
Euez,  in  the  gentleness  and  tenderness  of  his 
heart,  had  been  brought  so  low  by  grief,  that  it 
was  almost  miraculous  that  he  had  survived. 
The  influence  of  that  sorrow,  as  we  have  before 


obser\'ed,  had  never  left  him.  His  father's  assid- 
uous care  and  kindness,  and  Isabella's  gentle 
and  sisterly  love  for  him,  had  in  part  healed  the 
wound,  when  now  his  young  and  susceptible 
heart  was  caused  thus  to  bleed  anew.  He  loved 
Lorenzo  Bezan  with  a  strange  intensity  of  feel- 
ing. There  was  an  affinity  in  their  natures  tliat 
seemed  to  draw  them  together,  and  it  was  strange 
what  strength  of  consolation  and  happiness  that 
weak  and  gentle  boy  imparted  to  the  stern  soldier ! 
In  his  association  of  late  with  Kuez,  tlie  con- 
demned officer  felt  purified  and  carried  back  to 
childhood  and  liis  mother's  knee  ;  the  long  vista 
of  eventful  years  was  blotted  out  from  his  heart, 
the  stem  battles  he  had  fought  in,  the  blood  he 
had  seen  flow  like  water,  his  own  deep  scars  and 
many  wounds,  the  pride  and  ambition  of  his 
military  career,  all  were  forgotten,  and  by  Ruez's 
side  he  was  perhaps  more  of  a  child  at  heart  than 
the  boy  himself.  How  strange  are  our  natures  ; 
how  susceptible  to  outward  influence ;  how  at- 
tunable  to  liarshncss  or  to  plaintive  notes  !  We 
are  but  as  the  ^olian  harp,  and  the  winds  of 
heaven  play  upon  us  what  tunes  they  will ! 

It  was  midnight  in  the  prison  of  Havana; 
nought  could  be  heard  by  the  listening  ear  save 
the  steady  pace  of  the  sentinels  stationed  at  the 
various  angles  of  the  walls  and  entrances  of  the 
comtyard  that  surrounded  the  gloomy  structure. 
It  was  a  calm,  ti'opical  night,  and  the  moon 
shone  so  brightly  as  to  light  up  the  grim  walls 
and  heaiT^  arches  of  the  building  almost  as  bright 
as  if  it  were  day.  Now  and  then  a  sentinel  would 
pause,  and  resting  upon  his  musket,  look  off 
upon  the  silvery  sea,  and  perhaps  dream  of  his 
distant  Castilian  liome,  then  starting  again,  he 
would  rouse  himself,  shoulder  the  weapon,  and 
pace  his  round  with  measured  stride.  Lorenzo 
Bezan,  the  condemned,  had  knelt,  down  and  of- 
fered up  a  prayer,  silent  but  sincere,  for  Heaven's 
protection  in  the  feavful  emergency  that  beset 
him  ;  he  prayed  that  he  might  die  like  a  bi'ave 
man,  yet  with  a  right  feeling  and  reconciled  con- 
science with  all  mankind.  Then  throwing  him- 
self upon  his  coarse  sti'awbed,  that  bai-ely  served 
to  separate  him  from  the  damp  earthen  floor,  he 
had  fallen  asleep — a  calm,  deep,  quiet  sleep,  so 
silent  and  childlike  as  almost  to  resemble  death 
itself. 

He  had  not  slept  there  for  many  minutes,  be- 
fore there  was  heard  a  most  curious  noise  under 
the  floor  of  his  prison.  At  first  it  did  not  awaken 
him,  but  partially  doing  so,  caused  him  to  move 
slightly,  and  in  a  half  conscious,  half  dreamy 
state,  to  suggest  some  cause  for  the  unusual  phe- 
nomenon. It  evidently  worked  upon  his  brain 
and  nervous  system,  and  he  dreamed  that  the 
executioner  had  come  for  him,  that  Ids  time  for 
life  had  already  expired,  and  the  noise  he  heard 
was  that  of  the  officers  and  men,  come  to  execute 
the  sentence  that  had  been  pronouncet-l  upon  him 
by  the  military  commission. 

By  degrees  the  noise  gradually  increased,  and 
heavy  bolts  and  bars  seemed  to  be  removed,  and 
a  gleam  of  light  to  stream  across  the  cell,  while 
the  tall  form  of  a  man,  i\Tapped  in  a  military 
cloak,  came  up  through  the  floor  where  a  stone 
slab  gave  way  to  the  pressure  applied  to  it  from 
below.  Having  gained  a  footing,  the  new  comer 
turned  the  light  of  a  dark  lantem  in  the  direction 
of  the  comer  where  the  prisoner  was  sleeping. 
The  figure  approached  the  sleeping  soldier,  and 
bending  over  him,  muttered  to  himself,  half 
aloud : 

"  Sleeping,  by  Heaven  !  he  sleeps  as  quietly 
as  though  he  was  in  his  camp-bedstead,  and  not 
even  under  an-est." 

As  the  officer  thus  spoke — for  his  cloak  now 
falling  from  one  shoulder,  partially  exposed  his 
person  and  discovered  his  rank — the  strong  light 
of  tlie  lantern  fell  full  iq^on  the  sleeper's  face, 
and  caused  him  suddenly  to  awake,  and  partially 
rising  from  the  floor,  he  said  : 

"So  soon  ?  has  my  time  already  come'?  I 
thought  that  it  was  not  yet.  Well,  I  am  ready, 
and  trust  to  die  like  a  soldier  !" 

"Awake,  Captain  Bezan,  awake!"  said  the 
new  comer.     "  I  have  news  for  you  !" 

"  News  1" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  possible  news  can  there  be  that  I  can 
feel  interested  in  V 

"Rise,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  other, 
while  he  shaded  the  lantern  with  his  hand. 

"  Speak  on,  I  am  listening,"  replied  Lorenzo 
Bezan,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  I  would  speak  of  your  liberty." 

"My  liberty?  I  am  condemned  to  die,  and 
do  you  come  to  mock  me  ?" 

"Be  patient;  the  way  is  open,  and  you  may 
yet  escape  from  death." 


"  And  what  should  interest  you.  General  Ha- 
rero, in  my  fate  ?  Your  purpose  is  gained ;  I 
am  removed  from  your  path  ;  why  do  you  visit 
me  thus  at  this  still  hour  of  the  night,  and  in  so 
extraordinary  a  manner  by  a  secret  entrance  to 
my  cell  V 

"  All  this  matters  notliing.  I  came  not  here 
to  answer  questions.  On  one  condition  you  are 
free.     I  have  the  means  of  your  escape  at  hand." 

*'  Name  the  condition,"  said  the  prisoner, 
though  without  exhibiting  the  least  interest. 

"  There  is  a  vessel  which  will  sail  for  America 
with  the  morning  tide ;  swear  if  I  liberate  you 
that  you  will  take  passage  in  her,  and  never  re- 
turn to  this  island." 

"Never!"  said  the  soldier,  firmly.  "I  will 
never  leave  those  I  love  so  dearly." 

"  You  refuse  these  tenns  ?"  continued  the  gen- 
eral, in  a  hoarse  tone  of  voice. 

"  I  do,  most  unhesitatingly.  Life  would  be 
nothing  to  me  if  robbed  of  its  brightest  Iiope." 

"  You  will  not  consider  this  for  a  moment  ?  it 
is  3'our  only  chance." 

"  I  am  resolved,"  said  Lorenzo  Bezan;  "for 
more  than  one  reason  I  am  determined." 

"  Then  die  for  your  obstinacy,"  said  General 
Harero,  hoarse  with  rage  and  disappointment. 

Tlius  saying.  General  Harero  descended  into 
the  secret  passage  fi*om  whence  he  had  just 
emerged,  and  I'cplacing  the  stone  above  his  head, 
the  prisoner  heard  the  grating  of  the  rusty  bolts 
and  bars  as  they  were  closed  after  him.  They 
grated,  too,  most  harshly  upon  his  heart,  as  well 
as  upon  their  own  hinges,  for  they  seemed  to 
say,  "thus  perishes  your  last  hope  of  reprieve — 
yom-  last  possibility  of  escape  from  the  fate  that 
awaits  you." 

"  No  matter,"  said  he,  to  himself,  at  last,  "  life 
would  be  of  little  value  to  me  now  if  deprived  of 
the  presence  of  Isabella,  and  that  dear  boy,  Ruez, 
and  therefore  I  decided  none  too  quickly  as  I 
did.  Besides,  in  honor,  I  could  hardly  accept 
my  life  at  his  hands  on  any  terms — he  whom  I 
have  to  thank  for  all  my  misfortunes.  No,  no; 
let  them  do  their  worst,  I  know  my  fate  is  sealed  ; 
but  I  fear  it  not." 

With  this  reflection  and  similar  thoughts  upon 
his  mind,  he  once  more  tlirew  himself  upon  the 
hard  damp  floor,  and  after  thinking  long  and 
tenderly  of  Isabella  Gonzales  and  her  brother, 
he  once  more  dropped  to  sleep,  but  not  until  the 
moniing  gun  had  relieved  the  sentinels,  and  the 
di'um  had  beat  the  reveille. 


CHAPTER  VIU. 

THE    FAREWELL. 

The  apartment  in  Don  Gonzales's  house  ap- 
propriated as  Ruez's  sleeping  room,  led  out  of 
the  main  reception  hall,  and  adjomed  that  of  his 
sister  Isabella.  Both  rooms  looked  out  upon  the 
Plato,  and  over  the  Gulf  Stream  and  outer  por- 
tions of  the  harbor,  where  the  grim  Moro  tower 
and  its  cannon  frown  over  the  narrow  entrance 
of  the  inner  bay.  One  vessel  could  hardly 
work  its  way  in  sliip  shape  through  the  chan- 
nel, but  a  thousand  might  lay  safely  at  anchor 
inside  this  i-emarkably  land-locked  harbor.  At 
the  moment  when  we  would  introduce  the  reader 
to  the  house  of  the  rich  old  Don  Gonzales,  Isa- 
bella had  throAvn  herself  carelessly  upon  a  couch 
in  her  room,  and  half  sighing,  half  dreaming 
while  awake,  was  gazing  out  upon  the  waters 
that  make  up  from  the  Caribbean  Sea,  at  the 
southward,  and  now  and  then  following  with  her 
eyes  the  trading  crafts  that  skimmed  the  spark- 
ling waters  to  the  north. 

As  she  gazed  thus,  she  suddenly  raised  herself 
to  a  sitting  position,  as  she  heard  the  suppressed 
and  most  grievous  sobs  of  some  one  near  the 
room  where  she  was,  and  rising,  she  approached 
the  window  to  discover  the  cause  of  this  singular 
sound.  The  noise  that  had  excited  her  curiosity 
came  from  the  next  chamber,  evidently,  and  that 
was  her  brother's.  Stealing  softly  round  to  the 
entrance  of  his  chamber,  she  went  quietly  in  and 
surprised  Ruez,  as  he  lay  grieving  upon  a  couch, 
with  eyes  iilled  with  tears. 

"  Why,  Ruez,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Art  sick, 
brother,  that  you  are  so  depressed  V  asked  the 
beautiful  girl,  seating  herself  do^vn  by  his  side. 

"  Ay,  sister,  sick  at  heart,"  said  the  boy,  with 
a  deep  drawn  sigh. 

"And  why,  Ruez?"  she  continued,  gently 
parting  the  hair  from  his  forehead. 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question,  sister? 
do  you  not  know  already?"  he  asked,  turning 
his  deep  blue  eyes  full  upon  her. 

"  Perhaps  not,  brother,"  replied  Isabella,  strug- 
gling to  suppress  a  sigh,  while  she  turned  her 
face  away  from  her  brother's  searching  glance. 


"  Do  you  not  know,  sister,  that  to-morrow 
Captain  Bezan  is  sentenced  to  die?" 

"  True,"  said  Isabella  Gonzales,  witli  an  in- 
voluntary shudder.     "  I  do  know  it,  Ruez  " 

"And  further,  sister,"  continued  the  boy, 
sagely,  "  do  you  not  know  that  we  have  been  the 
indirect  cause  of  this  fearful  sacrifice  (" 

"I  do  not  see  that,  brother,"  said  Isabella, 
quickly,  as  she  turned  her  beautiful  face  fully 
upon  her  brother,  inquiringly. 

Ruez  Gonzales  looked  like  one  actuated  by 
some  extraordinary  inspiration;  liis  eyes  were 
wonderfully  bright,  Ins  expression  that  of  years 
beyond  his  actual  age,  and  his  beautiful  sister, 
while  she  gazed  thus  upon  him  at  that  moment, 
felt  the  keen  and  searching  glance  that  he  be- 
stowed upon  her.  She  felt  like  one  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  superior  mind  ;  she  could  not  realize 
her  own  sensations.  The  hoy  seemed  to  read 
her  very  soul,  as  she  stood  thus  before  him.  It 
was  more  than  a  minute  before  he  spoke,  and 
seemed  to  break  the  spell ;  but  at  last — and  it 
seemed  an  age  to  Isabella  Gonzales — he  did  so, 
and  said : 

"Sister?" 

"Well,  Ruez?" 

"  Captain  Bezan  loves  yon." 

"Perhaps  so." 

"  I  say  he  does  love  you." 

"  It  is  possiide." 

"  I  say  he  lores  >/ou/'  continued  the  boy,  almost 
steraly. 

"  Well,  brother,  what  of  that  ?"  she  asked, 
with  assumed  indifference. 

"  It  is  that,  sister,  which  has  led  General  Ha- 
rero to  persecute  him  as  he  has  done,  and  it  13 
that  which  has  led  him  like  a  noble  spirit  to  tuni 
to  bay." 

A  moment's  pause  ensued. 

"Xs  it  not  so,  sister  ?"  he  asked,  still  looking 
keenly  at  her.  "  Have  you  not  yourself  intima- 
ted tJiat  Captain  Bezan  was  to  suffer  owing  to 
his  interest  and  services  for  us  ?" 

"You  do  indeed  speak  truly,  brother,"  said 
the  lovely  girl,  breathing  more  quickly,  and  half 
amazed  at  Ruez's  penetration  and  prophetic 
manner  of  speecJi. 

"Alas!"  said  the  boy,  once  more  relapsing 
into  his  former  mood,  "  that  he  might  be  saved !" 

"  Has  our  father  seen  the  governor-general, 
Ruez  ]"  asked  his  sister,  earnestly. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  to  no  effect  V 

"  None.  Tacon,  you  know,  is  most  strict  in 
his  administration  of  justice,  and  lie  says  that  if 
he  were  to  pardon  one  such  breach  of  military 
discipline  as  Captain  Bezan  has  been  guilty  of, 
the  whole  army  would  at  once  be  impregnated 
with  insubordination." 

"  Would  that  I  could  see  Captain  Bezan,  if 
only  for  one  single  moment,"  murmured  Isabella 
Gonzales,  half  aloud,  yet  only  to  herself. 

"  Do  you  mean  so,  sister  ?"  asked  Ruez,  catch- 
ing quickly  at  his  sister's  words,  and  with  an 
undisguised  expression  of  delight  written  upon 
his  handsome  countenance. 

"  Yes,  no,  brother,  that  is  to  say,  if  I  could 
see  him  with  propriety,  you  know,  Ruez ;  that  is 
what  I  meant  to  say." 

"  Nothing  easier,  than  for  you  to  do  so,  if  you 
desire  it,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Ruez  ?"  said  his  sister, 
somewhat  eagerly. 

"  Certainly,  Isabella,  my  pass  will  serve  for 
you  ^^Hth  a  trifling  disguise." 

"  But  our  difference  in  size ;  besides,  you 
know  that  my  voice — " 

"  Will  not  be  noticed  by  those  stiff  sentries,  or 
the  turnkey,"  interrupted  the  boy.  "  They  do 
not  know  me  at  all,  and  would  not  suspect  you." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  can  see  many  impediments  in  the 
way  of  one  of  my  sex,"  added  Isabella  Gonzales, 
with  a  deep  sigh. 

Captain  Lorenzo  Bezan  awoke  on  tlie  day 
previous  to  that  appomtedfor  his  execution,  with 
a  cheerful  spirit.  He  found  no  guilt  in  his  heart, 
he  felt  that  he  had  committed  no  crime,  that  his 
soul  was  free  and  untrammelled.  His  coarse 
breakfast  of  rude  cassava  root  and  water  was 
brought  to  him  at  a  late  hour,  and  having  par- 
taken of  sufficient  of  this  miserable  food  to  pre- 
vent the  gnawings  of  hunger,  lie  now  sat  musuig 
over  his  past  life,  and  thinking  seriously  of  that 
morrow  which  was  to  end  his  career  upon  eartli 
forever.  A  strange  reverie  for  a  man  to  be  en- 
gaged in — a  most  critical  period — the  winding 
up  of  his  earthly  career. 

[to  ee  continoed.] 

*-^»^  » 

*  Desire  not  to  live  long,  but  to  live  ■well ; 
Uow  long  Vie  live,  not  years  but  actloas  tell. 

Walh/».t. 


52 


GLEASON'S   PTCTOPJAL   DUAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


AN    INTERESTING    ILLUSTRATED    SERIES    OF    VARIOUS    SPECIMENS    OF    FISHES. 


Our  readers  will 
views  given  on  this 
piigo,  of'  various  il- 
tions  of  some  of  the 
has  over  been  a  fa- 
at  this  season  of  tho 
hour  is  spent  in  fisii- 
sports  of  the  line 
tible  charm,  luid  they 
hour,  not  only  to 
man,  whoso  daily 
liim  to  adopt  and 
occupation,  hut  to 
whiles  away  the  lazy 
the  line  and  net. 
in  the  present  day, 
nounco  any  culo<>y 
fishing.  Even  those 
men  admit  that  its 
cent  and  healthy; 
favor  in  which  they 
the  earliest  ages  to 
slight    testimony  in 


BANK   RUNNER. 


slight  justification  of  any  attempt  to  regulate  and  render  henefi 
cial  the  pursuit  of  them.     It  is  certain  that  those  who  have  once 
enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  fishing  require  no  recommendation  to 
continue  them  ;  the  relish  for  them,  like  the  relish  for  anything 
that   is   healthy  and  natural,  increases  with  fruition,  and  "grows 
with  what  it  feeds  on."     All  recreations,  when  properly  conduct- 
ed, resemble  those  intellectual   enjoyments,  wlierein  pleasure,  in- 
deed, seems  the  means,  but  instruction  as  well   as   amusement 
may  be  considered  the  end.    And  though,  in  the  bar- 
barism of  tlie   darker  ages,  man  may  have  hunted,  and 
shot,  and  fished  with  as  little  care  for  improvement,  and 
as  small  a  chance  of  increase  of  knowledge,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  mere  beast  or  bird  of  prey,  modern  times  have 
produced  a  great   change   in  this  respect.     Philosophy 
now  gains  stores  of  interesting  facts  from  the  laborious 
pleasures  of  the  intelligent  sportsman  ;  our  acquaintance 
with  natural  Iiistory  is  improved ;  and  the  most  exciting 
of  amusements  is  made  one  of  the  best  means  of  in- 
struction.    It  is  the  characteristic  of  this  age  that  noth- 
ing can  be  done  without  receiving  aid  from  science,  and 
nothing  tliat  receives  such  aid  fails  to  impart  added 
stores  of  information  to  it  in  return.     We  have   put  off 
the  belief  that  men  can  do  anything  sufficiently  well  by 
mere  force  of  habit,  and  we  insist  on  knowing  why  they 
do  a  thing,  and  what  are  the  various,  and  which  are  the 
best,  modes  of  doing  it.     The  sportsman  by  rote  is  but 
half  a  sportsman ;  his  range  of  pleasure  is  confined  by 
the  want  of  knowledge,  and  even  the  things  he  sees  can 
hardly  be  said  to  be  observed  by  liim,  or  to  afford  him 
any  pleasure  but   that  derived  from  having  by  his  skill 
obtained  possession  of  them.     But  he  who  has  improved 
his  opportunities  of  knowledge  has  a  double  enjoyment ; 
he  has  pleasant  thoughts  for  his  companions,  his  sports  are  better 
conducted  and  more  successful ;  and  while  he  bags  his  game  with 
tlie  satisfaction  of  a  victor,  he  marks  and  remembers  its  peculiar- 
ities wath  the  eye  of  a  naturalist.     Who  has  not  felt  the  enthusi- 
astic bursts  of  feeling  of  old  Izaac  Walton,  on  reading  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  prey  he  rook,  the  place  of  its  capture,  and  even  of  the 
means  employed  to  tike  it  "^     And  who  his  not  felt  how  the  po- 
etic old  angler  must  ha\e  ic\Llkd  m  enjoyment,  wheie  a  less  cul- 


he  gratified  with  tlie  sis  and  classification  of  Prof.  Agassi/,  of  the  finny  tribes  has  added 
and  the  sucrciMliiig  to  them  many  an  item  of  interest.  We  cannot,  of  course, 
liistratcd  ri'ificr.i'nta-  say  anything  new,  but  only  reiterate  the  observations  of  those 
iinnytrihcs.  Angling  who  have  made  them  tlieir  study.  Among  the  numerous  varic- 
vorite  pastime,  and  ties  of  fishes  which  jicople  our  seas  and  rivers,  we  select  tho  fol- 
^ear,  many  a  jovial  lowing  as  illustrations,  appending  some  account  descriptive  of 
lug  excursions.  The  their  habits,  etc.  Wonderful  as  it  may  appear  to  seo  creatures 
furnish  au  inexhau.s-  existing  in  a  medium  so  dense  that  men,  beasts  and  birds  must  in- 
bi-guilc  many  an  evitably  perish  in  it,  yet  experience  proves  that,  besides  those 
the  Iiardy  fisher-  species  which  we  are  in  the  daily  habit  of  seeing,  the  very  depths 
sustenance  compels  of  the  immense  ocean  contain  myriads  of  animated  beings,  to 
follow  tliis  mode  of  whose  very  form  we  are  almost  strangers,  and  of  whose  disposi- 
tlic  amateur  who  tions  and  manners  we  arc  still  more  ignorant.  It  is  probable,  in- 
rimcin  sporting  with  deed,  that  the  fathomless  recesses  of  the  deep  contain  many  kinds 
It  would  be  useless,  of  fish  that  are  never  seen  by  man.  In  their  construction,  modes 
to  affect  to  pro-  of  life,  and  general  design,  the  watery  tribes  arc  perhaps  still 
upon  the  sport  of  more  astonisiiing  than  the  inhabitants  of  either  the  land  or  the 
who  are  not  sports-  air.  Tlie  structure  offish,  and  their  adaptation  to  the  element  in 
pleasures  are  inno-  which  they  arc  to  live,  are  eminent  proofs  of  divine  wisdom, 
and  the  universal  Most  of  them  have  the  same  external  form,  sharp  at  each  end, 
have  been  held,  from  and  s-velling  in  the  middle,  by  which  configuration  tliey  are  en- 
thc  present,  is  no  abled  to  traverse  their  native  element  with  greater  case  and  swift- 
tbeir  behalf,  nor  ness.  From  their  shape,  men  originally  look  the  idea  of  those 
vessels  which  are  intended  to  sail  with  the  greatest  speed  ;  but  the 
progress  of  the  swiftest  sailing  ship,  with  "the  advantage  of  a  fa- 
vorable wind,  is  far  inferior  to  that  of  fisli.  Ten  or  twelve  miles 
an  hour  is  no  small  degree  of  rapidity  in  the  sailing  of  a  ship; 
yet  any  of  the  larger  species  of  fish  would  soon  overtake  her,  play 
round  her  as  if  slie  did  not  move,  and  even  advance  considerably 
before  her.  The  senses  of  fishes  are  remarkably  imperfect;  and, 
indeed,  that  of  siglit  is  almost  the   only  6ne  which,  in  general, 


DIPPING  FOR  TROUT  AND  GRAYLING. 

tivated  sportsman  would  barely  have  attained  to  a  sense  of  satis- 
faction 1  Knowledge,  therefore,  is  sought  by  the  sportsman,  not 
only  as  a  means  of  sporting  well,  but  of  sporting  pleasurably. 
But  the  more  he  increases  his  amount  of  knowledge,  the  more  he 
desires  to  increase  it;  and  thus  bis  powers  of  inquiry  and  obser- 
vation are  continually  exercised,  and  by  their  exercise  errors  in 
natural  history  are  coxTCcted,  and  experience  is  acquired  by  him 
for  his  own  benefit,  and  for  the  use  of  other  men.     To  facilitate 


Ar 


THE  PIKE. 

the  accomplishment  of  purposes  like  these,  books  of  all  sorts  have 
been,  from  time  to  time,  pul)lisbed  on  the  subject  of  sports,  and 
these  have  for  a  short  period  satisfied  curiosity,  but  have  done  so 
only  to  heighten  it  afterwards.  The  natural  Iiistory  of  fishes  has 
been  the  subject  of  learned  investigation  and  research  of  late 
years  to  a  greater  extent  than  ever  beijore;  and  the  critical  analy- 


FLIES  USED  IN  FISHING. 

they  may  be  truly  said  to  possess.  But  this  is,  in  some  degree, 
compensated  by  their  astonishing  longevity,  several  species  being 
known  to  live  more  than  a  hundred  years.  The  Pike,  represented 
below,  and  the  first  in  our  series  of  illustrations,  is  common 
in  most  of  the  lakes  of  Europe,  but  the  largest  are  those  taken  in 
Lapland,  which,  according  to  Schseffer,  are  sometimes  eight  feet 
long.  They  are  taken  there  in  great  abundance,  dried  and  ex- 
ported for  sale.  According  to  the  common  saying,  these  fish  were 
introduced  into  England  in  the  x-eign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  in 
1537.  They  were  so  rare,  that  a  pike  was  sold  for  double  the 
price  of  a  house  lamb,  in  February,  and  a  pickerel  for  more  than 
a  fat  capon.  All  writers  who  treat  of  this  species  bring  instances 
of  its  vast  voraciousness.  We  have  known  one  that  was  choked 
by  attempting  to  swallow  one  of  its  own  species  that  proved  too 
large  a  morsel.  Yet  its  jaws  are  very  loosely  connected ;  and 
have  on  each  side  an  additional  bone  like  the  jaw  of  a  viper ; 
which  renders  them  capable  of  great  distention  when  it  swallows 
its  pi-ey.  It  does  not  confine  itself  to  feed  on  fish  and  frogs;  it 
wilt  devour  the  water-rat,  and  drawdown  the  young  ducks  as 
they  are  swimming  about.  At  the  Marquis  of  Stafford's  canal  at 
Trentham,  England,  a  pike  seized  the  head  of  a  swan,  as  she  was 
feeding  under  water,  and  gorged  so  much  of  it  as  killed  them 
both.  The  servants  perceiving  the  swan  with  its  head  under  wa- 
ter for  a  longer  time  than  usual,  took  the  boat,  and  found  both 
swan  and  pike  dead.  But  there  are  instances  of  its  fierceness 
still  more  surprising,  and  which,  indeed,  border  a  little  on  the 
maiwellous.  Gesner  relates,  that  a  famished  pike  in  the  Rhone 
seized  on  the  lips  of  a  mule,  that  was  brought  to  water,  and  that 
the  beast  drew  the  fish  out  before  it  could  disengage  itself:  that 
people  have  been  bit  by  these  voracious  creatures  while  they  were 
washing  their  legs ;  and  that  they  will  even  contend  with  the 
otter  for  its  prey,  and  endeavor  to  force  it  out  of  its  mouth.  The 
Carp,  also  illustrated  on  this  page  above,  is  one  of  the  naturalized 
fish  in  England,  having  been  introduced  there  by  Leonard  Mas- 
schal,  about  the  year  1514.  Carp  are  very  long  lived.  Gesner 
brings  an  instance  of  one  that  was  a  hundred  years  old.  They 
also  grow  to  a  very  great  size.  These  fish  are  extremely  cunning, 
and  on  that  account  are  by  some  styled  the  River  Fox.  They 
will  sometimes  leap  over  the  nets,  and  escape  that  way ;  at  others, 
will  immerse  themselves  so  deep  in  the  mud,  as  to  let  the  net 
pass  over  them.  They 
are  also  very  shy  of 
taking  a  bait ;  yet  at 
the  spawning  time  they  ^ 

are  so  simple  as  to  suf-  ^^i^ 

fer    themselves   to     be 
tickled,  and   caught  by 
anybody  that   will    at- 
tempt it.     It  is  so  tena- 
cious of  life  that  it  may 
be  kept  alive  for  a  fort- 
night in  wet   straw  or 
moss. — The     Gudgeon 
is    generally  found    in 
gentle  streams,  and   is 
of  a  small  size ;  those 
few,  however,   that  are 
caught  in    the  Kcnnet 
and     Coin.     Rivers    in 
England,      are      three 
times    the     weight    of 
those  taken  elsewliere.     The  largest  we  ever  remember  to  have 
heard  of  was  taken  near  Uxbridge,  England,  and  weighed  half  a 
pound.     They  bite  eagerly,  and  are  assembled  by  raking  the  bed 
of  the  river;  to  this  spot  they  immediately  crowd  in  shoals,  ex- 
pecting  food   from  this  disturbance.     The  shape  of  the  body  is 
thick  and  round;   the  irides  tinged  with  red,  the  gill  covers  with 


THE  CARP. 


gi-een  and  silver.  The  lower  jaw  is  shorter  than  the  upper ;  at 
eacli  corner  of  the  mouth  is  a  single  beard  ;  the  back  olive,  spot- 
ted with  black  ;  the  side  line  straight ;  the  sides  beneath  that  sil- 
very; the  belly  white.  The  tail  is  forked;  that,  as  well  as  the 
dorsal  fin,  is  spotted  with  black. — The  Sea-Trout,  or  Salmon- 
Trout,  migrates  like  the  salmon  up  several  of  our  rivers,  .spawns, 
and  returns  to  the  sea.  The  shape  is  thicker  than  tJie  common 
trout.  The  head  and  back  are  dusky,  with  a  gloss  of  blue  and 
green,  and  the  sides,  as  far  as  the  lateral  line,  are  mark- 
ed withlarge  irregular  spots  of  black.  The  flesh  when 
boiled,  is  red,  and  resembles  that  of  the  salmon  in  taste. 
The  Bream,  illustrated  on  the  next  page,  as  an  item 
of  food  is  not  equal  to  the  Carp.  It  is  found  in  all 
the  great  lakes,  and  in  rivers  which  have  a  gentle  cur- 
rent, and  a  bottom  composed  of  marl,  clay  and  herb- 
age ;  and  it  abides  in  the  deepest  parts.  It  is  taken 
mostly  under  the  ice ;  and  this  fishery  is  so  considerable 
that,  in  some  of  the  lakes  belonging  to  Prussia,  there 
have  been  taken  to  the  value  of  two  hundred  pounds  at 
a  time ;  they  are  also  caught  in  great  quantities  in  Hol- 
stein,  Mecklenburg,  Livonia  and  Sweden :  in  a  lake 
near  Nordkioiping,  there  were  taken  at  one  time  in 
March,  1749,  no  less  than  fifty  thousand,  weighing 
eighteen  thousand  two  hundred  pounds.  It  is  extremely 
deep,  and  thin  in  proportion  to  its  length.  The  back 
rises  much,  and  is  very  sharp  at  the  top.  The  head  and 
mouth  are  small.  The  scales  are  very  large ;  the  sides 
flat  and  thin.  The  dorsal  fin  has  eleven  rays,  the  sec- 
ond of  which  is  the  longest ;  tliat  fin,  as  well  as  all  the 
rest,  are  of  a  dusky  color;  the  back  of  the  same  hue; 
the  sides  yellowish.  The  tail  is  very  large,  and  of  the 
form  of  a  crescent. — The  Smelt  is  so  common,  and  so 
well  known,  as  hardly  to  need  any  notice.  Its  form  is  very  ele- 
gant ;  it  is  of  a  silvery  color,  tinged  with  yellow ;  and  the  skin  is 
almost  transparent. — Trout  fishing  affords  excellent  diversion  for 
the  angler,  and  the  passion  for  this  pastime  is  very  great.  It  is  a 
matter  of  surprise  that  this  common  fish  has  escaped  the  notice 
of  all  the  ancients,  except  Ausonius.  It  is  also  singular,  that  so 
delicate  a  species  should  be  neglected,  at  a  time,  when  the  folly  of 
the  table  was  at  its  height ;  and  that  the  epicm-es  should  overlook 


GUDGEON   ANGLING. 

a  fish  that  is  found  in  such  quantities  in  the  lakes  of  their  neigh- 
borhood, when  they  ransacked  the  u:iiiverse  for  dainties.  The 
milts  of  miirmncE  were  brought  from  one  place  ;  the  livers  of  scmH 
from  another;  and  oysters  even  from  so  remote  a  spot  as  Sand- 
wich ;  but  there  was  and  is  a  fashion  in  the  article  of  good  living. 
The  Romans  seem  to  have  despised  the  trout,  the  piper  and  tlie 
doree;  and  we  believe  Mr.  Quin  himself  would  have  resigned  the 
rich  paps  of  a  pregnant  sow,  tlie  heels  of  camels,  and  the  tongues 


SEA    TROUT. 

of  flamingos,  though  dressed  by  Heliogahalus's  cooks,  for  a  good 
jowl  of  salmon  with  lobster  sauce.  The  general  shape  of  the 
Trout  is  rather  long  than  broad;  in  several  of  the  Scotch  and 
Irish  rivers,  they  grow  so  much  thicker  than  in  those  of  England, 
that  a  fish,  from  eighteen  to  twenty-two  inches,  will  often  weigli 
from  three  to  five  pounds.     This   is  a  fish  of  prey,  hiv?  u  short 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


53 


roundish  head,  blunt  nose,  and  wide  mouth,  filled  with  teeth,  not 
only  in  tlie  jaws,  but  on  the  palate  and  tongue ;  the  scales  are 
small,  the  back  ash  color,  the  sides  yellow,  and,  when  in  season, 
it  is  sprinkled  all  over  the  body  and  covers  of  the  gills  with  small 
beautiful  red  and  black  spots ;  the  tail  is  broad."  The  colors  of 
the  Trout,  and  its  spots,  vary  greatly  in  different  waters,  and  in 
different  seasons ;  yet  each  may  be  reduced  to  one  species.  It 
sometimes  attains  the  weight  of  four  and  a  half  pounds,  but  is 
usually  much  smaller.     It  is  much  in  request  for  the  table.     The 


TIIE   BREAM. 

large  species  of  trout  which  inhabit  the  larger  lakes  of  Maine, 
New  Hampshire,  and  those  about  the  sources  of  the  Susquehannah, 
have  not  yet  been  described  or  properly  distinguished,  that  we 
are  aware  of;  indeed,  it  is  possible  that  more  than  one  species 
has  been  confounded  under  the  common  ti'out.  A  gigantic  spe- 
cies of  trout  from  Lake  Huron,  has  been  described  by  Doctor 
Mitcliell.  It  is  said  to  attain  the  weight  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds.  The  flesh  is  remarkably  fat,  rich  and  savory- 
The   specific   name  amethi/stlnus  was  applied  on  account  of  the 


THE    SMELT. 

purplish  tinge  and  hyaline  tips  of  the  teeth.  We  add  some  ob- 
servations on  the  trout  as  an  object  of  pui'suit  to  the  American 
angler.  It  is  particularly  abundant  in  New  England,  where  the 
w^aters  and  soil,  being  of  a  more  Alpine  character,  are  highly 
congenial  to  the  nature  of  this  species  of  fish.  They  may  be  di- 
vided into  three  principal  classes,  namely,  pond  trout,  river  trout 
and  sea  trout.  Of  these,  however,  there  arc  as  many  varieties 
and  shades  of  difference  as  are  known  and  described  in  England, 
Scotland,  and  other  countries;  but,  for  all  the  purposes  of  the 
angler,  it  is  unneccssai-y  to  enumerate  any  others  than 
those  above  mentioned.  Pond  or  lake  trout  vary  in 
shape  and  color.  Their  size  is  generally  in  proportion 
to  the  extent  of  the  \vater  in  which  they  are  taken.  In 
Moosehead  Lake,  in  Maine,  they  attain  the  enormous  ^ 
weight  of  forty  or  fifty  pounds,  and,  in  the  lakes  of  other  ^~ 
States,  are  found  of  the  average  size  of  salmon.  This 
large  description  of  trout  are  seldom  taken,  except 
through  the  ice  in  winter,  and  consequently  afford  but  -^^ 
little  sport  to  the  lover  of  angling.  In  the  AVinipisseogee  _ 
Lake,  in  New  Hampshire,  and  Sebago  Lake,  in  Maine, 
the  average  size  of  the  fish  is  about  that  of  the  largest 
mackerel,  which  it  also  resembles  in  shape.  The  spots 
upon  these  and  other  lake  trout  are  seldom  red,  but 
dark  and  indistinct,  according  to  their  size.  The  last 
mentioned  lake  is  one  of  tlie  few  in  which  the  fish  are 
taken  by  the  usual  metliod  of  angling,  for  which  they 
are  more  esteemed,  as  affording  good  sport,  tlian  for 
their  flavor ;  and  the  common  impression  is,  that  these 
fish  sprung  from  salmon,  but  that,  having  been  prevent- 
ed, by  obstructions  in  the  river,  from   entering   the  sea,  

they  have  become,  by  confinement,  degenerated   in  size 
and  quality,  retaining   only  the  color  of  the  flesh.     In 
the   interior  lakes  of  New  York,  and  in  the  great  lakes 
of  the  west,  the   trout  grows   to  a  vast  size ;  but  these 
lake  trout,  being  coarse  fish,  and  taken  without  skill,  in 
the  winter  only,  are  held  in  no  estimation  by  the  scientific  angler, 
lliver  or  brook  trout  are   common  in  the  New  England  States ; 
but,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  angler,  they  perceptibly  dimin- 
ish in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  mills  and  manufactories  upon 
tlie  various  streams.     The  size  of  this  class  of  trout,  and  the  color 
of  the  skin  and  spots,  are  much  alike  in  all,  excepting  that  some 
are  of  a  more  silvery  hue  than  others  ;  and  the  color  of  the  flesh 
varies,  perhaps,  as  it  has  been  observed,  according  to  their  differ- 
ent food,  being  sometimes  perfectly  white,  sometimes  of  a  yellow 


tinge,  but  generally  pink.     There  are  also  trout   in  various  small 
ponds,  both  natural  and  artificial,  tliose  taken  from  the  latter  be- 
ing in  all  respects  similar  to  the  brook  or  river  trout.     This  is  to 
be  understood  of  ponds  in  the  interior,  as  tlicre  are  many  artificial 
ponds,  situated  near  the  sea  coast,  at  the  head  of  inlets' from  the 
sea  and  tide-water,  where  the  fish  are  very  little  inferior  in  size 
and  quality  to   those  which   arc   taken  where 
the  tide  ebbs  and  flows.     Of  the  three  classes 
of  trout  referred  to,  there  is  none  so  much  es- 
teemed as  the  sea  trout,  which   maybe   called  — 

migratory,  in  distinction  from  tliose  which 
have  no  access  to  the  salt  water.  In  the  early 
spring  months,  they  are  taken  in  great  abun- 
dance in  the  various  salt  rivers,  creeks  and 
tide-waters  upon  the  shores  of  New  England 
and  Long  Island,  but  more  particularly  in  the 
waters  of  Cape  Cod,  where  the  celebrated  Wa- 
quoit  Bay,  with  other  neighboring  waters,  lias 
long  been  the  favorite  resort  of  the  scientific 
fisherman.  As  the  season  advances,  these  fisii 
repair  to  fresh  water,  at  which  time,  as  well  as 
earlier,  they  afford  great  diversion  to  the 
angler,  by  whom  they  are  highly  prized,  not 
merely  for  their  superiority  of  form,  color  and 
delicious  flavor,  but  for  the  voracity  with 
which  they  seize  the  bait  of  the  artificial  fly, 
and  their  activity  upon  the  hook.  In  the 
United  States,  as  well  as  in  Great  Britain,  this 
fish  is  the  great  object  of  the  angler's  art,  the 
perfection  of  which  is  the  use  of  the  artificial  fly. — The  Barbel, 
given  below,  was  so  coarse  as  to  he  overlooked  by  the  ancients  till 
the  time  of  Ausonius,  and  what  he  says  is  no  panegyric  on  it ; 
for  he  lets  us  know  it  loves  deep  waters,  and,  that  when  it  grows 
old  it  was  not  absolutely  bad.  It  frequents  the  still  and  deep 
parts  of  I'ivers,  and  lives  in  society,  rooting  like  swine  with  their 
noses  in  the  soft  banks.  It  is  so  tame  as  to  suffer  itself  to  be 
taken  with  the  hand ;  and  people  have  been  knoini  to  take  num- 
bers by  diving  for  them.  In  summer  they  move  about  during 
night  in  search  of  food,  but  towards  autumn,  and  during  win- 
ter, confine  themselves  to  the  deepest  holes.  They  are  the  worst 
and  coarsest  of  fresh-water  fish,  and  seldom  eaten  but  by  the 
poorer  sort  of  people,  who  sometimes  boil  them  with  a  bit  of  ba- 
con, to  give  them  a  relish.  The  roe  is  very  noxious,  affecting 
those  who  unwarily  eat  of  it  with  a  nausea,  vomiting,  purging, 
and  a  slight  swelling.  It  is  sometimes  found  of  the  length  of 
three  feet,  and  eighteen  pounds  in  weight:  it  is  of  a  long  and 
rounded  form ;  the  scales  not  large.  Its  head  is  smooth;  Uie 
nostrils  placed  near  the  eyes ;  the  mouth  is  placed  below :  on 
each  corner  is  a  single  beard,  and  another  on  each  side  the  nose. 
The  dor&al  fin  is  armed  with  a  remarkably  strong  spine,  sharpiv 
serrated,  with  which  it  can  inflict  a  very  severe  wound  on  the  in- 
cautious handler,  and  even  do  much  damage  to  the  nets.  The 
pectoral  fins  are  of  a  pale  brown  color ;  the  ventral  and  anal  tip- 
ped with  yellow  ;  the  tail  a  little  bifurcated,  and  of  a  deep  purple  ; 
the  side  line  is  straight.  The  scales  are  of  a  pale  gold  color, 
edged  with  black  ;  the  belly  is  white. — The  Tench  is  thick  and 
broad  in  proportion  to  its  length  :  the  scales  are  very  small,  and 
covered  with  slime.  The  irides  are  red;  there  is  sometimes,  but 
not  always,  a  small  beard  at  each  corner  of  the  mouth.  The 
color  of  the  back  is  dusky ;  the  dorsal  and  ventral  fins  of  the  same 
color;  the  head,  sides,  and  belly  of  a  greenish  cast,  most  beauti- 
fully mixed  with  gold,  which  is  in  its  greatest  splendor  when  the 
fish  is  in  the  highest  season.  The  tail  is  quite  even  at  the  end, 
and  very  broad. — In  the  Char  the  head  terminates  in  a  blunt 
point,  and  its  body  is  covered  with  very  minute   scales ;  the  lat- 


them.  The  largest  and  most  beautiful  chars  are  found  in  the 
Lake  of  Winander-Mcre,  in  Westmoreland,  England,  where 
there  are  three  species,  the  red,  the  gilt,  and  the  case  char. 
These  kinds  are  nearly  similar  in  their  external  appearance  ;  but 
the  time  and  manner  of  their  spawning  are  very  different.  The 
method  of  taking  these  fish  is  with  nets,  or  trammels  as  they  are 


THE  TENCH. 

called,  which  are  furnished  with  bait  to  allure  the  fish,  and  left 
for  several  days,  till  they  are  known  to  enter  them.  Potted  char 
is  a  delicacy  wliich  is  in  high  repute  on  the  continent  as  well  as 
in  England. — The  Salmon,  which  was  known  to  the  Romans, 
but  not  to  the  Greeks,  is  distinguished  from  other  fish  by  having 
t^vo  dorsal  fins,  of  which  the  hindermost  is  fleshy  and  without 
rays;  they  have  teeth  both  in  the  jaws  and  the  tongue,  and  the 
body  is  covered  with  round  and  minutely  striated  scales.  Gray 
is  the  color  of  the  back  and  sides,  sometimes  spotted  with  blacli. 


THE  BARBEL. 


TROUT  FISHING. 

eral  line  is  straight.     All  the  fins  except  the  dorsal  are  reddish. 
This  species   is  very  properly  denominated  the  Alpine  Char,  by 
Linnaius ;  for  its  constant  residence  is  in  the  lakes  of  the  high 
and  mountainous  parts  of  Europe.     A  few  are  found  in  some  of 
the  lakes  in  AVales,  and  in  Loch  Inch,  in    Scotland  ;  from  wliich 
last,  it  is  said  to  migrate  into  the  Spey  to  spawn.     Seldom,  how- 
ever, does  this  species  venture  into  any  running  stream  ;  its  prin- 
cipal resort  is  in  the  cold  lakes  of  the  Lapland  Alps,  where  it  is 
fed  by  the  innumerable  quantity  of  gnats  that  infest  those  dreary 
regions.     Tliis  is  a  fish 
which,    as    before    re- 
marked, is  mostly  con- 
fined  to   the  lakes   of 
the    northern    part   of 
Europe,  and   as  it  sel- 
dom migrates  much  to 
the  south, has  not  been 
much  noticed    by  the 
angler.      In   our  own 
waters   it  is  but  rarely 
found,  and  hence  is  not 
often  noticed.     In  this 
respect,    it    is     unlike 
many    of    the    finny 
tribes,  which  are  found 
under    such    different 
circumstances,      that 
they    afford     pleasing 
employment    for     the 
naturalist    in     tracing 
their  varieties  back  to 
their    origin,   and    ar- 
ranging in  detail  a  mi- 
nute   classification    of 


THE    CHAR. 

and  sometimes  plain.  The  belly  is  silver}'.  It  is  entirely  a  north- 
ern fish,  being  found  both  at  Greenland,  Kamtschatka,  and  in  the 
northern  parts  of  North  America,  but  never  so  fiir  south  as  the 
Mediterranean.  Salmon  are  now  scarce  in  all  our  rivers  south  of 
the  Merrimack.  In  the  Connecticut  tliey  were  once  so  abundant 
as  to  be  less  esteemed  than  shad,  and  the  fishermen  used  to  re- 
quire their  purchasers  to  take  some  salmon  with  their  shad. 
Within  the  memory  of  persons  living,  they  were  taken  in  plenty 
even  as  far  up  as  Vermont.  The  Indians  used  to  catch  a  great 
many  of  them,  as  they  were  ascending  Bellows  Ealls. 
It  is  supposed  that  the  locks,  dams  and  canals  con- 
structed in  the  river,  have  driven  this  valuable  fish  away. 
About  the  latter  end  of  the  year  the  Salmon  begin  to 
press  up  the  rivers,  even  for  hundred  of  miles,  to  de- 
posit their  spaivn,  which  lies  buried  in  the  sand  till 
spring,  if  not  disturbed  by  the  floods,  or  devoured  by 
other  fishes.  In  this  peregrination  it  is  not  to  be  stop- 
ped even  by  cataracts.  About  March  the  young  ones 
begin  to  appear,  and  about  the  beginning  of  May  the 
river  is  full  of  the  salmon  fry,  wliicli  are  then  four  or 
five  inches  long,  and  gradually  proceed  to  the  sea. 
About  the  middle  of  June  the  earliest  fry  begin  to  re- 
turn again  from  the  sea,  and  are  then  from  twelve  to 
fourteen  inches  long.  Rapid  and  stony  rivers,  where 
the  water  is  free  from  mud,  arc  the  favorite  places  of 
most  of  the  salmon  tribe,  the  whole  of  which  is  supposed 
to  afford  wholesome  food  to  mankind.  These  fish  when 
taken  out  of  their  natural  element  vei-y  soon  die ;  to 
preserve  their  flavor  they  must  be  killed  as  soon  as  they 
are  taken  out  of  the  water.  The  fishermen  usually 
pierce  them  near  the  tail  with  a  knife,  when  they  soon 
—  die  with  loss  of  blood. — Recently,  the  Scotch  commissa- 

ries of  fisheries  have  been  adopting  an  ingenious  device 
for  learning  the  migrations  of  the  salmon.  They  have 
marked  a  large  number  of  fish  hatched  from  the  spawn 
dejjosited  last  year  in  the  Tweed,  by  placing  around  them  a  belt 
or  ring  of  India  Rubber,  numbered  and  dated.  One  of  the  fish 
was  caught,  two  days  after  being  thus  marked,  and  let  go,  a  hun- 
dred miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  Tweed.  All  fishennen  taking 
such  marked  fish  are  desired  to  take  note  of  the  weight,  tl^e  place 
and  date  of  capture,  and  various  other  particulars  named  in  the 
directions.  The  idea  is  decidedly  a  novel  and  very  amusing 
one,  and  may  lead  to  valuable  scientific  discovery  in  regard  to 
the  habits  of  the  Salmon. 


THE  SALMON. 


5t 


GI.EASON'S    PICTOllTAL   DTlvVWING    PJ)OM    C01\IP ANION. 


[Written  for  Oleimon's  IMctoriul.] 
A  LEAF  FROM  TIII3  IIEAIIT. 


IIY  WIUIAM  T.    I11I.SEB. 

IIiivo  you  foi-gottoii,  clourcflt,  the  nlKlit  wlion  first  wp  nint? 
Tbo  raptuvoH  of  tliii-t  bllHHful  hour  Htlll  hiiuut  my  memory 

yet; 
The  tcnilcr  glanro  Hhot  from  tliino  oyos  ou  that  auBpluiouB 

eve, 
And  all  the  passions  of  my  soul  bcgau  their  hopes  to 

weave. 

Time  onward   flew,  the  night  wa«  spont  In  joyouRnoHS 

supreme, 
Tlio  future  promised  nauglit  hut  hope  witli  wliit-h  to  gild 

uiy  di-eam ; 
■\\'o  talked  of  elinics  with  grandeur  rrowucd,  where  stately 

palm  trees  fling 
Their  cooling  sliadows  on  the  ground',,  wliero  gayeat  smiles 

tlio  spring. 

Weeks  had  elapsed — a  vision  rose  where  two  sat  side  by 

side, 
Each  with  an  offering  from  the  heart  a  beauteous  bouquet 

tied ; 
"Wo  each  cxclianged,  and  dear  to  mo  is  still  the  boon  you 

gave, 
Though  long  ago  you  "vo  buried  mine  in  cold  obliviou's 

grave. 

The  name  of  him  have  you  forgot,  the  name  that  once  was 

dear. 
The  name  of  him  who  on  thy  cheek  dropped  sympathy's 

chastti  tear ; 
lio  who  would  have  assuaged  each  care,  and  chased  each 

grief  away, 
And  have  you,  then,  forgotten  him '! — 0,  answer  I  but  with 

nay  I 

Ay  I  myriad  ages  yet  the  sum  may  tread  his  coui-ae  on 
liigh, 

And  each  resplendent,  twinkluig  star  illume  the  evening 
sky ; 

But  while  the  i-cahn  of  memory  reigns  with  reason's  scep- 
tre there, 

The  tablet  of  a  doting  heart  shall  thy  dear  image  hear. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE    THREE    DOLLAR    BILL. 

SKETCH  OF  AN  EVERY  DAY  TRUTH. 

BEING      A      LESSON       OF       EXPERIENCE     "WHICH 
THOUSANDS    MAY    KEAD    WITH    PROFIT. 

BY   SYLVANUS     COBB,  JR. 

*'  Charles,"  said  Sarah  Ellerj  to  her  hus- 
bimd,  as  he  was  leaning  back  from  the  breakfast 
table,  "  can  you  not  let  me  have  three  dollars 
this  moruing "?" 

"  Three  dollars,  Sarah  ?  Why,  what  do  you 
want  of  it  V 

"  Why,"  returned  the  wife,  in  a  persuasive 
tone,  while  a  shade  of  anxiety  flitted  across  her 
face,  "you  know  little  Lucy  needs  an  outside 
gai-raent  of  some  kind,  for  even  yesterday  she 
came  home  from  school  crying  from  the  effects 
of  the  cold,  and  to-day  it  will  be  colder  still. 
Now  Mrs.  Robinson  has  a  sack  which  she  had 
made  for  her  little  child,  but  as  it  is  too  small 
she  would  like  to  sell  it,  and  she  offers  it  to  me 
for  three  dollars.     It  just  tits  Lucy." 

"Well,  you  can  get  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr. 
Ellery,  somewliat  uneasily. 

"  But  will  you  let  me  have  the  money, 
Ciiarles?" 

"No,  Sarah,  I  could  not  to-day." 
"  Then  I  cannot  get  the  sack,"  returned  Mi-s. 
Ellery,  in  a  disappointed  tone ;  "  for  when  Mrs. 
Kobinson  sells  it  she  wants  the  money  to  get 
another.  If  you  could  accommodate  me  to-day, 
Charles." 

"I  cannot,  Sarah;  so  tJiere's  an  end  to  it. 
I've  been  wanting  a  new  pair  of  boots  this  three 
weeks,  but  I  can't  afford  the  money  to  get  them. 
You  will  have  to  fix  Lucy  up  some  way  for  the 
present,  and  before  long  perhaps  I  can  get  her  a 
sack." 

"  And  can't  I  have  a  sack,  mama  V  asked  the 

child,  a  little,  l)right-eyed  girl  of  six  years  of  age. 

"  Not  now,  Lucy.     Pa  hasn't  got  the  money," 

answered  her  mother,  endeavoring  to  soothe  the 

child  in  its  disappointment. 

"Not  to  spare,"  said  Mr.  Ellery,  in  a  sort  of 
nervous,  explanatory  manner.  "  1  have  money 
enough  for  that,  but  I  have  several  small  debts 
that  must  be  paid." 

The  child  was  bitterly  disappointed,  and  l)eing 
no  longer  able  to  control  her  grief  slie  burst  into 
tears.  Mrs.  Ellery  looked  sad  and  thoughtful, 
nor  could  she  repress  the  tear-drop  that  stole  to 
her  eye. 

"  There  !"  uttered  Charles  Ellery,  as  he  arose 
from  the  tabic,  and  set  his  chair  back  with  an 
energetic  movement,  "that's  always  the  way. 
It'H  nothing  but  money,  money,  money;  and 
then  when  I  haven't  got  it,  there  must  be  a  cry- 
ing spell." 


"0,  you  wrong  me,  CInirlcs,"  uttered  Sarah 
in  an  earnest  tone,  as  she  gazed  reproachfully 
up  into  her  husband'H  face.  "  Y(ju  know  tlnit 
for  myself  I  um  willing  to  get  ahnig  almost 
any  way — even  1  stay  away  tVom  cIiuitIi  ratlicr 
than  call  upon  you  for  clothing  ;  but  onr  child 
must  go  to  scliool,  and  for  her  sake  have  I  asked 
this.  It  is  the  first  time  I  Inive  asked  you  for 
money  for  over  a  monili." 

Cbiirles  Ellery  felt  like  making  some  harsh 
reply  to  liis  wife's  remark,  Imt  he  could  not  help 
seeing  tluit  she  did  not  deserve  it,  and  in  an  un- 
hapi)y,  discontented  mood,  he  nu'ned  and  left 
the  house. 

After  her  husband  Inul  gone,  Mrs.  Ellery  en- 
deavored to  soothe  her  child's  feelings ;  but  it 
was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  she  saw  lier  little 
daughter  start  for  school,  for  she  knew  that  her 
dress  was  insutiicient  to  protect  her  from  the 
weather,  but  she  fixed  the  little  one  up  as  best 
she  could,  and  faintly  hojiing  that  she  might  not 
suffer,  the  mother  saw  licr  child  depart.  In  vain 
was  it  that  Mrs.  Ellery  tried  to  banish  the  un- 
pleasant feelings  that  bad  taken  possession  of 
her  mind,  for  long  had  slie  suffered  in  silence 
and  alone ;  and  throughout  the  day  she  was  sad 
and  unhappy. 

Charles  Ellery  was  a  good  mechanic,  and  he 
worked  very  steadily,  and  his  pay  amounted  to 
ten  dollars  a  week.  His  house  rent  was  only  one 
dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  per  week,  his  furni- 
ture was  all  paid  for,  and  his  provisions  did  not 
average  over  four  dollars  a  week  at  the  farthest, 
and  yet  his  wife  and  child  actually  suffered,  at 
times,  for  the  want  of  clothing.  Not  that  they 
were  ever  ragged,  or  even  short  of  decent  wear- 
ing apparel,  but  there  were  many  little  things 
that  would  have  really  conduced  to  their  com- 
fort and  happiness  which  they  were  obliged  to 
do  without;  and  then,  when  the  wife  did  obtain 
some  trifling  article  of  dress,  the  money  with 
which  to  pay  for  it  came  so  hard  and  ungra- 
ciously, that  she  would  almost  rather  have  done 
without  it.  There  was  another  thing  that  added 
to  her  weight  of  son-ows.  Eor  a  long  time  her 
husband  had  passed  his  evenings  away  from 
home,  even  remaining  away  till  midnight,  and 
often  later,  and  that  at  such  times  he  made  fre- 
quent use  of  alcoholic  beverages ;  but  against 
this  she  had  never  made  a  decided  remonstrance, 
for  he  had  never  returned  to  his  home  in  a  state 
of  intoxication,  and  she  had  no  idea  that  what 
little  he  drank  could  make  much  difference  in  a 
pecuniary  point  of  view.  Y'ct  Sarah  Ellery  was 
not  without  her  fears,  and  as  night  after  night 
passed,  and  found  her  husband  absent  so  late 
from  his  home,  she  eould  not  but  tremble  for  tlie 
future. 

That  night  little  Lucy  returned  from  school 
wet  and  cold ;  and  with  a  mother's  fond  care, 
Mrs.  Ellery  changed  her  gai-ments  and  placed 
her  by  the  warm  fire  ;  but  a  cold  shiver  seemed 
to  have  taken  possession  of  the  child,  which  no 
outward  warmth  could  overcome,  and  the  moth- 
er Justly  feared  that  her  daughter  would  be  sick. 
Charles  came  home  to  his  supper,  and  as  the 
events  of  the  morning  had  passed  from  his  mind, 
he  was  comparatively  happy  and  cheerful ;  but 
still  he  could  not  help  noticing  that  his  little 
child  was  not  so  sprightly  as  usual,  and  that  his 
wife  was  sad  and  thoughtful.  Then  the  thought 
came  over  him  that  tins  was  the  effect  of  the 
morning's  scene,  and  he  became  moody  and 
taciturn,  and  at  length  he  took  his  hat  to  go  out. 
"  Charles,*^  said  his  wife,  in  a  kind,  imploring 
manner,  "  couldn't  you  stay  with  me  this  even- 
ing 1  I'm  afraid  Lucy  is  going  to  be  sick,  and 
it  is  so  dark  and  stormy,  that  I  really  feel  lone- 
some. You  used  to  spend  your  evenings  witli 
your  wife." 

"O,  I'll  be  back  in  good  season,  Sarah.  I'm 
just  going  out  to  see  what's  going  on.  Lucy'U 
do  well  enough,  I  guess." 

"  Then  you  will  be  at  home  early,  wont  you  7" 
"  Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Ellery,  in  a  sort  of  hesi- 
tating, undecisive  manner;  and  without  further 
remark  he  left  the  house. 

Now  as  Charles  Ellery  walked  along  away 
from  his  home,  he  nu\dc  up  his  mind  that  bo 
would  return  early — he  would  look  in  at  one  or 
two  places  where  his  companions  were  in  the 
habit  of  congregating,  smoke  a  cigar,  have  a 
little  chat,  and  then  rctuni.  The  first  place  lie 
came  to  was  an  oyster  saloon,  kept  by  one  of 
his  old  friends,  and  as  he  entered,  he  was  greeted 
by  a  hearty  ^Velcome  from  all  hands. 

"  Come,  boys,"  said  one  of  the  party,  shortly 
after  Charles  had  entered,  "  let's  shake  for  the 
drinks." 

Charles  Ellery  might  have  resisted  a  direct 


invitation  to  drink,  for  IiiH  appetite  did  not  crave 
it;  but  the  accompanying  amusement  was  so  en- 
tertaining, so  Horial,  that  he  could  not  say  uo, 
and  flo  he  joined  with  the  rest  in  the  sport.  The 
dice-box  was  procured,  and  the  party,  eight  in 
all,  commenced  the  game.  Hound  and  i-ound 
went  the  dice — one  after  another  of  the  party 
were  freed  from  the  "treat,"  and  at  length 
Charles  Ellery  was  decided  the  loser.  Hot 
brandy  punches  was  culled  for,  and  Charles  paid 
the  bill — fifty  cents— but  that  was  nothing — 
'twas  mere  sport;  and  witliout  a  thought,  save 
of  pleasure,  he  threw  a  three  dollar  bill  upon 
the  bar,  from  which  to  have  the  expense  of  the 
eight  "punches"  taken.  The  sport  was  so  ex- 
citing that  the  dice-box  was  called  for  again,  and 
though  Charles  got  clear  of  the  bill,  yet  he  drank 
with  the  rest,  and  then  a  third  time  was  tlie 
game  played,  and  a  third  time  did  Charles 
Ellery  drink. 

All  Imnds  were  now  ready  for  amusement. 
One  thing  after  another  was  jiroposed,  until  it 
was  at  length  agreed  to  have  a  cosey  game  of 
billiards.  Had  Charles  been  asked  half  an 
hour  previously  to  have  gone  on  such  a  night's 
entertainment,  he  might  have  said  "nof  but 
now,  with  three  glasses  of  brandy-punch  sending 
its  fumes  up  into  his  brain,  be  most  unhesitat- 
ingly said  "yes,"  and  so  to  the  billiard-room 
they  went,  and  it  was  not  till  the  city  bell  struck 
the  hour  of  midnight  that  the  part}'  broke  up. 

When  Charles  Ellery  left  his  jolly  compan- 
ions, he  found  that  he  had  spent  just  three  dollars ; 
but  the  fumes  of  pleasing  liquor  still  made  him 
feel  happy,  and  he  thought  it  a  mere  trifle  wlxen 
compared  with  the  amount  of  social  pleasure  he 
had  received  from  it.  With  a  light,  easy  step  he 
started  towards  his  home,  but  ere  he  had  been 
long  on  the  way,  his  step  grew  heavier,  for  he 
happened  to  remember  that  he  had  promised  his 
wife  that  he  would  be  at  home  in  good  season, 
and  when  he  entered  his  dwelling,  it  was  not 
without  a  sort  of  misgiving  that  he  was  not 
doing  exactly  as  he  ought  to  do.  He  found  his 
wife  with  a  thick  shawl  drawn  closely  over  her 
shoulders,  sitting  over  the  flre ;  and  as  the  gentle 
Sarah  cast  her  eyes  towards  him,  he  could  not 
fail  to  observe  that  they  were  red  and  swollen 
with  weeping. 

"  Why,  Sarah,  what  are  you  up  for  at  this 
time  of  night  ?"  asked  Charles,  in  a  sort  of  won- 
dering, uneasy  tone. 

"I  could  not  go  to  bed  till  you  had  come, 
Charles,"  said  she,  rising  from  her  seat,  and  ex- 
tending her  hand  to  her  husband.  "  And  be- 
sides, oiur  child  is  very  sick,  0,  I  liope  Lucy 
will  not  have  the  fever  that  is  so  prevalent 
around  us." 

"  0,  there's  no  danger,  I  guess,"  returned  Mr. 
Ellery,  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  "  Only  a  slight 
cold — she  '11  soon  get  over  it." 

"  But  she's  very  sick,  Charles — vei^  sick ;  and 
I  am  really  fearful  that  she  is  threatened  with  a 
fever.  I  have  done  evei-ything  for  her  I  could, 
however,  and  perhaps  she  may  get  over  it." 

Cliarles  Ellery  felt  ill  at  ease.  Not  one  word 
had  his  wife  said  about  his  remaining  so  late 
away  from  home,  and  as  he  began  to  realize 
how  much  she  had  suffered  in  her  loneliness, 
his  heart  smote  him  with  his  coldness.  Such 
little  attentions  as  Mrs.  Ellery  could  bestow  upon 
her  child  were  freely  administered,  but  some 
time  ere  the  moniing  dawned,  Mr.  Ellery  found 
it  necessary  to  go  for  the  doctor. 

The  first  gray  streaks  of  moniing  were  begin- 
ning to  relieve  the  gloom  of  the  eastern  horizon 
when  the  doctor  entered  where  little  Lucy  Ellery 
lay. 

"You  should  have  called  me  last  evening, 
Mr.  Ellery,"  said  the  physician,  as  he  felt  the 
child's  pulse,  and  examined  her  tongue.  "  Then 
I  might  have  broken  up  this  fever,  but  it's  too 
late  now.  The  disease  is  firmly  seated."  Then 
turning  to  Mrs.  Ellery,  he  continued  : 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  not  been   sufticiently 
careful  of  your   child.     Y'ou   say  slie   attended 
school  yesterday  V 
"  Yes  sir." 

"  Then  her  cold  must  have  been  very  sudden," 
remarked  the  doctor,  again  turning  to  the  child. 
"However,"  lie  added,  in  a  sort  of  explanatory 
manner,  "  we  must  all  learn  by  experience.  At 
such  seasons  as  the  present,  children  cannot  be 
t6o  warmly  dressed  when  out  of  doors." 

Sarah  dared  not  look  up  at  her  husband,  for 
slie  feared  be  Eiight  misconstrue  her  feelings. 
Charles  dared  not  look  at  his  wife,  for  he  feared 
to  meet  her  tearful  gaze. 

"Mama,"  said  little  Lucy,  in  a  weak,  husky 
voice,  after  the  doctor  liad  gone,  "my  head 
aches  very  hard.     O,  if  I  liad  had  that  sack  to 


wear,  I  shouldn't    have  been  sick,   ehould  I, 
mama'?" 

"  Hush,  my  dear;  perhaps  when  you  get  well, 
papa  will  be  able  to  get  you  one,"  said  Mrs. 
Ellery,  as  she  drew  llic  bed-clothes  over  the 
child,  and  smootlied  her  burning  brow. 

Like  a  long  reverberating  thunder-boll  fell 
these  simple  words  upon  the  ear  of  Charles  El- 
lery. For  the  first  time  he  began  to  see  the 
course  lie  was  pursuing  in  its  true  light.  He 
had  never  meant  to  sin — lie  had  never  meant  to 
wrong  a  human  being,  and  in  his  most  excited 
moments  of  social  frolic,  he  had  never  dreamed 
that  harm  was  being  the  result.  His  breakfast 
was  eaten  in  silence,  and  promising  that  he 
would  be  at  home  to  an  early  dinner,  he  went  to 
his  work. 

"  Good  God  !"  exclaimed  Charles  EUeiy,  as 
he  stepped  out  into  the  open  air.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  I  have  so  long  been  sowing  the  seeds  of 
misery  in  my  family!  Yesterday  moniing  my 
good,  kind  wife  wanted  three  dollars  to  buy  a  sack 
for  our  dear  child.  I  could  not  spare  it !  I  did 
think  so  then ;  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  a  lie.  And 
yet,  last  evening  I  spent  that  full  sum  for  nothing 
ay,  worse  than  nothing,  for  even  now  my  head 
aehes,  and  my  whole  system  is  out  of  tunc  from 
last  night's  scrape.  Now,  my  child  is  sick  for 
the  want  of  that  very  three  dollars.  Then  how 
have  I  deceived  and  cheated  myself.  I  need  new 
boots,  and  yet  1  have  suffered  in  their  want,  be- 
cause I  thought  I  could  not  afford  it ;  and  yet, 
what  I  spent  last  night  would  have  bought  them, 
and  my  money  would  have  been  a  source  of 
lasting  good ;  but  now  I  have  made  it  a  source 
of  lasting  evil !" 

In  such  meditation  walked  Charles  Ellery  to 
his  shop.  A  thousand  scenes  of  the  past  came 
back  to  his  mind,  and  he  saw  a  thousand  pictures 
of  his  ingratitude  to  his  wife,  his  child,  and  him- 
self. How  many  times  had  his  wife  wanted 
some  little  article  of  comfort  that  he  had  denied 
hex*,  because  he  could  not  spare  the  money 
—  how  many  times  had  his  child  begged  for 
some  small  toy,  which  his  scanty  purse  obliged 
him  to  refuse — and  liow  often  had  he  seen  some 
trifling  article  of  food,  clothing,  or  ornament, 
which  he  would  have  been  pleased  to  purchase, 
but  that  he  had  not  money  enough ;  and  yet,  on 
each  of  such  occasions,  he  could  distinctly  re- 
member having  spent  double  the  sum  which 
his  family's  comfort  required  for  a  mere  nothing 
— for  a  worse  than  nothing  !  Night  after  night 
had  he  spent  away  from  home,  wasting  his 
money,  his  health,  and  his  strength,  while  his 
poor  wife  was  lonesome  and  sad  at  home.  How 
much  of  useful  reading  he  might  have  gained — 
bow  much  of  happiness  bestowed  upon  his  wife 
— liow  much  money  might  he  have  saved,  and, 
above  all,  how  much  happier  might  he  liave 
been  himself,  had  those  evenings  been  spent 
beneath  his  own  roof! 

Charles  Ellery  was  not  blind,  and  of  course  he 
saw  his  en'ors.  He  was  not  lost  to  kindly  feel- 
ing and  domestic  love,  and  of  course  he  resolved 
to  reform. 

When  Mr.  Ellery  returned  from  his  day's  la- 
bor he  found  his  child  quite  sick,  but  yet  not  dan- 
gerously so.  The  doctor  had  left  word  for  him 
to  go  to  the  apothecary's  after  some  medicine, 
and  after  eating  his  supper  he  started  off,  and 
though  he  met  half-a-dozen  of  his  old  compan- 
ions, each  of  whom  urged  him  to  join  them,  yet 
he  had  no  tliought  save  to  return  immediately  to 
his  home ;  and  the  kind,  grateful  look  of  his 
wife,  when  he  returned  so  speedily,  sent  a  thrill 
of  pleasure  to  bis  soul  such  as  he  had  not  expe- 
rienced for  a  long  time. 

A  week  passed  away,  and  every  evening  had 
Charles  spent  at  home  with  his  wife.  He  had 
read  and  conversed,  and  laughed  and  played 
with  his  recovering  child,  and  when  Saturday 
night  came,  he  felt  himself  to  be  the  happiest 
man  alive.  In  vain  was  it  that  he  was  urged  lo 
join  again  the  social  circles  of  his  bacchanalian 
companions,  for  his  heart  turned  in  loathing 
away  from  their  I'evelry,  and  he  wondered  how 
he  could  ever  have  been  so  thoughtless  as  \o 
have  given  them  the  preference  over  his  own 
sweet  home. 

"  Sarah,"  said  he,  as  he  returned  home  on  the 
last  evening  of  the  week,  "has  Mrs.  Kobinson 
sold  that  sack  yet '?" 
"No,  Chai-les." 

"Then  here  are  five  dollars,"  said  Mr.  Ellery, 
at  the  same  time  handing  his  wife  a  bill.  "  You 
can  purchase  the  sack,  and  then  you  will  have 
two  dollars  left,  which  you  can  use  as  you  tliiiik 
proper." 

"But  I'm  afraid  you  cannot  aflbrd  this, 
Cliarles,"  returned  Sarah,  looking  half-wonder- 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWIXCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


55 


inp:ly  and  half  inquisitively  iuto  her  husbiuid's 
face, 

"Afford  it,"  uttered  Charles,  gazing  tenderly 
into  his  wife's  kind  features,  "  0,  my  dear  wife, 
if  my  past  neglect  can  be  forgotten  and  forgiven, 
I  will  afford  everything  that  can  conduce  to  your 
happiness.  Instead  of  paying  my  money  for 
useless,  hurtful  amusements,  I  will  use  it  for  the 
comfort  of  my  dear  fiimily," 

"  Charles,"  cried  the  enraptured  wife, "  I  have 
never  blamed  you.  I  have  never  found  fault ; 
but  O,  if  you  will  make  me  happy  by  your  com- 
pany these  long  winter  evenings,  I  shall  be 
happy  indeed." 

"And  that  company  you  shall  have.  In  fact, 
I  will  be  a  husband  and  a  father,"  returned 
Charles,  with  a  proud,  conscious  look,  and  on 
the  next  moment  he  folded  liis  wife  to  his 
bosom.  She  wept,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy 
that  rolled  over  her  cheeks,  and  she  thanked 
Heaven  for  the  bliss  of  that  moment. 

The  winter  passed  away,  and  the  gentle  breath 
of  spring  wai-med  the  earth  into  life.  Charles 
EUeiy  had  put  a  new  carpet  upon  his  floor— to 
his  wife  he  had  given  a  silk  dress,  and  plenty  of 
other  clothing,  and  to  his  child  he  had  given 
everything  that  her  comfort  and  childish  pleas- 
ure could  require.  His  evenings  had  been  spent 
at  home,  excepting  on  such  occasions  as  his 
wife  might  bear  him  company,  and  in  his  heart 
lie  knew  that  he  was  happier  and  better  than  be- 
fore. To  make  his  home  happy,  and  to  make 
himself  a  useful  member  of  society,  were  now 
his  highest  aims ;  and  he  firmly  resolved  never, 
never  again  to  mistake  a  false  sociality  for  the 
true  sphere  of  his  moral  and  social  nature. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
EVENING. 

BY  JOHN   F.   JEFFERSON. 

"VTan  twiliglit  'neath  the  west  is  fading, 
And  sable  night  walks  o'er  the  vale ; 

Ten  thousand  stars  are  promenading. 
On  azure  plains,  by  moonbeams  pale. 

The  dewdrops  on  the  hranchlets  pending, 
Appear  like  polished  mirrors  hright, 

Where  starry  images  are  lending 

To  night's  dull  path  their  mimic  light. 

And  now  comes  silence,  softly  creeping 
Along  the  track  that  night  doth  tread  ; 

>Vhcre  nature,  weary  soon,  is  sleeping, 
Fast  in  her  quiet,  curtained  bed. 

Sweet  sleep,  that  calmeth  ail  our  sorrows ; 

That  gently  wipes  away  our  tears, 
And  bids  us  hope  for  bright  to-morrows, 

Exempt  from  conflicts,  doubts  and  fears. 

Thou  art  welcome,  iwnsive,  tranquil  hour, 

When  day's  perplexing  labors  close  ; 
When  sleep^s  enchanting,  soothing  power 
Brings  weary  limb  and  thought  repose. 

1  ^a^    » 

WAK, 
If  war  has  its  chivaliy  and  its  pageantiy,  it 
has  also  its  hideousness  and  its  demoniac  woe. 
Bullets  respect  not  beauty.  The}-  tear  out  the 
eye,  and  shatter  the  jaw,  and  rend  the  cheek. 
Mercy  abandons  tiie  arena  of  battle.  The  fran- 
tic war-horse  with  iron  lioof  tramples  iipon  the 
mangled  face,  tlie  throbbing  and  inflamed 
wounds,  the  splintered  I>ones,  and  heeds  not  the 
shriek  of  torture.  Crushed  into  the  mire  by  the 
wdieels  of  heavy  artillery,  the  victim  of  war 
thinks  of  mother,  father,  sister,  home,  and  moans 
and  dies  ;  his  mangled  corpse  is  covered  witli  a 
few  shovelsfull  of  eartli,  and  left  as  food  for  vul- 
tures and  dogs,  and  lie  is  forgotten.  He  who 
loaths  war,  and  will  do  everything  in  his  power 
to  avert  it,  but  who  will,  in  the  last  exti'eraity, 
encounter  its  perils,  from  love  of  countiy  and 
of  home — who  is  willing  to  sacrifice  himself 
and  all  that  is  dear  to  him  in  life,  to  promote  the 
well-being  of  his  fellow-man,  will  ever  receive  a 
wortliy  liomage. — Al)bot. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO    MRS.    E.    CHANDLER. 

BV    MRS-   R.   T.   ELDREDGE. 

As  some  fair  bud  of  beauty,  rich  and  rare, 
Watched  o'er  and  guarded  \vith  unceasing  care  ; 
Crushed  by  the  spoiler's  hand,  decays  and  dies, 
Ere  half  its  beauty  meets  our  longing  eyes ; 
'T  was  thus  thy  infant  girl,  so  pure,  so  fair, 
Faded  and  died  beneath  thy  fostering  care. 

Ere  the  fair  bud  had  burst  into  a  flower, 

To  grace  ■with  beauty  bright  its  native  bower, 

'T  was  crushed  by  death,  and  borne  from  earth  away ; 

The  fairest  buds  oft  earUest  decay : 

She  was  too  pure  on  this  cold  earth  to  linger. 

Death  marked  the  bud  with  his  destructive  finger. 

The  youngest  of  thy  fold,  thy  brigbt-eycd  girl, 
la  home  from  thee  unto  the  spirit-world ; 
No  grief,  no  pain  can  reach  thy  darUng  there, 
She  "11  dwell  forever  free  from  every  care  ; 
■T  will  calm  the  tumult  in  thy  troubled  breast, 
To  think  and  know  thy  loved  one  is  at  rest. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  LONE  HEART. 

BY  JOSEPH   H.   BDTLEB. 

Adieu,  ye  days  of  happiness, 

Adieu,  ye  joys  of  youth  ; 
Life's  river  onward  sweeps  away, 

And  time  reveals  the  truth. 

He  rends  the  flowery  wreath  that  bound 

Soft  pleasure's  lovely  brow  ; 
And  joys  that  charmed  tbe  bosom  then, 

Have  lost  their  influence  now. 

The  vision  of  romance  no  more 

Can  weave  its  potent  spell ; 
And  love,  though  mtching  be  its  power, 

I  bid  a  sad  farewell  I 

Stem,  dull  and  dark,  the  shadows  lower 

Before  my  sorrowing  eye  ; 
Poor  heart  I  there's  httle  left  thee  here. 

Except  the  hope — to  die  I 

The  sea  of  life  is  wild  and  dim, 

For  sorrow's  storm  is  here  ; 
My  bark  is  drifting  guideless  on, 

Where  fatal  rocks  are  near  I 

Once  shone  a  guiding  star  for  me, 

Bright,  beautiful  and  true  ; 
That  star  has  set  in  clouds  of  death, 

And  darkness  meets  my  view. 

My  path  on  earth  was  often  strewed 

With  many  a  lovely  flower  j 
But  0,  they  all  have  died  away, 

Beneath  time's  wasting  power. 

When  sickness  mth  its  iron  grasp 
Keeps  watch  around  my  bed, 

I  sigh  for  thee,  my  lovely  one  1 
AVhere  has  thy  spirit  fled  ? 

By  stranger  hands  is  coldly  done 

Each  kindly  oflice  now ; 
Since  the  dark  waves  of  ocean  roll 

Above  thy  faded  brow 

Alone,  alone,  my  spirit  mourns 

Over  the  scenes  long  past ; 
A  pilgi'ini  on  Ufe's  rugged  wild, 

I  tremble  in  the  blast. 

Just  Heaven  I  why  is  such  mournful  lot 

Accorded  unto  man? 
Yet  could  our  darkened  vision  see. 

There 's  wisdom  in  its  plan. 

Be  still,  my  spirit !  wait  His  will, 

Who  holds  creation  up  j 
And  strong  in  faith  and  hope,  receive 

From  Him  life's  bitter  cup  '. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

SUBIMER  BOARDING. 

BY    MHS.    E.    WELL3IONT. 

"  But  I  should  prefer  to  hoard  whei*e  at  least 
there  was  an  air  of  gentility  about  the  place," 
remarked  Mi's.  Pipps  to  her  husband,  in  a  some- 
what irritated  tone.  "  Do  look  at  my  neighbors ; 
every  one  has  gone  to  some  fashionable  watering 
place,  or  at  some  noted  hotel,  while  you  arc 
quite  content  to  set  yourself  and  me  down  in  an 
obscure  fanii-house,  wdicre  the  broom  is  liandled 
by  the  hostess,  and  the  butter  clmrned  by  her 
daughter ;  and  of  what  use  is  such  a  life  ?  I 
know  nothing  of  the  world,  I  see  no  amusing 
flirtations,  have  no  reason  for  dressing  for  din- 
ner in  any  different  style,  and  for  my  evening 
entertainment  I  am  obliged  to  listen  to  you  and 
Uncle  JeiTy,  who  talk  only  about  mixing  soils,  or 
tlic  best  mode  of  destroying  caterpillars,  or  assign- 
ing perhaps  half  a  dozen  theories  to  aid  you  in 
solving  the  mysteiy  of  the  decay  of  the  button- 
wood  trees  in  the  front  garden.  Now  just  think 
w^hat  interest,  Mr.  Pipps,  can  I  be  expected  to 
take  in  such  conversation." 

"  But  you  forget  the  cheerful  endeavors  to 
serve  and  please  you  which  Aunt  Kjzzy  makes, 
and  her  daughter  Hitty,  who  offex'S  to  read  to 
you  after  their  work  is  done,  and  the  nice  grid- 
dle cakes,  and  tlie  rich  cream  she  so  generously 
mingles  with  the  berries ;  and  above  all,  there 
is  Mount  Canncl,  where  tlie  high  bushed  black- 
ben-ics  grow  in  such  clusters,  of  which  I  am 
sure  you  are  equally  fond  as  myself.  And  all 
tills,  too,  is  furnished  for  so  reasonable  a  com- 
pensation; the  trifling  sum  of  Ave  dollars  a 
week  defrayed  all  our  expenses,  including  wash- 
ing, all  the  tune  we  stayed  in  this  farm-house." 

"All,  there's  the  secret,"  continued  Mrs. 
Pipps ;  "  the  everlasting  scarcity  of  money 
makes  this  place  so  desirable  to  you.  Why 
don't  you  make  this  excuse  when  you  arc  be- 
sieged to  give  for  political  puiposes  ?  Por  my 
part,  I  should  prefer  to  stay  lialf  as  long  and  be 
able  to  tell,  when  I  returned,  tliat  I  had  seen 
somebody.     I   don't  care  so  much   about  the 


salubrious  air,  nor  the  fine  scenery,  nor  the  rich 
cream  of  which  Mrs.  Hobbs  is  so  liberal ;  I 
should  prefer  to  be  where  I  could  see  distin- 
guished people — genteel  women  who  manage  to 
get  at  their  husbands'  purses  and  make  a  figure 
in  the  world.  Farm-house  i-usticity  does  not 
suit  my  taste,  and  I  wont  cqnccal  the  fact  any 
longer." 

"  But  I  have  already  written  Uncle  Jerry,  to 
know  if  they  would  be  pleased  to  receive  us 
another  summer  upon  the  same  terms  as  the 
last." 

"  I  hope  you  mentioned  that  to  re-carpet  our 
chamber  would  be  indispensable ;  and  the  re- 
moval of  those  old  braided  mats  must  be  made 
for  a  nice  rug,  and  for  my  part,  I  shall  insist 
upon  a  thicker  mattress — there  is  no  use  in  pay- 
ing one's  money  for  nothing." 

And  now  we  mil  leave  Mi*s.  Pipps  to  do  bat- 
tle with  a  vexatious  musquito,  and  her  liusband 
to  reconcile  Iier  to  nistic  simplicity,  while  wc 
take  a  peep  into  tlie  summer  quaitcrs  among  tlie 
green  hills  of  Vermont.  It  is  a  charming  loca- 
tion. The  farai-house  is  at  tlie  top  of  the  hill, 
and  overlooks  one  of  the  most  commanding 
views,  dotted  ivith  noi<;h')oring  farm-houses,  long 
fields  of  waving  corn,  and  now  and  then  patches 
of  heavy  red  and  white  clover,  which  imparts  a 
fragrancy  to  the  air  and  is  enough  to  fill  the 
heart  of  a  city  recluse  with  ecstatic  joy,  not- 
withstanding Mrs.  Pipps's  dissatisfaction. 

But  there  is  a  discussion  going  on.  Hitty  is 
the  amanuensis,  and  sits  biting  her  pen,  await- 
ing orders  what  to  transfer  to  paper.  It  appears 
that  a  day  or  two  before  Mi-.  Pipps  sent  his  re- 
quest, Judge  Conley  was  travelling  through  this 
part  of  the  countiT,  and  feeling  the  need  of  the 
refreshing  mountain  breezes,  he  had  inquired 
whether  he  could  be  received  into  any  farm- 
house in  the  immediate  vicinity,  and  an  applica- 
tion was  made  to  Mr.  Hobbs,  the  very  person 
with  whom  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pipps  had  boarded. 

The  judge  was  a  widower ;  a  man  of  wealth, 
Imt  an  admirer  of  nature.  He  sketched  some  ; 
he  ^rished  for  retirement ;  was  liberal  in  his 
offers  to  remunerate  our  friends,  offering  the 
same  amount  for  himself  as  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Pipps  paid,  and  as  he  desired  no  change  of 
style,  Mr.  Hobbs  was  disposed  to  receive  him. 
And  now  came  the  question  whether  the  Pipps 
would  be  satisfied  with  smaller  accomodations, 
and  whether,  moreover,  they  really  w^anted  tiiem 
on  any  consideration ;  for  it  was  apparent  to 
people  of  such  good  common  sense,  that  JIi's. 
Pipps's  element  lay  in  more  fashionable  society ; 
so  after  a  full  discussion  it  was  concluded  that 
tliey  could  not  receive  the  above  couple,  and 
Hitty  was  designated  to  put  it  in  proper  plu-ase- 
ology,  which,  -witli  her  good  education,  was  no 
difficult  task. 

Upon  receiving  the  reply,  it  w^as  indeed  a 
wonder  to  the  supei-ficial  Mrs.  Pipps  how  a 
fanner's  daughter  could  dictate  such  a  delight- 
ful note.  "  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  I  never  saw 
Hitty  use  a  pen,  but  I  alwa^-^s  knew  she  had 
studied  grammar,  and  I  have  often  wished,  Mi-. 
Pipps,  we  had  treated  the  girl  with  more  civility 
when  she  came  to  the  city  last  autumn  ;  but  my 
heart  is  so  estranged  from  country  cousins,  I 
acted  naturally." 

"  And  so,  wife,  after  all,  we  cannot  board  in 
our  Green  Mountain  State — now  where  shall  we 
go?" 

Mrs.  Pipps  immediately  suggested  advertising 
in  the  evening  papers  ;  it  was  late  in  the  season, 
all  the  fashionable  quarters  were  occupied ;  but 
in  a  few  days  she  received  a  statement  of  terms 
from  the  landlord  of  a  celebrated  hotel,  that  a 
small,  unoccupied  chamber  was  vacant,  with  a 
privilege  in  the  common  parlor,  which  could  be 
improved  at  the  rate  of  twenty  dollars  per  week, 
and  Mr.  Pipps  determined  to  try  the  experi- 
ment of  "  genteel  boarding." 

Mrs.  Pii)ps  was  in  ecstacy ;  all  her  satins, 
silks  and  bareges  were  refitted  by  the  last  fashion 
plate,  and  slie  was  soon  in  free  and  easy  conver- 
sation with  the  Jones,  the  Hills,  and  the  Gills  ; 
but  she  always  scrupulously  concealed  the  fact 
that  she  had  passed  her  two  last  summers  in  the 
farm-house.  She  was  careful  never  to  introduce 
her  daughter  Clarinda,  who  was  at  a  boarding- 
school,  to  Hitty  Hobbs,  and  so  the  daughter  liad 
formed  an  idea  of  Miss  Hobbs,  as  some  awk-. 
ward.  Green  Mountain  hoyden,  who  knew  only 
how  to  do  rough  work,  and  would  shame  a  city 
maiden  by  contact. 

Mrs.  Pipps,  however,  in  her  new  home,  did 
not  find  "  genteel  society  "  so  comfortable  as  she 
expected.  There  were  cliques  and  jjartics ; 
there  were  jealousy,  aiid  envy,  and  distmst.  Mi*. 


Pipps  was  known  as  the  henpecked  husband, 
and  sundry  wives  despised  in  others  just  what 
they  were  guilty  of  doing  themselves.  The 
small  chamber  they  occupied  was  filled  with  un- 
comfortable occupants  ;  the  buzzing  of  flies,  the 
whizzing  of  musquitoes,  and  the  glaring  blaze  of 
the  sun,  compelled  her  to  draw  a  comparison 
between  that  large,  neat  room  she  occupied  in 
the  farm-house,  where  the  eiglit-day  clock  ticked 
in  the  corner,  and  fresh  bouquets  appeared  on 
the  mantle  shelf.  Yet  a  month's  board  there 
cost  no  more  than  a  week  here — but  gentiliti/ 
made  the  difference. 

At  the  close  of  a  sulti-y  day  towards  autumn, 
the  busy  rumor  ran  the  rounds  that  a  newly 
married  couple,  of  distinguished  notoriety,  had 
arrived  and  would  appear  at  table.  Expectation 
was  on  tiptoe,  and  the  greatest  preparations  were 
made  for  sight-seeing,  when  lo,  at  the  head  of 
the  table  appeared  Judge  Conley  and  "  she  that 
was  Hitty  Hobbs  ! " 

Mrs.  Pipps  could  not  control  herself.  She 
ran  and  saluted  the  bride  as  her  most  intimate 
friend ;  she  welcomed  her — she  expressed  so 
much  regret  at  not  passing  the  present  summer 
at  her  father's  house — she  should  have  been  so 
delighted  wit!i  Judge  Conley's  society,  and  that 
same  evening  it  was  proposed  they  should  ride 
over  to  the  seminary  to  be  introduced  to  her 
daughter  Clarinda. 

Mi-s.  Conley  did  not,  however,  accept  such 
attentions  at  this  time,  when  she  did  not  need 
them.  She  plainly  added,  with  the  refusal, 
"  Mi's.  Pipps,  my  man-iagc  has  not  deprived  me 
of  my  original  identity.  Wlien  I  visited  you  as 
Hitty  Hobbs,  I  was  only  a  green  country  girl ; 
my  present  position  has  added  nothing  to  my 
worth  of  character ;  if  I  can  ever  oblige  you  I 
shall  be  happy  to  do  so,  but  I  cannot  accept 
your  present  civilities." 

Mrs.  Pipps  was  so  chagrined  that  she  left  her 
boarding  house  the  next  day,  but  was  never 
after  asliamcd  to  acknowledge  that  her  most 
agreeable  summer  residence  was  at  the  mansion 
of  Uncle  Jen-y  Hol)bs. 

Ml-.  Pipps  had  no  difficulty  in  inducing  her  to 
take  any  room  she  might  obtain  with  her  Green 
Mountain  friends  tlie  next  summer.  And  al- 
though Mrs.  Conley  spent  her  summers  still  at 
her  father's,  yet  she  taught  Mrs.  Pipps  such  a 
salutary  lesson  in  her  daily  courteous  conduct, 
that  she  was  never  after  heard  to  complain  of 
rustic  simplicity,  nor  did  she  again  en-vy  those 
who  were  cooped  up  in  genteel  boarding  houses. 
By  degree's  she  learned  to  draw  the  distinction 
between  the  artificial  and  the  real,  and  though 
often  led  to  feel  the  effects  of  a  supei-ficial  edu- 
cation and  a  misdirected  taste,  yet  slie  never 
again  manifested  the  foolish  airs  which  an  ill 
bred  lady  is  sure  to  assume  when  she  departs 
from  her  true  position.  Mrs.  Pipps  did  improve, 
and  is  now  known  as  a  quiet  and  interesting 
woman,  showing  how  good  sense  can  triumph 
over  a  vain  mind. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  A  FRIEiVD  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

BY   CAROLINE   A.   HATDEN, 

Thou  may'st  look  back  with  gladness, 

For  the  by-gone  years  can  bring 
To  thy  youthful  heart  no  sadness, 

To  thy  memory  no  sting. 
And  if  in  life's  sweet  morning, 

Some  clouds  have  flitted  o'er. 
They  have  only  made  thy  natm-e 

More  gentle  than  before. 

Thou  wert  cradled  in  the  bower 

Of  prosperity  and  love  ; 
And  thy  pathway  all  along  through  life. 

Strewed  with  blessings  from  above  ; 
And  if  some  drops  of  sorrow 

Have  been  mingled  in  thy  cup, 
'Twas  thy  Father's  hand  the  chaUee  filled, 

His  mercy  bore  thee  up. 

Fair  child  of  early  promise, 

This  is  thy  natal  day  ; 
And  may'st  thou,  crowned  with  blessings, 

Go  rejoicing  on  thy  way  : 
High  mental  gifts  attaining. 

And  when  the  goal  is  won, 
May  each  throb  of  thy  heart  be  as  pure  and  warm 

As  it  was  at  twenty-one. 


A  GOOD  TURN  OFF. 

William  IV.  seemed  in  a  momentary  dilemma 
one  day,  when,  at  table  with  several  ofiicers,  he 
ordered  one  of  the  waiters  to  "  take  away  that 
marine,  there,"  pointing  to  an  emjjty  bottle. 

*'  Your  Majesty,"  in(inired  a  colonel  of  ma- 
rines, "  do  you  compare  an  empty  bottle  to  a 
member  of  oiir  branch  of  the  service  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  monarch,  as  if  a  thought 
had  sti'uck  him  ;  "  I  mean  to  say  it  has  done  its 
duty  once,  and  is  ready  to  do  it  again." 


5G 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL    DRAW1N(J    ROOM    COMPANION. 


VIEW    OF    THE    CITY    OF   NEWPORT,    RHODE   ISLAND. 


WATERING  PLACES  IN  THE  U.  STATES. 

We  have  long  had  it  in  contemplation  to  pre- 
sent onr  readers  with  a  scries  of  views  represent- 
ing the  most  prominent  of  tlic  watering  places 
and  summer  resorts  of  our  country,  and  it  is 
■with  great  pleasure  that  we  are  enabled  this 
week  to  commence  the  series  witli  a  number  of 
views  illustrative  of  Newport  and  its  vicinity. 
The  "Island  of  Rhodes,"  as  the  first  settlers 
called  it,  was  settled  as  long  ago  as  1638  (soon 
after  Roger  Williams  settled  at  Providence),  by 
a  number  of  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Anne  Hutchin- 
son, who,  like  Williams,  were  driven  from  Mas- 
sachusetts by  the  persecutions  and  arbitrary  rule 
of  the  leaders  of  that  colony,  to  seek  an  asylum 
in  the  then  comparatively  unknoivn  wilderness. 
Williams  received  the  refugees  with  open  arms, 
and  through  his  influence  and  that  of  Ids  friends, 
obtained  a  grant  from  the  sachem  of  tlic  Narra- 
gansctts,  Miantonimoh,  of  the  beautifal  island  of 
Aquitncck,  and  here,  in  this  garden  of  America, 
they  located  themselves,  and  planted  a  thriving 
and  prosperous  settlement.  Newport  was  set- 
tled in  the  year  1639,  and  so  rapid  was  its  growth 


to  repletion,  that  previous  to  the  Revolution  it 
excelled  New  York  in  its  trade  and  commercial 
advantages,  and  soon  after  that  struggle  it  was 
remarked  that  if  New  York  continued  to  increase 
as  rapidly  as  it  was  then  growing,  it  would  soon 
rival  Newport  in  commerce  !  But  as  our  space 
is  limited,  we  will  refer  our  readers  to  history, 
for  the  rise  and  progress  of  Newport,  and  pro- 
ceed at  once  to  describe  some  of  those  interesting 
objects  and  localities  which  render  it  so  attractive 
to  the  traveller  and  sojourner,  and  which  our 
artist  has  enabled  us  to  lay  before  the  readers  of 
the  Pictorial.  The  large  engraving  at  the  top 
of  this  page  gives  an  excellent  idea  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  Newport  as  seen  from  the  harbor. 
The  view  is  taken  from  Conanicut  Island,  with 
portions  of  Rose  and  Goat  Islands  on  the  right 
and  left  of  the  picture.  There  is  nothing  re- 
markable or  striking  in  the  first  view  which  a 
stranger  obtains  of  the  city  in  approaching  it 
from  the  water.  The  harbor  is  one  of  the  finest 
in  the  world,  and  is  an  object  of  interest  ;)«■  se; 
but  Newport  derives  its  chief  attractions  from  the 
two   splendid   beaches  on  the  south  side  of  the 


island,  which  afford  facilities  for  sea  bathing 
unexcelled  on  this  continent.  During  six  months 
of  the  year,  or  from  November  to  May,  the  place 
i§  comparatively  deserted,  and  presents  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  inland  country  town,  but  during 
"  the  season"  it  is  all  bustle  and  activity.  Crowds 
of  visitors  throng  its  streets;  gay  equipages 
rattle  over  its  pavements,  and  the  devotees  of 
fashion  give  a  tone  to  its  society,  and  a  brilliancy 
to  its  promenades  and  drives  which  changes  at 
once  its  appearance,  and  makes  it  a  thriving 
business  place.  In  fact,  one  third  if  not  one 
half  the  population  derive  their  means  of  liveli- 
hood, throughout  the  year,  from  the  receipts  of 
their  business  during  the  summer  months. 

Our  second  illustration  represents  the  first 
beach  as  seen  from  the  top  of  the  liill  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Ocean  House.  Here  the 
waves  of  old  ocean  come  rolling  in  and  break 
with  ceaseless  roar  upon  a  strip  of  hard,  level, 
sandy  beach  about  half  to  two-thirds  of  a  mile 
in  length,  and  extending  back  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  to  the  edge  of  a  pond  or  lake,  formed  by 
the  sea  breaking  over  the  beach   dm-ing  heavy 


VIEW  OF  THE    FIRST  BEACH,  NEWPORT,  R.  1. 


stoi-ms.  Bathing  houses  are  seen  ranged  along 
the  shore,  while  the  numerous  bathers  present  at 
this  distance  the  appearance  of  a  colony  of  ants 
huri-ying  back  and  forth,  to  and  fro  along  the 
edge  of  the  breakers  which  now  and  then  sweep 
over  them,  or  throw  them  high  and  dry  upon 
the  shining  sands.  A  prominent  object  of  curi- 
osity to  the  visitor  as  lie  enters  or  leaves  the 
harbor,  is  old  Fort  Conanicut,  on  the  southern 
point  of  the  island  of  that  name,  which  stretches 
along  the  front  of  the  city.  This  is  the  ruin  of  a 
fort  built  by  the  British  while  they  were  in  pos- 
session of  Newport,  and  although  tijue  has  done 
its  work  upon  its  weather-beaten  crest,  it  still 
"  rears  aloft  its  regal  form,"  and  at  sunset  when 
the  god  of  day  sinks  behind  and  brings  out  in 
bold  relief  its  rotund  shape,  it  presents  a  very 
picturesque  appearance.  Tlic  people  of  Newport 
have  given  it  the  appellation  of  "  the  dumpling," 
from  a  fancied  resemblance  to  that  edible.  The 
lighthouse  seen  in  the  distance  on  tlie  right  is 
Beaver-Tail  Light,  on  the  extreme  southern  point 
of  Conanicut  island.  The  greatest  source  of  at- 
traction, however,  as  well  to  the  casual  obsei-ver 
as  to  the  antiquarian,  is  the  Old  Stone  Mill, 
as  it  is  called.  This  antique  building  stands 
upon  an  open  lot  in  front  of  the  Atlantic  House, 
and  is  owned  by  Gov.  Gibbs,  whose  residence  is 
shown  in  the  background  of  the  accompanying 
engraving.  Nothing  whatever  is  known  of  its 
history.  The  Indian  had  no  tradition  of  its  ori- 
gin, and,  although  volumes  have  been  written, 
and  theory  upon  theory  has  been  adduced  to 
give  it  a  name  and  a  date,  we  are  still  as  far  as 
ever  from  a  satisfactory  conclusion  as  to  the  pe- 
riod of  its  construction,  or  by  wliom  it  was  built. 
The  savajis  of  Europe,  the  scientific  societies  of 
this  country,  have  all  been  at  a  loss  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  thus  it  stands  wrapped  in  the  solitude 
of  its  own  mystery,  an  enigma  which  will  never 
be  solved.  It  is  built  of  unhewn  stones,  and  lias 
probably  been  covered  with  stucco,  made  of 
coarse  sand  and  shell  lime,  as  remnants  of  that 
material  have  been  found  adhering  to  some  por- 
tions of  the  interior.  Just  above  the  arches  on 
the  inside,  are  niches  designed  evidently  to  re- 
ceive floor  timbers,  and  during  the  Revolutionary 
war  it  had  a  temporary  roof.  But  on  the  evacu- 
ation of  the  island  by  the  British,  a  keg  of  pow- 
der was  placed  in  the  interior  and  fired,  with  the 
evident  intention  of  destroying  tlic  building.  The 
only  damage  done,  however,  was  in  blowing  off 
the  roof,  which  carried  with  it  about  a  foot  of  the 
top  of  the  wall.  The  island  affords  numerous 
beautiful  drives,  over  good  roads,  and  there  are 
many  objects  of  interest  to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  lover  of  nature  as  well  as  the  student  of 
history.  To  the  latter  we  would  more  particu- 
larly point  out  the  birthplace  of  Gen.  Nathaniel 
Greene,  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  tho 
city,  and  Gen.  Prescott's  head-quarters,  about 
three  miles  out.  The  fonncr  is  an  old-fashioned 
two-r,toried  mansion,  and  does  not  differ  materi- 
ally from  other  mansions  of  the  period,  except 
in  the  associations  connected  with  it  as  the  birth- 

Slace  of  one  of  the  bravest  of  American  generals, 
Fathaniel  Greene,  the  Quaker.  This  alone, 
however,  is  sufficient  to  immortalize  it.  Gen. 
Greene's  residence  is  situated  about  two  miles 
to  the  south  from  the  town  of  East  Greenwich, 
on  a  small  stream  called  Hunt's  River.  The 
brook  widens  into  a  ])ond  directly  opposite  the 
front  of  the  bouse,  which  stands  on  an  eminence 
perhaps  two  liundrcd  yards  from  it.  This  stream 
formerly  tm-ned  the  wheel  of  a  grist-mill,  at 
which,  together  with  the  anchor  forge  and  bhick 
smith's  shop,  Gen.  Greene  and  his  brothers  were 
brought  up  to  work.  The  place  has  been  famil 
iarly  called  Potowomut  from  time  immemorial, 
]u-obably  the  Indian  name  of  the  stream.     The 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


57 


house  fronts  about  soiitheast,  which  brings  the 
point  of  view  nearly  to  the  south.  The  house  is 
built  of  wood,  and  remains  witli  but  very  slight 
alterations  just  as  it  was  "when  the  general  was  a 
boy.  The  window  blinds  are  of  modern  date, 
as  well  as  many  of  the  trees  which  now  adorn 
the  grounds.  It  is  now  owned  by  a  nephew  of 
Gen.  Greene,  JIi'.  Richard  Greene,  Judge  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island, 
and  is  occupied  by  him  as  a  country  residence. 
The  country  quarters  of  Gen.  Prescott  were  at  the 
house  of  a  Quaker  by  the  name  of  Oberton  or 
Ovcring,  which  is  still  standing  about  five  miles 
from  Newport,  on  the  western  road  leading  to 
Bristol  Ferry.  The  view  given  herewith  was 
taken  from  a  point  southwest  of  the  house,  where 
the  road  crosses  a  small  stream  which  flows 
through  the  grounds.  Gen.  Prescott  while  quar- 
tered here  was  taken  prisoner  by  a  party  of 
Americans  and  can-ied  to  the  American  camp, 
where  he  remained  until  exchanged.  The  room 
in  which  he  was  asleep  when  aroused  by  his  cap- 
tons  was  on  the  second  story,  the  corner  room 
nearest  the  eye  of  the  spectator.  The  visitor 
should  not  fail  to  ride  out  to  Turkey  and  Butts's 
hills,  in  the  northern  part  of  the  island,  where  a 
severe  engagement  took  place  during  the  Revo- 
lution between  the  Americans  under  General 
Sullivan  and  the  British  army  at  that  time  in 
Rhode  Island.  The  coal  mines  at  Portsmouth, 
and  the  observatory  on  'Tonomy  Hill,  should 
also  be  visited. 

THE    CAPTURE    OF    GENERAL    PRESCOTT. 

The  main  portion  of  this  sketch  is  taken  from 
"  Lossing's  Field  Book  of  the  Revolution,"  an 
invaluable  serial,  published  by  the  Harpers,  New 
York  :  "  The  British  army,  which  was  stationed 
in  Rhode  Island  during  a  portion  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary war,  was  under  the  command  of  Briga- 
dier-General Prescott,  a  mean-spirited  tyrant, 
who  sought  every  opportunity  to  vent  his  spite 
upon  the  weak  and  defenceless  inhabitants.  Such 
was  the  dislike  in  which  he  was  held  by  them 
that  various  methods  and  plans  were  prepared  to 
get  rid  of  him  or  put  him  out  of  the  way.  It 
was  reserved  for  Colonel  Barton,  of  Providence, 
to  propose  and  can-y  out  the  most  dangerous  and 
fearless  enterprise  that  was  conceived  during  the 
war.    Prescott  was  quartered  about  five  miles 


FORT    CON.\NICUT,    OPPOSITE    THE    CITY    OF   NEWPORT. 


THE  OLD  STONE  MILL,  NEWPORT. 


from  Newport,  where  the  main  body  of  the  British  army  was  sta- 
tioned. Almost  in  front  of  this  mansion,  and  between  the  island 
and  the  main  land  where  the  Americans  were  posted,  lay  three 
British  frigates  with  their  guard  boats,  while  just  back  of  the 
house  was  a  squadron  of  troops,  and  on  the  front,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance, was  a  guard  house.  On  the  night  of  July  10th,  1777,  Col. 
Barton,  with  a  party  of  forty  officers  and  men,  embarked  from 
AVanvick  Point  in  four  whale  boats,  with  muthcd  oars,  and  crossed 
over  to  Rhode  Island,  passing  so  close  to  the  frigates  as  to  hear 
the  "  All's  well "  of  the  scntiy  on  deck,  and  landed  in  the  mouth 
of  a  cove  formed  at  the  mouth  of  the  little  stream  in  the  picture 
where  it  empties  into  Narragansett  Bay.  Dividing  his  men  into 
several  squads,  and  assigning  each  its  duty,  they  advanced  with 
the  strictest  or- 
der and  pro- 
found silence 
towards  the 
house.  The 
main  body 
went  between 
the  guard 
house  and  the 
troopers'  quar- 
ters, while  the 
remainderwas 
to  make  a  cir- 
cuitous route 
and  approach 
from  the  rear 
and  secure  the 
doors.  As  Bar- 
ton and  his 
men  neared 
the  gate,  a  sen- 
tinel hailed 


quickly  burst  open.  The  general  sprang  from 
his  bed ;  Barton  placed  his  hand  gently  upon 
his  slioulder,  told  him  he  was  his  prisoner,  and 
that  perfect  silence  was  now  his  only  safety. 
Prescott  begged  time  to  dress,  but  it  being  a  hot 
July  night,  and  time  precious,  Barton  refused. 
Throwing  his  cloak  around  him,  and  placing 
him  between  two  armed  men,  the  prisoner  was 
hun-icd  ashore.  Major Barrington,Prescott's aid, 
hearing  the  noise  in  the  general's  room,  leaped 
fiom  a  window  to  escape,  but  was  captured.  At 
about  midnight  captors  and  prisoners  landed  at 
Warwick  Point,  where    General   Prescott  first 


GEN.  PRESCOTT'S  HEAD  QUARTERS,  NEWPORT. 


GENERAL  GREENE's  BIRTHPLACE;  NEWPORT. 


them  tivice,  and  then  demanded  the  countersign. 
"  AVe  have  no  countersign  to  give,"  exclaimed 
Barton,  and  quickly  added,  "  have  you  seen  any 
deserters  here  to-night  ?"  The  sentinel  was  de- 
ceived by  the  question,  and  supposed  them  to  be 
friends,  until  his  musket  was  seized  and  himself 
bound,  and  threatened  with  instant  death  if  he 
made  the  slightest  noise.  The  doors  had  been 
secured  by  the  division  from  the  rear,  and  Bar- 
ton entered  the  front  passage  boldly.  Mr.  Over- 
ton sat  alone,  reading,  the  rest  of  the  family  be- 
ing in  bed.  Barton  inquired  for  General  Pres- 
cott's  room.  Overton  pointed  upward;  Barton, 
with  five  strong  n^cn,  ascended  the  stairs  and 
gently  tried  the  door.     It  was  locked,  but  was 


broke  the  silence  by  saying  to  Colonel  Barton, 
"  Sir,  you  have  made  a  bold  push  to-night." 
"  We  have  been  fortunate,"  eoolly  repIied^Bar- 
ton.  Captain  Elliot  was  there  with  a  coach,  to 
convey  the  prisoners  to  Providence,  where  tliev 
an-ived  at  sunrise.  Prescott  was  kindly  treated 
by  General  Spencer  and  other  officers,  and  in  the 
CQJirsc  of  a  few  days  was  sent  to  the  head-quar- 
ters of  AA^ashington,  at  New  AA^'indsor,  on  the 
Hudson.  He  was  exchanged  for  Gen.  Charles 
Lee  in  April  following,  and  soon  afterwards  re- 
sumed his  command  of  tlie  British  troops  on 
Long  Island.  Congress  subsequently  voted  Col. 
Barton  an  elegant  sword  on  account  of  the  daring 
bravery  displayed  by  Imn  on  this  occasion. 


58 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Wi-ltton  for  GlcoHOn'fl  IMctorliil.] 
THE  POET'S  DRKAM. 

BY   MAllY    N.    JIBAIinollN. 

In  midnight  Bleep  T  wimdorcil  fur, 
OVr  "  mount,  iiiid  viilo,  ami  utreiiin  ;" 

Ami  t;lt>wing  briffbt,  hi  fiuicy'M  light, 
ApiK'iircii  ciifli  HiiiiUng  Mtorio. 

Tho  foniHtH  rntig  wiMi  glndiloiu'il  8tmIiiB, 

In  cciiocfl  wild  rtiid  1'r-o  ; 
Mliilo  distant  IiUIb  imd  rippling  rilla 

llppliod  In  toucfl  of  gleo. 

It  seemed  a  type  of  lioavcnly  life, 

A  gloiun  of  glory  here; 
A  mct€Oi''H  ray,  to  liglit  our  way 

Doyonil  tbo  reuoii  of  fear. 

WIxo  ^vould  not  lovo  to  wander  thus, 

Afar  from  grief  or  euro  ; 
Since  nought  of  strife  or  nialieo  rifo, 

Can  have  a  being  there  ! 

From  whence  do  tbeso  bright  di-camw  arise, 
And  whore  that  fancied  shore  ; 

Whose  quiot  rest  doth  calm  the  brcaat, 
And  t«ach  tho  poet's  lore? 

'Tis  not  of  earth — it  savors  not 
With  iiught  connected  here  ; 
But,  lent  to  cheer  our  upward  (light, 
Would  claim  a  brighter  sphere. 
»  — ^-  > 

[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 

MARK   WARLAND: 


FORTUNE    AND    FAVOK. 

BY   GEO.  CANNING   HILL. 

Just  at  twilight,  on  a  somewhat  sultry  day  in 
June,  Mr.  Mark  Warlanil  sat  musing  at  his  win- 
dow. Now  Mr.  Mark  Warland  was  neither  a 
housekeeper  nor  the  head  of  a  family.  He  was 
simply  a  hoarder,  and  a  single  gentleman,  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Tompkins,  in  town. 

Perhaps  a  more  agreeable  boarder  than  Mr. 
Mark  Warhnid  proved  himself,  Mrs.  Tompkins 
never  had.  I  will  not  now  undertake  to  say  how 
that  was.  The  reader  shall  be  left  undistui-bed 
to  the  pleasure  of  his  or  her  own  inference.  At 
all  events,  he  received  fully  his  individual  atten- 
tion from  the  misti-ess  of  the  mansion,  as  well  as 
from  lier  only  daughter — a  quite  agreeable  young 
lady,  by  the  by, — and  a  niece  who  came  up  to 
town  on  frequent  visits.  To  tell  the  trutli,  these 
two  young  ladies  were  very  fond  of  making  calls 
upon  Mr.  Warland  in  his  room,  when  he  took 
especial  pains  to  regale  them  with  such  speci- 
mens of  gossip,  fun,  frolic  and  fantasy  as  he 
could  best  command ;  and  the  reader  should 
know,  too,  that  Mr.  Mark  Warland  was  a  gen- 
tleman of  great  versatility  of  talent  for  entertain- 
ing his  friends. 

He  was  sitting  at  his  window,  I  said,  just  in 
the  curtaining  gloom  of  a  June  twilight,  not  such 
a  green  and  leafy  twilight  as  one  gets  in  the 
country,  but  only  a  twilight  fonned  by  the  com- 
bination of  bricks,  mortar  and  coming  darkness  ; 
and  his  head  rested  thoughtfully  upon  his  hand. 
His  eyes  were  following  the  street  passers  slowly 
and  dreamily,  as  if  he  botli  felt  deeply  interested 
in  their  welfare,  and  car^d  and  thought  just  no- 
thing about  them  at  all. 

If  he  had  lost  himself  in  reverie,  it  was,  for  a 
time  at  least,  one  of  the  most  sluggish  reveries 
that  ever  flowed  through  a  man's  brain.  He 
seemed  neither  to  think  nor  to  care  for  anything 
especially.  It  was  not  stupor,  and  it  was  not 
thoughtlessness,  but  an  union  of  both,  quite  as 
strange  as  it  is  inexplicable. 

While  he  still  sat  there  dreaming,  the  drowsy 
echo  of  tramping  feet  and  dull  echoes  alone  ris- 
ing and  mingling  in  liis  silent  chamber,  the  door 
opened  slowly,  and  a  person  entered.  It  was 
Mrs.  Tompkins. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  that  lady,  in  her  most  be- 
nign style,  "  you're  in  the  dark,  I  see,  Mr.  War- 
land." 

"Walk  in,  walk  in,"  returned  her  amiable 
hoarder ;  "  I  know  I'm  in  the  dark,  Mrs.  Tomp- 
kins, but  what  of  that"?  Tm  sure  it's  nothing 
new  for  me." 

"Dear,  no,"  said  the  kind  landlady.  "I  know 
you  must  mean  in  matters  of  business.  You 
can't  mean  anything  else.  You  are  grown  so 
very  facetious." 

"I  protest  now,   good   Mrs.  Tompkins,"  he 
intcrniptcd. 
"What?" 

"No  complimcntfi,  I  beg  you.  I  aint  in  a 
proper  frame  of  mincl  to  receive  them  appreci- 
atively." 

"Well,  well,"  retorted  the  lady,  "  I  was  only 


going  to  tell   you  what  Agnes — my  own  dear 
Agnes — said." 

"And  wont  you  tell  me,  MrH.  Tompkins?" 
"  Why — "  and  she  stuck  fast. 
"Do   tell   me,   Mrs.  Tompkins,"  jdeadcd  her 
boarder. 

"  Why,  it's  only  what  she  paid  about  your 
growing  so  very  funny,  Mr.  Warland.  llu,  ha, 
lia!  I  declare,  Agnes,  my  dear  Agnes  says  you 
have  grown  to  bo  the  funniest  man  she  ever 
knew." 

"Perhaps  she  doesn't  know  many,"  quietly 
suggested  he. 

"  Quite  as  many  as  I  think  is  for  her  own 
good,"  replied  Mrs.  Tompkins,  with  some  empha- 
sis.    "  But  Agnes   says  she  never  saw  l)ettcr 
company  than  you  are." 
"  Indeed!" 

"  Yes ;  and  she  declares  she  had  rather  be  an 
hour  in  your  society  than  ten  minutes  in  that  of 
everybody  else  she  or  I  ever  knew." 

"  Worse  and  worse !  I  declare,  Mrs.  Tomp- 
kins, you  embarrass  me  unspeakably !" 

i*erhaps  there  might  have  been  a  spice  of  sar- 
casm or  irony  in  this  speech  of  Mr.  Warland ; 
but,  as  it  fortunately  happened,  Mrs.  Tompkins 
failed  to  apprehend  it.  It  was  spice  she,  per- 
haps had  never  tasted. 

Many  minutes  did  the  landlady  of  Mr.  Mark 
Warland  persist  in  entertaining  him  in  the  twi- 
light of  that  warm  June  day,  and  cliiefly  witli 
narratives  of  her  daughter  Agnes — her  dear  Ag- 
nes. Her  boarder  listened  patiently  to  it  all. 
Possibly  she  was  convinced  that  he  listened  in- 
tently.    But  that  was  quite  another  thing. 

A  pause  of  several  minutes  at  length  ensued, 
during  which  Mark  sat  gazing  out  into  the  street, 
apparently  lost  again  in  his  dreams. 

"Mr.  Warland!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tompkins. 
He  started,  as  if  the  sound  of  his  very  name 
liad  startled  him. 

"  Well,  iSL's.  Tompkins,"  he  replied. 
"  Arc  you  asleep '?"  asked  she,  playfully.     "  I 
thought  you  was  ;  and  then  there  might  be  dan- 
ger of  your  falling  out  the  window,  you  know." 
"  No,  I  wasn't  exactly  asleep,"  said  he. 
"Dreaming'?"  asked  the  landlady. 
"No — yes — no,  I  was  thinking." 
"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  then,"  she  add- 
ed.    "  Why,  you  seem  to  forget  that  you've  got 
company  to  entertain.     And  what  if  Agnes — my 
dear  Agnes — should  come  in  too  ?     Could  you 
so  lose  yourself  if  you  heard  her  ringing  laugh 
here  ?" 

"Mrs.  Tompkins,"  said  he,  "let  mc  beg  you 
not  to  mention  her." 

"  Aha !"  replied  the  scheming  widow,  "  don't 
be  too  modest  now." 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  was  thinking  about, 
if  you'd  really  like  to  know,"  interrupted  Mark, 
anxious  to  keep  clear  of  the  delicate  subject  of 
Agnes. 

"  Do.     What  was  it,  pray  ?" 
Mrs.  Tompkins  was  really  anxious  to  know. 
"  I  was  thinking  about  the  trip  I  am  going  to 
take  to-moiTow  into  the  country,"  said  he,  with 
excessive  deliberateness. 

"  You  V  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tompkins.  "  I  had 
not  heard  of  such  a  thing  before." 

"  No  ;  and  I  had  not  so  much  as  thought  of  it 
myself,  until  I  got  seated  here  by  the  window 
and  fell  to  thinking  the  subject  over.  But  I  be- 
lieve I  shall  take  the  early  train  in  the  morning, 
and  be  off." 

"  To  what  place  V 

"  That  I  had  not  determined  on  yet,"  replied 
he.     "  I  shall  do  that  after  I  get  started." 

Mrs.  Tompkins  perhaps  sutfercd  the  suspicion 
to  cross  her  mind  that  her  boarder  was  a  singu- 
lar genius.  But  if  she  did,  he,  at  least,  knew 
nothing  of  it. 

"  Agnes  has  been  wanting  to  go  into  the  coun- 
try this  summer,  too,"  added  she,  after  a  brief 
but  tlioughtful  pause. 

Mark  Warland  inwardly  wondered  where  Ag- 
nes did  not  want  to  go. 

"  She  has  said  so  much  about  it,"  continued 
Mrs.  Tompkins,  with  a  persuasive  roll  of  her 
fine  eyes  ;  but  that  was  all  lost  upon  her  boarder 
in  the  darkness. 

Mark  did  not  pretend  to  doubt  the  very  plausi- 
ble statement  of  his  landlady. 

"  So  you  will  certainly  go  in  the  morning?" 
she  continued. 
"  I  tliink  so." 
"And  alone,  too?" 
"  O  yes,  of  course." 
"But  don't  know  exactly  where?" 
"No,  not  yet." 

"  What  a  very  queer  man,  to  be  sure  !" 
"Men  arc  all  queer,  Mrs.  Tompkins,"  rejoin- 


ed Mark  Warlan<I,  pleasantly.     "It's  only  the 
worn  in  tliatare  reconcilable  with  common  sense." 
"  You   don't   mean    it,    Mr.    Warland  ?"   ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Tompkins. 

"  But  indeed  I  do  ;  I  never  was  more  serious." 
"Well,  well,  then,"  said  she,  rising  from  the 
scat  she  had  taken,  "if  you  are  going  oft' as  soon 
as  Jty  the  iirst  morning  train,  then  you  will  liave 
many  preparations  to  make.  Good  night;"  and 
she  moved  thi'ough  tlie  door. 

"  Shall  Ann  have  ready  ibr  me  a  cup  of  coffee 
early  enough?"  he  called  out  after  her. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Tompkins. 

Mark  was  left  alone  again.     He  sprang  into 

the  middle  of  tlie  floor  at  a  single  bound,  and 

spreading  out  his  limbs  in  u  somewhat  theatrical 

attitude,  exclaimed  aloud : 

"  It's  forever  Agnes,  my  dear  Agnes  !  Agnes, 
in  fact,  will  either  be  the  death  of  me,  or  she  will 
lose  her  dear  mother  a  boarder.  I  was  going  to 
say  I  hardly  cared  which.  I  am  going  off  al- 
most on  purpose  to  get  rid  of  this.  It's  coming 
upon  mc  much  too  fast.     I  can't  bear  it." 

With  such  expressions,  and  many  more  such 
thoughts,  he  proceeded  to  make  the  needful  pre- 
parations for  his  projected  journey,  such  as  pack- 
ing his  shirts,  and  dickies,  and  cravats,  and  ker- 
chiefs, and  shaving  utensils,  and  brushes,  and 
books,  and  papers,  and  so  forth,  and  so  on,  into 
his  capacious  portmanteau.  All  this  accom- 
plished, he  stepped  out  to  make  purchases  of 
such  few  articles  as  would  be  most  needful  for 
him  on  his  jaunt.  In  a  short  time  he  retm-ned 
again,  and  went  to  bed. 

With  the  sun,  Mark  Warland  was  up  in  the 
morning  again.  Its  golden  bars  let  themselves 
softly  tlirough  his  slightly  parted  curtains  into 
his  room,  and  the  place  seemed  suddenly  filled 
with  enchantment. 

There  was  great  confusion  in  tlie  room,  as  one 
would  very  naturally  expect.  Books  and  pa- 
pers, and  chairs  and  tables,  and  bedsteads,  and 
trunks,  were  heaped  togetlier  in  intricate  disor- 
der. Nothing  seemed  in  its  place,  and  every- 
thing seemed  out  of  it. 

Mr.  AVarland  had  hardly  finished  his  moniing 
ablutions,  to  which,  on  tliis  morning,  was  to  be 
added  the  operation  of  shaving,  when  there  came 
a  knock  at  his  door. 

"Breakfast!"  called  out  the  maid. 
"Be  down  in  a  minute,"  replied  Mark. 
Ere   long  he  was  seated   over   his  steaming 
coffee,  whose  strong  aroma  filled  not  only  the 
dining-room  itself,  hut  likewise  the  hall  beyond. 
As  it  must  happen — though  xmdoubtedly  Mrs. 
Tompkins  knew  best  how  it  did  happen — Agnes 
was  already  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table  when 
he  entered  the  room.     He  greeted  her  with  his 
customary  morning  smile  and  bow.    She  blushed 
her  usual  morning-glory  blush,   and   lisped  his 
name. 

He  hurried  through  with  his  breakfast  without 
pausing  much  at  inter\'als  to  enlighten  Agnes  on 
the  subject  of  his  journey,  though  that  young 
lady  sat  behind  the  huge  cofFee-urn  a  perfect  im- 
personation of  patience.  She  kept  the  draw- 
bridges of  hearing  down  all  the  time,  eager  that 
not  the  slightest  hint  of  the  young  gentleman's 
destination  should  be  allowed  to  pass  over.  But 
Mark  was  obdurate  at  heart,  or  else  he  had  not 
even  yet  determined  for  himself  where  he  would 
go.     Perhaps  the  latter. 

Carpet  bag  in  hand,  and  hat  on  his  head,  he 
took  his  leave  of  Agnes,  who  had  by  this  time 
been  joined  by  her  anxious-looking  mother  in 
the  hall,  and  tripped  off"  lightly  down  the  steps. 
His  heart  was  as  fresh  as  morning  dew.  Why 
should  it  not  have  been  ?  He  was  going  into 
the  country,  where  dew  was  only  thouglit  to  fall. 
It  was  a  short  ride  only  in  the  cars,  and  from 
the  point  of  bis  debarkation  from  them  he  began 
a  journey  of  about  a  dozen  miles  In  the  stage. 
Nothing  occurred  during  that  ride  to  occasion 
particular  notice  at  the  hands  of  the  narrator, 
and  I  therefore  consign  it  to  the  general  fate  of 
all  stage-riders — forge tfulness. 

The  coach  at  length  brought  him  to  the  place 
of  his  destination.  It  was  a  secluded  village 
among  the  mountain  ridges,  with  long  stretches 
of  beautiful  rolling  land  far  away  on  its  souther- 
ly side. 

There  was  a  good  hotel  in  the  village,  and 
Mark  Warland  thought  he  should  make  out  a 
pleasant  lime  of  it.  He  was  as  partial  to  crea- 
ture comforts  as  any  one  else.  Besides  this,  the 
town  was  somewhat  of  a  resort  for  summer  trav- 
ellers, and  of  consequence  boasted  not  a  little 
of  its  excellent  social  privileges.  There  were 
many  ster'.ing  and  wealthy  families  there,  among 
some  few  of  whom  Mr.  Warland  hoped  to  bo 
able  lo  pass  a  few  weeks  pleasantly. 


He  was  shown  to  his  room,  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  wjus  to  seat  himself  in  the  big  arm-chair 
by  the  window,  and  lapse  into  u  reverie.  With 
bis  chin  resting  upon  his  Iiand,  and  his  elbow 
propped  upon  the  window  sill,  he  let  his  eyes 
swim  slowly  up  and  down  the  village  street,  and 
then  flout  silently  into  the  leafy  cloisters  of  a 
huge  elm  tree,  where  they  at  length  rested. 

He  thought  of  tlie  old  time  and  the  new  time. 
Everything  and  evei-ybody  were  in  his  thoughts 
togetlier.  He  wondered  what  sort  of  people 
dwelt  in  tlie  town  of  Elmgrovc;  and  asked  liim- 
self  many  times,  unconsciously,  let  us  hope,  if 
the  hisses  thereabout  were  as  beautiful  and  jls 
bewitching  as  his  winged  fancies  had  painted 
them. 

From  this  pleasurable  state  he  was  soon  arous- 
ed by  being  called  to  tea — n  call  that  awoke  his 
senses  fully.  Having  prepared  himself  hastily, 
lie  left  his  room  and  went  down  to  partake  of 
that  meal. 

Wlien  tea  was  over,  he  sauntered  into  the  bar- 
room, and  thrusting  a  lighted  cigar  between  his 
teeth,  proceeded  to  interrogate  the  vary  commu- 
nicative landlord  quite  freely  respecting  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  village. 

"  Plenty  of  society  here  ?"  inquired  Mi'.  War- 
land,  blowing  out  a  blue  cloud  from  his  curled 
lips. 

"  Society?  0,  a  plenty  of  it,  sir,  here,"  i"es- 
ponded  Boniface.  "  You  couldn't  have  come  to 
a  much  better  place  for  that." 

"That  includes  female  society,  of  course?" 
pur.sued  the  young  man. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  the  landlord. 
"  There's  a  plenty  of  it  here.  A  great  many 
visitors  come  to  pass  a  part  of  the  summer  here; 
and  between  one  thing  and  another  we  manage 
to  make  out  a  pretty  lively  season  of  it." 

And  Mr.  Warland  did  not  see,  either,  why 
they  could  not.  It  was  a  really  lovely  place  ; 
there  were  all  manner  of  facilities  at  hand  for 
comfort  and  enjoyment,  and  a  plenty  of  good 
society.  Wliat  more  could  reasonably  be  asked  ? 
He  walked  to  the  door,  and  went  out  upon  the 
street.  Elms,  huge-trunked  and  lcaf-cro^vned, 
stood  in  long  rows  on  either  side,  fi'om  whose 
roots  to  the  edge  of  the  road  was  a  wide  border- 
ing of  freshest  gx'ass. 

People  were  beginning  to  saunter  in  the  cool 
shadows  of  evening  along  the  walks,  old  and 
yoimg ;  and  the  steady  hum  of  voices  that  arose 
on  the  air  betokened  nothing  so  much  as  settled 
contentment  and  liappiness. 

This  evening  was  but  a  foretaste  of  what  all 
evenings  would  be  to  him  in  Elmgrove.  He 
should  live  in  such  a  pleasant  buzz  all  the  time. 
He  would  always  hear  just  such  pleasant  sounds. 
Always  see  just  such  pleasant  sights.  Perhaps 
even  plcasanter  than  these. 

Two  days  had  passed  away.  In  that  time, 
Mr.  Mark  AVarland  had  fully  acquainted  himself 
with  everything,  and  almost  everybody  in  the 
neighborhood.  By  the  politeness,  too,  of  a 
young  gentleman,  whose  acquaintance  he  thonght 
himself  fortunate  to  make,  he  was  honored  not 
long  after  with  a  very  friendly  invitation  to  make 
one  of  an  excursion  party  in  the  woods.  It  was 
just  what  he  wanted — just  what  he  left  town  and 
came  out  into  the  counti^  for. 

The  gentleman  who  thus  early  profFei-ed  him 
this  mark  of  his  friendship  was  Mr.  William 
Gregory.  Mr.  William  Gregory,  too,  liad  a  sis- 
ter. Perhaps  this  recollection  haunted  him ;  and 
perhaps  we  are  too  much  swayed  by  prejudice  in 
the  matter,  likewise.  He  could  not  have  been 
much  more  delighted  at  the  greatest  strettk  of 
good  luck.  He  already  congratulated  himself 
that  he  had  been  so  fortunate  in  his  selection  of 
a  summer  lonnging-place. 

The  day  of  the  projected  picnic  came.  Mr. 
Mark  AVarland  made  all  his  preparations  with 
the  nicest  exactness.  His  toilet  was  after  the 
most  approved  styles. 

It  was  a  lovely  airy  summer  afternoon,  with 
the  cool  winds  drawing  through  the  old  elm-tops, 
and  swinging  their  pendulous  boughs  hither  and 
thither  in  the  glistening  sun.  It  was  just  the 
time  for  a  ramble  in  the  woods.  IIow  much 
pleasure  Mark  promised  himself  I 

All  bis  equipments  and  arrangements  were  at 
last  made,  and  he  held  himself  in  readiness  to 
receive  the  call  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Gregory.  It 
was  not  a  long  time,  either,  he  was  obliged  to 
wait;  for  his  polite  friend  was  soon  rapping  at 
his  door,  and  at  length  stood  before  him. 

"I  really  hope  you  may  enjoy  yourself  to  the 
utmost  this  afternoon,"  remarked  Mr.  Gregory. 
"I  shall   certainly   expect  to,"  returned  the 
other. 

"  I  cannot  promise  you  any  scenes  you  may 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


59 


not  lie  filready  familiar  with,"  rejoined  the  other ; 
*'  but  you  shall  have  as  much  attention  as  we 
know  how  to  bestow  on  strangers  here." 

Mark  could  thank  him  only  with  a  bow. 

They  started  off  together,  intending  to  take 
the  house  of  Mr.  Gregory  in  upon  their  way.  It 
was  a  delightful  walk  there,  every  step  of  which 
seemed  to  increase  JIark's  pleasure.     His  com- 


panion was  very 


communicative,  and  discovered 


an  extraordinary  degree  of  kindness  and  hospi- 
tality. 

They  came  in  sight,  at  length,  of  the  mansion 
of  Mr.  Gregory's  fatlier.  It  was  a  fine  large 
building,  standing  some  distance  back  from  the 
sti-eet  on  rising  ground,  and  presenting  an  ex- 
ceedingly imposing  appearance.  Mark  noticed 
with  peculiar  satisfaction  the  noble  trees,  and  the 
thick  banks  and  walls  of  shrubbery,  that  stood 
all  around  it.  He  felt  already  that  the  occupants 
of  such  a  place  must  be  people  of  high  social 
standing  and  qualities. 

They  immediately  entered  the  house,  and 
Mark  seated  himself  by  invitation  in  the  spacious 
and  cool  parlor.  "V\Tiat  a  glorious  place  he 
thought  its  four  high  w^alls  enclosed,  in  which  to 
pass  the  dull  and  dreamy  hours  of  a  summer 
afternoon.  He  had  almost,  if  not  quite,  begun 
to  fall  into  a  reverie  upon  the  subject. 

But  his  thoughts  suddenly  came  back  to  him 
again  on  beholding  others  enter  the  room.  They 
were  Mi-.  William  Gregory  and  his  two  sisters, 
so  Mark  at  first  supposed.  They  were  all  at- 
tired for  the  pleasant  picnic  excursion  into  the 
woods.  The  young  man  introduced  the  one  to 
his  friend  as  his  sister  Augusta,  and  the  other  as 
his  cousin  Mary. 

The  taller,  and  fuller,  and  prouder-looking 
one  was  Augusta.  Her  face  was  full,  and  fair, 
and  alive  with  expression.  She  had  a  strange 
appearance  of  pride  and  hauteur  in  her  attitude 
even,  that  struck  Mark's  mind  perceptibly.  Yet 
he  could  not  have  described  it  if  he  would. 

Mary,  the  cousin,  was  a  girl  of  a  much  more 
meek  and  trustful  expression  of  countenance ; 
born,  as  we  often  say,  not  so  much  to  command 
as  to  obey.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  heavenly 
in  their  look.  A  sweet  smile  played  continually 
over  her  features  that  drew  the  hearts  of  others 
to  her  almost  unconsciously.  She  looked  as  if 
she  had  labored  and  striven  with  almost  su- 
perhuman strength  to  school  her  tender  heart 
into  some  great  resignation. 

He  received  their  salutations  with  equally 
friendly  and  fervid  ones  of  his  own,  and  in  a  few 
moments  all  started  off  together  for  the  scene  of 
the  afternoon's  pleasure. 

It  lies  not  with  me  to  tell,  or  to  attempt  to 
describe,  how  the  acquaintance  of  Mark  with  both 
the  young  ladies  that  day  grew ;  nor  how  fast  it 
grew ;  nor  how  soon  it  matured.  These  are 
matters  that  the  reader  must  leave  to  his  o^vn 
perceptiveness  or  imagination.  Sufficient  be  it 
to  say,  that  before  the  afternoon  had  far  advanc- 
ed in  the  dim  woods,  he  had  become  quite  des- 
perately in  love  with  Augusta,  Mr.  Gregory's 
sister ;  while  Mary,  his  cousin,  was  just  as  much 
smitten  with  him.  As  it  also  strangely  enough 
happened,  Augusta  was  not  in  the  least  impress- 
ed with  tlie  attractiveness  of  Mr.  Warland,  while 
he  cared  nothing  at  all,  apparently,  for  Mary. 

Matters  had  been  thus  singularly  assorted  by 
fortune,  and  everything  seemed  to  be  at  sixes 
and  sevens. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  very  agreeably  to 
Mark,  far  more  so  than  he  could  previously  have 
suppo;.ed.  Tliey  all  roamed,  pretty  much  after 
their  own  pleasure,  through  the  far-stretching 
woods ;  some  taking  to  the  little  skiffs  on  tlie 
Inke  that  slept  iu  the  shadows,  and  others  gather- 
ing flowers,  and  vines,  and  binding  them  into 
wreaths,  and  aftenvards  placing  them  upon  the 
beads  of  the  particular  objects  of  their  admira- 
tion.    All  seemed,  as  all  tried  to  be,  happy. 

During  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  Mark, 
whose  natural  clear-sightedness  had  now  appear- 
ed to  leave  him,  paid  the  most  assiduous  atten- 
tions to  Augusta.  He  waited  upon  her  here,  and 
there,  and  everywhere.  Wlicrever  she  went,  he 
seemed  to  be  at  her  elbow. 

It  would  be  cruel,  one  would  tliiiik,  for  a 
young  lady  not  to  have  been  agreeably  affected 
by  a  com'se  of  such  gallant  attention ;  but, 
strange  as  it  must  seem,  and  sti'angely  as  it  may 
argue  for  her  characteristics,  she  appeared  quite 
as  indifferent  to  his  addresses,  as  if  she  liad  not 
received  them  at  all. 

It  was  odd  enough,  but  none  tlic  less  time  for 
all  tliat.  Mark  AVarland  wss  perfectly  infatua- 
ted with  Augusta.  He  admired  and  had  a  secret 
sympathy  for  Mary,  ihe  cousin  ;  but  Augusta  he 
thought  he  loved. 


They  walked  home  together,  lie  and  Augusta. 
It  was  just  in  the  shadow  of  the  evening.  How 
his  heart  danced,  and  bumped,  and  palpitated. 
How  quick  came  his  breath.  How  his  very  eyes 
at  times  swam  in  his  head !  The  flittering  of  a 
pale  ribbon  iu  the  playful  wind  almost  intoxica- 
ted him  with  an  unspeakable  joy. 

It  was  late — quite  late — that  night  when  he 
reached  his  room  at  the  hotel  again.  He  sat 
down  by  his  open  window,  and  gave  himself  up 
for  a  fall  horn-  to  the  most  delicious  dreams. 

Days  went  by  in  this  way  for  some  time ;  and 
Mr.  AVarland  grew  more  and  more  enamored  of 
Augusta,  allowing  such  a  thing  to  be  possible. 
He  waited  upon  her  constantly  at  her  house,  day 
after  day,  and  evening  after  evening.  Each  time 
he  went  there,  he  did  not  fail  to  see  Mary,  but  ~ 
she  was  not  the  bright  star  of  his  attractions. 
Matters  went  on  thus  for  some  time. 

At  length,  as  Mark  found  himself  alone  one 
evening  with  Miss  Augusta,  each  sitting  at  no 
great  distance  from  the  other,  and  both  veiy  near 
the  open  window,  where  they  could  see  the  glit- 
tering moon  upon  tlie  deep  foliage,  and  feel  the 
fresh  wind-breaths  upon  their  temples,  he  ven- 
tured to  open  to  her  the  subject  that  so  complete- 
ly filled  his  heart. 

He  seized  her  hand,  and  told  her  in  burning 
syllables  what  his  feelings  were.  No — he  could 
not  have  expressed  them  to  her  in  words,  he  did 
it  by  broken  syllables,  and  sighs,  and  fond  pres- 
sures of  her  fair  hand.  He  told  her  his  love,  the 
whole  of  it ;  its  length,  and  breadth,  and  depth. 
He  assured  her  that  for  her  alone  he  would  be 
willing  to  die.  No  infatuated  lover  ever  plead 
more  eanicstly,  or  in  more  broken  syllables. 

She  heard  him  through  patiently.  Did  she 
return  such  an  answer  to  his  petition  as  its  sin- 
cerity and  fervidness  demanded?  No,  no,  no  ! 
Poor  Mark  !  He  was  doomed  to  a  very  bitter 
disappointment  indeed. 

It  was  evident  that  while  Miss  Augusta  was 
quite  a  good  deal  flattered  with  this  declaration 
of  his  preference,  she  at  the  same  time  cared  but 
little  for  him  otherwise. 

Hastily  rising  from  her  seat  and  releasing 
her  hand,  she  made  some  quite  indifferent  re- 
mark, and  went  out  of  the  room.  The  young 
gentleman  was  thus  left  alone  to  his  bitter  re- 
flections. No  better  way  could  a  girl  have  taken 
by  which  to  express  her  disregard,  or  even  her 
contempt,  for  another's  feelings.  It  cut  Mr. 
Warland  to  the  quick. 

When  Augusta  returned,  her  cousin  Mary  was 
with  her.  She  did  not  mean  to  have  the  subject 
touched  that  evening,  it  was  plain.  Mark  sat 
only  as  long  as  might  seem  civil,  and  bidding 
the  young  ladies  a  "good-night,"  left  them. 

Never  seemed  the  night  so  dark,  or  the  street 
so  lonely,  to  Mark  before.  He  was  plunged  in 
profoundest  gloom.  The  sun  seemed  to  have 
gone  out  of  his  sky  altogether. 

He  reached  his  room  at  the  hotel  at  last,  and 
threw  himself  down  in  his  chair  by  the  window. 
By  that  same  window  he  had  had  the  sweetest 
dreams  ;  by  it  he  was  now  undergoing  the  most 
tortming  realities.  Was  ever  such  chagrin  1 
How  quickly  it  almost  turned  to  passion  !  How 
it  quite  boiled  over  in  his  now  unsteady  heart ! 
He  wished  a  thousand  times  lie  had  never  left 
the  city  for  a  country  tour.  He  thought  he  might 
have  been  spared  this  mortification  had  he  re- 
mained at  home. 

He  sat  and  thought  it  all  over  bitterly — his 
hopes  and  his  crushing  disappointments.  And 
when  he  had  at  length  arrived  at  the  inference, 
how  it  shocked  him  ! 

Augusta  might  have  heard  he  was  poor,  and 
so  slighted  his  address.  "Poor!"  thought  he; 
and  he  spake  the  odious  word  aloud  to  himself. 
"  Poor !"  That  must  have  been  the  cause.  He 
was  satisfied  of  it  abundantly.  And  then  he 
went  on  to  indulge  Ins  regrets,  and  repiuings, 
and  perplexities,  to  his  heart's  utmost  desire. 

While  he  was  absorbed  in  this  dismal  and 
highly  unhappy  mood,  liis  door  opened,  and  the 
communicative  landlord  stood  before  him.  He 
extended  a  letter  towards  his  new  lodger. 

"This  came  by  this  evening's  mail,"  said  he, 
looking  inquiringly  at  Mark's  expression. 

The  latter  took  it  from  his  hand,  and  nanow- 
ly  inspected  its  Tuperscription  by  the  light  the 
landlord  had  brought  with  him.  It  was  in  the 
handwriting  of  AgTies — Agnes,  the  "  dear  daugh- 
ter" of  his  old  landlady  in  toivn. 

He  waited,  with  a  considerable  degree  of  pa- 
tience, until  the  obliging  host  withdrew,  and  then 
broke  the  seal.  It  was  only  a  brief  note  from 
Agnes,  enclosing  a  letter  that  had  reached  his 
boarding-place  a  day  or  two  before.     Since  com- 


ing to  the  country,  we  should  have  explained  to 
the  reader  that  he  had  acquainted  Mi'S.  Tomp- 
kins— not  Agnes — with  bis  address,  and  request- 
ed that  any  letters  that  might  an'ive  in  his  ab- 
sence, should  be  sent  to  him.  This  was  the  fruit 
of  his  request. 

He  broke  the  seal  of  the  other  letter  and  read. 
As  his  eyes  ran  along  over  the  lines,  they  grew 
greater  Avith  astonishment.  He  read  the  letter 
through  to  the  last  line  witli  exceeding  excite- 
ment. It  was  from  the  lawyer  iu  his  native 
town,  a  great  many  hundred  miles  away  in 
another  State.  The  contents  were  to  the  very 
agreeable  effect  that  an  old  uncle  who  had  just 
died  had  left  for  his  personal  possession  and  en- 
joyment a  very  handsome  property,  and  that  his 
immediate  presence  there  would  be  much  for  his 
interest. 

AVc  will  not  stop  to  describe  the  excitement 
that  got  hold  upon  Mark  Warland  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  rose  from  his  chair,  and  his  first  im- 
pulse was  to  dance  and  jump  for  joy.  But  other 
and  soberer  thoughts  at  length  entered  his  mind, 
and  on  their  suggestion  he  began  to  make  the 
needful  preparations  for  his  journey.  He  intend- 
ed to  leave  in  the  moraing  by  early  stage,  and 
hastened  down  stairs  to  apprize  "mine  host"  of 
his  wish,  explaining  that  his  letter  contained 
news  of  importance,  upon  which  he  would  be 
obliged  to  absent  himself  immediately. 

There  was  no  leave-taking.  He  left  to^vn 
before  they  could  have  even  breakfasted  at  the 
Gregories,  and  not  so  much  as  a  message  had  he 
dropped  for  one  of  them. 

We  must  now,  as  the  novelists  say,  imagine 
many  months  to  have  passed  aivay.  During  that 
time,  perhaps,  Augusta  had  heard  of  her  new  ad- 
mirer's good  luck,  though  the  probability  is  that 
she  did  not. 

Summer  came  round  again.  It  was  yet  early 
in  the  season — early  June.  Mark  Warland,  now 
a  wealthy  man,  came  back  to  the  village  of  Elm- 
gi-ove  again,  stopping  at  the  old  hotel,  whose 
still  very  communicative  landlord  was  glad  to 
see  and  shake  hands  with  him. 

He  called  at  the  Gregories  again,  intending  to 
renew  his  acquaintance.  Mi'.  William  Gregory 
was  exceedingly  glad  to  see  him,  and  introduced 
him  to  the  young  ladies  again.  He  had  heard 
of  Mr.  AVarland's  new  streak  of  luck,  and  paid 
it  and  him  deference  accordingly. 

Stopping  in  the  village  for  several  days,  he 
followed  up  his  visits  to  that  place  with  consider- 
able assiduity.  Augusta  was  now  ready,  and 
perhaps  desirous,  to  meet  his  advances ;  while 
Mary,  the  cousin,  seemed  disposed  rather  to 
shun  them  altogether. 

However  matters  might  have  been  at  first,  Mr. 
Warland  determined  to  bring  them  speedily  to  a 
termination.     And  he  certainly  did. 

With  as  little  preliminary  pains-taking  as  pos- 
sible, he  passed  silently  by  the  proud  beauty  of 
Augusta,  and  offered  his  hand  and  newly-found 
fortune  to  her  cousin.  She  accepted  his  suit, 
and  they  were  betrothed. 

It  was  not  for  at  least  twenty-four  hours  that 
Augusta  heard  of  it.  When  she  did,  however, 
her  heart  was  full  of  wrath.  She  secretly  planned 
revenge  upon  Mark  Warland. 

And  could  Mary,  her  poor  cousin,  escape  her 
rage,  either  1  No.  She  must  be  sacrificed,  too. 
She  must  be  cruelly  punished  for  the  part  she 
liad  permitted  herself  to  take  in  this  humiliating 
affair.  It  was  now  kno%vn  through  the  village 
that  Mr.  Warland  had  recently  inherited  a  large 
fortune.  How  deep,  therefore,  was  Augusta's 
mortification  on  finding  that  she  had  been  thus 
passed  over  by  him,  and  her  poor  cousin  prefer- 
red to  her. 

Mark  sat  in  his  room  one  evening  again,  think- 
ing of  leaving  the  village  the  next  day  for  town, 
there  to  cany  out  his  aiTangements  for  his  ap- 
proaching marriage. 

He  heard  a  boisterous  knock,  or  bang,  upon 
the  door,  and  ordered  tlie  person  outside  to  come 
in.  The  door  opened,  and  in  walked  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Gregory.  He  stepped  briskly  up  before 
him,  and  demanded  to  know,  in  a  fierce  and  fu- 
rious voice,  why  he  had  so  treated  the  feelings  of 
his  sister. 

Mark  Warland  was  completely  thunderstruck. 
At  the  first  he  hardly  knew^  what  reply  to  make, 
or  whether  to  make  any.  So  he  was,  for  a  few 
minutes,  silent  altogether. 

"I  will  know  your  reason,"  continued  the 
other,  loudly,  "and  at  once!  More  depends 
upon  your  answer  than  you  can  possibly  be 
aware  of!" 

This  sentence  only  served  to  excite  and  aston- 
ish him  still  more  deeply.     At  length,  however, 


his  lips  were  unsealed.     He  replied  in  a  clear 
and  determined  tone : 

"  Mr.  Gregory,  never,  to  my  knowledge,  have 
I  injured  or  insulted  the  feelings  of  your  sister. 
I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  by  entering  my 
room  and  thus  addressing  me." 

"  Then  I  will  not  stop  to  tell  you  now,"  said 
he.  "  Here  is  my  card  ;"  and  he  flung  it  towards 
him  across  a  table.  "  You  will  hear  from  me 
again,  sir." 

Without  saying  another  word,  the  rampant 
young  man  went  out  of  the  room. 

Early  the  next  moniing.  Mi-.  AYarland  had 
left  town  in  the  stage. 

Three  days  afterwards,  while  still  at  his  old 
boarding-place  with  Mi's.  Tompkins,  he  received 
a  letter,  full  of  entreaty,  and  supplication,  and 
bestained  likewise  with  tears.  It  was  firom 
Mary. 

She  plead  for  pcnnission  to  come  to  him  at 
once.  She  aveiTcd  that  her  cousin's  treatment 
to  her  was  such  that  she  should  soon  die  if  left 
to  her  tender  mercies.  And  then  she  went  on 
with  a  narration  of  the  cruel  wrongs  that  had 
been  inflicted  upon  her  since  his  absence. 

It  fired  Mark  Warland  with  a  new  spirit.  He 
could  not  endure  that  the  betrothed  of  his  heart 
should  suffer  such,  or  any  indignities,  on  his  ac- 
count. He  sat  dowTi  to  his  table  at  once,  and 
wrote  a  long  reply.  He  begged  Mary  to  leave 
her  cousin's  house  at  once  and  forever,  and  re- 
mitted money  to  her  with  which  to  do  so. 

In  two  days  more  he  sat  by  her  side  in  a  room 
in  one  of  the  hotels  of  the  metropolis. 

They  were  speedily  married,  and  departed  to 
take  actual  possession  of  the  estate  that  had  been 
left  Mark  Warland  by  his  generous  and  consider- 
ate uncle. 

There  were  not  t^vo  happier  creatm-es  any- 
where than  were  these  two  ;  nor  certainly  could 
a  more  wTCtched  one  be  pointed  at  than  was 
Augusta.  She  was  left  with  her  bitter  reflections, 
and  her  exceedingly  sjinpathetic  brother  to  his 
own  chagrin.  The  contempt  with  which  Mark 
treated  him  only  served  to  add  to  the  unpalata- 
bleness  of  his  thoughts. 

Thus  is  it,  that  maniage  is  made  quite  as  of- 
ten to  go  by  fortune  as  by  favor.  The  true  heart 
at  last  obtained  its  recompense.  We  always  re- 
joice when  it  does. 


[Written  for  GleaBon's  Pictorial.} 
TO  A  ROSEBUD. 


BX  C.  JILLSON. 


Thou  art  smiling,  gentle  rosebud, 

Like  a  fair  and  artless  child  ; 
And  thy  looks  betoken  pleasure  free 

From  care  or  sorrow  wild  ; 
But  thy  moments  fast  are  fleeting, 

For  within  a  single  day 
Blushing  tints  will  glow  ^\ith  grandeur, 

And  at  evening  fade  away. 

Kings  and  nobles  love  thy  beauty, 

And  admire  thy  fragrance  sweet ; 
Maidens  clasp  thee  to  their  bosoms, 

And  thy  brief  existence  greet. 
But  they  seldom  know  the  meaning 

Of  thy  blushes  or  decay  ; 
Scarce  beheving  they  may  perish, 

And  like  rosebuds  fade  away. 

POLISH  HEROIS3I. 

At  the  storming  of  Warsaw,  the  principal  bat- 
tery was  only  defended  by  two  battalions,  but 
with  .such  bravery  as  history  can  hardly  parallel. 
AVhen  it  was  evident  that  it  could  no  longer  hold 
out,  several  privates  of  the  artillery  seated  them- 
selves on  powder  barrels  and  blew  themselves  up. 
But  the  conduct  of  General  Sowinski  was  truly 
heroic :  having  lost  one  foot  he  was,  at  his  ear- 
nest request,  seated  on  a  chair,  and  placed  on 
the  altar  of  the  desperately  defended  church, 
where  he  continued  to  give  orders  until  the  last 
of  his  comrades  was  cut  down,  when,  drawing 
forth  two  pistols,  he  with  one  shot  a  Russian  who 
was  rusliiug  upon  him,  and  with  the  exclama- 
tion, "  So  dies  a  Polish  general !"  fired  the  other 
into  his  own  heai't. — Hislory  of  Poland. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  A  KISS. 

llumid  seal  of  soft  affection, 

Tcnderest  pledge  of  future  bliss  ; 
Dearest  tie  of  young  connection, 

Love's  first  snow-drop,  virgin  kiss  ; 
Speaking  silence,  dumb  confession, 

Passion^s  birth,  and  infant  play  ; 
Dovelikc  fondness,  chaste  concession, 

Glowing  dawn  of  brighter  day.  , 

Sorrowing  joy,  adieu's  last  action, 

^^Tien  lingering  lips  no  more  must  join  ; 
1\niat  words  can  ever  speak  affection 

So  thrilling,  so  sincere  ns  thine. 

As  there  is  no  prosperous  state  of  life  without 
its  calamities,  so  there  is  no  advcrsi*y  without  its 
benefits. 


60 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DllAAVING   110(JM    (COMPANION. 


TIIK  VICTORIA  Ri:«IA. 

In  1801,  Iliciu'kc,  tliG  celebrated  botanist, 
discovered,  near  tlie  river  Amazon,  in  South 
Amoriea,  the  most  marvellous  plant  the  imng- 
iiiation  can  conceive  of.  It  was  evidently  a 
iilunt  rcsiinblin^  our  nenuphar,  or  pond  lily, 
nut  its^ij^autic  pro])ortions  j^ave  it  the  appear- 
ance of' a  dream.  In  fact  each  of  its  leaves, 
floatinp;  on  tho  water,  was  not  less  than  five 
feet  across,  some  even  beinp;  of  (greater  diam- 
eter. The  I)lossoms,  at  first  white,  but  when 
in  full  bloom  showing  a  briglit  rose-colored 
centre,  were  twelve  inches  in  diameter.  These 
plants  covered  11  sort  of  pond  for  more  than 
a  quarterof  a  Icugue.  ILcncke,  seized  with 
ndiniiation,  fell  upon  his  knees  in  the  bottom 
of  his  boat.  lie  died  in  the  course  of  his  trav- 
els, and  Iiis  notes  were  not  arranged  till  a 
lonfj  time  after  his  death.  In  1819  M.  do 
Bonpland,  in  his  tour,  had  found  the  Victoria 
Kcgia  at  Paraguay.  He  sent  some  of  tho 
seeds  to  Europe,  but  they  did  not  germinate. 
It  seemed  that  llicncke's  plant  differed  some- 
what fi'om  M.  IJonpland's.  Thus  the  plant 
seen  by  M.  Bonpland  has  leaves  green  on 
both  sides,  while  that  of^  Hscncke  had  the 
nndcr  side  of  tho  leaf  of  a  violet  purple. 
Hence  a  great  noise,  because  M.  d'Orbigny, 
who  had  met  M.  Bonpland's  plant,  in  1827, 
on  the  frontiers  of  Paraguay,  gave  it  the  name 
of  Victoria  Cruziana,  and  the  same  year  sent 
to  tlic  museum  of  Paris  a  drawing  of  it  with 
diicd  flowers  and  leaves,  while  lie  did  not  find 
ILcncke's  plant  till  1833,  one  year  after  Pccp- 
pig  had  met  it,  and  given  it  the  name  of  Eu- 
ryale  Amazonica,  instead  o(  Aluriiru,  by  which 
it  was  known  among  the  natives.  In  the 
year  1837,  Sir  Robert  Schomburg,  while  exploring  English 
Guiana,  sent  a  portrait  of  the  same  plant,  Hrenckc's,  to  England, 
designating  it  an  the  Ni/mphtra  Victorm.  In  1847,  Mr.  E.Gray 
described  it  in  the  "^Botanic  Journal,"  under  the  name  of  Victoria 
Regina.  Three  months  later,  Doctor  Lindley  published  Sir  Rob- 
ert Schombiu'g's  drawings,  and  baptized  the  plant  Victoria  Regia. 


■which  wins  the  race,  across  the  winning  post 
a  thread  is  stretched,  di|)ped  in  red  lead, 
which,  the  victor  breaking  it,  leaves  a  red 
mark  on  his  chest,  and  this  red  mark  is  de- 
cisive. To  guard  the  course,  a  great  number 
of  Roman  soldiers  under  arms  were  arranged 
on  each  side  of  it,  from  one  end  to  the  other. 
The  morning  after  the  first  race,  I  was  silting 
with  the  governor,  when  a  message  arrived 
from  the  general,  requesting  that  tlie  race 
might  be  deferred  till  another  day,  as  he 
tiiought  the  weather  too  cold  to  put  tlie  troops 
under  ann.^.  The  governor  replied  to  him  : 
'  That  as  the  weather  was  not  too  cold  for  the 
ladies,  he  thought  it  was  not  too  cold  for  the 
Roman  soldiers.'  I  have  seen  on  a  day  which 
threatened  rain  a  guard  of  Romans  turn  out, 
every  one  of  whom  had  an  unibi'clla  under 
his  arm,  the  drummer  and  filer  alone  excepted. 


GLISS  HOUSE  FOR  THL  ^^CTORI  V  REGIA,  AT  GHENT 

HORSE  RACING  IN  ITAIiY. 

The  following  description  of  horse  racing  in  Italy,  is  taken 
from  M'Gill's  travels  :  "  The  Iiorses  run  witliout  riders,  and,  to 
urge  them  on,  little  halls  with  sharp  points  in  them  are  hung  to 
their  sides,  which,  when  the  horse  is  employed  in  the  race,  act 
like  spurs.     They  have  also  pieces  of  foil  fastened  on  their  hinder 


THE  i;i»AS  TREE. 

We  published  some  time  since  an  account 
of  the  discovery  of  a  tree  on  the  Isthmus  of 
I'anama,  having  many  of  tlie  characteristics 
of  the  noted   Upas  tree  of  tlic  ]']ast,  as  it  is 
destructive  to  all  animal  and  vegetable  life 
that  comes  within  its  baneful  influence.     A 
number  of  the  Panama  Herald,  received  by  a 
late  arrival,  has  the  following  additional  no- 
tice  of  this   singular  vegetable  production  : 
"  Riding  out  upon  the  'Plains  '  a  few  miles 
fi-oni  the  city  the  other  day  with  a  friend,  we 
had  the  fortune  to  have  several  of  these  trees 
pointed  out  to  us.     As  far  around  each  as  its 
branches  extended,  the  ^rass  was  dead — the 
ground  almost  bare,  whilst  all  beyond  was 
fresh  and  green.     Each  tree  seemed  to  form 
a  circle  around  it  by  the  appearance  presented  by  the  dead  and 
live  grass.     They  were  all  alike  in  this  respect,  and  the  trees  all 
of  the  same   appearance  and  character.     Occasionally  the  skull 
of  a  dead  mule  or  other  animal  was  to  be  found  lying  eitlier  di- 
rectly under  the  tree,  or  nearby,  indicating  the  effects  of  its  deadly 
poison.     Anxious  as  we  felt  to  procure  a  branch  and  bring  it  to 


THE  LILY  BEFORE  OPENING. 


THE  LILY  IN  FULL  FLOWER. 


Mr.  Gray  took  umbrage.  Hooker  asked  that  it  should  be  called 
Victoria  Regince  for  analogical  reasons.  Mr.  Somcrby  claimed 
the  name  of  Victoria  Ainazonina,  to  conciliate  it  with  the  name 
given  by  Poeppig.  M.  d'Orbigny  had  previously  published  his 
claims  in  the  "  Echo  of  the  Learned  World."  War  was  kindled 
— a  great  deal  of  ink  was  shed,  but  yet  the  plant  did  not  reach 
Europe.  In  1837  Mr.  Robert  Schomburg  had  sent  roots, 
which  died  upon  the  passage.  In  1846,  Mr.  Bridges,  a  cele- 
brated collector,  went  expressly  to  collect  the  seeds,  and 
brought  them  home  in  a  jar  filled  with  moist  earth.  The 
Kew  gardens  bought  twenty-five  of  them — two  only  of  them 
germinated,  but  the  young  plants  perished  almost  immedi- 
ately. In  1848  an  English  physician  sent  home  both  plants 
and  seeds.  The  roots  arrived  rotted,  and  the  seeds  did  not 
germinate.  In  1849  some  English  people  living  at  George- 
town clubbed  together  and  sent  out  an  expedition  of  Indi- 
ans, who  brought  them  back  thirty-five  roots  of  the  marvel- 
lous plant — but  the  thirty-five  roots  all  perislied.  Finally, 
two  physicians,  Messrs.  Rodie  and  Luekie,  sent  some  seeds 
to  the  Kew  Gardens.  These  seeds,  transported  in  little 
vials  of  pure  water,  arrived  on  the  28th  of  February,  1849. 
On  the  23d  of  March  following,  six  plants  were  up  and  doing 
well.  One  of  these  six  plants,  transplanted  and  cultivated  at 
Chatsworth,  the  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  flow- 
ered the  8th  of  November,  1849.  A  second  flowered  on  the 
Duke  of  Northumberland's  estate  on  the  10th  of  April,  1850. 
Finally,  a  plant  from  one  of  the  Chatsworth  seeds,  was  sent 
to  Mr.  Van  Houtte,  the  celebrated  cultivator  of  Ghent,  on 
the  26th  of  May,  IS.'iO,  and  flowered  for  the  first  time  on  tlie 
5th  of  September  of  the  same  year.  This  account  is  taken 
from  the  complete  history  of  the  Victoria  Regia,  just  pub- 
lished by  the  "  Flora  of  European  Green-houses  and  Gar- 
dens." This  work  contains  a  full  description  of  the  crys- 
tal palace  that  Mr.  Van  Houtte  constructed  for  his  fair 
guest,  and  the  apparatus  for  heating  and  cultivating  the 
Victoria  Rejria.  Tlie  glass  ought  to  have  a  temperature  of 
28  degi-ces  (Centigrade),  which  the  sun  raises  to  35,  and  the 
water  a  warmth  of  29  or  32  degrees  (Centigrade).  An  en- 
tire volume  is  devoted  to  the  Victoria  Regia.  With  the  in- 
structions contained,  any  one  can  easily  establisli  a  glass, 
and  commence  the  cultivation  of  this  regal  flower.  Unfor- 
tunately the  amusement  is  costly,  and  few  individuals  are 
likely  to  incur  tlie  expense.  Wt  hope,  however,  that  the 
Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society  will  make  the  experi- 
ment. It  is  something  they  owe  to  their  well-established 
reputation. 


parts,  which,  as  the  animal  rashes  through  the  air,  makes  a  loud 
rustlino;  noise,  and  frightens  tliem  forward.  I  was  much  amused 
at  the  horse  races  at  Ancona.  A  gun  is  fired  when  they  first  start, 
that  preparations  may  be  made  to  receive  them  at  the  ofher  end. 
When  they  have  run  halfway,  another  gun  is  fired,  and  a  third 
when  they  have  arrived  at  the  goal.     To  ascertain  without  dispute 


the  city  that  its  fluids  might  be  subjected  to  a  chemical  analysis, 
we  were  deterred  by  the  threatening  appearance  they  presented. 
We  have  no  doubt  as  to  the  nature  of  the  tree  being  as  poisonous 
as  the  deadly  Upas  of  Java,  long  celebrated  for  its  poisonous 
qualities,  which,  however,  have  been  very  much  exaggerated. 
This  latter  tree  belongs  to  the  urticece,  the  same  natural  family 
with  the  nettle,  mulberry  and  bread-fruit.  It  attains  large 
dimensions,  and  is  often  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in  height, 
with  a  trunk  six  feet  in  diameter  at  the  base.  The  bark  is 
smooth  and  whitish  ;  the  wood  white  ;  the  leaves  caduceous, 
and  often  crisped.  The  juice  flows  abundantly  on  incision, 
is  very  viscous,  bitter,  yellowish,  if  from  the  trunk,  but  white 
if  taken  from  the  younger  branclies.  The  emanations  from 
this  tree  are  dangerous  to  certain  individuals,  while,  as  in 
the  poison  sumach,  others  are  not  the  least  affected  by  them. 
Fioni  the  juice  is  prepared  the  frightful  Upas  poison.  That 
obtained  from  this  tree,  however,  acts  in  a  different  manner, 
and  not  so  quickly  as  the  Upastieiite.  This  last  is  the  pro- 
duct of  a  species  of  sfri/chnos,  from  the  same  countiy,  a  vine 
which  ascends  to  the  summits  of  the  highest  trees.  The 
root  is  woodv,  and  about  the  size  of  a  man's  arm." 


THE  UNDER  PART  OF  THE  LEAF. 


MUSICAL  COFFEE  POTS. 

Two  weeks  ago  we  awoke,  on  a  bright  morning,  and 
heard  such  liquid  notes  as  made  us  look  with  infinite  disre- 
gard upon  the  brick  and  mortar  erections  which  fro\vn  upon 
us,  giraficly,  from  all  parts  of  this  dusty  city.  At  first  we 
CimsidiTcd  that  tiic  wood-nymphs  of  some  orange  grove  in 
the  far  sunny  South  had  benignly  rcco<;ni7.cd  the  soce  wants 
of  us  cold  Northerners,  and  had  straightway  dispatched 
scores  of  winged  messengers,  as  prophets  uf  summer's  com- 
ing delights.  Our  bed  became  suddenly  distasteful  to  us — 
■\^  e  sprang  up — listened  ;  a  full  chorus  of  bob-o'hnks,  robins 
and  yellow  birds  greeted  us  in  rich  melodic  variety  !  We 
advanced  to  the  window — our  eye  wandered  far  and  near,  in 
greedy  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  feathered  warblers, 
and  we  were  on  the  point  of  sinking  into  a  state  of  uncom- 
fortable disappointments,  fancying  that  it  was  one  of  those 
strnn^a'  kinds  of  music  sometimes  heard  from  within  our 
mysterious  being  and  then  suddenly  leaving  us,  when  lo ! 
perched  upon  a  fence  close  to  our  dwelling,  were  two  ragged 
urchins,  attached  to  whose  mouths  were  miniature  leaden 
coffee-pots,  out  of  the  spouts  of  which  came  the  rare  music. 
Our  Johnny  considers  this  the  great  discovery  of  the  age, 
and  we  "  discover"  every  morning,  now-a-days,  a  shrill  and 
feeling  confirmation  of  the  opinion. — Musical  World. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOI^I    COMPANION. 


61 


rREDEEICK   GLEASOX,   Pkopkietor. 

MAIUKIN   M.    BALLOU,    Eiitob. 

.^.■^"'.•^■-■'.'.-.■■.■V"..T.^-T,-^-V'->.'>.'^---.\"^\'>.->.-\,T._-l,V't%.^-,.->.--.-V"l.T-V  V- 

CONTENTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER. 

"The  Young  Philosopher,  a  sketch  for  parents,"  a 
story,  by  Sylvakos  Cobb. 

"  Gen.  ■\Vinfield  Scott,"  an  incident  in  the  days  of  the 
Canadian  ReboLlion,  by  Geo.  S.  U.\y.«ond. 

"Isabella,"' a  story,  by  Eva  Milford. 

"  Tlie  Victim  of  Temptation,"  a  prose  eketch,  by  Mrs. 
E.  Wellmoxt. 

"  Presumption,"  Terses,  by  Wm.  T.  Hilsee. 

"  Attendant  Angels,"  verses,  by  W.  A,  t'OGG. 

"  Humble  Worth,"  verses,  by  Joseph  Comer. 

"  Lines  to  Miss  Augusta  Eaton." 

"  Death  at  Sunset,"  verses,  by  Lelia  Mortimeii. 

"Letters,"  verses,  by  Edward  Ashton. 

"  Ode  to  America,"  by  Chas.  II.  Stewart. 

"  Lines  to  the  late  Hon.  Henry  Clay." 

"  The  Woods,"  verses,  by  Joseph  H-  Butler, 

ILLTJSTItATIONS. 

We  shall  give  our  readers  a  fine  picture  of  the  Farm 
School,  Thompson's  Island,  Boston  Harbor,  sketched  by 
our  artist,  Mr.  Mad-ry. 

A  second  series  of  cuts  relating  to  Niagara  Falls,  and  a 
most  admirable  set  it  will  be,  embracing,  first,  a  grand 
view  of  the  Falls  from  the  American  side,  a  most  original 
and  striking  engraving  ;  second,  a  view  of  the  factories  ; 
third,  a  grand  and  magnificent  view  of  the  Falls  on  the 
Canada  side  of  the  river  ;  fourth,  an  admirable  picture  of 
that  wonder,  only  second  to  Niagara  itself,  the  Suspension 
Bridge  across  the  immense  span,  and  directly  over  the 
rapid  and  deep  running  river ;  fifth,  the  Light  House ; 
sixth  and  closing  scene  of  the  series  will  represent  the 
Grand  Rapids,  and  the  Horse  Shoe  Falls. 

A  large  and  magnificent  engraving  will  be  given,  cover- 
ing an  entire  page  of  the  Pictorial,  representing  the  Ite- 
ception  of  the  Hon.  Daniel  Webster  in  Boston,  July  9th, 
1852.  by  his  fellow-citizens.  This  fine  picture  is  by  our 
artist,  Mr.  Rowse^  and  represents  the  procession  and  cor- 
tege in  all  its  splendor  and  most  striking  effect. 

A1.S0  a  second  scene  illustrative  of  the  same  event,  by 
our  artist,  Mr.  Manning,  representing  the  ceremony  on 
Boston  Common,  where  Mr.  Webster  was  formally  wel- 
comed. 

A  picture  representing  the  remains  of  Henry  Clay  lying 
in  state  at  New  York,  as  visited  by  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  the  citizens  of  that  city,  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Ckapui. 

Also  a  fac-simile  of  the  metallic  Burial  Case  for  the  re- 
mains of  the  illustrious  st!it<^man  and  beloved  citizen, 
also  by  Mr.  Chapin. 

An  interesting  representation  of  the  Dagger  lately  man- 
\ifactured  as  a  present  for  the  Sable  Emperor,  Faustin 
I.,  of  Haj-ti,  a  very  admirable  picture,  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Wade. 

We  shall  present  a  fine  picture  of  Fetridge  &  Co.'s 
Periodical  Depot,  Washington  street, 

A  likeness  mil  be  given  of  that  queer  and  antique 
specimen  of  humanity,  the  late  Lord  Timothy  Dexter. 


THE  CINCINNATI  AGENCY. 

In  answer  to  numerous  inquiries  as  to  the 
agency  of  our  paper  in  Cincinnati,  we  would  say 
to  all  that  Mr.  R.  E.  Edwards  is  not  our  an:ent, 
and  no  business  is  transacted  for  this  establish- 
ment by  him.  Persons  desiring  our  publications 
in  that  city,  or  the  State  of  Ohio  generally, 
should  apply  to  A.  C.  Bagley,  No.  10,  West 
Third  St.,  who  will  answer  all  orders  promptly 
and  konorahlif.  "We  may  have  more  to  say  in  a 
future  number  relative  to  our  Cincinnati  agency. 


SPLIXTEKS. 


The  Bostonians  have  been  wilting  under 

some  tremendous  hot  weather. 

....  The  Webster  reception  was  certainly 
ahead  of  everything  of  the  sort  yet  got  up. 

The  American  yacht,  Truant,  has  beaten 

three  Liverpool  yachts  already. 

The  Mayor  of  Cincinnati  fined  a  po- 
liceman, lately,  $9,  for  gambling  on  Sunday. 

The  Boston  Post  is  the  fairest  and  most 

respected  party  journal  in  the  country. 

We  regret  to   see   that  the   cholera  is 

raging  at  St.  Louis  and  throughout  the  AVcst. 

....  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  has  had  a  large  sale, 
but  the  book  is  a  perfect  "  mush." 

Can  any  body  tell  whether  the  "  bottom 

is  out"  of  Vermont  Central  or  not  ? 

....  Twenty  years  is  said  to  be  the  average 
age  of  the  graduates  of  Harvard  College. 

....  Our  friends  in  Canada  complain  sadly 
of  the  want  of  rain  for  vegetation. 

....  The  thermometer  is  usually  highest  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

The  ISr.  T.  Herald  talks  about  Mr.  Web- 
ster's taking  Mr.  Lawrence's  place  at  London. 

....  Several  persons  in  this  vicinity  have 
lately  died  of  sun  stroke.     Hot  weather  this. 

The  Scotch  hoast  a  line  of  one  hundred 

and  fifteen  kings  who  reigned  2000  years. 

....  Hungary,  without  the  provinces  annexed, 
contains  a  population  of  7,864,562. 


GOLD!    GOLD! 

The  abundant  discover)-  of  this  precious  metal 
in  California  seems  to  have  been  only  the  pre- 
sage to  its  development  as  indigenous  to  various 
other  parts  of  the  world.  It  is  but  about  four 
years  since  our  auriferous  treasures  were  first 
brought  to  light ;  and  within  less  than  a  year 
the  colonics  of  New  Soutli  Wales  and  Victoria 
have  each  shipped  about  one  million's  wortli  of 
gold,  or  two  millions' wonli  in  all,  ($10,000,000.) 
And  when  it  is  considered  that  this  has  been  the 
product  of  unskilled  mining,  of  labor  untrained 
to  the  peculiar  employment,  untaught  by  sci- 
ence, unsustaiued  by  capital;  that  the  number  of 
diggers  has  ever  home  the  most  insignificant 
proportion  to  the  extent  and  richness  of  the 
field,  and  that  every  day  new  regions  of  aurifer- 
ous deposits  are  foimd  in  almost  every  part  of 
the  interior,  to  the  north  and  to  the  south,  as 
well  as  to  the  west,  some  estimate  as  to  what 
Australia  is  to  achieve  hereafter,  may  be  formed. 

This  million  of  gold  produced  in  New  South 
Wales  has  been  gatliered  without  any  serious 
detriment  to  other  interests,  says  a  Sydney  pa- 
per, and  with  the  least  possible  disturbance  to 
public  order  and  tranquillity.  Our  com  fields 
have  still  been  cultivated,  our  sheep  have  still 
been  shorn.  Our  metropolitan  city  remains  a 
busy  scene  of  commerce,  and  stately  buildings 
arc  rising  up  in  her  streets.  Our  mining  opera- 
tions have  assumed  the  character  of  settled  in- 
dustry ;  our  gold  is  collected  without  bustle  or 
confusion,  and  securely  carried  to  mai'ket  by  tlie 
regularly  established  government  escorts,  at 
moderate  expense  to  proprietors ;  while  the 
quantities  brought  to  town  and  shipped  for  ex- 
portation, are  reported  in  the  newspapers  as 
well  as  those  of  any  other  of  our  raw  produc- 
tions. The  admirable  order  which  has  all 
along  been  maintained  at  our  diggings,  not  by 
military  restraint,  but  by  the  good  sense  and 
moral  rectitude  of  a  great  mass  of  the  diggers 
themselves,  is  indeed  a  just  cause  of  pride. 

A  ^^gorous  stream  of  emigration,  according 
to  the  last  news  received  from  thence,  was 
setting  in  from  California  and  the  South  Sea 
Islands,  and  hundreds  of  American  diggers 
might  be  seen  walking  the  streets  of  Sydney, 
working  towards  the  gold  regions.  The  new 
settlement  of  Canterbury  was  deserted ;  Wel- 
lington and  Auckland  were  nearly  in  the  same 
condition,  and  at  Van  Diemen's  Land  a  similar 
result  was  expected.  Elour  was  down  to  from 
£10  to  X12  per  ton,  retail,  and  several  tons  from 
Chili  had  been  sold  by  the  cargo  as  low  as  £1 
10s.  Meat,  tea,  sugar,  and  other  articles  of  do- 
mestic consumption  were  abundant  and  cheap. 
The  agricultural  interests  had  not  suffered — ■ 
neither  had  the  pastoral  interests,  especially  in 
the  Sydney  district— but  at  Port  Philip  labor 
vras  getting  extremely  scai-ce,  and  it  was  feared 
that  shepherds'  wages  in  Port  Philip  would  run 
up  to  an  unprecedentedly  high  rate.  In  short, 
the  same  eftects  are  produced  as  resulted  from 
the  discoveries  in  California,  and  by-and-by 
Australia  will  settle  down  into  the  same  un- 
ruffled condition  of  prosperity  that  has  already 
begun  to  characterize  our  young  State  on  the 
Pacific.  But  what  is  to  be  the  ultimate  result  of 
throwing  such  an  immense  amount  of  gold  into 
circulation  is  more  than  the  wisest  can  exactly 
foresee. 

Vekt  singular. — A  wild  man  has  been  said 
to  be  roaming  thi'ough  the  great  Mississippi  bot- 
tom, in  the  State  of  Arkansas.  Numerous  trav- 
ellers and  hunters  have  asserted  that  they  have 
seen  him,  but  none  have  ever  been  able  to  get 
near  enough  to  give  particulars  concerning  this 
strange  being.  The  creatui-e  is  said  unmistak- 
ably to  be  a  hiunan  being,  over  seven  feet  high, 
but  with  all  tlie  shyness  and  habits  of  a  wild 
animal. 


The  Platfobm. — Editors  are  strange  peo- 
ple, and  have  sometimes  an  odd  way  of  ex- 
pressing themselves.  One  says  that  the  Balti- 
more platfonns  are  like  feather  beds.  They  are 
not  fit  to  stand  on,  but  excellent  to  Ue  upon. 


Profitable. — It  is  said  that  Mr.  J.  Heritage, 
of  Burlington  county,  N.  J.,  received  this  year 
Sl,000  from  an  acre  and  a  half  of  ground  plant- 
ed with  strawberries. 


Big  Sum. — The  income  of  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh, from  its  property,  is  about  two  and  a 
half  millions  of  dollars  a  year. 

Fine  Arts. — The  great  Murillo  painting  of 
the  Conception,  is  to  be  engraved  in  the  highest 
stvle  of  art  in  France. 


BLIND  ASYLUM,  SOUTH  BOSTON. 

Our  artist  has  presented  for  us  on  page  G4,  a 
perfect  delineation  of  this  noble  charitable  insti- 
tution. The  building  in  Pearl  Street,  Boston, 
originally  conveyed  to  the  trustees  of  the  institu- 
tion by  Col.  T.  H.  Perkins,  of  this  city,  for  the 
use  of  the  asjdum,  in  the  year  1833,  was  after- 
wards exchanged  for  the  present  building  on 
Mount  Washington,  South  Boston.  The  actual 
extent  of  the  grounds  belonging  to  the  institu- 
tion is  about  one  acre. 

The  pupils  in  the  school  are  taught  reading, 
writing,  arithmetic,  geography,  history,  natural 
jihilosophy,  natural  history,  and  physiology. 
They  are  carefully  instructed  in  the  theory  and 
practice  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music.  Be- 
sides this  they  are  taught  some  handicraft  work 
by  which  they  may  earn  tlieir  livelihood.  In 
this  institution,  for  the  first  time  in  the  world's 
history,  successful  attempts  were  made  to  break 
through  the  doitble  walls  in  which  Blind-Deaf- 
Mutes  are  immured,  and  to  teach  thera  a  sys- 
tematic language  for  communion  with  their  fel- 
low-men. Laura  Bridgman  and  Oliver  Caswell 
are  living  refutations  of  the  legal  and  popular 
maxim  that  those  who  are  born  both  deaf  and 
blind  must  be  necessarily  idiotic.  They  are  pio- 
neers in  the  way  out  into  the  light  of  knowledge, 
which  may  be  followed  by  many  others. 

In  1844,  a  supplementary  institution  grew  out 
of  the  parent  one,  for  the  employment  in  handi- 
craft work  of  such  blind  men  and  women  as 
could  not  readily  find  employment  at  home. 
This  establishment  has  been  highly  successful. 
A  spacious  and  convenient  workshop  has  been 
built  at  South  Boston,  to  which  the  workmen 
and  women  repair  every  day,  and  ai-e  furaished 
with  work,  and  paid  all  they  can  earn. 

The  general  course  and  history  of  the  Perkins 
Institution  has  been  one  of  remarkable  success. 
It  has  always  been  under  the  direction  of  one 
person.  It  has  grown  steadily  in  public  fiivor, 
and  is  the  means  of  extended  usefulness.  In 
1832  it  was  an  experiment;  it  had  but  six  pupils; 
it  was  in  debt,  and  was  regarded  as  a  visionaiy 
enterprise.  In  1833  it  was  taken  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  the  State ;  it  was  patronized  by  the 
wealthy,  and  enabled  to  obtain  a  permanent  local 
habitation  and  a  name. 

The  terms  of  admission  are  as  follows :  the 
children  of  citizens  of  Massachusetts,  not  abso- 
lutely wealthy, //ee;  others,  at  the  rate  of  S160 
a  year,  which  covers  all  expenses  except  for 
clothing.  Applicants  must  be  under  16  years  of 
age.  Adults  are  not  received  into  the  institution 
proper,  but  they  can  board  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  be  taught  trades  in  the  workshop  gratuitous- 
ly. After  six  months  they  are  put  upon  wages. 
This  department  is  a  self-supporting  one,  but  its 
success  depends  upon  the  sale  of  goods,  at  the 
depot.  No.  20,  Bromfield  Street.  Here  may  be 
found  the  work  of  the  blind  ;  all  warranted,  and 
put  at  the  lowest  market  prices ;  nothing  being 
asked  or  expected  in  the  way  of  charity.  The 
institution  is  not  rich,  except  in  the  confidence  of 
the  public,  and  the  patronage  of  the  legislature. 


Preserve  tour  Numbers. — Let  us  remind 
our  subscribers,  thus  early  in  the  volume,  of  the 
importance  of  preserving  their  numbers  for  bind- 
ing. After  you  have  your  volume  complete,  let 
it  be  remembered  that  we  bind  it  with  gilt  edge, 
gilt  back,  and  illumined  sides,  in  the  most 
perfect  and  durable  form,  for  one  dollar.  By 
preserving  your  numbers,  a  beautiful  and  valu- 
able volume  may  be  thus  secured. 


Interesting. — One  of  the  workmen  at  Low- 
ell Island  recently  found  a  pine  tree  shilling,  one 
of  those  venerable  relics  of  the  early  days  of 
Massachusetts,  in  the  old  hulk  of  a  vessel  which 
lies  upon  the  beach  near  the  steamboat  landing. 
On  one  side  is  the  inscription,  "  New  England, 
An.  Dom.  1652 — xii."  On  the  other  is  a  pine 
tree,  sm'rounded  by  the  word  "  Massathvsets." 


Good  Return. — ^A  gardener,  near  Boston,  has 
already  received  fourteen  hundred  dollars  for 
strawberries  sold  this  season  in  Quincy  Market. 
They  were  grown  on  a  seven-acre  lot,  and  the 
earliest  and  best  netted  him  four  dollars  a  box. 


Good. — Dr.  Beman,  of  Troy,  remarked  in  a 
sennon  lately,  that  if  Franklin  tamed  the  light- 
ning, Professor  Morse  taught  it  the  English  lan- 
guage. 


Come. — The  " seventeen  year  locusts"   have 
made  their  appearance  in  Connecticut. 


New    Church. — The    Catholics    of    Ports- 
mouth, N.  H.,  are  about  erecting  a  church. 


In  this  city  by  Rev.  Mr,  Miner,  Mr.  Joseph  Elandren  to 
Miss  Mary  F.  Emmons. 

By  Kev.  Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Charles  Andrews  to  Miss  Julia 
Seavy, 

By  William  Palfrey.  Esq.,  Mr.  Andrew  J.  Locke,  of 
Portsmouth,  N.  H  ,  to  Miss  Caroline  A.  Haye,'. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  John  G.  Walton  to  Miss 
Mar>'  E.  Fos.';. 

Bv  Bishop  Eastbum,  Mr.  Lonis  F,  Baker,  of  New  York, 
to  ISWss  Helen  E.  Wright. 

By  James  C.  Merrill,  Jr.  EKq.,Mr.  PaulSchulze  to  Miss 
Mary  Augustien. 

At  Charle.stown,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Caldicott,  Mr,  George 
Melcher  to  Miss  Caroline  E.  Wiley. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Emerson,  Mr.  .Tames  G.  Blake  to 
Miss  Adehne  0.  Gray,  both  of  Boston. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  3Ir.  Eddy,  Mr.  John  L.  Moses  to 
Miss  Mary  B.  Kidder. 

At  Dracut,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Thompson,  Mr.  William  A. 
Web.ster  to  Miss  Electa  Foster. 

At  Andover,  by  Samuel  Johnson,  Esq.,  Mr.  Ebenezer 
L.  Hatch  to  Miss  Roxunna  Hunt. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Van  Campen,  Mr.  Benja- 
min F.  Lewis  to  Miss  Louisa  A.  Bearse. 

At  Taunton,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Maltby,  Mr.  James  Nield  to 
Miss  Hannah  Barton, 

At  AVest  Springlield,  Mr,  John  Avery,  of  Holyofce,  to 
Miss  Harriet  J.  Brooks. 

At  Fairhaven,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Houghton,  Mr.  Nathan 
Sherman  to  Miss  CaroUne  M,  Paine,  both  of  Rochester. 

At  Wiscas.set,  Me.,  Capt.  Albert  J,  Averell,  of  San 
Francisco,  to  Miss  vVnna  B.  Foote. 


In  this  citv,  Mrs.  Betsey  Ridgway,  66  ;  Mrs.  Charlotte 
White.  35  ;  Mr.  John  Laggon,  53  ;  Mr.  Daniel  Weld,  79  ; 
Mrs.  Lucy  Ann  Allen  Phippen,  35. 

At  South  Boston,  Mr.  James  McKenney,  39. 

At  Chelsea,  Mr.  Asa  Porter,  27. 

At  Cambridgeport,  Frances  T..  child  of  Mr.  J.  Eaton,  11. 

At  Cambridge,  Mr.  Edward  WeBington,  22. 

At  Brighton,  Charles  H.,  son  of  Mr.  J.  F.  White,  11. 

At  Dorchester,  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Hood,  22. 

At  Newburyport,  Miss  Mary  Nelson,  94. 

At  Beverly,  Mrs.  Anna  Cressy,  56. 

At  Worcester,  Mrs.  Alona  D.  Mirick,  31. 

At  Sutton,  Mr.  John  W.  Merse,  22. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mr.  William  M.  Rickerson,  20. 

At  OakhJim,  Mr.  Archibald  H.  Ware,  46. 

At  Spencer,  Mr.  Elias  Hall,  73. 

At  New  Boston,  N.  H.,  Mrs  Alice  Daggett,  81. 

At  lUndge,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Sarah  Payson  Barker,  76. 

At  Windham,  N.  H.,  Miss  Emeline  A.  Simpson,  30. 

At  Providence,  R.  I.,  Mr.  Peleg  W.  Gardner,  Jr.,  25. 

At  Foster,  R.  I..  Mr.  Peter  Hopkins.  98. 

At  Portland,  5Ie..  Mrs.  Sarah  H.  Elder,  44. 

At  Parsonsfield,  Me.,  Mr.  John  Fenderson,  96. 

At  Avigusta,  Me.,  Mi-s.  Marv  F.  Day,  28. 

At  Burlington,  Vt..  Mr  Rvfield  Pierce,  88. 

At  New  York.  Mr.  D.  Temple  Knowlton,  28. 

At  St.  Louis,  Mrs  Ehzabeth  Renou,  42. 

At  New  Orleans,  Mr.  Alvin  Wetherby,  48. 

At  San  Francisco,  Mr.  Warren  Kingman,  44, 

At  Carthage,  Texas,  Mr.  William  Eaton,  33. 

At  St,  Helena,  Mr.  Edward  A.  H.  Dale,  of  Boston,  22. 


AND 

LITERAKY  WEEKLY  JOURKAL. 


GLEASOVS    PICTOEIAL 

jDrrtwtitg^Uootit  (Jloin^rtittOiT, 

A  Hecord  of  the  beautiful  and  use/id  in  Art. 

The  object  of  tliis  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  tlie  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AKEEEICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  tlie  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

vrith  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  ch.^nicter  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fi.sh  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  now 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  exprciisly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixtj^-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasm.uch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  alTords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  U  to 
make  the  jiapor  loved,  respected,  .ind  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

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Published  ever/  S.\.TL":;aAy.  by 

F.    GLEASON,  Eosrox,  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS, 

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A.  ^V^NCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
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62 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COlNfP ANION. 


LWritton  for  Olonaon's  Pictorial.] 
CVVRKIE  IVEI^. 

BY  BYDNBV  B.  OIIOROK. 

Memories  of  pnst  iliiyn  como  oVr  mc, 

Thoy  iiro  hiiiI  to  toll ; 
And  mcthinks  who's  now  before  mo, 

■\Vhoiii  I  lovoil  HO  well. 
Ah,  those  days  ivitli  joy  wore  laden, 

Deepest  joy  to  me, 
For  there  wan  a  little  maiden, 

Gentle  Carrie  Ijco. 

Ah,  she  tripped  at  Bunsot's  glowing, 

By  the  river's  side, 
Loving  well  to  hear  the  flowing 

Of  its  rushing  tide. 
Gave  sho  there  one  summer  oven, 

All  her  love  to  me  ; — 
Angel  now  ;  for  dwells  in  heaven 

Lovely  Carrie  Leo. 

Suroly  her  young  heart  was  lighter 

Tlian  should  long  he  hero  ; 
Suroly  her  pure  aoul  was  brighter 

Than  those  to  her  near. 
Ah,  the  moments  pass  but  slowly, 

Sad  are  they  to  mc. 
For  sweet  i-oses  kiss  the  lowly 

Grave  of  Carrie  Lee. 
1  ^■—  > 

[Written  for  Gleaaon's  Pictorial.] 

WORKS   OF  LOVE. 

BY  MRS.  S.  P.  DOUGHTY. 

"  Where  is  tliat  pretty  little  seamstress,  with 
whom  I  was  so  much  pleased  tlie  last  time  I  vis- 
ited you^"  inquired  Aunt  Hannah  of  her  niece, 
Maiy  Graham,  as  they  seated  themselves  before 
a  glowing  fire  on  the  morning  after  the  good 
lady's  arrival  for  her  annual  Christmas  visit. 

"Lucy  Somers  you  mean,"  replied  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. "  She  left  me  about  six  months  ago.  I  am 
sorry  to  tell  you  tliat  I  heard  unfavorable  reports 
concerning  her  early  life,  wliich  appeared  too 
well  founded,  and  I  tliought  it  my  duty  to  dis- 
miss her.  She  was  an  industrious,  modest  little 
thing,  and  I  pitied  her  most  sincerely ;  but  on 
my  children's  account,  you  know,  it  would  never 
answer  to  have  kept  her.  I  am  told,  upon  good 
authority,  that  she  was  ai-rested  as  a  common 
thief,  and  only  liberated  from  motives  of  com- 
passion for  her  youth  and  helpless  condition. 
Shocking,  is  it  not  V 

"  Very  sad,  certainly,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but 
did  you  carefully  inquire  into  the  circumstances, 
Maiy  ?  The  facts  of  the  case  might  have  ex- 
tenuated her  fault." 

"  Impossible,  Aunt  Hannah  !  Wliat  circum- 
stances could  excuse  or  palliate  such  an  act  of 
■wickedness  ?  I  have  always  regarded  theft  as 
one  of  the  lowest  forms  of  vice." 

*'  The  commandment,  '  Thou  shalt  not  steal,* 
is  a  broad  one,  and  involves  many  meanings," 
returned  the  elderly  lady.  "  There  are  few  of  us 
who  understand  and  keep  it  as  it  should  be  kept. 
The  rich  generally  obey  it  in  its  most  external 
sense,  for  they  are  not  tempted  to  do  otherwise. 
They  know  nothing  of  the  bitter  cup  of  poverty 
—when  the  poor  starving  wretch  sees  those 
around  him  who  are  revelling  in  luxury,  and 
feels  that  if  he  but  extends  his  hand  to  take  the 
erust  which  is  denied  him,  he  shall  be  branded 
as  a  thief.  But,  in  my  opinion,  he  who  has  abun- 
dance and  withholds  relief  from  a  suffering  fel- 
low-creature is  really  as  guilt}-  of  theft,  as  the 
poor  man  would  be,  if  he  took  what  was  thus 
withheld.  We  are  but  stewards  of  the  property 
entrusted  to  our  care,  and  we  are  plainly  com- 
manded to  relieve  the  needy.  What  right  have 
we  to  neglect  this  command,  and  minister  only 
to  our  own  selfish  gratification  1" 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say.  Aunt 
Hannah,"  replied  her  niece,  thoughtfully ;  "but 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  treat  the  common  form 
of  theft  almost  too  lightly," 

"  Not  at  all,  Mary.  I  regard  it  as  a  deep  sin 
against  the  laws  of  God  and  man ;  but  the 
wretchedly  poor  are  sometimes  placed  in  circum- 
stances when  it  becomes  almost  an  act  of  self- 
preservation,  and  I  would  have  their  more  fortu- 
nate brethren  pause  and  consider  ere  they  wholly 
condemn  them.  Do  not  they,  with  every  want 
supplied,  sometimes  take  from  others  what  is 
justly  their  own  'i  How  little  does  the  rich  lady 
regard  the  value  of  the  time  of  tlie  dependent, 
whom  she  keeps  in  waiting  hour  after  hour  for 
the  most  frivolous  reasons,  Avithout  considering 
that  every  moment  thus  lost,  diminishes  the  little 
Btore  which  is  perhaps  to  support  a  lielpless  fam- 
ily. You  yourself,  Mary,  are  sometimes  thought- 
less in  this  respect.  This  very  morning,  when 
Sally  told  you  that  the  woman  you  had  promised 


to  employ  in  sewing  was  below,  you  replied  that 
it  was  not  convenient  for  you  to  attend  to  her 
then,  she  could  call  again  to-morrow.  Did  it 
occur  to  you  that  this  woman  liud  spent  her  time 
in  coming  to  your  house  ? — and  tliat  in  this  very 
time  she  might  have  earned  a  few  pennies  to 
purciiase  a  loaf  of  bread  to  relieve  the  hunger  of 
herself  or  others ''." 

*'  She  might,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Graham.  "  It 
is  a  long  walk  from  the  place  where  she  told  mc 
she  lived,  and  I  have  reason  to  think  her  in  great 
need.     I  am  sorry  I  was  so  inconsiderate." 

"Forgive  me,  Mary,  for  pressing  the  point; 
but  I  am  anxious  that  you  should  see  this  matter 
in  its  true  light  Supposing  by  this  thoughtless 
act  you  deprived  the  poor  woman  of  the  profits 
of  two  or  three  hours'  work,  is  it  not  just  as 
much  taking  what  is  not  your  own,  as  if  you 
had  taken  money  from  her  purse  V 

"I  must  allow  that  it  is,  Aunt  Hannah,  and 
the  lesson  shall  not  be  thrown  away  upon  me. 
But  here  come  the  children,  quite  wild  to  em- 
brace you.  It  was  so  late  when  you  arrived  last 
evening  that  I  directed  the  nursery  maid  to  keep 
the  joyful  news  a  secret  until  after  the  little  folks 
had  breakfasted  this  morning." 

As  she  spoke,  four  lovely  children  ran  into 
the  room,  and  springing  upon  Aunt  Hannah, 
nearly  devoured  her  with  kisses,  to  the  no  small 
detriment  of  her  nicely-plaited  cap  and  handkei'- 
chief. 

"There,  darlings,  that  will  do,"  exclaimed 
the  old  lady  at  length,  after  having  warmly  re- 
turned their  caresses.  "  Stand  up  now,  and  let 
mc  see  how  much  you  have  groAvn  since  I  was 
here  before.  Why,  my  dear  Mary  is  a  large 
girl,  and  my  sweet  little  AYillie  is  no  longer  a 
baby." 

"  And  Hannah  is  a  large  girl,  too,"  exclaimed 
her  curly  headed  little  namesake.  "We  are  so 
glad  you  have  come.  Aunt  Hannah,  and  to-mor- 
row will  be  Christmas.  What  will  Santa  Claus 
bring  us "?  Dear  Lucy  used  to  promise  me  that 
he  would  bring  me  a  large  wax  doll,  with  eyes 
to  open  and  shut,  this  year ;  but  now  she  has 
gone,  perhaps  no  one  will  put  him  in  mind." 

"  And  Lucy  promised  me  a  new  Noah's  ark," 
exclaimed  Charlie.  "Why  did  she  go  away, 
mother '?  and  when  will  you  send  for  her  back  ? 
We  all  loved  her  so  much,  and  she  always  told 
us  pretty  stories  when  she  was  sewing." 

"  Never  mind,  Charlie,"  said  the  mother, 
soothingly,  "Alice  can  tell  pretty  stories." 

"  But  Alice  is  not  half  as  good  as  Lucy,"  re- 
plied the  child.  "  Sometimes  she  is  cross,  and 
says  things  that  are  naughty  ;  but  Lucy  always 
taught  us  to  be  good." 

Aunt  Hannah  looked  earnestly  at  her  niece, 
and  her  eyes  sunk  beneath  that  meaning  look, 
for  she  felt  that  she  had  too  hastily  discarded  the 
helpless  girl  from  her  household.  Had  she 
allowed  herself  to  inquire  into  the  particulars  of 
the  story  which  had  been  told  her,  all  would 
have  been  well ;  her  own  good  judgment  and 
kind  feelings  would  have  prompted  a  different 
course ;  but  the  charge  of  theft  was  proved  be- 
yond a  doubt,  not  only  by  substantial  evidence, 
but  by  the  silence  and  confusion  of  Lucy  when 
the  cause  of  her  dismissal  was  stated  to  her,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  Mrs.  Graham  that  there  might 
be  extenuating  circumstances. 

How  much  would  her  heart  have  ujahraided 
her,  could  she  have  witnessed  the  despair  and 
anguish  of  that  young  girl,  who  at  the  very  time 
when  the  little  ones  from  whom  she  had  parted 
so  sorrowfully  some  months  before  were  recalling 
proofs  of  her  kindness,  was  kneeling  in  almost 
agonizing  prayer  in  one  of  the  most  miserable 
rooms  of  a  miserable  dwelling  in  an  obscure 
part  of  the  city.  The  efforts  which  she  had 
made  to  procure  another  situation  after  leaving 
Mrs.  Graham  were  rendered  vain  from  her 
inability  to  refer  those  who  wished  for  her  ser- 
vices to  her  last  employer ;  and  quite  discour- 
aged, she  had  resolved  to  take  a  room  and  sup- 
port herself  by  taking  in  sewing  of  different 
kinds.  For  a  while  she  contrived  to  earn  a  bare 
subsistence,  but  as  the  cold  weather  came  on 
her  expenses  increased,  and  it  became  more 
difficult  to  procure  work.  Naturally  timid  and 
shrinking  in  her  nature,  she  dreaded  to  come  in 
contact  with  the  rude  and  unfeeling  ;  and  though 
willing  to  work,  preferred  privation  to  asking 
employment  of  those  who  seemed  to  regard  it 
as  only  another  form  of  soliciting  charity. 

Her  physical  strength  was  nearly  cxliausted 
by  anxiety  and  want  of  proper  nourishment; 
her  mind  was  distracted  by  doubts  and  tempta- 
tions which  beset  her  path ;  for  alas,  the  innocent 
and  friendless  maiden  is  exposed  to  many  and 


bitter  temptations,  and  at  the  time  of  which  wc 
arc  speaking  she  liad  thrown  herself  in  agony 
upon  her  knees,  and  in  the  fervent  language  of 
despair  poured  out  her  whole  heart  to  Ilim  with- 
out wliom  not  even  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the 
ground. 

True  prayer  is  never  unanswered,  and  Lucy 
rose  from  her  knees  calm  and  peaceful,  while 
hope  again  sprung  ujt  in  her  lieart  as  slie  thought 
of  one  resource  which  had  never  before  occurred 
to  iier. 

"  It  was  the  last  gift  of  my  dear  mother,"  she 
said,  as  she  drew  an  old  fashioned  but  somewhat 
valuable  locket  from  her  bosom  and  gazed  long 
and  sorrowfully  upon  what  she  had  hitherto  re- 
gax'ded  as  a  sacred  relic.  "  It  is  hard  to  part 
with  the  treasure  which  I  have  so  long  preserved 
as  a  memento  of  one  so  dear,"  she  continued, 
"  but  the  price  of  it  will  furnish  food  and  fuel 
until  I  can  finisli  the  work  which  I  liave  en- 
gaged to  do ;"  and  feai-ing  that  her  resolution 
would  fail  she  Iiastily  put  on  her  bonnet  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  shop  of  a  jeweller  whom  slie  had 
heard  Mrs.  Graham  mention  as  an  honest  man. 
He  readily  consented  to  give  her  the  worth 
of  the  locket,  and  having  received  the  money  she 
was  about"  leaving  the  shop,  when  she  was 
startled  by  the  familiar  tones  of  an  old  lady  who 
had  entered,  and  after  greeting  the  polite  jew- 
eller as  an  old  acquaintance  told  him  that  she 
had  called  to  purchase  some  little  trinkets  as 
Christmas  gifts  for  some  young  friends. 

Lucy  stole  a  timid  glance  toward  the  speaker 
and  recognized  Aunt  Hannah  whom  she  had 
seen  at  Mrs.  Graham's  the  year  before.  Sho 
had  dearly  loved  her  then,  but  now  she  was  only 
anxious  to  escape  observation,  for  she  knew  that 
the  kind  old  lady  must  have  heard  of  the  cause 
of  her  leaving  Mrs.  Graham,  and,  no  doubt,  re- 
garded her  as  unworthy  of  notice. 

But  escape  was  impossible.  The  recognition 
had  been  mutual,  and  with  extended  hand  Aunt 
Hannah  came  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  ti'uly 
glad  to  find  you.  I  have  thought  of  you  day 
and  niglit  since  I  heard  you  had  left  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham. Tell  me  how  you  are  getting  along.  You 
look  very  pale  and  thin." 

Lucy  was  so  overpowered  by  the  unexpected 
kindness  of  this  address  that  she  could  not  re- 
strain her  tears,  and  other  customers  entering, 
Aunt  Hannah  drew  her  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
shop  and  soon  heard  enough  of  her  little  story 
to  convince  her  that  she  was  really  in  want. 

"  Well,  dear,"  she  said  at  length,  as  she 
kindly  pressed  the  hand  she  still  held,  "  this  is 
no  place  for  a  long  talk,  but  give  me  directions 
to  your  present  home  and  I  will  see  you  to-mor- 
row and  hear  all  your  troubles.  In  the  mean 
time  take  this  to  help  you  along,"  and  she 
slipped  a  small  purse  into  Lucy's  pocket. 

"  You  are  very,  very  kind,"  replied  the  poor 
girl,  almost  sobbing  lier  thanks ;  "  but  you  will 
find  my  home  a  poor  i^lacc  for  a  lady  to  come 
to,  and  to-morrow  is  Christmas  day,  when  all 
will  be  so  gay  and  pleasant  at  Mrs.  Graham's." 
"  Never  mind  that,"  replied  her  friend. 
"  Christmas  day  is  the  very  time  for  works  of 
love,  and  I  think  it  will  be  one  to  visit  you, 
Lucy." 

"It  will,  indeed,"  was  the  earnest  answer; 
and  the  agitated  girl  gladly  sought  her  own 
room  that  she  might  give  vent  to  the  thankful- 
ness with  which  her  heart  was  filled.  Her 
Heavenly  Father  had  indeed  watched  over  her 
and  raised  up  a  friend  in  the  hour  of  need. 

Christmas  morning  arrived,  the  joyous  greet- 
ings had  been  exchanged,  and  the  stockings  of 
the  young  folks  unpacked  with  many  an  excla- 
mation of  delight. 

"  Christmas  is  indeed  a  joyful  day,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Graham  to  Aunt  Hannah,  as  the  latter 
entered  the  apartment  where  the  children  were 
assembled  with  their  new  treasures, 

"It  is  indeed  delightful,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
have  often  thought,  dear  Mary,  that  Christmas 
should  be  strictly  devoted  to  works  of  love — to 
seeking  out  and  succoring  those  who  arc  in  dis- 
tress. Surely  the  anniversary  of  the  day  when 
the  Saviour  of  mankind  was  born  into  the  world 
to  lay  down  his  life  for  sinners  could  not  be  bet- 
ter commemorated." 

"  There  is  much  truth  in  wliat  you  say,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Graham,  thoughtfully ;  "but  where 
have  you  been  so  early,  Aunt  Hannah  ?"  she 
added,  as  she  for  the  first  time  observed  that  the 
old  lady  had  on  her  cloak  and  bonnet. 

"  To  sec  an  old  friend  of  yours,  Mary,  Lucy 
Somers ;  and  now  if  you  are  at  leisure  I  will  re- 
late the  touching  tale  to  which  I  have  just  lis- 
tened. 


"  Several  years  ago,  ere  Lucy  had  attained 
her  thirteenth  year,  her  parents  who  had  met 
with  many  misfortunes  and  were  reduced  from 
comparative  afllucncc  to  poverty,  removed  from 
a  distant  part  of  the  country  to  this  city,  in  the 
hope  that  Mr.  Somers  would  here  ohtuiu  more 
profitable  employment.  Shortly  after  their  ar- 
rival he  was  suddenly  removed  to  the  other 
world,  leaving  Ids  wife  and  child  friendless  aiul 
alone  in  a  land  of  strangers.  The  mother's 
health  was  exceedingly  feeble,  and  tliough  for 
the  sake  of  her  orphan  girl  she  endeavored  to 
bear  up  under  her  aillictions,  it  was  soon  evi- 
dent that  she  must  shortly  follow  her  husband  to 
the  grave.  As  she  became  more  and  more  un- 
able to  do  anything  for  their  sujjport,  their  wants 
became  more  pressing,  and  although  Lucy  made 
almost  superhuman  exertions,  her  feeble  sti'cngth 
was  insufficient  to  the  task.  All  that  she  could 
earn  would  hardly  furnish  them  witli  a  shelter, 
and  they  often  suffered  severely  for  food. 

"  One  cold  winter's  night  Mi'S.  Somers  seemed 
even  more  feeble  than  usual,  and  Lucy  gazed 
upon  her  until  it  seemed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break,  for  she  knew  that  it  was  many  hours 
since  her  beloved  mother  liad  tasted  food,  and 
that  they  had  no  means  of  procuring  any.  Un- 
able to  bear  it  longer,  she  stole  away  from  the 
side  of  the  invalid,  who  had  sunk  into  an  uneasy 
slumber,  and  with  a  desperate  resolution  to  pro- 
cure food  in  some  way,  she  rushed  into  the 
street.  The  wind  was  bleak  and  cold,  and  the 
poor  child  was  but  scantily  protected  from  the 
rude  blast.  Weeping  and  shivering  she  at 
length  ventured  to  pull  the  bell  of  a  large 
house  near  which  she  found  herself.  Her  sum- 
mons was  answered  by  a  servant,  who  left  her 
standing  in  the  hall  while  he  went  to  his  mistress 
to  ask  for  relief.  AVhile  he  was  absent  her  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  something  bright  and 
shining  near  where  she  stood.  She  stooped  to 
pick  it  up  and  found  it  to  be  a  valuable  ring. 
The  first  thought  was  to  return  it  at  once ;  but 
when  the  man  returned  with  a  harsh  refusal  to 
her  prayer  for  help,  and  irritated  by  the  reproof 
of  his  mistress  for  having  disturbed  her,  rudely 
pushed  the  child  from  the  door,  the  idea  of  sell- 
ing the  ring  and  thus  relieving  their  distress 
flashed  upon  her  mind,  and  hardly  conscious 
whether  she  was  acting  right  or  ^vl-ong,  she 
hastily  proceeded  to  the  nearest  jeweller  and 
offered  her  treasure  for  Iiis  inspection.  The  man 
instantly  recognized  the  ring,  for  he  had  been 
employed  to  repair  it  only  a  few  days  previous , 
and  suspecting  that  all  -was  not  right,  he  de- 
tained Lucy  until  he  could  inquire  into  the  cir- 
cumstances. The  result  was  her  an-est  as  a 
thief,  but  on  the  following  day  the  touching  sim- 
plicity of  her  manner  as  she  told  her  little  stoiy, 
and  her  deep  grief  at  the  thought  of  what  lier 
mother  had  suffei-ed  during  her  absence,  induced 
some  compassionate  persons  to  obtain  her  re- 
lease. She  flew  to  the  miserable  dwelling  which 
she  had  left  the  preceding  evening.  Meeting  a 
poor  woman  who  lived  in  another  room  of  the 
same  tenement  she  inquired  for  her  mother  but 
could  gain  no  information.  Her  absence  had 
not  been  known  by  those  in  the  honse.  Trem- 
blingly she  opened  their  ovm  door.  To  her  sur- 
prise the  sufferer  lay  in  the  same  position  in 
which  she  had  left  her,  apparently  still  sleeping. 
The  weeping  child  threw  herself  upon  her  bosom 
to  pour  out  her  griefs,  but  all  was  cold  and  life- 
less. The  spirit  had  departed  calmly,  peacefully, 
unconscious  of  the  last  drop  in  the  already  over- 
flowing cup  of  misery. 

"  I  need  not  dwell  on  the  agony  of  the  solitaiy 
orphan,  nor  need  I  relate  the  details  of  her 
futui'C  life.  Providence  watched  over  her,  friends, 
poor  but  kind,  were  raised  up  who  provided  for 
her  wants,  until  at  length  she  was  led  to  your 
happy  home.  You  know  the  result.  Your 
harshness,  Mary,  came  near  driving  her  to  de- 
struction ;  but,  thank  God,  she  was  withheld. 

"And  now,"  continued  Aunt  Hannah,  "  shall 
you  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  have  offered  her 
a  home  with  me  for  the  present  t  I  need  some 
one  to  wait  upon  me  and  nurse  me  a  little  in  my 
old  age,  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  Lucy  will  be 
all  that  I  desire.  If  you  could  have  seen  her 
gratitude  when  I  made  the  proposal,  you  would 
have  felt  sure  as  I  do,  that  though  once  misled, 
it  was  but  for  a  moment ;  her  heart  inclines  to 
virtue,  and  she  only  needs  encouragement,  to 
walk  in  the  right  path." 

Mrs.  Graham  was  silent.  She  could  not  really 
rejoice  in  the  determination  of  her  aunt,  but  her 
heart  was  melted  by  the  recital  of  Lucy's  suffer- 
ings, and  she  felt  that  to  provide  a  home  where 
a  poor,  friendless  child  could  find  rest,  was  in- 
deecv  a  work  of  love. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPdAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


63 


THE  BLUD,  WOLF  AND  DEER. 

A  Wisconsin  paper  tells  a  story  of  a  Wiscon- 
sin hei-oine  :  A  young  lady  of  ftftecn,  living  at 
Kawlcy's  Bay,  while  walking  with  anotlicr  yonng 
lady,  saw  a  wolf  a  short  distance  off,  watching 
a  deer  that  he  had  driven  into  the  lake.  With  a 
courage  rarely  equalled,  she  drove  the  wolf 
away,  and  wading  into  the  lake,  brouglit  the 
deer  on  shore  by  the  ear  ;  but  after  petting  him 
a  short  time,  the  ungallant  fellow  made  several 
attempts  to  get  away,  and  finally  carried  matters 
so  far  as  to  knock  her  down  and  tear  her  dress, 
when,  becoming  justly  incensed  by  such  beha- 
viour, she  took  a  stone  and  dashed  out  his 
brains,  the  wolf  all  the  time  standing  a  sliort 
distance  off  a  silent  spectator  of  the  fight,  in 
which  he  took  no  fuither  part  than  by  showing 
a  formidable  row  of  teeth  occasionally,  to  show 
his  disapprobation  of  her  interference.  The  edi- 
tor adds,  in  the  genuine  Hoosier  style :  It  is 
safe  enough  to  predict  that  if  tliis  girl  lives  a 
few  years  longer  she  will  be  able  to  ivhip  her 
weigM  in  wild  cats,  out-scrcam  the  catamount, 
give  the  young  "  badger  "  the  heart-ache,  and, 
what  is  better,  preside  with  grace  and  dignity 
over  some  "wild,  Wisconsin  home." 


THE  NUNKERIES  AGAUV. 

These  tombs  for  the  living  are  on  the  increase 
in  Great  Britain.  Lough  Castle,  in  Galway,  has 
recently  been  piuxhased  by  Mi*s.  Ball,  the 
Abbess  of  the  Loretto  Convent,  near  Dublin, 
and  ten  of  the  sisterhood  have  taken  possession. 
Lough  Castle  was  formerly  the  seat  of  Viscount 
Grort,  and  was  built  at  an  expense  of  four  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  It  has  exactly  as  many 
windows  as  there  ax-e  days  in  the  year.  Its  situ- 
ation upon  the  banks  of  Lake  Cootre  is  said  to 
be  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  Castle  Hyde,  also, 
in  the  county  of  Cork,  has  lately  been  purchased 
for  a  similar  purpose ;  and  it  was  reported  tliat 
Cai'dinal  Wiseman  had  bought  the  Queen's 
Hotel  at  Cheltenlmm,  and  designed  to  convert  it 
into  a  convent. 


THE  TURIVER  MANIA. 

Since  tlie  death  of  Turner,  the  landscape 
painter,  the  pictures  from  his  band  have  greatly 
risen  in  price,  and  a  large  number  of  "  spurious 
Turners  "  have  been  manufactured.  To  such  a 
height  has  the  mania  risen,  that  at  a  recent  sale 
of  pictui-es  iu  London,  a  harbor  scene  by  Tur- 
ner brought  more  tlian  three  thousand  dollars, 
while  better  pictures  were  sold  for  a  few  hun- 
dreds. At  the  same  sale,  a  water  drawing  of 
Edinburgh,  by  the  same  artist,  witliout  glass  or 
frame,  sold  for  a  thousand  dollars.  "  To  what- 
ever height,"  says  a  correspondent,  "  the  Turner 
mania  may  reach,  the  public  may  rest  assured 
the  supply  will  be  equal  to  the  demand." 


BUTTER, 

The  aggregate  value  of  butter  produced  in  the 
United  States,  is  larger  than  that  of  wheat.  The 
price  of  good  butter  has  very  much  increased,  in 
the  last  few  yeai-s,  and  at  particular  seasons,  has 
been  exorbitant.  Some  of  the  agricultural  so- 
cieties iu  this  State,  are  recommending  that 
greater  attention  be  paid  to  putting  up  firkin 
butter,  which,  as  made  in  the  State  of  New  York, 
for  the  navy,  has  kept  sweetfor  two  years.  Libe- 
ral premiums  for  the  best  firkin  butter  would 
probably  produce  a  better  article  than  is  usually 
offered  under  this  name. 


Testimony  or  akt  Atheist  refused. — In 
the  U.  S.  Circuit  Couxt,  AVednesday,  Judge 
Sprague  refused  to  allow  Walter  Hunt,  of  New 
York,  to  testify  in  the  Sewing  Machine  Patent 
case,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  an  Atheist. 


Howard  Athenaeum. — Mr.  Henry  AVillard, 
of  New  York,  has  taken  the  Howard  Athenieum 
for  five  years,  and  will  open  it  on  the  6th  of 
September.  Mr.  C.  R.  Thornc  is  to  be  stage 
manager. 


Personal. — Hon.  William  Rufus  King,  the 
present  democratic  candidate  for  the  vice  presi- 
dency, was  a  member  of  Congress  from  North 
Carolina  (of  which  State  he  is  a  native)  as  far 
back  as  ISU,  some  forty-one  years  ago. 


Remember. — If  you  can  live  free  from  want, 
and  have  wherewithal  to  do  good,  care  for  no 
more — the  rest  is  but  vanitv. 


Mining. — The  Lake  Superior  mines  are  said 
to  be  doing  an  excellent  business,  and  now  give 
employment  to  three  thousand  persons. 

«     —  Oi^     fc 

Ga3.— Newbur^-port  is  to  be  liglited  with  gas. 


Ulaiisilre   ©atljcrings. 

Bloomers  are  plenty  in  Michigan. 
The  New  Hampsliire  State  debt  is  S60,000. 
Mahomet  died  on  the  7th  of  June,  632. 
Wliatever  has  been,  is — says  Carlyle. 
The  British    Sovereign   cannot  increase   the 
army  without  the  consent  of  Parliament. 

The  Phcenix  House,  Savannah,  Ga.,  was  de- 
stroyed by  fire  on  the  1st  inst. 

The  office  of  City  Marshal  is  abolished,  and 
that  of  Chief  of  Police  substituted. 

The  proclamation  against  Popish  processions 
had  created  much  excitement  in  Ii'eland. 

Feargus  O'Connor  had  been  taken  into  custo- 
dy, to  be  placed  in  an  asylum. 

They  say  that  President  Arista,  of  Mexico,  is 
going  to  make  a  coup  d'  etat  in  the  style  of  Louis 
Napoleon. 

Tlie  Connecticut  Legislature  is  engaged  in 
making  a  law  which  will  permit  theatrical  per- 
formances in  that  State. 

Cholera  has  been  imported  into  Highland, 
111.,  by  emigrants.  Several  old  and  prominent 
citizens  have  fallen  victims. 

A  young  man  in  Maryland  took  poison  and 
died,  in  consequence  of  having  got  the  mitten. 
Verdict,  heart  disease. 

On  Tuesday,  the  lightning  sti'uck,  set  fire  to, 
and  destroyed  Shirley  bridge,  over  Shirley  liver, 
on  the  Fitchburg  raUVoad. 

The  celebrated  cathedral  of  Noti'e  Dame  was 
founded  and  mainly  built  by  the  immense  for- 
tune of  Thibaut,  a  villanous  old  miser. 

Winter  wheat  looks  remarkably  well  in  Som- 
erset county,  Me.,  notwithstanding  the  season 
has  been  veiy  unfavorable. 

Boys  in  Baltimore  cany  concealed  deadly 
weapons,  and  use  them,  too,  upon  the  slightest 
provocation,  oftentimes  without  provocation. 

The  Hon.  Mary  and  Emily  Hughes,  sisters  of 
Lord  Dinorben,  himself  of  unsound  mind,  have 
recently  been  declared  imbeciles. 

The  supposed  designs  of  Louis 'Napoleon  upon 
Belgium  were  attracting  considerable  attention 
iu  the  diplomatic  circles  of  Europe. 

Gen.  0.  Hinton,  the  famous  Ohio  mail  robber, 
has  made  his  escape  from  California,  as  the  ofli- 
cers  from  Ohio  were  in  pm'suit  of  him. 

The  number  of  military  land  wan-ants  issued 
is  stated  to  be  1 1 1 ,000  ;  of  which  17,000  were 
for  160  acres,  37,000  for  80  acres,  and  57,000  for 
40  acres. 

The  river  Shannon,  at  luUaloe,  recently  ebbed 
in  so  extraordinaiy  a  manner  that  salmon, 
eels,  etc.,  were  taken  iu  its  bare  bed,  even  by 
children. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  cautions  the  public 
against  a  colored  impostor  who  is  raising  money 
ostensibly  to  redeem  certain  slaves.  Uncle 
Toms  must  work  cautiously. 

Madame  Alboni's  last  concert  in  Prance  was  at 
Versailles,  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  The  re- 
ceipts were  12,000  francs,  of  which  500  francs 
were  from  the  President  alone. 

Peter  Paneuil,  who  built  the  celebrated  hall 
in  this  city,  that  bears  liis  name,  was  a  Ei-ench 
Huguenot,  who  was  banished  from  Prance  by 
an  edict  against  civil  and  religious  liberty. 

Mr.  Wm.  Sydney  Smith,  of  the  British  Con- 
sulate at  Havana,  who  has  received  many  de- 
served Iionors  for  his  kindness  to  the  Ameri- 
can prisoners,  is  now  on  a  visit  to  the  Atlantic 
cities. 

A  mechanic  in  Maysville,  Ky.,  has  invented  a 
smoothing  iron  that  is  heated  by  a  few  coals  in 
the  interior,  having  a  damper  to  regulate  the 
lieat  from  that  of  boiling  water  to  a  red  hot 
glow. 

A  street  pedler  in  Cincinnati  sold  a  lady  a 
nice  silk  dress  which  he  had  stolen  a  few  hours 
before  at  her  husband's  store.  The  mex'chant 
valued  it  at  thirty-five  dollars,  and  the  lady  pm*- 
chased  it  for  fourteen. 

A  law-suit  is  now  in  course  at  Chateau 
Thierry,  France,  between  rival  claimants  for  the 
chapeau  worn  by  Napoleon  in  the  Russian  cam- 
paign, and  which  hatl  fallen  into  the  possession 
of  his  valet  de  chamber,  M.  Eiu-ard. 

St.  George  Beck  was  shot  and  killed  on  the 
llth  ult.,  at  the  residence  of  Col.  Van  CorE- 
landt,  near  Croton,  by  the  accidental  discbarge 
of  an  old  pistol,  a  family  relic,  which  had  been 
upon  the  lilirary  shelf  for  at  least  ten  years. 

In  the  English  merchant  service,  a  sailor  is 
kept  constantly  at  work  on  week  days,  and  is 
fined  for  either  washing  or  wearing  foul  linen  on 
Sunday.  He  is  compelled,  however,  to  "holy 
stone  "  the  decks  half  the  day  every  Sabbath  ! 

By  a  fire  that  occurred  in  Clough's  great 
printing  establisliment,  in  London,  the  entire 
edition  of  the  Illustrated  Catalogue  of  the  great 
Exhibition,  together  with  Knight's  illustrated 
edition  of  Shakspeare,  were  destroyed.  The 
loss  is  estimated  at  £50,000. 

The  French  papers  report  the  deatli  of  the 
most  eminent  of  the  modern  sculptors  of  France 
— M.  Pradier,  aged  fifty  years.  His  end  was 
sudden  and  affecting,  while  wandering  witli  his 
young  daughter  and  a  party  of  friends  on  a  day's 
excursion  amid  the  beauties  of  Bougival. 

At  Portland,  John  H.  Bond  was  cut  in  two 
by  a  circular  saw ;  and  at  the  Maine  wharf 
ferry,  James  S.  Gould,  Custom  House  bo.atman, 
was  severely  hurt  by  the  fall  of  a  derrick,  and 
several  Custom  House  officers  came  near  leav- 
ing vacant  places. 


JTorciqn  Ulisrcllann. 


Another  revolt  has  broken  out  in  Algeria. 

The  desert  railroad  progresses  favorably. 

Mr.  Leslie  has  resigned  the  professorship  of 
painting  at  the  Royal  Academy. 

There  are  nine  hundred  children  in  a  single 
work-liousc  in  Limerick. 

Great  inundations  have  happened  iu  the  south 
of  France. 

The  tobacco  monopoly  is  continued  for  eleven 
years  longer. 

Gen.  Lamoriciere  was  summarily  expelled  by 
the  police  from  Aix  la  Chapelle,  whither  he  had 
gone  for  the  benefit  of  his  health. 

Rogers,  the  banker-poet,  has  a  Bank  of  Eng- 
land note,  for  one  million  pounds,  framed  and 
glazed,  hanging  upon  the  wall  of  his  drawing- 
room. 

A  proclamation  has  been  issued  by  the  queen, 
prohibiting  the  public  exercise  of  Roman  Ca- 
tholic ceremonies  elsewhere  than  in  places  of 
worship. 

Mr.  Archer,  an  American,  is  the  inventor  of 
an  improved  process  of  manufactui-ing  postage 
stamps,  which,  after  a  long  delay,  has  just  been 
adopted  by  the  English  government. 

We  find  tliat  there  are  at  present  one  thousand 
booksellers  of  all  classes  in  London,  and  two 
thousand  six  hmidred  and  fifty-one  iu  all  Ger- 
many. 

U.  S.  frigate  Susquehannah  and  sloop  Sarato- 
ga were  at  Hong  Kong.  The  foimer  is  waiting 
for  the  new  commodore.  When  he  arrives,  it  is 
expected  she  will  proceed  to  Manilla. 

At  the  Pnissian  Industrial  Exhibition,  Count 
Renard,  a  large  proprietor  of  iron  works,  exhibits 
sheet  iron  of  such  a  degi'ce  of  tenuity  that  the 
leaves  can  be  used  for  paper. 

The  Earl  of  Malmesbuiy  announced  in  the 
House  of  Lords,  recently,  that  the  government 
had  determined  to  suspend  for  the  present  the 
bill  for  the  extradition  of  French  criminals. 

During  the  church  holidays  it  is  quite  usual 
for  the  Londoners  to  visit  the  British  Museum. 
On  Whit-Monday  there  had  been  35,000  visitors  ; 
but  on  one  occasion  there  were  60,000  in  a  single 
day ! 

The  greater  part  of  Bosnia  Scrvia,  the  capital 
of  Bosnia,  was  dcsti-oj'ed  by  fire  on  the  23d  of 
May.  During  the  conflagration,  the  troops  com- 
mitted the  most  abominable  acts  of  rapine  and 
pillage. 

From  Lisbon  accounts  are  to  tlic  llth.  The 
American  ship"Cohamy"  was  receiving  her 
cargo  ot  salt  at  St.  Ubes,  the  military  having 
suppressed  all  resistance  on  the  part  of  the 
monopolists. 


0anii0  of  ©olir. 


....  A  principle  of  unity,  without  a  subject  of 
unity,  cannot  exist. 

Little   minds   rejoice  over  the  enors  of 

men  of  genius,  as  the  owl  rejoices  at  an  eclipse. 

....  Tlie  true  end  of  freedom  is  to  develop 
manhood  and  and  womanhood,  not  to  make  an- 
thors,  mechanics  or  statesmen. 

....  The  man  has  no  more  excuse  who  lays 
violent  hands  upon  the  life  of  a  tree,  than  he  who 
strikes  a  woman. — Herald. 

Whatever  situation  in  life  you  ever  wish 

or  propose  for  yourself,  acquire  a  clear  and  lucid 
idea  of  the  inconveniences  attending  it. 

....  It  is  better  to  be  bom  with  a  disposition 
to  sec  things  on  the  favorable  side,  than  to  an 
estate  of  ten  tliousand  a  year. 

....  Reserve  is  no  more  essentially  connected 
with  understanding,  than  a  church  organ  with 
devotion,  or  wine  with  good  nature. 

....  Wise  men  are  instructed  by  reason ;  men 
of  less  understanding  by  experience ;  the  most 
ignorant  by  necessity ;  and  brutes  by  nature. 

....  Of  all  the  impostors  and  calumniators  in 
the  world,  Ave  most  despise  those  who  entrench 
themselves  behind  church  pews,  and  the  sanctity 
of  religion. 

....  You  may  depend  upon  it  that  he  is  a 
good  man  whose  intimate  friends  are  all  good, 
and  whose  enemies  are  all  of  a  character  decid- 
edly bad. 

....  Pride  is  never  more  offensive  than  when 
it  condescends  to  be  civil ;  whereas,  vanity, 
whenever  it  forgets  itself,  naturally  assumes  good 
humor. 

....  Fine  sensibilities  are  like  woodbines,  de- 
liglitful  luxuries  of  beauty  to  twine  round  a  solid, 
upright  stem  of  understanding,  but  very  poor 
things,  if,  unsustained  by  strength,  they  are  left 
to  creep  along  the  ground. 

....  The  greatest  pleasure  connected  with 
wealth  consists  in  acquiring  it.  Two  months 
after  a  man  comes  into  a  fortune,  he  feels  just  as 
prosy  and  fretful  as  he  did  when  he  worked  for 
six  shillings  a  day. 

....  Wealth  is  the  smallest  of  the  gifts  of 
God.  What  is  it  to  be  compared  with  his  Word, 
or  corporeal  gifts — such  as  beauty,  health  and 
activity?  What  is  it  to  the  gifts  of  the  mind — 
such  as  intellect,  science  and  taste  ? 

....  Wlien  hearts  are  filled  with  holy  affec- 
tions, and  home  is  happy,  tlicn  do  the  young 
dwell  in  a  charmed  circle,  which  only  the  natui- 
ally  depraved  would  seek  to  quit,  and  across 
which  boundary  temptations  to  error  shhie  out 
but  feebly. 


3oktx3   JJttttget. 

Wliat  officer  displays  the  most  military  tac- 
tics 1     Marsltal  Array  (martial  array.) 

Why  is  a  four  quart  jug  like  a  lady's  side-sad- 
dle !     Because  it  holds  a  gall-on. 

AYho  was  the  first  post-boy  ?  Cadmus ;  ho 
carried  letters  from  Phcenicia  to  Greece. 

AVliy  is  a  woman  living  up  two  pair  of  stairs 
like  a  goddess  ?     Because  she  is  a  second  Flora. 

Why  is  the  hour  between  ten  and  twelve  at 
long  odds  ■?     Because  it  is  ten  to  one. 

Why  is  a  trick  of  legerdemain  like  declining 
an  offer  of  marriage  ?  Because  it  is  a  sldght-of 
hand. 

Dickens,  in  speaking  of  pawnbrokers'  dupli- 
cates, says  they  are  the  turnpike  tickets  on  the 
road  to  poverty. 

Soup  for  the  poor. — Three  parings  of  potatoes 
to  a  hogshead  of  dish-water.  If  too  rich,  add  a 
pump-handle  while  boiling. 

To  support  shirt  collars  during  the  present  ran 
of  hot  weather,  a  genius  down  East  has  invented 
a  set  of  puUies  which  pass  over  the  ears. 

A  Western  editor  speaks  of  the  circumstance 
of  a  bird  building  its  nest  upon  a  ledge  over  the 
door  of  a  doctor's  of&ce,  as  an  attempt  to  rear  its 
young  in  the  very  jaws  of  death. 

Mike  yesterday  said  he  was  going  to  move 
from  the  house  he  then  occupied.  Scaley  asked 
him  '*  What  for?"  Mike's  answer  was:  "I 
don't  like  the  viciinti/."  Tucker  then  ejaculated : 
"  Don't  like  the  vice  in  it  eh  ?"  Mike  thought 
Tucker  personal. 

The  editor  of  the  Boston  Post  says,  that  a 
newly-invented  dozen  bladed  knife  has  been 
made  by  a  Yankee  cutler,  which  has,  in  addition 
to  its  blades,  a  cork-screw,  a  bodkin,  a  hair  bnish, 
and  a  boot-jack,  besides,  a  season  ticket  to  the 
theatre. 

At  a  court  martial  lately  held  at  Norfolk,  the 
following  dialogue  is  said  to  have  taken  place 
between  one  of  the  witnesses  and  the  court : 
"  Are  you  a  Catholic  ?"  "  No,  sir."  "  Are  you 
a  Protestant?"  "No,  sir."  *'What  are  you, 
then  ?"     "  Captain  of  the  foretop." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

"We  have  volumes  1st  and  2A  of  the  Pictorial  Drawinq 
Room  Companion  elegjintly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edgea 
and  back,  and  illnmined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Htmdred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Event-s  all  over  the  world  ; 
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fine  Maritime  Views ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLUJnNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND   INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Kecord  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
iUustrations- 

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04 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL    DRAWING    ROOM    fiOMPANION. 


[Coniiintedfrom  Isfpar/e.] 
Mr.  Clay  continued 
in  llic  olVu:c  of  sccrctiiry 
of  stiitc  until  1829.  Two 
yciirs  later,  in  Deccnnl)er, 
1831,  he  was  again 
clcctofl  to  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States,  and 
continued  a  member  of 
that  body  until  March 
.31,  1842,  when  he  re- 
signed. Mr.  Clay  lived 
in  elegant  retirement  at 
Ashland,  until  lie  was 
again  (1849)  elected  to 
the  Senate.  And  here, 
after  a  brilliant  parlia- 
mentary career,  he  clos- 
ed his  fife,  as  his  friend 
John  Quiney  Adams  did, 
with  Ills  harness  on — 
still  serving  tlie  country 
for  whose  welfare  his 
heart  so  fervently  beat. 
For  tiie  excellent  like- 
ness given  on  our  lirst 
page,  we  are  indebted 
to  a  daguerreotype  by 
Meade  Brothers,  New 
York.  Wc  also  pre- 
sent on  this  page  a  fac- 
simile of  the  medal  giv- 
en by  the  citizens  of  New 
York  to  Mr.  Clay,  in 
respect  for  his  charact<^.r 
as  a  statesman  and  a 
citizen.  It  is  an  expen- 
sive and  beautiful  tri- 
bute. The  cost  of  cut- 
ting the  die  was  $1600, 
the  gold  for  the  medal 
cost  $400,  the  silver  cas- 
ing $75,  the  design  and 
incidental  expenses  cost 
$400  more.  The  dies 
were  cut  by  C.  C. 
"Wright,  and  are  taken 
from  Pi*udens'  bust  of 
Henry  Clay  in  his  73d 
year.  We  present  both 
sides  of  the  medal. 


CLAY  MEDAL — OB\Ti;RSE  SIDE. 


CLAY  MEDAL BEVEllSE  SIDE. 


VIEW  OF  THE  BLIND  ASYLUM  INSTITUTION,  SOUTH  BOSTON. 


[Sw  p.  Cl  for  ileRcription.] 


CORNER  BROifFIELD 


.     IxiiJiAOUiN,  i  iND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATUEDAY,  JULY  31,  1852 


¥2  PER  TOLmiE. 
10  Cts.  single. 


Vol.  m.  No.  5.— Whole  No.  57. 


THE  BOSTON  FARSI  SCHOOL. 

Last  week  we  gave  a  very  fine  picture  of  the 
Blind  Asylum,  at  South  Boston  Point,  just  on 
the  edge  of  our  harbor ;  below  we  give  a  scene 
not  far  removed  from  the  former,  being  an  origi- 
nal and  accurate  view  of  the  Farm  School.  This 
institution  is  on  Tiiompson's  Island,  about  four 
miles  from  the  city,  and  about  a  mile  from  Dor- 
chester. By  its  insular  position  and  salubrious 
air,  it  affords  peculiar  advantages  for  accom- 
plishing the  purposes  of  the  institution.  It  con- 
tains one  hundred  and  forty  acres  of  land,  about 
seventy-two  of  which  are  under  cultivation  ;  the 
remainder  being  devoted  to  pasturage  and  the 
accommodation  of  the  pupils.  The  soil  consists 
of  a  rich  loam,  with  a  light  sub-soil,  and  is  well 
adapted  to  the  raising  of  all  the  grains  and  vege- 


tables usually  cultivated  in  New  England.  The 
establishment  is  situated  on  the  highest  part  of 
the  island,  and  command?  an  extensive  view  of 
the  city,  its  harbor  and  surrounding  country.  It 
is  a  substantial  brick  edifice,  with  a  projecting 
centre  and  two  wings.  The  first  floor  contains 
a  wash-room,  kitchens,  dining-hall  and  office  ; 
the  second,  a  very  spacious  school-room,  and 
several  apartments  for  the  superintendent,  fami- 
ly and  teachers.  The  boys'  sleeping-room  is  in 
the  tiiird  story,  and  is  fitted  up  with  beds  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  separate  each  boy  from  his  neigh- 
bor, and  permit  the  teacher,  who  sleeps  with 
them,  to  overlook  their  conduct.  Tlie  establish- 
ment at  the  island  is  under  the  immediate  direc- 
tion of  a  superintendent,  a  matron,  and  an  in- 
structor.    A  school  is  kept,  both  morning  and 


afternoon,  for  about  six  hours  daily,  in  which  are 
taught  the  elements  of  useful  knowledge;  read- 
ing, writing,  arithmetic,  geography  and  grammar. 
During  the  evening,  especially  in  the  winter 
months,  instruction  is  also  given  in  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  agriculture,  horticulture,  botany,  etc. 
The  moral  and  religious  culture  of  the  pupils  is 
an  object  of  pre-eminent  importance  in  an  insti- 
tution like  this ;  and,  of  course,  it  is  the  aim  of 
the  managers,  as  far  as  practicable,  to  make  tlie 
whole  discipline  and  instruction  of  the  pupil, 
whilst  upon  the  island,  bear  upon  his  moral  and 
religious  nature.  There  is  a  good  collection  of 
juvenile  books,  selected  with  due  regard  to  the 
character  and  capacities  of  the  pupils,  to  which 
the  boys  have  access.  That  the  pupils  may  be 
trained  to  habits  of  order  and  industry,  and  en- 


abled, when  tliey  leave  the  institution,  to  pursue 
some  occupation  by  which  they  may  gain  a  live- 
lihood, they  are  required  to  perform  as  much  of 
the  manual  lalior  done  on  the  farm,  and  in  the 
house,  as  their  various  ages  and  capacities  will 
permit.  During  the  season  of  farming  opera- 
tions, all  the  boys  in  the  institution,  of  sufficient 
age  and  strength,  are  regularly  employed  in  la- 
bor on  the  farm,  under  the  care  of  the  superm- 
tendent,  who  is  a  practical  farmer.  The  object 
is  to  make  them  skilful,  practical  farmers.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-one,  each  boy  is  entitled  to  a 
suit  of  clothes  ;  and,  if  apprenticed  to  a  farmer, 
to  one  hundred  dollars  in  money  in  addition. 
The  present  number  of  hoys  in  the  institution  is 
ninety-four ;  and  there  are  accommodations  for 
one  hundred. 


THE  BOSTON  FABM  SCHOOL,  AT  THOMPSON  S  ISLAND,  BOSTON  HARBOR. 


GO 


CxLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


Entci-ca  accoi-dinir  to  Act  of  Con{;ress,  in  the  ycnr  18r,2,  l)y  ¥.  Gleason,  in  tlio  Clevk'b  Office  of  tho 
District  Court  of  Mussaclmsotta. 

[WBITTEN   EXPHESSLY    FOE  GLEASON'B    PICTOnlAL.] 


THE 


l^iPi 


pnp^  ® 


OR, 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 

:A  Stovg  of  UxH  mh  (fjc  Cow  Ui\Uk$, 


BY   LIEUTENANT   MURRAY. 


CHAPTEK    VIII.— [COKTINDED.] 

"I  wonder,"  said  he  to  himself,  somewhat 
enviously,  "  why  Kuez  does  not  come  to-diiy  1  it 
is  his  honi- — ay,  must  ho  even  past  the  time,  and 
tlic  hoy  loves  me  too  well  to  neglect  me  now, 
when  I  am  so  near  my  end.  Hark  !  is  that  his 
step  1  No ;  and  yet  it  must  he ;  it  is  too  light 
for  tho  guard  or  turnkey.  0  yes,  that  is  my 
door,  certainly,  and  here  he  is,  sure  enough.  I 
knew  he  would  come." 

As  the  prisoner  said  this,  tho  door  slowly 
opened  on  its  rusty  and  creaking  hinges,  .and  the 
turnkey  immediately  closed  it  after  the  new 
comer,  who  wits  somewhat  closely  wrapped  in 
the  profuse  folds  of  a  long  Sp.anish  cloak. 

"  Well,  Euez,"  said  Captain  Bez.an,  quite  leis- 
urely, and  without  turning  his  head  towards  the 
door,  "  I  had  begun  to  feiir  that  yon  would  not 
come  to  day.  You  know  you  are  the  only  being 
I  see,  except  the  turnkey,  and  I'm  quite  sensitive 
about  your  visits,  my  dear  hoy.  However,  you 
are  here,  at  last;  sit  down." 

"  Captain  Bezan,  it  appears  to  me  that  you  do 
not  welcome  me  very  cordially,"  said  Isabella 
Gonzales,  in  reply,  and  a  little  archly. 

"  Lady  !"  said  the  prisoner-,  springing  to  his 
feet  .as  though  ho  had  been  strack  by  an  electric 
shock,  "  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales,  is  it  possible 
that  you  have  remembered  me  at  such  a  time — 
me,  wlio  am  so  soon  to  die  V 

Isabella  Gonz.iles  had  now  thrown  back  the 
ample  folds  of  the  cloak  she  wore,  and  lifting  her 
brother's  cap  from  her  head,  her  beautiful  hair 
fell  into  its  accustomed  place,  and  with  a  slight 
blush  tinging  either  cheek,  she  stood  before  the 
young  soldier  in  his  cell,  an  object  of  ineffable 
interest  and  beauty. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  lady,"  said  tho  prisoner, 
kneeling  at  her  feet. 

"  Nay.  I  pray  you,  sir,  Captain  Bezan,  do 
not  kneel  at  such  a  time." 

"  All !  lady,  how  can  I  thank  you  in  feeble 
words  for  this  sweet  ray  of  sunshine  that  you 
have  cast  athwart  my  dark  and  dreary  path  1  I 
no  longer  remember  that  I  am  to  die — that  my 
former  comrades  are  to  pierce  my  heart  with 
bullets.  I  cannot  remember  my  fate,  lady,  since 
you  have  rendered  me  so  happy.  You  have 
shown  me  that  I  did  not  mistake  the  throne  at 
which  I  have  sooretly  worshipped — that,  all  good 
and  pure  as  you  are,  you  would  not  forget  Lo- 
renzo Bezan,  the  poor,  the  lonely  soldier  who  liad 
dared  to  tell  you  how  dearly  he  loved  yon." 

As  he  spoke,  Isabella  Gonzales  seemed  for  one 
moment  to  forget  herself  in  the  realizations  of 
the  scene.  Slie  listened  to  his  thrice  eloquent 
words  with  eyes  bent  upon  tho  ground  at  first, 
and  then  gazing  tenderly  upon  liim,  and  now 
that  he  had  ceased  to  speak,  they  sought  once 
more  the  floor  of  the  room  in  silence.  He  could 
not  hut  constme  these  delicate  demonstrations 
in  his  favor,  and  drawing  close  to  her  side,  he 
pressed  her  hand  tenderly  to  his  lips.  The  touch 
seemed  to  act  hke  magic,  and  aroused  her  to 
jiresent  consciousness,  while  she  started  as  if  in 
amazement.  All  the  pride  of  her  disposition 
was  instantly  aroused ;  she  felt  that  for  a  single 
moment  she  had  forgotten  herself,  and  to  retrieve 
the  apparent  acquiescence  that  she  had  seemed  to 
show  to  the  condemned  soldier's  words  and  tale 
of  love,  she  now  appeared  to  think  that  she  must 
as.sume  all  the  hauteur  of  character  that  usually 
governed  her  in  her  intercourse  with  his  sex 
and  the  world  generally.     It  was  but  a  simple 


[continued.] 

struggle,  and  all  her  self  possession  was  r.allied 
again  to  her  service  and  absolute  control. 

"  Captain  Bezan,"  slie  said,  with  assumed  dig- 
nity, and  drawing  herself  up  in  all  her  beauty  of 
person  to  its  full  height,  "  I  came  not  hither  to 
hear  such  t.alk  as  this  from  you,  nor  to  submit  to 
such  familiarity,  and  I  trust,  sir,  that  you  will 
henceforth  remember  your  station,  and  respect 
mine." 

The  breast  of  the  prisoner  heaved  with  inward 
emotion,  in  the  struggle  to  suppress  its  outward 
show,  and  he  hit  his  lips  until  tho  blood  nearly 
flowed.  His  face  instantly  became  the  picture 
of  despair  ;  for  her  words  liad  planted  that  grief 
and  sorrow  in  his  heart  which  the  fear  of  death 
could  not  arouse  tlicrc.  Even  Isabella  Gonzales 
seemed  for  a  moment  struck  with  the  effect  of 
her  repulse  ;  but  her  o'wn  proud  heart  would  not 
pei-mit  her  to  recall  one  word  she  had  uttered. 

"  I  Avould  not  leave  you,  Captain  Bezan,"  said 
she,  at  length,  as  she  gathered  the  ample  folds  of 
the  cloak  abouther,  "  without  once  more  tendering 
to  you  my  most  earnest  thanks  for  your  great 
services  to  our  family.  You  know  to  what  I 
refer.  "  I  need  not  tell  you,"  she  continued, 
with  a  quivering  lip,  "that  my  father  has  done 
all  in  his  power  to  hsive  your  sentence  remitted, 
but,  alas  !  to  no  effect.  Tacon  seems  to  be  re- 
solved, and  unchangeable." 

As  she  spoke  thus,  spite  of  all  her  assumed 
pride  and  self-control,  a  tear  trembled  in  her 
eye,  and  her  respiration  came  quickly — almost 
in  sobs ! 

The  young  soldier  looked  at  her  silently  for  a 
moment;  at  flrst  he  seemed  puzzled;  he  was 
weighing  in  his  own  mind  the  meaning  of  all 
this  as  contrasted  with  the  repulse  he  had  just 
received,  and  with  the  estimate  he  had  before 
formed  of  her ;  at  last,  seeming  to  read  the  spirit 
that  had  possessed  her,  he  said  : 

"  All,  lady,  I  bless  you  a  thousand  times  for 
that  tear !" 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said, 
quickly. 

"  Nor  your  own  heart  either,  lady,  else  you 
disguise  its  truth.  Ah !  why  should  all  this  be 
so  ?  why  should  hearts  he  thus  masked  V 

"  Sir,  this  is  positive  impertinence,"  said  Isa- 
bella Gonzales,  struggling  once  more  to  sum- 
mon her  pride  to  sustain  her. 

"Impertinence,  lady?"  repeated  the  prisoner, 
sadly. 

"  That  was  my  word,  sir,"  answered  the  proud 
girl,  with  assumed  harshness. 

"  No,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me,  on  the 
very  brink  of  the  grave,  to  say  aught  but  the 
truth  ;  and  I  love  you  too  deeply,  too  fervently, 
to  be  impertinent.  You  do  not  know  me,  lady. 
In  my  heart  I  have  reared  an  altar  to  worship 
at,  and  that  shrine  for  three  years  has  been  thy 
dearly  loved  form.  How  dearly  and  passionately 
I  have  loved — what  a  chastening  influence  it  has 
produced  upon  my  life,  my  comrades,  who  know 
not  yet  the  cause,  could  tell  you.  To-morrow  I 
must  die.  AVhilo  I  hoped  one  day  to  win  your 
love,  life  was  most  dear  to  me,  and  I  was  happy. 
I  could  then  have  clung  to  life  with  as  much  te- 
nacity as  any  one.  But,  lady,  I  find  that  I  have 
been  mistaken  ;  my  whole  dream  of  fancy,  of 
love,  is  gone,  and  life  is  no  better  to  me  than  a 
burden.  I  speak  not  in  haste,  nor  in  passion. 
You  must  hear  me  witness  that  I  am  calm  and 
collected ;  and  I  assure  you  that  the  bullets 
which  end  my  existence  will  be  but  swift-winged 


messengers   of   peace    to    my    already  broken 
heart  I" 

"  C;iptaiu   Bezan,"   said  Isabella,  licsitating, 
and  liardly  speaking  distinctly. 
"Well,  lady'!" 

"  How  could  you  have  so  deceived  yourself  1 
How  could  you  possibly  suppose  that  one  in  your 
sphere  of  life  could  hope  to  be  united  to  one  in 
mine?"  asked  Isaliclla  Gonzales,  with  a  half 
averted  face  and  a  trembling  voice,  as  she  spoke. 
"  It  was  foolhardy,  sir ;  it  was  more  than  that ; 
it  was  preposterous !" 
"  Lady,  you  arc  severe." 
"  I  speak  but  truth.  Captain  Bezan,  and  your 
own  good  sense  will  sustain  it." 

"  1  forgot  your  birtli  and  rank,  your  wealth — 
everything.  I  acknowledge  this,  in  the  love  I 
bore  you;  and,  lady,  I  still  feel,  thatliad  not  my 
career  been  thus  summarily  checked,  I  might  yet 
have  won  your  love.  Nay,  lady,  do  not  frown ; 
true  love  never  despairs — never  is  disheartened — 
never  relinquishes  the  object  that  it  loves,  wliilo 
there  is  one  ray  of  light  yet  left  to  guide  it  on. 
It  did  seem  to  me  now,  when  we  are  parting  so 
surely /oreper,  that  it  might  have  boon,  on  your 
part,  more  kindly,  and  that  you  would,  by  a  smile, 
or  even  'a  tear-drop,  for  my  sake,  have  thus 
blessed  mo,  and  lightened  my  hea\'y  steps  to  the 
field  of  execution  and  of  trial. 

Isabella  Gonzales,  as  she  listened  to  his  words, 
could  no  longer  suppress  her  feelings,  but  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands,  she  wept  for  a  mo- 
ment like  a  child.  Pride  was  of  no  avail ;  the 
heart  had  asserted  its  supremacy,  and  would  not 
be  controlled. 

"  Y'ou  take  advantage  of  my  woman's  heart, 
sir,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  cannot  boar  the  idea 
that  any  one  should  suff'er,  and  more  particularly 
one  who  has  endeared  himself  to  mo  and  mine 
by  such  important  service  as  you  have  done. 
Do  not  think  that  tears  argue  aught  for  tho  wild 
t.ale  you  have  uttered,  sir.  I  would  not  have 
you  deceive  yourself  so  much  ;  but  I  am  a  wo- 
man, and  cannot  view  violence  or  grief  un- 
moved !" 

"  Say,  rather,  lady,"  added  the  soldier,  most 
earnestly,  "  that  you  are  pure,  beautiful,  and  good 
at  heart,  hut  that  pride,  that  only  alloy  of  thy 
most  lovely  character,  chokes  its  growth  in  your 
bosom." 
"  Sir  I" 

"  Well,  Senorita  Isabella." 
"Enough  of  this,"  she  said,  hastily  and  much 
excited.  "  I  must  leave  you  now,  captain.  It 
is  neither  fitting  that  I  should  hear,  nor  that  you 
should  utter  such  words  as  these  to  Isabella 
Gonzales.     Farewell !" 

"  Lady,  farewell,"  replied  tho  prisoner,  more 
by  instinct  thiin  by  any  comprehension  that  she 
w.as  actually  about  to  leave  him. 

"  I  pray  you.  Captain  Bezan,  do  not  think 
th.at  I  cherish  any  unkind  thoughts  towards  you," 
she  said,  turning  when  at  the  door;  "  on  tho 
contrary,  I  am  by  no  moans  unmindful  of  my 
indebtedness  to  you  ;  but  far  be  it  from  me  to 
sanction  a  construction  of  my  feelings  or  actions 
which  my  heart  will  not  second." 

"  Lady,  your  word  is  law  to  me,"  replied  the 
submissive  prisoner. 

When  she  had  gone,  and  tho  rough  grating  of 
the  turnkey's  instruments  had  done  sounding  in 
his  ear,  Captain  Bezan  remained  a  moment  look- 
ing upon  the  spot  where  she  had  stood,  with  ap- 
parent amazement.  Ho  could  not  realize  that 
she  had  been  there  at  all ;  and  hardest  of  all,  that 
she  had  kftliim  so  abruptly.  Buthor  "farewell" 
still  rang  in  his  ears,  and  throwing  himself  upon 
his  rude  seat,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 
ho  exclaimed  : 

"  Welcome,  welcome  death  !  I  would  that 
thou  wort  here  already !" 


bright  and  beautiful  tropical  moniing  might  be 
supposed  to  induce.  Tiiey  knew  only  too  well 
of  tlic  tragedy  that  was  that  day  to  be  enacted  ; 
such  occasions — the  spilling  of  the  tide  of  life,  in 
colli  blood — suited  not  tlieir  chivalrous  notions 
at  any  time,  much  less  so  now,  for  they  loved 
the  officer  who  was  to  lose  his  life — a  victim  to 
Harcro — whom,  again,  few  men  respected,  cithei* 
as  a  soldier  or  a  man — his  character  was  repulsive 
to  nearly  all. 

"  So  the  captain  is  to  he  shot  to-day,"  remarked 
one  of  Captain  Bczan's  own  company,  to  a  com- 
rade whom  he  had  just  met  in  the  Plaza. 
"  Yes,  I  had  ratlier  it  had  been — " 
"  Hush,  Alonzo,"  said  his  companion,  observ- 
ing General  Harero  walking  across  the  street. 

"  That  is  he,  and  he  is  the  only  man  I  ever 
saw,"  continued  the  other,  "  that  I  would  like  to 
see  shot  in  cold  blood.  Poor  Bezan,  lie's  sacri- 
ficed to  the  general !" 

"  I  wonder  wliat  gave  the  trouble  between 
them." 

"Don't  know;  some  say  there's  a  lady  in  the 
case." 

"  I  hadn't  heard  of  that." 
"  Yes,  you  know  he  challenged  the  general  V 
"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that  was  about  a  lady,  in  some  way  ; 
I  heard  one  of  the  officers  say  so." 
"  The  first  file  do  tho  business." 
"  Yes,  and  thankful  am  I,  Alonzo,  that  you 
and  I  are  in  the  fourth  section." 

The  hour  appointed  for  the  execution  of  the 
sentence  had  nearly  arrived,  and  the  steady  roll 
of  the  drum  beat  the  regiment  to  which  Captain 
Bczan's  company  belonged,  to  the  line.  His 
own  immediate  company  was  formed  on  the  side 
of  the  Plaza  at  right  angles  with  the  rest  of  the 
lino,  in  all  some  thousand  rank  and  file.  This 
company  "  stood  at  ease,"  and  the  men  hung 
then  heads,  as  if  ashamed  of  the  business  they 
were  about  to  perform.  In  the  rest  of  the  line 
the  men  exchanged  a  few  words  with  each  ether, 
now  and  then,  quietly,  but  the  company  referred 
to,  spoke  not  a  word  to  each  other.  Their  offi- 
cers stood  in  a  little  knot  by  themselves,  and  evi- 
dently felt  sad  at  heart  when  they  remembered 
the  business  before  them,  for  their  comrade  con- 
demned to  die  had  been  a  universal  favorite. 

But  a  few  moments  transpired,  after  the  form- 
ing of  the  line,  before  an  aid-de-camp  approached 
and  transmitted  an  order  to  the  first-lieutenant, 
now  commanding  the  company,  and  the  first  file 
of  twelve  men  were  marched  away  to  the  rear  of 
the  barracks,  while  the  rest  of  the  company  were 
sent  to  the  prison  to  do  guard  duty  in  escorting 
the  prisoner  to  the  ground.  It  seemed  to  them 
as  though  this  additional  insult  might  have  been 
spared  to  the  prisoner — that  of  being  guarded  by 
his  late  command,  in  place  of  any  other  portion 
of  the  regiment  being  detailed  for  this  service. 
But  this  was  General  Harcro's  management, 
who  seemed  to  gloat  in  his  own  diabolical  pur- 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    EXECUTION    SCENE. 

TnE  morning  was  bright  and  beautiful  tliat 
ushered  in  the  day  which  was  appointed  for  the 
execution  of  Captain  Lorenzo  Bezan,  in  accord- 
ance with  tlie  sentence  passed  upon  him.  The 
birds  carolled  gaily  in  the  little  grove  that  is 
formed  about  the  fountain  which  fronts  tho  gov- 
ernor-general's palace  and  the  main  barracks  of 
the  army,  while  the  fresh,  soft  air  from  inland 
came  loaded  with  delicious  flavors  and  sweet 
aroma.  Nature  could  hardly  have  assumed  a 
more  captivating  mood  than  she  wore  at  that 
time. 

The  soldiers,  wlio  sauntered  about  the  Plaza, 
and  hung  around  the  doors  of  tho  guard  house, 
wore  an  air  quite  different  from  that  which  the 


poses. 

In  tho  meantime  the  prisoner  had  risen  that 
morning  from  his  damp,  rude  couch,  and  had 
completed  his  simple  toilet  with  more  than  usual 
neatness.  After  offering  up  a  sincere  prayer, 
and  listening  to  the  words  of  the  priest  who  had 
been  sent  to  prepare  him  for  the  last  hour,  he 
declared  calmly  that  he  was  ready  to  die.  He 
had  looked  for  Euez  Gonzales,  and  wondered 
not  a  little  that  the  boy  had  not  come  to  bid  him 
farewell  that  morning — a  last,  long  farewell. 
"  Perhaps  his  young  he.art  wiis  too  full  for  him 
to  do  so,"  said  tho  doomed  soldier;  "and  yet  I 
should  haA'o  felt  h.appier  to  see  him  again.  It  is 
strange  how  much  his  purity  and  gentleness  of 
character  have  caused  me  to  love  him.  Next  to 
Isabella  Gonzales,  surely  that  boy  is  nearest  to 
my  heart.  Poor  Euez  will  miss  me,  for  the  boy 
loves  me  much." 

As  he  mused  thus  to  himself,  the  steady  and 
regular  tread  of  armed  men  was  heard  approach- 
ing his  prison  door,  .and  tlie  young  soldier  knew 
full  well  for  what  purpose  they  came.  In  a  few 
moments  after,  ho  who  had  formerly  been  his 
second  in  command  entered  the  coll  and  saluted 
the  prisoner  respectfully. 

"  Captain  Bezan,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "  Ineed 
not  explain  in  detail  to  you  the  very  unpleasant 
business  upon  which  I  have  been  at  this  time 
sent,  nor  add,"  continued  the  officer,  in  a  lower 
tone  of  voice,  "how  much  I  regret  the  fate  that 
awaits  you." 

"Nay,  Ferdinand,"  answered  Captain  Bezan, 
calmly,  "  say  nothing  of  the  matter,  but  give  me 
your  hand,  my  friend,  and  do  your  duty." 

"  Would  to  God  I  could  in  any  way  avoid  it, 
Lorenzo,"  said  his  brotlier  officer,  who  had  lo'tg 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


67 


been  associated  witli  him,  and  who   had  loved 
him  well. 

''Regrets  are  useless,  Ferdinand.  Youknow 
we  all  have  our  allotted  time,  and  mine  has  come. 
You  shall  see  that  I  will  die  like  a  soldier." 

"Ay,  Lorenzo;  but  in  such  a  way;  so  heart- 
lessly, so  needlessly,  so  in  cold  blood  ;  alas  !  why 
were  you  so  imprudent  1  I  am  no  woman,  com- 
rade. You  have  fought  in  the  same  field, 
and  slept  in  the  same  tent  with  me  oftentimes, 
and  you  know  that  I  have  laid  the  sod  upon  my 
companion's  breast  without  a  murmur,  without 
a  complaint ;  but  tliis  business  is  too  much  for 
me  !" 

"Fie,  fie,  man,"  said  the  prisoner,  with  as- 
sumed indifference  ;  "  look  upon  it  as  a  simple 
duty ;  you  but  fulfil  an  order,  and  there's  the 
end  of  it." 

"  I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  can't !" 

"  Why,  my  good  fellow,  come  to  think  of  it, 
you  should  not  complain,  of  all  others,  since  it 
gives  you  promotion  and  the  command  of  our 
brave  boys.'* 

A  look  of  deep  reproach  was  the  only  answer 
be  received  to  this  remark. 

"  Forgive  me,  Ferdinand,  forgive  me.  I  did 
but  jest,"  he  continued,  quickly,  as  he  again 
grasped  the  hand  of  his  comrade  between  his 
own. 

"  Say  no  more,  Lorenzo.  Is  there  aught  I 
can  do  for  you  before  we  march  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  No  little  boon — no  service  you  would  like  to 
trust  to  a  friend  and  comrade  V 

"  My  papers  are  all  aiTanged  and  addressed 
to  you,  with  directions  how  I  should  like  to  have 
.  them  disposed  of.     There  is  nothing  else,  Ferdi- 
nand." 

"  It  will  be  my  melancholy  pleasure  to  follow 
your  wishes  implicitly,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Thank  you,  Ferdinand." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  AIL" 

"  Then  we  must  at  once  away." 

"  One  moment— stay,  Ferdinand ;  tell  my  poor 
boys  who  act  the  executioners,  those  of  the  ^first 
fihy  to  fire  low — at  vnj  keart,  Ferdinand  !  You 
will  remember  V 

"Alas!  yes,"  said  his  comrade,  turning  sud- 
denly away  from  the  prisoner. 

"And  tell  them,  Ferdinand,  that  I  most  heart- 
ily and  sincerely  forgive  tliem  for  the  part  they 
are  called  upon  to  play  in  this  day's  drama." 

"  I  will— I  will." 

"  That  is  all.  I  have  no  other  request,  and 
am  prepared  now  to  follow  you,"  he  added,  with 
a  calm  and  resigned  expression  of  countenance. 

The  drum  beat — the  file  opened — the  prisoner 
took  his  position,  and  the  detachment  of  men 
whom  he  had  so  often  commanded  amid  the 
carnage  of  battle  and  the  roar  of  cannon,  now 
guarded  him  towards  the  place  of  his  execution. 

Lorenzo  Bczan  had  but  a  little  way  to  march ; 
but  still  a  blusla  suffused  his  face  as  he  passed, 
thus  humiliated,  through  the  public  Plaza,  where 
he  had  so  often  j^araded  his  company  before. 
All  eyes  were  now  bent  upon  him,  from  the 
humblest  to  the  highest,  for  he  was  well  known, 
and  his  fate  had  created  much  remark  among 
all.  He  was  marched  quietly  to  the  rear  of  the 
barracks,  and  as  the  company  filed  by  the  guard 
house,  to  the  long  open  space  on  the  city  side, 
just  opposite  Moro  Castle,  he  distinctly  heard  a 
voice  from  one  of  the  windows  say  : 

"  God  bless  and  help  you.  Captain  Bezan  !" 

He  turned  partially  round  to  see  the  speaker, 
but  no  one  was  visible.  He  was  sure  it  was 
Enez's  voice,  and  wondering  why  he  did  not 
come  forward  to  meet  his  eye,  he  marched  on  to 
the  plain  where  the  entire  division  of  General 
Harero's  command  was  drawn  up  to  witness  the 
scene.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive,  and  much 
more  so  to  describe,  such  an  impressive  sight  as 
presented  itself  at  this  moment  to  the  spectator. 
There  was  so  much  mockery  in  the  brilliant 
uniforms,  flaunting  plumes  and  gilded  accouti-e- 
ments  of  the  soldiery, 'when  contrasted  with  the 
purpose  of  the  scene,  that  one  could  hardly  con- 
template the  sight  even  for  a  moment  with  ordi- 
nary composure. 

The  prisoner,  attended  by  a  private  and  t^vo 
officers,  was  led  to  his  position,  where,  divested 
of  his  coat,  he  stood  simply  in  his  linen  and 
nether  garments,  and  quietly  submitted  to  have 
his  hands  bound  behind  hira,  while  he  exchanged 
a  few  pleasant  words  with  those  who  were  about 
him.  At  a  signal  from  the  provost  marshal,  one 
of  the  ofiieers  essayed  to  bind  a  handkerchief  be- 
fore his  eyes,  but  at  an  earnest  request  to  the 
contrary  by  the  prisoner,  he  desisted,   and  in  a 


moment  after  he   stood  alone  beside  the  open 
grave  that  had  been  dug  to  receive  his  remains  ! 

Behind  him  rolled  the  ocean,  mingling  with 
the  waters  of  the  Gulf  Stream ;  on  either  side 
were  ranged  the  longlineof  infantry  that  formed 
his  division,  while  in  front  was  ranged  his  own 
company,  and  some  ten  yards  in  front  of  them 
stood  the  file  of  thirteen  men  who  were  to  be  his 
executioners.  They  had  just  been  supplied  with 
their  muskets  by  an  officer,  and  were  told  that 
one  was  without  ball,  that  each  one  might  hope 
his  was  not  the  hand  to  slay  his  former  comrade 
in  arms.  Another  signal  from  the  provost,  and 
the  lieutenant  commanding  Captain  Bezan's 
company  advanced  from  the  rear  to  the  side  of 
the  first  file  to  his  regular  position,  at  the  same 
time  saying  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Fire  low,  my  men,  as  yon  love  our  former 
comrade — aim  at  his  lieatt .'" 

A  glance,  and  a  sad  one  of  intelligence,  was 
all  he  could  receive  from  the  men.  Two  or  three 
successive  orders  brouglit  the  file  to  the  proper 
position  for  firing. 

At  that  moment  Lorenzo  Bezan,  with  a  slight 
exertion  of  the  great  physical  strength  which  he 
possessecl,  easily  broke  the  cords  asunder  that 
bound  his  wrists  behind  him,  and  dashing  the 
dark  hair  from  his  high  and  manly  forehead,  he 
calmly  folded  his  arms  upon  his  breast,  and 
awaited  the  fire  that  was  to  end  his  existence. 
The  fearful  word  was  given  by  the  officer,  and 
so  still  was  every  one,  so  breathless  the  whole 
scene,  that  the  order  was  distinctly  heard  through 
the  entire  length  of  tlie  lines. 

The  morning  sun  shone  like  living  fire  along 
the  polislied  barrels  of  the  guns,  as  the  muzzles 
all  ranged  in  point  towards  the  heart  of  the  con- 
demned. In  spite  of  the  effort  not  to  do  so,  the 
officer  paused  between  the  order  to  aim,  and  that 
to  fire.  The  word  appeared  to  stick  in  his 
throat,  and  he  opened  bis  mouth  twice  before  he 
could  utter  the  order ;  but  at  last  he  did  so,  dis- 
tinctly, though  with  a  powerful  effort. 

The  sharp,  quick  report  of  the  muskets  that 
followed  this  order,  seemed  to  jar  upon  every 
heart  among  that  military  throng,  except,  indeed, 
of  him  who  sat  upon  a  large  dapple  gray  horse, 
at  the  right  of  the  line,  and  whose  insignia  be- 
spoke him  to  be  the  commanding  officer,  General 
Harero.  He  sat  upon  his  horse  like  a  statue, 
with  a  calm  but  determined  expression  upon  his 
features,  while  a  stern  smile  might  be  observed 
to  wreathe  his  lips  for  an  instant  at  the  report  of 
the  guns  fired  by  the  executing  file. 

But  see,  as  the  smoke  steadily  sweeps  to  sea- 
ward, for  a  moment  it  completely  covers  the 
spot  where  the  victim  stood,  and  now  it  sweeps 
swiftly  off  over  the  water.  But  what  means  that 
singular  murmur  so  audible  along  the  line — that 
movement  of  surprise  and  astonishment  observed 
in  all  directions  ? 

Behold,  there  stood  erect  the  unharmed  form 
of  Lorenzo  Bezan  !  Not  a  hair  of  his  head  was 
injured  ;  not  a  line  of  his  noble  countenance  was 
in  the  least  distorted.  As  calm  as  though  nought 
had  happened,  he  stood  there  unmoved.  He 
had  so  braced  himself  to  the  effort,  that  nothing 
human  could  have  unnerved  him.  Hastily  di- 
recting an  aid-de-camp  to  the  spot  with  some 
new  order,  General  Harero  issued  anotlier  to  his 
officers  for  the  lines  to  be  kept  firm,  and  prepar- 
ations were  instantly  set  about  for  another  and 
more  certain  attempt  upon  the  life  of  the  con- 
demned, who  seemed  to  the  spectators  to  have 
escaped  by  some  divine  interposition,  little  less 
than  a  miracle. 

At  that  instant  there  dashed  into  the  ai-ea  a 
mounted  aid-de-camp,  bearing  the  uniform  of 
the  governor-general's  suite,  and  riding  directly 
up  to  General  Harero,  he  handed  him  a  paper. 
It  was  done  before  the  whole  line  of  militaiy  and 
the  spectators,  all  of  whom  seemed  to  know  as 
well  its  purport  as  did  tlie  general  after  reading  it. 
"  A  reprieve  !  A  reprieve !"  ran  from  mouth 
to  mouth  along  the  whole  length  of  the  line, 
until  at  last  it  broke  out  in  one  wild  huzza,  defy- 
ing all  discipline. 

Tliose  nearest  to  General  Harero  heard  him 
utter  a  cm-se,  deep  but  suppressed,  for  the  sur- 
mise of  the  multitude  was  con-eet.  Captain  Be- 
zan had  been  reprieved  ;  and,  probabh^  in  fear 
of  this  very  thing,  the  general  of  the  division  had 
taken  upon  himself  to  set  the  time  of  execution 
one  hour  earlier  than  had  been  announced  to 
Tacon — a  piece  of  villany  tha't  had  neai'ly  cut  off 
the  young  soldier  from  the  clemency  that  the 
governor  had  resolved  to  extend  to  him  at  the 
very  last  moment,  when  the  impressiveness  of 
the  scene  should  have  had  its  effect. 

Issuing  one  or  two  hasty  orders.  General  Ha- 


rero put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  dashed  off  the 
grounds  with  chagrin  but  too  plainly  written  in 
his  face  not  to  betray  itself.  He  could  even  de- 
tect a  hiss  now  and  then  from  the  crowd,  as  lie 
passed ;  and  one  or  two,  bolder  than  the  rest, 
cast  epithets  at  him  in  vile  language,  but  he 
paused  not  to  listen.  He  was  no  favorite  with 
citizens  or  soldiers,  and  hastily  dismounting  at 
tlie  door  of  tlie  palace,  he  sought  his  own  room 
with  feelings  of  suppressed  rage  and  bitterness. 
But  what  was  the  meaning  of  those  twelve 
musketeers  all  missing  their  aim "?  So  vexed 
was  General  Harero  at  this,  that  his  first  order 
was  for  their  united  arrest ;  but  that  had  been 
countermanded  now,  since  the  governor  had  re- 
prieved the  prisoner ;  for  the  general  saw  that  he 
stood  in  a  false  position,  in  having  changed  the 
hour  for  execution,  and  did  not  cai-e  to  provoke 
a  controversy  that  might  lead  to  his  exposure 
before  the  stern  justice  of  Tacon,  and  he  did  well 
to  avoid  it.  • 

It  was  very  plain  to  officers  and  men  that  there 
had  been  foul  play  somewhere,  and  so  excited 
had  the  division  become  by  this  time,  that  the 
officers  began  to  look  seriously  at  each  other, 
fearing  an  immediate  outbreak  and  disregard  of 
discipline.  It  was  a  time  to  txj  the  troops,  if 
one  had  ever  occurred.  They  would  have  stood 
firm  and  have  received  an  enemy's  fire  without 
wavering;  but  there  seemed  some  cold-blooded 
rascality  here,  in  the  arriving  of  the  reprieve  after 
the  twelve  men  had  fired,  even  though  they  did 
so  ineffectually. 

Quick,  stern  orders  were  quickly  passed  from 
line  to  line,  the  division  was  wheeled  into  col- 
umn, the  drums  beat  a  quick  march,  and  the 
whole  column  passed  up  the  Calle  del  Iguasio 
towards  the  front  of  the  main  barracks,  where, 
lest  the  symptoms,  already  referred  to,  should 
ripen  into  sometliing  more  serious  still,  orders 
were  issued  to  keep  the  division  still  under  arms. 

In  the  meantime.  Captain  Lorenzo  Bezan,  still 
as  calm  as  though  nought  had  occurred,  was 
marched  back  to  his  cell  in  the  prison,  to  hear 
the  conditions  upon  which  the  reprieve,  as  dic- 
tated by  Tacon,  was  granted.  As  he  passed  the 
guard  house  again,  on  his  return,  he  heard  his 
name  called  as  he  had  heard  it  when  he  marched 
with  the  guard  : 

"  God  bless  you.  Captain  Bezan  !" 

"  Strange,"  tliought  the  prisoner — he  knew  it 
for  Buez  Gonzales's  voice  at  once  ;  "  where  can 
that  boy  be  secreted  V  He  mused  for  a  second 
of  time.  This  was  the  portion  of  the  guard 
room  where  the  officer  on  duty  had  loaded  the 
guns  for  his  execution,  and  from  here  they  had 
been  taken  and  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  men. 
It  did  not  require  much  peneti'ation  on  the  part 
of  the  reprieved  soldier  to  understand  now  the 
reason  why  these  twelve  men  had  missed  their 
aim ! 

How  it  was  accomplished,  of  course  he  knew 
not ;  nor  could  he  hardly  surmise  in  his  oivn 
mind,  so  very  strictly  is  the  care  of  such  matters 
attended  to  under  all  like  circumstances ;  but 
one  thing  he  felt  perfectly  sure  of,  and  indeed  he 
was  right  in  his  conjecture — Ruez  had  drawn  the 
bullets  from  the  guns! 


CHAPTEE  X. 

THE    BANISHMENT. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  had  hardly  reached  his  place 
of  confinement,  once  more,  before  he  was  waited 
upon  by  the  secretary  of  the  governor-general, 
who  explained  to  him  the  terms  on  which  his 
reprieve  was  granted,  viz.,  that  he  should  leave 
the  territory  and  soil  of  Cuba  by  the  next  home- 
ward hound  packet  to  Spain,  to  remain  there, 
unless  otherwise  ordered  by  special  direction  of 
the  government.  His  rank  as  captain  of  infantry 
was  secured  to  him,  and  the  usual  exhortation 
in  sncli  cases  was  detailed,  as  to  the  hope  that 
the  present  example  might  not  be  lost  upon  him, 
as  to  the  matter  of  a  more  strict  adherence  to 
the  subject  of  military  discipline. 

Repugnant  as  was  the  proposition  to  leave  the 
island  while  life  was  his,  Lorenzo  Bezan  had  no 
alternative  but  to  do  so ;  and,  moreover,  when 
he  considered  the  attraction  that  held  him  on  the 
spot,  how  the  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales  had 
treated  him,  when  she  had  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  his  last  meeting  with  her,  and 
nearly  the  last  hour  of  his  life,  he  saw  that  if  she 
would  treat  liim  thus  at  such  a  moment,  then, 
when  he  had  not  the  excuse  of  remarkable  exi- 
gency and  the  prospect  of  certain  death  before 
him,  she  would  be  no  kinder.  It  was  while  ex- 
ercised by  such  thoughts  as  these  that  he  an- 
swered the  secretary : 


"  Bear  my  thanks,  with  much  respect,  to  the 
governor-general,  and  tell  him  that  I  accept  from 
himhis  noble  clemency  and  justice,  the  boon  of 
my  life,  on  his  own  terms." 

The  secretary  bowed  low  and  departed. 

We  might  tell  the  reader  how  Lorenzo  Bczan 
threw  himself  upon  his  bed  of  straw,  and  wept 
like  a  child — how  he  shed  tiiere  the  first  tears  he 
had  shed  since  his  arrest,  freely  and  without  a 
check.  His  heart  seemed  to  bleed  more  at  the 
idea  of  leaving  the  spot  where  Isabella  lived, 
and  yet  to  live  on  himself,  elsewhere,  than  his 
spirit  had  faltered  at  the  idea  of  certain  death. 
Her  last  cruel  words,  and  the  proud  spirit  she 
exhibited  towards  him,  were  constantly  before 
his  eyes. 

"  0,"  said  he,  half  aloud,  "how  I  have  wor- 
shipped, how  adored  that  fairest  of  God's  crea- 
tures I" 

At  moments  he  had  thought  that  he  saw 
through  Isabella's  character — at  moments  had 
truly  believed  that  he  might  by  assiduity,  per- 
haps, if  favored  by  fortune,  win  her  love,  and, 
may  be,  her  hand  in  marriage.  At  any  rate, 
with  his  light  and  buoyant  heart,  there  was  sun- 
shine and  hope  enough  in  the  future  to  irradiate 
his  soul  with  joy,  until  the  last  scene  in  his  drama 
of  life,  added  to  that  of  her  last  cold  farewell! 

He  was  soon  informed  that  the  vessel  wliich 
was  to  take  him  to  Spain  would  sail  on  tiie  fol- 
lo^ving  morning,  and  that  no  further  time  would 
be  permitted  to  him  on  the  island.  He  resolved 
to  write  one  last  letter  of  farewell  to  Isabella 
Gonzales,  and  then  to  depart ;  and  calling  upon 
the  turnkey  for  writing  materials,  which  were 
now  supplied  to  him,  he  wx-ote  as  follows  : 

"  Dear  Ladt  :  Strange  circumstances,  with 
which  you  are  doubtless  well  acquainted  by 
this  time,  have  changed  my  punishment  from 
death  to  banishment.  Under  ordinary  cu-cura- 
stanees  it  would  hardly  be  called  banishment  for 
any  person  to  be  sent  from  a  foreign  clime  to 
the  place  of  his  nativity  ;  nor  would  it  appear  to 
be  such  to  me,  were  it  not  that  I  leave  behind 
me  the  only  being  I  have  ever  really  loved — the 
idol  angel  of  my  heart — she  who  has  been  to 
me  life,  soul,  everything,  until  now,  when  I  am 
■\ATetehed  beyond  description;  because  without 
hope,  all  things  would  he  as  darkness  to  the  hu- 
man heart. 

"  I  need  not  review  our  brief  acquaintanceship, 
or  reiterate  to  you  the  feelings  I  have  already 
expressed.  If  you  can  judge  between  true  love 
and  gallantry,  you  know  whether  I  am  sincere  or 
otherwise.  I  could  not  offer  you  wealth,  Isabella 
Gonzales.  I  could  not  offer  yon  rank.  I  have 
no  fame  to  share  with  you ;  but  0,  if  it  be  the 
will  of  Heaven  that  another  should  call  you  wife, 
I  pray  that  he  may  love  you  as  I  have  done.  I 
am  not  so  selfisli  but  that  I  can  utter  this  prayer 
with  all  my  heart,  and  in  the  utmost  sincerity. 

"  The  object  of  this  hasty  scrawl  is  once  more 
to  say  to  you  farewell ;  for  it  is  sweet  to  me  even 
to  address  you.  May  God  bless  your  dear 
brother,  who  has  done  much  to  sustain  me, 
bowed  dowm  as  I  have  been  with  misfortune,  and 
broken  in  spu'it ;  and  may  the  especial  blessing 
of  Heaven  rest  ever  on  and  around  you. 
"  This  will  ever  be  the  nightly  prayer  of 
Lorenzo  Bezan." 

When  Isabella  Gonzales  received  this  note  on 
the  following  day,  its  author  was  nearly  a  dozen 
leagues  at  sea,  bound  for  the  port  of  Cadiz,  Spain ! 
She  hastily  perused  its  contents  again  and  again. 
looked  off  upon  the  open  sea,  as  though  she 
might  be  able  to  recall  him,  threw  herself  upon 
her  couch,  and  wept  bitter,  scalding  tears,  until 
weary  nature  caused  her  to  sleep. 

At  last  Buez  stole  into  her  room  quietly,  and 
finding  her  asleep,  and  a-  tear-drop  glistening 
still  upon  her  cheek,  he  kissed  away  the  peai-ly 
dew  and  awoke  her  once  more  to  consciousness. 
He,  too,  had  learned  of  Captain  Bezan's  sudden 
departure ;  and  by  the  open  letter  in  his  sister's 
hand,  to  which  he  saw  appended  his  dearly  loved 
friend's  name,  he  judged  that  her  weeping  had 
been  caused  by  the  knowledge  that  he  had  left 
them — probably  forever. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  should  have  seen  her  then,  in 
her  almost  transcendent  beauty,  too  proud,  far 
too  proud,  to  own  even  to  herself  that  she  loved 
the  poor  soldier ;  yet  her  heart  would  thus  unbid- 
den and  spontaneously  betray  itself,  in  spite 
of  all  her  proud  calmness,  and  strong  efforts 
at  self-control.  The  boy  looked  at  her  earnestly ; 
twice  he  essayed  to  speak,  and  then,  as  if  some 
after  tliought  had  changed  his  purpose,  he  Idsscd 
her  again,  and  was  silent. 

[to  be  continued.] 


68 


GLEASON'S    PICrrORIAL    DRAWIJJG    ROOM    COMPANION. 


SECOND    ILLUSTJIATEI)    SEIIIES   OF   VIEWS    OF    NIAGARA    FALLS. 


A  GENEEAL  VIEAV  OF  NIAGARA  FALLS,  FROM  TILE  Ai\lERICAN  SIDE. 


THE  FALLS  OF  NIAGARA. 

We  present  to  our  readers  this  week  a  continuation  of  our 
series  of  views  of  Niagara  Falls.  They  are  of  the  same 
effective  character  as  those  given  in  a  former  nnmher,  and 
furnish  a  fine  idea  of  this  stupendous  wonder  of  the  world, 
which  has  been  the  admiration  of  every  lover  of  nature  in 
its  exhibitions  of  sublimity  aud  grandeur.  From  the  sum- 
mit of  the  perpendicular  rocks,  at  the  base  of  which  we  have 
halted,  the  view,  although  composed  of  tlic  same  elements, 
presents  a  totally  different  combination  of  lines.  The 
American  Fall  no  longer  thunders  overhead  ;  it  boils  at  our 
feet,  and  the  lower  gulf  expands  beneath  our  eyes  like  a 
vast  arena,  as  far  as  the  English  Fall,  whose  sliifting  curtain 
extends  in  the  form  of  a  horse-shoe  from  one  bend  to  the 
otiier.  On  the  upper  plateau  is  traced  the  curve  of  the 
Gi-eat  Rapids,  intercepted  on  tlie  left  by  the  shadows  of  Iris 
Island.  The  Hog's  Back,  which  faces  ns,  towers  above 
Prospect  Island,  enveloped  in  a  belt  of  foam,  above  the  level 
of  which  its  soil  rises  but  a  few  feet.  Halting  on  the  ex- 
treme point  of  the  American  shore,  we  can  dip  our  feet  in 
tlie  Rapids  at  the  very  point  where  they  launcli  into  the  abyss. 
To  cross  the  river,  a  line  of  ferry  boats  has  been  established 
below  the  American  Fall.  Tlie  passage,  secured  from  dan- 
ger by  the  solidity  of  the  boats,  and  the  skill  of  the  oarsmen, 
offers  no  inconveniences  but  the  motion  of  the  waters  still 
agitated  by  the  recoil  of  their  fall,  and  the  fine  and  penetra- 
ting rain  which  the  wind  often  sweeps  over  tlie  transit  of  the 
boats,  to  the  great  discomfort  of  the  passengers.  To  spare 
the  latter  the  fatigue  of  a  long  descent  to  the  shore,  the 
gigantic  wall  of  granite  on  the  American  side  has  been 
deeply  excavated ;  then,  by  filling  up  the  vacuum  at  the  base 
with  the  masses  detached  from  the  summit,  a  slope,  steep 
but  regular,  has  been  formed,  on  which  a  double  iron  track 
has  been  laid.  Two  cars,  each  containing  perhaps  a  dozen 
persons,  furnished  with  seats  arranged  like  those  of  an  am- 
phitheatre, move  upon  this  inelnied  plane.  They  are  at- 
tached to  each  other  by  an  enormous  cable  and  iron  chains 
the  length  of  the  descent,  so  that  by  tlie  same  movetncnts, 
one  car  ascends  while  the  other  is  descending.  You  thus 
behold  yourself  transported  under  a  curved  gallery,  from 
the  upper  platform  of  the  Rapids  to  the  lower  level  of  the 


•■V      -\:t-   V: 


YIEAV  OF  THE  FACTORIES. 


river.  This  descent  is  not  entirely  divested  of  something 
terrifying.  It  is  very  difficult,  once  launched  upon  your 
course,  not  to  keep  thinking  that  if  the  cable  should  break, 
the  car  would  escape,  and  you  would  be  crushed  and  pul- 
verized to  atoms  before  reaching  the  shores  of  tlie  river. 
But  at  Niagara  the  traveller  becomes  necessarily  familiarized 
with  this  sort  of  chance.  On  the  opposite  bank,  the  English 
have  established  a  winding  road,  which  allows  vehicles  to 
reach  the  landing-place,  and  by  an  odd  contrast,  a  carriage 
station  plants  the  standard  of  human  civilization,  like  a  de- 
fiance, almost,  in  the  veiy  teeth  of  the  grand  cataclysm  of 
natui'e.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  stands  the  Clifton  House, 
and,  a  few  hundred  yards  further.  Point  Victoria  projects 
over  the  stream.  Thence,  with  a  spirit  calmed,  and  with 
the  eye  soothed  by  the  distance  of  the  cataracts,  you  can 
measure  the  distances,  and  analyze  the  marvels.  It  is  the 
proper  point,  then,  to  introduce  a  few  figures  into  our  de- 
scription. Tlie  total  of  the  grand  curve  formed  by  the  three 
falls  and  by  Iris  and  Prospect  Islands,  comprises  a  line  of 
1400 yards.  The  American  Fall  is  164  feet  in  height;  the 
Central  Fall  the  same  height,  and  the  English  Fall  158  feet. 
"With  regard  to  the  quantity  of  water  passing  over  the  falls, 
Br.  Dwight  has  made  the  following  calculation  :  Admitting 
the  rate  of  the  current  to  be  six  miles  an  hour,  1,225,108,800 
hogsheads  are  discharged  in  a  day  ;  102,092,400  in  an  hour  ; 
1,701,540  a  minute,  and  28,359  in  a  second.  The  quantity 
necessarily  varies  a  good  deal  with  the  condition  of  the 
atmosphere.  Thus  a  violent  wind,  rolling  the  waters  of 
Lake  Erie  into  the  Niagara,  may  produce  an  increase  of  two 
feet  at  the  falls.  Descending  the  course  of  the  river  on 
either  shore  for  the  space  of  a  mile  and  a  half,  you  reach  the 
Suspension  Bridge,  represented  on  next  page.  Although 
the  construction  is  similar  to  that  of  other  bridges  of  the  kind, 
yet  its  elevation  above  the  waters,  the  absence  of  all  inter- 
mediate support,  and  the  savage  aspect  of  the  surrounding 
scenery,  give  it  a  particular  character  of  boldness  and  light- 
ness. The  workmen  who  built  it  remember  well  the  wicker 
basket  which  transported  four  persons  along  the  first  cable, 
■  stretched  from  one  shore  to  the  other ;  and  they  tell  you 
that  the  first  carriage  launched  upon  this  road,  v/as  driven 
full  speed  by  an  American,  although  the  railing  had  not  been 


QPNERAJ^  VIEW  OF  NIAGARA  FALLS  FROM  THE  CANADA  SIDE. 


I 


GLEASON'S   riCTOEIAL   DRA^^XG   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


69 


THE  SUSPENSION  BRIDGE. 


put  up.  The  railroad  from  Lewiston  to  Niagara  passes  the  hridgc.  This  is  another  monument  ot 
the  unparalleled  boldness  of  the  Americans.  To  economize  the  purchase  of  land  in  an  enteprise  in 
which  the  first  funds  were  inconsiderable,  they  had  the  courage  to  lead  the  iron  road  along  the  ex- 
treme verge  of  the  gigantic  shelves  of  rock  which  compress  the  river.  There  is  one  place  where  a 
fissure,  produced  by  the  caving  away  of  a  rock,  extends  for  about  a  foot  and  a  half  below  one  of  the 
rails,  which  thus  bestrides  a  precipice.  To  see  the  trains  running  along  the  brink  of  these  abysses 
is  enough  to  give  one  the  vertigo ;  but  to  make  the  passage 
yourself — to  pass  over  the  cavity  alluded  to,  is  to  experience 
to  what  point,  for  the  sake  of  pleasure  or  curiosity,  one  can 
sport  with  the  chance  of  an  inevitable  death.  Near  the 
Suspension  Bridge  an  easy  road  conducts  carriages  and  foot 
passengers  to  the  steamboat  landing,  whence  the  Maid  of 
the  Mrst  starts  several  times  a  day,  to  run  along  the  two 
steep  banks  of  the  river,  passing  into  the  volumes  of  vapor 
thrown  off  by  the  cataracts,  and  drenching  the  passengers 
for  a  moment  like  a  rain  storm.  This  is  the  unavoidable 
baptism  of  every  new  comer,  before  experience  has  revealed 
the  necessity  of  seeking  shelter  before  approaching  the 
American  Fall.  After  having  hugged  it  very  close,  the 
steamer  pursues  its  course  along  the  lower  banks  of  Iris 
Island,  and  approaches  the  curve  of  the  great  fall.  Under 
the  impulse  of  powerful  machines  it  struggles  for  a  moment 
to  keep  its  place  near  the  boiling  limits  beyond  which  its 
fate  would  be  instant  and  inevitable.  On  a  sea  of  foam, 
stirred  to  the  very  bottom  of  its  abysses,  it  bows,  rises,  and 
inclines  again  ;  but  soon  the  cuiTent  seizes  it  and  hurls  it  to 
a  distance  with  an  invincible  strength,  the  impetus  of  which 
cannot  be  overcome,  till  it  approaches  the  road  leading  up 
to  the  Clifton  House,  where  travellers  usually  land.  To 
reach  the  great  fall  from  this  side,  you  skirt  uninterrupted 
the  steep  brink  of  the  precipice  which  leads  to  Table  Rock. 
Successive  crumblings  away  of  the  rock  have  profoundly 
modified  the  form  of  this  platform,  whose  projection,  as  we 
have  explained,  forms  the  arch  which  allows  you  to  pene- 
trate behind  the  great  fall.  In  1818,  a  surface  160  feet  long, 
and  30  or  40  wide,  detached  itself,  fortunately  in  the  midst 
of  the  night.  Other  less  considerable  slides  occurred  in 
1828,  1829,  and  1850.  No  sort  of  precaution  is  taken  to 
prevent  accidents.  Profound  fissures  furrow,  in  different 
places,  what  still  remains  of  this  gigantic  mass,  and  yet,  with 
incredible  carelessness,  hundreds  of  curious  people  every 
day  crowd  and  bend  over  the  abysses  to  procure  themselves 
the  fascination  of  the  vertigo.  It  is  from  the  height  of  the 
hill  surmounted  by  Table  Rock  that  the  eye  embraces  the 
most  complete  and  striking  panorama  of  the  cataracts.  In 
1837,  a  steamboat  (the  Caroline),  used  to  furnish  supplies  to 
the  insurgent  Canadians,  was  taken  by  the  British  at  Chip- 


TIIE  LIGHTHOUSE. 


pewa,  and  abandoned,  all  on  fire,  to  the  Rapids.  It  was  night.  She  crossed,  like  a  fiery  meteor, 
the  whole  of  that  vast  arena  of  reefs  which  lier  passage  lighted  up.  Five  or  six  unfortunate  persons, 
concealed  on  board,  were  said  to  have  been  swept  away  by  tliis  floating  conflagration.  The  fiery 
crater  was  launched  into  the  cataracts  and  extinguished  like  a  spark  in  the  crater  of  the  waters. 
From  which  ever  side  you  examine  the  great  fall,  you  perceive  on  the  left  side  of  the  Horse  Shoe,  a 
solitary  and  motionless  tower,  which  like  a  lighthouse  rises  above  the  very  edge  of  the  abyss  in 

which  it  seems  about  to  sink  each  moment.  To  reach  it 
you  must  cross  the  beautiful  Iris  Island,  that  oasis  of  calm, 
freshness  and  shade  in  the  troubled  desert  of  the  rapids. 
You  descend  on  the  side  of  the  great  fall,  and  advance  along 
a  footway  called  Terrapin  Bridge,  which  from  rock  to  rock 
reaches  the  base  of  the  tower.  The  Prospect  Tower  is  only 
called  Lighthouse  from  analogy,  for  no  other  light  but 
that  of  cigars  was  ever  kindled  tliere  that  we  know  of.  It  is 
a  sort  of  stone  watch-tower,  45  feet  high,  enclosing  only  a 
spiral  staircase,  and  sujiporting  on  its  summit  a  circular 
wooden  gallery,  whence  the  eye  embraces  all  the  surround- 
ing details,  and  plunD:es  into  the  very  heart  of  the  terrible 
Horse  Shoe.  Around  its  base,  rocks  have  been  rolled  by 
the  force  of  the  currents ;  some  have  disappeared  in  the 
gulf,  and  others  ai'C  threatening  to  sink  every  hour.  The 
American  Fall,  though  sublime,  inclines  to  the  beautiful; 
while  the  Canadian  Fall,  though  beautiful,  is  characterized 
by  an  overpowering  sublimity.  On  the  American  side,  the 
water  power  is  immense,  and  easily  available.  The  river 
at  the  falls  is  a  little  over  three-fourths  of  a  mile  wide,  but 
below,  it  is  immediately  compressed  to  less  than  one-fourth 
of  a  mile  wide,  and,  as  ascertained  by  sounding,  is  about 
250  feet  deep.  About  two  miles  below  the  falls  the  river  Is 
comparatively  smooth,  and  thence  to  Lewiston  it  flows  with 
amazing  rapidity.  While  the  river  makes  a  constant  descent, 
the  banks  have  a  gradual  ascent  for  six  miles ;  and  some 
have  supposed  that  the  falls  have  receded  from  Queenstown 
to  their  present  situation  ;  but  they  are  known  now  to  occupy 
the  same  situation  that  they  did  200  years  since.  About  two 
miles  below  the  falls  on  the  American  side,  is  a  mineral 
spring,  containing  sulphuric  and  muriatic  acids,  lime  and 
magnesia,  useful  in  scrofulous,  rheumatic,  and  cutaneous 
complaints.  One  mile  further  down  is  a  terrihc  whirlpool, 
almost  as  tremendous  as  the  Mxlsti'om  of  Norway,  where 
logs  and  trees  are  wdiirled  round  for  days  in  its  outer  circles, 
and  finally  drawn  down  perpendicularly  with  great  force, 
and  shot  out  again  at  the  distance  of  many  rods.  The  num- 
ber of  visitors  at  the  falls  is  from  twelve  to  fifteen  thousand 
annually,  and  is  continually  increasing.  The  fashionable, 
the  opulent,  and  the  learned  here  congregate  in  the  summer 
season  from  all  parts  of  the  civilized  world. 


VIEW  OF  THE  GRAND  RAPIDS  AND  THE  HORSESHOE. 


70 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllTAL   DP.AWING   ROOM    COI\IPANI()N. 


[Written  for  Gleiwon'H  Pictorial.] 
O  COME  NOT  TO  ME. 

INSCIIIBED  TO  MI3S  E.  HICKS. 

BY  JOHN   D.  JOHNSON,  M.  D. 

0  ccmio  not  to  me,  If  thou  scok'at  for  a  namo 
That  'h  hi'ightly  omhlazonod  on  tho  annal  of  famo  | 
That's  wiifted  afar  on  the  voice  of  tho  crowd, 
And  worshipped  in  state  at  its  shrino  by  tho  proud. 

But  como  thou  to  mo,  if  thou  fligh'at  for  a  namo 
That'.',  chcriHhod  in  hoart.4  hy  alTcctlon's  mild  Ilamo; 
That's  whispered  in  softness  by  lips  that  arc  near, 
And  worshipped  in  silence  by  those  that  ai-o  dear. 

0  como  not  to  mc,  if  thou  long'st  for  a  face 
That  'b  moulded  in  beauty,  and  tempered  by  gi-uce  ; 
Or  a  tongue,  whose  soft  cadence  shall  fall  on  tho  car 
As  softly,  as  sweetly,  as  perfumes  ou  air. 

But  flee  thou  to  mo,  if  thou  wish  for  a  face, 
Where  each  feeling  that  springs  from  the  heart  finds  a  place ; 
Whore  tho  tongue  is  not  wanted  its  love  to  deelare, 
For  a  glance  on  that  face  tells  thee  all  that  is  there. 

0  come  not  to  mo,  if  wealth  is  your  wish, 

1  have  not,  I  care  not,  for  wealth  such  as  this ; 
The  gold  that  I  offer  is  mined  from  tho  heart, 
If  that  will  not  buy  thee,  wo  better  had  part. 

0  come  not  to  me,  if  the  world  you  would  roam, 
The  world  that  encircles  my  footsteps  is  "  home  ;" 
Though  yours  full  of  sunshine  and  beauty  may  bo. 
Still  mine  has  most  sunshine  and  beauty  for  me. 

0  the  love  that  I  offer,  like  the  plant  that  is  seen, 
Does  not  shrink  from  tho  winter,  but  blooms  "  ever-green ;" 
The  leaves  will  not  scatter,  the  veins  will  not  ehill, 
Then  0  come  not  to  me,  unless  such  you  can  feel. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

ISABELLA. 

EY    EVA    MILFORD. 

"  A  FOREIGN  lady  "wishes  to  see  you,  madam, 
and  bid  me  give  you  this  letter,"  said  my  ser- 
vant, interrupting  a  dreamy  summer  reverie 
■which  I  was  indulging  in  ray  favorite  garden- 
seat. 

I  sighed  "  0  dear!"  and  took  the  letter;  but 
my  eyes  lighted  up  as  I  recognized  the  hand- 
writing of  a  dear  and  valued  cousin  who  had 
some  years  previously  married  a  Spanish  senor, 
and  followed  him  to  his  native  land.  The  en- 
velope was  unsealed,  and  contained  a  slip  of  pa- 
per and  a  bulky  letter  ornamented  with  my  cou- 
siu's  well-known  seal.  I  took  up  the  billet  first, 
which  contained  merely  these  words: 

."  Will  my  very  dear  cousin  extend  a  helping 
hand  to  this  poor  exile  from  home,  and  love,  and 
hope  ?  She  speaks  very  little  English ;  but  you 
learned  Spanish  with  mc,  and  was  once  quite 
fluent.  Tou  will  find  Isabella  di  Eibas's  story  in 
the  accompanying  letter ;  but  you  may  safely  be- 
friend her  without  reading  it." 

I  at  once  rose  to  go  into  the  house,  unwilling 
to  keep  the  senora  -waiting  longer,  and  relying 
implicitly  upon  my  cousin's  recommendation. 

As  I  entered  the  drawing-room  without  much 
noise,  I  saw  the  senora  standing  before  a  copy  of 
Raphael's  most  lovely  Madonna;  her  hands 
clasped,  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears,  and  her 
lips  moving  rapidly  though  noiselessly.  I  knew 
that  she  was  invoking  the  aid  of  the  Mother  of 
God,  and  I  respected  her  faitli,  although  my  own 
religious  views  were  so  widely  different.  I 
stepped  back  into  the  hall,  and  moved  a  ehair 
somewhat  noisily  to  herald  my  approach.  It 
had  the  desired  effect,  for,  as  I  again  entered  the 
room,  the  melanclioly  face  had  acquired  a  calm 
and  dignified  expression,  and  the  hastily  wiped 
eyes  were  expectantly  fixed  upon  the  door.  I 
hastened  to  extend  my  hand,  and  to  say  in 
Spanish : 

"  The  friend  of  my  cousin  is  most  welcome  to 
my  house." 

The  color  flashed  almost  proudly  into  the  pale 
face  as  my  guest  answered  in  a  low  rich  voice. 

"  I  do  not  presume  to  call  myself  the  friend  of 
the  noble  Senora  di  Garcia;  but  she  has  been  a 
kind  and  constant  benefactress  to  mc,  and  I  am 
grateful." 

"Iknow  that  my  cousin  is  as  discerning  as 
she  is  kind,"  said  I,  "and  that  one  of  whom  she 
speaks  so  highly  as  she  does  of  you,  must  be  one 
whom  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  assist.  But 
tell  me,"  continued  I,  as  she  did  not  seem  in- 
clined to  speak,  "what  can  I  at  present  do  for 
you  V 

The  color  again  suffused  that  face,  whose 
natural  complexion  was  a  pale  olive ;  but  she 
re]ilicd  firmly : 

"  I  am  dependent,  senora,  on  my  own  exer- 
tions for  my  daily  bread,  and  the  greatest  benefit 
which  you  can   confer  will  be  to  give  mc  the 


means  of  earning  it.  In  hap])ior  hours  I  spent 
much  time  in  delicate  embroidery,  anrl  I  liavo 
considerable  skill,  I  believe.  I  also  can  draw, 
and  I  can  speak  French  as  well  as  a  native 
and — " 

But  licr  voice,  which  had  laltercd  during  the 
last  sentence,  Iiero  failed  her  altogether;  and 
covering  Iier  face,  she  burst  into  a  passionate 
flood  of  tears.  I  was  most  sincerely  grieved  at 
her  distress,  and  sat  down  hy  her,  saying  some 
sootliing  words,  and  wondering  in  my  own  heart 
what  -was  her  history,  and  how  I  should  relieve 
this  tori-ent  of  grief.  But  she  recovered  licr 
equanimity  almost  as  soon  as  .she  had  lost  it; 
and,  wiping  her  eyes,  she  raised  them  to  mine, 
saying,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  as  she  rose 
to  go: 

"  Pardon  mc,  senora.  My  nerves  arc  some- 
what over-wrought  by  excitement,  and  other 
things ;  but  I  am  calm  now,  and  will  trouble  you 
no  longer." 

I  inquired  her  address,  which  was  at  a  cheap 
boarding-house  in  a  street  of  which  I  knew  noth- 
ing but  the  name ;  and,  telling  her  that  she 
should  hear  from  me  very  soon,  I  i^ressed  her 
hand  and  bid  her  adieu. 

That  same  evening,  I  dispatched  a  messenger 
to  her  with  a  bundle  of  fine  needle-work,  enclos- 
ing a  liberal  compensation,  for  some  things  in 
her  appearance  made  mc  fear  that  she  was  suf- 
fering for  want.  I  also  begged  her  acceptance 
of  a  few  little  dainties,  which  I  judged  would  be 
more  tempting  to  her  appetite  than  the  usual 
fare  of  a  cheap  boai-ding-house.  This  duty,  for 
so  I  considered  it,  completed,  I  turned  with  eager 
interest  to  my  cousin's  letter,  which  was  to  give 
me  the  previous  history  of  my  new  protege.  It 
was  in  amount  this  : 

Maria  di  Ribas  (the  mother  of  Isabella),  was 
the  child  of  a  noble  but  impoverished  caballero 
of  old  Spain.  Pier  mother  died  at  her  birth,  and 
her  father  closed  his  eyes  during  his  only  child's 
fifteenth  summer,  leaving  her  to  the  care  of  an 
aged  grandmother.  In  less  than  a  year  from 
her  father's  death,  the  young  and  beautiful  dam- 
sel had  contracted  a  marriage  with  a  young  Por- 
tuguese officer,  who  was  travelling  to  recniit  his 
health,  impaired  by  a  severe  wound.  The  ro- 
mantic girl  was  at  once  fascinated  by  the  some- 
what pale  face  and  languid  eyes  of  the  invalid, 
and  tlie  ami  gracefully  supported  in  a  military 
seaif  quite  completed  the  conquest.  The  old 
song  says  : 

"Happy  the  wooing 
That 's  not  long  a-doing." 

Certainly  this  was  one  of  the  speediest  on  record, 
for  the  young  captain  was  forced  to  join  his  regi- 
ment ou  the  sixth  day  from  that  which  first  in- 
troduced him  to  the  black  eyes  and  rosy  lips  of 
Maria  di  Ribas. 

The  poor  old  grandmother,  almost  in  her 
dotage,  could  not  keep  watch  of  her  lively 
charge,  and  entrusted  her  to  a  faithful  duenna, 
but  alas  !  this  ancient  maiden  had  a  tender  heart, 
and  could  not  resist  the  united  fascinations  of 
Maria's  coaxing  ways  and  the  hoard  of  gold 
pieces  of  her  lover.  Thus  the  result  was  that  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening  preceding  the  departure 
of  Gonsalvez  Diaz  for  Lisbon,  the  bewildered 
duenna  accompanied  her  young  mistress  to  a  se- 
cluded church,  where  awaited  them  a  joyful  and 
impatient  bridegroom. 

The  old  priest,  whose  mental  vision  was  some- 
what obscured  by  the  same  golden  medium 
which  had  so  strongly  affected  the  duenna,  read 
the  service  hastily,  conferred  his  blessing,  and 
motioned  to  the  young  couple  that  all  was  finish- 
ed, and  the  sooner  they  were  off  the  better. 
They  turned  and  left  the  church  door  hand  in 
hand.  Adam  and  Eve  quitting  Paradise  were 
not  more  friendless  upon  the  face  of  the  earth ; 
for  Gonzalvez  had  no  relations,  and  Maria  had 
by  her  runaway  match  offended  the  few  who  re- 
mained to  her.  Her  future  home  was  her  hus- 
band's barracks,  her  future  associates,  soldiers 
and  soldiers'  wives. 

With  a  slight  sinking  at  the  heart,  the  fair 
bride  seated  herself  beside  her  husband  in  the 
carriage,  which  was  to  convey  them  the  first 
stage  of  their  long  journey;  but  her  lover  hus- 
band's fond  words  and  caresses  soon  restored 
the  gay  smile  and  thoughtless  jest.  They  reach- 
ed the  garrison  town  in  which  Diaz  was  quarter- 
ed, and  commenced  their  matrimonial  career — 
doomed,  however,  to  bo  a  short  one;  for,  after 
two  months  of  bliss,  such  as  both  agreed  could 
come  but  once  in  a  life,  a  dispatch  arrived  from 
head-quarters  ordering  Captain  Diaz  to  proceed 
at  once  with  his  regiment  to  Lorenzana,  a  small 
mountain  town  in  the  north  of  Portugal,  which 
was  the  notorious  head-quarters  of  a  large  troop 


of  banditti,  whose  dcprcdation.s  had  become  so 
bold  and  unscrupulous  as  to  demand  some  at- 
tention from  government.  The  parting  caused 
the  greatest  soitow  to  both  husband  and  wife — a 
sorrow  augmented  by  the  uncertainty  of  Captain 
Diaz's  absence;  but  fate  and  commanders-in-chief 
are  inexorable;  and  the  best  that  the  young  hus- 
band could  do  was  to  place  his  beloved  Maria  in  tlie 
family  of  tlic  alcahh  of  the  town,  whose  son  was 
also  a  gallant  captain,  and  the  bosom  friend  of 
Gonsalvez  Diaz.  Tliis  young  man,  at  the  young 
husband's  earnest  request,  undertook  the  role 
of  lirother  and  guardian  to  the  "  mourning  bride," 
and  engaged  to  watch  over  her  as  over  his  own 
sister;  and,  indeed,  few  brothers  can  boast  of 
such  unremitting  attention  to  their  sisters  as  was 
paid  by  Juan  di  Montejo  to  tiie  fair  wife  of  his 
friend. 

Month  after  month  glided  away,  until  the  day 
after  the  anniversary  of  their  departure,  the  dus- 
ty and  travel-worn  regiment  of  Captain  Diaz  en- 
tered the  town,  where  lay  centred  all  the  young 
soldier's  dearest  hopes  and  emotions.  Getting 
through  the  foi-malities  imposed  by  martial  eti- 
quette as  quickly  as  possible,  Gonsalvez  rushed 
to  the  house  of  the  alcalde,  pushed  aside  the  ser- 
vant (the"  very  duenna  who  had  aided  his  mar- 
riage), and  burst  unannounced  into  the  sfxla, 
where  he  expected  to  find  his  Maria. 

She  was  indeed  there;  but  why  does  the  gal- 
lant soldier  who  had  forced  the  hottest  front  of 
battle  with  unquailing  nerves  %  why  does  he 
now  start  and  turn  such  a  ghastly  white  ?  and 
why  is  he  forced  to  cling  for  support  to  that  very 
door  which  a  minute  before  he  flung  so  impa- 
tiently open  'i  Maria  indeed  was  there ;  and  even 
in  that  agonized  moment,  her  broken-hearted 
husband  could  not  deny  to  himself  that  her  beau- 
ty was  more  glorious  than  he  had  ever  befoi'e 
seen  it.  But  this  consciousness  was  now  but 
another  drop  of  bitterness  in  the  heart  of  the 
wretched  husband.  Maria  was  before  him  seat- 
ed upon  a  low  eoueh,  but  0  !  beside  her,  his  arms 
around  her  waist,  his  head  resting  upon  her 
bosom,  and  his  whole  attitude  one  of  assumed 
and  reciprocal  love,  sat  the  brother,  the  guardian, 
the  trusted  and  beloved  friend !  Gonsalvez  stood 
before  them  as  though  turned  to  stone,  with  an 
expression  upon  his  fine  face  of  mingled  anguish 
and  rage,  such  as  no  limner  has  ever  depicted. 

Maria  was  the  first  to  recover  life  and  motion, 
and  w^ith  an  hysterical  sob  she  rushed  from  the 
room,  her  husband's  steady  gaze  pursuing  her. 
The  scene  that  followed  was  brief,  stern,  and 
soldier-like.  No  time  was  lost  in  useless  recrimi- 
nation; with  men  of  that  nation  and  profession, 
there  ^vas  but  one  course  open,  and  in  five  min- 
utes from  the  time  wdien  Gonsalvez  Diaz,  a  joy- 
ful and  impatient  husband,  had  rushed  into  the 
house,  he  left  it  with  twenty  years  upon  his  brow, 
and  the  anguish  of  death  gnawing  at  his  heart. 

The  meeting  was  arranged  to  take  place  at 
sunset,  outside  the  walls  of  the  town,  and  thither, 
after  providing  himself  with  a  friend,  who  took 
the  management  of  the  affair  upon  his  ovra. 
shoulders,  the  husband  turned  his  steps  to  hold  a 
brief  communion  with  his  own  heart.  But  the 
effort  to  think  was  a  bootless  one — he  could  biit 
fed,  and  this  he  did  with  an  intensity  such  as  few 
people  are  cursed  with  a  capability  for. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  false  friend  appear- 
ed with  the  seconds,  and  accompanied  by  the 
regimental  surgeon.  The  combat  was  short ;  a 
guilty  conscience  performed  its  work  upon  the 
skilful  hand  of  Montejo,  and  after  a  very  few 
passes,  his  sword  flew  from  his  hand,  and  he  lay 
disarmed  at  his  enemy's  feet.  Gonsalvez  raised 
his  sword  to  plunge  it  into  the  heart  of  his  ene- 
my, but  just  as  the  fatal  point  was  about  to  ful- 
fil its  message  of  death,  a  nobler  thought  entered 
the  mind  of  the  injured  husband.  He  thrust  his 
sword  again  into  its  scabbard,  and  turning  con- 
temptuously away,  he  said : 

"  Take  your  life,  and  try  to  improve  it.  I  will 
not  sully  my  sword  with  the  blood  of  a  traitor  to 
honor  and  friendship." 

An  hoiu*  afterward,  the  wretched  and  guilty 
Maria  received  the  following  letter  from  her 
husband  : 

"  We  have  met  for  the  last  time.  Of  my  feel- 
ings, of  the  utter  desolation,  the  living  death 
which  you  have  brought  upon  a  heart  entirely 
devoted  to  you,  I  wdll  say  nothing.  Your  own 
conscience  in  your  hours  of  solitude  will  suggest 
all  that  I  might  say.  Nor  do  I  hold  myself  en- 
tirely without  blame ;  I  beguiled  you  from  your 
home,  firmly  believing,  it  is  true,  that  I  could 
make  your  life  happier  than  it  had  ever  been; 
this  was  wrong;  but  could  I  have  been  with  you, 
all  might  still  have  been  well ;  hut  0  !  fool  and 
idiot  that  I  was,  to  entrust  you  to  another's  care. 


But  enough  of  these  idle  regrets.  At  sunrise 
to-moiTOW  my  servant  will  wait  at  your  door 
with  means  of  conveyance  to  your  native  city, 
where,  I  believe,  your  grandmother  is  still  alive. 
Tell  lier  from  mc  that  you  can  no  longer  be  my 
wife,  and  I  have  returned  you  to  that  home  from 
wliich  I  should  never  have  taken  you." 

Maria  shed  many  tears  over  this  last  memo- 
rial of  a  husband  whom  she  had  so  fondly  loved; 
but  it  was  a  relief  to  her  to  know  that  she  should 
not  see  him  again ;  she  could  not  bear  tho 
thought  of  again  meeting  that  clear  stern  eye 
which  had  followed  her  exit  from  the  room  when 
she  last  saw  Gonsalvez.  Ilcr  preparations  were 
soon  made,  and  at  the  appointed  hour  she  com- 
menced, accompanied  only  by  the  taciturn  Pedro, 
to  retrace  that  path,  which  but  little  more  than  a 
year  before  she  had  pursued,  as  a  happy  bride, 
accompanied  by  a  loving  husband.  Upon  the 
third  day  from  that  in  which  this  sad  joumcy 
was  commenced,  Pedro  returaed  to  his  master, 
who  inten'ogated  him  with  a  look  which  Pedro 
understood  as  well  as  words, 

"Senor,"  said  he,  "all  went  well  through  the 
fir.st  day,  and  until  noon  of  the  second,  wdicn 
I  stopped  at  a  little  inn  to  feed  the  mules,  and 
rest  the  senora.  Just  as  she  was  entering  the 
house,  however,  a  caballero,  mounted  on  a  large 
black  horse,  overtook  us.  He  leaped  from  his 
horse  and  took  the  senora's  hand,  then  he  wliis- 
pered  to  her,  and  she  to  him,  and  then  he  bid 
me  return.  I  asked  the  senora  if  such  was  her 
wish,  and  she  trembled  and  wept,  but  at  last 
said, 'Yes,  good  Pedro,  go;*  and  the  caballero 
offered  me  gold,  which  I  did  not  take,  and  I 
returned." 

"  Did  you  know  this  caballero,  Pedro '?" 

"  Yes,  senor." 

"  And  what  is  his  name  V 

"  Don  Juan  di  Montejo,  senor." 

"  Very  well,  Pedro,  you  may  leave  me,"  said 
Gonsalvez,  in  an  unfaltering  voice. 

From  this  period,  the  unhappy  Maria's  fate 
was  wretched  indeed.  She  lived  for  a  few  years 
with  her  seducer,  who  had  obtained  a  discharge 
from  his  military  service.  During  this  period, 
two  children  were  born — Isabella,  who  was  the 
means  of  my  knowing  this  sad  history,  and  a 
sister,  who  happily  for  herself  died  in  infancy. 
When  this  event  occurred,  the  miserable  mother 
looking  upon  it  as  a  warning  and  punishment 
for  her  evil  life,  I'ctired  to  a  convent,  where  she 
soon  after  died,  living,  however,  to  hear  of  the 
death  of  her  husband  on  the  field  of  battle,  and 
of  the  marriage  of  Juan  di  Montejo. 

His  wife  was  a  stem  cold  woman,  who  held 
the  little  Isabella  responsible  for  the  error  of  her 
birth,  and  treated  her  accordingly.  She  had 
children  of  her  own,  to  whom  Isabella  was  a 
servant,  and  she  was  fast  sinking  into  a  mere 
household  dnidge,  when  an  event  occurred  which 
changed  her  whole  destiny. 

It  was  her  twentieth  birthday,  and  Isabella 
had  been  invited  with  her  sisters  to  attend  a  large 
ball  at  the  house  of  a  rich  merchant  in  the  town 
where  the  family  then  lived.  By  some  singular 
freak  of  good  nature  in  her  step-mother,  Isa- 
bella was  permitted  for  the  first  time  to  partici- 
pate in  the  recreations  of  which  her  t^vo  sisters 
were  so  fond. 

This  ball  had  been  given  by  the  Senor  and 
Senora  di  Contreras,  to  celebrate  the  return  of 
the  young  Alonzo  to  his  native  city.  He  had 
for  some  years  pursued  his  studies  at  the  univer- 
sity of  Salamanca,  and  had  now  returned  to 
assist  his  father  in  the  complicated  duties  of  his 
large  mercantile  establishment.  He  was  hand- 
some, talented,  witty,  gay ;  what  wonder,  then, 
that  my  poor  Isabella  at  once  pronounced  him, 
to  her  own  heart,  the  most  agreeable  and  love- 
able  man  she  had  ever  seen.  So  also  concluded 
the  stately  Dorothea,  ivho,  although  four  years 
the  junior  of  Isabella,  had  seen  far  more  of  the 
world,  and  that  interesting  class  of  its  inhabi- 
tants— gay  young  men,  than  Isabella  had  ever 
dreamed  of. 

Very  much  to  Dorothea's  astonishment  and 
indignation,  however,  Alonzo  di  Contrei-as  paid 
his  exclusive  attention  to  the  despised  and  neg- 
lected elder  sister,  and  certainly  Isabella's 
handsome  features,  lighted  up  with  an  unwonted 
expression  of  happiness,  far  outshone  the  more 
insipid  and  artificial  beauty  of  her  sister. 

The  petted  and  indulged  Dorothea  was  almost 
sick  with  anger  and  disappointment,  and  hardly 
waited  to  arrive  at  home  before  she  poured  out 
upon  the  hapless  Isabella  the  full  measure  of  her 
indignation.  In  this  she  was  joined  hy  her  mo- 
ther, who  assured  Isabella  that  it  was  the  last 
time  of  her  appearing  in  public,  and  that  if  the 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


71 


young  man  should  call  at  the  house,  she  need 
not  expect  to  sec  him. 

Alonzo  did  come,  as  indeed  he  had  assured 
Isabella  he  should  do,  and  very  fortunately  came 
when  the  Senora  di  Moutcjo  and  her  daughters 
were  making  a  visit,  so  that  for  t\YO  hours  the 
young  couple  talked,  and  looked,  and  loved ; 
for,  in  that  sunny  clime,  love  is  a  plant  of  rapid 
growth.  And  when,  at  the  entrance  of  the  other 
ladies,  Alonzo  took  a  ceremonious  leave,  he  had 
declared  to  the  timid  girl  his  passion,  and  ex- 
torted an  acknowledgement  that  she  could  be 
happy  with  him  for  life,  if  his  parents  could  be 
brought  to  consent.  But  this  was  a  very  diflfer- 
ent  undertaking  from  what  the  sanguine  lover 
had  promised.  The  father  would  not  by  any 
means  consent,  and  raved  and  stormed  like  one 
mad  at  the  idea  of  his  only  son — his  future  heir 
and  head  of  his  ancient  family— making  such  a 
misalliance  ;  and,  to  iinish  all,  the  proud  old  don 
waited  upon  the  father  of  Isabella,  and  a  very 
stormy  interview  occurred,  the  result  of  which 
was,  that  Isabella,  after  being  soundly  scolded  by 
father,  step-mother  and  sisters,  had  begged  of 
her  parents  to  furnish  her  with  funds  sufficient 
to  carry  her  to  America,  and  to  suffer  her  to  for- 
ever relieve  them  of  her  presence. 

This  plan  was  finally  acceded  to,  and  in  a  few- 
weeks  tlie  poor  lovely  young  thing  was  tossing 
upon  the  wild  ocean  waves,  bound  for  a  new 
world,  to  which  her  only  introduction  was  my 
cousin's  letter. 


Several  days  elapsed  after  my  perusal  of  poor 
Isabella's  stoiy,  and  I  was  meditating  a  visit  to 
her  retreat,  when  she  was  sho\\Ti  into  the  room 
where  I  was  seated. 

But  I  hardly  recognized  in  the  handsome  face, 
beaming  with  joy  and  hope,  the  pensive,  mourn- 
ful features  which  I  had  before  seen.  Taking 
my  extended  hand,  she  fervently  kissed  it,  and 
burst  into  tears — tears  of  joy  this  time,  and  flow- 
ing from  an  excess  of  happiness.  I  hastened  to 
ask  what  had  occurred  to  give  her  so  much 
pleasure,  and  finally  gathered,  amidst  her  tears 
and  joyful  exclamations,  that,  on  the  previous 
evening,  as  she  sat  weeping  bitterly  in  her 
chamber,  she  was  told  that  a  gentleman  wished 
to  see  her,  and  on  descending,  he  had  proved  to 
be  Alonzo — her  own  dear  Alonzo  ! 

It  appeared  that  after  Isabella's  departure,  the 
young  man  had  fallen  into  a  very  melancholy 
condition,  in  fact,  had  fretted  himself  quite  ill, 
and  that  finally  by  working  on  his  doting  mo- 
ther's feelings,  who  in  turn  influenced  his  father, 
he  had  at  last  obtained  their  consent  to  embark 
for  America,  where  the  Senor  di  Contreras  had 
a  flourishing  branch  establishment,  of  which 
Alonzo  was  to  take  charge. 

The  parents  also  consented  to  the  only  wish 
of  his  heart — a  marriage  with  Isabella,  but  only 
on  condition  that,  in  her  destitution  and.  despair, 
she  had  done  nothing  to  sully  in  her  own  person 
that  name  which  her  mother  had  so  feaifully 
compromised. 

Alonzo  had  fearlessly  given  this  promise,  and 
his  trust  was  not  misplaced.  A  few  weeks  more 
(which,  by  the  way,  were  spent  by  the  young 
lady  at  my  house),  and  the  gay  and  smiling 
Senora  di  Contreras  had  forgotten  completely 
the  sorrows  of  Isabella  di  Ribas;  and  she,  her 
husband  and  a  little  year  old  fairy,  are  at  this 
moment  one  of  the  happiest  firailies  ot  my 
acquaintance. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
ATTEND.UVT  ANGELS. 


BY  W.   i.   FOGG. 

Angel  forms  are  round  mo  ever, 

Sweetly  on  me  smiling  ; 
And  from  earth's  dim  patliwi^)  never 

Cease  they  their  beguiling. 

When  the  rich,  effulgent  hght 

Of  the  day  is  beaming ; 
"When,  far  througla  the  shadowy  night, 

Stai-ry  worlds  are  gleaming  : 

When  the  happy  hours  of  life 

Speedily  are  flying ; 
And  when  they  with  grief  are  rife, 

When  the  loved  are  dying : 

Ever  to  my  cup  of  joy. 

Add  they  more  of  gladness ; 
And  within  my  soul  destroy 

Every  trace  of  sadness. 

Thus  are  angels  round  me  ever 

Sweetly  ou  me  smiling  ; 
And  from  earth's  dim  pathway,  never 

Cease  they  their  beguiling, 

Fools  and  obstinate  people  make  lawyers  rich. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
HU3IBLE  WORTH. 

BY  JOSEPH   COMER. 

Tell  me  not  that  he 's  a  poor  man, 

That  his  dress  is  coarse  and  bare ; 
Tell  me  not  his  dfiily  pitt;ince 

Is  a  workman's  scanty  fare. 
Tell  me  not  his  birth  is  humble, 

That  his  parentage  is  low  : 
Is  he  honest  in  his  actions  ? 

This  is  all  I  want  to  know. 

Is  his  word  to  be  relied  on  ? 

Has  his  chai-acter  no  blame  ? 
Then  I  care  not  if  he  's  low  born, 

Then  I  ask  not  whence  he  came. 
Would  he  from  an  unju.st  action 

Turn  away  with  scornful  eye? 
Would  he,  than  defraud  another, 

Sooner  on  the  scaffold  die  ? 

.Would  he  spend  his  hard-gained  earnings 

On  a  brother  in  distress? 
Would  he  sooner  the  Jifflictcd, 

And  the  weak  one's  wrongs  redress  ? 
Then  he  is  a  man  deserving 

Of  my  love  and  my  esteem  ; 
And  I  care  not  what  bis  birthplace 

In  the  eye  of  man  may  seem. 

Let  it  be  a  log-built  hovel, 

Let  it  be  a  thatched  and  clay-built  cot ; 
Let  it  be  a  conmion  poor-house. 

In  my  eye  it  matters  not. 
And  if  others  will  disown  him, 

As  inferior  to  their  caste, 
Let  them  do  it — I  befriend  him, 

As  a  brother,  to  the  last. 

IXTERESTIiVG  IIVClDEiNT. 

A  day  or  two  ago,  T.  F.  Meagher,  in  company 
with  Commodore  Daniels,  of  Baltimore,  and  his 
friend  P.  J.  Smyth,  visited  the  navy  yard,  and 
went  on  board  the  American  ship-of-war  Inde- 
pendence, lying  out  in  the  stream.  He  was  re- 
ceived very  courteously  by  Commodore  Morgan, 
who  showed  him  all  through  the  ship,  enter- 
tained him  at  lunch,  and  off"ered  him  the  use  of 
one  of  his  boats  at  any  time  he  wanted  it.  Mr. 
Meaglier  being  introduced  to  the  officers,  one  of 
them,  on  liearing  the  name,  said  he  thought  he 
met  him  in  company  with  a  Mr.  Smyth  in  the 
Mediten-anean,  in  1S49.  Mr.  Meagher  said  it 
was  impossible;  but  on  some  explanation,  it 
turned  out  to  be  his  brother.  The  officer  then 
passed  a  high  eulogy  on  that  gentleman,  and 
said  he  would  never  forgot  his  attention  and  de- 
votion to  a  brother  officer,  Lieutenant  Bayard, 
of  Philadelphia,  who  had  been  scorched  by  the 
burning  lava  in  an  eruption  from  Vesuvius,  and 
had  died  from  the  eflects.  Young  Meagher  at- 
tended his  bedside,  on  board  of  the  ship,  for  five 
daj'S  and  nights,  without  undressing  or  going  to 
bed,  till  the  poor  fellow  died.  So  much  did  the 
oflicers  admire  his  conduct  tliat  his  name  be- 
came a  household  word  on  board,  and  there- 
fore, not  only  on  Iiis  own  account  but  his  broth- 
er's, Mr.  Meagher  was  a  welcome  guest  on  board 
the  Independence.  He  mot  among  the  oflicers 
one  or  two  college  mates,  who  were  delighted  to 
see  him.  In  fact,  all  were  rejoiced  to  make  his 
acquaintance. — Boston  Pilot. 


BARBERS. 

He  that  is  old  enough  to  remember  the  reign 
of  Puvilio  and  Pomatum,  now  utterly  passed 
away,  will  do  justice  to  tlie  former  dignity  and 
importance  of  these  practitioners.  When  a  cush- 
ion reposed  amid  the  umbrageous  labjTlnth  of 
every  female  head,  into  which  pins  of  nine  inches 
long  were  thrust  to  support  the  intricate  expan- 
sion of  her  outfrixzod  hair,  while  the  artist  busily 
plied  his  puff,  surcharged  with  Marechale  or 
brown  powder,  redolent  of  spice; — when  every 
gentleman's  sconce  was  wavy  with  voluminous 
and  involuted  curls,  and  he  sat  daily  in  his  pow- 
dering room,  then  an  indispensable  apartment, 
gazing  through  the  horny  eyes  of  his  mask  upon 
his  putting  decorator,  dim  amid  tlie  cloud  of  dust 
as  the  Juno  of  Ixion  ;  when  all  this  complicated 
"  titivation  "  was  to  be  incurred  with  aggravated 
detail  before  every  dinner-party  or  ball — then 
was  the  time  when  the  barbers,  like  the  celestial 
bodies,  which  have  great  gloi-y  and  little  rest, 
were  harassed  and  honored,  tipped  and  torment- 
ed, coaxed  and  cursed. — Horace  Smith. 


SLEEP. 

The  most  violent  passions  and  excitements  of 
mind  cannot  preserve  even  poweiful  minds  from 
sleep ;  thus  Alexander  the  Great  slept  on  the 
field  of  Arbela,  and  Napoleon  upon  that  of  Aus- 
terlitz.  Even  stripes  and  torture  cannot  keep  off 
sleep,  as  criminals  have  been  kno^Ti  to  sleep  on 
the  rack.  Noises  which  at  first  serve  to  drive 
away  sleep,  soon  become  indispensable  to  its  ex- 
istence ;  thus  a  stage-coach  stopping  to  change 
horses,  wakes  all  the  passengers. 

The  proprietor  of  an  iron  forge,  who  slept 
close  to  the  din  of  hammers,  forges  and  blast- 
furnaces, would  awake  if  there  was  any  interrup- 
tion to  them  during  the  niglit;  and  a  sick  miller, 
who  had  his  mill  stopped  on  that  account,  passed 
sleepless  nights  until  the  mill  resumed  its  usual 
noise.  Homer,  in  his  Iliad,  elegantly  represents 
sleep  as  overcoming  all  men,  and  even  the  gods, 
except  Jupiter  alone. — Mackniffht. 


TEST  OF  A  FRENCini.\N. 

The  oflice  and  duty  of  the  poet  is  to  select  the 
most  dignified  as  well  as 

"The  gayest,  happiest  attitude  of  things." 

The  reverse — for,  in  all  cases,  a  reverse  is  possi- 
ble— is  the  appropriate  business  of  burlesque  and 
travesty,  a  predominant  taste  for  which  has  al- 
ways been  deemed  a  mark  of  a  low  and  degraded 
mind.  When  I  was  at  Rome,  among  many  other 
visits  to  the  tomb  of  Julius  II.,  I  went  thither 
once  with  a  Prussian  artist,  a  man  of  genius  and 
great  vivacity  of  feeling.  As  we  were  gazing  ou 
Michael  Angelo's  Moses,  our  conversation  turn- 
ed on  the  horns  and  beard  of  that  stupendous 
statue ;  of  the  necessity  of  each  to  support  the 
other ;  of  the  superhuman  eft'ect  of  the  former, 
and  the  necessity  of  the  existence  of  both  to  give 
a  harmony  and  integrity  both  to  the  image  and 
the  feeling  excited  by  it.  Conceive  them  re- 
moved, and  the  statue  would  become  ;(??-natural, 
without  being  K^pez-natural.  We  called  to  mind 
the  hoi'us  of  the  rising  sun,  and  I  repeated  the 
noble  passage  from  Taylor's  Holy  Dying.  That 
horns  were  the  emblem  of  power  and  sovereignty 
among  the  eastern  nations,  and  are  still  retained 
as  such  in  Abj-'ssinia,  the  Achelous  of  the  ancient 
Greeks ;  and  the  probable  ideas  and  feelings, 
that  originally  suggested  the  mixture  of  the  hu- 
man and  the  brute  fonn  in  the  figure,  by  which 
they  realized  the  idea  of  the  mysterious  Pan,  as 
representing  intelligence  blended  with  a  darker 
power,  deeper,  mightier,  and  more  universal 
than  the  conscious  intellect  of  man — than  intelli- 
gence ; — all  these  thoughts  and  recollections 
passed  in  procession  before  our  minds.  My 
companion,  who  possessed  more  than  his  share 
of  the  hatred  which  his  countrymen  bore  to  the 
French,  had  just  observed  to  me,  "  a  Prench- 
man,  sir,  i^  the  only  animal  in  the  human  shape 
that  by  no  possibility  can  lift  itself  up  to  religion 
or  poeti-y ;"  when,  lo  !  two  Freucii  officers  of  dis- 
tinction and  rank  entered  the  church  !  "  Mark 
you,"  whispered  the  Prussian,  "the  first  thing 
which  those  scoundrels  would  notice — for  they 
will  begin  by  instantly  noticing  the  statue  in 
parts,  without  one  moment's  pause  of  admiration 
impressed  by  the  whole — will  be  the  horns  and 
the  beard.  All  the  associations  which  they  will 
immediately  connect  with  them  will  be  those  of 
a  he-goat  and  a  cuckold."  Never  did  man  guess 
more  luckily.  Had  he  inherited  a  portion  of  the 
great  legislator's  proplietic  powers,  whose  statue 
we  had  been  contemplating,  he  could  scarcely 
have  uttered  words  more  coincident  with  the  re- 
sult ;  for,  even  as  lie  had  said,  so  it  came  to 
pass. — Coleridge's  Literary  Biography. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LINES  OA  THE  LATE  HON.  lUDIVRY  CLAY. 


BY  J.   ALFORD. 

To  him,  who  calmly  for  his  death  prepares. 
Come  when  it  will,  it  comes  not  unawares  I 
*  *  »  *  *  # 

Here  rests  in  peace  that  which  is  and  ever  was  ! 

Sage  precept  useful  lessons  may  impart, 

But  'tis  example  which  best  guides  the  heart; 

A  name  to  the  United  States  most  dear, 

Claims  from  their  sons  a  tributary  tear. 

His  noble  feeling,  to  no  sect  confined, 

Within  its  sphere  encircled  all  mankind  ; 

Hence  all  who  know  his  value,  must  deplore 

The  loss  sustained — their  Clay  is  now  no  more. 

Each  bard  tears  off  the  bay-wreath  from  his  head, 

And  wears  the  solemn  cypress  in  its  stead  ; 

Emblem  of  grief  unfeigned,  of  true  concern, 

Best  suited  to  liis  much  lamented  urn. 

For  amity,  that  no  cold  medium  knew, 

For  generous  worth,  that  scorned  a  sordid  view, 

Joined  with  true  pnictised  power  and  studious  zeal. 

He  labored  nobly  for  his  country's  weal ; 

But  now  he  's  sunk  on  earth's  insensate  breast, 

His  heart,  and  all  its  social  ardors  rest. 

Then  let  us  deign  to  shed,  who  stay  behind, 

One  tear,  the  tribute  of  a  grateful  mind ; 

The  lc;ist  demand  his  sterling  worth  can  claim, 

For  leaving  to  mankind  a  virtuous  ftune. 

Yet  why  should  nature's  frailty-  drop  a  tear? 

'T  is  surely  sin  to  mourn  his  envied  bier ; 

Since  HcaTeu  decrees  that  he  should  hence  remove. 

To  share  that  bliss  which  only  good  men  prove. 


High  stations  tumult,  but  no  bliss  create, 
None  think  the  great  unhappy  but  the  great. 


FRUITS  AKB  FLOM'ERS  IN  FRANCE. 

The  production  of  rose-bushes  is  in  France  a 
positive  trade.  Their  exportation,  which  com- 
menced in  1770,  has  gone  on  increasing  ever 
since.  The  environs  of  Paris  alone  produce  a 
million  of  francs'  worth.  Four  million  of  francs 
of  flowers  of  all  sorts  are  sold  every  year  at  the 
various  flower-markets,  independently  of  those 
taken  by  the  government  for  its  official  festivities. 
Paris  pays  two  million  a  year  ibr  its  strawberries ; 
and  1250  acres  of  the  surrounding  country  are 
devoted  to  their  culture.  Epernay,  near  St. 
Denis,  is  now  sending  every  day  to  England  five 
hundred  francs'  worth  of  asparagus.  Harfiim-, 
on  the  coast,  furnished  a  million  of  francs'  worth 
of  melons,  last  season,  to  the  city  of  London 
alone.  Horticulture  is  becoming  such  an  im- 
portant branch  of  national  industry,  that  the  two 
Parisian  societies — La  Nationate  and  La  Centrale 
— exert  themselves  zealously  to  bring  the  o:arden- 
er's  art  to  still  greater  perfection. — Flared  Maga- 
zine. 

«  ^-»i  » 

The  proudest  motto  for  the  young  I 

Write  it  in  lines  of  gold 
Upon  thy  heart,  and  in  thy  mind 

The  stin-ing  words  enfold  : 
And  in  misfortune's  dreary  hour, 

Or  fortune's  prosperous  gale, 
'T  will  h-iTe  a  holy,  cheering  power — 

"There's  no  such  word  as  fau,!" 

Alice  G.  Lee. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LETTERS. 

BY  EDWARD   ASUTOX. 


Aflection^s  caskets,  which  unfold 

The  richest  treasures  of  the  heart ; 
5Iore  precious  than  the  purest  gold, 

Or  richest  specimens  of  art. 
Remembrancers  of  days  past  by, 

Of  ideal  hours  of  happiness ; 
Of  loved  ones  gone — the  mild,  blue  eye. 

The  rosy  cheek  and  auburn  tress. 

0  how  I  love  to  trace  the  lines, 

Teeming  with  friendship's  offeiinga  ; 
Bright,  sparkUng  gems  from  spirit-mines, 

Sweet  draughts  from  never-failing  springs. 
And  in  my  dark  and  gloomy  hours. 

Most  cheerful,  soothing  friends  they  are ; 
Stremng  my  path  with  summer  flowers, 

And  gilding  night  irith  many  a  star. 

0  they  are  bright-winged  messeugers, 

Commissioned  for  the  shores  of  time ; 
To  breathe  to  us  the  thought  that  stirs 

To  purer  love,  and  wakes  a  chime 
Of  sweeter  spirit-music.    Yea, 

The  visible  impress  of  the  soul 
They  arc  to  loved  ones  far  away, 

Holding  o'er  life  a  glad  control. 

What  wonder,  then,  I  prize  them  so? 

To  me  a  world  of  joy  they  seem  ; 
Imprinted  with  the  radiant  glow 

Of  beauty,  from  some  angel-dream. 
And  thus  I  treasure  them  as  gifts, 

From  kindred  spirits,  to  my  o^vn ; 
Whose  presence,  for  the  moment,  lifts 

Sle  from  a  beggar  to  a  throne. 

BLACK  AND  WHITE. 

Jefferson  noted  seventeen  points  of  diflerence 
between  the  black  and  the  white  man.  They 
differ  in  color,  in  their  hah*,  and  in  the  shape  of 
their  bodies.  The  black  man  has  more  beard 
than  the  white  man.  He  perspires  more  pro- 
fusely. Theie  is  a  slight  difference  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  lungs,  by  which  the  black  has 
more  exhaling  force  than  the  white.  The  black 
man  requires  less  sleep.  His  love  is  more  ar- 
dent, but  less  imaginative  than  that  of  the  white 
man.  His  grief  is  more  transient.  He  reflects 
less.  His  reasoning  powers  are  decidedly  mfe- 
rior.  His  memory  is  equal  to  the  white  man's, 
but  not  his  imagination,  which  is  dull  in  the  ex- 
treme. The  black  lias  less  originality.  He  has 
no  turn  for  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture. 
He  has  as  good  an  car  for  music  as  the  white 
man,  but  no  skill  in  composing.  And,  lastly,  the 
black  has  no  poetical  tendencies. — National  Age. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
ODE  TO  A3IERICA. 

Read  be/ore  the  National  ^hcsical  Festival,  at  Washington. 


Br  CHAELES  HENRT  STEWAET. 

Not  in  the  pomp  of  pride, 

Not  in  the  glare  of  state ; 
My  native  land,  thy  birth  arose, 

A  nation  strong  and  great ; 
But  fearless  round  thee  flashed  the  light 

Of  truth  and  freedom,  mid  the  night ! 

When  crown  and  crosier  swayed. 
With  steel,  the  craven  ^torld; 

And  waves  of  deep  Cimmerian  shade 
Around  her  confines  curled ; 

The  flower  of  freedom,  from  decay, 

Here  blossomed  In  eternal  day. 

Yes,  land  of  the  pilgrim  throng  I 

Land  of  the  tyrant's  fear  1 
Here  first  was  swelled  the  freeman's  seng, 

And  dropped  the  freeman's  tear. 
Soil  of  the  pilgrim's  holy  band, 
My  native  land  1  my  native  land ! 

God  of  the  battle-field ! 

Hearer  of  earnest  prayer '. 
Thou  once  gav'st  Washington,  to  shield 

Our  cause  from  every  snare ; 
Forever  guide  oui-  ship  of  state 
Through  all  the  adverse  tides  of  fate ! 

0,  keep — though  glorious  Rome, 

And  Greece,  ahis !  are  dead  I 
Crushed  by  the  bloody  wheels  of  wrong, 

That  o'er  their  bosoms  sped  ! 
0,  keep  our  nation  proud  and  high, 
And  span  it  with  a  cloudless  sky ! 


A  VALUABLE  THIXG. 

"Which  will  you  do — smile,  and  make  your 
household  happy,  or  be  crabbed,  and  make  all 
those  young  ones  gloomy,  and  the  elder  ones 
miserable  !  The  amount  of  happiness  you  can 
produce  is  incalculable,  if  you  show  a  smiling 
face,  a  kind  heart,  and  speak  pleasant  words. 
Wear  a  pleasant  countenance ;  let  joy  beam  in 
your  eyes,  and  love  glow  on  your  forehead. 
There  is  no  joy  like  that  which  springs  from  a 
kind  act  or  a  pleasant  deed ;  and  you  will  feel  it 
at  night  when  you  rest,  at  morning  when  you 
rise,  and  through  tlie  day  wdien  about  your  busi- 
ness.— Home  Journal. 


It  is  madness  to  make  fortune  the  mistress  of 
events,  because  in  herself  she  is  nothing,  but  is 
ruled  by  prudonce. 


72 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAT.    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


*?/:^!k 


laS 


PROCESSION,  AND  GRAND  RECEPTION  OF  THE  HON.  DANIEL  WEBSTER  IN  BOSTON. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COIMPANION. 


73 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  AT  HOaiE. 

Late  political  circumstances  have  had  a  ten- 
dency to  bring  out  Mr.  Webster's  personal  friends 
somewhat  warmly  in  their  demonstrations  of 
feelings  for  him.  The  late  celebration,  which  is 
so  graphically  delineated  by  our  artist  on  this 
and  the  preceding  page,  was  the  occasion  of 
Mr.  Webster's  return  from  AVashington,  on  a 
risit  to  his  Massachusetts  home.  It  was  truly  a 
magnificent  affiiir,  and  was  got  up  without  re- 
gard to  party  lines  at  all.  The  line  of  the  pro- 
cession, or  escort  of  welcome,  was  formed  at 
Koxbury  and  Boston  junction,  on  Washington 
Street.  The  procession  took  up  the  line  of 
march,  amid  the  cheers  of  a  large  concourse  of 
people,  who  liad  assembled  at  that  point,  and  the 
tiring  of  cannon  in  Roxbury  and  the  Common. 
Mr.  Webster  was  seated  in  an  elegant  carriage, 
drawn  by  six  gray  horses,  from  Seward's  stable. 
The  military  escort  consisted  of  a  division  of 
volunteer  troops,  under  command  of  Maj.  Gen. 
B.  F.  Edmands.  This  division  was  composed 
of  twenty-five  companies,  who  made  a  fine  dis- 
play, exceeding  anything  of  the  kind  that  has 


Then  came  cavalcades  of  the  citizens  of  Boston, 
Koxbury,  Dorchester,  Brigliton,  Cambridge, 
Charlestown,  etc.;  following  in  the  rear  of  the 
cavalcade  was  a  large  number  of  vehicles  of 
every  class  and  style.  The  cavalcade  was  the 
largest  ever  seen  in  Boston,  and  must  have  in- 
cluded more  than  one  thousand  horses.  As  the 
procession  moved  down  Washington  Street,  the 
sidewalks,  the  windows  and  balconies  of  the 
houses  were  filled  with  spectatoi's,  the  animated 
and  enthusiastic  admirers  of  the  great  man 
who  was  honored  by  the  occasion,  while  there 
was  not  the  slightest  demonstration  of  disrespect 
toward  him,  as  we  could  discover,  from  any 
quarter.  The  cheering  was  vociferous,  and 
numberless  bouquets  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers 
were  thrown  by  fair  hands  into  Mr.  Webster's 
carriage,  amounting  in  the  aggregate  to  several 
bushels.  The  scene  throughout  the  entire  route 
was  very  imposing  and  beautiful,  from  the  deco- 
rations and  the  brilliant  arrayof  ladies  to  be  seen 
on  either  hand,  with  eyes  and  features  radiant 
with  the  excitement  of  the  occasion.  Owing  to 
tlie   extreme   heat  of  the   day,   the   procession 


were  debarred  from  witnessing  the  proud  dis- 
play. The  civic  array  was  less  brilliant,  but 
hardly  less  impressive.  The  long  line  of  foot- 
men and  horsemen  told  of  the  deep  and  heartfelt 
admiration  of  the  people  for  one  who  stands 
peerless  among  his  fellows  in  all  that  constitutes 
intellectual  greatness,  and  of  the  gratitude  for 
the  great  and  enduring  services  which  he  has 
rendered  to  tlieir  common  country.  The  pro- 
cession occupied  about  thirty-five  minutes  in  pass- 
ing any  given  point.  At  about  a  quarter  past 
six,  Mr.  Webster  reached  the  platform  on  the 
Common.  In  front  of  the  platfoi-m  the  militaiy 
were  drawn  up  in  line,  and  paid  him  a  salute, 
which  he  acknowledged  witli  much  satisfaction. 
In  a  few  moments  the  stand  was  surrounded  by 
an  immense  concourse  of  people.  Hon.  J.  T. 
Stevenson  then  arose,  and  in  a  fine  and  eloquent 
address  welcomed  Mr.  Webster  to  the  hearts  of 
his  thousands  of  friends  in  Massachusetts ;  to 
which  Mr.  Webster,  rising  amid  a  perfect  tor- 
rent of  applause,  responded  in  a  speech  of 
exceeding  interest,  and  rich  in  historical  inci- 
dent of  his  own  life,  and  the  causes  which  had 


cheer  was  started  which  did  not  cease  until  he 
arrived  at  the  Common,  where  it  assumed  the 
shape  of  one  loud  huzza  of  applause.  The 
windows,  too,  along  the  whole  route  were  crowd- 
ed with  the  loveliest  of  Boston  fair.  A  beautiful 
wreath,  thrown  by  a  lady  from  the  balcony  of  a 
house  in  Tremont  Street,  lodged  upon  Mr. 
Webster's  head,  where  he  wore  it  for  some  dis- 
tance. The  enthusiasm  among  the  mihtary  was 
unbounded,  and  set  at  defiance  all  military  nile 
and  discipline.  The  men  for  the  moment  forgot 
they  were  in  line,  and  joined  in  tlie  one  universal 
shout  of  welcome  to  the  gallant  defender  of  the 
Constitution.  At  every  stoppage  whicli  the  pro- 
cession made,  it  was  more  than  the  united  force 
of  a  strong  body  of  police,  backed  up  by  a  dozen 
marshals  on  horseback,  could  do  to  keep  the 
crowd  from  nishing  to  the  carriage  and  shaking 
hands  with  Mr.  Webster.  We  saw  at  one  time 
at  least  a  dozen  hands  hold  of  Mr.  Webster's 
hand  and  ann — which  was  covered  nearly  to  the 
elbow — and  all  shaking  with  a  strength  which 
showed  the  depth  of  the  feeling  which  prompted 
the  act.     At  several  places  along  the  route,  the 


HON.  DANIEL  "WEBSTER  S  RECEPTION  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 


been  witnessed  in  this  city  for  a  long  time.  We 
give  the  names  of  the  different  companies  as  they 
appeared  in  column  :  National  Lancers,  Wash- 
ington Artillery,  Boston  Artillery,  Cowdin  Pha- 
lanx, Columbian  Artillery,  Roxbury  Artillery, 
Boston  Light  Guard,  Pulaski  Guard,  New  Eng- 
hind  Guard,  Eusilcers,  Boston  Light  Infantry, 
Winthrop  Light  Guard,  Washington  Light 
Guard,  Boston  City  Guard,  Mechanic  Riflemen, 
Charlestown  City  Guard,  Cambridge  City  Guard, 
Lowell  City  Guard,  Lowell  Mechanic  Phalanx, 
Wamesit  Light  Guard,  Salem  City  Guard, 
Richardson  Light  Guard,  Stoneham  Light  In- 
fantry, Boston  Veteran  Association.  The  mili- 
tary column  was  followed  by  Gen.  John  S.  Tyler 
and  his  aids.  Mr.  Webster  was  accompanied  by 
his  son,  Fletcher  Webster,  Esq.,  and  by  the  Hon. 
Franklin  Haven,  and  was  escorted  by  the  Inde- 
pendent Cadets.  Immediately  in  the  rear  of 
Mr.  Webster's  barouche,  came  others,  in  which 
wire  the  committee  of  arrangements,  Mayor 
Seaver  and  the  officers  of  the  City  Government, 
the  delegates  to  the  Baltimore  Convention,  and 
invited  guests.  The  Webster  Association,  bear- 
ing a  handsome  banner,  and  marshalled  by  Tol- 
nian  Wiliey,  Esq.,  came  next,  and  was  followed 
by  a  delegation  of  the  citizens  of  Cambridge. 


moved  very  slowly,  and  refreshments  were  freely 
provided  at  ditferent  points  by  liberal-minded 
persons,  who  dispensed  them  to  the  parched  and 
thirsty  individuals  in  the  line  wliile  they  were- 
marching,  or  when  a  temporary  halt  was  made. 
The  whole  procession  was  a  magnificent  display, 
and  when  we  take  into  consideration  the  extreme 
sultriness  of  the  weather,  and  the  voluntary, 
spontaneous  character  of  the  demonstration,  we 
can  truly  say  that  no  other  man  than  Daniel 
Webster  ever  did  or  could  receive  such  a  splen- 
did token  of  regard  from  the  citizens  of  Boston 
and  of  Massachusetts.  The  military  portion  of 
the  cortege  was  especially  brilliant.  Its  appear- 
ance when  in  motion  was  very  striking.  The 
rich  uniforms  and  noble  steeds  of  the  cavalry, 
the  shining  bayonets  and  elegantly  varied  cos- 
tumes of  the  infantry,  the  brilliant  uniforms  of 
the  superbly  mounted  general  oflicers,  whose 
mettlesome  steeds  caracoled  and  pranced  along 
tlie  streets,  formed  a  beautiful  scene  ;  whilst  the 
bewitching  strains  of  martial  music,  from  nume- 
rous bands,  resounded  through  the  stately,  high- 
walled  streets,  with  a  charm  that  drew  willing 
listeners  t)y  thousands,  and  meeting  the  zephyrs 
as  they  floated  from  housetop  to  housetop,  were 
wafted  softly  to  the  ears  of  thousands  more  who 


tended  to  identify  him  so  closely  with  the  great 
interests  of  the  country.  After  the  applause  had 
subsided,  there  was  a  rush  to  personally  greet 
the  great  statesman.  The  carriages  were  brought 
upon  the  ground,  and  Mr.  Webster  and  his 
friends  were  escorted  by  the  Lancers  to  the  Re- 
vere House,  whither  a  lai'ge  crowd  accompanied 
him,  and  upon  his  landing  from  his  carriage, 
gave  three  more  of  those  same  cheers  "  for  Dan- 
iel Webster."  Mr.  Webster  bowed  his  ac- 
knowledgements and  returned  his  thanks,  say- 
ing, that  the  events  of  that  day  would  be  remem- 
bered to  the  latest  day  of  his  life. — Along  the 
whole  line  of  the  procession,  from  Roxbury  line 
to  the  Common,  tbe  streets  and  side-walks  were 
one  living  mass  of  men  and  women.  On  no 
public  occasion  liavc  we  ever  seen  such  a  dense 
crowd  in  our  streets.  It  was  an  interesting  sight 
to  sit  in  one  of  the  carriages  and  gaze  upon  the 
mighty  throng,  composed  of  the  gray-haired  sire 
and  ardent  youth,  the  merchant,  the  trader,  the 
professional  man,  and  the  hard-flsted,  honest- 
hearted,  hard-visagod  laborer  and  artisan,  and 
see  them,  all  with  one  consent,  rending  their 
lungs  to  shout  "three  cheers  for  Daniel  Web- 
ster." At  the  time  the  venerated  foim  of  the 
l)atriot  statesman  was  seen  crossing  the  line,  a 


carriages  were  stopped  to  allow  the  presentation 
of  bouquets  to  Mr.  Webster  by  the  hands  of  some 
of  our  fair  daughters. — Miss  Frances  Keller,  a 
young  lady  of  tbe  Dwight  School,  presented  Mr. 
Webster  a  bouquet  in  Washington  Street.  She 
was  neatly  attired  in  white,  and  wore  upon  her 
head  a  beautiful  wreath.  Mr.  Webster  received 
the  gift  with  evident  pleasure,  and  rising,  called 
for  three  cheers  for  the  "  handsome  young  wo- 
men," which  were  given  with  a  hearty  good  will. 
In  Common  Street,  a  little  daughter  of  Mr.  Otis 
Kimball,  some  three  years  of  age,  was  carried  to 
the  carriage,  and  very  gracefully  handed  a  beau- 
tiful bouquet  to  Mr.  Webster.  He  received  it, 
and  implanted  a  kiss  upon  the  lips  of  the  little 
one  in  return.  In  Tremont,  Bedford  and  Sum- 
mer streets,  similar  scenes  were  enacted.  While 
the  procession  was  halting  in  Tremont  Street, 
Father  Taylor  pressed  his  way  to  Mr.  Webster's 
carriage,  and  greeting  him  most  cordially,  said  ; 
"I  hope  you  may  live  forever."  Mr.  Webster 
cordially  returning  tlie  greeting,  said  :  "  I  intend 
to  live  as  long  as  I  can,  and  I  hope  you  and  all 
other  good  men  will  live  as  long  as  you  can,  in 
order  ttiat  I  may  have  your  company."  Our 
space  will  not  allow  the  mention  of  some  other 
incidents  whicli  occurred  on  the  route. 


74 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWING   I100:M    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  OloaHon'n  Pictorial.] 
THE  WOODS. 


or  josEPu  a.  dutleb. 


Thewoodfil  tliowoodsl  tUo  Jark,  gniun  woods! 

How  bwmtn'ul  thoy  Htiuul  I 
Waving  tliuir  lofty  baiiiiurH  higii, 

Tho  glory  of  our  land. 
Ilomu  of  tlio  foathorod  iiiiristrois  sweot, 

Wlioso  aoiigs,  at  morn  and  ovon, 
Thrill  thi-ougli  the  durk  aisles  all  unscon, 

Liko  angurs  notes  from  heaven. 
Majestic  as  an  army  bravo, 

They  stand  in  phalanx  deep  ; 
Embattled  for  the  coming  storm, 

Their  sUitely  watch  thoy  kcci). 
Tho  woods  I  tho  woods !  the  noble  woods  I 

In  gloomy  gmndeur  proud, 
Thoy  lift  their  towering  fronts,  and  speak 

Delianeo  to  tho  cloud. 
The  woods  1  tho  woods  !  the  solemn  woods  I 

For  contemplation  made ; 
O  when  tho  burning  sun  is  high, 

How  grateful  is  their  shade  ! 
The  dark,  green  woods  I  the  grand,  old  woods  I 

"WTiero  sounds  the  liuntcr's  bow  ; 
And  swift  as  tlica  the  passing  breeze, 

Eonncls  forth  the  stately  roe  ; 
The  red  men  from  their  hills  of  wind, 

All  stalwort,  fierce  and  brave. 
Encamp  ai"ound  their  council  fires. 

Or  stem  the  blue  lake's  wave. 

Majestic  nature  builds  her  thi*one 

Amid  the  forest  tree, 
Whose  giant  sons,  in  grandeur,  list 

To  the  tempest's  melody  ; 
When  autumn  chants  his  thrilling  dirgo 

Over  the  dying  year. 
How  beautiful  the  robes  ye  wear, 

How  glorious  ye  appear ! 
The  woods  1  the  tall  and  hving  woods ! 

I  love,  at  evening  hour. 
To  watch  the  blessed  stars  shine  through, 

Like  eyes  of  magic  power. 
The  woods  !  the  woods  I  the  mighty  woods ! 

The  bulwark  of  our  land. 
When  armed  with  thunder  forth  they  ride. 

At  liberty's  command ; 
Beiiring  our  starry  flag  on  high, 

To  many  a  distant  shore  ; 
Startling  old  ocean's  solitude 

With  the  dread  cannon's  roar. 
The  woods  I  the  woods !  the  useful  woods  I 

By  science  taught  to  rise ; 
In  many  a  pleasant  home  they  stand, 

A  shelter  from  the  skies  | 
The  glory  of  our  homes  they  are. 

The  growth  of  ages  past ; 
And  ever  may  their  stately  sons 

Still  battle  mth  the  blast.. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

GEN.  WINFIELD  SCOTT. 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  CA- 
NADIAN REBELLION. 

BY   GEO.    S.   RAYMOND. 

The  long  pent-up  fires  of  Canadian  discon- 
tent had  at  length,  burst  forth  throughout  the 
whole  extent  of  the  two  provinces,  from  Quebec 
to  Penet^ngoshene,  in  many  acts  of  open  rebel- 
lion, which  threatened  ere  long  to  grow  into  a 
popular  and  successful  revolution.  Tliirty  thou- 
sand American  sympatliizcrs,  possessing  as  a 
general  thing  as  little  character  as  true  courage, 
and  less  capital  than  either,  responded  to  the 
call  of  McKenzie,  Papineau,  and  other  equally 
patnotic  Canadian  demagogues,  and  were  rally- 
ing their  forces  at  various  points  along  the 
whole  American  frontier,  preparing,  in  defiance 
of  all  law,  Iiuman  or  divine,  to  invade  Canada, 
cnish  the  galling  yoke  of  Britain  from  off  her 
enslaved  colonists,  revolutionize  British  Amer- 
ica, and  establish  a  model  republic,  under  whicli 
every  American  liberator  was  to  liold  an  office 
of  trust  and  profit. 

Commissions  of  general,  commodores,  col- 
onels, and  army  and  navy  captains,  were  as 
plenty  and  common  among  the  vagabond  cru- 
saders in  Western  New  York,  Ohio  and  Michi- 
gan, as  were  the  floods  of  .worthless  "wild  cat" 
bank  notes  of  the  same  period  in  the  latter  State. 

I  had  taken  a  very  active  interest  in  the  brig- 
and crusade,  and  the  "  Canadian  Congress," 
assembled  in  an  obscure  cellar  in  Cleveland, 
Ohio,  had  rewarded  my  zeal  by  making  me  a 
captain  in  the  Canadian  navy,  with  the  present 
command  of  a  little  fore  and  aft  schooner,  and 
that  of  a  first  class  liue-of-bat  tie -ship  in  pro- 
spective. 

It  was  late  in  the  season  when  I  was  despatch- 
ed to  Buffalo  with  my  vessel,  for  the  purpose  of 
taking  in  six  old  brass  six  poimders,  which  were 
to  constitute  the  schooner's  battery  when  the 
war  was  fairly  begun,  and  a  considerable  quan- 
tity of  ammunition^  together  with  three  liundred 


muskets,  dragoon's  cutlasses,  and  pistols,  ad  in- 
Jlnituin,  wliich  were  to  be  used  by  the  patriot 
army  in  the  west  to  commence  the  war  with. 

By  the  exercise  of  some  little  tact  on  my  part, 
and  a  com!)ination  of  lucky  circumstances  on 
the  part  of  Providence,  I  succeeded  in  accom- 
plishing my  mission  so  far  as  to  get  tlic  arms 
and  munitions  of  war  on  hoard,  and  escaping 
from  tlic  harlior  of  Bullalo  in  a  snow-storm, 
while  the  Imlf  dozen  United  States  marshals 
were  overhauling  a  harmless  Canadian  schooner 
to  which  I  had  directed  their  attention  for  my 
own  benefit. 

My  instructions  were  to  touch  at  Cleveland 
for  the  purpose  of  taking  in  a  quantity  of  arms 
which  had  been  collected  there,  and  then  to  stop 
at  Huron,  where  I  would  be  met  by  General 
McLcod,  of  the  patriot  army,  who  would  give 
me  definite  instructions  as  to  my  final  destina- 
tion. 

I  got  into  Cleveland  without  any  trouble,  and 
out  again,  by  carrying  off  two  deputy  marshals 
who  came  down  to  search  the  scliooner,  and 
landing  them  on  the  lake  shore  in  the  woods, 
some  ten  miles  to  the  westward  of  the  harbor. 

My  six  "  sixes  "  were  buried  undci-  tlic  ballast 
alongside  the  keelson,  the  powder  stowed  in 
flour  barrels  bored  full  of  holes,  and  oysters  all 
around  the  kegs,  while  the  balls  were  packed  in 
real  red  lead  casks,  and  the  muskets,  pistols  and 
swords,  in  long  boxes,  with  plenty  of  hay,  show- 
ing through  the  joints,  all  marked  :  "  Bedsteads." 
So  that  I  had  little  fear  of  being  caught  in  Hu- 
ron, particularly  as  the  people  there,  to  a  man, 
and  to  a  woman  too,  I  think,  were  favorable  to 
the  piratical  revolutionary  movement. 

It  was  very  nearly  dark,  on  a  cold,  boisterous 
evening  in  December,  when  I  arrived  at  Huron ; 
and  as  the  crew  were  all  out  on  the  long  wooden 
pier  which  forms  the  western  side  of  the  harbor, 
beat  on  to  a  tow-line  "  tracking  "  the  schooner 
up  towards  the  wharves,  I  saw  a  tall,  military- 
looking  man  come  along  down  the  pier,  point 
towards  the  vessel  when  he  came  near  the  men, 
and  after  making,  as  I  judged,  some  hiu'ried  in- 
quiries of  them  about  her,  he  came  towards  me, 
and  the  moment  he  stopped  opposite  where  I 
was  standing  at  the  helm,  I  recognized  him  past 
all  doubt,  as  Gen.  McLeod,  the  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  patriot  army  in  the  west.  I  had 
never  seen  the  general,  but  he  had  been  described 
to  me  so  very  minutely  that  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken in  him  ;  besides,  the  moment  he  stopped, 
he  passed  a  word  which  served  as  the  "  grand 
hailing  sign "  among  the  "  hunters,"  a  secret 
organization,  of  which  nearly  every  vagabond 
was  a  member,  so  that  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take in  the  matter — the  man  was  no  other  than 
the  veritable  General  McLeod  himself. 

"  Good  evening,  captain,"  he  said,  as  soon  as 
I  had  rejilicd  to  the  hail :  "  What  luck,  captain  V 

"  Good  !  All  right,  general.  But  come  aboard, 
sir;"  and  I  gave  the  schooner  a  sheer  in  along- 
side the  pier,  so  that  he  could  step  on  deck. 

A  moment  later,  and  he  stood  there  beside  me 
at  tlie  helm,  a  real  Hercules  in  statm'C,  enveloped 
in  a  stout  gray  overcoat,  with  a  fur  cap  turned 
down  about  his  ears,  while  I  gazed  for  a  few 
seconds  in  mute  admiration  upon  the  stalwort 
form  of  one  of  the  "Iron  Duke's"  favorite  vet- 
erans of  the  peninsula  and  Waterloo.  The  gen- 
eral gave  me  the  regular  "  hunter's  grip,"  and 
then  asked  again  ; 

"  Well,  captain,  what  success  ?" 

"Beautiful,  sir,"  I  answered.  "Got  'em  all 
right  down  there,  fooled  Uncle  Sam's  officers 
in  Buffalo,  gave  two  more  of 'em  a  free  passage 
for  nine  miles  out  of  Cleveland,  and  set  tliera 
ashore  in  the  woods  ;  and  here  I  am,  general,  all 
square  by  the  lifts  and  braces,  ready  to  fool 
'  Old  Lundy's  Lane,'  General  John  E.  Wool, 
and  all  the  other  cpaulctted  '  preventives '  that  I 
expect  will  be  here  in  Huron  before  I  get  away." 

"  Good !"  exclaimed  the  general,  laughing 
heartily,  "  very  good,  captain.  There's  nothing 
like  confidence  in  helping  one  out  a  tight  place. 
But  you  say  that  you  have  got  everything  safe?" 

"  Ay,  general ;  so  nicely  stowed  awiiy,  that 
even  the  Argus-eyed  Scott  himself  might  ran- 
sack the  schooner  for  a  whole  day  and  fail  to 
discover  anything  wrong.  Got  the  cannon  bur- 
ied under  the  ballast,  the  powder  stowed  in  oys- 
ters, bullets  in  red  lead  barrels,  and  tho  small 
arms  packed  in  furniture  boxes;  so  you  see 
we're  all  safe,  general." 

"  Yes,  it  would  seem  so;  but  look  out  that 
'Old  Lundy's  Lane,' as  you  call  him,  don't  get 
at  your  secret.  He's  in  town,  I  believe,  and 
there's  the  Steamer  Constitution  laying  up  there, 
from  which  lie  lias,  this  vci-y  afternoon,  taken  a 


large  quantity  of  arms  and  ammunition  ;  so  look 
out  for  him." 

"  I  will,  general ;  and  if  the  old  seven  foot 
hero  of  Ciiippewa  gets  to  wnid'iird  of  mc,  I'll 
ship  second  mate  of  a  lime-kiln,  and  use  my 
commission,  as  captain  in  the  Canadian  navy,  to 
liglit  tho  fire  with." 

"Bravo,  captain  !  That's  the  right  .sort  of 
spirit.  But  come  up  and  see  mc  as  soon  as  you 
get  fast.  Come  and  take  supper  with  me.  I'm 
incog,  you  know,  tliis  evening — stojiping  at  Jen- 
kins's Ohio  Hotel — come  up,  will  you?"  and  tlie 
moment  I  answered  "yes,"  the  general  leaped 
ashore,  and  went  off'  with  a  true  militaiy  stride 
along  up  the  wharf  towards  the  big  hotel. 

As  I  entered  the  hotel,  half  an  hour  later,  I 
was  shown  into  the  dining-room,  where  the  com- 
pany were  already  seated  at  supper ;  and  there,  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  sat  the  head  of  the  patriot 
array,  in  a  suit  of  plain  clothes,  while  ranged 
along  down  on  either  hand  were  several  officers 
of  the  United  States  army,  and  one  of  them — a 
stout,  hard-featured  man,  in  a  brilliant  uniform — 
I  set  dovm  at  once  as  Major  General  Scott. 

General  McLeod  smiled,  and  nodded  famil- 
iarly to  me  as  I  entered,  and  the  scats  near  him 
being  all  filled,  he  pointed  with  his  knife  to  one 
near  the  foot  of  the  long  table,  into  which  I  in- 
ti-oduced  myself  without  ceremony,  and  com- 
menced playing  knife   and  fork  with  the  others. 

I  observed  during  supper,  that  the  officers  to- 
wards the  head  of  the  table  eyed  the  patriot  gen- 
eral and  myself  very  suspiciously ;  but  no  word 
was  spoken  to  either  of  us,  and  I  had  very  near- 
ly finished  my  supper  in  silence,  when  a  doctor, 
who  was  seated  next  to  me,  and  with  whom  I 
was  intimately  acquainted,  asked  me,  in  a  low 
tone,  what  I  thought  of  the  general. 

"  What  general  V  I  asked. 

"  Why,  General  Scott,  of  course." 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  know,  doctor,  for  I  have 
never  seen  him  ;  but  one  thing  I  do  know,  and 
that  is,  if  he  is  half  as  noble  looking  an  officer  as 
0U7'  commander-in-chief  up  there  at  the  head  of 
the  table  is,  the  Americans  may  well  be  proud 
of  him  as  the  head  of  their  army." 

"  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  nonsense,  do  you 
mean,  captain  1" 

"Just  this,  doctor — that  General  Donald  Mc- 
Leod there,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  looks  more 
like  a  hero  than  forty  General  Scotts," 

"  Captain,  are  you  drunk  or  crazy  ?  Why, 
man,  that  is  General  Winfidd  Scott  Jurnself." 

Down  went  my  up-raised  tea-cup  with  a  clash 
that  shivered  it  to  atoms  on  the  table,  at  this 
startling  announcement;  and  leaping  to  my  feet, 
I  darted  from  the  room,  through  the  hall,  out 
into  the  street,  and  away  down  towards  the 
wharf  like  a  locomotive,  determined  to  get  the 
schooner  underweigh,  and  be  off — somewhere,  I 
didn't  care  where  much,  so  that  I  escaped  from 
"  Old  Lundy's  Lane." 

But  I  was  too  late,  for  I  found  the  vessel  in 
possession  of  some  fifty  United  States  soldiers, 
who  were  all  working  away  like  beavers,  dis- 
charging my  contraband  cargo  of  patriot  arms 
and  ammunition. 

I  wandered  about  the  streets  for  about  an 
hour,  feeling  myself  as  completely  sold  as  ever  a 
man  was,  and  so  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself, 
that  I  didn't  want  to  go  where  any  one  could 
see  my  face ;  till  I  was  finally  picked  up  by  a 
lieutenant,  who  informed  mc  that  General  Scott 
wished  to  see  me  at  the  hotel. 

I  went  like  a  dog  going  to  be  hung ;  and  being 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  hero  of  Chip- 
pewa, General  Wool,  and  about  a  dozen  other 
United  States  officers,  I  received,  in  the  first 
place,  a  groat  deal  of  good  advice  from  General 
Scott,  and  then  a  most  pressing  invitation  to 
join  the  party  in  an  oyster-supper  prepared 
from  tiic  bivalves  which,  only  an  hour  previous- 
ly, had  served  as  overcoats  to  our  patriot  powder. 
I  remained,  and  before  the  party  broke  up,  1  had 
made  a  public  and  most  positive  declaration, 
that  if  I  ever  engaged  in  another  piratical  expe- 
dition, it  should  be  in  some  country  where  Major 
General  Win  field  Scott  would  not  be  likely  to 
interfere  with  my  sailing  orders. 


A  ship  on  the  broad,  boisterous  and  open 
ocean,  needeth  no  pilot.  But  it  dare  not  venture 
alone  on  the  placid  bosom  of  a  little  river,  lest  it 
be  wrecked  by  some  hidden  rock.  Thus  it  is 
with  life.  'Tis  not  in  our  open,  exposed  deeds 
that  we  need  the  still  voice  of  the  silent  monitor, 
but  in  the  small,  secret,  every-day  acts  of  life, 
that  conscience  warns  us  to  beware  of  the  hidden 
shoals  of  what  we  deem  too  common  to  be  dan- 
gerous. 


Immodest  words  admit  of  no  defence, 
I'or  want  of  decency  is  ivant  of  sonse. 

liosco7nnwi 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
DEATH  AT  SUNSET. 

BY  LBLIA  MORTIMKA. 


Open  the  cMcment  wide,  and  let 

The  sunset  ^lory  in  ;  tho  brerith 
Of  flowei-s,  with  eve's  first  tciir-drops  wet, 

Tluit  bloom  without  this  room  of  death, 
Slmll  tremble  on  tho  pilcat  iiir, 

And  mingle  with  the  golden  beamn 
That  linger  on  liis  forehead  fair, 

Filling  his  soul  with  heavenly  dreams. 

'Tis  Boating  in,  the  radiant  light. 

From  yonder  mountain's  towering  brow  ; 
Wfierc,  mth  tlie  giithering  slmUca  of  night, 

Are  blending  dyes  of  roseate  glow. 
"  The  garden  of  the  sky  "  how  fair, 

Each  cloudlet  tipped  with  fringe  of  gold  j 
And  stars  of  beauty  nestle  there, 

Beneath  each  gorgeous  crimson  fold. 

Tis  creeping  up,  the  odorous  balm, 

That  blossoms  fling  upon  the  air  ; 
As  to  their  slumbers,  deep  and  calra, 

They  sink,  lulled  by  tho  breath  of  prayer. 
Tiie  d.irk  hair  waves  beneath  the  touch 

Of  spirit  fingers,  while  the  brow 
Grows  beautiful  as  angels  are. 

With  eeraph  impress  on  it  now. 

Slowly  the  purple  shadows  creep 

Across  the  broad  earth's  quiet  breast ; 
So  sinks  he  to  his  slumber^  deep, 

So  goes  he  to  his  heavenly  rest. 
A  holy  smile  is  on  his  face, 

Afl  spirit^arms  around  him  wait, 
To  fold  him  in  their  warm  embrace, 

And  bear  him  through  the  golden  gate. 

One  ray  of  glory  lingers  still, 

To  play  upon  his  death-chilled  brow ; 
The  silent  room  with  light  to  fill, 

As  upward  soars  the  freed  soul  now. 
'Tis  pastl  put  back  the  heavy  hair, 

And  press  one  kiss  upon  the  cheek 
So  cold  and  chili,  and  yet  so  fair — 

Then  strength  at  Heaven's  own  altar  seek. 


A  LITTLE  carpet-bag. 

Among  the  most  common  of  street  sights  is 
that  of  a  gentleman  huiTying  along  towards  rail- 
way or  river,  bearing  with  him  a  little  carpet-bag. 
So  common  is  it  that  it  fails  to  attract  the  slight- 
est attention.  A  little  carpet-bag  is  no  more 
noted  than  an  umbrella  or  a  walking-stick  in  a 
man's  hand ;  and  yet,  when  rightly  viewed,  it  is, 
to  our  thinking,  an  ohjectof  no  ordinaiy  interest. 
We  feel  no  envy  for  the  man  on  whom  has  de- 
volved the  charge  of  a  heap  of  luggage.  The 
anxiety  attending  such  property  outweighs  the 
pleasure  of  its  possession.  But  a  man  with  a 
little  carpet-bag  is  one  in  ten  thousand.  He  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  perfect  type  of  independence 
extant.  He  can  snap  his  fingers  in  the  face  of 
Highland  porter  extortionate.  No  trotting  ur- 
chin is  idle  enough  to  solicit  the  carrying  of  so 
slight  a  burden.  While  other  passengers,  by- 
coach  or  railway,  are  looking  after  then-  trunks 
and  trappings,  he  enters,  and  has  the  best  seat. 
He  and  bis  "little  all"  never  part  company. 
On  arriving  at  their  destination,  they  are  otf  with 
the  jaunty  sAvagger  of  unencumbered  bachelor- 
hood. In  contemplating  a  gentleman  with  a 
carpet-bag,  we  are  struck,  to  a  certain  extent, 
with  an  idea  of  disproportion ;  but  the  balance  is 
all  on  the  easy  side.  There  is  far  too  little  to 
constitute  a  burden,  and  yet  there  is  enough  to 
indicate  wants  attended  to,  and  comforts  sup- 
plied. No  man  with  a  little  carpet-bag  in  hand 
has  his  last  shirt  on  his  back.  Neither  is  it  pro- 
bable that  his  beard  can  suflfer  from  slovenly 
overgrowth.  When  he  retires  to  rest  at  night, 
the  presumption  is,  that  it  will  he  in  the  midst  of 
comfortable  and  cosey  night  gear.  A  little  cai-pet- 
bag  is  almost  always  indicative  of  a  short  and 
pleasurable  excursion.  No  painful  ideas  of 
stormy  seas  or  dreadful  accidents  on  far-off  rail- 
way lines  are  suggested  by  it.  Distance  is  some- 
times poetically  measured  by  a  "small  bird's 
flutter,"  or  "  two  smokes  of  a  pipe,"  or  some 
such  shadowy,  though  not  altogether  indefinite 
phrase.  Why  may  not  time,  in  like  manner,  he 
measured  by  two  shirts  1  A  gentleman  with  a 
little  carpet-bag  may  be  said  to  contemplate 
about  a  couple  of  shii'ts'  absence  from  home. — 
Glasgow  Citizen. 


A  BEAUTIFUL   FIGURE. 

Life  is  like  a  fountain  fed  by  a  thousand 
streams  that  perish  if  one  be  dried.  It  is  a  silver 
chord  twisted  with  a  thousand  strings,  that  part 
asunder  if  one  he  broken.  Thoughtless  mortals 
are  surroimded  by  innumerable  dangers,  which 
make  it  much  more  strange  that  they  escape  so 
long,  than  that  they  almost  all  perish  suddenly 
at  last.  AVe  are  encompassed  with  accidents  every 
day  to  crush  the  decaying  tenements  wc  inhabit. 
The  seeds  of  disease  are  planted  in  our  con- 
stitutions by  nature.  The  earth  and  atmosphere 
whence  we  draw  tbo  breath  of  life,  are  impreg- 
nated with  dealJi ;  bcaltii  is  made  to  operate  its 
own  destruction.  The  food  that  nourishes  con- 
tains the  elements  of  decay;  the  soul  that  ani- 
mates it  by  vivifying  first,  tends  to  wear  it  out 
by  its  own  action ;  death  lurks  in  ambush  along 
the  paths.  Notwithstanding  this  truth  is  so 
palpably  confirmed  by  the  daily  example  be- 
fore our  eyes,  how  little  do  we  lay  it  at  heai  t ! 
We  sec  our  friends  and  neighbors  die,  but  how 
seldom  doe?  it  occur  to  our  thoughts  that  our 
knell  may  give  the  next  warning  to  the  world  ! — 
Greenwood. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   EOOM    COMPANION. 


75 


[Written  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 
THERE  IS  A  GOD  ABOVE. 

BT   BAMUEL  BaRi'HAM. 

There  is  a  God  aboTO  ! 

Our  souls  \Yithin  us  t«U  us  so ; 
The  winds  from  heaven  as  they  blow, 
Bear  us  this  truth  on  their  swift  wings, 
And  bid  us  hope  for  brighter  things. 
All  nature,  everything  doth  show 
This  holy  fact  in  weal  or  woe, 
There  is  a  God  above. 

There  is  a  God  above  I 
He  caies  for  all  our  grief  and  pain  ; 
He  makes  each  loss  to  us  a  gain, 
And  gives  relief  to  those  who  weep 
O'er  lovely  friends  in  death's  cold  sleep  ; 
Who,  when  life's  lamp  did  feebly  wane, 
Joyous,  could  utter  still  again, 

"  There  is  a  God  above." 

There  is  a  God  above ! 
Then  whj-  should  foolish  fear  e'er  dart 
Its  quivering  arrows  through  the  heart? 
Above  earth's  sorrows  we  should  rise. 
And  long  for  home  in  paradise  ; 
Guided  safe  there  by  God's  o^vn  chart, 
And  when  once  there,  no  more  we  part  — 

There  is  a  God  above. 

There  is  a  God  above  I 
Then  let  us  lean  on  his  right  hand ; 
Under  his  banner  let  us  stand ; 
And  while  earth's  honors  fade  away, 
And  mortals  fall  again  to  clay  ; 
Living,  obey  his  high  command, 
And  dying,  join  that  happy  band, 

Wliere  there  's  a  God  above. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pict-orial.] 

THE  VICTIM  OF  TEMPTATION. 

BT    MRS.    E.    WELLMONT. 

Jack  Wateks  was  the  sixth  son  of  a  respect- 
able farmer.  Of  course  they  could  not  all  stay 
at  home  and  till  the  land,  and  as  Jack  was  rather 
an  uncomfortable,  loaferish  sort  of  a  fellQW,  the 
wish  he  expressed  to  try  his  fortune  in  a  city 
was  not  fro^vned  upon  by  his  parents.  They 
gave  him  a  comely  outfit  from  the  village  store, 
his  married  sister  presented  him  with  two  white 
linen  handkerchiefs,  a  jack-knife,  and  a  little 
work  called  Daily  Food  ;  and  in  the  bottom  of 
his  trunk  there  lay  a  Bible,  and  Jack  could  easily 
tell  who  put  that  there,  after  his  mother's  last 
admonition  and  his  father's  particular  advice 
"  to  beware  of  temptations." 

Our  young  man  found  his  way  to  the  great 
city,  took  lodgings  at  a  second  class  hotel,  and 
proceeded  to  different  sections  of  the  place  in 
quest  of  employment.  It  was  no  easy  matter 
to  find  a  situation,  and  a  week  elapsed  before 
any  otfer  could  be  found,  and  this  was  a  small 
salary  barely  sutficicnt  to  board  and  clothe  him- 
self with  economy.  In  the  beginning,  however. 
Jack  did  well ;  was  faithful  to  his  employers, 
regular  in  his  habits ;  went  to  chiu'ch  every 
Sunday,  wrote  a  weekly  account  of  his  success, 
and  sent  it  to  his  friends  in  the  countiy,  and  on 
the  whole,  promised  pretty  fairly. 

But  there  were  undermining  infl^uences  against 
which  he  ought  to  have  guarded  ;  and  who  was 
there  to  shield  him  from  the  danger  ■?  His 
landlord  only  demanded  regular  payments  for 
his  board,  his  employer  only  cared  that  he  was 
on  the  spot  betimes  and  was  faithful  while  he 
stayed.  But  alas,  for  the  evening,  when  a  young 
man  feels  among  strangers  and  the  feeling  of 
homesickness  seizes  him  !  Jack  had  no  female 
■  friends  for  good  advisers — no  fireside  where  he 
could  sit  and  be  told  the  tempter  lurked  without, 
and  as  he  craved  sympathy  and  must  have  it,  he 
accepted  what  was  tendered  him  in  a  small  way 
in  the  outset  by  a  few  reckless  companions. 

In  three  months  from  this  time  he  was  a 
jovial  blackguard.  He  had  learned  to  smoke 
half  a  dozen  cigars  a  day,  and  could  chew  to- 
bacco, in  his  cant  phrase,  "  as  well  as  the  tallest 
of  them."  He  knew  the  livery  stables  in  to^^m, 
had  already  run  up  an  account  with  a  tailor, 
and  had  been  introduced  to  a  few  young  ladies. 
In  six  months  Jack  made  overtures  to  an  inno- 
cent working  girl,  who  thought  it  a  smart  affair 
to  he  engaged  to  a  clerk  in  the  city  trade.  Jack 
was  a  generous  fellow  withal,  and  he  would  fain 
make  her  some  presents,  even  if  he  did  it  at  his 
master's  expense.  He  commenced  the  little 
purloining  acts  in  a  small  way  ;  felt  some  com- 
punctions in  the  beginning,  but  was  quieted  by 
the  oft  quoted  expression  of  others,  "  that  if 
employers  are  too  niggardly  to  allow  compensa- 
tion to  meet  one's  expenses,  they  must  pay  for 
it  another  way."     So  conscience  was   soon   ap- 


peased, and  Jack  "Waters  dressed  as  well,  lived 
as  well,  and  finally  made  as  many  presents  as 
many  others  with  three  times  the  amount  re- 
ceivable. But  his  habits  were  now  more  closely 
watched  by  his  employer.  The  cash  accounts 
would  not  balance  ;  somebody  had  absti'acted. 
A  trap  was  set  to  ascertain  the  rogue,  and  Jack 
Waters  was  convicted  of  theft  and  petty  lar- 
ceny. 

No  bail  could  be  procured  ;  the  case  was  an 
aggravated  one ;  sundry  debts  were  afloat, 
trustee  processes  thickened ;  poor  Jack  was  cast 
into  prison,  and  a  pang  of  anguish  too  late  shot 
through  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  his  parents 
when  they  should  be  informed  of  his  degradation. 
That  aged  couple  in  the  country  village,  whom 
he  so  lately  left  imploring  upon  him  Heaven's 
blessings,  were  now  mute  with  sorrow,  mourn- 
ing over  the  prodigal  son  with  an  intensity  which 
can  never  be  depicted.  But  they  would  keep  it 
a  profound  secret;  the  world  in  which  they 
lived  would  never  know  the  sad  declension ;  and 
having  served  out  the  sentence  which  justice  de- 
manded they  would  receive  him  with  open  arms, 
and,  nestled  in  their  quiet  nook,  he  might  once 
more  become  a  pure  minded  and  virtuous  youth. 
Such  reasoning,  although  it  sometimes  sub- 
dued their  violent  grief,  was  not  a  supporting 
solace ;  for  Jack  gave  evidence  of  a  depraved 
will,  which  his  downward  steps  to  ruin  liad  man- 
ifested most  openly.  He  was  encouraged  in 
this  mad  career  by  reckless  associates,  who  still 
insinuated  their  pestiferous  designs  to  keep  him 
a  captive.  The  poor  girl  upon  whose  affections 
he  had  inilicted  such  a  deadly  breach  of  confi- 
dence, was  dying  in  a  slow  consumption,  her 
shattered  vestiges  of  love  still  clinging  to  the 
unworthy  object. 

And  all  the  world  who- knew  this  young  man 
knew  his  history,  yet  nobody  spoke  of  him  to 
those  who  suffered  so  keenly  for  the  loss  of  a  son. 
But  did  they  heed  the  warning,  and  beware  of 
exposing  their  children  to  similar  temptations  1 
0,  no ;  they  imagined  their  sons  were  better  able 
to  withstand  the  temptations  of  a  city  life. 

Be  not  too  certain,  fond  parents,  that  you  can 
thus  withdraw  your  responsibilities,  for  I  fear 
this  young  man  is  not  a  solitary  instance  of  de- 
parture from  rectitude,  only  he  was  a  doomed 
subject,  and  the  guilt  he  thus  incurred  so  stig- 
matized his  character  that  he  has  sought  a  home 
among  strangers,  where  he  is  endeavoring  to  re- 
trace liis  steps  and  erase  his  self-condemnation. 

We  saw  a  friend  who  a  few  weeks  since  met 
Jack  in  the  California  mines.  He  had  heaped 
together  a  small  pile,  and  at  the  sight  of  an  in- 
dividual from  his  own  country  he  ran  towards 
him  and  firmly  grasping  his  hand  inquired, 
"  What  news  from  home  V  Alas  for  poor  Jack ! 
In  a  week  after  he  received  the  intelligence  of 
the  death  of  his  mother.  It  was  sad  tidings  to 
the  prodigal  but  now  repentant  son.  He  kissed 
her  miniature,  and  then  drawing  forth  a  locket 
containing  a  lock  of  Angeline's  hair,  to  whom 
he  had  pledged  his  affections,  with  a  deep  sigh 
he  added,  "  Two  for  whom  I  would  have  toiled 
until  these  arms  should  become  paralyzed,  now 
sleep  in  death,  and  would  to  God  my  vices  had 
not  hiu'ried  their  departm-e." 

The  big  tear  stood  in  his  eye — the  gold  looked 
to  him  like  a  worthless  heap  now ;  he  dared  not 
die,  and  he  cared  not  to  live.  But  the  strength- 
ening angel  of  hope  has  since  rc-lightcd  his 
heart,  and  he  trusts  by  days  of  coming  peni- 
tence to  wipe  out  the  record  of  his  past  mis- 
deeds. And  is  it  not  beautifully  written  some- 
where, tliat  the  two  angels  who  have  charge  of 
the  books  of  life  bear  instant  record  of  the  good 
deeds  we  perform,  while  lie  who  notes  our  mis- 
deeds, kindly  waits,  ere  he  registers  them,  until 
the  sun  goes  down,  and  then  if  no  sigh  of  con- 
trition is  heard,  he  tremblingly  writes  the  record, 
thus  showing  to  us  how  paramount  to  the  angel 
of  Justice  is  that  of  Mercy  ? 

Well  then  is  it  for  us  to  withhold  our  judg- 
ment upon  erring  humanity,  since  our  finite 
scope  can  but  imperfectly  understand  all  the 
links  in  the  chain  of  circumstances  which  drove 
the  victim  of  temptation  into  forbidden  patlis. 
We  should  rather  guard  the  purity  of  our  own 
nature  than  sit  in  judgment  on  a  fallen  brother. 


Solon  enacted  that  children  who  did  not  main- 
tain their  parents  in  old  age,  when  in  waiit, 
should  be  branded  with  infamy,  and  lose  the 
privilege  of  citizens ;  he,  however,  excepted 
from  this  rule  those  children  whom  their  parents 
had  taught  no  trade,  nor  provided  with  other 
means  of  procuring  a  livelihood. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
MY  ILiKRY,  O : 

BT  ROBERT   G.   STAPLES. 

When  first  I  met  him  lang  ago, 

The  skies  were  bright  and  beaming,  0  ; 
The  flow'rs  sae  gay,  the  birdies  sang, 

And  my  wild  heart  beat  cheer'ly,  O. 
His  brow  sae  high,  his  locks  sae  jet. 

I  ken  I  lo'ed  him  dearly,  0  ; 
My  heart  had  gane,  'twas  all  Ms  own. 

E'en  'fore  he  ask'd  me  for  it,  0  I 

Had  I  been  rich,  o'  high  degree, 

I  'd  gin  it  a'  for  Harry,  0  ; 
Sae  dear  he  was,  so  true  and  kine, 

I  'd  gin  my  life  for  Harry,  0. 
Then,  ladie,  hear  my  tale  o'  woe, 

My  Hai-ry  gang  away,  away  ; 
I  ne'er  more  now  will  see  his  face, 

And  nae  more  be  sae  blithe  and  gay. 

I  lo'ed  my  true  love,  firm  and  true. 

But  0  his  brow  sac  pale  is  now  ; 
The  cold  airth  lay  upon  his  breast, 

He 's  dead,  and  gane  for  aye,  I  trow. 
Then  ladie  hear  me,  and  ne'er  lay 

Your  flutt^irin'  heart  at  Cupid's  feet ; 
Eut  keep  it  free  from  ev'ry  smart, 

From  ev'ry  knight,  sae  blithe  ye  meet. 

BIARRIED  lilFE. 

Julius  Moser  gives  the  following  counsel  from 
a  wife  and  mother  :  "  I  try  to  make  myself  and 
all  around  me  agreeable.  It  will  not  do  to 
leave  a  man  to  himself  till  he  comes  to  you,  to 
take  no  pains  to  attract  him,  or  to  appear  before 
him  with  a  long  face.  It  is  not  so  difficult  as  you 
think,  dear  child,  to  behave  to  a  husband  so  that 
he  shall  remain  forever  in  some  measure  a  hus- 
band. I  am  an  old  woman,  but  you  can  still  do 
what  you  like  ;  a  word  from  you  at  the  right 
time  will  not  fail  of  its  effect;  what  need  have 
you  to  play  the  suffering  virtue  'i  The  tear  of  a 
loving  girl,  says  an  old  book,  is  like  a  dew-drop 
on  a  rose ;  but  that  on  the  cheek  of  a  wife  is  a 
drop  of  poison  to  her  husband.  Try  to  appear 
cheerful  and  contented,  and  your  husband  will 
be  so ;  and  wlien  you  have  made  him  happy, 
you  will  become  so,  not  in  appearance  but  in  re- 
ality. The  skill  required  is  not  so  gx'cat.  Noth- 
ing flatters  a  man  so  much  as  the  happiness  of 
his  wife  ;  he  is  always  proud  of  himself  as  the 
somxe  of  it.  As  soon  as  yon  are  cheerful  you 
'  will  be  lively  and  alert,  and  every  moment  will 
afford  you  an  opportunity  to  let  fall  an  agree- 
able word.  Your  education,  which  gives  you  an 
immense  advantage,  will  greatly  assist  you ; 
and  your  sensibility  will  become  the  noblest  gift 
that  "nature  has  bestowed  on  you,  when  it  shows 
itself  in  affectionate  assiduity,  and  stamps  on 
every  action  a  soft,  kind,  and  tender  character, 
instead  of  wasting  itself  in  secret  repinings." 


Weep  not  that  the  world  changes— did  it  keep 
A  stable,  changeless  course,  't  were  cause  to  weep. 

Bnjaiit. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
PRESUMPTION. 


BT  WILLIAM   T.  HILSEE. 

I  sprang  from  a  moss-covered  nook  in  the  mountain. 

The  birds  hailed  my  birth  with  greetings  of  joy  ; 
Thus  flattered  I  proud  grew,  unaware  that  a  fountain 

Such  as  I,  need  the  showers'  distillations  employ  ; 
I  ranged  the  green  meadows  and  plunged  through  dark 
valleys, 

I  shouted  and  danced  in  the  height  of  my  glee  ; 
On  sweet  flowers  I  lavished  profusely  my  dallies, 

And  thought  that  their  growth  was  dependent  on  me. 

As  onward  I  journeyed  I  espied  a  fair  maiden, 

With  water-pot,  kneeling  to  draw  a  cool  draught ; 
With  sparkling  refreshment  she  drew  it  weU  laden. 

While  I,  from  a  sense  of  my  bounteousness,  laughed. 
I  thought  that  to  me  she  should  credit  her  blessing. 

Forgetful  that  I  was  dependent  as  her ; 
But  the  moi-al  it  taught  me  is  well  worth  possessing, 

For  true  worth  all  others  to  self  will  prefer. 


CHILDHOOD. 

A  few  years  more  and  you  will  not  know  the 
same  child — the  age  of  play  is  not  over,  but 
hard  taskmasters  have  broken  into  it.  There  is 
a  morrow  to  be  thought  of  which  interferes  with 
to-day.  Consciousness  has  come,  and  the  terri- 
ble burden  of  a  kind  of  responsibility.  There 
is  the  expression  of  the  wish  to  please — or,  alas  ! 
of  the  fear  to  displease.  The  features  have 
come  forth  into  some  drawing — for  the  child  is 
a  graduate  of  this  weary  world,  and  the  face  has 
lengthened  accordingly.  But  this  age  is  beauti- 
ful, like  every  other,  if  expression  and  feature 
be  tiiie  to  it.  The  expression  may  be  wistful 
and  plaintive  with  timidity  or  tender  health,  and 
it  is  called  fretful — or  it  may  be  careless  and 
tom-boy  with  sheer  animal  spirits,  and  it  is 
called  vulgar;  but  either  is  safe.  It  is  the  pre- 
cocious look  of  cunning,  or  peevishness,  or 
primness,  we  turn  from  with  intuitive  dislike, 
for  such  arc  old  signs.  The  featm-cs,  also,  may 
be  common  and  characterless,  but  if  they  are 
soft  and  uncertain,  and  the  spaces  around  tliem 
ample,  they  are  safe  as  well.  But  the  defined 
forms  and  the  scant}'  quantities  let  us  beware  of 
— though  fond  mothers  call  them  "  chiselled 
features  "  and  "  regular  profiles;"  what  is  ad- 
mired as  delicate  and  precise  now  may  be  too 
likely  to  turn  out  sharp  and  mean  by-and-by. — 
London  Quarter!//  Review. 


DULLNESS  AND  STAGNATION. 

If  Londoners  were  as  suicidal  a  race  as  French 
writers  describe  them,  the  mortality  of  the  me- 
tropolis would  be  at  least  100  per  cent,  above  the 
average  for  the  present  week.  Every  lamp  post 
would  have  its  pendant,  the  chymists'  shops 
would  be  besieged  for  the  last  new  poison,  the 
landing  places  on  the  Thames  would  have  to  be 
occupied  by  policemen,  and  watei'men  would  be 
incessantly  plying  irnder  the  bridges  to  pick  up 
fares  from  the  parapets  above.  Never  was  there 
such  a  stagnation  and  obstruction,  and  such  an. 
impossibility  of  telling  what's  what,  or  who's 
who.  Day  after  day  we  have  been  wading 
through  the  streets,  and  breathing  air  and  water. 
The  sun  has  not  been  seen  to  our  knowledge 
more  than  once  or  twice  the  whole  of  this  Jime, 
and  people  are  resuming  their  fires,  in  order  to 
create  an  artificial  midsummer  in  the  absence  of 
a  natural  one.  But  this  is  by  no  means  the 
worst  dullness,  and  deadness,  and  coldness,  and 
wetness,  we  are  suffering  at  this  trying  season. 
Unfortunately,  the  political  harmonizes  with  the 
natural  atmosphere,  and  just  now  Scotch  mist 
and  Bffiotian  fog  beset  the  whole  region  of  opin- 
ion. The  debates  in  parliament  are  dull ;  our 
great  men  are  dull ;  candidates  are  dull ;  public 
meetings  are  dull;  conversation  is  dull;  our  li- 
braries are  dull ;  everybody  is  dull,  and  every- 
thing is  dull.  It  is  true  there  are  men  going 
about,  trying  to  create  a  new  interest,  or  discov- 
er a  sentiment  which  is  not  yet  thoroughly  used 
up,  but  five  minutes'  success  is  all  that  they  can 
achieve  with  the  most  susceptible  natm-es.  It  is 
working  against  the  stream,  or  rather  against 
dead  water. 

Poor  Feargus  O'Connor  went  to  America  to 
escape  dullness,  and  finding  it  as  bad  there,  came 
back  again,  and  has  now  been  committed  to  cus- 
tody for  poking  the  ribs  of  the  country  gentle- 
men. The  subjects  of  the  experiment  spring  up 
in  "  considerable  agitation,"  but  immediately 
relapse  into  politeness  and  verbosity.  The  only 
sign  of  life  and  interest  is  one  which  Byron  said 
and  felt  was  that  which  proved  all  other  interests 
gone.  Gold  now  reigns  supreme.  IN'aturc  is 
revealing  her  bm-ied  wealth,  and  the  human  heart 
throbs  in  response.  The  only  crowd  to  be  seen 
in  London  is  in  the  once  quiet  region  of  Park 
street,  Westminster,  where  hundreds  are  waiting 
for  their  passports  to  the  Austi'alian  El  Dorado. 
— London  Times. 


Even  little  things  have  their  peculiar  grace. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  MRS.  AUGUSTA  EATON. 

BT  CAROLLNE  A.   HATDEN. 

I  have  watched  thee  when  the  bright,  glad  smile 

Was  sparkling  in  thine  eye  j 
And  have  listened  to  the  joyous  notes 

Of  thy  song's  sweet  melody. 

I  knew  that  nature's  lavish  hand 

Had  made  thee  wondrous  fair ; 
Yet  saw  that  brighter  than  all  else, 

The  mind's  rich  gem  shone  there. 

0,  lady,  cherish  well  the  gift, 

For  time  all  else  will  steal ; 
And  youth  and  beauty  shrink  beneath 

The  pressure  of  his  seal. 

'T  will  help  thee  banish  from  thy  side 

The  shadowy  form  of  care  ; 
And  midst  thy  bright  attainmente  shine, 

The  purest,  holiest  there. 

Then  sing  thy  gay  and  joyous  songs. 
While  youth's  sweet  hours  arc  thine  ; 

But  cherish  well  the  mind's  rich  gem, 
To  brighten  life's  decline. 


A  CAPE  BALL-ROOM. 

Until  I  went  to  a  ball  at  the  Cape,  I  never 
knew  what  thorough  enjoyment  of  dancing  was. 
The  Africaners,  blessings  on  their  simple  souls, 
don't  walk  through  a  quadrille,  or  glide  through 
a  polka:  but  ihey  pound  away  Avith  feet  and 
arms,  and  the  "  orient  humor  "  oozing  from  each 
pore  of  face,  and  hands,  and  neck,  bears 
witness  to  the  energy  of  their  movements.  And 
then  the  supper !  Your  partner  does  not  take  a 
little  piece  of  trifle,  or  a  cream,  or  a  tart,  and 
sip  a  thimble-spoonful  of  negus,  but  she  demol- 
ishes all  the  chicken  and  ham  you  give  her,  and 
drinks  every  drop  of  the  three  bumpers  of  cham- 
pagne you  pour  out  for  her,  and  looks  all  the 
happier  for  both.  As  for  yourself,  yoii  attack 
everything  you  can  lay  hands  on  ;  and,  after  the 
ladies  have  retired,  you  find  yourself  actually 
indulging  in  that  highly  dangerous  and  deleteri- 
ous practice  of  "  hnrrahing"  in  response  to  the 
toast  of  the  "  Ladies  "  which  that  fat  man  in  a 
red  face  and  a  white  waistcoat,  with  an  uncom- 
fortable tendency  to  work  its  way  up  to  his  chin, 
has  just  proposed.  You  find,  too,  that  you 
come  down  again  to  that  same  supper-room 
after  the  fair  ones  have  begim  to  depart  for  their 
homes ;  you  find  that  you  prefer  brandy  and 
water  to  the  doubtful  champagne  and  suspicious 
claret ;  you  find  that  you  have  a  cigar  in  your 
pocket,  and  you  smoke  it ;  you  find  that  you  can 
sing  capitally — in  a  chorus  ;  and  lastly,  if  you 
do  find  your  "way  liome,  you  are  a  lucky  fellow. 
— Five  Years'  Residence  in  South  Africa. 


Gold!  goldl  gold! 
Ppumed  by  the  youKg,  but  hugged  by  the  old, 
E'en  to  the  verge  of  the  church-yard  mould. 

How  widely  thy  agencies  vary  I 
To  save,  to  ruin,  to  ('ur.=c.  to  bless, 
And  even  thy  minted  coins  express, 
Now  stiimpcd  with  the  image  of  good  Queen  Bess, 

And  now  with  a  bloody  Mary !— Jfoorf. 


76 


GLEAS()N\S   PKJTORIAL    DRAWINCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


YClTTr 


REMAINS  OF  HON.  HENRY  CLAY  LYING  IN  STATE,  AT  THE  CITY  HALL,  NEW  YORK. 


Upward  of  30,000  persons  vipitorl  the  hall 
next  day  ;  in  fact  there  was  a  complete  rush 
to  obtain  a  view  of  the  corpse,  from  daybreak 
till  midniji^ht.  Amon^,'  the  visiiorn  were  a 
party  of  tincc  to  fonr  liimdred  of  the  old 
vclcriins  of  1812  and  1814,  who  walked  in, 
arm  in  arm.  The  remains  were  taken  on 
board  of  a  boat  at  an  curly  hour  for  Albany, 
to  wliicli  place  it  proceeded  without  (>topping. 
From  Albany  it  proceeded  by  tlic  Central 
Road  to  Buifaio,  and  thence  to  Cincinnati 
on  tbcir  way  to  the  final  resting-place  of  the 
illustrious  statesman.  Mr,  Chiy  had  a  favor- 
ite setter  dog,  which  followed  bis  master 
from  hi>i  home,  in  Kentucky,  to  Washington. 
After  the  death  of  the  lamented  patriot,  hia 
faiiliful  canine  friend  kept  close  to  his  body. 
On  Friday,  by  some  accident,  the  poor  dog 
was  left  behind,  chained  up  at  the  American 
House,  in  Philadelphia.  IJuring  tlie  night 
he  was  very  fretful  and  uneasy.  With  the 
instinct  of  Iiis  race  he  sconicd  conscious  that 
the  body  of  bis  beloved  master  bad  departed. 
We  may  say  it  were  an  idle  task  to  pass 
an  eulogy  on  such  a  man  as  Henry  Clay. 
He  was  an  Ametican,  and  the  home  of  his 
heart  knew  no  limits  but  those  which  bound 
his  entire  country.  In  future  days  the  altars 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty  in  South  Amer- 
ica shall  glow  with  increasing  brightness, 
and  their  fires  shall  add  new  lustre  to  the 
name  of  him  who  was  the  early  advocate  of 
their  rights  and  of  the  recognition  of  the  in- 
dependence of  tlie  States :  so  long  as  the 
heroism  and  poetry  of  Greece  shall  be  admir- 
ed, so  long  shall  the  name  of  Clay  be  cher- 
ished by  every  heart 
that  pants  for  liber- 
ty. For  a  period  of 
more  than  half  a 
century  has  he  been 
identified  with  all 
the  leading  political 
interests  of  the 
country ;  and  his 
vigorous  and  pow- 
erful mind  has  Icfc 
an  impress  which 
will  go  to  establish 
the  character  of  this 
portion  of  our  na- 
tion's history,  and 
leave  on  the  records 
of  time  an  enduring 
monument  to  the 
greatness  and  woilh 
of  one  of  the  noblest 
of  her  sons. 


Wm 


Our  readers  will  doubtless  feel  interested  in  a 
brief  record  of  tlie  movements  of  the  funeral 
cortege  of  Mr.  Clay,  towards  Kentucky.     The 
corpse  was  received  with  all  due  honor   at  Phil- 
adelphia on  Friday  evening,  July  2nd,  and  re- 
mained  in    Declaration    Hall   over   night.     On 
Saturday  morning,  July  3d,  the  plate  covering 
the  face  of  the  revered  dead,  which  had  been  re- 
moved to  allow  the  citizens  of  Philadelphia  to 
gaze  upon  his  features,  was  replaced,  and    the 
coffin  conveyed  to  the  funeral  car  standing  oppo- 
site to  the  main  entrance  on   Chestnut  Street. 
The  Washington  Grays,  having  acted  as  a  guard 
of  honor,  now  escorted  the  remains  to  the  boat 
at  Walnut  Street  wharf.     The  city  council  fol- 
lowed on   foot,  and  the  committee  of  senators 
and  a  delegation  of  Kentuckians  in   carriages. 
Minute  guns  were  fired,  and  bells  tolled  during 
the   march  of  the  procession,  which  started  at  9 
o'clock  precisely.     The  remains  w^ere  taken  on 
board   the  Steamer  Trenton  for  New  York,  in 
the  presence  of  an  immense  concourse  of  citi- 
zens.    The  boat  was  elegantly  decorated  with 
mourning,  and  her  flags  were  at  half-mast.     She 
left,  tolling  her  bell,  which  was  answered  by  all 
the  boats  on  the  river  as  she  passed.     At  Taco- 
ny,   the   committee   of    councils   delivered    the 
corpse  into  the  custody  of  the  officers  and  com- 
mittee of  Congi'ess,  charged  with  the  duty  of 
conveying  it  to  Ashland.     A  large  number  of 
Philadelphians  accompanied  the  remains  to  Ta- 
cony.     The   remains   reached   Trenton,  N.   J., 
shortly  after  10  o'clock.     Their  arrival  was  an- 
nounced by  the  firing  of  minute  guns  by  a  com- 
pany of  military,  and  an   immense   concourse, 
which  had  collected,  uncovered  as  the  train  ap- 
proached.    The   church  bells  were  also  tolled, 
and  all  the  buildings  in  the  vicinity  of  the  depot 
were  appropriately  draped.     At  Princeton  there 
was  a  very  general  suspension   of  business,  and 
over  the  railroad  an  immense  arch  was  erected, 
and  draped  in  mourning,  with  mottoes  expressive 
of  the  general  grief  at  the  nation's  loss.     Tlie 
places  of  business  and  dwellings  in  the  vicinity 
were  also  in  mourning.     Similar  demonstrations 
of  sympathy  and  respect  were  exhibited  at  New 
Brunswick,  EUzabethtown  and  Railway,  and,  in- 
deed, at  all  the  places   along  the  route  of  the 
procession.     At  the  arrival  of  the  ears  at  Jersey 
City,  minute  guns  were  fired,  and  the  bells  were 
tolled.     The  procession  was  formed  in  the  depot, 
and  marched  to  the  boat.     The  Jersey  City  Con- 
tinentals, as  a  guard  of  honor,  and  the  officers 
of  the  Hudson  Brigade,  accompanied  by  a  band 
of  music,  escor!.ed  the  procession  of  the  various 
committees  to  the  boat.     As  they  moved  through 
the  streets,  the  heads  of  the  entire  mass  of  spec- 
tators were  uncovered,  and  not  a  voice  disturbed 
the  effect  of  the  measured  tramp  of  the  feet,  the 
deep,  sad  music   of  the   funeral   march,  or  the 
more  distant  tolling  bells  and  booming  cannon. 
As  soon    as    all  were  on  board  the   ferry-boat 
I'hiladelphiu,  she  moved  off  into  the  stream,  and 
on  her  way  to  the  JJattery,  her  bell  tolling,  as 
were  also  bells  of  other  boats  in  the  East  River 
and  on  the  churches  of  the  cities.    Minute  guns 


were  being  fired  from  the  Battery,  Governor's 
I.'^land,  Jersey  City,  Brooklyn  Heights  and  Wil- 
liamsburgh,  and  from  one  or  two  government 
vessels  in  the  stream.  As  the  boat  approached 
Castle  Garden,  New  Y'ork,  the  Battery  and  all 
the  adjacent  piers  and  vessels  presented  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  host  of  mourners,  who,  having  honored 
him  in  life,  grieved  for  him  in  his  death.  The 
remains  were  removed  from  the  boat  by  members 
of  the  Clay  Festival  Association.  The  coffin 
was  placed  in  an  open  hearse,  drawn  by  eight 
gray  horses,  appropriately  caparisoned  with  black 
plumcSj  etc.     The  coffin  was  exposed  to  view  ; 


THE  METALLIC  COFFIN. 

it  was  shrouded  in  crape,  and  crowned  with  a 
wreath  of  evergreen.  The  coffin  was  one  of 
Fisk's  much  improved  patent  metallic  burial 
cases.  It  was  an  elegant  affair,  measuring  six 
feet  three  inches.  The  interior  was  beautifully 
cushioned  with  white  satin.  Upon  the  outside 
an  ample  covering  of  the  finest  black  broadcloth 
was  thrown,  galhercd  in  a  festoon  at  the  breast- 
plate, and  falling  on  either  side  like  a  heavy  cloth 
cloak,  where  rich  silk  fringe  gracefully  gathered 
it  in  folds  ;  there  were  also  on  each  side  twelve 
tas.iels  of  similar  material,  and  three  handles  of 
solid  silver,  beautifully  wrought.  The  whole 
cose  was  surmounted   by  three  massive  silver 


plates,  of  different  design;  that  resting  over  the 
face — underneath  which  was  an  oval-shaped 
plate  of  glass — containing  an  oak  leaf  and  acorn, 
surrounded  by  a  laurel-wreath  ;  the  inscription 
plate,  plain  and  smooth  in  the  centre,  bad  an 
elaborate  moulding  around  it,  into  which  was 
sunk  the  impressive  oak  leaf  and  acorn — the 
acorn  fallen  out  of  its  shell,  and  the  leaf  with- 
ered ;  the  foot  plate  represented  a  large  rose  in 
full  bloom,  just  parted  from  the  stem  whence  it 
had  been  gnawed  by  a  caterpillar.  The  case 
was  enclosed  in  a  highly  polished  mahogany 
box,  lined  with  silk  velvet,  and  having  three 
handles  of  brass  on  each  side,  projecting  from 
sunken  sockets.  Altogether,  the  case  was  every 
way  desirable  as  regards  beautiful  workmanship 
and  appropriate  design  ;  no  cost  had  been  spared 
upon  its  construction.  The  procession  was  then 
formed  :  the  police,  with  their  staves  of  office 
muffled  in  crape,  the  mayor  and  council,  whig 
general  committee,  wd^ig  young  men's  general 
committee,  the  Jersey  City  Continentals,  with 
their  flag  and  arms  in  crape,  preceding  the 
funeral  car  and  the  body,  the  Washington  Grays, 
as  a  guard  of  honor,  in  single  file  each  side  of 
the  hearse.  The  procession  moved  in  silence 
and  sadness  up  Broadway,  while  Trinity's 
chimes  and  the  bells  of  all  the  churches  were 
tolling  a  requiem.  Broadway  .ind  the  Park  had 
been  thronged  from  1  o'clock  with  an  immense 
crowd,  whose  patience  bad  not  even  yet  worn 
out,  although  it  was  nearly  5  o'clock.  The 
doors  and  windows  were  filled  all  along  the  line, 
and  respectful  and  sorrowful  silence  prevailed 
everywhere.  The  procession  passed  up  Broad- 
way'and  Park  Row  to  the  east  gate  of  the  Park, 
and  the  body  was  de])ositcd  in  the  Governor's 
Room,  at  the  City  Hall,  and  left  in  care  of  the 
Washington  Grays,  who  formed  the  guard  of 
honor.  The  columns  in  front  of  the  City  Hall 
were  wreathed  with  black  and  white  crape  ;  also 
festoons  were  suspended  from  window  to  win- 
dow, the  balconies  were  covered  with  rosettes 
and  wreatlis,  the  flags  at  half-mast,  and  stream- 
ers of  black  flying  from  the  tops  of  the  staves. 
The  (jovcrnor's  Room,  in  which  the  body  was 
placed,  was  appropriately  decorated.  The  por- 
traits of  the  distinguished  men  that  adorn  that 
apartment  were  covered  with  crape.  Directly 
over  the  beautiful  cenotaph  upon  v/hich  ihe  body 
was  placed  hung  a  likeness  of  Henry  Clay,  with 
the  following  inscription  subjoined  :  "  A  nation 
mourns  thy  loss."  Several  stages  were  hung 
with  crape.  Minute  guns  were  fired  by  the  rev- 
enue cutter,  the  fort  on  Governor's  Island,  and 
from  Jersey  City-  The  bells  were  tolling  all  the 
time  the  piocession  was  in  motion.  After  the 
body  had  entered  the  City  Hall,  such  was  the 
desire  of  the  citizens  to  obtain  admission,  that  a 
great  crushing  ensued,  and  the  police  had  to  use 
every  exertion  to  clear  the  crowd  fi'om  the  en- 
trances and  prevent  difficulty  and  danger.  A 
great  many  people,  among  whom  were  several 
ladies,  waited  outside,  in  expectation  of  seeing 
the  body ;  but  they  were  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment, as  no  person  was  permitted    to  enter. 


m 


PONIARD  PRESENTED  TO  FAUSTIN  I. 

Above  we  give  a  fac-similc  of  the  richly  mount- 
ed dagger  intended  as  a  present  for  his  Imperial 
Majesty,  Faustin  I.,  of  Hayti.  It  has  a  heavy 
gold  handle,  surmounted  by  a  crown,  richly  stud- 
ded with  diamonds  and  pearls.  On  each  side  of 
the  handle  is  richly  chased  the  imperial  arms  of 
Hayti.  Below  the  arms,  on  one  side,  are  two 
small  crests  of  diamonds,  a  very  large  sapphire 
surrounded  by  ten  rubies;  and  on  a  shield,  under- 
neath the  whole,  is  engraved  Faustin  First,  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  handle,  below  the  arms 
is  a  lai'ge  ruby,  surrounded  by  precious  stones. 
The  scabbard  is  very  heavily  mounted  in  gold, 
and  richly  set  with  precious  stones,  among  which 
is  a  large  emerald  surrounded  by  diamonds,  a 
large  sapphire  surrounded  by  rubies,  a  large  ruby 
surrounded  by  smaller  stones,  and  diversified  on 
each  side  with  diamonds,  etc.,  the  point  having  a 
globe  emerald,  finished  by  a  small  gold  ball. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


77 


■m^^-f^j^fjmy:^^d^ 


FREDERICK   GLEASON,   Proprietor. 

MATURIN    M.    BALLOU,    EDITOR. 

COKTKNTS  OF  OUR  KKXT  NU3IKKII. 

"  Alice  Bourne,  or  the  Strength  of  the  Heart,''  a.  story, 
by  Geo.  Cakking  Hill. 

"  Etlgar  llandolph,  or  Man's  Judgment  somcthues  erro- 
neous," a  tale  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Caroline  Orse. 

"  Time  is  Money."  a  story  thus  entitled,  by  Mrs.  S.  P. 

DOOGHTY. 

"  A  Lion  for  Ten  Minutes,"'  a  humoroua  sketch,  by  the 
Old  'Ox. 

'■  The  Death  of  Miss  Susan  Oakes,"  Unes.  by  Caroline 
A.  Hat  DEN. 

'•  De  Soto,"  verses,  by  Joseph  H  Butler. 

"  Lilly  Bliss,'"  a  poem,  by  C.  S.  Kysi^r. 

'^  Death  of  the  ]lighteou"s,"  verses,  by  J.  Hust,  Jr. 

"  A  Voice  from  Home,"  by  Hebecca  R.  Pierce. 

■'  At  Eveninff."  verses,  by  W.  E   Kxo^ies. 

"  Tines  to  Emma,"'  by  J.  Alford. 

"The  Piist,"'  a  poem,  by  Annie  Mott. 

'■  Tripping  down  the  Lane,''  verses,  by  S.  E.  Church. 

"  My  Childhood  QourSj"  hnes,  by  De  Fletcher  Hcnton. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

A  very  beautiful  and  truthful  view  of  Pleasant  Moun- 
tttiw  House,  at  Denmark,  Oxford  county.  Me.  A  very  fine 
flummer  resort ;  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Matittins. 

Fine  Portraits  of  Monsieur  and  Mademoiselle  Caroline 
Duprey,  the  eminent  Parisian  vocalists,  who  have  lately 
met  \\ith  auch  success  in  Europe. 

A  capital  view  of  the  Salt  U'orka,  at  Salines  and  Fort  St. 
Andre,  in  France. 

A  large  characteristic  view  of  the  Meat  Market,  at  Paris, 
France.    A  fine  scene. 

Anotlier  admirable  series,  being  our  second  set,  of  West 
Point,  N,  Y.,  taken  on  the  spot,  by  our  artist,  Mr,  Chap-n, 
reprascnting,  first.  West  Point  Hotel  and  itoad  from  the 
landing;  a  most  truthful  and  striking  picture.  Second,  a 
fine  engraving  of  Koiciuskos  Monument,  as  sketched  for 
us  upon  the  spot.  A  military  Scene,  repreaenting  an  En- 
campment of  Cadets,  as  they  recently  appeared  at  West 
Point.  Also  an  illusti-ationof  the  Cadet's  Monument  and 
Cemetery,  one  of  the  delightful  retreats  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Academy.  And  a  fcene  representing  the  Ca- 
dets making  Fascines,  or  Baskets  of  young  saplings  or 
witlies,  which,  when  filled  with  sand,  serve  to  construct 
batteries  and  breastworks. 

A  picture  representing  a  singular  instinctive  artifice  of 
the  Partridge  in  defence  of  its  young  brood. 

Also  a  mate  for  the  above,  entitled  the  Stubble  Field 
and  Partridge  Shooting,     Both  fine  pictures. 

A  very  admirable  view  of  Detroit,  Michigan,  taken  from 
Sandwich,  Canada. 

A  fine,  large  engraving  of  the  Equestrian  Statue  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  the  original  of  which  is  by  Count  de 
Orsay. 

STRAWBERRY  FESTIVALS. 

These  agreeable  entertainments  were  unusu- 
ally numerous  this  year  in  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try. They  were,  generally,  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  ladies,  and,  in  most  cases,  for  char- 
itable purposes.  The  strawberry  being  our  most 
delicious  fruit,  and  its  season  the  most  delightful 
of  the  year,  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  the  fes- 
tival alluded  to  should  become  one  of  the  per- 
manent institutions  of  the  country— like  the  vin- 
tage festivals  of  Europe. 


SPLINTERS. 


....  The  Boston  Olive  Branch  deserves  our 
thanks  for  its  kind  remembrance. 

Madame  Thillon  has  met  with  lier  usual 

success  at  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  is  now  eighty. 

four  years  of  age. 

Horace  Mann  is  to  be  the  President  of 

Antioch  College,  Yellow  Springs,  Ohio. 

The  Swiss  Bell   Ringers  have  been  for 

some  time  in  our  Western  cities. 

At  last  accounts  from  Jamaica  the  small 

pox  was  raging  fearfully. 

....  The  cholera,  though  considerably  abated, 
siill  lingers  in.  the  Western  cities. 

Four  negroes  were  killed  by  lightning  at 

Lexington,  Miss.,  a  few  days  since. 

Marshal  Tukey,  the  energetic  chief  of 

police,  for  Boston,  has  been  removed. 

.  . , .  Jonathan  Edmands,  aged  14  years,  was 
drowned  near  Nantasket  Beach,  while  bathing. 

....  It  is  now  said  that  Abbott  Lawrence  will 
not  resign  his  office  at  London. 

....  It  looks  very  much  as  if  Hon.  Daniel 
Webster  would  be  a  "  candidate  "  yet. 

Don't  tell  your  troubles  ;  people  do  not 

like  to  have  unfortunate  friends. 

....  John  Loring  hung  himself  in  Cincinnati 
for  some  unknown  reason. 

....  Ke  slow  to  promise,  but  after  you  have 
done  so,  keep  your  word. 

He  who  has  provoked  tiie   shaft   of  wit, 

cannot  complain  that  he  smarts  from  it. 

To  succeed  well  in  debate,  a  man  should 

use  soft  words  and  hard  arguments. 


AaiERICAN  PATRIOTISM. 

These  are  not  mere  words.  It  is  true  that 
there  exists  among  us  many  of  those  antedilu- 
vian gentlemen — antediluvian  in  their  convic- 
tions, if  not  in  their  years,  whose  eyes  are  ever 
on  the  past,,  aud  so,  because  their  backs  arc 
turned  to  the  present  and  the  future,  see  none  of 
their  bright  visions,  and  deny  the  existence  of 
them.  These  men  tell  you  that  chivalry  has 
passed  away,  that  valor  is  extinct,  aud  patriot- 
ism a  sentiment  ignored  by  the  present  genera- 
tion. Nothing  can  be  more  untrue.  Mankind 
are  constantly,  steadily,  surely  advancing .  Some- 
times a  portion — a  small  portion — of  the  vast 
multitude  halts,  or  retrogrades ;  but  the  march 
of  the  column  is  still  onward.  No  one  will  deny 
that,  in  all  things  material,  the  advance  is  one 
of  dazzling  rapidity.  During  the  present  centu- 
ry, science  and  inventive  genius  have  developed 
more  remarkable  resources  than  the  history  of 
any  preceding  five  himdred  years  can  exhibit. 
The  employment  of  steam  in  land  travels,  in 
navigation,  its  recent  successful  application  to 
ocean  passages  from  continent  to  continent,  the 
electric  telegraph,  the  mechanical  improvements 
for  facilitating  agricultural  operations,  these  ai-e 
trophies  and  proofs  of  a  generation  abounding  in 
intellectual  vigor. 

But  it  has  been  said  that  all  these  improve- 
ments and  facilities  by  wiiicli  our  physical  com- 
forts are  increased,  and  luxury  introduced  into 
almost  every  house,  tend  to  produce  materialism, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  enervation  and  effeminacy 
in  the  race.  The  croaking  fraternity,  to  whom 
we  have  alluded  above,  fancy  that  the  courage, 
like  that  of  Bob  Acres  in  the  play,  is  "  oozing 
out  of  our  fingers'  ends,"  and  since,  unfortunate- 
ly, in  the  present  state  of  the  world,  principle 
must  be  supported  by  bayonets,  .they  argue  the 
most  disastrous  consequences  from  the  supposed 
etteminacy  of  the  race.  Unluckily  for  these  dis- 
mal theories,  facts  are  against  thera ;  the  mo- 
ment danger  arrives,  the  moment  the  note  of  de- 
fiance is  sounded,  the  American  people  spring  to 
arms  with  one  accord.  The  story  of  the  Mexi- 
can war  is  yet  too  recent  to  require  more  than  an 
allusion  to  it  as  signal  proof  that  the  most  brilliant 
courage  and  military  capacity  yet  distinguish  the 
American  people.  The  arduous  services,  the 
brilliant  achievements  of  both  rogulai'S  and  vo- 
lunteers on  Scott's  and  Taylor's  lines,  show  that 
the  present  race  of  men  has  not  a  whit  degene- 
rated from  the  heroic  standard  of  their  fathers  ; 
aud  that  though  comforts  and  luxuries  are  far 
more  widely  diffused  than  in  the  past  century, 
yet,  at  the  call  of  the  country,  we  can  sacrifice 
all  these  comforts  and  luxuries,  and  submit  to 
the  severest  privations  without  a  murmur. 

And  how  is  it  with  patriotism,  the  life-blood  of 
our  nation  '?  Have  we  indeed  become  demoral- 
ized, disunited,  ready  to  abandon  the  priceless 
heritage  that  has  come  down  to  us  ?  This  ques- 
tion has  been  triumphantly  answered  by  the  late 
celebration  of  the  Fourth  throughout  the  whole 
land.  Never  before  was  the  glorious  anniver- 
sary of  our  nation's  birth  celebrated  with  more 
heartiness,  enthusiasm  and  joy-  Disunited  !  We 
are  more  firmly  knit  together  than  ever.  Physi- 
cal and  moral  bonds  render  our  Union  indissolu- 
ble, and  the  one-and-thirty  States  composing  our 
confederacy  of  to-day,  are  far  better  acquainted 
with  each,  far  more  ready  to  act  in  unison,  than 
the  old  original  thirteen  at  the  time  of  the  adop- 
tion of  the  Constitution.  Woe  to  the  power  that 
shall  attempt  to  invade  our  limits,  in  the  belief 
that  extension  of  territory  has  weakened  the 
principle  of  cohesion  in  which  alone  lies  all  our 
strength  !  Those  who  believe  that  American 
patriotism  is  but  a  name,  will  rue  the  hour  they 
attempt  to  act  upon  this  conviction.  Our  patri- 
otism still  burns  with  a  steady,  genial  flame,  a 
light  to  our  firesides,  destructive  only  to  our 
enemies,  and  so  will  it  be  when  the  United  States 
shall  have  attained,  to  boriow  a  humorous  ides, 
"  their  natural  boundaries — the  equator  and  the 
Aurora  Borealis." 


Fatal  Accidents. — During  the  Webster  re- 
ception, a  member  of  the  Columbian  Artillery 
Company  left  the  ranks,  and  died  from  the  effect 
of  the  heat.  A  man  from  Roxbury,  and  another 
from  Andover,  died  from  the  same  cause. 


Back  Numbers. — All  the  back  numbers  of 
the  Pictorial  can  be  supplied  from  the  com- 
mencement of  the  paper,  either  bound,  or  in 
single  numbers. 


POLITE    OFFICIALS. 

"Lady  passengers,"  says  Grace  Greenwood, 
in  her  first  letter  from  over  the  sea,  "who  had 
suffered  throughout  the  voyage  from  a  nervous 
dread  of  a  stern  official  ransacking  the  carpet- 
bags, and  from  the  belief  that  it  is  through  much 
tribulation  in  the  way  of  tumbling  trunks  and 
exposed  night-caps  that  we  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  Great  Britain,  were  most  agreeably  dis- 
appointed. Trunks  were  opened,  indeed,  but 
by  no  means  a  minute  examination  made  of 
their  contents."  The  same  lady  warmly  praises 
the  kindness  of  Madame,  and  the  superior  mind 
of  Mr.  Goldschmidt.  "The  '  Scariet  Letter,' " 
she  says,  "  is  a  favorite  book  with  that  gentle- 
man." Of  Madame  Goldschmidt,  she  remarks  : 
"  For  the  first  few  days  of  our  voyage,  she  seem- 
ed singularly  shy  and  reserved.  I  have  seen 
her  sit  hour  after  hour  by  herself,  in  some  unfre- 
quented part  of  the  vessel,  looking  out  over  the 
sea."  Grace  Greenwood  wonders  what  she 
could  be  thinking  of.  Probably  she  was  deep  in 
the  consideration  of  the  question,  whether  her 
breakfast  would  go  on  quietly  doing  its  appoint- 
ed ofiice  of  nourishing  lier  physical  constitution, 
or,  whether,  etc. 


Lola  Montez. — This  famous  danseuse  has 
sued  the  editor  of  the  New  York  Times  for  libel- 
ling her  chai-acter.    Naughty  man ! 


THE  A3IAZON  VALLEY. 

The  exploration  of  the  valley  of  the  Amazon, 
says  the  New  York  Times,  is  a  work  which 
travellers  and  scientific  men  have  frequently  un- 
dertaken, with  varying  but  always  imperfect 
success.  About  a  vear  since,  another  expedition 
was  put  on  foot,  under  the  auspices  of  the  United 
States  Govei-nment,  the  results  of  which  may 
prove  more  important.  We  are  informed  that 
Lieut.  Herndon,  U.  S.  N.,  to  whose  guidance 
this  effort  was  confided,  has  succeeded  in  pene- 
trating from  the  Pacilic  to  the  Atlantic,  through 
the  richest  sections  of  that  region,  and,  at  the 
last  advices,  was  at  Para,  on  his  way  homeward. 
The  information  regarding  the  condition,  re- 
sources and  prospects  of  the  interior  of  Brazil 
which  has  been  gathered  in  the  progress  of  this 
enterprise,  must  be  an  interesting  and  valuable 
addition  to  our  geographical  knowledge.  We 
presume  the  report  of  Lieut.  Herndon  will  he 
published  in  an  official  form. 


VOLUME  SECOND. 

We  have  bound  already  thousands  of  Vol.  2d, 
and  our  establishment  has  presented  a  busy  scene 
since  the  first  of  July.  Hundi-eds  are  still  bring- 
ing in  then-  numbers  to  be  bound,  and  we  are 
tm-ning  them  out  in  beautiful  style,  as  described, 
at  a  charge  of  only  one  dollar.  We  have  got  up 
a  new  and  beautiful  frontispiece  and  index  for 
the  volume,  which  alone  is  a  most  elegant  and 
desirable  afiair,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
engravings  ever  issued  from  this  establislnnent. 
This  is  bound  into  those  volumes  sent  in  to  us 
without  extra  charge.  The  Pictorial,  thus  pre- 
served in  a  strong  substantial  binding,  with  gilt 
back  and  edges,  and  illumined  sides,  forms  a  rich 
ornament  for  the  centre-table.  We  can  supply 
any  and  all  numbers  of  the  paper  to  those  who 
have  lost  any,  or  soiled  them  too  much  for  bind- 
ing. Volume  one  and  volume  two  are  now  for 
sale  at  our  office. 


KOSSUTH. 

Kossuth  has  finally  left  the  shores  of  America, 
and  is  now  on  his  way  to  prove  to  the  world 
whether  he  is  a  real  or  a  mock  patriot,  a  hero  or 
a  mountebank.  Nothing  in  his  whole  history,  as 
far  as  we  can  see,  says  a  contemporary,  favors 
the  idea  that  he  is  a  hypocrite  or  a  swindler ; 
everything  in  his  life,  which  has  yet  been  made 
public,  seems  to  show  that  he  is  true  as  steel,  and 
unflinching  as  the  rock  in  the  cause,  in  behalf  of 
which  he  has  poured  forth  a  continuous  and 
dazzling  stream  of  unsurpassed  eloquence  and 
biu'ning  thoughts. 


Musical. — A  musical  band  has  recently  been 
formed  in  Norway  village.  Me.,  called  the  "Nor- 
way Sax  Horn  Band."  It  embraces  about 
twenty  members,  who,  under  the  instructions  of 
an  efficient  teacher,  are  making  fine  progress  in 
tlieir  performances. 


Bad — There  are  fourteen  victims  of  the  spirit- 
ual rapping  mania  in  the  Ulica  Asylum.  Tliis 
is  as  great  an  evil  as  intemperance. 


New  York  Crtstal  Palace. — This  enter- 
prise is  going  on  successfully. 


MARRIAGES    >X.:i^^,, 


"^'^^^^KMDSi 


Newport. — This  favorite   watering  place 


perfectly  thronged. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Miner,  Mr.  Allen  J.  Hill  to 
Mrs.  Susan  M.  Clark. 

By   Rev.  Mr.  Cummings,  Mr.   Thomas  E.  Gregory,  of 
Lvun,  to  >iiss  Jane  Todd. 

"By  William  Palfrey,  Esq.,  Mr.  William  H,  Mansfield,  of 
Bangor,  Me.,  to  Miss  Ann  Maclt. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Oliver  L.  Roberts  to  Miss  Mer- 
tylla  A.  Jackson, 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Neale,  Roger  B.  Lawton,  Esq.,  of  Charles- 
ton, S.  C,  to  Miss  Mary  II.  Bradford. 

At  CharlestflWD ,  by  Rev.  Mr,  Blain,  Mr,  William  Henry 
Simonds  to  Miss  0.  E.  Cassell, 

At  Chelsea,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Eartlett,  Mr.  Thomas  Tune  to 
Mis.-*  Mary  Bigelow. 

At  Dorchester,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pike,  Mr.  Ja's  W.  Richard 
son,  of  Monmouth,  Me.,  to  Miss  Eliza  A.  S.  Eennette. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Stone,  Mr.  Webster  F.  Burnham, 
of  Danvers,  to  Miss  Angemettc  C.  Fairbrothers,  of  Lynn. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Child,  Mr.  Daniel  K.  Winn  to 
MioS  Marindia  F.  Maloon. 

At  Nevvburyport,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Medberry,  Mr.  George  K. 
Pevear,  of  Lynn,  to  Miss  Lucy  II.  Chase. 

At  Worcester,  by  Rev.  Mr".  Tillotson,  Mr,  Edward  W. 
Green  to  Miss  Henrietta  E,  Atkin.son. 

At  Springfield,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Bridge.  Mr.  A.  G.  Thomas, 
of  Adams.  N.  Y.,  to  Miss  Nancy  Sheldon. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Chiekering,  Mr.  Robert 
H.  Sherwood,  of  New  York,  to  Miss  Mary  Neal. 

At  Providence,  R- 1.,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Crocker,  Mr.  Brintnall 
Sabin,  of  rtica,  N.  Y.,  to  Miss  Caroline  A.  Bradford. 

At  Philadelphia,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pratt,  Mr.  Sereno  B.  Pratt, 
of  Boston,  to  Miss  Carie  E.  Hart. 


DEATH  S§4^^  ^. 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Welch,  58 ;  Charles  R.  Cod- 
mau,  Esq.,  67  ;  Mrs.  Susan  Jane  Edwards,  23  ;  Mr.  John 
K.  Jones,  30 ;  Mr.  Lewis  Ettling,  49 ;  Mr.  William  Ulmer, 
38  ;  Mr.  Joseph  Tirge,  72. 

At  Koxbury,  Miss  Caroline  R.  Faxon,  of  Boston,  30. 

At  West  Roxbury,  Mr.  Abijah  Men-iam,  75. 

At  Charlestown,  Mrs.  Sally  Rice,  77, 

At  Somerville,  Mr.  Gilnian  Woodward,  39. 

At  Milton,  Mrs.  Clarissa  Stearns,  of  Boston,  68- 

At  Andover,  Dr,  Francis  Clarke,  38  ;  Sajuuel  Berry,  91. 

At  Salem,  Mr.  Matthew  M.  Carnes,  62, 

At  Marhlehead,  Miss  Deborah  Hammond,  87. 

At  Beverly,  Mrs.  Augusta  Foster,  29. 

At  Ipswich,  Mr.  Samuel  Appleton,  81, 

At  UriJgewater,  Miss  Sarah  Henrietta  Hooker,  25. 

At  Newbury,  Mr.  Samuel  Nojcs,  86. 

At  Duxburv,  Miss  Sarah  Eliz;ibeth  Ford,  19. 

At  Littleton,  Miss  Lucretia  Tuttle,  60. 

At  Acton,  Mrs.  Hannah  Pierce,  23. 

At  Worcester,  Miss  Clarissa  G.  Waters,  IS- 

At  New  Bedford,  Mr.  Caleb  Johnson,  70. 

At  Marlboro',  Miss  Louisa  K.  Wentworth,  20. 

At  Kingston,  Hon,  Thomas  Prince  Beal,  66. 

At  Burhngton,  Daniel  Mclntire,  Esq.,  63. 

At  Foxboro",  Miss  Sally  0.  Fuller,  39. 

At  South  Brooktield,  Mrs.  Ann  E.  Walliee,  24. 

At  Augusta,  Me.,  Mr.  Henry  M.  Blunt,  39. 

At  Lansingburg,  N.  Y.,  Hon.  Jacob  C.  Lansing,  62. 

At  Baltimore,  Mr.  William  G.  Hagger,  31. 

At  Charleston,  S.  C,  Mrs.  EUza  SUaw,  of  Boston. 

At  New  Orleans,  Capt.  Melville  Nichols,  31. 


AND 

LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

^t  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  rao.'it  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  cohmins  aro  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  tho 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIEULLT    ILLUSTRATED 

Tvith  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  thia  couutry.  Its  pa^cs 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  m  tho  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  tho  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  mercliant  service,  with  tine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  tiiken  from  life,  will  al.s9  bo 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surfaco  p.apcr,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
Ecntiug  in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  aud  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 


pag( 


It  forma 


The  Best  Family  Paper, 


inasmuch  as  ib:  nim  i.s  constantly,  in  connection  with  tho 
fund  of  amusement  it  allords,  and  the  rich  anay  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  toneof  moi-ality.and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoioing  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

TEKMS;    $iJ  00    PER    VOLUME. 

OR,    Si  UO    PER    AXN'UM. 

1XV.\KIAULT    IX    AHVAXCK. 

Each  six  monttis  completes  a  volume,  commencing  on 
the  tvst  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  maldng  two  volumes 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

\!Cr'  One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  ocr  Union,  and  one  copy 
of  the  Pictorial  Dk.\wikg-Koom  CompakioNj  one  year, 
for  So  W. 

Cy^  The  Pictorial  Drawing-Room  Companion  may  ba 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  tho 
country,  and  of  newsmen,  at  ten  ctjtls  per  single  lopy 

Published  every  S.vturdat,  by 

F.   OLEASON,   Boston,  Mass. 

VVHCLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spi-uce  Street,  New  York. 
A.  WINCH.  116  Chestnut  Street.  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  Co.,  Ill  Baitm:ore  St.,  Balthnore. 
A.  C.  BAGLEY.  10  West  3d  Street,  Cincinnati. 
J.  A.  ROYS,  43  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit. 
E.  K.  ^\'OODU''ARD,  cor.  4th  and  Chesnut,  9t.  Louis. 
Q:^  Stibscriptio?is  received  at  either  of  the  above  piaeef. 


78 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Olcoson'B  Plctorinl.] 
COVENANTERS*    HYMN. 

BY  J.  IIONT,  JR. 

"We  praiso  thco,  0  Ood,  in  the  fipirlt  of  truth, 

Fop  mercies  conferred  from  thy  bountiful  Htoro ; 
Thy  guurdiivn  grace,  from  tlio  morning  of  youtli, 

Hath  guided  our  footsteps,  and  will  ovormoro. 
Wo  praiso  thee  for  blossingH  which  yielded  relief, 

Wlien  storniH  of  adversity  ravaged  the  breast ; 
"WTicn  arrows  of  sorrow,  and  poisonous  grief, 

Probed  deep  in  tlio  heart,  and  distracted  our  rest. 

"Wo  praiso  thee,  and  worship  thee,  Father  of  love, 

Por  pleasures  enjoyed  in  a  season  of  \rail ; 
Which  shed  their  olTulgoDce  around  and  above, 

As  beams  of  the  sunset  illumine  a  vale. 
Wo  pniistj  thee,  0  God,  for  the  faith  of  the  soul, 

And  yearnings  for  part  in  tho  maneiona  of  peace  ; 
Where  centres  our  all  of  an  iufinito  whole, 

Mid  homes  of  the  angels,  where  sufferings  eeaso. 

We  praise  theo,  0  God,  for  tho  issues  of  Ufc, 

And  promise  of  dwelling  in  worlds  of  true  bliss  j 
Where  all  the  rude  eonflicta  of  passionate  strife 

Are  closed  to  the  weeping  and  warring  of  this. 
Where,  sheltered  forever,  the  blackness  of  night 

No  more  will  o'ershadow  tho  future  with  gloom  ; 
Where  day-beams  of  glory  reveal  to  our  sight 

The  roses  of  hope  in  perennial  bloom. 

We'll  sing  of  thy  greatness,  0  Infinite  One, 

Till  our  terra  of  existence  is  brought  to  a  close  j 
And  trust,  when  the  work  of  our  striving  is  done, 

To  rest  from  our  labors,  in  righteous  repose. 
0  holy,  indeed,  is  the  calm  which  extends 

O'er  yonder  broad  kingdom  of  sorrowless  sigha  ; 
Where  ill  we  've  encountered  triumphantly  ends. 

In  that  priceless  perfection  pervading  the  skies. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  YOUJfG  PHILOSOPHER. 

A   SKETCH   FOR   PARENTS. 


BY  SYLVANCS    COBB,  JR. 

Mr.  Solomon  "Winthrop  was  a  plain  old 
farmex' — an  austere,  precise  man,  who  did  every- 
thing by  established  rules,  and  who  could  see  no 
reason  why  people  should  ever  grasp  at  things 
beyond  what  had  been  reached  by  their  great 
great  grandfathers.  He  had  three  children — two 
boys  and  a  girl.  There  was  Jeremiah,  seven- 
teen years  old,  Samuel,  fifteen,  and  Fanny,  thir- 
teen. 

It  was  a  cold  winter's  day.  Samuel  was  in 
the  kitchen  reading  a  book,  and  so  interested 
was  he  that  he  did  not  notice  the  entrance  of  his 
father.  Jex-emiah  was  in  an  opposite  corner  en- 
gaged in  ciphering  out  a  sum  which  he  had 
found  in  his  arithmetic. 

"  Sam,"  said  the  farmer  to  his  youngest  son, 
"have  you  worked  out  that  sum  yet?" 

"No,  sir,"  returned  the  boy,  in  a  hesitating 
manner. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  stick  to  your  arithmetic 
till  you  had  done  it,"  uttered  Mr.  Winthrop,  in 
a  severe  tone. 

Samuel  hung  down  his  head  and  looked 
troubled. 

"Why  haven't  you  done  iti"  continued  the 
father. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  sir,"  tremblingly  returned  the 
boy. 

"  Can't  do  it  ?  And  why  not  ?  Look  at  Jerry, 
there,  with  his  slate  and  arithmetic.  He  had 
ciphered  further  than  you  have  long  before  he 
was  as  old  as  you  are." 

"Jerry  was  always  fond  of  mathematical 
problems,  sir ;  but  I  can't  fasten  my  mind  on 
them.     They  have  no  interest  for  me." 

"  That's  because  you  don't  try  to  feel  any  in- 
terest in  your  studies.  Wliat  book  is  that  you 
are  reading  V 

"  It's  a  work  on  philosophy,  sir." 
"  A  work  on  fiddle-sticks  !  Go  put  it  away 
this  instant,  and  then  get  your  slate,  and  don't 
you  let  me  see  you  away  from  your  arithmetic 
again  until  you  can  work  out  these  roots.  Do 
you  understand  me  1" 

Samuel  made  no  answer,  but  silently  he  put 
away  his  philosophy,  and  then  got  his  slate,  and 
sat  down  again  in  the  chimney  corner.  His 
nether  lip  trembled,  and  his  eyes  were  moistened, 
for  he  was  unhappy.  His  father  had  been  harsh 
towards  him,  and  he  felt  that  it  was  without  just 
cause. 

"  Sam,"  said  Jerry,  as  soon  as  the  old  man 
had  gone,  "  I'll  do  that  sum  for  you." 

"No,  Jerry,"  returned  the  younger  brother, 
but  yet  with  a  grateful  look ;  "  that  would  be  de- 
ceiving our  father.  I  will  try  and  do  the  sura 
myself,  though  I  fear  I  shall  not  succeed." 

Samuel  worked  mid  studied,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose.    His  m'fn*\  was  not  on  the   subject  before 


him,  Tho  roots  and  squares,  tho  bases,  hy* 
potbenuses  and  perpendiculars,  though  compura- 
tivcly  simple  in  tliemselvos,  were  to  him  a 
mingled  mass  of  Incompreliensible  tilings,  and 
the  raoi'e  lio  studied  the  more  did  lie  become 
perplexed  and  botlicrcd.  Tlic  truth  was,  his 
father  did  not  understand  him. 

Samuel  was  a  bright  boy,  and  uncommonly 
intelligent  for  one  of  his  age.  Mr.  Wintlu'op 
was  a  tiiorough  malhomatician — ^Iie  had  never 
yet  come  across  a  proI)lcm  he  could  not  solve, 
and  he  desired  that  his  children  should  be  like 
him,  for  he  conceived  that  the  very  acme  of  ed- 
iicational  perfection  lay  in  tlie  power  of  con- 
quering Euclid,  and  he  often  expressed  the  opin- 
ion tliat,  were  Euclid  living  then,  he  could  "  give 
the  old  geometrician  a  hard  tussle."  He  never 
seemed  to  comprehend  that  different  minds  were 
made  with  dilfcrent  capacities,  and  that  what 
one  mind  could  grasp  with  ease,  another,  of 
equal  power,  would  fail  to  comprehend.  Hence, 
because  Jeremiah  progressed  rapidly  in  his 
mathematical  studies,  and  could  already  survey 
a  piece  of  land  of  many  angles,  he  imagined 
that,  because  Samuel  made  no  progress  at  all  in 
the  same  branch,  he  was  idle  and  careless,  and 
he  treated  him  accordingly.  He  never  candidly 
conversed  with  his  younger  son,  with  a  view  to 
ascertain  the  ti-ue  bent  of  liis  mind,  and  thus  en- 
able himself  to  open  a  proper  field  for  the  scope 
of  that  mind,  but  he  had  his  own  standard  of  the 
power  of  all  mind,  and  he  pertinaciously  ad- 
hered to  it. 

There  was  another  thing  Mr.  Winthrop  could 
not  see,  and  that  was,  that  Samuel  was  continu- 
ally studying  and  pondering  upon  such  profitable 
matters  as  interested  him,  and  that  he  was 
scarcely  ever  idle,  nor  did  the  father  see,  either, 
that  if  he  ever  wished  his  boy  to  become  a  math- 
ematician, he  was  pursuing  the  very  course  to 
prevent  such  a  result.  Instead  of  endeavoring 
to  make  the  stucly  interesting  to  the  child,  he 
was  making  it  really  obnoxious. 

The  dinner  hour  came,  and  Samuel  had  not 
yet  worked  out  the  sum.  His  father  was  angry, 
and  obliged  the  boy  to  go  without  his  dinner,  at 
the  same  time  telling  him  that  he  was  an  idle, 
lazy  child. 

Poor  Samuel  left  the  kitchen  and  went  up  to 
his  chamber,  and  there  he  sat  and  cried.  At 
length  his  mind  seemed  to  pass  from  the  wi'ong 
ho  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  his  parent  and 
took  another  turn,  and  the  grief-marks  left  his 
face.  There  was  a  large  fire  in  the  room  below 
his  chamber,  so  he  was  not  very  cold  ;  and  get- 
ting up  from  his  seat  he  went  to  a  small  closet, 
and  from  beneath  a  lot  of  old  clothes  he  dragged 
forth  some  long  strips  of  wood  and  commenced 
whittling.  It  was  not  for  mere  paL^dme  that  he 
thus  whittled,  for  he  was  fashioning  some  curi- 
ous affair  from  those  pieces  of  wood.  He  had 
bits  of  wire,  little  scraps  of  tin-plate,  pieces  of 
twine,  and  some  dozen  small  wheels  that  he  had 
made  himself,  and  he  seemed  to  be  working  to 
get  them  together  after  some  peculiar  fashion  of 
his  own. 

•  Half  the  afternoon  had  thus  passed  away  when 
his  sister  entered  his  chamber.  She  had  her 
apron  gathered  up  in  her  hand,  and  after  closing 
the  door  softly  behind  her,  she  approached  the 
spot  where  her  brother  sat. 

"  Here,  Sammy — see,  I  have  brought  you  up 
something  to  eat.     I  know  you  must  be  hungry." 

As  she  spoke,  she  opened  her  apron  and  took 
out  four  cakes,  and  a  piece  of  pie  and  cheese. 
The  boy  was  hungry,  and  he  hesitated  not  to 
avail  himself  of  his  sister's  kind  offer.  He  kissed 
her  as  he  took  the  cakes,  and  thanked  her. 

"  0,  what  a  pretty  thing  that  is  you  are  mak- 
ing," uttered  Eanny,  as  slie  gazed  upon  the  re- 
sult of  her  brother's  labors.  "  Wont  you  give  it 
to  me  after  it's  done  ?" 

"Not  this  one,  sister,"  retui-ncd  the  boy,  with 
a  smile ;  "  but  as  soon  as  I  get  time  I  will  make 
you  something  equally  as  pretty," 

Fanny  thanked  her  brother,  and  shortly  after- 
wards she  left  the  room,  and  the  boy  resumed 
liis  work. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  the  various  materials 
that  had  been  subjected  to  Samuel's  jack-knife 
and  pincers  had  assumed  form  and  comeliness, 
and  they  were  jointed  and  grooved  together  in  a 
curious  combination.  The  embryo  philosopher 
set  the  raacliinc — for  it  looked  something  like  a 
machine — upon  the  floor,  and  then  he  stood  off 
and  gazed  upon  it.  His  bright  eye  gleamed 
with  a  peculiar  glow  of  satisfaction,  and  he  look- 
ed proud  and  happy.  While  yet  he  stood  and 
gazed  upon  the  child  of  his  labor,  the  door  of  liis 
chamber  was  opened  and  his  father  entered. 


"What — arc  you  not  studying?"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Winthrop,  as  he  noticed  bis  boy  standing 
idle  in  the  middle  of  ilie  floor. 

Samuel  trembled  as  he  heard  his  fatlicr's 
voice,  and  he  turned  pale  witJi  fear. 

"  Ha,  what  is  this  ?"  continued  Mr.  Winthrop, 
as  lie  caught  sight  of  tlio  curious  con.slruction 
upon  the  floor.  "  This,  then,  is  the  secret  of 
your  idleness.  Now  I  sec  how  it  is  that  you 
cannot  master  your  studies.  You  spend  your 
time  in  making  play-houses  and  fly-pens.  I'll 
see  whether  you'll  learn  to  attend  to  your  les- 
sons or  not.     There !" 

As  the  father  uttered  that  simple  interjection, 
he  placed  bis  foot  upon  the  object  of  las  dis- 
pleasure. The  boy  uttered  a  quick  cry,  and 
sprang  eagerly  forward,  but  he  was  too  late. 
The  curious  construction  was  crushed  to  atoms 
■ — the  labor  of  long  weeks  was  utterly  gone ! 
The  lad  gazed  for  a  moment  upon  the  mass  of 
ruins,  and  then  covering  his  face  with  his  hands 
he  burst  into  tears. 

"  Aint  you  ashamed  V  said  Mr.  Winthrop, 
"a great  boy  like  you  to  spend  your  time  on 
such  clap-traps,  and  then  cry  about  it  because 
I  choose  that  you  should  attend  to  your  studies  1 
Now  go  out  -to  the  bani  and  help  Jerry  shell 
corn." 

The  hoy  was  too  full  of  grief  to  make  any 
explanation,  and  without  a  word  lie  left  his 
chamber ;  but  for  long  days  afterwards  he  was 
sad  and  down-hearted. 

"  Samuel,"  said  Mr.  Winthrop,  one  day  after 
the  spring  had  opened,  "  I  have  seen  Mr.  Young, 
and  he  is  willing  to  take  you  as  an  apprentice. 
Jerry  and  I  can  get  along  on  the  farm,  and  I 
think  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  learn  the 
blacksmith's  trade.  I  liavc  given  up  all  hopes 
of  ever  making  a  surveyor  of  yon  ;  and  if  you 
had  a  farm,  you  wouldn't  know  how  to  measure 
it  and  lay  it  out.  Jerry,  now,  will  soon  be  able 
to  take  my  place  as  a  surveyor,  and  I  have  al- 
ready made  arrangements  for  having  him  sworn, 
and  obtaining  his  commission.  But  your  trade 
will  be  a  good  one,  however,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  you  vvill  make  a  living  at  it." 

Mr.  Young  was  a  blacksmith  in  a  neighboring 
town,  and  he  carried  on  quite  an  extensive  busi- 
ness, and,  moreover,  he  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  fine  man.  Samuel  was  delighted  with 
his  father's  proposal,  and  when  he  learned  that 
Mr.  Young  also  carried  on  quite  a  large  machine 
shop  he  was  in  ecstacies.  His  trunk  was  packed, 
— a  good  supply  of  clothes  having  been  provided  ; 
and  after  kissing  his  mother  and  sister,  and 
shaking  hands  with  his  father  and  brother,  he 
mounted  the  stage  and  set  off'  for  his  new  desti- 
nation. 

He  found  Mr.  Young  all  that  he  could  wish, 
and  he  went  into  his  business  with  an  assiduity 
that  surprised  his  master.  One  evening,  after 
Samuel  Winthrop  had  been  with  his  new  master 
six  months,  the  latter  came  into  the  shop  one 
night  after  all  the  journeymen  had  quit  work 
and  gone  home,  and  found  the  youth  busily  en- 
gaged in  filing  a  piece  of  iron.  There  were 
quite  a  number  of  pieces  laying  upon  the  bench 
by  his  side,  some  of  which  were  curiously  rivet- 
ted  together  and  fixed  with  springs  and  slides, 
while  others  appeared  not  yet  ready  for  their 
destined  use.  Mr.  Young  ascertained  what  the 
young  workman  was  up  to,  and  he  not  only  en- 
com'aged  him  in  his  undertaking,  but  he  stood 
for  half  an  hour  and  watched  him  at  his  work. 
The  next  day  Samuel  Winthrop  was  removed 
from  the  blacksmith's  shop  to  the  machine  shop. 

Samuel  often  visited  his  parents,  and  at  the 
end  of  two  years  his  father  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised when  Mr.  Young  informed  him  that  Sam- 
uel was  the  most  useful  hand  he  had. 

Time  flew  by  fast.  Samuel  was  twenty-one. 
Jeremiah  had  been  free  two  years,  and  he  was 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  trustworthy  sur- 
veyors in  the  country.  Mr.  Winthrop  looked 
upon  his  eldest  son  with  pride,  and  often  .ex- 
pressed the  wish  that  the  other  son  could  have 
been  like  him.  Samuel  had  come  to  visit  his 
native  home,  and  Mr.  Young  had  come  with  him. 

"  Mr.  Young,"  said  Mr.  Winthrop,  after  the 
tea  things  had  been  cleared  away,  "  that  is  a  fine 
large  factory  they  have  erected  in  your  town." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Young,  "  there  are  three 
of  them,  and  they  are  doing  a  heavy  business." 

"  I  understand  they  have  an  extensive  ma- 
chine shop  connected  with  the  factories.  Now 
if  my  boy  Sam  is  as  good  a  workman  as  you 
say  he  is,  perhaps  he  might  get  a  first  rate  situa- 
tion there." 

Mr.  Young  looked  at  Samuel  and  smiled. 

"  By   tho   way,"   continued   the   old    farmer. 


"what  is  all  this  noise  I  hear  and  sec  in  tho 
newspapers  about  these  patent  Winthrop  Looms. 
They  tell  me  they  go  aiiead  of  anything  that  has 
been  got  up  before." 

"  You  must  ask  your  son  about  that,"  retum- 
ed  Mr.  Young.  "That  is  some  of  Samuel's 
business," 

"  FJi  f     What  ?     My  son  'i     Some  of  Sam—" 

The  old  man  stopped  short  and  gazed  at  his 
boy.  He  was  bewildered.  It  could  not  he  that 
his  son — his  idle  son — was  the  inventor  of  llie 
great  power  loom  that  had  taken  all  the  manu- 
facturers by  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  moan  ';"'  he  at  length  asked. 

"  It  simply  means,  father,  that  that  loom  is 
mine,"  retunied  Samuel,  with  a  look  of  con- 
scious pride,  "I  invented  it,  and  have  taken 
out  a  patent  right,  and  I  have  already  been  offer- 
ed ten  tliousand  dollars  for  the  right  of  patent 
in  two  adjoining  States.  Don't  you  remember 
that  dup-trap  that  you  cruslied  with  your  foot 
six  years  ago  V 

"Yes,"  answered  tlie  old  man,  whose  eyes 
were  bent  to  the  flooi',  and  over  whose  mind  a 
new  liglit  seemed  to  be  breaking. 

"Well,"  continued  Samuel,  "that  was  almost 
a  pattern  of  the  very  loom  I  have  set  up  in  the 
factories,  though,  of  course,  I  have  made  much 
alteration  and  improvement,  and  there  is  room 
for  improvement  yet." 

"And  that  was  what  you  were  studying  about 
when  you  used  to  stand  and  see  me  weave,  and 
when  you  used  to  fumble  about  my  loom  so 
much,"  said  Mrs.  Wlnihrop. 

"  You  are  right,  mother.  Even  then  I  had 
conceived  the  idea  I  have  since  carried  out." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  couldn't  study  my 
mathematical  problems,"  uttered  Mr.  Winthrop, 
as  he  started  from  his  chair  and  took  the  youth 
by  the  hand.  "  Samuel,  my  son,  forgive  me  for 
the  harshness  I  have  used  towards  you.  I  have 
been  blind,  foolishly  so,  and  I  now  see  how  I 
misunderstood  you.  While  I  thought  you  were 
idle  and  careless,  you  were  solving  a  philosophi- 
cal problem  that  I  never  could  have  compre- 
hended. Forgive  me,  Samuel — I  meant  well 
enough,  but  I  lacked  in  judgment  and  discrimi- 
nation." 

Of  course  tlie  old  man  had  long  before  been 
forgiven  for  his  harshness,  and  his  mind  was 
open  to  a  new  lesson  in  human  nature.  It  was 
simply  this  : 

Different  minds  have  different  capacities,  and 
no  mind  can  be  driven  to  love  that  for  which  it 
has  no  taste.  First,  seek  to  understand  the  nat- 
ural abilities  and  dispositions  of  children,  and 
then,  in  your  management  of  their  education  for 
after  life,  govern  yourselves  accordingly.  The 
same  soil  that  will  give  life  and  vigor  to  the 
beautiful,  the  useful  and  stately  pine,  will  not 
bear  the  sturdy  oak.  George  Combe,  the  great- 
est moral  philosopher  of  his  day,  could  hardly 
reckon  in  simple  addition,  and  Colburn,  the 
mathematician,  could  not  write  out  a  common- 
place address  ! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  liASS  OF  S.4lCHEM»S  HEAD. 

BT  F.   W.   RUSSELL. 

In  memory  clings  her  image  yet, 
Though  merry  months  have  fled 

Since  first,  midst  pleasure's  throng,  I  met 
The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 

Her's  was  an  eye  that  quick  the  heart 

A  willing  captive  led ; 
Such  heavenly  glances  did  impart 

The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 

Her's  was  a  form  divinely  fair. 

And  o'er  her  queenly  head, 
In  tresses  strayed  her  jetty  hair, 

The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 

Her's  was  a  laugh  so  full  of  glee, 

So  merry  all  she  said  ; 
A  most  bewitching  fair  was  she, 

The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 

None  ever  knew  her  but  they  loved, 

None  ever  saw,  but  said 
'Twas  vain  to  gaze  upon,  unmoved, 

The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 

I  saw  ber  charms,  her  gazo  I  met, 

And  o'er  my  soul  was  shed 
A  spell  that  binds  in  memory  yet 

The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 

And  till  the  sun  of  life  shall  set, 

Till  soul  and  sense  arc  sped ; 
I  TOW  I  never  can  forget 

The  lass  of  Sachem's  Head. 


A  dull  boy  may  be  likened  to  a  lamp,  whicJi 
becomes  all  the  brighter  for  a  little  trimming. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   I)  P.  A  WING   EOOM    COMPANION. 


79 


AUSTRALIA. 

The  Wliiteliiivcn  Herald  gives  the  following 
information  respecting  the  first  discovery  of  gold 
in  Austi-alia ;  "  The  first  piece  found  was  by  a 
native.  He  was  a  bushman.  The  scale  of  in- 
tellect of  the  Australians  is  remarkable  for  its 
lowness.  Seeing  his  master  counting  a  lot  of 
sovereigns,  he  said  he  had  found  a  piece  of '  yel- 
low stuff/  far  bigger  than  all  those  together, 
which  he  had  hidden,  and  would  bring  it  to  his 
master  if  he  would  give  him  a  new  suit  of  cordu- 
roy. The  bargain  was  struck,  after  which  the 
man  went  and  produced  a  lump  of  Golconda, 
weighing  one  hundred  and  six  pounds,  and  val- 
ued at  £5077  4s.  6d." 


FATTEMXG  YOUKG  LADIES  IN  TUNIS. 

A  girl,  after  she  is  betrothed,  is  cooped  up  in 
a  small  room,  with  shackles  of  gold  and  silver 
upon  her  ankles  and  wrist.  If  she  is  to  be  mar- 
ried to  a  man  who  has  discharged,  despatched, 
or  lost  a  former  wife,  the  shackles  which  the  for- 
mer wife  wore  are  put  upon  the  new  bride's 
limbs,  and  she  is  fed  till  they  are  filled  up  to  the 
proper  thickness.  The  food  used  for  this  cus- 
tom, worthy  of  barbarians,  is  a  seed  called 
drough,  which  is  of  an  extraordinary  fattening 
quality.  AVith  this  seed,  and  their  national  dish, 
cuscusoo,  the  bride  is  literally  crammed,  and 
many  actually  die  under  the  spoon. 


OLD  FASHIONS  REVIVING. 

The  Paris  Correspondent  of  the  London 
Morning  Clironicle  writes  :  For  the  benefit  of 
the  ladies  I  may  note  that  "  beauty  spots  "  seem 
coming  up  again.  The  fair  complexions,  in  par- 
ticular,  patronize  them.  The  other  night,  at  a 
ball  given  at  one  of  the  ministers,  a  few  of  the 
fair  guests  appeared  in  powder.  A  favorite 
style  of  coiffure  appears  to  be  brushing  the  hair 
back  in  frizzled  curls,  such  as  those  which  -^'C 
see  adorning  the  portrait  of  Madame  Montespan 
and  other  beauties  of  her  age. 


RECIPROCITY. 

The  Congregationalist  and  the  Trumpet  {Uni- 
versalist)  have  made  an  aiTangement  for  each 
paper  to  keep  before  the  people,  in  standing 
columns,  a  collection  of  Scripture  texts  selected 
by  the  other.  So  that  the  Trumpet  publishes 
every  week  a  list  of  texts  against  TJniversalism, 
selected' by  the  Congregationalist ;  and  the  Con- 
gregationalist publishes  every  week  a  list  of  texts 
selected  by  the  Trumpet.  And  each  is  pledged 
to  continue  this  arrangement  as  long  as  the 
other  will. 


CALIFORNIA  GOLD. 

The  Journal  of  Commerce  has  a  table  of  mint 
statistics  for  a  number  of  years  past,  from  which 
it  appears  that  the  deposits  of  California  gold  at 
our  mints,  for  coinage,  since  its  first  discovery 
up  to  the  first  of  June,  amount  in  round  num- 
bers to  SI18,600,000.  To  this  add  $7,000,000 
for  June,  and  the  amount  thus  in  liand  is 
S-125,600,000.  It  is  probably  safe  to  estimate 
the  total  production  of  the  California  mines  to 
date,  at  nearly  §200,000,000. 


ST.  LOUIS  AND  CINCINNATL 

Two  hundred  and  thirty  miles  of  the  Great 
"Western  Eailroad  to  St.  Louis,  we  learn  from 
the  Cincinnati  Gazette,  have  been  sub-let  on 
most  advantageous  terms,  and  the  work  will  now 
progress  with  great  activity.  The  part  let  ex- 
tends from  Cincinnati  to  the  intersection  with 
the  Jeffersonville  Eailway  (85  miles),  which, 
when  completed,  will  make  a  railway  line  to 
liOuisville,  and  from  St.  Louis,  through  the 
State  of  Illinois,  to  Vincennes — 145  miles. 


The  Crystal  Palace. — The  value  of  the 
contents  of  the  Cx'ystal  Palace  was  only  bet%veen 
eight  and  nine  millions  of  dollars.  This  docs 
not  include,  however,  the  great  cro\vn  diamond, 
the  Koh-i-noor. 


Great  Country. — When  our  country  be- 
comes as  densely  populated  as  Holland,  it  will 
contain  837,433,019  inhabitants — nearly  the  pre- 
sent number  of  the  human  race. 


A  Valuable  Purchase  — Lowell  Mason, 
Esq.,  of  this  city,  has  purchased  of  the  heii-s  of 
the  late  composer  Einck,  of  Darmstadt,  the 
whole  of  his  large  and  valuable  musical  library. 


AaiERiCAN  Flowers  in  London. — A  recent 
exhibition  of  American  flowers  in  London  has 
been  g  leatly  admired. 


illausiliE   ©atljerings. 

"Wliite  zinc  paint  is  said  to  cover  from  40  to 
100  per  cent,  more  surface  than  white  lead. 

In  eating  hasty-pudding  and  milk,  too   mnch 
care  cannot  be  taken  to  chew  your  victuals  fine. 
The  average  life  of  bank  officers  is  63,  of  sex- 
tons 57,  of  railway  conductors  30,  of  brakemen 
27. 

There  is  said  to  be  a  inan  in  the  west  so  libe- 
ral that  he  never  needs  a  fire,  the  u-armth  of  his 
generosity  answers  every  purpose. 

At  Cincinnati,  Henry  Lecount  has  been  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged  on  the  26th  of  November 
for  the  murder  of  William  Clinck. 

Gold  has  been  found  in  Oregon  recently,  but 
not  in  large  quantities.  It  is  supposed  that  it  ex- 
ists in  the  whole  range  of  the  Cascade  Mountains. 
By  the  tomado  at  Newcastle,  Delaware,  on 
Tuesday,  houses  were  unroofed,  several  j^ersons 
injured  and  four  horses  killed. 

In  the  police  court,  a  few  days  since,  a  young 
man  was  fined  two  dollars  and  costs,  for  profane 
swearing. 

It  is  thought  that  the  late  fire  in  Purchase 
and  Broad  Streets,  Boston,  was  caused  by  fh-e- 
crackers,  thrown  into  the  stable. 

James  Dalton  was  taken  out  of  the  dock,  at. 
East  Boston,  lately,  just  in  time  to  save  his  life. 
Eura  got  him  in — the  watch  got  him  out. 

The  tecs  of  Judge  George  H.  Campbell,  of 
Calaveras  County,  California,  formerly  a  report- 
er for  the  Boston  press,  amount  to  something 
like  SI  5,000  per  annum. 

One  of  tiie  steamboats  that  runs  from  Port- 
land to  the  Penobscot,  advertises  in  a  morning 
paper,  that  the  boat  will  leave  on  Friday,  "  to  go 
as  far  as  the  ice  will  permit !" 

T.  S.  Sutherland,  a  fraudulent  debtor  who  ab- 
sconded from  Montreal,  was  arrested  at  New 
York  on  his  way  to  Australia,  and  will  be  re- 
turned to  Canada  under  the  Ashbuiton  treaty. 

The  Turkish  women  are  lost  in  wonder  at  the 
Frank  women  for  exposing  their  faces  to  wind 
and  weather,  when  they  could  so  easily  protect 
them  by  veils. 

Take  frequent  ablutions  ;  don't  mix  any  bran- 
dy with  your  water ;  wear  a  clean  shirt,  and  pre- 
serve a  clean  conscience.  This  will  put  you 
through — the  summer. 

The  Diario,  of  Eio  Janeiro,  of  March  13th, 
the  official  paper,  describes  the  people  of  the 
United  States  as  "  a  set  of  bankrupts — a  nation 
of  savages." 

A  lady  of  Dorchester,  while  passing  over  the 
turnpike  near  South  Boston,  on  Independence 
evening,  found  a  well-dressed  infant  by  the  road- 
side, which  she  will  adopt. 

It  is  a  popular  belief  that  because  a  girl  is 
weeping  when  a  lover  enters  the  room,  that  she 
is  crying  for  him  ;  but  it  may  be  that  she  has  just 
done  peeling  onions. 

We  see  it  stated  that  the  phonetic  system  of 
spelling  has  been  introduced  into  no  less  than 
fifty-three  of  the  public  schools  of  Massachusetts. 
The  more's  the  pity. 

Mr.  GrinncU's  yacht  Tmant,  of  New  York, 
has  beaten  three  boats  of  the  Model  Yacht  Club, 
at  Liverpool,  coming  in  sixteen  minutes  ahead 
of  the  best. 

The  Picayune  says  that  nineteen  bodies  in  all 
have  been  recovered  from  the  ill-fated  steamer 
St.  James,  and  the  whole  number  of  deatlis  so 
far,  from  the  casualty,  is  57. 

The  New  Orleans  Delta,  of  the  4th  instant, 
says  the  health  of  the  city,  at  the  present  time, 
is  excellent.  There  have  been  a  few  scattering 
cases  of  sporadic  cholera,  but  we  do  not  hear  of 
a  case  now. 

In  Worcester,  on  the  5th,  John  O'Neil  had 
his  face  badly  shattered  by  the  premature  dis- 
charge of  bis  gun.  He  was  leaning  his  face  on 
the  muzzle  of  the  gun  when  the  accident  occur- 
red.    He  is  not  expected  to  recover. 

North  Carolina  papers  give  distressing  ac- 
counts of  a  prevailing  drought  in  that  State. 
Wells,  springs  and  streams,  heretofore  perennial, 
are  dry,  or  nearly  so,  in  many  sections,  and  all 
the  crops  arc  being  seriously  injured. 

The  following  toast  has  done  good  service  on 
more  than  one  occasion  : — **  The  cartridge-box, 
the  ballot-box,  and  the  band-box  :  the  external, 
the  internal,  and  the  eternal  preseiTation  of  re- 
publicanism." 

Two  brothers,  natives  of  Ireland,  were  sun 
stnick  in  Utica,  on  Thursday.  One  died  imme- 
diately, but  the  other,  who  was  pronounced  in  a 
dying  condition  by  his  physician,  was  restored 
by  placing  his  feet  in  warm  water. 

The  Dutch  have  a  singular  contrivance  to 
cure  laziness.  If  a  pauper,  who  is  able,  refuses 
to  work,  they  put  him  into  a  cistern,  and  let  in  a 
sluice  of  water.  It  comes  in  just  so  fast  that,  by 
briskly  playing  a  pump,  with  which  the  cistern 
is  furnished,  he  keeps  himself  from  drowning. 

There  has  been  a  riot  between  the  blacks  and 
whites  at  St.  Catherine's,  Canada,  in  which  the 
negroes  were  driven  to  the  woods,  and  their  vil- 
lages entirely  demolished.  These  are  the  colored 
people  who  have  fled  from  slavery  in  the  United 
States. 

The  Hightsto^™  (N.  J.)  Gazette  says  that 
Stacy  Horner,  an  old  resident,  lately  cmbai-ked 
for  Califomia  with  his  wife,  22  children  and 
grandchildren,  and  ten  young  friends.  They 
will  settle  on  a  farm  of  1200  acres  about  twenty- 
five  miles  from  San  Francisco,  in  the  San  Jose 
VaUey. 


JForcign   flliscellann. 

Seyd  Pasha,  of  Egy|3t,  has  an-ived  in  London 
from  Pai'is,  and  had  an  interview  with  the  queen. 

Government  has  chartered  the  American  ship 
Ticonderoga,  at  Liverpool,  to  carry  emigrants  to 
Australia. 

A  paper  published  at  Windsor,  Canada  West, 
states  that  the  arrivals  of  fugitive  slaves,  at  that 
place,  average  three  per  day. 

The  L-ish  submarine  telegraph  is  not  yet  in 
working  order,  owing  to  some  injury  done  to  the 
wires  by  a  vessel's  anchor. 

It  is  feared  that,  unless  Louis  Napoleon  pnts 
less  Cayenne  into  his  political  soup,  Paris  will 
ere  long  become  too  hot  for  him. 

The  university  of  Oxford  has  presented  a 
splendid  gold  salver  to  the  American  bishop  of 
Michigan,  now  on  a  visit  to  England. 

The  Tories  of  Edinburg  are  bringing  forward 
T.  C.  Bruce,  a  younger  brother  of  Lord  Elgin, 
as  their  parliamentary  candidate. 

In  Prussia  there  are  large  numbers  of  people 
engaged  in  delivering  messages  from  heaven 
while  they  are  asleep. 

Twelve  hundred  packet  ships,  and  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  steam  vessels,  are  said  to  be 
engaged  in  commerce  between  Ireland  and 
England. 

At  a  recent  regatta  in  England,  for  the  first 
class  prize,  tliere  was  a  model  of  the  Eddystone 
lighthouse  in  silver,  value  XIOO.  This  was  novel 
and  appropriate. 

An  English  paper  says  that  the  Duchess  of 
Sutherland  frequently  wears  upon  her  jjerson 
jewels  amounting  in  value  to  nearly  half  a  mil- 
lion sterling ! 

The  London  Weekly  Dispatch  states  that  up- 
wards of  .£30,000  (8144,400)  were  lost  per  week, 
for  fifteen  weeks,  making  no  less  than  S2, 282, 500, 
by  the  recent  strike  of  the  English  engineers. 

Mr.  John  Topham,  schoolmaster  at  Wray 
Green,  recently  shot  a  heron  in  that  neighbor- 
hood. It  measm'ed  five  and  a  half  feet  across 
the  wings  from  tip  to  tip,  and  four  feet  seven 
inches  from  the  point  of  the  bill  to  the  toes. 

Only  two  editors  of  the  London  daily  papers 
are  Englishmen! — Delaine,  editor  of  the  Times, 
and  Hunt,  editor  of  the  Daily  News.  The  edi- 
tors of  the  Standard,  Morning  Herald  and  Globe 
are  Irishmen;  of  the  ilorning  Advertiser,  Sun 
and  Morning  Post,  Scotchmen. 

In  a  few  days  the  new  screw  schooner  Isabel, 
which  has  been  fitted  out  by  Lady  Franklin,  as- 
sisted by  the  Geographical  Society,  and  placed 
under  the  command  of  Captain  Inglefield,  will 
sail  on  another  search  for  Sir  John  Franklin, 
through  Jones's  and  Smith's  Sounds,  off"  Baffin's 
Bay. 


Soker's  Siti^gct. 


Sanirs  of  ©olb. 


As  a  man  sows,  so  shall  he  reap. 

Water  is  the  best  drink.     Exercise  and 

pure  air,  the  best  medicines. 

....  Sti'ong  words  indicate  a  weak  cause. 
The  more  a  man  swears,  the  easier  he  is  licked. 

....  The  physically  blind  feel  their  infirmity ; 
but  what  shall  we  say  of  the  morally  blind  ? 

There  are  lying  looks  as  well  as  lying 

words,  dissembling  smiles,  deceiving  signs,  and 
even  a  lying  silence. 

....  UnaiFected  modesty  is  the  sweetest  charm 
of  female  excellence — the  richest  gem  in  the  dia- 
dem of  their  honor. 

....  Cunning  leads  to  knavery ;  it  is  but  a 
step  from  one  to  the  other,  and  that  very  slip- 
pery J  lying  only  makes  the  diff'erence ;  add  that 
to  cunning  and  it  is  knavery. 

....  An  infinitely  small  piece  of  gold  can  be 
spread  over  a  wire  that  might  girdle  tlie  earth ; 
yet  a  much  less  portion  of  truth  will  serve  to  gild 
a  much  greater  quantity  of  falsehood. 

....  In  fashionable  circles,  general  satire, 
which  attacks  the  fault  rather  than  the  person,  is 
unwelcome;  while  that  which  attacks  the  person 
and  spares  the  fault,  is  always  acceptable. 

....  Never  imagine  tliat  you  are  helpless,  be- 
cause you  lack  some  of  the  external  facilities 
which  others  possess.  Wlielher  you  do  any- 
thing or  nothing  depends  entirely  on  the  will. 

....  It  is  always  more  discreet  to  he  awk- 
wardly silent  than  ridiculously  loquacious  ;  there- 
fore, when  the  tongue  cannot  be  employed  to 
some  purpose,  it  had  better  be  allowed  to  rest. 

....  If  we  scrutinize  the  lives  of  men  of  genius, 
we  shall  find  that  activity  and  persistence  are 
their  leading  peculiarities.  Obstacles  cannot 
intimidate,  nor  labor  weaiy,  nor  drudgery  dis- 
gust them. 

Everything  may  be  mimicked  by  hj'poc- 

risy  but  humility  and  love  united.  The  hum- 
blest star  twinkles  most  in  the  darkest  night. 
The  more  rare  humility  and  love  united,  the 
more  radiant  when  they  meet. 

....  The  man  who  will  not  execute  his  resolu- 
tions when  they  are  fresh  upon  him,  can  have  no 
hope  from  them  afterwards  ;  they  will  be  dissi- 
pated, lost,  and  stifled,  in  the  huiTy-scurryof  the 
world,  or  swamped  in  the  slougli  of  indolence. 

Every  operation  in  nature,  or  the  world 

of  matter,  has  its  counterpart  in  the  spirit  or 
world  of  mind.  Hence  the  student  must  become 
thoroughly  versed  in  the  objective,  before  he  en- 
ters the  subjective  region  ;  otherwise  he  may  fall 
under  the  accusation  of  being  unable  to  read. 


Wlicn  is  the  Pope  of  Eome  like  an  Irishman? 
When  he  makes  hulls. 

Why  is  a  horse  like  the  United  States  ?  Ans. 
He  has  a  mane.     (Maine.) 

Wliy  are  clothes  like  a  class  of  European  sol- 
diers ?     Ans. — They  are  a  body  guard. 

Why  did  woman  exist  before  man  ?  Because 
Eve  was  the  first  made  (maid.) 

Wliy  is  matrimony  like  a  cobbler  ?  Because 
it  binds  two  souls  (soles)  in  unity. 

When  is  a  person's  mouth  like  a  public  park? 
When  it  contains  several  (achers)  acres. 

AVhy  is  a  decrepit  man  like  a  tooth  that  can- 
not be  extracted  ?     Because  he  is  in-firm. 

Why  is  Beach's  newspaper  like  Richard,  Duke 
of  Gloucester?     Because  it  is  the  Sun  of  York. 

When  you  go  out  to  slide  on  the  ice,  choose  a 
pond  without  water,  and  then  you  will  be  sure 
not  to  get  drowned. 

Why  should  we  pity  a  traveller  when  about  to 
put  up  at  an  inn  ?  Because  he  is  inn  disposed. 
(indisposed.) 

Solomon  Slocum  who  was  thrown  from  the 
horse-radish  a  couple  of  weeks  since,  Dr.  Bum- 
fudgeon  reports  to  be  in  an  ejfei-vescent  state. 

Why  is  a  dog  shaking  his  tail  over  the  grave 
of  his  master,  like  a  hearse?  Because  it's  a  wag- 
ging (wagon)  for  the  dead. 

Why  is  the  flag  of  the  United  States  like  the 
Northern  Ocean  ?  Because  it  zvaves  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Pacific. 

The  wives  along  the  Mississippi  never  bloic  up 
their  husbands.  They  leave  it  all  to  the  steam- 
boats, which  are  sure  to  do  it  sooner  or  later. 

If  anything  will  make  aman  feel  "juicy  about 
the  heart,"  it  is  to  talk  velvet  to  a  pair  of  sky- 
colored  eyes  in  a  clover  field.  Time — a  moon- 
shiny  evening  in  June. 

A  Maine  editor  says  that  a  pumpkin  in  that 
State  grew  so  large,  that  eight  men  could  stand 
round  it.  This  is  like  the  man  who  saw  a  flock 
of  blackbirds  so  low,  that  he  could  shake  a  stick 
at  them. 


VOLTIMES  1st  &  2a. 

CxLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

TVe  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Drawisq 
Boom  Companiox  elegsmtly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edgea 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Fotir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  aU  over  the  world  J 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad ;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLUJIINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND   INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Berides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times  ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

For  sale  at  the  PubUcation  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
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Dnion,  for  Three  DoUari.  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  MIO^, 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  REFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  ^ivritten  exp  :ssly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  nd  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  ia  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  POE  TKE  MILLION', 

AND  A  "WELCOME  TISITOR  TO  TIIE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  weekly  paper  in  the  United  Slates,  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
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F.    GLEASON, 
Publisher  and  Proprietor,  Boston,  Mass. 


80 


GLEASON^S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


FETRIDGE  &  CO's  PERIODICAL  ARCADE,  WASHINGTON  AND  STATE  STREETS,  BOSTON, 


FETRIDGE'S  PERIODICAL  DEPOT. 

Our'artist  lias  given  us  above  an  admirable 
and  accurate  engraving  of  the  interior  of  the 
famous  periodical  depot  and  bookstore  of  Fet- 
ridgc  &  Co.,  of  this  citj,  situated  at  Nos.  72  and 
74  Washington  Street,  and  15  State  Street,  run- 
ning through  from  Washington,  and  affording  a 
second  front  entrance  on  State  Street.  It  seems 
very  much  hke  telling  the  public  where  the  State 
House  is  situated,  or  the  Custom  House,  when 
we  describe  the  locality  of  a  place  as  well  known 
as  Fetridge's  book  and  periodical  depot.  The 
earliest  book  and  periodical  depot  in  Boston  was 
that  of  Weeks,  Jordan  &  Co.,  to  wiiom  Fetridge 
&  Co.  are  successors.  The  former  house  started 
in  business  in  1834,  and  at  that  time  were  agents 
for  all  the  magazines,  quarterlies,  reviews,  etc., 
both  in  England  and  America ;  this  is  the  spirit 
of  the  business  still  carried  on  by  the  house. 
The  picture  which  we  give  above  will  show  our 
readers  that  they  have  one  of  the  finest  stores  for 
the  purpose  in  the  city.  Over  this  they  have 
just  established  an  extensive  and  very  beautiful 
reading-room  for  subscribers,  where  all  the  new 
works  of  the  day,  and  a  large  collection  of 
standard  works,  can  be  consulted  by  the  sub- 
scribers at  all  times,  and  books  leased  at  the 
usual  library  rates  of  the  city.  This  is  an  ad- 
mirable combination  of  business,  and  should  en- 
sure to  the  enterprising  proprietors  an  ample  and 
prompt  reward.  We  may  add  that  the  Flag  and 
Pictorial  arc  always  to  be  found  on  the  counters 
of  Messrs.  Fetridge  &  Co.'s  elegant  and  conve- 
nient establishment. 


LORD  TIMOTHY  DEXTER. 

Below  we  present  a  portrait  of  this  singular 
compound  of  cunning,  shrewdness,  imbecility, 
roguery  and  sarca;5m,  appending  some  few  from 
among  the  many  anecdotes  that  might  be  gather- 
ed to  illustrate  his  peculiar  character.  He  was 
born  in  Maiden,  near  Boston,  in  the  year  1743. 
He  was  bred  to  the  leather-dressing.  About  the 
time   of  Dexter's   apprenticeship   the  secret  of 


dressing  skins  after  the  fashion  of  leather  brought 
from  tiie  Levant,  called  morocco  leather,  be- 
came known  to  some  of  the  craft  in  Charlestown, 
and  for  years  they  had  the  monopoly  of  the  bu- 
siness. A  great  demand  for  the  article  for  ladies' 
shoes  gave  the  initiated  constant  employment. 
On  arriving  at  the  ajje  of  twent3'-one,  Dexter 
commenced  business  for  himself,  and  by  indus- 
try, frugality  and   perseverance,   soon   became 


PARABLE  OF  THE  PEN  AND  THE  SWORD. 

The  pen  and  the  sword  strove  for  superiority, 
and  the  judges  were  divided.  The  men  of  learn- 
ing talked  morals,  and  persuaded  many;  the 
men  of  arms  were  fierce,  and  compelled  many  to 
join  their  side.  Both  were  left  to  settle  their 
dispute  m  single  combat.  On  one  side,  books 
rustled  in  the  libraries  ;  on  the  other,  arms  rat- 
tled in  the  arsenals. — Men  looked  on  in  hope  and 
fear,  waiting  for  the  end.  The  pen,  consecrated 
to  truth,  was  notorious  ior  falsehood.  The  sword, 
a  servant  of  God,  was  stained  with  innocent 
blood.  Botli  hoped  for  the  aid  of  Heaven ;  both 
found  its  wrath.  The  pen  was  weak,  but  quick, 
glib,  well  exercised,  and  very  bold  when  once 
provoked.  The  sword  was  stern,  implacable, 
but  less  compact  and  subtle ;  so  that  on  botli 
sides  the  victory  remained  uncertain.  At  length 
the  common  weal  pronounced  that  both  in  turn 
should  stand  by  her  side,  and  bear  with  each 
other ;  for  that  only  is  a  happy  country  where  the 
pen  and  sword  are  faithful  servants — not  where 
either  governs  by  will  or  passion. — ,/.  V.  Andrea. 


PORTRAIT  OF  LORD  TIMOTHY  DEXTER. 


thrifty  and  above  board,  and  in  a  few  years  after 
the  peace,  could  command  several  thousands  of 
dollars  in   specie.     His   first  lucky  speculation 
was  in  buying  up  the   old  continental   money, 
which,  after  the  peace  of  1783,  was  depreciated 
to  almost  nothing,  and  the  securities  issued  by 
the  State  of  Massachusetts,  which   had,  for  a 
wliile,  kept  public   confidence   in   that   quarter 
alive,  but  had  now  sunk  to  about  two  shillings 
and   sixpence  on  the  pound.     John    Hancock, 
governor  of  the  Commonwealth,  and    Thomas 
RusscI,   the   most   eminent    merchant    then   in 
America,    to    keep    up    the    public   confidence, 
would  make  purchases  of  these  securities,  until 
the  amount  was  considerable.     Dexter,  finding 
his  great  neighbors  doing  something  in  stocks, 
took  all  his  own  cash,  with  what  his  wife  had, 
and  in  imitation  purchased  likewise.     He  proba- 
bly made  better  bargains  than  the  magnates  did. 
He  bought  in  smaller  quantities,  and  had  better 
opportunities  to  make  his  purchases  than  they 
had.     When  Hamilton's   funding  system  went 
into  operation,  he  was  at  once  a  wealthy  man  ; 
and  leaving  liis  mechanical  business,  speculated 
pretty  largely  in  stocks,  and  to  great  advantage. 
At  one  time,  Dexter's  passion  was  for  horses ; 
and,  with  the  assistance  of  his  coachman,  he  was 
frequently  successful  in  obtaining  a  fine  span  for 
his  carriage ;  but  although  he   kept  a  beautiful 
saddle  horse,  he  seldom  ventured  to  appear  on 
horseback.     He  conceived  a  desire  for  the  exlii- 
bition  of  cream-colored  horses,  and  after  a  long 
time  bought  a  pair  of  very  good  ones,  and  for  a 
while  he  heard  the  boys  cry  out :  "  Huzza  for 
Dexter's   horses !"   but    their    admiration    died 
away,  and  bis  love  for  cream-colored  horses  died 
witli  it.     Unstable  as  the  wind,  be  sold  them  for 
no  other  fault  than  that  they  would  not  change 
color  as  his  fancy  changed.     At  another  time  a 
rigger  of  one  of  his  vessels  called  upon  him  for 
a  large  quantity  of  stay  stuff,  wlien   he  rode  to 
Salem  and  Boston,  and   purchased   up  all  the 
whale-bone  to   be  found,  and  had  it  brought  to 
Newburyport,  and  wdien  his  workmen  laughed  at 
him  for  his  stupidity,  he  said:  "Never  mind." 
In  a  short  time  it  w^as  found  that  he  had  monopo- 
lized the  article,  and  could  command  his  own 
price  for  it.     This  put  him  on  a  scent  by  which 
he  frequently  profited,  for  he  would   inquire  if 
any  article  was  scarce  in   the  market,  and  if  so, 
he  would  buy  up  all  he  could  find,  and  not  un- 
frequently  raised  the  price  of  it  to  double  or  more. 
He  made  quite  a  speculation  in    opium  at  one 
time,  in  this  way.    It  often  happened  that  shrewd 
merchants  were  suspicious  of  selling  him  an  ar- 
ticle, apprehensive  that  it  was  almost  a  sure  sign 
that  it  was  going  to  rise,  although  they  could  see 
no  reason  for  it.     We  might  give  other  illustra- 
ticns  of  his  character  did  our  space  admit. 


(  CORNER  BROMPIELD 


1'.   LrljJiAOUiN,  (    AND  TREMONT  STS, 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  AUGUST  7,  1852. 


S2  PER  TOLCME.  |  ^j  XTT 

10  Ctb.  single.    )  V  OL.  111. 


No.  6.— Whole  No.  58. 


PLEASANT  3IOUNTAIN  HOUSE. 

Pleasant  Mountain,  Denmark,  Oxford  county, 
Maine,  is  about  forty-five  miles  from  Portland, 
on  a  direct  route  between  that  city  and  the  White 
Mountains.  It  rises  about  4000  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  and  stands  quite  alone.  The 
view  is  very  extended,  bounded  on  the  north  by 
the  White  Mountains  (the  different  peaks  stand- 
ing out  in  relief  against  the  sky) ;  on  the  south 
by  the  ocean.  More  than  forty  different  sheets 
of  water  can  be  ^een  from  its  summit  with  the 
■naked  eye.     Lovcwell's  Pond,  Fryeburg,  cele- 


brated for  the  skirmish  between  Capt.  John  Love- 
well  and  the  famous  Indian  chief,  Paugus,  ap- 
pears almost  at  its  base.  It  is.  novel  to  look 
down  upon  the  clouds,  to  w^atch  the  shower  as 
it  passes  over  different  towns  and  villages,  to 
see  it  creep  around  the  base  of  the  mountain,  or 
up  its  side,  to  hear  the  rain  below  you,  and  be  all 
the  while  yourself  in  the  sunlight.  Sometimes 
at  early  day  the  clouds  and  vapors  stretch  out 
over  the  earth  below  you,  and  you  appear  to  be 
upon  an  island  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  while 
the  White   Mountains   arc  your  distant  island 


neighbors.  Far  above  you  is  the  blue  sky  and 
white  silvery  clouds.  The  lower  clouds  creep 
almost  to  your  feet;  and  when  the  sun  first  peeps 
above  the  horizon,  the  higher  portions,  having 
the  appearance  of  waves,  are  bathed  in  a  golden 
light.  As  the  sun  warms  this  mist,  it  rises,  and 
little  by  little  you  begin  to  see  the  earth,  first  the 
hills,  then  the  tree  tops,  or.  perhaps,  the  wind 
has  driven  away  a  portion  of  the  mist,  and  a  vil- 
lage or  a  farm  is  discovered  down  beneath  the 
waters.  Six  years  ago,  two  Boston  gentlemen, 
hunting  upon  this  mountain,  were  so  delighted 


with  the  scenery,  and  so  enthusiastic  in  their  de- 
scription, that  the  owner  was  induced  to  erect  a 
small  building  upon  its  top  for  the  temporary  rest 
and  refreshment  of  those  who  climbed  its  rugged 
summit.  Three  years  ago  the  mountain  was 
bought  by  Joseph  S.  Sargent.  He  set  about 
erecting  a  large  substantial  house.  It  was,  of 
course,  attended  with  many  ditiiculties,  but  he 
was  persevering  and  energetic;  and  he  has  now 
upon  this  lofty  elevation  a  beautiful  and  commo- 
dious hotel,  while  tlie  mountain  has  become  one 
of  the  most  favorite  resorts  in  New  England. 


PLEASANT  MOUNTAIN  HOUSE,  DENMAKK,  OXFORD  COUNTY,  MAINE. 


82 


GLEASON'S   PICTOrJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massaehusetts. 


[WBITTBN   EXPKESSI-T   FOB   GLEA80N  S   PICTORIAL.] 
I    ■■■    > 


THE 


ggrD 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 

%  0f0t5  of  Un  mh  i^}(  Cow  iAi\iixU$, 


BY   LIEUTENANT    MUREAY. 


[continued.] 


CHAPTER    X.— [COKTINUED.] 

"  "Well,  brother,  it  seems  that  Captain  Bezan 
has  been  liberated  and  pardoned,  after  all/'  said 
Isabella,  with  a  voice  of  assumed  indifference. 

*'Yes,  sister,  but  at  a  sad  cost;  for  he  has 
been  banished  to  Spain." 

"  How  strange  he  was  not  shot,  when  so  many 
fired  at  him." 

"  Sister  1" 

"  Well." 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  V 

"  I  think  so,  Kucz,"  said  Isabella,  half  smiling 
at  the  question  of  her  brother. 

"  Well,  it's  not  so  Tcry  wonderful,  since  I  drew 
the  bullets  from  the  guns  !" 

And  Ruez  explained  to  her  that  he  had  secre- 
ted himself  in  the  house,  with  the  hope  that  some- 
thing might  turn  up  to  save  his  friend  even  yet, 
and  there  he  had  found  a  chance  to  draw  the 
bullets  from  the  twelve  muskets.  After  lie  had 
told  her,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
said  : 

"  You  are  a  dear,  good  brother." 

"And  for  what,  sister'?" 

"  For  saving  Captain  Bezan's  life  ;  for  other- 
wise he  had  been  shot." 

"  But  why  do  you  care  so  much  about  it,  sis- 
ter V  asked  the  boy,  seriously. 

"  O,  nothing,  only — that  is,  you  know,  Ruez, 
we  owe  Captain  Bezan  so  much  om'selves  for 
having  hazarded  his  life  for  us  all." 

Ruez  turned  away  from  his  sister  with  an  ex- 
pression in  his  face  that  made  her  start ;  for  he 
began  to  read  his  sister's  heart,  young  as  he  was, 
better  than  she  knew  it  herself.  He  loved  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  so  dearly  himself — had  learned  to 
think  so  constantly  of  him,  and  to  regard  him 
with  such  freindly  consideration,  that  no  influence 
of  pride  could  in  the  least  affect  him ;  and  though 
he  had  sufBcient  penetration  to  pierce  through 
the  subject  so  far  as  to  realize  that  his  dearly 
loved  friend  regarded  his  sister  with  a  most  ar- 
dent and  absorbing  love,  he  could  not  exactly 
understand  the  proud  heart  of  Isabella,  which, 
save  for  its  pride,  would  so  freely  return  the  con- 
demned soldier's  affection. 

Well,  time  passed  on  in  its  ever-varying 
round.  Lorenzo  Bezan  was  on  his  way  to  Spain, 
and  Isabella  and  her  brother  filling  nearly  the 
same  round  of  occupation,  either  of  amusement 
or  self-imposed  duty.  Occasionally  General 
Harero  called  ;  but  this  was  put  a  stop  to,  at 
last,  by  Ruez's  pertinently  asking  him  one  even- 
ing how  he  came  to  order  the  execution  of  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  to  take  place  a  full  hour  before  the 
period  announced  in  the  regular  sentence  signed 
by  the  governor-general ! 

Ruez  was  not  the  first  person  who  had  put  this 
question  to  him,  and  he  felt  sore  about  it,  for 
even  Tacon  himself  had  reprimanded  him  for 
the  deed.  Thus  realizing  that  his  true  character 
was  known  to  Don  Gonzales  and  his  family,  he 
gave  up  the  hope  of  winning  Isabella  Gonzales, 
or  rather  the  hope  of  sharing  her  father's  rich 
coffers,  and  quietly  withdrewhimself  from  afield 
of  action  where  he  had  gained  nothing,  but  had 
lost  much,  both  as  it  regarded  this  family,  and, 
owing  to  his  persecution  of  Captain  Bezan,  that 
of  the  army. 

Isabella  Gonzales  became  thoughtful  and  mel- 
ancholy without  exactly  knowing  why.  She 
avoided  company,  and  often  incurred  her  father's 
decided  displeasure  by  absenting  herself  from 
the  drawing-room  when  there  were  visitors  of 
importance.     She  seemed  to  be  constantly  in  a 


dreamy  and  moody  state,  and  avoided  all  her  for- 
mer haunts  and  companions.  A  skilful  observer 
might  have  told  her  the  cause  of  all  tliis,  and  yet, 
strange  to  say,  so  blind  did  her  pride  render  her, 
that  she  could  not  see,  or  at  least  never  acknow- 
ledged even  to  herself,  that  the  absent  soldier  had 
aught  to  do  with  it. 

Had  not  Isabella  Gonzales  treated  Lorenzo 
Bezan  as  she  did  at  their  last  meeting,  he  would 
never  have  accepted  the  governor-generars  par- 
don on  the  terms  offered,  nor  life  itself,  if  it  sep- 
arated him  from  her  he  loved.  But  as  it  was, 
he  seemed  to  feel  that  life  had  lost  its  charm, 
ambition  its  incentive  for  him,  and  he  cast  him- 
self forth  upon  the  troubled  waters  witliout  com- 
pass or  rudder.  And  it  w^as  precisely  in  this 
spirit  that  he  found  himself  upon  the  deck  of  the 
vessel,  whose  white  wings  were  wafting  him  now 
across  the  ocean. 

He,  too,  was  misanthropic  and  unhappy ;  he 
tried  to  reason  with  liimself  that  Isabella  Gon- 
zales was  not  worthy  to  render  him  thus  miser- 
able; that  she  was  a  coquette — an  unfeeling, 
though  beautiful  girl ;  that  even  had  he  succeed- 
ed, and  fortune  favored  him  in  his  love,  she 
would  not  have  loved  him  as  his  heart  craved  to 
be  loved.  But  all  this  sophistry  was  overthrown 
in  a  moment  by  the  memoiy  of  one  dear  glance, 
when  Isabella,  off  her  guard,  and  her  usual  hau- 
teur of  manner  for  the  instant,  had  looked 
through  her  eyes  the  whole  truthfulness  of  her 
soul ;  in  short,  when  her  heart,  not  her  head, 
had  spoken ! 

Alas  !  how  few  of  us  feel  as  we  do;  how  few 
do  as  yvejeel ! 

Perhaps  there  is  no  better  spot  than  on  ship- 
board for  a  dreamer  to  be ;  he  has  then  plenty 
of  time,  plenty  of  space,  plenty  of  theme,  and 
every  surrounding,  to  turn  his  thoughts  inward 
upon  himself.  Lorenzo  Bezan  found  this  so. 
At  times  he  looked  down  into  the  still  depths  of 
the  blue  water,  and  longed  for  the  repose  that 
seemed  to  look  up  to  him  from  below  the  waves. 
He  had  thought,  perhaps,  too  long  upon  this 
subject  one  soft,  calm  evening,  and  had  indeed 
forgotten  himself,  as  it  were,  and  another  mo- 
ment would  have  seen  the  working  of  what 
seemed  a  sort  of  irresistible  charm  to  him,  and 
he  would  have  cast  himself  into  that  deep,  invit- 
ing oblivion ! 

Then  a  voice  seemed  to  whisper  Isabella's 
name  in  his  ear!  He  started,  looked  about  him, 
and  awoke  from  the  fearful  charm  that  held  him. 
It  was  his  good  angel  that  breathed  that  name  to 
him  then,  and  saved  him  from  the  curse  of  the 
suicide ! 

From  that  hour  a  strange  feeling  seemed  to 
possess  the  young  soldier.  Like  him  in  Shaks- 
peare's  "  Seven  Ages,"  he  passed  from  love  to 
ambition.  A  new  charm  seemed  to  awake  to  him 
in  the  futm-e,  not  to  the  desertion  of  his  love,  nor 
yet  exactly  to  its  promotion.  An  indefinite  idea 
seemed  to  move  him  that  he  must  win  fame,  glory 
and  renown  ;  and  yet  he  hardly  paused  to  think 
what  the  end  of  these  would  be ;  whether  they 
would  ultimately  bring  him  nearer  to  the  proud 
girl  of  his  hopes  and  his  love.  Fame  rang  in  his 
ears ;  the  word  seemed  to  fire  his  veins ;  he  was 
humble — he  must  be  honord ;  he  was  poor — he 
must  be  rich ;  he  was  unknown — he  must  be  re- 
nowned !  With  such  thoughts  as  these,  his 
pulses  beat  quick-;r,  his  eye  flashed,  and  his  cheek 
became  flushed,  and  then  one  tender  thought  of 
Isabella  would  change  every  current,  and  almost 
moisten  those  bloodshot  eyes  with  tears.   Would 


to  God  that  Lorenzo  Bezan  could  now  but  slicd 
a  tear — what  gentle  yet  substantial  relief  it  would 
have  alforded  him. 

Tliuji  was  the  exiled  soldier  influenced;  while 
Isabella  Gonzales  was,  as  we  have  seen,  still  liv- 
ing on  under  the  veil  of  her  pride ;  unalile,  ap- 
parently, for  one  single  moment  to  draw  tlie  cur- 
tain, and  look  with  naked  eye  upon  the  real  pic- 
ture of  her  feelings,  actions,  and  honest  affec- 
tions. She  felt,  plain  enough,  that  she  was  mis- 
erable ;  indeed  the  flood  of  tears  she  daily  shed 
betrayed  this  to  her.  But  her  proud  Castilian 
blood  was  the  phase  through  wliich  alone  she  saw, 
or  could  see.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  banish 
Lorenzo  Bezan  from  her  mind;  butyct  she  stout- 
ly refused  to  admit,  even  to  herself,  that  she  re- 
garded him  with  affection — lie,  a  lowly  soldier, 
a  child  of  the  camp,  a  myrmidon  of  fortune — he 
a  fit  object  for  the  love  of  Isabella  Gonzales,  the 
belle  of  Havana,  to  whom  princes  had  bowed  1 
Preposterous ! 

Her  brother,  whose  society  she  seemed  to 
crave  more  than  ever,  said  nothing;  he  did  not 
even  mention  the  name  of  the  absent  one,  but 
he  secretly  moaned  for  him,  until  the  pale  color 
that  had  slightly  tinged  his  cheek  began  to  fade, 
and  Don  Gonzales  trembled  for  the  boy's  life. 
It  was  his  second  bereavement.  His  mother's 
loss,  scarcely  yet  outgrown,  had  tried  his  gentle 
heart  to  its  utmost  tension ;  this  new  bereave- 
ment to  his  sensitive  mind,  seemed  really  too 
much  for  him.  A  strange  sympathy  existed  be- 
tween Isabella  and  theboy,  who,  though  Lorenzo 
Bezan's  name  was  never  mentioned,  yet  seemed 
to  know  what  each  other  was  thinking  of. 

But  in  the  meantime,  while  these  feelings  were 
actuating  Isabella  and  her  brother  at  Havana, 
Lorenzo  Bezan  had  reached  Cadiz,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  the  capital  of  Spain,  Madrid. 


CHAPTER  SI. 


THE    PROMOTION. 


We  have  already  given  the  reader  a  sufficient 
idea  of  Lorenzo  Bezan,  for  him  to  understand  that 
he  was  a  person  possessed  of  more  than  ordinary 
manliness  and  personal  beauty.  A  distinguished 
and  chivalric  bearing  was  one  of  his  main  char- 
acteristics, and  you  could  hardly  have  passed 
him  in  a  crowd,  without  noting  his  fine  manly 
physical  appearance,  and  strikingly  intelligent 
features.  Pired  with  the  new  ambition  which 
we  have  referred  to  in  the  closing  of  the  last 
chapter,  Lorenzo  Bezan  arrived  in  the  capital  of 
his  native  land,  ready  and  eager  to  engage  in 
any  enterprise  that  called  for  bravery  and  daring, 
and  which  in  return  promised  honor  and  prefer- 
ment. 

Tacon,  governor-general  of  Cuba,  had  marked 
his  qualities  well,  and  therefore  wrote  by  the 
same  conveyance  that  took  the  young  soldier  to 
Spain,  to  the  head  of  the  war  department,  and 
told  them  of  what  stuff  he  was  composed,  and 
hinted  at  the  possibility  of  at  once  placing  him 
in  the  line  of  his  rank,  and  of  giving  him,  if  pos- 
sible, active  service  to  perform.  Tacon's  opin- 
ion and  wishes  were  highly  respected  at  Madrid, 
and  Lorenzo  Bezan  found  himself  at  once  placed 
in  the  very  position  he  would  have  desired — the 
command  of  as  fine  a  company  of  the  regular 
service  as  the  army  could  boast,  and  his  rank 
and  position  thoroughly  restored. 

There  was  just  at  that  period  a  revolt  of  the 
southern  and  westeni  provinces  of  Spain,  which, 
owing  to  inactivity  on  the  part  of  government, 
had  actually  ripened  into  a  regularly  organized 
rebellion  against  the  throne.  News  at  last 
reached  the  queen  that  regular  bodies  of  troops 
had  been  raised  and  enlisted,  under  well  known 
leaders,  and  that  unless  instant  efforts  were  made 
to  suppress  the  rising,  the  whole  country  would 
be  shortly  involved  in  civil  war.  In  this  emer- 
gency the  troops,  such  as  could  be  spared,  were 
at  once  detached  from  the  capital  and  sent  to 
various  points  in  the  disaffected  region  to  quell 
the  outbreak.  Among  the  restwas  the  company 
of  Lorenzo  Bezan  and  two  others  of  the  same 
regiment,  and  being  the  senior  officer,  young  as 
he  was,  he  was  placed  in  command  of  the  bat- 
talion, and  the  post  to  which  he  was  to  march  at 
once,  into  the  very  heart  of  the  disaffected  dis- 
trict. 

Having  arrived  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
spot  to  which  his  orders  had  directed  him,  he 
threw  his  whole  force,  some  less  than  three  hun- 
dred men,  into  one  of  the  old  Moorish  fortifica- 
tions, still  extant,  and  Avith  the  provisions  and 
ammunition  he  had  brouglit  with  him,  entrenched 
himself,  and  prepared  to  scour  and  examine  the 
surrounding   country.     HJs  spies  soon  brought 


him  intelligence  of  the  defeat  of  two  similar  com- 
mands to  his  own,  sent  out  at  the  same  time  to 
meet  the  insurgents ;  and,  also,  that  their  partial 
success  had  very  naturally  elated  them  in  tho 
highest  degree.  TImt  they  were  regularly  or- 
ganized into  regiments,  with  tlieir  stands  of  col- 
ors, and  proper  officers,  and  that  one  regiment 
had  been  sent  to  take  the  fort  where  he  was,  and 
would  shortly  be  in  tlie  ncighliorhood. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  was  a  thorough  Koldicr;  he 
looked  to  the  details  of  all  tlie  plans  and  orders 
he  issued,  so  that  when  the  enemy  appeared  in 
sight,  they  found  him  ready  to  receive  them. 
Thoy  were  fully  thrice  liis  number,  but  they  had 
a  bad  cause  and  poor  leaders,  and  he  feared  not 
for  the  result.  On  they  came,  in  the  fullness  of 
confidence,  after  liaving  already  participated  in 
two  victories  over  the  regular  troops  ;  but  ihcy 
had,  tliough  a  younger,  yet  a  far  better  and  more 
courageous  officer  to  deal  with  in  Captain  Bezan. 
The  fight  was  long  and  bloody,  but  ere  night 
came  on  the  insurgents  were  compelled  to  retire, 
after  having  lost  nearly  one  tliird  of  their  num- 
ber in  the  contest. 

The  camp  of  the  insurgents  was  pitched  some 
half  mile  from  the  old  fort  occupied  by  Captain 
Bezan  and  his  followers,  just  beneath  the  brow 
of  a  slicltering  undulation  of  ground.  Night 
overshadowed  the  field,  and  it  was  still  as  death 
over  the  battle  field,  when  Captain  Bezan,  sum- 
moning his  followers,  told  them  that  the  enemy 
lay  yonder  in  sleep;  they  could  not  anticipate  a 
sally,  and  from  a  confidential  spy  he  had  ascer- 
tained that  they  had  not  even  set  a  sentinel. 

"  I  shall  lead  you  out  this  night  to  attack  them ; 
take  only  your  weapons.  If  we  are  defeated,  we 
shall  want  nothing  more  ;  if  victorious,  we  shall 
retura  to  our  post  and  our  munitions." 

He  had  lost  scarcely  two  score  of  his  men  in 
the  fight,  protected  as  they  were  by  the  walls  of 
the  fortress,  while  the  besiegers  were  entirely 
exposed  to  the  fire  of  musketry,  and  the  two 
small  cannon  they  had  brought  with  them,  and 
so  they  entered  into  the  daring  plan  of  their  com- 
mander with  the  utmost  zeal.  They  were  in- 
sti-ucted  as  to  the  plan  more  fully,  and  at  mid- 
night, as  the  last  rays  of  the  moon  sank  below 
the  horizon,  they  quietly  filed  forth  from  the 
fortress  and  turned  towards  the  insurgents'  camp. 
Slowly  and  silently  they  stole  across  the  plain, 
without  note  of  drum  or  fife,  and  headed  by  their 
young  commander,  until  they  reached  the  brow 
of  the  little  elevation,  beyond  which  the  enemy 
lay  sleeping,  some  in  tents,  some  on  the  open 
field,  and  all  unguarded. 

The  signal  was  given,  and  the  small  band  of 
disciplined  men  fell  upon  the  camp.  Lorenzo 
Bezan  with  some  fifty  picked  followers  sought 
the  head  quarters  of  the  camp,  and  having  fought 
their  way  thither,  possessed  themselves  of  the 
standards,  and  made  prisoner  of  the  leader  of 
the  body  of  insm'gents,  and  ere  the  morning  sun 
had  risen,  the  camp  was  deserted,  the  enemy,  to- 
tally defeated,  had  fled,  or  been  taken  prisoners 
and  bound,  and  the  victorious  little  band  of  the 
queen's  troops  were  again  housed  within  the 
walls  of  the  fortress. 

But  their  fighting  was  not  to  end  here ;  a  sec- 
ond body  of  the  enemy,  incensed  as  much  by  the 
loss  of  their  comrades  as  elated  by  various  victo- 
ries over  other  detachments  of  the  anny,  fell 
upon  them  ;  but  they  were  met  with  such  deter- 
mined spirit  and  bravery,  and  so  completely  did 
Lorenzo  Bezan  infuse  his  own  manly  and  re- 
solved spirit  into  the  hearts  of  his  followers,  that 
the  second  comers  were  routed,  their  banners 
taken,  and  themselves  dispersed.  These  two  vic- 
tories, however,  had  cost  him  dear;  half  his  little 
gallant  band  had  lost  their  lives,  and  there  were 
treble  their  number  of  prisoners  securely  confined 
within  the  fortress. 

Fresh  troops  were  despatched,  in  reply  to  his 
courier,  to  escort  these  to  the  capital,  and  an  or- 
der for  himself  and  the  rest  of  his  command  to« 
return  to  Madrid,  forthwith.  This  sunjmons 
was  of  course  complied  with,  and  marching  the 
remnant  of  his  command  to  the  capital,  Captain 
Bezan  reported  himself  again  at  head  quarters. 
Here  he  found  his  services  had  been,  if  possible, 
overrated,  and  liimself  quite  lionized.  A  major's 
commission  awaited  him,  and  the  thanks  of  the 
queen  were  expressed  to  him  by  the  head  of  the 
department. 

"A  major, — one  step  is  gained,"  said  the 
young  soldier,  to  himself;  "one  round  in  the 
ladder  of  fame  has  been  surmounted ;  my  cyea 
are  now  bent  upward  !" 

And  how  he  dreamed  that  night  of  Cuba,  of 
rank  and  wealth,  and  the  power  and  position 
they  conferred — and  still  his  eyes  icerebent  tipiccud  ! 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DEAWIXG   ROOM    COMPANION. 


83 


WitU  a  brief  period  permitted  for  him  to  rest 
and  recover  from  slight  wounds  received  in  his 
late  battles,  Lorenzo,  now  Major  Bezan,  was 
again  ordered  to  the  scene  of  trouble  in  the 
southern  district,  where  the  insurgents,  more 
successful  with  older  officers  sent  against  them, 
had  been  again  victorious,  and  were  e\'idently 
gaining  ground,  both  in  strength  of  purpose  and 
numbers.  This  time  he  took  with  him  a  full 
command  of  four  companies,  little  less  than  four 
hundred  men,  and  departed  under  far  better  aus- 
pices than  he  had  done  before,  resolved,  as  at 
the  outset,  to  lead  his  men  where  work  was  to  be 
done,  and  to  lead  them,  too,  on  to  victory  or 
utter  destniction !  It  was  a  fearful  resolve ;  but 
in  his  present  state  of  feelings  it  accorded  with 
the  spirit  that  seemed  to  actuate  his  soul. 

But  success  does  not  always  crown  the  most 
daring  bravery,  and  twice  were  Lorenzo  Bezan 
and  his  followers  worsted,  though  in  no  way  dis- 
couraged. But  at  last,  after  many  weeks  of  toil 
and  hardship,  he  was  again  victorious,  again 
routed  twice  his  OAvn  number,  again  captured  a 
stand  of  colors,  and  again  despatched  his  trophies 
to  the  feet  of  his  queen.  The  civil  war  then  be- 
came general,  and  for  nearly  a  year  Lorenzo 
Bezan  and  his  followers  were  in  the  battle  field. 
Victory  seemed  to  have  marked  him  for  a  favor- 
ite, and  his  sword  seemed  invincible ;  wherever 
he  led,  he  infused  his  own  daring  and  impetuous 
spirit  into  the  hearts  of  his  followers,  and  where 
his  plume  waved  in  the  fight,  there  the  enemy 
faltered. 

A  second  and  third  victory  crowned  him  with 
another  promotion,  and  a  colonel's  commission 
was  sent  to  the  adventurous  soldier  after  the  hard 
fought  battles  he  had  won  for  the  queen.  Once 
more    he   paused,   and   whispered    to   himself: 

"  Another  round  in  the  ladder  is  gained !  have 
patience,  Lorenzo  Bezan ;  fame  may  yet  be 
thine ;  she  is  thy  only  bride  now ;  alas,  alas, 
that  it  should  be  so !  that  there  cannot  be  one — 
one  dearer  than  all  the  world  beside — to  share 
with  thee  this  renown  and  honor,  this  fame  won 
by  the  sword  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  one  whose 
gentleness  and  love  should  be  the  pillow  on 
which  to  rest  thy  head  and  heart  after  the  tur- 
moil and  whirlwind  of  war  has  subsided  !" 

Scarcely  a  year  had  transpired  since  the  con- 
demned soldier  had  been  banished  from  Cuba, 
and  now  from  a  captaincy  he  had  risen  to  wear 
the  star  of  a  colonel.  No  wonder,  then,  that  he 
thus  soliloquized  to  himself  upon  the  theme  of 
which  he  dreamed. 

The  life  he  led,  the  fierce  contests  he  engaged  in, 
had  no  effect  in  hardening  the  heart  of  the  young 
soldier ;  one  thought,  one  single  word,  when  he 
permitted  himself  to  pause  and  look  back  upon 
the  past,  would  change  his  whole  spirit,  and  al- 
most render  him  effeminate.  At  times  his 
thoughts,  spite  of  himself,  wandered  far  away 
over  the  blue  waters  to  that  sunny  isle  of  the 
tropics,  where  Isabella  Gonzales  dwelt,  and  then 
his  manly  heart  would  heave  more  quickly,  and 
his  pulses  beat  swifter ;  and  sometimes  a  tear 
had  wet  his  cheek  as  he  rec?.lled  the  memory  of 
Euez,  whom  he  had  really  loved  nearly  as  well 
as  he  had  done  his  proud  and  beautiful  sister. 
The  boy's  nature,  so  gentle,  affectionate  and 
truthful,  and  yet  in  emergency  so  manly  and 
venturesome,  as  evinced  in  his  drawing  the  bul- 
lets from  the  guns  that  would  else  have  taken 
the  life  of  Lorenzo  Bezan,  was  a  theme  of  oft  re- 
called admiration  and  regard  to  the  young  soldier. 

Though  he  felt  in  his  heart  that  Isabella  Gon- 
zales could  never  love  him,  judging  from  the 
cold  farewell  that  had  at  last  separated  them, 
still  fame  seemed  dear  to  him  on  her  account, 
because  it  seemed  to  bring  him  nearer  to  her,  if 
not  to  raise  a  hope  in  his  heart  that  she  might 
one  day  be  his.  At  times,  in  the  lonely  hours 
of  the  night,  alone  in  his  tent,  he  would  apostro- 
phize her  angelic  features,  and  sigh  that  Heaven, 
which  had  sent  so  sweet  a  mould  in  human  form, 
should  have  imbued  it  with  a  spirit  so  haughty, 
a  soul  so  proud  as  to  mar  the  exquisite  creation. 

"  I  have  thought,"  he  mused  to  himself,  "  that 
I  knew  her — that  the  bright  loveliness  of  her  soul 
would  dazzle  and  outshine  the  pride  that  chance 
had  sown  there — that  if  boldly  and  truly  wooed, 
she  would  in  turn  boldly  and  truly  love.  It 
seemed  to  me,  that  it  was  the  first  bamer  only  that 
imist  be  carried  by  assault,  and  after  that  I  felt 
sure  that  love  like  mine  would  soon  possess  the 
citadel  of  her  heart.  But  I  was  foolish,  self- 
confident,  and  perhaps  have  deserved  defeat.  It 
may  be  so,  but  Isabella  Gonzales  shall  see  that 
the  humble  captain  of  infantry,  who  would  hard- 
ly be  tolerated,  so  lowly  and  humble  was  he,  will 
command,  ere  long,  at  least,  some  degree  of  re- 


spect by  the  position  that  his  sword  shall  win 
for  him.  Ay,  and  General  Harero,  too,  may 
find  rae  composed  of  better  metal  than  he  sup- 
posed. There  is  one  truthful,  gentle  and  loving 
spirit  that  will  sympathize  with  me.  I  know 
and  feel  that ;  Ruez,  my  boy,  may  Heaven  bless 
thee !" 

"  Count  Basterio,  what  sort  of  a  person  is  this 
Colonel  Bezan,  whose  sword  has  been  invincible 
among  the  rebels,  and  who  has  sent  us  two  stand 
of  colors,  taken  by  himself^"  asked  the  queen, 
of  one  of  her  principal  courtiers,  one  day. 

"  Your  majesty,  I  have  never  seen  him,"  an- 
swered the  count,  "  but  I'm  told  he's  a  grim  old 
war-horse,  covered  with  scars  gained  in  your 
majesty's  service." 

"Just  as  I  had  thought  he  must  be,"  continued 
the  queen,  "  but  some  one  intimated  to  us  yes- 
terday that  he  was  young,  quite  young,  and  of 
noble  family,  Count  Basterio." 

"He  has  displayed  too  much  knowledge  of 
warfare  to  be  very  young,  your  majesty,"  said 
the  count,  "and  has  performed  prodigies  during 
this  revolt,  with  only  a  handful  of  men." 

"  That  is  partly  what  has  so  much  interested 
me.  I  sent  to  the  war  office  yesterday  to  know 
about  him,  and  it  was  only  recorded  that  he  had 
been  sent  from  Cuba.  None  of  the  heads  of  the 
department  remembered  to  have  seen  him  at  all." 

"  I  saw  by  the  Gazette  that  he  would  return  to 
Madrid  with  his  regiment  to-day,"  said  the  count, 
"  when,  if  your  majesty  desires  it,  I  will  seek 
out  this   Colonel  Bezan,  and  bring  him  to  you." 

"  Do  so ;  for  we  would  know  all  our  subjects 
who  are  gallant  and  deserving,  and  I  am  sure 
this  officer  must  be  both,  from  what  I  have  al- 
ready been  able  to  leani." 

"  Your  wish  shall  be  obeyed,  your  majesty," 
said  the  obsequious  courtier,  bowing  low,  and 
turning  to  a  lady  of  the  court,  hard  by,  began 
to  chat  about  how  this  old  "  son  of  a  gun,"  this 
specimen  of  the  battle-field  would  be  astonished 
at  the  presence  of  his  queen. 

"  He's  all  covered  with  scars,  you  say  V  asked 
one  of  the  ladies. 

"  Ay,  senorita,  from  his  forehead  to  his  very 
feet,"  was  the  reply. 

"  It  will  be  immensely  curious  to  see  him ; 
but  he  must  look  terrifically." 

"  That's  true,"  added  the  count;  "he's  griz- 
zly and  rough,  but  very  honest." 

"  Can't  you  have  him  muzzled,"  suggested  a 
gay  little  senorita,  smiling. 

"  Never  fear  for  his  teeth,  I  wear  a  rapier," 
added  the  count,  pompously. 

"  But  seriously,  whereas  he  from  V 

"  Of  some  good  family  in  the  middle  province, 
I  understand." 

"  0,  he's  a  gentleman,  then,  and  not  a  pro- 
fessional cut-throat  V  asked  another. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  courtier. 

"  That's  some  consolation,"  was  the  rejoinder 
to  the  count's  reply. 

While  the  merits  of  Lorenzo  Bezan  were  thus 
being  discussed,  he  was  marching  his  regiment 
towards  the  capital,  after  a  year's  campaign  of 
hard  fighting ;  and  the  Gazette  was  right  in  its 
announcement,  for  he  entered  the  capital  on  the 
evening  designated,  and  occupied  the  regularly 
assigned  ban-acks  for  his  men. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE  QUEEN  AND  THE  SOLDIER. 

It  was  a  noble  and  brilliant  presence  into 
which  Lorenzo  Bezan  was  summoned  on  the  day 
following  his  arrival  from  the  seat  of  war.  Dons 
and  senoras  of  proud  titles  and  rich  estates,  the 
high  officials  of  the  court,  the  prime  minister, 
the  maids  of  honor,  the  gayly  dressed  pages, 
and  men-at-arms,  all  combined  to  render  the 
scene  one  of  most  striking  effect. 

The  young  soldier  was  fresh  from  the  field ; 
hard  service  and  exposure  had  deepened  the 
olive  tint  of  his  clear  complexion  to  a  deep  nut 
brown,  and  his  beard  was  unshaven,  and  gave  a 
fine  classical  eff"ect  to  his  handsome  but  melan- 
choly features.  The  bright  clearness  of  his 
intelligent  eye  seemed  to  those  who  looked  upon 
him  there,  to  reflect  the  battles,  sieges  and  victo- 
ries that  the  gallant  soldier  had  so  lately  partici- 
pated in.  Though  neat  and  clean  in  appear- 
ance, the  somewhat  sudden  summons  he  had 
received,  led  him  to  appear  before  the  court  in 
his  battle  dress,  and  the  same  sword  hung  by  his 
side  that  had  so  often  reeked  with  the  enemy's 
blood,  and  flashed  in  the  van  of  battle. 

There  was  no  hauteur  in  his  bearing ;  his  form 
was  erect  and  military ;  there  was  no  self-suffi- 
ciency or  pride  in  his  expression  ;   but   a  calm, 


steady  purpose  of  soul  alone  was  revealed  by  the 
countenance  that  a  hundred  curious  eyes  now 
gazed  upon.  More  than  one  heart  beat  quicker 
among  the  lovely  throng  of  ladies,  as  they  gazed 
upon  the  young  hero.  More  than  one  kindly 
glance  was  bestowed  upon  him ;  but  he  was  im- 
pervious to  the  shafts  of  Cupid  ;  he  could  never 
suff^er  again ;  he  could  love  but  one,  and  she  was 
far  away  from  here. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  had  never  been  at  court.  True 
that  his  father,  and  indeed  his  elder  brother,  and 
other  branches  of  the  house  had  the  entree  at 
court ;  but  his  eaxdy  connection  with  the  army, 
and  a  naturally  retiring  disposition,  had  pre- 
vented his  ever  having  been  presented,  and  he 
now  stood  there  for  the  first  time.  The  queen 
was  not  present  when  he  first  entered,  but  she 
now  appeared  and  took  her  seat  of  state.  Un- 
taught in  court  etiquette,  yet  it  came  perfectly 
natural  for  Lorenzo  Bezan  to  kneel  before  her 
majesty,  which  he  did  immediately,  and  was 
graciously  bidden  to  rise. 

"  Count  Basterio,"  said  the  queen,  "  where  is 
thi^  Colonel  Bezan,  wliom  you  were  to  bring  to 
us  to-day  ?  have  you  forgotten  your  commission, 
sir?" 

"  Your  majesty,  he  stands  before  you,"  replied 
the  complaisant  courtier. 

"  Where,  count  ?" 

"  Your  majesty,  here,"  said  the  courtier,  point- 
ing more  directly  to  our  hero. 

"  This  youth,  this  Colonel  Bezan  ?  I  had 
thought  to  sec  an  older  person,"  said  the  queen, 
gazing  curiously  upon  the  fine  and  noble  fea- 
tures of  the  young  soldier. 

"  I  trust  that  my  age  may  be  of  no  detriment 
to  me  as  it  regards  your  majesty's  good  feelings 
towards  me,"  said  Lorenzo  Bezan,  respectfully. 

"By  no  means,  sir;  you  have  served  us  gal- 
lantly in  the  field,  and  your  bravery  and  good 
judgment  in  battle  have  highly  commended  them- 
selves to  our  notice." 

"  I  am  little  used,  your  majesty,  to  courtly 
presence,  and  find  that  even  now  I  have  come 
hither  accoutred  as  I  would  have  ridden  on  to 
the  field  of  battle ;  but  if  a  heart  devoted  to  the 
service  of  your  majesty,  and  a  willing  hand  to 
wield  this  trusty  weapon,  are  any  excuses  in 
your  sight,  I  trust  for  lenient  judgment  at  your 
royal  hands." 

"  A  brave  soldier  needs  no  excuse  in  our  pres- 
ence, Colonel  Bezan,"  replied  the  queen,  warm- 
ly. "  When  we  have  heard  of  your  prowess  in 
the  field,  and  have  seen  the  stands  of  colors  you 
have  taken  from  the  enemy,  far  outnumbering 
your  own  force,  we  have  thought  you  were  some 
oJdei-  follower  of  the  bugle  and  the  drum — some 
hardy  and  gray  old  soldier,  whose  life  had  been 
spent  in  his  country's  service,  and  therefore 
when  wc  find  a  soldier  like  yourself,  so  young, 
and  yet  so  wise,  we  were  surprised." 

"  Your  majesty  has  made  too  much  of  my 
poor  deserts.  Already  have  I  been  twice  noticed 
by  honorable  and  high  promotion  in  rank,  and 
wear  this  emblem  to-day  by  your  majesty's  gra- 
cious favor."  As  he  spoke,  he  touched  hij 
colonel's  star. 

"  For  your  bravery  and  important  services. 
Captain  Bezan,  wear  this  next  that  star  for  the 
present,"  said  the  queen,  presenting  the  young 
soldier  with  the  medal  and  order  of  St.  Sebas- 
tian, a  dignity  that  few  attained  to  of  less  dis- 
tinction than  her  privy  councillors  and  the  im- 
mediate officers  of  the  government. 

Surprised  by  this  unexpected  and  marked 
honor,  the  young  soldier  could  only  kneel  and 
thank  her  majesty  in  feeble  words,  which  he  did, 
and  pressing  the  token  to  his  lips,  he  placed  it 
about  his  neck  by  the  golden  chain  that  had  sup- 
ported it  but  a  moment  before  upon  the  lovely 
person  of  his  queen.  The  presence  was  broken 
up,  and  Lorenzo  Bezan  returned  to  his  ban-acks, 
reflecting  upon  his  singular  good  fortune. 

His  modest  demeanor,  his  brilliant  military 
services,  his  handsome  face  and  figure,  and  in 
short  his  many  noble  points  of  manliness  ;  and 
perhaps  even  the  slight  tinge  of  melancholy  that 
seemed  ever  struggling  with  all  the  emotions 
that  shone  forth  from  his  expressive  face,  had 
more  deeply  interested  the  young  queen  in  his 
behalf  than  the  soldier  himself  knew  of.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  envy  realized  by  many 
of  the  courtiers  when  they  saw  the  queen  present 
him  with  the  medal  taken  from  her  own  neck, 
and  that,  too,  of  an  order  so  distinguished  as 
St.  Sebastian. 

"  Wliat  sort  of  spirit  has  befriended  you. 
Colonel  Bezan  V  said  one  of  his  early  friends ; 
"  luck  seems  to  lavish  her  efforts  upon  you." 

"  I  hare  been  lucky,"  replied  the  soldier. 


"  Lucky !  the  whole  court  rings  with  your 
praise,  and  the  queen  delights  to  honor  you." 

"  The  queen  has  doubly  repaid  my  poor  ser- 
vices," continued  the  young  officer. 

"  Where  will  you  stop,  colonel  V 

"  Stop  V 

"Yes;  when  will  you  have  done  with  promo- 
tion ? — at  a  general's  commission  V 

"  No  fear  of  that  honor  being  very  quickly 
tendered  to  me,"  was  the  reply;  while  at  the 
same  moment  he  secretly  felt  how  much  he 
should  delight  in  every  step  that  raised  him  in 
rank,  and  thus  entitled  him  to  position  and 
honor. 

Such  conversations  were  not  unfrequent ;  for 
those  who  did  not  particularly  envy  him,  were 
still  much  surprised  at  his  vapid  growth  in 
favor  with  the  throne,  his  almost  magic  success 
in  battle,  and  delighted  at  the  prompt  reward 
which  he  met  in  payment  for  the  exei-cise  of 
those  qualities  which  they  could  not  themselves 
but  honor. 

Scarcely  had  he  got  off"  his  fighting  harness, 
so  to  speak,  before  he  found  himself  the  object  of 
marked  attention  by  the  nobility  and  members 
of  the  court.  Invitations  from  all  sources  were 
showered  upon  him,  and  proud  and  influential 
houses,  with  rich  heiresses  to  represent  them, 
were  among  those  who  sought  to  interest  the 
attention  if  not  tlie  heart  of  the  young  but  rising 
soldier — be  whom  the  queen  had  so  markedly 
befriended.  Her  majesty,  too,  seemed  never 
tired  of  interesting  herself  in  his  behalf,  and 
already  had  several  delicate  commissions  been 
entrusted  to  his  charge,  and  performed  with  the 
success  that  seemed  sure  to  crown  his  simplest 
efforts. 

So  far  as  courtesy  required,  Colonel  Bezan 
responded  to  every  invitation  and  every  exten- 
sion of  hospitality;  but  though  beset  by  such 
beauty  as  the  veiled  prophet  of  Khorassan 
tempted  young  Azim  with,  still  he  passed  un- 
scathed through  the  trial  of  star-lit  eyes  and  fe- 
male loveliness,  always  bending,  but  never  break- 
ing;  for  his  heart  would  still  wander  over  the 
sea  to  the  vision  of  her,  who,  to  him,  was 
far  more  beautiful  than  aught  his  fancy  had  pic- 
tured, or  his  eyes  had  seen.  All  seemed  to  feel 
that  some  tender  secret  possessed  him,  and  all 
were  most  anxious  as  to  what  it  was.  Even  the 
queen  had  spoken  of  it ;  but  it  was  a  delicate 
subject,  and  not  to  be  spoken  of  lightly  to  him. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  had  most  mysteriously  found 
the  passage  to  the  queen's  good  graces,  and  she 
delighted  to  honor  him  by  important  commis- 
sions ;  so  two  years  had  not  yet  passed  away, 
when  the  epaulets  of  a  general  were  presented  to 
the  young  and  ambitious  soldier  !  Simply  out- 
ranked now  by  General  Harero,  who  had  so  per- 
secuted him,  in  point  of  the  date  of  his  commis- 
sion, he  far  outstretched  that  selfish  officer  in 
point  of  the  honors  that  had  been  confeiTcd  upon 
him  by  the  throne  ;  and  being  now  economical 
with  the  handsome  professional  income  he  en- 
joyed, he  was  fast  amassing  a  pecuniary  fortune 
that  of  itself  was  a  matter  of  no  small  import- 
ance, not  only  to  himself,  but  also  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world. 

Among  the  courtiers  he  had  already  many 
enemies,  simply  because  of  his  rise  and  prefer- 
ment, and  he  was  known  as  the  favorite  of  the 
queen.  Some  even  hinted  darkly  that  she  en- 
tertained for  him  feelings  of  a  more  tender  nature 
than  the  court  knew  of,  and  that  his  promotion 
would  not  stop  at  a  general's  commission,  and 
perhaps  not  short  of  commander-in-chief  of  the 
armies  of  Spain.  But  such  persons  knew  noth- 
ing to  warrant  these  surmises  ;  they  arose  from 
the  court  gossip,  day  by  day,  and  only  gained 
importance  from  being  often  repeated. 

"  She  delights  to  honor  him,"  said  one  lady  to 
another,  in  the  queen's  ante-chamber. 

"  Count  Basterio  says  that  he  will  be  made 
prime  minister  within  a  twelvemonth." 

"  The  count  is  always  extravagant,"  replied 
the  other,  "  and  I  think  that  General  Bezan  richly 
merits  the  honors  he  veceives.  He  is  so  modest, 
yet  brave  and  unassuming." 

"  That  is  tme,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  blame  the 
queen  for  repaying  his  important  services.  But 
he  doesn't  seem  to  have  any  heart  himself." 

"  Why  not  ?  He  treats  all  with  more  than  or- 
dinary courtesy,  and  has  a  voice  and  manner  to 
win  almost  any  heart  he  wills.  But  some  dark 
hints  are  thro'tvoi  out  about  him." 

"  In  what  respect,  as  having  already  been  in 
love  7"  asked  the  other  lady. 

"  Yes,  and  the  tender  melancholy  that  every 
one  notices,  is  owing  to  disappointed  afi'ection." 
[to  be  continued.] 


84 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


MONSIEUR  AND  M'liLE.  I>UPUE/. 

Our  engraving  presents  ULCiirate  likenesscH  of 
M.  Diiprez,  the  eclebrutccl  tenor  ningcr,  and  hisi 
tliuigliter  Caroline,  who  hns  veryhitely  nnulo  her 
dohiitwith  ft  .siicecKBwhieh  has  excited  the  wliolo 
musical  world.     Caroline  l^uprez  was  Ijorn    in 
Florence,  at  a  period  wlien  her  fatlier  was  in  the 
height  of  a  l)riHiaiit  artistie  career,  l)L-fuie  he  en- 
teied  on  that  series  of  triumphs  wliidi  csliiMishcd 
his  reputation  in  France.     Her  godinotlier  was 
Caroline  Ungucr,  one  of  the  most  eminent  Hing- 
cra  of  the  modern  Italian  school,  a  circumstanee 
which  the  superstitious  Italians  thought  fraught 
with  good  fortune  for  the  infant.    She  was  hardly 
a  year  old,  wlien,  at  Naples,  the  city  of  sweet 
melodies,   occurred   the   first   representation   of 
lAicia  de  Lammermoor.     Donizetti  composed  the 
work  with  a  kindled   imagination,  just  after  a 
sojourn  at  Paris,  where  he  Iiad  writ- 
ten   his  Marino  Faliero,  which  coun- 
terbalanced, for  ft  moment,  the   suc- 
cess of  UcUini's  Jl  Pmitani,  but  with- 
out surpassing  it.     He  was  to  indem- 
nify himself  on  renching  Naples.    He 
dill  so  in  the  most  glorious  manner. 
Although  more   tlian  sixteen  years 
have  intervened,  the  Neapolitans,  so 
forgetful  by  nature,  cannot  recount, 
without  warm  emotion,  tlie  various 
episodes   of   the   evening   on   which 
Xiucift  was   performed  for   the    first 
time,  at  the  San  Carlo.     Tliose  who 
were  children  then,  and  did  not  wit- 
ness   the    representation,   and    have 
since  grown  up  to  young  men,  repeat 
the  story  as  a  tradition  handed  down 
from  sire  to  son,  with  a  sort  of  na- 
tional pride.     After  having  told  you 
the  infinite  number  of  times  the  com- 
poser was  called  upon  the  stage  dur- 
ing the  course  of  the  representation, 
they  hasten  to  tell  you  of  the  pro- 
found sensation,  the  unexampled  en- 
thusiasm excited  in  all  parts  of  that 
immense  house,  both  by  the  sonorous 
power  of  voice,   and    the    masterly 
manner  of  managing  it,  and  the  ac- 
tion, so  full  of  fire  and  dramatic  feel- 
ing, displayed  by  the  tenor,  for  whom 
the  principal  part  had  been  written. 
This  was  Duprez,  the  father  of  little 
Caroline,  and  the  latter  was  literally  ^ 

lulled  in  her  cradle,  by  the  tender, 
expressive,  passionate  and  delicious 
tones  of  those  songs  which  nightly 
transported  to  a  paroxysm  of  excite- 
ment, an  innumerable  audience  of 
burning  hearts  and  sympathetic 
minds.  Such  was  the  highly  favored 
position  of  M'Ue.  Caroline  Duprez, 
in  her  earliest  years,  and  that  alone 
will  explain  how,  at  less  than  eighteen 
years  of  age,  she  has  presented  her- 
self before  the  public  with  a  talent  so 
perfectly  accomplished  in  every  re- 
spect. The  emission  of  her  voice  is 
of  astonishing  firmness,  her  vocaliza- 
tion the  boldest  and  most  skillful  to 
be  met  with ;  her  action  evinces  a  rare 
dramatic  intelligence,  her  face  one 
of  the  very  prettiest,  and  charming 
from  that  sweet  and  innocent  expres- 
sion only  seen  at  her  age,  but  yet  in- 
terpreting with  an  art  which  seems 
like  science,  various  and  most 
delicate  shades,  movements  of  the 
soul,  aspirations  of  happiness,  hope, 
melancholy,  joy,  deception,  despair 
and  madness.  In  a  word,  one  cannot 
imagine  a  bride  of  Lammermoor 
more  according  to  the  soul  of  the 
poet  who  created  her.  We  fear  we 
have  not  said  enough  yet.  It  was  in 
the  part  of  Lucia  that  M'Ue.  Caro- 
line Duprez  made  her  first  appear- 
ance before  the  dilettanti  of  the  Salle 
Ventadour,  in  the  same  part  whose 
melodies  she  had  doubtless  murmur- 
ed at  the  same  time  when  a  child  be- 
gins to  utter  its  first  articulate  sounds. 
The  surprise  and  pleasure  of  those 
who  witnessed  that  first  appearance 
are  described  as  unbounded.  The  ap- 
plauses burst  forth  many  times  dur- 
ing the  first  air  that  Lucia  sings,  and 
wei'C  renewed  with  greater  energy  on 
the  entrance  of  Edgardo ;  Duprez 
himself  sustained  this  part.  When 
he  appeared  he  was  applauded,  not 
only  as  a  great  artist  and  excellent, 
hut  as  the  happy  father,  both  in  na- 
ture and  talent,  of  the  new  singer,  so 
young  and  yet  so  distinguished,  who 
received  on  that  occasion  her  artistic 
baptism.  The  frequenters  of  the 
Italian  Theatre  will  long  preserve  the  remem- 
brance of  that  evening  of  January,  1851.  The 
presentation  of  M'Ue.  Caroline  Duprez  to  the 
public  by  her  father,  will  long  mark  the  annals 
of  the  lyric  theatre,  we  hope,  as  did  two  similar 
occurrences — the  daughter  of  Garcia,  and  the 
daughter  of  Tacchinardi,  both  taking  their  first 
steps  on  the  stage  under  the  auspices  of  their 
fathers;  one  in  London,  in  1825,  in // j5nr6/cre 
^the  other,  in  Italy,  in  Tancredi.  One,  it  is 
well  known,  became  the  illustrious  Maria  Mali- 
bran,  and  the  other,  Madame  Persiani.  Mali- 
bran,  it  will  be  remembered,  soon  after  her  tri- 
umphant debut  in  Europe,  came  to  this  country, 
and  was  for  a  long  time  the  prhna  donna  of  the 
Itq,]ian  opera  company  of  New  York.  We  had 
Gnjr,ye(J  tl)C  pleasure  of  a  visit  from  the  most 
distinguished  vQCftlj:?ts  9f  the  ago  ■  and  after  se- 
curing for  a  season  the  Swedish  ijigljtingale, 
there  is  no  talent  that  vi/e  cannot  hope  to  woo  to 
our  shores.     The  inatability  of  afl^airs  fij:'  Eipbpc 


liMids  foreign  artists  to  turn  their  eyes  more  fre- 
quently than  formerly  to  our  sliorcs,  and  the 
generous  reception  univerHally  given  iiy  Ameri- 
cans to  talent,  has  had  its  full  wciglit  with  for- 
eign musical  professors.  Wo  trust  that  some  of 
our  enterprising  managers  will  be  induced  to 
make  sucii  offers  to  Caroline  Duprez  and  her 
father,  as  will  induce  tliem  to  pay  us  a  visit  he- 
fore  long.  It  will  be  a  rare  treat  to  enjoy  the 
voice  of  Caroline  in  all  its  youth  and  freshness, 
and  to  witness  her  personations  before  she  be- 
comes hackneyed  to  the  stage.  She  is  evidently 
a  prodigy  of  talent.  "If,"  writes  one  of  her 
enthusiastic  admirei'S,  "it  were  possible,  in  our 
dull  matter-of-fact  days,  to  admit  yet  the  exist- 
ence of  fairies,  we  .should  say  that  the  most  be- 
neficent and  most  generous  had  united  at  the 
moment  of  her  birth,  around  the  cradle  of  the 


WONDERFUL   CAVE  IN  CALIFOKNIA. 

Calaveras  county  seems  to  abound  in  natin-al 
curiosities,  as  there  are  many  caves  well  worth 
visiting  in  this  part  of  the  country.  The  great 
prevalence  of  limestone  in  our  ranges  of  hills 
will  tniturally  account  for  those  interesting  for- 
mations. Lately,  I  availed  myself  of  the  offer 
of  a  kind  friend  to  conduct  me  to  one  of  them, 
and  was  mut;h  pleased  with  my  visit — althougli, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  visitors  seem  to  emulate 
each  other  in  their  zeal  to  deform  and  deface 
what  should  be  most  carefully  guarded  and  pro- 
tected. The  cave  to  wliich  I  allude  is  situated 
about  a  mile  from  town,  on  the  south  bank  of 
the  South  Branch  of  Sutter  Creek.  The  en- 
trance is  through  a  small  opening  in  the  hill, 
just  sufficient  to  admit  a  man's  body.  The  de- 
scent is  easy,  the  many  projections  of  the  rock 


MONSIEUR  AND  MADEMOISELLE  DUPREZ. 


young  girl  who  lias  just  made  her  appearance  at 
the  Italian  Theatre." 

THE  ANJOES. 

The  range  of  mountains  called  the  Andes 
or  Cordilleras  extends  4300  miles  along  the 
coast  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  from  the  Isthmus  of 
Panama  to  the  Straits  of  Magellan.  The  highest 
peak  is  Sorato,  in  Bolivia,  which  has  been  ascer- 
tained to  be  25,250  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
Tills  is  the  highest  peak  of  land  in  the  world, 
with  one  single  exception,  that  of  Jahavah, 
one  of  the  peaks  of  the  flimmalah  Mountains  in 
Asia,  It  is  supposed  by  many  that  the  Cordil- 
leras of  Mexico  are,  together  with  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  part  of  the  chain  of  the  Andes.  The 
highest  volcanic  peak  in  the  world  is  that  of 
Cotopaxi,  one  of  the  peaks  of  the  Andes,  near 
Chlmborazo.  Volcanic  mountains  are  generally 
polated,  and  nearly  all  solitary  mountains  are 
yglcanig.-—  Geographical  Hesearo/ies. 


affording  ample  means  for  safe  footing.  Neither 
is  it  of  very  great  depth,  the  top  of  the  platform 
not  being  more  than  ten  feet  from  the  entrance, 
whence  it  slopes  gently  down  till  the  centre  is 
reached,  forming  a  chamber  of  about  thirty  feet 
high  and  about  fifty  long.  The  floor  is  com- 
posed of  octagons  of  calcareous  formation,  along 
Avhich,  in  a  narrow  bed,  silently  glides  a  crystal 
stream,  rising  from  a  spring  in  one  of  the  lateral 
chambers.  The  roof  is  divided  into  compart- 
ments, the  centre  being  a  large  circle,  from 
which  depend  clusters  of  stalactites  of  every  va- 
riety, of  (1  variegated  hue,  as  if  tinged  by  color- 
ing matter,  some  crystalline,  others  opacpie, 
while  some  partake  of  the  rock  through  whieli 
they  have  percolated,  The  groining  of  the  roof 
is  as  perfect  as  if  moulded  by  the  hand  of  art, 
terminating  in  maesive  pillm-s,  with  riclily- 
adorned  capitals,  strongly  reminding  one  of  an 
ancient  Gothic  cathedral.  From  the  main  cham- 
ber  branch   two  galleries,  J<;ading  into    email 


ajiartments,  rich  in  groups  of  the  most  fanciful 
petrifaction,  varying  from  the  massive  block  to 
the  delicate  and  finely-pointed  crystalline  needle. 
At  the  entrance  of  tlic  cave,  our  party  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  with  one  of  tlie  merchants 
of  our  village,  accompanied  by  his  amiable  and 
lovely  lady,  whose  presence  added  much  to  our 
enjoyment  of  this   romantic  retreat,  and  whose 
sparkling   wit   suggested    many   pertinent    and 
beautiful  illustrations  of  the  suiTOunding  scene. 
To   this  lady  the  party  were  indebted  for  a  rich 
musical  treat,  as,  witli   fairy  wand,  she  liglitly 
and  gracefully  touched  the  sparkling  pendants, 
producing  melody  of  the  softest  and   most  ex- 
quisite sounds.     The  effect   of  the  wliolc  was 
greatly  enhanced  by  the  flashing  of  the  torches, 
now  reflected   by  a  thousand  glittering   cones, 
and  again  seen  away  in  the  deep  recess  of  the 
cavern,  casting  a  lurid  glare  on  their 
hearers,  as,  crawling  low,  they  vainly 
endeavored  to  penetrate  the  secret  re- 
cesses of  the  genii  of  the  place.     It  is 
much  to   be  regretted   that  modern 
Vandalism  should  have  so  merciless- 
ly disfigured  this  cave ;  but  I  suppose 
wc  should  rather  tliank  tiiem  for  per- 
mitting  any  traces   to   remain,  and 
that  it  has  not  long  since  been  blown 
to  fragments  in  the  avaricious  search 
for  gold. —  California  Tourist. 

FAK3IER8'  WIVES. 

The  farmers  of  this  country  occupy 
a  position  of  honor  and  usefulness. 
They  are  tlie  source  of  a  nation's 
wealth  and  prosperity,  and  by  their 
vote  and  influence  can,  at  any  mo- 
ment, decide  its  destiny.  Farmers' 
wives  occupy  a  position  of  corres- 
ponding importance  in  our  country's 
history ;  they  are  and  have  been  the 
mothers  of  the  men  whom  our  nation 
delights  to  lionor,  whose  voice  of  wis- 
dom and  warning  is  heard  in  our  na- 
tional councils.  Lebanon  shorn  of 
its  stately  cedars  would  be  her  sad 
emblem,  were  our  land  bereaved  of 
the  pati-iotic  and  heroic  men  whose 
early  youth  was  associated  with  rural 
scenes,  with  woods  and  streams,  and 
the  bird-voices  that  filled  the  air 
with  melody.  But  the  sweet  voice 
that  stilled  the  cry  of  infancy,  the 
kind  hand  that  led  them  to  the  altar 
of  prayer,  the  counsels  that  conducted 
them  in  the  path  of  wisdom,  the  in- 
fluence that  developed  their  moral 
nature — these  were  the  pledges  and 
presages  of  their  future  greatness. 
The  wives  of  our  farmers,  whose 
thrift  and  industry  have  secured  for 
their  husbands  a  competence,  whose 
intelligence  is  the  light  of  the  social 
circle,  and  whose  piety  is  the  guardi- 
an of  domestic  peace,  are  emphati- 
cally "  the  mothers  of  our  men."  A 
failure  in  the  country — with  all  the 
opportunities  of  success,  away  from 
all  the  moral  contaminations  of  a 
crowded  city,  amid  the  free  and  re- 
freshing winds,  among  all  that  is 
pure  and  poetic  in  nature,  amid  all 
that  is  suggestive  of  truth  and  beauty, 
and  all  that  is  bountiful  and  beauti- 
ful in  agricultural  pursuits  and  suc- 
cess— rightly  to  train  up  children, 
should  awaken  the  voice  of  instructive 
warning.  There  may  have  been  no 
failure  in  accumulating  wealth,  none 
in  making  home  beautiful  and  taste- 
ful to  the  eye ;  but  the  failure  has 
been  where  it  is  most  fatal,  in  train- 
ing the  heart  and  directing  the  foot- 
steps of  childhood.  There  may  have 
been  lavish  expenditure  to  gratify 
fashion  and  perverted  taste,  but  little 
care  to  develop  the  intellect  and  train 
the  heart.  There  may  have  been  ef- 
fort to  teach  children  to  sing,  play, 
and  dance  well,  but  none  to  make 
them  useful,  virtuous  and  happy. 
Hence  the  failure,  and  the  need  of 
warning.  There  is  a  tendency  in 
these  days  of  wealth  and  luxury 
among  our  farmers,  to  imitate  the 
ostentation  of  fashionable  city  life. 
We  wage  no  war  against  refinement. 
We  are  not  averse  to  the  elegancies 
of  life ;  but  to  train  up  our  daughters 
only  to  shine  in  the  parlor,  to  play 
the  guitar  and  speak  correctly  the 
French  accent,  and  our  sons  to  de- 
spise the  honest  toil  of  the  husband- 
man, to  feel  that  they  must  aspire  to 
a  profession,  if  they  would  be  men  : 
this  is  a  sin  not  to  pass  unrebuked.  Our  fathers, 
who  laid  the  foundation  of  our  nation's  great- 
ness, were  the  humble  tillers  of  the  soil ;  and 
many  who  liave  plowed  the  field  and  sowed  the 
seed,  have  risen  to  guide  the  affairs  of  state,  to 
hold  converse  with  the  muse,  or,  to  sweep  with 
a  Milton's  hand,  the  harp-strings.  Our  mothers, 
whose  names  and  heroic  deeds  are  immortal, 
cultivated  the  domestic  virtues,  plied  the  loom 
and  needle,  and  made  the  garments  of  the  men 
whose  names  are  associated  with  the  heroism  of 
the  past.  We  must  look  still  to  fai'raers'  wives, 
who  are  blessed  with  children,  for  the  men  of 
strong  frames,  of  iron  nerves  and  heroic  hearts, 
to  accomplish  our  nation's  destiny.  Let  them 
not  be  recreant  to  their  high  trust.  If  they  fail, 
to  whom  shall  we  look  for  the  men,  and  the  wo- 
men, that  shall  be  worthy  to  steady  the  ark  of 
God,  and  train  the  coming  generation  for  use- 
fulness in  the  world,  and  blessedness  in  hoaven. 
— Southern  paper. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


85 


SALT  WORKS  AT  SALINES,  Am>  FORT  ST.  ANDRE,  FRANCE. 


VIEW  OF  THE  SALT  WORKS, 

AT    SALlXliS,    AND    FORT    ST.    AKDKE. 

Salines,  in  the  department  of  Jura,  France,  is 
a  very  old  toivn  of  7500  inhabitants,  and  has 
only  a  sinp:le  street,  compressed  betn'een  two 
sharp-ridged  and  abrupt  mountains.  It  is  built 
at  the  entrance  of  a  fertile  valley,  on  the  slope  of 
a  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which  runs  the  river  Furipuse 
(Furious).  The  centre  of  the  town  is  occupied 
by  the  vast  establishment  of  salt  works,  sur- 
rounded by  thick  walls  and  flanked  by  towers. 
The  springs,  to  a  large  number,  arfi  enclosed 
within,  under  immense  arches,  whose  date  seems 
to  go  back  to  the  fifth  centm-y.  Steps  lead  down 
to  this  subterranean  region,  which  is  of  consider- 
able extent,  and  undermines  the  bed  of  the  I'U- 
rieuse,  a  stream  from  which  serves  to  put  in  mo- 
tion the  hydraulic  machines  employed  in  the 
establishment.  In  the  month  of  July,  1825,  the 
town  of  Salines  was  entirely  destroyed  by  a  ter- 
rible fire,  but  has  been  rebuilt  by  liberal  subscrip- 
tions from  all  parts  of  France.  The  loss  by  this 
disaster  amounted  to  more  than  two  millions. 
The  sea  is  nothing  else  but  a  vast  reservoir  of 
constantly  renewed  saline  matter,  but  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  ocean,  nature  supplies  abundantly 
this  indispensable  article  of  consumption.  Thus 
we  have  salt  distributed  through  the  interior  of 
the  earth,  and  many  mines  of  gem  or  fossil  salt, 
like  the  famous  ones  of  Wioslizcka.  in  Polaiul, 
which  produce  salt  pure  enough  for  immediate 


consumption,  without  any  preliminary  process. 
The  salt  at  Salines,  and  the  other  salt-producing 
places  in  tlie  east  of  France,  is  obtained  in  the 
form  of  fountains  of  salt  water,  which  are  reached 
b}'  means  of  sinking  Artesian  wells.  By  sinking 
the  shafts  to  a  great  depth,  water  is  sometimes 
procured,  containing  salt  in  solution  in  the  pro- 
portion of  twenty-five  parts  of  salt  to  seventy-five 
of  water ;  it  is  then  evaporated,  the  sulphate  and 
carbonate  of  lime  and  the  iron  expelled,  and  the 
salt  is  finally  precipitated  and  dried  by  fire  heat. 
The  whole  process  is  tedious  and  costly,  and  re- 
quires large  capital  to  be  successfully  earned  on. 


THE  SEA, 

Tlic  largest  of  all  cemeteries  is  the  sea,  and 
its  slumberers  sleep  without  monuments.  All 
other  graveyards  in  other  lands,  show  some 
symbol  of  distinction  between  the  great  and 
small,  the  rich  and  poor ;  but  in  the  ocean  ceme- 
tery, the  king  and  the  clown,  the  prince  and  the 
peasant,  are  alike  undistinguished.  The  same 
waves  roll  over  all ;  the  same  requiem  b}''  the 
minstrels  of  the  ocean  is  sung  to  their  honor. 
Over  their  remains  the  same  storm  beats,  and 
the  same  sun  shines  ;  and  there,  unmarked,  the 
weak  and  the  powerful,  the  plumed  and  the  un- 
honored,  will  sleep  on,  until  awakened  by  the 
same  trump  when  the  sea  shall  give  up  its  count- 
less liosts  of  the  dead  of  myriad  generations. — 
Olive  Branch. 


THE  MEAT  MAKRET  AT  PARIS. 

The  engraving  below  represents  the  auction  of 
butcher's  meat  in  the  Market  des  Prouvaires, 
Paris.  Prior  to  the  establishment  of  this  market, 
and  this  manner  of  selling  meat,  in  1848,  pro- 
visions could  be  only  purchased  at  private  sale, 
and  at  certain  authorized  places,  under  a  code  of 
regulations  which  gave  the  butchers  a  kind  of 
monopoly,  and  was  peculiarly  oppressive  to  con- 
sumers. The  butcliers  were  enabled  by  an 
agreement  among  themselves  to  keep  up  a  very 
high  tariti'  of  prices.  By  a  decree  of  the  21st  of 
May,  1849,  confirmed  and  enlarged  October  1st, 
in  the  same  year,  it  was  ordered  that  all  fresh 
meat,  beef,  veal,  mutton  and  pork,  coming  di- 
rectly from  the  departments,  should  be  received 
daily  in  the  Market  des  Prouvaires,  to  be  sold 
there  at  auction  by  a  factor  commissioned  for 
this  purpose,  and  controlled  by  the  agents  of  the 
administration.  The  factor  receives  one  per 
cent,  on  the  gross  product  of  his  sales.  A  cer- 
tain percentage  is  also  deducted  for  entrance  du- 
ties {octroi),  charges,  expenses,  etc.,  including  a 
contribution  to  the  city  treasury.  The  experi- 
ment is  said  to  have  succeeded  admirably,  and 
cattle  raisers  and  consumers  have  found  their 
profit  in  the  system.  Regimental  commissaries 
are  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  this  market  to 
make  their  purchases.  The  sale  at  auction  is 
evidently  the  commencement  of  a  new  era  which 
will  soon  embrace  all  the  markets  of  the  citv-    A 


plenty  and  cheapness  of  meat  will  soon  produce 
a  change  in  the  habits  of  the  Parisians.  The 
Frenchman  is  not,  like  the  Englishman,  particu- 
larly fond  of  meat.  But  if,  by  a  decline  of  prices, 
the  use  of  it  is  rendered  easier  to  him,  it  will  be- 
come more  frequent  and  habitual  among  the  la- 
boring classes,  who  have  not  hithei-to  consumed 
half  the  meat,  per  individual,  requisite  to  give 
him  strength,  and  keep  him  in  health. 

\    ^a—    » 

THE  REAL  GENTLEMAN. 

Not  he  who  displays  the  latest  fashion — dress- 
es in  extravagance,  with  gold  ring;;  and  chains 
to  display.  Not  he  who  talks  the  loudest,  and 
makes  constant  use  of  profane  language  and 
vulgar  words.  Not  he  who  is  proud  and  over- 
bearing— who  oppresses  the  poor,  and  looks  with 
contempt  on  honest  industry.  Nor  he  who  can- 
not control  his  passions,  and  humble  himself  as 
a  child.  No  ;  none  of  these  arc  real  gentlemen. 
It  is  he  who  is  kind  and  obliging — who  is  ready 
to  do  jou  a  favor  with  no  hope  of  reward  ;  who 
visits  the  poor,  and  assists  those  who  are  in 
need  ;  who  is  more  careful  of  his  heart  than  the 
dress  of  his  person ;  who  is  humble  and  soci- 
able— not  irascible  or  revengeful ;  who  always 
speaks  the  truth  without  resorting  to  profane  or 
indecent  words.  Such  a  man  is  a  real  gentle- 
man, wherever  he  may  be  found.  Rich  or  poor, 
high  or  low,  he  is  entitled  to  the  appellation. — 
Spectator. 


VIEW  OF  THE    MEAT  MARKET,  AT  PARIS. 


86 


GLEvVSON'S   PICTORTAL   DRAWING   ROOM   C'0:MPANI()N. 


[Written  for  Olwwon'fl  Pictorial.] 
MY    CHILDHOOD    HOURS. 

ST   DE   PLKTCIIER   IIUNTON. 

My  childhood!  O,  my  cliildhootl! 

Where  nrv  thoso  liivppy  hourn 
1  Bpont  in  j(?y  and  Kindness, 

Within  thy  fiiiry  howcrs? 
Whoro  (iro  tho  friends  that  sported 

With  infl  in  Ilfo'a  young  day, 
And  danced  In  youthful  pleasure 

Those  aunuy  hours  away? 

Iiong  diwiry  years  of  sorrow 

Have  slowly  glided  by, 
Sinco  Inst  I  played  and  sported 

Uencatb  Miy  gonial  sky  ; 
And  yet,  in  dreams,  I  see  thee, 

Far  down  the  silent  past; 
As  fair,  and  e'en  as  lovely, 

As  when  I  saw  tbeo  last. 

And  those  I  lorcd  in  childhood, 

Come  thronging  round  luo  now ; 
Which  steals  away  tlio  sadncaa 

That  fiits  upon  my  brow. 
Once  more  wc  join  in  playing, 

Upon  the  level  plain  ; 
While  our  young  btitrta  are  beating 

With  loTC  and  hope  ag;un. 

0  yo5,  these  Iiours,  when  memory 

Falls  gently  on  tho  breast ; 
Are  like  a  numuier  evening, 

Which  lulls  the  soul  to  rest. 
They  waft  the  thoughts  from  sorrow. 

To  scenes  of  fairest  bloom ; 
Then  leave  thcoi  gently  musing 

Beside  time's  early  tomb. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

EDGAR  KANDOLPH : 

— OK— 

MAN'S  JUDGMENT  SOMETIMES  IN  EEROK. 

BT    MRS.    CAROLINE    ORNE. 

All  tlie  passengers  alighted  from  the  stage- 
coach, when  it  drew  up  opposite  the  Franklin 
Hotel,  situated  in  a  retired  country  town,  except 
two.  One  of  tliem  a  young  man  of  twenty-five, 
whose  name  was  Edgar  Randolph,  was  a  native 
of  the  place,  and  after  an  absence  of  three  years, 
which  had  been  spent  mostly  in  the  Western 
States,  was  returning  to  his  paternal  home. 

Edgar  Randolph,  without  being  what  could, 
strictly  speaking,  be  termed  handsome,  possessed 
one  of  those  fine  heads  which  the  eye  would 
have  singled  out  in  a  large  assembly.  His  fore- 
head, which  was  high  and  well-expanded,  de- 
noted intellectual  power,  while  those  organs 
forming  the  upper  region  of  the  head,  were 
largely  developed,  showing  that  his  moral  sense 
was  keen  and  delicate. 

Bertram  Clavering,  Edgar's  companion,  was, 
as  far  as  features  and  complexion  go,  eminently 
handsome ;  but  a  close  observer  would,  at  times, 
have  been  able  to  detect  an  expression  lurking 
in  his  eyes,  and  around  the  corners  of  his  finely- 
chiselled  mouth,  wiiich  might  have  awakened  so 
much  distmst,  as  to  cause  him  to  hesitate  about 
choosing  him  for  a  friend.  But  Edgar  Ran- 
dolph, never  having  looked  for  faults,  had  never 
discovered  any,  and  at  the  present  moment,  he 
looked  upon  Clavering  as  one  of  his  dearest 
friends,  and  as  such,  entitled  to  his  full  confi- 
dence. 

"  And  where  is  Locust  Dale  V  asked  Claver- 
ing, when  Edgar  had  pointed  out  to  him  his 
father's  residence  which,  shaded  by  a  number  of 
fine  old  forest  trees,  could  be  partially  discerned, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant. 

"  Close  by,"  was  the  answer.  "  You  sec  those 
large  locust  trees  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  from  those  that  Locust  Dale  derives  its 
name  ;  and  when  we  have  proceeded  a  few  rods 
further,  we  shall  get  a  glimpse  of  the  white  cot- 
tage you  have  heard  me  mention." 

"  Which,  of  course,  owes  its  greatest  charm  to 
the  rural  divinity  who  inhabits  it." 

"Virginia  Lee  was  only  fourteen — a  mere 
child — when  I  last  saw  her,"  said  Randolph. 
"  Cliangcs,  in  more  respects  than  one, 
since  then,  have  taken  place." 

"  I  hope  she  has  not  grown  less  beautiful," 
said  Clavering;  "for  I  am  promising  myself 
mudi  amusement  from  cultivating  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  little  rustic,  and  I  never  did,  and 
never  could,  tolerate  a  homely  specimen  of  the 

8CX." 

Edgar  did  not  like  this  rcmnrk,  and  still  less 
tho  manner  in  which  it  was  said.  Tlicidcaof 
having  Virginia  Lee,  whose  innocence  and  purity 


may, 


had  ever  appeared  to  him  to  shod  around  her  an 
almost  liallou'cd  atmosphere,  regarded  as  a  Ic- 
gitinnilc  object  (o  amu^^e  the  idle  liour.s  of  even 
Clavering,  grated  harshly  upon  his  feelings. 
He  made  no  reply  to  the  remark,  nor  did  he 
even  speak  again,  till  the  couch  stoppeil  in  front 
of  his  father's  dwelling.  He  then  roused  himself, 
and  with  an  eifort,  hivnishing,  for  the  time,  tlic 
disagreeable  emotions  which  had  been  e.xeited, 
after  the  warm  and  affectionate  greeting  between 
him  and  his  parents,  presented  Clavering  to 
them,  in  a  manner  to  insure  him  a  cordial  re- 
ception. 

After  tea,  whilo  Clavering  was  engaged  in 
conversation  with  his  falhei',  in  which  the  fine 
talent  of  the  former  for  deRcri])lion  told  to  good 
advantage — Edgar  slii)ped  out  unperceived,  and 
took  his  way  to  the  white  cottage.  The  picture 
of  Virginia  Lee,  which  he  liad  treasured  in  his 
mind  ever  since  he  parted  with  her,  tin-ee  years 
previous,  having  been  kept  bright  by  the  vivid 
tints  of  a  warm  fancy  and  the  golden  sunlight  of 
a  warmer  heart,  had  been  ever  the  same.  Nei- 
ther was  there  any  change  in  the  original,  except 
that  she  was  more  blooming,  more  i*adiant,  and 
more  lovely  than  ever.  There  was  the  same 
graceful  ease  and  freedom  in  her  movements,  the 
same  ingenuous  expression  of  countenance,  the 
same  lustrous  hair,  which  in  golden  ripples  used 
to  play  about  her  transparent  brow,  except  that 
it  had  taken  a  somewhat  deeper  and  richer  shade. 
Her  eyes,  too,  of  an  azure,  dark  as  a  moonlight 
sky  at  midnight,  still  mirrored  in  their  clear 
depths  tliose  soft  and  starry  beams  which,  to 
Edgar's  imagination,  used  to  diffuse  over  her 
whole  person  a  kind  of  dreamy,  poetic  light,  as 
indescribable  as  it  was  enchanting. 

They  had  parted  as  friends — nothing  more; 
yet  Edgar,  long  before  and  during  his  absence, 
had  cherished  sentiments  with  regard  to  her,  far 
deeper  and  more  ardent  than  those  of  friendship. 
AVhether  they  had  been  reciprocated,  or  other- 
wise, lie  knew  not  more  definitely  than  could  be 
gathered  from  those  involuntary  manifestations, 
which,  after  all,  are  truer  exponents  of  the  heart 
than  language  can  ever  he.  This  forbearance, 
on  his  part,  he  imagined  was  due  to  her  extreme 
youth.  He  did  not  think  it  right  to  entangle  her 
into  an  engagement  to  which  she  might  be 
prompted  by  a  mei^e  girlish  whim,  and  of  which 
she  might  repent  ere  the  expiration  of  his  three 
years'  contemplated  absence.  At  the  first  mo- 
ment of  their  meeting,  Virginia  made  no  attempt 
to  conceal  the  fulness  of  her  joy  at  again  behold- 
ing liim.  It  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  hovered  in 
laughing  dimples  round  her  coral  lips,  and  with 
each  quick,  yet  graceful  turn  of  her  head,  gave  a 
free,  joyous  play  to  her  sunny  ringlets,  such  as 
every  one  might  have  known  could  never  have 
been  given,  had  not  the  pulses  of  the  heart  been 
thrilling  with  happiness. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  as  if  suddenly  recol- 
lecting herself,  she  became  more  reserved.  Had 
Edgar  been  an  apt  interpreter  of  a  maiden's 
heart,  he  might  have  set  this  down  as  being  in 
his  favor.  As  it  was,  it  caused  him  much  cha- 
grin, and  after  tormenting  himself  to  find  some 
reason  for  this  change  in  her  demeanor,  he 
recollected  that  it  had  not  taken  place,  till  after 
he  had  mentioned  his  fiicnd  Clavering,  and 
dwelt  with  some  enthusiasm  on  his  mental  and 
personal  advantages.  His  own  manner  became 
cold  and  distant,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  rose 
to  go,  saying  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lee,  who  in*ged 
him  to  stay  longer,  that  Mr.  Clavering  might 
construe  a  more  protracted  absence,  on  the  first 
evening  of  his  arrival,  into  neglect. 

"  You  must  bring  Mr.  Clavering  with  you,  the 
next  time  you  call,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  "and  then 
you  will  be  willing  to  remain  longer." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  "for  the  praise  you 
liave  bestowed  on  him  in  your  letters  to  your 
parents,  makes  us  anxious  to  cultivate  his  ac- 
quaintance. Virginia,  in  a  particular  manner, 
has  had  her  curiosity  a  good  deal  excited  by  the 
description  you  gave  of  him  the  last  time  you 
wi'ote." 

"Her  curiosity  is  very  rational,"  replied  Ed- 
gar, "and  will,  doubtless,  be  speedily  gratified, 
as  I  know  that  he  is  anxious  for  an  early  intro- 
duction to  one  I  have  so  often  described  to  him, 
as  an  old  and  favorite  playmate." 

There  might  not  have  been  much  in  this  speech 
to  cause  Virginia  to  feel  particularly  uncom- 
fortable, nor  would  it  have  had  that  eficct,  liad 
it  been  uttered  in  a  frank,  playful  manner,  which 
in  former  times,  he  ofcen  assumed ;  but  she  now 
felt,  slic  hardly  knew  why,  that  there  was  sar- 
casm lurking  beneath  it,  not  the  less  bitter,  from 
liis   evident  attempt  to  conceal  it  beneath  tho 


guise  of  politeness.  She  crimsoned  to  her  tem- 
ples, and  Willi  dilhculty  rcprcKsed  the  emotion 
whi('h  threatened  to  overflow  in  tears.  Yet  Hhe 
did  repress  it,  and  responded  to  his  cold  good 
night,  in  accents  equally  cold. 

"I  should  not  have  appeared  so  glad  to  sco 
liim,"  she  said,  mentally.  "My  joy  at  his  re- 
turn, so  unreservedly  expressed,  undoubtedly 
disgusted  him.  Well,  I  will  not  repeat  the 
ofienee — of  that,  he  may  he  certain.  I  can,  if  I 
please,  appear  as  cold  and  distant  as  he  himself 
can.'* 

"  Come  Edgar,"  said  Clavering,  the  following 
moniing,  "  I  Iiavc  been  waiting  more  tlian  an 
hour,  expecting  every  minute  that  you  would  in- 
vite me  to  call  with  you  on  the  pretty  little  rus- 
tic you  Jiave  told  me  so  much  about," 

"  You  mean  Miss  Lee,  I  presume." 

"Why,  what  on  earth  has  happened  to  make 
you  so  formal  ■?  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever 
heard  you  call  her  Miss  Lee.  You  always  used 
to  call  her  Virginia ;  and  I  intend,  as  soon  as  I 
get  acquainted  with  her,  to  call  her  Jenny." 

Without  saying  more,  Edgar  took  his  hat, 
and  told  Clavering  he  was  ready  to  go  witli  him. 
Virginia,  in  whose  bosom  the  shame  of  having, 
as  she  imagined,  the  evening  previous  given  to 
Edgar  so  warm  a  welcome,  as  in  his  eyes  to  ap- 
pear bold  and  unmaidenly,  had  not  in  any  de- 
gree subsided,  received  him  and  his  friend  with 
a  dignity  which  caused  the  latter  to  maintain  to- 
wards her  a  respectful  deference,  which  he  had 
by  no  means  imagined  would  be  necessai-y. 
This  did  not  exactly  suit  him.  He  had  accepted 
Edgar's  invitation  to  accompany  him  to  his 
rural  home,  partly  for  amusement  and  relaxa- 
tion. Whatever  other  motive  actuated  him,  he 
did  not  think  proper  to  reveal.  It  was  his  wish, 
as  he  had  often  told  Edgar,  to  be  so  situated  as 
to  feel  free  to  unbend — to  be  in  no  wise  fettered 
by  the  conventionalisms  of  sociery  as  met  with 
in  the  city.  In  Virginia  Lee  he  had  expected 
to  meet  a  little  bright-eyed,  cherry-cheeked  rus- 
tic, who,  as  he  had  intimated  to  Edgar,  would 
contribute  to  his  amusement,  while  at  the  same 
time  she  looked  up  to  him,  as  occupying  a  posi- 
tion far  above  her  level. 

"  This  Virginia  Lee  is  quite  different,  in  many 
respects,  from  what  I  imagined  she  would  be," 
said  Clavering  to  Edgar,  on  their  way  home. 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Edgar,  coldly. 

"  Why,  she  is  beautiful,  graceful,  and  intelli- 
gent enough  to  adorn  the  first  society." 

"Without  doubt." 

"  Have  I  not  heard  you  say,"  said  Clavering, 
apparently  not  noticing  the  laconic  manner  in 
which  Edgar  responded  to  his  remarks,  "  that 
her  father  is  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in  the 
place  ?" 

"With  one  exception,  he  is  undoubtedly  the 
wealthiest." 

Clavering  now  fell  into  a  bit  of  musing,  and 
the  remainder  of  the  walk  was  accomplished  in 
silence. 

Although  Clavering  had  never  heard  Edgar 
say,  in  so  many  words,  that  Virginia  Lee  was 
more  to  him  than  any  other  young  lady  of  his 
acquaintance,  yet  he  knew  full  well  that  she  was, 
and  he  was  too  keen-sighted  not  to  be  convinced 
that,  at  present,  there  was  some  misunderstand- 
ing between  them.  Without  any  "compunctious 
visitings  of  conscience,"  he  decided  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  lovers'  quarrel — if  such  there 
were — to  promote  his  own  designs.  He  had,  by 
some  adroit  allusions  and  seemingly  careless 
questions,  ascertained  that,  besides  the  broad 
acres  which  Virginia,  as  an  only  child,  would 
one  day  inherit,  there  was  also  a  snug  little  for- 
tune of  twent}'  thousand  dollars — the  bequest  of 
a  maiden  aunt — which  would  come  into  her  pos- 
session on  the  day  of  her  marriage,  or,  if  she 
remained  single,  when  she  was  eighteen.  As 
his  own  means  were  slender,  and  his  tastes  luxu- 
rious, he  concluded  he  could  not  do  better  than 
to  marry  her.  Under  existing  circumstances,  it 
would  cost  some  pains  to  bring  about  the  desired 
result,  but  he  was  conscious  of  possessing  talents 
suited  to  liis  piu-pose.  It  is  ti'ue  they  were  not 
of  a  kind  to  place  him  high  in  the  estimation  of 
those  who  possessed  a  nice  sense  of  honor ;  but 
this  was  a  consideration  which  was  likely  to 
trouble  lum  very  little,  if  he  proved  .successful. 

As  a  preliminary  step,  he  took  much  pains  to 
ingratiate  himself  into  the  favor  of  Virginia's 
parents.  In  this  he  was  successful,  and  was 
soon  on  such  familiar  footing,  as  to  call,  at  any 
hour  of  the  day,  without  ceremony. 

Virginia,  in  the  meantime,  was  ill  at  ease. 
T)ie  distance  between  her  and  Edgar,  without 
any  perceptible  agency,  became  daily  wider  and 


more  impassable.  He  called  less  frequently, 
and,  as  it  luippencd,  always  at  times  wlien  there 
was  no  opportunity  for  explanation  ;  and,  even 
if  there  had  been,  iiujircsscd  as  hhe  was  with  the 
belief  that  he  thought  her  bold  and  forward  tho 
first  evening  they  met,  she  would  not  have  ven- 
tui'ed  to  avail  herself  of  it,  without  some  ad- 
vances on  his  part. 

Clavering  watched  her  narrowly.  He  thought 
he  comprehended  the  .struggle  which  was  going 
on  in  her  mind,  and  imagined  he  might,  at 
length,  from  time  to  time,  venture  to  throw  out 
hints,  calculated  to  give  her  the  impression  that 
Edgar's  coldness  and  reserve  were  owing  to  his 
affections  being  engaged  elsewhere.  When  in 
the  presence  of  Edgar,  half  expressed  insinua- 
tions were  also  resorted  to,  to  produce  on  his 
mind  a  similar  cfiect  with  regard  to  Virginia. 

He  knew  that,  as  far  as  Edgar  was  concerned, 
he  was  no  longer  a  welcome  guest  at  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph's; yet  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to 
b]-ing  his  visit  to  a  close,  till  he  had  made  great- 
er progress  in  his  suit  to  Virginia.  Being  one  of 
those  who  do  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  mere  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  to  expediency,  Edgar's  illy  con- 
cealed coldness  towards  him  cost  him  but  little 
uneasiness.  With  the  inhabitants  of  the  x^laee 
he  every  day  grew  more  popular.  There  was 
something  fascinating  about  him,  which  none 
had  power  to  resist,  yet  to  which  the  graver 
class  yielded  against  their  better  judgment. 
Things  were  in  this  state  when  he  received  the 
subjoined  letter : 

"You  are,  without  doubt,  aware  that  the 
thousand  dollars  which  you  owe  me  became  due 
the  twentieth  of  last  month.  Please  forward  the 
amount  immediately,  as  otherwise  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  place  the  note  in  the  hands  of  my  at- 
torney for  collection.  J.  Dalton." 

"  How  in  the  name  of  his  satanie  majesty, 
Dalton  found  out  that  I  was  here  is  past  my 
comprehension,"  were  the  half-audible  words  of 
Clavering,  as  he  finished  reading  it.  "  Well, 
nevermind.  Let  him  place  it  in  his  lawyer's 
hands  for  collection,  if  he  chooses— it  will  only 
give  him  trouble  and  expense.  I  cannot  pay  it 
— that  is  certain  ;  and  if  an  officer  is  sent  to  ar- 
rest me,  I  shall,  if  I  mistake  not,  be  among  the 
missing." 

Previously  to  reading  the  letter,  he  had  step- 
ped within  the  shadow  of  a  piece  of  woods, 
which  for  more  than  a  mile  bordered  the  road, 
commencing  near  the  post-office;  for  finding  that 
it  had  been  mailed  in  a  city  where  Mr.  Dalton 
and  several  others  to  whom  he  was  indebted  to 
a  large  amount,  resided,  he  preferred  to  be  by 
himself  during  its  perusal.  Though  his  first  im- 
pulse was  to  leave  the  place  immediately,  when 
he  thought  of  Virginia  Lee,  he  hesitated.  For 
the  sake  of  a  thousand  dollars,  which  Dalton 
did  not  need,  he  must  abandon  the  field  to 
Edgar,  and  thus  run  the  risk  of  losing  twenty 
thousand  in  ready  money,  and  valuable  lands, 
which  were  every  day  increasing  in  value.  It 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  And  there,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  gloomy  woods,  he  formed  and  re- 
jected more  than  one  guilty  plan  for  procuring 
the  sum  necessary  to  liquidate  the  debt.  This 
was  near  the  close  of  day,  and  about  the  same 
hour,  a  stranger  in  a  light  wagon,  who  had  the 
manners  and  appearance  of  a  gentleman,  stopped 
near  the  residence  of  Mr.  Randolph,  and  inquir- 
ed the  nearest  way  to  a  neighboring  town.  Sev- 
eral men  were  standing  near,  among  whom  was 
Mr.  Randolph  and  his  son.  The  latter  stepped 
up  to  the  wagon,  and  gave  the  desired  directions. 

"The  distance  is  eight  miles,  you  say.  Is 
there  no  nearer  way?"  inquired  the  stranger. 

"  There  is,"  replied  Edgar,  "  but  the  road  is 
rough." 

"  How  much  will  it  shorten  the  distance  ?" 

"Nearly  half." 

"  It  will  quite  do  it,"  said  one  of  the  by-stand- 
erp,  "  but  a  part  of  it  leads  through  the  woods." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  there  are  no  highwaymen  in 
this  quiet  country-place,"  said  tho  stranger, 
smiling. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  elder  Randolph ; 
"but  I  advise  you  to  take  the  best  road,  if  it  is 
longer,  for  what  you  lose  in  time,  you  will  make 
up  in  comfort.  Besides,  as  ahout  midway  of  the 
woods  several  cart-roads  branch  ofi'  in  difi^'erent 
directions,  3'ou  may  take  tlie  wrong  one." 

"  I  have  promised  to  meet  a  person  at  a  cer- 
tain horn-,"  said  the  sti-anger,  "whose  engage- 
ments are  such  as  will  make  it  inconvenient  for 
him  to  wait,  and  I  can  liardly  an-ivo  in  season, 
if  I  take  the  longer  road," 

"As  I  am  perfectly  at  leisure,"  said  Edgar, 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWITs^G   HOOM    COMPANION. 


87 


"  I  will,  if  you  please,  accompany  you  as  far  as 
the  brauching  off  of  the  roads,  after  which  it  will 
be  impossible  for  you  to  miss  the  way." 

The  stranger  tlianked  him,  and  gladly  accept- 
ed the  offer. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph  had,  for  some  time, 
been  expecting  their  son's  return,  when  they 
heard  some  one,  with  quick  steps,  coming  up 
the  gravel  walk. 

"  Edgar  has  come  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph. 

Rising  and  opening  the  door,  instead  of 
Edgar,  she  beheld  Clavering. 

"  I  will  go  directly  to  my  room,  I  believe,"  he 
said,  as  she  stepped  aside  for  him  to  enter. 

"Have  you  seen  Edgtirl"  she  asked,  calling 
after  him  as  he  ascended  the  stairs. 

"  No — or  rather  I  may  say  that  I  did  see  him, 
though  at  quite  a  distance.  I  was  returning 
frora  Ml".  Lee's,  and  saw  him  walking  very  fast, 
just  within  the  skirts  of  the  woods,  not  far  from 
the  post-office." 

It  might  have  been  something  like  half  an 
hour  or  more  before  Clavering  arrived  at  the 
residence  of  Mr.  Randolph,  that  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Howell  was  walking  along  the  road  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  woods  to  that  where  the 
post-office  stood,  when  a  horse,  attached  to  an 
empty  wagon,  rushed  from  one  of  the  roads  cross- 
ing them,  and  with  furious  speed  continued  his 
course  along  the  highway.  Supposing  that 
whoever  had  been  the  occupant  of  the  wagon,  he 
had  been  thrown  thence,  Howell  entered  the 
woods  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  assistance, 
'  if  any  were  necessary.  He  had  proceeded  a 
considerable  distance  without  seeing  any  person, 
when  thinking  he  heard  a  slight  noise,  like  the 
plashing  of  water,  he  looked  through  an  opening 
which  he  made  by  parting  the  branches  of  the 
trees,  and  saw  a  man  kneeling  beside  a  small 
brook  washing  bis  hands.  His  head  was  turned 
from  him,  so  that  he  could  not  see  his  face.  He 
must  have  heard  the  noise  which  Howell  made 
by  thrusting  aside  the  branches  of  the  trees,  for 
suddenly  starting  to  his  feet,  he  plunged  into  the 
woods  and  disappeared.  He  called  after  him, 
but  received  no  answer.  As  it  did  not  appear 
likely  that  he  was  the  owner  of  the  horse  and 
wagon,  Howell  walked  on,  and  after  proceeding 
a  few  rods  further,  saw  something  white  partly 
concealed  iu  a  clump  of  bushes.  It  proved  to 
be  a  linen  handkerchief,  and  was  stained  with 
blood,  as  if  it  had  been  used  in  attempting  to 
obliterate  traces  of  the  sanguine  fluid  from  the 
hands.  This  circumstance,  joined  to  that  of 
having  seen  a  man  kneeling  by  the  side  of  the 
brook  engaged  in  washing  his  hands,  together 
with  the  runaway  horse  and  empty  wagon,  made 
him  suspect  that  something  was  wrong.  His 
suspicion  was  speedily  confirmed,  for  scarce  half 
a  dozen  paces  from  where  he  had  found  the  hand- 
kerchief, close  to  the  roadside,  and  partially  con- 
cealed by  the  thick  undergrowth  and  a  few 
branches,  which  seemed  to  have  been  broken 
from  some  trees  for  the  purpose,  he  found  the 
bloody  corpse  of  a  man.  As  considerable 
warmth  still  remained,  he  thought  that  life 
might  not  yet  be  extinct,  and  made  some  at- 
tempt to  restore  him  to  animation,  previous  to 
making  known  the  appalling  discoveiy.  Had 
not  the  deepening  twilight,  added  to  the  gloom 
of  the  woods,  rendered  objects  obscure,  he  might 
have  seen  by  the  ghastly  countenance,  that  the 
attempt  was  hopeless.  He  soon  became  con- 
vinced that  it  was  so,  and  hastened  from  the 
woods  to  give  the  alarm.  The  first  person  he 
saw  when  he  emei-ged  into  the  high  road,  was 
Edgar  Randolph.  He  stood  just  mthin  the 
verge  of  the  woods  with  his  back  towards  him, 
leaning  against  a  tree.  He  held  in  his  hand 
what  he  took  to  be  an  open  letter,  and  which,  by 
the  fast  fading  light,  he  was  attempting  to  read. 
Howell  spoke  to  him,  calling  him  by  name.  He 
started  and  looked  up,  and  without  re-folding 
the  letter,  thrust  it  into  his  pocket.  As  soon  as 
this  was  accomplished,  he  advanced  to  meet  him, 
remarking  that  not  being  aware  of  the  proximity 
of  any  person,  he  was  somewhat  startled  by  be- 
ing so  suddenly  accosted.  Without  saying  any- 
thing respecting  what  he  had  seen,  Howell  said 
carelessly : 

"  Have  you  lost  a  handkerchief  1" 
"  I  have  not,"  replied  Edgar.     "  Why  do  you 
ask  V 

"  Because  I  fouud  one  in  the  road  which 
crosses  the  woods,  and  as  your  name  is  written 
in  a  corner  of  it,  I  concluded  it  must  be  yours." 
"If  it  does  belong  me,  I  could  not  have  lost 
it  to-day,  as  I  am  certain  that  I  have  not  had  a 
white  handkerchief  in  my  pocket  for  more  than 
a  week." 


Nothing  more  was  said,  and  they  soon  arrived 
at  the  post-office,  where,  as  was  usual  at  that 
hour,  the  mail  having  come  a  short  time  previ- 
ous, a  number  of  persons  were  gatliered  to  ob- 
tain their  letters  and  papers.  Howell,  in  a  few 
words,  made  known  the  horrible  discovery  he 
had  made,  to  which,  as  he  informed  them,  he 
was  prompted  by  seeing  a  runaway  horse  at- 
tached to  an  empty  wagon. 

"  Wliy,  it  must  have  been  the  stranger  I  went 
with  partly  across  the  woods,  to  show  him  the 
way,"  said  Edgar. 

"  I  thought  that  you  and  he  had  met,  not  long 
since,"  said  Howell. 

"  Wliy  so — what  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Edgar. 
"  I  mean  that  circumstances  point  you  out  as 
the  murderer,"  said  Howell. 

"  Tlie  circumstance  of  his  having  accompanied 
the  stranger  into  the  woods,  does  seem  to  be 
rather  against  him,"  said  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Belton. 

"And  this,  I  think,  is  quite  as  much  against 
him,"  said  Howell,  producing  the  blood-stained 
handkerchief,  wliich  he  held  up  at  the  light 
gleaming  tlu-ough  the  window  of  the  post-office, 
while  he  directed  attention  to  Edgar's  name  in 
the  corner. 

"  That  handkerchief,"  said  Edgar,  "  I  handed 
to  Mr.  Clavering,  while  on  my  journey  thither, 
to  tie  around  his  throat  to  protect  it  from  tlie 
cold  wind,  he  not  having  one  at  hand  which 
would  answer  the  purpose  ;  and  from  that  day,  I 
have  never,  till  this  moment,  seen  it  since.  As 
to  the  murder  of  the  stranger,  its  announcement 
could  have  struck  no  one  present  with  more  sur- 
prise and  honor,  than  it  did  me.  I  left  him, 
after  having  arrived  at  the  place  where  I  could 
point  out  to  him  the  right  road,  without  any 
danger  of  his  mistaking  it.  After  I  alighted 
fi-om  the  wagon,  he  hold  me  in  conversation  sev- 
eral minutes,  and  among  other  things,  told  roe 
that  his  name  was  Deering,  and  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  pay  the  person,  whom  he  expected  to  meet 
in  the  adjoining  town,  two  thousand  dollars." 

"It  seems,  then,  that  there  was  some  tempta- 
tion to  commit  the  murder,"  said  Belton.  "  That 
is  a  part  of  the  conversation  you  had  better  not 
have  disclosed." 

"And  why?"  asked  Edgar.  "Do  you,  or 
any  other  person  present,  imagine  that  two  thou- 
sand dollars  would  tempt  me  to  so  foul  a  deed  ^" 
"I  hardly  know  what  to  think,"  said  Belton. 
"Two  hours  ago,  I  should  have  answered,  no; 
but  murder,  you  know,  has  been  committed  for 
the  sake  of  a  five  dollar  bill." 

"  There  is  One  who  knows  all  things,"  said 
Edgar;  "and  he  knows  that  I  am  guiltless  of 
the  dreadful  crime  of  which  you  accuse  me." 

"  Such  assei-tions  will  go  for  what  the}'  are 
worth,"  said  Mr.  Racker,  who  had  hitherto  re- 
mained a  silent  spectator. 

Mr.  Racker,  who  was  of  that  gloomy  temper- 
ament, which  inclines  a  person  to  look  at  the 
dark  side,  believed  that  Edgar  was  guilty.  Most 
of  the  others,  though  much  against  their  inclina- 
tion, f.:lt  themselves  compelled  to  believe  the 
same,  while  a  few,  including  those  who  had 
known  him  most  intimately,  thought  him  inno- 
cent. They  even  hoped  that  there  had  been  no 
murder  committed,  but  that  the  stranger  had 
come  to  his  death  by  being  throwm  from  the 
wagon.  This  was  an  illusion  soon  dispelled  by 
the  return  of  several  of  those  who  had  accompa- 
nied Howell  to  the  spot  where  he  had  discovered 
the  body. 

Aided  by  the  light  of  torches,  a  wound  was 
found  on  the  head  which  might  have  been  caused 
by  being  violently  thrown  from  the  wagon,  and 
appeared  to  have  been  sufficient  to  prove  fatal ; 
but,  in  addition  to  this,  he  was  stabbed  in  two 
places,  one  wound  being  in  the  side,  which,  as 
was  subsequently  ascertained,  having  penetrated 
the  heart,  would  have  caused  instant  death.  It 
also  appeared  that  he  had  been  robbed,  there 
being  no  money  found  about  his  person,  while  a 
watch,  which  had  been  seen  in  his  possession  by 
those  standing  by  when  he  stopped  to  incjuire 
the  way  near  the  residence  of  Mi*.  Randolph, 
was  gone.  ' 

The  pockets  of  Edgar,  and  such  parts  of  his 
dress  where  it  was  possible  anything  could  be 
concealed,  were  thoroughly  searched.  Nothing 
was  found  except  a  pui"se  containing  a  few  shil- 
lings, a  silk  handkerchief,  and  the  letter  which 
Howell  had  seen  him  thrust  so  hastily  into  his 
pocket.  As  it  was  destitute  of  an  envelope,  and 
the  name  of  the  person  to  whom  it  was  address- 
ed toni  off  from  the  inside,  it  could  not  be  cer- 
tainly known  that  it  was  originally  intended  for 
him.  He,  himself,  said,  that  he  found  it  only  a 
few  minutes  before  Howell  spoke  to  him. 


It  was,  in  truth,  the  identical  missive  which 
Clavering,  a  few  hours  previously,  had  received 
from  Ml-.  J.  Dalton.  But  as  this  was  a  circum- 
stance unknown  to  any  one  ju-esent,  it  was  natu- 
ral to  suppose  that  it  had  been  sent  to  Edgar ; 
and  in  the  demand  it  contained  for  the  immedi- 
ate payment  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  a  motive 
was  found  for  the  commission  of  the  crime. 

Edgar  was  placed  under  an-est,  and  a  person 
who  was  thought  to  be  well  qualified  for  the 
painful  task,  xmdertook  to  inform  his  parents  of 
what  had  taken  place.  Little,  however,  can  be 
done  in  cases  of  the  kind  to  alleWate  the  severity 
of  the  blow.  It  must  Ml  with  crushing  weight, 
whatever  efforts  may  be  made  to  stay  its  force. 
But  the  anguish  of  Mr.  and  Mi's.  Randolph,  as 
soon  as  they  had  time  for  reflection,  was  softened 
by  then*  firm  belief  in  their  son's  innocence. 
Had  it  not  been  alleged  that  robbery  had  been 
added  to  the  ei-ime  of  murder,  they  might  have 
been  less  strong  in  their  belief.  It  was  possible 
tliat  a  sudden  quarrel  might  have  arisen  between 
him  and  the  stranger,  and  that  in  a  momentary 
fit  of  passion  he  had  raised  his  hand  against 
him.  For  the  robbery,  they  could  assign  no 
reason,  as  they  knew  that  funds  to  the  amount 
of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  had  been  remitted  to 
liim  within  a  week,  which  were  at  tbat  moment 
lying  in  his  desk.  It  was  thought  proper  that, 
as  Edgar's  friend,  the  dreadful  news  should  be 
communicated  to  Clavering.  Eor  this  pui-pose, 
Mr.  Lisle,  who  had  home  the  intelligence  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Randolph,  went  up  stairs  and  rapped  at 
his  chamber  door.  He  rapped  twice  before  Cla- 
vering spoke,  who  then  said  ; 
"Who  is  there?" 

"  Ml'.  Lisle,"  was  the  answer ;  "  and  I  am  the 
bearer  of  heavy  tidings." 

"  Heavy  tidings,  did  you  say  1  "UTiat  has  hap- 
pened ?  Anything  which  impUcates  my  friend 
Randolph  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  there  has,"  replied 
Ml".  Lisle,  who,  had  he  been  less  agitated,  would 
have  been  struck  with  the  singularity  of  a  ques- 
tion which  as  yet  he  had  said  nothing  to  suggest. 
He  heard  Clavering  unlock  the  door,  who,  as  he 
threw  it  open,  said  : 

"  What  are  the  circumstances  which  implicate 
him  ?     Tell  them  to  me." 

Ml-.  Lisle  briefly  recapitulated  the  incidents  al- 
ready knoA\-n,  to  which  Clavering  hstened  mth 
an  eagerness  which  devoured  every  word. 

"  And  no  one  was  seen  in,  or  near  the  woods, 
except  Randolph  V  said  Clavering,  when  Mr. 
Lisle  had  finished. 

"  I  believe  not.  At  least  I  have  not  heard 
that  there  was.  Will  you  not  go  do^\Ti  and 
speak  with  the  unhappy  parents  ?" 

"I  think  not — it  can  do  no  good.     You  say 
no  one,  except  Randolph,  was  seen  in  or  near 
the  woods,  about  the  time  of  the  murder  1" 
"  No  one." 

Clavering  seized  him  by  the  hand  and  squeezed 
it,  as  if  this  answer  to  his  question — perhaps 
from  its  being  more  categorical  than  when  he 
answered  it  the  first  time — called  up  some  sud- 
den emotion,  either  of  afl"ection  or  gratitude,  the 
ardor  of  which  he  sought  to  allay  by  resorting 
to  something  more  demonstrative  than  mere 
language. 

Early  in  the  morning,  Clavering  made  his  ap- 
pearance, prepared  for  a  journey.  The  stage, 
he  said,  would  be  along  in  about  five  or  ten  min- 
utes, and  that  in  consequence  of  a  letter  which 
he  received  the  day  previous,  by  which  he  foimd 
that  his  presence  was  required  for  the  settlement 
of  some  important  business,  he  should  be  obliged 
to  leave,  however  much  against  his  inclination, 
at  a  time  when  so  dear  a  friend  was  in  trouble. 

"I  hope,"  added  he,  averting  his  face,  "that 
all  will  come  out  well  at  last ;  and  if,  when  the 
trial  comes  on,  my  testimony  as  to  the  excel- 
lence of  his  moral  character,  as  far  forth  as  I 
could  judge  during  an  acquaintance  of  nearly  a 
year,  should  be  thought  desirable,  I  shall  be 
ready  to  make  my  appearance.  This  card  will 
show  where  I  may  be  found." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  hope  you  express,  that 
all  will  come  out  at  last,  and  I  have  faith  to  be- 
lieve that  it  will,"  said  JL-.  Randolph.  "He, 
who  seeth  not  as  man  seetli,  is  able  to  bring  to 
light  the  real  culprit." 

Clavering  made  no  reply  to  this,  and  appeared 
to  be  ill  at  case.  He  seemed  relieved,  when  a 
minute  afterward,  he  heard  the  rattle  of  the 
coach  wheels,  and  bidding  Mr.  Randolph  a  good 
morning,  was  soon  on  his  way  to  a  distant  city. 
In  the  course  of  the  day,  Mr.  Lee  carried  bis 
wife  and  daughter  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph. 
The  scorn  with  which  Virginia  spumed  the  bare 
possibility  of  Edgar's  having  committed  so  hor- 


rible a  crime,  strengthened  their  own   faith   in 
his  innocence. 

"  He  has  ceased  to  care  for  me,"  said  Vir- 
ginia; "he  has  become  attached  to  another,  and 
no  doubt  worthier;  but  this  does  not  prevent 
me  from  seeing  that,  in  all  things  else,  he  re- 
mains unchanged." 

"What  makes  you  think,  my  dear  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Randolph,  "  that  Edgar  has  ceased  to  care 
for  you  1" 

"Mr.  Clavering  told  me  that,  for  several 
months  before  he  left  the  West,  he  was  engaged 
to  a  lady,  who  was  wealthy,  beautiful  and  highlj 
accomplished." 

"Mr.  Clavering  told  you  what  he  knew  to  be 
an  untruth,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph.  "  Ed- 
gar thought  you  appeared  cold  and  distant  to- 
wards him,  and  atti'ibuted  it  to  your  partiality 
to  Clavering.  His  bcHef  was  confirmed  by 
Clavering  himself,  who,  after  expressing  hislovo 
and  admiration  of  you  in  the  most  high-wrought 
and  glowing  terms,  confessed  that  he  had  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  that  his  sentiments  were 
fully  reciprocated." 

"  Then  he  confessed  to  a  falsehood.  He  knew 
that  the  sentiments  he  professed  to  entertain  for 
me  were  not  reciprocated,  for  I  told  him  so  in 
plain  terms." 

"I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Randolph,  "that  it 
would  have  been  well  for  us  all,  if  we  had  never 
seen  Mr.  Clavering," 

"  So  do  I  believe,  and  so  do  we  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Lee.  "  May  God  forgive  us,  if  we  judge  wrong- 
fully." 

A  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Lindsay,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  lawyers  in  the  county,  volun- 
tarily came  forward  and  offered  his  sen-ices  in 
behalf  of  the  prisoner,  at  the  approaching  trial. 
He  had  known  him  from  childhood,  and  like 
most  others  who  had  done  so,  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe  that  he  was  guilty ;  yet  circum- 
stances were  such  as  to  render  the  case  nearly 
hopeless.  In  the  meantime,  he  was  untiring  in 
his  effort  to  establish  some  fact  which  might  tell 
in  his  favor.  Several  times  he  visited  the  spot 
which  had  been  the  scene  of  the  murder ;  and 
after  one  of  these  visits,  made  in  company  with 
a  friend,  it  was  imagined  that  he  appeared  to  en- 
tertain more  confidence  than  he  had  previously 
done,  tliat  Edgar  would  be  acquitted.  He,  how- 
ever, avoided  mentioning  the  subject,  fearful, 
probably,  that  he  might  excite  false  hopes. 

There  is  no  time  to  even  glance  at  the  fear, 
the  anguish,  and  the  agony  of  suspense  endured 
by  Edgar's  parents,  and  her,  who — in  this  season 
of  deep  afliliction — was  all  that  an  own  daughter 
could  have  been  to  them ;  and  yet  they  dreaded 
the  arrival  of  the  day  appointed  for  the  trial. 
Though  the  county  jail,  in  which  the  prisoner 
was  confined,  was  a  number  of  miles  from  where 
Ml".  Randolph  lived,  not  a  day  passed  that  the 
father  did  not  visit  his  son.  His  mother,  too, 
unless  prevented  by  indisposition,  accompanied 
by  Virginia  Lee,  often  visited  him.  When  the 
day  of  tiial  came,  his  father  was  at  the  prison 
by  early  dawn.  Long  before  the  doors  of  the 
court-house  were  open,  the  yard  and  the  adjacent 
avenues  were  thronged  by  persons,  who,  excited 
either  by  curiosity  or  sympathy  for  the  prisoner, 
were  anxious  to  be  present  at  the  trial.  Edgar, 
attended  by  his  father  and  Mr.  Lindsay,  the  gen- 
tleman who  had  volunteered  his  services  as 
counsel  for  the  accused,  was  conveyed  to  the 
court-house  in  a  close  carriage.  The  judges  and 
the  counsel  retained  by  government,  were  pres- 
ent when  the  prisoner  was  placed  at  the  bar. 

Those  preliminary  formalities  usual  on  such 
occasions,  having  been  gone  through  with,  the 
examination  of  the  witnesses  for  government  was 
commenced.  The  testimony  was  only  a  repeti- 
tion of  what  was  elicited  at  the  time  of  the  pris- 
oner's examination  before  a  magistrate  the  day 
after  the  crime  was  committed,  and  merely  went 
to  show  the  facts  already  known.  This  occupied 
the  first  day,  and  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  the 
second,  when  the  court  was  adjourned  till  nine 
o'clock  tlie  following  morning. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  court  re-assembled, 
and  proceedings  were  commenced  by  Thomas 
Lindsay,  Esq.,  counsel  for  the  defence.  His 
eloquent  and  powerful  appeal,  while  it  excited 
the  sympathy  of  the  spectators,  so  as  to  draw 
tears  from  those  "  not  used  to  the  melting 
mood,"  could  not  do  away  those  facts,  which,  to 
most  persons,  appeared  to  be  conclusive  evidence 
of  the  prisoner's  guilt.  Those  alone  who  knew 
him.  most  intimately,  and  were,  therefore,  best 
acquainted  with  his  high  sense  of  honor,  and 
freedom  from  all  duplicity,  which  urged  him  to 
confess  circumstances  relative  to  his  aecompany- 

[CONCLUDED    ON    PAGE    90.] 


88 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


SECOND    SERIES    OF    ILLUSTRATED    VIEWS    OF    WEST    POINT,    NEW    YORK. 


^isvJ^f^^'" 


WEST  POINT  HOTEL5  AND  KOAD  FROM  THE  LANDING. 


In  accordance  with  the  promise  given  in  a  for- 
mer number,  we  present  herewith  another  scries 
of  sketches  at  West  Point,  taken  on  the  spot  ex- 
pressly for  the  Pictorial.  Our  first  iUustration 
represents  the  West  Point  Hotel.  This  house 
is  most  delightfully  situated  on  the  brow  of  a 
wooded  promontory  which  juts 
abruptly  into  the  river,  turning 
its  course  at  nearly  right  angles, 
and  affording  to  the  visitor  a 
channing  view  up  and  doT\Ti  for 
many  miles.  The  view  from  it 
includes  within  its  scope  the  en- 
campment groimd,  with  its  white 
tents,  and  busy  groups  of  cadets 
engaged  in  their  interesting  ex- 
ercises, while  bounding  two  sides 
of  the  grassy  plain  before  him 
are  seen  various  buildings  con- 
nected witJi  the  institution,  viz., 
the  library,  chapel,  academy, 
mess  hall,  barracks,  and  resi- 
dences of  the  various  officers  and 
professors  connected  with  the 
academy.  Towering  above  the 
latter  is  Mount  Independence, 
crowned  with  the  ruins  of  Fort 
Putnam,  while  northward,  Crow- 
nest  and  Butler  Hill  rear  aloft 
their  mighty  heads  in  towering 
majesty,  and  in  connection  with 
Breakneck  and  Bull  Hill  in  tbe 
opposite  side,  seem  to  shut  in  tbe 
river  in  that  quarter.  In  the 
distance,  as  though  seen  through 
a  telescope,  the  white  houses  of 
Newburgh  glisten  in  the  sun, 
and  lend  an  enchantment  to  \he 
view,  which  must  be  seen  to  be 
appreciated.  In  tbe  centre  of 
the  picture  is  seen  the  road  from 
the  landing,  with  a  party  of  offi- 
cers in  the  foreground,  reviewing 
a  squad  of  U.  S.  dragoons  as 
they  wind  up  the  road  to  the 
plain  above.  These  troops  are 
stationed  here  to  preserve  order 
and  discipline  among  the  cadets. 
Upon  the  rocks  at  the  side  of 
the  road  may  be  seen  one  of  a 
series  of  inscriptions  carved  by 
order  of  the  government  to  com- 
memorate the  late  war  in  Mexi- 
co. The  names  of  the  remain- 
der of  those  battle-fields  are  in- 
scribed on  the  rocks,  along  titc 
water's  edge,  at  the  base  of  the 
promontoi*y,  on  which  stands 
the  hotel,  and  embrace  Palo 
Alto,  Resaca  de  la  Palma,  Mon- 
terey, Buena  Vista,  Vera  Cruz, 
and  CeiTo  Gordo.  Tbe  largo 
view  on  the  opposite  page,  em- 
braces the  remains  of  old  Fort 
Clinton,   the  encampment,  the 


library  and  chapel.  The  only  remains  of  Fort 
Clinton  are  tbe  tui-f-grown  ramparts,  indicated 
by  the  barrel  on  the  left  of  the  engraving,  which 
is  used  by  the  cadets  as  a  target  for  bomb  prac- 
tice. This  fort  was  constructed  of  logs  and 
earth,  under  the  immediate  supervision  of  Kos- 


ciusko, and  was  a  strong  work,  commanding  the 
river  both  up  and  down.  The  encampment,  so 
faithfully  depicted  by  our  artist,  is  an  object  of 
great  interest  to  the  sojourner  at  the  Point. 
Here,  during  three  months  of  the  year  (Juno, 
July  and  August),  the  cadets  do  regular  camp 


VIEW  OF  K0SC1USK0*S  MONUMENT. 


duty,  and  by  leaming  first  to  obey,  are  qualified 
to  command.     Attached  to  the  corps  of  cadets  is 
a  band,  excelled  by  no  other  on  this  continent, 
which  every  pleasant  evening,  during  tlie  sum- 
mer  season,   regales  the  ear  with   some  of  the 
sweetest  music  it  has  ever  been  our  good  fortune 
to  listen  to.     On  the  right  of  this 
picture  is  seen  the  library,  with 
its  elliptical  dome,  and  the  chap- 
el.    The   former  building  con- 
tains some  exceedingly  line  por- 
traits, and  a  collection  of  relics 
and   trophies,   which    are    well 
worthy    a   visit.     In   the    fore- 
ground, a  portion  of  the  cadets 
are  going  through  the  evolutions 
of  fiying  artillery.     This  picture 
is  companion  to  one  which  we 
i^-^  -.  sliall  present  in  a  future  number, 

in  which  will  be  given  a  view  of 
the  academy  building  and  new 
barracks,  wiiik-  in  tbe  foreground 
we  shall  represent  tlie  remainder 
of  this  park  of  artillery  "  in  bat- 
tery" and  "limbering"  up." 

Kosciusko's  monument. 
This  handsome  piece  of  mon- 
umental marble  stands  upon  the 
verge  of  the  promontoiy  of  West 
Point,  properly  so  called,  and  is 
one  of  the  most  prominent  ob- 
jects seen  from  tbe  river  as  the 
traveller  approaches  this  inter- 
esting locality.  The  view  from 
its  site  is  one  of  great,  nay,  tran- 
scendent beauty,  and  sliould  not 
be  lost  by  the  sojourner.  The 
monument  is  made  of  white  mar- 
ble, and  bears  upon  tlie  side 
facing  therivcr,  within  a  wreath, 
the  name  of  Kosciusko.  Upon 
the  other  side  is  the  simple  in- 
scription, "Erected  b>/  the  Corps 
of  Cadets,  1828."  It  was  fin- 
ished in  1829,  and  cost  155000. 
One  of  the  most  delightful  re- 
ti-eats  in  the  vicinity  of  the  acad- 
emy is  "the  Cemetery,"  which 
is  situated  about  a  mile  to  the 
northwest  of  the  parade  ground, 
and  is  reached  by  a  road  whicli 
leads  out  of  the  west  gate  of  the 
grounds,  and  after  passing 
around  a  portion  of  the  base  of 
Mount  Independence,  above  the 
village  of  Camptown,  {a  small 
collection  of  Iiouses  occupied  by 
the  U.  S.  dragoons  and  others 
not  immediately  connected  with 
the  academy),  It  approaches  the 
cemetery,  or,  more  properly, 
burial  ground.  Here  the  visitor 
will  sec  some  of  the  finest  speci- 
mens of  monumental  architec- 


GLEASO?s^'S   nCTOEIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


89 


ENCAMPMENT  OF  THE  ^YEST  POINT  CADETS. 


ture  which  ever  graced  a  burial  ground  or  adorn- 
ed a  cemetery.  Our  artist  has  selected  the  oldest 
and  most  imposing  one  for  illustration.  The 
inscriptions,  which  are  as  follows,  are  all  the  de- 
scription necessary.  On  the  book  on  the  side  is 
inscribed: — Vincent  M.  Lowe,  of  New  York. 
This  stone  feebly  testifies  the  respect  and  rcfjret 
of  his  brother  cadets.  He  was  accidentally  killed 
by  the  discharge  of  a  cannon  at  West  Point,  on 
1st  January,  1817  ;  aged  19  years.  North  side  : 
Sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  deceased  Officers 
and  Cadets  of  the  Militai-y  Academy.     Erected 


by  the  members  of  the  Institution,  October,  1S18. 
Around,  on  the  upper  tier  of  stones  of  the  shaft, 
are  the  names  of  several  cadets  who  have  died 
at  the  institution,  as  follows: — W.  Wm.  Mcln- 
tyre,  of  Dist.  Columbia,  died  26th  May,  1818, 
aged  20  yeari. — Dryden  Lacoek,  of  Pennsylva- 
nia, died  Oct.  loth,  1818,  aged  19  years. — James 
Scott,  of  North  Carolina,  died  12th  May,  1818, 
aged  21'years. — Thos.  H.  Burd,  of  Pennsylvania, 
died  22d  Sept.,  1819,  aged  18  years..  There  are 
other  monuments  and  tablets  of  interest  which 
our  space  will  not  permit  us  to  notice. 


Returning  from  the  cemetery  the  road  skirts 
a  valley  of  picturesque  appearance,  which,  car- 
peted with  green,  and  shaded  with  tall  and  ma- 
jestic trees,  affords  a  cool  and  romantic  retreat 
from  the  noonday  sun.  In  passing  this  charm- 
ing spot  the  visitor  may  be  fortunate  enough  to 
witness  a  scene  which  our  artist  has  depicted, 
and  in  which  a  class  of  the  new  recruits  of  the 


shall  be  perfected,  all  candidates  for  cadets  must 
not  be  under  fourteen,  nor  over  twenty  years  of 
age,  and  must  be  previously  versed  in  reading, 
i\Titing  and  arithmetic,  and  must  sign  articles, 
with  the  consent  of  their  parents  or  guardians, 
engaging  to  serve  five  years,  unless  sooner  dis- 
charged. When  any  cadet  has  received  a  regu- 
lar degree  from  the  academic  staff,  after  going 


cadets'  MONUMENT  AND  CEMETERY. 


academy,  under  charge  ot  an  instructor,  are  en- 
gaged in  making  fascines.  These  are  b.askets  of 
cylindrical  fonn,  msde  of  young  saplings  and 
withes,  and  being  filled  with  sand,  are  used  to 
construct  batteries  and  redoubts  or  breastworks. 
The  reader  will  see  from  this  and  other  exercises 
of  the  cadets,  that  at  this  institution  they  are 
instructed  practically  in  everything  which  apper- 
tains to  the  duty  of  the  soldier. — Among  the 
qualifications  for  admission  to  the  institution 
where  it  is  designed    that  a  military  education 


=_^.^  ^-.usd^^  ■ 


through  all  the  classes,  he  is  considered  as  among 
the  candidates  for  a  commission  in  any  corps, 
according  to  the  duties  he  may  be  judged  com- 
petent to  perform ;  and  if  there  is  not,  at  tlie 
time,  a  vacancy  in  such  corps,  he  may  be  at- 
tached to  it  at  the  discretion  of  the  president,  by 
brevet  of  the  lowest  rank,  until  a  vacancy  shall 
happen.  The  number  of  cadets  is  limited  to 
two  hundred  and  fifty.  In  a  future  number  we 
shall  give  a  third  sciics  of  views  of  the  pleasing 
and  attractive  lucalitvof  We&t  Point. 


90 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[CONCLUDKD   FROM  PAGE  87.] 

ing  the  stranger,  tliut  he  must  luivc  known  would 
tell  af^ainst  him,  though  they  had  little  hope  that 
he  would  be  aeciuittc-d,  cuntinued  to  Iiave  strong 
faith  in  liis  innocence. 

The  plea  for  the  defence  being  closed,  a  num- 
ber of  witnesses  appeared  successively  on  the 
stand.  Their  testimony  amounted  to  nothing 
more,  tlian  to  show  tlnit  tlic  charncter  of  Edgar 
Randolph,  up  to  the  time  of  his  arrest,  had  been 
irreproachable.  Letters  were  also  read,  which 
had  been  received  in  answer  to  several  sent  by 
Mr.  Lindsay,  to  gentlemen  at  the  West,  with 
whom  Edgar  Iiad  become  familiarly  acquainted 
during  his  stay  in  that  region.  Each  of  these, 
in  the  fullest  and  most  unqualified  manner,  bore 
testimony  to  the  excellence  of  his  moral  charac- 
ter during  their  acquaintance  with  him,  which 
served  to  do  away  the  impression  that  some  en- 
tertained, of  his  having  contracted  evil  habits 
during  his  absence. 

Mr.  Lindsay  now  rose,  and  taking  his  place 
on  the  witness-stand,  requested  to  be  sworn. 
The  oath  having  been  administered,  he  opened 
a  small  package  which  he  held  in  liis  hand,  and 
took  thence  a  portion  of  a  shirt  frill,  composed 
of  linen  cambric  of  a  very  fine  texture.  This 
was  sewed  to  some  linen  of  a  coarser  fabric. 
Attached  to  the  under  side  of  this  frill,  by  a 
email  diamond  breast-pin,  whicli  shone  like  a 
spark  of  fire,  was  another  small  piece  of  cambric, 
scarcely  an  inch  in  circumference.  This  must 
have  belonged  to  the  under  frill,  and  the  whole, 
as  was  obvious  from  the  ragged,  zigzag  edges, 
must  have  been  torn  from  the  garment  it  was  in- 
tended to  adorn,  and  without  doubt,  by  the 
wearer.  The  reason  for  his  so  doing  was  evi- 
dent. It  had  been  clutched  by  a  bloody  hand, 
and  with  so  much  tenacity,  that  the  tinger-nails 
had  frayed  and  torn  the  linen. 

"This,"  said  the  witness,  "I  found  concealed 
under  a  rock,  so  large  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
I  raised  it  from  the  ground.  My  attention  was 
attracted  towaids.it,  by  seeing  that  it  had  been 
recently  displaced  by  some  person,  who,  either 
through  haste  or  inability,  had  not  succeeded  in 
restoring  it  to  its  original  position." 

The  testimony  of  Esquire  Lindsay  produced 
much  excitement,  and  some  tumult,  by  those 
who  were  anxious  to  see  as  well  as  hear ;  but 
order  was  restored  by  the  appearance  of  another 
witness.  It  was  a  girl  by  the  name  of  Hannah 
Sibley,  about  twenty  years  old,  and  of  prepos- 
sessing appearance. 

She  had,  she  said,  lived  at  Mr.  Randolph's 
for  more  than  a  year,  during  which  time— occa- 
sionally assisted  by  Mrs.  Randolph — she  had 
performed  the  household  labor.  She  had  always 
done  the  washing  for  the  family,  and  with  few 
exceptions,  the  ironing.  After  the  return  of  Mr. 
Edgar  Randolph,  she  did  his  washing  and  iron- 
ing. He  had  never,  to  her  knowledge,  worn 
any  but  plain  bosoms  to  his  shirts,  and  she  knew 
that  she  had  never  washed  or  ironed  any  shirts 
for  him,  except  those  with  plain  bosoms.  She 
also  washed  and  ironed  for  Mi".  Claverin^-,  the 
man  who  accompanied  Edgar  Randolph  home, 
when  he  retui-ned  from  the  "West.  Almost  all 
his  shirts  had  frills  to  them.  They  were  narrow, 
not  more  than  an  inch  wide,  and  similar  to  those 
she  sometimes  used  to  see  young  gentlemen 
wear — who  were  particular  about  their  dress — 
when  she  lived  in  the  city.  Two  of  his  shirts — 
which  were  in  the  wash  at  the  time  he  went 
away — he  did  not  take  ^vith  him.  These  two, 
as  well  as  those  he  carried  with  liim,  were  mark- 
ed with  his  name  in  indelible  ink.  Mr.  Claver- 
ing  almost  always  wore  a  breast-pin  ;  and  one 
day  she  asked  him  if  the  stone  was  not  an  imi- 
tation diamond.  *'  No,  you  simpleton,"  says  he, 
"  it  is  a  real  diamond,  and  it  would  take  you 
more  than  two  months  to  earn  money  enough  to 
buy  one  like  it." 

Esquire  Lindsay  now  remai'ked  that  the  two 
shirts  referred  to  by  witness,  had  been  placed  in 
his  care  for  several  weeks.  He  produced  them, 
and  the  girl  pronounced  them  to  he  the  same 
which  Mr.  Clavering  left  at  Mr.  Randolph's. 
They  were  then  submitted  to  the  inspection  of 
those  near,  and  were  found,  in  every  respect,  to 
correspond  witli  the  description  she  had  given  of 
them,  while  the  frills  with  which  they  wore  orna- 
mented, on  being  carefully  compared  with  the 
blood-stained  fragment  discovered  by  Esquire 
Lindsay  under  tlie  rock,  was  found  to  be  com- 
posed of  material  precisely  tlie  same  in  texture 
and  fineness.  In  width,  too,  they  were  exactly 
similar;  and  several  ladies  skilled  in  such  mat- 
ters, v/hosc  presence  had  been  requested  for  the 
purpose,  gave  it  as  their  opinion,  that  the  needle- 


work had  all  been  performed  by  the  same  hands. 
Esquire  Lindsay  said  that  there  was  still  one 
more  circumstance  to  add  to  the  evidence  in  fa- 
vor of  the  a<!cuHed,  and  as  he  spoke,  be  drew  a 
letter  from  his  pocket. 

"It  will,"  he  paid,  "be  remembered  that  a 
letter  was  found  in  the  possession  of  the  prisoner, 
on  the  evening  of  his  arrest,  bearing  the  signa- 
ture of  J.  Dalton.  The  name  of  the  person  to 
whom  it  was  addressed  was  torn  otf  from  the 
corner  of  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  it  was 
written,  and  the  envelope,  which,  of  course,  con- 
tained the  superscrijition,  was  not  to  be  found  ; 
but  the  circumstance  of  its  being  in  Edgar  Ran- 
dolpli's  possession,  was  deemed  suthcient  evi- 
dence that  ho  was  the  person  to  whom  it  had 
been  sent  by  the  writer.  No  longer  ago  than 
last  evening,  I  received  a  letter  from  this  Mr.  J. 
Dalton,  in  which  he  stated  that  some  si.x  or 
seven  weeks  since,  he  wrote  to  a  young  man  by 
the  name  of  Bertram  Clavering,  whose  wherea- 
bouts, after  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  ascertaining.  He  wrote,  he  said,  for 
the  purpose  of  demanding  the  payment  of  one 
thousand  dollars,  which  had  long  been  due,  and 
that  having  received  no  answer  to  his  letter,  he 
concluded  that  Clavering  intended  to  elude  the 
payment  of  the  debt.  Mr.  Dalton's  object  in 
writing  to  me,  was  to  request  my  professional 
services  in  the  matter,  but  by  it,  a  far  greater 
object  is  attained — that  of  removing  suspicion 
from  Edgar  Randolph,  and  fastening  it  on  Ber- 
tram CLavering.'* 

A  minute  detail  of  what  followed  is  unneces- 
sary. The  acquittal  of  the  accused  was  received 
with  rapturous  enthusiasm.  Smiles  were  on 
every  face,  and  on  some  they  gave  additional 
brightness  to  happy  and  joyful  tears. 

Edgar,  whose  demeanor  had  hitherto  been 
marked  with  the  calm  dignity  of  conscious  inno- 
cence, was  not  prepared  for  the  lively  and  sin- 
cere demonstration  of  sympathy  with  which  he 
was  now  greeted.  For  a  few  minutes  he  was 
overwhelmed  with  emotion  too  deep  for  words. 
But  his  silence  was  more  eloquent  than  lan- 
guage. When  the  excess  of  emotion  had  some- 
what subsided,  his  first  thought  was  of  the  ab- 
sent, and  on  a  scrap  of  paper  he  wrote  with  a 
pencil : 

"Dear  Mother — Dear  Virginia : — The  cloud 
that  has  so  darkly  brooded  over  us,  has  passed 
away.  I  am  free — I  shall  be  with  you  this  even- 
ing. E.  R." 

One  might  have  imagined  that  Briareus  was 
present,  with  his  hundred  hands,  so  large  was 
the  number  held  out  to  receive  the  missive  tlie 
moment  it  was  finislied ;  and  the  boy  who  ob- 
tained it,  was  considered  peculiarly  fortunate  in 
being  thus  self-delegated  to  convey  the  message 
dictated  by  duty  and  affection.  Mr.  Randolph 
stood  by,  unconscious  that  silent  tears  of  joy 
were  streaming  over  his  checks.  By  an  appear- 
ance of  fortitude,  he  had  hoped  to  contribute  to- 
wards sustaining  the  courage  of  those  dearest  to 
him.  Now  that  the  necessit}'  of  restraint  no 
longer  existed,  the  strong  curb  Avhich  he  had  put 
on  his  feelings  became  manifest. 

That  evening,  as  he  and  his  wife  and  son,  and 
Virginia  Lee  sat  together — for  even  the  best  be- 
loved friends  deigned  not  obtrude  themselves  on 
a  scene,  consecrated  by  the  holier  ties  of  affection 
— they  fully  realized  that  the  cloud  which  had 
brooded  over  them  had  indeed  passed  away. 

A  warrant  was  issued  for  the  arrest  of  Claver- 
ing, as  the  supposed  murderer.  The  officer  suc- 
ceeded in  tracing  him,  but  he  was  already  near 
that  bourn  wlience  no  traveller  returns,  from 
the  effects  of  a  wound  received  in  a  brawl  with 
one  who  had  won  from  him  a  heavy  sum  at  the 
gaming-table. 

He  confessed  that  he  murdered  the  stranger, 
and  then  robbed  him,  to  which  he  was  instigated 
by  overhearing  him  tell  Edgar  Randolph  the 
object  of  his  journey  to  the  next  town.  After 
obtaining  the  money,  however,  he  was  afraid  to 
make  use  of  it  for  the  purpose  of  paying  Mr. 
Dalton.  Neither  did  he  dare  remain  in  the 
place,  though  he  had  committed  the  crime  in 
order  to  procure  the  means  of  liquidating  the 
debt,  so  that  he  might  rest  unmolested,  and  have 
the  opportunity  to  win  Virginia  Lee  for  his 
l»ridc,  and  what  he  valued  much  more  highly, 
the  twenty  thousand  dollar?-,  which  would  be 
hers  on  the  day  of  her  marriage,  together  with 
the  valuable  lands  which  were  hers  in  prospec- 
tive. He  proved,  as  the  guilty  ever  must,  sooner 
or  later,  that  "  the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

Eor  the  future,  Edgar  l^andolph  was  more 
wary  in  the  selection  of  tliose  on  whom  he  wished 


to  bestow  his  confidener-.  Having  been  deceived 
by  the  fascinating  exterior  of  Clavering,  ho 
learned  to  look  beneath  the  surface. 

"After  all,"  said  Virginia,  as  she  sat  very  de- 
murely, putting  a  few  finishing  stitches  to  wliat 
was  intended  for  her  l)ridul  dress,  "  I  don't  think 
you  are  so  good  a  judge  of  character  as  I  jim. 
I  never  liked  that  Clavering.  He  always  in- 
spired me  with  secret  dread  which  I  could  not 
account  for.  My  good  angel  must  have  been 
near  me,  at  tliose  times,  I  imagine." 

"He  was,  no  doubt,"  replied  Edgar,  "other- 
wise, how  could  you  have  been  so  insensible  to 
his  singularly  fascinating  manners  ?" 

"0,  as  to  that,"  replied  Virginia,  smiling, 
"  you  know  that  there  was  a  counter  attraction." 


[Written  for  Glcason'a  Pictorial.] 
TRIPPING  DOWN  THE  LANE. 

BY  BYDNET  E.  CflUECH. 

I«iig  ago,  one  summer  morning, 

Brightly  shone  the  sun  ; 
O'er  the  de^vy  fields  adorning, 

Gilding  every  one. 
And  while  gazing  o'er  the  grassy, 

Irfafy  fields  again ; 
There  I  saw  a  little  lasBie 

Tripping  down  the  lane. 

Gazed  I  yet  a  moment  longer, 

With  admiring  eye, 
At  the  little  sylph  before  me, 

Tripping  lightly  by. 
Saw  I  e'er  such  golden  ringlets, 

Eyes  of  heavenly  blue ; 
Teeth  like  pearls,  and  lips  like  rosea, 

Wet  with  morning  dew. 

Ah,  that  was  a  beauteous  morning, 

Full  of  joy  to  me  ; 
Long  that  hour  vnW  rise  before  me, 

Fresh  in  memorj'. 
Now  she  sits  beside  me,  ever 

Smiling  yet  again , 
As  she  smiled,  when  first  I  met  her 

Tripping  down  the  lane. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

A   LION  FOR  TEN  MINUTES. 

BY    THE    OLD    *UN. 

Jared  Horseeunker  was  returning  from 
the  far  West,  after  an  unsuccessful  trading  ex- 
cursion, very  low  in  pocket  and  spirits,  and  hid- 
ing his  inward  poverty  by  the  decent  externals 
of  a  black  velveteen  frock,  rather  extravagantly 
trimmed  with  braid,  after  the  fashion  of  show- 
men and  organ-grinders,  and  a  Kossuth  hat  and 
feather  of  the  newest  pattern.  In  Mexico  he 
had  acquired  a  decided  taste  for  beard  and  mus- 
tachios,  and  hence  his  face  was  most  romantically 
and  melo-dramatically  "  hirsute."  In  this  con- 
dition he  embarked  on  the railroad,  on 

his  easterly  journey.  The  cars  had  a  fine  nm 
from  Braggtown  to  Pokerville,  killing  the  usual 
number  of  cows,  and  ranning  off  the  track  the 
usual  number  of  times. 

At  Pokerville  the  cars  stopped,  and  our  hero, 
not  aware  of  the  brevity  of  their  pause,  made  for 
a  distant  grocery  to  procure  some  refreshments. 
Returning  to  the  station,  he  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  the  train  vanishing  in  the  ditcance, 
leaving  a  long  stratum  of  smoke,  flaunting  from 
the  funnel,  like  a  pennant  from  the  main-top  of 
a  merchantman.  As  Jared  had  expended  nearly 
his  last  shilling  in  procuring  a  railroad  ticket, 
and  as  the  valise  containing  all  his  worldly  effects 
was  vanishing  at  the  rate  of  twenty-seven  miles 
anhour.bis  "  pheelings,"  as  Mr.  Charles  Yellow- 
plsuh  has  it,  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
desci'ibed. 

At  this  moment  of  ill  fortune  and  despair,  our 
hero  beheld  a  crowd  of  people  rushing  towards 
him  and  waving  their  hats  in  the  air.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  was  surrounded  by  an  eager  multitude, 
headed  by  the  'squire  of  Pokerville,  the  leading 
magnate  of  the  place. 

"  Hurrah  for  Kozzhoot !"  shouted  the  'squire. 

"Hurray!  hurray!"  echoed  the  unterrified. 

Jared  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed;  he  saw  a 
promising  "spec"  before  him. 

"  Talk  to  him,  'squire,"  said  a  nian,  in  a  low- 
crowned  felt  hat.  ^"  You  kin  do  it  better'n  any- 
body else." 

"GoveiTior  Kozzhoot!"  said  the  'squire,  con- 
cealing one  hand  under  his  coat  tails,  and  ex- 
tending the  other  in  the  fashion  of  a  jjaralytic 
pump-handle,  "  my  feller-citizens  has  done  me 
the  honor  to  make  me  their  spokesman  in  wel- 
come. Sir,  we  hid  you  welcome  to  this  town, 
one  of  tlie  most  flourishing  of  the  numerous  towns 
and  villages  of  the  far  West,  with  a  population 


of  five  hundred,  and  prospects  of  a  speedy  in- 
crca.se — a  town,  sir,  that  boasts  of  a  grocery,  a 
school-house  and  a  tavern,  erected  with  a  total 
disregard  of  expense ;  yes,  sir,  and  a  railway 
station,  erected  where  the  wild  Indian  once  pur- 
sued hU  flying  prey,  and  the  American  eagle 
now  folds  Iiis  stan-ed  and  striped  wings  in  the 
glorious  consciousness  of  emancipation  from  the 
stamp  act  and  the  Boston  port  bill.  Sir,  Poker- 
ville has  heard  of  you  and  your  exploits,  and 
now  proposes  to  offer  you  the  freedom  of  the 
town.     Sir,  once  more  1  bid  you  wehomc." 

This  speech  had  lasted  long  enough  to  give 
Jared  the  opportunity  of  collecting  his  thoughts. 
With  a  pleasing  foreign  accent  he  replied  as 
follows  : 

"  Mistair  'squire,  and  you  citizens  of  Poker- 
ville :  pardon  the  strangeness  of  me  accent,  but 
tmst  tlic  emotions  of  me  heart.  Hurrying  east- 
ward, on  me  great  mission,  it  was  only  through 
accident  that  I  am  here.  The  next  train  must 
bear  me  on  me  way.  Do  me  the  justice  to  be- 
lieve that  I  had  heard  of  Pokerville  long  before 
the  star  of  Ilungaiy  set  in  a  sea  of  blood.  A 
friend  sent  me  at  Buda  the  ttrst  number  of  the 
'Pokerville  Gazette  and  Skyrocket  of  Literature 
and  Intelligence.'  I  read  it  by  the  low-burning 
watch-fire,  guarded  hy  my  trusty  Magyars.  I 
knew  that  Pokerville  had  sworn  upon  the  altars 
of  freedom  eternal  odiosity  to  absolutistical  pre- 
tentiousness. 

"  I  accept  the  freedom  of  your  town,  and  re- 
turn you  my  thanks.  Your  words  arc  very  kind. 
S}-mpathy  is  sutticient  for  the  man — but  the  pa- 
triot, pleading  his  country's  cause,  requires  ma- 
terial aid.  *  Fine  words,'  as  your  great  Shaks- 
peare  has  it,  'will  not  butter  parsnips  ;'  neither 
will  they  purchase  musketry.  Pardon,  then,  the 
poor  exile.  You  can  take  his  hat — but  you  must 
return  it  full  of  dimes." 

Jared's  hat  circulated  freely  among  his  gener- 
ous auditors,  and  a  very  handsome  amount  was 
speedily  collected  and  transferred  from  the  cro'mi 
to  the  pockets  of  the  applicant. 

He  was  pressed  with  invitations  to  pass  a  day 
— a  week — a  month  at  Pokerville.  The  'squire 
invited  him  to  inspect  the  town — the  grocery 
store-keeper  offered  any  amount  of  gratuitous 
refreshments — he  was  invited  to  attend  a  scrub- 
race,  a  cock-fight,  and  a  raffle — but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose ;  he  gravely  shook  his  head,  and  muttered  : 

"  My  country,  gentlemen :  Hungary  !  my 
mission !" 

Soon  another  train  came  roaring  np  on  the 
railroad.  It  was  an  express  ;  hut  the  depot  mas- 
ter agreed  to  hoist  a  red  flag  and  stop  it.  Shak- 
ing the  hand  of  the  'squire  warmly,  Jared  sprang 
upon  the  platform  of  the  last  car,  and  waved  an 
adieu  with  hat  and  plume.  As  the  train  was 
disappearing,  however,  he  could  not  avoid  ap- 
plying his  thumb  to  his  nose  hy  way  of  a  parting 
salute.  But  the  inhabitants  of  Pokerville  are 
simple  people,  and  to  tliis  day  they  boast  of  hav- 
ing enjoyed  the  company  of  the  illustrious  Mag- 
yar, and-conti-ibutcd  material  aid  to  his  glorious 
cause.  Of  course  our  friend  Jared  never  unde- 
ceived them. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    PAST. 


BY  ANM£  MOTT. 


The  past,  the  sunny,  joyous  past, 

That  sped  so  quick  away  ; 
We  'd  fain  have  Itmgthened  out  its  joys, 

And  bid  time's  band  t«  stay. 

The  past,  with  all  its  changing  scenes, 

The  darksome,  bitter  past; 
Its  hopes  that  bloomed  but  for  to  die, 

Its  joys  too  sweet  to  last. 

Dear  friends,  we  've  known  in  old,  past 

Arc  resting  calmly  now ; 
They  sleep  a  quiet,  peaceful  sleep, 

Bf  neath  the  sod  laid  low. 

Fond  memory  brings  the  happy  past, 
To  cheer  the  drooping  heart ; 

'Tis  sweet  to  think  of  by -gone  times, 
When  friends  are  called  to  part. 

And  though  the  bitter  past  may  throw 

A  cloud  o'er  present  joys, 
Yet  time  will  bring  a  healing  power, 

A  balm  for  all  our  woes. 


A  IIAPPy  HOME. 

Six  things,  says  Hamilton,  are  requisite  to 
create  a  "happy  home."  Integrity  must  be  the 
architect,  and  tidiness  the  upholsterer.  It  must 
be  warmed  by  affection,  and  liii.hlcd  up  with 
cliecrfnlness,  and  industry  must  be  the  ventilator, 
renewing  the  atmosphere  and  bringing  in  fresh 
salubrity  day  by  day ;  while  over  all,  a.s  a  pro- 
tecting glory  and  cano]\v,  nothing  will  suffice 
except  the  blessing  of  God. 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


91 


[Written  for  Gleasou'e  Pictorial.] 
THE  BEATH  OF  MISS  SUSAN  OARES. 

BY   CAROLINE   A.   HATDEN. 

She  sleepeth  calmly  now  I 
The  seal  of  death  is  resting  on  her  brow  ; 
And  the  white  roses  love  has  scattered  there, 
Are  fitting  emblems  of  a  life  so  fair. 

She  died,  as  die  the  young, 
Ere  life  it>*  shadowy  veil  had  o'er  her  flung  ; 
With  love's  bright  halo  circling  round  her  brow, 
Wrapt  in  her  bridal  robes  she  sleepeth  cabnly  now. 

Affection's  chains  are  riven  I 
"  Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  drst  arc  given  ;" 
And  the  unfettered  spirit,  free  to  roam, 
Shall  watch  and  welcome  each  beloved  one  home. 

And  you,  whose  watchful  care 
Made  waning  hfe  a  summer  aspect  wear ; 
Earth  hath  no  words  to  tell  the  soothing  power 
Of  such  unfaltering  truth  in  death's  dread  hour. 

Look  up  I  and  kiss  the  rod. 
Even  while  thy  footsteps  press  the  broken  sod ; 
For  she  who  resteth  cahnly  now,  may  be 
The  guardian  angel  of  thy  destiny. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TIME   IS   MONEY. 

BY  MRS.  S.  P.  DOUGHXr. 

"  OriE  carpet  is  really  very  shabby ;  do  you 
not  tliink  we  could  afford  a  new  one  this  spring  V 
asked  Mi's.  Brown,  of  her  husband,  as  they  sat 
at  their  early  breakfast. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  was  the  somewhat  doubtful  re- 
ply ;  for  Mr.  Brown's  income  was  by  no  means 
large,  and  there  were  many  depending  upon  him 
for  support. 

"  I  should  not  have  to  ask  you  for  the  money," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Brown,  "for  I  have  the  price  of  a 
good  carpet  laid  by  from  the  profits  of  my  vest- 
making  ;  but  I  thought  that  it  might  be  necessa- 
ry to  take  it  for  other  things." 

"  0  no !"  was  the  more  animated  reply.  "  If 
you  have  the  money  by  you,  get  the  carpet  by 
all  means.  I  was  only  doubtful  whether  I  could 
advance  so  much  just  now.  It  is  but  right  that 
you  should  make  what  use  you  please  of  your 
own  earnings." 

"  I  like  to  expend  them  in  making  things  a 
little  more  comfortable  than  we  could  otherwise 
afford  to  have  them,"  said  bis  wife,  affectionate- 
ly. *'  I  do  not  intend  to  pay  a  high  price  for  our 
carpet,  but  I  will  have  a  good  article.  By-and- 
by,  when  baby  is  sleeping,  I  will  run  into  neigh- 
bor Eeed's,  and  ask  her  advice.  She  makes  the 
greatest  bargain  of  any  person  I  ever  saw." 

"  Very  well ;  manage  it  as  you  think  best," 
returned  Mi'.  Brown,  as  he  rose  from  the  table 
and  prepared  to  go  to  his  daily  occupation;  "but 
if  you  are  going  to  seek  for  a  good  bargain,  look 
out  that  you  do  not  lose  more  than  you  gain." 

With  this  short  piece  of  advice,  and  a  cheerful 
"  good-morning,"  the  husband  took  his  depar- 
ture, and  Mrs.  Brown  turned  her  attention  to  va- 
rious domestic  and  motherly  duties.  She  was  a 
busy  little  woman ;  and  in  less  time  than  you 
■would  imagine  possible,  the  elder  children  were 
prepared  for  school,  the  house  set  to  rights,  and 
the  baby  laid  in  his  cradle  for  a  forenoon's  nap. 
Then,  instead  of  seating  herself  at  her  usual  em- 
ployment of  vest-making,  she  gave  the  little  one 
in  charge  to  Susan,  a  faithful  girl  of  fourteen, 
who  was  at  this  time  her  only  assistant,  and 
hastily  tying  on  her  bonnet,  proceeded  to  Mrs. 
Reed's,  who  was  one  of  her  nearest  neighbors. 

Her  visit  was  at  a  most  opportune  moment. 
Only  the  day  before,  Mrs.  Heed  had  purchased 
at  auction  a  carpet,  which,  in  her  opinion,  rival- 
led in  cheapness  any  ever  before  heard  of,  and 
as  her  friend  entered,  she  was  just  engaged  in 
spreading  it  upon  the  floor  that  she  might  the 
better  inspect  the  richness  of  its  colors  and  firm- 
ness of  its  texture. 

Of  course  the  sight  of  this  most  excellent  bar- 
gain was  very  strengthening  to  ilrs.  Brown's 
resolution  to  purchase  her  carpet  at  auction,  and 
she  at  once  explained  the  object  of  her  visit. 

Mi's.  Reed  was  delighted.  Nothing  suited  her 
better  than  to  attend  auctions ;  and  when  all  her 
own  wants  were  supplied,  she  was  always  ready 
to  go  with  an  inexperienced  friend. 

"By  all  means  get  what  you  want  at  auction," 
she  exclaimed.  "  It  will  cost  you  but  half  price, 
and  will  be  very  nearly  as  good  as  new.  Let  me 
think..  There  is  to  be  a  large  sale  in  the  south, 
em  part  of  the  city  to-moiTow  morning,  at  ten 
o'clock.  How  will  that  suit  you  ?  Very  proba- 
bly you  will  make  a  good  bargain  there.  I  will 
go  with  you,  as  you  are  unused  to  such  things." 


"You  are  very  kind,"  replied  Mrs.  Bro^vn, 
hesitatingly ;  and  then  added  :  "  I  was  thinking 
how  I  could  arrange  my  "work  so  as  to  leave 
home  to-morrow.  I  have  several  vests  on  liand 
just  now;  it  is  a  busy  season.  Still,  I  cannot 
afford  to  lose  such  an  opportunity  for  making  a 
good  bargain,  for  it  is  important  for  us  to  save 
all  we  can  ;  so  I  believe  I  will  go.  If  the  sale 
commences  at  ten,  we  shall  probably  return  ear- 
ly in  the  afternoon,  and  Susan  can  be  trusted 
with  the  baby." 

"Well,  then;  I  will  call  for  you  soon  after 
nine,"  was  the  reply ;  and  after  a  little  more  con- 
versation, the  neighbor  returned  to  her  own 
house. 

By  great  exertions,  Mrs.  Brown  was  in  readi- 
ness at  the  appointed  hour  the  next  morning, 
with  some  secret  misgivings,  ao  she  glanced  at 
the  pile  of  vests  neatly  cut  out,  one  of  which  she 
had  hoped  to  have  completed  that  day.  She  gave 
Susan  many  charges,  and  was  soon  walking  rap- 
idly along  with  her  impatient  friend,  who  was 
anxious  to  reach  the  place  of  sale  at  an  early 
hour,  that  they  might  have  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
amining different  articles  before  the  crowd  was 
so  great  as  to  prevent  their  moving. 

It  was  a  new  scene  for  Mi's.  Brown,  and  she 
looked  on  with  silent  wonder  while  Mrs.  Beed 
carefully  examined  the  carpets  still  spread  on 
the  various  rooms,  and  with  the  experienced  eye 
of  one  accustomed  to  the  business,  pointed  out 
various  imperfections,  which  would  have  escaped 
a  less  practised  observer;  turned  the  chairs  and 
tables  bottom  upwards,  to  satisfy  herself  that 
they  w^ere  what  they  appeared  to  be;  shook  up 
feather  beds,  inspected  mattresses,  sounded 
china,  remarking  at  the  same  time  that,  although 
she  had  no  intention  of  buying  anything,  it  was 
always  worth  wMiile  to  know  wbat  an  article  was 
worth,  as  excellent  bargains  were  sometimes  ob- 
tained when  you  least  expected  it." 

Mrs.  Brown  meanwhile  was  quite  engrossed 
in  deciding  which  of  the  carpets  would  be  the 
most  suitable  for  her  pleasant  little  room,  and  in 
wondering  at  what  price  she  could  obtain  it. 
She  became  impatient  for  the  sale  to  commence. 
It  was  already  past  the  appointed  hour,  and  the 
rooms  were  gradually  filling  with  the  eager  ex- 
pectants for  great  bargains,  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  the  auctioneer. 

Mrs.  Becd  was  quite  at  her  ease,  for  she  had 
little  to  call  her  home ;  but  her  more  anxious 
neighbor  thought  of  her  baby  in  the  cradle,  of 
the  elder  children  returning  from  school,  of  her 
husband's  dinner,  and  various  other  home  duties 
which  she  did  not  often  neglect.  An  hour  pass- 
ed on,  and  the  desired  moment  at  length  arrived. 
The  sale  began,  and  the  attention  of  the  greater 
part  of  those  present  was  at  once  directed  to  the 
auctioneer.  A  few  indeed  seemed  to  take  little 
interest  in  what  was  going  on,  having  merely 
stepped  in  to  while  away  a  leisure  hour ;  these 
still  carried  on  an  animated  conversation  on  their 
own  affairs,  to  the  no  small  annoyance  of  both 
buyer  and  seller. 

"  When  W'ill  he  put  up  the  carpet  which  we 
have  selected  V  whispered  Mrs.  Brown,  in  a  tone 
of  inquiry. 

"  0,  not  for  an  hour  yet ;  do  you  not  see  '  lot 
number  forty  *?*"  replied  her  friend,  referring  to 
the  bill.  "  But  just  hear  that,  only  four  shillings 
bid  upon  those  lovely  curtains,  I  do  not  need 
them,  but  I  cannot  let  them  go  at  that.  Pour 
and  threepence,"  she  called  out,  just  as  the  auc- 
tioneer was  knocking  them  off  to  the  last  bidder. 

"Just  in  time,"  was  the  reply,  and  ]Mrs.  Reed 
became  the  possessor  of  the  curtains. 

"Do  bid  on  that  pretty  table,  my  deai-  Mrs. 
Brown,  it  will  go  for  a  mere  trifle,"  m-ged  this 
lover  of  excellent  bargains;  but  Mrs.  Brown 
thought  of  her  carpet,  and  recollected  with  a 
sigh  that  it  might  require  the  whole  contents  of 
her  purse. 

Her  less  economical  friend  hazarded  a  bid  or 
two,  but  fortunately  there  were  too  many  compe- 
titors, and  she  was  saved  from  the  inconvenience 
of  becoming  the  owner  of  an  article  for  which 
she  really  had  no  room  in  her  house. 

It  was  wonderful,  however,  how  many  un- 
necessary things  she  contrived  to  obtain,  merely 
because  ihey  were  cheap  ;  and  Mrs.  Brown  sigh- 
ed again  as  she  thought  of  her  limited  means, 
and  longed  for  the  moment  to  come  when  she,' 
too,  could  join  in  the  excitement  of  bidding. 

"Lot  number  forty  I"  at  length  shouted  the 
auctioneer ;  "  an  excellent  three  ply  carpet,  worth 
at  least  twelve  shillings  a  yard,  cheap  at  that, 
and  good  as  new;  what  shall  I  have'?" 

"  Two  shillings,  my  dear  madam  !"  he  con- 
tinued, in   reply  to   Mrs.   Brown's  eager  bid ; 


"why,  I  am  already  offered  four  (this  bid,  by  the 
way,  was  entirely  inaudible  to  the  bystanders), 
and  have  no  intention  of  selling  it  for  that." 

"  Five  shillings !"  called  out  some  one  at  a 
distance,  and  disappointed  and  abashed,  Mrs. 
Brown  shrunk  back,  whispering  to  her  adviser  : 

"  It  is  of  no  use  for  me  to  try  for  that.  It  will 
go  far  beyond  my  means." 

"  Try  a  threepence,"  returned  Mrs.  Reed,  at 
the  same  time  calling  out  "  Five  and  threepence," 
but  in  vain,  the  carpet  was  desirable,  and  six, 
seven,  and  even  eight  shillings,  were  soon  bid 
upon  it. 

"  Try  the  one  in  the  next  room,"  said  her 
friend,  but  it  was  of  no  avail;  the  carpets  all 
went  for  a  good  price ;  and  quite  weary  and  dis- 
pu'ited,  Mrs.  Brown  urged  their  departure. 

"  Only  one  minute,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  must 
see  what  that  beautiful  mirror  goes  for." 

One  delay  brought  another,  and  another,  and 
poor  Mrs.  Brown  was  but  too  thankful  when 
they  at  length  stood  upon  the  sidewalk,  and 
turned  their  steps  towards  home. 

"  Do  not  be  discouraged,"  said  Mrs.  Reed. 
"  These  things  need  a  little  time.  But  there  is 
to  be  an  auction  every  day  this  week,  and  I  pro- 
mise you  that,  before  Saturday  night,  you  will 
have  as  good  a  carpet  as  you  can  desire  for  a 
mere  trifle.  I  w^ill  go  with  you  as  often  as  you 
wish." 

Mrs.  Brown's  spirits  rose. 

"  But  it  is  so  difficult  for  me  to  leave  home," 
she  remarked. 

"  Only  because  you  are  so  unaccustomed  to  it. 
There  is  no  cause  for  anxiety.  You  will  find 
that  all  has  gone  well  in  your  absence." 

This  w^as  tnie,  and  another  appointment  was 
made  for  the  following  day. 

No  better  success,  however ;  and  for  five  suc- 
cessive days,  poor  wearied  Mrs.  Brown,  and  hap- 
py unwearied  Mrs.  Reed,  passed  several  hours 
in  the  vain  search  for  a  cheap  carpet.  Their 
efforts  were  at  length  rew^arded.  A  good  bar- 
gain was  obtained,  and  a  carpet  but  little  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  of  undiminished  beauty,  was 
landed  at  Mrs.  Brown's  door. 

"  Well,  I  am  certainly  well  rewarded  for  all 
my  trouble,"  she  exclaimed  to  her  husband,  as 
she  displayed  its  beauties  to  his  admiring  eyes. 
"  This  carpet  could  not  have  cost  less  than  a 
dollar  a  yard  when  new,  so  at  the  price  I  paid 
for  it,  we  have  saved  at  least  eight  dollars,  and  I 
am  sure  it  is  none  the  worse  for  wear." 

"  It  is  a  good  article,  certainly,"  replied  her 
inore  calculating  spouse ;  "  but  I  am  not  so  sure 
that  you  have  saved  eight  dollars.  Let  me  see. 
How  many  vests  should  you  have  made  this 
week,  if  you  had  not  attended  auctions?" 

"  Five,  I  suppose,"  replied  the  wife,  with  a 
sigh ;  for  she  had  felt  much  regret  at  the  neglect 
of  her  usual  employments. 

"And  how  much  would  these  have  brought 
you  in  V 

"  A  dollar  a  piece.  I  never  take  less  for  the 
kind  of  vests  which  I  am  now  making." 

"  Five  dollars  loss  and  eight  dollars  gain,"  re- 
sumed Ml".  Brown.  "  That  leaves  just  three 
dollars  clear  profit,  unless,  indeed,  there  is  some 
further  loss  to  be  subtracted." 

"  That  there  is  !"  exclaimed  his  wife.  "  The 
children  have  torn  their  clothes  all  to  pieces  run- 
ning around  with  no  one  to  look  after  them ;  and 
the  poor  baby  has  had  so  many  bits  of  cake  and 
sugar  given  to  him  to  keep  him  quiet,  that  he  is 
really  quite  ill.  Added  to  all  this,  I  am  nearly 
tired  to  death  ;  and  the  house  is  in  such  confu- 
sion that  it  will  take  me  a  whole  day  to  put 
things  to  rights.  I  wonder  I  never  thought  of 
all  these  things  before.  I  really  believe  I  had 
better  have  bought  a  new  carpet  at  once.  Time 
is  money,  after  all,  and  the  next  time  I  see  Mrs. 
Reed  I  will  tell  her  so." 

"  It  will  be  of  no  use,"  was  the  somewhat 
laughing  reply  of  her  husband.  "  Mrs.  Reed  is 
one  of  those  who  do  not  value  their  time.  Keep 
your  experience  for  your  own  benefit,  and  to  en- 
lighten those  who  are  willing  to  be  taught.  You 
will  at  least  have  the  satisfaction  of  having  gain- 
ed a  useful  lesson  from  your  new  carpet." 


TRUE  EIN'OUGH. 

Literary  society,  unless  modified  by  knowledge 
of  the  world  or  generous  feeling,  is  far  from  de- 
sirable. Professed  authors  wlio  over-estimate 
their  vocation,  are  too  full  of  themselves  to  be 
agreeable  companions.  The  demands  of  their 
egotism  are  inveterate.  They  seem  to  be  inca- 
pable of  that  abandon  which  is  the  requisite  con- 
dition of  social  pleasure  ;  and  bent  upon  winning 
ft  tribute  of  admiration,  or  some  hint  wiiich  tbev 
can  turn  to  the  account  of  pen-craft,  there  is  sel- 
dom in  their  company  any  of  the  delightful  un- 
consciousness which  harmonizes  a  circle. — Tack- 
eiinan. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
DE  SOTO. 

BT  JOSEPH  H.  BUTLER. 

The  discoverer  of  the  Mississippi  Eiver  slept  beneath  its 
waters.  He  had  crossed  a  largo  part  of  the  continent  in 
search  of  gold,  and  found  nothing  so  remarkable  as  hia 
own  burial  place. 

On  the  Mississippi's  banks, 

Spain's  gallant  chivalry- 
Had  ranged  their  shattered  ranks. 

Beneath  a  torrid  sky  ; 
The  sun  -went  redly  do\vn 

In  the  stirless  crimson  wavcB, 
And  the  banners  of  the  crown 

Fell  languid  round  their  stavea. 
XIpon  his  bed  of  pain 

The  stern  De  Soto  lay, 
No  more  to  lead  the  sons  of  Spain 

Through  battle's  steel  array. 

"  TVarriors  !  ■withhold  your  fears  I" 

The  dying  Soto  said, 
"  Me  with  no  useless  tears 

Shall  ye  number  ^vith  the  dead ; 
So  may  not  Soto  die — 

The  blood  of  ancient  Spain 

Should  ebb  mid  martial  revelry. 

And  shout  on  battle-plain. 

"  Then  give  the  trumpet  breath  I 

Wake  the  music  of  the  drum  I 
When  Soto  yields  to  death 

Shall  the  voice  of  war  be  dumb ! 
Clothe  me  in  warrior's  st«el, 

When  I,  in  death,  am  cold ; 
And  round  this  heart  that  may  not  feel. 

Be  Spain's  proud  banner  rolled  I 

"  Let  my  right  hand  grasp  my  sword, 

At  midnight  still  and  deep  ; 
And  where  Mississippi's  waves  are  poured, 

liesign  my  dust  to  sleep  1 
Mosscoso  I  take  this  ring ! 

Thine  is  a  leader's  post  I 
In  knighthood  honor,  swear  to  bring 

To  Spain  our  shattered  host ! 

"  Seek  thou  not  conquest  here! 

But  back  to  noble  Spain 
Lead  thou  our  every  spear, 

Across  the  distant  main  i 
The  conqueror,  Soto,  dies ! 

His  hour  of  death  is  now ! 
AJl  fear  my  banner  where  it  flies, 

To  God,  alone,  I  bow  !" 

The  ghostly  watch  of  night 

Came  in  its  ebon  pall. 
Amid  five  hundred  torches  bright. 

And  the  death  drum's  solemn  call. 
They  clothed  him  for  the  tomb, 

In  habiliments  of  mail ; 
His  sword  was  in  his  hand, 

His  plume  shadowed  his  features  pale. 

A  remnant  of  the  brave. 

With  monks  in  orders  due, 
Then  bore  him  to  his  watery  grave, 

Mid  the  torches'  sanguine  hue. 
The  echoes  woke  from  sleep. 

As  the  thunders  of  the  gun, 
Amid  the  forests  deep, 

Told  when  the  rites  were  done. 

Quenched  is  that  eye  of  fire. 
That  heart  hath  ceased  to  beat ; 

The  forest  is  his  funeral  pyre, 
The  wave — his  winding  sheet ! 


LABOK. 

Labor,  honest  labor,  is  mighty  and  beautiful. 
Activity  is  the  ruling  element  of  life,  and  iis 
highest  relish.  Luxuries  and  conquests  are  the 
results  of  labor;  we  can  imagine  nothing  without 
it.  The  noblest  man  of  earth  is  he  who  puts 
hands  cheeifully  and  proudly  to  honest  labor. 
Labor  is  a  business  and  ordinance  of  God.  Sus- 
pend labor,  and  where  is  the  gloi7  and  pomp  of 
earth — the  fruit,  fields,  and  palaces,  and  the  fash- 
ionings  of  matter  for  which  men  strive  and  war  I 
Let  the  labor-scorner  look  to  himself,  and  learn 
what  are  the  trophies.  From  the  crown  of  his 
head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  unless  he  is  a  Carib, 
naked  as  the  beast,  he  is  the  debtor  and  slave  of 
toil.  The  labor  which  he  scorns  has  tricked  him 
into  the  stature  and  appearance  of  aman.  Where 
gets  he  his  garmenting  and  equipage  1  Let  labor 
answer.  Labor — which  makes  music  in  the 
mine,  and  the  fuiTOw^,  and  the  forge.  0,  scorn 
labor,  do  you — man  who  never  yet  earned  a 
morsel  of  bread  1  Labor  pities  you,  proud  fool, 
and  laughs  jou  to  scorn.  You  shall  pass  to 
dust,  forgotten,  but  labor  will  live  on  forever, 
glorious  in  its  conquests  and  monuments. — Ex- 
change pape}\ 


(Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
DEATH  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

BY  J.   HTJKT,  JR. 

As  sinks  the  storm,  when  wintry  winds  no  more 
Across  the  sky  with  angry  force  are  driven  ; 

As  lashing  waves,  recoiliug  from  the  shore. 
Leave  the  main  calm,  as  on  a  summer  even : 

So  do  the  righteoiis  at  the  close  of  life, 
When  death  has  bid  the  waning  passions  cease, 

Sink  into  rest,  and  thus  from  worldly  strife, 
They  're  borne  to  realms  of  sacredness  and  peace. 


92 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   EOOM   COMPANION. 


-n'^^^^-a^^X. 


SINGULAR  ARTIFICE  OF  THE  PARTRIDGE,  IN  DEFENCE  OF  ITS  YOUNG  BROOD. 


Upon  this  page  we  give  two  interesting  scenes, 
the  one  above  representing  the  instinctive  iti-tifice 
of  the  partridge  m  defence  of  its  young ;  and  the 
one  below  presenting  a  view  of  the  stubble- 
field,  or  locality  where  the  bird  is  usually  found, 
and  the  sportsman  and  pointers  starting  the 
game.  The  partridges  pair  early  in  the  spring; 
the  female  lays  from  fourteen  to  eighteen  or 
twenty  eggs,  making  her  nest  of  dry  leaves  and 
grass  upon  the  ground.     The  young  birds  learn 


to  run  as  soon  as  hatched,  frequently  encumber- 
ed with  part  of  the  shell  sticking  to  them.  Tlie 
affection  of  the  partridge  for  her  young  is  strong 
and  lively  ;  she  is  greatly  assisted  in  the  care  of 
rearing  them  by  her  mate ;  they  lead  them  out 
in  common,  call  them  together,  and  point  out  to 
them  their  proper  food,  and  assist  them  in  find- 
ing it ;  they  frequently  sit  close  to  each  other, 
covering  the  chickens  with  their  wings.  In  this 
situation,  if  discovered,  the  male  first  gives  the 


signal  of  alarm  by  a  peculiar  cry  of  distress, 
throwing  himself,  at  the  same  moment,  more  im- 
mediately into  the  way  of  danger.  In  order  to 
deceive  or  mislead  the  enemy,  he  flies,  or  rather 
runs  along  the  ground,  hanging  his  wings,  and 
exhibiting  every  symptom  of  debility,  whereby 
the  dog  is  decoyed,  in  the  too  eager  expectation 
of  an  easy  prey,  to  a  distance  from  the  covey  ; 
the  female  flies  off  in  a  contrary  direction  and  to 
a  greater  distance,  but   retm*ning  soon   after  by 


secret  ways,  she  finds  her  scattered  brood  closely 
squatted  among  the  grass,  and  collecting  them 
with  haste,  she  leads  them  from  the  danger,  be- 
fore the  dog  has  had  time  to  return  from  his 
pursuit.  The  length  of  this  bird  is  about  thirteen 
inches.  The  female  has  no  crescent  on  the 
breast,  and  her  colors  in  general  are  not  so  dis- 
tinct and  bright  as  those  of  the  male.  Partridges 
are  found  chiefly  in  temperate  climates  ;  the  ex- 
tremes of  heat  and  cold  arc  ungenial  to  them. 


THE  STUBBLE  FIELD. PARTRIDGE  SHOOTING. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


93 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Proprietor. 
MATURIN   M.    BALLOU,   Editor. 

CONTEINTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUaiBER. 

"  Grace  Richmotiil,  or  the  Double  Marriage,"  a  story, 
hj  Mrs.  M.  E.  RoBixaox. 

*'  Buying  a  Live  Elephant,"  a  funny  tale  with  a  whole- 
some moral,  by  the  Young  'Un. 

"  The  Polish  Slave,"  a  story  of  tyranny  in  Europe,  by 
Francis  A.  Duritage. 

"  Filling  up  the  Gaps,"  a  fine  prose  sketch,  by  Mrs.  E. 
Wellmont. 

"  God  keep  my  Memory  green,"  lines,  by  Caroline  A. 
Hatden. 

"  Where  dwell  the  Angels  ?"  verses,  by  Joseph  W.  Nye. 

"In  the  Shade,"  verses,  by  Geo.  Casning  Hill. 

"A  Song,"  by  Joseph  H.  Bdtler. 

"  The  Evening  Star,"  in  verse. 

"Musings."  lines,  by  D.  Hardi',  Jr. 

"Myrrha,"  a  poem,  by  E.  J.  RANDrBOE. 

"  The  Sea  Shore,'-  verses,  by  Mrs.  M.  W.  CORTIS. 

ILLTTSTRATIONS. 

"VTe  shall  give  an  excellent  picture  of  the  Pilot's  Monu- 
ment, erected  by  the  New  York  pilots,  in  Greenwood 
Cemetery,  in  honor  of  the  memory  of  a  brave  and  gener- 
ous pilot,  Thomas  Freeborn,  drawn  bv  our  artist,  Mr. 
IVa'ie . 

A  very  fine  fac-simile  of  the  splendid  Prize  Medal  of  tho 
Amoskeag  Manufacturing  Company,  presented  at  the 
World's  Fair,  London. 

A  fine  view  of  the  New  Railway  and  General  Traffic 
Bridge,  at  Dresden,  a  novel  structure  across  the  Elbe. 

A  very  beautiful  picture  of  the  great  Actress,  liachel, 
as  she  appears  iu  the  characters  of  Valeria  and  Lysisca. 

A  very  fine  illustration  by  our  arti.st,  Mr.  C/iaptH,  repre- 
senting the  Funeral  Car  and  Procession  at  the  late  melan- 
choly ceremony  in  memory  of  Mr.  Clay  ;  one  of  the  most 
gorgeous  and  sad  scenes  that  has  been  mtnessed  for  years 
in  New  York.  Also  a  very  effective  picture  by  the  same 
artist,  showing  Stewart's  Marble  Palace,  as  draped  for  the 
solemn  occasion. 

An  excellent  Likeness  Bust  of  the  late  Hon.  Henry 
Clay,  draped  in  mourning,  and  surrounded  by  appropriate 
emblems. 

We  shall  present  a  perfect  engraving  of  the  town  of  St. 
Helens.  Oregon  Territory,  drawn  for  us  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Warren.  This  place,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  the  depot 
of  the  Pacific  Mail  Steam  Ship  Company. 

We  shall  also  give  a  finely  executed  picture  of  a  bust  of 
Madame  Malibran  ;  also  a  very  beautiful  statue  of  the 
same  celebrated  vocalist,  and  a  picture  of  the  tomb  where 
her  dust  reposes.  This  queen  of  tbe"  divine  art  "de- 
serves the  honors  she  has  received. 

A  very  correct  and  excellent  view  will  be  presented  of 
Rangoon,  the  principal  port  of  the  Burman  Empire. 

A  characteristic  view  of  Boston  Ravine,  Grass  Valley, 
California,  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  ]S[anning, 

A  fine  view  of  the  oldest  church  erected  in  the  United 
States,  at  Hiugbam,  Massachusetts,  having  been  built  in 
the  3  ear  1681,  drawn  on  the  spot  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Mailory. 

<  -^m^   > 

A  NE^V  ARTICLE. 

The  Charleston  Courier  says:  "We  now  have 
on  our  desk,  for  the  inspection  of  the  curious,  a 
sample  of  wliat  the  Indians  of  tlie  Amazon  call 
'  Zanianma.*  It  is  the  production  of  a  tree 
growing  wild  in  that  valley,  and  used  by  its  in- 
habitants for  their  fine  textures.  It  somewhat 
resembles  in  appearance  and  fineness  our  costly 
Sea  Ishind  Cottons,  but  with  much  less  strength 
of  staple.  The  above  sample  was  sent  here  by 
Lieut.  Mamy,  U.  S.  N.,  who  is  now  devoting 
himself  to  the  development  of  the  immense  re- 
sources of  that  fertile  region,  with  tlie  earnest 
hope  of  making  them  subservient  to  tiie  mercan- 
tile purposes  of  this  country." 


SPLINTERS. 

Alfred  Jaell   has   been   very  successful 

professionally  in  Albany. 

....  Wanted,  a  drummer  to  beat  time  for  the 
"  mai'ch  of  intellect." 

....  The  U.  S.  surveying  schooner  Active, 
was  at  San  Francisco  at  last  dates. 

....  Gen.  Scott,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  is  very 
ill  with  the  dysentery. 

Wm.  Fenno,  a  shoemaker  in  Philadel- 
phia, cut  his  own  throat  and  died. 

....  Jenny  Lind  has  gone  home  to  Stockholm 
with  hor  husband. 

....  The  Germanians  are  at  Newport,  en- 
gaged for  the  season. 

The  coming  theatrical  season  promises 

to  be  a  very  brilliant  one  in  America. 

....  A  candle-maker  advertises  for  a  pair  of 
snutFers  for  the  "  light  of  other  days." 

....  The  Montplaisier  troupe  have  been  de- 
lighting the  citizens  of  Buffalo. 

....  New  York  has  forwarded  over  SIO.OOO 
to  the  relief  of  the  Montreal  sufferers. 

....  A  block  of  granite  from  Cape  Cod  is 
talked  offer  the  Washington  Monument. 

Mr.  Tukey,  late  chief  of  police  for  Bos- 
ton, now  practises  law  in  this  city. 

....  The  poor  may  be  content,  and  the  con- 
ented  are  rich.     This  is  philosophy. 


KOSSUTH. 

This  illustrious  exile  has  at  length,  after  a 
most  brilliant  career,  departed  from  our  shores, 
and  the  manner  of  his  doing  it  has  been  made 
the  subject  of  exultation  and  derisive  comment, 
on  the  part  of  some  of  those  presses  which  have 
all  along  distinguished  themselves  by  hostility  to 
tlic  person  and  the  cause  of  the  great  Magyar. 
For  ourselves,  we  can  perceive  notliing  ungrace- 
ful or  undignified  in  the  step  he  took,  to  avoid 
all  unnecessary  and  expensive  display,  by  going 
incognito  on  board  of  the  steamship,  which  was 
to  bear  him  from  our  shores.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that,  from  the  first,  Kossuth  disdained  all 
personal  honors,  and  that  he  persisted  in  regard- 
ing the  magnificent  military  and  civic  displays, 
prompted  by  a  high  enthusiasm,  meeting  him 
everywhere,  and  converting  the  passage  of  an  ex- 
iled apostle  of  liberty  into  something  resembling 
the  progress  of  a  triumphant  conqueror,  not  as  a 
tribute  to  his  personal  merit,  but  as  so  many  to- 
kens of  respect  for  his  country,  and  the  great 
cause  of  which  he  was  the  champion.  It  was 
not  the  poor  exile  that  was  honored,  he  said,  but 
the  spirit  of  freedom  struggling  for  existence. 

He  was  welcomed  to  our  shores  by  the  roar  of 
cannon,  the  pealing  of  bells,  and  the  loud  huzzas 
of  a  hundred  thousand  men.  He  bore  this  wel- 
come with  true  meekness  and  modesty.  We  are 
sure  that  lie  would  have  preferred  a  less  ostenta- 
tious reception.  A  military  guard  of  honor  at- 
tended liis  quarters  in  New  York.  For  this, 
Kossuth  has  been  severely  censured.  But  this 
guard  of  honor  was  a  voluntary  tribute  of  exiles 
like  himself,  and  he  could  not  have  declined  their 
mode  of  testifying  their  regard  without  wound- 
ing their  feelings,  and  laying  himself  open  to  the 
charge  of  unkindness ;  yet  this  simple  affair  of 
the  guard  of  honor  was  made  the  basis  of  a 
charge  of  pride  and  aristocratic  tendency  in  Kos- 
suth. But  was  he  not  accessible  to  all?  Was 
not  the  grasp  of  hand  as  warm,  and  his  greeting 
as  kind,  when  he  pressed  the  toil-worn  fingers  of 
the  laborer,  as  when  he  touched  the  soft  palm  of 
tlie  rich  and  delicately-nurtured '? 

And  now  he  is  censured  because  he  left  our 
shores  without  display.  "Ah!"  say  his  eager 
censors,  "had  he  embarked  publicly,  you  would 
Iiave  seen  how  coldly  his  departure  would  have 
been  noticed :  what  a  contrast  it  would  have 
afforded  to  the  brilliancy  of  his  reception !"  It 
is  perfectly  safe  to  make  such  assertion.  But 
we  happen  to  know  the  warm  hearts  of  the  peo- 
ple of  New  York ;  we  know  they  are  not  a  fickle 
race  ;  we  know  their  boundless  hospitality,  and 
how  they  are  ever  ready  to 

"  Welcome  the  coming — speed  the  parting  guest ;" 

and  we  feel  convinced  that  they  would  have  come 
out  en  masse  to  pay  their  parting  respects  to  Kos- 
suth, had  the  opportunity  been  afforded  them. 

But  the  Magyar  had  accomplished  his  purpose. 
He  had  traversed  this  country  in  its  length  and 
breadth,  rousing  up  the  hearts  of  men  by  his 
fiery  eloquence,  awakening  the  warmest  sympa- 
thies for  tiie  cause  of  Hungary,  and  the  cause  of 
universal  liberty,  receiving  for  his  countrymen 
the  most  substantial  proofs  of  the  sincerity  of 
this  enthusiasm.  And  be  it  ever  borne  in  mind, 
that  Kossuth  stood  upon  no  narrow  basis.  He 
spoke  not  for  Hungary  alone,  but  for  humanity. 
He  beheld  the  gloi'ious  freedom  of  this  country 
in  no  envious  spirit;  he  rejoiced — he  exulted  in 
it;  and  his  projects  for  the  emancipation  of  his 
native  land  embraced  plans  for  the  disenthral- 
ment  of  all  Europe.  Hence  timid  conservatives 
called  him  a  radical,  a  demagogue,  an  agrarian 
—  everything  that  selfislincss  and  cowardice  could 
invent.  We  concede  that  Kossuth  made  some 
mistakes,  and  uttered  some  ill-considered  views  ; 
but  in  the  vast  multitude  of  speeches  he  deliver- 
ed, amidst  the  most  contagious  excitement,  could 
he  have  made  fewer  ?  In  forming  our  judgment 
of  the  man,  we  look  to  the  spirit  of  his  eloquence, 
the  whole  tone  of  his  career,  'rather  than  to  each 
letter  of  his  language.  We  believe  him  to  be  a 
sincere,  true-hearted,  patriotic  man,  gifted  with 
rare  talent ;  and  we  believe  that  the  influence  he 
has  exerted  here  by  his  eloquence,  will  tend  to 
strengthen  our  love  of  country,  and  our  appre- 
ciation of  the  blessings  of  tlie  institutions  under 
which  we  live. 


Gold. — The  shipment  of  gold  from  San  Fran- 
cisco, in  tlie  month  of  June  up  to  the  ISth, 
amounted  to  35,350,000,  without  including  that 
in  the  hands  of  passengers. 


Extensive. — The  burnt  district  in  Montreal 
is  one  and  a  quarter  mile  wide,  and  two  miles 
long. 


STATUE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  MELIiINGTON. 

On  the  last  page  of  the  present  number  we 
present,  for  the  gratification  of  our  readers,  a 
fine  frtc-simile  of  the  f;tmous  Count  d'Orsay  sta- 
tuette of  that  old  English  war-horse  and  pet  of 
royalty,  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  The  duke  is 
represented  as  watching  the  progress  of  a  battle. 
He  holds  the  reins  in  both  hands,  which  are  in 
repose,  altliough  ready  to  be  put  in  muscular  ac- 
tion at  an  instant.  In  the  right  hand  lie  also 
holds  a  telescope.  The  entire  pose  of  the  figure 
on  the  horse  evinces  consummate  power  of  con- 
ception. The  steed  may  be  supposed  to  have 
become  wearied  with  remaining  for  some  time  in 
one  position,  and  is  straiuing  his  legs  for  ease, 
as  he  paws  the  ground  with  the  off'  fore-one. 
This  arrangement,  whilst  it  is  purely  natural, 
assists  the  pyramidal  outline  of  the  composition. 
By  the  bending  of  the  head,  another  gieat  effect 
is  also  gained — the  animal  becomes  subservient 
to  the  man ;  in  no  point  can  the  statue  be  re- 
garded so  that  the  duke  does  not  at  once  rivet 
the  attention,  even  immediately  in  front  and  be- 
low the  figures.  The  likeness  is  admirably  pre- 
served ;  taken,  of  course,  at  the  period  of  the 
most  active  campaigns  in  which  his  grace  was 
concerned  ;  and,  we  understand,  the  resemblance 
is  highly  extolled  by  all  those  who  can  readily 
call  his  features,  at  that  time,  to  mind.  But, 
perhaps,  the  greatest  point  of  excellence  in  this 
performance  is  the  talent  which  Count  d'Orsay 
has  shown  in  overcoming  the  ill  effect,  as  regards 
elegance,  usually  produced  by  the  costume  of 
modern  times.  The  duke  is  here  habited  in  his 
plain  military  undress  frock  and  sash — the  man- 
ner, by  the  way,  in  which  all  statues  should  be 
executed, — and  yet  nothing  can  be  more  purely 
classical  than  the  handling  of  tlie  subject.  Alto- 
gether the  des'ign  is  a  very  beautiful  one,  and 
our  artist  has  done  for  us  full  justice  in  enabling 
us  to  present  it  to  our  readers  in  so  perfect  and 
beautiful  a  manner. 


FANNING  BY  STEAM. 

Mr.  Whipple,  the  daguerreotypist.  No.  96, 
Washington  Street,  has  a  most  admirable  plan 
for  the  comfort  of  his  visitors  this  hot  weather. 
In  one  comer  of  the  room,  near  where  his  pic- 
tures are  taken,  is  placed  a  fan,  made  on  the 
principle  of  the  wind-mill,  which,  being  set  in 
rapid  motion  by  the  steam  engine  used  in  the 
preparation  of  his  plates,  gives  a  current  of  air 
equal  to  a  strong  "  Nor'-wester."  As  one  can 
imagine,  this  is  most  refreshing  when  the  ther- 
mometer is  up  to  90  degrees,  and  not  a  breath  of 
an*  stirring  in  the  street. 


G.A.S  AT  Newburyport. — Workmen  are  brisk- 
ly employed  in  laying  pipes  in  the  streets  of 
Newburyport,  preparatory  to  the  introduction  of 
gas  into  that  city.  A  large  gas  house  is  also  in 
process  of  erection  at  the  corner  of  Union  and 
Water  streets. 


A  L.vKGE  Instrument. — The  great  organ  for 
St.  Patrick's  Catiicdral,  New  York,  built  at  a 
cost  of  S7000,  has  forty-two  stops,  three  sets  of 
keys,  two  octaves  of  pedals,  and  over  2000  pipes  ; 
is  45  feet  high,  2S  feet  wide,  and  14  feet  deep. 

Internal  Commdnication. — G.  W.  Pine 
has  gone  from  New  York  with  seventy  men,  for 
the  purpose  of  constructing  a  wooden  railway 
from  Lake  Nicaragua  to  the  Pacific,  about  twelve 
miles. 


Graphic. — The  Evening  Post  says  :  "The 
White  Mountains  are,  like  the  Niagara  Falls,  or 
the  Tyrolian  Alps,  the  punctuation  points  upon 
the  page  of  nature  to  make  pause  in  its  perusal." 


A  Monument. — A  subscription  paper  for  the 

erection  of  a  monument  to   Henry   Clay,  has 

been  started  in  New  York.     It  has  already  been 

numerously  signed,  without  distinction  of  party. 

t  »■»  * 

Incipient  Romance. — A  young  Irish  girl 
has  been  arrested  in  New  York  for  wearing  sail- 
or's clothes.  She  said  she  wished  to  go  back  to 
Ii'eland,  and  intended  to  sliip  as  a  sailor. 


A  great  Enterprise. — Mr.  McAlpine  has 
been  employed  to  survey  Hudson  Kiver,  and  as- 
certain tlie  practicability  of  a  ship  channel  to 
Albany. 

Military. — The  New  York  National  Guards 
have  been  on  a  visit  to  our  city.  They  are  ?.  fine 
company,  under  excellent  discipline. 


Musical. — Ord way's  iEolians  are  doing  a 
fine  business  at  Portland,  during  the  summer 
season. 


In  tlds  city,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Nealc,  Mr.  David  Porter  Prcs- 
cott  to  Miss  Ann  Maria  White. 

By  Uev.  Dr.  Stow,  Mr.  William  0.  Wallace  to  Miss  Roge 
ner  Mar.^h,  both  of  Blackstone. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Calvin  Hutchins  to  Miss  Sa 
rah  F.  Burnham. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Bourne,  Mr,  Thomas  J.  Toung  to  Miss  Su- 
san P.  Randall,  of  Newburyport. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Blagden,  Sir.  Charles  G.  Tilton,  of  Fairha- 
ven,  to  Mi.ss  Maria  C.  Fisher,  of  Edgarto"Ti. 

By  WiUirtm  Palfrey,  Esq.,  Mr.  William  Lindsey,  of  Pitta- 
burg,  Pa.,  to  Miss  Maria  Blaisley. 

At  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Hoppin,  Mr.  Arthur  L.  Dev- 
ens,  of  Ware,  to  Miss  Agnes  H.  UTiite. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev  Dr.  Emerson,  Mr.  John  P.  Honnors 
to  Miss  Ellen  E.  Coomer. » 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Berry,  Mr.  Thomas  Cummings, 
of  Westford,  to  Mrs.  Maria  Badger, 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Chapman,  of  Brooklj-n, 
N.  T.,  Capt.  R.  K.  Jackman  to  Mrs.  Hannah  G.  Howard. 

At  Pittsfield,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Todd,  Rer.  Stephen  C.  Strong, 
of  Northampton,  to  Miss  Mvra  P.  Brown. 

At  Brattleboro',  Vt.,  by  Rer.  Mr.  Cutting,  Mr.  Charles 
Miller  to  Miss  Mary  E.  Farr,  both  of  Walpole,  N.  H. 

At  "Vernon,  Vt.,  Mr.  Charles  L.  Johnson,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Angelina  Hanney,  of  Richmond,  N.  H. 

At  Pawtucket,  R.  I.,  Mr.  George  W.  Babcock,  of  Provi- 
dence, to  Mrs.  Patience  Allen,  of  Cranston. 

At  Baton  Rouge,  La.,  Lieut.  Henry  F.  Maynadier,  U.  S. 
Army,  to  Miss  Julia  Barker. 

At  Saeramento,  Cal.,  Mr.  Stephen  Smith,  of  Dartmouth, 
Ms.,  to  Miss  Mary  Edw.arcls,  of  Wareham,  Ms. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  John  F.  Pollow,  44  ;  Miss  Melissa  F. 
Hayes,  15;  Mrs.  Eliza  Dudley,  67 ;  ML=b  Mary  K.  Wilde, 
26  ;  Mrs.  Catharine  M.  E.  Gavett,  35  :  Mrs.  Ann  J.  Lor- 
ing,  34 ;  Mrs.  Susan  Hubbard,  44  ;  Georgiana  R.,  daugh- 
ter of  Mr.  Silas  Sweet,  10;  Mrs.  Caroline  C.  RusseU,  38. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr.  Jabez  Hayward,  66. 

At  Brighton.  Daniel  Kimball,  Esq.,  of  Littleton,  71. 

At  Lowell,  Mr.  Robert  Sissoti,  75. 

At  Methuen.  Mr.  Jonathan  Moi^e,  33. 

At  Groton,  Mrs.  Maria  A.,  wife  of  Dr.  N.  Smith,  24, 

At  New  Bedford.  Mrs.  Nancy  Church.  74. 

At  Nantucket,  Mr.  George  Abrams,  59. 

At  South  Hadley,  Mr.  Alden  L.  Graves,  29. 

At  Brimfield,  Mrs.  Abby  P.,  wife  of  Rev.  J.  Morse. 

At  North  Adams,  Widow  Susan  Witherell,  86. 

At  Sherborn,  Mr.  Edward  Leland. 

At  Chatham,  Mrs.  Mehitable  Sears,  93. 

At  Conway,  Blr.  Stephen  T\"hitney,  70. 

At  Oakham,  Mr.  Nathan  D.  Bond,  54. 

At  Chicopee,  Mrs,  Rebecca  B.  Robinson,  69. 

At  Hopkinton,  Mr.  John  L.  Valentine,  50. 

At  Dover,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Alden,  of  Conn.,  85. 

At  Epping,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Sarah  Plumer,  80. 

At  Manchester,  N.  H,,  Mrs,  Susan  R.  Barnes,  44, 

At  Bath,  Me.,  Capt.  Robert  Bosworth,  52. 

At  Winslow,  Me.,  Lemuel  Paine,  Esq.,  75, 

At  Hartford,  Mo.,  Mr,  Seth  Sturtevant,  93. 

At  Providence,  R.  [.,  Dea.  Charles  Shaw,  68. 

At  Lacon,  111.,  Mr.  Ira  0.  Beaumont,  38. 

At  St.  Louis,  Mrs.  Louisa  A.  Hall,  85. 

At  Panama,  Col.  E.  Green,  editor  of  the  "  Herald." 


Ik  mmmm  mmmm^ 

—  AND  — 

LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASOX'S    PICTOEIAL 

A  Hecord  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  ATi. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  mo.st  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
talcs,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news  ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     EuoU  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  tbe  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  de.sign,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  iu  the  eastern  or  western  hcmi- 
sphcrc,  of  all  tbe  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, tbe  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  exprcs.';ly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  speoinicu 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  aud  si.\ty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sistocn  octavo 
pages.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  tho 
fund  of  amusement  it  alTords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  aud 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  tho  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

TEEMS:    $2  00    PEE    VOLUME. 
OR,    S4  00    PER    ANNUM 

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Each  six  months  completes  a  volume,  commencing  on 
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per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

[C7^  One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  ocn  Union,  and  one  copy 
of  the  PicTom.vL  Drawing-PwOOM  Compamox,  one  year, 
for  85  00, 

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obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  f,iH 
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Published  every  S.vturday,  by 

F.    GLEASON,  EosTOX,  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Naso^au,  cor.  Spruce  Strejt,  New  York. 
A.  \\  INCll,  116  Chestnut  Street.  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  CO..  Ill  Baltimore  St.,  BalUmore. 
A.  C  BAGLEY,  10  West  Third  Street,  CiLcinnati. 
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0:27^  Siihsrriptions  receive/i  at  either  of  the  above  p.'aces. 


di 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Wi'itton  for  aioiwoii'a  I'ictorlal.] 

ALICE   BOURNE: 

— OJt — 

THE  STRENGTH  OF  THE  HEART. 


DY   GKO.  CANNING   HILL. 

*'  O  God  !    Let  only  this  cup  pass  from  mc !" 

Tlio  prayer  was  a  fervent  one,  and  filled  with 
a  wild  earnestness.  Its  low  syllables — low,  yet 
fearfully  distinct — lost  themselves  in  echoes 
among  the  dusky  beams  and  time-worn  rafters. 
They  fell  against  tlie  darkened  roof.  She  who 
uttered  them  had  faith  tliat  they  ascended  and 
reached  Heaven. 

This  fervid  prayer  fell  from  the  lips  of  a  pale 
and  ghostly-looking  woman,  wlio  knelt  by  a  little 
low  bed,  in  a  forsaken  garret.  It  was  somewhat 
late  in  the  evening,  and  the  silver  flood  of  a  full 
summer  moon  poured  in  through  the  half  opened 
window  upon  the  floor.  The  street  sounds  rose, 
subdued  and  mellowed,  to  her  ears,  and  saddened 
her  with  the  fresh  and  green  memories  they  called 
back  to  life  in  her  heart. 

There  was  no  other  light  in  the  apartment  but 
that  of  the  round  moon.  It  had  climbed  just 
above  the  adjoining  roofs  and  gables,  and  made 
the  distant  steeples  and  spires  look  like  slender 
rods  of  silver,  pointing  heavenward.  They,  too, 
inspired  the  heart  of  the  woman  with  fresh  hope 
and  new  courage,  for  they  revealed  to  her  the 
silent  realms  whence  all  earthly  hopes  came. 
Her  eyes  lingered  upon  them  as  6he  glanced  out 
at  the  window,  and  her  heart  felt  a  new  strength 
given  it. 

The  woman  was  still  quite  young,  perhaps  not 
more  than  twenty-one  or  two.  Her  ej'cs  seemed 
very  large,  and  very  much  sunken.  They  were 
blue,  likewise,  and  looked  all  the  more  melan- 
choly. Her  hair  was  brushed  carelessly  away 
from  her  forehead,  as  if  she  had  little  thought  of 
its  care.  A  placid  smile,  speaking  volumes  of 
unwritten  suffering,  and  disclosing  miracles  of 
patience,  and  faith,  and  resignation,  and  self- 
denying  love,  settled  about  her  mouth,  and  added 
to  the  fixed  melancholy  that  brooded  like  a  sha- 
dow over  her  whole  countenance. 

Upon  the  little  bed  lay  a  young  child.  Its 
years  were  few,  and  death  seemed  to  have  come 
to  stop  their  passage  where  they  were.  It  tossed 
restlessly  about  upon  the  bed  until  this  ejacula- 
tion escaped  its  mother's  lips,  and  then,  as  by 
some  hidden  cause,  lay  perfectly  still. 

The  mother  feared  it  had  gone,  and  bent  over 
her  head  to  discover  the  truth,  let  it  be  as  fearful 
as  it  might.  Just  at  that  instant  the  child  mur- 
mured, as  if  in  a  disturbed  sleep. 

"  Mother,  shall  I  ever  go  with  you  to  grand- 
papa's V 

It  cost  the  smitten  mother  an  effort  to  speak. 
Her  heart  was  rent  and  torn  through  with  the 
thorns  that  grew  thickly  about  the  roses  in  her 
memory. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  see  grandpapa  to-morrow, 
mother?"  persisted  the  child,  now  opening  wide 
its  eyes  upon  the  stricken  parent. 

"  No,  Agnes,"  replied  she ;  "  you  are  not  w^ell 
enough  to  go  to  see  grandpapa  yet.  You  must 
be  patient — very  patient,  dear ;"  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  she  turned  them  up  sadly  at  the 
moon.  "  And  when  you  get  well  again,  perhaps 
you  may  go." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  silence  was  like  that 
of  death  itself  to  the  poor  mother. 

"But  shall  I  die,  mother,"  pursued  the  artless 
child,  "  so  that  I  can  never  see  grandmama  ? 
Wont  I  see  her  in  heaven  V 

The  mother  wept  bitterly,  without  a  reply. 
Her  heart  bled  at  every  pore. 

"Why  do  you  cry  so,  mother'?"  asked  Agnes, 
stretching  out  her  shadowy  arms  to  wind  them 
about  her  mother's  neck.  "  I  am  not  afraid  to 
die.  Should  you  be  afraid,  mother  ?  If  I  die, 
wont  you  come  soon,  too  V 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  my  darling !"  exclaimed  her 
mother,  in  a  low  but  agonized  voice ;  and  she 
drew  her  offspring  tenderly  to  her  throbbing 
breast,  as  if  she  would  not  again  release  her, 
even  to  the  cold  clutch  of  death. 

"But  I  know  I  must  die,"  still  persisted  the 
child,  ignorant  of  the  torture  she  produced.  "  I 
know  I  must  die,  mother.  I  am  so  weak.  How 
bright  the  moon  is  to-night,  dear  mother !  Does 
it  shine  in  here,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling  !" 

"  And  will  it  always  shine  in  here,  when  I  am 
dead,  till  you  come  and  kiss  mc  in  heaven? 
Will  you  come  soon,  mother  dear?  Will  you 
bring  grandmama  and  grandpapa,  too?" 


.  At  this  point  she  began  to  wander.  She  ut- 
tered words  that  were  barbed  to  her  mother's 
heart.  She  went  on  with  her  innocent  prattle 
for  some  time,  and  then  slowly,  and  almost  im- 
perceptibly, sunk  away  into  a  deep  and  dream- 
loss  slumber. 

The  young  and  lovely  |)arent  sat  and  watched 
her  quick  breathing;  and  during  those  sad 
watches,  she  prayed.  Such  prayers  oamc  only 
from  cru.shed,and  bleeding,  and  agonized  hearts. 
The  deepest  griefs  and  the  most  poignant  suffer- 
ings only  can  draw  them  out  of  the  soul. 

While  the  child  thus  slept,  and  after  tlie  mo- 
ther had  renewed  her  strengtli  with  prayer,  there 
came  visions  to  the  eyes  of  the  latter,  as  she  con- 
tinued gazing  out  on  tlic  face  of  the  argent  moon. 

There  was  a  dark  gulf  yawning  before  her  for 
her  future ;  but  the  eyes  of  her  soul  were  not 
directed  thither.  They  were  turned  backward — 
backward  to  the  past. 

She  sat  again  beneath  the  screening  shadows 
of  the  shrubbery  that  walled  in  her  father's  house, 
and  her  heart  danced  with  living  hopes  of  happi- 
ness. Another  sat  by  her  side  in  the  soft  silence 
of  the  summer  night,  and  he  held  her  hand  gen- 
tly in  his  own,  and  both  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  rising  moon.  Few  words  were  spoken,  for 
theh"  hearts  were  too  full  of  happiness.  They 
were  betrothed. 

She  had  another  vision, — one  that  caused  her 
sad  heart  to  swell  almost  to  bursting. 

She  was  standing  in  the  little  parlor  of  her 
quiet  rural  home.  The  white-haired  minister 
was  before  her,  speaking  in  his  solemn  and  trem- 
ulous tones.  On  either  side  were  ranged  the 
friends  of  her  youth,  the  sunshine  of  smiles 
breaking  out  over  all  their  welling  and  rolling 
tears.  It  was  amixed  scene,  in  which  varied  emo- 
tions were  visible ;  but  the  joy  loomed  up  much 
larger  than  the  grief.  It  was  a  day  of  hope  ;  and 
hope  always  makes  the  brightest  sunshine  in  the 
heart. 

She  took  her  farewell — how  strangely  it  all 
came  up  to  her  now  ! — and  went  out  from  be- 
neath her  father's  roof.  Yet  she  neither  faltered 
nor  feared.  She  leaned  now  upon  a  new  arm, 
which  she  believed  full  of  vigor.  It  was  the  arm 
of  her  youthful  husband.  And  suddenly  her 
eyes  opened  again.  She  was  no  longer  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  her  husband.  She  was  alone  with 
her  child.     Her  husband  had  left  her. 

The  visions  had  fled.  Her  agony  grew  great- 
er than  ever.  The  olden  memories  had  added 
much  to  its  sting.  She  bent  down  again  over 
her  child,  and,  looking  up  passionately  at  the 
golden  moon,  prayed  in  most  fervid  syllables : 

"  0  God  !  let  only  this  cup  pass  from  my  lips !" 


A  young  man  entered  one  of  the  many  splen- 
did gambling-hells  on  the  principal  square  in 
San  Francisco.  The  time  was  early  evening. 
The  street  without  was  filled  with  confusion,  and 
a  persevering  band  of  music  was  doing  its  best 
to  make  all  harmonious  to  the  ears  of  those  who 
frequented  the  place. 

The  saloon  which  the  stranger  entered  was  a 
spacious  and  elegantly  furnished  apartment,  and 
throngs  of  people  were  either  passing  up  and 
down  it,  or  grouped  in  excited  squads  about  its 
several  points  of  attraction. 

Mirrors,  that  were  measured  only  by  the  yard, 
were  hung  around  the  walls,  making  the  light 
from  blazing  chandeliers  blaze  still  more  bright- 
ly, and  reflecting  in  almost  innumerable  fonns 
again  the  persons  of  the  passers. 

Rows,  too,  of  polished  and  glittering  decanters 
stood  ranged  behind  the  tastefully  arranged  bars, 
about  which  were  congregated  from  time  to  time 
the  parties  that  had  been  successful  or  the  con- 
trary. 

There  was  a  confused  sound  of  human  voices, 
of  shuffling  feet,  ringing  glasses,  clinking  silver, 
and  rattling  dice.  Oaths  rose  thickly  above  all, 
and  as  the  human  figures ,  hurried  hither  and 
thither  in  the  glare  of  the  gas-light,  one  could 
readily  have  believed  that  his  eyes  had  at  length 
fallen  upon  Pandemonium. 

The  young  man  who  entered  this  place  on  the 
evening  in  question,  was  freshly  come  from  the 
mines,  where  he  had  been  assiduously  toiling  to 
get  together  a  stated  amount  of  gold.  He  was 
much  tanned  by  the  suns  that  had  so  fiercely 
beat  down  upon  him,  and  deep  wrinkles,  looking 
like  seams,  were  worn  in  his  face.  His  lips  were 
compressed,  as  if  he  had  recently  entered  with 
new  firmness  upon  some  fresh  resolution,  and 
had  started  to  carry  it  out  to  the  end. 

His  eyes  were  dark  and  thoughtful.  He  wore 
Ills  beard,  of  course,  long,  i-md  his  hair  fell  in 
long  locks  over  his  back  and  shoulders. 


He  gi'usped  a  bag,  or  leathern  pouch,  in  Ins 
left  hand,  lillcd  with  gold.  It  was  the  fruit  of 
months  of  toil.  Walking  up  deliberately  to  one 
of  the  places  where  liquor  was  to  be  obtained, 
he  called,  in  an  independent  air,  for  a  glass  of 
l)randy,  which  was  given  him.  Laying  down 
sufficient  "dust "  to  pay  for  this,  he  forthwith 
turned  and  went  away  among  the  crowd  of 
gamblers. 

There  was  such  a  nest  of  tliem  ;  there  were  so 
many  crowds ;  there  was  so  much  gambling, 
such  a  profusion  of  oaths,  such  jostling,  and 
crowding,  and  deep  excitement,  that  even  this 
young  man  half  hesitated.  It  was  not,  as  he 
knew,  in  consequence  of  fear.  But  there  was  an 
indefinable  something  that  made  him  halt.  It 
did  not,  either,  lead  him  to  reflection.  Would 
it  had  I  It  did  not  seriously  affect  him  at  all. 
He  crowded  on. 

A  person,  dressed  in  the  most  studied  manner 
of  a  gentleman,  chanced  to  be  sitting  at  the  end 
of  the  table,  and  seeing  the  stranger  approach, 
knowing  from  his  very  appearance  that  he  was 
just  from  the  mines,  accosted  him  in  terms  of 
exceeding  politeness. 

Tlie  stranger  paused,  and  looked  eagerly  yet 
steadily  in  his  face. 

"  Will  you  play  ?"  asked  the  one  at  the  end  of 
the  table,  running  liis  eyes  over  the  countenance 
of  the  stranger. 

"  Yes,"  was  his  final  reply,  after  hesitating. 
The  young  man  accordingly  sat  down  by  the 
side  of  the  other,  and  laid  his  bag  of  gold-dust 
upon  the  table  before  him. 
"  How  high  ?"  asked  the  first. 
"  What  do  you  propose  ?" 
"  A  thousand,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I'll  go  it,"  said  the  young  man. 
Forthwith,   therefore,   they   spread   out  their 
money,  the  elder  in  glittering  pieces  of  gold,  and 
the  younger  in  a  pile  of  yellow  and  shining  dust. 
The  eyes  of  the  latter  grew  perceptibly  brighter 
with  the  sight  of  the  dazzling  coin,  and  he  blush- 
ed away  his  matted  hair   hastily  from  his  fore- 
head, as  if  to  get  a  better  view. 

A  settled  line  of  determination  was  formed 
about  his  mouth,  that  gave  him  the  appearance 
of  a  man  fearfully  in  earnest. 

"  I  have  got  in  that  pouch,"  said  he,  aloud, 
addressing  no  one  in  particular,  "just  five  thou- 
sand dollars  by  actual  weight.  Let  me  see  if  I 
can  double  it." 

"Perliaps  you  can,"  put  in  the  stranger. 
"  I'll  either  do  that,"  replied  he,  "  or  I'll  go 
back  to  the  mines." 

The  gentleman  looked  at  him  with  interest. 
"  Yes,  I'll  do  it,"  repeated  the  young  man. 
"  When  I  came  down  here,  I  meant  to  take  ship 
at  once  for  home.  Then  I  thought  I'd  just  try 
my  luck  a  little,  and  see  if  it  wouldn't  stand  me 
in  as  profitably  as  my  labor.  And  here  I  am. 
If  I  lose  what  I've  got,  then  I  shall  go  back  to 
digging  again.  If  I  gain  on  it,  then  I'll  only  go 
home  to  my  wife  the  sooner.  I'm  ready.  Here 
is  my  pile." 

With  these  words,  the  other  began  to  shuffle 
the  cards.  They  were  dealt  round  slowly  and 
with  precision.  They  played,  and  the  young 
man  lost. 

"  Go  it  again?"  asked  the  winner. 
"  Yes,  and  double  it." 

Again  they  shuffled,  dealt,  and  played,  and 
again  the  young  man  lost!  But  this  time  no 
words  escaped  his  pallid  lips.  He  clenched  the 
bag  in  his  hands,  and  poured  out  all  its  remain- 
ing contents  on  the  table.  In  sullen  silence  he 
made  ready  to  play  again.  His  eye  dwelt  fierce- 
ly on  the  pile  of  yellow  gold  he  had  just  staked 
— his  remaining  all. 

"  Once  more,"  was  all  he  said. 
Once  more  they  went  into  the  now  fearfully 
exciting  play,  and  the  young  man  was  beggared  ! 
Merely  pushing  back  his  seat  from  the  table, 
he  reviewed  the  objects  upon  it  before  him. 
There  was  all  the  gold  he  had  been  toiling  for 
months  to  accumulate.  In  less  than  an  hour  he 
had  madly  thrown  it  all  away. 

"  Will  you  drink  ?"  asked  the  triumphant  win- 
ner, gathering  up  his  wicked  gains. 

"No;  give  me   one   more   chance,"  said  the 
young  man,  glaring  at  him  fiercely. 
"  But  I—" 

"  Never  fear,  &ir,"  interrupted  the  young  vic- 
tim, "lam  not  going  to  ask  you  to  lend  me 
funds.     Here." 

As  he  s])akc  the  last  word,  he  drew  out  his 
hand  from  his  left  breast.  It  was  done  with 
great  dcliberateness,  yet  it  was  plain  to  see  that 
it  cost  him  a  pang,  His  lips  compressed  until 
there  was  no  blood  lefi  in  them. 


"  Let  me  stake  this,"  said  he.  "  It's  the  last, 
but  it  can't  bring  me  ill  luck.  If  I  lose  that, 
then  I  shall  certainly  go  back  to  the  mines.  I 
will  redeem  it  again,  too,  at  no  very  distant  day." 

The  other  extended  his  hand,  and  received  in- 
to it  a  locket.  He  opened  it  hastily,  and  regard- 
ed the  sweet  and  angelic  countenance  for  only  a 
moment.  His  face  assumed  a  strange  expres- 
sion. A  pallor  overspread  it,  followed  by  as 
great  a  flush  of  fevered  blood.  The  young  man 
regarded  him  with  deep  sui-prise. 

"No,  no  I"  exclaimed  the  winner,  pushing 
hack  from  the  table,  and  liandingthc  young  man 
the  locket  again.  "  I  cannot  take  this.  I  can- 
not— I  will  not !" 

"  But  I  ask  for  only  another  chance." 

"  You  shall  not  stand  in  need  of  another 
chance.  You  shall  have  what  I  have  won  hack 
again.  I  would  not  keep  it  from  her.  I  could 
not  keep  it.  Take  it  again.  Go  home  to  her 
with  it,  and  make  her  happy !" 

As  the  stranger  said  this,  the  young  man  asked 
him,  in  broken  syllables,  what  he  meant  by  this 
generosity.  He  was  anxious  to  learn  the  secret 
of  it  all. 

"  She  was  Alice  Bourne .'"  replied  the  stranger, 
in  low  tones. 

The  young  man  nodded  an  affirmative. 

"  She  is  now — " 

"Ml/  wife!"  interrupted  the  young  man. 


The  night  was  cool  and  invigorating.  Chill 
breezes  from  the  north  blew  through  the  nan-ow 
alleys,  and  lanes,  and  courts  of  the  town,  send- 
ing refreshing  sensations  to  the  hearts  of  many, 
but  awakening  the  gaunt  fears  of  suffering  in  the 
hearts  of  many — many  more.  The  children  of 
poverty  were  abroad.  The  shadows  of  the  night 
concealed  their  destitution.  The  deep  lines 
drawn  in  their  faces  were  no  longer  visible. 
Night  threw  over  them  as  well  a  mantle  of 
charity  as  of  darkness. 

A  single  woman,  young,  and  of  slight  physi- 
cal frame,  was  -wandering  along  from  street  to 
street,  begging.  It  was  apparently  her  first  ex- 
perience in  that  line.  The  pavement  was  not 
more  cruel  and  hard  to  her  poorly  protected  feet 
than  seemed  the  stony  world  to  lier  heart.  Her 
secret  sorrows  pierced  her  as  with  thorns.  Auon 
she  moved  her  lips,  and  threw  up  her  large  and 
saddened  eyes  to  the  moon.  She  let  out  her  soul 
in  prayer,  for  she  yet  had  hope,  so  long  as  her 
trust  was  founded  where  the  world-storms  could 
not  reach  it  to  wash  it  away. 

She  turned  a  corner,  and  came  upon  a  passer 
— a  man.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  yet 
done  it,  but  the  pangs  of  a  more  irritating  feeling 
than  remorse  seized  her,  and  she  thought,  too,  of 
the  helpless  one  dependent  upon  her.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  she  begged  for  something 
with  which  to  keep  herself  from  starvation. 

"  But  you  are  begging  at  a  strange  hour,"  re- 
plied the  man.  "  How  far  do  you  live  from 
here  ?" 

The  woman  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes,  and  the 
hot  tears  rained  through  them,  on  the  pavement. 

"  Show  me  the  way  to  your  home,  good  wo- 
man," said  the  stranger.  "Perhaps  1  can  do 
you  a  service." 

She  hesitated,  and  was  silent. 

"  You  have  objections  ?  Then  do  not  blame 
me  if  I  have  objections  to  assist  you." 

"  0,  sir !"  was  all  she  could  exclaim. 

"  If  you  are  really  in  need  of  charity,  you  will 
be  ready  to  show  it.  Show  me  where  you 
live." 

Again  she  hesitated.  The  stranger  moved  as 
if  he  would  walk  on.  She  grasped  his  arm 
nervously,  exclaiming  in  a  tone  of  pitiful  plead- 
ing that  smote  his  heart : 

"  Come !     See  all  I  have  to  endure !" 

She  led  him  the  way,  never  once  suffering  him 
to  keep  up  with  her.  The  pace  at  which  she 
walked  was  rapid  and  excited.  They  stopped, 
at  length,  before  an  old  building  that  looked  as 
if  it  sufficed  for  the  use  of  many  tenants. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  she,  turning  round 
towards  him.     "  Will  you  follow  me  ?" 

There  was  a  tone  of  melancholy,  or  something 
else,  in  that  low  voice,  that  thrilled  him.  He 
stood  amazed  and  lost,  as  if  he  would  linger  on 
its  last  dying  echoes,  till  they  were  all  gone  from 
his  hearing. 

"  Come !"  again  called  she. 

Straightway  he  broke  from  his  sudden  reverie, 
and  followed  her.  Up  one,  two,  three,  four 
flights  of  wooden  steps — steep,  narrow  and  crazy 
— and  then  halted  again. 

"  So  high  ?"  asked  the  stranger. 

The  woman,  without  offering  any  answer, 
opened  a  little  door  before  her,  and  went  in. 
The  stranger  followed  close  behind  her.  The 
apartment  was  only  a  division  of  the  rude  garret. 
A  light  was  burning  feebly  near  the  chimney, 
scarce  revealing  anything  but  the  grotesque 
figures  that  slept  during  the  day  in  the  dusky 
angles.  She  took  it  in  her  hand,  and  approach- 
ed the  side  of  a  couch  spread  on  the  floor.  As 
she  stooped  down,  she  nodded  with  her  head  si- 
lently to  have  him  behold  what  her  o\\'n  eyes  had 
so  often  dwelt  upon  in  sorrow.  He  oame  to  the 
bedside,  and  bent  down.  For  the  first  time,  the 
light  revealed  all  to  him.  There  was  Alice 
Bourne  by  his  side,  and  before  him  lay  his  sleep- 
ing child,  still  alive ! 

We  cannot  describe  the  rest.  Alice  Boui-no 
had  been  faithful  to  her  hope.  She  had  lior  hus- 
band restored  to  her  at  last ! 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


95 


HENRY  CLAY'S  WILL. 

This  document  has  been  recorded  in  Ken- 
tucky, dated  July  10,  1851 .  It  provides  that  all 
children  bom  of  his  slaves  after  1st  of  January, 
1850,  are  to  be  liberated  and  sent  to  Liberia ; 
the  males  at  the  age  of  28,  and  the  females  at 
the  age  of  25.  The  earnings  of  the  last  three 
years  prior  to  their  emancipation  are  to  be  re- 
served for  their  benefit.  Before  removal  they 
are  to  be  taught  to  read,  write  and  cipher.  Those 
who  were  in  being  previously  to  1S50  are  be- 
queathed to  his  family.  The  homestead,  Ash- 
land, is  given  to  Mrs.  Clay  during  her  life  time, 
and  at  her  death  the  proceeds  divided  among  her 
children.  Mrs.  Clay  is  appointed  executrix,  and 
Thomas  A.  Marshall  and  James  O.  Harrison 
executors  of  the  will,  with  tlie  provision  that  no 
security  shall  be  required  of  either. 


THE  GLOBE  WE  LIVE  IN. 

It  is  kno%vn  as  a  fact  in  geology,  that  below 
the  depth  of  thirty  feet  the  earth  becomes  regu- 
larly warmer  as  we  descend.  On  an  average  the 
increase  is  at  the  rate  of  one  degree  of  Fahren- 
heit for  eveiy  fifty  feet.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
mines  of  Cornwall,  a  depth  of  one  thousand  two 
hundred  feet,  the  thermometer  stands  at  eighty- 
eight,  equal  to  high  summer  heat.  At  this  rate 
rocks  and  metals  would  be  melted  twenty  miles 
below  the  surface,  and  down  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  several  hundred  miles,  the  heat  would  be 
twenty  thousand  times  hotter  than  melted  iron. 
Who  can  wonder  at  earthquakes,  when  all  things 
rest  on  a  molten  sea  of  fire? 


BURNS  AT  SIXTEEN. 

Buras,  in  his  autobiography,  informs  us  that 
a  life  of  Hannibal,  which  he  read  when  a  boy, 
raised  the  first  strings  of  his  enthusiasm  ;  and  he 
adds,  ^ith  his  own  fervid  expression,  that  "the 
Life  of  Sir  William  Wallace  poured  a  tide  of 
Scottish  prejudices  into  his  veins,  which  would 
boil  along  them  till  the  flood-gates  of  life  were 
shut  in  eternal  rest."  He  also  adds,  speaking  of 
his  retired  life  in  early  youth,  "  This  kind  of  life, 
the  cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit,  and  the  toil  of 
a  galley  slave,  brought  me  to  my  sixteenth  year, 
wlien  love  made  me  a  poet." 


VERY  LARGE. 

Last  week,  says  an  English  paper,  there  was 
at  the  Bridgewater  canal-yard,  Manchester,  an 
enormous  plank  which  had  been  brought  from 
Liverpool  by  canal.  Its  dimensions  were — length 
144  feet;  breadth  20  inches;  and  thickness,  6 
inches  throughout.  It  is  of  a  species  of  wood 
known  as  gum  wood,  or  African  oak,  and  was 
imported  from  Africa  to  Liverpool  last  summer. 
The  tree  from  which  this  plank  has  been  sawTi 
must  have  been  of  a  gigantic  height,  probably 
not  much  less  than  three  Iiundred  feet. 


QUEER  SUPERSTITION. 

A  most  singula!-  superstition  exists  in  the  de- 
partment of  the  Indre  in  France,  that  after  death 
the  soul  of  the  defunct  flits  about  the  apartment 
in  which  it  took  its  departure  from  the  body,  like 
a  butterfl}',  seeking  an  aperture  to  escape  to 
heaven ;  and  therefore  when  any  one  is  consid- 
ered in  the  last  agonies,  every  vessel  containing 
water,  milk,  or  any  other  hquid,  is  removed  care- 
fully, for  fear  the  passing  spirit  should  fall  into 
it,  and  thus  be  prevented  from  reaching  its  eter- 
nal place  of  rest. 


KILLED  AND  CURED  BY  MACHINERY. 

It  is  quite  a  sight,  visiting  some  of  the  stupen- 
dous curing  establishments  of  St.  Louis,  to  ob- 
serve the  gigantic  scale  on  which  they  are  car- 
ried on,  and  the  new  and  curious  contrivances 
employed  in  the  process,  by  which  a  pig  is  killed, 
scalded,  cut  up,  and  reposing  in  salt,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  so  that  the  echoes  of  his  last 
grunt  have  not  well  died  away  ere  he  is  trans- 
muted to  bacon.  -- 


Fourth  of  July  in  New  York. — A  corres- 
pondent of  the  Newark  Daily  Advertiser,  writing 
from  New  York,  says :  Independence  Day  is 
ranch  the  longest  day  of  the  whole  year.  It  be- 
gan here  on  Saturday  night,  continued  through- 
out Sunday  and  Monday,  and  did  not  fairly  end 
till  Tuesday  morning,  lasting  nearly  72  hours  in 
all. 


Commercial. — There  are  forty-five  schooners 
employed  in  the  cod  fishery  from  Beverly,  this 
season,  the  aggregate  tonnage  of  which  is  8140 
tons.  These  vessels  are  manned  by  three  hun- 
dred and  seventy  men. 


tUaHsiiie   ©atljcrings. 

Barque  Oriental,  470  tons,  was  sold  at  Boston, 
lately,  for  S2U,000. 

Mr.  Wise  made  his  135th  balloon  ascension  at 
Columbus,  Ohio,  on  the  3d  of  July. 

All  emigrants  for  St.  Louis  are  required  to  re- 
main at  quarantine  five  days. 

Scott  did  fight  two  duels,  and  challenged  De- 
witt  Clinton  to  fight  another. 

There  are  a  few  women  whose  merits  do  not 
last  longer  than  their  beauty. 

Fever  was  raging  terribly  among  the  inhabi- 
tants and  shipping  at  St.  Domingo,  June  24. 

A  confectioner  of  Nashville,  Tenn.,  was  lately 
killed  by  the  explosion  of  a  soda  fountain. 

The  British  naval  establishment  on  the  great 
American  lakes  has  been  entirely  broken  up. 

Several  deaths  from  heat  have  taken  place  in 
diflferent  parts  of  the  counti-y  within  the  past 
fortnight. 

Kossutli  is  about  to  publish  a  book  to  be  sold 
for  the  benefit  of  such  Hungarian  refugees  as 
need  assistance. 

Emipration  to  Western  Wisconsin,  says  the 
Daily  Wisconsin,  was  never  larger  or  of  a  better 
class. 

Our  exchanges  from  all  parts  of  the  country 
speak  of  the  spirited  manner  in  which  the  day  of 
Independence  was  observed. 

Hon.  Abner  Hendee,  of  Hebron,  Ct.,  was 
found  dead  in  his  bed  on  Thursday  moraing,  the 
8th  ult. 

A  Cincinnati  paper  sLates  there  are  no  less 
than  six  hundred  and  eighty-one  pianos  in  use  in 
that  city. 

The  Boston  firemen  are  paid.  There  are  513 
men  in  the  department,  and  the  semi-annual  pay 
roll  amounts  to  $12,568  95. 

Col.  George  C.  Washington,  of  Montgomery 
county,  Md.,  has  a  field  of  rye  which  averages 
seven  feet  in  height. 

The  Atlantic  and  St.  Lawrence  Railroad  now 
extends  to  Northumberland,  N.  H.,  on  the  Con- 
necticut River,  122  miles  from  Portland. 

In  the  fight  between  Orangemen  and  Catholics 
at  Hamilton,  Canada,  Barney  McFhillips  and 
anotlier  person  were  killed,  and  others  wounded. 

A  father  and  mother  both  got  drunk  in  Louis- 
ville ;  and  in  his  rage,  the  father  killed  his  child, 
aged  eighteen  months. 

Hastings,  postmaster  at  Mil  Is  borough,  Dela- 
ware, has  been  holden  to  bail  in  S4000,  and  in 
default  is  committed  for  trial  for  robbing  letters. 

Charles  A.  Jacobs,  a  native  of  Virginia,  died 
June  30,  the  wealthiest  citizen  of  New  Orleans, 
worth  a  million  and  a  half  of  dollars. 

The  wheat  crop  of  Indiana,  and  in  the  West 
generally,  is  said  to  be  very  heavy,  and  free  from 
all  blight  or  rust. 

We  noticed  handbills  at  the  corners  of  the 
streets,  nominating  Francis  Tukcy,  Esq.,  late 
City  Marshal,  as  the  citizens'  candidate  for  next 
mayor. 

Raspben-ics  are  plenty  in  the  New  York  mar- 
kets. Tlie  Jom-nal  of  Commerce  says,  that  one 
gentleman  is  likely  to  reahze  $3000  from  tlie  pro- 
duce of  five  acres. 

An  eminent  connoisseur  was  ofl^cred,  during 
dessert,  some  grapes.  "  Thank  you,"  said  he, 
gently  rejecting  the  dish,  "  it  is  never  my  custom 
to  take  my  wine  in  pills  !" 

While  seven  negroes  at  Lexington,  Mo.,  were 
eating  their  dinner  on  the  13th  ult.,  under  a  tree, 
it  was  struck  by  lightning,  and  four  of  them 
instantly  killed. 

It  is  only  seven  years  since  the  first  line  of 
telegraph  was  put  in  operation.  Since  then  there 
have  been  fourteen  thousand  miles  of  telegraphic 
lines  put  up  in  the  United  States. 

The  murdered  body  of  John  Alby,  Jr.,  of  Col- 
chester, N.  Y.,  has  been  found  in  a  creek  in  De- 
laware county.  He  had  sold  a  raft  of  lumber, 
and  was  returning  home  with  S400. 

Horses  have  been  known  to  starve  to  death  in 
New  England,  when  their  owners  had  plenty  of 
hay  and  oats  to  give  them.  But  they  were  past 
service.     *'  Poor  old  horse,  let  him  die." 

Jackson  Vaigneur  was  hung  at  Gillisonville, 
S.  C,  on  the  2d  ult.,  for  the  murder  of  Mary 
Wall  on  the  18th  of  February,  1851,  by  shooting 
her  with  a  double  barrelled  gun. 

"  Hasty-plate -of- soup  "  associations,  young 
hickory  clubs,  candy  squibs,  and  fuss-and-feather 
designations,  are  among  the  things  of  the  pres- 
ent political  campaign. 

The  coal  banks  in  the  vicinity  of  AYheeling 
are  on  fire,  and  continue  so,  in  spite  of  all  efforts 
at  extinguishment.  One  of  the  owners  has  lost 
not  less  than  $10,000  already. 

From  present  indications,  the  grape  crop  of 
Pennsylvania  promises  to  be  most  abundant,  and 
a  prospect  for  a  full  harvest  exceeds  that  of  any 
previous  year. 

Tlie  residence  of  the  late  Mr.  Cooper,  known 
as  Otsego  Hall,  has  been  purchased  by  Mr.  Ryck- 
man,  of  New  York,  for  the  moderate  sum  of 
$10,000.  It  seems  strange  that  Mr.  Cooper's 
heirs  should  permit  it  to  go  out  of  their  posses- 
sion. 

The  Theatre  Royal,  at  Montreal,  was  opened 
on  Wednesday  night  week  for  the  summer  sea- 
son, that  evening's  performances  being  for  the 
benefit  of  the  sufferers  by  the  fire.  Bland, 
Andrews,  Conner  and  Mrs.  Maeder,  are  of  the 
company. 


-foreign  illisccllang. 

The  English  have  twenty-one  ships  on  the 
coast  of  Africa. 

The  Spanish  government  has  just  authorized 
the  establishment  of  200  nunneries. 

Accounts  from  Rome  state  that  Pope  Pius  is 
threatened  wilh  dropsy. 

The  cliurch  at  Esquieule  in  the  Pyrenees  was 
struck  by  lightning  on  Sunday,  and  two  men 
were  killed. 

At  Bremen  two  young  ladies,  Md'lles.  Meyer 
and  Windermann,  have  just  been  imprisoned  for 
political  writing. 

The  fifteenth  annivei'sary  of  Her  Majesty, 
Queen  Victoria's  coronation,  was  celebrated  in 
England  on  the  28th  of  June. 

The  potato  disease  has  been  discovered  in 
Queen's  county,  Kilkenny  and  Down,  and  injury 
was  feared  should  the  weather  continue  wet. 

A  telegraphic  message  of  twenty  words  from 
London  to  Paris  costs  about  six  dollars  and  a 
quarter.  The  sub-marine  wire  continues  to  work 
well. 

Two  engines  for  the  Northwestern  Railroad 
are  now  building  in  England,  which  are  expected 
to  run  a  distance  of  113  miles,  with  loaded  trains, 
in  two  hours. 

The  number  of  deaths  in  London  during  the 
week  ending  June  26  was  990,  of  whom  500 
were  females,  and  180  were  upwards  of  60  years 
old  ;  two  died  of  English  cholera. 

The  enthusiasm  manifested  by  the  Hungarians 
in  presence  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  has  cre- 
ated, it  appears,  a  very  disagreeable  sensation 
among  the  Hungarian  refugees  in  London. 

The  English  papers  state  that  George  Thomp- 
son has  lost  his  election,  much  dissatisfaction  be- 
ing expressed  by  his  constituents  at  his  desertion 
of  his  duties  for  an  entire  session  while  engaged 
in  agitating  in  the  United  States. 

Gongia  Khan,  the  chief  dragoman  of  the  Prus- 
sian Legation  in  Russia,  has  presented  to  the 
Imperial  Russian  Library,  a  translation  of  Vol- 
taire's History  of  Russia  under  Peter  the  Great. 
It  is  a  splendid  work,  the  text  being  lithographed 
upon  parchment;  the  engravings  are  by  Nuran 
Hassan  Cacheni,  and  represent  portraits  of  the 
Czar  Peter,  and  other  principal  personages. 

It  is  calculated  that  Paris  annually  consumes 
strawben-ics  to  the  amount  of  five  million  francs. 
Epinay,  near  St.  Denis,  sends  every  day,  during 
the  season,  500  francs  worth  of  asparagus  to 
England.  Mendon,  last  year,  sent  a  similar 
amount  of  plums  every  day  ;  and  Honfleur  and 
its  neigliborhood  one  million  francs  worth  of 
melons  in  tlie  course  of  the  season. 


Sanis  of  (Soli. 


....  Be  timely  wise  rather  than  ^\ise  in  time. 

....   Goodness  thinks  no  ill  where  no  ill  seems. 

....  Truth,  love,  and  high  morality  are  the 
same. 

Never  give  out  that  which  does  not  first 

come. 

....  Pleasure  may  be  a  shadoiv,  but  it  uses  a 
heap  of  substance. 

Suspicion  is  a  counterfeiter  of  truth,  as 

Avell  as  falsehood. 

....  He  wlio  buys  what  he  does  not  want, 
will  want  what  he  cannot  buy. 

A  presentiment  of  coming  gladness  is 

the  summit  of  teiTCsti'ial  felicity. 

....  Childhood  and  genius  have  the  same 
master  organ  in  common — inquisitiveness. 

....  The  noblest  quality  wherewith  nature 
has  endowed  woman-for  the  good  of  the  world, 
is  raateraal  love. 

At  twenty-five  we  kill  pleasure,  at  thirty 

w^e  enjoy  it,  at  forty  we  husband  it,  at  fifty  we 
hunt  after  it,  at  sixty  we  regret  it, 

Politeness   is   the   outward  garment  of 

goodwill;  but  many  are  the  nut-shells  in  which, 
if  you  crack  them,  notliing  like  a  kernel  is  to  be 
found. 

....  One  of  the  sublimest  things  about  human 
nature  is  that  a  man  may  guide  others  in  the 
path  of  life  without  walking  in  it  himself;  that 
he  may  be  a  pilot,  and  jet  a  castaway. 

....  Of  all  the  impertinent  wishes  which  we 
hear  expressed  in  conversation,  there  is  not  one 
more  unworthy  a  gentleman,  or  a  man  of  liberal 
education,  than  that  of  wishing  one's  self  younger. 

Once  give  your  mind  up  to  suspicion  and 

fear,  and  there  will  be  sure  to  be  food  enough  for 
it.  In  the  stillest  night  the  air  is  filled  with 
sounds  for  the  wakeful  ear  that  is  resolved  to 
listen. 

....  It  takes  two  to  make  a  quaiTel — just  re- 
member that.  It  takes  two  to  get  a  quarrel 
fairly  going,  so  hold  your  tongue  the  moment  a 
storm  is  brewing,  and  you  are  without  the  pale 
of  discord. 

....  Unfortunately,  ridicule  is  a  weapon  to 
which  the  vacillating  too  often  yield,  forgetting 
that  it  belongs  only  to  little  and  ungenerous 
minds,  and  that  those  who  use  it,  are  subjects  for 
compassion  rather  than  dread. 

A  ci-ust  of  bread,  a  pitcher  of  water,  a 

thatched  roof,  and  love ;  there  is  happiness  for 
you,  whether  the  day  be  rainy  or  sunny.  It  is 
the  heart  that  makes  the  home,  whether  the  eye 
rests  on  a  potato  patch  or  a  flower  garden. 
Heart  makes  home  precious,  and  it  is  the  only 
thing  that  ean. 


lokcr'a   Buligct. 


"  Wliy  is  a  cruel  man  like  a  peach  ?"  He  has 
a  heart  of  stone. 

The  report  that  "  Powers's  Greek  Slave  "  had 
died  of  cholera  is  totally  untrue. 

Say,  Jack,  can  you  tell  us  what's  the  best 
thing  to  hold  t\\o  pieces  of  rope  together  V — "  I 
guess  knot." — Lantern. 

Why  is  a  man  with  a  scolding  wife  like  Lon- 
don in  the  seventeenth  century  ?  He  is  aflBicted 
with  a  great  plague. 

The   reason   that  the   organ   in   Dr.  S 's 

church  did  not  play  last  Sabbath,  was  caused,  we 
learn,  by  its  having  a  new  stop  put  to  it.  It  was 
added,  we  believe,  by  the  deputy  sheriff. 

"  Has  that  cookery  book  any  pictures  V — 
"No,  madam — none." — "  Why,  what's  the  use 
of  telling  us  how  to  make  a  good  dinner,  if  they 
give  us  no  plates?" 

The  gentleman  who  did  not  trust  to  his  mem- 
ory, wrote  in  his  pocket-book — *'  I  must  be  mar- 
ried when  I  get  to  town."  The  possibility  is 
that  he  recollected  whether  he  was  married  or 
not,  afterwards. 

A  merchant,  who  died  suddenly,  left  in  his 
desk  a  letter  written  to  one  of  Iiis  correspon- 
dents. His  clerk,  a  son  of  Erin,  seeing  it  neces- 
sary to  send  the  letter,  wrote  at  the  bottom : — 
"  since  writing  the  above  I  have  died." 

Nothing  was  so  much  dreaded  in  our  school- 
boy days  as  to  be  punished  by  sitting  between 
two  girls.  Ah,  the  force  of  education!  In  after 
years  we  learn  to  submit  to  such  things  without 
shedding  a  tear. 

A  traveller  in  a  stage-coach,  aot  famous  for 
its  swiftness,  inquired  the  name  of  the  coach. 
A  fellow  passenger  replied  :  "  I  tliink  it  is  the 
Regulator,  for  I  observe  all  the  other  coaches  go 
by  "it." 

A  jailer  in  a  Western  State  had  received  strict 
orders  not  to  keep  his  prisoners  in  solitary  con- 
finement. Once,  when  he  had  but  two  in  charge, 
one  escaped;  and  he  was  obliged,  in  conse- 
quence, to  kick  the  other  out  of  doors,  in  order  to 
comply  with  the  regulation. 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

■We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Piotorul  Drawino 
Room  Companion  elegautly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  moat 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

ANB     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views ;  and.  in  short,  of  an  infiuite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a.  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  v!ist  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Itecord  of  the  times;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  out  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  iill  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  DoUars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION, 

AS  ELEGANT.  5I0KAL  AXD  REFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polity  literature,  wit  and  hiimor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEH  POK  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  A'ISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  weekly  paper  in  tlie  United  States.,  and  its  hterary 
contents  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsxirpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
80  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  inteUigence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  oSenng  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  beforo 
our  hundi-eds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEMS    TO    SXTBSCEIBERS. 

1  subscriber,  one  year, S2  00 

3  subscribers,       "  5  00 

4  ■'  "  6  00 

5  "  "  11  00 

16  "  *  20  00 

One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  our  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 

PicroftiAL  Da.iwixij-KooM  Companion,  one  year,  for  So  00. 
[jC?"  Invariably  in  advance- 
Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 

and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  terms. 

XT'  Ml  orders  should  be  addressed.  POST  PAID,  to  the 

PuBLisaER  OF  THE  Flaq  of  our  Union. 

V*  The  Flag  can  be  obtained  at  any  of  the  newspaper 

depots  in  the  United  Slates,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 

FOUR  CKSTS  per  single  copy, 

F.     GLEASON, 
PCBUSUER  AND  PROPRIETOR,  JtoaTON,  JlASg, 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DKAWINC;    UOOM    COMPANION 


VIEW  OF  DETHOIT^  MICHIGAJ^^  FROM  SANDWICH^  CANADA. 


CITY  OF  DETROIT. 

Detroit,  a  fine  view  of 
■which    is   given  above, 
is  or,e  of  the  principal 
cities  of  the  great  North- 
west.    The  site  of  the 
city  is  said  to  have  been 
occupied  by  Indian  vil- 
lages at  the  period  of  the 
discovery  of  the  country. 
It  was   visited    by   the 
rrench  as  early  as  1610, 
and  a  mission  was  estab- 
lished  among  the    Hu- 
rons,   in   its   vicinity,  a 
few  years  later,  so  that 
its    liistory    dates   back 
even  beyond  the  landing 
of  the  Pilgrims  at  Ply- 
mouth,   It  has  been  the 
theatre   of  some  of  the 
most  brilliant  as  well  as 
the  most  disgraceful  ex- 
ploits recorded  in  the  an- 
nals of  the  world.     The 
present    population    of 
Detroit  is  25,000,  which 
is     rapidly    increasing. 
Thirty    years   ago,   the 
entire  population  of  the 
State  of  Michigan  was 
less   than   10,000;  it  is 
now    about    500,000, — 
When   the    State   shall 
become  well  settled,  and 
her     agricultural      and 
mineral     wealth    fairly 
developed,  Detroit  will 
take  a  high  rank  among 
the  inland  cities  of  the 
Union.     Within  view  of 
the  city  is  Detroit  river, 
connecting    lakes    Erie 
and  St.  Clair,  one  of  the 
noblest  streams  that  ever 
gave  life  and  beauty  to 
a   city.      Its  banks  are 
high,    its   channel  wide 
and  deep,  bearing  proud- 
ly on  its  bosom  the  com- 
merce of  the  great  west- 
ern lakes.     The  accom- 
panying   view  is    from 
Sandwich,  on  the  Cana- 
da side  of  the  river,  and 
can   only  represent  the 
lower  part  of  the  city,  in 
which   are    located   the 
extensive     depots     and 
other  buildings  belong- 
ing to  the  Michigan  Cen- 
tral Railroad  Company. 
They    have    on    these 
premises     upwards     of 
nineteen  hundred  feet  of 
dock  front  on  the  river, 
where  ve**sels  can  lie  in 
water  from  12  to  20  feet, 
deep,       Tliey    have     a 
large  freight  depot,  100 
feet  wide,  and  extending 


STATUETTE  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 


[See  p(ige  98,  fnr  ^efjcriptlpn.] 


800  feet  along  the  dock 
on  the  river;  and  adjoin- 
ing this,  a  passenger  de- 
pot, 325  feet  long  and 
75  feet  wide,  in  one  end 
of  which  are  the  various 
business  offices  of  the 
company.  Below  the 
freight  depot,  on  the 
river  front,  are  two  lai^ge 
two  story  warehouses. 
There  is  also  a  large 
warehouse,  120  feet  by 
60,  and  70  feet  high,  so 
arranged  as  to  elevate 
the  wheat  from  cars  into 
bins  above,  and  spout  it 
directly  into  the  vessel 
lying  alongside  of  the 
dock,  without  handling. 
There  is  also  in  the 
same  enclosure  a  circu- 
lar engine  house  130  feet 
in  diameter,  surmounted 
with  a  dome  85  feet  high. 
Connected  with  this  is  a 
machine  and  blacksmith 
shop,  100  feet  long,  60 
feet  wide,  and  two  sto- 
ries high,  where  are  23 
blacksmith's  forges,  fur- 
nished with  blast  from 
a  fan  run  by  a  stationary 
engine.  Adjoining  these 
shops  for  iron  work,  is 
a  large  shop  for  building 
and  repairing  cars,  169 
feet  long,  55  feet  wide 
and  two  stories  high. 
There  is  also  between 
the  two  a  large  smoke 
stack,  13  feet  square  and 
150  feet  high,  by  means 
of  which  all  the  smoko 
of  the  shops  is  carried 
off  by  underground  flues. 
The  most  of  these  build- 
ings are  of  bi'ick,  and 
fire-proof  from  without. 
Passenger  trains  leave 
this  place  twice  each 
day  {except  Sunday)  for 
Chicago,  running  the 
distance  of  281  miles  in 
about  10  hours,  over  one 
of  the  most  perfect  and 
best  managed  roads  in 
the  United  States.  The 
company  have  commenc- 
ed running  in  connec- 
tion with  this  road  a  lino 
of  steamers  to  and  from 
all  the  ports  ou  Lake 
Eric.  In  the  foreground 
of  the  picture  our  artist 
has  placed  the  far-famed 
and  favorite  May  Flow- 
er, as  she  appears  just 
turned  from  her  clnck 
on  her  departure  'or 
Buffalo. 


p.  GLEASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMTIELD 
j  AND  IREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  AUGUST  14,  1852. 


S2  PER  VOLUME. 


Cm  IS5S  )  Vol.  m.  No.  7— Whole  No.  59. 


PILOTS'  MONUMENT. 

The  Pilots'  Monument 
g^iven  on  tliis  page  was 
drawn  on  the  spot  for  us  by 
our  artist,  Mr.  Wade,  and 
aside  from  its  excellence  as 
a  picture,  is  very  interesting 
and  suggestive  in  its  story. 
The  noble-hearted  man, 
whose  dust  rests  beneath, 
this  monument,  richly  de- 
served this  honor  from  his 
friends ;  he  was  literally, 
one  of  nature's  noblemen — 
a  true  and  honest  man. 
This  magnificent  structure, 
as  the  epitaph  informs  us, 
was  reai'cd  by  the  New 
York  pilots,  to  the  memory 
of  a  brave  and  generous 
comrade,  Thomas  Free- 
born. Mr.  Freeborn  per- 
ished on  the  14th  of  Febru- 
ary, 1846,  by  the  wreck  of 
the  John  Mintum,  which  he 
had  undertaken  to  conduct 
into  port.  She  was  driven 
by  a  gale  on  the  Jersey 
shore .  Though  the  ship 
was  within  sight  and  hail  of 
a  sympathizing  multitude, 
so  violent  were  die  storm 
and  surf,  that  no  effectual 
relief  could  be  rendered. 
Chilled  to  death  by  the  wet 
and  cold,  nearly  all  on 
board  perished  before  the 
vessel  went  to  pieces. 
There  were  female  passen- 
gers on  board,  who,  in  this 
hour  of  mortal  extremity, 
clung  with  vain  hope  round 
the  hardy  pilot — now,  alas, 
almost  as  powerless  as 
themselves !  With  gener- 
ous kindness  he  took  off  a 
part  of  his  own  garments 
to  shelter  them ;  but  the 
winter  storm,  the  sleet  and 
freezing  spray  proved  too 
strong  even  for  the  staunch 
and  hardy  sailor,  inured 
from  boyhood  to  every 
hardship.  This  monument, 
standing  upon  one  of  the 
highest  points  of  the  ceme- 
tery, is  a  veiy  conspicuous 
object,  and  for  a  consider- 
able distance  is  in  full  view 
of  vessels,  as  they  move  up 
and  down  the  river.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  chaste  and 
beautiful  combinations  of 
ideas — most  of  which  is  na- 
val— in  Greenwood  Ceme- 
tery. From  a  massive  base, 
rises  a  square  sarcophagus. 
Upon  this  rests  a  ship's 
capstan,  but  the  cable,  which 
is  coiled  about  it,  is  severed. 
The  pillar  which  rises  from 
the  capstan,  may  be  regard- 
ed as  a  mutilated  mast;  on 
the  summit  stands  Hope, 
still  retaining  her  anchor, 
and  pointing  heavenward. 
The  statue  is  beautifully 
executed ;  but  it  being  so 
high,  some  eighteen  or 
t^venty  feet,  or  thuty  or 
forty  feet  from  the  road,  it 
cannot  be  seen  to  good  ad- 
vantage. On  the  front  of 
the     sarcophagus,    a    sea 


MONUJIENT  m  GREENWOOD  CEMETERY,  NEW  YORK. 


storm  and  shipwreck  ai^e 
represented  in  relief.  From 
this  monument  a  fine  -view 
of  the  magnificent  bay  of 
New  York,  islands  and  sub- 
urbs of  the  great  commer- 
cial city  is  obtained  ;  while 
in  the  extreme  distance,  the 
noisy  city,  sunounded  with 
smoke,  lays  like  a  sleeping 
child,  greatly  contrasting 
with  the  cift/  of  the  dead. 
How  unlike  are  our  modem 
burial  places  to  the  cemete- 
ries of  ancient  times.  The 
humblest  individual  who 
has  distinguished  himself  in 
works  of  public  benefaction 
and  virtue,  may  now  find  a 
spot  of  repose,  and  his  vir- 
tues engraven  on  the  mai"- 
ble  tablet,  be  the  praise 
and  imitation  of  every  one 
who  reads  the  record.  In. 
that  most  important  of  the 
burial  places  of  the  ancient 
Egyptians,  on  the  borders 
of  Lake  Archerusia,  a  tri- 
bunal, composed  of  fort}-- 
two  judges,  was  established 
lo  iuqnue  into  the  life  and 
character  of  the  deceased. 
Without  this  examination, 
a  corpse  could  not  be  car- 
ried to  the  cemetery.  If 
the  deceased  had  died  in- 
solvent, the  court  adjudged 
the  corpse  to  his  creditors, 
in  order  to  oblige  his  X'ela- 
tions  and  friends  to  redeem 
it.  If  his  life  had  been 
wicked,  they  refused  his 
body  the  privilege  of  sol- 
emn burial,  and  it  was  con- 
sequently carried  and 
thrown  into  a  large  ditch 
made  for  tlie  pui-pose.  If 
no  accuser  appeared,  the 
judges  decreed  the  regular 
burial,  and  the  eulogiura  of 
the  deceased  was  pronoun- 
ced amongst  the  applauses 
of  the  bystanders.  In  this, 
his  talents,  virtues,  accom- 
plishments, everything  ex- 
cept his  rank  and  riches, 
were  praised.  The  ceme- 
tery was  a  large  plain,  sur- 
rounded by  trees,  and  inter- 
sected by  canals,  to  which, 
was  given  the  appellatioii 
Elisout,  or  Elisimus,  ni.ean- 
ing  rest.  The  whole  cere- 
mony of  internient  seems  tQ 
have  consisted  in  depositing 
the  mummy  in  the  excava- 
tion made  in  the  rock,  or 
Xinder  the  sand  which  cov- 
ered the  whole  Elisout;  then 
it  seems  that  the  relations 
pf  the  deceased  threw  three 
handsful  of  sand,  as  a  sign 
^0  the  workmen  to  fill  up 
the  cavity,  after  uttering 
three  loud  farewcUs,  and  sq 
ended  the  bui-iul  ceremony. 
We  think  the  monument 
erected  to  the  memory  of 
tlie  hardy  and  noble  Free- 
horn,  will  commend  itself, 
hoth  as  a  work  of  art  and  a 
tribute  of  esteem  and  honor, 
highly  creditable  to  his  vet- 
eran compeers. 


98 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congiess,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Glkason,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 

[written   EXniESBLT   FOK  OLEASOH's   PIOTORIAL.] 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 


BY  LIEUTENANT  MURRAY. 

[continued. ] 


CHAPTER  Xn.— [continued.] 
"  It  is  strange  that  he  shoiild  meet  with  disap- 
pointment, for  General  Bczan  could  mai'ry  tlie 
proudest  lady  of  the  court  of  Madrid." 

"  O,  you  forget  when  he  came  home  to  Spain 
he  was  only  an  humble  captain  of  infantry,  who 
had  seen  little  service.  Aow  he  is  a  general,  and 
ah-eady  distinguished." 

They  were  nearer  right  in  their  surmises  than 
even  themselves  were  aware  of.  It  was  very 
true  that  Captain  Bezan,  the  unhnown  soldier, 
and  General  Bezan,  the  queen's  favorite,  hon- 
ored by  orders,  and  entrusted  with  important 
commissions,  successful  in  desperate  battles,  and 
the  hero  of  the  civil  war,  were  two  very  different 
individuals.  No  one  realized  this  more  acutely 
than  did  Lorenzo  Bezan  himself.  No  step  to- 
wards preferment  and  honor  did  he  take  without 
comparing  his  situation  with  the  humble  lieuten- 
ant's birth  that  he  filled  when  he  first  knew  Isa- 
bella Gonzales,  and  when  his  hopes  had  run  so 
high,  as  it  regarded  winning  her  love. 

Of  all  the  beauty  and  rank  of  the  Castilian 
court,  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  the  Count- 
ess Moranza  was  universally  pronounced  the 
queen  of  beauty.  A  lineal  descendant  of  the 
throne,  her  position  near  the  queen  was  of  such 
a  nature  as  to  give  her  great  influence,  and  to 
cause  her  favor  to  be  sought  with  an  earnestness 
only  second  to  the  service  rendered  to  the  queen 
herself.  Her  sway  over  the  hearts  of  men  had 
been  unlimited ;  courted  and  sought  after  by  the 
nobles  of  the  land,  her  heart  had  never  yet  been 
touched,  or  her  favors  granted  beyond  the  proud 
civility  that  her  birth,  rank  and  position  at  court 
entitled  her  to  dispense. 

She  differed  from  Isabella  Gonzales  but  little 
in  character,  save  in  the  tenderness  and  womanli- 
ness, so  to  speak,  of  her  heart— /Aai  she  could  not 
conti-ol ;  otherwise  she  possessed  all  the  pride  and 
self-eonceit  that  her  parentage  and  present  posi- 
tion were  calculated  to  engender  and  foster.  On 
Lorenzo  Bezan's  first  appearance  at  court  she 
had  been  attracted  by  his  youth,  his  fame,  the 
absence  of  pride  in  his  hearing,  and  the  very 
subdued  and  tender,  if  not  melancholy,  cast  of 
his  countenance.  She  was  formally  introduced 
to  him  by  the  queen,  and  was  as  much  delighted 
by  the  simple  sincerity  of  his  conversation  as  she 
had  been  by  his  hearing  and  the  fame  that  pre- 
ceded his  arrival  at  the  court.  She  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  the  flirting  and  attention  of 
the  court  gallants,  and  had  regarded  them  with 
little  feeling  5  but  here  was  one  who  spoke  from 
the  heart,  and  she  found  that  he  spoke  to  the 
heart,  also,  for  she  was  warmly  interested  in  him 
at  once. 

On.  his  part,  naturally  polite  and  gallant,  he 
was  assiduous  in  every  little  attention,  more  so 
from  the  feeling  of  gratitude  for  the  friendship 
she  showed  to  him  who  was  so  broken-hearted. 
Intercourse  of  days  and  hours  grew  into  the  inti- 
macy of  weeks  and  months,  and  they  became 
friends,  warm  friends,  who  seemed  to  love  to 
confide  in  each  other  the  whole  wealth  of  the 
Boul.  Unaccustomed  to  female  society,  and  with 
only  one  model  ever  before  his  eyes,  Lorenzo 
Bezan  afforded;  in  his  truthfulness,  a  refi'cshing 
pictm-e  to  the  court-wooed  and  fashionable  belle  of 
the  capital,  who  had  so  long  lived  in  the  artificial 
atmosphere  of  the  queen's  palace,  and  the  sur- 
roundings of  the  Spanish  capital. 

The  absence  of  all  intrigue,  management  and 
deceit,  the  frank,  open-hearted  manliness  of  his 


conversation,  the  delicacy  of  his  feelings,  and  the 
constant  consideration  for  her  own  ease  and 
pleasure,  could  not  but  challenge  the  admiration 
of  the  beautiful  Countess  Moranza,  and  on  her 
own  part  she  spared  no  means  to  return  his  po- 
liteness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

tJNKEQUITED     LOVE. 

Pleased,  and  perhaps  flattered,  by  the  con- 
stant and  unvarying  kindness  and  friendliness 
evinced  towards  him  by  the  Countess  Moranza, 
the  young  general  seemed  to  be  very  happy  in 
her  company,  and  to  pass  a  lai'ge  portion  of  his 
leisure  hours  by  her  side.  The  court  gossips, 
ever  ready  to  improve  any  opportunity  that 
may  offer,  invented  all  manner  of  scandal  and 
prejudicial  stories  concerning  the  peerless  and 
chaste  Countess  Moranza;  but  she  was  above 
the  power  of  their  shafts,  and  entertained  Lorenzo 
Bezan  with  prodigal  hospitality. 

To  the  young  soldier  this  was  of  immense  ad- 
vantage, as  she  who  was  thus  a  firm  friend  to 
him,  was  a  woman  of  brilliant  mind  and  cultiva- 
tion, and  Lorenzo  Bezan  improved  vastly  by  the 
intellectual  powers  of  the  countess.  The  idea  of 
loving  her  beyond  the  feelings  a  warm  friendship 
might  induce,  had  never  crossed  his  mind,  and 
had  it  done  so,  would  not  have  been  entertained 
even  for  one  moment.  Of  loving  he  had  but  one 
idea,  one  thought,  one  standard,  and  that  heart 
embodiment,  that  queen  of  his  affections,  was 
Isabella  Gonzales. 

They  rode  together,  read  to  each  other,  and, 
in  short,  were  quite  inseparable,  save  when  the 
queen,  by  some  invitation,  which  was  law  of 
course  to  the  young  general,  solicited  his  attend- 
ance upon  herself.  Her  friendship,  too,  was 
warm,  and  her  interest  great  for  Lorenzo  Bezan, 
and  slie  delighted  to  shower  upon  him  every 
honor,  and  pubhcly  to  acknowledge  his  services 
to  the  throne. 

"  The  queen  seems  very  kind  to  you,  general," 
said  the  countess,  to  bim. 

"  She  is  more  than  kind — she  lavishes  rewards 
upon  me." 

"  She  loves  bravery." 

"  She  repays  good  fortune  in  round  sums," 
replied  the  officer. 

"But  why  do  you  ever  wear  that  sober,  som- 
bre, and  sad  look  upon  your  face  ■?" 

"Do  I  look  thus  ?"  asked  the  soldier,  with  a 
voice  of  surprise. 
"  Often." 

"  I  knew  it  not,"  replied  Lorenzo  Bezan,  some- 
what earnestly. 

*' It  seems  a  mystery  to  me  that  General  Be- 
zan, honored  by  the  queen,  with  a  purse  well 
filled  with  gold,  and  promoted  beyond  all  prece- 
dent in  his  profession,should  not  rather  smile  than 
frown ;  but  perhaps  there  is  some  reason  for 
grief  in  your  heart,  and  possibly  I  am  careless, 
and  probing  to  the  quick  a  wound  that  may  yet 
be  fresh." 

The  soldier  breathed  an  involuntary  sigh,  but 
said  nothing. 

"Yes.  I  see  now  that  I  have  annoyed  you, 
and  should  apologize,"  she  said. 

"  Nay,  not  so  ;  you  have  been  more  than  a 
friend  to  me  ;  you  have  been  an  instructress  in 
gentle  refinement  and  all  that  is  lovely  in  your 
sex,  and  I  should  but  poorly  repay  such  consid- 
eration and  kindness,  wero  I  not  to  confide  in 
you  all  my  thoughts." 


The  countess  could  not  imagine  what  was 
coming.  She  turned  pale,  and  then  a  blush 
stole  over  her  beautiful  features,  beti-ayiug  how 
deeply  interested  she  was. 

"  1  Iiope,  general,"  she  said,  "  that  if  there  is 
aught  in  which  a  person  like  myself  might  offer 
consolation  or  advice  to  you,  it  may  be  spoken 
witliout  reserve." 

"Ah,  countess,  how  can  I  ever  repay  such  a 
debt  as  you  put  me  under  by  this  very  touching 
kindness,  this  most  sisterly  consideration  towards 
maV 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  in  which  the 
eyes  of  both  rested  upon  the  floor. 

"  You  say  that  I  am  sad  at  times.  I  had 
thought  your  brilliant  conversation  and  gentle- 
ness of  character  had  so  far  made  me  forget  that 
I  no  longer  looked  sad.  But  it  is  not  so.  You, 
60  rich  in  wealth  and  position,  have  never  known 
a  want,  have  never  received  a  slight,  have  never 
been  insulted  at  heart  for  pride's  sake.  Lady,  I 
have  loved  a  being,  so  much  like  yourself,  that  I 
have  often  dreamed  of  you  together.  A  being 
all  pure  and  beautiful,  with  but  one  sad  alloy  in 
her  sweet  character — pride.  I  saw  her  while 
yet  most  humble  in  rank ;  I  served  herself 
and  father,  and  brother,  even  to  saving  their 
lives ;  I  was  promoted,  and  held  high  honor  with 
my  command;  but  she  was  rich,  and  her  father 
high  in  lordly  honors  and  associations.  I  was 
but  a  poor  soldier ;  what  else  might  I  expect  but 
scci-n  if  I  dared  to  love  her  ?  But,  countess,  you 
are  ill,"  said  the  soldier,  observing  her  pallid 
features  and  quick  coming  and  going  breath. 

"  Only  a  temporary  illness ;  it  is  ab-eady 
gone,"  she  said.     "Pray  go  on." 

"  And  yet  I  believe  she  loved  me,  also,  though 
the  pride  of  her  heart  choked  the  growth  of  the 
tendrils  of  affection.  Maddened  by  the  insults 
of  a  rival,  who  was  far  above  me  in  rank,  I  chal- 
lenged him,  and  for  this  was  banished  from  the 
island  where  she  lives.  Do  you  wonder  that  I 
am  sometimes  sad  at  these  recollections  ?  that 
my  full  heart  will  sometimes  speak  in  my  face  1" 
"  Nay,  it  is  but  natiu'al,"  answered  the  count- 
ess, with  a  deep  sigh. 

Genei'al  Bezan  was  thinking  of  his  own  an- 
guish of  heart,  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  o^vn 
situation,  of  her  who  was  far  away,  yet  now  pres- 
ent in  his  heart,  else  he  would  have  noticed  more 
particularly  the  appearance  of  her  whom  he  ad- 
dressed. The  reader  would  have  seen  at  once 
that  she  received  his  declaration  of  love  for 
another  like  a  death  blow,  that  she  sat  there  and 
heard  him  go  on  as  one  would  sit  under  torture ; 
yet  by  the  sti-ong  force  of  her  character  subduing 
almost  entirely  all  outward  emotions.  There 
was  no  disguismg  it  to  a  careful  observer,  she, 
the  Countess  Moranza,  loved  him  ! 

From  the  first  meeting  she  had  been  struck 
by  his  noble  figure,  his  melancholy  yet  handsome 
and  intellectual  face,  and  knowing  the  gallantry 
of  his  services  to  the  queen,  was  struck  by  the 
modest  hearing  of  a  soldier  so  renowned  in  bat- 
tle. After  refusing  half  of  the  gallants  of  the 
court,  and  deeming  herself  impregnable  to  the 
shafts  of  Cupid,  she  had  at  last  lost  her  heart  to 
this  man.  But  that  was  not  the  point  that  made 
her  suffer  so  now,  it  was  that  he  loved  another ; 
that  he  could  never  sustain  the  tender  relation 
to  her  which  her  heart  suggested.  All  these 
thoughts  now  passed  through  her  mind. 

We  say  had  General  Bczan  not  been  so  intent 
in  his  thoughts  far  away,  he  must  have  discov- 
ered this  secret,  at  least  to  some  extent. 

He  knew  not  the  fervor  of  woman's  love ;  he 
knew  only  of  his  too  unhappy  disappointment, 
and  on  this  his  mind  was  sadly  and  earnestly 
engaged. 

Days  passed  on,  and  the  young  general  saw 
little  of  the  countess,  for  her  unhappy  condition 
of  mind  caused  her  to  seclude  Iierself  almost  en- 
tirely from  society,  even  denying  herself  to  him 
whom  she  loved  so  well.  She  struggled  to  for- 
get her  love,  or  rather  to  bring  philosophy  to 
her  aid  in  conquering  it.  She  succeeded,  in  a 
large  degree ;  but  at  the  same  time  resolved  to 
make  it  her  business  to  reconcile  Lorenzo  Bezan 
to  her  he  loved,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible ; 
and  thus  to  enjoy  the  consciousness  of  having 
performed  at  least  one  disinterested  act  for  him 
whom  she,  too,  had  loved,  as  we  have  seen,  most 
sincerely  and  most  tenderly. 

Thus  actuated,  the  countess  resolved  to  make 
a  confidant,  or,  at  least,  partially  to  do  so,  of  the 
queen,  and  to  interest  her  to  return  Lorenzo  Be- 
zan once  more  to  the  West  Indian  station,  with 
honor  and  all  due  credit.  It  scarcely  needed 
her  eloquence  in  pleading  to  consummate  this 
object,  for  the  queen,  already  prepossessed  in  the 


young  soldier's  favor,  only  desired  to  know  how 
8hc  might  serve  liim  best,  in  order  to  do  so  at  once. 
In  her  sJn-ewdncss  she  could  not  but  discover  the 
Hlatc  of  the  countcsK's  heart ;  but  too  delicate  to 
allude  to  tlii-i  matter,  she  made  up  her  mind  at 
once  as  to  what  should  be  done. 

She  wondered  not  at  the  countess's  love  for 
Lorenzo  Bczan  ;  yhe  could  ai/mpalhize  with  her ; 
for  had  he  been  born  in  the  station  to  have  shared 
the  throne  with  her,  she  would  have  looked  her- 
self upon  ))im  with  a  different  eye;  as  it  was, 
she  had  delighted  to  honor  him  from  the  first 
moment  they  had  met. 

"  Your  wish  shall  be  granted,  countess,"  said 
the  queen  ;  "  he  shall  return  to  Cuba,  and  with 
honor  and  distinction." 

"  Thanks,  a  thousand  thanks,"  was  the  reply 
of  the  fair  friend. 

"  You  liavc  never  toUl  me  before  the  particu- 
lars of  his  returning  home." 

"  It  was  but  lately  that  I  learned  them,  by  liis 
own  lips,"  she  answered. 

"His  life  is  full  of  romance,"  mused  the  queen, 
thoughtfully. 

"  True,  and  Ins  bravery,  has  lie  opportunity, 
will  make  him  a  hero.** 

"The   lady's   name — did  ho  tell  you  that *?" 
asked  the  queen. 
"  He  did." 

"And  whom  was  it?" 
"Isabella  Gonzales." 
"Isabella  Gonzales?" 
"  Yes,  my  liege  lady." 
"  A  noble  house ;  we  remember  the  name." 
"  He  said  they  were  noble,"  sighed  the  count- 
ess, thoughtfully. 

" Well,  well,"  continued  the  queen,  "go  you 
and  recruit  your  spirits  once  more ;  as  to  Lo- 
renzo Bezan,  he  is  my  protege,  and  I  will  at 
once  attend  to  his  interests." 

Scarcely  had  the  Countess  Moranza  left  her 
presence,  before  the  queen,  summoning  an  at- 
tendant, despatched  a  message  to  General  Bezan 
to  come  at  once  to  the  palace.  The  queen  waa 
a  noble  and  beautiful  woman,  who  had  studied 
human  nature  in  all  its  phases ;  she  understood 
at  once  the  situation  of  her  young  favorite's 
heart,  and  by  degrees  she  drew  him  out,  as  far 
as  delicacy  would  permit,  and  then  asked  him  if 
he  still  loved  Isabella  Gonzales  as  he  had  done 
when  he  was  a  poor  lieutenant  of  infantry,  in  the 
tropical  service. 

"  Love  her,  my  liege  V  said  the  young  gen- 
eral, in  tones  almost  reproachful,  to  think  any 
one  could  doubt  it,  "  I  have  never  for  one  mo- 
ment, even  amid  the  roar  of  battle  and  the  groans 
of  dying  men,  forgotten  Isabella  Gonzales  !" 

"  Love  like  thine  should  be  its  own  reward ; 
she  was  proud,  too  proud  to  return  thy  love ; 
was  it  not  so,  general  1" 

"  My  liege,  you  have  spoken  for  me." 
"  But  you  were  a  poor  lieutenant  of  infantry 
then." 
"  True." 

"  And  that  had  its  influence." 
"  I  cannot  but  suppose  so." 
"  Well,"  said  the  queen,  "  we  have  a  purpose 
for  you." 

"  I  am  entirely  at  your  majesty's  disposal," 
replied  the  young  soldier. 

"  We  will  see  what  commission  it  best  fits  so 
faithfal  a  servant  of  our  crown  to  bear,  and  an 
appointment  may  be  found  that  will  can-y  thee 
back  to  this  distant  isle  of  the  tropics,  where  you 
have  left  your  heart." 
"  To  Cuba,  my  hege  1" 
"Ay." 

"But  my  banishment  from  the  island  reads 
forever,"  said  the  soldier. 

"  We  have  power  to  make  it  read  as  best  suits 
us,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  are  really  too  good  to  mc,"  replied  the 
soldier. 

"  Now  to  your  duty,  general,  and  to-morrow 
we  shall  have  further  business  with  you." 

Lorenzo  Bezan  bowed  low,  and  turned  his 
steps  from  the  palace  towards  his  own  lodgings, 
near  the  barracks.  It  was  exceedingly  puzzling 
to  him,  first,  that  he  could  not  xmderstand  what 
had  led  the  queen  to  this  subject ;  second,  how 
she  could  so  well  discern  thetmth;  and  lastly, 
that  such  consideration  was  shown  for  him.  He 
could  not  mistake  the  import  of  the  queen's 
words;  it  was  perfectly  plain  to  him  what  she 
had  said,  and  what  she  had  meant;  and  in  a 
strange  state  of  mind,  bordering  upon  extreme 
of  suspicion  and  strong  hope,  and  yet  almost  as 
powerful  fears,  he  mused  over  the  singular  con- 
dition in  which  he  found  himself  and  his 
affairs. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


99 


It  seemed  to  lilm  that  fortune  was  playing  at 
sliiittlecock  with  him,  and  that  just  for  the  pres- 
ent, at  any  rate,  his  star  was  in  the  ascendant. 
*'  How  long  shall  I  go  on  in  my  good  fortune?" 
he  asked  himself;  "  how  long  will  it  be  before  I 
shall  again  meet  with  a  liercc  rebuff  in  some 
quarter  ?  Had  I  planned  my  own  future  for  the 
period  of  time  since  I  landed  at  Cadiz,  I  could 
not  have  bettered  it — indeed  I  could  not  have 
dared  to  be  as  extravagant  as  I  find  the  reality. 
No  wonder  that  I  meet  those  envious  glances  at 
court.  Wlio  ever  sliared  a  larger  portion  of  the 
honorable  favor  of  the  queen  than  I  do  1  It  is 
strange,  all  very  strange.  Aiid  this  beautiful 
Countess  Moranza — what  a  good  angel  she  has 
been  to  me ;  indeed,  wliat  have  I  not  enjoyed 
that  I  could  wish,  since  I  arrived  in  Spain  ?  Yet 
how  void  of  happiness  and  of  peace  of  heart  am  I ! 
Alas,  as  the  humble  lieutenant  in  the  Plaza  des 
Alines  in  Havana,  as  the  lowly  soldier  whom 
Isabella  Gonzales  publicly  noticed  in  the  Paseo, 
as  the  fortunate  deliverer  of  herself  and  father. 
and  as  resting  my  wounded  body  upon  her  own 
support,  how  infinitely  happier  was  I.  How 
bright  was  hope  then  in  my  breast,  and  brilliant 
the  charms  of  the  fairy  future  ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    STJKPRISE. 

It  had  already  been  announced  among  the 
knowing  ones  at  Havana  that  there  was  to  be  a 
new  lieutenant-governor  general  arrive  ere  long 
for  the  island,  and  those  interested  in  tliese  mat- 
ters feel  of  course  such  an  interest  as  an  event  of 
this  character  would  naturally  inspire.  Those  in 
authority  surmised  as  to  what  sort  of  a  person 
they  were  to  be  associated  with,  and  the  better 
classes  of  society  in  the  island  wished  to  know 
what  degree  of  addition  to  their  society  the  new 
comer  would  be — ^^vhether  he  was  man*ied  or 
single,  etc. 

Isabella  Gonzales  realized  no  such  interest  in 
the  matter ;  the  announcement  that  there  was  to 
be  a  new  lieutenant-governor  created  no  interest 
in  her  breast ;  she  remained  as  she  had  done 
these  nearly  four  years,  secluded,  with  only  Ruez 
as  her  companion,  and  only  the  Pluto  as  the  spot 
for  promenade.  She  had  not  faded  during  the 
interim  of  time  since  the  reader  left  her  with 
Lorenzo  Bezan's  letter  in  her  hand ;  but  a  soft, 
tender,  yet  settled  melancholy  had  possessed  the 
beautiful  lineaments  and  expressive  lines  of  her 
features.  She  was  not  happy.  She  had  no  con- 
fidant, and  no  one  knew  her  secret  save  herself; 
but  an  observant  person  would  easily  have  de- 
tected the  deep  shadow  tliat  lay  upon  her  soul. 
We  say  she  had  not  faded — nor  had  she  ;  there 
was  the  same  soft  and  beautiful  expression  in 
her  face,  even  more  tender  than  before  ;  for  it  had 
lost  the  tinge  of  alloy  that  pride  was  wont  to  im- 
part to  it ;  where  pride  had  existed  before,  there 
now  dwelt  tender  melancholy,  speaking  from  the 
heart,  and  rendering  the  lovely  girl  far,  far  more 
interesting  and  beautiful.  She  had  wept  bitter, 
scalding  tears  over  that  last  farewell  between 
herself  and  Lorenzo  Bezan  in  the  prison ;  she 
blamed  herself  bitterly  now  that  she  had  let  him 
depart  thus ;  but  there  was  no  reprieve,  no  re- 
calling the  consequences;  he  was  gone,  and 
forever ! 

Communication  with  the  home  government 
was  seldom  and  slowly  consummated,  and  an 
arrival  at  that  period  from  Old  Spain  was  an 
event.  Partly  for  this  reason,  and  partly  be- 
cause there  was  no  one  to  write  to  her,  Isabella, 
nor  indeed  her  father,  had  heard  anything  of  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  since  his  departui-e.  General  Ha- 
rero  had  learned  of  his  promotion  for  gallant 
service  ;  but  having  no  object  in  communicating 
such  intelligence,  it  had  remained  wholly  undi- 
■\nilged,  either  to  the  Gonzales  family  or  the  city 
generally. 

It  was  twilight,  and  the  soft  light  that  tints 
the  ti'opics  in  such  a  delicate  hue  at  this  bom- 
was  playing  with  the  beauty  of  Isabella  Gon- 
zales's face,  now  in  profile,  now  in  front,  as  she 
lounged  on  a  couch  near  the  window,  which 
overlooked  the  sea  and  harbor.  She  held  in  her 
hand  an  open  letter ;  she  had  been  shedding 
tears ;  those,  however,  were  now  dried  up,  and  a 
puzzled  and  astonished  feeUng  seemed  to  be  ex- 
pressed in  her  beautiful  countenance,  as  she 
gazed  now  and  then  at  the  letter,  and  then  once 
more  ofif  upon  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  Gulf 
Sti-eam. 

"  Strange,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  and 
again  hastily  read  over  the  letter,  and  examined 
the  seal  which  had  enclosed  it  in  a  ribbon  enve- 
lope and  parchment.      "  How  is  it  possible  for 


the  queen  to  know  my  secret  ?  and  yet  here  she 
reveals  all ;  it  is  her  own  seal,  and  I  think  even 
her  own  hand,  that  has  penned  these  lines.  Let 
me  read  again : 

"  Senorit  a.  Isabella  Gonzales  :  Deeply  in- 
terested as  we  are  for  the  welfare  of  all  our  loyal 
subjects,  we  have  taken  occasion  to  send  you 
some  words  of  information  relative  to  yourself. 
Beyond  a  doubt  you  have  loved  and  been  beloved 
devotedly;  but  pride,  ill  asserted  aiTOgance  of 
soul,  has  rendered  you  miserable.  We  speak 
not  knowingly,  but  from  supposition  grounded 
upon  ivJiat  we  do  know.  He  who  loved  you  was 
humble — humble  in  station,  but  noble  in  personal 
qualities,  such  as  a  woman  may  well  worship  in 
man,  bravm-y,  manliness  and  stern  and  noble 
beauty  of  person.  We  say  he  loved  you,  and 
we  doubt  not  you  must  have  loved  him  ;  for  how 
could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Pride  caused  you  to  re- 
pulse him.  Now,  senorita,  know  that  he  whom 
you  thus  repulsed  was  more  than  worthy  of  yon ; 
that,  although  he  might  have  espoused  one  infi- 
nitely your  superior  in  r.ank  and  wealth  in  Mad- 
rid, since  his  aiTival  here,  he  had  no  heart  to 
give,  and  still  remained  true  to  you  !  Know  that 
by  his  daring  bravery,  his  manliness,  his  modest 
bearing,  and  above  all,  his  clear-sighted  and 
brilliant  mental  capacity  he  has  challenged  our 
ovra  high  admiration  ;  but  you,  alas  !  must  turn 
in  scorn  your  proud  lip  upon  him  !  Think  not  we 
have  these  facts  from  him,  or  that  he  has  reflect- 
ed in  the  least  upon  yon ;  he  is  far  too  delicate 
for  such  conduct.  No,  it  is  an  instinctive  sense 
of  the  position  of  circumstances  that  has  led  to 
this  letter  and  this  plain  language. 

(Signed)  Your  Queen. 

"The  Senorita  Isabella  Gonzales." 

One  might  have  thought  that'  this  would  have 
aroused  the  pride  and  anger  of  Isabella  Gonzales, 
but  it  did  not ;  it  surprised  her ;  and  after  the 
first  sensation  of  this  feeling  was  over,  it  struck 
her  as  so  truthful,  what  the  queen  had  said,  that 
she  wept  bitterly. 

"  Alas !  she  has  most  justly  censui-ed  me,  but 
points  out  no  way  for  me  to  retrieve  the  bitter 
steps  I  have  taken,"  sobbed  the  unhappy  girl, 
aloud.  "  IVIight  have  espoused  one  my  superior 
in  rank  and  fortune,  at  Madrid,  but  he  had  no 
heart  to  give  !  Pool  that  I  am,  I  see  it  all ;  and 
the  queen  is  indeed  but  too  correct.  But  what 
use  is  all  this  information  to  me,  save  to  render 
me  the  more  miserable  7  Show  a  wretch  the  life 
he  might  have  lived,  and  then  condemn  him  to 
death ;  that  is  my  position — that  ray  hard,  un- 
happy fate ! 

*'  Alas !  does  he  love  me  still  1  he  whom  I 
have  so  heartlessly  treated — ay,  whom  I  have 
crushed,  as  it  were,  for  well  I  knew  how  dearly 
he  loved  me !  He  has  challenged  even  the  ad- 
miration of  the  queen,  and  has  been,  perhaps, 
promoted ;  but  still  has  been  true  to  me,  who  in 
soul  have  been  as  true  to  him." 

Thus  murmured  the  proud  girl  to  herself — 
thus  frankly  realized  tlie  truth. 

"All,  my  child,"  said  Don  Gonzales,  meeting 
his  daughter,  "  put  on  thy  best  looks,  for  we  are 
to  have  the  new  lieutenant-governor  installed  to- 
morrow, and  all  of  us  must  be  present.  He's  a 
soldier  of  much  renown,  so  report  says." 

"  Doubtless,  father ;  but  I'm  not  very  well  to- 
day, and  shall  be  hardly  able  to  go  to-moiTow — 
at  least  I  fear  I  shall  not." 

"Pie,  fie,  my  daughter;  thou,  the  prettiest 
bird  in  all  the  island,  to  absent  thyself  from  the 
presence  on  such  an  occasion  1  It  will  never  do." 
"  Here,  Rucz,  leave  that  hound  alone,  and 
come  hither,"  he  continued,  to  the  boy.  "  You, 
too,  must  be  ready  at  an  early  hour  to-morrow 
to  go  with  Isabella  and  myself  to  the  palace, 
where  we  shall  be  introduced  to  the  new  lieuten- 
ant-governor, just  arrived  from  Madrid." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go,   father,"   said  the  boy, 
still  fondling  the  dog. 
"  Why  not,  Ruez  7" 

"Because  Isabella  does  not,"  was  the  childish 
reply. 

"Now  if  this  be  not  rank  mutiny,  and  I  shall 
have  to  call  in  a  corporal's  guard  to  an*est  the 
belligerents,"  said  Don  Gonzales,  half  playfully. 
"  But  go  you  must ;  and  I  have  a  secret,  but  I 
shall  not  tell  it  to  you — no,  not  for  the  world — a 
surprise  for  you  both  ;  but  that's  no  matter  now. 
Go  you  must,  and  go  you  will ;  so  prepare  you 
in  good  season  to-morrow  to  attend  me." 

Both  sister  and  brother  saw  that  he  was  in 
earnest,  and  made  arrangements  accordingly. 

The  occasion  of  instating  the  lieutenant-gov- 
ernor in  his  high  and  responsible  station,  was  one 
of  no  little  note  in  Havana,  and  was  celebrated 


by  all  the  pomp  and  militarj'  display  that  could 
possibly  add  importance  to  the  event,  and  im- 
press the  citizens  with  the  sacred  character  of 
the  office.  The  day  was  therefore  ushered  in 
by  the  booming  of  cannon  and  the  music  of  mili- 
tary bands,  and  the  universal  stir  at  the  baiTacks 
told  the  observer  that  all  grades  were  to  be  on 
duty  that  day,  and  in  full  numbers.  The  palace 
of  the  governoi'-gencral  was  decorated  with  flags 
and  streamers,  and  even  the  fountain  in  tlie  Plaza 
des  Arraes  seemed  to  bubble  forth  with  additional 
life  and  spirit  on  the  occasion. 

It  was  an  event  in  Havana ;  it  was  something 
to  vary  the  monotony  of  this  beautiful  island- 
city,  and  the  inhabitants  seized  upon  it  as  a  gala 
day.  Business  was  suspended ;  the  throng  put 
on  their  holiday  suit,  the  various  regiments  ap- 
peared in  full  regaUa  and  uniform,  for  the  new 
lieutenaut-commander-in-chief  Avas  to  review 
them  in  the  after  part  of  the  day. 

The  ceremony  of  installation  was  peiforraed 
in  the  state  haU  of  the  palace,  where  all  the  mili- 
tary, wealth,  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  island 
assembled,  and  among  these  the  venerable  and 
much  respected  Don  Gonzales,  and  his  peerless 
daughter,  Isabella,  and  his  noble  boy,  Ruez. 
The  reception  hall  was  in  a  blaze  of  beauty  and 
fashion,  all  patiently  awaiting  the  introduction 
of  the  new  and  high  official  the  queen  had  sent 
from  Spain  to  sit  as  second  to  tlie  brave  Tacon. 
An  hour  of  silence  had  passed,  when  at  a  sig- 
nal the  band  struck  up  a  national  march,  and  then 
advanced  into  the  reception  room  Tacon',  and  by 
his  side  a  young  soldier,  on  whose  noble  brow 
sat  dignity  and  youth,  intenvoven  in  near  em- 
brace. His  eyes  rested  on  the  floor,  and  he  drew 
near  to  the  seat  of  honor  with  modest  mien,  his 
spurred  heel  and  martial  bearing  alone  betoken- 
ing that  in  time  of  need  his  sword  was  ready, 
and  his  time  and  life  at  the  call  of  duty. 

Few,  if  any,  had  seen  him  before,  and  now 
among  the  ladies  there  ran  a  low  murmur  of  ad- 
miration at  the  noble  and  manly  beauty  of  the 
young  soldier.  The  priest  read  the  usual  servi- 
ces, the  customary  hymn  and  chant  were  listened 
to,  when  the  priest,  delegated  for  this  purpose, 
advanced  and  said : 

"  We,  by  the  holy  power  vested  in  us,  do 
anoint  thee,  Lorenzo  Bezan — " 

At  these  words  Isabella  Gonzales,  who  had, 
during  all  the  while,  been  an  absent  spectator, 
never  once  really  turning  her  eyes  towards  the 
spot  where  the  new  official  stood,  dropped  her 
fan  and  sprang  to  her  feet !  She  gazed  but  for 
one  single  moment,  and  then  uttering  one  long 
and  piteous  scream,  fell  lifeless  into  her  father's 
arms.  This  extraordinary  event  startled  every 
one,  but  perhaps  less  him  who  was  the  cause  of 
it  than  any  one  else.  Less,  seemingly,  because 
he  had  schooled  his  feelings  not  to  betray  him  in 
so  critical  a  moment  as  this  must  be.  The  cere- 
mony went  on  quietly,  and  the  new  official  was 
duly  installed. 

"  Alas,  alas,  for  me,  what  can  it  be  that  has 
made  thee  ill  V  said  the  father  of  Isabella,  as  he 
bent  over  her  couch,  after  getting  her  once  more 
home. 

But  Isabella  answered  him  not ;  she  was  in  a 
half-dreamy,  half-conscious  state,  and  knew  not 
what  was  said  to  her. 

Ruez  stood  on  the  other  side  of  her  couch, 
and  kissed  her  white  forehead,  but  said  nothing. 
Yet  he  seemed  to  know  more  than  his  father  as 
to  what  had  made  Isabella  sick,  and  at  last  he 
proved  this. 

"  Why  could  you  not  tell  Isabella  and  me, 
father,  tliat  our  old  friend  Captain  Bezan  was  to 
be  there,  and  that  it  was  he  who  was  to  be  lieuten- 
ant-governor 1  Then  sister  would  not  have  been 
so  startled." 

"  Startled  at  what,  Ruez  7" 
"  Wliy,  at  unexpectedly  seeing   Captain  Be- 
zan," said  the  boy,  honestly. 

"  General  Bezan,  he  is  now.  But  why  should 
she  be  startled  so  V 

"  0,  she  is  not  veiy  well,  you  know,  father," 
said  the  boy,  evasively. 

"  True,  she  is  not  well,  and  I  managed  it  as  a 
surprise,  and  it  was  too  much  of  one,  I  see." 

And  father  and  brother  tended  by  the  sick 
girl's  bedside  as  they  would  have  done  that  of 
an  infant.  Poor  Isabella,  what  amedley  of  con- 
tradictions is  thy  heart ! 

The  ceremonies  of  the  day  passed  off"  as  usual ; 
the  review  took  place  in  the  after  part  of  the  day, 
and  as  General  Bezan,  now  outranking  General 
Harero,  rode  by  his  division,  he  raised  his  hat  to 
his  old  comrades  in  arms,  and  bowed  coldly  to 
their  commander.  His  rise  and  new  position 
filled  the  army  with  wonder ;  but  none  envied 
him ;  they  loved  then*  old  favorite  too   well  to 


envy  his  good  fortune  to  him ;  even  his  brother 
officers  echoed  the  cheers  for  the  new  lieutenant- 
general. 

But  when  tlie  noise,  the  pomp,  and  bustle  of 
the  day  was  over,  and  when  alone  in  his  apart- 
ment by  himself,  it  was  then  that  Lorenzo  Bezan's 
heart  and  feelings  found  sway.  He  knew  full 
well  who  it  was  that  uttered  tliat  scream,  and 
better,  too,  the  cause  of  it;  he  feared  that  he 
could  neitlier  sleep  nor  eat  until  he  should  see 
her  and  speak  to  her  once  more ;  but  then  again 
he  feared  to  attempt  this.  True,  his  position 
gave  him  the  entree  to  all  classes  now,  and  her 
father's  house  would  have  been  welcome  to  him ; 
but  he  would  far  rather  have  seen  her  as  the 
humble  Captain  Bezan,  of  yore,  than  with  a  host 
of  stars  upon  his  breast. 

Isabella  revived  at  last,  but  she  scarcely  es- 
caped a  fever  from  the  shock  her  system,  mental 
and  physical,  had  received.  And  how  busy,  too, 
were  her  thoughts,  bow  never  tiring  in  picturing 
him  with  his  new  honors,  and  in  surprise  how 
he  could  have  won  such  distinction  and  honor  at 
the  queen's  hands.  She  read  again  and  again 
the  queen's  letter.  Se  had  no  heart  to  give.  '  That 
she  looked  upon — those  few  words — until  her 
eyes  became  blind  at  the  eflbrt  And  still  she 
read  on,  and  thought  of  him  whom  she  knew 
had  loved  her  so  dearly,  so  tenderly,  and  yet 
without  hope. 

Isabella  Gonzales's  pride  had  received  a  severe 
shock.  Will  she  still  bow  low  to  the  impulsive  and 
arbitrary  promptings  of  her  proud  spirit,  or  will 
she  rise  above  them,  and  conquer  and  win  a  har- 
vest of  peace  and  happiness  ? 

The  story  must  disclose  the  answer ;  it  is  not 
for  us  to  say  here. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE    SERENADE. 


General  Harero,  as  we  have  already  inti- 
mated, had  not,  for  a  considerable  period,  en- 
joyed any  degree  of  intimacy  with  Isabella  Gon- 
zales or  her  father,  but  actuated  by  a  singular 
pertinacity  of  character,  he  seemed  not  yet  to 
have  entirely  given  up  his  hopes  in  relation  to 
an  alliance  with  her.  The  arrival  of  Lorenzo 
Bezan  again  upon  the  island,  he  felt,  would,  in 
any  instance,  endanger,  if  not  totally  defeat  any 
lingering  plans  he  might  still  conceive  in  his 
mind  to  bring  into  operation  for  the  furtherance 
of  his  hopes  ;  but  when  his  arrival  had  actually 
occurred,  and  under  such  brilliant  auspices  for 
the  young  soldier.  General  Harero  was  enraged 
beyond  control.  He  sought  his  quarters,  after 
the  review,  in  a  desperate  mood,  and  walked  the 
narrow  precincts  of  his  room  witli  bitter  thoughts 
rankling  in  his  bosom,  and  a  bm^ning  desire  for 
revenge  goading  him  to  action. 

A  thousand  ways,  all  of  which  were  more  or 
less  mingled  vrith  violence,  suggested  themselves 
to  his  mind  as  proper  to  adopt.  Now  he  would 
gladly  have  fought  his  rival,  have  gone  into  the 
field  and  risked  his  own  life  for  the  sake  of  tak- 
ing his ;  but  this  must  be  done  too  publicly, 
and  he  felt  that  the  public  feeling  was  with  the 
new  official ;  besides  that,  General  Bezan  could 
now  arrest  him,  as  he  had  done  the  young  officer 
when  he  challenged  his  superior,  as  the  reader 
will  remember.  Dark  thoughts  ran  through  his 
brain — some  bearing  directly  upon  Isabella  Gon- 
zales, some  upon  Lorenzo  Bezan;  even  assassi- 
nation suggested  itself;  and  his  hands  clenched, 
and  his  cheeks  burned,  as  tlie  revengeful  spirit 
possessed  him  and  worked  in  his  veins.  While 
Lorenzo  Bezan  was  absent  he  was  content  to 
bide  his  time,  reasoning  that  eventually  Isabella 
Gonzales  would  many  him,  after  a  few  more 
years  of  youthful  pride  and  vanity  had  passed; 
but  now  he  was  spurred  on  to  fresh  eflbrts  by  the 
new  phase  that  matters  had  taken,  and  but  one 
course  he  felt  was  left  for  him  to  pursue,  which 
one  word  might  express,  and  that  was  action ! 

Having  no  definite  idea  as  to  what  Lorenzo 
Bezan  would  do,  under  the  new  aspect  of  affairs. 
General  Harero  could  not  devise  in  what  way 
to  meet  him.  That  Isabella  had  been  prevented 
from  absolutely  loving  him  only  by  her  pride, 
when  he  was  before  upon  the  island,  he  knew 
full  well,  and  he  realized  as  fully  that  all  those 
obstacles  that  pride  had  engendered  were  now 
removed  by  the  rank  and  position  of  his  rival. 
He  wondered  in  his  own  mind  whether  it  was 
possible  that  Lorenzo  Bezan  might  not  have  for- 
gotten her,  or  found  some  more  attractive  shrine 
whereat  to  worship.  As  he  realized  Isabella's 
unmatched  loveliness,  he  felt  that,  however,  could 
hardly  be ;  and  thus  unsettled  as  to  the  state  of 
aftairs  bet^veen  the  two,  he  was  puzzled  as  to 
what  course  to  pursue. 


100 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


In  the  meantime,  while  Gcnci-al  Harcro  was 
tliiis  cnynj^ed  with  himself,  Lorenzo  Bezan  was 
thinkitif^  upon  the  same  subject.  It  was  nearly 
midnight;  but  still  ho  walked  back  and  forth  in 
hi,s  room  with  thoughtful  brow.  There  was 
none  of  the  nervous  irritation  in  his  manner  that 
was  evinced  by  his  rival;  but  there  wa-i  deep 
and  anxious  solicitude  written  in  every  line  of 
his  handhome  features.  He  was  thinking  of  Isa- 
bella. Was  thinking  of  hei-,  did  wo  say  ;  Ho 
had  never  forgotten  her  for  one  hour  since  the 
last  farewell  meeting  in  the  prison  walls.  Ho 
knew  not  how  she  felt  towards  him  now — whether 
a  new  pride  might  not  take  the  place  of  that 
which  had  before  actuated  her,  and  a  fear  lest 
she  should,  by  acknowledging,  as  it  were,  the  for- 
mer error,  be  led  still  to  observe  towards  him 
the  same  ansterc  manner  and  distance. 

"  Have  I  won  renown,  promotion,  and  ex- 
tended fame  to  no  purpose,  at  last?"  he  asked 
himself;  "what  care  I  for  these  unless  shared  in 
by  her;  unless  her  beautiful  eyes  approve,  and 
her  sweet  lips  acknowledge?  Alas,  how  poor 
a  thing  am  I,  whom  my  fellow-mortals  count  so 
fortunate  and  happy !" 

Thus  he  mused  to  himself,  until  at  last  step- 
ping to  the  open  balcony  window,  he  looked  out 
upon  the  soft  and  delicious  light  of  a  tropi^'al 
moon.  AH  was  still — all  was  beautiful ;  the 
steady  pace  of  the  sentinel  on  duty  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  palace,  alone  sounding  upon  the 
ear.  Suddenly  a  thought  seemed  to  suggest 
itself  to  his  mind.  Seizing  his  guitar,  from  a 
corner  of  his  room,  he  threw  a  thin  military 
cloak  about  his  form,  and  putting  on  a  foraging 
cap,  passed  the  sentinel,  and  strolled  towards 
the  Plato !  How  well  he  remembered  the  asso- 
ciations of  the  place,  as  he  paused  now  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  shado(v  of  the  broad  walls  of  the 
barracks.  He  stood  there  but  for  a  moment, 
then  drawing  nearer  to  the  Iiouse  of  Don  Gon- 
zales, he  touched  the  strings  of  his  guitar  with  a 
master  hand,  and  sung  with  a  clear,  musical 
voice  one  of  those  exquisite  little  serenades  with 
which  the  Spanish  language  abounds. 

The  song  did  not  awake  Isabella,  though  just 
beneath  her  window.  She  heard  it,  nevertheless, 
and  in  the  half-waking,  half  dreaming  state  in 
which  she  was,  perhaps  enjoyed  it  even  with 
keener  sense  than  she  would  have  done  if  quite 
aroused.  She  dreamed  of  love,  and  of  Lorenzo 
Eezan ;  she  thought  all  was  forgotten — all  for- 
given, and  that  he  was  her  accepted  lover.  But 
this  was  in  her  sleep — awake,  she  would  not  have 
felt  prepared  to  say  yet,  even  to  herself,  whether 
she  really  loved  him,  or  would  listen  to  his  ad- 
th'ess ;  aicake,  there  was  still  a  lingering  pride  in 
iier  bosom,  too  strong  for  easy  removal.  But 
sweet  was  the  pure  and  beautiful  girl's  sleep — 
sweet  was  the  smile  that  played  about  her  deli- 
cate mouth — and  lovely  beyond  the  painter's 
power,  the  whole  expression  of  soft  delight  that 
dwelt  in  her  incomparably  handsome  features. 

The  song  ceased,  but  the  sleeper  dreamed  on 
in  delightful  quietude. 

Not  so  without ;  there  was  a  scene  enacting 
there  that  would  chill  the  heart  of  woman,  and 
call  into  action  all  the  sterner  powers  of  the 
other  sex. 

Some  strange  chance  had  drawn  General  Ha- 
rcro from  his  quarters,  also,  at  this  hour,  and 
the  sound  of  the  guitar  had  attracted  him  to  the 
Plato  just  as  Lorenzo  Bezan  had  completed  his 
song.  Hearing  aj^proaching  footsteps,  and  not 
caring  to  be  discovered,  the  serenader  slung  his 
guitar  by  its  silken  cord  behind  his  back,  and 
wrapping  his  cloak  about  him,  prepared  to  leave 
the  spot ;  but  hardly  had  he  reached  the  top  of 
the  broad  stairs  that  lead  towards  the  Calle  de 
Mercaderes  {street  of  the  merchants),  when  he 
stood  face  to  face  with  his  bitter  enemy.  General 
Harero ! 

"  General  Harcro !" 

"  Lorenzo  Bezan !" 

Said  each,  calling  the  other's  name,  in  the  first 
moment  ot  surprise. 

"  So  you  still  propose  to  continue  your  perse- 
cutions towards  this  lady  V  said  General  Harero, 
sarcastically. 

"  Persecutions  V 

"  That  was  my  word  ;  what  other  term  can 
express  unwelcome  visits  ?" 

"  It  were  better.  General  Harero,  that  you 
should  remember  the  change  which  has  taken 
place  in  our  relative  positions,  of  late,  and  not 
provoke  me  too  far." 

"  I  spit  upon  and  defy  your  authority." 

"  Then,  sir,  it  shall  I)e  exercised  on  the  mor- 
row for  your  especial  benefit." 

"  Not  by  you,  though/'  said  the  enraged  rival, 


drawing  his  sword  suddenly,    and   thrusting  its 
point  towards  the  heart  of  Lorenzo  Bezan. 

But  the  young  soldier  had  been  too  often  en- 
gaged in  hand  to  hand  conllicts  to  lose  his  pres- 
ence of  mind,  and  with  his  uplifted  arm  shrouded 
in  his  cloak,  he  parried  the  blow,  with  only  a 
slight  flesh  wound  upon  his  left  wrist.  But  Gen- 
eral llarero  luid  drawn  blood,  and  that  was 
enough ;  the  next  moment  their  swords  were 
crossed,  and  a  few  passes  were  only  necessary  to 
enable  Lorenzo  Bezan  to  revenge  himself  by  a 
severe  wound  in  liis  rival's  left  breast.  Mad- 
dened by  the  pain  of  his  wound,  and  reckless  by 
his  anger.  General  Harcro  pressed  hard  upon 
the  young  officer;  but  his  coolness  was  more 
than  a  match  for  his  antagonist's  impetuosity  ; 
and  after  inflicting  a  severe  blow  upon  his  cheek 
with  tlie  flat  of  his  sword,  Lorenzo  Bezan  easily 
disarmed  him,  and  breaking  his  sword  in  twain, 
threw  it  upon  the  steps  of  the  Plato,  and  quietly 
walked  away,  leaving  General  Harero  to  settle 
matters  between  his  own  rage,  his  wounds  and 
the  surgeon,  as  best  he  might,  while  he  sought 
his  own  quarters  within  the  palace  walls. 

General  Harei'O  was  more  seriously  wounded 
than  he  had  at  first  deemed  himself  to  be,  and 
gathering  up  the  fragments  of  his  sword,  he 
sought  the  assistance  of  his  surgeon,  in  a  state  of 
anger  and  excitement  that  bid  fair,  in  connection 
with  his  wounds,  to  lead  him  into  a  raging  fever. 
Inventing  some  plausible  story  of  being  attacked 
by  some  unknown  ruffian,  and  desiring  the  sur- 
geon to  observe  his  wishes  as  to  secrecy,  for  cer- 
tain reasons,  the  wounded  man  submitted  to  have 
his  wounds  dressed,  and  taking  some  cooling 
medicine  by  way  of  precaution,  lay  himself  do^vn 
to  sleep  just  as  the  gray  of  morning  tinged  the 
western  horizon. 

That  morning  Isabella  Gonzales  awoke  with 
pleasant  memories  of  her  dream,  little  knowing 
that  the  sweet  music  she  had  attributed  to  the 
creations  of  her  own  fancy,  was  real,  and  that 
voice  and  instrument  actually  sounded  beneath 
her  own  chamber  window. 

"Ah,  sister,"  said  Ruez,  "how  well  you  are 
looking  this  morning." 

"Am  I,  brother?" 

"  Yes,  better  than  I  have  seen  you  this  many 
a  long  day." 

"  I  rested  well  last  night,  and  had  pleasant 
dreams,  Ruez." 

"  Last  night,"  said  the  boy,  "  that  reminds  me 
of  some  music  I  heard." 

"  Music  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  serenade ;  a  manly  voice  and  guitar, 
I  should  judge." 

"  It  is  strange ;  I  dreamed  that  I  heard  it,  too. 


hut  on  waking  I  thought  it  was  but  a  dream.  It 
might  have  been  real,"  mused  Isabella,  thought- 
fully. 

"  O,  I  am  sure  of  it,  and  though  I,  too,  was 
but  half  awake,  1  thought  that  I  recognized  the 
voice,  and  cannot  say  why  I  did  not  rise  to  sec  if 
my  surmise  was  correct,  but  I  dropped  quickly 
to  sleep  again." 

"And  wiio  did  you  think  it  was,  brother?" 
asked  Isal>clla  Gonzales. 

"  General  Bezan,  our  new  lieutenant-govern- 
or," said  thst  boy,  regarding  his  sister  closely. 

"  It  must  have  been  so,  then,"  mused  Isabella, 
to  herself;  "we  could  not  both  have  been  thus 
mistaken.  Lorenzo  Bezan  must  have  been  on 
tlie  Plat)  last  night;  would  that  I  could  have 
seen  him,  if  but  for  one  moment." 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  General  Bezan," 
said  Ruez;  "but  he's  so  high  an  officer  now 
that  I  suppose  he  would  no  led  so  much  inter- 
est in  me  as  he  did  when  I  used  to  visit  him  ia 
the  government  ])rison." 

Isabella  made  no  reply  to  this  remark,  but 
still  mused  to  herself. 

Ruez  gazed  thoughtfully  upon  his  sister ;  there 
seemed  to  be  much  going  on  in  his  own  mind 
relative  to  the  "subject  of  which  they  had  spoken. 
At  one  moment  you  might  read  a  tinge  of  anx- 
ious solicitude  in  the  boy's  handsome  lace,  as  he 
gazed  thus,  and  anon  a  look  of  pride,  too,  at  the 
surpassing  beauty  and  dignity  of  his  sister. 

She  was  very  beautiful.  Her  morning  costume 
was  light  and  graceful,  and  her  whole  toilet 
showed  just  enough  of  neglige  to  add  interest  to 
the  simplicity  of  her  personal  attire.  Her  dark, 
jetty  hair  contrasted  strongly  with  the  pure 
white  of  her  dress,  and  there  was  not  an  orna- 
mcnt  upon  her  person,  save  those  that  nature 
had  lavished  there  in  prodigal  abundance.  She 
had  never  looked  more  lovely  than  at  that  hour  ; 
the  years  that  had  passed  since  the  reader  met 
her  in  familiar  conversation  with  our  hero,  had 
only  served  still  more  to  perfect  and  ripen  her 
personal  charms.  Though  there  liad  stolen  over 
her  features  a  subdued  air  of  though tf nine  ss,  a 
gentle  tinge  of  melancholy,  yet  it  became  her 
far  better  than  the  one  of  constant  levity  and 
jest  that  had  almost  universally  possessed  her 
heretofore. 

Her  eyes  now  rested  upon  the  floor,  and  the 
long  silken  lashes  seemed  almost  artificial  in 
their  effect  upon  the  soft  olive  complexion  be- 
neath their  shadow.  No  wonder  Ruez  loved  his 
sister  so  dearly ;  no  wonder  he  felt  proud  of  her 
while  he  gazed  at  her  there ;  nor  was  it  strange 
that  he  strove  to  read  her  heart  as  he  did,  though 
he  kept  his  own  counsel  upon  the  subject. 


Kissing  her  clieek,  and  rousing  her  from  the 
waking  dream  that  possessed  her  now,  Ruez 
turned  away  and  left  her  to  herself  and  the 
thoughts  his  words  had  aroused.  We,  too,  will 
leave  Isabella  Gonzales,  for  a  brief  period,  while 
we  turn  to  another  point  of  our  story,  whither 
the  patient  reader  will  please  to  follow. 
[to  be  continued.] 


LORD  NELSON. 

Human  nature  Is  very  frail.  No  man  ever 
had  a  stronger  sense  of  it  under  the  influence  of 
a  sense  of  justice  than  Lord  Nelson.  He  was 
loath  to  inflict  punishment ;  and  when  he  was 
obliged,  as  he  called  it,  "to  endure  the  torture 
of  seeing  men  flogged,"  lie  came  out  of  Ins  cabin 
with  a  hurried  step,  ran  into  the  gangway,  made 
his  bow  to  the  general,  and,  reading  the  articles 
of  war  the  culprit  had  infringed,  said,  "Boat- 
swain, do  your  duty."  The  lash  was  instantly 
applied,  and  consequently  the  surterer  exclaimed, 
"  Forgive  me,  admiral,  Ibrgive  me  !"  On  such 
an  occasion,  Lord  Nelson  would  look  round  with 
wild  anxiety,  and,  as  all  his  oflicers  kept  silence, 
he  would  say,  "  What !  none  of  you  speak  for 
him?  Avast!  cast  him  oft'!"  And  then  add, 
to  the  suflcrlng  culprit,  "  Jack,  in  the  day  of  bat- 
tle remember  me !"  and  he  became  a  good  fel- 
low in  future.  A  poor  man  was  about  to  be 
flogged — a  landsman — and  few  pitied  him.  His 
ottence  was  drunkenness.  As  he  was  being  tied 
up,  a  lovely  girl,  contrary  to  all  niles,  rushed 
through  the  officers,  and  falling  on  her  knees, 
clasped  Nelson's  hand,  in  which  were  the  articles 
of  war,  exclaiming,  "Pray,  forgive  him,  your 
honor,  and  he  shall  never  offend  again."  "  Your 
face,"  said  Nelson,  "is  a  security  for  his  good 
behaviour.  Let  him  go ;  the  fellow  cannot  be 
bad  who  has  such  a  lovely  creature  in  bis  care." 
This  man  rose  to  be  a  lieutenant ;  his  name  was 
William  Pye. 


^^^^j:^2^^i^Zj^r. 


BATHING, 

For  persons  in  sound  health,  the  best  time  for 
bathing  is  immediately  on  rising  in  the  morning ; 
that  for  invalids  or  persons  of  a  delicate  habit  of 
body,  is  in  the  forenoon  or  evening,  when  the 
system,  strengthened  by  food,  is  also  relieved 
from  the  labor  of  digestion.  As  a  general  rule, 
the  warm  bath  should  not  be  taken  immediately 
before  retiring  to  rest,  unless  employed  to  excite 
perspiration ;  or  if  it  is  taken,  it  should  not  be 
long  continued,  and  the  water  should  be  merely 
tepid.  Baths  should  not  be  taken  immediately 
after  a  meal.  After  using  the  warm  bath,  active 
exercise  should  be  avoided  for  at  least  an  hour. 
It  must  be  understood  that  these  directions  apply 
only  to  persons  in  ordinaiy  health.  If  organic 
disease  exist,  such  as  headache,  constipation,  or 
other  derangement  of  the  system,  medical  advice 
should  be  taken  previous  to  employing  the  bath. 
In  cases  of  bilious  attack,  bathing  is  frequently 
found  Injurious  ;  but  generally  speaking,  If  em- 
ployed with  discretion,  It  not  only  preserves  the 
health,  but  is  a  valuable  and  active  remedy  in 
disease.  Friction  with  a  coarse  towel  after  bath- 
ing is  also  highly  serviceable  in  promoting  a 
lively  glow. —  Wilson. 


■HE    Exirrujj,^ 


PRIZE  MEDAL  OF  THE  AMOSKEAG  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY. 


THE  AMOSK-EAG  PRIZE  JIEDAL. 

The  medal,  awarded  to  the  Amoskoag  Manu- 
facturing Company  at  the  World's  Fair,  a  fine 
engraving  of  which  we  give  above,  is  of  bronze, 
circular,  some  2  1-2  inches  in  a  transverse  direc- 
tion and  1-4  of  an  inch  thick.  It  is  really  won- 
derful how  so  many  curious  and  attractive  things 
can  be  concentrated,  by  the  hand  of  art,  into  so 
small  a  space.  On  one  side  are  busts  of  Queen 
Victoria  and  Prince  Albert  in  close  juxtaposi- 
tion, supported  by  dolphins,  as  if  their  "honey- 
moon" was  not  yet  quite  over.  Close  by  her 
ladyship  Is  old  Neptune's  trident — a  symbol  of 
the  old  fashioned  and  long  ago  exploded  notion 
that  " England  is  mistress  of  the  seas!"  The 
reverse  side  Is  very  rich  in  design,  and  of  its  style 
of  execution  we  cannot  speak  in  too  high  terms 
ofprai.se.  In  the  foreground  and  centre  Is  In- 
dustrif  in  a  half  kneeling  posture,  modestly  ap- 
paralled,  holding  in  her^left  hand  the  distaff,  and 


significantly  suiTOundcd  by  honey  bees.  Great 
Britain  Is  taking  her  by  the  right  liand  and  put- 
ting a  crown  upon  her  head  with  her  left  hand, 
as  a  reward  for  the  specimens  of  her  handiwork 
exhibited  at  the  World's  Fair.  Europe,  "  turret 
crowned,"  stands  at  her  right,  and  Asia,  dressed 
in  Oriental  splendor  and  richness,  in  a  loving 
way,  has  one  arm  over  the  shoulder  of  Europe 
and  the  other  on  the  neck  of  Industry.  A  little 
furtlier  In  the  background  Is  Africa,  a  real  negro 
"  to  the  manor  born,"  in  dishabille,  displaying 
beads  and  tinsels,  and  having  an  elephant's  trunk 
and  lusk  upon  his  head,  indicating  tlie  ivory  of 
her  country,  Last  of  all  comes  young  Ameiica^ 
represented  by  an  Indian  adorned  with  feathers 
of  gay  plumage,  and  holding  in  her  hand  an  un- 
strung bow.  These  five  nations  are  delighted 
spectators  at  the  scene  of  putting  the  crown  upon 
the  head  of  Industry.  In  one  corner  is  a  bust  of 
Flaxman,   the   sculptor,   the  creations  of  whose 


genius  have  done  so  much  to  illustrate  the  wi*xt- 
ings  of  "the  blind  old  man  of  Chios'  rocky 
Isle."  At  his  right  is  an  urn  on  which  is  a  fe- 
male figure.  Near  by  is  a  bale  of  goods,  a  wheel 
and  other  things  indicating  various  departments 
of  mechanism,  art  and  commerce.  Over  all  Is 
the  Latin  sentiment:  ^' Dissociata  Locis  Concordi 
Pace  Ligavit."  This  is  susceptible  of  different 
renderings,  of  which  we  give  one,  truly  liberal: — 
Tilings  heretofore  unallied,  because  of  their  localitt/, 
this  Fair  hath  bound  together  in  Jiarmonious  peace. 
On  the  rim  is  "  Amoskeaq  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany, Class  11,  Prize  Medal  of  the  Exhibition." 
The  medal  Is  a  splendid  thing,  as  a  work  of  art, 
and  was  awarded  to  tlie  company  for  their  speci- 
mens of  Sheetings,  Drillings,  Cotton  Flannels 
and  Tickings — the  best  at  the  World's  Fair,  and 
tlie  only  ones  that  took  a  prize.  To  receive  such 
a  medal  is  an  honor  of  which  the  company  may 
well  be  proud. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DTlAT^^XG   ROOM    COIMPAjVION. 


101 


NEW  RAILWAY  AND  GENERAL  TRAFFIC  BRIDGE,  AT  DRESDEN,  SAXONY. 


IVEW  RAILWAY  AND  TRAFFIC  RRIDGE 

AT    DRESDEN,    SAXONY. 

This  novel  structure  across  the  Elbe,  which  at  once  provides  a 
railway  viaduct  and  a  bridge  for  general  traffic,  was  designed  by 
two  engineers,  named  Lohse  and  Reidrich,  in  1845,  but  has  only 
recently  been  completed  ;  when  it  was  opened,  theii-  majesties  the 
king  and  queen  of  Saxony,  the  members 
of  the  royal  fiimily,  the  ministers  of  state, 
the  corps  diphmatiqtie,  and  an  immense 
concourse  of  people  in  carnages  and  on 
foot,  passed  over  the  noble  bridge,  which 
then  received  the  name  of  "  Marien- 
Brucke,"  in  honor  of  her  majesty  the 
queen  of  Saxony.  A  platform  was  raised 
at  the  end  of  the  bridge,  in  the  0.stra 
Alice,  in  the  old  town,  on  wliicli  their 
majesties  took  their  station ;  when  the 
king  desired  the  principal  persons  wlio 
had  been  engaged  in  the  direction  of  the 
building  of  the  bridge  to  approach,  and 
in  very  flattering  terms  complimented 
them  on  the  successful  termination  of 
their  stupendous  work.  This  bridge, 
which  is  a  beautiful  embellishment  to  the 
town,  forms  the  last  connecting  link  be- 
tween the  Atlantic,  the  North  Sea,  and 
the  Adriatic,  now  that  the  difficulties  of 
crossing  the  Simmering,  in  Styria,  are 
overcome.  The  accompanying  sketch 
shows  the  entrance  to  the  two  branches  of 
the  bridge,  taken  from  the  new  town. 
The  construction  has  been  an  engineering 
work  of  great  difficulty,  on  account  of  the 
nature  of  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  cere- 
mony of  cutting  the  first  turf  took  place 
April  26,  1846;  and  the  labor  has  occu- 
pied six  years. 

THORWALDSEN'S  FIRST  LOVE. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1796,  that  Thor- 
waldsen  intended  to  commence  his  wan- 
derings in  the  world,  by  passing  over  ttie 
Alps  to  Rome;  but  he  fell  ill,  and  after 
his  recovery  was  depressed  in  mind.  War 
was  then  raging  in  Germany;  and  his 
friends  advised  him  to  go  I>y  the  royal 
frigate  Thetis,  which  was  just  about  to 
sail  for  the  Mediterranean.  He  had  then 
a  betrothed  bride ;  he  took  an  honest, 
open-hearted  farewell,  and  said  :  '*  Now 
that  I  am  going  on  my  travels  you  shall 
not  be  bound  to  me :  if  you  keep  true  to 
me,  and  I  to  you,  until  we  meet  again 
some  years  hence,  then  we  will  be  united." 
They  separated ;  and  they  met  again 
many,  many  years  afterwards,  shortly  be- 
fore his  death — she  as  a  widow,  he  as  Eu- 
rope's eternally  young  artist.  When  Thor- 
waldsen's  corpse  was  borne  through  the 
streets  of  Copenhagen  with  royal  magniK- 
cence,  when  the  streets  were  filled  with 
thousands  of  spectators  in  mourning, 
there  sat  an  old  woman,  of  the  class  of 
citizens,  at  an  open  window — it  was  she, 
the  early  love  of  the  artist. — Andersen's 
Rambles, 


M'LLE.  RACHEL  AS  VALERIA  AND  LYSISCA. 

The  fine  engraving  here  presented  to  our  readers  affords  an 
accurate  likeness  of  M'lle  Rachel,  the  world-renowned  actress  of 
France,  as  she  appears  in  the  charactei-s  of  Valeria,  the  empress, 
and  Lysisea,  in  Mr.  Lacroix's  tragedy  of  Valeria,  wliich  was  ad- 
mii'ably  translated  for  Miss  Davenport  by  our  talented  townsmen, 


MADEMOISELLE  RACHEL  AS  VALERIA  AND  LYSISCA. 


Oliver  C.  Wyman,  Esq.,  and  first  brought  out  at  the  Howard 
Atlienceum  in  this  city.  Tlie  plot  of  the  play  tuinis  upon  the  per- 
fect-resemblance of  the  Empress  Valeria,  the  wife  of  Claudius 
and  a  lady  of  the  purest  character,  to  Lysisea,  who  is  the  reverse. 
Claudius  is  made  to  believe  that  the  two  persons  are  identical, 
and  the  empress  is  charged  with  all  the  misconduct  of  Lysisea. 
The  marvellous  rapidity  with  which 
Rachel  passes  from  one  character  to  the 
other,  stamps  her  as  an  actress  of  the 
greatest  merit.  This  celebrated  woman 
was  a  child  of  Paris,  and  commenced  her 
career  as  a  street  singer.  The  intellectual 
character  of  her  face  and  the  beauty  of 
her  voice  attracted  the  notice  of  a  benev- 
olent individual,  who  took  her  out  of  the 
streets,  educated  her,  and  brought  her  out 
upon  the  stage.  Her  success  was  most 
brilliant,  and  she  now  stands  at  the  head 
of  her  profession.  Since  her  own  fortune 
has  been  made,  a  sister  of  hers  has  adopt- 
ed the  stage  as  a  profession,  and  been 
very  favorably  received. 

A  BOLD  MARINER. 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  little  fish- 
ing smacks  employed  in  cruising  along 
the  coast  of  Scotland  ;  which  carry  lier- 
ring  and  other  fish  to  Leith,  Edinburgh, 
or  Glasgow,  worked  by  three  or  four 
hardy  sailors,  and  generally  commanded 
by  an  individual  having  no  other  knowl- 
edge of  navigation  than  that  wliich  en- 
ables him  to  keep  his  dead  reckoning, 
and  to  take  the  sun  with  his  quadrant  at 
noonday.  A  man  who  owned  and  com- 
manded one  of  these  coasting  vessels  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  the  West  In- 
dia ships  load  and  unload  in  several  ports 
of  Scotland  ;  and,  having  learned  that  su- 
gar was  a  very  profitable  cargo,  he  deter- 
mined by  way  of  speculation  on  making  a 
trip  to  St.  Vincent,  and  retuming  to  the 
Scotch  market  with  a  few  hogsheads  of 
that  commodity.  The  natives  were  per- 
fectly astonished — they  had  never  heard 
of  such  a  feat  before  ;  and  they  deemed  it 
quite  impossible  that  a  mere  fishing 
smack,  worked  by  only  four  men,  and 
commanded  by  an  ignorant  master,  should 
plough  the  boisterous  billows  of  the  At- 
lantic, and  reach  the  West  Indies  in  safe- 
ty ;  yet  so  it  was.  The  hardy  Scotchman 
freighted  his  vessel  and  made  sail,  crossed 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  in  a  gale,  got  info  the 
trades,  and  scudded  along  before  the  wind 
at  the  rate  of  seven  knots  an  hour,  trust- 
ing to  his  dead  reckoning  all  the  way. 
He  spoke  no  vessel  during  the  whole  voy- 
age, and  never  once  saw  land  until  the 
moraing  of  the  thirty-fifth  day,  when  he 
descried  St.  Vincent's  right  ahead ;  and 
setting  his  gaft'-topsail,  he  ran  down  un- 
der a  light  breeze,  along  the  windward 
coast  of  the  island,  and  came  to  anchor 
about  eleven  o'clock. — Four  Years'  Resi- 
dence in  the  West  Indies. 


102 


GLEASON'S   PICTOrJAL   DRAWING   HOOM   COMPANION. 


[AVrltton  for  GIciimoh'h  Pictorial.] 
THE    SEA    SilOIlE. 

BY  MH8.  M.  w,  OUHTIB. 

I  loTo  to  roam  whoro  tho  billowy  fonm 

Ifl  Infilling  tho  sea-girt  nUoro  ; 
I  lovo  to  bathe  in  tho  ocean  wave, 

And  liflt  to  its  ceaseless  roar. 

"Wlion  tho  moonheama  glow  o'er  tho  waters*  flow, 

And  silver  tho  ocean's  breast, 
I  lovo  to  glide  in  the  glistening  tido, 

With  those  whom  I  lovo  best. 

In  winter  time,  when  the  wild  wind's  chime 

Is  echoing  through  the  air, 
"When  the  storm  king  dread  has  left  his  bod, 

And  is  up  from  his  gloomy  lair : 

Then  the  howling  blast  goes  wliistling  past, 

And  ttic  heaving  billows  tower, 
With  a  crest  of  foam,  o'er  a  dark,  green  dome, — 

Tlicn  vast  1b  the  ocean's  power. 

I  love  tho  shoro,  when  the  day  is  o'er, 

And  twilight  is  gathering  round  ; 
Then  come,  lot  us  go  whore  tho  waters  flow. 

And  the  tiny  wavelets  bound. 

'Tis  summer  time,  irnd  tho  munnuring  chimo 

Of  ocean  zephyrs  meet ; 
On  the  sandy  beach,  where  the  waters  reach, 

Wo  will  hie  with  bounding  feet. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE   POLISH   SLAVE. 

A  STORY  OF  TYRANNY  IN  EUROPE. 
BY  FKANCIS  A.  DUEIYAGE. 

Gailt  opened  the  bright  summer  moniirig  on 
the  gray  feudal  tuiTets  of  Castle  Tekeli,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  old  Count  Alexis  Tekeli,  that 
crowned  a  rocky  eminence,  and  was  embosomed 
in  the  deep  secular  forests  of  Lithuania.  The 
court-yard  was  a  scene  of  joyous  noise  and  gay 
confusion. ;  for  the  whole  household  was  m.uster- 
ed  for  the  chase.  Half  a  dozen  horses,  gaily 
capari.goned,  were  neighing,  snorting,  and  paw- 
ing the  ground  with  hot  impatience ;  a  pack  of 
staunch  hounds,  with  difficulty  restrained  by  the 
huntsmen,  mingled  their  voices  with  the  neigh- 
ing of  the  steeds  ;  while  the  slaves  and  relatives 
of  the  family  were  all  busy  in  preparation  for 
the  day's  sport. 

Count  Alexis  was  the  first  in  the  saddle ;  aged, 
but  hale  and  vigorous,  he  was  as  alert  and  ac- 
tive as  a  young  man  of  tive-and  twenty. 

"Wliere  are  my  daughters  ■?"  he  exclaimed, 
impatiently,  as  he  drew  on  his  buff  gauntlets. 
*'  The  sun  is  mounting  apace,  and  we  should  not 
lose  the  best  portion  of  the  day." 

As  if  in  reply  to  his  question,  a  tall  dark-haired 
girl,  of  elegant  figure  and  stately  bearing,  ap- 
peared by  his  side,  and  -with  the  assistance  of  a 
groom,  mounted  her  prancing  gray  palfrey. 

"  This  is  well,  Anna,"  said  the  count.  '  But 
where  is  Eudocia  ■?  She  must  not  keep  us 
waiting." 

"  Eudocia  declines  to  be  of  our  party,  father," 
replied  the  girl. 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  she  will  never 
have  your  color  in  her  cheeks,  if  she  persists  in 
moijing  in  her  chamber,  reading  old  legends  and 
missals,  and  the  rhj'mes  of  worthless  minnesing- 
ers. But  let  her  go  ;  I  have  one  daughter  who 
can  live  with  the  hunt,  and  see  the  boar  at  bay 
without  flinching.     Sound,  bugle,  and  forward !" 

Amid  the  ringing  of  silver  curb-chains,  the 
baying  of  hounds,  and  the  enlivening  notes  of 
the  bugle,  the  cavalcade  and  the  train  of  footmen 
swept  out  of  the  court-yard,  and  descending  the 
winding  path,  plunged  into  the  heart  of  the 
primeval  forest.  The  dogs  and  the  beaters  dart- 
ed into  the  thick  copsewood,  and  soon  the  shouts 
of  the  huntsmen  and  the  fierce  bay  of  the  dogs 
announced  that  a  wild  boar  had  been  found  and 
started.  On  dashed  the  merry  company,  Count 
Alexis  leading  on  the  spur.  The  lady  Anna 
soon  found  herself  alone,  but  she  pressed  her 
palfrey  in  the  direction  of  the  sounds  of  the  chase 
as  they  receded  in  the  distance.  Suddenly  she 
found  herself  in  a  small  clearing,  and  drew  her 
rein  to  rest  her  panting  steed.  She  had  not  re- 
mained long  in  her  position,  when  she  heard,  op- 
posite to  her,  a  crashing  among  the  branches, 
and  the  next  moment  a  huge  wild  boar,  mad- 
dened with  pursuit,  and  foaming  with  rage,  broke 
into  tbc  opening,  and  sprang  directly  towards  her. 
Her  horse,  terrified  at  the  apparition,  reared  so 
suddenly  that  he  fell  backwards,  throwing  his 
rider  heavily,  and  narrowly  missing  cnishing 
her.  Springing  to  his  feet,  ho  dashed  wildly 
awiiy  with  flying  mane  and  rein,  while  the  lady 


lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  infuriated  animal,  faint 
and  iTKupablc  of  exertion. 

At  that  critical  moment,  a  young  man,  in  the 
livery  of  the  count,  dashed  l>cforc  the  prostrate 
form  of  the  lady,  and  dropping  on  one  knee, 
levelled  iiis  short  spear,  and  sternly  received  tho 
charge  of  the  boar.  Though  the  weapon  was 
well  directed,  it  shivered  in  tlio  grasp  of  the 
young  huntsman,  and  though  he  drew  his  short 
sword  witli  the  rapidity  of  thought,  the  boar  was  . 
upon  him.  The  struggle  was  short  and  fierce, 
and  the  young  huntsman  succeeded  in  slaying 
the  monster,  but  not  until  he  had  received  a 
severe  wound  in  the  arm  from  the  tusks  of  the 
boar.  Heedless  of  his  sufferings,  however,  he 
ran  to  a  neighboring  rivulet,  and  filling  hi.s  cap 
with  water,  returned  and  sprinkled  the  face  of 
the  fainting  girt.  In  a  few  moments  she 
revived. 

Her  first  words,  uttered  with  a  trembling 
voice,  were : 

"  Where — 'Where  is  the  wild  boar  V 

"  There,  lady,"  said  the  huntsman,  pointing 
to  the  gridy  carcase  of  the  monster.  "  His  ca- 
reer is  ended." 

"And  it  is  you  who  have  saved  ray  life,"  ex- 
claimed Anna,  with  a  grateful  smile. 

"  I  did  my  duty,  lady,"  answered  the  hunts- 
man. 

"  But  who  are  you,  sir  ?  Let  me,  at  least, 
know  your  name,  that  I  may  remember  you  in 
my  prayers." 

"  My  name  is  Michael  Erlitz ;  though  your 
eyes,  lady,  may  never  have  dwelt  on  one  so  low- 
ly as  myself,  I  am  ever  in  your  father's  train 
■when  he  goes  to  the  chase.  I  am  Count  Teke- 
li's  slave,"  he  added,  casting  his  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

"A  slave  1  and  so  brave — so  handsome!" 
thought  the  lady  Anna ;  but  she  gave  no  utter- 
ance to  the  thought. 

At  this  moment  the  count  rode  up,  followed 
by  two  or  three  of  his  retainers,  and  throwing 
himself  from  his  horse,  clasped  his  daughter  in 
his  arms. 

"  My  child,  my  child !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  thank 
God  you  are  alive !  I  saw  your  horse  dash  past 
me  riderless,  and  flew  to  yolir  assistance.  But 
there  is  blood  upon  your  dress." 

"  It  is  my  blood  !"  said  the  slave,  calmly. 

"  Yours,  Michael '?"  cried  the  count,  looking 
round  him.  "  Now  I  see  it  all — the  dead  boar, 
the  broken  spear,  your  bleeding  arm.  You 
saved  my  daughter's  life  at  the  risk  of  your 
own !" 

"  The  life  of  a  slave  belongs  to  his  master  and 
his  master's  fiimily,"  answered  Michael,  calmly. 
"Of  what  value  is  the  existence  of  a  serf?  He 
belongs  not  to  himself.  He  is  of  no  more  ac- 
count than  a  horse  or  a  hound." 

"  Say  not  so,"  said  Count  Alexis,  warmly. 
"  Michael,  you  are  a  slave  no  longer.  I  wiU  di- 
rectly make  out  your  manumission  papers.  In 
the  meantime  you  shall  do  no  menial  service ; 
you  shall  sit  at  my  board,  if  you  will,  and  ho  my 
friend,  if  you  will  accept  my  friendship." 

The  eagle  eye  of  the  young  huntsman  kindled 
with  rapture.  He  essayed  to  speak,  but  the 
words  died  upon  his  tongue.  Falling  on  his 
knees,  he  seized  the  count's  hand,  and  pressed  it 
to  his  lips  and  heart.  Tekeli  raised  him  from 
his  humble  posture. 

"  Michael,"  said  he,  "  henceforth  kneel  only  to 
your  Maker.  And  now  to  the  castle;  your  hurt 
needs  care." 

"  Willingly,"  said  the  young  man,  "  would  I 
had  shed  the  best  blood  in  my  body  to  obtain 
my  freedom." 

"Ho,  there!"  said  the  count,  to  his  squire. 
"Dismount,  and  let  Michael  have  your  horse. 
And  bring  after  us  Michael's  dearly-earned 
hunting-trophy.     He  has  eclipsed  us  all  to-day." 

Michael  was  soon  in  the  saddle,  riding  next 
to  the  lady  Anna,  who,  from  time  to  time,  turn- 
ed her  countenance,  beaming  with  gratitude  upon 
him,  and  addressed  him  words  of  encourage- 
ment and  kindness,  for  her  proud  and  imperious 
nature  was  entirely  subdued  and  changed,  for 
the  time,  by  the  service  he  had  rendered  her. 

When  the  cavalcade  reached  the  castle,  they 
found  the  lady  Eudocia,  the  count's  eldest 
daughter,  waiting  to  receive  them.  She  heard 
the  recital  of  the  morning's  adventure  with  deep 
interest,  but  a  keen  observer  would  have  noticed 
that  she  seemed  less  moved  by  the  recollection 
of  her  sister's  danger,  than  by  the  present  condi- 
tion of  the  wounded  huntsman.  It  was  to  her 
care  that  he  was  committed,  as  she  was  skilled 
in  the  healing  art,  having  inherited  the  knowledge 
from  her  mother.      She  compelled   Michael  to 


give  up  all  active  employment,  and  in  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks,  succeeded  in  effecting  a  complete 
restoration  of  tlie  wounded  arm. 

Count  Tekeli  treated  tlie  young  man  with  the 
kindness  of  a  fatlier,  losing  all  his  arislocratic 
prejudices  in  a  generous  sense  of  gratitude. 
Splendidly  attired,  promised  an  honorable  ca- 
reer in  arms,  if  he  chose  to  adopt  the  military 
profession,  his  whole  future  changed  by  a  fortu- 
nate accident,  Michael  was  happy  in  the  intimacy 
of  the  two  sisters.  He  now  dared  to  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  her  whom  he  had  saved,  and  wliom 
he  loved  with  all  the  intensity  of  a  passionate  na- 
ture. Thus  weeks  and  montlis  rolled  on  like 
minutes,  and  lie  only  awaited  the  delivery  of  his 
manumission  papers  to  join  the  banner  of  his 
sovereign. 

One  day — an  eventful  day,  indeed  for  him — ■ 
he  received  from  Eudocia,  the  elder  sister,  a 
message,  inviting  him  to  meet  her  in  a  summer- 
house  that  stood  in  a  small  garden  connected 
with  the  castle.  Punctual  to  the  hour  named, 
he  presented  himself  before  her. 

"  Michael,"  said  she,  extending  her  hand  to 
him,  "  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  a  secret." 

Her  voice  was  so  tremulous  and  broken,  that 
the  young  man  gazed  earnestly  into  her  face,  and 
saw  that  she  had  been  weeping,  and  now  with 
difficulty  suppressed  her  tears. 

"  Nay,"  said  she,  smiling  feebly ;  "  it  "will  not 
be  a  secret  long,  for  I  must  tell  it  to  my  father 
as  soon  as  he  returns  from  court  with  the  royal 
endorsement  to  yom-  manumission.  I  am  going 
to  leave  you  all." 

"  To  leave  us,  lady  V 

"  Yes.     I  am  going  to  take  the  veil." 

"  You,  so  beautiful,  so  young  1    It  cannot  be." 

"Alas!  youth,  beauty,  are  insufficient  to  se- 
cure happiness.  The  world  may  be  a  lonely 
place,  even  to  the  young  and  beautiful.  The 
cloister  is  a  still  and  sacred  haven  on  the  road  to 
a  better  world." 

"  And  what  has  induced  you  to  take  this  step  1 
I  have  not  noticed  hitherto  any  trace  of  sorrow 
or  weariness  in  your  countenance." 

"  You  were  studying  a  brighter  page — the  fair 
face  of  my  sister.  Start  not,  Michael ;  I  have 
divined  your  secret.  She  loves  you,  Michael ; 
she  loves  you  with  her  whole  soul.  You  will 
wed  her  and  be  happy ;  while  I — "  she  turned 
away  her  face  to  conceal  her  tears. 

The  young  man  heard  onlythe  blissful  predic- 
tion that  concerned  himself;  he  noted  not  the 
pangs  of  her  who  uttered  it. 

"Dearest  lady!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  have 
rendered  me  the  happiest  of  men ;"  and  dropping 
on  his  knees,  he  seized  her  hand  and  covered  it 
with  kisses. 

"Hark!"  said  Eudocia,  in  alarm.  "Foot- 
steps !  We  are  surprised.  I  must  not  be  seen 
here  !"  and  with  these  words  she  fled. 

Michael  sprang  to  his  feet.  Before  him  stood 
the  younger  daughter  of  Count  Alexis,  her  eyes 
flashing  fire,  her  whole  frame  quivei'ing  with 
passion.  He  advanced  and  took  her  hand,  but 
she  flung  it  from  him  fiercely. 

"  Slave  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  dare  you  pollute 
with  your  vile  touch  the  hand  of  a  high-born 
dame — the  daughter  of  your  master  f" 

"Anna,  what  means  this  passion'?"  cried 
Michael,  in  astonishment. 

.  "  Silence,  slave!"  cried  the  imperious  woman. 
"What  ho,  there  !"  she  added,  stamping  her  foot. 
"  AYlio  waits  1" 

Half  a  dozen  menials  sprang  to  her  call. 

"  Take  me  this  slave  to  the  court-yard  !"  she 
cried  vehemently.  "  He  has  been  guilty  of  mis- 
behaviour. Let  him  taste  the  knout ;  and  woe  be 
to  you  if  you  spare  him !  Away  with  him ! 
Rid  me  of  his  hateful  presence  !" 

While  Michael  was  subjected  to  this  hateful 
punishment,  the  vindictive  girl,  still  burning 
with  passion,  sought  her  sister.  What  passed 
between'' them  may  be  conjectured  from  what 
follows. 

Michael,  released  from  the  hands  of  the  me- 
nials, stood,  with  swelling  heart  and  burning 
brow,  in  one  of  the  lofty  apartments  of  the  castle. 
He  had  felt  no  pain  from  the  lash,  but  the  igno- 
miny of  the  punishment  burned  into  his  very 
soul,  consuming  the  image  that  had  been  in  his 
inner  heart  for  years.  The  scales  had  fallen 
from  his  eyes,  and  he  now  beheld  the  younger 
daughter  of  the  count  in  all  the  deformity  of  her 
moral  nature — proud,  imperious,  passionate  and 
cruel, 

A  door  opened.  A  female,  with  dishevelled 
hair,  and  a  countenance  of  agony,  mshed  for- 
ward, and  threw  liersclf  at  his  feet,  embracing 
his  knees  convulsively.     It  was  Anna ! 


"  0,  Michael !"  she  cried,  "  forgive  me,  forgive 
me  !  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  the  pain  I 
infiicted  upon  you." 

"  I  have  suflfered  no  pain,"  replied  Michael, 
coldly.  "  Or  if  I  did,  it  is  the  duty  of  a  slave  to 
suff'er  pain.  You  reminded  me  tliis  morning 
that  I  was  still  a  slave." 

"  No,  no  !  It  is  /  that  am  your  slave  !"  cried 
the  lady.  "  Your  slave — body  and  soul.  Be- 
hold !  I  kiss  your  feet  in  token  of  submission,  my 
lord  and  master  !  Michael,  I  love  you — I  adore 
you  !  I  would  follow  j'ou  barelbot  to  the  end  of 
the  world.  Let  me  kiss  your  burning  wounds ; 
and  0  !  forgive — forgive  me  !" 

Michael  raised  lier  to  her  feet,  and  gazed 
steadily  in  her  countenance. 

"Lady,"  said  he,  "I  loved  you  years  ago, 
when,  as  a  boy,  I  was  only  permitted  to  gaze  on 
you,  as  we  gaze  upon  the  stars,  that  we  may 
worship,  but  never  possess.  It  was  this  high 
adoration  that  refined  and  ennobled  my  nature  ; 
that,  in  the  mire  of  thraldom,  taught  me  to 
aspire — taught  me  that,  though  a  slave,  I  was 
yet  a  man.  Through  your  silent  influence,  I 
was  enabled  to  refine  my  manners,  to  cultivate 
my  mind,  to  fit  myself  for  the  freedom  which 
bounteous  Heaven  had  in  store  for  me." 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  replied  Anna.  "  You  have  made 
yourself  all  that  can  render  a  woman  happy. 
There  is  not  a  noble  in  the  land  who  can  boast 
of  accomplishments  like  yours ;  and  you  aro 
beautiful  as  a  virgin's  dream  of  angels." 

"  These  are  flattering  ivm-ds,  lady." 

"  They  come  from  the  heart,  Michael." 

"  You  have  told  me  what  I  am,  lady.  Now 
hear  what  I  require  in  the  woman  I  would  wed. 
She  must  be  beautiful,  for  beauty  should  ever 
mate  with  beauty ;  high-bom,  for  the  lowly  of 
birth  are  aspiring,  and  never  wed  their  equals ; 
yet  above  all,  gentle,  womanly,  kind,  forgiving, 
affectionate.  No  unsexed  Semiramis  or  Zenobia 
for  me." 

"  I  will  make  myself  all  that  you  desire, 
Michael." 

"  We  cannot  change  our  natures,"  replied 
Michael,  coldly. 

"  But  you  will  forgive  me  V 

"  I  am  not  now  in  a  condition  to  answer  you. 
Smarting  with  indignation  I  can  ill  suppress — I 
cannot  command  the  calmness  requisite  to  reply 
in  fit  terms  to  the  generous  confidence  of  a  high- 
bora  lady.  Ketire  to  your  apartment,  lady,  for 
your  father  is  expected  momently,  and  I  must 
see  him  first  alone." 

Anna  kissed  the  hand  of  the  slave,  and  re- 
tired slowly.  A  few  moments  afterwards,  the 
gallop  of  a  horse  was  heard  entering  the  court- 
yard, and  this  sound  was  followed  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Count  Alexis,  who  threw  himself  into 
the  arms  of  Michael,  and  pressed  him  to  his 
heart. 

"Joy, joy,  Michael!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
are  now  free — as  fx'ce  as  air !  Here  are  the  docu- 
ments ;  my  slave  no  longer — ray  friend  always. 
And  as  soon  as  you  choose  to  join  the  service, 
you  can  lead  a  troop  of  the  royal  cavaliers." 

Michael  poured  out  his  thanks  to  his  generous 
master. 

"And  now,"  said  the  count,  "to  touch  upon 
a  matter  nearer  still  to  my  heart.  Since  the  ad- 
venture in  the  forest,  I  have  loved  you  as  a  son. 
To  make  you  such  in  reality  would  be  to  crown 
my  old  age  with  happiness.  My  daughters  are 
acknowledged  to  be  beautiful,  fitting  mates  for 
the  proudest  of  the  land.  I  offer  you  the  hand 
of  her  you  can  love  the  best ;  make  your  election, 
and  I  doubt  not  her  heart  will  second  my  wishes 
and  yours." 

"  My  noble  friend,"  said  Michael,  "  I  accept 
your  offer  gratefully.  You  have  made  me  the 
happiest  of  men.  You  will  pardon  me,  I  know, 
when  I  confess  that  I  have  dared  to  raise  my 
eyes  to  one  of  your  daughters.  Without  your 
consent  the  secret  should  have  been  hidden  for- 
ever in  my  own  heart,  even  had  it  consumed  it." 

Count  Tekeli  shook  the  hand  of  the  young 
man  warmly,  and  then  summoned  his  two 
daughters.  They  obeyed  promptly.  Both  were 
agitated,  and  bent  their  eyes  upon  the  fioor. 

"  Count  Tekeli,"  said  Michael,  speaking  in  a 
calm,  clear  voice,  "I  have  a  word  to  say  to  this 
your  younger  daughter,  the  lady  Anna." 

As  her  name  was  uttered,  the  young  girl 
raised  her  eyes,  inquiringly,  to  the  face  of  the 
speaker. 

"  Lady,  but  now,"  said  Michael,  "  you  solicit- 
ed my  forgiveness  on  your  knees." 

"  What !"  cried  the  count,  the  blood  mounting 
to  his  temples;  "  a  daughter  of  mine  solicit  on 
her  knees  forgiveness  of  one  so  late  my  more 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


103 


than  vassal — my  slave !  Wliat  is  the  meaning 
of  this  V 

*'  It  means,"  cried  Jlichacl,  kindling  as  he 
spoke,  "that  this  morning;,  during  your  absence, 
count, — nay,  a  half  horn-  before  your  return,  this, 
your  younger  daughter,  in  a  moment  of  ill-found- 
ed jealousy  and  rage,  and  usurping  your  virtual 
rights — rights  you  had  yourself  annulled, — 
doomed  me  to  the  knout ! — yea,  had  me  scourged 
by  menials  in  the  court-yard  of  your  castle  !" 

"  How,"  cried  the  count,  addressing  his 
daughter,  "  dared  you  commit  this  infamy  on  the 
person  of  my  friend — the  saviour  of  your  life?" 

"  I  did,  I  did  \"  cried  Anna,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"And  you  asked  me  to  forgive  you,"  said 
Blichael.  "  You  offered  me  your  hand,  and 
begged  me  to  accept  it-  My  answer  is,  never, 
never,  never  !  The  moment  you  laid  the  bloody 
scourge  upon  my  back,  you  lost  youi-  hold  upon 
my  heart  forever !  I  were  less  than  a  man  could 
I  forgive  this  outrage  on  my  manhood.  I  saved 
your  life — you  repaid  it  with  the  lash.  It  is  not 
tlie  lash  that  wounds,  it  is  the  shame.  The  one 
eats  into  the  living  flesh,  the  other  into  tlie  living 
heart.  Were  you  ten  times  more  lovely  than 
you  are,  you  would  ever  be  a  monster  in  my 
eyes." 

The  tears  that  coursed  freely  down  the  checks 
of  the  lady  Anna  ceased  to  fall  as  Michael  ceased 
to  speak.  A  deep  red  flush  mounted  to  her 
temples,  and  her  eyes,  so  lately  humid,  shot 
forth  glances  Uke  those  of  an  angry  tigress.  She 
turned  to  the  count. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "will  you  permit  a  base- 
born  slave  to  use  such  language  to  yoiu: 
daughter  V 

"  Silence  !"  said  the  old  man.  "  His  heart  is 
nobler  than  yours.  More  measured  terms  could 
not  have  passed  his  lips.  I  should  have  despised 
him  had  he  felt  and  said  less.  Get  thee  to  thy 
chamber,  and  in  penitence  and  prayer  relieve  thy 
conscience  of  the  sin  thou  liast  committed." 

The  lady  Anna  retired  from  the  apartment 
with  a  haughty  air  and  measured  step. 

"'Lady,"  said  Michael,  approaching  Eudocia, 
"  between  your  sister  and  myself  there  is  a  gulf 
Impassable.  If  ever  I  can  forgive  her,  it  must  be 
when  those  sweet  and  tender  eyes,  that  speak  a 
heart  all  steeped  in  gentleness  and  love,  have 
smiled  upon  my  hopes,  and  made  me  at  peace 
with  all  the  world.  Dearest  Eudocia,  will  you 
accept  the  devotion  of  my  heart  and  life  1'* 

He  took  her  hand,  it  trembled  in  his  grasp, 
but  was  not  withdrawn.  She  struggled  for  com- 
posure for  a  moment,  and  then,  resting  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  wept  for  joy. 

The  nuptials  of  Michael  and  Eudocia  -were 
soon  celebrated.  A  brilliant  assemblage  graced 
the  old  custle  on  the  occasion ;  but  long  before 
the  solemnization,  the  count's  younger  daughter 
had  fled  to  a  convent  to  conceal  her  anger  and 
disappointment.  She  did  not  pass  through  her 
noviciate,  however,  but  returned  to  the  world, 
and  ultimately  married,  thougli  her  imperious 
spirit  prevented  her  enjoying  that  felicity  which 
was  the  lot  of  her  happier  and  gentler  sister. 


A  MONITOR, 

A  gentleman  had  t\vo  children — the  one  a 
daughter,  who  was  considered  plain  in  her  per- 
son, the  other  a  son,  who  was  reckoned  hand- 
some. One  day  as  they  were  playing  together, 
they  saw  their  faces  in  a  looking-glass  ;  the  boy 
was  cliarmed  with  his  beauty,  and  spoke  of  it  to 
his  sister,  who  considered  his  remarks  as  so 
many  x'eflectious  on  her  want  of  it ;  she  told  her 
father  of  the  affair,  complaining  of  her  brother's 
rudeness  to  her ;  the  father,  instead  of  appearing 
angry,  took  them  both  on  his  knees,  and,  witli 
much  affection,  gave  them  the  following  advice  : 
*'  I  would  have  you  both  look  in  the  glass  every 
day;  you,  my  son,  that  you  maybe  reminded 
never  to  dishonor  the  beauty  of  your  face  by  the 
deformity  of  your  actions  ;  and  you,  my  daugh- 
ter, that  you  may  take  care  to  hide  the  defect  of 
beauty  in  your  person  by  the  superior  lustre  of 
your  virtuous  and  amiable  conduct." 


SELF-RESPECT  AND  SELF-DEPENDEKCE. 

Be  and  continue  poor,  young  man,  while  oth- 
ers around  you  grow  rich  by  fraud  and  disloy- 
alty ;  be  without  place  or  power,  while  others 
beg  their  way  upwards  ;  bear  the  pain  of  disap- 
pointed hopes,  while  others  gain  theirs  by  flat- 
tery ;  forego  the  gracious  pressure  of  the  hand, 
for  which  others  cringe  and  crawl.  Wrap  your- 
self in  your  own  virtue,  and  seek  a  friend  and 
your  daily  bread.  If  you  have,  in  such  a  course, 
grown  gray  with  unblenched  honor,  bless  God 
and  die. — Heuizelmann. 


There  is  nothing  purer  than  honesty ;  nothing 
sweeter  than  charity  ;  nothing  warmer  than  love ; 
nothing  brighter  than  virtue  ;  and  nothing  more 
steadfast  tiian  faith.  These  united  in  one  mind, 
form  the  purest,  tlie  sweetest,  tlie  richest,  the 
brightest  and  most  steadfast  happiness. 


[■Written  for  Gleiison's  Pictorial.] 
THE  EVENING  STAR, 

Excelsior,  brightest  of  yon  bright  throng, 
That  fill  all  the  blue  dome  of  heaven  ! 

Excelsior,  nightly  I  gaze  on  thee  long, 
More  bright  than  the  sunken  sun's  leyin  ! 

Expectant  I  watch  the  skies  when  daylight  fades, 
To  catch  the  first  faint  glimpse  of  thee  ; 

Enraptured  I  gaze,  while  the  sweet  valley-glades 
No  longer  breathe  charms  for  me. 

Euphonious  gushiogs,  voluminonsly 

Steal  soft  on  the  ambient  air; 
Ah,  whence  come  they — these  strains  of  sweet  melody, 

That  ebb,  flow,  and  swell  everywhere  ? 

Come  they  from  the  wings  of  the  winds  in  the  flowers, 
Or  the  cells  at  my  feet  in  the  sod  1 

Ah,  no,  they  unconsciously  fall  forth  in  showers 
From  the  choirs  in  yon  bright  shining  god. 

0,  would  I  were  like  thee,  beauteous  star, 

In  my  place  as  thou  art  in  thine, — 
0,  would  I  were  like  thee,  glorious  star, 

Outpouring  a  light  so  divine. 

0,  would  I  were  like  thee,  rarest  gem, 

In  lustre  and  glory  supreme  ; 
I  would  not  then  covet  the  deeds  of  them, 

The  gods  that  before  me  now  gleam. 

Ah,  then  would  the  world  cling  with  throbbing  delight 
To  my  teachings,  as  I  to  thine  oivn, — 

Unchanging,  eternal,  through  time's  ceaseless  flight ; 
Ah,  then  I  would  not  be  unknown. 

[■Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

FILLING  UP  THE  GAPS. 

BY    SIRS.    E.    WELL3I0NT. 

It  is  a  great  thing  in  this  life  to  be  able  to  fill 
up  the  gaps  or  interstices  that  occur  between  our 
more  prominent  labors.  Just  cast  your  eyes 
about  you,  and  witness  the  important  results 
which  arc  tlie  product  of  odd  minutes.  Mrs. 
Flume  is,  by  nature,  industrious.  Her  work- 
basket  always  contains  a  few  jobs  just  equal  to 
different  portions  of  time ;  and  in  this  way  she 
has  saved  for  years  the  aid  of  a  seamstress. 
When  a  shirt  is  to  be  newly  collared  or  wrist- 
banded,  or  the  hose  to  be  mended,  or  a  stocking 
to  be  finished  off,  or  a  handkerchief  to  be  hem- 
med, they  are  all  deposited  where  during  the 
week  they  are  sure  to  be  taken  up  ;  and  this 
work  is  all  accomplished  while  some  other  peo- 
ple would  be  idle.  But  Mrs.  Toddle  tells  Mrs. 
Flume,  "  it  is  great  breach  of  politeness  to  work 
before  company ;"  to  which  Mrs.  Flume  an- 
swers :  "  that  depends  upon  who  are  your  guests, 
how  long  they  tarry,  and  what  is  the  object  of 
their  visit." 

Nobody  understands  true  politeness  better 
than  Mrs.  Flume — mere  conventional  rules  were 
never  her  study ;  yet  she  has  an  intuitive  desire 
to  please,  and  that  is  the  secret  of  all  civility. 
Besides,  she  was  a  woman  of  rare  discrimination. 
Of  course,  therefore,  if  a  gentleman  from  abroad, 
or  her  clergyman,  or  a  particular  friend,  whose 
stay  of  necessity  must  be  short,  called  upon  her, 
you  would  never  suppose  Mi's.  Flume  was 
anxious  about  the  finish  of  a  garment  in  the 
world ;  but  let  her  nearest  and  fomiliar  friends, 
who  have  sauntered  a  good  while,  and  have  a 
great  many  particulars  to  relate  about  "  change 
of  servants,  and  their  trying  peculiarities,"  or  if 
Mrs.  Carew,  her  neighbor,  just  dropped  in  be- 
cause it  was  so  "lonesome"  at  home,  or  little 
Miss  Kitty,  who  always  played  with  her  fan  and 
parasol,  when  she  did  not  twirl  the  tassels  of  the 
window  curtain  or  the  sofa-cushion  for  a  full 
horn:  or  more,  although  all  the  while  "  she  was 
not  able  to  stop  a  moment."  I  repeat  it,  when 
Mrs.  Flume  received  such  guests,  she  always  con- 
ducted them  to  an  upper  sitting-room,  where 
was  the  aforesaid  work-basket ;  so  all  the  gaps 
which  such  visits  would  have  made,  were  care- 
fully improved. 

But  how  was  it  with  Mrs.  Toddle  ?  Why, 
her  excuse  always  was  want  of  time  ;  and  Mrs. 
Flume  used  to  remark,  she  verily  believed,  did 
she  consume  as  much  time  in  sewing  as  in  hunt- 
ing for  a  seamstress,  all  the  difficulty  would  -^^ 
obviated. 

Then  Mrs.  Toddle  had  so  many  intimate 
friends— they  were  all  nice  people,  who  kept 
eveiything  at  their  homes  like  waxwork ;  and 
how  could  she  think  of  adjouraing  to  her  sittmr 
room,  which  looked  as  if  a  humcane  had  s^^^^ 
across  it?  And  so  her  friends  stayecl  ^^.^ 
time,  and  chatted  a  good  deal ;  a}^^^  ^^^  ^^_ 
plans  for  their  husbands  to  ^flnn-  their  sum- 
came  wild  with  deliglit  in  ^ome  watering  place 
mer's  enjoyments,  wlu:n-  frolic  and  fun  would 
or  celebrated  res'"' 


be  boundless.  And,  as  they  sat  and  planned, 
perchance  little  Sammy  was  getting  a  broken 
skull,  while  the  two  domestics  wex'c  at  the  back 
gate  indulging  the  same  species  of  pleasure  with 
then-  associates,  well  reckoning  then*  mistress 
would  not  soon  retm*n — as  she  never  did. 

Now,  how  many  gaps  were  here  left  unfilled, 
which  such  sauntering  habits  had  induced  ? 
There  sat  Mrs.  Flume,  happy  in  her  family,  or- 
derly in  all  her  arrangements,  rarely  vexed  with 
strange  help,  every  button,  string  and  loop  in 
its  place,  with  a  cheerful  countenance  and  an 
entertaining  flow  of  conversation — for  some  of 
those  gaps  were  filled  in  with  reading  and  occa- 
sional visits  herself;  and  then  her  husband  was 
the  happiest,  merriest  man  in  the  world,  because 
everytliing  went  right  at  home.  There  was  no 
long  face  to  meet  him  with  a  dreary  catalogue 
of  the  day's  vexations ;  no  Bridget  had  been  im- 
pudent to  her  mistress,  and  refused  obedience  ; 
no  nursery  girl  had  discussed  what  was  her 
work,  and  therefore  done  none — but  Mrs.  Flume 
was  ready  to  sit  and  chat,  or  walk  and  enjoy,  in 
a  rational  manner,  all  the  comfort  of  a  well- 
regulated  household. 

Mrs.  Flume,  too,  understood  what  pertained 
to  her  husband's  interests ;  therefore,  unless  he 
was  at  ease  in  liis  business,  and  sufficiently  so  in 
his  cu-cumstances  to  warrant  it,  she  never  pro- 
posed expensive  jaunts  of  mere  pleasure-seeking ; 
and  yet  nobody  could  doubt  but  in  her  autumnal 
trip  of  a  week  or  two  after  all  the  fashionables 
had  returned  home,  she  often  brought  back  more 
in  the  retrospect  of  true  enjoyment,  than  many 
who  had  flitted  and  flirted  over  a  vast  extent  of 
territory,  but  seemed  still  like  the  migratory 
bird,  who  only  chattered  still. 

Mi's.  Toddle  and  some  few  friends  of  Mrs. 
Flume  longed  to  be  in  her  secret  of  extracting 
pleasure  from  sucli  everyday  materials  ;  but  as 
the  first  process  is  to  discipline  the  mind,  and 
then  orderly  to  perform  the  duty  nearest  us,  and 
thus  fill  up  all  the  chinks  and  gaps  through 
which  our  pleasures  escape,  we  are  in  doubt 
whether  they  will  commence  with  resolution 
enough  to  attain  their  desired  object. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SONG. 

BY  JOSEPH   H.  BUTLES. 

My  gallant  bark  is  on  the  sea, 

My  boat  is  waiting  by  the  shore ; 
Then,  lovely  lady,  ere  we  part, 

Give  me  thy  gentle  hand  once  more. 
I  would  not  draw  the  silver  tear 

From  those  angehc  eyes  of  blue  ; 
I  would  not  give  thy  bosom  pain, 

Since  I  believe  thou  lov'st  me  true. 

But  we  must  part !  I  feel  we  must. 

And  from  the  hour  my  soul  would  shrink  ; 
Alas,  our  sighs  cannot  avail, 

To  join  again  love's  flowery  link. 
When  on  the  sleepless  sea  I  ride, 

Wilt  thou  bestow  a  thought  on  me, 
■\rhen  memory  whispers  of  those  hours 

Which  never,  never  more  shall  be? 

MODESTY  OF  TRUE  GENIUS. 

It  may  be  said  that  no  man  knows  so  well  as 
the  author  of  any  performance  what  it  has  cost 
him,  and  the  length  of  time  and  study  devoted 
to  it.  This  is  one  among  other  reasons,  why  no 
man  can  pronounce  an  opinion  upon  himself. 
The  happiness  of  tlie  result  beai-s  no  proportion 
to  the  difficulties  overcome,  or  the  pains  taken. 
Materiam  svpei'obat  opus,  is  an  old  and  fatal  com- 
plaint. The  definition  of  genius  is  that  it  acts 
unconsciously;  and  those  who  have  produced 
immortal  works  have  done  so  without  knowing 
how  or  why.  The  greatest  power  operates  un- 
seen, and  executes  its  appointed  task  witli  as 
little  ostentation  as  difficulty.  Whatever  is  done 
best  is  done  from  the  natural  bent  and  disposi- 
tion of  the  mind.  It  is  only  "^^here^^-^^  j^^" 
pacity  begins,  that  we  Ijegintojf^  j^  ^^.^; 
and  to  set  an  undue  valng,-^i  Rembrandt, 
them.  Correggio^M-thout  premeditation  or 
did  what  _thej,T,s  came  from  their  minds  as  a 
effort--t]^fj_     If  yo,j  1jj^(J  ^3i.e(|  ^^^^^  ^^,^^^  ^^^^ 

°|5^etl  this  or  that  style,  they  would  have  an- 
Jlvered,  because  they  could  not  help  it,  and  be- 
cause they  knew  of  no  other.  So  Shakspeare 
says  : 

"  Our  poesy  is  as  a  giun  which  issues 
From  whence  'tis  nourished.     The  fire  i"  th'  flint 
Shows  not  till  it  be ;  our  gentle  flame 
Provokes  itself;  and,  Uke  the  current,  flies 
£ach  bound  it  chafes." 


EGYPTIAN  LEGEND. 

Sultan  Hassan,  wishing  to  see  the  world,  and 
lay  aside  for  a  time  the  anxieties  and  cares  of 
royalty,  committed  the  charge  of  his  kingdom  to 
his  favorite  minister;  and  taking  with  him  a 
large  amount  of  treasure  in  money  and  jewels, 
visited  several  foreign  countries  in  the  character 
of  a  wealthy  merchant.  Pleased  with  his  tour, 
and  becomiog  interested  in  tlie  occupation  he 
had  assumed  as  a  disguise,  he  was  absent  much 
longer  than  he  originally  intended,  and  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years  greatly  increased  his  al- 
ready large  stock  of  wealth.  His  protracted  ab- 
sence, however,  proved  a  temptation  too  stiong 
for  the  virtue  of  the  viceroy,  who,  gradually 
forming  for  himself  a  party  among  the  leading 
men  of  the  country,  at  length  communicated  to 
the  common  people  the  intelligence  that  Sultan 
Hassan  was  no  more,  and  quietly  seated  himself 
on  the  vacant  throne.  Sultan  Hassan  returning 
shortly  afterwards  from  his  pilgrimage,  and,  for- 
timately  for  himself,  still  in  disguise,  learned,  as 
he  approached  his  capital,  the  news  of  his  own 
death  and  the  usurpation  of  his  minister ;  find- 
ing, on  further  inquiry,  the  party  of  the  usurper 
to  be  too  strong  to  render  an  immediate  disclo- 
sure pmdent,  he  preserved  his  incognito,  and 
soon  became  known  in  Cairo  as  the  wealthiest 
of  her  merchants ;  nor  did  it  excite  any  sm-prise 
when  he  announced  his  pious  intention  of  devot- 
ing a  portion  of  his  gains  to  the  erection  of  a 
spacious  mosque.  The  work  proceeded  rapidly 
under  the  spur  of  the  great  merchant's  gold,  and, 
on  its  completion,  he  solicited  the  honor  of  the 
Sultan's  presence  at  the  ceremony  of  naming  it. 
Anticipating  the  gratification  of  hearing  his  own 
name  bestowed  upon  it,  the  usurper  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  at  the  appointed  hour  the  build- 
ing was  filled  by  him  and  his  most  attached  ad- 
herents. The  ceremony  had  duly  proceeded  to 
the  time  when  it  became  necessary  to  give  the 
name.  The  chief  moolah,  turning  to  the  sup- 
posed merchant,  inquired  what  should  be  its 
name?  "Call  it,"  he  replied,  "the  mosque  of 
Sultan  Hassan."  All  stared  at  the  mention  of 
this  name ;  and  the  questioner,  as  though  he 
could  not  believe  he  heard  aright,  or  to  afford 
an  opportunity  of  coiTceting  what  might  be  a 
mistake,  repeated  his  demand.  "  Call  it,"  again 
cried  he,  "the  mosque  of  me,  Sultan  Hassan;'* 
and  throwing  off^his  disguise,  the  legitimate  sul- 
tan stood  revealed  before  his  traitorous  servant. 
He  had  no  time  for  reflection ;  simultaneously 
with  the  discovery,  numerous  trap-doors,  leading 
to  extensive  vaults,  which  had  been  prepared  for 
the  purpose,  were  flung  open,  and  a  multitude  of 
armed  men  issuing  from  them,  terminated  at 
once  the  reign  and  life  of  the  usurper.  His  fol- 
lowers were  mingled  in  the  slaughter,  and  Sultan 
Hassan  was  once  more  in  possession  of  the 
throne  of  his  fathers. — Bayne's  Notes  and  Reflec- 
tiom. 


A  TRUE  CONSCIENCE. 

When  the  immortal  Sidney  was  told  that  he 
might  save  his  life  by  telling  a"  falsehood — by  de- 
nying his  hand-writing,  he  answered  ; — "  When 
God  hath  brought  me  into  a  dilemma,  in  which 
I  must  assert  a  lie  or  lose  my  life,  he  gives  me  a 
clear  indication  of  my  duty,  wliich  is  to  prefer 
death  to  falsehood." 


WOBEEN  IN  CHINA. 

Woman  is  in  a  more  degraded  position  in 
China  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  globe,  and 
her  humiliation  is  rendered  more  conspicuous  by 
the  extent  to  which  civilization  and  education 
have  been  carried  in  the  empire.  In  no  rank  is 
she  regarded  as  the  companion  of  man,  but  is 
treated  solely  as  the  slave  of  his  caprice  and 
passions.  Even  amongst  the  females  of  the 
highest  ranks,  few  are  found  who  can  read  or 
write ;  their  education  is  confined  to  the  art  of 
embroidery,  playing  on  a  horrid  three-sti-inged 
guitar,  and  singing ;  but  the  obligation  of  obedi- 
ence to  man  is  early  inculcated,  and  the  greater 
portion  of  their  time  is  spent  in  smoking  and 
playing  at  cards.  The  women  of  the  poorer 
classes  have  no  education,  and  can  be  considered 
but  little  better  than  beasts  of  burden.  A  man 
of  that  rank  will  walk  deliberately  by  his  wife's 
side,  while  she  totters  under  a  heavy  load  ;  and 
frequently  may  she  be  seen  yoked  to  a  jilough, 
while  her  husband  guides  it !  Those  of  the 
lower  classes  who  are  good  looking,  according 
to  Chinese  ideas  of  beauty,  are  purchased  by  the 
rich  at  about  twelve  or  fourteen  years,  for  concu- 
bines, and  are  then  histructcd  according  to  their 
master's  ideas.  The  Chinese  cannot  at  all  com- 
prehend the  European  mode  of  treating  ladies 
with  respect  and  deference,  and  being  naturally 
superstitious,  attribute  to  devilish  arts  practised 
by  the  fair  sex  the  just  appreciation  we  entertain 
of  their  value;  in  short,  they  consider*  European 
ladies  have  an  influence  son^'^v^at  similar  to 
that  ascribed  to  an  evi'  "S^  hy  Italian  supersti- 
tion, Chinese  d'-^'^^^^^^  ^^^'^  ^  "^^'T  great  ob- 
jection to  '^side  in  a  European  family,  over 
^,,,;^v  a  lady  presides ;  and  an  old  ti-adition  of 
theirs  curiously  coincides  with  their  superstition 
about  our  females:  "That  China  should  never 
be  conquered  until  a  woman  reigned  in  the  far 
West.  Some  say  tliat  this  prophecy  was  never 
heard  of  until  they  were  conquered  by  the  ai-my 
of  Queen  Victoria.  Be  this  as  it  may,  they  all 
contend  that  it  is  to  be  found  in  some  of  theii- 
oldest  works. — Travels  in  China. 


PRESS  on: 

The  mystery  of  Napoleon's  career  was  this. 
Under  all  difliculties  and  discouragements,  to 
"press  on!"  It  solves  the  problem  of  all  he- 
roes ;  it  is  the  rule  by  whicli  to  judge  of  all  won- 
derful success  and  tiiumphal  marches  to  fortune 
and  genius.  It  should  be  the  motto  of  all. 
"Press  on,"  never  despair,  never  be  discour- 
aged ;  however  stormy  the  heavens,  or  dark  the 
way,  or  great  the  difficulties,  or  repeated  the 
failures,  "  press  on  !"  If  fortune  prove  false  with 
thee  to-day,  do  thou  prove  tnic  for  this  to-morrow. 
Let  the  folly  of  yesterday  make  thee  wise  to-day. 
If  thy  affections  have  been  poured  out  like  water 
in  the  desert,  sit  not  down  and  perish  of  thirst, 
but  "  press  on  " — a  beautiful  oasis  is  before  thee 
and  thou  mayst  reach  it  if  thou  -^t.— Exchange. 


104 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWINCx   ROOM   COMPANION. 


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OBSEQUIES  OF  MR,  CLAY. 

Two  weeks  since  we  g'avethe 
representation  of  the  remains  of 
this  distinguished  statesman,  as 
they  lay  in   state  in  the  City 
Hall,    New    York.      We    this 
week  give   some  other  scenes 
relative  to  this  event — the  one 
above  representing  the  funeral 
procession,  the  one  below  giv- 
ing a  view  of  Stewart's  marble 
palace,  decorated  for  the  occa- 
sion, and  the  third,  on  the  next 
page,  representing  the  bust  of 
Henry  Clay,  enveloped  in  the 
drapery  of  mourning.  No  event 
has  awakened  a  feeling  of  deep- 
er interest  than  the  demise  of 
this  distinguished  civilian,  who 
for  so  long  a  period  had  min- 
gled in  scenes  of  public  life ; 
and  from  one  end  of  the  land 
to  the  other  demonstrations  of 
soiTOw  and  regard  have  been 
made.     In  New  York  city,  at 
the  late  funeral  procession  on 
the  20th  ult.,  the  great  metrop- 
olis of  the  western  world  was 
shrouded  in  tlie  habilhnents  of 
mourning,  and  in  every  public 
aspect  betokened  the  celebration 
of  a  great  sorrow.     The  day 
was  one  of  delightful  tempera^ 
ture ;  an  agreeable  alternation 
of  sunshine  and  shade  made  a 
mingled  heatdud  coldness  which 
was  at  no  time  Oj^^vossive,  and 
was  generally  most  agi^^^ijie^ 
During  the  previous  night,  ttio 
biisiness  of  decoration  had  been 
carried  on  with  great  energy ; 
nearly  every  prominent  editicc 
on  the  route  of  the  procession 
had   been   appropriately  trim- 
med;  flags,  with  crape  sti*eara- 
ers,  had  been  suspended  at  half- 
mast,  and  when  the  sun  rose  a 
great  proportion  of  the  work 
was  done.     Every  public  place 
on   the  line   of  the  route  was 
decorated  with  insignia  emble- 
matic of  grief,  and  inscriptions 
and   mottoes,   some   of  which 
were  very  expressive,  fell  npon 
the  eye,  and  awakened  many  a 
thoughtful   and    sad    emotion. 
Among  many  which  we  might 
instance,  we  give  that  of  Stew- 
art's celebrated  marble  palace, 
represented  herewith.     At  this 
place  was  a  rare  and  remarka- 
ble display.     The  fine  marble 
building  was  draped  in  crape, 
aTid  in  front  was  a  monument 
and  a  tomb.     A  temporary  bal- 
cony was  constructed  immedi- 
ately in  front  of  the  main  en- 
trance, and  extending  to  a  con- 


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FUNERAL  PROCESSION  OF  THE  HON.  HENRY  CLAY,  IN  NEW  YORK. 


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DECORATION  OF  STEW 


L'EWART'S  marble  palace,  new  YORlCj  IN  llONUR  OF 


lY  FUNERAL. 


siderable  distance  over  the  path- 
way. Upon  the  inside  of  tliis 
was  erected  a  tomb,  by  the  side 
of  which  sat  a  figure  represent- 
ing the  genius  of  liberty  mourn- 
ing over  the  deceased  states- 
man. On  either  side  of  this 
tomb  were  very  neatly  executed 
representations  of  black  willows 
waving  in  the  breeze,  and  attlie 
back  of  it  rose  a  monument 
about  fifteen  or  twenty  feet 
high,  painted  to  represent  mar- 
ble, and  bearing,  engi-aved  upon 
the  fi-ont,  a  medallion  portrait 
of  Henry  Clay.  Toward  3  o'- 
clock, P.  M.,  the  procession 
commenced  foi-ming,  and  at 
that  hour  it  started — the  bells 
tolling  and  minute-guns  firing 
— passing  down  Broadway, 
around  the  Park,  up  Chatham 
street,  the  Bowery,  and  4th 
avenue,  to  and  around  Union 
Park,  and  thence  dovi-n  Broad- 
way to  the  City  Hall,  where  the 
oration  was  delivered.  Tlie 
procession  was  tlie  largest  ever 
witnessed  in  this  city.  "The  line 
of  military  extended  over  two 
miles,  and  the  various  orders, 
committees,  clubs,  lodges,  be- 
nevolent associations,  and  other 
civic  societies  increased  its 
length,  so  that  it  extended  from 
Leonard  street  along  the  course 
above  designated  to  Canal  street 
— almost  the  entire  route — a 
distance  of  about  four  miles. 
At  tlie  liead  of  the  procession 
was  Gen.  William  Hall,  grand 
marshal,  and  his  special  aids, 
escorted  by  troop  of  cavalry. 
Next  came  the  First  Division 
of  New  York  State  Militia,  com- 
prising the  military  companies 
from  tlie  neighboring  cities. 
Tlie  military  of  New  York  city 
turned  out  in  unusually  large 
numbers  on  this  occasion,  and, 
with  their  usual  good  appeai"- 
ance,  added  essentially  to  the 
effect  of  tlie  demonstration. — 
Immediately  after  the  military 
came  the  funeral  car,  preceded 
by  the  orator  of  the  day  and 
clergy.  The  Light  Guard,  to 
the  nujnher  of  over  one  hundred 
men,  acted  as  the  escort  of 
honor.  The  funeral  car  was 
drawn  by  eight  white  horses, 
caparisoned  in  a  fitting  manner. 
The  car  was  imposing.  Its 
rich,  chaste  decorations  were 
sad  but  appropriate  ornaments 
for  the  urn — which  was  a  rep- 
resentative of  the  receptacle  of 
the  ashes  qf  the  illusti'ious  dead, 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWIXCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


105 


■whose  obsequies  Tvcre  celebrated.  It 
consisted  of  a  plfitform,  upon  wheels, 
covered  with  black,  and  which  was 
hung  to  the  ground  with  the  same, 
richlv  trimmed  with  gold  fringes  and 
tassels,  and  decorated  with  ever- 
greens. The  letters  H.  C.  and  large 
stars  in  gold  appeared  upon  the  hang- 
ings on  either  side  of  the  car,  and  on 
the  rear  hangings,  on  a  silver  ground- 
work, trimmed  with  mourning,  and 
surrounded  by  a  large  wreath  of  white 
and  dark  roses,  was  the  following 
inscription  : 

Hearts  which  glow  for  freedom's  sway, 
Come  and  mourn  for  Henky  Clay. 
Upon  this  platform  was  erected  a 
canopy  of  the  national  colors,  en- 
shrouded in  black,  and  surmounted 
with  a  gilded  eagle,  also  enshrouded 
in  crape.  Two  smaller  flags  of  our 
country  were  placed  at  each  comer 
of  the  canopy.  The  sides  and  top  of 
the  car  were  decorated  with  black 
plumes,  properly  arranged  among  the 
ornaments.  Upon  the  centre  of  the 
platform,  under  the  canopy,  the  urn, 
shrouded  with  crape:  and  bearing  the 
name  of  Henry  Clay,  was  situated. 
A  gilded  eagle,  draped  with  crape, 
was  placed  in  the  rear  of  the  um. 
Altogether  it  was  a  most  appropriate 
and  tasteful  car.  The  bearers,  31 
in  number,  corresponding  with  the 
number  of  States  in  the  Union,  fol- 
lowed the  funeral  car ;  and,  immedi- 
ately behind  them  came  in  order,  the 
mayors  of  New  York,  Williamsburgh, 
Jersey  City,  and  Hudson,  and  the 
common  councils  of  New  York,  Wil- 
liamsburgh, Jersey  City,  Hudson, 
Patterson,  and  municipal  committees 
from  other  places,  military  and  naval 
officers,  ex-members  of  Csingress,  of 
the  State  legislature,  and  of  the  board 
of  aldermen,  judges,  county  officers, 
magistrates,  government  officers,  and 
several  civic  societies.  The  order  of 
Free  Masons,  of  which  Mr.  Clay  was 
a  member,  turned  out  a  great  num- 
ber. There  were  sixteen  lodges  in 
attendance  in  their  regalia,  carrying 
their  banners,  and  followed  by  the 
grand  lodge  of  the  State  of  New  York. 
Next  came  the  Democratic  Republi- 
can General  Committee,  General 
Committee  of  the  Democratic  Wliig 
Young  Men,  New  York,  Democratic 
Eepublican  Young  Men's  General 
Committee,  and  the  Democratic 
Wbig  General  Committee.  The 
Whig  General  Committee  of  Wil- 
liamsburgh in  the  omnibus  "76";  Young  Men's 
Clay  Club,  Williamsburgh  Clay  Festival  Asso- 
ciation, and  several  Clay  clubs.  The  Order  of 
United  Americans  also  was  well  represented.  A 
number  of  chapters  imited  in  the  procession. 
The  mounted  butchers  were  out  in  large  num- 
bers.    Several  lodges  of  Protestant  societies  were 


of  the  character  and  public  life  of  the 
departed  patriot,  from   his   first  en- 
trance upon  the  stage  of  active  duty, 
onward,  as  his  course  mounted  higher 
and  higher,  until  he  stood  before  the 
world  intimately  associated  with  his 
country's   reputation  and    interests, 
the  bold  and  fearless  champion  of  her 
rights  and  honor;  in  closing,  a  noble 
tribute  was  paid  to  his  virtues.     "  His 
was  the  patriotism,  which,  leaving  at 
an  immeasurable  distance  below  all 
lesser  grovelling   personal   interests 
and  feelings,  animates  and  prompts 
to  deeds  of  self-sacrifice,  of  valor,  of 
devotion  and  of  death  itself.     That  is 
purely  vu'tue — that  is  the  noblest,  the 
sxiblimest   of   public   virtues.     That 
was  the  public  virtue  of  Henry  Clay. 
AA^omcn  of  America,  ye  around  and 
on  whom  our  affections  cluster  and 
depend — cherish    in    your    heart   of 
hearts  the  memory  of  this  departed 
patriot,  and  to  the  lisping  infant  chant 
the   story   of  his   greatness  and  his 
honest  fame.     Tell  your  children  of 
his  filial  reverence  and  devotion ;  his 
untii'ing   energy,  his  lofiy  aims,  his 
noble  bearing,  and  his  self-sacrificing 
spirit ;  and  teach  them  *  be  ye,  too, 
the  guardians  and  defenders  of  that 
Union   which   he  struggled   to   pre- 
serve.'"— At  the  close  of  the  oration, 
the  benediction  was  pronounced,  the 
people  dispersed,  and  as  the  last  rays 
of  daylight  went  down  over  the  grave 
of  the  patriot,  in  the  west,  the  city 
returned  to   its   accustomed  aspect, 
and  all  was  over.     The  shipping  was 
appropriately  dressed  with  half-mast 
flags  and  signals,  and  all  ferry  and 
other  boats  plying  on  the  rivers  did 
the  same  honor.     Some  stages  were 
properly  dressed  in  monrning,  but  it 
was  not  general.     So  have  the  people 
of  New  York  honored  his  memory, 
and  woven   a  chaplet  of  evergreen 
with  the  cypress  of  mourning. 


BUST  OF  UENi^Y  CLAY  IN  MOUENiNG. 


in  the  line.  United  Benevolent  societies  of  the 
Journeymen  were  present  in  numbers.  The 
Whitehall  Benevolent  Association,  followed  by 
a  number  of  carriitges,  closed  up  the  procession. 
All  of  these  companies  had  their  appropriate 
badges  and  banners.  At  the  close  of  the  march, 
aud'at  about  7  1-2  o'clock,  the  orator  of  the  day, 


clergy,  and  various  committees,  took  the  stand 
in  front  of  the  City  Hall.  Rev.  Dr.  John  IM. 
Krabs  then  offered  up  a  most  impressive  prayer. 
After  the  prayer,  N.  Bowditch  Blunt,  Esq.,  dis- 
trict attorney,  an  old  and  staunch  friend  of  M]% 
Clay,  delivered  an  eloquent  and  appropriate 
oration,  in  -which  a  glowing  picture  was  di-a^vn 


ST.  HELEN'S,  OREGON. 

Below  we  give  a  fine  view  of  the 
town  of  St.  Helen's,  in  Oregon  Ter- 
ritory, situated  on  the  Columbia  river, 
about  fifty  miles  from  its  mouth.     It 
was  settled  and  named  by  Mr.  Wm. 
H.  Tappan,  artist,  formerly  of  Bos- 
ton,  in    1849.     The   river  is  rather 
more  than  a  mile  wide  opposite  the 
town.     The  fork,  where  is  seen  the 
schooner  passing,  is  the  lower  mouth 
of  tlie    Willamette,   but   the  mouth 
frequented  by  vessels  bound  up  the 
Willamette  river,  is  eighteen  miles  above.     The 
island  which  divides  the  two  is  called  Souveis 
Island,   and   is   large   and  fertile.     The  Pacific 
Mail  Steamship  Company  have  made  St.  Helen's 
their  depot,  and  arc  at  once  to  erect  large  build- 
ings  and  wharves.     It  will  soon  be  the  largest 
town  in  Oregon. 


VIEW  OF  THE  TOWN  OF  ST.  HELEN'S,-  OREGON  TERRITORY, 


lOG 


GLEASON'S   PICTOniAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[H'ritton  for  Oleaflon'rt  PictorliLl.] 
LILLY     ItLISS. 

ny  oonhad  i 

Not  u,  (lay  has  pant  and  fl«d, 
Since  my  Lilly  Bliss  wna  iloail, 
But  tlio  south  nind'H  gcutlo  tono, 
Sccma  to  mourn  the  bird  that's  flown. 

Nestling  of  my  heating  hrooat, 
Toacoful  in  thy  eilont  rest ; 
With  a  nilvcr  harp  so  bright, 
Angol  Lilly!  child  of  light ! 

Liko  tho  HUDshine  on  tho  sea, 
Like  a  tlowcr  on  the  lea, 
Was  my  Lilly — why  complaia? 
I  shall  meet  her  onco  again. 

Softly  'neath  the  ■willow  .ihatZo, 
In  a  quiet  ilower-crowncd  glado, 
Sleeps  she,  lovoly  in  her  rest, 
Happy  sleep,  so  calm  and  bleat. 

All  Bwcot  Lilly's  dreams  are  o'or, 
Ferried  from  life's  troubled  shore  ; 
There  she  lies,  where  star-flowers  weep. 
In  a  gentle,  plaeid  sleep. 

Birds  no  more  will  slug  again 
To  my  darling  a  sweet  strain  ; 
Never  more  her  red  lips  kiss 
Friends  on  earth,  dear  Lilly  Bliss. 

But  when  blossoms  re-appear 
In  another  land  than  hero. 
Fairest,  lovehest  in  the  train, 
Lilly  Bliss  shall  live  again. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

GRACE  RICHMOND : 

— OR — 

THE  DOUBLE  MARKIAaE. 

BY  MRS.  M.  E.  ROBINSON. 

A  FASHIONABLY  di'cssed  young  man,  who  re- 
joiced in  the  title  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  Fitz- 
i"oy,  was  seated  in  one  of  our  first  class  hotels. 
Upon  a  small  table  beside  him,  lay  a  curious 
medley  of  articles,  among  which  were  newspa- 
pers, cigars,  white  kids,  toilet  apparatus,  opera 
glasses,  and,  what  appeared  to  be  the  most  out 
of  place,  an  elegant  bracelet.  Raising  the  last- 
mentioned  article,  the  young  man  surveyed  its 
skillful  workmanship  for  a  moment,  and  then 
re]>laced  it  with  a  self-satisfied  air. 

Fitzroy  was  supposed  to  be  possessor  of  a 
lai'ge  fortune,  and  many  a  scheming  mother 
with  marriageahle  daughters,  pointed  him  out  as 
"  bait "  worth  securing.  But  their  smiles,  hon- 
eyed words,  and  flattering  speeches  were  entirely 
lost  upon  the  object  of  their  attention.  Had  not 
t^e  obtuseness  of  his  intellect  prevented  their 
motives  from  being  understood,  a  certain  young 
lady,  whose  fortune  and  person  he  was  desirous 
of  possessing,  would  have  made  these  efforts 
vain.  We  would  not  have  it  understood  tliat  he 
was  attractive  enough  to  win  the  heart  of  a  sen- 
sible young  lady,  who  considered  money  of  less 
consequence  than  mind  and  manners  j  but  he 
had  succeeded  in  convincing  Mr.  Richmond  that 
by  a  marriage  with  his  daughter  Grace,  the 
**  family  consequence  would  be  increased,  the 
fortune  nearly  trebled,  and  the  young  lady  afore- 
said secure  a  husband  with  good  principles  and 
correct  habits,  at  the  same  time." 

Such  inducements  could  not  be  withstood  by  a 
raan  so  worldly  and  avaricious  as  Mr.  Kich- 
mond ;  and  he  accordingly  gave  Fitzroy  to  un- 
derstand that  he  need  fear  no  opposition  on  his 
pai"t,  and  furthermore  added  that  he  would  do 
all  in  his  power  to  hasten  his  suit.  The  young 
man  had  an  uncommonly  large  share  of  self- 
esteem,  and  doubted  not  of  his  success.  He  had 
not,  however,  the  advantage  of  good  looks. 
His  head  was  large,  with  "  beautiful  auburn 
hair,"  as  he  termed  it — but  we  fear  the  generality 
of  people  would  call  it  red — eyes  of  a  dull  leaden 
color,  prominent  and  staring,  a  nose  that  was  in- 
clined "to  look  up  in  the  world,"  mouth  of 
huge  dimensions,  and  an  expression  of  foppish- 
ness, self-conceit  and  ignorance  that  was  some- 
what repulsive. 

Fitzroy  leaned  his  bead  upon  his  hand  for  a 
time.  He  then  approached  a  writing-desk, 
placed  note  paper,  pens,  and  other  writing  ma- 
terial near  him,  and  commenced  puzzling  his 
brains  for  words  to  express  his  thoughts.  Wliile 
he  was  thus  engaged,  a  young  man  entered  the 
apartment  unpcrceived. 

"Fitzroy,  my  dear  fellow,  what  arc  you 
about?"  exclaimed  the  latter,  after  be  had  sur- 
veyed the  room  and  its  contents. 

""Wliat  a  start  you  gave  me,"  replied  Fitzroy, 


pushing  a  chair  towards  the  new  comer.  "  Don't 
you  know,  Barker,  that  it's  decidedly  uiifu.shiou- 
able  to  talk  so  loud.  It  makes  us  too  muc!i  like 
common  people." 

"Who  cares  for  fashion  !  I  don't,  for  one," 
resumed  Barker,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  I  say, 
Fitzroy,  wliat  were  you  poring  over  as  I  came 
in?     A  sermon, eh  ?" 

"Not  a  sermon  exactly,  but  something  about 
as  difiicult.  "I'm  ti-ying  to  write  a  polite  note 
to  a  young  lady — a  proceeding  quite  out  of  my 
line." 

"  You  trying  to  write  a  polite  note  to  a  young 
lady !"  laughed  Barker,  contemptuously.  "  I 
would  as  soon  think  of  seeing  an  elephant  ^\Tite. 
How  long  would  it  take  you  to  get  down  on 
your  knees  to  a  lady  ?" 

"  Barker,  I  protest  that  I'll  cut  your  acquaint- 
ance if  you  are  not  more  select  in  your  language. 
My  nerves  are  exceedingly  delicate,  and  my 
feelings  easily  shocked.  But  I'll  overlook  it 
this  time  on  condition  that  you  fix  up  this  note 
for  mc.  You've  got  more  of  the  gas  than  I 
have,"  resumed  Fitzroy,  condescendingly. 

"  What  a  splendid  bracelet !"  cried  the  other, 
rudely  seizing  the  elegant  trifle.  "  What  favor- 
ite sweetheart  is  this  intended  for,  and  who  en- 
larged your  bump  of  benevolence  ?" 

"  That  bracelet — which  will  surely  be  demol- 
ished if  you  handle  it  in  that  rough  manner — was 
purchased  expressly  to  gain  the  good  will  of 
Miss  Grace  Richmond.  You  know  girls  fancy 
those  kind  of  things.  I  hope  she'll  like  it,  for  it 
cost  me  a  cool  fifty." 

"  And  you  were  going  to  beg  her  acceptance 
of  it  in  a  note  ?  Take  my  advice  and  deliver 
the  message  verbally ;  but  if  she  receives  it  as 
coldly  as  she  did  your  attentions  last  evening,  I 
imagine  you  mil  be  disappointed.  She  don't 
care  a  straw  for  you  or  your  money,  Fitzroy, 
depend  upon  it." 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  don't  understand  the 
variations  of  the  female  character,"  replied  Fitz- 
roy, stroking  his  imperial.  "Miss  Richmond 
was  aware  that  people  were  looking  on,  and,  of 
course,  was  too  timid  to  show  the  pleasm'e  she 
felt;  but  all  that  will  wear  off  in  time." 

"  Miss  Richmond's  number  of  admirers  is  not 
limited.  They  are  numerous ;  and  to  use  no 
flattery,  you  are  the  one  she  would  be  the  least 
likely  to  make  choice  of  for  a  husband." 

"  I  know  I'm  not  appreciated  as  I  should  he, 
but  I'll  be  magnanimous,  and  bear  it  like  a  hero. 
Genius  is  sure  to  triumjih.  You  quite  forget,  in 
regard  to  the  young  lady  we  wei-e  speaking  of, 
that  her  father  has  a  right  to  influence  her 
choice ;  and  I  have  his  word  that  that  influence 
shall  be  used  in  my  favor.  But  I  have  no  fears. 
The  name  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  Fitzroy  is 
enough." 

"  Yes,  quite  enough,  as  you'll  find,"  muttered 
Barker,  as  he  left  the  room.  "  His  insufferable 
self-conceit  and  affected  knowledge  are  sufficient 
to  disgust  any  one.  If  it  wasn't  for  his  money, 
he'd  soon  have  one  friend  the  less." 

Grace  Richmond — a  fair-haired,  beautiful  girl 
of  nineteen  years — was  seated  in  an  elegantly 
furnished  parlor.  At  this  time,  there  appeared 
a  shade  of  sadness  upon  her  fair  brow.  The 
long  silken  lashes  drooped  over  the  mild  blue 
eyes,  as  she  leaned  her  head  upon  her  Iiand. 
She  seemed  thinking  of  the  past — calling  up 
words  long  since  spoken.  Memory  was  impar- 
tial ;  for,  judging  from  the  changing  expression 
of  the  countenance  of  Grace,  it  brought  both 
pleasant  and  painful  recollections. 

The  thoughts  of  the  maiden  were  on  one  whom 
she  feared  had  proved  untrue.  She  had  been 
privately  engaged  to  a  young  gentleman  for 
nearly  two  years.  She  had  known  him  from 
childhood,  and  until  now,  had  never  doubted  his 
words  or  intentions.  A  month  after  their  en- 
gagement, he  had  left  the  country  to  try  his  for- 
tune in  other  lauds.  It  was  hard  to  separate  so 
soon  after  discovering  that  each  was  necessary 
to  the  other's  happiness;  but  Walter  Landon 
knew  full  well  ho  could  never  hope  to  gain  tlic 
consent  of  Mr.  Richmond,  unless  he  had  wealth 
to  lay  at  his  feet.  Walter  was  rich  in  intellect, 
but  poor  in  this  world's  goods ;  he  bad  nothing 
but  a  strong  arm,  an  indomitable  will,  and  a 
clear  conscience.  With  these,  however,  any 
man  may  win  himself  a  name  and  fortune. 

Grace  feared  she  was  not  acting  conscien- 
tiously in  not  informing  her  father  of  tliis  fact ; 
but  Walter  persuaded  her  that  she  would  only 
inem*  his  displeasure  and  it  would  be  better  to 
say  nothing  of  it.  They  parted  with  mutual 
vows  of  constancy — he  to  toil  and  struggle  man- 
fully with  fickle  fotlune,  she  to  hope  that  his 


efforts  might   bo   successful,  and  that   a  long, 
happy  future  might  he  in  .store  for  them. 

For  nuirc  tlian  a  year,  Ijy  means  of  a  friend, 
slic  bad  regularly  received  letters  from  Walter. 
Tliey  had  spoken  of  unhajicd-for  success  in  his 
business,  and  breathed  so  much  deep  and  pure 
affection  that  the  heart  of  Grace  grew  hopeful 
and  happy.  But,  alas,  disappointment  is  the  lot 
of  all.  Months  passed  away,  and  not  a  syllable 
was  heard  from  Walter.  What  could  be  the 
reason  ?  Was  he  ill  ?  If  that  were  the  case,  he 
could  certainly  have  found  means  to  inform  licr 
of  the  fact.  Had  the  missives  miscarried  ?  No 
trouble,  in  this  respect,  had  been  experienced 
before,  and  it  did  not  appear  reasonable  that 
such  should  be  the  case.  Had  he  forgotten  his 
words  of  love,  and  found  another  fond  and  con- 
fiding heart  to  deceive  for  a  brief  season?  Tlie 
thought  was  agony,  and  for  a  time,  Grace  was 
very  miserable.  But  the  storm  of  bitterness  and 
injured  feeling  rolled  away.  Woman's  true 
affection  conquered. 

"  Wliy  should  I  doubt  him  ?"  thought  Grace. 
"  These  delays  may  be  accounted  for  in  many 
ways.  I  will  hope  on — trust  on,  the  same. 
Should  he  forsake  mc,  I  could  never  think  coldly 
on  him.  I  could  not  bear  to  tear  away  the 
bright  and  cherished  image  that  so  long  has 
been  enshrined  in  my  heart.  Away,  tempter ! 
I  will  not  distrust  him." 

A  step  was  heard  in  the  hall.  Grace  arose  to 
leave  the  room,  but  her  father  met  her  on  the 
threshold. 

"Come  back  a  moment,  Grace;  I  wish  to 
speak  with  you  upon  an  important  subject,"  said 
Mr.  Richmond. 

Grace  obeyed  in  silence.  The  cloud  on  his 
brow  betokened  a  storm,  and  she  knew  his  mood 
too  well  to  thwart  him. 

"  You  have  taken  the  liberty,  without  my  con- 
sent or  advice,  to  refuse  several  good  offers  of 
maiTiage  of  late ;  and  from  gentlemen,  too,  that 
would  disgrace  no  one  by  a  connexion  with 
them,"  resumed  Mr.  Richmond,  in  a  determined 
voice.  "  Will  you  give  your  reasons  for  this 
course  of  conduct?" 

"  I  am  grateful,  father,  for  the  honor  any  gen- 
tleman may  have  intended  me  by  the  offer  of  his 
baud  ;  he  may  command  my  respect  and  esteem, 
but  not  my  love,"  replied  Grace,  earnestly, 
though  respectfully. 

"  Your  love  !"  exclaimed  J'li'.  Richmond,  con- 
temptuously ;  "  and  what  has  love  to  do  with  the 
business,  forsooth?  It  isn't  at  all  necessary  to 
happiness.  It  never  influenced  me  in  m^  choice ; 
and  I  don't  believe  in  the  word." 

Grace  thought  of  the  loved  mother  who,  years 
before,  had  passed  to  the  land  of  shadows ;  she 
remembered  her  sad,  patient  smile,  and  the  lines 
that  grief  had  furrowed  on  a  brow  once  fair  and 
beautiful.  The  daughter  doubted  not  the  truth 
of  his  words,  but  was  silent.  Seeing  that  she 
made  no  answer,  Mr.  Richmond  went  on : 

"  I  have  taken  the  matter  into  my  own  hands. 
I  have  selected  you  a  husband,  and  you  will 
please  abide  by  my  decision." 

"  What  is  the  gentleman's  name  ?"  asked 
Grace. 

"  Mr.  Napoleon  Bonaparte  Fitzroy." 
"  And  can  you  be  serious,  father?" 
"  Of  course,  girl ;  why  not  ?" 
"  I  can   never  many  him,"  resumed  Grace, 
resolutely. 

"  Never  man-y  him  !"  cried  her  father,  angrily. 
"And  pray  will  Miss  Richmond  deign  to  give 
some  of  her  many  reasons  for  this  unfilial  de- 
portment," he  added,  angrily. 

"I  would  not  be  disrespectful, father,"  replied 
our  heroine,  calmly.     "  I  will  give  you  my  rea- 
sons, however,  if  you  require   it.     In  the  first 
place,  his  presence  is  very  disagreeable  to  me." 
"  Well." 

"  Secondly,  his  manners  betray  much  want  of 
refinement ;  his  conversation  is  coarse,  and  his 
foppishness  and  egotism  insufferable." 
"  What  next  ?" 

"His  ignorance  would  cause  a  woman  possess- 
ing common  sense  to  blush  at  every  word  he 
uttered." 

"  Complimentary,  certainly  !  anj-thingmore?" 
"  Every  one  to  their  taste ;  but  /  do  not  admire 
his  personal  appearance,"  continued  Grace,  de- 
murely. "  Some  people  might  fancy  the  color 
of  his  hair,  but  I  never  liked  red.  His  nose  is 
not  of  the  right  shape,  his  mouth  terribly  lai-ge, 
his  neck  ostrich-like,  person  ill-proportioned  and 
awkward, his  hands  and  feet — " 

"  Stufi'  and  nonsense  !"  interrupted  Mr.  Rich- 
mond, laughing  in  spite  of  liimself.  "  You  have 
not  given  one  sensible  reason." 


"And  last,  but  not  least,  I  do  not  respect  liim 
at  all,  and  therefore  cuuid  not  promise  to  Move, 
lionor  and  obey  him,' "  added  Grace. 

"  You  should  have  accepted  the  bracelet  he 
tells  me  he  ofl'ercd  you." 

"I  never  accept  presents  from  gentlemen; 
but  were  I  in  the  habit  of  doing  so,  I  would  not 
have  encouraged  him  so  much  for  a  hundred 
bracelets,"  was  the  fearless  rejoinder. 

"  Grace  Richmond,  listen  to  me !  You  are 
my  only  child  and  heir.  On  the  day  of  your 
maiTiage,  if  you  marry  according  to  my  wishes, 
your  settlement  will  be  large  ;  but  if  you  throw 
yourself  away  upon  a  needy  adventurer,  I  will 
cut  you  off  with  a  shilling.  Nay,  more  ;  if  you 
do  not  marry  the  man  I  have  designated,  you 
arc  no  daughter  of  mine.  My  will  is  irrevocable. 
I  give  you  two  weeks  in  which  to  decide." 

Mr.  Richmond  noticed  not  the  look  of  entreaty 
which  Grace  cast  upon  him,  but  deliberately  left 
the  room. 

Grace  was  strong  minded,  and  did  not  fear,  as 
we  have  seen,  to  express  her  unqualified  senti- 
ments to  her  father.  She  knew  his  disposition 
well,  and  felt  assured  his  resolution  would  re- 
main unshaken ;  for  the  fortune  of  Fitzroy  was 
probably  the  atti-action  that  allured  Mr.  Rich- 
mond. Along  cunflict  followed  in  the  bosom  of 
Grace  between  inclination  and  duty.  But  what 
was  her  duty  ?  Was  it  to  sacrifice  a  lifetime,  to 
gratify  the  avarice  of  a  father — to  stifle  all  the 
higher  and  holier  feelings  of  her  nature — destroy 
her  own  happiness,  and  perhaps,  that  of  another  ? 
This  last  thought  brought  up  a  train  of  reflec- 
tions in  reference  to  Walter.  Was  he  living? 
If  so,  would  he  return  to  claim  her  as  his  bride  1 
The  questions  remained  unanswered. 

A  merry  laugh  rang  through  the  room.  Grace 
brushed  aivay  a  tear  and  looked  up.  Annette 
Delaney,  a  pretty  brtmettc,  stood  beside  her. 
Happiness  sparkled  in  her  bright  black  eyes,  and 
the  rosy  cheeks  were  glowing  with  health  and 
animation. 

"  Grace,  my  dear,  I  want  you  to  go  with  me 
to  Stewart's.  0,  such  beautiful  brocades !  I 
must  have  one,  and  I  want  the  aid  of  your  supe- 
rior taste  in  selecting  it.  But  what's  the  matter, 
darling  ?  You  look  pale  and  sad,"  said  Annette, 
affectionately  placing  an  arm  about  her  waist. 

"  I  know  I'm  foolish,  Annette,"  replied  Grace, 
smiling  sadly.  "  But  I  have  been  thinking,  and 
feci  somewhat  nervous." 

"  Don't  plague  your  poor  little  head  about 
Walter.  I  am  looking  for  a  letter  for  you  every 
day.  Perhaps  he  is  ill,  or  the  missives  have 
been  lost.  You'll  both  be  happy,  yet,"  said 
Annette,  encouragingly. 

"  It  is  not  that  which  ti'oubles  me,  wholly. 
My  father  tells  me  I  must  accept  Mr.  Fitzroy  as 
my  husband !" 

"  What !  that  awkward  monkey  ?"  ejaculated 
Annette.  "  You  would  be  obliged  to  spend  the 
honeymoon  in  giving  him  the  first  principles  of 
civilization.  He  looks  and  acts,  for  all  the 
world,  like  a  black  bear  dressed  in  pants,  on  his 
first  appearance.  Make  him  a  bag,  Grace,  for 
him  to  put  his  hands  in,  for  he  never  knows 
what  to  do  with  them.  Useless  encumbrances, 
altogether.  But,  seriously,  is  yom"  father  in 
earnest?" 

"  I  never  saw  him  more  so.  What  can  I  do, 
Annette?  If  I  thought  Walter  had  forgotten 
me,  I — " 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Grace  ;  for  in  case  he  has,  I 
hope  you  wouldn't  be  so  unwise  as  to  substitute 
that  great  awkward  Napoleon  Bonaparte  in  his 
stead." 

"  But  my  father's  commands,  Annette  ?" 

"  Duty  does  not  bid  you  sacrifice  everything 
to  please  him.  Be  firm  in  your  refusal,  and  if 
worst  come  to  worst,  you  will  always  find  a 
home  at  my  fathei-'s,"  replied  the  otlicr. 

"  You  may  be  right,  Annette,  hut  it  grieves 
me  deeply  to  be  forced  to  disobey  my  father. 
O,  that  I  could  hear  but  one  word  from  Walter! 
That  would  re-assure  mc,  and  give  me  hope.  I 
might  then  perhaps  venture  to  tell  my  father  all." 

"  It  would  do  no  good,  I  am  sure,"  said  An- 
nette. "It  would  only  serve  to  make  him  firmer 
in  his  resolve.  But  come,  dear  Grace,  put  on 
your  hat  and  walk  with  me.  The  air  is  clear  and 
bracing,  and  will  bring  back  the  bloom  to  that 
faded  cheek.  Banish  Napoleon  Bonaparte  from 
your  thoughts,  and  (ry  and  be  happy." 

The  buoyant  spirits  of  Annette  chased  away 
the  sadness  of  Grace.  For  a  time  she  forgot  her 
troubles,  as  they  joined  the  busy  stream  of  life 
that  filled  Broadway. 

During  the  time  wbich  Mr.  Riclnnond  had 
given  Grace  in  which  to  make  her  decision,  tho 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    CJOMP ANION. 


107 


latter  had  been  much  annoyed  by  the  pertina- 
cious Fitzroy.  In  vain  did  she  try  to  avoid  him 
— in  vain  she  treated  him  with  coklncss  and  ne- 
glect. To  her  repeated  assertions  that  a  reluct- 
ant hand  without  a  heart  -would  be  valueless, 
some  coarse  rejoinder  would  make  her  eye 
sparkle  with  anger  and  disdain,  and  send  the 
blood  rushing  to  her  face. 

At  the  expiration  of  two  weeks,  IVIi-.  Eichraond 
entered  his  daughter's  room.  Grace  was  pale, 
and  her  sadness  would  have  touched  her  father's 
heart  had  he  possessed  common  parental  feeling ; 
but  the  god  of  this  world  had  hardened  his  heart, 
and  rendered  it  insensible  to  everything,  save 
gain  and  distinction. 

"  I  hope  you  are  sensible  of  your  error,  and 
have  decided  to  be  guided  by  me,  my  dear 
Grace,"  he  remarked,  in  a  more  affectionate 
manner  than  usual. 

*'Do  not  be  offended,  father,  when  I  say  that 
I  have  not  changed  my  mind  in  reference  to  Mr. 
Eitzroy,"  replied  Grace. 

"  He  told  me  of  this,  but  I  could  not  believe  a 
daughter  of  mine  would  dare  rebel  against  my 
authority.  Don't  forget  I  am  your  father !" 
cried  the  parent,  with  rising  anger. 

"  I  forget  nothing,"  answered  Grace,  calmly. 
"  But  to  comply  with  yom*  request  would  be  to 
sacrifice  everything  w^orth  living  for.  He  has 
not  a  single  redeeming  quality." 

"  But  his  gold  redeems  all !  Know,  Grace 
Richmond,  that  I  will  be  obeyed !  It  shall  never 
be  said  that  I  am  not  master  in  my  own  family ! 
Hear  me !  In  tliree  days  from  this  you  become 
a  bride,  or — "  The  excited  father  paused,  and 
shook  his  finger  threateningly. 

"  I  know  the  alternative,  and  am  prepared  to 
abide  by  it,"  said  Grace.  But  her  voice  shook, 
and  tears  filled  her  eyes  when  she  thought  of 
leaving  the  home  of  her  childhood.  "Father," 
she  added,  with  touching  earnestness,  "you 
have  been  indulgent  to  me,  and  I  am  very  grate- 
ful ;  but  do  not,  I  entreat  of  you,  force  me  to 
forsake  my  only  parent.  Your  gray  hairs  speak 
of  declining  yeai's,  and  soon  you  will  need  a 
daughter's  care." 

"  Prate  not  to  me !  I  am  not  to  be  moved  by 
silly  cant !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Richmond,  closing 
the  door  behind  him  with  a  force  that  jarred  the 
house. 

Mr.  Richmond  did  not  fully  understand  his 
daughter's  character.  He  did  not  believe,  when 
the  time  came,  that  she  would  dare  set  his 
authority  at  defiance  and  resist  his  -will.  How 
far  he  was  mistaken,  the  sequel  wdl  tell.  Fitz- 
roy had  told  him  he  was  an  Englishman  by 
birth,  and  some  day,  not  far  distant,  would  come 
into  possession  of  a  title.  He  should  soon  visit 
his  native  land  to  display  his  beautiful  bride 
among  his  rich  and  distinguished  relatives  for  a 
season,  and  then  return  to  America  to  join  the 
father-in-law,  and  make  a  happy  family  circle. 

The  glowing  announcement  sounded  pleas, 
antly  on  tlie  ears  of  the  credulous  father,  who, 
however,  thought  it  best  to  say  nothing  of  this  to 
Grace,  but  leave  it  for  a  happy  surprise.  A  rich 
son-in-law,  with  a  title  in  prospective,  was  not 
to  be  slighted ;  and  Mr.  Richmond  invited  die 
guests,  and  set  about  the  usual  preparations,  not 
forgetting  to  supply  Grace  with  abundant  means 
to  purchase  the  needful  outfit. 

Fitzroy,  upon  being  informed  of  her  deter- 
mined refusals,  suggested  the  propriety  of 
placing  a  guard  over  her  that  she  might  not  out- 
wit them.  Her  father  had  accordingly  engaged 
an  elderly  woman  to  attend  Grace,  both  in  doors 
and  out,  until  she  was  married.  The  woman, 
who  was  kind  and  good-hearted,  won  the  confi- 
dence of  Grace,  who  told  her  the  story  of  her 
engagement,  and  the  situation  in  which  it  was 
placed.  To  the  astonishment  of  our  heroine, 
the  woman  was  no  stianger  to  Walter  Landon. 
She  had  kno^vn  him  from  infancy,  liaving  for- 
merly lived  in  the  family.  From  her  sympathy 
and  encouragement,  Grace  drew  a  gleam  of 
hope.  The  woman  promised  that,  instead  of 
fonvarding  her  father's  scheme,  she  would  try 
and  devise  some  plan  to  aid  the  daughter. 

The  evening  which  was  to  make  Grace  a  bride 
arrived.  The  moon  shone  witli  a  bright,  mellow 
light,  and  the  stars  twinkled  menily  in  the  sky 
of  blue.  One  by  one,  the  guests  airived  to  wit- 
ness the  ceremony.  The  clergjTnan  had  gravely 
entered  the  room  and  taken  tlie  seat  destined  for 
his  use.  On  his  appearance,  merry  voices  were 
hushed,  and  smiles  faded  from  the  coimtenances 
of  those  present. 

Fitzroy,  as  he  waited  in  an  ante-room,  moved 
uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  glanced  nervously  to- 
wards the  door.     His  dress  was  as  foppish,  and 


his  demeanor  as  conceited  as  ever.  The  short, 
crisp,  red  curls  had  evidently  x'cceived  an  addi- 
tional twist.  His  head— large  as  it  was — re- 
mained almost  hidden  in  tlie  shadow  of  an  im- 
mense dickey,  over  which  was  tied  a  fancy  neck- 
cloth, with  long  ends  depending.  His  shoulders, 
which  dame  Natm-e  had  left  in  an  unfinished 
state,  did  not  admit  of  a  coat  being  made  to  fit 
them  ;  and  it  was  accordingly  laid  on,  as  the  next 
best  arrangement.  He  put  on  and  took  off  his 
gloves  half  a  dozen  times  while  huiTiedly  pacing 
tlie  room,  and  wondering  why  "  Grace  did  not 
come." 

The  company  looked  inquiringly  at  one  an- 
other, and  the  minister  once  consulted  his  watch. 
Mr.  Richmond  at  last  sent  a  servant  to  ask  the 
cause  of  the  delay.  He  soon  returned  with  the 
startling  announcement  that  "  Miss  Grace  was 
not  to  be  found,  nor  the  woman  that  was  with 
her." 

We  can,  perhaps,  imagine  the  consternation  of 
Fitzroy  and  the  father,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
surprise  and  significant  looks  of  the  guests. 
While  all  was  confusion,  and  the  house  was  be- 
ing searched,  a  carriage  drew  up  to  the  door, 
and  four  persons — two  gentlemen  and  two  ladies 
— entered  the  apartment.  In  tlie  forward  couple 
we  recognize  Grace  and  Walter  Landon ;  in  the 
the  other,  Annette  Delancy  and  her  betrothed. 

"  Father,"   said    Grace,   advancing,    "  i  am 

sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting.     Let  me  inti'o- 

duce  to  you  my  husband,  Mr.  Walter  Landon." 

"  Tour  husband !     "What  docs  this  mean !"  he 

cried. 

"And  what  am  /  to  do  V  exclaimed  Fitzroy ; 
but  as  he  caught  sight  of  Walter's  featm'es,  he 
gi'ew  pale  and  would  have  left  the  room. 

"Draw  the  thread,  and  use  the  'goose,'  as 
usual,  Simms  ;  you  will  do  the  b6st  at  your  old 
ti'ade,"  answered  Walter,  witli  a  smile. 

"  Thread !  goose  !  trade !  What  do  I  hear  1" 
cried  the  astonished  fatlier.  "  Whose  dupe  have 
I  been?  Wlio  is  this  stranger?  Why  don't 
you  speak,  Grace'?" 

"  You  have  been  led  to  believe  that  this  de- 
signing person — who  calls  himself  Fitzroy,  but 
whose  real  name  is  John  Simms — was  a  man  of 
fortune,"  replied  Grace.  "  In  this,  you  have 
been  deceived  ;  he  is  a  tailor  of  this  city,  who, 
by  means  of  a  lottery  ticket,  acquired  the  means 
to  palm  himself  off  for  another,  hoping  to  secure 
a  fortune  by  a  marriage  with  myself.  In  Mr. 
Landon,  now  my  lawful  husband,  you  perceive 
one  to  whom  I  have  been  secretly  engaged  for 
nearly  two  years.  It  is  the  first  and  only  time 
I  have  deceived  you,  my  dear  father,  and  will 
you  not  forgive  mel  He  was  my  choice  ;  but 
wishing  to  have  wealth  at  command,  ere  he 
asked  my  hand,  he  went  abroad.  Success  has 
crowned  his  efforts.  But  most  fortunate  of  all, 
he  returned  just  in  time  to  prevent  me  from  for- 
saking my  home  and  father,  or  marrying  one 
whom  I  abhorred.  True  to  each  other,  we 
adopted  the  means  to  secm'e  our  mutual  happi- 
ness, and  are  here  to  confess  and  obtain  your 
forgiveness." 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  around  for  Fitzroy. 
He  had  taken  aHvantage  of  the  confusion  inci- 
dent to  the  occasion,  and  withdrew  unobserved. 
This  was  proof  sufficient  that  the  words  of  Grace 
were  ti*ue. 

"  The  rascal ! — but  he  shall  suffer  for  this  !" 
cried  the  angry  parent.  "  How  dare  he  deceive 
me — a  respectable  merchant — in  this  way  !  I 
will  publish  him  to  the  world  !" 

"  Heed  him  not,  father,"  intemipted  Grace, 
earnestly.  "  He's  not  worthy  a  thought.  Do 
you  not  see  the  guests  are  getting  uneasy  in  the 
next  room,  and  wondering  at  our  absence  ?  the 
worthy  clergyman  is  even  losing  his  dignity 
someuhat." 

By  the  joint  efforts  of  Grace  and  Walter,  Mr. 
Richmond  began  to  show  signs  of  relenting, 
upon  assuring  himself  that  the  bridegroom  was 
not  really  poor,  and  might  do  for  a  husband,  as 
matters  had  gone  so  far.  He  insisted,  liowevcr, 
that  they  should  stand  up  and  have  the  ceremony 
pei-formcd  again,  that  everything  "  might  be 
done  respectably." 

The  request  was  complied  with.  The  clergy- 
man performed  his  ofiice,  and  they  were  doubly 
mairied.  Mi-.  Richmond  was  not  so  hard-heaited 
as  he  seemed.  The  happiness  of  Grace  and  her 
husband  grew  contagious  ;  her  father  really  look- 
ed pleased,  and  the  evening  that  had  commenced 
in  such  a  singular  way,  ended  in  an  agreeable 
and  satisfactory  manner  to  all  concerned. 

Walter  had  written  regularly  to  Grace,  but 
from  some  cause  not  explained,  his  letters  had 
never  reached  the  place  of  their  destination. 


"Napoleon  Bonaparte  Fitzroy"  left  for  parts 
unkno-csTi,  leaving  his  bill  unpaid  at  the  liotel. 
A  recollection  of  "  titles  in  prospective,"  some- 
times brings  a  frown  to  the  brow  of  Mr.  Rich- 
mond ;  but  the  prattling  of  a  second  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed  Grace  sends  it  away,  and  reminds 
him  of  a  double  marriage. 


[AVritten  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LINES  TO  EBOIA. 

BT  J.   ALFORD. 

May  virtue  ever  prove  the  breastplate  of  innocence, 
And  honor,  its  protecting  shield. 

Though  the  green  leaf,  with  envious  veil, 
Awhile  the  rosebud's  hues  conceal ; 
Yet  from  the  parent  stock  I  know 
How  bright  its  crimson  tmts  shall  glow. 
AVliat  sweets  its  silken  leaves  disclose, 
■\Mieu  time  unfolds  the  fuU  blown  rose ! 

Sweet  bud  I  I  sing  thy  maiden  grace  ! 
Thy  beauteous  eyes,  thy  smiling  face, 
Are  sweetly  bright ;  for  in  those  eye3 
No  secret  grief  in  ambush  Ues ; 
Deception  lurks  not  in  thy  smile. 
The  gazer's  bosom  to  beguile. 

But  when,  matured  by  riper  years. 
In  woman's  pride  each  charm  appears, 
Then  some  fond  youth  thy  power  shall  prove, 
And  bow  before  the  shrine  of  love  ; 
While  friends,  with  admiration,  see 
Bright  virtue's  gems  shine  forth  in  thee. 

CLOTH  MADE  OF  PINE  APPLE  LEAVES. 

At  Singapore,  in  the  East  Indies,  there  is 
quite  a  thrifty  branch  of  business  m  preparing 
the  fibres  of  jjine  apple  leaves  for  exportation  to 
China,  where  they  are  manufactured  into  eloth. 
The  process  of  extracting  and  bleaching  the 
fibres  is  exceedingly  simple.  The  first  step  is  to 
remove  the  fleshy  or  succulent  side  of  the  leaf. 
A  Chinese,  astride  on  a  naiTow  stool,  extends 
on  it  in  front  of  him  a  pine  apple  leaf,  one  end 
of  which  is  kept  firm,  being  placed  beneath  a 
small  bundle  of  cloth  on  which  he  sits.  He  then 
with  a  kind  of  two-handled  plane  of  bamboo  re- 
moves the  succulent  matter.  Another  man  re- 
ceives tlie  leaves  as  the}-^  are  planed,  and  with 
his  thumb  nail  loosens  and  gathers  the  fibres 
about  the  middle  of  the  leaf,  which  enables  him 
by  one  effoit  to  detach  the  whole  of  them  from 
the  outer  skin.  The  fibres  are  next  steeped  in 
water  for  some  time,  after  which  they  are  washed 
in  order  to  free  them  from  the  matter  that  still 
adheres  and  binds  them  together.  They  are  now 
laid  out  to  dry  and  bleach  on  nide  frames  of 
split  bamboo.  The  process  of  steeping,  washing 
and  exposing  to  the  sun  is  repeated  for  some 
days  until  the  fibres  are  considered  to  be  prop- 
erly bleached.  Without  further  preparation  they 
are  sent  into  town  for  exportation  to  China, 
Nearly  all  the  islands  near  Singapore  are  more 
or  less  planted  with  pine  apples,  which,  at  a 
rougt  estimate,  cover  an  extent  of  two  thousand 
acres. — Eastern  Travels. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
WHERE  lyWELJj  THE  ANGELS? 


BY  JOSEPH    W.   NTE. 

I've  heard  that  angels  dwelt  alone, 

In  a  far  off,  celestial  sphere, 
"Where  ne'er  is  heard  a  sufferer's  moan. 

Or  mourner's  sigh  breaks  on  the  ear. 

But  is  it  only  there  they  roam, 
O'er  blooming  fields  of  happiness  ? 

Is  that  bright  world  their  only  home  ? 
Celestial  robes  their  only  dress  ? 

Ah  no,  metbinks,  for  I  have  seen 
■RHiat  could  not  be  than  angel  leas. 

Begirt  not  with  a  wondrous  sheen, 
But  wearing  mortal  form  and  dress. 

She  lingered  in  the  chamber,  where 
A  loved  one  had  lain  do^ii  to  die ; 

I  called  her  then  an  angel  fair, 
I  saw  the  angel  in  her  eye. 

I  marked  her  look,  and  noiseless  tread, 

Her  unremitting  watchfulness 
Beside  that  solemn,  dying  bed, 

Wliich  her  dear  presence  so  did  bless. 

Ah,  then  methought  'twere  sweet  to  die, 
With  that  kind,  gentle  being  near, 

In  whose  mild,  softly  beaming  eye, 
Glistened  the  sympathetic  tear. 

n    ^m^ > 

A  WISE  REMARK. 

"  Having  in  my  youth,"  says  a  celebrated  Per- 
sian writer,  ''notionsof  severe  piety,  I  used  to  rise 
in  the  night  to  watch,  pray,  and  to  read  the  Koran. 
One  night,  whilst  deeply  engaged  in  these  exer- 
cises, a  man  of  practical  virtue  awoke  whilst  1 
was  reading.  '  Behold,'  said  I  to  him,  '  thy 
other  children  are  lost  in  in*eligiou3  slumber, 
whilst  I  alone  awake  to  praise  God.'  '  Son  of 
my  soul,'  he  answered,  '  it  is  better  to  sleep  than 
to  wake  to  remark  the  faults  of  thy  brethren.'  " 
— Saturday  Courier. 


LIFE-WHAT  IS  IT? 

Change  is  the  common  feature  of  society. 
The  world  is  like  a  magic  lantern,  or  the  shift- 
ing scenes  of  a  panorama.  Ten  years  convert 
the  population  of  schools  into  men  and  women, 
the  young  into  fathers  and  matrons,  make  and 
mar  fortunes,  and  bury  the  last  generation  but 
one.  Twenty  years  convert  infants  into  lovers, 
fathers,  and  mothers,  decide  men's  fortunes  and 
distinctions,  convert  active  men  into  crawling 
drivellers,  and  bm-y  all  preceding  generations. 
Thirty  years  rise  an  active  generation  from  non- 
entity, change  fascinating  beauties  into  bearable 
old  women,  convert  lovers  into  grandfathers, 
and  bury  the  active  generation,  or  reduce  them 
to  decrepitude  and  imbecility.  Forty  years, 
alas  !  change  the  face  of  all  society.  Infants  are 
growing  old,  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty  has 
passed  away,  two  active  generations  have  been 
swept  from  the  stage  of  life,  names  so  cherished 
are  forgotten,  unsuspected  candidates  for  fame 
have  started  from  the  exhaustless  womb  of  na- 
ture fifty  years — why  should  any  desire  affections 
from  maturity  for  fifty  years  ?  It  is  to  behold  a 
world  of  which  we  know  nothing,  and  to  which 
we  are  unknown.  It  is  to  weep  for  the  genera- 
tions long  gone  by — for  lovers,  for  parents,  for 
children,  for  friends  in  the  grave.  It  is  to  see 
everything  turned  upside  down  by  the  fickle 
hand  of  fortune,  and  the  absolute  despotism  of 
time.  It  is,  in  a  word,  to  behold  the  vanity  of 
life  in  all  the  vanity  of  display. —  Vermont  Watch- 
man. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
GOD  KEEP  MY  MEMORY  GREEN. 

BY   CAROLINE  A.   HAYDEN. 

0,  take  them  not  away, 

Those  by-gone  hours  the  heart  so  loves  to  cherish  ; 
Let  them  return  to  bless  me  while  I  stay, — 

I  would  not  one  amidst  them  all  should  perish. 
GiTe  back  the  summer  sunshine  and  the  flowers, 

That  gladdened  with  their  beauty  many  a  scene  ; 
Give  back  the  gloom,  the  soul-refreshing  showers — 

I  need  them  all ;  God  keep  my  memory  green. 

And  whatsoe'er  thy  hand  has  spread  before  me, 

Whether  of  pain  or  pleasure,  joy  or  woe ; 
The  treasured  memory  of  the  past  shed  o'er  me, 

Like  angels'  smiles,  shall  cheer  me  as  I  go. 
Take  what  thou  wilt — if  hope  too  much  has  given, 

I  ask  not  cloudless  skies,  joys  too  serene  ; 
I  know  the  chains  that  bind  must  oft  be  riven, 

I  ask  but  this :  God  keep  my  memory  green. 


I  HAVE  NO  TOIE  TO  STUDY. 

The  idea  about  the  want  of  time  is  a  mere 
phantom.  Franklin  found  time  in  the  midst  of 
all  his  labors  to  dive  into  the  hidden  recesses  of 
philosophy,  and  to  explore  the  untrodden  path 
of  science.  The  great  Frederick,  with  an  em- 
pire at  his  direction,  in  the  midst  of  war,  on  the 
eve  of  battles  which  were  to  decide  the  fate  of 
his  kingdom,  found  time  to  revel  in  the  channs 
of  philosophy  and  intellectual  pleasures.  Bona- 
parte, with  all  Eiu'ope  at  his  disposal,  with  kings 
in  his  ante-chamber  begging  for  vacant  thrones, 
with  thousands  of  men,  whose  destinies  were 
suspended  on  the  brittle  thread  of  his  arbitrary 
pleasures,  had  time  to  converse  with  books. 
Csesar,  when  he  had  curbed  the  spirits  of  the 
Roman  people,  and  was  thronged  with  visitors 
from  the  remotest  kingdoms,  foimd  tinie  for  in- 
tellectual cultivation.  Every  man  has  time  if 
he  improves  it  as  well  as  he  might,  and  can  reap 
a  three-fold  reward.  Let  mechanics  then  make 
use  of  the  hours  at  their  disposal,  if  they  want 
to  obtain  a  proper  influence  in  society.  They 
are  the  life-blood  of  the  community  ;  they  can,  if 
they  please,  hold  in  their  hands  the  destinies  of 
our  republic ;  they  are  numerous,  respectable, 
and  powerfid ;  and  they  have  only  to  be  educated 
half  as  well  as  other  professions,  to  make  laws 
for  the  nation. — N.  Y.  ^firror. 


0  how  portentous  is  prosperity  I 

How  comtt-like  ;  it  threatens  while  it  shiucs  1 

Young 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  VOICE  FROM  HOME. 

BY   REBECCA   H.   PIERCE. 

I  hear  a  voice  in  my  quiet  dreams, 

Like  fairy  music — so  soft  it  seems  ; 

It  .speaks  to  my  heart  in  a  plaintive  tone, 

And  bids  me  come  to  my  early  home. 

It  wakes  o'er  my  spirit  a  dreamy  spell, 

Of  familiar  tones  and  scenes  loved  well ; 

Of  loving  hearts,  where  no  blight  has  grown, 

That  cluster  around  my  early  home. 

'T  is  thus,  at  the  hour  of  dewy  morn. 
When  rosy  buds  and  sweet  odors  are  bom ; 
Like  the  plaintive  lay  of  some  dreamy  rill, 
That  witching  voice — it  haunts  me  still. 
It  tells  me  of  clouds  with  a  richer  dye. 
That  mingle  my  tints  in  their  native  sky ; 
Of  fairer  flowers,  that  sweetly  bloom 
Around  the  path  of  my  early  home. 


A  TEACHER  BY  EXAiMPLE. 

I  once  escaped  at  tabic  die  well-meant  perse- 
cutions of  the  kind-liearted  wife  of  a  medical 
friend,  from  whom,  ever  and  anon,  came  tlie  in- 
quiry of  what  I  would  take  next .'  Tliis  liad 
been  so  often  repeated,  that  I  had  begun  to  look 
round,  fearing  that  my  character,  as  a  teacher 
by  example,  miglit  sufl'cr,  and  replied  that,  "  If 
she  pleased,  I  would  take  breath."  It  was 
saucy  and  ungrateful,  but  it  was  good-naturedly 
rcccix'ed  and  understood. — The  Stomaeh  and  its 
Df£icuhies,  by  Sir  James  Eyre. 


108 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL    DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


MADAME  3IAL1BUAN. 

On  this  pa;j:o  wc  present  three  ciigravinfjs  rclntivo  to  this  dis- 
tinfjuislicd  vocalist;  the  first  represents  tlic  l)ust  of  Miulixmc  Mul- 
ibnin,  the  second,  her  statue,  and  the  tlurd  gives  a  view  of  her 
tomb.  The  name  of  Madame  Maria  Malibran,  one  of  tlio  sweet- 
est singers  of  the  ago,  is  familiar  to  all  of  our  countrymen  and 
countrywomen  who  lovo  the  "divine  art"  of  music,  llcr  death 
in  early  life  a  few  years  since,  is  yet  mourned  by  the  musical 
world.  She  was  the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Garcia,  and  while 
quite  young,  in  all  the  freshness  of  hor  fame  and  voice,  visited 
this  country,  and  as  tlio  prima  doima  of  the  Italian  opera  com- 


BUST  OF  BUDAME   MALIBRAN. 

pany  of  New  York,  was  the  delight  and  idol  of  that  imperial  city 
for  a  long  time.  She  left  it  to  triumph  in  all  the  musical  capitals 
of  Europe — the  acknowledged  queen  of  song.  Her  marriage  with 
Malibran  was  an  unhappy  one;  that  with  Dc  Bcriot,  tlie  violinist, 
was  a  love-match.  But  she  did  not  live  long  to  enjoy  the  happi- 
ness denied  to  her  earlier  years.  A  rapid  decline  carried  her  to 
the  grave  in  the  midst  of  hope.  She  is  buried  in  the  cemetery  of 
Lacken,  in  Germany.  The  bust  we  herewith  present  has  some- 
thing touching  in  its  Iiistory.  It  was  modelled  by  De  Beriot,  her 
bereaved  husband,  who  found  in  his  love  and  his  earnest  desire  to 
preserve  the  features  of  the  beloved  one,  the  inspiration  of  the 
sculptor.     It  is  his  first  and.  only  work  of  the  kind. 


STATUE  OF  MADAME  M-iLIBRAN. 

RANGOON. 

Kangoon,  the  principal  port  of  the  Burman  empire,  a  view  of 
which  we  give  below,  is  built  on  the  most  eastern  branch  of  the 
River  Irrawaddy,  about  twenty-six  miles  fiom  the  sea ;  and,  though 
the  navigation  is  somewhat  intricate,  the  difficulties  are  easily 
overcome  by  good  pilots  ;  so  that  vessels  of  1200  tons  have  pro- 
ceeded to  the  port.  The  town  lies  on  the  left  bank  of  tlie  river, 
from  the  banks  of  which  tlie  ground  rises  gradually  for  more  tlian 
two  miles  to  the  foot  of  the  liill  on  which  the  grand  Dagong  Pa- 
goda is  built,  the  base  of  which  appears  to  be  seventy  or  eighty 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  Irrawaddy.  The  town  and  suburbs 
extend  about  a  mile  along  the  bank  of  the  river;  the  streets  are 
narrow;  the  houses  arc  raised  on  bamboos,  or  strong  timbers. 
The  few  brick-built  houses  belong  chiefly  to  Europeans,  who  pay 
a  heavy  tax  for  this  privilege — no  subject  of  the  Burman  empire 
is  permitted  to  erect  a  brick  building.  These  brick  houses  are 
built  within  the  myo  or  city,  which  is  an  irregular  quadrangle, 
surrounded  by  a  stockade,  composed  of  heavy  beams  of  teak  tim- 
ber.    On  the  south   side  of  this  stockade,  towax*ds  the  I'ivcr,  is  a 


ditch,  over  which  there  is  a  causeway.  From  this  face  of  the 
stockade,  two  I>rick-)iavcd  roads  lead  to  the  great  pagoda,  Shewl 
Dagong,  and  along  the  sides  arc  built  a  number  of  .s/VA's  or  monu- 
ments, in  honor  of  Buddha.  In  form,  they  resemble  a  spcaking- 
tinimpct  standing  on  its  base  :  the  lower  part  is  generally  a  poly- 
gon, and  the  shaft,  or  upper  part,  is  round,  the  apex  being  orna- 
mented with  an  iron  net  in  the  form  of  an  umbrella,  called  a  //. 
The  Shewl  Dagong  is  in  the  same  style  as  the  rest,  but  richly  gilt 
all  over;  it  is  said  to  lie  about  278  feet  high,  and  is  surrounded 
by  an  enclosure,  in  which  is  an  immense  bell,  of  very  rude  fabric. 
This  pagoda  is  a  place  of  pilgrimage,  fre{|ucnted  by  many  stran- 
gers. Rangoon  is  very  convenient  for  ship-building,  as  the  tide 
rises  from  eighteen  to  twenty-four  feet,  and  the  great  teak  forests 
are  near  it,  whence  the  timber  may  be  floated  down  the  whole 
way.     It  has  been  built  atiout  a  century.     The  climate  is  tcmper- 


y-rf. 


TOMB  OF  MADAME  MALIBRAN. 

ate,  agreeable  and  salubrious.  The  place,  at  first,  rose  slowly  : 
even  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  the  number  of  ves- 
sels that  cleared  out  was  only  from  eighteen  to  twenty-five  annu- 
ally :  in  twenty  years,  they  were  doubled.  Since  the  time  of  its 
occupation  by  the  British,  its  commerce  with  Calcutta  and  other 
British  possessions  in  India,  has  been  continually  increasing. 
The  most  active  commerce  is  carried  on  with  Chittagong,  Dacca, 
Calcutta,  Madras,  Masulipatum,  the  Nicobar  Islands  and  Pulo 
Penang ;  there  is  also  some  trade  with  Bombay.  The  exports  are 
teak-wood,  catechu,  stick  lac,  beeswax,  elephants'  teeth,  raw 
cotton,  orpiment,  gold,  silver,  mbics  and  horses.  Raw  cotton,  of 
superior  quality,  is  sent  to  Dacca  for  the  fabrication  of  fine  muslin. 


VIEW  OF  RANGOON,  THE  PRINCIPAL  PORT  OF  THE  BURMAN  EMPIRE. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


109 


^I 


^?mm^ 


iy-^;^iy^ifS 


TEEDEEICK    GLEASON,   Proprietoe. 

MATDKIK    M.    BALLOU,    EDITOK. 

CONTENTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER, 

"  Liberty  vs.  Love  :  or  The  Soldier's  Triimipb,"  a  story, 
by  Mrs.  H.  Mareon  Stephens. 

"  The  Miner  of  the  Hartz,  a  tradition  of  the  Khine,"  by 
H.  Peuc.kn. 

"  Juan  and  lola,  a  story  of  the  Bastile,"  by  Edward  J. 
Handiboe. 

"  The  Young  Husband :  or  Hearts'  Histories,"  by  Mrs. 

S.  M.  HOMPHRET. 

*'  The  Prayer  of  the  Mariner's  Wife,"  verses,  by  Robert 
G.  Staples. 

"  A  song  of  Summer,"  by  J.  H.  Butler. 

''  Fear,"  lines,  by  Isabel  Ashton. 

"  Day  followeth  Day,"  poem,  by  Caroline  A.  Hatden. 

"  Queen  Luna,"  verses,  by  Charles  L.  Porter. 

"Lines  to  the  Pictx3ria!,"'by  B.  J.  Howe. 

"  Lines  to  the  Absent  One,"  by  C.  U.  Criswell. 

"  IVild  Violets,"  lines,  by  W.  S.  Chase. 

"  To-morrow,"  verses,  by  J.  K.  Holmes. 

"  Sorrow,"  lines,  by  Oscar  G.  Hughan. 

"  Fain  would  I  die  at  Sunset,"  by  H'm.  T.  Hilsee. 

"  Lines  to  the  Obelisk  at  Rome,"  by  Mary  N.  Dearborn. 

E.  P.  C,  of  Hingham,  is  informed  that  Lieut.  Hurray's 
etory  of  ''  The  Heart's  Secret,  or  the  Fortunes  of  a  Sol- 
dier/' will  be  published  in  boolt  fonn,  as  soon  as  complet- 
ed in  these  pages.     It  is  the  author's  best  story. 

ILLTJSTEATIONS. 

A  fine  picture  of  the  Encampment  of  the  First  Regi- 
ment of  Massachusetts  Light  Infantry,  at  Newtonville, 
Massachusetts,  a  perfect  military  engraving,  by  our  artist, 
Mr.  Biiiings, 

An  admirable  portrait  of  that  famous  Frenchman, 
Victor  Hugo,  not  long  since  banished  from  Paris,  and  who 
has  since  returned  by  permission  of  the  government. 

An  excellent  engraving,  representing  the  splendid  Ball 
given  by  the  association  of  artists,  painters,  sculptors, 
musicians,  etc.,  at  Paris, 

A  picture  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Ckapin,  illustrating  the 
late  fearful  catastrophe  of  the  destruction  of  the  steamer 
Henry  Clay,  on  the  Hudson  river,  whereby  so  many  lives 
were  sacrificed. 

An  interesting  picture,  representing  a  wild  piece  of 
American  scenery  entitled.  Crossing  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
Bhomng  one  of  the  perilous  routes  to  El  Dorado. 

A  series  of  views  in  Quincy,  Mass.,  all  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Mallori/,  representing,  first,  the  Birthplace  of  John 
Quincy  Adams ;  second,  the  Adams  Mansion  House ; 
third,  the  fine  Stone  Church  presented  by  the  Hon.  John 
Q.  Adams  to  the  town  of  Quincy  ;  fourth,  the  Tomb  of 
the  e.'C- President  in  the  town  burial  ground,  and  fifth,  a 
view  representing  the  Granite  Quarries  of  the  town  of 
Quincy. 

We  shall  also  give  an  original  view  of  an  Indian  En- 
campment, as  was  seen  in  the  far  west. 

A  picture  of  the  Indians  as  they  appear  in  one  of  their 
grotesq^ue  war  dances. 

An  engraving,  representing  the  well  known  and  histori- 
cal scene  of  the  rescue  of  Capt.  Smith  by  Pocahontas. 

A  fine  and  accurate  Hkeness  will  be  presented  of  Mr. 
Gilbert  Nourse,  the  new  Chief  of  Police  for  the  city  of 
Boston. 


AMERICAN  CRYSTAIi  PALACE. 

The  Association  for  the  Exhibition  of  the  In- 
dustry of  all  Nations  announce  that  the  exhibi- 
tion -will  be  opened  in  New  York  on  the  2d  of 
May,  1853 — exactly  two  years  after  the  opening 
of  the  great  London  exhibition.  Mr.  Charles 
Buschek,  late  commissioner  of  the  Austrian 
empire  at  the  Industrial  Exliibition  of  Lon- 
don, has  been  appointed  agent  for  all  countries 
other  than  the  continent  of  America. 


SPIINTEES. 


Charlotte  Grisi  is  in  Paris,  where  she 

creates  the  greatest  furore. 

....  Tlxe  value  of  property  in  Broadway,  N. 
Y.,  exceeds  that  of  any  other  street  in  the  world. 

It  is  thought  that   Count  D'Orsay,  the 

universal  genius,  is  now  dying. 

....  Cra\vford,  when  last  heard  from,  was  at 
Munich,  professionally  engaged. 

Gertrude  is  a  Teutonic  word,  signifying 

true  to  her  trust.     A  beautiful  name. 

Ellinor  Howard  poisoned  herself  for  some 

unfortunate  cause,  in  Baltimore. 

Mr.  Davenport,  the  American  tragedian, 

is  playing  his  farewell  engagement  in  England. 

W.  P.  Gibbs  committed  suicide  in  Lex- 
ington, Mass.     He  had  been  quite  sick. 

The  old  Tremont  House,  Boston,  is  once 

more  re-opened  in  grand  style. 

A  fine  English  opera  troupe  is  to  be  or- 
ganized in  New  York  city  forthwith. 

There  has  been  a  very  destructive  fire  at 

Honolulu,  Sandwich  Islands. 

We  liope  the  captain  and  officers  of  the 

steamer  Henry  Clay  mil  be  made  examples  of. 

Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton  has  become  a  pub- 
lic lecturer  before  Mechanics'  Institutes. 

Mrs.  Mowatt  has  returned  to  Boston  for 

a  short  period,  previous  to  her  Southern  tour. 

James  Wallack,  the  Wallack,  has  leased 

Brougham's  Lyceum  in  New  York. 


SPAIN  AND  CUBA- 

As  if,  "whom  the  gods  would  destroy,  they 
first  make  mad,"  it  would  seem  as  though  the 
home  government  of  Spain,  in  the  action  of 
their  tyranny  and  unrclaxcd  oppression  as  exer- 
cised upon  the  inhabitants  of  this  island,  were 
determined  to  drive  the  inhabitants  to  despera- 
tion. But,  because  tlie  Creoles  have  borne  so 
much,  it  is  no  reason  why  they  should  never 
turn  to  bay,  and  tlie  Spanish  government  will 
find,  ere  leng,  that  conciliatory  measures  will 
come  too  late.  This  subject  lias  received  a  fresh 
impetus,  a  revived  interest,  by  Mr.  Thrasher's  re- 
turn to  this  country  from  confinement  in  a  Spa- 
nish prison.  He  has  been  telling  the  citizens  of 
New  Orleans  some  wholesome  truths,  and  the  au- 
thorities will  find  that  it  would  have  been  far 
more  for  their  interests  to  have  kept  Mr.  Thrash- 
er peaceably  among  themselves,  than  to  seize 
and  confiscate  his  property,  and  banish  him  from 
Cuba.  The  trouble  is,  he  tells  tales  out  of 
school ;  and  the  black-hearted  tp-anny  of  Spain 
over  the  Cubans  needs  only  to  be  known  to  raise 
up  a  whirlwind  of  rebellion  in  every  honest  heart. 

The  political  condition  of  Cuba  is  precisely 
what  might  be  expected  of  a  Castilian  colony, 
presenting  a  most  remarkable  instance  of  the 


stand-still  policy  that  has  so  long 


verned  the 


European  monarchies.  From  having  been,  three 
centuries  ago,  the  most  wealthy  and  one  of  the 
most  powerful  kingdoms,  Spain  has  lost  nearly 
all  her  American  possessions,  and  sunk  into  a 
condition  of  almost  hopeless  bankruptcy.  Other 
nations  have  labored  and  succeeded  in  the  race 
of  progress ;  while  her  adherence  to  ancient  in- 
stitutions, and  her  dignified  scorn  of  modern 
*'  innovations,"  amount  almost,  in  fact,  to  a  spe- 
cies of  retrogression,  which  has  placed  her  far 
below  all  of  her  sister  governments  in  Europe. 
Even  Cuba  has  outstripped  the  parent  land  in 
enterprise ;  and  while  railroads  are  counted  in 
Spain  by  tens  of  miles,  in  Cuba  they  are  already 
counted  by  hundreds. 

The  present  condition  of  Spain  is  a  striking 
illustration  of  the  mutalnlity  of  fortune,  from 
which  states,  no  more  than  individuals,  are  ex- 
empted. We  read  of  sucli  changes  in  the  desti- 
nies of  ancient  empires ;  the  decadence  of  Egypt, 
the  fall  of  Ass}Tia,  and  Babylon,  and  Byzanti- 
um, and  Eome ;  but  their  glory  and  their  fall 
were  both  so  far  distant  in  the  recess  of  time  that 
their  history  seems,  to  all  of  us  who  have  not 
travelled  and  inspected  the  monuments  which 
attest  the  truth  of  these  events,  a  sort  of  romance; 
whereas,  in  the  case  of  Spain,  we  realize  its  greats 
ness  and  behold  its  fall ! 

As  to  Cuba,  she  must  and  will  be  free;  and 
when  it  is  accomplished,  people  wiU  wonder  that 
it  has  been  so  easily  done,  and  wonder  the  more 
that  it  lias  not  been  earlier  freed  from  Spain. 
Let  our  readers  be  surprised  at  nothing  which 
they  hear,  for  even  now  the  tocsin  is  sounded. 


THE  LONE  STAR: 

— OR — 

THE    TEXAN    BRAVO. 
A  TALE  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

BT    DR.    J.    H.    ROBINSON". 

Tliis  is  the  title  of  a  capital  story  just  com- 
pleted in  the  Elag  of  our  Union,  and  now  issued 
in  book  form.  It  is  one  of  Dr.  J.  H,  Robinson's 
best  stories,  and  its  locality  and  associations  are 
of  tlie  most  truthful  and  interesting  character,  as 
they  relate  to  tlie  pioneers  and  early  history  of 
the  country  of  the  Lone  Star.  The  author  has 
chosen  his  subject  with  excellent  taste,  and  the 
tale  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  is  replete  with 
interest. 


EXCURSION. 

The  large  and  excellent  Sabbath  School,  says 
the  Boston  Post,  connected  with  the  Second 
Universalist  Society,  of  which  T.  A.  Goddard, 
Esq.,  is  the  superintendent,  made  its  annual  pic- 
nic excursion  to  Stony  Brook  recently.  The 
exercises  were  unusually  pleasing,  and  the  com- 
pany numbered  about  a  thousand.  The  queen 
of  the  holiday  was  crowned  with  all  the  honors, 
addresses  were  made,  and  there  was  the  usual 
accompaniment  of  music  and  songs.  Quite  a 
number  of  children  were  dedicated  by  the  pastor. 
Rev.  Mr.  Miner.     It  was  a  delightful  picnic. 


Personal. — We  heard  a  good  word  from  our 
friends  of  the  Casco  Engine  Company,  Portland, 
a  few  days  since.     May  their  shadows  never  be 

less. 


Saratoga. — Saratoga  is  respectable,  but  not 
very  gay,  so  far,  this  season. 


THE  PICTORIAIi. 

We  have  already  issued  with  the  present  pa- 
per seven  numbers  of  the  third  volume.  The 
obseiwant  reader  will  discover  in  each  succeed- 
ing issue  fresh  improvements  and  renewed  exer- 
tions, on  the  part  of  the  publisher,  to  merit  the 
unprecedented  popularity  it  enjoys.  No  paper, 
as  far  as  the  history  of  newspapers  and  literary 
journals  is  known,  ever  reached  to  so  large  a 
circulation  as  we  now  print,  in  so  short  a  space 
of  time.  It  is  considerably  less  than  two  years 
since  the  paper  was  started,  and  our  regular  issue 
is  nearly  Jifty  thousand  copies,  a  fact  that  we  shall 
be  gratified  to  prove  to  any  inquiring  person, 
either  in  the  publishing  business  or  otherwise. 
This  will  show  our  readers  that  the  paper  is  ap- 
preciated ;  and  if  it  had  not  real  value  and  excel- 
lence in  it,  this  patronage  would  not  be  so  freely 
extended — indeed,  it  would  not  be  extended  at  all. 

No  one,  save  practical  printers  and  publishers, 
can  know  how  great  is  the  expense  of  getting  up 
such  a  paper  weekly.  It  is  necessary  to  take  into 
consideration,  first  the  superior  quality  of  the  pa- 
per, next  the  expense  of  designs,  then  the  heavy 
cost  of  engravings,  and  electrotj'ping,  and  the 
liberal  prices  paid  for  original  matter  for  the 
columns  of  the  paper.  The  best  pens  in  the 
counti'y  are  busy  for  our  journals,  and  as  to  the 
amount  of  original  matter  to  be  found  in  oui* 
columns,  the  readers  can  judge  for  themselves. 
We  refer  to  these  matters  now  and  then,  that  the 
army  of  readers  and  subscribers  of  the  paper  may 
fully  understand  its  character,  and  the  estimation 
in  which  it  is  held  by  the  mass  of  the  people. 


THE  ARMORER  OF  TYRE: 

—OR — • 

THE    ORACLE   AND   ITS    PRIEST. 
AN    EASTERN    EOMANCE. 

ET  STLVANDS  COBB,  JR. 

In  this  week's  number  of  the  Flag  of  our 
Union  we  commence  a  story  of  which  the  above 
is  the  title ;  one  of  the  best  stories  Mr.  Cobb  has 
ever  produced  for  us,  which  leads  the  reader, 
page  by  page,  and  chapter  by  chapter,  without 
once  breaking  the  charm  of  interest,  to  the  very 
close.  We  can  promise  our  readers  a  good  treat 
in  its  perusal.  Thus  we  continue  our  series  of 
original  and  deeply  captivating  stories  for  this 
paper,  as  we  promised  at  the  commencement  of 
the  volume,  having  always  in  view  the  purpose 
of  fui-nishing  the  most  interesting,  original  mat- 
ter, which  must  also  bear  the  test  of  the  strictest 
moral  criticism. 


UNITED  STATES  HOTEL,  PORTLAND. 

A  friend  writes  us  in  glowing  terms  of  the  ex- 
cellence of  this  house,  and  the  interesting  points 
to  which  it  is  immediately  contiguous.  He  refers 
to  a  drive  over  to  Cape  Elizabeth,  and  a  visit  to 
the  Cottage,  Ocean  House,  etc.,  and  eulogizes 
the  fine  air  of  this  region,  complimenting  the 
well-known  and  gentlemanly  landlord  of  the 
United  States  Hotel,  Mr.  Woodward,  and  his 
popular  assistants.  Mi*.  Varney  and  Mr.  Pingrce. 
We  have  partaken  of  the  hospitalities  of  this 
house,  and  heartily  endorse  all  our  coirespondcnt 
says  of  it.  People  visiting  Portland  should  stop 
at  the  United  States  Hotel. 


Gleason's  Pictorial. — Among  all  the  productions  of 
our  periodical  and  newspaper  press,  at  this  time  so  pro- 
lific, there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  or  more  eminently  use- 
ful than  Gleason's  Pictorial.  It  is  a  large  octavo,  pub- 
lished weekly  by  F.  Gleason,  Boston.  Each  number  con- 
tains sixteen  pages  of  highly  interesting  matter.  Its 
embellishments  form  its  leading  attraction,  and  these  are 
of  a  character  to  make  it  highly  acceptable  to  American 
people,  illustrating  as  they  do,  subjects  in  which  the 
whole  p^ople  feel  an  interest.  The  number  before  us  has 
a  beautifully  engraved  likeness  of  Frank  Pierce,  the  dem- 
ocratic c.indidate  for  the  presidency.  That  of  General 
Scott  is  in  the  number  of  July  10th.  It  has  given  the 
likenesses  of  Jenny  Lind,  Mr.  Earnum.  Kossuth,  and  in 
fine,  of  every  person  prominently  before  the  public  in 
anv  capacity.  These  embclhshments  are  in  the  highf-st 
style  of  art,  and  have  for  their  subject  eome  matter  that  is 
occupying  the  public  attention.  For  a  present  to  a  lady  it 
is  decidedly  the  handsomest  thing  in  a  literary  way  we 
have  ever  seen. — Howard  County  Banner^  Glasgow,  Mo. 


Cuba. — There  seems  to  be  quite  a  prospect  of 
another  outbreak  in  Cuba.  A  revolutionary  pa- 
per has  been  issued.  The  government  offer  a 
reward  of  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  tlie  dis- 
covery and  arrest  of  those  who  printed  it. 


Naval. — The  famous  frigate  "  Macedonian  " 
has  been  cut  down  and  rebuilt  at  the  Brooklyn 
navy-yard,  as  a  corvette,  and  is  to  be  named 
"Raleigh." 


A  Warning. — Mrs.  John  Davis,  of  Holden, 
died  upon  inhaling  chlorofonai  for  the  purpose  of 
having  a  tooth  extracted. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Cilley,  Mr.  Thomas  L.  Holt  to 
Miss  Phebe  5l.  fliarble. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Kirk,  Mr.  Chipman  Hinkley  to  Mrs.  Ma- 
ry Ann  Henderson. 

'  By  Rev.  Mr.    Dexter,  Mr.  John  B.  Clarke,  of  Manches- 
ter, N.  II.,  to  Miss  Susan  G.  Moulton. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Skinner,  Mr.  Nathaniel  H.  Moore,  of  Cam- 
bridge, to  Miss  Susan  E.  Spencer. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Frothingham,  Mr.  John  Dudley  Sargent,  of 
Machias,  Me.,  to  Miss  Mary  Dana  Haywood. 

At  Charlcstown,  Mr.  Jeremiah  Preble  to  Miss  Betsey  M. 
Freeman. 

At  Cam  bridge  port,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Steams,  Mr.  Henry  N. 
Farwell,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Clara  Richardson. 

At  Medford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Fuller.  Mr.  Charles  Geddes  to 
Miss  Sarah  Thompson. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Fisher,  Mr.  George  "W.  Kenney 
to  Miss  Sarah  A.  Mace,  of  North  Hampton,  N.  H. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Lane,  Mr.  Samuel  Crcaaey 
to  Miss  Caroline  J.  Brown,  of  Meredith,  N.  II. 

At  Essex,  by   Rev.  Mr.  Prince,  Mr.  Ephmim  H.  An- 
drews to  Miss  Patience  Andrews,  of  Moscow,  Me. 

At  Taunton,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Emery,  Mr.  John  G.  Hewina 
to  Mi.ss  Sarah  B.  Lincoln. 

At  Providence,  R.  I.,  by  Rev  Mr.  Waterman,  Mr.  Alon- 
zo  Lewis,  of  Lynn,  to  Miss  Mary  Gibson,  of  Boston. 

At  New  Haven,   Conn.,  Mr,  William  H.  Sanborn,  of 
Springfield,  to  Miss  .lulia  A.  Ruggles,  of  Boston. 

At  Barnstead,  N.  H.,  Mr.  Oliver  G.  Caswell,   of  North- 
wood,  N.  H.,  to  Miss  Wealthy  B.  Clark. 

At  New   York,  Robert  Nesbitt,  Esq.,   to  Miss    Mary 
Bourne. 


More  Light. — Lynn  is  to  he  lit  by  gas. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  William  H.  Whitmarsh,  40 ;  Mr.  John 
Rand,  70  :  Mr.  Edmund  Murphy,  68  ;  Mrs.  Caroline  C. 
Russell,  33  ;  Miss  Lucv  Joyce,  81 ;  Mrs.  Susan  Loomis, 
58 ;  Mrs.  Charlotte  Ellis",  46 ;  Mrs.  Susan  HiU,  67 ;  Mr.  Caleb 
S.  Pratt,  47. 

At  Somerville,  Miss  Martha  A.  Russell,  20. 

At  Maiden,  Li7,zie  H.,  daughter  of  Daniel  P.  and  Har- 
riet D.  Weeks,  3. 

At  Danvers,  Mrs.  Caroline  W.,  wife  of  Mr.  Mayhcw  S- 
Clai-k,  26. 

At  Lexington,  Mr.  William  P.  Gibbs,  39. 

At  Waltham,  Mr  Edward  Carroll,  20. 

At  Dedham,  Mr.  Edward  E.  Titcomb,  49. 

At  Newbury,  James  E.  Stickney,  22. 

At  Lynn,  Mr.  John  Gibbens,  35  ;  Mr.  James  Farmer,  47. 

At  Salem,  Mr.  John  Griffin,  54. 

At  Marblehcad,  Mrs.  Sarah  Harris,  72. 

At  Grantville,  Mr.  Willard  Sears,  senior,  93. 

At  West  Brookfield,  Mrs.  Mary  Smith,  96. 

At  Concord,  Mass.,  Mrs.  Mary  Jones,  74. 

At  Ware,  Deacon  Joseph  Metcalf. 

At  ffilUamsburg,  Mr.  Solomon  Strong,  87. 

At  Newport,  R.  I.,  Mrs.  Hannah  Dennis,  84. 

At  Kenncbunk,  Me-,  Mr.  Nathaniel  Rankin,  25. 

At  Hartford,  Conn.,  Mr.  Sedgivick  M.  Hull,  24. 

At  Mansfield,  Conn.,  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Henry,  21. 

At  Springfield,  Vt..  Mr.  Heniion  L.  Snell,  23. 

At  New  York,  Miss  E.  J.  Hildreth,  35. 

At  Newark,  N.  J.,  Prof.  James  S.Cannon,  of  Rutgers 
College,  New  Brunswick,  N.  J. 

At  New  Orleans,  Mr.  Enoch  Noyeg,  37. 


A  mmismn}  mmmmna 


LITERAEY  "WEEKLY  JOUKNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

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and  merchant  service,  with  tine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
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Sketches  of  boautifal  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  ba 
pven,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
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and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
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[Written  for  OluaHou'H  I'ictoriul.] 
MUSINGS. 

BY  n.  nARDY,  JK. 

Night-fiiU  Bhadows  now  tiro  mtoiiling 

Gently  o'or  tho  RDiiHnB  yalo  ; 
On  tho  night  winds,  pcrfumo-ladon, 

Poura  hor  Konp;,  tlio  nightingale. 
Back,  fur  back,  iiguin  I  wander, 

Whuro  tlio  crystal  brooklets  flow, 
Where  I  Bported  free  from  son'ow, 

In  tlio  days  of  long  ago. 

But  I  find  a  change  is  written 

Evorywhore  my  oyo  doth  roet, 
Poroatg  wild,  hills,  vales,  and  mountains, 

Show  it  legibly  imprest. 
And  strangers  tread  the  gi-avelled  walks, 

■\Vhich  I  know  in  days  of  yore  ; 
Strangers,  too,  are  now  seen  Btunding 

In  tho  low-roofod  cottage  door. 

In  tho  cliurchyard  calmly  sleeping. 

Beneath  the  shadows  of  tho  yew, 
Free  from  all  of  earthly  sorrow, 

Arc  the  friends  which  once  I  knew. 
Rest,  yo  loTod  ones,  sweet  your  slumber, 

May  kind  angela  guard  your  rest ; 
"When  from  earth  shall  wing  my  spirit. 

May  wo  meet  in  regions  blest. 

0,  the  paet,  the  unretuxning  ! 

There  is  magic  In  the  word ; 
And  our  minds,  ■whene'er  'tis  spoken, 

"With  emotions  deep  are  stirred. 
On  memory's  tablet  are  engraven. 

Moments  which  will  ne'er  depart ; 
And  they  will,  as  time  wings  onward, 

Shed  a  joy  throughout  the  heart. 

^  ^•^  > 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

BUYING  A  LIVE  ELEPHANT. 

A  Funny  Tale,  with  a  wholesome  Moral. 

ET   THE   yOUNO   'tIN. 

There  are  a  great  many  people  in  this  world 
whose  experience  costs  them  a  very  high  price; 
but,  nevertheless,  there  are  certain  items  in  a 
man's  actual  experience  in  life,  that 

" though  they  be  dearly  bought. 

Prove  worth — an  hundred  times,  and  more — 
The  price  of  purchase." 

I  have  an  instance  of  this  kind  now  "  in  my 
mind's  eye,"  and  I  will  relate  it  for  the  amuse- 
ment and  benefit  of  all  who  may,  by  any  chance, 
be  similarly  circumstanced  ;  and  who  may  read 
this  account  of  the  adventui'e  of  the  renowned 
Mr.  Dimps. 

Mr.  Dimps  hailed  from  Hamilton  County, 
New  York  State,  originally  where  he  resided  for 
a  great  many  years,  and  where  he  occasionally 
met  with  the  city  "  boys  "  who  visited  that  region 
every  spring,  to  fill  their  creels  with  trout.  They 
told  him  big  stories  about  the  city  of  Gotham  ; 
they  wore  big  watch-chains ;  drove  good  horses ; 
swore  big  oaths,  and  Dimps  finally  believed  that 
he  was  not  born  in  the  woods  to  remain  there. 
And,  accordingly,  he  went  down  to  New  York 
city  to  live. 

Dimps  had  "  been  round  "  all  his  life ;  at  least 
he  believed  he  had ;  and  he  would  like  to  see  the 
countenance  of  the  man  that  could  teach  him 
much.  Dimps  kept  his  eyes  open  tight  {to  use 
his  own  expression),  and  he  contrived  to  get 
along  bravely  in  his  new  home.  He  obtained  a 
situation,  and  for  two  years  he  was  not  very  par- 
ticularly "  sold  "  by  his  associates  oftener  than 
once  or  twice  in  a  month.  Dimps  was  a  sharp 
'un,  and  he  knew  it. 

He  took  up  a  penny  paper  one  evening,  and 
read  an  advertisement  in  its  columns  as  follows : 

"  One  MOiiE  LEFT  ! ! — The  last  chance  for  a 
Ticket  in  the  I^ffiefor  a  Live  Elephant  (to  come 
off  to-morrow  night,  at  Byi*nes'),  maybe  secured 
on  application  at  the  bar  of  the  '  Silver  Mug,* 
immediately.     Price  $20." 

Here  was  a  chance  for  Dimps.  He  had  always 
been  "  lucky."  Only  twenty  dollars,  too,  for  the 
opportunity.  Last  chance — immediately — Silver 
Mug — to-morrow  night!  Mr.  Dimps  went 
straight  to  the  ale-house  described,  found  that  he 
had  arrived  just  in  the  nick  of  time  (though,  by 
the  way,  some  twenty  ticltcts  were  sold  to  others, 
subsequently,  during  the  evening),  and  he  in- 
vested his  money  with  a  perfect  looseness  in  this 
raffle. 

Dimps  was  very  uneasy  during  the  succeeding 
day,  for  he  saw  a  small  fortune  in  prospect  for 
him,  if  he  chanced  to  win.  And  why  should  not 
he  win  %  He  felt  sure  that  he  should.  And  so 
when  evening  came,  he  was  the  first  man  upon 
the  ground  at  Byrnes'. 

The  crowd  got  together  at  last,  and  after  a 
good  deal  pf  hustling,  and  betting,  and  punch- 


ing, the  dice  were  produced.  Now  Dimps  had 
never  thrown  a  die  in  liis  life,  but  ho  did  not 
want  anybody  to  talk  to  him  ;  lie  knew  what  ho 
was  about;  Dimps  was  "bound  to  win.'* 

Tiio  several  ticket-purchaser.s,  the  owners  of 
tho  property,  and  others  interested,  tlirew  tlieJr 
chances  and  retired.  Dimps  came  up  towards 
t!ie  last,  and  threw  in  tho  "  little  jokers,"  when 
it  was  discovered  by  our  friend  tliat  "spots 
count."  He  threw  forty-two.  He  was  offered 
twenty,  fifty,  an  luindrcd  dollars,  for  his  chance; 
but  Dimps  knew  what  he  was  about ;  he  would 
not  sell.  Suddenly  a  rival  pitched  tho  ivories 
in,  and  counted  forty-two !  Dimps  was  not  a 
little  nettled. 

However,  forty-two  was  the  highest  number 
thrown,  and  Dimps  and  liis  rival  agreed  to 
"  throw  it  off"  between  them,  the  highest  to  win. 
Dimps  threw  thirty-eight.  His  rival  threw  only 
twenty-six,  and  Dimps  was  forthwith  declared 
the  winner  of  the  elephant  in  the  most  uproar- 
ious manner  possible. 

As  is  in  such  cases  made  and  provided,  the 
winner  was  immediately  subjected  to  scores  of 
congratulations,  and  to  numerous  other  scores, 
which  the  novice  in  raffling  does  not  usually  an- 
ticipate. A  magnificent  "  treat "  followed,  and 
the  "  expenses  "  of  the  affair — amounting  to 
forty-three  dollars — was  duly  presented  to  Dimps 
by  the  attentive  landlord.  This  account,  with 
the  price  of  the  ticket,  amounted  to  over  three- 
and-sixty  dollars.  But,  what  of  that?  Dimps 
had  won  a  live  elephant ! 

After  the  dnnking,  and  smoking,  and  lunch, 
was  concluded,  Dimps  paid  the  bill ;  and  the 
landlord  then  suggested  that  he  would  "feel 
hobleeged  to  the  gen'lemun  as  'ad  vun  the  hele- 
phant,  cf  he  vould  take  'im  avay,  as  soon  as 
vould  be  convenient,  as  he  vanted  'is  'room.'" 

Now  Dimps  had  thought  of  everything  else 
connected  with  this  transaction.  He  had  calcu- 
lated how  big  a  pile  of  money  he  could  sell  him 
for;  what  a  heap  he  could  make  by  exhibiting 
him ;  what  a  reputation  he  could  command  by 
being  sole  proprietor  of  such  a  monster,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing ;  but  he  had  not  made  any  par- 
ticular arrangements — in  case  he  should  be  so 
lucky  as  to  win  him — to  take  him  away  from  his 
quarters  at  the  "  Silver  Mug." 

This  was  a  matter  of  very  considerable  im- 
portance, however, — it  seemed,  at  least,  to  Mr. 
Byrnes,  and  he  pressed  his  proposition  with  re- 
markable assiduity. 

"  I  vish  you  vould  git  'im  avay  at  vonce,  Mr. 
Dimps,"  said  the  proprietor  of  the  Silver  Mug, 
as  he  pocketed  his  forty-three  dollars  and  a  'aff. 
"  I  vouldn't  hurge  you,  but  'ee's  bin  'ere  now  a 
'ole  veek,  an'  'ee's  a'most  heat  us  out  uv  'ouse 
and  'ome !" 

"  Eat  ?"  said  Dimps,  abstractedly. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  yes  !  'Ee's  a  dreadful  heat- 
er. Vel,  I  couldn't  percisely  say  for  sartin,  but 
I  think  'ee's  beaten  the  vally  of  ten  shill'n's 
worth  a-day,  in  that  time." 

"  Ten  shillings  a-day  V 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Exactly,"  said  Dimps.  "  I  will  take  him — 
that  is,  remove  him — provide  for  him  in  the 
morning." 

"  'Adn't  you  better  git  him  out  to-night,  sir  1" 
persisted  the  anxious  Mr.  Byrnes. 

"  No,  no,"  responded  Dimps,  not  a  little  fidget- 
ted.     "  No,  not  to-night — to-morrow." 

The  landlord  smiled.  Dimps  took  his  hat  and 
his  cane,  and  left  the  "  Silver  Mug "  for  his 
bachelor  lodgings,  up  town. 

When  Mr.  Dimps  began  to  reflect  upon  his 
zoological  acquisition,  he  at  the  same  time  began 
to  believe  that  perhaps  he  would  not  be  able  to 
make  such  a  pile  of  money  out  of  this  specula- 
tion, as  at  first  he  had  looked  for,  after  all.  He 
had  invested  sixty-three  dollars  and  a  'aft'  in  it, 
however,  and  he  must  do  something  in  the  pre- 
mises at  once.  He  tossed  about  till  daylight, 
without  a  wink  of  sleep,  and  arose  to  fresh 
troubles. 

The  elephant  was  secured  in  the  yard,  back  of 
the  "  Silver  Mug,"  and  Dimps  repaired  thither 
to  take  possession  of  his  prize.  Here  was  a  bill 
of  nine  dollars  for  liis  keeping,  three  dollars  for 
attendance,  and  ten  dollars  for  doctoring, 

"  Doctor!"  exclaimed  Dimps. 

"  O  'es,  sir,"  said  the  polite  host  of  the  Silver 
Mug.     "  The  Iiclephant  is  sick,  you  know." 

"  Indeed !  I  didn't  know  it,"  responded  Dimps, 

chagrined. 

"  Vy,  Lord  bless  you  !"  continued  his  Enghsh 
host,  "  you  don't  s'pose  fer  vun  minnit  that  the 
hanimal  vould  ha'  been  rallied  off  at  on'y  twenty 
dollars  a  lick,  an'  on'y  twenty  chances,  ef  he'd 
a  bin  veil,  do  you  V 


"  I  sha'n't  take  him,"  said  Dimps,  "  I 
sha'n't — " 

"  Vot — the  hclcplianf?" 

"No,  I  sha'n't." 

"Yes,  you  viU," 

"No,  I  slia'n't,  I  shall  pay  no  more  bills, 
and  I'll  leave  him  on  your  hands." 

"  No,  you  vont.  If  you  try  tliat  'ere  game, 
my  fine  feller,  I'll  jist  sell  the  helephantfor  your 
account  at  pul)lic  ivandcuj." 

Dimps  thougiit  it  l)cst  to  reti-act.  And  so  he 
paid  the  extra  twenty-two  dollars,  and  promised 
to  remove  his  property  forthwith. 

Tlierc  was  a  circus  in  town,  and  Dimps  called 
at  the  Astor  House  to  sell  his  ncwly-acquircd 
property  to  the  manager  of  that  establishment. 
But  he  did  not  want  to  buy.  He  had  four — all 
he  could  feed.  He  would  take  Mr.  Dimps's  ad- 
dress, and  in  case  one  of  his  animals  should  die 
at  any  time  (of  which  there  was  but  little  proba- 
bility, by  the  way,  for  elephants  lived  till  they 
were  two  hundred  years  old,  and  all  of  his  were 
under  forty !)  he  would  then  hunthim  up. 

He  went  to  the  museum,  but  they  did  not  pur- 
chase live  elephants;  if  Mr.  Dimps  had  any 
stuffed  ones,  they  would  call  and  examine  his 
specimens.  Poor  Dimps  began  to  think  he 
"  smelt  a  mice  !" 

He  prowled  about  the  city;  gave  up  all 
thoughts  of  other  business,  but  sought  in  vain  for 
a  purchaser  for  his  elephant.  He  did  not  return 
to  the  Silver  Mug,  and  next  morning  he  received 
a  formal  notice  from  the  landlord  of  that  delecta- 
ble establishment,  to  the  efi'ect  that  the  animal 
must  be  immediately  removed. 

Dimps  could  find  no  one  that  would  receive 
his  ponderous  brute.  He  could  not  turn  him 
into  the  street,  for  the  city  authorities  would  be 
after  him,  instanter,  for  trespass  and  as  the  own- 
er of  a  nuisance.  His  "  prize"  was  really  sick, 
and  the  "  doctor"  would  not  call  without  his  fee 
in  advance,  because  the  owner  of  the  Silver  Mug 
t/is-owned  the  unwieldly  "  hanimal."  What  was 
to  be  done "? 

He  hit  upon  it  at  last.  He  would  have  him 
killed  and  stuffed.  His  carcase,  in  that  shape, 
the  museum  folks  would  buy.  This  was  a  lucky 
hit,  indeed,  under  the  circumstances ;  and  Dimps 
again  applied  to  them  for  further  information. 
He  found  he  could  get  a  hundred  dollars  for 
him  if  he  were  dead ;  but  the  butcher's  and  tax- 
idermist's bills  would  be  near^two  hundred,  to 
say  nothing  of  disposing  of  the  carcase.  Dimps 
resolved  to  leave  for  California  at  once.  He 
could  bear  his  "  luck  "  no  longer. 

He  met  a  friend  who  had  been  there  and  re- 
turned. He  hinted  to  him  his  purpose,  and 
asked  about  the  best  route. 

"  Nicaragua,"  said  his  friend. 

"  Isthmus,"  said  Dimps. 

"  Never,"  continued  his  friend,  "  unless  you 
want  to  see  the  elephant,  sure," 

"The  what?" 

"  The  elephant,  tusks  and  all,  Dimps  1" 

Now  Dimps  had  seen  the  elephant,  and  the 
elephant  was  just  what  he  wanted  to  run  away 
from,  though  his  friend  knew  nothing  about  his 
trouble.  While  he  was  getting  ready  to  depart, 
he  received  a  note  from  the  proprietor  of  the 
Silver  Mug,  informing  him  that  his  pet  was 
dead. 

Ah  !  what  joyful  news  was  this  to  poor  Dimps. 
He  lost  no  time  in  repairing  to  the  late  lodgings 
of  his  prize,  and  forthwith  he  contracted  with  a 
couple  of  draymen  to  remove  and  have  him  de- 
cently interred.  This  job  cost  him  an  outlay  of 
nearly  twenty  dollars  more,  but  he  paid  it  cheer- 
fully ;  and  though  his  experience  with  -that  de- 
scription of  live  stock  cost  him  about  a  hundred 
dollars  in  all,  he  declares  that  it  was  as  "  cheap 
as  a  broom,"  all  things  considered. 

Dimps  never  hears  the  boys  talk  about  "  see- 
ing the  elephant,"  without  remarking  that  he 
"has  been  there."  While  the  newspaper  an- 
nouncement of  the  presentation  of  a  silver  pitcher 
to  any  one,  or  a  rafile  advertisement,  always  re- 
calls vividly  to  his  mind  the  scene  he  encounter- 
ed at  the  Silver  Mug,  and  at  which  he  purchased 
a  lesson  that  will  last  him  for  the  remainder  of 
his  life. 


A  MISTAKE. 

It  is  an  error  to  consider  blunt,  plain-speaking 
folks  as  the  most  single-hearted  and  honest. 
They  get  the  credit  of  having  first-rate  con- 
sciences. So  they  have.  The  running  machinery 
is  complete,  but  somehow  the  spring  and  balance- 
wheel  are  wrong,  and  the  mechanism  almost 
always  goes  in  the  strain-at-a-gnat-and-swallow- 
a^camel  style.  It  is  our  rule  to  trust  civil  men 
rather  than  clownish,  other  things  being  equal. 


[Written  for  Gleriflon's  Pictorial.] 
IN  TilK  SHADE. 

BY  OEORaB  CANNING  Iltlh. 


Tho  vhiofl  are  Kwuying  in  the  wood, 

The  houghs  swing  to  and  fro, 
And  o'er  the  mead,  for  many  a  rood, 

Tho  wanton  wind-yusttj  hlow. 

Tho  threads  of  gold  stream  through  tho  leavcB, 

And  fall  on  grafls  and  flower, 
And  over  uH  the  sunlight  weaves 

A  gold  and  azure  bower. 

Soft  whifipcFfi  Hwcetly  como  to  mc, 

Within  this  welcome  shade,— 
From  every  leaf  on  cTcry  tree, 

And  every  tender  blade. 

Up  tlirough  the  leafy  roof  are  eyes 

That  look  into  my  own, 
And  seem  to  gaze  from  out  the  skies, — 

And  then,  like  hopus,  are  flown. 

Upon  the  golden  bars,  I  climb 

In  fancy  to  the  realms, 
Who.so  glorious  light,  whose  golden  rhyme, 

My  spirit  overwhelms. 

i  —.^   » 

LOVE  OF  FLOWERS. 

In  Miss  Mitford's  very  entertaining  Literary 
Recollections,  she  describes  an  interview  with  Mr, 
Webster  in  her  little  garden,  then  tilled  with 
roses,  pinks  and  splendid  geraniums ;  and  speak- 
ing of  the  indigenous  plants  of  England  and 
America,  she  expressed  a  great  deshe  to  see  the 
scarlet  lily  of  New  York  and  the  fringed  gentian 
of  Niagara,  known  only  to  her  by  Miss  Marti- 
neau's  description.  Soon  after  Mr.  Webster's 
arrival  in  America,  Miss  Mitford  received  a 
package  of  the  seeds  of  eacii,  directed  by  Mr. 
Webster's  own  hand.  What  more  beautiful  gift 
than  this,  from  the  cultivated  vales  of  New  York 
and  the  roaring  torrent  of  Niagara,  to  the  castled 
homes  and  ivy-clad  towers  of  Old  England, 
could  be  found?  No  wonder  that  Miss  Mitford, 
passing  half  her  life  among  the  flowers,  should 
be  so  truthful  a  delineator  of  nature. 

Happy,  then,  is  the  person  who  is  early 
taught  a  love  of  flowers.  Earth  may  grow  weary 
to  him,  life  may  lose  its  charms,  but  he  will  ever 
derive  consolation  from  the  thousand  sources  of 
nature.  He  may  go  forth,  despairing  and  dis- 
gusted with  the  deceptive  charms  of  the  world  ; 
but  when  he  is  alone  in  the  mossy  woods,  with 
the  flowers  all  around,  and  their  odor  rising  in 
the  hushed  air,  he  finds  that  there  is  beauty  still 
left  in  existence,  flis  spirit  roves  from  the 
beautiful  flowers  to  their  Maker  and  Preserver, 
and  to  the  blessed  coming  time  when  he  shall 
wander  as  a  white-robed  angel  whei'e  the  roses 
of  Paradise  are  blossoming  along  the  Kiver  of 
Life. — Museum. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
AT  EVENING. 

BY  WnilAM    EDWARD   KIS'OWIES. 

The  shadows  of  the  coming  night  fall  round, 
WTiere  shone  before  the  splendor  of  the  day ; 

And  hushed  in  drowsy  quiet  is  the  sound 
Of  many  feet,  that  trod  the  crowded  way. 

The  lengthened  shadows  of  the  lofty  ehna. 
While  stretching  from  the  upland  to  the  vale. 

Seem  hut  as  lessons  sent  from  upper  realms, 
For  us  to  read,  when  wealth  and  glory  fail. 

A  lonely  bird,  from  the  wayside  thorn. 

Now  shining  with  the  pearls  of  evening's  shower, 

Wafts  to  the  listening  ear  her  mournful  song,^ 
Adapted  well  to  suit  the  solemn  hour. 

And  darkness,  from  its  distant  mountain  home. 
Comes  down  and  sways  its  sceptre  o'er  the  light ; 

While  dusky  shadows,  mid  the  gorgeous  gloom, 
Link  now  the  evening  to  the  car  of  night. 
\    ^■q>   > 

KNOWLEDGE. 

In  some  of  the  States  of  Germany,  there  is  a 
system  pursued,  which  is  attended  by  veiy  bene- 
ficial results  in  diffusing  knowledge  among  the 
common  people.  The  law  does  not  allow  a  man 
to  be  married,  unless  he  can  read,  write,  and  cast 
accounts ;  and  any  one  who  employs  a  workman 
that  cannot  read  and  write,  is  liable  to  a  heavy 
penalty.  At  the  same  time,  provision  is  made 
for  public  schools,  to  be  paid  in  part  by  govern- 
ment. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 


MYRRHA. 


BY   EDWAED   J.   nANDIBOE. 


"Weep  on!"  a  sage  exclaimed,  seeing  Myrrha's  grief ; 
"  Tears  are  the  best  of  comforters  ;  and  impart 
A  meet  restorative  to  the  o'er  wi*ought  heart ! 

For,  being  made  from  tho  Lemnus,  fabled  chief 

Of  fate's  dark  river,  in  them  is  rcHef, 
Causing  romemhrance  of  love's  dream  to  depart." 

"  Can  they  indeed  do  this  ?"  and  all  alarmed, 
T\TiiIo  dimmer  grew  her  eye,  the  young  Greek  maiden 
Sought  tears  to  banish ;  yet  her  cheeks  wore  laden 

With  grief-horn  love-gems:    then,  with  her  high  soul 
warmed 

By  hope,  she  heavenward  looked  ;   till,  whilo  charmed 
By  sorrow's  angul,  life  sought  lovo  in  Aiden. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


Ill 


BAIiZAC'S  LOVE-LETTERS. 

Balzac — as  wc  learn  from  the  Literary  Gazette 
— when  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  got  into  a  very 
sentimental  con-espondence  with  a  married  lady. 
After  his  death  his  letters  fell  into  the  husband's 
hands.  But  instead  of,  like  another  Otlicllo, 
smothering  the  fair  one,  or  doing  something  else 
equally  terrible,  this  gentleman  coolly  placed  the 
letters  in  his  pocket,  trudged  off  to  the  editor  of 
a  literary  periodical,  and  bargained  to  sell  him 
them  for  the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds. 
The  editor,  a  few  months  ago,-  advertised  them 
for  publication,  under  the  title  of  "  Balzac's  Let- 
ters to  Louise,"  and  with  an  intimation  that  they 
were  "  private  and  confidential."  As  anything 
from  the  great  novelist's  pen  possesses  much  lite- 
raiy  value,  and  as  a  batch  of  real  love-letters, 
never  intended  for  publication,  or  for  the  eye  of 
any  one  except  the  fair  recipient,  promised  to  be 
extraordinarily  interesting,  the  announced  publi- 
cation created  a  very  profound  sensation.  Ma- 
dame Balzac,  however,  the  widow  of  the  author, 
fearing  that  her  husband's  memory  would  be 
damaged  by  a  publication  which  she  very  justly 
considered  scandalous,  applied  to  the  Civil  Tri- 
bunal to  prohibit  it.  The  editor  of  the  penodi- 
cal  pleaded  that,  having  fairly  bought  the  letters, 
he  was  entitled  to  turn  them  to  account,  as  if 
they  were  any  ordinary  manuscript ;  but  the  tri- 
bunal decided  that  the  publication  would  be  im- 
moral, and  peremptorily  forbade  it.  It,  however, 
authorized  the  editor  to  claim  back  his  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  pounds,  on  returning  the  epis- 
tles to  the  "  injured  husband." 


FRENCH  PLUNDERERS. 

A  French  correspondent  of  Lloyd's  Weekly 
says:  "Louis  Napoleon,  his  relations  and  ad- 
herents, are  pillaging  the  coffers  of  the  state  at  a 
fine  rate.  Louis  Napoleon  himself  has  bought, 
among  other  estates,  the  Chateau  de  Marne  for 
1,065,000  francs.  It  belonged  formerly  to  the 
Duchess  D'Angouleme.  Lucien  Murat,  as  poor 
as  a  rat,  when  he  came  to  France  in  1848,  has 
purchased  a  splendid  estate  near  Bongival.  The 
widow  of  Achille  Murat  has  come  over  from 
America,  aud  received  a  large  pension.  All  the 
audacious  satellites  and  friends  of  the  usurper 
show  signs  of  having  joined  in  the  pillage.  The 
200,000,000  francs  of  the  Orleans  family  will 
soon  disappear.  Like  the  horse-leech's  daughter, 
they  cry  ever  for  more — more !  Traitors  are 
insatiable." 


SCENE  AT  NIAG.VRA. 

The  visitors  at  Niagara  were  terribly  excited 
on  the  morning  of  the  19th  ult.,  by  the  spectacle 
of  a  man  in  a  boat,  lodged  on  a  rock  between 
Goat  Island  and  the  Canadian  shore,  directly 
above  the  Falls.  He  was  a  fisherman,  named 
Johnson.  Notwithstanding  the  imminent  risk, 
a  man  named  Joel  Robinson,  at  the  peril  of  his 
life,  went  to  his  relief  in  a  small  skiff,  taking  a 
rope  from  the  island,  and  succeeded  in  rescuing 
him  from  the  boat.  About  five  minutes  after 
Johnson  was  taken  from  the  boat,  it  loosened 
from  the  rock  and  went  over  the  Falls.  He  had 
been  in  that  situation  since  12  o'clock  the  night 
previous,  and  was  intoxicated.  A  purse  of  $200 
was  made  up  by  the  visitors  for  Robinson. 


Ancient. — Colita,  the  oldest  Indian  chief  in 
Texas,  died  lately  at  Cashatta  vUlage,  on  the 
Trinity  River.  Thirty  years  ago,  when  the  colo- 
nists, who  accompanied  Austin,  settled  in  the 
country,  Colita  was  reputed  to  be  the  oldest  liv- 
ing Indian  ;  it  is  supposed  he  was  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty  years  of  age. 


BouxTiFUL. — Miss  Lewis,  a  lady  of  London, 
has  given  twenty-four  thousand  dollars  towards 
the  establishment  of  infant  schools  in  one  of  the 
most  destitute  districts  of  that  city.  This  liberal 
gift,  together  with  others,  will  provide  school 
accommodation  for  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
pupils. 

Mexico. — There  is  great  difficulty  growing 
up,  it  seems,  between  us  and  Mexico,  in  relation 
to  what  is  the  true  line  of  boundary  between 
New  Mexico  and  Chihuahua. 


Be  cautious. — Alittle  daughter  of  W.  Lewis, 
at  Defiance,  Ohio,  was  poisoned  to  death,  lately, 
by  eating  candy  which  had  been  colored  by  some 
poisonous  substance. 


Nav.\  l. — U.  S.  sloop-of-war  Cyane  is  to  be 
placed  in  the  dry  dock  at  Norfolk,  as  soon  as  the 
frigate  Potomac  is  taken  out. 


toausiiifi   ©atljcrings. 

Judge  Lansing  died  in  Lansingbm-g,  N.  T.,  on 
the  10th  ult.,  aged  61  years. 

A  machine  for  setting  up  ten-pins  has  been  in- 
vented and  patented. 

The  precise  latitude  of  Columbus,  Ohio,  is  39 
degrees,  57  minutes. 

An  iron  monument  to  the  memory  of  Henry 
Clay  is  to  be  erected  in  Fottsville. 

The  young  men  of  Cincinnati  have  sent  a 
beautiful  address  to  Mrs.  Clay,  condoling  with 
her  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Clay. 

Mi-s.  Clay  is  now  71  years  of  age,  and  although 
her  health  is  feeble,  has  the  appeai'anee  of  a  lady 
of  50. 

The  wheat  harvest  is  over,  the  Bridgeton 
(New  Jersey)  paper  says,  and  large  crops  have 
been  gathered. 

Madame  Sontag  has  determined  to  make  a 
voyage  to  this  counti-y,  for  professional  purposes, 
in  the  coming  autumn. 

Our  fair  and  delicate  friends  are,  perhaps,  not 
aware  that  the  cheaper  kind  of  "  French  kid  " 
are,  in  reality,  rat-skin  gloves  ! 

The  New  York  Chief  of  Police  has  been  order- 
ed to  advertise  aljgptolen  property  recovered  by 
them,  as  often  as  once  a  week. 

George  Collins,  an  emment  merchant  of  St. 
Louis,  died  on  the  18th  ult.  He  was  worth  over 
a  million  dollars. 

Gen.  Greenleaf  White,  adjutant-general  of  tlie 
State  of  Maine,  died  suddenly  at  Portland,  on 
Saturday,  the  24th  ult. 

According  to  the  census  of  1850,  there  were 
21,571,306  sheep  in  the  United  States,  and 
52,417,287  pounds  of  wool. 

The  "U'hcat  crop  in  Indiana,  and  In  the  West 
generally,  is  said  to  be  very  heavy,  and  free  from 
all  blight  and  rust. 

About  Memphis,  Tenn.,  there  is  a  great  mor- 
tality among  the  cattle.  Some  of  the  planters 
have  lost  nearly  all  their  stock. 

Two  hundred  sheep,  belonging  to  fanners  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Tuckahoe,  N.  J.,  have  been 
killed  by  dogs  within  a  few  days. 

Twelve  persons  are  ascertained  to  have  been 
drown:d  by  the  sinking  of  the  propellor  Oswego, 
after  the  collision  on  Lake  Erie,  recently. 

Mr.  Kir!-- ,  of  Butler  county,  Penn.,  walked  from 
the  window  o.  a  hotel,  while  asleep,  and  broke 
one  of  his  thv^ii  bones. 

The  immigration  at  New  York  during  the  first 
six  months  of  the  years  named,  was  as  follows ; 
Year  1850,  99,900;  1851,151,263;  1852,162,583. 

There  are  now  employed  in  constructing  the 
North  Carolina  Railroad  1455  men,  403  boys, 
360  carts,  50  wagons,  786  horses  and  mules,  and 
44  oxen. 

The  Hon.  Abbott  Lawrence  has  positively  re- 
signed his  post  as  Minister  to  England,  and  Mr. 
Crittenden  will  be  appointed  to  succeed  him,  Mr. 
Webster  ha\'ing  declined. 

The  furniture  of  Henry  Clay,  which  was  for- 
merly used  at  Washington,  passed  through  Pitts- 
burgh, on  Tuesday,  the  20th  ult.,  on  its  way  to 
Ashland,  Kentucky. 

Thornton,  Mr.  Clay's  body  servant,  received 
from  the  hands  of  his  master  his  free  papere, 
but  never  left  him,  even  after  death,  until  the 
corpse  was  placed  in  the  tomb. 

A  man  can  take  a  European  tour  of  six 
months,  and  retura  home  again,  for  a  thousand 
dollars.  Cheap  enough — if  you  have  the  thou- 
sand dollars. 

R.  T.  Duncanson,  a  colored  man  of  Cincinna- 
ti, has  painted  a  large  subject  from  "Paradise 
Lost,"  which  is  spoken  of  as  a  work  of  decided 
genius. 

The  police  of  Washington  have  arrested  a 
number  of  colored  thieves,  and  recovered  about 
$10,000  worth  of  property,  of  various  kinds,  re- 
cently stolen  from  private  dwellings. 

Gen.  Otho  H.  Williams,  who  died  at  Hagers- 
town,  Md.,  recently,  was  Clerk  of  Washington 
Count)'  Court  for  45  yeai-s,  and  an  intimate  per- 
sonal friend  of  Henry  Clay. 

The  project  of  making  a  railroad  in  Broadway 
is  seriously  entertained.  It  is  proposed  to  use 
the  "  groove  rail,"  wltich  will  not  obstruct  the 
"  navigation  of  the  street." 

In  the  bury ing-g round  in  Palmer  Centre,  are 
nine  little  graves  side  by  side,  where  sleep  all  the 
child  ren  of  one  family.  The  age  of  the  oldest  was 
but  one  year.  An  instance  of  touching  singularity. 

The  Rondout  Courier  learns  that  a  bear  came 
down  from  the  mountains  one  night,  lately,  and 
canied  oft'  a  live  hog  which  weighed  150  pounds. 
Tlie  bear  was  tracked  the  next  day,  and  a  part 
of  the  cai'case  of  the  hog  found. 

A  little  boy,  six  or  seven  years  old,  says  the 
Canandaigua  Messenger,  who  had  been  sent  to 
get  a  bottle  filled  with  liquor,  drank  so  much  of 
the  poison  on  his  way  home  as  to  cause  his 
death. 

A  few  mornings  since,  a  drove  of  sheep,  be- 
longing to  John  Shipe,  of  Easton,  Penn.,  ran  on 
the  track  as  a  train  was  coming  along,  and  the 
engineer  being  unable  to  stoji  the  engine,  the 
whole  train  ran  over  them,  killing  twenty-seven 
of  the  sheep. 

The  builders  of  the  engines  of  the  ill-fated 
President  have  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Liver- 
pool authorities,  stating  that  the  description  given 
of  the  fragment  of  the  steamship  wreck,  washed 
up  on  the  Scotch  coast,  does  not  correspond  in 
any  particular  with  that  of  the  President. 


Jbnign   fllisccllang. 

A  great  exhibition  for  Dublin  in  1853,  has 
been  started. 

The  English  papers  announce  the  arrival  of 
Mrs.  Forrest,  with  Miss  Cushman  and  Mr. 
Vaudenhoff. 

Powell's  great  painting,  '*  The  Discovery  of 
the  Mississippi,"  intended  for  the  rotunda  of  the 
Capitol,  is  now  nearly  finished. 

The  lofty  spire  of  Ross  Church,  Hertfordshire, 
was  dreadfully  shattered  by  lightning  on  the  5th, 
ultimo. 

Marshal  Haynau  is  on  a  visit  to  Paris,  most 
likely  to  his  sympathizing  friend  Louis.  "  Par 
Nobile  Fratrum." 

The  clergymen  aud  deanery  of  Loughrea,  Ire- 
land, have  resolved  to  disregard  the  royal  pro- 
clamation against  public  Catholic  exhibitions. 

The  fund  for  the  Amazon  survivors,  in  Lon- 
don, has  reached  the  handsome  sum  of  .£14,000, 
about  $70,000. 

Mr.  Lumley  offers  for  sale  the  lease  of  Her 
Majesty's  Theatre.  He  is  to  take  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Opera,  at  Paris. 

Robert  Itinnahan,  a  Protestant  and  moderate 
conservative,  famous  for  his  "  captivating  L.  L. 
Whiskey,"  has  been  elected  lord  mayor  of  Dublin. 

It  costs  200  guineas  for  a  monument  site  in 
Poet's  Coi'ner,  Westminster  Abbey,  and  which 
the  Campbell  committee  have  not  yet  concluded 
to  pay. 

A  workman  in  a  grinding  and  polishing  mill, 
at  Mossley,  Eng.,  recently  had  his  neck  hand- 
kerchief caught  in  the  machinery,  and  was  in- 
stantly strangled. 

A  grand  bull-fight  was  held  at  Madrid,  on 
Sunday,  the  4th  ult.,  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor. 
The  queen  "  came  to  town,"  purposely  to  be 
present. 

Sloane,  the  special  pleader,  sentenced  to  pri- 
son for  cruelty  to  his  servant,  Jane  Wilbred,  died 
on  the  6th  ult.,  from  the  effects  of  confinement 
and  mental  anxiety. 

M.  La  Fond,  a  French  savan,  has  employed 
chloroform  as  a  motive  power.  Singular  !  The 
article  has  hitherto  been  used  to  clieck  the  motive 
power. 

Lately,  at  Florence,  Senor  Madia!  and  Ma- 
dame Rosa,  bis  wife,  were  convicted  of  abjuring,, 
the  Catholic  faith  for  Protestanism,  and  sentenced 
to  hard  labor  in  the  galleys  ! 

A  French  lette^-^\Tite^,  in  speaking  of  a  new 
play  now  running  in  Paris,  says  :  "  It  continues 
to  be  very  popular,  in  spite  of  all  the  articles 
^vritten  in  its  favor  by  the  owner  of  the  copyright." 

A  statue  of  Charlemagne,  who  first  founded 
the  post-oflice,  in  807,  is,  it  is  said,  about  to  be 
placed  in  the  principal  comts  of  the  post-office  in 
the  Rue  Jean  Jaques  Rousseau. 


jJoker's  JJuijsct. 


JSanie  of  C!5olJr. 


Profanity  and  politeness  never  associate 

together. 

Happiness  is  promised  not  to  the  learned, 

but  to  the  good. 

The  rose  has  its  thorns,  the  diamond  its 

specks,  and  the  best  man  his  failings. 

....  The  most  effectual  way  to  secure  happi- 
ness to  ourselves  is  to  confer  it  upon  others. 

....  There  are  reproaches  which  give  praise, 
and  praises  which  reproach. 

....  Words  of  sympathy  lift  not  up  the 
needy ;  only  full  sacks  csm  stand  on  end. 

Love  is  a  weapon  that  will  conquer  men 

when  all  other  weapons  fail. 

If  you  would  not  have  affliction  visit  you 

twice,  hsten  at  once  to  what  it  teaches. 

....  Never  scoff  at  religion  ;  it  is  not  only 
the  proof  of  a  "wicked  heart,  but  low  breeding. 

....  As  we  go  on  in  life  we  find  we  cannot 
afford  excitement,  and  we  leara  to  be  parsimoni- 
ous in  our  emotions. 

As  the  heart  is  crushed  and  lacerated  by 

a  loss  in  the  affections,  so  it  is  rather  the  head 
that  aches  and  suffers  by  the  loss  of  money. 

....  Abundance  is  a  trouble,  want  a  misery, 
honor  a  burden,  and  advancement  dangerous, 
but  competency  is  happiness. 

....  Be  not  angry  that  you  cannot  make 
othei"s  as  you  wish  them  to  be,  since  you  cannot 
make  yourself  what  you  wish  to  be. 

....  It  is  not  study  alone  timt  produces  a 
writer — it  is  intensity ;  in  the  mind,  as  in  the 
cliimney,  to  make  the  fire  burn  hot  and  quick, 
you  must  naiTow  the  di-aught. 

....  Nothing  is  more  amiable  than  true  mod- 
esty, and  nothing  more  contemptible  than  that 
which  is  false ;  the  one  guards  virtue,  the  other 
betrays  it. 

All  men  need  truth  as  they  need  water ; 

if  wise  men  are  on  the  high  ground  where  the 
springs  rise,  ordinary  men  are  on  the  lower 
grounds  that  then*  waters  nourish. 

To  think  that  an  eternity  of  bliss  depends 

upon  the  purity  of  a  few  years  of  eartlily  exis- 
tence, is  an  overwhelming  thought.  How  great 
is  the  inducement  to  study  truth,  and  cultivate 
virtue ! 

....  One  half  of  mankind  pass  their  lives  in 
thinking  how  they  shall  get  a  dinner,  and  the 
other  in  thinking  what  dinner  they  shall  get ; 
and  tlie  first  are  much  less  injured  by  occasional 
fasts,  tlian  are  the  latter  by  constant  feasts. 


"  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  sun'ey,"  as  the  mouse 
said  ven  he  got  atop  of  the  cheese. 

Why  is  a  railway  train  like  a  vision  of  the 
night  ■?     Because  it  goes  over  the  sleepers. 

Why  is  a  spendthrift's  purse  like  a  thunder 
cloud  ?     Because  it  keeps  continually  light'ning. 

Why  is  a  solar  eclipse  like  a  woman  whipping 
her  boy  i     Because  it  is  a  hiding  of  the  sun. 

At  Newport  there  has  been  as  much  stiiTing 
since  the  liqnor  law  has  been  in  force  as  before. 

"  Nothing  can  be  done  well,"  said  Dr.  Elitch- 
ener,  "that  is  done  in  a  hurry." — "Except 
catching  fleas,"  said  a  wag  at  our  elbow. 

There  is  a  man  up  country  who  turns  so  pale 
when  he  is  friglitcned,  that  people  can  scrape  the 
whitewash  from  his  face. 

A  soothsayer  had  a  dog,  which  he  'cruelly 
starved  and  beat.  Now,  suppose  this  dog  could 
speak,  what  would  he  most  likely  say  1  "  3Iore 
prognostics  " — or  "  More  prog,  no  sticks." 

An  Irishman  being  asked,  on  a  rainy  day, 
what  he  would  take  to  carry  a  message  from 
Drummond's,  at  Charing  Cross,  to  the  Bank, 
answered :  "  Faith,  I'd  take  the  threepenny  'bus." 

The  Dutch  have  a  proverb  that  "when  the 
French  are  asleep  the  devil  rocks  the  cradle." 
They  are  quiet  for  the  present,  but  what  devil  is 
rocking  the  cradle  future  events  must  show. 

Ladies  who  are  fond  of  knitting  when  at  sea, 
need  never  be  in  want  of  materials  for  work,  for 
any  sailor  will  be  always  I'eady  to  spin  them  a 
yarn. 

At  a  recent  examination  of  ghls  in  Cheshire 
for  the  rite  of  confirmation,  in  answer  to  the 
question,  "  Wliich  is  the  outward  and  visible 
sign  and  form  in  baptism  1"  The  reply  was  : 
"  The  baby,  sir." 

"  Molly,"  said  Joe  Kelly's  ghost  to  his  wife, 
"I'm  in  purgatory  at  this  present,"  says  he. 
"  And  what  sort  of  a  place  is  it  V  says  she. 
"  Faix,"  says  he,  "  it  is  a  sort  of  half  way  house 
between  you  and  heaven ;  and  I  staud  it  mighty 
aisy  after  laving  you." 


VOLTJMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTOHIAL. 

We  have  volmnes  Ist  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Drawing 
Room  Companion  <"legaiitly  bound  in  cloth,  mth  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illuuiioed  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  mest 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Htmdred  Pages, 


AND     C  0  N  T  A 


!NINQ      NEARLY 


ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  tlie  -world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritune  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AJMD    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elett-es,  from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

Far  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  aud  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  thi'Oughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UMOJ^, 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  REriSED 

Miscellaneous  ramily  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  ivritten  exp.  issly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  "nd  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  POE  THE  MILLION', 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CHICLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Fla  Q  is  now  the 
leading  weekly  paper  in  the  United  States,  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the- foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
EO  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  inteUigence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lackrog  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union, 

TERMS    TO    SUBSCEIBEE3. 
'  1  Bubscriber,  one  year, ©2  00 

3  subscribers,       "  ...  ."^ 5  00 

4  "  "  6  00 

8  "  « r.  .  11  00 

16  "  "  20  00 

One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  our  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
Pictorial  Dka wing-Room  Companion,  one  year,  for  SS'QO. 

[^y^  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  aa  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  terms, 

OCr*  All  orders  should  be  addressed,  POST  PAD),  to  the 
Pdhlisher  op  the  Flag  op  ocit  Union. 

*,•  Tne  Flag  can  be  obtained  at  any  of  the  newspaper 
depots  in  the  United  States,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
Foua  CENTS  per  sing!':  copy. 

F.    GLEASON, 
PCBLiaEEB  AND  PrOPRIETOBj  BOSTON,  MASS. 


112 


GLEASON'S   riCTOPJAL   DRAWING   llOOM   COMPANION. 


VIEW  OF  BOSTON  RAVINE,  GRASS  VALLEY,  CALIFORNIA. 


BOSTOIV  RAVINE. 

"We  present  above  a  characteristic  California 
view,  from  an  original  and  authentic  drawing 
taken  for  us  on  the  spot.  It  is  a  sample  of  the 
rough  homes  of  thousands  of  our  friends,  who 
have  left  comforts  and  happy  firesides  in  New 
England  to  seek  gold  in  the  valley  of  the  Sacra- 
mento. The  artist  has  forgotten  to  sketch  any 
graves  in  the  picture,  but  how  many  thousands 
who  have  gone  thither,  buoyant  with  hope  and 
expectations,  have  done  so   only  to  find  the 


stranger's  grave.  Yet  the  tide  of  emigration 
seems  in  no  way  abated.  Gold  still  lures  on  the 
seeker  to  early  "death  !  The  small  cabin  on  the 
left  was  occupied  by  Messrs.  J.  &  T.  Cracklin, 
joining  which  is  the  market  and  store  of  Hollis 
&  Baxter.  The  left  hand  building  in  the  fore- 
ground is  the  Eagle  Tavern,  kept  by  John  West, 
on  the  right  of  which  is  the  log-cabin  and  ten- 
pin  alley  of  B.  L.  Lamarque  &  Co.,  all  of  which 
are  situated  at  the  foot  of  Gold  Hill,  Boston 
RaWne.     The  hill  in  the  background  is  Isadore 


Hill,  named  after  a  negro,  who  first  discovered  a 
quartz  vein  on  it. 


THE  OLBEST  CHURCH  IN  THE  U.  STATES. 

Tlie  picture  below  is  a  view  of  the  old  meeting- 
house in  Hingham,  the  oldest  cliurch  in  tlic  United 
States.  It  stands  upon  the  place  where  it  was 
originally  erected.  It  was  built  in  the  year  1681, 
during  the  ministry  of  Rev.  John  Norton,  the 
second  minister  of  Hingham,  and  successor  of 


Rev,  Peter  Hohart,  who  was  pastor  of  the 
church  from  IG-'i."*  to  167i).  Mr.  Norton 
WHS  ordained  collenguc-pastor  Nov.  27th, 
1G78,  and  died  Oct.  ."J,  171G,  in  the  38th 
year  of  his  ministry.  The  second  pastor 
who  officiated  In  this  house  was  the  Rev. 
ICl>cnczcr  Gay,  D.  IX,  who  was  ordained 
June  11,  1718,  and  died  on  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, March  18,  1787.  On  that  morning 
he  was  as  well  as  usual,  and  while  prepar- 
ing for  the  pulpit  he  became  suddenly  ill, 
and  died  wilhin  an  hour.  The  length  of 
his  ministi-y  was  sixty-eight  years,  nine 
months  and  seven  days,  and  including  the 
time  during  which  he  preached  in  this 
house  before  his  ordination,  his  ministry 
falls  short  by  a  few  months  only  of  seventy 
years.  His  successor  was  Rev.  Henry 
Ware,  D.  D.  He  wa.s  ordained  Oct.  24, 
1787,  and  received  a  dismission  from  the 
jiarish  by  his  own  request,  upon  his  ap- 
jjointment  to  the  Hollis  Professorship  at 
Cambridge.  His  valedictory  discourse 
was  delivered  May  5,  1805.  Rev.  Joseph 
Richardson  succeeded  Dr.  Ware.  Mr. 
Richardson  was  ordained  July  2,  1806, 
and  his  ministry  has  now  extended  beyond 
forty-five  years.  He  is  the  present  pastor. 
So  it  appears  that  from  the  first  settle- 
ment of  the  town  to  the  present  time,  the 
parish  which  worships  in  the  old  meeting- 
house have  had  but  five  settled  pastors. 
The  length  of  their  ministrj'  has  been  as 
remarkable  as  the  antiquity  of  the  house 
in  which  they  officiated.  Two  additions 
have  been  made  to  the  building  since  its 
first  erection,  the  first  about  the  year  1730, 
and  the  second  in  1755,  when  two  ranges 
of  square  pews  were  constructed  next  the 
walls  of  the  house,  leaving  the  centre  for 
free  seats,  all  of  which  have  since  been 
removed,  and  the  whole  floor  covered  with 
pews.  The  cider's  and  deacon's  seats 
have  been  taken  away,  but  the  ancient 
sounding  board  remains.  The  additions 
made  to  the  house  did  not  materially  alter 
its  form.  It  is  still  in  a  good  state  of  pres- 
ervation, and  its  old  oaken  frame  shows  no 
marks  of  dilapidation  or  decay.  It  is  the 
only  remaining  monument  of  the  durable 
architecture  of  the  Pilgrim  churches.  The 
olden  structures  of  our  fathers  are  fast  dis- 
appearing before  the  progress  of  modem 
civilization,  and  giving  place  to  edifices 
more  in  accordance  with  modem  taste  and 
convenience.  Still  it  cannot  but  awaken 
Some  regret  in  the  mind  that  looks  upon  the  me- 
mentoes of  our  pilgrim  fathers  with  veneration, 
to  see  the  various  tokens  of  their  toil  and  sacri- 
fice one  after  another  obliterated  by  the  spirit  of 
modern  innovation,  and  yielding  to  the  tooth  of 
time.  But  thus  it  must  be  ;  and  though  the  out- 
ward record  of  the  past  may  perish  before  the 
onward  progress  of  the  age,  the  spirit  that  made 
our  ancestors  what  they  were  may  still  live,  and 
their  virtues,  brightened  by  time,  be  bequeathed 
to  remoter  generations. 


THE  OLDEST  MEETING-HOUSE  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES,  AT  HINGHAMj  MASS. 


F.  GLEASON, 


;  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
;    AND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  AUGUST  21,  1852. 


©2  PER  VOLmiE. 

10  Cts.  single. 


Vol.  in.  No.  8.— Whole  No.  60. 


INFANTRY  ENCAItf PDIENT. 

The  First  Regiment  of  Massachusetts  Light 
Infantry  performed  their  annual  camp  duty  in  a 
lot  lying  north  of  the  railroad  depot  at  Newton- 
ville,  at  a  distance  from  it  sometliing  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  The  tents  were  pitched  in  the 
proper  form,  and  the  encampment  presented 
quite  a  martial  appearance.  The  troops  num- 
bered from  four  to  five  hundred,  and  the  compa- 
nies were  not  quite  as  full  as  usual.  The 
"  Tigers  "  mustered  fifty-one  muskets — a  larger 
number  than  was  reported  by  any  other  compa- 
ny. The  camp  ground  was  well  selected,  and 
under  the  direction  of  Colonel  Holbrook  com- 
manding. The  following  is  a  list  of  the  ofiiccrs 
of  the  1st  Regiment,  and  the  companies  ^vith 
their  respective  commands.  Fidd  and  Staff 
Officers — Colonel,  Charles  L.  Holbrook ;  Major, 
J.  A.  Abbott;  Adjutant,  T.  E.  Chickering; 
Quartermaster,  J.  R.  Hall;  Paymaster,  C.  T. 
Curtis ;  Sergeant-major,  William  B.  Oliver ; 
Quartermaster-sergeant,  J.  J.  Hanvood  ;  Dinim- 
major,  James  Gardiner;  Band-master,  John 
Bartlett.  The  regiment  comprises  the  following 
companies  :  Light  Dragoons,  Capt.  J.  C.  Gipson; 


Company  A,  Boston  Light  Infantry,  Capt.  0.  D. 
Ashley,  fifty-one  guns ;  B,  New  England  Guards 
Capt.  J.  L.  Henshaw,  eighteen  guns  ;  C,  Pulaski 
Guards,  Capt.  A.  C.  Wright,  forty-five  guns ;  D 
Boston  Light  Guards,  Capt.  George  Clark,  Jr. 
twenty-five  guns ;  E,  City  Guards,  Capt.  J.  H, 
French,  twenty-five  guns;  F,  Independent  Fusi- 
leers,  Capt.  Wm.  Mitchell,  forty-four  guns;  G; 
Washington  Light  Guards,  Capt.  S.  Flagg. 
thirty-four  guns ;  H,  Winthrop  Light  Guards 
Capt.  W.  Houston,  nineteen  guns  ;  L,  National 
Guards,  Capt.  J.  L.  Moore,  eighteen  guns 
Mechanic  Rifles,  Capt.  S.  G.  Adams,  forty-one 
guns.  Throughout  the  entire  period  of  the  en- 
campment, which  lasted  two  days,  we  know  of 
no  unpleasant  circumstance,  no  serious  accident, 
Everything  seemed  to  be  well  conducted,  and 
doubtless  much  practical  good  accomplished, 
The  troops  were  not  distracted  by  any  great  out- 
side displays  during  the  encampment,  and  the 
presumption  is,  that  they  have  made  an  unusual 
advancement  in  the  art.  The  attendance  of 
spectators  has  been  very  small  throughout,  and 
the  citizens  of  the  neighborhood  cannot  complain 
of  any  disturbances,  a  trouble  that  has  unfortu- 


nately attended  several  of  these  encampments. 
Our  artist,  Mr.  Billings,  has  sketched  the  scene 
at  the  time  of  review,  and  given  us  below  a  most 
exact  and  excellent  picture  of  the  grounds  and 
the  troops.  The  good  effect  of  these  regular 
annual  encampments,  as  it  regards  disciplining 
the  militia  of  the  State,  cannot  be  questioned ;  it 
brings  the  volunteers  into  regular  service,  as  it 
were,  and  teaches  them  those  duties  and  practices 
in  which  they  should  be  perfected,  in  order  to 
render  the  organization  of  any  real,  iutrinsic 
value.  England  used  to  deride  our  militia  sys- 
tem, and  declare  that  it  was  of  no  value ;  that  the 
raw  material  of  the  American  service  was  raw 
indeed,  notwithstanding  the  severe  experience 
that  her  generals  and  soldiers  had  realized  upon 
this  continent.  Boasting  of  her  standing  army, 
she  looked  with  supreme  contempt  upon  our  sys- 
tem of  military  discipline.  But  how  is  it  now  ? 
What  is  the  termination  of  all  this  derision  1 
She  has  herself  adopted  the  system  she  has  so 
much  scorned  in  us  ;  has  come  over  and  learned 
tactics  from  Uncle  Sam,  and  the  American  mili- 
tia law  is  now  virtually  in  force  in  Great  Britain. 
The  remarks  of  Thomas  F.  Meagher,  the  Iiish 


patriot,  lately  given  before  the  Irish  regiment, 
whom  he  reviewed  in  New  York,  are  interesting 
and  truthful.  He  declared  that,  aside  from  the 
fact  that  this  law  serves  to  place  the  country  in  a 
state  of  efficient  defence  at  all  times,  the  service 
required  of  the  citizens  also  imparts  a  civil  bene- 
fit not  to  be  lightly  estimated.  It  disciplines  the 
mind  as  wxU  as  the  body ;  accustoms  men  to  act 
in  unison,  and  to  obey  orders  emanating  from  a 
legally  constituted  authority ;  teaches  them  sys- 
tem, regularity,  punctuality,  and  a  manly  car- 
riage of  tlie  body :  all  and  severally  of  much 
imj)ortance  in  the  eflfect  upon  the  growing  gene- 
ration. Subscribing  in  a  large  degree  to  these 
principles,  and  believing  that  our  volunteer  mili- 
tia are  quietly  doing  much  good  in  their  way,  we 
most  heartily  commend  the  subject  to  the  w-ise 
and  good,  that  they  may  encourage  them  by  their 
countenance,  and  appreciate  their  performance 
of  duty.  The  English  press  announce  with  ele- 
vated eye-brows,  the  fact  that  the  enrolled  militia 
of  the  United  States  amounts  to  over  a  million 
und  a  half  of  fighting  men  !  Just  so,  John  Bull, 
— very  much  at  your  service  also,  in  any  time  of 
need.     Suppose  you  try  and  sec ! 


ENCAMPMENT  OF  THE  FIRST  REGIMENT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS  LIGHT  INFANTRY,  AT  NEWTONVILLE,  IVIAS^- 


114 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING    llOOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlio  year  1852,  liy  F.  Gleason,  in  tlio  Clerk's  OfBco  of  the 
District  Court  of  MassachusettB. 

[written  EXMIESBLT   »0B  GLEASOh'S  PIOTOKIAL.] 


THE 


T%  SE 

OB,— 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 


BY   LIEUTENANT   MURRAY. 


[continued.] 


CIIArTER  XVI. 


A    DISCOVERY. 


"  She  never  loved  me,"  said  Lorenzo  Bezan, 
in  the  privacy  of  liis  own  room,  on  the  morning 
subsequent  to  that  of  the  serenade.  "It  was 
only  my  own  insufferable  egotism  and  self-con- 
ceit that  gave  me  such  confidence.  Now  I  re- 
view the  past,  what  single  token  or  evidence  has 
she  given  to  me  of  particular  regard  ?  what  has 
she  done  that  any  lady  might  not  do  for  a  gen- 
tleman friend?  I  can  recall  notliing.  True, 
she  has  smiled  kindly — 0,  how  dearly  I  have 
cherished  those  smiles !  But  what  are  they  ? 
Coquettes  smile  on  every  one  I  Alas,  how  mis- 
erable am  I,  after  all  the  fame  I  have  won  !" 

Lorenzo  Bezan  was  truly  affected,  as  his  words 
have  shown  him  to  be.  He  doubted  whether 
Isabella  Gonzales  had  ever  loved  him ;  her  scream 
and  fainting  might  have  been  caused  by  surprise, 
or  even  the  heat.  He  had  been  too  ready  to  at- 
tribute it  to  that  which  his  own  heart  had  first 
suggested.  0,  if  he  only  dared  to  address  her 
now — to  see  her,  and  once  more  to  tell  how 
dearly  and  ardently  he  loved  her  still — how  he 
had  cherished  her  image  by  the  camp  fires,  in 
the  battle-field,  amid  the  deprivations  of  war  and 
the  sufferings  of  a  soldier's  wounds.  If  he  could, 
if  he  dared  to  tell  her  this,  he  w^ould  be  happier. 
But,  how  did  he  know  that  a  proud  repulse  did 
not  await  him  1  Ah,  that  was  the  fear  that  con- 
trolled him ;  he  could  not  bear  to  part  again 
from  her  as  ho  had  last  done. 

"While  he  was  tVus  engaged  in  reverie  alone,  a 
servant,  whom  he  had  despatched  on  an  errand, 
returned  to  say  that  General  Ilarero  was  very 
ill,  and  confined  to  his  bed ;  that  some  wounds 
he  had  accidentally  received  in  quelling  some 
street  affray  had  brought  on  a  burning  and  dan- 
gerous fever.  On  the  receipt  of  this  information 
Lorenzo  Bezan  wrote  a  hasty  note  and  despatched 
the  servant  once  more  for  a  surgeon  to  come  to 
his  quarters ;  a  demand  that  was  answered  by 
the  person  sent  for  in  a  very  few  minutes.  It 
was  the  same  surgeon  who  a  few  years  before 
had  so  successfully  attended  Lorenzo  Bezan. 
The  recognition  between  them  was  cordial  and 
honest,  while  the  new  lieutenant-general  told 
him  of  General  Harero's  severe  illness,  and  ex- 
pressed a  wish  for  him  to  attend  the  sick  man. 

"  But,  General  Bezan,"  said  the  sm-geon, 
"  you  have  little  cause  for  love  to  General 
Harero." 

"  That  is  ti-ue  ;  but  still  I  desire  his  recovery  ; 
and  if  you  compass  it  by  good  niirsing  and  the 
power  of  your  art,  remember  fifty  doubloons  is 
your  fee." 

"  My  professional  prido  would  lead  mo  to  do 
my  best,"  replied  the  surgeon,  "  though  neither 
I  nor  any  other  man  in  the  service  loves  General 
Harero  any  too  much." 

'*  I  have  reasons  for  my  interest  that  it  is  not 
necessary  to  explain,"  said  General  Bezan,  "  and 
shall  ti-ust  that  you  wiU  do  your  best  for  him,  as 
you  did  for  me." 

"  By  the  way,  general,  I  have  been  half  a 
mind,  more  than  once,  ever  since  your  return  to 
the  island,  to  tell  you  of  a  little  affaii-  concerning 
your  sickness  at  that  time,  but  I  feared  you  might 
deem  it  in  some  measure  impertinent." 

"  By  no  means.     Speak  truly  and  openly  to 
me.     I   owe   you  too  much  to  attribute  any  im- 
proper motives  to  you  in  any  instance.     What 
do  you  refer  to  V 
"  Well,  general,  I  suppose  on  that  occasion  X 


discovered  a  secret  which  I  have  never  revealed 
to  any  one,  and  upon  which  subject  my  lips  have 
been  ever  sealed." 
"  What  was  it  V 

"  Your  love  for  Isabella  Gonzales." 
"  And  how,  pray,  came  you  to  surmise  that?" 
asked  Lorenzo  Bezan,  in  surprise. 

"  First  by  your  half  incoherent  talk  in  moments 
of  delirium,  and  afterwards  by  finding  her  por- 
trait, painted  probably  by  yourself,  among  your 
effects." 

"  True.  I  have  it  still,"  said  Lorenzo  Bezan, 
musingly. 

"  But  more  than  that  I  discovered  from  the 
lady  herself'?"  said  tlie  surgeon. 

"From  the  lady?  What  do  you  mean?" 
asked  General  Bezan,  most  earnestly. 

"  Wliy  she  visited  you  during  your  illness,  and 
though  she  came  in  disguise,  I  discovered  her." 
"  In  disguise  V 
"  Yes." 

"  How  did  you  discover  her  ?     I  pray  you  tell 
me  all,  if  you  are  my  friend." 
" Bi/  a  tear!" 
"  A  tear  V 

"  Yes,   because  I  knew  no  servant  or  lady's 
maid  sent  to  execute  her  mistress's  bidding  would 
have  been  so  affected,  and  that  led  me  to  watch 
for  further  discovery." 
"Did  she  weep?" 

"  One  tear  fell  from  her  eyes  upon  your  Iiands 
as  she  bent  over  you,  and  it  told  me  a  story  that 
I  have  since  sometimes  thought  you  should 
know." 

"A  tear  !"  mused  General  Bezan,  to  himself, 
rising  and  walking  up  and  down  his  room  in 
haste ;  "  that  must  have  come  from  the  heart. 
Smiles  are  evanescent ;  kind  words,  even,  cost 
nothing ;  but  tears,  they  are  honest,  and  come 
unbidden  by  aught  save  the  heart  itself.  Tears, 
did  you  say  ?"  he  continued,  pausing  before  the 
surgeon. 

"  As  I  have  said,  general." 
"And  she  bathed  my  forehead,  you  say  ?" 
"  She  did,  and  ftu'ther,  left  with  me  a  purse  to 
be  devoted  to  supplying  your  wants." 
"  This  you  never  told  me  of  before." 
"  I  have   had  no   opportunity,  and  to  speak 
honestly,  it  was  very  well  timed  and  needed." 

"Money!"  mused  Lorenzo  Bezan.  "Money, 
that  is  full  of  dross ;  but  a  tear, — I  would  to 
Heaven  I  had  earlier  known  of  that." 

"I  hope  I  have  caused  you  no  uneasiness, 
general." 

"Enough.  Go  on  your  mission  to  General 
Harero  ;  save  him,  if  you  can ;  you  have  already 
saved  me  !  Nay,  do  not  stare,  but  go,  and  see 
me  again  at  your  leisure." 

The  siu'geon  bowed  respectfully,  and  hastened 
away  as  he  was  directed. 

That  tear  had  removed  mountains  from  Lo- 
renzo Bezan's  lieart ;  he  hardly  knew  what  fur- 
ther to  do  under  the  circumstances.  The  earli- 
est impulse  of  his  heart  was  to  seek  Isabella,  and 
throwing  himself  at  her  feet,  beg  her  to  forgive 
him  for  having  for  one  moment  doubted  the  af- 
fection and  gentleness  of  her  woman  heart.  This 
was  the  turning  point  with  him  if  she  had  a  heart, 
tender  and  susceptible,  and  not  coroded  by  co- 
quetry ;  he  had  no  fear  but  that  he  could  win  it ; 
liis  love  was  too  true,  too  devoted,  too  much  a 
part  of  his  soul  and  existence  to  admit  of  doubt, 
Joy  once  more  reigned  in  his  heart.  He  was  al- 
most childish  in  his  impatience  to  see  her ;  he 
could  hardly  wait  even  for  an  hour. 


At  last,  seating  himself  at  a  tabic,  he  seized 
ujion  pen  and  paper  and  wi'oto  as  follows : 

"  IsAnicLr.A,  G0NZAJ.E8 :  I  know  not  how  to 
address  you,  in  what  tone  to  write,  or  oven  as  to 
the  propriety  of  writing  to  you  at  a!l ;  but  the 
suspense  I  now  suffer  is  my  excuse.  I  need  not 
reiterate  to  you  how  dearly  I  love  you ;  you 
know  ibis,  dear  one,  as  fully  as  any  assertion 
of  my  own  could  jiossibly  express  it.  It  is 
true  tliat  my  love  for  you  has  partaken  in  no 
small  degree  of  a  cliaracter  of  presumption,  dar- 
ing, as  an  humlde  lieutenant  of  infantry,  to  lift 
my  eyes  to  one  as  peerless  and  beautiful  as  your- 
self, and  of  a  chuss  of  society  so  far  above  what 
my  own  humble  position  would  authorize  me  to 
mingle  with.  But  the  past  is  past,  and  now  my 
rank  and  fortune  both  entitle  me  to  the  entree  to 
your  father's  house,  I  mention  not  these  because 
I  would  have  them  weigh  in  my  favor  with  you. 
Far  from  it.  I  had  rather  you  would  remember 
me,  and  love  me  as  I  was  when  we  first  met. 

"Need  I  say  how  true  I  have  been  to  the  love 
I  have  cherLshcd  for  you  1  How  by  my  side  in 
battle,  in  my  dreams  by  the  camp  fire,  and  filling 
my  waking  thoughts,  you  have  ever  been  with  me 
in  spirit  ?  Say,  Isabella  Gonzales,  is  this  hom- 
age, so  sincere,  thus  tried  and  true,  unwelcome 
to  you  ?  or  do  you,  in  return,  love  the  devoted 
soldier,  who  has  so  long  cherished  you  in  his 
heart  as  a  fit  shrine  to  worship  at  ?  I  shall  see 
you,  may  I  not,  and  you  will  not  repulse  me, 
nor  speak  to  me  with  coldness  ?  O,  say  when  I 
may  come  to  you,  when  look  once  more  into 
those  radiant  eyes,  when  tell  you  with  my  lips 
how  dearly,  how  ardently  I  love  you — ^have  ever 
loved  you,  and  must  still  love  you  to  the  last? 
I  know  you  will  forgive  the  impetuosity,  and, 
perhaps,  incoherent  character  of  this  note. 

Lorenzo  Bezan." 

We  have  only  to  look  into  the  chamber  of 
Isabella  Gonzales,  a  few  hours  subsequent  to  the 
writing  of  this  letter,  to  learn  its  effect  upon  her. 
She  was  alone ;  the  letter  she  had  read  over 
and  over  again,  and  now  sat  with  it  pressed  to 
her  bosom  by  both  hands,  as  though  she  might 
thus  succeed  in  suppressing  the  convulsive  sobs 
that  shook  her  whole  frame.  Tears,  the  luxm'y 
of  both  joy  and  sorrow,  where  the  heart  is  too 
full  of  either,  tears  streamed  down  her  fair  cheeks ; 
tears  of  joy  and  sorrow  both  ;  joy  that  he  was 
indeed  still  true  to  her,  and  sorrow  that  such 
hours,  days,  nay,  years  of  unhappiness,  had  been 
thus  needlessly  passed,  while  they  were  separated 
from  each  other,  though  joined  in  soul.  0,  bow 
bitterly  she  recalled  her  pride,  and  remembered 
the  control  it  had  held  over  her,  how  blamed 
herself  at  the  recollection  of  that  last  farewell  in 
the  prison  with  the  noble  but  dejected  spkit  that 
in  spite  of  herself  even  then  she  loved ! 

She  kissed  the  letter  again  and  again ;  she 
wept  like  a  child  ! 

"  The  queen  was  right — he  had  no  heart  togive. 
A  countess  ?  She  might  have  brought  him 
higher  title,  a  prouder  name,  richer  coffers  ;  but 
he  is  not  one  to  weigh  my  love  against  gold,  or 
lineage,  or  proud  estates,  or  even  royal  favor ; 
such,  such  is  the  man  to  whom  I  owe  my  very 
life,  my  father's  life,  Buez's  life,  nay,  what  do  I 
not  owe  to  him  ?  since  all  happiness  and  peace 
hang  upon  these;  and  yet  I  repulsed,  nay, 
scorned  him,  when  he  knelt  a  suppliant  at  my 
feet.  0,  Iiow  could  a  lifetime  of  devoted  love 
and  gentleness  repay  him  all,  and  make  me  even 
able  to  forgive  myself  for  the  untrue,  unnatural 
part  I  have  played  ?" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  as  if  to 
efface  the  memory  of  the  conduct  which  she  had 
just  recalled  so  earnestly,  and  then  I'ising,  walked 
back  and  forth  in  her  apartment  with  all  the  im- 
petuosity of  her  Creole  blood  evinced  in  the  deep- 
ened color  of  her  cheek,  and  the  brightness  of  her 
beauteous  eyes.  Then  once  more  seating  herself, 
she  sat  and  trotted  her  foot  impatiently  upon  the 
floor. 

"  O,  why,  why  cannot  I  recall  the  past;  alas, 
I  see  my  error  too  late.  Pride,  pride,  how  bit- 
terly and  surely  dost  thou  bring  thine  own  re- 
ward !" 

She  strove  to  answer  the  letter  that  now  lay 
open  before  her  upon  the  table,  but  could  scarcely 
hold  the  pen,  so  deep  and  long  drawn  were  the 
sighs  that  struggled  in  her  bosom.  Sheet  after 
sheet  was  commenced  and  destroyed.  Tears 
drowned  out  the  efforts  of  her  pen,  and  she  knew 
not  what  to  do.  She  bit  her  fair  lips  in  vexa- 
tion ;  what  should  she  write"?  Once  more  sho 
read  his  note,  and  full  of  the  feelings  it  induced, 
tried  to  answer  it.  But  in  vain  ;  her  sheet  was 
bathed  in  tears  before  she  had  written  one  line. 


"  It  is  but  the  truth,"  she  said,  to  herself,  "  and 
I  do  not  care  if  be  knows  it." 

As  she  thus  spoke,  bho  once  more  seized  the 
pen  and  wrote : 

"  In  vain  liave  I  essayed  to  ^vrite  to  you.  Let 
these  tears  bo  your  answer  I 

IsAiJEi-LA  Gonzales." 

If  the  beautiful  girl  had  studied  for  months  to 
have  answered  tlie  letter  of  him  who  loved  Iier 
so  well,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  her  to 
have  penned  a  more  touching,  more  trutliful,  or 
more  eloquent  reply  than  this.  Striking  a  tiny 
silver  bell  by  her  side,  a  slave  approached,  and 
was  despatched  with  this  note  at  once  to  the  pal- 
ace of  the  governor-general. 

"  Why,  sister !"  said  Rucz,  entering  the  room 
and  speaking  at  the  same  time,  "  you  look  as  if 
you  had  been  weeping.     Pray,  are  you  ill  ?" 

"Nay,  brother,  I  am  not  ill.  It  was  but  a 
slight  affair ;  it  is  all  over  now.  Where's  Carlo, 
Ruez  V 

The  attempt  to  turn  the  course  of  conversation 
to  the  dog,  was  not  unobserved  by  the  intelligent 
boy.  He  saw  at  once  that  there  was  some  mat- 
ter in  his  sister's  heart  that  was  better  to  remain 
her  o^vn  property,  and  so,  with  a  ki.ss,  he  said  no 
more,  but  sat  down  at  the  window  and  looked 
off  upon  the  brilliant  afternoon  effect  of  the  sun 
and  the  light  land  breeze  upon  the  water.  Nei- 
ther spoke  for  many  minutes,  until  at  last  Kuez, 
still  looking  off  upon  the  waters  of  the  outer 
harbor,  or  Gulf  Stream,  said  : 

"  I  wonder  where  General  Bezan  keeps  him- 
self when  off  duty?" 
"  Why,  brother  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  called  there  twice,  and  have 
not  seen  him  yet." 
"  Twice  ?" 
"  Yes." 

"  You  know  it  is  but  a  very  few  days  since  ho 
arrived,  and  he  must  be  very  busy." 

"  Probably,"  answered  Ruez,  stealing  a  glance 
towards  his  sister. 

"  His  present  duty  must  engage  a  large  portion 
of  his  time,  I  suppose." 

"  0,  yes,"  said  the  boy,  laughing,  "just  abont 
one  quarter  as  much  of  his  time  as  was  demanded 
of  him  when  he  was  a  lieutenant  in  General  Ha- 
rero's division." 

"By-the-by,  Ruez,  they  say  the  general  is  very 
ill  of  some  chance  wounds." 

"  The  general  deserves  all  he  got,  beyond  a 
doubt,  and  there  is  little  fear  but  that  he  Avill  re- 
cover fast  enough.  He's  not  one  of  the  sort  that 
die  easily.  Fortune  spares  such  as  he  is  to  try 
people's  temper,  and  annoy  humanity." 

"  But  is  he  decidedly  better  ?"  asked  Isabella, 
with  some  interest. 

"  Yes,  the  surgeon  reports  him  out  of  danger. 
Yesterday  he  was  in  a  fever  fi'om  his  wounds.  I 
can't  conceive  how  he  got  them,  and  no  one 
seems  to  know  much  about  it." 

"  There's  Carlo  and  father,  on  the  Plato ;  good- 
by,  sister;  I'm  going  to  join  them." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE   ASSASSIN. 


The  apartment  where  General  Harero  was 
confined  to  his  bed  by  the  severe  wounds  he  had 
received,  presented  much  such  an  aspect  as  Lo- 
renzo Bezan's  had  done,  when  in  the  early  part 
of  this  story  the  reader  beheld  him  in  the  critical 
state  that  the  wounds  he  received  from  the  Mon- 
taros  on  the  road  had  placed  him.  It  was  dark 
and  gloomy  then.  The  same  surgeon  who  had 
been  so  faithful  a  nurse  to  our  hero,  was  now 
with  tlie  wounded  oflSccr.  Notwithstanding  the 
excitement  of  his  patient's  mind,  he  had  succeed- 
ed in  quieting  him  down  by  proper  remedies,  so 
as  to  admit  of  treating  him  properly  for  his 
wounds,  and  to  relieve  his  brain,  at  least  in  part, 
from  the  excitement  of  feeling  that  a  spirit  of  re- 
venge had  created  there. 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  just  at  the  mo- 
ment when  we  would  have  the  reader  look  with 
us  into  the  apartment,  and  the  surgeon  admitted 
a  tall,  dark  person,  partly  enveloped  in  a  cloak. 
It  was  evening ;  tlie  barracks  were  still,  and  the 
gloom  of  the  sick  room  was,  if  possible,  rendered 
greater  by  the  darkness  that  was  seen  from  the 
uncurtained  window.  At  a  sign  from  his  patient 
the  surgeon  left  him  alone  with  the  new  comer, 
who  threw  himself  upon  a  camp-stool,  and  fold- 
ing liis  arms,  awaited  the  general's  pleasure. 
In  the  meantime,  if  the  reader  will  look  closely 
upon  the  hard  lineaments  of  his  face,  the  heavy 
eyebrow,  tlie  profusion  of  beard,  and  the  cold- 
blooded  and   heartless   expression   of  features, 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


115 


he  will  recognize  the  same  man  whom  he  lias 
once  before  met  with  General  Harero,  and  who 
gave  him  the  keys  bj  which  he  succeeded  in 
making  a  secret  entrance  to  Lorenzo  Bezan's 
cell  in  the  prison  before  the  time  appointed  for 
his  execution.  It  was  the  jailor  of  the  military 
prison. 

"  Lieutenant,"  said  the  general,  "  I  have  sent 
for  you  to  perform  a  delicate  job  for  me." 

"  Wlmt  is  it,  general  V 

"  I  will  tell  you  presently ;  he  not  in  such 
haste,"  said  the  sick  man. 

"I  am  at  your  service." 

"  Have  I  not  always  paid  you  well  when  em- 
ployed by  me,  lieutenant  ■?" 

"  Nobly,  general,  only  too  liberally." 

"  Would  you  like  to  serve  me  again  in  a  still 
more  profitable  job  V 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  agreeable." 

"  But  it  is  a  matter  that  requires  courage,  skill, 
care  and  secrecy.     It  is  no  boy's  play." 

"  All  the  better  for  that,  general." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  say  so  when  I  have 
explained  it  to  you  more  fully." 

"  You  have  tried  me  before  now  !"  answered 
the  jailor,  emphatically. 

"  True,  and  I  will  therefore  ti-ustyou  at  once. 
There  is  a  life  to  be  taken  !" 

"  Wliat !  another  ?"  said  the  man,  with  sur- 
pi-ise  depicted  on  his  face. 

*'  Yes,  and  one  who  may  cost  you  some  trou- 
ble to  manage — a  quick  man  and  a  swordsman." 

"  Wbo  is  it  1" 

"Lorenzo  Bezan  !" 

"  The  new  lieutenant-general  ?" 

"The  same." 

"  Wliy,  now  I  think  of  it,  that  is  the  very  offi- 
cer whom  you  visited  long  ago  by  the  secret  pas- 
sage in  the  prison." 

"  Very  true." 

"  And  now  you  would  kill  him  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  for  what  1" 

"  That  matters  not.  Tou  will  be  paid  for 
your  business,  and  must  ask  no  questions." 

"  O,  very  well;  business  is  business." 

"  You  see  this  purse  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"It  contains  fifty  doubloons.  Kill  him  before 
the  set  of  to-moiTow's  sun,  and  it  is  yours." 

"Fifty  doubloons  V 

"  Is  it  not  enough  V* 

"  The  risk  is  large ;  if  he  were  but  a  private 
citizen,  now — but  the  lieutenant-governor  I" 

"  X  will  make  it  seventy-five." 

"  Say  one  hundred,  and  it  is  a  bargain,"  urged 
the  jailor,  coolly. 

"  On  yoxir  own  terms,  then,"  was  the  general's 
reply,  as  he  groaned  with  pain. 

"  It  is  dangerous  business,  but  it  shall  be  done," 
said  the  other,  drawing  a  dagger  from  his  bosom 
and  feeling  its  point  cai'efuUy.  "  But  I  must  have 
another  day,  as  to-night  it  may  be  too  late  before 
I  can  arrange  to  meet  him,  and  that  will  allow 
but  one  more  night  to  pass.  I  can  do  nothing 
in  the  daytime." 

"  VeiT  well." 

"  Where  shall  I  be  most  likely  to  meet  him, 
thiuk  youT' 

"Possibly  after  twilight,  on  the  Plato,  near 
the  house  of  Don  Gonzales." 

"  I  will  bo  on  the  watch  for  him,  and  my  trusty 
steel  shall  not  fail  me." 

Thus  saying,  and  after  a  few  other  words  of 
little  importance,  tlie  jailor  departed. 

Maddened  by  the  short  confinement  and  suffer- 
ing he  had  experienced,  General  Harero  resolved 
to  rid  himself  at  once  of  the  stumbling  block  in 
his  path  that  General  Bezan  proved  himself  to 
be.  A  reckless  character,  almost  bom,  and  ever 
bred  a  soldier,  he  stopped  at  no  measux-es  to 
bring  about  any  desired  end.  Nor  was  Lorenzo 
Bezan's  life  the  first  one  he  had  attempted, 
through  the  agency  of  others  ;  the  foul  stains  of 
murder  already  rested  upon  his  soul.  It  was 
some  temporary  relief,  apparently,  to  his  feelings 
now,  to  thiuk  that  he  had  taken  the  primary 
steps  to  be  revenged  upon  one  whom  he  so  bit- 
terly hated.  He  could  think  of  nothing  else, 
now,  as  he  lay  there,  suflfering  from  those  wounds, 
and  at  times  the  expression  of  his  face  became 
almost  demoniac,  as  he  ground  his  teeth  and  bit 
his  lips,  in  the  intense  excitement  of  his  pas- 
sions, the  struggle  of  his  feelings  being  so  hitter 
and  revengeful. 

But  we  must  leave  the  sick  man  witli  himself 
for  a  while,  and  go  elsewhere. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  had  been  pressed  with  the  busi- 
ness incident  to  his  new  position,  and  this,  too, 
so  xu'gcntly,  that  he  had  not  yet  answered  the 


note  he  had  received  from  her  he  had  loved  so 
dearly.  He  bad  placed  it  next  his  heart,  bow- 
ever,  and  would  seize  upon  the  first  moment  to 
answer  it,  not  by  the  pen,  but  in  person.  It  was 
for  this  purpose,  that,  on  the  same  evening  we 
have  referred  to,  he  had  taken  his  guitar,  and 
was  stroUing  at  a  late  hour  towards  the  Plato. 
It  was  the  first  moment  that  he  could  leave  the 
palace  without  serious  trouble,  and  thinking  Isa- 
bella might  have  retired  for  the  night,  he  resolved 
at  least  to  serenade  her  once  more,  as  he  had  so 
lately  done. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  justly  describe  the 
feelings  that  actuated  the  spirit  of  the  lieutenant- 
governor.  His  soul  was  once  more  buoyant 
witli  liope ;  he  loved  deeply,  ay,  more  dearly 
than  ever  before,  and  he  believed  that  he  was 
now  indeed  loved  in  return.  How  light  was  his 
heart,  how  brilliant  the  expression  of  his  face,  as 
he  turned  his  steps  towards  the  spot  where  his 
heart  had  so  often  returned  when  the  expanse  of 
ocean  rolled  between  him  and  the  spot  so  dear 
to  him  from  association.  He  hurried  forward  to 
the  steps  that  ascended  from  near  the  end  of  the 
Calle  de  Mercaderes,  on  to  the  Plato,  but  before 
he  had  reached  it,  there  came  bounding  towards 
him  a  large  dog,  which  he  instantly  recognized 
to  he  the  hound  that  had  so  materially  aided 
him  in  saving  the  life  of  Ruez  Gonzales,  long 
before. 

At  the  same  moment  a  hand  was  laid  roughly 
upon  his  shoulder,  but  was  instantly  removed  ; 
and  on  turning  to  see  what  was  the  meaning  of 
this  rude  salutation,  the  young  general  discov- 
ered a  large,  dark  figure  struggling  with  the 
hound,  who,  upon  his  calling  to  him,  seemed  to 
relinquish  the  hold  he  had  of  the  man's  throat, 
and  sprang  to  his  side,  while  the  person  whom 
the  dog  had  thus  attacked,  disappeared  suddenly 
round  an  angle  of  the  Cathedral,  and  left  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  vastly  puzzled  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  all  this.  The  man  must  evidently 
have  raised  his  arm  to  strike  him,  else  the  dog 
would  not  have  thus  interposed,  and  then,  had 
the  stranger  been  an  honest  man,  he  would  have 
paused  to  explain,  instead  of  disappearing  thus. 

"  I  must  be  on  my  guard ;  there  are  assassins 
hereabouts,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's fondling  of  the  hound,  who  had  instantly 
recognized  him,  he  once  more  drew  nearer  to  the 
Plato,  when  suddenly  the  palace  bell  sounded 
the  alarm  of  fire.  His  duty  called  him  instantly 
to  return,  which  he  was  forced  to  do. 

It  was  past  midnight  before  the  fire  was 
quenched,  and  Lorenzo  Bezan  dismissed  the 
guard  and  extra  watch  that  had  been  ordered 
out  at  the  first  alarm,  and  himself,  greatly  fa- 
tigued by  his  exertions  and  care  in  subduing  the 
fire,  which  in  Havana  is  done  under  the  direction 
ajid  assistance  of  the  military,  always,  he  threw 
himself  on  hii  couch,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

Early  the  subsequent  morning,  he  despatched 
a  line  to  Isabella  Gonzales,  saying  that  on  the 
evening  of  that  day  be  would  answer  in  pci'son 
her  dear  communication  ;  and  that  though  press- 
ing duty  had  kept  him  from  her  side,  she  was 
never  for  one  moment  absent  from  his  heart. 
He  begged  that  Euez  might  come  to  him  in  the 
meantime,  and  he  did  so  at  once.  The  meeting 
between  them  was  such  as  the  reader  might  an- 
ticipate. The  officer  told  the  boy  many  of  his 
adventures,  asked  a  thousand  questions  of  his 
home,  about  his  kind  old  father,  Isabella,  the 
hound,  and  all.  While  Ruez  could  find  no  words 
to  express  the  delight  he  felt  that  the  same  friend 
existed  in  General  Bezan,  that  he  had  loved  and 
cherished  as  the  captain  of  infantry. 

"  How  strange  the  fortune  that  has  brought 
you  back  again,  and  so  high,  too,  in  office.  I'm 
sure  we  are  all  delighted.  Father  says  you  richly 
desen'C  aU  the  honor  you  enjoy,  and  he  does  not 
very  often  compliment  any  one,"  said  the  boy. 

The  twilight  had  scarcely  faded  into  the  deeper 
shades  of  night,  ou  the  foUomng  evening,  when 
Lorenzo  Bezan  once  more  hastened  towards  the 
Plato,  to  greet  her  whom  he  loved  so  tenderly 
and  so  ti'uly — she  who  had  been  the  star  of  his 
destiny  for  years,  wbo  had  been  his  sole  incentive 
to  duty,  his  sole  prompter  in  the  desire  for  fame 
and  fortune. 

In  the  meantime  tliere  was  a  scene  enacting 
on  the  Plato  that  should  be  known  to  the  reader. 
Near  the  door  of  the  house  of  Don  Gonzales, 
stood  Isabella  and  Euez,  and  before  them  a 
young  person,  whose  dress  and  appearance  be- 
tokened the  occupation  of  a  page,  though  his 
gannents  were  soiled  and  somewhat  torn  in  pla- 
ces, Isabella  was  addressing  the  youth  kindly, 
and  urged  him  to  come  in  and  rest  liimsclf,  for 
he  showed  evident  tokens  of  fatigue. 


"  Will  you  not  come  in  and  refresh  yourself'? 
you  look  weary  qf^  ill." 

"  Naj',  lady,  not  now.  You  say  this  is  the 
house  of  Don  Gonzales  '?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  are  you  the  daughter  of  that  house?" 
continued  the  page. 

"  I  am." 

"  I  might  have  known  that  without  asking," 
said  the  page,  apparently  to  himself. 

"Indeed,  do  you  know  us,  then?"  asked  Isa- 
bella, with  some  cmiosity. 

"  By  reputation,  only,"  was  the  reply.  "  The 
fame  of  beauty  travels  far,  lady." 

"  Do  you  live  far  from  here,  then  V  asked 
Ruez,  much  interested  in  the  stranger. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  Lady,  I  may  call  on 
you  again,"  continued  the  page,  "  but  for  the 
present,  adieu." 

Turning  suddenly  away,  the  stranger  walked 
leisurely  towards  the  head  of  the  broad  stau-s 
that  led  from  the  Plato  to  the  street  below,  and 
descended  them. 

At  the  same  moment,  Lorenzo  Bezan,  on  his 
way  to  Isabella  Gonzales,  liad  just  reached  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  when  hearing  quick  steps  behind 
him,  he  turned  his  head  just  in  time  to  see  the 
form  of  the  page  thrown  quickly  between  the  up- 
lifted arm  of  the  same  dark  figure  which  he  had 
before  met  here,  and  himself — and  the  point  of  a 
gleaming  dagger,  that  must  else  have  entered  his 
own  body,  found  a  sheath  in  that  of  the  young 
stranger,  who  had  thus  probably  saved  his  life. 
More  on  the  alert  than  he  had  been  before  for 
danger,  Lorenzo  Bezan's  sword  was  in  his  hand 
in  an  instant,  and  its  keen  blade  pierced  to  the 
very  heart  of  the  assassin,  who  fell  to  rise  no 
more. 

Such,  alas,  seemed  to  be  the  fate  of  the  page 
who  had  so  gallantly  risked,  and  probably  lost, 
his  o\vn  life,  to  protect  that  of  the  lieutenant- 
go  veraor. 

"  Alas,  poor  youth,"  said  Lorenzo  Bezan, 
"why  didst  thou  peril  thy  life  to  save  me  from 
that  wound  1  Canst  thou  speak,  and  tell  me 
who  thou  art,  and  what  I  shall  do  for  thee  V 

"  Yes,  in  a  few  moments ;  bear  me  to  Don 
Gonzales's  house,  quickly,  for  I  bleed  very  fast !" 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

THE    DISGUISE. 

With  the  assistance  of  some  passers-by,  the 
wounded  page  was  home,  as  he  had  desired,  to 
Don  Gonzales's  house,  while,  in  accordance  with 
an  order  from  Lorenzo  Bezan,  the  now  lifeless 
body  of  the  jailor,  for  he  it  was  who  had  attempt- 
ed the  life  of  the  lieutenant-governor,  was  borne 
away  to  the  barrack  yard.  At  the  door  of  Don 
Gonzales's  house  the  page  was  met  by  Ruez  and 
Isabella ;  and  those  who  held  the  wounded  boy, 
hastily  telling  of  his  hurt,  and  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  received,  carried  him,  as  directed 
by  Isabella,  to  her  brother's  room,  and  a  smgeon 
was  at  once  sent  for. 

"  Sister,"  whispered  Ruez,  "  did  you  hear 
what  those  people  said  ?" 

"What,  brother?" 

"  Why,  that  the  page  saved  the  life  of  the  lieu- 
tenant-governor, Lorenzo  Bezan  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  must  have  been  hai'd  by,  for  the  page 
had  only  just  left  us." 

"  True." 

"  Yet  he  was  not  with  the  rest  who  entered  the 
house,"  continued  Ruez. 

"  No,"  answered  Isabella,  "  some  one  said  ho 
hastened  away  for  a  surgeon." 

"  Hark !" 

"  Wlio  called  you,  sister  ?"  asked  the  brother. 

"  It  was  only  the  groan  of  that  poor  boy.  I 
wish  they  would  bring  the  surgeon." 

"  But  he  calls  your  name ;  go  to  him,  dear 
Isabella." 

"  0,  they  have  found  the  surgeon,  and  here  he 
comes,"  said  his  sister. 

And  thus  indeed  it  was.  Entering  the  apart- 
ment, the  surgeon  prepared  to  examine  the 
wound,  but  in  a  moment  he  called  to  Isabella, 
saying : 

"Lady,  this  individual  is  one  of  thine  own 
sex  !  and,  I  am  very  soiTy  to  say,  is  mortally 
wounded." 

"A  woman !" 

"  Yes,  lady ;  see,  she  would  speak  to  you ; 
she  beckons  you  near." 

"  Lady,  I  need  not  ask  what  that  professional 
man  says.  I  know  too  well  by  my  own  feelings 
that  I  must  die,  indeed  that  I  am  dying  !" 

"  0,  say  not  so  ;  perhaps  there  may  yet  be 
hopes,"  said  Isabella,  tenderly. 


"  Nay,  there  is  none ;  indeed  it  is  better,  far 
better  as  it  is." 

"  Why,  do  you  wish  to  die  ?"  asked  Isabella, 
almost  shrinking  from  her. 

"  Yes.  There  is  nought  left  for  me  to  live  for, 
and  it  is  sweet  to  die,  too,  for  him,  for  him  I 
have  so  dearly,  so  truly  loved  ?" 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak  V 

"  General  Bezan !" 

"  You  love  him  ?" 

"  Ay,  lady,  I  believe  far  better  than  you  can 
ever  do." 

"Me !" 

"  Yes,  for  I  know  your  o^vn  heart,  and  his  true 
love  for  you !" 

"  "Wlio  are  you?" 

"  That  matters  not.  But  where  is  ho  ?  I 
thought  he  followed  me  here." 

"  He  went  for  the  surgeon,  and  I  have  not  seen 
him,"  was  the  reply. 

Isabella  trembled,  for  at  that  moment  General 
Bezan,  hastening  back  from  the  surgeon's,  and 
despatching  some  matter  that  occurred  by  the 
way,  now  entered  the  house,  and  was  greeted 
most  cordially  by  Don  Gonzales  and  Ruez.  And 
from  them  he  learned  the  extent  of  the  injury, 
and,  moreover,  that  the  supposed  page  was  a 
woman,  disguised  in  a  page's  costume. 

"  Ah,  general !"  said  Don  Gonzales,  "  I  fear 
this  is  some  little  affair  of  gallantry  on  your 
part  that  will  result  rather  seriously." 

"Be  assured,  sir,"  said  the  soldier,  "that  I 
cannot  in  any  way  explain  the  matter,  and  that 
I  tliink  there  is  some  decided  mistake  here." 

"  Let  us  go  to  her  apartment  and  see  what  can 
he  done  for  her  injury,"  said  General  Bezan, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "  be  she  whom  she 
may." 

Just  as  they  entered  the  apartment,  the  sur- 
geon had  loosened  the  dress  of  the  sufferer  at  the 
tliroat,  and  there  fell  out  into  sight  the  insignia 
of  the  golden  fleece  and  cross  of  St.  Sebastian, 
in  a  scroll  of  diamonds  that  heralded  the  royal 
arms  of  Spain,  and  which  none  but  those  in 
whose  veins  coursed  royal  blood  could  wear ! 
The  surgeon  started  back  in  amazement,  while 
Don  Gonzales  uncovered  out  of  respect  to  the 
emblem.  Springing  to  the  side  of  the  couch. 
General  Bezan  turned  the  half  averted  face  to- 
wards him,  while  he  seized  the  hand,  of  the  suf- 
ferer, and  then  exclaimed : 

"Is  this  a  miracle — is  this  a  dream — or  is  this 
really  the  Countess  Moranza?" 

"  It  is  the  Countess  Moranza,"  replied  the  suf- 
fei-ing  creature,  wdiile  her  eyes  were  bent  on  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  with  an  expression  of  most  ineffable 
tenderness. 

All  this  while  Isabella  stood  aghast,  quite  in 
the  rear  of  them  all;  but  that  look  was  not  lost 
upon  her ;  she  shuddered,  and  a  cold  perspira- 
tion stood  upon  her  brow.  Had  she  lived  to  see 
such  a  sight — lived  to  see  another  preferred  to 
herself?  Alas,  what  knew  she  of  the  scene  before 
her  ?  was  it  not  a  shameless  one  ?  Had  Lorenzo 
Bezan  deceived  this  high-born  and  noble  lady, 
and  leaving  her  to  follow  him,  came  hither,  once 
more  to  strive  for  her  love  ?  Her  brain  was  in  a 
whirlwind  of  excitement,  the  room  grew  dark, 
she  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  tlie  as- 
sistance of  Ruez,  who  helped  her  to  her  room, 
and  left  her  there,  himself  as  much  amazed  at 
what  he  had  seen  as  his  sister  could  possibly  be. 

"  Has  she  gone  ?"  asked  the  sufferer. 

"Who,  lady?"  said  the  soldier,  tenderly. 

"  Isabella  Gonzales." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  father.  "Do  you  desire 
to  see  her?" 

"  0  yes,  I  miist  see  her,  and  quickly ;  tell  her 
I  jmist  see  her." 

The  fiither  retired ;  while  Lorenzo  Bezan  said, 
as  he  bent  over  the  person  of  the  countess : 

"  Alas,  I  cannot  ask  thee  now  what  all  this 
means ;  you  are  too  ill  to  talk ;  what  may  I, 
what  can  I  do  for  thee  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Lorenzo  Bezan.  Draw  nearer — I 
have  loved  thee  deai-Iy,  passionately  loved  thee, 
loved  thee  as  a  woman  can  love ;  it  was  not  de- 
signed that  I  should  win  thy  heart — it  was  al- 
ready another's  ;  but  it  was  designed,  the  virgin 
be  thanked,  that  though  I  might  not  wed  thee,  I 
might  die  for  thee !" 

"  0,  countess,  countess,  your  words  are  like 
daggers  to  my  heart.  I  have  been  a  thoughtless, 
guilty  "nTetch,  but,  Heaven  bear*  me  T\itness,  I 
tlid  not  sin  knowingly  !" 

"  Nay,  speak  not  one  word.  I  am  dying  even 
now ;  leave  me  for  a  while.  I  would  be  alone 
with  this  lady ;  see,  she  comes,  trembling  and 
bathed  in  tears  !" 

[CONCLITDED    NEST    WTIEK.] 


116 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DllAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


VICTOR  HUGO. 

Victor  Hugo  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
Frenchmen,  of  the  present  century,  having -won 
renown  as  anoet,  a  dramatist,  a  statesman  nnd 
an  orator.  He  wiis  born  in  Paris,  and  is  now 
about  tifty  years  of  age.  He  tirat  appeared  as  ft 
politieal  song-writer,  of  tlic  nltra-royalist  school, 
but  he  changed  liis  political  vicwM  in  the  course 
of  years,  ajid  from  a  dcfamer  became  a  warm 
eulogist  of  the  memory  of  the  great  Njipolcon. 
The  revolution  of  1848  found  him  a  conhrmod 
republican,  and  in  the  assembly,  he  was  among 
the  most  fiery  and  eloquent  denouncers  of  the 
reactionary  spirit,  of  which  Louis  Napoleon  took 
advantage  to  aim,  on  the  2d  of  December,  a 
death-blow  at  the  liberty  and  life  of  the  legisla- 
ture. M.  Victor  Hugo  has  refused  to  bow  the 
knee  to  the  successful  traitor,  and  hence  the  con- 
sistent patriotism  of  lus  riper  years  has  ntonetl 
for  the  wavering  and  unprincipled  conduct  of  his 
youth.  Among  his  poetical  writings,  the  volume 
of  poems  entitled  "Autumn  Leaves,"  contains 
some  of  the  finest  poetry  of  the  age.  As  a  dra- 
matist he  has  been  splendidly  successful :  his 
Hernain,  Marion  do  Lorine,  Lueretia  Borgia, 
Angelo,  still  keeping  the  stage.  As  a  novelist, 
he  has  exhibited  ])0wers  of  the  very  highest  order. 
His  "Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame,"  in  which, 
like  Sir  Walter  Scott,  he  has  succeeded  in  giv- 
ing perfectly  vivid  pictures  of  life  in  the  mitUllo 
ages,  is  an  intensely  interesting  work.  His 
speeches  in  the  assembly  are  distinguished  by 
sound  sense,  profound  learning,  originality  of 
thought,  and  a  Demosthenian  fire  and  vigor  of 
style.  Take  him  all  in  all,  be  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  of  modern  France. 


THE  COST  OF  WAR. 

It  appears  that  the  war  of  1 088,  after  lasting 
nine  years,  and  ending  by  The  treaty  of  Kyswick, 
in  1697,  cost  twenty-six  million  pounds  sterling. 
The  war  of  the  Spanish  succession  cost  sixty-two 
millions  and  a  half  pounds  sterling.  Without 
noticing  the  wars  of  the  Pretender  in  1715 
and  1745,  the  Spanish  war  of  1739,  settled  for 
at  Aix-la-Chapelle  cost  fifty-four  million  pounds 
sterling.  The  seven  years  war  of  1756,  which 
terminated  with  the  treaty  of  Paris,  in  1763,  cost 
one  hundred  and  twelve  millions.  The  Ameri- 
can war — a  still  more  horrible  and  foolish  cru- 
sade against  our  liberties — cost  one  hundred  and 
eighty-six  million  pounds  sterling.  The  French 
Revolutionary  war  began  in  1792,  lasted  nine 
years,  and  cost  four  hundred  and  sixty-four  mil- 
lion pounds  sterling.  The  war  against  Bona- 
parte began  in  1803,  and  ended  in  1815,  cost 
eleven  hundred  and  fifty-nine  million  pounds 
sterling.  Only  think,  these  horrible  crusades 
against  human  liberty  have  cost  the  British  na- 
tion two  thousand  three  hundred  and  thirty-three 
millions  of  pounds  sterling.  Not  to  mention  the 
carnage  and  blood,  the  miseries  of  the  widows 


PORTRAIT  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


and  orphans,  and  the  desolation  and  degradation 
they  have  spread  all  around  them.  If  to  these 
sums  are  added  only  the  pension  list,  it  would 
be  seen  to  what  an  incredible  extent  the  British 
people  have  been  taxed,  and  how  shamefully 
their  immense  national  resources  have  been 
squandered.     Their  national   debt — sums    bor- 


rowed to  promote  the  above  horrid  and  brutal 
wars  and  corruptions — amounts  to  nearly  eight 
hundred  million  pounds  sterling.  Besides  the 
sixteen  hundred  millions  which  the  French  Rev- 
olution cost  England,  it  cost  France  about  two 
thousand  six  hundred  millions,  and  Europe  five 
thousand  millions  sterling. — National  Statistics. 


CURIOUS    CALCULATION. 

What  a  noisy  creature  would  a  man  be,  were 
his  voice  in  proportion  to  his  weight  a-s  loud  as 
a  locust !  A  locust  can  be  heard  at  the  distance 
of  1-lOlh  of  a  mile.  The  golden  wren  is  said  to 
weigli  but  half  an  ounce;  so  that  a  middling- 
si/X'd  man  would  weigh  down  not  short  of  40U0 
of  them  ;  and  it  must  be  strange  if  a  golden  wren 
would  not  outweigh  four  of  our  locusts.  Sup- 
posing, therefore,  that  a  common  man  weighs  as 
much  as  16,000  of  our  locusts,  and  that  the  note 
of  a  locust  can  be  heard  1-1 6th  of  a  mile,  a  man 
of  common  dimensions,  pretty  sound  in  wind 
and  limb,  ought  to  be  able  to  make  himself 
heard  at  the  distance  of  1600  miles;  and  when 
he  sneezed  "  his  house  ought  to  fall  about  his 
ears."  Supposing  a  fiea  to  weigh  one  grain, 
which  is  more  than  its  actual  weight,  and  to 
jumj)  one  and  a  half  yards,  a  common  man  of 
150  pounds,  with  jumping  powers  in  proportion, 
could  jump  12,800  miles,  or  about  the  distance 
from  New  York  to  Cochin  China.  Aristophanes 
represents  Socrates  and  Ins  disciples  as  deeply 
engaged  in  calculations  of  these  kinds  around  a 
table  on  which  they  arc  waxing  a  flea's  legs  to 
see  what  weight  it  will  carry  in  proportion  to  its 
size,  but  he  does  not  announce  the  result  of  their 
experiments.  We  are,  therefore,  happy  in  being 
able  to  su])ply,  in  some  degree,  so  serious  an 
omission. — English  paper. 


THE  ARTISTS'  BALL, 

The  engraving  below  represents  the  splendid 
ball  recently  given  by  the  united  associations  of 
artists,  painters,  sculptors  and  musicians,  in  the 
galleries  of  the  Bonnc-Nouvelle  Bazaar,  at  Paris. 
The  evening  was  of  a  series  of  brilliant  soirees^ 
equally  worthy  of  the  generous  men  who  patron- 
ize them,  and  the  unfortunate  persons  they  were 
instituted  to  assist.  The  entire  proceeds  of  these 
reunions  are  devoted  to  the  succor  of  destitute 
professors  of  art.  The  rooms  are  engaged  on  a 
long  lease  by  the  members  of  the  association, 
who  are  not,  unfortunately,  rich  enough  to  pur- 
chase tbem.  They  were  decorated  by  M.  Cam- 
bon,  after  designs  by  M.  Jules  Bouchet.  The 
engraving  represents  the  principal  hall,  called 
the  Concert  Room,  which  is  connected  with 
another  apartment  of  the  same  size  by  means  of 
a  gallery  containing  a  collection  of  pictures  and 
statues,  the  work  of  the  most  distinguished  French 
artists.  A  concert-room,  embellished  by  paint- 
ings and  statuary,  and  enlivened  by  dancing  and 
music  is  something  original  and  striking.  Since 
the  hon  ton  have  deserted  the  masked  balls,  for 
meetings  in  better  taste,  it  is  only  right  that  their 
number  should  be  increased,  and  the  artists  of 
Paris  have  wisely  determined  that  this  ball  shall 
not  be  the  last.  The  evening  proved  a  brilliant 
and  happy  one,  and  the  profits  realized  on  the  oc- 
casion were  enormous. 


fp  AR^rpyS^  BAL?.  11^  JHE  GALLERIES  OF  'rJ3E  BONNE-NO UVELLE  BAZAAR;  PARIS. 


GLEASO^"S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


117 


DESTRUCTION  OF  THE    STEAIMER  HENRY  CLAY,  BY  FIRE,  ON  THE  HUDSON  RI\^R. 


burnhvg  of  the  henry  clay. 

Our  illustration  represents  the  Henry  Claj  as  she  was  run 
ashore,  with  her  bow  embedded  eight  feet  in  the  bank  by  the  side 
of  the  railroad  track.  About  one  third  of  her  entire  length  was 
out  of  water.  The  spot  where  she  beached  is  about  one  mile 
above  Spuyten  Devil  Creek  and  t^vo  and  a  half  below  Yonkers. 
On  the  right  is  seen  an  arch  thrown  over  the  track  to  carry  a  pri- 
vate road  from  above  to  a  dock  which  is  immediately  behind  the 
boat ;  indeed,  as  she  ran  ashore,  her  guards  projected  over  this 
dock  and  set  lire  to  the  sti'ing  piece.  Just  in  front  of  the  bow  is 
a  little  shanty  whicli  is  occupied  by  one  of  the  railroad  sentinels. 
Along  the  cilge  of  the  beach  and  near  the  boat  is  seen  some  shad 
poles,  which  the  tisliermen  have  left  here  for  the  time  being,  and 
piled  stones  upon  them  to  prevent  tiieir  floating  away  with  the 
tide.  It  is  a  proper  inquiry,  why  were  not  these  poles  used  as  a 
means  of  rescuing  the  passengers  ?  They  are  fifty  feet 
long,  would  each  sustain  ten  or  twelve  persons,  and 
would  almost  have  reached  from  the  beach  to  the  stem 
of  the  boat.  In  front  of  the  wheel  may  be  seen  an  in- 
dividual cutting  ttirough  the  side  of  the  boat  to  relieve 
any  one  who  may  be  in  the  hold  of  the  vessel.  The 
ill-fated  passengers  are  seen  clinging  to  the  wheel  and 
under  the  guards,  while  others  are  crowded  on  the 
stem,  loath  to  throw  themselves  into  the  treacherous 
waves  where  so  many  met  a  watery  grave.  The  only 
boat  which  reached  the  scene  before  the  Armenia 
came  up,  is  seen  at  the  stem  of  the  steamer  taking  otF 
the  passengers  of  the  ill-fated  boat.  The  bows  of  the 
Armenia  are  shown  just  behind  the  Henry  Clay.  In 
the  distance  the  Palisades  stretch  along  up  the  west- 
ern shore  of  the  Hudson,  until  they  lose  themselves 
in  Tappan  Bay.  In  the  immediate  foreground  is  one 
of  the  train  of  cars  whicli  reached  the  spot  just  after 
the  Henry  Clay  ran  ashore,  and  whoso  passengers  did 
such  good  service  in  rescuing  many  of  their  fellow 
beings  from  death.  The  details  of  this  disaster  are  of 
a  truly  heart-rending  character.  Our  limits  will  per- 
mit only  a  general  view  of  this  deplorable  event. 
The  Henry  Clay  left  Albany  at  7  o'clock  Wednesday 
morning,  July  2Sth,  having  on  board,  as  near  as  could 
be  ascertained,  some  300  passengers.  Tiie  Armenia 
left  the  same  place  a  few  minutes  afterward.  On  the 
passage  do^vn  the  river  there  was,  as  witnesses  testifv, 
a  continuous  strife  or  race  between  the  two  boats.  At 
one  time  the  Henry  Clay  crowded  tlie  Armenia  al 
most  upon  the  western  shore,  and  forced  her  to  drop 
astern.  The  passengers  on  board  the  Henry  CI  i\ 
finally  became  greatly  alarmed  on  account  of  the 
racing,  and  sometime  before  the  fire  a  number  of  la- 
dies were  crying  and  running  about  the  cabin,  as  if 
sensible  that  some  catastrophe  was  impending.  Some 
of  the  officers  of  the  boat  went  among  them,  assured 
them  that  there  was  no  danger,  and  tried  to  pacify 
them.  We  are  assured  that  the  race  had  been  so 
hotly  contested  that  the  boats  had  purposely  missed 
some  of  their  landings.  The  runners  of  the  boats  at 
the  various  landings  appear  to  have  been  aware  of  the 
racing,  since  they  were  freely  ottering  bets  upon  their 
favorites.  However,  no  accident  or  outrage  occurred 
until  a  few  minutes  after  the  Henrt'  Clay  passed  Yon- 
kers, when  it  was  discovered  that  the  woodwork  near 
the  boilers  and  flues  was  on  fire.  The  alarm  spread, 
but  the  officers  of  the  boat — judiciously,  without  doubt 
— told  the  passengers  that  there  was  no  danger.  The 
pilot,  however,  saw  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  and 
headed  the  boat  for  the  eastern  shore.  Tlie  river  here 
is  nearly  two  miles  wide,  and  the  boat  in  her  regular 
course  would  have  been  a  mile  and  a  half  froni  the 
east  bank.  Before  reaching  the  shore,  the  flames  had 
spread  so  as  almost  to  prevent  communication  be- 


tT\'een  the  fore  and  aft  parts  of  the  boat.  At  about  three  or  quar- 
ter past  three  o'clock,  the  boat  came  ashore,  lying  at  right  angles 
with  the  river,  and  the  bow  driving  up  some  twenty-five  feet  on 
dry  land,  and  plunging  with  tremendous  force  into  the  railroad 
embankment,  which  is  there  some  six  or  eight  feet  higli.  The 
shock  overthrew  the  smoke-pipe,  displaced  everything  moveable, 
and  added  not  a  little  to  the  spreading  of  the  flames.  While  the 
bow  was  high  and  dry,  the  greater  poition  of  the  boat,  and  un- 
fortunately that  which  held  nearly  all  the  passengers,  was  in  deep 
water.  The  passengers  immediately  began  to  jump  overboard. 
Those  on  the  how  got  off  safely,  and  began  to  help  the  others. 
A  board  fence  near  by,  was  instantly  stripped,  and  the  boards 
thro'wn  into  the  water.  By  great  exertion,  a  large  majority  of 
the  passengers  got  ashore,  some  scorched,  nearly  all  with  loss  of 
clothes,  trunks,  etc.     But  the  rapid   spread  of  the  tire,  which 


CROSSING  THE   SIERRA   NEVADA. 


forced  the  passengers  at  the  stem  overboard,  was  the  cause  of  the 
loss  of  a  large  number  of  lives.  The  scene  was  one  of  the  most 
terrible  character.  Mothers  with  their  clothes  in  flames,  trying  to 
save  some  dear  child  ;  children  struggling  in  the  waves  without  a 
hand  to  help  them  ;  husbands  and  wives  dro^iiing  together  rather 
than  separate,  and  the  remorseless  fire  rapidly  destroying  the  last 
standing-place  of  tlie  helpless  victims.  There  were  very  few 
houses  in  the  neighborhood,  and  very  little  help  could  be  had 
from  the  shore.  But  all  who  knew  of  it  hastened  to  lend  their 
aid.  The  scene  of  the  melancholy  disaster  was  visited  at  an  early 
hour,  the  day  following,  by  an  immense  concourse  of  persons, 
anxious  to  recognize  the  lost,  to  reclaim  the  bodies  which  were 
recovered,  or  to  gaze  upon  the  wreck  wliich  told  so  eloquently  of 
the  fully  and  rashness  that  has  shrouded  many  families  in  the 
deepest  grief.  The  few  remains  of  the  ill-fated  vessel  are  cast 
upon  the  shore,  and  only  a  timber,  here  and  there,  is 
left  to  tell  what  was  once  a  handsome  structure — a 
pregnant  commentary  on  the  fatal  results  of  foolhar- 
dincss  and  reckless  daring.  About  daylight,  a  strong 
force  of  workmen  commenced  grappling  for  the  bodies 
which  had  not  been  recovered.  The  labor  was  con- 
tinued without  intermission  throughout  the  day. 
Twent^-^-three  additional  bodies  were  recovered;  since 
then,  several  others  have  been  found,  swelling  the 
aggregate  to  eighty  persons  known  to  have  been  lost. 
Before  10  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  grappling  irons 
had  recovered  several  bodies,  which  were  decently 
composed  and  laid  in  order  upon  the  beach  for  recog- 
nition. They  were  covered  over  with  green  branches 
from  the  woods  adjacent,  and  carefully  shielded  from 
harm.  The  arrangements  made  in  the  progress  of 
the  search  were  as  complete  as  it  was  possible  to 
make  them,  removed  as  the  locality  is  from  towns  or 
dwellings.  The  survivors  had  every  facility  afforded 
them  to  view  the  remains,  and  hundreds  stood  mourn- 
fully gazing  at  the  scene.  Husbands,  wives,  parents, 
brothers,  sisters,  thronged  in  deep  grief  around  the 
grouped  bodies,  and  the  air  was  often  pierced  by  the 
cries  wrung  from  tortured  hearts.  The  sight  was  cal- 
culated to  move  the  deepest  siTnpathies  of  the  heart, 
and  there  were  few  who  witnessed  it  unaffected  by  the 
solemn  feeling  it  inspired.  Seldom  has  an  event 
transpired  which  has  awakened  an  intenser  interest 
than  this.  Such  a  wholesale  and  needless  waste  of 
human  life  challenges,  and  will  receive  the  utmost 
scrutiny  into  its  cause.  The  verdict  of  the  coronei-'s 
jury  in  this  case  brands  the  disaster  as  the  result  of 
culpable  negligence  and  criminal  recklessness. 

CROSSOG  THE  SIERRA  NEVADA, 

This  scene  upon  our  own  continent  very  happily 
expresses  the  perils  to  which  travellers  crossing  the 
Sierra  Nevada  to  El  Dorado  are  constantly  exposed. 
The  road  passes  along  the  verge  of  frightful  precipices, 
into  which  a  single  false  step  of  the  mule  would  pre- 
cipitate both  animal  and  rider.  Fortunately,  the  ani- 
mals are  so  steady  and  surefooted  tliat  accidents  are 
of  very  rare  oecun-ence,  and  those  who  frequently 
cross  the  mountains  become  perfectly  indifi'erent  to 
the  menacing  ehai-acter  of  these  rugged  passes.  Of 
this  we  have  an  illustration  in  the  engraving.  The 
airtero  or  muleteer  in  frontfis  carelessly  reclining  on 
his  pack-saddle,  touching  his  guitai*,  and  warbling 
some  love  song  or  mountain  ditty.  His  companion, 
equally  indifferent  to  danger,  is  yet  wholly  absorbed 
in  soothing  the  fears  of  the  lady  whose  nerves  are 
shaken  by  a  glance  into  the  hon-ible  gulf  yawning 
at  her  fe'et,  aiid  who  clings  in  desperation  to  the  stal- 
wort  form  of  the  muleteer.  The  whole  design  is 
effective,  well  conceived  and  boldly  executed. 


118 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL  DRAWING   ROOM   COINIPANION. 


[Written  for  GloiiHon'a  I'ictorlul.] 
FEAll, 

BY  IBADEL  A8IIT0N. 

Do  yo  hear  it,  0  my  nifltcr  ? 

Thiit  wild,  wiiiliiit,'  Kound  of  woo, 
Out  iirHid  the  fciii'ful  (lfirkni!t<a, 
.  Moui'iifully  it  HCcnis  to  go. 
Draw  up  cloycv  t<)  nio,  fllHtur, — 

Will  tlio  moi-ning  iiovnr  breiik? 
Tho  Bwcofc,  glowiug  light  of  iiiorniiig, — 

Sinter,  dearest  niBter,  wake  I 

Proflfl  thy  cheelt  to  mine,  Bweot  Bister, 

Whisper  noftly  iu  my  eiir, 
It  is  but  tho  night-wind'H  music, 

In  this  lonely  hour  I  liciir. 
All  tho  blcBsed  stara  iiro  Hhroudod 

In  u  veil  of  dreiwy  gloom, 
And  tho  soft,  bright  silver  nioonbcomB 

HaTO  gone  from  our  sllout  room. 

Did  yo  hear  it,  O  my  eister? 

Thtit  bright,  vivid,  lightning  flash  ; 
Its  red  sweep  brings  woo  and  terror, 

And  tho  thunder's  fearful  cliisU. 
A  diirk  storm  is  brooding  o'er  us, 

Deeper  shadows  giither  round  ; 
I  can  hear  tho  rain-dropa  dashing 

In  wild  fury  on  tho  ground. 

Clasp  my  hand  in  thine,  sweet  sister. 

For  the  morning  cometh  now  ; 
A  faint  tinge  of  red  is  resting 

On  thy  pure  and  placid  brow. 
That  dark  cloud  is  swiftly  passing 

I'rom  the  brow  of  night  away. 
And  my  heart  is  once  more  throbbing 

In  tho  joy  and  hght  of  day. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

LIBERTY  vs.  LOVE: 

— OK — 

THE   SOLDIER'S   TEIUMPH. 

BY    MRS.    H.    MAKION    STEPHENS. 

I  LOVE  occasionally  to  go  "  down  among  the 
dead  men  "  of  the  olden  time,  and  Imnt  up  such 
relics  of  tradition  as  may  have  lingered  among 
their  tombs.  I  have  an  unqualified  reverence 
for  anything  bearing  the  stamp  of  age,  be  it  ani- 
mate or  senseless  ;  a  childish  awe,  mingled  with 
womanly  curiosity,  to  trace  back  its  history  into 
the  past  when  it  had  been  fresh  and  young. 
Call  it  impulse,  call  it  restlessness,  call  it  what 
you  will,  from  a  cliild,  this  indefinable  sentiment 
has  sprung  into  life  before  any  specimen  of  an- 
tiquity of  whatever  form  or  substance. 

You  will  not  wonder,  then,  dear  reader,  that 
the  old  gable-roof  building  opposite  my  residence, 
rearing  its  gray  old  timbers  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  city,  should  have  excited  my  curiosity.  For 
two  mortal  years  it  had  been  before  my  eyes ; 
dark  and  shadow  crowned  through  the  morn- 
ings, and  all  the  long  days,  until  the  evening 
sunbeams  came  slanting  over  the  city,  to  rest  a 
moment  on  its  worn  timbers. 

For  two  mortal  years,  througli  the  mornings, 
and  all  the  long  days,  the  continuous  click,  click 
of  the  workman's  hammer  has  been  the  only 
sound  issuing  from  that  curious  specimen  of  old 
time  architecture.  Carriages  may  be  seen  at  any 
moment  flashing  in  through  the  rickety  gates, 
and  always  returning  with  a  freshened  appear- 
ance, as  if  the  antique  mass  of  wood  and  mortar 
had  the  power  to  rejuvenate  everything  but 
itself. 

And  there  came  a  time,  in  those  years,  when, 
from  physical  inability,  I  was  unable  to  dream 
my  accustomed  dreams  by  my  chamber  window; 
but  the  old  building  must  have  been  grateful  for 
the  interest  I  had  evinced  in  its  past;  for  morn- 
ing after  morning,  when  tliere  were  no  clouds  in 
the  sky,  the  great  gray  mass  was  mirrored  in  the 
sunlight  upon  my  chamber  floor.  So  I  knew  it 
was  there  still,  and  grew  at  length  to  like  its 
company,  and  to  feel  uncomfortable  when  the 
cloudy  days  came  and  obscured  its  shadow. 

Judge  of  my  surprise,  then,  I  may  say  horror — ■ 
for  my  love  for  this  crumbling  structure  liad  be- 
come a  mania, — when,  upon  looking  from  my 
window  for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks,  I  found 
in  its  stead  a  bright  new  building,  with  a  coat  of 
the  yellowest  kind  of  yellow  paint,  taking  upon 
itself  more  airs  than  was  quite  becoming  for  a 
young  settler  in  our  jostling  little  neighborhood. 
I  was  vexed,  I  confess,  it,  grieved  and  disap- 
pointed ;  but,  as  I  turned  away,  there,  in  the 
sunlight  upon  the  floor,  was  still  mirrored  tlie 
same  old  jagged  gable-roof  that  I  had  looked 
upon  so  often.  Pretty  good  for  fancij,  thought  I, 
and  rubbed  my  eyes  to  dispel  the  illusion  ;  but 
there  it  remained  as  motionless  and  shadowy  as 
ever.    I  turned  again  to  the  window,  and  run- 


nnig  my  eyes  from  tlio  p^ckc^gatc  to  t!io  top  of 
the  building,  saw,  sure  onougli,  u)jrisiiig  from  its 
young  dress,  like  another  Mrs.  Skcwton,  tlie  head 
and  shoulders  of  my  oUl  frii-nd  llie  galdc-roof. 
And  sheepishly  enough  ashamed  of  itself,  it  did 
look  in  new  toggery,  and  I  could  almost  fancy 
the  gables  trying  to  explain  liow  old  and  power- 
less they  had  been  to  resist  the  invasion,  and 
begging  me  not  to  abate  my  interest  in  their 
history. 

Among  the  scorners  of  its  alTected  juvenility 
was  an  aged  and  venerable  man,  whom  I  had 
often  noticed  in  other  days  gazing  with  a  dreamy, 
indolent  smile  upon  its  decaying  timbers ;  but 
now  he  would  liurry  past  as  fast  as  his  trembling 
limbs  could  carry  him,  and  always  with  an  un- 
mistakable contempt  upon  his  lip  and  in  his  eye. 
Once,  and  once  only,  he  paused  in  his  accustom- 
ed walk,  and  leaned  heavily  against  the  gate.  I 
saw  the  carriage  of  a  wealthy  merchant  pass 
through  so  near  that  it  must  have  grazed  him; 
but  he  gave  no  sign  of  consciousness.  I  saw  his 
lips  trembling,  and  his  eyes  moistened,  and  then 
I  saw  no  more,  for  my  traitor  of  a  thimble  had 
betrayed  me  by  rapping  on  the  window,  and  the 
old  man  was  hobbling  up  stairs  before  I  quite 
knew  what  I  intended  asking  him. 

"  The  old  house  V  I  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  room.  "The  old  gable-roof;  what 
did  tempt  them  to  disfigure  it  so  V* 

"  Sacrilege,  sacrilege,"  he  muttered,  more  to 
himself  than  in  reply  to  me.  "  If  that  old  house 
could  tell  its  history." 

I  was  right.  It  had  a  history,  and  the  old  man 
knew  it,  and  the  old  man  would  tell  it  to  me. 
Blessings  on  his  gray  locks,  I  could  have  kissed 
him  with  a  hearty  good  will,  if — if  he  had  been 
twenty  years  younger.  I  drew  up  the  great 
stuff"ed  chair  for  him  to  repose  in,  and  snuggling 
down  on  a  stool  by  his  side  (he  was  an  old  man 
— a  imij  old  man,  remember),  prepared  to  be  a 
most  attentive  listener. 

"  That  house  was  not  always  the  great  gray 
ghost  of  a  building  it  is  now,"  he  began.  "  You 
see  that  old  elm  and  the  poplar  just  beyond  it?" 

I  was  prepared  to  see  and  believe  anything  in 
reason,  so  I  nodded  my  head  in  the  afflrmative. 

"  Many  years  ago — more  years  than  you  have 
numbered, — where  those  two  trees  now  stand, 
solitary  and  alone,  a  large  affluent  grove  of  elms 
and  poplars  gave  a  cheering  shade  to  the  worn 
traveller,  and  a  cozy  nestling-place  for  the  only 
hotel.  Inn  it  was  called,  in  those  days,  for  miles 
and  miles  away.  There  were  other  places  of  en- 
tertainment, in  the  true  English  sense  of  the 
word,  but  no  other  inn,  where  the  honest,  gene- 
rous hospitality  of  a  large-souled  patriot  went 
out  like  a  blessing,  and  drew  around  him  not 
those  alone  whose  deep  purses  and  willing  hands 
could  liberally  re-iraburse  him  for  his  kindness; 
but  the  needy  and  the  suffering,  the  toil-worn 
and  the  weary,  the  soldier  and  the  civilian,  found 
alike  a  home  and  a  welcome  beneath  the  quaint>- 
looking  gable-roof  of  Merriam  Wilder — Merry 
Wdd,  as  he  was  called  by  those  about  him,  and 
merry  and  wild  he  ivos  to  his  heart's  content. 

'*  Some  of  his  neighbors  could  count  more 
gold  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of,  I>ut  he  could 
buy  and  sell  them  all  in  the  lasting  affluence  of 
heart  wealth.  0,  thank  God,  thank  God  !  that, 
while  the  rich  man  can  build  his  golden  steps, 
one  by  one,  up  to  the  throne  of  the  Almighty, 
there  is  ahvai/s  by  the  poor  man's  side  a  Jacob's 
ladder,  formed  of  good  resolves  and  noble  pur- 
poses, where  he  may  go  up,  day  after  day,  and 
take  a  look  at  the  bright  things  in  store  for  him, 
when  he  shall  have  performed  the  mission  allot- 
ted him  here  on  earth.  And  Merry  Wilder  was 
continually  going  up  this  ladder,  although  he  had 
travelled  the  same  road  for  forty  years.  In  vain 
IMrs.  Wilder — good  soul — felt  sure  they  should 
bring  up  at  the  poor-house  for  his  extravagance. 
In  vain  she  protested  that  charity  should  begin 
at  home  ;  he  would  only  catch  her  in  his  arms, 
kiss  her  lips  until  they  forgot  to  pout,  and  go 
around  doing  good  as  usual.  Were  any  of  his 
poorer  neighbors  sick  or  in  distress,  the  whole 
house  would  be  ransacked  to  find  something  ser- 
viceable for  them,  and  away  he  would  go,  up  the 
aforesaid  Jacob's  ladder,  with  joy  and  thankful- 
ness. Did  any  poor  soldier  cross  his  path,  the 
last  dollar,  perhaps,  he  had  in  the  world,  would 
be  pressed  upon  bim,  and  his  own  heart  would 
leap  up  to  meet  the  blessing  and  the  prayer  of 
the  reeipieut  of  his  bounty. 

"  0,  a  rare  innkeeper  was  good  Meniara  Wil- 
der, and  a  rare  treasure  did  he  possess  in  the 
frank,  blithe,  blue-eyed  daughter  of  his  love, 
Kitty  Wilder.  Kitty  was  not  beautiful  bcjond 
what  youth,  and  health,  and   innocency,  could 


make  licr ;  but  the  same  generous,  cordial,  en- 
thusiastic spirit,  which  characterized  her  father, 
was  tlie  equivalent  for  a  more  decided  beauty  of 
person.  Unselfish  in  her  afiections,  unused  to 
restraint,  and  untainted  l)y  the  sujjcriicial  gloss 
of  fashionttble  life,  she  moved  in  her  little  sphere 
of  usefulness,  won  the  approval,  not  alone  of  her 
own  heart,  but  of  every  one  with  whom  slic 
chanced  to  meet. 

"  It  was  in  the  days  dedicated  to  brave  heartu 
and  noble  deeds;  and  many  an  exhausted  vete- 
ran, and  many  a  wounded  soldier,  owed  an  ex- 
tended life  to  the  gentle  care  and  womanly  atten- 
tion of  the  innkeeper's  daughter.  One  day  the 
quiet  of  the  inn,  which,  notwithstanding  the  fre- 
quent skirmishes  and  outbreaks  in  the  adjacent 
towns,  had  grown  monotonous,  was  broken  by 
tlic  arrival  of  a  stranger  and  a  soldier,  either  of 
the  relations  being  sufficient  to  gain  him  the  wel- 
come which  was  most  kindly  extended.  The 
new  comer  was  a  slight,  graceful  youth,  wliose 
form  the  sun  of  nineteen  summers  had  scarcely 
ripened  into  manhood,  but  from  whose  eye 
beamed  a  consciousness  of  great  energy,  a  grasp- 
ing ambition,  and  a  fearlessness  of  result,  which 
failed  not  once  in  a  lifetime  to  make  a  favorable 
impression.  No  wonder  the  impulsive  maiden 
of  the  inn  recognized  and  respected  his  superior- 
ity, when,  in  a  cycle  of  centuries  past  and  yet  to 
come,  his  name  has  been  and  will  be  venerated 
wherever  liberty  maybe  recognized  as  a  national 
good.  Young  as  he  was,  attentive  and  deferential 
to  the  aged,  and  cordial  to  familiarity  with  those 
of  his  own  years,  still  none  could  leave  him  with- 
out feeling  that  they  had  been  in  the  presence  of 
one  formed,  if  not  habituated  to  command,  certain 
in  either  case  of  being  obeyed. 

"  There  was  in  his  whole  manner  a  prestige 
of  extraordinary  genius  ;  of  towering,  almost  au- 
dacious enthusiasm,  and  a  quiet,  unresisting  fas- 
cination, which  exercised  its  influence  alike  upon 
the  daring  and  the  weak.  Even  the  horse  upon 
which  he  rode,  betraying  the  blood  of  a  noble 
stock,  was,  like  everything  else  upon  which  his 
brUliant  eyes  would  chance  to  rest  for  the  time, 
under  the  most  perfect  control.  He  seemed  to 
delight  in  goading  him  on  to  the  most  exaspera- 
ted fury,  and  then  dropping  the  reins  over  his 
arching  neck,  with  a  single  word  still  the  tem- 
pest to  an  almost  abject  calm, 

'*  The  intended  week's  visit  had  extended  to  a 
delay  of  months,  and  still  the  youthful  stranger 
lingered  at  the  inn,  much  to  the  edification  of 
the  gossips,  who  winked  and  nodded,  and  whi.s- 
pered  words  to  ICitty  Wilder,  which  sent  the 
blood  in  crimson  gushes  over  her  face  and  neck, 
although  she  laughingly  protested  against  their 
insinuations.  But  however  much  their  hearts 
had  been  interested,  there  had  been  no  love-pas- 
sages, no  lip-worship,  or  interchange  of  thought 
between  the  parties,  who  were  conceded  by  all  to 
be  destined  for  a  life  union  of  interest  and  affec- 
tion. No,  they  were  not  lovers,  at  least  in  the 
common  acceptation  of  the  term.  Perhaps  Kitty 
had  thought  his  manner  strange  and  pecuUar, 
and  even  wished  at  times  that  he  would  speak, 
when  so  often  he  had  made  the  attempt  and 
checked  the  words.  Sometimes  when  they  were 
alone,  he  would  lay  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  get 
as  far  '  liitty,  darling,'  and  then,  blushing  to  the 
eyes,  turn  away,  and  ask  some  common-place 
question  of  little  interest  to  either  party. 

"  But  the  long  bright  evenings,  when  the  old 
man  would  come  in  and  sit  with  them  around 
the  crackling  fire,  then  it  was  that  Kitty  could 
watch  with  a  furtive  glance  the  eloquent  face  and 
flashing  eyes  of  her  guest,  as  he  listened  (as  if 
heart  and  soul  were  in  the  cause)  to  the  tales  of 
battles  won  and  battles  still  progressing,  of 
which  Merry  Wild  could  talk  unanswered  by  the 
hour.  That  wild,  glad,  glorious  face,  so  full  of 
interest  and  enthusiasm !  That  wild,  glad,  glo- 
rious face  !  She  could  not  help  her  dreams ;  and 
itwonld  come  to  her  in  her  sleep,  and  bending  over 
her,  breathe  all,  and  more  than  her  young  heart 
ever  dared  believe  in  its  waking  moments  of  high 
and  holy  trust,  of  deep,  lasting  and  religious  fer- 
vor ;  but  with  the  day  such  thoughts  were  put 
aside,  and  she  would  commune  with  her  guest, 
as  if,  under  the  calm  exterior,  there  was  no  great- 
er depth  of  feeling  than  was  palpable  to  his  earn- 
est gaze. 

"  The  spring  came,  and  with  it  fresh  trials  and 
invasions,  and  new  expeditions  were  forming 
from  the  neighborhood  to  join  the  armies  already 
engaged  upon  the  defensive  ground,  ready  to 
protect  their  homes  and  country  at  tlie  peril  of 
their  lives.  And  the  enthusiasm  had  spread  un- 
til it  reached  the  little  inn,  and  Merry  Wild,  now 
wi/dcr  than  ever,  was   overlooking  muskets  and 


hits  of  uniform  that  had,  at  various  times,  been 
left  to  his  care,  murmuring,  as  he  brightened  up 
tlie  polished  steel:  'If  I  was  only  young  as  I 
was  twenty-five  years  ago,  wouldn't  the  rascals 
have  a  time  of  it^' 

"  And  there  was  one  whose  cheeks  brightened 
into  a  deeper  glow,  whose  eyes  flashed  a  boding 
fire,  and  whose  heart  throbbed  between  the  dou- 
ble fire  of  love  and  liberty.  All  day  long  ho 
had  been  out  under  the  solemn  whispering  elms, 
that  threw  a  broken  shadow  over  the  gable-roof, 
communing  with  his  own  heart,  and  striving  to 
draw  a  correct  line  between  duty  and  inclination. 

"  The  last  gleam  of  the  sun  lay  upon  the  hill 
tops,  and  the  last  note  of  bird-song  was  dying 
away  among  tlie  leaves,  and  still  he  brooded  in 
painful  silence  upon  the  immature  plans  he  had 
before  him — Lorn  find  Fame  I  He  closed  his 
eyes,  and  the  soft  winning  smile  of  Kitty  seemed 
beckoning  him  to  forget  in  her  presence  all  the 
grand  and  lofty  dreams  which  had  haunted  Ins 
boyhood,  and  tinged  his  life  with  ahold  coloring 
of  romance.  He  knew  she  loved;  knew  it;  felt 
sure  of  it;  and  should  he,  with  the  cup  of  happi- 
ness at  his  lip,  from  which  he  could  drink  to  his 
heart's  content,  should  he  fling  it  from  his  hand, 
break  the  pitcher  at  the  well,  and  all  for  that 
visionary  thing  which  men  call  fame.  He  re- 
called all  the  native  grace  and  gentle  dignity  of 
the  pretty  girl,  whose  noble  traits  of  character  so 
well  accorded  with  his  own  sympathies.  He 
thought  of  her  as  the  patient,  thoughtful  nurse, 
as  the  tender,  loving  daughter,  as  the  idol  of  her 
companions,  and  the  calm,  reflective  woman. 
He  had  seen  her  in  every  phase  of  her  many 
sided  character,  scarcely  knowing  which  most 
to  admire,  little  knowing  that  there  was  still 
another  phase  in  which  the  strong  will  of  a  great 
soul  would  triumph  even,  when  his  own  resolu- 
tion too  sorely  tried  was  like  to  fail.  A  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  tempted  hither  by  the  great 
watchword  Liberty,  mounting  upon  its  strong 
mngs  to  glory  and  immortality,  should  he,  now 
that  strong  arms  and  stout  hearts  were  most 
needed,  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  voice  that  had 
lured  him  from  his  home,  aud  settle  do^vn  in  in- 
active ease,  while  there  were  struggles  to  achieve, 
wrongs  to  redress,  and  a  liberty  for  the  land  of 
his  adoption  still  unattained  ?  No,  no,  no  ! 
With  a  mighty  etfort  he  turned  the  current  of  his 
thought  as  much  backward  into  the  past  for  in- 
centive, as  forward  into  the  future  for  hope. 
The  waves  of  passion  subsided,  and  the  broad 
deep  current  of  his  native  energy  rushed  in  and 
overpowered  it.  He  had  youth,  health,  energy, 
a  vitality  of  strength  and  courage,  a  physique 
formed  for  endurance,  and  more  than  all,  an  un- 
qualified love  of  right  and  honesty ;  and  should 
he  at  the  last  moment,  Avhen  most  needed  in  the 
field  of  action,  turn  away  from  the  very  impulse 
and  desire  which  had  guided  him  into  the  very 
field  wherein  he  designed  to  labor  ? 

"  Darker  and  duskier  grew  the  grove  of  elms 
and  poplars,  and  stronger  and  braver  grew  the 
heart,  but  a  moment  before  so  vacillating  and 
undecided.  He  had  conquered  /jimse//^— and 
when,  in  a  moment  after,  the  stillness  of  the  grove 
was  broken  by  a  light  footstep,  and  the  liand  of 
lutty  rested  upon  his  own,  he  did  not  blush  or 
turn  away,  as  he  had  done  before,  but  placing 
his  disengaged  arm  around  her  waist,  drew  her 
tenderly  to  his  bosom.  She  did  not  resist  the  in- 
vasion, or  repel  tlie  close  pressure  of  lips  wliich 
were  pressed  for  tho  first  time  against  her  own. 
The  old  vacillation  of  impulse  was  returning 
with  double  force,  and  a  torrent  of  words  was 
ready  to  fall  from  his  lips,  but  he  checked  them, 
and  only  murmured  : 

" 'Kitty,  do  you  know  what  it  is  to  love,  as 
the  lightning  loves  the  tree  it  blasts,  as  the  ocean 
loves  the  fleet  it  swallows  up,  as  I  love  you  ?' 

" '  j\Ti/  God!'  she  exclaimed,  recoiling  from 
his  clasp,  with  a  face  from  which  every  particle 
of  color  had  fled.  My  God!  How  that  holy 
name  comes  from  tlie  heart  to  the  lip  in  any  case 
of  emergency,  in  any  sudden  fright,  in  any  sud- 
den sorrow,  in  any  sudden  joy — that  reverend 
name  springs  up,  a  living  evidence  to  those  who 
dare  to  say  there  is  no  God ! 

"  She  had  clasped  her  hands,  and  stood  lean- 
ing against  a  tree,  gazing  upon  her  companion 
with  an  expression  of  hopeless  sorrow  upon  her 
face. 

"  '  ICitty,  I  lOve  you — love  you !' 

" '  O,  you  must  not ;  indeed  you  must  not !' 
she  pleaded,  as  if  lite  aud  death  hung  upon  his 
recanting  the  confession.  '  Indeed — indeed,  you 
must  not.  You,  so  powerful  to  command,  so 
formed  to  achieve  !  The  country  is  besieged — 
•my  country,  and  yours,  you  say,  for  tho  future. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOMAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


119 


It  is  no  time  for  love,  except  such  love  as  shall 
avail  the  battle-field.  There  has  been  bloodshed, 
and  tjTanny-j  and  oppression,  and  we  thought  it 
had  terminated.  There  has  been  liberty  for 
some,  but  not  for  all.  Even  now  I  heard  my 
father  boast  of  your  high  valor,  of  your  keen 
judgment,  or  your  comprehensive  intellect. 
Even  now  I  heard  him  say  you  were  worthy  a 
place  side  by  side  with  our  guardian  angel,  Wash- 
ington. And  now — no,  no  !  I  do  not  lovo  you 
— I  will  not;*  and  she  clasped  her  hands  upon 
his  arm  again,  and  clung  to  hira  as  if  he  must  be 
persuaded.  *  Be  true  to  youi'self,  to  your  own 
sense  of  right  and  hberty,  and  in  my  heart  you 
will  find  a  sentiment  which  will  stand  you  in  bet- 
ter stead,  when  the  battle  rages  most,  that  will 
last  longer,  and  endure  more,  that  will  follow 
you  in  prayers  for  safety,  in  hope  for  success,  in 
prophetic  dreams  of  your  fiitxn-e  glory.' 

"  She  had  grown  pale  as  death,  and  her  clasp 
upon  his  arm  again  released  ;  but  he  dctamcd  her 
at  his  side.  Love  him  !  She  might  assert  it,  and 
tiy  to  convince  her  own  heart  as  she  did  his;  but 
he  had  read  each  leaf  of  that  fresh  book  wherein 
it  was  clasped,  and  saw  her  as  she  ivas ;  no  blush- 
ing girl,  but  a  high-souled  devotee,  an  enthusiast, 
who,  having  solved  the  problem  of  her  country's 
fate,  held  the  answer  in  her  o\vn  hand,  and 
shrank  not  from  its  fulfilment.  To  him  there 
was  something  holy  in  this  yielding  up  of  all  the 
dearest  ties  of  earth  to  a  love  of  country  and 
freedom ;  and  if  he  could  have  loved  her  more 
than  he  did,  her  sacrificing  devotion  would  have 
compelled  him  to  do  so,  but  he  could  not. 

"  '  We  are  meeting  for  the  last  time  on  earth,' 
he  murmured. 

" '  I  know  it,  do  I  not,  think  you  ?  Have  I  not 
suffered,  and  struggled,  and  prayed,  for  strength 
to  bear  this  trial  ?  But  let  us  be  calmly  wise, 
hopefully  true,  and  for  the  rest,  we  are  in  the 
hands  of  God.' 

" '  Eatty,  we  are  meeting  for  the  last  time  on 
tliis  side  of  the  grave,  and  yet  loving  yon,  as  I 
do,  I  was  seeking  you  to  tell  you  what  you 
have  but  now  told  ;we,  and  to  bear  with  me  into 
the  battle's  heat,  the  knowledge  that  I  had  made 
the  sacrifice  which  you  have  made  of  love  return- 
ed, yet  lost  it  for  the  sake  of  a  higher,  holier  mis- 
sion. Kitty,  we  are  parting  forever,  and  yet  you 
look  so  glad — so  glad  !' 

"  '  Glad  ?  of  course  glad,'  she  spoke,  in  a  ra- 
pid, passionate  tone ;  '  how  could  I  choose  but 
be  glad,  to  find  the  one  I  would  have  chosen 
from  all  the  world,  would  have  worshipped  with 
an  intensity  of  worship  of  which  few  could  dream  ? 
how  could  I  choose  but  be  glad,  to  find  him 
worthy  of  my  choice,  creditable  to  my  worship  ? 
O,  believe  me,  the  best,  deepest,  purest  love,  is 
that  which  sacrifices  most,  suffers  most.  The 
soul  is  of  God,  and  love  is  of  the  soul.  The 
strongest  love  and  the  strongest  anguish  were 
bequeathed  to  us  from  the  garden  of  Gethsemane, 
and  with  it  power  to  endure  unto  the  end,  while 
faith  and  hope  are  stars  within  our  sky.' 

"  And  the  youthful  lover  listened  to  the  argu- 
ment, and  was  happy.  It  was  his  ideal  of  love, 
purified,  refined  and  exalted  into  religion ;  it  was 
his  ideal  of  the  divinity  re-produced  in  the  hu- 
man form.  The  pale,  sweet,  solemn  face  rested 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  was  alone. 

*'  Litlle  knots  of  people  were  standing  together, 
busily  arranging  for  the  expedition,  which  would 
commence  with  the  morning.  In  a  few  moments 
more,  there  was  a  general  shout  of  exultation, 
which  startled  the  echoes  from  their  propriety. 
The  brave  youth,  whom  every  one  respected,  had 
signified  his  intention  of  joining  the  party.  Tlie 
morning  came,  and  a  troop  of  hardy,  rugged 
men,  led  by  a  young  officer,  who  looked  still 
younger  for  the  contrast,  might  have  been  seen 
with  eager,  determined  faces,  marching  on  to 
join  the  troops  already  stationed  in  the  interior 
of  the  country.  The  window,  up  in  the  gable 
looking  west,  framed  a  pale  sweet  face  for  a  mo- 
ment after  their  departure.  There  was  a  low, 
sad  moan,  an  earnest  prayer,  a  gush  of  tears, 
and  Kitty  Wilder,  the  enthusiast,  returned  once 
more  to  the  duties  of  her  station,  and  for  years 
after,  became  a  general  benefactress  to  the  poor 
and  wounded  soldiery." 

"  And  did  they  never  meet  again  1"  I  inquired, 
finding  the  old  man's  histoiy  bad  ended  some- 
what unsatisfactorily. 

"  Yes.  Many  years  after  the  termination  of 
the  revolutionary  struggles,  when  each  had  sepa- 
rate interests  and  separate  afitctions ;  but  to  the 
end  of  her  life,  I  believe,  if  ever  she  acknowledged 
an  especial  pride  in  any  one  incident,  it  was 
that  of  having  been  the  first  love  of  General 
Lafayette!" 


[Written  for  Gleason's  rictorial.] 

JUAN  AND   lOLA. 

A  STORY  OF  CASTILE. 


BY    EDWARD    J.    HANDIBOE. 

The  Count  de  Zamillo,  the  last  remaining 
representative  of  an  ancient  and  illustrious  house, 
after  serving  with  honor  in  the  armies  of  his 
sovereign,  had  retired  to  spend,  on  liis  paternal 
domains,  the  evening  of  his  days,  and  to  super- 
intend the  education  of  his  daughter,  the  lovely 
lola.  She  had  been  deprived,  while  yet  an  in- 
fant, of  that  greatest  of  all  blessings  to  a  youth- 
ful female — the  care  of  a  tender  and  accom- 
plished mother.  This  circumstance  had  thrown 
a  shade  of  melancholy  over  the  character  and 
pursuits  of  the  count,  and  only  in  his  daughter 
did  he  seem  to  acknowledge  the  tie  which  bound 
liim  to  life.  In  her  he  beheld  the  only  solace  of 
his  grief,  and  in  watching  her  improvement  he 
found  the  most  pleasing  occupation.  Nor  was 
she  unworthy  of  his  care.  Talents,  such  as  fell 
to  the  lot  of  few,  a  disposition  the  most  engag- 
ing, and  a  form  the  most  lovely,  marked  the 
rising  years  of  lola. 

The  count,  his  daughter,  and  her gouvemante,  an 
elderly  lady  of  elegant  manners  and  accomplish- 
ments, the  widow  of  an  officer  who  had  served  un- 
der her  present  protector,  had  for  many  years  com- 
posed the  only  inmates  of  the  castle.  At  length, 
in  the  tivelfth  year  of  lola's  age,  a  new  event  in- 
troduced an  addition  to  tlieir  domestic  circle. 

The  only  sister  of  the  count  had  early  in  life 
formed  an  imprudent  match — for  such  the  world 
presumes  to  call  those  connections  which  are 
hallowed  by  aflTection,  though  not  recommended 
by  the  meaner  advantages  of  wealth  or  rank. 
Her  husband  was  by  birth  an  Itahan,  in  which 
country  he  possessed  a  small  property,  where  his 
family  Hved  happily,  though  not  splendidly. 

His  sister  had  never  ceased  to  be  an  object  of 
warm  afiection  to  the  count ;  but  the  hereditary 
pride  of  birth,  and  dislike  of  everything  like  ple- 
beian connection,  were  among  his  strongest  prej- 
udices. His  sister  and  her  husband  were  equally, 
but  more  rationally  proud,  in  disdaining  to  so- 
licit what  they  deemed  unworthily  denied.  No 
intercom-se,  therefore,  had  ever  been  main- 
tained between  the  separated  relatives.  In  the 
happiness  of  domestic  duties,  in  the  conversation 
of  the  man  she  loved,  and  in  the  education  of 
her  only  son,  this  sister,  however,  never  once 
found  cause  to  regret  the  sacrifice  of  useless 
pomp,  for  real  though  humble  happiness.  But 
in  this  life  there  is  no  permanent  felicity.  Before 
theii-  son,  the  little  Juan,  had  attained  his  seventh 
year,  this  kind  husband  and  affectionate  parent 
died. 

To  his  widowed  mother,  Juau  now  remained 
the  only  comfort,  and  to  his  education  she  di- 
rected all  her  care.  For  such  a  duty,  both  from 
ability  and  affection,  no  one  could  be  better  quali- 
fied ;  and  her  son  was  thus  enabled  to  acqnii'c 
accomplishments  wliicli  would  have  graced  any 
rank.  But  misfortune  seemed  to  pursue  the 
youthful  sufferer.  Scarcely  had  he  attained  his 
fourteenth  year,  when  his  mother,  who  had  long 
been  in  a  declining  state,  breathed  her  last. 
Thus,  at  an  early  age,  when  it  is  most  important 
to  bend  the  incipient  passions  to  their  proper 
objects,  and  to  accustom  them  eaidy  to  conti'ol, — 
at  an  age  when  so  much  may  be  done  tow^ards 
forming  the  future  character,  was  lie  deprived  of 
both  his  guardians.  These  were  the  only  reflec- 
tions which  seriously  disturbed  the  death-bed 
hours  of  his  mother.  She  would  not  loave-him, 
indeed,  in  want ;  but  who  was  to  watch  over  his 
growing  years — to  conduct  him,  with  honor  and 
propriety,  to  manhood?  "My  brother,"  she 
■would  say,  "  was  ever  generous  and  noble, — ^he 
once  loved  me :  and  though  he,  in  some  measm-e, 
disowned  our  little  circle,  because  I  prefen-ed 
happiness  to  splendor,  he  never  used  me  unkind- 
ly :  surely  he  will  not  refuse  the  dying  request 
of  an  only  and  once  dear  sister.  He  will  not,  he 
cannot  deny  protection  to  her  orphan  child,whom, 
as  the  last  act  of  her  mortal  existence,  she  rec- 
ommends to  his  care."  Accordingly,  she  traced, 
with  trembling  hands,  a  few  lines  to  the  count. 

"Juan,  my  child,"  said  she,  to  her  son,  a  few 
hours  before  her  death,  *^  when  you  have  laid  me 
by  the  side  of  my  honored  father,  bear  this  letter 
to  Spain,  to  your  uncle,  tlie  Count  de  Zamillo  ; 
and,  as  you  have  ever  been  obedient  to  me,  be 
eqiially  submissive  to  what  your  uncle  may  de- 
termine :  he  is  noble  and  generous,  endeavor  to 
meet  his  approbation,  as  you  w"ould  have  labored 
to  deserve  my  esteem." 

The  Count  de  Zamillo  was  one  evening  seated 


in  the  apartment  where  he  usually  spent  that 
portion  of  the  day  with  lola  and  her  aged  gov- 
erness, when  he  was  informed  that  a  youthful 
stranger  wished  to  be  introduced.  Juan — for  it 
was  he,  dressed  in  the  deepest  mourning,  tall 
and  slender,  yet  elegant  in  person,  his  dark 
locks  curling  in  profusion  round  a  countenance 
sweet,  indeed,  in  its  expression,  but  still  retain- 
ing the  strong  impress  of  secret  sorrow — then 
advanced,  and  presented  his  mother's  letter.  A 
sti-uggle  between  pride  and  feeling  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  agitate  the  mind  of  the  count ;  but 
the  kindlier  affections  soon  obtained  the  mastery, 
and  he  folded  liis  nephew  to  his  bosom. 

Juan  had  not  long  been  established  an  inmate 
in  the  family  of  his  new  protector,  when  he  be- 
came a  general  favorite.  In  the  handsome  youth, 
the  count  beheld  the  image  of  a  long-lost  and 
beloved  sister ;  and  in  admiring  his  noble  and 
generous  disposition,  he  almost  forgot  the  imagi- 
nary stigma  derived  from  his  father's  plebeian 
birth.  To  the  aged  friend  of  his  fair  cousin, 
Juan  rendered  himself  no  less  agreeable,  by  the 
respectful  manner  in  which  he  was  ever  solicit- 
ous to  pay  tliose  attentions  to  which  her  years 
and  her  sex  entitled  her — attentions  not  less  ac- 
ceptable, that  circumstances  no  longer  enabled 
her  to  command  them  :  respect  is  ever  valued  in 
proportion  as  it  is  voluntarily  shown,  and  doubly 
grateful,  in  adverse  fortune,  to  those  whose  un- 
doubted right  it  once  "was. 

Between  the  youthful  cousins  an  intimacy  still 
more  close  was  soon  established,  and  cemented 
by  the  equality  of  age — by  the  agreement  of  taste 
— and,  in  some  measure,  by  the  similarity  of 
their  pursuits.  While  Juan  followed  his  severer 
studies  with  ardent  application,  under  a  learned 
monk  of  a  neighboring  monaster^'-,  he  was  not 
neglectful  of  more  elegant  accomplishments,  the 
principles  of  which  lie  had  acquired  from  the  in- 
struction of  his  excellent  mother  :  these  were 
now  prosecuted  in  company  i;\ith  lola:  thus  in- 
cited, he  found  himself  capable  of  exeilions  hith- 
erto unknown,  or  deemed  unattainable.  The 
books  which  they  perused,  tlie  languages  which 
they  studied,  the  poets  which  they  read  together, 
possessed  charms  not  to  be  discovered  in  their 
sohtary  and  divided  pursuits.  Never  did  music 
breatlie  sounds  so  meltingly  sweet — scarcely, 
indeed,  was  there  harmony  to  them,  when  tliey 
played  not  in  accompaniment  to  each  other ;  but, 
above  all,  their  walks,  amid  the  beautiful  and 
romantic  scenery  surrounding  the  castle,  consti- 
tuted the  most  delicious  moments  of  theii*  ex- 
istence. 

Juau  being  fully  two  years  older  than  his 
cousin,  and  the  age  of  the  count,  as  also  of  lola's 
instinictress,  being  such  as  leads  to  prefer  repose, 
the  youth  was  taught  to  consider  himself  as  the 
protector  of  the  young  and  lovely  bein*-  who 
climg  to  him  for  support.  It  was,  in  truth,  a 
sight  capable  of  awakening  the  deepest  interest 
in  their  future  fate,  to  beliold  two  beings  so 
young,  so  beautiful,  so  pm*e,  regarding  each 
other  with  looks  of  unutterable  affection ;  each 
beholding  in  the  other  all  that  was  necessary  to 
the  happiness  of  both,  yet  unconscious  whence 
these  feelings  spmng,  save  from  the  connection 
of  mere  relationship. 

Years  thus  flew  rapidly  away,  unmarked  in 
their  flight,  and  both  the  cousins  were  approach- 
ing to  that  mature  age  when  conscious  nature 
takes  the  alarm,  yet  leaves  the  bosom  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  fear,  and  uncertain  of  its  own 
feelings.  A  warmer  blush  suffused  the  cheek  of 
lola  when  pressed  by  the  lips  of  Juan,  in  com- 
mendation of  some  sentiment  which  she  had  ut- 
tered, or  observation  she  had  made  ;  and  she  dared 
not  as  hitherto,  yet  knew  not  why,  return  his  ca- 
resses. Again,  when  the  hand  of  his  fair  cousin 
pressed  affectionately,  or  by  accident,  that  of  the 
youth,  a  thrilling  sensation  pervaded  his  whole 
frame ;  so  sweet,  yet  so  powerful,  he  hardly 
knew  whether  to  court  or  to  fear  its  indulgence  : 
in  short  both  felt,  without  knowing  it,  that  most 
delightful  of  all  passions,  a  first,  an  early  love — 
a  state  of  felicity  in  whicii  the  human  breast  can 
be  placed  but  once,  and  which  is  perhaps  the 
purest,  the  most  unalloyed  enjoyment  wliich  it 
is,  in  this  life,  destined  to  feci. 

But  such  happiness  must  be  transitory.  Juan 
was  the  first  to  discover  the  state  of  his  mind, 
and  to  perceive  his  danger :  external  circum- 
stances, indeed,  forced  this  knowledge  upon  him, 
as  the  flash  amidst  the  darkness  of  night  may 
disclose  to  the  mariner  the  ripple  on  those  break- 
ers of  which  be  slumbered  in  forge tf nine ss.  He 
started  at  this  discovery,  as  if  an  abyss  had  opened 
at  his  feet ;  and  the  reflections  which  natm-ally 
arose  on  the  occasion,  filled  his  mind  with  anxiety 
and  regret.     He  wished  to  be  gone,  yet  knew  not 


how  to  mention  the  subject  to  the  count.  Eor 
the  present,,  he  could  only  temporize,  without 
resolving  on  anything  but  to  conceal  his  inten- 
tions from  both  lola  and  from  her  father. 

Circumstances,  however,  produced  a  crisis 
sooner  than  was  anticipated.  The  melancholy 
and  restraint  now  visible  in  the  deportment  of 
Juan,  could  not  escape  the  observation  of  his 
cousin,  whose  penetration  was  rendered  acute  by 
the  state  of  her  o^vn  heart.  One  evening,  while 
seated  in  a  small  summer-house,  which,  standing 
on  a  romantic  steep  near  the  extremity  of  the 
grounds  suiTounding  the  castle,  usually  termina- 
ted their  walks,  the  cousins  were  insensibly  be- 
trayed into  a  conversation,  which  disclosed  to 
each  other  their  mutual  love. 

"  But,  my  dear  lola,"  continued  Juan,  on  hear- 
ing tlie  sweet  confession,  "  I  must  leave  Zamillo ; 
both  prudence  and  duty  dictate  my  departure. 
Your  father  will  never  consent  to  our  union,  and 
I  cannot  think  for  a  moment  of  betraying  the 
confidence  of  my  benefactor,  or  your  peace  of 
mind.  I  am  not  worthy  of  you ;  I  should  then 
be  less  so.  When  you  no  longer  daily  sec  me, 
your  bosom  will  recover  its  wonted  serenity." 

"Juan,  cruel  Juan  !"  replied  lola;  "do  yon 
indeed  ^ish  to  break  my  heart  1  Alas!  how 
can  I,  even  were  it  my  desire,  forget  you  ?  Have 
I  not,  for  many  happy  years,  been  taught  to  love 
you  as  a  brother?  Wretched  greatness!  why 
should  I  not  forsake  all  ?  Let  me  go  with  you 
to  Italy ;  your  parents  were  happy  there — happy 
m  each  other;  can  we  not  be  so  likewise  ■?  Ah  ! 
what  have  I  said  ?  miserable  that  I  am  !  do  I 
forget  the  duty  which  a  father,  a  generous  and 
indulgent  father,  claims  V 

She  bm-st  into  tears,  and,  covering  her  face 
with  lier  hands,  wept  bitterly;  then  resuming,  in 
a  calm  and  sulidued  tone  of  voice  : 

"Juan,  you  are  right;  duty  and  pnidence  de- 
maud  our  separation  ;  obtain  your  uncle's  appro- 
bation of  your  future  plans,  and  the  sooner  you 
leave  Zamillo  the  better  for  us  both." 

A  long  silence  was  only  interrupted  by  the 
opening  of  the  door  of  a  small  oratory  attached 
to  the  summer-house,  from  which  the  count  en- 
tered. Induced  by  the  beauty  of  the  evening,  he 
had,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  extended  his 
walk  so  far ;  and  while  engaged  in  his  devotions, 
the  youthful  cousins  entered  the  summer-house, 
and  thus  he  had  been  made  an  unmlling  Ustener 
to  their  conversation.  The  trembling  lovers  now 
concluded  themselves  lost,  and  fiilling  on  their 
knees  before  the  count,  each  wished  only  to  im- 
plore that  his  resentment  would  spare  the  otlier. 
What,  then,  was  their  surprise  when,  looking 
with  the  kindest  expression  on  both,  the  count 
addressed  them : 

"  Else,  my  children,  and  in  each  other  receive 
the  reward  of  your  virtue  and  of  your  filial  piety. 
Cherish  those  sentiments  which  have  hitherto 
directed  your  conduct.  Juan,  in  this  trembling 
hand  which  I  now  place  in  thine,  accept  the  only 
precious  gift  which  I  have  to  bestow.  Rank, 
birth,  and  wealth  are  to  he  valued  when,  by  our 
station  in  life,  w^e  have  to  maintain  the  dignity 
and  the  importance  of  a  name,  which  has  de- 
scended unsullied  to  us  from  illustrious  ances- 
tors. Wealth  I  dispense  with-  Birth  you  can 
claim,  at  least  on  one  side  ;  rank  you  may  obtain 
by  merit.  You  are  as  yet  an  unkno^vn  youth  ; 
go,  and  prove  to  the  world  that  my  choice  is 
wai-ranted  by  nobility  of  soul ;  in  the  ranks  of 
honor  acquire  reno^m.  You  arc  both  young  ; 
after  a  few  years'  seiwice  you  may  with  propriety 
return  to  Zamillo,  and  to  lola !" 

Sui-prise  and  astonishment  kept  Juan  silent ; 
he  could  only  kiss  the  hand  which  he  still  held, 
and  press  that  of  his  benefactor  to  his  heai-t. 
And  when,  a  few  years  afterward,  the  war  so  re- 
moi"sely  prosecuted  by  the  Erencb  in  Spain  was 
brought  to  a  termination,  the  kind-heaited  Count 
de  Zamillo  had  tlie  satisfaction  of  witnessing 
within  the  sacred  precincts  of  that  same  little 
oratory  where  he  first  learned  the  secret  of  their 
young  hearts'  affection — the  nuptials  of  JuAJf 

AND  lOLA. 

TEST  OF  TEMPER. 

In  the  sixteenth  century,  it  was  a  custom 
among  the  most  illustrious  Goths  and  Swedes, 
when  they  would  honestly  many  their  daugh- 
ters, to  prove  the  disposition  of  the  suitors  that 
came  to  them,  and  to  know  their  passions,  espe- 
cially by  plajnng  with  them  at  tables  or  chess ; 
for  at  these  games  their  anger,  love,  peevishness, 
covetousncss,  dullness,  idleness,  and  the  amount 
of  their  fortunes,  were  to  be  seen ;  so  that  it 
could  be  ascertained  how  they  could  endure  the 
evil,  the  good,  and  the  varieties  of  life. 


How  slow  the  time 
To  the  warm  soul,  that,  in  the  very  instant 
It  forms,  would  execute  a  great  design ! — 77ioinson. 


120 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


A    SERIES    OF    PICTORIAL    VIEWS    OF    QUINCY,    MASSACHUSETTS. 

assurance  that  that  power  would  recognize  the 
indcpendeneo  of  the  United  States.  In  1785, 
Mr.  Adams  was  appointed  the  first  minister  to 
the  court  of  St.  James.  After  remaining  in  Eu- 
rope nine  years,  he  returned  to  hi.s  native  coun- 
try, and  in  1789  was  elected  first  Vice  President 
of  the  United  States,  which  office  he  held  during 
the  whole  of  Washington's  administration.  On 
the  resignation  of  Washington,  in  1797,  Mr.  Ad- 
ams became  President  of  the  United  States, 
which  office  he  sustained  until  the  election  of  Mr. 
Jcffi:;rson,  in  1801.  Soon  after  tJiis,  Mr.  Adama 
retired  to  his  farm  in  Qtiincy,  and  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  an  eventful  life  in  rural  occupations, 
the  pleasures  of  domestic  retirement,  and  those 
enjoyments  which  a  great  and  good  mind  always 
has  in  store. 

In  the  first  engraving  the  house  on  the  right 
with  a  ligjitning  rod  attached,  rcprescnLs  the 
place  where  John  Adams,  the  elder  President, 
was  bom.  These  two  houses  are  situated  near 
the  foot  of  Penn's  Hill,  in  Quincy.  Quincy  was 
the  first  resting-place  of  the  Adams  family,  as 
they  came  out  from  the  Old  World.  Henry  Ad- 
ams was  their  progenitor,  in  this  country.  The 
epitaph  on  his  monument,  raised  by  President 
Adams,  senior,  in  the  Quincy  burial-yard,  is  as 
follows  :  *'  He  took  his  flight  from  the  dragon 
persecution  in  Devonshire,  England,  and  alight- 
ed, with  eight  sons,  near  Mount  Wollaston 
[Quincy.]  One  of  the  sons  retunied  to  England ; 
and  after  taking  time  to  explore  the  country  four 
removed  to  Medficld  and  the  neighboring  towns  ; 
two  to  Chelmsford  ;  one  only,  Joseph,  remained 
here,  and  was  an  original  proprietor  in  the  town- 
ship of  Braintree  [that  part  of  it  now  incorpora- 
ted as  Quincy]."  This  Joseph  Adams  had  a  son 
Joseph,  who  was  the  father  of  John  Adams  the 
President. 

Our  second  engraving  represents  the  hou&e 
and  lands  known  as  the  Adams  Scat.  The  latter 
years  of  John  Adams's  life  were  passed  in  this 
house,  and  there  he  died.  The  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance of  his  death,  and  that  of  his  copatriot 
and  friend,  Thomas  JefTerson,  on  the  fiftieth  an- 
niversary of  our  national  independence,  is  well 
known.  Having  lived  to  a  glorious  old  age,  he 
was  called  hence  on  the  very  day  which  above  all 
days  he  would  have  chosen — that  which  his  ex- 
ertions had  done  so  much  to  render,  in  his  own 
words,  "  a  great  and  a  good  day."  He  died  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  of  July, 
1826,  in  the  ninety-first  year  of  his  age.  Anti- 
quarians, who  look  upon  the  engraving,  may  be 
pleased  to  discern  the  chamber  in  which  he  ex- 
pired. It  was  the  front  middle  chamber,  whose 
windows  are  shaded  by  the  chestnut  tree.  His 
remains  lie  entombed  beneath  the  stone  church 
which  his  munificence  endowed,  which  stands 
within  sight  of  the  house,  and  in  the  interior  of 
which  is  a  monument  to  his  memory,  and  a 
marble  bust  of  him,  both  executed  in  Italy  by  our 
native  sculptor,  Greenough.  At  his  death  the  es- 
tate passed  into  the  hands  of  John  Quincy  Ad- 
ams, the  son  of  the  venerable  President,  and 
upon  his  death,  descended  to,  and  is  now  occu- 
pied as  the  residence  of  Hon.  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  the  son  of  the  latter. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS  S  BIIITIIPLACE,  AT  QUINCY,  MASS. 


ADAMS*  KEMINISCENCES. 

The  engravings  on  this  and  the  opposite  page 
were  drawn  for  us  on  the  spot  designated,  by  our 
artist,  Mr.  Mallort),  and  represent  some  most  in- 
teresting scenes  iu  the  town  of  Quincy,  Massa- 
chusetts. Quincy  lies  eight  miles  south  by  east 
from  Boston,  and  ten  east  from  Dedham,  and 
there  is  perhaps  no  town  in  the  State,  of  its  dis- 
tance from  Boston,  that  has  risen  to  greater 
prosperity  than  Quincy.  It  has  long  been  the 
centre  of  considerable  trade  and  manufacture, 
and  its  excellent  roads,  with  its  heaRtiful  loca- 
tion on  Boston  harbor,  have  made  it  the  chosen 
residence  of  many  people  of  taste  and  affluence  ; 
but  now,  wlien  Quincy  has  become  united  to 
Boston  by  the  Old  Colony  Railroad,  as  closely 
in  point  of  convenience,  as  Boston  and  Charles- 


town,  no  one  can  doubt  the  rapid  increase  of 
population  and  wealth  of  this  delightful  town. 
Two  presidents  of  the  United  States,  father  and 
son,  were  natives  of  this  place.  John  Adams, 
born  October  19,  1735.  John  Quincy  Adams, 
born  July  11,  1767.  The  senior  Mr.  Adams 
graduated  at  Harvard  University  in  1755,  and 
was  distinguished  for  his  diligence  and  genius. 
He  studied  law  at  Worcester,  and  was  admitted 
to  practice  in  1758.  Pie  commenced  the  labors 
of  his  profession  in  Braintree,  his  native  town, 
and  soon  obtained  business  and  reputation.  In 
1764,  Mr.  Adams  married  Miss  Abigail  Smith, 
a  grand- daughter  of  Colonel  Quincy,  a  lady  as 
distinguished  for  her  accomplishments  and  vir- 
tues as  for  the  elevated  station  in  society  which 
Providence  had  destined  her  to  fill.     Mrs.  Ad- 


ams died  at  Quincy,  December,  28,  1818,  aged 
seventy-four.  In  1765,  Mr.  Adams  removed  to 
Boston ;  here  he  obtained  an  extensive  legal 
practice,  and,  refusing  all  offers  of  patronage 
from  the  British  government,  espoused  the  cause 
of  his  native  country  with  an  ardor  peculiar  to 
himself,  firmly  resolved  to  sink  or  swim  with  its 
liberties.  He  was  elected  amember  of  Congress, 
and  was  among  the  foremost  in  recommending 
the  adoption  of  an  independent  government.  In 
1777,  Mr.  Adams  was  chosen  commissioner  to 
the  court  of  Versailles.  In  1779,  he  was  ap- 
pointed minister  plenipotentiary  to  negotiate  a 
peace  and  a  commercial  treaty  with  Great  Brit- 
ain. In  1780,  he  went  ambassador  to  PloUand, 
and  in  1782,  to  Paris,  to  negotiate  a  treaty  of 
peace  with  Great  Britain,  having  received  the 


VIEW  Oi)'  THE  /VDiUVIS'  MANSION;  AT  QUINCY. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


121 


The  third  picture  ot 
the  series  is  that  of  the 
granite  church,  situated 
in  the  middle  of  the  to^\-n . 
This  house  of  public 
worship,  for  the  Cono:re- 
gational  society  in  Quin- 
cy,  was  erected  in  1827. 
The  former  church  was 
of  wood,  and  was  built 
in  1732;  and  afterwards 
enlarged.  It  is  built  of 
stone  taken  from  the 
granite  quan-ies  in  that 
town,  presented  by  Hon. 
John  Adams.  The  Kev. 
Peter  Whitney,  pastor 
of  the  church  in  that 
place,  made  a  suitable 
address  when  the  corner 
stone  was  laid.  A  plate 
with  an  appropriate  in- 
scription was  deposited 
under  the  comer  stone, 
in  a  lead  box.  Among 
other  facts,  it  mentions 
that  John  Quincy  Ad- 
ams was  then  President 
of  the  United  States ; 
that  the  population  of 
the  town  was  two  thou- 
sand, and  that  of  the 
United  States  thirteen 
millions.  In  his  address 
on  the  occasion,  Mr. 
Whitney  said :  "In  con- 
formity to  the  wishes  of 
the  great  benefactor  of 
Its  and  of  our  country, 
the  late  President  Ad- 
_  ams,  we  are  now  erect- 
ing a  temple  for  the  wor- 
ship of  that  incompre- 
hensible Being,  whom 
the  heaven  of  heavens 
cannot  contain.  When 
ages  after  ages  shall 
have  passed  away,  when 
all  now  living  on  earth, 
and  successive  genera- 
tions for  centuries  to 
come,  shall  have  finished 
their  probation.and  gone 
to  the  unseen  and  eter- 
nal world,  these  walls  of 
granite  we  are  about  to 
erect  will  stand,  we  trust, 
among  the  recollections 
of  time,  a  monument  of 
the  interest  we  felt  for 
the  worship  of  God,  and 

for  the  accommodation  of  our  successors  on  the 
stage  of  life,  till  the  stones  themselves  of  which 
it  is  constructed  shall  be  crumbling  into  dust. 
In  this  temple,  when  completed,  may  the  truth, 
as  it  is  in  Jesus,  be  preached  in  all  its  purity  and 
simplicity.  Here  may  the  prayers  of  devout  and 
humble  souls  ascend  with  acceptance  to  the  throne 
of  everlasting  mercy.  And  here  may  that  faith, 
which  looks  beyond  things  seen  and  temporal, 
to  those  which  are  unseen  and  eternal ;  which 
directs  the  aspirations  of  the  soul  to  the  presence 
and  enjoyment  of  God  in  heaven,  be  animated 
and  confirmed.  Our  hearts  rejoice  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  increasing  virtue  and  wisdom 
of  the  world  ;  and  we  offer  our  prayers  to  God, 
that  ice  may  so  finish  our  course  on  earth  as  to 
enter  on  oiir  immortal  destiny  with  qualifications 
for  ceaseless  progress  in  goodness." 

In  this  connection,  it  may  not  be  unin- 
teresting to  give  some  account  of  the  in- 
troduction of  Mr.  Adams,  the  elder,  to 
George  III,  at  the  court  of  St.  James,  as 
the  first  minister  from  the  rebel  colonies. 
The  whole  account  is  very  interesting. 
Mr.  Adams  says:  "At  one  o'clock,  on 
Wednesday,  the  first  of  June,  1785,  fhe 
master  of  ceremonies  called  at  my  house, 
and  went  with  me  to  the  secretary  of  state's 
office,  in  Cleveland  Row,  where  the  Marquis 
of  Carmarthen  received  and  introduced  me 
to  Mr.  Frazier,  his  under  secretary,  who 
had  been,  as  his  lordship  said,  uninterrupt- 
edly in  that  office  through  all  the  changes 
in  administration  for  thirty  years.  After 
a  short  conversation,  Lord  Carmarthen 
invited  me  to  go  with  him  in  his  coach  to 
court.  When  we  an-ived  in  the  ante-cham- 
ber the  master  of  the  ceremonies  introduced 
him  and  attended  me  while  the  secretary 
of  state  went  to  take  the  commands  of  the 
king.  While  I  stood  in  this  place,  where 
it  seems  all  ministers  stand  upon  such  oc- 
casions, always  attended  by  the  master  of 
ceremonies,  the  room  was  very  full  of  min- 
isters of  state,  bishops,  and  all  other  sorts 
of  courtiers,  as  well  as  the  next  room, 
which  is  the  king's  bed-chamber.  You  may 
well  suppose  I  was  the  focus  of  all  eyes. 
I  was  relieved,  however,  from  the  embar- 
rassment of  it,  by  the  Swedish  and  Dutch 
ministers,  who  came  to  me  and  entertained 
me  with  a  very  agreeable  conversation 
during  the  whole  time.  Some  other  gen- 
tlemen whom  I  had  seen  before,  came  to 
make  their  comphments  to  me,  until  the 
Marquis  of  Carmarthen  returned,  and  de- 
sired me  to  go  tvith  him  to  his  majesty.  I 
went  with  his  lordship  through  the  levee 
room,  into  the  king's  closet.  The  door 
was  shut,  and  I  was  left  with  his  majesty 
and  the  secretary  of  state  alone.  I  made 
three  reverences  ;  one  at  the  door,  another 
about  half  way,  and  another  before  the 
presence,  according  to  the  usage  established 
at  this  and  all  the  northern  courts  of  Eu- 


THE  ADAMS    TEMPLE,  AT  QUINCY. 


ropo,  and  then  I  addressed  myself  to  his  majesty 
in  the  following  words  :  '  Sire  :  the  United  States 
have  a]q)ointcd  me  minister  plenipotentiary  to 
your  majesty,  and  have  directed  mc  to  deliver  to 
your  majesty  this  letter,  which  contains  the  evi- 
dence of  it.  It  is  in  obedience  to  their  express 
commands,  that  I  have  the  honor  to  assure  your 
majesty  of  their  unanimous  disposition  and  de- 
sire to  cultivate  the  most  friendly  and  liberal  in- 
tercourse between  your  majesty's  subjects  and 
their  citizens,  and  of  tlxeir  best  wishes  for  your 
majesty's  health  and  happiness,  and  for  that  of 
your  family.  The  appointment  of  a  minister 
from  the  United  States  to  your  majesty's  court 
will  form  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  England  and 
America.  I  think  myself  more  fortunate  than 
all  my  fellow-citizens,  in  having  the  distinguished 
honor  to  be  the  first  to  stand  in  your  majesty's 


royal  presence  in  a  diplomatic  character;  and  I 
shall  esteem  myself  the  happiest  of  men  if  I  can 
be  instrumental  in  recommending  my  country 
more  and  more  to  your  majesty's  royal  benevo- 
lence, and  of  restoring  an  entire  esteem,  confi- 
dence, and  affection ;  or,  in  better  words,  "  the 
old  good  nature  and  the  good  old  humor,"  be- 
tween people  who,  though  separated  by  an  ocean, 
and  under  different  governments,  have  the  same 
language,  a  similar  religion,  a  kindred  blood.  I 
beg  your  majesty's  permission  to  add,  that  al- 
though I  have  sometimes  before  been  instructed 
by  my  country,  it  was  never  in  my  whole  life  in 
a  manner  so  agreeable  to  myself.' 

"  The  king  listened  to  every  word  I  said,  with 
dignity,  it  is  true,  but  with  apparent  emotion. 
AVhcther  it  was  my  visible  agitation,  for  I  felt 
more  than  I  could  express,  that  touched  him,  I 


TOMB  OF  EX-PRESIDENT  JOHN   QUINCY  ADAMS. 


cannot  say ;  but  he  was 
much  atFocted,  and  an- 
swered me  with  more 
tremor  than  1  had  spok- 
en with,  and  said  :  'Sir: 
the  circumstances  of  this 
audience  are  so  extraor- 
dinary, the  language  you 
have  now  held  is  so  ex- 
ti'emely  proper,  and  the 
feelings  you  have  discov- 
ered so  justly  adapted 
to  the  occasion,  that  I 
not  only  receive  with 
pleasure  the  assurance 
of  the  friendly  disposi- 
tion of  the  United  States, 
hut  that  I  am  glad  the 
choice  has  fallen  upon 
you  to  be  their  minister. 
I  wish  you,  sir,  to  believe, 
and  that  it  may  be  under- 
stood in  America,  that  I 
have  done  nothing  in  the 
late  contest  liut  what  I 
thought  myself  indispen- 
sably bound  to  do,  by 
the  duty  which  I  owed 
my  people.  I  will  be 
frank  with  you.  I  was 
the  last  to  conform  to 
the  separation ;  but  the 
separation  having  be- 
come inevitable,  1  have 
always  said,  as  I  now 
say,  that  I  would  be  the 
first  to  meet  the  fi'iend- 
ship  of  the  United  States 
as  an  independent  pow- 
er. The  moment  I  see 
such  sentiments  and  lan- 
guage as  yours  prevail, 
and  a  disposition  to  give 
this  country  the  prefer- 
ence, that  moment  I 
shall  say  —  let  the  cir- 
cumstance of  language, 
religion,  and  blood,  have 
their  natural  full  effect.' 
"I  dare  not  say  that 
these  were  the  king's 
precise  words  ;  and  it  is 
even  possible  that  I  may 
have,  in  some  particu- 
lars, mistaken  his  mean- 
ing ;  for  although  his 
~  pronunciation  is  as  dis- 

tinct as  I  ever  heard,  he 
hesitated  sometimes  be- 
tween members  of  the 
same  period.  He  was, 
indeed,  much  affected,  and  I  was  not  less  so,  and 
therefore  I  cannot  be  certain  that  I  was  so  atten- 
tive, heard  so  clearly,  and  understood  so  per- 
fectly, as  to  be  confident  of  all  his  words,  or  sense. 
This  I  do  say,  that  the  foregoing  is  his  majesty's 
meaning,  as  I  then  understood  it,  and  his  o^vn 
words,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect  them.  The 
king  then  asked  me  whether  I  came  last  from 
Prance  ;  and  upon  my  answering  in  the  affirma- 
tive, he  put  on  an  air  of  familiarity,  and,  smil- 
ing, or  rather,  laughing,  said,  '  There  is  an  opin- 
ion among  some  people  that  you  are  not  the 
most  attached  of  all  your  countiymen  to  the 
manners  of  France.'  I  was  surprised  at  this, 
because  I  thought  it  an  indiscretion,  and  a  de- 
scent from  his  dignity.  I  was  a  little  embar- 
rassed ;  but  determined  not  to  deny  the  truth  on 
the  one  hand,  nor  lead  him  to  infer  from  it  any 
attachment  to  England,  on  the  other,  I 
threw  off  as  much  gravity  as  I  could,  and 
assumed  an  air  of  gaiety,  and  one  of  de- 
cision, as  far  as  was  decent,  and  said, 
'  That  opinion,  sir,  is  not  mistaken  ;  I  must 
avow  to  your  majesty,  I  have  no  attach- 
ment but  to  my  own  country.'  The  king 
replied  as  quick  as  lightning,  *  An  honest 
man  will  never  have  any  other.'  The  king 
then  said  a  word  or  two  to  the  secretary 
of  state,  which  being  between  them,  I  did 
not  hear,  and  then  turned  round  and  bowed 
to  me,  as  is  customary  with  all  kings  and 
princes  when  they  give  the  signal  to  retire. 
I  retreated,  stepping  backwards,  as  is  the 
etiquette  ;  and  making  my  last  reverence 
at  the  door  of  the  chamber,  I  went  to  my 
caiTiage.' " 

The  scene  of  the  above  interview  would 
form  a  noble  picture,  highly  honorable  both 
to  his  majesty  and  the  republican  minister. 
Here  stood  the  stern  monarch  who  had  ex- 
pended more  than  six  hundred  millions  of 
dollars,  and  the  lives  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand of  his  subjects  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
subjugate  freemen ;  and  by  his  side  stood 
the  man,  who,  in  the  language  of  Jeffer- 
son, "was  the  great  pillar  of  support  to 
the  declaration  of  independence,  and  its 
ablest  advocate  and  champion  on  the  floor 
of  Congress." 

As  it  regards  John  Quincy  Adams,  the 
second  president  of  tlie  Adamses,  his  long 
and  honorable  political  career  is  familiar 
to  all,  and  it  is  but  a  very  brief  period 
since  he  passed  from  among  us  ;  we  need 
hardly,  therefore,  refer  in  detail  to  the 
"  old  man  eloquent."  He  is  a  part  of  the 
record  and  history  of  these  times,  and  his 
venerable  appearance  and  tenacious  adhe- 
rence to  what  he  conceived  to  be  right 
have  rendered  him  a  distinctive  feature  of 
his  day  and  generation. 

The  fourth  engraving  gives  us  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  tomb  where  the  duster  the 
Adams  family  reposes  ;  it  is  situated  op- 
posite the  church,  across  the  main  road. 


122 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Glciison's  rictoviiil.] 
THE  PllAYER  OF  THE  MARINER'S  WIFE. 


BY  ROnERT  a.  STAPLES. 


'T  was  In  tho  oarly  flumnior  time,  the  bright  and  twinkling 

Htars 
Bont  on  tho  earth  their  co)tI,  sad  gazo,  from  tho  deep  bluo 

afar; 
Tho  vapory  clouds  of  sllvory  gray  lightly  passed  ahoon 
Tho  hcavonH,  and  from  the  onstern  verge  arose  tho  pooi-less 

moon ; 
All  nature  clothed  in  majesty,  looked  forth  na  from  tho 

nkiofl, 
There  dropped  tho  sweet,  refreshing  dew  on  llowers  of 

varied  dyes. 
'Twafl  at  thi.s  dreamy  hour  she  sat  and  viewed  the  rolling 

surge, 
Which  madly  beat  the  i-oek-bound  cllfffl  upon  old  ocean's 

verge ; 
A  eilont  prayer  escaped  the  slightly  parted  lips,  on  high 
To  tho  all-sccing  God,  and  echoed  through  the  chambered 

sky, 
Till  angels  and  archangels  caught  and  swelled  tho  welcome 

tone 
Tlirough  every  silent  vault,  and  bore  it  to  the  Father's 

throne. 
Sho  asked  that  he,  tho  parent  of  her  darling  infant  boy 
(^Vhose" curls  moved  gently  aa  vesper  Avinds  did  with  them 

toy), 
Might  brave  the  dangerous  pei-ils  of  the  billowy  main, 
Tlirough  mercy's  pleading  voice  be  spared,  to  bless  them 

yet  again ; 
When  lightnings  flash,  and  the  deep  sepulchral  thunders 

roll, 
Might  he  but  safely  ride  tho  storm  God  governs  by  con- 
trol. 

Long  was  the  prayer  breathed  from  the  deeps  of  that  sor- 
rowing heart, 

And  midnight  came  ere  from  the  cold  and  rocky  cliffs  she  'd 
part; 

But  when  she  rose  a  holy  calm  had  seated  on  her  brow, 

Sho  was  resigned  to  fate,  e'en  to  the  ehiistcning  rod  to 
bow. 

Storms  rose  and  passed,  and  months  rolled  by  upon  time's 

rapid  wing, 
Winter,  with  its  frosts  and  snows  came  on,  and  birds 

refused  to  sing ; 
The  leaves  lay  seared  and  crisped,  all  seemed  so  desolate 

and  wild. 
The  mother's  soul  had  fled  from  earth,  and  left  an  orphan 

child 
In  stranger's  hands,  to  bear  life's  ills  and  stem  the  waves 

alone, 
Without  a  parent's  wai'mng  voice,  a  mother's  gentle  tone ; 
Low  in  the  ocean's  mountain  surge  the  mariner  found 

rest, 
Where  the  dark,  green  waves,  aye  rolling,  form  the  grave 

above  his  breast. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  YOUNG  HUSBAND: 

— OK — 

HEARTS'    HISTORIES. 

BY  JMKS.  S.  M.  HUMPHKET. 

"  But  while  be  gazes  with  surprise, 
The  cbarm  dissolves,  the  vision  djes, 
'Twas  but  enchanted  gi-ound." 

The  bride  of  a  week  was  seated  in  her  ele- 
gant lounging  chau",  robed  in  costly  magnifi- 
cence. A  hand  of  exquisite  beauty,  richly  jew- 
elled, toyed  with  tlie  floating  curls  of  dark  luxu- 
riant hair,  which  had  half  concealed  a  neck  of 
alabaster  whiteness,  and  faultless  proportions. 
The  dark  eyes  might  have  been  too  dazzling  in 
their  brightness  but  for  the  chastening  influence 
of  the  long  silken  lashes,  and  one  might  almost 
fancy  that  the  dimpling,  rose-tinged  cheek  be- 
longed to  some  cherub  child,  instead  of  a  bride. 
A  gleam  of  satisfaction  beamed  from  the  thought- 
ful eye  of  Henry  Wilton,  as  he  contemplated  the 
figure  and  face  of  his  peerlessly  beautiful  wife, 
and  pressing  her  rosy  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  en- 
circling her  waist  with  his  arm,  lie  gently  drew 
her  to  the  window,  murmuring  : 

"  Helen,  you  have  not  observed  my  rai-e  ex- 
otics— or  yours,  I  should  have  said — for  this,  the 
rarest  and  most  beautiful  of  them  all,  was  ob- 
tained on  our  bridal  day  expressly  for  you." 

"  Thank  you — you  are  very  kind,"  replied 
Helen,  with  a  hurried  glanee  at  the  favorite 
plant.  Then  in  a  more  earnest  tone,  she  added  : 
"But,  Henry,  dearest,  we  shall  be  late,"  and 
she  playfully  held  her  watch  before  his  eyes. 

"Then  you  do  not  love  flowers'?"  pursued 
Hcmy;  and  Helen  failed  to  notice  the  sadness 
of  his  tone. 

"  Why  no — that  i.s,  I  like  them  in  a  consprva- 
tory,  where  they  appear  to  advantage ;  but  in  a 
drawing-room  or  parlor  they  are  troublesome, 
besides  being  unfashionable." 

"  I  will  have  them  removed  to-moirow  morn- 
ing," said  Henry,  quickly;  aud  this  time  Helen 
perceived  something  like  bitterness  in  his  tones, 
and  as  quickly  -replied : 


"  0,  no,  Henry! — not  for  world.s,  if  you  like 
Ihcm  !  But  never  mind  tlio  flowers  j  it  is  time 
we  were  going.  The  entertainment  will  bo  tho 
finest  of  the  round ;  and  given,  as  it  is,  in  honor 
of  our  bridal,  I  do  not  caro  to  lose  a  moment  of 
such  rare  happiness." 

"  Rare  happiness,"  responded  Henry,  as  lie 
released  tho  strugglingly  little  hand;  and  with 
something  like  a  shadow  resting  on  his  heart,  ho 
hastened  to  prepare  himself  for  the  occasion. 

The  truth  was,  Henry  Wilton  had  no  taste  for 
sucli  extravagant  revelry,  and  was  really  anxious 
for  the  time  to  arrive,  when  lie  might  with  pro- 
jn-iety  spend  a  whole  evening  with  his  wife.  He 
had  also  imagined  that  Helen  was  as  weary  as 
himself,  and  quite  as  desirous  of  exchanging 
this  gay  dissipation  for  uninterrupted  compan- 
ionship with  her  chosen  companion,  at  the  fire- 
side of  their  own  quiet  home.  But  no,  Helen 
Wiis  gay  and  thoughtless.  Strange  that  Henry 
had  not  seen  this  ;  and  not  very  strange,  either 
■ — for  he  was  a  worshipper  at  the  shrine  of  beau- 
ty, and  in  person,  slie  had  fully  realized  the 
ideal  of  his  imagination  ;  and  dazried  by  her 
witching  charms,  his  ardent  fancy  had  endowed 
her  with  all  the  mental  graces,  and  hastily  and 
unhesitatingly  he  had  given  lier  his  heart  and 
hand. 

This  first  pang  experienced  by  the  young  hus- 
band was  soon  forgotten ;  and  as  he  witnessed 
the  enthusiastic  admiration  with  which  lier 
beauty  and  vivacity  infused  ever}'  beliolder,  he 
felt  that  slie  was  but  a  child,  and  reproached 
himself  with  ingratitude  and  injustice  towards 
her,  who  had  bestowed  on  him  the  whole  wealth 
of  such  unparalleled  beauty. 

"Yes,  Henry  is  very  happy,  to-night,"  thought 
Mary  Vernon,  as  she  witnessed  the  pride  and 
tenderness  with  which  he  regarded  his  young 
bride.  "May  it  always  be  thus.  And  yet,  it 
cannot  be !  Even  now,  I  am  oppressed  with 
the  consciousness  that  that  ambitious  spirit  will 
get  tired  of  the  simple-minded  child,  ^vhose  all 
of  earthly  happiness  is  committed  to  his  keep- 
ing. Genius  may  slumber  for  a  season,  and 
like  a  soul  in  dreams  forget  itself;  but  that  slum- 
ber shall  but  invigorate  its  strength  and  pride, 
and  it  shall  awake  to  curse,  in  very  bitterness  of 
soul,  the  mysterious  lethargy  that  induced  a 
dream  so  fatal  to  its  proud  aspirings.  But  why 
am  I  thus  oppressed  when  he  is  so  happy  ? 
Why!  can  a  sister  be  iudifferent  to  a  brother's 
fate  1  Nay ;  and  well  it  is  that  I  have  never  felt 
aught  save  a  sister's  interest  in  him." 

Mary  Vernon  was  sincere  in  this  last  asser- 
tion ;  but  she  did  not  fully  understand  her  own 
feelings — feelings  which  her  native  pride  had 
long  been  struggling  to  subdue.  To  admit  for  a 
single  moment  that  she  loved  or  had  ever  loved 
Henry  Wilton,  was  far  too  humiliating  to  a 
spirit  like  hers.  And  yet,  such  was  the  fact. 
From  early  childhood  they  had  been  friends. 
"  Through  many  tlicmes  in  many  thoughts  had 
they  held  exalted  converse,"  for  Mary,  though 
feminine  and  gentle  as  her  own  sweet  name,  was 
scarcely  less  intellectual  than  Heniy,  nor  had 
she  cultivated  less  assiduously  the  high  trust  in 
her  keeping.  She  had  understood  the  heart  of 
Henry  better  than  her  o-\vn — better  than  he  had 
done ;  and  well  she  knew  how  necessary  to  his 
happiness,  nay,  to  his  being,  was  kindred  com- 
panionship. She  had  heard  him  speak  in  glow- 
ing terms  of  Helen's  beautj' — ^just  such  terms  as 
he  often  applied  to  a  favorite  flower,  or  pet  bird 
— and  she  had  supposed  that  she  shared  his  love 
equally  with  birds  and  flowers.  When,  to  her 
complete  astonishment,  he  had  wedded  her,  she 
saw  at  a  glanee  that  both  must  be  miserable  ; 
that  like  a  bird  or  flower  he  would  soon  cast  her 
aside,  and  seek  to  forget  his  folly  and  disap- 
pointment in  an  utter  abandonment  of  self  to  his 
darling  pursuits. 

It  may  appear  strange  to  my  reader,  that 
years  of  companionship  with  one  so  superior  as 
Mary,  had  produced  no  lasting  impression  on 
the  heart  of  Wilton.  To  her  want  of  pei-sonal 
beauty  alone  can  this  be  attributed.  A  thonsand 
times  had  he  been  almost  impelled  to  yield  his 
aflcctions  to  her  keeping,  and  often  had  he 
owned  that  he  was  never  fully  blest  except  when 
with  her.  "  But  then,"  he  would  say,  "  Mary  is 
so  plain,"  and  the  world  echoed,  "  Mary  Ver- 
non is  so  plain."  His  own  figure  was  imposing, 
his  features  were  faultless,  his  manners  winning 
and  graceful.  How  could  he  wed  one  devoid  of 
beauty — one  who  was  everywhere  accounted  so 
plain  ?  It  had  cost  him  a  great  struggle  to  re- 
nounce her,  but  tlie  beauty  of  Helen  liad  decided 
the  contest.  Now  Mary  greeted  him  as  warmly 
as  in  other  days. 


When,  with  otliers,  «he  had  expressed  a  desire 
that  blessings  miglit  rest  ujion  him  in  his  new 
relation,  he  had  looked  vainly  for  something,  in 
tone  or  expression,  that  might  tell  of  a  wounded 
heart.  Though  somewhat  humbled,  he  was 
glad  ;  for  ho  was  far  too  generous  to  desire  aifec- 
tion  which  he  might  not  requite,  Iiowever  much 
her  preference  would  have  flattered  him. 

Again,  Henry  is  alone  with  his  wife.  The 
soft  moonlight  stole  through  the  thin,  graceful 
window  drapery,  and  the  balmy  evening  air 
toyed  with  the  curls  of  Helen,  and  gently  raised 
the  damp  hair  from  the  high,  thoughtful  bi'ow  of 
Henry,  whose  breathings  seemed  almost  hushed, 
as  he  contemplated  the  solemn  beauty  of  even- 
ing. Softened  and  spiritualized,  ho  turned  to 
Helen,  who  was  standing  near  him  bathed  in  the 
moonlight,  and  drawing  her  fair  young  head  to 
his  bosom,  he  murmured  : 

"  0,  who  can  resist  the  soothing  Influence  of 
such  a  peaceful  scene  ?  Do  you  not  sometimes 
feel,  Helen,  as  though  the  dark  veil  that  hides 
the  present  from  the  etemal  future  was  drawn 
aside,  and  you  were  lent  a  dim  foreshadowing  of 
the  emotions  of  a  spirit  released  from  earth's  de- 
basing cares  and  passions.  At  sucli  moments, 
how  cold  seem  our  common  emotions ;  and  in 
taking  a  cursory  view  of  our  usual  pursuits,  how 
strangely  grovelling  and  infatuated  we  appear." 

Henry  pressed  Helen  more  closely  to  him,  and 
again  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Wliat  a  strange  man  you  arc,  Henry  !"  said 
Helen,  with  an  air  of  restlessness.  "  Here  I 
have  been  waiting  this  whole  hour  for  you  to  or- 
der lights  brought  in,  and  I  have  tried  to  be 
very  patient.  I  have  heard  tell  of  people  being 
moonstm'ck,  and  I  suppose  that  is  what  ails  you 
to-night.  Cousin  Fred  will  soon  be  here  to  play 
backgammon  with  me.  There,  he  is  ringing 
now.  I  will  take  him  to  the  back  parlor  that  I 
may  not  disturb  your  ^editations.  Good-by," 
and  the  gay  girl  kissed  his  hand,  and  with  a 
merry  laugh,  bounded  from  the  apartment. 

Thus  was  the  veil  of  which  Henry  had  spoken 
darkly  dra\\'Ti  between  him  and  the  spiritual 
world.  The  scene  of  beauty  was  the  s.ame,  but 
all  had  faded  from  bis  view — moon,  star  and 
sky.  Untuned  were  the  delicate  heart  strings 
that  but  now  had  vibrated  to  the  music  of  unseen 
spirits.  Those  heart  strings  had  been  touched 
— yet  all  innocently  and  unconsciously — by  too 
i-ude  a  hand. 

A  deep  bitter  groan  escaped  him,  and  he  im- 
pulsively exclaimed :  "  And  such  is  my  wife ; 
mine,  hopelessly  mine,  for  life.  With  her,  ever, 
yet  ever  alone.  Incapable  of  receiving  blessing 
from  her,  and,  alas,  incapable  of  rendering  her 
blest.  Poor  Helen  !  it  is  well  that  thou  art  a 
child.  Pleased  with  a  toy,  thou  canst  forget; 
but  woe  to  my  proud,  imperious  soul.  Ah, 
Mary  Vernon,  thine  was  tho  beautiful  casket, 
hers  the  beautiful  frame.  But  why  should  I 
murmur ;  I  alone  have  done  tliis  wrong.  I 
sought  thee,  Helen,  whom  all  were  seeking.  To 
thee  ray  vows  are  given,  and  every  principle 
of  justice  and  honor  forbid  that  I  should  cherish 
the  image  of  another.  Forgive  me,  wife,  I  will 
forget,  and  be  true  to  thee." 

From  that  time  he  lavished  on  her  every  in- 
dulgence, gratified,  to  the  full  extent,  her  extrav- 
agant love  for  costly  and  beautiful  apparel,  car- 
riage and  servants  were  ever  in  attendance,  and 
slie  went  and  came  at  pleasure.  He  was  seldom 
with  her  in  public,  and  she,  surrounded  with  ad- 
mirers, seldom  urged  his  attendance.  He  occu- 
pied most  of  his  time  in  high  mental  pursuits, 
and  when  his  worn  spirit  required  recreation,  he 
resorted  to  his  flute  or  pleasure  grounds.  At 
times  he  would  awaken  to  the  consideration  that 
the  course  pursued  by  each  was  but  widening 
the  distance  between  them,  and  then  lie  would 
endeavor  to  cheek  his  inordinate  thirst  for  .sci- 
ence, and  come  down,  somewhat,  to  Helen's 
childlike  views  of  life.  He  would  school  himself 
to  attend  her  in  her  gaieties,  with  the  hope  that 
he  might  gain  some  influence  over  her,  and,  by 
elevating  her  ideas,  induce  her  to  seek  something 
beyond  the  approbation  and  admiration  of  the 
crowd.  Thus  he  hoped  eventually,  to  mn  her, 
in  a  measure,  to  himself. 

His  attentions  were  received  with  the  same 
graceful,  joyous,  matter-of-course  manner,  which 
was  bestowed  on  each  of  her  many  admirers ; 
and  when  Henry,  utterly  fatigued  with  the 
round  of  gaieties  in  which  she  led  him,  entreated 
her  to  indulge  him  with  a  song,  or  li.'^tcn  to  his 
flute,  with  a  languid,  spiritless  air,  she  would 
comply,  till  suddenly  recollecting  some  engage- 
ment slie  would  bound  away,  leaving  him  alone, 
to  speculate  sadly  upon  the  utter  hopelessness  of 


the  case.  Again,  when  his  enthusiastic  nature 
was  kindling  with  admiration  of  some  favorite 
author,  while  with  his  rich  melodious  voice  he 
read  aloud  to  her,  in  tlic  very  mid^t  of  a  most 
thrilllTig  passage,  she  would  perchance  recollect 
a  magnificent  dress  pattern  she  had  seen  at 
Stuart's,  which  she  had  Itccn  prevented  purelnu^- 
ing  by  iin  inadequate  amount  of  funds—"  ]Iad 
she  not  better  go  at  once  and  secure  the  prize?" 
Henry  would  check  the  feeling  of  disgust  or  dis- 
appointment which  swelled  his  heart,  and  with  a 
deep  sigh,  and  a  pleasant  "  Yes,  love,  If  you  de- 
sire it,"  would  hasten  to  forget  his  own  utter 
desolation  in  tlie  burning  words  of  his  author. 

Mary  Vernon  was  not  long  in  discerning  a 
change  in  Henry,  and  her  heart  throbbed  with 
anxious  solicitude,  as  she  saw  the  tCTider  spirit 
of  melancholy  which  now  seemed  to  dwell  ever 
with  him.  His  pale  brow  was  paler  and  loftier, 
and  his  fonn  was  dally  becoming  thinner  and 
more  graceful.  Though  she  saw  that  his  sensi- 
tive spirit  was  pining  for  sympathy,  she  felt  that 
it  would  be  both  vain  and  indctieatc  for  her  to 
attempt  consolation.  But  if  she  could  only 
awaken  Helen  to  a  just  view  of  her  position, 
and  inspire  her  young  and  perhaps  susceptible 
heart  with  an  appreciation  of  Henry's  worth, 
she  would  at  once  see  that  she  was  sacrificing 
time  and  happiness  for  a  shadow,  and  would 
gladly  return  to  the  bosom  of  her  natural  pro- 
tector, and  the  sweet  dove  of  domestic  bliss 
might  yet  nestle  in  that  beautiful  home.  She 
felt  that  only  this  was  wanting  to  restore  to 
Henry  his  natural  happy  buoyancy  of  spirit,  and 
that  this  alone  could  save  Helen  from  utter  ruin. 
With  a  hopeful  heart  she  resolved  to  make  the 
effort.  Could  Henry  have  pictured  all  his  vain 
struggles,  she  would  have  been  less  sanguine, 
and  her  disappointment  would  consequently 
have  been  less  severe.  Helen  had  studied  and 
practised  the  science  of  etiquette  too  long  to  ad- 
mit of  an  open  repulse  of  Mary's  delicate  offers 
of  friendship,  but  quite  unable  to  comprehend 
the  depths  of  her  passionate  and  noble  nature, 
she  secretly  thought  her  only  a  homely  old  maid- 
enish bookworm.  Why  she  should  desire  her 
friendship,  she  could  not  see,  for  she  was  very 
sure  that  she  was  not  at  all  like  her.  Everybody 
called  Miss  Venion  agreeable — and  she  didn't 
know  but  she  might  be  so — but  she  was  sure  she 
could  never  teach  her  to  love  to  pull  dirty  weeds 
from  among  the  flowers,  or  take  long  tiresome 
walks,  talking  forever  about  the  hills  and  trees^ 
the  moon  and  stars  and  what  not.  If  she  would 
dress  with  elegance  and  promenade  Broadway, 
she  would  not  be  so  tedious ;  and  as  to  staying 
in  doors  with  her,  that  was  entirely  out  of  the 
question.  True,  she  sung  and  played  divinely, 
waltzed  and  sketched,  and  all  that,  but  then,  she 
never  created  any  sensation;  and  bow  could  she 
expect  to — she  was  so  quiet  and  unobtrusive  in 
the  presence  of  gentlemen. 

A  deeper  insight  of  Helen's  character,  mind 
and  attainments,  served  to  increase  Mary's  sym- 
pathy for  Heni-y,  and  render  more  discouraging 
to  her  view  tho  task  she  had  assigned  herself. 
How  could  she  interest  her  ^  There  was  evi- 
dently no  foundation  upon  which  to  build.  No 
wonder  that  the  gushing  tide  of  tenderness  in 
Henry's  bosom  had  been  driven  coldly  back 
upon  itself.  No  wonder  that  ho  was  joyless,  and 
hopeless. 

But  a  change — and  one  that  the  parties  little 
dreamed  of — was  at  hand.  Hervey  Balcombe, 
one  of  Henry's  college  -classmates,  had  returned 
from  a  continental  tour.  Hervey's  was  a  giant 
intellect,  and  but  for  Henry,  the  ambitious  youth 
would  have  graduated  with  the  highest  honors. 
Consequently,  he  had  imbibed  a  secret,  yet  deep 
and  lasting  hatred  for  his  rival,  and  he  had  re- 
turned with  the  malignant  feeling  still  horning 
at  his  heart.  Helen,  with  the  spirit  of  coqiietry 
which  had  actuated  her  oven  in  her  girlhood — 
or  childhood,  we  might  say,  as  she  had  not  then 
entered  her  teens — had  fiirted  with  Hci-vey,  who 
had  been  captivated  by  her  uncommon  beauty, 
and  they  had  even  exchanged  miniatures,  rings, 
and  otlier  pledges  of  constancy.  As  Helen  grew 
older,  she  naturally  came  to  look  upon  the  en- 
gagement as  remarkable  only  for  its  extreme 
folly;  and  though  the  remembrance  sometimes 
provoked  a  smile,  she  thought  it  an  incident  not 
worth  naming  to  Henry,  as  they  had  not  corres- 
ponded by  letter  during  his  absence.  Quite  as 
easily,  doubtless,  would  Helen's  image  have 
faded  from  the  heart  of  Hervey,  had  he  not  re- 
turned, to  find  her  in  the  full  pride  of  womanly 
beauty,  the  centre  of  attraction,  courted  and  ca- 
ressed by  the  majority  of  his  former  circle,  each 
of  which,  ho  imagined,  envied  Ills  hated  rival 
the  possession  of  such  a  prize. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPA^^I()N. 


123 


This  served  to  iacreasc  his  liatrcd  to  an  alarm- 
ing^  extent,  and  the  spirit  of  envy  was  ever 
whispering  to  his  heart :  "  Revenge !  revenge  !" 
When  he  saw  Henry — which  was  seldom — he 
saw,  or  imagined,  a  smile  of  triumph,  which 
drove  him  almost  to  frenzy.  Each  expression  of 
his  coimtenance  seemed  to  his  excited  imagina- 
tion to  say  :  "  Know,  Hervey  Balcombe,  that  I 
have  rivalled  you  in  the  winning  of  collegiate 
honors,  and  in  love."  Could  the  mournful 
heart  of  Henry  have  been  laid  bare  to  his  view, 
how  different  would  have  been  his  emotions. 
But,  alas,  when  wc  give  the  rein  to  any  one  of 
the  lower  passions,  how  swiftly  it  dashes  on, 
trampling  to  ruins  beneath  its  iron  feet,  each  ves- 
tige of  judgment  aad  reason,  and  with  it  the  faint- 
est shadow  of  heaven-born  compassion  or  love. 

Hervey  Balcombe  must  have  revenge ;  and  re- 
venge he  gained.  He  left  no  means  untried  to 
win  again  the  heart  of  Helen ;  for  only  dirough 
her  could  he  see  any  chance  of  crushing  his 
rival.  His  dark,  handsome  face  and  noble  fig- 
ure would  favorably  impress  a  casual  obsen'er, 
and  Helen  was  quite  charmed  with  the  foreign 
air  which  foreign  travel  had  given  him.  But 
beneath  his  fascinating  smile,  there  lurked  an 
expression  calculated  to  impress  an  experienced 
physiognomist  with  disti'ust;  and  tliough  Henry 
knew  nothing  of  the  deep  hatred  he  bore  him, 
he  felt  a  strange  repugnance  for  his  society,  and 
an  uneasy  feeling  stole  over  him,  whenever  he 
witnessed  his  polite  attentions  to  Helen — though 
perhaps  they  were  not  more  frequent  or  peculiar 
than  she  habitually  received  from  other  sources. 

Mary  Vernon  secretly  shared  his  uneasiness ; 
for  circumstances  plainly  showed  to  her  watchful 
eye,  that  Hervey  had  succeeded  in  awakening 
quite  an  unusual  interest  in  Helen's  simple 
heart.  She  sought,  by  many  a  little  stratagem, 
to  detain  her  from  him,  but  vainly,  and  at  length 
she  ventured  to  remonstrate,  tenderly,  but  plain- 
ly, with  her.  Helen  listened  to  her  words  of 
truth  and  kindness,  without  seeing  the  generous 
purpose  of  her  heart,  and  she  saw  her  fast  falling 
tears  unmoved.  "With  a  cheek  flashed  with  in- 
dignation, she  bade  her  leave  her  presence,  and 
never  again  intrude  upon  one  whom  she  had  so 
grossly  insulted. 

The  indignation  of  Helen  did  not  serve  to 
quiet  the  fears  of  Mary ;  and  since  she  was  for- 
bid all  personal  communication,  she  determined 
secretly  to  mark  her  movements. 

One  evening,  when  Henry  was  alone  in  his 
study,  he  was  surprised  by  an  earnest  tap  at  his 
door.  He  hastily  threw  it  open,  and  before  him 
stood  the  ti-embling  fonn  of  Mary  Vernon.  Her 
cheek  was  almost  bloodless,  and  her  quivering 
lip  vainly  essayed  to  speak, 

"  0,  Mary,"  cried  Hem*y,  as  he  advanced  to 
her  support,  "  what  fearful  tidings  do  you  bear  V 

"Balcombe  and  Helen — pursue  them — fly 
quickly  !  I  left  them  in  the  garden  ;  and  at  the 
entrance  a  carriage  is  in  waiting !" 

Henry,  distressed  and  bewildered,  looked  to 
Mary  for  an  explanation,  but  she  only  said,  im- 
ploringly : 

"  Haste  !  haste  !  Enough  that  what  I  tell  you 
is  true  !     They  vriil  soon  be  beyond  your  reach  !" 

Henry  hastened  to  the  spot,  and  there  was  the 
can'iage,  but  Helen  and  Balcombe  were  not  in 
sight.  With  an  air  of  assumed  composure,  ho 
commanded  the  driver  to  leave  his  grounds 
quickly.  Such  peremptory  orders,  from  one 
evidently  accustomed  to  command,  intimidated 
the  man,  and  he  hastily  obeyed.  Presently, 
Henry  heard  low,  earnest  voices  : 

"  Indeed,  dear  Hervey,  I  am  sick  to-night. 
Will  to-morrow  answer  our  purpose  as  well  ? 
Perhaps  then  I  shall  be  better." 

"  No,  my  angel  Helen !  I  cannot  live  without 
you  another  moment !  But,  heavens  !  where  is 
the  carriage  V 

"  Villain  !  traitor  !"  cried  Henry.  "  You  are 
discovered !" 

"  O,  Hervey,  Hervey !"  gasped  Helen,  and  she 
sunk  senseless  to  the  ground.  Henry  hastened 
to  her  assistance,  and  her  companion,  without 
uttering  a  word,  took  this  opportunity  to  make  a 
speedy  escape. 

Henry  tenderly  bore  the  inanimate  form  of  his 
wife  to  the  house,  where  Mary — who  was  await- 
ing the  result  with  anxious  solicitude — assisted 
him  in  his  efforts  for  her  recovery.  One  faintin - 
fit  succeeded  another,  and  before  morning  she 
was  attacked  by  a  violent  brain  fever.  All  that 
medical  skill  and  eager  friends  could  devise  for 
her  relief,  seemed  vain,  and  her  sufferings  were 
intense.  During  her  short  intervals  of  reason, 
she  entreated  Mary  to  remain  with  her  while  she 
lived,  which  she  was  conscious  would  be  but  a 
little  time. 


In  grateful  accents  she  would  whisper :  "  You 
will  not  leave  me,  unworthy  as  I  am,  you  are  so 
forgiving,  so  good.  There  is  no  touch  so  tender 
as  3-ours,  and  nobody  but  you  can  pity  me  now. 
You  told  me  all  this,  Mary,  if  I  had  only  lis- 
tened. But  I  was  fascinated — I  was  mad  !  This 
alone  has  not  killed  me.  As  Henry  said,  I  have 
sacrificed  my  life  in  one  constant  round  of  dissi- 
pation. How  he  entreated  me  to  be  kind  to  my- 
self, even  if  I  was  resolved  to  neglect  him.  He 
did  not  say  this ;  no,  he  never  reproached  me — ■ 
but  then  he  felt  it  all.  Henry,  your  kindness 
will  kill  me !  When  you  told  rac  that  my  health 
was  evidently  declining,  I  knew  it,  I  felt  it, 
daily ;  but  I  wilfully  refused  to  be  guided  by 
yoiu:  discretion,  and  only  sought  more  earnestly 
to  forget  all,  in  a  wilder  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
Wliy  do  you  not  accuse  me,  spurn  me,  instead 
of  standing  by  my  bedside,  weeping  so  bitterly, 
and  watching  the  ingrate  day  and  night  so  ten- 
derly." 

Day  by  day  served  to  increase  her  alarming 
symptoms,  and  soon  the  poor  victim  of  fashion 
was  no  more.  Sadly  Heniy  gazed  upon  tlie 
wasted  but  still  beautiful  clay  before  him. 
Mournfully  he  laid  her  in  her  last  quiet  resting- 
place,  only  soothed  by  the  reflection  that  her  last 
hours  had  given  evidence  of  penitence,  deep  and 
sincere. 

Now,  though  Henry  was  scarce  less  alone  than 
in  fonner  days,  his  home  seemed  mournful  as 
the  tomb.  Every  apartment  seemed  only  to  re- 
mind him  of  the  gay,  beautiful  young  being, 
whom,  but  a  few  years  since,  he  had  so  proudly 
brought  thither.  Instead  of  her  light  footfall, 
he  could  only  hear  his  own  dull,  heavy  ti-ead ; 
and  the  laughing  eyes  that  looked  from  the  por- 
trait on  the  wall,  distracted  him  with  memories 
of  her  untimely  fate.  TherC  were  no  recollec- 
tions of  heart-communings  which  might  soothe 
his  loneliness,  and  he  hastened  from  a  spot 
where  all  was  shrouded  in  gloom. 

Years  passed,  and  he  returned.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  find  Mary — whom  he  had  never  ceased 
to  regard  with  reverence  bordering  on  idolati'y — 
still  young,  apparently,  still  cheerful,  but  un- 
wedded.  He  talked  of  loneliness,  of  the  joys 
they  had  shared  in  earlier  days,  of  the  bliss  to 
be  found  in  exalted  companionship  of  kindred 
spirits.  But  in  vain.  Though  Maiy  acknowl- 
edged that  the  past  had  made  an  indelible  im- 
pression on  Iier  heart,  she  was  contented  to  re- 
main unmanied.  She  had  been  supremely  hap- 
py in  his  society — lo^'ing  him  as  a  sister  loves  a 
brother,  listening  to  the  teachings  of  a  mind  so 
exalted  and  stored  with  wisdom ;  and  still  she 
would  be  a  sister  to  him,  still  listen  and  learn  of 
him. 

Henry,  in  reviewing  the  past,  felt  the  justice 
of  her  decision,  and  acquiesced;  and,  though  the 
joys  derived  from  such  friendship  were  less  va- 
ried, they  were  more  peaceful  and  heartfelt  than 
those  of  theit  earlier  days. 


[■Written  for  Gleasou's  Tictorial.] 

LINES 

TTRITTEX  OX  A  VOLUME  OF  GLE\SON"S  PICTORIAX. 


BT  B.  J.   HOWE. 


To  guide  whose  hand  the  sister  arts  combine, 
To  trace  the  poet's  or  the  painter's  line. 

English  Bards  and  Scotch  jReviewers. 


I  have  read  with  delight  in  these  pages  outspread, 
The  far  flight  of  genius,  the  triumph  of  truth ; 

The  fervor  of  feeliug,  whoee  strength  has  ne'er  fled. 
The  hopes  and  the  buoyant  affections  of  youth. 

Here  fancy  has  all  her  bright  colors  combined, 
A  magical  charm  to  this  volume  to  lend  ; 

And  oft  has  it  been  to  my  heart  and  my  mind. 
In  the  still  hour  of  night  a  "  Companion  "  and  friend. 

Its  splendid  engravings  the  eye  will  enchain, 
As  o'er  them  it  lingers,  their  beauties  to  learn  ; 

And,  pleased  with  the  tales  its  fair  pages  contain, 
Full  oft  to  its  treasures  I  gladly  return. 


LABOR  HONORABLE. 

The  man  who  is  able  to  work  and  does  not,  is 
to  be  pitied  as  well  as  despised.  He  knows 
nothing  of  sweet  sleep  and  pleasant  dreams. 
He  is  a  miserable  drone,  and  eats  a  substance  he 
does  not  earn.  Perhaps  he  thinks  it  is  not  gen- 
teel to  work.  His  kind  of  gentility  is  the  most 
worthless  and  contemptible  of  all  gentility.  Had 
not  those  before  him,  near  or  remote,  toiled 
hard,  the  degenerate  son  or  daughter  would  be 
compelled  to  earn  their  bread  instead  of  being  a 
bogus  aristocracy  upon  property  they  never 
earned.  One  generation  labors  hard  to  accumu- 
late dollai's  and  cents,  for  a  generation  of  sim- 
pletons to  squander. — Journal. 


Commerce  has  set  the  mark  of  selfishness 

The  signet  of  its  all-enslai'ing  power, 

Upon  a  shining  ore,  and  called  it  gold, —  Shelley. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  SONG  OF  SUflL'ttER. 

BT  JOSEPH   H.   BDTLER. 

Once  more,  my  wild  and  simple  IjTe, 

I  touch  thy  plaintive  string  ; 
And  with  unequal,  tuneless  voice, 

Kc  turning  summer  sing. 
Fast  on  the  wings  of  fleeting  time, 

Dark  winter  flies  afar  ; 
The  sun-god,  throned  in  glorious  light. 

Now  guides  his  flaming  car. 

0  come,  my  love,  and  stray  ^vith  me, 
Along  yon  flowery  dale, 

And  charm  me  with  thy  gentle  voice, 

In  some  romantic  tale. 
There,  as  we  rove  the  vales  along, 

I  '11  pluck  the  springing  flower. 
And  for  thy  hair  I  '11  weave  a  wreath. 

In  some  secjuestered  bower. 

Sweet  shall  the  garland  be  I  '11  weave, 

While  her  I  love  is  by  ; — 
The  blue  within  the  violet's  boU 

Shall  imitate  thine  eye. 
And  never  will  I  leave  thy  smile. 

While  life  informs  this  breast, — 
The  rugged  paths  our  steps  shall  tread, 

Lead  to  some  place  of  rest. 

Then  come,  my  love,  and  stray  with  me, 

Along  the  vale  afar, 
And  sing  thy  favorite  song  so  sweet. 

Unto  thy  loved  guitar. 

1  '11  whisper  words  of  coming  joy, 
To  cheer  thy  gentle  heart ; 

Life's  wintry  storms  may  rage,  but  fail 
Our  fiiitbful  souls  to  part. 

<    .»a^    I 

ROBIN  REDBREAST. 

Those  unaccustomed  to  observe  the  manners 
of  the  lower  world  might  be  incredulous  of  the 
sensibility  and  confidence  which  they  acquire 
from  the  kindness  of  their  human  superior.  In 
a  garden  at  Brodic  there  were  several  which  had 
become  the  companions  of  the  gardener;  but,  as 
usual  in  all  communities,  one  more  amiable  and 
intelligent  than  the  rest.  When  the  old  man 
was  at  work  he  never  left  him,  but  perched  be- 
side him,  examining  every  spadeful  of  earth 
which  he  threw  up,  often  hopping  into  the  trench 
under  the  uplifted  spade,  which  its  master  was 
obliged  to  suspend  till  he  had  gathered  the  grub 
or  chrysalis  for  which  he  had  descended.  If  the 
old  man  paused  to  speak,  the  bird  would  perch 
upon  one  side  of  his  spade,  while  his  foot  rested 
upon  the  other.  But  in  the  gai'den  of  a  lady, 
illustrious  for  her  talents  and  love  of  nature,  we 
have  seen  more  remarkable  examples  of  inti- 
macy and  confidence.  Familiarized  by  her  gen- 
tleness, and  attracted  by  tlie  little  dole  with 
which  she  always  met  them,  they  have  become 
so  much  the  companions  of  her  walks  that  they 
wait  for  her  in  the  paths,  perched  on  a  bough, 
and  singing  till  she  approaches,  when  they  drop 
at  her  feet,  and  pick  the  crumbs  from  her  hand  ; 
sit  on  the  handle  of  her  little  flower-basket,  or 
the  edge  of  her  parasol,  watching  all  her  mo- 
tions ;  and  when  they  have  received  their  frugal 
meal — for  they  arc  very  abstemious,  never  taking 
more  than  four  or  five  crumbs  at  a  time — they 
return  to  the  tree,  and  sing  till  she  retires. — 
Inverness  Courier. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  THE  ABSENT  ONE. 

BT  C.  H.  CRISWELL. 

WTien  shall  I  see  thee,  cherished  one,  when  ? 
Am  I  doomed  ne'er  to  behold  thee  again? 
Long  have  I  waited  in  sorrow  alone, 
Long  have  I  waited  to  greet  thee,  mine  own ; 
Dark  disappointment  hath  shaded  my  heart. 
And  tears  from  its  fountains  continually  start. 

I  see  thee  not  now,  love,  I  hear  not  thy  voice. 

Whose  low  tones  of  fondness  once  made  me  rejoice  ; 

I  feel  not  thy  kisses,  so  ardent  and  sweet. 

Thy  soft,  loving  glances  I  cannot  now  meet. 

0,  where  art  thou  roving?  why  art  thou  not  here? 

I  'm  weary  with  watching,  when  wilt  thou  appear? 

The  cold  night  is  dreary,  the  dark  hours  are  sad. 
How  can  I  bo  cheerful  t  how  can  I  be  glad  ? 
Bright  hopes  are  fast  fading ;  soon  cometh  despair. 
Were  I  sure  of  thy  safety,  I  'd  feel  less  of  care  ; 
But  no  1  I  am  pining  in  sadness  for  thee — 
0  where  art  thou  roving?  0  where  canst  thou  he? 


SOUND  ADVICE. 

"  Know,"  said  Sir  "W.  Raleigh  to  his  son, 
"  that  flatterers  are  the  worst  kind  of  traitors, 
for  they  will  strengthen  thy  imperfections,  en- 
courage thee  in  all  evils,  correct  thee  in  nothing, 
but  so  shadow  and  paint  thy  follies  and  vices,  as 
thou  shalt  never,  by  their  will,  discover  good 
from  evil,  or  vice  from  virtue.  And  because  all 
men  are  apt  to  flatter  themselves,  to  entertain 
the  addition  of  other  men's  praises  is  most  peril- 
ous. If  thy  friends  be  of  better  quality  than 
thyself,  thou  mayest  be  sure  of  two  things  :  first, 
they  will  be  more  careful  to  keep  thy  counsel, 
because  they  have  more  to  lose  than  thou  hast ; 
second,  they  will  esteem  thee  for  thyself,  and  not 
for  that  wliioh  thou  dost  not  possess." 


When  concession  is  inevitable,  it  is  wise  to 
concede  before  necessity  destroys  both  freedom 
of  thought  aud  dignity  of  movement. 


LIVING  IN  QUIET. 

A  rule  for  living  happily  with  others,  is  to 
avoid  having  stock  subjects  of  disputation.  It 
mostly  happens,  when  people  live  much  together, 
that  they  come  to  have  certain  set  topics,  around 
which,  from  frequent  dispute,  there  is  such  a 
growth  of  angry  words,  mortified  vanitj',  and  the 
like,  that  the  original  subject  of  diflference  be- 
comes a  standing  subject  for  quarrel ;  and  there 
is  a  tendency  in  all  minor  disputes  to  drift  do^vn 
to  it.  Again  :  if  people  wish  to  live  well  to- 
gether, they  must  not  hold  too  much  to  logic,  and 
suppose  that  everything  is  to  be  settled  by  suffi- 
cient reason.  Dr.  Johnson  saw  this  clearly  with 
regard  to  married  people,  when  he  said : 
"  Wretched  would  be  the  pair  above  all  names  of 
wretchedness,  who  should  be  doomed  to  adjust 
by  reason,  every  moraing,  all  the  minute  detail 
of  a  domestic  day."  But  the  application  should 
he  mucli  more  general  than  lie  made  it.  There 
is  no  time  for  such  reasonings,  and  nothing  that 
is  worth  them  And  when  we  recollect  how  two 
lawyers,  or  two  politicians,  can  go  on  contend- 
ing, and  that  there  is  no  end  of  one-sided  reason- 
ing on  any  subject,  wc  shall  not  be  sure  that  such 
contention  is  the  best  mode  for  arri^'ing  at  truth. 
But  certainly  it  is  not  tlie  way  to  amve  at  good 
temper. — Friends  in  CounciL 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
DAY    FOLLOWETH    DAY. 

BY   C.1R0L1NE   A.   HATDEN. 

Day  followeth  day,  in  calm  succession  bearing 
Its  earthly  record  to  the  eternal  throne ; 

The  same  bright  gem  upon  its  bosom  bearing, 
That  gaddened  earth  ere  weary  thought  was  known. 

It  treadeth  on  time's  flying  footsteps  ever, 
Chasing  the  gloomy  hours  of  night  away  | 

Enduring,  changeless,  disappointing  never. 
All  else  may  change,  but  day  still  followeth  day. 

Its  dawn  is  sure,  and  just  as  sure  its  closing ; 

But  0,  within  it^  pages  who  may  look ! 
For  calm,  or  fair,  or  peacefully  reposing, 

Is  it  not  still  a  sealed  and  hidden  book? 

Day  followeth  day,  in  calm  succession  wearing 

Upon  its  breast  our  all  of  joy  or  woe ; 
To  some  the  bitter  cup  of  sorrow  bearing, 

To  others,  happiness'  sweet  overflow. 

We  may  not' lift  the  veil  that  shrouds  to-morrow, 

Sufficient  is  our  knowledge  of  to-day  ; 
Bnt  we  of  hope  its  rainbow  tints  may  borrow, 

To  gild  a  future  which  cannot  decay. 


OLD  AGE. 

There  is  a  quiet  repose  and  steadiness  about 
the  happiness  of  age,  if  the  life  has  been  well 
spent.  Its  feebleness  is  not  painful.  The  ner- 
vous system  has  lost  its  acuteness.  Even  in  ma- 
ture years  we  feel  that  a  burn,  a  scald,  a  cut  is 
more  tolerable  than  it  was  in  the  sensitive  period 
of  youth.  The  fear  of  approaching  death,  which, 
in  youth  we  imagine  must  cause  inquietude  to 
the  aged,  is  very  seldom  the  source  of  much  un- 
easiness. We  never  like  to  hear  the  old  regret- 
ting the  loss  of  then"  youth.  It  is  a  sign  that 
they  are  not  living  their  life  aright.  There  are 
duties  and  pleasures  for  every  age,  and  the  "wise 
will  follow  them.  They  will  neither  regret  the 
loss  of  youth,  nor  afl^ect  to  be  younger  than  they 
are.  When  men,  they  will  not  dress  as  hoys, 
nor  compete  with  them.  When  matrons,  or 
matron-like  maids,  they  will  not  (b'ess  like  girls. 
When  young  women,  they  will  not  be  childish, 
and  play  pi])ing  tunes  by  way  of  enchantment. 
To  be  happy,  we  must  be  true  to  nature,  and 
caiiT-  our  age  along  with  us. — HazHtt. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
WILD    VIOLETS. 

BY    Wn.LIAM    S.   CnABE. 

IIow  bright  they  are  1  that  azure  band 

Beside  the  shady  wood ; 
Clustered  as  though  an  angel's  hand 

Had  joined  the  sisterhood  ! 
So  fair,  and  yet  so  frail  they  grow, 

Beneath  their  sylvan  bower, 
That  when  the  autumn's  breezes  blow, 

They  perish  in  an  hour. 

Each  tiny  banner,  as  it  nods 

Upon  its  slender  stem, 
Is  fairer  far  than  sceptre  rod. 

Or  jewelled  diadem ; 
For  man  can  ne'er,  with  cunning  art, 

Such  loveliness  enfold 
In  one  small  leaf;  nor  brush  imp.irt 

Such  tints  of  blue  and  gold  1 

Sweet  emblems  of  a  brighter  world ! 

They  meet  us  everywhere  ; 
And  each  sweet  bud,  again  unfurled, 

Ketums  from  year  to  year — 
And  whispers  of  that  lasting  love. 

The  angela  only  know, 
As  from  the  pure,  bright  land  above, 

They  gay.e  on  earth  below. 

Two  persons  who  have  chosen  each  other  out 
of  all  the  species,  with  a  design  to  be  each  other's 
mutual  comfort  and  entertainment,  have,  in  that 
action,  bound  themselves  to  be  good-humored, 
affable,  discreet,  forgiving,  patient  and  joyful, 
with  rcsjieet  to  each  other'.s  frailties  and  perfec- 
tions, to  the  end  of  their  lives — Addison. 


124 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


THE  NORTH  A3rEUlCAN  INDIANS. 

On  this  page  wc  present  three  unique  iind 
graphic  scenes  of  Indhin  iilb  and  character. 
Tlie  first  engraving,  representing  an  Indian  en- 
campment, furnishes  a  view  of  tlic  camp  of  tho 
red  warrior,  decorated  with  grotesque  figures  and 
representations.  Tlieir  eamps  and  wigwams  are 
the  only  spots  associated  with  the  domestic  life 
and  hiihits  of  these  nomadic  tribes.  But  how 
marked  the  contrast  they  now  display,  to  that 
time,  wiien  tho  vast  continent,  now  the  abode  of 
civilization  and  tho  arts,  and  where  tho  appli- 
ances of  industry,  skill  and  taste  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  rude  methods  of  primitiYO  life,  from 
sea  to  sea,  was  only  peopled  by  the  mere  deni- 
zens of  the  wood,  who  managed  to  draw  from 
nature  barely  sufficient  to  minister  to  tho  suste- 
nance of  physical  life.  Those  ancient  lords  of 
our  forests,  who  once  roamed  over  our  land  in 
undisputed  possession,  are  fast  disapjjcaring  itc- 
fore  the  onward  march  of  civilization.  They 
arc  so  thoroughly  the  children  of  nature,  that  it 
seems  they  cannot  become  blended  with  tlic  race 
which  thrives  in  cities  and  lives  by  the  extension 
of  manufactures  and  agriculture.  They  are  the 
modern  types  of  the  human  family  in  its  earliest 
stage  of  existence.  They  arc  the  hunters  of  our 
era,  living  only  by  the  chase,  and  represent  in 
the  nineteenth  century  of  the  Christian  era  the 
modes  of  life  followed  by  the  earliest  family  of 
man.  Other  races  have,  as  they  increased  in 
numbers,  gradually  ascended  the  second  step  to- 
wards civilization,  and  pursued  pastoral  avoca- 
tions ;  and  then  again  successive  generations 
have  risen  to  agriculture  and  finally  to  com- 
merce. But  the  red  aborigines  are  exemplars 
of  another  fate.  As  they  were  bom  so  are  the 
whole  race  dying  oif  from  tiie  face  of  the  earth ; 
as  the  axe  fells  the  trees  of  the  forest,  and  as  the 
deer  and  the  buffalo  shrink  from  the  inroads  of 
the  plough,  the  old  sons  of  the  wilderness  fade 
away  and   vanish   in^their  do^^iiward    career. 


«^»^^fo.-. 


VIEW  OF  AN  INDIAN  ENCAMPJIENT. 


M^\ 


AN  INDIAN  SCALP  DANCE. 


The  third  scene  represents  the  well-knovm  his- 
torical incident  of  the  rescue  of  Capt.  Smith  by 
Pocahontas,  the  daughter  of  the  powerful  chief 
Powhatan,  by  whom  he  had  been  sentenced  to 
death.  To  illustrate  the  picture  we  will  revert 
to  the  history.  In  the  year  1607,  John  Smith 
with  one  hundred  and  four  persons  emigrated  to 
Virginia,  from  England,  under  the  first  charter 
for  Virginia  colony.  They  were  kindly  received 
by  the  natives  in  tlie  vicinity  of  Jamestown,  who, 
when  informed  of  the  wish  of  the  strangers  to 
settle  in  the  country,  offered  them  as  much  land 
as  they  wanted.  Smith,  by  his  judgment,  in- 
trepidity and  skill,  soon  became  an  important 
person  in  the  colony,  and  an  object  of  great  in- 
terest to  the  natives.  Soon  after  their  arrival. 
Smith  and  some  others  ascended  James  River, 
and  visited  the  native  chieftain  Powhatan,  at  liis 
principal  residence  near  the  present  site  of  Rich- 
mond. His  subjects  murmured  at  the  intrusion 
of  the  strangers  into  the  country  ;  but  Powhatan, 
disguising  his  jealousy  and  fear,  manifested  a 
friendly  disposition  towards  tliem.  Soon  after, 
dissensions  began  to  occur  among  the  principal 
men  of  the  colony,  and  to  Smith  was  committed 
the  management  of  its  affairs.  Under  his  pru- 
dent care,  its  condition  rapidly  improved,  and 
kept  the  Indians  in  awe.  His  active  spirit  led  him 
upon  searches  into  the  country,  which  fostered 
the  jealous  fears  of  the  natives  ;  on  one  of  these 
excursions,  he  was  surprised  by  the  Indians,  and 
taken  prisoner.  After  being  carried  from  village 
to  village,  his  fate  was  referred  to  Powhatan  and 
his  council,  and  to  the  village  of  that  chieftain  he 
was  conducted.  Here  it  was  decided  that  he 
should  die.  He  was  led  to  execution,  and  bis 
head  laid  on  a  stone  to  receive  the  fatal  blow, 
when  I'ocahontas,  the  young  and  favorite  daugh- 
ter of  the  king,  rushed  in  between  the  victim  and 
the  arm  of  the  executioner,  and  with  tears  he- 
^'ou^ht  for  his  life.  The  savage  chieftain  relent- 
ed, and  Smith  was  set  at  liberty. 


The  second  scene  represents  the  scalp  danco  of 
the  Indians  as  it  was  enacted  by  the  victorious 
tribe  after  battle.  Two  belligerent  tribes,  sav- 
agely bent  on  each  other's  destruction,  are  en- 
gaged in  preparation  for  the  conflict.  On  a  sud- 
den, a  shout  is  heard.  We  turn  in  the  direction 
from  which  it  comes.  It  is  not  yet  day.  But 
we  gaze  till  the  light  of  the  morning  reveals  to 
our  alarmed  sight  a  band  of  warriors,  each  armed 
with  a  bow  and  quiver,  a  war  club,  and  a  lance, 
engaged  in  battle  with  another  band.  The  war 
whoop  and  the  battle  cry  resound  on  every  side; 
and  the  forest  echoes  them !  At  one  point,  two 
have  met  and  cleached  each  other ;  they  are 
bleeding;  at  another,  one  is  down,  and  his  an- 
tagonist is  just  giving  him  the  fatal  blow  with 
the  war  club  ;  at  another,  we  see,  behind  trees,  a 
dozen  or  more  availing  themselves  of  their  dex- 
terity in  sending  their  arrows  into  their  less 
guarded  and  more  exposed  antagonists.  Pre- 
sently all  is  still.  Then  we  hear  murmurs — now 
and  then  a  shout.  AVe  look,  and  see  coming  in 
the  direction  of  our  position,  some  hundred 
warriors  smeared  with  blood,  with  scalps  dang- 
ling from  their  fingers.  We  watch  their  move- 
ments. They  pa^s  near  us,  follow  the  curvatures 
of  the  shores,  and  then  suddenly  start  into  a 
wood,  and  become  lost  to  our  sight.  Presently 
they  re-appear,  and  we  see  them  on  a  hill  side 
that  slopes  down  to  the  bend  of  the  river,  moving 
with  stately  step,  and  in  Indian  file.  Just  before 
them  is  an  Indian  village.  The  wigwams  are 
cone-like  in  form,  and  covered  with  bark.  A 
shout  is  heard ;  it  is  answered — when  from  these 
wigwams  come  pouring  out  half-naked  squaws, 
children  and  dogs.  They  mingle  in  one  dense 
mass.  Then  a  drum  is  heard.  Now  we  see  a 
circle  formed — the  war  flag  is  raised  in  its  centre 
— a  song  is  chanted — a  dance  is  seen.  It  is  the 
scalp  dance  ;  one  of  the  diabolical  orgies  of  sav- 
age life,  and  a  frantic  scene  of  savage  revels. 


RESCUE  OF  CAPTAIN  SMITH,  BY  POCAHONTAS. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


125 


Jf^l  1] 


^.'L■-^,-l--v-~-■v^--^.■l.-~-.  vi.  ^  -.T.  .  ■_\.  i,^j\.  VX^-i.^^,^  --i_\,  1,1,  ■!,■>, -i,-!.  i,\.^\ 

FREDERICK   GLEASON,   Pkoprietor. 

MATURIN    M.    EALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTKIV'TS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER. 

"  Silvia  Mazzani,  or  the  Tuscan  Sisters,"  a  story,  by 
Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr. 

"  The  Two  Silk  Dresses,  or  Aunt  Hannah's  Whim,"  a 
story,  by  Mrs.  M.  E.  Robinson. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  1,  by  Kev.  F.  "W.  Holland. 

"  The  Man  of  Taste,"  a  sketch,  by  John  K.  Holmes. 

"  The  Yellow  Domino,"  a  story,  by  H.  Pelican, 

"  Anniversary  of  our  Freedom,"  verses,  by  P.  S.  Lewis. 

"  Love,"  a  poem,  by  Kenneth  Sinclair. 

"  The  Soul's  Convoy,"  verses,  by  Wm.  T.  Hilsee. 

*' Lines  to  Nature,"  by  J.  Alfohd. 

"Blue-Eyed  Clara,"  lines,  by  Scsan  H.  Elaisdell. 

"My  Last  Moment,"  verses,  by  J.  Hunt,  Jr. 

"  Tribute  to  Longfellow,"  lines,  by  C.  L.  Porter. 

"  Cling  to  the  Kock,  boy,"  verses,  by  Mrs.  S.  CuRRlEE. 

"  Gootl-by,"  lines  by  Edwarb  J.  Handiboe. 

ILLUSTEATIOlfS. 

We  shall  present  our  readers  with  a  very  beautiful  rep- 
resentation of  the  Monument  Cemetery,  near  Philadelphia. 
It  was  dra^ra  for  us  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Dcvercaux,  upon 
the  spot. 

A  large  picture,  covering  an  entire  page  of  the  Pictorial, 
representing  a  characteristic  scene,  entitled  Mexicans  on 
the  March,  showing  this  peculiar  people  in  war  time  and 
in  war  costume. 

A  very  interesting  series  of  six  engravings,  covering  one 
page  of  the  Pictorial,  and  representing  the  various  stages 
of  the  Potato  Rot-  First,  the  potato  plant ;  second,  a 
magnified  view  of  a  slice  of  ripe  potato  ;  third,  the  blotches 
on  the  potato  leaf;  fourth,  the  Botrytis  Infestans,  highly 
magnified ;  fifth,  the  diseased  stem,  natural  size  ;  and  sixth, 
a  section  of  the  potato,  shoeing  the  disease  in  progress. 

A  series  of  fine  original  views  of  Saratoga  Springs,  N.T., 
drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr,  Ckapin,  on  the  spot,  representing 
Congress  Hall  and  Spring  as  it  appeared  in  1826.  The 
present  United  States  Hotel,  at  Saratoga.  A  view  of  Sar- 
atoga, embracing  Stanwix,  Union  and  Congress  Halls.  A 
fine  picture  of  High  Hock,  Empire  and  Iodine  Springs, 
One  of  the  Congress  Springs,  as  it  now  appears.  Also,  a 
view  of  Saratoga  Lake.  Ail  forming  a  very  interesting 
and  timely  series  of  pictures. 

A  fine  picture,  representing  the  annual  Festival  of  the 
Graziers,  at  Grenoble.     A  very  interesting  scene. 

We  shall  give  our  readers  an  admirable  likeness  of  the 
Hon.  Robert  Kantoul,  Jr.,  lately  deceased  in  the  city  of 
Washington,  D.  C. 

A  spirited  and  original  view  of  the  Loss  of  the  United 
States  Itevenue  Cutter  Taney,  in  New  York  harbor,  by  a 
white  squall.    Drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade. 

A  fine  original  view  of  the  Encampment  of  the  Fifth 
Regiment  of  Artillery,  First  Brigade,  as  they  appeared  on 
Boston  Common,  a  few  days  since. 


DEATH  OF  MR.  RANTOUL. 

The  sudden  demise  of  this  gentleman,  at 
Washington,  is  the  subjeet  of  general  comment 
in  the  community.  Hon.  Robert  Eantoul  was  a 
man  of  strong  character,  and  remarkable  men- 
tal endowments.  An  eloquent  pnblic  speaker,  a 
sound  lawyer,  and  a  true-hearted  and  generous 
man.  Of  course,  in  these  remarks,  we  are  not 
endorsing  Mr.  Rantoul's  political  sentiments,  as 
we  touch  not,  handle  not,  in  these  affairs.  No 
one  can  doubt  that  the  death  of  guch  a  man,  the 
loss  of  such  a  mind,  is  a  national  calamity.  It 
is  so  beyond  a  doubt ;  and  as  death  hath  now 
unrobed  his  character  of  envy,  we  shall  find 
his  political  opponents  will  praise  him.  Next 
week  we  shall  present  a  likeness  and  biographi- 
cal sketch  of  the  deceased. 


SPLINTERS. 

....  Meagher,  the  Ii-ish  patriot,  has  rendered 
himself  very  popular  in  New  York. 

....  A  regular  line  of  steamers  now  runs  be- 
tween Boston  and  Philadelphia. 

. Boston,  notwithstanding  the  season,  is 

most  remarkably  healthy  just  now. 

, . , .  Look  out  for  the  great  hen  exhibition 
soon,  in  the  public  garden,  Boston. 

....  We  see  that  the  sea  serpent  has  gone  to 
California.     Very  natural. 

....  The  Batemen  children,  after  a  successful 
season,  are  about  to  return  to  this  country. 

....  A  great  deal  of  ship  building  seems  to 
be  going  on  just  now  at  East  Boston. 

Another  conspiracy  to  overthrow  the  gov- 
ernment has  lately  been  discovered  in  Havana. 

The   Boston   Museum  is   again  in  the 

"full  tide  of  successful  experiment." 

Mr.  Winthrop  declines  being  the  whig 

candidate  for  governor  of  Massachusetts. 

....  Our  government  are  about  to  erect  eight 
lighthouses  on  the  Pacific  coast. 

Congress  is  eating  up  the  snug  sum  of 

$2500  per  day,  and  doing  nothing ! 

The  liquor  law  in  Boston  is  a  "  dead  let- 
ter," neither  more  nor  less. 

Our   thanks  are  due  to   Hon.    Charles 

Sumner  for  numerous  public  documents. 


CONNECTED  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

We  give  in  the  present  number  a  connected 
series  of  illustrations  relating  to  the  Adams  fam- 
ily and  the  town  of  Quincy,  which  have  been 
drawn  and  engraved  for  us  at  considerable  ex- 
pense. As  far  as  practicable  we  propose  to  con- 
tinue these  sets  or  series  of  connected  views,  as 
in  this  way  we  can  afford  much  more  space  for 
letter-press  and  perfection  of  details  in  any  sub- 
ject presented.  Our  aim  in  this  now  widely  cir- 
culated and  favorite  journal  is  not  simply  to 
make  a  paper  that  will  sell,  but  we  desire  to  pro- 
duce, weekly,  as  our  prospectus  says,  a  jom-nal 
that  will  be  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for 
its  combined  excellences. 

Parents  and  heads  of  femilies  have  only  to 
look  mth  a  careful  eye  to  our  pages,  to  see  what 
a  valuable  source  of  amusement  and  instruction 
the  paper  must  be  in  any  family  circle.  The 
descriptive  matter  attached  to  our  illusti-ations  is 
most  carefully  prepared,  and  from  the  most  re- 
liable som'ces,  and  each  pictm'e  is  thus  made 
doubly  valuable  to  the  reader.  There  is  much 
theoretical  learning  to  be  acquii-ed  by  the  young, 
we  are  fully  aware ;  but  for  practical  information 
and  useful  knowledge,  we  think  it  would  puzzle 
a  father  to  find  a  work  at  treble  the  cost  of  the 
Pictorial,  that  would  impart  to  his  family  one 
half  the  pleasure,  or  real,  desh*able  intelligence 
that  this  publication  presents. 

We  educate  and  illustrate  at  the  same  time  ; 
we  teach  geography,  for  instance,  not  only  by 
words,  but  we  fix  it  upon  the  mind  by  adducing 
tangible  evidences  of  localities,  by  a  faithful  pic- 
ture of  the  places  themselves.  We  introduce 
great  men  to  our  readers,  not  alone  in  faithfully 
written  biography,  but  we  give  them  a  "  coun- 
terfeit presentment"  of  the  individuals  them- 
selves, that  assures  tliem  of  the  paan  as  well  as 
though  they  had  pressed  his  hand  and  passed  the 
compliments  of  the  day  with  him.  We  not  only 
relate  the  fearful  caiasti'ophe  of  the  burning  of 
the  Henry  Clay,  for  instance,  but  we  give  the 
reader  an  exact  view  drawn  upon  the  spot  of  the 
accident  as  it  occurred. 

The  same  peculiarities  may  be  observed  as  it 
regards  our  illustrations  relating  to  natural  his- 
tory— the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the 
sea ;  of  botany,  of  men  and  manners  all  over  the 
world ;  of  foreign  and  domestic  festivals,  pageants, 
reception  scenes,  and  political  gathermgs.  In 
short,  we  produce  what  we  pretend  to  do — a 
pictorial  record  of  the  times  in  which  we  live. 
Pew  persons  can  estimate  now,  how  high  a  value 
will  be  set  upon  complete  sets  of  the  Pictorial 
in  future  years  ;  if  they  did,  few  would  fail  to 
carefully  preserve  and  bind  the  numbers. 


NEW  MECHANICAL  POWER. 

An  ingenious  mechanic  at  Brussels  has  lately 
applied  a  new  power  to  mechanics,  from  which 
great  results  appear  to  be  expected.  This  new 
power  is  galvanism.  Across  a  fly-wheel  which 
is  to  give  motion  to  the  machine,  he  has  placed 
a  metallic  bar,  previously  magnetized  by  a  gal- 
vanic pile,  and  within  the  attraction  of  two 
very  powerful  magnets.  The  moment  that  the 
bar  arrives  in  a  rotary  course  at  the  limit  of 
the  attractive  power,  and  where  it  would  neces- 
sarily stand  still,  the  inventor,  by  the  application 
of  galvanism,  suddenly  converts  the  attractive 
into  a  repulsive  power,  which  continues  the  mo- 
tion in  the  same  direction,  and  by  these  altera- 
tions, well  managed,  the  wheel  acquii*es  a  rapid 
rotation.  The  experiment  is  said  to  have  been 
completely  successful,  and  the  machine  worked 
for  a  whole  hour. 


A  VALUABLE  Map. — We  have  been  availing 
ourselves  of  the  convenience  of  Williams'  (firm 
of  Redding  &  Co.)  Telegraph  and  Railroad  Map 
for  some  time  past,  without  thanking  the  pub- 
lisher for  the  copy  he  has  sent  us.  It  is  a  most 
perfect,  elaborate  and  useful  map  for  all  business 
men,  and  also  forms  a  handsome  ornament  for 
the  walls  of  the  counting-house. 


The  most  enterprising  newspaper  publisher  that  this  or 
any  other  country  has  ever  produced  is  F.  Gleason,  Esq., 
the  proprietor  of  the  Drawing  lioom  Companion,  the  only 
beautiful  illustrated  paper  in  America.  If  there  is  any 
one  particular  trait  that  we  admire  in  a  man's  character 
at  the  present  day,  it  is  enterprise.  Gleason,  here  is 
our  O^. — Boston  Literary  Museum. 


Well  answered. — A  loquacious  tailor  asked 
a  Quaker  in  what  fashion  he  would  be  measiued. 
"  In  silence,"  was  the  solemn  reply.  Rather  a 
poser  that ! 


Monumental. — About  ten  thousand  dollars 
have  akeady  been  subscribed,  in  England,  for  a 
monument  to  the  poet,  Moore. 


THEATRICAL. 

The  drama  has  been  at  rather  a  low  ebb  in 
Boston  for  the  last  few  mouths.  The  Museum 
has  been  taking  a  vacation,  or  rather  its  stock 
company  have ;  the  Howard  has  been  occupied 
by  the  Ravel  troupe ;  the  National  is  re-building 
since  its  destruction  by  fire ;  and  still  a  new  thea- 
tre is  to  be  expected,  we  understand,  on  the  site  of 
the  old  riding  school  in  Mason  street — an  excel- 
lent locality  certainly.  There  is  some  consider- 
able talk  just  now  about  town,  as  it  regards  the 
ensuing  theatrical  season  in  Boston ;  and  some 
good  performers  are  partially  announced,  though 
their  names  have  not  yet  transpired.  The  How- 
ard Athenceum  is  to  be  opened  under  a  new 
management,  and  to  be  entirely  renovated  and 
improved.  Among  other  things,  we  trust  the 
new  lessee  will  not  forget  a  scenic  artist — a  part 
of  the  establishment  of  immense  importance,  yet 
there  has  been  no  scenic  artist  at  the  Howard  for 
more  than  two  years.  By  the  way,  speaking  of 
theatrical  talent,  says  a  cotemporary,  what  are 
managers  to  depend  upon  the  approachmg  sea- 
son in  the  way  of  stars  ?  Mrs.  Mowatt  is  still  on 
^Q,  tapis;  but  Miss  Cushman  and  Miss  Daven- 
porf  have  left  the  American  track.  Forrest  may 
appear,  and  Brooke,  who  made  a  bad  job  with 
the  Astor  Place,  will  he  in  the  countiy.  With 
the  exception  of  these,  what  have  you,  Mr. 
Managers,  to  depend  upon  to  support  the  legiti- 
mate drama?  Nothing;  for  even  McKean  Bu- 
chanan is  absent,  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  will  not 
draw  a  second  time,  as  the  novelty  of  her  acting 
has  passed  away.  Even  in  England,  at  this 
time,  there  are  but  very  few  who  would,  if  im- 
ported, create  any  excitement.  There  certainly 
is  rather  a  scanty  crop  of  good  perfonners  upon 
the  stage  in  this  country  at  present ;  and  so  long 
as  the  mere  sticks  tliat  we  have  mainly  had  in 
Boston  for  the  last  two  seasons,  hold  the  stage, 
so  long  the  boxes  and  parquet  of  the  theatres 
will  be  comparatively  empty. 


A  NATURAL  VINEYARD. 

On  the  north-east  of  the  Canadian,  a  river  of 
the  west,  which  empties  into  the  Arkansas,  there 
are  ranges  of  low  sand-hills,  fringed  with  vines, 
rising  not  more  than  a  foot  or  eighteen  inches 
from  the  surface.  These  hillocks  have  been  pro- 
duced exclusively  by  the  agency  of  the  grape 
vines  arresting  the  sand  as  it  was  borne  along  by 
the  wind,  till  such  quantities  had  been  accumu- 
lated as  to  bury  every  part  of  the  plant  except 
the  ends  of  the  branches.  These  branches  are 
sometimes  so  loaded  with  fmit  as  to  present 
nothing  to  the  eye  but  a  series  of  clusters,  so 
closely  arranged  as  to  buiy  every  part  of  the 
stem.  The  fx'uit  of  these  vines  has  been  said  by 
travellers  to  be  incomparably  finer  than  that  of 
any  other,  either  native  or  exotic,  which  they 
have  ever  met  with  in  tlae  United  States.  The 
burying  a  great  part  of  the  trunk,  with  its  larger 
branches  seems  to  produce  an  effect  similar  to 
that  of  pruning.  The  unfolding  of  the  leaves 
and  flowers,  on  the  parts  below  the  surface,  is 
thus  prevented,  while  the  protruding  ends  of  the 
branches  enjoy  an  increased  degree  of  light  and 
heat  by  reflection  from  the  sand.  The  same 
kind  of  vines  in  ordinary  circumstances  yield 
grapes  much  less  abundant  in  quantity,-  and 
much  inferior  in  flavor. 


A  NEW  Route. — Mr.  Trautwine,  the  explor- 
ing engineer,  has  brought  to  light  an  excellent 
passage  between  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans, 
by  way  of  the  river  Atrato,  in  New  Grenada,  and 
the  Gulf  of  Darien. 


A  SINGULAR  PACT.T-The  American  people 
eat  more  butter  than  bread — at  least  the  value  of 
the  butter  annually  consumed  is  greater  than  the 
value  of  the  yearly  supply  of  wheat. 


Of  questionable  Utility. — We  see  it  sta- 
ted that  the  phonetic  system  of  spelling  has  been 
introduced  into  no  less  than  fifty-three  of  the 
public  schools  of  Massachusetts. 


Gleason't  Pictorial.— This  valuable  illustrated  sheet 
needs  no  encomium  for  those  acquainted  with  it ;  it  "is 
above  .all  praise."  llave  you  subscribed  for  it?  If  you 
\vish  a  fine  '■  picture  gallery  "  at  a  trifling  cost,  a  rich  fund 
of  American  literature — the  combination  of  art  and  in- 
tellect, subscribe  forthwith  for  the  Pictorial. —  Christian 
Freeman^  Boston. 


Large  Number. — There  are  now49I  inmates 
in  Chai-lesto'ivn  state  prison.  Of  this  number, 
twenty  are  sentenced  for  life. 


Maritime. — At  Gloucester  there  is  a  fleet  of 
thirty  or  forty  fishermen  ready  to  sail,  and  await- 
ing the  settlement  of  the  fishing  troubles. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Stow,  Mr.  John  Nelson  to 
Mips  Augusta  Ann  Bird. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Edmonds,  Mr.  Charles  TV.  Dodge,  of  Fanu- 
ington.  Me.,  to  Miss  Lucy  Stephenson  Cushing. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Hiram  Scagel  t-o  Mrs.  Eleanor 
Kobinson,  both  of  Cambridge. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Robertson,  of  New  York,  Dr.  John  V.  De 
Gr.isse,  of  N.  Y.,  to  Miss  Cordelia  L.  Howard. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Coobe,  Mr.  Isaac  N.  Parley  to  Miss  Ruth 
H.  Keen. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Cilley,  Mr.  Anthony  Silver  to  Miss  Nar- 
cissa  Constantia. 

By  Kev.  Mr.  Denison,  Mr.  Edwin  Shackford  to  Miss 
Ellen  N.  Kieruan,  of  Portsmouth,  N.  H. 

At  Cambridgeport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Ware,  Mr.  John  Noblo 
Stinson.  of  Alfred,  Me.,  to  Miss  Marie  Louise  Clark. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Charles  H.  Jelly  to 
Miss  Mary  E.  Ingalls. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Fiske,  Mr.  William  P. 
George,  of  Pittsfield,  N.  H.,  to  Miss  Maria  Chesley. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Blanchard,  Mr.  Edward  Harri- 
son, of  New  Haven,  Ct.,  to  Miss  Clara  A.  Emery. 

At  Milford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Woodbury,  Mr.  J.  H.  Clement 
to  Miss  Clara  Erskine. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Gird  wood,  Mr.  John  H. 
Lane  to  Miss  Anna  E.  Richmond. 

At  North  Adams,  by  A.  A.  Richmond,  Esq.,  Mr.  John 
J.  IvJng,  of  Sharon,  to  Mrs.  Ehzabeth  Pish. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Weston,  Mr.  Benjamin 
A.  Richardson  to  Mrs.  Mary  Simpson. 

At  Albany,  N.  Y.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Parks,  Mr.  Alonzo  D. 
Nichols  to  Miss  Sarah  H.  Achron,  both  of  Rockland,  Me. 


In  this  city,  M.  Calvin  P.  Barker,  27 ;  Mr.  Samuel 
B.  Murray,  30 ;  Mr.  John  D.  Waters,  44  ;  Mr.  George 
Twi£s,  47;  Mr.  John  W.  Tuttle,  2S. 

At  Oharlestown,  Mrs.  Louisa  Porter,  48. 

At  Cambridgeport,  Mrs.  Caroline  P.  Niles,  23. 

At  West  Roxbury,  Mr.  Egbert  Draper,  78.J 

At  Medford,  Mrs.  Rebecca  Cutter,  87. 

At  Yarmouth,  Mrs.  Susan  Cogswell,  52. 

At  Maiden,  Mr.  Timothy  Clapp,  76. 

At  Braintree,  Mrs.  Myra  A.  Willis,  35. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Keziah  Evans,  65. 

At  Newburyport,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Haskell,  80. 

At  Essex,  Mr.  Zacheus  Cogswell,  30. 

At  Rockport,  Miss  Sarah  Jane  Black,  16. 

At  Nantucket,  Miss  Mary  Ann  Hussey,  19. 

At  Springfield,  Mr.  John  Dickinson,  37. 

At  Weston,  Mr.  Alfred  W.  Cook,  20. 

At  Northboro",  Mrs,  Ann  D.  Alien,  38. 

At  Provincetown,  Hon.  Stephen  Halliard  45. 

At  Ashburnham,  Mr.  William  Whitney  67 

At  South  Scituate,  Mrs.  Irene  S.  Lapham  25. 

At  Lancaster,  Mr.  John  Haskell,  71.  ' 

At  Watertown,  Ct.,  Mrs.  Rebecca  Clark  80. 

At  Middleboro',  Capt.  Seth  Howard,  74  ' 

At  Newport,  R.  I.,  Hon.  Theophilus  Topham  70 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Mr.  Asa  B'.  Mason,  of  Boston,  37. 

At  Bellville,  N.  J.,  Mr.  Albert  Robbins  18. 

At  Sacramento,  Mr.  John  S.  Hoyt,  of  Exeter  N.  H    24 

At  New  York,  Mr.  Richard  L.  tioddard  48.  '     '     '' 

At  New  Orleans,  Mr.  James  g.  Peduzzi  '2I 

At  Cohokia,  Mo. ,  Mr.  James  Soper,  of  Dorchester,  Ms.,  42. 


— AND  — 

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126 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Writtoii  for  Gk'iwou'H  Pictorial.] 
QUEEN   LUNA. 


Br  OnARLES  LKLAND  PORTER. 


Now  hna  tho  loiidcm  niylit  Iicr  labor  '^jan, 
And  hrtiiKfl  tho  flrmiiniout  witli  twinkling  lamps  | 
And  av.v  tho  moon  In  fuU-orhed  uplciidur  rise, 
(iucon  of  tho  niTiony,  Hitting  in  Htato, 
All  radiant  with  hor  coronet  of  Htara. 

Q'ho  woary  tmvoller,  as  onward  HtiU 

llo  flpcods  hJH  Hteady  courso,  with  upturned  ojoa, 

Upon  hor  cahn  and  jilacid  fiieo,  dolights 

To  gazo  ;  as  BtiU  ho  journoys  on,  his  homo, 

With  all  its  pleasing  recolIoctionH,  comos 

Uncalled  acrons  his  mind.     A  wanderer, 

Porhapa  o'er  billows  of  the  mighty  deep, 

I'auiiliar  oft,  in  bin  accustomed  road, 

With  scenes  of  peril  and  of  danger,  still 

The  same  mild  moon,  while  he  waa  tempest- tossed. 

Like  ever  faithful  friend  to  him  has  been, 

And  whispering  gently,  through  tlie  lovely  night, 

Glad  tidings  of  his  wcll-remcm bored  homo. 

Or,  where  the  cottage  of  the  shepherd  stands 
Upon  the  mountain  side,  her  gentle  beams 
Silver  the  verdant  sod  before  his  door  ; 
Or,  through  the  window  curtains  peeping  in, 
Steal  o'er  tho  features  of  tho  slumbering  babo 
That  sleeps  so  quiet  in  its  cradle  bed, 
Unconscious  of  its  watchful  guardian's  smiles. 

Thus  o'er  the  couches  of  a  sleeping  world 

She  moves  her  sceptre  with  a  silent  sway  ; 

Shine  on,  thou  fair,  imperial  orb  !  shine  on ! 

And  fill  our  hearts  with  hope,  and  joy,  and  peace  ; 

Keep  vigil  o'er  U3  as  thou  e'er  hafit  done, 

Scatter  the  clustering  fears,  and  smile  our  griefs  away. 


[Translated  from  the  German  for  Gleason'a  Pictorial.] 

THE  MINER  OF  THE  HARTZ. 

A  TRADITION  OF  THE  KHIWE. 


BY    II.    PELICAN. 

Beyond  all  other  mountains  of  the  Blocks- 
berg  range,  the  wild  solitudes  of  the  Hartz  have 
been,  from  time  immemorial,  supposed  to  be  tho 
haunts  of  ghosts,  elfins  and  spectres.  The  in- 
habitants of  this  neighborhood  are,  for  the  most 
part,  miners  and  woodsmen,  and  are  naturally 
imbued  with  the  local  superstition.  On  many 
occasions  they  have  attributed  to  the  power  of 
the  elfins,  those  natural  phenomena  which  they 
have  experienced  during  their  subterranean  la- 
bors. The  belief  also  prevails,  that  a  tutelary 
demon,  of  a  most  savage  appearance,  dwells  in 
the  gloomy  forests  of  the  Hartz,  colossal  in 
height,  and  his  head  ajipeared  crowned  with  oak 
leaves ;  about  his  body  there  is  bound  a  fiery 
belt,  and  in  his  hand  he  carries  an  uprooted  pine 
tree. 

Long  ago  this  demon  used  to  hold  frequent 
communications  with  the  people  in  that  district ; 
he  used  often  to  meddle  in  their  affairs,  rather 
for  the  purpose  of  doing  them  good  than  of  in- 
juring them.  But  it  was  observed  that  his  kind- 
ness generally  turned  unhappily  to  those  who 
were  the  recipients  of  it.  The  clergymen,  in 
long  sermons,  frequently  exhorted  their  flocks  to 
cease  holding  any  communication  with  him.  It 
happened  that  on  one  day,  the  preacher  mounted 
the  pulpit  in  the  church  of  Margenbrodt,  for  the 
purpose  of  expatiating  on  the  perversity  of  the 
inhabitants,  in  still  continuing  to  communicate 
with  fairies,  and  goblins,  and  demons,  but  in 
particular  with  liim  of  the  Hartz.  These  super- 
stitious people  laughed  at  the  zeal  with  which 
their  venerable  pastor  held  forth  upon  this  point. 
At  last  the  heat  of  his  discourse  augmented  in 
proportion  to  the  spirit  of  opposition  which  he 
met ;  but  the  congregation  could  not  suffer  that 
a  demon,  who  had  been  so  peaceable  for  hun- 
dreds of  years,  should  be  compared  to  Astaroth 
and  Beelzebub.  The  fear,  also,  of  the  demon 
punishing  them  for  listening  to  such  sermons, 
was  added  to  the  interest  which  they  felt  in  him. 

"A  monkish  babbler  like  him,"  they  cried, 
*'  can  say  what  he  please.'?  with  impunity ;  but 
we,  the  inhabitants  of  this  country,  who  remain 
at  the  mercy  of  this  insulted  demon,  we  will  be 
the  victims  of  his  just  indignation." 

The  peasants  did  not  long  restrain  their  re- 
sentment; pelting  him  with  stones,  tliey  hunted 
the  poor  priest  out  of  the  parish,  telling  him  to 
go  and  preach  to  others  against  demons. 

As  three  young  charcoal-burners — who  had 
taken  a  part  in  the  pursuit  of  the  priest — were 
returning  homo  to  their  cottage,  the  conversation 
naturally  turned  upon  the  demon  of  tho  Hartz, 
and  on  their  pastor's  sermon.  Max  and  George 
Waldeck,  agreeing  that  the  priest's  language 
waJ4  indiscreet,  maintained,  nevcrtiielcss,  that  it 
was  very  dangerou.s  to  have  the  sliglitest  com- 
munication with  the  demon,  because  he  was 


wicked,  capricious  and  powerful,  and  all  those 
who  had  any  communication  with  him  always 
experienced  misfortune  from  it.  Had  he  not 
given  to  the  galhint  Clicvalier  Syhert,  the  famous 
black  steed,  with  wliicli  ho  conquered  all  his 
competitors  at  the  grand  tournament  in  Bremen? 
Yos,  but  that  courHcr  j)hmged  with  Iiim  down  a 
frightful  precipice,  from  which  nnin  or  liorse  has 
never  come  out.  Did  ho  not  impart  to  Dame 
Gertrude  Trodden  some  curious  secrets,  which 
were  soon  after  the  cause  of  her  being  burned  as 
a  sorceress,  by  tho  command  of  the  grand  crimi- 
nal judge  of  the  electorate  ? 

But  these  proofs,  and  many  others,  which 
George  and  Max  related  of  the  evil  consequences 
attendant  on  the  gifts  of  the  elfin,  made  no  im- 
pression on  Martin  Waldeck.  Martin  wag 
young,  daring  and  rash,  and  smiled  at  tho 
timidity  of  his  brothers. 

"Cease,"  he  said,  "all  this  folly^  the  demon 
is  a  good  and  kind  one.  He  lives  among  us  as 
a  simple  peasant;  he  frequents  the  rocks  and 
solitudes  of  the  mountains,  sometimes  as  a  hunt- 
er, and  other  times  as  a  shepherd.  But  how  can 
this  demon  be  so  malicious  as  you  say  ?  Wliat 
power  can  he  have  over  mortals,  who  make  use 
of  his  gifts  without  submitting  themselves  to  his 
will  1  The  benefits  and  gifts  of  the  spirit  of  the 
Hartz  cannot  injure  us ;  it  is  the  bad  use  which 
we  make  of  them,  that  does." 

Max  replied,  that  riches,  badly  acquired,  could 
never  profit  their  possessor.  Martin  declared, 
l^ositively,  that  the  possession  of  all  the  treasures 
in  the  Hartz  Mountains  would  not  be  capable  of 
effecting  the  least  change  in  his  habit,  manners 
or  character. 

This  conversation  lasted  until  the  brothers 
reached  their  lowly  hut,  which  was  situated  on 
a  height,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Brockenberg. 
They  then,  according  to  custom,  arranged  the 
watches  for  the  night ;  for  one  of  the  brothers 
kept  guard,  while  the  two  others  slept.  In  fact, 
the  burning  of  the  charcoal  required  a  continual 
attention. 

Max  Waldeck,  the  eldest  brother,  had  watched 
about  an  hour,  when  he  saw,  suddenly,  upon  the 
borders  of  the  swamp  opposite  to  the  door  of  his 
cottage,  an  Immense  fire,  around  which  numer- 
ous figures  danced  in  the  most  grotesque  atti- 
tudes. Max's  first  thought  was  to  call  George ; 
but  he  could  not  awaken  him  without  Martin 
hearing.  So,  upon  reflection,  in  spite  of  the  ter- 
ror with  which  this  singular  phantom  filled  him, 
he  resolved  to  watch  alone.  Besides,  the  strange 
fire  was  gradually  disappearing,  and  he  was 
then  quite  free  from  fear. 

George  did  not  delay  in  relieving  Max,  who 
retired  to  bed  without  saying  anything.  The 
vast  fire  again  filled  the  valley,  and  the  same 
phantoms  sun-ounded  and  danced  through  the 
flames.  George  was  more  courageous  than  Max, 
and  resolved  to  cross  the  stream  which  separated 
him  from  the  marsh.  Climbing  up  an  eminence, 
he  approached  near  to  where  the  fire  was  burn- 
ing. Among  the  elfins  that  bustled  about  the 
flames,  he  recognized  the  giant,  covered  with 
hair  and  armed  with  a  pine  tree  ;  in  a  word,  it 
was  the  demon  of  the  Hartz,  such  as  the  old 
shepherds  had  described  to  him.  Trembling 
with  fear,  he  commenced  reciting  the  psalm 
commencing  with  "  Let  all  the  angels  praise 
thee,  O  Lord !"  which  was  looked  on,  in  that 
country,  as  a  sovereign  preservative  against  the 
influence  of  bad  spu'its.  He  turned  his  eyes 
again  towards  where  the  fire  had  been  burning, 
but  all  bad  disappeared.  The  valley  was  no 
longer  illuminated ;  but  by  the  pale  rays  of  the 
moon,  George,  in  great  terror,  directed  his 
course  to  the  place  of  this  extraordinary  scene, 
but  he  found  no  trace  of  fire  on  the  heath ; 
neither  the  moss  nor  wild  flowers  were  scorched 
or  faded — the  branches  of  the  oak  which  had  ap- 
peared enveloped  in  flVimes,  were  wet  with  the 
night  dew.  George  returned  to  the  hut,  and 
reasoning  the  same  way  as  Max,  resolved  to  say 
nothing  ofwliat  he  bad  seen,  as  he  feared  to 
awaken  the  curiosity  of  Martin. 

The  night  was  far  advanced  when  Martin's 
watch  camo  on,  and  when  well  awake,  his  first 
care  was  to  examine  the  furnace.  He  saw,  to 
his  great  astonishment,  that  George  had  not  at- 
tended to  it,  and  that  the  fire  was  out — we  know 
already  why.  Very  much  annoyed,  he  set  about 
lighting  it,  but  it  was  useless.  It  became  seri- 
ous, for  the  poor  fellows  risked  the  loss  of  their 
market  next  day.  Mortified  by  this  accident, 
Martin  had  just  decided  to  awaken  Ids  brothers, 
when  a  gleam  of  brilliant  light  suddenly  crossed 
the  windows  of  the  cottage.  His  first  idea  was, 
tliat  the  Muhelerhausers,  bis  rivals  in  trade,  had 
encroached  upon  his  boundaries,  and  had  come 


to  flteal  hit)  wood.  But  a  moment's  observation 
was  suflicicnt  to  convince  him  that  the  spectacle, 
which  was  i)rcsented  to  his  view,  was  a  super- 
natural plicnomcnon. 

"  Be  these  men  or  demons,"  said  he,  "  I  will 
go  and  ask  a  fire-braiul  from  them,  to  light  my 
fire."  Saying  these  words,  lie  took  liis  wild 
boar  lance  and  advanced  towards  the  phantoms. 

He  soon  crossed  the  stream,  climbed  tlic  hill, 
and  approached  sulliciently  near  this  elfin  gath- 
ering to  discern  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  demon 
of  the  Hartz.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he 
shnddcrcd  with  fear;  but  summoning  up  imme- 
diately his  wavering  courage,  he  advanced  firmly 
towards  the  fire.  At  each  step  he  took,  tho  fig- 
ures became  more  wild  and  extravagant  in  their 
movements.  In  a  moment  he  was  in  the  midst 
of  them.  They  received  him  with  manifesta- 
tions of  applause,  and  their  tumultuous  laughter 
stung  his  very  ears. 

"  Who  are  youl"  cried  the  giant,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder,  and  frowning  gloomily. 

"  Martin  Waldeck,  a  charcoal  burner,"  he  re- 
plied; "and  who  are  you,  yourself?" 

"  The  king  of  chaos  and  of  mines,"  replied 
the  spectre ;  "  but  why  have  you  dared  to  pene- 
trate our  mysteries  V 

"  I  came  here  to  get  a  fire-brand,  in  order  to 
light  my  fire,"  Waldeck  answered  boldly. 
"  Wiiat  are  the  mysteries  which  you  celebrate 
here  V 

"  The  marriage  of  Hernaes  and  the  black 
dragon ;  but  take  the  fire-brand  if  you  wish,  and 
depart,  for  no  mortal  can  witness  our  festivities 
with  impunity." 

Martin  then  stuck  the  point  of  his  lance  in  a 
large  log,  and  regained  his  hut,  amid  the  noise 
of  the  mocking  laughter  of  the  phantoms.  In 
spite  of  liis  teiTor,  his  first  step  was  to  relight 
the  furnace,  by  means  of  the  burning  log,  which 
he  can'ied.  Strange  to  say,  in  spite  of  all  the 
efforts  which  he  made,  this  billet,  at  first  all  on 
fire,  went  out  without  kindling  the  other  wood. 
Martin  was  excessively  chagrined  at  this ;  the 
firo  still  burned  on  the  hill,  but  those  who  had 
surrounded  it  had  disappeared.  Waldeck 
thought  that  the  spectre  was  but  trifling  with 
him.  He  resolved  to  undertake  a  new  adven- 
ture, and  set  out  on  his  way  to  the  hill.  He  ar- 
rived, and  without  encountering  any  opposition, 
he  seized  a  second  log  of  wood,  and  carried  it 
oflT  as  he  did  the  first ;  but  still  without  being 
able  to  kindle  his  fire.  The  case  with  which  he 
obtained  the  first  two  brands,  increased  his  bold- 
ness, and  he  returned  for  the  third  time  and  car- 
ried away  a  great  flaming  billet.  He  had  not 
gone  far,  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  elfin 
crying  aloud  to  him,  not,  on  any  account,  to 
have  the  temerity  to  venture  back  again.  The 
eftbrts  which  Martin  made  to  light  his  furnace 
with  this  last  fire-brand,  were  just  as  useless  as 
the  preceding.  Exhausted  with  fatigue,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  bed  of  leaves,  fully  determined  to 
inform  his  brothers,  the  next  day,  of  his  strange 
adventures. 

Morning  had  scarcely  appeared,  when  he  was 
awakened  from  a  profound  sleep,  by  loud  cries 
of  joy  and  surprise.  The  first  thing  which  Max 
and  George  did  on  rising,  was  to  look  at  the 
condition  of  their  furnace.  While  racking  tho 
cinders,  they  found  throe  metallic  lumps,  which 
they  knew  to  be  pure  gold.  Their  joy  was  a 
little  diminished,  however,  when  Martin  told 
them  by  what  means  he  had  become  master  of 
it.  The  others  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
of  partaking  in  the  prosperity  of  their  brother. 

Martin  Waldeck  soon  took  the  title  of  head  of 
the  family.  He  bought  lands  and  woods,  and 
had  a  splendid  mansion  erected,  and  also,  he 
obtained  letters  of  nobility,  to  the  great  scandal 
and  disgust  of  the  ancient  nobles.  His  courage 
in  war  enabled  hira  to  brave,  at  all  times,  the 
jealousy  which  his  sudden  elevation,  and  the  ar- 
rogance of  his  manners,  excited.  But  the  evil 
inclinations  which  poverty  had  repressed,  now 
developed  themselves.  In  fine,  Waldeck  ren- 
dered himself  odious,  not  only  to  the  nobles,  but 
also  to  bis  inferiors,  who  su])portcd,  with  pain, 
the  insolence  of  a  man  who  had  sprung  fi'om  tlio 
very  dregs  of  the  people.  Tho  manner  in  which 
he  had  been  enriched  was  heretofore  a  profound 
secret,  but  by  some  chance  it  had  transpired, 
and  already  the  clergy  threatened  him  as  a  sor- 
cerer. Surrounded  by  enemies,  and  tormented 
on  all  sides,  Martin  Waldeck,  or  rather  Baion 
Waldeck,  soon  regretted  his  youthful  poverty 
and  contentment,  for  envy  and  hatred  were 
around  him  everywhere.  His  courage  never 
abandoned  him  at  any  time ;  in  fact,  on  the 
contrary,  he  appeared  to  court  danger.  But  an 
unforeseen  event  hastened  his  fall. 


The  reigning  Duke  of  Brunswick  having  in- 
vited, by  proclamation,  all  the  German  nohlease 
to  a  fiolcmn  tournament,  Martin  Waldeck,  cloth- 
ed in  brilliant  armor,  accompanied  by  his  two 
brotliors,  and  attended  by  a  superb  cortciic,  had 
the  insolence  to  appear  in  the  midst  of  the  cava- 
liers of  tho  province,  and  demanded  permission 
to  enter  the  lists.  This  was  looked  on  as  tlie 
height  of  pre8um]>tion.  A  thousand  voices  cried 
out ;  "  We  will  not  let  this  charcoal  burner  into 
our  ranks." 

Enflamcd  with  passion,  Martin  drew  hia 
Bword,  and  overthrew  the  herald-at-arms,  who 
endeavored  to  prevent  his  entering  the  lists. 
Swords  were  raised  on  all  sides  to  avenge  a 
crime,  at  that  time  considered  the  most  atrocious, 
except  high  treaaon.  Waldeck  defended  Iiimself 
to  desperation,  but  ho  was  made  prisoner,  and 
condemned,  by  the  judge  of  the  tourney,  to  have 
— according  to  custom — his  right  arm  cut  olF, 
to  lose  his  titles  of  nobility,  and  to  be  driven  ig- 
nominiously  from  tlio  city.  They  despoiled  him 
of  his  armor,  and  Iiaving  undergone  his  punish- 
ment, he  was  delivered  up  to  the  populace,  who 
pursued  him,  heaping  menaces,  outrages  and  in- 
sults on  his  devoted  head.  It  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  that  tho  brothers  could  drag 
him  forth  from  the  bands  of  the  mob ;  they  had 
left  him  for  dead.  He  lost  so  much  blood,  and 
was  in  such  a  miserable  condition,  that  it  was 
necessary  to  place  him  in  a  cart,  and  under  him 
they  put  some  straw.     Thus  the  Waldecks  fled. 

Scarcely  had  they  reached  the  frontiers  of 
their  native  country,  when  they  perceived  in  a 
hollow  road,  situated  between  two  mountains, 
an  old  man,  who  advanced  to  meet  them.  But 
shortly  after,  the  limbs  and  size  of  this  man  in- 
creased in  bulk;  his  cloak  fell  from  his  shoul- 
ders, and  his  pilgrim's  staff  was  metamorphosed 
into  an  enormous  pine.  In  a  word,  the  Demon 
of  the  Hartz  was  presented  to  their  eyes  in  all 
his  frightful  apparel.  When  he  was  opposite  to 
the  cart  in  which  the  sick  man  lay,  he  asked  of 
him,  with  an  atrocious  grin,  if  his  fire-brands 
had  kindled  his  furnace.  Martin  was  indignant 
at  these  words,  but  could  scarcely  raise  himself. 
He  pointed  towards  the  spectre  with  a  menacing 
gesture ;  but  he  disappeared,  uttering  a  loud 
mocking  laugh,  leaving  the  unfortunate  Wal- 
deck to  struggle  with  death.  Max  and  George, 
being  terrified,  du-ected  their  course  towards  the 
towers  of  a  neighboring  convent,  which  elevated 
their  tops  above  the  dark  pine  forest  by  which 
they  were  surrounded.  At  that  place  they  were 
charitably  received  by  a  monk  with  a  long,  ven- 
erable beard,  and  in  naked  feet.  Martin  lived 
just  long  enough  to  make  a  confession  of  his 
life,  and  to  receive  absolution  from  the  hands  of 
the  very  priest,  whom  long  ago  he  had  pelted 
with  stones  in  the  village  of  Margenbrodt.  His 
three  years  of  prosperity  mysteriously  con*es- 
ponded  with  the  three  visits  which  he  had  made 
to  the  elfin's  bill. 

The  body  of  Wji-ldeck  was  interred  within  the 
convent,  and  his  two  brothers  assumed  the  habit 
of  the  order.  Both  the  miners  and  the  woods- 
men shun,  even  to  this  day,  the  ruins  of  the 
CJiaieaii  de  Waldeck,  for  they  suppose  tliat  it  has 
become  the  resort  of  elfins  and  evil  spirits. 


[Written  for  Gleofon's  Pictorial,] 

LINES 

TO  THE  OBELISK  EKONTING  ST.  PETERS,  AT  ROME 


BT  MART  N.   DEARBOEIf. 

Thou  mystic  relic  of  the  past, 

In  distant  ages  bom  ; 
They  s!iy  thou  wast  of  ancient  date, 

In  science's  earliest  mom  ; 
That  sages  wondered  of  thy  years, 

And  bards  thine  honor  eung. 
Ere  Rome  or  Romulus  had  been, 

Or  Thebes,  herself,  was  young! 

That  Cambysca,  of  olden  fame, 

"With  all  hia  heathen  rage, 
Refused  to  mar  thy  visage  fair, 

From  reverence  to  its  age. 
Long  enough  hast  thou  been  dumb  ! 

0  speak,  and  let  us  know 
Who  formed  thee  for  a  deathless  ftimo. 

In  ages  long  ago ! 

Didst  thou  behold  the  drenching  hosts 

Of  Pharoah  and  his  men? 
And  couldst  thou  boa-st  of  earlier  days, 

Of  aucient  honors  then? 
'Tis  vain,  thy  mystery  none  can  solve, 

Thy  years,  there  's  none  can  tell ; 
But  coming  ages,  like  tho  past. 

May  on  thy  memory  dwell. 

Most  of  our  misfortunes  aro  more  sni)portablG 
than  the  comments  of  our  friends  upon  them. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    C03IPANI0N. 


127 


FRAACIS  JOSEPH. 

The  Emperor  of  Austria  met  with  a  lukewarm 
reception  in  Hungary,  Official  accounts  had  it 
otherwise.  They  made  it  out  that  the  emperor 
was  greeted  heartily  by  the  Hungarians.  One  of 
their  relations  was  that  the  gentry  and  peasantry 
uniformly  refused  payment  for  the  horses  fur- 
nished the  imperial  cortege,  and  for  all  other  ser- 
vices ;  but  this  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  no 
charges  were  made,  because  those  who  tendered 
services  expected  to  get  more  from  the  voluntary 
liberality  of  the  emperor.  In  this  they  were  dis- 
appointed. Francis  Joseph  was  stingy.  In  one 
place  he  was  coolly  received,  when  the  officials 
accounted  for  it  by  the  fact,  that  just  as  the  cor- 
tege approached,  a  hayrick  was  set  on  fire. 
Upon  the  whole,  the  emperor  was  well  treated, 
but  it  was  in  the  hope  that  his  government  would 
do  something  for  Hungary.  In  Pesth  there  is 
much  public  indignation  at  the  arrest  of  Madame 
de  Balogh,  the  wife  of  a  physician,  and  one  of 
the  most  charitable  women  in  Pesth.  She  is  ac- 
cused of  having,  some  time  ago,  given  shelter  to 
a  Honved,  who  was  capable  of  bearing  arms. 
She  is  looked  on  as  the  personification  of  piety 
and  charity. 


SPAIN. 

In  Spain,  the  di\'isions  of  parties  is  very  com- 
plex— more  so  now  than  at  any  former  period. 
The  Carlist  party  are  subdivided  into  several  fac- 
tions. One  section  still  believe  Don  Carlos  the 
rightful  master  of  Spain ;  another  section  have 
taken  the  oaths  of  allegiance  to  Isabella ;  but  a 
third  faction  are  the  regular  h'hoys  of  the  party, 
by  turns  smugglers  or  brigands,  peasants  of  the 
mountain,  half-savages,  whom  it  is  as  impossible 
to  reconcile  to  peaceful  citizenship  as  it  is  to 
civilize  the  Indians.  They  are  still  fonnidable, 
and  on  a  favorable  turn  for  them  would  make 
trouble.  The  liberal  party,  it  is  represented,  are 
cut  up,  divided — without  a  leader  whom  they  can 
trust,  without  objects  in  which  they  are  united. 
A  new  cortes  is  just  convened,  from  which  much 
is  expected  by  the  government,  which  is  bent  on 
imposing  new  restrictions  on  the  people  as  to 
elections.  It  is  said  that  if  the  cortes  do  not  as- 
sent to  these  restrictions,  the  government  will 
manage  to  get  along  without  them. 


THE  FISHERIES. 

The  National  Intelligencer  says  the  British 
government  notified  the  American  government 
on  the  7th  of  July  of  its  intention  to  protect  the 
border  fisheries,  and  of  having  sent  vessels  of 
war  to  the  Bay  of  Fundyfor  that  purpose.  The 
British  raiuister  at  the  same  time  informed  Pres- 
ident Fillmore  that  the  British  commanders  of 
vessels  of  war  were  specially  enjoined  to  avoid 
an  interference  with  vessels  of  friendly  powers, 
except  when  violating  existing  treaties,  and  upon 
all  occasions  to  avoid  giving  cause  for  complaint. 
The  Intelligencer  further  says  the  Uuitcd  States 
government  has  given  orders  to  send  one  of  our 
best  vessels  ii^to  the  disturbed  region,  to  protect 
Americans  and  inquire  into  abuses,  and  warn  all 
parties  against  invading  special  rights. 

<    ^B»^     » 

Religious  Peesecutiox  in  Italy. — Mi-,  and 
Mrs.  Madai  have  been  condemned,  the  former  to 
four  years  and  ten  months,  the  latter  to  three 
years  and  ten  months  imprisonment  in  Florence, 
for  the  crime  of  reading  the  Holy  Scriptures  in 
their  house,  and  teaching  the  Word  of  God  with- 
in the  limits  allowed  by  the  constitution.  Many 
other  persons  were  sentenced  to  banishment  for 
different  terms  for  having  listened  to  the  teachings. 


On  a  large  Scale. — ^For  the  proper  repre- 
sentation of  M.  Julien's  new  opera,  several  enor- 
mous dnims,  three  military  bands — one  of  them 
mounted, — a  small  regiment  of  cavalry,  and  vast 
iiumliers  of  other  auxiliaries,  animate  and  inani- 
mate, will  be  required.  The  opera  vnW  be  pro- 
duced as  soon  as  tlicse  obstreperous  materials  are 
brought  into  stage  harmony. 

Musical. — Mr.  Chickering  has  fitted  up  an 
elegant  and  spacious  saloon  in  his  establishment 
on  Washington  Street,  which  will  sei-ve  occasion- 
ally for  a  concert  room.  It  will  hold  three  or 
four  hundred  persons  conveniently,  and  do  ad- 
mirably for  chamber  conceits. 


ViLLANT. — ^Notwithstanding  that  half  of  Mon- 
treal is  in  ashes,  an  attempt  was  made  by  incen- 
diaries, lately,  to  fire  the  city.  Only  one  house 
was  partially  burnt. 


A  LITTLE  TOO  BAD. — Tcu  ccuts  IS  the  piice 
paid  by  some  furnishing  stores  in  New  York,  for 
making  a  shirt.     O,  philanthropy ! 


UlatJsiLic   ^atljcriuigs. 

The  Henry  Clay  was  a  new  boat,  and  valued 
at  550,000.     She  was  fully  insured. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  persons  died  in  New 
York,  during  the  last  twelve  months,  of  delirium 
tremens. 

Four  hundred  and  eighty-two  passengers  ar- 
rived at  San  Francisco,  on  the  19th  of  June,  by 
the  ship  Monsoon,  fi'om  Hong  Kong. 

In  a  recent  fight  at  St.  Louis,  between  a  party 
of  butchers,  a  man  had  both  of  his  eyes  cut  out 
with  a  knife.     He  died  soon  afterwards. 

American  schooner  Coral,  condemned  for  a 
breach  of  the  fishery  treaty,  has  been  sold  at  St. 
John,  N.  B. 

The  collections  in  New  York  for  the  sufferers 
by  the  Montreal  fire  amount  to  $16,240,  of  which 
Si 5, 000  has  already  been  remitted. 

The  city  of  Providence  gives  its  sons  and 
daughters  two  evening  promenade  conceits  each 
week.  The  American  Brass  Band,  one  of  the 
best  in  New  England,  is  employed. 

Two  or  three  more  American  fishing  vessels 
have  been  libelled  in  the  vice  admiralty  couit  at 
St.  John.  There  will  be  a  chance  for  our  navy 
yet. 

Chilian  brig  Cleutes  was  seized  at  Acapulco, 
on  the  16th  of  July,  with  her  cargo — tn'o  hun- 
dred cases  of  contraband  dry  goods.  She  was 
from  Yamas,  Gulf  of  Lower  California. 

Near  Belfast,  Me.,  are  five  sisters,  whose  uni- 
ted ages  amount  to  444  years.  They  were  born 
in  Belfast,  daughters  of  John  Brown,  are  all 
manied,  and  have  children,  and  grandchildren. 

The  line  of  telegraph  from  Halifax  to  Quebec 
is  now  opened  and  in  complete  working  order,  a 
wire  having  been  carried  across  the  St.Lawi-ence 
at  Caprouge. 

There  is  a  silk  manufactory  at  Ne'svport,  Ken- 
tucky, which  has  been  in  operation  for  four  years, 
and  manufactures  cravats,  handkerchiefs  and 
vestings. 

An  affray  took  place  at  Cohoes,  lately,  among 
a  lot  of  boatmen,  in  which  one  of  them  had  his 
head  split  open  by  an  axe  in  the  hands  of  a 
canal-boat  captain,  killing  him  instantly. 

Silas  Carter,  who  was  formerly  a  coachman  in 
the  employ  of  General  Washington,  is  now  re- 
siding in  Bertie,  Canada,  ninety-six  years  old, 
hale  and  hearty. 

A  large  species  of  grasshopper  is  reported  to 
be  injuring  the  crops  on  Long  Island.  They 
have  destroyed  3000  heads  of  cabbage  on  one 
fai-m,  with  a  large  amount  of  grass,  grain,  pota- 
toes, etc. 

They  have  got  up  a  new  drink  in  New  York. 
It  is  called  Cream  Ale,  and  is  described  as  a  most 
delicious  mixtm'e  of  ice  cream  and  lemonade — 
cool,  refreshing  and  palatable  ;  and,  what  is  best 
of  all,  without  a  particle  of  intoxication  in  it. 

The  Colonization  Journal  contains  a  list  of 
335  persons,  who  have  been  emancipated  and 
emigrated  to  Liberia  since  February,  1S51.  The 
number  of  owners  who  emancipated  their  slaves 
is  about  40. 

"  I  believe  that  mine  will  be  the  fate  of  Abel," 
said  a  devoted  wife  to  her  husband,  one  day. 
"  How  so  ?"  inquired  the  husband.  "Because 
Abel  was  killed  by  a  club,  and  your  club  will 
kill  me  if  you  continue  to  go  to  it  every  night," 

An  Ii-ishman  by  the  name  of  James  Maher, 
living  at  Koskonong,  Wisconsin,  murdered  his 
wife  and  child  with  a  hoe.  Wlien  arrested,  his 
only  ti'ouble  was  that  he  would  be  deprived  of 
tobacco  in  prison. 

The  pirates  of  Nos  Mitzen,  who  murdered  the 
crew  of  the  Queen  of  the  West,  from  Dartmouth, 
in  this  State,  have  fifteen  of  them  been  given  up 
to  our  people  by  their  chief.  They  will  be  brought 
to  this  country  for  trial. 

To  give  a  steamboat  or  a  hotel  the  name  of  an 
individual  who  has  nothing  in  the  world  to  en- 
title him  to  the  distinction  but  his  money,  is  a 
piece  of  toadyism  unworthy  the  American  char- 
acter. « 

The  corner  stone  of  the  new  Episcopal  Church 
at  Nashville,  recently  laid,  was  removed  by  a 
thief,  and  the  articles  there  deposited,  removed, 
consisting  of  bible,  prayer  book,  and  $130  in 
coins. 

At  Attleboro',  William  Wetherington,  an 
overseer  in  a  color  mill,  had  his  arm  caught  in  a 
belt  of  the  machinery,  and  jammed  off  just  be- 
low the  elbow.  The  limb  was  amputated  at  the 
shoulder. 

James  G.  Maeder's  opera  of  the  "  Peri ;  or, 
the  Enchanted  Fountain,"  is  to  be  brought  out 
by  Ml-.  Marshall,  at  the  Broadway,  early  in  Oc- 
tober, for  the  purpose  of  introducing  to  a  New 
York  audience  Miss  Caroline  Ritchings. 

Sarah  A.  Griswold,  aged  21  years,  drowned 
herself  in  the  Connecticut  River,  at  Weathers- 
field,  leaving  this  couplet : 

'■  Don't  give  yoursolvea  any  concern : 
I'm  gone  never  to  return," 

Gen.  Benjamin  Whiteman,  a  native  of  Penn- 
sylvania, and  an  Ohio  pioneer,  died  on  the  1st 
ult.,  at  his  residence  near  Clifton,  Greene  county, 
in  that  State,  in  the  84th  year  of  his  age.  lie 
served  in  the  old  Indian  wars  under  Harmer  and 
Wayne. 

Grace  Greenwood  records  the  fact,  that  in  the 
EngHA'parish  churches,  prayers,  thanksgivings 
and  appeals  are  made  for  and  to  "  her  most  gra- 
cious majesty "  more  frequently,  and  with  as 
much  apparent  reverence,  as  to  the  name  of 
Christ. 


Jorcign  iWisrcllann. 

The  Emperor  Nicholas,  of  Russia,  is  57  years 
old. 

The  fasliionable  London  concerts  are  nearly 
over  for  the  season. 

A  German  has  laid  a  wager  that  he  will  swim 
across  the  channel  from  Calais  to  Dover ! 

Four  millions  of  manufactured  goods  are  now 
annually  exported  from  Belfast  to  the  United 
States. 

There  are  farmers  in  Devonshire,  England, 
who  pay  S2000  a  year  rent  for  their  farms,  who 
cannot  spell  or  write  their  own  names. 

Francisco  and  Rosina  Madini,  of  Florence, 
have  been  condemned  to  four  years  labor  in  the 
galleys  for  having  had  a  Bible  in  their  possession. 

The  queen  has  granted  a  pension  to  Mr.  John 
Britton,  the  author  of  many  works  on  English 
architectural  antiquities. 

Changarnier  was  on  his  return  to  Munich,  the 
Austrian  government  having  intimated  that  his 
presence  at  Vienna  was  not  desh'able. 

At  Bremen,  two  young  ladies,  M'Ues.  Meyer 
and  Windermann,  have  just  been  imprisoned  for 
political  writing. 

The  revenue  of  Great  Britain  for  the  quarter 
ending  July  5,  showed  an  increase  of  £144,681, 
compared  with  the  same  quarter  last  year. 

The  English  papers  occupy  much  space  with 
the  biographies  of  our  four  presidential  candidates, 
and  appear  to  take  much  interest  in  the  result. 

Mrs.  Abbott  Lawrence,  wife  of  the  American 
Minister,  and  Miss  Lawrence,  have  left  their  resi- 
dence in  Piccadilly  for  Paris,  for  a  few  days. 
Mr.  Lawrence  will  arrive  in  Boston  in  October. 

The  French  government  have  started  the  pro- 
ject of  a  railway  bank,  the  chief  feature  of  which 
is  to  do  away  with  brokers,  and  hand  over  their 
lucrative  fees  to  the  exchequer. 

Several  persons  were  recently  arrested  in  Lon- 
don, charged  with  "  christening  "  watches,  or  en- 
graving on  imitation  watches  the  names  of  noted 
makers,  for  the  purpose  of  "  doing  "  the  pawn- 
brokers. 

Wlien  Su-  Stratford  Canning  took  leave  of  the 
sultan,  his  majesty  was  much  affected,  and  pre- 
sented Lady  Redcliffe  witli  a /jan/ie of  diamonds, 
value  £10,000;  the  sultana  also  gave  her  several 
magnificent  presents  of  jewels  and  shawls. 

The  Siecle  and  Union  report  that  it  is  contem- 
plated by  Louis  Napoleon  to  suppress  all  news- 
papers in  Paris,  except  the  Moniteur  (the  gov- 
ernment paper),  which  is  to  be  considerably 
reduced  in  price,  so  that  all  classes  can  pm'chase 
it! 


JJoker'a   Subgct. 


Saniis  of  ©olit. 


....  Few  words  go  to  prove  a  fact. 

....  Great  minds  are  easy  in  prosperity  and 
quiet  in  adversity. 

Self-indulgence  takes  many  forms,  and 

we  should  bear  in  mind  that  there  may  be  a  sul- 
len sensuality  as  well  as  a  gay  one. 

....  A  man  who  is  not  ashamed  of  himself, 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  his  early  condition  in 
life. 

....  Never  purchase  love  or  friendship  by 
gifts ;  when  thus  obtained,  they  are  lost  as  soon 
as  you  stop  payment. 

....  When  God  commands  to  take  the  trum- 
pet and  blow  a  dolorous  or  a  jaiTing  blast,  it  lies 
not  in  man's  will  what  he  shall  say,  or  what  he 
shall  conceal. — Milton. 

Say  nothing  respecting  yourself,  either 

good,  bad,  or  indifierent ;  nothing  good,  for  that 
is  vanity ;  nothing  bad,  for  that  is  affectation  ; 
nothing  indifferent,  for  that  is  silly. 

If  rich  men  do  not  want  to  be  pestered 

with  beggars,  they  should  give  the  poor  better 
wages.  It  is  not  eccentricity  that  makes  folks 
take  to  cold  potatoes,  but  want. 

Our  minds  are  like  ill-hung  vehicles : 

when  they  have  little  to  carry,  they  raise  a  pro- 
digious clatter;  when  heavily  laden,  they  neither 
creak  nor  rumble. 

So  necessary  is  'fun  to  the  mind,  that  a 

late  philosopher  says  if  you  sliould  build  schools 
without  play-grounds,  nobody  would  get  beyond 
short  division  in  a  life  time. 

One  of  the  most  important,  but  one  of 

the  most  difficult  things  for  a  powerful  mind,  is 
to  be  its  own  master ;  a  pond  may  lay  quiet  in 
a  plain,  but  a  lake  wants  mountains  to  compass 
and  hold  it  in. 

Lady  H.  sTanhope  records  that  Pitt  had 

more  faith  in  a  man  who  jested  easily,  than  in 
one  who  spoke  and  looked  grave  and  weighty ; 
for  the  first  moved  by  some  spring  of  his  own 
within  ;  but  the  latter  might  be  only  a  bucki-am 
cover  well  stufied  with  others'  wisdom. 

....  Have  a  care  of  evil  thoughts.  O,  the 
the  mischief  they  have  done  in  the  world  ! — Bad 
thoughts  come  first,  bad  words  follow  after,  and 
bad  deeds  bring  up  the  close. — Strive  against 
them.  Watch  against  them.  They  prepare  the 
way  for  the  enemy. 

....  "  Silence  is  often  an  answer,"  says  an 
Arabic  proverb.  How  true  it  is,  that  when  the 
tongue  of  malice  or  anger  fails  to  provoke  a  re- 
ply, it  reluctantly  sheathes  itself  in  chagrin  and 
shame.  In  many  cases,  no  rebuke  can  be  more 
powerful  than  silence.  There  are  men  you  can- 
not touch  more  acutely  than  by  letting  them 
alone  most  severely,  as  TheodoreHook  express- 
es it,  when  they  vilify  you. 


"  My  tail  is  ended,"  as  the  tadpole  said  when 
he  turned  into  a  bull  frog. 

"  Circumstances  alter  cases,"  as  the  toper  said, 
on  blundering  into  a  printing-office  the  other  day. 

"  I'm  casting  accounts,"  as  the  merchant  said, 
as  he  threw  the  ledger  at  his  refractory  clerk. 

The  scholar  who  pronounced  the  \\ord"  Eu- 
phrates "  short  instead  of  long,  was  wittily  said 
to  have  "  abridged  the  river." 

"  Though  lost  to  sight,  to  memory  dear,"  a3 
Jones  said,  when  Brown  ran  off  and  left  Jones  to 
pay  his  bill. 

"  Landlord,"  said  an  exquisite,  "  can  yon  en- 
able me,  from  your  cuUinary  stores,  to  realize 
the  pleasure  of  a  few  dulcet  murphies,  rendered 
innoxious  by  ingenious  martyrdom  V  He  want- 
ed a  potato  baked. 

A  fellow  in  Texas  has  just  invented  a  strength- 
ening plaster  which  will  enable  you  to  "take  up" 
anything,  from  afourmonths*  note  to  ahogshead 
of  sugar.  A  few  in  this  market  would  meet  with 
a  ready  sale. 

"  My  dear,"  said  a  smiling  spouse  to  her  other 
half,  a  morning  or  two  since,  "  I'm  going  a-shop- 
ping ;  I  want  a  little  change.'*  "  Pooh  !"  re- 
sponded the  ungallant  man,  "  that  would  be  no 
change  at  all !  you  go  shopping  every  day." 

An  Irishman  having  a  friend  hung  in  this 
country,  WTOte  to  his  friends,  informing  them 
ttiat,  after  addressing  a  large  meeting  of  citizens, 
the  scafibld  on  which  he  stood  gave  way,  owing 
to  which  he  fell  and  broke  his  neck. 

If  you  wanted  to  tell  a  man  that  another  told 
an  untruth,  what  lady's  name  would  you  invoke? 
'E-lies,  sir !  The  author  of  this  immediately 
started  for  New  York,  and  is  now  on  his  way  to 
England,  we  believe. 

A  country  surgeon,  who  was  bald,  was  on  a 
visit  to  a  friend's  house,  whose  servant  wore  a 
wig.  After  bantering  with  him  a  considerable 
timflj  the  doctor  said  :  "  You  see  how  bald  I  am, 
and  yet  I  don't  wear  a  wig."  "True,  sir,"  re- 
plied the  servant ;  "  but  an  empty  bai-n  requires 
no  thatch." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2cl  of  the  Pictorial  Drawtno 
KooM  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  mth  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  flhape  of  a  boot  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Event*  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLtlMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authoi-s,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

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Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
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THE  FLAG  OF  OUll  UXIOA^ 

AS  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  KEFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devuted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
prtetic  gems,  and  original  priza  tales,  written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  pohticR,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
nn  immoriLl  nature  will  exer  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  FOE  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CntCLB. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leadiiis:  wcklij  paprr  in  the  United  States,  and  its  literary 
content3araallowed,by  the  best  judges,  to  be  imsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  diiy, 
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An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
othar  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TERMS    TO    SirBSCRIBEES. 

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Onecopy  of  the  Flag  of  ouii  Union,  and  oitecopy  of  the 
Pictorial  Drawing-Koom  Companion,  one  year,  for  So 00. 

[C/^  Invariably  in  advance. 

SMb,scril>L-i-s  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  tis  agents, 
and  fonn  clubs,  on  the  above  terms. 

(H?"  All  orders  should  be  addressed,  POST  PAID,  to  the 
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F.    GLEASON, 

PuULISUER  AND  PROPIUETOR,   EoSTUN,  MASS.     ' 


128 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


GILBERT  NOXJRSB, 

CHIEF    OF    rOLICIC    OF    U08TON. 

"Wo  present  our  readers  herewith  a  very  iidmirahle 
likeness  of  Gilbert  NounsR,  Esq.,  chief  of  polire 
for  this  city.     Jud^'ing  from  the   expression  of  his 
countenance,  Mr.  Noursc  possesses  all   the   refpiisito 
qualities  for  the  prompt  and  faithful   discharge  of  the 
peculiar  dutics'of  his  olfice.     He  was  born  in  Koyals- 
ton,  Massachusetts,  in   1708,  and  is  consequently   54 
years  of  age.     He  has  been  coTinectcd  for  some  years 
with  mercantile  business  at  St.  Louis,  has  belonged  to 
the  common  council  of  Boston,  and  more  lately  has 
been  connected  with  the  agricultural  Hrm  of  Kugglcs, 
Noursc  &  Mason,  one  of  his  brothers   still  remaining 
in  the  firm.     Mr.  Noursc  is  represented  to  be  a  cool, 
but  firm  man,  and  is  said  to  be  well  fitted  by  tempera- 
ment and  experience  for  the  p03t  he  occupies.     When 
wc  hoard  of  the  removal  of  his  predecessor,  Marshal 
Tukcy,  we  regretted  it,  because  we  considered  him  a 
faithful  and  remarkably  assiduous  ofhcer,  ever  aide 
and   ready  to  do  his  duty  on  nil  occasions.     But  wc 
have  no  reason  for  doubting  but  that  Mr.  Nourse  will 
do  liis  duty,  if  not  as  well,  at  least  to  tlie  best  of  his 
ability.     If  the   present  incunpbent   pleases,  he   can 
make  himself /(7/  more  than  any  other  man  in  Boston, 
and  be  as  publicly  and  as  continually  kept  "  before 
the  people,"  as  any  person  in  this  city — the  teiTor  of 
rogues,  and  the  idol  of  honest  pcoj^lc.     The  police 
system  of  Europe  is  generally,  we   tliink,  far   better 
than  our  own,  at  least,  in  one  prominent  particular. 
There  can  be  little  doul)t  but  that  the  uniforming  of  a 
body   of  men    thus   employed   adds   vastly  to   their 
eiKcicncy.     In  tiiis  country,  to  be  sure,  tkey  are  gen- 
erally labelled  in  some  way — in  New  York,  wearing  a 
metallic  star;  in  Boston,  the  word  "police"  on  their 
hats,  with   the  letter   and   number  of  llieir  division. 
But  this  gives  them  but  very  little  authenticity,  nor  does 
it  command  tluit  respect  from  the  class  over  whom 
they  arc  generally  called  to  exercise  their  authority, 
that  a  distinctive,  uniform  dress  would  do.     It  is  im- 
possible to  disguise  the  fact  that  such  things  go  a 
great  way  in  enforcing  the  orders  and  establishing 
the  authority  of  an   official.     We  know   that   some 
people  object  to  this  idea  on  the  ground  that  it  is  anti- 
republican  ;  but  this  is  a  trifling  consideration  when 
compared  with  the  importance  of  recognizing  and  es- 
tablishing the  necessary  authority  vested   in  these  civil  officers. 
A  neat,  unostentatious,  but   regular  uniform  would   double   the 
efficiency  of  our  police  corps,  and  may,  we  think,  yet  be  adopted. 
A  watchful,  energetic  police,  as  the  instrument  to  detect   crime 
and  expose  villany,  to  maintain  order  and  cleanliness,  and  justly 
to  enforce  all  municipal  regulations,  must  ever  be  a  blessing  in 
any  country  ;  but  in  all  the  great  countries  of  tlie  European  con- 
tinent, there  is,  besides  this  police,  a  military  police  extending 
over  the  whole   state,  and  what  is  called  the  hiffk  police,  which  is 
occupied  in  watching  the  political  tendency  of  the  people,  and 
everything  connected  with  it.     But  a  police  of  tliis  sort,  as  a  reg- 
ular instrument  of  the  government,  is  incompatible  with  tme  lib- 
erty, and  ever  acts  as  a  cnisbing  weight  upon  freedom  of  thought 
and  action.     Prom  such  an  inquisition  we  are  free ;  may  wc  ever 
be  so,  and  ever  be  a  liberty-loving,  but  law-regarding  people. 


.^-^ 


PORTRAIT  OF  GILBERT  NOURSE,  CPHEF  OF  POLICE,  BOSTON. 

GRANITE   QUARRIES,  QUIKCY. 

About  two  miles  back  from  Quincy  Bay,  in  Boston  harbor,  is 
a  range  of  elevated  land;  in  some  parts  more  than  six  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea,  containing  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  that  in- 
valuable building  material,  the  Quincy  granite,  so  much  used  and 
approved  in  all  our  Atlantic  cities,  for  its  durability  and  beauty. 
This  range  of  granite  extends  through  Milton,  Quincy,  and 
Braintree,  but  more  of  it  is  quarried  in  Quincy  than  in  the  other 
towns.  These  quarries  were  first  opened  about  3820;  there  are 
now  about  twenty-five  quan-ies  operated  by  different  firms.  The 
aggregate  amount  of  stone  taken  out  and  sent  to  market  is  valued 
at  half  a  million  of  dollars  yearly.  Pieces  of  this  granite  have 
been  obtained  in  these  quarries  weighing  three  hundred  tons  each, 
from  which  the  columns  of  the  Custom  House,  and  Merchants' 
Exchange,  in  Boston,  were  made.     Three  or  fom'  of  these  estab 


lifihments  are  engaged  by  government  in  supplying 
granitu  for  the  New  Orleans  Custom  House,  promi- 
nent among  which  is  the  establishment  of  Whitchcr  & 
Sheldon,  who  employ  about  seventy-five  workmen. 
The  quany  of  which  wu  give  a  representation  below 
is  owned  and  operated  by  the  abovenamed  gentlemen. 
By  means  of  a  railroad  from  these  quarries  to  the 
tide-waters  of  Neponset  River,  and  of  a  canal  to  the 
centre  of  the  town,  this  stone  is  transported  with  great 
expedition  and  little  cost.  These  quarries  of  granite 
to  the  town  of  Quincy  arc  of  more  value  than  a  mine 
of  gold,  and  it  is  fortunate  foi'  the  public  that  the  sup- 
ply is  abundant,  for  the  demand  for  it  from  various 
jjarts  of  the  United  States  is  constant  and  increasing. 
Some  little  description  of  the  town  of  Quincy,  itself, 
may  not  be  inappropriate  here.  This  territory,  in 
common  with  that  of  Braintree  and  Randolph,  be- 
longed to  Boston,  until  the  incorporation  of  Braintree 
as  a  town  in  1640.  It  was  the  first  part  of  Braintree 
that  was  settled,  and  had  been  generally  called  Mount 
Wollaston,  for  Captain  WoUaston,  one  of  the  first 
settlers,  in  1625.  In  1792,  this  part  of  Braintree  was 
made  a  separate  town,  and  called  Quincy,  to  perpetu- 
ate the  family  name  of  one  of  its  proprietors — a  name 
that  will  ever  be  dear  to  the  lover  of  American  liberty. 
Quincy  is  hounded  north  by  Dorchester,  east  by  Bos- 
ton harbor,  south  by  Weymouth  and  Braintree,  and 
west  by  Milton.  The  .surface  of  the  town  is  diversihed, 
I>y  hills,  valleys  and  plains.  The  soil  is  generally  of 
an  excellent  quality,  and  under  good  cultivation. 
There  are  large  tracts  of  salt  meadow  in  the  town, 
and  many  large  and  beautiful  farms,  which,  in  respect 
to  soil  and  skillful  management,  may  vie  with  any  in 
the  State.  The  town  house,  in  this  village,  is  a  noble 
building,  eighty-five  by  fifty-five  feet,  built  of  granite, 
and  is  an  excellent  specimen  of  the  Quincy  stone. 
The  ancestral  estate  of  the  Quincy  family  comprises 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  well  cultivated  farms  in 
New  England.  It  is  the  property  of  Josiah  Quincy, 
LL.C,  an  eminent  agriculturist,  president  of  Harvard 
University  from  1829  to  1845,  and  the  only  child  of 
the  patriot,  Josiah  Quincy,  jr.  About  two  miles  east 
from  the  village  is  Quincy  Point,  at  the  junction  of 
Town  and  Weymouth  Fore  Rivers,  and  near  New- 
comb's  Neck,  in  Braintree.  This  is  a  delightful  spot, 
and  contains  many  handsome  buildings.  This  point 
of  land,  with  a  peninsula  near  it  called  Germantown,  are  admir- 
ably located  for  ship-building,  and  for  all  the  purposes  of  naviga- 
tion and  the  fishery.  Here  is  a  fine  harbor,  a  bold  shore,  and  a 
beautiful  country,  within  ten  miles  of  the  capital  of  New  England. 
Gcnnantown  was  first  settled  by  a  number  of  weavers  and  glass 
makers  from  Gennany,  who  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
manufacture  glass  and  cloth,  some  time  between  1750  and  1760. 
At  this  place,  the  great  ship  Massachusetts  was  built  in  1789,  the 
largest  vessel  at  that  time  in  the  country.  Germantown  is  fast 
rising  into  notice,  in  consequence  of  its  easy  access,  beauty  and 
navigable  facilities.  The  manufactures  of  the  toivn  consist  of 
boots,  shoes,  leather,  vessels,  salt,  etc.;  but  the  preparing  of 
granite,  or  sienite,  so  universally  known  and  justly  celebrated  as 
the  "  Quincy  Granite,"  is  the  most  important  article  of  manufac- 
ture in  the  place. 


VIEW  OP  THE  GRANITE  QUARRIES,  AT  QUINCY,  MASSACHUSETTS. 


F.  GLBASON, 


(  CORNER  BROSmELD 
i  AND  TREMONT  ST3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  AUGUST  28,  1852. 


®2  PER  VOLTJME.  1 

10  Cts.  single.  I 


Vol.  m.  No.  9.— Whole  No.  61. 


MONUJUENT  CEMETERY. 

This  is  one  of  the  many  elegant  grounds  in 
tlie  vicinity  of  Philadelphia,  set  apart  for  resting- 
places  of  the  dead.  This,  though  not  possess- 
iog  the  romantic  beauty  of  Laurel  EQll,  has 
great  attractions,  and  is  the  frequent  resort  of 
meditative  and  piou3  persons.  Scattered  over 
its  area  are  to  be  seen  marble  tom^bs  and  tablets  of 
every  variety  of  form  and  taste.  Burial  lots, 
neatly  enclosed  in  iron  railings,  are  swarded  in 
grass  of  deepest  green,  and  delicately  omated 
with  flowers,  plants  and  shrubbery,  carefully 
trained  by  the  hand  of  affection  to  the  memory 


of  tlie  near  and  dear  departed,  reposing  beneath 
the  sod.  Monument  Cemetery  is  situated  on 
Broad  Street,  two  miles  north  of  the  city ;  it  is 
surrounded  by  a  massive  wall,  surmounted  by 
an  iron  x-ailing ;  the  main  entrance  fonns  a  build- 
ing of  pictui'esque  beauty,  and  a  drawing  of  it  by 
Devereaitx  is  herewith  presented  to  the  readers  of 
the  Pictorial.  It  is  only  in  later  times  that  men 
have  become  convinced  how  injurious  it  is  to  the 
health  of  the  living  to  remain,  for  a  long  time, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  dead,  particularly  if  the 
corpses  remain  standing  in  simple  cofBns,  and 
are  not  placed  deep  in  the  earth,  as  is  commonly 


the  case  in  the  sepulchral  vaults  of  chui'ches. 
Prom  these  the  efHavia  of  putrefaction  escape 
easily,  and  diffuse  themselves  in  the  air.  On  the 
occasion  of  opening  such  sepulchral  vaults,  those 
who  stood  near  them  have  sometimes  fallen  dead 
on  the  spot,  and  no  one  could  venture  into  the 
church,  for  a  long  time  after,  without  exposing 
himself  to  dangerous  consequences.  At  present, 
the  burying  in  churches  is  almost  everywhere 
suppressed,  or,  at  least,  permitted  only  under 
certain  restrictions.  Even  in  Naples  and  Rome, 
the  general  practice  of  erecting  sepulchres  in 
churches  was  forbidden  in  1809,  and  the  foimda- 


tion  of  burial-places  without  the  city  was  provid- 
ed for.  The  custom  of  the  communities  of  Mo- 
ravian Brothers,  who  form  their  burial-places 
into  gardens,  is  worthy  of  imitation.  Several 
Catholic  church-yards  in  Germany  are  also  dis- 
tinguished by  their  pleasing  aspect;  for  instance, 
one  in  Munich,  where  every  grave  is  covex'cd  with 
a  bed  of  flowers,  which  the  relations  of  the  de- 
ceased water  from  a  fountain  dug  for  the  purpose. 
The  beautiful  name  of  the  German  Moravian 
Brothers,  friedliof,  or  Jield  of  peace,  is  becoming 
more  and  more  common  in  Germany.  Pere  la 
Chaise,  near  Paris,  is  another  interesting  spot. 


VIEW  OF  THE  MOlsrUMENT  CEMEXERy,  l^EAR  PHILAPEI,PmA. 


130 


GLEASON'S   PIOTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlio  year  1 852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  tlie  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Miiasacliusetta. 


[WKITTESr  JiXrRESSLY   FOR   GLEASON'S   TICTORIAL.] 


THE 


THE  FOETUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 


"  Farewell,  Lorcnzn  Bczan.  Sometimes  think 
kindly  of  the  Countess  M-o-r-a-n-z-a !" 

She  l)reiUhe(l  no  more.  That  faithful  and 
beautiful  Kpirit  liiul  fled  to  heaven  I 


BY  LIEUTENANT   MURRAY. 


[concluded.] 


CHAPTER  XVm— [continued.] 

Lorenzo  Bczan,  almost  crazed  with  the  con- 
tending emotions  that  beset  him,  knew  not  what 
to  say — what  to  do ;  he  obeyed  her  wish,  and 
left  the  room,  as  did  also  the  rest,  leaving  Isa- 
bella and  the  Countess  Movanza  alone  together. 
General  Bezan  walked  the  adjoining  room  like 
one  who  had  lost  all  self-control — now  pressing 
his  forehead  with  both  hands,  as  if  to  keep  back 
the  press  of  thoughts,  and  now,  almost  groaning 
aloud  at  the  stmggling  of  his  feelings  within  his 
throbbing  breast.  The  light  broke  in  upon  him  ; 
while  he  had  been  so  happy,  so  inconsiderate  at 
Madrid,  in  the  society  of  the  beautiful  and  intel- 
ligent woman ;  while  he  had  respected  and  loved 
her  like  a  brother,  he  had  unwittingly  been  plant- 
ing thorns  in  her  bosom  !  He  saw  it  all  now. 
He  even  recalled  the  hour  when  he  told  her  of 
his  love  for  Isabella  Gonzales — and  remembered, 
too,  the  sudden  illness  that  she  evinced.  "Alas  ! 
how  blind  I  have  been,  how  thoughtless  of  all 
else  but  myself,  and  my  own  disappointments 
and  heart-secrets,  Next  to  Isabella,  I  could 
have  loved  that  pure  and  gentle  being.  I  did 
feel  drawn  to  her  side  by  unspeakable  tenderness 
and  gratitude  for  the  consolation  she  seemed  ever 
so  delicately  to  impart ;  but  for  this  right  hand  I 
would  not  have  deceived  her,  the  virgin  bear  me 
witness.'* 

The  moments  seemed  hours  to  hira,  while  he 
waited  thus  in  such  a  state  of  suspense  as  his 
frame  of  mind  might  be  supposed  to  indicate. 
The  surgeon  entered  to  take  his  leave. 

"How  is  she,  sir?"  asked  Lorenzo  Bezan, 
hastily. 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  since  we  left  her  with 
Don  Gonzales's  daughter.  She  desired  to  be 
left  alone  with  her,  you  remember,  and  it  is  best 
to  do  as  she  wishes.  My  skill  can  do  her  no 
good.  She  cannot  live  but  a  very  few  hours, 
and  I  may  as  well  retire." 

"  There   is,   then,   no  hope  for  her,  no  possi- 
bility of  recovery'?" 
"None!" 

Throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  Lorenzo  Bezan 
seemed  perfectly  overcome  with  grief.  He  did 
not  weep,  no  tears  came  to  his  relief;  but  it  was 
the  fearful  struggle  of  the  soul,  that  sometimes 
racks  the  stout  frame  and  manly  heart.  The 
soldier  who  had  passed  so  many  hours  on  the 
battle-field — who  had  breathed  the  breath  of 
scores  of  dying  men,  of  wounded  comrades,  and 
bleeding  foes,  was  a  child  now.  Ho  clasped  his 
hands  and  remained  in  silence,  like  one  wrapped 
in  prayer.. 

He  had  not  remained  thus  but  a  ghort  time, 
when  a  slave  summoned  him  to  the  bedside  of 
the  dying  countess.  He  found  her  once  more 
alone.  Isabella  had  retired  to  her  own  apartr 
meut. 

"  General,"  said  the  sufferer,  holding  out  her 
hand,  which  he  pressed  tenderly  to  his  lips  1 

"Forgive  me.  Countess  Moranza,  pray  forgive 
me?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  and  for  my  sake 
charge  yourself  with  no  blame  for  me.  It  is  my 
dying  request,  for  I  can  stay  but  a  little  longer. 
I  have  one  other  to  make.  You  will  grant  it?" 
"  Anything  that  mortal  can  do  I  will  do  for 
thee." 

"  Take,  then,  this  package.   It  contains  papers 
and  letters  relative  to  myself,  my  estates,  and  to 
you.     Obey  the  injunctions  therein  contained." 
"  I  will,"  said  the  soldier,  kneeling. 


"  This  promise  is  sacred,  and  will  make  me 
die  the  happier,"  slie  said,  drawing  a  long  sigh. 
"  I  have  explained  to  her  you  love  the  cause  of 
my  singular  appearance  here,  and  have  exculpa- 
ted you  from  all  blame  on  my  account." 

"  Ah  !  but  countess,  it  is  ten-ible  that  you 
should  have  sacrificed  your  life  to  save  mine." 

"  Say  not  so ;  it  is  the  only  joy  of  tliis  mo- 
ment, for  it  has  saved  me  from  the  curse  of  the 
suicide !"  she  almost  whispered,  drawing  him 
closer  to  her  side  as  she  spoke.  "  I  could  not 
live,  save  in  the  light  of  your  eyes.  I  knew  you 
were  poor,  comparatively  so — that  fortune  would 
place  your  alliance  with  her  you  have  loved  be- 
yond question  as  to  policy.  I  resolved  to  follow 
you — do  all  in  my  power  to  make  you  happy — 
ask  of  you  sometimes  to  remember  me — and 
then — " 

"  0,  what  then  V  said  Lorenzo  Bezan,  almost 
trembling. 

"Die  by  my  own  hands,  in  a  way  that  none 
should  know  I  But  how  much  happier  has 
Heaven  ordered  it.  I  could  have  wished,  have 
prayed  for  such  a  result;  but  not  for  one  mo- 
ment could  I  have  hoped  for  it.  As  it  is  I  am 
happy." 

"  And  I  am  ^vrctched,"  said  the  soldier  ;  "had 
the  choice  been  offered  me  of  thy  death  or  mine, 
how  quickly  would  I  have  fallen  for  thee,  who 
hast  been  more  than  a  sister,  a  dear,  kind  sister 
to  me." 

The  sufferer  covered  her  face  with  her  hands ; 
his  tender  words,  and  his  gentle  accents  of  voice, 
and  the  truthful  expression  of  his  face,  for  one 
moment  reached  her  heart  through  its  most  sen- 
sitive channel !  But  the  sti-uggle  was  only  for  a 
moment ;  the  cold  hand  of  death  was  upon  her ; 
she  felt  even  the  chill  upon  her  system.  A  slight 
shudder  ran  through  her  frame.  She  crossed  her 
hands  upon  her  bosom,  and  closing  her  eyes, 
breathed  a  silent  prayer,  and  pressed  the  glitter- 
ing cross  that  hung  about  her  neck  fervently  to 
her  lips.  Then  turning  to  the  soldier  she  said  : 
"You  may  well  love  her,  general,  for  she  is 
very  beautiful,  and  worthy  of  you,"  referring  to 
Isabella  Gonzales,  who  had  just  returned  to  her 
apartment. 

"  She  is  as  lovely  in  person  as  in  mind.  But, 
alas  !  must  I  stand  here  powerless,  and  see  you, 
but  an  hour  ago  so  perfectly  well,  so  fall  of  life 
and  beauty,  die  without  one  effort  to  save  you  V 
"  It  is  useless,"  said  the  sufferer.  "  I  feel  tliat 
the  surgeon  is  correct,  and  I  must  die  very 
shortly." 

"  O,  that  I  might  save  you,  countess,  even  by 
mine  own  life !" 

"  You  w^ould  do  so,  I  know  you  would ;  it  is 
so  like  your  nature,"  she  said,  turning  her  still 
beautiful  eyes  upon  him. 

"  I  would,  indeed  I  would,"  answered  General 
Bezan. 

A  sweet  smile  of  satisfaction  stole  over  her 
pale  features  as  she  once  more  languidly  closed 
her  eyes,  and  once  move  that  ominous  shudder 
stole  through  her  frame. 

"It  is  very  cold,  is  it  not?"  she  asked,  realiz- 
ing the  chill  that  her  paralyzed  circulation  caused. 
"Alas,  countess,  I  fear  it  is  the  chill  of  death 
you  feel !" 

"  So  soon  ?  well,  I  am  prepared,"  she  said, 
once  more  kissing  the  cross. 

"  Heaven  bless  and  receive  your  pure  and 
lovely  spirit,"  he  said,  devoutly,  as  she  once 
more  replaced  her  hand  within  liis  o^v^^. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    AVOWAL. 

There  had  seemed  to  be  a  constantly  recur- 
ring thread  of  circumstances,  which  operated  to 
separate  Lorenzo  Bezan  and  Isabella  Gonzales. 
Isabella  had  received  a  fearful  shock  in  the  re- 
markable occurrences  of  the  last  few  days.  The 
devoted  love  of  the  countess,  her  Relf- .sacrificing 
spirit,  her  risk  and  loss  of  her  life  to  save  him 
she  loved,  all  had  made  a  most  indelible  impres- 
sion upon  her.  Tbcre  was  a  moment,  as  the 
reader  has  seen,  when  she  doubted  tlie  truth  and 
honor  of  Lorenzo  Bezan ;  but  it  was  but  for  a 
moment,  for  had  not  his  o\vn  trathfulness  vindi- 
cated itself  to  her  mind  and  heart,  the  words  of 
the  Countess  Moranza  had  done  so.  That  faith- 
ful and  lovely  woman  told  her  also  of  the  noble 
spirit  of  devoted  love  that  the  soldier  bore  her, 
and  how  honestly  he  had  cherished  that  love  he 
bore  for  her  when  surrotmded  by  the  dazzling 
beauty  and  flattery  of  the  whole  court,  and  bear- 
ing the  name  of  the  queen's  favorite. 

All  this  led  her  of  course  to  regard  him  with 
redoubled  affection,  and  to  increase  the  weight 
of  indebtedness  of  her  heart  towards  one  whom 
she  had  treated  so  coldly,  and  who  for  her  sake 
had  borne  so  much  of  misery.  "But  ah  !"  she 
said  to  herself,  "if  he  could  but  read  this  heart, 
and  knew  how  much  it  has  suffered  in  its  self- 
imposed  misery,  he  would  indeed  pity  and 
not  blame  me.  I  see  it  all  now  ;  from  the  very 
first  I  have  loved  him — from  the  hour  of  our 
second  meeting  in  the  Paseo — poor,  humble  and 
unknown,  I  loved  him  then  ;  but  my  spirit  was 
too  proud  to  own  it ;  and  I  have  loved  him  ever 
since,  though  the  cold  words  of  repulse  have 
been  upon  my  tongue,  and  I  have  tried  to  im- 
press both  him  and  myself  to  the  contrary.  How 
bitter  are  the  penalties  of  pride — how  heavy  the 
tax  that  it  demands  from  frail  humanity !  No 
more  shall  it  have  sway  over  this  bosom  I"  As 
she  spoke,  the  beautiful  ghl  threw  back  the  dark 
clustering  hair  from  her  temples,  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  heaven,  as  if  to  call  for  witness  upon  her 
declaration. 

The  proper  steps  were  taken  for  sending  the 
body  of  the  countess  home  to  Madrid,  where  it 
would  receive  the  highest  honors,  and  those 
marks  of  distinction  which  its  connection  with 
the  royal  blood  of  Spain  demanded.  Lorenzo 
Bezan  mourned  sincerely  the  loss  of  one  who 
had  been  so  dear  and  kind  a  friend  to  him.  An 
instinctive  feehng  seemed  to  separate  Isabella 
and  the  Heuten  ant-govern  or  for  a  brief  period. 
It  was  not  a  period  of  anxiety,  nor  of  doubt, 
concerning  each  other.  Strange  to  say,  not  one 
word  had  yet  been  exchanged  between  them 
since  that  bitter  farewell  was  uttered  in  the  prison 
walls  of  the  military  keep.  No  words  could  have 
made  them  understand  each  other  better  than 
they  now  did ;  each  respected  the  peculiar  feel- 
ings of  the  other.  But  weeks  soon  pass,  and  the 
time  was  very  brief  that  transpired  before  they 
met  in  the  drawing-room  of  Don  Gonzales's 
house.  Ruez  welcomed  Lorenzo  Bezan  as  he 
entered,  led  him  to  the  apartment,  and  calling 
his  sister,  declared  that  they  must  excuse  him, 
for  he  was  going  with  his  father  for  a  drive  in 
the  Paseo. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  sat  for  some  moments  alone, 
when  he  heard  a  light  footstep  upon  the  marble 
floor  of  the  main  hall,  and  his  heart  throbbed 
with  redoubled  quickness.  In  a  moment  more 
Isabella  Gonzales  stood  before  him ;  her  eyes  bent 
upon  the  floor,  seemed  immovably  there ;  she 
could  not  raise  them ;  but  she  held  forth  her  hand 
towards  him !  He  seized  it,  pressed  it  to  his 
lips  again  and  again,  then  dramng  her  closely 
to  his  bosom,  pressed  his  lips  to  her  forehead, 
and  asked : 

"  Isabella,  Isabella,  do  you,  can  you  really 
love  me  V 

"Love  you,  Lorenzo  Bezan  V 
"  Yes,  dear  one,  love  me  as  I  have  for  years 
loved  you." 

She  raised  her  eyes  now ;  they  were  streaming 
with  tears  ;  but  through  them  all  she  said  : 

"  I  have  looked  into  my  heart,  and  I  find  that 
I  have  ever  loved  you  !" 

"  Sweet  words !  0,  happy  assurance,"  said 
the  soldier,  rapturously. 

"  One  word  will  explain  all  to  thee.  I  was 
spoiled  when  in  childhood.  Iwastold  tliati  was 
beautiful,  and  as  I  grew  older  a  spirit  of  haugh- 


tincBs  and  pride  was  imjjlanted  in  my  bosom 
by  the  universal  homage  timt  waH  offered  to  mo 
on  all  hands.  I  had  no  wish  ungratified,  was 
unchecked,  humored,  in  short  Hpoiled  by  affec- 
tionate indulgence,  and  but  for  one  good  influ- 
ence— that  exercised  by  tlie  lovely  character  of 
my  dear  brother,  Uuez — I  fear  me,  I  should  have 
been  undeniably  lost  to  the  world  and  myself 
in  some  strange  denouement  of  my  life.  A  start- 
ling and  fearful  event  inti'oduccd  you  to  mc  un- 
der circumstiinccs  calculated  to  fix  your  form 
and  features  forever  in  my  memory.  It  did  so. 
I  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  your  noble  and 
manly  qualities,  though  seen  through  what  was 
to  my  mind  a  dark  haze  of  humble  associations. 
"  This  was  my  first  impression  of  you.  You 
boldly  wooed  me,  told  me  you  loved  me  above 
all  else.  Your  very  audacity  attracted  mc  ;  it 
was  so  novel,  so  strange  to  bo  thus  approached. 
I,  who  was  the  acknowledged  belle  of  Havana, 
before  whom  the  best  blood  and  highest  titles  of 
the  island  knelt,  and  who  was  accustomed  to  be 
approached  with  such  deference  and  respect,  was 
half  won  before  I  knew  it,  by  tlie  Lieutenant 
Lorenzo  Bezan,  on  the  Plato.  Singular  circum- 
stances again  threw  us  together,  where  again 
your  personal  bravery  and  firmness  served  us  so 
signally.  I  knew  not  my  own  heart  even  then, 
though  some  secret  whisperings  partly  aroused 
me,  and  when  you  were  sent  to  prison,  I  found 
my  pride  j-ising  above  all  else.  And  yet  by  some 
uncontrollable  impulse  I  visited  you.  disguised, 
in  prison  ;  and  there  again  I  can  see  how  nearly 
I  had  acknowledged  my  true  feelings ;  but  onco 
more  the  secret  whisper  sounded  in  my  ear,  and 
I  left  you  coldly,  nay,  almost  insultingly.  But 
bitterly  have  I  wept  for  that  hour. 

"In  vain  have  I  struggled  on,  in  vain  strove 
to  forget ;  it  was  impossible ;  and  yet,  never  un- 
til you  sent  me  that  note,  have  I  frankly  acknow- 
ledged, even  to  my  o-\vn  heart,  the  feeling 
which  I  have  so  long  been  conscious  of.  Ah,  it 
has  been  a  bitter  experience  that  I  have  endured, 
and  now  I  can  see  it  all  in  its  true  light,  and  own  to 
thee  freely,  that  I  have  loved  even  from  the  first." 
"Wliile  she  had  spoken  thus,  Lorenzo  Bezan 
had  gently  conducted  her  to  a  couch,  and  seated 
by  her  side  he  had  held  her  hand  while  he  listened 
and  looked  tenderly  into  the  depths  of  her  lus- 
trous and  beautiful  eyes.  He  felt  how  cheaply 
he  had  earned  the  bliss  of  that  moment,  how 
richly  he  was  repaid  for  the  hardships  and  gi-ief 
he  had  endured  for  Isabella's  sake. 

"Ah,  deai'cst,  let  us  forget  the  past,  and  live 
only  for  each  other  and  the  future." 

"  Can  you  so  easily  forget  and  forgive  V  she 
asked  him,  in  softest  accents. 

"  I  can  do  anything,  everything,"  he  said,  "  if 
thou  wilt  but  look  ever  upon  me  thus,"  and  he 
placed  his  aims  about  that  taper  waist,  and  drew 
her  willing  form  still  nearer  to  his  side,  until  her 
head  fell  upon  his  shoulder.  "  There  will  be  no 
more  a  dark  side  to  our  picture  of  life,  dear 
Isabella." 

"  I  tnist  not.'* 

"  And  you  will  ever  love  me  V 
"  Ever !"  repeated  the  beautiful  girl,  drawing 
instinctively  nearer  to  his  breast. 

At  that  moment,  Ruez,  returning  from  the 
Plato  to  procure  some  article  which  he  had  left 
behind,  burst  hastily  into  the  room,  and,  blush- 
ing like  a  young  girl  at  the  scene  that  met  his 
eye,  he  was  about  to  retire  hastily,  when  Lorenzo 
Bezan  spoke  to  him,  not  the  least  disconcerted; 
he  felt  too  secm'e  in  his  position  to  realize  any 
such  feeling  : 

"Come  hither,  Ruez,  we  have  just  been 
speaking  of  you." 

"OfiHc?"  said  the  boy,  rather  doubtfully,  as 
though  he  suspected  they  had  been  talking  of 
matters  quite  foreign  to  him. 

"  Yes,  of  you,  Ruez,"  continued  his  sister, 
striving  to  hide  a  tell-tale  blush,  as  her  eyes  met 
her  bi'other's.  "  I  have  been  telling  General  Be- 
zan what  a  dear,  good  brother  you  have  been  to 
me — how  you  have  ever  remembered  all  hig 
kindnesses  to  me ;  while  I  have  thought  little  of 
them,  and  have  been  far  from  grateful." 

"  Not  at  Jicart,  sister,"  said  tlie  boy,  quickly  ; 
"  not  always  in  your  sleep,  since  you  will  some- 
times talk  in  yom*  day  dreams !" 

"Ah,  Ruez,  you  turned  ti-aitor,  and  betray 
me?  well,  there  can  be  little  harm,  perhaps,  to 
have  all  known  7ioiv." 

"Now?"  repeated  Ruez.  ""Why  do  you  use 
that  word  so  decidedly  ?" 

"  Why,  you  must  know,  my  dear  Ruez,"  said 
the  general,  "that  a  treaty  has  been  partially 
agreed  upon  between  us,  which  will  necessarily 
put  all  hostilities  at  an  end ;   and,  therefore,  any 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


131 


secret  information   can   be   of  no   possible  use 
whatever." 

"  Is  it  so,  Isabella  V  asked  Euez,  inquiringly, 
of  his  sister. 

"  Yes,  brother,  we  are  to  '  bury  the  hatchet,' 
as  the  American  orators  say." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?  but  no  matter;  I  am 
going — let  me  see,  where  was  I  going?" 

"  You  came  into  the  room  as  though  you  had 
been  shot  out  of  one  of  the  port-holes  of  Moro 
Castle,"  said  the  general,  playfully.  "  No  won- 
der you  forget !" 

The  boy  looked  too  full  for  utterance.  He 
shook  the  general's  hand,  heartily  kissed  Isabella, 
and  telling  them  he  believed  they  had  turned 
conspirators,  and  were  about  to  perpetrate  some 
fearful  business  against  the  government,  and 
sagely  hinting  that  unless  he  was  also  made  a 
confidant  of,  he  should  forthwith  denounce  them 
to  Tacon,  he  shook  his  hand  with  a  most  seri- 
ous mock  air  and  departed. 

It  would  be  in  bad  taste  for  us,  also,  not  to 
leave  Isabella  and  Lorenzo  Bezan  alone.  They 
had  so  much  to  say,  so  much  to  explain,  so  many 
pictures  to  paint  on  the  glowing  canvass  of  the 
future,  witli  the  pencils  of  hope  and  love,  that  it 
would  be  unfair  not  to  permit  them  to  do  so  un- 
disturbed. So  we  will  follow  Ruez  to  the  vo- 
lante,  and  dash  away  with  him  and  Don  Gon- 
zales to  the  Paseo,  for  a  circular  drive. 

"  I  left  General  Bezan  and  Isabella  together 
in  the  drawing-room,"  began  Ruez  to  his  father, 
just  as  they  passed  outside  of  the  city  walls. 

"  Yes.  I  knew  he  was  there,"  said  the  father, 
indifferently. 

*'  That  was  a  very  singular  affaii-  that  occurred 
between  him  and  the  Countess  Moranza." 

"  Queer  enough." 

"  Yet  sister  says  that  the  general  was  not  to 
blame,  in  any  respect." 

"  Yes,  I  took  good  care  to  be  satisfied  of  that," 
said  the  father,  who  had  indeed  made  it  the  sub- 
ject of  inquiry.  "  Had  he  been  guilty  of  de- 
ceiving that  beautiful  and  high-born  lady,  he 
should  never  have  entered  my  doors  again.  I 
should  have  despised  him." 

"  He  seems  very  fond  of  Isabella,"  continued 
the  boy,  after  a  brief  silence. 

"Fond  of  her!" 

"Yes,  and  she  of  him,"  said  Ruez. 

"  Lorenzo  Bezan ybnrf  of  my  daughter,  and  she 
of  him  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  father ;  I  don't  see  anything  so 
very  strange,  do  you?" 

"  Do  I  ?  Lorenzo  Bezan  is  but  a  nameless 
adven  turer — a — a — " 

"  Stop,  father — a  lieutenantrgovemor,  and  the 
queen's  favorite." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Don  Gonzales,  thoughts 
fully.    "  Yes,  but  he's  poor." 

"  How  do  you  know,  father  ?" 

"  Why,  it  is  but  reasonable  to  think  so  ;  and 
my  daughter  shall  not  many  any  one  with  less 
position  or  fortune  than  herself." 

"  As  to  position,  father,"  continued  the  boy, 
"  General  Bezan  weai'S  orders  that  you  would 
give  half  your  fortune  to  possess  !" 

"  I  forgot  that." 

"And  has  already  car\'ed  a  name  for  himself 
in  Spanish  history,"  said  Ruez. 

"  True." 

"  Then  I  see  not  how  you  can  complain  of 
him  on  the  score  of  position." 

"  No  ;  but  he's  poor,  and  I  have  sworn  that  no 
man,  unless  he  brings  as  large  a  fortune  as  Isa- 
bella will  have  in  her  own  right,  shall  marry  her. 
How  do  I  know  but  it  may  be  the  money,  not 
Isabella,  that  he  wants  ?" 

"Father!" 

"  Well,  Ruez." 

"  You  are  unjust  towards  the  noble  nature  of 
that  man;  there  are  few  men  like  him  in  the 
queen's  service,  and  it  has  not  required  long  for 
her  to  discern  it."  As  the  boy  spoke,  he  did  so 
in  a  tone  and  a  manner  that  almost  awed  his  fa- 
ther. At  times  he  could  assume  this  mode,  and 
when  he  did  so,  it  was  because  he  felt  what  he 
uttered,  and  then  it  never  failed  of  its  influence 
upon  the  listener. 

"  Still,"  said  Don  Gonzales,  somewhat  sub- 
duedly,  "  he  who  would  wed  my  peerless  child 
must  bring  something  besides  title  and  honor. 
A  fortune  as  large  as  her  own — nothing  else. 
This  I  know  Lorenzo  Bezan  has  not,  and  there's 
an  end  of  his  intimacy  with  your  sister,  and  I 
must  tell  her  so  this  very  evening." 

"  As  you  wiU,  father.  You  are  her  parent, 
and  can  command  her  obedience ;  but  I  do  not 
believe  you  can  conti"ol  Isabella's  heart,"  said 
Ruez,  earnestly. 


"Boy,  I  do  not  hke  thee  to  talk  to  me  thus. 
Remember  thy  youth,  and  thy  years.  Thou  art 
ever  putting  me  to  my  metal." 

"Father,  do  I  not  love  thee  and  sister  Isabella 
above  all  else  on  eaith  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  hoy,  I  know  it ;  thou  dost  love  us 
well ;  say  no  more." 

Ruez  had  broken  the  ice.  He  found  that  it 
was  time,  however,  to  he  silent  now,  and  leaning 
back  thoughtfully  in  the  volante,  he  neither  spoke 
again,  nor  seemed  to  observe  anything  external 
about  him  until  he  once  more  entered  the  Plato 
and  his  father's  noble  mansion. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HAPPY    FINALE. 

When  Don  Gonzales  returned  from  his  drive 
with  Ruez,  and  while  he  was  still  thinking  upon 
the  subject  which  the  boy  had  introduced,  rela- 
tive to  Lorenzo  Bezan  and  Isabella,  he  found  the 
general  awaiting  his  return  and  desiring  an  in- 
terview with  him.  This  was  of  course  granted, 
and  the  two  retired  to  the  library  of  Isabella's 
father,  where  the  soldier  resolved  to  make  at 
once,  and  in  plain  terms,  an  offer  of  his  hand  to 
this  daughter  of  the  old  house  of  Gonzales,  and 
to  beg  her  parent's  permission  for  their  union. 
Being  in  part  prepared  for  this  proposal,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  the  father  was  not  taken  at 
all  aback,  but  very  politely  and  considerately 
listened  to  his  guest.  At  last,  however,  when  it 
came  his  turn  to  speak,  he  was  decided. 

"  I  will  tell  you  honestly,  general,  that,  while 
I  fully  realize  the  great  service  you  have  done 
me  and  mine ;  while  I  cannot  but  admire  the 
tact,  talent,  and  noble  characteristics  that  have 
so  quickly  elevated  you  to  a  niche  in  the  temple 
of  fame,  still  I  am  a  veiy  practical  man,  and 
look  well  to  worldly  matters  and  immediate  in- 
terests. This  has  been  my  policy  through  life, 
and  I  have  ever  found  that  it  was  a  good  and 
sound  one,  and  carried  me  on  well." 

"As  a  general  rule,  perhaps,  it  is  a  very  good 
one,"  added  Lorenzo  Bezan,  to  fill  up  a  pause 
where  he  seemed  expected  to  say  something. 

"  Now  as  to  the  matter  which  you  propose, 
aside  from  the  matter  as  to  whether  Isabella 
herself  would  consent,  or — " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  for  inteiTupting  you,  but 
on  that  score  I  have  her  assurance  already." 

"  Tou  are  very  prompt,  sir.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  a  little  more  in  accordance  with  pro- 
priety to  have_^rs(  spoken  to  me." 

"  You  have  a  right  to  question  the  point,  and 
perhaps  are  correct,  but  to  this  there  is  little  eon- 
sequence  attached,"  said  Gieneral  Bezan,  very 
decidedly. 

"  WeU,  sir,  it  is  proper  to  come  at  once  to  the 
point,  and  I  will  do  so.  I  have  registered  an 
oath;  let  me  tell  you,  tlien,  that  my  daughter 
shall  never  espouse  any  man  unless  his  fortune 
is  fully  equal  to  her  ovra,  and  this  oath  I  shall 
most  religiously  keep !" 

"  You  have  made  a  strange  resolve,  sir,  and 
one  which  will  affect  your  daughter's  happiness, 
no  less  than  it  will  do  mine." 

"  The  oath  is  registered.  General  Bezan,  and 
if  necessary  I  am  prepared  to  sti-engthen  it  by 
another;  for  it  has  been  my  resolve  for  years." 

"  You  are  so  decided,  sir,  that  of  course  no 
argument  on  my  part  would  in  the  least  influence 
you.  But  I  trust  you  will  consider  of  this  mat- 
ter seriously,  at  least,  and  I  may  again  speak  to 
you  upon  tiie  subject." 

"  I  shall  always  be  happy  and  proud  to  meet 
General  Bezan  as  a  particular  friend  in  my  own 
house,  or  elsewhere,"  continued  Don  Gonzales, 
"but  there,  we  must  understand  each  other,  our 
intimacy  ceases,  or  as  to  the  proposal  of  becom- 
ing my  son-in-law,  you  will  see  that  it  is  totally 
out  of  the  question,  when  you  remember  my  re- 
ligiously registered  oath  upon  the  subject." 

"  For  the  present,  then,  I  must  bid  you  good- 
day,  sir,"  said  the  soldier,  turning  from  the 
apartment,  and  seeking  the  govemoi-'s  palace. 

When  he  had  left,  Isabella's  father  summoned 
her  to  his  own  room,  and  telling  her  at  once  the 
conversation  he  had  just  passed  with  General 
Bezan,  reiterated  to  her  that  nothing  would 
move  him  from  the  resolve,  and  she  must  leani 
to  forget  the  young  soldier,  and  place  her  affec- 
tions upon  some  wealthy  planter  of  the  island, 
who  coupled  with  good  looks  and  a  pleasing 
address,  the  accompaniments  of  a  full  purse  and 
broad  estates.  Isabella  made  no  reply  to  her 
father ;  she  was  confounded  at  the  cupidity  of 
his  spirit ;  he  had  never  spoken  thus  to  her  be- 
fore. She  loved  him  dearly,  and  grieved  that  he 
was  susceptible  of  being  influenced  by  such  a 
gi-ovelling  consideration,  and  ^^dth  a  new  cloud 


hovering  over  her  brow,  and  its  shadow  shutting 
out  the  gleam  of  hope  that  had  so  lately  been 
radiating  it,  she  left  him. 

The  reader  may  well  imagine  the  state  of  mind 
in  whicli  Lorenzo  Bezan  sought  the  privacy  of 
his  own  apartment  in  the  palace.  To  fall  again 
from  such  high  hopes  was  almost  more  than  he 
could  bear,  and  he  walked  his  room  with  burned 
and  anxious  steps.  Once  he  sat  down  to  address 
a  letter  to  Isabella,  for  he  had  not  seen  her  since 
he  left  Don  Gonzales,  and  he  did  not  know 
whether  her  father  would  inform  her  of  their 
conversation  or  not.  But  after  one  or  two  inef- 
fectual efforts,  he  cast  the  paper  from  him,  in 
despair,  and  rising,  walked  his  room  again.  To 
an  orderly  who  entered  on  business  relating  to 
his  regular  duty,  he  spoke  so  brief  and  abruptly 
as  to  startle  the  man,  who  understood  him  only 
in  his  better  and  calmer  moods.  Again  was  his 
cup  of  bliss  dashed  to  the  earth  ! 

"I  had  some  undefined  fear  of  it,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  I  almost  felt  there  would  be  some 
fearful  gulf  intervene  between  Isabella  and  my- 
self, when  I  had  again  left  her  side.  0,  prophetic 
soul,  though  our  eyes  cannot  fathom  the  futm*e, 
there  is  an  instinctive  power  in  thee  that  foretells 
evil.  My  life  is  but  a  sickly  existence.  I  am 
the  jest  and  jeer  of  fortune,  who  seems  delighted 
to  thwart  me,  by  permitting  the  nearest  approach 
to  the  goal  of  happiness,  and  yet  stepping  in 
just  in  time  to  prevent  the  consummation  of  my 
long  cherished  hopes." 

As  he  spoke  thus,  he  sat  down  by  the  side  of 
his  table,  and  casting  his  eyes  vacantly  thereon, 
suddenly  started  at  seeing  the  address  of  his 
own  name,  and  in  the  hand  of  the  Countess  Mo- 
ranza. It  was  the  package  she  had  handed  to 
him  at  her  dying  moment.  In  the  excitement  of 
the  scene,  and  the  circumstances  that  followed, 
he  had  not  opened  it,  and  there  it  had  since  laid 
forgotten.  He  broke  the  seal,  and  reading  sev- 
eral directions  of  letters,  notes,  and  small  parcels, 
among  the  rest  one  addressed  to  the  queen,  he 
came  to  one  endorsed  as  important,  and  bearing 
his  own  name,  Lorenzo  Bezan. 

He  broke  the  seal  and  read,  "  The  enclosed 
paper  is  my  last  mil  and  testament,  whereby  I 
do  give  and  bequeath  to  my  friend.  General  Lo- 
renzo Bezan,  my  entire  estates  in  the  Moranza 
distiict  of  Seville,  as  his  sole  property,  to  have 
and  to  hold,  and  for  his  heu-s  after  him,  forever. 
This  gift  is  a  memento  of  our  friendship,  and  a 
keepsake  from  one  who  cherished  him  for  his 
true  nobility  of  soul !" 

Could  he  be  dreaming  ?  was  he  in  his  senses  ? 
Her  entire  estates  of  Moranza,  in  Seville — a 
princely  fortune  given  to  him  thus  ?  He  could 
not  believe  his  senses,  and  moved  about  his  room 
with  the  open  letter  in  his  hand,  not  knowing 
what  he  did.  It  was  loug  before  he  could  calm 
his  excitement.  What  cared  he  for  fortune,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  it  brought  him  near  to  her  he  loved  ? 
It  was  this  that  so  sensibly  affected  him ;  the 
bright  sun  of  hope  again  burst  through  the  clouds. 
Her  father  says  that  the  suitor  of  Isabella 
Gonzales  must  bring  as  large  a  fortune  to  her  as 
she  herself  possesses.  As  large?  here  I  am  en- 
dowed with  the  possession  of  an  entire  Spanish 
district — almost  a  small  principality.  Fortune  ? 
it  would  outnumber  him  in  doubloons  a  thousand 
times  over.  I  happen  to  know  that  district — 
rich  in  castles,  convents,  churches,  cattle,  re- 
tainers. Ah,  Countess  Moranza,  but  it  sadly 
reminds  me  of  thy  fate.  Thou  didst  love  me, 
ay,  truly — and  I  so  blind  that  I  knew  it  not. 
But  regrets  are  useless ;  thy  memory  shall  ever 
be  most  tenderly  cherished  by  him  whom  thou 
hast  so  signally  befriended,  so  opportunely  en- 
dowed." 

The  reader  may  well  suppose  that  Lorenzo 
Bezan  spared  no  time  in  communicating  the 
necessary  facts  to  Don  Gonzales,  which  he  did 
in  the  following  brief  notice : 

"  Finding,  after  inquiry,  as  to  your  pecuniaiy 
affairs,  and  also  after  a  slight  examination  of  my 
own  that,  in  relation  to  the  matter  of  property, 
I  am  possessed  of  a  fortune  that  would  be  valued 
many  times  beyond  your  ovra,  I  am  happy  to 
inform  you  that  the  only  objection  you  mentioned 
to  my  proposal  relative  to  your  daughter,  is  now 
entirely  removed.  Concerning  the  details  of  this 
business  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  to  make  an 
early  call  upon  you,  when  I  will  adduce  the  evi- 
dence of  the  statement  I  have  made  herein. 
Sincerely  yours, 

LoKENzo  Bezan, 
Lt.  Gov.  and  Gen'l  Commanding. 

Give7i  at  the  palace,  Havaym.*' 

Don  Gonzales  was  no  less  sm-prised  on  the 
reception  of  this  note,  than  Lorenzo  Bezan  had 


been  when  he  first  discovered  the  princely  gifc 
that  the  generous  countess  had  endowed  him 
with.  To  do  him  justice,  it  was  the  only  objec- 
tion he  had  to  Lorenzo  Bezan,  and  he  secretly 
rejoiced  that  the  circumstances  stated  would  en- 
able him  to  give  a  free  consent  to  the  union  of 
two  souls  which  seemed  so  completely  designed 
for  each  other.  He  called  to  Ruez,  who  had 
already  heard  the  state  of  affairs  from  his  flither, 
and  told  liira  at  once ;  and  it  was,  of  course,  not 
long  after  that  Isabella  dried  her  tears,  and  stilled 
her  throbbing  heart  by  a  knowledge  that  the  last 
objection  to  the  happy  union  was  obviated. 

Don  Gonzales,  when  he  received  the  letter, 
and  had  carefully  examined  it,  even  went  per- 
sonally to  the  palace  to  tender  his  congratula- 
tions to  the  young  lieutenant-governor,  and  to 
tell  him  that  he  had  no  longer  any  objections  to 
raise  as  to  the  proposal  which  he  had  so  lately 
taken  occasion  to  make,  relative  to  Isabella. 

"  We,  then,  have  your  free  consent  as  to  our 
early  union,  Don  Gonzales  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,  General  Bezan,  and  may 
the  virgin  add  her  blessing." 

"  I  see,  sir,  you  look  anxious  as  to  how  I  came 
in  possession  of  this  princely  fortune." 

"  I  am  indeed  filled  with  amazement ;  but  the 
evidence  you  offer  is  satisfactory." 

"  At  another  time  I  will  explain  all  to  you," 
replied  Lorenzo  Bezan,  smiling. 

"ItiS'Well;  and  now,  sir,  this  matter  of  so 
much  importance  to  my  peace  of  mind  is  settled." 
Thus  saying,  Don  Gonzales  shook  the  soldier's 
hand  waimly,  and  departed,  really  delighted  at 
the  result  of  the  matter,  for  had  not  General  Be- 
zan brought  the  requisite  fortune,  the  old  Span- 
iard would  have  religiously  kept  his  oath ;  and, 
if  not  influenced  by  honor  and  consciousness  in 
the  matter  of  fulfilling  his  sacred  promise,  ho 
would  have  been  led  to  do  so  through  fear,  he 
being  in  such  matters  most  superstitious. 

Lorenzo  Bezan  resolved  that  little  time  should 
intervene  before  he  availed  himself  of  the  prom- 
ise of  Isabella's  father.  "  Once  mine,  I  shall 
fear  no  more  casualties,  and  shall  have  the  right 
not  only  to  love,  but  to  protect  her.  We  know 
each  other  now,  better,  perhaps,  than  we  could 
have  done  save  through  the  agency  of  misfor- 
tune, and  ere  to-raorrow's  sun  shall  set,  I  hope 
to  call  her  mine." 

As  the  moon  swept  up  from  out  the  sea  that 
night,  and  tinged  the  battlements  of  Moro  Cas- 
tle, and  silvered  the  sparkling  bay  witli  its  soft 
light,  two  forms  sat  at  one  of  the  broad  balcony 
mndows  of  Don  Gonzales's  house.  It  was  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  and  Isabella.  They  were  drinking 
in  of  the  loveliness  of  the  hour,  and  talking  to 
each  other  upon  the  thousand  suggestions  that 
their  minds  busily  produced  as  connected  with 
the  new  aspect  of  their  own  personal  affairs. 
The  arm  of  the  gallant  soldier  was  about  her, 
and  the  soft  cm-Is  of  her  dark  hair  lay  lo\dngly 
about  his  neck  as  she  rested  upon  his  shoulder. 
We  might  depict  here  the  splendors  of  the 
church  of  Santa  Clara,  where  Isabella  and  Lo- 
renzo Bezan  were  united ;  we  might  elaborate 
upon  their  perfect  happiness  ;  state  in  detail  the 
satisfaction  of  Don  Gonzales,  and  show  how 
happy  was  the  gentle,  thoughtful,  kind-hearted 
and  brave  Ruez ;  and  we  might  even  say  that 
the  hound  seemed  to  realize  that  General  Bezan 
was  now  "  one  of  the  family,"  wagging  his  tail 
with  increased  unction,  and  fawning  upon  him 
with  more  e^ddent  affection.  But  when  we  say 
that  all  were  happy,  and  that  the  great  aim  of 
Lorenzo  Bezan's  heart  was  accomplished,  the 
reader  will  find  ample  space  and  time  to  fill  up 
the  open  space  in  the  picture. 

General  Harero,  fearing  the  disclosure  in  some 
way  of  his  villany  in  attempting,  through  his 
agent,  tlie  now  dead  jailor,  the  life  of  Lorenzo 
Bezan,  immediately  resigned  his  post,  and  sought 
an  early  opportunity  to  retmrn  to  Spain.  Here 
he  fell  in  a  duel  with  one  whom  he  had  person- 
ally injured,  and  his  memory  was  soon  lost  to 
friends  and  foes. 

In  Isabella's  ignorance  of  the  tender  and  truth- 
ful promptings  of  her  own  bosom,  we  have  shown 
you  the  Heart's  Secret,  and  in  the  vicissitudes 
that  attended  the  career  of  Lorenzo  Bezan,  the 
Fortunes  or  a  Soldier. 


THE   END. 


Human  Life. — Hope  writes  the  poetry  of  the 
boy,  but  memory  that  of  the  man.  Man  looks 
fonvard  with  smiles,  but  backward  with  sighs. 
Such  is  the  wise  providence  of  God.  The  cup 
of  life  is  sweeter  at  the  brim,  the  flavor  is  im- 
paired as  we  drink  deeper,  and  the  dregs  are 
made  bitter  that  we  may  not  struggle  when  it  is 
taken  from  om-  lips. 


132 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWINCx   EOOM   COMPANION. 


-^m 


m'km;i:, 


jW*''i  l- 


MEXICAN  TROOPS  ON  THE  MARCH. 


[For  duscription,  s«e  pngo  141. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DP.AWIXG   ROOM    COIMPANION. 


133 


THE  POTATO  DISEASE. 

Desirous  to  {i:ratify  in  every  department  of  kno-wIe<:lp;e  accepta- 
ble to  the  public  mind,  we  have  thought  we  could  in  no  better 
way  aecomplish  one  result  to  such  an  end  than  to  give  a  series  of 
illustrations  of  the  potato  plant  as  it  presents  itself  in  its  healthy 


MAGNIFIED  VIEW  OF  A  SLICE  OF  RIPE  POTATO. 

state,  and  also  under  the  influence  of  the  disease  so  well  known  un- 
der the  name  of  the  "  potato  rot."  It  is  a  subject  of  preat  inter- 
est, inasmuch  as  the  potato  is  the  main  eatable  esculent  in  all 
civilized  eountriea.     Never  was  witnessed  a  more  important  result, 


BLOTCHES  ON  A  POTATO  LEAF. ?;  Ser  sI^e! 


springinj;  from  a  seemingly  insignificant  beginning,  than  has  been 
presented  by  the  disease  now  ravaging  the  potato-fields  of  all 
quarters  of  the  earth.  No  one  could  have  imagined  that  a  rot 
which  appeared  in  this  crop  in  the  island  of  St.  Helena,  in  the 
year  1840,  was  the  "small  speck  on  the  horizon"  which  would 
become  the  forerunner  of  a  calamity  as  fatal  to  the  potato  as  Asi- 
atic cholera  to  man;  and  still  less  that  a  few  blotches  on  the  leaves  of 
this  exotic  plant  were  the  heralds  of  political  danger  so  extensive 
as  to  affect  the  whole  commercial  policy  of  Cliristendom.  Such, 
however,  has  been  the  course  of  events,  and  justifies  our  present- 
ing our  readers  with  some  information  on  this  singular  subject. 
The  potato  plant  is  naturally  found  wild  on  the  mountains  of 
Chili,  and  perhaps  of  Peru,  whence  its  cultivation  has  spread  into 
surrounding  countries.  It,  or  a  species  very  like  it,  also  occurs  in 
the  west  of  Mexico,  in  the  province  of  Mechoacan,  in  a  perfectly 
wild  state.  The  stories  current  of  its  being  a  native  of  Virginia 
are  undeserving  of  credit.  Its  present  name  was  given  it  in  con- 
sequence of  its  resemblance  to  the  Batatas,  now  called  sweet  po- 
tato, which  had  been  previously  brought  to  the  notice  of  Europe- 
ans. The  latter  is  a  kind  of  bindweed;  but  our  potato  belongs 
to  the  nightshade  order,  and  is  poisonous  in  all  parts  except  its 
tubers,  which  are  what  we  eat.  In  order  to  form  a  just  idea  of 
the  nature  of  the  potato  disease,  it  is  necessary  that,  in  the  first 
place,  we  should  show  how  this  plant  grows,  and  reproduces  itself. 
If  a  potato  plant  is  dug  up  at  this  season  it  will  be  found  to 
present  such  appearances  as  are  shown  at  Fig.  1.  There  is  in 
the  first  place  the  remains  of  an  old  potato,  or,  as  the  farmers 
call  it,  sat,  (a),  from  which  all  the  growth  has  proceeded.  Imme- 
diately rising  from  that  is  the  main  stem,  or  haulm,  and  above 
the  ground  level  are  the  leaves  and  branches.  Among  the  former, 
will  be  found  a  number  of  green  berries,  about  as  large  as  musket 
balls  :  they  are  the  potato-apples  or  plums  (k),  and  are  filled  with 
seeds  which  nature  provides  to  multiply  the  potato.  If  the  plant 
produced  nothing  more  than  lias  now  been  mentioned,  it  would 
be  of  no  use  to  mankind,  for  all  these  parts  are  more  or  less  poi- 
sonous. But  italso  pushes  forth  under-ground  runners,  which  are 
a  kind  of  branch,  the  ends  of  which  swell  out  into  great  round  or 
oblong  bodies,  which  are  filled  with  starch,  and  have  the  name  of 
tubers.  These  ('</ and /3,  which  are  vulgarly  called  roots,  are 
very  diiferent  from  the  red  roots  (e),  which  are  little  threads,  re- 
sembling hairs,  and  unable  to  swell  out  or  form  much  starch  in 
their  inside.  Every  potato  plant  is  capable  of  producing  many 
such  tubers,  and  every  tuber  will  bear  to  be  cut  into  many  pieces, 
each  of  which  mil  become  a  new  plant;  and  thus  the  quantity  of 
produce  which  an  acre  of  land  will  furnish,  and  the  extent  to 
which  the  crop  may  be  easily  propagated,  are  quite  enormous.  It 
is  said  that  as  much  as  forty  thousand  pounds  weight  of  potatoes 
has  been  obtained  from  one  single  acre  of  land;  this  would  sup- 
ply a  man  with  ten  pounds  of  food  a  day  for  nearly  eleven  years, 
if  he  could  keep  it;  and  hence  has  arisen  the  universal  desire  to 
cultivate  the  plant  in  all  countries  into  which  it  has  been  intro- 
duced. It  now,  however,  seems  as  if  Providence  had  detennined 
to  an'cst  its  further  increase,  for  it  of  late  years  has  been  attacked  by 
anew  disease,  the  nature  of  which  is  unknown,  which  speedily  de- 
stroys the  hopes  of  the  farmer,  and  sometimes  even  converts  whole 
fields  of  potatoes  into  a  mass  of  corruption  within  a  few  hours. 
What  is  very  remarkable  is,  that  the  most 
healthy  and  vigorous  potato-fields  are  those 
which  are  destroyed  most  rapidly.  Not  a 
sign  of  the  disease  may  be  visible  to-day ; 
to-morrow  the  leaves  may  be  seen  withered, 
black,  and  half  putrid ;  and  the  day  after 
they  are  followed  by  the  destruction  of  the 
stem.  Generally,  however,  the  evil  is  less 
rapid  in  its  strides.  It  first  appeared  in 
Europe  in  the  east  of  Germany,  about  mid- 
summer, 1845;  in  a  few  weeks  it  spread 
over  all  the  western  parts  of  the  Continent, 
extending  even  to  the  coast  of  Portugal, 
missing,  however,  the  north-west  of  Spain, 
and  not  advancing  so  far  as  the  Mediter- 
ranean. England  was  visited  in  the  middle 
of  August,  and  for  some  time  it  was  hoped 
that  the  cold  northern  climate  would  resist 
it ;  by  degrees,  however,  it  made  progress, 
and  was  finally  stopped  only  by  the  High- 


lands. In  the  meanwhile  it  reached  Ireland,  and  it  had  done  so 
much  mischief  that  the  British  Government  sent  commissioners 
to  inquire  into  the  facts,  and  to  consider  what  could  be  done  to 
arrest  its  progress.  Half  the  crop  that  year  was  estimated  to  have 
been  destroyed,  or  rendered  unfit  for  human  food.  On  the  Conti- 
nent, it  has  been  even  more  severe  ;  and  in  the  United  States  the 
disease  has  been  very  extensive.  Although  the  cause  is  unknown, 
the  symptoms  have  become  too  familiar.  In  all  cases,  the  leaves 
become  black  and  soft,  in  rounded  patches  ;  and  quickly  after,  the 
tubers  change  here  and  there  to  a  brouTi  substance  which  resem- 


THE  DISEASED  STEM,  NATURAL  SIZE. 

bles  a  decayed  apple,  and  eats  their  centre.  It  is  not,  however,  in 
the  leaf  that  the  disease  begins.  Before  any  outward  sign  appears, 
a  brown  blotch  is  seen  on  the  young  stem.  The  old  tuber  seems 
to  contain  the  germ  of  some  affection  that  is  carried  through  the 
tubes  of  the  stem  and  corrupts  the  sap  of  the  leaves.     Myriads  of 


A  POTATO,  SHOWING  THE  DISEASE  IN  PROGRESS. 

a  minute  parasitical  plant,  called  Botiyfis  hifesfans,  follow  the  potato 
disease.  When  the  blotches  are  examined  closely,  there  will  be 
perceived  a  minute  gray  mould,  having  a  spawn  like  a  mushroom, 
which  it  spreads  among  the  cells  of  the  leaf.  A  microscope  will 
discover  a  green  surface,  from  which  escapes  a  powder,  the  seeds 
of  the  parasite,  which  seems  to  be  the  impregnation  of  the  disease. 


THE  BOTRYTIS    INFESTANS,  VERT  HIGHLY  MAGNIFIED. 


134 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


tWrittcn  for  QIcilsou'h  Pictorlitl.] 
TO-MORROW. 

TIY  JOHN  K.   nOLMKS. 

DM  WO  but  Itnow  what  llcfl  Ijoyond 

This  varied,  Bbiulowy  piith  wo  tvead, 
IIow  often  would  our  bouIh  doapond, 

Our  eyes  tlio  toarfl  of  ftorrow  Hlied  ! 
But  Ood,  who  knows  whiit'H  boat  to  do, 

"HTio  sees  us  from  his  shiiTy  throuc, 
ITiia  \vl8oly  hidden  from  our  view 

Thut  which  hud  best  romiiin  uoltuowu. 

Wo  walk  to-day  in  conscious  prido, 

And  hang  thu  flag  of  hope  on  high  ; 
But  ah  !  to-morrow,  by  our  side, 

Somo  friond  may  lay  liim  down  and  dlo  ; 
Some  early  Howcr  that  won  our  praise, 

Some  altar  whcro  wc  laid  our  trust, 
May  fade  ere  dies  the  evening  rays — 

May  trampled  bo  and  laid  in  duat. 

Youth  dreams  of  many  beaming  things, 

As  on  ho  hio8  in  pleasure's  tmclt ; 
Each  day  some  new-born  promise  brings, 

IIo  turns  uo  oyo  of  sorrow  back. 
Tho  flowory  flclda  are  all  bcforoj 

His  eyes  on  some  bright  star  are  sot, 
Life  is  to  him  a  sunnj'  sliore, 

He  '11  learu  jt  has  its  shadows  yet. 

To-morrow  !  in  thy  secret  shade 

I  little  know  what  is  for  mo  ; 
I  may  be  with  my  fathers  laid. 

Or  ■wi-eckcd  on  wild  misfortune's  sea ! 
But  far  beyond  life's  boundary,  lives 

The  everlasting  army  bright ; 
And  He  alono  who  tabes  or  gives. 

Can  guide  my  wandering  steps  aright. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  TWO  SILK  DRESSES: 

— OR 

AUNT  HANNAH'S  WHIM. 

ET  MUS.  M.  E.  R0BIK"S0N, 

In  the  small  country  town  of  S ,  quite  a 

number  of  ladies  belonging  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Dwight's  society,  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
together  an  afternoon  in  each  week,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  Iteeping  up  friendly  associations,  and  to 
hear  and  repeat  the  news  of  the  day.  It  was 
not  exactly  a  "  sewing  society,"  although  every 
lady  put  a  piece  of  work  in  her  pocket  or  reti- 
cule, to  keep  her  hands  busy  while  her  tongue 
performed  its  office. 

The  society  had  settled  a  new  minister  some 
two  months  previous  to  tlie  time  of  which  we 
write,  and  the  subject  had  proved  a  very  inter- 
esting theme  of  conversation,  judging  by  the  te- 
nacity with  which  it  was  adhered  to.  His  ser- 
mons were  commended  or  criticized  as  usual, 
while  his  personal  appearance,  manners  and 
general  deportment  wex'C  thoroughly  and  impar- 
tially examined.  His  lady,  also,  came  in  for 
her  sliare  of  scrutiny ;  and  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  she  was  attended  to  first.  One  thought  she 
was  rather  too  fine  in  her  notions  and  aristo- 
cratic, for  a  country  town — they  had  formerly 
resided  in  the  city — another  remarked  that  the 
Dwight's  parlor  carpet  was  a  Bnissels,  whereas 
a  common  cotton  and  wool  was  quite  good 
enough ;  while  a  third  hinted  that  she  dressed 
too  much  for  a  minister's  wife — which  last  ob- 
servation we  think  was  uncalled  for,  as  the  lady 
found  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  supply  herself 
with  the  cheapest  material  out  of  her  husband's 
scanty  salary. 

On  the  whole,  however,  Mrs.  Dwight  pleased 
them.  She  did  not  consider  it  beneath  her  to 
drop  in  any  time  and  chat  awliile,  even  if  it  was 
iu  the  kitchen;  and  she  had  often  been  known 
to  accompany  her  husband  in  his  visits  of  mercy. 
Although  young,  and  conscious  that  her  place 
was  a  difficult  one  to  fill,  and  that  many  looked 
to  her  as  an  example,  she  yet  possessed  so  much 
amiability,  common  sense,  and  good  judgment, 
that  in  the  short  space  of  eight  weeks  she  had 
managed  to  gain  the  respect  and  good  will  of 
most  of  the  parishioners,  and  was  in  a  fair  way 
to  be  as  well  liked  as  her  predecessor. 

At  one  of  the  afternoon  sessions  we  have  re- 
ferred to,  she  had  assembled  with  the  rest,  for 
the  first  time  ;  but  an  unexpected  circumstance 
made  it  necessary  for  her  to  leave  early.  When 
she  was  gone  the  conversation  re-commenced  : 

"I  think  a  few  of  us  did  Mi-s.  Dwight  injus- 
tice, at  first,'*  remarked  a  middle  aged  lady,  "  at 
least,  I  did  for  one.  I  think  she  bears  acquaint- 
ance well." 

"  That  she  docs,"  enthusiastically  replied  an- 
other. "  "When  my  I)oy  was  sick,  a  sister  could 
not  have  been  kinder  than  she  was ;  watching 


witli  him  all  night  repeatedly,  and  invariably  in 
once  u  day.     O,  1  shall  never  forget  it." 

"It  was  gralifying,  certainly,"  resumed  tlic 
first  speaker;  '*and  more  so,  as  kIio  was  almost 
a  sti-angcr  to  you.  It  denotes  good  feeling,  and 
a  heart  iu  the  ijglit  place." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Miss  Gard- 
ner, a  maiden  lady,  who  usually  went  by  tlic 
name  of  "  Aunt  Hannah." 

•'  Why  not  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Webb.  "  You  will 
allow  that  slio  was  not  obliged  to  make  other 
ihati  a  formal  call,  had  she  been  so  disposed." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  ]VIiss  Gardner,  slowly, 
and  evi(k'ntly  weighing  her  words.  "  But  she 
obviously  wishes  to  please  lier  husband's  parish- 
ioners, and  no  one  can  blame  her  for  that.  Tho 
object  is  surely  a  laudable  one.  But  the  ques- 
tion is  this;  Avhcther  she  would  have  done  it  un- 
der other  circumstances,  and  when  no  observing 
eyes  were  ujion  her." 

"  As  sho  is  an  unpretending,  unostentatious 
woman,  I  think  one  could  safely  answer  in  the 
affirmative, "  was  the  remark  of  tlie  lady  who 
had  spoken  of  Mrs.  Bwight's  kindness  to  her 
child.  "I  know  of  two  or  tlu-ec  instances  in 
wliich  she  could  not  have  possibly  been  influ- 
enced by  people's  opinions,  or  a  desire  to  display 
her  good  works."  This  was  said  with  much 
earnestness,  and  displayed  a  feeling  of  true  grat- 
itude on  the  part  of  the  speaker. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Webb. 
"At  best,  she  has  difficulties  enough  to  over- 
come, and  let  us  give  credit  where  credit  is  due. 
I  question  if  any  one  of  us  could  fill  her  place 
more  satisfactorily ;  for  no  one  denies  that  she 
is  sweet-tempered,  patient,  and  amiable,  and  a 
good  share  of  intellect  is  certainly  hers.  What 
more  would  we  have  ?" 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  one. 

"  Sure  enough  !"  echoed  Aunt  Hannah.  "  If 
we  were  only  sure  that  she  possessed  these  good 
traits  you  have  mentioned,  in  reality.  But 
there's  the  rub." 

" But  why  bring  up  possibilities?"  urged  the 
other.     "  Wliy  doubt  her  sincerity  ?     If  she — " 

"Don't  misconstrue  my  remarks,"  inten-upted 
Miss  Gardner,  with  a  smile,  "for  I  merely 
meant  to  hint  that  she  might  possibly  not  be 
cither  "  sweet-tempered,  patient,  nor  amiable," 
when  out  of  our  sight  and  things  did  not  go  to 
her  mind.  Don't  think  me  an  enemy  to  the 
lady,  JVIi-s.  Webb,  for  indeed  I  am  not." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it."  was  the  good- 
natured  reply,  "  for  I  respect  Mrs.  Dwight,  and 
think  that  she  tries  hard  to  do  her  duty.  Noth- 
ing in  the  world  would  tempt  me  to  be  a  minis- 
ter's wife ;  there's  no  end  to  the  tasks  they  are 
expected  to  perform,  and  when  they  do  the  best 
they  can,  some  one,  like  Aunt  Hannah,  for  in- 
stance," and  she  winked  slyly  at  the  latter, 
"  steps  up  and  questions  the  pxirity  of  her  mo- 
tives in  so  doing." 

"  You  are  rather  hard  on  mo,"  said  Aunt 
Hannah,  "  and  I  fear  yourself,  with  all  present, 
have  an  idea  that  I  really  believed  what  I  said." 

"  No  such  thing !"  responded  Mrs.  Webb, 
warmly.  "And  to  prove  it,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I've  been  thinking  of." 

In  an  instant  sewing  and  knitting  was  di'op- 
pcd,  and  every  eye  fixed  upon  the  speaker. 

"As  you  all  know,"  resumed  Mrs.  Webb, 
"  the  salary  of  our  minister  is  small,  in  compar- 
ison with  that  of  some  otliers,  and  was  so,  previ- 
ous to  coming  here.  His  wife's  wardrobe  must 
necessarily  be  limited,  and  I  have  been  thinking 
tliat  we  could  not  do  better  than  give  her  a  good 
dress.     What  say  yoxi,  ladies  V 

Mrs.  Webb  had  not  appealed  in  vain.  With- 
out any  hesitation  an  unanimous  assent  was 
given. 

"Of  what  material  shall  it  be?"  asked  tho 
former. 

"I  have  never  seen  her  wear  silk,"  remarked 
one ;  "  suppose  we  buy  her  a  nice  black  one." 

"A  very  appropriate  choice,  I  think,"  replied 
Mrs.  Webb,  and  the  suggestion  receiving  the  ap- 
proval of  all.  Miss  Gardner — who  was  about  vis- 
itnig  the  city — was  appointed  to  make  the  con- 
templated purchase. 

The  latter,  notwithstanding  her  former  re- 
marks, gave  a  full  and  cordial  assent  to  the  pro- 
posal, and  as  there  was  no  regular  dressmaker  in 
the  vicinity,  agreed  to  perform  the  service  of 
cutting  and  making  heiself. 

"  You  can  leave  the  wliole  matter  with  me, 
ladies,"  said  sho ;  "  I  will  do  the  best  I  can,  and 
I  flatter  myself,  to  your  satisfaction.  When  it 
is  finished,  I  will  transfer  it  safely  to  you ;  and 
as  I  shall  take  great  pains  to  fold  it  up  neatly, 
perhaps  it  had  better  not  be  unfolded  until  she 
receives  it." 


"But  how  will  you  fit  her,  unlcstj  she  sees  it?" 
asked  Mrs.  Webb,  in  some  perplexity  to  know 
how  it  was  to  be  managed. 

"  I  did  some  work  lor  her  a  short  time  since — 
altered  a  dress,  or  something  of  the  kind — and 
have  a  pattern  which  fits  her.  So  you  sec  I 
shall  have  no  diffi(;ulty  in  tlmt  respect." 

By  the  time  everything  was  arrartged  to  iheir 
liking,  the  sun  had  set,  and  the  ladies  soon  dis- 
persed to  their  respective  homes,  happy  in  the 
thought  of  conferring  a  service  upon  one  who, 
thus  far,  had  proved  herself  worthy. 

Miss  Hannah  Gardner  was  an  odd  character, 
noted  for  her  peculiar  sentiments  and  eccentric 
whims.  She  was  a  good-natured,  cheerful  body, 
lived  nowhere  in  particular,  had  no  particular 
business,  but  resided  several  weeks  at  a  time 
with  different  individuals  in  the  neighborhood 
who  prized  her  society.  But  she  was  by  no 
means  a  burden  upon  the  latter ;  no  one  could 
step  lighter  in  a  sick  room  than  she,  place  the 
pillows  more  easily,  or  make  more  acceptable 
gruel — which  last  mentioned  seiwiee,  by  the  way, 
is  a  more  important  one  than  most  people 
imagine. 

In  a  word,  she  made  herself  generally  useful ; 
for  when  no  invalid  needed  her  care,  plenty  of 
sewing  could  be  procured,  and  althougli  Aunt 
Hannah  was  reputed  wealthy,  and  not  obliged 
to  use  the  needle  or  wait  upon  the  sick,  yet  she 
was  never  idle.  No  one,  however,  knew  any- 
thing positive  respecting  her  affairs,  and  as  she 
was  never  known  to  speak  of  the  subject,  it  re- 
mained a  m*ystci*y. 

"  Well,  the  journey  to  the  city  of  P was 

made,  the  silk  was  purchased,  and  when  suffi- 
cient time  had  elapsed,  the  dress  was  finished, 
and  two  ladies — one  of  whom  was  Mrs.  Webb- 
commissioned  to  make  the  presentation. 

Accordingly  the  two  turned  their  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  parsonage.  They  found  Mrs. 
Dwight  at  home,  who  welcomed  them  cordially, 
and  after  some  general  conversation,  Mrs.  Webb 
proceeded  to  the  object  she  had  in  view. 

"  A  few  of  us  ladies,"  she  began,  "  wishing  to 
give  you  some  token  of  our  respect  and  esteem, 
myself  and  friend  were  chosen  to  wait  upon  you 
this  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Dwight  murmured  her  thanks. 

"A  nice  dress  has  been  thought  to  be  as  ser- 
viceable an  article  as  we  could  select,  and  I  hope 
it  will  meet  with  your  approval." 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  acceptable,"  replied 
Mi's.  Dwight,  gratefully  and  earnestly,  "  for  hav- 
ing been  disappointed  in  regard  to  one  I  intend- 
ed wearing,  it  comes  just  in  time.  I  can  only 
repeat  my  acknowledgements  for  yonr  kindness, 
and  will  strive  to  give  the  donors  no  cause  to 
regret  it." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  it  on,"  added  Mrs.  Webb, 
unwinding  the  numerous  strings  which  Aunt 
Hannah  had  seen  fit  to  tie  around  the  bundle. 
"  I  am  anxious  to  see  how  it  fits  you,  though 
Miss  Gardner  said  there  would  be  no  trouble." 

Mrs.  Dwight  looked  up  quickly,  when  she 
heard  the  name,  but  taking  the  bundle,  quietly 
left  the  room  for  the  purpose  mentioned.  In  a 
short  time  she  presented  herself  before  her  two 
visitors. 

"\sthat  the  dress?"  exclaimed  Mi-s.  Webb, 
in  amazement. 

"It  must  be,  I  think,  for  I  took  it  from  the 
bundle,"  replied  the  lady,  with  a  half  smile ;  but 
a  bright  crimson  spot  appeared  upon  her  cheek 
as  she  glanced  at  her  person  in  an  opposite 
mirror. 

"  What  a  fright !"  cried  the  companion  of  Mrs. 
Webb,  when  astonishment  had  allowed  the  use 
of  her  tongue.  "  What  a  waist !  what  sleeves ! 
It  must  be  a  mistake ;  Aunt  Hannah  must  have 
put  up  the  wrong  dress,"  slie  added,  despairingly. 

And  no  wonder  they  exclaimed ;  no  wonder 
they  were  sorely  puzzled  and  astonished;  for 
such  another  dress  it  has  never  been  our  lot  to 
see.  The  skirt  consisted  of  two  breadths,  looped 
up  like  a  ballet  dancer's,  and  was  ornamented 
in  evei'y  criss-cross  way,  with  all  widths  and 
colors  of  ribbons.  The  waist  looked  like  a  sort 
of  bag,  with  enormous  holes  cut  for  tlie  arms, 
over  which  flapped  a  large  pair  of  lappets,  orna- 
mented iu  the  same  grotesque  way.  Depending 
from  the  waist  were  numerous  strings  of  beads, 
of  all  sizes,  which  shook  and  jingled  at  ever}-^ 
motion.  Altogetiier,  it  was  a  garment  which 
could  not  fail  to  please  the  fancy  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  an  Indian's  wigwam.  The  three  ladies 
were  silent  for  a  moment.  Mrs.  Webb  examined 
the  work  attentively,  and  then  said  : 

"Do  not  let  this  circumstance  .trouble  you, 
Mi's.  Dwight ;  and,  believe  me,  had  I  known  of 


it,  it  would  not  have  occurred.  Miss  Gardner 
may  have  intended  it  lor  a  joke,  but  it  is  quite 
too  serious  a  one  for  my  fancy." 

"It  is  of  no  consequence,  for  it  was  probably 
80  intended,"  uttered  Mrs.  Dwight,  while  her 
voice  trembled  slightly. 

"  The  matter  shall  be  looked  into  and  ex- 
plained. Take  off'  the  awful  looking  thing,  and 
let  me  take  it  back  to  the  maker,"  said  the  otiier 
visitor,  with  an  indignant  look. 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  blame  Miss  Gardner," 
jdcadcd  the  minister's  wife,  in  an  earnest  tone. 
"  I  feel  assured  she  meant  no  harm;  and  no 
harm  you  see  has  resulted,  except  the  waste  of 
silk,"  she  added,  smiling  faintly. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  you  take  it  quite  coolly  !'* 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Webb.  "  Were  I  in  your  place, 
I  should  resent  it;  you  must  have  more  patience 
than  common  folks,  or  you  would  get  angry. 
Bless  me,  how  you  do  look  !  I  declare,  I  should 
be  tempted  to  laugh,  if  I  were  not  so  vexed  with 
Aunt  Hannah !" 

"  Anger  is  a  visitor  I  get  rid  of  as  soon  as 
possible,"  calmly  replied  the  person  addressed, 
who  had  now  regained  her  equanimity,  and  was 
slowly  divesting  herself  of  the  dress,  which  was 
again  tied  up  with  very  little  ceremony,  as  Mrs. 
Dwight  made  no  motion  to  retain  it. 

When  the  ladies  had  gone,  and  the  latter  found 
herself  alone,  her  hurt  feelings  obtained  the  mas- 
tery, and  she  burst  into  tears.  Mrs.  Webb 
knew  but  little  of  the  workings  of  her  mind, 
when  she  spoke  of  the  "  coolness  "  with  which 
she  received  this  apparent  insult.  No ;  the  in- 
ward struggle  was  unnoticed,  but  it  was  none 
the  less  bitter.  She  had  learned,  however,  to 
conquer  her  feelings,  and  she  calmly  and  dispas- 
sionately tried  to  fathom  the  motives  which 
could  have  governed  Miss  Gardner.  But  hero 
she  was  at  fault ;  the  latter  had  seemed  friendly 
disposed,  and,  in  fact,  had  won  the  regard  of 
herself  and  husband  in  many  ways ;  and  it  was 
an  unwelcome  task  to  believe  that  she  would 
wantonly  and  deliberately  wound  the  feelings  of 
others. 

But  this  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  ques- 
tioned, by  herself.  Miss  Gardner's  pretended 
friendship.  But  a  short  time  previous  to  this 
occurrence,  Mrs.  Dwight,  by  considerable  self- 
denial  and  economy,  had  purchased  sufficient 
silk  for  a  dress,  and  employed  Miss  Gardner  to 
cut  and  make  it.  But,  intentionally  or  other- 
wise, it  had  been  entirely  spoiled ;  it  was  cut 
wTong,  and  made  up  shockingly.  She  felt  dis- 
appointed enough  to  cry  when  she  glanced  at 
the  short,  ill-fitting  waist,  and  found  that  no  al- 
tering, twisting,  or  pulling  could  make  it  wear- 
able. 

Miss  Gardner  was  entirely  unconscious  of  any- 
thing wrong,  or  ajiparently  so,  and  protested 
that  she  "  felt  quite  satisfied  with  herself."  Not 
so  the  other;  she  more  than  half  believed  that  it 
had  been  i-uined  on  pui-pose ;  for  had  not  Mrs. 
Gardner  the  reputation  of  handiness  at  the  craft  1 
And  now  another  was  added  to  the  list;  two 
valuable  dress  patterns  entirely  ruined  !  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Had  she  unconsciously  off"ended 
the  lady,  and  was  she  so  undigijified  as  to  show 
her  resentment  in  -this  manner?  Time  only 
would  show. 

After  considerable  time  spent  in  reflection, 
Mrs.  Dwight  laid  the  dress  away,  resolving  to 
say  nothing  respecting  it  to  her  husband,  for  she 
did  not  wish  to  trouble  him  unnecessarily,  and 
made  an  cffiart  to  forget  and  forgive.  In  this 
she  succeeded ;  she  cherished  no  resentful  feel- 
ings towards  Miss  Gardner,  and  treated  her  in 
as  friendly  a  manner  as  heretofore.  And  so 
should  it  be  in  this  case  ;  she  would  render  good 
for  evil ;  and  Mrs.  Dwight  kept  her  resolution  so 
well,  that  no  change  in  her  manner  could  be  de- 
tected when  she  happened  to  meet  Miss  Gard- 
ner on  the  day  succeeding  tho  event  we  have 
related. 

But  the  latter  did  not  fare  so  well ;  Mrs.  AVebb 
and  her  companion  overwhelmed  Her  with  their 
reproaches  and  indignant  exclamations,  and  de- 
manded an  immediate  explanation  of  her  strange 
conduct.  Aunt  Hannah,  however,  let  them  have 
it  all  their  own  way,  and  merely  laughed  quietly. 

"Leave  the  matter  to  mc,  my  friends,"  sho 
replied,  when  the  two  had  fairly  talked  them- 
selves out  of  hreatli.  "  Yon  don't  understand 
what  I'm  about.  No  one  who  contributed  any- 
thing towards  the  ruined  dress,  as  you  term  it, 
shall  lose  anything ;  neither  shall  Mrs.  Dwight." 

"  Well,  it's  enough  to  vex  a  saint !"  exclaimed 
Mj-s.  Webb;  "and  you've  always  some  sclicmo 
in  your  head  that  nobody  understands.  There 
I  sat,  telling  what  we  had  done,  and  praising  up 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


135 


the  dress  before  I  had  seen  it,  because  I  put  con- 
fidence in  jou.  More  than  that,  I'm  afraid  she 
■will  think  I  had  a  hand  in  it ;  and  that's  not  a 
pleasing  reflection,  by  any  means." 

"  Depend  upon  it  you  shall  not  suffer  for  my 
ftiult,"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  earnestly.  "You 
hare  been  a  good  champion  for  Mrs.  Dwight, 
and  deserve  something  better ;"  and  she  arose 
and  placed  a  very  handsome  piece  of  silk  in  the 
hands  of  Mrs.  Webb. 

"  This  is  the  purchase  you  requested  me  to 
make,  and  not  that  which  you  carried  to  the 
parsonage.  It  -was  necessary  to  tell  you  this, 
that  we  may  keep  on  good  terms ;  but  you  must 
keep  my  secret,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  until  I 
tell  it  myself." 

The  ladies  were  again  confounded,  but  gave 
the  required  promise ;  and  after  answering  sev- 
eral questions  to  the  apparent  satisfaction  of 
Miss  Gardner,  they  left  the  house,  much  better 
pleased  than  when  they  entered  it. 

About  a  week  after  this,  a  package  and  a 
sealed  letter  were  handed  Mi's.  Dwight.  With 
a  look  of  surprise  that  increased  as  she  read  on, 
the  latter  made  herself  acquainted  with  the  con- 
tents.    It  ran  thus : 

"Mrs.  Dwight — My  dear  friend: — For  you 
must  allow  me  to  call  you  such,  although  some 
acts  of  mine  may  have  given  you  the  impres- 
sion that  I  do  not  deserve  the  privilege  ;  but  let 
our  future  intercourse  decide  that  question. 
You  already  know  that  I  am  called  eccentric, 
and  disposed  to  be  somewhat  whimsical.  It 
may  be  so ;  I  shall  not  dispute  the  fact,  for  I 
must  acknowledge  that  I  have  cherished  a  whim, 
gratified  it,  and  am  well  satisfied  with  the  end  I 
have  attained.  Would  you  know  my  object? 
It  was  to  satisfy  myself  that  you  were  proof 
against  disappointment,  vexation  and  apparent 
insult.  Nobly  have  you  passed  the  ordeal; 
most  christian-like,  patient  and  forbearing  has 
been  your  conduct.  Forgive  the  pain  I  have 
been  instrumental  in  causmg  you. 

"  The  silk  which  I  pm-cbased  by  request  of  a 
number  of  ladies,  as  you  were  informed,  is  with- 
in the  package ;  the  other  pattern  I  hcg  you  will 
receive  as  a  gift  from  me,  with  what  it  contains, 
as  a  slight  reparation  for  the  additional  mischief 
wliich,  you  will  remember,  I  was  once  guilty  of. 
Let  me  have  your  forgiveness,  share  your  friend- 
ship, and  be  assured  that  I  vnll  endeavor  to 
merit  it  in  future.     Yours  truly, 

"Hannah  Gaednek." 

Mrs.  Dwight  laid  down  the  letter  and  opened 
the  package.  A  very  nice  piece  of  black  silk 
revealed  itself,  and  an  elegant  fancy  dress  pat- 
tern, which  was  twice  as  valuable  as  the  one  she 
had  had  spoiled.  But  this  was  not  all ;  as  she 
unfolded  the  goods,  severa^bank  notes  fell  from 
between  the  folds.  She  hastily  picked  them  up, 
and  found  they  amounted  to  the  sum  of  a  hun- 
dred dollars. 

The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Dwight  sparkled  with  pleas- 
ure as  she  caught  her  gifts  and  ran  with  them  to 
her  husband's  study,  to  whom  she  related  the 
whole  affair.  We  cannot  stop  toVecord  what 
was  said,  but  ^l  simply  mention  that  her  hus- 
band was  both  surprised  and  pleased  at  the  curi- 
ous termination  of  the  matter,  and  the  good 
sense  which  his  wife  had  displayed. 

From  that  period  of  time  Aunt  Hannah  Gard- 
ner became  the  fast  and  valued  friend  of  Mrs. 
D^vight,  and  never  failed  yearly  to  repeat  her 
gift.'  The  two  silk  dresses  were  made,  fitted 
admirably,  and  many  a  hearty  laugh  was  had 
over  Aunt  Hannah's  whim. 


GOOD  ADVICE. 

Why  do  you  begin  to  do  good  so  far  off — this 
is  a  roiling  error.  Begin  at  the  centre  and  roll 
outward.  If  you  do  love  your  wife,  do  not  pre- 
tend to  such  love  for  the  people  of  the  antipodes. 
If  you  let  some  family  grudge,  some  peccadillo, 
some  undesirable  gesture,  sour  your  visage  to- 
wards a  sister  or  daughter,  pray  cease  to  preach 
beneficence  on  a  large  scale.  Begin  noc  at  the 
next  door,  but  within  your  own  door — ^vlth  your 
neighbor,  whether  relative,  servant,  or  superior. 
Account  the  man  you  meet  the  man  you  are  to 
bless.  Give  him  such  things  as  you  have.  How 
can  I  make  him  or  her  happier !  This  is  the 
question.  If  a  dollar  vdll  do  it  give  the  dollar. 
If  advice  will  do  it,  give  advice.  If  chastise- 
ment \vill  do  it,  give  chastisement.  If  a  look,  a 
smile,  a  warm  pressure  of  the  hand,  or  a  tear, 
give  it.  But  never  forget  that  the  happiness  of 
our  world  is  a  mountain  of  golden  sands,  and 
that  it  is  your  part  to  cast  some  tributaiy  atom 
every  moment. — N.  E.  Farmer. 


Adversity,  sage  useful  guest, 

Severe  instructor,  but  the  best ; 

It  is  from  thee,  alone,  we  kjiow 

Justly  to  value  things  below. — Somerville. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
BLUE-EYED  CLARA. 

BT  SUSAN  H.  BLAJ3DELL. 

Blue-eyed  Clara !  blue-eyed  Clara  I 

If  my  hand  avert«d  harm ; 
If  thy  fear  of  present  danger 

Fled  before  my  clasping  arm ; 
If  that  arm,  thus  folded  round  thee, 

Brought  the  surety  thou  didst  need ; 
Lightly  beat  my  heart  within  me, 

For  the  unforgotfcen  deed. 

Unforgotten— for  thy  blue  eyes 

Went  with  me  that  livelong  day  ; 
Sunning  from  my  heart's  dart  comera 

Each  unsightly  web  away. 
Lighting  up  its  inmost  chambers, 

Till  the  shadows  thence  had  fled — 
From  the  soft  and  tender  glory, 

By  tliine  angel  presence  shed. 

Elue-eyed  Clara !  blue-eyed  Clara  I 

Dream  I  of  thee  evermore  ; 
Music  floateth  all  about  me, 

To  my  f oul  unknown  before ; 
And  with  all  its  holiest  breathings, 

Blends  the  echo  of  thy  tone ; 
While  thy  spirit-face  ariseth 

Meekly — tenderly — alone. 

[Written  for  GleasoQ^s  Pictorial.] 

THE  YELLOW  DOMNO. 

BY    H.    PELICAN. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
XV.,  of  France,  masquerades  were  in  high  esti- 
mation, and  public  ones  were  often  given,  at 
immense  cost,  on  court  days  and  other  occasions 
of  rejoicing.  '  To  these  latter,  persons  of  all 
ranks,  who  could  afford  to  purchase  the  ticket, 
were  admissible;  and  accordingly  rencontres 
frequently  took  place  at  them,  and  exhibitions, 
almost  as  curious  in  the  way  of  disguise,  as  in 
the  assumption  of  chai'acter. 

Little  chance  adventures  of  an  amusing  char- 
acter were,  at  tliat  period,  not  at  all  uncommon ; 
and,  indeed,  at  these  entertainments,  strange 
gi-oups  and  characters  were  often  purposely  con- 
certed by  their  directors  and  managers. 

At  other  times,  feats  of  legerdemain  or  activ- 
ity were  performed;  and,  on  one  occasion,  it  is 
well  knq^vn,  a  Genoese — the  Ducrow  of  his  day 
■ — walked  upon  a  tight  rope,  suiTOunded  by  fire- 
works— which  made  him  visible  to  all  Paris — 
from  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers  of  the  metrop- 
olitan cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  into  the  window 
of  a  house  near  an  opposite  bridge,  called  the 
Pont  au  Cliange. 

Perhaps,  however,  the  most  whimsical  among 
the  genuine  surprises  recorded  at  any  of  those 
spectacles,  was  that  which  occurred  in  Paris,  on 
the  15th  of  October,  the  day  on  which  the 
Dauphin — eldest  son  of  Louis  XV., — attained 
his  majority. 

At  this  fete,  which  was  of  a  peculiarly  magnifi- 
cent character — so  much  so,  that  the  details  of  it 
are  given  at  great  length  by  historians  of  the  day 
— ^the  strange  bcha'viom'  of  a  personage  in  a  yel- 
low domino  excited  general  attention  very  early 
in  the  evening.  This  mask,  in  short,  who,  if  we 
except  tallaess  and  the  most  robust  proportions, 
showed  nothing  remarkable  as  to  figure,  seemed 
to  be  gifted  with  an  appetite,  not  merely  past  all 
human  conception,  but  exceeding  even  the  wild- 
est fancies  of  romance.    Even 

"  The  dragon  of  old,  who  churches  ate 
When  full  of  good  people  on  Sunday  ; 
Whole  congregations 'were  to  him 
But  a  dish  of  salmagundi," — 

even  he  was  but  a  nibbler — a  mere  Jackey-Go- 
Easy — to  this  stranger  of  the  yellow  domino, 
who,  with  an  alacrity  and  perseverance  as  as- 
tonishing as  it  was  edifying,  went  from  room  to 
room,  and  from  one  refreshment  table  to  an- 
other, not  merely  tasting,  but  devouring,  devas- 
tating all  before  him !  At  one  sideboard,  ho 
coolly  dispatched  a  fowl,  two  thirds  of  a  ham, 
and  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  champagne,  and  the 
vei'y  next  moment  he  was  found  seated  in  an- 
other apartment  performing  the  same  fete,  with 
a  stomach  even  keener  than  the  first.  This 
strange  course  was  persevered  in  steadily  the 
whole  evening,  until  the  company,  who  had  at 
first  been  much  amused  by  it,  became  alike 
alarmed  and  unruly. 

"  Is  it  the  same  mask,  or  are  there  several 
dominos  •?"  demanded  an  officer  of  the  guard,  as 
the  yellow  domino  rose  from  a'seat  opposite  to 
him,  and  quitted  the  apartment. 

"  I  have  seen  but  one  ;  and,  by  heaven,  here 
he  is  again !"  exclaimed  the  party  to  whom  the 
query  was  addressed. 

The  yellow  domino  spoke  not  a  word ;  but 
proceeded  straight  to  the  vacant  seat  which  he 


had  just  left,  and  again  commenced  supping  as 
though  he  had  fasted  a  whole  month  of  Sundays. 

At  length  the  confusion  whicli  this  proceeding 
created  became  universal ;  and  the  cause  of  the 
clamor  reached  the  ears  of  the  Dauphin. 

"He  is  tlie  very  devil,  your  highness!"  ex- 
claimed an  old  nobleman,  "  saving  your  royal 
highness's  presence ;  or  wants  but  a  tail  to  be  so." 

"  Say,  rather,  he  is  some  poor  famished  poet, 
by  his  appetite,"  replied  the  prince,  laughing. 
"  But  there  must  be  some  juggle  in  all  this  ;  he 
spills  the  wine,  and  hides  the  proiisions  under 
his  dress." 

**  Your  highness  shall  immediately  witness  the 
absence  of  juggle,"  continued  the  nobleman, 
"  with  your  own  eyes,  for  see  " — and  he  pointed 
to  the  door  of  the  apartment  from  which  the 
yellow  domino  had  that  instant  emerged,  and 
was,  as  usual,  proceeding  directly  to  the  refresh- 
ment table. 

Having  seated  himself  with  much  apparent 
complacency,  the  yellow  domino,  seizing  a  bot- 
tle before  him,  di-ank  glass  after  glass  with  a 
gusto  and  avidity  for  some  half  a  dozen  roiinds 
ti'uly  astounding.  But  this  appeared  to  be  a 
mere  preliminary  movement  for  clearing  the 
way  for  more  solid  and  serious  mastication,  for 
immediately  thereafter  he  boldly  attacked  a  fowl 
which  lay  most  invitingly  before  him,  and  which, 
by  cut  and  cut,  now  began  to  disappear  by  whole 
wings  and  legs  at  a  time. 

The  prince,  accompanied  by  his  courtiers, 
looked  on  in  silence,  while  the  old  nobleman, 
who  had  formerly  spoken,  solemnly  assm-ed  him 
that  he  had  seen  him  do  that  feat  thrice. 

"  Thrice,  my  lord  V  intermitted  another  cour- 
tier, in  rather  a  contemptuous  tone,  "  why,  I  can 
pledge  my  honor  that  I  have  seen  him  at  it  eight 
times." 

"  Say  ten  times,  my  lord  duke,"  cried  another, 
"  and  you  are  nearer  the  truth." 

"And  nearer  still  if  you  say  fifteen,"  said  the 
Marquis  Le  Verd.  "  I  have  watched  the  fellow 
this  whole  evening,  and  I  can  assure  your  high- 
ness this  is  the  fifteenth  time  I  have  witnessed 
his  repasts." 

"  Say  you  so  %"  replied  the  prince,  all  curios- 
ity. "  Call  the  master  of  the  ceremonies — we 
are  anxious  to  know  a  little  more  of  our  guest." 

The  master  of  the  ceremonies,  however,  on 
being  asked,  knew  nothing  about  him  ;  and  the 
yellow  domino  was,  of  course,  very  unceremoni- 
ously, as  well  as  unseasonably,  inten-upted,  as 
he  was  cari-ying  a  bumper  of  clai*et  to  his  lips. 

"  The  prince  desires  that  monsieur,  who  wears 
the  yellow  domino,  will  immediately  unmask," 
repeated  the  master  of  the  ceremonies,  with  aw- 
ful solemnity. 

The  yellow  domino  stared  at  him,  and  hesitated. 

"  The  command  mth  which  his  highness  hon- 
ors monsieur  is  absolutely  imperative,"  contin- 
ued the  master  of  the  ceremonies. 

"  Oho  !"  bawled  the  mask,  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders.  "Against  imperative  orders  there  is 
no  contending." 

The  yellow  domino  immediately  threw  off  his 
mask  and  domino,  and  revealed  to  the  astonished 
prince  and  his  attending  nobles,  a  private  trooper 
of  the  Irish  brigade,  then  in  the  service  of 
France.  At  this  unexpected  discovery,  the 
Dauphin  had  extreme  difiiculty  in  restraining 
both  his  own  and  the  mirth  of  his  attendants. 
Introducing,  however,  as  much  severity  into  his 
countenance  and  voice  as  he  could,  he  com- 
menced with  : 

"  Now,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  ravenous, 
my  good  friend — not  to  inquire  how  you  obtain- 
ed admission — how  have  you  contrived  to  sup 
to-night  so  many  times  V 

"  Many  times  !"  repeated  the  trooper.  "  Why, 
with  all  due  reverence  be  it  spoken,  sire,  I  was 
but  beginning  to  sup  when  your  royal  message 
brought  me  to  a  halt." 

"Beginning!"  exclaimed  the  Dauphia,  in 
amazement.  "  Then,  what  is  it  that  I  have 
heard  and  seen  ?  Wliere  are  the  fowls  and  the 
joints  that  have  disappeared,  along  with  the  doz- 
ens of  bottles  of  Burgundy,  claret  and  cham- 
pagne 1     I  insist  upon  knowing  how  all  this  is." 

"  It  is,  sire,"  replied  the  trooper,  after  consid- 
erable hesitation,  "it  is,  may  it  please  your 
highness's  grace,  because  the  troop  I  belong  to 
is  on  guard  to-day,  and  we  piu'chased  a  fete 
ticket  among  us,  providing  ourselves  at  the  same 
time  with  a  yellow  domino,  which  fits  us  all. 
By  this  means,  the  whole  of  our  front  rank — 
myself  being  the  last  man — have  supped,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  most  gloriously ;  and  the  first 
of  the  rear  rank — saving  your  royal  highness's 
command — is  now  below  waiting  anxiously  out- 
side the  door,  ready  to  fall  in  and  take  his  turn." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
FAIN  WOULD  I  DIE  AT  SUNSET. 

Br   WHLIAM  T.    HU-SEE. 


"  Methinks  it  were  no  pain  to  die 
On  such  an  eve.  when  such  a  sky 

O'ercanopies  the  west; 
To  gaze  my  fill  on  yon  calm  deep. 
And  like  an  infant,  sink  to  sleep 

On  earth,  my  mother's  breast." 

To  die  when  day's  effulgence  is  declining, 

When  pensive  twilight  hovers  o'er  the  lea ; 
■When  wildwood  minsti-els  are  their  notes  resigning. 

To  die  at  sunset,  is  the  time  for  me. 
How  bright  the  scenes  wonld  be  my  couch  surroundiug, 

The  murmuring  riU  imbued  with  day's  last  ray  ; 
The  bulbul's  note  through  frowning  groves  resounding. 

Would  lend  enchantment  as  I  passed  away. 

The  faithful  stars  would  be  their  vigils  keeping, 

And  holy  quiet  earth's  wide  reidms  pervade  ; 
While  whispericg  zephyrs  nature's  harp  were  sweeping, 

Then  would  I  in  obitual  state  be  laid. 
To  die  at  sunset,  when  the  crimson  river 

Eeliccta  the  glories  of  the  gorgeous  skies. 
Shall  be  tny  prayer  to  the  aU-bounteous  Giver, 

At  that  blest  hoar  I'd  walk  in  Paradise. 

At  sunset,  0  how  mystic  and  transcending, 

Are  all  the  scenes  on  God's  creation  spread ; 
The  ■winding  riU,  with  rainbow  colors  blending, 

And  gold-fringed  clouds  outstretching  OTerhead, 
Wonld  give  an  air,  at  once,  of  awe  and  splendor, 

Unfoldkig  visions  heavenly  and  sublime  ; 
While  hopes  celestial  would  my  joys  engender. 

And  waft  my  spirit  to  yon  blissful  clime. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE   MAN   OF  TASTE. 

BT  JOHN   K.   HOLMES. 

The  man  of  taste  is  not  always  a  tasty  man. 
His  coat  is  sometimes  seedy,  his  pockets  some- 
times empty,  his  beard  sometimes  longer  than 
decorum  desues.  He  does  not  generally  pay  as 
much  attention  to  the  whims  of  fashion  as  that 
goddess  might  wish ;  the  lack  of  funds  will  not 
admit,  perhaps,  even  a  partial  reverence.  Con- 
sequently he  wraps  himself  in  the  mantle  of  his 
own  dignity ;  passes  tailors  in  silence,  looks  at 
hatters  with  a  joyless  air,  and  thinks  of  the  wash- 
erwoman once  a  month.  His  time  is  so  much 
taken  up  in  the  cultivation  of  his  mind,  that  ho 
has  none  to  waste  on  his  body.  He  considers 
man  as  a  forgiving  animal — as  for  the  ladies,  he 
lets  them  walk  and  chat  with  gallants  who  can 
see  more  charms  in  them,  and  spend  more  money 
in  each  enterprise  than  he  can  conveniently  do. 
He  has  a  horror  for  lai'ge  hotels,  and  expensive 
private  boarding  houses.  Plain  dishes,  at  mod- 
est eating  houses,  agree  better  with  his  imperfect 
digestion  and  consumptive  purse.  He  is,  never- 
theless, mentally,  a  man  of  taste.  He  may  be  a 
good  citizen ;  eloquent  on  the  love  of  order  and 
tlie  rising  glories  of  his  native  land ;  gentlemanly 
in  his  conversation,  and  unostentatious  in  his 
general  bearing,  and  of  more  actual  importance 
to  his  age  and  country  than  a  score  of  zanies, 
full  of  vanity,  "la's,"  and  rich  food. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictoiial.] 
MY  LAST  MOMENT. 

BY  J.   HUNT,   JE. 

I  scarcely  breathe  ;  now  in  a  little  while. 

The  cares  of  earth  wUl  vanish  from  my  brain  ; 
No  more  will  they  my  throbbing  heart  beguile. 

Nor  pierce  my  breast  with  deep,  distressing  pain. 
My  Right  grows  dim  !  my  pulse  is  ebbing  fast, 

And  soon  must  cease  its  beat  forevennore '. 
My  mind  is  frantic  !  ah,  't  is  done  !  't  is  past ! 

The  spark  is  fled, — death's  stream  is  ferried  o'er ! 
Ton  sun  wUl  rise  to-morrow  na  to-day  ; 

The  stars  will  shine,  and  nature  yearly  bloom ; 
The  birds  will  sing,  and  upward  soar  away, 

But  I  must  slumber  in  a  di-eamless  tomb  ; 
"  Thanks  be  to  God  1"  a  faithful  conscience  cries, 
"  Thy  soul  lives  on,  for  spirit  never  dies  [" 


THE  MODERN  LANGUAGES. 

IMr.  Walsh,  a  very  competent  judge,  in  one  of 
his  letters,  says  :  "  The  Spanish  and  English  are 
the  only  modern  languages  I  would  read,  if  at 
full  liberty  to  choose.  There  are  Spanish  hooks 
that  form,  for  me,  a  richer  literary  repast  than 
any  other — Shakspeare's  works  excepted.  It  is 
an  old  remark,  that  the  trouble,  whatever  it  might 
be,  of  acquix'ing  the  tongue  of  Don  Quixote  was 
amply  compensated  by  the  pemsal  of  his  life  and 
doings  in  the  original.  "VYe  might  affirm  the  same 
of  the  History  of  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,  by 
Don  Antonio  de  Solis.  All  the  praise  which 
111*.  Ticknor  accords  to  the  style  of  that  author 
is  yet  insufficient.  To  be  duly  sensible  of  the 
superiority  of  the  Spanish  language,  read  the 
Chevalier  d'Azare's  translation  of  Middleton's 
Life  of  Cicero." — Philadelphia  Saturday  Post. 


Angel  forms  may  often  hide 
Spirits  to  the  fiends  allied. 

Jilrs.  M.  St.  Leon  Loud. 


136 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION, 


A    SERIES    OF    ILLUSTRATED    VIEWS    OF    SARATOGA    AND    ITS    SPRINGS. 


CONGRESS  HALL  AND  SPKING,  IN  1826. 


SARATOGA  SPRIIVGS. 

Saratoga,  world-renowned  Saratoga,  needs  no 
eulogium  from  our  pen,  to  annouiue  to  the  world 
that  it  deservedly  stands  the  first  amonjj;  the  wa- 
terinK-phiccs  of  our  country.  Sung  in  song, 
described  in  story,  the  subject  of  tlie  artist's  pen- 
cil and  the  poet's  pen,  it  would  be  useless  on  our 
part  to  trench  upon  the  ground  so  often  trod  by 
abler  pens.  "We  shall  content  ourselves  with 
presenting  to  our  readers  a  series  of  illustrations 
of  the  most  prominent  objects  of  interest  in  the 
village  and  neighborhood,  with  a  slight  sketch  of 
its  liistory.  Alien,  in  his  analysis  of  the  waters 
of  the  various  springs,  published  in  18,38,  gives 
the  probable  derivation  of  the  word  Saratoga 
from  Sali-rah-ka,  which  is  said  to  mean  "  side- 
hill,"  although  he  subsequently  gives  a  copy  of 
the  original  conveyance  of  the  land,  called  the 
Patent  of  Kavaderosseras,  made  by  "Joseph,  the 
Indian,  by   them  called   Te-jon-nin-ho-ge,  and 


Ilendrick,  by  them  called  De-hau-och-rak-has, 
jirincipa!  owners  to  David  Schuyler  and  Robert 
Livingston,  Jr.,  yeomen  of  the  city  of  Albany;'' 
in  whicli  patent  we  find  the  Indian  name  of  Sar- 
ogh-to-ge,  which  is  most  probably  the  true  deri- 
vation. This  patent  was  given  in  1702,  although 
it  does  not  appear  that  any  settlement  was  made 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Saratoga  until  1755, 
when  a  fort  was  erected  at  the  "  great  carrying 
place,"  and  called  "Fort  Edward."  Soon  after 
this,  settlers  located  themselves  in  various  por- 
tions of  the  county  of  Saratoga,  and  prospering 
hamlets  and  thrifty  farms  took  the  place  of  tow- 
ering forests  and  Indian  hunting  grounds.  There 
is  no  reliable  tradition  as  to  when  the  discovery 
was  first  made,  or  by  whom,  of  the  peculiarprop- 
erties  of  the  waters  in  this  neighborhood,  and 
although  the  Indian  and  the  white  hunter  were 
accustomed  to  lurk  in  the  neighborhood  in  order 
to  take  the  deer,  bears  and  other  wild  denizens 


^^--^/^^ 


^JFf^lTi  lift*  i 


UNITED  STATES  HOTEL,  AT  SARATOGA. 


of  the  forest  who  resorted  here  in  such  great 
numbers  as  to  have  beaten  paths  to  the  spring 
from  every  direction,  and  although  they  must 
have  become  acquainted  with  their  medicinal 
qualities,  still  no  general  information  was  dif- 
fused in  regard  to  them  until  1767.  In  this  year 
General  William  Johnson — who  had  been  in 
command  of  the  Britisli  army  operating  in  this 
quarter  against  the  French,  and  who  had  retired 
with  the  title  of  baronet,  and  a  wound  which 
troubled  him  for  the  rest  of  his  days — finding  no 
relief  from  the  limited  means  his  neighborhood 
afforded,  was  induced  by  the  Indians,  with  whom, 
we  are  told,  he  was  a  great  favorite  (he  was 
acting  as  Indian  agent),  to  try  the  eflficacy  of  the 
mineral  waters.  He  started  in  the  month  of 
June  or  July,  and  travelled  through  the  woods 
to  the  house  of  one  Michael  McDonald,  who  had 
just  settled  at  Ballston  Lake.  Here  they  tan-icd 
over  night,  and  reached  High  Rock  Spring,  then 


the  only  one  known,  the  next  day.  He  tarried 
here  a  number  of  days,  and  liia  health  was  per- 
fectly reinstated.  The  cure  of  so  distinguished 
a  personage  soon  brought  the  springs,  or  rather 
the  spring,  into  notice,  and  it  began  to  be  the 
resort  of  invalids  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 
It  is  incompatible  with  our  space  to  record  tho 
gradual  settlement  of  Saratoga  and  its  neighbor- 
hood. It  suffices  our  purpose  to  say  that  Iligh- 
Eock  and  Flat-Rock  were  the  only  springs  known 
until  1792,  when  three  gentlemen  who  were  stop- 
ing  here  for  their  health,  one  of  whom  was  Mr. 
J.  T.  Gilman,  who  was,  or  had  been,  a  member 
of  Congress,  and  who  were  engaged  in  gunning, 
discovered  a  small  stream  of  water  oozing  from 
the  face  of  the  rock  a  few  feet  west  of  the  present 
Congress  Spring.  Its  taste  and  other  qualities 
satisfied  them  of  its  value,  and  it  was,  out  of  re- 
spect to  its  discoverer,  and  in  view  of  the  strength 
of  its  water,  called  CoNGitEss  Spring. 


■"■-/im  Jirt 


VIEW  OF  STANWIX,  UNION,  AND  CONOIIESS  HALLS. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPvIAL   DUAWIXCx   ROOM    COI^IPANION. 


137 


HIGH  ROCK,  EMPIRE,  AJS^D  IODINE  SPRINGS. 


The  growing  fame  of  the  springs,  and  the 
great  and  increasinij  number  of  visitants,  induced 
a  Mr.  Putnam  (one  of  tlie  first  settlers  of  Sara- 
toga, and  nn  enterprising  man)  to  build  a  com- 
modious house  for  their  accommodation.  He 
commenced  it  in  1800,  and  in  1802  Putnam's 
Tavern  (now  called  Union  Hall)  Wiis  finished 
and  opened.  In  1808  Jotham  Holmes  built  the 
Columbian  Hotel,  near  the  Flat-Rock,  and  in 
1812  Mr.  Putnam  commenced  the  Congress  Hall, 
but  in  consequence  of  Mr.  P.'s  death  it  was  not 
finished  until  1815  by  one  Graudus  Van  Schoon- 
hoven.  Such  was  the  rapid  increase  of  the  pat- 
ronage, however,  that  these  were  unable  to  ac- 
commodate the  visitors,  and  in  1819  the  Pavilion 
was  opened  by  Mr.  Lewis,  and  the  United  States 
in  1824  by  Mr.  Eord.  Ail  of  these  establish- 
ments have  from  time  to  time  been  enlarged  and 
improved,  until  they  now  rank  among  the  largest 
and  most  imposing  in  the  United  States,  and  for 
good  fare  and  polite  attention  will  not  suffer  by 
comparison  with  tliose  of  any  country.  The 
village  was  incorporated  in  1827  by  the  State 
Legislature,  and,  possessing  no  advantages  for 
manufacturing  or  mercantile  pursuits,  is  indebted 
Bolely  to  its  character  as  a  "  watering  place"  for 
the  advances  it  has  heretofore  made  in  improve- 
ment and  population. 

Our  first  illustration  is  a  copy  of  a  water-color 
sketch  made  by  Judge  Walton,  which  was  found 
in  an  old  lumber  room  by  the  present  proprietors 
of  Congress  Spring,  and  I'epresents  the  appearance 
of  Congress  Spring  and  Congress  Kail  in  1826. 
The  second  picture  represents  a  portion  of  the 
south  and  east  fronts  of  the  United  States  Hotel, 
but  it  would  require  thi-ee  or  four  views  to  convey 
to  the  reader  any  idea  of  the  immensity  of  this 
establishment.  Bounding  three  sides  of  a  square, 
it  encloses  a  large  and  spacious  court-yard,  filled 
with  trees  and  flowers,  and  aff'ording  a  delightful 
retreat- in  the  heat  of  the  day.  A  band  of  music 
here  daily  discourses  the  sweetest  music  beneath 
the  spreading  foliage.  The  front  on  Broad^vay 
{east  front)  is  200  feet  long;  that  on  Division 
street  is  550  feet,  while  the  rear  wing,  including 
six  cottages,  which  are  let  to  private  families, 
measures  GOO  feet.  The  second  story  contiiins  a 
spacious  ball-room,  one  of  the  finest  in  the  coun- 
try, 150  feet  by  44,  and  22  1-2  feet  high.  The 
whole  building  contains  525  rooms,  and  every 
season  more  are  added.  The  present  proprietors 
are  Messrs.  James  M.  Marvin  &  Co. 

The  larger  illustration  on  the  opposite  page 
gives  a  view  in  Saratoga  looking  north-west,  and 
embraces  Columbian  Spring  in  tlie  foreground, 
and  Stanwix,  Union  and  Congress  Halls.  The 
dome  on  the  left  of  this  picture  covers  the  Co- 
lumbian Spring.  The  water  of  this  spring  in  its 
physical  properties  generally,  resembles  the  Con- 
gress in  all  respects,  excepting  its  saline  impreg- 
nation, which  is  evidently  much  less.  The  east 
or  Broadway  front  of  Union  Hall,  shown  in  this 
engraving,  extends  from  the  comer  of  Congress 
street  198  feet,  while  on  that  street  it  has  a  front 
•f  250  feet.  It  containsabout  175  feetof  dining- 
room  and  250  rooms,  and  can  seat  at  dinner  in 
one  room  700  persons.  On  the  right  of  the  pic- 
ture is  seen  a  portion  of  Congress  Hall. 


Next  in  our  series,  is  a  view  ot  High-Rock, 
Iodine  and  Empire  Springs.  The  first  of  these 
is  the  most  important.  Its  circumference  at  the 
base  is  26  feet  8  inclies,  and  the  opening  at  the 
top  is  nearly  circular,  and  measures  10  inches 
across.  Congress  Spring,  the  subject  of  onr  next 
engraving,  and  the  most  important  of  the  springs, 


is  situated  near  the  Union  and  Congress  Halls, 
about  eighty  rods  east  of  the  Columbian  Spring. 
When  first  discovered  it  oozed  through  the  face 
of  the  rock,  and  a  simple  trough  was  constructed 
by  which  the  water  ran  into  tumblers  held  to  re- 
ceive it.  This  did  not  satisfy  the  demand,  and 
attempts  were  made  to  obtain  a  larger  supply. 


which  resulted  in  completely  obstructing  the  flow 
of  the  water,  and  for  a  time* the  spring  was  sup-_ 
posed  to  be  irretrievably  lost.  Mr.  Putnam,  ot 
Union  Hall,  however,  noticing  bubbles  of  gas 
breaking  through  the  water  of  the  neighbormg 
brook,  constructed  a  well  surrounded  by  a  curb, 
and  thus  a  supply  greater  than  ever  was  obtained. 


CONGRESS  SPRING  AND  GROUNDS. 


138 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  G1uu80U,'b  rictorlul.J 
SORROW. 

DV  080AR   a.  UDQUAN. 

Why  UoHt  thou  como  to  mo,  sorrow? 

Why  tloBt  thou  diu-kon  my  floul ; 
Why  tlOHt  thou  point  to  a  morrow 

Eugmvon  on  deetlny's  BoroU? 

ThouRhtB,  0  wliy  mIII  you  wander 

Uiick  to  the  woarlsomo  past  ? 
"Why  will  ye  mournfully  ponder, 

Strcwiug  thy  hopes  to  tho  blast? 

Ih  not  tho  sunshine  of  pleasure 

Sliininp  bright  in  tho  pold-fringcd  flky ; 

Is  not  tho  houpt'd  up  me;i8uro 

Of  peaco  foaming  bright  to  tho  eyo? 

Aro  not  tho  clouda  of  your  morning 

Blown  from  tho  firmament's  rim  ; 
And  tho  tfturs,  through  the  wide-spreading  awning 

Of  earth,  looliing  joyously  in? 

Tliero  are  eras  in  mortal  oxistenco, 

That  cannot  be  liglited  with  joy  ; 
But  it  gives  to  tlie  spirit  assistance 

To  discover  its  gold  from  alloy. 

It  guards  ua  from  those  who  deceive, 
Whose  kisses  aro  deiith-tcUing  blows  ; 

It  teaches  us  not  to  believe 
The  horrid  assertions  of  foes. 

Then  wolcomc,  yo  moments  of  sorrow, 

As  o'or  me  ye  gloomily  roll ; 
Tho  sun  will  be  brighter  to-morrow. 

And  calmer  the  dreams  of  the  soul. 

Wliile  the  stars  from  tho  azure-roofed  ceiling, 
Shall  chant  out  their  anthems  of  bliss ; 

While  my  spirit  is  calmly  reveahng 
Tho  rapture  not  felt  until  this. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

SILVIA  MAZZANI: 

— OR — 

THE    TUSCAN    SISTEES. 

BY   STLVANUS     COBB, JR. 

In  the  southeast  section  of  Tuscany,  in  a  small 
hamlet  among  the  mountains  of  Sienna,  lived  a 
poor  goatherd  named  Antonio  Mazzani.  He 
had  two  children,  hoth  girls,  Lucetta  and  Silvia, 
the  formei"  having  seen  her  eighteenth  hirthday, 
while  tlie  latter  was  two  years  younger.  The 
season  had  been  a  disastrous  one  for  Mazzani. 
A  fatal  disease  had  made  fearful  ravages  among 
his  flocks  ;  the  small  patch  of  oranges  and  figs, 
and  the  little  vineyard,  had  been  subject  to  a 
killing  blight ;  and  when  the  autumn  closed,  he 
found  himself,  not  only  without  sufficient  suste- 
nance for  the  winter,  but  deeply  involved  in  debt, 
for  the  amount  of  which  he  had  several  months 
previously  pledged  his  cottage,  his  pastures  and 
bis  tillage.  Mazzani's  creditor  was  the  Count 
Wiccoletto  del  Brin,  a  middle-aged  man,  of  a 
most  decidedly  repulsive  appearance,  and  who 
had,  moreover,  the  reputation  of  being  a  hard- 
hearted, wicked  man. 

It  was  early  afternoon.  Mazzmii,  over  whose 
bronzed  features  the  lines  ar  uouble  were  vividly 
dra\vn,  sat  within  his  humble  dwelling,  and  near 
him  sat  the  Count  del  Brin. 

"  Count,"  said  the  old  man,  with  an  expres- 
sion that  showed  how  much  pain  he  suffered 
from  the  statement  he  had  to  make,  '*  it  is  utter- 
ly impossible  that  I  should  pay  you  this  debt  at 
present.  My  flocks  have  been  thinned,  and  my 
crops  have  failed  me.  You  surely  can  wait 
another  season." 

"  You  trespass  too  much  upon  my  kindness, 
Mazzani." 

"  It  is  not  me  that  trespasses,  Ser  Count ;  a 
power  higher  than  mine  has  brought  this  about." 

"But  that  is  no  reason  that  I  should  be  the 
loser.  Our  bargain  had  no  such  provisions.  I 
rented  you  land  and  sold  you  flocks,  and  you 
were  either  to  pay  me  in  money,  or  by  giving  up 
to  mc  this  estate.     It's  all  simple,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  The  contract  is  surely  simple,"  returned 
Mazzani,  in  faltering  accents. 

"  And  so  is  the  settlement,"  laconically  added 
del  Brin. 

"  The  thing  resolves  itself  into  this,"  said  the 
old  man,  with  a  strong  effort  at  calmness  ;  "  you 
must  either  wait  till  the  next  season,  or  I  must 
be  cast  out  from  my  home,  and  myself  and  my 
children  made  beggars." 

"I  cannot  wait." 

"  Then  I  must  be  homeless." 

"  No.     It  can  be  settled  in  another  manner." 

"  Ha!"  uttered  Mazzani,  wliile  a  beam  of  hope 
shot  athwart  liis  countenance, 

"  Yes,"   continued  the  count,  in   a  low,  half- 


whisporing  tone.  "  You  remember  a  circum- 
stance to  which  I  have  before  alluded." 

The  old  man  gazed  inquisitively  into  the  face 
of  his  interlocutor,  but  he  did  not  spcuk,  for  ho 
seemed  afraid  so  to  do. 

"  I  once  asked  you  for  the  hand  of  your 
daughter  Lucetta,"  contiruied  del  Brin. 

"And  I  refused  it,"  said  Mazzini,  in  a  tono 
more  calm  and  firm  than  ho  had  before  exhibited. 

"  Yes ;  but  now  the  case  is  different.  Give 
mc  her  hand  now,  and  I  will  not  only  wait  your 
own  lime  for  the  payment  of  the  debt,  but  I  will 
release  you  from  one  half  of  the  amount." 

"  And  would  you  make  my  child  honorably 
your  wife  V 

"  Yes.     She  is  fair." 

"  But  you  are  a  count,  and  she  a  poor  goat- 
herd's daughter." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Her  beauty  turns  the 
scale  in  her  favor." 

"  I  will  call  my  daughter,  Ser  Count," 

"If  you  please." 

The  old  man  went  to  the  door  and  called  Jiis 
daughter's  name.  She  soon  entered,  but  when 
she  saw  the  count  she  stopped,  and  a  sudden 
pallor  overspread  her  features. 

"Lucetta,"  said  her  father,  "the  Count  del 
Brin  has  asked  of  mc  youi-  hand  in  marriage. 
He  promises  to  make  you  honorably  his  wife. 
Could  you  ever  consent  V 

Slio  was  a  beautiful  girl  towliom  this  question 
was  put,  fair  and  faultless  in  form  and  feature, 
and  possessed  of  the  expression  that  marks  the 
true  and  artless  maiden.  She  started  with  a 
shudder,  and  gazed  into  her  father's  face.  There 
was  something  in  the  strange,  calm  tone  of  the 
old  man,  something  in  the  firm-set  expression  of 
his  face,  that  struck  terror  to  the  poor  girl's 
heart,  and  glued  her  tongue  in  silence. 

" My  child,"  continued  Mazzani,  "could  you 
ever  be  happy  as  his  wife  V 

"  No,  no ;  I  should  be  wretched,  miserable !" 
and  as  she  thus  murmured,  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  parent's  bosom. 

Mazzani  gently  raised  her  head,  and  placing 
his  hand  npon  her  brow,  he  looked  for  a  moment 
into  her  pain-dimmed  eyes.  The  whole  expres- 
sion of  his  features  changed  as  if  by  magic,  and 
then  tm-ning  to  the  count,  he  said : 

"  Ser  Count,  you  have  your  answer." 

"  Do  you  refuse  me  her  hand '?"  asked  Nicco- 
letto  del  Brin,  his  face  tiu*ning  darker  with  rage 
and  chagrin. 

"  You  hear  what  she  has  said." 

"  Then  you  refuse  me  1" 

"  Yes." 

"And  you  will  be  turned  out  from  your 
home !" 

"  Niccoletto  del  Brin,"  returned  the  old  man, 
with  his  hand  still  upon  Lucetta's  head,  "  my 
house,  my  lands  and  my  flocks  I  am  not  respon- 
sible for.  If  blight  and  disease  fall  upon  them, 
they  must  go,  and  somewhere  upon  the  earth  I 
may  find  a  new  home ;  but  God  gave  me  my 
children  that  I  might  make  them  happy,  I  have 
no  right  to  make  them  miserable,  nor  does  the 
wish  dwell  in  my  heart.  Tliis  sweet  flower,  once 
^itheixd  'neath  the  blight  of  lasting  misery,  can 
never  be  restored  to  me.  You  may  take  all  else 
of  mine,  but  you  cannot  have  my  child." 

"  Then  you  must  give  up  this  place  to  me," 
said  del  Bi'in,  rising  from  his  seat,  and  gazing 
angrily  npon  his  debtor.  "  You  have  had  your 
choice,  and  you  must  now  abide  the  consequen- 
ces." 

"  0,  sir !"  cried  Lucetta,  starting  from  her  fa- 
ther's side,  and  raising  her  hands  towards  the 
count,  "  let  us  have  time  to  think  of  this.  I  can 
never  love  you,  for  you  know  that  my  heart  is 
already  given  to  another ;  but  yet  I  cannot  see 
my  poor  old  father  cast  homeless  upon  the 
world." 

"  The  decision  may  yet  rest  with  you,"  re- 
turned del  Brin,  a  beam  of  sensual  hope  spring- 
ing to  his  face. 

"  Only  give  mc  time.  Let  mo  see  Francis- 
co— " 

"  Hush,  my  child !"  internipted  her  father, 
while  a  bright  tear  glistened  in  either  eye.  "  I 
am  now  an  old  man,  and  I  believe  I  never 
wronged  a  human  being,  and  now,  now,  I  cannot 
commence  by  so  deeply  wronging  my  own  child. 
No,  no  ;  the  sacrifice  shall  not  be  made." 

"  But  you,  father.  I  should  do  wrong  to  see 
you  turned  a  beggar  upon  the  cold  world.  You 
who  gave  me  life,  and  have  supported  me  through 
helpless  childhood." 

"Lucetta,  God  has  stricken  my  fiocks,  but  he 
has  not  called  npon  me  to  bend  you  beneath  a 
lieavicr  yoke.     From  honest  poverty  wo  may 


rise  again,  but  from  tho  yoke  this  man  would 
place  upon  you,  you  could  never  be  redeemed. 
No  !  my  mind  Ih  made  up.  We  will  yet  remain 
together," 

"  You  have  chosen  your  own  road,  and  now 
you  may  ti'avcl  it,"  muttered  del  Brin,  "  I  will 
give  you  one  week  in  which  to  vacate  these  prem- 
ises. And  let  me  tell  you,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  Lucetta,  "  that  you  will  have  but;  a 
son-y  Inisband  in  young  Francisco  Biscati,  for  I 
have  a  hand  upon  him  too.'* 

There  was  a  bitter  reply  upon  the  lips  of  the 
old  man,  but  he  repressed  it,  and  motioned  for 
his  daughter  to  leave  the  room. 

"  You  will  repent  of  this,"  muttered  the  count, 
between  his  clenched  teeth. 

"  An  honest  man  need  never  repent  of  having 
done  his  duty,"  proudly  returned  Mazzani.  "In 
one  week,  sir,  you  sliall  have  the  fulfilment  of 
your  bond." 

Count  del  Brin  scowled  upon  the  unfortunate 
old  man,  and  muttering  a  curse  ho  left  the 
cottage. 


In  the  evening,  Mazzani's  little  family  were 
assembled  beneatli  his  roof,  and  with  them  was 
young  Frabcisco  Biscati.  The  latter  was  en- 
gaged in  the  same  occupation  that  had  given  a 
livelihood  to  Mazzani,  and  he  had  suffered  from 
the  same  causes  that  bad  beset  his  old  friend. 
He  held  the  hand  of  Lucetta  in  his  own,  and  his 
handsome  features  were  darkened  by  a  cloud  of 
anguish. 

"  And  is  it  not  enough  that  the  hard-hearted 
man  should  grasp  upon  our  property  without 
seeking  to  drag  our  fairest  maidens  into  the  lust 
of  his  power?  No;  beneath  my  own  roof  we 
can  all  find  shelter  for  the  present,  and  should 
worst  come  to  worst,  we  can  but  take  the  chances 
of  thousands  who  have  ere  now  been  without 
homes.  Dear  Lucetta,  I  would  rather  die  than 
give  you  up." 

"  You  shall  not,"  answered  the  fair  girl,  as 
she  returned  her  lover's  ardent  gaze.  "  Some- 
thing must  turn  up  to  befriend  us." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Mazzani,  breaking  out  from 
a  fit  of  absorbing  thought,  "  how  stands  your 
property,  Francisco  ?  Del  Brin  hinted  that  ho 
had  a  hand  upon  you." 

"  Alas !  and  so  he  has.  "Wlien  the  grand 
duke  gave  him  this  extensive  grant,  my  place 
came  in  with  the  rest.  I  did  not  buy  of  him  as 
you  did,  but  I  fear  that  I  shall  have  no  means  to 
pay  my  rent,  but  that  does  not  fall  due  till  spring, 
and  by  that  time — " 

The  young  man  hesitated,  for  the  hope  he 
would  have  pictured  had  no  back  ground. 

"  I  fear  you  will  be  worse  off"  than  now,"  the 
old  man  concluded  for  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  speak  the  truth,"  despondently 
assented  Francisco.  "But,  at  all  events,  we  can 
raise  enough  to  support  us  till  that  time.'* 

"  No,  no,"  returned  Mazzani,  "  that  cannot  be. 
I  can  never  consent  to  live  upon  the  result  of 
your  hard  labor.  As  it  is,  you  may  make  out 
to  pay  your  rent  in  the  spi'ing,  but  you  cannot 
do  it  if  I  drag  upon  you  during  the  whole  long, 
wet  winter.  I  will  betake  mc  to  the  mountains, 
and  gain  my  sustenance  from  the  forests.  I 
could  hunt  when  I  was  young,  nor  am  I  too  old 
yet." 

There  was  one  there  who  had  not  yet  spoken, 
and  that  was  Silvia  Mazzani.  She  was  equally 
as  fair  as  her  elder  sister,  though  somewhat 
more  slight  in  her  frame.  Her  eyes  were  darker 
tlian  Lucetta's,  and  larger,  and  they  sparkled 
with  a  fire  of  intensity  that  never  gleamed  in  the 
other's.  Her  hair  was  black,  too,  as  the  plum- 
age of  the  raven,  and  it  hung  in  trembling,  curl- 
ing ringlets  over  her  shoulders.  Few,  if  any, 
had  ever  read  her  character  aright.  Her  six- 
teenth birthday  had  found  lier  a  half-wild,  way- 
ward creature,  jealous  of  restraint,  ever  wander- 
ing among  the  wildest  of  her  native  scenery, 
and  listening  for  hours  to  the  murmur  of  the 
brooklet,  or  the  song  of  the  mountain  bird. 

When  her  father  spoke,  she  had  been  standing 
at  the  little  latticed  window,  gazing  off  at  tlie 
point  where  tho  bold  Apennines  stood  up  against 
the  evening  sky,  but  as  he  closed,  she  turned 
quickly  aboiit,  and  started  towards  the  centre  of 
the  room. 

"  Would  you  wear  out  the  evening  of  your 
life  among  yonder  mountains'?"  she  asked,  with 
a  depth  of  expression  that  startled  her  three 
companions. 

"  If  the  good  of  my  children  require  it,  yes," 
returned  the  old  man.  "I  cannot  see  you  cast 
unprotected  and  unprovided  for  upon  the  world." 

"  Nor  shall  your  children  see   you   suffering 


fiuch  an  existence  for  their  sakes,"  exclaimed 
SUvia,  with  increasing  enthusiasm.  Sixteen 
years  have  1  lived  upon  your  labor — " 

"No,  no,  my  child;  you  have  been  a  help  to 
mc,  a  80U1CL'  of  joy  and  comfort,  the  ycry  foun- 
tain, you  and  Lucetta,  of  my  soul's  happiness." 

"  And  yet  we  have  lived  upon  ytjurhard  labor. 
To  bo  sure,  since  our  poor  motlicr  died,  we  have 
helped  to  tend  your  flocks,  and  have  gathered 
your  olives,  but  that  waa  mere  sport — it  was 
pastime  for  us.  The  time  has  now  come  when 
we  eiiould  lielp  our  father.  His  days  are  draw- 
ing to  the  silvery  night  of  an  honest  life,  age  hag 
marked  him  witli  its  weighty  finger,  and  a  giant 
evil  hangs  over  him.  Lucetta,  you  shall  stay 
and  nurse  him,  and  be  a  companion  to  Francis- 
co, while  I  go  forth  and  gather  for  him  suste- 
nance. If  we  all  live  for  one  moi-e  year,  he  shall 
yet  dwell  beneath  the  shelter  of  his  own  home — 
a  home  from  which  the  hand  of  God  alone  can 
turn  him  forth." 

Mazzani,  Lucetta  and  Francisco  were,  for  a 
moment,  confounded  by  this  outpouring  of  the 
young  girl's  soul.  The  old  man  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  and  while  the  big  tears  rolled 
doAvn  his  cheeks,  he  asked  : 

"  Silvia,  my  child,  what  would  you  V 

"  Save  my  father." 

"  I  know  you  would  if  yon  could,  and,  per- 
haps, your  wild,  untaught  fancy  points  your 
mind  to  some  airy  castle  you  fain  would  build. 
Ah  !  my  daughter,  you  are  too  young." 

"Father,  listen  to  me.  With  my  voice  I  can 
call  the  birds  from  their  haunts,  and  chain  even 
the  wild  chamois  with  my  melody.  The  good 
monks  of  Saint  Montani  have  wondered  at  my 
vocal  powers,  and  the  abbot  has  given  me  much 
instmction.  I  will  go  to  Florence.  I  will  work 
for  some  good  teacher,  and  gain  more  instruction. 
I  will,  I  will—" 

"  My  child,  my  child,"  murmured  the  old  man, 
clasping  the  inspired  girl  to  his  bosom,  "  you  are 
too  young ;  but  God  bless  you  for  your  noble 
heart!" 

"  Father,"  exclaimed  Silvia,  brushing  away 
her  tears,  "  did  you  ever  know  mc  to  resolve  to 
do  a  wrong  thing  1" 

"No." 

"  And  did  I  ever  undertake  a  thing  without 
succeeding  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  upon  this  I  am  resolved.  Do  not  at- 
tempt to  dissuade  me  from  it.  The  monks  will 
assist  me,  and  help  me  on  my  way." 

"  But  the  distance,  my  child." 

"  The  good  abbot  says  it  is  but  seventy-five 
miles." 

"  And  how  will  you  make  that  1" 

"  As  I  have  learned  to  clamber  my  own  native 
mountains,"  returned  Silvia,  with  a  look  of  burn- 
ing, flashing  pride.  "  Let  it  be  as  I  have  said. 
Lucetta  shall  stay  with  you,  and  she  shall  be  all 
here  that  we  could  both  be.  Say,  my  sister,  shall 
it  not  be  so?" 

Lucetta  stepped  forward,  and  threw  her  arms 
about  lier  sister's  neck.  She  remonstrated,  she 
argued,  and  she  pleaded,  but  it  was  with  relenting 
tones,  and  erethefamily  retired  to  rest  that  night, 
Silvia  Mazzani  had  carried  her  point. 


In  a  few  days  the  young  heroine  had  made  all 
the  preparations  for  her  departure.  The  kind 
monks,  with  whom  she  had  ever  lx;en  a  favorite, 
had  furnished  her  with  a  sum  of  money  sufficient 
to  meet  her  immediate  expenses,  and  the  abbot 
had  given  her  a  letter  to  Bernardo  Maletti,  a 
Florentine  chorister.  She  received  the  parting 
blessings  of  her  father  and  sister,  felt  their  tears 
bedewing  her  cheeks,  and  with  a  parting  adieu, 
she  turned  away.  She  dared  not  look  npon  the 
cottage  of  her  childhood,  till  she  had  reached  a 
point  where  she  could  neither  see  nor  hear  the 
grief  of  her  friends,  and  when  she  reached  that 
spot,  she  stopped  and  tuiTied.  A  prayer  trem- 
bled upon  her  lips,  her  eyes  were  turned  a  mo- 
ment heavenward,  and  then  she  sped  on.  A 
new  and  strange  world  was  before  her. 

Before  dark  she  reached  a  small  village,  a 
short  distance  from  An-azzo,  where  she  spent  tho 
night.  She  told  her  simple  story  to  the  host. 
He  knew  the  bad  cliaracter  of  Del  Brin,  and  ho 
would  take  nothing  for  her  food  or  lodging;  but, 
on  the  next  moa'uing,  he  procured  her  a  convey- 
ance, as  far  as  Figlino,  in  a  hea^-y  market  wagon. 
This  simple  act  taught  her  that  the  world  was 
not  all  had,  and  that  there  were  many  kind 
licarts  even  among  strangers  ;  and,  moreover,  it 
gave  her  new  strength  and  courage. 

Her  companion  of  the  market  wagon  was  a 
generous,  talkative  follow,  full  of  anecdote  and 


GLEASON'S   PICTOniAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


139 


Story,  and  after  he  had  talked  for  an  horn-,  ho 
attempted  to  entertain  his  young  companion  with 
a  song.  She  could  not  but  smile,  and  yet  it  was 
a  pathetic  ballad  he  had  sung,  and  one,  too, 
which  bore  strongly  upon  Tuscan  sympathy. 

"  Tou  sraile,"  said  the  singer,  with  a  slight 
figure  in  his  manner. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir.  I  was  thinking  if  I  could 
sing  that  same  song." 

"  Try  it ;  and  if  you  do  it  as  well  as  I  did,  I'll 
promise  you  not  to  laugh." 

Silvia  commenced  the  song.  The  very  trees 
seemed  redolent  with  music,  and  the  air  was 
fairly  filled  mth  the  soft  cadence  of  her  rich 
voice.  At  the  end  of  the  first  verse,  the  listener 
let  fall  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and  by  the  time 
she  had  finished  the  piece,  the  Iiorses  were  pick- 
ing theu'  own  way.  The  man's  lips  trembled, 
and  his  bosom  swelled.  In  his  simple  nature  he 
bad  learned  of  no  applause,  save  such  as  the  soul 
lets  out  upon  the  speaking  features.  At  length 
he  picked  up  his  reins,  and  made  out  to  utter  : 

"  I  shall  never  sing  again.  My  voice  would 
frighten  me !" 

"  O,  yes,  yes  !  You  must  sing  to  me,"  said 
Silvia,  who  was  really  delighted  with  her  com- 
panion's simple  and  touching  compliment. 

The  man  did  sing  again,  and  then  his  passen- 
ger sang,  and  thus  passed  the  time  till  near  noon, 
when  they  arrived  at  Figlino.  Here  Sihia  got 
her  dinner,  and  wlien  she  offered  to  pay  for  it, 
she  was  informed  that  the  wagoner  had  already 
paid  it.  She  would  have  thanked  her  kind  fi-iend 
for  this  modest  mark  of  his  favor,  but  he  had 
gone.  That  night  she  stopped  within  ten  miles 
ofthe  Ai-no,  and  before  noon  on  the  next  day 
she  entered  the  city  of  Elorence. 

She  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  the  resi- 
dence of  Maletti,  and  what  was  more  fortunate 
still,  he  was  also  the  director  of  the  grand  opera. 
Maletti  read  the  letter  from  the  monk,  and  then 
he  listened  to  Silvia's  story,  which  seemed  to  in- 
terest him  much. 

"  So  you  think  you  can  make  a  singer?"  he 
said,  in  his  usual  business  way. 

"  I  can  try,  sir,"  was  the  modest  reply. 

"  That's  something  gained.  Now  let'^  hear 
your  voice." 

The  young  girl  trembled,  for  she  felt  herself  to 
be  in  the  presence  of  the  man  who  was  to  raise 
or  blast  her  hopes  forever,  and  he  did  really  re- 
gard her  with  a  stern  and  cool  expression ;  but 
she  had  yet  courage  enough  left  to  make  the 
trial,  however,  and  she  sang  one  of  her  native 
ballads. 

Not  a  muscle  of  Maletti's  countenance  changed, 
and  Silvia's  heart  almost  sank  within  her.  That 
was  the  prettiest  thing  she  knew,  for  it  breathed 
the  air  of  her  native  hills. 

"  Do  you  know  any  otiier  kind  of  music  ?" 

"  A  little,  sh*,  that  some  of  the  monks  have 
taught  me." 

"  What  is  it  V 

"  I  know  some  of  Soriano's  canons  upon  the 
Ave  Maria  Stella," 

"  Ah  !"  and  the  chorister*s  face  started  slight- 
ly from  its  cold  aspect.  "  Sing  me  one  of 
them." 

Silvia  obeyed.  Her  tone  may  have  trembled, 
but  it  detracted  nothing  from  the  power  of  the 
singer's  voice.  The  monks  of  St.  Montani  had 
understood  most  thoroughly  the  beauties  of  Sori- 
ano's sacred  canons,  and  their  young  pupil  had 
not  forgotten  the  instructions  they  had  freely 
given  her,  and  given  her,  too,  when  she  little 
thought  that  they  would  ever  be  of  use  to  her. 
As  she  closed  the  trembling  cadence,  where  the 
voice  dies  away  like  the  whispering  of  distant 
angels,  the  old  director  held  his  breath,  but 
neither  his  features  nor  tongue  spoke  the  senti- 
ments of  his  soul.  For  a  full  minute  he  gazed 
into  the  girl's  face  in  silence — it  seemed  an  age 
to  her. 

"  So  you  seek  to  save  your  father  from  beg- 
gary"?" he  said,  at  length,  while  an  almost  im- 
perceptible spark  of  kindness  gleamed  in  his  eye. 

"  My  father  and  sister,  sir,  and  myself  too," 
Silvia  returned,  in  a  tremulous  tone. 

"  What  dresses  have  you  V 

"  The  one  I  liave  on,  and — " 

"  Never  mind.  I  suppose  you  have  on  your 
best." 

"We  were  poor,  sir, — very  poor."  And  as 
the  girl  spoke,  a  pearly  drop  rolled  down  her 
fair  check. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  see.  I  know — .  We  can  find 
you  a  dress  at  the  opera. — We  have  a  rehearsal 
this  afternoon ;  you  shall  go  with  me ;  you  will 
be  delighted, — You  never  heard  a  large  orches- 
tra ?" 


"No,  sir." 

Twice  slie  attempted  to  speak  further  before 
she  succeeded,  aud  even  tlien  it  was  almost  an 
inaudible  whisper. 

"  Can  I  sing,  sir  1" 

"  Sing  ?"  echoed  the  director,  starting  up  from 
his  seat.  "  Sing  1"  and  then  he  stood  and  looked 
at  the  trembling  applicant.  "  Sing  ?  Yes,  lil:e 
a  seraph  .'" 

Silvia  Mazzani  sank  into  a  chair,  completely 
overpowered  by  the  emotions  that  raged  in  her 
soul. 


The  people  of  Florence  were  startled  one  day 
by  the  announcement  of  a  "Jirst  appearance"  at 
the  opera,  and  the  director  had  not  forgotten  to 
state  all  the  particulars  connected  with  the  fair 
debutante:  her  sufferings ;  the  aflftction  that  led 
her  to  seek  the  public  sympathy,  and  the  beauties 
of  her  voice,  etc. 

The  evening  amved.  The  immense  opera 
house  was  packed.  The  first  piece  went  off"  with 
the  usual  amount  of  applause.  The  director 
came  to  Sihia  Mazzani  and  bade  her  prepare. 
Her  first  piece  was  to  be  one  of  the  sweet  nation- 
al ballads  of  her  own  land,  and  she  had  rehearsed 
it  with  the  orchestra  several  times.  She  heard 
the  tinkling  of  a  hell,  and  in  a  moment  more  a 
man  came  and  spoke  to  Maletti. 

"  Courage,  coiu'age,"  whispered  the  director. 
"  The  cm'tain  is  up.  Look  at  the  people  and 
smile,  but  try  to  make  them  appear  like  the  trees 
of  your  native  mountains.  I  will  introduce  you. 
Come !" 

Silvia  was  led  upon  the  stage.  She  saw  one 
blaze  of  gorgeous  light,  through  wdiich  gleamed 
a  myriad  jewels,  and  she  saw  faces,  too,  and  she 
thought  they  beamed  kindly  upon  her.  Then 
came  the  sound  of  thundering  feet  and  clapping 
hands.  Instinctively  she  courtesied,  and  moved 
toward  the  foot-lights ;  then  the  orchestra  com- 
menced a  plaintive  symphony,  and  the  anxious 
audience  were  still  as  the  grave. 

Poor  Silvia  would  have  resigned  all  her  hopes 
to  have  been  at  that  moment  at  her  home.  She 
was  bewildered — frightened.  Tmce  she  at- 
tempted to  sound  the  first  note,  but  it  came  not 
forth. 

"  Remember  T/ow  poor  beggared  father  I"  fell  in  a 
low  tone  upon  her  ears. 

She  tm'ned  towards  the  wing  and  saw  the 
director.  The  blood  came  rushing  once  more  to 
her  face  ;  her  heart  leaped  up  from  beneath  the 
leaden  weight;  she  took  another  step  foi-ward, 
and  then  she  commenced.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  verse,  the  stage  was  literally  groaning  be- 
neath its  weight  of  flowers,  and  as  she  saw  the 
kind  looks  that  greeted  her  upon  all  hands,  she 
took  courage.  The  effort  was  over;  she  had 
passed  the  fearful  ordeal,  and  once  more  she  was 
alone,  but  yet  the  ponderous  walls  were  trem- 
bling with  the  shouts  of  applause  that  awoke  the 
very  thunders  of  heaven  from  their  rest. 

ilaletti  was  again  by  her  side. 

"  You  must  go  on  again,"  he  said.  "  The 
people  must  have  that  song  once  more.  Cour- 
age, courage,  Silvia,  for  you  have  nobly  con- 
quered. Every  heart  in  Florence  will  be  yours 
in  a  week !" 


Winter,  with  its  cold  rains  and  bleak  winds, 
had  passed  away,  and  genial  spring  was  smiling 
upon  the  mountains,  the  hills,  the  vales,  and  the 
streams  of  Tuscany.  The  gentle  breeze  laughed 
amid  the  foliage  ;  the  warm  sunlight  danced  o'er 
the  budding  vines  and  blossoming  trees,  and  na- 
ture once  more  sat  robed  in  her  garments  of  regal 
power.  But  amid  all  this  loveliness  and  beauty, 
there  were  sad  and  heavy  hearts. 

Within  the  cottage  of  Francisco  Biscati,  to- 
wards tlie  middle  of  the  day,  were  collected  An- 
tonio Mazzani,  Lucetta  and  Francisco,  and,  mth 
his  back  against  the  window,  stood  Niccoletto 
del  Brin.  Old  Mazzani  sat  upon  a  low  stool, 
with  his  fun'owed  brow  resting  upon  his  open 
palms ;  his  daughter  knelt  by  liis  side,  with  her 
right  hand  upon  her  father's  knee,  while  with  the 
other  she  was  endeavoring  to  remove  his  hands 
from  his  brow.  The  young  man  was  standing 
close  by,  gazing  with  intense  agony  upon  the 
scene. 

"  Fathei",  dear  father,  arouse  from  this  des- 
pondency.    Life  is  yet  left  to  us." 

"Ay,  Lucetta,  and  what  a  life  it  must  be!  We 
are  beggars,  and  we  have  been  the  means  of 
dragging  Francisco  do^^m  with  us." 

"Antonio  Mazzani,"  pronounced  the  young 
man,  stepping  forward  and  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  old  man's  shoulder,  "if  you  love  me,  never 
let  me  hear  that  word  again.  You  have  not 
dragged  me  down.  Fate  has  taken  from  us  our 
means,  and  this  cruel  man  has  done  the  rest." 


Del  Brin  scowled  fiercely  upon  the  young 
speaker,  and,  with  a  cm-l  of  scorn  about  his  lips, 
he  rcturaed : 

"This  is  all  of  your  own  choosing.  I  once 
offered  you  the  means  of  redemption,  and  you 
refused  them.  Now  you  reap  the  consequences. 
And  even  yet,  if  you  give  me  the  hand  of  Lucet- 
ta, you  shall  have  your  homes  again." 

At  tlie  sound  of  that  voice,  old  Mazzani  start- 
ed to  his  feet. 

"  Out  upon  thee !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  turned 
his  full  gaze  upon  the  count.  "  The  vulture 
does  not  wed  the  dove  for  good,  neither  does  the 
Tuscan  noble  seek  the  hand  of  the  goatherd's 
daughter  with  lionorable  intent.  Beggaiy  is  bad 
enough,  but  to  be  childless — ay,  worse  than  child- 
less— would  be  insufferable.  Del  Brin,  take  the 
cottage,  the  lands,  and  the  flocks,  and  then  I 
would  not  change  places  mth  thee." 

"AndliaV/  take  them.  You  have  had  fan- 
warning;  your  time  is  up.  Go  forth  now,  beg- 
gai's  that  yc  are,  ere  you  are  tmiied  out  by 
force !" 

"  Come,  Lucetta — " 

*'  No,  no ;  he  will  not  turn  us  out.  0,  father, 
Francisco,  let  me  be  the  sacrifice!" 

Del  Brin  smiled  a  grim  smile. 

"  Never,"  firmly  said  the  old  man.  "  I  would 
rather  lay  you  down  beneath  the  mountain  forest, 
there  to  rest  till  the  resurrection  morn.  Come, 
we  will  go." 

Mazzani  took  his  child  by  the  hand  as  he 
spoke,  and  would  have  led  her  forth,  but  at  that 
moment  the  sound  of  coach  wheels  was  heard  in 
the  road,  and  ere  long  a  splendid  vehicle  drew 
up  near  the  cot.  Del  Brin  turned  to  look  out  at 
the  window,  and  while  yet  the  old  man  wonder- 
ed at  this  strange  arrival,  a  richly-dressed  female 
rushed  into  the  apartment. 

"  Father,  sister,  Francisco !"  she  cried,  and 
with  one  bound  she  hung  upon  Mazzani's  neck. 
Then  she  sprang  to  the  half  stupified  Lucetta, 
and  laughed  and  cried  as  she  twined  her  arms 
about  her. 

It  was  Silvia  Mazzani,  and  as  her  bright 
presence  shed  its  halo  about  the  place,  the  old 
man  knew  that  he  was  saved.  Lucetta  knew 
that  she  was  redeemed,  while  Francisco,  iu  the 
nobleness  of  his  soul,  thought  only  of  the  happi- 
ness he  witnessed. 

"  Come,  arc  you  going'?"  uttered  Del  Brin, 
with  a  bitter  curse  upon  his  lips. 

"  Ah !  here  is  the  count  himself,"  said  Silvia, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  manner  to  a  queenly 
grace  and  dignity.  "  So  you  are  still  at  your 
persecutions,  I  see." 

"  O,  sister  can  you  redeem  our  poor  old 
father's  home  V  murmured  Lucetta. 

"It's  too  late  now,"  interrupted  Del  Brin, 
with  a  stamp  of  his  foot,  "  The  places  ai-c  both 
forfeited." 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,  Ser  Count,"  said  Silvia, 
with  a  pi'oud  look.  "  Here  is  a  letter  from  the 
Grand  Duke  Ferdinand.  Read  that  ere  you 
make  up  your  mind  on  that  point." 

The  count  took  the  letter,  and  with  a  nervous 
hand,  he  tore  it  open.  As  he  read  it  his  cheek 
blanched,  and  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 
Silvia  waited  till  he  had  read  it  through,  and 
then  she  said : 

"  The  same  conveyance,  Count  del  Brin,  that 
brought  me,  will  take  you  back  to  Florence, 
though  I  had  not  expected  to  find  you  so 
readily." 

Two  of  the  ducal  guards,  who  had  attended 
Silvia,  were  called  into  the  cottage,  and  ere  long, 
Del  Brin  was  on  his  way  to  the  Palazzo  Vecchia. 

Silvia  Mazzani  sat  down  with  her  now  happy 
friends,  and  told  them  all  that  had  passed  since 
she  left  her  native  roof.  Her  first  reception  in 
Florence  had  been  the  means  of  sealing  for  her 
a  brilliant  fate.  The  native  sweetness  of  her 
voice  had  chained  all  souls ;  the  depth  of  her 
pathos  had  brought  all  hearts  at  the  shrine  of  her 
genius ;  and  the  generosity,  the  modesty,  the 
loveliness  of  her  nature  had  not  failed  to  create 
friends  and  admirers  on  all  hands.  The  Grand 
Duke  Ferdinand  had  become  her  especial  patron ; 
and  upon  her  representation  to  him  of  the  char- 
acter and  doings  of  the  Count  del  Brin,  he  had 
ordered  the  appearance  of  the  latter  at  the  ducal 
palace. 

Silvia  spent  a  month  at  home,  and  during  that 
time  she  bought  both  the  estates  u]jon  which  her 
father  and  Francisco  had  lived,  and  ere  she  re- 
turned again  to  the  profession  she  had  adopted, 
she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Francisco  and 
Lucetta  united,  her  fi\ther  made  happy  and  bless- 
ed in  his  old  age,  an^flnpf  knowing  that  the 
Count  Niccoletto  del  B^Pnad  been  deprived  of 
his  extensive  grant  of  land  in  Sienna. 


Silvia  Mazzani  had  filled  the  whole  of  south- 
em  Europe  witli  her  fame,  when  the  inducements 
of  a  young  Florentine  noble  drew  her  from  the 
public  ;  but  as  a  wife  and  mother,  a  friend  and 
neighbor,  she  still  shines  in  the  bright  social  cir- 
cles of  Florence,  an  oniament  to  society,  and  a 
striking  example  of  what  a  loving  and  true- 
hearted  woman  can  accomplish. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TRIBUTE  TO  HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW, 

BY   CHAKLES   LELAND  PORTER. 

I  've  listened  to  thy  magic  numbers, 

I  've  dwelt  upon  their  winning  power 
When  other  souls  were  ^vrapt  in  slumbers, 

When  darkness  veiled  the  midnight  hour. 
I  've  seen  the  good  ship,  strong  and  true, 

Proudly  embrace  the  yielding  billow  j 
While  thy  noble  bark  was  yet  in  view, 

How  could  I  press  my  waiting  pillow ! 

Ay,  many  yet  will  Hve  to  praise, 

And  life  will  have  its  joyous  hours  ; 
Thou  givest  a  pleasure  to  our  days, 

Thy  Psalm  hath  strewn  the  way  with  flowers. 
Hope  leaps  exulting  in  each  bosom, 

We  can  but  feel  that  "  life  is  earnest;" 
Thy  poesy  will  proudly  blossom 

Long  after  thou  "  to  dust  returnest." 

Thy  name  is  written,  not  on  sand, 

Nor  yet  upon  the  yielding  waters ; 
'Tis  found  throughout  our  native  land, 

On  the  hearts  of  all  her  sons  and  daughters. 
The  world  hath  ^ong  pronounced  thee  Fame's, 

Mountains  send  back,  the  glad  reply  ; 
"  One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 

That  were  not  boni  to  die  I" 


PARAGON  OF  A  M'lFE. 

I  doubt  if  Adam  was  much  stronger  or  happier 
when  he  was  created  than  is  my  brother  at  this 
moment ;  and  I  don't  believe  Eve  was  half  as 
strong  lunged  and  energetic  as  my  new  sister-in- 
law.  Why,  she  oils  the  tables,  and  makes  tho 
jam,  and  prepares  the  breakfast,  and  makes  tho 
butter,  and  glorifies  in  the  dinner,  and  attends  in 
all  particulars  to  the  affairs  of  the  household,  as 
if  neither  canker  nor  consumption  were  on  tho 
earth.  From  morning  till  night  she  is  all  ener- 
gy, all  life,  all  decision,  and  strong  heartedness. 
And  then,  as  to  being  at  ease — if  she  had  been 
bom  married  she  couldn't  be  more  so.  There  is 
not  a  quailing  of  eye,  nor  a  trembling  of  nerve — 
so  far  as  I  can  see — in  her  conquering  life  ;  for 
she  goes  forth  like  a  conqueror.  She  is  inex- 
pressible ;  as  if  she  never  knew  what  a  doubt 
meant.  Then  she  is  so  well-looking.  Brown- 
eyed,  small-eared,  with  a  gracious  expression; 
and  such  rich  wavy  hair,  in  its  neat  braids  or  its 
graceful  aboundingness,  I  almost  feel  as  if  she 
might  have  contended  the  point  with  Cceur  de 
Lion  or  Saladin.  I  am  beside  myself  with  ad- 
miration and  astonishment.  And  when  she 
makes  the  jam,  she  does  not  mix  diiferent  sorts 
of  apples ;  and  her  custards  arc  delicious  ;  and 
her  pies  are  not  only  good,  but  pretty.  And 
she  makes  catsup.  0,  you  can't  think  what  a 
paragon  she  is !  Then  she  wTites  letters,  and 
despatches  them ;  and  makes  my  brother  put  up 
his  cap,  and  keep  tidy ;  and  she  says :  "  Hisk, 
out  of  that,  cat!"  loud  enough  to  destroy  the 
nerves  of  a  delicate  cat.  And  she  minds  the 
dairy;  and  feeds  the  calves;  and  sends  her  young 
sister  Mary  up  and  down,  and  round  about ;  and 
gives  stirabout  to  beggars,  and  sends  them  about 
then  business  in  the  most  unexceptionably  clever 
manner.  I  never  was  so  stiiick  do\vn  with  as- 
tonishment as  at  the  sight  of  this  girl ;  and,  with 
all,  she  is  never  excited — never  at  all  surprised. 
— Letters  from  Home. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Tictorial.] 
LINES  TO  NATURE. 


BT  jr.  ALFOED. 


Nature's  pure  and  holy  work 

Needs  not  patch,  nor  paint,  to  win 

The  admiration  of  man's  discerning  eye. 

When  nature,  kind,  displays  her  skill, 
And  frames  a  heavenly  face  and  mien ; 

How  vain  to  counteract  her  will, 

Where  angel  features  might  be  seen ! 

Her  beauty  needs  no  mortal  aid, 

It  ever  brightens  in  the  good  ; 
Believe  me,  nature  never  made 

A  gay  coquette,  or  formal  prude. 

The  glare  of  tinsel  vanity, 

The  shallow  mind  may  chance  approve ; 
But  Fensc  and  heaven-born  modesty 

Must  win  the  soul,  the  seat  of  love. 

The  blooming  girl  whom  these  adorn, 
Her  sex's  folly  marks  with  shame  ; 
While  radiant  as  the  rays  of  mom, 

lines  forth  in  her  sweet  nature's  fame, 

<     ^a^    > 

RICHES. 

Riches  oftentimes,  if  nobody  takes  them  away, 
make  to  themselves  wings  and  flyaway;  and 
truly,  many  a  time  the  undue  sparing  of  them  is 
but  letting  their  wings  grow,  which  makes  them 
ready  to  flyaway;  and  the  contributing  a  part 
of  tliem  to  do  good  only  clips  their  wings  a  lit- 
tle, and  makes  them  stay  tlie  longer  with  their 
owner. — Leighion , 


140 


CxLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


ANNUAL  FESTIVAL  OF  THE  GRAZIERS.  AT  GRENOBLE. 


ANNUAL  FESTIVAL  OF  THE  GRAZIERS  AT  GRENOBLE. 

In  the  engraving  above,  we  give  a  representation  of  a  usage  of 
long  standing  among  the  farmers  of  Granges,  in  the  precincts  of 
Grenoble,  who  are  accustomed,  annually,  on  the  23d  of  January, 
to  bring  their  dauphins,  or  offerings,  to  the  honorary  members  of 
their  society,  with  great  pomp,  accompanied  by  military  music. 
The  dauphins,  so  named  on  account  of  this  emblem  of  Dauphine 
which  they  represent,  are  cakes  covered  with  nonpariels ;  they  are 
placed  under  a  canopy  of  silk  and  flowers,  in  the  basket  which 
figures  in  the  car,  decorated  with  wreaths  of  fir,  and  drawn  by 
twelve  pair  of  splendid  oxen,  wearing  bunches  of  ribbon  on  their 
horns.  Four  young  girls  dressed  in  white  are  seated  in  the  four 
corners  of  the  car,  the  first  bearing  a  sheaf  and  sickle,  the  second 
flowers,  the  third  fruit,  and  the  fourth  a  distaff.  At  the  back  of 
the  car,  an  old  man,  the  Nestor  of  the  community, 
is  entrusted  with  the  cakes. 


actual,  and  sought  by  practical  means,  in  harmonj'  with  public 
sentiment,  to  promote  the  public  interest.  Recognizing  in  the 
social  and  political  system  the  essential  elements  of  stability  and 
progress,  he  discerned  the  office  oi'  the  conservative  and  the  re- 
former ;  but  he  saw,  also,  that  a  bl?.id  conservatism  was  not  less 
destructive  than  a  blind  reform.  He  was  the  faithful  supporter 
of  common  schools,  the  glory  of  New  England.  By  word  and 
example  he  sustained  the  cause  of  temperance.  Some  of  his  most 
devoted  labors,  commencing  in  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts, 
were  for  the  abolition  of  capital  punishment.  With  its  final 
triumph,  in  the  progress  of  civilization,  his  name  will  be  indisso- 
lubly  connected,  in  harmony  with  these  noble  reforms  was  the 
purity  of  his  private  life;  there  he  was  blameless.  In  manners, 
he  was  modest,  simple  and  retiring.     In  conversation,  he  was  dis- 


HON.  ROBERT  RANTOUL,  JR, 

We  can  give  no  better  sketch  of  Mr.  Rantoul's  life 
than  to  quote   from  Hon.  Charles   Sumner's  eulogy 
pronounced  lately  in  Congress.     He  was  bom  August 
13th,  1805,  at  Beverly,  in   the   county  of  Essex,  the 
home  of  Nathan  Dane.     Here,  under  happy  auspices 
of   family   and    neighborhood,   he   commenced   life. 
His  excellent  father,  honored  for  his  public  senices, 
venerable  also  in  years  and  flowing  silver  locks,  yet 
lives  to  mourn  his  last  surviving  son.     The  sad  for- 
tune of  Burke  is  renewed.     He  who  should  have  been 
as   posterity,  is  now  to  this  father  in  the   place  of  an- 
cestry.    Mr.  Rantoul  was   early   a  member   of  the 
legislature  of  Massachusetts,  and  there  won   his  first 
fame.     For  many  years  he  occupied  a  place  in  the 
Board  of  Education  in  that  State.     He  was  also,  for 
a  time.  Collector  of  the   port  of  Boston,  and   after- 
wards attorney  of  the  United  States  for  Massachusetts. 
During  a  brief  period  he  held  a  seat  in  the  senate,  and 
finally,  in  1851,  by  the  choice  of  his  native  district, 
remarkable  for  its  intelligence  and  public  spirit,  he 
became  a  representative   in  the  other  branch  of  our 
national  legislature.  In  all  these  spheres  he  performed 
most   acceptable   service,  and  the    future    promised 
opportunities  of  a  higher  character,  to  which  his  abili- 
ties, industry  and  fidelity  would  have  amply  respond- 
ed.    Massachusetts   has   many  arrows   in   her  well- 
stocked  quiver,  but  few  could  she  so  illy  spare  at  this 
moment  as  the  servant  we  now  mourn.     By  original 
fitness,  by  study,  knowledge   and  experience,  he  was 
formed  for  public   service,  but  he  was  no  stranger  to 
other  pursuitR.     Early  devoted  to  the  profession  of 
the  law,  he  followed  it  with   assiduity  and   success. 
In  the  antiquities  of  our  jurisprudence,  few  were  more 
learned,  and  his  areumenis  at  the  bar  were  thorough. 
Nor  were  his  intelligence  and  promptness  in  all  emer- 
gencies of  a   trial   easily  surpassed.     Literature,  ne- 
glected by  many  under  the   pressure  of  professional 
duties,  was  always  cultivated  by  him.     His  taste  for 
books  was   enduring.     He  was  a  constant   student, 
amidst  bis   manifold  labors,  profeagipjial  and  public. 
He  was  a  reformer  in  the  warfare  -0^  evil.     He  was 
enlisted  earnestly  and  openly  as  a  soldier  for  life.    As 
such,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  encounter  opposition,  to 
meet  obloquy,  and  to  brave  his  enemies.     His  eon- 
science,  pure   as   goodness,  sustained   him   in   evei-y 
trial,   even    that  sharpest  of    all,   the    desertion   of 
friends ;  and  yet  while  earnest  in  his  cause,  bis  zeal 
was  tempered  beyond  that  of  the  common  reformer. 
He  knew  well  the  difference  between  the  ideal  and  the 


posed  to  listen  rather  than  to  speak,  though  all  were  well  pleased 
when  he  broke  silence,  and  in  apt  language  declared  his  glowing 
thoughts.  But  in  the  public  assembly,  before  the  people,  he  was 
bold  and  triumphant.  As  a  debater,  he  rarely  met  his  equal. 
Fluent,  earnest,  rapid,  incisive,  his  words  at  times  came  forth  like 
a  flashing  scimitar.  Few  could  stand  against  him ;  he  always 
understood  his  subjects,  and  then,  clear,  logical  and  determined, 
seeing  bis  point  before  him,  pressed  forward  with  unrelenting 
power.  His  speeches  were  enriched  by  study,  and  contained  pas- 
sages of  beauty — but  he  was  most  tnily  at  home  in  dealing  with 
practical  questions  arising  from  exigencies  of  life.  Few  had 
studied  public  aftairs  more  intelligibly.  As  a  constant  and  effec- 
tive member  of  the  Democratic  party,  he  had  become  conspicuous 
by  the  championship  of  its  doctrines.  There  was  no  topic  of  na- 
tional moment  that  did  not  interest  him.  Northwest- 
ern and  Western  interests  were  near  his  heart.  As 
the  distant  pioneer,  resting  from  his  daily  labors, 
learns  the  death  of  Eantoul,  he  will  feel  a  personal 
grief.  Tlie  fishermen  on  our  Atlantic  coast,  many  of 
whom  are  dwellers  in  his  district,  will  sympathize 
with  the  pioneers  of  the  west.  And  as  these  hardy 
children  of  the  sea,  returning  from  their  late  adven- 
tares,  hear  the  sad  tidings,  they  mil  feel  that  they 
have  lost  a  friend — and  well  they  may.  During  his 
last  fitful  hours  of  life,  while  reason  struggled  against 
disease,  he  was  anxious  for  their  welfare.  The  speech 
which  in  their  behalf  he  had  hoped  soon  to  make  on 
the  floor  of  Congress,  was  then  chasing  through  his 
mind.  Finally,  in  broken  utterances,  he  gave  to  them 
some  of  his  last  earthly  thought,*!.  The  death  of  such 
a  man,  so  suddenly  in  mid  career,  is  well  calculated 
to  aiTcst  attention  and  to  furnish  emollition.  From 
the  love  of  family,  the  attachment  of  friends,  and  re- 
gard of  fellow-citizens  he  has  been  removed — leaving 
behind  the  cares  of  life,  the  concerns  of  state,  and  the 
wretched  strife  of  party.  In  person,  Mr.  Eantoul  was 
of  medium  height,  of  spare  figure,  and  restless  activ- 
ity both  of  mind  and  body.  His  manner  of  speaking 
was  peculiar  to  himself;  with  great  rapidity  of  utter- 
ance, his  sentences  were  simple  in  their  construction, 
and  his  language  selected  less  witli  reference  to  orna- 
ment than  to  strength.  Devoted  to  his  profession 
and  studies,  of  abstemious  habits,  great  nurity  of 
character,  the  friend  of  all  moral  movement!  of  soci- 
ety, he  was  snatched  away  in  the  prime  of  life  when 
his  talents,  matured  by  earnest  study,  were  unfolding 
themselves  to  the  world  with  much  power.  His  re- 
mains left  Washington,  Sunday  afternoon,  the  8th, 
and  reached  his  native  place,  Beverly,  on  the  even- 
ing of  Monday.  The  funeral  took  place  the  follow- 
ing day.  It  was  very  numerously  attended  by  the 
citizens  both  of  Beverly  and  the  neighboring  towns. 
The  remains  were  placed,  during  the  funeral  services, 
in  the  porch  of  the  church,  the  metallic  coffin  which 
enclosed  them  being  tastefully  decorated  with  flowers. 
All  the  places  of  business  were  closed  during  the  day, 
and  the  town  hall,  the  post-office,  and  many  of  the 
shops  and  residences  of  the  citizens  were  draped  in 
mouming.  The  desk  in  the  church  was  festooned 
with  black,  and  other  insignia  of  mourning  decorated 
the  sacred  edifice.  Rev.  James  W.  Thompson,  D.D., 
of  Salem,  pronounced  an  eloquent  oration,  in  which 
he  spoke  in  glowing  terms  of  the  character  iind  influ- 
ence of  the  departed;  and  at  its  close,  the  procc:-sion, 
which  was  very  lengthy,  then  commenced  its  march 
toward  the  cemetery,  and  committed  to  its  kindred 
earth,  the  mortal  remains  of  the  departed  statesman. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


141 


TREDERICK    GLEASON,   Prophietoe. 

MATTJRIN    M.    BALLOTJ,    Editoe. 


CONTENTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NU3IBER. 

"  Oorrinne  Almanza,  or  the  Msigimn  of  Seville,''  a  Ro- 
mance of  SpuiD,  Itjily  and  EHgliinil,  by  Frederick.  Hunter. 
This  is  the  title  of  a  new  novelette  which  will  be  com- 
menced the  ensuing  week  in  the  Pictorial,  from  the  pen 
of  the  popular  author  above  named. 

"The  Princess  Ayesha.  or  the  Thousand  and  Second 
Night,"  a  story  translated  from  the  French  for  uh,  by 
Akne  T.  Wildur. 

"Travels  iu  Palestine,  No.  2.  entitled  '  The  Journey  to 
Jerusalem,'  "  by  Itev.  F.  W.  Holland. 

"  Conclusive  Evidence,"  a  humorous  and  witty  sketch, 
by  the  Old  -XJy. 

"The  liescue,"  a  story,  by  Dr.  J.  H.  UoEiNSON. 

"  Autographs  and  Autography,"  being  the  commence- 
ment of  a  fine  serius  of  articles  relative  to  distinguished 
individuals,  and  giving  genuine  autographs  of  each.  By 
William  Edward  Knowles.  Among  the  number  to  ap- 
pear in  our  next  papur  will  be  those  of  W.  H,  C.  Hosmer, 
H.  Ladd  Spencer.  .Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney,  Francis  C.  Wood- 
worth,  Edward  Everett,  Jared  Sparks,  Thomas  H.  Stock- 
ton, W.  E.  Chaniiing,  Rev.  John  Pierpont,  Rufus  Dawes, 
Judge  Tucker  and  Caroline  Clicsebro". 

*'  Lines  to  a  Streamlet,"  by  E.  CuRTiss  HiNE,  U.  S.  N. 

"The  Auburn  Tress,"  verses,  by  F-  C.  S.  Uurlbut. 

"  Shadows  of  the  Past,"  hues,  by  J.  H.  Butler. 

"  The  Summer  Time,"  Hues,  by  C.  Jillson- 

"The  Dying  Girl,"  verses,  by  M^ar  J-  Cullen. 

"The  Broken  Tie,"  lines,  by  Caroune  A.  Uatdkn. 

"  I  am  not  Lost,"  a  poem,  by  De  Fletcher  Hdnton. 

ILLUSTRATIOITS. 

An  admirable  and  very  effective  picture  of  the  Univer- 
sity between  Wa-^hington  Place  and  Waverly  Place,  New 
York.    Drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade. 

An  interesting  picture  of  Elvira,  the  country  seat,  in 
South  America,  occupied  by  General  Flores. 

A  second  South  American  scene,  entitled  the  Young 
Artist  of  Quito,  making  sketches  in  the  street. 

A  third  picture  of  the  same  series,  representing  the  Trav- 
elling Costume  of  a  lady  of  Guayaquil. 

A  fourth  engraving  in  the  same  series,  representing  the 
Church  at  Bodega,  a  small  town  in  South  America.. 

A  fifth  picture,  representing  Traders  upon  the  Water, 
in  their  peculiar  boats,  selUng  oranges,  pine-apples,  etc, 

A  sixth  scene,  presenting  a  view  of  the  FloatingHouses 
and  Canoes,  and  buildings  of  Raft  Houses,  and  the  Uke,  at 
Guayaquil. 

A  large  and  fine  picture  of  Girard  College,  Philadelphia, 
drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Devereaux,  on  the  spot,  forming 
a  most  adniLnible  scene  of  this  structure. 

A  likeness  of  John  R.  Scott,  the  tragedian,  in  character, 
as  Ingom;u:,  in  the  well  known  play  which  Mrs,  Mowatt 
has  rendered  so  popular. 

A  capital  likeness  of  Mr.  Thrasher,  lately  imprisoned 
and  released  after  being  sent  to  Spain,  and  having  his 
property  confiscated  in  Cuba,  by  the  tyrants  of  that  beau- 
tiful island.     By  our  artist,  Mr.  Rosenberg. 

A  bird's  eye  view  of  Fort  Independence,  Boston  harbor, 
drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Mailory.  A  very  fine  maritime 
scene. 

A  faithful  and  excellent  likeness  of  Mr.  0.  Sackett,  the 
Yankee  Card  Writer,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Rowse. 

A  picture  of  the  Sierra  Madre,  between  Monterey  and 
Saltiilo.     A  very  interesting  and  characteristic  scene. 

An  excellent  view  of  Saratoga  Lake,  situated  a  short 
distance  from  the  village  of  the  springs.  Dra^vn  for  us  by 
our  artist,  Mr.  Cliapin. 

A  large  and  faithful  picture  of  the  Cape  Cod  Associa- 
tion's Celebration,  which  lately  took  place  at  Province- 
town,  on  the  Cape.     Dniwn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Rowse. 


SPLINTEES. 


....  McKean  Buchanan,  the  American  actor, 
has  been  somewhat  successful  in  England. 

Pilot  boat  Marshal  Tukcy  has  been  pur- 
chased by  the  Mobile  pilots. 

Mr.  Rantoul's   life  was  insured   at  the 

British  Life  Insurance  ofiice,  Boston,  for  SlO,000. 

We  see  that  Miss  Davenport  is  under- 

^ned  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  London. 

A  Miss  Lindsay  was  thrown  out  of  a 

carriage  in  Providence  and  killed,  the  other  day. 

Providence  smiles  on  those  who  roll  up 

thcii-  sleeves,  and  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel. 

. .  .  John  Gilbert  and  wife  are  engaged  at 
Chestnut  St.  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  this  winter. 

Tlic  best  dentist  hi  Paris  is  an  American, 

as  are  several  of  the  most  eminent  in  Europe. 

The  Ravels  are  dosing  the   Bostoniaus 

with  their  famous  "Magic  Pills." 

The  last  news  from  California  is  as  usual 

mixed  up  with  much  gold  and  many  deaths. 

The  little  folks  are  perfectly  delighted 

with  Blitz  and  his  birds,  at  Amory  Hall. 

What  has  passed  Congress  this  season  ■? 

Eight  months  or  more  !     That's  all. 

The  first  theatrical  performance  in  Amer- 
ica was  produced  at  Williamsburg,  Va,,  in  1752. 

....  The  Hudson  River  steamers  ai'C  said  to 
continue  racing. 

The   Webster  party  still   give   signs  of 

considerable  vitality, 

The  stock  company  for  the  new  National 

Theatre  will  be  a  good  one. 

Everybody   has    been    rusticating,   and 

"  evei7body  "  is  now  expected  home. 


CAMP  SEAVEiL 

The  Fifth  Regiment  of  Ai-tillery,  Col,  Robert 
Cowdin  commanding,  went  into  camp  on  Boston 
Common,  a  few  days  since,  to  perform  their  two 
days'  camp  duty,  as  required  by  law.  The 
ground  improved  for  this  object  was  situated  at 
the  foot  of  the  Common,  near  Charles  Street, 
:.'.ud  the  camp  fronted  Beacon  Street,  occupying 
a  space  measuring  six  hundred  and  seventy-five 
feet  long,  by  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet 
broad.  The  whole  was  laid  out  after  the  most 
thorough  military  plan,  and  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, by  the  commanding  officer,  who  has  shown 
much  judgment  and  skill  in  the  duty  of  a  sol- 
dier. Col.  Cowdin  is  no  "  vain  carpet  knight;" 
he 's  a  soldier  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term,  exer- 
cising the  most  thorough  discipline  over  his  com- 
mand, and  this,  too,  by  the  force  of  his  own  char- 
acter, rather  than  by  the  adoption  of  any  rigid 
practical  measures.  The  camp,  as  it  lay  in  the 
most  perfect  order,  with  its  full  battery  of  six 
field  pieces,  presented  a  most  martial  and  pictur- 
esque appearance.  And  when  illuminated,  as  it 
was  in  the  evening,  it  was  a  very  beautiful  and 
novel  sight. 

Our  artist  has  given  us  a  most  excellent  and 
truthful  view  of  the  camp,  drawn  on  the  spot, 
which  will  be  found  on  the  last  page  of  the 
present  number.  The  officers  of  this  regiment 
are  as  follows  :  Colonel,  Robert  Cowdin;  Lieut. 
Colonel,  H.  W.  Usher ;  Major,  Caleb  Page ;  Ad- 
jutant, Samuel  S.  Chase;  Quartermaster,  F.  A. 
Heath  ;  Paymaster,  A.  Partridge  ;  Surgeon,  Jas. 
A.  Phipps  ;  Surgeon's  Mate,  C.  E.  Buckingham ; 
Sergeant  Major,  James  S.  Carey ;  Chaplain,  Rev. 
Otis  A.  Skinner ;  Quartermaster's  Sergt.,  James 
Singleton;  Music,  Suffolk  Brass  Band,  P.  S. 
Gilmore,  Band  Master. 

The  companies  were  all  very  full,  averaging 
over  fifty  men  in  each,  and  comprising  five  com- 
panies. Of  the  evolutions  and  militai-y  exercise, 
we  have  heard  but  one  opinion  expressed,  and 
that  was  of  the  most  complimentary  character. 
As  to  the  orderly  and  systematic  manner  in 
which  the  entire  camp  duty  was  performed,  it 
was  highly  creditable  to  all  concerned.  Every 
man,  from  the  commanding  officer  to  the  lowest 
private,  seemed  to  endeavor  to  perform  their 
duty  and  to  respect  themselves.  During  the  ipne 
of  encampment,  they  were  reviewed  by  Governor 
BoutweD,  accompanied  by  his  aids  and  others. 

We  regret  that  want  of  room  prevents  us  from 
saying  more  of  this  encampment,  for  the  excel- 
lent manner  in  which  it  was  conducted  deserves 
the  highest  encomiums  of  praise,  and  is  a  worthy 
example  to  hold  up  for  future  like  occasions. 


CHOIiERA. 

Reports  are  circulated  of  numerous  deaths  over 
tJie  country,  from  cholera,  dysentery,  and  kin- 
dred complaints,  always  more  or  less  prevalent 
during  the  hot,  unripe  fruit  season.  Eighteen 
persons  are  reported  to  have  died  of  cholera  in 
one  building  iu  Rochester,  from  Saturday  to 
Monday  morning.  An  examination  of  the  pre- 
mises explained  the  cause.  The  basement  was 
damp,  and  closely  shut  up.  The  wonder  is  that 
people  could  have  lived  there  so  long.  Pure  air, 
cleanliness,  moderate  indulgence  in  good,  wliole- 
some  food,  and  a  proper  amount  of  exercise,  are 
the  best  preservatives  of  health. 


"  The  Rose  of  Sharon." — The  publisher  of 
this  beautiful  annual,  Abel  Tosipkiss,  38  Corn- 
hill,  has  issued  it  for  the  year  1833,  and  in  a  style 
of  excellence  commensurate  with  the  taste  of  the 
times,  and  the  spirit  of  its  very  superior  contents. 
We  believe  this  is  the  thirteenth  consecutive  year 
that  Mr.  Tompkins  has  issued  this  exceedingly 
interesting  work,  and  which  we  consider  highly 
creditable  to  art  and  literature. 


lO^  The  printing  and  publi.shing  establishment  of  Mr. 
F.  Gleason,  in  Ilo3ton,  is,  without  exception,  the  neatest, 
most  adminibly  arranged,  and  complete  estabhshment  in 
the  Union.  The  building  occupied  for  the  purpose  is  one 
of  the  largest  in  the  city.  The  sales  room,  packing  room, 
counting  room  and  editorial  room  surpass,  in  sp;icious- 
ness,  comfort,  and  even  elegance,  anything  we  have  ever 
seen. — Buffalo  Daily  Courier. 


Tremont  House. — This  long-established  and 
favorite  hotel  is  now  as  popular  as  ever.  The 
new  management  have  imparted  to  it  fresh  life 
and  spirit.  Everything  is  new,  clean  and  con- 
venient. 


Commercial. — A  movement  is  in  progress  to 
secure  a  direct  trade  from  Europe,  to  several  of 
the  principal  southern'ports  of  the  United  States. 


Tremont   Temple. — This  building  will  be 
finished  iu  October.     We  hope  so. 


CROPS  AT  THE  SOUTH,  ETC. 

A  subscriber  writes  from  Columbia,  Ai'kansas, 
about  the  1st  inst.:  "We  have  here  the  same 
warm  weather,  the  same  rich  abundance  of  veg- 
etation, the  same  wide-spreading  sheet  of  water 
before  us  {the  Mississippi),  and  the  same  far- 
reaching  fields  of  cotton  behind  us.  Our  table 
is  as  ever  groaning  under  the  rich  abundance 
which  Kature  pours  out  from  her  ample  lap  at 
this  season  of  the  year.  Of  fruit,  we  have  the 
greatest  abundance.  Figs,  peaches,  pears,  ap- 
ples, plums  and  melonajSndeed,  we  hardly  know 
what  to  do  with  them,  having  no  market  for  any- 
thing of  the  kind  here.  The  hogs  generally  fall 
into  possession  of  the  larger  share. 

"Our  crops  this  season  are  very  fine — the 
corn  crop  particularly  so,  I  believe  it  is  the 
best  anywhere  in  the  south  and  southwest  we 
have  had  in  ten  years.  The  cotton,  too,  is  very 
promising ;  but  as  it  is  always  subject  to  injuries, 
there  is  no  certainty  of  the  product  until  it  is 
gathered  and  baled  up.  We  are  having  too 
nmch  rain  just  at  present ;  but  should  the  rest  of 
the  season  be  as  favorable  as  the  commencement, 
and  the  caterpillar  not  come  in  to  destroy  it,  tlie 
present  year  will  equal,  and  probably  sm-pass 
and  exceed  the  immense  crop  of  last  year. 

"  This  year,  indeed,  may  be  called  the  year  of 
great  abundance,  as  far  as  our  southern  and  south- 
western regions  are  concerned.  All  our  crops 
of  sugar,  cotton,  corn  and  vegetables  generally, 
raised  for  consumption — all  the  fruits  that  grow 
among  us,  are  abundant  beyond  measure  ;  and, 
with  the  exception  of  here  and  there  a  case  of 
cholera,  the  country  is  exceedingly  healthy. 
With  considerably  over  a  hundred  iu  the  family, 
there  is  not  a  patient  on  the  plantation  to  ad- 
minister a  dose  of  medicine  to.  A  fact,  I  pre- 
sume, that  few  of  you  good  northern  people 
could  think  possible  at  this  season  of  the  year, 
in  these  remote  swamps  of  the  Mississippi. 

"  We  are  almost  alone  here  this  summer ;  at 
least  most  of  our  neighbors,  with  whom  we  visit, 
are  off  at  the  north  on  trips  of  pleasure,  and  the 
few  who  remain,  of  course,  have  a  very  quiet 
time  of  it,  though  I  think  when  the  account  is 
made  up  in  the  fall,  we  have  the  advantage  in 
real  enjoyment.         Yours  truly,        A.  H.  D." 


CORRINNE  ALMANZA: 

— OR — 

THE    MAGICIAN    OF    SEVILLE. 

A  Romance  of  Spain,  Italy  and  England. 

BT    FREDERICK    HUNTER. 

We  shall  next  week  commence  a  very  excel- 
lent story,  thus  entitled,  by  this  well-known  and 
favorite  writer,  and  can  promise  our  readers  a 
good  entertainment  in  its  perusal.  Those  who 
have  read  Frederick  Hunter's  stories  iu  the  Pic- 
torial, will  now  know  what  they  may  expect. 


MEXICAiVS  ON  THE  MARCH. 

We  present  on  page  132  a  very  fine  picture, 
large  and  effective,  giving  a  correct  and  spirited 
view  of  Mexicans  as  they  appear  on  the  march, 
or  rather  at  the  time  when  the  drummer  beats 
the  reveille,  to  arouse  them  from  their  sleep  at 
the  bivouac,  or  halting-place,  for  the  night.  The 
late  contest  between  our  own  country  and  the 
Mexicans  has  familiarized  a  large  portion  of  our 
people  with  their  manners  and  customs,  and  also 
taught  this  nation,  to  whom  robbery  and  a  guer- 
illa life  seem  to  come  as  second  nature,  that  they 
must  respect  the  citizens  of  this  country  or  be 
themselves  annihilated. 


FAl^m  CAMPBELL: 

— OR — 

THE  FEMALE  PIRATE  CAPTAIN. 

ET    LIEUTENANT    MURRAY. 

Owing  to  the  constant  demand  for  this  exceed- 
ingly popular  story,  we  have  just  issued  a  new 
edition,  and  can  answer  any  and  all  orders 
promptly  for  the  same. 


The  Yankee  Card-Writer. — We  shall  give 
a  faithful  likeness  of  this  original  genius,  who  is 
now  at  the  Ocean  House,  Newport,  in  our  next 
week's  paper. 

Severe. — Over  fifty  instances  of  coi-porcal 
punishment  occurred  in  a  single  public  school  in 
New  York,  daring  last  week. 


Queer  Vehicle. — A  land  sail-boat  has  been 
constiTicted  at  Southport,  which  can  run  along 
tlic  beach  at  the  rate  of  1.5  miles  the  hour. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Stow,  Mr.  Charles  Bennett  to 
Miss  Mary  Ann  Kelly. 

By  Rev,  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Benjamin  Franklin  Toung  to 
Mips  Charlotte  Ann  Smith. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Suiithett,  Rev.  TVm,  H.  Brooks,  of  Newark, 
N.  J.,  to  Miss  Ellen  Cordis  Gray. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Gray,  Mr.  Wm.  T.  Coleman,  of  SanT'ran- 
ciaco,  Cal.,  to  Miss  Caroline  M.  Page,  of  St.  Louis. 

By  Rev,  Mr.  Oreenlciif,  Capt.  George  F.  Lindsay  to  Miss 
Margaret  Frascr. 

At  Medford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Fuller,  Mr.  Duncan  Davis  to 
Miss  Agnes  Ellis. 

At  Blllerica,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pettes,  Mr.  James  Faulkner  to 
Miss  Frances  A,  tTilson. 

At  Georgeto^vn,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Prince,  Mr.  Charles  E.  Jew- 
ett  to  Miss  Nancy  Ann  Southard  White,  of  Brenton,  N.H. 

At  Haverhill,  by  Rev.  Mr,  Hosford,  James  E.  Ames, 
Esq.,  to  Miss  Mary  Frances  Marsh. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Dimmick,  Mr.  John  Post 
to  Miss  Lydia  \Vorster. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr.  George  C.  Thompson  to  Mies  Louisa 
M.  Lincoln. 

At  Taunton,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Emery,  Mr.  William  H.  Evana 
to  Miss  Abby  A.  Burt. 

At  Worcester,  by  Hon.  Henry  Chapin,  Mr.  Moses  Fam- 
ham,  2d,  to  Miss  Katherine  Earle. 

At  Providence.  R.  I,  by  Rev  Mr.  Butler,  Mr.  Alfred 
Hijigins,  of  South  Welltleet,  Ms.,  to  Miss  Mary  R.  Martin. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pratt,  Mr.  Edward  A. 
Sm^iU,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Mary  C.  Roberts. 

At  Charleston,  3.  C,  Lieut.  John  N.  MafBt,  0.  S.  N., 
to  Miss  Caroline  Laurens  Reed. 


In  this  city,  Miss  Mary  Norcross,  20;  Mr.  John  DalL 
58  ;  Mr.  John  Tuttle,  28  ;  Mr.  John  W.  Eradlee,  84 ;  Mr. 
John  D.  Waters,  44. 

At  East  Boston,  Mr.  John  T.  Whealan,  21. 

At  South  Boston,  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Kllburn,  52. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr.  John  M.  Webb,  27. 

At  West  Cambridge,  Miss  Eliza  Tufts,  61. 

At  Dorchester,  Mr.  Henry  Smith,  of  Boston,  G3. 

At  East  Bridgewater,  William  Harris,  Esq.,  58. 

At  Lowell,  Isaac  Scripture,  Esq.,  50. 

At  Newburyport,  Mr.  Jacob  Stickney,  85. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mr.  Joseph  R.  Rumrill,  54. 

At  Salem,  Capt.  William  Meservy,  72. 

At  Natick,  Mr.  George  J.  Carruth,  22. 

At  Nantucket,  Misa  Eliza,  Pinkham,  52. 

At  Hingham,  Mrs.  Mary  Otis  FLske,  51. 

At  Wareham.  Mrs.  Deborah  Sturtevant,  50. 

At  West  Newbury,  Deacon  Moses  Brown,  81. 

At  Kennebuukport.  Me.,  Miss  Olive  E.  Stone,  16. 

At  Orrington,  Me.,  Mr.  Stillman  Kent,  56 

At  Keene,  N.  H.,  Mr.  B.  Cooke,  50. 

At  Concord,  N.  H.,  Mr.  Josiah  L.  Knowles  66. 

At  Providence,  R.  I  ,  Mrs  Rachel  Amcsbury  75. 

At  Bristol,  Conn.,  Hon.  George  Mitchell,  78.' 

At  Naugatuck,  Conn.,  Col.  Levi  Whiting,  U    S    A    66 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Mrs.  Angelina  Hunt.  ' 

At  Sing  Sing,  N.  Y.,  ilrs.  Isabella  W.  Hiivden  52 

At  Buffalo,  N.  ¥.,  Henry  P.  Darrow,  Esqi 

At  Philadelphia,  Hon.  Christopher  Adams  45. 

At  Baltimore,  Joseph  Cushing,  Esq     71.    ' 

At  New  Orleans,  Mr.  Calvin  Darling,  45. 


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U2 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  fllooflon'fl  Pictorial.] 
TIIE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  OUR  FREEDOM. 


DT  PKRSA.  S.  liKWlS. 


Hear  yo  the  cannon'fl  boonilriR  roar, 

V.ru  yut  tlio  morn  biis  ll^litntl  up  tho  veil 

Of  Diglit? — hear  itw  ionjj,  liollow  ecIiocB  on  our 

Slioni3,  Jying  uiong  tlio  strftncl  of  our  o^vn  lakoa  ; 

SItiopiiig  in  glorious  boauty,  In  tlio  frco, 

Bright  sunnliino  of  tho  otcrnal  hi-avon  ?     'T  Is  musio 

In  our  oiirH  ;  it  walcua  tho  patriot's  soul, 

And  sondfl  tho  wiu-m  blood  thrilling  through 

His  viiiufl,  with  pride  and  joy.     IIo  joys  that 

Suoli  ft  glorious  land  ifl  his  birthright; 

Such  a  land,  whoro  noblu  blond  lias  gushed 

Out  friinly  on  tlio  battle-flold,  and  groat  and 

Qoncrous  soula  huvo  given  tliolr  couyeox'atcd 

I/ivca  to  malco  us  frco  1     0  what  a  lovely  land 

Is  ours  !  80  broadly  sproad  in  all  its  bright 

Array  of  glories  ;  beautiful  and  far  onr  blue 

Lakos  stretch  away  in  glancing  sunshine,  and 

Tho  singing  song  of  freedom  riKcs  up  in  joyous 

Tumult  from  the  surging  waves,  sending  its 

Anthem-music  up  to  heavon.     Green  and  changeful 

In  their  beauty,  the  proud  pnLiries  roll  away  in 

Billotvy  tide  before  the  ^nnds,  and 

Proudly  toss  the  giant  forest  trees  their  mighty 

Arms  up  to  tho  o'orarcliing  sky,  whoso  azui'o 

Curtjiius  drape  the  uoivcrso ;  and  dash  our  mountain 

Streams,  impetuous  with  foam  and  thunder, 

Through  the  woodland  glens,  tlieu  roll  in  silent 

Grandeur  to  their  oceau-homo.     And  this  is  freedom's 

Shrino  ;  she  sits  enthroned  amidst  the  mountains 

And  the  everlasting  hills,  in  majesty  and  might.     And 

Freedom's  anthem  rises  up  on  high,  and  shall  go  up. 

Till  all  the  voices  of  tho  "  banded  nations  "  mingle  mth 

Strains,  and  earth  shall  echo  from  ita  every 

Shoro,  the  chiming  anthem  of  the  glad 

And  noble  frco. 


[Written  for  Qleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  m  PALESTINE. 

No.  1. 

BT    EEV.  P.  W.  HOLLASri). 


Beiroot,  anciently  Bei*ytus,  tlie  chief  scjiport 
of  Jerusalem,  Alejipo  and  Damascus,  seat  of  the 
American  mission  in  Syria,  scene  of  the  legen- 
dary adventures  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon, 
and  later  of  the  Catholic  miracle  of  a  wooden 
Christ  giving  forth  blood  and  water  when  pierced 
by  scoffing  Jews,  is  another  Smyrna.  French 
steamers  touch  at  it  every  fortnight  from  Egypt, 
and  Austrian  ones  as  often  from  Constantinople. 
Then,  there  is  an  occasional  English  steamship, 
besides  sail  vessels  of  every  nation ;  so  that,  in 
spite  of  tho  intense  heat  of  summer,  the  danger 
of  severe  earthquakes,  and  the  general  poverty 
of  Palestine,  Beiroot  is  as  flourishing  a  town  as 
one  would  wish  to  see.  Dr.  Robinson,  gave  it 
fifteen  thousand  population ;  there  are  twice  that 
number  now,  and  a  rapid  increase.  Kobinson 
found  few  remains  of  antiquity,  because  he  did 
not  explore  the  neighborhood. 

A  smart  half  day's  trot  brought  me  to  a  beau- 
tiful Roman  bridge — a  massive  road  like  the 
Appian  way ;  the  most  picturesque  old  aqueduct 
that  I  ever  saw,  with  inscriptions  and  images 
on  the  quarries  wlience  the  building  materials 
came ;  ruined  temples  were  to  be  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  partly-buried  stones  of  tho  same 
classic  period,  along  the  shore.  But  these  an- 
tiquities are  nothing  to  one  fresh,  as  I  was,  from 
Egypt.  They  go  back  only  to  the  Cxsars ;  and, 
besides  their  modernness,  constant  warfai-e,  re- 
peated earthquakes,  and  the  very  worst  govern- 
ment upon  earth  have  done  them  the  greatest 
possible  harm. 

Tho  American  missionaries  here  are  univer- 
sally respected,  and  live  very  comfortably — in 
summer,  on  the  cool  sides  of  Lebanon,  in  winter, 
cheered  by  stoves,  a  luxury  unknown  even  to 
the  hotels.  The  printing  press,  their  chief  de- 
pendence, is  exceedingly  active,  and  has  just 
added  a  good  sized  geography  to  the  school 
books  ali'cady  sold  extensively ;  and  no  doubt 
does  God  service  by  stepping  out  of  the  merely 
religious  line,  and  furnishing  useful  books  for 
the  education  of  Arab  children.  Their  Sunday 
service  in  English  is  the  only  one  in  the  place ; 
their  Arabic  preaching  is  attended  by  an  atten- 
tive audience  of  about  a  himdrcd.  Converts  arc 
few.  Hardly  anything  can  be  done  with  the 
Jews,  because  in  the  Holy  Land  they  arc  at- 
tached to  national  peculiarities  more  than  any- 
where else,  besides  being  so  wretchedly  poor 
that  they  would  expect  to  be  supported  by  the 
missionaries  in  case  of  conversion.  The  pros- 
pect with  the  Mussulman  is  even  poorer;  he 
looks  down  upon  Christianity  as  a  degraded 
idolatry,  and  would  probably  murder  a  relative 
who  forHook  the  Koran  and  the  mosque.  Tlie 
only  hope  is  of  the  Greek,  Roman  and  Armenian 


Cliristians,  whose  views  they  expect  to  change, 
partly  by  their  school.4 — themselves  a  great  bles- 
sing to  the  land — and  partly  by  circulating  the 
Scripliirca  in  tlic  native  tongue.  But,  wliile  tho 
moral  and  social  habits  of  the  people  remain  as 
they  arc,  it  is  working  against  wind  and  tide. 
Tho  Catholic  schools  are  more  numerous,  older, 
better  attended,  and  of  a  higher  character. 

Tho  environs  of  Beiroot  are  very  beautiful. 
The  Mediterranean  seashore  is  always  plcnsant; 
and,  towards  tho  country,  narrow  sand  lanes 
lead  through  gardens  (jffdcred  by  prickly  pear 
plants  of  tho  height  of  six  feet,  and  impene- 
trable to  man  or  horse  as  the  best  hawtlioni- 
hedgo,  and  filled  with  fruit  trees,  particularly  tho 
mulben-y  for  the  silk-worm.  Towering  over  this 
profusion  of  precious  trees  is  Lebanon,  glittering 
with  snow  all  the  winter,  and  in  summer,  reflect- 
ing the  sun  nearly  as  well  from  its  naked  ridges 
of  bright  limestone.  The  cultivated  vine-ter- 
races are  hardly  noticed  from  below,  the  famous 
cedars  aro  one  solitary  clump  miles  and  miles 
away,  while  the  hardy  natives  are  hidden  in  rich 
mountain  clefts  and  verdant  valleys. 

The  Beiroot  Lazaretto,  though  severe  enough, 
is  one  of  tho  best  in  the  cast.  You  have  exten- 
sive walks,  are  not  necessarily  cooped  up  with 
Turks,  may  lake  a  sea-bath,  and  enjoy  mountain 
as  well  as  ocean  scenery.  But  then,  the  whole 
thing  is  ridiculous  as  it  is  cruel.  When  every 
hour  is  so  precious,  you  are  imprisoned  nearly  a 
week,  without  book,  newspaper,  amusement, 
or  friend,  in  four  naked,  dirty  stone  walls — 
obliged  to  pay  for  everything,  even  the  "guar- 
dian "  that  sleeps  in  your  chamber ;  for  tiie 
room,  for  every  morsel  of  food,  and  for  your 
bed,  if  you  have  any.  In  the  case  of  ladies,  I 
need  not  say  that  it  is  awful.  No  fatigue  and  no 
exposure  will  compare  with  this  miserable  and 
useless  confinement — a  trick  of  antiquated  Italian 
doctors,  a  severe  tax,  an  utter  waste  of  time,  an 
ingenious  provocative  of  sickness  ! 

Friends  often  ask  anxiously  regarding  the 
safety  of  a  visit  to  Palestine,  and  sometimes 
speak  despairingly  of  the  expense.  Thousands 
would  no  doubt  visit  the  most  interesting  coun- 
try upon  the  earth,  were  they  set  right  upon 
these  points.  Such  travellers  as  give  themselves 
up  to  ingenious  drogomen,  and  are  content  to 
see  with  their  eyes,  and  hear  with  their  ears, 
come  back  often  with  startling  stories  of  peril. 
The  truth  is,  many  of  these  reports  of  robbers 
are  made  up  on  the  spot  to  keep  the  traveller's 
purse  open,  to  oblige  him  to  hire  an  escort,  to 
obtain  employment  for  friends  and  relatives,  etc. 
A  cloud  of  servants  of  every  sort  hangs  around 
Beiroot,  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  steamer, 
to  pounce  down  upon  a  credulous  stranger,  and 
fatten  their  laziness  upon  his  fears.  It  is  not 
enough  for  him  that  one  man,  a  moukra,  is  re- 
sponsible for  his  baggage ;  and  another,  an  in- 
terpreter, serves  as  guide,  cook,  mouth-piece  and 
valet.  If  he  will  but  listen  to  their  narratives  of 
hair-breadth  escapes,  a  company  will  fasten  like 
leeches  upon  him — robbing  him  as  far  as  they 
dare,  consuming  his  provisions,  extorting  pres- 
ents, and  inflaming  his  imagination  with  scenes 
of  blood.  The  actual  fact  is,  no  Italian  high- 
way is  safer  than  the  regular  routes  through 
Syria,  Turkey  and  Egypt.  Rev.  Mi*.  Barnard, 
of  Damascus,  has  often  passed  "from  Dan  to 
Beersheba,"  with  no  companion  but  his  horse, 
and  no  weapon  other  than  his  whip.  From  Je- 
rusalem to  the  Dead  Sea,  "  black  mail "  is  ex- 
acted by  the  sheik  of  Jericho ;  who,  for  the  sum 
of  five  dollars  apiece,  serves  as  guide  to  a  party, 
becomes  responsible  for  their  well  being,  and 
offers  them  the  poorest  kind  of  shelter  in  his 
own  Arab  home.  From  Nazareth  to  Damascus, 
through  a  very  desolate  country,  not  usually 
passed  over  by  caravans  or  travellers,  the  monks 
persuaded  us  to  hu-e  one  of  their  young  men  as 
a  guard,  because  om*  servant  was  a  coward,  and 
we  were  hardly  armed  at  all.  But  the  few  peo- 
ple whom  we  encountered  were  rather  afraid  of 
us  than  we  of  them ;  and  the  only  Bedouins  into 
whose  hands  we  fell,  were  delighted  to  see  us, 
and  to  bestow  upon  us  a  perfectly  Abrahamic 
reception.  The  truth  is,  that  throughout  the 
east,  our  European  dress  is  the  best  protection. 
Turkish  officers  pay  it  peculiar  respect — tho 
common  people  dare  not  do  it  any  injury — the 
traveller's  servant,  even,  is  safer  with  him,  and 
more  feared  than  alone. 

Tlie  great  difficulty  is  not  the  expense  any 
more  than  tlie  danger.  The  Syrian  horse  can 
be  hired  for  half  a  dollar  a  day,  the  Syrian  drag- 
oman for  less  than  a  dollar  per  day,  tho  con- 
vents expect  about  a  dollar  lor  the  hospitality  of 
dinner,  lo'lging  and  breakfast,  though   they  do 


not  exact  anything;  and,  when  not  Kupplied  at 
their  table,  food,  etc.  averaged  about  half  a  dol- 
lar each  day,  With  a  party,  of  course,  tho  ex- 
pense might  bo  greatly  diminished — one  drago- 
man answering  for  a  dozen  as  well  as  for  a 
single  person ;  but  three  dollars  would  cover  the 
daily  necessities  of  a  frugal  traveller  in  Judea. 
And  tho  steamers  arc  not  moi-e  expensive,  in 
proportion  to  the  smaller  amount  of  business, 
than  the  Cunardcrs,  and  are  commodious,  safe, 
well-oflicered,  and  evorj'thing  but  swift. 

The  only  trouble  is  to  find  the  right  time  for 
Syria.  The  summer  will  not  do  because  of  the 
heat,  nor  the  winter  because  of  the  rains ;  there 
is  only  a  little  interval,  say  a  part  of  October 
and  April,  when  one  is  neither  attacked  by  the 
fever  of  this  intensely  sultry  land,  nor  drowned 
by  a  continued  deluge.  In  no  other  country  is 
the  traveller  so  helplessly  dependent  on  the 
weather.  He  must  therefore  give  up  everything 
which  would  entice  him  aside,  in  order  to  have 
the  right  and  healthful  season  in  Syria;  and 
that  would  generally  be  just  before  the  rains 
commence  in  autumn. 


[Written  for  Glcoson's  Pictorial.] 
liOVE. 

BY   KENNETH    SINCLAIR, 

'T  is  the  Bun,  o'er  field  and  meadow  shining, 

That  doth  new  life  imp.art. 

And  fill  with  joy  the  heart, 
Erat  o'er  earthly  eonows  much  repining. 

'T  is  a  flower,  in  the  epring-time  hlooming, 

Ere  the  canker-worm  of  grief 

Hath  touched  its  new-blown  loaf, 
Unto  fell  destruction  cruelly  dooming. 

'T 13  a  precious  gem,  whoso  hrilliant  light, 

Though  darltness  may  enshroud, 

Or  heavy  shadows  cloud, 
Still  ever  through  that  darknesG  shines  most  bright. 

'T  is  a  dream  that  ia  dreamt  in  early  youth,  ' 

Of  joy  and  happiness. 

Ere  life's  harsh  trials  impresa 
Upon  the  brow  the  marks  of  care  and  ruth. 

But  the  sun  must  pet,  and  the  flower  die, 

Shattered  may  be  the  gem, 

Or  darkly  filed  the  dream, 
"WMIo  love  sincere  can  every  change  defy. 


AN  ERECT  POSITION. 

A  writer  on  health,  very  justly  condemns  the 
habit  of  lounging,  which  a  large  number  of  per- 
sons indulge,  as  injurious  to  health.  He  says  : 
"  An  erect  bodil}^  attitude  is  of  vastly  more  im- 
portance to  health,  than  was  generally  imagined. 
Crooked  bodily  positions,  maintained  for  any 
length  of  time,  are  always  injurious,  whether  in 
the  sitting,  standing  or  lying  posture,  whether 
sleeping  or  waking.  To  sit  with  the  body  lean- 
ing forward  on  the  stomach,  or  to  one  side,  with 
the  heels  elevated  to  a  level  with  the  head,  is  not 
only  in  bad  taste,  but  exceedingly  detrimental  to 
health.  It  cramps  the  stomach,  presses  the  vital 
organs,  interrupts  the  free  motions  of  the  chest, 
and  enfeebles  the  functions  of  the  abdominal  and 
thoracic  organs,  and,  in  fact,  unbalances  the 
whole  muscular  system.  Many  children  become 
slightly  hump-backed,  or  severely  round-shoul- 
dered, by  sleeping  with  the  head  raised  on  a 
high  pillow.  When  any  person  finds  it  easier  to 
sit  or  stand,  or  walk  or  sleep  in  a  crooked  posi- 
tion than  a  straight  one,  such  person  may  be 
sure  his  muscular  system  is  badly  deranged,  and 
the  more  careful  he  is  to  preserve  a  straight  or 
upright  position,  and  get  back  to  nature  again, 
the  better." — Boston  Courier. 


["Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
GOOD-BY. 

BY   EDWARD   J,   HAKDnjOE. 

O,  sad  good-by  !  0,  cold  good-by  ! 

Tlie  phantom,  sorrow,  hails  thee; 

My  heart  .so  tearful  wails  thee, 
And,  in  coffined  silence,  seeks  on  misery's  breast  to  lie! 

Alas !  alas  1  tbat  only 

Once  my  fioul,  so  dark  and  lonely. 
Knew  a  spring  which  woke  to  fragrance  the  sweet  flowers 

of  Ufe  and  love, 
With  transcendant  rapture  laden  from  God's  mercy-seat 
above, 

0,  sweet  good-by  !  0,  dear  good-by  ! 

My  Bella's  accent  zones  thee 

"Witli  n  rapture,  wliich  enthrones  thee 
In  my  heart,  like  tho  eucharist  in  a  dying  sinner's  soul. 

Joy  I  joy  !  for  memory's  garland, 

Like  a  glory  from  the  far-land, 
Circles  sadness  with  a  light  for  chiding  sorrow  henco 

away, 
"While  remembrance  cheers  love's  future  with  Itind  hope's 
perennial  ray. 


[Written  for  Glea^jon's  Pictorial.] 
ClANG  TO  TIIE  ROCK,  HOY! 

BY   MRB.  BOPHRONIA  ODRRIER. 


Abaft,  tho  mighty  wind, 

Ilelow,  the  dungerouB  reef; 
A  deeply  darkling  wky  above, 

And  on,  the  bcotUng  elilT, 
"  Death  walkH  the  deck  of  tho  gallant  bark  1" 

Wind,  waves,  and  tempests  sing; 
But  louder  tliun  all  a  voice  is  heard, 

"Cling  to  tho  rock,  boy, cling!" 

The  fnKijtcd  eeamen  look, 

And  througli  tlio  darkening  spray 
A  sailor  hoy  to  a  high,  steep  rock, 

Is  urging  his  toilsome  way. 
lie  hears  their  anxious  call ;  ho  seefi 

That  wide  their  ropen  they  fling; 
But  lie  murmurs  the  words  of  his  drowning  sire, 

"  Cling  to  the  rock,  boy,  cling  I" 

More  wildly  sweeps  the  blast. 

Higher  the  mountain  wave ; 
And  tho  noble  Hhip,  with  a  hundred  hearts. 

Goes  down  to  tlie  ocean  grave. 
The  boat  is  filled,  but  the  oars  still  rest — 

"  Hastw  !  haste'."  their  voices  ring  ; 
His  heart  throbs  fast,  but  he  murmurs  still, 

"  Cling  to  the  rock,  hoy,  cling !" 

Fast  plies  tho  bending  oar, 

And  fades  the  twilight  beam. 
And  only  he  fees,  from  the  far-off  shore, 

The  beacon's  sickly  gleam  ; 
While  over  his  pale  and  chilly  form 

Each  wave  its  snow-wreaths  lling; 
And  his  ear  ia  stunned  with  the  tempests'  roar — 

Will  be  cling  to  that  rock,  still  cling? 

The  long,  long  highfc  had  passed, 

And  a  boat  flew  o'er  the  sea. 
For  the  morning  sun  looked  down  and  smiled 

From  out  the  cloudless  sky  ; 
It  found  but  one  of  that  vessel's  crew, 

A  child,  low  murmuring, 
In  his  peaceful  sleep,  on  the  sea-prt  ells', 

"  Cling  to  the  rock,  boy,  cling  1" 

"When  tossed  on  life's  rough  sea, 

With  chart  and  rudder  gone  ; 
And  through  the  storm  and  darkness,  comes 

The  harpies'  boding  tone, — 
We  vdU  list  alone  to  the  Father's  words, 

In  soft  voice,  whispering, 
_And  through  the  long,  dark,  fearful  night. 

Cling  to  the  Kock,  still  cling  I 

PLEASURES  OF  AK  INDIAN  VOYAGE. 

I  began  by  paying  .£150  sterling  for  a  cabin  to 
myself,  and  had  not  inhabited  it  two  days  before 
I  found  it  so  infested  with  cockroaches,  that  I 
was  bound  to  evacuate  it.  If  we  had  been  all 
Whittingtons,  and  each  possessed  half  a  dozen 
cats,  it  would  not  have  sufficed  to  deliver  us 
from  the  rude  assaults  of  the  innumerable  host 
of  rats  that  invaded  us.  I  had  occasion  to  move 
a  trunk  which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  cabin, 
when,  to  my  astonishment,  I  discovered  a  small 
snake  coiled  up  ;  and,  as  if  not  sufBciently  hide- 
ous as  a  snake  de  facto,  I  fmther  discovered  that 
the  creature  had  two  heads.  I  called  out  loudly 
for  a  stick  and  assistance,  intending  to  commit  a 
bloody  deed  upon  the  intruder;  the  cuddy  ser- 
vants, who  had  heard  my  vociferations,  came 
rushing  on  to  the  fray;  but  no  sooner  did  they 
see  the  nature  of  the  foe,  than  they  both  jumped 
upon  the  boxes,  exclaiming,  *'  Ivill  him,  kill 
him  !  Don't  let  him  come  here  !"  Just  at  this 
point  the  third  mate  came  up,  crying  out,  "  Don't 
hurt  him,  sir  !  Pray  don't  hurt  him  !"  and  im- 
mediately laid  hold  of  what  turned  out  to  be  a 
pet  of  his.  Although  I  had  never  seen  one  be- 
fore, I  had  frequently  heard  of  "  the  double- 
headed  sand-snake."  This  was  one  of  the  very 
singular  species,  and,  assuredly,  as  far  as  the 
human  eye-sight  can  be  credited,  it  has  a  clear 
and  perfect  head  at  both  ends ;  tho  species,  how- 
ever, are  entirely  harmless,  and  the  one  in  ques- 
tion, had  made  its  escape  from  a  little  box  in 
which  the  mate  kept  it  since  leaving  Madras. 
As  for  pets,  they  literally  abound  witli  us ;  there 
is  a  pet  leopard  big  enough  to  swallow  a  sheep. 
— India  ana  Indians. 


Do  all  in  your  power  to  teach  your  children 
self-government,  ]f  a  child  is  passionate,  teach 
hiai  by  patient  and  gentle  means  to  curb  his 
temper.  If  he  is  greedy,  cultivate  liberality  in 
him.     If  he  is  selfish,  promote  generosity. 


ORIGIN  OF  "  TRUE  BLUE." 

Evei-ybody  has  heard  and  made  use  of  the 
phrase  "  true  blue ;"  but  everybody  does  not 
know  that  its  first  assumption  was  by  the  Cove- 
nanters, in  opposition  to  the  scarlet  badge  of 
Charles  I,;  and  hence  it  was  taken  by  tlie  tioops 
of  Lesley  and  Montrose,  in  1639,  The  adoption 
of  the  color  was  one  of  those  religious  pedantries 
in  which  the  Covenanters  affected  a  pharisaical 
observance  of  the  Scriptural  letter,  and  the 
usages  of  the  Hebrews ;  and  thus,  as  they  named 
their  children  Habakkuk  and  Zcrubbabcl,  and 
their  chapels  Zion  and  Ebene-ier,  they  decorated 
Iheir  persons  with  blue  ribbons,  because  the  fol- 
lowing sumptuary  precept  was  given  in  the  law 
of  Moses  :  "  Speak  unto  the  children  of  Israel, 
and  bid  them  that  they  make  them  fringes  in  tho 
borders  of  their  garments  throughout  their  gen- 
erations, and  that  they  put  upon  the  fringe  of 
the  borders  a  ribband  of  blue."  (Num.  xv.  38.) — 
English  paper. 


'Tie  not  the  fairest  form  that  holds 
The  mildest,  pui-est  soul  within  ; 

'Tifl  not  tho  richest  plant  that  folda 
The  sweetest  breath  of  fi'agninco  in, 

li.  Dawe». 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


143 


LOUIS  NAPOLEON'S  BLiJRRIAGE. 

The  European  papers  contain  rumors  of  Louis 
Napoleoa's  intended  espousal  of  the  Princess 
Wasa,  of  Baden,  a  lady  of  whom  it  is  said  that 
she  mingles  in  her  blood  that  of  the  most  cele- 
brated of  the  kings  of  Sweden ;  Charles  the  XII, 
Gustavus  "Vasa  aud  Gustavus  Adolphus,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  celebrated  Beauharnais  family,  of 
which  Louis  Napoleon  is  himself  a  scion.  She 
is  the  daughter  of  the  Prince  of  Wasa,  an  officer 
in  the  Austrian  army,  wdio  was  the  son  of  Gus- 
tavus Adolphus  the  Fourth,  a  king  who  was 
compelled  to  abdicate,  whenBernadotte  assumed 
the  sway.  The  mother  of  the  princess  was  a 
daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Baden,  who  maiTied  a 
Mademoiselle  Beauharnais,  niece  to  Josephine, 
the  Emperor  Napoleon's  first  wife.  Hence  she 
is  related  to  Louis  Napoleon,  whose  mother  was 
Hortense  Beauharnais,  daughter  of  the  Empress 
Josephine.  The  fortunes  of  the  Beauharnais 
family  are  as  remarkable  as  that  of  the  Napoleon 
family.  An  English  paper,  whence  we  derive 
the  above  facts,  says  : 

"  Of  the  two  children  of  the  Empress  Jose- 
phine, the  daughter,  Hortense,  married  Louis  Bo- 
naparte, King  of  Holland,  and  the  history  of  her 
descendants  is  now  beginning — ^where  it  will  end, 
who  can  say "?  Her  son,  Eugene,  became  King 
of  Italy,  and  married  a  daughter  of  the  King  of 
Bavaria,  by  whom  he  left  two  sons  and  two 
daughters.  The  eldest  son  married  Donna  Ma- 
ria, the  present  Queen  of  Portugal,  but  unfortu- 
nately died  a  month  afterward.  The  other  son, 
the  Prince  of  Leuchtenberg,  married  a  daughter 
of  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  of  Kussia,  who  is  de- 
tei-mined  to  make  him  a  king  as  soon  as  a  king- 
dom can  be  carved  for  him.  Of  the  two  daugh- 
ters of  Eugene  BeauJiarnais,  the  eldest  is  the 
Queen  of  Sweden,  the  other  is  the  ex-Empress  of 
Brazil,  widow  of  the  once  famous  Don  Pedro. 
She,  though  no  longer  an  empress,  yet  lives  very 
comfortably  at  Lisbon  with  her  daughter,  now 
twenty-one  years  old,  who  will  probably,  some 
day  or  other,  likewise  marry  a  king.  So  much 
for  some  of  the  characters  in  the  great  di*ama  to 
be  performed  in  Europe,  of  which  the  first  act  is 
now  in  progress." 


PROBLEM  FOR  THE  SCIENTIFIC. 

The  Portsmouth  Gazette  states  that  there  is 
obseiwable  at  Eye  Beach,  near  the  Ocean  House, 
at  extreme  low  water,  the  stumps  of  a  forest 
thickly  studding  the  sand.  They  are  the  remains 
of  ti'ees  of  a  large  growth,  but  what  kind,  the 
change  wi'ought  in  them  by  time  and  the  action 
of  the  sea  renders  it  impossible  to  determine — at 
least  upon  a  cursory  examination.  It  does  not 
learn  that  they  have  ever  been  seen  before  the 
present  season,  the  severe  storms  of  last  spring 
apparently  having  washed  the  sand  from  them 
and  left  them  distinctly  exposed  to  view.  There 
appears  to  be  no  account  of  them  from  history  or 
tradition.  How,  asks  the  Gazette,  is  the  phe- 
nomenon to  be  explained  1  Was  the  bed  of  the 
ocean  in  this  quarter  once  verdure-covered  earth, 
which  some  mighty  convulsion  of  nature  sunk 
beneath  the  waters,  at  a  period  to  whicli  the 
"memory  of  man  runneth  not?"  The  subject 
is  certainly  deserving  the  attention  of  both  the 
curious  and  the  scientific. 


THE  T03IATO. 

An  extract  in  one  of  our  exchanges  praises  the 
tomato  for  an  abundant  of  excellent  qualities. 
The  testimony  of  physicians  is  quoted  in  proof 
of  its  value  in  the  place  of  calomel,  its  efiicacy  in 
dyspepsia,  diarrhcea,  bilious  attacks,  etc.  It  is 
further  said  that  citizens  in  ordinary  (whether 
that  means  ordinary  citizens,  in  an  "  ordinary," 
or  citizens  in  their  ordinary  condition  of  health, 
or  all  three,  is  more  than  we  know)  should  make 
use  of  it,  either  raw,  cooked,  or  in  the  form  of  a 
catsup,  with  their  daily  food,  as  it  is  the  most 
healthy  article  in  the  "  mateiia  alwientaria." 
Just  at  this  season  this  piece  of  information  is 
gratifying. 


Convents. — The  number  of  convents  in  Eng- 
land alone  is  already  fifty-three,  and  the  number 
of  nuns,  at  a  low  estimate,  somewhere  about  1 500. 


Mexico. — ^Wm.  H.  Webb  has  contracted  to 
build  a  revenue  cutter,  of  about  six  hundred  tons, 
for  the  Mexican  government. 


New  Sugar  House. — A  new  company  for 
refining  sugar  contemplate  erecting  at  East  Bos- 
ton a  large  building  for  their  works. 


Rathek  Equivocal. — One  of  our  exchanges 
says  that  the  summer  bonnets  arc  as  light  and 
airy  as  the  pretty  heads  they  adorn. 


MiLiTAitT. — We  understand  that  a  new  mili- 
tary company  is  forming  at  East  Boston. 


iDagstiie   ©atljcrings. 

Hon.  Alfred  Dwight  Foster,  of  Worcester,  died 
very  suddenly,  lately,  of  gctfit  in  the  stomach. 

Ml-.  S.  E.  iVoodbridge,  of  Perth  Amboy,  N.  J., 
ofi'ers  $1000  for  picking  a  lock  which  he  sells  for 
^8,  and  continues  the  offer  for  two  years. 

A  fire  in  Elkhart,  Indiana,  has  destroyed  the 
principal  part  of  the  business  section  of  the  toivn. 
Loss  $60,000 — mostly  insm-ed. 

The  steamship  Europa  sailed  from  New  York 
for  Liverpool,  on  the  llth  inst.,  with  57  passen- 
gers, and  $725,455  in  specie. 

A  criminal  method  of  giving  ale  its  proper 
character  in  regard  to  flavor,  is  said  to  be  due  to 
stri/clmine — a  hon-ible  poison. 

Under  the  i-ules  at  West  Point,  a  failure  to 
pass  an  examination  carries  with  it  as  a  conse- 
quence a  dismissal. 

The  Sea  Serpent,  Capt.  Howland,  from  New 
York  to  San  Erancisco,  made  the  passage  in  112 
days,  calms  included. 

There  were  over  one  hundred  professors  of  re- 
ligion on  board  the  frigate  Independence  during 
her  late  cruise. 

Mrs.  Ann  Chase,  the  heroine  of  Tampico,  ar- 
rived at  New  Orleans  on  the  16th  inst.,  from 
Tampico,  in  the  cutter  Duane. 

A  Western  orator,  last  Fourth  July,  thus  com- 
menced his  oration  :  "  Fdlow-citizens, — Seventeen 
hundred  and  seventy-six  years  ago,  General  Wash- 
ington, whom  I  wear  in  my  button-hole,  died !" 

Mr.  Joseph  Marcey,  aged  eighteen  years,  was 
married  to  Mi-s.  Sarah  Moore,  aged  jifiy  years, 
in  Tennessee,  recently.  They  are  both  from 
Logan  county,  Kentucky. 

The  contributions  at  Portland,  in  aid  of  the 
sufferers  by  the  recent  fire  at  Montreal,  will  ex- 
ceed three  thousand  dollars.  Twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  have  already  been  sent. 

A  despatch  from  tha  foot  of  the  Hoosac  moun- 
tain states  that  the  great  boring  machine  was  at 
work  on  the  9th  inst.,  and  had  cut  into  the  rock 
three  feet;  at  the  rate  of  twenty  inches  the  hour! 

Two  young  men  in  Philadelphia,  nwned  Wil- 
liam Gallagher  and  Anthony  McCall,  drank,  for 
a  wager,  more  than  a  pint  of  liquor  each,  and 
Gallagher  died  from  the  effects  of  it. 

Under  the  forge  of  a  blacksmith's  shop,  at 
Hopkinton,  about  to  be  moved,  foity-three  coun- 
terfeit Mexican  dollars  have  been  found.  The 
workmen  thought  they  had  found  a  "rich  vein." 

A  Wisconsin  jury,  we  notice,  has  lately  given 
a  mulatto  woman  a  verdict  of  $100  against  a 
steamboat  captain,  for  turning  her  out  of  the  com- 
mon cabin  on  account  of  her  color. 

Alexander  Bro^vn,  of  WhitinsviUe,  Mass.,  and 
James  Chipman,  child  and  nm"se,  of  Laurel,  Del., 
are  to  be  added  to  the  long  catalogue  of  those  in- 
jured or  killed  by  the  use  of  burning  fluids. 

A  subscription  is  on  foot  in  New  York  for  the 
pm-pose  of  enabling  those  who  have  lost  friends 
or  property  by  the  desti'uction  of  the  Henry  Clay, 
to  sue  the  proprietors  for  legal  damages. 

A  brick-layer,  named  Hiram  Johnson,  fell 
from  the  top  of  the  Syracuse  House,  N.  Y.,  re- 
cently, and  was  instantly  killed,  having  broken 
his  neck. 

There  is  a  letter  addressed  to  "Modesty," 
lying  in  the  Baltimore  post  office,  and  there  being 
no  claimant  for  it  in  that  city,  the  postmaster  has 
advertised  it. 

The  Washington  Intelligencer  officially  an- 
nounces the  resignation  of  Hon.  Abbott  Law- 
rence, Minister  to  England,  and  the  appointment 
of  Joseph  R.  Ingersoii  to  fill  his  place. 

In  the  yacht  race  at  Philadelphia,  on  the  llth 
inst.,  the  Bianca,  of  New  York,  won  the  prize 
of  $1000,  beating  her  antagonist,  the  George  L, 
Brown,  one  hour  and  three  minutes. 

The  Board  of  Health,  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  re- 
port twelve  cases  of  cholera  and  three  deaths  in 
the  twenty-four  hours  ending  at  four  o'clock, 
P.  M.,  10th  inst. 

Mr.  Andrews,  consul  at  St.  John,  N.  B.,  has 
returned  to  Washington,  ■^'ith  a  report  of  facts  in 
regard  to  the  fisheries.  He  anticipates  difficulty 
in  effecting  an  adjustment. 

Lately,  a  child  of  S.  D.  Bardwell,  Esq.,  of 
Montague,  named  Charles  Summer,  got  part  of 
the  husk  of  a  pea-nut  into  bis  windpipe,  and 
shortly  aftei-wai*ds  died. 

A  German  paper  says  that  Haynau,  the  Aus- 
trian butcher,  has  been  spending  some  time  at 
the  baths  of  Hamburg.  On  Sunday,  May  30,  he 
won  in  a  gambling  saloon  40,000  francs— nearly 
$8000. 

Mr.  Charles  Loomis,  of  West  Granville,  for- 
merly of  Westfield,  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  on 
Sunday  morning,  the  8th  inst.  His  age  was 
about  70. — No  cause  is  assigned  for  his  sudden 
death. 

A  real  live  Turk,  born  in  Constantinople,  is 
sojourning  in  Cincinnati,  and  expresses  himself 
well  pleased  with  that  city.  The  one  wife  sys- 
tem, however,  he  abhors,  as  unworthy  of  agi-eat 
country,  and  so  excellent  a  government. 

A  dread  of  the  effects  of  chloroform,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  fatality  that  has  repeatedly  follow- 
ed its  administration  of  late,  may  finally  induce 
the  dentists  to  fall  back  on  ether,  which  was  never 
known  to  do  any  hann. 

A  letter  dated  Singapore,  June  1st,  states  that 
the  bark  Nelson,  at  Melbourne,  for  London,  was 
boarded  April  2d,  during  the  absence  of  the  mas- 
ter on  shore,  by  two  boats'  crews,  who  over- 
powered the  crew  and  plundered  the  vessel  of 
gold  dust  to  the  amount  of  £125,000. 


Jorcign   UltsccUang. 

Madame  Vestrls,  the  famous  danseuse,  is 
seriously  ill. 

The  English  have  twenty-one  ships  on  the 
coast  of  Africa. 

The  wheat  crop  of  Germany  is  better  than  it 
has  been  before  in  twenty  years. 

Louis  Napoleon  is  having  his  busts  placed  in 
the  public  markets  of  Paris,  with  imposing  cere- 
monies. 

Belletti,  Jenny  Lind's  former  musical  com- 
panion, is  said  to.be  immensely  popular  in  Lon- 
don. 

It  is  stated  that  thirteen  thousand  cows  are 
kept  in  London,  confined  in  cellars  and  sheds  in 
various  parts  of  the  town. 

There  had  been  very  serious  riots  at  Limerick, 
Cork,  Belfast,  and  elsewhere,  connected  with 
election  movements,  religion  (?)  being  mixed  up 
with  politics. 

General  Cathcart  is  about  to  make  a  general 
onslaught  upon  the  strong-holds  of  the  Caffres. 
The  English  had  captured  fifty-one  Caffre  wo- 
men, who  were  acting  as  spies. 

A  benevolent  English  lady  has  recently  given 
$24,000  to  establish  infant  schools  in  one  of  the 
most  destitute  districts  of  London.  There's  a 
true  woman ! 

We  learn  from  Paris  that  notwithstanding  the 
police  are  continually  on  the  aleit,  still  a  multi- 
tude of  wi'itings  are  diffused  in  all  quarters, 
in  which  the  government  is  most  powerfully 
attacked. 

Turin  papers  give  particulars  respecting  the 
recent  arrests  in  Milan  and  other  cities.  About 
sixty  persons  were  aiTested  in  the  province  of 
Mantua,  among  them  the  Archpriest  of  Revera, 
and  six  other  clergymen. 

There  is  a  painful  record  of  outrages  and  mur- 
ders perpetrated  by  the  Caffres.  An  army  of 
them,  two  thousand  strong,  are  concealed  in  the 
mountains,  and  are  constantly  making  descents 
upon  the  colonists,  whom  they  rob,  plunder  and 
murder  with  impunity.  The  settlers  are  selling 
their  possessions,  and  removing  to  Austi'alia. 

A  few  days  ago,  a  balloon  fell  near  the  Green- 
wich turnpike,  England,  upon  the  Greenwich 
road.  A  working  painter  caught  hold  of  one  of 
the  ropes  to  keep  it  down,  and  he  was  dragged 
up  by  the  rope,  so  that  those  in  the  car  had  to 
pull  him  in  or  he  must  have  fallen  some  sixty 
or  seventy  feet  to  the  ground. 

The  insurrection  in  the  Morea  is  headed  by 
priests,  whose  followers  amount  to  2000.  They 
are  exciting  the  Greeks  against  King  Otho,  whom 
they  denounce  as  a  Boman  Catholic,  and  they 
threaten  not  to  desist  till  he  is  baptized  in  the 
Greek  Church.  It  is  said  this  crusade  is  stimu- 
lated by  Russia. 


loker'a  Bnliiiet. 


SantrH  of  ©oli. 


One  cannot  always  be  a  hero,  but  one 

may  always  be  a  man. 

All  thoughts  that  we  do  not  share,  in 

time  turn  to  sadness. — Lamartine. 

Wholesome    sentiment  is    rain,  which 

makes  the  fields  of  daily  life  fresh  and  odorous. 

....  Lay  by  a  good  store  of  patience,  but  be 
sure  and  put  it  where  you  can  find  it. 

....  Solitude  is  necessary  in  the  moments 
when  grief  is  strongest  and  thought  most 
troubled. 

....  True  joy  is  a  serene  aud  sober  emotion, 
and  they  are  miserably  out  who  tako  laughing 
for  rejoicing. 

....  Books  are  leaves  thrown,  to  sink  or  swim, 
into  the  stream  of  time,  by  a  being  who  soon 
plunges  in  after  them. 

Truth — the  open,  bold,  honest  truth — is 

always  the  wisest,  always  the  safijstfor  every  one 
in  any  and  all  circumstances. 

....  Books  about  religion  may  be  useful 
enough,  but  they  will  not  do  instead  of  the  sim- 
ple truth  of  the  Bible. 

....  There  are  readers  of  books  who  get  no 
farther  than  the  title-page,  like  the  Indian  fox, 
who  devours  only  the  heads  of  insects. 

....  The  most  cheerful  children  are  always 
the  best,  and  necessity,  if  she  is  the  mother  of  in- 
vention, is  also  the  grandmother  of  wickedness. 

....  A  young  man's  ambition  is  but  vanity — 
it  has  no  definite  aim — it  plays  with  a  thousand 
toys.     As  with  one  passion,  so  with  the  rest. 

....  Great  calamities  teach  us  many  beautiful 
lessons,  and  reveal  to  us  much  we  should  never 
have  seen  from  the  common  level  of  life. 

Many  authors  regard  vulue  as  the  Mexi- 
cans did  gold,  as  being  only  fit  to  ornament 
their  temples,  and  too  precious  to  be  made  as 
currency. 

....  Fools  and  madmen  have  their  paradise, 
and  are  as  much  pleased  with  their  imaginary 
honors,  as  they  would  be  with  the  real.  This 
makes  them  averse  to  all  methods  of  cure. 

Kind  words  do  not  cost  much.     They 

never  blister  the  tongue  or  lips ;  and  we  have 
never  heard  of  any  mental  troubles  arising  from 
this  quarter.  Though  they  do  not  cost  much, 
yet  they  accomplish  much. 

He  is  good  who  does  good  to  others.    If 

he  suffers  for  the  good  he  does,  he  is  better  still ; 
and  if  he  suffers  from  them  to  whom  he  did  good, 
he  is  an-ived  to  that  height  of  goodness  that  no- 
thing but  an  increase  of  his  sufferings  can  add  to 
it ;  if  it  proves  his  death,  his  virtue  is  at  its  summit. 


V   Why  is  John  Bigger's  boy  larger  than  his  fa- 
ther ■?     Because  he  is  a  little  Bigger. 

A  cotemporary  says,  that  John  Bull,  in  the 
late  difiiculty  down' East,  has  proved  himself 
very  sel-Jish. 

What  is  the  difference  between  a  schoolmaster 
and  an  engine  driver  ?  One  trains  the  mind, 
the  other  minds  the  train,  sometimes  ! 

There  is  a  man  in  Boston  who  walks  so  slow 
that  he  wears  a  pair  of  spurs  to  keep  his  shadow 
from  treading  on  his  heels  ! 

A  young  lady  in  the  interior  thinks  of  going  to 
California  to  get  married,  as  she  has  been  told  that 
in  that  countiy  the  men  folks  "  rock  the  cradle." 

Somebody  has  invented  and  patented  a  ma- 
chine for  setting  up  ten-pins.  Couldn't  some  of 
our  wiseacres  possibly  contrive  a  machine  to  "  set 
up"  folks  in  business  1 

The  reporter  of  one  of  the  New  York  morning 
papers  says  :  "  Nearly  one  hundred  souls  were  lost 
by  the  recent  burning  of  the  steamer  Henry 
Clay !"     What  a  shocking  idea ! 

A  Yankee,  according  to  the  poet  Saxe,  is  a 
driving  man.  "He  sees  aqueducts  in  bubbling 
springs,  buildings  in  stones,  and  cash  in  every- 
thing." 

A  young  gentleman  being  pressed  very  hard 
in  company  to  sing,  even  after  he  had  solemnly 
assured  them  that  he  could  not,  observed,  testily, 
that  they  intended  to  make  a  butt  of  him.  "  No, 
my  good  sir,"  said  one,  "  we  only  want  to  get  a 
stave  out  of  you." 

In  Newcastle,  Me.,  recently,  Mr.  John  Kinnear 
attempted  to  drag  Nathaniel  AVhite  from  his 
wagon,  for  the  purpose  of  flogging  him,  but  fell 
under  the  wheels,  had  his  shoulders  bi-uised,  his 
ear  cut  off,  and  his  head  otherwise  injured.  No 
blame  is  attached  to  the  driver! 

A  gentleman,  says  Punch,  who  takes  the 
morning  journals,  and  whose  attention  is  apt  to 
be  monopolized  by  them,  remonstrated  one  day 
with  his  wife  for  coming  down  to  breakfast  in 
curl-papers  ;  when  the  lady  replied  ;  "  If  you  in- 
dulge in  your  papers,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't 
enjoy  mine." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  Ist  and  2d  of  the  Pictobtal  DRAWisa 
Boom  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edgea 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Cflobe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages  ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad  ;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in,  short,  of  an  infinite  Yaxiety 
of  interesting  and  inetructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLTrailNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
avast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times  ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  t-o  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

Fer  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  TVholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNIOK, 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  KEriNED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  poHte  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  expi:3ely  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  :^.nd  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  ita  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  FOR  TKE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLB. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  iveekly  paper  in  the  United  Slates,  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
Bo  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH     SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  enggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEMS    TO    STJBSCRIBEES. 
1  subscriber,  one  year S2  00 

3  subscribers,       '*  5  00 

4  «  "  6  00 

8  "  "  11  00 

16  "  "  20  00 

One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  odh.  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
PiCTORiAt  DEAWiNG-llooai  COMPANION,  one  year,  for  £5*00. 

in^  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  cluba,  on  the  above  terms. 

D::7=-  All  orders  should  be  addressed,  POST  PAID,  to  th& 
Publisher  of  the  Flag  of  our  Union. 

*,*  The  Flag  can  he  obtained  at  any  of  the  newspaper 
depots  in  the  United  States,  and  of  neivspaper  carriers,  at 
FOOB  CENTS  per  sins'.c  copy. 

F.    GLEASON, 
PtTELISHEE  AND  PeOPIUETOR,  BOBTON,  MABS. 


144 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


U.  S.  CUTTER  TANEY. 

Tlercwith  we  pivc  a  view  by  otir  artist,  Mr, 
Wttde,  roprcsentiiifj;  tlio  .sudduii  loss  of  tliis  ves- 
sel in  New  York  hiirhor  on  Tuesday  afternoon, 
Aufifust  3,  as  she  was  bound  to  the  outer  bay. 
Froni  the  report  of  tlic  eaptain  it  appears  that 
after  having  proceeded  a  mile  below  Governor's 
Island,  with  a  very  li;^ht  air,  the  vessel  was 
struck  by  a  white  Hquall,  whieb  seemed  to  fall 
aliuiird  aliMust  \-nli(iilly,  cuiisiiit;  her  to  capsize 
and  (ill  ill  an  instant.  Si.  liniiu-il  were  the  cx- 
tL-nt  and  duratiuTi  of  the  M|nall  that  pilot  boats 
and  other  vessels  in  various  directions  within  150 
■yards  of  the  spot  were  becalmed  ut  the  time,  and 
immediately  afterwards  scarcely  more  than  a 
tn-eath  of  air  could  be  perceived.  So  sudden  was 
it,  that  not  a  ripple  appeared  to  indicate  its  ap- 
proach. These  typhoons,  or  vacuums  in  the  air, 
are  imfrc(iiicnt  in  these  waters,  but  in  the  East 
Indies  and  tropics  they  are  very  common — wit- 
ness the  loss  of  the  President,  the  U.  S.  sloop-of- 
war  Hornet,  etc.  In  the  China  seas  they  are 
very  common  and  violent.  The  commander, 
two  lieutenants,  pilot,  and  13  of  the  crew,  were 
saved.  One  of  the  lieutenants  and  one  of  the 
crew  were  not  on  board.  Two  arm  chests  con- 
taining 24  stand  of  arms,  24  pistols  and  one 
dozen  cutlasses  were  picked  up  afloat  150  yards 
from  the  wreck.  Five  persons  were  drowned. 
TIio  body  of  one  man  was  picked  up  two  days 
after,  and  two  more  are  not  expected  to  survive 
the  injuries  they  received.  On  Friday,  the  Boom 
Derrick  Company  sent  down  one  of  their  large 
derricks,  and  raised  the  schooner  to  the  surface 
of  the  water.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  the 
derrick  first  took  hold,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  the 
Taney  was  suificlently  afloat  to  start  for  the  city, 
where  she  arrived  in  charge  of  the  derrick,  at 
about  half-past  twelve  o'clock,  P.  M.  The  dead 
weight  raised  was  about  seventy-five  tons.  The 
boom  derrick  works  finely,  and  is  worthy  of  the 
attention  of  those  who  are  curious  in  such  mat- 
ters. The  proprietors  consider  it  fully  equal  to 
the  task  of  raising  three  hundred  tons.  They 
bavf  lifted  two  hundred  tons,  and  the  superin- 
tendent thinks  that  at  one  time  a  weight  of  three 
hundred  tons  was  sustained  by  the  boom.  One 
horse  is  all  that  is  required  to  move  the  machine 
after  the  derrick  is  in  a  proper  position  for  lift- 
ing. The  Taney  was  phiccd  in  the  basin  at  the 
Atlantic  dock,  and  six  pumps  were  set  at  work 
to  clear  her  hold  of  water.  At  a  late  hour  in  the 
afternoon,  the  water  was  lowered  so  that  the 
bodies  of  the  two  men  who  went  down  with  the 
schooner  were  taken  out. 


-r  '".t 


LOSS  OP  THE  U.  S.  REVENUE  CUTTEE  TANEY,  IN  NEW  YORK  HARBOR. 


ENCAMPMENT  OF  THE  FIFTH  REGIMENT  OF  ARTILLERY,  ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  [For  description,  sen  pago  141.] 


F.  aLEASON, 


;  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
:  AND  TKEMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  4,  1852. 


s2  per  volume. 
10  0t9.  single. 


Vol.  III.  No.  10.— Whole  No.  62. 


UJnVERSITY,  CITY  OF  NEW  YORIL 

This  magnificent  building,  represented  below, 
"  is  situated  between  Washington  Place  and  Wav- 
erly  Place,  New  York,  and  fronts  Washington 
Square  towards  the  west,  forming  a  noble  orna- 
ment to  the  city.  It  is  built  of  Westchester  mar- 
ble. The  style  is  Gothic,  and  much  resembles 
the  English  collegiate  style  of  architecture.  The 
building  is  180  feet  long,  and  100  feet  wide.  In 
front,  this  oblong  is  divided  into  five  parts,  a 
central  building,  with  wings  flanked  by  towers, 
rising  on  each  of  the  four  corners  of  the  edifice. 
Tliis  central  building,  or  chapel,  is  superior  to 
the  rest  in  breadth,  height  and  character,  and  is 
somewhat  similar  to  King's  College,  Cambridge, 
England — a  masterpiece  of  pointed  architecture, 
and  a  splendid  model  for  ages  to  come ;  it  is  55 
feet  broad,  and  85  feet  deep,  including  the  Octan- 
gular turrets,  one  of  which  rises  at  each  of  the 
four  comers ;  the  two   ends  are  gabled,  and,  as 


well  as  the  sides,  are  crowned  with  an  embattled 
parapet.  The  chapel  receives  its  principal  light 
from  a  window  in  tlic  west  end.  This  window 
is  24  feet  wide,  and  50  feet  high.  It  has  eight 
lights  and  two  embattled  transonxs.  Prom  the 
central  building,  or  chapel,  wings  project  right 
and  left,  and  are  four  stories  high,  flanked  by 
towers,  supported  by  angular  buttresses  of  two 
stages,  running  above  an  embattled  parapet,  and 
are  at  the  top  themselves  embattled.  The  win- 
dows in  the  wings  have  square  heads,  with  two 
lights,  a  plain  transam,  and  the  upper  division 
trefoiled.  The  principal  entrance  is  under  the 
great  western  window,  through  a  richly-moulded 
and  deeply-recessed  portal,  flanked  by  buttresses 
of  two  stages,  the  upper  stage  set  diagonally, 
and  rising  above  an  embattled  parapet.  The 
doors  are  of  oak,  richly  panelled,  and  filled  with 
tracery  of  open  work,  closely  studded  with 
bronze.     The  school  has  a  president  and  eleven 


professors  ;  it  has  a  valuable  library,  called  the 
Historical  Society,  which  is  free  to  all  people. 
Connected  with  it  is  an  extensive  grammar 
school,  and  a  flourishing  medical  department. 
The  chapel  is  probably  the  most  beautiful  room 
of  the  kind  in  America.  The  whole  building  is 
open  to  visitors  at  all  time*.  A  number  of  the 
smaller  rooms  are  devoted  to  offices.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  council,  for  1852,  are  John  C.  Green, 
President;  John  T.  Johnston,  Vice-President; 
Wm.  B.  Maclay,  Secretary;  Paul  SpofFord, 
Treasurer.  The  Faculty  of  Science  and  Letters 
are  Elias  Loomis,  A.  M.,  and  chairman  of  the 
Faculty;  E.  A.  Johnson,  A.  M.,  professor  of 
Latin  and  Literature  ;  C.  S.  Henry,  X>.  L).,  pro- 
fessor of  Philosophy,  History,  the  English  Lan- 
guage, and  Literature ;  John  W.  Draper,  M.  D., 
professor  of  Chemistry  and  Natural  History; 
John  Crosby,  A.  M.,  assistant  professor ;  P.  M. 
W.  Eedfield,  A.  M.,  assistant  professor  of  Ma- 


thematics ;  Reuben  P.  Lowrie,  A.  M.,  assistant 
professor  of  Languages ;  S.  F.B.Morse,  LL.  D., 
professor  of  the  Literature  of  the  Arts  of  Design ; 
M.  Giraud,  professor  of  the  French  Language ; 
F.  J.  Vingut,  professor  of  the  Spanish ;  Felix 
Forerti,  professor  of  the  Italian;  G.  J.  Adler, 
A.  M.,  professor  of  the  German ;  M.  Leviloux, 
professor  of  the  French,  The  view  is  taken  from 
Washington  Square,  or  Parade  Ground.  The 
effect  of  the  building,  as  seen  through  the  trees, 
is  really  grand,  reminding  one  of  some  of  the 
old  castles  in  Europe.  In  short,  the  University 
is  one  of  those  landmarks  of  the  advancement  of 
art,  science,  and  general  civilization  in  the  new 
world,  the  multiplying  of  which  is  one  of  the 
strongest  evidences  of  our  steadily  increasing  im- 
provement, and  the  growtli  and  appreciation  of 
intelligence  in  America,  honorable  alike  to  all. 
Let  such  aid  to  knowledge  and  art  be  multiplied, 
until  we  rival  the  old  countries  of  Europe. 


'J*V' 


t   [. 

.»    *     •' 

V     1.    * 


'Y*'1 


VIEW  OF  THE  UNiraRSITY,  IN  THE  CITY  OF  NEW  YOR]^.. 


146 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   HOOM   COMPANION. 


A  ROMANTIC  STORY  OF  INCIDENT  AND  ADVENTURE. 

Entered  according  to  Act  ol'  CongrcBs,  in  the  year  1 852,  by  F.  Gle ASON,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 


District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[WUITTEN   EXPRE88LT   FOE  GLEABON's   TICTOKIAL.] 


SI 


I 


mi  mmmmE  m  mmmM. 

%  (!5i*apl)ic  ®alc  of  Spain,  3taln  auti  (Pmjlanb. 
BY  FREDERICKlil^ 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    UNEXTECTliD    MEETING. 

Odr  present  story  opens  in  a  sunny  scene, 
Tipon  a  charming  sunny  afternoon  in  autumn,  in 
the  south  of  sunny  Spain — the  land  of  chiv- 
ah-y,  knight-errantry  and  wealth — and  a  land 
of  misery  and  poverty,  as  -well — if  history  be 
credited ! 

A  portly  and  well-fed  Spaniard— Don  Miguel 
Ruberto — the  owner  and  occupant  of  a  fine  lui- 
ciendo,  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  city  of  Sc- 
■v-ille — was  reclining  upon  a  rich  divan,  after  din- 
ner, enjoying  his  siesta,  or  afternoon  nap  ;  and 
beside  him  there  sat  two  slaves  engaged,  the  one 
in  shading  his  master's  face,  and  the  other  wield- 
ing a  massive  fan  over  his  heart. 

Whether  the  generous  dinner  he  liad  lately 
devoured  oppressed  him,  or  wliether  his  copious 
draughts  of  Rhenish  wine — of  which  he  was  over- 
fond — disturbed  his  brain,  would  be  difficult  to 
determine ;  at  any  rate,  he  could  not  seem  to 
sleep.  His  attendants  were  zealously  attentive 
in  the  performance  of  their  duties,  at  his  couch- 
side,  but  he  tossed  and  turned,  and  finally  sat 
bolt  upright. 

"A  cigarctta,  Cope,"  he  said,  gruffly,  address- 
ing one  of  his  servants — who  disappeared,  and 
returned  in  an  instant  of  time,  with  a  few  choice 
cigars  upon  a  silver  salver. 

He  had  scarcely  lighted  his  delicate  cigar, 
which  he  smoked  througli  an  amber  mouth-piece, 
when  a  cloud  of  dust  was  seen  at  the  end  of  the 
court-yard,  in  front,  and  a  jaded  liorse,  appar- 
ently worn  down  with  fatigue  and  rough  usage, 
halted  at  tlic  outer  gate. 

The  beast  was  mounted  by  an  ill-dressed  stran- 
ger, whose  slouched  hat  and  dust  covered  clothes 
offered  very  slight  warrant  for  welcome  at  this 
lordly  old  dwelling.  Don  Miguel  looked  out  a 
moment  at  the  intruder,  and  then  tlu'owing  him- 
self back  upon  his  divan,  in  the  lazy  attitude 
which  he  most  loved,  he  awaited  further  devel- 
opments, with  the  simple  query  to  Copo  : 
"  Who  is  that?" 

Now  Copo,  or  his  companion  in  service,  the 
sharper-witted  Pinta,  knew  little  and  cared  less 
who  came  to  see  the  Don  Miguel !  And  so  they 
looked — and  both  answered  that  they  "  didn't 
know." 

At  the  further  extreme  of  the  long  piazza  of 
the  main  house,  there  were  three  rows  of  lattice- 
work, or  Spanish  blinds,  wliich  shadowed  three 
windows  of  the  great  reception-room.  When  the 
old  Spaniard  inquired  "who  is  thaf?"  tlio  mid- 
dle range  of  lattice  turned,  witli  a  quick  move- 
ment; and  as  the  stranger  alighted  and  came 
up  the  walk,  slowly,  a  pair  of  briUiant  eyes  might 
have  been  seen  through  one  of  the  interstices, 
fixed  intently  and  curiously  upon  the  new  comer. 
He  was  a  youngish  man,  apparently — but  his 
motions  were  heavy  and  seemingly  in  a  measure 
decrepit.  He  secured  his  horse  at  the  gate,  and 
advancing  to  the  very  last  stair  on  the  terrace, 
he  removed  his  slouched  hat,  and  wiped  the  per- 
spiration from  his  forehead  with  his  hand. 

"  Give  you  good  day,  scnor,"  he  said,  address- 
ing himself  at  once  to  the  dozing  don. 

"  Well,  what  now  1"  inquired  Don  Miguel, 
without  deigning  to  turn  his  head. 

"  I  have  come  a  long  distance,  senor,  to  speak 
with  you.  The  day  is  sultry,  and  I  am  now 
fasting  since  yester-night." 

"  That  is  no  business  of  mine,"  said  the  old 
Spaniard. 


*'  Yes  it  is,  senor.'* 
"  Who  are  you  ?" 
"A  poor  man,  in  distress — " 
"  We  have  them  here  every  day  in  the  month." 
"  You  do  not  have  Hie  licre,  often,  senor — and 
I  pray  you  give  me  a  draught  of  good  wine,  and 
bid  your  fellows  here  see  to  my  horse,  yonder. 
Shehasbornemc  five-and-twenty  Spanish  leagues 
since  daybreak,  without  an  ounce  of  barley." 

"And  what  is  that  to  me!  Off  with  j'ou  !  lest 
I  set  the  hound  after  you." 

At  this  moment,  for  the  first  time,  the  stranger 
heard  a  low  snarl,  and  turning  aside,  he  beheld 
the  teeth  of  a  miserable  blood-hound  just  beyond 
him,  lying  under  the  shadow  of  a  cluster  of 
evergreens. 

"  Ha,  ha!"  grinned  Don  Miguel,  viciously, 
*'  I  sec,  yoQ  will  be  civil,  at  any  rate  ;  the  dog's  a 
good  beast,  but  doesn't  fancy  your  costume  !  Be 
quiet.  Carlo — quiet,  sir." 

"  Let  him  show  his  teeth,  scnor — an'  he  will. 
Come  !  Since  you  are  so  inclined,  release  him. 
He  is  a  vicious  cub,  like  his  master.  You  shall 
send  him  at  me,  and  I  will  show  you  how  I  will 
make  his  acquaintance." 

"  Out  on  you,  fellow — for  a  stupid  fool !"  re- 
torted the  Spaniard,  tartly.  "  If  I  pleased  to  say 
to  him  '  go  there  !'  thy  skin  would  be  the  worse 
for  having  ventured  within  the  gate." 

"  Will  it  please  you,  scnor,  to  let  him  come  ? 
I  have  said  he  is  a  cur,  like  to  his  master." 
"  What  means  the  fellow  V 
"  Wliat  he  says,  senor." 
"  Out,  then !     Out  of  my  gates  !" 
"  Not  until  my  errand  hither  is  accomplished." 
"  Speed  thee,  then,  and  do  thy  errand  ;  or,  by 
St.  Peter,  my  dog  shall  drive  thee  hence !" 

"  Will  it  please  you,  senor,  to  order  my  hun- 
gry horse  some  grain  1" 
"No!" 

"  Indeed  it  will,  anon,"  continued  the  stranger, 
approaching  him  more  closely.  "I  come  from 
Bernard  de — " 

"Bernard!  ivhat — "  exclaimed  the  Spaniard, 
quickly  springing  up.  "  Tell  me,  stranger — but 
I  may  doubt  tliy  words.  The  proo/"  that  thou  so 
comest." 

"  It  is  here,"  said  the  traveller,  at  onec ;  and 
he  pointed  to  a  heavy  signet  ring  upon  his  left 
hand. 

"  Come  in — come  in  !  Copo,  Pinta — see  to 
the  horse." 

"  And  mind  you,"  said  the  stranger,  "  she 
must  have  good  care,  and  faithful  grooming." 

"See  to  it,"  added  Ruberto,  extending  his 
hand  to  the  traveller,  and  leading  him  into  the 
mansion,  witliout  further  liesitation. 

The  wayfarer  very  soon  found  himself  com- 
paratively at  home.     A  choice  repast  of  excellent 
fruit  and  delicious  wine  was  instantly  placed  be- 
fore him,  and  an  explanation  quickly  followed. 
"  You  come  from  Bernard  de  Norde?    What 
can  I  do — that  is,  how  can  I  serve  my  old  friend?" 
"  Your  old  companion,  I  believe." 
"  Companion  ?     Ah,  yes — yes — partner,  you 
mean." 

"  Well,  partner  in  trade,  if  you  like  that  term 
better.     Partner,  or  companion." 
"  You  know,  then — " 

"  Yes ;  I  know  Bernard,  and  I  know  Pontini." 
"  Foutini!     Who — who  was  lie?" 
"  It  is  a  good  while  ago." 
"Yes,  yes — that  is,  I  suppose — " 
"  I  k7mv.    It  is  a  long  while  since  you  and  he 
tn welled  together,  eh?" 


"  Exactly.     But  how  did  he  know,  you  know, 
that  I  was  here?" 

"Ila,  ha!     Did  you  suppose  that  you  could 
live  here  in  all  this  fine  style,  and  never  be  known 
again,  save  as  Don  Miguel  Uuberto?" 
"  But  I  (im  Ruberto." 
"  Yes — and  you  were  Fontlni !" 
" — 'sh!     Not  too  loud.     You  don't  know — 
you  may  have  heard — " 

"Pshaw!     After  what  I  have   said,  we  may 
speak  in  confidence,  I  think." 
"  But—" 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  huts,  senor.     I  am 
here  to  ask  an  accommodation  of  you." 
"  Well — go  on." 

"  Business  with  us  has  been  indifferent,  for  the 
past  two  years  ;  and  since  i/our  rctiracy  from  the 
profession,  we  have  got  to  be  poor.  We  have 
an  enterprise  in  view  for  the  coming  winter;  liut 
in  the  meantime  we  must  live,  you  see — eh  ?" 
"  Well." 

"  The  chances  in  the  mountains  are  not  so 
promising  as  they  were  five  years  ago,  when  you 
were  one  of  us.  We  are  out  of  ready  means, 
and  we — that  is  to  say — Bernard  has  commis- 
sioned me  to  communicate  with  you,  and  to  ask 
the  loan  of  two  thousand  doubloons." 

"Two  what!"  exclaimed  the  tight-fisted  Span- 
iard, springing  fiercely  up,  "two  thous — " 

"Two  thousand  doubloons,  I  said,"  continued 
the  dusty  beggar,  witliout  changing  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face,  or  seeming  for  a  moment  to  no- 
tice the  don's  embarrassment. 

"  That  is  thirty  thousand  good  Spanish  dol- 
lars," said  Don  Miguel,  catching  his  breath  once 
more. 

"  I  know  it,"  responded  the  beggar. 
"  Was  the  man  mad  ?" 
"  I  think  not,  senor." 

"  Then  he  was  drunk,  to  be  sure,  to  make  such 
a  demand  of  me." 

"  I  should  say  not  drunk,  either,  senor  ;  for  he 
will  drink  only  good  wine,  as  you  arc  aware  ;  and 
Heaven  knows  he  has  not  of  late  had  the  means 
to  obtain  his  favorite  beverage  in  any  extrava- 
gant quantities.  But,  senor,"  added  the  stran- 
ger, as  lie  filled  his  goblet  with  another  draught 
of  the  choice  liqueur  before  him,  "  senor,  your 
good  health  !  By  the  mass,  it  is  seldom,  of  late, 
that  Bernard  de  Norde  has  put  his  lips  to  such 
nectar  as  this  !" 

"  One  thousand  doubloons  !"  exclaimed  Don 
Miguel,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 
"  Two  thousand,  scnor." 
"Eh?  what?" 

"  Tico  thousand,  by  your  leave." 
"Ay!     Two — over  thirty  thousand  dollars! 
This  is  a  modest  demand,  to  be  sure." 

"  An  accommodation  only,  senor.  It  will  be 
returned,  no  doubt — " 

"  Bah  !     Bernard  cannot  be  in  earnest,  in  this 
matter ;  for  he  knows  I  do  not  possess  so  much." 
"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !"  screamed  the  beggar. 
"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?" 

"  Laugh,  senor  ?  Your  pardon  for  the  nide- 
ness.  But  Bernard  de  Norde  has  not  forgotten 
how  much  of  gold,  and  plate,  and  jewels  fell  to 
Fortini's  final  share  of  the  accumulated  spoils, 
when,  less  than  six  years  since,  he  dissolved  part- 
nersliip — I  think  this  is  the  term — with  that  noted 
individual.  I  warrant  me  the  value  of  those 
precious  gains  has  not  since  lessened  in  Fontini's 
hands." 

"  I  cannot  do  it,"  insisted  Don  Miguel,  firmly. 
"  Yes,  you  can." 
"  I  cannot — will  not !" 
"  I  think  you  will,  scnor." 
"  This   is   monstrous !     I   will   not  willingly 
consent  thus  to  he  robbed,  and  I  will  resist — " 
"  No  you  wont.'* 
"And  why?" 

"Because  it  will  not  be  for  your  interest  so  to 
do.  Besides  you  are  too  rich  and  too  liberal  to 
refuse  an  old  friend  so  trifling  a  favor." 
"  Trifling,  did  you  say?" 
"  And,  moreover,"  continued  the  traveller, 
"  your  place  is  so  public  here — nice  house,  well 
appointed,  everything  pleasant  and  desirable — • 
you  wouldn't  care  to  be  inconvenienced  by  too  fre- 
quent visits  from  certain  friends  I  could  name  to 
you,  and  who  wouldn't  scruple  to  come  and  help 
themselves,  perhaps,  as  you  have  done  in  times 
past — to  whatever  might  be  accessible!" 

This  last  hint  was  delivered  by  the  speaker 
with  the  coolest  aang  froid  imaginable ;  and  the 
intruder  filled  his  goblet  once  more,  as  the  don 
stared  at  him  in  utter  astonishment. 

"Pontini — Ruberto,  I  mean,"  said  the  I)old 
stranger,  placing  the  goblet  to  his  lips,  again, 
"your  very  good  health  !" 


CILAPTER  II. 

CORRINNE   ALHANZA — THE   MAGICIAN. 

Wk  have  spoken  of  a  pair  of  sparkling  eyes 
which  glistened  through  an  opening  in  one  of 
the  drawing-room  lattices,  when  the  stranger 
reached  the  pia/.za  of  old  Don  Miguel's  house. 
They  set  beneath  the  poli.shed  brow  of  the  re 
nowned  beauty  of  Seville — Corrinne  Almanza. 

A  liner  form  none  knew,  a  more  captivating 
brunette,  a  sweeter  girl  than  the  lovely  and 
beloved  Corrinno,  found  not  her  home  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Seville,  She  was  sharp-witted 
too,  and  joyous  as  a  young  fawn — happy,  con- 
tented, companionable  and  friendly  with  all,  and 
to  all  around  her;  and  when  the  young  man 
called  at  the  hacienda,  she  was  eighteen  years 
old,  only — beautiful  in  feature  and  contour,  and 
just  ripening  into  glorious  womanhood. 

But  Corrinne  wiis  romantic  as  well  as  spriglitly, 
and  happy,  and  beautiful.  She  saw  the  joung 
stranger  through  the  drawn  blinds,  and  though 
his  attire  was  none  of  the  best,  and  his  person 
was  covered  with  dust,  she  conceived  a  strong 
desire  to  know  more  about  him  ;  and,  woman- 
like, she  listened  to  what  he  said  before  entering 
the  house. 

And  who  was  this  strange  but  haughty  travel- 
ler ?  and  what  was  the  secret  he  possessed,  which 
had  so  extraordinary  an  effect  upon  the  uniform- 
ly imperturbable  and  stoical  old  don  ?  These 
were  questions  which  at  once  suggested  them- 
selves to  the  nervous  and  excitable  girl ;  and  she 
resolved  to  obtain  some  satisfactory  answers  to 
them.  Nevertheless,  Don  Miguel  had  no  dispo- 
sition to  unravel  any  of  this  apparent  mystery. 
On  the  contrary,  he  instantly  made  up  his  mind 
that  Corrinne  should  know  nothing  of  the  mat- 
ter ;  and  he  resolved  also  to  get  rid  of  his  caller 
at  the  very  earliest  possible  moment. 

"  First  of  all,  young  man,"  said  Don  Miguel, 
when  they  had  become  seated  in  the  side-room 
to  which  they  had  retired,  "  first  of  all,  since  you 
come  with  authority  from  Bernard,  as  you  say 
you  do — what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  That  matters  very  little,  senor,  surely — since 
my  visit  hither  is  purely  upon  business,  and  my 
stay  must  of  necessity  be  limited.  I  am  the 
agent  of  Bernard  de  Norde,  and  you  have  seen 
my  badge  of  authority — which  you  do  not  ques- 
tion, of  course." 

"  By  what  right  can  Beraardo  thus  attempt  to 
filch  me — and  of  such  an  enormous  sum  ?" 

"  I  did  not  ask  him  that.  His  orders  were, 
'  GoandseekFontini,now  self-styled  Don  Miguel 
Ruberto,  who  dwells  near  Seville.  He  is  a  gen- 
tleman of  gi-eat  wealth,  and  lives  at  his  ease.  I 
have  befriended  him,  in  times  past,  and  he  knows 
me;  tell  him  I  am  in  need  of  two  thousand 
doubloons,  at  once,  and  must  have  so  much  ;  I 
helped  to  make  him  the  fortune  he  now  enjoys, 
and  he  knows  it.  He  will  not  refuse  you.'  I 
am  only  obeying  his  orders." 
"  And  what  if  I  do  refuse  ?" 
"  Then  Bernard  will  come,  in  person,  to  seo 
you." 

"  Let  him  come,  then  !" 
"  What,  senor  !     Do  I  understand — " 
"  That  I  will  not  submit  to  such  a  demand." 
"  It  is  but  a  loan." 
"  I  shall  decline.     I  cannot  do  it." 
"  Can,  but  ivHl  not,  senor." 
"  Construe  it  as  you  will — I  am  not  disposed 
to  embark  in  any  such  enterprise." 

"  It  is  well,  senor.  I  have  finished  my  er- 
rand, and  will  at  once  retire,  if  it  please  you,  to 
order  my  horse.  There  is  a  long  ride  to  accom- 
plish between  me  and  Bernard;  but  I  know  the 
nature  of  his  necessities,  just  now,  and  he  will 
await  my  return  with  anxiety.  Since  you  refuse 
to  respond  to  his  request,  too,  I  shall  be  the  more 
in  haste." 

And  with  these  words  the  traveller  rose  to  de- 
part. His  steed  was  immediately  ordered ;  but 
when  the  animal  reached  the  carriage-post,  near 
the  terrace,  no  one  but  the  party  well  acquainted 
with  the  form  and  mettle  of  the  beast,  would 
have  suspected  it  to  have  been  the  same  dust- 
covered  animal  which  but  an  hour  previously 
stood  before  the  outer  gate  of  the  don's  hacienda. 
She  was  a  magnificent  Flemish  mare,  with  a 
dash  of  Normandy  blood  in  her  veins — all  mus- 
cle, compactness,  strength  and  beauty.  She  had 
been  well  cared  for,  and  carefully  groomed,  dur- 
ing the  little  time  she  had  halted  for  her  master's 
pleasure,  and  when  she  was  handed  round  to  the 
door  ogain,  it  was  with  dirticulty  the  slave  could 
control  her.  She  pranced,  and  danced,  and 
plunged  in  his  hands,  and  would  have  disen- 
gnged  herself  altogether,  at  last,  but  for  a  sharp 
voice  which  she  suddenly  heard  beyond  her  : 


Ji 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAAVIXG    HOOM    COMPANION. 


147 


"Hi!  VcYi~hi:" 

The  beautiful  creature  quickly  pointed  her 
small  thin  ears  toward  the  portal  of  the  mansion, 
and  arching  her  full,  round  neck,  she  responded 
to  that  well-known  voice  ia  a  self-satisfied  wiu- 
now,  as  if  she  would  have  said — could  she  have 
spoken — ''all,  master,  I  feared  you  were  gouc!" 
and,  on  the  instant,  the  sagacious  "  Peri"  was  as 
quiet  as  a  lamb  again. 

"By  St.  Mark!"  exclaimed  Don  Miguel, 
glancing  at  the  beautiful  quadruped  in  readiness 
to  be  mounted,  "  you  are  borne  by  a  fine  steed ! 
I  give  you  good  day,  young  man,  and  trust,  if 
you  ever  have  occasion  to  call  again,  that  yoii 
will  make  your  business  not  only  more  accepta- 
ble to  me,  but  more  profitable  to  yourself." 

"  Adios,  senor!"  responded  the  young  man, 
cheerfully  ;  "  we  shall  meet  again,  be  sure  of  it." 

With  this  salutation,  the  stranger  spi-ang  into 
his  saddle,  and  in  a  very  few  moments  was  out 
of  sight. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  old  don  re- 
turned again  to  his  divan,  and  re-lighted  his  ci- 
garetta,  he  was  very  evidently  ill  at  ease,  after 
the  interview.  He  knew  Bernard  de  Norde,  and 
lie  secretly  feared  him  ;  yet  his  cupidity  prompt- 
ed the  course  he  had  now  chosen,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  abide  the  result  of  his  refusal  to  loan 
so  much  money,  though  his  means  were  ample 
to  accomplish  an  accommodation  of  five  times 
the  sum,  at  a  moment's  notice,  if  he  desired  so 
to  do. 

He  tossed  about  uneasily  till  night  fell,  and 
then  retired  to  his  own  private  apartment,  in  a 
very  ill  humor;  for  he  repented  having  been  so 
peremptory  and  inconsiderate,  all  things  con- 
sidered. 

Corrinne  had  heard  the  stranger's  voice,  she 
had  seen  his  face,  and  she  had  become  strangely 
interested  in  him,  at  the  first  sight.  She  noted 
his  sudden  departure,  with  reluctance,  too  ;  but 
his  graceful  carriage,  his  fine  form  and  manly 
beauty  had  left  a  deep  impression  upon  her  ro- 
mantic heart. 

This  lovely  girl  was  generous-minded,  to  a 
fault,  and  she  would  have  gone  boldly  to  Don 
Miguel,  her  protector,  and  asked  the  traveller's 
name  and  business ;  but,  for  the  first  time,  she 
observed  that  her  old  friend  shunned  her,  at  even- 
ing, and  she  felt  certain  that  he  did  not  desire 
her  to  become  acquainted  with  either  one  or  the 
other.  She  kept  her  desire  a  secret,  therefore, 
for  the  time  being,  resolved,  when  the  right  op- 
portunity presented,  that  she  would  satisfy  her- 
self in  the  premises. 

On  the  third  day  subsequent  to  the  visit  we 
have  described,  all  Seville  was  alive  with  excite- 
ment in  reference  to  the  arrival  of  a  distinguished 
necromancer — one  Ferdinand  Bletzer,  as  he 
called  himself — a  celebrated  magician  and  jug- 
gler. His  reputation  had  but  recently  preceded 
him  in  this  place,  but  he  was  highly  lauded,  and 
his  feats  were  said  to  be  of  the  most  singular  and 
astounding  character.  While  his  performances 
were  described  as  being  highly  entertaining  and 
decorous,  it  was  also  claimed  that  many  of 
his  feats  were  of  a  philosophical  and  interesting 
chemical  character,  such  as  had  astonished  the 
world,  wherever  he  had  appeared,  thus  far.  His 
exhibitions,  also,  were  conducted  on  a  scale  of 
magnificence  in  appointments  and  appurtenance, 
such  as  had  never  before  been  witnessed,  and  in 
his  vocation  the  signor  (who  professed  to  be  an 
Italian)  was  said  to  be  altogether  unrivalled. 

Such  a  reputation,  and  such  inducements  for 
display,  naturally  stirred  up  the  sluggish  spirits 
of  the  inhabitants,  for  the  time  being,  and  all  Se- 
ville went  to  witness  the  magical  wonder  of  the 
age,  who  had  dropped  in  upon  them  at  a  mo- 
ment when  there  was  nothing  astir  in  the  town 
to  compete  with  him.  The  nobility  turned  out 
en  vinsse  to  witness  the  sti-ange  j>eiformanees 
which  had  been  so  loudly  talked  of,  and  when 
the  curtain  was  drawn  up,  at  the  opera  house 
(which  bad  been  engaged  for  the  exhibitions),  a 
most  aristocratic  and  select  auditory  greeted  the 
debut  of  the  accomplished  magician,  in  Seville. 

When  the  talented  juggler  made  his  appear- 
ance, in  the  midst  of  his  sumptuous  and  costly 
surroundings,  a  deafening  burst  of  enthusiasm 
and  astonishment  greeted  and  welcomed  him. 
He  was  superbly  attired,  in  the  showy  costume 
of  an  eastern  fakir  ;  and  his  performances  proved 
of  the  most  wonderful  and  startling  cliaraeter. 
He  was  master  of  the  "  black  art,"  evidently — 
and  even  in  that  superstitious,  wizard-believing, 
wonder-loving  community,  he  outdid  all  his  pre- 
decessors, in  every  species  and  grade  of  chi- 
canery, sleight-of  hand,  and  legerdemain — to  the 
utter  astonishment  and  gratification  of  all  who 


were  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  an  entrance  to 
the  theatre. 

As  we  have  stated,  the  stage  was  one  mass  of 
elegant  and  costly  trappings,  peculiarly  adapted 
to  the  use  of  the  great  performer,  from  the  mag- 
nificent polished  silver  "mirror  of  fate,"  upon 
which  the  magician  read  the  passing  thoughts  of 
any  of  his  audience  who  dared  to  submit  to 
the  trial,  down  to  the  tiny  golden  thimble,  less 
than  an  inch  in  depth,  out  of  which  he  showered 
scores  of  bouquets,  and  bon-bons,  and  the  rarest 
of  ripened  fruit,  among  the  ladies  present. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  dress  circle,  a  dais  or 
platform  had  been  arranged,  on  a  level  with  the 
stage,  extending  around  the  entire  circle  of  the 
parquctte — to  enable  the  performer  to  communi- 
cate directly  with  the  aristocratic  portion  of  the 
house,  in  order  to  extend  the  amusement  and 
deceit  of  his  tricks.  Among  the  foremost  of  the 
audience,  could  be  seen  Don  Miguel  Ruberto, 
and  his  charming  ward,  Corrinne  Almanza,  who 
had  come  down  to  Seville  to  enjoy  the  treat 
afforded  by  the  an"ival  of  this  extraordinary  man, 
in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  wonder-loving 
citizens  of  the  town  and  vicinity. 

The  shrewd  and  watchful  eye  of  Corrinne  was 
fixed  at  an  early  moment  upon  the  magician,  and 
she  watched  him  with  an  ardent  and  determined 
gaze  during  the  whole  evening ;  yet  she  saw 
nothing,  or  very  little  of  his  performances  !  She 
saw  the  man,  however ;  and  her  thoughts  were 
busy,  meantime — for  they  had  met  before  I 

The  selfish  old  don  knew  nothing  of  this,  how- 
ever; nor  did  he  suspect  anything.  The  phi- 
losophy of  the  diversion  was  Greek  to  him  ;  the 
sleight-of-hand  appeared  to  his  vision  to  be  the 
acme  of  art ;  the  choicest  efforts  of  the  juggler 
were  astounding  truths,  in  hisestecrh,  and  he  had 
no  leisure  except  to  be  duped  and  amused  at  the 
same  time. 

More  than  once,  however,  during  the  evening, 
the  magician  had  approached  the  little  coterie 
who  surrounded  the  fair  Corrinne,  and  drawn 
from  one  or  another  of  the  ladies  a  glove,  a  ker- 
chief, or  a  ring,  with  which  to  make  experi- 
ments ;  and,  as  the  performances  continued,  the 
don's  ward  became  deeper  and  deeper  interested 
in  the  countenance  of  the  wonderful  man  who 
amused  them,  albeit  none  knew  why  or  where- 
fore ! 

Trick  after  trick,  feat  after  feat  had  been  ac- 
complished, to  the  satisfaction  and  surprise  of 
the  vast  audience,  and  as  the  evening  closed,  the 
magician  had  possessed  himself  of  a  diamond 
rin^  and  glove  from  Comnne  Almanza,  to  com- 
plete an  experiment.  After  which,  he  returned 
the  latter  to  its  lovely  owner,  but  not  the  ring! 
Upon  attempting  to  replace  the  glove  upon  her 
hand,  she  discovered  an  impediment  within  the 
palm,  and,  upon  a  more  critical  examination, 
which  no  one  else  had  observed,  she  found  a  di- 
minutive envelope  in  the  glove,  which  startled 
her  at  first ;  but  which,  on  a  moment's  reflection, 
she  determined  to  say  nothing  about.  It  proba- 
bly contained  her  ring — or,  he  would  immedi- 
ately i-eturn  the  jewel,  at  any  rate — and  so  the 
time  passed  by. 

The  magician  was  busy,  the  audience  admired 
and  applauded,  the  evening  waned,  and  every- 
body forgot  the  circumstance  of  the  ring,  save 
its  fair  owner. 

No  one  was  better  pleased  than  Don  Miguel, 
though  his  eyesight  was  none  of  the  best — having 
suffered  with  a  visual  complaint  for  some  two  or 
three  years  previously.  However,  he  was  de- 
lighted, the  audience  generally  were  delighted, 
and  Corrinne,  who  had  scarcely  noted  the  details 
of  a  single  feat,  distinctly,  was  quite  as  well 
pleased  with  her  visit  as  the  rest. 

The  company  saw  the  curtain  fall  with  regret ; 
and  the  superior  performances  of  the  signor  drew 
together  crowds  upon  crowds,  thereafter,  for  sev- 
eral daj's. 

Corrinne  said  nothing  of  the  missing  ring. 
But,  on  reaching  home,  she  lost  no  time  in  re- 
tiring to  her  own  boudoir,  to  learn  further  devel- 
opments in  reference  to  this  romantic  episode ; 
satisfied  of  what  no  other  person  in  attendance 
at  the  opera  house  could  be — to  wit,  that  she  had 
met  with  Signor  Bletzer  before,  under  other  cir- 
cumstances ! 


CHAPTER  UI. 

THE  CONTENTS  OF  THE  GLOVE — A  SURPRISE. 

No  greater  truism  was  ever  yet  promulgated, 
than  the  time-worn  adage,  that  "  love  is  blind." 
Corrinne,  the  beautiful,  was  near  the  verge  of 
being  in  love  ;  but  Corrinne,  though  not  exactly 
blind,  was  now  very  near-sighted,  in  this  par- 
ticular!     Notwithstanding  this,  she  had  discov- 


ered what  the  old  don  had  never  dreamed  of, 
though  his  opportunity  had  been  fully  equal — to 
wit,  tiiat  the  magician  and  the  mysterious  visitor 
at  Kubcrto's  mansion  (but  a  few  days  previou.sly), 
were  one  and  the  same  individual!  So,  of  a 
truth,  Love  is  not  always  so  blind  as  he  is  de- 
scribed to  be. 

Upon  reaching  her  boudoir,  Corrinne  dis- 
pensed with  the  usual  services  of  her  femme  de 
chambre,  for  her  curiosity  had  reached  its  culmi- 
nating point,  and  she  was  in  a  state  of  feverish 
excitement  to  know  what  were  the  contents  of 
the  tiny  glove.  Securing  herself  from  interrup- 
tion, by  dropping  the  latchet  of  her  door,  when 
her  attendant  retired,  she  quickly  drew  from  its 
hiding-place  the  treasured  missive! 

Wliat  was  it  ?  Did  the  packet  contain  her 
missing  ring?  Most  certainly  it  ought.  But, 
alack,  no  jewel  was  there  !  It  was  a  very  jewel 
of  an  envelope,  with  gilded  edge,  and  deep  em- 
bossings of  darling  cupids,  doves  and  roses ! 
And  then  the  seal — a  crest !  AVhat  could  all  this 
mean?  It  was  a  very  impertinent  thing — this 
smuggling  a  bil/et  doiix  into  a  lady's  very  glove, 
uuasked  and  unexpected.  But  Corrinne  only 
smiled — though  she  asked  herself  all  these  ques- 
tions— and  with  a  trembling  hand  removed  the 
seal.  The  contents  of  the  note  she  quickly  mas- 
tered.    It  was  without  date,  and  ran  as  follows  : 

"  Fair  Ladt  :  Believe  me  at  your  feet,  to 
crave  pardon  for  this  intrusion,  which  may  he, 
haply,  fatal  to  my  hopes  !  I  love  you,  Corrinne, 
with  all  the  fervor  and  purity  of  a  devoted,  un- 
quenchable love — and  I  have  dared  to  tell  you 
so.  If  the  opportunity  be  afforded  me,  I  will 
explain  to  you,  in  person,  all  that  I  am,  all  that 
I  feel,  all  that  I  ever  can  aim  to  be,  in  life ! 

"  The  poor  ruse  I  have  resorted  to,  to  engage 
your  attention  for  one  moment  (that  Imighttlius 
tell  you,  in  one  word,  my  ambition  and  my 
hopes),  may  fail  of  its  object.  You  may  be 
shocked,  perhaps,  at  audacity  like  this,  and  turn 
away  with  a  sensation  of  contempt,  for  him  who 
should  thus  risk  such  monstrous  presumption. 

"  But,  lad}--,  do  not  judge  me  harshly.  We 
have  already  met.  Let  me  say  again,  with  all 
my  heart's  truest  devotion,  Z/ofe  you!  And  be 
this  the  excuse  for  my  daring.  I  have  prepared 
these  hasty  lines — which  I  shall  make  sure  will 
reach  you — and  in  exchange,  I  shall  retain  some 
trifling  memento  which  may  fall  into  my  hands, 
from  yours,  to-night. 

"  Tell  me  if  I  shall  sue  in  vain  !  Yom-  re- 
appearance at  the  opera  house  shall  be  my  an- 
swer. We  can  meet  there  unknown  to  all  save 
our  o\vn  hearts ;  and,  peradventure,  I  shall  find 
in  the  qlove  I  may  solicit  from  you  again,  your  reply 
to  this  ?  Devotedly  yours, 

The  Magician." 

Now,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  this  letter 
would  have  cither  found  its  way  quickly  to  Don 
Miguel,  or  the  young  lady  would  have  crushed 
and  burned  it,  with  a  sneer  for  its  author.  But 
as  it  was,  there  was  altogether  too  much  of  ro- 
mance in  this  affair  to  admit  of  either  course — so 
thought  Corrinne ;  and  while  her  little  heart 
fluttered  %vildly  in  her  bosom,  she  pressed  the 
letter  to  her  lips  in  very  rapture  !  Strange,  in- 
explicable, and  uncxplainable  is  the  course  of 
love ! 

AVhile  this  scene  was  passing  in  the  private 
apartment  of  fair  Corrinne,  old  Don  Miguel  had 
retired  for  the  night.  He  was  not  a  little  super- 
stitious, albeit  his  former  life  had  been  a  scene — 
for  many  a  year — of  danger,  and  toil,  and  crime, 
which  might  well  have  operated,  one  would  sup- 
pose, towards  eradicating  anything  like  such  a 
sentiment  in  his  composition.  But  Don  Miguel 
slept,  after  witnessing  what  had  been  to  him  the 
most  astounding  series  of  performances  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  the  wealthy  Spaniard  dreamed  ! 

The  conjurer  appeared  before  him,  as  he  slept, 
and  he  fancied  that  he  assumed  a  thousand 
fiendish  shapes — each  different  from  the  other, 
and  each  more  appalling  and  forbidding  than  the 
first.  In  his  slumbers  he  went  back  to  "days 
long  past,"  and  the  magician  still  was  present, 
pursuing  him,  glaring  upon  him  with  great  fiery 
eyes,  taunting  him  with  reminiscences  of  the 
times  when  a  price  was  offered  for  his  head ! 
Then  the  juggler  would  laugh  at,  and  deride 
him,  and  point  him  to  a  form  which  followed 
close  behind,  and  which,  upon  a  further  exami- 
nation, proved  to  be  Bernard  de  Norde,  who 
threatened  him !  Don  Miguel  tossed  heavily 
upon  his  pillow,  and  would  have  screamed  for 
aid,  but  he  had  not  the  power.  His  tongue  re- 
fused to  articulate ;  the  power  of  the  magician 
was  upon  him ! 

The  rays  of  the  clear,  young  moon  illumined 


his  chamber,  and  after  a  fitful  struggle  the  old 
Spaniard  turned  upon  liis  side,  and  his  tlioughts 
quickly  flew  to  his  dwelling,  near  Seville,  again. 
He  struggled  to  forget  what  he  had  just  passed 
through  ;  he  essayed  to  blot  from  his  brain  the 
effects  of  his  dream,  still  unfinished ;  and,  with 
a  determined  eftbrt  he  sprang  from  his  pillow,  to 
encounter  instead  of  the  ideal,  the  rea/ity  !  Ber- 
nard de  Norde  stood  beside  his  couch  ! 

"Avaunt!"  shouted  Don  Miguel,  wildly — ^not 
knowing  certainly  if  he  were  actually  asleep  or 
awake  ;  but  the  palm  of  the  sinewy  de  Norde  was 
quickly  placed  upon  the  don's  mouth,  and  silence 
as  quickly  succeeded  the  Spaniard's  exclamation. 

"  Hist,  Fontini !"  said  the  robber,  softly. 

"  Ruberto,"  said  the  Spaniard. 

"/know  you  only  as  'Fontini,'"  continued 
the  powerful  mau  at  his  bedside,  "  and  I  charge 
you  be  silent  if  you  value  your  life  !" 

"  In  the  name  of  all  the  saints,"  muttered  Don 
Miguel,  as  he  shivered  with  friglit  and  excite- 
ment, "  how  came  you  liere,  and  when  V 

"  It  matters  not.  Suffice  it  that  I  am  here, 
and  that  I  am  needy." 

"  M^ell,  old  friend—" 

"Stop,  there!"  said  Bernard,  coldly,  "and 
listen  first  to  what  I  have  to  offer;"  and  with 
these  words,  the  robber  poised  a  glistening  pistol 
in  his  right  hand,  and  then  released  his  hold 
upon  his  old  companion's  person.  "When  we 
parted  company,  now  six  years  ago,"  continued 
the  robber,  in  a  low  but  firm  voice,  "you  will 
not  have  forgotten  who  took  from  the  wealth  of 
our  little  clan  the  lion's  share  of  the  spoils  we 
had  accumulated." 

"  Nor  who  aided  to — " 

"Hist,  Fontini !  and  listen — for  my  visit  hither 
must  be  brief.  I  say  f/ou  cannot  have  forgotten 
who  awarded  himself  the  lion's  portion,  and 
retired  from  the  profession  at  that  time.  You 
will  also  remember  the  few  brief  words  which 
passed,  on  that  occasion,  between  the  'leader' 
and  his  'lieutenant,'  who  had  brought  about  the 
resignation  of  the  first  personage,  at  that  indi- 
vidual's own  request,  and  the  promise,  the  vol- 
untary promise,  which  was  then  proffered  by  the 
retiring 'captain.'  These  two  items  must  still 
be  fresh  in  your  memory,  I  think,  though  six 
long  years  have  now  passed,  since  their  occur- 
rence." 

"  I  remember  no  prom — " 

"  You  are  a  liar,  Fontini !  And,  but  that  I 
had  the  means  ready,  at  my  call,  even  from  that 
very  window  yonder,  through  which  I  found  my 
way  to  your  bedside,  to  compel  you  to  disgorge, 
I  would  be  avenged  oa  you  here,  upon  this  spot, 
for  your  denial  of  my  words,  and  your  base  in- 
gratitude !" 

"  You  take  me  thus  at  disadvantage — " 

"Disadvantage  !  Bah  !  do  you  think  I  would 
act  otherwise,  under  the  circumstances  of  the 
case  ?  Fortini,  you  know  me.  You  know  whether 
Bernard  de  Norde  is  a  liar,  a  coward,  or  au  in- 
grate.  We  have  stood  side  by  side,  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  in  many  a  rough  skirmish,  in  days  long 
passed  by.  And  I  saj'  you  know  whether  I  am 
usually  successful  in  my  undertakings." 

"  Go  on — what  must  I  do  V 

"  When  we  thus  parted,  Fontini,  the  jewels, 
plate  and  gold  you  bore  away,  were  ample  to 
furnish  means  to  support  you  munificentlj',  for 
life.  You  then  said,  '  De  Norde,  count  on  me, 
ever!  I  will  be  your  friend.  You  have  been 
true  as  steel ;  and,  but  for  you,  I  should  not  have 
been  able  to  tear  myself  from  the  men  and  this 
course  of  life,  of  which  I  am  heartily  sick.  Take 
my  place.  It  is  a  hazardous  one,  but  you  are 
equal  to  it.  Whenever  you  need  my  aid,  do  not 
hesitate  to  command  me — to  the  uttermost  of 
the  means  which  you  have  so  bravely  helped 
to  place  in  my  hands,'  Such  were  your  words, 
Fontini.  Am  I  right,  or  wrong  1"  asked  the 
robber,  at  the  same  time  springing  back  the 
hammer  of  his  pistol,  the  click  of  which  did  not 
sound  very  musical,  at  midnight,  in  the  ears  of 
the  once  reckless  and  bold— but  just  now  excited 
and  alarmed  Spaniard. 

"  A  promise  thus  made,"  began  Don  Miguel. 

"  Am  I  right  or  wrong  V  insisted  de  Norde, 
interrupting  him,  and  pointing  the  weapon 
straight  into  his  eye  ! 

"  Hold !"  said  the  don,  "  and  hear  me,  one 
moment." 

[to  be  continued.] 


Let  no  one  suppose  that  by  acting  a  good  part 
through  life,  he  will  escape  s'lander.  There  will 
be  those  even  who  hate  them  for  the  very  quali- 
ties that  ought  to  procure  esteem.  There  are 
some  folks  in  the  world  who  are  not  willing  that 
others  should  be  better  than  themsel\'es. 


148 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


ELVIRA, 

GEN.  rr.onrs's  UKSirniNCK. 

Wc  licrcwiih  jd'cscTit  our 
readers  with  poinc  spiritcfl 
scenes  ropi'eatmting  (lifi'crent 
places  in  Sontli  AnuTiru. 
The  first  is  ii  viL;\v  of  tlie 
counti*y  scat  of  (Jen.  Florcs, 
the  cx-prcsident  of  the  ropuh- 
lie  of  Ecuador,  and  a  very 
fair  specimen  of  ihe  suninu-r 
residences  of  the  o|)iilent 
Sonth  Americans.  General 
IFlores  was  for  many  years 
president  of  Kcuador,  wliere 
ho  still  has  nniny  fi-iends  and 
adherents,  anil  late  advices 
state  that  he  hud  act  on  foot 
an  expedition  for  the  repub- 
lic destined  lo  subvert  the 
present  government,  and  to 
rc-assort  wliat  he  believes  to 
bo  his  cluims  to  the  presi- 
dency. He  is  represented  as 
a  man  of  talent,  energy  and 
probity,  and  his  enterprise 
promised  to  meet  with  suc- 
cess, though  more  recent  ac- 
countg  state  that  the  expedi- 
tion had  failed.  A  squadron 
consisting  of  seven  men-of- 
war,  etc.,  set  sail  from  Para 
for  Guayaquil,  25th  April. 
They  arrived  within  five  or 
six  miles  of  Guayaquil,  and 
landing  in  qmst  of  provis- 
ions,were  attacked  by  an  Ecu- 
dorian  party,  and  retreated. 
One  of  their  vessels  explod- 
ed, by  which  one-tentli  of 
their  party  were  destroyed. 
On  the  night  of  July  4,  Guay- 
aquil was  attacked ,and  nearly 
taken.  But  a  scries  of  un- 
toward circumstances  thwart- 
ed their  plans,  tho  expedition 
was   abandoned,  the  vessels 

were  disarmed,  and  Flores  himself  was  in  the  Umbier,  having 
fled  from  pursuit,  The  troops  ofFloreshad  gone  over  to  Urbina, 
the  commander  of  the  Ecudorian  forces,  whose  troops  amounted 
to  some  2100  men.  A  new  candidate  had  been  named  for  the 
presidency,  and  still  another  revolution  was  anticipated. 

The  boy  seen  in  the  engraving  below  W!\s  one  of  the  pupils  of 
Mr.  Cbarton,  a  young  French  artist,  who  travelled  through  South 
America  on  a  tour  of  adventure.  While  at  Quito,  making  sketches 
in  the  streets,  vast  crowds  assembled  to  witness  his  operations. 
The  governor  proposed  to  him  to  establish  a  school  of  the  fine 
arts;  but  there  was  no  money  in  tlie  treasury.  He  proposed  to 
give  a  public  course  of  twenty-five  les:ons — perspective,  heads, 
figures,  painting,  landscape,  style,  portraiture,  for  eighty  dollars. 
The  governor  accepted,  but  no  money  was  forthcoming.  A  law- 
yer offered  him  forty  dollars,  and  he  began — Jiis  drawing-room 
being  the  sta^c  of  the  theatre.  His  most  promising  pupil  was  the 
boy  whose  portrait  he  has  preserved.  At  Guayaquil,  he  painted 
the  portrait  of  the  lady  whose  likeness  is  presented  herewith  in 
the  annexed  engraving.  She  was  very  pretty,  but  persisted  in 
making  a  thousand  faces  to  enhance  her  beauty.  At  one  moment 
she  smiled,  at  another,  she  screwed  up  her  mouth  to  make  it 
appear  smaller.  The  wretched  artist  \vas  seated  on  a  stool,  and 
rested  Ids  canvass  on  a  chair  instead  of  an  easel,  using  the  hus- 
band's cane  for  amahl-stick.  The  children  were  constantly  pull- 
ing his  hair;  and  as  the  lady  painted  herself  differently  at  each 
sitting,  the  poor  aitist  was  sadly  perplexed  in  the  matter  of  color. 


\Qim  4WIST  OF  QUITO, 


ELVIRA,  THE  COUNTRY  SEAT  OF  GENERAL  FLORES. 

Her  caprice  induced  her  to  change  her  dress  every  day,  but  he 
finally  succeeded  in  persuading  her  that  her  travelling  costume 
was  most  becoming,  and  in  that  he  has  represented  her. 

Upon  the  next  page  we  give  a  view  of  a  church  in  Bodega,  a 
small  town  not  far  from  Guayaquil,  of  not  much  interest  to  the 
traveller.  The  church,  however,  is  picturesque,  and  gives  a 
good  idea  of  most  of  the  churches  in  the  smaller  towns  of  South 
America. 

Guayaquil  extends  along  the  borders  of  a  long  river  called  the 
Guayas.  Its  aspect  is  elegant.  All  the  houses  are  adorned  with 
arcades  and  large  covered  balconies.  The  view  on  approaching 
in  the  night-time,  where  the  long  lines  of  lighted  windows  are  re- 
flected tremulously  in  the  water,  is  exceedingly  picturesque.  The 
river  is  always  gay  with  a  multitude  of  market-boats,  bringing 
pine-apples,  cocoa-nuts,  and  other  fruit  to  the  city,  as  represented 
in  the  engravings,  also  given  on  the  opposite  page.  Many  per- 
sons live  on  board  these  boats  after  the  fashion  of  the  Chinese  at 
Canton.  In  1829  three-quarters  of  the  city  were  destroyed  by  fire. 
In  1842  the  yellow  fever  swept  off'  nearly  half  the  inhabitants. 
The  city  is  yet  saddened  by  these  disasters,  and  many  families 
are  inconsolable.  The  male  population  suffered  most — the  num- 
ber of  the  women  and  young  girls  greatly  exceeds  that  of  the  men. 
Its  commerce  is  not  very  flourishing.  Cocoa  is  a  principal  ex- 
port. Straw  hats  of  great  value  are  made  here.  Some  cost  as 
high  as  forty  and  fifty  dollars.  When  they  have  lost  their  fresh- 
ness they  are  given  to  servants.  The  man  in  easy  eircumstauees 
has  four  to  five  hats  in  a 
year.  A  party  at  Guay- 
I,,  aquil  is  a  somewhat  sin- 

gular affair.  The  ladies 
are  ranged  around  the 
hall,  seated  on  chairs  or 
sofas,  in  full  dress,  and 
radiant  with  affability. 
The  door  is  always  left 
open  on  account  of  the 
lieat.  A  gentleman  on 
entering,  looks  around 
him  without  bowing,  pla- 
ces his  straw^  hat  on  a 
chair,  and  then,  advanc- 
ing very  deliberately, 
shakes  hands  with  every 
individuiil  in  the  room. 
After  which,  he  is  at  lib- 
erty to  find  a  place  be- 
tween two  ladies,  and 
converse  about  the  rain, 
the  beat,  and  the  mosqui- 
toes, never  failing  tojiics 
of  conversation .  The 
principal  piece  of  furni- 
ture in  every  house  is  the 
hammock,  and  the  prin- 
cipal article  of  food  the 
banana.  There  is  no 
theatre,  concert  room, 
public  promenade,  or  mu- 
seum, and  life  at  Guaya- 
quil would  be  very  dull, 
were  it  not  for  the  socia- 
bility of  the  people,  and 
the  beauty  and  elegant 
manners  of  the  ladies. 
As  we  have  given  on 
this  and  the  following 
page  several  repiescnta- 
tions  of  scenes  in  Guaya- 
quil, perhaps  we  can  do 
no  better,  in  closing  our 
account,  than  to  ofi'er  to 
our  readers  the  following 
description  of  the  city  of 
Guiiy!i(|Hil,  drawn  mainly 
fioiri  i\Ir(  'ulloch's  Geo- 
grapbifal  (Ja/.etteer.  Tho 
city  is  built  principally  on 
the  north  bank  of  the  riv- 
er, and  is  divided  into  the 


old  and  new  town,  the  for- 
nter  being  occupied  by  llie 
jjuorcr  classcH.  It  contains  a 
population  rising  20,000. — 
The  city  is  tolerably  well  laid 
out ;  and  as  its  houses  are  of 
wood,  and  it  has  frequently 
suffered  fiom  fires,  as  before 
noticed,  much  of  it  is  com- 
paratively modern,  and  has 
a  good  appearance.  Its  pri- 
vate residences  arc  mostly 
tiled  and  furnished  with  ar- 
cades. It  contains  several 
good  edifices,  including  tlie 
'ustom-house,  three  con- 
vents, a  college,  hospital, 
etc. ;  but  fVom  being  situateil 
on  a  dead  level,  and  inter- 
sected by  many  erects,  the 
drainage  is  extremely  bad, 
and  the  streets  arc  so  swampy 
as  to  be  sometimes  impa.ssa- 
ble.  Many  of  the  inhabitants 
live  on  tiie  river,  on  Mza», 
on  floating  rafts,  from  fifty  lo 
eighty  feet  long.  The  river 
opposite  the  city  is  about  two 
miles  wide,  and  has  on  it'* 
south  bank  adrydock,  where 
several  ships  of  a  superior 
construction  have  been  built. 
The  city  is  unhealthy,  and, 
like  its  whole  province,  in- 
fested with  vermin ;  it  is  ill 
supplied  with  water,  which 
has  to  be  brought  from  a  con- 
siderable distance  on  ba/za.s, 
which,  indeed,  are  used  for 
the  conveyance  of  all  kinds 
of  goods.  It  deserves  to  be 
mentioned  that, notwithstand- 
ing the  severe  injury  the  city 
has  frequently  received  from 
fires,  it  has  not  a  single  fire- 
engine  !  The  port  of  Guaya- 
quil is  one  of  the  best  on  the 
Pacific,  ships  of  large  size  coming  up  close  to  the  town.  It  is  de- 
fended by  three  forts,  one  being  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 
Ships  bound  to  Guayaquil  usually  call  at  Puna  for  pilots. 


VEGETATION  IN  CALIFORNIA. 

The  world  has  heard  something,  through  the  newspapers  and 
otherwise,  of  the  wondeiful  productiveness  of  the  soil  of  Califor- 
nia, and  has  heard  some  stories,  which,  though  perfectly  true, 
and  thought  little  or  nothing  of  here,  have  proved  severe  tests  of 
the  crednlity  of  people  in  other  countries.  We  have  seen  many 
of  the  monsters  of  California  vegetation,  but  we  have  at  the  pres- 
ent time  in  our  office  some  specimens  that  eclipse  anything  we 
have  seen  or  heard  of.  These  curioj^ities  are  two  bunches  of  clo- 
ver of  natural  growth,  taken  from  the  farm  of  Judge  Suydam,  on 
the  American  river,  one  mile  from  the  city.  The  largest  bunch 
measures  six  feet  in  height,  six  feet  six  inches  in  circumference, 
and  weighs  nine  pounds.  It  consists  of  a  cluster  of  seventeen 
main  stems,  some  of  them  measuring  an  inch  and  a  half  in  cir- 
cumference, and  many  smaller  stems,  all  from  one  root.  The 
root,  around  the  largest  part,  measures  nine  and  a  half  inches. 
The  smaller  bunch,  consisting  of  about  the  same  number  of  stems, 
measures  five  feet  nine  inches  in  height,  and  weighs  eight  and  a 
half  pounds.  These  very  remarkable  and  singular  specimens  of 
clover  are  of  the  long-leafed,  sweet-scented  species.  As  we  write, 
our  office  is  redolent  of  the  delightful  aroma  emitted  from  them. — 
Saaameiito  Union. 


L\S^- 


TRAVELLING  COSTUME  OF  A  LADY  OF  GUAYAQUII. 


GLEASOIS'S   PICTOEIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


149 


LOKDON  STAGE. 

Webster,  of  the  Haymnr- 
ket  Theatre,  has  produced 
an  "adaptation"  from  the 
French,  called  "  A  Novel 
Kxpedient,"  ■v\'ith  marked 
success.  The  story  is  suf- 
ficiently extravagant.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Moore  are  dis- 
covered, three  months  af- 
ter marriage,  staying  at 
Richmond.  Of  course  they 
are  as  dotingly  fond  of 
each  other  as  all  newly 
wedded  couples  are ;  but 
there  is  one  di-awback  to 
the  lady's  happiness,  in  the 
person'of  a  Mr.  Damon,  a 
very  old  and  intimate  friend 
of  her  husband's,  who  is 
staying  with  them.  She  is 
so  jealous  of  this  gentle- 
man that  she  at  length  begs 
her  husband  to  tell  him  to 
go;  but  meeting  with  a 
positive  refusal  from  Mr. 
Moore,  who  has  the  high- 
est regard  for  his  friend, 
she  determines  on  consult- 
ing an  old  aunt,  who  is 
resident  in  the  country, 
and  who  has  long  been 
voted  in  her  own  circle  as 
the  strongest-minded  wo- 
man, and  most  perfect  hus- 
band-conqueror in  the  land. 
The  aunt  in  her  letter  ad- 
vises her  niece  to  pursue 
an  expedient  laid  down  by 
Lcsage,  where  a  lady,  to 
rid  herself  of  the  presence 
of  a  man  she  dislikes, 
makes  the  most  violent 
love  to  him.  Mrs.  Moore 
follows  this  course,  and 
Mr.  Damon,  who  is  the 
soul  of  honor,  is  about 
to  leave  the  house  in   the 

greatest  distress,  when  he  accidentally  picks  up  the  letter  de- 
tailing the  plot.  Stung  to  the  quick  at  having  been  made  the 
dupe  of  such  treachery,  he  determines  to  counteract  it;  and,  ac- 
cordinglv,  on  his  next  interview  with  Mrs.  Moore,  lie  avows  to 
her  that  Iier  confession  of  regard  for  him  was  the  most  wished-for 
event  of  liis  life.  He  presses  his  suit  with  great  ardor,  and  finally 
flings  liimself  at  her  feet,  just  as  the  husband  enters.  Mr.  Moore 
is  furious,  demands  satisfaction,  and  produces  pistols  ;  then  Da- 
mion  explains  the  whole  affair.  Mr.  Moore  is  satisfied  and  de- 
lighted, Mrs  Moore  is  penitent  and  grateful,  and 
Mr.  Damon  receives  the  thanks  of  both,  and  an 
indefinite,  invitatiou, — N.  Y.  Minor.  ^ 


CHURCH  OF  BODEGA. 

A  SINGULAR  CASE. 

A  poor  woman  of  the  port  of  Leith  married  a  sailor,  to  whom 
she  Wiis  very  fondly  attached.  They  had  one  or  two  children, 
and  were  in  by  no  means  good  circumstances.  The  man  went  to 
sea  in  pursuit  of  his  usual  avocations,  and  at  the  end  of  two  or 
three  months  intelligence  was  received  in  Leith  of  the  loss  of  the 
vessel  with  all  on  board.  Left  in  penury,  with  no  means  of  sup- 
porting her  children  but  her  own  hard  labor,  the  poor  woman, 
who  was  very  attractive  in  appearance,  was  persuaded  to  marry  a 


A  MILE  A  MINUTE. 

Philosophers  tell  us  that  tlie  motion  of  the  earth 
is  equal  to  seventeen  miles  in  a  second ;  so  that  if 
you  take  off  your  hat  to  a  friend  in  Broadway,  you 
go  seventeen  miles  bare-headed,  without  catching 
cold  !  Curious,  isn't  it  1  Some  how  or  other,  this 
odd  thought  came  into  our  mind,  while  riding  bare- 
headed on  the  locomotive  with  Engineer  JSoUes, 
between  Binghamplon  and  Oswego.  Good  gra- 
cious! how  we  did  "z-i-pV  Seven  miles,  at  one 
time,  in  less  than  seven  minutes ;  and  as  the  hack- 
man  told  one  of  the  Tuggs  at  Ramsgate,  "sur- 
rounfling  objects  rendered  inwisible  by  the  hcx- 
treme  welocity."  We  know  what  it  is,  now,  to  be 
killed  on  a  railroad,  to  all  necessary  "  intents  and 
purposes;"  for  look  you,  when  we  were  going,  as 
on  the  very  wings  of  the  wind,  some  twenty  Irish- 
men, working  on  the  track,  a  mile  or  so  ahead,  seeing  us  coming 
like  lightning,  scrambled  down  the  bank,  leaving  a  big  stick  of 
■wood  lying  directly  across  the  rail!  We  beheld  it  with  gradually- 
distending  eyes,  knowing  full  well  that  if  it  were  not  removed,  our 
"  lime  had  come  !"  The  backward  thoughts  of  a  life-time  were 
crowded  into  that  moment !  But  a  finger  was  providentially 
pointed  to  the  timber ;  a  hand  was  stretched  out  toward  it ;  and  as 
we  thundered  by,  our  preserver  stood  alone  by  the  track,  holding 
tlic  stick  of  wood  by  his  side. — Knickerbocker. 


TRADERS  IN  WATER,  ORANGES,  PINE-APPLES,  ETC. 

man  considerably  older  than  herself,  but  in  very  tolerable  circum- 
stances. By  him  she  had  one  child  ;  and  in  the  summer  of  the 
year  1786,  she  was  sitting  on  die  broad,  open  way,  called  Leith- 
■walk,  with  a  baby  on  her  lap.  Suddenly,  she  beheld  her  first 
husband  walk  up  the  street  directly  towards  her  The  man  re- 
cognized her  instantly,  approached,  and  spoke  to  her.  But  she 
neither  answered  nor  moved.  She  was  struck  with  catalepsy.  In 
this  state  she  was  removed  to  the  Royal  Infirmary,  and  her  case, 
from  the  singular  circumstances  attending  it,  excited  great  interest 


in  the  medical  profession 
in  Edinburgh,which  at  that 
lime  numbered  among  its 
professors  the  celebrated 
CuUen,  and  no  less  cele- 
brated Gregory.  The  tale 
was  related  to  me  by  one 
of  their  pupils,  who  was 
present,  and  who  assured 
me  that  everything  was 
done  that  science  could 
suggest,  till  tAl  the  ordina- 
ry means  were  exhausted. 
The  poor  woman  remained 
without  speech  or  motion. 
In  whatever  position  the 
body  was  placed,  tlicre  it 
remained  ;  and  the  rigidity 
of  the  muscles  was  such, 
that  when  the  arm  was  ex- 
tended, twenty  minutes 
elapsed  before  it  fell  to  her 
side  by  its  own  weight. 
Death  was  inevitable,  un- 
less some  means  could  be 
devised  of  rousing  the  mind 
to  some  active  operation? 
on  the  body.  From  vari- 
ous indications,  it  was 
judged  that  the  poor  wo- 
man was  perfectly  sensible ; 
and  at  a  consultation  of  all 
the  first  physicians  of  the 
city,  the  first  husband  was 
sent  for,  and  asked  if  he 
was  willing  to  co-operate, 
in  order  to  give  his  poor 
wife  a  chance  for  life.  He 
replied,  with  deep  feeling, 
that  he  was  willing  to  lay 
down  his  own  life,  if  it 
would  restore  her  ;  that  he 
was  perfectly  satisfied  with 
her  conduct ;  knew  that 
she  had  acted  in  ignorance 
of  his  existence ;  and  ex- 
plained, that  having  float- 
ed to  the  coast  of  Africa 
upon  a  piece  of  the  wreck,  he  had  been  unable  for  some  years  to 
return  to  his  native  land,  or  communicate  with  any  one  therein. 
In  these  circumstances,  it  was  determined  to  act  immediately. 
The  professors  grouped  themselves  round  the  poor  woman,  and 
the  first  husband  was  brought  suddenly  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  to- 
wards which  her  eyes  were  turned,  carrying  the  child  by  the  sec- 
ond husband  in  his  arms.  A  moment  of  silence  and  suspenoC 
succeeded;  but  then,  she  who  had  lain  for  .so  many  days  like  a 
living  corpse,  rose  up,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  towards  the 
poor  sailor.  Her  lips  moved,  and  with  a  great 
effort  she  exclaimed,  "  O,  John — you  know  that 
^  it  was  nae  my  fault."     The  efibrt  was  too  much 

for  her  exhausted  frame ;  she  fell  back  again  im- 
mediately, and  in  five  minutes  was  a  corpse  indeed. 
— Uarpers'  Magazine. 

3IACAROSI  AND  VER3IICELLI. 

Italv,  you  know  abounds  in  macaroni  and  ver- 
miccUi.     The  making  and  eating  of  these  articles 
enter  into  the  occupations  and  appetites  of  every 
city,  town,  and  village.     It  is  used  in  many  forms 
of  which  we  have  no  knowledge.     It  enters  into 
all  their  soups  and  pastry,  and  into  many  of  their 
meat  dishes.     And  though  I  started  with  many 
prejudices,  I  must  say  that  these  dishes  are  inva- 
riably good.     Naples  boasts  of  making  the  finest 
macaroni  in  Iialy.     I  visited  a  small  town  at  the 
foot  of  Vesuvius  yesterday,  where  thousands  of 
husliels  of  wheat  were  being  made  into  macaroni. 
The  wheat  is  first  subjected  to  a  kiln-drying  pro- 
cess, being  spread  on  tiled  roofs  which   are   heated  gently  from 
fires   within   and   from  the  sun  without.     It  is  afterward  ground 
coarsely,  mixed  with  water  and  kneaded  into  paste,  which  is  sub- 
jected to  action  by  pounders  somewhat  resembling  those  used  in 
driving  piles.     The  paste  is  then  forced  through  machinery,  which 
gives  it  its  form  and  name,  some  coming  out  macaroni  and  some 
vei-micelli,  each  taking,  however,  many  varieties  of  form,  some 
like  paper,  some  like  ribbons,  some  in  balls,  and  others  like  beans 
and  peas,  and  even  as  small  as  mustard  seed. — Tliurhw  Weed. 


FLOATING  UOUSES,  CiVNOES  AND  PINE-APPLE  MERCHANTS  AT  GUAYAQUIL. 


150 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DUAWING   P.OOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Qlcimon'fl  Pictorial.] 
THE  SOUL'S  COINVOV. 


BT  WILLIAM  T.  HILBBE. 

Nocturnal  flplondor  rolgnlng, 

Tlie  queen  of  night,  on  high 
Pvodo  with  li«r  fltiirry  retinue, 

Along  tho  clouiUcKB  f-ky  ; 
Upon  hor  couch,  with  piillid  inlon, 

A  gontle  alucpor  lay, 
"With  roHpirntioHB  brief  and  soft, 

Breathing  hor.lif«  i\way. 

Loro'i)  imprint  lay  upon  her  brow, 

Submiflsion  in  h«r  eye  ; 
llcr  countenance  illumed  with  hopo 

Of  bleescdneHa  on  high  ; 
Oft  she  cxprcHflcd  a  winh  to  Ichto 

This  sin-beclouded  ppherc, 
And  rise  to  raptures  of  a  climo 

Flit  hence  from  earth's  frontier. 

Soon  from  eelestial  courts  above, 

A  delegation  came, 
And  whispered  ticccnta  sweet  and  mild, 

In  the  great  Father's  name  ; 
Then  on  their  flattering  pinions  bore 

Her  soul  from  earth  away, 
To  mingle  with  tho  loved  and  lost, 

In  pure  fruition's  ray. 


[Written  for  Gloason's  Pictorial.] 

THE   RESCUE. 

A  SKETCH. 


BY    DR.    J.    H.    liOBJNSON. 

Among  tlic  mrniy  partizan  officers  wlio  clislin- 
puishcd  tlicmsolvos  during  the  campaigns  of 
Taiicton,  Kawrlon,  Cornwallis  and  otiiers  in 
North  and  South  Carolina,  few  were  more  effi- 
cient than  Capt.  John  McClurc.  He  was  in 
many  brilliant  engagements,  and  enjoyed  the 
confidence  and  friendship  of  Gen.  Sumpter.  He 
commanded  a  company  of  mounted  riflemen, 
and  was  continually  in  the  field. 

The  patriots  were  encamped  on  the  north  side 
of  the  Catawba  River,  on  the  confines  of  Lan- 
caster district,  while  the  enemy  occupied  Rocky 
Mount  and  Camden.  The  position  of  the  whigs 
was  a  good  one,  but  they  labored  under  the  dis- 
advantages of  a  great  scarcity  of  ammunition, 
and  small  parties  were  despatched  in  different 
directions  to  procure  powder  and  lead. 

Among  those  sent  upon  this  service  was 
James  McClurc,  the  captain's  brother.  Accom- 
panied by  his  brother-in-law,  James  proceeded 
directly  home.  His  mother  met  him  upon  the 
threshold,  and  in  a  tremulous  voice  expressed 
tho  hope  that  they  had  not  left  their  post  without 
sufiicient  cause. 

"  No,  mother,"  replied  the  young  man,  proud- 
ly ;  **  far  be  it  from  me  to  seek  ease  and  safety 
when  the  country  needs  every  arm  in  its  defence." 
"  Spoken   like   one  of  my  sons,"   said   Mrs. 
McCIure,  embracing  him. 

"  We  need  powder  and  lead,"  added  James. 
"  We  must  remain  inactive  without  ammunition." 
"That  13  true,"  returned  Mrs.  McClure, 
thoughtfully.  "John's  riflemen  cannot  fight 
without  powder  and  balls,  and  I  am  glad  it  is  in 
my  power  to  assist  them." 

"  How  can  you  assist  them  V  asked  James. 
"I  "will  show  you,"  was  the  quiet  rejoinder. 
Mrs.  McClure  left  the  room  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes returned  with  her  arms  full  of  pewter  dishes 
and  spoons.  "  You  can  melt  these  and  mould 
them  into  bullets,"  she  said,  and  with  a  ham- 
mer commenced  breaking  the  things  in  pieces. 
"  They  are  useful  and  I  need  them,  but  our 
country  needs  them  more ;  my  only  regret  is 
that  I  have  not  a  great  quantity  of  the  same 
kind,  to  be  devoted  to  the  same  noble  purpose," 
added  tiie  heroic  mother, 

"  You  must  not  forget  that  you  have  three 
brave  boys  in  the  field,"  said  her  son-in-law. 

"  I  thank  Heaven  for  it ;  and  if  I  had  six,  ca- 
llable of  bearing  arms,  they  should  all  go  to  the 
camp  of  Gen.  Sumpter,"  answered  Mrs.  Mc- 
Clure, earnestly. 

James  and  his  companion  instantly  drew  off' 
their  coats,  and,  assisted  by  Mrs.  McClure,  be- 
gan to  mould  the  pewter  dishes  into  bullets  to 
be  employed  against  the  British  regulars  and 
the  lories, 

"  It  is  rumored,"  resumed  the  lady,  "  that  the 
notorious  Captain  Huck  has  been  sent  out  from 
Rocky  Mount  by  our  enemies,  and  that  his  way 
through  tlie  country  has  been  marked  by  blood 
and  ruin.  He  shows  no  mercy  to  the  whigs, 
and  even  defenceless  women  are  insulted,  robbed, 
and  left  without  a  change  of  raiment,  or  a 
mouthful  of  food  for  their  little  ones." 


"  Captain  John  has  heard  of  his  cruelties,  and 
is  resolved  to  punish  him,"  returned  James. 
*'  Ho  earnestly  desires  to  meet  him  with  his 
mounted  riflemen,  and  cnrcs  lillle  for  disparity 
of  numbers." 

"God  will  help  the  riijht  V  cjaciiliLtcd  the 
motlicr. 

"  Perhajis  these  very  bullets  we  are  moulding 
will  help  thin  the  ranks  of  Captain  Huck," 
added  the  other, 

"  Hark !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  McClurc.  "I 
tlumght  I  heard  sounds  in  the  lane." 

"  I  heard  nothing,"  said  James.  "  Where  is 
MaryT" 

IJeforc  his  mother  could  reply,  a  young  wo- 
man rushed  into  the  room  with  pale  face  and 
disordered  dress.  Her  terror  and  anxiety  seemed 
greatly  increased  when  she  saw  her  brother  and 
her  sister's  husband. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  1" 
cried  Mrs.  McClure. 

"Mount  your  horses  and  fly!"  exclaimed  the 
young  woman,  when  she  recovered  herself  suffi- 
ciently to  articulate.  "  Captain  Huck  and  tiis 
murderers  are  dashing  up  the  lane  at  full  speed." 
"We  are  lost!"  said  James.  "Escape  is 
impossible." 

"  Secrete  yourselves  !"  cried  Mrs.  McClure. 
"  Too  late  !"  rejoined  James.     "  They  are  al- 
ready at  the  door." 

It  was  indeed  too  late  to  think  of  escape;  the 
door  was  pushed  open.  Captain  Huck  rushed  in, 
sword  in  hand,  and  Mary  fell  fainting  to  the 
floor. 

James  sprang  to  raise  her,  but  Huck  struck 
bim  a  heavy  blow  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword, 
Avbich  prostrated  him.  His  companion  seized  a 
stick  of  wood  and  attempted  to  defend  himself, 
but  was  instantly  overpowered  by  Huck's  men, 
and  both  he  and  James  secured,  after  some  bru- 
tal treatment. 

"  These  fellows  were  finely  employed,"  said 
the  captain.  "  See,  they  were  casting  bullets  to 
kill  the  king's  men  with  !  What  shall  be  done 
with  them  ?  What  fate  do  such  villains  merit  V 
"  Hang  them  !"  shouted  more  than  a  score  of 
voices. 

"  These  balls  are  sufficient  evidence  against 
them;  they  shall  die  at  sunrise,"  replied  Huck. 
Mary,  who  had  now  recovered  her  conscious- 
ness, flung  herself  upon  her  knees  before  the 
captain.  She  clasped  her  hands,  and  her  eyes 
were  streaming  with  tears ;  her  distress,  added 
to  her  beauty,  was  sufficient  to  have  moved  a 
heart  less  hard. 

The  monster  spurned  her  from  him  with  an 
oath,  declaring  that  "  hanging  was  too  good  for 
such  rebels."  And  he  even  descended  to  the 
meanness  of  robbing  her  of  her  finger  rings  and 
ear  rings — a  procedure  of  which  more  than  one 
tory  captain  was  guilty  during  the  contest  for 
liberty  in  the  south. 

"Cease  to  ask  mercy  of  such  a  monster!" 
cried  the  heroic  Mrs.  McClure.  "  I  would  freely 
give  my  life  for  my  sons,  but  I  cannot  degrade 
myself  so  much  as  to  ask  mercy  of  one  who  is 
deaf  to  the  most  moving  calls  of  pity,  and  dis- 
graces humanity  by  the  most  unnatural  crimes." 
"  Where  are  your  other  sons  ?"  cried  the  cap- 
tain, fiercely. 

"  Seek  them  in  Gen.  Sumpter's  camp,"  replied 
the  mother,  proudly. 

"Fitting  dam  for  such  a  litter  of  whelps!" 
exclaimed  Huck,  striking  his  hand  savagely  up- 
on his  sword-hilt.  "  But  there  will  soon  be  two 
the  less." 

"Harm  them  at  your  peril !"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Clure. "  Remember  that  Captnin  John  is  in  the 
field  with  his  mounted  riflemen." 

"  You  threaten,  do  you  !  Were  it  not  for  the 
disgrace  of  the  thing,  I  would  hang  you,"  re- 
turned Huck. 

"I  believe  you  have  spoken  the  truth;  no 
wickedness  is  too  great  for  you.  But  you  shall 
pay  dearly  for  the  outrage,  if  you  barm  a  hair  of 
their  heads.  In  some  moment  of  fancied  secur- 
ity, God  will  call  you  to  judgment." 

"  I  have  said  they  shall  hang  at  sunrise,  and 
they  shall." 

Huck  and  his  party  now  proceeded  to  rob  the 
house  of  everything  of  value.  The  family  Bible 
was  lying  upon  the  table  ;  the  captain  seized  it 
and  threw  it  into  the  fire.  Mrs.  McClure  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  rescue  it  from  the  flames, 
when  he,  forgetting  his  own  manhood  and  her 
sex,  struck  her  with  the  fiat  side  of  his  sword. 

"  Everlasting  shame  upon  you  !"  cried  James, 
whose  brave  heart  swelled  with  indignation  at 
beliolding  this  outrage. 

Huck  turned  furiously  upon  the  prisoner,  but 
suddenly  ehecking  himself,  said  : 


"  No,  you  shall  liaiuj!" 

He  completed  hi.s  exploits  by  setting  fire  to 
the  house,  and  then  left  with  his  prisoners.  For- 
tunately the  fire  was  extinguished  by  the  ener- 
getic efforts  of  Mrs.  McClure.  When  she  bad 
effected  this,  she  had  time  to  reflect  upon  tho 
terrible  situation  of  her  son,  and  son-in-law. 
They  would  undoubtedly  be  hanged  in  tho 
morning  unless  some  means  of  rescue  could  ho 
devised.  But  how  was  anything  to  be  attempted 
in  their  favor?  Captain  Huck's  party  was 
strong  and  the  time  was  short.  Mrs.  McClure 
and  her  daughter  were  in  great  distress  and 
perplexity  of  mind  ;  but  a  course  of  action  was 
soon  decided  upon.  Mary  resolved  to  go  to 
Gen.  Sumpter's  camp,  inform  her  brother,  Cap- 
tain John,  of  the  outrage  which  had  been  com- 
mitted, and  the  imminent  danger  which  menaced 
James  and  his  companion. 

This  was  a  service  requiring  both  physical 
strength  and  energy  of  character,  for  the  distance 
was  considerable,  and  she  was  likely  to  be  de- 
tained by  the  tories,  and  questioned  rigidly  in 
regard  to  her  purpose.  Notwithstanding  all  tho 
difficulties  to  be  encountered,  she  set  out  and 
had  tho  good  fortune  to  reach  Sumpter's  camp 
late  in  the  evening,  without  accident.  She  stood 
before  her  brother,  and  in  brief  but  glowing  lan- 
guage described  what  had  transpired  at  home. 

"  To  the  saddle,  men  !"  shouted  Captain  Mc- 
Clure. "There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Life 
and  death  are  depending  upon  your  movements. 
Let  us  hasten  to  punish  a  villain  and  a  mur- 
derer." 

Before  the  captain  had  ceased  speaking  sev- 
enty-five as  brave  fellows  as  ever  looked  through 
tho  "  sights  "  of  a  rifle  were  in  the  saddle.  With 
three  loud  cheers  for  the  heroic  Mary,  the  gallant 
troops  put  spurs  to  their  horses,  and  moved  rap- 
idly to  the  rescue  of  their  comrades. 

Meantime  Captain  Huck  after  leaving  Mrs. 
McClure's  house  had  stopped  at  the  dwelling  of 
one  Mr,  Adair ;  and  the  latter  being  absent,  Mrs. 
Adair  was  robbed  of  all  her  valuables,  including 
her  jewelry,  besides  being  treated  in  a  very  rude 
and  insulting  manner.  Several  other  families 
suffered  the  same  indignities  successively,  and 
the  whole  company  encamped  at  Mr.  William- 
son's, in  that  immediate  neighborhood. 

Captain  McClure  and  his  mounted  riflemen 
reached  Mr.  Adair's,  where  they  learned  the  dis- 
position of  the  enemy.  The  sun  was  just  rising 
when  they  reached  the  spot.  McClure,  ever  the 
first  to  encounter  danger,  ventured  so  near  that 
he  saw  his  brother,  and  was  seen  by  him  in  turn, 
and  recognized. 

"  Who  goes  there  V  cried  the  sentinel, 

"  One  of  your  tory  friends,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain, carelessly.  At  that  instant,  the  drums  of 
the  royalists  began  to  beat  for  morning  parade, 
which  was  also  the  signal  for  the  execution  of 
the  prisoners.  McClure  fired  his  rifle  and  rushed 
forward,  followed  by  his  men.  At  the  first  dis- 
charge many  of  the  tories  fell  dead,  and  a  gen- 
eral panic  seized  the  survivors. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Huck  sprang  into  the  sad- 
dle and  attempted  to  rally  them  ;  his  voice  was 
not  heeded,  and  in  a  moment  he  fell  from  his 
horse  wounded,  and  soon  Col.  Ferguson,  his 
friend,  shared  the  same  fate. 

The  rout  was  now  complete.  Many  of  the 
enemy  were  slain  on  the  spot,  and  for  the  dis- 
tance of  thirty  miles  the  survivors  were  hotly 
pursued,  and  could  be  tracked  by  the  dead  and 
dying  that  lay  by  the  roadside.  The  victory  was 
decisive,  and  discouraged  the  royalists  not  a 
little. 

Captain  Huck  was  a  prisoner,  and  those  very 
ladies  whom  he  had  treated  with  so  much  bar- 
barity dressed  his  uounds,  and  thus  fulfilled  the 
Scriptures  by  returning  good  for  evil.  He  had 
commanded  JL-s.  Adair  to  bring  her  two  sons  to 
him  a  few  hours  before,  and  she  now  informed 
him  that  they  had  come  with  Captain  McClure. 

"  And  my  other  two  are  here,  also,"  added 
Mrs.  McClure. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  cried  the  captain,  with  a 
wicked  oath,  and  immediately  fainted  from  the 
pain  of  his  wounds.  When  he  recovered  his 
senses,  James  McClure  and  his  companion  were 
standing  near  him. 

"It  is  past  sunrise,  and  we  are  not  hanged 
yet,"  said  James. 

"Things  have  changed,"  replied  Huck,  with  a 
groan.  "  You  will  outlive  me  after  all,"  and  he 
shuddered  as  his  glance  fell  upon  the  lifeless 
bodies  of  many  of  his  band. 

His  words  were  prophetic ;  James  McClure 
outlived  him.  He  perished  as  his  crimes  de- 
seiwed,  and  passed  to  judgment  with  all  his 
errors  upon  his  head. 


[Written  for  Oleimon's  Pictorial.] 
I  AM  NOT  IX)ST. 

DT  DK  FLBTOUBR  HUNTOK. 

Nay,  mother,  credit  not  the  tale, 

That  I  am  lont  to  virtuc'K  power; 
Although  ten  thousand  HnurcN  asnail 

My  wiintlcring  feet  in  every  hour; 
Although  my  brightewt  hopf;B  are  crossed, 
I  am  not  lost !    I  am  not  lost ! 

Dear  father,  will  yoa  list  to  those, 

Whofio  fllnnderous  tongues  would  fain  destroy 

My  name,  my  fortune,  my  repose, 
And  all  that  'h  dear  unto  thy  boy  ? 

0,  father!  say,  can  you  behevo 

I  'vo  lost  what  I  cannot  retrieve? 

Dear  sifltcrs,  can  It  be  that  you 
Will  think  my  heart  eo  coldly  grown? 

And  can  you,  sisters,  once  so  true, 
Your  only  brother  now  disown  I 

0,  will  you  cast  me  off  for  aye, 

And  think  me  lost,  dear  sisters,  say? 

I  am  not  lost  I  though  sorrow's  night 
Ilau  cast  a  shade  around  my  heart ; 

Wliich  one  fond  smile,  one  ray  of  light, 
Would  cause  forever  to  depart; 

Though  frail  my  bark,  and  tempest  tost, 

I  am  not  lost !    I  am  not  lost  I 

HOUSE  ARCHITECTURE. 

I  say  that,  if  men  lived  like  men  indeed,  their 
houses  would  be  temples  which  we  should  hardly 
dare  to  injure,  and  in  which  it  would  make  us 
holy  to  be  permitted  to  live;  and  there  must  bo 
a  strange  dissolution  of  natural  affection,  a 
strange  unthankfulness  for  all  that  homes  have 
given  and  parents  taught,  a  strange  conscions- 
ness  that  we  have  been  unfaithful  to  our  fathers' 
honor,  or  that  our  own  lives  are  not  such  as  would 
make  our  dwellings  sacred  to  our  children,  when 
each  mfln  would  iain  build  to  himself,  and  build 
for  the  little  revolution  of  his  own  life  only.  And 
I  look  upon  these  pitiful  concretions  of  lime  and 
clay  which  spring  up  in  mildewed  forwardness 
out  of  the  kneaded  fields  about  our  capital — upon 
those  thin,  tottering,  foundationless  shells  of 
splintered  wood  and  imitated  stone,  upon  those 
gloomy  rows  of  formalized  minuteness,  alike 
without  difference  and  without  fellowship,  as 
similar,  not  merely  with  the  careless  disgust  of 
an  offijnded  eye,  not  merely  with  sorrow  for  a 
desecrated  landscape,  but  with  a  painful  forebod- 
ing that  the  roots  of  national  greatness  must  be 
deeply  cankered  when  they  are  thus  loosely 
struck  in  their  native  ground ;  that  those  com- 
fortless and  unhonored  dwellings  are  the  signs 
of  a  great  and  spreading  spirit  of  popular  discon- 
tent ;  that  they  mark  the  time  when  every  man's 
aim  is  to  be  in  some  more  elevated  sphere  than 
his  natural  one,  and  every  man's  past  life  is  his 
habitual  scorn ;  when  men  build  in  the  hope  of 
leaving  the  places  they  have  built,  and  live  in 
the  hope  of  forgetting  the  years  that  they  have 
lived  ;  when  the  comfort,  the  peace,  the  relig- 
ion of  home  have  ceased  to  be  felt ;  and  the 
crowded  tenements  of  a  struggling  and  restless 
population  differ  only  from  the  tents  of  the  Arab 
or  the  gipsy  by  their  less  healthy  openness  to  tho 
air  of  heaven,  and  less  happy  choice  of  their  spot 
of  earth  ;  by  their  sacrifice  of  liberty,  without  the 
gain  of  rest,  and  of  stability  without  the  luxury 
of  change. — Sei'en  Lamps  of  Architecture. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial,] 
TIIE  SUilOIER  TIME. 

BY   C.  JttlSON. 

The  summer  time  is  nearly  o'er, 

With  all  its  scenes  of  joy  ; 
And  soon  the  autumn  winds  will  come, 

To  wither  and  destroy 
Each  flownret  that  has  smiled  so  bright 

Upon  the  green  hillside  j 
Whose  fragrance  now  is  home  away, 

Across  the  surging  tide. 

The  forest  leaves,  all  crimson  tinged, 

Will  wither  and  decay  ; 
And  every  charm  the  forest  claims, 

The  winds  will  waft  away. 
Our  sports  upon  the  grassy  lawn 

Will  be  enjoyed  no  more, 
When  frost-gems  sparkle  on  the  lea, 

And  summer  time  is  o'er. 


VARIETY. 

What  inextricable  confusion  must  the  world 
forever  have  been  in,  but  for  the  variety  which 
we  find  to  obtain  in  the  faces,  the  voices  and  the 
hand- writings  of  men!  No  security  of  person, 
no  certainty  of  possession,  no  justice  between 
man  and  man,  no  distinction  between  good  .ind 
bad  friends  and  foes,  father  and  child,  but-hand 
and  wife,  male  and  female.  All  would  havo 
been  exposed  to  malice,  fraud,  forgery  and  lust. 
But  now  every  man's  face  can  distinguish  him 
in  the  light — his  voice  in  the  dark — and  his  hand- 
writing can  speak  for  him,  though  absent,  and 
be  his  witness  to  all  generations.  Did  this  hap- 
pen by  chance,  or  is  it  not  a  manifest  as  well  as 
an  admirable  indication,  of  a  Divine  supeiiutcn- 
denco  ? — Sandusky  Clarion. 


<  ■*■*  ►  ■ 


Who  never  felt  the  impatieut  throb, 

The  longing  of  a  heart  that  pants 

And  reaches  after  diatiint  good  J — Cowjnr. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


151 


[Written  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 
LIKES   TO  A  STRE.UILET. 

ON    A    RECENT    VISIT. 


E.  CCRTISS  HCSE,  U.  S.  N. 

This  is  the  stream  I  -ve  come  to  view, 

For  weary  years  have  fled 
Since  last,  when  life  was  fresh  and  new, 

By  hope's  white  fingers  led, 
I  wandered  by  thy  water?  fair, 

And  dreamed  of  lands  afar  ; 
And  wondered  such  a  thing  as  care 

Should  ever  pleasure  mar. 

I  was  but  young— I  've  learned,  since  then, 

A  rugged  path  we  treail ; 
Poor  travellers  in  life's  darksome  glen, 

To  join  the  earlier  dead  I 
All  changed  am  I,  since  that  bright  morn 

I  left  these  scenes  behind  ; 
And  sought,  where  daring  deeds  were  boi'n. 

An  honored  name  to  find. 

But  thou,  loTed  stream,  dost  sweetly  glide. 

In  music,  on  thy  way  ; 
And  silvery  laugh  at  human  pride, 

And  mocking  at  decay  1 
Change  vainly  seeks  to  mark  th}'  brow 

With  sorrow's  cankering  thorn  ; 
For  young  and  beautiful  art  thou, 

As  on  creation's  morn ! 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

COA'CLUSIVE  EVIDENCE. 


BT    THE    OLD      DN. 


At  a  very  early  hour  of  a  fine  autumnal  day, 
a  very  pretty  young  lady,  expensively  attired  in 
a  walking  dress  of  a  fashion  that  passed  for  the 
latest  Parisian,  was  daintily  picking  her  way 
over  one  of  the  crossings  of  Broadway,  anxious 
to  preserve  the  iraraaculateness  of  her  gaiter 
boots,  and  perhaps  to  display  an  ankle  that 
might  have  served  as  a  model  to  Canova,  Just 
as  she  reached  the  opposite  sidewalk,  her  foot 
slipped  on  the  curb-stone,  moist  with  Croton, 
and  she  would  have  fallen  had  she  not  been 
caught  by  a  young  man,  smartly  attired,  who 
happened  to  be  passing  at  the  time.  A  mutual 
recognition  instantly  took  place. 

"  Why,  Sir.  Bliffin,  is  that  you?"  exclaimed 
the  young  lady. 

"  Nothing  shorter,  Jenny,"  answered  the 
smart  young  man.  **  What  a  coincidence  !  I 
was  just  thinking  of  3'ou  when  you  tumbled  into 
my  arms." 

"Perhaps  you  think  I  slipped  on  purpose,  Mr. 
Impudence,"  retorted  the  young  la.dy. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  smart  young 
man.  "  But  what  brings  you  from  Albany  ? 
Have  you  left  your  place  as  I  have  minC?" 

"  0,  DO,  indeed,"  said  the  girl ;  "  Miss  Jeffer- 
son is  as  kind  to  me  as  ever,  and  so  is  her  good 
old  daddy.  Indeed  she  has  promised  me  a 
thousand  dollars  on  the  day  of  her  marriage 
with  young  i'opkins." 

"A  thousand  dollars  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bliffin. 
"  O,  Jenny,  how  I  adore  you  !  When  will  you 
be  mine  V* 

"Just  as  soon  as  ever  my  young  missis  be- 
comes Mrs.  Popkins." 

"  But  that's  all  settled,  isn't  it  V 

"  I  am  afiaid  not,"  said  Miss  Jenny,  shaking 
her  head.  "  You  know  tlic  old  gentleman's  re- 
gard for  truth,  and  you  know  what  a  habit  Pop- 
kins  has  of  fibbing.  To  be  sure,  he  only  tells 
white  lies,  but  he's  a  terrible  romancer." 

"  Well,  what  of  tliat  ?" 

"  Simply  this  :  Old  Jefferson,  who  abliors  any- 
thing like  falsehood,  is  determined  to  put  him  to 
a  terrible  proof.  He  swears  that  if,  in  the  course 
of  to-day,  he  catches  Popkins  in  a  single  fib,  he 
shall  never  have  his  daughter." 

"And  of  course  your  thousand  dollars  is  all 
moonshine  !"  said  Mr.  BUffiu.  "  We  must  warn 
the  young  gentleman." 

"Impossible,  and  useless,  if  possible,"  said 
the  pretty  cbambcrmaid.  "  He  is  now  with  Miss 
Emma  and  her  father  at  the  American  House. 
Now  I  am  going  to  keep  an  eye  on  him  all  day, 
and  you  must  help  me.  There's  a  little  ante- 
room commanding  a  view  of  their  parlor,  of 
which  I  have  the  key.  You  must  be  there,  and 
see  and  hear  everything  that  is  going  on,  and  be 
prepared  to  act  as  your  quick  wit  shall  prompt." 

"Bravo!"  said  Mr.  Bliffin.  "A  thousand 
dollai-s  and  a  pretty  girl  are  worth  an  effort. 
Show  me  to  the  hiding-place,  Jenny,  and  Pll 
second  your  endeavors." 

The  pretty  chambermaid  performed  her  prom- 
ise and  then  joined  her  mistress. 

"  Father-in  law  that  is  to  be,"   Sir.  Popkins 


was  saying  as  she  entered,  "  I  wish  I'd  known 
of  your  coming  before — you  should  have  had  an 
ajjartment  in  my  house." 

Jenny  trembled,  for  she  knew  very  well  that 
Popkins  did  not  own  a  dollar's  worth  of  real 
estate. 

"  Your  house  !"  exclaimed  Old  Jefferson.  "  I 
wasn't  aware  you  owned  a  house." 

"  The  most  charming  little  box  of  a  place  on 
the  Third  Avenue,"  said  Popkins,  readily  giving 
way  to  his  inveterate  propensity. 

"  What  did  you  pay  for  it?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Guess." 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  I  won  it  at  a  raffle.  Twenty  dollars  a  share 
— what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"  Ex-tra-or-di-na-xy,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
slowly,  and  eyeing  the  young  man  very  keenly. 
"I'll  go  directly  and  see  it.  I  shan't  believe 
your  good  luck  till  my  eyes  have  evidence  of  it. 
Come,  Emma,  you  shall  go  with  us." 

"  Stop — stop  !"  said  Popkins,  nervously.  "I 
forgot  to  mention  one  thing;  I  sold  my  house 
this  very  moi'uing." 

"  The  deuce  you  did !"  cried  the  old  gentle- 
man.    "  What  did  you  get  for  it  V 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars,"  replied  Popkins,  un- 
blushingly. 

"My  dear  boy,  I  congratulate  you,'*  said  the 
old  man.  "  And  there's  something  selfish  in  my 
joy,  too ;  for  I  am  unexpectedly  called  on  to  pay 
a  note  of  a  thousand  dollars  this  morning,  and  I 
have  no  available  funds  by  me." 

"There,  again — confound  my  luck!"  cried 
Popkins.  "I  forgot  to  mention  that  I  was  in 
debt  to  the  fellow  who  bought  my  place.  So 
you  see  his  claim  sweeps  up  the  whole  eight 
thousand." 

"Eight  thousand! — very  well,' you  said  you 
got  ten  thousand  for  your  house ;  you  can  cer- 
tainly accommodate  me  with  half  the  balance." 

"Johnson  hasn't  paid  up  yet,  sir,"  said  Pop- 
kins, involving  himself  deeper  and  deeper  in  the 
meshes  of  falseliood.  Emma  was  very  much 
vexed,  and  Jenny  gave  up  the  case  as  hopeless. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?"  said  Mr.  Jefferson. 

"  Nothing  that  I  can  see  but  to  wait  for  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Thompson  with  the  money,"  said 
Popkins. 

"Thompson!  Why,  you  said  just  now  his 
name  was  Johnson !"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
testily. 

"  That  was  his  given  name,"  answered  Pop- 
kins, hastily.  "  Johnson  Thompson  in  full." 
And  he  hastened  to  change  the  subject. 

But  the  old  gentleman's  suspicions  were  now 
fully  awakened ;  and  tliough  Popkins  rattled 
away  with  his  usual  volubility,  his  intended 
father-in-law  was  quite  cool  and  monosyllabic  in 
his  answers. 

After  a  lapse  of  some  time,  a  waiter  presented 
himself,  and  announced  Mr.  Johnson  Thompson. 
Popkins  was  as  much  astonished  as  if  he  had 
"  called  up  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,"  and  he 
could  scarcely  reply :  "  show  him  up  "  in  an  au- 
dible manner,  when  in  walked  Mr.  Bliffin,  so 
disguised  in  a  red  wig  and  spectacles,  that  even 
Miss  Jenny  scarcely  recognized  him. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  intruding,  Mr.  Popkins," 
said  he,  "  but  I  only  called  to  say  the  deed  was 
all  right,  and  I  have  paid  the  two  thousand  into 
your  lawyer's  hands.  Pray  call  round  and  see 
me  when  we  get  settled  in  the  new  house.  My 
wife  is  very  anxious  for  the  honor  of  your  ac- 
quaintance." 

"  Give  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Thompson,"  said 
Popkins,  recovering  his  sangfroid,  "and  tell  her 
I  shan't  fail  to  call  willi — with  Mrs.  Popkins," 
he  added,  smiling  on  Emma,  "  after  the  happy 
event." 

The  imaginary  Thompson  took  leave  with  a 
profusion  of  bows. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Old  Jefi^erson,  shaking 
hands  with  Popkins,  "  pardon  me.  I  suspected 
— I  feared  that  you  had  not  broken  yourself  of 
your  accursed  propensity  to  tell  fibs ;  and  I  re- 
solved if  I  caught  you  in  a  single  violation  of 
truth,  you  should  never  many  m}'  daughter. 
My  pecuniary  trouble  was  all  humbug.  Y"ou 
have  stood  the  test  nobly.  Take  her  and  be 
happy." 

His  narrow  escape  taught  Mr.  Popkins  the 
importance  of  a  virtue  he  had  never  practised; 
the  example  of  his  wife  completed  his  cure.  Mr. 
Bliffin  was  duly  rewarded  for  his  opportune 
"  conclusive  evidence,"  and  made  happy  in  the 
possession  of  the  pretty  waiting-maid  ;  and  if  a 
cloud  comes  over  the  felicity  of  Mr.  Popkins,  it 
is  only  when  his  father-in-law  urges  him  to  make 
that  promised  call  on  Mrs.  Johnson  Thompson. 


[Translated  from  the  French  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  PRINCESS  AYESHA : 

— OR    THE — 

THOUSAND  AND  SECOND  NIGHT. 

BY    ANNE    T.    W^ILBUR. 

I  HAD  ordered  myself  to  be  denied  to  every- 
body ;  having  taken  in  the  morning  the  foimal 
resolution  to  do  nothing,  I  would  not  be  dis- 
turbed in  my  occupation.  Sure  of  not  being  in- 
terrupted by  any  intruder,  I  had  taken  all  my 
measures  to  taste  at  my  ease  my  favorite  luxury. 

A  great  fire  sparkled  in  my  chimney;  the 
closed  curtains  admitted  a  soft  and  subdued 
light ;  half  a  dozen  cushions  strewed  the  earpet, 
and,  carelessly  extended  before  the  hearth  at 
roasting  distance,  I  was  dancing  at  the  end  of 
my  foot  a  morocco  slipper  of  an  oriental  yellow 
hue  and  grotesque  form.  My  cat  was  couched 
on  my  wrist,  like  that  of  the  prophet  Mahomet ; 
and  I  would  not  have  exchanged  my  position  for 
all  the  gold  in  the  world. 

My  eyes,  already  swimming  in  that  delicious 
sorauolenee  which  follows  the  voluntary  suspen- 
sion of  thought,  roved,  without  seeing  them  very 
distinctly,  over  the  fine  paintings  which  were  the 
wealth  and  the  pride  of  my  poet  dwelling;  the 
unfathomable  waves  of  that  sea  of  annihilation  in 
which  so  many  oriental  dreamers  have  lost  their 
reason,  already  weakened  by  the  liatschich  and 
opium. 

The  most  profound  silence  reigned  in  the 
room;  I  had  stopped  the  clock  that  I  might  not 
hear  the  tick  of  the  pendulum,  that  beat  of  the 
pulse  of  eternity,  for  I  cannot  endure,  when  I 
am  idle,  the  stupid  and  feverish  activity  of  this 
disk  of  yellow  copper  which  wags  from  corner 
to  corner  of  its  cage,  and  marches  constantly 
without  advancing  a  step. 

Suddenly  the  ring  of  a  bell,  lively,  energetic, 
insupportably  silvery,  fell  on  my  tranquillity  as 
a  melted  bullet  falls  hissing  into  a  sleeping  lake  ; 
without  thinking  of  my  eat — rolled  up  like  a  ball 
on  my  arm, — I  sprang  to  my  feet,  as  if  touched 
by  a  spring ;  sending  to  all  the  demons  the  stupid 
porter  who  had  allowed  any  one  to  enter  in  de- 
fiance of  my  orders.  Scarcely  recovered  from 
the  shock  to  my  nerves,  I  seated  myself,  arrang- 
ed my  cushions  under  my  arm,  and  firmly 
awaited  the  event. 

The  door  of  the  saloon  opened,  and  I  saw  ap- 
pear the  woolly  head  of  Adolfo  Francesco  Pergi- 
alla,  a  kind  of  Abyssinian  brigand,  in  whose  ser- 
vice I  then  \vas  under  pretence  of  having  a  negro 
domestic.  His  white  eyes  sparkled,  his  flat  nose 
dilated  prodigiously,  and  his  thick  lips,  blossom- 
ing in  a  broad  smile,  which  he  sought  to  render 
malicious,  revealed  teeth  like  a  Newfoundland 
dog.  His  black  skin  was  bursting  with  a  desire 
to  speak,  and  he  made  all  possible  contortions  to 
attract  my  attention. 

"  Well,  Francesco,  what  is  the  matter  ?  When 
you  have  rolled  your  enamel  eyes,  like  the  bronze 
negro  inside  of  the  clock,  for  the  space  of  a  whole 
hour,  shall  I  be  any  better  informed?  I  have 
had  enough  of  pantomime;  try  to  tell  me,  in 
some  idiom  or  other,  what  is  the  matter,  and  who 
is  the  person  who  has  roused  me  from  ray 
repose." 

I  must  inform  the  reader  that  Adolfo  Francesco 
Pergialla  Abdallah  Ben  Mohammefl,  an  Abys- 
sinian by  birth,  formerly  a  Mahometan,  for  this 
quarter  of  an  hour  a  Christian,  knows  all  lan- 
guages, and  speaks  none  intelligibly;  he  com- 
mences in  French,  continues  in  Italian,  and  ends 
in  Turkish  or  Arabic,  especially  in  conversations 
embarrassing  to  him,  when  the  subjects  are  bot- 
tles of  Bordeaux  wine,  liquors  or  delicacies  which 
have  prematurely  disappeared.  Fortunately  I 
have  polyglot  friends ;  we  first  drove  hira  from 
Europe;  after  having  exhausted  the  Italian, 
Spanish  and  German,  he  took  refuge  at  Constan- 
tinople in  the  Turkish,  into  which  Alfred  pur- 
sued him ;  seeing  himself  tracked,  he  sprang 
over  to  Algiers,  where  Eugene  trod  on  his  heels, 
and  followed  him  through  all  the  dialects  of  high 
and  low  Arabic ;  arrived  there,  he  took  refuge 
in  the  Bembara,  Galla,  and  other  dialects  of  the 
interior  of  Africa,  where  the  most  learned  lin- 
guist could  alone  follow  him.  This  time  he  re- 
solutely replied  in  imperfect  hut  very  compre- 
hensible Spanish : 

"  Una  jniif/er  nun/  honka  con  su  kcrmana  qttien 
qidere  hablar  a  listed." 

"  Let  them  enter  if  they  are  young  and  pretty, 
otherwise  tell  them  I  am  busy." 

The  fellow,  who  knew  his  business,  disappear- 
ed for  a  few  seconds,  and  quickly  returned,  fol- 


lowed by  two  women  wrapped  in  great  white 
burnous,  the  hoods  of  which  were  drawn  closely 
down. 

I  presented  to  these  ladies,  as  gallantly  as  pos- 
sible, two  arm-chairs;  but  perceiving  the  piles  of 
cushions,  they  signified  their  thanks,  and  laying 
aside  their  burnous,  seated  themselves  after  the 
oriental  fashion. 

The  one  directly  opposite  me,  in  a  ray  of  sun- 
light which  penetrated  through  the  interstices  of 
the  curtains,  might  have  been  twenty  years  of 
age ;  the  other,  much  less  pretty,  appeared  a  lit- 
tle older.  We  will  occupy  ourselves  only  with 
the  prettiest  one. 

She  was  richly  dressed  in  the  Turkish  costume : 
a  vest  of  green  velvet,  loaded  with  ornaments, 
enveloped  her  slender  waist ;  her  chemisette  of 
striped  gauze,  fastened  at  the  throat  by  two  dia- 
mond buttons,  was  open  sufficiently  to  display  a 
white  and  well-formed  neck;  a  handkerchief  of 
white  satin,  covered  with  spangles,  served  as  a 
girdle.  Large  and  full  trowsers  descended  to 
her  knees  ;  Albanese  pantalettes  of  embroidered 
velvet  covered  her  delicate  limbs;  her  pretty 
bare  feet  were  enclosed  in  little  slippers  of  figured 
morocco,  stitched  with  gold  thread ;  an  orange 
caftan,  wrought  with  silver  flowers,  a  scarlet  fez, 
adorned  with  a  long  silken  tassel,  completed  this 
costume,  which  was  a  singular  enough  one  for 
visiting  in  Paris. 

As  to  her  face,  it  had  the  regular  beauty  of 
the  Turkish  race :  her  complexion  was  white  as 
polished  marble ;  and  like  two  black  flowers, 
mysteriously  peeped  out  those  fine  oriental  eyes, 
so  clear  and  deep  beneath  their  long  eyelashes, 
tinged  with  henna.  She  looked  at  me  with  an 
uneasy  air,  and  seemed  embaiTassed ;  by  way  of 
recovering  her  composure,  she  took  one  of  her 
feet  in  one  of  her  hands,  and  with  the  other, 
played  with  the  braids  of  her  hair,  which  was 
laden  with  sequins  pierced  through  the  middle, 
ribbons  and  bouquets  of  pearls. 

The  other,  clad  in  similar  costume,  but  less 
richly,  remained  equally  silent  and  motionless. 
Pecalling  the  appearance  of  the  baj'aderes  at 
Paris,  I  imagined  that  it  was  some  alma  from 
Cairo,  some  Egyptian  acquaintance  of  my  friend 
Dawzats,  who,  encouraged  by  the  reception 
which  I  had  given  to  the  beautiful  Amany  and 
her  brown  companions,  Saudiroun  and  Rangoun, 
had  come  to  implore  my  patronage  as  a  journalist. 

"  Ladies,  what  can  I  do  for  you  V  said  I,  put- 
ting my  hands  to  my  ears  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  produce  a  salaam  sufficiently  satisfactory. 

The  beautiful  Turk  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceil- 
ing, brought  them  back  to  the  carpet,  and  looked 
at  her  sister  with  a  profoundly  meditative  air. 
She  did  not  understand  a  word  of  French. 

"  Hola,  Francesco!  scoundrel,  varlet,  stupid 
fellow,  bo  of  some  use  to  me  at  least  once  in  your 
life." 

Francesco  approached  with  an  important  and 
solemn  air. 

"  Since  you  speak  French  so  badly,  you  must 
speak  Arabic  well,  and  shall  play  the  part  of 
dragoman  between  these  ladies  and  myself.  I 
will  elevate  you  to  the  dignity  of  an  interpreter; 
first  ask  these  two  beautiful  strangers  who  they 
are,  whence  they  come,  and  what  they  want." 

AVithout  describing  the  various  grimaces  of 
Francesco,  I  ■^^^ll  report  the  conversation  as  he 
interpreted  it. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  beautiful  Turk,  "though  you 
are  a  literary  man,  you  must  have  read  the 
Thousand  and  One  Nights,  Arabic  tales,  and  the 
name  of  Scheherazade  is  not  unknown  to  you." 

"The  beautiful  Scheherazade  the  wife  of  that 
ingenious  Sultan  Schariar,  who,  to  avoid  being 
deceived,  espoused  a  wife  every  evening,  and 
caused  her  to  be  strangled  in  the  morning  ?  I 
recollect  of  her  perfectly  well." 

"I  am  the  Sultana  Scheherazade,  and  this  is 
my  good  sister  Uinarzadc,  who  has  never  failed 
to  say  to  me  every  night :  '  My  sister,  before  day 
appears,  tell  us,  if  you  arc  not  asleep,  one  of 
those  beautiful  stories  which  you  know.'" 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  though  the  visit 
is  a  little  singular ;  but  what  procures  me  the 
distinguished  honor  of  receiving  at  my  bouse, 
unworthy  poet  as  I  am,  the  Sultana  Sclieber- 
azade  and  her  sister  Dinarzade  ?" 

"By  telling  stories  so  often,  I  have  reached 
the  end  of  my  list ;  I  have  related  all  I  knew.  I 
have  exhausted  the  imaginary  world ;  the  ghoules, 
the  magicians,  the  fairies,  have  been  of  great  as- 
sistance to  me ;  but  all  are  worn  out,  even  im- 
possibility is  exhausted ;  the  glorious  sultan, 
light  of  lights,  moon  and  sun  of  the  middle  em- 
pire, begins  to  yawn  terribly,  and  handle  his 

[CONTIXUEC    ON   PAGE    154.] 


152 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   UOOM    COMPANION. 


tilRARB  COLLEGE. 

Tin's  m.ifjniliccnt  stnictiire  is  situated  on  the 
Kidgc  Road,  about  fi  mile  from  the  incorporated 
limits  of  the  city  of  Philadelphia.  It  was  found- 
ed hy  Stephen  Girard,  and  is  designed  for  the 
gratuitous  instruction  and  support  of  destitute 
orphans.  Mr.  Girard  was  a  native  of  France, 
having  emigrated  to  tliis  country  at  an  early  age, 
and  settled  in  Philadelphia,  wliere,  by  unwearied 
industry  and  judicious  management,' he  accumu- 
lated a  noble  fortune,  the  larger  portion  of  wl>ich 
he  bequeathed  to  thecity  of  Philadelphia,  for  the 
erection  and  support  of  this  institution,  and  for 
improving  the  city.  The  comer  stone  was  laid 
on  the  4th  July,  1833;  the  buildings  were  finished 
in  1847,  and  the  institution  went  into  operation 
on  the  1st  of  January,  1848.  The  design  of  the 
main  building  is  that  of  a  Greek  temple  of  the 
Corinthian  order,  Iiaving  eight  columns  at  each 
end,  and  eleven  on  each  side,  including  the  cor- 
nei*  columns  botli  ways.  The  picture  above  re- 
presented is  accurately  drawn,  and  conveys  a 
faithful  delineation  of  its  present  appearance. 
It  is  from  the  aitistic  pencil  of  our  artist  Mr. 
Devereaux. 


VIEW  OP  TILE  GIRARD  COLLEGE,  PHILADELPHIA. 


COLERIDGE  IN  YOUTH. 

With  all  his  hookishness,  however,  Tiith  all 
his  indolent  inaction  and  indifference  to  the 
sports  of  childhood,  little  Samuel  had  a  dash  of 
fierce  stubbornness  in  his  composition.  The  old 
women,  on  occasion,  found  cause  of  abating 
llicir  flattery;  in  proof,  take  the  following  anec- 
dote. He  was  about  seven  years  old,  when,  one 
evening,  on  severe  provocation  from  Prank,  he 
rushed  at  him,  knife  in  hand,  mamma  intci-fered, 
and  Samuel  Taylor,  dreading  chastisement,  and 
in  fiercest  fury,  ran  away  to  the  banks  of  the 
river  Otter.  The  cold  evening  air,  it  was  reas- 
onably calculated^  would  calm  his  nerves,  and 
bring  him  quickly  home,  but  the  calculation  was 
incorrect.  He  sat  down  in  resolute  stubbornness 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and — O,formose  piier, 
what  would  the  old  woman  say! — experienced  a 
"  gloomy,  inward  satisfaction,"  from  refleciing 
how  miserable  his  mother  would  be.  It  was  in 
the  end  of  October — the  night  was  slormy;  he 
lay  on  the  damp  ground,  with  the  mournful 
murmuring  of  the  Otter  in  bis  ear ;  but  be 
flinched  not,  nor  relented';  with  dogged  deler- 
mination, he  resolved  losleep  itout.  His  home, 
meanwhile,  was  in  a  tumult  of  distress  and  con- 
sternation. Search  in  all  directions  was  insti- 
tuted; the  village  was  scared  from  its  slumbers, 
and,  ere  morning,  the  ponds  and  river  were 
dragged.  At  five  in  the  morning  the  little  ras- 
cal awoke,  found  himself  able  to  cry  hut  faintly, 
and  was  utterly  unable  to  move.  His  crying, 
though  feeble,  attracted  Sir  Stafford  North'cote] 
who  bad  been  out  all  night,  and  he  was  borne 
home.  The  joy  of  his  ]>arents  was  inexpressible ; 
but,  meantime,  in  rushed  a  young  lady,  crying 
out :  "  I  hope  you'll  whip  him,  Mrs.  Coleridge  ]" 
Coleridge  informs  us,  thatneither  pbilof^opby  nor 
religion  v/as  ever  alile  to  allay  his  inveterate  an- 
tipathy to  that  woman. 


To  know  a  man  observe  how  he  win.s  his  ol)- 
ject  ratlier  than  how  he  loses  it;  for  when  we 
fail,  our  |)ridc  bujiports  us,  when  we  succeed,  it 
betrays  us. 


JOHN  R.  SCOTT. 

We  present  below  a  \cry  excellent  picture 
of  this  distinguished  American  actor,  in  one  of 
his  best  characters,  in  the  new  and  popular  play 
of  Ingomar.  We  have  several  times  had  occa- 
sion in  these  columns  to  refer  to  the  plot  of  Ibis 
piece,  which  is  doubtless  familiar  to  a  large  por- 
tion of  our  readers.  Mrs.  Mowatt  has  rendered 
the  play  very  popular  by  the  personation  of  the 
heroine  Parthenia ;  and  Mr.  Scott  has  done  the 
part  of  the  love-led  savage  full  justice.  His  phys- 
ical appearance  is  well  adapted  to  the  part,  and 
his  conception  of  the  author's  creation  is  said  to 
be  very  nearly  faultless.  Mr.  Scott  is  a  great 
favorite  among  the  theatre-goers  of  New  York. 
It  is  only  the  last  season  that  he  performed  a 
highly  successful  engagement  at  the  Howard 
Athenaeum,  Boston. 


LAKE  SUPERIOR. 

There  are  few  persons  in  this  country,  and  still 
less  in  the  Old  World,  who  have  anything  like 
an  adequate  conception  of  the  immense  extent 
of  this  "big  drink,"  as  they  say  out  west.  To 
the  lakes  of  Europe,  it  bears  about  the  same  re- 
alization in  size  which  the  Mississippi  and  Mis- 
souri bear  to  European  rivers — the  lakes  of  Eng- 
land, Scotland  and  Switzerland  are  mere  pud- 
dles in  comparison  with  tliis  great  leviathan. 
The  length  of  Lake  Superior  is  about  five  hun- 
dred miles.  Its  greatest  breadth  is  one  hundred 
and  ninety.  Its  circumference  is  about  seven- 
teen hundred  miles,  or  about  half  the  distance 
from  New  York  to  Livei-pool.  Lake  Superior  is 
the  most  westem  of  the  great  chain  of  lakes 
which  discharge  their  waters  in  the  St.  Law- 
rence. Its  depth  is  nine  hundred  feet,  while  its 
height  above  the  Atlantic  is  put  down  at  nearly 
six  Imndred  feet.  To  show  still  farther  the 
magnitude  of  this  glorious  lake,  we  would  state 
that  it  contains  a  single  island  almost  as  large 
as  Scotland — ^whilc  it  has  several  as  large  as  the 
States  of  Rhode  Island  and  Delaware.  Lake 
Superior  is  the  recipient  of  some  thirty  rivers. — 
Travds  at  the  Northiccst. 


JOHN  R.  SCOTTj  THE  TRAGEDIAN^  AS  INGOMAR. 


BOYHOOD  OF  CAPl'AIN  COOK. 

The  discoveries  of  the  English  circumnavigator 
were  owing  to  a  particularly  marked  shilling. 
Young  Cook  was  a  native  of  Yorkshire,  and 
served  as  apprentice  to  a  merchant  and  shop- 
keeper, in  a  large  iisliing  town  in  that  county. 
Some  money  liad  been  missed  from  the  till,  and, 
to  detect  the  delinquent,  a  very  curiously  marked 
shilling  was  mixed  with  the  silver,  which  was 
accurately  counted.  On  examining  the  till  short- 
ly after,  this  peculiar  shilling  was  missing,  and 
Cook  was  taxed  with  having  taken  it  out;  this 
he  instantly  acknowledged,  stating  that  its  pe- 
culiarity had  caught  his  eye,  but  afhrmcd,  at  tiie 
same  time,  that  he  had  put  another  of  his  own 
in  its  place.  The  money  was  accordingly  count- 
ed over  again,  and  found  to  agree  exactly  with 
his  statement.  Althougli  the  family  was  highly 
respectable,  and  therefore  ca])able  of  advancing 
him  in  las  future  prospects,  and  also  much  at- 
tached to  him,  and  very  kind,  yet  the  high  spirit 
of  the  boy  could  not  brook  remaining  in  a  situa- 
tion where  he  hiid  l)ccn  suspected  ;  lie  therefo.ro 
ran  away,  ami,  liaving  no  oilier  resource,  en- 
tered as  a  cabin-boy  in  a  collier. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAI.    DRAWING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


153 


JOHK  S.  THRASHER. 

The  subject  of  the  following  sketch  is  one  of  the  ex- 
amples which  the  history  of  the  American  people  pre- 
sent so  often  to  the  world,  to  the  honor  of  our  New 
England  enterprise  and  New  England  education.  Mr. 
Thrasher  was  horn  in  Portland,  Me.,  on  the  11th  of 
November,  1818,  and  resided  there  until  the  year  1 835. 
Having  attained  the  education  which  our  free  schools 
offer  to  a  poor  man's  son,  he  followed  his  father, 
whose  precarious  hcalih  impelled  him  to  seek  a  warmer 
clime,  to  the  genial  island  of  Cuba.  There  he  en- 
tered a  commercial  house,  and  for  many  years  dedi- 
cated liimself  to  commercial  pursuits,  hlling  up  llie 
hours  of  relaxation  with  the  study  of  the  political  and 
social  condition  of  the  island.  His  attainments  on 
this  subject  probably  surpass  those  of  any  of  our 
countrymen,  from  the  simple  fact  that  he  has  had 
more  opportunity  than  any  other  person  to  prosecute 
his  studies,  and  that  he  possesses  the  language  to  a 
great  degree  of  fluency.  His  intercourse  with  the 
people  of  Cuba,  and  a  perfect  knowledge  of  their  un- 
happy situation,  their  ardent  aspirations,  and  their 
natural  capabilities,  induced  him  to  sympathize  with 
them  in  their  desire  to  tlirow  off  the  degrading  chains 
that  bind  them,  and  to  attain  more  free  and  liberal 
institutions  tlirough  the  assertion  of  those  natural 
rights  of  self-goverimient  with  which  every  people 
are  endowed.  But  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  so- 
cial and  moral  condition  of  the  people  of  Cuba  re- 
Etrained  him  from  taking  an  active  part  in  the  exer- 
tions of  the  more  ardent  of  the  sous  of  Cuba  to  attain 
the  liberty  of  their  country.  He  viewed  their  necessi- 
ties and  their  prospects  through  a  more  practical  me- 
dium, and  believed  that  he  could  contribute  more  effi- 
caciously to  the  ultimate  happiness  of  Cuba,  by  direct- 
ing his  exertions  to  the  instruction  and  elevation  of 
the  people.  In  the  year  1850  lie  purchased  the  news- 
paper called  the  "  Faro  Industrial,"  at  that  time  hav- 
ing a  precarious  existence  in  Havana,  and  entered  at 
once  upon  the  duties  of  his  self-imposed  and  laborious 
mission.  Tho  circulation  of  the  journal  increased 
with  such  rapidity  that  in  three  weeks  it  had  advanced 
from  a  daily  issue  of  eight  hundred,  to  one  of  more 
than  three  thousand  copies.  The  government  took 
tlie  alarm,  and  in  September  of  the  same  year  a  spe- 
cial decree  of  the  captain-general  prohibited  Mr. 
Thrasher  from  publishing  a  paper  in  Cuba  because 
he  was  not  a  Spanish  subject.  Mr.  Thrasher  contin- 
ued an  indirect  connection  with  the  "Faro  Industrial 
time  of  its  suppression  on  the  1st  of  September,  1851. 
unfortunate  expedition  of  Lopez  had  melted  away,  and  the  men 
who  composed  it  were  brought  prisoners  to  Havana'  Mr.  Thrasher, 
indignant  at  the  want  of  sympathy  and  American  feeling  displayed 
by  our  consul  there,  came  boldly  forward  to  relievo  their  distress. 
He  did  this,  well  knowing  that  it  would  subject  him  to  the  deepest 
odium  and  suspicion  on  the  part  of  the  government,  but  his  patri- 
otic indignation  and  his  American  spirit  impelled  him  to  the  dutv. 
His  influence  in  Havana  enabled  him  in  a  few  days  to  clothe  and 
supply  with  food  nearly  200  prisoners — and  in  five  days  he  raised 
and  expended  for  their  benefit  over  three  thousand  dollars.  This 
so  irritated  the  government  that  he  was  arrested,  charged  with 
treason,   on   the   assumption  that  he  was  a  Spanish  subject,  and 


up  to  the 
Wlien  the 


PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN  S.  THRASHER. 


without  defence,  and  with  only  a  mockery  of  trial,  sentenced  to 
eight  years  labor  in  chains*  in  Africa.  He  was  embarked  for 
Spain,  and  finally  sent  to  the  penal  colony  of  Ceuta  in  Africa, 
where  he  was  put  in  chains,  but  not  compelled  to  labor.  The  in- 
dignant expression  of  public  sentiment  in  this  country,  when  tho 
news  of  his  sentence  and  embarkation  was  received,  induced  tho 
Spanish  government  to  liberate  him  before  any  communications 
were  received  from  "Washington,  with  the  sole  limitation  of  being 
prohibited  to  return  to  Cuba.  Since  his  return  to  his  native  laud 
he  has  contributed  his  efforts  to  the  adoption  of  a  more  vigorous 
policy  in  the  protection  of  our  countrymen  abroad,  and  to  the 
giving  of  public  sentiment  a  proper  direction  on  the  question  of 
Cuba.  We  can  only  say  Gcod  speed  him  in  his  efibrts,  both  in  be- 
half of  our  countrymen  abroad,  and  in  behalf  of  unhappy  Cuba. 


FORT  INDEPENDENCE,  BOSTON  HARBOR, 

Fort  Independence,  a  bird's-eye  view  of  which  is 
represented  by  our  artist  below,  is  built  on  a  small, 
low  island  in  the  harbor  of  Boston,  nearly  three  miles 
east-southeast  from  the  city,  and  about  one  mile 
from  Dorchester  Point  (formerly  so  called,  but  now 
in  South  Boston).  It  is  about  the  same  distance  from 
Governor's  Island,  which  appears  prominent  in  our 
view.  The  main  channel  from  the  sea  to  the  city  is 
between  tho  island  opposite  and  Fort  Independence. 
It  was  formerly  called  Castle  Island,  or  Castle  Wil- 
liam ;  as  the  fortress  was  so  named  in  honor  of  King 
William  HI,  near  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
In  the  various  wars  between  England  and  France, 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  when  Boston 
was  in  danger  of  a  visit  from  French  fleets.  Castle 
Island  was  fortified  and  manned  for  the  protection  of 
the  metropolis.  It  was  many  years  in  a  good  state 
for  preventing  any  vessels  passing  up  to  the  city ; 
within  the  last  few  years  it  has  been  entirely  rebuilt 
in  tho  most  perfect  and  substantial  manner,  and  can 
accommodate  within  its  walls  a  garrison  of  four  hun- 
dred men.  It  is  now  occupied  by  two  companies  of 
U.  S.  soldiers.  Fort  Warren,  on  Governor's  Island, 
opposite,  has  been  dismantled,  and  is  to  be  rebuilt  of 
granite. 

FISH  WITHOUT  EYES. 

N.  P.  Willis,  writing  from  the  Mammoth  Cave,  in 
Kentucky,  gives  the  following  description  of  the  noted 
eyeless  fish:  "We  reached  Lethe,  with  many  stops 
and  occasional  drops  of  encouragement  and  water 
from  Stephen's  flask,  and  here  we  halted  to  catch  one 
of  the  ei/eless  Jhh  who  swim  in  this  river  of  forgetful- 
ness.  1  held  the  lamp  while  the  pole  net  was  quietly 
slipped  under  the  little  victim  of  celebrity.  He  saw 
no  danger,  poor  thing,  and  stirred  never  a  fin  to  escape 
being  taken  out  of  his  element  and  raised  to  a  higher 
sphere.  In  size  he  was  like  the  larger  kind  of  what 
>  the  boys  call  a  '  minim  ' — say  an  inch  and  a  half  long 

— but  very  different  in  construction  and  color.     His 
body  was  quite  white,  translucent,  and  wholly  without 
an  intestinal  canal.     The  stomach  was  directly  behind 
the  brain,  and  all  the  organs  of  the  system  were  for- 
ward of  the  gills — the  head  alone  having  blood  or  other 
discoloration.     Under  the  chin  he  disposed  of  what; 
was  superfluous  in  his  noiu-ishmcut.   He  was  curiously 
correspondent,  indeed,  to  the  poetized  character  of  the 
place — like  a  fish  in  progress  of  becoming  a  fish  in  spirit-land, 
his  dis-animalization  having  commenced  radically  at  the  tail  and 
working  upward.     Nothing  could  be  more  purely  beautiful  and 
graceful  than  the  pearly  and  spotless  body  which  had  heavenly- 
tied  first,  leaving  the  head  to  follow.     1  looked  for  some  minutes 
at  the  others  swimming  in  the  stream.     They  idled  about,  with  a 
purposeless  and  luxurious  tranquillity,  and  I  observed  that  they 
ran  their  noses  against  the  rocky  sides   of  the  dark  river  with  no 
manner   of  precaution.     Unhurt  and   unannoycd,   they   simply 
turned  back  from  the  opposing  obstacle,  and  swam  slowly  away. 
The  scientific  people  tell  us  that  these  blind  fish  once  had  iiyesi,  and 
that  the  microscope  still  shows  the  collapsed  socket.     The  organ 
has  died  out  in  the  darkness  of  the  subterranean  river — dwindled 
into  annihilation  with  lack  of  usmg." 


BIRD  S  EYE  VIEW  OF  FORT  INDEPENDENCE,  IN  BOSTON  HARBOR. 


154 


GLEASON'S   PlCTOllIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[CONTINUKD   I'-ltOM    PAGE    151.] 

sword-hilt.  Tliia  moniinij;  I  told  my  lust  story, 
and  my  sublime  lord  1ms  dcij^iicd  to  spare  my 
head ;  by  means  of  the  mft*,nc  carpet  of  the  four 
Facardins,  I  have  como  here  in  haste  to  seek  a 
talc,  a  story,  or  novel,  for  to-morrow  morning,  at 
the  usual  appeal  of  my  .sister  Dinarzadc,  I  must 
say  something  to  tlic  great  Schariar,  the  arbiter 
of  my  destinies ;  he  is  more  eager  for  stories  than 
over,  and  Ids  curiosity  alone  can  counterbalance 
Ins  cruelty." 

"Your  Sultan  Schariar,  my  poor  Scheher- 
azade, closely  resembles  the  public:  if  we  cease 
to  amuse  it  for  a  single  day,  it  does  not  cut  off 
our  heads;  it  forgets  us,  which  is  worse.  I  am 
sorry  fur  your  fate;  but  wliat  can  I  do  V 

"  Have  you  not  in  your  portfolio  some  story, 
some  romance  ?     Give  it  me," 

"What  do  you  ask,  charming  sultana?  I 
have  nothing ;  I  labor  only  when  prompted  by 
the  most  extreme  famine ;  for,  as  Perse  has  said : 
'  Fames  facit  poetridas  picas.'  I  have  still  enough 
to  live  on  three  days.  Go  and  find  Ivarr,  he  has 
his  heart  full  of  delicious  love-stories;  waylay 
Jules  Janin,  and  he  will  improvise  to  you  such  a 
story  as  the  Sultan  Schariar  never  heard." 

Poor  Scheherazade  raised  towards  the  ceiling 
her  long  eyelashes,  tinged  with  henna,  with  a 
look  so  soft,  so  lustrous,  so  gentle  and  suppliant, 
that  I  felt  myself  softened,  and  took  a  desperate 
resolution. 

"  I  have  a  subject  of  which  I  was  about  to 
make  an  article ;  I  will  dictate  to  you :  you  shall 
translate  it  into  Arabic,  adding  the  embroidery, 
flowers  and  pearls  of  poesy  %vhich  it  lacks.  The 
title  is  already  found  ;  we  will  call  it  the  '  Thou- 
sand and  Second  Night.' " 

Scheherazade  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  began 
to  write  from  right  to  left,  in  the  Oriental  man- 
ner, with  great  rapidity.  There  was  no  time  to 
lose ;  for  this  very  evening  she  must  be  in  the 
capital  of  the  kingdom  of  Samarcand. 


There  was  once,  in  the  city  of  Cairo,  a  young 
man  named  Sidi-Mahmoud,  who  lived  in  the 
square  of  the  Esbckick. 

His  father  and  mother  had  died  some  years 
before,  leaving  him  a  moderate  fortune,  but  suf- 
ficient to  prevent  his  being  compelled  to  labor 
for  his  own  support.  Some  would  have  laden  a 
vessel  with  merchandize,  or  added  some  camel- 
loads  of  precious  stuffs  to  the  caravan  which 
goes  from  Bagdad  to  Mecca;  but  Sidi-Mahmoud 
preferred  to  live  tranquilly;  and  his  pleasures 
consisted  in  smoking  latakie  in  his  narguillie, 
drinking  sherbet,  and  eating  the  dried  comfitures 
of  Damascus. 

Though  his  person  was  well  made,  his  features 
regular,  and  his  mien  agreeable,  he  had  often  re- 
plied to  those  who  had  proposed  his  marriage, 
and  suggested  wealthy  and  suitable  partners, 
that  it  was  not  yet  time,  and  that  he  had  no  de- 
sire to  take  a  wife. 

Sidi-Mahmoud  had  received  a  good  education  : 
he  read  fluently  the  most  ancient  books,  wrote 
well,  knew  by  heart  the  verses  of  the  Koran,  with 
the  remarks  of  commentators,  and  was  himself  a 
poet  of  no  me?.n  pretensions. 

By  dint  of  smoking  his  narguilhe  and  dream- 
ing in  the  cool  of  the  evening  on  the  marble 
steps  of  his  terrace,  the  head  of  Sidi-Mahmoud 
had  become  a  little  visionary :  he  had  formed 
the  plan  of  becoming  the  lover  of  a  peri,  or,  at 
least,  of  a  princess  of  the  blood-royal.  This  was 
the  secret  motive  which  led  him  to  receive  with 
so  much  indifference  the  propositions  of  mar- 
riage, and  refuse  the  offers  of  slave-merchants. 
The  only  companion  he  could  endure  was  his 
cousin,  AbdulMalek,  a  gentle  and  timid  young 
man  who  seemed  to  share  in  his  humble  tastes. 

One  day  Sidi-Mahmoud  repaired  to  the  bazaar 
to  pmxhase  some  flasks  of  atar-guU,  and  other 
medi'_'incs,  from  Constantinople,  which  he  need- 
ed. In  a  very  nari'ow  street  he  met  a  litter, 
closed  by  curtains  of  crimson  velvet,  borne  by 
two  white  mules,  and  preceded  by  richly-dressed 
zebecs  and  messengers.  He  stood  aside  to  allow 
the  cortege  to  pass,  but  not  so  hastily  but  that  he 
saw  through  the  interstices  of  the  curtains,  which 
a  light  breeze  wafted  aside,  a  very  beautiful  lady, 
seated  on  cushions  of  gold  brocade.  This  lady, 
confiding  in  the  thickness  of  the  curtains,  and 
believing  herself  safe  from  rash  glances,  had 
raised  her  veil  on  account  of  the  heat.  It  was 
but  a  glimpse  ;  but  this  was  sufficient  to  turn  the 
head  of  poor  Sidi-Mahmoud.  This  lady  had  a 
complexion  of  dazzling  whiteness,  delicately  pen- 
cilled eyebrows,  a  pomegranate  mouth,  which 
bnlf  opened  to  reveal  a  double  row  of  Orient 
l)earls,  finer  and  more  limpid  than  those  which 


form  the  bracelets  and  necklace  of  the  favorite 
sultana,  a  ])roud  and  agreeable  mien,  and  about 
her  whole  pennon  sometliing  nolilc  and  regal. 

Sidi-Mahmoud,  as  if  dazzled  with  so  many 
perfections,  remained  a  long  time  motionless  in 
the  same  place,  and,  forgetting  that  he  had  gone 
out  to  make  purchases,  returned  liomo  empty- 
handed,  carrying  in  his  heart  the  radiant  vision. 

All  night  long  he  dreamed  of  the  beautiful  in- 
cognita, and  as  soon  as  he  had  risen,  began  to 
compose  in  her  honor  a  long  piece  of  poetry,  in 
which  the  most  flowery  and  gallant  comparisons 
were  lavished. 

Not  knowing  wliat  to  do,  his  piece  finished 
and  transcribed  on  a  beautiful  leaf  of  papyrus, 
with  handsome  capitals  in  red  ink  and  gilt  flow- 
ers, he  put  it  in  his  sleeve,  and  went  out  to  show 
this  precious  document  to  his  friend  Abdul,  from 
whom  he  had  no  secrets. 

On  his  way  to  the  house  of  Abdul,  he  passed 
the  bazaar,  and  entered  the  shop  of  a  perfumer 
to  buy  his  flasks  of  atar-gull.  There  lie  found  a 
beautiful  lady,  enveloped  in  a  long  white  veil, 
which  left  uncovered  only  her  left  eye.  By  this 
eye  alone,  Sidi-Mahmoud  instantly  recognized 
the  lady  of  the  palanquin.  His  emotion  was  so 
powerful  that  he  was  obliged  to  lean  against  the 
wall. 

The  lady  of  the  white  veil  perceived  the  un- 
easiness of  Sidi-Mahmoud,  and  obligingly  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter,  and  whether  he  was  ill. 

The  merchant,  the  lady  and  Sidi-Mahmoud 
passed  into  the  back  shop.  A  little  negro 
brought  on  a  waiter  a  glass  of  snow-water,  of 
which  Sidi-Mahmoud  drank. 

"  Why  has  the  sight  of  me  caused  you  such 
lively  emotion  V  said  the  lady,  in  a  gentle  tone 
of  voice,  and  with  a  tender  interest. 

Sidi-Mahmoud  related  how  he  had  seen  her 
near  the  mosque  of  the  Sultan  Hassan,  at  the 
moment  when  the  curtains  of  her  litter  were  a 
little  apart,  and  that  from  that  instant  he  had 
been  dying  of  love  for  her. 

'*  Indeed,"  said  the  lady,  "  your  passion  was 
sudden ;  I  did  not  know  that  love  came  so  quick- 
ly. I  am  in  fact  the  woman  whom  you  met 
yesterday ;  I  was  going  to  the  bath  in  mj  litter, 
and  as  the  heat  was  oppressive,  I  raised  my  veil. 
But  you  saw  me  imperfectly ;  I  am  not  aa  beau- 
tiful as  you  suppose." 

On  saying  these  words,  she  removed  her  veil, 
and  discovered  a  countenance  radiant  with  beau- 
ty, and  so  perfect  that  envy  itself  could  not  find 
the  slightest  defect  in  it. 

Youmay  judge  of  the  transports  of  Sidi-Mah- 
moud at  such  a  favor  ;  he  lavished  compliments, 
which  had  the  merit  of  being  sincere.  As  he 
spoke  with  much  earnestness  and  vehemence,  the 
paper,  on  which  his  verses  were  transcribed,  es- 
caped from  his  sleeve,  and  rolled  on  the  floor. 

*'  What  paper  is  this  V  said  the  lady.  "  The 
wTiting  appears  to  me  very  beautiful,  and  be- 
tokens a  practised  hand." 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  young  man,  blushing  deep- 
ly, "  a  copy  of  verses  I  composed  last  night,  as 
I  was  unable  to  sleep.  I  have  attempted  to  cele- 
brate your  perfections,  but  the  copy  is  far  from 
equalling  the  original,  and  my  verses  have  not 
brilliancy  enough  to  describe  that  of  your  eyes." 

The  young  lady  read  the  verses  attentively, 
and  said,  as  she  placed  them  in  her  girdle  : 

"  Though  they  contain  some  flattery,  they  are 
well  written." 

Then  she  adjusted  her  veil  and  left  the  shop, 
saying,  with  an  accent  which  penetrated  the 
heart  of  Sidi-Mahmoud : 

"  I  sometimes  come,  on  ray  return  from  the 
bath,  to  purchase  essences  and  perfumes  from 
Bedredin." 

The  merchant  congratulated  Sidi-Mahmoud 
on  his  good  fortune,  and,  leading  him  to  the 
furthest  extremity  of  his  shop,  whispered  in  his 
ear: 

"That  young  lady  is  the  Princess  Ayesha, 
daughter  of  the  caliph." 

Sidi-Mahmoud  returned  home, bewildered  with 
his  happiness,  and  not  daring  to  believe  it. 
Meanwhile,  modest  as  he  was,  he  could  not  but 
perceive  that  the  Princess  Ayesha  looked  upon 
him  with  a  favorable  eye.  Chance,  that  great 
intermeddler,  had  been  beyond  bis  most  sanguine 
hopes.  How  he  then  congratulated  himself  for 
not  having  yielded  to  the  suggestions  of  his 
friends,  and  to  the  seductive  portraits  they  had 
drawn  of  marriageable  young  girls,  who  have 
always,  as  every  one  knows,  gazelle  eyes,  full 
moon  figures,  hair  longer  than  the  mane  of  Al- 
borah,  mouths  of  jasper  red,  with  ambergris 
breath,  and  a  thousand  other  perfections  which 
disappear  with  the  haick  and   the   nuptial  veil ! 


How  fortunate  was  lie  in  being  free  from  all  vul- 
gar ties,  free  to  give  himself  up  entirely  to  his 
new  passion  ! 

In  vain  did  he  toss  and  turn  on  his  divan ;  he 
could  not  sleep;  the  imsigc  of  tlie  Princess  Aye- 
sha, sparkling  like  a  bird  of  flame  on  a  ground 
like  sunset,  passed  and  re-passed  before  his  eyes. 
Unal>le  to  find  repose,  he  ascended  to  one  of 
those  elaborately  carved  rooms,  which  are  ap- 
pended, in  the  cities  of  the  East,  to  the  exterior 
walls  of  the  houses,  to  enable  the  inhaltitants  to 
profit  by  the  coolness  and  current  of  air  ])assing 
through  the  street ;  sleep  did  not  come  to  him 
there,  for  it  is  like  happiness  :  it  flics  when  we 
seek  it;  and,  to  compose  his  spirits  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  tranquil  night,  he  repaired  with  his 
narguilhe  to  the  highest  terrace  of  his  habitation. 

The  fresh  night-air,  the  beauty  of  the  sky,  be- 
spangled with  gold  like  tlie  robe  of  a  peri,  and 
on  which  the  moon  displayed  her  silver  checks, 
as  a  sultana,  pale  with  love,  who  leans  against  the 
trellis  of  her  kiosque ;  all  these  were  pleasant  to 
Sidi-Mahmoud,  for  he  was  a  poet,  and  could  not 
be  insensible  to  the  magnificent  spectacle  pre- 
sented to  his  view. 

From  this,  height,  the  city  of  Cairo  unfolded 
before  him,  like  those  plans  in  relief,  in  which 
the  giaours  trace  their  fortified  cities.  The  ter- 
races ornamented  with  pots  of  thriving  plants, 
and  patches  of  grass ;  the  squares  mirrored  in 
the  waters  of  the  Nile,  for  it  was  the  period  of 
inundation  ;  the  gardens  studded  with  groups  of 
palm-trees,  tufts  of  the  carob  and  nopal-tree ;  the 
islands  of  houses,  interspersed  with  narrow 
streets ;  the  ten  cupolas  of  the  mosques ;  the 
slender  minarets,  carved  like  ivory  rattles;  the 
obscure  or  luminous  angles  of  tho  palaces,  form- 
ed a  coup  d'veily  in  which  there  was  nothing  left 
to  be  desired.  In  the  back-ground,  the  ashy 
sands  of  the  plain  blended  their  tints  with  the 
milky  colors  of  the  firmament,  and  the  three 
pyramids  of  Gizeh,  vaguely  outlined  by  a  bluish 
ray,  lifted  their  gigantic  triangles  of  stone  against 
the  far  horizon. 

Seated  on  a  pile  of  cushions,  and  with  his  body 
enveloped  in  the  elastic  circumvolutions  of  the 
pipe  of  his  nargiulhe,  Sidi-Mahmoud  sought  to 
distinguish  through  the  obscurity  the  distant 
form  of  the  palace,  where  slept  the  beautiful 
Ayesha.  A  profound  silence  reigned  over  the 
scene  before  him,  for  no  breath,  no  murmur,  re- 
vealed the  presence  of  a  living  being ;  the  only 
perceptible  sound  was  that  made  by  the  smoke 
of  the  narguilhe  in  traversing  the  bowl  of  rock- 
crystal,  filled  with  water,  intended  to  cool  its 
white  puffs.  Suddenly  a  sharp  cry  broke  forth 
amid  the  silence — a  cry  of  extreme  distress,  such 
as  the  antelope  might  utter  beneath  the  claw  of 
the  lion,  or  with  his  head  buried  in  the  mouth  of 
a  crocodile.  Sidi-Mahmoud,  startled  by  the  cry 
of  agony  and  despair,  rose  with  one  bound  and 
instinctively  laid  his  hand  on  the  pommel  of  his 
yataghan ;  then  bent  over  in  the  dii'cction  whence 
the  sound  proceeded. 

He  distinguished,  far  off  in  the  shadow,  a 
strange  group,  composed  of  a  white  figure  pur- 
sued by  a  number  of  black,  grotesque  and  mon- 
strous forms,  with  frenzied  gestures,  and  disor- 
dered dress.  The  white  shadow  seemed  to  flit 
over  the  tops  of  the  houses,  and  the  inteival  by 
which  it  was  separated  from  its  persecutors  was 
so  small  that  it  was  to  be  feared  it  would  soon 
be  overtaken,  and  be  beyond  the  reach  of  assist- 
ance. Sidi-Mahmoud  at  first  thought  it  was  a 
peri  pursued  by  a  swarm  of  ghoules ;  and  draw- 
ing from  his  pocket  his  agate  beads,  he  began  to 
recite,  as  a  preservative,  tho  ninety-nine  names 
of  Allah.  He  had  not  reached  the  twentieth 
when  he  stopped.  It  was  not  a  peri,  a  super- 
natural being  that  was  thus  flying,  leaping  from 
terrace  to  terrace,  and  clearing  the  streets,  four  or 
five  feet  broad,  which  intersect  the  compact 
blocks  of  an  Oriental  city,  but  a  woman  ;  the 
ghoules  were  zebecs,  chiaoux  and  eunuchs,  in 
furious  pursuit. 

Two  or  three  terraces  and  a  street  still  sepa- 
rated the  fugitive  from  the  platform  where  Sidi- 
Mahmoud  stood  ;  but  her  strength  seemed  to  fail 
her ;  she  convulsively  turned  her  head,  and  like 
an  exhausted  steed  obedient  to  the  spur,  seeing 
so  near  her  the  hideous  group  by  which  she  was 
pursued,  with  a  de=ipairing  bound  she  placed  the 
street  between  herself  and  her  enemies. 

In  alighting,  she  slightly  brushed  against  Sidi- 
Mahmoud,  whom  she  did  not  perceive,  for  the 
moon  was  veiled,  and  ran  to  the  extremity  of  the 
terrace,  which  overhung  a  second  street  broader 
than  the  first.  Despairing  of  being  able  to  leap 
it,  slie  appeared  to  seek  some  corner  in  which  to 
hide ;  and  perceiving  a  large  marble  vase,  she 


concealed  itself  within,  like  a  fairy  in  the  cup  of 
a  lily. 

The  enraged  troop  invaded  tl)e  terrace  with 
the  impetuosity  of  a  com))any  of  demon*.  Their 
black  or  co)>per-co!ored  facew,  witli  long  mous- 
taches, or  hideously  beardless,  their  sparkling 
eyes,  their  shrivelled  hands  brandishing  poig- 
nards,  the  fury  imprinted  on  their  mean  and 
ferocious  physiognomies,  caused  in  Sidi-Mah- 
moud an  impulse  of  terror,  though  Jje  was  brave 
and  skilled  in  the  use  of  arms.  They  cast  their 
eyes  over  the  terrace,  and  not  seeing  the  fugitive, 
undoubtedly  thought  she  had  overleaped  tho 
second  street,  and  continued  their  pursuit  with- 
out paying  any  attention  to  Sidi-Mahmoud. 

When  the  clash  of  their  arms  and  the  sound  of 
their  halxwches  on  the  steps  of  the  terraces  had 
died  away  in  the  distance,  the  fugitive  began  to 
raise  her  pretty  pale  head  above  the  edge  of  the 
vase,  and  looking  around  her  with  the  glance  of 
a  frightened  antelope,  at  length  stood  ;  perceiv- 
ing only  Sidi-Mahmoud,  who  smiled  upon  her, 
and  signified  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear,  sho 
sprang  out  of  the  vase  and  came  towards  the 
young  man  in  an  humble  attitude,  and  with  sup- 
pliant arms. 

"Pity,  my  lord;  save  me;  conceal  me  in  the 
most  obscure  corner  of  your  mansion;  hide  me 
from  the  demons  who  are  pursuing  me  !" 

Sidi-Mahmoud  took  her  by  the  hand,  led  her 
to  the  stairs  descending  from  the  terrace,  the 
trap-door  of  whicli  he  carefully  closed,  and  con- 
ducted her  to  his  room.  When  he  had  lighted 
the  lamp,  he  saw  that  the  fugitive  was  young, 
which  he  had  already  divined  by  the  silvery  tone 
of  her  voice,  and  very  pretty,  which  did  not  sur- 
prise him,  for,  by  tlic  starlight,  he  had  distin- 
guished her  elegant  stature.  She  appeared  to  be 
fifteen  years  old  at  most.  Her  extreme  paleness 
strongly  contrasted  with  her  large  black  eyes; 
her  delicate  nose  gave  an  air  of  nobility  to  her 
profile,  which  might  have  been  envied  by  the 
most  beautiful  daughters  of  Chio,  or  Cyprus, 
and  have  rivalled  the  idols  of  marble  adored  by 
the  old  Pagan  Greeks.  Her  neck  was  charming 
and  of  perfect  whiteness.  Her  garments  were 
simple,  and  were  composed  of  an  embroidered 
silk  vest,  pantalettes  of  muslin,  and  a  paste- 
colored  girdle ;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  beneath 
a  tunic  of  striped  gauze,  for  she  was  still  out  of 
breath  from  recent  terror.  When  she  had  rested 
a  little,  and  become  re-assured,  she  knelt  before 
Sidi-Mahmoud,  and  related  to  him  her  history  in 
very  good  language : 

"  I  was  a  slave  in  the  seraglio  of  Abu-Becker, 
and  committed  a  fault  in  conveying  to  the  sulta- 
na a  flowery  letter,  sent  by  a  young  emir,  with 
whom  she  had  a  love  affair.  Abu-Becker,  having 
intercepted  it,  became  horribly  enraged,  caused 
his  favorite  to  be  placed  in  a  sack  and  thrown 
into  the  sea,  and  condemned  me  to  have  my 
head  cut  ofl^.  The  Kislar-aga  was  commissioned 
to  perform  this  act;  but,  profiting  by  the  alarm 
and  disorder  which  the  terrible  punishment  in- 
flicted on  poor  Nourmahal  had  caused  in  the 
seraglio,  and  finding  the  trap-door  of  the  terrace 
open,  I  fled.  My  flight  was  perceived,  and  the 
black  eunuchs,  the  zebecs  and  the  Albanians,  in 
my  master's  service,  pursued  me.  I  have  no 
hope  but  in  you.  Abu-Becker  is  powerful ;  ho 
will  seek  me,  and  if  he  finds  me,  the  sword  of 
Mesrour  will  not  be  satisfied  with  wounding  my 
neck,"  said  she,  smilingly,  touching  with  her 
hand  a  roseate  streak,  traced  by  the  sabre  of  the 
zebec.  "Accept  me  for  your  slave;  I  will  con- 
secrate to  you  the  life  I  owe  you.  Yon  shall 
always  have  my  shonlder  to  rest  your  elbow 
upon,  and  my  hair  to  wipe  the  dust  from  your 
sandals." 

Sidi-Mahmoud  was  by  nature  very  compas- 
sionate, like  all  people  who  have  studied  letters 
and  poesy.  Leila,  such  was  the  name  of  tho 
fugitive  slave,  expressed  herself  in  choice  terms  ; 
she  was  young,  beautiful,  and  had  she  not  been 
so,  humanity  forbade  his  sending  her  away. 
Sidi-Mahmoud  pointed  out  to  the  slave  a  Persian 
caq^et,  some  silken  cushions  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  and  on  the  platform  a  little  collation  of 
dates,  preserved  citrons,  and  conserves  of  roses 
from  Constantinople,  which,  distracted  by  his 
thoughts,  he  had  not  himself  touched,  and  two 
iars  of  cool  water,  in  the  poi-ous  earth  of  Tlicbcs, 
set  in  saucers  of  porcelain  from  Japan,  and  cov- 
ered with  a  pearly  transpiration.  Having  thus 
provided  for  Leila,  he  re-asccnded  to  the  terrace 
to  finish  his  narguilhe,  and  find  the  last  stanza 
of  the  verses  he  was  composing  in  honor  of  tho 
Princess  Ayesha,  a  madrigal  into  which  the  lilies  of 
Iran,  the  flowers  of  Gulistan,  the  stars  and  all  the 
celestial  constellations  struggled  for  an  entrance. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


155 


The  next  day,  as  soon  as  daylight  appeared, 
Sidi-Mahmond  reflected  that  he  Iiad  no  musk,  or 
benzoin,  and  that  his  silken  bag,  embroidered 
with  gold,  and  studded  with  spangles,  in  which 
he  kept  his  latakle,  was  worn  out,  and  needed  to 
be  replaced.  Having  scarcely  taken  time  to  per- 
form his  ablutions,  and  recite  his  prayers,  he  left 
his  house,  after  having  copied  his  verses  and  put 
them  in  his  sleeve,  not  with  the  intention  of 
showing  them  to  his  friend  Abdul,  but  of  giving 
them  to  the  Princess  Aycsha  in  person,  in  case 
he  should  meet  her  at  the  bazaar,  in  the  shop  of 
Bedredin.  The  muezzin,  perched  on  the  bal- 
cony of  the  minaret,  announced  only  the  fifth 
hour ;  there  were  in  the  streets  only  fellahs, 
driving,  before  them  asses,  laden  with  water- 
melons, branches  of  dates,  chickens  tied  together 
by  the  claws,  and  quarters  of  mutton,  which 
they  were  carrying  to  market.  He  was  in  the 
quarter  where  the  palace  of  Ayesha  was  situated, 
but  saw  only  its  white  and  embattled  walls. 
Nothing  appeared  at  the  three  or  four  little  win- 
dows closed  by  wooden  lattices,  with  narrow  in- 
terstices, which  allowed  the  people  of  the  house 
to  see  what  was  passing  in  the  street,  but  left  no 
opportunity  for  the  inquisitive  glances  of  those 
without.  The  Oriental  palaces  reserve  their 
magnificence  for  the  interior,  and  turn,  so  to 
speak,  their  backs  upon  the  passer-by.  Sidi- 
Mahmoud  did  not,  therefore,  derive  ranch  bene- 
fit from  his  investigations.  He  saw  two  or  three 
black  slaves,  richly  clad,  enter  and  leave,  whose 
proud  and  insolent  mien  betokened  the  conscious- 
ness of  belonging  to  a  house  of  consideration, 
and  a  person  of  the  highest  quality.  Our  lover, 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  thick  walls,  made  vain 
efforts  to  discover  on  which  side  were  the  apart- 
ments of  Ayesha.  He  could  not  succeed  ■,  the 
grand  portal,  formed  by  an  arch,  was  walled  at 
the  extremity,  giving  access  into  the  court  only 
by  a  lateral  door,  and  did  not  allow  a  glance  to 
penetrate  it. 

Sidi-Mahmoud  was  obliged  to  withdraw,  with- 
out having  made  any  discovery.  The  hour  was 
growing  later,  and  he  might  be  remarked.  He, 
therefore,  went  to  the  shop  of  Bedredin,  where, 
to  induce  him  to  be  favorable,  he  bought  a  num- 
ber of  articles  of  which  he  had  need.  He  seated 
himself  in  the  shop,  questioned  the  merchant, 
asked  him  whether  he  had  made  a  fortunate  sale 
of  the  silks  and  carpets,  brought  from  Aleppo 
by  the  last  caravan,  if  his  vessels  had  arrived 
safely  at  port,  in  short,  prolonged  his  stay  in 
hopes  to  see  Ayesha  appear ;  but  she  came  not. 
He  returned  home  with  a  full  heart,  calling  her 
cruel  and  perfidious,  as  if  she  had  actually  pro- 
mised to  meet  him  at  the  shop  of  Bedredin,  and 
failed  to  keep  her  word. 

On  re-entering  his  chamber,  he  put  his  babon- 
ches  in  the  niche  of  sculptured  marble  Iiollowed 
out  at  the  side  of  the  door  for  this  purpose ;  took 
off"  the  cafran  of  precious  stuti",  which  he  had  put 
on  with  the  idea  of  setting  off  his  fine  person  to 
good  advantage  before  Ayesha,  and  threw  him- 
self on  his  divan  in  a  state  bordering  on  despair. 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  all  was  lost,  as  if  the 
world  were  about  to  come  to  an  end,  and  he  bit- 
terly took  refuge  in  fatality ;  all  for  not  having 
met,  as  he  had  hoped,  a  woman  whom  two  days 
before  he  had  never  seen. 

As  he  had  closed  his  bodily  eyes,  the  better  to 
see  his  soul's  idol,  he  felt  ?.  light  breeze  refresh- 
ing his  brow  ;  he  raised  his  eyelids,  and  saw, 
seated  beside  him  on  the  floor,  Leila,  who  was 
agitating  one  of  those  palm-leaves  which  serve  in 
the  East  as  fans.     He  had  entirely  forgotten  her. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  lord  r' said 
she,  in  a  voice  pearly  and  melodious  as  music. 
"  You  do  not  appear  to  enjoy  your  tranquillity  of 
mind ;  some  anxiety  torments  you.  If  it  was 
in  the  power  of  your  slave  to  dissipate  the  cloud 
of  sadness  which  veils  your  brow,  she  would 
esteem  herself  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world, 
and  envy  not  the  Sultana  Ayesha  herself,  beauti- 
ful and  rich  as  she  is." 

This  name  made  Sidi-Mahmoud  start  from  his 
divan,  like  a  sick  man  whose  wound  is  accident- 
ally touched ;  he  cast  an  inquisitive  glance  upon 
Leila,  whose  countenance  was  calm,  and  ex- 
pressed only  the  most  lender  solicitude.  Never- 
theless, he  blushed,  as  if  she  had  surprised  the 
secret  of  his  passion.  Leila,  without  seeming  to 
notice  this  significant  color,  continued  to  offer 
consolation  to  her  new  master  : 

"  What  can  I  do  to  drive  away  from  your 
spirit  the  gloomy  ideas  which  obscure  it  ?  a  little 
music  will,  perhaps,  dissipate  this  melancholy. 
An  old  slave,  who  had  been  an  odalisque  of  the 
former  sultan,  taught  me  the  secret  of  composi- 
tion ;  I  can  improvise  verses,  and  accompany 
myself  on  the  guzla." 


As  she  said  these  words,  she  detached  from 
the  wall  tlie  guzla  of  citron  wood,  with  its  han- 
dle incrusted  with  mother-of-pearl  and  ebony, 
and  played  some  Arabian  airs  with  rare  perfec- 
tion. 

The  sweetness  of  the  voice  and  music  would, 
on  any  other  occasion,  have  rejoiced  Sidi-Mah- 
moud, who  was  very  sensitive  to  the  beauties  of 
poesy  and  harmony ;  but  his  brain  and  heart 
were  so  pre-occupicd  with  the  lady  whom  he  had 
seen  in  Bedredin's  shop,  that  he  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  Leila's  songs. 

The  next  day,  more  fortunate  than  before,  he 
met  Ayesha  in  the  shop  of  Bedredin.  To  describe 
his  joy  would  be  an  impossibility;  only  those 
who  are  in  love  can  comprehend  it.  He  remain- 
ed a  moment  voiceless,  breathless.  Ayesha,  who 
saw  his  emotion,  spoke  to  him  with  much  affabil- 
ity, for  nothing  flatters  persons  of  high  birth  so 
much  as  the  imeasiness  they  inspire.  Sidi-Mah- 
moud, recovering  himself,  used  all  his  efforts  to 
be  agreeable,  and  as  he  was  young,  of  handsome 
person,  had  studied  poesy,  and  expressed  him- 
self in  elegant  terms,  he  thought  he  perceived  he 
was  not  unpleasing  to  her,  and  was  encouraged 
to  request  an  interview  with  the  princess  at  a  less 
public  place  than  Bedredin's  shop. 

"  I  know,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  only  worthy  to 
be  dust  in  your  pathway,  that  the  distance  between 
us  could  not  be  traversed  in  a  thousand  years  by 
a  horse,  of  the  same  race  with  the  prophet's,  fly- 
ing at  a  gallop  ;  but  love  renders  me  bold,  and 
the  caterpillar,  enamored  of  the  rose,  cannot  re- 
frain from  avowing  its  love." 

Ayesha  listened  to  all  this  without  the  least 
sign  of  anger,  and,  fixing  on  Sidi-Mahmoud  eyes 
heavy  with  languor,  said  : 

"  To-morrow  evening,  at  the  hour  of  prayer, 
be  in  the  mosque  of  the  Sultan  Hassan,  beneath 
the  third  lamp ;  there  you  will  meet  a  black 
slave  clad  in  yellow  damask.  He  will  walk  be- 
fore you,  and  you  will  follow  him." 

This  said,  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face,  and 
went  out. 

Our  lover  did  not  fail  to  be  at  the  rendezvous. 
He  stationed  himself  beneath  the  third  lamp,  not 
daring  to  stir  lest  he  should  not  be  found  by  the 
black  slave,  who  was  not  yet  at  his  post.  It  is 
true  that  Sidi-Mahmoud  had  anticipated  by  two 
hours  the  time  appointed.  At  last  he  saw  the 
negro,  clad  in  yellow  damask,  appear,  and  come 
directly  to  the  pillar,  against  which  Sidi-Mah- 
moud was  standing.  The  slave,  having  looked 
at  him  attentively,  made  a  sign  to  him  to  follow. 
They  both  left  the  mosque.  The  negro  marched 
with  rapid  steps,  and  conducted  Sidi-Mahmoud 
by  an  infinite  number  of  windings  through  the 
complicated  and  tangled  skein  of  the  streets  of 
Cairo.  Our  young  man  once  attempted  to  speak 
to  his  guide,  but  the  latter  passed  on  without  re- 
plying. At  last  they  arrived  at  a  square  of  the 
city  entirely  deserted,  and  with  which  Sidi-Mah- 
moud was  unacquainted,  though  he  was  a  native 
of  Cairo,  and  thought  he  knew  every  quarter  of 
the  city.  The  mute  stopped  before  a  white  wall, 
where  there  was  no  appearance  of  a  door ;  he 
counted  six  paces  from  the  corner  of  the  wall, 
and  examining  it  attentively,  touched  a  spring 
concealed  between  the  stones.  A  column  turned 
on  itself,  and  revealed  a  dark  and  narrow  pass- 
age, which  the  mute  entered,  followed  by  Sidi- 
Mahmoud.  Tliey  first  descended  more  than  a 
hundred  steps,  and  afterwards  followed  an  ob- 
scure corridor  of  interminable  length.  Sidi- 
Mahmoud,  as  he  groped  along  the  walls,  per- 
ceived that  they  were  of  living  rock,  sculptured 
with  hieroglyphics,  and  comprehended  that  he 
was  in  one  of  those  subterranean  galleries  of  an 
ancient  Egyptian  necropolis,  which  had  been 
used  for  a  secret  outlet.  At  the  end  of  a  corri- 
dor sparkled  some  gleams  of  a  bluish  light. 
This  light  proceeded  from  some  sculptured  orna- 
ments, which  evidently  made  a  part  of  the  saloon 
adjoining  the  corridor.  The  mute  touched 
another  spring,  and  Sidi-Mahmoud  found  him- 
self in  a  saloon  paved  with  marble,  with  a  foun- 
tain in  the  midst,  alabaster  columns,  walls  lined 
with  mosaics  in  glass,  sentences  of  the  Koran  in- 
terspersed with  flowers  and  ornaments,  and  cov- 
ered with  a  sculptured  ceiling  glittering  like  a 
grotto  with  stalactites  ;  enormous  bouquets  of 
flowers,  in  vases  of  white  and  blue  porcelain, 
completed  the  decorations.  On  a  platform  orna- 
mented with  cushions,  a  species  of  alcove,  was 
seated  the  Princess  Ayesha,  unveiled,  radiant, 
and  surpassing  in  beauty  the  hourisof  the  fourth 
heaven. 

"  Well,  Sidi-Mahmoud,  have  you  made  other 
verses  in  my  honor  ?"  said  slie,  in   a  most  gra- 
cious tone,  and  beckoning  to  him  to  be  seated. 
Sidi-Mahmoud   threw  himself  at  the  feet  of 


Ayesha,  drew  his  papyrus  from  his  sleeve,  and 
recited  his  madrigal  in  the  most  passionate  tone ; 
it  was  truly  a  remarkable  piece  of  poesy.  While 
he  was  reading,  the  cheeks  of  the  princess  kin- 
dled like  an  alabaster  lamp  which  has  just  been 
lighted.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  rays  of  extra- 
ordinary brilliancy ;  her  body  became,  as  it  were, 
transparent,  and  buttei-fly  wings  peeped  out  from 
her  shoulders.  Unfortunately,  Sidi-Mahmoud, 
occupied  with  his  reading,  did  not  raise  his  eyes 
or  perceive  this  metamorphosis.  When  he  had 
finished,  he  saw  before  him  only  the  Princess 
Ayesha,  who  looked  at  him  with  an  ironical 
smile. 

Like  all  poets,  pre-occupied  with  their  own 
creations,  Sidi-Mahmoud  had  forgotten  that  the 
finest  verses  are  not  as  valuable  as  a  sincere 
word,  or  a  look  illuminated  by  the  light  of  love. 
Peris  are  like  women,  and  their  thoughts  must 
be  divined  and  arrested  before  they  plume  their 
flight  heavenward. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Ayesha,  "  you  have  rare  poetic 
talent,  and  yom*  verses  deserve  to  be  affixed  to 
the  door  of  a  mosque,  written  in  letters  of  gold, 
beside  the  celebrated  productions  of  Ferdoussi, 
Saadi  and  Ibn  Ben  Omaz.  It  is  a  pity  that,  ab- 
sorbed by  the  perfection  of  your  own  rhymes, 
you  did  not  just  now  look  at  me.  Your  most 
cherished  vow  was  fulfilled,  and  yon  did  not 
know  it.  Adieu,  Sidi-Mahmoud,  who  can  love 
only  a  peri !" 

Thereupon  Ayesha  arose  with  a  majestic  air, 
lifted  a  brocade  curtain,  and  disappeared. 

The  mute  returned,  and  re-conducted  Sidi- 
Mahmoud  by  the  way  he  had  come.  Afflicted 
and  surprised  at  having  been  thus  dismissed,  the 
young  man  knew  not  what  to  think,  and  lost 
himself  to  reflection,  unable  to  divine  a  motive 
for  the  abrupt  exit  of  the  princess;  he  ended  by 
attributing  it  to  the  caprice  of  a  woman,  who 
changes  her  mind  at  the  first  opportunity;  but  it 
was  in  vain  that  he  frequented  the  shop  of  Be- 
dredin, lie  no  longer  met  the  piincess  there;  he 
made  an  infinite  number  of  pilgrimages  to  the 
third  pillar  of  the  mosque  of  the  Sultan  Hassan, 
but  never  again  saw  the  negro  clad  in  yellow 
damask,  which  threw  him  into  a  dark  and  pro- 
found melancholy. 

Leila  exhausted  herself  in  inventions  to  amuse 
him  :  she  played  on  the  guzla  ;  she  recited  won- 
derful stories  ;  adorned  his  room  with  bouquets, 
the  colors  of  which  were  so  well  diversified  and 
blended,  that  the  eye  was  as  much  «[elighted  as 
the  smell  ;  sometimes  she  even  danced  before 
him  with  as  much  agility  and  grace  as  the  most 
skilful  alma.  Any  one  but  Sidi-Mahmoud  would 
have  been  touched  by  so  many  attentions  and 
assiduities ;  but  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  and 
the  desire  of  discovering  Ayesha  left  him  no  re- 
pose. He  had  often  wandered  around  the  palace 
of  the  princess,  but  had  never  been  able  to  per- 
ceive her ;  nothing  appeared  behind  the  carefully 
closed  lattices  ;  the  palace  was  like  a  tomb. 

His  friend  Abdul-Malek,  alarmed  at  his  state, 
often  came  to  visit  him,  and  could  not  fail  to  re- 
mark the  beauty  of  Leila,  which  equalled,  if  it 
did  not  surpass,  that  of  Ayesha,  and  was  aston- 
ished at  the  blindness  of  Sidi-Mahmoud  ;  and 
if  he  had  not  feared  to  violate  the  sacred  laws  of 
friendship,  would  willingly  have  taken  the  young 
slave  to  wife.  Meanwhile,  without  losing  her 
beauty,  Leila  became  paler  each  day ;  her  large 
eyes  grew  languishing;  the  rose  of  Aurora  gave 
place  on  her  check  to  the  paleness  of  moonlight. 
One  day  Sidi-Mahmoud  perceived  that  she  was 
weeping,  and  asked  the  cause. 

"  0  my  dear  lord,  how  can  I  tell  you  ?  I,  a 
poor  slave,  indebted  to  your  pity,  have  dared  to 
love  you  ;  but  what  am  I  in  your  eyes  ?  I  know 
that  you  have  formed  a  resolution  to  love  only  a 
peri  or  sultana  ;  others  would  be  contented  with 
being  sincerely  loved  by  ayoung  and  pure  heart, 
and  would  not  trouble  themselves  about  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  caliph,  or  the  queen  of  the  genii.  Look 
at  me.  I  was  fifteen  yesterday ;  I  am,  perhaps, 
as  beautiful  as  this  Ayesha  of  whom  you  so  often 
speak.  It  is  true  that  no  magic  carbuncle,  or 
aigrette  with  heron-plume,  sparkles  on  my  brow ; 
I  do  not  walk  accompanied  by  soldiers  carrying 
muskets  encrusted  with  silver  and  coral.  But  I 
can  sing,  play  on  the  guzla,  dance  like  Emcneh 
herself,  and  have  been  a  devoted  sister  to  you ; 
what  can  I  do  to  touch  vour  heart  ?" 

On  bearing  Leila  speak  thus,  Sidi-Mahmoud 
felt  his  heart  troubled  ;  nevertheless,  he  did  not 
speak,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  profound  medita- 
tion. Two  opposing  resohuions  disputed  for  the 
mastery  :  on  the  one  hand,  he  must  renounce  his 
favorite  dream;  on  the  other,  he  said  to  himself 
that  it  would  be  very  foolish  to  cultivate  an  at- 
tachment for  a  woman  who  had  amused  herself 


at  his  expense,  and  left  him  with  raillery,  when 
he  had  in  his  house,  at  least,  the  equal  in  youth 
and  beauty  of  her  whom  he  had  lost. 

Leila,  as  she  awaited  his  decision,  had  knelt, 
and  two  tears  rolled  silently  down  the  pale  cheeks 
of  the  poor  child. 

"  Ah  !  why  did  not  the  sabre  of  Mesrour  finish 
its  work  V  said  she,  touching  with  her  hand  her 
white  and  slender  throat. 

Touched  by  this  accent  of  grief,  Sidi-Mahmoud 
raised  the  young  slave,  and  deposited  a  kiss  on 
her  forehead. 

Leila  raised  her  head  like  a  caressed  dove,  and 
placing  herself  before  Sidi-Mahmoud,  took  his 
hands  and  said  : 

"  Look  at  me  attentively ;  do  I  not  resemble 
some  one  of  your  acquaintance  1" 

Sidi-Mahmoud  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 

"  It  is  the  same  face,  the  same  eyes,  all  the 
features — in  a  word,  the  Princess  Ayesha!  How 
does  it  happen  that  I  have  not  before  noticed  this 
resemblance  ?" 

"  You  have,  until  now,  cast  upon  your  poor 
slave  only  an  absent  glance,"  replied  Leila,  in  a 
tone  of  raillery. 

**  If  the  Princess  Ayesha  herself  should  now 
send  me  her  black  slave  in  the  yellow  damask 
robe,  with  the  salutation  of  love,  I  would  refuse 
to  follow  him." 

"  Is  it  so  V  said  Leila,  in  a  voice  more  melo- 
dious than  that  in  which  the  bulbul  makes  its 
avowals  to  the  beloved  rose.  "  Nevertheless, 
you  must  not  despise  poor  Ayesha,  who  resem- 
bles me  so  much." 

By  way  of  reply,  Sidi-Mahmoud  pressed  the 
young  slave  to  his  heart.  But  what  was  his  as- 
tonishment when  he  saw  the  face  of  Leila  become 
illuminated,  the  magic  carbuncle  sparkled  on 
her  brow,  and  wings,  starred  with  peacock's  eyes, 
develop  themselves  on  her  charming  shoulders ! 
Leila  was  a  peri ! 

"  I  am,  my  dear  Sidi-Mahmoud,  neither  the 
Princess  Ayesha,  nor  the  slave  Leila.  My  real 
name  is  Boudroulboudour.  I  am  a  peri  of  the 
first  rank,  as  you  may  see  by  my  carbuncle  and 
my  wings.  One  evening,  passing  in  the  air  be- 
side your  terrace,  I  heard  you  utter  the  desire  of 
being  loved  by  a  peri.  This  ambition  pleased 
me ;  ignorant  mortals,  gross  and  immersed  in 
terrestrial  pleasures,  as  they  are,  dream  not  of 
such  rare  delights.  I  wished  to  try  you,  and  as- 
sumed the  disguises  of  Ayesha  and  Leila,  to  see 
whether  you  would  recognize  me,  and  love  mo 
beneath  a  human  form.  Your  heart  has  been 
more  discerning  than  your  mind,  and  you  have 
had  more  kindness  than  pride.  The  devotion  of 
the  slave  has  made  you  prefer  her  to  the  sultana  . 
this  was  what  I  expected.  For  a  moment  car- 
ried away  by  the  beauty  of  your  verses,  I  was  on 
the  point  of  betraying  myself;  but  I  was  afraid 
you  might  be  only  a  poet  enamored  of  your  own 
imagination  and  rhymes,  and  withdrew,  affecting 
a  proud  disdain.  You  have  wished  to  espouse 
Leila  the  slave,  Boudroulboudour  the  peri  un- 
dertakes to  fill  her  place.  I  will  be  Leila  to 
others,  and  a  peri  to  you  alone ;  for  I  desire  your 
happiness,  and  the  world  would  never  pardon 
you  for  enjoying  a  felicity  superior  to  its  own. 
Fairy  as  I  am,  it  is  more  than  I  can  do  to  defend 
you  from  the  envy  and  malice  of  men." 

These  conditions  were  accepted  with  transport 
by  Sidi-Mahmoud,  and  the  wedding  took  place 
as  if  he  had  really  espoused  the  little  Leila. 

Such  is  in  substance  the  story  which  I  dic- 
tated to  Scheherazade  through  the  medium  of 
Francesco. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  DYING  GIRL. 

BY  MART  J.    CULLEN. 

The  flowers  have  bloomed  once  more,  EiEter, 
They  "tc  bloomecl  in  vain  for  me  ; 

For  long  before  they  'ro  gone,  sister, 
From  earth  I  shall  be  free. 

Transplanted  flowers  I  '11  see,  sister, 

In  gardens  bright  and  fair ; 
'T  will  be  in  that  blessed  home,  Bister, 

Where  there  is  no  more  care. 

There  I  shall  wear  a  crown,  sister, 

A  golden  one  'twill  be  ; 
A  harp  of  praise  I  'U  have,  sister, 

And  my  Redeemer  see. 

With  unguis  I  shall  siog,  sister, 

Those  soDgs  of  pr;ii^cs  sweet ; 
And  then  when  Christ  colls  thee,  sister, 

We  shall  forever  meet. 

Then  do  not  mourn  for  mc,  sister, 

For  I  am  goiu^  home 
To  the  blest  land  of  love,  sister, 

Whore  Jesus  bids  me  come. 


156 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DllAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


O.  SACKETT,  TIIK  VANKKE  CARD  WRITER. 

Tiic  nccomjiiinyinf;  portrait  of  tho  Yankee  Card  Writer 
is  from  a  d ague rreo typo  l»y  Holmes,  of  New  York,  and 
will  nerve  to  give  our  readers  an  idea  of  the  pcrrional  ap- 
poftrance  oF  this  original  and  most  celebrated  arlist.  Mr. 
O.  Siu'kett  was  born  near  KoL-liestcr,  N.  Y.,and  at  a  very 
early  iige  exhibited  an  extraordinary  talent  for  portraituro 
and  penmanship.  Ills  parents  bemg  poor,  were  unable 
to  a.ssist  him,  either  to  make  progression  in  iiis  favorite 
art,  or  in  attaining  an  education.  Tlirough  the  kind- 
ness of  Professor  I'licips,  tlie  principal  of  an  academy  in 
Sherburne,  N.  Y.,  he,  at  the  age  of  12  years,  commenced 
Jiis  education  at  that  institution,  paying  all  expenses,  ex- 
cept hoard,  by  superintending  the  writing  department 
two  hours  cacli  day.  After  one  year  of  close  study,  find- 
ing his  wardrobe  deficient  in  many  important  particulars, 
lie  became  nearly  discouraged,  and  seriously  determined 
to  engage  in  some  kind  of  labor  wiiich  should  furnish  the 
moans  whereby  ho  might  procure  hooks  aiul  clothes,  and 
bo  prepared  to  prosecute  his  studies  in  a  more  respectable 
manner.  A  few  days  previous  to  that  upon  which  he 
proposed  putting  his  plans  into  execution,  he  was  pre- 
sented liy  Prof.  Phelps  with  a  teacher's  certificate,  and  in- 
formed that  a  school  liad  been  engaged  which  he  could 
conduct — although  tlien  but  13  years  of  age — as  success- 
fully as  any  person  in  the  State,  if  be  only  thought  so 
himself.  This  was  advised  by  tho  professor,  who  said  : 
'*  If  you  try  to  earn  money  by  maimal  labor,  your  age  and 
lack  of  pliysical  maturity  will  render  it  impossible  for  you 
to  coininand  such  wages  as  would  assist  you  in  getting  an 
cducatiiiii  before  you  will  become  discouraged  and  give  it 
up  altogether."  The  advice  was  taken — the  first  school 
successfully  taught;  after  which,  be,  for  two  years,  alter- 
nately taught  and  was  taught,  until  he  arrived  at  the  ago 
of  15.  At  this  time,  his  talent  for  portraiture  seemed  to 
have  gained  the  ascendency;  and  without  instruction,  or 
the  advantages  of  witnessing  the  work  of  any  artist,  he 
boldly  offered  himself  to  the  public,  and  for  two  years 
practised  hii  profession  in  the  different  cities  and  large 
towns  in  his  native  State.  His  miniatures,  for  truthful- 
ness and  delicacy  of  tint  and  finish,  have  never  been  ex- 
celled by  any  other  artist  in  this  country ;  and  will  be 
treasured  as  rare  souvenirs,  as  well  of  the  artist  as  the 
original.  At  17,  he  had  already  enjoyed  the  patronage  of  large 
numbers  of  the  most  aristocratic  families  in  different  parts  of  the 
State,  whose  attentions  soon  brought  him  before  the  public 
through  the  press.  This  so  increased  his  business  that  he  could 
not  possibly  execute  miniatures  as  rapidly  as  ordered.  Being 
ambitious,  he  unwisely  applied  himself,  day  after  day,  and  week 
afier  week,  so  closely  to  business,  that  he  soon  lost  Ins  sight. 
After  careful  treatment,  in  two  months  his  sight  returned,  but  not 
sufliciently  perfect  to  ever  permit  him  to  follow  his  favorite  pro- 
fession. Nothing  discouraged,  he  immediately  commenced  giving 
instruction  in  penmanship  ;  arranged  and  perfected  a  most  beauti- 
ful system,  which  he  called  "  The  Science  of  Writing,"  by  which 
he  has  successfully  taught  in  eight  years,  in  this  and  several  other 
States,  about  12,000  pupils,  and  left  the  field  with  a  reputation  far 
beyond  any  other  teacher  in  the  United  States — not  only  as  a 
professor,  but  as  an  original  and  most  successful  disciplinarian. 
And  yet  Mr.  Sackett  has  never  received  a  moment's  instruction 
in  penmanship  from  any  person,  having  already  given  instruction 
two  years  before  witnessing  the  process  pursued  in  any  similar 
school.  All  the  different  professions  in  which  Mr.  Sackett  has 
figured,  have  been  stamped  with  great  originality  and  novelty. 
He  seems  never  to  have  followed  in  a  course,  marked  out  by  any 
but  himself;  and  at  present,  as  in  every  profession  chosen,  he  has 
gained  a  higher  position,  and  a  more  extended  reputation,  than 


— having  written  upwards  of  000,000  cards.  Wherever 
he  ii<n-^,  be  is  thronged  with  orders  from  the  most  distin- 
guished families,  who — notwithstanding  they  have  always 
a  supply  of  beautifully  engraved  cards  at  a  much  cheaper 
rate — will  use  no  curds  except  those  executed  by  tho 
Yfiiih'/i.  In  Albany,  in  seven  weeks,  Mr.  Sackett  exe- 
cuted with  his  own  hands,  and  delivered  to  his  custom- 
ers, .'10,000.  The  rapidity  with  which  he  writes- — every 
card  is  written  by  Imnd — is  without  parallel ;  and  for 
Bplcndor  and  perfection  of  execution,  cannot  be  equalled 
by  the  most  finished  coppcrplaie.  Mr.  Sackett  is  the 
originator  of  his  profession,  out  of  which  be  will  easily 
realize  a  fortune,  if  he  docs  not,  as  in  a  former  case,  ap- 
ply himself  so  closely  as  to  destroy  his  sight.  It  will  be 
seen  that  whatever  Mr.  Sackett  has  followed,  for  a  liveli- 
hood, up  to  the  present,  has  been  suggested  by  circum- 
stances, and  developed  and  made  valuable  by  personal 
effort.  However,  instead  of  exciting  envy,  it  should 
secure  for  liim  the  earnest  "God  speed  you,"  of  evei-j' 
friend  of  industry  and  genius.  The  Yankee  Card  Writer 
is  now  making  the  tour  of  the  United  States;  next  sum- 
mer he  sails  for  Europe. 


0.  SACKETT;  THE  YANKEE  CARD  WRITER. 

any  person  preceding  him.  Several  years  since,  while  carefully 
using  a  metallic  pencil,  he  discovered  that  a  most  beautiful  im- 
pression was  made  by  it  upon  enamelled  cards.  He  at  once  com- 
menced presenting  his  young  lady  pupils — with  whom  he  has  al- 
ways been  immensely  popular — with  visiting  cards  written  by 
hirnself.  The  result  of  this  kindness  to  pupils,  free  of  charge, 
was  such  an  increased  demand  for  similar  favors,  that,  in  order  to 
stop  it  in  future,  the  better  to  attend  to  the  business  of  teaching,  it 
became  necessary  to  make  a  charge  ;  and  by  demanding  pay  for 
visiting  cards,  Mr.  Sackett  thought  to  drive  all  orders  away,  but 
on  the  contrary,  not  only  pupils,  but  those  not  under  instruction, 
were  relieved  of  the  delicacy  which  kept  them  from  ordering 
cards,  for  which  no  charge  was  made.  And  so  great  was  the  de- 
mand, and  so  numerous  the  orders  sent,  that  a  still  greater  and 
unreasonable  charge  was  made  but  with  no  better  success  ;  for  the 
astonishing  beauty  and  artistic  perfection  of  his  writing  at  once 
placed  Mr.  Sackett's  cards  far  above  copperplate  in  the  estimation 
of  all  persons  of  taste  and  fashion ;  and  the  extravagant  prices 
charged  were  paid  without  reluctance.  Mi".  Sackett,  never  blind 
to  the  attractions  of  money,  decided  to  try  card  wniivg  as  a  pro- 
fession, and  immediately  commenced  operations.  Three  years 
have  hardly  elapsed  since,  and  yet  "  The  Yankee  Card  Writer" 
— which  cognomen  has  been  assumed  by  Mr.  Sackett — has  effect- 
ed the  greatest  revolution  in  the  fashionable  world  ever  witnessed 


AN  EFFICACIOUS  CHASTISEMENT. 

A  most  exemplary  wife  had  the  misfortune  to  wed  a 
husband,  who,  shortly  after  their  marriage,  became   al- 
most a  sot.     He  was  not  a  hard-hearted,  or  an   unjust 
man,  but,  like  numerous  others,  could  not  resist  tempta- 
tion, and  whenever  asked  to  drink,  had  not  the   moral 
courage  to  say  "no."     His  wife,  whom  he  really  loved, 
expostulated  and  reasoned,  until  he  promised  never  to 
take  liquor  again;  but  as  soon  as  thrown  into  company, 
his  resolutions  were  forgotten,  and  he  fell  into  his  old  de- 
grading habit.     She  we]>t  bitter,  bitter  tears,  and  began 
to  despair  of  ever  weaning  him  from  his  monstrous  vice, 
especially  as  she  had  implored  one  of  his  false  friends  in 
vain  not  to  lead  her  husband  into  evil  company.     Regu- 
larly, however,  the   corrupting  associate  called,  and  de- 
spite of  her  tears,  solicited  her  husband  to  visit  such  and 
Buch  a  place.     The  infatuated  man  could  not  resist,  and 
went,  and  came  in  a  beastly  state  of  intoxication.     Tlie 
wretched  woman,  wronglitto  frenzy  by  the  seeming  ruin 
that  awaited  her,  determined  upon  some  plan  to  free  her 
licge-lord  from  the  importunities  of  his  deceitful  companion.    One 
night,  while  her  husband  was  asleep,  she  heard  the  well-known 
footstep   and  knock  at  the  door,  and  opening  it  carefully,  with  a 
slout  horsewhip  in  her  hand,  seized  the  unwelcome  visitor  by  the 
hair  of  the  head,  and  inflicted  upon  his  body  a  chastisement  of  tho 
most  severe  character.     As  soon  as  she  released  him  he  ran  off, 
and  has  never  since  returned  to  sow  thorns  in  the  domestic ;?flrttr7-e 
of  her  once  peaceful  home.     Her  husband  was  so  impressed  with 
her  strength  of  mind  and  courage,  that  he  resolved  to  be  as  much 
a  man  as  she,  and  is  now  abstemious. —  Cincinnati  Conimercial. 


THE  SIERRA  MABRE. 

The  view  below  represents  that  portion  of  the  Sierra  Madre,  or 
great  mountain  chain  of  Mexico,  which  lies  between  Monterey 
and  Saltillo.  Here,  the  road,  though  steep,  is  passable  for  wag- 
ons. More  frequently,  however,  the  only  road  in  these  wild  Sier- 
ras is  an  Indian  path,  or  a  mule  track,  pursuing  its  course  over 
the  highest  mountains,  alongside  of  frightful  precipices,  and 
through  deep  ravines  ;  rugged  and  toilsome  ways,  but  presenting 
to  the  traveller  scenery  of  the  most  sublime  description.  Over 
this  route  the  insatiate  desire  for  gold  has  led  thousands  and 
thousands  of  our  countrymen  ;  and  the  route  is  strown  here  and 
there  with  the  bones  of  those  who  have  died  of  the  hardship  and 
sickness  which  they  had  induced  in  the  search  for  the  "  dust." 


THE  SIERRA  MADRE,  liEL'WEEN  MONTEREY  AND  SALTILLO. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROO]M    COMPANION. 


157 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Pkoprietor. 
MATURIN  M.   BALLOU,   Editor. 


CONTEXTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  IVU3IBER, 

"  Edith  Stnnfield,"  a  tale  of  the  olden  time,  by  Mrs. 
Caboli>'e  Orne. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  I,  being  the  commence- 
ment of  ii  sorit's  of  sketches,  by  Dr.  J.  V.  C.  Smith,  author 
of"  A  Pilgrimage  to  Egypt."  The  doctor  haa  but  recent- 
ly returned  from  the  Ka.st. 

"The  Colonel's  Legacy,"  a  tale  of  actual  life,  by  F,  A. 

DURIVAGE. 

"Travels  in  Palpatinc,"  \o.  lit.  being  the  third  sketch 
of  our  aeries,  on  "  Tyre,  Sidon  and  Acre,"  by  F.  W.  Hol- 
land. 

"Autographs  and  Autography,"  by  Wm.  E.  Knowles, 
being  a  continuation  of  our  series  upon  this  Intereatiug 
theme,  and  giving  the  signatures  of  W".  E.  Channing,  Rev. 
John  IMerpout,  Itufus  Dawes,  Caroline  Ciiesebro\  Judge 
Tucker,  E.  W.  Griswold,  W.  D.  Oallagher,  aud  Kobert  T. 
Connid. 

"  Warning."  verses,  by  Caroline  A.  IIatden. 

"  Think  of  Me,"  verses,  by  J.  II   Butler. 

"  Sadness,"  a  poem,  by  F,  W.  Uussell, 

"Tbo  Suitor,"  lines,  by  S.  E.  Cuurcu. 

"  A  Ballad,"  by  D.  II.^rdv,  Jr. 

''  Home,"  lines,  by  Conrad  S.  Ktser. 

"  My  Sweet  lto.>iabelie,"  verses,  by  J.  Alford. 

"  My  Youthful  Days,"  verses,  by  J.  Hunt,  Jr. 

"  Surrender  of  Troy,"  a  poem,  by  W.  E.  Knowtxs. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

We  shall  pre.'«ent  our  readers  with  a  very  spirited  and 
accunite  picture  of  the  late  fearful  disiiiiter  to  the  st«amer 
Atlantic,  which  occurred  on  Lake  Erie,  whereby  some  two 
hundred  lives  were  lost.     It  is  by  our  artist,  Mr.  C/iapin. 

We  shall  illustrate  the  exterior  and  interior  of  one  of  our 
first  class  dry  gooi.ls  establishments,  situated  on  M'ashing- 
ton  Street,  by  three  excellent  views,  drawn  by  our  artist, 
Mr.  Mallory.  It  is  the  outside  and  inside  of  the  fine  store 
of  Messrs.  ilill,  Lincoln  &  Geer. 

A  spirited  picture,  by  our  artist,  Mr  Wa/le^  representing 
the  Burnins  of  the  fine  Boston  clipper  ship,  Robert  Center, 
lately,  in  New  York  harbor.  The  entire  ship  and  cargo 
were  destroyed. 

A  fine  battle  scene,  rcpre.ienting  an  incident  in  the  Siege 
of  Rome  by  the  French  troops,  under  Gen.  Oudinot,  enti- 
tled the  Capture  of  the  Battery  of  Bastion  No.  8,  at  Kome. 

A  very  fine  series  of  views  relating  to  Portage  Falls  and 
vicinity,  in  the  State  of  New  York.  Drawn  for  us  by  H. 
W.  Parker.  First,  a  view  of  Oswego,  N.  Y.,  a  very  admir- 
able and  lifelike  picture,  drawn  on  the  spot.  Second,  an 
excellent  view  of  the  New  lliiilroad  Bridge,  at  Portiige, 
Genesee  River,  N.  Y.  "  The  first  and  last  look  at  this 
Bridge  mu.'it  be  one  of  dumb  amazement,"  says  the  artist. 
A  fine  view  of  Portage  Falls,  giving  a  most  lifelike"  idea  of 
this  great  natunil  curiosity.  Also  a  faithful  and  beautiful 
view  of  N.  P.  Willis-s  late  country  seat,  Glen  Mary,  and 
the  Bridge,  from  under  which  the  letters  were  written. 

A  fine  portrait  will  be  given  of  Madame  Sontig,  the  cel- 
ebrated vocalist,  just  on  the  eve  of  arrival  in  this  country. 
An  artist  destined  to  create  a  great  furore  in  the  musical 
world. 

We  shall  give  an  accurate  view  of  the  famous  Victoria 
and  Albert  Bridge,  running  from  the  village  of  Datchet 
across  the  Thames,  where  it  skirts  the  Park,  at  Windsor. 
Ttiis  bridge,  curiously  enough,  is  built  on  one  side  of  wood 
and  the  other  of  iron. 

A  view  of  the  Monument  erected  to  the  memory  of  Capt. 
Sheldon  Thompson,  at  Buffalo,  N.  Y.  Drawn  for  us  by 
the  sculptor  of  the  same.  Mr.  Slep/ietisoii. 

A  picture  of  the  great  Duck  Creek  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church  Camp  Meeting,  which  lately  took  place  near  Cin- 
cinnati, representing  the  congregation  at  service.  Drawn 
for  us  by  J.  F.  Harris. 


GENERAL  FLORES. 

This  noted  South  American  soldier,  who  hns 
lately  been  creating  so  much  excitement  with 
the  general  government  of  Ecuador,  has  been 
particularly  unsuccessful;  his  volunteer  army 
has  deserted  him,  his  officers  have  gone  over  lo 
the  opposite  party,  and  the  general  himself  lias 
been  obliged  to  flee,  no  one  knows  whither. 
We  give  in  the  present  number  a  very  timely 
pic  Jie  of  his  country  residence  at  Elvira,  and  a 
series  of  pictures  relating  to  the  same  interesting 
and  carious  country. 


SPLINTERS. 

The  first  and  greatest  of  all  frauds  is  to 

cheat  ourselves. 

....  It  is  not  generally  known,  but  steam  from 
the  boiler  of  a  steamboat  will  extinguish  fires. 

....  There  will  be  two  eclipses  of  the  sun  and 
one  of  the  moon  during  the  year  1853. 

....  The  government  of  the  U.  S.  own  two- 
thirds  of  the  entire  area  of  the  country. 

....  It  is  queer,  but  opium  eaters  are  said  to 
be  proverbially  thieves. 

There  has  been  a  "  black  rain  "  falling  in 

Ivilkenny,  Ireland.     Sooty  and  inky. 

A  pedler  in  flowers  in  the  streets  of  New 

York,  has  amassed  $9000.     Lucky. 

....  It  costs  200  guineas  for  a  monumental 
site  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

The  hay  crop  is  almost  a  failure  in  the 

State  of  Connecticut. 

The  loss  of  Mr.  Downing  in  the  Henry 

Clay,  is  an  irreparable  loss  to  agriculturists. 

The  theatrical  season  is  about  to  open 

with  great  brilliancy  in  this  country. 


PROSPERITY  OF  TIIE  CITY. 

We  doubt  if  the  prospect  of  Boston,  as  it  re- 
gards business,  was  ever  any  more  encouraging 
than  at  the  present  time.  We  are  informed  by 
merchants  that  heavy  southern  and  western  con- 
tracts for  goods  have  been  made  for  the .  fall 
trade,  and  cash  operations  are  executed  on  a 
much  larger  scale  than  has  been  the  case  for 
some  years  back.  This  is,  of  course,  very  agree- 
able news,  not  only  for  business  men,  but  for 
the  community  generally,  since  it  has  an  indirect 
influence  upon  all  classes  of  citizens. 

It  is  agreeable  to  see  all  trades  prosper,  and 
every  one  full  of  business,  and  satisfied  with  their 
profits.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  know  that  good 
old  Boston  is  on  the  top  wave  of  success,  and 
that  the  extreme  measures  adopted  by  the  State 
legislature  has  not  succeeded  in  materially  aftcct- 
ing  her  business  prospects.  Is  is  gratifying  to 
observe  the  steady  growth  of  the  city  in  extent, 
wealth,  business  relations  and  general  prosperity, 
and  to  observe  that  we  are  fully  up  with  our  sis- 
ter cities  of  the  east  and  west. 

An  indisputable  evidence  of  growing  resources 
is  that  of  the  hirge  increase  in  building  operations 
upon  all  vacant  lands.  At  this  writing,  there  is 
a  vast  amount  of  building  going  on  in  Boston 
and  its  immediate  vicinity ;  so  much  so,  that  the 
prices  of  lumber  have  considerably  advanced  this 
season,  and  high  prices  are  realized  by  dealers 
upon  the  wharves  at  wholesale  rates.  Large 
cargoes  are  constantly  arriving,  too,  from  the 
eastward,  and  find  ready  sales,  at  the  advanced 
prices  at  which  the  article  is  held. 

In  common  with  others,  we  rejoice  at  this ;  it 
argues  well  for  everybody.  Our  own  business 
has  never  been  on  a  more  prosperous  footing. 
Never  has  our  list  of  subscribers  numbered  so 
many,  and  never  has  the  demand  for  the  Picto- 
rial and  Flag  been  so  steady  and  extensive. 
This,  of  course,  makes  us  feel  at  peace  with  all 
human  nature;  and  if  the  reader  discovers  such 
a  spirit  in  the  columns  of  the  paper,  he  must  not 
be  surprised. 


Gleason's  Pictorial. — A  few  days  since  we  received  from 
the  publisher  of  the  "  Pictorial,"'  all  the  numbers  from  the 
commencement  of  the  volume,  showing  that  tbe  gentle- 
man ia  not  slow  in  favoring  the  press  with  the  perusal  of 
his  beautiful  work.  We  have  paid  them  due  attention  in 
our  leisure  moments ;  and  we  have  concluded  that  the 
price  of  four  dollars  per  annum  would  not  deter  us  from 
their  weekly  visits.  One  feature  iu  this  work,  which  is 
decidedly  ahead  of  auytbing  ever  published  in  the  United 
States,  ia  tliat  the  engravings  are  the  best  specimens  that 
the  ingenuity  of  the  engraver's  art  can  produce,  and  so 
various  every  week,  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  person  to 
receive  a  .'tingle  number  without  at  once  retiectiug  what  a 
beautiful  oruament  it  would  make  when  bound.  It  is 
truly  one  of  the  best  parlor  ornaments  that  a  lady  can  dis- 
play on  her  lentre  table;  and  if  any  youug  gentleman 
should  wish  to  give  a  present  that  would  be  valuable,  he 
should  not  fail  to  procure  a  volume, at  least, of  tbe  "  Draw- 
ing-Koom  Companion."  The  choice  matter  contained  in 
this  work  is  bejoud  all  price.  The  tales  are  of  a  character 
widely  dilferiiig  from  the  current  literatiu'e  of  the  day ; 
they  are  chaste — they  are  interestiug — they  are  what  every 
one  wishes  to  read;  and  they  need  Out  to  peruse  the  Pic- 
torial's contents  to  become  its  friends.  Ihe  paper  upon 
which  Gleason'a  Pictorial  is  published  is  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful finish  ever  used  iu  printiug,  and  the  beautiful  clear 
impression  given  is  ouly  to  be  found  in  the  City  of  Boston. 
In  sincerity  we  liope  to  see  the  number  of  its  issues  weekly 
at  least  half  a  uiiilion.  Those  wishing  to  subscribe  can 
address  F.  Uleasou,  Ksq.,  Boston,  enclosing  i^,  and  they 
will  receive  two  volmues  of  the  best  work  ever  in  their 
possession. —  Gazetlt,  Port  Byron^  N   Y. 


Significant. — A  contested  will-ease  is  now 
undergoing  trial  at  Morristown,  N.  J.  Silas 
Horton,  Esq.,  of  Chester,  by  his  will  devised  the 
^bulk  of  his  property,  about  330,000,  to  his  wife 
Estlicr,  who,  by  her  will,  left  It  in  a  manner 
which  displeases  her  husband's  relatives.  The 
Jerseyman  says,  that  the  trial  will  probably  con- 
tinue till  the  lawyers  become  heirs  to  a  good 
portion  of  the  estate. 


A  Rumor. — Report  says  that  a  young  lady  of 
this  city,  of  extraordinary  accomplishment,  and 
an  heiress,  is  about  to  make  her  appearance  on 
the  stage,  having  become  deeply  enamored  of  the 
profession. 


Drurt  Lane  Tiie.^^tre. — The  proprietors, 
at  their  last  meeting,  found  that  the  receipts 
amounted  to  only  £3492,  and  the  disbursements 
to  nearly  the  same  sum,  leaving  £54  in  favor  of 
the  establishment.     The  house  is  to  let. 


Travellers. — For  a  few  weeks  past  Boston 
has  lieen  crowded  with  strangers.  The  extraor- 
dinary degree  of  good  health  which  prevails  here, 
seems  to  attract  people  from  the  South  and  West. 

. <     ^att     I 

Cheap. — The  Flag  and  Pictorial  are  sent  to 
one  address  for  $5  per  annum,  together  forming 
a  rich  collection  of  reading  matter  and  fine  origi- 
nal illustrations. 


NEWSPAPER  POSTAGE  LAW. 

We  are  exceedingly  gratified  to  be  able  to  an- 
nounce to  the  readers  and  subscribers  of  our 
paper  the  following  piece  of  post-office  intelli- 
gence, which  is  of  much  importance  to  them, 
greatly  reducing,  as  it  does,  the  rates  of  news- 
paper postage.  It  seems  that  an  amendment  to 
the  postage  law  has  just  been  passed  by  the  Sen- 
ate, as  reported  by  Mr.  Rusk.  It  provides  that 
newspapers,  periodicals,  and  all  printed  matter, 
not  exceeding  three  ounces,  shall  be  sent  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States  for  one  cent ;  and  when 
the  postage  is  paid  quarterly  or  regularly  in  ad- 
vance, where  the  same  is  mailed  or  delivered, 
one  half  of  said  rates  only  shall  be  charged. 
Newspapers  not  weighing  over  one  ounce  and  a 
half,  when  circulated  in  the  State  where  publish- 
ed, shall  be  charged  one  half  of  the  rates  before 
named,  provided  that  small  newspapers,  publish- 
ed monthly,  when  sent  in  packages  to  one  ad- 
dress, prepaid,  by  affixing  stamps  thereto,  shall 
be  chargeable  for  half  a  cent  each  ounce ; — post- 
age on  all  transient  matter  shall  be  paid  or 
charged  double  the  foregoing  rates,  and  that  all 
books,  bound  or  unbound,  not  weighing  over 
four  pounds,  shall  be  deemed  mailable  matter, 
and  charged  with  postage  at  one  cent  an  ounce 
for  all  distances  under  3000  miles,  and  two  cents 
an  ounce  for  all  distances  over  3000  miles,  to 
which  50  per  cent,  shall  be  added  in  all  cases 
where  the  same  may  be  sent  without  being 
prepaid, 

THE  HEART'S  SECRET: 

— OR— 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  SOLDIER. 

A  Story  of  Love  and  the  Low  Latitudes. 

BY    LIEUTENANT    MURRAY. 

We  have  never  published  a  more  popular  story 
than  the  one  thus  entitled,  and  which  has  just 
been  completed  in  the  Pictorial.  Orders  have 
poured  in  upon  us  for  the  story  even  before  it 
has  been  published  in  book  form.  It  is  now 
completed  in  our  best  style,  and  published  in  a 
convenient  form  for  preservation,  or  to  send  to  a 
distance.  To  those  who  have  followed  tlie  ex- 
ceedingly intei'esting  and  exciting  plot,  we  need 
say  nothing  of  the  attractiveness  of  "  The  Heart's 
Secret;"  but  to  those  who  have  not  perused  it, 
our  word  for  it,  you  have  a  treat  in  store.  It  is 
for  sale  at  all  of  the  periodical  depots. 


Deceased. — That  famous  beau    and   artist. 
Count  D'Orsay,  is  no  more. 


BACK  NUMBERS. 

To  numerous  inquiries  as  to  whether  we  can 
supply  the  back  numbers  of  tlie  Pictorial,  we 
would  say  that  we  can  do  so  from  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  paper,  as  we  reprint  each  number  as 
fast  as  the  edition  we  have  on  hand  is  exhausted. 
Any  person  desiring  the  two  bound  volumes  al- 
ready completed,  can  receive  them  at  once  by 
sending  an  order  to  this  ofiice,  or  any  of  the 
periodical  stores  ;  or  any  single  numbers  can  be 
supplied,  to  complete  sets,  or  supply  injured 
numbers. 


Turkey. — The  work  which  we  announce  on 
Turkey,  by  Dr.  J.  V.  C.  Smith,  to  be  commenced 
in  our  next  number,  is  as  fresh  and  perfect  as 
such  a  record  can  well  be,  the  doctor  having  but 
just  returned  from  the  East,  and  these  notes  are 
from  his  journal,  kept  in  the  very  places,  and 
among  the  people  he  describes. 


Preserve  your  Papers. — Those  of  our  sub- 
scribers who  have  had  one  volume  of  the  Picto- 
rial bound,  do  not  need  such  a  hint,  for  they 
know  what  a  valuable  book  six  months'  numbers 
of  the  Pictorial  makes. 


Autographs. — It  will  be  observed  that  we 
have  added  a  very  interesting  feature  to  our  pa- 
per, which  is  commenced  in  this  week's  number 
— autographs  and  autography.  Tlie  signatures 
are  all  taken  from  otngwals  in  this  othcc. 


PuRLic  Lihrary. — We  are  pleased  to  know 
of  the  continued  prosperity  and  growth  of  the 
Boston  Public  Library.  Our  thanks  are  due  to 
J.  H.  Eastbum,  Esq.,  city  printer,  for  a  copy  of 
the  report  of  the  trustees. 


Literary  Museum. — We  looked  in  upon 
neighbor  Dodge,  of  the  Museum,  at  bis  sanctum 
in  School  street,  the  other  day.  Dodge  loves 
everybody,  and  is  afraid  of  no  one. 


Life  of  Hosea  Ballou. — Abel  Tompkins, 
38  Cornhill,  Boston,  has  published  a  biography 
of  "  Father  Ballou,"  written  by  the  editor  of  the 
Pictorial. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Charles  K.  Woof- 
indale  to  Miss  Elvy  Pinkham. 

By  Kev.  Dr.  Pomroy,  Mr.  Wm.  Boyd,  of  San  Francisco, 
Cal.,  to  Wiss  Helen  M.  Lennox,  of  Newcastle,  Me. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Wiltberger,  Mr.  W'entworth  Bruce,  of  New- 
buryport,  to  Mrs.  Mary  .Tane  Thorburn. 

By  Itev.  Dr.  Young,  Mr.  Renaellier  L,  Palmer  to  Misa 
Adeline  B.  P.irk. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Beecher,  Rev.  C.  M.  Cordley,  of  Randolph, 
to  Mr?.  Lydia  B.  Rogers,  of  Hopkinton,  N.  11. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Gannett,  Benjamin  F.  Brooks,  Esq.,  to  Mis3 
Charlotte  F.  Buck,  of  Cambridf;e. 

At  West  Roxbury,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Reynolds,  Mr.  Thomaa 
W.  Deland,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Nancy  E.  Uersey. 

At  Salem,  hy  Hon.  Charles  \V.  Upham,  Mr.  Joseph  Up- 
ton to  Miss  Sarah  Browne  Safford. 

At  Bridgewatcr,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Tappan,  Mr.  Josiah  Meado, 
of  Rutland,  to  iliss  Martha  C.  Bassett,  of  Roxbury. 

At  Rowley,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Medbery,  Mr.  Sam'l  Morgridge, 
of  Ipswich,  to  Miss  Loui.ia  G.  Millet,  of  Ncwburyport. 

At  uNewburyport,  by  Eleazer  Johnson,  Esq.,  Mr.  William 
R.  Stockman  to  Miss  Ehr^beth  Cavender. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Eldredge,  Mr.  Edward  D. 
Evans  to  Miss  Sarah  F.  Perley. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Mr.  Albus  R.  Stetson  to  Miss  Frances 
M.  (Jlapp,  of  Boston. 

At  Kcnnebunk,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Cressey,  of  Buxton, 
Capt.  Claudius  E.  Williams  to  Miss  Olive  E.  Wise. 

At  Brattleboro',  Vt.,  Mr.  Cornelius  A.  Wainwright,  of 
Middlebury,  Vt.,  to  Miss  Maria  L.  Hayward. 

At  Baltimore,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Plumer,  Elbridge  Lawton, 
Esq.,  U.  S.  N.,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Matilda  E.  Durham. 


In  this  city,  Mrs,  Elizjibeth  Phelps,  78  ;  Francis  T.,  son 
of  Mrs.  Eliza  Standin,  17  ;  Miss  Harriet  Skinner,  24  ;  Mra. 
Anna  Kingsbury,  G3;  Mrs.  Susan  Lacey,  27!;  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth E.  Turner,  22  ;  Mi.«s  Sarah  Green,  66;  Mra.  Sally  A. 
Holt,  53;  Mrs.  Cai-oiine  Hinkel,  38  ;  Mr.  Eleazer  Wilder, 
Jr.,  45;  Mrs.  N.  C.  Merrill,  25  ;  Mr.  Cha's  Badger,  46. 

At  Chariestown,  Mr.  Henry  Hovey,  75. 

At  Chelsea,  Mr.  George  F.  Tibbetts,  24. 

At  Dorchester,  Elizabeth  Gardner,  84. 

At  Maiden,  Mrs.  Mary  Bates,  of  Boston,  80. 

At  Walthani,  Mr.  Lowell  Adams,  56. 

At  La^vrence,  Dr.  John  L.  Allen,  of  New  Haven,  Ct.,  29. 

At  Hiiigham,  Mrs.  AbigJiil  S.  Lewis,  51. 

At  Ware,  Capt.  C.  F.  Mann,  63. 

At  Salem,  Mra.  Nancy  Andrews,  71. 

At  Ipswich,  Capt.  Jacob  Manning,  70. 

At  Newburyport,  Capt.  Jacob  Noyes,  87. 

At  Plymouth,  Mrs.  Hannah  L.  Barnes,  48. 

At  New  Bedford.  Mrs.  Lydia  Winslow,  54, 

At  Northboro,  Ann  D.,  wife  of  Mr.  James  E.  Allen. 

At  Eai^t  Falmouth,  Rev.  0.  G.  Hubbard.  45. 

At  Fiskdale,  Mr.  Henry  E.  Williams,  late  of  Boston,  38. 

At  Dover,  N.  H.,  A.  L.  Sydney,  Esq. 

At  Na-shua,  N.  H.,  Mra.  Mary  A.  Hamlet,  of  Boston,  26. 

At  Damariscotta,  Me..  Capt.  David  Farnham,  46. 

At  Hampden,  Me.,  Hezekiah  Rowlev,  Esq.,  71. 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Capt.  G.  Metca'lf,  of  Portland,  Me. 

At  Groveland,  N.  Y.,  Mrs.  Nancy  L.  Worthington. 

At  Clayton,  N.  Y.,  Mnjor  Joy,  94. 

At  PJiiladelphia,  Itenj.imin  Matthias,  E.-iq. 

At  Mobile,  Ala.,  Mr.  Thomaa  Rogers,  52. 


—  AND  — 

LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 

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158 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Glwwtoii'fi  PlKtorliil.] 
THE    BROKEN  TIE. 


BY  CAROLINE  A.  DAVDEK. 


I  have  given  up  thy  frlondsliip !  't  was  a  Imrd  and  bittor  thing, 

But  mine  'fl  a  niituro  fur  too  proud  to  beau  ncglcct'B  cold  sting ; 

It  1b  one  more  Iuhhoh  mldod  to  the  iminy  I  have  learnod, 

Thivt  tlio  linllc«t  ffolinf^H  of  tho  hwirt  aro  oftoneat  rudctly  flpurnod  ; 

But  yet  I  will  not  blanio  thee,  tho  fiiult  wiis  wholly  mine, 

I  had  fieen  thcc  clad  iu  veetmcntH  which  were  never  wholly  thine  ; 

I  saw  a  halo  round  theo,  which  I  doomed  waH  truth's  uloiio, 

I  found  it  but  a  rairago  tho  world  had  round  theo  thrown. 

I  had  placed  theo  on  a  pedeatal,  too  high  for  worldly  worth, 

It  Ima  crumbled  now,  and  left  thee  whoro  I  found  thoo,  on  the  earth. 

Iliid  tho  tl«  by  death  boon  broken,  I  could  havo  bowed  my  head, 

And  wept  such  tcarn  as  conwcrate  the  memory  of  tho  dcjid  j 

I  could  have  looked  behind  the  grave,  and  Bmlllng,  blessed  tho  rod, 

That,  when  It  emote  wis,  bore  thee  up  so  near  the  throne  of  God. 

Had  misfortune-  fallen  upon  thee,— when  the  worldling  paHsed  theo  by, 

I  would  havo  proudly  stood  tho  test,  and  mot  hla  scornful  eye  ; 

Or  hud  envtj  dared  to  whlHpcr  but  one  word  against  thy  name, 

I  would  havo  joyed  to  ctist  the  slander  back  from  whence  it  came. 

But  go  !  I  would  not  wake  again  my  memory  in  thy  heart, 

It  has  alumbercd  down  the  stream  of  time,  0  let  it  now  depart; 

It  wore  not  worth  tho  trouble,  it  haa  lost  Its  charm  for  theo, 

Its  faded  light  could  norer  ghed  one  gleam  of  joy  on  mo. 

Go,  go  I  but  yet  believe  me,  while  1  breathe  this  laat  farewell, 

No  thought  of  bitterness  or  change  shall  in  this  bosom  dwell ; 

Too  proud  to  be  neglected,  I  can  yet  be  just  to  theo, 

And  firmly  anap  the  tie  which  friendship  forged  for  thee  and  me  ; 

In  sadness,  not  in  anger,  I  give  thee  back  thy  claim. 

Withholding  only  that  which  stamps,  on  memory's  page,  thy  name! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE, 

No  '  II. 


BT  REV.  F,  W.  HOLLAND. 
THE    JOURNEY    TO    JERUSALEM. 

Never  had  any  one  such  good  fortune  before.  At  the  moment 
that  I  was  leaving  quarantine,  a  young  Frenchman — gentlemanly, 
indefatigable  and  brave — was  about  to  start  with  an  old  servant 
of  the  Beiroot  consulate,  now  tlic  convoy  of  a  blood  mare  to  the 
representative  of  France  at  Jerusalem — a  tantalizing  companion ; 
for,  while  my  "galled  jade"  seemed  hardly  able  to  bear  my 
weight,  and  actmilly  fell  under  me  once  or  twice,  this  noble  crea- 
ture— graceful  as  the  gazelle  and  fleet  as  the  wind — was  not  per- 
mitted to  be  ridden  at  all.  Had  any  idea  of  the  hardships  of 
these  seven  days  flashed  before  me,  I  could  not  have  started  with- 
out provisions,  fire-arms,  a  spirit-flask,  or  any  protection  from  the 
weather,  with  a  horse  that  could  hardly  walk,  and  only  a  halter 
for  a  bridle.  But  I  was  fresh  from  that  delightful  ramble  over 
Egypt;  I  supposed  that  I  was  on  a  frequented  traveller's  route;  I 
hoped  much  from  monkish  hospitality,  and  I  had  never  found  my 
strength  give  way  under  any  exposure  or  hardship. 

Unhappily,  Palestine  is  just  the  reverse  of  the  Nile  valley.  In 
place  of  timid  servility,  you  encounter  insolence  and  robbery. 
You  pass  out  from  the  efl'eminatc  city-bred  Arab  to  face  the  Arab 
of  the  desert,  who  owns  no  master,  lives  upon  his  spoils,  retains 
his  ancient  hate  of  the  stranger,  and  sells  as  dear  as  possible  the 
privilege  of  entering  his  hereditary  land.  In  place  of  the  easy, 
nimble  donkey  you  have  the  scolding,  pitching,  splay-footed, 
clumsy-jointed,  wry-necked  camel,  with  his  hypocrite  humility, 
his  drunken  eye  and  tiresome  drag — or,  pack-horses,  that  seem 
worn  out  on  some  omnibus-stand,  and  exiled  here  to  die. 

Then, too,  the  Nile  valley  is  well  peopled;  curious  groups  meet 
one  at  every  turn,  and  you  are  never  at  a  loss  for  amusement; 
while  Palestine  wears  a  deserted  air — even  around  Jerusalem  is  a 
solitude.  From  the  Latin  Convent  to  the  Dead  Sea  we  met  not 
a  man,  woman  or  child — hardly  a  four-footed  thing.  The  three 
days  before  reaching  Damascus,  over  a  road  once  crowded  with 
traffic,  then  again  covered  with  hosts  marching  to  battle,  and  for- 
merly flowing  with  wealth  like  a  river,  almost  our  only  company 
was  a  flock  of  sheep.  Instead  of  abundant  fruit  at  the  ridicu- 
lously low-price  of  Egypt,  and  every  other  necessary  for  travel, 
our  whole  meal  one  day  was  a  single  egg  with  some  unleavened 
bread  made  of  chaff  of  barley,  a  few  wretched  olives,  and  a  little 
honey.  Fowls  were  rare,  wex'C  held  at  home  prices,  and  required 
to  be  prepared  by  ourselves  as  well  as  we  could ;  other  meat  was 
not  generally  to  be  heard  of.  Instead  of  the  flat  river  banks  and 
broad  dikes  of  the  land  of  the  Pharaohs,  there  were  precipitous 
mountains,  quaggy  plains,  slippery  rocks,  and  rivers  without 
bridge  or  ford.  No  one  who  has  not  passed  over  Judea  can  real- 
ize the  unevenness  of  the  soil ;  it  is,  as  the  negro  said  of  the 
church  service,  "all  getting  up  and  setting  down."  Not  only  is 
Jerusalem  a  heap  of  hills  hemmed  in  by  lulls,  but  Sychar  is  on  a 
steep  hillside,  and  so  is  Bethlehem,  Betliany,  Siloam  and  Naza- 
reth; Beiroot  is  beneath  a  moimtain,  and  Baalbec  lies  between 
two  ranges.  Roads  there  arc  actually  none,  bridle-paths  are  not 
always  to  be  found.  When  it  storms  no  one  thinks  of  stopping 
lest  the  streams  should  become  too  swollen  to  pass ;  when  sick,  it 
is  generally  necessary  to  move  forward  towards  some  one  of  the 
few  places  where  help  can  be  found.  And,  though  there  are  ex- 
quisite sea  views  all  the  way  from  Beiroot  to  Acra,  and  the  golden 
valley  of  Samaria  to  cross,  and  some  noble  prospects  from  Leba- 
non, Syria  is  generally  a  dreary  monotony.  Because  of  the  re- 
markable scarcity  of  trees  the  sun  is  dreadfully  scorching. 
Houses  come  only  in  sight  at  long  intervals,  and  these  are  dirty, 
squalid  villages ;  the  olive  groves  are  the  ugliest  that  can  be 
imaginetl — mere  ghost-like  spectres ;  the  picturesque  palm  is 
liurdly  known,  the  graveyards  mourn  for  the  solemn  cypress,  the 
deserted  plains  arc  never  relieved  by  arrowy  poplar  or  graceful 


dm,  and  the  ancient  forestH  have  disappeared  forever.  There  U 
some  little  compensation  in  tho  company  of  the  "  lilien  of  the 
field."  Tho  Saviour  is  brought  at  once  to  one's  thoughts  by  the 
flower-carpets  spread  all  over  these  deserted  Helds ;  even  amongst 
Htoncs  und  ro(!ks,  your  horse's  foot  crusheH  tho  blue  and  purple 
convolvulus,  the  scarlet  anemone,  tlie  rosy  cycluiinen,  the  white 
and  crimson  aster,  and  every  member  of  the  lily  tribe.  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  wtis  not  so  gay  as  some  of  these  stony  pastures  of 
Galilee. 

Another  Scripture  reminiscence  is  the  innumerable  caves  and 
grottoes  which  sheltered  David  in  his  distress,  and  many  a 
prophet  in  his  wandering ;  which  gave  comfort  to  the  demoniac, 
and  a  burial  place  to  the  departed.  These  were  the  ancient 
tombs — crdarged,  of  course,  and  decorated  by  tho  liand  of  man ; 
they  arc  now  mills,  stables,  work-shops,  or  tlie  homes  of  the  poor. 
The  Saviour  is  said  to  have  been  born  in  one,  nurtured  in  another, 
und  buried  in  a  third.  Almost  every  tradition  lingers  about  some 
such  cavern,  and  I  wonder  that  Kobinson  and  other  travellers 
have  so  little  noticed  a  most  impressive  feature  of  the  country. 
Whole  chapters  of  Jewish  history  came  back  to  me  at  once,  and 
many  of  the  Saviour's  miracles;  and,  seen  by  the  struggling 
moonbeams  especially,  they  awed  us  into  silence,  as  if  tlie  buried 
kings  or  the  hidden  prophets,  the  Gadarene  maniac  or  David's 
wild  band  would  burst  out  as  we  passed. 

The  Scripture  account  of  tlic  millions  wliich  inhabited  this 
oneo  favored  land  seems  quite  impossible,  as  your  disappointed 
gaze  turns  from  stony  pastures  to  perfectly  barren  mountains. 
But  look  a  little  closer.  Tiie  naked  hillsides  near  Jerusalem  be- 
tray, even  now,  the  terraces  which  made  them  yield  such  abun- 
dant harvests  as  we  see  rewarding  the  same  laborious  husbandry 
along  the  Rhine;  many  a  mountain  like  Gcrizim  shows  unmis- 
takably that  its  soil  has  been  waslied  away  by  the  long,  heavy 
rains  to  which  the  country  is  subject.  The  want  of  protection 
for  the  harvest  even  while  it  is  growing,  the  destitution  of  roads, 
the  system  of  pillage  long  pursued  by  Turkish  governors,  the 
freebooter  habits  of  the  roaming  sons  of  Lshmael,  show  how  the 
land  that  flowed  with  milk  and  honey  lies  blasted,  withered,  and 
all  but  dead. 

But,  besides  the  actual  wasting  away  of  the  fertile  land  during 
these  many  centuries  of  misgovernmcnt,  the  three  millions  gath- 
ered within  this  little  territory  can  be  explained  by  the  wonderful 
simplicity  of  living  then  as  now.  All  the  habits,  all  the  tastes, 
all  the  wants  of  the  natives  are  such  as  require  the  least  possible 
space  of  earth.  No  hot  country  needs  much  animal  food,  nor 
many  broad  acres  for  pasturage.  A  few  easily-raised  vegetables 
ai'C  enough  for  a  Syrian's  dinner;  the  olive  furnishes  his  light, 
the  fountain  his  drink,  the  earth  his  couch.  Two  earthern  jars 
equip  the  single  room  which  makes  liis  home ;  his  clothing  knows 
no  change  from  day  to  night.  We  repeatedly  slept  with  whole 
fiimilies  of  the  common  people,  and  it  was  amusing  to  see  how 
expeditiously  tlie  toilet  was  performed.  No  change  at  all  was 
commonly  made  in  the  dress,  either  to  lie  down  at  night,  or  to 
rise  up  in  the  morning ;  so  that  the  command  of  Moses  to  return 
the  poor  man's  garment  at  nightfall  that  he  might  rest  comfort- 
ably with  his  usual  covering  seems  as  pertinent  now  as  ever.  To 
set  up  the  extent  of  country  necessary  to  support  a  population  as 
full  of  wants  as  our  own,  as  the  measure  for  the  people  of  hardly 
any  wants,  is  delusive  as  well  as  unjust. 

But  the  conclusive  fact — and  with  that  we  leave  this  tedious 
discussion — is  the  existence  of  an  inland  city  with  such  immense 
remains  as  Gerasa.  It  was  discovered  about  forty  years  ago,  and 
is  seldom  visilcd,  and  still  very  little  known.  But  the  ruins  have 
been  measured  and  sketched  by  scientific  persons,  until  the  fact 
stands  beyond  dispute,  that  a  mere  country'  town,  away  from  the 
seaside  or  any  navigable  stream,  could  never  have  sustained  two 
large  theatres,  six  considerable  temples,  and  two  public  baths,  as 
Gerasa  did,  if  not  supported  by  a  compact  population  occupying 
all  the  surrounding  lands.  Measuring  otiier  farming  districts  by 
a  place  which  gave  a  perfect  index  of  the  wealth,  numbers  and 
culture  around  it,  and  which  required  one  theatre  capable  of  ac- 
commodating eight  thousand,  and  a  second  half  as  large,  besides 
a  circus,  without  either  manufactures  or  commerce,  we  shall  not 
presume  to  question  the  uniform  statements  of  all  our  sacred  his- 
tory about  the  unequalled  populousness  of  Palestine. 


CAUTION  TO  SCHOOLMASTERS. 

A  few  weeks  ago  a  young  man  had  his  right  hand  amputated, 
a  short  distance  above  the  wrist,  by  Mr.  Milner,  surgeon,  of  Old- 
field  Lane,  Manchester.  The  operation,  which  was  performed 
under  the  influence  of  chloroform,  was  entirely  sueeessf^ul,  and  in 
the  mere  fact  itself  offers  nothing  extraordinary  to  relate.  But 
the  cause  of  it  deserves  mention,  by  way  of  warning  to  those 
among  that  eminently  useful  class  of  the  schoolmasters  who,  be- 
lieving that  the  cane  is  an  essential  aid  to  instruction,  are  apt  to 
apply  it  with  a  vigor  more  proportioned  to  the  master's  temper 
than  the  pupil's  deserts.  About  seventeen  years  ago,  when  the 
young  man  alluded  to  was  a  boy  of  about  seven  or  eight  years  of 
age,  and  just  going  to  a  boy's  school,  he  committed  some  breach 
of  school  discipline  which  raised  the  ire  of  the  master  of  the  es- 
tablishment— tlien  living  in  Todmorden — who,  in  his  indignation, 
told  the  lad  to  "hold  out  his  hand,"  and  he  then  struck  it — the 
right — violently  with  a  ruler,  after  the  semi-barbarous  fashion  of 
applying  the  "  cuts  "  of  the  cane  so  much  in  vogue  at  one  time. 
The  blow  "told."  Tlie  little  fellow's  hand  became  exceedingly 
tender  in  one  spot  over  the  joint  below  the  first  flnger.  Gradually 
the  pain  increased  till  the  hand  could  not  be  used.  Advice  was 
obtained  in  various  quarters,  and  endless  treatment  undergone, 
until  at  length  a  soft  bleeding  cancer  developed  itself,  and  all  or- 
dinary remedies  having  failed,  seventeen  years  of  suffering  were 
terminated  as  above,  and  a  line  young  man,  the  sole  survivor  of 
eleven  sons,  thrown  mutilated  upon  his  aged  parent's  hands. 
We  may  add  that  the  same  schoolmaster  who  wrought  all  the 
mischief  by  an  ill-judged  blow  was  known  to  have  lamed  another 
boy  by  similar  violence,  The  master  has  since  gone  to  his  long 
account. — Blackburn  Standard. 


[Written  for  Oleiwon'n  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGRAPHS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 

OF  DISTINGUISHED  INDIVIDUALS. 

IIY  WM.  KUWARIJ    KNOWXE8. 


With  a  view  of  indulging  in  a  little  literary  gossip,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  furnish  the  numerous  readers  of  the  Pictorial  with  a 
large  number  of  autographs,  some  of  which  have  not  yet  ap- 
peared, we  have  undertaken  to  present  those  which  are  now  in 
our  possession.  We  shall  not  give  them  in  any  regular  order, 
but  merely  as  they  come  to  hand  from  our  portfolio.  The  first, 
then,  which  we  take  up  is  from  Mr.  Hosnuir, 

W.  H.  C.  HoSMEii  occupies  a  high  position  among  the  literati 
of  America.  He  has  written  much,  and,  unlike  many  others,  he 
has  written  it  well.  One  cannot  but  be  reminded  of  Shelley  and 
Byron  in  reading  his  poems  ;  still  there  is  notliing  like  imitation, 
though  doubtless  many  of  his  productions  were  written  under  tho 
inspiration  of  the  abovenamed  authors.  "  Yonnondio,"  Mr.  H.'s 
longest  poem,  has  justly  been  very  popular,  both  on  this  and  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  Also  his  beautiful  lines  on  Keats  will 
long  be  remembered  by  all  lovers  of  good  poetry.  He  has  long 
been  a  regular  contributor  to  the  magazines  and  periodicals  of  the 
day.  His  autograph  in  general  is  free  and  easy,  but  when  hurried 
by  the  duties  of  his  profession,  it  is  scarcely  legible.  His  reputa- 
tion as  a  lawyer  is  as  high  as  his  literary  merit. 


UAA^Ayy""^-^ 


H.  Ladd  Spencer  is  a  native  of  Vermont,  and  has  written 
some  fine  things  in  the  way  of  poetry.  "  The  Homestead,"  and 
"  The  Farewell,"  are  perfect  gems.  His  handwriting  resembles 
that  of  Longfellow,  though  less  suggestive  of  ideality.  In  this 
peculiar  sphere  Longfellow  has  no  equal. 

/  / 

Mrs.  Sigourney  holds  a  high  rank  among  our  female  poets. 
Her  praises  have  been  sung  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  and 
from  Maine  to  Mexico.  Her  autograph  is  a  good  one,  and  legi- 
ble in  tho  extreme.  Indeed  the  signature  fails  to  give  the  print- 
like appearance  of  the  manuscript.  There  are  but  few  American 
hearts  hut  beat  in  unison  with  that  of  the  gifted  authoress. 


/ 

Rev.  Francis  C.  WooDwoitTH  has  long  and  favorably  been 
known  as  the  editor  of  the  "  Youth's  Cabinet,"  a  monthly  juvenile 
magazine  of  standard  worth.  He  is  also  quite  a  poet,  and  has 
written  many  beautiful  songs.  He  has  done  better  things  in  prose 
than  in  verse;  and  his  "  Stories  about  Birds,"  "  Uncle  Frank's 
Home  Stories,"  and  "  Theodore  Thinker's  Tales,"  have  been 
widely  popular.  There  is  a  freshness  about  all  that  emanates 
from  his  pen  that  cannot  but  captivate  the  dullest  reader.  He  is 
now  absent  on  a  tour  to  Europe.  His  autograph  is  rolling,  but 
not  illegible.  In  it  is  seen  the  genius  of  the  man,  tho  scholar 
and  the  sage. 

The  manuscript  of  Edward  Everett  is  a  good  one.  There 
is  an  air  of  marked  precision  about  it,  which  places  it  above  the 
common  level  of  mere  letters  and  characters.  It  is  very  legible, 
and  at  the  same  time  very  uniform.  He  possesses  tho  sterling 
worth  of  the  scholar,  and  has  undoubtedly  attained  the  summit  of 
his  literary  fame. 

Jared  Sparks  has  written  many  valuable  volumes,  which 
have  had  due  appreciation  by  the  American  public.  His  hand- 
writing is  odd  in  the  extreme.  The  letters  are  large,  black  and 
heavily  written.  Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  discern  in  it  any  peculiar 
traits  of  character.  The  paper  generally  used  is  beautiful  and 
glossy. 


Thos.  H.  Stockton,  or,  in  other  words,  llec.  Thos.  H.  Stock- 
ton, is  a  beautiful  poet.  We  have  the  honor  of  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  Iiim,  He  has  been  in  many  walks  of  life,  and 
always  conducted  himself  in  a  manner  worthy  a  disciple  of  Christ. 
Of  late  he  has  been  connected  with  the  "  Christian  World."  His 
manuscript  is  distinguished  by  great  freedom  and  grace.  Tho 
signature  aflords  a  pretty  good  idea  of  his  general  chirograpliy. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


159 


CURIOUS  FRAUD. 

A  man  in  London  lias  been  carrying  on  a 
singular  business.  Having  procured  access  to 
various  distinguished  persons,  he  represented 
himself  as  a  publisher  about  to  issue  a  work  to 
be  entitled,  "The  Gallery  of  Distinguished  Con- 
servatives," or  "  The  Gallery  of  Distinguished 
Liberals,"  according  to  the  politics  of  the  indivi- 
dual -whom  he  chanced  to  be  addressing.  His 
"  object  in  calling  was  to  solicit  the  honor  of 
borrowing  your  lordship's  portrait,  in  order  to 
cause  a  copy  to  be  engraved  for  his  truly-  nation- 
al work."  Who  could  resist  so  flattering  a  pro- 
posal ?  He  seems  to  have  succeeded  in  obtaining 
nearly  forty  valuable  portraits,  the  pawn-ticlcets 
for  which  were  found  in  his  apartment,  after  his 
arrest. 


BEAUTirUL  INCIDENT, 
Over  the  pulpit,  in  the  chapel  at  West  Point, 
as  some  of  our  readers  may,  perhaps,  have  re- 
marked, stands  a  fine  allegorical  picture  from 
the  true-to-life  pencil  of  Weir.  A  part  of  it  re- 
presents Peace,  as  a  female  figure,  holding  an 
olive  branch  in  her  hand.  During  the  perform- 
ance of  divine  service,  one  Sabbath-day,  a  small 
bird  flew  into  the  church,  and  made  several  at- 
tempts to  alight  on  the  branch.  A  better  criti- 
cism upon  the  fidelity  of  the  artist's  representa- 
tion of  air  and  foliage  could  scarce  be  imagined. 
The  same  compliment  was  paid  by  a  bird  to 
Apelles,  some  three  thousand  j'ears  ago. 


RERELLION  IN  CHINA. 

Late  advices  from  China,  by  way  of  California, 
speak  of  the  continuance  of  disturbances  in  the 
flowery  nation.  The  insurgents  are  evidently 
getting  the  best  of  the  contest,  and  the  Imperial 
troops  were  constantly  deserting  to  them,  and 
swelling  the  list  of  the  opposing  armies.  Towns 
are  entered  and  plundered,  and  houses  set  on 
fire.  The  defection  of  the  Imperialists  is  spoken 
of  in  the  Hong  Kong  Friend  of  China  as  having 
caused  great  alarm  in  Canton  ;  and  a  rumor  pre- 
vails that  both  English  and  American  Ministers 
have  been  applied  to  about  rendering  assistance, 
should  occasion  require  it. 


SPIDER'S  THREAD. 

Austrian  papers  state  that  a  merchant  of 
Vienna  has  lately  presented  to  the  Industrial 
Union  of  that  capital  the  details  of  a  series  of 
experiments  made  by  him  to  manufacture  spider's 
thread  into  woven  tissues.  The  thread  is  wound 
on  a  reel,  and  two  dozen  spiders  produce  in  six 
minutes  a  beautiful  and  delicate  thread,  two 
thousand  feet  in  length.  The  stuff's  manufactur- 
ed from  it  are  spoken  of  as  being  far  superior  in 
beauty  and  delicacy  of  fabric  to  those  of  silk. 


Personal. — Mr.  Nathaniel  G.  Greene,  son  of 
Charles  G.  Greene,  editor  of  the  Boston  Post, 
has  taken  a  vacation  from  his  duty,  as  connected 
with  the  reporter's  department  of  his  father's 
popular  and  able  journal,  and  has  gone  on  a 
journey  to  California,  China,  and  home  through 
Europe.  Mr.  Greene  is  a  young  man  of  some 
twenty-six  years  of  age,  and  possesses  a  well- 
trained  and  richly  cultivated  mind.  God  speed 
him  on  his  winding  way. 


Kathek  Significant. — The  new  five  franc 
pieces — says  a  letter  from  Paris — having  the 
effigy  of  the  President,  have  almost  all  of  them 
been  cut  across  the  throat  as  soon  as  issued.  A 
pleasant  hint  this  to  Louis  Napoleon  of  the  aft'ec- 
tion  of  the  citizens  and  of  his  possible  end. 


Silly. — A  controversy  is  going  on  between 
the  Catholic  journals  as  to  whether  tallow  can- 
dles may  be  used  instead  of  wax,  in  the  church 
ritual. 


In  New  York. — Repeated  instances  have  oc- 
curred recently  of  children  being  stolen  from 
their  parents  to  be  used  in  begging,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  exciting  sympathy. 


Vert  proper. — The  owners  and  officers  of 
the  steamer  Henry  Clay  have  been  arrested,  and 
required  to  give  bail  in  the  sum  of  §10,000  each. 


Good  News. — The  wheat  crop  of  the  West  is 
said  to  exceed  in  quantity,  and  excel  in  quality, 
the  crops  of  former  years. 


A    good    Sign. — We    observe    that  public 
schools  are  multiplying  in  San  Francisco. 


Found. — A  boot  that  will  fit  Horn's  last. 


lUawsiire   ©atljerings. 

Scarlet  fever  prevails  in  Pittsburgh. 

Quebec  is  an  Indian  word,  signifying  a  river 
strait. 

South  Carolina  has  a  field  pea,  which  is  said 
to  mature  three  crops  in  the  season 

Flores  is  said  to  be  on  his  way  to  the  United 
States,  utterly  disgusted  with  fillibustering. 

A  recent  fire  in  Pittsburgh  consumed  twenty- 
five  houses. 

Upwards  of  S5000  have  been  collected  in  Bos- 
ton for  the  Montreal  sufferers. 

The  New  York  city  gas  bill  for  July,  for  light- 
ing the  streets,  is  §883  75. 

During  July,  2031  persons  were  committed  to 
the  New  York  city  prison. 

An  omnibus  was  set  on  fire  by  a  camphene 
lamp,  in  this  city,  lately. 

Lieut.  Charles  Hunter,  of  Alvarado  renown, 
has  been  restored  to  the  navy. 

It  is  said  there  are  one  hundred  clothing  stores 
on  Long  wliarf,  San  Francisco. 

The  total  length  of  the  Mississippi  River,  with 
its  tributaries,  is  51,000  miles. 

We  observe  by  the  Baltimore  Clipper,  that  in- 
cendiarism is  rife  in  that  city. 

Some  fifteen  hundred  citizens  of  Milwaukie 
have  signed  a  letter  to  the  mayor,  asking  him  to 
put  a  stop  to  the  Sunday  evening  balls. 

Garret  Benson  was  fined  S60  at  Flushing, 
Long  Island,  for  shooting  six  woodcocks  on  the 
4th  of  July  last,  in  violation  of  law. 

The  steamboat  Timour  was  sunk  a  few  days 
ago  on  the  Missouri  River — loss,  22,000 ;  insur- 
ance, 815,000. 

The  different  railroad  companies  at  Indianap- 
olis are  building  a  union  passenger  depot,  400 
feet  long  by  98  feet  wide. 

Jos.  Wallingford,  aged  80  years,  was  thrown 
from  his  horse,  lately,  near  Mt.  Gilead,  Ky., 
and  killed. 

Another  lot  of  liquor  has  been  turned  into  the 
Providence  River — the  eleventh  dose.  Wonder 
what  the  fish  think  of  it  ^ 

Thomas  Shannon  has  been  convicted  in  Har- 
rison county,  Ky.,  of  the  murder  of  John  De- 
vine,  and  was  sentenced  to  be  hung  on  the  2Slh. 

The  amount  of  guano  imported  into  Great 
Britain  amounts  to  ten  millions  of  dollars  annu- 
ally. 

A  woman  was  murdered  in  New  Haven,  late- 
ly, by  her  husband,  while  he  was  laboring  under 
an  attack  of  delirium  tremens. 

A  House  of  Correction  is  about  to  be  built  at 
Plymouth,  at  a  cost  of  S12,000.  It  will  be  com- 
menced the  first  of  December. 

A  young  girl  in  New  Orleans  was  recently 
fined  five  dollars  for  kissing  a  man  !  She  sen-es 
at  a  coffee  stand  in  the  vegetable  market. 

It  is  estimated  that  during  the  last  three  years 
30,000  fugitive  slaves  have  obtained  protection 
in  Canada. 

Mary,  a  daughter  of  U.  S.  Senator  Gwin,  of 
California,  was  buried  on  Tuesda}',  at  Washing- 
ton. 

Mr.  Fleming  was  recently  man-icd  to  Miss 
Chippendale,  daughter  of  Mr.  Chippendale,  the 
actor. 

Francis  Cleveland,  of  Burlington,  Ct.,  com- 
mitted suicide  on  Monday,  August  2d,  by  shoot- 
ing himself. 

The  theatre  at  Quebec,  Canada,  under  the 
management  of  Mr.  Nickerson,  is  doing  a  fine 
business. 

Gold  bearing  quartz  and  native  copper  have 
been  discovered  below  the  surface  at  the  Hol- 
land Colony,  in  Western  Michigan. 

In  the  Ohio  penitentiary  there  are  now  con- 
fined five  hundred  and  eight  persons.  This  will 
do  well  for  the  third  State  iu  the  Union. 

A  man  in  Albany  ate  nearly  a  whole  cabbage 
one  day,  and,  of  course,  was  treated  by  cholera 
the  next,  just  escaping  with  his  life. 

A  park,  embracing  250  acres,  on  the  Metairie 
Ridge,  is  proposed  at  New  Orleans.  The  entire 
cost  of  the  ground  is  estimated  at  only  SI  1,000. 

The  line  of  telegraphic  wires  between  Halifax 
and  Quebec  is  now  in  complete  running  order. 
It  crosses  the  St.  Lawrence  at  Caprouza,  a  few 
miles  above  Quebec. 

The  new  cathedral  at  Louisville,  it  is  said, 
will  rival  in  magnificence  the  finest  church  edi- 
fice in  the  country.  Its  cost  of  erection  will  be 
about  $100,000. 

Mrs.  M.  Jones,  who  is  engaged  at  the  Howard 
for  ihe  next  season,  is  at  present  at  Washington, 
attending  the  death-bed  of  her  mother,  whose 
feeble  condition  aff'ords  no  hope  of  recovery. 

Mr.  David  Gordon,  a  soldier  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, aged  93  years,  died  at  Rockaway,  lately. 
He  sei-ved  his  country  faithfully  two  years,  in 
the  most  trying  period  of  the  Revolution. 

The  greatest  pleasure  connected  with  wealth 
consists  in  acquiring  it.  Two  months  after  a 
man  comes  into  a  fortune,  he  feels  just  as  prosy 
and  fretful  as  he  did  when  he  worked  for  "four- 
and-six"  a  day." 

At  the  tournament  which  took  place  at  Orkney 
Springs,  in  Shenandoah  county,  Va.,  a  few  days 
since,  Mi-.  George  B.  Swift  {late  of  Richmond), 
as  the  "  Knight  of  Richard  Ca'ur  de  Lion,"  was 
victorious.  Miss  Emily  Moffit,  of  New  Market, 
Shenandoah  county,  was  crowned  Queen  of 
Love  and  Beauty. 


foreign  illisaUanj3. 

The  cholera  is  raging  in  Russia,  at  the  mouths 
of  the  Vistula. 

Madame  Castellan  is  engaged  for  the  Italian 
opera,  London. 

Capt.  Back,  the  navigator,  is  now  ranked 
among  the  fashionables  of  London. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Abbott  La-wrence  have  gone 
from  London  to  Paris  for  a  short  time. 

Md'lle  Favanti  has  re-appeared  w^ith  great 
success  in  the  musical  world. 

Worked  pocket  handkerchiefs  are  deemed  un- 
suitable for  gentlemen  in  England. 

The  Prince  de  Joinville  and  his  three  brothers 
have  been  making  a  tour  in  Scotland. 

The  deficit  in  the  Austrian  national  finances 
for  1851  is  55,168,432  florins. 

The  Frankfort  Diet  has  voted  £3500  to  the 
inventors  of  gun  cotton. 

The  British  army  in  Ireland,  at  present,  con- 
sists of  21,500  men. 

Louis  Napoleon  had  returned  to  Paris.  His 
reception  is  said  to  have  been  extremely  cor- 
dial. 

It  is  stated  that  the  dogs  in  France  annually 
consume  food  to  the  value  of  flfty-five  millions 
of  francs — about  eleven  millions  of  dollars. 

The  American  equestrian,  McCoUum,  is  gath- 
ering new  laurels  at  the  Cirque  Oriental,  iu 
London. 

It  proves  to  be  more  difficult  for  the  English 
authorities  to  keep  order  among  the  miners  of 
Australia  than  it  did  ours  in  Califoraia. 

The  police  reports  of  London  show  a  con- 
stant increase  of  drunkards  ever  since  the  year 
1844,  equalling  in  the  aggregate,  about  fifty  per 
cent. 

The  recent  hot  weather  in  London  increased 
the  number  of  deaths  about  ten  per  cent.  For 
every  nine  degrees  of  increased  temperature,  a 
hundred  persons  more  than  usual  have  died. 

M.  Goudet,  keeper  of  the  archives  of  Tou- 
louse, has  written  to  the  Assemhke  Nationale  to 
state  that  the  root  of  the  plant  kno^^Ti  in  France 
as  the  Iris  Germanique  is  an  infallible  cure  for 
hydrophobia. 

Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  Social  Statistics,  men- 
tions it  as  a  fact  significant  of  the  times,  and 
prophetic  of  the  future,  that  Englishmen  begin 
to  listen  to  the  national  anthem,  "  God  save  the 
queen,"  without  taking  oif  their  hats !  Ten 
years  ago,  whenever  and  wherever  that  song  was 
sung  in  England,  the  entire  company  would 
rise,  and  remain  standing  and  uncovered  till  the 
last  note  died  away. 


lokcr's   JSiiigct. 


0aui)0  of  ®olir. 


....  A  woman  sometimes  scorns  what  best 
contents  her. 

Small  cheer  and  great  welcome  makes  a 

merry  feast. 

Our  compelled  sins  stand  more  for  num- 
ber than  account. 

....  Notes  of  sorrow  out  of  tune  are  worse 
than  priests  and  fanes  that  lie. 

....  It  oft  falls  out,  to  have  what  we'd  have, 
we  speak  not  what  we  mean. 

....  Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances 
with  a  heaviness  that's  gone. 

....  By  medicine  life  may  be  prolonged,  yet 
death  will  seize  the  doctor  too. 

....  Care  is  no  cure,  but  rather  corrosive,  for 
things  that  are  not  to  be  remedied. 

....  Suspicion  ever  haunts  the  guilty  mind  ; 
the  thief  doth  fear  each  bush  an  officer. 

....  Brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit,  and  tcdious- 
ness  the  limbs  and  outward  flourishes. 

....  No  visor  doth  become  black  villany  so 
well  as  soft  and  tender  flattery. 

....  A  plague  of  opinion  !  a  man  may  wear 
it  ou  both  sides,  like  a  leather  jerkin ! 

....  A  man  may  see  how  this  world  goes 
with  no  eyes  ;  look  with  thme  ears. 

....  If  our  virtues  did  not  go  forth  of  us, 
'twere  all  alike  as  if  we  had  them  not. 

....  Be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as 
snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny. 

....  Happy  are  they  that  hear  their  own  de- 
tractions, and  can  put  ihem  to  mending. 

A  cloud  upon  the  soul  shrouds  and  dark- 
ens the  earth  more  than  a  cloud  in  the  firma- 
ment.    The  spectacle  is  in  the  spectator. 

....  How  many  fine  hats  serve  as  a  cover  for 
worthless  heads,  and  how  many  plaited  shirt- 
bosoms  cover  a  hollow  cavern  where  a  heart 
should  be  lodged. 

....  It  is  right  to  call  our  life  a  stage ;  for, 
what  are  our  joys  and  sorrows  to  the  spiritual 
world,  who  are  the  spectators,  but  mimic  trage- 
dies and  farces  1 

A  wedded  couple  should  always  study 

each  others'  dispositions,  and  mutually  make  ail 
the  allowance  possible  for  the  weak"  points  in 
their  respective  characters. 

....  Happiness  and  soitow  are  the  measures 
of  our  mortal  life.  We  willingly  record  the  mo- 
ments of  gladness,  and  sorrow's  hours  make 
their  own  impress. 

....  Youth  is  fed  by  poetry  and  imagination  ; 
mature  age  by  realities  ;  as  plants  draw  all  their 
nonrishment  from  the  air  until  they  bear  fruit, 
and  afterwards,  from  the  ground  only. 


"You,  Sal,  what's  o'clock?  and  where's  the 
chicken  pie  ?"     "  It's  eight,  sir." 

Wlien  does  a  judge  contemplate  employing 
rogues  ?     When  he  takes  them  on  ti'ial. 

As  a  proof  of  the  hardness  of  the  times,  there 
is  a  man  in  Ohio  who  kills  only  a  half  a  pig  at  a 
time. 

When  a  Tennessee  girl  is  kissed,  she  ex- 
claims :  "  Now  put  that  right  back  where  you 
took  it  from !" 

Mrs.  Speckles  says  the  best  vegetable  pill  yet 
invented  is  an  apple  dumpling ;  for  destroying  a 
gnawing  in  the  stomach,  it  is  a  pill  which  may 
always  be  relied  on. 

A  man  having  been  arraigned  before  one  of 
our  justices  on  a  charge  of  being  tight,  was  ac- 
quitted without  examination,  as  he  was  recog- 
nized as  one  whose  habits  were  exceedingly  ?oose. 

"  Father,  it  tells  here  about  illuminated  manu- 
scripts— what  were  they  lighted  with  V — "  With 
the  light  of  other  days,  sonny,"  answered  the 
father. 

A  friend  of  ours  said  he  would  always  have 
remained  single,  but  he  couldn't  atford  it.  What 
it  cost  him  for  "  gals  and  ice  cream,"  was  more 
than  he  now  pays  to  bring  up  a  wife  and  eight 
children.     Bachelors  should  think  of  this. 

The  French  feed  hens  with  bread  soaked  in 
wine  to  make  them  lay.  Soaking  bread  and 
eggs  in  wine  in  this  country,  often  makes  "  old 
cocks  "  lay  in  the  gutter.  We  don't  know  how 
it  would  affect  hens. 

"  Billy  Jones,"  said  a  bullying  urchin  to  an- 
other lad,  ''next  time  I  catch  you  alone,  I'll 
flog  you  like  anything."  "  Well,"  replied  Bill, 
*'  I  aint  often  much  alone ;  I  commonly  have  my 
legs  and  my  fists  with  me." 

A  countryman  upon  visiting  New  York  dur- 
ing the  cholera,  asked  what  that  board  was  put 
across  the  street  for ;  upon  being  told  that  it  was 
to  keep  the  disease  from  spreading,  exclaimed  : 
"  Well,  I  swow,  I've  often  heard  tell  of  the 
Board  of  Health,  but  never  saw  it  before  in  all 
my  life." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

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Publisher  and  Proprietor,  Boston,  Mass. 


160 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DllAWING   llOOM    CJOMrANION. 


SARATOGA  LAKE. 

Wc  pivc  licrcwitli  n  ])ieturc  rrprcnontiiiK  tlio  famous 
Saratoga  Lake,  sitimtrd  nrar  the  ci'lcl.mtt'd  watering  place. 
It  is  by  our  artist,  Mr.  ('luipin,  and  would  have  been  given 
•with  the  hist  week's  series  of  Saratoga  views,  but  was 
crowded  out.  It  represents  n  view  of  Saratoga  Lake,  sit- 
uated about  four  niilcH  distant  fi'om  the  Springs.  It  is  a 
beautiful  sheet  of  pure  water,  nine  miles  in  extent  from 
north  to  south,  and  from  one  to  three  in  width.  The 
scenery  around  it  is  diversilied  and  highly  pieluresf]iie, 
while  the  hike  abounds  in  Hsh,  and  its  borders  with  abun- 
dance of  small  game,  affording  to  tlie  tiimrtsman  and  epi- 
cure a  never  failing  source  of  amusement  and  gratilkation. 
It  is  also  the  resort  of  visitors  at  the  Springs,  wlio  ilrivc 
out  for  exercise,  being  the  only  notable  spot  near  the  vil- 
lage of  Saratoga.  Boats,  fishing  tackle  and  sporting  im- 
plements of  all  kind«  arc  here  to  be  had  for  a  trifle,  and 
much  sport  may  be  enjoyed. 


.^-,^ist^^.. 


CAPE  COD  ASSOCIATION. 

It  is  generally  known  to  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial  that 
the  sons  of  Cape  Cod  in  Boston  and  vicinity  have  foinicd 
lliemsclves  into  an  asfocintion  for  the  annual  celebration 
of  matters  as  connected  with  the  place  of  their  birth. 
Their  niimtyer  is  very  large,  and  cmiiraces  some  of  our 
most  notable  and  influential  men.  The  first  anniversary 
of  the  association  was  held  in  Assembly  Hall,  in  Boston, 
on  the  evening  of  the  Ilth  of  November,  1851,  on  which 
occasion  an  eloquent  oration  was  pronounced  by  Henry 
A.  Scudder.  A  substantial  repast  was  provided  ;  after 
which,  Henry  A.  Crocker,  Esq.,  as  toast  master,  was  in- 
ti'oduced,  and  spcctbcrf  and  toasts  were  the  order  of  the 
evening.  It  was  a  highly  successful,  interesting  and  pro- 
fitable jubilee.  Its  success  encouraged  the  idea  of  a  simi- 
lar annual  gathering,  but  the  liome  of  their  fathers  was  deemed 
the  most  appropriate  place  for  the  festival.  Accordingly  Vrov- 
incctown  was  selected  as  tlie  locale  of  the  anniversary  this  year. 
It  is  the  first  town  on  the  cape  from  the  sea,  is  of  equal  import- 
ance to  anyotiier  for  its  commercial  growth,  and  is,  moreover,  ihe 
spot  where  the  Mayflower  first  anchored  on  November  11,1620. 
To  give  greater  eclat  to  the  celebration  at  Provincetown,  tiie 
committee  of  arrangements  engaged  the  new  and  splendid  pavil- 
ion of  John  Wright,  the  celebrated  caterer.  The  steamer  Eastern 
City  was  engaged  for  the  occasion.  The  New  England  Guards, 
accompanied  by  the  Boston  Brigade  Band,  performed  escort  duty 
by  invitation.  The  picture  which  our  artist  sketched  for  us  on 
the  spot,  of  the  interior  of  the  mammoth  tent,  makes  a  striking 
scene.  The  pavilion  was  pitched  on  an  eligible  spot  in  the  north- 
western section  of  the  town,  although  one  was  obliged  to  plod 
through  heaps  of  sand,  before  reaching  it.  It  is  a  large  and 
beautiful  tent,  one  of  the  handsomest  ever  pitched,  and  is  capable 
of  aecommodoting  3500.  On  the  present  occasion  it  was  set  for 
the  accommodation  of  2000,  that  being  the  number  of  plsitcs  laid. 
Hundreds  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  visited  it  to  view  and  admire 
the  admirable  arrangements  of  the  tables  and  the  neat  and  sub- 
stantial appearance  they  presented.  The  steamer  Eiistem  City 
arrived  at  the  Central  wharf  in  Provincetown,  with  the  party, 


for  the  cordial  and  sincere  welcome  which  had  been  ex- 
tended to  them.  After  these  cereinr)nies,  the  procession 
was  formed,  the  New  England  Cuards,  with  the  Brigade 
Band,  acting  as  escort,  marched  through  the  whole  length 
of  the  town,  countermarching  to  the  pavilion.  The  pro- 
cession was  (juite  lengthy,  and  we  were  jdeased  to  see  em- 
braced all  the  ficliool  cliildren  of  the  town.  The  number 
of  spectators  was  very  large,  for,  in  addition  to  Ihe  numbers 
brought  from  cwcry  quarter  by  packets,  ynchts  and  boats, 
the  steamer  Naushon  brought  a  large  number  from  Bain- 
stablc,  and  the  Granite  State  nhout  four  hundred  from 
Bo-ton.  The  procession  entered  the  pavilion  at  .'J  1-2 
o'clock,  where  the  Cape  Cod  Association,  with  invited 
guests,  sat  down  to  a  liberal  and  sumptucMis  repast.  A 
most  convivial  and  happy  occasion  it  proved.  Toastfi, 
speeches,  song  and  ricntinicnt  intcrsijersed  the^^eeremonies, 
and  the  whole  passed  off  with  distinguished  success. 


VIEW  OF  SARATOGA  LAKE. 

promptly.  They  were  met  upon  the  wharf  by  the  selectmen  of 
ihe  town,  the  firemen  in  a  neat  uniform,  and  the  members  of  the 
Odd  Fellows  Lodge,  in  full  regalia.  Godfrey  Ryder,  Jr.,  Esip, 
oftieiated  as  chief  marshal.  He  introduced  the  selectmen  ond 
speaker  of  the  day  to  the  chief  marshal  of  the  Cape  Cod  Associa- 
tion, Jno.  L.  Dimmick,  Esq.,  who  in  turn  introduced  the  gentle- 
men to  Hon.  Lemuel  Shaw,  the  president.  James  Gifford,  Esq., 
in  behalf  of  the  citizens  of  Provincetown,  welcomed  the  associa- 
tion in  a  speech  of  exceeding  beauty,  brief,  but  to  the  jjoint.  He 
reminded  the  members  of  the  ancient  glory  of  their  fathers ;  of 
their  toil  and  sufferings,  of  their  virtues,  of  their  immortality; 
and  he  implored  them  never  to  forget  with  what  a  price  their 
prosperity,  happiness  and  liberties  had  been  purchased.  To  this 
address,  Chief  Justice  Shaw,  in  behalf  of  the  association,  respon- 
ded in  an  eloquent  and  feeling  manner.  We  come,  he  said,  like 
children  of  a  large  household,  who  have  wandered  from  the  old 
roof  tree,  actuated,  by  a  desire  to  elevate  ourselves  by  the  pursuits 
of  industry,  but  come  like  children,  who,  wherever  they  have 
wandered,  have  never,  for  a  moment,  forgotten  the  land  of  their 
birth.  We  return  with  joy  to  the  parental  household,  to  cultivate 
and  strengthen  those  tics  which  belong  to  a  common  brotherhood. 
Once  more,  in  behalf  of  the  association,  the  goodly  com])any 
which  he  represented,  he  tlianked  the  citizens  of  Provincetown 


HORSE3IAN8HIP  IIV  CIIILJ. 

Darwin,  in  his  "  Researches  in  South  America,"  gives 
the  following  account  of  the  method  of  ma.'iiering  and 
training  the  horse  in  Chili.  The  power  of  man  over  tlie 
horse,  and  the  facility  with  which  he  is  taught  the  most 
surprising  and  wonderful  feats  of  skill,  is  truly  astonish- 
ing. The  Guaclios  are  well  known  to  be  peit'cct  riders. 
'"  Tlie  idea  of  being  thrown,  let  the  horse  do  what  it  likes, 

never  enters  their  lieads.  Their  criterion  of  a  good  rider 
is  a  man  who  can  manage  an  untamed  colt,  or  who,  if  his 
horse  fall,  alights  on  his  own  feet,  or  can  perform  otlier 
such  exploits.  I  have  heard  of  a  man  betting  that  he 
would  throw  his  horse  down  twenty  times,  and  that  nine- 
teen times  he  would  not  fall  himself.  I  recollect  seeing  a 
Guacho  riding  a  very  stubborn  horse,  which  three  times 
sueeessively  reared  so  high  as  to  fall  backwards  with  great 
violence.  The  man  judged  with  uncommon  coolness  the  proper 
moment  for  slipping  off— not  an  instant  before  or  after  the  right 
tirae  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  horse  got  up  the  man  jumped  on  hia 
back,  and  at  last  they  started  in  a  galloji.  The  Guacho  never  ap- 
pears to  exert  any  muscular  force.  1  was  one  day  watching  a 
good  rider,  as  we  were  galloping  along  at  a  rai>id  pace,  and 
thought  to  myself:  "  Surely,  if  the  horse  start,  you  appear  co 
careless  on  your  seat,  you  must  fall."  At  this  moment  a  male 
ostrich  sprang  from  its  nest  beneath  the  horse's  nose  ;  the  young 
colt  bounded  on  one  side  like  a  stag;  but  as  for  the  man,  all  that 
could  be  said  was,  that  he  started  and  took  fright  with  his  horse. 
In  Chili  and  Peru  more  pains  are  taken  with  the  mouth  of  the 
horse  than  in  La  Plata,  and  this  is  evidently  a  consequence  of  the 
more  intricate  nature  of  the  country.  In  Chili,  a  horse  is  not  con- 
sidered perfectly  broken  till  he  can  be  brought  up  standing,  in 
the  midst  of  his  full  speed  on  any  particular  spot — for  instance,  on 
a  cloak  thrown  on  the  ground.  1  have  seen  an  animal  bounding 
with  sjjirit,  yet  merely  reined  by  a  forefinger  and  thumb,  taken  at 
full  gallop  across  a  court  yard,  and  then  made  to  wheel  round  the 
post  of  a  veranda  with  great  speed,  but  at  so  equal  a  distance  that 
the  rider,  with  outstretched  arm,  all  the  while  kept  one  finger  rub- 
bing the  post.  Then  making  a  demi  volte  in  the  air,  with  the  other 
arm  outstretched^  he  wheeled  round  in  an  opposite  direction. 


CELEBRATION  OF  THE  CAPE  COD  ASSOCIATION,  AT  PROVINCETOWN. 


F.  GLBASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
i  AND  TKEMONI  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  11,  1852. 


S2  PER  TOLUJIE.  1 
10  Cts.  SES'GLE.    ] 


Vol.  m.  No.  11, —Whole  No.  63. 


DESTRUCTION  OF  STEADIER  ATLANTIC. 

The  scene  which  is  represented  by  our  artist 
below,  was  a  most  heart-rending  catastrophe. 
At  the  time  of  the  collision  a  dense  fog  was  pre- 
Tailing.  The  passengers  were  all  in  bed,  and 
the  Atlantic  was  in  charge  of  the  first  mate.  Im- 
mediately following  the  collision  the  utmost  con- 
fusion prevailed  among  the  deck  and  steerage 
passengers,  a  very  large  portion  of  whom  were 
Norwegian  emigrants.  Many  of  them,  in  their 
terror,  jumped  overboard  instantly.  Capt.  Petty 
vainly  endeavored  to  calm  their  fears,  by  assur- 
ing them  there  was  no  danger,  hoping  to  keep 
the  steamer  on  its  course,  and  reach  port  in  sea- 
son to  save  them ;  but  the  water  gained  so  fast 
on  the  efforts  of  the  crew,  that  by  the  time  she 
had  proceeded  two  miles  from  the  spot  where  the 
collision  took  place,  she  was  found  to  be  rapidly 
sinking.  The  fires  in  the  engine  room  were  ex- 
tinguished by  the  rising  ^water,  and  a  scene  of 


terrible  confusion  followed.  The  emigrants,  who 
could  not  understand  a  word  spoken  to  them, 
added  horror  to  the  scene  by  their  cries  and  ex- 
hibition of  frantic  terror.  The  cabin  passengers, 
and  all  others  who  could  be  made  to  understand 
the  exhortations  and  orders  of  the  captain  and 
officers,  remained  comparatively  calm,  and  pro- 
vided themselves  with  chairs,  settees  and  beds, 
all  of  whom  wore  patent  life-preservers,  which 
buoyed  them  up  in  the  water,  and  they  were  thus 
saved.  Great  numbers  of  the  immigrants  jumped 
overboard  in  their  terror,  without  any  provision 
for  their  safety,  and  thus  rushed  on  to  certain 
death.  The  fog  was  a  sad  hindrance  to  the 
efforts  made  at  rescue,  but  some  250  were  picked 
up  by  the  propeller  and  taken  to  Erie.  The  pro- 
peller had  kept  in  the  wake  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
those  on  board  of  her  did  all  in  their  power  to 
preserve  the  lives  of  the  hundreds  of  human 
beings  who  were  now  seen  struggling  in  the  wa- 


ter. The  cause  of  the  dreadful  accident  is  vari- 
ously stated,  and  was,  doubtless,  owing  to  the 
officers  of  the  respective  vessels  not  readily  un- 
derstanding the  manner  in  which  they  should 
have  steered  according  to  lawunder  such  circum- 
stances. The  loss  of  life  is  ascertained  to  have 
been  some  hco  hundred!  As  usual,  there  are 
many  affecting  and  interesting  incidents  related 
as  having  occurred.  Mr.  Dana,  who  was  lost, 
was  very  efficient  in  saving  the  lives  of  passen- 
gers, and  exhorted  them  to  cling  to  the  life-pre- 
servers, when  in  the  water.  When  the  boat 
went  down,  he  took  a  settee  and  plunged  over- 
board ;  but  at  the  same  moment,  some  twenty  or 
thirty  emigrants  leaped  over  on  to  him,  and  he 
went  under.  The  last  persons  taken  from  the 
boat  were  Mr.  Givan,  clerk  of  the  boat,  and  Mr. 
BucU,  first  engineer.  The  steamer  had  then 
sunk,  all  but  her  stem,  and  they,  with  some  Illi- 
nois passengers,  were  clinging  to  a  rope  attached 


to  a  floating  mast  and  the  wreck,  being  up  to 
their  shoulders  in  water.  As  soon  as  the  shrieks 
of  the  drowning  passengers  were  hushed,  the 
voice  of  a  little  boy  was  heard,  and  it  was  then 
first  discovered  that  a  child  about  eight  years  old 
was  also  clinging  to  a  rope  a  short  distance  ofi'. 
The  little  fellow,  talking  to  himself,  was  saying : 
"  0,  I  can't  hold  on  much  longer !  If  papa  was 
here,  he  would  hold  me  up."  The  man  from 
Illinois,  a  fine,  powerful  fellow,  immediately 
moved  along  the  rope,  and  seized  the  boy  as  he 
was  about  to  sink.  He  held  him  for  some  time, 
and  called  out  to  Givan  to  come  to  his  relief. 
Givan  attempted  to  reach  him,  but  in  vain.  At 
that  moment  the  boat  of  the  propeller,  loaded  to 
the  water's  edge  with  rescued  passengers,  passed, 
and  Givan  hailed  them  to  save  the  boy.  Mr. 
Blodgett,  first  mate  of  tlie  Atlantic,  jumped  out 
and  swam  to  the  rope,  took  the  boy  off,  and  re- 
turned to  the  boat  with  him.    He  was  thus  saved. 


COLLISION  BETWEEN  THE  STEAMER  ATLANTIC  AND  PROPELLER  OGDENSBURG  ON  LAKE  ERIE,  N.  T, 


162 


GLEASON'S    PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  JIOMANTIC  STOUY  OF  INCIDENT  AND  ADVENTUUE^^ 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlio  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[written    liXrHE88LY   FOB  OLEASOn's    PIOTOniAL.l 


f  11  iMiiEiiAi  m  mmm, 

21  ffi»va:pl)U  Sale  of  Spain,  iitalii  aiib  (fziiglanii. 


BY  FREDERICK  HUNTER. 


[continued.] 


CHAPTER  III.— [coNTiNUEu.] 
"  I  hfivc  no  time  or  inclination.  In  my  worst 
extremity,  when  upon  the  very  verge  of  starva- 
tion, comparatively,  with  our  band  routed,  and 
our  means  of  supply  cut  off,  I  sent  to  you  for  a 
loan,  a  simple  loatt,  to  aid  me  in  utter  necessity, 
and  not  till  then,  and  you  abuse  my  messenger, 
and  falsify  your  own  promise.  Kow,  ingrate 
that  you  arc  !  show  me  yonr  strong  box.  Point 
me  to  your  hoarded  gold,  tliat  I  may  liclp  myself 
as  I  will,  or  by  St.  Paul,  your  life  is  not  worth  a 
rush  !" 

"Beware!"  exclaimed  the  old  don,  wildly. 
"  I  am  in  earnest,"  continued  the  robber,  "  and 
I  tell  you  again,  my  plan  is  laid  with  caution. 
The  snarling  hounds  that  yelped  at  our  approach 
here,   lie   with   their  throats  cut  at  your  portal. 
Your  house  is  suiTOunded,  at  every  point,  with 
my  followers  !     You  shall  not  escape.    Up,  then, 
and   redeem   your  promise — or  take  the  conse- 
quences of  your  refusal.     Your  mansion  shall 
be  stripped  and  sacked,  and  not  a  soul  now  wdtliin 
its  walls  shall  live  to  tell  the  story.     Quick,  too, 
for  the  morning  is  approaching." 
"  I  am  at  your  mercy." 
"  You  placed  yourself  there." 
"  How  much  money — gold — wdll  satisfy  you  V 
"  To-night,  one  thousand  doubloons." 
"  You  shall  have  the  amount." 
"  And  within  three  days  tlie  second  thousand." 
"  I  may  not  be  able — " 
"  Pshaw !     You  must .'" 

"  Be  it  so,  then.  And  does  this  satisfy  yon, 
once,  and  for  all?" 

"  I  make  no  further  terms.     Give  me  the  gold, 
and  on  the  third  day  hence  my  messenger  will 
wait  on  you  for  the  other." 
"  I  comprehend." 

*'  And  you  will  treat  with  him  honestly  too  V 
"  Yes,"  said  the  don. 

"  If  not,  the  worse  shall  be  your  own,  remenx- 
ber !" 

The  first  instalment  was  immediately  fur- 
nished ;  and  half  an  hour  afterwards,  the  tramp- 
ing of  twenty  horses  was  heard  beyond  the  haci- 
enda, as  the  marauding  band,  headed  by  Bernard 
dc  Norde,  left  the  premises,  and  dashed  away  in 
the  darkness ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"wait  and  iiorE." 
Tlie  scene  which  we  have  sketched  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  was  conducted  very  quietly,  from 
the  start.  On  leaching  the  hacienda,  Bernard 
took  care,  first  of  all,  to  stop  the  alarm  by  killing 
the  hounds  outside.  Having  previously  made 
himself  acquainted  with  the  premises  by  bribing 
one  of  the  slaves,  he  found  little  difficulty  in  se- 
curing the  three  or  four  men  servants,  and  tlien 
posting  his  companions,  he  forced  the  window  of 
the  old  don's  sleeping  room,  at  the  opposite  wing 
to  that  occupied  by  Corrinne,  when  his  scheme 
was  quickly  and  successfully  completed,  as  we 
have  seen,  without  disturbing  the  other  inmates 
of  the  dwelling. 

Corrinne  Almanza  slept  soundly  and  sweetly! 
She,  too,  dreamed  that  a  conquest  had  been 
made.  She  saw,  in  her  slumbers,  not  the  image 
of  the  accomplished  necromancer  who  had  so 
delighted  tlie  vast  auditory  on  the  preceding 
evening,  but  she  was  wandering  in  a  sweet 
grove  beside  the  stranger  who  had  been  so  rudely 
treated  at  Ruberto's  gate.  She  leaned  upon  his 
arm,  and  heard  liis  voice — low,  soft,  and  musi- 


cal— us  he  poured  into  her  willing  ear  tlic  pro- 
testations of  a  lover  1  She  started  from  that  happy 
illusion,  and  awoke !  for  she  thought,  on  a  sud- 
den, that  she  heard  the  stern  voice  of  Don  Mig- 
uel in  the  distance.  She  opened  her  eyes,  but 
the  moon  was  just  sinking  gently  down  into  the 
west,  and  she  found  tliat  her  band  still  ju'essed 
the  gilt-edged  note  which  had  so  mysteriously 
reached  her. 

Again  she  slumbered,  and  again  the  same 
form,  the  same  handsome  features,  waited  on  her 
drearn.  In  the  vine-covered  arbor  of  Don  Mig- 
uel's garden,  whither  she  was  wont  to  retire  dailj', 
she  thought  she  sat  and  listened  again  to  the 
gentle  and  tender  asseverations  of  the  stranger, 
who  swore  eternal  devotion  and  truth  to  her. 
Ah,  it  was  a  happy  delusion,  and  she  suffered 
him  to  raise  her  hand  to  his  lips  !  But  the  sweet 
dream  passed  on,  and  Corrinne,  the  beautiful, 
awoke — it  was  morning. 

Don  Miguel  Rubertohad  very  good  cause  to 
observe  a  profound  secrecy  in  reference  to  the 
part  he  had  been  forced  to  play  in  the  scene  of 
the  night  just  passed.  The  reminiscences  which 
had  been  called  up  in  the  course  of  his  brief  inter- 
view with  the  leader  of  the  robber-gang  were  too 
truthful,  and  too  suspicious,  to  permit  of  his 
making  mention  of  the  aff"air  a  second  time  if 
the  thing  could  be  avoided.  Through  the  con- 
trivance of  the  treacherous  servant  whom  de 
Norde  had  bribed,  t!ie  rest  of  the  attendants  of 
Don  Miguel  had  enjoyed  the  evening  right  mer- 
rily over  a  tankard  of  choice  wines,  and  ere  mid- 
night came,  they  were  "  deep  in  their  cups." 

They  had  an  indistinct  recollection  of  being 
attacked,  threatened  and  gagged,  subsequently; 
but,  when  morning  came,  and  no  serious  damage 
appeared  to  have  occurred  from  the  visit  of  what 
they  believed  to  have  been  a  party  of  robbers, 
each  man  kept  his  own  counsel,  lest  he  sliould 
expose  himself  to  ridicule.  The  two  dead  hounds 
were  put  out  of  sight,  therefore,  and  no  questions 
being  asked  by  any  one,  no  one  had  to  answer 
for  the  disturbance ! 

The  magician  continued  his  stay  in  Seville, 
and  on  the  night  of  his  performance,  Don  Miguel 
was  again  induced,  through  the  appeals  of  his 
ward,  to  pay  a  second  visit,  accompanied  by 
Corrinne,  to  the  opera  house. 

Previous  to  leaving  her  boudoir,  on  the  even- 
ing they  were  again  to  visit  Seville,  the  lovely 
Corrinne  exhibited  more  than  ordinary  care  in 
the  adjustment  of  her  dress  and  her  final  toilet. 
The  brilliant  necklace  which  clasped  her  ample 
throat,  never  rested  upon  a  fairer  figure — the 
diamonds  which  sparkled  from  her  flashing  tiara, 
were  not  more  brilliant  than  the  wearer's  piercing 
eyes — the  pure  white  satin  robe  wliich  was  so 
gracefully  looped  with  costly  jewels  at  her  bosom 
and  shoulders,  was  not  whiter  or  clearer  than 
her  alabaster  skin.  The  ripe  bloom  of  health 
and  maturing  beauty  was  upon  her  round,  full 
face,  and  she  was  happy — very  happy — for  she 
looked  with  favor  upon  the  stranger's  advances. 
Within  the  small,  white  glove  which  she  could 
find  an  opportunity  to  loan  to  the  magician,  dur- 
ing the  evening's  performances,  was  hidden  an 
envelope ;  that  cover  contained  a  perfumed  note ; 
upon  its  white  page  was  written  three  little  words 
only;  without  signature — without  date.  This 
note  was  addressed  to  "  The  Wizard,"  and  the 
words  were  "  Went  and  hope." 

Thin  cxpreasivo  missive  was  carefully  con- 
cealed, and  the  old  don  appeared,  with  his  capti- 
vating and  lovely  ward,  in  due  time,  at  the  opera 


houec.  Every  -seat  was  occupied,  but  direetions 
had  been  given  so  that  in  the  event  of  Rubcrtu'H 
application  for  jjhices,  tbey  could  readily  be  ob- 
tained. The  rim/  had  remained  in  the  wizard'fi 
hands  uncalled  for!  And  he  felt  t>urc  that  its 
fair  owner  had,  ai  least,  taken  no  umbrage  at  his 
proposal,  from  the  fact  that  the  jewel  had  not 
been  claimed. 

The  stranger's  joy  was  silent,  but  intense, 
when  the  curtain  rose,  at  length,  and  the  eye  of 
the  magician  fell  upon  the  looked-for  object. 
Corrinne  was  there  !  He  saw  her,  in  her  proud- 
est attire,  in  her  most  bewitching  msicmhk — and 
he  felt  that  his  suit  had  not  been  offensive  to  her. 
She  could  not  hut  have  found  his  letter,  and  he 
should  get  a  reply  to  it.  Ah,  how  anxiously  did 
he  watch  for  some  token  of  recognition  from  that 
fair  face — and  how  weary  were  the  passing  mo- 
ments, even  amidst  his  rapid  experiments,  that 
intervened  between  him  and  the  proper  opportu- 
nity to  solicit  the  loan  of  thai  (jlove  once  more  ! 

A  wild  bravo  of  hearty  Spanish  welcome 
greeted  the  astonishing  and  graceful  performer, 
wdicn  he  appeared,  and  during  the  cheering  and 
continued  plaudits  which  preceded  his  commence- 
ment of  operations  for  the  evening,  he  recovered 
the  self-possession  which  momentarily  deserted 
him,  under  the  circumstances,  when  he  made  his 
entrance.  Quiet  was  restored,  at  last,  and  the 
diuertisement  proceeded. 

The  kerchiefs,  the  bracelets,  the  rings  of  the 
ladies,  and  the  watches,  the  sombreros,  and  the 
pocket-coins  of  the  gentlemen  were  brought  into 
requisition  in  rapid  succession,  for  the  perform- 
ance of  various  tricks.  The  broad  stage  was 
alive  with  doves,  and  parociuets,  and  petite  ani- 
mals that  had  risen  from  the  earth,  or  been  cre- 
ated apparently  in  the  air,  at  the  magician's 
call;  scores  of  massive  and  elegant  bouquets  of 
flowers  were  culled  from  his  vesture,  fcr  general 
distribution  ;  vase  npon  vase  of  the  rarest  fruits 
were  produced  from  his  tiny  "magic  thimble," 
while  he  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  stage ;  and 
a  lady's  glove  was  at  last  deshed  by  the  adroit 
and  accomplished  professor. 

A  score  of  outstretched  hands  were  instantly 
presented,  from  which,  with  easy  gracefulness, 
the  necromancer  made  his  choice  !  And  retiring 
to  the  stage,  he  bore  with  him  the  delicate  glove 
of  Corrinne  Almanza,  the  Spaniard's  ward ! 
The  experiment  was  simple  but  beautiful. 

The  signor  placed  the  glove  upon  a  vase  of 
living  coals;  and  the  audience,  some  with  sur- 
prise, others  with  solid  amusement,  saw  it  quick- 
ly crisped  and  burned  to  a  cinder  before  their 
eves  !  T!io  ashes,  however,  were  as  quickly  and 
carefully  collected  by  the  magician,  who  placed 
the  smoky  and  blackened  ruins  upon  a  clean  sil- 
ver salver.  This  he  placed  upon  a  small  table, 
near  the  foot-lights,  and  then  apologized,  in 
broken  Spanish,  for  having  destroyed  the  lady's 
glove !  Nevertheless,  he  declared  his  willingness 
to  make  some  amende  for  the  mishap  ;  and  forth- 
with he  commenced  an  unintelligible  incantation 
over  the  ashes. 

Immediately  a  wreath  of  bright  blue  smoke 
was  seen  to  rise  directly  from  the  centre  of  the 
salver ;  and,  as  the  attentive  auditory  watched, 
a  bud  succeeded,  then  a  blossom,  and  as  it  slowly 
rose  from  the  surface  of  the  dish,  a  pure  white 
flower  grew  out  from  the  stem,  which  at  last  ex- 
panded into  full  bloom.  A  shout  of  delight  fol- 
lowed this  demonstration,  in  the  midst  of  which, 
another  bud  appeared.  The  wizard  waited  a 
moment,  and  then  advancing  to  the  table,  he 
gently  opened  the  last  named  blossom,  and  from 
out  its  centre,  seemingly,  there  flew  a  magnifi- 
cent dove,  which  hovered  over  the  table  an  in- 
stant, and  then  alighted  on  the  magician's 
shoulder. 

Around  its  neck  there  hung  a  silken  cord ; 
and  depending  from  it  was  a  diminutive  package, 
scarcely  two  inches  in  length.  The  heart  of 
Corrinne  leaped  in  her  bosom  fitfully,  for  she 
recognized,  or  thought  she  did,  instanter,  the 
little  packet  she  had  entrusted  to  the  stranger's 
honor! 

But  the  gentle  bird  perched  on  its  master's 
hand  at  tho  word,  and,  advancing  to  the  dress- 
circle,  he  presented  the  dove  to  Corrinne,  and 
begged  her  to  open  the  packet,  which  hung  upon 
its  neck.  She  did  so,  tremblingly  and  abaslied — 
when  lo  !  compressed  within  the  folds  of  the  little 
envelope,  unstained  and  perfect — she  discovered 
her  missing  glove !  A  thousand  bravos  succeeded 
this  feat,  the  dove  flew  to  the  stage,  the  wizard 
retired,  and  the  cmtain  fell  amidst  tumultuous 
applause ! 

Ere  the  laughter  and  noisy  approbation  had 
ceased,  the  wizard  was  alone  in  his  private  apart- 


ment. He  Ijud  secured  the  little  treasure  in- 
tended for  him,  and  he  saw,  in  its  superscription, 
the  delicate  tracings  of  a  lady's  handwriting. 
Ah,  how  did  his  heart  leap  again,  while  he  broke 
the  seal  of  that  note  ! 

Its  contents  were  quickly  devoured.  There 
a[>pcared  no  date,  no  signature  ;  but  lie  was  half 
delirious  with  joy  and  satisfaction.  It  was 
enough  !  Corrinne  had  deigned  to  reply  to  his 
burning  and  hastily  prepared  missive  of  love  1 
He  felt  nothing,  asked  nothing,  thought  of  noth- 
ing, but  the  magic  words  wbicli  glistened  on  tlie 
page  before  him — "  ivait  and  hope  !" 

He  pressed  the  tiny  letter  to  his  lips,  and 
danced  for  very  joy,  as  he  exclaimed,  again  and 
again  : 

"  Sweet  Corrinne,  I  am  content  to  wait  and 
hope  I" 


CHAPTER  V. 

FONTINI  AND  BEKNARD  DE  NORDE. 

At  a  distance  of  some  sixty  leagues  fi'om 
Seville,  to  the  northwest,  in  the  valley  of  the 
Guadiana  River,  and  between  the  Sierra  Morcna 
and  the  ancient  Castilian  Mountains,  there  is  a 
long  and  badly  cultivated  strip  of  country,  which 
for  centuries  has  been  the  dwelling-place  and  re- 
sort of  numerous  bands  of  adventurers,  high- 
waymen, bandits  and  freebooters  ;  and  this  re- 
gion, from  its  peculiarity  of  location  and  the 
general  face  of  the  country,  seems  to  have  been 
pitched  upon,  by  these  hordes  of  robbers,  as  es- 
pecially suited  to,  and  intended  for,  their  pur- 
poses of  retreat  and  rendezvous. 

Some  ten  years  prior  to  the  period  of  which 
we  have  now  written,  there  was  one  clan  more 
formidable  than  therest,  considerably  larger  than 
the  average  of  the  bands  which  roved  among  the 
passes  and  hills  of  the  district  we  have  described, 
and  which  had  for  a  long  period,  in  spite  of  the 
best  efforts  of  the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  gov- 
ernments, infested  the  neighborhood,  to  the  great 
annoyance  and  distress  of  travellers,  and  the 
damage  of  the  peaceably  inclined  inhabitants 
upon  the  valley  borders. 

The  efforts  of  the  Spanish  minister  of  police 
had  been  entirely  inefiectual  in  routing  this  gang, 
and  the  Castilian  soldiery  had  also  been  as  un- 
successful, in  the  same  object.  Minor  clans  had 
been  dispersed  or  destroyed ;  but  the  followers 
of  the  noted  and  everywhere  dreaded  Fontini 
were  invincible  !  The  fortunes  of  this  band  had 
been  very  favorable,  too,  and  their  numerous  ex- 
peditions, at  home  and  abroad,  on  the  highway 
or  in  the  by-way,  had  been  maiwellously  success- 
ful. Their  enterprises  had  been  thoroughly  plan- 
nedjUsually,  and  the  booty  they  sought  or  cov- 
eted had  almost  uniformly  fallen  into  their  hands, 
sooner  or  later. 

The  character  of  the  then  leader  of  the  tribe, 
the  notorious  Fontini,  was  the  most  singular 
compound  of  laziness  and  cunning,  of  adroit 
managing  faculty  and  consummate  indolence,  at 
times,  that  could  by  any  ingenuity  of  reasoning 
be  conceived  of.  He  could  sit  in  his  palace  of  a 
grotto,  surrounded  as  he  always  was  with  every 
luxury  that  could  possibly  conduce  to  his  com- 
fort and  ease,  and  there  he  would  leisurely  con- 
coct his  plans  and  undertakings,  which  would 
almost  invariably  prove  the  most  profitable  to 
himself  and  his  followers.  He  was  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  whole  range  of  country,  fiir 
and  near,  and  he  could  thus  direct  his  opera- 
tions, from  any  stated  point,  with  ease  and  fa- 
cility. His  success  was  unbounded,  therefore ; 
and  his  natural  indolence  increased  as  he  grew 
more  and  more  wealthy  in  his  advancing  years. 
At  length  he  tired  of  the  life  he  had  led  so 
long;  and  after  a  few  hints  to  his  clan  touching 
upon  his  future  interests,  he  at  last  informed 
them  that  be  had  determined  to  abdicate,  and  to 
retire  altogether  from  the  dangers  and  the  tur- 
moil of  the  profession.  His  proposition  was 
smiled  at,  at  first,  but  he  soon  learned  his  men 
to  believe  that  he  was  in  earnest ;  and  finally, 
he  gathered  his  foUowei-s  together,  had  an  esti- 
mate made  of  all  the  possessions  of  the  tribe, 
contrived  very  shrewdly  to  seize  upon  the  most 
valuable  and  most  portable  treasure,  and  appro- 
priating to  himself  one  third  of  the  valuables,  he 
distributed  the  balance  among  his  men,  appointed 
his  successor,  and  quit  the  mountains — forever ! 
^Yhcn  Fontini  named  his  successor — or,  rather, 
when  the  retiring  captain  proposed  to  those  who 
had  so  long  shared  his  fortune,  tho  name  of 
his  lieutenant,  Bernard  de  Norde — axxnaninious 
shout  of  hearty  welcome  greeted  the  gallant  fel- 
low, who  was  thus  honored  with  the  distinction. 
There  was  no  grumbling  at  this  preference,  no 
dissentient  voices,  no  opposition  ;  for  every  man 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DP^A^^IXG   P00:M   COMPANION. 


163 


of  this  strong  band  knew  de  Norde,  and  most  of 
them  were  rejoiced  at  the  change,  which  they 
deemed  for  the  better. 

"  Long  live  our  captain  !  Long  live  de  i^orde  !" 
was  the  instantaneous  cry  of  the  whole  band. 
And  Bernard  de  Norde,  who  readily  accepted 
the  post,  responded  briefly  but  pointedly  to  the 
generous  reception  thus  accorded  him. 

"  Comrades  !"  he  said,  "you  do  me  honor.  I 
am  more  than  gratified — since  our  brave  leader 
will  retire — to  accept  the  station  you  offer  me. 
Our  fortunes  are  equal.  You  may  rely  on  me 
ever.  Continue  to  be  bold  and  brave  ;  be  true 
to  yourselves  and  to  me,  and  your  captain  shall 
never  be  found  wanting  !" 

"  Hurrah !  hurrah !  for  Captain  Bomard  de 
Norde !  Long  live  our  young  and  noble  cap- 
tain !"  responded  the  men,  heartily. 

The  new  leader  was  forthwith  installed,  and 
Fontini  prepared  to  depart  at  once.  An  escort 
was  provided  him  to  the  borders  of  civilization, 
and  de  Norde  led  the  van  from  that  hour.  Upon 
reaching  the  frontier,  two  days  afterwards,  the 
former  ciiief  shook  hands  with  each  man,  sepa- 
rately, and  at  last  the  parting  moment  came.  He 
took  the  hand  of  his  late  lieutenant,  and  after 
thanking  the  men  for  their  truthful  devotion  to 
himself,  he  complimented  the  newly  chosen  lead- 
er, and  said  : 

"  De  Norde  !  We  have  climbed  many  a  dan- 
gerous rampart  together,  and  I  have  always 
found  you  a  whole  man  !  Count  on  me,  always, 
hereafter,  as  your  friend  !  Take  my  place  ;  you 
are  worthy  of  it.  If  ever  you  should  need  any 
aid  at  my  hands,  command  me  to  the  uttermost 
of  the  means  I  possess,  and  which  you  have  so 
nobly  aided  to  place  in  my  possession.  Adieu  ! 
May  you  ever  be  happy,  and  always  successful !" 

They  parted.  The  band  returned  to  their 
quartern,  and  matters  progressed  advantageously 
for  a  considerable  period  afterwards. 

Years  rolled  by,  however,  and  the  numerous 
startling  and  infamous  robberies  which  had  been 
committed,  had  at  last  reached  to  sucb  an  ex- 
tent that  a  large  military  force  was  despatched 
to  the  mountains,  for  the  purpose  of  breaking 
up  the  rendezvous  of  the  hordes  of  banditti  that 
had  gathered  there.  Success,  in  a  measure, 
crowned  the  final  efforts  of  the  soldiery,  and  the 
robbers  for  the  greater  part  were,  for  the  time 
being,  destroyed  or  dispersed.  One  unsuccessful 
enterprise  after  another  followed  the  fortunes  of 
de  Norde  and  his  band,  until  at  last  they  were 
really  greatly  reduced  in  numbers,  and  were  well 
shorn  of  their  ill-gotten  gains. 

In  the  meantime,  Fontini,  the  former  brigand 
chief,  visited  Italy,  where  he  lingered  lazily  for 
a  twelvemonth ;  and  subsequently  he  went  to 
Paris,  where  he  had  a  few  relatives  in  the  middle 
walks  of  life.  He  pretended  to  have  been  en- 
gaged in  business  at  several  points  on  the  Conti- 
nent, and  as  nobody  knew  much  about  his  pre- 
vious life,  in  any  way,  he  was  required  to  answer 
but  few  questions.  Moreover,  his  purse  was 
plainly  well  filled;  and  a  goodly  display  of  gold, 
it  is  generally  known,  will  "  cover  a  multitude 
of  sins!" 

His  real  name  was  Miguel  Euberto,  and  he 
was  of  Spanish  origin.  He  had  been  reared  to 
a  better  employment ;  but  at  an  early  age  his 
associations  became  questionable,  and  he  found 
his  way  into  evil  society  very  readily.  Once  in 
the  mountains,  he  contrived,  through  his  natural 
cunniug  and  general  good  sense,  to  eai-ve  his 
way  to  the  head  of  his  band  of  associates,  and 
subsequently  to  amass  a  large  amount  of  money 
and  valuables,  wliich  he  secreted  or  took  away 
with  him,  linall}',  and  soon  converted  into  Vargetit. 

During  his  sojourn  in  Paris,  Raberto  took  a 
fancy  to  a  young  lady,  distantly  related  to  his 
family,  whom  he  met  there,  and  proposed  to 
adopt  her,  or  become  her  future  guardian.  He 
was  her  senior  some  five  and  twenty  years — she 
being  then  but  fifteen — and  no  one  suspected 
that  his  motives  were  any  other  than  sucli  as  he 
declared  them  to  be.  Nevertheless  he  had  really 
another  object  in  view  ;  and  his  natural  cunning 
and  love  of  deceit  did  not  fail  to  farther  his  actual 
plans,  in  this  undertaking. 

She  was  beautiful — well-educated,  for  her 
years,  and  altogether  a  charming  girl.  He  loaded 
her  with  costly  jewelry  and  fine  clothes,  and  at 
last  took  her  from  her  more  immediate  friends, 
upon  a  tour,  as  he  averred,  of  Europe.  Flat- 
tered by  bis  kind  words,  tempted  by  his  show  of 
wealth,  and  desirous  of  making  such  a  journey 
withal,  she  consented  to  join  him,  without  the 
slightest  suspicions  as  to  his  ultimate  plans  or 
object,  regarding  his  own  destination,  or  her 
weal. 


They  accomplished  their  journey  at  last,  and 
at  the  expiration  of  six  months,  the  young  girl 
found  herself  domiciliated  at  the  beautiful  haci- 
enda of  Don  Miguel  Ruberto,  as  he  was  there 
known — her  guardian's  permanent  residence — 
near  Seville.  Her  parents  died,  her  Parisian 
friends  were  poor,  she  was  surrounded  with  lux- 
ury in  her  new  home,  and  she  soon  came  to  be 
contented  with  the  change.  Her  name  was  Cor- 
rinnc  Almanza!  and,  at  the  time  we  meet  her, 
subsequently,  at  the  dwelling  of  the  old  don,  she 
was  upwards  of  twenty  years  of  age. 

To  return,  for  a  moment,  to  the  fortunes  of 
de  Norde.  As  we  have  said,  during  this  period 
of  five  or  six  years,  he  had  at  last  met  with  re- 
verses ;  and,  after  various  plans,  during  a  whole 
twelvemonth,  in  search  of  his  former  captain  and 
"friend,"  he  found  him,  and  resolved  to  try  his 
generosity,  and  to  put  his  promise  to  a  test. 

Bernard  had  been  Fontini's  favorite  pupil. 
Of  all  the  men  he  had  ever  met  with,  the  former 
chief  often  declared  that  no  one  ever  equalled  the 
young  lieutenant  for  cunning,  tact,  and  genuine 
diplomacy.  He  was  sparely  built,  but  his  frame 
was  made  up  of  sinews,  seemingly.  His  muscu- 
lar strength  was  very  extraordinary.  His  per- 
ception was  exceedingly  acute,  his  address  very 
pleasing,  his  readiness  at  every  species  of  decep- 
tion astonishing ;  and  his  powers  of  impersonat- 
ing the  conduct,  and  character,  and  bearing  of 
other  people,  were  most  unaccountable.  In  his 
disguises  he  was  inimitable ;  and  for  ready  tact 
in  emergency  Fontini  had  never  found  the  man 
who  could  approach  him.  His  history,  prior  to 
his  joining  the  band  in  the  mountains,  was  an 
utter  blank  to  every  one,  and  even  Fontini  could 
never  draw  from  him  the  slightest  inkling  that 
could  lead  to  any  satisfactory  account  of  who  he 
was,  or  what  had  been  his  previous  life. 

Such,  then,  was  the  man  whom  the  former 
"chief  of  robbers"  had  now  to  deal  with — after 
a  separation  from  him  and  his  associations  for 
nearly  six  long  yeai-s  ! 

Don  Miguel  was  always  an  avaricious  and  a 
selfish  man  ;  within  the  last  few  years,  since  his 
gains  had  been  converted  into  solid  coin  and  tan- 
gible securities,  he  had  grown  more  avaricious, 
more  selfish,  more  close-fisted  than  ever.  He 
lived  for  bis  own  personal  aggrandizement,  and 
his  own  comfort,  and  at  this  time  was  a  man  of 
great  worldly  wealth ;  for  his  investments  had 
turned  out  immensely  profitable,  and  his  current 
expenses  had  constantly  been  kept  within  very 
moderate  bounds.  The  purpose  of  his  heart  was 
to  wed  his  irai-d — the  beautiful  Corrinne — him- 
self! And  to  tiiat  purpose  all  his  cunning  and 
energies  had  long  been  directed. 

At  the  most  inopportune  of  all  moments  for 
his  interests  and  designs,  the  messenger  of  de 
Norde  had  waited  upon  him  for  pecuniary  aid. 
His  refusal  to  acknowledge  the  claim  of  his  old 
associate  had  brought  Bernard  himself  to  his 
very  bedside !  He  had,  perforce,  paid  the  young 
robber-captain  a  thousand  doubloons  in  "good 
red  gold."  And  his  demand  was  but  now  half 
satisfied ! 

The  morning  of  the  third  day  succeeding  the 
terrible  midnight  interview  between  him  and 
Bernard  had  now  arrived — and,  as  yet,  Don 
Miguel  had  come  to  no  conclusion  as  to  what  he 
should  do  when  called  upon  for  the  remainder  of 
his  former  companion's  claim. 

The  hours  passed  rapidly  by,  and  evening  was 
approaching  at  last ;  but  the  messenger  of  de 
Norde  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE    CONFERENCE — A    NEW    FACE. 

Late  in  the  aftemoon  of  the  third  day,  the 
same  superb  horse  which  had  borne  the  messen- 
ger of  de  Norde  some  days  previously,  dashed 
suddenly  down  the  road  and  passed  the  outer 
gate.  Halting  beyond  the  hacienda  of  Ruberto, 
who  sat  on  his  piazza  and  saw  every  movement 
of  the  traveller  himself,  the  rider  took  from 
his  breast  a  paper,  which  he  examined,  and  then 
turning  Ills  steed,  he  came  slowly  back. 

"  Having  ridden  up  to  the  terrace  steps,  he  in- 
quired, in  a  low  and  modest  tone  of  voice,  if  one 
Don  Miguel  Ruberto  dwelt  there.  Upon  receiv- 
ing an  answer  in  the  aiHrmative,  he  alighted, 
handed  the  reins  to  the  slave  in  waiting,  and  ap- 
proached the  lortUy  proprietor,  who  received 
him  with  marked  aud  chilling  coldness.  As  the 
selfish  Don  Miguel  turned  towards  him,  how- 
ever, the  color  fled  from  the  Spaniard's  face,  and 
iic  had  no  words  for  utterance  ! 

"  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking  with  t^^e 
propvictar  of  this  fair  residence?"  askecl  the 
traveller,  advancing  to  the  old  don's  sif^e^ 


"'S'death!"  exclaimed  Ruberto;  "amlde- 
ceived  ?" 

"  I  Ihink  not,"  responded  the  stranger,  calmly. 

"  You  are  from  Bernard — " 

"  I  am  Bernard  de  Norde,"  continued  the  trav- 
eller, in  the  same  modest  and  quiet  tone;  "a 
gentleman  you  were  formerly  acquainted  with,  I 
think." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Don  Miguel,  quickly  rising ; 
"  I  see,  yes !  Come  in — come  in — this  way, 
senor." 

Now  Ruberto  had  not  the  most  remote  suspi- 
cion that  de  Norde  would  first  call  upon  him  in 
person;  he  supposed  that  his  messenger  would 
come,  when  he  hoped  to  make  out  a  ca?e  of 
evasion,  and  compromise  the  matter.  So,  when 
he  bclield  de  Norde  before  him,  his  thoughts 
turned  to  the  bed-room  interview,  and  he  was 
illy  prepared  to  speak  with  Bernard  himself. 
Forgetting  what  he  was  doing,  therefore,  in  his 
excitement,  he  advanced  at  once  to  the  reception- 
room,  instead  of  preceding  his  visitor,  as  he  in- 
tended to  do,  to  his  private  parlor,  and  ere  he 
could  recover  from  the  mistake,  he  found  him- 
self in  the  presence  of  his  ward,  the  lovely  Cor- 
rinne Almanza ! 

The  fair  lady  arose  and  curtsied  with  grace, 
as  Don  Miguel  bnnglingly  said,  "My  friend, 
Senor  Bernard — Senor,  my  ward." 

That  was  a  happy  circumstance,  for  at  least 
one  heart !  The  visitor  at  once  entered  into  easy 
conversation,  and  his  peculiarly  happy  manners 
had  the  effect  of  restoring  the  disturbed  nerves 
of  Don  Miguel,  in  a  measure,  who  soon  after- 
wards asked  CoiTinne  to  excuse  him — and  with 
his  guest,  he  retired  to  ti*ansact  some  pressing 
matters  of  business  in  his  library. 

As  the  stranger  rose  to  go,  he  took  the  hand 
of  Corrinne  in  his  own,  and  said,  "  Good  night, 
lady  !"  only — when  a  thrill  shot  through  her 
frame  on  the  instant,  and  she  staggered  back, 
nearly  fainting,  to  the  couch,  as  they  departed  ! 
This  incident  was  unobserved  by  Don  Miguel ; 
but  the  effect  was  not  lost  sight  of  by  his  "friend, 
Senor  Bernard,"  who  said  nothing,  however,  but 
followed  his  former  leader  into  his  private  apart- 
ment. 

"Now,  de  Norde — " 

"  Now,  Fontini,"  quickly  responded  his  guest. 

"  Ruberto,  here"  suggested  the  old  don,  coldly. 

"Ruberto,  then,  or  Fontini,  or  whatever  you 
will,  so  that  I  am  not  detained  here  for  want  of 
the  gold  you  promised." 

"  But  you  promised  to  send  a  messenger." 

"  I  thought  better  of  it,  and  came  myself." 

"  I  have  thought  better  of  my  promise  !" 

"  And  what  do  you  conclude  upon  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  submit  to  your  demands." 

"What  if  I  increase  the  amount?" 

"What!"  exclaimed  Don  Miguel,  enraged, 
"  would  you  rob  me  of  every  dollar  ?" 

"  No,  good  Senor  Ruberto,  no  !  I  have  only 
asked  the  loan  of  two  thousand  doubloons — one- 
half  of  which  I  have  received  from  you.  But, 
senor,  my  time  is  money,  and  you  have  unne- 
cessarily delayed  my  schemes.  So  I  shall  charge 
you  for  the  detention.  Give  me,  then,  two  thou- 
sand doubloons  in  addition  to  what  I  have  re- 
ceived, and  I  cry  quits  with  you — not  else,  how- 
ever, by  St.  Mark !" 

"Never!"  cried  Don  Miguel,  "never  will  I 
submit  to  such  extortion." 

"  Extortion  !  Come,  I  donotlike  such  words. 
Who  put  this  gold  within  your  grasp  ?  Who 
aided  and  backed  you  in  j'our  plans  to  gain  what 
you  enjoy  ?  Who  risked  his  life  and  limbs,  hun- 
dreds of  times,  to  defend  and  enrich  Fontini, 
now  the  lordly  Ruberto  V 

Don  Miguel  war  silent,  for  the  old  days  came 
back  to  his  memory  when  he  had  been  in  worse 
predicaments  than  this,  and  had  contrived  to 
escape,  unscathed.  His  mind,  which  had  been 
inactive  for  many  a  long  month,  was  now  glanc- 
ing at  the  chances  in  his  favor,  in  tliis  uncom- 
fortable emergency,  and  he  made  no  reply. 

He  had  already  parted  with  a  thousand  doub- 
loons !  The  price  of  silence,  on  the  part  of  de 
Norde,  for  the  present  only,  was  now  two  thousand 
more  !  This  was  too  much.  He  determine^  nqt 
to  pay  it.  When  this  was  obtainetl,  bp  saw  that 
he  was  just  as  much  in  the  pQWCr  of  Bernard  for 
evil,  as  ever ;  and  ho  wquld  avoid  the  pecuniary 
penalty. 

The  lion  was  roused  !  The  cunning  of  Don 
Miguel,  which  had  lain  dormant  for  years-^ince 
thei«  had  been  no  occasion  for  its  exercise — was 
once  more  in  active  motion  within  him  ;  and  he 
very  quickly  decided  upon  his  iuture  course  in 
the  matter.     Turning  again  to  Bernard  he  said  ; 

"  At  least,  do  Norde,  you  must  afford  me  time 
to  obtain  tliis  money," 


"Bah!"  replied  de  Norde,  at  once,  "would 
you  attempt  any  such  trifling  with  me,  Fontini? 
Think  you  that  I  shall  give  you  time  and  leisure 
to  hetraif  me,  instead  of  fulfilling  your  promise  1 
No,  no  !" 

The  countenance  of  Don  Miguel  fell,  for  he 
was  guilty  in  his  own  heart!  But  he  quickly 
rallied,  and  asked,  with  some  feeling: 

"  Did  I  ever  betray  you,  de  Norde  1" 

"  No,  Fontini ;  because  you  never  had  motive 
so  to  do.     Circumstances  are  now  reversed." 

"  And  you  dare  not  trust  me  ?" 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,  Fontini,  but  I  cannot  delay 
this  matter.     My  engagements  are  peremptory." 

"  I  must  have  time." 

"How  much  will  accommodate  you,  then?" 

"  Until — to-morrow,"  said  Ruberto,  slowly. 

"  At  what  hour,  to-morrow  1" 

"  At  noon." 

"  You  are  in  earnest,  then,  and  will  not  play 
me  false  V  continued  de  Norde,  looking  into  hia 
eye,  curiously. 

"  You  may  rely  on  me." 

"  Two  thousand  doubloons,  in  Spanish  gold, 
at  noon,  to-moiTOw?" 

"  Yes,  on  my  honor." 

"It  is  well,  I  agree  to  that." 

"In  the  meantime,"  continued  Don  Miguel, 
calmly,  "  be  my  guest.  I  sliall  negociate  the 
money  through  a  friend,  and  will  not  leave  you 
alone  here,  lest  you  may  suspect  my  intentions." 

"Enough,"  said  Bernard,  "  I  think  I  may 
venture  to  trust  you.  But,  mark  me  !  I  must  not 
be  deceived.  To-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  noon, 
the  gold  must  be  forthcoming.  And  if  your  evil 
genius  shall  suggest  you,  in  the  interim,  to  do 
me  injury,  or  play  the  knave,  again,  beware  I 
For,  I  swear  to  you,  Fontini,  I  will  not,  cannot 
now  be  balked.  If  you  will  provide  this  money, 
I  tell  you,  on  my  honor,  it  shall  be  returned  to 
you.  If  you  relent,  and  aim  to  entrap  me,  your 
house  shall  be  sacked,  and  your  head  shall  pay 
the  forfeit  for  your  perfidy — within  the  week  en- 
suing !     Do  we  understand  each  other  ?" 

"There  is  no  need  of  threats,  Bernard.  I 
have  determined  on  my  course." 

Tiiese  were  Ruberto 's  final  words,  and  shortly 
afterwards,  the  traveller,  who  declared  he  was 
very  weary  with  his  long  journey,  partook  of  a 
goblet  of  wine  and  some  dried  fruit,  and  was 
shown  to  his  sleeping  apartment. 

De  Norde  said,  "  Good  night,  senor,"  when 
the  slave  appeared  at  the  door  to  conduct  him  to 
his  room ;  but  Don  Miguel  only  moved  his  hand 
as  the  former  retired. 

The  once  robber-chief,  now  the  lordly  owner 
of  uncounted  thousands,  the  depraved  and  wicked- 
hearted  Fontini,  sat  alone  in  his  library  room, 
half  an  hour  afterwards,  with  his  head  resting 
between  his  hands,  and  his  dim  but  vicious  eyes 
glaring  fearfully  at  vacancy,  as  he  meditated  ! 

"  He  has  made  his  last  seizure !"  muttered 
Ruberto,  mentally,  as  he  sat  there  with  the  cold 
drops  of  perspiration  trickling  through  his  trem- 
bling and  extended  hands ;  "  he  has  drunk  his 
last  cup  of  wine  ;  he  has  ridden  the  last  jouraey 
he  will  ever  ride  in  this  world  !  Fool  that  he  is  I 
Does  he  forget  that  I  am  Fontini  %  That  I  was 
Fontini  ?  Well,  he  may  as  well  die,  as  that  I 
should  starve.  Three  thousand  doubloons  !  Full 
fifty  thousand  Spanish  dollars  !  He  must  pay 
for  his  temerity.  I  am  equal  to  it  yet — Bernard 
de  Norde  will  go  hence  no  more !" 

Such  was  the  Spaniard's  resolve.  And  though 
he  did  not  care  to  have  the  blood  of  a  companion 
upon  his  hands,  yet  he  loved  his  wealth  too  well 
to  shower  gold  in  thousands  upon  friend  or  foe. 
He  determined  to  remain  in  his  private  apart- 
ment, and,  when  all  was  still,  he  would  steal  to 
the  chamber  of  his  guest  and  despatch  him  as  he 
slept.  His  purse  of  gold  might  easily  be  placed 
under  the  pillow  of  one  of  his  slaves,  and  that 
would  exonerate  him  from  suspicion  !  And  throw- 
ing himself  back  in  his  easy  chair,  for  the  time 
being,  the  hardened  robbev  actually  slept  I 

While  this  diabolical  plan  was  being  matured 
in  the  mind  of  Don  Miguel,  the  stranger  was 
busy  in  his  chamber.  Seating  himself  at  a  table, 
he  drew  from  his  breast  a  stiletto,  which  he 
placed  before  him,  and  then  turning  to  his  coat- 
pocket,  he  secured  a  double-barrelled  pistol,  the 
priming  to  which  he  scrutinized  with  more  than 
ordinary  caution.  Then  taking  out  his  watch, 
be  glanced  at  it,  and  placing  his  light  against 
the  lower  pane  of  glass  in  his  window,  he  waited 
anxiously  for  the  hand  to  point  to  the  hour  of 
twelve  o'clock. 

[to    be    CONTINITED,] 


Good  fictiODS  crown  themselves  with  laBtlnR  hays  ; 
Who  well  deserves  needs  not  unother's  praise. 

Heath. 


164 


GLEASON'S    PICTOPJAL    DRAWIISG    ROOM    COMPANION. 


DRY  GOODS  JJAZAAIi. 

Wc  present  oin*  readers  on  tliis  page  n  scries  of  views 
ahowiny;  the  exterior  inul  interior  of  the  eelubrated  dry  j^oods 
warolionso  of  Messrs.  llill,  Lineoln  &  Geer.  Jt  is  situated 
on  tlic  fonuT  of  Wa^hinjjioii  and  West  Streets,  Nos  .'J.'i.'i 
and  3.'J5,  and  is  oneof  tlio  most  popular  estaI^li^Ilments  of  tin; 
kind  in  tlie  eity.  Their  busiin-'S.s  is  eonducteii  upon  the  easli 
system,  and  conscciuently  they  m-c  enabled  to  sell  their  jujoods 
at  such  i)riees  as  to  satisfy  the  masses;  and  almost  tvery  ar- 
ticle in  the  dry  ftoods  line  may  he  obttiined — from  the  richest 
India  sluiwl  to  tlie  most  common  goods  of  domestic  manu- 
facture. Tlicy  em|)loy  in  their  two  spacious  sales  rooms 
about  forty  salesmen.  The  third  and  fourth  stories  of  the 
building  ai'o  also  occupied  liy  them  for  the  manufacture  of 
cloaks,  visites,  mantillas,  embroidery  and  dress-making,  in 
whicli  they  employ  from  sevcniy-tivc  to  one  hundred  female 
operatives.  They  employ  the  most  experienced  artists  to 
superintend  each  separate  branch,  and  ladies  cannot  fail  to 
be  suited  in  these  departments.  The  several  partners  com- 
posing this  firm — whose  names  we  here  annex — will  readily 
be  recognized,  and  have  been  known  to  the  community  i'or 
many  years. 

Walter  E.  Hill,  John  M.  Lincoln, 

Charles  H.  Geer,  Edward  J.  Long, 

James  W.  IIahuis. 

The  lowest  interior  view  is  of  the  first  floor.  In  this  room 
may  be  found  linen  sheetings  and  shirtings  of  every  grade ; 
linen  damasks  and  napkins,  table  covers,  towelling  and 
housekeeping  goods  of  every  description;  hosiery,  gloves, 
domestic  goods,  articles  for  children's  wear,  furniture  chintz, 
flannels,  blankets,  quilts,  Tliibet  cloths,  Erench  merinos, 
French  all  wool  de  hiines,  chalies,  barege  de  laincs,  cotton 
and  wool  de  laincs  of  all  prices,  French  and  English  muslins 
and  white  goods,  French,  English  and  American  prints  and 
ginghams,  together  with  many  other  articles  which  our  limits 
will  not  allow  us  to  enumerate,  and  to  form  a  just  estimate 
of  which  our  readers  must  call  and  examine  for  themselves. 

The  second  view  is  the  second  floor;  where  may  be  found 
silks  of  every  variety,  varying  in  price  from  thirty-seven  and 
a  half  cents  to  six  dollars  per  yard  ;  high  lustered  black  silks 
from  the  most  celebrated  manufacturers,  silk  velvets,  shawls 
of  every  design,  cloaks,  sacks,  visites  and  mantillas  in  great 
variety,  manufactured  from  the 
most  approved  Parisian  styles. 
There  is  also  a  dejiartment  ap- 
propriated for  mourning  good-', 
and  is  worthy  the  atleniion  of 
those  who  arc  in  pursuit  of  such 
articles.  The  business  in  this 
establishment  is  conducted  upon 
correct  principles,  and  the  pub- 
lic will  find  accomplished  and 
attentive  salesmen  to  serve 
them  at  all  times.  Altogether 
the  establishment  is  one  that 
reflects  credit  upon  our  city 
mercantile  character,  and  gives 
evidence  of  that  steady  and  for- 
tunate improvement  in  a  pecu- 
niary point  of  view,  which  in- 
dustry and  a  strict  regard  for 
honorable  dealing  always  in- 
duces. There  is  some  diflfer- 
ence  between  the  aspect  present- 
ed by  Wa-^hington  Street  of  to- 
day and  the  little  narrow  "  cow 
path"  which  marked  its  "  wind- 
ing way,"  not  many  years  ago. 
I^owits  entire  length  is  adorned 
with  large  and  brilliantly  fur- 
nished stores,  devoted  to  every 
branch  of  trade,  but  more  par- 
ticularly to  that  of  dry  goods. 
From  this  department  of  mer- 
chandize, therefore,  we  have  se- 
lected one  example,  which  we 
give  at  this  time.  One  thing 
our  readers  may  be  assured  of, 
that  whatever  establishments  ^ve 
select  for  representation  in  these 
pages,  they  will  be  only  the  best 
ones  in  the  line  to  which  we  re- 
fer. Thus  it  is  our  "end  and 
aim"  to  give  only  such  notaiile 
objects  as  are  also  reputable, 
and  which  will  convey  not  only 
pleasure  to  the  eye  but  satisfac- 
tion to  the  critical  mind.  The 
exterior  and  interior  views  given 
on  this  page  are  of  this  descrip- 
tion, and  refer  to  one  of  our 
dry  goods  palaces. 

GAV,  THt;  l»OET. 

Gay  had  the  strange  contra- 1 
diction  of  a  manly  mind,  and 
fastidious  and  somewhat  effem- 
inate manners.  His  birth  and 
habits  were  of  the  city,  and  yet 
his  imagination  was  all  rural. 
He  never  was  engaged  in  rural 
sports;  nor  does  it  appear  that 
he  was  ever  on  horseback.  He 
amused  himself  in  the  fields, 
with  flowers  and  plants,  and 
butterflies  and  insects.  Hisfana/ 
supplied  hira  with  the  habits  of 
country  people.  He  loved  to 
contemplate  the  snowy  whirl- 
wind, the  April  shower,  the  sum- 
mer morn,  and  tlie  fading  lights 
of  evening,  as  the  golden  tints 
recede  into  twilight  and  dark- 
ness. His  manner  in  society 
was  that  of  a  petlt-maiire.  His 
solitary  thoughts  were  never 
frivolous.  He  was  serious,  gen- 
tle, benevolent  and  conscien- 
tious.  Perhaps  he  was  too  del- 
icate for  life  j'M'Je  tempests  ot 
the  world.  He  wiis  like  a  ten- 
der plant,  whjeh  c,pu^d  tjpt  bear 
rfj^  ypilgh  air,  ancj  tempests  and 
frost8--r=ra  uovt  Pf  sensitive  pjarjt, 
keenly  ali  vc  to  l!iu  slfchfpst 
tpuch  of  rudeness. — Amttltt/st. 


DRY  GOODS  WAREHOUSE  OF  HILL,  LINCOLN  &   GEER. 


KNOWLEDGE  18  I'OWER. 

Man  aspires  after  perfection  ;  civilized  nations  grow  up  in 
the  wilds  of  Australia  and  America,  regions  unknown  to  the 
ancients.  Man  now  extends  his  empire  over  nature,  more 
widely  than  ever  at  any  former  period;  while  the  savajjic 
with  difliculty  guides  his  frail  skiff  over  the  waves,  the  Euro- 
jiean  launches  his  lofty  ships,  like  a  giant,  into  the  sea,  and 
steers  his  floating  castles,  willi  their  hundred  thundering 
mouths,  over  the  illimitable  ocean.  Rocks  are  rent  by  a  lit- 
tle jjowder ;  forests  are  felled  ;  the  great  deep  is  fettered  by 
artificial  moles  ;  the  air  is  traversed  by  the  daring  aeronaut; 
the  abys.ses  of  the  sea  are  opened  to  human  labors,  by  the 
aid  of  the  diving  bell  ;  tlie  bowels  of  the  globe  arc  hearchtd 
by  the  miner,  lamp  in  hand,  for  gold  and  gems;  and  the 
wide  reach  ol"  enterprise  and  curiosity  informs  us  daily  of  the 
events  that  take  place  in  other  hemispheres;  riiete  wonders 
announce  the  high  dignity  of  our  race.  It  is  science  tliut 
gives  man  this  universaliiy,  this  vast  power.  It  is  by  means 
id  industry,  enlightened  and  guided  by  science,  that  the 
wealthy  citizen  of  London,  or  Paris,  reposing  on  a  seat  of 
Indian  wood,  sips  the  infusion  of  a  Chinese  leaf,  or  an  Ara- 
bian bean  mixed  in  a  Japanese  cup  with  the  sugar  of  the 
Antilles,  from  a  spoon  of  Mexican  or  Peruvian  metal,  which 
the  labors  of  some  descendant  of  Montezuma,  or  Marco  Ca- 
pac,  have  wrung  from  the  mines  of  the  Andes.  The  child 
])lays  with  an  ivory  hall,  or  a  strip  of  bone,  which  has  been 
procured  by  the  slaughter  of  a  gigantic  quadi-uped,  in  the 
unknown  regions  of  burning  Africa,  or  of  a  still  more  colos- 
sal monster  amidst  the  eternal  ice  of  the  pole.  Thousands 
of  negroes,  like  so  many  human  bees  tran.sported  into  an- 
other hemisphere,  press  a  sweet  juice  from  the  stalk  of  a 
grass  that  has  itself  been  propagated  by  human  skill  in  re- 
gions distant  from  its  native  plains,  to  feed  the  poorest  peas- 
ant of  Europe.  Is  it  not  a  wonderful  sight,  thus  to  see  man 
subject  all  nature,  animate  and  inanimate,  by  industiy  and 
knowledge  ?  Is  it  not  glorious  to  behold  a  simple  individual 
at  the  desk  of  his  counting-house,  commanding  the  extremi- 
ties of  the  earth  ?  A  few  light  marks,  traced  upon  a  scrap 
of  material  made  from  castaway  rags,  carry  life  or  death  to 
another  hemisphere,  light  up  the  torch  of  war,  hurl  princes 
from  their  thrones,  or  bring  back  brilliants  of  rarest  beauty, 
to  adgm  the  palaces,  that  rise  on  the  banks  of  the  Tlianus, 
the  Seine,  or  the  Danube.  It  is 
sometimes  true  that  a  learned 
man  arrays  himself  against  the 
progress  of  knowledge;  as  for 
example  :  Polydore  Virgil,  who 
wrote  in  the  time  of  Henry 
VIII.,  of  England,  1530,  was 
so  alarmed  at  the  growing  pro- 
pensity to  encourage  navigation, 
from  the  dangers  which  he 
thought  must  attend  it,  and  the 
folly  of  attempts  to  render  it 
very  useful,  that  he  compared 
the  rashness  of  men  in  exposing 
themselves  to  the  ocean,  to  the 
attempt  of  Dredalns,  who  un- 
dertook to  fly ;  and  he  said : 
"  men  now  inhabit  the  sea,  and 
build  ships  as  large  as  houses, 
and  fight  battles  on  the  ocean 
as  on  the  dry  land."  He  was  a 
learned  scholar;  but  for  useful 
improvements,  the  world  must 
look  to  more  enterprising  and 
resolute  men,  who  battle  with  ac- 
tual life. — Mechanics'  Mayazine. 


INTERIOR  VIKW  OF  THE  SECOND  FLOOR. 


INTERIOR  VIEW  OF  THE   FIRbT  FLOOR. 


POliVPI. 

Most  naturalists  give  the 
name  of  polypus  to  certain  gela- 
tinous animals,  generally  shaped 
like  little  bags,  the  borders  of 
which  are  provided  with  fila- 
ments, causing  them  to  resem- 
ble those  pulps,  which  the  an- 
cients called  poh/pi.  Those 
which  inhabit  fresh  water  are 
the  best  known.  Destitute  of 
interior  organs,  without  eyes, 
lungs,  or  brain,  without  ner^'es, 
or  even  intestines,  these  animals 
subsist  entirely  by  absorption. 
They  are  wholly  stomach,  and 
throw  ofi^  the  surplus  of  diges- 
tion through  the  mouth.  When 
cut  into  a  number  of  pieces,  and 
even  divided  into  particles,  each 
separate  fragment  becomes  a 
new  and  complete  animal.  They 
may  be  turned  inside  outward, 
like  a  glove,  without  their  vital 
functions  being  at  all  impeded 
by  the  operation.  Two  polypi, 
or  two  portions  of  the  same 
polypus,  may  be  grafted  togeth- 
er, and  the  united  mass  will 
continue  to  live,  as  before. 
They  are  often  connected  to- 
gether in  greater  or  less  num- 
bers, and  possess  one  common 
vitality  diffused  among  them 
all ;  for  the  food,  taken  by  each, 
contributes  to  the  nourishment 
of  the  whole  community;  and 
yet  each  individual  polypus  acts 
for  itself,  seeking  its  own  suste- 
nance, and  fighting  for  it  with 
the  other  polypi  to  which  it  is 
joined.  They  subsist  on  shell 
aquatic  animals,  which  they 
seize  with  their  feelers,  and  in- 
troduce into  the  pouch  which 
serves  them  for  a  stomach. 
Sometimes  their  prey  is  bigger 
than  themselves.  During  the 
hot  weather,  they  multiply  by 
suckers,  like  vegetables,  with 
great  rapidity ;  but  on  the  ap- 
proach of  winter,  they  fall  to 
t!ie  bottom  of  the  water,  where, 
it  is  said,  they  are  protected 
from  the  cold,  till  the  return  of 
the  spring. — Translated  from  the 
Magazine  Universel. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DUA^YING   ROOM    C0:MPANI0N. 


165 


BURJ^ING  OF  THE  SHIP  ROBERT  CKNTER,  OF  BOSTON,  IN  NEW  YORK  HARBOR. 


BURNING  OF  SHIP  ROBERT  CENTER. 

At  about  10  o'clock  Friday  eveniuo;,  August 
20th,  the  fire  alarm  bells  struck,  indicating-  a  fire 
in  the  Seventh  District.     The   engine   and  hose 
companies  were  soon  on  the   move,  but   it  was 
some  time  before  they  could  find  where  their  ser- 
vices were  wanted,  as  one  or  two  other  alarms 
took  place  at  tlie  same  time.     It  was    at  length 
ascertained  that  the  ship  Robert  Center,  Captain 
Arnold,  lying  at  Pier  No.  19,  foot  of  Wall  street, 
was  on  fire.     The  mate  of  the  ship  was  asleep  in 
the  cabin  and  the  ship's  watchman  was  on  deck. 
John  Lapidgc,  the  private  watchman  on  another 
ship,  discovered  an  immense  volume  of  smoke 
ascending  from  the  ship,  and  immediately  gave 
the   alarm.      In  a  short  time  some  ten  or  fifteen 
fire  companies  were  on  the  pier,  and  after  some 
delay  succeeded   in  getting   as   many   streams 
playing  on.  board.     The  hatchways  were   kept 
closed  to  prevent  any  circulation  of  air  reaching 
the  flames,  which  by  this  time  had  communicat- 
ed from  one  of  the  vessel*  to  the  other.     It  was 
at  last  deemed   advisable   to   scuttle  the  ship  ; 
by  which,  together  with  the  immense  quantity  of 
water  poured  into  it  by  the  firemen,  she  soon  ca- 
reened and  sunk  by  the  pier  at  the  foot  of  Wall 
street,  where  she  lay.     The  vessels  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  were  hauled  otr  into   the  stream. 
Towards  morning  the  shrouds  were 
cut  away  from  the  main  and  fore- 
masts to  prevent  the  rigging  setting 
fire  to  other  vessels,  and  they  went 
over  in  one  mass  of  confusion.  The 
mizzen-mast  burnt  and  fell  over. — 
The   R.  C.  was   destined  for   San         f 
Trancisco,  and  was  owned  by  Cen- 
ter &  Co.,  and  partially  loaded  with 
liquors,  dry  goods,  and   a  general 
cargo.     She  was  worth  some  $50,-        I 
000,  and  was  insured  for  something 
like  half  her  value.     It  is  supposed 
320,000  will  be   required  to   repair        I 
her.     Her  cargo  was  valued  atS40,- 
000;  about  $16,000  on  which  was 
insured  in  Wall  street.     Tiie  R.  C. 
was   built   at   Barnstable,  Mass.,  in 
1850,  and  was  809  tons  burthen.   An 
inetfectual  attempt  was  made  to  ex- 
tinguish the  fire  by  one  of  Phillips's 
Fire  Anaihilators. 


MOORE,  THE  POET. 

Moore's  forehead,  says  Leigh 
Hunt,  was  bony  and  full  of  charac- 
ter, with  bumps  of  wit  large  and  ra- 
diant enough  to  transport  a  phrenol- 
ogist. Jn  this  particular  he  resem- 
bled Sterne.  His  eyes  were  as  dark 
and  as  fine  as  you  could  wish  to  see 
under  a  set  of  vine  leaves;  his  mouth 
generous  and  good  humored,  with 
dimples  ;  and  his  manner  as  bright 
as  his  talk,  full  of  the  wish  to  please 
and  be  pleased.  He  sang  and  play- 
ed with  gi-eat  force  on  the  piano 
forte,  as  might  be  supposed  from  his 
musical  compositions.  His  voice, 
which  was  a  little  hoarse  in  speak- 
ing, softened  into  a  breath,  like  that 
of  a  flute,  when  singing.  In  speak- 
ing, he  was  emphatic  in  rolling 
about  the  letter  r,  perhaps  out  of 
despair  of  being  able  to  get  rid  of 
the  national  peculiarity. 


VOLCANO  OF  COTOPAXI. 

Earthquakes  and  volcanoes  are  among  the 
most  terrific  phenomena  known  as  incident  to 
our  globe.  Lightning  is  sometimes  very  appal- 
ling in  its  effects;  and  some  astronomers  affirm 
that  the  eartl^is  liable  to  come  in  contact  with  a 
comet,  which  would  produce  the  "wreck  of  mat- 
ter and  the  crush  of  worlds."  The  latter  is  an 
event,  however,  that  seldom  disturbs  us,  as  it 
will  not  probably  happen  in  ages  of  ages.  The 
other  desolating  calamities  may  be  more  justly 
apprehended.  Yet  earthquakes  have  not  been 
formidable  in  this  part  of  the  globe ;  nor  have 
volcanoes  been  known  in  North  America,  except 
in  Mexico,  California  and  the  Russian  territory 
of  the  Aleutian  Islands.  We  can  refer  to  them, 
then,  with  composure,  and  contemplate  them 
merely  as  natural  phenomena  occurring  in  dis- 
tant regions,  with  little  personal  solicitude. 
Earthquakes  and  volcanoes  originate  from  the 
same  cause;  an  accumulation  of  heat  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  reaching  such  an  intensity 
that  it  requires  vent ;  and  an  explosion  takes 
place  at  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Earthquakes 
prevail  in  the  vicinity  of  volcanoes.  In  most 
southern  climates,  earthquakes  have  been  fre- 
quent and  destructive.  And  in  Europe  and 
Asia,  near  the  shoi'es  of  the  Mediterranean,  they 


have  occurred  in  the  same  latitude  as  New  Eng- 
land. Volcanoes  have  been  less  frequent  and 
less  numerous.  The  most  noted  in  Europe,  is 
that  of  Hecla  in  Iceland,  of  Vesuvius  in  Na- 
ples, and  of  Etna  in  Sicily.  Volcanoes  are 
known  also  in  America.  Tliat  of  Cotopaxi,  one 
of  the  Andes  in  South  America,  according  to 
the  description  of  Humboldt,  "is  the  most  for- 
midable on  the  globe."  Tlie  Andes  range  of 
mountains  was,  at  one  time,  supposed  the  highest 
in  the  world  ;  but  it  has  lately  been  ascertained 
that  the  Himalayah,  the  mountain  boundary  of 
Hindostan,  is  higher.  The  loftiest  of  the  Andes 
is  Chimborazo,  which  is  21,000  feet  high.  Coto- 
paxi is  18,000  feet.  Humboldt  ascended  the 
former  within  two  thousand  feet  of  the  to]),  but 
could  proceed  no  further.  The  volcano  of  Co- 
topaxi is  said  to  bo  in  constant  agitation ;  and 
is  sometimes  heard  at  the  distance  of  six  hun- 
dred miles.  Humboldt  says,  that  at  the  distance 
of  one  hundred  and  forty  miles,  it  sounded  like 
the  continuous  discharge  of  cannon.  How  fear- 
ful and  terrific  is  the  artillery  of  nature ;  and 
what  desolating  elements  are  held  down  under 
the  earth's  suiface,  ready  to  belch  forth  and  hurl 
destruction  far  and  wide,  but  for  the  restraining 
hand  of  a  beneficent  Providence. — Cyclopedia  of 
Entertaining  Knowledge. 


THE  BRAZILIAN  EAGLE. 

There  is  a  great  variety  of  these  birds  of  prey ; 
and  they  are  to  be  found  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
They  are  about  the  mountains  and  in  the  desert, 
on  rivers,  and  near  the  ocean.  They  exhibit  an 
■unusual  variety,  in  form,  size,  and  color.  The 
Brazilian  eagle  is  esteemed  a  handsome  bird, 
and  is  sometimes  supposed  to  form  a  connecting 
link  between  the  eagle  and  vulture  tribes.  It 
resembles  the  latter  in  having  its  head  less  thick- 
ly covered  than  other  eagles,  and  in  the  position 
of  its  eyes.  Still  it  bears  a  closer  relation  to 
the  former  in  its  general  structure  and  in  its  hab- 
its. It  is  destructive  in  its  habits,  but  is  not  ca- 
pable of  a  lofty  flight,  nor  of  taking  its  prey  on 
the  wing.  The  upper  surface  of  the  head  of  this 
bird  is  black,  and  the  feathers  slightly  elongated 
backwards  ;  the  beak  also  is  somewhat  elongat- 
ed. The  neck,  breast,  and  shoulders  arc  of  a 
brb'ttmish  gray,  but  the  latter  have  streaks  or  bars 
of  a  darker  color.  The  rest  of  the  plumage  is 
of  nearly  a  uniform  shade  of  blackish  brown. — 
Several  changes,  however,  take  place  in  the  plu- 
mage of  this  bird  as  it  advances  in  age.  The 
common  name  of  this  eagle,  in  Brazil,  is  cara- 
cara,  which  is  derived  from  its  peculiarly  hoarse 
cry.  When  fully  grown,  it  is  twenty-one  inches 
in  length,  and  nearly  fifty  in  the  expanse  of  the 
wings.  This  bird  is  not  confined  to 
the  coast  of  Brazil,  but  may  be  met 
^^^^  with  extensively  in  South  America. 

^^cX  In  Paraguay,  and  on  the  river  Plate, 

-  -i-.siX        it  is  equal  to  all  other  birds  of  prey, 
i        Sometimes    it    is  found    near    the 
Straits  of  Magellan.     It  is  very  vo- 
racious and   destructive ;    and  fre- 
:         quently  approaches  dwelling  houses 
for  puiTioses  of  prey.     It  is  a  beau- 
tiful  bird,    but  has  not  that   lofty 
and  noble  appearance  belonging  to 
i        the  American  eagle — our  own  na^- 
tional  emblem. — Ornithologist. 


^>"'    .'■"■^'^■fS^^^^^^'^ 


CAPTURE  OF  THE  BATTERY  OF  BASTION  NO.  8?  AT  ROME. 


CAPTURE  OF  THE  BATTERY 

OF  BASTION  NO.  8  AT  itOME. 
This  engraving  is  from  a  painting 
by  the  celebrated  Horace  Vernet, 
and  represents  an  incident  in  the 
siege  of  Rome  by  the  Erench  troops 
under  General  Oudinot,  made  upon 
the  spot.  The  picture  is  full  of  in- 
(crest.  While  those  of  the  defen- 
ders who  have  not  been  killed  at 
their  guns,  are  being  driven  back  by 
the  French  Infantry,  who  have  forc- 
ed a  passage  through  tke  breach 
made  by  their  cannon,  the  soldiers 
of  the  engineer  corps  are  dismount- 
ing a  heavy  piece  of  artillery  with 
their  axes.  The  heroic  artillerists 
who  have  served  their  gun  to  the  last 
gasp,  and  now  lie  dead  around  it,  be- 
long to  the  corps  of  the  gallant  Gar- 
ibaldi, and  are  dressed  in  the  pictur- 
esque costiime  worn  by  the  followers 
of  that  brave  chieftain.  The  tri- 
umph of  the  Erench  over  the  repub- 
licans of  Rome  was  ihe  darkest  dis- 
grace that  ever  befell  their  arms, 
and  the  sight  of  this  picture  ought 
to  call  a  blush  to  the  cheek  of  every 
true  Frenchman,  while  it  must  pos- 
sess a  mournful  interest  to  the 
friends  of  Italian  liberty. 


166 


GLEASON'S   riCTOrJAL   DRAWING   HOOM   COMrANION. 


[Written  for  OlciiHOn's  I'li'toi-iji].] 

SHADOWS  or  Tin:  j'ast. 

DT  JOSEI'lt    U.  DUTLKR. 


I  Bit  ftnd  think  ofotlior  diijs, 

And  liapplnoHH  ponti  by, 
"VVhon  tho  Mumnier  night  1»  nilm  and  bright, 

And  tho  moon  cliiiibn  up  the  n\iy  ; 
Tliouglit,  liko  tho  iiglitning  fi'Om  abovo, 

Far  llnsliiiif,',  onwiiitl  JlioH, 
And  brlngH,  with  wi/jird  power,  tho  piiht 

Bcforu  my  tearful  c^'ob. 

Tlic  Bunny  diiyn  of  boyhood's  spring 

Coiuo  wreathed  witli  umny  u  liowcr, 
And  joyfl  in  nhiidowy  beauty  drest, 

Liv«  o'er  their  tranwient  hour. 
Again  the  vulleys  that  I  loved 

Arc  blossoming  and  groon, 
Tho  broolt  in  gushing  joyous  on, 

Whore  uiy  young  feet  have  been. 

And  by  its  side  again  I  stray, 

Bonoiitli  tlic  spell  of  ioTc  ; 
"With  ono  now  gone  from  earth,  to  dwell 

Amid  tlie  courts  altovo. 
The  powerful  wand  of  nieinory  calls 

Her  form  before  my  siglit; 
I  almost  feci  her  hand  in  mine, 

And  see  her  eyes  of  light. 

Again  around  mo  live  tlio  friends 

My  boyhood's  summer  knew, 
And  for  a  moment,  in  my  bcart 

The  smiles  of  joy  renew  ; 
Some  of  tliosc  dear  ones  now  are  gone 

Where  all  of  e:irth  shall  go, 
And  ItaTe  the  tree  and  Howcr  to  bloom, 

Tho  silver  stream  to  tlow. 

I  hoped  to  live  for  purpose  high, 

I  dreamed  of  coming  fame, 
And  on  the  dnuty  field  of  life, 

Thought  of  a  lasting  name. 
Ay,  and  in  woman's  hwirt  I  thought 

My  memory  should  be  dear, 
And  the  sweet  fancy  oft  has  lent 

A  star,  when  life  was  drear. 

So  now,  ye  airy  dreams  of  bhss, 

Ye  thoughts  of  comfort,  rise  I 
And  though  I  know  you  're  false,  ye  etill 

Are  pleasing  to  my  eyes ; 
For  ye  are  all  that  now  remain 

Of  many  a  year  long  fled, 
Ye  are  unto  my  weary  soul, 

The  spirits  of  the  dead. 

My  lonely  hours  are  yours,  ye  dreama, 

Ye  dawnings  of  the  past; 
Then  weave  your  web  of  spell-work  fair. 

Though  fated  not  to  laHt. 
I'm  sadly  lone — no  joys  beside. 

On  time's  dark  waste  I  know, 
Bo  let  your  visions  rise  for  me 

While  memory's  fountains  flow. 

0,  little  have  I  wrought  of  good, 

No  laurels  bind  my  brow, 
Jfo  woman's  gentle  heart  is  mine, 

Nor  minstrel  honors  now  I 
Then  come,  ye  shadows  of  the  past, 

Ye  ghosts  of  scenes  long  fled  ; 
Ye  seem  unto  my  weary  heart 

The  spirits  of  the  dead  1 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

EDITH   STANFIELD. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME, 

BY   MRS.    CAROLINE   OENE. 

Moke  than  two  centuries  since,  and  some  fif- 
teen or  twenty  yeai's  after  the  settlement  of 
Salem,  Massachusetts,  the  Rev.  Hugh  Peters, 
successor  of  Roger  WilUams,  and  the  personal 
friend  of  Gov.  Endicott,  had  the  pastoral  charge 
of  the  only  church  in  the  place. 

The  afternoon  service  had  just  closed,  and  al- 
most the  entire  population  of  the  town,  with  sol- 
emn countenances  and  grave  demeanor,  were 
slowly  issuing  from  the  portals  of  the  house  of 
worship,  which  was  situated  on  Main  Street. 
There  were  a  few,  however,  among  those  com- 
posing the  more  youthful  part  of  the  congrega- 
tion, who,  when  they  imagined  the  eyes  of  their 
seniors  were  not  upon  them,  ventured  to  let  a 
smile  irradiate  the  mask  of  gravity,  wliicli  they 
had  deemed  proper  to  assume  ;  while  tlieir  light 
and  agile  steps  showed  they  were  alive  to  the 
bright  sunshine  and  balmy  air.  Among  these 
was  a  maiden  whose  name  was  Edith  SianHcld, 
whose  exquisitely  fair  complexion,  hair  of  a 
light,  sunny  brown,  and  cjcs  of  "  dclit-ioiis  blue," 
indicated  Iier  to  be  of  jiurc  Saxon  lineage. 

Though  she  accommodaicd  her  steps  to  the 
hIow  and  dignilied  gait  of  a  tall,  stately  looking 
lady  by  her  side,  she  looked  as  if  she  would  wil- 
lingly have  joined  a  group  of  lasses  a  short  dis- 
tance before  tliem,  one  of  whom  ventured  to  turn 
her  head  and  throw  hack  a  merry  glance. 

"Edith,"  Huid  the  dignified  looking  lady,  "ia 


not  that  damsel,  who  is  so  hcdizencil  wiih  laces 
anil  gay  top  knots,  and  who — if  correct  judgment 
may  lie  lonned  hy  her  light  and  careless  carriage 
—has  forgotten  that  it  is  the  Salil)alh  day,  the 
daughter  of  Morion,  who  delights  in  unholy 
revels ';" 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Morion/'  replied 
Edith  ;  "  but  I  never  heard  that  hu  delighted  in 
unholy  revels  ;  and  those  who  gave  you  to  under- 
stand that  he  did,  were,  I  douht  not,  guilty  of  a 
foul  slander." 

"Niece  Edith,"  said  the  lady,  with  much  as- 
perity, "  those  from  whom  I  received  the  infor- 
mation, were  persons  of  truth  ;  and  in  confirma- 
tion of  what  they  said,  they  told  me  that  he  had 
caused  a  May-pole  to  be  raised  on  Merry  Mount, 
round  which — in.stcad  of  setting  an  example  of 
sobriety  becoming  his  years — he  danced  to  tlie 
sound  of  the  viol,  and,  with  fair  words,  enticed 
the  young  men  and  maidens  to  join  in  the  sinful 
revels." 

If  Edith  had  intended  to  reply,  she  was  pre- 
vented hy  a  young  man,  who  overtook  them, 
and  after  saluting  the  elderly  lady  in  a  manner 
at  once  respectful  and  courteous,  addressed  her 
in  a  way  which,  without  being  too  familiar, 
siiowed  that  he  was  an  old  acquaintance.  In  re- 
turn, Miss  Persis  made  a  stiff  inclination  of  her 
head,  and  drew  herself  up  into  an  attitude  still 
more  erect  and  stately;  but  the  heightened 
bloom  on  the  checks  of  Edith,  and  the  smile 
which  parted  her  red  lips,  thereby  reveaUng 
teeili  white  as  tlie  purest  pearl,  told  far  more 
plainly  than  language  could  have  done,  that  to 
her,  at  least,  liis  presence  was  by  no  means  un- 
welcome. Nor  could  this  be  accounted  singular, 
for,  in  personal  and  mental  advantages,  few 
young  men  could  compare  with  Dudley  Win- 
throp.  The  coldness  with  which  Miss  Persis 
Stantield,  Edith's  aunt,  treated  him,  was  owing 
to  circumstances  which,  in  her  estimation,  were 
so  momentous,  that  their  existence  could  be 
atoned  for  by  none  of  those  qualities  which  re- 
commended him  to  tlie  favor  of  Edith. 

Among  the  most  prominent  of  these,  was  his 
having  spoken  in  f;ivor  of  retaining  the  liturgy 
in  public  worship,  which  the  governor  and  most 
of  those  in  power  had  rejected,  and  his  having 
intimated  that  the  zeal  of  the  first  magistrate 
was  not  according  to  knowledge,  when  ho  cut 
the  red  cross  from  the  colors,  as  a  Popish  and 
idolatrous  symi)ol.  He  had,  moreover,  persisted 
in  wearing  his  hair  long,  although  the  court, 
sanctioned  by  the  governor,  had  gone  strong 
against  a  fashion  which,  from  having  been  prac- 
tised by  the  vain-glorious  and  too  often  dissolute 
cavaliers  in  favor  of  the  restoration  of  Charles 
II,,  was  considered  as  unbecoming  to  the  dis- 
creet and  sober-minded. 

Dudley  Winthrop  made  some  attempt  at  sup- 
porting a  conversation,  but  the  cold  and  laconic 
replies  of  Miss  Persis  and  the  reproof  she  admin- 
istered to  Edith,  who  ventured  some  remark, 
checked  his  efforts,  and  the  latter  part  of  the 
distance  between  the  church  and  the  place  where 
the  two  ladies  resided  was  accomplished  in  si- 
lence. He  experienced  a  feeling  of  relief,  not- 
withstanding his  partiality  to  Edith,  when  they 
arrived  in  front  of  a  large,  wooden  mansion, 
whose  many  angles  were  constructed  with  a  view 
to  break  the  force  of  the  easterly  winds,  which, 
sweeping  over  a  broad  expanse  of  ocean,  struck 
heavily  upon  unsheltered  situations.  As  he 
opened  the  gate  of  the  picket  fence,  enclosing  a 
yard  in  front  of  the  building  decorated  with 
shrubs  and  flowers,  and  politely  waited  for  Miss 
Persis  to  enter,  he  slipped  a  note  into  the  hand 
of  Edith,  which  she  as  quickly  slipped  into  her 
pocket.  He  then,  first  praying  that  Miss  Persis 
would  present  Iiis  respectful  regards  to  her  kins- 
man, Gov.  Endicott,  made  a  graceful  obeisance 
to  both  the  ladles,  and  soon  disappeared  by  turn- 
ing into  a  street,  to  what — many  years  after- 
wards, as  it  is  at  the  present  time — was  called 
Derby  Street. 

Miss  Persis  Stanfield,  who  was  a  distant  rela- 
tion of  Gov.  Endicott,  had,  since  the  decease  of 
li.is  wife — which  took  place  soon  after  he  came 
to  this  country — presided  over  the  domestic  de- 
partment of  the  household. 

Edith  Stanfield,  her  niece,  was  an  orphan,  and 
of  a  temperament  fur  too  cheerful  to  suit  Miss 
Persis,  whose  ascetic  notions  were  better  fitted 
to  the  gloom  of  a  convent  than  to  the  perform- 
ance of  the  every  day  duties  of  life.  The  gov- 
ernor, when  they  entered  the  house,  had  already 
returned  from  church,  and  was  seated  in  a  heavy 
chair  of  carved  oak,  the  back  of  it  being  sur- 
mounted with  a  .shield,  in  the  centre  of  which 
was  a  winged  horse.     The  top  of  the  shield  sup- 


ported the  head  of  a  knight,  with  helmet  on  and 
vii^or  closed  ;  while  above  it,  was  still  anotlier, 
represented  in  profile,  but  whether  intended  for 
the  bend  of  a  dog,  a  griflin,  or  flying  dragon, 
would  not  be  easy  for  one  unskilled  in  heraldry 
to  determine.  The  whole,  however,  which  had 
been  carved  by  no  unskilful  hand,  was  doubtless 
intended  to  represent  the  armorial  bearings  of 
the  Endicotts. 

The  present  occupant  of  the  chair  was  no  de- 
generate scion  of  worthy  and  respectable  ances- 
tors, noted  for  courage  and  ability.  A  person 
skilled  in  physiognomy,  might  have  read  the 
more  prominent  traits  of  his  character  in  his 
countenance.  His  comjiresscd  lips  were  expres- 
sive of  energy,  decision,  and  even  sternness;  and 
the  handsome,  well-rounded  chin — partially  con- 
cealed by  a  beard — was  in  keeping  with  the  firm 
mouth.  But  when  the  eye  was  raised  to  the 
upper  part  of  the  face,  and  contemplated  the  se- 
rene beauty  of  the  expansive,  well-developed 
forehead,  and  the  large  dark  eyes,  beaming  with 
a  melancholy,  almost  dreamy  lustre,  these  hard- 
er and  sterner  traits  were  forgotten ;  and  one 
might  imagine  that  poetic  fervor  as  well  as  reli- 
gious zeal  warmed  the  bosom  of  the  venerable 
man,  and  that  those  gentle  charities  which  im- 
part to  life  its  best  charm,  were  not  lost  amid 
the  official  duties  incident  to  his  station. 

On  tho  present  occasion,  his  aspect  was  graver 
than  usual.  This  was  doubtless,  in  part,  owing 
to  the  deep  sense  he  entertained  of  the  solemnity 
of  the  day ;  yet  a  glance  through  the  window  at 
Dudley  Winthrop,  as  he  opened  the  gate  for 
Miss  Persis  and  Edith,  were  not  without  their 
effect.  Though  the  late  Gov.  Winthrop  had 
been  to  him  as  an  own  brother,  he  did  not  even 
tolerate  the  young  man  in  question,  who  was 
the  governor's  nephew.  He  was  wont  to  desig- 
nate him  as  a  youtli  full  of  vain  glory,  and  fond 
of  amusements  as  foolish  as  they  were  unbecom- 
ing to  a  descendant  of  the  Puritans,  of  whom 
better  things  might  reasonably  be  expected. 
Edith,  before  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  felt 
that  there  was  reproof  on  his  lips. 

"Let  this  be  the  last  time,"  said. he,  "that  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  remind  you  that  I  do  not  ap- 
prove of  your  continuing  to  cultivate  an  ac- 
quaintance with  Dudley  Winthrop." 

"  I  could  not  prevent  him  from  walking  by  my 
side,"  said  Edith,  "nor  could  I  well  be  so  rude 
as  to  refuse  answering  him  when  he  spoke  to 
me." 

"It  must  be  confessed,"  said  Miss  Persis — 
the  polite  and  deferential  manner  in  which  young 
Winthrop  had  addressed  her  having  somewhat 
softened  her  feelings  towards  him — "  that  al- 
though he  is  too  much  given  to  the  vanities  of 
dress,  and  delights  in  vain  and  sinful  amuse- 
ments, he  is  not  only  a  personable  youth,  but  in 
his  behaviour  is  civil  and  mannerly  to  his  superi- 
ors. Yet  I  would  not  have  it  understood  that  I 
think  him  a  proper  acquaintance  for  one  so 
young  and  thoughtless  as  Edith." 

"  That  last  remark  was  well  timed,"  said  the 
governor.     "  Edith,  you  may  retire." 

Edith,  for  the  first  time,  raised  her  blue  eyes 
to  the  f;\ce  of  her  reprover,  and  making  a  grace- 
ful curtsy,  left  his  presence.  When  in  her  own 
room,  she  quickly  fastened  the  door,  and  drew 
from  her  pocket  the  note  given  her  hy  Dudley 
Winthrop.     It  said  : 

"  Meet  me  to-morrow,  dear  Edith,  at  my  sis- 
ter's, some  time  between  two  and  four  o'clock, 
as  I  have  something  important  to  say  to  you.  I 
shall  leave  the  place  at  five. 

Dudley  Winthrop." 

"What  shall  I  doV  was  the  question  she 
asked  herself,  after  having  read  the  note.  "  Shall 
I  venture  to  disobey  my  guardian,  and  meet 
Winthrop'?" 

She  had  much  that  she  wished  to  say  to  him 
— much  that  he  ought  to  know — and  he  also  had 
something  important  to  communicate  to  her. 
She  might  not  have  an  opportunity  to  see  him 
again  for  months — perhaps,  never.  The  strug- 
gle in  her  mind  was  a  long  and  severe  one,  but 
at  last,  she  decided  to  sacrifice  inclination  to  the 
duty  she  owed  to  her  guardian.  She  accordingly 
wrote  the  following  answer  to  the  note  which — 
should  no  other  opportunity  offer  for  sending  it 
— she  determined  to  entrust  to  the  care  of  Deb- 
orah, her  aunt's  waiting-maid,  and  confide  in 
her  generosity  not  to  betray  her : 

"  I  cannot  meet  you,  Dudley — you  should  not 
ask  it  of  mc.  The  governor  was  angry  with  mc 
for  even  allowing  you  to  walk  part  way  from 
church  liy  my  side,  although — owing  to  the  pres- 
ence of  Aunt  Persis — he  must  have  known  that 


no  confidential  conversation  could  pass  between 
us.  He  told  mc  in  a  manner  much  too  peremp- 
tory to  be  agreeal)le  to  my  feelings — and  wlilch, 
according  to  my  mind,  savored  strongly  of  do- 
mcKtie  despotism  notwithstanding  he  goes  so 
strong  for  liberty — that  henceforth,  our  acquaint 
ance  must  cease.  To  disobey  him  would  sulijeet 
me  to  much  discomfort,  hereafter — more,  I  think, 
as  you  will  be  willing  to  admit,  than  I  should 
venture  to  incur  for  the  sake  of  an  interview, 
however  great  the  pleasure  which  it  might  atford. 
If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me  which  it  is 
important  I  should  know,  write  by  the  bearer  of 
this.  .  Edith  Stanfield." 

Early  in  the  morning  the  missive  was  con- 
veyed to  Winthrop,  by  Deborah,  who  promised 
faithfully  to  be  silent  concerning  it.  In  compli- 
ance with  her  request,  he  wrote  a  few  lines  in 
answer,  briefly  stating  that  he  had  entertained 
thoughts  of  returning  to  England,  in  a  ship 
which  would  sail  from  Boston  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  that  he  had  hoped  to  induce  her  to  consent 
to  a  private  man*iage,  in  order  that  she  might 
accompany  him.  "  I  have,  however,"  he  went 
on  to  say,  "  since  the  receipt  of  your  letter,  aban- 
doned the  plan  altogether;  and,  as  in  conse- 
quence of  the  difficulties  with  the  Indians,  I  find 
that  four  companies  arc  to  be  raised,  I  shall  vol- 
unteer as  a  private  soldier,  when  maybe  I  shall 
have  the  opportunity  to  let  the  governor  see  that 
long  hair  and  a  silken  doublet  will  not  cause  me 
to  turn  my  back  upon  the  enemy,  and  that  even 
if  I  did  once  on  a  certain  time  dance  to  the 
sound  of  a  viol  round  a  May-pole,  that  my  feet 
will  not  prove  less  nimble  when  I  am  called  to 
march  to  the  more  martial  music  of  a  drum  and 
fife,  against  the  foe.  God  bless  you,  dear  Edith, 
and  grant  that  we  may  soon  meet  under  happier 
auspices.  D.  W." 

On  reading  Winthrop's  letter,  Edith  almost 
repented  not  having  consented  to  the  interview. 
On  reflection,  however,  she  felt  glad  that  he  was 
willing,  now  that  danger  was  to  be  apprehended 
from  the  wild  sons  of  the  forest,  to  place  himself 
in  a  situation  which  would  show  those  who  con- 
sidered him  vain  and  frivolous,  that  he  was  not 
behind  the  bravest  in  true  courage ;  for  her  own 
faith  in  his  bravery  was  firm  and  undoubting, 
based  as  it  was,  on  a  true  knowledge  and  just 
appreciation  of  his  character. 

The  very  next  day  after  the  departure  of 
young  Winthrop,  Miss  Persis  told  Edith  that 
one  Jotham  Dunstin,  who  was  commissioned  to 
act  as  ensign  in  the  anticipated  hostilities,  would 
dine  with  them. 

"He  is  a  sober-minded  youth,"  she  said; 
"  and  though  not  so  personable  as  to  be  likely  to 
recommend  himself,  at  first  sight,  to  the  favor  of 
a  damsel  inclined  to  value  the  casket  more  than 
the  gem  contained  therein,  will,  nevertheless,  as 
I  believe,  make  an  excellent  husband.  He 
moreover,  besides  his  many  sterling  qualities, 
has  a  goodly  inheritance  in  the  land  of  his 
nativity." 

"  AVhich,  if  converted  into  pounds  sterling,*' 
said  Edith,  "and weighed  in  the  balance  against 
his  sterling  qualities,  would,  I  suspect,  cause  the 
latter  to  kick  the  beam." 

"It  does  not  become  you,  niece  Edith,  to 
s])eak  thus  concerning  one  who  has  a  high  place 
in  the  estimation  of  the  chief  rulers,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  my  unworthy  self.  Yet,  humble  as  I  am, 
you  will  do  well  not  to  slight  my  counsel,  when 
I  advise  you  to  treat  the  worthy  ensign  with 
great  consideration  and  respect." 

"  Did  you  say  his  name  is  Dunstin  ?" 

"  Yes,  Ensign  Jotham  Dunstin." 

"I  think  I  have  seen  him.  Is  he  not  round- 
shouldered?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  his  shoulders  are  exactly 
straight." 

"  His  complexion  is  what  may  be  termed  a 
little  muddy,  I  think." 

"  It  is  not  clear  red  and  white,  like  a  baby- 
faced  girl's." 

"His  hair  is  not  black,  I  believe." 

"  No,  no — I  cannot  say  that  it  is." 

"  But  a  kind  of  tow  color,  if  I  remember 
right." 

"What  does  it  signify,  whether  his  hair  is 
black  or  tow  color?" 

"  His  eyes  are  green,  I  believe — a  \crj  good 
color  for  a  number  of  things  I  might  name, 
though  I  must  confess  I  am  not  partial  to  green 
eyes." 

"  His  eyes,  let  me  tell  you,  niece  Edith,  were 
made  to  see  with,  and  1  believe  they  answer 
the  purpose  they  were  made  for." 

"  And  his  nose,  if  I  mistake  not,  in  shape  re- 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   P.OOX    COMPANION. 


167 


semblcs  an  owl's  beak,  while  Iiis  whole  counte- 
nance, taken  together,  has  a  look  of  profound 
wisdom,  equal  to  that  which  distinguishes  this 
grave  and  solemn  bird." 

"  Methinks  you  show  neither  the  wisdom  nor 
the  good  nature  becoming  a  damsel  who  has 
been  carefully  educated,  in  seeking  to  throw  rid- 
icule on  Ensign  Duustinon  account  of  his  looks, 
for  is  he  not  as  he  was  made  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  think  he  is  ;  for  his  mean 
and  grovelling  passions,  above  all,  his  h}'pocrisy, 
have  set  their  impress  upon  features  which,  if 
lighted  up  by  a  truly  noble  mind,  would,  at 
least,  cease  to  be  repulsive." 

"  Vou  were  ever  prone  to  be  obstinate,  and 
with  such  it  is  not  profitable  to  argue.  Even 
should  I  request  you  to  array  yourself  in  proper 
apparel,  it  is  no  ways  likely  that  you  will  see  fit 
to  comply." 

"And  what  apparel,  aunt,  do  you  consider 
proper  for  so  great  an  occasion  as  meeting  En- 
sign Jolham  Dunstin  ?" 

"Plain  and  nch ;  plain  and  rich.  No  furbe- 
lows— no  gewgaws." 

"I  will  certainly  obey  your  request  as  respects 
the  plainness  of  my  dress;  not,  however,  on  ac- 
count of  the  hypocritical  ensign,  bat  because  I 
have  little  heart  to  wear  ornaments  of  any  kind." 

"Ah,"  said  Miss  Persis,  shaking  her  head, 
''your  heart  is  going  out  to  that  vain  young 
man,  wlio  is  not  worthy  to  be  named  in  the  same 
breath  with  the  worthy  ensign." 

Ensign  Dunstin  had  already  arrived  when 
Edith  entered  the  parlor.  He  rose  at  her  en- 
trance, and  made  a  stiff,  awkward  bow,  and  dis- 
tending  his  already  wide  mouth  with  what  he 
doubtless  intended  for  a  winning  smile,  exhibited 
teeth,  which  certainly  had  no  claim  to  be  likened 
to  pearls. 

At  dinner  the  conversation  turned  mostly 
upon  the  impending  war  with  the  Pequods;  yet 
he  found  opportunity  to  interlard  his  own  share 
of  it  with  a  plenty  of  those  cant  phrases,  not  un- 
freqaently  made  use  of  by  those  whose  claims  to 
real  sanctity  fall  far  below  their  professions. 
Now  and  then,  he  cast  an  oblique  glance  at 
Edith  to  note  the  effect  of  his  remarks,  but  as 
her  thoughts  were  with  the  absent  rather  than 
the  present,  he  could  gather  little  in  the  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  flattering  to  his  vanity. 
He  was  not,  however,  one  to  be  easily  disheart- 
ened, and  he  warmed  up  his  courage  by  men- 
tally repeating  the  '  aphorism :  "  Faint  heart 
never  won  fair  lady." 

Edith  felt  inexpressibly  relieved  when  the 
time  ca,me  that  she  could  leave  the  table.  An 
hour  aftei-ward,  from  her  chamber  window,  she 
saw  Ensign  Dunstin  mount  his  horse — not  ex- 
actly in  the  stjde  of  "  a  feathered  Mercury  " — 
preparatory  to  his  departure.  She  quickly 
screened  herself  behind  the  window  curtain  just 
in  time  to  save  a  parting  look,  which,  in  his 
lover-Uke  capacity,  he  thought  proper  to  cast  at 
a  window  which,  from  a  hint  received  from  Miss 
Persis,  he  knew  to  be  in  Edith's  chamber. 

Several  skirmishes  with  the  Pequods,  at  the 
head  of  whom  was  the  renowned  Philip — soon 
afterward  took  place,  in  which,  as  Edith  heard 
from  a  reliable  source,  Dudley  Winthrop  had 
distinguished  himself  for  his  bravery.  But  the 
enemy  still  remained  unconquered.  The  in- 
domitable spirit  of  their  brave  leader  seemed  to 
animate  the  whole  tribe. 

A  number  of  days  had  passed  quietly  away, 
and  it  was  rumored  that  King  Philip  liad  left  the 
acene  of  warfare,  and  withdrawn  to  Mount 
Hope.  This  was  not  considered  an  auspicious 
omen  by  those  acquainted  with  the  peculiar  na- 
ture of  Indian  tactics,  and  about  fifty  soldiers — 
among  whom  was  Dudley  Winthrop — the  com- 
mand of  whom  was  given  to  Ensign  Dunstin, 
were  sent  a  number  of  miles  distant  from  the 
main  body,  to  keep  watch  on  an  elevated  site. 
It  was  partially  shaded  with  trees,  and  except 
on  one  side,  which  was  thickly  wooded,  com- 
manded an  extensive  view  of  the  surrounding 
country. 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  the  second  day, 
and  there  was  as  yet  no  signs  of  the  enemy. 
They  were  growing  weary  and  less  vigilant, 
when  suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  the 
shrill  war-whoop,  and  the  next  minute  a  cordon 
of  red  warriors  were  seen  surrounding  the  base 
of  the  hill.  They  commenced  ascending  with 
rapid  strides,  and  as  they  in  numbers  exceeded 
the  Americans  neai'ly  fomfold,  they  contem- 
plated an  easy  victory.  Dunstin,  the  commander 
of  the  Americans,  was  at  once  panic-stiuck,  and, 
instead  of  attempting  to  repulse  them,  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  confusion  and  run  for  his  life. 


Some  of  the  soldiers  were  about  to  follow  his 
example,  wlien  the  voice  of  Dudley  Winthrop, 
in  loud  and  clear  tones,  was  heard  issumg  the 
necessary  orders.  The  soldiers,  by  rallying 
round  him,  recognized  him  as  their  leader. 
According  to  orders,  they  reserved  their  fire  till 
each  shot  would  tell,  and  then,  before  the  smoke 
had  dispersed,  rushed  impetuously  down  the  liiU 
in  the  direction  where  lay  the  main  body  of  the 
army.  By  their  weight  and  velocity,  they  broke 
through  the  living  circle  hy  which  they  were 
surrounded,  and  reached  the  foot  of  the  bill  un- 
harmed. The  movement  was  so  sudden  and  so 
unexpected,  as,  for  a  time,  utterly  to  disconcert 
the  foe.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before,  as 
by  a  simultaneous  impulse,  they  rushed  forward 
in  hot  pursuit.  But  the  Americans  had  already 
gained  the  cover  of  the  piece  of  woods  which,  a 
short  time  previous,  had  sheltered  the  Indians; 
where,  adopting  the  savage  mode  of  warfare, 
several  among  the  foremost  of  their  pursuers 
met  death  from  unseen  hands.  Others,  as  they 
pressed  forward,  met  with  a  similar  fate,  and 
they  began  to  imagine  that  the  whole  force  of 
the  Americans  was  concealed  in  the  woods. 
They  were  seized  with  disraaj',  and  the  fear  of 
death  fell  upon  them.  Even  the  voice  of  their 
leader — as  in  clear,  cheering  tones,  it  tlu-illed  on 
the  air — could  not  revive  their  courage.  They 
turned  and  fled,  all  save  a  small  band  of  the 
more  brave  and  daring.  These  would  have 
rushed  into  the  woods,  but  were  restrained  by 
Philip. 

"  Do  not  throw  your  lives  away,"  said  he  ; 
"before  another  moon  they  will  be  needed." 

Dunstin,  who,  as  has  been  mentioned,  fled  the 
moment  he  became  aware  of  the  proximity  of 
the  enemy,  hastened  with  all  speed  to  join  the 
main  body  of  the  Americans. 

"I  only  have  escaped  to  tell  you,"  were  his 
words,  as  panting  for  breatii  he  entered  the 
camp. 

He  was  immediately  surrounded  by  eager 
inquirers. 

"Are  all  your  companions  slain?"  said  an 
officer. 

"All  slain  or  earned  into  captivity.  Others 
besides  me  might  have  escaped,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  fool-hardiness  of  a  certain  graceless  youth 
named  Dudley  Winthrop.  I  could  have  brought 
my  brave  soldiers  off  in  safety  had  it  not  been 
for  him ;  but  he,  amongst  the  rest,  has  paid  or 
will  pay  the  penalty  of  his  rashness.  If  he  has 
not  bit  the  dust,  he  will  burn  at  the  stake." 

"But  what  is  that  I  see  yonder?"  said  the 
officer.  "  Is  it  not  the  flag  which  you  bore  with 
you  from  the  camp  ?" 

"It  is — it  is!  I  cast  it  away,  and  the  red 
heathen  have  found  it  and  are  bearing  it  in  tri- 
umph to  our  camp,  where,  by  their  numbers — 
wdiich  are  like  the  sands  of  the  sea-shore — they 
will  utterly  overwhelm  us." 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Dunstin.  As  near 
as  I  can  make  out  through  the  cloud  of  dust 
which  encompasses  them,  I  should  say  that  they 
are  the  identical  band  of  soldiers  you  led  hence." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Sergeant  Trueman, 
"  and  Dudley  Winthrop  is  at  their  head.  I 
could  tell  him  among  a  thousand." 

In  a  few  minutes,  Winthrop  and  his  fellow- 
soldiers  aiTived  and  were  welcomed  with  the 
warmest  demonstrations  of  joy. 

"  If  powder  was  not  as  precious  as  the  gold  of 
Ophir,"  said  the  commanding  officer,  shaking 
hands  with  Winthrop,  "  we  would  have  wel- 
comed you  with  a  salute ;  for,  according  to  tlie 
tidings  brought  by  Dunstin,  we  never  expected 
to  see  any  of  you  again." 

"Dunstin  is  a  coward,"  said  one  of  the  sol- 
diers, "  and  if  he  had  his  deserts,  he  would  have 
his  ti'ue  character  branded  on  his  forehead." 

"In  his  huriy  to  escape,"  said  another,  "he 
ran  against  rae  and  pushed  me  down." 

"  You  may  abuse  me  as  much  as  you  please," 
said  Dunstin  ;  "  I  only  acted  the  pax't  of  a  pni- 
dent,  discreet  man.  Had  I  done  otherwise  than 
I  did,  my  brains  might  have  been  knocked  out 
with  a  tomahawk." 

"  Which  would  have  been  no  great  achieve- 
ment," said  Sergeant  Trueman,  "  if  they  are  in 
proportion  to  your  courage." 

"I  might  answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly," 
said  Dunstin  ;  "  but  as  a  prudent,  discreet  man, 
I  shall  forbear." 

When  the  governor  was  informed  of  Dunstin's 
cowardice,  and  the  bravery  and  good  conduct  of 
Dudley  Winthrop,  he  was  not  a  little  excited. 
While  he  was  extremely  angry  with  Dunstin, 
bis  self-complacency  was  a  good  deal  wounded 
by  having  erred  in  judgment  concerning  Dudley 


Winthrop.  Dunstin  was  at  once  degraded  from 
his  rank,  and  the  honor  he  had  worn  so  un- 
worthily was  bestowed  on  Winthrop. 

"Who  could  have  thought,"  said  Miss  Persis, 
who,  having  just  received  a  letter  from  her  kins- 
man, the  governor,  "  that  Jotham  Dunstin  would 
have  shown  such  a  light  pair  of  heels  '.'" 

"  The  worthy  ensign  has  not  been  dancing 
round  a  May-pole,  I  trust,"  said  Edith,  looking 
up  demurely  from  the  linen  rufile  she  was  hem- 
stitching. 

"No,  he  has  been  guilty  of  what  may,  in  one 
sense,  be  considered  even  worse  than  that.  He 
fled  from  the  enemy,  and  exhorted  his  men,  as 
they  valued  their  lives,  to  follow  his  example — 
whereupon,  Dudley  Winthrop  caused  the  sol- 
diers to  array  themselves  for  battle,  and  put 
himself  at  their  head.  Many  of  the  enemy  were 
slain,  but  he  and  his  men  escaped  unscathed, 
and  made  good  their  retreat  to  the  camp,  where 
they  were  received  with  much  rejoicing.  Tlie 
very  next  morning  the  title  of  ensign  was  taken 
from  Dunstin  and  given  to  Winthrop,  and  truly, 
of  the  two,  he  will  make  the  most  personable- 
looking  officer." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  blot  the  ex -ensign 
out  of  your  books  for  setting  a  proper  value  on 
his  life — are  you,  aunt  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that  I  was  going  to  blot  him 
out  of  my  books;  but  I  will  say,  that  I  could 
never  abide  a  coward.  But  there  is  no  time  to 
be  lost,  for  the  governor  has  sent  word  that  we 
may  expect  him  to  supper,  and  that  several  offi- 
cers who  have  distinguished  themselves  for  their 
bravery  will  come  with  him." 

"  Who  are  they  V 

"He  does  not  mention  their  names,  but  re- 
quests that  the  entertainment  may  be  as  good  as 
the  short  notice  will  permit." 

Edith  felt  a  strong  presentiment  that  Win- 
throp was  to  be  one  of  the  guests.  She  was  not 
disappointed.  He  was  no  longer  under  the 
cloud  of  her  guardian's  displeasure,  but  among 
those  he  delighted  to  honor.  As  for  Miss  Persis, 
she  was  full  of  his  praises. 

"It  does  my  heart  good,"  said  she,  "to  see 
him  bearing  the  standard.  It  really  seems  to 
me  as  if  he  was  made  on  purpose  for  an  ensign." 

In  this,  however,  she  was  mistaken,  for  very 
soon  afterward,  he  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of 
major. 

Before  the  expiration  of  the  year,  there  was  a 
bridal  at  the  governor's.  Sliss  Persis  had  never 
b;fore,  on  any  occasion,  so  fully  realized  her 
importance.  Everything  seemed  to  require  her 
direction  and  sui}erintendeuee,  from  Edith's 
bridal  robes  down  to  a  pigeon-pie.  She  took 
especial  pride  in  compounding  a  huge  loaf  of 
wedding-cake,  according  to  a  recipe  of  her  own 
invention.  She  was  even  tempted  into  the  weak- 
ness of  placing  a  piece  under  her  pillow  to 
dream  upon.  She  intended  to  have  kept  it  a 
profound  secret;  but  having  dreamed  of  Deacon 
Southcote,  a  forehanded  widower,  she  could  not 
forbear  telling  Edith  her  dream,  remarking, 
when  she  had  finished,  that  she  should  not  won- 
der if  before  long  the  governor  was*  obliged  to 
procure  another  housekeeper.  "  But  don't  say  a 
word  about  it,  for  your  life,"  said  she.  Edith 
promised  silence  on  the  subject,  and  just  then 
the  voice  of  the  Eev.  Hugh  Peters  was  heard 
below. 

"  There,  the  minister  has  come,"  said  Miss 
Persis.  "  Major  Winthrop  has  been  here  this 
half  hour;  and  as  soon  as  Susey  brings  the  white 
rose  for  your  hair,  you  will  be  ready  to  go 
dowTi." 

A  few  friends  were  present  to  witness  the  mar- 
riage ceremony  ;  and  all  agreed  that  the  young 
major  and  his  bride  were  the  handsomest  couple 
that  had  ever  been  married  in  the  place. 


[Written  for  Gleason'e  Pictorial.] 
MY    SWEET   ROSAKELIiE. 

BY  J.   ALFORD. 

To  sirg  thy  bright  beauties,  dear  maid, 
Asks  language  my  tongue  cannot  frame ; 

In  Tirtuc's  chaste  graces  arrayed, 
The  purest  of  passions  they  claim  ; 

Believe  me,  sincere  is  the  tale  I  would  tell, 

Then  smile  on  your  lover,  my  sweet  Rosahelle, 

To  tell  how  I  love  thee,  sweet  fair, 

My  miud  can  no  image  supply  ; 
lu  secret  I  dwell  on  my  aire, 

And  approach  thee  alone  with  a  sigh  ; 
Believe  that  fond  sigh  for  the  tale  I  would  tell, 
And  smile  on  your  lover,  my  sweet  Rosahelle. 

Scorn  not  to  be  bettered  by  the  good  example 
of  any  one. 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 
MY  YOUTHFUL  DAYS. 

BY  J.   HUNT,   JR. 

My  youthful  days,  my  youthful  days, 
I  name  them  only  but  to  praise  ; 
What  pleasing  memories  round  them  cling, 
When  I  attempt  their  joys  to  sing. 

That  sunny  season  was,  to  me, 

A  season  of  unceasing  glee ; 

For  phantoms  lured  me  on  in  ways 

All  strewed  with  flowers  of  youthful  days. 

Time  then  on  playful  pinions  flew, 
And  I  no  pain  or  sorrow  tnew  ; 
For  hope  was  painted  in  the  rays 
Which  beamed  to  bless  my  youthful  days. 

The  wants,  the  cares,  which  haunt  me  now, 
And  leave  their  traces  on  my  brow, 
Were  then  usurped  by  harmless  plays. 
And  other  sports  of  youthful  days. 

Then,  too,  I  longed  and  prayed  that  time 
Would  speed  the  morn  of  manhood's  prime  ; 
But  age  presents  such  woful  ways, 
I  sigh  again  for  youthful  days. 

I  cannot  tell  the  reason  why 

That  riper  years  should  dim  life's  sky  ; 

But  ^o  it  is, — and  thus  the  lays 

I  sing,  are  for  my  youthful  days. 

PLEASURES  OF  READING  IN  YOUTH. 

The  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is  that  of  reading 
while  we  are  young.  I  have  had  as  much  of 
this  pleasure  perhaps  as  any  one.  As  I  grow 
older,  it  fades ;  or  else,  the  stronger  stimulus  of 
writing  takes  of  the  edge  of  it.  At  present,  I 
have  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  it;  yet  I 
should  like  to  devote  a  year's  entire  leisure  to  a 
course  of  the  English  novelists ;  and  perhaps 
clap  on  that  sly  knave,  Sir  Walter,  to  the  end  of 
the  list.  It  is  astonishing  how  I  used  formerly 
to  relish  the  style  of  certain  authors,  at  a  time 
when  I  myself  despaired  of  ever  writing  a  single 
linej  Probably  this  was  the  reason.  It  is  in 
mental  as  in  natural  ascent — intellectual  objects 
seem  higher  when  we  look  down  from  any  given 
elevation  above  the  common  level.  My  three 
favorite  writers  about  the  time  1  speak  of  were 
Burke,  Junius  and  Kousseau.  I  was  never 
weary  of  admiring  and  wondering  at  the  felici- 
ties of  the  style,  the  turns  of  expression,  the  re- 
finements of  thought  and  sentiments  ;  I  laid  the 
book  down  to  find  out  the  secret  of  so  much 
strength  and  beauty,  and  took  it  up  again  in  de- 
spair, to  read  on  and  admire.  So  1  passed 
whole  days,  months,  and  I  may  add  years  ;  and 
have  only  this  to  say  now,  that  as  my  life  began, 
so  I  could  wish  that  it  may  end. — llazlit. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SADNESS. 

BY   P.   W.   RUSSELL. 


In  my  Irosom  sorrow  reigneth, 
Soul  and  sense  are  sick  with  care ; 

Bitterly  my  heart  complaineth 
At  the  load  it  needs  must  bear. 

0  there  are,  amid  earth's  pleasures, 

Hours  of  bitter  gloom  .and  grief; 
When  her  dearest  worldly  treasures 

Bring  us,  sorrowing,  no  reUef. 

When  the  soul,  o'erwhelraed  with  saxlness. 

Calls  on  earthly  aid  in  vain, 
To  restore  its  wont«d  gladness. 

To  revive  old  joys  again. 

Ay,  our  joys,  like  snow  flakes  falling 

On  the  ocean's  sleeping  wave, 
A  moment  heed  our  spirits  calling, 

But  to  find  a  speedy  grave. 

Then  0  let,  since  earth  no  cheering 
Proffers  to  the  saddened  breast, 

Lot  our  hearts  those  realms  be  nearing 
"  Where  the  weary  are  at  rest." 
1    »■»    > 

FORTITUDE  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES. 

Let  him  not  imagine,  who  aims  at  greatness, 
that  all  is  lost  by  a  single  adverse  cast  of  for- 
tune :  for  if  fortune  has  at  one  time  the  better  of 
courage,  courage  may  afterwards  recover  the  ad- 
vantage. He  who  is  prepossessed  with  the  assur- 
ance of  overcoming,  at  least  overcomes  the  fear 
of  failure  ;  whereas,  he  who  is  apprehensive  of 
losing,  loses,  in  reality,  all  hopes  of  subduing. 
Boldness  and  power  are  such  inseparable  com- 
panions, that  they  appear  to  be  born  togetlier ; 
and  when  once  divided,  they  both  decay  and  die 
at  the  same  time. —  Vemi. 


DEATH  OF  3IEN  OF  SCIENCE. 

Sir  Charles  Blagden  died  in  his  chair  while 
taking  coffee  with  Guy  Lussac  and  Berthollet, 
and  that  so  silently  that  there  was  not  a  drop 
spilled  from  the  cup  in  his  hand.  Dr.  Black 
also  died  so  composedly,  that  the  milk  he  was 
drinking  from  a  spoon  was  all  preserved.  Dr. 
WoUaston  watched  with  scientific  interest  the 
gradual  failure  of  his  own  vital  power.  Dr. 
Cullen  whispered  in  his  last  moments  :  "  I  wish 
I  had  the  power  of  writing  or  speaking,  for  then 
I  would  describe  to  you  how  pleasant  a  tiling  it 
is  to  die." — Dr.  Denby. 


168 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


■I^fe    "^^^ 


VIEW  OF  THE  TOWN  OF  OWEGO,  N.  Y. 


SCENES  IN  NEW  YOKK. 

A  group  of  natural  and  artificial  wonders  more 
varied  and  niag:nificent  than  at  Portage,  N.  Y., 
w  not  to  be  found  in  this  land  of  sublime  scenery 
and  improvement.  It  is  destined  to  be  a  Mecca 
of  travel,  only  to  be  classed  with  the  White 
Mountains,  Niagara  and  the  Mammoth  Cave. 
No  descriptive  language  will  appear  exaggerated 
to  one  who  visits  the  scene,  or  studies  the  meas- 
urements and  drawings  now  presented.  These 
do  not  tell  half  the  story;  a  complete  account 
would  require  a  guide  book   of  pen-and-pcncil 


sketches.  The  small  village  of  Portage  lies  on 
tlie  Genesee  River,  at  a  point  Avhere  it  enters  a 
stupendous  gorge,  which  continues  seventeen 
miles,  in  a  north-east  direction,  to  Mt.  Morris. 
Here  it  flows  into  the  famous  Genesee  Valley, 
which  extends  from  the  young  city  of  Dansville 
to  Rochester,  and  is  a  level  lake  of  rich  farms 
and  shaded  meadows,  that  are  said  to  resemble 
English  park  scenery  more  than  anything  in  our 
countiy.  The  river  makes  its  farewell  oration 
at  the  Rochester  Falls,  thirty  miles  north  of  Mt. 
Morris.     To  begin  back,  just  below  Portage  vil- 


lage is  a  noble  aqueduct  of  the  Genesee  Canal ; 
this  is  built  of  hewn  limestone,  and  is  much  like 
the  High  Bridge  at  Harlaem,  in  size  and  appear- 
ance. Passing  this  and  advancing  into  the  river- 
gulf,  with  the  Genesee  on  one  hand,  the  canal  on 
the  other,  and  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of 
wooded  declivity  enclosing  both,  a  few  rods  walk 
on  the  tow-path  brings  you  suddenly  to  the  new 
bridge  of  the  Buffalo  and  New  York  City  Rail- 
road, now  nearly  completed.  The  iirst  and  last 
look  at  this  bridge  must  be  one  of  dumb  amaze- 
ment.    It  is  the  Ci*ystal   Palace  of  all  bridges. 


NEW  RAILROAD  BRIDGEj  AT  PORTAGE,  N   Y 


How  mortal  ever  conceived,  or,  designing,  dared 
to  carry  it  into  execution,  passes  our  comprehen- 
sion. Two  hundred  and  thirty-four  feet  high, 
eight  hundred  feet  long,  it  lifts  an  immen-ie  net- 
work of  timber,  as  if  a  whole  village  of  house- 
frames  and  rectangular  streets  were  raised  up 
and  set  perpendicularly  on  edge.  The  first  fall 
of  the  river,  a  sidelong,  broken  descent  of  sixty 
feet,  is  a  few  steps  below  the  structure,  and  visi- 
ble from  its  top,  long  before  reaching  which  the 
ascending  mist  is  dissipated.  Of  this  fall  and 
the  bridge,  you  have  a  near  view  at  one  glance 
in  the  engravings  herewith  represented.  One 
and  a  half  million  feet  of  timber,  being  the  pro- 
duct of  two  hundred  acres  of  land,  together  with 
thirty  tons  of  iron  spikes,  were  required  for  this 
climax  of  modem  engineering.  The  cost  is  es- 
timated at  SI30,000.  The  work  has  nearly 
reached  its  completion,  pending  which,  the  rail- 
road passengers  are  taken  in  carriages  two  miles 
around  from  one  end  of  the  bi'idge  to  the  other. 
A  very  comfortable  hotel  has  been  erected  at  the 
eastern  extremity.  This  railroad — the  *'  Buffalo 
and  New  York  City" — is  almost  an  air-line  be- 
tween the  two  cities  of  its  title;  it  leaves  the 
northern  road  at  Attica  and  unites  with  the  Erie 
Railroad  at  Hornellsville.  Travellers  can  leave 
New  York  by  the  evening  express,  spend  a  part 
of  the  next  day  at  Portage,  and  arrive  at  Buffalo 
early  the  next  evening.  Below  the  monster 
bridge  and  its  water-fall,  the  river-chasm  widens 
into  a  deep  basin  of  hills,  with  a  pond  in  the 
centre,  and  the  second  fall — a  descent  of  eighty 
feet — at  the  lower  extremity,  as  may  be  seen  in 
the  large  sketch  of  Portage  Fall.  This  grand 
natural  temple  of  cliffs,  has  thus  at  each  end  an 
organ  with  a  shining  range  of  silver  pipes  ;  on 
the  left  side  are  several  galleries  in  the  shape  of 
canal  aqueducts  of  wood,  built  to  avoid  the  in- 
cessant slides  of  quicksand ;  and,  at  the  upper 
entrance,  the  six-story  bridge  furnishes  fifty  ros- 
trums for  as  many  orators.  All  the  presidential 
mass  meetings  of  the  present  campaign  might  be 
here  congregated  on  one  occasion,  and  much 
trouble  saved  thereby.  Connected  with  the  lower 
falls  is  a  singular  semi-circular  chasm,  and,  at 
its  base,  a  cave,  worn  by  water,  which,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  has  been  afflicted  with  a  Satanic 
name ;  it  is  of  difficult  access.  Here  begin  the 
imposing  precipices  of  three  hundred  feet  in 
height,  forming,  at  this  point,  a  mighty  amphi- 
theatre, around  the  eastern  brink  of  which  winds 
the  canal,  protected  by  a  stone  parapet.  A  gi- 
gantic tunnel  was  first  constructed,  and  still  re- 
mains in  part ;  but  the  rock  proved  so  insecure, 
that  the  overhanging  roof  was  thrown  off,  at 
great  expense,  into  the  river,  and  the  bed  of  the 
canal  laid  in  cement.  We  regret  a  want  of  time 
to  include  any  of  these  striking  objects  in  our 
sketches.  Nearly  the  whole  array  of  wonders 
could  be  brought  into  one  view  from  a  high  point 
on  the  western  bank,  where  the  artist  Cole,  when 
this  scenery  was  in  its  pristine  wildness,  sketched 
for  a  very  large  autumnal  picture,  now  in  the 
possession  of  Senator  Seward.  Some  distance 
below  the  places  now  described,  is  a  third  fall, 
very  grotesque  in  its  features,  and  made  remark- 
able by  a  tall  natural  tower,  left  by  the  wearing 
of  the  river,  and  surmounted  by  a  crown  of  foli- 
age. By  way  of  contrast  with  the  mammoth 
bridi^c,  ji  view  is  presented  of  the  "Bridge,"  rc- 
iiowTicii  I'or  the  *' Letters  from  under"  it,  written 
by  Mr.  Willis,  while  a  resident  at  "  Glen  Mary." 
The  picture  gives  the  scene  as  it  is,  and  not  as 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


169 


VIEW  OF  THE  POUTAGE  FALLS;  N.  Y. 


unrecognizably  glorified  by  Bart- 
lett's  pencil, in  Virtue's  London  edi- 
tion of  the  Letters,  nor  as  magnified 
and  mistified  in  the  lithograph  vig- 
nette of  the  "  Glenmary  waltzes," 
composed  by  the  poet's  brother. 
In  these,  the  lawns  are  ten  acre 
lots,  the  brooklet  a  river,  and  the 
bridge  a  series  of  stone  arches. — 
The  original  is  far  more  pictur- 
esque. Indeed,  no  one  will  be  dis- 
appointed in  the  quiet  beauty  of 
Glenmary,  with  its  shrubbery,  no- 
ble trees,  meadows,  and  a  road- 
side grove  that  seems  but  yesterday 
to  have  felt  the  pruning  hand  of  its 
former  owner.  It  is  a  fit  home  for 
a  poet  who  was  most  kindly  spo- 
ken of  by  his  sometime  neighbors 
and  our  companions  in  this  visit — 
the  hospitable  occupants  of  "  Glen- 
Betsey.  But  there  is  a  mournful 
impression  in  looking  at  the  decay- 
ing or  overgrown  vestiges  of  taste- 
ful care.  The  bouse  is  weather- 
worn, and  only  in  part  inhabited  ; 
the  piazzas  crumbling;  the  carriage 
and  foot-paths  but  faintly  traceable; 
the  small  latticed  bridges  in  the 
grove  and  up  the  glen  (more  Chi- 
nese in  size  than  shape),  and  the 
rural  seats,  have  the  melancholy 
air  of  long  neglect;  and  the  sun- 
flecked  shades  that  once  fluttered 
over  gay  guests,  have  deepened  to 
a  thick-leaved  night,  "  dark  as  Er- 
ebus." And  this  sad  aspect  has  its 
climax  in  the  little  lonely  grave  of 
the  poet's  child,  far  up  the  long  ra- 
vine above  the  house,and  to  which 
we  had  access  by  the  old,  wide, 
winding,  beautiful  path,  now  new- 
ly mown  and  trimmed  for  a  picnic 
party  of  the  day  before  our  excur- 
sion. This  spot  is  two  miles  from 
the  half-way  stopping  place  of  the 
Erie  Railroad — the  glorious  valley 
and  beautiful  village  of  Owego, 
whereof  an  accurate  representation 
is  given  on  page  168,  It  is  the 
best  prospect  of  the  village,  though 
including  neither  the  railroad 
buildings,  nor  the  boldest  of  the 
mountains  that  encircle  the  town. 
The  highest  of  theic,  Mt.  Frederi- 


N.  P.  WILLIS  S  LATE  COUNTUy  SEAT,  GLEN  MARY.  AT  POUTAGEj  N.  Y. 


fca,  commands  a  vast  map  of  hill, 
river,  and  island,  quite  Swiss  in  its 
character,  and  to  be  found,  well 
rendered,  in  some  volume  of  en- 
gravings. Happy  are  they  who 
summer  in  this  Berkshii'e-Hke  val- 
ley, become  acquainted  with  the 
cultivated  society  of  Owego,  and, 
especially,  who  enjoy  the  elegance 
and  luxury  of  the  "Awaga  House," 
the  prominent  building  in  our 
sketch,  and  a  new,  first-class  hotel. 
It  ought  to  be  mentioned  with  par- 
ticular honor,  in  a  region  where 
the  traveller  is  so  often  lodged  and 
fed  poorly.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chase 
are  a modellandlord  and  landlady, 
and  Judge  Avery,  whose  residence 
is  seen  on  the  right,  ought  to  be 
handed  down  to  history  as  the  one 
to  whom  credit  is  due  for  naming 
the  hotel  according  to  the  true  or- 
thography of  the  Indian  name  of 
the  village — Aicaga.  The  river  is 
the  musical  Susquehanna,  which 
so  took  the  ear  of  Coleridge  in  his 
days  of  radical  dreaming.  Let  it 
be  noted  that  the  American  abor- 
igines have  strange  successors  in  a 
party  of  gipsies,  lately  encamped 
a  little  south  of  Owego. 

The  town  of  Owego,  itself,  is  a 
beautiful  location,  the  capital  of 
Tioga  county  ;  it  is  watered  by  the 
Susquehanna  river  and  Owego 
creek,  and  contains  some  public 
buildings  and  presents  many  scenes 
of  interest.  We  take  pleasure  in 
laying,  from  time  to  time,  before 
our  readers  such  sketches  of  the 
scenery  of  our  land  as  awaken  the 
special  notice  of  the  lovers  of  na- 
ture. !No  place  in  the  world  offers 
finer  or  grander  views  than  are 
spread  out  over  the  broad  extent 
of  our  domain.  History  has  in- 
vested particular  spots  of  the  old 
world  with  a  sort  of  sacred  interest, 
from  their  antiquity  and  incidents 
connected  with  them ;  but  when 
time  shall  chronicle  its  annals  of 
our  own  land,  it  will  have  register- 
ed scenes  and  events  nowise  behind 
those  of  otlier  lands  either  in  their 
interest  or  importance. 


170 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  aioiwon'M  I'lctorial.] 
TIMS    AUBURN     TKJOSS. 

DT  P.  0.  BVLVANUS  UURLDDT. 

[Plensant,  Edna,  ay,  ponwlvoly  plcftBivnt  arc  tbo  tender 
nicniorica  Imiiging  so  felicitouHly  around  tliiw  chorlHlied 
bruid— a  happy  tribute,  tiikeo  from  its  wiHter  tronaes,  and 
braided  by  your  own  pule  liandH.  It  in  replot-o  with  loved 
tbenies  of  meditation  ;  it  caiis  to  mind  the  many  halryon 
mouientB  wo  havo  piinsed  together— momontfi  tliat  have 
fled,  lilto  the  dove  of  the  patriarch,  nftvor  more  to  return. 
In  the  "  Volume  of  I'leasant  Memorica,"  our  communion 
is  written  in  living  buds.] 

Tribute  flWGet,with  memories  bland, 
IJmided  by  atTection's  band, 
Thou  dost  luiid  my  spirit  bacic 
O'er  life'H  dim,  uncertain  track  ; 
Where  wound  me,  mid  and  slow, 
Come  the  loved  of  long  ago. 

Thou  bast  played  upon  a  brow, 

Palo  from  very  sadiiess  now  ; 

In  whose  dark  and  languid  eye, 

Dreamy  recollections  lie ; 

Pensive  days  and  plea-sant  hours, 

Sweet  with  birds,  and  bland  with  flowers. 

She  it  was  that  by  my  side, 
Lonely  sat  at  eventide  ; 
There  we  told  our  tales  of  yore, 
Scenes  that  ravish  never  more  ; 
While  around  us,  sad  aud  slow, 
Came  the  loved  of  long  ago. 

In  the  morning's  russet  ray, 
Lone  we  trod  each  garden  way  ; 
There  I  culled  for  lier  the  flowers. 
There  we  mused  in  shady  bowers  ; 
Listening  to  the  robin's  soag, 
Thinking  of  the  past  and  gone. 

Tribute  sweet,  with  memories  bland, 
Braided  by  affection's  hand ; 
Nought  on  earth  shall  us  divide, 
Whatsoe'er  my  lot  betide  ; 
Thou  shiilt  answer  love's  demands, 
AVhen  wo  meet  in  spirit  lands. 


[Written  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 

THE  COLONEL'S  LEGACY. 

A  TALE  OF  ACTUAL  LIFE. 

BY   FRANCIS   A.   CUUIVAGE. 

A  soldier's  life 

Has  seen  of  strife 
In  all  its  forms  so  mucb, 

The  world  will  deem 

No  gentler  theme 
The  soldier's  heart  can  touch. 

Bohemian  Girl. 

On  a  pleasant  day  of  the  year  18 — ,  a  column 
of  the  French  army  was  toiling  along  through 
an  undulating  and  wooded  district  of  Germany. 
As  the  vanguard  entered  a  small  village,  a  halt 
was  ordered,  and  a  rest  of  two  hours,  rendered 
necessary  by  a  fatiguing  march  of  twenty  miles, 
was  allowed  the  troops. 

As  they  stacked  their  arms,  loosened  their  belts, 
and  unslung  their  haversacks,  a  sergeant  of  one 
of  the  grenadier  companies  approached,  and 
saluted  his  captain. 

"  Well,  sergeant,  what  do  you  want  now  V 
asked  Captain  St.  Leger,  kindly,  for  the  "old 
moustache"  was  a  favorite  with  all  his  officers. 

"A  conge  of  two  hours>  captain.  Never  fear 
me  ;  I'll  rejoin  the  column  when  the  drum  beats, 
and  the  order  to  fall  in  is  given." 

"  What's  in  the  wind  now  V 

"  I  have  a  little  call  to  make,"  said  the  ser- 
geant, awkwardly,  and  twisting  the  end  of  his 
gray  moustache. 

"A  thousand  to  one  there's  a  lady  in  the 
case." 

"  No  lady,  captain  ;  but  a  little  girl  I  haven't 
seen  for  seven  years." 

"  By  the  cross  of  honor  !  I  half  believe  it's  an 
affair  of  the  heart,"  cried  the  captain,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  and  we  must  call  you  Sergeant  Cupidon, 
instead  of  Sergeant  Caisar  Pompon,  flank  com- 
pany man  of  the  grenadier  general  regiment. 
Why,  man,  the  girl  will  never  fancy  you  with 
that  ugly  sabre  cut  across  the  cheek." 

"  She  saw  it  when  it  was  fresh  and  bleeding, 
captain  ;  and  hlcss  her  little  heart,  she  stitched 
it  together  as  cleverly  as  ourregimental  surgeon, 
"Dr.  Tourniquet,  could  have  done  it,  and  patched 
up  that  bayonet  wound  in  the  side,  for  we  had 
had  warm  work,  though  the  affair  was  but  a 
skirmish,  Peste!  little  did  I  think  the  Pefit  Ca- 
poral  would  ever  havo  made  peace  with  these 
Austrian  dogs,  and  taken  an  Austrian  wife  to  his 
arms." 

"  Tut,  tut,  man  !  you're  one  of  the  old  grum- 
lilcTB,  and  privileged  to  say  what  you  please  of 
his  imperial  majesty  Napoleon  the  First,  yet  at 
heart  you  love  him  after  all." 

"Love  him,  mon  cttpilainel"  exclaimed  the  old 


grenadier.  "  SacreUeu!  the  lant  words  upon 
my  li])s  will  bo  '  Vive  Nupohon!'  But  time  is 
marciiing  on  at  double  quick;  can  I  have  llio 
leave  I  asked  V 

"Certainly;  but  be  at  yonr  post  in  season. 
Wo  should  be  lost  without  Sergeant  Pompon." 
"  Never  fear  mc,  captain.  Thanks  and  adieu," 
"  I  wonder,"  thought  the  grenadier,  as,  some 
minutes  afterwards,  ho  approached  a  small  Init 
neat  and  retired  rustic  inn,  "if  Margaret  still 
lives  with  tliat  old  brimstone,  the  Fran  Hart- 
manu  ?  Poor  girl !  she  Iiad  a  hard  time  of  it. 
Yet  her  suflerings,  instead  of  hardening  her 
heart,  made  her  sympathize  the  more  warmly 
with  the  woes  of  others.  Tiiank  Heaven  and 
my  colonel,  I  had  the  means  of  alleviating  lier 
orphan's  lot.  Can  she  have  received  the  aid  I 
sent  her  V 

By  this  time  he  had  reached  the  rustic  inn,  and 
resting  his  musket  against  the  wall,  and  deposit- 
ing his  knapsack  on  the  bench,  ho  began  to  call 
aloud  lustily : 

"  Hallo  !  house  here !  who  waits  V 

"  Coming,"  cried  a  smart  waiter,  in  a  white 
jacket,  issuing  from  the  porch.  "  What's  want- 
ed, my  brave-fellow '?" 

"  Nothing  of  you,  my  brave  fellow.  I  want 
your  mistress." 

Sha'n't  I  take  charge  of  your  knapsack?" 
asked  the  smart  waiter. 

"  No,"  growled  the  soldier,  in  so  savage  a  tone 
that  the  smart  waiter  jumped  six  feet  backwards 
and  disappeared  into  the  inn. 

"  If  he  knew  what  this  old  knapsack  contains," 
muttered  the  old  soldier,  "  the  jackanapes  would 
have  been  readier  yet  to  take  charge  of  it.  But 
now  for  the  old  Fran ;  let's  sec  if  she  holds  her 
own  still." 

In  place  of  the  old  Frau,  however,  there  ap- 
peared a  pretty  young  woman  of  twenty-two, 
neatly  dressed  in  white,  and  wearing  a  beautiful 
lace  cap  adorned  with  cherry-colored  ribbons. 

"  What  are  your  wishes,  my  good  man  V  she 
said,  smiling  pleasantly. 

"Can  it  be  !"  exclaimed  the  soldier.  "No — 
yes,  it  surely  must  be ;  is  this  Madamoiselle 
Margaret?" 

"  The  same,  at  your  service,"  answered  the 
pretty  hostess,  curtseying;  "landlady  of  the 
Red  Lion  Inn." 

"  'Cre  jiom  de  d'leu!"  cried  the  soldier;  "what 
a  fine  young  woman  you've  grown." 

"  You  seem  to  know  me,"  said  the  pretty  land- 
lady, blushing,  and  eyeing  her  guest  narrowly. 
"  Have  we  ever  met  before  V 

"  Have  we  met!"  exclaimed  the  soldier.  "  On- 
ly hear  her.  Look  !"  he  continued,  dashing  his 
heavy  bear-skin  cap  to  the  ground.  "Look  on 
this  rugged  countenance.  Don't  you  remember 
this  scar?" 

"  Gott  in  Himmd!"  cried  the  landlady.  "This 
must  be  my  old  friend  Sergeant  Ca;sar  Pompon, 
of  the  grenadiers." 

"  The  same,  Margaret.  Time  has  altered 
both  of  us — you  for  the  better,  I  for  the  worse. 
But  I  tmst  our  hearts  are  still  the  same  ;  I  can 
answer  for  mine." 

"But  how  came  you  in  these  parts  again?" 
asked  the  pretty  landlady,  when  she  had  recover- 
ed from  her  surprise. 

"A  simple  affair.  The  division  to  which  I 
have  the  honor  to  belong  is  under  marching 
orders  for  Bavaria.  Our  route  lay  directly 
through  this  valley,  and  I  flew  to  greet  my  old 
benefactress,  who  took  such  excellent  care  of  me 
when  I  was  left  here  wounded,  and  given  up  for 
dead  seven  years  ago.  But  tell  me,  how  came 
you  the  mistress  of  this  pretty  inn  ?" 

"  And  the  garden  and  pasturage  belonging  to 
it?  I'll  tell  you;  it's  quite  romantic.  Two 
years  ago — " 

"Yes;  that  was  the  time,"  interrupted  the 
sergeant. 

"  I  was  sitting  on  this  very  bench,"  continued 
Margaret,  "  when  a  soldier  made  his  appearance 
suddenly,  and  asked  ray  name.  On  receiving 
an  answer,  he  handed  me  a  sealed  package,  ad- 
dressed to  Margaret  Uhland,  and  then  disappear- 
ed. I  opened  it,  and  judge  of  my  astonishment 
when  I  found  it  contained  notes  to  the  value  of 
six  thousand  francs,  accompanied  by  these  lines: 
*  To  Margaret,  a  free  gift  from  an  old  friend.'  I 
could  not,  nor  can  I  now,  conjecture  the  source 
from  which  this  treasure  came,  I,  who  thought  I 
had  not  a  friend  in  tlie  world." 

"  You  forgot  me,  then,  Margaret,"  said  the 
old  soldier. 

"No,  Ciesar;  I  thought  of  you  always,  but 
not  in  this  connexion,  for  I  knew  you  had  noth- 
ing but  your  pay.    Well,  about  this   time,  the  I 


Frau  Ilartmann  died,  and  as  there  was  no  bidder 
for  th(!  property,  I  made  an  oflcr,  whicli  was  ac- 
cepted, and  I  have  Kincc  conducted  the  establish- 
ment fiuccessfiilly  and  jn-otitahly.  I  Iiave  tried 
to  trace  the  soldier  who  was  the  messenger  of 
good  news  to  me,  but  in  vain." 

"Yes,  in  vnin,  of  course,"  murmured  the  ser- 
geant. "Poor  St.  Croix  is  no  more!  He  fell 
in  a  brilliant  charge  of  cavalry.  I  was  one  of 
the  filing-party  at  his  funeral,  and  wo  gave  liim 
a  rattling  volley,  I  assure  you." 

"Y'oumust  have  known  of  this  transaction, 
then  V*  said  Margaret. 

"  It'.s  no  use  to  keep  up  the  disguise  any  long- 
er," said  the  sergeant,  laughing.  "I  sent  you 
the  money,  and  I'm  rejoiced  to  find  you  made 
snch  good  use  of  it." 

"  My  noble,  generous  friend  ;  how  can  I  ever 
repay  you  !"  cried  Margaret. 

"  Nonsense,  girl !  what  use  were  the  notes  to 
mc  ?  They  were  too  flimsy  for  cartridge-paper 
even.  They  were  of  as  little  use  to  me  as  they 
were  to  the  colonel  at  the  time  he  made  me  a 
present  of  them." 
"  The  colonel !" 

"  Yes,  Colonel  Lapien*e,  as  brave  a  soldier  as 
ever  led  his  regiment  into  fire.  You  never  could 
make  him  believe  that  the  post  of  a  staff-officer 
was  in  tlie  rearof  his  command.  'My  cliildren,' 
he  used  to  say — he  always  called  us  his  children, 
though  some  of  us  were  old  enough  to  have 
fathered  him,  'I  ask  no  man  to  go  where  I  am 
nnwilling  to  lead.'  And  so  he  always  headed  us. 
One  day,  in  a  sharp  skirmish,  he  fell,  riddled 
with  bullets.  Y''ou  should  have  seen  the  regiment 
then,  Margaret.  A^'ery  few  of  the  enemy  escaped 
to  boast  the  slaughter  of  our  colonel.  I  came 
back  with  four  men,  to  see  if  we  could  do  any- 
thing to  save  him.  '  Mes  enfans,'  said  he,  '  I 
have  got  my  discharge ;  they  are  calling  the 
muster-roll  on  high,  and  I  must  answer  to  my 
name.'  Then  he  waved  my  comrades  back,  and 
motioned  me  to  approach.  '  Sergeant,'  said  he, 
in  a  voice  just  audible,  *  see  that  my  body  is  in- 
terred where  I  fell  upon  the  field  of  battle.'  I 
promised  to  perform  the  duty.  *  I  have  no  friend 
left  to  mourn  me,'  said  he,  'or  to  profit  by  my 
death.  To  you,  tlien,  sergeant,  I  bequeath  my 
knapsack.  It  contains  twelve  thousand  francs — 
all  I  have  picked  up  in  the  rough  scramble  of  the 
world.'  He  smiled  on  mc,  folded  his  hands  upon 
his  breast,  and  so  he  died  like  a  true  French  sol- 
dier, with  the  cannon  booming  in  the  distance, 
and  the  soil  quivering  with  the  gallop  of  the  caval- 
ry as  tliey  pursued  the  flying  enemy.  I  found 
the  money,  and  divided  it  into  two  portions — 
one  I  sent  to  you  by  a  trusty  comrade,  the  other 
I  meant  for  my  poor  old  father,  a  vine-dresser  of 
Grenoble.  But  he  was  dead,  and  there  the  mo- 
ney lies  still  in  my  knapsack,  useless  trash,  and 
yet  a  constant  source  of  care." 

"  You  are  quite  a  philosopher,  sergeant,"  said 
Margaret,  drying  the  tears  called  forth  by  his 
recital. 

"  Not  exactly,  Margaret,"  said  the  old  soldier. 
"I  am  no  stoic,  at  any  rate.  Have  I  tliought  of 
you,  Margaret,  since  we  parted  ?  Yes,  my  dear 
child  ;  you  have  been  beside  me  in  the  roar  of 
battle,  in  the  storm,  at  the  bivouac,  and  on  the 
march.  And  now  I  behold  you  again,  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  Margaret,  I  must  out  with 
it — I  love  you  !" 

"  You  love  me !"  cried  the  pretty  landlady, 
astonished. 

"  Worship  you — adore  you !  And  after  seven 
years  absence,  I  have  come  back  to  say,  Marga- 
ret, will  you  marry  me  V 

"  Sergeant — dear  sergeant,  shall  I  be  frank 
with  you?"  said  the  landlady. 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  grenadier.  "  Out  with  it.  I 
am  trained  to  stand  fire." 

"  Then,  frankly,  I  cannot  man-y  you." 
"  That  shot  struck  somewhere  about  here," 
said  the  old  soldier,  sadly,  placing  his  band  on 
his  heart.  "But  no  matter,  I  can  easily  divine 
your  motive ;  I  am  a  rough,  old,  weather-beaten, 
gray-haired,  war-scarred  veteran  ;  you  are  young 
and  beautiful ;  1  was  mad  to  think  of  your  liking 
me  well  enough  to  marry  rac." 

"  Y''ou  arc  in  error,"  said  Margaret,  hastily. 
"  You  are  worn  out  in  honorable  service  ;  I  prize 
your  heart,  the  goodness  of  that  irradiates  yonr 
countenance." 

"  Then  yon  love  another," 
"Not  exactly.  When  a  mere  girl,  I  was  be- 
trothed to  my  cousin,  Fritz  Steinforth,  a  peasant 
born  in  the  same  village  with  myself,  some 
twenty  leagues  hence.  As  he  grew  up,  his  ardor 
seemed  to  cool ;  but  we  were  both  pooi',  and  that 
alone  would  have  prevented  our  union.     But  tlie 


contract  still  existed,  and  so  I  have  written  to 
him,  informing  him  of  my  altered  circumMtanccH, 
and  offering  him  my  hand.  Though  some  time 
has  elapsed,  he  lias  taken  no  notice  of  my  ad- 
vances, so  that  I  fear  he  ha^  forgotten  me." 

"  Fmr  he  has  forgotten  you !  Then  you  still 
love  him," 

"  Not  that  T  am  aware  of,"  said  Margaret, 
blushing  .slightly. 

"Then  if  this  master  Steinforth  were  out  of 
the  way,  and  renounced  his  claim,  there  might 
be  some  hope  for  the  oUl  grenadier." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Margaret,  timidly,  and  look- 
ing down. 

"Laperhtte!  you'll  try  to  love  me  a  little, 
then." 

"  In  that  case  I  should  try  very  hard  to  love 
you  a  great  deal,  sergeant," 

"  Enough  said.  Well,  I  hope  that  confounded 
Fritz-what's-his-namc  wont  show  his  ugly  face 
here !" 

"  He's  veiyliandeome,"  said  the  pretty  land- 
lady. 

"Handsome,  is  he?  Morhku!  I'll  spoil  his 
beauty  for  him  !" 

"  You  wouldn't  quarrel  with  7n?/ cousin,  would 
you,  sergeant?"  said  the  landlady,  archly. 

"I  don't  like  these  cousins,"  said  the  old  sol- 
dier. "One  of  'em  is  always  buzzing  round  a 
pretty  girl,  like  a  bee  round  a  rosebud.  And  if 
anybody  says  anything,  '  O,  it's  only  my  cousin  V 
Plague  take  the  man  that  first  invented  cousins, 
I  say!" 

"  Well,  excuse  me,  sergeant,"  said  the  land- 
lady, gaily,  "  for  a  favf  minutes.  I'm  going  itito 
the  inn  to  prepare  something  nice  for  your  break- 
fast. //  faut  soigner  les  widens,  as  ^ou  French 
say.     Au  revoir." 

"  Must  take  care  of  the  old  'uns,  eh  ?'*  muttered 
thesergeant  to  himself.  "  Shecan'tforgetmy  age. 
Sergeant  Ca;sar  Pompon,  aint  you  an  ass  ?  Can 
you  imagine  that  a  pretty  young  woman  can 
content  herself  with  your  wrinkles  and  gray 
locks,  and  that  your  campaign  stories  will  inter- 
est her  year  after  year  ?  When  I  am  a  feeble 
old  man,  she  will  still  be  a  buxom  woman. 
And  even  if  she  says  she  loves  me  now,  will  it 
not  be  gratitude,  instead  of  affection,  that 
prompts  the  avowal  ?  I  must  be  sure  of  her  at- 
tachment before  I  enlist  in  the  ranks  of  matrimo- 
ny. If  not,  right  about  face,  and  march,  double 
quick  time.     Hallo  !  who  goes  there?" 

The  last  exclamation  was  elicited  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  foot-passenger,  a  young  peasant, 
with  blonde  hair,  and  a  rich  sunburnt  counte- 
nance, attired  in  a  blouse,  and  carrying  a  bundle 
slung  at  the  end  of  a  stick. 

"  Halt  there,  comrade,  and  give  the  counter- 
sign !"  cried  the  sergeant. 

The  peasant  stared  at  him  with  his  great  blae 
eyes,  and  then  smiled,  disclosing  a  set  of  snow- 
white  teeth. 

"  The  fellow  is  not  ill-looking,  who  ever  he 
is,"  thought  the  sergeant.  "  I  say,  my  fine  fel- 
low, you  ought  to  be  in  the  grenadiers." 

"Eh?"  said  the  countryman,  opening  his 
mouth. 

"  Every  fellow  that  stands  six  feet  in  his  stock- 
ings is  born  to  be  a  great  man.  Why  don't 
you  enlist?" 

"  I've  no  taste  for  soldiering,"  answered  the 
peasant,  throwing  himself  on  the  bench. 

"  Afraid  of  gimpowder,  eh  ?"  asked  the  ser- 
geant. 

"  Not  at  all ;  though  I  don't  fancy  it  much. 
I  haven't  seen  as  mnch  of  war  as  you  have,  Mr. 
Soldier  ;  but  I  have  been  where  bullets  rained  as 
thick  as  hailstones.  When  the  French  attacked 
Auerstadt,  though  I  was  a  boy,  I  stood  my 
ground,  though  I  had  nothing  but  a  scythe-blade 
set  on  a  pole." 

"A  very  ugly  weapon,  and  a  heathenish  one, 
too,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  Yon  clod-hoppers 
make  war  like  barbarians  always.  But,  I  say, 
you  look  as  if  you'd  had  a  long  march  this 
morning." 

"  Some  forty  miles,"  said  the  peasant,  care- 
lessly. 

"Forty  miles!  Bravo,  ray  dear  fellow!  you 
were  boni  for  the  infantry.  Why  do  you  fight 
against  your  destiny  ?  Y'ou  must  have  urgent 
business,  however,  to  make  you  take  a  tramp  of 
forty  miles  before  breakfast." 

"  My  business  is  pleasure,"  answered  the 
peasant. 

"  You  talk  riddles,  comrade." 

"  Wliy,  you  see,  I  came   here,"  said  the  pea- 
sant, "  to  see  my  cousin,  the  landlady  of  this  inn." 
"  Your  cousin.     Mille  toniicrrcs !  then  you  are 
Fritz  Steinforth." 


GLEASON'S   riCTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


171 


"The  same,  at  your  service." 

"But  what  do  you  want  with  Margaret?" 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Soldier,  we  were  betrothed  a 
long  while  ago,  and  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have 
married  her.  But  I  was  promised  a  place  under 
government — a  rangership — with  the  prospect  of 
a  rise  in  the  world ;  and  my  friend  Maurice 
Schwartz,  who  is  steward  of  the  Prince  of  Lich- 
tenburg — Maurice  is  a  deep  and  wise  one,  a  long- 
head, I  tell  you, — he  persuaded  me  that  a  wife 
■was  a  great  drawback,  a  millstone  round  the 
neck  of  a  man  who  wanted  to  rise  in  the  world." 

"  Very  true,"  answered  the  sergeant.  "  Capi- 
tal fellow,  that  Maurice  Schwartz  ;  deserves  to 
be  a  licld-marshal ;  we'll  drink  his  health  by-and- 
by ;  but  forward,  don't  halt,  move  on  !" 

"  Wei!,"  continued  Fritz,  "some  time  since, 
Mai^aret  wrote  to  me  about  her  fortune,  and 
offered  me  her  hand." 

"  You  declined  it?" 

"  No,  I  did  nothing  ;  Mauiice  told  me  I  ought 
not  to  accept,  and  I  wavered.  I  did  think  of 
writing  her  to  break  off  the  match." 

"  Well,  why  the  deuce  dida't  you  V 

"  I  didn't  want  to  break  the  poor  girl's  heart." 

"  Break  her  heart — nonsense  !  There  are 
other  men  in  the  world,"  cried  the  sergeant.  "I 
can  tell  you  a  secret :  she  is  loved  by  another." 

"  Loved  bj'  another !"  cried  the  young  peasant, 
turning  pale.  "  Good  heavens  !  can  it  be '? 
Margaret,  my  betrothed !" 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  cared  nothing  for  her," 
said  the  sergeant,  eyeing  him  naiTowly. 

"Maurice  told  me  I  didn't  love  her,"  said 
Fritz,  pressing  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "  But 
something  here  tells  me — no  matter.  Yet  stay," 
he  added,  with  a  bright  smile ;  "  she  cannot  love 
him." 

"  There  you're  mistaken,"  said  the  soldier. 
"  She  dotes  on  him." 

"  Dotes  on  him  !"  repeated  the  peasant. 

"  Yes  ;  and  more  than  that — she  has  mamed 
him  !  I  think  that  last  is  a  settler,"  added  the 
sergeant  to  himself. 

"  I  will  not  believe  it !"  cried  Fritz,  dashing 
his  cap  to  the  ground.     "  It  is  false." 

"  Halt !"  cried  the  sergeant.  "  I've  put  a  bul- 
let through  a  fellow  before  this  for  doubting  my 
word." 

"  I  repeat  that  it  is  false  !  I  will  believe  nei- 
ther you  nor  any  other  man  who  asserts  Marga- 
ret's perfidy." 

"  Will  you  believe  your  own  eyes  and  ears  V 

"Prove  the  assertion,  and,  of  course,  I  shall 
believe  it,"  answered  Fritz. 

The  sergeant  hastened  into  the  inn,  and  hav- 
ing instructed  Margaret  how  she  was  to  act, 
and  exacted  a  promise  that  she  would  agree  to 
all  he  stated,  he  re-appeared  from  the  Red  Lion 
with  her  hanging  on  his  arm. 

"  Grood  morning,  cousin,"  said  she,  saluting 
Fritz  very  coolly. 

Fritz  could  make  no  answer — he  was  struck 
dumb. 

"  Comrade,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  allow  me  to 
present  to  you  Mrs.  Sergeant  Pompon  !" 

"  What !"  cried  Steinforth,  furiously.  "  Is  it 
you  who  have  robbed  me  of  m}'  treasure  1  Were 
it  not  for  your  gray  hairs — " 

"  Hush,  Steinforth !"  said  Margaret,  seriously. 
"  Remember  you  are  speaking  to  my  husband." 

"  And  you,  Margaret,  who  promised  to  he 
mine,  whose  letter,  offering  me  your  hand,  I 
have  worn  next  my  heart.     Perfidious  woman!" 

"  Silence  !"  cried  the  sergeant.  "  Remember 
you  are  speaking  to  my  wife." 

"  You  cared  nothing  for  me,"  said  Margaret, 
bitterly.     "  You  left  my  letter  unanswered." 

"  It  was  because  I  was  under  the  spell  of  a 
mind  and  will  stronger  than  mine — of  a  man 
who  could  turn  one  round  his  little  finger.  He 
persuaded  me  that  I  ought  not  to  marn,'  you. 
But,  though  I  wavered,  I  found,  when  I  examin- 
ed my  heart,  that  I  loved  you  better  than  life  it- 
self. True,  I  left  your  letter  unanswered ;  but 
the  moment  I  could  leave  home,  I  came  in 
person." 

"  Speak  out,"  said  the  sergeant,  in  an  agitated 
voice  ;  "  I  permit  you  to  speak  freely.  Did  you 
come  here  to  accept  her  offer  V 

"  I  came  here,"  said  the  peasant,  "  to  tell  her 
that  her  offer  was  too  generous — to  tell  her  that 
while  she  was  rich,  and  I  poor,  I  could  not  ac- 
cept her  hand.  AVhat  would  she  think  of  me, 
after  my  delays  and  doubts,  if  I  became  her  hus- 
band as  soon  as  she  had  come  to  a  fortune  ?  I 
came  to  say  this,  and  to  ask  her  if  she  could  wait 
till  I,  too,  had  made  a  little  fortune,  and  could 
claim  her  hand  with  honor." 

"  You  are  a  fine  fellow,"  said   the   sergeant. 


dropping  Margaret's  arm,  and  shaking  Stein- 
forth warmly  by  the  hand.  "  I  have  deceived 
you  on  purpose  to  try  you.  Margaret  is  single 
still ;  I  am  not  her  husband,  though  I  love  her, 
and  have  offered  my  hand.  Let  her  choose  be- 
tween us. 

"  Steinforth,"  said  Margaret,  "you  see  before 
you  the  man  to  whom  I  owe  my  fortune." 

"  She  owes  me  nothing,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"  She  saved  my  life,  and  I  paid  the  debt  very 
shabbily  by  a  parcel  of  bank  notes  that  I  had  no 
use  for." 

"  Sergeant,"  said  Margaret,  in  a  faltering 
voice,  "  if  I  were  not  betrothed  to  Fritz — " 

"  I  release  all  claim  to  your  hand,"  said  Stein- 
forth, with  an  effort. 

"Then,  sergeant,"  continued  Margaret,  "if 
you  will  accept  my  hand,  I  will  try  to  love  you, 
and  to  forget  poor  Fritz." 

The  eftbrt  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  burst 
into  tears.  Steinforth  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

"A  thousand  sabres!"  said  the  sergeant, 
drawing  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes.  "  What 
would  my  old  colonel  have  said,  if  he  had  seen 
Sergeant  Caisar  Pompon,  an  old  moustache, 
blubbering  like  a  baby  1  Sucre  toimeire  I  I 
must  put  a  stop  to  this.  Ahem  !  Madamoiselle 
Margaret,  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the 
offer,  but  I  cannot  accept  it.  That's  my  decision, 
and  it's  fixed  as  a  general  order." 

"  Then,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  grateful  smile, 
"  Steinforth,  I  am  yours." 

"  I  cannot  accept  your  hand,"  said  the  pea- 
sant, firmly. 

"  And  why  not  V  thundered  the  sergeant. 
"  Ventrebleii  1  are  you  mad  ?  Must  beauty  go  a 
begging  ?  Zounds  !  I've  a  great  mind  to  give 
you  a  drubbing." 

"Margaret  is  rich,  and  I  am  poor,"  said  the 
peasant. 

"  Margaret  has  six  thousand  francs,  and  so 
have  you,"  said  the  soldier. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  tlie  peasant. 

"  Exactly  what  I  say,  comrade,"  cried  the  ser- 
geant, opening  his  haversack,  pulling  out  the 
notes  by  handfulls,  and  thrusting  them  upon 
Fritz.  "  There,  there,  take  them  all.  My  colo- 
nel's legacy  is  well  bestowed." 

"  I  cannot  receive  this  money,"  cried  the 
peasant. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  sergeant,  coolly.  "  Then 
give  me  back  the  notes,  and  I'll  put  'em  in  the 
kitchen  fire." 

After  a  long  discussion,  the  old  soldier  com- 
pelled the  peasant  to  receive  the  money,  and  to 
accept  the  hand  of  Margaret,  and  he  had  then 
to  listen  to  the  profuse  and  grateful  benedictions 
of  the  happy  pair. 

Enough,  enough,  children,"  said  he ;  "  my 
gifts  cost  me  nothing.  Still,  if  you  choose,  re- 
gard my  money  as  a  deposit,  and  then,  if  I  sur- 
vive the  wars,  instead  of  going  to  the  Invalides, 
I  will  come  here,  and  pass  my  days  by  the  fire- 
side in  winter,  and  on  this  bench  in  summer, 
perhaps,  recounting  to  your  children  the  fortunes 
of  an  old  campaign.  But  if,  as  is  more  likely,  X 
follow  my  colonel  to  the  next  world,  ere  this 
campaign  is  terminated,  I  ask  you  this  :  If  ever 
an  old  soldier,  war-worn  and  foot-sore,  halts  at 
your  inn  for  repose  and  refreshment,  let  him 
taste  of  your  abundance,  and  rest  beneath  your 
roof  without  charge,  in  memory  of  your  old 
friend.  Sergeant  Pompon." 

Margaret  and  Steinforth  promised  faithfully 
to  fulfil  his  wishes.  Then,  seeing  him  put  on 
his  knapsack,  and  resume  his  musket,  they 
urged  him  to  tarry,  but  at  that  moment  the 
thrilling  notes  of  the  Marseillaise,  played  by  a 
full  military  band,  announced  that  his  regiment 
had  resumed  the  line  of  march. 

"Hear  you  that,  my  children'?"  cried  the  old 
grenadier,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 
"I  must  hasten  to  join  the  ranks.  Adieu,  chil- 
dren, adieu  !  Margaret,  my  love  for  you  was  a 
sti-ange  dream.  I  have  awakened  your  friend. 
Hark  to  the  Marseillaise  I  That  glorious  music 
reminds  me  that  France  is  my  mother,  and  glory 
my  mistress.  Vive  la  France!  M.ve  Napoleon ! 
Adieu  !" 

The  young  couple  watched  him,  with  tearful 
eyes,  till  he  had  disappeared  in  the  distance. 
Some  months  afterwards  they  heard,  with  deep 
sorrow,  that  he  had  follen,  as  he  pi;cdicted,  and, 
indeed,  desired,  on  the  field  of  battle. 


Envv. — Envy  may  justly  be  called  "  the  gall 
of  bitterness  and  bond  of  iniquity;"  it  is  the  most 
acid  fruit  that  grows  on  the  stock  of  sin,  a  fluid 
so  subtle  that  nothing  but  the  fire  of  divine  love 
can  purge  it  from  the  soul. — Uosea  Ballou. 


[Written  for  Qleason's  PictoriaJ.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  1. 
TRAVELLING  IN  TURKEY. 

BY  DR.  JEROME  V.  C  SMITH, 

AOXaOR    OF    A     "pilgrimage    to    EGYPT." 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  Turkey  is  this — 
that  all  land  travel  must  necessarily  be  on  the 
back  of  a  horse,  ass,  mule  or  camel.  There  is 
not  a  carriage  road  in  the  empire  smooth  enough 
to  trundle  a  wheel-barrow.  Paths  are  called 
roads,  and  these  are  frequently  so  indistinct,  even 
on  the  great  routes  from  one  city  to  another,  that 
without  a  guide  familiar  with  the  way,  it  would 
be  quite  impossible  to  find  oxiy  proposed  place  a 
day's  journey  distant. 

Provisions  must  be  carried  for  the  animals  as 
well  as  their  riders,  and  apparatus,  too,  for  cook- 
ing— coffee,  sugar,  prepared  meats,  hard  bread, 
and  fruits  also.  At  night,  the  caravansaries  are 
either  yards  or  hovels.  In  cities,  on  the  con- 
trary, there  are  immensely  large  buildings  for 
the  accommodation  of  travellers. 

It  is  a  good  precaution  to  procure,  through  the 
consul  or  minister  residing  at  Constantinople, 
representing  the  traveller's  country,  a  monstrosity 
called  a  firman.  It  is  an  official  document  on 
a  large  sheet  of  strong,  coarse  paper,  bearing  the 
signet  of  the  Sultan. 

In  case  of  rude  treatment  by  the  subjects  of 
the  Sublime  Porte,  by  showing  the  firman  to  the 
first  official  to  whom  access  can  be  had,  he  will 
bow  his  head,  stroke  his  black  beard,  smoke  tre- 
mendously, exclaim  "  Bissmillah !  God  is  great !" 
and  promise  to  do  miracles  in  promotion  of  the 
complainant's  objects.  Under  the  authority  of 
the  firman,  horses  must  be  procured  at  a  price 
the  government  pays  for  them  when  pressed  into 
the  public  service  for  some  temporary  purpose. 
Distances  are  reckoned  by  hours,  and  never  by 
miles  or  leagues — measurements  of  which  the 
Turks  are  profoundly  ignorant.  Usually,  a 
good  horse  will  cost  fifty  cents  a  day  in  the  inte- 
rior— accompanied  by  a  groom  to  take  care  of 
him.  When  hired  in  cities,  the  cost  is  from  one 
piaster  to  two,  by  the  hour.  On  completing  the 
route  for  which  the  horse  was  hired,  it  is  custom- 
ary, to  make  the  muleteer — for  a  mule  carries 
the  luggage,  usually,  a  fee,  under  the  name  of 
bucksheish.  He  bears  the  high-sounding  title  of 
bswToudjee. 

Couriers  are  always  proffering  their  services, 
but  they  are  knaves  by  profession,  and  it  is  quite 
easy  to  do  without  them — stipulate  for  a  groom 
who  goes  with  the  horses,  who  can  speak  two  or 
•  three  languages  of  the  country.  Italian  is  of 
very  considerable  assistance,  as  scarcely  a  town 
would  be  visited  in  a  general  exploration,  in 
which  somebody  could  speak  it.  A  good  servant 
of  all  work,  an  Armenian  or  a  Syrian,  who  would 
also  officiate  as  cook,  adds  much  to  the  comfort, 
while  it  is  economical. 

Khans  are  very  large  one  story  buildings,  rarely 
two — surrounding  a  court.  Passing  through  a 
gate,  which  is  closed  at  night,  the  animals  are 
unladen — always  remaining  with  the  saddles  on, 
however.  Throughout  Turkey,  they  are  ham- 
pered by  fetters  or  tied  with  a  halter,  fed,  and 
the  luggage  taken  into  a  dark,  sometimes  win- 
dowless,  apartment,  opening  into  the  court. 

A  series  of  small  rooms  are  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  strangers,  but  mthout  a  particle  of 
furniture  of  any  kind — not  even  a  lamp,  a  cup, 
or  fuel  is  to  bo  had.  The  rooms  are  dusty,  dirty, 
and  usually  swarming  with  myriads  of  vermin. 

Spreading  the  bedding  brought  on  the  mule, 
the  traveller  sleeps,  if  he  can,  in  the  midst  of  bis 
effects.  In  the  morning  a  small  fee  is  paid  to  a 
guardian,  but  who  has  the  money  is  a  question, 
since  it  is  understood  that  khans,  generally,  are 
pious  gifts  to  the  public. 

Smyrna  has  several  large  khans,  and  Damas- 
cus, the  capital  of  Syria,  possesses  the  best  in 
the  East,  in  point  of  spaciousness.  They  exist 
in  various  pai-ts  of  the  Orient,  and  invariably 
present  the  same  general  features. 

The  money  of  Turkey  is  a  poor,  debased  coin- 
age— half  of  the  ostensible  silver  pieces  being 
mere  fish  scales  in  size  and  weight,  with  scarcely 
an  appreciable  amount  of  silver  in  them.  Turk- 
ish gold  coin  is  a  little  better,  but  that,  too,  is 
wofully  debased,  and  no  more  should  ever  be 
taken  than  may  be  conveniently  expended  before 
leaving  the  countiy. 

Every  one  that  is  met  begs  for  bucksheish, 
whether  he  has  been  seen  before  or  not.  For 
the  sake  of  keeping  on  good  terms  with  those 
whom  the  traveller  comes  in  contact,  from  fel- 


lahs or  farmers,  to  pashas  or  local  governors, 
presents  are  supposed  to  make  friends.  No  pro- 
vision for  making  friendships,  however,  in  that 
manner,  is  necessary.  A  pipe  of  tobacco  goes 
as  far  as  a  piaster.  The  more  one  gives  in 
money,  the  sharper  the  appetite  of  all  who  see 
him,  becomes  for  it.  If  it  is  once  known  that 
the  individual  actually  gives  away  gold  or  silver, 
he  is  expected  to  repeat  the  operation. 

The  less  show  of  means,  the  more  secure  for 
the  traveller.  A  plenty  of  very  small  change 
facilitates  business  amazingly,  as  no  one  admits 
readily,  that  he  can  change  a  piece — because  a 
hope  is  instantaneously  raised  that  it  may  all  bo 
kept,  if  it  cannot  be  exchanged  for  fractional 
parts. 

A  piaster  is  equivalent  to  about  five  cents — 
and  forty  paras  make  a  piaster.  There  are  half 
piaster  pieces,  double  piasters,  and  even  six  pias- 
ter pieces.  A  purse  is  five  hundred  piasters.  A 
Spanish  dollar  varies  from  eighteen  to  twenty- 
two  piasters,  in  value,  according  to  place — it  be- 
ing w^orth  more  in  the  interior  where  money  is 
scarce,  than  in  seaports,  or  large  trading  centres. 
Gold  pieces  of  twenty  piasters  are  in  circulation, 
but  it  is  not  profitable  to  carry  them  about  on 
jaunts,  on  account  of  the  extreme  difficulty  in 
breaking  them  up  into  smaller  change. 

All  Turkey  abounds  with  dogs  in  numbers 
that  bid  defiance  to  enumeration.  They  are  a 
perpetual  annoyance  at  night,  on  account  of  their 
incessant  barking,  but  rarely  move  about  much 
through  the  day.  When  a  traveller  enters  a  small 
town  or  village,  if  in  a  Frank  costume,  the  dogs 
recognize  him  as  a  novelty  at  once,  and  set  up  a 
tremendous  barking,  that  is  propagated  from  one 
house-top  to  another,  where  they  frequently  re- 
pose, as  in  Egypt,  till  the  sun  is  down.  A  repe- 
tition of  the  reception,  in  point  of  uproar,  pur- 
sues him  on  leaving  the  following  morning. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  the  great  city  of  Con- 
stantinople, the  dogs  are  surprisingly  numerous, 
sleeping  by  the  sides  of  doors,  on  banks  of  filth, 
and  nursing  litters  of  puppies  where  they  are 
most  in  the  way.  They  are  without  masters, 
and  without  names  of  course.  Generally,  they 
are  small  in  stature,  of  a  dingy  yellow,with  sharp , 
thin  jaws  full  of  excessively  wicked  teeth,  which 
they  arc  disposed  to  show  when  disturbed. 

It  is  at  night,  however,  that  they  feel  their  own 
influence,  and  take  possession  of  the  empire. 
Tolerated  as  scavengers,  the  usual  accumula- 
tions which  in  American  cities  are  carted  out  for 
feeding  swine,  are  thrown  into  the  narrow  lanes 
for  those  poor,  half-famished  animals.  Their 
incessant  hunger  develops  a  ferocity  that  cannot 
be  tamed  or  subdued  by  kindness. 

Horses  and  dogs,  when  left  to  themselves,  in- 
variably organize  a  form  of  government  which  is 
severe  in  its  requirements,  and  infractions  are  the 
signal  of  death.  In  South  America,  a  single 
stallion,  by  an  unknown  process,  takes  sover- 
eignty into  his  own  keeping,  and  maintains  his 
dignity  by  the  force  of  his  heels.  When  old, 
and  almost  blind,  his  honors  are  accorded  to 
him  by  a  rising  generation,  nor  are  attempts  at 
usurpation  presumed  to  be  ever  attempted,  while 
he  is  living.  Dogs,  on  the  other  hand,  do  not 
appear  to  acknowledge  a  king.  They  divide 
themselves  into  sections,  and  district  a  city. 
Each  division  keeps  to  its  own  territory,  and 
any  attempt  to  trespass  on  the  grounds  of  the 
others,  invariably  leads  to  bloodshed,  and  not 
unfrequently  to  the  death  of  the  offender. 

An  oligarchy  and  regal  administration  are 
equally  out  of  the  question — their  instinctive  sys- 
tem being  unlike  all  others  among  animals,  and 
certainly  bearing  no  nearer  approach  to  human 
combinations  than  the  formations  of  tribes.  Ko 
one  dog  appears  to  be  clothed  with  more  author- 
ity than  another;  and  all,  on  the  menaced  or 
depredated  province,  fight  with  equal  ardor  for 
the  defence  of  their  common  rights. 

Egypt  and  Syria,  in  all  the  large  towns,  are  thus 
subdivided  by  the  dogs.  I  have  seen  them  lying 
dead — the  result  of  individual  temerity,  in  run- 
ning for  luck  on  the  property  of  other's.  Alex- 
andria and  Cairo  exhibit  these  curious  traits  in 
the  character  of  uncivilized  dogs,  to  a  remarka- 
ble degree.  Even  some  of  the  principal  thor- 
oughfares in  Cairo  and  Constantinople,  are  ta- 
booed by  the  dog;?^,  so  that  those  on  one  side  dare 
not  run  across  the  way  to  the  other.  Young 
puppies  get  many  a  bloody  ear  from  their  elders, 
before  they  learn  their  privileges,  or  comprehend 
the  rights  of  their  superiors. 

Througliout  Turkey,  therefore,  it  is  unsafe  to 
go  into  a  street  after  dark  without  a  lantern, 
without  which  a  man  might  be  instantly  torn  lo 
pieces.  The  dogs  are  kept  at  bay  by  a  light, 
and  that  may  be  the  reason  why  the  law^  is  im- 
perative that  no  one  shall  go  abroad  after  dark 
without  one. 

All  Turkish  cities  are  gloomy — excessively  so 
in  the  evening.  They  are  never  lighted  in  any 
manner,  and  besides,  they  arc  extremely  narrow, 
and  the  houses  high.  Not  even  the  foreshadow- 
ing of  a  person  can  be  seen  before  running  up 
against  each  other,  to  the  astonishment  of  both 
parties.  There  are  no  amusements  whatever  to 
beguile  the  time,  in  Turkey,  except  in  Caiio, 
Constantinople,  Alexandria  and  Smyrna.  In 
each  of  those  cities,  a  few  Italians  have  con- 
trived to  have  dances,  tmall  concerts,  and  in 
Constantinople  an  apology  for  a  ihoatre  for  the 
recreation  of  strangers.  But  they  are  poorly 
sustained,  command  no  talent,  and  consequently, 
gain  no  reputation. 


172 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DllAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


MADAME  liENRIETTE  SONTAG, 

COUNTKSH    r>n    ItOHRI. 

In  prcscntinfj  our  renders  with  a  likeness 
of  this  workl-ren owned  singer,  wc  should  cer- 
tainly like  to  give  a  full  account  of  the  ro- 
mantic life  of  this  remarkable  lady,  who  for 
a  number  of  years  has  sustniucd  the  rcjiuta- 
tion  of  being  the  "  legitimate  queen  of  song.'* 
But  we  can  ill  allnid  sutliiiciii  space  to  speak 
of  the  three  grand  phasrs  of  her  existence. 
The  unparalleled  ciithiisiiisni  that  attended 
her  early  career,  rendered  so  difficult  on  ac- 
count of  her  rivalship  with  Catalani,  Mali- 
bran,  and  Pasta — the  lustre  she  slied  over 
the  courts  of  Vienna,  Berlin,  and  St.  Pe- 
tersburg, where  she  resided  as  the  adored 
■wife  of  His  Exrcllcncy,  Count  de  Rossi, 
Aml>nssador  and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  of 
tlio  King  of  Sardiiiiu — and,  lastly,  the  pious 
resignation  of  the  mother,  who,  to  secure  to 
her  children  an  independence  so  seriously 
endangered  through  the  disastrous  effects  of 
the  revolution  of  1848,  left  the  perfumed  at- 
mospiiere  of  royal  and  imperial  courts,  to 
brave  once  more  the  stormy  and  fickle  sea 
of  public  opinion — to  he  again  trimnphantly 
seated  on  the  throne,  with  tlie  double  crown 
of  art  and  virtue  shining  on  her  brow.  No 
artist  has  had  so  many  biographies  written 
as  the  Countess  ;  the  works  of  Heine, 
Boerne,  Theopilc  Gautier,  Goethe,  Jules 
Janin  contain  many  sketches,  full  of  inter- 
est;  Hector  Berlia/,,  Rellstab,  Saphir,  Escu- 
dier  have  analyzed  Iier  artistical  merits  in  nu- 
merous criticisms ;  Scribe  has  written  on  her 
one  of  his  most  witty  plays — the  "  Embassa- 
dress,"  to  which  Auber  has  composed  music, 
so  justly  popular  in  both  hemispheres  ;  and 
we  will  not  even  speak  of  the  tribe  of  poet- 
asters, who,  as  the  Countess  Merlin  says, 
have  made  sonnets  from  the  "  tip  of  her  fin- 
gers down  to  her  pretty  foot."  Henrictte 
Sontag  was  born  at  Coblentz,  on  the  Rhine, 
in  the  year  1809,  not  1803,  as  has  been  as- 
serted in  many  biographical  sketches.  She 
is  of  an  artistic  family ;  and  her  parents 
were  persons  of  no  mean  celebrity.  Henrict- 
te early  displayed  extraordinary  vocal  and 
histrionic  abilities,  and  this  decided  her  life 
course.  Her  parents  had  her  educated  as  an 
operatic  and  concert  singer.  In  her  thir- 
teenth year  she  was  placed  under  eminent 
teachers  at  Prague,  where  she  remained  un- 
til she  was  fifteen,  after  which  she  studied 
for  several  years  with  Feodor.  Her  fame 
now  began  "to  be  spread  abroad,  and  she  be- 
came the  reigning  star  of  the  musical  firma- 
ment. She  speedily  was  acknowledged  the 
greatest  vocalist  since  the  days  of  Catalani, 
and  crer.tel  in  France,  Germany,  and  Eng- 
land, an  u  iparailelcd  //irore.  She  appeared 
for  the  last  time  in  "  Semiramide,"  at  the 
Royal  Theatre,  Berlin,  where  took  place  an 
open  declaration  of  her  marriage  with  the 
Count  Rossi,  at  the  time  Sardinian  Ambas- 
sador at  Haag,  when  she  retired  into  private 
life,  residing  with  her  husband  at  the  various 
courts  on  the  continent ;  and  her  beauty,  in- 
telligence, genius,   and  goodness  of  heart. 


caused  her  to  eclipse  the  proudest  dames  that 
basked  in  tlic  refulgent  rays  of  Imperialism, 
and  whtn,  in  the  Fpring  of  '[SbO,  it  was  an- 
nounced that  she  had  determined  to  resume 
her  professional  career,  the  whole  European 
aristocracy  were  thrown  into  a  state  of  in- 
tense excitement,  which  was  diangcd  into  re- 
joicing when  the  news  of  her  glorious  tri- 
umphs was  received.  The  resumption  of 
her  profession  was  occasioned  by  the  total 
wreck  of  her  husband's  property.  The  coun- 
tess being  extremely  anxious  that  her  cliil- 
drcn  should  continue  to  enjoy  the  education- 
al advantages  that  she  deemed  essential  to 
their  future  well  being,  resolved  again  to  as- 
sume the  laborious  duties  which,  twenty 
years  before,  when  she  was  a  young  and  joy- 
ous bride,  she  had  laid  aside  forever — as  sho 
bad  supposed  and  hoped.  This  is  truly  a 
strange  and  enigmatical  world  ;  and  no  one 
can  foretell  the  strange  part  he  is  to  play  in  it. 
Since  1850,  Madame  Sontag  has  sung  in 
London,  Paris,  and  all  the  principal  cities  in 
Germany,  and  her  success  has  been  singular- 
ly great.  The  great  masters  of  musical  sci- 
ence arc  overwhelmed  with  astonishment  at 
the  remarkable  phenomenon  presented  of  a 
prima  donna  who,  after  an  absence  of  many 
years,  resumed  her  profession  with  a  richer 
voice  and  more  brilliant  execution  than  she 
originally  possessed. 


PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME  SONTAG. 


VICTORIA  AND  ALBERT  BRIDGE. 

"We  present  below  a  very  fine  and  effective 
picture  of  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Bridge. 
From  the  village  of  Datchet,  a  bridge  across 
the  Thames  (built,  curiously  enougli,  on  one 
side  of  iron,  on  the  other  of  wood,  the  oppo- 
site parishes  originally  not  having  been  able 
to  agree  as  to  material,  and  so  each  taking 
its  own),  led  to  a  path  across  the  parklo 
Windsor.  The  way  was  the  mo.st  direct,  but 
the  path  being  in  a  cutting,  divided  the  park 
and  interfered  with  her  majesty's  private 
grounds.  It  was,  therefore,  resolved  to  take 
down  the  old  bridge,  and  build  instead  two 
new  ones — one  higher  up,  the  other  farther 
down,  the  river;  and  to  give  two  public  car- 
riage-ways, instead  of  the  old  Datchet  foot- 
path. There  was  added,  at  the  upper  bridge, 
from  the  private  to  the  public  portion  of  the 
park  between  sixty  and  seventy  acres;  and 
some  land  was  gained  along  the  margin  of 
the  river.  Our  engraving  shows  the  upper, 
or  Victoria  Bridge — with  which  the  lower,  or 
Albert  Bridge,  except  the  ornaments  in  the 
spandrils  and  centre  arms,  is  identical.  The 
bridge  is  a  single  pointed  arch,  120  feet  span, 
and  19  feet  6  inches  rise  from  the  springings, 
which  correspond  with  the  ordinary  water- 
line.  It  consists  of  five  ribs,  reduced  gradu- 
ally from  94  inches  at  the  springings  to  76 
inches  at  the  crown.  Each  rib  consists  of 
seven  castings  bolted  together  with  flanges. 
The  interior  ribs  are  H  shaped,  4  feet  deep 
at  springing,  .3  feet  at  crown.  The  weight  of 
each  rib  is  about  26  tons.  The  engraving  is 
9.  very  fine  one,  and  possesses  much  excel- 
lence in  effect. 


VIEW  OF  THE  VICTOIUA  BKIi>GEj  NEAR  WINDSOP,  ENGLAND. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOEIAL   DHAWIXG   EOOM    COMPANION. 


173 


I'EEDEEICK   GLEASON,   Pkofrietoe. 

MATURIN    M.    EALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTKNTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUJ»IBER, 

"  Guilt  and  Retribution,"  a  tale  of  the  Times  of  Itichard 
ITT,  by  Miss  Sarah  JVI.  Howe. 

■  "Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  IV,  relative  to  Nazareth,  by- 
Rev.  i\  W.  Holland. 

"  Allan  Moore,*'  a  story,  by  Geo.  Canning  Hill. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  II,  on  the  Character  of 
the  Turks,  etc.,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Autographs  and  Autography,"  No.  Ill,  by  Willlam 
Edw.ard  Knowles,  in  which  will  appear  the  signatures  of 
Rev.  Hosta  Ballou,  Eliza  Leslie,  Emma  C.  Embury,  Han- 
nah F.  Gould,  Sarah  J.  Hale,  Mrs.  C.  M.  Sedgwick,  John 
Neai  and  Park  Benjamin. 

"Where  is  gentle  May?"    verses,  by  F.  C.  Syltanus 

HURLBUT. 

"  I  met  her  in  the  festive  crowd,"  lines,  by  Rebecca  R. 

PEERCE- 

"  The  Departed,"  a  poem,  by  John  D.  Johnsojj,  M.  D. 
"  Twilight  Hour,"  verses,  by  Amanda  M.  Douglass. 
"Love  Concealed,"  verses,  by  Kenneth  Sinclair. 
"  The  Lonely  Heart."  lines,  by  Phila  Evrle. 
"  Be  Active,"  lines,  by  William  T.  Hilske. 
"Lines  to  Lydia,"  by  Caroline  A.  Hayden. 
"  Sonnet  to  Luellaoeine,"  by  J.  Starr  Hollawat. 
"  Thou  art  gone  toahy  rest,"  verses,  by  J.  Hunt,  Jr. 
"  Spiiit  Visitants,"  verses,  by  E.  CuRTiSS  Hine,  U.  S.  N. 

ILLTTSTEATIONS. 

A  picture  of  the  Review  of  the  Providence  Marine  Artil- 
lery on  Boston  Common,  by  Governor  Boutwell  and  Suite, 
during  the  exercise  of  this  fine  corps,  a  few  days  since,  in 
their  rapid  and  brilliant  drill,  after  the  style  of  Sherman's 
Battery  of  Fljing  Artillery.     By  our  artist,  Mr.  Roivse. 

A  very  excellent  hkcneesof  the  late  Count  D'Orsay.  the 
intimate  friend  of  Louis  Napoleon,  and  the  most  famous 
dandy  and  beau  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

We  shall  give  a  very  spirited  picture  of  the  Departure  of 
the  Lizzie  Webber,  emigrant  ship,  from  Sunderland,  Eng- 
land, being  the  tirst  vesswl  from  that  port  with  emigrants 
that  sailed  for  Australia. 

Scene  of  the  Commencement  of  the  St.  Andrews  and 
Quebec  Railroad.    A  noble  and  magnificent  scheme. 

A  picture  will  also  be  presented  of  the  stupendous  Tor- 
toise, lately  imported  into  England  from  India.  Supposed 
to  be  over  200  years  old. 

A  series  of  pictures,  b3'  our  artist,  Mr.  Warren,  illustra- 
ting, very  beautifully,  the  Charlestown  Navy  Yard.  First, 
a  very  fine  perspective  view  from  the  Navy  Yard,  looking 
seaward.  Second,  a  view  of  the  spacious  Parole  Ground 
and  Barracks,  for  the  corps  of  Marines  always  on  duty- 
Third,  a  view  of  the  large  and  elegant  building  devoted  to 
the  purpose  of  the  Kopewalk.  And  fourth,  an  excellent 
picture,  giving  a  correct  view  of  the  Comaiodore'a  House 
and  Gardens.     Forming  a  series  of  line  pictures. 

A  very  accurate  likeness  will  be  given  of  Mrs.  Ellis,  the 
English  authoress,  and  well  known  writer  upon  matters 
particularly  interesting  to  her  own  sex,  and  pertaining  to 
domestic  happincos. 

A  picture  of  the  swiftest  clipper  in  the  world,  the  far- 
famed  American  ship ,  Oriental,  which  has  made  the  quick- 
est pi^sage  from  China  to  England  on  record. 

A  series  of  pictures  of  the  late  Camp  Meeting,  at  East- 
bam,  on  Cape  Cod,  taken  on  the  spot  by  onr  artist,  Mr. 
Rosenbtrg.  First,  representiDg  the  Landing  at  Eastham, 
a  fine  and  spirited  picture.  Second,  a  characteristic  scene, 
entitled,  a  Prayer  Meeting  in  a  Tent.  Third,  a  large  view 
exhibiting  a  comprehensive  scene  of  General  Exhortation 
and  Preaching  on  the  Camp  Grounds. 


Tremoxt  Temple. — This  structure  is  rebuild- 
ing rapidly.  It  is  said  that  it  will  be  finished  in 
November.  The  great  hall,  whose  floor  is  to 
cover  tlie  entire  third  story  of  the  building,  will, 
it  is  said,  equal  in  area  the  Boston  Music  Hall. 
A  superb  organ,  on  a  larger  scale  than  any  in 
this  country,  is  already  commenced  for  it,  at  the 
factory  of  the  Messrs,  Hook,  in  this  city. 
«  »»^  t 

SPLINTERS. 


The  Providence  Flying  ArtiUeiT-  acquit- 
ted themselves  most  creditably  in  Boston. 

Where  are  the  learned  fleas  ?  Can  any- 
body tell  us  where  ? 

....  The  Batemen  Children  have  returned  to 
New  Tork  from  their  London  engagement. 

....  The  London  Times  acknowledges  that 
the  American  steamers  are  the  fleetest. 

....  We  rejoice  to  see  that  the  river  and  har- 
bor bill  has  passed  Congress. 

....  There  have  been  three  more  "  camphene 
murders  "  since  our  last  paper. 

....  Miss  Fitzpatrick,  a  young  comic  actress, 
from  England!,  is  at  Niblo's. 

A  seal,  weighing  600  pounds,  has  been 

shot  at  Biddoford,  Maine. 

....  Th«  Germania  Musical  Society  will  re- 
main in  Boston  this  winter. 

....  Professor  A"clerson  has  been  amusing 
ihe  Boston  i&ns  at  the  Howard  Athenceura. 

Madame   Anna  Widemann  won  much 

praise  in  this  city  by  her  concerts. 

Our  city  is  still  crowded  with  strangers 

from  the  south  and  west. 

....  The  man  who  owns  so  much  "Vermont 
Central "  has  taken  medical  advice. 

Edwin  Forrest,  it  is  said,  will  make  a 

professional  tour  of  the  country  this  winter. 


HERNANDO  DE  SOTO. 

Behind  the  chair  in  which  we  sit,  in  our  cosey 
sanctum,  hangs  a  fine  lithograph  pnnt  of  the 
burial  of  this  renoivned  Spaniard.  History  pre- 
sents but  few  more  brave  and  chiyalrous  charac- 
ters than  thatof  this  discoverer  of  the  Mississippi 
River.  The  conquests  of  Mexico  and  Peru  had 
fired  all  Europe  with  a  spirit  of  adventure,  and 
exaggerated  stories  of  the  enormous  wealth,  the 
mines  of  gold,  and  the  splendid  temples  and 
cities  built  of  the  precious  metal,  to  be  conquered 
and  possessed  in  the  western  world,  were  rife. 
Among  those  who  bad  returned  from  following 
Pizarro  in  his  conquests,  was  one  Hernando  de 
Soto,  who  had  brought  with  him  great  wealth, 
and  fame  as  a  brave  warrior.  The  young  and 
fiery  De  Soto  had  peifoi-med  deeds  of  almost 
miraculous  valor  and  prowess. 

A  few  stragglers  had  returned  to  Spain  from 
an  ilbstaiTcd  expedition  to  the  coast  of  Florida ; 
but  though  they  had  met  with  no  success,  they 
brought  a  renewal  of  these  stories,  and  declared 
that  the  natives  on  the  coast  told  them  of  mighty 
kingdoms  situated  in  the  interior,  greater  and 
wealthier  thfni  any  that  Spanisli  arms  had  ever 
conquered.  ]^e  Soto  burned  to  imitate  the  deeds 
of  the  conquerors  of  Mexico  and  Peru.  He 
formed  an  expedition,  and  sailed  for  the  shores 
of  this  continent,  landing  in  Florida  in  May, 
1539,  and  after  experiencing  a  series  of  the  most 
fearful  adventures  with  the  natives,  one  day 
fighting  until  blood  ran  like  a  river,  and  the  next 
feasting,  he  cue  his  way  first  tlirough  the  Indians, 
and  then  through  the  tangled  forests,  westward 
to  the  supposed  El  Dorado,  which  he  confidently 
expected  to  find. 

Morasses  were  to  be  crossed,  wildernesses  to 
be  tracked,  all  manner  of  hardships  endured,  but 
with  an  indomitable  spirit,  they  marched  forward, 
overcoming  all  obstacles.  Believing  that  they 
would  eventually  find  rich  and  glowing  regions 
to  conquer,  and  even  allured  by  visions  of  gold, 
they  steadily  held  on  their  way  westward.  Now 
the  war-whoop  rang  in  their  ears,  and  now  they 
smoked  the  pipe  of  peace.  On,  on  they  pressed, 
their  progress  incredibly  slow,  but  their  hearts 
undismayed,  until  April,  1541,  when  they  arrived 
on  the  banks  of  the  mighty  Father  of  Waters,  a 
discovery  that  has  enrolled  the  name  of  De  Soto 
in  American  liistory,  and  which  for  his  fame  was 
greater  than  would  have  been  the  discovery  of 
inexhaustible  mines  of  gold  and  silver. 

But  himself  and  his  band  crossed  this  great 
river,  and  plunged  into  forest  wilds  beyond; 
fresh  battles  are  fought,  and  new  Indian  tribes 
are  conciliated.  Still  they  traverse  the  unbroken 
wilderness,  imtil  the  fever,  induced  by  the  climate, 
thins  their  ranks,  and  warns  them  to  retrace  their 
steps,  or  prepare  to  lay  their  bones  in  the  wilder- 
ness. They  turn  back  to  the  Mississippi,  where 
their  brave  and  indomitable  leader,  the  stout- 
hearted, invincible  De  Soto,  is  laid  low  in  sick- 
ness, and  here  he  dies  !  Afraid  to  bury  his  body 
where  the  savages  may  discover  and  disinter  it 
for  disgrace,  his  followers  take  it  (as  represented 
in  this  expressive  picture),  tearfully  and  in  deep 
sorrow,  to  the  river  channel,  and  in  its  deepest 
part,  at  midnight,  and  by  mingled  torch  and 
moon-light,  hooded  priests  and  steel-clad  wan-iors 
gather  round.  They  commit  the  body  thus  to  the 
stream. 

His  followers  build  vessels  here,  their  labors 
frequently  interrupted  by  battles  with  the  natives, 
and  finally  they  embark  for  their  distant  Castil- 
ian  homes,  by  the  way  of  the  Spanish  possessions 
in  Mexico  ;  and  small  was  the  remnant  of  that 
proud  and  valiant  band,  who,  after  the  lapse  of 
years,  once  more  reached  their  European  homes. 


[};y"  We  have  received  a  copy  of  Gleason's  Pictorial 
Drawing-Room  Companion,  ^e  have  no  hesitancy  in 
Sajing.  that  among  all  the  spirited  productions  of  the  ag», 
none  have  been  more  successful — none  are  more  beautiful 
and  useful ;  contain  more  magnificent  engravings  th;in 
Gleason's  Pictorial.  It  is  a  large  octavo,  published  weekly 
by  F.  GleasoD,  Boston,  containing  sixteen  pages  of  reading 
matter,  adorned  with  the  most  splendid  embellishments. 
These  handsome  engravings  contribute,  in  no  small  degree, 
to  i-ender  it  one  of  the  most  acceptable  guests  on  the  draw- 
ing-room table.  Its  main  features  arc  to  present  some- 
thing, every  week,  faniiiiar  to  the  minds  and  tastes  of  the 
American  people,  and  for  these  noble  exertions  it  hns  just- 
ly received  the  commendation  of  every  lover  of  polite  lit- 
erature, and  stands  unrivalled,  perhaps,  in  the  world.  For 
a  present  to  a  lady  friend,  a  volume  of  the  "  Companion  ■' 
would  be  the  best,  probably,  that  could  be  selected  from  a 
thousand  similar  productions. — Jersey  Shore  Republican. 


Glen  Mary. — Our  readers  will  thank  us  for 
this  pleasant  picture  given  in  the  present  number 
of  the  Pictorial.  N.  P.  Willis,  in  his  own  pecu- 
liar and  inimitable  way,  has  rendered  it   classic 

ground. 

Letters  ox  Palestine. — The  series  of  let- 
ters from  the  pen  of  Rev.  F.  W.  Holland,  now 
publishing  in  our  columns,  will  greatly  interest 
our  hosts  of  subscribers. 


POST.4GE  OF  OUR  PAPER. 

As  some  few  postmasters,  more  nice  than  wise, 
have  taken  the  liberty  of  charging  magazine 
postage  upon  our  paper,  we  have  found  it  neces- 
sary to  refer  you  to  this  subject,  and  again  to  say 
that  we  addressed  the  Department  at  Washing- 
ton upon  the  subject,  and  have  the  authority  of 
its  head  for  stating  that  the  proper  rates  of  charge 
upon  the  Pictorial  are  as  follows  :  Five  cents  per 
quarter,  for  any  distance  not  over  fifty  miles ; 
and  ten  cents  per  quarter,  for  any  distance  not 
over  three  hundred  miles.  Our  readers  and  sub- 
scribers would  do  well  to  remember  this ;  and  if 
any  postmaster  attempts  to  defraud  them  by  a 
higher  charge,  we  will  be  obliged  to  them  to 
transmit  his  name  to  this  office.  For  the  infor- 
mation of  all  concerned,  we  subjoin  the  following 
extract  from  the  postmaster-general's  letter  to 
this  office ; 

"  To  judge  properly  of  the  weight  of  newspa- 
"  pers,  postmasters  are  required  to  weigh  them 
"  when  they  are  in  a  dry  state. — The  wrapper 
"  forms  no  part  of  tlie  newspaper,  neither  is  post- 
"  age  paid  on  it,  and  all  postmasters  have  the 
"  right  to  remove  them  from  every  paper  receiv- 
"ed  at  the  office." 

This  settles  the  matter,  and  no  subscriber  need 
be  imposed  upon  a  second  time.  He  has  only 
to  call  the  postmaster's  attention  to  this  para- 
graph, and  show  him  that  the  paper  must  be 
weighed  tcken  drt/,  and  xdthout  their  covers.  This 
will  put  the  matter  to  rest,  until  the  new  postage 
law  goes  into  effect,  when  subscribers  will  get 
their  papers  through  the  mail  at  a  still  cheaper 
rate.  The  spirit  of  the  new  law  we  have  already 
referred  to,  and  hope  to  be  able  to  give  it  to  our 
readers  in  detail  ere  long,  for  it  will  be  the  most 
liberal  and  favorable  post-office  law  ever  adopted 
for  the  m.ass  of  the  people,  and  will  enable  them 
to  enjoy  all  the  advantages  of  prompt  communi- 
cation tlii-ough  the  mail  at  a  very  moderate  cost. 


RUFUS  CHOATE. 

A  correspondent,  writing  from  Saratoga,  says  ; 
"In  one  of  the  most  retired  parlors,  surrounded 
by  a  very  few  persons,  you  will  find,  lying  upon 
a  sofa,  a  man  of  middle  age,  thin  and  slender, 
on  whose  face  are  traced  deep  lines  ot  thought 
and  apparent  suff'ering.  There  is  a  wild,  hag- 
gard expression  to  his  countenance,  and  his  eye 
seems  to  roll  as  restless  as  though  he  were  now 
being  consumed  by  some  internal  fire.  His 
clothes  are  by  no  means  fashionable,  or  even 
new.  There  is  about  him  an  air  of  negligence 
and  occasional  languor,  which  reminds  you  that 
he  is  the  same  gentleman  whom  you  saw^  drink 
so  many  cups  of  tea  at  the  supper-table.  This  is 
RuFus  Choate,  the  great  Boston  lawyer,  the 
'American  Kossuth,'  whose  eloquence  sways  the 
hearts  of  men  as  the  March  wind  sways  the  ever- 
green pines." 


THE  NAVAL  OFFICER : 

— OR— 

THE    PIKATE'S     CAVE. 

4  Thrilling  Story  of  the  Last  War. 

BY    LIEUTENANT    MURRAY. 

This  far-famed  story  by  the  popular  author  of 
Fanny  Campbell,  is  now  re-published,  to  answer 
the  continued  calls  for  the  same.  It  has  been 
out  of  print  for  a  considerable  period,  but  can 
now  be  had  in  any  quantity  at  our  office  or  agen- 
cies, and  at  all  the  periodical  depots. 


Madame  Sontag. — The  engraving  of  this 
lady,  in  this  number,  is  a  most  perfect  likeness. 
She  is  to  have  a  truly  stupendous  serenade  on 
the  night  of  her  arrival.  Four  hundred  perform- 
ers are  to  take  part  in  it.  She  will  probably  re- 
side at  the  Union  Place  Hotel,  New  York,  and 
the  scene  of  the  serenade  is  to  be  the  adjoining 
square. 

Remittances. — We  frequently  receive  letters 
saying,  how  shall  we  subscribe  for  your  paper  1 
your  terms  are  invariably  in  advance,  and  we  are 
a  long  way  from  Boston.  Nothing  is  easier  than 
to  enclose  the  money  in  a  letter,  or  ask  the  post- 
master of  your  town  to  do  so.  It  is  sure  to  come 
safe,  and  you  get  your  paper  by  return  of  mail. 


Turkey  and  the  Turks. — The  first  of  a 
series  of  papers  upon  this  interesting  subject  we 
commence  this  week,  from  tlie  pen  of  Dr.  J.  V. 
C.  Smith.  We  propose  to  illustrate  some  of  the 
coming  scenes  he  describes. 


The  Ar3ioree  of  Tyre. — This  excellent 
story,  now  publishing  in  the  Flag  of  our  Union, 
is  to  be  dramatized  for  the  stage. 


In  this  city,  by  Kev.  Dr.  Stow,  Mr.  Charles  H.  Hall  to 
Miss  Emily  Robbins. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Smithett,  Mr,  John  Walter  to  Jliss  Marcia 
M.  Crane,  both  of  Brighton. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Gray,  James  Baker,  Esq.,  to  Miss  Rachel 
A.  Greenleaf. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Damon,  Mr.  J.  D.  Ambler,  of  Milford,  to 
Mrs.  Ann  S.  VTilkinS. 

By  William  Palfrey,  Esq.,  Mr.  Woodbury  L.  Levris  to 
Misg  Paulina  N.  Griffin,  of  Hiilsboro',  N.  H. 

At  Cambridgeport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Ware,  Mr.  Henry  Thayer 
to  Miss  Mary  E.  Heywood. 

At  Dorchester,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Blaikie,  Mr.  Neil  Walker  to 
Miss  Jane  Ballentiue. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Fisher,  Mr.  Cha's  Peckham,of  N. 
Orleans,  to  Miss  Martna  A.  Young,  of  Manchester,  N.H. 

At  Dedham,  by  Rev-  Mr.  Patterson,  Mr,  Wm.  S.  Pierce 
to  Miss  Sarah  A.  Eaton. 

At  Newton,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Partridge,  Mr.  George  W.  HaU 
to^Miss  Adeline  T.  Trowbridge. 

-Vt  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bruster,  Mr.  Franklin  Goldsmith 
to  Miss  Julia  A.  Cram,  of  Ludlow,  Vt. 

At  Fosboro',  by  Rev.  Mr.  Slade,  Rev.  D.  W.  Stevens,  of 
Mansfield,  to  Miss  E.  H.  P.  Sumner. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Chickering,  Mr.  F.  Baker, 
of  San  .Francisco,  Cal.,  to  Miss  Harriet  F.  E.  Downs. 

At  Bath,  Me.,  Dr.  E.  L.  Warren  to  Miss  Sarah  P.  HaU, 
both  of  Vfevmouth,  Ms. 

At  \ew  York,  Mr.  Cha\s  0.  West,  of  San  Francisco,  Cal., 
to  Miss  Sabina  M.  Griffin. 

At  S.  Brooklyn,  N.  Y  ,  Mr.  Addison  Ware,  of  St.  Louia, 
Mo.,  to  Miss  Hannah  A.  Phelps,  of  Greenfield,  Ms. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  William  Preston,  23;  Miss  Sarah  E. 
Baldwin,  of  Charlestown,  26;  John  F.,  son  of  Mr.  John  F. 
Mills,  2 ;  Mr.  Thomas  Brown,  21. 

At  East  Boston,  Mrs.  Margaret  McLaughlin,  25. 

At  Roxbury,jCharles  vVilliams  Winship,  M.  D.,  79. 

At  Charlestown,  Dea,  Simon  G.  Shipley,  54. 

At  Somerville,  Rev.  Phineas  Howe,  29. 

At  Cambridgeport,  Miss  tlarriet  Hardy,  17. 

At  West  Cambridge,  Mrs.  Mary  C.  H.  Horton. 

At  Saugus,  Mrs.  Laura  Ames,  55. 

At  Salem,  Mr.  Thomdike  Knight,  3S. 

At  Newhuryport,  Mr,  Henry  Follansbee,  26. 

At  Hicgham,  Mrs.  Martha  Esterbrook,  88. 

At  Acton,  Mi.^s  Mary  C.  Robbins,  18. 

At  Norton,  Mrs,  Eunice  Lane,  80. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mrs.  Didama  Gordon,  43. 

At  Medfieldj  Mr.  OHver  Cutler,  91. 

At  North  Weymouth,  Mr.  Francis  L,  Torrey,  30. 

At  Byfield,  Mr.  V\'ilham  Moody,  71, 

At  VVcstboro'  Mr.  Dana  Harrington,  62. 

At  Loudon,  N.  H,,  Mrs.  Mary  Page,  93. 

At  Westmoreland,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Matilda  Winchester,  53. 

At  Kcunebunkport,  Me.,  Miss  Eveline  Webber,  21, 

At  Smithfieid,  R.  1.,  Ihomas  Andrews,  Jr.,  M.  D.,  27. 

At  New  Haven,  Ct.,  Dr.  JEneas  Monson,  89. 

At  Pomfret,  Ct.,  Mr.  Amaau  Copeland,  94. 

At  New  York,  Capt,  Henry  Getcbell,  63, 

At  Oswego,  N.  Y,,  Rev.  Aaron  Judsoii.  40. 

At  Nfcwark,  N.  J.,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Lee,  51. 

At  Baltimore,  Md.,  Mr.  Nathaniel  Tower,  73. 

At  Cincinnati,  Mrs.  Mary  Boyd,  of  New  York,  65. 


Ik  m%m:wm  mmmm% 


LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

^r*wliTcj^Jl00tn  €0ttt^rtin0iT< 

A  liecord  of  the  beautiful  and  iisefd  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHOHS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTEATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  iu  all  pai-'s  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  mailing  a  pi'.pcv  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  iu  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hcmi- 
Bphero,  of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  line  and  accurate  portraits  of 
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174 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gleiwon'a  PictorliLl,] 
SURRENDER    OF    TROY. 

DYWiM-IASI  EDWARD  KNOWLES. 

From  tho  valley  of  the  NiluB  runhoil  the  Coptic  liosta  to  war, 
Onward  Iml  by  daring  lioroea,  from  tlio  Nilun's  banltn  nfar; 
And  with  battli!-iix(!  ui)llfh)d,  uacU  In  armor  clad  appears, 
Whilu  1b  liuard  the  bluHt  of  trumpetn,  and  tho  ring  of  PoUua  epeari. 

Then  tlio  wallH  were  soon  doaertod,  Iron  walls  of  Ilium, 
Ah  wofl  hoard  the  deiifoning  mttio  of  tho  Corybantlan  drum  ; 
Sbarpor  dashed  the  Cretan  cymbal,  and  tho  Cystrum  rattled  slirill, 
While  then)  rose  cho  wail  of  caroago,  and  the  shouts  rose  louder  still. 

It  was  then  that  Troy  scorned  hopolcss,  ore  tho  battle  half  wus  done, 
Aa  tho  chariots  glistened  brightly  in  the  Asiatic  eun  ; 
Brawn  cluiriota  roiling  onward,  swifter  than  tho  arrow  apcctl3, 
Laden  with  the  Coptic  heroes,  drawn  by  Asiatic  steeds. 

In  the  Ilium  was  sounding,  loudly  sounding,  the  sad  knell, 
Heard  above  the  deaf 'ning  rattle  of  the  cymbals  of  Cybelle  ; 
But  her  sons  rushed  on  to  battle,  tramping  on  the  mangled  slain, 
While  the  crystal  Phrygian  waters  ran  a  stream  of  blood  again ! 

Onward  rushed  the  Niius's  heroes  o'er  tho  mighty  walls  of  stone, 
And  encircled  Daiphobus  round  about  as  with  a  zone  ; 
Still  his  heroes  from  their  towers  battled  bravely  for  their  cause, 
Choosing  death  before  adhering  to  tho  heathen  Coptic  laws. 

Yet  the  fading  sunlight  found  them  bound  in  chains  within  their  towers, 
Mourning  for  thoir  ruined  city,  through  the  long  and  dreary  hours; 
For  her  golden  streets  were  plundered,  and  hor  altars  levelled  down, 
While  tho  breath  of  desolation  swept  around  the  ruined  town. 


[Written  for  Gieason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

No.    III. 

BY  REV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

TYRE,  SIDON  AND  ACRE. 
The  first  night's  rest  on  our  pilgrimage  was  with  the  sheik  of 
the  Maronites,  in  a  little  mountain-hamlet  of  his  own.  His  peo- 
ple claim  to  be  the  original  Christians  of  the  country,  inhabit 
Mount  Lebanon  as  their  principal  seat,  and,  though  under  subjec- 
tion to  the  pope,  retain  much  of  their  independence — holding  pe- 
culiar festivals,  keeping  up  a  married  clergy,  and  administering 
wine  as  well  as  bread  at  the  communion.  Their  patriarch,  elected 
by  people  and  clergy  together,  takes  the  apostolic  name  of  Peter, 
and  is  termed  "Patriarch  of  Antioch."  Their  khan,  or  Turkish 
inn — the  word '*caravansara"  having  quite  disappeared — is  the 
cleanest  in  Palestine,  and  the  best  kept.  We  were  provided  at 
once  with  lights,  bedding,  some  simple  food,  and  a  generous  sup- 
ply of  guests.  The  old  gentleman,  with  his  children  and  grand- 
children gathered  around  to  watch  every  motion,  see  us  eat,  won- 
der at  our  trinkets  and  feel  of  our  clothes  :  evidently,  they  were 
a  simple,  kind-hearted  set,  very  much  pleased  to  see  strangers, 
and  quite  troubled  that  we  could  not  talk  with  them.  All  our 
goods  and  gear  were  perfectly  safe  among  them  without  bolt  or 
bar,  and  no  charge  was  made  for  their  comfortable  hospitality — 
though,  of  course,  some  silver  changed  hands  before  we  parted 
from  them.  At  no  other  khan  did  we  fare  at  all  as  well.  Com- 
monly, their  allowance  was  six  foot  by  three  of  naked  earth  for 
chair  and  bed,  one  dirty  jug  of  water  for  the  whole  company,  a 
rag  burnt  in  a  mud  cup  of  olive  oil  for  light,  some  furze-smoke 
for  fire,  a  swaim  of  vermin  for  bed-fellows,  and  a  greediness  of 
gain  which  we  were  never  able  to  perfectly  satisfy.  When  these 
stone  huts — called  by  the  natives  Iconis — were  crowded,  and  the 
cattle  had  to  sleep  witli  us,  and  the  rain  filtered  upon  our  faces 
through  the  flat  clay  roof,  and  the  dirty  smoke  blinded  but  would 
not  warm  us,  and  the  fleas  welcomed  us  as  if  they  had  been  starv- 
ing ever  since  meat-eating  Christians  left  the  country  ages  ago,  it 
was  about  as  much  as  we  could  bear.  Except  the  free-hearted 
reception  among  the  Bedouins,  and  the  stated  provision  at  the 
Latin  convents — which  are  unhappily  "few  and  far  between," 
poorly  sustained  by  European  funds  and  wretchedly  victualled — 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  hospitality  in  the  land.  The  Roman 
Catholic,  but  not  the  Greek  monks,  make  it  their  business 
to  attend  upon  all  decent  travellers :  they  are  obliged,  by  their 
own  rules,  to  give  gratuitous  food  and  lodging  for  three  days  to 
every  applicant — and  some  persons  linger  for  weeks  ;  medical  at- 
tendance, too,  is  freely  funiishcd,  and  the  Christian  antiquities  of 
the  place  pointed  out.  In  return,  every  traveller  leaves  with 
them  about  what  he  would  pay  at  an  inn  of  the  same  class,  to 
help  them  bestow  the  same  necessary  mercy  upon  future  visitors. 
They  used  to  be  cruelly  oppressed,  robbed,  and  even  murdered 
by  the  Turkish  lords  of  the  land.  Ibrahim  Pacha  put  an  end  to 
all  this.  But,  visiting  freely  all  parts  of  their  establishment — as 
my  companion  and  servant  were  devout  Catholics — I  found  many 
friars  sick,  all  of  them  poorly  fed,  and  few,  indeed,  that  stayed, 
save  from  painful  sense  of  duty.  Faring  worse  than  our  crimi- 
nals, they  seemed  contented;  cheered  by  no  bow  of  promise  in 
the  future,  they  never  appeared  cast  down ;  haunted  by  want, 
they  still  kept  open  doors ;  worn  down  l)y  debility,  they  never 
talk  of  desertion.  Had  we  despised  their  superstition,  we  could 
not  have  failed  to  admire  their  generosity;  had  we  hated  their 
creed,  we  must  still  have  venerated  lives  of  patient  poverty,  of 
cQij5t,;*i?t  devotion,  of  never-stinted  benevolence. 

Sidon,  now  >Said,  was  the  first  town  on  our  way — the  mother  of 
Tyre,  and  one  of  the  thrones  of  Phcnician  commerce.  Though 
extremely  injured  by  tlie  filling  up  of  its  harbor  under  the  orders 
of  Fakrcddin,and  the  banishmentof  the  Franks  by  Djezzar  Pasha 
it  ia  still  ft  bustling,  thriving  place,  beautifully  situated  on  the  sea. 


a  round  tower  guarding  it  upon  the  land,  and  a  square  one  upon 
the  water.  The  little  paved  sti-eets — ^^just  wide  enough  for  one 
loaded  horse,  with  side-walks  still  narrower — exhibited  all  kinds 
of  trade  in  full  life — morocco-dyers,  silk-weavers,  potteries,  cook- 
erics,  and  tho  like;  the /.'■W;,  which  is  minced  lamb  roasted  on 
skewers  and  eaten  from  them  on  bread,  we  found  exceedingly 
nice,  and  the  charge  very  moderate.  The  town  is  saiil  to  contain 
five  thousand  people ;  but  as  there  arc  no  Christians  to  compute  the 
number,  it  is  all  guess-work.  I  should  not  allow  so  many;  and 
yet  the  last  Biblical  Cyclopedia  gives  fifteen  tliousand!  Bciroot 
luis  stolen  away  the  best  of  the  commerce  ;  and  wlicncver  its  pro- 
jected road  to  Damascus  is  completed,  will  secure  a  permanent 
business  superiority  over  every  other  place  in  Palestine. 

Tyre,  the  next  Phcnician  seaport,  another  day's  journey  from 
Bciroot  to  the  south,  has  changed  that  name  so  renowned  under 
David  and  Solomon  to  Sur;  its  site  is  more  inland  than  the  orig- 
inal one,  its  population  is  about  half  that  of  Said,  and  its  desola- 
tion is  made  impressive  by  the  ruins  of  aqueducts  and  other  Ro- 
man works  once  surrounding  this  Venice  of  antiquity  by  land 
and  by  sea.  This  "  daughter  of  Sidon  "  far  surpassed  its  mother 
in  the  days  when  Ezekiel  and  Isaiah  uttered  their  prophecies 
against  it.  Once  it  defeated  the  king  of  Assyria  after  he  had 
taken  Samaria;  once  its  merchants  were  princes,  and  its  wealth 
of  commerce,  as  well  as  manufactures,  the  wonder  of  the  world. 
Now,  its  harbor  is  ruined ;  and  so  much  of  its  commerce,  that  I 
saw  but  one  vessel  in  the  offing.  Its  name  is  lost,  and  the  precise 
position  of  the  ancient  city  cannot  be  ascertained.  It  was  the 
last  stronghold  of  the  Crusaders,  and  was  so  entirely  demolished 
by  the  conquering  Moslems,  that,  for  three  centuries,  it  fultillcd 
the  prophecies  literally  by  being  a  heap  of  deserted  ruins.  Now, 
there  arc  a  few  fishing-boats,  with  their  nets  drying  upon  the 
shore,  a  little  trade  in  the  most  delicious  tobacco  in  the  world, 
and  vast  masses  of  remains  of  marble  pillars,  and  red  and  gray 
granite  columns,  which  reveal  a  little  what  the  city  of  Hiram  was 
in  the  days  of  its  pride. 

Acre,  the  Accho  of  the  Old  Testament  and  the  Ptolcmais  of 
the  New,  has  gone  back  very  much  to  its  ancient  name,  being 
now  called  Arkar,  and  still  attracts  notice  as  the  strongest  place 
in  all  Syria.  The  Saracens  stormed  it  once  with  two  hundred 
thousand  men.  Afterwards,  Richard  Caur  de  Lion  took  it  for 
the  second  time  from  the  Infidels.  Officered  by  a  few  English- 
men, under  Sir  Sidney  Smith,  it  kept  Napoleon  at  bay,  though 
he  himself  had  said  on  that  little  town  hangs  the  destiny  of  the 
East;  and  again  yielded  itself  readily  to  the  English  fleet,  assisted 
by  the  explosion  of  a  magazine,  in  1840.  Its  three  ruined  towers 
on  the  Mediterranean,  and  its  broken  seaside  gate,  show  how  se- 
verely it  has  suffered.  The  fairy-like  mosque  of  Djezzar  Pasha — 
the  most  beautiful  gem  of  tho  sort  in  all  Syria — with  a  spacious 
khan  around  it,  and  a  famous  fountain  and  kiosk  in  the  centre 
erected  by  the  same  renowiied  despot,  bear  traces  of  the  ruthless 
hand  of  war.  But  the  bazaars  solidly  arched  with  stone,  the  un- 
usually clear  streets,  the  extensive  Latin  Convent — the  double 
walls  still  of  considerable  strength  and  mounted  with  cannon — 
impress  the  stranger  favorably.  He  remembers  the  Knight-Hos- 
pitallers in  their  last  hold,  who  defended  it  so  fiercely  and  so  long ; 
he  is  not  surprised  at  the  crowd  of  soldiers  in  the  streets,  nor  at 
the  report  of  ten  thousand  inhabitants  in  the  thriving,  though 
somewhat  ruined  city.  The  key  of  Syria,  it  has  been  bravely 
contested  in  ancient  and  modem  times;  and  so  long  as  the  East- 
ern question  continues  unsettled,  and  war  keeps  its  popularity 
among  more  civilized  nations,  must  remain  the  first  prize  of  the 
spoiler — illustrating  too  well  the  moral  of  the  peace  makers,  that 
the  best  fortified  places  have  suftered  the  most  by  assault  and 
conquest. 

We  pitied  our  Franciscan  hosts  at  Acre  more  than  anybody 
else.  They  were  but  three  in  all,  and  one  was  sick,  one  taught 
school,  and  the  other  entertained  strangers.  Their  food  was 
hardly  eatable — their  apartments  were  cold — not  one  friend 
speaking  their  native  tongue  was  near  at  hand — their  Moslem 
neighbors  still  look  down  upon  them  in  scorn.  A  clerical  board 
residing  at  Jerusalem  appoints  these  brethren  their  several  sta- 
tions every  few  years.  They  are  not  students,  interested  in  intel- 
lectual investigations ;  they  are  not  missionaries,  occupied  by 
gathering  converts.  They  are  chiefly  guardians  of  the  past, 
watchers  over  the  tombs  of  holy  places  and  men,  helpers  of  Chris- 
tian pilgrims  and  mementos  of  Christian  history.  They  speak 
Italian  freely,  and  always  Arabic ;  but  hardly  ever  French  or 
English.  Their  books  are  few,  thoir  fasts  many,  their  duties 
incessant,  their  pleasures  hardly  to  be  imagined — a  pious  proces- 
sion or  a  church  festival,  a  few  more  candles  or  a  little  longer 
chant.  But  when  1  saw  their  superior,  trembling  with  cold  on 
Mount  Zion,  wlien  I  passed  from  one  damp,  uncarpeted  cell  to 
anotlier,  when  I  saw  the  meagre  and  monotonous  daily  board, 
when  I  witnessed  their  apparent  zeal  in  their  devotions  and  heard 
of  their  austerities,  I  could  not  but  respect  the  feeling  that 
prompted  ihem,  even  if  I  thought  it  might  have  been  directed  for 
a  greater  service  to  humanity. 


YANKEE  ENTERPRISE. 


Not  a  year  passes  but  numerous  active,  ambitious,  and  intelli- 
gent young  Americans  cross  the  Atlantic,  and  traverse  England 
from  end  to  end.  No  novelty,  no  ingenious  or  useful  invention 
escapes  their  shrewd  observation.  Tlie  knowledge  thus  acquired 
is  speedily  acted  upon,  and  brought  into  profitable  use,  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  the  vast  and  fertile  regions  of  the 
United  States.  It  frequently  happens  that,  in  a  few  mouths,  the 
English  invention  returns  to  us  with  material  improvements  be- 
fore it  is  generally  known  and  adopted  in  England.  As  this  policy 
is  totally  neglected  by  the  English,  the  result  must  be  obvious  to 
the  most  careless  and  indifferent.  That  is  to  say.  Brother  Jona- 
than is  rapidly  going  ahead,  and  leaving  England  behind  in  all 
useful  and  scientific  pursuits. — Mackinnon's  Atlantic  Sketches. 


[Written  for  GlcuHon'B  Plctorlul.] 

AUT()(il!APIIS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTmariSHED  DTDIVrDUALS. 

Nu.  II. 


BY  WM.  EDWAHD   KNOWLBS. 


We  continue  our  collection  of  autograplis,  from  last  week,  giv- 
ing (irst  on  the  list  that  of 


'Ux^t^n^^lO/ 


Wm.  Ellery  Ciianning  stands  high  as  a  didactic  and  moral 
writer.  By  some  he  has  been  severely  criticised;  by  others,  laud- 
ed to  the  skies.  That  he  was  a  man  of  genius,  no  one  will  deny. 
There  is  a  clear,  broad  deliberateness  found  in  his  chirography, 
surpassing  any  we  have  ever  yet  seen.  His  name  will  be  cher- 
ifilied  as  long  as  the  language  in  which  he  wrote  exists.  He  has 
now  gone  to  his  reward,  and  his  works  do  follow  him. 


' /{J?MT^<nJ^ 


Rev.  John  Pierpont  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  poets  on 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  His  poems  are  distinguished  by  the  ' 
sweetness  of  their  versification,  and  the  beauty  of  the  sentiment. 
His  short  poems  are  strikingly  terse  and  forcible.  The  strength 
and  modulation  of  his  rhythm  strongly  suggest  Croly  or  Milman. 
The  handwriting,  however,  is  decidedly  common.  It  is  loo 
clerky,  and  was  undoubtedly  formed  in  his  earliest  boyhood. 

RuFUS  Dawes  has  been  known  as  a  versifier  for  a  long  time. 
We  think  he  is  the  author  of  "  Geraldine  "  and  "  Athenia  of  Da- 
mascus." The  one  is  but  a  poor  imitation  of  Byron's  Don  Juan  ; 
while  the  other  is  a  work  of  mere  wordy  length.  He  has  done 
better  things  in  poetry,  however,  and  some  of  his  short  pieces  are 
equal  to  those  of  Bryant  himself.  His  chirography  is  neat  and 
legible,  and  at  times  highly  picturesque. 


Judge  Tucker  is  the  author  of  the  best  novel  ever  published 
in  America — George  Balcombe — but  owing  to  unfavorable  criti- 
cism, it  never  was  as  popular  as  it  otherwise  would  have  been. 
He  was  at  one  time  editor  of  the  "  Southern  Literary  Messenger," 
and  furnished  it  with  some  very  creditable  criticisms.  His  chi- 
rography is  neat  and  legible.  The  signature  affords  a  pretty 
good  idea  of  the  general  manuscript. 

Miss  Ciiesebro'  is  earning  for  herself  golden  laurels.  She  is 
a  powerful,  rather  than  an  imaginative  writer.  Her  autograph  is 
a  noble  one,  revealing  the  genius  within.     The  handwriting  is 


plain  and  distinctly  formed.     It  shows  force  and  i 


r  of  thought. 


^(/-^^^Mr^r^ 


RuFUS  W.  Griswold  is  a  fine  writer,  though  mostly  in  the 
editorial  way.  He  is  unquestionably  a  man  of  genius,  and  thor- 
oughly versed  in  the  literature  of  America.  As  a  prose-writer,  he 
is  polished  and  entertaining;  and  as  a  poet,  graceful  in  the  ex- 
treme. The  signature  is  rather  better  than  the  most  of  his 
manuscript. 


Wm.  D.  Gallagher  is  one  of  our  most  beautiful  poets,  and 
has  written  some  very  popular  songs.  He  is  destined  to  become 
still  greater,  as  he  possesses  the  true  spirit  of  poetry.  His  chi- 
rography is  free  and  easy,  bold  and  highly  picturesque.  The  sig- 
luiture  above  conveys  a  pretty  good  idea  of  the  boldness  of  tho 
manuscript. 


EonERT  T.  Conrad  holds  a  high  position  among  the  list  of 
American  authors.  Indeed,  he  is  nearly  at  the  head,  and  distin- 
guished alike  as  a  prose-writer  and  a  poet.  He  has  also  produced 
several  dramatic  works,  which  have  been  well  received.  His 
handwriting  is  very  legible,  and  just  such  a  one  as  we  should  nat- 
urally expect  from  such  a  man. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


175 


fllORE  ANKEXATION. 

It  has  just  come  to  light  that,  early  hi  1851, 
"  two  propositions  were  submitted  to  this  gov- 
ernment, one  proposing  to  make  an  absolute 
cession  of  the  Sandwich  Islands  to  the  United 
States,  in  consideration  of  a  fixed  annuity  to  be 
granted;  and  the  other  contemplating  a  protec- 
torate, like  that  held  by  the  French  over  Tahiti — 
which  may  be  considered  a  practical  exercise  of 
sovereignty."  Both  propositions  were  declined 
by  the  administration,  on  the  ground,  it  is  sup- 
posed, that  the  country  had  had  enough  trouble 
with  its  acquisitions  from  Mexico,  to  last  it  a 
year  or  two,  without  accepting  a  fresh  bone  to 
quarrel  over.  Some  letter- writers  now  state  that 
the  Democratic  leaders  have  had  it  seriously  un- 
der consideration  to  adopt  the  "  annexation  of 
the  Sandwich  Islands"  as  a  war-cry  for  the  com- 
ing election.  We  go  our  death  on  annexation, 
and  solemnly  believe  that  the  United  States  will 
eventually  cover  this  entire  continent,  and  that 
they  ought  to  do  so,  besides  embracing  the  West 
Indies,  Sandwich  Islands,  etc.  Our  government 
is  so  excellent  we  want  all  to  have  it. 


EXPENSIVE  PRACTICAL  -TORE. 

A  costly  joke  came  off  in  one  of  the  Berlin 
cotFee-houses  recently.  A  young  man  was  play- 
ing billiards.  One  of  his  companions,  with  an 
understanding  with  some  of  the  by-standers, 
stealtliily  drew  a  pocket-book,  which  contained 
four  hundred  thalers  in  paper  money,  from  his 
pocket.  When  the  game  was  finished,  and  the 
player  wished  to  pay  his  share  of  the  expense, 
the  pocket-book  was  gone.  For  some  time,  the 
company  amused  themselves  with  the  perplexity 
of  the  young  man  ;  at  length,  his  friend  conclud- 
ed to  return  the  book,  and  relieve  the  poor  fel- 
low's feelings.  But  now  it  was  his  tm-n  to  be 
frightened,  and  endure  the  same  pain  which  he 
had  just  inflicted  upon  his  companion  ;  for  a  real 
thief  had  relieved  him  of  the  pocket-book,  and 
that,  too,  without  joke;  and  had  taken  himself 
off.  The  joker  was,  therefore,  forced  to  replace 
the  four  hundred  thalers.     Served  him  right. 


TROUT  IN  LAKE  ERIE. 

Mr.  Andrews,  of  Dunkirk,  N.  Y.,  recently  suc- 
ceeded in  catching  salmon  trout  in  Lake  Erie, 
where  it  was  not  known  that  they  existed.  Seve- 
ral unsuccessful  attempts  were  made  at  different 
depths  of  water,  and  in  dilfercnt  ways,  but  at 
length  the  true  way  was  found,  and  that  by  turn- 
ing out  some  thirteen  miles  from  shore,  and 
dropping  nets  to  the  depth  of  nearly  or  quite  100 
feet,  and  thus  letting  them  remain  for  some 
hours,  the  fish  could  be  secured.  Mr.  Andrews 
took  at  one  haul  over  fifteen  hundred  pounds  of 
trout  and  whitefish.  In  this  lot  were  thirty-three 
trout,  weighing  about  thirty  pounds  each. 


EARLY  PRINTING. 

It  is  related  that  Faust,  of  Mentz,  one  of  the 
many  to  whom  the  honor  of  printing  is  ascribed, 
having  carried  some  of  his  Bibles  to  Paris,  and 
offered  them  for  sale  as  manuscripts,  the  French, 
after  considering  the  number  of  the  books,  and 
their  exact  conformity  to  each  other,  and  that 
the  best  book  writers  could  not  be  so  exact,  con- 
eluded  there  was  witchcraft  iu  the  case,  and,  by 
eitlier  actually  indicting  him  as  a  conjuror,  or 
threatening  to  do  so,  they  extorted  the  secret; 
hence  the  origin  of  the  popular  story  of  the  devil 
and  Dr.  Faustus. 


Of  course. — A  correspondent  writing  from 
Roxbury  signs  a  voice  from  the  "  neck."  It 
would  be  difficult  for  a  voice  to  come  from  any- 
where else. 


Maritime. — Two  vessels  sailed  from  Canton 
within  sixteen  hours  of  eacli  other,  and  reached 
New  York  just  the  same  number  of  hours  apart. 
This  coincidence  has  probably  no  parallel. 


"  The  Evening  Gazette." — Our  neighbor 
Clapp  makes  a  most  readable  and  acceptable 
paper  of  that  old  "stand  by" — the  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette. 


The  Maine  liquor  law  is  strictly  enforced  ia  Boston.- 
Granville  DemocraC. 

D^-  Over  the  left ! 


Exactly  so. — Looking  over  other  people's 
affairs  and  overlooking  our  own,  may  be  said  to 
be  one  of  the  curiosities  of  the  present  age. 


Surely. — The  quickest  way  to  have  a  thing 
done,  is  to  go  and  do  it. 


Ulaijsilie   ©atljcriugs. 

There  are  seven  steamships  on  the  stocks  in 
New  York. 

At  Bathurst,  N.  B.,  on  the  2d  ult.,  the  shock 
of  an  earthquake  was  experienced. 

Burglars  are  practising  extensively  and  suc- 
cessfully ill  Reading. 

There  are  now  over  881,000  hogs  in  Kentucky 
over  six  months  old. 

A  son  of  Mr.  William  Wilkinson  was  drowned 
at  Pawtucket,  on  the  11th  ult.,  while  bathing. 

The  Halifax  papers  are  decidedly  opposed  to 
any  compromise  of  the  fishing  question. 

An  express  line  has  been  started  between  New 
York  and  the  Australia  gold  diggings. 

It  is  estimated  that  Tulare  county,  California, 
would  produce  grain  enough  to  feed  a  population 
of  50,000,000. 

Three  "  phantom  sliips"  were  seen  sailing  in 
the  air  off  Kingston,  Ireland,  on  July  14,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  caused  by  refraction. 

It  is  asserted  that  a  communication  has  been 
made  to  the  Austrian  government,  that  the 
French  garrison  will  quit  Rome  within  a  year. 

A  man  about  fifty  years  of  age,  supposed  to  be 
deaf,  was  run  over  and  instantly  killed  by  a 
freight  train  on  the  Concord  road,  in  Concord. 

For  some  time  past,  Louis  Napoleon  has  been 
arranging  his  household  on  quite  an  Imperial 
footing. 

A  clever  female  French  writer  say?,  women 
should  not  sit  beside  the  men  they  wish  to  con- 
quer, but  opposite  them.  "  Attack  a  heart  by 
full  front,  not  by  profile,"  is  her  expression. 

George  Burton  was  arrested  at  Carlisle,  Pa., 
lately,  as  a  fugitive  from  justice,  charged  with 
passing  counterfeit  notes  of  the  Commercial 
Bank  in  Philadelphia. 

Lightning  conductors  were  much  opposed 
when  first  introduced  into  Paris.  A  gentleman 
having  placed  one  on  his  house,  was  compelled 
hy  the  sheriff  to  pull  it  down. 

Mr.  Caldwell,  keeper  of  the  almshouse,  at 
Newburyport,  was  nearly  choked  to  death,  lately, 
by  an  insane  person  under  his  charge.  Assist- 
ance reached  him  after  he  was  senseless. 

A  company  of  miners,  with  their  tools,  have 
arrived  at  Northampton,  in  this  State,  employed 
by  parties  in  New  York  city,  to  open  and  explore 
the  Southampton  lead  mines,  for  lead  and  zinc. 

A  two-year-old  heifer  recently  died  near  Ap- 
pleby, England,  and  on  being  opened,  the  cause 
was  discovered  to  be  a  living  adder,  three  feet  in 
length  ! 

Simeon  Rogers,  postm  aster  at  Chenango 
Forks,  has  held  the  ofifice  fifty  years.  He  receiv- 
ed his  commission  from  Gideon  Granger.  He 
is  now  ninety  years  of  age. 

Mrs.  John  Wilson,  the  widow  of  the  late  emi- 
nent Scotch  vocalist,  met  her  death  very  sudden- 
ly, supposed  from  apoplexy,  while  bathing  at 
Portobcllo,  on  the  30th  of  July. 

Three  persons  at  Sandwich,  Me.,  were  dread- 
fully burned  by  an  explosion  of  burning  fluid. 
They  were  daughters  of  the  Rev.  Joseph  Marsh, 
and  two  of  them,  it  is  supposed,  will  die. 

A  single  manufacturing  establishment  in  Staf- 
fordshire, England,  consumes  twenty  thousand 
dollars  worth  of  gold,  annually,  in  gilding  porce- 
lain ware.  Here's  where  some  of  the  gold  goes 
to. 

Andrew  Norris,  a  brave  soldier  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, aged  ninety  years  and  five  months,  who  is 
still  living  in  Cincinnati,  was  with  General  Wash- 
ington at  the  time  of  the  execution  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Major  Andre. 

The  Toronto  Globe  states  that  a  plan  for  the 
re- erection  of  Brock's  Monument,  has  been 
adopted.  It  is  a  fluted  column,  measuring  from 
the  base  to  the  head  of  the  statue  185  feet,  only 
8  feet  less  than  the  Nelson  Monument  in  London. 

Some  people  are  reporting  that  the  California 
mines  are  giving  out.  We  observe  that  on.e  of 
them  at  Viacita  recently  "gave  out"  to  its  own- 
er, a  Mr.  Dunham,  a  "nugget"  weighing  over 
twenty-six  pounds,  valued  at  §5400. 

Ml'.  Shaw,  an  Englishman,  says,  in  a  book  on 
the  rat,  that  "his ^little  dog  Tin}',  under  six 
pounds  weight,  has'destroyed  2525  rats,  which, 
had  they  betm  {>ermittcd  to  live,  would,  at  the 
end  of  three  years,  have  produced  1,633,190,200 
living  rats  \" 

If  yOu  want  to  leam  the  value  of  a  dollar,  go 
and  labor  two  days  in  the  burning  sun  as  a  hod 
carrier.  This  is  an  excellent  idea,  and  if  many 
of  our  young  gentlemen  had  to  earn  their  dollars 
in  that  way,  how  much  less  dissipation  and  crime 
we  would  witness  every  day ! 

Mr.  Seneca  Thomas,  a  brisk  youngster  of 
seceniy-eight  years,  and  a  soldier  in  the  battles  of 
Lundy's  Lane,  Chippewa,  etc.,  was  married  at 
Worcester,  Mass,  on  the  Uth  ult.,  to  Miss 
Clarissa  A.  Darling,  a  blooming  lass  of  thirty 
summers. 

A  yoilng  man,  named  Jennings,  committed 
suicide  at  New  England  Village,  lately.  He  had 
been  paying  attention  to  a  young  lady  before 
going  10  California,  and  on  liis  return  she  re- 
fused to  receive  his  address ;  hence  his  tragic 
end. 

The  Board  of  Health  of  Rochester  have 
adopted  a  resolution,  that  no  placards,  advertis- 
ing medicines,  patented  or  otherwise,  for  the 
cure  of  cholera,  shall  be  put  up  in  that  city,  and 
has  directed  the  officers  to  defiice  and  tear  down 
all  such  handbills. 


JTorcign   iWiscfllang. 

Moses  Benedict,  the  great  Stutgardt  banker,  is 
dead. 

The  Crystal  Palace  has  been  nearly  moved 
from  Hyde  Park. 

At  Madrid,  on  the  22d  July,  the  thermometer 
stood  at  113  in  the  shade. 

A  severe  shock  of  an  earthquake  has  been  felt 
at  Ivilmarnock,  Scotland. 

The  French  have  five  hundred  vessels  engaged 
in  fishing  along  the  colonial  coasts. 

Accounts  from  Calish,  in  Russian  Poland,  re- 
present the  ravages  of  the  cholera  as  fearful. 

The  number  of  Jewish  officers,  who  hold  com- 
missions in  the  French  army,  exceeds  one  hun- 
dred. 

Madame  Tussaud's  famous  wax-figures  are  to 
be  brought  to  this  country.  This  will  be  a  great 
speculation. 

It  transpires  every  day,  that  new  titles  of  no- 
bility contrive  to  be  conferred  in  France,  without 
any  public  announcement  of  them. 

Lord  Mansfield,  when  asked  how  the  French 
revolution  would  end,  replied ;  "It  is  an  event 
without  a  precedent,  and,  thei'efore,  without  a 
prophecy." 

The  police  of  Paris  are  continuing  to  take  ac- 
tive measures  to  prevent  further  accidents  from 
hydrophobia.  Upwards  of  four  thousand  dogs 
of  various  kinds  have  been  destroyed. 

The  Ariel  steamer  has  just  captured  twelve 
more  English  fishing-boats,  says  Galignani's 
Messenger,  while  in  the  act  of  poaching  on  the 
French  oyster-beds,  and  brought  them  into 
Havre. 

There  is  a  fixed  import  duty,  in  England,  of 
five  shillings  and  nine-pence  sterling  per  gallon 
on  all  French  wines,  witliout  regard  to  quality; 
this  duty  on  low  wines  amounts  to  five  or  six 
hundred  per  cent. 

Madame  Sontag,  Countess  of  Rossi,  is  soon  to 
make  her  appearance  as  '  a  singer  before  our 
American  public.  A  London  critic  says,  her 
voice  is  full  and  flexible,  Avith  hauthois  mellow- 
ness, but  not  the  clarion  ring  of  Grisi,  or  Jenny 
Lind's. 

A  young  woman  recently  committed  suicide, 
in  England,  because  a  fortune-teller  had  told  her 
tliat  her  "  young  man  "  would  prove  unfaithful. 
The  price  which  she  paid  for  this  prediction  was 
four-pence.  She  went  immediately  home  and 
took  poison. 

Speaking  of  Queen  Victoria's  family,  a  Lon- 
don letter-writer  says.  Prince  Albert  is  getting  to 
be  quite  fat  and  gray,  though,  upon  the  whole, 
he  has  a  very  cozy  and  comfortable  look.  Of 
the  children,  the  Prince  of  Wales  is  the  best 
looking. 


JFobr's  Buiiget 


Sanbs  of  ®olIr. 


....  The  highest  clouds  seem  to  move  slow- 
est, and  so,  too,  everything  great. 

....  Civil  dissension  is  a  viperous  worm  that 
gnaweth  the  bowels  of  the  commonwealth. 

....  To  give  advice  is  always  easy,  though 
generally  aselcss,  and  frequently  impertinent. 

....  No  one  can  be  provident  of  his  time  who 
is  not  prudent  in  his  choice  of  company. 

To  please  the  greatest  number,  it  is  not 

so  necessai-y  to  say,  as  to  leave  unsaid. 

....  The  time  for  reasoning  is  before  we  have 
approached  near  enough  to  the  forbidden  fruit  to 
look  at  it  and  admire. 

We  had  rather  see  patriotism  than  gal- 
lantry. The  one  cannot  be  counterfeited,  the 
other  can. 

....  Children,  be  more  ashamed  to  speak  one 
bad  word,  than  to  have  a  hole  in  both  knees  of 
your  pants  and  both  elbows  of  your  coat. 

....  To  be  well  spoken  of,  you  must  die. 
Even  a  pauper,  when  dead,  is  mentioned  without 
asperity,  and  that  is  as  much  as  any  pauper  can 
expect. 

....  The  most  influential  man,  in  a  free  coun- 
try at  least,  is  the  man  who  has  the  ability  as 
well  as  the  courage  to  speak  what  he  thinks, 
when  occasion  may  require  it. 

Avarice  in  old  age,  says  Cicero,  is  fool- 
ish; for  what  can  be  more  absurd  tlian  to  in- 
crease our  provisions  for  the  road,  the  nearer  we 
approach  to  our  journey's  end. 

What  a  pity  it  is   that  time  cannot  be 

bought  and  sold  like  commodities  in  general, 
since  some  persons  have  such  an  overplus,  and 
others  such  a  deficiency. 

....  Death  may  remove  from  us  the  great 
and  good,  but  the  force  of  their  actions  still  re- 
main- The  bow  is  broken,  but  the  arrow  is  sped, 
and  will  do  its  office. 

....  Science  is  not  a  club,  it  is  an  ocean ;  it 
is  open  to  the  cockboat  as  the  frigate.  One  man 
carries  across  it  freightage  of  ingots,  another  may 
fish  there  for  herrings. 

Let  your  thoughts  be  fit  and  suitable  for 

the  subject.  Every  day  have  higher  thoughts  of 
God,  lower  thoughts  of  self,  kinder  thoughts  of 
your  brethren,  and  more  hopeful  thoughts  of  all 
around  you. 

Reproaches  have  no  power  to  afflict  the 

man  of  unblemished  integrity,  or  the  abandoned 
profligate ;  it  is  the  middle  compound  character 
which  is  alone  miserable;  the  man, who,  without 
firmness  to  avoid  a  dishonorable  action,  has  feel- 
ing enough  to  be  ashamed  of  it. 


A  confectioner  at  the  south  end  advertises 
broken  hearts  for  thirteen  cents  a  pound  ! 

A  Western  editor  says,  that  in  the  town  where 
his  paper  is  published,  "  a  rattlesnake  was  killed 
a  few  days  ago  by  a  man  with  thirteen  rattles." 

These  moony  evenings  are  exceedingly  favor- 
able to  keeping  the  new  commandment — "  Love 
one  another."     So  say  John  and  Susan. 

A  genius  named  Flaherty,  of  Washington  city, 
has  the  following  posted  on  his  window  :  "  Eggs 
newly  laid  here  on  the  shortest  notice." 

A  Yankee  down  East  has  made  the  grand  dis- 
covery, that  a  window  glazed  with  old  hats  is  a 
sure  indication  that  the  occupants  have  seen  a 
rum  bottle. 

A  bachelor,  the  other  moraing,  remarked  that 
wives,  who  use  the  needle,  are  like  the  enemy 
spoken  of  in  the  parable — they  sew  tares  while 
the  husbandmen  sleep. 

Some  of  the  country  papers  are  still  complain- 
ing of  the  drought.  We  should  like  to  know 
what  else  was  expected  but  a  "  dry"  time,  after 
the  new  liquor  law  was  put  in  force. 

On  a  person  asking  another  if  he  believed  in 
the  appearance  of  spirits,  he  replied  :  "  No  ;  but 
I  believe  in  their  disappearance,  for  I  have  missed 
a  bottle  of  gin  since  last  night." 

Mr.  Punch  inserts  the  following  "  Note  and 
Query:"  Note. — The  Napoleon  color  is  violet. 
The  query  is — and  one  which  Master  Louis  Na- 
poleon would  find  it  rather  difficult  to  answer — ■ 
whether  the  Napoleon  oath  is  also  kept  in-violet. 

The  owners  of  the  Henry  Clay  have  requested 
the  public  to  smprnd  their  opinion _/br  a  few  days. 
We  suggest  that  the  public  had  better  suspend  the 
owners  for  half  an  hour.  This  would  be  very 
satisfactory  to  all. 

"How  rapidly  they  build  houses  now,"  said 
Cornelius  to  an  aiild  acquaintance,  as  he  pointed 
to  a  neat  two-story  house;  "they  commenced 
that  building  only  last  week,  and  they  are  already 
putting  in  the  lights."  "Yes,"  rejoined  hia 
friend,  "  and  the  next  week  they  will  put  in  the 
liver." 


VOLTTMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  TOlumes  1st  and  2(1  of  the  Pictorial  Dbawins 
R00.M  CoMP-VNiON  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  vrith  giltedgea 
and  hack,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Pive  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  ET(?nts  all  OTer  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad ;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND   INDEX 

of  great  be.iuty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
briJliant  frontispiece  to  the  voluuie. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embi-aces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Kecord  of  the  times;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  rea<ling  matter  and 
illustrations. 

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THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNIOIf , 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  KEFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  expi-sesly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  ^nd  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  Into  its  coliuuna ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  POR  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

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It  contains  th&  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
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PUBUSHER   OP  THE  ElAQ   OF   ODB  UnION. 

■  %*  Tlie  Flag  can.  be  obtained  at  any  of  the  »e]csp*ip2» 
depots  in  the  United  Slates,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
rODK  CENTS  per  single  copy. 

P.    GLEASON, 
L^  pDBLIBHEa  AKB  PBOPEIETOE,  BoSTOKj  MASS. 


176 


GLEASON'S   PICTOniAL    DRAWING   V.OOU   COiSIPANTON. 


THOMPSON'S   MONUMKNT. 

The  monument,  represented  herewith,  is 
the  work  of  P.  Stephenson,  and  is  exe- 
cuted in  Itixliftu  miirhlc.  It  is  nhout  ten 
feet  in  lieight,  and  live  feet  nt  tlio  base. — 
The  form  is  iin  oblong  Rrjuaro.  It  is 
erected,  by  his  family,  to  the  memory  of 
a  distinj;uished  citizen,  Capt.  Sheldon 
Thompson,  of  Buftalo,  N.  V.,  in  early 
life  a  sea  captain.  The  anchor  and  quad- 
rant are  emldomatical  of  his  profession ; 
the  shroud  and  inverted  torch  are  emble- 
matical of  dcatli.  The  moulding::  is  com- 
posed of  the  poppy  leaves  and  capsule, 
emblems  of  sleep,  or,  "  not  dead,  but 
slecpeth."  On  the  reverse  side  is  a  ligurc 
of  resignation.  Altliough  this  is  an  elabo- 
rate sculptui'jil  monument,  its  cost,  about 
$2000,  has  not  liecn  more  than  a  mean 
architectural  work  of  a  similar  size. 


FLYIIVG  DOGS. 

Having    collceted    a    largo    number    of 
plants,  we  left  the  island  of  Talim,  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  little  islands  of  Panician  and 
Labujo,  situated  at  a  short  distance   from 
Talim,  one  of  the  I'hilippine  islands.     The 
wcatlicr,  meanwhile,  changed,  and  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents  :  and  by  the  time  we  reached 
the  island  of  Panician,  which  was  covered 
with  most  luxuriant  vegetation,  it  was  im- 
possible to  effect  a  landing  anywhere.     We 
had   observed,  at   a  distance,  large   pear- 
shaped   bodies,  which  we  at  first  took  for 
birds'  or  ants'  nests,  suspended  from  the 
lofty  trees  that  overhung  the  shores  of  tbi=! 
little  island.     The  people  on  shore  called 
to  U3  to  lire  into  the  trees,  as  these  supposed 
birds'   nests   were   nothing   less    than    the 
gigantic   bats,  known  by  the  name  of  the 
flying  dogs.     We  accordingly  fired  several 
shots  at  these  thick  masses,  and  theborriblc 
creatures   rose,  with   much   exertion,   and 
fiighlful  cries,  into  the  air,  several  of  them 
falling  down  dead,  and  others  remaining 
suspended  from  the  branches.     The  large 
hooks  with  which  their  wings  and  feet  are 
furnished,    enable   them    to    cling    firmly. 
They  generally  double  themselves  up  in   a 
pear-shaped  form,  and  laying  hold  of  the 
branches  with  their  hooks,  their  whole  body 
is  thus  wrapped  up  in  their  wings.     We 
rowed  round  the  island,  and  after  repeated 
shots,  brought  the  whole  multitude  that  in- 
habits the  woods  into  confusion.     Such  of  the  bats  as  had  been 
shot  at  and  fell  into  the  water,  dived  as  soon  as  we  attempted  to 
take  them  up,  and  thus  we  obtained  only  those  which  were  shot 
dead  upon  the  spot.     After  the  whole  body  had  risen  into  the  air, 
and  filled  the  whole   neighborhood  with  their  hideous  cries,  they 
returned  and  flew  to  the  adjacent  island  of  Labujo.     The  vermil- 
ion eyes  of  this  animal,  its  large  and  hideous  form,  together  with 
its  frightful  scream,  render  it  one  of  the  most  disgusting  creatures 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.     We  shot  several  whieh  measured  four 
feet  from  tip  to  tip  of  the  extended  wings.     They  live  entirely  on 
fruits,  and,  as  they  travel  in  such  immense  numbers,  they  cause 
considerable  damage  to  the  farmers. — Meyer's  Voijage. 


MONUiMENT  TO  CAPT.  SHELDON  THOMPSON,  OF  BUFFALO,  N,  Y, 

CAMP   MEETING. 

The  engraving  below  represents  a  view  of  the  main  square  ot 
the  Duck  Creek  (Ohio)  M.  E.  Camp  Meeting,  taken  for  us,  by 
James  F.  Harris,  daring  the  11  o'clock  service  on  Sunday,  Aug. 
15th,  from  the  north  side  of  the  square.  It  shows  the  pulpit  and 
the  tents  back,  and  on  either  side.  A  dense  crowd  is  seen  packed 
in  around  the  pulpit.  The  concourse,  great  as  it  is,  is  not  more 
tlian  one  fifth  as  many  as  went  from  the  Queen  City  to  attend  on 
the  occasion.  In  the  Western  States  these  gatherings  are  more 
common  than  among  ns.  The  scene  presented  by  our  artist  is  a 
truthful  delineation,  and  may  be  regarded  as  a  fair  specimen  of  a 
Western  Camp  Meeting.     The  Duck  Creek  Camp  Ground  is 


pleasantly  situated  in  a  grand  old  beech 
wood  near  the  Madisonville  road,  five  miles 
east  from  Cincinnati.  It  has  been  occupied 
by  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Churches  in 
Cincinnati  and  vicinity  for  the  last  twelve 
years.  There  are  twenty-five  acres  of 
ground,  held  by  trustees  on  a  lease  at  one 
hundred  dollars  per  annum.  Three  largo 
springs  funiish  an  abundant  supply  of  pure 
water.  The  encampment  consists  of  a 
principal  square  for  preaching  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  and  a  fimaller  square  at  a 
convenient  distance  on  the  south  for  the 
Germans,  while  the  people  of  color  have 
tents  on  the  north.  The  chief  square  is 
about  two  hundred  by  three  hundred  feet, 
enclosed  on  all  sides  \iy  tents,  or  frame  cot- 
tages, two  stories  high.  On  three  sides 
there  are  three  rows  of  tents  in  parallel 
lines,  separated  by  narrow  streets.  The 
square  is  furnished  throughout  with  plain 
board  seats  for  the  congregation,  and  near 
the  east  end  is  a  large  stand  or  pulpit,  in 
which  some  twelve  or  more  preachers  are 
usually  seated  during  the  sermon.  Tlicir 
earnest  attention  and  hearty  responses  have 
a  fine  effect  upon  the  preacher  and  the 
audience.  There  are  about  three  hundred 
tents,  which  furnish  lodging  for  about  three 
thousand  persons.  Wlien  the  weather  is 
favorable,  many  come  from  the  city  and 
return  every  day,  and  on  the  Sabbath,  the 
attendance  sometimes  exceeds  twenty  thou- 
sand. English  and  German,  there  are 
from  thirty  to  forty  preachers  present ;  and 
they  have  not  failed  to  gather  at  every 
meeting  a  harvest  of  souls.  The  conver- 
sions often  exceed  one  hundred,  and  this 
year  they  were  over  one  hundred  and  fifty, 
of  which  about  one  half  were  Germans. 
Although  in  the  immediate  neighborhood 
of  a  large  city,  the  order  of  the  meetings 
has  ever  been  a  subject  of  grateful  remark. 
This  is  owing,  in  part,  to  the  efforts  of  an 
efficient  police,  acting  under  the  wholesome 
laws  of  the  State  of  Ohio,  for  the  protection 
of  camp  meetings ;  but  still  more  to  the 
strong  religious  influence  whieh  pervades 
all  minds,  and  awes  into  reverence  the 
thoughtless  and  profane.  How  many  have 
experienced  this  mysterious  power,  and 
though  "they came  to  scoff,  have  remained 
to  pray."  The  readers  of  the  Pictorial  will 
not  conceive  us  to  be  sectarian  in  present- 
ing to  them  this  scene ;  we  give  it  as  we 
would  any  other  public  and  notable  event  that  has  attracted  pub- 
lie  attention.  Because  we  give  the  likeness  of  an  eminent  politi- 
cian, it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  we  are  entirely  of  his  mode  of 
thinking,  nor  against  him.  These  columns  are  edited  and  pre- 
pared and  printed  for  the  million,  for  everybody,  and  no  sect,  reli- 
gion, nor  political  party  will  be  peculiarly  favored  in  any  respect. 
We  stand  on  neutral  ground,  and  what  we  say,  and  what  we 
depict,  is  for  universal  gratification,  and  for  the  entertainment  of 
everybody.  The  picture  before  us  is  one  of  those  spontaneous 
religious  gatherings  which  are  highly  popular  in  this  country,  and 
particularly  in  the  Western  States.  Our  artist  has  succeeded  in 
depicting  it  in  a  most  lifelike  and  natural  manner. 


-.   -C   ^^    -^l^f^w  <-="— '"^> 


.MAIN  SQUARE  OF  THfi  DUCK  CHEEK  ]\IETH0DIST  EPISCOPAL  CHURCH  CAMP  MEETING,  DURING  SERVICE,  NEAR  CINCINNATI. 


v>    m  V  ^  on-NT  (  corner  bromfield 

r  .    l>rJji!/AOUiN  ,  j    AND  TKEMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  18,  1852. 


Si2  PER  VOLUME. 

10  ct3.  single. 


Vol.  m.  No.  12.— Whole  No.  64. 


PROVIDENCE  BIARINE  ARTILLERY. 

Oar  artist  has  given  us  below  a  very  correct 
view  of  this  fine  body  of  citizen  soldiers,  under 
command  of  ColoQcl  Balch,  as  they  appeared  on 
Boston  Common,  a  few  days  since,  when  renew- 
ed by  Governor  Boutwell  and  suite.  Did  our 
space  permit,  we  should  be  pleased  to  give  a  de- 
tailed account  of  the  review,  but  we  must  be 
concise.  The  artist  has  chosen  the  scene  to  de- 
pict the  company'  as  they  appeared  a  la  Sher- 
man's Flying  Artillery  at  full  speed,  passing  in 
review.  It  is  a  fact  that  the  Providence  corps, 
as  represented  below,  fired  one  hundred  guns  (not- 
withstanding a  fierce  rain  storm)  in  a  second 
over  six  minutes,  with  four  peices,  while  Sher- 
man's battery  took  seven  minutes.     The  drill 


and  discipline  of  the  Marine  Artillery  was  most 
excellent,  and  has  infused  a  spirit  among  our 
own  military  that  may  result  in  the  formation  of 
a  similar  corps  in  Boston.  The  company  was 
instituted  and  organized,  and  the  charter  granted 
by  the  Legislature  of  Rhode  Isl3,nd,  under  the 
name  of  "  The  Providence  Marine  Corps  of  Ar- 
tillery," in  the  year  1801.  Upon  the  petition  of 
the  "  Marine  Society,"  praying  for  an  act  of  in- 
corporation, "  for  the  purpose  of  perfecting  them- 
selves in  the  art  military,  and  for  the  attack  and 
defence  of  ships  and  batteries;"  and  one  section 
of  the  charter  provided  that  all  the  officers  of  the 
company  should  be  chosen  from  the  Marine  So- 
ciety ;  this  provision  has  been  modified  from  time 
to  time,  and  finally  annulled.    At  the  present 


time,  no  connection  with  the  Marine  Society  ex- 
ists. From  the  time  of  their  organization,  until 
the  close  of  the  war  of  1812,  the  companywas  in 
a  very  efficient  state  of  drill  and  discipline  ;  the 
forts  and  preparations  for  the  defence  of  the  har- 
bor of  Providence,  during  the  war,  were  con- 
structed under  their  direction.  After  this  period, 
the  interest  in  the  company  appears  to  have  de- 
clined. New  members,  however,  were  admitted, 
and  the  annual  election  held,  that  the  charter 
might  not  be  forfeited.  In  1842,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  "Dorr  re6e///o!),"  a  communi- 
cation was  addressed  by  the  Executive  to  the 
several  military  companies  of  the  State,  request- 
ing to  be  informed,  if,  in  case  of  necessity,  he 
could  depend  upon  their  services  to  aid  in  the 


preservation  of  law  and  order.  Upon  laying  this 
executive  communication  before  the  company, 
they  at  once  took  measures  to  render  them- 
selves efficient.  Numerous  accessions  were  made 
to  their  ranks,  and  during  the  campaign  of  1842, 
the  active  roll  of  the  company  numbered  about 
one  hundred  men.  Daring  this  season,  they  uni- 
formed themselves,  and  the  next  year,  assisted 
by  the  State,  erected  a  commodious  stone  build- 
ing, which  is  occupied  jointly  with  the  State  as 
the  armory  of  the  company,  and  the  State  Arse- 
nal. At  this  time,  the  company  drilled,  and 
were  equipped  as  infantry.  In  1847-8,  the  State 
furnished  the  company  with  their  present  battery, 
and  since  that  time  they  have  drilled  as  light 
or  "  flying"  artillery. 


^^mm^f''''^'''^ML'T} '  "'^'mri'^^ :u^ 


|%^A* 


GRAND  REVIEW  OF  THE  U.  S.  MARINE  ARTILLERY,  OF    PROVIDENCE,  E,  T-,  BY  HIS  EXCgW.ENeT  QOV,  BOUTWELL  AND  STAFF,  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 


178 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DllAWIxN'G    PwOOM    COMPANION. 


A  ROMANTIC  STORY  OF  INClDtNT  AND  ADVENll'RE. 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Conf;:rcss,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  the  Clork's  Office  of  the 
DiHtrict  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[WHITTKN    EXPRESSLY    FOR   GLEASOn's   PICTORIAL.] 


il  iitt 


-OH, — - 


^  (Dvaplj'u  (talc  of  Gpain,  Jtaln  auii  (!;nglani). 


BY  FREDERICK  HUNTER. 


[continued.] 


CHAPTER   VI— [continued.] 

The  signal  had  been  previously  agreed  upon, 
and  de  Norde  awaited  the  arrival  of  a  conjickinte 
at  that  hour,  who  was  to  furnish  him  with  a  lad- 
der, by  whicli  to  descend  from  his  eliambcr,  for 
he  had  an  appointment,  which  Don  Miguel  little 
dreamed  of.  Bernard  did  not  suspect  the  inten- 
tions of  Ruberto  towards  him  ;  but  he  nevertlie- 
less  prepared  himself,  as  he  always  did,  for  con- 
tingencies. He  believed  that  Don  Miguel  slum- 
bered; and  he  hoped  to  obtain  liis  gold  on  the 
following  day.  Little  did  )ie  surmise  what  was 
in  store  for  him  within  the  next  few  Iiours  ! 

Ruberto  continued  to  doze  in  his  chair.  The 
dogs  had  been  destroyed,  already.  Corrinne  had 
retired  to  her  boudoir,  but  sleep  was  farthest 
from  he)'  eyelids  !  The  old  German  clock  in  the 
great  hall  of  the  house  struck  the  midnight  hour, 
and  a  low  whistle  was  quickly  heard  below  the 
traveller's  window. 

In  an  instant,  the  light  was  extinguished,  the 
sash  was  softly  raised,  a  ladder  fell  against  the 
wall,  and  de  Norde  descended  safely  to  the 
ground. 

"  Now  Pierre,"  he  said,  "the  guitar." 

"  It  is  here,  captain." 

"  Good  !  Retire,  Pierre  —  but  remain  within 
call." 

The  attendant  fell  back,  and  Bernard  disap- 
peared, alone,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  man- 
sion. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    night's    events. 

When  de  Norde  took  leave  of  Corrinne,  before 
he  retired,  it  will  be  recollected  that  an  unusual 
emotion  was  suddenly  exhibited  by  tliat  lady, 
who,  as  he  went  out,  staggered  back  in  astonisli- 
ment,  at  a  discovery  she  suddenly  made.  It  was 
a  singular  fact;  but  as  he  presented  his  hand  to 
her,  she  saw  upon  his  finger  her  diamond  rinf/ ! 
And  when  the  door  closed  behind  him,  as  he 
went  out,  she  discovered  also  a  small  note  in  lier 
hand,  superscribed  in  the  same  handwriting  that 
a  previous  one  had  been,  and  which  was  directed 
to  herself ! 

Both  these  circumstances  were  curious  ;  hut 
both  of  them  were  quickly  unravelled  as  Cor- 
rinne opened  the  note,  and  read  as  follows  : 

**  Charming  Lady  :  Be  not  surprised  that  the 
humble  magician  should  resort  to  such  a  ruse  as 
this,  to  communicate  with  you,  after  your  kind 
response  to  his  first  appeal ! 

"Ah,  lady  !  you  cannot  conceive  the  joy  which 
that  brief  sentence  has  created  in  the  stranger's 
heart!  We  had  met  before,  and  you  will  not 
have  forgotten  the  dusty  traveller  who  halted  at 
your  guardian's  portal ;  nor  him,  perhaps,  wlio 
had  the  honor  of  meeting  you  on  a  previous  oc- 
casion, at  an  opportune  moment,  wiicn  your  per- 
sonal safety  was  endangered, 

"  The  poor  necromancer,  tlic  dusty  traveller, 
your  fortunate  deliverer  from  peril,  are  one 
and  the  same  person  !  Do  not  start  at  this  an- 
nouncement ;  all  shall  be  satisfactorily  explained 
to  you.  In  your  palm-grove,  near  your  own  fa- 
vorite arbor,  grant  me  an  interview  with  you  to- 
iiiglit.  Trust  all  to  the  honor  of  him  who  loves 
you  with  adoration,  and  know  me  only  for  the 
present,  a>' 

Yonvs  devotedly,  Bernard." 

Thrice  did  Corrinne  peruse  that  singular  note, 
arwl  ns  its  contents  were  being  digested  in  her 
mind,  hIic  could  scarcely  bring  herself  to  realize 


tliat  the  lialf  of  it  was  true.  She  had  not  foi-got- 
tcn  the  gallant  service  that  sowe  o»e  had  rendered 
her  a  few  days  previously,  during  a  morning 
ride,  wlien  her  horse  had  become  unmanageable, 
and  her  servant  was  not  in  attendance,  as  usual, 
upon  her.  She  remembered  tiiat  act  with  the 
deepest  gratitude.  And  when  she  compliment- 
ed the  gentleman  who  so  bravely  served  her  on 
that  occasion  by  riding  at  a  desperate  gallop  to 
her  relief  (when  her  palfrey  had  taken  fright  and 
dashed  off  at  full  ?peed  with  her,  against  her 
will),  when  he  overtook  her,  endeavored  in  vain 
to  check  her  crazy  steed,  and  finally  lifted  her  in 
safety  from  lier  saddle  to  the  ground,  and  prob- 
ably saved  her  life.  "VVlien  Corrinne  Almanza 
thanked  the  stranger  with  her  whole  heart  for 
this  gallantry,  she  little  dreamed  that  she  should 
meet  with  him  again,  so  soon,  and  least  of  ail, 
under  the  present  circumstances  ! 

Bernard  was  then  in  search  of  the  hacienda  of 
old  Ruberto,  and  he  had  traced  him  to  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  place  where  he  chanced  to  meet  with 
Corrinne,  who  was  enjoying  her  customary 
morning  ride,  when  the  above  accident  occurred. 
She  invited  the  gentleman  to  return  to  her  guar- 
dian's mansion,  only  three  miles  distant — the 
dwelling  of  Don  Miguel  Ruberto  !  This  put  de 
Nordc  at  once  upon  the  right  scent,  but  he  was 
not  then  well  prepared  to  meet  his  former  asso- 
ciate. He  left  Corrinne  in  charge  of  one  of  her 
ncighbor.>^,  who  was  passing  at  the  time,  and  then 
galloped  away  in  the  opposite  direction.  Very 
soon  afterwards,  however,  the  dusty  traveller 
called  upon  the  don,  on  other  business !  Cor- 
rinne did  not  then  recognize  him,  but  now  slie 
saw  it  all. 

As  wc  haA'e  already  stated,  the  hour  of  mid- 
night had  struck,  and  Don  Miguel  still  reposed 
in  his  chair,  in  his  library.  The  young  moon 
threw  a  pale  light  over  the  garden  and  foliage 
which  surrounded  the  dwelling  of  the  old  don, 
and  Bernard  de  Norde  had  escaped  from  his 
sleeping  apartment;  and,  attended  by  one  of  his 
fj.ithful  followers,  he  was  now  quietly  and  softly 
wending  his  way  to  the  upper  wing  of  the  ha- 
cienda, fronting  along  the  outward  walk  th.at  led 
to  tlie  vinery,  guitar  in  hand,  for  the  purpose  of 
oftering  his  dulcinea  a  tribute  in  song,  at  which 
he  was  as  accomplished  as  in  most  other  ordina- 
ry affairs. 

A  midnight  serenade  was  so  common  a  mat- 
ter in  the  vicinity  of  Don  Miguel's  habitation, 
that  had  he  overheard  it,  he  would  have  only 
cursed  the  singer  or  singers  that  some  oth- 
er night  had  not  been  chosen  for  their  compli- 
ments to  Corrinne,  rather  than  have  supposed  it 
singular.  But  he  still  slept  and  heard  nothing. 
Corrinne  had  not  retired.  She  had  again  pe- 
rused that  letter,  and  her  romantic  heart  bade  her 
respond  to  it,  without  licsitation  !  But  her  maid- 
enly pride  and  feelings  of  female  delicacy  for- 
bade her  to  be  too  hasty.  She  thought  of  Don 
Miguel ;  she  turned  over  in  her  thoughts  all  the 
chances,  good  and  bad,  that  seemed  to  present 
themselves;  she  reflected  upon  her  ]jresent  posi- 
tion and  her  future  hopes  ;  she  believed  that  she 
was  deeply  in  love  ;  that  she  was  as  deeply  be- 
loved, and  she  strove  to  argue  herself  into  the 
belief  that  such  a  meeting  might  not  be  indeco- 
rous or  improper,  under  all  the  circumstances. 
While  thus  she  ])ondered,  the  midnight  hour 
struck,  and  she  was  upon  the  point  of  throwing 
her  veil  upon  her  shoulders  to  repair  to  her  own 
private  bower,  beyond  tlie  terrace,  when  her  mo- 
tions were  arresteil  by  the  sound  of  a  guitar  be- 


neath her  lattice  window,  the  chords  of  which 
wei'c  evidently  swept  l)y  a  master  hand  ! 

Corrinne  retired  insiantly  to  a  divan  in  the  re- 
cess of  the  window,  where  her  form  was  hidden 
in  shadow,  beneath  the  heavy  drapery,  and 
where,  unobserved,  she  could  listen  to  the  ser- 
enade. In  tender,  pa.ssionate  strains  of  vocal 
sweetness,  soft  and  gentle,  but  manly  and  noble 
in  sentiment,  ihc  singer  told  his  story  to  his  fair 
inamorata.  He  recounted  the  dangers  of  bin 
life,  his  happy  adventure,  his  fortunate  meeting 
with  "  Spain's  fiiirest  daughter,"  while  tiie 
strings  of  his  guitar  most  exquisitely  handled, 
discoursed  a  choice  and  heart  touching  accom- 
paniment to  his  plaintive,  beautiful  song,  as  he 
concluded  : 

"  JMiiiilen  fair  !  0,  prithee,  listen  ! 

LintcD  to  my  tale  of  love  ; 
While  the  silver  inooiibcams  glisten, 
Through  the  omngc -seen  ted  ctovo — 
Let  UB  wautlcr,  iaJy  bright! 
By  the  moon's  pale  silver  light, 
'Neu,th  the  aliadow  of  the  grove  ; — 
Lady  !  listen  to  my  love  1" 

"  — 'ist  — hist !  "  said  a  voice  near  the  singer, 
at  this  moment.  And  turning  quickly  round,  de 
Norde  observed  his  faithful  Pierre  advancing 
stealthily,  and  motioning  him  to  retire  within 
the  shadow  of  the  wall. 

"  There  is  some  one  stirring — the  old  fellow 
bim.self,  I  think,"  said  Pierre  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  watched  a  light  moving  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  buikling,  a  few  minutes  since,  and  I  noticed 
that  it  was  carried  in  the  direction  of  your 
sleeping  room.  The  old  don  will  miss  you, 
captain." 

"How  can  he?     The  door  is  fastened." 
"  Exactly.     But  I  thought  to  caution  you  — ." 
"  Thanks  for  your  promptness.   I  will  be  care- 
ful.    You   may  retire   Pierre,  but  be  near  me. 
Where  is  Antoine,  and  the  rest?" 
"  In  the  lime-grove,  at  the  hill  side." 
"  How  many  are  we  V 
"  Twelve,  in  all,  captain." 
"It  is  well." 

Scarcely  h.id  this  brief  dialogue  passed,  when 
a  slight  rustling  at  the  window  on  the  piazza  be- 
hind him  arrested  Bernard's  attention,  and  a 
veiled  figure  stepped  lightly  out  upon  the  walk. 
In  a  moment  longer  that  figure  disappeared  be- 
neath the  shade  of  the  vine-clad  arbor,  and  in  the 
next,  Bernard  de  Norde  was  kneeling  at  Cor- 
rinne Almanza's  feet ! 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  as  he  seized  her  snowy  hand, 
"  a  thousand,  thousand  times,  I  crave  your  par- 
don for  this  presumption — a  thousand  times,  in 
one  sentence  let  me  thank  you  for  your  conde- 
scension !  You  have  taken  from  my  lieart  a 
load  of  fear  that  even  Bernard  could  not  longer 
bear,  and  I  owe  you  life  and  joy,  for  the  permis- 
sion tlius  to  kneel  at  your  feet,  and  swear  eter- 
nal honor  and  fealcy  to  you,  Corrinne,  the  beau- 
tiful !  the  only  woman  to  whom  1  ever  bowed 
the  knee !" 

The  rapturous  manner  of  utterance  which 
characterized  this  brief  but  earnest  declaration, 
though  it  was  subdued  into  a  cautious  tone,  lest 
there  might  be  some  other  listener  to  it,  was 
highly  flattering  to  the  sensitive  heai't  and  ro- 
mantic disposition  of  the  beauty  thus  assailed; 
but  Corrinne  contrived  to  deport  herself  witii  be- 
coming grace  under  the  peculiar  circumstances. 
"  Signor,"  she  said,  "  we  are  strangers  !" 
"  Say  not  this,  sweet  Corrinne,"  ardently  re- 
sponded Bernard  ;  "  say  rather  that  Fortune  h.as 
preserved  us  for  each  other,  to  tliis  moment,  that 
our  cup  of  joy  should  be  filled  to  the  brim,  at 
once  ■" 

"  Rise,  Signor  Bernard,"  continued  Corrinne, 
"and  be  calm.  It  scarcely  befits  an  honorable 
lady's  reputation  thus  to  meet,  at  midnight,  and 
hold  converse  with  one  of  whom  she  knows  so 
little.  But  Corrinne  joys  to  say  to  him  whom 
she  now  permits  to  kneel  to  her,  that  an  unknown 
passion  guides  her.  Until  we  met,  Bernard,  the 
world  was  blank  to  me,  in  comparison.  You 
have  stormed  the  citadel  like  a  v.aliant  soldier, 
and  you  may  deserve  to  occupy  the  heart  tluit, 
until  now,  has  proved  invulnerable." 

"  Thanks,  sweet  Corrinne,  ten  thousand  thanks 
for  words  like  these.  But  we  must  be  strangers 
no  longer.  It  shall  be  my  pleasure  to  tell  you 
who  I  am,  and  you  shall  see  how  deserving  I 
will  be  of  your  love.  But  not  now,  Corrinne, 
at  some  other  fitting  opportunity,  idl  shall  be  ex- 
plained. Suffice  it,  I  am  /lot  what  I  have  seem- 
ed to  you.  Suflfice  it,  that  Pate  presented  me 
the  opportunity  of  being  serviceable  to  you,  and 
by  that  means  brought  me  nearer  to  you,  subse- 
quently. Suffice  it,  that  I  love  you  with  an  ardor 
that  words  are  incapable  of  desciibing;  and  let 
me  promise  you,  by  all  that  I  possess,  by  all  that 


I  hold  sacred  in  life — by  my  fortune,  my  lionor, 
my  life — that  my  intents  and  hopes  and  objects 
are  for  your  happincfis,  now  and  hereafter  !" 

Thus  passed  nearly  an  hour.  The  honeyed 
words  of  the  eloquent  and  passionate  lover  sunk 
deeply  into  the  heart  of  the  beautiful  girl  to 
whom  he  addressed  tliem  ;  and  when  they  part- 
ed, Coninnc  permitted  her  gallant  to  raise  her 
hand  to  his  Vi\)S.  Bernard  was  in  rapture.  Cor- 
rinne was  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  being 
thus  beloved,  and  the  interview  ended,  with  a 
mutual  })romise  to  meet  again  at  an  early  oppor- 
tunity. 

The  magician's  professional  business  at  Seville 
was  completed.    He  appeared  there  no  more  I 

As  stcaltliily  as  he  left  his  sleeping  room,  fo 
did  the  traveller  return  to  it.  Pierre  was  at  hand 
with  the  light  scaling  ladder,  on  which  Bernard 
mounted  once  more  to  his  room,  intending  to 
retire,  quietly,  till  morning — awaiting  Don  Mi- 
guel's action  in  regard  to  the  anticiiiated  loan 
which  he  had  promised,  to  be  paid  on  the  next 
day,  at  noon. 

"Say  to  Antoine,"  obseiwed  Bernard,  as  he  was 
about  to  ascend  to  his  chamber,  "  that  I  shall 
not  need  his  services,  probably,  with  the  men  ; 
and  he  may  retire  to  the  wood  at  Conciia,  where 
I  will  meet  him  to-morrow  night." 
"Yes,  captain." 

"And    let  them   get   away  slowly,  hence,  to 
avoid  observance,  as   they  came.     Before  day- 
light,   they  can   all   have   retired,   by   twos   or 
threes.     Bid  Antoine  bring  up  the  rear." 
"  I  comprehend." 
"  Good  night,  Pierre." 

"  Adios,  captain  !"  said  liis  companion,  as  Ber- 
nard sprang  through  the  broad  window,  lightly, 
and  reached  his  sleeping  apartment  again. 

*■  Curse  those  love-sick  swains,  say  I,"  mut- 
tered old  Don  Miguel,  an  hour  previously,  as  he 
awoke  from  his  nap  and  looked  about  him,  for 
the  conclusion  of  Bernard's  song  was  just  dis- 
cernible, in  its  tone  and  burthen,  at  the  spot 
where  Ruberto  could  overhear  it.  "Confound 
those  fellows !  They  are  eternally  singing  to 
Corrinne  about  her  eyes  and  her  mouth  and  her 
raven  locks.  An*  I  had  that  fellow  now  by  the 
ears,  I  would  compel  him  to  sing  another  tune, 
or  I  am  not  Ruberto !" 

This  was  but  a  momentary  passion,  howevei", 
for  Don  Miguel  was  well  aware  that  such  sere- 
nades were  by  no  means  extraordinary,  in  tlie  vi- 
cinity of  his  premises,  though  he  very  little  sus- 
pected who  was  the  performer  on  this  occasion  ! 
Arousing  himself  from  the  stupor  into  which 
he  was  so  wont  to  relax,  whatever  he  might  have 
to  do,  or  of  however  great  consequence  was  his 
subsequent  business,  he  arose  at  last  and  ap- 
proached a  closet  beyond  him,  from  which  he 
drew  forth  a  poignard  ;  and  then  placing  a  huge 
pistol  in  his  breast,  he  moved  softly  out  into  the 
corridor. 

His  mind  was  made  up  I  He  had  resolved  not 
to  pay  Bernard  another  dollar,  and  he  deemed 
it  safer  for  his  own  future  weal  that  his  former 
lieutenant,  who  he  believed  was  tlie  only  one  in 
the  clan  that  knew  of  his  present  whereabouts, 
should  not  be  suffered  to  leave  his  house,  again, 
alive,  to  relate  any  suspicious  stories.  Moreover, 
he  believed,  even  if  he  should  pay  his  present  de- 
mand, that  Bernard  would  find  occasion  to  come 
again  !  He  had  been  out  of  that  sort  of  practice 
for  some  years,  but  the  time  had  been  when  the 
shedding  of  innocent  blood  did  not  annoy  his 
conscience ;  and  he  was  now  fully  equal  to  the 
task  of  placing  what  he  deemed  his  enemy  out 
of  his  way. 

But  it  was  necessary  for  Ruberto  to  move  with 
some  caution  in  this  undeitaking.  In  the  first 
place,  he  kneiv  the  character  of  Bernard  de  Norde  ! 
And  he  therefore  knew  that  his  life  would  not  be 
sold  without  a  struggle.  In  a  hand-to-hand  con- 
test, too,  Don  Miguel  very  well  knew  who  would 
be  likely  to  conquer !  So  he  must  destroy  him 
as  he  slept,  or  fail  in  his  purpose.  Such  then 
■was  his  intent,  as  he  emerged  in  tlie  darkness 
from  his  o^^ti  private  apartment. 

Securing  an  old  leathern  purse,  he  dropped  in- 
to it  a  respectable  amount  of  gold,  and  moving 
up  silently  to  the  bedrooms  of  his  slaves,  he  en- 
tered one  of  them  and  slipped  the  bag  of  gold 
beneath  the  pillow  of  Copo,  who  was  snoring 
away  tpiite  lustily,  little  suspecting  the  perpetra- 
tion of  any  evil  in  the  vicinity  ! 

Returning,  as  lie  came,  he  halted  at  tlie  door 
of  Bernard's  chamber.  The  light  was  ex- 
tinguished and  all  was  silent.  So  far,  well  for 
his  plan.  He  gently  tried  the  door,  but  it  was 
fastened  on  the  inside.  This  was  unlucky  !  But 
Don  Miguel  had  caused  this  room  to  be  built  and 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


179 


arranged  to  suit  his  own  convenience,  and  he 
knew  how  to  enter  it  by  another  way. 

All  this  manoeuvring  occupied  time,  however  ; 
and  lest  he  should  cause  alarm,  tlie  hardened  in- 
grate  was  obliged  to  proceed  slowly  and  cau- 
tiously. 

Half  an  hour  had  elapsed,  and  at  length  all 
was  still  again.  The  serenade  had  ceased  ;  tlie 
blockhead  lover,  or  erackbrained  swain — whoev- 
er he  was  ! — had  gone  ;  the  moon  shone  timidly 
into  the  chamber,  and  suddenly  a  secret  panel 
in  the  wall  slid  noiselessly  by,  and  the  figure  of 
an  athletic  looking  man  passed  quickly  into  the 
apartment  as  it  slid  as  quickly  back  to  its  place. 
It  was  Don  Miguel  Ruberto  who  entered  the 
bedroom  of  Bernard  deNorde  ! 

For  an  instant  the  old  robber  halted  in  his 
tracks,  as  if  liis  heart  misgave  him,  or  his 
courage  failed  him — at  the  last  moment.  But  it 
was  too  late  to  retrace  his  steps  !  Bernard  had 
become  importunate !  He  would  rob  him  by 
piecemeal !  He  knew  the  Spaniard's  secrets — 
he  must  die ! 

With  the  crafty  step  of  the  panther,  he  ad- 
vanced to  the  bedside  and  threw  aside  the  cur- 
tains. His  upraised  stiletto  glistened  an  instant 
in  the  moon's  pale  rays,  and  then  descended  with 
a  murderous  stroke  !     But  Bernard  uas  not  there  ! 


CHAPTER  VlU. 

THE  ATTACK  AND  THE  RETREAT. 

Don  Miguel  was  more  horror-struck  when  he 
satisfied  himself  actually  that  de  Norde  was  not 
in  the  bed,  than  he  could  possibly  have  been,  had 
the  poignard  entered  the  heart  of  his  guest !  He 
was  quickly  and  thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  hol- 
low sound  which  echoed  through  the  room  as  he 
sprang  back  and  saw  that  he  had  struck  so  furi- 
ous a  blow  at  vacancy ! 

The  thick  drops  of  perspiration  that  now  stood 
out  upon  his  forehead  showed  how  terribly  excit- 
ed he  was,  and  how  difficult  it  was  for  him,  har- 
dened as  even  he  was,  to  return  again  to  his  for- 
mer practice  of  crime.  But  he  partially  recov- 
ered his  equilibrium  in  a  few  moments,  and  the 
first  thought  that  suggested  itself  to  him  was  : 
"  Where  is  Bernard  V 

He  turned  the  subject  over  hastily  in  his  mind, 
and  he  then  asked  himself,  has  he  fled  ?  What 
can  have  been  his  object  in  this  ruse?  Was  he 
alarmed  ?  Will  he  return  ?  If  he  does,  what  is 
to  become  of  me?  But,  while  ho  asked  himself 
these  questions,  he  suddenly  overheard  the  low 
sound  of  voices  beneath  the  window;  and,  a  mo- 
ment afterwards  he  distinguished  the  figure  of 
Bernard  de  Korde,  as  he  was  about  to  ascend  the 
ladder  to  return  to  bis  room  once  more. 

All  unconscious  of  evil  design,  and  utterly 
unprepared  for  an  assaul  tor  defence  from  the 
circumstances  of  the  case,  at  this  moment,  Ber- 
nard ascended  the  ladder  as  nimbly  as  a  cat,  and 
gained  the  sill  of  the  broad  bay  window  of  his 
room.  The  ladder,  which  had  been  made  for  the 
purpose,  was  instantly  withdrawn  from  below, 
and  the  faithful  Pierre  only  waited  one  instant 
to  hear  "All's  well  !"  from  his  master's  voice, 
to  decamp  with  his  orders  for  his  band's  retreat. 
Instead  of  this,  however,  his  alarm  and  conster- 
nation may  well  be  conceived  when  his  ears  were 
suddenly  saluted  with  a  sharj)  cry  from  Bernard, 
followed  quickly  by  the  exclamation ; 

"lam  stabbed — Pierre!     Quick!" 

A  shrill  and  peculiar  whistle  instantly  follow- 
ed this  sentence,  and  in  another  moment  the 
ladder  fell  against  the  wall,  and  Pierre  was  at 
the  top  of  it  and  through  the  open  window. 

He  found  his  master  prostrate  upon  the  cham- 
ber floor,  with  a  stout  limbed,  corpulent  fellow 
over  him,  though  Bernard  clutched  his  assailant 
stoutly  at  the  throat,  while,  with  his  other  hand 
he  grasped  the  wrist  of  his  antagonist,  whose  mur- 
derous hand  still  held  the  gleaming  poignard, 
which,  for  aught  he  knew,  had  dealt  him  a  fatal 
blow ! 

To  dash  the  dirk  from  the  enemy's  clutch  with 
his  foot,  while  with  his  stoutly  clenched  hand  he 
sent  Don  Miguel  reeling  across  the  apartment, 
was  the  work  of  but  an  instant ;  for  Pierre  was 
a  bold  and  brave  fellow,  and  he  did  not  fear  to 
assume  responsibility  when  the  occasion  seemed 
to  call  for  it.  Bernard  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
his  band  by  this  time  surrounded  the  house. 

"  Antoine  !"  shouted  Pierre  from  the  window. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  was  the  response. 

"  Quick,  for  your  life  !     This  way  !" 

Antoine  mounted  the  ladder,  followed  by  three 
or  four  of  the  foremost  of  the  clan,  and  meantime 
Bernard  had  secured  the  don  for  the  present. 

But  the  inmates  of  the  house  had  now  been 


thoroughly  aroused,  and  the  confusion  was  mo- 
mentarily increasing. 

The  remainder  of  the  robbers  had  dispersed 
themselves  around  the  outside  of  the  mansion, 
and  the  cries  of  Don  Miguel  had  brought  all  his 
servants  and  slaves  to  the  rescue. 

**  What,  ho  !"  shouted  the  former  companion 
of  Bernard,  when  the  robbers  entered.  "  Within, 
there!  Help  !  Pinta!  Copo !  Slaves,  min- 
ions, help  !  help  !"  and  the  sturdy  defendants  of 
the  don  soon  thundered  at  the  chamber  door, 
tliough  they  were  desperately  alarmed. 

While  de  Norde  hesitated  a  moment  as  to 
what  course  he  should  take  in  the  frightful  and 
altogether  unanticipated  emergency,  the  cham- 
ber door  was  dashed  from  its  hinges,  and  half  a 
dozen  stout,  brawny-limbed  slaves  rushed  in  to 
their  master's  defence.  The  mind  of  Bernard 
was  made  up  on  the  instant  I 

"Down  with  the  knaves  !  Down  with  them, 
comrades!"  shouted  Bernard,  securing  his  pistol 
and  stiletto;  "they  have  chosen  this  mode  of 
settling  our  aff^iirs,  and  we  are  agreed.  Down 
with  the  rascals !  Secure  the  plate  and  valua- 
bles ;  don't  harm  the  women  ;  sack  the  house  ; 
see  to  the  gold  and  jewels;  and  bum  the  build- 
ings over  the  ingrate-traitor's  head  !     Away  !" 

The  well-armed  robbers  had  already  walked 
out  over  the  falling  and  fallen  forms  of  the  com- 
paratively defenceless  slaves  of  Ruberto,  and  fol- 
lowed by  de  Nordc,  they  very  soon  found  their 
way  to  the  plate  room.  The  men  outside  had 
finally  broken  through  the  lower  windows  and 
effected  an  entrance,  though  they  had  been  at 
first  opposed  by  the  inmates,  who  were  soon 
overpowered  and  driven  back.  The  plate  was 
taken  care  of;  the  "  strong  box"  had  been  de- 
molished and  rifled,  and  the  gang  ascended  to 
secure  the  jewels  and  otlier  valuables  that  might 
be  found. 

The  wound  upon  de  Norde's  shoulder  was  a 
severe  one,  and  it  continued  to  bleed  profusely ; 
but,  with  the  nerve  of  an  enraged  lion,  he  still 
pressed  forward  with  his  men,  to  be  avenged 
upon  the  scoundrel  who  so  deceived  and  injured 
him.  His  followers  dashed  through  the  elegant 
apartments  in  hot  haste,  lingering  only  here  and 
there  a  moment  to  grasp  some  valuable  orna- 
ment or  other,  and  at  last  reached  the  wing  ap- 
propriated to  the  conveniences  of  the  females  of 
the  house  and  their  attendants. 

Terribly  alarmed,  the  women  had  rushed  at 
last  in  a  body  to  the  beautiful  boudoir  of  Cor- 
rinne,  where  they  sought  counsel,  temporarily, 
amidst  the  uproar  of  the  attack.  In  vain  did 
Don  Miguel  attempt  to  rally  his  slaves  to  the  de- 
fence of  his  property  and  their  own  lives.  In 
vain  he  cursed  their  cowardice,  and  yelled  at 
them  as  they  fled  !  Half  a  dozen  lay  in  their  tracks 
just  where  they  stood,  in  the  onslaught,  and  sev- 
eral of  the  others  had  received  such  severe  cuts 
or  blows  from  the  robbers  en  passant,  that  all 
were  agreed  that  "the  better  part  of  valor  was 
discretion,"  and  they  governed  themselves  ac- 
cordingly. 

Don  Miguel  was  not  the  man  to  yield  thus 
readily,  however;  and  single-handed — determin- 
ed, valiant  as  ever  he  was,  the  ancient  robber 
nished  upon  a  detachment  of  the  assailants, 
whom  he  saw  in  the  act  of  bearing  away  his  mas- 
sive silver  plate.  It  was  a  bold  attack,  but  an 
unfortunate  one  for  Don  Miguel  Ruberto  !  For 
the  robbers  fell  upon  him,  violently,  and  quickly 
left  him  covered  with  wounds  and  contusions,  dy- 
ing, where  he  fell !  But  another  scene  was  en- 
acting at  a  remote  quarter  of  the  dwelling. 

While  the  women  huddled  around  the  form  of 
their  young  mistress,  and  besought  her  to  tell 
them  liow  they  should  escape  violation  andmur- 
der  at  the  hands  of  the  rut^an  robbers ;  and 
while  Corrinne,  herself  deeply  alarmed  and  pale 
as  a  water-lily,  stood  pondering  what  course  she 
could  pursue  for  their  and  her  own  safety,  even 
in  that  trying  moment,  her  thoughts  turned  to 
her  strange  lover ;  and  she  would  have  called 
upon  Bernard  to  save  her,  but  she  could  not 
summon  fortitude  so  to  act ! 

Then  came  the  thought,  on  a  sudden,  where 
is  he  ?  Has  he  escaped  ?  Can  he  have  fallen 
in  the  melee  ?  And  where  was  Don  Miguel,  her 
"protector?"  But  there  were  none  to  answer; 
and  the  riotous  noise  continued  within  and  with- 
out the  building.  And  now  the  robbers  ap- 
proached even  the  boudoir  of  Corrinne  !  What 
could  be  done! 

On  came  the  band,  excited  in  the  highest  de- 
gree, still  seeking  for  new  plunder  of  value.  On 
they  came,  with  oaths,  and  shouts,  and  mena- 
ces ;  and  in  another  moment  one  of  the  side 
doors  of  the  boudoir  was  forced,  and  half  a  doz- 


en robbers  rushed  through  the  aperture.  The 
women  screamed  from  fright,  and  madly  rushed 
to  the  feet  of  Corrinne  Alinauza,  clinging  wild- 
ly to  her  skirts  and  imploring  her  to  save  them ! 

But  aid  was  at  hand  ! 

At  the  opposite  door  the  stranger  guest  sud- 
denly made  liis  appearance,  and  rushing  to  the 
centre  of  the  apartment,  "  back,  villains  !"  he 
yelled,  as  he  brandished  his  huge  poignard, 
"  back,  I  say!"  And  tiieu  a  pistol  shot  follow- 
ed, and  then  another,  as  the  women  fainted  and 
the  robbers  gave  way  before  the  fury  of  Bernard 
de  Norde ! 

But  no  one  was  injured  in  this  assault.  The 
scene  was  very  opportune,  for  Corrinne  now  saw 
in  the  valiant  defender  of  herself  and  attendants, 
her  lover  and  her  former  deliverer,  once  more  ! 
But  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The  robbery 
of  the  premises  had  been  complete;  Don  Miguel 
lay  gasping  for  breath  in  the  great  liall ;  and  the 
torch  of  the  incendiary  had  already  begun  to  do 
its  frightful  work  upon  both  the  stables  and  the 
dwelling. 

As  the  intruders  were  driven  back  from  the 
apartment  of  Corrinne,  the  women  scattered, 
and  when  they  recovered  from  their  fright,  each 
one  took  the  shortest  way  to  get  out  of  the  house 
and  escape  as  best  they  could.  One  lady  alone 
remained  ! 

"Loved  Corrinne!"  said  Bernard,  kindly, 
"  do  not  speak  to  me  of  valor,  now  ;  do  not  halt 
to  thank  me  tor  this  good  fortune,  which  has 
placed  me  at  your  side,  at  such  a  moment.  The 
house  is  suiTounded.  Don  Miguel  has  fallen 
pierced  with  a  score  of  wounds.  The  hacienda 
is  now  on  fire  I  Quick,  then,  if  you  value  your 
life !" 

"  Whither — 0,  whither  cau  I  fly  V 

"  Tliis  way — quick,  dear  Corrinne !  Trust  to 
this  good  right  arm,  and  to  the  honor  of  him 
who  loves  you  !" 

"  Fire,  fire — the  house  is  on  fire  !"  yelled  a 
cowardly  skulk,  who  had  just  shown  himself; 
and  with  these  words  he  scrambled  down  the 
stairs  and  disappeared. 

Corrinne  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  her  lover, 
and  Bernard  de  Nordc  lost  no  time  in  conveying 
her  quickly  to  a  place  of  safety.  Nothing  more 
was  seen  of  Don  Miguel.  The  crackling  flames 
soon  burst  forth  with  frightful  fury  from  a  dozen 
diflPerent  points,  and  the  splendid  mansion 
of  Senor  Ruberto,  with  its  costly  furniture  and 
appointments,  was  very  shortly  afterwards  a  heap 
of  ruins  !  As  the  flames  crumbled  and  fell  in,  a 
groan  or  two  was  heard ;  but  the  falling  walls 
and  timbers  crushed  to  atoms  all  which  remain- 
ed within  that  had  ever  breathed  the  breath  of 
life! 

Wlien  a  few  of  the  neighbors  arrived,  at  last, 
they  found  only  the  smoking  remnants  of  the  fa- 
mous dwelling  of  Don  Miguel  Ruberto.  The 
robbers  had  made  good  their  retreat,  and,  save 
the  crackling  of  the  unconsumed  remains  of  the 
mansion  and  the  gabbling  of  the  staves,  who, 
each  in  turn,  told  the  "  awful  story  "  in  a  difi'er- 
ent  way,  there  was  nothing  seen  or  heard  till 
sunrise,  next  morning. 

In  the  meantime,  Bernard  with  his  precious 
prize,  the  lovely  Corrinne,  had  reached  the  skirts 
of  the  wood  which  bordered  on  the  highway, 
half  a  mile  from  the  site  of  Don  Miguel's  hacien- 
da. 

Arriving  here,  Bernard,  who  had  previously 
made  his  own  arrangements  accordingly,  but 
without  any  suspicion  on  the  part  of  Corrinne, 
called  upon  his  attendant,  Pierre,  for  horses. 

"  Haste  thee,  Pierre,"  he  said,  in  a  pleasant 
tone  to  his  subordinate,  "  and  bring  me  swift 
steeds  that  shall  bear  us  away  from  this  terrible 
scene,  from  the  peril  of  which  we  have  now  only 
partially  but  thus  curiously  escaped." 

The  attendant  disappeared,  and  soon  after  re- 
turned with  a  pair  of  splendid  beasts.  De  Norde 
continued  to  sympathize  with  and  comfort  Cor- 
rinne in  the  midst  of  her  excitement  and  alarm, 
and  re-assuring  her  of  his  protection  and  love, 
tliey  quickly  mounted  and  rode  off  at  a  gallop, 
side  by  side. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    WltECKERS    AND    THEIR    PLOT. 

A  FEW  leagues  to  the  eastward  of  the  mouth 
of  the  river  Guadiana,  on  the  southerly  coast  of 
Spain,  the  point  del  Pincho  stretches  out  into 
the  sea.  Within  this  reef,  to  the  northward,  be- 
tween the  point  and  the  inconsiderable  tovtm  of 
St.  Hucho,  there  are  numerous  small,  rocky  isl- 
ands, inhabited  but  very  sparsely  by  a  race  of 
men  who  were  born  there,  and  who  subsist  by 


plunder  or  upon  the  fish  they  obtain  in  the  little 
coves  and  bays  around  them.  They  are  an  ig- 
norant, selfish  set  of  knaves,  for  the  most  part, 
and  whenever  an  opportunity  presents  for  them 
to  rob  a  distressed  vessel  that  may  chance  to 
come  witliin  their  reach,  they  do  their  work  as 
thoroughly  as  could  possibly  be  devised. 

Moreover,  they  have  a  very  "  taking "  way 
with  them.  From  their  earliest  days  they  are 
rocked  in  the  great  "cradle  of  the  deep,"  and 
they  know  very  little  of  danger  on  the  seas. 
When  the  storm  raves  the  loudest,  and  the  waves 
lash  the  shores  with  the  greatest  violence,  the 
hardiest  of  those  fellows  are  the  merriest !  For 
they  deem  these  forbidding  symptoms  a  sort  of 
forerunner  of  good  luck  for  them  ;  by  means  of 
which,  peradventure,  some  unfortunate  lugger 
or  galliot,  well  laden  with  fruits  and  wine,  or 
more  costly  merchandize,  bound  up  or  down  from 
the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  may  seek  a  harbor  near 
their  region. 

Long  experience  in  that  heartless  profession 
had  taught  the  leaders  many  a  trick  of  deception, 
which,  from  time  to  time,  as  occasion  called, 
they  turned  to  their  advantage.  Not  the  least 
of  their  contrivances  was  the  habit,  in  bad  weath- 
er, of  sliowing  false  lights  at  one  or  two  promi- 
nent points  on  the  islands ;  by  which  means 
many  an  unfortunate  bark  had  been  lured  to 
the  spot,  and  to  subsequent  certain  destruction  ! 

It  was  ten  days  after  the  burning  of  Don  Mi- 
guel's dwelling,  and  the  previous  four-and- twen- 
ty hours  had  been  distinguished  for  one  of  those 
severe  gales  which  so  often  raged  in  the  vicinity 
we  have  described.  The  scoundrels  who  existed 
by  preying  upon  their  fellow-beings,  amidst  their 
misfortunes,  were  in  ecstasies  with  the  prospect 
before  them,  for  the  wind  came  in  a  steady  strain 
from  the  southwest,  and  its  fury,  even  in 
that  wretched  locality,  had  scarcely  ever  been 
equalled ! 

"  A  cracking  breeze,  this,"  said  one  of  the 
chiefs  to  a  neighbor,  at  evening,  as  the  two  men, 
accompanied  by  some  dozen  or  more  of  their 
confederates,  huddled  around  a  blazing  fire  that 
had  just  been  kindled  in  a  deep  gulch  of  the 
rocks,  out  of  sight. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  if  this  gale  does 
not  waft  some  grain  to  the  old  bin,  we  may  well 
believe  the  ancient  saw  that  it's  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  nobody  good !" 

"  Well  said,  Boseat,  well  said  !  Who  has  the 
glass  ?" 

"Old  Pedro,  yonder." 

"  Ay,  I  see.  Pedro  I  What's  abroad  to- 
night?" 

"  Not  a  chip,"  replied  that  worthy,  who,  under 
the  shelter  of  an  old  piece  of  sail,  lay  like  a 
huge  turtle  beneath  a  fern,  upon  his  belly,  spy- 
glass in  hand,  scanning  the  horizon  from  south- 
east to  northwest ;  but  not  a  spec  could  be  dis- 
cerned. 

Tlie  darkness  increased  ;  and,  as  the  evening 
wore  on,  the  wind  blew  fiercer,  the  surge  dashed 
higher  over  the  rocks,  and  the  ill-disposed  wreck- 
ers laughed  louder  or  sang  their  rude  songs  more 
roisterously. 

"  Merrily,  ho  !  the  wide  winds  roar ! 
The  storm-king's  ubroad — 
In  his  rumbling  car  1 
Ho,  ho,  ho  I 
Ha,  ha,  ha  1 
What  care  we  ?     When  the  waves  run  high — 
Whil*!  the  night  is  dark— 
'Weath  the  blackened  sky? 
'Mid  Sitorm  and  din, 
0,  then  we  win. 

Ho,  ho,  ho  1 
Ha,  ha,  lia  1" 

"  Quiet,  Fernando, ." 

"A  sail!"  said  Pedro,  quickly — and  "a  sail! 
a  sail !"  ran  along  through  the  group  as  Fernan- 
do obediently  halted  with  his  noisy  song,  and 
Boseat  advancing,  took  the  glass  from  the  hands 
of  the  lookout  at  the  top  of  the  rock. 

"  What  do  you  make  her  out,  Bosy  V 

"A  galliot,  I  think — -no,  a  brig." 

"  A  brig !  a  brig  !  a  brig  \"  shouted  the 
wreckers.  "  Now  for  sport,  and  a  recompense 
for  the  long  watch  we  have  endured,"  continued 
Fernando. 

"Away,  boys,"  continued  Boseat,  somewhat 
authoritatively,  "  away  to  the  peak,  and  light  the 
beacon  ;  muster,  quick  !" 

In  a  few  minutes  a  bright  light  was  burning 
from  the  highest  point  of  the  rock ;  and  while 
two  or  three  of  the  men  remained  to  feed  the 
flame  and  keep  it  steady,  the  rest  scattered  them- 
selves along  the  cliffs  and  ledges  to  await  the  re- 
sult of  their  scheme.  The  little  brig  was  doomed, 
for  the  light  had  been  discovered  on  board,  and 
the  helm  had  been  put  hard  up  to  make  the  haven. 

[to    liE    CONTINUED.] 


180 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COjNIPANION. 


TIIK  liATI-:  COtWT  IVOUSAY. 

This  man,  of  whom  wo  i^ivf  a  faitliful  ropriiseiitation  hcre- 
witli,  was  one  of  iliu  most,  noied  of  Knio|n!iiii  celebrities  at  l]io 
time  of  his  ilealh,  and  wc  find  copious  conimendatlons  of  his 
oxcoUencc  in   holh  Frencli  and  I'in^dlsh  |)apers.     M.  JCmi'/e  de. 
GiranUn  says  of  him,  "  Alficd  d'Orsay  was  toolii^hly  tiiflcd — 
a  warm  heart  and  elevated  mind,  a  pure  taste,  antique  hcauty, 
athletic  strength,  incomparalde  address  in  all  the  exercises  of 
the  body,  ineontesialdo  aptitude  in  all  the  arts  to  which  he  ap- 
plied himself  {drawing,  painiin<;,  sculpture) — Alfred  d'Orsay 
had  too  many  gifts  for  his  days  not  to  l)e  |)arsimoniously  reck- 
oned.    Death  has  been  inexorulde,  but  it  lias  been  just.     It  has 
not  allowed  him  to  become  a  common  nnin.     It  has  not  taken 
him — it  has  cboson  him."     The  count  had  been  ill  for  a  long 
time,  from  an  ait'ection,  it  is  said,  of  the  spine,  whicli  caused 
intense  sutFeriug,  but  it  was  only  lately  that  his  life  was  con- 
sidered in  danger.     His  physicians  ordered  him  to  Dieppe,  but 
liis  health,  instead  of  improving  there,  became  much  worse, 
and  on  his  return  to  Paris,  some  <lays  since,  no  hope  was  en- 
tertained of  bis  recovery,  disease  of  the    lungs   liaving  been 
added  to  the  original  malady.     Few  men,  not  from  their  posi- 
tion public  ciluraetcrs.  have  Keen  mure  before   the   public  than 
Count  d'()r>,ay,and  few  men  in  Ins  [.osiiion  have  shown  greater 
accomplishnicnis.     The  I'resident  of  the   Uopnblic  had  not  a 
more  devoted  and  sincere  friend  than  Comit  d'Orsay,  and  it  is 
at  a  moment  when  the  prince  had  attached  himself  lo  his  per- 
son by  the  title  and  fuuctions  of  Superintendent  of  the  Beaux 
Arts  that  he  has  lost  him  for  ever.     This  is  an  irreparablcloss 
for  the  arts  and  fur  artists.     The  social  and  intellectual  quali- 
ties of  tlie  count  are  those  on  which  his  friends  and  admirei-s 
will  be  ever  eager  lu  dwell.     It  was  not  merely  that  he  pos- 
sessed varied  and  extended  information,  profound  knowledge 
of  the  sprin^^s  of  human  action,  tact,  fancy,  versatility,  and  all 
the  numerous  (lualities,  or  sliades   of  qualities,   which  go  to 
make  up  that  composite  and  indefinable  thing  called  ivit.    "  He 
■was  the  best-bred  man  we  ever  knew/'  says  the  editor  of  the 
London  News ;  "  and  good  breeding  of  the  highest  order  is  not 
not  to  be  aciinired  by  study,  like  an  art.     Its  perfection  con- 
sists in  never  giving  pain,  either  from  ignorance  or  designedly. 
It  therefore  requires  the  most  exquisite  fineness  of  perception 
to  discover  what  is  pleasing  or  displeasing  to  others,  and  the 
most  imperturbable  good  nature  to  turn  tlie  discovery  to  good 
account,  so  as  to  diffuse  agreeable  emotions  and  promote  friend- 
ly feelings.     It  was  d'Orsay's  unceasing  aim,  particularly  at 
Gore-house,  to  make  every  one  at  home  and  at  their  ease ;  and 
he  was  always  sure  to  address  his  conversation,  naturally  and 
unaffectedly,  to  any  shy  and  embarrassed  member  of  the  com- 
pany, till  he  saw  that  any  passing  awkwardness  or  cmljarrass- 
ment  was  at  an  end.     His  influence  over  his  own  circle  of  inti- 
mates was  unbounded,  and  it  was  fairly  earned  by  the  soundness 
and  disinterestedness  of  his  counsels  when  any  difficulty  or  mis- 
understanding caused  him  to  be  appealed  to  as  mediator  or  ad- 
viser."    Count  d'Orsay  was  undoubtedly  tlie  hnndsomtst  man  of 
his  age  ;  all  authorities  concede  this  to  him,  and  even  in  a  repub- 
lican government  like  our  own  he  would  have  become  a  marked 
and  honored  man.     The  funeral   ceremony  of  the  subject  of  our 
sketch  took  place  on  the  7th  of  July  at   Chambourcy,  near  Saint 
Germain.     Amongst  the  persons  assembled  to  perform  the  last 
rites  for  the  deceased,  wore  Prince  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  M.  Emiie 
de  Girardin,  M.  Clesinger  (the  sculptor),  M.  Charles  Lafitte,  M. 
Alexander  Dumas,  Jun.,  Mr.  Hughes  Ball,  and  several  other  emi- 
nent French  and  English  gentlemen.     The  Duke  de  Grammont, 
brother-in-law  of  the  Count  d'Orsay,  being  confined  to  his  bed  by 
illness,  Count  Alfred  de  Grammont  and  the   Duke  de  Lesparre, 
nephews  of  the  deceased,  were  the  chief  mourners.     On  leaving 
the  church  the  body  was  conveyed  to  a  tomb  in  the  form  of  a 
pyramid,  built  under  the  direction  of  the  count  himself,  and  in 
which  he  had  signitied  his  desire  tliat  his  remains  should  be  placed 
near  those  of  a  pereon  to  whom  he  was  tenderly  attached.     No 
funei'al  oration  was  pronounced  over  the  body,  but  the  emotion  of 
the  persons  present  was  great,  and  the  sadness  of  the  scene  was 


PORTRAIT  OF  COUNT  D  ORSAY. 

increased  by  the  appearance  of  the  Duchess  de  Grammont,  sister 
of  tlie  deceased,  kneeling  at  his  tomb  ;  every  effort  to  induce  her 
to  abstain  from  being  present  having  been  made  in  vain.  The 
Bnlktin  de  Paris  says  :  "  When  the  news  of  the  death  of  Count 
d'Orsay  was  communicated  to  the  prince-president,  he  exclaimed 
that  he  had  lost  bis  best  friend."  The  same  journal  informs  us 
that  the  large  model  of  the  statue  of  Napoleon,  which  Count  d'- 
Orsay was  making  from  the  small  one  executed  by  Mortimer, 
and  wdiich  was  seen  at  the  London  Exhibition,  was  nearly  termi- 
nated at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  that  M.  Clesinger  was  formally 
charged  by  him  to  teiTninate  the  marble  statue  of  ex-King  Jerome. 
Count  d'Orsay  inherited  beauty  from  both  his  mother  and  father, 
who  were  remarkably  endowed  in  this  respect.  It  is  said  that 
when  the  Emperor  Napoleon  first  saw  him  he  said  he  would  make 
an  ailmirable  model  for  a  Jupiter,  so  noble  and  commanding  was 
the  character  of  his  beauty.  The  likeness  which  we  present  the 
reader  is  pronounced  by  those  who  have  been  intimate  with  the 
deceased  to  be  a  perfect  one,  and  the  execution  is  certainly  excel- 
lent. The  well  known  intimacy  that  existed  between  the  count 
and  Lady  Blessington  was  of  the  most  filial  and  beautiful  charac- 
ter, and  their  intimacy  of  more  than  twenty-five  years  was  never 
for  one  moment  interrupted  by  the  least  misunderstanding. 


EMIGRATION  FROM  SUNDERLAND,  ENGLAND. 

As  California  is  attracting  immense  crowds  of  emigrants 
fiom  onr  Allatttic  coast,  and  ships  are  con'stanily  sailing  bound 
to  El  Dorado,  so  is  Australia,  llie  new  discovered  gold  region, 
attracting  ships  and  emigrants  from  the  ports  of  the  Old  World. 
Below  is  given  a  representation  of  this  character.  The  sailing 
of  an  emi^irant  ship  from  Sunderbmd  fur  Australia,  the  first 
that  ever  left  that  port  for  the  Pacilic,  took  place  on  the  .3l8t 
of  July,  under  very  interesting  circumstanceH.  So  va^t  an  as- 
semblage of  persons,  and  so  brilliant  and  exciting  a  scene,  had 
not  been  witnessed  in  Sunderland  since  the  opening  of  the 
Dock  us  was  presented  at  the  moment  the  brave  vessel,  freight- 
ed with  her  living  cargo,  was  leaving  the  harbor.  The  new  ves- 
sel is  a  splendid  clipper  brig,  named  the  Lizzia  W<hb,r,  laiilt  by 
Mr.  Pile,  of  Sunderland,  and  commanded  by  Captain  Uown- 
trec  ;  her  registered  tonnage  being  only  213  tons.  On  the  31st 
she  moved  out  of  the  south  dock  into  the  roads  outside  of  the 
harbor,  having  on  board  emigrants  for  Australia.  She  is  un- 
derstood to  be  the  (irst  of  a  line  of  emigrant  ships  from  Sun- 
derland to  the  gold  regions.  Many  of  the  passengers  being 
from  distant  parts  of  (he  country,  and  it  being  market-day  at 
Sunderland,  an  immense  concourse  of  strangers,  added  to  the 
spectators  of  the  town  and  neighborhood,  thronged  the  piers, 
docksides,  seabanks,  &.C.,  to  witness  the  departure  of  the  ship 
and  passengers.  When  the  Lizzie  Webber  came  to  anchor  in 
the  roads,  the  friends  of  the  emigrants  having  bid  them  adieu, 
were  preparing  to  take  their  departure,  when,  upon  the  an- 
nouncement of  Captain  Bowntrce,  commander,  Mr.  Wright 
addressed  a  few  parting  words  to  the  company  upon  the  occa- 
sion of  the  departure  of  the  first  emigrant  vessel  from  Sunder- 
land to  Australia.  On  Sunday,  about  noon,  she  weighed  an- 
chor, and  proceeded  on  her  passage  witli  a  light  south-west 
breeze. 

-■     «     ^a^    >  — 

THE  AIR  PUMP. 

The  following  effects  and  phenomena  of  the  air-pump,  are 
related  by  Dr.  Hutton.     In  the  exhausted  receiver,  heavy  and 
light  bodies  fall  equally  swift,  so  that  a  guinea  and  a  feather 
fall  from  the  top  of  a  tall  receiver  to  the   bottom  exactly  to- 
gether.    Most  animals  die  in  a  minute  or  two;  however,  vipers 
and  frogs,  although  they  swell  much,  live  an  hour  or  two,  and 
after  being  seemingly  quite  dead,  come  to  life  again  in  tlie  open 
air      Snails  survive  about  ten  hours  ;  efts,  two  or  three  days  ; 
leeches,  five  or  six.     Oysters  live  for  twenty-four  hours.     The 
heart  of  an  eel,  taken  out  of  the  body,  continues  to  beat  for  the 
greater  part  of  an  hour,  and  that  more  briskly  than  in  the  air. 
Warm  blood,  milk,  gall,  &c.,  undergo  a  considerable  intumes- 
cence  and   ebullition.      A   mouse   or   other  animal   may  be 
brought,  by  degrees,  to  survive  longer  in  a  rarefied  air,  than 
naturally  it  does.     Air  may  retain  its  usual  pressure,  after  it  be- 
comes unfit  for  respiration.     Eggs  of  silkworms  hatch  in  vacuo. 
Vegetation  stops.     Fire  extinguishes  :  the  flame  of  a  candle  usu- 
ally going  out  in  one  minute,  and  charcoal  in  about  five  minutes. 
Red-hot  iron  seems,  however,  not  to  be  affected  ;  yet  sulphur  and 
gunpowder  are  not  lighted  by  it,  only  fused.     A  match,  after  lying 
seemingly  extinct  a  long  while,  revives  on   re-admitting  the  air. 
A  flint  and  steel  strike  sparks  of  fire  as  copiously  and  in  all  direc- 
tions as  in  air.     Magnets  and  magnetic  needles  act  as  in  the  air. 
The  smoke  of  an  extinguished  luminary  gradually  settled  to  the 
bottom  in  a  darkish  body,  leaving  the  upper  part  of  the  receiver 
clear  and  transparent ;  and  on  inclining  the  vessel  sometimes  on 
one  side,  sometimes  on  the   other,  the  fume  preserves  its  surface 
horizontal  after  the  nature  of  other  fluids.     Heat  may  be  produced 
by  attrition.     Camplior  will  not  take  fire  :  and  gunpowder,  though 
some  of  the  grains  of  a  heap  of  it  be  kindled  by   a  burning  glass, 
will  not  give  fire  to  the  contiguous  grains.     Glow  worms  lose  their 
light  in  proportion  as  the  air  is  exiiausted ;  but,  on  re-admitting 
the  air,  they  presently  recover.     A  bell,  on  being  struck,  is  not 
heard,  or  very  faintly.     Water  freezes.     A  syphon  will   not  run. 
Electricity  appears  like  the  aurora-borealis.     Such  are  some  of  the 
peculiarities  of  this  remarkable  instrument. — Penny  Magazine. 


PPPARTURE  OF  THE  LIZZIE  -WEBBER,  THE  FIRST  EMIGRANT  SmP  TO  AUSTRALIA  FROM  SUNDERLAND. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


181 


COJIMENCKVIENT  OF  THE  ST.  ANDREWS  AND  QUEBEC  RAILROAD. 


RAILROAD   COnniENCEMENT. 

The  commencomeTit  of  the  St. 
Andrews  and  Quebei*  Railroad, 
which  took  place  latelv  in  Canada, 
was  a  scene  of  much  interest,  and 
the  gathering  formed  the  subject 
for  a  very  fine  picture,  which  we 
present  herewith.  After  appropri- 
ate preliminary  ceremonies,  a  sa- 
lute of  nnietcen  guns  was  fired  in 
honorof  tlie  occasion.  In  the  ab- 
sence of  tlie  president,  wlio  was 
unavoidably  prevenled  from  at- 
tending, the  Hon.  Col.  Hatch  pro- 
ceeded in  behalf  of  the  company 
to  cut  and  turn  a  turf;  and  was 
followed  by  Alexander  Light, 
Esq.,  the  engineer,  and  John 
Brookficld,  Esq.,  the  contractor, 
in  the  same  operation.  At  the 
conclusion  of  this  part  of  the  cere- 
mony, Col.  Hatch  addressed  the 
meeting  upon  the  advantages  that 
must  necessarily  accrue  from  the 
connection  of  the  great  Atlantic 
by  railroad  with  the  great  St. 
Lawrence  and  those  inland  seas 
stretching  to  the  Far  West.  "  It 
was  a  noble  and  magnificent 
scheme,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  to 
bring  the  products  around  the 
shores  of  the  sea  to  a  point  being 
the  nearest  on  the  waters  of  the 
inner  Passamaquoddy,  at  St.  An- 
drews, to  Quebec,  and  to  ex- 
change them  witli  those  brought 
from  so  populous  and  fertile  a 
country  as  Cadada.  The  comple- 
tion of  the  work  would  far  outrun 
all  present  calculation  in  the  good 
to  proceed  from  it,  in  the  immense 
trade,  in  linking  the  hearts  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  lower  and  up- 
per provinces,  producing  internal 
strength,  union,  and  respect 
abroad."  His  Honor,  the  Admin- 
istrator of  the  Government,  then 
expressed  the  great  pleasure  which 
it  afforded  him  to  be  present,  and 
to  have  assisted  at  so  interesting  a 
ceremony.  Mr.  Light  and  Mr. 
Brookficld  next  addressed  the  as- 
semblage ;  Mr.  Light  observing 
that  there  existed  no  difliculties 
of  any  importance,  and  that  the 
general  facilities  for  construction 
were  all  that  could  be  desired. 
The  company  then  retired  to 
the  Bower,  where  a  cold  collation 
was  served.  In  common  with  our 
northern  neighbors,  we  rejoice  to 
see  these  evidences  of  prosperity, 
and  these  successful  efforts  at  in- 
ternal improvements.  On  these 
facilities  rest,  in  a  great  degree, 
the  prosperity  and  growing  wealth 
and  importance  of  any  country. 
We  know  of  no  more  important 
subject  which  should  engage  our 
own  government,  than  the  promo- 
tion of  internal  improvements. 


GREAT  TORTOISE  AT  Tilt)  ^UitltRY  ZOOLOGICAL  GARDENS,  LONDON. 


lUaiENSE  TORTOISE. 

This  stupendous  tortoise  has 
just  been  added  to  the  collection 
of  animals  in  the  Surrey  Zoologi- 
cal Gardens,  London.  It  has  re- 
cently been  imported  from  India. 
By  the  number  of  plates  of  the 
vertebral  carapace,  this  specimen 
is  supposed  to  be  upwards  of  200 
years  old.  It  is  the  Pyxift  arach- 
noides,  so  called  by  Mr.  Bell,  \vho 
has  very  closely  studied  the  habits 
and  economy  of  tortoises,  and  has 
possessed,  we  believe,  for  many 
years,  a  very  fine  animal  of  this 
gcnu^.  There  is  a  remarkable 
similarity  between  its  hind  legs 
and  those  of  the  elephant.  In 
warm  countries,  which  are  more 
congenial  to  the  habits  of  the  tor- 
toise than  cold  climates,  specimens 
are  sometimes  seen  of  a  much 
larger  size  than  even  the  vast  one 
now  under  notice.  In  this  genus 
(pyxis),  the  anterior  part  of  the 
plastron  or  shell  is  mov.'j,hle  on  a 
transverse  hinge,  and  shuts  up  the 
head  and  fore  limbs.  Slow,  quiet 
and  inoffensive,  thi?  reptile  seldom 
wanders  far  from  its  haunts,  and 
trusts  only  to  its  passive  means  of 
defence  when  molested.  The  spe- 
cimen here  figured  is  in  excellent 
health,  and  will  carry  two  grown 
persons  on  its  back.  These  rep- 
tiles are  distinguished  by  having 
the  body  enclosed  between  two 
shields  or  shells,  so  that  the  head, 
neck,  legs  and  tail  only  appear 
externally  ;  and  these  are  capable 
of  being  retracted  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree.  The  upper  shell  is 
formed  by  the  ribs,  which  are  en- 
larged, flattened  and  closely  united 
by  sutures  ;  the  under  shell  is  the 
sternum,  or  breast  bone  ;  and  the 
vertebras  of  the  neck  and  tail  only 
are  movable.  In  consequence  of 
this  conformation,  the  muscular 
system  is  inverted,  in  many  re- 
spects, as  with  insects  and  Crusta- 
cea ;  and  to  this  circumstance  these 
animals  owe  their  great  strength. 
Tortoises  have  no  teeth  ;  and  the 
margin  of  the  mandibles  is  cov- 
ered wirti  horn,  as  in  the  lieak  of 
birds.  They  are  very  tenacious 
of  life,  and  will  move  weeks  after 
being  deprived  of  the  head  ;  and 
this  last  will  continue  to  bite  long 
after  it  is  severed  from  the  body. 
They  can  remain  months,  and 
even  years,  without  food.  The 
eggs  have  a  hard  shell,  and  arc 
deposited  in  the  sand.  The  land 
tortoises  are  distiny;uished  by  the 
convexity  of  their  upper  shell,  and 
their  short  toes,  enveloped  in  the 
common  integument  nearly  to  the 
nails.  They  perish  if  thrown  into 
the  water. 


182 


CxLEASON'S   PTCTOPJAL   DRAWING   r.OOM    COMPANION. 


[AVi-ltton  for  Olonson'H  Pictorl.J.] 
WARM>C!. 


DT  CAKOLINK  A.   IIAYDEN. 

■Wlilpjicr  It  not  I 
Have  a  caro  ;  In  murry  forlioar ; 
Why  should  joii  kIv*"  t"  'i  «i"'f  ico  fair, 

Ouc  single  blot! 

Is  hc!  wror.;;  ? 
Art  thou  ri^ht?  no  foe  does  he  fight, 
■Which  to  lihii  may  appear  like  an  iingol  of  liglit, 

To  entice  him  aloog? 

T.fiavo  him  nlono! 
Does  lie  stray  from  tlie  narrow  way  ? 
If  ho  will  not  the  warning  voice  lioiir  and  obey, 

Thy  duty  is  done. 

Wliat  is  it  to  thee  I 
'Twere  a  shiiine  to  bligiit  ii  good  name, 
Although  tliere  might  be  sonic  cause  for  blame, 

With  censure  so  free. 

Then  wliisper  it  not! 
Detraction  cau  hear  uo  fruit  that  is  fair, 
And  the  woi-ds  of  the  s!;mdercr  ko  poisonous  are. 

They  are  never,  no,  never  forgot, 


[Written  for  Oloason's  Pictorial.] 

ALLAN    MOORE. 

BY  GEO.  CANNING  HILL. 

The  day  was  very  rainy — and  a  rainy  day  in 
the  country  is  not  a  pleasant  sort  of  a  day,  either ; 
that  is,  so  far  as  out  of  doors  goes.  It  was  drip, 
drip,  drip,  everywiicre  The  eaves  poured  dowu 
their  flood  into  the  gutters  ;  the  flutters  carried 
along  the  waters  till  they  roared  and  gurgled 
at  the  narrow-throated  spouts. 

Drops  of  rain,  huge  and  round,  beat  against 
the  panes,  made  spattered  spots  upon  them,  and 
ran  slowly  down  to  the  sash.  The  sky  was 
overcast  with  the  densest  and  dullest  of  clouds, 
sullen  in  their  seeming,  through  which  a  thread 
of  the  golden  sun  would  have  found  it  hard  work 
to  penetrate.  It  was  just  such  a  day  as  is  apt  to 
assemble  in  one's  weary  brain  those  demoniacal 
creatures  called  "blue  devils,"  and  set  them  to 
work  busily  on  the  imagintition.  It  was  a  day 
when  travellers  draw  up  for  rest  and  shelter  at 
the  snuggest  inns;  when  old  housewives  rum- 
mage lumbered  garrets,  and  set  ancient  spin- 
ning-wheels to  singing  new  tunes;  when  hus- 
bandmen husk  corn,  or  shell  it  from  the  ear,  or 
make  improvements  about  their  barns,  and 
sheds,  and  granaries  ;  when  the  mist  drives  drear- 
ily across  the  distant  stubble  fields,  and  cattle 
rejoice  that  they  are  safely  housed  from  it  all ; 
when  the  atmosphere  seems  heavy  and  thick, 
and  difficult  of  respiration ;  and  when  dry  rooms, 
shelves  of  books,  a  soft  rug  and  a  deep  easy 
chair  are  objects  most  coveted  by  persons  of 
good  tasLc. 

In  an  old  country  cottage — brown,  low-roofed 
and  mossy — was  sitting  a  young  man,  whose 
name  forms  the  title  to  the  preeent  story.  He 
was  by  himself,  in  a  small  and  cheerless  room, 
and  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  his  elbow 
on  the  table.  An  open  book  lay  before  him ;  he 
had  been  reading.  Just  now,  however,  his  eyes 
had  wandered  off  through  the  window,  and  over 
the  far-off  fields,  where  the  rain  was  driving  so 
steadily.  A  sense  of  loneliness — pleasant,  though 
mournful — stole  over  his  heart,  and  showed  it- 
self in  his  dreamy  eyes. 

He  had  been  reading  from  a  volume  of  the 
old  British  essayists;  such  a  volume  as  embraces 
papers  from  the  pens  of  Sir  William  Temple, 
and  soft  and  earnest  Abraham  Cowley,  and  Bo- 
lingbroke,  Tillotson  and  Jeremy  Taylor.  He 
had  revelled  over  the  sweet  words  of  Cowley,  in 
his  admirable  essay  on  gardening,  and  his  heart 
was  filled  with  the  tender  sentiments  and  simple 
joys,  that  take  their  root  even  in  an  humble 
kitchen  garden.  He  had  lost  himself  In  the  gor- 
geous imagery,  and  terse  expression,  and  fervid 
sentences  of  Jeremy  Taylor.  He  looked  up  as 
he  finished  Sir  William  Temple,  and  coveted 
the  tuition  that  so  wonderful  a  genius  as  Jona- 
than Swift  had  received  beneath  Iiis  roof;  and 
looking,  he  gazed  out  at  the  window,  and  his 
feelings  so  inwove  themselves  with  the  liquid 
tln-eads  of  the  falling  rain,  that  they  insensibly 
took  the  sombre  hue  of  the  day  itself. 

He  was  ambitious.  More  than  this — Allan 
Moore  had  a  strong  and  steady  yearning  after 
the  enjoyments  of  scholarship;  he  thought  more 
of  them  than  of  the  honors.  And  tlius  inclined, 
he  bent  down  over  his  hooks.  The  attainments 
he  coveted  were  to  be  had  only  after  ir.credible 
patience  and  pain.s.  Tiiey  were  not  the  fruus  of 
a  wish,  or  a  sudden  impulse.    And  this  he  seem- 


ed early  to  know.  He  fL-lt  that  he  must  plant 
over  and  over  again  to  insure  hinnelf  the  golden 
harvest  at  last.  lie  knew  that  whiie  the  ends 
were  glorious,  the  me^un  hy  which  ro  iittain 
them  were  in  the  hinds  only  of  those  who  labor, 
and  watch,  and  strive  eoiirtcantly. 

Whatever  his  dreams  at  iliat  parlleular  mo- 
ment miglil  have  heen,  he  did  not  make  them 
known  l)y  any  expression.  It  was  quite  a  long 
time  that  he  thus  sat  leaning  his  head  on  his 
hand,  and  watching  the  falling  of  the  rain.  The 
clouds  never  once  lifted,  nor  broke  up;  but  the 
rain  kept  coming  down,  sometimes  in  larger, 
and  sometimes  in  smaller  streams,  and  again  it 
vanished  away  into  a  dense,  driving  mist.  It 
surely  was  no  day  to  make  such  a  young  man 
very  vivacious.  It  must,  Iiowcver,  have  quick- 
ened his  thoughts  wonderfully. 

He  saw  the  doves  strutting  proudly  beneath 
the  eaves  of  the  old  barn,  where,  they  were  shel- 
tered from  the  wet.  He  wondered  if  any  human 
beings  could  ever  be  as  Iiappy  as  they.  They 
were  contented;  that  was  all  that  could  bring 
the  true  joy  to  any  one  wiser  than  they. 

A  feeling  of  satisfaction  gleamed  on  his  heart, 
as  he  looked  out  at  the  comfortable  barns,  whose 
wet  roofs  were  smoking  in  the  distance.  It  took 
the  subtle  form  of  a  sentiment.  A  pastoral 
])ocm  lived  in  his  soul,  as  he  gazed.  Thoughts 
and  fancies  of  the  most  delicate  hues  chased 
tliemselves  across  his  brain,  and  began  a  life 
they  were  destined  to  create  again  in  the  hearts 
of  others.  Still  there  was  an  aching  void;  he 
felt  too  sorely  the  need  of  what  as  yet  he  pos- 
sessed not.  And  while  he  thus  mused,  his  reso- 
lution was  slowly  building  itself  np;  its  accre- 
tions were  slow,  but  they  were  to  be  enduring. 

Thus  passed  the  hours  with  a  poor  and  lonely 
student  in  his  silent  country  chamber.  At 
length  liis  door  was  opened,  and  his  mother 
entered. 

"  Here  is  a  note  for  you,"  remarked  she. 
"From  wliomi"  inquired  he,  turning  hastily 
around. 

"Mr.  White's  man  brought  it." 
And  throwing  it  down  beside  him,  while  she 
tln-ew  a  glance  of  inquiry  around  the  room,  she 
went  out  again. 

The  young  man  opened  it  and  read.  It  was 
a  matter  of  surprise  to  him  to  receive  a  written 
message,  or  indeed,  a  message  of  any  kind  from 
Squire  White,  and  he  could  scarce  compose  him- 
self for  the  readmg.  But  when  his  eyes  ceased 
swimming,  and  the  words  stopped  sailing  about 
on  the  paper,  he  made  it  out  that  he  had  received 
a  polite  invitation  to  pass  the  following  day  at 
the  residence  of  Mr.  White,  to  meet  some  young 
relatives  and  friends. 

The  squire,  as  he  was  generally  denominated, 
was  a  bachelor  of  a  very  respectable  number  of 
years,  and  had  a  fine  ruddy  complexion,  and 
rich  juicy-looking  cheeks.  He  had  his  tempers 
and  his  humors,  as  everybody  else  has ;  but  in 
spite  of  them,  he  was  a  man  of  great  acceptance 
and  worth  the  country  round.  He  might  occa- 
sionally growl ;  but  the  growl  was  always  a  pre- 
lude to  omething  far  kinder  that  was  to  follow. 
In  his  charities,  no  one  was  before  him.  The 
poor  never  went  out  of  his  door  with  empty 
hands  and  sadder  hearts.  They  always  left  a 
blessing  on  the  threshold. 

"  What  a  strange  thing  is  this !"  thought  Al- 
lan, glancing  first  at  the  note  and  then  out  the 
window.  "  3  oim(7  company  to  be  at  tJie  squire's  ! 
I  wonder  what  can  have  made  him  think  of  me, 
at  such  a  time?" 

So  he  mused  upon  it.  In  a  few  moments  his 
books  were  forgotten,  and  his  thoughts  were 
elsewhere.  The  rain  did  not  now  seem  to  him 
to  fall;  or  he  might  have  ceased  to  look  at  it, 
and  wonder  how  much  longer  it  would  come 
down  so  steadily.  He  did  not  even  notice  now 
the  doves  strutting  proudly  beneath  the  eaves, 
and  standing  at  the  doors  of  their  boxes.  His 
thoughts  were  upon  the  probabilities,  the  possi- 
bilities, and  the  contingencies  of  he  hardly  knew 
what.  They  were  not  thoughts  exactly  ;  they 
were  shapeless.  Thej'  were  a  confused  mass  of 
fanciful  beginnings  at  thought;  ragged,  incohe- 
rent and  without  purpose."  And  so  he  sat  for  a 
long  time  enjoying  the  brief  dream  that  had 
dawned  upon  him. 

The  sun  rose  golden  the  next  morning,  and 
Allan  Moore  was  up  betimes  to  see  it.  Strange 
event,  that  could  drive  out  of  his  mind  so  sud- 
denly the  associations  that  slept  about  his  books 
and  papers  !  Yet  he  did  forget  them  all ;  or,  at 
least,  he  appeared  to  do  so. 

By  ten  o'clock  he  was  over  at  Squire  Wliite's 
house.     He  met  the  oldgentlcihan  in  the  piazza. 


which  ho  was  pacing  with  an  carne.stness  that 
seemed  to  demand  good  health  in  return  for  tlie 
exercise. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  White,"  said  Allan, 
saluting  him  with  becoming  deference. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Allan  Moore!"  exclaimed  the  old 
gcnlloman,  turning  suddenly  about  and  accost- 
ing his  visitor.  "  Walk  up,  sir;  pray  walk  up 
here.  You  arc  not  going  to  be  at  all  shi/  now; 
you  have  been  invited  here  to  try  to  make  your- 
self, as  well  as  the  rest  of  us,  hajipy.  The  truth 
Is,  my  young  friend,  my  house  has  been  without 
echoes  as  long  as  I  like,  and  a  good  deal  longer. 
I  hate  to  see  it  so  lonely.  So  I  thought  I  would 
get  together  a  good  company  of  my  young 
nieces  and  their  friends,  and  trust  to  luck  for 
beaux  !  I  don't  see  but  you  and  I  will  he  obliged 
to  take  tliat  responsibility  upon  ourselves.  What 
say  you'?     Are  you  willing^" 

Allan  was  stammering  for  a  reply.  It  was 
like  ushering  him  into  another  world. 

"  There's  a  good  company  of  them,"  said  the 
jovial  squire,  "  and  I  rather  reckon  they'll  keep 
all  your  wits  in  active  operation." 

Just  at  that  moment  a  loud  laugh  rang  through 
the  hall,  and  two  girls  came  bounding  across  the 
piazza,  not  yet  observing  the  presence  of  a  stran- 
ger. 

"Aha!  now  you've  come  just  at  the  right 
season,"  said  the  old  bachelor.  "I'm  really 
glad  that  you  are  so  full  of  life,  just  as  I  am 
about  to  present  to  you  ray  young  friend,  Mr. 
Allan  Moore.  Mr.  Moore,  this  is  my  I'oguish 
niece.  Miss  Ellen  Puller ;  and  this  is  her  friend 
and  my  friend,  and  I  hope,  too,  she  will  be  your 
friend — Miss  Mary  Tiverton." 

Allan  bowed,  and  offered  a  remark  or  two 
upon  the  very  agreeable  change  in  the  weather 
only  the  day  before,  and  then  they  all  walked 
into  the  house  together.  There  the  young  stu- 
dent found  three  others ;  young  ladies  fully  as 
agreeable  and  vivacious  in  their  manner  as  those 
he  had  just  encountered  on  the  piazza.  They 
were  quite  well  acquainted  in  a  short  time. 

"Now  this  is  just  what  I  like,"  said  the  gal- 
lant old  bachelor.  "  This  establishment,  I've 
been  telling  Mr.  Moore,  has  suffered  a  good  deal 
more  for  want  of  really  jovial  company,  than  for 
almost  anything  else.  Cobwebs  form  here  twice 
as  fast  as  they  would,  if  there  were  only  a  trifle 
more  noise  to  scare  the  spiders  away.  Laugh, 
girls.  Come,  Mary  and  Ellen,  laugh  as  loud  as 
you  will.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  ho,  ho,  ho !"  and  he 
strained  his  capacious  lungs  to  the  utmost,  mak- 
ing them  crow  as  lustily  as  a  very  chanticleer  to 
create  the  laughter  he  so  much  coveted. 

This  did  but  set  them  all  agoing ;  they  broke 
out  into  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  mirth.  It  was 
just  what  he  wanted ;  and  as  tliey  kept  it  up,  he 
very  naturally  caught  the  general  infection,  and 
went  to  laughing  at  last  in  downright  earnest, 
himself.  It  would  have  had  the  full  effect  to 
"  create  a  soul  beneath  the  ribs  of  death,"  to 
witness  the  frolicsome  tempest  of  the  moment. 
A  iaunt  to  the  grove  was  planned  at  once,  and 
all  made  their  preparations.  The  sun  had  been 
up  long  enough  to  dry  the  rains  of  the  previous 
day,  the  lawn  looked  like  fresh  emerald,  and  the 
dust  by  the  roadsides  was  all  laid  securely; 
there  could  not  have  been  found  a  finer  morning 
for  their  excursion. 

It  would  be  useless  for  me  to  attempt  a  de- 
scription of  their  several  modes  of  pastime  dur- 
ing the  day.  The  merry  uncle  went  with  them, 
and  a  jolly  time  indeed  did  he  mean  they  should 
all  make  of  it.  They  carried  their  dinners  with 
them  in  a  huge  basket;  and  it  would  have  made 
even  a  full  man  hungry  to  take  a  look  at  the 
many  nice  articles  that  were  stowed  so  closely 
beneath  the  snow-white  napkins. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  in  autumn,  and  the  sum- 
mer had  just  begun  to  lay  down  its  weary  head 
in  the  lap  of  autumn.  The  sun  was  golden  and 
genial.  There  was  a  delicious  languor  floating 
in  the  very  air,  that  intoxicated  the  spii'its  of  any 
one  inclined  to  drink  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
time.  A  thin  haze  was  drawn  over  all  the  dis- 
tant hills,  like  a  veil  of  beauty.  Through  it,  all 
objects  seemed  only  charming  illusions.  The 
woods  were  fairy  palaces,  down  whose  receding 
vistas  were  faint  pictures  of  great  beauty,  and 
among  whose  leafy  tops  hung  associations  of 
loveliness. 

They  wandered  off  beneath  the  stately  chest- 
nut trees,  whose  leaves  were  just  beginning  to 
be  tinged  with  the  gold  of  the  season.  They 
gathered  the  nuts  that  the  first  slight  frosts  had 
dislodged  from  the  ugly  burrs,  and  chatted  and 
laughed  loudly  as  they  flung  them  into  their  lit- 
tle baskets.     The  squirrels  run  about  blithely  on 


cither  side  of  them,  their  cheeks  filled  to  bursting 
with  the  ripened  corn  they  had  stolen  from  the 
neighboring  fields.  There  was  not  a  moment 
that  went  by  without  adding  its  jileasure  to  its 
predecessors. 

It  would  not  have  required  the  vision  of  a 
]>rophet  to  Ijehold  what  soon  grew  to  he  no  se- 
cret at  all  that  day:  and  that  was,  the  decided 
partiality  that  seemed  to  subHist  between  Mr. 
Allan  Moore  and  Miss  Mary  Tiverton.  She 
was,  likewise,  a  very  close  friend  to  Ellen  ;  but 
while  the  young  student  was  about,  it  was  diffi- 
cult for  her  to  see  any  one  else.  It  was  a  sure 
case  of  love  at  first  sight. 

The  old  baeliclor  noticed  what  was  going  on, 
and  was  quite  as  well  pleased  with  it  as  any  one 
well  could  be.  He  seemed,  it  is  true,  never  to 
have  had  a  heart  for  such  things  himself,  but 
thought  none  the  less  of  others  for  being  vulner- 
able at  such  very  tender  points. 

The  sun  began  to  go  down  gradually  in  the 
west,  throwing  its  long  bars  of  gold  across  the 
lawns  and  through  the  crowded  trees,  and  they 
thought  of  returning.  They  were  well  tired, 
too,  with  their  day's  pleasure.  Rambling,  and 
running,  and  talking,  had  sufficed  to  fill  up  their 
liours.  Their  dinners  were  eaten  in  the  gayest 
of  spirits,  in  the  dreamiest  of  shadows.  The 
whole  wood  resounded  with  the  musical  echoes 
of  their  voices,  ever  and  anon  being  drowned 
altogether  by  the  base  "Ha,  ha,  ha  !  ho,  ho,  ho  !" 
of  Mr.  White,  the  right  merry  bachelor.  He 
was  a  devoted  uncle,  and  thought  an  uncle  never 
before  had  such  a  niece  as  Ellen.  Maybe  an 
unele  never  had.  The  evening  was  passed  at 
the  house  of  the  bachelor  by  Allan,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, he  enjoyed  its  briefness  still  more  than  he 
had  enjoyed  the  day. 

Days  flew  by,  each  one  of  which  found  the 
young  student  at  some  hour  at  the  mansion  of 
Mr.  White.  Every  one  seemed  very  well  to 
know  whom  he  came  there  especially  to  see,  and 
so  let  it  pass.  To  tell  the  truth,  Allan  Moore 
was  a  young  man  of  very  enviable  characteris- 
tics; and  so  would  not  have  been  quite  unac- 
ceptable to  any  one  of  the  young  ladies  of  the 
company. 

But  when  the  time  for  their  departure  came 
at  length,  the  secret,  revealed  before,  began  to 
disclose  itself  more  fully.  There  were  many 
secret  words  spoken  between  the  young  man  and 
Mary,  They  betrayed  more  than  their  secret  by 
the  silent  looks  they  exchanged.  Mary  took 
her  leave.  Her  heart  was  sad.  She  came  there 
a  lively  creature.  When  she  started  home  again, 
her  feelings  had  been  toned  as  by  some  secret 
sorrow.  Allan  promised  herthat  he  would  write 
her  soon,  and  with  this  pledge  she  tried  to  re- 
compense herself  for  the  separation. 

Scarce  a  week  had  gone  by  before  a  letter  u-as 
written.  Mary  read  it  with  rapture.  She  replied 
not  long  after,  begging  the  young  man  to  ac- 
quaint her  father  with  his  pi-eferences  and  inten- 
tions, over  his  own  signature. 

It  was  done  at  once  as  Mary  had  suggested. 
He  addressed  Mr.  Tiverton  in  a  letter  of  some 
length,  acquainting  him  with  his  feelings,  and 
begging  him — though  at  no  cost  of  his  manliness 
— for  his  favor  as  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  his 
daughter. 

Was  the  permission  given  1  In  less  time  than 
Allan  had  dared  to  think  of  receiving  a  reply, 
one  came  to  him.  It  was  a  brief  and  highly 
pungent  note  from  Mary's  father,  enclosing  his 
own  again  !  He  assured  the  young  man  that  he 
was  abundantly  capable  of  providing  eligibly  for 
the  hand  of  his  daughter,  and  that  he  need  ask 
no  more  questions  of  him  on  the  subject. 

Allan  at  once  enclosed  her  father's  note  to 
Mary,  and  begged  her  to  be  patient,  putting 
faith  in  him.  He  likewise  took  the  very  eflective 
occasion  to  unfold  to  her  all  the  secret  feelings 
of  his  heart,  renewing  his  old  promises  and 
pledges,  and  multiplying  his  former  devotion  for 
her  over  and  over  again.  She  resolved  to  be 
patient,  awaiting  the  progress  of  events. 

In  less  than  four  months  from  that  time,  Mr. 
Tiverton  received  one  evening,  into  his  hands, 
while  sitting  in  his  parlor  with  his  family  around 
him,  a  small  package.  He  knew  nothing  of  the 
manner  in  which  it  reached  him.  The  servant 
had  said  that  a  man  left  it  at  the  door,  and  that 
was  all  there  was  known  aliout  it. 

He  proceeded  to  open  it.  It  was  found  to  he 
only  a  book,  freshly  from  the  hands  of  the  pub- 
lisher. Looking  at  the  fly-leaf,  he  found  thereon 
written  in  pencil :  "  With  regards  of  the  author." 
He  glanced  next  at  the  title-page,  wishing  to  see 
which  one  of  his  kind  friends  had  done  him  so 
marked  a  favor.  He  read  the  name  of  "Allan 
Moore !" 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DRAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


183 


RcfoUling  the  volume  in  the  wrapper,  he  hur- 
ried away  from  the  room,  and  secreted  it  where 
his  family  would  not  be  likely  to  find  it.  They 
asked  no  questions,  although  Mary  certainly 
looked  very  inquisitively  at  liim  as  he  passed 
out;  And  so  Mr.  Tiverton  hoped  to  kill  that 
form  of  the  disease. 

Early  in  spring,  his  business  called  him  off  on 
a  very  long  journey.  He  was  going  into  a  part 
of  the  country  where  he  would  be  compelled  to 
travel  much  by  stages.  TJic  third  day  from 
home,  he  was  joined  by  another  passenger — a 
young  man  of  apparently  great  promise — whose 
conversation  interested  him  from  the  first  very 

deeply. 

They  travelled  together,  in  close  friendship, 
for  several  hundred  miles;  and  each  day  the 
young  man  grew  more  and  more  deeply  into  the 
heart  of  Mr.  Tiverton.  He  was  exceedingly  in- 
telligent, and  while  his  conversation  was  ready 
and  fluent,  it  smacked  not  of  affectation,  or  con- 
ceit, or  pride.  The  event  proved  that  Mr.  Tiv- 
erton became  very  deeply  interested  in  him,  and 
kept  the  closest  companionship  with  him  while 
they  travelled  together. 

They  reached  a  point  many  lumdred  miles 
away  from  home,  one  day,  just  at  dusk.  In  the 
morning  they  were  to  separate,  each  thought 
perhaps  forever.  Mr.  Tiverton  learned  of  his 
young  friend's  intention  with  the  deepest  sur- 
prise ;  and  as  they  were  bidding  each  other  a 
farewell,  Mr.  Tiverton  drew  a  card  from  his 
pocket,  saying,  as  he  did  so,  that  it  would  always 
give  him  great  pleasure  to  receive  his  friend  at 
his  own  house. 

The  young  man  drew  forth,  his  card  simulta- 
neously with  the  other,  and  before  looking  at 
the  one  he  received,  he  handed  Iiis  own  to  liis 
fellow  traveller.  Each  then  read  the  other's 
name  for  the  first  time. 

"  Stay  !  stay  !"  said  Mr.  Tiverton,  "  you  shall 
return  home  with  me !  Meet  me  at  this  point 
when  I  reach  it  again — or,  be  at  my  house  in 
town  by  the  20tli.  Promise  me  one  of  these 
things !" 

Tiie  young  man  grew  suddenly  confused,  so 
that  he  could  hardly  speak. 

"  I  will  call  at  your  house  wtih  much  pleas- 
ure," said  he,  at  length,  turning  his  face  about 
from  the  glare  of  the  lamp.  Mr.  Tiverton 
grasped  his  hand. 

In  a  few  weeks  they  met  again  at  the  town 
residence  of  Mr.  Tiverton.  Mary  was  the  most 
rejoiced,  because  she  met  her  lover  again  !  The 
aifair  was  all  arranged  speedily.  Mary  was 
married  to  the  well-known  author,  Allan  Moore  ; 
and  Squire  White,  still  singing  out  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
ho,  ho,  ho  !"  was  there  at  the  wedding. 

There  is  nothing  like  sigld  for  getting  rid  of 
bitter  prejudices.  It  wilts  them  as  the  sun  does 
weeds. 

— 1    »»»    « : 

[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 


BT   CONRAD   S.   KYSEE. 

Angel  banda  I  come,  hover  near 

This  enchanting  houie  of  Diine  ; 
There  *s  no  better  place  than  here, 

There's  no  happier,  liolier  shrine. 
Home,  to  every  place  beside, 

Fields  more  dear,  and  flowers  more  bright ; 
Cherished  friends  here  noiseless  glide, 

Streams  flow  brighter  in  its  light. 

A  happy  home  has  gems  of  bliss, 

Birds  of  innocence  and  love ; 
Dewdrops  every  flower  to  Iti^s, 

Sunshine  from  the  Throne  above. 
Pleasure  in  the  gorgeous  sights 

Of  a  monarch's  lordly  hall. 
Tame  to  those  dear  home  delight-s, 

Where  ehildhool's  silvery  accents  fal  . 

Home  must  surely  be  the  type 

Of  our  heaven  above,  so  blest; 
Women,  who  onr  soitows  wipe 

From  their  dusty  place  of  rest. 
Guardian  angels,  teaching  all 

Meeknesg,  and  a  life  well  spent. 
Will  ensure,  when  death  shall  call, 

Ajourney  home  to  heaven,  content. 


AN  IMPORTAKT  TRUTH. 

This,  namely — that  the  misev}''  of  human  life 
is  made  up  of  large  masses,  each  separated  from 
the  other  by  certain  intervals.  One  year,  the 
death  of  a  child ;  years  after,  a  failure  in  trade ; 
after  another  longer  or  shorter  interval,  a  daugh- 
ter may  have  married  unhappily; — in  all  but  the 
siugularly  fortunate,  the  integral  parts  that  com- 
pose the  sum  total  of  the  unhappiness  of  a 
man's  life  -are  easily  counted,  and  distinctly  re- 
membered. The  happiness  of  life,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  made  up  of  minute  fractions — the  little 
soon  forgotten  charities  of  a  kiss,  a  smile,  a  kind 
look,  a  heartfelt  compliment  in  the  disguise  of  a 
playful  raillery,  and  the  countless  other  iniinites- 
imals  of  pleasant  thought  and  feeling. — Coleridr/e. 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial,] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  II. 
CHARACTER   OF   THE    TURKS. 

BY  DR-  JEROME  V.  C.  SMITH, 

AUXHOU    OF    A     "pilgrimage    TO    EGYPT." 

Under  all  circumstances,  and  in  all  places, 
the  Turk  cxhil)its  a  religious  fervor  that  aston- 
ishes a  Christian.  His  prayers  arc  the  first 
thought  in  the  morning,  nor  does  he  ever  omit 
the  prescriljcd  number  through  the  day.  It  mat- 
ters not  who  may  be  present,  what  necessities 
are  pressing,  he  will  on  no  account  omit  hum- 
bling himself  before  the  throne  of  the  Eternal. 
Religious  homage  is  not  an  hypocritical  cere- 
mony to  gain  the  applause  of  men,  but  a  duty 
which  is  never  neglected  towards  his  Maker. 

Of  course,  all  the  followers  of  Mahommed  are 
Unitarians.  They  believe  in  the  omnipresence 
of  God,  in  his  irrevocable  decrees,  liis  righteous 
ordinances;  that  Mahommed  is  his  prophet,  and 
all  who  believe  him  and  conform  to  his  divine 
precepts,  will  become  inheritors  of  unutterable 
happiness,  resembling  tliat  enjoyed  on  earth,  but 
superior  in  degree. 

Such  is  the  strength  of  his  faith,  that  he  never 
supposes  or  admits  the  possibility  of  an  error,  or 
permits  the  intruiion  of  a  religious  doubt  from 
any  quarter.  Despising  all  systems  of  religion 
or  revelation  differing  from  his  own,  he  is  per- 
fectly tolerant  of  them  all,  however  unlike  the 
Moslem  creed,  provided  nothing  disrespectful  is 
said  or  done  in  regard  to  the  fold  of  the  great 
Prophet  of  his  adoration. 

Religion  is  a  powerful  machine  that  is  con- 
trolled by  the  state.  When  all  other  resources 
have  failed,  an  appeal  to  the  religious  principles 
of  the  people  rouses  them  to  the  highest  point 
of  desperation  and  even  fury.  A  war  of  exter- 
mination is  thepenalty  of  assaulting  the  national 
faith,  where  the  hope  of  gratifying  a  revenge  for 
an  insult  of  the  gravest  kind  is  but  a  feeble  one. 
Life  to  them  without  religion,  would  not  be 
worth  having. 

Death  has  no  terrors  to  a  Mahommcdan,  nor 
does  he  entertain  a  single  doubt  in  respect  to  his 
favorable  condition  hereafter.  Since  the  Koran 
is  particularly  indulgent  to  those  who  embrace 
its  precepts,  he  not  only  lives  in  unrestrained 
physical  indulgence  here,  as  a  leward  for  un- 
shaken compliance  with  the  revealed  law  of 
heaven,  expressed  in  its  bright  pages,  but  a 
further  and  transcendently  greater  amount  is 
fully  anticipated  in  the  paradise  of  the  Prophet, 
with  an  unlimited  capacity  for  never-tiring  en- 
joyment. 

Honesty  appertains  to  their  character  in  all 
the  details  of  social,  political  or  commercial  in- 
tercourse. They  cannot  conceive  of  a  motive 
for  being  otherwise.  They  therefore  commit 
fewer  crimes,  as  they  are  estimated  by  the  Chris- 
tian code,  than  disgrace  countries  that  boast  of 
their  civilization,  refinements  and  nice  sense  of 
honor,  and  Christian  obligations. 

A  large  number  of  misdemeanors  which  mul- 
tiply criminals  and  tenant  prisons  to  repletion 
with  us,  are  not  recognized  as  infractions  of  any 
law,  either  human  or  divine,  in  the  Mahommc- 
dan code.  Intemperance  is  a  vice  unknown  in- 
Turkey  or  its  dependencies,  beyond  the  sad  and 
mortifying  exhibitions  they  witness  in  nominal 
Christians.  Consequently,  anotlier  fruitful  ave- 
nue to  crime  is  closed  by  immovable  barriers. 

The  religious  element  is  inborn,  and  as  it  is 
developed  and  cultivated  without  interfering 
with  the  physiological  laws  and  tendencies  of 
their  being,  it  is  cherished  with  an  ardor  and 
fervency  inconceivably  strong,  because  it  grasps 
at  a  further  and  interminable  indulgence  after 
death.  To  neglect  or  abandon  their  religion, 
therefore,  would  be  to  the  total  destruction  of 
their  prospects  in  the  realms  of  bHss. 

They  invariably  tell  the  truth,  because  there 
is  no  motive  for  deceiving.  The  Greeks,  on  tlie 
other  hand,  are  notorious  for  their  lying  propen- 
sity and  habitual  practice  of  it.  It  was  a  pointed 
rebuke  of  a  humble  Moslem,  that  the  Greek  reli- 
gion allows  its  professors  to  He.  In  trade,  their 
proverbial  regard  to  every  stipulation,  is  credit- 
able in  the  highest  degree  to  the  national  charac- 
ter. Neither  bond  nor  note  is  requisite  in  tran- 
sacting large  commercial  ncgociations.  If  a 
merchant  agrees  to  deliver  a  thousand  boxes  of 
figs  in  Smyrna  on  a  given  day,  they  are  there. 

The  Turk  is  pai-ticnlarly  calm  under  very  try- 
ing circumstances.  He  .smokes  in  his  moments 
of   vexation,   but  never    thinks.     An    impulse 


moves  him  to  cut  a  Frank's  throat,  but  lie 
smokes  the  last  whiff  without  betraying  the 
slightest  agitation.  When  the  pipe  is  laid  aside, 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he  is  transformed 
into  a  fiend,  whose  satisfaction  is  to  glut  himself 
with  blood. 

Of  all  men,  they  are  the  most  courteous.  Of 
course,  these  observations  apply  to  the  best 
sjieeimens,  and  not  to  the  laboring  classes,  where 
the  worst  features  of  Moslem  bigotry  and  rude- 
ness predominate. 

They  dress  neatly,  but  oddly,  when  contrasted 
with  European  clothing.  Still,  their's  is  the 
easiest,  and  does  far  less  injury  to  health.  No 
carotids  or  jugulars  arc  unnaturally  compressed 
by  a  cravat,  inviting  death  by  apoplexy.  They 
never  torture  their  heads  in  hard,  unyielding 
hats,  nor  breed  corns  on  their  toes  in  shoes  too 
small  for  the  feet.  Salams  are  gracefully  per- 
formed, and  the  salutations  arc  a  succession  of 
benedictions.  There  is  a  degree  of  calmness  in 
their  expression,  and  a  mildness  in  their  eyes, 
that  ill  accords  with  that  ferocity  which  bursts 
forth  at  every  pore  when  the  sleeping  lion  is 
roused.  Treachery,  acquisitiveness,  uncontrolled 
and  undisguised  selfishness,  are  prominent  and 
all-absorbing  traits  of  their  character. 

Although  excessively  fond  of  their  young 
children,  especially  boys,  their  parental  atfection 
appears  to  decline  as  the  offshoots  increase  in 
years,  till  they  ultimately  manifest  little  or  no 
interest  in  them.  Love  for  their  wives  is  out  of 
the  question,  upon  the  principle  upon  which  such 
relations  are  established  in  Christian  countries. 
There  ai*e  no  such  sensations  as  moral  senti- 
ments. Hence  a  divorce  follows  any  whim  or 
temporary  excitement  of  temper,  and  the  market 
always  has  material  for  filling  the  vacant  niche 
in  their  household.  Wives  are  to  be  had  of  any 
description ;  the  more  accomplished  command- 
ing the  highest  prices. 

A  power  of  concealing  their  real  feelings, 
either  of  hatred  or  approval,  is  even  more  adroit- 
ly managed  than  by  the  American  Indians. 
When  their  passions  are  let  loose,  like  tigers 
from  a  cage,  nothing  short  of  al)Solute  physical 
exhaustion  subdues  their  intensity.  Wlien  the 
causes  that  roused  them  to  madness,  either  in 
love  or  revenge,  have  passed  away,  they  become 
docile,  bland  and  mild  as  the  moonbeams. 

In  the  arrangements  of  everyday  life,  whether 
of  business  or  pleasure,  the  Turks  do  nothing  as 
we  do.  They  sit  on  the  floor,  and  never  in 
chairs  ;  shave  their  heads,  but  never  the  beard  ; 
wear  turbans  and  not  hats,  which  they  keep  on 
in  the  house,  where  we  uncover.  Their  shoes 
are  left  at  the  door,  but  we  wear  them  in.  In- 
stead of  beds,  they  repose  on  divans — cushions 
piled  up  on  low  wooden  benches — sleeping  at 
night  in  the  dress  worn  through  the  day.  They 
eat  with  their  fingers,  and  we  wiiii  knives  and 
forks.  Smoking  is  the  leading  pursuit  from 
youth  to  age.  Wives  are  purchased,  not  won. 
Women  in  Turkey  are  shut  up  in  harems,  guard- 
ed by  servants ;  with  us  they  go  where  they 
choose,  and  look  after  the  servants.  They  are 
uniformly  veiled  ;  here,  they  show  their  faces, 
wear  pantaloons,  too,  while  the  men  go  without. 

Without  assigning  a  reason,  the  Turks  are  su- 
perstitious. One  of  their  strongest  apprehen- 
sions, and  for  which  all  proper  precautions  are 
taken,  is  the  influence  of  the  evil  eye  on  the  pres- 
ent condition  and  future  prospects  of  individuals. 
Men  supposed  to  be  wise  in  matters  in  futurity, 
fui-nish  minute  directions  for  warding  off  various 
calamities.  They  are  held  in  peculiar  respect ; 
for  without  them,  they  could  not  anticipate  the 
decrees  that  emanate  from  another  world,  or  stay 
the  maledictions  of  evil  spirits. 

The  evil  eye  is  uniformly  dreaded  by  all  Mos- 
lem believers.  They  shudder  at  tlie  thought  of 
its  imaginary  awful  blight.  Thej'  are  truly  for- 
tunate who  possess  charms  that  withstand  the 
terrific  and  incalculable  effects  that  may  arise 
from  the  mere  gaze  of  an  infidel.  No  malign 
influences  are  quite  equal  to  the  bright  eye  of 
the  Christian,  and  consequently  the  clear-sighted 
Mabommedan  endeavors  always  to  be  guarded 
and  steeled  against  it.  Even  the  most  ignorant 
Arabs  in  the  desert  defend  their  camels,  asses 
and  children  from  the  dreaded  pollution,  by  sus- 
pending sentences  from  the  Koran,  sewed  in  little 
bags.  I  have  often  seen  young  camels  and  don- 
keys thus  protected,  in  various  parts  of  Syria. 
Servants  arc  frequently  met  in  Constantinople 
carrying  children  in  their  arms  for  air  and  exer- 
cise, on  the  fronts  of  whose  little  caps  and  min- 
iature turbans  arc  sacred  words  wrought  in  silver. 

On  the  way  to  an  exhibition  of  the  dancing 
dervishes  one  morning,  in  Pera,  I  passed  a  ser- 


vant carrying  a  beautiful  boy,  richly  dressed, 
perhaps  two  years  of  age,  on  the  fore  part  of 
whose  head-dress  was  a  line  set  with  brilliants, 
of  a  very  costly  cliaracter  indeed.  A  friend 
translated  it  thus;  "Look  iiot  with  evil  intent  on 
what  God  has  given." 

While  the  poorer  but  devout  subjects  of  the 
Sultan  cannot  afford  to  spell  holy  sentences  with 
diamonds,  tliey  hold  in  equal  abhorrence  the 
glare  of  a  foreign  stranger's  optics.  So  they 
meet  the  difficulty  with  paper  scraps,  written  by 
a  priest.  They  expect  that  the  worst  of  conse- 
quences must,  of  course,  follow  the  wicked  look 
of  a  Christian — an  uncircumcised  wretch,  who 
takes  pleasure  in  blasting  the  happiness  of  the 
faithful.  How  the  idea  first  originated,  has  not 
been  explained  to  me.  That  it  has  been  kept 
up  by  the  priesthood,  who  derive  a  very  satisfac- 
tory revenue  from  this  universal  dread  of  the 
evil  eye,  is  quite  probable.  The  Greek,  Jew, 
Armenian  and  Cliristian  are  all  capable  of  inflict- 
ing the  bane. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    TWILIGHT    HOUR. 

BY  AMANDA   51.   DOPGLASS. 

O,  hour  of  the  stilly  twilight, 

now  thy  beauty  fills  my  heart ; 
And  warmly  the  by -gone  voices, 

To  their  olden  music  sUirt, 
When  earth  waa  an  Eden  palace, 

And  the  clouds,  all  bathed  in  gold, 
Seemed  angels,  floating  above  us, 

While  pleasant  t,'ile8  they  told. 
When  the  Tviod  went  pighing  gently, 

And  the  waters  murmured  low, 
■Wliile  the  fairies  all  were  singing, 

In  the  twilight,  long  ago. 

O,  hour  of  the  stilly  twilight, 

How  thy  love  has  changed  to  me ; 
And  the  faces  but  glimmer  dimly, 

That  once  were  fair  to  see. 
And  of  all  the  voices  at  eve-tide, 

There  is  one  T  cannot  find  ; 
Not  in  the  music  of  nightstars, 

Not  in  the  notes  of  the  wind. 
Where  is  he  sleeping?     0,  twilight,     ■ 

Tell  it  kindly  unto  me, 
If  his  head  is  pillowed  with  coral, 

In  the  shining  southern  sea ! 

O,  hour  of  the  stilly  twilight, 

Do  the  dainty  sea  shells  sing 
Sweet  gongs,  as  he  lieth  sleeping, 

Where  the  orange  breezes  fling 
Their  perfume  kindly  around  him  ; 

And  the  clear  wave  on  his  cheek, 
Does  it  kiss  him  gently,  sweetly  ? 

0,  voice  of  the  twilight,  speak  1 
For  of  all  the  music  that  cometh 

To  me,  at  eventide, 
None  calms,  until  thou  tellest  me 

How  on  the  sea  he  died, 

PRIDE  AND  INGRATITUDE. 

You  may  rest  upon  this  as  an  unfailing  truth* 
that  there  neither  is,  nor  ever  was,  an v  person 
remarkably  ungrateful,  who  was  not  also  insufi'er- 
ably  proud  ;  nor  any  one  proud  wlio  was  not  equal- 
ly ungi-ateful.  Ingratitude  overlooks  all  kindness, 
and  this  is  because  pride  makes  it  carry  its  head 
so  high.  Ingratitude  is  too  base  to  return  a 
kindness,  and  too  proud  to  regard  it;  mucli  like 
the  tops  of  mountains,  barren  indeed,  but  yet 
lofiy  ;  they  produce  nothing,  they  yield  nothing, 
they  feed  nobody,  ihey  clothe  nobody,  yet  are 
high  and  stately,  and  look  down  upon  all  the 
world  about  them.  It  was  ingratitude  which  put 
the  poignard  into  Brutus's  hand,  but  it  was  want 
of  compassion  which  thrust  it  into  Caesar's  heart. 
Friendship  consists  properly  in  mutual  oflices, 
and  a  generous  strife  in  alternate  acts  of  kind- 
ness. But  he  who  does  a  kindness  to  an  ungrate- 
ful person,  sets  his  seitl  to  a  flint,  and  sows  bis 
seed  upon  the  sand  ;  upon  the  former  he  makes 
no  impression,  and  from  the  latter  finds  no  pro- 
duction.— Dr.  South. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
I  MET  HER  IN  THE  FESTIVE  CROWD. 

BY  REBECCA   R.   PIERCE. 

I  met  her  in  the  festive  crowd,  the  gayest,  loveliest  there, 
Nor  deemed  that  care  might  darkly  shroud  a  brow  so  pure 

and  fiiir ; 
I  listened  to  the  mellow  strain  of  her  song's  sweet  melody, 
As  it  strangely  thrilled  through  every  vein,  with  its  gush- 

iogs  glad  and  free. 

And  well  I  marked  her  kindling  eye  had  darker,  softer 

grown, 
When  one,  who  gently  lingered  nigh,  had  praised  each 

varied  tone ; 
And  as  she  bent  a  mlling  ear  to  catch  his  hghtest  words, 
Ilis  voice  grew  strangely  tremulous,  and  mellow  as  a 

bird's. 

And  once  again  wc  met,  when  weary  months  to  years  had 

grown, 
But  the  light  of  love  had  faded,  and  the  joyoas  smile  had 

flown; 
It  told  of  hopes  forsaking,  though  nurst  in  love  and  tears, 
Thai  the  trusting  heart  was  breaking  with  the  weary  load 

of  J  ears. 


18i 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DUAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


A    SERIES    OF    ILLUSTRATED    VIEWS    OF    THE    CHARLESTOWN    NAVY    YARD. 


_,  ..x_  jls:, 

L.,4fliliiiiii! 
iiiiii  iiiiiiiii, 


.:il4iid!iiiiipii;Mi![i'ii'' 


NAVY  YARD,  CHARLESTOWN. 

The  view  above,  presented  by  our  artist,  is  a 
fine  perspective,  through  the  arch  of  the  rope- 
■\valk  looking  seaward.  The  visitor  to  the  Navy 
Yard  will  find  many  objects  of  interest  to  claim 
a  share  of  his  attention  ;  and  in  every  depart- 
ment of  this  great  establishment,  there  is  a  uni- 
form neatness  and  order,  which  is  always  pleas- 
ing, and  for  which  this  station  is  inferior  to  none 
in  the  world.  On  the  left  hand  side  of  the  yard, 
as  we  enter,  and  nearly  opposite  the  dry  dock,  is 
situated  the  parade  ground,  and,  as  a  back 
ground,  the  barracks,  represented  below,  capa- 
ble of  accommodating  a  large  body  of  marines, 
although  at  present  the  establishment  is  reduced 
to  comparatively  a  few.  There  are  but  thirty 
raarines  quartered  there  at  present,  sufficient  for 
the  duties  of  this  well-regulated  establishment. 
The  place  of  parade  is  one  of  the  prettiest  en- 


A  PERSPECTIVE  VIEW  FROM  THE  YARD. 


closures  to  l)e  found  anywhere,  and  in  the  shade 
of  its  beautiful  elni.s,  utioi'ds  a,  very  pleasant  re- 
treat for  lliu  U'gwt'ury  eentricH,  durin)^  the  relief 
from  duty,  on  the  hot  days  of  summer.  The 
marines  arc  under  the  command  of  Capt.  Tho- 
mas S.  English,  who  occupies  tbe  right  wing, 
Lieut.  J.  C.  Rich  occupying  the  left.  It  is  alto- 
gether an  interesting  place  to  visit.  Tlie  house 
beyond  the  barracks  is  the  residence  of  Commo- 
dore Gregory,  and  is  faitlifully  depicted  on  the 
opposite  page.  Francis  H.  Orcgory  is  an  old 
and  efficient  otHcer  of  some  sixty  years  of  ago. 
He  has  seen  much  service;  has  been  a  prisoner 
to  Great  Britain,  and  distinguish'- d  himself  in 
the  last  war.  He  seems  most  happily  situated  in 
his  present  position  as  commander  of  the  yard, 
and  has  found  a  large  circle  of  friends  since  his 
residence  here,  by  his  urbanity  of  manner,  and 
refined  and  gentlemanly  conduct.  He  has  been 
but  a  short  time  at  Charlestown,  but  wc  trust  he 
may  long  continue  there.  Another  object  of 
interest,  given  on  next  page,  is  the  rope-walk 
connected  with  the  Navy  Yard.  This  extensive 
structure,  the  finest  in  this  country,  is  an  object 
worthy  the  attention  of  strangers,  and  will  give 
some  idea  of  the  vast  amount  of  expenditure  de- 
frayed for  public  works  at  this  superb  naval 
station.  The  whole  of  the  cordage  for  tKe  navy 
is  manufactured  here;  the  rope-walk  contains 
four  railways,  but  one  of  which  is  generally 
brought  into  use.  The  length  of  the  walk  is 
1350  feet;  there  are  eighty  spinning  jennies, 
seventy  of  which  are  in  operation  now;  "the  daily 
manufacture  amounts  to  about  forty  hundred 
weight;  the  quantity  of  hemp  kept  on  hand  for 
use  is  about  eight  hundred  tons,  and  there  are 
fifty-five  men  employed  in  the  establishment. 
The  power  is  derived  from  one  of  Tufts's  beauti- 
ful engines  of  sixty  horse  power,  which,  with  the 
other  machinery  of  the  establishment,  is  well 
worthy  of  inspection.  The  building  was  com- 
menced in  1832,  and  finished  in  1837,  and  may 
be  considered  a  model  structure  for  its  purposes. 
The  principal  building,  as  shown  in  the  view, 
contains,  in  the  basement,  the  engine-room  and 
boilers;  the  second  story  contains  the  s]>inning 
machinery,  and  the  *' walks,"  being  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  in  length,  occupy  the  ground  floor.  The- 
small  building  at  the  left  is  the  tar-house,  where 
all  the  yams  are  tarred  previous  to  spinning. 
The  operations  are  very  interesting,  especially 
when  "  laying  up  "  a  large  cable.  The  following 
statistical  information  relating  to  the  yard,  is 
gathered  from  Hayward's  Massachusetts  Gazet- 
teer: "This  naval  depot  is  situated  on  the 
north  side  of  Charles  River,  on  a  point  of  land 
east  of  the  centre  of  the  city  of  Charlestown, 
extending  along  the  harbor  from  the  mouth  of 


the  Charles  to  the  mouth  of  the  Myptic  River. 
This  yard  was  purchased  by  the  United  States, 
under  auihority  of  an  act  of  Congress,  in  the 
year  1800.  The  State  of  Massachusetts,  by  an 
act  of  the  Legislature  of  that  year,  gave  its  as- 
sent to  the  sale,  under  certain  restrictions.  The 
cost  of  the  whole  purchase,  including  commis- 
sions, was  about  forty  thousand  dollars.  On  the 
side  next  the  town,  the  yard  is  protected  by  a 
wall  of  stone  masonry,  sixteen  feet  high  ;  on  tlie 
harbor  side  are  several  wharves  and  a  dry  dock; 
except  the  approach  to  these,  a  sea-wall  is  ex- 
tended the  whole  harbor  line.  This  dry  dock 
was  authorized  by  the  nineteenth  Congress,  com- 
menced 10th  July,  1827,  and  opened  for  the  re- 
ception of  vessels  24th  June,  183.3.  It  is  built 
of  bcautifuUyliammcrf.d  granite,  in  the  most 
workmanlike  and  substantial  manner ;  is  three 
hundred  and  forty-one  feet  long,  eighty  feet  wide, 
and  thirty  feet  deep,  and  cost  about  six  hundred 
and  seventy-five  thousand  dollars.  There  are  in 
this  yard  four  large  ship-houses,  various  mechan- 
ic shops,  store-houses,  dwelling-houses  for  the 
officers,  and  murine  barracks,  besides  an  exten- 
sive rope-walk  of  granite.  There  are,  too,  in  the 
yard,  large  quantities  of  timber  and  naval  stores, 
exceeding  in  value  two  millions  of  dollars. 
More  or  less  ships  of  war  are  at  all  times  lying 
here  in  ordinary.  There  is  a  sufficient  depth  of 
water  for  the  largest  ships  of  war  to  lie  afloat,  at 
all  times,  at  the  ends  of  the  wharves.  The  yard 
contains  within  the  wall  about  one  hundred  acres, 
and,  independent  of  all  buildings  and  works,  the 
site  would  now  readily  command  more  than  one 
million  of  dollars.  Many  improvements  have 
been  made  in  it  within  a  few  years.  Its  general 
appearance  is  neat  and  fit;  and  for  all  manufac- 
turing purposes  connected  with  building  and 
eqipping  ships  of  war,  perhaps  no  other  yard  in 
the  Union  offers  so  great  facilities.  Connected 
with  the  yard,  and  under  the  general  direction  of 
the  commandant,  are  also  a  naval  magazine,  and 
hospital  at  Chelsea." 

In  this  connection  some  items  respecting  the 
city  of  Charlestown  itself  may  not  be  uninterest- 
ing. The  natural  divisions  of  this  place  are  dis- 
tinguished as  Charlestown  Peninsulaand  Charles- 
town "  without  the  neck."  These  divisions  are 
of  ycrj  unequal  size :  the  peninsula,  on  which, 
the  city  is  built,  is  only  about  one  mile  and  a 
quarter  in  length ;  the  tract  beyond  the  neck  is 
upwards  of  seven  miles  in  length.  The  width 
varies  from  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  in  various  parts 
of  the  city.  Charlestown  peninsula  is  somewhat 
of  an  oval  form,  and  is  about  half  as  large  as 
that  on  which  Boston  is  situated.  It  has,  like 
Boston,  three  principal  hills,  viz..  Bunker's  Hill, 
Breed's    Hill,   and    the  West  or   Town  Hill. 


THE  PARADE  GROUND  AND  BARRACKS. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DHA^YING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


185 


VIEW  OF  THE  ROPEWALK,  AT  THE  CHARLESTOWN  NAVY  YARD. 


Bunker's  Hill  is  on  the  north-east  part ;  it  is  one 
hundred  and  thirteen  feet  liigh,  and  is  the  largest 
of  the  three.  Breed's  Hill  (on  which  was  the 
battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  where  the  monument 
is  erected)  commences  near  the  southerly  portion 
of  Bunker's,  and  extends  towards  the  south  and 
west ;  its  height  is  eighty-seven  feet.  Town  Hill 
is  in  the  south-west  part  of  the  peninsula ;  its 
height  has  been  somewhat  reduced  from  what  it 
was  originally,  but  it  never  was  as  high  as 
Breed's  Hill.  Its  western  base  reached  to  the 
shore  of  Charles  River.  The  avenues  from 
Charles  River  Bridge  and  Warren  Bridge  meet 
in  Charlestown  Square,  an  open  space  of  two 
or  three  acres,  regularly  laid  out  soon  after  the 
opening  of  the  to^^Ti,  in  1776,  for  the  purpose  of 
a  market-place.  Around  this  square  a  number 
of  the  public  buildings  are  situated.  There 
are  ten  churches :  three  Congregational,  three 
Baptist,  two  Methodist,  one  Universalist,  and 
one  Catholic.  There  is  one  bank :  the  Bunker 
Hill  Bank,  with  a  capital  of  S200,000.  Charles- 
town  is  united  to  Boston  by  Charles  River  and 
Warren  bridges.  Warren  Bridge  is  one  thous- 
and three  hundred  and  ninety  feet  in  length,  and 
forty-four  feet  in  width.  It  was  incorporated  in 
1828,  and  opened  the  same  year.  It  is  now  the 
property  of  the  State.  Charlestown  is  also  uni- 
ted to  Boston  as  a  port  of  entry,  and  in  various 
commercial  pursuits.     Population,  about  16,000. 


THE  ROYAIi  TIGER  OF  BENGAL. 

This  most  fierce  and  rapacious  of  all  carnivor- 
ous animals,  is  a  native  of  Asia,  and  is  found  in 
many  parts  of  that  extensive  country ;  but  they 
are  most  numerous  in  India.  They  are  ferocious 
without  provocation,  and  are  never  subdued  by 
gentle  and  kind  treatment.  They  fear  not  man 
nor  any  Animals  of  the  largest  size.  They  are 
even  more  ferocious  than  the  lion  ;  and  they  are, 
therefore,  ju'^tly  more  dreaded,  though  not  of  the 
height,  or  of  so  large  dimensions.  The  largest 
are  found  in  Bengal,  and  these  are  distinguished 
by  the  name  of  the  Royal  Tiger.  They  fre- 
quently seize  and  devour  children  and  adults. 
It  is  believed  they  have  a  higher  relish  for  hu- 
man flesh,  than  that  of  any  other  animals.  They 
have  been  kno^vn  to  dart  from  their  coverts  and 
spring  upon  people  who  were  walking  for  pleas- 
ure. One  apparently  ready  to  make  a  spring, 
wh^re  there  was  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
wa'f  alarmed  and  induced  to  retire  by  the  unfurl- 
ing and  presenting  of  an  umbrella.  In  combat, 
they  conquer  the  elephant  and  the  lion.  The 
tiger  is  of  the  cat  kind  (fdts) ;  and  so  are  the 
tiger  and  the  cougar,  and  some  other  ferocious 
animals  ;  but  the  panther  is  most  formidable  and 
destructive.  It  is  of  larger  size  than  others  of 
the  kind,  and  its  ferociousness  is  greater  in  pro- 
portion to  Its  strength.  The  color  of  the  tiger  is 
yellow,  of  deeper  hue  on  the  back,  gradually  soft- 
ening to  a  white  on  the  belly.  Beautiful  bars  of 
black  streak  the  entire  body. — Hlntori/qfAniinah. 


COMAIODORE's   house  and   QAUDKN,   at  Tin:  NAVY   VAKD,  CII AlILESTOWN,  MASS- 


186 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  OIeanon"fl  Pictorial.] 
WHERE  IS  GENTliE  MAY? 

BY  F.  0.  BYLVANUH  HURLDUT. 

Mild  blue  cnwmpn  the  Bmillng  nklcB, 

The  woodH  aro  grL-en  iiinl  ^ay  ; 
Tlio  mead  puts  on  Its  lloral  dyos, 

But  wboro  Is  gontlo  May  ? 

Yon  oIoud-cRppod  hillB  with  moroiiig  crowned, 

VnHt  in  the  lap  of  day, 
£cho  tlio  voi<'o  of  love  nround, 

But  where  is  gentle  May  f 

I  'to  ranged  the  green  woods  o'or  and  o'er. 

In  evening  flluidowB  gray. 
While  rian  triinnied  her  nilvcr  lamps, 

But  where  was  gentle  May  ? 

I've  heard  the  cuckoo  in  the  bower, 

The  Hutc-bird  by  the  rlll ; 
And  oft  at  erening's  pensive  hour, 

The  lonely  whip-poor-will. 

I've  heard  in  Colma's  aged  pines. 

The  lovely  turtle's  dole  ;  ' 

And  iu  tlio  elm  tree's  tressois  sing 
The  orange  otiole ! 

I've  Reen  the  virgins  of  the  spring, 
Slow  mount  their  apangled  way  ; 

To  kneel  at  tlio  Imperial  Throne, 
But  ivherc  was  gentle  May  ? 

I  've  seen,  'mid  revelations  grand. 
Fond  wood  nymphs  at  their  play  ; 

When  cool  Illissus  laved  the  fields, 
But  whure  is  gentle  May  ? 

Swift  through  the  arches  of  the  skies, 

Along  yon  starry  road, 
Her  spirit  soars  on  wings  of  light. 

To  Olive'fl  fair  abode. 

Thou  canst  not  see  her  form  divine, 

Amid  the  angel  bands. 
Till  death  shall  ope  the  great  highway 

To  Sharon's  morning  lands. 

Come,  take  thy  harp  !  'mong  mosses  gray, 

When  evening  wraps  the  plain  ; 
Sing  of  me  there,  and  lay  thy  hand 

Upon  old  Ocean's  mane ! 

My  soul  will  fancy  that  it  hears 

The  soft  receding  chime 
Steal  from  Atlantic's  organ  choir, 

Like  airs  of  Palestine. 

Or,  when  beneath  impending  woods, 

I  troll  the  winding  Dee, 
My  mind  shall  leap  yon  azure  bars 

Of  space,  and  muse  with  thee. 

Where  Neptune  thunders,  me  behold, 

Mid  eve's  chaotic  gray  ; 
And,  Ella,  strike  the  harp  of  love, 

To  chase  my  grief  away. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

GUILT  AND  RErKIBUTION. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TIME  OF  RICHARD  III. 
BY    MISS    SARAH    M.    HOWE. 

In  a  rielily-fiirnished  room  of  the  roj'al  palace 
sat  he  who  hut  a  few  hours  before  had  been 
known  as  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  hut  now  as 
Richard  III,  the  King  of  England.  A  darker 
frown  than  ever  was  upon  his  usually  sensual 
and  revolting  features,  and  at  times,  an  expres- 
sion of  demoniac  vengeance  would  cross  them, 
rendering  the  dark  countenance  almost  frightful 
to  behold.  He  was  not  alone ;  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  a  villain  little  less  deeper  dyed  in 
crime  than  himself,  sat  near  him,  his  arms  folded 
upon  his  bosom,  and  his  small,  keen  gray  eyes 
fixed  searchingly  upon  the  dark  countenance  of 
liis  master.  For  some  time  both  sat  silent;  the 
king  seemed  deeply  engaged  in  meditation,  and 
Buckingham  earnestly  watching  the  varying  ex- 
pression of  his  features.  At  length  tlie  king 
raised  his  head,  and  fixing  his  dark  eyes  upon 
the  countenance  of  his  companion,  lie  said  : 

"Buckingham,  I  will  no  longer  endure  this 
continual  fear  of  tliose  two  young  princes,  which 
now  haunts  me  night  and  day.  It  is  true,  they, 
in  themselves,  arc  utterly  powerless ;  but  the 
hearts  of  the  nation  are  witli  them,  and  while 
that  high-spirited,  fearless  Edward  lives,  my 
crown  is  not  safe.  If  he  is  but  dead,  then  I  am 
safe  for  the  present ;  Imt  I  would  have  his  brother 
Richard,  who  is  the  next  rightful  licir  to  the 
throne,  also  beyond  the  reach  of  mortal  power. 
AVhat  say  you,  Buckingham,  cannot  they  be  put 
out  of  the  way'?" 

"  ICasily,  your  mnjesty,"  retunied  the  duke, 
with  an  air  that  showed  that  he  was  accustomed 
to  such  proceedings.  "But  some  care  and  cau- 
tion will  be  needed  to  accomplish  such  a  result; 
for  your  majesty  would  not  wish  to  have  it 
known  that  the  young  princes  were  murdered, 
and  by  yourself," 


"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  king,  turning  slight- 
ly jialc  as  the  thought  of  what  would  he  the  con- 
sequences of  such  an  act,  were  it  discovered, 
crossed  his  mind.  "But,"  he  continued,  "you 
know  it  will  be  impossible  to  carry  out  my  de- 
sij^n  agiiin.st  them  without  tlic  knowledge  of  the 
lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  (owcr.  Brackcnbury, 
the  jtresent  commander,  is  the  firm  friend  of  the 
young  j)rinces,  and  will  not  consent  to  our  hav- 
ing anything  to  do  with  them.  He  must  lie  dis- 
charged, and  another,  who  would  be  more  likely 
to  comply  with  our  wishes,  elevated  to  liis 
place." 

"  Your  majesty  is  right  in  that  suggestion," 
returned  Buckingimm;  "and  I  would  recom- 
mend Sir  Jami's  TyrrcU  as  just  the  person  to  fill 
Iiis  place.  He  is  as  great  a  villain  as  you  could 
wish,  and  will  assist  us  to  execute  our  jdans." 

"  But  will  he  not  betray  us  ?"  asked  the  king, 
turning  pale  at  the  very  thought. 

"If  he  shows  the  least  appearance  of  traitor- 
ship,  will  not //j/s  silence  his  Hps  effectually?" 
asked  Buckingham,  in  a  meaning  tone,  as  he 
drew  from  his  bosom  a  small  keen  dagger,  and 
held  up  the  glittering  blade  before  the  eyes  of 
the  king.  The  sight  of  the  weapon  had  tlie  de- 
sired effect ;  the  anxious  expression  of  Richard's 
countenance  gave  waj'  to  a  demoniac  smile. 

"Yes,  that  will  silence  him,  as  it  has  many 
others,"  said  he,  in  reply  to  the  last  remark  of 
Buckingham.  "  You  are  cautious,  ambitious, 
and  almost  as  great  a  villain  as  myself,  and  I  do 
not  fear  I)ut  you  will  carry  out  my  design  in  res- 
pect to  the  rightful  heirs  of  the  English  throne, 
as  secretly  and  successfully  as  I  could  wish.  I 
leave  all  in  your  hands  ;  and,  as  you  value  your 
life,  give  no  one  a  chance  to  betray  us.  If  you 
fail,  the  high  position  you  hold,  as  my  favorite, 
will  be  the  forfeit;  if  you  succeed,  the  duchy  of 
Hereford,  which  I  know  you  have  long  coveted, 
shall  be  your  reward." 

"  Y"our  majesty  need  not  fear  for  my  success," 
answered  the  duke;  "for  when  Buckingham  un- 
dertakes to  carry  a  plot  into  cf!cct,  you  may  be 
satisfied  that  it  will  not  be  left  until  it  is  accom- 
plished, if  such  a  result  is  possible." 

"  I'll  trust  you,  Buckingham,"  said  the  king  ; 
"  but  remember,  above  all  things,  that  this  dark 
secret  must  be  known  to  as  few  as  possible.  You 
may  go  now  ;  I  would  be  alone." 

Buckingham  arose  and  bowed  servilely  to  his 
royal  master,  and  passed  slowly  from  the  room. 
When  his  companion  had  gone,  the  king's  coun- 
tenance was  again  overspread  by  a  troubled, 
anxious  expression,  and  the  color  came  and 
went  on  his  sallow  cheek  as  if  some  strange 
thoughts  were  agitating  his  mind.  At  tlie  slight- 
est noise  he  would  start  quickly  and  gaze  around 
him,  as  if  expecting  to  see  some  form  from  the 
dead  rise  before  him,  and  confront  him  with  the 
long  catalogue  of  his  crimes.  Such  is  the  power 
of  a  guilty  conscience;  sleeping  or  waking,  it 
haunts  the  man  whose  soul  is  steeped  in  crime, 
and  will  haunt  him  to  his  grave. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  the  third  day  from  the 
time  when  the  above  conversation  occurred,  that 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  the  king  again  sat 
alone  together  in  the  royal  apartment  where  we 
first  introduced  them  to  the  reader.  The  night 
before,  the  young  princes,  Edward  and  Richard, 
the  rightful  heirs  to  the  English  crown,  as  the 
only  children  of  Edward  IV,  had  been  murdered 
■ — murdered  by  the  order  of  King  Richard,  who 
was  iheir  uncle,  that  they  might  never  stand  in 
his  path,  by  rallying  the  kingdom  to  the  stand- 
ard of  right  and  justice,  and  demanding  the 
crown  that  was  rightfully  their  own  !  Though 
the  mind  of  Richard  was  relieved  of  a  portion  of 
its  anxiety  by  this  event,  still  he  could  not  quiet 
his  conscience — that  never  sleeping  monitor,  that 
punishes  the  guilty,  though  human  retribution 
never  overtake  them. 

"  Are  yon  sure,  Buckingham,"  asked  Richard, 
anxiously,  "  that  the  villains  who  did  the  deed  of 
murdering  the  young  princes  will  not  betray 
us  ?" 

"  If  they  f/rt/e  to  whisper  a  word  of  what  lias 
been  done,  I  will  have  iheir  heart's  blood  a  mo- 
ment after!"  firmly  said  Buckingham,  grasping 
the  hilt  of  the  dajigcr  within  Iiis  bosom  as  he 
spoke. 

"I'll  trust  you,  Buckingham,"  said  the  king, 
in  a  calmer  tone  than  the  one  in  which  lie  had 
first  spoken  ;  "  and  as  to  Sir  James  Tyrrell,  I 
know  he  will  not  betr;iy  me,  for  his  only  chance 
of  being  raised  to  higher  power  in  the  kingdom, 
lies  in  my  retaining  the  crown.  If  I  am  de- 
throned, and  lose  my  power  in  the  nation,  the 
scaffold  will  be  the  c!Lsiest  fate  he  can  expect.  I 
know  he  will  keep  the  secret;  it  is  for  his  inter- 
est to.     But  the  two  dcsj)eradoes  who  murdered 


the  princes,  I  am  not  so  well  satisfied  with  our 
present  position  in  respect  to  them.  They  have 
been  jtaid  roundly  for  the  deed  in  good  Enfjlinh 
gold  ;  they  can  expect  no  more  remuneration  for 
their  services.  It  is  not  for  their  interest  to  keep 
the  secret,  and  it  may  bo  to  disclose  it.  I  Bhall 
never  be  able  to  quiet  all  my  anxiety  and  fears 
upon  tlie  subject,  if  lliey  arc  not  silenced  imme- 
diately. Wc  shall  then  stand  in  no  fear  of  them. 
Can  you  not,  by  some  stratagem,  find  them 
again,  Buckingham?" 

"  I  think  I  can,"  was  the  cool  reply  of  the 
practised  villain,  who  was  well  accustomed  to 
conferences  like  these;  "they  may  be  found  in 
some  of  the  drinking  and  gambling  houses  of 
the  city,  ut  almost  any  time  of  the  night,  when 
they  are  not  engaged  in  operations  similar  to  tlie 
one  they  executed  last  night.  I  can  find  them 
again  quite  readily,  I  think  ;  and,  if  it  is  your 
majesty's  will,  I  will  endeavor  to  do  so." 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  you  search  them  out  im- 
mediately. And  after  having  done  so,  use  some 
stratagem  to  get  them  entirely  into  your  power, 
and  then,  Buckingham,  then  silence  them  forever. 
You  understand  me,  do  you  not?" 

"Perfectly,"  calmly  replied  the  duke,  while  a 
demon-like  smile  played  around  his  sinister  lips. 
"  Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed,  and  perfectly." 

"  Do  not  leave  me  alone,  Buckingham,"  said 
Richard,  as  the  former  rose  to  leave.  "I  feel 
strangely  to  night;  the  images  of  the  two  mur- 
dered princes  seem  to  haunt  me  with  an  unac- 
countable horror.  I  am  not  myself  to-night; 
but  you,  Buckingham,  are  the  only  one  to  whom 
I  would  confess  this  weakness.  Leave  me  not 
to-night;  I  do  not  wish  to  be  alone." 

"  I  most  sincerely  regret  that  I  am  unable  to 
comply  with  your  request,"  returned  the  duke; 
"  but  business  of  importance  calls  me  to  another 
part  of  the  city  for  the  remainder  of  the  night. 
But  I  will  call  some  other  one  of  the  courtiers, 
whose  company  will  doubtless  be  as  acceptable 
as  mine,  and  perhaps  chase  away  your  fit  of 
despondency." 

"  No,  no,"  hurriedly  returned  the  king,  "  I 
would  be  alone,  if  you  cannot  be  with  me.  l''ou 
arc  entrusted  with  my  deepest  and  darkest  se- 
crets, and  with  you  alone  would  I  converse  for 
the  present.  Go  now.  But  did  you  hear  that?" 
he  asked,  starting  suddenly  from  his  seat,  while 
his  cheek  became  of  the  paleness  of  marlile. 

"  I  heard  nothing,"  replied  the  duke,  in  a  tone 
which  showed  that  his  own  guilty  conscience 
was  not  a  tittle  aroused. 

"  I  heard  a  footstep — light  and  soft,  it  is  true, 
but  it  was  a  footstep.  I  know  it  was,"  said  the 
king,  in  a  half  whisper. 

"  Your  majesty  must  have  been  mistaken," 
said  Buckingham,  "  for  I  heard  nothing.  A 
guilty  conscience  gives  rise  to  many  terrors, 
which  prove  to  be  only  imaginary." 

A  terrible  frown  was  the  only  reply  of  the  king 
to  this  bold  speech  of  Buckingham.  He  did  not 
like  to  have  that  inward  monitor  alluded  to,  it 
only  brought  up  its  terrors  with  more  force  and 
power. 

"  I  am  satisfied  that  we  have  been  overheard," 
said  the  king,  "and  the  footstep  was  that  of  the 
listener  retreating.  I  must  not  pass  this  by  un- 
noticed ;  to-morrow  I  will  investigate  the  matter. 
You  can  go  now,  Buckingham.  Be  cautious 
and  expeditious." 

"  I  will,  your  majesty,"  was  the  reply,  and  the 
next  moment  King  Richard  was  alone.  The 
guilty  king  had  spoken  truly :  they  had  been  over- 
heard !  As  Buckingham  had  entered  the  room 
that  evening,  a  tall,  graceful  figure  had  glided  in 
after  him,  and  concealed  itself  in  the  rich  drapery 
which  fell  in  sweeping  folds  to  the  lichlj'^-carpet- 
ed  floor.  It  was  the  form  of  a  woman  of,  per- 
haps, thirty-five  years  of  age,  but  whose  form 
was  yet  straight  and  graceful  as  that  of  a  maiden 
of  eighteen.  She  still  retained  the  traces  of  what 
had  once  been  the  most  faultless  and  brilliant 
beauty.  Her  eyes  were  black  as  midnight — but 
midnight  with  a  star  in  its  depths — for  they  still 
retained  all  the  fire  and  brilliancy  of  early  youth, 
and  their  piercing  glance  seemed  to  read  the 
very  soul.  Her  raven  hair  was  bound  back  in  a 
shining  mass  at  the  back  of  her  finely-formed 
head,  and  the  brow  which  it  shaded,  though  now 
slightly  furrowed,  gave  evidence  of  intellect 
rarely  to  be  found.  The  lips  were  finely  cut, 
but  their  curve  was  energetic,  spirited,  and  de- 
cisive, and  told  of  almost  masculine  firmness 
and  determination.  She  was  beautiful — darkly, 
strangely  beautiful, — yet  there  was  no  loveliness 
in  her  proud  beauty. 

With  her  stately  head  bent  forward  in  eager- 
ness to  catch  every  sound,  ihc  lady  listened. 
Not  a  word  that  was  spoken  by  the  two  murdcr- 


cffl  escaped  her  ear — all  was  heard,  and  all  real- 
ized !  A  strange  meaning  smile  of  triumph 
lighted  up  her  features  as  she  heard  the  fears  and 
forebodings  called  up  by  a  never-slccjjing  con- 
science, uttered  by  the  guilty  Richard,  which 
deepened  Into  an  expression  of  perfect  satisfac- 
tion as  she  heard  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  ex- 
press his  determination  to  go,  and  the  king's  de- 
cision to  remain  alone.  Then,  with  a  step  light 
and  noiseless,  she  flitted  through  the  door,  and 
the  heavy  drajicry  preventing  them  from  seeing 
her,  she  paiJscd  out  unobserved.  But  even  her 
light  footstep  .startled  the  guilty  Rir-hard  ;  and, 
though  he  did  not  then  arise  to  discover  the 
cause  of  it,  be  felt  a  strange  fear  that  they  had 
been  overheard. 

For  some  time,  after  Buckingham  had  depart- 
ed, the  king  sat  perfectly  silent  and  motionless. 
But  his  mind  was  not  inactive  ;  it  was  conjuring 
up  strange  phantasies  and  fears,  and  the  magic 
finger  of  imagination  traced  characters  even 
worse  than  tlie  dreadful  reality.  Even  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  carved  furniture  seemed  to  be 
living  beings,  rising  before  him  to  confront  him 
with  the  story  of  his  crimes.  Such  is  the  punish- 
ment of  guilt ! 

Suddenly  a  shadow,  as  of  some  moving  object 
from  behind,  was  darkly  outlined  against  the 
wall  before  him.  He  started  as  his  eye  fell  npon 
it,  and  a  marble  paleness  overspread  his  features, 
but  he  had  not  the  courage  to  look  behind  hira, 
to  ascertain  who  or  what  the  new  comer  was. 
It  moved  towards  him ;  he  .succeeded  in  turning 
his  head,  so  that  he  could  plainly  see  the  figure 
that  had  cast  the  shadow.  It  was  a  figure  under 
the  medium  height,  but  straight  and  graceful, 
and,  save  its  face  and  hands,  it  was  entirely  cov- 
ered by  an  ample  flowing  robe  of  purest  white. 
One  transparent  hand  was  raised  prophetically 
to  heaven,  while  the  other  drew  closer  around 
the  form  the  ample  white  robe.  With  a  shudder 
of  fear,  Richard  gazed  up  into  the  countenance 
of  the  spirit-like  figure.  But  a  faint  cry  of  hor- 
ror escaped  his  lips,  as,  in  that  motionless,  mar- 
ble-like face,  with  the  strangely  brilliant  eyes 
gazing  fearfully  upon  him,  he  recognized  the 
well-known  features  of  Edward  V,  the  rightful 
King  of  England,  wlio,  the  night  before,  had 
been  murdered  at  his  command  ! 

The  guilty  king  knew  that  before  him  stood 
the  spirit  of  the  murdered,  and  wiih  eye-bails 
staring  in  horror,  he  gazed  upon  the  strange  visi- 
tor from  the  unknown  world.  It  spoke  ;  and  the 
words  that  met  the  ears  of  the  guilty  king,  spoken 
in  a  voice  of  strange  solemnity,  were  : 

"Murderer!  from  the  silent  tomb, 
To  unfold  thy  crimes,  I  come  I" 

Without  the  power  of  moving,  or  uttering  a 
word,  so  completely  were  his  senses  paralyzed 
with  horror,  the  guilty  king  gazed  upon  the  mo- 
tionless form  before  him.  The  dark  eyes  of  the 
figure,  bright  with  a  wild,  unearthly  fire,  were 
bent  upon  him  with  a  gaze  that  seemed  to  pierce 
his  very  soul.  The  form  was  the  same  as  that 
of  the  young  king,  graceful  and  elegant,  and  the 
high-spirited,  scornful  expression  of  the  marble 
features  was  the  same  as  that  which  had  charac- 
terized the  youthful  sovereign.  The  voice, 
though  much  lower  and  more  solemn,  partook 
much  of  his  tones,  and  the  words,  also,  confirm- 
ed the  fearful  truth,  in  Richard's  mind,  that  tlie 
figure  which  stood  before  him  was  the  spirit  of 
Edward  V,  the  rightful  heir  of  tlie  English 
throne.  It  was  enough  to  cause  the  guilty  mur- 
derer to  tremble;  and  with  eye  balls  dilated  with 
horror,  he  gazed  upon  the  fearful  apparition. 
Again  that  solemn  voice  broke  the  deep  stillness 
of  tlie  room,  and  this  time  the  words  it  uttered 

were : 

"  I  come,  usurper,  from  the  land. 
Where  spirits  roam  in  shadowy  band, 
To  brand  thee  with  a  darker  crime 
Than  e'er  wiw  known  in  olden  time! 
I  may  not  tell  thee  nil  ;  for  thou 
Well  knowest  all  the  dark  t'lle  now. 
List  I  on  thine  oar  my  name  fhall  rinR  : 
'T  is  Edward,  England's  murdered  king  I" 

The  cold  sweat  of  horror  gatheixd  npon  the 
brow  of  Richard,  and  an  involuntary  shudder 
shook  his  whole  frame. 

TIic  figure  raised  its  right  arm  to  heaven,  and 
again  repeated  the  words  which  it  had  just 
spoken,  and  this  time  in  a  voice  even  more 
solemn  and  impressive  than  before.  The  moon- 
beams fell  .sofily  through  the  gossamer  curtains 
of  the  windows,  full  npon  the  figure,  darkly  out- 
lining its  sliadow  upon  the  richly  carpeted  floor, 
and  giving  the  figure  the  appearance  of  being 
surrounded  by  a  halo  of  silvery  light.  Its  voice 
ceased,  and  then  gathering  its  robe  closer  around 
its  form,  the  visitor  from  the  spirit-world  vanish- 
ed noiselessly  away.  But  to  the  eyes  of  the  ter- 
ror-stricken   Richard,   that    white-robed    figure 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWIXG   EOOM    COMPANION. 


187 


b 


seemed  still  standing  before  liim  ;  its  transparent 
finger  pointing  prophetically  upward,  and  its 
solemn  voice  pronouncing  tliat  name  which  he 
now  could  not  hear  without  a  shudder. 

The  remainder  of  that  night  seemed  an  age  to 
the  king.  He  scarcely  stirred  from  his  position 
until  the  sun  arose  in  the  cast,  chasing  away  with 
it5  clear  brightness  the  shadowy  gloom  of  niglit, 
and  ushering  in  a  cloudless  day.  Then,  for  the 
first  time  since  the  strange  spectre  of  the  preced- 
ing night  had  appeared  to  him,  he  rose  from  his 
seat,  and  with  a  quick,  nervous  step,  left  the 
room.  That  day  was  passed  in  searching  for 
Buckingham  ;  but  he  had  left  the  city  the  night 
before,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  To  no  one 
but  him  would  Richard  have  dared  to  trust  tlie 
terrible  secret  of  what  he  liad  witnessed  the  night 
before  ;  and,  as  he  was  not  to  be  found,  the  king 
disclosed  the  secret  to  no  one  of  his  courtiers, 
but  spent  what  seemed  to  liim  that  endless  day 
in  fruitless  endeavors  to  ascertain  if  Buckingham 
could  be  found.  The  shades  of  night  again 
closed  around  the  earth,  and  with  darkness,  the 
terrors  of  the  guilty  king,  which  had  in  a  mea- 
sure subsided,  returned  with  their  full  force.  He 
had  just  thrown  himself  upon  a  couch,  and  was 
endeavoring  to  close  his  eyes  in  slumber,  when 
a  page  appeared,  and  announced  that  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham  desired  to  see  the  king. 

"  Admit  him  instantly/'  eagerly  returned 
Richard,  springing  from  his  couch,  and  standing 
ready  to  receive  his  guilty  confederate  in  crime. 

The  next  moment  the  duke  entered,  and  cau- 
tiously closing  the  door,  he  stepped  forward,  and 
kneeling  at  the  feet  of  liis  master,  said : 

"  Your  majesty  need  fear  nothing  now,  as  re- 
spects the  murderers  of  the  two  princes,  for  their 
lips  are  silenced,  surely  and  effectually." 

"  You  have  not  found  them  so  soon  V  gasped 
Richard. 

"Ay,  and  murdered  them,  too!"  returned 
Buckingham,  in  a  tone  of  exultation.  *'I  found 
them  this  morning  in  a  gambling  house  in  Leroy 
street,  and  enticed  them  out  to  the  old  deserted 
promenade  by  tlie  Thames,  on  pretence  of  en- 
gaging them  to  do  more  bloody  work  for  us. 
Instead  of  that,  my  dagger  did  bloody  work  for 
them .'" 

"  And  they  are  safe  1"  eagerly  asked  the  king. 

"The  waters  of  the  Thames  now  roll  silently 
over  their  bodies,"  returned  Buckingham  ;  "  and 
now  you  need  have  no  more  fear  respecting  that 
matter  of  the  princes.  All  is  safe;  Sir  James 
Tyrrell  and  myself  will  be  faithful ;  no  other  one 
knows  the  dark  secret." 

"Buckingham,"  said  Richard,  in  a  tone  that 
caused  the  duke  to  spring  to  his  feet,  and  gaze 
earnestly  upon  his  master's  deathly  pale  features, 
"  I  have  seen  the  spirit  of  Edward  V,  the  young 
king,  whom  we  have  murdered  !" 

"Your  majesty's  mind  is  disturbed,"  said 
Buckingham,  with  an  ill-concealed  attempt  at  a 
careless  tone ;  "  you  had  best  retire  to  your 
couch;  a  night's  rest  will  dispel  such  gloomy 
thoughts." 

"No,  Buckingham,  no!"  returned  the  king, 
with  a  strange  wildness  in  his  tone ;  "  my  mind 
is  not  deranged  ;  I  have  seen  tlie  spirit  of  young 
Edward,  and  no  longer  since  than  last  night. 
The  form,  features,  voice  and  manner  were  those 
of  the  spirited  young  prince ;  I  could  not 
mistake  them.  All,  Buckingham,  the  influence 
of  the  dead  will  yet  wrest  the  crown  of  England 
from  my  hand !" 

"  But,  but  this  cannot  be  possible  !  It  cannot 
be  that  you  have  seen  the  spirit  of  the  rightful 
king  !"  exclaimed  Buckingham,  a  cold  shudder 
creeping  over  his  frame,  as  he  listened  to  the 
words  of  the  king. 

"  Last  night  the  spirit  of  Edward  V  stood 
here  in  this  room,  on  that  spot,"  replied  Richard, 
turning  to  designate  to  Buckingham  the  spot 
where  the  midnight  visitor  had  stood.  But  his 
cheek  blanched,  and  his  arm  fell  powerless  to  his 
side,  for  there,  in  the  same  spot  where  he  had 
been  the  night  before,  stood  the  white-robed 
figure,  its  dark  eyes,  gleaming  with  unearthly 
brightness,  bent  full  upon  him  !  The  king  sank 
powerless  upon  a  divan,  and  Buckingham  stood 
transfixed  to  the  spot  with  surprise  and  horror. 
The  features  of  the  figure  were  the  same  as  be- 
fore, though  a  trifle  paler  and  more  solemn.  Its 
darkly  flashing  eyes  were  burning  with  an  even 
brighter  fire,  and  their  glance  seemed  to  pierce 
the  very  soul  of  Richard.  The  silence  of  the 
room  was  at  last  broken.- by  the  voice  of  Buck- 
ingham : 

"Intruder!"  cried  he,  in  a  tone  which  plainly 
indicated  that  it  cost  him  a  great  efi'ort  to  speak, 
"  why  comcst  thou  here  V 


The  strange  visitor  turned  its  darkly  flashing 
eyes  upon  the  speaker,  and,  in  a  voice  of  deepest 
solemnity,  replied : 

"  The  murderer  and  the  murdered  now 
Meet  Once  again  ;  thy  king  and  thou — 
Thou  the  murderer — I  the  deid, 
The  king,  whose  blood  thy  hand  hath  shed! 
The  crown  of  England  is  niv  claim  ; 
Ah  I  now  thou  knowest  well  my  name  1" 

"Ay,  and  too  well,"  returned  Buckingham, 
with  all  the  courage  of  desperation.  "  And  now, 
unwelcome  visitor,  I  would  know  thy  errand." 

A  few  moments  of  fearful  silence  passed,  and 
again  the  unearthly  visitor  spoke  : 

"  I  come  from  out  the  silent  tomb, 
To  warn  thee  of  thy  fearful  doom  : 
De^.th — dark  and  fearful— will  be  thine, 
As  bloody  as  has  been  thy  crime  ! 
And  thou,  usurper,  evtm  now 
My  crown  is  falling  from  thy  brow! 
I  warn  ye  of  your  early  doom  ; 
Prepare  to  meet  me  in  the  tomb  I" 

The  intensely  solemn  voice  in  which  the  pro- 
phecy was  uttered,  its  fearful  import,  and  the 
character  of  the  speaker,  all  had  their  efl'ect  upon 
Buckingham ;  and  with  his  senses  paralyzed  by 
it,  he  fell  powerless  upon  the  divan. 

A  strange  expression,  half  of  triumph,  half  of 
scorn,  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  noc- 
turnal visitor,  and  with  one  more  glance  of  his 
dark  gleaming  eyes  upon  the  fear-stricken  vil- 
lains, it  glided  from  the  room.  Placing  one  of 
its  transparent  fingers  upon  a  small  spring  in 
the  wall,  which  was  concealed  by  the  flowing 
drapery,  a  small  door  sprang  open,  disclosing  a 
dark  winding  passage,  the  termination  of  which 
was  not  visible  through  the  shadowy  gloom. 

The  figure  glided  through  the  door,  closing 
the  spring  after  it,  and  with  a  quick,  practised 
step,  threaded  the  devious  windings  of  the  al- 
most endless  passage.  A  small  door  at  last  ter- 
minated it,  which  the  spirit-like  figure  softly 
opened,  and  glided  into  a  room  of  large  dimen- 
sions, which  was  furnished  in  a  style  of  Eastern 
magnificence.  At  one  end  of  it  was  visible  a 
half-opened  door,  through  which  the  bright  rays 
of  a  lamp  gleamed  with  a  soft  brilliancy  upon 
the  gorgeous  carpet.  The  silent  visitor  softly 
closed  the  secret  door  by  which  it  had  entered, 
and  crossing  the  apartment,  entered  the  room 
from  which  streamed  the  ray  of  light. 

Reclining  in  a  large  easy  chair,  before  a  table 
which  was  strewn  with  manuscripts,  sat  the  lady 
who  had  overheard  the  conversation  between  the 
king  and  Buckingham,  on  tlie  night  of  the  mur- 
der of  the  young  princes.  Her  dark  hair  had 
escaped  from  its  confinement,  and  now  floated 
over  her  shoulders  and  bosom,  its  raven  black- 
ness contrasting  strangely  with  the  alabaster  sur- 
face upon  which  it  lay.  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
as  the  strange  visitor  entered,  and  her  black  eyes 
sparkled  strangely  as  he  threw  off  the  ample 
white  robe,  and  cast  himself  listlessly  into  the 
chair  from  which  she  had  arisen. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  succeeded  to-night  7" 
asked  the  lady,  bending  her  dark  eyes  earnestly 
upon  him. 

"As  well,  mother,  as  I  could  wish,"  was  the 
reply,  spoken  in  an  exulting,  triumphant  tone, 
far  different  from  the  intensely  solemn  one  in 
which  the  fearful  prophecy  to  the  two  murderers 
had  been  spoken.  "Neither  of  them  has  the 
smallest  doubt  that  I  am  the  spirit  of  Edward  V. 
I've  played  my  part  pretty  successfully,  mo- 
ther; for  both  King  Richard  and  Buckingham 
were  so  paralyzed  with  fear  and  horror  that  they 
could  neitlier  move  nor  utter  a  word  when  I 
left  them.  Why,  mother,  when  we  get  King 
Richard  and  Buckingham  out  of  the  way,  it  will 
be  a  grand  idea  for  me  to  personate  King  Ed- 
ward V  to  the  people  of  England,  and  thus  gain 
a  throne  !  I  am  well  fitted  to  fill  one  ;  I  have 
all  the  energy  and  spirit  of  a  monarch.  And  in 
form,  feature,  voice  and  character,  I  so  perfectly 
resemble  Edward,  that  the  points  in  which  we 
differed  never  would  be  detected.  Mother,  you 
are  cunning,  cautious  and  subtle;  with  the  aid  of 
your  deep  plotting,  I  may  yet  be  King  of  Eng- 
land !" 

"  Hush,  Arthur!  This  is  treason  !"  cried  the 
lady,  in  a  thrilling  voice. 

But  the  brighter  flash  of  her  black  eyes,  and 
the  expression  which  lighted  up  her  proud  coun- 
tenance told  that  in  her  own  heart  slie  had  cher- 
ished the  same  scheme,  that  she,  too,  had  thought 
that  her  sonmight  yet  be  a  king.  His  remark- 
able resemblance,  in  form  and  feature,  to  Edward 
V,  and  his  ambitious  spirit,  energy  and  courage, 
seemed  to  open  the  way  for  as  splendid  a  destiny 
as  ambition  ever  dreamed. 

"Mother,"  continued  Arthur,  "  I  have  played 
the  spirit  of  Edward  V  very  successfully  for  two 
nights,  and  have   succeeded   in  deceiving   both 


Richard  and  Buckingham  most  perfectly.  Now, 
if  I  were  to  throw  off  this  ghostly  disguise,  and 
appear  before  the  English  nation  as  their  right- 
ful king,  Edward  V,  who  had  miraculously 
escaped  from  an  untimely  death  by  the  hand  of 
the  usurper  Richard,  I  know  their  hearts  and 
hands  would  in  an  instant  be  with  me ;  and  with- 
out hesitating  to  inquire  into  the  matter,  they 
would  sentence  Richard,  Buckingham,  and  all 
others  implicated  in  these  crimes,  to  the  scaffold. 
I  should  be  safe,  mother;  and  as  to  the  time 
when  this  is  to  be  done,  I  think  the  sooner  would 
be  the  better." 

"  You  are  very  ambitious,  Arthur,"  said  the 
lady,  with  a  strange  smile. 

"But  my  ambition  may  yet  be  realized:  I 
have  spirit,  energy  and  perseverance  enough  to 
carry  out  the  plan,  and  all  circumstances  are  in 
my  favor.  You  must  aid  me,  mother,  and  when 
I  am  King  of  England,  you  shall  no  longer  be 
merely  Lady  Isabel  Beaumonte,  but  a  prouder 
name  and  title  shall  grace  one  so  well  fitted  to  be 
a  lady  of  the  land.  Cheer  up,  mother ;  brighter 
days  are  in  store  for  us  !" 

But  the  ambitious  hopes  of  the  youthful  Ar- 
thur were  never  to  be  realized.  The  next  morn- 
ing, both  Lady  Isabel  Beaumonte  and  her  son 
were  found  dead,  stabbed  to  the  heart  by  the  un- 
eiTing  dagger !  But  few  knew  of  the  deed  ;  yet 
those  that  did,  whispered  that  it  was  done  by 
Buckingham,  who  suspected  that  Lady  Isabel 
and  her  son  knew  more  of  their  crimes  than  was 
pleasing  to  them. 

The  ghostly  apparition  that  had  so  effectually 
frightened  the  guilty  king,  was  never  afterwards 
seen ;  though  Richard,  to  the  daj  of  his  death, 
believed  it  was  the  spirit  of  Edward  V.  Though 
Buckingham  assured  him  that  it  was  no  other 
than  the  flesli  and  blood  figure  of  Arthur  Beau- 
monte, still  he  would  persist  in  the  assertion  that 
it  was  the  spirit  of  the  murdered  king,  so  perfect 
was  the  resemblance. 

After  the  death  of  his  faithful  follower,  Buck- 
ingham, the  king  became  even  more  cruel  and 
tyrannical  than  before ;  and  remorse,  despera- 
tion, and  the  stings  of  conscience,  so  worked 
upon  his  outer  visage,  that,  before  his  death,  it  is 
said  his  countenance  so  much  presented  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  fiend  of  darkness,  that  few  dared 
to  gaze  upon  it. 

From  the  night  on  which  he  had  seen  what  he 
supposed  to  be  the  spirit  of  Edward  V,  to  the 
terrible  day  of  Bosworth,  Richard  III  knew  not 
a  moment  of  peace  ;  the  memory  of  that  fearful 
vision  haunted  him  night  and  day  to  the  moment 
of  his  death.  Such  is  the  fate  of  guilt,  and  such 
its  retribution ! 


[Written  for  Gleason'3  Pictorial.] 
THE  SUITOR  TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 

BY   SYDNEY   E.   CHURCH. 

I  think  of  thee,  dearest,  when  first  o'er  the  sea 

The  sun  throws  his  day -dawning  light ; 
Shining  cle^r  o'er  the  billow,  and  dancing  away, 

Dispelling  the  shades  of  the  night. 
Our  ship  bounds  away  'fore  the  freshening  gale, 

As  I  gaze  on  the  deepening  sea; 
How  my  thoughts  will  revert  to  the  cot  in  the  vale, 

And  alwaytj  to  thee,  love,  to  thte  1 

When  the  storm  rages  fiercely,  and  loud  roars  the  blast, 

And  the  billows  come  thundering  by  ; 
T\Tien  our  ship  groans  aloud  ns  each  shock  were  her  last, 

And  the  storm-cloud  is  blrick  in  the  sky  I 
While  there  's  death  hovering  near  us  in  horrible  form, 

In  the  grasp  of  the  fathomless  sea; 
Yet  no  fearing  of  danger  in  ever  a  atorm, 

Can  win  off  my  thoughts,  love,  from  thee ! 

No,  ever  before  me,  let  come  what  it  may, 

Be  it  gladness  or  darkening  despair  ; 
Around  my  rough  couch,  as  I  wearily  lay, 

An  image  is  hovering  there ; 
A  form  that  is  lovely,  and  gentle,  and  true, 

And  a  jewel  of  brightness  to  me  ; 
That  form,  love,  who  could  it  be  other  than  you, 

For  I  always  am  thinking  of  thee  1 


SPEAKIIVG  TRUTH. 

Truth,  taking  it  as  a  whole,  is  not  agreeable. 
Every  man,  woman  andcliild  dislikes  it.  There 
are  agreeable  truths  and  disagreeabletruths  ;  and 
it  is  the  province  of  discretion  or  sound  judg- 
ment to  make  a  selection  from  these,  and  not  to 
employ  them  all  indiscriminately.  Speaking  the 
truth  is  not  always,  a  virtue.  Concealing  it  is 
very  often  judicious.  It  is  only  when  duty  calls 
upon  you  to  reveal  the  truth  that  it  is  commend- 
able. A  tale-teller  maybe  a  truth-teller;  but 
every  one  dislikes  the  character  of  a  person  who 
goes  from  one  house  to  another,  and  intOr-com- 
inunicates  all  that  he  sees  or  hears;  we  never 
stop  to  inquire  whether  he  speaks  the  truth  or 
not.  Ho  is,  perhaps,  all  the  worse  for  speaking 
the  truth,  lor  truth  is  particularly  offensive  in 
such  cases,  and  never  fails  to  set  families  at  vari- 
ance. Silence  is  discretion,  and  concealment  of 
facts  is  judicious. — Toronto  Herald. 


[Written  for  Gleaeon's  Pictorial.] 
THE   DEPARTED. 

BT  JOHN   D.   JOHNSON,   M.   D. 

Hopes  of  our  youth, 

How  swiftly  ye  flee  ! 
Slossoms  that  wither 

^VMle  green  is  the  tree  ; 
Blighted  your  blooming, 

In  earliest  spring ; 
Waited  your  odors, 

Ere  they  take  wing. 

I  gazed  round  the  circle 

That  ever  seemed  fair, 
Broke  was  the  spell-tie, 

One  was  not  there  ! 
Others  still  Uugered, 

I  lonely  turned ; 
Quenched  was  the  last  gleam 

In  my  heart  burned. 

I  turned  to  the  graveyard, 

I  sought  out  the  stone; 
Winter  had  withered 

What  summer  had  grown  ; 
Spring  shall  restore  them 

To  beauty  and  bloom, 
Spring  cannot  waken 

The  trance  of  the  tomb. 

I  left  thee,  beloved  one, 

As  blooming  as  they  ; 
I  come  but  to  find  thee 

With  them,  swept  away! 
The  world  was  my  Eden, 

'T  was  decked  in  thy  bloom ; 
The  world  is  a  desert, 

It  holds  but  thy  tomb. 

Mute  '8  the  last  heart-string, 

That  Fate's  cruel  blast 
Tet  spared  in  its  pity, 

'T  is  broken  at  last ! 
It  Uved  in  thy  presence, 

Now,  that 's  torn  away  ; 
In  silence  and  sadness 

'Tis  left  to  decay  ! 

All  that 's  now  left  me 

By  life's  stormy  wave, 
For  affection  to  cling  to, 

Thy  early  made  grave  I 
Hope  after  hope 

Lies  wrecked  in  its  Bea, 
The  last  and  the  fondest 

Is  buried  with  thee. 

Hopes  of  our  youth  ! 

How  swiftly  yc  flee ! 
Blossoms,  that  wither 

While  green  is  the  tree ! 
Bhghted  your  blooming, 

In  earliest  spring ; 
Wasted  your  odors, 

Ere  they  take  wing ! 


MOASTKR  CHURCH. 

Mr.  Anderson  known  as  the  "  Wizard  of  the 
North,"  gives  in  a  sketch  book  which  he  has 
published  the  following  rose-colored  notice 
of  St.  Isaac's  Churcli,  in  St.  Peiersburgh,  the 
Kussian  Capital,  which  has  been  fifty  years  in 
progress,  and  is  still  untinished  :  It  has  four 
fronts,  each  of  which  has  its  pediment  support- 
ed by  Corinthian  pillars.  The  whole  exterior 
of  the  church  is  of  polished  Finland  granite,  and 
each  of  the  four  fronts  is  formed  of  twenty-four 
pillars  of  the  same  material,  red-colored,  and 
beautifully  polished,  the  base  and  capital  of  the 
several  pillars  being  bronze.  On  the  entabla- 
ture of  every  pediment  is  a  bronze  casting,  il- 
lustrative of  some  portion  of  Scripture  history — 
the  ligures  of  whi.h  arc  twice  the  size  of  life. 
The  entire  structure  is  surmounted  by  a  dome 
and  minarets,  which  seem  to  rise  up  into  the 
clouds,  and  the  effect  of  the  whole  is  grand  and 
imposing.  But  if  the  outside  of  the  building  is 
rich  and  striking  in  appearance,  what  can  one 
say  of  the  interior  ■?  Ji  is  at  once  gorgeous  and 
awe-inspiring.  Tlie  church  on  the  inside  is  sup- 
ported by  one  hundred  and  twenty  five  pillars  of 
malachite,  a  great  stone  of  immense  value  :  each 
column  is  twenty-five  feet  in  height  by  three  feet 
in  circumference,  with  bases  and  capitals  of  sol- 
id gold,  while  the  altars,  wltich  are  covered  with 
burnished  gold,  sparkle  wiih  thousands  of  dia- 
monds.— Familij  lleiatd. 

[Written  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 
BE  ACTIVE. 


BY   WILLIAM   T.    HILSEB. 

Look  ye  I  time  is  swiftly  rolling 

On  its  axis,  fast  away  ; 
Vesper  bells  will  food  be  tolling 

The  departure  of  the  day. 

Rouse  thee  I  rouse  thee  I  use  each  muscle, 

There  is  much  for  us  to  do 
On  this  stiige  of  mortal  bustle. 

Wrong  to  evade,  and  right  puraue. 

Plant  thy  standard,  bold  and  fearless, 

On  the  citadel  of  "'  right;"' 
Though  to-day  be  sad  and  cheerless, 

Let  us  hope  for  moiTow's  light. 

There  are  hearts  that  thou  may'st  cherish, 

There  are  toiirs  to  wipe  away  ; 
Smitten  hopes  that  may  not  perish 

■Keath  the  glow  of  fhendship'a  ray. 


188 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


MRS.  ELLIS. 

It  was  in  183.1  tlmt  Miss  Sarah  Stickncy — tlie  mnid- 
cn  name  of  Mrs.  Kllis — tirst  nppearcd  before  the  puh- 
lic  in  the  literary  career  in  which  .she  has  heon  so  emi- 
nently successful,  and  her  three  scries  of  "Pictures 
of  Private  Life  "  soon  became  us  popular  as  they  have 
ever  since  continued  to  he.  Her  mode  of  comhining 
pure  lessons  of  morality  and  niannurs  with  the  amuse- 
ment and  interest  of  fictional  narrative  has  Iteen  suo 
ccssfuUy  followed  up  by,  ainone  others,  "  Family  Se- 
crets, or  How  to  Make  Home  Happy,"  and  "  Social 
Distinctions,  or  Hearts  and  Homes."  A  residence  of 
fifteen  months  on  the  continent  lias  enabled  us  to 
prolit  by  a  very  amusinp  and  well  written  little  book 
entitled  "  Summer  and  Winter  in  tlie  Pyrenees,"  and 
the  sensible  remarks  on  travelling  with  which  it  con- 
cludes cannot  too  strongly  be  impressed  on  all  those 
seekers  of  excitement  who  think  that  change  of  place 
and  scene  will  infallibly  stimulate  listlessncss  or  re- 
move discontent.  In  her  own  case  she  completely 
verilicd  the  truth  of  her  motto  :  "  I  know  of  no  pleas- 
ure that  will  eom])are  with  going  abroad,  excepting 
one — returning  home."  In  1845,  Mrs.  Ellis  brought 
out  the  "Young  Ladies'  Header."  The  remarks 
which  it  contains  on  the  art  of  reading  well  are  sound, 
judicious  and  usefully  directed,  and  entirely  do  we 
agree  with  iicr  opinion  that  readiiig  aloud  ought  to 
form  a  part  of  an  accomplished  education,  particularly 
in  regard  to  females.  "  If  in  our  ideas  of  the  Jine 
arts,"  remarks  the  authoress,  "  we  include  all  those 
embellishments  of  civilized  life  which  combine  in  a 
high  degree  the  gratitication  of  a  refined  taste  with  the 
exercise  of  an  enlightened  intellect,  then  must  reading  **  ' 

aloud  hold  a  prominent  place  amongst  those  arts 
which  impart  a  charm  to  social  intercourse  at  the 
same  time  that  they  elevate  and  purify  the  associa- 
tions of  ordinary  life.  The  art  of  reading  aloud  and 
reading  well  is  thus  entitled  to  our  serious  considera- 
tion, inasmuch  as  it  may  be  made  a  highly  influential 
means  of  imparting  a  zest  and  an  interest  to  domes- 
tic associations  ;  and  of  investing  with  the  charm 
of  perpetual  freshness  the  conversation  of  the  family 
circle,  the  intercourse  of  friendship,  and  the  commun- 
ion of  "  mutual  minds."  One  of  the  highest  offices 
of  thought,  when  communicated  by  one  individual,  is 
to  strike  out  thoughts  from  others.  There  are  books 
which  operate  in  this  manner  to  such  an  extent  as 
almost  to  create  a  new  era  in  the  intellectual  existence  of  the  read- 
er ;  and  where  this  is  the  case,  how  vastly  superior  is  the  enjoy- 
ment always  arising  out  of  new  trains  and  fresh  combinations  of 
ideas,  when  shared  with  others,  than  when  only  confined  to  our- 
selves !  Books  arc  often  our  best  friends,  and  therefore  we  ought 
to  share  them  together."  As  a  poetess,  Mrs.  Ellis  has  made  an 
impressive  claim  on  our  notice  by  the  production,  in  1846,  of  a 
poem  entitled  the  "Island  Queen,"  written  with  a  power  and 
truthful  energy  which  effectually  rouse  the  attention,  and  at  once 
engage  the  interest,  of  the  reader.  In  this  connection  we  may 
observe,  it  has  been  judiciously  remarked  that  "if  the  possession 
of  excellent  talents  is  not  a  conclusive  reason  why  they  should 
be  improved,  it  at  least  amounts  to  a  very  strong  presumption  ; 
and  if  it  can  be  shown  that  women  may  be  trained  to  reason  and 
imagine  as  well  as  men,  the  strongest  reasons  are  certainly  neces- 
sary to  show  us  why  we  should  not  avail  ourselves  of  such  rich 
gifts  of  nature ;  and  we  have  a  right  to  call  for  a  clear  statement 
of  those  penis  which  make  it  necessary  that  such  talents  should 
be  totally  extinguished,  or  at  most,  very  partially  drawn  out. 
Nature  makes  to  us  rich  and  magnificent  presents,  and  we  say  lo 
her :   "  You  are  too  luxuriant  and  munificent,  we  must  keep  you 


PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  ELLIS. 


and  prune  you.  We  have  talents  enough  in  the  other  half  of  the 
creation,  and  if  you  will  not  stupify  and  enfeeble  the  mind  of 
women  to  our  hands,  we  ourselves  must  expose  them  to  a  narcotic 
process,  and  educate  away  that  fatal  redundance  with  which  the 
world  is  aflflicted,  and  the  order  of  sublunary  things  deranged." 
Thus  wrote  one  of  the  leading  spirits  of  the  age  in  the  year  1810, 
at  a  time  when  men  were  rather  sceptical  respecting  the  capacity 
of  the  female  mind  to  exert  much  influence  in  forming  the  literary 
character  of  the  age.  But  at  the  present  day  he  would  not  have 
to  lament  that  the  finest  faculties  in  the  world  have  been  confined 
to  trifles  utterly  unworthy  of  their  richness  and  their  strength  ; 
for  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  has  become  the  most  interesting  as 
it  is  the  most  innocent  occupation  of  the  female  sex  ;  they  have 
learnt  to  feel  that  happiness  is  to  be  derived  from  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge  as  well  as  from  the  gratification  of  vanity.  While 
this  change  has  been  progressing,  the  important  duties  of  life  have 
not  been  neglected,  for  at  home  woman  still  reigns,  and 
"  As  mother,  daughter,  wife. 
Strews  with  fresh  flower;!  the  narrow  way  of  life ;" 

quite  as  efficiently  and  satisfactorily  as  when  her  time  was  wholly 
devoted  to  the  household  gods. 


AIVECDOTE  OF  THE  DOG. 

Of  the  dog  we  can  all  be  eloquent ;  histoT-y  has  ad- 
duced some  remarkable  exhibitions  of  their  sagacity, 
and  I  could  relate  "  true  Anecdotes"  of  some  of  my 
canine  favorites  that  would  hardly  be  credited.  Slill, 
with  all  my  success  in  teaching  dogs  to  do  marvellous 
things,  I  never  could  teach  them  that  when  they  jumped 
up  with  dirty  feet,  there  wus  an  injury  done  to  my 
clothcH.  When  they  obeyed  the  command  of  "  Down, 
eir!"  sometimes  enforced  by  a  gentle  coup  da  mahi , 
they  never  could  reason  about  the  "  why  and  bccaugc." 
Nor  Imvc  I  ever  yet  met  with  any  dog,  or  ever  heard 
of  any  dog,  that  could  be  argued'  with  on  these  moral 
proprieties  and  observances.  Talking  of  the  memory 
of  dogs,  one  of  mine,  Dash  by  name,  was  once  stolen 
from  me.  After  being  absent  thirteen  months,  he  one 
day  entered  my  office  in  town,  with  a  long  siring  tied 
round  his  neck.  He  had  broken  away  from  the  fellow 
who  held  him  prisoner.  I  discovered  the  thief,  had 
him  apprehended,  and  took  him  before  a  magistrate. 
He  swore  the  dog  was  his,  and  called  witnesses  to  bear 
him  out.  "  Mr.  Kidd,"  said  Mr.  Twyford— 1  sec  him 
now — addressing  me,  "can  you  give  us  any  satisfac- 
tory proof  of  this  dog  being  your  ]>roperty  V  Placing 
my  mouth  to  the  doi/'s  car — first  giving  him  a  know- 
ing look — and  whispering  a  little  masonic  communi- 
cation, known  to  us  two  only.  Dash  immediately 
reared  up  on  his  hind  legs,  and  went  through  a  series 
of  gymnastic  mana-uvres  with  a  stick,  guided  mean- 
while by  my  eye,  which  set  the  whole  court  in  a  roar. 
My  evidence  needed  no  further  corroboration  ;  the 
thief  stood  committed.  Dash  was  liberated,  and 
amidst  the  cheers  of  the  multitude  we  bounded  merrily 
homewards.  The  re-union  among  my  household  gods 
may  be  imagined.  It  would  be  farcical  to  relate  it; 
nor  must  I  dwell  upon  certain  other  rare  excellencies 
of  this  same  dog,  with  whom,  and  his  equally  saga- 
cious better  half,  Fanny,  I  passed  many  years  of 
happy  and  delightful  intimacy. — Kidd's  Essays  on  In- 
stinct and  Itf'ason. 


AMERICAN  CLIPPER  SHIP  ORIENTAL. 

The  American  clipper  ship  Oriental,  lately  arrived 
at  the  West  India  Docks,  London,  after  making  the 
shortest  passage  on  record  from  China  to  England. 
This  ship  is  comrnanded  by  Captain  Palmer,  and  be- 
longs to  New  York  ;  she  is  over  1000  tons  burthen. 
She  was  built  for  the  China  trade,  and  sailed  from  New  York  on 
her  first  voyage  the  14th  of  September,  1849,  and  arrived  at 
Hong  Kong,  by  the  eastern  passage,  January  1,  1850,  being  109 
days.  She  discharged  and  took  in  a  full  cargo  for  New  York, 
sailed  January  .30th,  and  arrived  in  New  York,  April  21  st,  mak- 
ing eighty-one  days'  passage;  discharged  and  took  in  a  full  cargo, 
and  sailed  May  18th  for  Hong  Kong  ;  arrived  August  8th,  making 
eighty-one  days'  passage  ;  discharged  and  took  in  full  cargo,  and 
sailed  for  London,  August  28th  ;  beat  down  the  China  Sea  against 
the  southwest  monsoon  in  twenty-one  days  to  Anjier,  and  arrived 
oflf  Sicily  in  ninety-one  days,  and  into  the  West  India  Docks  in 
ninety-seven  days.  A  period  of  fourteen  months  and  nineteen 
days  elapsed  from  the  time  she  sailed  on  her  first  voyage  from 
New  York  to  her  arrival  at  London,  since  which  time  she  has 
sailed  67,000  miles.  The  above  facts  are  taken  from  the  log- 
book. We  should  add  that  the  Oriental  brought  into  England 
about  1600  tons  of  tea  at  £6  per  ton,  whilst  all  the  ships  loading 
at  Whanipoa  at  the  same  time  only  got  £3  10s.  The  main  di- 
mensions of  the  Oriental  are  :  Length,  183  feet;  beam,  36  feet; 
hold,  21  feet;  poop  deck,  4.5  feet;  top-gallant  forecastle,  30  fiet. 
The  representation  given  below  is  a  fine  and  correct  one. 


THE  CLIPPER  SHIP  ORIENTAL,  OF  NEW  YORK. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


189 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Proprietor. 

MATURIN    M.    EALLOTI,    Editor. 

COiNTEATS  OF  OUR  NEXT  JVU.MKER. 

"  The  Cave  of  St.  Andrew,"  a  tale  of  Italy  and  the 
Rhine,''  by  E.  Cdrtiss  Hine,  U.  S.  N. 

"The  Artist-Bride,"  .1  fine  story,  by  Mrs.  SOPHRorniA 

CCRRIER. 

"'  Turkey  and  the  Turkfi,"  No.  IIT,  relating  to  the  Roy- 
al Family  of  Turkey,  by  Dr.  Jerome  T.  C.  Smith. 

"Autographs  and  Autography,"  No.  IV,  by  Wiiliam 
Edward  Knowles,  giving  the  autographs  of  S,  Gr.  Good- 
rich, II,  Marion  Sttphena,  Alfred  C.  Hobba,  A'ictor  Hugo, 
Jenny  Lind  and  Otto  Goldsehmidt. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,"  No-  V,  by  Rev.  F.  W.  Holland, 
givinE  an  interesting  account  of  Samaria. 

"  Lines  «Titten  in  Mobile  Say."'  by  J.  J.  Cook,  U.  S.  N. 

"  The  Two  Homes,"  a  poem,  by  Harriet  E.  Benedict. 

"  Divine  Love,"  verses,  by  William  T.  Hilsee. 

"  Lines  to  Autumn." 

"  Tlie  Christian  to  his  Soul,"  lines,  by  S.  Henry. 

"  Leonora  to  Tasso,"  verses,  by  Elles  Lodise  Ceandlir. 

ILLTTSTEATIONS. 

"We  shall  give  a  fine  large  picture,  representing  Profes- 
sor Anderson,  the  \Vixard  of  the  North,  as  he  appeared,  a 
short  time  since,  at  the  Howard  .\tlienajum,  with  hi.s  son, 
in  the  famouB  Bottle  Trick.  3t  isa.  very  excellent  picture, 
by  our  artist,  Mr.  Rusenterg. 

A  very  beautiful  and  accurate  picture  of  the  far-famed 
oruitbologidt  and  naturalist,  Audubon. 

A  fine  and  effective  picture  representing  the  late  fearful 
explosion  on  board  the  steamer  Reindeer,  Hudson  River. 
It  was  drawn  for  us  by  our  artist,  j\lr.  Chapin. 

A  fine  maritime  picture  representing  the  Queen's  Yacht 
Squadron  with  the  royal  steamer  Victoria  and  Albert,  as 
they  lately  appeared  after  leaving  Osborne,  Isle  of  AVight. 

A  picture  of  the  new  and  splendid  Cathedral  of  St.  John, 
Newloundland,  now  building. 

A  fine  and  accurate  view  of  the  Astor  Library,  in  New 
York,  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade,  and  forming  an  in- 
teresting picture  of  this  richly  endowed  institution. 

A  fac-siuiile  of  the  Diamond  Snuff  Box  presented  to  our 
fellow  townsman.  Dr.  David  K.  Hitchcock,  by  the  Sultan 
of  Turkey.     It  is,  indeed,  a  "  present  worth  having." 

A  beautiful  and  correct  picture  of  the  Lawrence  Naval 
Monument,  in  Trinity  Church  Yard,  New  York. 

A  fine  portrait  will  be  given  of  Alboni,  the  celebrated 
vocalist,  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  tiosenberg. 

A  truthful  representation  of  the  late  Opening  Dinner  at 
the  Metropolitan  Hotel,  New  York,  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Chapin. 

A  large  picture  representing  a  grand  Review  of  Troops 
in  the  Park,  New  York. 

A  capital  picture,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Rosniberg,  repre- 
senting the  famous  Reg.',tta,  at  Hull,  a  few  days  since.  A 
most  spirited  and  exciting  maritime  view. 

A  large  and  accurate  scene  representing  the  Massachu- 
setts General  Hospital,  in  McLean  Street,  Boston,  by  oui" 
artist,  Mr.  Manning. 


A  Bdst  of  Father  Ballou. — A  young  ar- 
tist, Mr.  John  A.  Jackson,  of  East  Boston,  has 
modGllcd  and  produced  a  very  fine  bust  of  "  Fa- 
ther Ballou."  As  a  work  of  art,  it  is  highly 
creditable  to  the  genius  of  its  author ;  white  in 
so  critical  a  matter  as  a  likeness,  of  course  there 
will  be  various  opinions.  We  discover  much  in- 
trinsic excellence  in  the  production. 


SPLINTERS. 

....  Texas  contains  at  present  some  300,000 
inhabitants. 

....  There  is  residing  in  Hollis,  N.  H.,  a 
Mrs.  Cole,  aged  one  hundred  years. 

....  The  government,  we  are  glad  to  see,  is 
"  brushing  up  "  a  little  in  our  navy. 

....  The  historian  Alison  is  now  in  the  six- 
tieth, year  of  his  age,  hale  and  hearty. 

Mr.  Chickering,  of  this  city,  makes  one 

thousand  one  hundred  pianos  a  year. 

....  An  immense  trade  is  springing  up  be- 
tween China  aud  California. 

....  Mr.  Willard,  the  new  lessee,  has  vastly 
beautified  the  Howard  Athenaaum. 

....  Thatlittle  wonder  of  necromancy,  Signer 
Blitz,  is  delighting  everybody  in  Boston. 

....  A  young  girl  from  Providence  was  ar- 
rested in  male  attire,  the  other  day,  in  this  city, 

The  officers  of  the  U.  S.  steamer  Missis- 
sippi boarded  many  of  our  fishermen  on  her  cruise. 

....  Mexico  seems  striving  to  irritate  and 
provoke  our  government  into  war. 

It  seems  that  the  Sandwich  Islands  can 

produce  splendid  tobacco  for  cigars. 

....  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  pithily  defines  incre- 
dulity to  be  the  wit  of  fools. 

....  It  seems  that  Yucatan  is  desirous  of  be- 
coming annexed.     That's  right. 

Don't  seal  your  letters  with  sealing-wax 

when  they  are  to  go  south. 

....  The  dead  are  the  memorial  pillars  of  a 
better  world. 

....  He  who  has  much  to  say,  seldom  says 
much  to  the  purpose. 


POLITICS. 

If  we  can  believe  the  stories  of  the  two  great 
political  parties,  and  give  credence  to  the  pub- 
lished articles  that  appear  daily  in  party  papers, 
touching  the  two  presidential  candidates,  why, 
bless  us,  they  ought  not  to  go  at  large,  cither  of 
them,  for  twenty-four  hours.  Straight  jackets 
and  prison  bars  !  what  can  people  mean  by  nomi- 
nating such  folks,  for  high  offices'?  In  room  of 
naming  a  sober,  intelligent  and  states  man -like 
man,  for  the  suifrages  of  the  people,  it  would 
seem  as  though  the  wnre  pullers  had  unluckily 
pitched  upon  two  escaped  convicts.  This  is  cer- 
tainly a  great  pity. 

But  are  we  not  too  fa^t  in  our  conclusion  ? 
May  there  not  be  some  reason  why  these  candi- 
dates. Pierce  and  Scott,  appear  so  terrific  ?  why 
they  are  represented  to  be  such  strange  and  un- 
loveable characters  ?  Ah,  there  it  is  !  they  are 
looked  at  by  these  critical  editors  through  party 
microscopes,  which  have  a  magnifying  power  of 
at  least  500  per  cent.,  and  the  least  questionable 
characteristic  is  at  once  magnified  into  a  villan- 
ous  trait,  and  every  minor  fault  into  a  heinous 
crime.  O  consistency,  thou  art  a  jewel ;  precious 
in  the  eyes  of  the  wise,  but  overlooked  by  the 
gaping  million  !  Politics,  fudge  !  it  means  in- 
consistency and  backbiting. 

Now,  we  haven't  a  doubt  but  that  General 
Scott  and  General  Pierce  are  both  very  clever 
men,  good  husbands  and  fatliers,  and  devout 
Christians.  We  don't  think  either  of  them  ever 
committed  any  crime  for  which  they  deserve  to 
be  hung  ;  nor  do  we  consider  either  of  them  any- 
thing very  extraordinary  as  it  regards  their  qual- 
ification for  the  presidency.  Epaulettes  have  a 
great  charm  with  the  crowd,  and  the  two  gene- 
rals doubtless  owe  much  of  their  popularity  to 
these  very  glittering  appendages.  But  we  don't 
care  which  beats,  or  which  is  president,  only  for 
goodness'  sake  don't  make  them  out  to  be  such 
rascals,  simply  because  they  are  party  candidates. 


M'ORLD'S  FAIR  EDIFICE. 

The  plan  adopted  for  the  New^  York  World^s 
Fair  building  is  a  Greek  cross,  with  a  dome  over 
tlie  intersection.  Each  diameter  of  the  cross  is 
365  feet  long  and  149  feet  broad,  and  the  dome 
is  130  feet  high.  There  are  in  the  building 
111,000  square  feet  of  space  on  the  ground  floor, 
and  62,000  square  feet  in  the  galleries.  The 
structure  is  estimated  to  cost  S195,000.  The 
building  is  to  be  entirely  of  iron  and  glass,  and 
is  advertised  to  be  open  on  the  second  of  May, 
1853.  The  laying  of  the  foundation  was  com- 
menced last  week. 


"  Lilt  of  the  Valley." — We  have  received 
this  beautiful  annual  for  1853,  and  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  pronounce  it  a  gem  of  tlie  first  water.  It 
is  pul)lished  by  J.  M.  Usher,  Trumpet  office, 
Cornhill,  Boston,  and  presents  among  its  con- 
tributors a  sterling  array  of  names  and  literary 
talent. 

Gleasok's  Pictohi.\l. — The  New  York  Mirror  pays  the 
following  well  merited  compliment  to  this  work. — £05(071 
Transrript. 

In  paper,  type  and  onfiraTings,  it  surpasses  anything  of 
the  kind  liitlierto  atteui  pted  in  this  country  ;  and  we  think 
the  present  ipsue  would  lose  uothiug  in  comparison  with 
the  handsomest  London  Pictorials.  We  are  happy  to  learn 
that  it  is  in  a  highlj'  nourishing  condition. 


Gold  Digging  in  Australia. — A  letter 
from  a  young  man  to  his  brother  in  New  York, 
dated  Port  Philip,  Marcli  14,  states  that  in  five 
weeks  time  he  Iiad  himself  dug  gold  to  the  value 
of  £3000  sterling,  or  nearly  Sl5,000. 


Monster  Steamer. — A  great  steamer  is  still 
talked  of  at  Liverpool,  to  be  700  feet  long,  to 
make  a  voyage  to  Calcutta  and  back  in  sixty 
days,  against  the  overland  mail. 


Too  true. — The  New  York  Mirror  says,  that 
both  lines  of  tlie  New  York  and  Liverpool  steam- 
ships practise  the  most  dangerous  racing. 

<     ^mm-     > 

Metropolitan  Hotel. — This  new  and  splen- 
did public  house  is  probably  not  only  the  most 
superb  in  New  York,  but  in  the  world  ! 


Our  next  Number. — We  shall  present  our 
readers  next  week  with  a  star  number  of  the 
Pictorial. 


Going   Home. — The  watering-places  are  all 
being  deserted. 


Theatrical. — Miss  Cushman  is   announced 
to  perform  an  engagement  in  London, 


Strangers. — Our  hotels  are  full  of  them. 


NEW  POSTAGE  LAW. 

Our  readers  will  rejoice  with  us  at  the  new 
and  verj'  liberal  postage  bill  which  has  just  passed 
Congress,  and  become  a  law  of  the  land.  We 
are  glad  to  see  that  our  law  makers  are  becoming 
convinced  of  the  fact  that  high  rates  of  postage 
only  act  as  a  check  upon  the  revenue  and  useful- 
ness of  the  post-oflice  department,  while  a  low 
rate  of  charge  increases  the  income,  without  ma- 
terially adding  to  the  expense.  The  post-oflSce 
law  should  be  designed  to  accelerate  in  every 
way,  and  to  induce,  by  its  rules,  the  circulation 
and  universal  dissemination  of  intelligence,  and 
this  the  new  law  will  do,  by  placing  the  rates  of 
charge  so  low  as  to  enable  all,  rich  and  poor,  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  post-office  conveniences 
for  letters  and  papers. 

The  new  law,  at  the  close  of  the  present  month, 
will  enable  any  subscriber  of  the  Pictorial  to  pro- 
cure his  paper  through  tlie  mail,  to  any  part  of 
the  United  States,  for  twetiti/six  cents  per  annum. 
To  make  use  of  a  Wellerism,  "  this  is  a  law  as 
is  a  law."  People  can  now  afford  to  subscribe 
to  a  good  weekly  paper,  and  receive  it  regularly 
by  mail,  who  have  not  felt  like  doing  so  before, 
on  account  of  the  exorbitant  mail  charge.  The 
excellence  of  the  new  law  cannot  be  too  largely 
dwelt  upon,  and  persons  will  doubtless  at  once 
avail  themselves  of  its  provisions,  by  sending 
their  subscriptions  direct  to  the  office  of  publica- 
tion, tlius  serving  their  own  and  the  interest  of 
the  public. 


A  CUNMAG  FELLOW. 

At  a  country  church  in  England,  at  the  close 
of  an  eloquent  sermon,  and  before  the  contem- 
plated collection  had  been  made,  a  stranger  rose, 
and  putting  a  guinea  in  his  hat,  walked  around 
and  received  a  libeial  collection  to  his  stock. 
The  minister  attributed  his  zeal  to  the  moving 
power  of  his  eloquence,  and  his  own  charitable 
spirit;  but  the  surprise  of  the  whole  congrega- 
tion was  inexpressible,  when,  instead  of  going 
into  the  vestry,  they  sa%v  the  new  convert  moving 
towards  the  door.  The  minister  and  others  called 
upon  him  to  deliver  up  the  change,  which  he  re- 
fused, saying:  "My  brethren,  freely  have  ye 
given,  and  freely  have  I  received,"  and  instantly 
mounting  his  horse,  which  was  an  exceedingly 
good  one,  he  left  the  premises. 


Professor  Anderson. — This  real  wizard 
called  upon  us  a  few  days  since.  Unlike  many 
of  his  calling,  Mr.  Anderson  combines  with  ex- 
traordinary facility  and  perfection  in  his  busi- 
ness, a  gentlemanly  and  pleasing  address,  and  is 
an  educated  man  withal.  His  engagement  at  the 
Howard  Athenteum  has  been  wonderfully  suc- 
cessful. 


"The  Black  Avenger  of  the  Spanish 
Main." — This  highly-popular  novelette,  having 
been  long  out  of  print,  and  tlie  demand  for  it 
continuing,  we  have  re-printed  it  in  our  usual 
style,  and  can  now  supply  all  orders.  It  is  also 
for  sale  at  all  the  periodical  depots  throughout 
the  country.  • 


P.  T.  Barnum,  Esq. — We  had  a  call  from 
Mr.  Bamum,  a  few  days  since,  at  our  sanctum. 
His  smiling  countenance,  clear,  intelligent  eye, 
and  manly  appearance,  prepossess  one  at  once 
in  the  Napoleon  of  showmen.  Mr.  Barnum  has 
a  big  heart  and  a  generous  hand,  as  we  happen 
to  know. 


Jenny  and  Barnum. — Jenny  made,  while 
with  Barnum,  S302,000 ;  Barnum  same  time 
made  S308,000.  A  rich  harvest !  But  after  she 
had  left  her  connection  with  Barnum,  her  receipts 
perceptibly  diminished. 


White  Marble  from  Vermont. — Overforty 
tons  of  Vermont  marble  were  brought  to  Charles- 
tovm  lately.  It  was  taken  from  a  quarry  at 
Danby,  and  is  unusually  white  and  clear. 


Death  of  a  Massachusetts  Member. — 
Hon.  Oi'in  Eowler,  member  of  Congress  from 
this  State,  died  at  Washington,  on  Friday  even- 
ing, 3d  inst.     He  was  sick  but  five  days. 


Complimentary. — Some  one  has  sent  the 
editor  of  the  Transciipt  some  fine  tautog,  which 
he  announces  oi-Jish-a\\y. 


MasiCAL. — Catherine  Hayes  has  been  rusti- 
cating at  Nahant  for  some  days  past.  She  is 
quite  well  and  happy. 


Personal. — Hon.  Daniel  Webster  is  at  his 
farm,  in  Mur.'^hfield. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Hiram  Tubbs  to 
Miss  Sufan  Ann  Daniels. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Stow,  Mr.  Josiah  P.  Wilder  to  SIJss  Mary  A. 
Billings. 

By  Itev.  Mr.  Adams,  Mr.  Wilham  S.  Park  to  Miss  Sarah 
E.  Richards. 

By  Rev.  .Mr.  Huntington,  Mr.  Sam'l  Avery,  Jr.,  to  Miss 
Susan  Wheelwright  Chandler,  of  Brookline. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Porter,  Mr.  Enoch  L.  McKeen  to  Miss  Le- 
Tonia  J.  Brown, 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Smithett,  Mr.  John  Sheridan  to  Miss  Eliza- 
beth Demain. 

At  Roxbury,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Wayland,  Mr.  J.  C.  Bennett, 
of  Liverpool,  Eng.,  to  Miss  Ann  Jones,  of  Bristol,  Eng. 

At  Dedhum,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Burgess,  Air,  Edward  Evans,  of 
Roxbury,  to  Miss  Marv  E.  Gould. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Mills,  Mr.  William  H.  Jelly  to 
Miss  Klizabeth  M.  Hodges. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Child,  Mr.  Sam'l  Adams  to  Mi83 
Lydia  E.  Adams. 

At  Ncwhuryport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Gordon,  Mr.  James  M. 
Hei-vey  to  Miss  Lydia  G.  Thurlow. 

At  Holliston,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Tucker,  Mr.  George  M.  Pierce 
to  Miss  Harriet  N.  Blake. 

At  Pepperel],  by  Rev.  Mr.  Cutter,  Mr.  Harry  Brockway, 
of  CUntonville,  N.  Y.,  to  Mrs.  Maria  G.  Day. 

At  Worcester,  Ebenezer  Gay,  Esq  ,  of  Uingham,  to  Mi-^o 
Ellen  Blake  Blood. 

At  Nashua,  N.  H.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bulfinch,  Mr.  Charles  P. 
Taft,  of  Putney,  Yt.,  to  Miss  Mary  L.  Hutchins. 

At  VVoonsocket,  K.  I.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Boyden,  Mr.  Albert  E. 
Mowry  to  Miss  Anna  M.,  daughter  of  Josiah  Perkins,  Esq. 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Pearson,  78  ;  Capt.  William 
S.  White,  R2  ;  Mrs.  Catharine  Dodge,  68 ;  Charles  Augus- 
tus Little.  17  ;  Mrs.  Ellen  durley.  29  ;  Miss  Muria  B.  Nich- 
ols. 32;  Capt.  Nath'l  Wilhams,  82;  Mrs.  Lu*:y  Cram,  24. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr.  Leveman  Buel,  48. 

At  Cambridgeport  Mrs.  Clarissa  Warren,  of  Boston,  71 . 

At  Somerville,  Mrs.  Mary  Cobb,  S3. 

At  Dorchester.  Miss  Hannah  P.  Pierce,  of  Boston,  39. 

At  Brookline.  Miss  Juliana  Aspinwall,  73. 

At  Melrose,  Mrs.  Augusta  B.  Talbot,  29. 

At  Lynn,  Mrs.  Jerusha  Rhodes,  97. 

At  Danvers.  Mrs.  Mehitable  Perley,  76. 

At  Salem,  Mr?.  Judith  Clark,  60. 

At  Braintree,  Miss  Dorcas  F.  Wild,  19. 

At  Medway,  Joel  Hunt,  Esq.,  70 

At  Pepperell,  Mrs.  Hannah  S.  Thompson,  49. 

At  N.  Chelmsford,  Frank  H.,  son  of  David  P.  Clark,  7mos. 

At  Chatham,  Mies  Deborah  S.  Taylor,  19. 

At  Lee,  Mrs.  Lucy  H\de,  82. 

At  Cumberland,  N.  H  ,  Miss  Sarah  A.  Hatch,  19. 

At  Barnard.  Vt.,  Mrs.  Catharine  Chamberlain,  of  Boston. 

At  Athens,  Me.,  Hon.  Charles  Greene,  66. 

At  Bath,  Me.,  Mr.  Eben  Lincoln,  77. 

At  Saccarappa,  Me.,  Mrs.  Caroline  G.  Edwards,  52. 

At  Providence,  R.  I.,  Mr.  Henry  Bull,  26. 

At  Portland,  Ct.,  Gen.  Seth  Overton,  93. 

At  Broeklyn,  N.  Y.,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Gordon,  of  Boston,  49. 

At  Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  Mr.  John  Mayo.  73. 

At  Annapolis,  Md.,  Mrs.  Sopliia  D.  Gardner,  65. 

At  Chicago,  111  ,  J.  F.  'White,  Esq.,  editor  of  the  Tribune. 

At  London,  Eng.,  Mr.  James  H   Doyle,  of  Boston,  23. 


A  §i^mmm  mmmmn. 


LITERAKY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASOX'S    PICTOEDVL 

Hrrtwiitcj-Hooiit  €0iit^attt0tT, 

A  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  -useful  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  mo,>!t  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  mely.nge  of  not:ible 
events  of  the  day.      Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 

tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

•     BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  papor  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerotis  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  aud  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  iu  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  Avorld, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  iu  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  tlie  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  witli  line  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  charaetor  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  t;iken  fmm  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fi.sh  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  .'specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixtj-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  afiords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  siiort,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

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obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  t..i3 
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Published  every  S.iTuaDAT,  by 

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[Written  foraiwmoii'fl  Pictorial.] 

THINK    OF    ME. 

ADDUJiSSED     TO     EMMA. 


BT  JOSBPn  n.  UOTLEB. 

Whon  the  orb  of  Jay,  dcHCwndlng,  etrcuka  with  gold  the  heaving  Bea, 
And  th«  HimdfH  of  ovo  arc  blending,  guntlu  Hiwter,  think  of  niu  ; 
When  tho  heiLVuuH  Jiru  bhio,  uod  brightly,  countleHS  ntjirs  thc-ir  Hontry  keep, 
And  the  HiWor  shadows  Hprightly  dnnco  along  tlio  watore  di^op. 

Think  of  mo,  BWoet  aifltor,  often,  In  nlgbt'H  ntill  and  holy  hour, 
Lot  thy  heart  with  memory  noften  to  atTectlou'fl  angol  power ; 
Think  of  mo,  but  not  in  widncHH— no,  1  would  not  eause  thee  pain, 
Could  my  power  commniid  thy  gladness,  thou  shouldst  never  weep  ftgain. 

Think  of  mo,  not  in  those  hours  when  the  heart  is  light  and  gay, 
But  whon  fades  lifo's  summer  IJowers,  dearest,  think  on  one  away ; 
Send  thy  spirit  o'er  the  billow,  waft  to  him  a  thought  of  lov»  j 
It  will  soothe  his  lonoly  pillow  ere  his  spirit  noars  abovo. 

Ero  tho  dust  his  brow  shall  cover,  fiifltor,  he  would  joy  to  know 
Kindly  memories  still  should  hover  round  thy  heart,  undinimed  by  woe; 
Once  we  mot,  but  quickly  parted  by  life's  cruel,  stern  decree, 
I  resigned  thee,  broken-hearted,  soon  to  ride  tho  raging  aea  I 

Onward,  onward,  march  I  over,  in  tho  battle-storm  of  life, 
God  !  forsake  my  spirit  never— grant  me  conquest  in  tho  strife  ; 
If  in  time  no  more  I  meet  thee,  dearest  sister,  dry  thy  tear, 
For  in  heaven  my  soul  may  greet  thee,  safe  from  every  human  fear. 

Sister!  I  have  found  life's  beauty,  like  the  Dead  Sea's  fruit  po  fair. 
Tempting  hearts  and  hands  from  duty — taste  I  and  bitter  dust  is  there  ! 
Think  of  me,  but  not  in  sorrow,  though  between  us  rolls  the  sea, 
Aak  for  me  a  brighter  morrow,  pray  as  I  would  pray  for  thee! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

No.    IV. 

BY  KEV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

NAZARETH. 
As  far  as  Acre,  the  "  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon  "  give  continual 
glimpses  of  the  beautiful  Mediterranean  ;  and  the  freshness  of  tlie 
salt  sea,  the  melodious  roll  of  the  beach,  the  delightful  variety  of 
travel,  from  the  dizzy  mountain-side,  where  the  horses  hardly  drag 
themselves  along,  to  tlie  hard,  smooth  sand  of  the  shore,  with  the 
occasional  diversion  of  a  swift,  clear  stream  to  ford,  as  well  as  one 
can,  leave  a  delicious  memory  of  travel;  for,  over  all,  one  must 
throw  a  gorgeous  sunlight  and  a  cloudless  brilliancy  of  sky 
equalled  nowhere  save  in  Egypt,  which  make  the  picture  indeed 
"  an  apple  of  gold  in  a  frame  of  silver."  The  Litany,  anciently 
the  Leontes,  was  the  hardest  stream  to  cross,  as  it  is  the  emptying 
of  the  great  valley  between  Lebanon  and  Anti-Lebanon,  and  heavy 
rains  render  the  ford  very  dangerous.  In  passing  afterwards  to 
the  north,  we  saw  it  at  its  mountain-source,  tracked  our  course 
by  its  path,  nearly  lost  our  baggage  in  its  swollen  waters,  and 
took  a  hasty  farewell  at  last  in  a  week  of  wintry  rain.  This  was 
near  Tyre.  But  the  Kishon — where  Saul  sought  the  missing 
cattle,  and  Deborah  and  Barak  defeated  Sisera,  and  Elijah  slew 
the  prophets  of  Baal — though  a  considerable  stream  at  all  seasons 
near  Acre,  changes  in  other  portions,  like  most  of  the  Syrian 
rivers,  into  ribbons  of  yellow^  sand.  There  is  probably  no  other 
country  where  the  same  river  aUers  so  entirely  from  one  season  to 
another.  During  the  dry  season,  the  immense  evaporation  en- 
tirely absorbs  many  a  sheet  of  water ;  and  Lake  Mcrom  is  fed 
upon  by  herds  of  goats,  and  the  Jordan  easily  waded  over,  and 
the  beds  of  streams  become  the  favorite  roads  of  man  and  beast. 
From  Acre  to  Nazareth — an  easy  day's  ride — is  an  entire 
change  :  inland  instead  of  coast  views,  agriculture  instead  of  com- 
merce, a  warmer  climate  and  a  more  monotonous  prospect. 
Rich  fields  of  green  grain  bloomed  under  the  walls  of  the  grim 
old  Syrian  Gibraltar ;  then  came  stony,  deserted  pastures  almost 
till  we  reached  the  abrupt  mountain  which  make  the  western 
back  of  Nazareth. 

Sepphoris,  the  only  village  on  the  way,  a  poor  farming  settle- 
ment, is  the  legendary  birthplace  of  the  Virgin  Mary — a  very 
poor  legend,  however,  because  of  so  late  a  date.  The  Scriptures 
never  mention  the  spot ;  but  a  good  deal  is  said  of  it  in  the  Cru- 
saders' days,  as  it  had  a  strong  castle,  was  the  seat  of  a  bishopric, 
the  scene  of  some  severe  struggles,  and  the  last  inland  place  torn 
by  Saladin  from  the  Crusaders'  hands. 

From  the  general  barrenness  of  the  seashore  the  land  begins  to 
improve  as  you  advance.  Orchards  of  the  fig  and  olive  mingle 
with  rich  flats  of  wheat  and  barley.  But,  even  the  stones  of  the 
desert  place  smile;  for,  around  them  bloom  up  in  mid  winter  tlie 
largest  and  brightest  iris  and  ranunculus,  as  if  the  very  "  paths  of 
the  wilderness  "  were  still  to  "  drop  fatness."  The  fruit  trees 
seemed  very  old,  and  the  olives — which  they  were  beating  off  with 
poles — hardly  worth  picking  up.  Too  few  travellers  pass  that 
way  to  make  any  market,  and  the  country  is  too  insecure  for  any 
one  to  be  encouraged  in  building  barns  and  storehouses.  It  was 
nowise  pleasant  to  travel  over  such  lonelv  roads  ;  a  whole  day 
perhaps  witli  but  a  single  group  of  travellers,  and  those  bristling 
with  guns  and  cutlasses,  in  striking  contrast  to  our  own  unosten- 
tatious dcfencelessncss.  The  common  people  are  compelled  by 
their  colder  climate  to  dress  better  than  the  Egyptian  fellah,  and 
eat  more — though  there  is  no  danger  either  of  freezing  or  starv- 
ing; of  course,  one  meets  with  a  higher  order  of  peasants,  with 
females  somewhat  handsome,  and  males  never  one-eyed  ;  with 
no  absolutely  naked  yontbs,  and  hardly  ever  a  face  that  has  not 
been  sometime  washed.  And  could  the  Arab  robbers  be  swept 
away,  a  new  day  woiikl  dawn.    Farm-houses  would  sprinkle  over 


thoso  deserted  valleys,  cattle  would  low  again  upon  a  tliousand 
silent  hills,  their  graceful  fertility  would  come  back  to  the  old 
vino  terraces,  and  a  numerous  peojtle  miglit  rejoice  once  more 
over  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 

But  the  government  would  have  to  be  put  into  other  bands; 
tho  Turks  arc  |)alsicd  and  withered.  All  that  ia  left  of  an  ad- 
ministration that  had  once  to  he  feared,  in  a  wasteful  and  ruinous 
system  of  taxation,  which  kills  the  goose  that  layw  the  golden  egg, 
and  then  throws  its  body  to  the  jackals.  While  Turkey  itself  is 
so  notoriously  mismanaged,  its  province  cannot  expect  to  he 
ruled  with  wisdom,  energy  and  honesty;  and  Syi'ia  at  present  ia 
only  a  worn  out  sponge  for  the  poorer  parasites  of  the  Ottoman 
Court  to  squeeze.  Notiiing  has  been  done,  nothing  is  doing, 
nothing  is  promised,  even,  for  the  good  of  the  country,  the  in- 
crease of  its  resources,  the  ease  of  communication  between  place 
and  place,  or  the  protection  of  property  and  security  of  life.  An 
Arab  sheik  even  boasted  to  me  that  not  a  caravan  could  leave 
Acre  hut  by  his  permission  and  the  payment  of  tribute.  Petra 
and  Palmyra  we  found  quite  inaccessible  because  of  the  wild 
"  sons  of  the  desert "  gathered  upon  these  routes,  requiring  to  be 
propitiated  by  unknown  amounts  of  money.  A  few  "  returned 
Californians  "  might  do  the  world  a  service  by  clearing  out  these 
robbers'  nests.  But  it  is  an  energetic  and  enlightened  govern- 
ment which  tlie  land  mourns  for;  which  the  European  powers 
owed  to  Syria  when  they  drove  out  tlie  Egyptian,  which  would 
not  compel  present  travellers  to  curse  that  Downing  Street  policy, 
which  swept  otl^",  with  British  cannon,  the  best  masters  whom  the 
country  has  had  for  many  a  day.  Foreign  interference  has  gen- 
erally resulted  about  in  this :  the  oppression  of  the  laborer,  the 
impoverishing  of  the  soil,  the  decay  of  manufactures  and  com- 
merce. England  esj>ecially  has  earned  no  favor  abrood,  has  done 
nothing  for  the  liberty  she  pretends  to  love,  and  the  Christianity 
she  professes  to  promote.  There  are  Jews  enough  around  and 
within  Palestine  to  manage  it  well,  their  numbers  are  increasing, 
their  characters  have  been  elevated  by  suffering,  no  sacrifices 
would  seem  too  much  for  their  own  Holy  Land;  under  the  en- 
couragement of  any  European  power,  they  would  open  once  more 
a  career  of  peace,  plenty,  blessedness  and  glory  for  Palestine. 
The  attention  of  this  singular  people  is  more  and  more  drawn  to 
their  ancient  home  ;  no  other  people  have  really  any  motive  to 
seize  a  country  so  impoverished.  There  is  neither  fleet  nor  army, 
citadel  nor  fortified  plate  to  offer  any  serious  i-esistance.  The 
rumor  that  the  Messiah,  whom  they  are  daily  expecting,  had  ap- 
peared, would  free  the  land,  as  by  the  sweep  of  a  magician's 
wand,  from  the  unlicensed  robbery  of  tlie  Bedouins,  and  the  mer- 
ciless taxation  of  the  Turk  ;  and  our  eyes  may  see  the  new  heav- 
ens and  new  earth ! 

Nazareth  is  the  pleasantcst  unwallcd  town  in  Palestine.  Its 
Latin  church  increases  the  delightful  impression  made  by  tlie 
generous  hospitality  of  the  friars.  One  is  excited,  too,  beyond 
measure,  by  being  on  the  very  spot  where  most  of  the  Saviour's 
days  were  spent;  and  the  places  shown  as  the  synagogue,  the 
workshop,  the  home,  the  scene  of  the  parting  supper,  if  not  such, 
were  likely  enough  visited  by  him  in  his  childhood  and  youth 
Joseph's  shop  is  first  shown,  a  little  chapel  with  a  few  feet  of  gar- 
den in  front,  and  a  single  good  sized  room,  with  a  semi-ciroular 
retreat  opening  out  of  it,  large  enough  certainly  for  a  poor  man's 
work -bench  and  a  carpenter's  lumber.  The  house  is  much  larger; 
occupying,  as  everybody  knows,  a  spacious  grotto  under  the  Cath- 
olic Church,  having  several  rooms,  each  with  its  own  tradition, 
and  a  small  altar  where  lights  are  kept  perpetually  burning. 
Similar  rocky  caverns  are  used  about  Nazareth  for  stables,  mills 
and  workshops;  but  this  was  evidently  too  large  for  a  family 
neither  wealthy  nor  numerous,  and  centuries  passed  before  the 
spot  was  designated.  The  last  curiosity  shown  was  the  poorest 
in  probability.  In  a  small  arched  chapel  at  another  part  of  the 
village,  a  stone,  eight  feet  by  three,  was  declared  by  papal  author- 
ity the  very  table  at  which  Jesus  supped  with  his  disciples  after 
the  resurrection.  But  no  doubt  the  Fountain  of  Mary,  where 
such  numbers  of  females  gather  still  on  a  holy  day,  was  there  in 
the  Saviour's  time;  for  the  watering  places  know  no  change  in 
the  East,  and  it  was  not  hard  to  believe  that  the  pure  aft^"ection  of 
the  Holy  Mother  still  hovered  as  a  benediction  over  these  kind- 
looking,  sweet-faced  sisters  of  Nazareth. 

I  have  never  met  any  one  who  was  not  charmed  with  Nazareth. 
The  air  of  industry,  comfort,  neatness  and  piety  soothe  the  spirits 
which  have  been  sorely  tried  in  the  "  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon." 
The  village  does  not  lie  on  a  plain,  as  the  books  say,  but  along 
the  eastern  side  of  a  consideral)le  mountain.  The  stone  houses, 
generally  two  stories  high,  are  in  good  repair.  The  roofs  are 
flat,  and  much  used  in  the  summer.  The  males  appeared  to  bo 
busy,  and  the  females,  with  their  uncovered  faces  and  gay  shawls 
twisted  around  the  waist — the  universal  Syrian  style — had  a  very 
Christian  air.  The  services  of  the  principal  church — that  of  the 
Annunciation,  fully  attended  twice  a  day,  particularly  by  men  and 
boys — were  so  heartily  performed,  the  music  was  so  sweet,  the 
chant  so  simple,  that  I  was  more  affected  than  at  any  other 
Syrian  worsliip.  And,  though  European  dresses  cannot  be  seen 
kneeling  on  tliat  wora  pavement  once  in  a  month,  yet  no  head 
was  turned,  no  finger  lifted,  as  we  took  our  place  among  those 
earnest  worshippei's.  Half  the  population,  perliaps  three  thou- 
sand, is  Christian,  the  rest  Moslem.  The  Christians  arc  divided 
into  several  sects — divided  in  feeling,  I  regret  to  say,  as  well  as  in 
places  of  worship ;  only  the  Turks  have  but  one  faith,  one  bap- 
tism, one  master.  The  schools  seem  to  be  the  chief  good  which 
the  Franciscans  are  doing  the  country  ;  and  were  they  of  a  higher 
character,  and  conducted  by  men  not  l)lind  leaders  of  the  blind, 
they  would  gradually  elevate  the  whole  population,  and  result  in 
a  race  capable  of  retrieving  a  name  now  so  disgraced  by  the  in- 
temperance and  quarrelsomeness  of  the  Syrian  Christians. 


[Written  for  Qleanon'8  Pictorial.] 

AUTOOIiAlMIS  AN!)  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTrNGUISHED  INDrvrDUALS. 

No.  III. 


BY  WM.  EUWABD   KNOWLEB. 


^< 


'a-i--^.^^(^ 


,i:^C^^^j*--r^^^^<z--c--  - 


The  recent  death  of  Rev.  Hosea  Ballou  adds  especial  in- 
terest to  his  autogi'aph.  His  manuscript  wa.s  very  similar  to  the 
signature — clear,  distinct,  and  faultlessly  accurate  in  every  par- 
ticular, forming  a  strong  analogy  in  this  respect  with  his  Hfe. 
His  hand  was  bold  and  steady,  even  at  the  age  of  81  years,  at 
which  period  the  original  of  this  autograph  was  written.  Mr. 
Ballou  lias  been  a  public  minister  for  the  past  sixty-one  years. 
A  life  of  him  by  the  editor  of  the  Pictorial  has  just  been  issued. 


The  handwritingof  John  Neal  is  decidedly  bad.  It  is  illegible 
in  the  extreme.  However,  he  possesses  an  energetic  and  power- 
ful mind,  though  vacillating  and  unsteady.  His  poems  are  dis- 
tinguished for  bold  and  startling  imagery,  and  his  prose  for  sharp 
and  racy  point.  The  signature  is  a  pretty  good  specimen  of  his 
chirography. 


There  is  no  sweeter  poet  living  than  Park  Ben.iamin.  His 
sonnets  are  among  the  most  beautiful  in  the  language.  He  has 
been  connected  for  many  years  with  several  publications  of  the 
day,  though  mostly  in  the  editorial  way.  He  has  written  some 
good  prose  ;  but  the  closer  he  keeps  to  poetry,  the  better  it  will 
be  for  his  reputation.  His  handwriting  is  a  good  one,  though 
when  excited,  very  illegible.  In  this  respect,  he  resembles  Wash- 
ington Irving. 


GfC^^   ^catfc:e) 


Eliza  Leslie  has  written  much  for  the  different  magazines 
and  publications  of  the  day.  Her  handwriting,  we  think,  13 
rather  over-effeminate.  It  is  extremely  diminutive,  and  the  let- 
ters as  separate  from  each  other,  as  the  difterent  sentences.  Her 
manuscript  is  extremely  neat  and  legible,  the  words  ending  with 
an  inward  twirl. 


-^^n^.^     ^^^ 


Mrs.  Emma  C.  Embury  is  one  of  the  most  original  female  au- 
thors we  have.  And  her  handwriting  strongly  suggests  force  and 
originality.  Her  talents  are  not  properly  appreciated  by  the 
American  public.  But  future  fame  in  her  case  will  far  exceed 
present  popularity. 


Xrf' 


Ozc^^  • 


H.  F.  Gould  is  an  exceedingly  precise  and  cautious  writer. 
Her  handwriting  is  neat,  legible  and  carefully  finished.  The  sig- 
nature aflbrds  a  pretty  good  idea  of  the  manuscript,  suggesting 
combined  caution  and  finish.  The  same  characteristics  are  visible 
in  her  poems,  which  bear  evidence  of  having  been  written  care- 
fully, and  after  much  thought  and  trimming.  Miss  Gould's  ia 
what  may  be  termed  a  finished  style. 


qA^^^^^ 


Mrs.  Sarar  J.  Hale  is  a  bold  and  masculine  writer.  Her 
handwriting  is  broader  and  much  heavier  than  the  chirography 
of  most  of  the  female  authors.  It  is  illegible  and  extremely 
scratchy.  The  a's,  o's  and  p's  are  all  alike,  and  the  k's  and/'s 
vary  but  little  in  form. 


^^^ 


rg^--^ 


C.  M.  Sedgwick  writes  a  very  beautiful  hand.  The  letters 
are  distinet  and  well  formed,  conveying  the  idea  of  perfect  freedom 
and  grace.  Tho  .signature  is  a  perfect  type  of  the  chirography, 
and  is  strongly  suggestive  of  the  natural  cliaracteristics  of  the 
writer.  The  authoress  is  well  known  to  our  readers,  by  her  re- 
fined and  beautiful  contributions  to  literature. 


L^ ,  y^~    ~j  U-  cLw'^^ 


Mrs.  E.  C.  Stedman  is  now  winning  for  herself  many  flatter- 
ing evidences  of  the  due  appreciation  of  her  talents  by  the  Amer- 
ican people.  Her  poems  are  extremely  graceful,  and  lier  jjrose 
spirited  and  animating.  The  manuscript,  though  small,  possesses 
much  force  and  vigor. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPdAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


191 


A  WONDERFUL  WORK  OF  ART. 

Calling  into  Cotton's,  Tremont  Row,  the  other 
morning,  we  were  much  impressed  by  the  view 
of  a  highly-finished  bust,  in  marble,  of  a  female 
head.  The  profile  is  purely  Grecian,  and  re- 
minded us  of  some  of  Canova's  creations  ;  while 
the  front  view  possesses  much  individuality  as 
well  as  grace.  The  hair  is  adorned  with  flowers, 
and  a  star  beautifully  wrought.  The  superficies 
of  this  bust  are  exquisitely  chiselled,  approaching 
nearly,  if  not  equaling,  in  its  admirable  finish 
and  fleshy  texture,  the  marvellous  workmanship 
of  Powers.  Our  surprise  was  great  when  we 
learned  that  this  was  tha  proluction  of  a  young 
American  lady,  not  out  of  her  teens,  and  was 
wrought  by  her  own  hands  out  of  the  rough  mar- 
ble, from  her  own  design.  It  is  only  tlie  third 
attempt  she  has  made  in  an  art  in  which  she 
seems  destined  to  take  a  high  rank,  and  to  which, 
we  learn,  she  intends  to  devote  all  her  powers. 
In  pursuance  of  this  purpose,  she  will  visit  Italy, 
and  pursue  her  studies  there  for  several  years. 


CURIOUS  HISTORICAL  FACT. 

During  the  troubles  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I, 
a  country  girl  came  to  London  in  search  of  a 
place  as  a  servant-maid  ;  but  not  succeeding,  she 
hired  herself  to  carry  out  beer  from  a  warehouse, 
and  was  one  of  those  called  tub  women.  The 
brewer,  observing  a  good-looking  girl  in  this  low 
occupation,  took  her  into  his  family  as  a  servant, 
and  after  a  short  time  married  her.  He  died 
while  she  was  yet  a  young  woman,  and  left  her 
the  bulk  of  his  fortune.  The  business  of  brew- 
ing was  dropped,  and  Mr.  Hyde  was  recom- 
mended to  the  young  woman  as  a  skilful  lawyer, 
to  arrange  her  husband's  affairs.  Hyde,  who 
was  afterwards  Earl  of  Clarendon,  finding  the 
wido^v's  fortune  considerable,  married  her.  By 
this  marriage  there  was  no  other  issue  than  a 
daughter,  who  afterwards  became  the  wife  of 
James  II,  and  mother  of  Marj'  and  Anne,  queens 
of  England. 

BEAUTIFUL  SENT13IEXT. 

An  Irish  schoolmaster,  who,  whilst  poor  him- 
self, had  given  gratuitous  instruction  to  certain 
poor  children,  when  increased  in  worldly  goods, 
began  to  complain  of  the  service,  and  said  to  his 
wife  he  could  not  ailbrd  to  give  it  any  longer  for 
nothing,  who  replied  ;  "  O,  James,  don't !  a  poor 
scholar  never  came  into  the  house  that  I  didn't 
feel  as  if  he  brought  fresh  air  from  heaven  with 
him.  I  never  miss  the  bit  I  give  them ;  my 
heart  warms  to  the  soft,  homely  sound  of  their 
bare  feet  on  the  floor,  and  the  door  almost  opens 
of  itself  to  let  them  in." 


SHARK  CAUGHT. 

We  leam  from  the  Transcript  that  two  young 
lads,  living  in  South  Boston,  who  were  fishing  in 
Back  Bay,  a  day  or  two  since,  caught  a  young 
shark.  It  appears  that  the  little  fellows  were 
busily  fishing,  when,  all  at  once,  one  of  them  had 
a  most  tremendous  jerk  at  his  line,  nearly  pull- 
ing him  overboard.  The  boy  immediately  called 
for  assistance,  and  after  much  fretting  and  wor- 
rying on  his  sharkship's  part,  he  was  finally 
dragged  on  the  banks.  He  measured  about  three 
feet  in  length,  having  five  rows  of  teeth. 


AN  ADOl^ED  CITIZEN. 

Thomas  Francis  Meagher  recently  declared 
his  intention  of  becoming  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  in  the  Supreme  Court,  and  took  the  fol- 
lowing oath  :  "  I,  Thomas  Francis  Meagher,  do 
declare  upon  oath,  that  it  is  bonajidc  my  inten- 
tion to  become  a  citizen  of  the  United  States, 
and  to  renounce  for  ever  all  allegiance  and  fideli- 
ty to  any  foreign  prince,  potentate  or  sovereign- 
ty whatever,  and  particularly  to  tlie  Queen  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  of  whom  I  am  now  a 
subject." 

CosTLv  Dwellings. — A  correspondent  of 
the  Atlas  says  there  are  at  least  four  hundred 
dwelling-houses  in  this  city  which  are  appraised 
at  above  §20,000.  There  are  several  at  S50,000 
and  upwards,  and  one  house,  with  the  land  con- 
nected with  it,  is  taxed  for  upwards  of  $100,000. 


Sorry  for  it. — The  editor  of  the  Times 
heads  an  article  :  "  Ipswich  moving."  This 
pleasant  town  has  heretofore  enjoyed  a  very  ad- 
mirable location  on  our  Atlantic  seaboard ! 


Musical. — ^Dwight's  Journal  says,  that  all 
the  principal  musical  societies  of  Boston  have 
volunteered  to  take  part  in  a  grand  opening  con- 
cert, at  the  new  Music  Hall. 


lHausiic   iSatljerings. 

Barnum  pays  Tom  Thumb  $200  a  week. 
The  population  of  Detroit  is  26,048.     In  1832 
it  numbered  only  1422  souls. 

Up  to  July  30,  there  arrived  at  Quebec  25,184 
emigrants,  an  increase  of  20  over  the  same  in 
1851. 

It  is  estimated  that  there  are  fifty  thousand 
pounds  of  opium  annually  retailed  in  New  York 
city. 

There  are  four  thousand  five  hundred  lan- 
guages throughout  the  world,  besides  the  lan- 
gnagc  of  the  eyes. 

Twelve  children  of  the  Crows,  Black  Feet  and 
Chiane  Indians  have  arrived  at  St.  Louis,  to  be 
trained  in  civilized  society. 

There  are  eighty-three  resident  clergymen  of 
the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  and  twenty  in  Brooklyn. 

The  flag  that  waved  over  Fitch's  first  steam- 
boat, in  1789,  has  been  presented  to  the  National 
Institute  at  Washington. 

Wanted  in  England  :  A  few  Yankee  sailors  to 
sail  the  yacht  America — the  English  tars  not 
knowing  how  to  manage  her. 

Henry  Clay  in  1844,  on  being  applied  to  by  a 
lady  to  write  some  verses  in  her  album,  replied  : 
"I  never  wrote  a  line  of  poetry  in  my  life." 

A  powder  mill,  belonging  to  Mr.  J.  Carkin  of 
Bennington,  exploded,  Saturday  morning.  Loss 
about  S3 000. 

Mr.  Wm.  Simpson,  of  Laivrence  county,  Indi- 
ana, on  the  2l3t  ult.,  cradled  ten  acres  andahalf 
of  oats  in  ten  hours.     Can  anybody  beat  if? 

Seven  young  ladies  received  the  degree  of 
Mistress  of  Arts,  a  week  or  two  since,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Ohio  Female  College  ! 

Horses  are  carried  by  railroad  fjom  Cincinnati 
to  New  York  for  $13  a  head  ;  and  the  omnibus 
proprietors  procure  their  supply  from  that  section. 

Tlie  constabulary  force  of  Ireland  is  over 
twelve  thousand  persons,  who  cost  the  govern- 
ment over  two  millions  and  a'  half  of  dollars 
annually. 

Since  1790,  the  whites  of  South  Carolina  have 
multiplied  at  the  rate  of  93  per  cent.,  the  whiles 
of  Massachusetts  have  multiplied  in  the  same 
time  293  per  cent. 

Mary  Mabee,  aged  IS  years,  drowned  herself 
by  jumping  off  the  dock,  in  Philadelphia,  on  the 
night  of  the  24th  ult.  Domestic  difficulties  im- 
pelled her  to  the  commission  of  the  deed. 

The  Pittsburgh  Union  has  three  men  in  that 
office  that  can  set  13,000  ems  each,  solid  matter, 
in  ten  hours,  and  one  who  will  set  16,000  in  the 
same  length  of  time  for  a  wager  of  ©500. 

The  wheat  crop  of  Wisconsin  exceeds  every 
thing  the  AVatcrtown  Chronicle  says,  that  has 
ever  been  seen  in  that  or  any  other  State.  The 
yield  will  average  from  20  to  25  bushels  per  acre. 

Orders  have  been  received  at  Norfolk  to  put  in 
commission  the  iron  steamer  Alleghany.  She  is 
destined  for  an  exploration  of  the  Chinese  seas 
under  command  of  Capt.  Ringgold. 

The  Oswego  Times  describes  a  machine  to 
prevent  steam  boiler  explosions.  The  principle 
upon  which  it  acts  is  that  of  a  feeder,  which  will 
keep  the  water  in  the  boiler  always  at  the  same 
height. 

John  Murphy,  aged  40  years  was  found  dead 
in  a  barn  about  half  a  mile  east  of  Tarrvto\\Ti,on 
the  23d  ult.  He  was  reported  to  have  been 
drunk.  Coroner's  verdict — congestion  of  the 
brain,  caused  by  intemperance. 

An  analysis  of  the  cucumber,  by  Prof.  Salis- 
bury, of  Albany,  shows  that  ninety-seven  one- 
hundredths  of  the  fruit  arc  water.  This  is  more 
than  the  water-melon,  which  contains  ninety-foiu- 
parts.     The  musk-melon  contains  ninety. 

A  mad  dog  entered  Rev.  Mr.  Damon's  church, 
at  North  Chelsea,  Sunday  afternoon,  during  the 
services,  causing  great  terror  to  the  congregation. 
An  intrepid  young  man  took  him  by  the  nape  of 
the  neck  and  ejected  him,  when  he  was  shot. 

"  God  bless  those  ivho  pay  visits — short  ones." 
(Arabic.)  A  capital  saying,  though  one  would 
have  thought  that  Arabia  was  the  very  last  place 
it  could  have  come  from.  The  visitor  had  only 
to  propose  to  relate  a  story,  and  he  might  stay 
as  long  as  he  liked. 

A  good  business  seems  to  have  been  done  this 
season  by  the  Vineyard  fishing  boats.  The  Ed- 
gartown  Gazette  says,  "Four  hundred  and  eighty- 
three  sword  fish  were  taken  up  lo  Wednesday 
night  of  hist  week.  The  greatest  number  taken 
by  any  one  boat  was  100,  and  the  lowest  29. 

A  number  of  workmen  have  been  engaged  for 
some  time  past  in  removing  obstructions  from 
the  channel  in  Taunton  river.  Some  very  large 
rocks  weighing  from  30  to  50  tons  Jiave  been  re- 
moved, which  will  greatly  improve  the  na\iga- 
tion  of  the  river,  and  allow  the  use  of  a  much 
larger  class  of  vessels  than  heretofore. 

In  Western  Virginia  there  resides  a  man  about 
thirty  years  of  age,  whose  matrimonial  history  is 
as  follows  :  when  he  was  a  child  his  father  died. 
His  mother  soon  married  a  very  young  man,  and 
died.  His  step-father,  but  13  years  older  than 
himself,  manied  a  young  wife  and  died,  when 
our  hero  married  his  step-mother. 

The  Metropolitan  Hotel,  New  York,  just  fin- 
ished, is  the  most  splendid  on  the  American  con- 
tinent. Its  mirrors  cost  818,000;  silver  ware, 
814,000;  carpets,  drapery,  linen,  etc.,  540,000; 
cabinet  furniture  $50,000  ;  the  whole  coming  up 
to  8150,000.  The  building  cost  $500,000  ;  the 
land  $300,000— total  $950,000. 


JToreign  iHisaUang. 

A  company  of  passport  counterfeiters  were 
recently  discovered  in  Prussia. 

A  company  of  "  American  Ethiopian  Screna- 
dcrs"  are  giving  concerts  at  Calcutta,  India. 

At  one  time,  in  Paris,  the  architects  were 
obliged  to  raise,  to  lower,  or  enlarge  their  doors, 
according  as  the  dress  of  the  women  varied. 

Louis  Napoleon  has  ordered  the  Due  d'En- 
ghcin's  monument,  in  the  Chapel  of  Vincennes, 
to  be  defaced  !     Magnanimous  man  ! 

One  hundred  and  fifty  words  and  forty-eight 
stops  were  telegraphed,  in  two  minutes,  by  an 
improv'ed  instrument,  lately,  in  England. 

Several  French  naval  officers  have  oflPered  their 
services  to  the  British  government  in  aid  of  the 
search  for  Sir  John  Franklin. 

Most  of  the  French  exiles  now  in  London,  in 
consequence  of  the  coup  d'etat  of  December,  are 
in  circumstances  of  great  privation. 

Considerable  uneasiness  is  felt  by  the  govern- 
ment because  of  the  circumstance  that  large 
numbers  of  French  refugees  are  assembling  at 
Jersey  and  the  other  channel  islands. 

We  have  changed  summers  with  Europe  this 
year.  While  we  have  been  shivering,  Europe 
has  been  dissolving;  and  while  our  early  sum- 
mer was  rainless,  Europe  was  deluged. 

A  new  toy,  for  the  amusement  and  exercise  of 
children,  has  been  invented  in  England,  called 
the  Nursery  Yacht.  It  has  a  "sea-saw"  move- 
ment, is  quite  safe,  and  promises  to  rival  the 
"  baby  jumpers." 

Letters  have  been  received  from  Captain  Ingle- 
field,  stating  that  the  Isabella  has  made  a  good 
passage  to  the  Orkneys,  and  that  he  expects  to 
proceed,  without  loss  of  time,  on  his  voyage  to 
Baffin's  Bay. 

"Two  years  hence,"  says  a  London  paper, 
"  it  is  probable  a  floating  hotel  will  pass  month- 
ly from  England  to  Calcutta  in  thirty  days,  car- 
rying passengers  at  half  the  present  overland 
charges !" 

The  total  length  of  the  railroads  in  Great  Brit- 
ain is  6890  miles,  constructed  at  an  average  cost 
of  8200,000  a  mile,  all  with  double  tracks.  The 
total  length  of  the  railroads  in  the  United  States 
is  10,000  miles,  constructed  at  an  average  cost  of 
$25,000  a  mile. 

During  the  time  the  late  Sir  Robert  Peel  was 
premier.  Lady  Jane  Peel  was  in  the  habit  of  past- 
ing all  the  articles  which  appeared  in  the  news- 
papers against  him  on  a  screen.  "  Well,  there 
is  nothing  very  singular  in  that ;  it  is  but  the 
duty  of  every  good  wife  to  sa-een  her  husband's 
faults." 


lobr's   Suiget. 


Sanli0  of  ©olir. 


....  We  often  miss  our  point  by  dividing  our 
attention. 

....  The  object  of  our  pride  is  often  the  cause 
of  om  misfortune. 

....  Avarice  often  misses  its  point,  through 
the  means  it  uses  to  secure  it. 

....  The  wants  and  weaknesses  of  individuals 
form  the  corrections  of  society. 

....  The  injuries  we  do,  and  those  we  suffer, 
arc  seldom  weighed  in  the  same  scales. 

....  It  is  often  more  prudent  to  suppress  our 
sentiments  than  either  to  flatter  or  to  rail. 

....  Nothing  is  more  precious  than  time,  and 
those  who  misspend  it  are  the  greatest  of  all 
prodigals. 

....  Men  who  meditate  mischief,  suggest  the 
same  to  others ;  and  generally  pay  dear  for  their 
froward  gratifications. 

....  There  is  nothing  more  universally  com- 
mended than  a  fine  day  ;  the  reason  is,  that  peo- 
ple can  commend  it  without  envy. 

Drunkenness  is  the  parent  of  most  other 

vices.  It  quenches  the  saluiaiy  power  of  reason, 
and  makes  us  the  sport  of  raging  passion. 

Vanity  and  idle  curiosity  are  qualities 

which  generally  prove  destructive  to  those  who 
suffer  themselves  to  be  governed  by  them. 

....  True  religion  is  cheerful.  It  infringes 
upon  no  duly  which  we  owe  to  our  fellow-crea- 
tures ;  upon  no  pleasure  which  accords  wilh  right 
reason. 

....  Youthful  minds,  like  the  pliant  wax,  are 
susceptible  of  the  most  lasting  impressions  ;  and 
the  good  or  evil  bias  they  then  receive,  is  seldom 
or  ever  eradicated. 

....  So  long  as  we  fancy  ourselves  the  mere 
creatures  of  a  day,  at  liberty  to  please  ourselves, 
and  do  what  we  will  with  our  own,  we  must  ne- 
cessarily be  triflers. 

....  An  easy  way  of  openness  and  candor 
agrees  with  all  humors  ;  and  be  that  is  ever  so- 
licitous to  conceal  a  defect,  often  docs  as  much 
as  to  make  proclamation  of  it. 

....  He  who  thinks  he  sees  another's  estate 
in  a  pack  of  cards,  or  box  and  dice,  and  ventures 
his  own  in  pursuit  of  it,  should  not  repine,  if  he 
finds  himself  a  beggar  in  the  end. 

....  He  who  sedulously  attends,  pointedly 
asks,  calmly  speaks,  coolly  answers,  and  ceases 
when  he  has  no  more  to  say,  is  in  the  possession 
of  some  of  the  best  requisites  of  man. 

....  The  virtue  which  we  gather  from  a  fable 
or  an  allegory,  is  like  the  health  we  get  by  hunt- 
ing ;  as  we  are  engaged  in  an  agreeable  pursuit, 
that  draws  us  on  with  pleasure,  and  makes  us 
insensible  of  the  fatigues  that  accompany  it. 


Why  are  "  cullerd  pussons  "  first  rate  to  whis- 
per a  secret  to  ■?    Because  they  always  keep  dark. 

A  little  man  grown  jealous.  We  know  of 
nothing  to  compare  him  to,  unless  it's  a  bottle  of 
ginger-pop  in  a  high  state  of  rebellion. 

A  man  down  South  advertises  a  few  choice 
rattlesnakes  for  sale,  and  appends  a  hint  to  such 
as  do  not  wish  to  purchase,  that  they  must  not 
handle  the  goods. 

Diddlers — Well-dressed  young  men  who  spend 
their  lives  in  sucking  in  "  cobblers  "  and  shoe- 
makers— the  former  through  a  straw,  and  the  lat- 
ter out  of  a  new  pair  of  boots. 

A  gentleman  who  has  travelled  from  Boston 
to  Marshfield,  thinks  there  can  be  no  "free  soil" 
between  the  two  places.  An  opinion  probably 
caused  by  the  fourteen  tolls  he  paid. 

"Tom,"  said  a  man  to  his  friend,  a  day  or 
two  since,  "I  think  it  higlily  dangerous  to  keep 
the  bills  of  small  banks  on  hand  now-a-days." 
"  Tim,"  said  the  other,  "  I  find  it  far  more  diffi- 
cult than  dangerous." 

Old  Mrs.  Pilkins  was  reading  the  foreign 
news  by  a  late  arrival,  "  Cotton  is  declining  !" 
exclaimed  the  old  lady.  "Well,  I  thought  as 
much  ;  the  last  thread  I  used  was  remarkably 
feeble !" 

A  person  meeting  an  old  man  with  silver 
hairs,  and  a  very  black,  bushy  beard,  asked  him  : 
"  How  it  happened  that  his  beard  was  not  so 
gray  as  the  hair  of  his  head  V  "  Because,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  "  it  is  twenty  years  younrfe}-." 

A  very  worthy  and  respectable  gentleman 
from  Portland,  who  occasionally  takes  a  "smile," 
was  asked  by  a  friend  how  he  managed  to  get 
along  where  the  Maine  liquor  law  was  so  rigidly 
enforced.  "Ah,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  like  a  good 
Christian,  I  go  to  my  closet !" 

Mrs.  Harris  says  the  first  thing  she  heard 
when  she  went  on  board  a  ship,  was  an  order 
from  the  captain  to  "  weigh  the  anchor,"  and 
that,  too,  when  he  knew  there  wasn't  a  scale 
within  ten  miles.  The  old  lady  has  looked  upon 
ship  captains  as  fools  ever  since. 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  Ist  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  DuAWiNa 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  nuperb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Four  and  Five  Hundred  Fages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Event.=i  all  over  the  world  ; 
Gf  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Citiea,  and 
beautiful  Villages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad ;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLUJIINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilhant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustratiOHS,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poeme  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  ^vith  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrationa. 

For  sale  at  the  Pubhcation  Office,  by  our  Wlaoleuile 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depota  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION. 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  11EFL\ED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Jovimal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  biles,  written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEE  POU  THE  MTLLION", 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  TILE  UO>IE  CIJtCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  zueekly  paper  in  the  United  States,  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
60  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  ;jive  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  olfenng  the  entire  sheet,  which  i3  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  genera]  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  linished  and  per- 
fect system  that  expariHnce  can  .suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  mean^  nor  the  mil.  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

©lEH^nSS'iv.ai    IFAIPIllEc, 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEillS    TO    STTBSCEIBEES. 
1  subscriber,  one  year, S2  00 

3  diihscribers,       "  5  03 

4  •'  '•  0  00 

5  "  "  11  00 

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One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  our  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
pjcToniAL  Drawino-Room  Oompanio.n.  one  year,  for  So  00. 

[HT'  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  oa  the  above  terms. 

^TT'  AU  orders  sknuhl  be  addressed.  POST  PAID,  to  the 
Plbhsiier  of  the  Flag  o?  oi;a  Umo.v. 

*^'  The  Flag  can  b'i  obtained  at  any  of  the  newspaper 
depots  in  the  United  Slates,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
FOL'K  CENT3  per  single  copy. 

F.     GLEASON. 
Publisiier  akd  PiiopiuEToa,  UoBTOx,  MAas. 


192 


GLEASON'S    PICTOPJAL    DllAWlNCx    ROOM    COMPANION. 


LANDING  AT  EASTHAM  FOR  THE  CAMP  MEETING. 


PRAYER  MEETING  IN  A  TENT. 


A  DAY  AT  A  CAJ>IP  MEETING. 

The  scenes  which  we  present  on  this  pap^e  are 
truthfully  depicted  by  our  artist,  whose  experi- 
ence in  visiting:  the  spot  is  as  graphically  given 
herewith.  Wc  arc  in  the  steamer  Naushon  for 
the  purpose  of  attending  the  Methodist  Camp 
Meeting  at  Eastham,  but  unluckily  a  long,  low 
swamp  of  level  sand  and  shallow  water  inter- 
venes between  us  and  the  sliore,  and  we  have, 
consequently,  to  embark  in  a  boat  whose  sails  are 
flapping  against  their  masts,  at  the  side  of  the 
steamer.  Wc  descend  into  it.  It  is  large  enough 
on  ordinary  occasions  to  carry  twenty  passengers 
without  discomfort.  But  what  is  the  matter'? 
We  have  already  forty  in  it  at  the  least.  "  You 
do  not  mean  to  take  any  more  ?"  The  boatman 
iinswers,  "  0  yes;  we  carried  seventy  yesterday, 
and  we  can  manage  to  do  as  much  to-day."    And 


accordingly  more  and  more  are  squeezed  into  it, 
until,  at  length,  sixty-seven  in  all,  we  quit  the 
side  of  the  Naushon.  Away  we  run,  heeling 
over  with  the  wind,  and  occo'iionally  taking  the 
salt  spray  of  an  impudent  wave  in  our  faces,  as 
we  peer  curiously  over  its  side  at  several  square 
looking  pill-boxes — for  so  they  seem — drawn, 
some  by  one,  and  some  by  two  horses,  which  are 
struggling  with  the  waves  nearer  in  to  the  shore. 
Y'"et  what  is  our  astonishment,  as  we  come  up  to 
the  first  of  these,  to  see  the  anchor  let  go,  and  as 
the  boat  swings  round  with  the  tide,  to  hear  the 
voice  of  a  jolly-looking  driver,  in  brown  Holland 
coat,  and  cloth  cap,  emerge  from  the  front  of 
what  we  supposed  a  pill-box,  but  is  a  vehicle, 
asking  who  wanted  to  be  set  ashore  first.  We 
spring  in,  to  find  eight  m.orc  individuals  stowed 
alongside  of  us  like  bales  of  cotton,  and  off  we 


are  driven,  helter-skelter,  the  horses  stumbling, 
and  the  water  plashing  round  us,  some  quarter 
of  a  mile  through  the  receding  tide.  "Plague 
take  it,"  shouts  an  unphilosophical  fellow-adven- 
turer, as  he  is  jerked  from  a  place  in  the  comer 
of  the  car  on  to  our  hat,  which  it  flattens,  while 
wc  feel  a  msh  of  cold  water  from  the  other  side, 
drenching  the  netlier  portion  of  our  persons. 
This  for  the  moment  completes  our  misery.  We 
repair  to  Millennial  Grove,  where  the  Camp 
Meeting  is  held.  The  hour  for  the  evening  ex- 
ercise is  now  gradually  approaching,  and  noth- 
ing can  be  move  gratifying  to  the  chance  observer 
than  the  order  and  regularity  which  marks  those 
who  attend  it,  while  nothing  can  well  be  gayer 
and  more  agreeable  than  the  aspect  of  the  whole 
scene.  Scores  of  lamps  spot  the  trees  which 
grow  among  the  benches  arranged  before  tlie 


long  and  narrow  stage  from  which  the  exhorta- 
tion is  to  be  delivered,  and  which  is  now  filled 
with  clergymen,  and  a  congregation  of  consider- 
ably more  than  a  thousand.  In  the  morning  we 
retum  in  time  to  attend  the  ten  o'clock  prayer 
meeting;  but  let  us  advise  any  of  our  friends 
who  have  an  inclination  to  attend  a  camp  meet- 
ing at  Eastham,  lo  inspect  the  weather-glass  be- 
fore they  take  their  place  in  the  steamer — for 
scarcely  do  we  arrive  on  the  ground,  and  the 
congregation  assembles,  than  the  rain  begins, 
and  drives  tliem  within  their  tents.  Very  perse- 
veringly  did  it  pour  down  until  four  o'clock, 
when  wet  and  weary  we  repair  to  a  boat,  and 
cruise  about  the  coast  in  the  fog  which  is  settling 
down  upon  the  waters,  until  the  steamer's  paddle- 
wheels  are  heard.  In  a  few  minutes  we  are  on 
board  and  on  our  way  to  Boston. 


EXHORTATION  AND  PREACHING  AT  THE  CAMP  MEETING  AT  EASTHAM. 


F.  GLEASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
(  AND  TREMONT  3TS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  25,  1852. 


s2  per  volume, 
10  ct8.  single. 


Vol.  III.  No.  13  —Whole  No.  65. 


PROFESSOR  ANDKRSON. 

The  engraving,  presented  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Rosenburg,  below*,  represents  Professor  An- 
derson, as  he  appeared,  a  few  days  since,  at  the 
Melodeon,  in  this  city,  in  the  famous  bottle 
scene,  assisted  by  his  little  son.  Tiiis  trick  with 
the  bottle  is  certainly  a  most  incomprehensible 


one,  and  almost  incredible  to  one  who  has  not 
witnessed  its  performance.  Hi^  "bottle"  cer- 
tainly is  the  greatest  wonder  of  modern  times. 
Brandy,  rum,  gin,  whisky  and  wines,  flow  from 
it  in  streams.  We  could  understand  bow  a  bot- 
tle could  be  constructed  to  give  the  different 
liquids,  but  we  are  at  a  loss  to  know  the  quantity. 


A  gallon  is  poured  from  a  common  fjiiart  bottle. 
One  can,  throughout  our  great  Union,  recom- 
mend Professor  Anderson  as  the  most  incompre- 
hensible and  gentlemanly  performer  we  have 
ever  seen  in  the  mystic  art ;  and  we  are  gratified 
to  know  thit  his  success  is  fuUv  commenhuri.te 
w  ith  Ills  merit     On  page  20o  will  be  found  a  full 


description  of  the  subject  of  our  engraving,  and 
a  more  elaborate  mention  of  his  character  and 
experience  as  a  performer  of  necromancy,  or  na- 
tural magic.  Tlie  truthfulness  of  the  fine  picture 
given  below  will  be  recognized  by  any  one  who 
has  "witnessed  the  professor's  public perfonuances 
which  have  proved  so  popular  in  this  city. 


/^?7J>£'A'£S'?t-     ^£i 


PROFESSOK  ANDEttSON,  THE  WIZaKl*  ^4,   ']i\^  t^ORIlI,  AT  TH'P  ^lELOpEQ^[,   HOSTON, 


194 


GLEASON'S   PICTOIIIAL    DRAWING   ROOM    CO:\[PANIOX. 


A  ROMANTIC  STORY  OF  INCIDENT  AND  ADVENTURE^^^ 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  llio  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  the  Clerli's  Office  of  the 
,  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[written   EXI-KESaLY   KOK   GLEASON'B   riCTOKIAL.] 


— OB, — 


9 

21  (!5rapljic  ffiaU  of  Spain,  Italg  anlr  GEuglantr. 


BY  FREDERICK  HUNTER. 


[continued.] 

CHAPTKR  IX.— [continued.] 
"When  Bernard  dc  Nortlc  csciipcd  witlt  Cor- 
rinnc  Almanza,  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  and 
apparent  peril  of  the  secne  of  tlie  burning,  the 
sweet  girl  saw  only  her  deliverer  in  the  man  who 
urged  her  to  fly  from  tlic  danger  that  threatened 
them.  When  tiic  prancing  stccd.s  were  brought, 
all  caparisoned,  at  the  word,  a  thought  of  the 
strangeness  of  this  event  crossci  her  niind,  for 
an  instant,  and  she  did  not  exactly  comprehend 
the  matter. 

With  the  readiness  and  tact  which  always 
served  him  in  these  little  emergencies,  liowevcr, 
Bernard  observed  her  momentary  rmeasincss, 
and  he  quickly  anticipated  her  inquiries. 

"  Loved  one,"  he  said,  "let  me  urge  you  to 
hasten.  My  own  favorite  steed,  as  you  see,  has 
been  saved  from  destruction,  through  the  exer- 
tions of  my  servant,  .and  his  horse,  also,  is  here, 
at  your  service.  You  will  recognize  your  own 
saddle  and  appointments,  which  Pierre  contrived 
to  rescue,  as  well ;  and  now,  if  you  will,  we  may 
mount  and  fly  from  the  pursuit  which  threatens 


This  appeal  was  sufficient.  Corrinne  saw  that 
tlie  buildings  must  be  destroyed ;  Don  Miguel 
had  been  left  senseless  in  the  ruins  ;  jjeril,  if  not 
death,  was  evidently  behind  her ;  and  she  decided 
to  accept  her  lover's  offer.  So,  springing  into 
the  saddle,  she  joined  Bernard  at  once,  and 
dashed  on  through  the  wood  toward  the  next 
village. 

Daylight  broke  as  they  entered  this  small 
town,  bearing  the  terrible  intelligence  of  theat- 
tack  of  the  banditti,  and  the  sacking  of  Don 
Miguel's  dwelling.  After  a  hasty  repast,  Ber- 
nard proposed  to  Corrinne  to  keep  on.  He 
deemed  it  unsafe  to  tarry  in  so  small  a  place,  and 
hinted  that  he  had  friends  beyond,  to  whose  care 
he  could  consign  his  loved  charge,  while  in  per- 
son he  proposed  to  return  to  the  hacienda,  and 
learn  the  details  of  the  attack,  and  the  fate  of  her 
guardian.  The  proposal  was  accepted,  and  an 
hour  subsequently  Corrinne  found  herself  com- 
fortably domiciliated  at  the  dwelling  of  one  Se- 
nora  Maidennez — described  by  Bernard  as  a 
relative  of  his,  to  whose  favor,  for  the  time  being, 
he  commended  Senora  Corrinne  Almanza,  while 
he  returned,  as  he  said,  once  more  to  the  scene 
of  his  last  night's  adventures. 

At  nightfall  Bernard  returned  to  Corrinne  with 
the  information  that  she  feared  to  hear.  Ac- 
cording to  the  last  accounts  he  could  obtain  of 
the  melancholy  facts,  the  mansion  had  been  to- 
tally destroyed,  no  vestige  of  anything  of  value 
could  be  found,  and  it  was  believed  that  the  un- 
fortunate remains  of  Don  Miguel  were  buried  in 
the  ruins — no  trace  of  him  having  been  seen  or 
heard  of  after  he  fell  in  the  hall  of  his  house. 
The  wound  of  de  Norde  did  not  prove  so  serious 
as  was  at  first  feared  it  might  be  ;  and  when  he 
had  given  Corrinne  all  the  information  he  had 
gathered,  he  appealed  to  her  to  know  what  course 
she  would  pursue  under  the  painful  circumstan- 
ces in  which  she  had  become  so  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  involved. 

Poor  Con-innc  !  She  had  no  choice— she  knew 
not  whither  to  turn  her  steps  !  Her  friend  and 
protector,  Don  Miguel  Rubcrto,  had  been  snatch- 
ed away  from  her  without  a  moment's  warning; 
ids  property  had  licen  stolen  or  destroyed,  and 
her  relations  were  either  dead,  or  were  now  be- 
come comi)arative  strangers  to  her,  and  at  best 
wore  in  u  far  distant  land  !  She  had  no  words 
to  answer  tlic  query  of  her  lover — whither  she 


would  go  !  With  ready  tact  Bernard  observed 
hei'  embarrassment,  and  availed  himself  at  once 
of  the  circumstance. 

With  all  the  eloquence  and  earnestness  of  the 
fervent  lover,  he  pleaded  his  own  cause  before 
the  idol  of  his  heart,  and  he  besought  Corrinne 
to  rely  upon  hhn  in  her  frightful  dilemma.  He 
did  not  fail  to  picture  to  her  the  perils  she  must 
now  necessarily  be  surrounded  with,  and  at  tlie 
same  time  he  offered  to  become  her  friend,  her 
guardian,  her  protector,  constantly — from  that 
hour.  He  told  her  of  his  burning  love  for  her, 
he  swore  eternal  devotion  to  her,  and  solemnly 
otT'ered  his  hand  with  the  heart  that  adored  her. 
The  fair  young  being  at  whose  feet  he  knelt 
had  no  disposition  to  argue  the  point  with  de 
Norde ;  but  she  felt  that  they  were  still  strangers. 
Tiieir  acquaintance  was,  in  fact,  but  very  recent, 
and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  accede  to  his 
wishes,  on  the  instant.  Nevertheless,  she  re- 
sponded kindly  and  gratefully  to  his  friendly 
words,  and  assured  him  that  be  at  least  deserved 
cJI  he  pleaded  for.  At  least,  she  would  confide 
in  him,  for  the  time  being. 

Bernard  was  content  with  this  concession ; 
and  he  set  himself  to  work,  forthwith,  to  com- 
plete his  present  scheme,  and  consummate  his 
final  aim — to  wit,  his  early  union  in  marriage 
with  the  fair  creature  whose  charms  had  so  en- 
tranced and  bewildered  him,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment he  met  her. 

At  the  expiration  of  three  days,  thereafter, 
Corrinne  consented  to  quit  Spain  in  company 
with  de  Norde,  who  had  constantly  been  in  at- 
tendance upon  her,  and  who  had  been  continu- 
ously urgent  in  his  importunities  that  she  should 
leave  the  scene  of  her  present  troubles,  if  only 
for  a  season,  and  visit  Italy  with  him,  which  he 
claimed  as  his  birth-place  and  his  home.  The 
novelty  of  the  proposed  tour  so  pleased  her,  that 
at  length  she  consented  to  join  him ;  and  Ber- 
nard absented  himself  for  four-and-twenty  hours 
to  complete  the  arrangements  necessary  for  their 
journey. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  river  Guadiana,  there  lay 
a  small  brigantine,  at  this  time — a  pretty  and 
well  appointed  craft,  evidently  in  readiness  to 
put  to  sea  at  a  very  brief  notice.  The  wind  was 
blowing  fresh  from  the  northward,  and  towards 
evening  a  stranger  in  the  garb  of  an  ordinary 
peasant,  emerged  from  the  forest  at  some  dis- 
tance above  the  spot  where  the  vessel  lay  quietly 
at  anchor.  He  was  plainly  in  search  of  the  brig- 
antine ;  and  approaching  the  spot  where  she  lay, 
he  drew  from  his  breast  a  small  blue  flag,  or  strip 
of  bunting,  which  he  waved  over  his  head  once 
or  twice  without  speaking.  A  signal  whicli  he 
seemed  to  understand  was  made  on  board  the 
vessel,  at  once,  and  soon  aftcrwai'ds  a  boat 
reached  the  shore.  From  the  stern-sheets  a  stout 
young  man  sprang  upon  a  little  knoll  near  by, 
and  in  a  hasty  manner  the  stranger  communica- 
ted to  the  sailor  his  plans. 

"  I  comprehend,"  said  the  former. 
"  Be  ready,  then,"  said  the  stranger,  "  we  shall 
be  here  at  evening,  to-morrow." 

They  separated — the  boat  returned  to  the  brig, 
and  Bernard  de  Norde,  for  he  it  was,  retired  to 
the  forest  once  more,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  back  at  full  speed  to  the  temporary  Iialiing- 
placc  where  he  had  left  Corrinne  awaiting  him. 
In  a  little  time,  the  requisite  arrangements  for 
the  journey  were  completed,  and  on  the  follow- 
ing night  dc  Norde  handed  the  beautiful  Cor- 
rinne up  the  gangway  of  the  "Falcon." 


CHAPTER  X. 

TIIR    VOVAGK    ANr>    THE    WItlCCIC. 

TiiK  little  brig  had  been  at  sea  two  diiys,  and 
thus  far  had  made  good  headway  towards  lier 
destination,  with  a  fresh  wind  from  the  north- 
ward and  westward.  But  on  tlic  morning  of  the 
t'lird  day,  the  sun  rose  in  a  hazy  atmosphere, 
and  very  soon  afterwards  the  scudding  clouds 
foretohi  that  heavy  weather  was  at  hand. 

The  Falcon  had  run  down  to  the  southwest- 
ward,  and  was  upon  her  course  to  round  the 
headland  of  Point  del  Picucho — it  being  the  aim 
of  the  commander  of  the  vessel  to  clear  that  dan- 
gerous vicinity,  if  possible,  before  night,  as  he 
well  knew  the  pci-ils  of  the  waters  near  the  isl- 
and reefs  which  show  themselves,  in  a  clear  day, 
in  that  locality. 

As  the  day  waned,  however,  and  evening  set 
in  at  last,  the  heavens  were  darkened  by  thick 
black  clouds,  and  the  whistling  of  the  rushing 
wind  among  the  rigging  and  against  the  light 
sails  they  showed  on  board  the  Falcon,  was  evi- 
dence sufficient  to  the  sailors  that  they  would 
have  a  sharp  time  in  getting  round  the  headland 
at  best.  But,  as  the  storm  increased,  due  cau- 
tion was  exercised  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  the 
wreckers  on  the  shore  beyond  were  more  and 
more  delighted — for  they  believed  that  such  a 
gale  must  bring  its  booty  landward ! 

The  night  proved  one  of  those  wretchedly 
gloomy  ones,  when  not  a  star  could  be  seen,  and 
as  it  lengthened,  that  darkness  deepened.  The 
surge  dashed  high  over  the  rocks  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  the  look-out  on  board  the  Falcon  had 
been  cautioned  to  be  especially  wary.  On  a 
sudden,  a  liglit  was  discovered,  and  the  cry  of 
"land  ho!  A  light!"  was  quickly  reported  by 
the  watch. 

"Where  away?"  asked  a  bold  voice,  on  the 
instant. 

"  To  the  north-east — over  the  lee  bow." 
It  was  Bernard  de  Norde  who  made  the  query, 
for  he  had  been  upon   the  deck  for  the  twelve 
hours  preceding,  and  this  announcement  caused 
him  anxiety. 

The  light  was  now  clearly  seen  by  all  hands, 
and  the  question  arose  "  what  is  it  V  But  there 
were  none  who  could  answer  it.  It  had  been 
impossible  during  the  day  to  take  the  customary 
observation  at  noon,  in  consequence  of  the  thick 
weather,  and  both  skipper  and  crew  were  entirely 
at  a  loss  to  determine  where  they  were.  Bernard, 
however,  entertained  his  own  suspicions,  secretly, 
but  he  did  not  utter  them. 

An  attempt  was  made,  forthwith,  to  wear  ship, 
and  claw  off  from  the  coast;  but  this  was  found 
to  be  utterly  impracticable,  from  the  violence  of 
the  gale,  which  was  now  rapidly  increasing,  so 
that  sail  could  not  be  carried.  And  besides  this, 
the  Falcon  was  a  heavy  sailer,  and  could  not  be 
readily  managed.  The  effort  to  lay  to  was 
quite  as  futile,  and  it  was  clear  that  she  must 
make  a  harbor,  or  go  ashore.  In  this  dilemma 
dc  Norde  called  the  master  aside,  and  in  a  low 
tone  asked  him  if  he  could  divine,  or  imagine, 
where  they  were,  and  what  light  it  was  they  saw 
so  distinctly  ? 

"  I  know,"  said  the  skipper,  with  some  feel- 
ing, "  I  know  that  we  are  to  the  nor'ard  of  the 
point,  and  that  the  light  we  see,  yonder,  isn't 
what  I'd  like  to  sec." 
"  Then  you  suspect — " 

"  I  don't  suspicionize  nothin',"  continued  the 
old  sailor,  bluntly. 

"  Well — it  is  a  false  hght,  then  !" 
"  It  must  be  !" 

"  And  we  must  go  ashore,  too  1" 
"  I  can  see  no  other  hope  for  us." 
"  Captain  we  have  too  precious  a  burthen  on 
board   your  craft,  to  sacrifice  it  thus,  without  a 
struggle,"  continued  de  Norde,  with  emphasis. 
"  What  do  you  propose,  then  ?" 
"  I  will  give  yoxi  an  hundred  doubloons  in  ad- 
dition to  your  price  for  conveying  us  to  our  des- 
tination, if  you  weather  this  gale  in  safety." 

"And  you  think  that  the  lives  of  myself  and 
my  crew  are  to  be  put  into  a  money  scale,  do 
you?" 

"  No,  no,  captain — " 

"  You  so  propose ;  for,  do  yon  think  I  wont 
do   all   that  a  man  can  do,  under  such  circum- 
stances as  these  V 
"  It  is  well." 

"  Breakers  !"  shouted  the  look-out. 
"Breakers   ah^ad !"   continued   two  or  three 
voices  at  the  same  time,  for  the  crew  had  now 
become  thoroughly  ahutned,  and  as  Ihoroughly 
watchful. 

"  What's  to  be  done,  now,  must  be  done  quick- 
ly,"   added    the  captain,   turning  to  dc  Norde. 


"  We're  within  half  a  mile  of  that  infernal  reef, 
and  f/ify  are  vmitimj/or  us!" 

"1  see  it  all,"   snid  de  Norde.     "  You  have 
fire-arms  on  board,  have  you  not?" 
"  Yes." 

"Place  them  in  the  hands  of  every  man  on 
board,  then;  and  if  we  must  fight,  we  will  not 
betaken  at  any  disadvantage  that  it  is  in  onr 
power  to  control.     What's  tliat?" 

The  vessel  had  struck  I  But  she  passed  over 
the  hidden  boulder,  and  the  captain  sjirang  ut 
once  to  the  holm, 

" Lively,  men  !"  he  cried,  "for  your  lives! 
Clear  the  stern  anchor !  Let  go!"  and  in  less 
time,  apparently,  than  we  have  occujiied  in  re- 
lating the  fact,  tlic  anchor  went  down,  and  the 
brigantine  swung  round  to  the  wind. 

This  was  but  momentary,  however,  for  the 
hurricane  was  dreadful,  and  the  poor  crew  found 
it  exceedingly  diflicult  to  stand  upon  deck  at  all. 
The  heavy,  roaring  waves  dashed  high  over  the 
little  vessel,  and  her  bulwai-ks  were  quickly  stove, 
as  one  of  the  boats  went  by  the  board. 

The  captain  of  the  Falcon  was  a  brave  sailor, 
however,  and  he  had  faced  many  a  gale  as  stiff 
as  this,  in  his  time,  undaunted,  where  he  had 
before  had  plenty  of  sea-room.  But  the  anchor 
dragged,  and  the  best  bower  was  at  last  resorted 
to,  as  a  final  hope  !  The  brig  had  sjirung  aleak  ; 
but,  for  a  few  moments  she  lay  firm  to  her  an- 
chorage, and  it  was  believed  that  she  yet  might 
weather  it. 

There  were  anxious  hearts  on  board  that  little 
craft,  and  a  prayer  went  up  from  the  lips  of 
beauty,  to  Him  who  rules  the  storm,  that  they 
might  escape  the  terrors  of  that  dark  and  awful 
night ! 

"  She'll  soon  be  here,"  remarked  Boseat  to  his 
companions,  as  they  skulked  about  in  the  rock- 
clefts.  "  She'll  soon  be  here — but,  somehow  or 
other,  she's  been  pretty  well  managed,  that's  cer- 
tain. I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  Pedro,  if  there's 
some  one  on  board  that  craft  that  has  been  caught 
in  this  latitude  afore!  An'  I  reckon  he  doesn't 
like  the  company  he  thiuks  he'll  have  to  meet 
here." 

"  Very  like,  very  like,"  was  the  response. 
"  Hows'ever,  they  must  come  to  it — whew !  how 
she  blows,  to  be  sure  !" 

"That's  it — that's  it!"  said  Boseat,  again. 
"  That  flaw  parted  her  cable.  The  fore-chain  is 
light — now  she  swings  to  it,  again — heigh  !  But 
there's  a  comber  for  you !  Now  she  comes — now 
she  comes  I     Stand  ready,  boys  !" 

As  Boseat  spoke,  an  enormous  wave  rolled 
down  before  the  wind,  and  striking  the  brig  fairly, 
her  cable  broke,  four  or  five  men  were  washed 
overboard,  and  the  deck  was  swept  clear  of  every- 
thing movable. 

An  indistinct  order  was  given  in  relation  to 
lowering  away  the  boats ;  but  in  the  midst  of  the 
howling  storm  and  the  roar  of  the  surge  which 
dashed  upon  the  sturdy  rocks,  this  order  was 
useless — for  none  could  hear  it.  And,  moreover, 
since  their  fate  seemed  to  be  inevitable,  a  sullen 
stupor  and  reckless  resignation  seemed  to  have 
seized  upon  both  ofSeers  and  crew.  The  Falcon 
drifted  rapidly  shoreward,  and  a  few  minutes 
afterward  she  reached  the  ledge,  from  which  she 
never  again  departed ! 

When  the  brig  struck  again,  the  violence  of 
the  shock  seemed,  for  the  moment,  to  awaken 
the  wretched  crew  anew  to  the  peril  of  their  situ- 
ation. Death  stared  them  palpably  in  the  face, 
and  it  was  worth  one  more  effoi't  to  save  tlioir 
own  lives. 

"  To  the  boats  !"  shouted  de  Norde;  but  there 
was  but  one  boat  left  them.  Still  he  shouted  "  to 
the  boat,  men  !  A  hundred  doubloons,  each,  to 
those  who  reach  the  shore.  Get  out  the  boat !" 
A  li'T-ht  form,  and  a  ciieck  pale  and  cold  with 
fear  and  watching,  now  presented  itself  at  the 
companion-way,  supported  by  the  strong  arm  of 
Bernard  himself,  and  by  clinging,  as  she  ascend- 
ed, to  the  sides  of  the  pi^ssage. 

"  Cheer  thee — cheer  heart,  dear  Corrinne  !" 
said  Bernard,  affectionately. 

"  Is  not  this  peril  awful  ?"  she  asked. 
"  It  is  indeed,  Corrinne.  But  do  not  despair. 
Come !  Cling  to  me ;  and  if  we  must  meet 
death  in  this  way,  you  shall  die  in  the  embrace 
of  him  who  will  cheerfully  risk  his  life  to  aid  and 
save  you.     Cheer  up,  loved  one  !" 

Thump — thump — thump  !  The  death-knell  of 
the  Falcon  had  pealed  !  She  was  dashed  into 
splinters  upon  that  reef  within  the  next  half 
hour !  The  boat  had  been  got  over  the  side,  and 
into  it  some  six  or  seven  human  beings  sprang, 
seemingly  all  at  the  same  instant;  for  in  the  next 
it  was  far  away  from  the  sinking  vessel,  on  ll  o 
top  of  a  huge  wave,  with  but  a  single   oar  lo 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DHAWIXG   ROOM    COMPANIOTs\ 


195 


guide  or  control  it,  and  swiftly  blowing  shore- 
ward, amid  the  whitened  and  foaming  surge. 

In  tlie  stern  of  tlie  tioat  sat  Bernard  de  Norde, 
clasping  in  lus  arras  the  alraost  lifeless  form  of 
his  svvtieE  Corrinue;  who,  all  unused  to  such 
rough  usage,  and  such  friglitful  scenes,  had 
fainted  in  her  lover's  arms  from  fright  and  ex- 
haustion. 

"  Steady,  boys !"  said  de  Norde,  encouraging- 
ly. "  Keep  her  head  up — now  she  rides  !  Steady 
— so  !  Five  hundred  ducats  for  you — you  witli 
the  oar — if  we  reach  the  shore  in  safe — " 

Crash  !  crasli — crash  !  The  deed  was  done  ! 
The  storm  had  triumphed.  The  boat  was  stove, 
and  her  bow  dashed  far  away  in  the  whirling 
current,  while  the  stern  was  rolled  in  splinters  to 
the  shore  !  The  remainder  of  the  crew,  de  Norde, 
Corrinne,  all  were  now  struggling  for  life,  with- 
out a  shade  of  further  hope,  amid  the  merciless, 
raging  waters ! 

"  The  jig  is  up,  boys,"  said  Boseat,  gruffly. 
"  She's  gone  to  pieces.  So  far  as  the  craft  is 
concerned,  we  shan't  make  much  out  of  her.  By 
Jove  !  but  ien't  this  a  whistler  of  a  breeze  V  lie 
added,  as  he  placed  his  rough  hand  to  his  head 
to  keep  his  sou-wester  in  its  place.  "  Howsoever, 
we  shall  have  a  shy  at  the  cargo,  if  she  had  any. 
Hallo!  what's  yonder ?" 

There  was  an  object  of  interest  in  sight — the 
form  of  a  man,  struggling  with  the  waves,  but  a 
short  distance  from  the  shore.  He  was  plainly 
much  exhausted.  There  were  two  persons  there 
— three  !  The  light  had  gone  down  considerably, 
but  still  its  glimmer  could  be  distinguished  on 
the  rock. 

And  still  the  sufferers  struggled  on,  amid  those 
heaving,  angry  waves,  surrounded  by  darkness, 
peril,  despair ! 

chaptf:^  XL 

NAPLES — A    TKIO    OJF    NEW   FACES. 

SoJiE  six  weeks  subsequently  to  the  events 
narrated  in  our  last  chapters,  there  came  to  Na- 
ples, in  the  vetturino  from  Vecchia,  a  little  party 
of  nobility,  comprising  three  persons  of  apparent 
rank,  to  wit,  a  lady  and  two  gentlemen,  and  their 
retinue  of  some  seven  or  eight  attendants.  They 
halted  at  the  most  fashionable  hot^l,  temporarily, 
and  submitted  to  the  highest  charges  for  their 
accommodations  without  a  query. 

Tlie  foremost  of  this  trio  was  a  splendid  ap- 
pearing, but  rather  a  youngish  man,  known  by 
the  title  of  Count  Antienne.     His  male  compan- 
!  ion  was  one  Don  Felix  Bavbicrre,  from  Madrid. 
!  The  lady  was  thought  to  be   the  most  graceful 
and  lovely  of  all  the  female  strangei-s  that  had 
1  been   seen   in   Naples   for  many  seasons.     The 
I  party  travelled  incof/,  and  as  this  was  a  very  com- 
mon occurrence,  none  seemed  to  know  or  care 
I  wlio  the  new  comers  were.     They  lived  in  the 
best  style,   paid   their   bills  promptly,  through 
their  secretary  and  steward,  and  everybody  seem- 
ed to  be  content  with  them,  without  asking  trou- 
\  blesome  questions. 

It  appeared,  at  the  end  of  a  week,  that  the 
\  Count  Antienne  was  the  happy  husband  of  the 
I  beautiful  senora,  and  that  the  little  party  were 
I  from  Spain,  on  a  visit  to  Italy,  to  pass  their 
I  honeymoon.  Tlicy  had  been  wedded  but  a  few 
I  days.  The  Don  Barbierre  was  rather  a  conji- 
tdante,  than  otherwise — the  constant  companion 
F  of  the  count,  in  his  rambles,  and,  seemingly,  a 
[  friend  whom  both  the  count  and  his  lovely  wife 
valued  higlily.  He  had  served  the  noble  count 
(  right  valiantly  in  several  emergencies,  prior  to 
[  this  time,  and  he  was  deserving  of  their  united 
I  friendship  and  favor. 

As  we  have  already  stated,  there  were  in  at- 
[  tendance  upon  this  party  some  half  a  score  of 
servants  and  a/i/jc/ics,  and  a  highly  respectable 
establishment  was  maintained  by  the  count,  at 
I  his  hotel.  But  few  acquaintances  were  made, 
I  however,  by  the  strangers,  as  the  newly-wedded 
[  couple  appeared  to  be  quite  as  well  pleased  in 
i  the  society  of  each  other  as  in  any  way,  and  af- 
t  faii'i  passed  along  as  joyfully  and  as  smoothly 
I  as  heart  could  possibly  desire,  for  five  or  six 
I  weeks  after  their  arrival  at  Naples. 

About  this  time,  there  arrived  an  invalid,  with 
'  a  single  servant,  who  halted  at  the  same  hotel 
I"  where  the  count  and  his  party  were  domiciled. 
i  He  was  a  tall,   gaunt  looking  man — wan  and 
.  pale  from  disease,  and  crippled  by  gout,  appar- 
ently, or  some  rheumatic  affection.     He  moved 
about  but  little,  and  leaned  upon  his  attendant 
always  when  he  went  abroad.     He  visited  Italy 
lo  recruit  liis  broken  health,  and  had  but  just  re- 
cently got  up  from  a  bed  of  fearful  illness. 

The  features  of  this  man  were  forbidding,  and 
his  deportment,  generally,  was  not  by  any  means 


agreeable.  However,  it  was  the  season  for  tiie 
annual  visits  of  the  floating  foreign  population 
which  crowd;>  the  Italian  cities  every  year,  and 
no  one  cared  for  the  old  man's  gout  or  his  scowls  ; 
since  each  one  had  his  own  pleasures  and  pas- 
times to  attend  to,  with  all  the  leisure  they  could 
command. 

"  Sancho  !"  said  the  old   man,   gruffly,  very 
soon  after  reaching  the  hotel — "  Sancho  !" 
"I  am  here,  senor,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Sancho — I  know  thee  for  a  cunning  knave ; 
and  I  liave  had  cause  to  think   thee   devoted  to 
ray  interests,  in  times  gone  by." 

'■  Good  senor,  I  would  always  be  thy  slave." 

"  Hast  thou  seen  aught  here  since  our  coming 
that  thou  hast  seen  hcfore  ?" 

"  Good  m;ister,  if  I  rightly  jadge  of  the  query 
propounded,  I  would  say  ay;  but  I  may  not 
comprehend  it." 

"  Look  again,  then,  and  report  to  me,  anon." 

The  attendant  retired,  and  a  sort  of  fiendish 
smile  trembled,  one  moment,  upon  the  wan 
countenance  of  the  invalid  stranger. 

In  the  course  of  another  hour  the  servant  re- 
turned, and  quickly  communicated  with  the  old 
man.  What  he  said  could  be  a  matter  of  con- 
jecture, only,  for  he  whispered  the  information 
he  had  gathered  in  the  old  fellow's  ear,  who 
seemed  vastly  delighted  with  the  discoveries 
Sancho  thought  he  had  made  ! 

"  You  did  not  expose  yourself,  Sancho  V 

"No,  senor,  no.  But  they  would  not  remem — " 

"  Keep  within  doors,  Sanclio,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  me." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  following  day. 
The  night  wasunusnally  fine,  even  for  that  lovely 
climate  ;  and  the  Count  Antienne,  as  was  his 
evening  habit,  had  wandered  away  into  the  great 
gardens  of  the  hotel,  accompanied  by  his  beauti- 
ful young  wife,  to  enjoy  the  soft  air  and  healthful 
influences  of  tlic  open  atmosphere. 

The  wind  was  gentle  as  the  breathings  of  an 
infant;  the  odors  from  the  groves  were  inviting 
and  grateful  to  the  senses  ;  the  myriad  stars  that 
dotted  the  firmament  twinkled  joyfully  above  the 
lovers,  and  nature  seemed  to  be  at  rest,  as  the 
soft  zephyrs  breathed  gently  among  the  vine- 
covered  arbors. 

"  Life  of  my  life  !"  said  the  handsome  count, 
in  a  gentle  tone,  to  his  loved  wife,  "  are  we  not 
now  supremely  happy '?  Within  the  enchanting 
shadow  of  this  gorgeous  grove,  beneath  such  a 
sky  as  this,  surrounded  by  all  that  heart  can 
wish,  in  a  temporal  view — why  should  we  not 
be  happy  in  each  other's  love  1" 

"  We  should,  indeed,  be  very  happy,"  re- 
sponded tlie  fair  creature,  who  sat  beside  him. 

"And  yet  you  sigh  for  home." 

"Ah,  count,  how  many  perils  have  I  passed 
thjfough,  within  a  little  time,  and  how  singularly 
distressing  was  my  departure  from  that  home  !" 

"  But  you  do  not  relent,  surely  ?" 

"  No,  no — not  that,  not  that,  my  ever  best  of 
friends.  Yet  you  will  return,  anon,  will  you 
not?" 

"  Whenever  it  may  please  my  love  to  choose 
it." 

"  My  poor  guardian  !"  sighed  the  lady,  in 
reply. 

"  You  never  knew  him,  love,  else  you  would 
not  sigh  for  hira,  I  warrant  me." 

"  Knew  him  ?  How !  Surely  he  was  the 
kindest  of  friends  to  his  poor  orphan  ward." 

"  Still,  I  repeat  it,  you  never  knew  him." 

At  this  moment  the  count  sprang  quickly  to 
his  feet,  and  seized  the  handle  of  his  rapier. 

"  Did  3'ou  hear  nothing  ?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  his  wife. 

"  Nothing,  save  the  wind  among  the  shrubbery. 
Did  you  7" 

"  I  think  we  Iiave  had  a  listener  here.  Let  us 
return."  And  with  this  suggestion,  the  count 
placed  his  wife's  arm  within  bis  own,  and  emerg- 
ing into  tlie  main  avenue,  they  bent  their  steps 
towards  the  hotel  once  more. 

They  were  now  at  a  long  distance  from  the 
piazza  of  the  house,  for  the  garden  was  a  spacious 
one,  into  which  the  guests  of  the  hotel  frequently 
wandered  after  nightfall.  They  proceeded  on, 
however,  unmolested ;  and  the  count  began  to 
believe  that  his  usually  acute  hearing  had  this  ' 
time  deceived  him — when  the  tall,  gaunt  figure 
of  a  man  suddenly  stepped  out  from  beneath  a 
clamp  of  trees,  and  confronted  them.  It  was 
the  crippled  stranger  who  had  recently  arrived 
at  the  hotel,  accompanied  by  a  single  servant. 

"  Signor  !"  he  said,  "  I  greet  you." 

"  Signor,"  replied  the  count,  quickly,  but  not 
a  little  embarrassed  at  this  unanticipated  meet- 
ing. "  I  give  yon  goodnight.'     The  count  would 


have  passed  on,  after  tliis  rather  formal  response, 
but  tlie  stranger  said  ; 

"  May  I  have  a  word  witli  you,  signor  V 

"Mc'f  Surely — yes;  that  is — come  to  my 
quarters,  within  the  hotel,  and  you  may  have  an 
hundred  words,  or  sentences,  an'  you  like,  so 
that  they  be  civil." 

"  I  would  speak  with  you  here,  an'  it  please 
you." 

"  No  !  Do  you  not  observe  I  have  a  lady  with 
me?" 

"  The  lady  may  retire." 

"  No,  I  repeat,"  continued  the  count,  annoyed. 
"  If  you  have  business  with  me,  come  to  my  ho- 
tel. I  have  no  leisure  or  inclination,  i'  faith,  to 
talk  here;  and  so,  again,  I  give  you  good  night, 
signor." 

But  the  intruder  stood  in  the  path ;  and  the 
lady  had  become  thoroughly  alarmed  at  his  im- 
portunity. He  approached  the  count,  more 
nearly,  and  gazing  in  his  face,  he  said : 

"Your  countship  does  not  seem  to  recognize 
me,  I  observe." 

"  This  is  not  the  place  to  recognize — " 

"It  is  well,  then.  At  what  hour  may  I  meet 
you  at  your  lodgings  ?" 

"  Whenever  it  best  suits  your  leisui'c." 

"At  eleven,  then,  to-night." 

"  At  eleven,  be  it.     I  will  expect  you." 

"  You  may  do  so,  count.  Adios,"  continued 
the  traveller,  retiring ;  and  the  nobleman  has- 
tened forward  with  his  young  wife  to  the  hotel. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?"  she  asked,  as  soon  as  tliey 
were  fairly  ridded  of  the  intruder. 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  said  the  count,  "  nor  have 
I  care  about  it,  either.  Be  he  friend  or  foe,  I 
shall  now  ])reparc  myself  to  receive  him." 

"  Did  you  not  suspect  him  ?" 

"  No — he  was  undoubtedly  masked ;  and, 
moreover,  the  darkness  was  such  that  T  could 
scarcely  swear  whether  he  was  black  or  white." 

"And  you  will  meet  him  ■*" 

"Assuredly,  will  I!" 

"  He  may  have  evil  designs  upon  you." 

"Never  fear,  love.  I  think  you  are  over-cau- 
tious, but  I  will  venture  nothing.  It  is  now  near 
ten.  At  eleven  o'clock  he  will  unquestionably  be 
here.  You  may  retire — and  trust  me,  I  will  risk 
nothing." 

The  count  escorted  his  lady  to  her  chamber, 
and  then  he  sat  down  to  reflect  upon  what  he 
should  do,  under  the  circumstances. 

After  a  few  moments  of  thought,  he  rang  for 
his  friend,  Don  Felix,  who  attended  upon  him 
directly,  and  to  wliom  he  at  once  entrusted  the 
details  of  his  adventure  and  his  appointment. 

"And  have  you  no  idea  who  he  is  ?"  asked 
his  companion,  after  listening  to  the  story. 

"  Not  the  slightest.  He  is  unlike,  in  form  and 
features,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  any  one  I  re- 
member ever  to  have  met." 

"  Do  you  think  lie  really  knows  you  ?  Or 
may  he  not  have  mistaken  you  for  some  other 
person  ?" 

"  It  may  be  thus,  but  he  was  exceedingly  im- 
portunate and  peremptory  in  liis  manner." 

"  Tliat  may  be  a  part  of  liis  plan  to  bring 
about  some  particular  object." 

"  Well,  time  flies.  He  will  be  here,  anon. 
Within  the  recess,  yonder,  ensconce  yourself, 
good  Barbierre;  I  have  no  fears  in  this  matter; 
but  I  prefer  that  yon,  my  friend  and  coiifidantc, 
should  know  the  nature  of  this  man's  business." 

"  Well-timed  caution,  good  count.  I  will  re- 
tire here.     Ai'C  you  armed  ?" 

"  Thoroughly." 

"  Good  night,  then,"  said  Don  Felix,  as  he 
concealed  himself  from  view.  And  in  a  few 
mumtes  the  servant  announced  a  stranger  in 
waiting  to  see  the  count. 

"  Show  him  in,"  said  that  gentleman  to  the 
attendant.  And  immediately  the  old  man  hob- 
bled into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

TWO    SIDES    OF    AN    IMI'ORTANT    QUESTION. 

Wbex  the  decrepit  intruder  crossed  the  thres- 
hold of  the  apartment,  the  Count  Antienne  was 
discovered  sitting  very  leisurely  at  a  large  cir- 
cular table,  enjoying  his  cigaretto,  and  seemingly 
content  with  himself  and  every  one  else  in  the 
world. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  meeting  with  the  Count 
Antienne,"  he  said,  drawing  up  a  chair,  and 
sitting  down  so  as  to  confront  the  former. 

"  Such  is  my  address  here,"  replied  the  count. 

"You  appear  at  ease,  good  count,  and  you 
sleep  well  o'  nights,  I  dare  say," 

"  What  may  be  your  business  with  mc,  sig- 


nor?" asked  the  count,  immediately,  and  in  a 
rather  tart  tone.  "If  you  have  aught  to  com- 
municate worth  the  hearing,  I  am  here  to  listen 
to  you.  If  not,  leave  mc  to  my  leisure,  for  the 
hour  is  late." 

"What  I  have  to  say,  count,  may  or  may  not 
be  worth  the  hearing ;  of  that  you  shall  be  the 
judge." 

"  Will  you  proceed?" 

"  I  will,  good  count.  And  first  I  will  say  that 
you  are  lately  an-ived  in  Naples." 

"  Well,  and  what  of  that  ?" 

"Nothing,  count.  You  came  hither  direct 
from  Spain." 

'•  Did  I  ?" 

"I  say  you  came  hither  directly  from  Spain." 

"Perhaps  not." 

"Well,  I  so  understand  the  fact;  and  I  am 
curious  to  obtain  some  iuformation  from  you,  if 
you  will  liumor  me." 

"  Go  on,  then,"  replied  the  count,  with  pati'on- 
izing  air.     ''If  I  can  serve  you,  letmeknow  it." 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  as  you  see,  count,  and  you 
will  pardon  me.  But  a  strange  story  h:.is  just 
reached  me,  toueliing  the  fiite  of  an  old  and  val- 
ued friend  of  mine,  who  dwelt  near  Seville  ;  and 
you  may  have  heard  the  details  of  the  accident, 
which  I  will  relate  to  you  as  it  comes  to  me. 

"  He  had  resided  in  the  vicinity  of  Seville 
some  five  or  six  years,  and  was  beloved  by  all 
who  made  his  acquaintance.  None  knew  whence 
he  came,  wiicn  he  first  arrived  there  ;  but  he  had 
made  a  handsome  fortune  abroad,  previously, 
and  after  a  long  life  of  toil  and  perils,  he  retired 
to  enjoy  his  means.  He  was  liberal,  and  proved 
a  good  neighbor ;  and  time  passed  happily  in  his 
quiet  household. 

'•  I  grieve  to  learn  that  a  terrible  mishap  has 
lately  befallen  him  ;  and,  as  you  come  recently 
from  that  quarter,  as  I  hear,  you  may  have 
learned  particulars  in  regard  to  his  fate.  His 
name  was  Don  Miguel  Ruberto.  You  may  have 
heard  this  name,  signor?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  that  name;  go  on." 

"  As  I  was  saying,  then,  in  the  midst  of  his 
enjoyment  of  what  he  had  toiled  for,  a  murderous 
band  of  mountain  robbers  attacked  his  dwelling, 
but  a  few  months  since,  and  having  robbed  his 
house  of  everything  it  contained  of  value,  they 
fired  the  buildings  at  midnight,  and  escaped 
with  their  booty !  Don  Miguel  defended  his 
property,  of  course,  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  but 
he  was  overpowered  with  numbers,  and  he  fell, 
at  last,  covered  with  wounds.  He  was  left  in  the 
midst  of  falling  ruins  senseless,  with  no  power 
of  escaping  so  dreadful  a  death— for  his  attend- 
ants had  been  vanquished  and  driven  from  the 
premises. 

"  This  gang  of  desperadoes,  so  the  tale  is  told, 
was  led  on  in  this  murderous  expedition  by  one 
Bernard  de  Norde,  a  villain  and  an  ingrate,  who 
thrust  himself  beneath  the  roof  of  Don  Miguel, 
and  was  his  guest  on  the  night  of  this  very  oc- 
currence. You  may  have  heard  of  this  de  Norde  ?" 
asked  the  old  man,  quickly. 

'■Yes — go  on,"  replied  the  count. 
The  speaker  had  become  deeply  excited  by 
this  time;  but  he  kept  his  sitting,  and  continued: 
"  This  desperate  de  Norde  had  contrived  to 
cheat  the  Don  Miguel  Ruberto  out  of  a  large 
sum  of  gold,  but  a  short  time  previously,  but  he 
was  not  content  with  this.  He  was  not  satisfied 
with  burning  his  mansion  to  the  ground — it  was 
not  enough  that  he  robbed  his  house  of  every 
ducat  there — it  was  insufl[icient  that  his  minions 
should  murder  Ruberto,  and  leave  his  lifeless 
body  to  be  consumed  amid  the  ruins  he  had 
caused — but,  beneath  those  walls,  contented, 
happy,  hopeful  in  Ruberto 's  protection  and  love, 
there  dwelt  an  humble  but  beautiful  flower,  just 
budding  into  fair  womanhood — a  graceful,  joy- 
ous, virtuous  maiden — upon  whom  this  despera- 
do set  a  mark !  In  the  midst  of  the  dire  ruin 
and  confusion  of  that  dreadful  night,  the  villain 
stole  that  maiden— and  escaped!  So  runs  the 
tale.  Tell  me,  good  count,  have  you  not  heard 
of  this  ?" 

*'  Yes,"  responded  the  count,  "  I  have  heard 
of  this  ;  but  do  you  know  no  further  details  ?" 

"No,  no.  I  hear  that  you  are  now  from 
Spain,  and  recently  ;  and  I  felt  certain  you  could 
tell  me  if  this  sad  account  were  true." 

"  And  you  are  now  inclined  to  know  the  rest  ?" 
"Yes,  yes,  good  count]  I  prayyou,  if  you  can 
add  to  this,  let  me  know  all  the  details." 
[to  be  continued.] 


Life  b.atb  a?  many  farewells 

As  it  hritli  sunny  hours, 
And  over  some  are  scattered  thoma. 

And  over  others,  fiowers. 

Mrs.  L.  P.  StJillh. 


196 


GLEASON'S    PICnORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


AUDUJtON,  THE  NATURALIST. 

John  Jumcs  AmUibon  was  liorn  of 
FreiR-h  i)iire?its,  at  New  Orleiins,  May  4, 
1780,  iind  iTceiveil  a  part  of  his  ciiiR'U- 
tion  in  Paris,  where  he  reckoned  the  eel- 
chrated  artist  David  aniont;  his  instrue- 
tors.  On  liis  return  to  the  United  States, 
ho  married,  and  his  father  estaldished 
liim  in  life  hy  pivin^j;  liim  a  tine  farm  on 
tlic  banks  of  the  Seluiylkill.  All  the  at- 
tractions of  an  easy  and  tranquil  existence 
united  to  woo  him  to  luxurious  ease,  Imt 
an  irresi3iil>le  vocation  attracted  him  to 
the  splendors  of  nature.  In  1810,heeni- 
Imrkcd  in  a  skiit'with  his  wife  and  youn^ 
child  for  his  only  companions,  and  his 
gnu  and  pencil  for  baggage,  and  com- 
menced an  adventurous  and  wandering 
life — the  life  ofa  hunter  and  naturalist, 
which  he  did  not  abandon  till  18;J4.  An 
excellent  shot,  a  painter  of  superior  tal- 
ents, a  passionate  observer  of  nature,  ho 
united  the  rare  gifts  requisite  for  the  ar- 
duous mission  lie  had  undertaken.  His 
studies,  pursued  not  in  tlie  midst  of  the 
stuffed  specimens  of  a  cabinet  of  natural 
history,  but  in  the  forests  and  savannahs, 
under  the  tunning  sun  of  the  torrid  zone, 
and  in  the  midst  of  northern  icebergs, 
had  sometliing  energetic,  actual  and  vital, 
so  to  speak,  which  gave  them  in  advance 
a  superiority  over  the  feeble  labors  of 
compilers  of  natural  history.  TIius,  when 
at  the  end  of  an  uninterrupted  pilgrimage 
of  twenty-five  years,  he  landed  on  tlie 
shores  of  England  with  his  travelling 
portfolio,  when,  surrounded  hy  the  best 
writers  and  the  best  artists  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, he  began  the  publication  of  his  work 
on  the  birds  of  North  America,  his  re- 
nown rang  from  one  end  of  the  scientific 
world  to  the  other.  Humboldt  and  Cu- 
vier  recognized  him  from  the  outset  as 
their  equal,  and  the  latter  did  not  fear  to 
declare  before  the  Academy  of  Sciences, 
that  "  Audulion's  work  was  the  most 
magnificent  monument  that  art  had  ever 
erected  lo  nature."  In  fact,  this  work  is 
something  more  than  a  simple  treatise — a 
frigid  nomenclature ;  and  while  relating 
his  daily  observations,  the  author  relates 
also  his  own  life,  that  is  to  say,  twenty- 
five  year^  of  constant  emotion,  of  suffer- 
ings endured  with  the  admirable  con- 
stancy that  love  of  science  alone  imparts, 
of  joys  known  only  to  the  enthusiastic 
naturalist.  Audubon  carries  his  reader 
along  with  him  to  all  latitudes,  he  makes 
him  witness  the  scenes  he  relates ;  in  a 
word,  he  makes  him  a  sharer  in  his  studies. 
This  bird  you  see  before  you  has  been  pursued 
by  the  indefatigable  student  for  ten  years,  and 
found  three  thousand  miles  from  the  place  where 
it  was  observed  for  the  first  time.  Another  was 
taken  after  three  days  of  fatigue  and  privations 
beneath  a  burning  sky ;  and  a  third  he  succeeded 
in  bringing  down  only  after  swimming  a  half- 
frozen  river,  with  his  gun  fastened  to  his  head. 
Seventy-five  subscriptions,  at  a  thousand  dollars 
each,  defrayed  the  expenses  of  the  jiublication  of 
this  vast  work,  one  of  the  most  complete  and  ac- 
curate ever  published.  After  having  completed 
it,  Audutjon  returned  to  the  United  States  about 
1839,  when  he  published  a  new  edition.     Soon 


PORTRAIT  OF  AUDUBON,  THE  NATURALIST. 


aftenvards,  he 
Buchanan,  the 


began,  in  connection  with    Dr. 

Quadrupeds  of  North  America, 
completed  not  long  before  his  death,  which  took 
place  January  27, 1851.  Audubon  left  two  sons, 
his  pupils  from  infancy,  and  his  assistants  during 
many  years.  May  they  honorably  sustain  the 
glorious  name  he  has  bequeathed  them.  We 
can  well  conceive  of  the  deep  interest  that  any 
one  would  realize  who  was  devoted  to  the  study 
that  the  subject  of  our  sketch  made  his  being, 
end  and  aim.  It  must  be  a  most  absorbing  j^as- 
sion,  that  which  engages  the  student  of  nature. 
Audubon  evinced  the  truth  of  this,  by  his  never- 
flagging  zeal  and  constant  application  to  his 
beloved  study. 


EXPLOSION  OF  THE  REINDEER. 

Still  again  are  we  called  upon  to  record  a  fear- 
ful calamity  on  the  waters  of  the  Hudson.  A 
graphic  view  of  this  mournful  event  is  given  be- 
low. The  steam  boiler  flue  of  the  Reindeer  ex- 
ploded on  Saturday  noon,  Sept.  4th,  as  she  was 
about  leaving  the  Maiden  or  Bristol  landing,  in- 
stantly killing  several  persons,  blowing  others 
overboard,  some  of  whom  were  drowned,  badly 
scalding  many  others,  and  inflicting  slighter  in- 
juries upon  an  additional  number.  As  soon  as 
tlie  intelligence  of  this  disaster  reached  New 
York,  the  trains  on  the  Hudson  River  Railroad 
were  thronged  by  those  persons  who  had  friends 
on  board  the  Reindeer,  and  sought  the  earliest 


opportunity  to  ascertain  their  fate,  by  pro- 
ceeding to  the  scene  of  the  distrebsing  oc- 
currence.    The  public  mind,  filled  with 
tlie  yet  frenh  details  of  the  loss  of  the 
Claij  and  the  Atlantic,  was  keenly  sensi- 
tive  to  everything  relating  to  events  of 
this   character ;   and    the    most    intense 
interest    and    anxiety    was     manifested 
throughout  the  community  from  the  in- 
stant that  news  of  this  latest  dih;aHter  was 
received.     The  Reiudeer  left  New  York  at 
7  o'clock  in  the  morning,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Capt.  C.  W.  Farnham,  for  Al- 
bany, and  made  all  the  usual   landings, 
except  two.     It  is  v.orthy  of  remark  that 
pbc  had  the  river  to  herself,  as  no  opposi- 
tion boat  was  running.     She  reached  the 
landing  at  Bristol,  on    the  west  shore  of 
the  Hudson,  about  thirteen  minutes  past 
1  o'clock.     At  this  time  many  of  the  pas- 
sengers were  seated  at  the  dining-table  in 
the  after  cabin.    The  steward,  bar-keeper, 
and  chief  engineer  were  also  at  the  table. 
At  the  moment  the  pilot  pulled  the  hell 
of  the  engine  room  to    "go  ahead,"  the 
explosion   took  place.     By  the  force  of 
the  steam,  the  iion  sheathing  was  ripped 
up,  and   beams  and   limbers   were   torn 
from  their  jdaces  and  driven  through  the 
kitchen  into  the  after  cabin,  carrying  all 
before  them,  instantly  scalding  and  kill- 
ing   those  at  the  dinner  talde.     The  ex- 
ploded boiler  is  situated  about  midships 
of  the  vessel,  ^^ith  the  flues  and  furnaces 
pointing  to  the  stem  of  tlie  boat,  and 
about  forty  feet  from  the  partition  of  the 
cabin.     One  of  the  firemen  was  wedged 
among  the  mass  of  ruins,  with  his  body 
mangled  to  such  an  extent  as  to  render 
recognition    impossible    except    by    his 
clothing.     The  steam  passed  through  a 
pantry  into  the  dining-saloon,  where  lie 
work   of  destruction   is   stated   to   have 
been   completed — every  person  there  be- 
ing either  killed  or  wounded.     The  steam 
also   passed   up  the    chimney,   eariying 
away  the  smoke-pipe,  which  fell  across 
the   hurricane   deck,  breaking   it   down. 
No  persons,  however,  were  injured  above 
the  deck,  except  the  engineers  and  cooks. 
There  were  some  three  hundred  passen- 
gers, among  wJiom  the  greatest  confusion 
prevailed.     Many  threw  themselves  into 
the  river — some  of  whom  were  diowned. 
It  is  estimated  that  about  fiftj*  persons 
were  badly  scalded,  in  addition  to  those 
already  dead.     The  report  of  the  explo- 
sion was  heard  for  several  miles  up  and 
down  the  river.     The  steamer  was  sup- 
posed to  be  on  fire  after  the  fearful  explosion, 
which  added  to  the  consternation  of  the  surviving 
paseengers.      The    scenes    that    followed   were 
lieart-rending.     At  this  time  search  was  made 
for  the  wounded  by  their  friends  and  citizens  of 
tlie  village.     Tliose  of  the  passengers   scalded 
were  found  in  the  after  cabin  in  great  agony, 
with  the  skin  dropping  from   their  bodies,  and 
many  of  them  at  llie  point  of  death  from  inhaling 
the  steam.     Those  in  this  condition  died  shortly 
after.     JFatbers,  mothers,   brothers   and   sisters 
were  weeping  at  their  losses,  or  praying  for  the 
safety  of  relatives.     The   ladies  of  the  village 
rendered  every  assistance  in  their  power  to  alle- 
viate their  distress. 


IJXPLOSION  OF  THE  STEAMER  RE.NDEER,  ON  THE  HUDSON  RIVEE. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DUAT\''IXG   ROOM    COMPA"NIOX. 


197 


HER  MAJESTY  S  CRUISE. VIEW  OF  THE  ROYAL  SQUADRON  LEAVING  THE  ISLE  OF  WIGHT. 


Tire  ROYAIi  SQUADRON. 

Queen  Victoria  is  quite  a  sensible  sort  of  a 
body,  and  does  not  care  to  remain  at  all  times 
tied  up  at  home.  She's  of  a  roving  di-^po- 
sition  and  fond  of  travelling.  The  last  arrivals 
from  England  represent  lier  majesty  as  having 
embarked  on  board  the  royal  steam  yacht  for  a 
cruise  along  shoi-e.  The  royal  suite  consisted  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Ely,  the  Hon.  Caroline  Cav- 
endish, the  Earl  of  Hardwickc,  Lord  George 
Lennox,  Colonel  the  Hon.  C  Grey,  Colonel  tlie 
Hon.  C.  Phipps,  Sir  James  Clark  and  Mr.  Gibhs. 
The  Victoria  and  Albert  was  accompanied  by 
the  following  vessels,  which  constituted  the  royal 
steam  squadron  for  the  occasion,  viz.,  the  Odin, 
Retribution,  Samson,  Magiciennc  and  Barra- 
cottta  war  steamers,  and  the  Fairy,  Black  Eagle 
and  Vigil.  Our  picture  represents  the  royal 
squadron  as  it  appeared  leaving  the  Isle  of 
Wight.  The  following  description  of  the  cruise 
we  copy  from  our  foreign  exchanges  : — "  They 
proceeded  westward,  along  the  south  coast  of 
England,  touching  at  various  points.  At  Batta- 
combe  Bay  they  anchored  for   two  hours,  and 


then  proceeded  to  Torbay,  whore  her  majesty 
and  the  royal  family  remained  on  board  the 
yacht  during  the  night.  The  next  morning  her 
majesty  and  the  royal  children,  attended  by  the 
Marchioness  of  Ely,  the  Hon.  Miss  Cavendish, 
and  the  Earl  of  Hardwickc,  embarked  in  the 
barge  and  proceeded  round  the  harbor,  steered 
by  Lord  Adolphus  Fitzclarence.  The  squadron 
tiien  got  under  way,  and  made  for  Plymouth, 
where  it  anchored  about  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  immediately  all  theuTiilitary  and  naval 
authorities  at  the  port  waited  upon  her  majesty 
and  paid  their  respects.  Prince  Albert  had, 
previous  to  the  arrival  of  the  squadron  at  Ply- 
mouth, gone  oft'  in  the  Fairy  yacht  to  Dart- 
mouth, where  his  royal  highness  landed,  and 
proceeded  in  a  carriage  and  four  to  Dartmoor, 
and  minutely  inspected  there  the  progress  of 
cultivation  on  some  of  the  recently  formed  farms, 
and  more  particularly  of  the  Und  recenlly  put 
under  cultivation  by  the  convicts  stationed  on 
the  moor,  and  also  to  inspect  the  prison  and  its 
appointments,  inmates,  etc.  His  royal  highness 
subsequently    came    across    the    country  from 


Dartmouth  to  Plymouth,  and  rejoined  her  mai- 
esty  on  board  the  royal  yacht  in  the  course  of 
the  evening.  Her  majesty  had,  in  the  meantime, 
embarked  in  her  barge  at  Plymouth,  and  accom- 
panied by  four  of  the  royal  children,  landed  at 
Mount  Edgecumbe,  and  was  received  by  the 
Countess  of  Mount  Edgecumbe,  and,  on  arriving 
at  the  house,  by  the  noble  earl,  the  state  of  whose 
health  unfortunately  prevented  him  from  going 
to  the  water  side.  On  landing,  her  majesty  was 
heartily  cheered  by  the  vast  concourse  of  people 
in  boats,  and  on  the  shore.  Her  majesty  re- 
mained on  shore  until  about  six  o'clock,  when 
she  and  the  members  of  the  royal  family  by 
whom  she  was  accompanied  returned  to  the  Vic- 
toria and  Albert.  At  two  o'clock  she  embarked 
in  the  Fairy  tender,  and  proceeded  up  the  Tamar 
as  far  as  Cothcll,  an  old  baronial  residence,  pic- 
turesquely located  on  the  banks  of  the  Tamar, 
belonging  to  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of 
Mount  Edgecumbe.  She  was  accompanied  by 
Prince  Albert  and  the  royal  family.  After  a 
merry  time  they  returned  once  more  to  their 
homes  on  terra  jii'ma." 


CATHEDRAIj  of  ST,  JOHN. 

Our  Canadian  neighbors  seem  imbued  with  a 
go-a-head  Yankee  spirit,  and  are  constantly  im- 
proving and  advancing  in  point  of  architectural 
matters  and  internal  improvement.  We  present 
our  readers  with  an  engraving  of  the  new  Ca- 
thedral of  St.  John,  Newfoundland,  now  erecting. 
The  following  description  of  the  cathedral  has 
been  published  ; — "  The  style  is  first-pointed  of 
the  latest  phase,  in  the  nave  and  transepts  ;  tran- 
sitional towards  middle-pointed  in  the  choir.  To 
this  style  the  architect  was  confined  by  the  rigor- 
ous proscription  of  external  shafts  and  mould- 
ings ;  the  cold  and  driving  mists  of  the  climate 
being  so  severe  as  to  destroy  all  ornamental  or 
creviced  work  exposed  to  the  air.  In  plan,  St. 
John's  is  to  consist  of  a  nave  with  aisles ;  tran- 
septs with  eastern  aisles ;  and  a  tower  at  the  in- 
tersection. The  length  of  the  nave  is  106  feet; 
of  the  crossing,  30  ;  and  of  the  choir,  60  feet — 
the  nave  consistingof  six,  the  choir  of  four  bays. 
The  site  is  a  fine  one — the  ground  rising  rapidly 
northward.  The  church  is  in  thorough  keeping 
with  the  storms  and  snows  of  St  .John. 


I    MlllililllilllilillMlllli 
VIEW  OF  THE  NEW  CATHEDRAL  OF  ST.   JOHN,  NEWFOUNDLAND. 


108 


GLEASON'S    nCTOPJAL   DTIAWING   ROOM    CO]\IPANI()N. 


[Wrlttou  for  Oleuson'H  Pictorial.] 

THE  ARTIST-BIMDK 


UY   MRS.   SOl'lIRONIA    CimiCIEK. 

Jekrt  Joneh  was  not  born  a  painter,  nor  did 
his  family  ever  imagine  that  ho  was.  Indeed  lie 
was  only  hiut^ched  ac  by  them,  wlicn,  his  churlish 
blood  boilinf'-  at  some  indifjnity  showed  him  by 
his  master's  son,  tho  gifted,  but  proud  and  over- 
bearing ]<jdward  Do  Lancy,  the  little,  rough, 
dirty  boy  stiook  his  puny  fist  and  exclaimed, 
"  Sometime  I  will  be  a  greater  painter  tlian  he  is!" 

"  Tlie  path  of  \\'caltli  is  open  to  yon,  my  boy," 
his  father  \\oukl  siiy ;  "be  industrious,  be  pru- 
dent, and  kcc])  your  eyes  open  as  you  go  through 
the  world,  and  you  may,  some  day,  have  as 
broad  lands  and  as  proud  halls  as  tlic  De  Lancy 
will  inherit;  but  to  become  in  any  other  respect 
his  equal,  Jerry,  will  be  a  vain  attempt !" 

Jerry,  sometime,  rcraembcred  his  father's 
advice,  but  it  was  not  until  after  he  had  learned 
that  the  chalk  and  charcoal  scratches  on  the  walls 
of  his  kennel  did  not  much  resemble  his  master's 
drawings,  and  that  the  daubs  he  made  with  the 
brushes  he  abstracted  from  Edward's  studio  did 
not  surpass  in  beauty  the  elegant  paintings  of 
the  young  artist;  but  the  time  never  did  come, 
until  his  wish  was  gratified,  that  to  humble  the 
pride  of  the  De  Lancies,  by  having  produced  in 
his  family  a  more  splendid  work  of  art  than  they 
could  boast,  was  not  his  higliest  ambition.  How- 
ever, at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  Jerry  Jones — we 
beg  his  pardon,  he  was  Sir  Vinton  Stanley  now, 
by  the  good  sense  and  spirit  of  Lady  Emma, 
who  preferred  the  handsome  face,  fine  figure  and 
good  habits  of  Jones,  tliough  it  was  plebeian 
blood  which  circled  in  his  veins,  to  the  noble 
name  of  the  dissolute  man  wdiom  her  friends 
would  have  persuaded  her  to  marry. 

"  If  mj  personal  defects  and  my  ten  years' 
seniority  will  prevent  him  from  loving  me,"  said 
the  lady  to  her  advisers,  "  he  will  at  least  be 
grateful   to   me  for   the   position  in  life  I  have 

given  him,  while  the  Marquis  of  L would  be 

spending  my  wealth  with  wine  and  cards,  and 
making  a  jest  of  me  among  his  low  associates." 

Sir  Vinton  Stanley,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
I  was  beginning  to  say,  gave  up  all  thoughts  of 
ever  rivalling,  in  the  art  of  painting,  his  former 
master,  who  was  now  enjoying  considerable  ce- 
lebrity. No,  the  artist  who  was  to  immortalize 
his  family,  and  astonish  the  world,  was  the  little 
representative  of  himself,  which  Lady  Stanley 
presented  to  him  a  year  after  their  marriage. 

But  George,  though  he  was  a  bright,  active 
little  fellow,  possessing  all  the  good  qualities  of 
both  his  parents,  perhaps  improving  on  the  inde- 
pendence of  character,  and  the  good  sense  of  his 
mother,  and  the  natural  rectitude  of  conduct,  and 
the  personal  attractions  of  his  father,  did  not  in- 
herit from  them  any  qualities  of  which  they 
themselves  were  not  possessed.  He  was  no  more 
born  a  painter  than  was  Sir  Vinton,  and  more 
than  that,  he  was  not  anxious  to  become  one. 
In  vain  were  the  first  masters  employed  to  teach 
him  the  art  which  even  his  father  could  not  fail 
to  perceive  nature  had  not  given  him ;  in  vain 
were  the  finest  paintings  procured  to  attract  his 
attention,  and  to  awaken  a  spirit  of  emulation. 

"If  Imust  learn  a  business,  father !"  the  boy 
would  say,  "  let  it  be  that  of  a  boatman,  for  I 
can  guide  my  little  skiif  over  the  lalve,  now, 
much  better  than  John  can ;  he  dares  not  go 
near  the  rocks,  for  fear  of  the  eddies,  and  at  the 
first  breath  of  wdnd  he  hurries  down  the  sail; 
but  I  go  where  I  will,  with  the  sails  all  spread. 
Or  let  me  be  a  game-keeper,  father  !  Eoger  says 
I  ought  to  have  been  one.  The  pack  mind  my 
call  now  much  better  than  his;  I  know  every 
corner  of  the  park,  and  I  can  hit  a  mark,  now, 
twice  to  his  once,  These  pictures  are  pretty 
enough,  but  I  had  rather  help  be  a  picture,  than 
make  one." 

But  the  father  would  not  be  persuaded  by  llic 
child's  pleadings,  nor  could  the  superior  judg- 
ment of  his  wife,  who  proposed  a  dilFercnt  train- 
ing for  her  son,  though  in  everything  else  he  was 
willing  to  acknowledge  it,  affect  his  determina- 
tion. George  might,  and  he  should  become  a 
distinguished  painter.  That  one  idea  entirely 
engrossed  his  father's  mind;  and  when  his  son 
had  completed  his  nineteenth  year,  Sir  Vinton, 
seeing  that  time  did  not  increase  his  interest  in 
the  art  he  so  wished  him  to  cultivate,  but  rather 
made  it  more  distasteful  to  him,  determined  to 
pursue  a  course  of  conduct  towards  him  which 
would  compel  him  to  interest liimself  in  jiaintlng. 
The  Stanley  estate  wns  unentailed,  and  Lady 
Emma,  having  had  perfect  confidence  in  the  man 


of  her  choice,  and  irritated  by  the  opjjosition  of 
her  friends  to  her  marriage,  had  i)ut  all  her 
wealth,  witli  the  exception  of  a  trifling  sum,  into 
the  hands  of  her  husband.  Bitterly  did  she  now 
repent  the  act,  knowing,  as  she  did,  that  the 
hopes  of  her  husband  in  relation  to  ids  son  never 
would  be  realized  ;  for  when  Sir  Vinton  sent  the 
youth  to  the  continent,  bidding  him  not  return 
to  liis  homo  until  he  could  bring  with  him  a 
painting  which  could  bear  the  criticisms  of  the 
first  masters  of  the  art,  ho  threatened  him  witli 
disiniicritancc  shoidd  he  disappoint  him  in  his 
cherished  expectations. 

The  first  year  of  his  banishment,  so  George 
Stanley  considered  it,  was  spent  under  the  care 
of  a  celebrated  Italian  painter,  who  was  so  de- 
voted to  his  profession  that  he  suft'cred  himself 
and  his  pupil  no  relaxation  from  their  studies, 
and  the  result  was,  the  health  of  the  one  was 
greatly  aifected,  and  the  other  was  brought  to 
the  grave.  In  consequenccof  his  statcof  health, 
George  was  allowed  six  months'  relaxation  from 
his  pursuits,  during  which  he  should  travel;  but 
his  father  enjoined  it  on  him,  wherever  he  should 
go,  to  seek  the  acquaintanceship  of  distinguished 
artists,  and  to  visit  every  gallery  of  paintings. 

While  visiting  Naples,  young  Stanley  fell  in 
with  an  old  gentleman,  a  friend  of  his  mother's 
family,  himself  no  painter,  hut  a  lover  of  the  fine 
arts,  who  had  well  nigh  expended  a  large  for- 
tune in  collecting  old  paintings,  which  it  was  his 
delight  to  have  sought  after  by  young  artists. 

To  visit  this  collection  of  paintings,  George 
Stanlc}^  often  went,  but  far  less  to  admire  the 
fine  specimens  of  art,  than  the  prospects  of  na- 
ture and  the  view  of  busy  life  which  the  towering 
windows  of  the  chateau,  overlooking  the  bay  of 
Naples,  afforded.  One  fine  sunset  evening,  as 
he  stood  at  his  favorite  point  of  observation,  a 
remote  part  of  a  gallery,  very  little  frequented 
by  the  artists,  as  it  contained  but  few  paintings, 
and  they  were  so  old  as  to  be  almost  obliterated, 
his  attention  was  drawn  from  the  gay,  active 
scene  below  the  window,  and  the  moi'e  beautiful, 
far  distant  view  on  wdiich  his  eye  was  at  the 
moment  resting,  to  a  figure  but  a  few  yards  from 
him,  standing,  apparently  unconscious  of  his 
near  neighborhood,  before  one  of  the  most  nearly 
effaced  paintings.  The  figure  was  that  of  a 
young  peasant  girl,  so  her  dress  indicated,  but 
one  unused  to  toil ;  for  the  hue  of  her  cheek  was 
fair  as  if  the  sunlight  had  never  fallen  upon  it ; 
her  fingers  were  long  and  taper-like,  and  her 
arm  and  the  ankle,  which  the  short  dress  par- 
tially exposed  to  view,  were  very  delicately 
formed.  The  coarse  but  tastefully  fashioned  and 
garlanded  straw  hat  was  thrown  back  from  her 
brow,  revealing  a  classically  shaped  head,  whose 
dark,  luxuriant  tresses  fell  over  her  shoulders  in 
long  curls  ;  the  simple  white  tunic  was  gathered 
about  the  waist  with  a  tasselled  silk  cord,  show- 
ing a  beautifully  developed  form,  which  an  atti- 
tude such  as  an  actor  might  study,  made  simple 
and  majestic,  modest  and  proud.  The  face,  young 
Stanley  could  not  obtain  a  view  of.  Had  he 
been  able  to  do  so,  he  would  not  have  ventured 
the  remark  which  he  made  to  the  young  rustic 
who  had  found  her  way  into  the  gallery. 

"  The  paintings  here  are  miserable  things,"  he 
said,  "but  you  will  find,  further  down  the  hall, 
very  beautiful  pictures — flowers  and  birds,  fair 
ladies  and — " 

The  young  girl  turned  her  head,  and  George 
Stanley  found  himself  suddenly  silent.  He  had 
little  expected  to  look  on  such  a  countenance  as 
was  presented  to  his  view.  The  face  whose  fea- 
tures were  as  beautiful  as  those  of  the  Madonna, 
was  almost  hueless ;  the  lips  were  parted,  and  in 
the  fall  dark  eyes  wliich,  from  the  intensity  of 
their  gaze,  seemed  almost  wild,  large  tears  were 
slowly  gathering.  She  gazed  on  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  the  current  of  her  thoughts  seemed 
unbroken,  and  then  she  turned  again  to  the  paint- 
ing. At  that  instant  a  beam  from  the  setting 
sun  streamed  into  the  gallery,  through  the  win- 
dow which  Stanley  had  uncui'tained,  and  the 
painting  on  which  the  young  girl  was  gazing, 
was  in  too  ftiU  light.  The  sudden  change  in  its 
appearance  disturbed  those  absorbing  emotions, 
and  when  he  attempted  to  shade  the  picture  as  it 
had  before  been,  by  adjusting  the  curtain,  she 
turned  her  now  calm,  but  deeply  serious  fiice  to 
his,  and  gracefully  acknowledging  his  attention, 
picked  up  the  little  straw  hat  which  had  fallen  to 
the  floor,  and  walked  away  with  a  light  tread. 

The  next  day,  at  the  same  hour,  Stanley  was 
standing  again  at  the  window  where  lie  had  seen 
the  young  peasant  girl,  but  his  eye  was  far  less 
interested  in  the  bcautifnl  prospect  of  wliich  the 
place  commanded  the  view,  than  it  had  been  be- 


fore, and  many  a  furtive  glance  was  turned  down 
the  gallery.  She  came,  at  length,  Jmt  at  a  later 
hour  than  on  the  evening  previous.  The  young 
man  observed  that  the  artists  looked  on  Iier  with 
a  curious  eye  as  she  passed  them,  that  none  of 
the  visitors  in  the  place  a]ii)eared  to  recognize 
her,  and  that  she  moved  along  quickly,  as  if 
anxious  to  escape  observation.  As  she  drew 
neai-  the  spot  where  he  was  standing,  the  young 
man  was  angry  with  himself  for  being  there;  for 
the  -jirl  paused  suddenly  as  her  eye  fell  on  him, 
and  a  look  of  disappointment  passed  over  her 
features.  She  gazed  for  a  moment  on  the  jaunt- 
ing which  had  so  interested  her  the  day  previous, 
and  tiien  turned  away. 

On  the  following  morning  Stanley  was  again 
in  Costelli's  picture-gallery.  He  conjectured 
aright  that  the  young  girl,  who  seemed  in  a  fair 
way  to  fascinate  him,  would  come  at  another 
hour  than  on  the  day  previous  ;  but  his  presence 
did  not  now  disturb  her,  for  he  had  brought  his 
easel  into  the  hall,  and  when  she  made  her  ap- 
pearance, was  as  much  absorbed  with  his  work 
as  the  most  devoted  artist.  Every  morning  for 
a  fortnight  sat  Stanley  before  his  almost  perfectly 
uncolored  canvass,  with  his  bnish  in  his  fingers, 
contemplating  the  face  and  figure  of  that  young 
girl,  who,  quite  unconscious  of  the  interest  she 
was  awakening  in  the  stranger,  came  as  often  to 
gaze  on  that  old,  faded  painting.  Usually  she 
seemed  not  to  observe  his  presence,  but  some- 
times when  a  faint  color  was  in  her  pale  cheek, 
and  a  smile  was  on  the  face  oftcnest  sad  and  dis- 
pirited, she  looked  over  his  shoulder  as  she 
passed  him,  and  made  some  remark  on  the  pro- 
gress of  his  work. 

One  morning,  when  her  countenance  w^ore  a 
happier  expression  than  Stanley  had  ever  seen 
there  before,  as  she  paused  to  look  on  his  paint- 
ing, she  asked  :  "  Arc  you  a  lover  of  art  V 

The  young  man  tried  to  throw  all  the  admira- 
tion he  felt  for  the  beautiful  being  into  his  coun- 
tenance and  voice  as  he  answered :  "  I  am  a  wor- 
shipper of  nature." 

She  did  not,  or  would  not,  however,  under- 
stand the  idea  which  he  intended  to  convey,  but 
said,  very  quietly  and  seriously,  as  she  gazed 
with  those  dark,  searching  eyes  in  his  face : 
"  Tou  are  capable  of  doing  something  very  beau- 
tiful, and  very  useful ;  but  a  painter,  you  never 
will  be !" 

That  was  the  last  morning  they  met  in  the 
picture  gallery,  but  Stanley,  after  a  few  days, 
found  the  young  peasant  girl  at  her  home. 

That  home  was  even  more  humble  than  the 
young  man  had  expected,  but  it  was  the  abode 
of  peace  and  happiness.  The  family  consisted 
but  of  the  charming  Rosini,  whose  countenance 
at  home  never  wore  that  look  of  deep  sadness 
and. anxiety  Stanley  had  been  most  accustomed 
to  see  there,  and  her  aged  and  paralytic  father. 
The  young  girl  was  a  straw-pl alter,  and  as  she 
busily  plied  her  fingers,  the  old  man,  whose  eye- 
sight had  been  spared  him  when  his  other  bodily 
pow^ers  failed,  read  from  some  interesting  and 
instructive  book,  or  Rosini  sang,  in  a  rich,  musi- 
cal voice,  some  sweet,  joyous  air. 

Thus  employed,  Stanley  always  found  them; 
and  in  their  peaceful  home,  the  young  man  for- 
got his  painting — he  forgot  that  he  was  banished 
from  his  father's  house — he  forgot  everything  but 
Rosini. 

The  young  Italian  believed  his  story  of  love, 
and  her  fiither,  though  he  would  have  had  the 
young  man  give  some  more  definite  account  of 
himself  than  he  was  inclined  to,  had  such  great 
confidence  in  the  good  sense  and  penetration  of 
his  daughter,  that  he  did  not  oppose  their  plans. 

"  Till  now,  her  every  thought  and  act  has  been 
in  reference  to  my  comfort  and  haiipiuess,"  said 
the  old  man.  "I  will  not  make  wretched  the 
existence  which  she  would  have  sacrificed  for 
me!"  And  the  young  girl  became  the  wife  of 
Stanley. 


More  than  a  year  and  a  half  liad  passed  since 
George  Stanley  had  been  sent  from  his  home, 
and  t!ie  six  months  allowed  him  for  relaxation 
from  his  pursuits  had  sometime  since  elapsed ; 
but  his  father  could  not  learn  that  he  had  re- 
turned to  liis  employment,  or  was  intending  to 
do  so.  Indeed,  little  could  be  learned  from  his 
letters  in  regard  to  his  plans.  Lady  Stanley, 
who  liad  been  almost  distracted  by  the  treatment 
of  her  son  by  his  father,  fell  into  a  lingering  sick- 
ness, which  she  declared  nothing  would  cure  but 
his  return;  and  Sir  Vinton,  who  began  to  sus- 
pect that  he  had  not  acted  quite  judiciously  to- 
wards him,  determined  to  visit  him  at  Naples  to 
ascertain  what  progress  he  had  made  in  his  pur- 


suit; and  in  case  he  should  find  him  as  averse  as 
ever  to  painting,  to  decide  whether  it  would  be 
best  to  aluw  him  to  return  home,  or  compel  him 
to  remain  still  longer  abroad. 

George  had  been  apprised  of  his  fiiilicr's  in- 
tended visit;  and  the  evening  before  liis  arrival, 
the  young  man  made  Rosini — who  had  been  but 
for  two  weeks  a  bride — ac(juaintcd  Aviih  the  cir- 
cumstances of  himself  and  his  family. 

"Ah,  now,  do  not  make  excuses,  nor  look  »o 
like  a  criminal !"  said  the  fair  bride.  "  Yon  have 
withheld  something  from  me;  but  wc  are  quits. 
I  have  yet  to  make  you  acquainted  with  a  secret 
which  biis  occufiied  my  thoughts,  my  every 
thought,  for  a  long  time;  a  longer  time  than  I 
have  known  you !" 

"  Jiosini ';" 

"  Yes  !"  and  she  laughed  joyously  ;  but  chang- 
ing her  merry  mood  at  his  serious  looks,  she 
added :  "  To-morrow,  you  shall  know  all, 
George,  and  you  shall  love  me  none  the  less 
when  my  secret  is  revealed  ;  for — for — "  and  a 
new  thought  flashed  through  her  mind,  "0, 
George,  to-morrow  your  father  shall  be  as  proud 
of  you  as  he  had  hoped  to  be.  Wc  will  go  to- 
morrow to  the  picture  gallery  of  the  Count  Cos- 
telli ;  everybody  will  be  there,  and  your  father,  of 
course,  will  go  to  see  the  count's  new  painting, 
and — and — but  I  will  not  tcU  you  now ;  I  must 
see  the  good  Costelli  to-night." 

Everybody  did  go  next  day  to  the  chateau  of 
the  count;  not  only  all  the  lovers  of  art  in  Na- 
ples, and  all  the  strangers  visiting  there,  but 
many  distinguished  amateurs  from  other  cities, 
who  came  at  the  express  invitation  of  Costelli, 
Sir  Vinton  Stanley  was  among  the  strangers, 
and  by  chance  Lord  Edward  de  Lancy  stood  be- 
side him  as  he  was  regarding  the  painting. 

"What  is  your  lordship's  opinion  of  if?" 
asked  Sir  Vinton. 

"I  have  never  seen  its  superior!"  exclaimed 
De  Lancy,  in  a  tone  of  undisguised   admiration. 

"  Say,  rather,  that  you  have  never  seen  its 
equal!"  said  a  distinguished  artist;  and  the  opin- 
ion of  the  two  painters  was  the  opinion  of  the 
company. 

As  one  after  another  of  those  who  had  spent 
years  in  studying  the  works  of  the  old  masters, 
gave  their  judgment  of  the  painting,  pointing 
out  its  beauties,  but  finding  in  it  no  defects,  Ro- 
sini hung,  almost  fainting,  on  the  ai-m  of  her 
husband ;  and  when  the  name  of  the  artist  was 
demanded  of  Costelli  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
could  no  longer  withhold  it,  her  countenance  be- 
came so  ashy  pale,  that  the  young  man,  though 
he  heard  the  words  uttered  by  the  count,  was  so 
much  alarmed  at  her  appearance  that  he  could 
not  contradict  his  words. 

'•  The  painter  is  before  you,"  said  Costelli ; 
"  the  hand  which  produced  this  wonderful  work 
belongs  to  the  young  Englishman,  George  Stan- 
ley!" 

Rosini  recovered  her  composure  by  a  violent 
effort.  "  He  has  spoken  truly,"  she  whispered 
to  her  husband,  ''do  not  contradict  his  words, 
for  the  picture  is  my  own !  I  painted  it  to  buy 
my  father  bread;  see,  it  has  purchased  for  you 
your  father's  love  and  respect  \" 

Sir  Vinton  had  seen  his  son,  and  bursting 
through  the  crowd,  which,  following  the  example 
of  de  Lancy,  were  offering  him  their  congratula- 
tions, he  caught  him  in  his  arms,  bestowing  on, 
him  epithets  which,  fortunately  for  him,  were 
not  heard  in  the  tumult  of  voices.  George  tried 
to  explain,  but  the  old  Costelli  whispered  to  him  : 

"  Be  silent,  young  man !  You  owe  it  to  yoixr 
sweet  wife,  if  not  to  yourself,  to  keep  your  father 
in  his  present  good  humor  towards  you!"  and 
then  the  count  introduced  to  Sir  Vinton  liis 
son's  -wife — his  own  god-daughter — the  child  of 
his  old  friend,  the  artist  Berendo. 

The  gentleman  was  sui-prised,  but  at  that  mo- 
ment he  could  not  suppose  it  possible  that 
George  would  be  guilty  of  any  wrong  or  im- 
proper act ;  and  he  impressed  a  kiss  on  the  brov/ 
of  the  young  lady,  exclaiming:  "A  blessing  on 
your  sweet  face !  You  shall  be  most  welcome  to 
my  home ;  and  Lady  Emma  will  be  proud  of  iicr 
daughter." 

And  so  Lady  Emma  was ;  for  she  understood, 
what  even  Sir  Vinton  in  time  conjectured — 
though  he  kept  that  conjecture  to  himself — how 
it  happened  that  the  hand  of  her  son  produced 
that  splendid  painting. 

George  Stanley  has  never  since  his  marriogo 
put  brush  to  canvass ;  his  father  often  expresses 
a  hope  that  he  never  will,  for  he  may  not  equal 
his  former  production.  But  there  is  a  little 
Vinton  growing  up  in  the  family  who,  his  grand- 
father and  his  mother  believe,  and  with  pretty 
good  reason,  was  born  a  painter. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWIXG   R00:M    COMPANION. 


199 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THK  LOKELY  HEAKT. 

BY   PaiLA   EARLE. 

"Why  Is  it  that  I  am  lonely, 

Why  so  sad  docs  life  appear, 
When  this  world  is  full  of  music, 

Every  weary  heart  to  cheer  ? 
M'hen  earth 's  filled  with  joy  and  gladness, 
Why  is  it  I  bow  in  sadness  ? 
Joys  departed, 
Weary  hearted, 

Sing  I  now  my  mournful  lay  ; 
While  a  phiiutive  voice  soft  whispers, 

All  we  love  must  pass  away. 

Wliy  is  it  that  no  kiudrcd  spirit 

Can  be  found  to  meet  my  own  ? 
Why  is  it  that  such  fearful  loEgiugs 

Linger  in^iy  heart  alone  ? 
Why  is  it  in  spirit  union, 
None  meets  mine  in  sweet  comjiiunion. 
E'er  to  whisper. 
Dearest  sister. 

Why  in  sadness  do  you  bend? 
Why  is  it  that  giief  and  sorrow, 

With  my  heart-dreams  e'er  must  blend? 

Joyous,  happy,  gladsome  spirits 

Ne'er  could  miogle  with  mine  own ; 
They  could  ne'er  within  my  boso:n 

Wake  one  sweet  responsive  tone  ; 
Earth,  with  all  it*  joy  and  dreaming. 
Bathed  in  light  with  beauty  beaming, 
Sweets  and  flowers, 
Golden  hours. 

Cannot  make  me  glad  again ; 
Shadows  ever  sadly  whisper, 

Without  love  to  live  is  vain. 

4    ^m^    fc 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

Ko.  HI. 
THE  ROYAL  FAMILY  OF  TUEKEY. 

BY  DE.  JEROME  T.  C.  SSHTH, 

iDTHOE    OF    A     "PILGEIMAGE    TO    EGVPT." 

Sultan,  pronounced  Soolian,  is  the  ordinary 
title  of  the  reigning  sovereign ;  but  in  state  pa- 
pers lie  is  called  Padtsha,  or  the  Father  of  all 
Ivingly  Rulers  ;  Irnaum  id  Maslemiiin,  Pontilf  of 
Mussulmcn;  Akin  PenaJi,  Refuge  of  the  World  ; 
Zil-uUak,  Shadow  of  God,  and  Hunkalr,  The 
Slayer  of  Men. 

Mahommed  II.,  father  of  the  present  Sultan, 
was  a  man  of  extraordinary  energy,  and  truly 
imperial  in  his  bearing.  His  face  was  exceed- 
ingly expressive,  and  his  powers  of  mind  were 
far  in  advance  of  the  nation  over  which  he  ruled. 
He  guarded  with  vigilance  his  own  prerogatives, 
and  to  secure  his  throne  against  the  contingency 
of  an  attack  from  the  Janizaries,  butchered  them 
by  wholesale.  In  ridding  the  empire  of  an  un- 
governable, ferocious  body  of  soldiers,  who  had 
discovered  that  they  could  make  or  unmake 
Sultans  at  their  pleasure,  he  laid  the  foundation 
of  personal  security  for  the  sovereign,  which 
none  of  his  predecessors  had  enjoyed,  although 
armed  with  the  power  of  life  and  death. 

Mahommed  was  either  a  slack  worshipper  at 
the  shrine  of  Mahommed,  of  whom  he  was  a  lin- 
eal descendant,  or  one  of  the  vices,  regarded  in 
Turkey  as  confined  to  Christian  sects,  got  an 
ascendancy,  whivh  he  bad  not  the  moral  courage 
to  withstand — that  was  intemperance.  It  is  a 
matter  of  history  that  he  actually  died  a  victim  to 
habitual  intemperance — the  last  moments  of  life 
being  a  deatli  stmggle  with  dclu'ium  tremens. 

His  successor,  the  present  Sultan,  Abdul  Me- 
gid,  was  taken  from  the  harem  as  soon  as  Ma- 
hommed breathed  bis  last,  placed  on  horseback, 
had  the  great  sword  of  state  buckled  on,  and 
rode  through  the  narrow  streets  of  Constantino- 
ple for  the  multitude  to  sec,  while  tlie  roar  of 
artillery  announced  the  commencement  of  a  new 
reiga.  When  this  event  took  place,  the  youth- 
ful Sultan  was  but  seventeen  years  of  age. 
What  could  he  have  known  of  goveniment,  or 
of  the  dispositions  or  tendencies  of  the  empire  1 

The  procession  led  off  towards  the  old  seraglio 
— that  mysteriously  arranged  cluster  of  palaces, 
in  wliicli  the  orgies  and  murders  througli  a  long 
line  of  half  savage  despots  bavis  been  conducted 
in  a  way  which  no  tongue  has  dared  to  reveal. 
Still  lying  on  the  death  divan,  the  body  of  Ma- 
hommed had  not  been  dressed  in  a  shroud,  be- 
fore Megid  arrived  in  one  of  the  state  apart- 
ment^, where  were  to  be  commenced  the  first 
exhibitions  of  his  uncontrolled  majesty. 

One  of  the  American  missionaries,  who  has 
resided  twenty-nine  years  in  the  capital  of  Tur- 
key, was  an  eye  witness  of  the  magnificent 
pageantry  of  this  public  display,  wlien  the  timid 
boy  was   niauguratcd  the  ruler  of  forty  millions 


of  subjects.  He  informed  me  that  at  evening, 
bis  good  old  aunt  sent  him  a  present  of  seven 
beautiful  female  slaves  to  commence  a  royal 
establishment. 

Such  is  the  force  of  custom,  and  such,  too,  a 
measure  that  gives  dignity  and  honor  to  the 
throne  of  the  grand  Sultan  of  Turkey.  Although 
Androssi  and  other  commentators  on  the  institu- 
tions of  Turkey,  assert  that  a  few  days  after  the 
death  of  a  SuUan  the  successor  is  inaugurated 
by  having  the  sword  of  Osman  girded  upon  him 
by  the  superior  of  the  wliirling  dervishes,  they 
have  made  a  mistake.  Certain  it  is,  that  Sultan 
Megid  was  taken  from  the  seraglio  immediately 
after  the  death  of  his  extraordinary  father,  the 
most  determined  and  kingly  of  the  race,  followed 
by  the  ulcma^s  and  all  the  great  dignitaries  of 
state,  to  the  Mosque  of  Eyoub,  where  the  august, 
semi-barbaric  ceremony  of  putting  him  in  pos- 
session of  unlimited  authority  was  completed. 
Eyoub  was  a  dear  and  intimate  friend  of  Ma- 
hommed, which  explains  the  preference  given  to 
the  venerated  mosque  that  bears  his  name.  In- 
stead of  Osman's  sword,  a  new  one  is  provided 
on  each  inauguration,  and  the  whole  series,  safely 
deposited  in  the  arsenal  already  referred  to, 
which  we  saw,  are  choicely  kept  as  important 
historical  memorials. 

Megid  is  a  man  of  medium  height,  slender, 
with  a  lack-lustre  eye,  a  fatigued  expression  of 
face,  and  a  very  black  beard.  I  was  assured 
that  he  was  a  man  of  good  intentions,  but  neither 
brilliant,  original  nor  remarkable  in  any  respect, 
aside  from  the  destiny  of  his  position.  He  has 
une  brother,  claimed  by  the  dissatisfied  party — 
those  opposed  to  progression,  which  they  con- 
ceive to  consist  in  urging  the  customs  and  fash- 
ions of  the  Christian  nations  of  Europe — to  be 
the  representative  and  hope  of  tlie  orthodox 
school  of  Mussulmen. 

Both  custom  and  policy  require  that  a  prince 
standing  so  near  the  throne,  should  be  kept  out 
of  sight  of  the  people.  Any  popular  commotion 
might  unexpectedly  stand  in  the  way  of  the 
Sultan,  as  was  the  case  when  Mabmoud  was 
substituted  for  his  imperial  brother  without  a 
moment's  warning,  when  the  Janizaries  strangled 
their  royal  victim.  Megid  has  three  sons,  with- 
out ever  having  been  married.  No  such  tie  as 
matrimony  is  required  of  the  commander  of  the 
faithful.  Should  he  happen  to  die  before  his 
brother,  the  never  seen  heir  apparent  would  in- 
stantly be  brought  forward,  instead  of  either  of 
the  Sultan's  children — the  law  of  usage  making 
it  imperative  tliat  the  oldest  male  branch  of  the 
imperial  family  shall  inherit  the  sword  and  its 
appurtenances.  Former  Sultans  never  flinched 
from  putting  thch"  brothers  to  death  immediately, 
when  eitlier  atfection,  policy  or  ambition  prompt- 
ed them  to  have  one  of  their  own  children  stand 
next  to  the  throne. 

A  royal  nephew  is  an  unheard-of  existence  in 
Turkey.  Neither  a  brother  nor  sister  of  the  Sul- 
tan is  permitted,  under  any  pretext  whatever,  to 
allow  a  male  child  to  live.  The  exactions  of  the 
Divan  extend  to  remote  relations — even  the  son 
of  a  niece  is  instantly  strangled  after  birth.  An 
unsleeping  vigilance  of  the  great  ofHcers  of  state, 
through  the  eunuchs,  the  ICislar  Aga  and  his 
minions,  anticipates  the  possibility  of  saving  a 
royal-blooded  boy  alive,  however  distant  in  rela- 
tionship to  the  Padisha. 

It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  the  sister  of  the 
present  Sultan,  Mihr  ou  Mah  Sultana,  daughter 
of  Mahmoud  II.,  was  given  by  her  father  in  mar- 
riage to  Said  Pacha,  and  that  licr  life  was  a 
murderous  sacrifice  to  the  barbarous  law  of  the 
royal  seraglio.  She  was  fully  assured  of  the  im- 
possibility of  saving  her  cluld  about  lo  be  born, 
should  it  be  a  male,  and  with  a  view  to  gratify- 
ing her  father,  she  resolved  to  forestal  a  dreaded 
murder,  by  procuring  an  abortion.  One  of  those 
who  practise  the  art  of  fcctal  murder  as  a  distinct 
profession,  was  employed,  and  both  mother  and 
child  perished.  The  princess  bieathed  her  last 
in  hori  ible  convulsions.  Mahmond  actually  wept 
at  the  dreadful  intelligence,  and  swore  no  more 
infantile  lives  should  be  sacrificed  to  meet  the 
requisitions  of  a  hoiTible  policy.  But  the  Sultan 
died  himself  a  few  months  after,  before  a  test 
case  came  up.  I  have  seen  the  sarcophagus  in 
the  magnificent  mausoleum  in  a  group  of  her 
brothers  and  sisters,  a  few  feet  from  the  body  of 
her  father. 

In  1842,  Ateya,  meaning  the  pure,  also  a  sis- 
ter of  Sultan  Megid,  and  wife  of  Halil  Pasha, 
was  in  a  family  way.  Astrologers — the  tools  of 
the  court,  and  especially  in  the  service  of  the 
kadines,  tlie  favorite  wives  of  the  Snltan,  through 
the  agency  of  the  eunuchs,  predicted  that  the 


child  would  he  a  son.  They  had  already  had 
one  tliat  was  strangled  immediately  after  being 
uslicred  into  the  world.  Halil,  being  vastly  rich 
and  powerful,  too,  from  being  a  brother-in-law 
of  the  Sultan,  exerted  every  influence  money 
would  accomplish  in  the  way  of  bribes,  to  save 
the  innocent  unborn,  siiould  it  be  a  male.  Even 
the  mother  of  Megid,  the  Sultana  Vilida,  whose 
position  is  exalted  in  all  respects,  brought  her 
maternal  influence  to  bear  on  the  Sultan,  iu  be- 
half of  his  sister.  So  adroitly  were  the  determi- 
nations of  the  Divan  conducted,  that  the  deluded 
mother — for  she  bore  a  beautiful  boy — gloried  in 
liaving  triumphed  over  the  bloody  usages  of  her 
royal  family,  and  she  nursed  and  fondled  the 
sweet  infant  with  a  rapture  a  mother  only  com- 
prehends. 

In  Ihc  meanwhile,  the  mothers  of  the  Sultan's 
three  sons  gave  Megid  no  peace,  declaring  that 
Ayeta's  prince  might  live,  perhaps,  to  supercede 
their  own.  The  fatal  word  was  given,  and  when 
Ateya,  on  awaking  the  following  morning,  told 
the  attendants  to  bring  the  darling  of  her  heart 
from  the  rich  cradle,  they  handed  a  lifeless  body ! 
Shocked  beyond  expression,  the  wretched  moth- 
er was  thrown  into  fearful  con\'nlsions.  On 
their  partial  subsidence,  a  delirium  supervened, 
and  seventy-five  days  after  she  died  a  victim  of 
tJie  most  wicked  and  demoralizing  policy  that 
ever  disgraced  humanity.  I  have  also  seen  her 
sarcophagus,  in  proximity  with  others  of  the 
family. 

Rarely  more  than  three  of  the  Sultan's  own 
immediate  male  offspring  are  permitted  to  live, 
but  all  other  relationships  to  the  throne  are  abso- 
lutely cut  off  in  the  first  dawn  of  existence. 
When  a  Sultan  has  no  male  children,  then  state 
policy  requires  that  a  brother's  child  should  be 
held  in  the  light  of  heir  apparent.  Ninety-two 
of  the  Omiad  d^masty  were  put  to  death,  simply 
because  they  had  royal  blood  in  their  veins,  on 
one  occasion,  by  order  of  the  Abasslde  Kalipli, 
Abdullah  I. 

In  the  harem  of  the  Sultan,  in  which  the  num- 
ber of  children  annually  bom  is  estimated  to  be 
very  large,  not  one  of  them  is  permitted  to  live, 
if  the  mother  is  not  a  kadine — one  of  a  select 
number,  rarely  exceeding  seven,  exclusively 
recognized  as  capable  of  bearing  royal  children. 
They  are  chosen  from  the  odalisques — beautiful 
females  of  the  imperial  harem — generally  Cir- 
cassians and  Georgians,  purchased  when  chil- 
dren. No  marriage  ever  takes  place,  and  the 
Snltan  may  dismiss  any  or  all  of  them  at  his 
pleasure,  and  install  a  new  set.  Those  outliving 
him  can  never  enter  the  Iiarera  of  another,  or  be 
married.  When  a  Sultan  dies,  the  kadines  are 
removed  to  the  Eski  Serai,  to  end  their  days  in 
perfect  solitude. 

Some  good  anecdotes  are  related  of  Megid, 
that  show  him  to  be  honest,  inclined  to  benevo- 
lence, to  justice,  and  sometimes  playfulness, 
although  it  is  extremely  diffleult  for  a  being 
placed  at  the  top  of  the  dizzy  pinnacle  he  occu- 
pies, to  I'elax  from  the  solemn  dignity  with 
which  his  throne  is  invested.  Just  before  my 
amval  at  Constantinople,  the  Sultan  one  day 
happened  to  pass  by  a  small  Italian  theatre  that 
has  been  erected  for  the  amusement  of  foreigners. 
He  was  accompanied  by  liis  three  sons.  Casting 
his  eyes  upward  and  seeing  the  edifice,  he  in- 
quired v/h  at  it  was  for?  When  informed  that 
plays  were  exhibited  there,  he  instantly  declared 
that  he  would  go  in  and  inspect  it.  It  was  with 
some  difficulty  that  the  janitor  could  be  found,  it 
being  about  midday.  However,  his  great  maj- 
esty made  an  entrance,  and  commanded  a  play 
to  be  commenced  !  Everybody  was  put  upon  a 
whirl  like  a  tee-totnra,  in  pursuit  of  the  company, 
who  were  gathered  with  extreme  difficulty,  froin 
different  parts  of  the  city. 

Brought  together  in  such  haste,  by  order  of 
the  Sultan,  the  poor  fellows  arrived,  out  of 
breath  and  exhausted,  and  in  a  state  of  appre- 
hension, not  knowing  but  a  bowstring  was  ready 
for  their  necks.  It  was  impossible  to  commence 
acting  under  such  circumstances,  even  had  the 
piece  been  commanded.  Megid  looked  on  with 
a  kind  of  astonishment  that  people  could  be  sim- 
pletons enough  to  derive  pleasure  from  a  theatri- 
cal performance!  His  reasoning  was  precisely 
upon  the  principle  of  the  savage,  v/ho  wondered 
the  English  could  sleep  on  a  bed  of  feathers,  as 
he  put  but  a  single  one  under  his  body,  on  a 
clean  stone,  and  he  was  no  more  comfortable 
than  if  it  had  not  been  there  at  all. 

Word  circulated  extensively,  that  some  kind 
of  commotion  had  occurred  at  the  theatre,  and  a 
crowd  collected,  staring  and  waiting  to  ascertain 
what  was  transpirini,^  ^\ithin.     Thinking  it  might 


he  a  fine  sight  to  have  the  house  full,  no  sooner 
thought  than  said,  and  the  Snltan  gave  directions 
for  filling  the  seats  instanter  from  the  rabble 
without. 

A  new  phase  now  came  over  the  multitude, 
and  away  tliey  fled  as  fast  as  their  legs  would 
carry  them,  fearing,  in  turn,  that  their  necks 
might  be  wanted  in  the  public  service.  However, 
enough  were  forced  in  for  his  majesty  to  observe 
the  cifFeet,  when  he  withdrew  without  comment, 
and  the  subjects  of  the  Sublime  Porte  made  their 
exit,  ejaculating,  "Allah  Ken'm  !" — God  is  great. 

That  Megid  is  tolerant,  is  obvious  from  the 
protection  given  by  the  government  to  all  denom- 
inations of  worshippers,  whether  Christians,  Jews 
or  others.  His  council  have  had  the  sagacity  to 
discover  that  there  is  progress  in  the  world,  and 
that  Turkey  cannot  prevent  intercourse,  nor 
maintain  its  antiquated  civil  and  military  institu- 
tions, in  the  flood  of  light  pouring  in  from  abroad. 
Mahmoud  saw  it  and  profited  by  wliat  was  obvi- 
ous— that  knowledge  is  power.  The  reforms  he 
introduced  in  the  discipline  of  the  anny,  a  less 
bloody  administration  than  characterized  his 
predecessors,  influenced  his  successor,  and  that 
policy,  with  a  naturally  amiable  temper  has 
vastly  increased  the  hapjjiness  of  Turkey,  and 
insured  the  security  of  lives  and  property  of 
stranirers. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SONNET  TO  I*UEI-LA(EINE. 

BT  J.   STARR  HOLLOW.iY. 

There  is  much  joy  in  earth,  as  I  have  proved. 

As  Tofi  have  proved,  tbou  child  from  .ingel  lands; 

And  yet  my  feet  trod  only  desert  sands. 
Or  walked  in  places  where  no  soft  ivinds  moved, 
Until  I  saw  thee,  0  my  best  beloved  I 

Life  was  a  plain,  that,  wide  stretched  out,  expands 

Until  the  fav-oQ"  skies  are  its  sole  bands  ; 
Naught  but  tbe  plain : — and  I,  a  wanderer,  roved 
From  place  to  place,  mute,  friendless  and  alone, 

All  solitary  mid  the  solitudes, 
A  sorro«"fuI,  a  sad,  neglected  one. 

Given  to  grief,  and  dull,  despairing  moods, 
UntU  I  saw  thee,  seraph,  spirit,  queen, 
Until  I  saw  thee,  sweet  lueUaceine  ! 

But  then  a  wondrous  change  was  manifest, 

0,  my  beloved !    Buds,  and  leaves,  and  flowers, 
Sprang  up,  and  quickly  made  cool,  fragrant  bowers, 

Wberein  I  could  lie  down  and  take  sweet  rest. 

So  that  I  might  pursue,  refreshed  and  blest. 
Life's  pleasant  journey.    Joy  descends  in  showers, 
It  surfeits  not,  e'en  while  it  overpowers, 

Filling  me  with  a  new  and  holy  zest. 

Such  now  is  life  : — the  deepest  pain  is  bliss, 
To  suller  is  but  to  endure  a  heaven  ; 

And  this  will  hist  forever;  yes,  and  this 
Is  solely  since  thou  art  to  bless  me  given ; 

0  how  I  love  thee,  angel,  spirit,  queen, 

0  how  I  bless  thee,  dear  LueDaoeine  I 


REPUBLICAN  INSTITUTIONS. 

Fashionable  hotels  are  the  most  democratic 
institutions  we  know  of.  Here  people  meet, 
sleep,  and  eat  together  upon  a  scale  of  dead  level, 
quite  curious  to  consider.     We  took  dinner  not 

long  ago  at  the  House,   and   obsened  a 

noted  gambler  vif  a  vis  witli  a  flimous  poet  of  an 
adjacent  town.  Alongside  of  a  distinguished  di- 
vine sat  a  noted  pickpocket ;  "  while  two  ladies, 
of  '  no-better-than-tliey-should-be '  notoriety,  were 
elbowing  the  lovely  wife  and  daughter  of  a  New 
Hampshire  judge."  In  our  hotels  are  mingled 
thief  and  honest  man,  orator  and  convict,  vir- 
tue and  vice,  highwayman  and  hangman,  legal 
eminence  and  eminent  loafers,  and  in  short,  a 
perfect  chowder  of  the  heads  and  tails  of  society. 
— New  York  paper. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  BALLAD. 

BY   D.   H.'\,RDT,   JR. 

I  ranna'  sing  any  more,  my  heart  is  sac  sad, 

The  tields  in  their  sno^vj' -white  vestments  axe  clad  ; 

My  home  is  na  happy  now  Donald 's  away, 

And  a'  is  sae  gloomy  that  late  was  sac  gay  ; 

The  song-birds  ha'  left  the  warm  ingle-nook, 

And  my  tears  flow  fast  as  the  waves  o'  the  brook. 

The  trees  arc  a'  leafless  that  late  were  sae  green. 
The  flowers  are  a'  faded,  that  sae  lately  were  seen 
In  the  warm  ingle-nook,  where  the  gay  bird  and  bee 
On  their  light  pinions  roamed  sue  joyous  and  free ; 
But  the  sunshine  o'  summer  will  soon  come  again, 
And  beauty  ouce  more  deck  the  woodland  and  plain. 

The  smiles  o*  my  Donald  once  more  I  shall  see, 

I'or  he  will  return  in  the  summer  to  me ; 

Then,  0  then,  I  will  sing  o'  the  days  gone  hy, 

Aud  we  "11  be  sac  happy,  my  Donald  and  I ; 

Then  hasten,  sweet  summer,  I'd  greet  thee  once  more, 

For  thou  to  his  home  wilt  my  Donald  restore. 


A  Mistake. — Of  all  the  ingenious  mistakes, 
into  which  erring  man  has  fallen,  perhaps  none 
have  been  so  pernicious  in  their  consequences,  or 
has  brought  so  many  evils  into  the  world,  as  tbo 
popular  opinion,  that  tbe  way  of  the  transgressor 
is  pleasant  and  easy. — Hosca  Baltou. 


200 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


gT-rrrgnri'i'i  i  ipiri  wmji  wrptiriinirniiiiT  \rr\'n}     ^^ 


'J  HE  ASTOU  LIBRARY  BUILDING,  NEW  YORK. 


A  PRKSENT  WORTH  HAVING. 

The  engraving  presented  herewith  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  very  bcautifnl  and  costly  dia- 
mond snufl"  box  presented,  sometime  sinec,  by 
the  Sultan  of  Turkey  to  Dr.  Iliteheock,  of  this 
eity.  As  a  work  of  merlianical  art  it  is  one  of 
the  most  exquisite  and  cbiltoratu  i)roductions  of 
this  (Imraeter  that  we  have  ever  inspected.  In 
point  of  design,  richness  of  material  and  beauty 
of  linish,  it  surpasses  anytiiing  wc  have  ever  seen 
of  the  kind.  It  is  indeed  a  present  worth  Iiaving. 
Of  the  precise  value  of  this  beautiful  gift,  we  do 
not  exactly  know,  but  we  arc  informed  that  its 
owner  would  not  part  with  it  for  teit  thousand  dol- 
lars. The  box  is 
oblong  in  shape, 
made  from  the 
purest  gold,  the 
exterior  surface 
most  elaborately 
enamelled,  pre- 
senting to  the  eye 
some  of  the  most 
beautiful  paint- 
ings of  flowers, 
banners,  and  war- 
like instruments 
ever  seen.  In  the 
centre  of  the  lid 
is  a  large  and 
magnificent  diamond,  from  which  radiate  six- 
teen silver  rays,  each  of  whicli  is  full}'  studded 
with  diamonds,  increasing  in  size  as  they  ap- 
proach the  extremity  of  each  ray.  Surrounding 
the  edge  of  the  lid  is  an  elegant  wreath  of  grape 
vine  ex([uisitely  wrought,  and  containing  ten 
large  diamonds  of  dazzling  brightness.  The 
whole  number  of  diamonds  contained  in  this 
magnificent  gift  so  worthily  bestowed  is  ninety- 
six.  Dr.  Hitclicock  is  too  well  known  to  our 
citizens,  as  an  eminent  practical  dentist,  good 
citizen,  and  firm  friend,  to  require  any  eulogium 
from  our  pen  in  this  connection — combining 
those  qualities  for  and  taste  of  pursuit  which  fit 
him  in  a  remarkable  degree  for  the  important 
and  useful  profession  he  has  chosen  in  which  to 
benefit  his  iellow-men. 


THE  LAWRENCE  MONU9IENT. 

Below  wc  give  a  view  of  this  beautiful  monu- 
ment, erected  in  memory  of  Commodore  James 
Lawrence,  one  of  the  noble  sjdrits  wliosc  bril- 
liant achievements  won  immortal  lionor  in  our 
last  naval  war  with  Great  Hritaiti.  A  l>rief  sy- 
nopsis of  his  life  in  this  coTincction  will  doubt- 
less interest  our  readers.  He  was  born  at  Bur- 
lington, New  Jersey,  in  17yl.  He  early  mani- 
fested a  strong  predilection  for  the  sea;  but  his 
father,  who  was  a  lawyer,  was  anxious  that  he 
should  pursue  his  own  profession ;  and,  when 
only  thirteen  years  of  age,  he  commenced  the 


study  of  the  law ;  but  after 


SNUFF-BOX  PRESENTED  TO  bR.  HITCHCOCK. 


tlic  death  of  his  fa- 
ther, he  entered 
the  navy  as  a 
-  midshipman,  in 
1798.  In  1801, 
the  Tripoli  war 
having  commenc- 
ed, he  was  pro- 
moted, and,  in 
/1803,  wasscntout 
to  the  Mediterra- 
nean, as  the  first 
lieutenant  of  the 
8i  hoooner  Enter- 
prise. While  he 
was  there,  he  per- 
formed a  conspic- 


ASTOR  LIBRARY,   N.   YORK. 

Tliis  noble  Institution  was  en- 
dowed by  the  will  of  John  Jacob 
Astor,  in  a  codicil  dated  August 
22d,  1839.  $400,000  was  the 
amount  appropriated  {for  build- 
ing $75,000),  and  $120,000  to  the 
purchase  of  books  and  other  ob- 
jects of  the  library,  and  the  resi- 
due to  be  invested  as  a  fund  for 
the  gradual  increase  of  the  libra- 
ry. The  following  are  the  trust- 
ees for  18.'32  :  the  Mayor  of  New 
York,  ex-officio,  Washington  Lw- 
ing,  Wm.  B.  Astor,  Daniel  Lord, 
Jas.  G.  King,  Jos.  G.  Cogswell, 
Sam'l  B.  Ruggles,  Sam'l  VVard, 
Chas.  A.  Bristed,  John  A.  Dix, 
and  Thos.  H.  Taylor.  Jos.  G. 
Cogswell,  LL.D.,  superintend- 
ent. He  is  now  on  his  second 
tour  collecting  books  in  Europe 
for  the  library  ;  in  1848  he  pur- 
chased 20,000  volumes;  in  1851 
there  were  iu  the  library  28,364 
books,  the  cost  of  which  was  from 
$35,000  to  $40,000.  The  build- 
ing will  be  completed  and  the 
library  opened  to  the  public  with 
at  least  50,000  volumes  in  a  few 
weeks.  Under  its  present  efficient 
management  the  Astor  Library 
will  give  to  the  public  one  of  the 
most  useful  catalogues  ever  pub- 
lished in  this  country,  as  a  key  to 
one  of  the  richest  libraries  in 
America.  The  edifice  is  65  feet 
front  by  120  deep.  The  plan 
adopted  was  the  one  submitted 
by  Mr.  Alexander  Saeltzer,  from 
Berlin;  the  height  from  founda- 
tion to  roof  is  70  feet.  It  is  built 
in  the  style  of  the  royal  palaces 
of  Florence,  and  is  composed  of 
brown  stone  and  brick ;  scarcely 
a  particle  of  wood  enters  into  its 
composition.  No  building  in  the 
United  States  of  the  character  is 
formed  to  so  large  an  extent  of 
iron,  besides  being  altogether 
novel  in  this  country.  The  first 
floor  contains  the  lecture  and 
reading  rooms,  with  accommo- 
dations for  500  persons,  located 
on  either  side  of  the  building. 
The  basement  contains  the  keep- 
er's room,  cellars,  coal  vaults, 
furnaces  for  warming,  etc  The 
floors  are  made  of  richly  wrought 
Mosaic  work,  resting  on  iron 
beams.  A  single  flight  of  thirty- 
eight  Italian  marble  steps,  deco- 
rated on  either  side  by  a  stone 
Sphinx,  leads  nearly  to  the  centre 
of  the  library  hall  in  the  second 
story  ;  this  is  surrounded  by  four- 
teen brick  piers,  plastered  and 
finished  in  imitation  of  Italian 
marble,  and  su|)jiorting  iron  gal- 
leries midway  between  the  floor 
and  ceiling  by  four  iron  spiral 
staircases.  From  the  corners  of 
the  room  the  main  galleries  arc 
reached,  and  the  intermediate 
gallery  of  lighter  description  is 
connected  with  the  main  gallery 
and  (.iglii.  stairca-ics.  The  whole 
IS  ingeniously  arranged. 


'^■-Ci^'Ci 


LAWRENCE  NAVAL  MONUMENT,  TRINITY  CHURCHYARO,  NEW  YORK. 


nous  part  in  the  destruction  of  the  frigate  Phila- 
delphia, which  had  been  captured  by  the  Tripo- 
litans.     In  the  same  year,  he  was  invested  with 
the  temporary  command  of  the  Enterprise,  dur- 
ing the  bombardment  of  Tripoli  by  Commodore 
Preble,  all  the  ships  of  the  squadron  being  em- 
ployed to  cover  the  boats  during  the  attack  ;  and 
so  well  did  he  execute  his  duty,  that  the  commo- 
dore could  not  restrain    the   expression  of  his 
thanks.    He  remained  in  the  Mediterranean  three 
years,  and  then  retumed  witli  Preble  to  the  U. 
States,  having  previously  been  transferred  to  the 
frigate  John  Adams,  as  first  lieutenant.   In  June, 
1812,  war  was  declared  between   Great  Britain 
and  the  United  States,  and  Lawrence,  at  the  time 
in  command  of  the  Hornet,  a  few  days  afterwards 
sailed  with  a  squadron  under  command  of  Com- 
modore Rogers,  for  the  purpose 
of  intercepting  the  Jamaica  fleet. 
They  returned,  however,  at  the 
end  of  the  following   month,  to 
Boston,  without  having  been  able 
to  accomplish  their  object.    Law- 
rence thenaccompanit;d  Commo- 
dore  Bainbridge   on  a  cruise  to 
the  East  Indies  ;  but  they  separa- 
ted  near   St.    Salvador,   on  the 
coast  of  Brazil,  the  Hornet  re- 
maining  to    blockade   a  British 
ship  of  war,   laden  with  specie, 
till  compelled  to  retire  by  tlie  ar- 
rival of  a  seventy-four.     Peb.  24, 
1813,  the  Hornet  fell  in  with  the 
brig  Peacock,    Captain    Peake, 
which   she   took  after  a  furious 
action  of  fifteen  minutes.     This 
vessel  was  deemed  one  of  the  fin- 
est in  the  British  navy.     In  the 
number  of  her  men  and  guns,  she 
was  somewhat  inferior  to  the  Hor- 
net.     She   sunk   before   all   the 
prisoners  could  be  removed.  The 
latter  was  considerably  damaged 
in  rigging  and  sails.     Lawrence 
returned   to   the    United   States, 
where  he  was  welcomed  with  the 
applause  due  to  his  conduct;  but 
the   most   honorable   eulogy  be- 
stowed upon  it,  was  contained  in 
a  letter,  published  by  the  officers 
of  the  Peacock,  expressing  their 
gratitude   for  the    consideration 
and   kindness   with   which   they 
had  been  treated.     Shortly  after 
his  return,  he  was  ordered  to  re- 
pair  to   Boston,    and  take  com- 
mand of  the  frigate  Chesapeake. 
This  he  did  with  regret,  as  the 
Chesapeake  was  one  of  the  worst 
ships  in  the  navy.     He  had  been 
but  a  short  time  at  Boston,  when 
the  British  frigate  Shannon,  Cap- 
tain Brooke,  appeared  before  the 
harbor,   and    defied    the    Chesa- 
peake to  combat.     Lawrence  did 
not  refuse  the  challenge,  although 
his  ship  was  far  from  being  in  a 
condition  for  action  ;  and,  June 
1,  1813,  he  sailed  out  of  the  har- 
bor, and  engaged  his  opponent. 
After   the   ships  had  exchanged 
several  broadsides,  and  Lawrence 
had  been  wounded  in  the  leg,  he 
called  his  boarders,  when  he  re- 
ceived a  musket-ball  in  his  body. 
At   the   same   time,   the   eneniy 
boarded,  and,  after  a  desperate 
resistance,   succeeded   in    taking 
possession  of  the  ship.     Almost 
all  the  officers  of  the  Chesapeake 
were  either  killed  or  wounded. 
The   last  exclamation   of  Law- 
rence, as  they  were  carrying  him 
below,  after  the  fatal  wound,  was, 
"  Don't  give  up  the  ship."     He 
lingered  for  four  days  in  intense 
pain,  and  expired  on   the  5th  of 
June.     He  was  buried  at  Halifax 
with  every  mark  of  honor.     The 
monument  is  plain  and  chaste  in 
its  design,  and  the  beautiful  wil- 
low as  it  bends  in  pensive  grace 
over  tlie  tomb,  seems  to  wave  in 
mournful   silence   a  requiem  to 
the  departed. 


GLEASON'S   PTCTOmAL    DHAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


201 


3IAItIE  ALBONI. 

This  great  vocalist — the  greatest,  indeed 
we  may  say,  the  only  great  modern  contralto 
who  has  of  late  years  appeared  upon  the  stage 
of  Europe  ; — for,  be  it  remembered,  that  Grisi, 
Sontag  and  others  of  the  leading  vocalists  of 
the  day,  as  well  as  Jenny  Lind  herself,  are 
all  soprani — was  born,  as  we  are  told,  in  1826, 
her  father  being  a  captain  in  the  Papal  army. 
Despite  the  extraordinary  proofs  of  her  talent 
and  love  for  music  which  she  gave  even  at  an 
early  age,  her  father  was  prejudiced  against 
her  making  it  a  profession,  and  it  was  only  at 
the  decided  opinionof  many  of  his  best  friends 
that  he  at  length  gave  his  consent  that  Marie 
should  cultivate  her  natural  powers.  'This 
was  when  she  had  attained  the  age  of  eleven. 
In  consequence  of  this  consent,  after  passing 
two  years  under  the  tuition  of  M.  Bagioli, 
she  was  admitted  to  the  Conservatory  of  Bo- 
logna. This  school  was  then  undor  the  ad- 
ministration of  Rossini,  and  with  this  remark- 
able and  eminent  composer  she  remained  un- 
til she  had  reached  the  age  of  fifteen.  At  this 
period  Rossini  contracted  an  engagement  for 
Iier  with  the  Theatre  of  Bologna.  Her  first 
appearance  was  in  the  part  of  Sappho,  and 
she  at  once  established  herself  in  the  opinion 
of  the  leading  Italian  critics  as  one  of  the 
most  eminent  vocalists  of  the  day.  In  the 
following  year  she  appeared  at  Milan,  and 
there  decided  her  previous  triumph.  From 
Milan  she  travelled  to  the  principal  capitals 
of  Europe,  in  each  of  which  she  established 
her  reputation,  being  perhaps  the  only  great 
female  vocalist  who  has  met  with  equal  suc- 
cess in  Vienna,  Berlin,  Naples,  St.  Peters- 
burg, London  and  Paris.  Her  husband,  to 
whom  she  has  been  but  a  few  months  mar- 
ried, is  the  Count  Achillc  Pepoli,  of  Venice, 
a  gentleman  of  great  literary  talent,  and  son 
of  the  distinguished  poet  of  that  name,  whose 
devotion  to  his  country  and  enmity  to  Napo- 
leon and  despotism  have  rendered  liis  name 
so  famous  with  his  countrymen.  Madame 
Alboni  arrived  in  New  York  in  June  last  by 
the  Hermann.  Her  intention  in  coming  at 
this  period  was  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
with  her  husband  the  splendid  scenery  of  our 
own  country,  and  she  was  in  this  case,  as  she 
is  in  most  others,  the  herald  of  her  own  ar- 
rival. She  had,  however,  brought  with  her 
several  letters  of  introduction  to  some  of  the 
more  influential  citi/xns  of  New  York,  and 
by  their  persuasions  she  was  induced  to  give 
two  concerts  previous  to  the  final  termination 
of  the  summer  season  in  that  city.  These 
concerts,  we  need  scarcely  say,  were  brilliantly 
successful  ones,  and  had  the  effect  of  deter- 
mining her  to  pass  the  year  in  a  tour  through 
America.  The  voice  of  Madame  Alboni  is 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  as  well  as  the  sweet- 
est and  most  sonorous  of  true  contraltos.  It 
descends  to  fa  in  the  base  clef,  and  ascends 
to  the  do  in  alt,  having  tlie  extended  compass  of  two  and  a  half 
octaves  complete.  One  must  have  heard  this  great  artist  to  be 
aware  of  the  singular  skill  with  which  she  regulates  and  controls 
this  magnificent  organ,  for  no  description  could  give  any  fair  idea 
of  her  superb  voice,  and  its  unequalled  power  and  sweetness,  as 
well  as  the  ease  with  which  it  is  exerted,  and  the  intense  care  with 


PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME  ALBONI. 

which  it  has  been  cultivated.  It  is,  however,  in  her  genuine  chest 
voice,  whicli  is  of  almost  unparalleled  power  and  beauty,  that  her 
real  strength  as  the  principal  contralto  of  the  age  resides,  and  that 
she  is  chiefly  to  be  esteemed  as  the  only  legitimate  successor  to 
Pisaroni.  Our  engraving  gives  a  faithful  representation  of  this 
accomplished  and  eminent  songstress. 


METROPOLITAN  HOTEL,  KEW  YORK. 

The  Metropolitan  Hotel,  of  New  York,  the 
opening  dinner  at  which  is  given  below,  is  one 
of  the  most  magnificent  structures  of  the  kind 
in  the  country,  and,  perhaps,  in  the  world. 
No  expense  has  been  spared  in  rearing  the 
edifice,  or  in  fitting  it  out  with  all  tlic  modern 
improvements.  The  building  forms  an  L, 
three  hundred  feet  fronting  on  Broadway,  and 
two  hundred  feet  on  Prince  street.  It  is  six 
stories  high,  and  presents  a  front  of  brown 
stone,  handsomely  finished.  The  architec- 
ture is  termed  Roman,  though  the  style  is  not 
pure  in  any  order.  It  is  under  the  proprie- 
torship of  the  brothers  Leland,  who  formerly 
kept  the  Clinton  Hotel  in  Beekman  street. 
Before  the  house  was  opened,  four  hundred 
persons  had  engaged  rooms.  The  night  be- 
fore the  ceremony  of  opening  there  were  five 
hundred  lodgers  in  the  house,  and  the  clerks 
were  obliged  to  refuse  three  hundred  appli- 
cants for  apartments.  The  opening  dinner, 
or  "  house  wanning,"  as  the  old  Knicker- 
bockers used  to  term  it,  given  by  the  proprie- 
tors, all  who  were  present  agreed  in  pronoun- 
cing a  very  comfortable  atlair  of  its  kind. 
There  were  about  three  hundred  guests  pres- 
ent, including  members  of  the  press,  members 
of  the  bar,  and  bon  vivauts  of  various  profes- 
sions. The  bill  of  fare  was  a  good  one,  and 
the  appetites  of  the  guests  were  fully  equal  to 
its  full  appreciation.  After  the  covers  were 
removed,  for  about  an  hour  the  clatter  of 
knives  and  forks,  and  the  jingling  of  glasses 
betokened  sharp  work.  It  is  enough  to  say  of 
this  part  of  the  entertainment,  that  the  means, 
&c.,  were  good  and  well  served,  and  the  wines, 
of  several  brands,  were  excellent.  In  the 
brief  space  which  our  limits  allow,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  particularize  the  various  de- 
partments of  this  magnificent  house.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  the  whole  number  of  rooms  in  the 
house,  exclusive  of  the  first  floor  and  base- 
ments, is  three  hundred  and  fifty-three.  In  the 
sleeping  apartments,  there  are  over  four  hun- 
dred beds,  all  made  upon  spring  mattresses, 
with  hair  mattresses  over  them.  Accommo- 
dations for  six  hundred  guests  are  always  in 
readiness,  and  the  house  is  capable  of  holding 
one  thousand,  if  occasion  should  require. 
Two  hundred  servants  are  to  be  employed  in 
the  hotel.  The  cooks  are  Frenchmen,  the 
chambermaids,  washers,  ironers,  etc.,  are 
white  girls,  and  the  waiters  all  black  men  and 
boys.  The  four  brothers  Leland,  will  them- 
selves manage  the  house  in  all  its  different 
departments,  giving  their  personal  attention  in 
the  office,  and  wherever  supervision  and  direc- 
tion are  required.  The  building  was  erected 
by  Mr.  P.  S.  Van  Rensselaer,  at  an  expense 
of  $600,000.  The  ground  on  which  it  stands 
is  valued  at  8200,000,  and  the  furniture  cost 
$120,000— making  a  total  of  $920,000.  Many 
of  the  rooms  are  already  engaged,  and  appli- 
cations are  constantly  being  made,  personally  and  by  letter,  for 
apartments  during  the  fall  and  winter  seasons.  All  the  public 
rooms  and  passages  in  the  hotel  are  to  be  heated  by  steam  pipes. 
There  are  gas  burners  wherever  light  is  required  throughout  the 
house,  and  the  bells  and  speaking  tubes  are  of  the  most  perfect 
construction. 


DINNER  AT  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  METROPOLITAN  HOTEL,  NEW  YORK. 


202 


GLEASON'S   riCTOlUAL   DllAAVING    llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Olcimoii'M  Pictorml.] 
THOU  ART  GONIH  TO  THY  KIJST! 

DY  J.   HUNT,  JR. 

Thou  art  Rono  to  thy  roHt,  in  the  viilloy  of  slumbor, 

Wburo  Horrow  ami  HiilToriiig  lUfiturb  tlieo  no  more ; 
To  iiriiiHO,  in  (nxiiva,  with  that  glonouH  nuinhoc 

Of  flanctiflfJ  Niintfl,  on  GodV  infinity  nhoro. 
Tho  peace  of  that  kingdom,  the  bliss,  tlic  fruition, 

No  mortal  hiitk  tiinkid  the  sweuts  of  its  lovo  ; 
For  imgolH  cur^Hfi  tbcii,  and  fiiro  thco  tuition 

In  all  tho  high  dutiuH  dititingulahcd  iibovo. 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  roP  t,  and  tho  thought,  how  sustuiulng. 

That  we,  who  couio  often,  will  meet  thee  at  last; 
And  share  in  tlio  part  of  forever  remaining 

Wlieve  feara  tire  unltnown,  and  misfortune  is  past. 
That  faith  of  tlio  Spirit,  bow  fondly  we  cherish, 

Which  t;ilently  whi-^pere — '•  ^Vhen  tempted,  bo  strong; 
Though  thy  fucultios  fail,  and  tliy  tenement  perish, 

Tho  ovils  of  pnssion  -will  vanish  ere  long." 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest,  wbcro  tho  sunlight  of  science 

Uufolds  to  thy  vision  a  "  world  without  end ;" 
TtNTiere  virtue  and  wisdom  are  joined  in  alliance, 

And  all  to  progression  eternally  tend. 
Thy  tranquil  enjoyment — how  priceless  the  treasure, 

No  painful  regrets  boave  thy  bosom  with  sighs ; 
For  there,  in  those  harmonized  mansions  of  pleasure, 

Tho  tear  of  afflictiou  is  dried  from  all  eyes. 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest,  where  the  breezes  of  ages 

Are  ladened  with  incense  of  roseate  health  ; 
To  mingle  with  patriarchs,  prophets  and  sages, 

Whoso  joy  is  the  crown  of  immutable  wealth, 
0,  dearly  departed,  in  seasons  of  sadness. 

When  grief  on  my  heart  bangs  a  burdeneome  load  ; 
Dispel  my  dark  feai-s  by  the  smiles  of  thy  gladness, 

And  save  me  a  seat  in  thy  sunny  abode. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  CAVE  OF  ST.  ANDREW. 

A  TALE  OF  ITALY  AI7B  THE  RHINE. 

BY   E.   CDRTISS   IIINE,    V.  S.  K. 

'Tis  strange  enough  :  night  after  night  for  years, 
He  hath  pursued  long  vigils  in  this  tower. 
Without  a  witness,  Masfred. 

It  is  the  Rhine  !  our  mountiiin  vineyards  laving, 

I  see  the  bright  Hood  shine  ; 
Sing  on  the  march  with  evvry  banner  waving. 

Sing,  brothers,  'tis  tho  Rhine!        Mrs.  IIemaks. 

There  is  probably  no  spot  on  earth  more 
charmingly  beautiful  and  picturesque  than  the 
valley  of  the  bhie  and  winding  Rhine.  Inde- 
pendently of  the  thousand  lovely  objects  which 
nature  has  showered  broadcast  along  its  pebbled 
banks,  there  is  a  halo  of  traditionary  glory  rest- 
ing with  almost  eft'ulgent  briglitness  upon  its 
gleaming  waters,  and  calling  back  to  memory 
the  days  of  feudal  strife  and  grandeur,  wlien 
those  grim  old  castles  that  mirror  their  rugged 
features  in  its  quiet  depths,  resounded  to  the  clar- 
ion battle-cry  of  legions,  and  the  vine-elad  slopes, 
now  so  green  and  verdant,  ran  red  with  the  life- 
blood  of  mail-clad  warriors,  who  fought  and 
struggled  on  the  heights  above. 

Who  has  not  heard  or  read  of  the  famous 
castle  of  the  Drochenfels,  lifting  its  time-worn 
battlements  from  the  lowering  crags  that  form 
its  base,  and  seeming  to  bid  defiance  to  all  hu- 
man power  ?  That  castle  stands  there  still,  stern 
and  grim,  like  some  seared  and  war-worn  senti- 
nel, keeping  watch  above  the  relies  of  the  slain, 
blackened  and  bcgrimmed  by  the  mines  of 
powder  that  have  been  sprung  beneath  its  ram- 
parts, but  gloomy  in  its  rude  magnificence,  seem- 
ing like  the  wreck  of  another  world. 

"  And  many  a  tower  for  some  fair  mischief  won. 
Low  the  disclosed  wave  beneath  its  ruin  run.'' 

Whoever  has  visited  the  Drochenfels,  may,  per- 
haps, remember  that  at  a  little  distance  to  the 
westward  stands  a  round  tower,  of  the  rudest 
and  most  primitive  style  of  architecture,  but 
strong  and  firm  as  the  everlasting  hill  upon 
whose  l>row  it  stands,  and  looks  with  stern  com- 
posure upon  the  scenes  around.  It  is  with  this 
tower  that  we  have  to  do  at  present,  though  the 
incidents  of  our  talc  will  lead  us  to  other  and 
still  more  rugged  spots  ere  its  conclusion. 

It  was  towards  the  sunset  of  a  lovely  day  in 
autumn,  when  two  horsemen  were  seen  slowly 
approaching  by  a  l>rown  and  winding  road  that 
led  around  the  base,  and  then  up  the  .side  of  the 
hill,  towards  that  old  stern  tower  to  which  we 
have  just  alluded.  They  were  both  dressed  in 
that  jaunty  fashion  which  characterized  the  cos- 
tume of  that  feudal  period:  a  sort  of  half  mail, 
with  plumed  cap  studded  with  small  gold  but- 
tons, long  jack  boots  extending  to  the  knee,  and 
worn  outside  of  the  trov/sers,  spurs  of  gilt  metal, 
and  heavy  claymores,  like  those  worn  by  the 
Scotch  Highlanders  in  the  days  of  Wallace. 
Their  steeds  were  of  a  dappled  gray,  spirited 
and  lull  of  fire,  though  their  foaming  flunks  gave 


evidence  that  tliey  had  seen  hard  Korvico  since 
tho  morning  liglit,  yet  they  advanced  with  a 
proud  step  and  bright  eye,  as  if  unused  to  flag 
when  their  services  were  demanded  by  their  stal- 
wort  riders. 

One  of  these  riders  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  to  judge  from  Iii.s  uppeiirancu  not  more  than 
Ibrty-iivc,  with  regular  features,  and  a  bright 
keen  eye,  wlucli  flashed  like  a  star-beam  as  he 
discoursed  upon  objects  whicli  seemed  to  interest 
him;  while  lus  companion  was  by  far  more 
youthful  in  his  appearance,  and  with  an  expres- 
sion of  melancholy  upon  his  tine  Icaturcs,  which 
sliowed  that  he  had  some  secret  cause  of  sorrow 
that  preyed  u])on  his  heart,  and  stole  the  roses 
from  his  check. 

"  Well,  yonder  is  the  tower,"  said  the  elder  of 
the  horsemen,  as  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road 
brought  the  ponderous  structure  into  view,  "and 
you  will  soon  be  at  the  end  of  your  journey." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  the  other,  "  for 
I  am  wearied  with  the  long  ride  I  have  had  since 
I  met  you  this  morning." 

"  Well,  it  was  your  own  proposition,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true  enough,"  remarked  the  young- 
er, in  a  musing  tone,  "  I  wished  to  join  your 
brotherhood,  and  wrote  to  you  that  I  desired  you 
to  meet  me  at  Grovcnstcin,  in  order  to  conduct 
me  to  your  strong  hold,  so  timt  I  became  initiat- 
ed without  delay." 

"And  I  met  you  according  to  your  wish. 
But  how  knew  you  aught  of  our  brotherhood,  or 
my  name,  or  even  that  I  was  the  leader  ?" 

"  Those  are  questions  which  I  cannot  answer. 
Let  it  content  you  that  I  wish  to  join  you,  that  I 
am  willing  to  abide  by  the  rules  that  govern  the 
bund,  and  that  I  bring  with  me  a  dauntless 
heart  and  a  strong  arm." 

"'Tis  well.  That  is  enough,  I  do  not  wish 
to  know  your  motives.  It  is  sufficient  for  me 
that  you  will  he  completely  in  my  power  when 
once  you  cross  the  threshold  of  the  door  of  the 
tower.  And  sliould  you  at  any  time  attempt  to 
play  me  false,  I  have  some  strong  cells  in  St. 
Andrew's  Gave  in  the  depths  of  the  black  forest, 
where  you  can  have  the  remainder  of  your  life- 
time to  repent  your  temerity.  But  here  we  are 
at  the  door." 

The  two  horsemen  dismounted.  The  elder 
advanced  to  the  huge  gate  or  door,  which  barred 
the  entrance  to  the  tower,  touched  a  secret 
spi'ing,  which  exposed  a  bell-knob,  hidden  from 
the  view  of  the  most  curious  observer  by  the  in- 
genious manner  in  which  was  let  in  flush  with 
the  wood  of  the  door,  and  painted  to  correspond 
with  it,  and  giving  it  a  violent  jerk,  a  tremen- 
dous gong  resounded  within  the  huge  building 
with  a  crash  like  the  dull  bellowing  of  distant 
thunder  when  heard  in  the  solemn  midnight. 
The  next  moment  the  heavy  iron-studded  door 
swung  slowly  open  upon  its  creaking  hinges, 
and  two  grim-looking  men,  dressed  in  complete 
suits  of  armor,  made  their  appearance.  One 
proceeded  to  the  horses,  which  had  been  left 
standing  unfastened  when  their  riders  dismount- 
ed, and  led  them  away  towards  an  out  building ; 
while  the  other,  having  bowed  in  the  new  com- 
ers, swung  the  door  to  again,  and  everything  was 
hushed  and  silent  as  if  no  hximan  being  had  ever 
passed  within  the  walls  of  that  mysterious  tower. 
A  fair,  light-haired  and  lighter-hearted  girl  was 
Rosamond  de  Grane,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the 
Castle  of  AVallenstein.  Her  father  was  one  of 
those  old  feudal  lords  who  could  boast  of  his 
thousand  adherents  and  vassals,  and  who,  time 
and  again,  had  been  besieged  in  his  strong  hold 
by  rival  lords,  who  envied  his  possessions,  and 
would  fain  have  humbled  his  pride  and  crushed 
his  glory  in  the  dust. 

But  a  hard  task  those  rival  chiefs  found  it, 
when  they  attempted  to  humble  the  pride  of  the 
old  lord  of  Wallenstcin.  Pent  up  in  his  rock- 
built  castle,  he  hurled  death  and  defiance  at  his 
foes  at  the  same  time  from  the  ponderous  cannon 
that  lined  its  walls,  and  vain  had  been  the  efforts 
of  his  enemies  to  entrap  him,  or  to  catch  him 
unprepared. 

Among  the  retainers  of  the  lord  of  Wallen- 
stcin was  a  joungman,  Allan  Gennand  byname, 
who,  at  an  early  age,  had  looked  with  passionate 
fondness  upon  the  young  heiress,  Kosnmond  de 
Grane.  And  to  speak  truly,  rumor  for  once  did 
not  lie  when  it  asserted  that  the  fair  maiden  did 
not  look  with  coldness  upon  her  handsome  wooer ; 
at  any  rate,  many  a  long  ramble  did  they  take 
together  upon  the  moonlighted  battlements  of  tho 
castle,  when  all,  save  ilie  giim  and  trusty  warder, 
was  buried  in  profound  slumber,  and  rumor  also 
said  that  kisses  v/ere  sometimes  given  and  re- 


ceived by  the  young  pair,  when  they  imagined 
no  eyes,  save  those  of  the  slurri  above,  were  look- 
ing on  them  ;  i)ut  whether  rumor  in  thin  caw  ut- 
tered a  truth  or  an  uiilrutli,  "  tins  deponent 
sayeth  not." 

A  i>roud  old  man  was  tlic  stei-n  lord  ol'  Wal- 
lenstcin. He  would  have  visited  with  the  most 
terrible  vengeance  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  his 
humble  dependent  and  retainer  to  win  the  hand 
of  the  young  dove  that  had  its  cote  in  his  inmost 
heart ;  so  the  lovers  were  forced  to  meet  in 
secret. 

They  supposed  they  met  in  secret,  but  other 
eyes  than  the  stars — envious  eyes,  too, — were 
often  bent  upon  them,  when  they  went  forth  upon 
the  moonlit  battlement  to  woo  and  talk  of  other 
days,  and  build  bright  hopes,  and  store  them 
away  in  the  great  warehouses  of  the  future. 

Warland  de  Vintiger  was  also  a  retainer  of 
the  lord  of  Wallenstcin  ;  but,  unlike  Allan  Gcr- 
mand,  there  was  nothing  frank  and  open  in  his 
disposition — nothing  that  would  be  likely  to  com- 
mend him  to  a  female  heart.  And  yet  that  bold 
young  man  had  the  audacity  to  propose  an 
elopement  to  the  fair  heiress  of  Wallenstein,  al- 
though he  well  knew  that  another  was  in  the 
field  before  him,  and  that  the  old  man  would 
sooner  see  his  daughter  buried  beneath  the 
waves  of  the  lordly  Rhine  that  flowed  beneath  the 
battlements,  than  wed  to  one  like  him.  Of 
course  his  proposition  was  rejected  with  disdain, 
and  he  left  the  presence  of  that  lovely  maiden 
breathing  vows  of  the  most  terrible  vengeance. 
The  next  night,  when  the  roll  was  called,  he  was 
found  missing  from  the  castle,  and  although  the 
captain  of  the  guard  caused  diligent  search  to  be 
made  for  hira  throughout  the  neighboring  coun- 
try, no  intelligence  could  be  gained  of  his  where- 
abouts, and  it  was  generally  supposed  that  he 
had  been  drowned  while  bathing  in  the  Rhine. 

A  few  weeks  later,  and  rumors  began  to  be 
rife  that  extensive  robberies  had  been  committed 
in  many  of  the  hamlets  and  villages  that  gem  the 
banks  of  the  lordly  river,  and  consternation  was 
depicted  in  the  faces  of  such  as  had  reason  to 
fear  a  visit  from  these  midnight  plunderers.  It 
was  said  that  a  number  of  desperate  young  men 
had  banded  themselves  together  under  the  title 
of  the  "League  of  the  Terrible  Brotherhood," 
and  that  they  had  fortified  themselves  in  some 
unknoAvn  and  secluded  spot,  from  whence  they 
could  sally  forth,  and  carry  woe  and  destruction 
into  the  bosoms  of  helpless  families  thronghout 
the  whole  valley  of  the  Rhine.  Various  were 
the  speculations  in  regard  to  the  numbers  of  the 
band,  the  place  of  their  resort,  and  also  as  to  the 
name  and  title  of  their  leader,  but  nothing  defi- 
nite could  be  hit  upon  in  order  to  elucidaie  the 
mystery.  Meanwhile  the  robberies  went  on, 
and  the  desperadoes  had  become  so  emboldened 
by  success  that  they  at  length  began  to  force 
their  way  into  the  armed  castles  of  the  feudal 
chiefs,  where,  fighting  their  way  in  many  cases, 
they  carried  oflT  the  plate  and  other  articles  of 
value,  and  then  made  good  their  retreat.  So 
daring  had  become  these  depredations  that  even 
tlie  baronial  chiefs  began  to  tremble  in  their 
strong  holds  for  the  possession  of  their  trcasui-cs, 
and  doubled  the  watch  that  guarded  the  draw- 
bridges leading  to  their  castles. 

It  was  a  dark  and  stormy  night  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  autumn;  the  winds  howled  "mourn- 
fully, 0,  mournfully"  through  the  noble  forest 
trees  that  skirted  the  darkened  Rhine,  and  the 
lieavy  rain-drops  pattered  on  the  earth.  Within 
the  castle  of  Wallenstein,  all  was  buried  in 
silence,  and  nothing  broke  in  upon  the  silence, 
save  the  roar  of  the  midnight  tempest  as  he 
swept  in  wrath  and  fury-  onward  upon  his  way. 
The  retainers  had  all  retired,  and  even  the  watch 
dogs  were  snoozing  quietly  in  their  kennels, 
thankful,  perhaps,  for  being  sheltered  from  the 
peltings  of  the  storm. 

One  solitary  light  was  burning  within  the 
chamber  of  the  Lady  Rosamond  do  Grane. 
That  solitary  light  fell  upon  the  classic  features 
and  lovely  form  of  the  fair  maiden  as  she  knelt 
beside  her  bed,  and  oficred  up  a  fervent  prayer 
to  the  throne  of  the  Most  Iligli,  and  never  did 
light  reveal  more  beauty  and  symmetry  than  it 
revealed  to  the  prying  eyes  of  one  solitary  in- 
truder within  that  sanctuary  of  innocence.  Con- 
cealed behind  the  curtains  of  the  bed  was  a  man 
— a  bold,  bad  man — who  gazed  with  unholy 
detircs  upon  the  figure  of  iliat  fair  girl,  and 
drank  in  like  an  inebriate  all  the  beauties  of  her 
person.  Then,  with  a  wild  rush,  he  darted  upon 
Ins  victim,  struck  the  li^ht  from  the  table,  leav- 
ing the  room  in  utter  darkness,  and  seizing  upon 
the  fuini  of  Rosamond  de  Grane,  who  had  i'aint- 


ed  on  the  first  ahinn,he  borehcr  all  unconscious- 
ly from  the  castle,  llireadiiig  in  his  onward  flight 
dark  and  intricate  pa-ssuges,  with  which,  however, 
he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  familiar,  when  having 
gained  the  other  bide  of  the  moat,  which  sur- 
rounded the  castle,  he  was  met  by  a  body  of 
some  sixty  horsemen.  The  form  of  the  poor 
nmiden  was  taken  upon  one  of  the  steeds  behind 
its  mailed  I'ider,  when  ofl'  galloped  the  whole 
cavalcade,  and  Aveio  soon  lost  to  view  in  tho 
darkness  and  the  night  storm, 

Tlie  next  morning  there  was  a  fearful  commo- 
tion, when  it  was  found  the  young  heiress  of 
Wallenstein  had  been  stolen  from  her  father's 
castle.  The  old  man  raved  and  tore  his  hair, 
and  started  off  five  hundred  horsemen  to  st-our 
the  country  round  in  every  direction  for  his  lost 
darling,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that 
any  one  of  his  retainers,  or  even  vassals,  wlio 
should  succeed  in  rescuing  her  from  the  power  of 
her  captors,  might  claim  Iier  hand.  But  it  was 
all  in  vain ! 

"There  was  mounting 'niong  Graemes  oftheNetherby  clan, 
Forsters,  b'cnwicitBand  Muagraves,  they  rode  and  they  run  ; 
There  was  nicing  and  chiising  on  Caniiobie  lea ; 
But  the  lost  maid  of  Nethcrby  ne'er  did  they  see." 

The  Stranger,  on  entering  that  strong  tower 
upon  the  shores  of  the  Rhine,  was  met  by  thirty 
or  forty  horsemen,  all  clad  precisely  like  himself, 
for  the  suit  which  he  then  wore  had  been  brought 
to  him  by  the  elder  horseman  whom  we  first  in- 
troduced to  the  reader,  who  compelled  him  to 
adopt  it  in  exchange  for  his  own,  before  he 
would  consent  to  permit  him  to  accompany  him  ; 
and  as  the  youth  confronted  the  gleaming  eyes 
of  all  those  stem  men,  he  quailed  not  beneath 
the  ordeal,  but  maintained  a  firm  front  and  an 
unrufilcd  composure  of  demeanor, 

"  So  you  have  come  to  join  us  ?"  said  one  of 
the  hand,  regarding  the  new  comer  with  a  look 
so  stern  and  solemn,  that,  despite  all  his  compo- 
sure, his  eyes  drooped  for  a  moment.  "  Well, 
you  are  to  sign  this  bond,"  pointingto  a  sheet  of 
parchment  lying  upon  a  table,  "with  your  own 
blood,  and  then  you  become  a  member  of  the 
brotherhood.  This  contract  specifies  that  you 
are  implicitly  to  obey  the  orders  of  your  chief, 
and  that,  should  you  betray  the  secrets  of  the 
fraternity,  you  are  to  perish  at  the  burning  stake. 
And  now  are  you  ready  to  subscribe  to  these 
conditions  ?"' 
"  I  am,"  firmly  replied  the  stranger. 
"'Tis  well;  and  now  let  us  to  business," 
A  vein  in  the  arm  of  the  new  comer  was 
lanced,  a  pen  was  introduced  into  the  crimson 
fluid,  and  with  a  steady  hand  did  he  sign  the 
parchment  to  which  were  already  affixed  at  least 
a  hundred  other  names.  He  was  now  a  member 
of  the  league. 

"  I  will  now  show  you  your  apartment,"  said 
the  first  horseman  introduced  to  the  reader,  and 
who  was  also  the  chief  of  the  band ;  "  it  is  now 
getting  late,  and  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  ob- 
tain a  little  rest.  In  the  morning,  I  will  more 
fully  acquaint  you  with  the  nature  of  the  duties 
you  will  be  required  to  perform.  But  methinks 
you  have  a  cunningly  devised  mask  upon  your 
face.  It  is  strange  that  I  did  not  notice  it 
before." 

"  That  is  no  concern  of  yours." 
"  Time,  my  new  brother.  It  was  but  a  passing 
remark.  I  seek  not  to  pry  into  your  motives 
for  wearing  it.  We  all  have  our  secrets,  let 
them  remain  inviolate.  But  here  we  are  at  tho 
door  of  yom*  chamber.  I  wish  you  a  good  night 
and  pleasant  slumber." 

Saying  this,  the  chief  handed  a  ponderous  key 
to  his  new  ally,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  took  his 
departure,  his  spurs  rattling,  and  his  huge  sabre 
jingling  in  its  scabbard,  as  he  strode  with  mea- 
sured tread  along  the  echoing  corridor. 

The  room  assigned  the  new  comer  was  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  coiridor,  and  applying  tlie 
key  to  the  heavy  door,  he  at  once  opened  it,  and 
entered  the  apartment.  It  was  of  moderate  size, 
dimly  lighted  by  a  sort  of  swinging  lamp  sus- 
pended from  the  stone  roof,  and  furnished  with 
articles  more  remarkable  for  their  strength  than 
their  magnificence.  A  plain  couch  stood  in  one 
comer  of  the  room,  and  after  cautiously  scan- 
ning everything  that  met  his  gaze,  the  stranger 
seated  himself  upon  it,  and  for  some  moments 
seemed  lost  in  a  fit  of  musing  abstraction. 

"'Tis  well,"  at  length  he  muttered,  in  a  low 
tone ;  "  't  is  well,  so  far.  I  am  in  the  tower,  and 
could  I  but  ascertain  her  whereabouts,  I  make 
no  doubt  I  could  soon  devise  a  plan  to  rescue  her 
from  captivity.  But  hark!  mcthougiit  I  heard  a 
voice  as  of  some  one  singing." 

lie  paused  and  listened  for  a  few  seconds  al- 
most breathless,  so  intent  waa  his  eagerness  to 


GLEASON'S   l^ICTOPJAL   DRAWINCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


203 


satisfy  himself  as  to  whether  his  surmise  had 
been  correct.  But  all  was  silent,  save  the  low 
moaning  of  the  autumn  winds,  as  they  crept  with 
an  almost  human  siy:li  around  that  old  stone 
tower. 

"  Surely  I  thought  I  lieard  a  voice  ;  but  my 
ears  must  have  deceived  me.  No,  there  it  is 
again  !     Can  my  suspicions  be  correct  V 

A  soft  and  plaintive  voice — a  female  voice — 
broke  in  upon  the  silence  of  the  place,  and  this 
was  the  strain  it  sung : 

"  The  autumn  winds  arc  sighing 

ilong  the  night-cliid  phun, 
My  taper-light  is  dying, 

I  seek  my  couch  in  pain. 
For  sadly  pass  the  hours, 

To  one  imprisoned  here  ; 
GonC;  gone  are  lite's  fresh  flowers, 

And  all  is  dark  and  drear  V 

"  Surely  I  know  that  voice,"  said  the  stranger  ; 
"  it  comes  from  a  room  opposite  to  my  own. 
Now  favor  me,  kind  fortune,  and  henceforth  I 
will  be  thy  slave." 

Rising  from  the  couch  on  which  he  had  been 
seated,  the  young  man  unlocked  his  own  door, 
and  at  once  proceeded  to  that  of  the  room  oppo- 
site. Listening  for  a  moment  at  the  key-hole, 
and  hearing  nothing,  he  applied  his  lips  and 
breathed  the  name  of  Rosamond  de  Grane.  A 
murmur  of  astonishment  was  heard  within,  and 
the  next  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  face 
of  the  young  maiden  peered  forth,  but  so  pallid, 
so  haggard,  and  so  sadly  altered,  that  the  stran- 
ger scarcely  recognized  it. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  require  V 
timidly  inquired  the  captive  Kosamond. 

The  stranger  advanced,  and  breathed  a  few 
hasty  words  in  her  ear,  which  seemed  to  exert  a 
powerful  influence  over  the  mind  of  the  maiden, 
for  a  soft  smile  overspread  her  altered  features, 
lighting  them  up  with  all  the  radiance  of  days 
gone  by,  and  then  with  a  whispered  "  I'll  follow 
you  to  the  ends  of  the  eartli  if  need  be,"  he  placed 
her  little  hand  confidingly  in  his,  and  together 
they  stole  along  the  gloomy  corridor  towards  the 
main  entrance  to  the  tower. 

All  the  band  were  sunk  in  tlie  most  profound 
slumber,  or  if  any  was  keeping  watch,  it  was  in 
some  unseen  spot,  for  nothing  broke  in  upon  the 
solemn  silence,  save  the  light  tread  of  the  fugi- 
tives, as  they  stole  as  noiselessly  as  possible 
along  the  corridor.  At  length  they  came  to  the 
heavy  bronze  door  which  barred  the  entrance  to 
the  tower,  when,  witli  a  half-suppressed  siiudder, 
the  young  man  applied  his  liand  to  the  ponder- 
ous knob,  and  attempted  to  turn  it. 

But  what  was  his  astonishment — his  tciTor 
and  dismay — when,  as  he  imagined  he  was  about 
to  make  his  egress  from  the  tower,  the  turning  of 
the  knob  awakened  the  vibrations  of  a  tremen- 
dous gong  tliat  liung  suspended  above  the  gate- 
way, and  the  terrible  crash  and  roar  of  the  deaf- 
ening instrument  sent  its  brazen  din  throughout 
the  entire  edidficc ! 

And  ere  the  echoes  of  that  gong  had  died 
away,  there  rose,  as  it  seemed  from  the  very 
pavement,  at  least  a  hundred  stern-browed  men 
in  complete  armor,  and  with  heavy  claymores  in 
their  hands,  all  confronting  the  intercepted  fugi- 
tives. And  at  the  head  of  tliis  grim  array,  stood, 
in  a  suit  of  shining  steel,  the  leader  of  the  band — 
Warland  de  Vintiger ! 

"  Traitor  that  thou  art !"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  ominously  calm,  as  he  bent  his  glance 
upon  the  stranger;  "think  you  I  did  not  under- 
stand your  motives  and  your  purpose,  from  the 
Urst  moment  when  I  received  your  letter  urging 
me  to  come  and  meet  you,  and  conduct  you  to 
our  band.  You  laid  your  plan  deeply,  but  mine 
was  deeper  laid  than  yours.  I  saw  through  all 
your  manceuvi-es  from  the  first,  for  I  have  my 
spies  at  every  point,  Allan  Germand,  and  now 
you  see  how  my  intentions  have  been  carried 
out.  And  now  I  shall  send  you  to  the  Cave  of 
St.  Andrew,  there  to  be  placed  in  a  cell,  and  lite- 
rally starved  ;  and  you,  Miss  Rosamond,"  point- 
ing to  the  trembling  maiden,  "  you,  too,  as  you 
seem  to  be  so  fond  of  his  society,  shall  share  his 
captivity.  Away  with  the  traitor  and  his  minion ! 
Let  my  orders  be  carried  out  to  the  letter!" 
*  *  *  * 

Afar  in  the  wild  recesses  of  the  farther  Alps, 
at  the  end  of  a  huge  gulley,  formed  by  some 
convulsion  of  nature,  the  mouth  of  a  yawning 
cavern  was  distinctly  visible  to  such  as  chose  to 
venture  in  that  wild  rugged  defile,  haunted  by 
wild  beasts,  and  superstitions  more  fearful  to  the 
simple  peasantry  than  even  beasts  of  prey. 
Within  this  frightful  cavern  a  range  of  cells  had 
been  constructed  by  the  brotherhood  of  the 
Rhine,  to  which  they  were  wont  to  transport 
such  persons  as  became  obnoxious  to  them,  and 
cither  cause  their  death  by  the  slow  tortm-cs  of 


fiimine,  increased  by  the  Jiorrors  of  the  spot  in 
which  they  were  incarcerated,  or  else  compel 
them  to  drag  out  a  life  of  misery  amid  those 
damp  recesses,  with  just  enough  of  sustenance  to 
sustain  the  vital  spark,  and  render  existence  a 
hateful  burthen  too  greivous  to  be  borne. 

it  was  a  wild  and  stormy  afternoon  in  October, 
whcM  a  cavalcade,  consisting  of  some  ten  or  a 
dozen  horsemen,  approached  the  cavern  by  a 
winding  and  rugged  road  that  led  along  the  ra- 
vine. In  their  midst,  bound  upon  two  steeds, 
were  Rosamond  de  Grane  and  the  youth  who 
had  risked  his  life  to  rescue  her  from  captivity. 
They  were  both  deadly  pale,  and  seemed  worn 
by  the  long  journey  they  had  been  compelled  to 
make  ;  but  they  were  firm  and  composed,  and 
rejoiced  tliat  rhcy  were  to  be  permitted  to  meet 
their  fate  together. 

At  length  the  horsemen  halted  at  the  opening 
of  the  cavern,  dismounted,  and  assisting  their 
two  captives  to  follow  their  example,  they  led 
them  to  a  cell  hewn  in  the  solid  rocks  and  heavi- 
ly barred  with  iron,  swung  open  the  ponderous 
door,  and  thrust  them  in,  after  which,  closing  it 
again  and  securing  it  by  huge  bars,  they  took 
their  departure,  giving  vent  to  many  a  bitter 
taunt  upon  the  helpless  condition  of  their  vic- 
tims, as  their  iron-shod  heels  and  their  rattling 
armor  resounded  through  the  lofty  cavern,  and 
slowly  died  away. 

A  smile  was  upon  the  features  of  Allan  Ger- 
mand, the  first  they  had  worn  for  many  a  day. 
No  sooner  was  all  silent  throughout  the  cave, 
than  approaching  his  companion  in  captivity,  he 
said : 

"Listen,  Rosamond,  their  cavern  cannot  hold 
us.  I  have  a  plan  to  escape  from  this  cell  as 
soon  as  the  night  sets  in." 

*■  Ah !  what  is  it,  Allan  V 

"Do  you  see  that  phial '?"  producing  one  from 
the  pocket  of  his  doublet. 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  our  re- 
lease, my  love  ?" 

"Much.  That  phial  contains  a  liquor  so  po- 
tent that  it  will  eat  off  those  iron  bars  in  less 
than  an  hour.  The  hand  thought  it  was  a  medi- 
cine, and  so  permitted  me  to  retain  it  in  mj 
possession." 

"And  to  night  you  will  tiy  it." 

"Yes  ;  so  soon  as  the  daikness  gathers  over 
the  mountains." 

And  Allan  Germand  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
No  sooner  had  the  darkness  of  twilight  stolen 
into  the  cavern,  than  the  contents  of  the  phial, 
which  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  what  is 
now  known  as  nitric  acid,  was  poured  upon  seve- 
ral of  the  huge  bars  which  guarded  the  windows 
of  that  cavern-cell.  In  less  than  an  hour  the 
metal  had  become  so  softened  that  with  the  aid 
of  his  atliletic  arms,  he  was  enabled  to  burst 
open  the  window,  and  feel  that  he  was  once  moi'C 
free.  All  was  silent  in  the  cave;  and  leading 
the  trembling  Rosamond  with  one  hand,  and 
cautiously  feeling  his  way  with  the  other,  he  at 
length  emerged  from  tlic  entrance,  and  found 
himself  in  the  ravine  leading  down  the  side  of 
the  mountain. 

The  stars  were  shining  down  cold  and  clear 
from  the  far  sky  into  that  frightful  gore,  for  the 
storm  had  sunk  to  rest,  and  by  their  faint  light, 
the  lovers  threaded  the  rugged  pathway  ado^vn 
the  steep  sides  of  the  mountain.  Day  after  day 
did  they  continue  their  journey,  imtil  at  length, 
one  sunny  noon,  tliey  knocked  for  admittance  at 
the  gate  of  the  grim  old  castk  of  Wallenstein. 

A  right  merry  man  was  the  old  lord  when  he 
found  his  daughter  once  more  restored  to  his 
arms.  And  nobly  did  he  repay  Allan  Germand 
for  his  devotion  to  the  lovely  Rosamond.  On  a 
clear  morning,  in  the  commencement  of  the 
winter,  did  the  fond  lather  bestow  upon  our  hero 
the  hand  of  the  sweet  maiden  whose  captivity  he 
had  shared;  and  loudly  did  the  cymbals  clash, 
and  the  trumpets  sound,  when  the  announce- 
ment was  made  to  all  the  retainers  of  the  proud 
lord,  that  one  of  their  number  had  wed  the  young 
mistress  of  the  castle  of  Wallenstein. 

The  next  year,  and  Allan  Germand  set  off 
with  a  powerful  force  to  capture  tlie  tower,  de- 
fended by  the  robbers  of  the  league.  A  fierce 
battle  ensued,  in  which  Warland  de  Vintiger  lost 
his  life  by  the  hand  of  Allan,  and  the  band  being 
dispersed  and  scattered,  the  tower  has  stood  there 
ever  since,  invested  with  a  sort  of  wild  terror  to 
the  peasantry,  for  they  say  that  the  spirit  of 
Warland  still  keeps  lonely  vigils  each  night  in 
its  chambers,  and  that  his  battle  cry  may  oft  be 
heard  ringing  over  the  still  waters  of  the  Rliine, 
when  the  moon  and  the  stars  have  set,  and  the 
mantle  of  midnight  has  fallen  upon  the  slumber- 
ing earth ! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

LINES 

Writieji  o>i  board  United  Slates  Surveying  Shij)  '■^Ni/mplij''' 
in  Mobile  Bay. 

The  £un  is  setting  in  the  full  majesty  of  his  glory  !  I 
am  upon  the  deck  of  my  httle  schooner.  Before  me  is  a 
half  hlown  magnolia.  I  play  upon  my  guitar, — these  are 
my  thoughts. 

Thus  I  sit  brooding  from  hour  to  hour, 

Singing  the  songs  that  are  ever  so  dear ; 
Before  mc  doth  blush  the  lovehest  flower 

The  sweet  south  can  boast  in  the  May  of  the  year. 

Passion  so  heavenly  is  often  looked  over 
By  being.s  who  languish  in  vain  to  be  gay  ; 

They  seek  for  a  bliss  they  ne'er  can  discover, 
An  clysinm  on  earth  that  will  never  decay. 

They  see  no  harmony  ever  in  nature, 
They  bear  no  music  in  the  wind  or  the  sea, 

As  gently  they  blend  their  wild  notes  together, 
And  awfully  da;-h  against  the  beach  oo  their  lea. 

Each  bird  that  doth  build  her  nest  in  the  green  tree, 
And  mingle  her  song  with  the  voice  of  the  brook  ; 

Whose  music  a-S  sweet  as  the  harp  of  the  minstrel, 
Is  nothing  to  those  who  have  nature  forsook. 

Turn,  turn,  ye  vain  mortals,  to  God  and  his  bounty, 
Nor  look  for  the  vision  of  bliss  here  below, 

Till  your  souls  are  contented  with  earth's  fairest  creatures, 
To  love  all  her  beings,  and  each  thing  she  doth  grow. 

Why  weep  ?  arc  those  tears  the  emblems  of  anguish  ? 

Weep  on,  for  they  wash  the  proud  glow  from  thy  cheek, 
And  tell  that  the  heart  is  melted  to  goodness. 
They  nil!  make  thee  a  summer  where  winter's  most  bleak. 
Jos.  J.  Cook, 

U.  S.  Nav;/. 


SPECULATION  ON  SHARSPEARE. 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  period  of  Shaks- 
pcare's  life  when  his  heart  was  ill  at  ease,  and 
ill  content  with  the  world  or  his  own  conscience  ; 
the  memory  of  hours  misspent,  the  pang  of  af- 
fection misplaced  or  unrequited,  the  experience 
of  man's  worse  nature,  which,  intercourse  with 
iU-clioscn  associates,  by  choice  or  circumstance, 
peculiarly  teaches — these,  as  they  sank  down  into 
the  depth  of  his  great  mind,  seem  not  onlv  to 
have  inspired  into  it  the  conception  of  Lear  and 
Timon,  but  that  of  one  primary  character,  the 
censurer  of  mankind.  The  type  is  first  seen  in 
the  philosophic  melancholy  of  Jacques,  gazing 
with  undiminished  serenity,  and  with  a  gaiety  of 
fancy,  tliough  not  of  manners,  on  the  follies  of 
the  world.  It  assumes  a  graver  cast  in  the  ex- 
iled duke  of  the  same  play,  and  next  one  ratlier 
more  severe,  in  the  duke  of  "Measure  for  Meas- 
ure." In  all  these,  however,  it  is  merely  con- 
templative philosophy.  In  "  Hamlet,"  this  is 
mingled  with  the  impulses  of  a  perturbed  heart 
under  tlie  pressure  of  extraordinary  circumstan- 
ces;  it  shines  no  longer,  as  in  the  former  char- 
acters, with  a  steady  light,  but  plays  in  fitful  cor- 
uscations amidst  feigned  gaiety  and  extrava- 
gance. In  "Lear"  it  is  the  flash  of  sudden  in- 
spiration across  the  incongruous  imagery  of 
madness ;  in  "  Timon  "  it  is  obscured  by  the  ex- 
aggerations of  misanthropy.  These  plays  all 
belong  to  nearly  the  same  period;  "As  you  Like 
It,"  being  usually  referred  to  1600,  "Hamlet," 
in  its  altered  form,  to  about  1602,  and  "  Timon" 
to  the  same  year,  "Measure  for  Measure"  to 
160.3,  and  "Lear"  in  1604.  In  the  later  plays 
of  Shakspeare,  especially  in  "Macbeth"  and  the 
"  Tempest,"  much  of  moral  speculation  will  be 
found,  but  he  has  never  returned  to  this  type  of 
character. — UaUam's  Literature  of  Europe. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LOVE  CONCEALED. 

BT  KENNETH   SINCLAIE. 

O,  thou  wilt  never  know  how  fond  a  love 
This  hejirt  could  once  have  felt  for  thee  ; 

Or  ever  dream  how  Jove  and  friendship  strove 
Through  long,  loug  years  for  mastery  ; 

How  passion  often  urged,  but  pride  j-csti-ained, 

Or  how  thj'  coldness  grieved,  yet  kindness  pained. 

How  time  has  soothed  the  feelings  then  that  were 

The  torture  of  my  opening  life, 
But  even  yet  will  often  fall  a  tear 

O'er  wildest  hopes  and  thoughts  then  rife  ; 
Where'er,  recalled  by  passing  word  or  tone, 
Fond  memory  mirrors  all  those  visions  flown. 

Too  well  I  knew  that  be  had  won  thy  heart, 

And  thou  wast  but  a  friend  to  ms  ; 
I  felt  that  in  thy  love  I  had  no  part, 

I  knew  how  much  he  worshipped  thee  ; 
Yet  often  would  there  rise  a  gleam  of  hope 
Wherewith  but  only  time  and  pride  could  cope. 

PKESEnVATIOW  OF  LIFE  IN  SEEDS. 

The  preservation  of  life  in  seeds  and  otiier  or- 
ganisms, when  in  a  state  of  passive  vitality,  is  a 
good  instance  of  the  power  to  resist  the  action  of 
physical  agents.  Dr.  Lindley  says,  in  his  "In- 
troduction to  Botany,"  1  have  at  this  moment 
three  plants  of  raspberries  before  me  which  have 
been  raised  in  the  garden  of  the  Horticultural 
Society,  from  seeds  taken  from  the  stomach  of  a 
man,  whose  sk^-leton  was  found  thiriy  feet  below 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  at  the  bottom  of  a  barrow 
which  was  opened  near  Dorchester.  He  had  been 
buried  with  some  coins  of  the  Emperor  Hadrian, 
and  it  is  probable  the  seeds  were  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen hundred  years  old. — Ano/ii/mous. 


DOCTRINE  AND  MORALITY. 

The  true  reason  that  doctrinal  sermons  arc  de- 
cried by  some  of  the  ministers  is,  that  they  afford 
no  opportunity  for  them  to  introduce  perhaps 
some  style  or  course  of  reading  that  they  may 
have  adopted.  True  scriptural  teaching  calls 
for  sound  argument  and  substantial  treatises 
upon  the  word,  and  is  a  strong  test  of  mental 
capacity ;  whereas  such  sermons  as  are  but  too 
frequently  delivered,  rest  upon  miscellaneous 
themes,  that  were  more  properly--  left  for  newspa- 
per or  magazine  articles,  and  are  of  a  school  of 
composition  that  a  shallow  brain  may  become  a 
proficient  in.  This  class  of  preachers  should  re- 
member that  the  people  now-a-days  are  supposed 
to  know  as  much  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero, 
the  Forum  at  liome,  or  of  most  of  any  portion 
of  profane  history,  ancient  or  modern,  as  the 
preacher  himself;  and  the  less  said  in  the  way 
of  display  relating  to  these  stereotyped  phrases 
and  tliemes,  the  better. 

We  are  forcibly  reminded,  in  this  connection, 
of  the  words  of  a  certain  English  bishop,  who 
was  travelling  in  this  country  a  few  years  since, 
and  who  made  the  remark,  that  ministers  hero 
take  a  text  from  the  Bible  and  preach  about 
railroads,  astronomy,  statuai-y  and  paintings ; 
but  in  his  country  they  not  only  select  their  texts 
from  the  Bible,  "but  they  make  its  doctrines  and 
principles  the  subject  of  ilieir  discourses.  Tliat 
wise  old  divine,  Jeremy  Taylor,  found  it  neces- 
sary in  his  day  to  chide  these  fashionable  preach- 
ers. "  They  entertain  their  hearers,"  said  he, 
"  with  gaudy  tulips  and  useless  daffodils ;  and 
not  with  the  bread  of  life  and  medicinal  plants 
growing  on  the  margins  of  the  fountains  of  sal- 
vation." 

The  true  doctrine  of  the  Scriptures  is  the  very 
fountaindiead  of  all  morality ;  and  those  who 
talk  so  much  about  preaching  moral  sermons, 
and  avoiding  doctrinal  ones,  should  pause  and 
consider  well  their  own  inconsistency.  Mr.  Bal- 
lou's  sermons  were  strictly  doctrinal  ones,  ay, 
emphatically  so,  but  they  were  none  the  less 
moral  also.  The  principles  are  synonymous,  as 
we  think  will  be  evident  to  every  candid  reader. 
That  was  excellent  advice  given  to  a  pious  son, 
by  Rowland  Hill,  to  preach  nothing  down  but 
the  devil,  and  nothing  up  but  Jesus  Christ. — 
Life  ofllosea  BaUou. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    TWO    HOBIES. 

Ur   HAKKIET  E.   BENEDICT, 

My  home,  thou  astest !     'Tis  a  hidden  dwelling, 

The  eglantine  its  shadows  o'er  it  throws ; 
And  the  deep  music  of  the  fountain,  swelling, 

Lends  mc  a  joy  a  poet  only  knows. 
There,  woman's  voice  is  heard,  and  childhood's  laughter, 

And  melody  is  ringing  mid  the  leaves  ; 
Or  in  some  nook  my  cherub  "s  searching  after 

The  hidden  treasures  innocence  receives. 
If,  in  the  world's  cold  strife  my  dear  ones  falter, 

Or  for  a  moment  hnger  and  repine, 
Faith,  hope  and  love  will  point  them  to  the  altar. 

They  worshipped  at  their  home.     Say,  where  is  thine? 

My  home?    I  Icnow  not  I     Angels  round  me  singing, 

Bid  me  approach  it  in  the  solemn  night ; 
And  like  the  lark,  at  morn,  his  free  way  winging, 

Come  nearer  to  my  Maker  in  my  flight. 
Wliere  is  my  home  ?    Where  bloom  immortal  flowers, 

Where  fountains  fling,  in  pearls,  their  silver  spray  ; 
Where  atar-crowned  angels  build  eternal  bowers. 

And  truth,  and  hope,  and  love,  pass  not  away, 
There  dwell  my  loved  ones.     In  the  still  night  calling, 

I  hear  their  thrilhng  whisper,  "  Come  away  ;" 
In  that  bright  land,  earth's  bauds  no  more  enthralling, 

My  soul  shall  flourish  in  immortal  clay. 


THE  NUT31EG. 

The  true  nutmeg,  as  well  as  the  clove,  is  a  na- 
tive of  the  Sloluccas,  or  Spice  Islands,  but  prin- 
cipally confined  to  the  group  called  the  Islands 
of  Banda,  under  the  equator,  where  it  bears 
blossoms  and  fruit  at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  In 
their  native  country,  the  trees  are  almost  always 
loaded  with  blossoms  and  fruit;  and  the  latter  is 
gathered  at  three  different  periods  of  the  year, 
viz :  in  July,  November  and  April.  The  mace 
is  there  in  July,  Avhen  the  nut  is  most  abundant ; 
in  November,  it  is  superior,  but  in  April,  both 
the  nutmeg  and  the  mace  are  in  the  greatest  per- 
fection, the  season  then  being  the  driest.  The 
outer  pulpy  coat  is  removed,  and  afterwards  the 
mace ;  which  latter,  when  fresh,  is  of  a  crimson 
color  and  covers  the  whole  nut.  The  nuts  are 
then  placed  over  a  slow  fire,  when  the  shell  next 
to  the  mace,  and  which  coats  the  seed,  becomes 
brittle,  and  the  seeds,  or  nutmegs  of  commerce, 
drop  out.  They  are  then  soaked  in  sea-water, 
and  impregnated  with  lime :  a  process  whicli 
answers  the  double  purpote  of  securing  the  fruit 
from  the  attack  of  insects,  and  of  destroying  the 
vegetating  j)roperty.  It  also  prevents  the  vola- 
tilisation of  the  aroma.  The  mace  is  simply 
dried  in  the  sun,  and  then  sprinkled  with  salt 
watci',  when  it  is  fit  for  exportation. — Cijclopcdla 
'f  Knterlainhg  Knowledge. 


WIT  AND  IRONY. 

To  complain  of  wit  and  irony,  as  some  do,  is 
to  comphiin  of  a  sword  for  being  sharp.  So  long 
as  error  and  evil  passions  lift  up  their  heads  in 
literature,  the  soldiers  of  truth  must  go  forth 
against  them  :  and  seldom  will  it  be  practicable 
to  fulfil  the  task  imposed  upon  Shylock,  and  cut 
out  a  noxious  opinion,  especially  where  there  is 
an  inflammable  habit,  without  shedding  a  drop 
of  blood. —  Guesses  at  I'ruth. 


204 


GLEASON'S   PICTOMAL   DRAWIJ^G    110031    COMPANION. 


MILITARY  PARADE  IN  NfJW  YORK. 

The  scene  which  wc  tjivo  below  ifl  i\  represen- 
tation of  a  military  piinidc  in  New  York.  The 
artist  hiis  represented  the  scene  iinmciliately  in 
front  of  the  Park,  Broadway,  the  fjrcat  focus  of 
bnsinoHS,  noise,  l)iistIo  and  activity  in  "  Gotlmm." 
This  point  is  immediately  in  front  of  the  City 
Hall,  Astor  House,  American  House,  Barnum's 
Museum,  etc.,  bcinp;  the  most  central   business 

Soint  of  the  city.  The  troops  are  seen  marehinj^ 
own  Broadway  round  the  Park  by  companies, 
and  the  parade  shows  nearly  every  rcpimcnt  of 
the  city,  each  with  its  private  colors,  stretching 
away  up  Broadway  the  entire  lenj^thof  the  Park. 
The  fountain  is  (liscovcrcd  tossing  its  cooling  jets 
into  the  air,  and  ihc  b;iik  ground,  where  the  City 
Hall  stands,  is  particniarly  excellent  and  truth- 
ful; while  the  forcgiound  presents  quite  a  Lo.i- 
don-likc  appearance  with  its  mass  of  humanity, 
from  the  quiet  looker-on,  pleased  with  tlie  music 
and  fine  appearance  of  the  soldiery,  to  the  noisy 
wrchins  up  to  all  manner  of  mischief,  and  ready 
for  any  demonstration  of  u|)roarous  hilarity,  tliat 
may  create  amusement  for  the  crowd. 


ANTIOCII  AND  ITS  HOUSES. 

Antioch  is,  beyond  dispute,  the  cheapest  place 
in  the  world,  as  well  as  one  of  the  healtliiesi ; 
and  if  it  were  not  for  the  ragged  little  hoys,  who 
hoot  at  every  stranger,  and  throw  stones  at  his 
door,  annoying  you  in  every  possible  way,  I 
should  prefer  It  as  a  place  oi'  residence  to  any 
spot  I  have  visited  in  Kuropc,  Asia,  Africa,  or 
America.  My  house  was  of  perfectly  new  con- 
struction, well  planted,  and  well  situated,  and 
proof  against  water  as  well  as  wind.  I  had  four 
rooms:  a  sitting-room,  a  dining-room,  a  bed- 
room, and  a  dressing-room.  I  had  a  walled  en- 
closure of  about  eighty  feet  square,  wlierc  roses 
and  geraniums  vied  in  beauty  with  jessamines 
and  lilies.  There  was  also  a  poultry-yard,  a 
pigcon-iiouse,  stables  for  three  horses,  a  storc- 
liouse,  a  kitchen,  and  a  servants'  room.  I  had  in 
the  garden  a  grape-vine  (muscatel),  a  pomcgran- 
atc-tree,  a  peach-tree,  a  plum-tree,  an  apricot, 
and  a  China  quince  ;  and,  in  addition  to  all 
these,  a  fountain  perpetually  jetting  up  water, 
and  a  well,  and  a  bathing-room.  For  all  this 
accommodation  I  paid    three  hundred   and  fifty 


piastrcH — about  three  pounds  sterling;  and  this 
was  a  Iiiglier  rent  than  would  be  paid  by  any  na- 
tive. Of  course,  the  house  was  unfurnished  ;  but 
furniture  in  the  East  is  seldom  on  a  grand  scale; 
a  divan,  half  a  dozen  chairs,  a  bedstead,  a  n)at- 
trcss,  a  looking-ixlass,  a  tabic  or  two,  and  half  a 
dozen  pipes  and  nargliilies,  arc  all  one  requires. 
Servants  cost  about  tlirce  pounds  a  head  per  an- 
num. Seven  and  a  half  pounds  of  good  mutton 
may  be  had  for  one  shilling;  fowls,  and  fat  ones, 
too,  two-jtcncc  each.  Fish  is  sold  by  the  weight; 
thirteen  rotolos  for  a  beshlik,  or  about  seventy 
pounds'  weight  for  one  shilling.  Eels,  the  best 
flavored  in  the  world,  one  and  a  halfpence  each. 
As  for  vegetables,  whether  cabbages,  lettuces, 
asparagus,  celery,  water-cresses,  parsley,  beans, 
peas,  radishes,  turnips,  carrots,  oauHflowers,  and 
onions,  a  pennywortli  would  last  a  man  a  week. 
Fruit  is  sold  at  the  same  rates;  and  grapes  cost 
about  five  shillings  the  horse  load.  Gameisalso 
abundant.  Dried  fruits  and  nuts  can  be  obtained 
in  winter.  In  fact,  living  as  well  as  one  could 
wish,  I  found  it  impossible — house-rent,  servants, 
horses,  board,  washing,  and   wine  included — lo 


exceed  tlio  expenditure  of  forty  pounds  per  an- 
num. Under  these  circumstances,  it  may  appear 
marvellous  that  many  Europeans,  possessed  of 
limited  means,  have  not  made  Antioch  their  tem- 
porary home  ;  but  every  question  has  two  sides, 
and  everything  its  pros  and  cons.  The  cons  in 
this  instance  arc  the  barbarous  character  of  the 
people  among  whom  you  live  ;  the  perpetual  lia- 
bility of  becoming  at  one  instant's  warning  the 
victim  of  some  fanatical  emeute  ;  the  small  hopes 
you  have  of  redress  for  the  grossest  insults  offer- 
ed ;  the  continual  intrigues  entered  into  by  the 
Ayans  to  disturb  your  peat-e  and  comfort;  the 
nameless  little  annoyances  that  beset  you,  the 
absence  of  many  of  the  luxuries  enjoyed  in  Eu- 
rope;  the  want  of  society  and  hooks;  and  the 
total  absence  of  all  places  of  worship,  which  gra- 
dually creates  in  the  mind  a  morbid  iniliffci'ence 
to  religion,  and  which  feeling  fref|uently  degene- 
rates into  absolute  infidelity.  It  is  better  to 
choose  with  David  in  such  a  case,  and  say ;  "  I 
would  rather  be  a  door-keeper  in  the  house  of 
the  Lord  than  to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  iniquity." — 
Nealcs  Eujid  Years  in  Syria. 


GRAND  REVIEW  OF  TROOPS  IN  THE  PARK,  NEW  YORK. 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 

The  successors  of  the  Caliph  Omar  are  forget- 
ting that  famous  aphorism  ef  their  race  which 
described  all  literature  not  found  in  the  Koran  as 
superfluous.  Of  late  years,  the  Padisha  of  the 
Moslem  world  has  founded  schools — imported 
types  and  presses — and  set  up  newspapers  in  the 
dominions  over  which  his  sway  extends.  What 
is  still  more  marvellous,  is  the  fact  that  he  is 
BOW  beginning  to  acknowledge  himself  in  some 
sort  amenable  to  the  organs  of  public  opinion  in 
Europe.  AVe  have  been  both  amused  and  inter- 
ested by  an  otTicial  article  in  the  Journal  de  Con- 
stantinople, on  the  statements — said  to  be  false — 
of  certain  German  papers  in  reference  to  the  dis- 
pute between  the  Turks  and  the  Montenegrins, 
and  the  conduct  of  a  new  Omar  Pasha,  who  is 
now  illustrating  the  military  virtues  of  his  peo- 
ple on  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic.  Not  many 
years  ago  the  Sultan  would  not  recognize  the 
Christian  powers ;  and  now  the  Turks  see  the 
wisdom  of  correcting  the  mistakes  of  obscure 
German  writers.  How  rapid  the  strides  of  civil- 
ization on  the  Bosphorus  !  Prince  Sehwarzen- 
berg  slights  the  ministers  of  Turkey  and  Ameri- 
ca— as,  in   Austrian   opinion,    the    two    liberal 


nations! — at  his  banquet  on  the  downfall  of  Lord 
Palmcrston.  The  populace  of  London,  Bir- 
mingham and  Manchester,  entwine  the  colors  of 
Turkey  with  those  of  England  and  the  United 
States.  How  strange  a  companionship,  and  how 
suggestive!  Who  will  now  be  able  to  say  tliat 
Constantinople  is  behind  Paris  or  Vienna  in  real 
civilization'?  In  the  first,  the  ruling  power  ad- 
mits the  legitimate  right  of  public  opinion,  while 
in  France  it  is  coerced,  and  in  Austria  contemned. 
— London  Athenamm. 


<  ^■<»  > 


NIGHT  IN  ALEXANDRIA. 

As  tbrouLrh  suffocating  heat,  irritation  from 
musquito  bites,  and  the  prevalence  of  fleas,  I 
sleep  almost  none,  I  have  had  opjjortunities  of 
making  observations,  not  exclusively  astronomi- 
cal, during  the  watches  of  the  night;  and  may 
here  relate  my  experience  of  the  night  side  of 
Alexandria.  From  ten  till  twelve,  the  ear  is  as- 
sailed with  barking,  howling,  yelling  of  dogs, 
with  a  large  intermixture  of  caterwauling;  from 
twelve  till  two,  with  serenading  of  all  sorts,  har- 
monious and  otherwise,  with  a  spice  of  the  cats 
and  dogs  between   hands ;  from    two   till   four, 


cock-crowing  incessant — not  an  interval  of  rest 
to  the  ear,  but  crow,  crow,  crow, — shrill,  harsh, 
far,  near,  young,  old,  unabated  crowing;  from 
four  till  six,  donkeys  braying,  camels  lowing, 
men  shouting  and  cursing,  a  very  Babel  of 
sounds,  that  it  is  impossible  to  convey  by  any 
language,  and  altogether  forming  the  most  dis- 
agreeable variety  of  unpleasant  associations  in- 
flicted on  man.  To  one  accustomed  to  the  order 
and  quiet  of  really  civilized  life,  it  is  really  quite 
intolerable,  and  difficult  to  endure  with  any  pa- 
tience.—  Visit  to  Alexandria. 


TKE  CANDLE-TREE. 

This  tree  is  confined  to  the  valley  of  the  Cha- 
gres,  where  it  forms  entire  forests.  In  entering 
them,  a  person  might  almost  fancy  himself 
transported  into  a  chandler's  shop.  From  all 
the  stems  and  lower  branches  hang  long  cylin- 
drical fruits,  of  a  yellow  wax  color,  so  much  re- 
sembling a  candle  as  to  have  given  rise  to  the 
popular  appellation.  The  fruit  is  generally  from 
two  to  three,  but  not  unfrequently  four  feet  long, 
and  an  inch  in  diameter.  The  tree  itself  is  about 
twenty-four  feet  high,  with  opposite  trifoliated 


leaves  and  large  white  blossoms,  which  appear 
throughout  the  year,  but  are  in  greatest  abun- 
dance during  the  rainy  season.  The  Palo  de 
Velas  belongs  to  the  natural  order  Crescentracem, 
and  is  a  Parmentiera,  of  which  genus,  hitherto, 
only  one  species,  the  P.  edulis,  De  Cand.,  was 
known  to  exist.  The  fruit  of  the  latter,  called 
Qiianhscilote,  is  eaten  by  the  Mexicans ;  while 
that  of  the  former  serves  for  food  to  numerous 
herds  of  cattle.  Bullocks,  especially,  if  fed  with 
the  fruit  of  this  tree,  Guinea-grass,  and  BaiaiiUa, 
(Iponicfa  brachi/poda,  Benth.,)  soon  get  fat.  It  is 
generally  admitted,  however,  that  the  meat  par- 
takes in  some  degree  of  tlie  peculiar,  apple-like 
smell  of  the  fruit ;  but  this  is  by  no  means  dis- 
agreeable, and  easily  prevented,  if,  for  a  few 
days  previous  to  the  killing  of  the  animal,  the 
food  is  changed.  The  tree  produces  its  princi- 
pal harvest  during  the  dry  season,  when  all  the 
iierbaceous  vegetation  is  burned  up  ;  and  on  that 
account  its  cultivation  in  tropical  countries  is 
especially  to  be  recommended  ;  a  few  acres  of  it 
would  effectually  prevent  that  want  of  fodder 
which  is  always  most  severely  felt  after  the  peri 
odical  rains  have  eased. — Hooker's  Journal  nj 
Botanij. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWINCr   UOOM    COMPANION. 


205 


rREDEEICK   GLEASON,   Pkoprietoe. 

MATURIN    M.    EALLOtr,    Editor. 

CONTEJXTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER, 

"  The  Red  Wig,"  a  very  humorous  sketch,  by  the  inim- 
itable Old -On. 

"  The  Old  Alchemist,"  a  story  of  the  Elizabethean  peri- 
od, by  Syltanus  Cobb,  Jr. 

"  AshenpuUet,''  an  original  translation  fix)m  the  Ger- 
man, by  T.  BuLFiNCH. 

"■Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  VI,  describing  Jerusalem, 
by  Rev.  F.  W.  Uollasd. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  TV,  relative  to  Constan- 
tinople, by  Dr.  Jerome  T.  C.  Smitb. 

"  Autognphs  and  Autography,"  So.  V,  by  William  Ed- 
ward Knowles,  prepenting  the  signatures  of  Millard  Fill- 
more. Daniel  Webster,  J.J.  Crittenden,  C.  U.  Conrad,  H. 
W.  Herbert,  Prof.  Henry,  J.  II.  lugraham  and  Washing- 
ton Irving. 

"  The  Sovereign  of  the  Sea,"  an  acrostic,  by  Georoe  S. 
Ratmosd. 

"  Wilt  thou  thy  Friend  forget?"  verses,  by  Miss  Mart 
N.  Dearborn. 

'MVhere  are  those  Flowers  that  bloomed  in  June?" 
verses,  by  C-  G.  DuxN. 

"  A  Madrigal  to  Love,"  a  poem,  by  CnA's  H.  Steivart. 

"  Che  Smile  of  one  we  Love,"  hnes,  by  A^ME  Mott. 

"Joy  amid  Sorrow,"  verses,  by  Calmus  Hortesude. 

"  Life,"  a  poem,  by  John  D.  Joqnsox,  M.  D. 

'•  One  short  Year,"  lines,  by  D.  Haedv,  Jr. 

"  An  Acrostic,"  by  Joseph  H.  Butler. 

"  Keligion,"  verses,  by  Mrs.  M.  W,  Curtis. 

*•  Lines  to  the  Wind,"  by  E.  Curtiss  Hine,  U.  S.  N. 

ILLirSTEATIONS. 

A  fine  maritime  picture,  representing  a  Fishing  Yacht 
Party,  in  Boston  harbor,  outward  bound,  doubtless  des- 
tined to  see  the  sea  serpent.     By  our  arti-st.  .Mr.  Waud. 

A  picture  of  the  Nursery  Yacht,  a  new  and  ingenious 
article  of  domestic  use,  throwing  cradles  and  baby  jump- 
ers far  in  the  shade. 

A  picture,  giving  a  fine  view  of  a  Russian  summer  resi- 
dence, in  Tamboy.  the  Home  of  the  Itara  Fiunily,  about 
1150  versts  from  St.  Petersburg.     Crowded  out  last  week. 

A  superior  copy  of  the  maguificent  and  cnstlv  picture 
known  as  the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  bv  MurJIln,  which 
lately  sold  at  the  Louvre,  Paris,  for  536,000  francs,  about 
i23,400,  or  about  S117,000. 

A  series  of  excellent  Old  Colony  views  in  the  town  of 
Plymouth,  Mass..  all  by  our  artist,  Mr.  MaUory. 

First,  a  view  of  the  Town  of  Plymouth,  taken  from  the 
Gothic  Burying- Ground. 

Second,  an  admirable  and  accurate  view  of  Pilgrim 
Hall,  in  Plymouth. 

Third,  an  exact  copy  of  Sartrent's  painting,  in  Pilgrim 
Hall,  of  the  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims. 

Fourth,  a  view  of  the  far-famed  historical  Plymouth 
Rock,  at  Plymouth. 

A  picture,  representing  Donna  Pctra  Camara,  principal 
dancer  of  the  grand  theatre,  at  Madrid,  The  rival  of  the 
famous  Cerito. 

An  admirable  picture,  by  our  arti.st,  Mr.  Manning^  il- 
lustniting  CoD.stantinople,  Seraglio  Point,  as  described  in 
the  series  of  articles  on  Turkey  and  the  Turks,  written  for 
u-s  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

Also  a  picture  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Manning,  representing 
the  Dancers  that  frequent  the  Turkish  Cafes,  in  illustra- 
tion of  Dr.  Smith's  article  to  appear  in  the  same  number. 

A  fine  view  of  Youle's  Shot  Tower,  on  the  East  River, 
New  York,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade. 


Stimpson's  Peize  Pen. — Mr.  Stimpson  has 
Bent  us  a  sample  of  his  prize  pen.  It  is  called 
the  Ionic  Gold  Pen,  and  is  made  with  a  protec- 
tive handle,  of  an  ingenious  and  useful  style. 
The  pen  itself  runs  glibly  over  the  paper  as  we 
write  this  paragraph,  and  richly  deserves  the 
high  encomiums  of  praise  lavished  upon  it.  It 
is  for  sale  at  Harris  L  Stanwood's  jewelry  store, 
Washington  Street. 


SPLINTEES. 


Miss  Julia  Dean  seems  to  be  a  great  fa- 
vorite with  the  New  Yorkers. 

....  The  Collins  line  of  steamers  have  thus 
far  crossed  the  Atlantic  one  hundred  times. 

The  cheaper  kind  of  so  called  "  French 

kids  "  are,  in  reality,  rat-skin  gloves. 

Think  well  of  the  present  low  rates  of 

postage,  26  cents  a  year  !  and  then  subscribe. 

....  Richard  Walkley  is  under  sentence  of 
death,  at  Springfield,  Mass. 

Thackeray,authorof"  Vanity  Fair,"etc., 

is  engaged  to  lecture  in  New  York  this  winter, 

....  Gen.  Scott  has  received  from  govern- 
ment over  S7000  per  annum  for  40  years. 

....  At  last  foreign  dates  American  securities 
were  in  constant  and  increasing  demand. 

....  Two  Ure  mice  were  recently  sent  through 
the  U.  S.  mail  from  Billerica  to  Lowell. 

The  Haytiens  have   been   visited  with  a 

very  severe  earthquake,  lately. 

....  Dempster,  the  favorite  ballad  singer  and 
accomplished  vocalist,  is  in  Boston. 

On  the  south   side  of  Nantucket,  1000 

sharks  have  been  taken  in  the  past  two  months. 

The  amount  of  bullion  now  in  the  Bank 

of  England  is  over  £21,000,000.     Immense. 


PROFESSOR  AXDERSOIV. 

It  is  now  a  fully  ascertained  fact,  that  no  pub- 
lic performer,  on  this  continent  or  in  Europe, 
has  attained  the  name  and  fame  of  the  world- 
renowned  "  Wizard  of  the  North."  Twenty 
years  have  elapsed  since  the  subject  of  our  illus- 
tration made  his  public  debut  as  a  professor  of 
tlie  "  Mystic  Art."  He  is  a  Scotchman  by  birth. 
Having  passed  through  an  ordeal  of  several 
years,  stmggling  to  raise  his  profession  from 
what  it  formerly  was,  viz.,  mere  sleight-of-hand, 
he  has,  by  his  surprising  knowledge,  placed  it  as 
one  of  the  most  fashionable  amusements,  and  at 
the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  wonderful. 

The  wizard,  having  passed  through  the  whole 
of  the  provincial  cities  of  Great  Britain  and  Ire- 
land, with  great  success,  made  his  first  appear- 
ance in  London,  on  the  Sth  February,  1840. 
The  furore  which  he  then  created,  continued  for 
three  years,  during  which  period  he  was  honored 
by  the  patronage  of  Her  Majesty,  Queen  Victo- 
ria, and  was  summoned  by  royal  special  com- 
mand to  Buckingham  Palace.  The  Queen  and 
Prince  Albert  never  having  witnessed  an  enter- 
tainment of  magic,  got  up  on  the  scale  of  magni- 
ficence produced  by  the  wizard,  in  her  own  pa- 
lace, her  majesty  and  the  prince  were  astonished, 
as  were  also  tlie  whole  court.  So  much  was  her 
majesty  deliglitcd  with  the  performances,  that, 
after  the  entertainment,  she  personally  presented 
the  professor  with  a  magnificent  diamond  ring, 
which  we  see  sparkling  on  his  finger.  If  the 
wizard  was  popular  before  with  the  Londoners, 
wliat  was  the  amount  of  his  popularity  after  the 
high  encomiums  passed  upon  him  by  the  queen 
and  prince !  The  diamond  present  was  quite 
sufficient  for  the  Londoners.  The  stream  of 
wonder-seekers  was  increased  lOOO  per  cent.,  and 
continued  unabated  for  years.  The  wizard  in 
London  was  a  household  word ;  his  wonders 
were  witnessed  by  at  least  one-third  of  the  popu- 
lation of  London ;  more  particularly  by  the 
scientific,  the  learned  and  elite  of  the  great  me- 
tropolis. The  wizard  now  makes  a  continental 
tour  of  three  years,  during  which,  the  same  suc- 
cess attends  his  performances.  The  professor, 
coming  with  a  diploma  from  her  majesty  of  Eng- 
land, found  no  difEf  ulty  in  entering  the  palaces 
of  all  the  continental  monarcbs,  especially  those 
of  Nicholas  of  Russia,  Oscar  of  Sweden,  William 
of  Prussia,  Ernest  of  Hanover,  Christian  of  Den- 
mark, and  the  young  Emperor  of  Austria.  In 
their  palaces  lias  he  caused  the  "  liquid  stream  " 
to  flow ;  these  monarchs  have  all  drunk  from  the 
wizard's  bottle,  as  have  a  large  portion  of  their 
subjects,  in  all  more  than  five  millions. 

Who  is  there  in  this  country  who  has  not  heard 
of  Anderson,  the  great  Wizard  of  the  North,  and 
his  bottle?  We  have  watched  his  progress  since 
his  arrival  in  the  Atlantic  last  year;  lie  has  visit- 
td  our  principal  cities  with  the  most  extraordi- 
nary success ;  we  understand  that  upwards  of 
half  a  million  of  American  citizens  have  drunk 
from  his  bottle;  we  also  have  the  records  of  his 
feeding  thousands  of  the  poor,  and  giving  such 
sums  as  seventeen  hundred  dollars  to  charitable 
purposes.  Such  a  man  is  the  wizard.  Does  he 
not  merit  the  patronage  of  the  American  public  ? 

We  were  delighted  with  his  performances ; 
they  are  so  different  from  anything  of  the  kiLd 
we  have  ever  before  witnessed.  The  parapher- 
nalia and  apparatus  are  of  the  most  costly  mate- 
rials. The  experiments  are  new,  and  of  a  na- 
ture so  mysterious  as  to  baffle  the  imagination  to 
account  for  (by  natural  causes)  the  seemingly 
superhuman  wonders  performed.  The  view  on 
our  first  page  gives  the  wizard  in  the  bottle  scene. 


"  The  Red  Retenger  :  or.  The  Pirate  King 
of  the  Hortdas." — This  romance  of  the  Gulf  and 
its  islands,  we  have  been  obliged  to  re-prlnt,  in 
order  to  meet  the  constant  demand.  It  is  one  of 
Ned  Buntline's  best  stories,  and  we  can  now  sup- 
ply all  orders.  It  is  also  for  sale  at  all  of  the 
periodical  depots. 


The  Fishert. — Fifty  new  and  splendid  ves- 
sels have  this  year  been  added  to  the  fishing  fleet 
owned  in  Gloucester,  costing  in  the  aggregate 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 


The  Caloric  Ship. — We  look  forward  with 
much  interest  to  the  testing  of  this  invention. 
The  ship  measures  2400  tons  ! 


IVLiCKEREL. — Fine  large  mackerel  are  now 
caught  in  great  numbers  off  the  bridges  and 
wharves  of  Boston. 


THE  REGATTA  AT  HULL. 

We  had  on  Saturday,  Sept.  4th,  the  pleasure 
of  attending  this  regatta,  a  fine  view  of  which 
is  given  on  page  208.  The  day  was  singu- 
larly fine — scarcely  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring ; 
and  though  this  was  not  exactly  what  might  be 
required  to  test  the  racing  qualifications  of  a 
good  yacht,  it  undoubtedly  gave  the  more  pleas- 
ure to  the  numerous  spectators,  amongst  whom 
we  recognized  many  ladies  from  Boston  and  its 
vicinity.  Tiie  first  race,  of  which  we  give  an  il- 
lustration taken  at  its  commencement,  took  place 
outside  of  Point  Alderton,  eastward  round  Mi- 
not's  Rock  light  ship  and  back.  The  wind, 
which  had  been  in  the  morning  from  the  south- 
west, had  shifted  to  the  east.  It  still  continued, 
however,  so  light,  that  the  boats  scarcely  more 
than  crept  through  the  water.  However,  the 
race — if  it  is  so  to  be  called — took  place,  although 
it  was  late  in  the  day  that  it  terminated,  and  that 
the  awards  could  be  made — the  last  boat  return- 
ing only  at  nine  minutes  to  six.  The  first  prize, 
which  was  a  silver  pitcher,  was  awarded  to  the 
W.  S.  Thatcher,  of  South  Boston ;  the  Edtard 
Eddy,  of  Salem,  and  the  Whisper,  of  East  Bos- 
ton, taking  the  second  and  third.  In  the  course 
of  the  afternoon,  a  capital  rowing  match  was 
made — five  boats  being  entered  for  the  honor  of 
bearing  off  the  banner.  The  Gen.  Sarsfeld  was 
undoubtedly  the  finest  boat  in  the  match ;  but 
its  fall  complement  being  twelve  hands,  and 
having  only  ten,  as  well  as  to  make  an  allowance 
of  two  minutes  in  the  whole  race,  did  not  carry 
off  the  prize,  which  was  awarded  to  the  T.  F. 
Meagher,  a  cunning-looking  craft,  but  scarcely  to 
be  compared — in  our  eyes,  at  least — with  the 
Gen.  Sar.-tjield  in  its  build  and  qualifications  as  a 
racing  boat.  After  this  came  ofi"  the  second  race 
for  yachts  of  ten  tons  and  under.  This  was 
sailed  from  the  harbor  of  Hull  due  ca?t  to  Skull 
Head  and  back,  the  BansJiee,  of  South  Boston, 
taking  the  first  prize,  and  the  Odd  Fellow,  of 
Hull,  the  second,  with  scarcely  two  minutes' 
difference  between  them,  while  ttie  Dolphin,  of 
Hingham,  ran  in  for  the  third,  and  bore  it  away 
close  at  their  heels.  Not  a  doubt  can  exist  but 
that  the  light  wind  was  a  most  unfavorable  one 
for  testing  the  real  qualities  of  the  yachts,  though 
we  doubt  not  but  that  the  fine  weather  and 
sparkling  light  on  every  side  were  but  the  more 
keenly  enjoyable  by  the  hundreds  whom  the  race 
had  tempted  down  to  Hull  and  its  neighborhood. 


Providence  Marine  Artillerv. — The  fol- 
lowing is  a  correct  list  of  the  officers  ottacbed  to 
this  corps,  lately  in  this  city :  Joseph  P.  Balch, 
Colonel ;  Charles  T.  Robins,  Lieut.  Colonel ; 
George  L.  Andrews,  Major;  Wm.  Sprague,  2d, 
Captain;  Isaac  Brown,  Jr.,  1st  Lieut.;  Henry 
Brastow,  2d  Lieut.;  Isaac  Bond,  Quartermaster; 
Lyman  B.  Frieze,  Commissary;  Nathaniel  Mil- 
ler, M.  D.,  Surgeon ;  Thomas  S.  Anthony, 
Paymaster. 


At  Home- — The  famous   Batemen  Children 
are  now  performing  in  New  York  city. 


Dr.  Cummings's  Tooth  Wash  .and  Dentifrtce. — These 
are  decidedly  the  best  articles  for  purifying  the  breatii, 
cleansing  and  preserving  the  teeth  and  gums,  that  have 
ever  been  otTered  to  the  public.  Dr.  Cuniniings,  23  'Fre- 
mont Row,  being  an  eminent  practical  dentist,  and  baTing 
given  mucli  thought  and  study  to  this  imporbint  subject — 
thf  preservation  of  the  teeth — has  prepared  a  dentifrice, 
composed  of  the  most  choice  and  costly  ingredients,  which 
received  the  highest  premium  at  the  late  Mechanica'  Fairs 
in  Boston  and  Lowell. — Daily  Evening  TravtUer. 


English  Appreciation. — We  see  by  our 
English  exclianges  that  Eppes  Sargent's  new 
Speaker  is  receiving  much  attention  in  London, 
and  is  highly  commended  by  the  press  as  being 
a  book  suitable  for  general  introduction  into 
schools. 

<     ^a^     » 

A  Luminous  Tower. — The  Trustees  of  Mt. 
Auburn  are  about  to  erect  a  tower  sixty-two  feet 
in  height  on  the  top  of  the  highest  hill  in  Mt. 
Auburn,  which  will  enable  visitors  to  view  the 
beautiful  scenery  of  the  suiTounding  country. 

«   •mmmi    t 

In  Town. — Major  J.  H.  Barrett,  having  re- 
turned to  this  city,  after  a  lengthened  sojourn  in 
Washington,  called  on  us  the  other  day.  He 
looks  hale  and  hearty,  and  has  the  same  honest 
grip  for  his  friends. 


Visitors. — Our  extensive  business  establish- 
ment is  visited  by  hundreds  of  strangers  weekly, 
doubtless  some  of  them  are  our  subscribers, 
others  are  not.     All,  however,  are  welcome. 


Wanted. — A  local  agent  for  our  general  busi- 
ness in  New  Orleans.  Also  an  active  travelling 
agent  for  the  Southern  States ;  also  one  for  the 
New  England  States. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Miner,  Mr.  Augustus  Welling- 
ton, of  Lexington,  to  Miss  Sarah  Biabel. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Childs,  Mr.  George  W.  Lowther  to  Miss  Sa- 
rah J.  F,  Logan. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  James  C.  Hooper  to  Miss  Me- 
bitable  P.  .Tosephs. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Uowe,  Mr.  Westbrook  Dean  to  Miss  Louisa 
Blackmore. 

By  William  Palfrey,  Esq.,  Mr.  Ja's  W.  Holley,  of  Barns- 
table, to  MLas  Susan  \V.  Nickerson,  of  Yarmouth. 

At  Charlestown.by  Kev.  Mr   Whittemore,  of  Cambridge, 
Mr.  Iea,ic  P.  '£.  Lldmands  to  Mi.«s  Hannah  Maria  Rice. 

At  Audover,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Brown,  Mr.  .Tabez  L.  Burrill, 
of  Oberlin,  OUio,  to  Mi.'is  Lydia  Callahan. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Thompson,  Mr.  Edwin  R.  Hill  to 
Miss  Abby  E.  li.  Kinsley. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pike,  Mr.  Stephen  Bayley 
to  Mi-*s  Jane  Smith. 

At  Ho  listou,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Tucker,  Rev.  Geo.  I.  Steams, 
of  Windham.  Ct.,  to  Miss  A.  D.  Jones,  of  Hudson,  Mich. 

At  Belfa.>t,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Cutter,  Mr.  James  Tucker, 
of  .Stoughton,  Ms.,  to  Mrs  Ann  Avery. 

At  North  Whitefield,  Me.,  by  Hon.  Jasou  Carlton,  Mr  . 
Henry  Farley,  of  Salem,  Ms,,  to  Miss  Mary  E.  Newell. 

At  Piovidencc,  It.  I.,  by  Kev.  Dr.  Hedge,  Mr.  Caleb  Sea- 
gi-ave  to  Miss  Helen  D.  Bucklin. 

At  North  Coventry,  Ct ,  by  Kev.  Mr  Calhoun,  Mr.  Cha's 
Heath,  of  New  York,  to  Miss  June  C.  Gould. 

At  New  York,  by  Rev.  Mr.  MXaiTon,  Mr.  Michael  J. 
McDermott  to  Miss  Ehza  Kildruff. 

At  Washington,  D,  C,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Cushman,  Mr.  Cha's 
E.  White  to  Miss  Helen  A.'Lovtll,  both  of  Boston^  Ms. 


Back    Numbers. — We   can    supply  all  the 
back  numbers  of  the  Pictorial. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  .Toel  H.  Fclton,  23;  Mrs.  Mary  W.  Fen- 
no,  32;  Mr.  Ephraim  Hall,  76;  Miss  Leviuia  Sweet,  55; 
Mr.  James  Clark,  Jr.,  3y;  Mrs.  Ann  Parker,  72;  Mbs  Ann 
Ray,  (j2;  Mr.  Jos.  Adams,  78;  Miss  Ellen  H.  Bailey,  6.5- 

At  Roxbury,  Mr.  James  L.  Harrington,  37. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr.  Benjamin  W.  Guild.  28. 

At  Somerville,  Miss  Mary  Abby  Han.scom,  25. 

At  Dorchester,  Mr.  John  H.  Welch,  3S. 

At  Milton,  Mrs.  Mary  Ann  Pendergast,  25. 

At  Medford,  Mrs.  Electa  Freeman,  67. 

At  N.  Andover,  Mrs.  Hannah  Burchmore,  of  Salem,  70. 

At  Dcdham.  Mr.  Jeremiah  F.  Jtichards,  53. 

At  Newton,  Miss  Margaret  A.  Goddard,  2tJ. 

At  Bntintree,  Miss  Dorcas  F.  AVild,  19. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Ellen  Delory,  65. 

At  Newburyport,  Mrs.  Sarah  Stover,  74. 

At  Ease  iVe_>moutt.,  Mrs.  Mary  Loveil  Bates.  33. 

At  Duxbury,  Mr.  Ezra  Weston,  of  Boston,  43. 

At  Medwaj  ,  Mrs.  Lucy  Lovering.  80. 

At  Warehiim,  Mr.  Perez  E.  Howjurd,  of  Boston,  31. 

At  Rockport,  Mrs.  Sally  Gott,  65. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mrs   Mary  P.  Allen,  27. 

At  Worcester,  Mrs.  Nancy  Woard  S.LhHbury,  32. 

At  Sudbury,  Mrs.  Mary  Jane  Hannibal,  20. 

At  Bath,  Me.,  Mr.  George  C.  Brown,  42. 

At  Concord,  N.  H.,  Mr.  John  P.  Gass,  59. 

At  Gosben,  S.  H.,  Mr.  Abel  Blood,  95. 

At  Wakefield,  N.  d.,  Charles  R.  Lyford,  10. 

At  Providence,  R.  I..  Mr.  Thomas  Fcnner,  82. 

At  i\ew  York,  Stephen  Holt,  Esq.,  71. 

At  Chicago,  111.,  J.  F.  White,  Esq..  editor  of  tbfl  TrihnpR. 


—  AND  — ■ 

LITERAKY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

jDrrtunitij-HiXMn  ([Ioin:)5rtin0tt< 

A  Jiecord  of  the  heautifid  and  tisefid  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  clegint 
and  available  form,  a  ivccldy  literary  melange  of  nr.table 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMEHICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
■well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artist.1,  of 
notiible  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  m  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  sliips  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  mate  and  fonialc. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenerj',  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it. — pre- 
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inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
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pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
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highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  iu  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
Combined  excellencies. 

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206 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Wrlttun  for  Gleaaoa's  Plctorlul.] 
TO  hYDlA. 

BY  CAIIOLINE  A.   IIAYDEN. 

I  remember  thoe  In  diiys  ROne  by,  ft  gay  and  glrllflh  tiling, 
Miido  of  wfinn,  impulwlvo  thougbt,  lifc'H  bright  hiiiigiiiiDjifl  ; 
Tlio  love-liKht  epiirldea  in  thliie  oye,  thy  Htoj)  wiin  light  und  frc«, 
And  if  a  ahadow  crossed  tliy  path,  joy  bade  thu  phantom  lleo. 

Rut  little  time  biw  piiflsod  away,  and  I  bohold  tboo  now, 
Tho  mmo  bright  Hinilo  of  Iiuppin«8fl  iy  mantlinff  on  thy  brow, 
Thy  laufth  is  jus-t  at*  miihiciil,  tliy  stop  an  liglit  and  frcu, 
Tho  caroH  wliich  wedded  life  luifluoies  hang  lightly  over  theo  ; 
A  happy  wife  and  mother,  life  baa  not  a  Bingli'  joy, 
Dut  id  ceatrotl  in  tho  spot  which  holds  thy  lovoly  girl  and  boy. 

In  the  future  dim  before  thee? — 0,  give  it  not  a  thought, 

Too  happy  if  the  present  with  unclouded  bli«B  bo  fraught ; 

IJo  the  sun.'fbiuo  which  with  cheering  ray  shall  gladden  that  one  heart, 

AVhoso  ti-ueat  earthly  happiness  thou  canst  so  well  impart ; 

In  thy  calm,  domestic  haven  be  the  il.\ed  and  guiding  star, 

Ity  its  truth  and  lovo  attracting,  whilo  it  tiheds  its  beams  afar. 


[Written  for  G-leaaon's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN  PALESTINE. 

No."    V. 

BY  REV.  F.  \V,  HOLLAND. 


SAMARIA. 

Mount  Tabor,  about  two  hours  from  Nazareth,  rises  most 
beautifully  in  a  truncated  cone  from  the  richest  of  valleys,  to  the 
height  of  a  thousand  feet,  atfording  a  grand  view  of  Hermon,the 
Lake  of  Galilee,  Carmcl,  and  the  Mediterranean — one  of  the  finest 
prospects  in  the  world.  The  top  of  the  hill,  a  mile  in  circumfer- 
ence, contains  some  remains  of  the  Crusaders'  fortifications,  and 
two  small  chapels,  on  ditierent  sides,  in  whicli  the  Greek  or  Latin 
fi'iars  annually  celebrate  the  transfiguration,  each  of  them  being, 
to  one  sect  or  the  other,  the  very  scene  of  that  wondciful  manifes- 
tation. In  the  Old  Testament,  Tabor  is  frequently  named  with 
deserved  admiration,  but  never  in  the  New — an  omission  only  to 
be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  evangelical  writers  were  not 
poets  like  the  prophets,  and  that  they  felt  moved  to  tell  as  simply 
and  briefly  as  possible  of  the  Divine  life  which  was  inspiring  their 
own  lives.  From  Tabor  the  Kishon  takes  its  rise,  and,  through 
the  rainy  months,  rolls  quite  a  stream  into  the  Mediterranean, 
swelled  by  many  a  mountain-torrent,  which  in  the  summer  wholly 
cease.  From  Nazareth  to  Jenin  the  road  leads  across  the  rich 
lowlands  where  the  waters  divide  to  run  east  or  west,  over  Gilboa 
and  through  Endor,  into  the  celebrated  battle-plain  of  Esdraelon, 
to  the  worst-behaved,  most  thievish  and  filthy  place  in  all  Syria, 
Jenin,  as  some  suppose  the  royal  residence  of  Jezebel.  Here, 
after  being  stoned  a  little  by  the  Moslem  boys,  we  obtained  shel- 
ter in  an  empty  barber's  shop,  and  made  purchase  of  a  single 
fowl — all  tliat  Ahab's  city  would  yield — for  dinner ;  but  what  with 
the  smoke  of  the  brush,  tlie  liveliness  of  tlie  patriarchal  fleas,  and 
the  melancholy  drizzle  of  the  rain,  Samaritan  housekeeping  did 
not  prove  to  be  at  all  bewitching.  So,  liy  daylight  the  next  morn- 
ing we  despised  the  lulling  murmur  of  the  brooklet  near,  and 
dared  the  rain,  which  poured  down  heartily  for  a  while,  thankful 
lo  turn  our  backs  upon  the  moss-grown,  half-ruined  houses,  the 
rude  dishonesty  of  the  inhabitants,  the  well  earnt  ill  fame  of  the 
place,  and  its  abominably  dirty  streets.  On  our  return — having 
been  denied  accommodation  at  a  mountain  village,  where  Dr. 
Robinson  stated  there  were  nothing  but  mins,  but  where  we  found 
some  very  neat  houses — Sanur,  one  of  a  very  few  Greek  Chris- 
tians, took  us  in  at  Jenin ;  and  so  exhausted  were  we  after  a 
horseback  journey  of  fifteen  hours,  that  the  struggle  of  one  ot  our 
horses  to  lie  down  on  the  same  platform  where  we  laid  hardly 
disturbed  us  at  all. 

No  language  can  paint  the  uncertainty  of  every  kind  which  at- 
tends a  pilgrimage  in  Palestine.  The  impassable  character  of  the 
roads  in  winter,  which  is  the  only  healthy  season  for  the  stranger, 
the  dangerous  depth  of  many  of  the  streams,  the  utter  stupidity 
of  most  of  the  natives,  the  dreary  loncsomeness  even  of  the  cara- 
van paths,  the  length  and  violence  of  the  storms,  try  one's  courage 
to  the  uttermost.  Shortly  after  our  flight  from  Jenin,  we  pressed 
on  past  a  loaded  train  of  more  than  a  hundred  camels,  and  in 
crossing  part  of  the  rich  valley  of  Jezrccl,  our  baggage  horses 
floundered  and  sank  in  ;  and  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
we  extricated  the  naked  beasts  plastered  over  with  black  mud, 
and  then  picked  out  our  goods  piece  by  piece  from  the  treacher- 
ous bog.  Meanwhile,  we  had  the  vexation  of  seeing  the  long 
caravan  wind  round  us  in  single  file,  smiling  at  the  ludicrous  fig- 
ure we  made,  and  exulting  that  we  must  squeeze  by  their  unac- 
commodating beasts  upon  another  narrow  pass  of  the  mountain. 
Not  one  of  them  expressed  any  sympathy,  not  one  of  them  stirred 
a  foot,  or  raised  a  band  even  for  our  assistance.  So  is  it  every- 
where and  always.  Constant  oppression  h.\s  hardened  the  Syrian 
into  selfishness ;  the  extortion  of  Pashas  and  the  spoliation  of 
Bedouins  have  destroyed  the  last  trace  of  human  feeling.  Had 
we  been  robbed  and  half  murdered,  they  would  have  gone  by  on 
the  other  side,  as  coolly  as  the  Levite  and  the  priest  passed  the 
man  who  had  fallen  among  thieves  in  the  still  dangerous  pass 
from  Jericlio  to  Jerusalem.  One  of  the  best  things  about  our  own 
countrymen — especially  where  help  is  most  important  among  the 
new  settlements  at  the  West — is,  that  they  are  always  ready  to 
assist  a  stranger  in  trouble.  Under  the  smile  of  free  institutions, 
human  nature  unfolds  itself  thus  generously  in  pity  for  the  suffer- 
ing and  succor  for  the  distressed,  in  guiding  the  lost  wanderer 
and  Hlicltering  liic  homeless  orphan.     Such  a  thing  as  gratitude, 


we  never  saw  in  Syria.  On  one  occasion,  a  Turkish  tax  collector 
put  himself  into  our  party  for  protection,  ate  of  our  meals  and 
sliiu-ed  our  concli ;  and  when  he  delivered  us  from  his  dangerous 
society  it  was  in  the  same  hang-dog  style  that  he  Joined  us,  with- 
out any  expression  of  interest  in  our  welfare,  or  concern  for  our 
danger. 

Tho  vast  and  fertile  plain  of  Esdraelon— for  three  thousand 
years  the  battle-field  of  Assyrian  and  Perhian,  Gentile  and  Jew, 
Crusader  and  Saiacen,  Egyptian  and  European,  Turk  and  Arab 
— a  noble  hut  half-cultivated  field,  ends  before  one  arrives  at  tlie 
flourishing  and  important  city  of  Sychar,  now  called  Narbloos 
(Nubulus).  As  some  books  say  there  is  no  town  near  the  well  of 
Jacob,  we  were  rather  surprised  to  find  one  so  extended,  populous 
and  flourishing  as  this,  extending  along  the  base  of  Mount  Geri- 
zim,  overhanging  the  most  fertile  valley  In  i'alcsline,  full  of  gar- 
dens and  orchards,  flowing  everywhere  with  lively  little  streants 
that  make  a  water-course  of  many  of  the  streets  and  roads.  The 
ten  thousand  people  here,  nearly  all  Turks,  preserve  their  old 
scorn  of  Christians,  and  were  better  dressed  and  more  busily  em- 
ployed than  at  any  other  Mussulman  city.  Every  part  of  the 
place  was  curious.  Many  of  the  buildings  were  mere  limestone 
caverns  j  the  gloomy,  slippery  streets  were  frequently  arched  with 
stone;  the  bazaars  were  remarkably  well-supplied,  and  the  cool 
air  made  by  tiie  mountain-rills,  as  they  flowed  between  the  nar- 
row sidewalks,  made  quite  a  sootiiing  impression  on  the  heated 
traveller. 

Gerizim,  the  Mount  of  Blessing,  is  commonly  said  to  be  distin- 
guished from  Ebal  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley  by  its  fertil- 
ity ;  but  this  is  only  one  of  many  proofs  that  travellers  in  the 
Holy  Land  see  what  they  want  to  see,  what  they  have  all  their 
lives  imagined,  and  perhaps  frequently  described  to  others.  Tlie 
signs  of  grape  culture  yet  remaining  on  Gerizim,  show  that  this 
holy  hill  has  not  always  been  able  to  reflect  the  barrenness  of  the 
Mount  of  Cursing,  as  from  a  polished  mirror. 

As  soon  as  possible,  we  made  our  way  to  the  little  synagogue 
of  the  Samaritans;  around  which  a  poor,  decreasing,  isolated, 
hopeless  remnant  of  this  strange  place  live  herded  together.  For 
hundreds  of  years  they  were  not  supposed  to  be  in  existence. 
Their  discovery,  like  that  of  Gerasa  and  of  Pompeii,  was  bringing 
tlie  dead  to  life.  The  waves  of  three  tliousand  years  have  washed 
over  them,  the  Jews  have  persecuted,  the  Mussulmcn  robbed,  the 
Crusaders  hired,  the  later  Christians  bribed — and  still  a  handful 
remains  in  wonderful  attestation  of  the  Gospel  history,  worship- 
ping as  of  old  upon  Mount  Gerizim  with  the  annual  sacrifice  of 
the  paschal  lamb,  reading  the  law  of  Moses  and  rejecting  the  later 
books,  having  no  dealings  of  a  friendly  kind  with  Jew  or  Gentile. 
Their  rabbi,  who  cannot  be  far  from  one  hundred  years  old,  in- 
terested us  exceedingly,  and  the  people  seemed  even  now  to  de- 
serve the  favor  with  which  they  were  noticed  by  the  great  Teacher 
— far  more  than  the  head  dress,  marking  them  out  from  their 
Moslem  neighbors,  was  their  general  look  of  kindness  and  purity. 
The  old  gentleman  has  had  some  stories  palmed  ofl'  upon  him 
about  Samaritan  families  at  Genoa  and  Paris.  He  has  been  ac- 
customed to  ask  strangers  if  they  knew  of  no  otliers  like  himself; 
and  some  exceedingly  obliging  person  has  invented  the  tale  of 
disciples  abroad,  with  which  the  venerable  patriarch  consoles 
himself  and  amuses  his  guests.  There  are  but  a  hundred  of  the 
sect  remaining  together  at  present,  and  hardly  a  man  of  them 
anywhere  else,  so  that  they  are  doomed  to  disappear  in  the  course 
of  years.  We  took  off  our  shoes,  as  every  one  is  obliged  to  do, 
as  we  entered  their  arched,  stone  synagogue— a  plain  upper 
chamber,  with  a  recess  for  the  rolls  of  Scripture — the  most  primi- 
tive looking  place  in  the  world.  Here  is  a  copy  of  the  Penta- 
teuch, said  to  be  thirty-five  hundred  years  old,  which  you  are 
shown  after  you  have  sufficiently  admired  a  much  more  modem 
one.  I  never  touched  any  other  manuscript  with  such  reverence, 
not  only  from  the  uncounterfeited  antiquity  of  the  worn  vellum 
and  the  affection  manifested  to  it  by  all  around  me,  but  because  of 
the  regard  which  had  been  paid  to  it  by  so  many  generations,  each 
of  whom  had  looked  up  to  it  as  a  present  from  God.  They  have 
a  number  of  other  books,  commentaries,  etc.,  and  the  business  of 
the  priest  has  been  to  make  copies.  I  suspect,  too,  that  they  sus- 
tain a  school  of  their  own,  and  have  morning  and  evening  service 
together  in  their  sanctuary. 

Jacob's  Well  is  a  little  south  of  the  town,  and  bears  its  ancient 
name  with  Mussulman,  Samaritan,  Jew  and  Christian.  It  is  still 
"  very  deep,"  but  contained  no  water,  though  I  thought  its  bottom 
was  muddy.  The  top  was  a  triangular  hole  upon  the  surface  of 
the  rock,  but  beneath  this  mouth  there  is  a  large  vaulted  chamber, 
and  then  about  a  hundred  feet  of  depth.  The  position  of  the 
well,  as  well  as  uniform  tradition  and  the  universal  consent  of  all 
who  have  visited  the  spot,  mark  this  as  the  scene  of  the  Saviour's 
annunciation  of  his  Messiahship  to  the  woman  of  Samaria.  Not 
far  distant  is  the  dome-covered  tomb  of  a  Moslem  saint,  where  the 
Shechcm  ladies  resort  to  gossip  and  pray.  And  a  few  miles  ofl" 
along  the  valley  were  visible  Joseph's  tomb,  and  the  poor  ruins 
of  ancient  Samaria,  now  the  little  village  Sebustieh. 

For  a  wonder,  there  was  excellent  lodging  at  Sychar  furnished 
by  a  Greek  merchant  in  an  uj^per  chamber  appropriated  for  the 
purpose,  but  evidently  wanted  only  on  rare  occasions.  It  was 
some  lime  before  the  key  could  be  found,  then  the  room  had  to 
be  aired,  provisions  purchased  and  servants  procured.  But  with- 
out intending  any  such  coincidence — having  no  time  to  spare 
for  such  formal  preparations — when  we  returned,  we  threw  our- 
selves down  on  the  grass  in  sight  of  Jacob's  well,  and  sent  our 
men  into  tho  city  to  "buy  bread,"  while  we  chatted  about  our 
thankfulness  at  having  seen  so  much,  with  so  little  suficring, 
labor  or  peril. 

It  ho,i  been  beautifully  said,  that  "the  veil  which  covers  the 
face  of  futurity  is  woven  by  the  hand  of  mercy." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

AUTOCItAPIlS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTINGUISHED  HTOIVIDUAIS. 

Ko.  IV. 

BY  WM.  EDWAnD    KNOWLEB. 


LosGi-ELLOw  is  certainly  entitled  to  the  first  place  among  the 
American  poets,  though  critics  have  assigned  the  honor  to  Bry- 
ant. His  talents  aie  of  the  finest  order,  and  his  compositions  are 
distinguished  by  an  exquisite  finisli,  oquulicd  by  no  living  author. 
Laying  aside  all  affectation,  he  would  produce  still  greater  efforts. 
He  writes  much  less  tlmn  many  others,  but  what  he  does  .do,  is 
done  well.  His  handwriting  is  free  and  easy,  possessing  much 
grace  and  beauty,  besides  being  rather  picturesque. 


Bryant  is  a  strange  genius.  His  handwriting  is  notliing  at 
all.  Indeed,  any  sclioolboj'  would  write  far  more  of  a  marlied 
liiind.  Yet  Mr.  Bryant  is  at  tlie  head  of  American  literature,  and 
ean  write  "  thoughts  that  breathe,  in  words  that  burn." 

Hon.  S.  G.  GooDKiCH  is  our  present  Consul  at  Paris.  He  is 
well  known  as  the  author  of  many  juvenile  books,  and  as  the  ver- 
itable Peter  Parley.  Ilis  handwriting  is  good,  distinet,  and  shows 
the  author  to  be  metliodical  and  careful,  rather  than  swift  of 
thought,  or  brilliant  in  style.  Mr.  Goodrieh  is  in  this  eountry 
relative  to  some  literary  business. 


'^KoMoi^i, 


''b' 


*-(2^j 


Mis,  Stephens  is  by  no  means  justly  estimated  as  it  regards 
her  poetical  talents ;  many  of  her  poems  are  fully  equal  to  the  late 
Mrs.  Osgood's.  The  imagery  is  most  brilliant,  and  her  versifica- 
tion liquid  and  beautiful.  Tlie  handwriting  is  rather  scrawly,  and 
indicates  impulsiveness  and  want  of  method,  which  we  believe  Is 
characteristic  of  this  lady. 


A.  C.  HoBBs  has,  of  late,  become  quite  a  noted  man  by 
reason  of  liis  mechanical  genius,  having  astounded  John  Bull  liy 
picking  his  most  complicated  locks  with  ease,  while  he  presented 
a  lock  in  turn  that  no  one  can  pick.  The  hand  is  bold  and  manly, 
and  conveys  the  idea  of  firmness  and  determination  of  purpose. 


"Victor  Hugo.  This  distinguished  Erench  politician  has  all 
the  eloquence  of  .T-iraartine,  without  liis  effeminate  nature.  The 
signature  convc^Vt  strong  expression  of  the  man.  It  is  bold, 
dashing,  decided  and  confident.  Such,  too,  is  Victor  Hugo,  the 
author  of  "Napoleon  the  Little,"  and  the  thorn  in  the  side  of  the 
French  President. 


Jenny  Lind's  signature  puzzles  us.  We  are  somewhat  at  a 
loss  to  analyze  its  bold  characteristics,  so  contrary  to  the  idea  we 
have  formed  of  the  queen  of  song  through  her  jiublic  perform- 
ances and  her  public  character.  And  yet  we  are  told  that  it  is 
like  her  private  character,  very  decided  and  prompt,  whole-souled 
and  heavy,  or  else  not  at  all. 


Otto  Goldschmidt.  In  the  delicate  signature  of  Jenny's 
husband,  we  discover  a  timidity  that  would  well  become  a  bashful 
lover,  and  far  less  character  than  is  observed  in  that  of  his  wife. 
Perhaps  music  has  efherealizcd  not  only  his  disposition  and  nature, 
but  his  hmul  also,  by  its  enthralling  infiuence. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


207 


MAMMOTH   TELESCOPE. 

We  learn  from  tlie  correspondence  of  the  New 
York  Commercial,  that  an  undertaking  of  great 
interest  to  scientific  persons  is  now  being  carried 
out  within  a  few  miles  of  London.  A  wealthy 
country  clergyman  named  Craig,  is  constructing 
a  new  monster  telescope,  on  the  achromatic 
principle,  which  will  surpass  the  celebrated  in- 
strument constructed  by  Lord  Eoss  in  L-eland. 
Its  total  length  will  be  85  feet,  and  its  greatest 
circumference  13  feet.  The  weight  of  the  tube 
is  tliree  tons,  and  the  contrivances  adopted  to 
prevent  vibration,  and  to  allow  of  its  being  rap- 
idly turned  to  any  required  point,  are  described 
as  being  singularly  perfect  and  ingenious.  It  is 
understood  that  the  observatory  will  be  endowed 
by  Mr.  Craig,  so  that  it  may  be  maintained  in  per- 
petuity for  the  advantage  of  astronomical  science. 


STOOL  LIFE  PRESERVERS. 

There  was  a  trial  of  the  Stool  Life  Preserv- 
ers at  Detroit,  lately.  The  result  was  perfectly 
satisfactory  as  to  their  efficiency  when  in  a  sound 
state.  The  Detroit  Tribune  says;  "This  ex- 
periment ought  to  set  the  question  at  rest  in  the 
public  mind.  It  was  witnessed  by  over  five  hun- 
dred persons,  and  the  stool  preservers  were  tested 
by  someof  our  most  respectable  citizens,  amongst 
whom  was  0.  M.  Hyde,  Esq.,  the  collector  of 
the  port.  Though  Mr.  Hyde  weighs  over  200 
pounds,  and  could  not  even  swim,  one  of  the^ 
life  preservers  buoyed  him  up  without  difficulty. 


A  CALORIC  SFHP. 

The  caloric  ship  "  Ericsson  "  is  now  com- 
plete, with  the  exceptiou  of  the  engine  and  joiner 
work,  and  will  go  off  the  stocks  the  latter  part  of 
this  week,  and  will  go  on  her  trial  trip  about  the 
first  of  November.  Her  completion  is  looked 
forward  to  with  great  interest,  but  her  builders 
ai*e  sanguine  of  success.  She  will  consume  only 
about  eight  tons  of  coal  per  day,  and  if  expecta- 
tions are  realized,  can  be  sent  on  a  voyage  of 
9000  miles — from  Panama  to  Australia — if  de- 
sired, taking  out  coal  for  both  the  outward  and 
return  trips.     She  measures  2400  tons. 


WORTH    KNOWING. 

Or,  how  to  get  a  ickole  suit  of  clothes  into  a  junk 
bottle.  Kvery  time  you  feel  like  taking  a  "  horn," 
drop  the  price  of  a  "  nipper  "  into  the  bottle,  and 
take  a  glass  of  pure  cold  water.  Repeat  this 
until  the  bottle  is  full,  then  break  it  and  carry 
the  contents  to  a  good  tailor,  and  within  a  month 
you  will  find  yourself  encased  in  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  without  any  trouble  or  expense  to  your 
self.  The  same  can  be  done  with  hats,  boots, 
etc.  We  have  known  a  cart  load  of  wood  and  a 
barrel  of  fiom-  to  be  transmogrified  in  a  similar 
manner. 


AN  EARTHQUAKE. 

The  shock  of  an  earthquake  was  felt  at  Au- 
gusta, Ga.,  on  the  morning  of  Monday  week, 
about  twenty  minutes  before  three  o'clock.  The 
vibrations — says  the  Constitutionalist — were  sen- 
sibly felt,  and  several  persons  in  the  city  were 
Po  startled  as  to  run  out  of  their  houses  into  the 
open  air.  The  inhabitants  were  awakened  from 
a  sound  sleep  from  the  rattling  of  the  windows 
of  their  dwellings,  and  by  a  faint,  dull,  rumbling 
noise,  as  of  distant  thunder. 


Singular. — ^A  pailful  of  snow  was  brought 
into  the  office  of  the  Northetn  Journal,  Lewis 
County,  New  York,  on  the  26th  ult.,  obtained  in 
a  gulf,  above  West  Lowvillc.  The  bank  is  three 
feet  deep  yet,  and  bids  fair  to  "  linger  in  the  lap 
of"  winter.  With  no  Alps  or  Andes  to  brag  of, 
■we  ju«t  challenge  the  country  to  beat  such  an 
exhibition  in  wheat  harvest. 


Vert  Odd.  A  gentleman  in  Virginia  had  a 
standing  bet  for  twelve  or  fifteen  years,  that  it 
would  rain  the  first  Saturday  of  every  August, 
which  he  has  won  every  year  except  one.  An- 
other gentleman  bet  it  would  rain  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  July.  He  says  that  it  has  never  failed  to 
do  so  for  the  last  sixteen  years. 


AxoTiiEK  Death  from  Camfhexe.  Victo- 
ria, daughter  of  Eev.  Joseph  Marsh,  injured  by 
the  recent  camphenc  explosion  at  Sandwich, 
died  early  on  Saturday  morning. 


Financial.— There  were  $18,000,000  in  the 
United  States  Treasury  a  few  days  since,  subject 
to  draft. 


For  Sale.     The  Atlantic  House,  Newport,  is 
to  be  sold  at  auction  soon. 


illaiisiLie   ©atljcrings. 

A  new  lighthouse  is  to  be  immediately  built 
near  Belfast,  Me. 

The  ropes  lately  used  at  the  execution  of  two 
murderers  at  York,  were  made  of  silk. 

In  thirty-one  counties  in  Kentucky,  there  are 
said  to  be*  201 ,000  head  of  cattle. 

Standing  grain  was  set  on  fire  by  lightning,  in 
ilie  north  of  England,  a  short  time  since. 

The  rice  harvest  has  commenced  along  the 
Savannah  River,  with  prospects  of  a  good  crop. 

The  man  who  always  drives  a  good  bargain, 
has  at  lenglli  procured  a  whip. 

A  Chinese  theatrical  company  was  on  its  way 
to  San  Francisco,  with  a  capital  of  840,000. 

G.  P.  P.  James,  the  distinguished  novelist,  has 
been  appointed  British  Consul,  at  Norfolk,  Va. 

The  total  length  of  the  Mississippi  River,  with 
all  its  tributaries,  is  51,100  miles. 

The  California  papers  are  discussing  the  mer- 
its of  the  rival  candidates  for  the  presidency  with 
much  warmth. 

The  corporation  of  San  Francisco  have  pur- 
chased tlic  Jenny  Lind  Theatre,  and  are  to  con- 
vert it  into  a  City  Hall. 

A  Buffalo  perch  was  caught  in  the  river,  at 
Madison,  la.,  lately,  which  weighed  twenty-two 
pounds. 

A  lady  died  in  New  York,  a  few  days  since, 
from  injuries  received  by  the  explosion  of 
camphcne. 

The  sum  of  §15.000  is  offered  for  the  raising 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  $5000  more  for  the  recovery 
of  the  safe  containing  the  Express  money. 

It  is  a  striking  fact,  that  of  the  7000  or  8000 
emigrants  from  this  country  to  Liberia,  not  one 
life  has  been  lost  by  shipwreck. 

There  are  in  the  United  States  eighty-one  wo- 
men holding  the  office  of  postmaster,  thirty-one 
of  whom  are  in  Pennsylvania. 

The  Collins  steamers  have  crossed  the  ocean 
one  hundred  times,  carrying  9000  passengers, 
without  loss  of  life,  or  injury  to  person. 

Mrs.  Forrest,  that  was,  is  about  to  mairy  an 
early  love — an  English  soldier  of  fortune,  attached 
to  one  of  her  majesty's  regiments.  ' 

Mr.  Dennett,  the  celebrated  inventor  of  the 
rockets  for  saving  the  lives  of  persons  shipwreck- 
ed, died  recently  in  England. 

A  farmer  of  Bordeaux  was  recently  detected, 
by  persons  set  to  watch  by  himself,  robbing  his 
own  hcH' roost,  while  in  a  state  of  somnambulism. 

A  duel  occurred  at  New  Orleans  between  two 
young  Creoles  of  good  family,  one  of  whom  was 
killed.     The  weapons  used  were  guns. 

The  City  Councils  of  Augusta,  Ga.,  have  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  the  Savannah  Councils, 
and  voted  $100  to  the  Washington  Monument 
fund. 

The  man  who  smokes  in  the  omnibus  has  not 
gone  to  Cape  May,  as  has  been  falsely  reported, 
but  is  on  a  visit  to  Vesuvius,  the  great  European 
smoker. 

There  have  been,  during  the  present  year, 
twenty  one  steamboat  accidents,  involving  loss 
of  life.  The  number  of  persons  killed  and 
drowned  is  728,  and  injured  100. 

The  Old  Stone  Mill  lot,  at  Newport,  contain- 
ing one  acre  and  sixty  nine  hundredths  of  an 
acre,  has  been  sold  for  building  lots,  and  brought 
the  sum  of  S15,000. 

Mr.  Orcutt,  father  of  the  young  man  convicted 
some  time  since,  in  Utica,  N.  Y.,  and  whose  sen- 
tence of  death  was  commuted  to  imprisonment 
for  life,  has  died  of  grief. 

There  are  printed  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
thirteen  weekly  religious  papers,  witli  a  circula- 
tion of  103,900.  In  London,  there  are  but  four 
or  five,  and  in  Paris,  but  two  or  three. 

It  takes  two  hundrc  d  thousand  or  eighty  pounds 
of  roses  to  make  an  ounce  and  a  half  of  the  Ot- 
tar  of  Roses.  This  is  sold  at  Chazipoor,  on  the 
Ganges,  where  it  is  produced  at  $20  the  ounce. 

Webster's  Dictionary  appears  to  be  rising  fast 
in  popularity  in  England.  Longman,  the  pub- 
lisher, has  now  adopted  the  revised  edition  of 
Webster,  as  a  peif'ect  English  standard. 

Two  glasses  of  beer  per  day,  at  two  cents  per 
glass,  amounts,  in  one  year,  to  $14  60.  Two 
cents'  worth  of  tobacco,  and  three  cents'  worth 
of  cigars,  amount,  in  one  year,  to  $1S  25. 

Different  sounds  will  travel  with  different  velo- 
city :  a  call  to  dinner  will  run  over  a  ten-acre  lot 
in  a  moment  and  a  half,  while  a  summons  to 
return  to  work  takes  from  five  to  eiglit  minutes. 

Chinese  villages  are  springing  up  through  the 
gold  diggings.  I'ekin,  Hong  Kong  and  Canton 
are  among  the  names  already  given  to  these 
Celestial  settlements,  some  of  which  number 
1500  souls. 

Another  large  hotel,  in  New  York,  is  to  be 
built  by  Monnot,  on  a  lot  fronting  Madison 
Square,  between  5th  and  6th  Avenues.  It  is  to 
be  of  white  marble,  and  equal  to  anything  in  the 
world,  it  is  said. 

There  are  400,000  Indians  in  the  United  States 
Territories,  west  of  the  Mississippi.  Among 
them  are  laboring  one  hundred  ordained  mis- 
sionaries, besides  assistants,  and  10,000  Indians 
are  communicants. 

The  Hon.  Daniel  A.  White,  of  Salem,  Mass., 
has  made  a  donation  of  six  acres  of  land,  worth 
820,000,  to  the  town  of  Lawrence.  The  pro- 
ceeds are  to  be  appropriated  to  the  support  of 
lectures  for  the  young,  a  public  library,  and  a 
ti'ust  fund. 


JForcign   fHtscellang. 

Col.  Fremont  and  his  ladv  are  at  present  in 
Paris. 

Kossutli  remained  in  London  at  the  last  ac- 
counts.    He  was  living  in  great  privacy. 

The  number  of  visitors  to  Abbotsford  has  this 
year  far  exceeded  that  of  other  years. 

Achillc  FoLild,  the  new  French  Minister  of 
State,  is  a  Jew  banker. 

Antwerp  is  about  to  be  connected  with  Rotter- 
dam by  a  railroad. 

The  police  of  London  are  now  using  the  elec- 
tric telegraph. 

Elihu  Burritt  is  still  agitating  the  Ocean  Penny 
Postage  question  in  England. 

The  emigration  from  the  United  Kingdom  is 
now  greater  than  the  increase  in  population. 

The  Norwegian  conimcrcialfleet  has  increased 
107  ships,  equal  to  24,868  tons,  since  1850. 

Harvest  is  proceeding  favorably  both  in  Eng- 
land and  Scotland. 

A  new  periodical  has  been  started  in  London, 
called  "  Wonderful  Things." 

Fourteen  steamers  now  ply  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  between  Constantinople  and  the  picturesque 
villages  situated  along  the  Bosphorus. 

At  the  Highland  and  Agricultural  Society  of 
Scotland's  Show,  at  Perth,  recently,  a  premium 
was  awarded  for  the  reaper  of  a  Rev.  Mr.  Bell, 
over  Hussey's  American. 

Spiritualists  have  reached  Europe.  In  Prussia 
there  are  large  numbers  of  mediums  engaged  in 
delivering  messages  while  they  are  asleep.  They 
talk  right  out  and  no  rapping. 

Lamartinc  recently  addressed  a  piece  of  poetry 
to  his  own  bust,  alluding  in  it  to  the  broad  ex- 
pansive forehead,  and  the  neglect  of  such  genius 
by  an  ungrateful  country. 

Great  damages  have  been  caused,  in  tlie  north- 
ern part  of  Spain,  by  heavy  storms  of  rain.  In 
some  provinces,  the  crops  are  almost  entirely 
destroyed. 

The  revolutionists  of  Rome  canyon  their  cor- 
respondence by  means  of  colored  handkerchiefs, 
the  colors  of  which  disappear  after  a  chemical 
washing,  and  leave  the  writing  legible. 

An  Irish  paper  states,  that  all  the  seats  at  the 
Kilnaboy  Chapel,  belonging  to  those  persons 
who  voted  for  Colonel  Vandeleur,  have  been  torn 
up,  and  the  parties  prohibited  from  attending 
public  worship. 

The  Roman  government  have  sanctioned  the 
introduction  of  postage  stamps  for  the  pre-pay- 
ment  of  postage  on  letters.  The  stamp  is  about 
the  size  of  the  English  postage  stamp,  and  on  it  a 
representation  of  the  tiara  and  keys,  the  badge  of 
papal  dignity  and  power. 


iSaniis  of  ©olb. 


....  We  do  not  possess  what  we  do  not  un- 
derstand. 

Learning,   with   virtue,   is   better    than 

houses  and  lands. 

Difficulties  are  only  occasions   f jr  the 

development  of  talents. 

He  who  has  good  health  is  a  rich  man, 

and  does  not  know  it. 

He  who  gives  you  fan:  words,  feeds  you 

with  an  empty  spoon. 

....  Respect  for  self,  governs  morality;  re- 
spect for  others  governs  our  behaviour. 

Superstition  is  the  poetry  of  life.     It  is 

therefore  an  injury  to  the  poet  not  to  be  super- 
stitious. 

He  who  knows  the  world  will  not  be  too 

bashful.  He  who  knows  himself  will  not  be  too 
impudent. 

....  Let  men  but  live  as  justly  as  they  can, 
and  just  Providence  will  give  them  what  they 
ought  to  have. 

By  united   effort,   the  theorist  and  the 

practical  man  may  accomplish  much,  which  nei- 
ther could  effect  alone. 

....  Friends  should  be  weighed,  not  told:  who 
boasts  to  have  won  a  multitude  of  friends,  has 
ne'er  had  one. —  Coleridge. 

....  Drunkenness  is  the  parent  of  mo^t  other 
vices.  It  quenches  tlie  salutary  power  of  reason, 
and  makes  us  the  sport  of  raging  passion. 

....  Simplicity  is  the  great  friend  of  nature  ; 
and  if  we  might  he  proud  of  anything  in  this 
world,  it  should  be  of"  this  happy  alliance. 

....  The  celebrated  Galen  said  employment 
was  nature's  jihi/sician.  It  is  indeed  so  important 
to  happiness,  that  indolence  is  justly  considered 
the  parent  of  misery. 

....  Literature  is  the  fragment  of  fragments  : 
the  least  v.'liich  has  been  said  and  acted  has  been 
written  ;  and  the  least  of  what  has  been  written 
has  survived. 

The  truly  independent  and  honest  poli- 
tician is  not  always  the  most  popular  :  and  yet, 
independence  and  honesty  will  secure  such  popu- 
larity as  is  worth  having  or  seeking  for. 

....  There  is  not  a  creature  in  the  world, 
wherein  we  may  not  see  enough  to  wonder  at : 
there  is  no  insect,  no  spire  of  grass,  no  leaf 
wherein  we  see  not  traces  of  a  divine  hand. 

Profane  sw-earing  has  always  seemed  to 

be  a  most  voluntary  sin.  Most  ening  people 
when  they  do  wrong  count  upon  some  good  to 
be  derived  from  their  conduct,  but  for  profanity 
there  is  no  excuse. — Uosca  Ballou. 


loker's  Buiigct. 


I've  got  in  an  awful  scrape,  as  the  chin  said  to 
the  blunt  razor. 

An  expert  farmer  down  East  has  succeeded  in 
raising  a  colt  from  the  "  night  mare." 

Why  is  the  letter  A  always  discordant  ?  Ans. 
Because  it  is  in-harmonious. 

"  If  I  am  'stuck  up,'  I  ain't  proud,"  said  the 
beetle  when  he  was  pinned  to  the  wall. 

Wliy  would  you  suppose  fish  did  a  great  deal 
of  weighing  '?     Because  they  always  carry  scales. 

When  does  a  thief  resemble  molasses?  Ans. 
When  he  is  put  in  the  stone  jug. 

A  gentleman  once  sent  for  an  artist  to  draw 
his  picture,  who  was  requested  to  place  him 
standing  unseen  behind  a  tree. 

A  farmer,  when  flagellating  two  of  his  oldest 
boys,  was  asked  what  he  was  doing.  "  Thrash- 
ing wild  oats,"  was  his  reply. 

"  No  pains  will  be  spared,"  as  the  quack  said 
when  sawing  off  a  poor  fellow's  leg  to  cure  him 
of  the  rheumatism  ! 

At  a  late  break  up  of  the  tetotallers,  they 
were  described  as  retiring  from  the  temperance 
festival  full  of  spirits. 

A  true  picture  of  despair  is  a  pig  reaching 
through  a  hole  in  the  fence  to  get  a  cabbage  that 
lies  a  few  inches  beyond  his  reach. 

"  I'm  sorry  your  cousin  Sullivan  is  dead;  a 
decent  lad  he  was  ever  always.  And  now  tell  me 
what  he  died  of."     "  He  died  of  a  Tuesday  !" 

A  man  at  a  fair  was  asked  if  his  horse  was 
timid.  "Not  at  all,"  said  he;  "he  spends  the 
whole  night  by  himself  in  the  stable." 

There  is  a  chap  in  Boston  who  is  so  very  ten- 
der-hearted that  he  bursts  into  tears  whenever  he 
looks  at  his  cast-off  pantaloons.  Anything  that 
looks  like  suffering,  makes  him  "  bile  over  "  in  a 
minute. 

"  Don't  you  think  Rev.  Mr.  K.  a  preacher  of 
great  power  ?"  asked  a  gentleman,  in  reference  to 
a  pompous,  long-winded  divine,  who  spoke  in  a 
high-keyed,  drawling  voice.  "  Yes  ;  h/gh~drawl-ic 
power,"  was  the  reply  of  the  person  addi-essed. 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  lat  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Deawinq 
Room  Companion  elegimtly  bouDd  in  cloth,  mth  gilt  edgea 
and  biick,  and  iUuuiined  sides,  fonning  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  p:irlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  Foir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
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fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subject;^ ;  vrith  an 

ILLmilNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  fonning  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pagefl 
avast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Kecord  of  the  times;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
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Devoted  to  polite  litorature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
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therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  POR  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  TIIE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

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P.    GLEASON. 
PUBLIBHEB  AND  PEOPaiLTOB,  BOSXON,  MaBH. 


208 


GLEAS()N\S    PKrrOKIAL    DRAWING   ROOM    (;OMrANION. 


.|:\M'   IM.GATTA  AT  HULL. 


MASSACHUSETTS  GENERAL  HOSPITAL. 

This  edifice,  located  in  McLean  Street,  Boston, 
was  built  in  1611.  Originally  it  had  but  1 6S  feet 
front,  with  a  depth  of  54  feet,  and  a  portico  of 
eight  Ionic  columns.  In  1848,  it  was  enlarged, 
and  now  accommodates  more  than  100  patients. 


What  with  legislative  aid  and  the  contributions 
of  individuals,  the  corporation  has  now  a  fund  of 
$171,000  safely  invested,  the  interest  of  which 
contributes  largely  to  its  support.  In  1850,  the 
institution  received  the  sum  of  $5000 — a  legacy 
of  the  late  Heniy  Todd — for  the  support  of  free 


beds.  The  number  of  free  beds  supplied  amounts 
to  eighty-five.  One  hundred  dollars  per  year 
will  support  one  of  these  beds.  It  is  the  design 
of  this  institution  to  furnish  relief  to  all  who  need 
it,  at  as  low  a  rate  as  possible.  The  income  of 
the  corporation  for  the  last  year,  derived  from 


[For  description,  hpr  pjige  205.1 

the  invested  property,  subscriptions  for  free  hfd^, 
and  from  all  other  sources,  was  S38,517 — vi/., 
from  property  of  all  kinds,  $16,917  ;  extra  divi- 
dend of  the  Hospital  Life  Insurance  Companv, 
$18,000;  subscriptions  for  free  beds,  $2100,  and 
unexpected  funds  of  the  McLean  Asylum,  $1500. 


MASSACHUSETTS  GENEaAL  HOSPITAL,  M  LEAJSf  STREET,  BOSTON. 


F.  GLEASON, 


I  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
1    AND  TiiKMONX  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  2,  1852. 


iS2  PER  VOLUJIE. 

10  ct8.  single. 


Vol.  III.  No.  14.— Whole  No.  16. 


A  FISHUVG  PARTY. 

The  scene  which  we  present  to  our  readcis  be- 
low forms  a  fine  maritime  picture,  and  was 
drawn  for  us  from  the  life,  by  Mr.  Waud.  The 
picture  in  its  locale  represents  Boston  Harbor, 
and  the  fishing  sloop  in  the  foreground  is  taking 
a  party  of  amateur  fishermen  down  to  the  fishing 
grounds  below  the  lighthouse,  just  outside  of 
jt^oint  Alderton  and  the  Brewsters.  Ofi"  these 
grounds,  the  party  will  be  in  sight  of  the  cape 
on  either  shore,  and  especially  of  Nahant  and 
Egg  Rock ;  ten  to  one  they  will  meet  with  tlie 
veritable  j-ea  serpent  before  they  return.  The 
steamer  in  the  distance  is  the  May  Flower,  the 


pet  steamer  of  our  beautiful  harbor,  which  runs 
between  Bo^iton,  Long  Island,  Hull  and  Hing- 
ham,  a  fleet  and  safe  craft,  and  one  wluL-h  com- 
mands a  very  large  .share  of  public  patronage. 
Here  and  there  in  the  picture  may  be  seen  some 
of  the  numerous  islands  that  dot  our  bay;  in 
olden  times  they  were  covered  witli  a  luxuriant 
growth  of  trees,  and  a  thick  underbrush ;  but  the 
depredations  of  the  early  visitors  to  the  bay  upon 
tliem  forfircwood.gradually  dismantled  them  en- 
tirely, and  they  now  only  present  their  undulating 
surfaces,  clad  m  the  green  covering  of  thrifty 
grass,  and  form  convenient  pasturage  for  cattle. 
There  are  few  better  harbors  on  the  Atlantic  sea- 


board than  our  own,  with  a  good  channel  way, 
sheltered  from  the  sea,  and  with  plenty  of  water 
at  all  times  ;  for  maritime  commercial  purposes 
it  could  hardly  he  improved.  Fishing  excur- 
sions, during  the  summer  months,  are  a  favorite 
source  of  amusement  to  a  large  portion  of  our 
citizens,  and  such  parties  as  om-  artist  has  here 
represented  may  be  seen  at  almost  any  hour  of 
the  day  casting  off  their  stern  lines  and  setting 
sail  for  the  fishing  grounds,  below  the  outer  light. 
Some  of  those  uninitiated  individuals  that  are 
so  merry  just  now  on  the  sloop's  deck,  however, 
will  be  apt  to  feel  somewhat  different  when  the 
long,  ground  swell  of  the  sea  in  the  outer  bay  gers 


command  of  the  hull  of  tlie  trim  and  bcauiiful 
little  craft.  But  we  wont  prognosticate  trouble 
for  them ;  for  we  hope  they  will  have  a  merry 
time,  plenty  of  bites,  a  good  luncheon,  and  a 
safe  return  to  the  wharves  again.  People  who 
live  far  inland  and  who  never  participate  in  these 
aquatic  sports,  can  but  poorly  realize  their  in- 
vigorating effect  upon  the  constitution,  the  mind 
and  the  body ;  but  if  we  have  the  open  sea  to 
enjoy,  you  have  the  dense  forests  and  green 
fields,  10  say  nothing  of  fresh  water  streams  and 
trout  fishing;  and  one  may  yield  as  effective 
amount  of  pleasure  and  healthful  elasticity  aa 
the  other  to  the  busy  followers  of  each. 


A  FISIIING  YACHT  PARTY  IN  BOSTON  lIARliOK 


210 


GLEASON'S    nCTOniAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPAXION". 


A.  KOMANIIC  STORY  OF  INCIDIiNT  AND  ADVENIUJIE. 

Entered  according  to  Act  ol'  Congress,  in  tlic  yeiir  1852,  by  F.  Glkason,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  MassaehuscttH. 


[written  kxphessly  ron  glkason's  riCToniAL.] 


I'BllllllI 


-on, — 


%  (Srapljic  iSaU  of  Spain,  Italn  ani)  (ffnglanir. 


BY  FREDERICK  HUNTER. 


[continued.] 


CPIArTER  Xn.— [continued.] 

"  There  is  another  phase  to  this  sad  drama, 
signor;  and,  since  I  have  so  attentively  and  si- 
lently listened  to  your  story,  do  mc  the  favor  1o 
hear  the  rest,  as  it  came  to  me." 

"I  am  all  attention,  count." 

"This  same  Don  Miguel,  although  he  may 
have  been  your  friend,  was  a  consummate  knave  ! 
An  ingrate — a  liar — a  robber  once,  himself — an 
avaricious,  cheating,  mm-dcrous  wretch !"  said 
the  count,  warmly. 

"But—" 

"  I  pray  you,  listen,  signor ;  my  story  will  be 
brief.  I  tell  you  that  such  was  the  character  I 
had  heard  of  this  very  Euberto,  whom  you  com- 
pliment." 

"But—" 

"  One  moment,  by  your  leave.  When  I  left 
Spain,  a  few  weeks  since,  I  heard  t!ie  details 
which  I  will  now  repeat  to  you ;  and  I  crave 
your  patience. 

"You  have  spoken  of  one  dc  Nordc.  This 
very  man  had  aided  Don  Miguel  into  tlie  posi- 
tion he  held,  and  through  his  exertions,  at  a 
period  prior  to  Rubcrto's  residence  near  Seville, 
he  had  helped  him  largely  to  the  means  he  now 
possessed.  This  same  de  Norde,  some  six  years 
afterward,  found  himself  in  comparative  adver- 
sity, and  called  upon  Ruberto  to  redeem  a  vol- 
untary promise  he  had  fornaerly  made  him, 
whom  he  was  pleased  to  call  his  friend,  in  pros- 
perous days.  Don  Miguel  received  him  with 
apparent  welcome,  and  agreed  to  accommodate 
liim  in  his  pecuniary  emergency. 

"De  Xorde  became  his  temporary  guest,  and 
Ruberto  relented  of  his  offer.  Forgetting  all 
that  he  owed  liis  former  friend — unmindful  of 
the  obligation  which  he  liad  voluntarily  assumed 
— reckless  of  the  consequences  which  might  at- 
tend his  villany — and,  more  than  all,  regarding 
liis  ill-gotten  money  of  higher  value  than  his 
honor,  or  the  good  will  of  him  whom  he  ought 
willingly  to  have  served,  Ruberto  stole  into  the 
sleeping  room  of  his  former  friend,  at  midnight, 
and  would  have  stabbed  him,  as  ha  skinihercd, 
but  for  a  circumstance  of  good  fortune  which  oc- 
curred to  prevent  the  deed,  and  save  the  life  of 
that  friend  and  guest ! 

"  But,  luckily,  de  Norde  was  not  there  alone  ! 
He  had  known  Ruberto  for  many  a  long  year, 
and  he  knew  him  for  a  selfish,  treacherous  vil- 
lain. He  was  prepared  for  violence,  and  if  oc_ 
casion  called  he  was  ready  to  meet  opposition. 
Enraged  at  the  duplicity  and  treachery  to  which 
he  had  so  nearly  become  a  fatal  victim,  de  Norde 
called  upon  the  aid  which  was  near  at  hand,  and 
finding  himself  seriously  wounded  by  that  very 
Ruberto's  poignard,  he  turned  upon  the  wretch, 
and  avenged  liimself  upon  tlic  spot! 

"  Your  information  is  correct,  good  signor — 
de  Norde  did  sack  and  pillage  Ruberto's  house, 
and  then  he  caused  his  premises  to  be  fired.  It 
was  a  righteous  judgment  upon  the  cowardly 
traitor's  head — who  would  have  been  de  Norde*s 
assassinator,  had  not  fate  intervened  to  arrest 
the  intended  murderer's  blow !  In  the  midst  of 
the  inelee,  Don  Miguel  fell,  in  his  tracks,  covered 
with  wounds.  The  flames  of  his  hacienda  soon 
after  hissed  over  his  head,  and  the  traitor  was 
buried  beneath  the  walls  of  his  own  house — a 
fitting  punishment  for  the  ingrate's  perfidy  \" 

*' And  was  this  all?"  asked  the  stranger,  in  a 

Bcvcre  tone,  whicli  the   count  did  not  seem  to 

note,  particularly.     "  Was  tliis  all,  good  count  ?" 

"  Is  not  this  enough  ?     So  comes  the  tale  to 


mc,  and  I  think  it  a  wholesome  conclusion  to  an 
unfortunate  drama.  Don  Miguel  brought  his 
woe  upon  himself,  if  the  account  be  true,  as  I 
have  learned  it ;  and,  but  for  his  own  treachery, 
he  might  still  have  been  alive  and  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  his  wealth." 

"Don  Miguel,  then,  is  dead?"  said  the  stran- 
ger, with  evident  feeling.  "  Ah,  my  unlucky 
friend  !  But,  good  count,  there  was  an  item  in 
the  account,  as  current  rumor  gives  it,  that  you 
have  not  alluded  to.  Ruberto's  ward,  Signora 
Almanza  ;  what  became  of  her?  It  is  said  that 
this  de  Norde,  not  content  witli  robbing  the  ha- 
cienda, and  murdering  its  proprietor — for,  if  his 
minions  cut  Ruberto  down,  and  left  his  mangled 
body  amid  the  burning  ruins,  surely  he  ivas  his 
murderer — not  satisfied  with  this,  it  is  said  he 
stole  the  fair  girl  away,  and  having  poisoned  her 
ears  with  flattery  and  promises,  induced  her 
to  elope  with  him,  at  last.  Did  you  not  hear  of 
this,  too  V 

"  Some  such  account  I  do  remember  having 
heard,"  said  the  count,  confusedly.  "But — a 
truce  to  fartlier  banter,  signor.  I  have  already 
lent  you  too  much  of  my  leisure,  without  know- 
ing whom  I  have  the  honor  of  speaking  with. 
Your  name,  then,  signor,  ere  we  proceed  further." 

"We  are  alone,  count,  are  we  not?"  asked 
the  stranger. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  count,  promptly. 

"Let  me  remove  ray  mask,  then,  count,  and 
you  shall  say  if  we  have  ever  met  before,"  and 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  visitor  c|uickly 
displaced  his  closely-fitting  mask,  and  the  count 
as  quickly  sprang  to  his  feet,  astounded  ! 

"  Ruberto  \"  exclaimed  the  count,  wildly. 

"  Don  Miguel  Ruberto;  at  your  service,"  con- 
tinued the  intruder,  as  calmly  as  he  could  speak, 
under  the  circumstances.  "  And  now,  Bernard 
de  Norde,"  added  the  old  man,  "  your  incognita 
will  serve  you  no  further  in  Naples.  You  may 
be  the  Count  Antienne  no  longer  here.  You 
stand  at  this  moment  face  to  face,  de  Norde,  with 
the  man  you  have  robbed,  abused,  maltreated, 
and  almost  murdered — ^liim  whom  you  left  to 
the  mercy  of  the  flames  which  devoured  his 
dwelling  and  his  property — your  former  master, 
whom  you  know  too  well  to  believe  will  not  be 
even  with  you  yet !" 

"  Fontini,"  said  dc  Norde,  deeply  agitated, 
and  totnily  unprepared  for  such  a  scene,  "I 
would — " 

"Hear  me!"  tliundered  the  old-time  robber, 
drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  assum- 
ing his  own  tone  of  voice — which  all  this  time 
had  been  completely  disguised — "listen  yet  to 
what  I  have  to  add." 

It  was  a  scene  for  an  artist.  The  ancient  man 
of  crime  stood  boldly  up  before  the  iron  front  of 
his  firm  and  undismayed,  though  excited  pupil, 
and  as  the  robbers  gazed  each  into  the  other's 
eye,  there  was  enough  of  fire,  of  determination, 
of  cunning,  of  expression,  of  boldness,  and  of 
character,  to  aflbrd  ample  material  for  a  spiiited 
picture. 

After  a  moment's  jiause,  Don  Miguel,  in  a 
more  subdued,  but  still  vehement  tone,  resumed 
the  story  of  liis  grievances,  and  demanded  re- 
dress. 


CHAPTER  XHL 

TIIK    INTERVIEW  ANP    ITS   RESULT.S. 

WiiiLE  Don  Miguel  spoke,  the  brain  of  de 
Norde  was  rapidly  at  work.  lie  saw  that  his 
retreat  had  been   discovered;  he  saw  that  his 


RujipositionH  regarding  the  fate  of  Don  Miguel, 
whom  lie  really  suppo.sed  was  dead,  were  erro- 
neous; he  Haw  that  lie  was  cornered,  in  a  meas- 
ure, and  even  while  he  suffered  Don  Miguel  to 
upbraid  and  menace  him,  he  was  arranging  his 
own  piun^  to  meet  and  rebut  the  vengeance  and 
designs  of  so  formidable  an  enemy  as  "  Fontini." 

"De  Norde,"  contimied  Don  Miguel,  "you 
have  forfeited  all  chum  to  mercy  or  considera- 
tion, by  your  baseness.  You  have  placed  your- 
self in  the  position  of  a  rogue  among  rogues. 
You  have  committed  acts  which  language  is  in- 
adequate to  denominate.  You  have  robbed  and 
imi>oscd  upon  me — liuberto — Fontini !  whom 
yon  know,  and  who  will  have  redress — revenge 
for  this  foul  injury,  insult  and  contumely!" 

Come,  Don  Miguel,"  responded  de  Norde, 
coolly,  "suppose  we  con.sider  this  matter,  like 
men — like  men  of  experience,  at  least,  in  con- 
cerns of  this  character — and  like  men  who  are 
acquainted  each  with  the  other's  faults  and 
virtues .'" 

"  I  am  not  here  to  bandy  words." 

"  I  judge  not ;  but,  unless  you  lower  your  tone 
of  voice,  all  Naples  will  soon  know  that  Fontini 
and  dc  N-orde,  two  of  the  most  notorious  brig- 
ands in  Europe,  are  at  this  present  time  in  their 
very  midst.  The  chance  for  cither  of  us  to  I'e- 
tire  from  this  place,  when  this  should  be  made 
public,  would  be  a  very  indifferent  one,  I  fancy." 

"  Give  me  back  my  ward  !  Restore  me  my 
gold  !  Show  mc,  at  once,  that  you  will  render 
me  satisfaction  for  the  ruin  you  have  so  nearly 
accomplished — and  do  it  quickly,  Bernard  de 
Nordc — or,  by  my  highest  hopes,  I  swear  to  you, 
I  w^iU  be  summarily  avenged,  for  this  foul  at- 
tempt upon  me  and  mine  !" 

"  Not  too  rapidly,  Fontini,  by  you  leave.  Not 
quite  so  fast !  Corrinnc  Almanza,  that  was,  is 
now  the  ivife  of  the  man  you  appeal  to—" 

"  Do  not  talk  this  to  me,*'  said  Don  Miguel, 
with  a  sneer.  "  Think  you  I  am  not  better  ac- 
quainted with  you,  than  to  believe,  for  one  mo- 
ment, i/ou  ever  intended  to  marry  Corrinnc ! 
Out  upon  so  paltry  a  pretension." 

"  I  tell  you  she  is  my  lawfully  wedded  wife — " 

"  I  tell  you,  de  Noi"de,  I  will  have  my  ward, 
and  you  shall  yield — " 

"  Hold,  Fontini !  You  are  proceeding  too  far. 
I  will  submit  no  longer  to  your  insult  and  your 
abuse.  You  know  me,  and  you  may  judge  if  I 
be  your  equal.  Go,  then !  Denounce  nie,  if 
you  will — tell  the  authorities  of  Naples  that  1 
am  de  Norde,  if  you  dare  do  it — and  then  you 
may  add  that  I  defy  both  them  and  you  !  Pierre 
— come  fortii  !" 

"  In  response  to  this  order,  Don  Miguel  was 
astonished  and  alarmed  to  see  the  figure  of  a 
stalwort  man  spring  from  the  recess  to  Bernard's 
side.  Pierre  had  listened  to  every  word  that  had 
been  spoken,  during  this  exciting  interview ;  and 
Don  Felix  Barbierre,  who  had  played  the  part 
of  secretary  to  his  '■  countship,"  since  their  arri- 
val in  Naples,  was  now  ready  to  aid  his  master 
as  valiantly,  if  need  existed,  as  he  had  been  on  a 
former  occasion,  in  which  the  unlucky  Ruberto 
had  figured  to  his  own  personal  disadvantage. 

But  the  former  chief  was  exasperated  beyond 
concrol.  He  saw  but  a  single  chance  before 
him  ;  he  saw  that  his  words  had  been  overheard, 
and  he  determined  in  his  own  mind,  at  once, 
how  easy  a  thing  it  would  be  for  the  two  men  to 
make  their  own  representations  of  the  interview, 
and  sacrifice  him,  in  spite  of  his  contemplated 
asseverations.  He  gazed  with  fiery  eyes  upon 
his  two  powerful  young  antagonists,  and  his  des- 
perate emotions  nearly  overcame  him. 

"Fontini!"  said  de  Norde,  a  moment  after- 
wards, "  you  would  have  murdered  me  in  cold 
blood,  even  while  I  was  a  guest  beneath  your 
roof,  but  for  a  single  freak  of  fortune  that  favored 
me  on  that  fearful  night.  You  put  at  defiance 
me  and  my  necessities,  and  you  must  accept  the 
consequences.  I  give  you  notliing — accede  to 
nothing — I  will  bargain  with  you  for  nothing; 
Jicrcafter,  let  us  be  strangers — enemies,  if  you 
choose — but  not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  my  own 
rights  will  I  concede  to  you,  under  threat,  advice, 
or  persuasion !" 

Scarcely  had  these  words  -  escaped  the  lips  of 
de  Norde,  when  Don  Miguel  sprang  upon  his 
former  lieutenant  with  a  tiger's  fierceness,  grasp- 
ing him  violently  at  the  throat,  as  the  latter 
staggered  back,  from  the  suddenness  of  the  as- 
sault, against  the  wall  of  the  apartment.  But 
the  act  was  very  quickly  responded  to,  for  de 
Norde  was  an  athletic  fellow,  and  he  was  now 
backed  by  his  faithful  and  powerful  companion, 
the  formidable  Pierre. 

"  Quick  !"  shouted  de  Nordc,  to  his  attendant, 


"  llicre  is  but  a  single  chance  left  us.  To  the 
right,  Pierre !"  and  with  these  brief  words,  dc 
Nordc  .seized  upon  the  person  of  old  Don  Mig- 
n<d,  and  was  <|uickly  backed  by  \m  companion, 
Pierre — who  saw  that  tlic  throw  wjis  a  desperate 
one;  and*  there  was,  truly,  but  one  chance  left 
them  in  Ihis  dilemma. 

A  heavy  fall  followed  the  rem.irk  of  dc  Nordc, 
as  the  form  of  Ridjcrto  disappeared  within  the 
door  of  a  suddenly  discovered  closet,  on  the  right 
oflhc  ajiartrnent.  "Trait—"  Bcrearaed  the  old 
man,  who  would  have  denounced  dc  Norde  and 
his  companion  for  their  condut-t,  if  lie  hiul  been 
permitted;  but,  ore  he  could  fiiush  the  word 
"traitor!"  a  handkercliief  had  been  forced  into 
his  mouth,  he  was  thrown  violently  upon  the 
floor  by  his  two  assailants,  his  hand.-i  and  feet 
were  instantly  lied — and  thus  gagged  and  pin- 
ioned, they  left  him  in  the  closet,  in  silence  and 
darkness. 

It  was  now  midnight.  As  de  Norde  returned 
to  liis  room  again,  with  Pierre  at  his  side,  lie  said 
to  his  confederate  ; 

"  What  remains  to  be  done,  must  be  accom- 
plished on  the  instant." 

"  But  how  can  we  move  ?"  asked  Pierre. 
"  Easily,  easily  enough.     Since  he  is  not  dead, 
I  have  no   wish   to  be  his  murderer ;  I  will  not 
harm  him,  personally,  except  to  protect  myself 
and  my  interests.     I  feared  he  //(/(/fallen  beneath 
the  smoking  mins  of  his  hou.se.     He  has  escaped 
— let  him  live.     Now  to  business." 
"  What  is  10  be  done,  then  ?" 
"  I   had   not   anticipated  this  adventure,  you 
may  be  certain,  Pierre,     But,  to  guard  against 
accidents,    I   laid  my    plans   to   leave   Naples, 
on   my   amval  here,   at   any  moment  I  might 
be  called  upon  to   depart,  perhaps   in  a  hurry. 
Order  our  horses,  therefore,   at  once.     See  you 
to  the  breaking  up  of  our  establishment,  person- 
ally.    Discharge  the  accounts  here,  honorably, 
and  get  the  men  away,  forthwith." 
"  Where  shall  we  rendezvous  ?" 
"  At  the  gorge,  in  the  rear  of  Vecchia." 
"  When,  captain  ?" 

"  To  morrow  night.  I  will  be  with  you  at  the 
rising  of  the  moon.  In  the  meantime,  make  no 
unnecessary  stir,  but  retire  quietly,  and  as  speedi- 
ly as  may  be.  Good  night.  I  will  address  a 
note  to  the  landlord,  to  be  delivered  to  him  in 
the  morning,  requesting  him  to  release  the  old 
man,  yonder,  who  has  again  been  the  cause  of 
trouble  for  nie.  He  will  rest  quiet  till  daylight." 
"  I  think  so,"  said  Pierre,  looking  towards  the 
door  of  the  closet. 

"  Away,  then  !  I  will  seek  Corrinnc,  who  has 
been  asleep  for  three  hours — unless  she  is  watch- 
ing for  me — and  we  shall  meet  again.  Adios!" 
The  jobbers  parted  company,  and  PieiTC  set 
about  his  departure,  instantly.  Everything  was 
quickly  in  readiness ;  for  de  Norde — or  rather  the 
"  Count  Antienne,"  as  he  was  known  in  Naples 
— had  arranged  his  mattei-s  on  his  arrival  there, 
so  that  he  could  retire,  without  suspicions  or 
queries,  at  any  hour  when  he  chose  to  do  so. 
As  soon  as  Pierre  left  his  presence,  he  repaired 
to  a  small  ante  room,  set  oflf  from  his  principal 
room,  where  he  secured  his  own  private  jewels, 
gold,  and  bills  of  exchange,  and  then  seating 
himself  at  a  small  table,  he  leisurely  wrote  a  note 
to  the  landlord  of  the  hotel,  in  the  following 
words  : 

"  SiGNOK  :  In  the  closet  of  the  principal  apart- 
ment I  have  lately  occupied — beyond  the  sleep- 
ing rooms — you  will  find  a  scoundrel  gagged  and 
pinioned,  who  ferretted  his  way  into  my  pres- 
ence, at  midnight,  and  would  have  murdered  me, 
likely,  but  that  I  put  him  at  defiance  and  con- 
quered him. 

"  I  have  spared  his  life,  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, he  knows  was  a  leniency  on  iny  part ; 
and  I  desire  that  yon  will  lose  no  time  in  releas- 
ing him  from  his  present  uncomfortable  position, 
as  soon  as  you  may  receive  this  note.  He  is  a 
heartless,  treacherous  scoundrel,  I  repeat.  But 
I  do  not  fear  htm.  When  you  shall  receive  this 
I  shall  be  far  out  of  his  reach.     Adios  ! 

Antienne." 
This  brief  missive  he  carefully  sealed,  and 
having  superscribed  it  to  the  landlord's  address, 
he  laid  it  aside  temporarily,  and  concluded  the 
final  arrangements  for  his  departure  from  Naples. 
"Half  an  hour  afterward  he  rang  his  bell. 
An  attendant  quickly  responded. 

"  Is  your  master  still  up  ?"  he  inquired  of  the 
servant  who  entered. 

"No,  signor;  he  returned  from  a  bal  inasque 
but  a  little  time  ago,  and  has  just  now  retired  to 
bed.    I  will  call  him." 

"No,  no.     It  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING  .  E.OOM    COMPANION. 


211 


"  Here,"  continued  the  count,  as  lie  handed  the 
man  a  half  crown  and  the  letter,  togteher,  "  take 
char<;:e  of  this  for  your  master — to  be  delivered 
to  him  in  the  morninj^.     Do   you  understand  V 

"  Yes,  signor." 

"My  servants  and  retinue  have  already  de- 
parted, I  presume." 

"  Yes,  signor — half  an  hour  since." 

"  It  is  well.  In  the  morning  deliver  the  letter. 
Now  order  my  travelling  carriage." 

"  It  is  already  in  readiness,  signor,  by  order  of 
your  secretary,  who  with  the  rest  has  gone  for- 
ward." 

"  You  may  retire,"  said  the  count,  and  five 
minutes  afterward  he  repaired  to  the  chamber  of 
his  wife,  to  rouse  her  for  the  journey  so  suddenly 
determined  upon. 

The  utter  consternation  of  de  Norde  may  be 
conceived,  when,  upon  entering,  he  found  the 
couch  was  undisturbed — and  Corrinne  was 
missing ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MYSTERIOCS  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  CORRINNE  AT 
NAPLES. 

While  de  Norde  was  making  his  final  ar- 
rangements to  quit  Naples,  as  described  in  the 
Irtst  chapter,  and  at  the  moment  when  he  discov- 
ered that  his  loved  Corrinne  had  so  mysteriously 
disappeared,  a  troop  of  well  mounted  horsemen, 
headed  by  Pierre,  in  person,  were  gallophig 
along  at  a  rapid  gait  towards  the  rendezvous  as- 
signed them  by  their  commander,  tiirough  his 
late  nominal  "secretary."  Ere  daylight  broke, 
they  were  safely  secreted  in  the  gorge,  beyond 
Vecchia,  where  they  were  to  remain  temporarily 
for  further  orders.  These  men  had  lately  formed 
the  retinue  of  attendants  and  attaches  to  the 
"  Count  Antienne,"  at  Naples  !  They  were  in 
fact  a  portion  of  tlie  band  of  Bernard  de  Norde, 
of  which  Pierre  was  also  now  lieutenant. 

In  the  meanwhile,  as  we  have  seen,  de  Norde 
had  written  his  note  to  the  landlord,  and  it  had 
passed  out  of  his  hands.  Upon  reaching  liis 
wife's  apartment,  he  was  astounded  at  the  fact 
that  she  was  absent,  for  he  recollected  quickly 
that  as  he  left  her  at  the  door  a  few  hours  pre- 
viously, he  had  cautioned  her  particulaidy  against 
any  intrusion.  And  we  must  now  go  back,  for 
a  moment,  in  our  story. 

"  Retire,"  he  said,  "  loved  Corrinne,  and  hav- 
ing locked  the  door  upon  the  inside,  remove 
your  key;  I  have  a  duplicate,  and  I  will  thus  re- 
turn to  you,  anon,  without  disturbing  you." 

She  followed  his  instructions ;  but  neither  de 
Norde  nor  Corrinne  suspected  that  they  had  been 
dogged,  and  that  their  very  movements  had  been 
watched,  during  the  evening,  up  to  their  arrival 
at  the  threshold  of  their  sleeping  apartment. 
Such,  however,  was  the  fact! 

Scarcely  had  tlie  footsteps  of  de  Norde  ceased 
to  echo  in  the  long-winding  corridor  which  led 
from  one  of  his  rooms  to  the  cliief  parlor  he  oc- 
cupied, when  the  figure  of  a  stalwort  man  dark- 
ened the  passage-way,  beyond  the  chamber  door. 
Advancing  cautiously,  the  person  alluded  to 
halted  near  the  room  where  Corrinne  had  retired, 
and  having  seemingly  taken  a  careful  survey 
of  the  door,  he  disappeared;  but,  in  a  few 
minutes  he  returned  again,  applied  to  the  lock 
a  skeleton  key,  and  witliout  uttering  a  single 
word  of  explanation  or  warning,  thrust  himself 
at  once  into  the  astonislied  presence  of  Corrinne 
Almanza,  The  intruder  was  the  man  who  had 
crossed  the  path  of  Bernard,  in  the  garden,  a 
few  minutes  previously ;  it  was  her  former  pro- 
tector and  guardian,  'Don  Miguel  Ruberto,  who 
stood  unsummoned  before  her  ! 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !"  said  Corrinne,  deeply 
startled,  and  scarcely  willing  to  credit  her  own 
vision — "  Don  Miguel — is  it  yourself  1 — speak!" 
"  I  see,  my  daughter,"  responded  Ruberto,  at 
once,  "  that  you  have  not  forgotten  your  old 
protector  and  friend." 

"  Tell  me,  Don  Miguel,  I  pray  you,  what 
does  this  mean'?  Whence  come  you?  How 
did  you  escape  the  perils  of  that  awful  night? 
Why  are  you  here  '?     What  has  brought — " 

"  Cease,  Corrinne,"  replied  Ruberto,  in  a  hur- 
ried manner,  "  cease  to  question  me,  at  present. 
I  have  no  time  for  answers,  not  a  moment  for 
explanations.  I  came  to  rescue  you  from  ths 
toils  of  a  villain — a  traitor,  a  consummate  scoun- 
drel— who  has  seduced  your  affections,  and  who 
will  prove  your  certain  ruin — body  and  soul — 
unless  you  flee  at  once  from  the  meshes  in  which 
you  have  become  entangled." 

"  I  beg  you,  good  signor,  explain  those  dread- 
ful words.     If  I  have  erred — " 

"Erred!'*  exclaimed  Don  Miguel,  with  deep 


emphasis ;  "  poor  child !  how  have  you  been  de- 
ceived, and  cajoled,  and  perilled.  But  redress 
and  aid  are  at  hand.  The  wretch  who  has  im- 
posed upon  lis  must  now  answer  for  his  villany. 
Don  Miguel  lives  to  protect  his  ward  !" 

"  0,  signor,  of  what  terrible  conspiracy  am  I 
the  victim,  as  your  words  may  indicate  V 

"  Corrinne,  in  one  word,  are  you  not  the  com- 
panion of  Bernard  de  Norde,  the  bravo  !" 
"  I  am  the  jvife  of  Bernard — " 
"Pshaw!    girl;    do   not   attempt  to  deceive 
Don  Miguel  with  this  stale  stuff." 

"I  tell  you,  signor,  in  all  honesty,  I  am  his 
lawful  wedded  wife  ;  our  hands  were  joined  by  a 
priest  of  the  holy  church,  within  tliis  month." 

"  Then  are  you  thus  doubly  deceived  ;  for  he 
has  imposed  a  false  piiest  upon  you,  I  do  not 
doubt.  But  haste  thee,  Corrinne,  for  I  am  here 
to  claim  my  ward  ;  and  I  demand  your  attend- 
ance upon  me,  forthwith.  Por  the  present,  you 
will  leave  this  place,  under  my  protection,  and  I 
will  quickly  show  you  how  fortunate  you  are 
that  I  have  been  able  thus  to  rescue  you  from 
the  power  and  the  companionship  of  the  vile 
robber  and  knave  vrho  has  so  cruelly  imposed 
upon  your  gentle  confidence;  Quick,  then! 
Por  time  presses  me." 
"Bobber,  signor !" 

"  The  chief  of  a  murderous  band  of  robbers, 
Corrinne  I  The  leader  of  the  clan  that  sacked 
our  dwelling  in  Spain,  and  left  me  amid  the 
buiTiing  ruins.  The  wily  'magician'  of  Seville 
— the  visitor  at  my  house,  who  cheated  me  of  my 
gold,  and  stole  my  ward,  amidst  the  ruin  hii> 
hands  had  been  the  cause  of  producing.  I  speak 
truth,  my  daughter;  and  I  am  here.  I  say,  fuUy 
prepared  to  punish  him,  and  to  sa.ve>/oii.  Haste, 
then,  I  repeat !     Anon  you  shall  know  all !" 

Even  while  he  spoke  thus  earnestly,  Don  Mig- 
uel approached  his  late  ward,  and  taking  her 
hand,  he  urged  her  immediate  departure.  Cor- 
rinne was  lost  amid  her  consternation  and  the 
conflicting  emotions  caused  b}'  this  astounding 
announcement;  for  she  now  heard,  for  the  first 
time,  that  Bernard  was  such  a  character  !  His 
own  account  of  himself  had  been  indefinite,  but 
satisfactory  to  her,  for  the  time  being,  and  she 
had  had  no  occasion,  thus  far,  to  suspect  him  ; 
least  of  all  did  she  imagine  tliat  her  fortune  had 
united  her  in  wedlock  with  the  chief  of  a  band  of 
robbers  !  She  hesitated,  but  Don  Miguel  con- 
tinued to  urge  lier  forward. 

"  Come,  Corrinne  !  Confide  in  the  man  who 
has  proved  himself  your  friend — when  you  need- 
ed friends.  Come  with  me,  and  rely  upon  the 
confidence,  the  honor,  the  afi"cction  of  him  who 
will  ever  continue  to  be  your  friend.  Come — 
quickly — everything  shall  be  duly  explained  to 
you ;  but  do  not  defer  this  opportunity  to  escape 
from  the  peril  which  threatens  you  !" 

Bewildered,  grieved,  astonished — yet  confiding 
in  the  statements  of  the  person  whom  she  had 
learned  to  respect,  from  her  six  years'  intimacy 
under  his  protection,  Corrinne  suffered  herself  to 
be  led  from  her  chamber,  through  the  corridor, 
to  the  great  entrance-hall,  below,  in  silence ! 
For  her  heart  seemed  ready  to  burst  with  the 
crushing  information  so  suddenly  forced  upon 
her  by  the  Spaniard,  A  carriage  stood  in  wait- 
ing at  the  portal,  and  as  she  was  about  to  emerge 
from  the  private  door  of  the  hotel,  her  reason 
seemed  to  return  to  her,  and  with  a  look  of  un- 
utterable anguish  and  love  combined,  she  turned 
to  Don  Miguel,  and  uttered  the  name  of  "  Ber- 
nard '!" 

"  Do  not  speak  that  word  here,  Corrinne,"  im- 
mediately replied  Ruberto,  "  or  wc  are  lost ! 
Remember,  he  is  not  known  here,  save  as  the 
Count  Antienne.  He  may  be  disposed  to  repair 
the  evil  he  has  done,  and  he  may  yet  escape, 
also.     But,  haste  !     I  go  to  confer  with  him." 

"Bernard!  My  husband !  0,  signor,  spare 
me  the  pain  of  such  a  separation,  such  a  flight 
as  this.  1  beseech  you,  allow  me  to  speak  with 
him  one  word,  one  single  sentence,  at  parting, 
and  I  go  under  your  guidance  willingly." 

"  No,  Corrinne,"  responded  Don  Miguel,  "  no. 
Such  a  course  would  be  fatal.  We  have  no  time 
for  this ;  be  advised  by  your  old  guardian ; 
come!  You  will  be  borne  to  the  house  of  a 
near  friend  of  mine,  close  at  hand,  and  I  will 
communicate  with  you  again  within  two  hours." 
With  these  last  words,  Corrinne  was  urged 
forward,  placed  within  the  vehicle,  the  door  was 
closed,  and  the  wife  of  Bernard  de  Norde,  all 
unconscious  of  her  destination  or  her  fate,  was 
hurried  away  from  her  hotel,  to  a  place  prepared 
for  her,  and  previously  agreed  upon  between 
Don  Miguel  and  the  driver,  who  had  been  heav- 
ily bribed  for  this  service. 


AH  this  had  occupied  but  a  few  minutes  of 
time;  and  Don  Miguel  immediately  afterward 
made  his  appearance,  disguised,  as  wc  have 
seen,  in  the  apartment  of  the  nominal  Count 
Antienne.  The  interview  between  the  two  rot)- 
hers  succeeded  this  transaction — Don  Miguel 
was  secured,  and  lay  pinioned  in  the  count's 
closet — the  letter  had  been  written  by  de  Norde 
— the  remainder  of  the  band  had  departed,  and 
Bernard  went  to  seek  his  wife,  but,  as  wc  have 
stated,  she  was  no  where  to  be  found ! 

Bernard  could  scarcely  credit  or  realize  the 
fact ;  but  his  wit  did  not  desert  him.  He  fancied 
an  hundred  ways  to  apologize  for  her  absence, 
though  he  at  once  sought  for  her  in  every  direc- 
tion. She  might  have  returned  to  the  garden 
alone,  he  thought — though  such  was  not  lier 
custom  ;  he  threaded  every  avenue  there  without 
success.  He  retm-ned  to  her  room — she  was  not 
there.  He  inquired  of  the  night  servants,  but  no 
one  knew  a  word  about  the  matter.  In  vain  he 
essayed  to  trace  her  out ! 

Could  she  have  eloped? — no,  no!  He  was 
cruel  thus  to  suspect  her  for  a  moment.  She 
must  have  joined  Pierre  and  his  party,  probably 
through  a  misunderstanding  on  his  lieutenant's 
part,  and  she  had  gone  forward  with  them,  per- 
haps. He  wandered  through  the  house,  forgot 
everything  save  the  mysterious  disappearance  of 
his  wife;  and  morning  was  now  approaching, 
but  still  he  could  discover  no  trace  of  her ! 

By  chance,  at  length,  he  met  with  one  of  the 
attendants  who  saw  Corrinne  as  she  stepped  into 
the  carriage  ;  and  who  supposed  that  she  left  in 
company  with  the  others,  as  all  of  them  moved 
away  at  about  the  same  time.  He  so  informed 
the  count,  and  it  was  but  a  very  minutes  after- 
wards that  Bernard  was  galloping  at  full  speed 
towards  the  rendezvous,  greatly  relieved  in  his 
imagination.  But,  as  wc  shall  see,  he  was 
doomed  to  bitter  disappointment ! 

Morning  broke,  at  last,  and  at  a  reasonably 
early  hour,  the  attendant  who  had  been  en- 
trusted with  de  Norde's  letter,  delivered  it,  as 
instmcted,  into  his  master's  hands.  It  was  a 
strange  missive,  and  a  very  impudent  one,  so 
thought  the  landlord  !  But  he  lost  no  time  in 
proceeding  to  the  spot  designated,  where  he 
found  Don  Miguel,  helpless  and  greatly  exhaust- 
ed, and  whom  he  caused  to  be  released,  at  once, 
from  his  jeopardy  and  durance. 

The  old  Spaniard  was  not  seriously  injured, 
and  his  plans  liad  thus  far  worked  so  well — not- 
withstanding his  temporary  defeat  and  incarcera- 
tion— that  his  spirits  very  soon  revived  ;  and  he 
told  his  own  story  to  his  landlord,  who  at  once 
agreed  to  keep  quiet,  for  a  good  and  valuable 
consideration  !  The  chiefobject  of  Don  Miguel, 
to  wit,  the  separation  of  Corrinne  from  Bernard, 
and  the  obtaining  possession  of  his  ward  again, 
had  been  accomplished — and  he  was  well  satis- 
fied with  his  success  thus  far  !  But  Bernard  and 
his  clan  had  escaped,  certainly;  and  this  he  re- 
gretted. However,  he  would  follow  them  up; 
there  was  ample  time  for  him  yet ;  and  he  would 
be  avenged  upon  the  man  whom  he  had  taught  to 
be  a  villain,  and  who  had  for  a  time  obtained 
the  advantage  over  him,  wicked,  and  cunning, 
and  reckless  as  he  had  himself  been  I 

Bernard  reached  the  gorge  beyond  Vecehia, 
and  quickly  communicated  with  Pieire  and  his 
men ;  but  no  word  of  information  could  he  ob- 
tain, amongst  them,  of  his  lost  Corrinne  I  He 
was  well  nigh  frantic  with  disappointment,  when, 
for  the  first  time,  he  suddenly  susjiccted  that 
Don  Miguel  might  have  been  instrumental  in 
spiriting  her  away.  How  this  could  have  been 
effected,  or  by  what  infernal  machinations  the 
Spaniard  might  have  obtained  access  to  his  wife, 
he  could  not  divine.  Yet  he  suspected  his  an- 
tagonist, and  this  was  enough  for  Beraard  de 
Norde ! 

After  a  brief  consultation  with  the  lieutenant, 
he  quietly  decided  upon  the  course  he  should 
pursue,  in  his  present  emergency,  and  he  went 
about  the  prosecution  of  his  intentions  forthwith. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BEGGAR  OF  THE  HOTEL  ST,  MAEC. 

For  several  days  prior  to  the  scenes  we  have 
just  now  related,  there  had  been  seen,  daily, 
among  the  lazzaroni  that  loitered  near  the  ter- 
race of  the  hotel  where  de  Norde  and  his  party 
had  tarried,  a  professional  beggar,  who  had  at- 
tracted the  especial  notice  of  Bernard  and  other 
visitors,  for  his  pecuUarity  of  costume  and  the 
particular  air  of  presumption  which  character- 
ized his  continual  alms  seeking. 

Bernard   de   Norde  had  not  escaped  this  in- 


veterate beggar's  appeals,  and  more  than  once, 
as  he  halted  to  contribute  his  mite  lo  the  fellow's 
demand,  did  lie  scan  his  countenance,  and  aim 
to  read  his  character  in  his  face.  The  beggar 
suspected  notiiing,  however,  and  Bernard  moved 
away,  with  the  conviction  that  something  per- 
haps might  be  made  of  this  forbidding  mendi- 
cant, at  some  time  or  other. 

"Do  you  not  remember,   Pierre,"   he  asked, 
turning  to  his  lieutenant,  suddenly,  "the  person 
of  the  miserable  beggar  we  have  so  often  met  at 
the  foot  of  the  terrace  near  our  late  lodgings — 
him  with  the  slouched  bat  and  seared  eye  V 
"  Very  distinctly,  captain." 
"  I  am  glad  of  that." 
"  He  was  a  cunning  rogue,  X  think." 
"  You  are  right.     I  would  use  him." 
"  That  may  readily  be  done,  captain." 
"  So  I  think.     His  size  and  figure  are  not  un- 
like my  own,  if  I  remember  rightly." 
"  Yes,  he  is  no  larger,  at  all  events." 
"  So  I  believe.     Come,  join  me,  at  once.     I 
will  return  to  Naples." 
"  To  Naples,  captain  V 

"  Yes.     I  must  have  the  suit   of  clothes  that 
fellow  wears.     You  shall  know  particulars  as 
we  proceed  along." 
"I  see,  captain." 

"Perhaps  you  don*t,  though!  But,  hasten, 
Pierre.  We  have  no  leisure  for  explanations 
now." 

The  two  men  were  very  shortly  afterwards  in 
the  saddle,  and  but  a  little  time  passed,  ere  they 
arrived  as  near  to  the  vicinity  of  the  hotel  as 
they  dared  to  approach,  under  the  circumstances. 
Here  they  alighted  and  held  a  short  conference, 
the  result  of  which  will  be  made  to  appear  as 
we  proceed.  They  separated,  finally,  and  before 
noon,  the  plan  proposed  by  de  Norde  had  been 
successfully  commenced. 

Towards  evening  the  residents  at  the  hotel 
sauntered  forth  to  enjoy  the  cool  breezes  which 
were  wafted  from  the  waters,  and  the  lazzaroni 
were  abroad,  as  usual,  with  open  palms  and  pit- 
eous stories.  Among  them  appeared  the  noted 
beggar  wc  have  alluded  to,  who  lounged,  as  was 
his  wont,  at  the  foot  of  the  outer  terrace. 

There  came  along  an  oldish  man,  well  dressed 
and  firm  in  his  gait,  but  one  who  had  evidently 
been  ill  of  late,  who  gave  alms  but  charingly, 
and  who  did  not  like  the  annoyance  occasioned 
by  the  frequent  applications  of  the  street  loun- 
gers. 

"  Give,  signor — give  to  the  poor  cripple,  an'  it 
please  you — the  smallest  pittance  will  be  grate- 
ful," said  the  one-eyed  beggar,  imploringly. 

It  was  Don  Miguel  Ruberto  wliotn  he  thus 
accosted,  and  who  felt  generous  at  this  moment, 
for  he  had  secured  the  person  of  his  charming 
ward,  and  de  Norde,  his  enemy,  had  fled  from 
Naples  !  He  was  at  that  moment  on  his  way  to 
confer  with  Corrinne,  who  had  been  secreted  at 
the  mansion  of  an  acquaintance,  since  her  ab- 
duction in  the  morning,  and  he  had  the  field  to 
himself!  He  felt  kindly  and  liberal,  therefore, 
under  the  circumstances,  and  he  threw  the  beggar 
a  five  franc  piece,  at  once. 

Don  Miguel  had  seen  this  very  man  a  dozen 
times  before,  and  a  dozen  times  had  he  been  im- 
portuned by  hira  as  he  passed.  There  was  the 
same  slouched  hat,  the  same  rent  vesture  and 
small  clothes,  the  same  scraggy  hair,  the  same 
patch-covered  eye,  the  same  brown  face  over- 
grown with  matted  red  whiskers,  the  same  torn 
boots,  the  same  form  and  voice  axidtout  ensemble. 
He  had  never  condescended  to  give  before,  but 
now  he  tossed  him  the  largest  silver  coin  in  liis 
pocket,  and  said : 

"  You  are  a  lazy,  one-eyed  rascal,  but  I  am  in. 
luck,  to-day.  Take  it,  and  do  not  annoy  me 
funher."  And  with  these  words,  Don  Miguel 
passed  rapidly  on,  towards  the  dwelling  where 
Corrinne  was  temporarily  domiciled. 

"  One-eyed  I"  muttered  the  beggar  to  himself. 
"  Yet  with  that  same  one  eye,  some  there  are 
who  could  see  more  than  many  others  who  have 
two  !"  And  as  Don  Miguel  hastened  along,  the 
rough  beggar  disappeared  at  once  from  the  foot 
of  the  terrace,  also. 

Ruberto  moved  with  hurried  footsteps,  but  at 
a  distance  there  followed  on  his  track  two  forms 
that  he  little  fancied  were  so  near  him !  He 
turned  and  passed  to  the  left,  down  a  long  ave- 
nue, and  then  crossed  again  to  the  right.  As 
evening  shut  in,  he  halted  before  a  modest  ap- 
pearing dwelling,  mounted  the  steps,  opened  the 
door  without  ceremony,  and  entered  the  house. 
[to  be  continued.] 

How  little  do  they  Fee  what  is,  who  frame 
Their  haaty  judgments  upon  that  which,  seems. 
Southey. 


212 


GLEASON'S   PIOTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


THE  NUKSERY  VACIIT. 

One  of  the  nioHt  iTij;('niows 
nnd  useful  inventions  of  iho 
Any  is  the  Nursery  Yiieht;  nnd, 
in  addition,  it  is  ii  rei\l  blessing 
lo  mothers  and  nurses  .  It 
combines  within  itself  exercise 
uTifl  iimusement,  und  provides 
for  the  '•  biit)y"  ii.s  well  as  for 
little  folk  somewhat  more  nd- 
vaneed.  Moreover,  it  is  ihor- 
on^hly  safe.  Now,  at  lirst 
slight,  it  appears  iistonishin;< 
that  so  charming  a  movement, 
as  see-saw — charming  at  least 
to  all  who  arc  not  too  wise  to 
be  amused — should  never  nntil 
now  have  been  improved  into 
an  available  shape  for  the  nur- 
sery. But  wo  live  and  learn, 
and  the  application  of  j^ood  old 
ideas  to  great  modern  adaptiv 
tions  is  of  daily  occurrence. 
The  Nursery  Yacht  is  an  Eng- 
lish invention.  The  object  the 
inventor  had  in  view  in  con- 
structing this  machine,  was  to 
supply  a  want  long  felt  by 
those  having  the  charge  of 
young  children,  viz.,  an  appa- 
ratus which  would  atlbi-d  a 
source  of  amusement,  at  the 
same  time  that  the  m-c  of  it  im- 
plied moderate  and  agreeable 
exercise,  without  the  liabiliiy 
to  accident  or  injury,  and  with- 
out the  attendance  of  a  nurse. 
On  examining  the  machine  it 
will  be  found  that  these  ends 
arc  attained.  The  middle  seat 
is  intended  for  children  from 
twelvemonths  old  and  upwards, 
and  is  protected  by  a  fixed 
frame,  or  guard,  whieli,  when 
the  child  is  on  tlie  seal,  forms 
a  girth  around  it,  and  prevents 
the  possibility  of  a  fall  or  of 
slipping  from  the  seat.  The 
end  seats  arc  protected  by 
frames  hinged  on  to  the  middle 
guard,  the  other  ends  of  which 
rest  on  the  extremities  of  the  seats.  The  chil- 
dren, before  seating  themselves  on  the  end  seats, 
raise  the  guards,  and  when  seated  loose  them, 
and  they  fall  into  their  proper  places.  The  oc- 
cupants of  the  end  scats  are  then  perfectly  safe, 
as  any  pressure  against  the  guards  tends  only  to 
keep  them  more  securely  in  their  places.  And 
thus,  were  the  machine  not  only  rocked  to  its 
fullest  extent,  but  even  placed  on  end,  which  the 
inventor  has  frequently  resorted  to  when  chil- 
dren have  been  in  the  Yacht,  for  the  purpose  of 
proving  its  complete  safety,  the  little  ones  are  as 
secure  in  their  scats  (being  held  there  by  the 
guards)  as  if  the  machine  were  in  its  usual  posi- 
tion on  the  floor.  In  order  to  prevent  children 
that  are  not  ridiuij  in  the  Yacht  from  approach- 
ing too  near,  and  thus  running  the  risk  of  having 
their  toes  pinched  by  the  rockers,  a  foot  guard  is 
attached  to  each  rocker,  which  prevents  the  foot 
from  passing  under  it.  The  machine  is  perfectly 
noiseless,  and  we  are  willing  to  acknowledge  that 
it  beats  our  Yankee  baby-jumpers  "  all  hollow." 


TliE    NEW  NURSERY  YACHT. 


SUMMER  VILLA  OF  A  RUSSIAN  NOBLE. 

We  present  below  to  the  readers  of  the  Picto- 
rial a  fine  scene  representing  the  summer  resi- 
dence of  the  Kara  family,  situated  on  their  estate 
in  the  remote  government  of  Tambov,  about 
1150  versts  from  St.  Petersburg.  It  will  serve 
to  convey  some  idea  of  the  abodes  in  which  the 
Russian  nobility  pass  their  level}'  but  fleeting 
summer.  It  is  the  property  of  a  noble  neither 
very  rich,  nor  of  the  highest  rank,  but  one  who 
has  served  his  country  in  many  a  tough  cam- 
paign, and  still  serves  it  well,  by  combating  the 
prejudices  of  the  several  thousands  over  whom 
his  sway  extends.  The  front  or  carriage  en- 
trance, is  situated  in  the  main  and  original  body  of 
the  building,  being  the  other  side  of  that  given 
in  the  sketch  below.  This  part  of  the  house  is 
for  the  exclusive  use  of  the  family,  differing  little 
in  appearance  from  the  other,  except  in  the 
quadrangle  front  a  line  of  conservatories  runs 
along  the  windows  of  the  ladies'  apartments, 
which  latter  comprises  nearly  half  the  building 


on  that  side,  from  the  portico  to  the  flag  tower 
on  the  right :  the  flag  hoisted  thereon,  shows  the 
mistress  of  the  mansion  is  at  home,  while  that 
on  the  left  marks  the  presence  of  its  seigneur. 
Stretching  from  behind  each  tower,  consequently 
vis-a-vis  to  each  other,  runs  a  line  of  gothic  build- 
ings, connected  by  the  towers  to  the  main  portion 
and  thus  forming  three  sides  of  the  quadrangle. 
These  new  erections  are  extremely  fine ;  they  are 
built  of  brick,  of  that  style  called  Saracenic — the 
prominent  buttresses, pinnacles, ramified  windows, 
the  profusion  of  ornaments,  as  well  as  its  distin- 
guishing characteristics,  the  small  clustering  pil- 
lars and  pointed  arches,  are,  for  the  most  part, 
composed  of  a  fine  white  stone.  The  line  on 
the  left  comprises  the  kitchen  and  its  appurten- 
ances, cooks'  rooms,  etc.,  while  the  rest  of  the 
building  is  devoted  to  various  offices,  drawing- 
rooms,  etc.  A  beautiful  pond  or  mountain  lake 
lies  in  front  of  the  mansion,  its  bosom  dotted 
here  and  there  with  numerous  swans,  ducks,  and 
other  aquatic  birds  and  animals. 


THE  SKY. 

It  is  a  strange  thing  how  lit- 
tle, in  general,  people  care 
about  the  sky.  It  is  the  part 
of  creation  in  which  nature  has 
done  more  for  the  sake  of  pleas- 
ing man — more  for  the  sole 
and  evident  purpose  of  talking 
to  him,  and  teaching  him — 
than  in  any  other  of  her  works ; 
and  it  is  just  the  part  in  which 
we  least  attend  to  her.  If  in 
our  moments  of  utter  idleness 
and  insipidity  we  turn  to  the 
sky  as  a  last  resource,  which  of 
its  phenomena  do  we  speak  of? 
One  says  it  has  been  wet, 
another  it  has  been  windy,  and 
another  it  has  been  warm. — 
Who  among  the  whole  chatter- 
ing crovt-d  can  tell  mc  of  the 
forms  and  the  precipices  of  the 
chain  of  tall  white  mountains 
that  gilded  the  horizon  at  noon 
yesterday  ?  Who  saw  the  nar- 
row sunbeam  that  came  out  of 
the  south,  and  smote  upon  their 
summits  until  they  melted  and 
mouldered  away  in  a  dust  of 
blue  rain  ?  Who  saw  the  dance 
of  the  dead  clouds  when  the 
sunlight  left  them  last  night, 
and  the  west  wind  blew  them 
before  it  like  withered  leaves  ? 
All  has  passed  unregretted  or 
unseen  ;  or,  if  the  apathy  be 
ever  shaken  off,  even  for  an  in- 
stant, it  is  only  by  what  is  ex- 
traordinary. And  yet  it  is  not 
in  the  broad  and  fierce  mani- 
festation of  the  elemental  ener- 
gies— not  in  the  clash  of  the 
^='  hail,  nor  the  drift  of  the  whirl- 

wind— that  the  highest  charac- 
ters of  the  sublime  are  devel- 
oped.    God   is   not  always  so 
eloquent  in  the  earthquake,  nor 
in   the   fire,   as   in  "the  still, 
small   voice."     They   are  but 
the  blunt  and  the  low  faculties 
of  our  nature  which  can  only 
he  addressed  through  lamplilack  and  lightning. 
It  is  in  quiet  and  subdued  passages  of  unobtru- 
sive  majesty,   the   deep,  and  the  calm,  and  the 
perpetual — that  which  must  be  sought  ere  it  is 
seen,   and   loved   ere   it  is   understood— things 
which  are  never  repeated,  which  are  to  be  found 
always,  yet  each  found  but  once.     It  is  through 
these  that  the  lesson  of  devotion  is  chiefly  taught, 
and  the  blessing  of  beauty  given. — John  Riiskin. 


CHALK. 

Colonel  Dodge,  of  the  United  States  array, 
found,  not  long  since,  a  quarry  of  chalk  near  the 
Missouri.  This  mineral  had  not  before  been  dis- 
covered in  our  country,  though  sought  for  and 
supposed  to  exist ;  except  that  Professor  Kuttall 
detected  some,  a  few  years  ago,  in  the  western 
country,  but  less  pure  and  of  less  extent  than 
that  discovered  by  Colonel  Dodge. — It  is  proba- 
bly known  that  chalk  is  formed  by  the  carbonate 
of  lime,  and  is  a  neutral  salt ;  but  pure  chalk  has 
not  before  been  found  in  the  United  States. 


SUMMER  RESIDENCE  OF  THE  KARA  FAMILY,  AT  TAMBOV;  1150  VERSTS  FROM  ST.  PETERSBURG. 


CxLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


213 


THE  ASSU3IPT10N  OF  THE  VIRGIN. 

The  readers  of  the  Pictorial  will  remembL'r  of 
seeing  in  our  columns,  not  lon^  since,  a  para- 
graph relating;  to  the  sale  of  the  Soult  Gallcrv, 
which  took  place  in  May  last  at  Paris.  The 
"Assumption  of  the  Virgin,"  by  Murillo,  from 
which  tlic  engraving  below  was  taken,  was  sold 
at  that  time  for  $117,000)  This  sale  formed  an 
important  epoch  in  the  history  of  art.  It  is 
doubtless  well  known  to  our  readers  that  the  pic- 
tures w  h  i  c  li 
formed  the  fa- 
mous Soult 
Gallery  were 
the  result  of 
spoils  taken 
by  Soult  in 
the  famous 
Peninsular 
War.  For 
obvious  rea- 
sons the  Eng- 
lish have  ever 
held  the  val- 
iant marshal 
in  the  light  of 

a    thief     and 

plunderer; 

and  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the 

sale,   referred 

to  the  subject 

in  that  light. 

The  following 

notice  relative 

to  the  subject 

we  take  from 

a  London  pa- 
per:—" Soult 

and  Sebastia- 

ni,  by  the  for- 
tune  of  war, 

became     the 

two  rapacious 

plunderers  of 

art  in   Spain  ; 

— G  r  e  n  a  d  a, 

with  its  Alon- 

zo  Canos,  fall- 
ing to  the  lot 

of  Sebastiani; 

and     Seville, 

with  its    Mu- 
rines,      and 

Morales,  and 

Zurburans   to 

that  of  Soult. 

Plunderers, 

we  say,  for  as 

plunder  sim- 
ply were  these 

works  viewed 

by  the  con- 
querors, who, 

with   c  a  t  a  - 

logue   in  one 

hand       and 

sword  in  the 
other,  remov- 
ed them  from 
walls  for 
which  they 
had  been 
painted,  and 
which  the  ar- 
tists flattered 
themselves 
they  should 
adorn  forever. 
How  much 
their  new  pos- 
sessors valued 
them,  except 
in  regard  to 
"what  they 
would  fetch," 
may  be  judg- 
ed from  the 
fact  that  by 
neither  of 
them  were 
their  collec- 
tions designed 
to  descend  as 
heirlooms  to 
their  respec- 
tive families, 
hut  were  job- 
bed about  for 
sale  upon  ev- 
ery favorable 

opportunity 
which  pre- 
sented itself. 
Sebastiani,  in 
1814,  the  peri- 
od of  the  "Re- 
storation," of- 
fered  his  en- 
tire pickings 
(73  pictures) 
to  ihe  Prince 
Regent     of 

Great  Britain,  for  £10,000;  which  very  reason- 
able sum  being  refused  by  that  government,  he 
afterwards  got  rid  of  them  in  detail  in  the  course 
of  his  lifetime.  That  Soult  retained  his  gallery 
till  his  death,  was  only  because  he  did  not  tind  a 
purchaser  who  would  "come  up  to  his  price."  As 
a  work  of  art  the  original  of  the  engraving  which 
the  reader  has  herewith,  is  celebrated  all  over 
the  Christian  world,  and  is  indeed  one  of  tlie 
greatest  masterpieces  of  taste  and  beauty,  evinc- 
ing wonderful  finish  of  conception  ;  appreciated 
not  only  by  the  masters  in  painting,  but  by  every 
lover  of  art  who  has  seen  it. 


BEAUTY  EVERYWHERE. 

We  all  of  us,  in  a  great  measure,  create  our 
own  happiness,  which  is  not  half  so  much  de- 
pendent upon  scenes  and  circumstances  as  most 
people  are  apt  to  imagine;  and  so  it  is  with 
beauty.  Nature  does  little  more  than  furniih  us 
with  materials  of  both,  leaving  us  to  work  them 
out  for  ourselves.  "Stars  and  flowers,  and  hills, 
and  woods,  and  strgams,  are  letters,  and  words, 
and  voices,  vehicles  and  missionaries,"  but  they 


he  long  thus ;  sin  and  sorrow,  and  blinding 
tears,  will  dim  the  mirror  of  our  inmost  thoughts  ; 
but  we  must  pray  and  look  again,  and  by-and-by 
the  cloud  will  pass  away.  There  is  beauty  ev- 
erywhere, but  it  requires  to  be  sought,  and  the 
seeker  after  it  is  sure  to  find  it: — it  may  be  in 
some  out-of-the-way  place,  where  no  one  else 
would  think  of  looking.  Beauty  is  a  fairy ; 
sometimes  she  hides  herself  in  a  flower-cup,  or 
under  a  leaf,  or  creeps  into  the  old  ivy,  and  plays 


ASSUMPTION  OF  THE  VIRGIN. 


need  to  be  interpreted  in  the  right  spirit.  We 
must  read,  and  listen  for  them,  and  endeavor  to 
understand  and  profit  by  them.  And  when  wc 
look  around  us  upon  earth,  we  must  not  forget 
tn  look  upward  to  heaven  ;  "  Those  who  can  see 
God  in  everything,"  writes  a  popular  author, 
"  are  sure  to  see  good  in  everything."  We  may 
add  with  truth,  that  they  are  also  sure  to  see 
beauty  in  everything  and  everywhere.  When 
we  are  at  peace  with  ourselves  and  the  world,  it 
is  as  though  we  gazed  upon  outward  things 
through  a  golden-tinted  glass,  and  saw  a  glorv 
resting  upon  them  all.     We  know  that  it  cannot 


hide  nnd-scekwith  the  sunbeams,  or  haunts  some 
ruined  spot,  or  laughs  out  of  a  hriglit,  young 
face.  Sometimes  she  takes  the  form  of  a"  white 
cloud,  and  goes  dancing  over  the  green  fields,  or 
the  deep  blue  sea,  where  lier  misty  form,  marked 
out  in  momentary  darkness,  looks  like  the  pass- 
ing shadow  of  an  angel's  wings.  Beauty  is  a 
coquette,  and  weaves  herself  a  robe  of  various 
hues,  according  to  the  season — and  it  is  hard  to 
say  which  is  the  most  becoming  of  all  the  atti- 
tudes and  shades  she  is  wont  to  assume,  as  she 
traces  her  lineaments  on  the  broad  canvass  of 
nature. — BJacLttoocVs;  Mafjazine. 


SYSTEMS  OF  EDUCATION. 

Among  the  heathen  nations,  the  Persians  in 
the  time  of  Cyrus  considered  the  virtues,  espe- 
cially justice  and  gratitude,  as  the  main   object 
of  education  ;  among  the  Athenians,  accomplish- 
ments in  arts,  sciences  and  letters  were  the  end  ; 
among  the   Spartans,  obedience  was   the   ^ole 
principle  of  instruction,  liecause  that  would  pre- 
serve the  ascendancy  of  the  laws.     Yet  neither 
of  these  answered  their  designs.    Persia  acquired 
some    of   the 
milder    vir- 
tues, but  fail- 
ed in  strength 
and    hardi- 
hood ;  Athens 
f  o  u  n  d     that 
neither  art 
nor     science 
would  avail 
against    de- 
pravity   of 
morals ;     and 
Sparta  found 
that  it  was  not 
enough  to  se- 
c  u  re     obedi- 
ence  to   laws 
without    con- 
sidering their 
nature  and  ef- 
fect;  Persia 
fell    a  victim 
to     luxury, 
Athens  to  li- 
centiousness, 
and  Sparta  to 
tyranny.  Such 
are  the  lessons 
of    antiquity, 
and  its  splen- 
did wreck  re- 
mains an  ex- 
ample to  warn 
us  against  the 
dangers    of 
partial   sys- 
tems.      But 
under  the  new 
light    which 
the   Christian 
system      has 
thrown     over 
the  power  r.nd 
destiny  of  the 
soul,  a  differ- 
ent view  has 
been  taken  of 
the   end    and 
means  of  edu- 
cation.     We 
consider     the 
object  of  edu- 
cation as  two- 
fold ;    one,  to 
improve    and 
strengthen  the 
mind     itself; 
the   other,   to 
endow  it  with 
whatever     i  s 
valuable      o  r 
auxiliary     i  n 
the   duties   of 
life.    Much  of 
the  crime    so 
rife  in  the 
world  finds  its 
origin   in    ig- 
norance,   not 
always,       in- 
deed, of    the 
laAvs    of    the 
land,    but    of 
the     misery 
and    ruin  en- 
tailed    upon 
the       indul- 
gence of  a  vi- 
cious   course. 
And    that    is 
the    best   sys- 
tem of  educa- 
tion which  so 
pre-occupies 
the     youthful 
mind  with  the 
wholesom  e 
truths  of  mo- 
rality and  re- 
ligion, blend- 
ed with  ii  just 
view  of  the  rt- 
strictions       a 
wi^c  and  kind 
moral    govor- 
norhas  filaccd 
around    hu- 
m:in  conduct, 
as  will  be  like- 
ly  to    ensure 
an   enllglitei  - 
td    obediuTuc 
to  the  dictates  of  truth.    In  our  day  more  tlmuiilit 
has  been  given  to  the  high  and  rea'ly  legitimate 
object  of  a  true  education.     In  some  of  the  stales 
of  Germany  there  is  a  system  pursu"d,  which  is 
attended  by  very  beneficial   results,  in  dilfu^inir 
knowledge  among  the  common  people.    The  l.iw 
does  not  allow  a  man  to  be  married,  unless  he  cm 
read,  write  and  cast  accounts ;  and  nny  one  w'lo 
employs  a  workman,  that  cannot  read  and  writ:', 
is  linbic  to  a  heavy  penalty.     At  the  same  time, 
provision  is  made  for  public  schools,  to   be   paid 
in  part  by  government.     Crime  is  of  very  rare 
occurrence  hi  these  states. — Laws  and  Codes. 


211 


GLEASON'S   riCTOrJAL   DRAWING   r.OOM   CO^IPANION. 


[WritUm  ful-  <llL-iiKim'H  I'ictoriiil,] 
LIFE. 

SV  JOim  D.  JOUNSON,  M.  D. 

llDiigl)8  i^venly  wjii'o 

On  tlio  tr«e,  stront,'  and  fiiir; 
SliiNtH,  tliough  tlicy  nivu, 

Cimiiot  piirt  j'o  from  thorol 
ConHrioiirt  uf  powLT, 

Yo  Hjjort  with  tln'  ffilo, 
UuniiiuUul  tlio  hour 

Wluiu  vigor  t'ball  I'uil ! 

At  laflf  yo  are  withL-retl, 

Anil  broUcii  uwiiy  ; 
rulliny — yu're  sliivei-ed, 

Kottiiig — ye  lay  ; 
>Viii(lH  your  Uuat  yiitlmr, 

The  ground  ia  swept  bjire  ; 
Cuiifit  thou  tell  whetlitsr 

One  bouyh  haa  bi%n  tlierv? 

In  life's  curly  spring, 

Young  hopes  of  tbi!  boiu*t, 
Sti'oug,  ckwtering  cling, 

As  ne'cv  to  di;;t^irt. 
The  budy  open  giiily, 

Fling  fresh  oOoi-ti  round; 
"We  wutcb  their  growth  daily  j 

No  blight  can  be  found. 

£re  the  summer  is  past 

But  lew  wear  their  bloom, 
Ere  winter's  rough  Mast, 

They  're  all  in  tho  tomb ; 
Drear  loneliness  creeps, 

Every  joy  is  effaced ; 
WearinesB  sweeps. 

The  lieart  is  a  waste  I 

Turning  from  life, 

That  never  shed  peace  j 
Broke  in  the  strife. 

It  begs  for  release, 
Ueard  its  mute  prayer, 

In  worlds  of  the  blessed ; 
Death  wings  it  there, 

The  heart  is  at  rest! 


ITrauslated  from  the  German  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

ASHENPUTTEL. 


BY  T.  BULFINOH. 


The  story  of  "  Cinderella  and  the  Glass  Slip- 
per "  is  too  well  known  to  the  readers  of  the 
Pictorial,  to  rc(|uire  repetition  in  our  pages. 
But  the  German-s  have  a  way  of  telling  it,  under 
the  name  of  Ashenputtel,  which  varies  somewhat 
from  ours — which  is  nearest  the  truth,  we  know 
not — and  perhaps  our  readers  may  like  to  know 
the  German  version. 

A  certain  ricli  man's  wife  was  sick ;  and  as 
she  felt  her  end  approaching,  she  called  the  little 
girl,  her  only  daughter,  to  her  bedside,  and  said : 
"My  dear  child,  be  always  good  and  kind,  and 
the  good  God  will  always  help  you,  and  I  will 
look  down  from  heaven  and  be  near  you." 
Having  said  this,  she  shut  her  eyes  and  died. 
The  little  girl  went  every  day  to  her  mother's 
grave,  and  cried,  and  continued  kind  and  good. 
The  snow  spread  a  white  covering  over  the 
grave,  and  wlien  the  sun  melted  it  away  the  man 
took  another  wife. 

The  new  mother  brought  with  her  into  the 
family  two  daughters,  who  were  fair  and  pretty 
of  countenance,  but  foul  and  ugly  of  heart. 
Then  came  a  hard  time  for  the  poor  stejjdaugh- 
ter.  "  What  business  has  the  creature  in  the 
parlor?"  said  the  mother;  "those  that  would 
cat  must  work.  Go  and  stay  with  the  kitchen 
maid."  They  took  away  her  nice  clothes,  put 
on  her  an  old  gray  frock,  made  sport  of  lier,  and 
drove  her  into  the  kitchen.  There  she  had  to 
do  hard  work,  get  np  before  day,  bring  water, 
make  the  fires,  cook  and  wash.  Moreover,  the 
sisters  would  annoy  her  all  sorts  of  ways,  make 
game  of  her,  and  throw  her  peas  and  beans  into 
the  ashes,  so  that  she  had  to  sit  and  pick  them 
out.  At  niglit,  when  sho  was  tired  with  work, 
there  was  no  bed  for  her  to  lie  do\\'n  on,  but  she 
must  sleep  on  the  hearth  in  the  ashes  ;  and  when 
they  saw  her  smutty  and  dirty,  in  consequence, 
they  called  her  Ashenputtcl. 

One  day  the  father  was  to.  go  to  the  fair,  and 
he  asked  his  two  step-daughters  what  he  should 
bring  them  home.  "Fine  clothes,"  said  one — 
"pearls  and  diamonds,"  said  tlic  other.  "But 
you,  Ashenputtcl,"  said  he,  "  what  will  you 
have'?"  "Father,  the  first  branch  that  strikes 
you  upon  the  hat,  as  you  ride  towards  home, 
bring  me  that."  He  bouglit  for  the  two  step- 
sisters fine  clothes,  pearls  and  diamonds ;  and  on 
Jiis  way  home,  as  he  rode  through  a  green  lane, 
a  hazel-twig  .4trurk  liim  on  the  head  and  knocked 
his  hat  ofJ".     He  broke  oil"  the  twig  and  brought 


it  with  him.  When  he  arrived  at  homo,  he  gave 
to  the  step-sisters  wliat  they  had  rcipiestcd  of 
jiim,  and  to  Ashenputtcl  he  gave  the  twig  of  tlio 
ha/,cl  bush.  Ashenputtcl  tluvnkcd  him,  and  went 
toiler  mother's  grave  and  planted  the  hazel  twig 
on  it,  and  cried  so  that  the  twig  was  wet  with 
her  tears.  It  grew  fast  and  became  a  fine  tree. 
Ashenputtcl  went  every  day  three  times  a  day 
to  visit  it,  and  cried  and  jiraycd  ;  and  every  time 
there  came  a  lifllc  bird  lo  the  tree,  and  llio  bird 
tJirew  her  down  wliatevcr  she  wished. 

It  so  happened  that  the  king  was  to  make  a 
feast  that  was  to  last  three  days,  and  to  which 
all  the  pretty  young  women  in  the  country  were 
to  be  invited,  that  his  son  might  choose  a  bride. 
The  two  step-sisters  when  tlicy  heard  that  they 
were  to  go,  were  in  high  spirits,  called  Ashcn- 
puttel  and  said  :  "  Comb  our  hair,  brush  our 
shoes,  fix  our  buckles ;  we  are  going  to  the  hall 
at  the  king's  castle."  Ashenputtcl  heard  them 
talk  about  it,  and  could  not  help  crying,  .she 
wanted  so  much  to  go  with  them  to  the  ball; 
and  she  asked  her  stepmother  to  give  her  per- 
mission. "  You,  Ashenputtcl,  full  of  dust  and 
smut!"  said  she;  "  ijoii  want  to  go  to  the  ball, 
and  have  got  no  dress !  i/ou  want  to  dance,  and 
liave  got  no  shoes !"  When  she  kept  asking 
her,  she  said  at  last :  "  There,  I  have  thrown  a 
liowl  of  peas  into  the  ashes,  and  if  you  pick  out 
the  peas  in  two  hours,  you  may  go  with  us." 
The  little  girl  went  out  of  the  back  door  into  the 
garden,  and  said  :  "  Come  pigeons,  come  turtle- 
doves, and  all  the  birds  of  the  air,  come  and 
help  me  pick '? 

"Put  the  good  ones  in  the  tray. 
And  the  test  you  may  have  for  your  pay." 

Then  came  flying  through  the  kitchen  window, 

two  white  pigeons,  and   then  the  turtle-doves, 

and  at  last,  all  tlie  birds  in  the  air  came  whirring 

and  swarming  in,  and  lighted  down  among  the 

ashes.    And  the  pigeons  bobbed  their  little  heads 

up  and   down,  and  went  pick,  pick,  pick,  pick  ; 

and   the  other  birds   did  the   same   with  their 

pick,  pick,  pick,  pick,  and  soon  put  all  the  good 

peas  into  the  tray.     Before  one  hour  was  passed, 

they  had  finished  the  whole,  and  all  flew  away. 

So  the  little  girl  brought  the  tray  to  her  step- 

motlier,  pleased  and  full  of  hope  that  now  she 

might  be  permitted  to  go  to  the  ball.     But  she 

said  :  "  No,  Ashenputtcl,  you  can't  go  with  us  ; 

you  have  got  no  dress,  and  can't  dance."    When 

she  began  to  cry,  her  mother  said  :  "  If  you  can 

pick  me  two  bowls  of  peas  out  of  the  ashes  in  an 

hour,  you  may  go  with  us;"  for  she  thought 

with  herself — "  That  she  will  never  do."     So 

she  threw  two  howlfuls  of  jjcas  into  the  ashes. 

But  the  little  girl  went  out  of  the  back  door  into 

the  garden,  and  said :   "  Come  pigeons,  come 

turtle-doves,  and  all  tlic  birds  of  the  air,  com.e 

and  help  me  pick? 

"  The  good  ones  in  the  tray, 
And  the  rest  for  your  pay," 

Then  came  flying  through  the  kitchen  window, 
two  white  pigeons,  and  then  the  turtle-doves,  and 
at  last,  all  the  birds  in  the  air  came  whirring  and 
swarming  in,  and  lighted  down  among  the  ashes. 
And  the  pigeons  bobbed  their  little  heads  up  and 
down,  and  went  pick,  pick,  pick,  pick;  and  the 
other  birds  did  the  same  with  their  piciv,  pick, 
pick,  pick,  and  soon  put  all  the  good  peas  into 
the  tray.  And  before  a  half  hour  was  past  they 
had  finished  the  whole,  and  all  flew  away.  So 
the  little  girl  brought  the  tray  to  lier  step-moth- 
er, pleased,  and  full  of  hope  that  now  she  might 
be  permitted  to  go  to  the  ball.  But  she  said: 
"  There  is  no  help  for  it,  you  cannot  go ;  for  you 
have  no  dress,  and  cannot  dance,  and  we  cannot 
have  you  disgrace  us."  So  she  turned  her  back 
upon  her,  and  went  off,  taking  her  two  proud 
daughters  with  her. 

When  there  was  no  one  left  in  the  house, 

Ashenputtcl  went  to  lier  mother's  grave,  and 

stood  under  the  liazel  tree,  and  said  : 

"  Little  tree,  rustle  thee, 
Shed  gold  and  silver  over  me." 

Then  the  bird  threw  her  down  a  golden  and  a 
silver  dress,  and  a  pair  of  slippers,  worked  with 
silk  and  silver.  So  she  put  the  dress  on  and 
went  to  the  ball.  Her  sisters  and  step-mother 
did  not  know  her,  and  ihought  she  must  surely 
be  some  foreign  king's  daughter,  so  splendidly 
did  she  look  iti  her  golden  dress.  Of  Ashenput- 
tcl they  never  once  thought,  but  supposed  she 
was  at  home,  asleep  in  the  ashes.  The  king's 
son  came  up  to  her,  took  her  by  the  hand  and 
danced  with  her.  He  would  not  dance  with  any 
one  else,  and  did  not  let  go  her  hand  ;  and  wlicn 
any  one  approached  to  lead  her  out,  he  said  : 
"  This  is  ntt/  partner." 

She  danced  till  it  grew  late,  and  she  wished  to 
go  home,     T!ic  king's  son   said  :  "  I  will  wait 


u])on  you  home,"  for  he  wanted  to  see  where  tho 
beautiful  maiden  belonged.  But  she  darted 
away  from  him,  and  sprang  into  the  i)igcon- 
house.  So  he  waited  till  her  father  came,  and 
said  to  him  that  the  strange  maiden  had  jumj)ed 
into  the  pigeon-house.  Then  thought  he — "  Can 
it  be  Ashenputtcl?"  And^they  had  axes  and 
hatchets  brought,  and  split  tlie  pigeon-bouse  in 
two;  but  there  was  no  one  therein.  And  when 
they  got  home,  there  lay  Aslicnputtcl  in  her 
sooty  clotlics,  in  the  ashc*,  and  a  dim  lamp  was 
burning  in  the  chimney  corner — for  Ashenputtcl 
sprung  (juickly  out  of  tlic  back  of  the  pigeon- 
liousc,  ran  to  the  luizcl  tree,  where  she  took  off 
her  fine  clothes  and  laid  them  on  the  grave,  and 
the  bird  carried  them  away ;  and  she  put  on  her 
old  gray  frock,  and  lay  down  on  the  kitchen 
hearth. 

The  second  day  it  happened  pretty  much  in 
the  same  way.  She  danced  with  the  king's  son 
all  the  time ;  and  when  he  wanted  to  see  her 
home,  she  slipped  away  from  him,  and  got  home 
as  before,  without  any  one  seeing  her. 

The  third  day,  when  the  parents  and  sisters 

had  gone,  Ashenputtcl  went  to  the  grave,  and 

said : 

"  Little  tree,  rustle  thee, 
Shed  gold  and  silver  over  me." 

Then  tlie  bird  threw  her  down  a  dress  the  most  ' 
splendid  that  ever  was  seen,  and  the  slippers 
were  all  of  gold.  Wlien  she  got  to  the  ball,  all 
the  people  knew  not  what  to  say  for  astonish- 
ment. The  king's  son  danced  with  no  one  but 
her ;  and  when  any  one  else  asked  her  out,  he 
spoke  up  and  said  :  "  She  is  my  partner." 

When  it  was  evening,  Ashenputtcl  wanted 
to  go  home,  and  the  king's  son  proposed  to  go 
with  her;  but  she  sprang  away  from  him  so 
quick  that  he  could  not  follow.  But  the  king's 
son  had  contrived  a  plan,  and  had  all  the  stairs 
covered  with  pitch,  so  that  one  of  Ashenputtel's 
slippers  was  left  sticking  in  it.  The  king's  son 
took  it  up.  It  was  very  small  and  delicate,  and 
all  of  gold.  Next  morning  he  went  to  Ashen- 
puttel's father,  and  said  no  other  lady  should  be 
liis  bride,  but  the  one  on  whose  foot  the  slipper 
would  tit.  The  two  sisters  were  pleased  enough 
to  hear  this,  for  they  had  pretty  feet.  The  old- 
est went  with  the  shoe  to  her  chamber  to  try  it 
on,  and  her  mother  stood  by.  She  got  in  her 
whole  foot  except  the  great  toe,  but  could  by  no 
means  get  that  in — the  shoe  was  too  small.  So 
her  mother  reached  her  a  knife  and  said  :  "  Cut 
off  the  toe  ;  when  you  get  to  be  ipteen,  you  will 
not  have  to  go  on  foot."  The  girl  cut  the  toe 
off,  and  crowded  her  foot  into  the  shoe,  bore  the 
pain  as  she  could,  and  went  out  to  the  king's 
son.  He  took  her  for  his  bride,  and  set  her  on 
his  horse  and  rode  away.  On  their  way  they 
passed  by  the  grave,  where  sat  the  two  pigeons 
on  the  hazel  tree,  and  cried  : 

"  Ivoobe  de  gook,  rooke  de  gook. 
There  is  blood  in  the  shook  (shoe) ; 
The  shoe  does  not  fit — 
The  true  bride  is  not  found  yet." 

Then  he  looked  down  at  her  foot,  and  saw  it 
was  dripping  with  blood.  So  he  turned  his 
horse  round,  brouglit  back  the  false  bride  to  the 
house  again,  and  said  this  was  not  the  riglit  one, 
the  other  must  try  on  the  slipper.  So  she  went 
into  her  chamber  and  easily  got  lier  toes  into  it, 
but  her  heel  was  too  large.  Her  mother  handed 
her  a  knife,  and  said  :  "  Cut  off  a  piece  of  the 
heel;  when  you  get  to  be  queen,  you  will  not 
have  to  go  on  foot  "  The  girl  cut  off  a  piece  of 
the  heel,  crowded  her  foot  into  the  shoe,  bore 
the  pain  as  well  as  she  could,  and  went  out  to 
the  king's  son.  He  took  her  for  his  bride,  and 
set  her  on  his  horse  and  rode  away.  When  they 
came  to  the  hazel  tree,  there  sat  the  two  pigeons 
and  sung : 

"  llooke  de  gook,  rooke  de  gook, 

There  is  blood  in  the  shook  ; 

The  shoe  does  not  fit — 

The  true  bride  is  not  found  yet." 

He  looked  down  at  her  foot  and  saw  it  was 
dripping  with  blood,  and  her  white  stockings 
were  all  stained  with  red.  So  he  turned  his 
horse  round,  and  brought  back  the  false  bride  to 
the  house  again.  "  This,  too,  is  not  the  right 
one,"  said  he;  "have  you  any  other  daughter'.'" 
"  No,"  said  the  father,  "  only  little  Ashenputtcl, 
my  dead  wife's  daughter,  and  she  cannot  possibly 
be  the  true  bride."  The  king's  son  said  he 
wished  her  to  be  sent  for.  The  mother  exclaim- 
ed :  "  O,  no,  she  is  too  dirty ;  I  cannot  let  her  be 
seen."  But  he  would  have  it  so,  and  Ashen- 
puttcl had  to  be  called.  She  washed  her  hands 
and  fiice  clean,  went  in  and  made  her  curtsy  to 
the  king's  son,  who  handed  her  the  golden  slip- 
])er.  She  slipped  oH'  her  clumsy  shoe  from  her 
left  foot,  put  the  golden  slipper  to  it,  drew  it  a 
little,  and  stood  up  in  it,  as  if  it  luul  grown  to 


her  foot.  When  she  took  it  off,  he  looked  her  in 
the  face,  and  said  :  "  This  is  the  true  bride." 
The  step-mother  and  the  two  sisters  were  con- 
founded, and  pale  with  vexation;  but  he  took 
Aslicnputtcl  to  the  horse,  and  rode  off  with  her. 
AVlicn  they  passed  by  the  liazel  bush,  the  two 
white  pigeons  sung : 

"  Itooke  dc  Kook,  rooke  do  gook, 
No  blood  in  the  hhook  ; 
The  shoe  1h  not  too  sniall — 
Tliu  true  bride  after  all." 

And  when  thoy  had  sung  so.  they  came  flying 
and  .sat  upon  Ashenputtel's  shoulders — one  on 
the  right  and  the  otiier  on  the  left — and  tlicrc 
they  staid. 

When  the  wedding  feast  was  celebrated,  came 
the  two  sisters,  flattering  and  fawning,  to  have 
their  share  of  the  good  luck.  When  the  bridal 
party  went  to  the  church,  tlic  eldest  sister  was 
on  the  right  side  and  the  youngest  on  tlie  left, 
and  the  pigeons  picked  out  the  eye  of  each  of 
them  that  was  nearest.  Afterwards,  when  they 
went  home,  the  eldest  was  on  the  left  hand  and 
the  youngest  was  on  the  right,  and  the  pigeons 
picked  out  the  other  eye  of  each  of  them.  So, 
for  their  cruelty  and  falsehood,  they  were  pun- 
ished with  blindness  all  the  days  of  their  life. 


[Written  for  Gleaeon'e  Pictorial.] 
THE  S31ILE  OF  ONE  WE  LOVE- 


BY  ANNIE  MOTT. 


Of  what  avail  is  wealth  !  even  to  dwell 
In  lordly  halls,  with  gUttcring  domes  above, 

Would  be  in  splendid  misery  to  live, 
Without  the  sweet,  fond  smile  of  one  we  love. 

This  world  may  wear  its  darkest,  fiercest  frown, 
And  threatening  storm-clouds  grimly  float  above ; 

Yet  they  alarm  us  not,  if  we  but  have 
To  cheer  us,  the  fond  smile  of  one  we  love. 

And  care  and  misery  their  deadly  weight, 
With  chilling  hands  may  lay  upon  our  head  j 

And  want,  with  its  attendant  honors,  come. 
And  darkly  hover  o'er  humble  bed. 

And  health  may  flee,  and  fell  disease  may  come 
AVith  overpowering  strength,  and  lay  us  low  ; 

Yet  e'en  mid  sickness,  poverty  and  care, 
Tho  smile  of  one  we  love  will  cure  our  wo. 


WHICH  IS  THE  HAPPIEST  SEASON  7 

At  a  festal  party  of  old  and  young,  the  ques- 
tion was  asked  :  "  Which  season  of  life  is  the 
most  happy  V  After  being  freely  discussed  by 
the  guests,  it  was  referred  for  answer  to  the  hosl, 
upon  whom  was  the  burden  of  fourscore  years. 
He  asked  if  they  had  noticed  a  grove  of  trees  be- 
fore the  dwelling,  and  said  :  "  When  the  spring 
comes,  and  in  the  soft  air  the  buds  are  breaking 
on  the  trees,  and  they  are  covered  with  blossoms, 
I  think.  How  beautiful  is  sprinf/ !  And  when  the 
summer  comes,  and  covers  the  trees  with  its 
heavy  foliage,  and  singing  birds  are  among  tho 
branches,  I  think,  Z/ou'  haauliful  is  summer ! 
When  the  autumn  loads  them  with  golden  fruit, 
and  their  leaves  bear  the  gorgeous  tint  of  frost, 
I  tliink,  How  hcaulifid  is  aufumn!  And  when  it 
is  sere  winter,  and  there  is  neither  foliage  nor 
fruit,  then  I  look  up  through  the  leafless  branch- 
es, as  I  never  could  until  now,  and  see  the  stars 
shine." — Sharpe's  Magazine. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
AN  ACROSTIC. 

BY   JOSEPH    H.   BDTLEB. 

E  niblem  of  beauty  I   sweet  rose  of  the  bower  I 
M  ay  thy  opening  bosom  be  wet  with  the  sliower ; 
M  ay  thy  fragrance  be  lasting—  thy  beauties  abide 
Around  the  green  wood-walks  of  Flora's  gay  pride. 

It  ut  frail  art  thou,  rose  !  and  fragile  thy  form, 
U  nable  to  flourish  in  darkness  and  storm  ; 
Twine,  then,  thy  eweet  buds  in  the  chaplets  of  love, 
L  ong  the  emblem  of  beauty  and  sweetness  to  prove  ; 
Even  withered,  thy  leaves  will  a  fragrance  display, 
Kising  ever  like  virtue  in  beauty's  decay! 


GLANCES. 

The  short  hasty  gazes  cast  up  any  day  in  tho 
midst  of  business,  in  a  dense  city,  at  the  heavens, 
or  at  a  bit  of  tree  seen  amid  buildings  have  in 
them  more  of  intense  appreciation  of  the  beauties 
of  nature  than  all  that  has  been  felt  by  an  equal 
number  of  sight-seers  enjoying  large  opjiortuni- 
ties  of  sight-seeing,  and  all  their  time  to  them- 
selves. These  gazes  at  nature  have  something 
beautiful  in  them. — Companions  ofvuj  iSolilude. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO  AUTUMN. 

All  hail  I  sober  Autumn,  lovely  nuiid  I 

I  love  thy  garb  of  russet  hue  j 
I  love  to  haunt  thy  leaf-strewn  glade, 

When  deep  impearlod  with  morning  dow. 

■Wliat  though  thou  boast  no  blooming  rose. 
No  vivid  green,  no  summer's  glare  ; 

Thy  calmness  yields  to  mind  repose, 
And  bid'st  thy  beauties  blossom  thoru. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


215 


[Written  for  Gloason's  Pictorial.] 
JOY  AMID  SORROW. 

Bf   CALMUS   HORTESCOE. 

Vice  is  attended  with  temporary  felicity,  piety  with 
eternal  joy.— Bayard. 

There  is  a  joy  at  sorrow'a  shrine, 
Which  even  death  cannot  dispel : 

Assuaging  grief,  it  calms  the  mind 
Acknowledging  its  mystic  spell ! 

It  is  a  pure,  a  holy  joy. 

Subservient  to  a  pious  heart : 
It  comes — the  gift  which  angels  send — 

It  comes — the  theme  which  they  impart. 

It  is  a  flame  of  heavenly  fire, 

Whose  presence  melts  the  coldest  knave  ; 

It  Ijurus  its  incense  from  on  high, 
Emitting  hope  beyond  the  gruve. 

On  earth  it  turns  the  path  of  vice, 
It  moves  athwart  the  sluggard's  way ; 

Where  Death  had  drawn  his  sceptre  o'er, 
It  holds  in  peace  its  solemn  sway. 

It  has  no  share  in  sin's  cold  heart, 
So  rendered  by  the  wiles  of  earth  ; 

By  them  alone  its  balm  is  felt, 
Who  revel  not  in  carnal  mirth. 

It  lifts  aloft  the  soul  from  hence, 
Prepares  us  here  for  time  to  come ; 

Infers  the  reconciling  thought, 
Thiit  He  shall  claim  us  through  his  Son. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  IV. 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 

BY  BK.  JEROME  V.  C-  SMITK, 
ADTUOa   OF    A     "PILGRIMAGE    TO    EGYPT. " 

If  Paris  is  France,  then  Constantinople  is 
Turkey.  In  all  its  details,  it  is  an  anomaly.  Its 
location  is  unsurpassed  in  beauty — both  land 
and  water  are  so  connected  as  to  enhance  the 
loveliness  of  the  scenery  beyond  that  of  any  other 
city  on  the  globe.  For  commerce — situated  be- 
tween the  Black  Sea  and  tiie  Mediterranean, 
with  that  transcendently  splendid  link  in  the 
aquatic  chain,  the  Bosphorus,  swarming  with 
caiques,  steamers  and  ships  from  every  clime — 
Constantinople  has  no  parallel. 
[For  view  of  Constantinople,  Seraglio  Point,  sec  page  224.] 
If  any  one  spot  is  destined  to  become  the 
principal  mart  of  the  whole  world,  in  after  ages, 
it  will  be  there.  But  these  are  reveries,  and  I 
shall  speak,  therefore,  of  what  it  is,  and  not  what 
it  may  be  when  the  Anglo-Saxons  spread  them- 
selves over  the  cast — as  they  surely  will — and 
the  races  now  ia  the  occupancy  of  the  garden  of 
Asia  Minor,  pass  away  into  utter  forgetfulness. 
Nan-ow  lanes,  badly  paved,  or  not  paved  at  all, 
running  irregularly  everywhere,  without  names, 
and  never  lighted  at  night,  arc  gloomy  and  for- 
bidding at  dark. 

Constantinople  is  strangely  walled,  and  en- 
tered from  various  points,  both  from  the  country 
and  the  water,  through  gates  that  bear  signili- 
cant  names.  Without  special  care  in  passing 
through  any  one  of  them,  on  account  of  being 
thrown  wide  open,  they  would  escape  observa- 
tion. Here  is  the  Bagdsche  Xi^apussi,  known  as 
the  route  taken  by  ambassadors  on  their  way  to 
au(3ieuccs.  The  Batikbassar  Kapussi,  command- 
ing the  tish  market,  near  a  celebrated  boat  land- 
ing ;  that  of  Edrene,  or  Gate  of  Adianople,  wliich 
under  another  name  is  known  to  have  existed  in 
the  year  625 — the  epoch  of  a  famous  siege  in  the 
reign  of  the  Hcraclius.  A  celebrated  church 
at  that  period  stood  near,  held  in  peculiar  rever- 
ence by  the  Greeks,  on  account  of  containing  a 
chest  in  which  the  priests  taught  the  people  to 
believe  were  the  garments  worn  by  the  Virgin 
Mary.  In  all  Constantinople  there  arc  nearly 
thirty  gates,  but  far  from  being  in  good  condi- 
tion and  wUuIq  not  offer  much  resistance  to  a 
rabble  disposed  to  force  a  way  into  the  city. 

A  history  of  its  origin,  and  the  extraordinary 
changes  through  which  it  1ms  passed  since  it 
was  taken  from  the  Greeks,  may  be  found  in 
various  writings  ;  hence  a  rehearsal  of  them  here 
would  be  unnecessary.  At  present,  it  is  an  im- 
mense city,  having  three  centres — points  where 
the  buildings  are  wedged  together  very  com- 
pactly, and  principally  constructed  of  inflam- 
mable materials.  When  a  fire  breaks  out,  a 
desolating  conflagration  invariably  follows,  be- 
cause the  inhabitants  have  none  of  the  apparatus 
of  civilized  countries  for  controlling  or  subduing 
it,  nor  the  discipline,  energy  or  interest  to  make 


an  effort.  So  it  crackles  and  burns,  the  sparks 
fly,  the  wind  wafts  the  blazing  clapboards  through 
the  air,  and  away  they  go,  propagating  teiTor 
and  destruction,  till  everything  combustil)le  is 
converted  into  ashes  all  the  way  to  a  clear  field. 
When  nothing  more  remains  in  the  wake  of  the 
flames,  the  fire  dies  out;  and  the  calmly  smoking 
spectators,  seated  on  cushions  to  watch  the 
raging  element,  raise  their  optics  devoutly  to  the 
sky,  puff  a  long  ribbon  whiff  of  smoke,  and  as 
it  goes  curling  towards  the  zenith,  exclaim : 
"  Bismillah  !" — God  is  great! 

A  large  proportion  of  all  the  inhabited  liouses 
arc  of  wood,  two  or  three  stories  bigli.  An  im- 
mense consumption  of  lumber,  therefore,  is  de- 
manded to  rebuild  after  every  conflagration,  to 
construct  new  and  keep  in  repair  the  wliolc. 
Teams  cannot  be  employed  to  haul  it  through 
the  cramped  streets,  and  the  people  have  inge- 
niously resorted  to  the  following  method  of  con- 
veying materials  to  the  places  where  they  are 
required.  Half  a  dozen  boards,  for  example, 
are  tied  at  one  end,  as  fagots  are  bound,  which 
are  lashed  to  the  shoulders  of  a  donkey,  balanced 
by  an  equal  number  on  the  opposite  side.  Thus 
they  go  dragging  them  along,  to  the  imminent 
danger  of  the  toes  of  all  they  pass. 

In  every  direction  there  seems  to  be  a  never- 
ending  procession  of  asses  buried  up  in  the  load, 
the  extremity  of  which,  spread  out  like  a  fan  on 
the  ground,  sweeps  and  scratches  the  passage  as 
they  move.  The  effect  is  ludicrous  wlien  ob- 
served for  the  first  time  ;  but  a  stranger  soon  be- 
comes accustomed  to  the  oddities  of  everyday 
life  in  Constantinople,  which  are  the  antipodes 
of  common  economy  everywhere  out  of  Turkey. 

No  door  has  a  name  upon  it ;  and  if  it  had, 
nobody  could  understand  it,  for  not  one  in  many 
thousands  can  read  a  syllable  cither  of  their  own 
or  any  other  language — and  worse  still,  it  is  ex- 
tremely difticult  to  pronounce  a  native  cogno- 
men when  it  is  known.  Runners  meet  travellers 
and  recommend  certain  lodging  places  oa  ac- 
count of  being  fire-proof.  Myself  and  a  few 
countrymen  deposited  ourselves  at  Pera — one  of 
the  three  divisions  of  the  city  in  which  foreigners 
principally  reside — in  a  salamander  house;  but 
lo,  it  turned  out  that  the  kitchen  was  enclosed  in 
a  stone  box,  secured  with  iron  doors,  and  not 
our  apartments  !  The  proprietors  provide  their 
customers  something  to  eat,  if  they  have  no 
where  to  sleep. 

Burying  yards,  great  and  small,  being  of  va- 
rious dimensions,  are  in  the  very  heart  of  some 
of  the  densely  settled  parts — evolving  incalcu- 
lable amounts  of  nephitic  gases  destructive  to 
tlic  public  health.  Those  immediately  on  the 
verge  of  the  town,  beginning  in  Pera,  where  the 
houses  stop,  arc  kept  perpetually  damp  and  un- 
wholesome by  thickets  of  tall  gloomy  cypresses 
that  exclude  the  sun's  rays  ;  and  thus  pestilence 
is  generated,  and  death  starts  a  mission  of  un- 
heard-of mortality,  every  few  years. 

The  wonder  may  well  be  entertained  why 
Constantinople  has  not  been  depopulated. 
Plague,  dogs,  graveyai'ds  and  universal  out-door 
nastiness,  however,  have  found  their  match  with 
the  Turks. 

Oddity  is  impressed  on  whatever  one  sees; 
and  yet  these  smoking,  salaming,  bucksheish- 
coveting  disciples  of  Mahommed  have  their 
comforts  and  conveniences  in  their  own  way, 
which  is  more  than  we  have  always  in  a  free 
goveiTiment.  It  is  a  crime  to  be  very  rich,  for 
money  is  a  weapon  of  which  the  rulers  are  in 
fear. 

Some  of  the  Armenian  bankers  have  hereto- 
fore been  Iionorcd  with  a  silk  Iialter,  or  had  their 
heads  chopped  off"  without  an  apology,  because 
the  state  stood  in  need  of  replenished  coffers. 

In  the  cemetery  of  Balykly  is  a  marble  box, 
bearing  an  inscription  illustrative  of  what  has 
often  been  done  in  the  way  of  murdering  a  man 
for  his  property.  It  is  in  Armenian,  which 
translated,  reads  thus  : 

"  Here  reposes  the  mortal  remains  of  Erzan- 
yan  Aretin,  banker  to  the  Sublime  Porte.  His 
virtues  were  resplendent  as  the  gold  he  had 
amassed  by  industry  and  fair  dealing.  His 
charity  was  boundless,  his  word  inviolable,  and 
his  piety  transcendent.  He  gave  to  all  and  owed 
to  none.  He  bade  adieu  to  his  weeping  family 
upon  the  7th  of  July,  1795,  trusting  to  Almighty 
Grace,  and  blessing  the  hand  that  opened  for 
him  the  gates  of  paradise." 

If  a  Turk  has  an  establishment — and  a  harem 
adds  to  the  reputation  of  a  gentleman,  as  it  is  an 
evidence  of  means — it  is  equivalent  to  keeping  a 
coach  in  Christendom.  In  other  words,  position 
is  evci'ything,  and  this  is  one  way  they  estimate 


it.  A  man's  good  name  or  fame,  without  money 
or  women,  would  not  give  him  the  society  of  a 
donkey.  With  the  first,  the  second  grand  cle- 
ment of  distinction  can  be  purchased  at  the 
Yessir  Bazary. 

The  bazaars,  the  shops,  the  bakers,  the  food 
sold  in  the  streets,  the  cut  of  the  garments,  the 
veiled  females  gliding  about  in  yellow  boots,  the 
grave  deportment  of  most  of  the  faces  met,  the 
singularity  of  the  customs  that  are  discoverable 
at  every  corner,  the  magnificence  of  some  edifi- 
ces and  the  wretchedness  of  others,  the  mosques, 
the  stillness — save  when  the  muezzins  call  to 
prayers  from  the  tall  slender  minarets — take  a 
strong  hold  of  the  stranger.  He  sees  that  the 
genius  of  Mahommedanism  cannot  live  on  terras 
of  friendship  with  pure  Christianity. 

Probably  there  may  be  very  inviting  cafes,  but 
we  never  saw  one  that  was  not  begrimmed  by 
smoke,  and  filthy  from  the  perpetual  lounging 
habits  of  the  unceasing  smokers.  Coffee  is 
served  in  cups  scarcely  larger  than  half  an  egg- 
shell, black,  thick  and  strong,  without  cream  or 
sugar.  One  of  tlic  amusements  consists  in  listen- 
ing to  professed  story-tellers,  while  puffing  at 
their  long  pipes — which  a  Turk  seems  always  to 
have  in  his  mouth.  ]f  the  actor,  for  such  it  is, 
possesses  a  tact,  he  carries  his  auditors  through 
every  shade  of  feeling,  from  sympathy  to  rage. 
Some  of  the  performers  are  distinguished  for 
talents  in  the  line  of  their  vocation. 

Another  amusement  of  the  coffee-rooms  is  to 
have  a  male  dancer  introduced,  who  bears  a  faint 
resemblance  to  an  unveiled  female,  who  rants, 
rattles  his  castanets,  and  cuts  such  ungraceful 
antics,  as  would  disgust  more  refined  spectators. 
[See  engmviug  on  page  224.] 
Readers  of  botanical  works  are  familiar  with 
the  history  of  the  discovery  of  coffee,  its  intro- 
duction into  the  system  of  Oiiental  diatetics  and 
subsequent  diffusion  over  the  whole  habitable 
globe ;  but  it  may  nevertheless  be  interesting  to 
present  an  epitome  of  the  circumstances  attend- 
ing its  advent,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  the 
struggle  in  which  the  Mabommedan  rulers  were 
fiercely  engaged  for  a  long  while,  in  vainly  at- 
tempting to  prevent  it  from  being  used  by  the 
true  believers.  It  reminds  us  of  the  herculean 
cfibrts  of  King  James  against  tobacco.  Both 
were  abortive,  although  set  on  foot  and  main- 
tained with  unremitting  severity  by  the  deter- 
mined spirit  of  despots. 

Sometime  about  the  year  1258,  of  our  era,  a 
dervish  called  Hadji  Omer,  for  some  at  present 
unknown  cause,  was  driven  out  of  the  community 
at  Mocca,byhis  brethren.  Hunger  induced  him 
to  roast  the  Kalihva  berries  growing  spontane- 
ously about  a  lonely  retreat  where  he  had  hidden 
himself.  It  seems  that  the  plant  was  familiar, 
from  having  a  name,  but  the  virtues  of  the  fruit 
never  suspected.  He  was  compelled  to  cook 
them  by  roasting,  as  the  only  means  of  sustain- 
ing life,  cut  off  from  all  other  resources.  Steep- 
ing them  in  the  water  that  quenched  his  thirst, 
lie  discovered  very  agreeable  qualities,  and  also 
that  the  infusion  was  nearly  equal  to  solid  food. 
In  the  meanwhile,  those  who  had  expelled 
him  from  the  common  domicile,  in  their  wander- 
ings, came  to  the  retreat  of  the  dervish,  whom 
they  supposed  to  have  died  of  starvation  long 
before.  They  surprised  Omer  in  the  act  of 
preparing  his  newly-discovered  beverage.  Of 
course,  they  tasted  it,  were  delighted,  and  on 
their  return  gave  an  account  of  the  miraculous 
manner  in  whicii  he  had  been  sustained.  This 
led  to  further  experiments,  the  restoration  of 
Omer  to  good  fellowship,  and  also  to  the  per- 
sonal consideration  of  the  sheik  or  governor  of 
Mocca.  Omer  turned  out  a  bad  fellow  in  the 
cod;  yet  he  was  properly  transmuted  into  a 
saint,  and  his  memory  is  held  in  peculiar  venera- 
tion as  a  pious  man  and  a  benefactor  to  man- 
kind. 

Not  far  from  1555,  some  Arabians  opened  a 
shop  in  the  bazaar  at  Constantinople  for  the 
sale  of  coffee,  which  appears  to  have  been  sold 
ready  for  drinking,  in  a  small  way,  previously. 
This  preparation  for  meeting  the  demand  for  a 
new  luxury,  roused  the  anger  of  the  Mufti. 
Murad  IV.  joined  in  a  fanatical  crusade  against 
it,  because  the  true  faith  anathematized  whatever 
had  been  charred  or  coaled,  as  an  article  of 
food.  Coffee  rooms  rapidly  increased,  however, 
for  it  met  an  unsatisfied  appetite.  It  is  now  im- 
possible to  form  any  just  estimate  of  the  con- 
sumption of  coflce  in  Constantinople.  There  arc 
computed  to  be  three  thousand  rooms  set  apart 
for  the  indulgence  of  coffee-drinkers — smoking 
being  the  legitimate  accompaniment. 

llcbellions,  conspiracies  and  iiti-ocious  crimes 


against  the  lives  of  pashas,  court  favorites,  and 
even  the  Sultans,  have  been  so  ficquently  con- 
cocted in  these  universal  haunts  of  the  citizens, 
that  they  arc  watched  with  eagle  vigilance  by 
the  police.  The  plan  for  the  destruction  of  Os- 
man  II.,  1G17,  wlio  was  strangled  by  the  Jani- 
zaries at  the  age  of  nineteen,  originated  in  a 
coffee  room.  He  was  a  contemporary  with  King 
James  I.  of  England.  Since  the  murder  of  that 
turbulent  body  of  soldiers,  who  made  or  de- 
throned Sultans  at  their  pleasure,  no  apprehen- 
sions from  tliat  source  are  entertained.  No  Sul- 
tan ever  felt  secure  a  single  moment  in  his  pal- 
ace, while  the  Janizaries  were  in  existence. 
Mahmoud  II.  had  the  boldness  to  conceive,  and 
the  energy  to  accomplish,  their  thorough  de- 
struction ;  and  his  son  Megid,  therefore,  is  the 
first  of  the  long  line  of  Turkish  emperors  who 
has  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  sudden  popular 
outbreaks  from  his  own  soldiers  in  the  capital  of 
the  empire. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LEONORA   TO   TASSO. 

BY  ELLEN   LOUISE   CHANDLER. 

'■'■I fain  would  dream  of  thecP'' 

Come  to  mj^  dreams,  teloved  I     The  moon  is  Uigb, 
AnJ  the  bright  "fire-eyed  stars,"  from  out  the  sky, 
Are  gazing  at  her  pale  face  sailing  by. 

Come  to  my  dreams  \  and  smile,  and  kiss  me  now, 
With  such  a  kiss  as,  whilome,  blessed  my  brow, 
While  we  eat  trembling  at  our  first  love  vow. 

Come  to  my  dreams !  and  gaze  in  these  fond  eyes, 
That  once  thou  saidst  were  bluer  than  the  skies. 
And  thrilled  thy  heart  like  gleams  from  Paradise  1 

Come  to  my  dreams  ?    If  those  blue  eyes  have  grown 
Dim,  'tis  with  weary  watchingw,  sad  and  lone, 
TJncheercd  by  echo  of  thy  faintest  tone. 

Come  to  my  dreams,  beloved  I     Thou  wilt !    I  hear 
Thy  low  voice  murmuriug  love-words  in  my  ear, 
"VYliile  I  grow  mute  with  bliss  so  deep,  so  dear  I 


SCENERY  AT  HOME  Al^U  ABROAD. 

The  contrasts  between  the  Old  and  New  World 
are  not  confined  to  the  results  of  art.  Around 
the  congregated  dwellings  of  both  hemispheres 
is  spread  the  varied  scenery  of  nature ;  and  the 
sojourner,  if  he  be  not  an  inveterate  worldling, 
has  been  wont  to  repair  thither  for  solace  and 
refreshment.  Yet  how  different  are  the  em- 
blems of  her  benignant  presence  from  those  to 
which  he  has  been  accustomed  !  At  home  he 
gazed  upon  the  flowing  stream,  whose  greatest 
charm  is  its  bright  hue  and  crystal  clearness ; 
in  this  distant  region  he  roams  beside  a  turbid 
river,  only  attractive  from  the  events  of  which 
it  has  been  the  scene,  or  the  classic  legend  which 
arrays  it  in  fictitious  glory.  At  home  his  eye 
rested  upon  cottages  of  wood,  with  orchards  be- 
side them,  vegetable  gardens  in  the  rear,  and 
Inird  by  the  long  well-pole  poised  in  tlie  air ;  now 
he  beholds  the  peasant's  cottage  of  stone,  and 
the  olive,  aloe,  Indian  fig,  or  grape  vine,  con- 
stitute the  verdure  around  it.  There  the  little 
belfry  of  the  village  school  rose  conspicuous  ; 
here  the  open  shrine  of  some  local  saint.  There 
the  forest  outspread  in  wild  majesty ;  here  the 
campagna  sti'ctches  in  peaceful  undulations. 
There  the  chirp  of  the  cricket  announces  the 
close  of  day ;  here  the  tinkling  bell  of  the  re- 
turning mules,  and  Ave  Marias  stealing  on  the 
breeze,  usher  in  the  evening.  There  many  an 
uninvited  haunt  repays  the  wanderer  with  ro- 
mantic dreams  ;  here  the  spell  of  some  ruined 
temple  entrances  his  fancy  with  hours  of  retro- 
spective musing.  Still  nature's  votary  feels  that 
the  same  gentle  companionship  is  with  him,  and 
recognizes  the  invisible  spirit  of  the  universe  en- 
deared by  communion  in  another  land;  for  there 
is  a  well-known  voice  with  wliich  she  greets  her 
children  in  evcr}^  clime. — Tuckcnnan's  Sicily. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL. 

BV   S.   HEKEy. 

Be  Still,  my  eoul  I  thy  weary  longings  cease ! 

Nor  seek  from  cankering  care  a  fall  release  I  . 

Night,  with  its  shadows  and  its  stillness  deep, 

Brings  not  the  rest  of  quiet,  soothing  sleep 

To  those  for  whom  the  hours  of  day  come  fraught 

Only  with  trifling  sport,  or  yet  more  trifling  thought ; 

But  to  the  couch  of  him,  the  weary  man, 

The  dark  clad  goddess  leads  her  starry  band; 

While  dreams  and  thoughts  of  hope  their  homage  pay. 

And  all  their  beauty  lend  to  lighten  liibor's  sway  ; 

E^en  thus  the  rest  of  heaven  is  set  apart, 

But  for  the  lowly  and  the  meek  in  heart ; 

And  thou,  my  soul,  if  earnest  unto  prayer, 

Shalt  greet  thy  Saviour,  thy  Redeemer  thei-e  ; 

Shalt  join  the  "  blood-washed  throng,"  and  \Tith  them  sing, 

■'■  Most  holy,  holy,  is  our  Lord  and  King ;" 

Casting  thy  golden  crown  his  throne  before, 

Forevermore  !— even  forevei-more  ! 


"VVe  all  get  wrong  from  the  moment  that  we 
forget  that  this  world  is  not  our  rest.  Midnight 
is  not  a  more  effectual  sbrond  of  the  landscape, 
than  unbelief  for  divine  things,  when  it  interposes 
between  them  and  our  souls. 


216 


GLEASON'S   nCTOUIAL   DTIAWING   llOOM   COMPANION. 


VIEW  OF  THE  TOWN  OF  PLYMOUTH,  MASS.,  FROM  THE  GOTHIC  BURYING-GROUND. 


SCENES  IN  PliVMOUTH,  MASS. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  ^^o  into  a  detailed 
account  of  the  indacements  that  actuated  our 
forefathers  in  coming  to  this  country.  The  spirit 
that  moved  the  Pilgrims  who  landed  at  Ply- 
niouth,  Dec.  11th,  1620,  is  doubtless  well  known 
to  the  readers  of  our  paper.  Our  first  view  is 
that  of  the  town  of  Plymouth,  taken  from  the 
Gothic  burial  ground,  and  here  let  us  remark, 
that  we  are  hirgoly  indebted  in  the  annexed  de- 
scription to  a  very  interesting  and  excellent  book 
entitled  "A  Guide  to  Plymouth  "Village,"  by 
Wm.  S.  Russell,  No  persons  visiting  the  town 
should  fail  to  possess 
themselves  of  a  copy  of 
this  instructive  and  in- 
teresting pocket  com- 
panion. The  Indian 
name  of  Plymouth  was 
Umparae,  written  Apa- 
um,  in  the  colony  rec- 
ords, and  still  so  called 
by  the  natives  of  Massa- 
pee.  It  was  also  called 
Patttxet.  The  bounds  of 
Plymouth  were  deter- ' 
mined  by  the  Colony 
Court,  in  the  year  1640, 
of  which  the  following 
is  a  description:  "It  is 
enacted  and  concluded 
by  the  Court,  that  the 
bounds  of  Plymouth 
township  shall  extend 
southward  to  the  bounds 
of  Sandwich  townshiji ; 
and  northward  toaHtile 
brook,  running  from 
Stephen  Tracy's  to  ano- 
ther little  brook  falling 
into  Blackwater;  from 
the  commons  left  to 
Duxbury,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood  thereabout  ; 
and  westward  eight 
miles  up  into  the  land, 
from  any  part  of  the  bay 
or  sea  ;  always  provided 
that  the  bounds  shall  ex- 
tend so  far  up  into  the 
wood  lands  as  to  include 
the  south  meadows  to- 
wards Agawam,  lately 
discovered,  and  the  con- 
venient uplands  there- 
about.'* These  bounds 
were  quite  extensive, 
comprising  what  have 
since  become  Plympton, 
in  1707,  Kingston,  in 
1726,  and  part  of  Ware- 
ham,  w  th  Carver,  taken 
from  Plympton,  and  a 
part  of  Halifax,  in  1734, 
also  taken  from  Plymp- 
ton. It  is  about  sixteen 
miles  in  extent,  from 
north  to  south,  and  va- 
ries from  four  and  a  half 
to  nine  in  width.  Ply- 
mouth is  built  along  the 


seashore,  upon  a  moderate  declivity  descending 
from  an  extensive  pine  plain,  about  one  fouith 
of  a  mile  broad,  and  one  and  a  half  miles  in 
length. 

ni-GRIM    HALL. 

The  corner  stone  of  this  edifice,  containing 
historical  inscriptions,  was  laid  Sept.  1,  1824, 
with  religious  ceremonies.  This  monumental 
edifice  is  situated  on  Court  street;  it  is  about 
seventy  by  forty  feet,  constructed  of  unwrought 
split  granite,  in  a  plain  and  substantial  mode  of 
architecture,  contains  a  dining  room  on  the  base- 
ment, and  a  spacious  hall  above.     The  ground 


on  which  it  stands  was  a  part  of  the  extensive 
estate  of  Mr.  Thomas  Southworth,  in  1668,  and 
is  probably  comprised  within  the  "  four  acres 
given  him  by  his  motiicr,  Mrs.  Alice  Bradford," 
relict  of  Gov.  Bradford.  AVlicn  Plymouth  was 
first  planted,  there  was  a  north  and  south  common 
field,  for  tillage,  for  several  years,  on  either  side 
of  the  town,  near  the  shore.  This  falls  within 
the  "  north  field,"  and  probably  within  the  stock- 
ade and  palisadoes  of  nearly  half  a  mile  in  com- 
pass. Just  below  it,  abutting  on  "  the  shore, 
were  the  six  acre  brick  kiln  field,"  of  the  first 
planters.     The  eastern  prospect  from  it  is  inttr- 


THE  PILGLIIM  I'ALL,  PLYMOUTH. 


esting,  bringing  into  view  the  harbor,  the  near 
shores  of  Duxbury  and  Marshfield,  the  highlands 
of  Manomet,  the  ocean,  and  occasionally  in  the 
summer,  the  looming  cliffs  of  Cape  Cod — the 
first  resting  place  of  the  Pilgrims.  The  Pilgrim 
Hall,  which  is  now  fitted  up  in  a  manner  con- 
venient and  appropriate,  for  the  reception  of  in- 
teresting memorials  connected  with  the  Pilgrims, 
contains  the  following,  among  other  attractions 
to  the  antiquarian  visitor;  The  Landing  of  the 
Fathers  in  1 620,  painted  by  the  late  Henry  Sar- 
gent, Eiq.,  of  Boston,  and  generously  presented 
by  him  to  the  Pilgrim  Society.  It  was  valued 
atS3000.  The  gilt  frame 
was  purchased  by  the 
Pilgrim  Society,  with 
funds  raised  by  subscrip- 
tion, and  cost  about  four 
hundred  dollars.  It  is 
13  by  16  feet.  The  fol- 
lowing individuals  are 
represented  in  the  paint- 
ing, attired  in  the  cos- 
tume of  their  time.  1st. 
Governor  Carver  and  his 
wife  and  children.  2d. 
Governor  Bradford.  3d. 
GovernorWinslow.  4ih. 
Wife  of  Governor  Wins- 
low.  5tb.  Mr.  William 
Brewster,  the  Elder  of 
Leydcn  Church.  6th. 
^^  Captain  Miles  Standish. 

7th.  Mr.  William  White, 
and  his  child  Peregrine. 
6th.  Mr.  Isaac  Allcrton 
and  his  wife.  9rli.  Mr. 
JohnAIden.  10th.  Mr. 
John  Turner,  llih.  Mr. 
Stephen  Hopkins,  his 
wife  and  children.  12ih. 
Mr.  Richard  Warren. 
13ih.  Mr.  Edward  Tel- 
lev.  14th.  Mr.  Samuel 
Puller.  15lh.  Wife  of 
Captain  Standish.  16th. 
Samosct,  an  Indian  Sag- 
amore or  Lord.  17th. 
Mr.  John  Howland,  son- 
in-law  of  Governor  Car- 
ver. This  picture  is  cop- 
ied by  our  artist,  and 
appears  on  the  opposite 
page.  The  painting  is 
l>y  far  thebcrtwoik  that 
has  ever  emanated  from 
Mr.  Sai  gent's  hands, and 
is  one  of  the  most  elab- 
orate and  pcifcct  pic- 
tuics  of  the  characrcr 
now  in  thciountry.  No 
reader  of  the  Pictorial 
should  visit  Pl^^mou'h 
without  seeing  it,  bring- 
ing as  it  does  before  ihe 
eye  so  vivid  a  retrospect 
of  old-lime  scenes  and 
of  the  sacrifices  of  the 
noble  men  who  were  so 
rnn>.)iicuous  actors  in 
them. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


217 


The  Forefathers'  Eock, 
60  attractive  to  the  curi- 
osity of  visitors,  except- 
ing that  part  of  it  which 
is  now  enclosed  within 
the  railinfr  in  front  of 
Pilgrim  Hall,  as  repre- 
sented by  our  artist  be- 
low, retains  the  same 
position  it  occupied  more 
than  two  hundred  years 
ago,  when  the  founders 
of  New  England  tirst 
landed  on  our  shores, 
and  introduced  the  arts 
of  civilization,  the  insti- 
tutions of  religion,  civil 
government  and  educa- 
tion, upon  the  basis  of 
just  and  equal  rights, 
which  from  that  memor- 
able day  to  the  present 
time,  have  secured  the 
general  good  of  the 
whole  community,  to  an 
extent  probably  unex- 
ampled in  any  equal  pe- 
riod of  human  experi- 
ence. "  It  is  not  a  little 
curious  that  one  loose 
rock  on  the  shore  of 
Plymouth  harbor,shpuld 
have  become  so  famous 
as  is  that  called  the 
*  Pilgrim  Rock,'  where 
there  is  not  known  in 
the  township  a  single 
ledge  save  those  the  lish- 
crman  reaches  with  his 
lead  at  various  points  of 
the  coast.  '  Pilgrim 
Rock'  is  one  of  these 
boulders — itself  an  older 
pilgrim  than  those  who 
landed  on  it.  It  is  an 
extremely  hard  variety 
of  sienilic  granite,  of  a 
dark  gray  color.  The 
mica  is  in  very  small 
quantity,  in  fine  black 
particles.  The  rock,  by 
its  rounded  edges,  bears 
evidence  of  its  rolled 
character,  as  well  as  of 
the  attempts  to  break 
specimens  from  it;  which 
fortunately  its  extreme 
hardness  renders  seldom 
successful.  This  rock 
is  now  iu  two  pieces, 
each  piece  about  four 
feet  through."  That 
part  now  at  the  water's 
side  is  about  six  and  a 
half  feet  in  diameter,  and 

is  situated  on  the  souih  side  of  the  store  now  oc- 
cupied by  Phinehas  Wells,  at  the  head  of  Hedjje's 
wharf,  a  few  feet  only  from  the  same.  Besides 
the  general  and  undisputed  tradition  which  div 
signates  it  as  that  on  which  the  fiuhers  landed,  it 
was  ascirtaiaed  to  be  the  same  on  an  interesting 


COPY  OF  SARGENT  d  PAINTING  OF  THE  LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIMS,  IN  PILGRIM  HALL. 


occasion  in  the  life  of  Elder  Thomas  Faunce,  the 
last  ruling  elder  in  the  first  church  of  Plymouth, 
who  was  born  in  the  year  1646,  and  died  in  the 
year  1745,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-nine 
years.  In  the  year  1741,  the  elder  upon  learning 
that  a  wharf  was  about  to  be  built  near,  or  over 


the  rock,  which  up  to  that  period  had  kept  its 
undisturbed-  position  at  the  water's  edge,  and 
fearing  that  the  march  of  improvement  might 
subject  it  to  injury,  expressed  much  uneasiness. 
Though  residing  three  miles  from  the  village  of 
Plymouth,  and  then  in  declining  health,  he  lefc 


home,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  many  citizens, 
pointed  out  the  rock  we 
have  described  as  being 
that  on  which  the  Pil- 
grims with  whom  he  was 
cotemporary,  and  well 
acquainted, had  uniform- 
ly declared  to  be  the 
same  on  which  they 
landed  in  1620.  Upon 
this  occasion  this  vener- 
able and  excellent  man 
took  a  final  leave  of  this 
cherished  memorial  of 
of  the  fathers.  The  cir- 
cumstances above  rela- 
ted, were  frequently  men- 
tioned by  the  late  Hon. 
Ephraim  Spooner,  de- 
ceased, who  was  present 
upon  the  occasion  also 
with  Elder  Faunce.  He 
was  deacon  of  the  church 
of  Plymouth  forty  one 
years,  and  fifty-two  years 
town  clerk,  and  died 
March, 1 81 8, aged  eighty- 
thi'cc  years.  The  same 
information  was  com- 
municated by  Jlrs.  Jo- 
ana  White,  widow  of 
Gideon  White, deceased, 
who  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted in  the  family 
of  Elder  Faunce.  Khe 
died  in  1810,  aged  nine- 
ty-five years.  And  the 
same  account  has  been 
transmitted  by  other 
aged  persons,  now  dead, 
within  the  recollection 
of  many  now  living.  On 
the  anniversary  celebra- 
tion of  the  landing  of 
the  fathers,  in  1817,  the 
late  Rev.  Horace  Holly, 
deceased,  delivered  the 
customary  address,  and 
upon  the  morning  of 
that  day  had  some  hours' 
conversation  with  Dea- 
con Spooner,above  men- 
tioned, in  relation  to 
early  times,  and  among 
other  interesting  remin- 
iscences learned  from 
him  the  incidents  above 
narrated.  For  many 
years  Deacon  Spooner 
had  been  accustomed  to 
read  the  hymn  "  Hail 
Pilgrims,"  line  by  line, 
according  to  an  antient 
practice  of  the  cliurL-h, 
and  on  this  occasion  officiated  for  the  last  time. 
Mr.  liolly^  inspired  by  his  interview,  in  the  course 
of  his  address,  happily  observed,  "our  venerable 
friend  knew  and  conversed  with  Elder  Faunce, 
who  personally  knew  the  first  settlers,  as  Polycarp 
conversed  with  St.  John,  the  beloved  disciple." 


THE  PILGRIM  ROCK^  AT  PLVMOUTHj  MASS. 


218 


GLEASON'S   nCTOllIAL   DRAWING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Writton  ibr  GltisiHon's  IMctoriiil.] 
SPIRIT  VISITANTS. 

BY  E.  CURTISS  lUNB,  U.  B.  N. 

Wlion  the  goldon  Hun  in  Petting 

Lchiiid  tho  w«8tern  liillfi, 
Aud  tho  duw  tho  grass  ia  wotting, 

And  tho  music  of  tho  i-illfl 
rills  tho  heart  with  a  dreitniy  eadnosB, 

Then  Rpirit-lbrmB  ivill  coum, 
Thrilling  tho  soul  vith  gliidnoss, 

Ab  they  tell  of  thuir  radiant  homo. 

Gone  ai'o  tho  pangs  of  sorrowj 

When  tlieso  angol  forms  are  nigh  ; 
Swcot  are  tho  tones  they  horrow, 

And  Boft  luj  a  maiden's  E^igh  ; 
Uright  arc  their  pinions  shining, 

And  fair  as  the  glorioua  sky, 
Tho  painted  and  beautiful  Uniug 

Of  tho  cloak  of  immon»ity. 

Thus  do  tbo  dear  departed 

Hover  beside  our  way, 
The  ti"uo  and  noble  hearted 

Have  loft  us  not  for  aye ; 
But  anxious  for  us  over, 

Iteturu  to  their  place  of  birth, 
Eoluctant  still  to  Bover 

i'rom  the  friends  they  loved  on  earth. 

[Written  for  Glcason's  Pietorial.] 

THE   OLD   ALCHEMIST. 

A   TALE   OF   ENGLAND. 

BY  SYLVANUS  COBB,  JR. 

In  one  of  tlic  narrow,  dark  streets  of  London, 
stood  a  Ixouse,  the  quaint  old  overhanging  gables 
of  which  told  that  it  was  erected  during  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth.  Within  a  small  room  in  the  upper 
story,  to  which  tlie  light  was  admitted  through 
a  window  in  the  roof,  sat  an  old  man,  well  ad- 
vanced into  the  winter  of  life;  and  near  him, 
■with  one  elbow  resting  upon  a  rude  bench,  stood 
a  young,  fair-haired  girl.  It  was  a  curious  sight 
tliat  was  revealed  to  the  gaze  in  that  small  apart- 
ment. In  one  corner  was  a  furnace,  within 
which  a  small  bed  of  live  coals  was  yet  smoul- 
dering, and  upon  either  side  stood  numerous 
crucibles  of  various  sizes  and  patterns.  The 
walls  were  flanked  with  closets  and  shelves,  with- 
in and  upon  which  stood  phials,  bottles,  boxes, 
cases,  and  paper  parcels,  all  of  them  curiously 
labelled  and  numbered.  In  one  corner,  upon  a 
pine  table,  lay  a  somewhat  ■  complicated  distil- 
ling apparatus,  with  glass  retorts,  receivers,  etc., 
some  of  whicli  had  apparently  been  recently 
used ;  and  the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  place 
told  that  they  had  been  operating  npon  strong 
aromatic  drugs. 

The  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  neighboring 
house-tops,  and  already  the  apartment  of  the  old 
alchemist  began  to  assume  a  dusky  shade,  but 
still  the  workman  strained  his  eyes  over  his  work, 
and  from  his  nervous  movements,  as  he  scraped 
a  white  powder  from  the  bottom  and  sides  of  a 
small  crucible,  one  might  have  seen  that  he  was 
anxious  to  accomplish  the  work  he  had  in  hand 
before  it  became  entirely  dark. 

"Father,"  said  the  girl,  who  had  been  anx- 
iously watching  the  old  man  for  some  time, 
"  come,  do  put  up  your  work  for  to-night.  You 
are  already  fatigued  ;  the  darkness  is  coming  on, 
and  besides,  it  is  time  we  should  have  our 
supper." 

The  girl  spoke  in  a  soft,  persuasive  tone,  and 
there  was  a  peculiar  earnestness  in  her  manner 
that  evinced  more  than  ordinary  filial  love  and 
solicitude.  Walter  Markton  gazed  up  from  his 
work,  and  a  quick  light  of  fond  affection  shot 
across  his  countenance  as  his  eyes  rested  upon 
his  fair  companion. 

"I  am  not  much  fatigued,  Ella,"  he  said,  as 
he  laid  his  scalpel  upon  the  bench  before  him, 
and  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow.  "  I  must 
prepare  these  powders  to-night,  for  the  surgeons 
want  them  to-morrow." 

"Then  why  not  lay  them  aside,  and  finish 
them  in  the  morning  1  You  will  feel  stronger 
then." 

"  I  am  strong  now,  Ella." 
As  the  old  man  thus  spoke,  he  resumed  his 
work,  and  the  fair  girl  watched  him  with  a  half 
fearful  expression.  His  very  speech  had  be- 
tokened that  his  strength  was  failing,  and  even 
while  he  worked,  his  liands  trembled  beneath 
the  insidious  touch  of  physical  weakness.  For 
several  moments,  Ella  watched  him  in  silence, 
but  yet  she  seemed  desirous  of  urging  her  point ; 
and,  at  length,  as  the  shades  of  deepening  twi- 
light began  to  verge  towards  more  dusky  night, 
filie  stepped  sol'tly  to  the  side  of  the  alchemist, 
and  laid  her  small  white  hand  upon  his  arm. 


"You  will  not  be  oHcndcd,  father,"  she  said, 
as  she  looked  imploringly  into  the  old  nnui's 
face. 

"Ofiended?"  iterated  he.  "You  can  do 
notliing  to  offend  me." 

"  Then  why  do  you  labor  so  unceasingly  in 
this  conliucd  hihoratory?  You  must  be  aware 
that  your  constitution  is  giving  wjiy.  If  you 
cannot  sec  it,  I  can.  Day  by  day  have  I  watched 
the  gradual  dimming  of  your  eyes,  and  truly 
have  I  marked  tlie  slow  sinking  of  your  checks. 
There  is  a  palior  of  ill  taking  the  place  of  the 
health-marks  upon  your  features,  and  I  fear  me 
that  ere  long  even  your  own  potent  compounds 
will  not  be  able  to  restore  you.  Come,  father, 
give  it  up." 

"No,  no,  my  sweet  child,  I  cannot.  There  is 
not  in  all  London  another  man  who  is  so  skilled 
in  preparing  and  mixing  medicines  as  myself, 
and  the  physicians  pay  me  well  for  my  labors. 
I  am  not  so  weak  as  you  think.     I  am  strong." 

"  But  there  are  others  in  the  city  who  can  pre- 
pare medicines,"  said  Ella. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  true." 

"And  they  can  supply  all  that  are  needed." 

"Perhaps  so," 

"  Tlien  let  them  do  it." 

"  All !  but  the  physicians  pay  me  well  for  my 
work." 

The  young  girl  bent  her  head,  and  the  dim 
light  that  struck  upon  the  side  of  her  face  from 
the  windowed  roof  showed  a  troubled  expression 
upon  her  countenance.  For  several  moments 
she  swept  her  delicate  fingers  around  among  the 
dust  that  had  collected  upon  the  bench;  but,  at 
length,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  old 
man,  and  in  a  low  tone  she  said  : 

"Pardon  me,  father  ;  but  I  feel  sure  that  you 
do  not  need  the  money  the  doctors  pay  you. 
For  years  you  have  labored  here,  and  you  have 
received  considerable  sums  of  money.  I  know 
that  you  have  not  spent  much,  and  unless  I  am 
far  out  of  the  way  in  my  calculations,  you  have 
more  than  enough  laid  by  to  take  care  of  you  for 
the  rest  of  your  days." 

"  I  have  been  saving — almost  penurious,"  re- 
turned Walter  Markton.  "  But  tell  me,"  he 
continued,  with  a  sudden  start,  "have  you  ever 
suffered  for  the  want  of  a  single  comfort '^'^ 

"  No,  no,  dear  father ;  you  have  been  over- 
generous  to  me,"  quickly  answered  Ella.  Then 
she  hesitated  a  moment ;  and  while  a  shade  of 
sadness  passed  over  her  features,  she  added  : 
"  I  am  suffering  for  the  want  of  something  now." 

The  old  man  dropped  his  crucible  and  scalpel, 
and  started  from  his  seat. 

"  Suffering  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  And  is  it  for 
the  want  of  anything  I  can  give  you  V 

"  Yes,"  returned  Ella. 

"  Then  name  it,  and  if  it  is  to  be  found  in  Lon- 
don, it  shall  be  yours." 

"It  is  not  for  the  want  of  anything  that  money 
can  purchase.  It  is  for  the  want  of  your  own 
good  health  and  happiness.  It  is  impossible  for 
me  to  be  happy  while  you  are  miserable,  and  you 
cannot  deny  me  that  you  are  even  now  toil-worn 
and  weak." 

"  God  bless  you,  Ella,  for  a  kind  and  loving 
heart,"  mui'mured  the  old  man,  as  he  pushed  the 
crucible  further  from  him,  and  sank  once  more 
into  his  seat.  "  I  know  that  I  am  weak,  but  not 
much  longer  shall  I  have  to  labor  thus.  I  am 
not  miserable — I  am  happy,  for  I  am  perform- 
ing a  sacred  duty,  and  evei-y  hour  I  spend  over 
my  work,  is  fraught  with  the  sweet  conviction 
that  I  am  arriving  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  con- 
summation of  that  duty.  Butif  you  were  miser- 
able, I  should  be  miserable  indeed." 

"  Could  you  be  happy,  father,"  asked  Ella, 
gazing  earnestly  into  the  old  man's  face,  "  if  you 
saw  me  gradually  wasting  away  beneath  toil  and 
care  V 

"  No,  no  ;  and  there  is  no  need  that  you  ever 
shall.     But  for  ?ne  there  is  need  of  toil." 

"  Why,  why  is  there  7  You  must  have  money 
enough." 

"  Ella,"  retunicd  the  old  man,  in  tones  of  pe- 
culiar accent,  "few  men  would  ci'edit  my  asser- 
tion were  I  to  tell  them  how  much  gold  I  have 
saved  up  from  the  products  of  my  toil  during 
the  last  thirteen  years.  I  have  worked  hard, 
and  I  have  saved  much,  more  than  enough  to 
make  a  young  man  independent  for  life,  but  yet 
I  must  lay  up  more.  The  remainder  of  my  life 
must  be  spent  for  the  fulfilment  of  an  obligation 
I  cannot  break,  and  when  all  is  accomplished, 
you  shall  know  why  I  have  thus  labored.  Ask 
me  no  more  now,  Ella;  hut  rest  assured  that 
were  I  to  leave  my  labors  row,  I  sliould  be  for- 
ever miserable;  but,  while  I  work,  even  though 


I  may  appear  weak  and  fatigued,  I  am  yet  hap- 
py and  cotitent.  J  will  do  no  more  to-night. 
We  will  have  our  supper  now,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing I  shall  be  strong  again," 

However  much  Ella  may  have  desired  to  ques- 
tion tlic  old  man  further,  she  silently  obeyed  his 
wishes ;  and  though  her  In'ow  was  for  some  time 
clouded  with  the  shade  of  uneasy  thought,  yet 
she  soon  regained  her  chceiful,  blithesome  tone, 
and  by  the  time  the  frugal  meal  was  prepared, 
she  had  begun  to  smile  and  talk  as  usual. 

Markton  shut  up  his  laboratory,  and  then 
joined  Ella  in  the  small  room  where  the  table 
was  spread.  The  latter  used  all  her  powers  of 
pleasing  and  entertaining,  but  yet  the  old  man 
seemed  sad  and  thoughtful.  He  answered  the 
questions  of  his  fair  young  companion,  and  he 
tried  to  smile  when  she  urged  her  joyful  notes  of 
innocent  levity — a  Icvify  which  she  was  far  from 
feeling,  but  which  she  called  uj)  in  her  endeavors 
to  brush  away  the  care-marks  from  the  aged  fea- 
tures of  the  alchemist;  but  bis  smiles  were  faint, 
and  they  passed  away  like  the  pho.sphorescent 
lights  of  the  fitful  fire-fly.  As  the  evening  passed 
away,  however,  he  became  more  calm ;  and 
when  he  called  Ella  to  his  side  and  took  the  Bi- 
ble, one  would  scarcely  have  known  that  aught 
had  troubled  him. 

The  next  morning,  Walter  Markton  was  early 
at  his  work,  and  at  the  requisite  hour  his  medi- 
cines were  prepared,  and  he  started  off  to  carry 
them  to  the  physicians  who  had  ordered  them. 

Time  sped  on.  The  old  man  accumulated 
more  gold,  which  he  added  to  the  store  already 
collected  ;  but  the  day  of  his  labors  was  drawing 
to  a  close.  Strong  as  was  his  natural  constitu- 
tion, his  incessant  toil,  and,  moreover,  the  subtle 
gases  that  were  evolved  from  some  of  his  dis- 
tillations and  analyses,  and  the  noxious  nature  of 
many  of  his  drugs,  worked  powerfully  against 
him,  and  ere  long  he  began  to  feel  that  he  was 
unequal  to  his  self-imposed  task.  Truly  had 
Ella  marked  the  physical  decay,  and  it  was  with 
a  heavy  heart  that  she  saw  the  old  man  rapidly 
firding  away.  She  told  him  her  fears,  and  she 
urged  him  to  give  up  his  toil  ;  but  the  object  of 
his  life  was  not  yet  accomplished,  and  with  to^ 
tering  steps,  tremblinghands,  and  dimming  eyes, 
he  pursued  his  task. 

One  night  when  the  old  man  took  his  Bible, 
he  found  himself  unable  to  read;  his  eyes  were 
too  weak,  and  his  voice  almost  failed  him.  He 
passed  the  book  to  Ella.  She  read  a  chapter, 
but  she  enjoyed  not  the  sacred  lesson  as  was  her 
wont,  for  she  saw  plainly  that  her  worst  fears 
were  being  realized,  and  that  the  crisis  was  at 
hand.  Before  Markton  retired  to  his  bed,  he 
hade  Ella  go  to  his  laboratory  and  get  a  certain 
medicine  which  he  named,  and  then  he  gave  her 
directions  for  preparing  it. 

"  This  will  restore  me  to  my  strength  again," 
he  said,  as  he  took  the  cup  from  Ella's  hand, 
"  and  in  the  morning  I  shall  be  able  to  resume 
my  work." 

"  No,  father ;  you  will  not  be  able  to  work  to- 
morrow," returned  the  girl,  as  she  looked  into 
the  wan  features  of  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  I  must.  To-morrow  I  shall  be  strong. 
Only  a  few  more  weeks,  and  then  I  shall  work 
no  more." 

The  morrow  came,  but  Walter  Markton  went 
not  to  his  work.  He  tried  to  shake  off  the  hand 
of  disease,  but  he  could  not;  his  limbs  refused 
their  wonted  office,  and  with  a  deep  groan  he 
sunk  back  upon  his  bed.  All  day  Ella  nursed 
him,  but  when  night  came,  he  had  grown  no  bet- 
ter. There  was  a  slight  fever  in  his  system,  but 
the  main  difficulty  seemed  to  he  an  actual  ex- 
haustion of  all  the  physical  functions.  For  a 
whole  week  he  lay  thus,  and  to  Ella  it  was  ap- 
parent that  he  was  becoming  weaker  and  weaker. 
He  seemed  uneasy  and  troubled,  and  frequently 
incoherent  sentences  would  burst  from  his  lips, 
as  though  some  fearful  weight  rested  upon  his 
mind. 

"  Ella,"  said  he,  towards  the  close  of  the  eighth 
day  of  bis  confinement,  "  take  this  key,  go  to 
my  laboratory,  unlock  the  small  iron  chest  un- 
der my  bench,  and  bring  me  the  bags  you  will 
find  there." 

The  girl  took  the  key  which  the  old  man  hand- 
ed her,  and  went  into  the  laboratory,  and  ere 
long  she  returned  with  four  small  bags.  Again 
she  went  and  brought  four  more,  and  the  third 
time  she  brought  only  two. 

"Now,"  said  Markton,  as  Ella  assisted  him 
into  a  chair  by  the  side  of  the  table  upon  which 
she  liad  ])Iaccd  the  bags,  "you  shall  help  me 
count  this  money." 

Tho  poor  girl  was  almost  bewildered  at  the 


sight  of  tlie  great  heaps  of  gold  which  were 
poured  out  from  the  hags,  and  a  sort  of  dim  sus- 
picion of  something  like  necromancy  flitted 
through  her  mind;  but  she  soon  collected  her 
thoughts,  and,  following  the  old  man's  example, 
she  began  to  tell  over  the  money. 

"Four  thousand  five  hundred  pounds!"  utter- 
ed Markton,  as  the  gold  had  been  all  counted. 
"  I  want  more.  I  must  have  more.  Ella,  there 
should  be  five  thousand  pounds  upon  this  table." 

"  0,  father,  say  not  so !  Here  is  enough,  and 
vastly  more  than  enough." 

"No,  my  cliild,  there  is  no^  cnougli.  Bring 
me  my  writing  materials." 

Ella  obeyed. 

"Now,"  continued  the  old  man,  "write  as  I 
shall  dictate." 

Ella  prepared  her  pen,  and  then,  at  the  dicta- 
tion of  the  old  man,  she  made  a  full  inventory 
of  his  whole  chemical  ajjparatus,  together  with 
all  tlie  paraphernalia  of  his  laboratory,  and  hav- 
ing done  this,  she  arranged  it  in  tlie  form  of  an 
advertisement.  She  read  it  over,  and  at  the 
mention  of  each  item,  Markton  made  a  minute 
with  his  pencil. 

"  There,"  said  he,  as  he  had  noted  all  the  ar- 
ticles, "  those  mnst  be  sold,  and  if  I  get  anything 
near  their  value,  I  shall  be  able  to  make  up 
something  near  the  sum  I  must  have.  It  will 
not  be  full,  but  it  will  not  be  far  from  it,  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  work  with  them  more.  I  feel  itj 
I  know  it.  Go  you,  Ella,  and  carry  the  adver- 
tisement to  the  office  of  the  Gazette.  Take  this 
piece  of  money,  and  tell  the  publisher  to  let  the 
notice  stand  in  his  columns  as  long  as  he  can 
for  that  sum." 

The  fair  girl  hastened  away  to  do  her  errand ; 
but  after  she  had  gone,  the  old  man  began  to 
wish  that  he  had  waited  a  while  longer.  It 
seemed  hard  to  part  with  the  silent  companions 
of  his  long  years  of  toil,  and  he  even  thought 
that  he  might  again  use  them  as  he  had  done. 
It  was  too  late  now,  however,  and  he  resolved  to 
let  things  take  their  course.  The  advertisement 
went  into  the  paper,  and  anxiously  did  Markton 
await  the  result.  A  week  passed  away,  and 
nothing  was  heard  from  it.  The  old  alchemist 
began  to  feel  stronger,  and  once  he  had  ventured 
into  his  laboratory,  but  he  had  not  the  strength 
to  labor,  and  he  became  more  than  ever  con- 
vinced that  his  power  to  sit  at  the  crucible  had 


It  was  at  the  close  of  a  wai-m  and  somewhat 
sultry  day,  and  the  deep  and  smoky  fog  that 
hung  over  the  house-tops  had  brought  on  a  pre- 
mature darkness.  The  old  man  had  just  laid 
back  in  his  easy  chair,  and  Ella  had  cleared  off 
the  small  table,  upon  which  the  supper  had  been 
spread,  when  footsteps  were  heard  upon  the 
stairs.  The  girl  flew  to  light  a  candle,  and  as 
there  came  a  gentle  rap  npon  the  door,  she  threw 
it  open,  and  a  tall,  well-dressed  stranger  entered 
the  apartment.  He  was  a  man  in  the  middle 
age  of  life,  with  a  countenance  remarkable  for 
its  symmetrical  bcanty,  and  his  manners  at  once 
bespoke  him  to  belong  to  the  upper  circles  of 
society. 

"I  saw  an  advertisement  this  morning,"  he 
said,  as  he  took  the  seat  which  Ella  handed  him, 
"  and  if  I  remember  rightly,  it  was  for  the  sale 
of  a  somewhat  extensive  chemical  apparatus. 
Where  can  I  find  Walter  Markton'?" 

"  I  am  that  individual,  sir,"  answered  the  old 
man. 

"  And  are  the  things  which  you  advertise  all 
that  they  arc  represented  to  be'^" 

"  They  are  better  than  I  have  represented." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  wish  to  sell  them  to  raise 
money." 

"  You  arc  right,  sir,"  returned  Markton,  at 
the  same  time  gazing  earnestly  at  the  stranger, 
whose  features  were  but  dimly  revealed  by  the 
light  of  the  tallow  candle. 

"What  price  have  you  fixed  upon  them''" 

"I  have  fixed  none.  I  wish  to  realize  all  I 
can  from  their  sale." 

"  But  you  have  some  idea  of  what  they  are 
worth," 

"  I  will  be  candid  with  you,"  said  the  old  man, 
after  a  few  moments'  hesitation,  "  and  then  you 
can  see  how  I  am  situated.  The  actual  value  of 
the  articles  is  not  over  three  hundred  pounds, 
and  I  need  five  hundred." 

The  stranger  gazed  upon  Markton  some  time 
in  silence.  At  length  a  strange  light  broke  over 
his  countenance,  and  dramng  his  chair  nearer  to 
the  side  of  his  host,  he  said  : 

"Your  admission  is  a  very  candid  one,  and, 
in  return,  I  will  make  you  an  offer.  There  must 
be  some  peculiar  cause  for  your  need  of  the  sum 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


219 


you  name,  and  if  you  ^vill  explain  it  to  mc,  I 
will  give  you  live  hundred  pounds  for  your 
apparatus." 

"You  would  not  trifle  with  me,  sir,"  uttered 
the  old  man. 

"  I  will  keep  my  word." 

"Then,  thank  God,  mj  duty  will  have  been 
done,  and  I  can  die  in  peace,"  ejaculated  the  old 
man,  in  a  fervent  tone.  "  I  can  now  tell  to  my 
gentle  Ella,  that  which,  till  the  present  time,  I 
have  never  dared  to  give  to  her  ears,  lest  she 
should  think  I  had  done  her  wrong." 

"  O  you  never  could  have  wronged  me  by  such 
a  thought  as  that,"  exclaimed  the  fair  girl.  "If 
you  have  thought  me  capable  of  such  feelings, 
then  have  you  wronged  me  indeed." 

"  Listen,  Ella,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  you 
shall  see  what  I  have  had  to  contend  with. 
Your  parents  were  not  so  poor  as  you  have  been 
led  to  suppose,  and  if  I  liave  deceived  you  in  that 
respect,  I  know  you  will  pardon  me.  Fifteen 
years  ago,  shortly  after  Charles  had  lied  to  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  and  previous  to  his  execution. 
Sir  Thomas  Valmont,  who  had  been  one  of  the 
foremost  and  most  bitter  against  Cromwell  and 
his  party,  found  it  necessary  to  flee  from  Eng- 
land. He  and  myself  had  been  classmates  at 
Oxford,  and  as  we  still  remained  bosom  friends, 
he  entrusted  to  my  keeping  his  dearest  earthly 
treasure.  His  young  wife  had  died  and  left  him 
an  infant,  and  that  child  he  placed  under  my 
charge,  then  only  a  year  old.  He  left  with  me 
live  thousand  pounds,  which  sum  I  was  to  keep 
safely  till  the  child  was  of  a  sufficient  age  to  man- 
age her  own.  affairs,  and  then,  in  case  he  did 
not  return,  I  was  to  pass  the  money  to  her.  Two 
years  afterwards,  three  of  my  friends  presented 
me  with  a  plan  for  the  erection  of  an  extensive 
laboratory  and  magazine  for  the  manufacture  of 
gunpowder.  I  examined  the  plan  in  all  its  bear- 
ings, and  after  long  and  careful  deliberation,  I 
felt  assured  that  the  concern  would  prove  vastly 
lucrative.  I  knew  it  could  not  fail.  We  ob- 
tained a  grant,  and  I  took  the  five  thousand 
pounds  I  had  received  in  ti"ust,  and  invested  it 
in  the  manufactory.  Two  of  the  company 
proved  to  be  heartless  villains,  and  having  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  all  the  money  into  their  own 
hands,  they  fled  from  the  country.  I  was  not 
only  left  poor  and  destitute,  but  I  had  lost  that 
wliich  had  been  entrusted  to  my  honor.  I  still 
had  an  extensive  chemical  apparatus  left,  and  as 
1  was  kno^vn  among  the  physicians  as  a  skillful 
alchemist,  I  found  little  difficulty  in  obtaining  as 
much  work  as  I  could  do.  I  took  these  humble 
rooms,  and  I  determined  that  I  would  replace 
the  money  I  had  lost,  if  God  spared  my  life. 
Ella  grew  in  years,  and  though  I  told  her  she 
was  not  my  child,  yet  I  dared  not  tell  her  all.  I 
felt  that  I  had  betrayed  the  confidence  of  a 
friend,  and  the  presence  of  the  gentle  girl  was  a 
constant  monitor  that  cried  for  reparation.  I 
liave  toiled  night  and  day,  and  gold  has  slowly 
rolled  into  my  strong  chest,  but  the  sum  is  not 
quite  complete.  Four  thousand  five  hundred 
])ounds  I  have  laid  by,  and  though  I  have  suffer- 
ed much,  yet  God  knows  that  my  sweet  protege 
lias  not  wanted.  I  have  trained  her  young  mind 
in  the  way  of  knowledge  and  virtue,  and  her  rich 
heart  lias  borne  me  an  abundant  harvest  of  kind- 
ness and  love.  Had  there  remained  a  pound  of 
that  sum  unpaid,  I  never  could  have  died  with  a 
clear  conscience  ;  but  now,  kind  sir,  if  you  keep 
your  promise,  I  shall  feel  once  more  a  man,  and 
I  can  leave  the  world  with  the  sweet  conviction 
that  I  have  wronged  no  living  soul." 

"And  is  all  that  gold  mine  that  you  have  in 
the  iron  chest  ?"  asked  Ella,  starting  up  from 
her  seat. 

"Yes,  all." 

"  Then  the  stranger  shall  not  buy  your  things, 
for  I  will  outbid  him,"  cried  the  fair  girl,  with  a 
beaming  eye  and  flushed  cheek.  "  I  will  give 
you  four  thousand  pounds  for  tliem.  Come,  you 
shall  not  deny  me  the  pleasure  of  such  an 
office." 

"  God  bless  you  for  your  kind  heart,  sweet 
Ella!"  murmured  the  old  man,  while  the  tears 
trickled  down  his  cheeks ;  "but  I  cannot  touch 
that  money.  It  is  yours,  and  I  have  no  right  to 
a  penny  of  it." 

"  Noble  man  !"  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  stran- 
ger, and  on  the  next  instant  he  sprang  forward 
and  cauglit  the  alchemist  by  the  hand.  "  Wal- 
ter Markton,  do  you  not  know  me  ?" 

The  old  man  was  weak,  but,  nevertheless,  he 
started  to  his  feet. 

"  Sir  Thomas  Valmont!"  he  uttered. 

"Yes,  Walter,  it  is  your  old  friend.  I  have 
been  in  London  a  week,  and  during  that  time,  I 


have  been  trying  to  hunt  you  up,  and  I  know 
not  when  I  should  have  succeeded,  had  I  not 
seen  your  advertisement  in  the  Gazette  this 
morning.     Ella,  my  child  !" 

The  gentle  Ella  needed  no  second  summons 
to  seek  the  embrace  of  a  parent ;  and  while  the 
father  and  child  wept,  and  murmured  their  heart- 
offerings  of  thanksgivings,  the  old  alchemist 
clasped  his  hands  together,  and  thanked  God 
that  the  load  of  years  was  taken  from  his  soul. 
He  felt  again  the  pride  of  a  man,  and  already 
the  blood  began  to  course  through  his  veins  with 
a  more  healthy  flow.  He  would  have  asked  Sir 
Thomas  to  forgive  him  for  the  indiscretion  of 
which  he  was  guilty,  but  the  noble  knight  would 
listen  to  no  apology. 

"Not  a  word,  Walter,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 
"  You  have  given  me  a  jewel,  in  the  sight  of 
which  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  is  but  as  dross. 
My  child  has  come  from  your  hands  with  a  pure 
and  noble  lieart;  God  knows  I  ask  no  more. 
Happiness  is  now  open  to  us,  and  together  we 
three  shall  enjoy  it." 

Valmont  soon  explained  how  he  had  passed 
the  last  fifteen  years  in  the  American  colonies, 
and  how  he  had  amassed  wealth  in  Virginia. 
The  Second  Charles  restored  him  to  his  rights, 
and  rewarded  him  for  the  interest  he  had  taken 
in  the  cause  of  his  royal  father,  and  once  more 
he  found  a  peaceful  home  in  Old  England. 

Health  returned  again  to  old  Markton,  and 
beneath  the  roof  of  Sir  Thomas  he  found  all  the 
happiness  he  could  desire.  He  still  retained  his 
apparatus,  and  he  lived  to  see  Ella  married,  and 
he  also  lived  to  teach  her  children  the  rudiments 
of  alchemy. 


[Written  for  GlcaEon's  Pictorial.] 
DIVIIVE  LOVE. 

BY  WmiAM  T.  HttBEE. 

There's  nought  in  earth's  expansive  scope, 
From  grim  despair,  to  smiling  hope, 
That  can  the  heart  of  grief  beguile, 
Like  unto  God's  approving  smite. 

Kemorse  may  wrap  the  soal  in  gloom, 
And  not  a  niy  of  joy  illume 
Its  avenues  of  night  profound, 
MTiere  horror's  revels  loud  resound. 

Tet,  if  a  beam  of  "  love  divine," 
Upon  the  torpid  spirit  shine, 
llow  quickly  will  ita  powers  expand, 
Like  frost-nipped  buds  by  warn,  gales  fanned. 
<  i^—»-  > 

VOLTAIRE. 

Voltaire  attended  our  rehearsals,  as  well  as 
our  performances,  at  Femey.  I  can  fancy  I  see 
him  now  in  his  very  dress,  consisting  of  gray 
stockings  and  gray  shoes,  a  large  waistcoat  of 
bazin,  descending  nearly  to  his  knees,  a  large 
wig  squeezed  into  a  little  black  velvet  cap,  turned 
up  in  the  front ;  the  whole  completed  by  a  robe 
de  chambre,  likewise  of  bazin,  the  corners  of 
which  he  would  sometimes  tuck  into  the  waist- 
band of  his  small  clothes.  Arrayed  in  tins  cos- 
tume, any  other  person  would  have  looked  like 
a  caricatTu-e ;  but  the  appearance  of  Voltaire,  so 
far  from  suggesting  any  idea  of  the  ridiculous, 
was  calculated  to  command  respect  and  interest. 
On  ordinary  occasions,  when  he  happened  to  en- 
ter into  conversation  with  any  of  the  members  of 
our  theatrical  troupe,  his  manner  was  marked  by 
good  humored  familiarity.  But  when  lie  super- 
intended our  rehearsals,  there  was  a  truce  with 
pleasantry;  then  he  was  all  in  all  the  dramatic 
poet;  and  one,  too,  whose  correct  judgment  and 
refined  taste  were  not  to  be  easily  satisfied. — 
Tlieodore  Hook's  French  Statje. 


LORD  ELDOIN'S  FATHER. 

After  the  death  of  his  first  lady,  he  rose  one 
morning  with  the  whimsical  resolution  of  mar- 
rying any  one  of  his  maids  who  should  first  ap- 
pear on  his  ringing  the  bell.  He  rang,  and  tlic 
chambermaid  came  i;p,  to  wliom  he  abruptly 
said  :  "  Get  yourself  ready,  and  go  with  me  to 
be  married."  The  silly  girl,  treating  the  aflair 
as  a  joke,  refused,  and  withdrew.  He  rang  the 
bell  a  second  time,  when  the  cook  maid  appeared, 
to  whom  he  said  :  "  Well,  my  girl,  I  intend  this 
day  to  make  you  my  wife ;  go  and  dress  your- 
self with  the  best  you  have,  and  order  the  coach 
immediately."  She  took  him  at  his  word, 
dressed  herself,  and,  coming  down  stairs,  was 
met  by  the  silly  chambermaid,  who  asked  her 
where  she  was  going?  "Abroad,  I  have  my 
master's  leave."  She  liad  scarcely  uttered  these 
words,  when  her  master  came  down,  and  took 
her  by  the  hand  to  the  coach,  whicli  drove  to  St. 
Bennet's  church,  wliere  they  were  married. — 
Lives  of  the  Chancellors. 


Wlioever  is  learned  will  most  probably  be  lib- 
eral. This  is  one  of  the  great  benefits  of  science 
and  philosophy.  Knowledge  elevates  the  mind, 
and  a  man  of  exten.sive  and  elevated  views  will 
not  he  ahlf/of ;  nor  will  he  be  intolerant,  except 
towards  the  obstinate  and  wilful  evil-doer.  In- 
deed, he  will  pity  even  such,  and  seek  their 
reformation. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE    RED    WIG. 

BT    THE    OLD    'dN. 

"  AxD,  Fanny,"  said  the  pretty  Mrs.  Mellison, 
a  beautiful  young  widow  of  twenty-five,  conclud- 
ing a  scries  of  directions  to  her  confidential 
waiting-maid,  "  if  Mr.  Thomas  Tompkins  calls, 
you  may  show  him  up." 

"The  red  haired  one?''  asked  the  waiting- 
maid,  witli  infinite  scorn. 

"Yes,  Fanny,  the  gentleman  with  auburn  hair. 
Show  him  up  directly.  But  if  his  cousin  Henry 
asks  for  mc,  I  am  not  at  home." 

"  I  hate  to  tell  him  so,"  said  the  waiting  maid. 

"  Why,  Fanny?  Have  you  any  conscientious 
scruples  about  saying  I  am  not  at  home  to 
him  ?" 

"0  dear,  no  ma'am!  I'd  just  as  licvc  say 
you'd  gone  to  Roxbury,  on  a  visit  to  your  rela- 
tives, and  wouldn't  be  back  for  a  week ;  it's  my 
duty,  ma'am.  But  I  hate  to  disappoint  such  a 
nice,  pretty-spoken,  dark-haired,  genteel  young 
gentleman  as  Mr.  Henry." 

"  How  much  has  he  given  you  to  advocate  his 
cause,  Fanny?" 

"  Not  a  penny,  ma'am.  I'd  have  you  to  know 
I  scorn  a  bribe.  And  I  never  see  the  color  of 
his  money,  and  don't  know  whether  he  is  rich  or 
poor.  But  I  declare  it's  a  burning  shame,  and 
everybody  says  so,  to  see  that  young  gentleman 
a  wastin'  away  like  a  taller  candle  in  a  consump- 
tion, and  you  always  a  snubbin'  of  him,  at  the 
same  time  you're  aflbrdin'  every  encouragement 
to  that  stupid,  red-haired,  ordinary  chap — his 
cousin.  There !  I've  spoke  my  mind,  ma'am, 
and  I  feel  relieved  even  if  you  was  to  dismiss  me 
the  next  blessed  minnit.  0,  ma'am,  you're  rich 
and  independent,  now,  why — since  you've  made 
up  your  mind  to  marry  again — don't  you  take 
up  with  Mr.  Henry's  offer '?  He's  so  sensible, 
and  sprightly,  and  handsome." 

"  So  was  my  first  husband,"  said  the  widow, 
with  a  slight  sigh. 

"  More  reason  you  shouldn't  marry  a  lump  of 
ugliness,"  said  Fanny. 

"You  didn't  know  the  late  Mr.  Mellison'?" 
said  his  relict. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  He  was  master 
of  the  hoTise,  Fanny." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  and  wasn't  that  right  ?" 

"  He  ruled  me  rigidly,  Fanny,  and  I  got 
shockingly  tired  of  obeying  orders,  like  a  private 
in  a  marching  regiment.  So  I  made  up  my 
mind  when  I  married  again  that  I  would  mairy 
a  man  whom  I  could  rule.  Now,  Mr.  Thomas 
Tompkins  is  just  the  sort  of  person  I  was  look- 
ing for ;  he  is  all  gentleness  and  docility.  Do 
you  understand  me  now?" 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Fanny,  sulkily,  dropping  a 
sarcastic  courtesy.  "And  I  wish  you  joy  of 
your  bargain.  A  nasty  red-haired  thing  !"  she 
added,  as  she  banged  out  of  the  I'oom  and 
slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

The  echo  of  her  exit  had  hardly  died  away, 
when  the  door  opened  and  the  elegant  Henry 
Tompkins  made  his  appearance. 

"  You  here !"  exclainicd  the  widow,  in  a 
marked  tone  of  displeasure. 

"  Yes,  Maria,"  replied  the  yoimg  man,  firmly. 
"  I  knew  you  were  at  home,  and  I  braved  your 
anger  for  the  sake  of  seeing  you  once  more,  of 
knowing  your  final  decision." 

"  I  reject  your  ofter,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  decid- 
edly, "  with  many  thanks  for  the  honor.  I  have 
already  bestowed  my  hand  upon  your  cousin." 

"  It  is  well  for  him  that  he  is  my  cousin, 
otherwise — " 

"Sir!  This  is  not  a  tone  to  use  in  my  pre- 
sence," said  the  widow;  "yon  have  no  right  to 
employ  it.  Betirc,  and  when  you  are  in  a  better 
temper,  perhaps  I  may  receive  you  as  a  friend." 

"Maria,"  said  the  young  man,  "may  you 
never  have  occasion  to  regret  your  com-se. 
Adieu  !     May  you  be  liappy." 

And  without  trusting  himself  with  further 
words,  he  retreated  from  the  presence  of  the 
widowed  beauty. 

"  He  is  very  handsome  and  accomplifhcd," 
sighed  the  lady.  "  If  he  had  remained  five  min- 
utes longer,  my  eyes  would  have  betrayed  my  ad- 
miration. What  a  pity  he  has  a  will  of  his 
own !" 

The  person  who  next  entered,  after  a  long  in- 
terval, was  the  favored  suitor.  He  wa.s  dressed 
in  shocking  bad  taste,  but  the  crying  sin  of  his 
appearance  was  his  unfortunate  head  of  hair. 
Yet  lie  seemed  proud  of  his  "burning  shame," 


for  he  wore  it  long  and  curled,  and  frequently 
ran  his  fingers  through  it,  as  he  glanced  at  its 
startling  brilliancy  reflected  in  the  huge  mirror. 

"  So  you've  come  at  last,"  said  the  widow, 
severely. 

"  Yes'm,"  answered  the  favored  suitor,  very 
timidly.  "  I'm  behind  time'm,  but  1  had  to 
wait'm." 

"  Wait,  sir?     Wlicre  have  you  been  V 

"Barber's'm,"  said  the  terrified  youth,  casting 
another  surreptitious  glance  at  the  mirror. 

"  Have  you  arranged  your  wardrobe  for  the 
approaching  ceremony  ?"  asked  the  widow. 

"  Yes'm,  and  I  hope  you'll  like  'cm  :  blue  coat, 
bright  buttons,  yellow  vest,  buff  kerseys,  pumps, 
and  bowknot  ribbons  in  'em." 

"Ridiculous!"  said  the  lady,  imperiously. 
"  Countermand  the  order.  You  must  be  dressed 
in  black." 

"Yes'm,  yes'm,"  answered  the  bridegroom, 
with  Imn'icd  emphasis. 

"I'm  going  out  in  the  carriage,  now,  a  shop- 
ping," said  tlie  lady,  "and  I  want  you  to  go 
with  me." 

"  Yes'm,  certainly — happy — proud — dear  Ma- 
ria !"  the  last  words  came  out  with  a  jerk,  and 
were  received  with  a  frown. 

"  Ring  that  bell/'  said  the  lady. 

Mr.  Thomas  Tompkins  jerked  the  bell  so 
nervously  that  the  handle  came  off.  He  receiv- 
ed a  severe  reprimand  for  his  awkwardness. 
Fanny  answered  the  bell,  and  was  duected  to 
tell  the  coachman  to  harness ;  but  she  came  back 
to  say  that  the  coachman  swore  that  he  wouldn't 
go  out  again,  as  he'd  been  out  twice  already 
that  morning. 

"  This  it  is  to  be  a  poor  lone  woman  !"  said 
the  lady,  bursting  into  tears.  "  Send  him  up 
here,  Fanny." 

John  soon  made  his  appearance.  He  was  a 
burly  Englishman,  and  evidently  fond  of  strong 
beer. 

"  Sliall  I  remonstrate  with  him,  Maria  V 
asked  Mr.  Tompkins,  very  timidly. 

"Remonstrate!"  repeated  the  lady,  with  a 
scornful  smile.  "If  you  had  the  spirit  of  a 
man — " 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  like  spirit,"  said  Mr. 
Tompkins. 

"There  are  occasions,  sir,"  said  the  widow; 
but  her  mortification  cut  short  her  utterance. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Tompkins,  to  the 
coachman,  "  I  think  you  ought  to  consider — " 

"You  bean't  my  missus,  be  you?"  said  the 
coachman,  surlily.  "  When  I  drive  for  you,  you 
can  give  mc  your  advice.  I  allers  looks  to  my 
employer." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  obey  my  orders'?" 
asked  the  widow. 

"  'Cause  I  aiut  a  nigger — a  blackymoor,"  an- 
swered the  coachman,  surlily;  "  and  flesh  and 
blood  can't  stand  your  going  on." 

"  O,  if  Henry  were  here !"  said  the  widow. 

"  Fire  and  furies  !"  shouted  Tompkins,  pulling 
off  his  7-ed  wig  and  flinging  it  in  the  face  of  the 
coachman.  "  What  do  you  mean,  scoundrel, 
by  speaking  in  that  manner  ?  You  are  dismissed, 
do  you  hear?  and  leave  tlic  room  directly!" 

"Not  for  the  likes  of  you,"  answered  the 
coachman,  doggedly. 

The  next  moment  he  lay  sprawling  on  his 
back,  by  a  stunning  blow  scientifically  planted 
midway  between  his  organs  of  vision.  Not  lik- 
ing a  repetition  of  the  same,  the  coachman  picked 
himself  up,  and  retired  in  dismay. 

"  AAHiat  does  this  transformation  mean?" 
asked  the  widow,  gazing  in  astonishment  at  the 
dark  locks  of  her  belligerent  defender. 

"  Simply  this,"  was  his  reply,  "  that  Thomas 
Tompkins  and  Henry  Tompkins  are  the  same. 
You  wanted  to  marry  an  imbecile;  I  determined 
to  make  sucli  a  character  ridiculous,  and  have, 
therefore,  tlianks  to  Bogle,  been  playing  an  as- 
sumed part.  Yet,  dear  Maria,  I  will  take  no 
undue  advantage  of  you ;  and  if  you  are  afraid 
to  marry  a  man,  I'll  resign  my  claims  in  favor 
of  the  next  blockhead  you  discover." 

"  There  is  my  liaud,"  said  tlic  widow,  blush- 
ing; "I  am  satisfied.  But  was  Fanny  in  the 
plot  ?" 

"Necessarily;  but  tliis  is  the  only  matter  she 
ever  deceived  you  in." 

So  the  widow  married  a  second  time  a  man  of 
spirit;  but  he  ■\>as  no  tyrant,  and  the  household 
autliority  was  amicably  shared  between  them. 
The  coachman,  wonderfully  improved  by  having 
a  tight  master,  was  retained  in  his  place,  and 
never  ventured  to  refuse  to  harness,  "  because," 
as  he  assured  a  crony  of  his,  who  drove  a  pea- 
green  cab,  "  Mr.  Tompkins  was  a  wonderfully 
hard  hitter!" 


220 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOH    COMPANION. 


DONNA  PETRA  CAMARA. 

The  cnp;rnvinf^  ij;ivcn  below  ]H'eseiits  an  nccu- 
mtcantl  .s[)intcd  likeness  of  the  lir.stdiincorof  the 
grand  theatre  of  Madrid,  Poiina  rctrii  Camara, 
the  rival  of  Cerito,  ns  slic  appears  in  the  Vila,  a 
characteristic  danec  from  the  national  ballet,  en- 
titled "  The  Fair  of  Seville."  Her  heanty,  graec, 
suppleness  and  strength,  have  filled  all  Europe 
with  her  fame.  She  had  created  a  perfect/H?ore 
at  Cadiz  and  at  Seville,  when  the  queen  com- 
manded her  to  appear  at  Madrid.  There  she 
turned  all  heads.  Alexander  Dumas,  during 
his  stay  in  Spain,  celebrated  her  charms  and 
talents  in  a  glowing  letter,  which  procured  her 
an  invitation  to  the  capital  of  France.  At  Paris 
her  success  was  decisive. 


INCIDENTS  OF  INDIAN  LIFE. 

My  wife  and  I  were  sitting,  after  tea,  ])laying 
at  backgammon,  and  enjoying  tlic  cool  brce/.c  that 
came  through  the  open  Venetians,  when  suddenly 
it  began  to  rain.  In  an  instant  tlic  room  swarmed 
with  insects  of  all  sorts.  There  was  a  beautiful 
large  green  mantis ;  and  as  we  were  watcliing 
his  almost  human  motions,  a  grasshopper  and  a 
large  brown  cricket  flew  against  my  face,  wliilc  a 
great  cockroach,  full  three  inches  long,  came  on 
my  wife's  neck,  and  began  bumming  about  her 
head,  and  face,  and  dress  ;  the  flying  ant,  which 
emits  a  most  nauseous  effluvia ;  and  the  flying 
bug,  black,  and  about  the  size  of  an  English  one, 
which,  if  you  crush  bim,  will  make  your  fingers 
smell  most  dreadfully  for  many  hours ;  and  with 


these  our  clothes  were  covered,  and  wo  were 
obliged  to  keep  brushing  them  away  from  our 
faces,  but  with  very  gentle  handling;  then  came 
two  or  three  hornets,  which  sent  Mrs.  Acland  to 
bed,  to  get  under  the  mosquito  curtains,  where 
none  of  these  horrid  creatures  can  get  at  her.  I 
sat  up  trying  to  read,  but  buzz  came  a  mos(]nilo 
on  the  side  of  my  face,  up  went  my  hand  with  a 
tremendous  slap  on  the  clieck  to  kill  t!ic  tormen- 
tor, and  buzz  lie  went  on  again.  Then  I  felt 
something  big  burying  itself  in  my  hair,  and  then 
came  buzz  on  the  other  side,  and  then  all  rouiul. 
Presently,  with  a  loud  hum,  a  great  rhinoceros 
beetle  dashed  into  my  face.  I  now  began  to 
take  some  of  the  animals  out  of  my  hair ;  and 
the  first  I  touched  was  a  flying  bug ;  the  stench 


was  dreadful.  I  rushed  out  of  the  room,  brush- 
ing the  honihlc  creatures  from  my  Iiair  with  both 
bands.  I  nearly  fell  over  a  toad,  on  which  I 
trod,  and  ic-aclicd  my  bedroom  to  find  eighteen 
or  twenty  great  toads,  crouched  in  different  parts 
of  tlic  room,  and  five  large  bats  whirling  round 
and  round  the  bed.  Having  washed  my  hands 
in  Eau  dc  Cologne,  I  quickly  undressed  and  fell 
asleep.  In  the  course  of  the  night  a  troop  of 
jackulls  surrounded  the  house,  and  by  their 
frightful  yells  soon  drove  away  all  idea  of  rest; 
and  then  about  four  o'clock,  as  we  were  just  doz- 
ing ofl' again,  comes  the  roll  of  the  drum  and  the 
loud  voice  of  the  trumpet,  tlie  tramp  of  the  sol- 
diers, the  firing,  and  all  the  bustle  of  the  parade. 
—Ii£v.  W.  Wilson. 


DONNA  PETRA  CAMARA,  AT  THE  MADRID  THEATRE. 


A  BAR-ROOM. 

By  this  time,  it  being  past  eleven  o'clock,  the 
two  bar-keepers  of  the  saloon  were  in  pretty  con- 
stant activity.  One  of  these  young  men  had  a 
rare  faculty  in  the  concoction  of  gin  cocktails. 
It  was  a  spectacle  to  behold,  how,  with  a  tumbler 
in  each  hand,  he  tossed  the  contents  from  one  to 
the  other;  never  conveying  it  awry,  nor  spilling 
the  least  drop,  he  compelled  the  frothy  liquor, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  to  spout  forth  from  one  glass 
and  descend  into  the  other,  in  a  great  parabolic 
curve,  as  well  defined  and  calculable  as  a  plan- 
et's orbit.  He  had  a  good  forehead,  with  a  par- 
ticularly large  development  just  above  the  eye- 
brows ;  fine  intellectual  gifts,  no  doubt,,  which 
he  had  educated  to  this  profitable  end,  being 
famous  for  nothing  but  gin  cocktails,  and  com- 
manding a  fair  salary  by  his  one  accomplish- 


ment. These  cocktails,  and  other  artificial  com- 
binations of  liquor  (of  which  tliere  were  at  least 
a  score,  though  mostly,  I  suspect,  fantustic  in 
their  difl'erenecs),  were  much  in  favor  with  the 
younger  class  of  customers,  who,  at  furthest, 
liad  only  reached  the  second  stage  of  potatory 
life. — The  old  soakers,  on  the  other  band, — men 
who,  if  put  on  tap,  would  have  yielded  a  red 
alcoholic  liquor  by  way  of  bloody-usually  con- 
fined tliemselves  to  plain  brondy  and  water,  gin, 
or  West  India  rum  ;  and  oftentimes  they  pre- 
faced their  dram  witli  some  medicinal  remark 
as  to  the  wholcsomeness  and  stomachic  qualities 
of  that  particular  drink.  The  prettiest  object  in 
the  saloon  was  a  tiny  fountain,  which  threw  up 
itjj  feathery  jet  through  tlie  counter,  and  sparkled 
down  again  into  an  oval  basin,  or  lakelet,  con- 
taining several  gold  fishes. — There  was  a  bed  of 


bright  sand  at  the  bottom,  strewn  with  cora 
and  rock-work  ;  and  the  fi*hes  went  gloaming 
about,  now  turning  up  the  sheen  of  a  golden 
side,  and  now  vanishing  into  the  shadows  of 
the  water,  like  fanciful  tlioughts  that  coquet  with 
a  poet  in  his  dream.  Never  before,  I  imagine, 
did  a  company  of  water-drinkers  remain  so  en- 
tirely uncontaminated  by  the  bad  example 
around  them  ;  nor  could  I  help  wondering  that 
it  never  occurred  to  any  freakish  inebriate  to 
emptv  a  glass  of  liquor  into  the  lakelet.  Whut 
a  delightful  idea  !  Who  would  not  be  a  fish,  if 
lie  could  inhale  jollity  with  the  essential  element 
of  his  existence  ! — Hawthorne. 


People  seldom  love  those  who  withstand 
their  prejudices,  and  endeavor  to  control  their 
passions. 


PET  RATS. 

I  was  astonished,  on  visiting  the  houses  of 
some  of  the  inhabitants,  to  see  a  huge  rat  walk- 
ing quietly  about  the  room,  and  crawling  up  the 
master's  legs  in  a  cool,  familiar  manner.  Instead 
of  repulsing  it,  or  evincing  any  alarm,  he  took  it 
up  in  his  hands  and  caressed  it;  and  then  I 
learnt  for  the  first  time,  and  to  my  utter  astonish- 
mem,  tinit  it  was  a  custom  prevalent  in  Bangkok 
10  keep  pet  rats,  which  arc  taken  very  young 
and  carefully  reared,  till  they  attain  a  perfectly 
monstrous  size  from  good  and  plentiful  feed- 
ing. These  domestic  rats  arc  kept  expressly 
to  free  the  house  of  other  vermin  of  their  own 
race,  and  so  ferocious  arc  they  in  the  on- 
slaughts they  make,  that  few  of  tJic  houses  are 
ever  annoyed  by  mice  or  rats, — Ncalc's  Resuknce 
in  Siam. 


GLEASON'S   riCTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


221 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Proprietor. 


MATURIN   M.   BAtLOtI,    Editor. 


COINTENTS  OF  OUR  NKXT  KUMKER. 

"  Fanny  Farley,  or  the  Country  Cousin,"  a  fine  story, 
by  Mrs.  H.  E.  Robinson. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  V,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C. 
Smith,  relating  to  the  Officers  of  State. 

"  A  Five  Hour  Fresh  Water  Bath,"  a  story,  by  GEoaaE 
S.  Raymond. 

"  TraTels  in  Palestine,-'  No.  Til,  by  Kev.  F.  W.  Hol- 
land, relating  to  Jerusalem. 

"  Autographs  and  Autography,"  No.  VI,  by  Willtam 
Edward  Knowles,  giving  the  autographs  of  David  Paul 
Brown,  E.  Curtiss  Iline,  Judge  Story,  Richard  Cobden, 
Joseph  R.  Chandler,  Horace  Greeley,  M.  M.  Noah,  Seba 
Smith  and  Joseph  C.  Neal. 

"  Her  I  left  behind  me,''  verses,  bv  Charles  M.  Teslet. 

"  A  Memento  for  the  Lovely,"'  hnes,  by  \Vm.  T.  IlasEE. 

"  Mosquitos,"  a  sonnet,  by  J.  Starr  Hollowat. 

"Thoughts,"'  in  verse,  by  Persa  S.  Lewhs. 

'■  Stanzas,"  by  E.  CoRTiss  Hine,  U.  S.  N. 

"  Love,"  verses,  by  Kenneth  Sinclair. 

"The  Aged,''  a  poem,  by  Mr?.  M.  IV.  Curtis. 

"Address  to  the  Muse,"'  hnes,by  Miss  M.  N.  Dearborn. 

ILLUSTEATIONS. 

We  shall  give  a  fine  and  accurate  engraving  of  the  Alms 
House,  Blackvvell's  Island,  New  York.  Drawn  for  us  by 
our  artL=t,  Mr.  \Vade. 

A  capital  scries  of  views  will  be  presented  of  Gold  Dig- 
ging in  New  South  n'ales. 

Representing,  first,  the  Dry  Diggings  on  the  Turon  Wt- 
er,  with  the  Miners  at  work. 

Second,  a  picture  of  the  River  Bed  Claim,  on  the  same 
river. 

Third,  a  view  of  one  of  the  adventurers  performing  what 
is  called  Cradling. 

Fourth,  a  picture  of  Children  performing  the  same  light 
and  easy  work. 

Fifth,  a  representation  of  Sliners  engaged  In  Washing 
the  Gold  before  packing  it. 

Sixth,  the  style  of  removing  from  one  place  to  another, 
with  household  goods. 

Seventh,  a  characteristic  view,  repre.'^nting  one  of  the 
Miners  "dodging"'  the  Government  Commissioner. 

Eighth,  a  fjic-simile  of  the  Post  Office,  at  Sofala,  Turon 
River,  in  the  Diggings. 

Ninth,  an  expressive  picture,  representing  the  appear- 
ance of  a  disappoiuted  Gold  Di^er. 

Tenth  and  last  of  the  series,  the  Gold  Digger's  Grave,  on 
the  Turon  River. 

A  fine  original  and  very  elaborate  series  of  views,  illus- 
trating the  late  Fair,  at  Dtica,  N  Y.  All  by  our  artist, 
Mr.  Cliapin. 

First,  a  capital  picture  of  Utica,  taken  from  Steele's  Hill, 
artistic  and  accurate. 

Second,  a  general  view  of  the  Fair  Grounds,  at  Utica, 
during  the  celebration. 

Third,  an  engraving  of  the  short  horn  Bull,  "Hatton," 
which  took  the  first  prize  at  the  Fair. 

Fourth,  a  picture  of  the  Devon  Heifer,  "  Red  Lady,"  the 
Prize  Heil'er  of  the  Fair. 

Fifth,  a  series  of  views  of  the  Prize  Fowls,  representing 
Poland,  Cochin  China,  Dorking,  Game,  etc.,  etc. 

Sixth,  a  picture  of  the  Prize  Bull  ■'  Kelbum,''  of  the 
Ayrshire  breed,  exhibited  at  the  Fair. 

Seventh,  a  very  fine  engraving  of  the  Prize  Cow  "  Pretty 
Maid,"  of  the  Hereford  breed. 

A  large  and  very  artistic  picture  of  the  Interior  of  Klous 
&  Co  's  Hat,  Cap  and  Fur  Store,  Court  street,  Boston. 

A  picture  of  the  late  Fetes  at  Paris,  representing  a  Na- 
val Combat  on  the  River  Seine. 

An  Australia!!  gold  scene,  giving  a  view  of  the  road  to 
Mount  Alexander,  through  the  Black  Forest. 


SPLINTEBS. 

There  are  now  five  daily  papers  pub- 
lished in  San  Francisco,  California. 

An  iron  ship,  named  the  Typhoon,  was 

lately  launched  on  the  river  Clyde. 

....  It  is  no  longer  necessary  for  editors  to 
"  blow  people  up  '* — steamboats  do  that  business. 

There  are  now,  at  least,  20,000   Chinese 

resident  in  San  Francisco  and  vicinity. 

....  The  Spanish  war  steamer  Volcano  late- 
ly sunk  at  the  mouth  of  the  port  of  Vigo. 

....  It  is  said  that  the  cotton  crop  of  the  pre- 
sent year  will  reach  3,500,000  bales. 

....  The  whole  number  of  blind  persons  in 
the  United  States  is  little  less  than  10,000. 

....  Parents  teach  your  children  liow  to 
switn.     This  is  all-important. 

The  cholera  has   proved  quite  fatal  in 

Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  during  the  past  season. 

....  All  kinds  of  provisions  are  most  unac- 
countably and  unreasonably  dear, 

According  to  our  foreign  papers  the  chol- 
era bids  fair  to  sweep  over  all  Europe. 

....  There  are  now,  in  Wisconsin,  about 
twenty  five  thousand  Norwegians. 

The   Manchester   (N.  H.)    Gas   Works 

commenced  operations  on  Thursday  of  last  week. 

....  At  Quebec,  "  old  men  and  boys,  old  wo- 
men and  girls,"  are  packing  up  for  Australia. 

....  He  that  does  the  best  he  can,  is  as  wor- 
thy as  he  that  can  do  the  besc. 

....  The  people  of  Rhode  Island  are  in  rap- 
tures at  their  late  Fair  in  Providence. 


AUTUMN. 

We  have  passed  the  verge  of  summer,  and 
have  now  come  to  the  autumnal  season — in  this 
favored  land,  the  pleasantcst  of  the  year.  The 
autumn  comes  to  us,  not  as  in  the  foggy  climate 
of  the  mother  country,  in  "sombre  russet  clad," 
but  decked  in  a  raiment  of  rainbow  splendor, 
like  a  royal  bride  arrayed  for  the  nuptial  cere- 
mony. We  forget  that  these  gaudy  robes  are 
but  the  symbols  of  decay,  and  we  rejoice  at  the 
splendors  with  which  nature  graces  her  leave- 
taking.  The  first  days  of  autumn  are  so  deli- 
ciously  bland,  that  only  to  breatlie  of  their  fra- 
grant zephyrs  is  exquisite  enjoyment.  Then,  too, 
how  earnestly  the  tokens  of  a  plenteous  harvest 
gladden  our  spirits.  The  purpling  grapes  hang 
in  clusters  on  their  swaying  trellises ;  the  or- 
chards bend  with  the  weight  of  golden  and  deli- 
cious fruit ;  the  ripened  corn  stands  in  close 
ranks,  the  tassels  waving  like  the  ensigns  of  a 
bannered  host ;  while  whole  fields  are  strewn  with 
the  deep  orange  pumpkins,  the  indispensable 
material  of  a  New  England  festival.  AVe  never 
heard  of  a  failure  of  the  pumpkin  crop,  but  if 
such  a  calamity  should  ever  befall — whicli  may 
kind  fortune  avert — all  Yankee-land  would  be  in 
mourning.  For  what  would  Thanksgiving  be 
without  pumpkin  pies'?  "Bread and  circuses  !" 
(panem  et  circenses)  was  the  cry  of  the  Roman 
populace.  "Bread  and  bulls!"  (pan  y  toros)  is 
the  shout  of  the  Castilians ;  but  "pumpkin  pies 
and  turkeys"  should  be  inscribed  on  the  banners 
of  the  Yankees  ! 

We  love,  once  in  a  while,  to  steal  away  from 
the  care  and  noise  of  a  city  life,  on  a  fine  Sep- 
tember morning,  and  leaving  pen  and  ink,  and 
the  thousand  current  cares  of  every-day  life  be- 
hind, pass  a  whole  day  among  the  fields  and 
hills.  The  view  seems  boundless,!  Through 
the  clear  air  the  voice  of  the  husbandmen  at  their 
harvest  labors  comes  pleasantly  distinct,  and  the 
report  of  the  sportsman's  piece  is  heard  to  a 
great  distance.  The  forest  trees,  slightly  bronzed, 
are  of  that  rich  green  that  a  painter  loves  to  imi- 
tate. But  the  full  glory  of  our  autumn  is  re- 
served for  the  days  succeeding  the  visit  of  a  frost, 
just  such  a  frost  as  Cardinal  AVolsey  described 
when  he  touchingly  bewailed  his  fallen  great- 
ness !  The  frost  of  our  own  New  England  em- 
bellishes while  it  destroys.  While  it  carries 
death  to  the  heart  of  its  victim,  it  also  arrays  it 
in  gorgeous  funeral  robes.  The  doomed  leaves 
put  on  as  many  hues  as  ever  flamed  in  the  treas- 
ury of  a  wealthy  lapidary,  or  glow  in  the  rain- 
bow's beauteous  arch.  How  the  maples  flame 
like  pyramids  of  fire  among  the  dark  and  sombre 
evergreens.  The  graceful  branches  of  the  wal- 
nuts are  piled  with  flakes  of  gold,  or  seem  spotted 
all  over  with  unchanging  sunlight.  The  sturdy 
oaks  lift  a  pile  of  rust-colored  foliage  to  the  pass- 
ing breeze. 

Some  shrubs  and  trees  are  deep  purple,  others 
exhibit  a  mingled  mass  of  green  and  red.  It 
seems  as  if  nature  were  setting  her  palette  before 
painting  some  design  as  vast  as  creation's  self. 
These  gorgeous  decorations  last  for  some  weeks, 
in  mild  weather,  just  as  a  splendid  scenic  piece 
upon  the  stage  has  a  "  run"  of  many  days.  But 
honest  Jack  Frost  at  last  asserts  his  dominion, 
and  puts  an  end  to  the  show  by  stripping  the 
forest  of  its  finery,  and  leaving  it  gaunt  and 
threadbare,  like  the  framework  of  a  pyrotechnic 
display,  after  the  last  spark  is  extinguished.  A 
few  leaves  "hold  over,"  till  the  next  season,  just 
as  a  few  office-holders  contrive  to  cling  to  power 
even  after  a  change  of  administration  ;  hut  these 
are  exceptions  that  serve  only  the  more  impress- 
ively to  mark  the  general  desolation.  Like  all 
terrestrial  beauties,  this  is  but  brief,  and  with  the 
last  of  November  the  glories  of  autumn  cease. 


Fancy  Pigeons. — At  the  late  fowl  exhibi- 
tion in  the  Public  Garden,  in  this  city,  we  saw 
nothing  more  interesting  than  a  beautiful  collec- 
tion of  fancy  pigeons  of  different  varieties,  reared 
by  Thomas  S.  Gaddess,  a  young  fancier  of 
Lynchburg,  Va.;  "  good  for  Old  Virginia." 


Important. — The  Russia  Salve  is  generally 
known  and  appreciated  ;  but  we  wish  to  call  the 
attention  of  the  officers  of  the  state  prison,  at 
Charlestown,  to  the  fact  that  it  cures  "  felons  !" 


Vert  Pretty, — If  girls  would  have  roses  in 
their  cheeks,  they  must  do  as  the  roses  do — go 
to  sleep  with  the  lilies,  and  get  up  with  the 
morning-glories. 


Equestrianisri. — The  best  rider  at  present 
in  Boston  is  a  captain  in  port,  who  "  rode  out  a 
tt  mpcst,"  some  time  lately,  oft'  Cape  Antonio  I 


GRAMMAR  I 

How  to  decline  the  three  Presidential  cases  for 
the  i/ear  I  So2. — To  all  teachers  of  grammar,  in 
the  city  and  country,  the  following  method  of  de- 
clining the  three  Presidential  cases  is  confident- 
ly recommended,  namely; 

Nominative,  Webster, 
Possessive,  Pierce, 
Objective,  Scott. 
Second  method  of  declining  the  names  Web- 
ster, Pierce  and  Scott : 

Singular.  Singular. 

Nominative,  Webster,        Nominative,  Scott, 
Possessive,  (wanting),       Pnsscssivp,  (wanting). 
Objective,  (wanting.)         Objective,  Scott. 
Plural. 
Nominative,  Pierce, 
Possessive,  Fierce, 
Objective,  (wanting.) 
Exercise  for  the  pupil, — Can  you  correct  the 
following  sentences  ? 

(1.)  Webster  should  be,  but  never  shall  be 
President. 

(2.)  Pierce  shall  be,  hut  never  should  be 
President. 

(3.)  Scott  never  should  be,  and  never  shall 
be  President. 


THE  ARMORER  OF  TYRE: 

— OR — 

THE   ORACLE   AND   ITS    PRIEST. 
AN  EASTERN  BOMANCE. 

BY  SYLVANUS    COBB,  JR. 

This  admirable  story,  just  completed  in  the 
Flag  of  our  Union,  is  now  published  in  book 
form.  It  is  an  excellent  tale,  and  one  which 
has  proved  justly  popular  during  its  publication 
in  the  paper.  It  may  be  had  in  this  convenient 
form  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout 
the  country. 


A  LIBERAL  Giver. — The  late  Mr.  George 
Collier,  of  St.  Louis,  in  his  will,  gave  §10,000  to 
the  St.  Charles  College ;  $5000  to  the  Protestant 
Orphan  Asylum,  and  to  various  persons  con- 
nected by  relationship,  sums  ranging  from  SlOOO 
to  S10,000.  There  are  seven  children  in  Mr. 
Collier's  family,  and  the  estate  is  estimated  to  be 
worth  §1,200,000.  The  revenue  it  affords  is 
about  S100,000. 


Barnabas  Bates,  Esq. — This  gentleman  is 
styled  the  Father  of  cheap  postage  in  America, 
and  the  public  are  largely  indebted  to  his  per- 
sonal exertions  for  the  present  very  liberal  rates 
of  postage  adopted  by  Congress.  Mr.  Bates  is 
a  public  phihmthropist,  and  without  any  other 
motive  than  a  love  of  justice  and  general  good, 
gives  his  time  and  money  to  the  cause. 


Gleason's  Pictorial. — This  is  certainly  the  most  beau- 
tiful publication  in  this  country,  as  far  as  our  knowledge 
extends,  and  that  is  not  recent  or  limited,  in  such  mat- 
ters There  is  not  an  object  of  interest  at  home  or  abioad, 
an  occurrence  transpiring  around  us,  whether  a  ruined 
castle  or  one  of  modem  structure,  a  new  ship,  a  panide,  an 
encampment,  the  gathering  at  Faneuil  Hall,  a  great  man, 
a  wreck,  or  a  steamboat  on  fire,  beside  a  hundred  other 
things,  but  what  artists,  with  an  apparent  ubiquity,  are 
upon  the  spot,  ready  to  furnish  a ''pictur  "  of  it  for  the 
readers  of  Gleason's  Pictorial!  And  then,  the  style  is 
beautitul,  and  the  work  well  got  up.  \S'k  really  wonder 
how  the  ladies  can  do  without  it,  as  it  is  an  oinamtnt  to 
any  centre-table,  and  an  enterfciining  companion  for  all. — 
Constitutionalist,  Jacksonville,  lit. 


"  The  Yankee  Chajipion  :  or.  The  Tory  and 
his  League  " — This  is  the  title  of  a  revolutionary 
story,  by  Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr.,  which  will  be 
commenced  in  this  week's  number  of  the  Flag 
of  our  Union.  We  can  heartily  recommend  it 
to  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial,  as  being  fully 
equal  to  the  best  of  the  author's  previous  efforts. 


Postage. — We  have  the  pleasure  of  inform- 
ing our  readers  that  the  postage  on  this  paper  is 
now  but  one  half  cent  to  any  part  of  the  United 
States,  to  regular  subscribers.  This  is  but  six 
and  a  half  cents  per  quarter.     Cheap  enough  ! 


IvEEP  OFF  the  Track  ! — ^Four  persons  were 
run  over  and  killed  by  the  cars,  lately,  between 
Albany  and  Buffalo. 

Be  thorough. — Some  one  says  :  "  There  is 
nothing  so  prolific  as  a  little  known  well;"  and 
there  is  weight  in  the  remark. 


Too  TRUE. — The  terror  of  being  thought  poor 
has  been  the  ruin  of  thousands. 


Glad  to  hear  it. — It  is  said  religion  is  be- 
coming fashionable  in  France. 


Beware. — Vice  often  lurks  close  to  virtue. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Worcester,  Mr.  Albert  Cush- 
man  to  Miss  Mary  Ann  Jeffrey. 

By  Rev  Dr.  Stow,  Mr.  Abraham  W.  Tower  to  Miss  Ly- 
dia  Ann  Clark,  of  Randolph. 

By  Kev.  Mr.  Smithett,  Mr.  Matthew  Simpson  to  Miss 
Jane  Scott. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Grav,  Mr.  Joseph  B.  Brown  to  Miss  Carrie 
L.  Frost. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Blakie,  Mr.  Charles  Emery  to  Miss  Jane 
Emery. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Blanchard,  Mr.  Richard  Buswell, 
of  Lebanon,  N.  H.,  to  Miss  Ellen  Maria  Thompson. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Perkins,  Mr.  Ezekiel  H. 
Dyer  to  Miss  Eliza  Ann  Lane. 

At  Sherbom.  by  Rev.  Mr.  Clark,  Mr.  Cadis  R.  Boyce,  Oa 
Boston,  to  Miss  Anna  P.  Clark. 

At  Spencer,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Collins,  Mr  E.  P.  Watson  to 
Miss  Ehza  Washburn,  both  of  Stafford,  Ct. 

At  Holliston,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Tucker,  Mr.  AVilliam  Metcalf 
to  Miss  Ellen  E.  Johnson. 

At  Middleborough,  Mr.  Charles  Frederick  Pierce,  of  Dela- 
field,  Wis.,  to  Miss  Harriet  Osgood  Putnam. 

At  Portlitnd,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Dwight,  Allen  Collier, 
Esq.,  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  to  Misa  Susan  Caroline  How. 

At  New  Haven,  Ct.,  Rev.  James  R.  Cleaveland,  of  Dur- 
ham, to  Miss  Elizabeth  H.  Jocelyn,  and  Rev.  David  Peck, 
of  (.Jreenwich,  to  Miss  Francis  M.  Jocelyn— daughters  of 
Nathaniel  Jocelyn,  Esq, 

At  Milford,  Ct.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Brace,  Rev.  Phineas  Stow, 
of  Boston,  to  Miss  Augusta  S.  Pond. 

At  Brooklyn,  N.Y.,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Yinton,  Mr.  Edward  H. 
Baldwiu  to  Miss  Mary  E.  Clark,  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


r^^f^ 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Sally  Siders,  86;  Frances  Allen  Rem- 
ick,  9 ;  Mrs.  (illarissa  tisher,  31 ;  Miss  Lydia  Burlcy,  a  well 
known  nurse  ;  Mrs.  Elizabeth  S.  Knight,  58  ;  Miss  Maria 
W.  Otis,  daughter  of  Bass  Otis,  Esq. 

At  Charlestown,  John  Jacobs,  Esq.,  of  Boston. 

At  Somevville,  Mr.  Thomas  Darling,  77. 

At  Cambridge,  Grenville  Temple  Winthrop,  Esq.,  46. 

At  W.  Cambridge,  Mrs.  Caroline  L,  Hill,  44. 

At  E.  Lexington,  Mr.  Daniel  Peirce,  36. 

At  Neponset,  Mrs.  Ann  Hill.  6". 

At  E.  rt'eymouth,  Mrs.  Mary  Lovell  Bates,  36. 

At  Reading,  Mrs.  Louisa  P.  Foster,  37. 

At  Andover,  Miss  Sarah  A.  Flint,  26. 

At  Concord,  Henry  H,  Fuller,  Esq.,  of  Boston. 

At  Danvers,  Miss  Margaret  Osbom,  90. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Mehitable  Deland. 

At  Newburyport,  Mrs.  Anna  Lancaster,  79. 

At  Leverett,  Dr.  Asa  B.  Strong,  40. 

At  Southbridge,  Mrs.  Mercy  D.  Paige,  29. 

At  Grantville,  Miss  Sarah  Noyes.  of  tV.  Needham,  50. 

At  Erving,  Dr.  John  G.  Baiton,  39. 

At  Worcester,  Mr.  Giles  Hubbard,  of  Sunderland,  82. 

At  Pelham,  N.  H.,  Mr.  Ichabod  rt'ood,  92. 

At  Stratham,  N.  U.,  George  Wingate,  Esq.,  75. 

At  Glenburn   Me.,  Mr.  John  McLeJlan,  94. 

At  Brunswick,  Me.,  Mrs.  Eliza  Thompjjon,  51. 

At  Wethersfield,  Ct.,  Mrs.  Lydia  Moulton,  89. 

At  Hunter's  Island,  N.Y.,  Hon.  John  Hunter  74. 

At  Chester,  Pa.,  Mrs.  Margaret  B.  Miller,  of  Philadelphia. 

At  Charleston,  S.  C,  Mr.  Jenness  Batchelder. 

At  New  Orleans,  Mr.  George  H.  Bullions,  26. 


AND — ■ 

LIIERART  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


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GLEASON'S   PTCTORTAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Plctoriiil.] 
TIIK  SOVICRKIGN  OF  THE  SEA. 

AtlROSTICAL. 
Jiespecl/ulhj  inscribed  to  Enoch  Trauiy  Es'j.,  of  Boslon. 

DY  OKOROB  8.  RAYMOND. 

T  lie  Rtorm  clouda  are  gathering  afitr  in  the  north, 
11  eftvou'8  tbnndorfl  iiru  muttt'ring  (.'xultingly  forth  ; 
Evcn'H  darkness  ia  shroutlinK,  in  iii^ht^a  huIjIc  pull, 
S  un,  Beii-bird  and  sailor— there  In  ilarkncafl  on  all. 
On,  on,  and  away,  over  ocean-waves  dashing, 
Van-bonio  on  the  gale,  mid  the  red  lightnlng'n  fliuthlng; 
Enshrouded  in  mist,  like  the  war-steed  careering, 
II  uahcs  on  the  stout  ship  so  gallantly  Bteoring. 
Embattledj  the  atorm-king  has  mavHhnlled  hin  host, 

I  n  thunder  are  the  night-demons  lashing  the  eoast  j 
G  rim  spectres  are  stalking  over  ocean  and  sky, 

No  cheer  for  the  atomi-driven  sailor  is  nigh. 
Omnipotence  guiding,  the  storm's  wrath  defying, 
Fearleys  and  free  the  bold  Sovereign  is  hieing 
Towards  her  far  distant  port — ay,  peerless  and  free, 

II  igh  aloft  gleams  her  banner — proud  king  of  the  sea. 
Eagle-pinioned  her  flight,  amid  the  commotion. 
Still  eeorning  the  battle  of  fire,  air  and  ocean  ; 

E  Ten  Neptune  is  conciuored — his  scepta  is  gone, 
America's  Sovereign  is  monarch  alone  ! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictoriiil.] 

TRAVELS   IN   PALESTINE. 

No    VI. 

BT  REV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 
JERUSALEM. 

The  whole  road  from  Sychar  to  Jerusalem  is  as  dreary,  mo- 
notonous, desert-like  and  uncomfortable  as  possible.  It  took 
fourteen  hours' travel  of  these  Syrian  nags,  so  peculiar  in  their 
food,  their  shoeing,  their  enduiance,  and  their  security.  From 
morn  to  night  they  never  tasted  anything — not  even  a  mouthful 
of  water;  and  their  only  fare  when  we  stopped  was  a  little  bag  of 
beans.  No  hay  is  ever  provided,  and  no  straw  to  lie  upon;  and 
the  "  moukra  "  makes  a  furious  outcry  if  you  allow  them  to  sip  of 
the  stream  they  are  crossing,  or  browze  of  the  fresh  herbage  be- 
neath their  feet.  The  whole  journey  is  nothing  but  a  walk.  Not 
that  there  are  not  here  and  there  fine  plains  to  scamper  over,  and 
smootli  beaches  for  a  trial  of  speed,  but  that  if  you  leave  your  ba"*- 
gage,  it  is  lost.  Your  mule-man  is  unknown  to  you  even  by  name ; 
he  has  no  knovm  home  and  no  pecuniary  responsibility.  More  than 
that,  the  moment  you  should  be  out  of  sight,  some  hungry  Arab 
might  pounce  U])on  him  and  leave  nothing  but  Iiis  skin  ;  and  the 
fellow  would  have  as  fair  a  claim  against  you  for  damages  as  vou 
against  him.  And  then,  tliere  is  the  helplessness  of  being  tongue- 
tied  ;  the  knowledge  that  if  you  lost  your  way,  where  way  there 
is  none,  you  would  have  to  find  it  again  by  your  own  wit — that 
you  might  as  well  raise  the  dead  as  get  any  help  out  of  the  stupid 
peasants.  It  may  seem  incredible,  but,  two  stones'  throw  from 
Bethany,  I  offered  several  peasants  silver — a  rare  siglit  to  them — 
to  lead  me  to  that  village.  But  they  did  not  know  its  name  even 
by  the  Italian  form,  Betamia,  and  all  their  answer  was  to  poin 
into  the  hollow  where  I  supposed  the  place  lay  and  cry  out  "Er_ 
zereer ;"  and  had  I  asked  for  Jerusalem  by  any  but  its  Syrian 
name  of  EI  Kuds,  hardly  a  native  could  have  shown  it  to  ine  even 
under  its  walls.  I  never  shall  forget  the  chill  that  came  over  me 
one  of  those  days,  as,  after  dismounting  for  a  moment  to  examine 
some  beautiful  Roman  ruins,  I  suddenly  found  that  my  friend 
and  the  servants  had  disappeared,  and  that  different  tracks  led 
across  the  wide  plain  over  the  mountains  beyond,  while  the  only 
persons  in  sight  could  guide  me  little  better  than  the  beast  I 
rode.  However,  a  half  hour  of  hard  riding  brought  me  up  to  the 
party  again  ;  and  as  I  wiped  oif  the  clammy  sweat,  I  resolved  not 
to  stop  any  more  even  to  see  the  Grand  Mogul.  Fortunately, 
there  is  not  much  to  stop  for ;  the  architecture  of  Palestine  was 
never  gigantic  like  the  Egyptians.  Only  at  one  spot,  Balbec, 
have  immense  stones  been  employed,  and  that  is  still  one  of  the 
grandest  remains  in  existence.  Commonly,  the  ancient  materials 
have  been  built  over  and  over  again,  leaving  only  a  faint  shadow 
of  Herodian  or  Imperial  magnificence. 

We  passed  through  or  near  Shiloh,  Bethel,  Beerath — where  wo 
slept — Ramah  and  the  mountains  of  Moab.  Shiloh  might  be 
called  a  discovery  of  Dr.  Robinson's — one  of  the  many  services 
rendered  by  American  travellers  to  this  every  way  neglected 
country.  He  was  guided  partly  by  the  name  Seilure,  partly  by 
the  bearing  and  distance  from  Jerusalem.  There  is  only  a  foun- 
tain, an  old  tower,  and  the  ruins  of  a  modern  village  to  mark  the 
spot  where  the  ark  rested  for  four  hundred  years.  Bethel  has 
several  scattered  houses,  evidently  belonging  to  farmers,  and 
some  ruins  of  churches.  Here,  indeed,  must  be  one  of  the  rest- 
ing-places of  pilgrims  and  caravans  ;  and  several  small  villages 
cluster  together,  none  of  which  would  be  thought  in  our  country 
to  really  live.  The  flat-roofed,  one-story  cottage  of  stone  shelters 
men  and  cattle  in  the  same  spacious  apartments  ;  a  mud-chimney 
in  pne  corner  giving  doubtful  passage  to  the  smoke  of  mere  brush, 
a  little  ledge  bearing  up  the  olive  oil  dish  with  its  miserable  pre- 
tence of  light,  an  unwashed  water-bottic,  and  some  large  mud 
jars  holding  the  grain  for  man  and  beast— these  complete  tlic 
equipment.  No  ceremony  seemed  required  in  these  huts.  Every 
visitor  brought  his  own,  went  without,  or  bought  what  he  could. 
Nothing  was  furnished  except  the  shelter,  tlic  smoke,  the  dark- 
ness visible,  the  water  and  the  never-omitted  vermin  ;  commonly, 
not  a  bit  of  mat  for  the  clay  floor — never  a  chair  or  a  pillow.  But 
we  were  generally  so  tjred  that  it  mattered  not  where  or  on  what 


wo  cant  ounsolves  down  to  troubled  dreams.  I  remember,  how- 
ever, tliat,  after  we  had  paid  for  everything  else,  a  dintinet  charge 
was  commonly  made  for  the  water!  If  I  hud  not  accustomed 
myself  to  buy  food  at  Arab  houses  all  through  Egypt,  I  might 
have  supposed  the  scarcity  was  simply  want  of  ingenuity  in  bunt- 
ing up  fowls  and  eggs.  But  decent  fare  is  so  rarely  wanted  by 
travellers  and  such  an  unknown  luxury  to  the  natives,  that  it 
could  not  be  had  "for  love  or  money  "  within  twenty  miles  of 
Jerusalem.  We  would  have  pushed  through  the  fourteen  hours 
for  the  sake  of  resting  iu  a  decent  place,  but  Jerusalem,  uidiap- 
pily,  is  a  walled  town,  whose  gates  are  closed,  Syrian  fasliion,  at 
sundown ;  an<l  outside  of  the  walls  there  is  not  the  slicltcr  of  a 
horsc-slicd,  nor  any  kind  of  provision  for  the  belated  traveller. 
So  that  discretion  had  to  be  "the  better  part  of  valor." 

At  last,  after  six  days  and  a  lialf  of  wretched  wandering,  we 
crossed  the  stone  heaps  of  Moab  and  beheld  Jerusalem  rising  be- 
fore us  in  unexpected  beauty — a  battlementcd,  dome-crowned 
city,  as  worthy  of  admiration  now,  compared  with  the  desolation 
of  the  land  over  which  it  sits  a  throned  monumental  queen,  as 
when  that  land,  crowded  with  life,  plenty  and  ]ieace,  nestled  in 
the  arms  of  its  regal  and  sacerdotal  grandeur.  We  were  struck 
by  tlie  silence  around  it,  the  lifelessness,  the  absence  of  any  of  the 
sounds  belonging  to  a  live  city.  Oriental  towns  seem  to  love  the 
stillness  wliich  our  towns  disturb  by  the  rattle  of  wheels,  the  hum 
of  traffic,  the  heaving  of  machinery,  the  pealing  of  bells,  the 
many  cries  of  business  or  pleasure.  But  Jerusalem  is  the  stillest 
of  them  all.  The  favorite  burial-place  for  so  many  nations  seems 
all  a  tomb  —the  tomb  of  piety  and  prophecy,  of  valor  and  chivalry, 
of  arcliitectural  glory  and  military  renown.  No  other  spot,  save 
such  extinct  cities  as  Palmyra  and  Nineveh,  carry  you  so  entirely 
away  from  tlie  present.  As  you  wander,  with  not  even  a  goat  for 
company  along  the  Jehoshaphat  valley,  as  you  detect  nothing  upon 
the  neighboring  hillsides  but  graves,  you  are  oppressed  with  an 
indescribable  sadness.  There  comes  back  to  you,  first  of  all,  the 
rush  of  multitudes  from  all  the  land  to  pour  out  their  hearts  as 
incense  to  the  holiest  of  earthly  altars  ;  and  as  tlie  long  caravan 
comes  in  sight  of  the  temple,  the  psalm  bursts  like  the  roll  upon 
an  ocean  shore  from  the  glad  multitude,  and  is  echoed  back  from 
the  temple-courts  byhosts  of  trained  priests  with  their  instruments 
of  strange  music.  And  this  dream  fades,  and  another  procession 
crosses  the  stage — a  multitude  wind  down  that  same  mule-path 
on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and,  waving  their  palm  branches  and 
shouting  their  ancient  hosannas,  tliey  lead  on  one  in  triumph 
whom  they  hope  to  make  a  king — but  whom  near  to  we  sec  to  be 
weeping— who  saw  in  the  pomp  of  that  hour  of  popular  enthusi- 
asm, only  the  hastening  on  of  his  agony  and  shame.  And  then 
we  have  but  to  wait  a  few  years — which  are  moments  in  our 
dreams — to  behold  the  answering  sight  to  this,  to  hear  the  din  of 
the  Roman  camp  and  see  the  glitter  of  Roman  steel,  and  the 
judgment  day  has  dawned;  these  ancient  walls  begin  to  shake, 
the  gates  are  broken  down,  and  fearfully  do  the  mad  flames  leap 
over  the  temple  and  its  glory.  And  then,  a  long,  long  time  of 
oblivion,  and  other  shouts  are  heard.  Again  it  is  martial  music 
filling  the  air ;  the  cross  is  seen  leading  on  a  steel  clad  host,  and 
hynms  take  the  place  of  war-cries,  and  blood  is  shed  in  rivers  in 
the  name  of  God,  as  acceptable  incense  to  his  insulted  Son.  But 
the  visions  of  the  past  will  not  leave  us  with  Jerusalem  a  Chris- 
tian city.  Once  more  the  gates  welcome  a  conqueror,  once  more 
the  shout  of  victory  is  echoed  back  from  the  temple-courts,  now 
streaming  with  lose  water,  to  the  prophets'  tombs.  The  Chris- 
tian bells  ring  their  own  requiem,  the  Christian  cross  yields  to  the 
pale  crescent,  the  chains  are  riveted  which  yet  bind  down  the 
captive  daughter  of  Zion.  It  is  well  that  there  should  be  no 
mirthful  sounds  in  the  face  of  such  a  calamity.  Who  would 
rejoice  in  this  house  of  a  more  than  regal  bondage  1 

Wc  were  obliged  every  time  we  entered  the  city  in  a  party  to 
ride  round  to  the  southern  or  Bethlehem  gate,  where  a  small 
guard  is  always  stationed  in  a  kind  of  citadel,  and  a  tax  levied 
upon  everything  earned  out  of  the  city.  Passing  in  without  mo- 
lestation, except  from  the  beggars,  we  were  soon  in  possession  of 
damp,  chilly,  jiiil-like  apartments  in  the  new  Latin  convent,  where, 
in  the  rainy  season  of  January,  it  seemed  as  if  we  could  squeeze 
the  water  out  of  our  bed-clothes;  and  the  stone  fioor  was  carpet- 
less,  and  the  stone  wall  unplastered,  and  the  kitchen  so  poorly 
supplied,  that  the  friars  apologized  daily,  and  the  prospect  from 
the  windows  was  only  of  the  three  stone  walls  of  the  prison-like 
court.  Mount  Lebanon  wood  is  too  dear  to  he  used  as  fuel,  or 
even  to  be  freely  employed  in  building ;  and  our  only  resource  in 
the  constant  chilliness  of  this  high  position  was  such  a  brazer  of 
coals,  as  warmed  the  hands  of  the  cowardly  apostle,  on  the  night 
of  the  betrayal.  Since  the  French  Revolution,  these  "  Terra 
Santa"  convents  have  lost  their  generous  supplies  from  abroad ; 
and  the  forty  thousand  dollars  which  arc  said  to  be  require  dan- 
nually  to  feed  the  pilgrims,  keep  them  poor  and  in  debt.  Their 
chief  revenue,  at  present,  is  from  the  sale  of  crosses,  beads  and 
shells,  in  which,  however,  the  natives  can  compete  with  them  as 
they  please. 

Jerusalem  itself,  I  was  glad  to  find  prosperous ;  although  the 
Jews  themselves  are  the  worst  part  of  the  population.  Coming 
here  for  pious  purposes,  they  depend  upon  alms  sent  from  abroad  ; 
never  cultivate  the  soil  nor  endeavor  to  maintain  themselves,  as  a 
general  thing  ;  arc  infested  with  leprosy  and  the  plague,  and  seem- 
ed to  be  regarded  with  scorn  alike  by  Christian  and  Moslem.  "  I 
have  travelled  far,"  said  a  rabbi  to  a  missionary;  "the  Jews  are 
princes  everywhere  in  comparison  with  those  in  the  land  of  Iran. 
Heavy  is  our  burden,  heavy  our  captivity;  anxiously  do  wc  wiiit 
for  the  Redeemer."  And  though  "  the  whole  head  is  sick  and 
the  heart  fahit,"  they  cling  to  the  promise;  and  not  a  contract 
will  they  make  at  Jerusalem  without  the  clause  "until  Mcssias 
comcth." 


[Written  for  Gleason'fl  Pictorial.] 

AUTOrntAT'IIS  AXI)  ArToriRAPllY 

OF  DISTINGUISHED  rNDIVlDUAlS. 

No.  V. 

BT  WM.  edwaud  knowleb. 


•^ucO 


The  Inmdwriting  of  the  President  of  the  United  States  is  re- 
markably distinct,  clear  and  legible,  evincing  the  regularity  and 
careful  liahits  of  the  writer.  The  man  who  writes  such  a  hand 
will  produce  finished  communications  with  his  pen,  both  in  chi- 
rography  and  composition.  It  is  one  of  the  best  signatures  wc 
have  given. 


^- 


eJ^^^Z-t^ 


The  popularity  of  Washington  InviNCr  can  receive  no  addi- 
tion. He  has  reached  the  highest  pinnacle  of  literary  fame,  and 
can  ascend  no  higher.  But  it  has  cost  him  years  of  intensest  la- 
bor to  accomplish  it.  And  from  the  eminence  he  surveys  tlie 
struggle  of  the  literary  world  below.  His  manuscript  is  remark- 
ably neat  and  precise. 


^u^y^^-- 


7^^ 


We  need  not  pause  here  to  refer  to  Daniel  Webster  in  any 
other  way  than  to  allude  to  his  autograph.  It  has  a  hurried  and 
dashing  form,  and  appears  like  the  effort  of  the  band  to  keep  up 
with  the  strides  of  the  mind  in  depicting  its  thoughts  upon  paper. 
The  signature  is  a  good  sample  of  the  writer's  manuscript  gen- 
erally. 


^^'^-Mn^i. 


The  signatui'e  of  the  Attorney- General  of  the  United  States  is 
strong,  firm  and  manly,  indicative  of  decision  and  promptness. 
It  is  what  students  of  autography  call  a  free  signature.  It  is  an 
excellent  specimen  of  the  general  handwriting,  which  is  uniform 
and  regular,  presenting  a  very  handsome  appearance  in  the  page. 


C.  M.  Conrad,  Secretary  of  War  of  the  United  States,  writes 
a  bold  and  dashing  manuscript,  indicating  the  author  to  possess  a 
habit  of  mind  that  first  selects  its  object,  matures  its  plans,  and 
then  dashes  boldly  forward  to  the  consummation  of  its  purpose. 
The  signature  is  very  free  and  graceful ;  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  the  general  manuscript  of  the  writer. 


The  autograph  of  N.  P.  Willis  is  a  good  one,  at  least  when 
he  writes  with  care  His  chirography  is  free  and  gntceful;  and 
his  letters  terminate  as  well  as  they  begin.  He  possesses  talent, 
high,  original  talent,  which  can  often  be  called  genius.  The  sig- 
nature is  rather  heavier  than  usual.  His  manuscript  generally  is 
almost  faultlessly  plain  and  accurate  in  detail. 

Henry  AVilliam  Herbert. — The  chirography  of  the  author 
of  "  Cromwell,"  "  Cavaliers  of  England,"  etc.,  is  an  excellent  one, 
legible,  neat  and  graceful.  It  has  much  slope  and  uniformity, 
and  in  this  respect,  resembles  that  of  Miss  Sedgwick.  His  man- 
uscripts always  have  the  appearance  of  hurry  and  carelessness. 
The  letters  are  clearly  but  hurriedly  formed,  and  seem  as  if  the 
writer  was  anxious  to  conclude  what  he  had  to  say.  The  signa- 
ture is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  general  handwriting. 


ej 


Prof.  Henry  was  one  of  the  originators  of  the  "New  York 
Review."  His  chirography  is  unformed  and  careless.  Of  several 
lying  before  us,  not  one  can  lay  any  claim  to  neatness  or  grace- 
fulness. The  signature  is  far  better  than  the  generality  of  his 
manuscript,  which  is  blind  enough. 


^^^^ 


O- 


/i 


£i — -*-«-i,.— 


J.  H.  Ingraiiam  is  a  charming  novelist ;  and  as  far  as  popu- 
larity is  concerned,  he  stands  at  the  head  of  American  writers  of 
fiction.  His  characters  are  always  well  chosen,  and  ])erform  their 
part  in  the  drama  in  an  admirable  manner.  His  chirogra])hy  is 
often  illegible  and  unformed.  But  at  times  it  is  sufficiently 
plain,  and  suggests  boldness  and  originality. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPdAL   DRAWING   POOM    COMPANION. 


223 


A  SURPRISE. 

There  is  a  story  afloat  in  Paris  relative  to  the 
ascent  of  a  fair  marchioness  in  a  balloon.  De- 
termined to  enjoy  this  novel  pleasure,  she  left 
her  husband  at  his  estate,  not  very  distant  from 
Bordeaux,  making;  an  excuse  for  her  absence  in 
consequence  of  the  serious  illness  of  her  mother 
ftt  Angoulerae.  When  arrived,  liowever,  at  Bor- 
deaux, she  took  her  place  in  the  aerial  ship  of 
M.  Goodard,  of  tlie  Hippodrome,  and  made  a 
delightful  voyage  ;  but,  most  unfortunately,  as  it 
might  have  been,  had  she  not  the  most  confiding 
of  husbands,  the  balloon  descended  upon  her 
own  estate,  and  the  very  first  person  who  came 
to  offer  his  services  to  the  atmospheric  navigators, 
was  her  beloved  lord  and  master. 


HU3IAIV  EVERGREENS. 

Some  singers  appear  to  be  always  young,  the 
Italians  in  particular.  Not  long  ago  a  gentleman 
who  goes  very  seldom  to  the  opera,  but  who  pos- 
sesses an  excellent  memory,  said  to  Madame 
Grisi,  "  It  is  astonishing  how  like  you  arc  to  your 
mother!"  "You  knew  my  mother?"  inquir- 
ingly remaiked  the  lady.  "  Certainly ;  I  per- 
fectly recollect  hearing  her  in  Paris  in  1832, 
when  she  played  in  Nonna."  "But,  sir,  it  was 
/whom  you  heard!"  "  O,  that  is  indeed  a 
joke !"  This  gentleman  never  would  believe 
that  the  Grisi  of  our  day  was  the  Grisi  of  1832  ; 
and  he  carried  his  gallantry  so  far  as- to  get  posi- 
tively out  of  temper  about  a  reality  which  lie 
treated  as  a  mystification. 


THE  CHINESE  E.IUGRAIVTS. 

Among  the  hundreds  of  Chinese  emigrants  re- 
cently arrived  at  California  from  Hong  Kong, 
are  eighteen  females,  doubtless  induced  to  come 
over  by  the  glowing  accounts  of  the  country 
given  by  the  few  of  their  countrywomen  who 
have  preceded  them.  They  appear  to  he  pos- 
sessed of  more  means  than  the  men,  as  many  of 
them  were  dressed  in  short  gowns  and  full  trous- 
ers of  purple  and  blue  silk — a  perfect  specimen 
of  the  Bloomer  costume,  except  the  conforma- 
tion of  the  gown,  which  hung  loosely  about 
them,  unconfined  by  a  girdle. 


MINIATURE  LANDSCAPE. 

Von  Mander  relates  that  Anne  Smyters,  the 
wife  of  John  de  Herre,  a  Flemish  sculptor, 
painted  a  landscape  representing  a  wind-mill 
with  the  sails  bent,  and  the  miller  appearing  as 
if  mounting  the  stairs,  loaded  with  a  sack.  Upon 
the  terrace,  where  the  mill  was  fixed,  were  seen 
a  horse  and  cart,  and,  on  the  road,  several  peas- 
ants. The  whole  was  highly  finished,  and  pen- 
cilled with  wonderful  delicacy  and  neatness,  and 
was  also  wonderfully  distinct ;  yet  the  painting 
was  so  amazingly  minute,  that  the  surface  of-it 
might  be  covered  with  one  grain  of  corn  ! 


Large  Salaries. — The  salary  and  outfit  of 
the  Commissioner  to  China  (Humphrey  Mar- 
shall) has  been  increased  to  $18,000.  The  Sec- 
retary and  Interpreter,  Br.  Parker,  gets  $2500  ; 
he  is  also  allowed  S4000  extra.  The  consuls  at 
the  five  ports  in  China,  viz.,  Kwang  Chow,  Fu- 
chow,  Amoy,  Ningpo,  and  Shanghai,  receive 
$5000. 

Milk. — The  quantity  of  milk  brought  to  New 
York,  by  the  various  railroads,  during  the  last 
six  months,  is  ascertained  to  have  been  91,413 
quarts  daily,  at  a  supposed  value  of  $443  4G. 
The  city  manufactories  (distillery  swill)  swell 
the  quantity  to  100,000  quarts,  costing  about 
$1,825,000  a  year. 


A  NEW  City. —  A  party  of  New  York  capital- 
ists, among  whom  is  Mr.  George  Law,  have  as- 
sociated themselves  for  the  purpose  of  carrying 
out  a  magnificent  undertaking,  in  the  founding 
of  a  new  city,  opposite  New  York,  on  the  west 
bank  of  the  Hudson. 


Hen  Fever. — Think  of  two  and  even  three 
hundred  dollars  per  pair  for  fowls,  choice  bretds 
of  hens.  Such  were  the  prices  paid  at  tho  late 
show  in  this  city. 

MacAllister. — This  famous  necromancer  is 
preparing  something  wherewith  to  astonish  the 
"  natives  "  this  winter.     He  is  in  New  York. 


Open  and  Aboveboakd. — A  volunteer  com- 
pany, called  the  Fillibusters,  is  about  to  be  or- 
ganized at  New  Orleans. 


Theatrical.— Madame  Thillon  is  still  per- 
forming in  New  York  city. 


lUausliifi   ©atljcnugs. 

No  preacher  is  so  successful  as  time. 
An  English  paper  states  that  a  large  number 
of /vV/  gloves  are  now  made  of  rat  ski»s. 

The  total  appropriation  of  the  last  session  of 
Congress  amounts  to  upwards  of  §47,000,000. 

Haynau  narrowly  escaped  being  mobbed,  re- 
cently, at  Brussels. 

Seventy-five  married  couples  were  divorced  by 
the  last  Alabama  legislature. 

They  fined  a  man  ten  dollars  at  New  Orleans 
for  calling  a  policeman  "  hard  names." 

A  Chinese,  named  Wong  Fun,  has  carried 
away  a  prize  at  the  Edinburgh  University. 

Dr.  Valentine  Mott  has  been  elected  honorary 
Fellow  of  the  Dublin  College  of  I'hysicians. 

Ten-thousand  a-year  Warren  has  been  ap- 
pointed to  a  lucrative  office  by  the  English 
Government. 

The  Mormons  have  established  a  weekly  news- 
paper at  Hamburg,  and  have  prepared  a  transla- 
tion of  their  Bible. 

A  drunken  fellow  in  Cincinnati,  a  few  nights 
since,  attempted  to  whip  his  wife,  but  she  tied 
him  and  marched  him  to  the  watch  house. 

A  gentleman,  lately  deceased,  in  Amherst 
county,  Va.,  by  his  will  left  S60G0  to  settle  his 
slaves  in  one  of  the  non-slaveholding  States. 

A  young  widow,  in  New  Orleans,  being  asked 
after  her  husband's  health,  answered  smilingly; 
"  He  is  dead,  I  thank  you  !" 

Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just; 
and  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 

A  Western  paper  states,  that  a  horse  and 
wagon  were  drowned  in  the  Ohio,  lately.  They 
had  a  hard  time  of  it,  especially  the  wagon. 

*Tis  better  to  be  lowly  born,  and  range  with 
humble  lives  in  content,  than  to  be  perked  up 
in  a  glistering  grief,  and  wear  a  golden  sorrow. 

The  mining  industry  of  Chili  is  in  a  high  state 
of  development.  The  yield  of  silver  for  1852  is 
estimated  at  a  sum  equal  to  .£2,400,000  sterling. 
The  Chicago  Joui-na!  says,  that  a  few  days 
ago  a  couple  of  sportsmen  returned  from  a  hunt- 
ing excursion,  having  bagged  one  hundred  and 
Jifty  pruiiie  chickens  in  a  day's  shooting. 

At  Worcester,  Mass.,  in  the  rooms  of  the  An- 
tiquarian Society,  there  is  a  copy  of  the  Bible, 
printed  in  Venice,  in  1447,  being  forty-five  years 
before  tlie  discovery  of  America. 

Camille  Urso,  a  youthful  female  violinist  of 
11  years,  with  her  party,  lately  arrived  in  New 
York  by  the  Humboldt.  She  will  make  a  tour 
of  the  United  States. 

To  such  a  pitch  has  betting  on  noted  horses 
been  carried  in  England,  that  the  Earl  of  Derby 
and  the  Duke  of  Kichmond  have  opened  betting 
offices  in  their  own  houses. 

A  Yankee  has  invented  a  new  and  cheap  plan 
for  boarding.  One  of  the  boarders  mesmerises 
the  rest,  and  then  eats  a  hearty  meal — the  mes- 
merised being  satisfied  from  sympathy. 

Dr.  CoUyer,  the  model  artist  man,  mesmerist, 
phrenologist,  chemist,  etc.,  received  information 
by  the  last  steamer  that  he  has  become  the  heir 
to  S600,000.     So  says  a  California  paper. 

A  woman  died  lately  at  York,  from  a  bottle 
"of  nitric  acid,  which  had  been  for  twelve  years 
unopened  in  her  room,  having  been  accidentally 
broken.     The  deadly  effluvium  poisoned  her. 

As  the  lid  of  a  coffin  was  about  being  fastened 
down,  in  Kocliester,  the  other  day,  the  inmate 
was  discovered  to  be  living.  The  poor  fellow, 
wlio  came  so  near  being  buried  alive,  is  now 
likely  to  recover. 

The  Dahlonega  (Ga.)  Watchman,  of  the  14th 
ult.,  says  it  has  been  shown  a  pair  of  tusks  from 
a  wild  hog,  found  dead  in  the  mountains,  which, 
when  placed  together,  form  a  cu'clc  of  sixteen 
inches  in  circumference. 

A  man  named  John  Davis,  about  twenty-five 
years  of  age,  committed  suicide  at  English's  Ho- 
tel, Camden,  New  Jersey,  bj''  taking  laudanum. 
He  was  employed  in  the  Camden  and  Araboy 
llailroad  Office. 

In  the  hereafter  of  Mahomet,  the  eternal  man- 
sions of  the  Christians,  the  Jews,  the  Magians, 
etc.,  are  sunk  below  each  other  in  the  abyss,  and 
the  lower  Iiell  is  reserved  for  the  hypocrites  who 
have  assumed  the  mask  of  religion. 

In  the  good  old  town  of  AVealhersfield,  Ct.,  it 
is  the  custom  to  toll  the  age  of  every  person  who 
dies.  Lately,  the  bell,  one  of  the  largest  in  the 
State,  was  tolled  one  hundred  sti-okes  at  the 
death  of  a  Mrs.  Ayrault. 

There  arc  printed  in  the  city  of  New  York,  13 
weekly  religious  papers,  with  a  circulation  of 
108,900.  The  largest  circulation  is  29,000  a 
week,  and  the  smallest  1700.  All  but  five  have 
a  circulation  of  over  GOOO. 

The  tombstones  in  Turkish  burying  grounds 
are  all  fiat,  and  contain  little  hollows  which  hold 
the  water  alter  a  rain,  and  attract  the  birds,  who 
r*'sort  thither  to  slake  their  thirst,  and  sing  en- 
chantingly  among  the  trees. 

Saratoga  is  now  desolate,  compared  with  what 
it  was  a  few  days  since.  But  few  families  from 
other  parts  of  the  country  are  remaining.  There 
are  some  few  coming  in,  but  there  are  twice  as 
many  going  away. 

When  Bonaparte  once  visited  the  Rhine,  he 
asked  a  lumberman  how  many  staves  were  an- 
nually sent  down  that  river.  Much  to  the  grati- 
fication of  Napoleon,  who  liked  above  all  things 
to  have  reliable  statistics,  the  man  answered 
,   promptly,  27,503,897. 


iTorcign  illisrcUang. 

Henry  Russell,  the  vocalist,  is  performing  in 
Loudon. 

Experiments  are  making  at  Liverpool  to  liyht 
the  river  Meiseif  with  the  electric  light. 

A  colossal  bronze  statue,  to  the  memory  of 
Dr.  Jenner,  is  about  to  be  erected  in  London. 

Miss  Baldwin,  of  Virginia,  a  niece  of  Presi- 
dent Madison,  is  teaching  a  missionary  school  in 
Athens,  Greece. 

Fanny  Kcmble  was  announced  to  read  the 
"Midsummer's  Night  Dream,"  at  the  Norwich 
Musical  Festival. 

The  exqueen  of  the  French  has  purchased 
Orleans  House,  Tickenham,  formerly  the  resi- 
dence of  Louis  Philippe,  for  .£23,000. 

Among  other  decrees,  the  Moniteur  published 
one  abolishing  the  duties  at  present  payable  on 
the  export  of  raw  and  sponged  silk. 

Frank  Hartland,  the  celebrated  London  panto- 
mimist,  was  killed  on  the  16th  ult.,  by  the  falling 
of  a  piece  of  timber  from  a  new  building  which 
he  was  passing. 

An  asylum  for  poor  consumptives  is  about  to 
be  established  at  Torquay,  in  the  west  of  Eng- 
land. One  lady  has  subscribed  three  dollars  to- 
wards its  endowment. 

That  pitiful,  impious  and  cowardly  animal, 
Louis  Napoleon,  has  ordered  the  Due  D'En- 
ghein's  monument,  in  the  chapel  of  Vinccuncs, 
to  be  removed  and  defaced  ! 

Three  English  gentlemen — Mansfield, Compred 
and  Thompson — have  undertaken  to  sail  from 
London  to  Constantinople  in  an  ojjen  skifi',  25  ft. 
by  3  wide.   They  have  arrived  at  Rensburg. 

A  young  student  of  theology  at  Bonn,  Rhen- 
ish-Prussia, in  a  fit  of  religious  insanity,  actually 
crucified  himself  loan  old  tree  in  a  neighboring 
forest !  He  was  discovered,  and  his  life  saved 
with  difficulty. 

A  Cadiz  jounial  announces  that  the  line  of 
steamships  plying  between  Spain  and  Cuba, 
would  be  speedily  reinforced  by  two  other  large 
steamers,  and  the  departure  from  Cadiz  will  then 
take  place  twice  a  month. 

A  snake  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  and  of  a  veno- 
mous description,  made  its  appearance  in  the 
cabin  of  the  ship  Radiant,  when  near  the  English 
coast,  last  month,  on  the  way  from  Maulmain, 
East  Indies.  After  a  running  fight  the  reptile 
was  killed. 

Harvest  is  progressing  satisfactorily  through- 
out the  kingdom.  In  Ireland  the  potato  rot  has 
subsided,  if  indeed  it  ever  existed  lo  any  extent. 
Reaping  of  wheat,  barley  and  oats  goes  on  in 
all  the  earlier  districts  without  intermission,  and 
with  favorable  weather. 


lolicr's    JJuLigct. 


Saubs  of  ©olb. 


The  fickleness  of  fortune  is  felt  all  over 

the  world. 

....  Wine  and  passion  are  racks  often  used 
to  extort  words  from  us. 

....  Liberality  consists  less  in  giving  much 
than  in  giving  wisely. 

....  He  is  no  mean  philosopher  who  can  give 
a  reason  for  half  of  what  he  thinks. 

Some  will  listen  to   no   conviction  but 

what  they  derive  from  fatal  experience. 

Designing  hypocrites  frequently  lay  them- 
selves open  to  discovery,  by  over-acting  their 
parts. 

....  If  we  did  not  first  take  great  pains  to 
corrupt  our  nature,  our  natme  would  never  cor- 
rupt us. — Lord  Clarendon. 

....  He  who  is  truly  a  good  man,  is  more 
than  half  way  to  being  a  Christian,  by  whatever 
name  he  is  called. — South. 

....  There  are  no  friends  more  inseparable 
than  pride  and  hardness  of  heart,  humility  and 
love,  falsehood  and  impudence. — Lavatcv, 

....  Never  hire  another  person  to  do  the  work 
which  you  can  well  do  yourself,  unless  you  are 
suitably  employed  in  some  other  occupation. 

....  No  man  would  overcome  and  endure 
solitude  if  he  did  not  cherish  the  hope  of  a  social 
circle  in  the  future,  or  tlie  imagination  of  an  in- 
visible one  in  the  present. 

....  A  reserved  man  is  in  continued  conflict 
with  the  social  part  of  his  nature,  and  even 
grudges  himself  the  laugh  into  which  he  is  some- 
times betrayed. 

....  The  precept,  "  Know  thyself,"  was  not 
solely  intended  to  obviate  the  pride  of  mankind, 
but  likewise  that  we  might  understand  our  o\\n 
worth. 

....  The  Rev.  Mr.  Seward  advises  three 
questions  to  be  put  to  ourselves  before  speaking 
evil  of  any  man  :  "First,  is  it  true?  Second,  is 
it  kind  \     Third,  is  it  necessary  V 

....  What  the  impulse  of  genius  is  to  the 
great,  the  instinct  of  vocation  is  to  the  mediocre 
— in  every  man  there  is  a  magnet — in  that  thing 
which  the  man  can  do  best,  there  is  loadstone. 

....  With  regard  to  manner,  be  careful  to 
speak  in  a  sofr,  tender,  kind  and  loving  way. 
Even  when  you  have  occasion  to  rebuke,  be  care- 
ful to  do  it  with  manifest  kindness.  Tlie  eflPect 
will  be  incalculably  better. — Uosea  Ballon. 

....  Truth  belongs  to  the  man,  error  to  his 
age.  For  this  reason  it  was  said  of  an  extraor- 
dinary character,  "  the  evil  of  the  times  has  oc- 
casioned his  error,  but  the  force  of  his  mind  has 
rendered  his  destiny  glorious." 


Bombastic  eulogy  of  vegetable  diet  is  now 
called  "  vegetable  gas  !" 

The  best  adhesive  label  you  can  put  on  lug- 
gage is  to  stick  to  it  yourself. 

Why  is  the  Mediterranean  the  dirtiest  of  all 
seas.     Ans. — Because  it  is  the  least  tide-y. 

Why  is  the  east  wind  like  a  famous  American 
painter"?     Because  it's  Ben  West. 

The  individual  who  was  injured  by  the  acci- 
dental discharge  of  his  duty  has  not  been  heard 
of  since. 

Interesting — to  dream  all  night  of  finding 
heaps  of  gold,  and  wonder  on  waking  how  you'll 
pay  for  a  breakfast. 

"  Mr.  Tompkins,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  raise 
your  rent  this  week."  "  Thank  you,  sir,  I  am 
greatly  obliged — it's  more  than  I  can  do." 

Moses,  seeing  a  chap  hoeing,  and  another 
mowing,  in  the  same  field,  remarked  that  their 
occupations  were  decidedly  /ioir-j/iow-geneous. 

A  western  editor  thinks  Hiram  Powers,  the 
sculptor,  is  a  swindler,  because  he  chiselled  a.n  un- 
fortunate Greek  girl  out  of  a  block  of  marble. 

The  Daily  Times,  in  a  glowing  account  of  a 
recent  fire,  says,  that  owing  to  the  "almost  su- 
perhuman efforts  of  the  firemen,  the  fire  was  con- 
fined to  the  house."  They  ought  to  have  put  it 
^out ! 

A  party  of  stout  countrymen  were  playing  a 
game  of  cudgels  in  the  north  of  England,  when 
a  spectator  gravely  observed — "  the  rustic  amuse- 
ment of  cudgel  playing  should  be  abolished,  as 
it  affects  ths  securily  of  the  crown." 

A  green  'un  (says  the  Memphis  Whig),  who 
had  never  before  seen  a  steamboat,  fell  through 
the  hatchway  down  into  the  hold  of  t^le  Winfield 
Scott,  and  being  unhurt,  loudly  expressed  his 
surprise — "  Well,  if  the  darned  thing  aint  holler." 

Every  man  has  his  price,  so  said  Walpolo; 
hut  he  never  said  as  much  of  woman.  The  fact 
is,  Walpolc  judged  the  ladies  only  too  correctly, 
for  he  knew,  as  well  as  we  do,  that  many  of  those 
dear  creatures  are  beyond  all  price  ! 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

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AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

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of  interesting  and  iostructive  subjects ;  with  an 

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Besides  the  many  illustKitious,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
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PinJLlSUEE  AKD  PKOPIUETOIt,  DoSlOW,  MASfl. 


224 


GLEASON'S   IMCTOIUAL    DllAWINd    lUXJM    COMPANION. 


VOULE'S  SHOT 
TOWER. 

This  cdilicc,  a 
view  of  wlik'h  is 
given  below,  in 
situated  at  the 
footof  54th  street, 
East  River,  New 
York.  It  rises  to 
the  height  of  l7r) 
feet;  and  mcay- 
iircs  about  GO  feet 
in  diameter  at  the 
base.  It  forms  a 
most  striking  ob- 
ject of  interest. 
When  we  consid- 
er the  small  size 
of  the.  article  to 
the  manufacture 
ofwhich  this  lofty 
structure  is  de- 
voted, the  means 
appear  grcatlj 
out  of  proportion 
with  the  result. 
Formerly  in  cast- 
ing shot,  the  ap- 
paratus was  mere- 
ly a  plate  of  eop- 
]jcr,  in  the  hollow 
of  which  were 
punched  a  num- 
ber of  holes.  This 
was  placed  a  few 
feet  above  a  ket- 
tle of  water,  into 
whicli  tho  melted 
lead  descended, 
after  passing 
tlirough  the  holes 
in  the  plate.  But 
in  falling  so  short 
a  distance,  and 
being  so  suddenly 
cooled  and  hard- 
ened, the  shot  did 
not  acquire  a  per- 
fectly      globular 

form — a  desideratum  which  is  now  attained  by 
means  of  shot  towers.  In  tlie  tower  of  Mr.  Mc- 
Cullough,  the  largest  size  shot  falls  from  the 
summit  of  the  tower  to  the  bottom  of  a  well  twcn- 
ty-tive  feet  below  the  surface  of  tlie  earth,  mak- 
ing the  descent  175  feet.  The  size  of  the  shot  is 
determined  by  the  size  of  the  holes  through 
which  it  passes.  The  furnaces  for  melting  the 
lead  arc  situated  near  the  top  of  tlie  tower ;  three 
or  four  Ions  of  shot  are  manufactured  per  day, 
Tliis  mctliod  of  easting  shot  was  invented  by 
Mr.  Watt,  the  celebrated  engineer,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dream.     He  tried  the  experiment 


VIEW  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE SERAGLIO  POINT. 


from  the  tower  of  the  church  of  St.  Mary,  Rad- 
cliffe,  and  finding  it  very  successful,  obtained  a 
patent,  which  he  afterwards  sold  for  £10,000. 
There  are  now  several  shot  towers  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  London,  and  different  parts  of  the  world  ; 
but  none  more  worthy  of  notice  than  the  one 
we  present  to  our  readers.  An  iron  staircase 
ascends  from  the  base  to  the  summit  of  the 
tower.  Arsenic  is  mingled  with  the  lead  in  pro- 
portion of  forty  pounds  to  one  ton.  In  casting, 
the  metal  is  poured  through  a  tube,  but  descends 
through  the  open  space  of  the  tower  in  a  contin- 
ual stream  of  silvery  drops.     As  the  weight  of 


the  lead  prevents  it  from  scattering  or  being 
blown  about  like  water  drops,  the  workmen  pass 
to  and  fro,  without  danger,  close  by  this  tiery 
cascade.  The  shot  is  of  different  sizes,  from 
No.  1,  swan  shot,  to  No.  12,  dust  shot.  Mr. 
James  McCullough  has  brought  the  art  of  the 
manufacture  of  the  shot  to  perfection.  Certain 
portions  of  his  factory  are  kept  entirely  secret ; 
and  the  shot  manufactured  in  New  York  are  not 
surpassed  in  the  world.  The  cause  of  most  of 
the  imperfections  in  the  manufacture  of  lead 
shot  is  the  too  rapid  cooling  of  the  spherules  by 
their  being  dropped  too  hot  into  the  water, 
whereby  their  surfaces  form  a  solid  crust,  while 
the  interior  remains  fluid,  and  in  its  subsequent 
concretion  shrinks  so  as  to  produce  the  irregu- 
larities of  the  shot.  The  patent  shot  towers 
originally  constructed  in  England  obviate  this 
evil,  by  exposing  the  fused  spherules,  after  they 
pass  through  the  cullender,  to  a  large  body  of 
air  during  their  descent  into  the  water  tub  placed 


middle  about  for- 
ty pounds  of  art<e- 
nic  tofonn  a  rich 
alloy  with  the 
lead.  Cover  the 
pot  with  an  iron 
lid,  and  lute  the 
joints  (juickly 
with  loam  or  mor- 
tar, to  conline  the 
arsenical  vapors, 
keeping  up  a 
moderate  fire  to 
maintain  themix- 
ture  fluid  for  three 
or  four  hours  ;  af- 
ter which,  skim 
carefully,  and  run 
the  alloy  into  in- 
gots or  pigs.  The 
composition  thus 
made  is  in  pro- 
portion of  one  pig 
to  1000  pounds  of 
melted  lead.  Two 
or  tliree  tons  are 
usually  melted  at 
once  in  large  es- 
tablishments. A 
crust  of  oxide  of 
a  white  spongy 
nature,  some- 
times called  cream 
by  the  workmen, 
covers  the  surface 
of  the  lead,  which 
is  of  use  to  coat 
over  the  bottom 
of  the  cullender. 
The  cullenders 
are  hollow  hemi- 
spheres of  sheet 
iron,  about  ten 
inches  in  diame- 
ter, perforated 
with  holes  per- 
fectly round  and 
free  from  burs. 
These  must  be  of 
a  uniform  size  in  each  cullender;  but,  of  course, 
a  series  of  different  cullenders  with  sorted  holes 
for  every  different  size  of  lead  shot  must  be  pre- 
pared. The  operation  is  always  carried  on  with 
three  cullenders  at  a  time,  which  are  supported 
upon  projecting  grates  of  a  kind  of  chafing-dish 
made  of  sheet  iron,  somewhat  like  a  triangle. 
This  chafing-dish  should  be  placed  immediately 
above  the  fall ;  while  at  the  bottom  there  must 
be  a  tub  half  filled  with  water,  for  receiving  the 
granulated  lead.  The  cullenders  are  not  in  con- 
tact, but  must  be  parted  by  burning  charcoal  in 
order  to  keep  the  lead  constantly  at  the  proper 
temperature,  and  to  prevent  its  solidifying  in  the 
filter.  The  height  from  which  the  particles 
should  be  let  fall  varies  likewise  with  the  size  of 
the  shot;  as  the  congelation  is  th.e  more  rapid, 
the  smaller  they  are.  The  workman  then  puts 
the  filter  stuff  into  the  cullender,  pressing  it  well 
against  the  sides ;  he  next  gently  pours  lead  into 
it  with  an  iron  ladle.     The  centre  of  the  cullen- 


[Sce  "  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  p.  215j  for  deecription.] 


youlk's  shot  tower,  east  eiver,  new  yobk. 


A   DANCER  AT   A   TURKISH  CAFE.  [Ste  "  Turkey  .and  the  Turks,'' p  21'..  for  dt-friptlni 


on  the  ground.  Tlie  greatest  erection  of  this 
kind  is  probablv  at  Villach,  in  Carinthia,  being 
240  Vienna,  or  240  Englisii  feet  high.  The  fol- 
lowing is  the  process  ; — Melt  a  ton  of  soft  lead, 
and  sprinkle  round  the  sides  of  the  iron  pot 
about  two  shovelfuls  of  wood  ashes,  taking  care 
to  leave  the  centre  clear.     Then  put  into  tho 


der  being  less  hot,  affords  larger  shot  than  tho 
sides.  Uccasioniilly  also  the  three  cullenders 
employed  togetlier  may  have  holes  of  different 
sizes;  the  shot  will  then  be  of  dirtVrent  magni- 
tudes. These  are  separated  by  square  sieves  of 
different  fineness ;  and  after  passing  throutih  oili- 
er minute  processes  are  ready  fur  sale  and  use. 


Fnr  f  A  onxT  (  corner  bromfeeld 
.    Wiii^iAiSUXN ,  j  ijjD  TREMONT  ST3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  9,  1852. 


S2  PER  VOLUME.  I 

10  Ct8.  single,  j 


Vol.  m.  No.  15  —Whole  No.  67. 


ALMS  HOUSE,  BIiACKWELL'S  ISIiAND. 

Our  artist  has  depicted  for  us  below,  a  very 
fine  view  of  this  institution.  The  building  in 
the  foreground  is  that  appropriated  to  the  fe- 
males; the  one  in  the  distance  is  used  entirely 
for  the  males,  and  is  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
island,  opposite  the  foot  of  Seventieth  Street, 
N.  y.  They  consist  of  two  separate  edifices,  one 
for  males,  the  other  for  females,  located  at  the 
distance  of  six  hundred  and  fifty  feet  from  each 
other ;  besides  these,  there  is  a  chapel  standing 
near  the  western  shore,  midway  between  the 
Alms  Houses,  and  a  bakery  on  the  eastern  shore 
near  the  northern  Alms  House.  These  buildings 
are  all  constructed  of  blue  stone  rubble  masonry 
— the  materials  obtained  from  the  rock  of  the 
island.  The  two  Alms  Houses  are  precisely 
alike  in  forms  and  dimensions — each  edifice  con- 
sisting of  a  centre  building,  with  two  wings;  the 
centre  building  being  fifty  feet  square,  and  fifty- 
seven  feet  high  to  the  roof  cornice,  and  eighty- 


seven  feet  to  the  top  of  the  cupola ;  and  the 
wings  each  sixty  by  ninety-five  feet,  and  forty 
feet  high  to  the  roof  cornice.  The  four  stair- 
case towers  in  front,  and  two  in  the  rear,  are 
each  twelve  feet  square,  and  fifty  feet  high.  The 
basement  floor  in  each  building  is  one  step  above 
the  ground,  and  there  are  three  stories  above  the 
basement  in  the  wings.  The  centre  building 
contains  apartments  for  the  officers ;  the  wings 
are  occupied  by  the  paupers,  and  are  each  diWd- 
ed  into  four  rooms  on  each  floor,  making  twenty- 
four  rooms  in  the  two  wings,  of  twenty-two  by 
fifty-six  feet ;  these  rooms  extend  from  front  to 
rear — the  windows  at  each  end  opening  on  the 
verandas.  The  cooking,  washing,  etc.,  for  the 
establishment,  arc  performed  in  a  one  story 
stone  building  forty  by  seventy  feet,  located  one 
hundred  feet  in  the  rear  of  the  centre  building. 
The  chapel  is  sixty-five  by  ninety  feet,  and  thirty- 
five  feet  high  to  the  eaves  of  the  roof.  The 
basement  storv  under  the  church  auditorvis  nine 


feet  high,  and  is  arranged  as  a  warehouse  for  the 
stores  of  the  establishments  and  the  offices  of  the 
superintendent  and  clerks.  The  auditory,  twen- 
ty feet  high,  is  a  plain  room,  having  a  gallery 
across  one  end,  the  whole  fitted  with  pews,  af- 
fording about  eight  hundred  seats.  The  bake- 
house is  forty  by  eighty  feet,  three  stories  high, 
of  eight  feet  each  ;  the  ovens,  five  in  all,  arc  lo- 
cated in  the  first  story;  the  second  story  is  ar- 
ranged for  storing  flour  and  bread,  and  the  third 
story  is  occupied  by  the  carpenters,  coopers  and 
shoemakers,  for  the  manufacture  of  their  wares. 
In  the  "Alms  House  proper,"  as  it  is  termed,  we 
have  an  institution  well  calculated  to  be  what  it 
purports.  A  glance  through  its  various  rooms 
will  show  the  comfort  enjoyed  by  many  an  aged 
and  infirm  dependent — some  have  been  there 
many  years,  and  it  is  to  them  an  asylum  of  hap- 
piness in  their  declining  yeai-s.  There  appears 
in  these  new  buildings  ample  room  for  present 
accommodation  ;    and,  although  they  have  cost 


the  department  a  large  sum  since  delivered  up 
by  the  contractors  to  Jitly  complete  them  for 
Alms  House  occupation,  they  answer,  for  the 
present,  the  purpose  of  their  erection,  but  doubt- 
less will  ever  continue,  from  faulty  construction 
and  design,  to  be  a  channel  of  perpetual  expense. 
Marcellus  Eells,  Esq.,  still  continues  his  super- 
intendence, and  in  his  report  states  that  the  pau- 
pers able  to  work  have  been  variously  employed 
in  the  necessary  labor  of  the  house,  both  mechan- 
ical and  domestic;  and  in  addition  thereto,  they 
have  completed  an  extent  of  grading,  which  adds 
beauty  and  convenience  to  the  surrounding 
grounds,  and  speaks  well  for  the  industrial  abili- 
ties of  the  inmates,  under  judicious  direction. 
This  institution  has  connected  with  it  a  suitably 
constructed  bakery,  occupying  for  its  site  the 
borders  of  the  river.  Twenty-five  barrels  of 
flour  are  daily  used  up  here,  and  all  the  branches 
of  the  department,  excepting  Randall's  Island, 
arc  supplied  from  this  bake-house. 


ALMS  HOUSE,  BLAOKWELL's   ISLAND,  NEW  YORK,  AS  SEEN  LOOKINQ  NORTIJ-WEST. 


226 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  ROMANTIC  STORY  OF  INCIDENT  AND  ADVENfURE 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F^  Gleason,  in  the  Clcrli's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[written   expressly    for   GLEASOn'S    PICTORIAI.] 


-OR, — 


21  ©rapljic  Sak  of  Spain,  Italj)  «ni>  Qrnglanitr. 


BY  FREDERICK  HUNTER. 

[OONTINTJED.] 
-[continued.] 


CI-IiVPTER  XV- 
The  blinds  were  closed,  and  though  one  of 
liis  followers  approached  the  window  stealthily, 
lie  could  see  notliing,  and  for  a  time  the  evening 
silence  was  unbroken.  At  last,  voices  could  be 
heard,  and  loud  words  were  spoken.  There 
was  a  lady  in  the  case,  too,  whose  tone  was  rather 
masculine,  than  otherwise,  and  who  had  plainly 
been  deceived  or  injured  in  some  way  by  the 
old  man.  And  now  the  conversation  became 
more  animated,  and  the  listener  outside — the 
very  beggar  whom  Don  Miguel  had  just  re- 
"  warded— stood  beneath  the  lattice,  and  caught 
every  syllable  of  that  exciting  conference  ! 

"  I  tell  you,  Corrinne,"  continued  the  old  man, 
in  a  severe  tone,  **  that  you  cannot  act  for  your- 
"  self  in  this  fearful  matter,  and  you  vnist  be  ad- 
vised. The  laws  of  Naples  will  protect  me  in 
my  guardianship,  and  you  must  submit  to  my 
authority.  However  i/oit  may  will  it,  I  will  never 
consent  that  you  shall  see  this  villain  again." 
"  Signor,  he  is  my  husband !" 
"  Pshaw !  Out  upon  the  vile  wretch  who  has 
so  deceived  you.  Fly  from  him — forget  him — 
and  be  saved  while  you  may.  Or,  if  you  will  be 
obdurate,  I  shall  interpose  my  authority,  and 
compel  you  to  return  with  me.  Nay,  do  not  ap- 
peal to  my  better  nature,  Corrimic,  my  purpose 
is  fixed.  We  leave  Naples  to-morrow.  I  coun- 
sel you,  then,  to  accept  with  becoming  grace 
what  you  have  not  the  power  to  prevent !" 

Much  more  than  this  was  overheard  by  the 
miserable  beggar  beneath  the  window,  who  still 
crouched  and  continued  attentively  to  listen  till 
the  interview  was  over.  He  heard  the  lady  ap- 
peal to  the  old  man  in  piteous  tones  to  spare  her 
— to  allow  her  but  one  moment's  interview  with 
her  husband — but  he  was  obdurate,  unflinching, 
decisive  in  his  determination. 

Even  as  he  skulked  beneath  that  lattice,  and 
while   his  ears  were   drinking  in  the  sobs  and 
prayers   which   were  uttered  by  the  persecuted 
and  suffering  Corrinne,  during  her  unsuccessful 
appeals  to  her  flinty-hearted  tormentor,  he  felt  a 
hand  laid  suddenly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  grasp- 
ing a  glittering   stiletto,  as  he  turned  around,  he 
heard  a  whisper  which  he  instantly  recognized. 
*'— 'hist!     How  is  if?" 
"  As  I  supposed.     She  is  here." 
"  Good !" 

*'  And  he  is  here,  too  \" 

''  He  need  not  go  far  away  from  tliis  place," 
suggested  the  other  person,  "  if  you  but  will  it !" 
And  at  the  same  moment  the  latter  drew  from 
beneath  his  ragged  cloak  a  shining  dagger,  which 
he  clutched  firmly  and  spitefully, 

"  No,  no  !  Not  now.  That  will  defeat  all. 
He  proposes  to  bear  her  av/ay,  pei'forcc,  to- 
morrow." 

"  Time  enough,  then." 
■'  Yes  ;  but  we  will  be  cautious.     Mark  you 
this  dwelling." 

"  That  is  easily  done." 

"  Do  not  err,  for  your  life.  And  now  to  horse, 
instanter !     We  will  return,  anon  I" 

The  beggars  were  soon  out  of  sight,  and  as  has 
already  been  suspected  by  the  reader,  there  can 
be  little  question  of  their  identity  !  It  was  Ber- 
nard dc  Norde  who  had  listened  to  the  threats  of 
Ruberto  and  the  pleadings  of  Corrinne  for  the 
last  half  hour — and  his  companion  in  disguise 
was  the  hard-fisted,  redoubtable  Pierre,  his  lieu- 
tenant. They  had  contrived  to  purchase  the 
dfesses  an4  the  ij-bscnee  of  the  real  beggftrs,  who 


were  kno\vn  by  their  attire,  near  the  hotel,  and 
assuming  the  haliits,  and  manners,  and  tone  of 
voice  even,  which  those  mendicants  were  distin- 
guished for,  they  had  succeeded  in  deceiving 
Don  Miguel  completely,  and  at  the  same  time  in 
discovering  the  temporary  whereabouts  of  the 
lost  but  still  faithful  wife. 

The  two  robbers  rode  hard  to  head  quarters, 
and  upon  arriving  at  the  retreat  of  the  band,  de 
Norde  sprang  from  his  jaded  mare  and  sum- 
moned his  clan  around  him  instantly, 

"Men!"  he  said,  "1  have  an  enterprise  for 
you  in  wliich  I  feel  far  more  than  the  ordinary 
interest  which  attaches  to  our  expeditions,  and 
for  which,  if  successful  in  it,  you  shall  be  sump- 
tuously rewarded  for  the  peril  to  be  incurred." 

"  What  is  it,  captain  ?  What  is  it — where 
shall  we  follow  you  V  exclaimed  his  comrades, 
rife  for  the  proposition,  and  eager  to  be  busy. 

"  Fontini — now  self-styled  Don  Miguel  Ru- 
berto— has  played  me  false  again !  He  lives, 
comrades — he  has  dared  to  cross  my  path,  and 
has  offered  our  heads  for  sale  to  the  Neapolitan 
authorities." 

*'  Where  is  he?  where  can  we  find  him?" 
*'  Order,  then !  Be  quiet,  and  observe  my  in- 
structions. He  is  iu  Naples;  be  has  stolen  my 
brightest  jewel  from  me,  and  I  must  recover  it 
and  be  avenged.  Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost. 
Pierre  has  his  instructions  from  me,  in  detail. 
l<'ollow  his  orders,  and  I  will  meet  you  at  the 
scene  of  action.  The  mission  is  one  of  hazard, 
and  every  man  must  do  his  whole  duty,  for  his 
own  weal  and  the  success  of  my  plan." 

"  We  are  ready,  captain,"  was  the  immediate 
response  of  every  member  of  the  band. 

In  a  few  minutes  all  was  in  complete  readi- 
ness for  the  advance.  De  Norde  went  forward 
at  once,  and  Pierre,  with  a  dozen  stout-hearted, 
stalwort  followers,  quickly  followed  in  his  com- 
mander's footsteps. 

At  about  an  hour  before  midnight,  the  maraud- 
ers entered  the  city  in  pairs  ;  and  the  final  ren- 
dezvous having  been  agreed  upon,  and  the  sig- 
nals arranged,  Pierre  proceeded  to  reconnoitre, 
before  the  attack  was  undertaken. 

The  plot  was  well  laid  by  de  Norde,  who  had 
resolved  upon  making  a  dash  at  the  dwelling 
where  Corrinne  was  confined,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  confusion  which  must  ensue,  he  determin- 
ed to  carry  her  off,  at  the  hazard  of  his  life.  It 
was  a  bold  step,  but  no  other  resource  was  left 
him.  There  was  no  time  for  dallying  or  diplo- 
macy. A  coup  d'  etat  was  his  only  alternative, 
and  he  grasped  the  details  of  his  scheme  with 
the  readiness  of  an  accomplished  operator ! 


CHAPTER  XVL 

THE    ATTACK    AND    THE    KESCTJE. 

PnoMPTLY  to  the  moment  previously  agreed 
upon,  and  at  a  little  after  midnight,  the  band 
commenced  to  enter  the  city  at  different  points, 
and  under  diiferent  disguises,  each  man  being 
fuU}"^  armed,  and  as  fully  instructed  in  the  part 
he  should  take  in  the  contemplated  assault. 

Two  individuals  that  were  foremost  in  arriv- 
ing at  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  residence  of 
Ruberto's  friend,  stood  under  the  dark  shadow 
of  a  high  garden  wall,  and  conversed  together 
in  a  low  but  earnest  tone  of  voice.  They  were 
de  Norde  and  his  lieutenant. 

"Pierre,"  said  the  former,  "  jt  is  a  hazardous 
and  forbidding  undertaking.  The  ecrvants  and 
household  of  Montesquc  is  large,  and  the  odds 


would  be  against  us,  luider  ordinary  circumstan- 
ces here ;  for  I  would  not  harm  the  person  of 
this  man,  who  evidently  means  only  to  befriend 
our  antagonist  and  enemy;  neither  am  I  dis- 
posed to  injure  his  attendants.  He  has  never 
injured  me — " 

"  Hut,  the  lady  Con-inne — " 
"  Ay,  I*icrrc,  you  arc  right.  She  is  a  prisoner 
there.  You  may  smile  at  my  earnestness,  but  I 
tcU  you,  in  all  candor,  that  witliin  the  walls  of 
that  mansion  there  is  now  imprisoned  all  that  I 
hold  dear  in  life.  My  business  is  well  nigh  fin- 
ished, Pierre,  in  the  pi-ofcssion — " 

"  Ciiptain !"  exclaimed  Pierre,  with  startling 
emphasis  and  surprise,  "  what  mean  you  ?" 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  talk  of  this  at  another 
time ;  yet  I  am  disposed  to  quit  the  life  I  have 
led  so  long,  and  I  shall  name  my  successor,  you 
know,  by  our  rules." 

"  I  have  no  ambition,  captalM,  to  serve  under 
any  other  leader  than  yourself." 

"  Thanks,  Pierre — thanks.  We  have  stood 
by  each  other's  side  in  many  a  hard  skirmish, 
and  I  know  your  worth,  surely.  We  will  speak 
of  all  this  at  another  time.  But  our  present  busi- 
ness is  a  ixiovement  of  importance  to  me  ;  and  it 
must  be  adroitly  conducted,  or  blood  will  of  ne- 
cessity be  spilled  to-night.  I  would  avoid  this, 
Pierre," 

"  Your  orders  will  be  obeyed,  captain." 
"  I  know  it ;  and  this  is  the  reason  that  I  am 
now  so  particular." 

"  How  shall  we  proceed  V 
"I  will  only  repeat  what  I  have  already  di- 
rected you  to  do;  but  I  reiterate  it  because  I  de- 
sire only  to  get  possession  of  Corrinne.  So, 
then,  unless  we  fight  for  our  lives,  we  will  not 
discharge  a  pistol,  remember.  Our  men  here 
are  all  athletic  fellows,  and  they  must  be  discreet 
and  quick  in  their  movements,  and  all  will  go 
well,  I  think." 

"  Will  you  lead  us,  captain"?" 
"No.  You  may  lead  the  attack,  and  instruct 
the  men  to  stand  upon  the  reserve,  rather  than 
the  offensive.  We  will  force  our  entrance  with 
the  least  possible  disturbance,  if  we  find  it  neces- 
sary, though  I  hope  to  be  able  to  avoid  that  al- 
ternative, and  I  prefer  to  be  at  my  own  leisure 
afterwards  ;  for,  in  person,  will  I  seek  Corrinne, 
and  point  out  her  best  mode  of  escape.  See  that 
the  men  are  properly  stationed  to  guard  our  exit 
at  the  readiest  point,  when  we  appear,  and  above 
all,  avoid  confusion  and  noise,  unless  we  are 
compelled  to  use  arbitrary  force." 

"  I  understand,  captain.  But  how  will  you 
find  the  lady's  room  ?  Were  you  ever  in  the 
house?" 

"  No ;  but  that  will  be  explained  in  good  time. 
Meanwhile  are  you  ready  V 

"  The  men  are  at  this  moment  within  hailing 
distance.  But  what  have  you  here,  captain  V 
continued  Pierre,  as  de  Norde  drew  out  from 
beneath  the  folds  of  his  massive  cloak  a  rather 
wieldy  implement. 

"  This  is  a  part  of  my  armor,  Pierre  !"  replied 
Bernard,  good-humored ly.  "  You  have  seen  it 
before,  and  you  shall  now  observe  how  effective 
a  weapon  this  same  guitar  will  prove  !" 

"  Really,  captain,"  said  his  lieutenant,  quickly. 
"I  had  not  thought  it  such  a  matter,  but  you 
are  happy  in  the  selection  of  so  mild  a  weapon. 
The  plan  is  capital,  to  be  sure." 

"  Retire,  then,  Pierre,  and  watch  for  the  result. 
I  will  strike  the  strings  beneath  the  lower  wing 
of  the  dwelling,  where  I  suppose  she  may  rest. 
If  any  response  shall  follow,  be  ready  at  the 
word  with  the  men." 

"  You  may  count  on  us,  as  usual,"  replied 
Pierre ;  and  the  two  men  parted  company. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  the  chords  of  the 
guitar  which  de  Norde  had  brought  with  him  to 
the  spot,  were  swept  in  artistic  style,  and  a  clear, 
manly  voice,  yet  soft  and  subdued  in  tone,  ac- 
companied a  melody  familiar  to  the  ears  of  the 
prisoner  within. 

The  wife  of  Bernard  had  retired  to  her  couch 
for  the  night,  something  more  than  an  hour  pre- 
viously, but  not  to  slumber.  She  had  wept  and 
sighed,  and  yearned  for  the  opportunity  to  speak 
some  few  parting  words  to  him  she  loved  devot- 
edly, and  from  whom  she  had  been  so  suddenly 
separated. 

Her  heart  was  torn  with  the  cruel  act  of  Ru- 
berto, which  she  could  scarcely  realize  was  not  a 
fearful  dream,  rather  than  a  reality ;  and  her 
brain  was  wrought  up  almost  to  a  point  of  frenzy 
when  she  contemplated  the  consequences  which 
must,  in  her  belief,  succeed  the  development 
which  her  guardian  had  made  to  her,  in  reference 
to  her  husband's  real  cliaracter — if  Don  Miguel 
had  informed  her  correctly  I 


But  the  day  and  night  preceding  had  been  a 
tcn-ilde  period  for  her  young  heart,  and  she 
fc;ared  to  sec  ihe  morrow's  light — that  day  which 
would  withdraw  her,  peremptorily,  from  seeing 
de  Norde  again,  at  present,  if  ever. 

And  beside  this,  she  tortured  her  mind  with  a 
thouHsnd  imaginary  perils  which  Bernard  might 
have  been  subjected  to,  for  she  had  no  means  of 
knowing  what  had  become  of  him.  Kubcrto  had 
promised  hor  that  he  would  be  avenged  ;  and 
she  fjncicd,  as  ho  had  been  scrupulously  silent 
in  regard  to  her  husband's  fate,  that  Bernard  had 
either  been  sacrificed,  or  imprisoned,  perhaps, 
through  licr  guardian's  instrumentality.  Por 
herself,  however  much  she  might  have  felt  in- 
clined to  seek  him  out,  or  aid  him,  individually 
she  was  powcrles.s — and   she  could  only  weep  ! 

Heart-sick  and  utterly  broken  down  with  her 
grief,  she  had  thrown  herself  upon  her  couch, 
and  an  interval  of  wakeful  sleep  had  overcome 
her,  temporarily.  The  night  was  far  advanced, 
and  as  Corrinne  turned  upon  her  uneasy  pillow, 
she  heard,  or  thought  she  Iicard,  even  amid  her 
agitated,  tremulous  dream,  a  well  known  and  fa- 
vorite air  that  she  had  heard  liiin  .sing  before  !  It 
was  only  a  dream,  though  !  And  the  lovely  but 
persecuted  wife  slept  on  ;  for  it  was  sweet  even 
to  dream  of  the  happy  hours  and  scenes  which 
she  had  known  so  recently.  The  serenade  con- 
tinued— the  harp-string  leaped  with  melodious 
sweetness — the  voice  was  the  same  she  had  lis- 
tened to  in  brighter  hours  than,  this,  and  the 
words  were  familiar  indeed  : 

"  My  bark  is  on  the  waters,  love  I 
The  breeze  is  fresh  and  fair — 
Then  hie  thee  'neath  the  starlight,  love, 
My  happiness  to  siiare ! 

And  we'll  away — we'll  away — 
For  we  may  not  brook  delay  I 
Our  boat  is  at  the  shore, 

Let's  away — let's  away." 

Corrinne  was  awake  !  She  did  not  slumber ! 
She  did  not  dream — she  was  sure  of  this — and 
she  sprang  to  rhc  lattice  with  a  heart  full  of  hope  ! 
She  gazed  abroad,  she  saw  the  form  of  the  singer, 
she  doubted  no  longer — it  was  Bernard,  her  hus- 
band ;  he  was  safe,  and  had  come  to  claim  his 
bride ! 

The  faithful  woman  forgot  Don  Miguel ;  she 
forgot  all  he  had  said  of  Bernard ;  she  thought 
of  nothing  on  earth  save  her  immediate  desire  to 
see  him  and  fly!  No  matter  who  he  was,  no 
matter  whither  he  would  bear  her,  no  matter 
was  it  to  her  heart,  at  that  moment,  whether  or 
not  bis  name  were  a  terror  to  others — she  loved 
him  !  And  her  determination  was  quickly  made 
up.  Seizing  her  veil,  she  advanced  to  the  door 
of  her  chamber,  resolved  to  escape  without 
another  word  or  thought.  But,  to  her  surprise, 
after  removing  her  key,  she  found  the  door  of 
her  apartments  secured  upon  the  outside! 

This  had  been  done  by  order  of  Don  Miguel 
himself,  lest  his  fair  prisoner,  whom  he  knew  to 
be  equal  to  such  a  plot,  might  conclude  to  at- 
tempt her  escape  during  his  absence.  Bat  her 
next  movement  was  prompt  and  effective.  Re- 
turning to  the  window,  she  leaned  forward,  and 
beheld  her  husband  below,  backed  by  half  a 
score  of  friends,  who  had  just  responded  to  the 
preconcerted  signal. 

"  Hist !"  she  said,  quickly.  "  Bernard,  am  I 
not  deceived  ?" 

"  No,  loved  one,  you  are  correct.  I  came  to 
rescue  you.  Haste,  we  have  not  a  moment  to 
lose !" 

Matters  were  very  soon  explained,  in  distinct 
whispers,  and  de  Norde  learned  that  his  wife 
was  locked  up  in  her  sleeping  apartment,  from 
which  she.  had  not  the  means  of  egress.  Every 
apparently  approachable  portion  of  the  dwelling 
was  quietly  examined,  but  every  point  was  thor- 
oughly secured.  There  was  but  one  plan  left 
them. 

"  We  must  force  an  entrance,"  said  de  Norde, 
in  a  low  tone  to  Pierre  ;  "  there  is  no  other  alter- 
native. Let  us  retire  to  the  south  wing.  After 
mounting  the  piazza  there,  dash  out  one  of  the 
windows,  and  follow  me  within.  Is  the  horse 
saddled  V 

"Yes,  captain,  and  in  charge  of  Antoinc,  close 
at  hand." 

"  Good  !     Now,  then,  bring  up  the  men." 

In  another  moment  a  dozen  stout-armed  brig- 
ands were  clustered  together  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  piazza,  and  a  crash  was  lieai'd  as  the  case- 
ment and  lattice  gave  way  before  them,  Tho 
entrance  was  effected,  and  de  Norde  rushed  on, 
headlong,  he  knew  not  whither,  followed  by  one 
half  his  band. 

They  reached  the  main  hall,  mounted  the 
broad  stairs,  sprang  along  tho  corridor,  and  the 
voice  of  de  Norde  was  heard  to  call  upon  "  Cor- 
rinne !  Corrinne!  Corrinne!"  as  thev  advanced. 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DEAWI^^G   HOOM    COMrANIOX. 


227 


The  household  was  but  slowly  astir,  for  both 
the  proprietor  and  his  servants  slept  sountlly. 
Yet  the  confusion  had  become  too  great  to  es- 
cape the  observance  of  the  sleepers,  notwith- 
standing Bernard's  words  of  caution,  and  in  a 
few  seconds,  as  the  shrieks  of  Corrinne  increased, 
amid  her  excitement  and  fears,  the  servants  and 
tiieir  master  began  to  tumble  out  of  their  beds 
and  their  rooms,  to  learn  what  was  the  trouble. 

Tiie  attendants  rushed  along  through  the  dark- 
ness— Corrinne  continued  to  shout  her  husbands 
name,  and  de  Nordc  was  soon  before  the  door  of 
her  apartments. 

"Corrinne!"  he  shrieked,  "I  am  here,"  and 
as  the  door  gave  way  before  the  shoulders  of  hi-j 
foremost  men,  the  brigand  dashed  into  the  room, 
and  received  his  wife  in  his  arras  ! 

Quickly  he  bore  her  from  her  place  of  confine- 
ment, and  his  faithful  comrades  advancing  before 
him,  cut  a  passage  out  over  the  falling  forms  of 
the  terrified  servants,  who  had  crowded  them- 
selves for  a  moment  upon  the  stairs  and  within 
the  hall  below. 

rierre  advanced,  his  men  closed  up  the  rear; 
the  retreat  was  as  sudden  as  the  entrance  had 
been  successful,  and  long  before  the  astonished 
Montesquc  and  his  household  had  had  time  to 
gather  up  the  stunned,  but  not  severely  in- 
jured, valets,  or  to  inquire  what  and  how  it  had 
been  done,  Bernard  dc  Norde,  at  the  side  of  his 
lovely  wife,  was  galloping  out  of  Naples,  fol- 
lowed by  his  valiant  and  faithful  men  ! 

Don  Miguel  was  quietly  asleep  at  his  hotel. 
He  had  made  sure  of  his  victim  this  time,  and  he 
would  leave  Naples  in  the  morning,  accompanied 
by  his  ward  !  Such,  at  least,  had  been  his  in- 
tentions ! 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

HUSBAND    AND    WIFE — TIIE   EXPLANATION. 

The  shadows  of  evening  had  fallen  upon  the 
earth,  three  months  after  the  events  just  naiTated, 
and  the  attention  of  our  readers  is  now  invited 
to  a  happy  scene,  many  leagues  distant  from  the 
shores  of  Italy.  We  have  said  it  was  a  happy 
scene,  and  so  it  was;  Corrinne,  the  beloved  of 
Bernard — the  contented,  trusting  wife  of  de 
Norde — Corrinne  Almanza,  tliat  was — the  true 
and  loving  companion  of  the  whilom  robber- 
chief,  sat  by  the  side  of  that  same  brigand,  her 
lawful  husband,  in  a  superbly  decorated  apart- 
ment at  the  Hotel  I'Anglais,  at  Lyons,  in  France. 

"  Once  more,  Bernard,"  she  said,  as  he  clasped 
her  soft  wiiite  hand,  and  she  looked  up  lovingly 
into  his  handsome  face,  "  once  more  we  are  at 
ease,  comparatively,  and  safe  from  annoyance." 

"  Yes,  dear  Corrinne,"  responded  de  Norde, 
affectionately,  "  we  may  rest  here,  after  the  tu- 
multuous and  harassing  life  we  have  led  for  the 
past  tive  months,  and  feel  at  leisure.  1  promised 
you,  at  the  fitting  time,  to  tell  you  my  history, 
you  remember." 

"All,  Bernard,  you  may  well  believe  that  I 
have  not  forgotten  that.  But  we  have  had  little 
leisure  of  late  to  devote  to  it.     Yet  now — " 

"  I  will  anticipate  your  wish,  and  had  intended 
this  evening  to  explain  to  you,  briefly,  all  that 
you  need  to  know  of  me  and  mine." 

"  Thanks,  Bernard  ;  I  shall  listen  with  a  grate- 
ful ear  to  what  you  will  repeat." 

"  Of  my  early  days,  Corrinne,  I  know  very 
little.  As  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  I  never 
knew  the  smile  of  a  parent ;  and  I  can  now  but 
indistinctly  call  to  mind  the  friendship,  even,  of 
any  particular  individual.  I  was  reared  in  a 
place  now  unknown  to  me,  that  is,  up  to  the  age, 
as  I  suppose,  of  some  nine  or  ten  years.  About 
that  time,  I  recollect  being  placed  eai-ly  one  cold 
morning  in  a  diligence,  and  after  a  hard  ride  of 
fourteen  or  fifteen  hom-s,  was  set  down  at  an  in- 
different looking  house  in  the  city  of  Paris. 

"  There  I  continued  to  reside  for  three  years 
afterwards.  A  small  portion  of  the  first  two 
years  I  attended  a  school,  and  became  fond  of 
study  for  a  while;  but,  on  a  sudden,  without 
any  more  explanation  than  had  been  vouchsafed 
to  me  on  my  entrance,  and  with  as  little  cere- 
mony or  preparation,  I  made  my  exit  from  the 
great  metropolis,  and  was  taken  to  a  southern 
port — Marseilles — where  I  remained  some  fom- 
years  longer,  occupied  as  I  had  previously  been, 
and  supported  by  those  whom  I  never  knew  or 
saw. 

"  The  parties  who  had  me  nominally  in  their 
charge,  were  exceedingly  lax  in  their  manage- 
ment ;  and  I  soon  became  my  own  master.  I 
followed  my  own  inclinations — went  whither  my 
fancy  led  nie — returned  when  I  thought  proper 
so  to  do,  and  very  soon  made  them  tired  of  look- 
ing after  me  in  my  wanderings.    There  appeared 


to  me  to  be  no  required  accountability,  on  my 
part,  and  as  I  always  had  a  small  amount  of 
money  which  I  could  call  my  own,  I  frequently 
delayed  my  return  home  for  days  or  weeks — 
when  I  chose  to  absent  myself. 

"  In  the  meantime,  I  was  rapidly  growing  up, 
when,  one  day,  I  was  informed  by  my  guardian 
or  keeper,  or  whatever  he  was,  that  my  prolecteur 
had  become  bankrupt,  and  had  declined  to  ad- 
vance the  means,  thenceforward,  to  defray  the 
charge  of  my  board  and  contingent  expenses. 
And  that  1  must  find  other  accommodations,  and 
the  means,  too,  to  take  care  of  myself,  forthwith. 

'"  X  was  thus  thrown  upon  the  world  without  a 
franc — for  I  had  expended  all  my  money,  weeks 
beforc\  and  was  then  waiting  and  expecting  to 
receive  i;,  remittance — which  did  not  come,  by 
the  way,  ot  all !  I  knew  no  way  to  turn  to  ob- 
tain a  living,  and  I  had  not  had  a  suitable  edu- 
cation for  ordinary  business  pursuits. 

**But,  during  the  time  I  had  resided  in  Mar- 
seilles, I  Inid  met  with  a  famous  juggler  of  as- 
tonishing deceptive  powers,  into  whose  good 
graces,  before  I  had  been  driven  from  the  iiomc 
I  supposed  I  could  enjoy  forever,  I  had  ingrati- 
ated myself,  and  who  took,  a  singular  fancy  to 
me,  for  my  aptness  in  acquiring  a  knowledge  of 
his  tricks  and  various  manceuvenrgs.  To  him, 
then,  amid  my  prospective  difficulties,  I  immedi- 
ately appealed ;  and  he  willingly  assisted  me, 
when  I  madekno'wn  to  him  my  unfortunate  posi- 
tion. I  was  at  that  time  some  twenty  years  old, 
I  suppose. 

"  III  a  few  months  of  constant  practice  as  his 
confederate,  in  public  and  private,  I  became  con- 
versant with  his  system  of  machination  and  leg- 
erdemain, and  after  accompanying  him  through 
a  continental  tour,  which  comprised  some  three 
years  subsequently,  and  studying  attentively  the 
science  of  the  magical  or  "  black  "  art,  as  it  was 
termed,  I  became  a  proficient  in  the  business, 
changed  my  real  name  for  an  incognita  -which 
much  better  served  my  purposes,  and  started 
upon  my  own  account. 

"  I  was  eminently  successful  for  a  time,  but 
my  star  of  good  fortune  deserted  mc  in  an  evil 
hour,  and  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  rascal 
who  imposed  upon  and  well  nigh  ruined  mc,  ere 
I  liiul  the  power  or  the  will  to  recover  from  the 
dream  which  succeeded." 

"  And  who  was  this  person  V  asked  Corrinne, 
with  deep  sympathy. 

"  You  shall  learn  anon.  As  I  have  said,  in 
the  midst  of  comparative  prosperity,  I  encoun- 
tered, one  night,  at  the  hotel  where  I  was  t-em- 
porarily  halting,  a  stranger  of  prepossessing  ap- 
pearance and  manners,  who  had  during  the  eve- 
ning attended  one  of  my  exhibitions — so  he  said 
— and  who  desired  my  company  afterwards  at 
supper.  I  joined  him;  we  ate  and  we  drank, 
and  I  only  knew  that  he  recounted  to  me  certain 
exploits  upon  the  highway  and  in  the  mountains, 
in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  and  that  I  was 
fascinated  with  his  glowing  descriptions  of  the 
jolly  and  easy  life  of  a  brave  brigand!  I  listened 
to  him,  gave  him  my  confidence  and  my  prom- 
ise, and  \\'ithin  the  week  joined  his  robber-band 
and  became  an  outlaw,  under  command  of  the 
notorious  Fontini !" 

''Fontini^'  queried  Corrinne,  thoughtfully; 
"Fontini!  Siu'cly  I  have  heard  that  name 
before." 

"  Yes,  loved  one,  you  have;  but  listen  a  mo- 
ment yet.  I  continued  with  him  for  some  few 
years,  became  his  lieutenant  at  last ;  served  him 
and'his  cause,  to  my  own  frequent  discomfiture 
and  peril,  and  when  he  had  amassed  and  secured 
a  Iiandsome  fortune  as  chief  of  the  clan,  lie  re- 
tired and  named  me  his  successor ;  with  a  vol- 
imtary  promise  of  aid  whenever  I  might  need  it 
at  his  hands. 

"  Years  passed  away.  I  was  at  times  success- 
ful, at  other  limes  unlucky.  I  contrived  to  save 
some  portion  of  the  ill-acquired  gains  of  the  band, 
but  at  last  became  in  a  measure  needy ;  and 
then  I  cp.llcd  upon  the  man  whom  I  had  helped 
to  make  rich,  for  his  promised  aid  in  my  emer- 
gency ;  but  he  scouted  me,  and  refused  to  oblige 
me  with  the  loan  of  a  few  hundreds  of  the  many 
thousands  he  had  obtained  througli  my  assist- 
ance. It  was  not  my  money  ;  but  it  was  not  his  ! 
And  I  demanded  what  he  declined  to  lend  me. 

"  Corrinne  !  I  see  by  your  tremor  and  excite- 
ment that  you  suspect  the  rest.  Be  calm  ;  trust 
in  me  as  you  have  trusted;  and  be  sure  that  you 
will  never  liave  cause  to  regret  your  love  or  your 
confidence.  As  I  hope  for  mercy  and  indulgence 
here  or  hereafter,  what  I  now  speak  to  you  is 
tmth  !  That  ingrate- coward,  Fontini,  was  your 
guardian,  the  self-styled  Z)on  i\Ht]uel  Ruherio  I" 

"  Mon  Dieu  !"  exclaimed  the  wife,  scarcely 


knowing  what  she  heard  or  wliat  she  said  ;  "ray 
God  !  how  have  I  been  thus  deceived  !" 

"  Speak,  then,  Corrinne  Almanza!"  continued 
de  Norde,  wildly,  "  speak  !  Tell  me,  in  one 
word,  what  is  now  to  he  the  fate  of  Bernard  de 
Norde  !  How  I  have  loved  you,  how  my  all  of 
hope,  of  joy,  of  life  is  wrapped  up  in  your  weal 
and  happiness,  I  will  not  repeat  to  you.  Tell 
me,  I  say,  am  I  still  loved,  still  honored  ?  Shall 
I  still  retain  your  affection  and  your  confidence, 
since  now  you  know  inii  secret  and  your  oicn  V 

She  sprang  upon  his  neck,  and  while  ho  kissed 
away  the  flood  of  tears  that  gushed  from  the 
fountain  of  her  overcharged  heart,  as  she  remem- 
bered all  that  she  had  passed  through  for  him, 
and  with  him,  in  the  past  few  months,  she  reas- 
sured him  of  her  unalterable  affection  forever  ! 
under  all  circumstances  that  might  yet  be  in  store 
for  them  in  the  future  ! 

"  Bernard  !"  she  said,  "  if  it  may  afford  you 
one  moment  of  joy,  or  if  it  shall  haply  be  tlie  oc- 
casion of  relieving  you  from  a  doubt  of  my  de- 
Totedness,  let  me  pledge  anew  to  you  the  earn- 
estness of  that  love,  the  whole  of  that  heart  which 
you  alone  have  ever  occupied.  I  am  your  wife, 
Bernard — your  trusting,  loving  wife !  Believe 
me,  I  am  yours,  now  and  ever  !" 

Of  a  truth  was  it  a  happy  scene.  Corrinne 
had  now  learned  from  the  lips  of  the  only  man 
she  had  ever  loved,  his  story  from  his  childhood. 
She  could  easily  conceive  how  such  a  man  as 
she  knew  Don  Miguel  to  be,  could  manage  to 
entangle  and  lead  astray  an  ardent,  careless 
youth,  like  her  lover,  in  his  earlier  years.  But 
all  had  now  been  explained  to  her  satisfaction, 
and  she  could  look  forward  to  the  future  with 
brighter  hopes. 

Bernard  had  assured  her  that  his  "  professional 
business"  in  the  mountains  was  over.  He  had 
already  separated  himself  from  his  band,  and 
measures  were  at  that  moment  in  progress  for 
the  pardon  of  the  brigands,  from  both  the  Span- 
ish and  Portuguese  governments,  who  were 
about  to  issue  their  proclamations  to  this  effect, 
after  in  vain  endeavoring  to  subdue  the  robbers 
by  force. 

De  Norde  had  resolved  upon  quitting  the  con- 
tinent, and  purposed  to  retire  to  England  to  re- 
side with  his  fond  and  lovely  wife.  He  had  not 
saved  much  out  of  the  gains  of  his  "  lieuten- 
antcy,"  but  iu  his  magical  profession  he  was 
still  an  adept,  and  he  did  not  fear  for  the  future, 
in  a  pecuniary  view. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

RUnERTO,  BERNARD  AND  CORRINNE. 

"WiiEN  Don  Miguel  arrived  at  his  friend's 
mansion  in  Naples,  and  learned  the  story  of  Cor- 
rinnc's  escape,  and  the  particulars  of  the  night 
attack  of  the  I'obbers,  he  was  not  at  a  loss  quickly 
to  determine  in  his  own  mind  by  whom  the  cap- 
turers  were  led  on,  in  this  bold  and  reckless  en- 
terprise. He  was  very  much  exasperated  at  the 
result  of  the  scheme,  and  his  regrets  were  great 
at  the  loss  of  his  ward  again ;  the  possession  of 
whose  person  he  thought  he  had  made  himself 
sure  of ! 

He  left  Naples  forthwith,  returned  to  the  vi- 
cinity of  Seville,  where,  with  his  large  means  he 
had  been  erecting  his  house  again,  and  after  a 
few  weeks  delay  and  inquiry,  he  started  for  the 
north,  once  more,  in  search  of  the  fugitives.  He 
met  witli  no  success,  however  ;  and  was  unable, 
with  all  his  cunning  and  management,  to  obtain 
a  word  of  accurate  information  regarding  Ber- 
nard or  Corrinne. 

At  last,  though  he  dreaded  the  peril  of  the 
undertaking,  lest  he  should  be  beaten  or  foiled 
in  his  plan,  at  heavy  cost,  perhaps,  he  resolved 
upon  going  to  the  mountains  once  more,  among 
his  old  haunts,  where  he  would  be  able,  haply, 
to  meet  with  some  of  his  former  followers,  who 
perhaps  would  give  him  such  a  clue  to  the  where- 
abouts of  de  Norde,  as  would  afford  him  a  meet- 
ing with  him  upon  such  terms  as  he  could  best 
arrange  afterwards. 

With  this  determination,  he  left  such  directions 
for  the  finishing  of  his  mansion  as  were  necessa- 
ry, and  departed  upon  his  proposed  journey. 
Witliin  a  fortnight  he  had  learned  all  t\\s,t  I^e 
desired,  from  communication  with  a  straggler  or 
two  whom  he  bribed,  en  route,  and  with  hjgh 
hopes,  instead  of  returning  to  Seville,  he  pro- 
ceeded on  toward  Paris  with  the  religious  inten- 
tion of  arresting  and  denouncing  Bernard  as 
soon  as  he  should  chance  to  fall  in  with  him. 
But  his  former  lieutenant  was  not  easily  trapped, 
and  he  had  not  been  idle  either,  since  his  arrival 
in  France. 

On  the  third  evening  after  the  interview  we 


have  just  narrated  between  de  Norde  and  Cor- 
rinne had  occurred,  a  gentleman  called  at  their 
lodgings  in  Lyons,  and  inquired  if  the  "  Count 
Antienne"  could  be  seen — this  title  being  the 
cognomen  which  Bernard  still  used,  for  his  tem- 
porary piu'poses.  The  count  chanced  to  be  ab- 
sent at  the  opera,  and  tlie  gentleman  retunied 
again,  three  hours  subsequently,  to  see  him  upon 
business  of  importance. 

When  the  count  alighted  from  his  carriage, 
and  handed  his  wife  up  the  hall  to  his  parlor, 
this  stranger  stood  quite  near  his  door ;  and  the 
attendant  passed  him  the  latter's  card  as  he  was 
about  to  enter  his  room.  The  gentleman  fol- 
lowed him  directly  into  the  apartment,  and  as 
de  Norde  read  the  name  of  Raberio  upon  the  card 
in  his  hand,  he  started ;  but  the  gentleman  said  : 

"  At  your  service,  count.     Do  you  recollect 

The  attendant  retired,  the  door  was  closed, 
and  the  three  old  acquaintances  stood  together, 
not  a  little  embarrassed  or  alarmed — Buberto, 
Bernard,  and  Corrinne ! 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  wife  of  de  Norde 
found  herself  able  to  stand,  for  an  instant,  for 
she  could  not  account  for  this  strange  and  sud- 
den apparition.  As  for  de  Norde,  his  wits  did 
not  often  desert  him  ;  but  now  he  felt  peculiarly 
ill  at  his  ease,  under  the  unexpected  circumstan- 
ces. Don  Miguel  was  stern,  firm,  impudent, 
and  as  cold  as  marble  ! 

"  I  see — you  do  recollect  me,  count,"  he  re- 
marked, as  soon  as  suflScient  time  had  elapsed 
for  a  thorough  recognition.  "And  as  for  you, 
signora,"  he  continued,  turning  severely  to  Cor- 
rinne, "  you,  I  think,  cannot  have  forgotten  Don 
Miguel  Euberto,  your  protector,  friend  and  legal 
guardian  !" 

"  Shall  we  not  be  seated?"  inquired  Don  Mig- 
uel, with  affected  blandness,  for  the  moment. 
"  I  have  a  little  business  of  some  consequence 
here  to-night,  and  my  time  is  precious.  So, 
since  we  know  each  other,  we  will  dispense  with 
formalities,  count,  by  your  leave." 

Bernard  was  waiting  a  little  to  recover  himself 
from  the  impi-ession  which  the  unanticipated 
presence  of  his  enemy  had  caused  ;  and  he  quick- 
ly answered : 

"  By  what  right,  signer,  you  now  intrude  your- 
self upon  ray  privacy,  I  am  altogether  at  a  loss 
to  decide.     I  am  here — " 

"As  the  Count  Antienne,  nominally,"  said 
Ruberto,  with  warmth,  "  but  really  as  Bernard 
de  Norde,  the  outlaw — a  robber,  for  whose  head 
the  Spanish  government  have  made  a  standing 
offer  of  five  hundred  ducats!" 

"  And  you  are — " 

"Don  Miguel  Buberto!"  said  the  Spaniard, 
instantly.  "  A  man  who  comes  hither  with  sub- 
stantial credentials,  which  it  is  not  now  in  yonr 
power  to  invalidate  ;  and  who  has  a  long  account 
to  settle  with  a  knave  and  a  thief.  As  for  the 
lady,  yonder — " 

"  Slie  is  my  wife,  signor  !" 

"  She  is  mij  ward,  villain  !"  responded  Ruberto, 
sharply.  "  And,  as  I  live,  she  will  leave  Lyons 
in  my  charge." 

"Never!"  said  Corrinne,  bravely.  "  O,  sig- 
nor— "  she  then  added,  more  timidly,  for  she 
scarcely  knew  what  she  had  said,  in  her  excite- 
ment. "  O,  signor,  if  there  remain  in  your  heart 
one  spark  of  feeling  for  her  whom  you  professed 
to  have  regarded  as  your  child,  I  conjure  you  do 
not  pursue  us  farther;  do  not  place  my  husband 
again  in  peril !" 

"  Corrinne  !"  exchi,imc<l  de  NoA'de^  excitedly, 
"I  desire  that  you  retire  at  once,  and  leave  us  to 
adjust  our  business  like  men." 

"  No,  no,,  no  !"  shrieked  the  wife,  in  miserable 
dread,  "  do  not  urge  me  thus,  Bernard;  do  not 
drive  me  away !  I  beseech  you  suffer  me  to  re- 
main beside  you,  whatever  is  to  be  the  result  of 
this  painful  meeting." 

"  You  will  grant  my  request,  Comnne,  on  tii^s 
occasion,  I  know,"  responded  de  Norde,  kindly. 
"  This  interview  has  nought  qf  interest  fpj-  yftiir. 
ears,  and  I  insist-^" 

"  No,  no  !  I  will  not  leave  you,  Bernard !  By 
our  love,  oiyhppcs,  our  promises  and  faith,  I 
beg  you  not  to  deny  my  presence  here.  I  will 
he  calm,  dear  Bernard,  and  since  yciii  iivis^  it, 
^vill  have  nothing  more  to  say," 

[to   Bfl   CONTINPED.] 


Yjce  aiifl  laziness  have  everywhere  their  vota- 
ries, and  the  vestiges  of  the  "shabby  footstep" 
are  to  be  met  with  in  all  places.  No  human  be- 
ings ever  congregated  into  a  community  without 
including  among  themselves  the  just  and  the 
unjust,  the  wise  and  the  ignorant,  the  evil  and 
the  good. 


228 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


r" 


^W.    ^- 


Wi 

1  /   .  J% 

DRY  DIGGING  ON  THE  TURON. 


A  CRADLER. 


GOLD  FIELDS  OF  AUSTRALIA. 

On  this  and  the  opposite  page  we  give  a 
very  interesting  series  of  pictures  exhibiting 
the  present  operation  of  the  gold  diggers  on 
the  Turon  River,  in  New  South  Wales.  The 
Turon  is  a  river  rising  in  the  county  of  Rox- 
burgh, near  Cullen  Cullen,  which  divides  that 
county  from  Wellington,  and  also  flows  into 
the  Macquarrie.  Upon  this  modern  Pactolus 
has  been  planted  Ophir,  named  from  the 
"golden  land"  of  Scripture.  Tlie  first  and 
second  sketches  illustrate  the  difference  be- 
tween "  dry  diggings  "  and  "  wet  diggings." 
The  wet  diggings  are  those  carried  on  in  the 
bed  of  a  river;  the  dry  diggings,  in  the  gen- 
eral spread  of  drift  lying  over  the  country. 
Wc  can  now  understand  why  it  is  that  gold- 
washing,  or  the  extraction  of  golden  frag- 
ments from  the  drift  of  a  country  is  much 
more  profitable  than  gold-mining.  In  gold- 
mining  vast  quantities  of  hard  rock  have  to 
be  quarried  and  removed,  to  be  crushed  by 
powerful  machinery,  and  to  be  washed  over 
and  over  again,  or  to  be  treated  by  other  ex- 
pensive processes;  while  in  gold-washing,  or 
separating  gold  from  drift,  all  the  mining  and 
the  crushing,  and  a  good  part  of  the  washing 
of  materials  have  been  already  done  for  the 
miner  by  nature.  It  is  woithy  of  note  that  we 
owe  the  discovery  of  gold  in  Australia  to  the 
high  state  of  geological  science.  Sir  R.  Mur- 
cliison,  in  his  address  to  the  London  Geo- 
graphical Society  in  1844,  alluded  to  the  pos- 
sibly auriferous  character  of  the  Great  East- 
ern Chain  of  Australia,  being  led  thereto  by 
his  knowledge  of  the  auriferous  chain  of  the 
Ural,  and  by  his  examination  of  the  Count 
Strzelecki's  specimens,  maps  and  sections. 
Some  of  SirR.  Murchison's  observations  hav- 
ing found  their  way  to  the  Australian  papers, 
a  Mr.  Smith,  at  that  time  engaged  in  some 
iron  works  at  Berrima,  was  induced  by  them 
in  the  year  1849  to  search  for  gold,  and  he 
found  it.  He  sent  the  gold  to  the  Colonial 
Government,  and  offered  to  disclose  its  local- 
ity on  payment  of  ^500.  The  government, 
however,  not  putting  full  faith  in  the  state- 
ment, and  being,  moreover,  unwilling  to  en- 
courage a  gold  fever  without  sufHcient  reason, 
declined  to  grant  the  sum,  but  ottered,  if  Mr. 
Smith  would  mention  the  locality,  and  the 
discovery  was  found  to  be  valuable,  to  reward 
him  accordingly.  Very  unwisely,  as  it  turns 
out,  Mr.  Smith  did  not  accept  this  offer ;  and 
it  remained  for  iVIr.  Hargraves,  who  came 
with  the  prestige  of  his  California  experience. 


GmhPnm  QMPum. 


RIVER-BED  CLAIM  ON  THE  TURON. 


to  re-make  the  discovery, 
and  to  get  the  reward 
from  the  English  govern- 
ment on  their  own  condi- 
tions. The  first  discovery 
was  made  in  the  banks  of 
the  Summer  Hill  Creek 
and  tlie  Lewis  Ponds  Riv- 
er, small  streams  which 
run  from  the  northern 
flank  of  the  C^nobalas 
down  to  the  Macquarrie. 
The  gold  was  found  in 
the  -land  and  gravel  accu- 
mulated, especially  on  the 
inside  of  the  bends  of  the 
brook,  and  at  the  junction 
of  the  two  water-courses, 
where  the  stream  of  each 
would  be  often  checked 
by  the  other.  It  was  coarse 
gold,  showing  its  parent 
site  to  be  at  no  great  dis- 
tance, and  probably  in  the 
quartz  veins  traversing 
the  metamorphic  rocks 
of  the  Conobalas.  Mr. 
Stutchbury,  the  govern- 
ment' geologist,  reported 


on  the  truth  of  the  discovery,  and  shortly  after- 
wards found  gold  in  several  other  localities, 
especially  on  the  banks  of  the  Turon,  some 
distance  northeast  of  the  Conobalas.  This 
was  a  much  wider  and  more  open  valley  than 
the  Summer  Hill  Creek,  and  the  gold  accord- 
ingly was  much  finer,  occurring  in  small 
scales  and  flakes.  It  was,  howcvt  r,  more 
regularly  and  equably  distributed  through  the 
soil,  so  that  a  man  might  reckon  with  the 
greatest  certainty  on  the  quantity  his  daily 
labor  would  return  him.  At  the  head  of  the 
Turon  River,  among  the  dark  glens  and  gul- 
lies in  which  it  collects  its  head  waters,  in  the 
flanks  of  the  Blue  Mountains,  the  gold  got 
"  coarser,"  occurred  in  large  lumps  or  nug- 
gets, but  these  being  more  sparingly  scattered. 
In  description  of  our  illustrations: — 1.  Dry 
Digging  on  the  Turon. — This  claim  has  proved 
one  of  the  richest  finds  on  the  river;  it  was 
originally  in  the  possession  of  two  boys,  nam- 
ed Ranger,  who  worked  about  one  fourth  and 
procured  several  hundred  pounds  worth  of 
gold.  The  remainder  of  the  ground  was  pur- 
chased by  a  Mr.  T.  W.  Campbell,  for  £700, 
and  it  has  since  yielded  in  one  day  about 
ninety  ounces  of  gold — about  400  ounces  be- 
ing taken  after  the  purchase.  The  largest 
piece  of  gold  yet  found  on  the  Turon,  we 
learn,  is  "  The  Mitchell  Nugget."  This  mag- 
nificent pieceof  gold,  weighing  53  oz.  8  dwts., 
was  met  with  opposite  IMundy  Point,  on  the 
Turon  River,  New  South  Wales.  It  is  per- 
fectly solid,  and  is  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick 
generally,  increasing  in  some  places  to  half 
an  inch.  It  was  not  got  out  of  the  bed  of  the 
river,  but  of  a  former  channel  of  the  waters, 
now  upheaved  about  100  feet  above  the  pres- 
ent water  level.  This  is  the  largest  piece  yet' 
found  on  the  Turon.  Only  the  Ophir  Dig- 
gings have  yielded  such  masses.  In  the  Riv- 
er-Bed  Claim  are  shown  the  men  at  the  pump, 
which  is  lowered  to  the  depth  of  twelve  or 
fourteen  feet  from  the  surface.  It  is  support- 
ed by  two  saplings,  placed  on  either  side,  and 
extending  across  the  pit  or  shaft,  which  is 
generally  from  twelve  to  fourteen  feet  in 
width.  The  workmen  at  Ihe  pump  are  sup- 
ported on  a  sheet  of  bark,  which  is  placed 
across  the  saplings,  as  is  also  the  figure  bend- 
ing over  for  the  purpose  of  raising  the  bucket 
containing  the  earth  or  washing -stuff.  The 
bark  shoot,  which  is  attached  to  the  pump, 
conveys  the  water  in  the  direction  of  the  crad- 
ler  in  the  foreground,  where  it  is  received  in 
a  basin  or  hole  made  for  the  purpose :  this 


WASHIJNG  THE  GOLl . 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DUAWIXG   ROOM    COMPANIOX. 


229 


METHOD  OF  REM0\1NG  GOODS. 


DODGING  THE  COJIMISSIONER. 


plan  is  generally  adopted,  unless  the  channel  of  the  river  is  near 
at  hand,  as  it  saves  the  labor  of  carrying?  tlie  earth,  in  some  places, 
upwards  of  150  yards.  In  the  cut  representing  tlie  Cradler, 
given  on  the  preceding  page,  a  sturdy  figure  is  shown  in  the  atti- 
tude of  rocking  and  baling ;  and  it  requires  both  muscular 
power  and  practice  to  make  a  good 
cradler.  Many  there  are  who,  in  the 
summer  months,  rock  nine  or  ten 
hours  a  day;  the  work  is  constant, 
and  boars  very  heavily  on  the  left  arm 
and  right  wrist.  The  hopper,  which 
receives  the  earth  and  stones,  when 
filled,  often  weighs  from  fifty  to  sixty 
pounds,  and  before  the  earth  is  washed 
off,  drags  very  heavily  ;  and  the  baler 
or  dipper  holds  from  two  to  three 
quarts  of  water.  There  is,  however, 
much  difference  in  cradles,  and  the 
manner  of  pitching  them  :  the  rockers 
should  be  well  shod  with  iron,  and  the 
sleepers  should  also  have  an  iron 
tram ;  when  the  cradle,  if  properly 
poised,  will  run  smoothly  and  evenly. 
Many  of  the  cradlers  lose  a  third  or 
more  of  the  gold  for  want  of  a  proper 
use  of  the  rocker.  Rivers  are  great 
natural  cradles  sweeping  off  all  the 
lighter  and  finer  particles  at  once,  the 
heavier  ones  either  sticking  against 
natural  impediments,  or  being  left 
wherever  the  current  slackens  its  force 
or  velocity.  A  cradle  is  a  wooden 
trough,  wiih  several  "  cleets,"  or  ribs 
fastened  across  its  bottom.  Into  the 
head  of  it  is  placed  a  quantity  of 
auriferous  sand  or  gravel,  water  is 
poured  over  it,  and  motion  communi- 
cated by  rocking  and  tilting  the  cra- 
dle. The  running  water  carries  off 
all  the  lighter  matter,  and  leaves  the 
heavy  stone;  and  lumps  of  gold  either 
in  the  head  of  the  cradle,  or  accumu- 
lated at  its  bottom  against  the  "elects"  fastened  across  to  arrest 
them.  Turning  the  bed  of  a  river,  then,  wherever  such  a  ma- 
noeuvre is  practicable,  is  like  a  miner  examining  the  bottom  of 
his  cradle ;  and  if  it  happens  to  be  done  at  the  right  spot,  where 
there  are  several  natural  "  elects,"  or  bars,  or  where  there  are 


holes  in  the  rock  for  the  gold  to  drop  into,  it  is  likely  to  be  re- 
warded very  richly  by  the  accumulated  results  of  centuries  of  nat- 
ural gold  washings.  On  the  preceding  page  is  also  given  a  cut 
representing  children  cradling,  many  of  whom  earn  a  considerable 
sum.     Some  children  thus  earn  from  £3  to  £4  per  week.     Many 


A  DISAPPOINTED  GOLD  SEEKER. 


POST-OFFICE,  SOFALA,  TURON  RIVER. 

work  the  earth  that  has  been  previously  run  through  the  cradles 
from  some  of  the  richer  claims  ;  and  as  many  of  the  cradles,  from 
bad  management,  lose  a  great  quantity  of  gold,  tbe  lads  make  a 
good  living.  Three  shillings  worth  of  gold  are  sometimes  ob- 
tained from  a  single  pan  of  refuse  on  the  banks  of  the  Turon. 
The  manner  of  wasliing  the  gold  is  also  shown  on  tbe  preceding 
page.  Suppose  the  day's  cradling  over  :  the  miner  takes  to  the 
water's  edge  the  tin  disli,  or  "prospecting  pan,"  wherein  the  gold 
is  mostly  placed  when  scraped  from  the  cradle  side ;  he  then  dips 
the  dish  into  the  water,  and  quickly  draws  it  upwards,  by  which 
motion  the  portions  of  earth  and  gravel  gradually  slide  out  of  the 
pan.  When  any  of  the  lighter  particles  of  gold  show  on  the  sur- 
face, the  tin  is  shaken  by  a  sharp  motion  of  the  arms,  in  a  hori- 
zontal direction,  backwards  and  forwards,  when  tlie  gold  almost 
immediately  sinks  to  the  bottom  of  the  dish.  The  washing  re- 
quires some  care  and  practice.  Beginners  use  two  dishes  :  one  to 
hold  the  water,  so  that  any  gold  escaping  from  the  first  is  not  lost. 
The  usual  method  adopted  by  the  gold  seekers  of  the  Turon  in 
sliifcing  tlieir  goods  from  one  locality  to  another,  is  represented 
in  the  engraving  above.  The  handbarrow  is  soon  found ;  two 
saplings  are  cut,  on  them  a  few  wooden  stretchers  are  tied  cross- 
wise, and  a  piece  of  bark  placed  upon  them,  the  goods  being 
lushed  over  all.  In  the  annexed  engraving  is  given  a  representa- 
tion, of  gold-seekers  dodging  the  commissioner.  The  seeker  hav- 
ing discovered  gold,  next  obtains  a  license,  which  is  granted  on 
application  to  the  commissioner.  Sometimes,  however,  disputes 
arise  ;  and  here  we  have  a  commissioner  settling  a  dispute  with 
two  of  the  diggers ;  he  is  attended  by  one  of  the  mounted  police 
force,  who  carries  the  license-book.  In  this  picture,  also,  are  seen 
some  cradlers  and  diggers  at  work  ;  and  a  few  "  absconders,"  who 
are  endeavoring  to  evade  the  commissioner,  being  either  unable 
or  unwilling  to  pay  the  license-money.  In  the  extreme  distance 
on  the  heiglits  are  some  of  the  mounted  police  cutting  off  the  re- 
treat of  the  *'  absconders  "  up  the  gully.  Jn  the  engraving  above 
is  given  a  picture  of  the  post  office  at  Sofala,  on  the  Turon.  This 
rud.e  "public  office"  is  built  with  timber  uprights  and  window- 
bars,  and  is  roofed  with  sheets  of  bark.  The  golden  dream  is 
often  broken  with  sad  realities  here  as  elsewhere.  There  are 
many  persons  at  the  gold  fields  who  have  worked  hard  and  strug- 
gled for  months,  with  little  or  no  success  ;  while  others  are,  in  a 
like  ratio,  fortunate.  One  of  the  former  class  is  portrayed  here  : 
he  has  been  digging  at  tlie  root  of  a  tree,  and  his  dejected  and 
vexed  expression  tells  with  wliat  ill  fortune.  In  our  series,  "last 
of  all  comes  death" — The  Gold  Seekers'  Graves  on  the  Turon. 
In  this  lone  locality  is  the  last  earthly  resting-place  of  three  gold- 
seekers.  The  centre  mound,  immediately  beneath  tbe  tree,  is  the 
grave  of  a  gentleman  long  known  and  respected  in  the  colony, 
and  whose  premature  loss  was  deeply  regretted.  The  convict 
population  of  Australia  is  becoming  an  orderly  society  under  the 
nilliience  of  the  gold  discoveries.  Despite  of  the  ruinous  effects 
of  fifty  years  of  felony,  domestic  relations  and  domestic  virtues 
are  rapidly  growing  up.  Homesteads  are  eagerly  sought  after  by 
the  men  who  have  laoored  for  a  few  mdntlis  in  the  rivere  and 


creeks.  The  Australian  gold-digger  has  no  sooner  filled  his 
pockets,  then  ho  sets  to  work  to  settle  his  wife  comfortably  in  a 
cottage  with  a  neat  garden  There  is  a  very  general  disposition 
in  the  successful  miners  to  invest  their  earnings  in  real  estate.  In 
closing  this  scries  of  sketches,  some  little  account  of  the  geogra- 
phy of  Australia  may  not  be  uninter- 
esting. The  continent  of  Australia 
lies  between  10  deg.  39  min.  and  39 
deg.  II  min.  south  lat.,  and  extends 
from  113  deg.  5  min.  to  153  deg.  16 
min.  east  long.  In  form  it  is  very 
compact;  its  greatest  length,  from 
west  to  east,  between  Dirk  Hartoy's 
Point  and  Sandy  Cape,  being  2400 
miles,  its  greatest  width  from  north 
to  south  between  Cape  York  and 
Cape  Wilson,  1971  miles.  Its  aver- 
age length  and  width  may  perhaps  be 
estimated  at  1800  and  1500  miles  re- 
spectively; its  coast-line  at  7750  miles, 
and   its  area  is   estimated   at  about 

, 3,000,000  square  miles.     A  remark- 

'^^^A'^'w  1 1         I  ^'*^^  feature  in  the  Australian  coast  is 

•^  «SS  1.(1    1     I  ^-  jj^g  j.Qj^|  absence  of  outlets  for  any 

large  rivers.  The  south  coast,  through 
a  length  of  more  than  20  deg.,  is  gen- 
erally low  and  sandy,  with  only  hero 
and  there  some  eminences,  and  scarce- 
ly anywhere  exhibiting  a  high  inland 
country.  On  the  east  a  range  of 
mountains  rises  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  coast,  extending  from  the 
southern  extremity  of  the  continent 
as  far,  at  least,  as  the  26th  parallel, 
and,  most  probably,  as  far  as  Cape 
T  '^£^1—^^^^  ^""^  York,  on  Torres  Straits,  the  most  rc- 

~      — Tr:=>-j .-  mote  point  of  the  mainland  towards 

the    north.     Low   levels,   with    only 
here  and  there  some  elevations  of  no 
character,  mark,  also,  tlie  shoi'e  west 
of  Carpentaria,  as  far  as  Cape  Lon- 
donderry, where  the  land  begins  to 
trend  towards  the  southwest.     The  west  coast,  as  low  as  22  deg., 
and,  again,  between    13  deg.  and  16  deg.  south,  appears  to  re- 
semble that  on  the  east.     Between  22  deg.  and  14  deg.  500  miles 
of  roast  are  wholly  unknown.     On   our   last  page  will  also   be 
found  another  view  relating  to  the  gold  of  Australia. 


GOLu  seekers'  graves  on  the  turon. 


230 


GLEASON'S   PICTOrJAL   DRAWING   UOOM   COIMPANION. 


[Writtuii  for  aioiisoii'H  I'lctoriiil.] 
WHKltE  AUK  TllOai-:  FJjOWEKS! 

IIV  0.   U.   DUNN. 

IVhore  iini  tlioso  ilowors  that  Mooiiiod  hi  Juno, 

Tlinm*  lloworH  tliiit  wcvti  m  swi'L't; 
WJioso  fVaf.;rant  lips,  ftt  niorn'H  firot  hour, 

AVith  lil'u'H  full  pulso  (.lid  bent? 
Yes,  whoi't'  ar«  ttioci!  flwcrt  cuihleiiiK  biiyht, 

Thiit  UMi:d  to  mi  tho  valo 
With  fuiiios  of  iiicoiiHi!  over  swuiit, 

Aud  hcautify  tho  tlalo? 

I  Hiiilly  whisper,  tihoy  am  gone, 

Bright  Huunior's  fairost  Howltb  ; 
They  liountombod  in  Itiify  graven, 

That  Ml(!op  'noath  sylvan  howui'S. 
Those  lovoly  flowurs  that  bloomed  in  Juno, 

Were  beautiful  aud  sweet; 
■When  on  tliclv  lips  woro  visible, 

The  tread  of  dewy  feet. 

But  atiglit  that'll  animato  mu&t  die, 

The  beautiful  and  pure  : 
Alike  the  wicked  and  corrupt 

Are  no'er  from  deatli  secure. 
Thus  pasted  away  thoi^o  Howers  of  Juno, 

Mid  nature's  wildest  bowers; 
They  perished,  for  their  lives  were  but 

One  tieeting  week  of  hours. 


[Ti'vitteu  for  Cleason'^s  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.    V. 
OFFICEES  OF  STATE. 

BY  BR.  JE110M13  V.  C.  SMITH, 

ADTHOK    OF    A     "PILGBIUAOE    TO    EGYPT." 

The  Grand  Vi/.icr  is,  theoretically,  the  first 
and  most  important  personage  in  the  govern- 
ment next  to  the  Sultan.  Still,  the  hlack  eu- 
nuch, who  is  constantly  brought  in  contact  with 
the  sovereign,  from  the  peculiarity  of  his  func- 
tions, is  truly  more  influential,  and  has  a  better 
opportunity  of  influencing  the  opinions  of  his 
master,  than  any  other  man  in  tlie  nation,  how- 
ever exalted  his  oflicial  station. 

A  council  of  ministers  is  termed  the  divan,  of 
which  the  Sadrazan,  or  the  Vizier,  is  president. 
The  Kaimakan  is  a  singular  kind  of  officer, 
whose  business  is  to  represent  the  Grand  Vizier 
in  processions,  when  he  happens  to  dislike  the  oc- 
casion or  fatigue  of  the  ceremony;  or  he  sits  to 
represent  him  in  the  department  of  state,  when 
he  does  take  it  into  liis  head  to  appear  before 
the  people  on  certain  occasions. 

The  Seraskier  Pasha,  commander-in-cin'ef  of 
the  land  forces,  Tophdgi  Pasha,  commander  of 
the  artillery,  Capudan  Pasha,  commander  of  the 
navy — who  is  positively  absolute  in  wh.atever  re- 
lates to  the  marine  forces — while  the  Tersana 
Emini  is  the  minister  of  marine,  Eels  EfTcndi, 
secretary  of  state  for  foreign  affairs,  Tefterdav 
Effendi,  minister  of  linance,  Kiaja  Bey,  minister 
of  the  interior,  Chiaoush  Bashi,  minister  of 
justice. 

The  Stamboul  Effendi  is  prefect  of  police,  in 
Constanthiople,  who  secures  public  tranquillity 
and  security.  The  Sheik  Islam  is  the  Grand 
Mufii,  equivalent  to  the  lord  bishop  of  Canter- 
bury— being  the  head  and  fountain  of  religion, 
and  also  of  the  law.  Whenever  it  is  his  master's 
pleasure  to  ]mt  him  to  death,  a  fundamental  or- 
dmance  of  tlie  empire  requires  it  can  be  done  in 
no  other  way  than  by  pounding  him  in  a  movtar. 

Immediately  below  these  are  various  orders  of 
dignitaries  in  the  administrative  department, 
quite  too  numerous  to  particularize  in  this  brief 
outline  of  the  organization  of  the  government. 
In  all  respects,  tliey  correspond  to  public  ser- 
vants of  all  grades  necessary  for  conducting  the 
machinery  of  state  in  all  countries.  The  only 
essential  difference  is  in  their  names,  rather  than 
duties.  The  royal  household,  however,  is  con- 
ducted wholly  unlike  any  other  imperial  estab- 
lishment on  earth,  and  naturally  enough  took 
the  direction  which  polygamy  and  exhaustless 
resources  would  be  likely  to  assume. 

Without  narrating  the  customs  that  were  for- 
merly dominant,  in  wliich  the  Kislar  Agha  had 
the  Sultan's  car  almost  exclusively,  and  com- 
bined with  the  great  office  of  keeper  of  the  maid- 
ens, that  of  a  minister  of  state,  the  court  cLiquette 
of  to-day  will  only  be  considered. 

One  of  the  barbariries  attending  the  domestic 
establishment  of  the  Sultan,  is  the  large  body  of 
black  andwliitecunuehs.  They  are  poor,  feeble, 
lialf-devcloped  creatures^  maimed  and  degraded 
in  boyhood,  that  they  may  be  spies  and  masters 
over  a  collection  of  the  mo.st  beautiful  females 
t'uit  can  be  procured.  They  arc,  of  com'se,  with- 
ou     amilicB  or  relatives.     Some  of  them,  who 


have  been  favorite.'i  either  with  the  Sultan  or  the 
ladies,  have  occasiomilly  amassed  considerable 
money.  Tliis  is  winked  at  in  llicin  v/licn  it 
would  not  be  tolerated  in  others. 

Their  po.sition  is  singular  in  all  respects,  but 
far  Ironi  enviable  in  the  estimation  of  the  masses. 
U  an  error  should  lie  detected  in  one  of  the  la- 
dies, woe  to  the  cnimch — his  head  would  be 
chopped  off  as  quickly  as  nn  offending  odalisipie 
could  be  drowned  in  a  sad;. 

TIhjso  wlio  have  nuule  themselves  familiar 
with  the  duties  of  the  various  conhdential  olliccrs 
about  the  Sultan  and  his  immediate  family 
household,  concur  in  this,  that  the  Kislar  Agha 
has  unlimited  authority  over  the  females  of  the 
royal  apartments.  He  enters  or  goes  out  at  his 
pleasure.  It  is  the  most  confidential  post  within 
the  gift  of  the  ruler.  Of  course  he  is  an  eunuch, 
an  African,  and  a  purchased  slave.  His  title  is 
Dar-us  Siadet  Agliaci,  wliich  means,  literally, 
master  of  the  palace  of  felicity — ranking  with 
the  vizier.  In  going  to  mosque  with  the  Sultan, 
he  follows  the  Capudan  Pasha. 

The  present  Kislar  Agha  is  quite  a  small  per- 
son, and  quite  black.  He  and  his  assistants  arc 
spies  upon  the  kadines  and  all  other  females  in 
the  royal  palaces  and  harem,  and  are  permitted 
to  gather  pi'operty.  Some  of  them,  through  the 
munificence  of  their  imperial  sovereigns,  have 
accumulated  large  fortunes,  which  invariably  fall 
to  the  Sultan  at  their  decease,  as  docs  that  of 
their  superior. 

Eunuchs  arc  sure  to  bring  large  prices,  if  they 
are  well  grown,  properly  trained,  and  are  muti- 
lated in  the  improved  manner — an  awful  maim- 
ing process,  exceedingly  destructive  to  life  ;  for 
scarcely  one  in  twenty  survives  the  revolting 
operation  to  which  they  are  subjected  while  boys. 
In  my  Pilgrimage  to  Egypt,  a  detailed  account 
is  given  of  the  cruelties  practised  upon  poor  Af- 
rican lads,  to  fit  them  for  sife  servants  in  the  ha- 
rems of  Egypt,  Persia  and  Turkey.  They  seem 
to  feel  the  importance  of  their  position,  and  con- 
duct tlieraselves  over  their  dependents  with  a 
haughtiness  of  carriage  becoming  more  dignified 
personages.  They  are  petted  both  ways — by  the 
ladies  and  the  proprietor — for  the  sake  of  the  fa- 
vors at  their  disposal.  In  the  harems  of  pashas, 
their  duties  are  precisely  what  they  arc  in  the 
palace ;  but  the  position  is  not  so  influential  or 
lucrative. 

A  degree  of  mystery  hangs  over  the  origin  of 
tlie  white  eunuchs.  We  saw  several  of  them 
sitting  listlessly  about  the  corridors  of  the  unique 
building  within  the  old  seraglio  enclosure.  They 
had  small  features,  were  beardless,  imperfectly 
developed,  and  had  a  feeble,  shocking  gait. 
Where  they  are  procured,  by  whom  they  are 
emasculated,  their  price,  or  the  duties  assigned 
to  ihein,  could  not  be  satisfactorily  ascertained. 
I  am  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  black  are  in 
higher  repute  than  white  eunuchs. 

From  the  earliest  ages  in  Asia  Minor,  eunuchs 
have  been  in  request,  and  for  the  same  purposes 
that  they  are  still  prized  for  in  Mahomraedan 
countries,  viz.,  to  guard  the  females  of  harems. 
It  shows  that  polygamy  has  been  an  institution, 
or  rather  an  outrage  on  the  rights  of  the  sex  for 
thousands  of  years  ;  and  the  only  hope  of  their 
emancipation  and  tlie  recognition  of  their  wrongs 
wholly  depends  on  the  benign  influence  of  Chris- 
tianity, where  the  darkness  of  Mahommedanism 
has  debased  and  demoralized  so  large  a  portion 
of  the  human  race. 

A  gentleman  familiar  with  the  language,  and 
who  interested  himself  in  procuring  facilities  for 
conducting  investigations  in  Constantinople, 
proposed  to  make  me  acquainted  ivith  a  German 
woman,  who  has  been  the  midwife  of  tlie  Sul- 
tan's harem  ever  since  he  assumed  the  reins  of 
government;  on  account  of  the  extraordinaiy 
revelations  it  was  in  her  pow^r  to  make,  illustra- 
tive of  the  internal  economy  of  that  blue  cham- 
ber where  no  natural  man  ever  enters,  save  liis 
imperial  highness,  the  Padislia  himself,  who  is 
styled  in  those  mjsterious  premises,  Shadow  of 
God! 

He  assured  me  that  if  she  had  a  mind  to  write 
simply  what  she  knew  from  actual  observation 
of  the  harem,  its  varied  transaciions  of  all  kinds 
and  hues,  it  would  be  astounding  beyond  any 
revelation  ever  made.  To  my  regret,  circum- 
stances not  easily  controlled,  being-  in  company 
with  persons  who  were  in  haste  to  leave  for 
Greece,  the  interview  was  prevented.  She  will 
doubtless  be  paid  her  price  for  keeping  still,  for 
were  she  to  return  to  Germany  and  make  a 
book,  what  a  work  it  would  be  ! 

A  Caftan  Aghassy,  keeper  of  the  robes.  Too- 
toonjce,  or  head  pipe-kccpcr,  Tchokndar,  chief 
of  the  indoor  servants,   Khaznadar,  treasurer, 


Khavcjee  Basliy,  collec  keeper,  ICihirgcc  Agha, 
store  keeper,  Sofrajee  Bashy,  table  ormimenlcr, 
Berbee  Basliy,  barber,  Imrakbar,  groom  of  the 
slal)ics,  Vekil-hiirj  Agha,  clerk  of  the  kitchen, 
Ilai'cm  Kihayaswy,  harem  provirler,  Aslijee  Ba- 
shy, iiead  cook,  Ilarem  Agliassy,  first  eunuch, 
Caponjy,  head  porter,  Saire  Bashy,  first  groom, 
Saraedar,  first  factotum,  are  all  important  fellows 
in  llicir  way. 

Of  tlie  cyalets,  or  provinces,  into  which  Tur- 
key is  sub-divided,  it  is  sufiicicnt  to  remaik  that 
there  is  a  court  with  a  president,  under  the  title 
of  Molal),  and  a  Mufii,  or  attorney.  A  Sarijiak 
is  a  province,  in  which  a  great  law  oificer,  a 
Kadi  with  his  inferior  assistants  resides. 

In  Constantinople,  the  number  of  clerks  at- 
tached to  all  and  every  grade  of  olficc  for  ton- 
ducting  the  state  and  municipal  affairs  is  enor- 
mously lai'ge.  Blanks  not  being  printed,  to  any 
extent,  and  the  utility  of  the  press  in  facilitating 
business  apparently  unknown,  or  at  least,  not 
acknowledged,  the  government  is  precisely  in 
,the  condition  of  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  before 
the  discovery  of  printing.  Every  record  and 
every  do'cument  are  executed  with  a  pen.  Accu- 
racy, therefore,  and  despatch,  requkes  a  vast 
body  of  writers — even  a  censor  to  see  that  mis- 
takes are  not  made,  is  indispensable.  Perhaps 
there  are  5000  pen-clerks  in  the  service  of  the 
Sultan  iu  Constantinople,  whose  pay  is  quite 
small,  valuable  as  their  services  are. 

As  with  us,  the  heads  of  departments,  however 
unimportant  they  may  be,  get  all  the  pay,  and 
do  but  little  themselves  ;  while  the  real  laborers 
sustain  the  fatigue  and  drudgery,  and  scarcely 
enough  is  paid  them  to  sustain  life. 


[Written  for  Glea&on's  Pictorial.] 
RELIGION. 

BY  MRS.  M.  W.  CURTIS. 

When  o'er  the  soul  steals  weariness 

Satiate  with  joys  like  the^e, 
And  iu  itn  deep,  deep  lonehness, 

It  sighs  for  purer  bhss  ; 
Keligion  points  to  happiness, 

The  saiuts'  eternal  rest ; 
Its  wajs  are  ways  of  pleasantucss, 

And  all  its  paths  are  peace. 

When  foes  show  forth  their  heartlessnesa, 

And  trusted  friends  forget ; 
When  in  their  lonely  hopelessness, 

Their  day-star  seems  to  set; 
God  bids  the  light  of  righteousness 

Arise  and  ne'er  decrease; 
"Xteligion's  ways  are  pleasantness, 

And  all  its  paths  are  peace." 

IRELAND  IN  BYGONE  DAYS. 

If,  on  any  occasion,  a  guest  left  the  room,  bits 
of  paper  were  dropped  into  his  glass,  intimating 
the  number  of  rounds  the  bottle  had  gone;  and 
on  his  return  he  was  obliged  to  swallow  a  glass 
for  each,  under  the  penalty  of  so  many  glasses 
of  salt  and  water.  It  was  the  practice  of  some 
to  have  decanters  with  round  bottoms,  like  a 
modern  soda-water  bottle,  the  only  contrivance 
in  which  they  could  stand  being  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  before  the  host.  Stopping  the  bottle 
was  thus  rendered  impossible,  and  every  one 
was  obliged  to  fill  his  glass  at  once,  and  pass  tlie 
bottle  to  his  neighbor,  on  the  peril  of  upsetting 
the  contents  on  the  table.  A  still  more  common 
practice  was  to  knock  the  stems  off  the  glasses 
with  a  knife,  so  that  they  m.ust  be  emptied  as 
they  were  filled,  as  they  could  not  stand.  Some- 
times the  guests,  as  they  sat  down,  put  off'  their 
shoes,  which  wore  taken  out  of  the  room  ;  and 
the  empty  bottles  were  broken  outside  of  the 
door,  so  that  no  one  could  pass  out  till  tlie  ca- 
rouse was  over. — Ireland  Sixty  Years  Aijo. 


LITERARV  CIRCLES  IN  LONDON. 

The  society  of  the  literary  world  in  London 
is  conducted  after  this  wise  : — There  are  certain 
persons,  for  the  most  part  authors,  editors,  or 
artists,  but  with  the  addition  of  a  few  who  can 
only  pride  themselves  upon  being  the  patrons  of 
literature  and  art — who  hold  periodical  assem- 
lilies  of  the  notables.  Some  appoint  a  certain 
evening  in  every  week  during  the  season,  a  gen- 
eral invitation  to  which  is  given  to  the  favored  ; 
others  are  monthly;  and  others,  again,  at  no 
regular  intervals.  At  these  gatherings,  the 
amusements  are  conversation  and  music  only, 
and  the  entertainment  is  unostentatious  and  in- 
expensive, consisting  of  tea  and  coffee,  wine  of 
negus  handed  about  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
and  sandwiches  cake  and  wine  at  eleven  o'clock. 
Suppers  are  prohibited  by  common  consent,  for 
costliness  would  speedily  put  an  end  to  society 
too  agreeable  to  be  sacrificed  to  fashion.  The 
company  meets  usually  between  eight  and  nine, 
and  always  part  at  midnight. — The  Critic. 


Gambling  houses  are  temples  where  the  most 
sordid  and  turbulent  passions  contend;  there  no 
spectator  can  he  indilfcrent.  A  enid,  or  a  smnll 
square  of  ivory,  interest  more  thim  the  loss  oi  an 
empire,  or  the  ruin  of  an  unoffending  group  of 
infanfs,  and  their  nearest  rclati^ves. — Zi  miner  man. 


[Written  for  GleaHon's  Pictorial.] 
WILT  THOU  THY  XaUEND  IORGET7 

Ijy  MISB  MAUY  K.  PEABBOftN. 

Shall  I  forgrit  tho  cherished  hopes 

My  younK  affection  knew? 
Shall  I  l'or(,'et  the  Ileetlng  hourfl, 

On  golden  wiiign  that  Jiow? 
Shall  I  forget  the  nieltiiit;  fitniins, 

So  pleiutant  to  my  ear; 
Kor  feck  in  niemory'fi  haunt  agitin, 

TlioHe  welcome  notes  to  hear? 
Shull  I  forget  the  hawthorn  hedge, 

The  wild  and  clambering  vine  ; 
Beneath  whope  gnit4'ful  nhado  I  stood, 

And  promieed  to  be  thine? 

Shall  I  forgot?  ah,  yea  I  may, 

When  shadows  ceapc  to  come ; 
And  night  no  more  Hhall  follow  day, 

Or  give  the  dawning  room  ; 
When  yonder  sun  forgets  to  tread 

The  glorious  arch  of  heaven  ; 
Or  Luna,  with  her  flparkling  tniin, 

To  deck  the  brow  of  even — 
Then,  then  may  I  forget  to  lovo 

The  choice  of  early  yearn, 
Nor  mind  me  of  the  parting  scene, 

Its  pleasures  and  ita  fears. 


PROIESSIONAL  LABOR. 

We  have  said  that  the  vigor  and  strength  of 
his  mind  had  in  no  way  abated  ;  let  us  state  to 
the  reader  what  that  mind  has  performed  in  its 
day.  During  Mr.  Ballou's  professional  life  he 
delivered  over  ten  thousand  sermons!  This  calcu- 
lation, strictly  correct,  will  not  appear  overrated 
to  the  reader,  when  he  is  reminded  that  for  more 
than  thirty  years  of  liis  ministration  lie  not  only 
preached  three  times  every  Sabbath,  but  fre- 
quently for  several  consecutive  days  of  the  week 
besides.  Including  his  essays  and  treatises  upon 
doctiinal  subjects,  his  fugitive  sermons  furnished 
for  the  different  magazines  and  papers,  of  which 
he  was  editor  for  a  long  period,  and  afterwards 
a  constant  contributor  for  many  years,  besides  a 
large  number  which  appeared  in  pamphlet  form, 
and  of  which  no  other  mention  is  made  in  these 
pages,  and  the  works  herein  referred  to,  Mr. 
Bailou  has  written  and  published  enough  to 
make  one  hundred  volumes  containing  the  same 
amount  of  matter  as  the  one  now  in  the  hands 
of  the  reader  (a  vol.  of  400  pages,  12mo).  The 
mere  mechanical  labor  of  writing  such  a  mass  of 
composition  is  in  itself  a  herculean  task  ;  but 
when  we  consider  that  each  page  was  character- 
ized by  careful  reasoning  upon  points  that  re- 
quire much  thought  and  study,  and  that  the 
whole  is  largely  original,  that  the  author  was 
unaided  by  any  other  book,  save  the  Bible,  in 
the  formation  of  his  arguments  and  opinions, 
and  that  he  was  self-educated  witlial,  we  shall 
come  to  the  conclusion  that,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  Mr.  Bailou  was  peculiarly  blessed  and  aided 
by  Divine  Providence. — Life  of  Eosea  Bailou. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
TO    THE    EVENING    WIND. 

BT  E.  CmiTlSS   HIKE,  n.  E.   N. 

The  spirit  of  eve  hovers  o'er  me  now, 
Her  pinions  are  fanning  and  coohng  my  brow  ; 
I  hear  her  sweet  voice  as  she  wanders  along, 
And  calls  on  the  tree-tops  to  join  in  her  song  ; 
With  the  tones  of  an  angel  she  seemeth  to  say, 
"  Arouse  I  ere  I  tlit  to  the  bright  land  away  I"' 

She  has  waked  from  their  slumbera  the  seraphs  that  dwell 

On  the  green,  leafy  roof  of  the  wood-shaded  dell ; 

And  onward  is  flitting  unseen  iu  her  flight, 

Though  we  hear  her  soft  wings  brush  the  black  robe  of 

night ; 
She  is  gone  to  repose  in  her  isle  far  away, 
In  the  couch  vacant  left  by  the  spirit  of  day ! 


GALVANIC  BATTERY. 

The  remarkable  fact  of  the  existence  in  all 
parts  of  the  body  of  an  alkaline  liquid,  the  blood, 
and  an  acid  liquid,  the  juice  of  flesh,  separated 
by  a  very  thin  membrane,  and  in  contact  with 
nmscle  and  nerve,  seems  to  have  some  relation 
to  the  fact  now  established  of  the  existence  of 
electric  currents  in  the  body,  and  particularly  to 
those  which  occur  when  the  muscles  contract. 
The  animal  body  may  be  regarded  as  a  galvanic 
engine,  for  the  production  of  mechanical  force. 
This  force  is  derived  from  the  food,  and  with 
food  has  been  derived,  as  we  have  seen,  from  ihe 
solar  rays.  A  working  man,  it  has  been  calcu- 
lated, produces  in  twenty-four  hours  an  amount 
of  heating  or  thermal  effect  equal  to  raising  near- 
ly fourteen  millions  of  pounds  to  the  height  of 
one  foot,  heat  being  one  form  of  mechanical 
eficet.  But,  from  causes  connected  with  tho 
range  of  temperature,  he  can  only  produce,  in 
the  form  of  actual  work  done,  about  as  much 
mechanical  cflects  as  would  laise  three  millions 
five  hundred  tliousand  ]iounds  to  the  height  of 
one  foot,  and  that  in  twenty-four  hoiirs.  Even 
this  is  a  piodigions  amount  of  force,  and  whether 
we  regard  it  as  derived  from  heat,  electrieily,  or 
chemicrtl  action,  it  is  ultimately  derived  from 
the  luminous  solar  rays,  on  which  vegetation  de- 
pends.—  Chr(/ori/s  Cfn'misfrr/.  ■ 


Afilictinn  is  the  wholei-ome  coil  nf  vii'fue  j 
Al'lici'e  piitioTice,  honor,  ywoet  liuiiiiiiiity. 
CVhii  Ibrtitudo,  tuUe  root  nud  tftrongiy  llouriMh. 
Alitllet. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DIIAWING   IIOO^M    COMPANION. 


231 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  MEillEiVTO  FOR  THE  LOVELY. 

On  the  death  a/ ]\Irs.  Charles  A.  Heritasf,  of  Philadelphia. 

BY  WILLIAM  T.    HILSEE. 

Then,  from  the  earth  to  sky  a  sad  farewell  -went  up, 
Then  shrieked  the  timid,  and  stood  atill  the  brave. 

She  died,  "  the  joy  of  many  hearts," 

Alien  summer  skies  were  bright ; 
Whiin  warbling  minstrels  sweetly  sang 

Their  anthems  of  delight. 
Ah!  yes,  beneath  yon  grassy  mound, 

She  rests  in  sweet  repose  ;  • 

The  lily  chaste  waves  on  her  tomb, 

Ueside  the  modest  rose. 

Love's  signet  glittered  on  her  brow. 

While  patiently  she  lay  ; 
As  through  her  veins  the  tide  of  life 

Was  ebbing  fa-st  away. 
She  died,  as  Christians  ever  die. 

With  brighter  climea  in  view ; 
And  sank  ae  sinks  the  wearied  6un, 

Adown  the  baldric  blue. 

Her  "farewell  words"  still  echo  through 

The  caverns  of  my  soul, 
And  sublimate  each  grosser  sense, 

As  with  a  strange  control : — 
'*  I  shall-  ere  long,  commingle  v,ith 

The  first-born  souls  of  hgbt, 
And  wield  redemption's  rapturous  lyre 

Upon  Mount  Zion's  height. 

'■  Strike  off  my  shackles,  let  me  soar 

Yon  balmy  realms  above, 
Where  seraphs"  harps  are  ever  tuned 

With  God's  astounding  love. 
J>ear  friends,  for  me  forbear  to  weep 

O,  be  not  loth  to  part ; 
For  I  shall  share  unmingled  bli^^s, 

Among  '  the  pure  in  heart,'  " 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

A  FIVE  HOUE  FRESH  WATEK  BATH. 

BY  GEORGE  S.  EATMOND. 

We  were  fairly  broiling  alive  there  on  the 
forecastle  of  the  fine  new  schooner  Henry  Clay, 
salt  loaded,  on  her  first  passage,  bound  for 
Cleveland,  and  lying  becalmed  at  10  A.  M.,  one 
day  in  the  latter  part  of  July,  two  days  out  from 
Oswego,  and  some  fifteen  miles  off  Niagara. 

There  were  seven  of  us  fonvard — all  with 
some  little  experienee  in  lake  navigation — and 
one  aft,  who,  although  he  was  a  thorough  going 
salt  water  sailor,  knew  absolutely  nothing  about 
the  western  lakes ;  and  we  didn't  quite  like  the 
idea  of  his  sitting  there  under  the  awning  on 
the  quarter-deck  so  carelessly,  with  the  owner's 
little  boy  between  his  knees,  and  a  thunder- 
squall  as  black  as  midnight  rolling  up  in  the 
western  board,  threatening  to  come  down  upon 
us  butt  end  foremost,  like  a  March  Levanter  off 
Port  Mahon. 

"  Go  aft  there,  Bill,  and  tell  the  old  man  we'd 
better  be  getting  ready  for  that  fellow,"  we 
said  to  Bill  Mclvnight,  a  regular  hard  weather 
Scotch  sailor,  who  stood  the  larboard  watch — 
we  had  no  mate  in  the  schooner. 

"  It's  no  use,  lads,"  said  Bill,  shaking  his 
head  ominously.  "  I've  been  aft  twice,  and  the 
last  time,  Capt.  Campbell  told  me  to  mind  my 
own  business  and  he'd  look  out  for  the  schooner. 
He  says  he  hasn't  been  to  sea  twenty  years,  and 
ten  of  'em  master  of  a  ship,  to  come  here  to 
learn  his  duty  of  fresh-water  sailors,  or  to  be 
drowned  in  a  paltry  fish  pond." 

The  two  or  three  half  audible  curses  at  the 
fool-hardy  bravado  of  our  commander  that  were 
commenced  as  a  response  to  Bill's  intelligence, 
were  cut  short  off'  by  the  quick,  nervous  tones  of 
the  captain's  voice,  who  was  finally  aroused  to 
the  danger  which  threatened  us,  even  as  the  tor- 
nado was  ready  to  burst  npon  our  heads. 

"  Clew  up  and  furl  your  fore-to 'gall ant  sail, 
and  fore-topsail !"  he  yelled,  as  the  first  teiTific 
roar  of  the  mad  tempest  fell  upon  his  startled 
ear,  and  the  whole  surface  of  the  water  to  tlie 
westward  was  lashed  into  snowy  foam  by  the 
coming  blast,  now  scarcely  half  a  mile  distant. 

The  to'gallant  and  topsail  halyards  were  let 
go  by  the  run,  the  to'gallant  sail  was  clewed  up, 
and  leaving  four  of  our  number  to  round  up  the 
topsail  clew  and  buntlines,  Bill,  a  young  fellow 
named  Folsome  and  myself  sprung  into  the  fore 
rigging  and  away  aloft,  to  stop  the  sail  to  the 
yard,  if  possible,  before  the  squall  struck  us. 
Folsome  had  gained  the  weather  yard  arm.  Bill 
was  in  the  bunt,  and  I  was  half  way  from  the 
top  to  the  yard,  when  the  captain's  voice  reached 
us,  as  he  screamed  to  the  man  at  the  wheel  to 
put  his  helm  hard  up. 


"  Harddo'vn  your  helm — for  God's  sake,  Capt. 
Campbell!"  we  all  shouted  in  the  same  breath. 
"  Put  your  helm  down,  sir,  and  let  her  come  to, 
or  you  will  capsize  her !" 

But  our  voices  were  lost  in  the  wild  shrieking 
fury  of  the  dreadful  tornado,  which  broke  in 
wrath  upon  the  devoted  schooner,  even  as  we 
screamed  forth  our  united  warning  to  the  cap- 
tain, who,  instead  of  letting  the  vessel  come  up 
into  the  wind,  as  he  ought  to  have  done,  kept  her 
olF  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  do  a  square- 
rigged  craft,  and  almost  as  quick  as  thought  she 
was  capsized. 

As  the  schooner  went  over,  I  saw  the  captain 
slide  down  to  leeward  in  his  chair,  still  holding 
the  little  boy — a  son  of  Henry  Fitzhugh,  Esq.,  of 
Oswego — between  his  knees,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment I  was  hurled  down  into  the  water  so  deep 
that  the  light  above  me  was  only  a  dim  greenish 
glare,  and  when  I  struggled  up  to  the  surface, 
there  were  three  boat  oars,  an  empty  barrel,  the 
chair  on  which  the  captain  had  been  sitting,  and 
one  of  the  hatches  only,  in  sight.  The  beautiful 
schooner  had  gone  to  the  bottom,  and  of  all  her 
crew,  three  only  remained — Bill  McKnight, 
John  Polsomc  and  myself — and  we  had  only  es- 
caped instant  destruction,  by  our  having  been 
hurled  from  alofc  when  the  schooner  went  over 
so  fur  to  leeward,  that  we  were  partially  clear  of 
the  downward  suction  caused  by  the  sinking  hull. 
Our  case  was  little  better,  however,  than  that 
of  our  companions  who  had  gone  down  in  the 
vessel ;  for  in  that  wild  yelling  tempest,  with  the 
few  frail  supports  that  were  left  us  from  the 
wreck,  and  full  fifteen  miles,  as  we  were,  from 
land,  there  seemed  scarcely  a  possibility  for  us 
to  escape  a  death  more  horrible  than  that  of  the 
others,  for  the  very  reason  that  it  was  more  lin- 
gering. But  life  was  worth  a  struggle,  and  we 
made  it. 

Folsomc  was  the  youngest,  slightest,  and  least 
expert  swimmer  of  the  three,  and  Bill — who  was 
as  much  at  home  in  the  water  as  a  Ivanaker — 
supported  him,  and  assisted  in  removing  all  his 
clothing  except  his  light  duck  trowsers,  while  I 
collected  all  the  floating  material  in  sight ;  and 
having  given  up  the  hatch  to  Folsom'^,  Bill  took 
the  flour  baiTcl  and  one  of  the  oars,  leaving  me 
the  other  two.  And  there  we  were,  three  miser- 
able beings  stripped  to  our  trowsers,  fifteen  miles 
from  shore,  paddling  about  at  a  venture,  just  as 
likely  to  steer  from  the  land  as  towards  it,  and 
not  a  solitary  vessel  of  any  description  anywhere 
in  sight. 

The  storm  passed  away  before  the  sea  got  up 
so  as  to  be  very  troublesome,  otherwise  we 
should  have  certainly  perished  within  an  hour 
after  the  schooner  sunk. 

You  can  never  imagine  anything  that  can 
give  you  the  faintest  conception  of  the  horrors  of 
our  situation,  unless  you  should  by  some  chance 
be  placed  in  a  similar  situation,  which  I  pray 
God  you  never  may — for  the  recollection  of 
those  terrible  hours  often  to  this  day  comes  back 
in  my  dreams  and  haunts  me  with  all  the  vivid- 
ness of  a  frightful  reality. 

Yet  we  did  not  for  a  single  instant  despair. 
But  Bill  and  I,  who  had  both  been  shipwrecked 
at  sea,  congratulated  ourselves  that  we  were 
struggling  there  in  the  waters  of  Old  Ontario, 
instead  of  those  of  the  Atlantic;  for  there  was 
nothing  to  fear  from  sharks,  and  we  should  not 
be  tormented  with  thirst  so  long  as  we  were 
swimming  in  an  ocean  of  pure  fresh  water. 

Three  hours  went  by  and  we  were  beginning 
to  grow  faint,  when  Bill  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  and 
pointed  to  the  westward,  where  we  beheld  the 
Steamer  Canada  not  more  than  five  miles  dis- 
tant, and  heading  directly  towards  us,  on  her 
way  from  Toronto  to  Niagara. 

After  a  few  minutes  we  saw  her  stop,  lower 
one  of  her  boats,  which  pulled  about  in  various 
directions  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  during 
which  time  they  picked  up,  as  we  afterwards 
learned,  the  captain's  choir  and  our  hats,  together 
with  several  small  articles  which  had  floated  up 
from  the  wreck  after  we  left  the  spot  where  she 
went  down. 

After  the  boat  returned  to  tlie  steamer,  she 
made  several  circuits  about  the  place  where  the 
articles  were  picked  up,  as  if  in  search  of  some- 
thing more,  and  finally  stood  away  on  her  course 
towards  Niagara,  passing  so  near  us  that  we 
could  almost  distinguish  persons  on  her  decks. 
But  notwithstanding  all  our  frantic  screams,  and 
the  signals  we  made  by  holding  np  our  oars, 
they  passed  on  without  heeding  us ;  and  0,  how 
our  hearts  sunk  within  us,  and  how  we  cursed 
their  cold,  chilling  heartlessness,  as  she  receded 
in  the  distance  until  her  upper  deck  went  out  of 


sight,  and  only  her  masts  and  tall  smoke-pipes 
were  visible  above  our  narrow  horizon. 

"Curse  him!"  I  said;  "that  cold-blooded 
heartless  captain,  to  go  off  thus  and  leave  us 
here  to  perish !" 

"No,  no  !"  exclaimed  Bill,  eagerly.  "  Do  not 
curse  him  ;  he  has  not  left  us.  See,  he  is  coming 
back  again — straight  down  for  us.  HmTah,  lads, 
never  say  die  !  We  shall  be  saved  yet.  Cour- 
age, John,  my  hearty.  Keep  a  stout  heart — 
they'll  find  us  this  time  sure.     Hurrah!" 

And  Bill  was  right;  for  within  twenty  min- 
utes, the  steamer  was  hove  to  near  us,  her  boat 
was  lowered,  and  ten  minutes  thereafter  we  were 
rescued  from  our  five  hour  freshwater  bath. 

Before  we  reached  Niagara  we  were  informed 
that  the  captain  had  been  induced  to  turn  back 
at  the  earnest  entreaty  of  a  beautiful  young  lad}', 
named  Jessie  Merritt,  a  Canadian  by  birth,  and 
a  resident  of  Qucenston,  who  had  offered  three 
hundred  dollars  to  have  the  search  continued 
another  hour. 

But  the  best  part  of  the  whole  adventure  is 
that  IMiss  Merritt  had  just  one  year  previously 
been  saved  from  drowning  in  the  Wclland  Ca- 
nal, by  our  young  shipmate,  John  Folsome,  and 
that  within  six  months  from  the  day  of  our  ship- 
wreck, the  said  John  Folsomc  was  the  junior 
partner  in  a  flourishing  mercantile  establishment 
in  St.  Catherines,  and  the  senior  partner  in  a 
domestic  establishment,  whereof  the  beautiful 
and  accomplished  Jessie  was  the  junior. 

Bill  is  no  longer  Bill,  but  Capt.  William  Mc- 
Knight, the  favorite  of  the  travelling  public  on 
Lake  Ontario,  and  commander  of  one  of  the 
finest  steamers  afloat ;  while  the  other — that  is 
myself — why,  I  am  a  few  years  older,  not  much 
better  off  than  I  was  afloat  there  on  the  two  boat 
oars,  and  telling  the  story  up  here  in  my  attic 
just  as  it  really  happened. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  MADRIGAL   TO    LOVE. 

BT   CH.IRLES  HENRT  STEWART. 

"Wave  thy  gentle  ■wings, 

Love,  upon  my  way ; 
Humbly  pray  I  humble  things. 

Mock  not  that  I  pray. 
Love  !  ah,  fond  poetic  thought, 
Wert  thou  vainly  born  to  naught? 

Ere  thou  biu^t  to  light, 

'\TTiat  were  earth  without '. 
Blankly  would  the  joj'lcss  night 

Compass  us  about; 
But  when  thou  illumed  our  waj', 
What  were  sweeter,  0  joy,  say  ! 

Would  you  die  for  love  ? 

Even  glad  were  I, 
To  lay  down  life,  that  I  might  prove 

I  love  thy  ministry  ; 
'Tis  a  thing  of  priceless  worth, 
Taking  hue  from  sky,  not  earth. 

ADTICE  TO  WIVES. 

A  wife  must  study  never  to  draw  largely  on 
the  small  stock  of  patience  in  a  man's  nature, 
nor  to  increase  his  obstinacy  by  trying  to  drive 
him  ;  never,  never,  if  possible,  have  scenes.  I 
doubt  much  if  a  real  quarrel,  even  made  up,  does 
not  loosen  the  bond  between  man  and  wife,  and 
sometimes,  unless  the  aflcction  of  both  be  very 
sincere,  is  lasting.  If  irritation  should  occur,  a 
woman  must  expect  to  hear,  from  most  men,  a 
strength  and  vehemence  of  language  ftir  more 
than  the  occasion  requires.  Mild,  as  well  as 
stern  men,  are  prone  to  this  exaggeration  of  lan- 
guage ;  let  not  a  woman  be  tempted  to  say  any- 
thing sarcastic  or  violent  in  retaliation.  The 
bitterest  repentance  must  needs  follow,  if  she  do. 
Men  frequently  forget  what  they  hiive  said,  but 
seldom  what  is  uttered  by  tlicir  wives.  They 
are  grateful,  too,  for  forbearance  in  such  cases ; 
for,  whilst  asserting  most  loudly  that  they  arc 
right,  they  are  often  conscious  that  they  are 
wrong.  Give  a  little  time,  as  the  greatest  boon 
you  can  bestow,  to  the  irritated  feelings  of  your 
husband. — English  Matron. 


TWO  KINDS  OF  RELIGION. 

I  have  met  some  men  whose  religion  was  a 
mixture  of  vinegar  and  pepper,  and  others  whose 
religion  resembled  sugar  and  milk ;  the  former 
aresevere  on  the  faults  of  others  and  indulgent 
to  their  own ;  the  latter  reverse  the  practice. 
Query — which  of  them  make  the  best  neighbors, 
not  to  say  the  best  Christians ';  I  have  known 
men  vei-y  courteous  to  one's  face,  but  stabbing 
his  character  when  he  was  gone.  My  father  had 
a  dog  of  this  stamp  ;  he  was  a  cowardly  cur  that 
fled  at  the  approach  of  a  man,  but  bit  the  heels 
of  children.  A  powerful  mastiif  paid  his  re- 
spects to  his  throat  one  day  with  great  cordiality, 
and  nobody  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  brute. 
Mora! : — backbiters  are  gladly  forgotten.  Noble 
minds  shun  the  serpent's  trail.  He  who  would 
live  in  the  memory  of  the  good  must  himself  be 
virtuous.  This  is  the  policy  of  insurance  for  a 
bonus  at  death,  and  righteous  survivors  never 
fail  to  pay  it. — Anomjmous. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THOUGHTS. 


I  love  the  forest,  free  and  wild, 

Tis  like  a  temple,  dim  and  vast; 
Where  patriarchs  of  the  olden  world 

Knelt  and  adored,  in  ages  past. 

The  stream  that  bubbles  from  some  epriug, 

And  ripples  on  with  murmurs  low; 
I  love  its  every  gushing  tone. 

There  "a  music  in.  its  joyous  flow, 

I  love  the  flowers,  the  sweet,  wild  flowers. 

Those  radiant  gems  that  seek  the  shade  ; 
On  cliff  or  fissured  rock  they  wave. 

By  streamlet,  or  in  dewj'  glade. 

I  love  the  birds,  the  bright- winged  birds, 

Their  gushing  melodies,  to  me, 
Come  like  thn  tones  of  some  wild  harp, 

That  softly  breathes  its  witchery. 

I  love  the  rustle  of  the  leaves, 

The  gentle  sigh  of  waving  bough, 
The  fragrant  zephyr  as  it  fans, 

With  cooling  wing,  my  fevered  brow. 

The  gorgeous  sunset  skies  I  love, 
The  glorious  clouds  that  robe  the  west, 

When  in  his  flaming  chariot, 
The  day-god  brightly  sinks  to  rest. 

And  0, 1  love  the  burning  stars, 
The  jewels  in  earth's  glorious  dome  ; 

I  love  to  watch  each  pale,  pure  ray 
Come  stealing  down  from  its  bright  home 

The  early  mom's  delicious  hours. 

And  joyous  song  of  birds  I  love  ; 
Her  rippling  streams  and  dew-gemmed  flowers, 

And  bright  skies  smiMug  from  above. 

There 's  not  of  nature's  glorious  works, 

The  wild,  or  beautiful,  or  grand, 
But  that  my  spirit  says  "  I  love  " 

All  that  proclaims  her  peerless  hand. 

PERSIAN  HOUSE-KEEPING. 

The  usual  mode  of  living  in  one  house  seemed 
pretty  nearly  the  same  in  all  that  fell  under  the 
range  of  Mr.  Burton's  observation.  They  get 
up  at  sunrise,  when  they  have  a  cup  of  coffee. 
The  few  hours  in  the  day  in  which  the  Persians 
condescend  to  labor  in  any  way,  are  fi-om  sunrise 
until  8  o'clock  in  the  morning.  After  that  the 
heat  becomes  to  inttnse  {frequently  108  or  109 
degrees  in  the  shade)  that  all  keep  within  doors, 
lying  about  on  mats  in  passages  or  rooms.  At 
10  they  have  their  tirst  substantial  meal,  which 
consists  of  mutton  and  rice,  stewed  together  in 
a  rude  saucepan,  over  a  charcoal  fire,  built  out 
of  doors.  Sometimes,  in  addition  to  this  dish, 
they  have  a  kind  of  soup,  or  "water-meat" 
(which  is  the  literal  ti-anslation  of  the  Persian 
name),  made  of  water,  mutton,  onions,  parsley, 
fowls,  rice,  dried  fruits,  apricots,  almonds,  and 
walnuts,  stewed  together.  But  this,  as  we  may 
guess  from  the  multiplicity  of  the  ingredients, 
was  a  dainty  dish.  At  four  o'clock,  the  panting 
Persians,  nearly  worn  out  by  the  heat  of  the  day, 
take  a  cup  of  strongly  perfumed  tea,  with  a  little 
bitter-orange  juice  squeezed  into  it;  and  after 
this  tonic  they  recover  strength  enough  to  smoke 
and  lounge.  Dinner  was  the  grand  meal  of  the 
day,  to  which  they  invited  friends.  It  was  not 
unlike  breakfast,  but  was  preceded  by  a  dessert, 
at  which  wine  was  occasionally  introduced,  but 
which  always  consisted  of  melons  and  dried 
fruits.  The  dinner  was  brought  in  on  a  pewter 
tray  ;  but  Mr.  Burton  remarked  that  the  pewter 
dishes  were  very  dingy.  A  piece  of  common 
print  was  spread  on  the  ground,  and  cakes  of 
bread  put  on  it.  They  had  no  spoons  for  the 
soup,  "  water-meat,"  but  soaked  their  bread  in  it, 
or  curled  it  round  into  a  hollow  shape,  and  fished 
up  what  they  could  out  of  the  abyss.  At  the 
Mirza's  tliey  had  spoons  for  the  sour  goat's  milk, 
which  seemed  to  be  oueof  their  delicacies.  The 
ice  is  brought  do^vn  from  the  mountains,  and 
sold  pretty  cheaply  in  the  bazaars.  Sugar  and 
salt  are  eaten  together  with  this  iced  sour  goat's 
milk.  Smoking  narghilahs  beguiles  the  even- 
ing hours  very  pleasantly.  They  pluck  a  quan- 
tity of  rose-blossoms,  and  put  them  into  the  wa- 
ter, through  which  the  smoke  passes  ;  but  the 
roses  last  in  season  only  a  month.  Mirza  Oosan 
Koola  had  a  few  chairs  in  the  house,  for  the  use 
of  tJie  gentlemen  of  the  embassy. — Household 
Words. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial,] 
MOSQUITOS. 


BY   J    STARR  HOLLOWAr. 

Little,  ungracious  insignificants ; 

Types  of  incorrigible  restlessness; 

Mysterious  in  thy  movements  ;  merciless 
Beyond  endurance;  musical  gallants. 
Leading  thy  victims  in  the  mazy  dance. 

And  unavailing  search  I     Could  I  address 

Thee  as  could  Hood,  or  Horace  Smith,  I  "d  press 
The  truth  on  thee  so  true,  't  would  make  thee  dance 
E'en  much  more  than  thou  dost.     But  still  my  verse, 

Bad  though  it  is,  speaks  tru*h;  and  with  this,  warms 
My  soul.     0,  pests !  Man  ne'er  was  punished  worse, 

Since  Moses  plagued  the  Egyptians  with  black  swarms 
Of  thine  own  kind,  or  just  as  bad,  half-brothers, 
Gnats,  fleae  and  flies,  blue-tailed  and  many  others. 


232 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWIT^Cx    ROOM    COMPANION. 


VIEW  OF  THE  CITY  OF  UTIOA,  N.  Y.,  FROM  STEELE  S  HILL. 


STATE  AGRICULTURAL  FAIR  AT  UTICA. 

The  annual  return  of  this,  the  lnrg:c.st  and 
most  imposing  of  the  State  Fairs,  has  afforded 
our  artist  an  opportunity  which  he  has  seized,  of 
presenting  to  our  readers,  not  only  a  view  of  the 
city  of  Utica,  and  tlie  Fair  grounds,  but  like- 
nesses of  some  of  the  choice  specimens  of  neat 
cattle,  etc.,  for  which  the  New  York  State  Fairs 
have  acquired  such  a  high  reputation.  We  look 
back  now  but  a  short  period  to  the  time  when 
the  Durhams,  the  Short-Horns,  the  Herefords, 
the  Ayrshires,  and  other  choice  specimens  of 
neat  stock  were  entirely  unknown  in  this  country ; 
when  indeed  every  attempt  at  introducing  im- 
provement, whether  in  the  stock,  the  implements, 
or  the  method  of  farming,  was  considered  an 
innovation ;  when  *'  book  learning  "  was  scouted 
by  the  farmer  as  entirely  useless  to  him  when 
applied  to  the  tilling  of  the  soil.  His  father  and 
his  grandfather  had  done  thus  and  so  before  him, 


and  the  ultima  thu/e  of  his  desire  was  to  succeed 
as  well  as  they.  Times  changed,  however,  and, 
although  nothing  but  ridicule  and  scorn  was 
meted  to  those  who  had  the  temerity  to  adopt 
the  "newfangled  notions,"  crops  were  larger, 
receipts  were  greater,  and  the  advantage  of 
"  book  learning  "  became  so  evident  that  every- 
body went  to  reading  and  studying  the  analysis 
of  the  soil  from  whence  they  acquired  their  live- 
lihood. The  result  of  this  we  see  in  the  State 
Fairs  which  are  held  throughout  the  Union,  and 
which  are  opening  the  eyes  and  awakening  the 
attention  of  the  agriculturist  to  the  advantage 
of  fducation  and  necessity  of  improvement  in 
every  branch  of  his  trade.  Here  he  meets  his 
brother  farmer,  and  compares  notes  with  him  ; 
here  he  sees  the  result  of  the  experiments  of 
those  who  devote  their  whole  time  to  some  one 
branch  of  the  science ;  he  sees  and  profits  by  the 
experience  of  the  most  successful  experiment- 


alists from  every  part  of  his  State.  One  promi- 
nent feature  in  the  economy  of  State  Fairs  is  the 
fact  of  their  being  held  every  year  at  a  different 
point,  thus  enabling  the  farmers  of  every  section 
of  the  State  to  visit  and  be  benefited  by  them. 
Last  year  the  New  York  Fair  was  held  at  Eoch- 
ester ;  this  year  Utica  was  the  point  selected. 
Then,  we  gave  several  illustrations  of  the  Fair 
grounds  interesting  to  the  general  reader.  Now 
we  give  a  series,  more  interesting  to  the  farmer 
pei-haps,  but  which,  nevertheless,  we  trust  will 
afford  instruction  to  every  class  of  our  subscribers. 
Utica,  an  admirable  view  of  which  (taken  on 
the  spot  by  our  artist)  we  give  at  the  head  of  this 
page,  is  240  miles  from  New  York,  and  232 
miles  from  Buffalo.  It  is  beautifully  located  on 
a  gently  rising  plain,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Mohawk  river,  and  commands,  from  many 
points,  charming  views  of  surrounding  scenery. 
It   contains   a   court-house,   and    other   county 


buildings,  banks,  numerous  churches,  and  lia.s 
several  charitable  and  other  institutions.  The 
sti'eets  are  generally  well  laid  out  and  paved, 
and  there  are  in  the  city  suburbs  many  private 
residences  of  great  beauty.  The  State  Lunatic 
Asylum,  a  handsome  structure  (shown  in  the 
left  of  the  view  given),  is  situated  on  high 
ground,  about  a  mile  west  of  the  centre  of  the 
city,  and  has  a  farm  attached  to  it.  Utica  is  a 
central  point  for  canals,  railroads  and  tunipikes, 
which  radiate  from  it  in  every  direction  to  the 
surrounding  country.  The  railroads,  and  the 
Erie  Canal  pass  through  it  on  the  east  to  Albany, 
and  on  the  west  to  Buffalo  ;  and  the  Chenango 
Canal,  which  is  here  joined  with  the  Erie,  ex- 
tends south  to  Bingharapton  in  Broome  County, 
ninety-six  miles  distant.  The  country  around  is 
fertile,  populous  and  rich,  and  is  the  centre  of  an 
extensive  trade.  There  are  many  well  kept 
hotels  situated  on  Genesee  street,  the  principal 


GENERAL  VIEW  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  STATE  FAIR  GROUND,  AT  UTICA. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWIXCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


233 


H^///# 


//7:;=^=^ 


SHORT  HORNED  BULL,  "HATTON.  FIRST  PRIZE. 


DEVON  HEIFER,  "  REL'  LADY. 


-FIRST  PRIZE. 


street  of  the  city.  The  Fair  g:rounds  were  loca- 
ted about  two  miles  south-west  of  the  city,  on  a 
farm  purchased  for  the  purpose  by  one  of  the 
executive  committee.  Fifty  acres  were  fenced 
in  by  a  substantial  fence,  atFording  room  for 
every  animal  and  article  exhibited.     In  the  view 


ture,  erected  to  shelter  and  display  articles  of  a 
delicate  nature,  painting:,  etc.,  etc.,  Emery  &  Co., 
of  Albany,  had  a  small  lent  surrounded  by  farm- 
ing implements  of  every  nature  and  description. 
The  large  barn  on  the  extreme  right,  had  a  shed 
erected  around  it,  under  which  was  the  finest  dis- 


and  very  fine  collection  of  Durhams  (a  small 
part  of  his  extensive  herds),  which  attracted 
universal  attention.  From  among  the  many 
head  which  received  premiums  wc  select  four  for 
illuptrstion.  The  first  is  the  short-horn  bull 
'*  Hatton,"  own^^d  by  S.  F.  Chapman,  Esq.,  of 


The  Hereford  cow  "Pretty  Maid,"  property  of, 
and  bred  from  stock  imported  by,  William  H. 
Latham,  Livingston  Co.,  N.  Y.,  1st  prize  of  S30. 
The  Ayrshire  bull  "  Kilbum,"  received  the  1st 
prize  of  S20  for  two  year  olds  of  that  breed. 
Bred  by  Robert  Logan,  J.  P.,  of  KilbirnieMairs, 


DORKINGS. 


COCHIN  CHINA.  C-AMK. 

PRIZE    POULTRY    AT    THE    NE\Y    YORK    STATE    FAIR. 


WHITE    rOLAND. 


which  we  give  of  the  Fair  grounds,  the  large  tent  play  of  poultry  we  ever  saw  together.     Behind  Clockville,  Madison  Co.,  N.  Y.,  which  has  re-  Scotland.     0^vned  and  imported  by  James  Bro- 

on  the  left  was   appropriated  to  the  products  of  Floral  Hall  is  seen  the  speaker's  tent  and  others  ceived  the  first  prize  of  his  class  for  several  years.  die,  Esq. — Our  artist,  Mr.  C'hapin,  desires  to  re- 

tlie  dairy,  butter,   cheese,  etc. ;  to   the  right  of  devoted  to  refreshments,  committees,  etc.     The  The  Devon  heifer  "  Red  Lady,"  received  the  1st  turn  his  thanks  to  Mr.  J.  R.  Page  of  Scnnett, 

that  is  "'Floral  Hall,"   and  a  tent  appropriated  display  of  cattle  has  never  been  equalled  in  this  prize  of  $20  for  two  year  old   heifers;  property  Ca}  uga  County,  New  Y'"ork — himself  a  breeder — 

to  vegetables  of  every  kind.     Between  this  and  country.    From  six  to  eight  hundred  head  were  of  R.  M.  Remington,  Scnnett,  Cayuga  Co.,  N.  Y''.,  for  sketches  of  the  premium  animals  given  on 

"Manufacturing  Hall,"  a  plain,  wooden  struc-  entered.     Col.  Sherwood  of  Auburn  had  a  large  from   the   stock   of  Mr.  Hurlbut,  Connecticut.  this  page. 


AYRSHIRE  BULL,  ''KILBORN." FIRST  PRIZE, 


HEREFORD  COW,  '•  PRETTY  MAID." FIRST  PRIZE. 


234 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Writton  for  Glotison's  Pictorliil.] 
ONE  SHORT  YE/VR. 


nV   r>.  HARDY,  Jil. 


In  ono  Hhort  year,  0  who  ciui  toll 

What  ohanyuH  tiuio  will  bring .' 
Tlio  snn  tnny  eliiuo  us  brightly  thun, 

Tht)  birilH  iiH  flwcctly  Biny  ; 
Tho  Ihtvvcra  unlbia  tholr  putuia  fair, 

Ami  all  without  be  gay, 
lint  tliofio  wo  love  so  ilearly  now, 

May  tbon  have  pnssod  away. 

Misfortuno'fl  iUla  may  roll  oIODg, 

And  cloud  the  noblo  brow ; 
And  hearts  thut  aro  from  sorrow  free, 

May  then  in  sadness  bow. 
Thu  future  nmy  all  bright  appuar, 

As  one  uui'louded  day  ; 
But  clouds  may  gather  dim  and  dark, 

And  beauty  fade  away. 

The  youug  may  now  dream  goldea  dreams, 

The  future  has  in  store  ; 
But  ere  one  year  hath  passed  away, 

Their  blissful  dreams  arc  o"er  ; 
They  find  that  earth  hath  many  ^vronga 

To  steel  the  youthful  heart. 
And  m.ike  the  spirit  bow  boneatU 

Their  earth-depressing  art. 

The  changes  vast  of  one  short  year, 

So  strangely  they  do  seem  ; 
That  wc  can  scarcely  deem  tbem  aught 

But  ono  short,  mournful  dream. 
In  one  short  year,  and  all  we  love, 

May  then  liave  passed  away  ; 
And  ^vo  have  gone  the  wiiy  of  earth. 

To  realms  of  brighter  day. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pietorial.] 

FANNY   FARLEY: 

■ — OR — 

THE    COUNTRY    COUSIN. 

BT    MRS.    M.    E.    IIOBINSON. 

"  Is  n't  it  provoking!"  exclaimed  Sarah  Lind- 
say, rather  testily,  as  she  handed  an  open  letter 
to  Iier  mother,  who  was  leisurely  rocking  herself 
in  a  comfortable  chair.     "  It  is  sd  unfortunate." 

"I  see  nothing  'provoking' or 'unfortunate' 
in  the  letter,"  replied  Mrs.  Lindsay,  quietly,  as 
she  finished  its  perusal.  "It  merely  gives  the 
information  that  your  cousin  Fanny  has  accepted 
your  father's  invitation  to  visit  us." 

"  And  pray  who  is  my  cousin  V  asked  Sarah, 
rather  contemptuously. 

"  Your  Uncle  Edwin's  daughter,"  innocently 
rejoined  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"Pshaw  !  mother,  you  are  growing  quite  dull 
of  late.  My  cousin  is,  probably,  an  awkward 
country  girl,  with  manners  about  as  refined  as  a 
New  Zcalander's.  Can  I  ever  bring  myself  to 
introduce  a  girl  wearing  large  thick  shoes  and 
old  fashioned  clothing,  as  my  cousin  ?  It  is  not 
to  be  thought  of." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  child ;  your  cousin  is 
not  here  yet,"  resumed  Mi's.  Lindsay,  who  was 
a  good-humored,  amiable  woman,  inclined  to 
take  the  world  easy,  and  be  on  perfectly  good 
terras  with  all  its  inhabitants.  She  had  faults, 
as  we  all  have,  and  one  was,  she  had  always  per- 
mitted her  daughter  Sarah  to  have  her  own  way 
in  everything.  The  consequence  was  that  the 
latter  had  grown  to  girlhood  ^vith  many  errone- 
ous notions  of  fas Ii ion  and  "gentility." 

"  How  can  I  help  troubling  myself?"  replied 
the  daughter.  "  With  my  sensitive  organization 
and  delicate  neiwes,  I  am  easily  affected  by  such 
things.  I  can  foresee,  without  any  great  stretch 
of  imagination,  that  she  will  excite  any  amount 
of  ridicule,  and,  of  course,  mortify  mc." 

"Fanny  will,  probably,  receive  any  little  hints 
you  may  give  her  with  the  greatest  pleasure," 
added  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"Little  hints,  indeed  !  I  imagine  one  would 
be  required  to  '  hint'  a  great  part  of  the  time," 
replied  Sarah,  fretfully.  "  Besides,  my  party 
comes  off  next  week  ;  and,  O  dear!  it  just  oc- 
curs to  me  that  Christophena  Koxalana  George- 
man  is  to  make  her  yearly  visit  very  soon. 
What  if  they  should  both  be  here  at  the  same 
time!" 

"  You  are  borrowing  trouble  again,  my  dear," 
said  her  mother,  rocking  lazily  to  and  fro.  "  If 
they  both  come  at  once,  you  can  apologize  to 
Miss  Georgcman  for  any  deficiencies  she  may  ob- 
serve with  reference  to  Fanny.  ]f  she  is  a  sensi- 
ble girl,  she  will  excuse  all,  as  your  cousin  has 
had  neither  her  nor  your  advantages." 

"But,  mother,  what  shall  I  do  witli  this  coun- 
try girl  at  the  party  ?" 

"  O,  put  her  into  the  hands  of  your  maid,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  your  wardrobe,  I've  no 


doubt  she  will  look  and  appear  as  well  as  tho 
rest." 

"I  fear  she  will  need  soiricthing  in  the  way  of 
l)oIish  beside  dress,"  replied  Sarali,  with  a  slgii, 
and  apparently  making  up  her  mind  to  sul)nut 
to  what  could  not  be  helped.  "  I  might  as  well 
give  up  all  thouglits  of  enjoyment  I'or  the  next 
three  weeks  ;  but  I  give  you  to  understand,  mo- 
ther, that  I  shall  not  go  into  the  street  with  her 
at  all." 

"  But  that  will  be  wrong,  Sarah,  I  fear,"  re- 
plied her  mother.  "She  will  expect  attention, 
and  as  a  relative,  is  entitled  to  it." 

"It  cannot  be  helped,"  said  Sarah,  decidedly. 
"  But  I  really  would  not  expose  myself  to  the 
observations  of  people  for  any  compensation." 

The  remarks  of  Sarah  Lindsay  were  cut  short 
by  a  loud  ring  of  the  door  bell.  The  young 
lady  ran  to  the  window. 

"  Do  come  here  and  see  what  a  shabby-look- 
ing coach  is  stopping  before  tlie  door  !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  The  neighbors,  of  course,  will  all  be 
at  the  windows." 

Mrs.  Lindsay  did  as  she  was  requested. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  your  cousin  was 
inside  that  coach,"  observed  the  latter,  with  a 
smile. 

"How  can  you  laugh,  mother;  I'm  sure  I 
feel  much  more  like  crying,"  replied  Sarah, 
looking,  in  reality,  vexed  enough  to  cry.  "  Yes, 
that  must  be  her  with  that  sliocking  bonnet  and 
striped  shawl.  I  wonder  why  she  couldn't  come 
in  the  cars  like  decent  people,  as  well  as  by  way 
of  that  lumbering,  yellow  stage  coach  V  she 
continued,  with  an  expression  of  distress  upon 
her  countenance,  which  was  really  laughable. 

"Never  mind  the  vehicle,  my  dear;  but  be 
ready  to  receive  your  cousin  cordially,"  said 
Mrs,  Lindsay,  retiring  from  the  window. 

Fanny  Farley,  having  alighted,  drew  from  her 
pocket  a  small  bag,  which  she  deliberately  untied, 
and  taking  out  some  money  counted  her  fare, 
and  with  an  air  of  much  satisfaction,  placed  it 
carefully  in  the  hand  of  the  driver.  Then  direct- 
ing him  to  go  forward  with  a  trunk,  she  followed 
him  up  the  steps,  with  a  small  band  box  in  one 
hand,  an  umbrella  and  a  bundle  in  the  other,  to 
the  no  little  consternation  of  Sarah,  who  was 
still  at  the  window. 

"  Walk  right  in,  driver,  and  warm  your  hands. 
I  know  they  must  be  cold,"  observed  Fanny,  as 
with  some  diflficulty  she  gained  the  topmost  step. 

The  servant,  who  had  answered  the  bell,  stood 
looking  on  in  mute  astonishment ;  and  the  driver, 
after  depositing  the  wooden  trunk  upon  the  floor, 
hastily  descended  the  steps. 

"  Well,  that  man  hasn't  any  manners  to  go 
off  witiiout  saying  '  thank  ye  '  to  my  invitation," 
added  Fanny,  looking  after  his  retreating  form. 
"  Did  you  say  my  Aunt  Betsey  was  at  home  1" 
she  continued,  turning  to  the  man  in  waiting. 

"Mrs.  Lindsay  is  at  home,"  he  replied, grave- 
ly. "  If  you  will  follow  me,  I  will  show  you  the 
drawing-room." 

"Mrs.  Lindsay,  or  Aunt  Betsey,  just  as  you 
like,  it's  all  one  to  mc,"  resumed  Fanny,  as  she 
was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  her  relatives, 
with  the  umbrella  and  bundle  still  in  her  hand. 

"  My  niece,  Fanny  Farley,  I  suppose,"  said 
Mrs.  Lindsay,  taking  her  kindly  by  the  hand, 
and  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek. 

"  My  name's  Fanny,  and  I  s'pose  you're  my 
aunt  according  to  the  Bible  law,"  she  replied, 
with  a  salute  in  return  that  echoed  through  the 
room.  "  I'm  real  glad  to  see  you.  Aunt  Betsey, 
and  I've  brought  '  rigging '  enough  to  stay  a 
month.  But  where's  Cousin  Sail}'?"  she  added, 
looking  about  her. 

Sarali  advanced  to  welcome  her  very  civilly, 
as  she  imagined  ;  but  it  was  really  a  decided 
failure  ;  and  having  gone  through  with  the  forms, 
and  received  a  hearty,  and  to  the  "sensitively 
organized"  young  lady,  painfully  impolite 
squeeze  of  the  hand,  she  resumed  her  seat  with 
a  despairing  look. 

"  Lay  aside  your  bonnet  and  shawl,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Lindsay.  "John,"  she  continued, 
opening  the  door  and  speaking  to  the  servant, 
"take  this  lady's  umljrclla,  and  put  it  with  the 
others." 

"  But  it'll  get  mixed,.  Aunt  Betsey  !"  exclaim- 
ed Fanny,  with  alarm,  retaining  a  tight  hold  of 
the  article  in  question.  "I  wouldn't  lose  it  for 
the  world ;  it's  the  most  useful  member  of  our 
family.  Hadn't  I  better  take  it  up  to  my  bed- 
room V 

"  It  shall  be  placed  in  John's  especial  care," 
replied  Mrs.  Lindsay,  smiling  at  her  earnestness. 

Upon  this  assurance  she  allowed  it  to  be  taken 
away,  together  with  the  bundle. 


"  You  were  quite  small  when  I  saw  you  last," 
observed  Mrs.  Lindsay,  when  Fanny  Imd  seated 
herself.  "  I  should  not  have  recognized  you, 
had  not  your  letter  told  mc  v.'hom  to  expect." 

"  Yes ;  motlier  says  I  grow  like  all  possessed," 
was  the  grave  reply.  "Anyhow,  I  can't  take 
her  gowns  now,  as  I  used  to;  she  has  to  buy 
bran  fire  new  calikerfor  me.  I've  got  one  o'  the 
Imndsomest  bombazeis  that  you  ever  set  eyes  on 
for  Sunday;  it  shines  like  a  new  tin  dish.  If 
you'd  like  to  sec  it,  I'll  fetch  it  in  a  minute." 

'•  No  matter  about  it  now,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Lindsay.  "But  I  hear  the  dinner  bell.  You 
probably  have  a  good  appetite  riding  so  far." 

"Diimer!"  exclaimed  Fanny.  "  Why,  it's 
precious  near  supper  lime.  I  gucs3  I'll  go  out; 
but  I  aint  much  hungry,  for  mother  filled  my 
pockets  witli  doughnuts.  Here's  just  one  left; 
wont  you  taste  of  it,  and  see  if  mother  alnt  an 
uncommon  cook.  Cousin  Sally  V  and  she  drew 
an  enormous  one  from  licr  dress  pocket,  and 
held  it  up  before  Sarah. 

The  latter  declined  and  hastened  into  the  din- 
ing-room. Fanny  stared  in  astonishment  at 
everything  slie  saw,  and  could  scarcely  find  time 
to  eat  what  ^vas  placed  before  her. 

"What  funny  little  towels!"  she  exclaimed; 
after  a  short  pauie. 

"  Napkins,  my  dear,  for  the  fingers,"  whisper- 
ed Mrs.  Lindsay,  who  was  seated  near  her. 

"  O,  I  thought  they  was  to  pin  up  !"  rejoined 
Fanny,  coolly.  "  But  what  is  Cousin  Sally 
laughing  at  ?    Don't  she  like  my  looks  V 

"  My  name  is  Sarah,  not  Sally,"  said  the 
young  lady,  with  dignity;  the  word  "Sally" 
having  dissipated  all  her  mirth. 

"Sally's  the  most  fashionable  in  our  village; 
but  seein's  you  look  so  black  about  it,  I'll  call 
you  Sarah  when  I  remember,"  answered  Fanny, 
demurely. 

Mr.  Lindsay  was  not  at  home  when  they  be- 
gan to  dine,  but  came  in  before  the  meal  was 
finished.  He  appeared  glad  to  sec  his  niece, 
and  made  many  inquiries  concerning  her  family. 
The  afternoon  and  evening  passed  away  without 
bringing  any  visitors,  to  the  great  joy  of  Sarah. 
The  latter  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  "  caller;"  for  the  uncouth  speeches 
of  Fanny  were  ever  present  before  her,  and  it 
was  utterly  impossible  to  keep  her  out  of  the 
way. 

Fanny  Farley  was  not  a  bad  looking  girl  by 
any  means.  Her  features  were  quite  regular, 
her  complexion  good,  teeth  fine,  and  her  figure 
very  well  formed.  She  would  certainly  have 
been  called  pretty,  were  it  not  for  a  bad  habit 
which  she  had  of  winking  continually  when 
spoken  to.  Her  hair  was  arranged  very  unbe- 
comingly, and  the  ill-fitting  and  rather  dowdy- 
looking  dress,  added  not  a  little  to  the  awkward- 
ness of  her  appearance.  As  Sarah  had  predict- 
ed, her  feet  were  encased  in  thick  shoes,  more  to 
be  valued  for  their  durability  than  beauty;  and 
the  noise  which  she  made  in  locomotion  usually 
gave  notice  of  her  presence.  Judging  from  the 
appearance  of  Fanny,  she  was,  probably,  seven- 
teen years  of  age,  and  according  to  her  own  ad- 
mission, "big  enough  to  have  a  beau." 

Slie  was  shrewd,  and  possessed  a  good  share 
of  that  useful  commodity — common  sense.  If 
her  observations  were  peculiar,  they  could  cer- 
tainly be  called  original,  and  to  the  point. 

Mrs.  Lindsay  represented  to  Fanny  that  the 
name  of  Betsey  was  old  fashioned,  and  nearly 
obsolete,  and  it  would  be  better  to  substitute  her 
true  name — Flizabeth — in  its  place.  This  re- 
mark was  made  in  such  a  mild,  aftectionate  way, 
that  Fanny  acceded  to  it  immediately;  and  the 
"  delicate  nerves  "  of  Sarah  received  no  farther 
shock  from  a  repetition  of  the  opprobrious 
epithet. 

The  second  day  of  Fanny's  visit  arrived,  and 
with  it  Miss  Georgcman.  The  latter  was  a 
proud,  haughty  girl,  with  a  su])ercilious,  self- 
conceited  air,  which  was  veiy  disagreeable. 
Being  favored  by  nature  with  but  few  personal 
attractions,  she  endeavored  to  gain  that  conse- 
quence and  attention  which  she  desired,  by  dis- 
play in  dress,  and  a  lavish  expenditure  of  money. 
Upon  being  introduced  to  Fanny  by  Mrs.  Lind- 
sa}',  she  raised  her  eye-glass,  and  looked  at  her 
from  head  to  foot, 

"  Why  don't  you  get  some  bows  hitched  to 
your  specs,  IMiss  Christopher  1  it  must  be  dread- 
ful tiresome  to  hold  'em  up  all  the  time.  I'll 
take  hold  a  little  while  till  you  get  rested,"  said 
Fanny,  who  rose  and  apjiroachcd  the  young 
lady. 

"  I  wish  none  of  your  assistance,  Miss  Ver- 
dant!" retorted  Bliss  Georgcman. 


"  My  name's  Farley,"  replied  Fanny.  "  But 
I'm  sorry  your  sight  is  so  poor.  I've  got  some 
ointment  that'll  be  sure  to  help  it.  Mother  and 
old  Deacon  Fox  both  used  it,  and  tliey  can  sec 
now  aljout  as  well  as  when  they  were  as  young 
as  you  arc—say  twenty-eight." 

Miss  Georgcman  made  no  reply,  save  by  a 
contemptuous  stare  and  a  curl  of  the  lip.-  Sarah 
looked  very  much  vexed,  bat  Mrs.  Lindsay 
smiled,  and  introduced  a  new  subject. 

For  several  days  nothing  was  talked  of  but 
the  anticipated  party.  Great  preparations  were 
made,  and  much  time  spent  in  wondering  wlio 
should  be  invited ;  but,  at  last,  all  was  conclud- 
ed, a!ul  the  girls  retired  to  dress. 

"  Now,  Fanny,"  said  Sarah,  in  a  decided 
voice,  "  I  must  insist  that  you  permit  Martin  to 
dress  your  hair.  It  does  not  look  decently 
arranged  as  you  now  liavo  it." 

"  Sam  Fisher  said  I  looked  like  the  Venus  tie 
M<'-lhodisl"  replied  Funny,  demurely,  "  and  he 
belongs  to  the  churcli." 

"  What's  that,  I  wonder?"  asked  Sarah, 
laugldng. 

"Folks  say  it's  a  mermaid  that  lives  in  the 
Fcjee  Islands  ;  but  Sam  will  have  it  she's  a  cele- 
brated character,  and  stays  under  water  most  of 
the  time,"  was  the  demure  rejoinder. 

"  You  shouldn't  believe  everything  tliat  is  told 
you,"  said  Miss  Christophena,  with  a  patronizing 
air. 

"  That's  just  what  I  thought  when  you  told  us 
how  many  handsome  young  men  wanted  to 
marry  you,"  answered  our  heroine. 

Miss  Georgcman  bit  her  lip,  and  turned  away 
without  replying. 

"  Here  are  several  dresses  from  whicli  you  can 
make  a  choice,"  added  Sarah,  turning  to  Fanny. 
"  You  are  about  my  height  and  size,  and  I  think 
any  of  them  will  fit  you." 

"But  I  don't  need  to  |)orrow  gowns  of  any- 
body. I  guess  I  shall  wear  my  indigo-blue  and 
green  caliker.  The  colors  are  magnificent.  It'll 
look  splendidly  in  the  evening,"  replied  Fanny. 

"An  indigo-blue  print  at  an  evening  party !" 
exclaimed  Sarah,  in  unfeigned  astonishment. 
"  You  will  mortify  me  to  death.  I  shall  not  en- 
joy myself  a  moment.  Do,  dear  Fanny,"  she 
added,  in  a  persuasive  voice,  "  do  gratify  me 
enough  to  put  on  this  pretty  white  muslin.  It  is 
very  tastefully  trimmed." 

"I  don't  mean  to  wear  white  till  I'm  married; 
it's  unproper,  and  not  a  bit  genteel-like.  Be- 
sides, 'twould  show  my  neck  and  arms,  and 
make  people  look  at  me.  I  shouldn't  feel  at 
home  in  it." 

"What  shall  I  do,  Christophena?  She  will 
surely  make  a  fright  of  herself.  Now,  there  is 
a  blue  and  white  frock  which  would  just  suit 
her." 

"  That  sky-blue  will  take  all  the  gloss  off  my 
complexion,  and  make  me  look  just  as  though  I 
was  goin'  to  faint  away.  I'll  try  it  on,  though, 
to  please  you ;  but  if  I  don't  like  my  appearance, 
I  shall  take  my  own  rigging,"  replied  Fanny. 

Sarah  and  Miss  Georgeman  left  Fanny  in  the 
hands  of  Martin,  who  speedily  made  such  an 
im])rovement  in  her  appearance  that  one  "would 
scarcely  have  known  her.  The  black  silky  hair 
w^as  put  back  from  the  forehead,  and  arranged 
in  a  becoming  manner.  The  arms,  which  were 
white  and  well  formed,  remained  uncovered,  and 
the  dress  could  have  fitted  no  better  had  it  been 
cut  to  her  form.  Martin,  having  arranged  every- 
thing to  her  satisfaction,  observed  that  Fanny 
could  now  survey  herself  at  a  mirror.  Accord- 
ingly, the  latter  arose  and  approached  a  glass. 
She  surveyed  her  person  intently  for  a  long  time 
without  speaking.  Martin,  meanwhile,  had  gone 
to  request  Sarah  and  her  friend  to  come  and  see 
"  how  much  better  JNIiss  Fanny  looked." 

"Really,"  exclaimed  Miss  Christophena,  "I 
did  not  believe  our  unsophisticated  friend  could 
be  so  much  improved  !" 

"Nor  I  either,"  added  Sarah.  "  And  now, 
Fanny,  if  you  are  cartful,  and  don't  speak  ex- 
cept when  spoken  to,  and  then  only  in  monosyl- 
lables, you  will  commit  no  blunders,  nor  make 
yourself  ridiculous.  Come,  Christophena,  wg 
shall  be  late  ;"  and  the  two  young  ladies,  follow- 
ed by  Martin,  hurried  a^vay. 

As  they  left  the  room,  Fanny  turned  the  key 
in  the  door,  and  deliberately  unfastened  the  hair 
which  Martin  had  so  nicely  dressed ;  then  care- 
lessly twisting  it,  she  placed  a  huge  comb  at  tho 
top  of  the  head,  with  any  quantity  of  gaudy- 
colored  ribbon  dangling  therefrom.  Producing 
the  wooden  trunk,  before  mentioned,  she  took 
fiom  it  the  much  lauded  print  and  put  it  on,  to- 
gether with  a  flaunting  yellow  ribbon.    Tho  skirt 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


235 


of  the  dress  being  very  nnrrow,  we  must  allow 
it  did  not  hang  in  very  graceful  folds ;  and  the 
sleeves,  which  resembled  small  balloons,  had  the 
appearance  of  wings.  The  waist  being  quite 
short,  l^'aimy,  who  seemed  conscious  of  the  fact, 
produced  a  rusty  black  scarf,  and  tied  it  about 
her  to  supply  the  deficiency  in  length. 

Fanny,  we  fear,  had  but  an  inditfcrent  taste  in 
the  choice  of  colors,  for  a  strange  medley  was 
selected.  She  seemed  satit-fied,  however,  and 
after  tims  cquippi.ig  herself,  sat  down  and  pa- 
tiently wailed  until  she  heard  the  company  assem- 
bling. Then  descending  by  a  back  staircase, 
she  approached  tlie  parlors  and  cautiously  looked 
in.  The  elegantly  furnished  rooms  were  nearly 
iilled  with  well-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen,  not 
one  of  whom  was  known  to  Fanny.  It  was  a 
lively  party ;  merry  voices,  happy  faces,  bright 
and  smiling  glances,  were  predominant. 

"  How  grand !"  exclaimed  Fanny,  drawing 
back  as  the  galaxy  of  beauty  and  fashion  met 
her  gaze.     "  I  declare  I'm  afraid  to  go  in." 

"Allow  me  to  escort  you,"  said  a  fine-looking 
young  man,  who  was  standing  near,  in  a  res- 
pectful tone. 

"  rm  willin',"  replied  Fanny,  taking  the  prof- 
ferred  arm.  "  But  don't  the  geranders  and  clian- 
tideers  dazzle  your  eyes  ?  Why,  mine  fairly 
ache ;"  and  she  placed  her  hand  over  her  e^'cs  as 
a  screen. 

"  They  do  not  incommode  me,"  rejoined  the 
gentleman,  politely.  "  You  will  soon  become 
accustomed  to  the  light.  Would  you  like  to  see 
any  particular  person?" 

"I  shouldn't  mind  seein'  Cousin  Sarah,  I'm 
not  perticerler,  though  ;  for  I  s'pose  she's  busy 
with  her  party,  and  shoLv'uKj  Miss  Christopher." 

"  Then  you  are  Miss  Lindsay's  cousin  V 

"Her  mother  is  my  Aunt  Betsey — 'Lizabeth, 
I  mean.  My  name  is  Fanny  Farley ;  but  she 
never  calls  nic  cousin,"  answered  our  heroine. 

"  And  the  young  lady  you  mentioned — " 

"  Is  Miss  Christopher  Eocks  Somebody !  It 
must  be  Latin,  it's  so  hard  to  pronounce.  But 
there's  Cousin  Sarah  talkiu'  to  that  man  that 
looks  like  a  squirrel.  I  wonder  how  he  eats  with 
so  much  hair  around  his  mouth.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve he's  lost  his  I'azorV  asked  Fanny,  with 
much  gravity. 

"X*erhaps  so,"  he  replied,  with  some  difficulty 
suppressing  a  smile,  for  he  was  too  well  bred  to 
laugh. 

As  the  two  slowly  walked  through  the  rooms, 
several  young  ladies  glanced  contemptuously  at 
Fanny,  laughed  audibly,  and  wluspcred  to  each 
other,  in  tones  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard  by 
her. 

*'  Who  is  she,  I  wonder  V  remarked  one.  "  I 
should  think  that  Mr.  Briggs  would  think  more 
of  himself  than  to  be  seen  promenading  with 
that  country  specimen !" 

"  Look  at  her  dress !"  said  another,  with  a 
sneer.  "  One  might  suppose  she  imported  her 
own  fashions  and  fabrics.  Suppose  we  borrow 
the  pattern.  It  is  lamentable  that  it  should  dis- 
appear with  the  wearer!" 

"  And  the  comb  and  head-dress!"  chimed  in 
a  third.  "  Wliy,  a  country  milliner  might  begin 
business  with  the  ribbons  that  she  wears  !" 

Fanny  walked  on,  not  at  all  disconcerted  by 
these  observations,  and  an  attentive  observer 
might  have  detected  a  smile  of  peculiar  signifi- 
cance playing  about  her  finely  chiselled  lips. 

"  Do  not  heed  what  they  say.  Miss  Farley," 
said  the  gentleman,  earnestly,  upon  whose  arm 
she  was  leaning.  "  No  true  lady  would  make 
such  remarks."  This  was  said  in  a  low  tone  of 
voice. 

'*  Their  observations  do  not  annoy  me  in  the 
least,"  she  replied,  quietly;  "  but  only  prove  the 
truth  of  the  old  adage,  that  '  fine  feathers  make 
fine  birds,'  and  demonstrate  the  weakness  of  the 
human  mind." 

The  gentleman  turned  towards  her  in  astonish- 
ment !  Did  he  hear  aright  ?  Was  it  his  com- 
panion that  had  been  speaking  ?  Before  he  had 
settled  the  subject  to  his  satisfaction,  Sarah 
Lindsay  came  forward  and  touched  Fanny  upon 
the  arm. 

"  Fanny  Farley !"  she  whispered,  angrily, 
"  how  dared  yon  come  below  in  this  frightful- 
looking  dress  !  Don't  you  perceive  how  the  peo- 
ple are  laughing  and  ridiculing  you?  What 
have  you  been  saying  ?" 

"  Monosyllables,"  replied  our  heroine,  aloud. 
"  They  never  hurt  anybody." 

Sarah's  eyes  flashed,  but  she  dared  not  give 
vent  to  her  indignation  in  woi'ds. 

"  Mr.  Briggs,"  said  Miss  Lindsay,  turning  to 
the  gentleman,  "  dancinghas  been  proposed,  and 


sets  are  being  formed   in  the  next  room.     Will 
you  join  us  V 

"  I  have  engaged  to  escort  this  lady  through  the 
apartments,  otherwise  I  should  be  most  happy 
to  do  so,"  was  the  polite  reply. 

"  Cousin  Sarah,  hadn't  you  better  have  that 
heavy  looking  thing  with  prongs  in  it  moved  out 
of  the  entry?  It'll  hurt  some  one  yet,"  added 
F'anny,  as  Sarah  was  turning  hauglitily  away. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  latter,  as 
she  quickly  stepped  towards  the  hall.  "  I  see 
nothing  but  the  hat  tree." 

"  A  ;>ro»(/c(^  Iiat  tree!"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
young  ladies  we  have  mentioned,  with  a  laugh. 

Sarah's  face  was  crimson  with  mortification 
as  she  hastened  to  Miss  Georgeman,  and  taking 
her  arm,  left  the  room. 

"  Do  you  dance,  ]\Iiss  Farley  *?"  asked  Fanny's 
gallant. 

"  If  you'd  ever  seen  me  go  through  a  double 
and  twisied  hornpipe,  you  wouldn't  ask  that  ques- 
tion," was  the  rejoinder,  as  she  hurried  him 
away. 

The  dancing  had  already  commenced,  and 
they  took  seats  to  look  on  ;  but  the  exhilarating 
music  soon  caused  the  feet  of  Fanny  to  beat  time 
to  the  measure.  Her  companion  remarked  the 
fact,  and  asked  her  to  join  in  tlie  next  dance, 
which  was  a  simple  one.  Fanny  had  no  idea  of 
refusing,  and  in  spite  of  the  frowning  looks  of 
Sarah,  who  stood  in  an  opposite  corner,  she  took 
her  place  beside  him  on  the  floor. 

Mr.  Briggs — as  lie  was  called — possessed  the 
manners  of  a  perfect  gentleman.  He  was  polite, 
in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  viz.,  kind,  atten- 
tive, and  respectful  to  all.  He  was  affluent,  held 
a  high  station  in. society,  and  was  esteemed  by 
those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  his 
acquaintance. 

He  saw  Fanny  ridiculed,  slighted,  and  treated 
with  disrespect  by  a  certain  clique,  because  she 
was  indifferently  dressed,  and  withal  appeared 
rather  unsophisticated.  This  called  forth  his 
sympathies,  and  though  a  stranger,  he  immedi- 
ately showed  her  that  attention  which  his  code  of 
politeness  dictated. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  he  felt  somewhat  un- 
easy in  regard  to  Fauny's  knowledge  of  the 
Terpsichorean  art.  But  this  was  soon  to  be  de- 
cided, for  they  were  already  in  motion.  And 
now  Fanny  displayed  her  skill.  She  was  evi- 
dently ignorant  of  the  different  changes  that  were 
being  called,  and  followed  her  partner  at  her 
leisure,  putting  time  at  defiance.  Her  move- 
ments manifested  more  strength  than  grace ; 
beginning  with  a  hop  and  ending  with  a  slide. 
Her  extraordinary  evolutions  and  "ornamental 
additions,"  as  she  termed  them,  attracted  no  lit- 
tle attention  ;  while  her  narrow  skirt,  short  dress 
waist,  and  the  many  colored  streamers  that  de- 
pended from  her  head,  suggested  so  much  of  the 
ludicrous  that  the  young  gentleman  could  hardly 
forbear  laughing. 

All  things  have  an  end,  and  so  had  the  cotil- 
lon;  but  upon  looking  about  for  his  partner, 
he  discovered  that  she  had  most  unaccountably 
disappeared.  A  few  more  dances,  and  the  com- 
pany adjourned  to  the  refreshment-room,  where, 
for  a  time,  we  will  leave  them. 

Fanny  Farley  had  taken  advantage  of  an  in- 
tricate cliange  to  leave  the  room  without  being 
observed,  and  hastened  to  her  own  chamber. 
She  spoke  to  her  cousin's  maid,  who  was  within 
call. 

"Martin,"  said  Fanny,  as  the  former  entered 
the  room,  '*!  wish  you  to  dress  my  hair  as 
speedily  as  possible.  It  is  necessary  that  I  should 
go  down  before  the  dancing  recommences." 

"  How  strange  you  look  and  talk  !"  exclaimed 
Martin,  as  Fanny  took  from  her  head  the  corab 
which  towered  majestically  upward. 

"  Never  mind  my  words  or  looks,"  replied  our 
heroine,  "but  commence  operations  at  once." 

The  maid  needed  not  a  second  bidding  ;  and 
in  a  short  time  the  hair-dressing  was  completed. 
Fanny  now  produced  a  beautiful  dress,  laces  and 
flowers  in  abundance,  and  other  paraphernalia  of 
the  dressing-room,  to  the  astonishment  and  ad- 
miration of  Martin.  With  tlie  assistance  of  the 
latter,  her  toilet  was  soon  finished.  Her  dress 
was  of  a  becoming  color,  and  fitted  beautifully 
her  well-proportioned  and  supple  form.  Martin 
was  in  raptures,  and  declared  she  looked  "better 
than  any  of  the  proud  ladles  below,  or  even  Miss 
Sarah  herself." 

Funny  did  not  stop  to  contradict  this  sweeping 
assertion,  but  hastened  to  her  uncle,  who  was 
waiting  to  conduct  her  to  the  parlor. 

"Sarah  has  been  sulficiently  punished,"  he 
remarked,  earnestly.     "  She  has  received  a  les- 


son wliich,  I  think,  will  ultimately  benefit  her. 
Be  yourself  again ;  for  I  do  not  wish  to  deprive 
you  of  the  good  opinion  and  admiration  of  all 
these  people,  my  dear,  to  gratify  a  freak  of  mine." 
"As  long  as  I  am  favored  with  your  good 
opinion  I  am  satisfied,"  replied  his  niece,  as  they 
entered  the  apartment. 

Fanny  was  now  the  "observed  of  all  observ- 
ers." Many  gentlemen  gatliered  about  her, 
eager  for  an  introduction  ;  while  the  busy  hum 
of  conversation  ceased  in  their  immediate  vicini- 
ty. Ladies  turned  their  attention  from  tlie  com- 
pliments of  their  gallants  to  wonder  who  the 
beautiful  young  lady,  with  such  a  fine  figure  and 
self-possessed  air,  could  be. 

"Fanny,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "allow  me  to 
present  to  you  a  young  friend  of  mine,  Mr. 
Briggs.  Alfred,  let  me  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  niece.  Miss  Farley." 

"  I  think  I  have  spoken  with  Miss  Farley  be- 
fore," replied  the  young  gentleman,  gallantly, 
and  bowing  with  much  politeness. 

"  1  was  acting  an  assumed  part  at  that  time, 
and  I  beg  you  will  not  form  an  estimate  of  my 
character  from  the  circumstance,"  observed  Fan- 
ny.    "  I  think  I  deserve  farther  trial. '^ 

"  Be  under  no  apprehension,  Miss  Farley ; 
your  motives  by  me  will  not  be  questioned,  nor 
your  words  misconstrued,"  replied  Mr.  Briggs, 
glancing  at  Fanny  with  a  look  that  expressed 
admiration  and  respect,  and  which  sufl'uscd  her 
face  with  blushes. 

"  Speak  to  your  cousin,  Sarah,"  added  Mr. 
Liudsay,  as  his  daughter  came  up.  "You  know 
she  is  a  stranger  here." 

"  To  my  cousin  !"  exclaimed  the  young  lady, 
in  evident  amazement,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other.     "  Why,  Fanny,  is  that  you !" 

"  I  believe  I  must  acknowledge  the  cliargc," 
replied  our  heroine,  gaily.  "  But  forgive  me, 
Sarah,  for  having,  in  carrying  out  a  little  plan 
of  my  own,  vexed  and  mortified  you.  I  will  ex- 
plain all  anon;  for  you  see  we  are  attracting 
attention." 

"Ah!  I  perceive  you  have  been  deceiving  us 
somewhat,"  added  Sarah,  with  a  smile.  "But 
I  will  forgive  you  on  condition  that  you  dance  a 
little  more  gracefully  than  before,  and  refrain 
from  mentioning  '  pronged  hat  trees.' " 

Fanny  having  laughingly  assented,  dancing 
soon  re-commenced.  The  former  rapidly  re- 
deemed her  reputation  for  awkwardness,  and 
proved  an  adept  in  the  fascinating  art.  With  an 
air  of  grace,  ease  and  dignity  not  often  seen,  she 
glided  through  the  mazes  of  the  giddy  waltz. 
Many  expressed  their  unqualified  admiration  in 
no  measured  terms  ;  while  others,  influenced  by 
the  demons  of  envy  and  jealousy,  refused  to  ac- 
knowledge her  superiority. 

Sarah  Lindsay  and  Miss  Georgeman  suddenly 
discovered  that  Fanny  had  "  very  small  white 
hands,  a  beautiful  neck  and  sloping  shoulders," 
beside  other  attractions  never  before  observed. 
Added  to  this,  the  unfortunate  peculiarity  of  the 
eye  had  also  disappeared.  How  singular  that 
such  should  be  the  case  !  W«  fear  that  many 
people  resemble  Sarah  Lindsay  and  Christophe- 
na  Georgeman. 

Mr.  Lindsay,  while  on  a  visit  to  Mr.  Farley, 
had  been  much  pleased  with  Fanny,  and  was 
very  desirous  that  she  should  accompany  him 
home.  Conscious  of  the  principal  defect  in  the 
character  of  his  daughter,  lie  hoped  that  the  ex- 
ample, strong  mind  and  fine  intellect  of  Fanny 
might  prove  beneficial  to  her.  She  was  quite 
too  ready  to  judge  from  appearances,  and  this, 
he  knew,  was  a  serious  fault. 

After  some  deliberation,  he  planned  the  scheme 
of  Fanny's  appearing  in  a  character  contrary  to 
her  own,  and  one  calculated  to  try  both  the  man- 
ners and  principles  of  Sarah.  To  this  his  niece 
acceded,  and  the  scheme  was  executed  to  his  en- 
tire satisfaction.  Sarah  admitted  that  she  had 
judged  too  much  by  externals,  and  a  superficial 
observation. 

Fanny's  visit  was  prolonged  some  months. 
Before  its  termination,  she  had  received  several 
eligible  offers  of  marriage  from  those  who  had 
learned  her  worth  and  appreciated  her  character. 
Alfred  Briggs  was  the  favored  one.  She  satis- 
fied herself  that  he  possessed  that  true  nobility 
of  heart,  and  uprightness,  and  inflexibility  of 
principle,  that  would  constitute  a  good  husband. 
On  liis  part,  having  obtained  the  approbation 
of  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  the  consent  of  Fanny,  he 
soon  followed  the  latter  lo  the  elegant  country 
seat  of  her  father,  who  favored  bis  suit.  Their 
union  was  happy.  Fanny  was  accomplished, 
talented  and  amiable,  and  her  devoted  husband 
never  repented  wedding  the  country  cousin.. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LOVE, 

BT  KENNETH   SENOLAIR. 

'Tis  a  fair  sunbeam  that  glancea 
O'er  the  iiciiYens,  at  noon  ; 
"Whose  brightly  beaming  ray, 
Life  and  beauty  enhances  ; 
Ytt  all  too  fleeting,  soon  passes  away, 
And  leaves  us  in  dai'kncss  and  gloom. 

'T  is  seen  like  a  ■wandering  star, 
Whose  lustrous  flood  of  light 
Dazzles  the  upturned  eye, 

That  looks  on  it  afar ; 
Tet  its  splendor,  alas  I  doth  fade  and  die, 
Thus  making  e'ea  darker  the  night. 

<  .»»—  > 

TRIAL. 
Ko  man  is  a  man  till  tried — till  he  has  passed 
the  ordeal,  through  deep  waters  and  scorching 
fires.  A  man  surrounded  with  comforts,  friends 
and  relatives,  food  and  raiment — whose  barns 
are  filled  with  plenty,  and  whose  presses  gush 
out  with  new  wine — who  eats  to  the  full,  sits  and 
reads,  doles  about,  takes  his  case  and  his  plea- 
sure, smokes  his  pipe,  or  chews  his  cud — is  he  a 
manl  far  from  it.  A  man  is  not  a  man  till  he 
is  proved — has  passed  the  ordeal,  drunk  the  bit- 
ter cup,  risen  above  life's  conflicts,  mounted  the 
billow's  wave.  Was  Joseph  a  man,  in  very  deed, 
till  he  was  cast  into  the  pit,  torn  away  from  the 
bewitching  tempter,  leaving  his  garment  behind 
— till  he  groaned  in  the  prison  house  ?  Was- 
Moses  a  man  till  he  passed  the  fiery  ordeal? 
Was  Daniel  a  man  till  cast  into  the  lion's  den? 
Was  Paul  truly  a  man  till  he  suffered  perils  by 
sea  and  by  land,  and  had  received  forty  stripes 
save  one  1 — "No  man  that  warreth  entangleth 
himself  with  the  affairs  of  his  life,  that  he  may 
please  him  who  hath  chosen  him  to  be  a  soldier." 
Let  a  man  be  forsaken  of  all,  as  was  Job — swing 
loose  on  faith,  on  God,  and  retain  his  integrity, 
rising  triumphantly — is  he  not  a  man  ■?  Who 
besides? — Golden  Rule. 


^VIXGS  Ol^  l^'StlCTS. 

The  buzzing  and  humming  sounds  produced 
by  winged  insects  are  not,  as  might  be  supposed, 
vocal  sounds.  They  result  from  sonorous  undu- 
lations imparted  to  the  air  by  the  flapping  of 
their  wings.  This  may  be  rendered  evident  by 
obseiwing  that  the  noise  always  ceases  when  the 
insect  alights  on  any  object.  The  airene  kas 
been  ingeniously  applied  for  the  purpose  of  as- 
certaining the  rate  at  which  the  wings  of  such 
creatures  flap.  The  instrument  being  brought 
into  unison  with  the  sound  produced  by  the  in- 
sect, indicates,  as  in  the  case  of  any  other  musi- 
cal sound,  the  rate  of  vibration.  In  this  way  it 
has  been  ascertained  that  the  wings  of  a  gnat 
flap  at  the  rate  of  15,000  times  per  second.  The 
pitch  of  the  note  produced  by  this  insect  in  the 
act  of  flying  is,  therefore,  more  than  two  octaves 
above  the  highest  note  of  a  seven-octave  piano 
forte. — Lardiier's  Maud  Boole. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial,] 
TflE  AGED. 

Bise  up  before  the  silvered  head, 

Give  place  to  the  aged  man  ; 
Mark  you  his  feeble,  faltering  tread, 

And  his  furrowed  visage  wan  ! 

He 's  tottericg  on  the  grave's  di-ead  brink, 

Heady  to  launch  away  ; 
0,  may  his  footsteps  never  shrink, 

To  cross  the  narrow  way  I 

May  the  Saviour's  presence  lead  him  on 

To  a  home  of  rest  above, 
And  welcomed  by  the  seraph  throng, 

Praise  God's  redeeming  love. 

A  SOAP-KUBKLE. 

A  soap-bubble,  as  it  floats  in  the  light  of  the 
sun,  reflects  to  the  eye  an  endless  variety  of 
the  most  gorgeous  tints  of  color.  Newton  showed 
that  to  each  of  these  tints  corresponds  a  certain 
thickness  of  the  substance  forming  the  bubble  ; 
that  all  transparent  substances,  when  reduced  to 
a  certain  degree  of  tenuity,  would  reflect  these 
colors.  Near  the  highest  point  of  the  bubble, 
just  before  it  bursts,  is  always  observed  a  spot 
which  reflects  no  color  and  apjicars  black.  New- 
ton showed  that  the  thickness  of  the  bubble  at 
this  black  point  was  the  2,500,000th  part  of  an 
inch  !  Now,  as  the  bubble  at  this  ])oint  possesses 
the  properties  of  water  as  essentially  as  does  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  it  follows  that  the  ultimate  mole- 
cules forming  water  must  have  less  dimensions 
than  this  thickness. — Lardncr's  Hand  Book. 


LEAVE  TO  DINE. 

Every  day,  at  about  one,  P.  M.,  the  notes  of  a 
discordant  horn  resounded  througli  every  town 
and  village  in  the  Siamese  territories,  meant  lo 
proclaim  to  itie  world  at  large,  "  that  His  Majes- 
ty the  King  of  Siam  had  had  his  dinner,  and 
w;is  graciously  pleased  to  grant  permission  to 
all  other  potentates  on  the  face  of  the  earth  to 
follow  his  judicious  example."  A  Siamese 
would  no  more  believe  that  any  other  crowned 
head  dared  transgress  this  law  with  impunity, 
than  he  would  in  the  existence  of  an  electric  tele- 
graph ;  and  as  for  breaking  tluough  it  them- 
selves, instantaneous  death  would  be  the  result. 
— Ntule^s  liesideuce  in  S'laut. 


The  fiisliion 
Doth  wear  out  more  apparel  than  tbo  man. 


236 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


S.  KLOUS  *t  CO.»S 
Hat,  Cap  and  Fur  Store. 

We  present  herewith 
a  very  line  interior  view 
of  the  Hat,  Cap  and  Fur 
Store  of  S.  Klous  <& 
Co.,  29  and  31  Court 
Street,  Boston.  It  is  hy 
our  artist,  Mr.  Manning, 
and  forms  a  very  ac^eu- 
rateand  strikinj^:  picture. 
This  is  thchir^'cst  retail 
hat  estahlishment  in 
New  England.  It  is  33 
feet  wide  on  Court 
Street,  and  100  feet  deep 
on  Franklin  Avenue, oc- 
cupying nearly  all  of 
two  three-story  build- 
ings. The  front  room, 
as  herewith  represented, 
is  the  largest  sales  room 
of  the  kind  in  the  State, 
and  is  oecupied  as  a  re- 
tail department,  the  sec- 
ond room  as  a  hat,  cap 
and  fur  saloon,  and  the 
basement  for  the  whole- 
sale hat  trade,  employ- 
ing about  lo  salesmen. 
S.  Klous  &  Co.  manu- 
facture hats,  caps  and 
furs  in  the  buildings, 
employing  in  the  hat 
manufactory  about  .50 
workmen  of  the  first 
class ;  and  in  the  cap 
manufactory  they  cm- 
ploy,  di-  'y  and  indi- 
^  "  ,  .<jm  250  to  300 
gii'Is.  Their  furs  are  re- 
ceived directly  from  Eu- 
rope; and,  having  artists 
of  long  experience,  they 
manufacture  some  of  the 
best  furs  offered  for  sale 
in  the  metropolis.  Their 
manufacturing  arrange- 
ments are  such,  having 
introduced  new  and  ex- 
tensive machinery,  and 
employing  at  the  same 
time  a  corps  of  mechan- 
ics unsurpassed,  that 
they  are  enabled  to  offer 
their  customers  a  splen- 
did article  of  hats  that  is 
excelled  by  none.  They 
do  not  propose  to  con- 
fine each  customer  to 
precisely  the  same  pat- 
tern hat,  and  fheir  styles 
will  be  found  to  differ 
from  that  of  any  other 
establis^hment,  but  while 
observing  the  general 
features  of  the  prevail- 
ing styles,  to  adapt  mi- 
nor peculiarities  to  the 
stature,  physiognomy  or 
taste  of  the  individual. 
After  a  personal  exami- 
nation of  this  establish- 
ment, we  do  not  hesitate 
to  say  that  this  house 
offer  the  most  elegantly 
finished  and  perfect  arti- 
cles in  this  line  that  can 
be  found  in  Boston,  or 
any  other  city  in  the 
Union.  We  may  as  well 
mention  in  this  place 
that  those  gentlemen 
who  have  formed  a  taste 
— and  very  justly,  too — 
for  Leary  &  Co.'s  excel- 
lent hats,  of  New  York, 
can  obtain  them  here, 
Messrs.  Klous  &  Co. 
having  the  Boston  agen- 
cy for  the  house.  A 
man's  hat  is  certainly 
one  of  the  most  impor- 
tant portions  of  his  ex- 
ternal appearance ;  and 
those  who  desire  to  he 
fitted  to  a  charm  with 
an  article  of  the  most 
artistic  character,  and 
best  suited  to  their  own 
style  of  features,  man- 
ner, general  bearing, 
etc.,  should  call  on  this 
house,  who  have  earned 
the  title  of  artists  in 
their  calling.  We  enjoy 
the  chronicling  of  these 
merchant  palaces ;  they 
evince  most  indisputably 
the  growing  wealth  and 
commercial  success  of 
our  city — they  manifest 
a  spirit  of  generous  iil)- 
erality,  and  free  outlay, 

that  does  good — as  good  can  in  no  other  way  so 
well  he  accomplished.  It  diffuses  money  to  ar- 
tists, laborers,  clerks,  men  of  ability,  mentally, 
and  men  who  are  classed  as  among  the  "  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  water."  It  puts  money 
in  circulation  to  rear  and  sustain  such  elaborate 
and  well-found  manufactories,  besides  supplying 
all  concerned  with  the  ample  means  of  producing 
a  better  and  more  desirable  article  of  wear  in  the 
line  of  the  business  cngasred  in.  In  illustrating 
so  fine  a  store  a«  that  of  Klous  &  Co.,  we  do  our 
!  f-.iderti  and  the  public  a  benefit. 


O 
H 

CO 

o 
P3 


U 

E> 
O 
o 


o 

Z 

14" 
o 


O 


o 


o 


o 

>-* 

Eh 


THE  LIPS. 

For  the  consolation  of  those  who  have  thin 
lips  and  are  not  shrews  or  niggards,  I  must  give 
here,  as  my  firm  opinion,  founded  on  what  I 
have  observed,  that  lips  become  more  or  less 
contracted  in  the  course  of  years,  in  proportion 
as  they  are  accustomed  to  express  good  humor 
and  generosity,  or  peevishness  and  a  contracted 
mind.  Remark  the  effect  which  a  moment  of 
ill-temper  or  grudgingness  has  upon  the  lips, 
and  judge  what  may  bo  expected  from  an  habit- 
ual series  of  such  moments.     Reraa!rk  the  re- 


verse, and  make  a  similar  judgment.  The 
mouth  is  the  frankest  part  of  the  face  ;  it  can  the 
least  conceal  its  sensations.  We  can  hide  neither 
ill-temper  with  it,  nor  good  ;  we  may  ctfect  wliat 
we  please,  but  affectation  will  not  lielp  us.  In  a 
wrong  cause,  it  wilt  only  make  our  observers  re- 
sent the  endeavor  to  impose  upon  them.  The 
mouth  is  the  seat  of  one  class  of  emotions,  as 
the  eyes  are  of  another ;  or  rather,  it  expresses 
the  same  emotions  but  in  greater  detail,  and  with 
a  more  irrepressible  tendency  to  be  in  motion. 
It  is  the  region  of  smiles  and  dimples,  and  of  a 


trembling  tenderness  ;  of  a  sharp  sorrow,  of  a 
full  breathing  joy,  of  candor,  of  reserve,  o''  a 
carking  care,  of  a  liberal  sympatliy.  The  mouth, 
out  of  its  many  sensibilities,  may  be  fancied 
throwing  up  one  great  expression  in  the  eyes — 
as  many  lights  in  a  city  reflect  a  broad  lustre 
into  the  heavens.  On  the  other  hand,  the  eyes 
may  be  supposed  the  chief  movers,  influencing 
the  smaller  details  of  their  companion,  as  Jieaven 
influences  earth.  The  first  cause  in  both  is  in- 
ternal iiTitl  deep-seated,  and  wonderfully  offcu- 
tive. — Lti'jh  Hunt. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


237 


PEEDEEICK   GLEASON,   Peoprietoe. 
MATTJRIN   M.   BALLOU,   Editor. 

CONTJEKTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER. 

"Louis  Summerfield,  or  the  Fruits  of  a  Collegi;  Vaca- 
tion,"  a  etory  by  Geo.  Cannikg  Hill. 

"  The  Wagic  King."  a  story  translated  from  the  German, 
for  the  Pictorial  by  Miss  Annk  T.  Wilbur. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  VII,  treating  upon  Jerusa- 
lem, by  Ker.  F.  W.  Holland. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  VT,  relating  to  the  Sul- 
tan's Harem,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Autogmphs  and  Autography,"  So.  VIT,  by  William 
Edward  Kkowxes,  giving  the  signatures  of  George  Lunt, 
Charles  W.  Thompson,  Elihu  Burritt,  Emile  de  Girardin, 
Mrs.  C.  H.  W.  EsUng,  F.  E.  EUet.  Ann  S.  Stephens,  John 
G.  Whittier. 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  Fame  nor  Wealth,"  lines,  by  Mrs.  R. 
T.  Eldredqe. 

"Little  hva,"  verses,  by  E.  Cortiss  Hise,  U.  S.  N. 

"0,  give  me  back  thy  sunny  timile,"  verses,  by  Re- 
becca R.  P'iERCE. 

"  Sonnet  to  Luellaceine,"  a  poem  by  J.  Starr  Hollo- 

WAT. 

"  Autumn  Winds,"  lines,  by  "  Glenallan,"  of  Kent. 
*•  October,"  verses,  by  Mrs.M.  W.  Curtis. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

A  fine  view  of  the  new  cavalry  company  recently  formed 
in  Boston,  under  the  command  of  Col.  I.  H,  Wright, 
drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Maiming. 

An  interior  view  of  L.  S.  Driggs's  Lace  and  Bonnet  Store, 
Washington  Street,  Boston. 

A  view  of  Ostend,  known  as  the  "  Key  ■'  of  Continental 
Europe,  a  capital  picture, 

Prome,  an  admirable  picture,  sketched  from  the  Ira- 
■waddy. 

A  characteristic  and  interesting  engraving  of  a  Bur- 
mese Soldier,  sketched  at  Rangoon. 

An  interesting  picture  of  Yenbenzeik,  as  seen  from 
Prome. 

A  very  fine  picture  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Devereiix,  of  the 
Moyamensing  Prison,  Passyunk  Road,  Philadelphia. 

A  view  of  the  famous  Croton  Bam,  drawn  for  us  by  our 
artist,  Mr.  Wade. 

A  picture  of  the  famous  State  Reform  School  at  West- 
boro',  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Mallory. 

A  fine  view  of  Caldwell,  Lake  George,  New  York,  drawn 
for  us  by  our  artist,  ilir.  Manning. 

A  large  and  fine  engraving  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Ma?iniiig^  representing  tue  apieuaid  piece  of  needle  work 
on  exhibition  at  Amory  Hall,  Uoston,  by  Mrs.  Stimpson, 
representing  the  surrender  of  Mary,  queen  of  Scots. 

A  characteristic  picture  of  a  Turkish  Musician  of  the 
harem,  iUustratiug  the  sketches  written  for  us  by  Br,  J. 
V.  t).  Smith,  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Manning. 

A  beautiful  flower-piece,  representing  the  late  exhibi- 
tion of  the  Horticultural  Society  in  Boston,  by  our  ariiht, 
Mr.  Rosenburg. 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE. 

It  is  a  choice  bit  of  philosophy  to  look  ever 
on  the  bright  side  of  fortune.  It  is  a  delightful 
frame  of  mind  to  cultivate,  and  a  most  enviable 
spirit  to  possess.  No  matter  what  apparent 
trouble  may  befall  us,  all  is  for  the  best ;  that 
which  Joseph's  brethren  performed  in  the  evil  of 
their  hearts,  God  meant  unto  good.  You  may 
rob  misfortune  of  half  her  power  and  all  her 
frowns  by  meeting  her  with  a  smiling  face.  If 
the  sun  is  going  down,  look  up  to  the  stars;  if 
the  earth  is  dark,  keep  your  eye  on  heaven  ! 


"The  Secret  Service  Ship," — This  popu- 
lar story,  by  the  late  Charles  E.  Averill,  has 
been  reprinted  by  us  to  supply  the  constant  de- 
mand, and  is  now  for  sale  at  our  counter  and  at 
all  the  periodical  depots. 


SPLINTEES. 


The  late  Horticultural  Show,  in  Boston, 

was  splendid.     We  shall  illustrate  it. 

....  Lucy  Randolph,  a  Dane,  is  under  sen- 
tence of  death  at  Richmond,  Va. 

Mr.  Webster's  friends  are  very  numerous 

and  very  confident,  they  are. 

Unconsciousness  makes  beautiful  pic- 
tures, says  N.  P.  Willis,  very  truly. 

Jenny  Lind  is  already  announced  for  the 

next  London  operatic  season. 

Anna  Bishop,  the   favorite  vocalist,  we 

see  by  the  Home  Journal,  is  in  Mexico. 

Prince  Albert  is  just  thirty  'bur  years  of 

age,  but  looks  quite  "  settled  "  in  life. 

The  only  pleasures  connected  with  a  law 

suit  are  the  "  pleasures  of  hope." 

Gen.    Haynau,  the   woman  whipper,  is 

wincing  under  public  condemnation. 

A  grand  eruption  of  Mt.  Etna  took  place 

on  the  2d  of  August  last. 

Anderson,  the  wizard  of  the  north,  has 

had  a  brilliant  season  in  Boston. 

We  are  glad  to  learn  that  there  has  been 

a  tremendous  slaughter  of  dogs  in  Prance. 


THE  PARIS  FETES. 

Paris  has  just  passed  through  one  of  her  peri- 
odical displays  and  holidays.  Among  other  en- 
tertainments got  up  for  the  occasion,  was  a  sham 
fight  on  the  River  Seine,  a  full  description  of 
which  we  find  in  the  foreign  papers,  and  a  pic- 
ture of  which  will  be  found  on  the  last  page  of 
this  number.  The  naval  combat  between  the 
frigate  Ville  de  Paris  on  one  side,  and  the  steam- 
ers Areas  and  Calypso  on  the  other,  began  in 
that  part  of  the  river  between  the  Pont  des  Inva- 
lides  and  the  Pont  de  Jena,  in  the  presence  of  a 
countless  multitude.  The  attack  on  the  frigate 
was  begun  by  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  the 
steamer  Calypso,  near  the  Pont  des  Invalides, 
who  sent  boats  to  reconnoitre  the  position  of  the 
frigate.  The  boats  were  hailed  by  the  sentinels 
on  board,  and  received  with  a  fire  of  musketry, 
which  compelled  them  to  fall  back  on  the  steam- 
ers ;  still,  however,  keeping  up  a  well-sustained 
fire  as  they  retreated.  In  a  moment,  about  a 
dozen  or  two  of  boats  belonging  to  the  attacking 
vessels,  and  with  thtir  crews  and  a  party  of  in- 
fantry soldiers,  again  made  for  the  frigate,  the 
Ville  de  Paris,  and  attempted  to  board  under 
cover  of  the  fire  of  two  forts,  each  mountmg 
three  guns,  standing  on  the  bank  to  the  left  and 
right  of  the  frigate. 

After  a  desperate  attempt  on  the  part  of  the 
flotilla  to  capture  the  Yille  de  Paris,  it  was 
obliged  to  retreat,  with  (presumed)  considerable 
loss  on  both  sides,  for  the  frigate  and  the  steam- 
ers supported  their  men  during  the  action.  The 
cannon  fired  on  both  sides,  as  well  as  the  mus- 
ketry, and  the  bridges  of  the  Invalides  and  of 
Jena,  with  the  banks,  were  soon  involved  in 
wi'catbs  of  smoke.  The  commanding  ofiicer  of 
the  flotilla  was,  with  others,  taken  prisoner,  and 
conducted  on  board  the  Ville  dfe  Paris,  where  he 
surrendered  his  sword  to  the  captain.  When  the 
smoke  cleared  off,  the  Areas  steamer  was  seen 
moving  from  the  place  she  had  hitherto  occupied 
near  the  right  bank,  and  bore  down,  with  all  her 
steam  up,  on  the  frigate,  while,  as  she  advanced, 
her  swivel  guns  threw  out  their  fires.  The  com- 
bat lasted  for  some  time,  occasionally  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  crew  of  the  Ville  de  Paris,  and 
again  to  the  assailants.  The  latter,  finding  at 
last  all  their  efforts  to  be  in  vain,  only  thought  of 
providing  for  their  retreat  with  as  little  damage 
as  possible.  The  Ville  de  Paris  was  not  dis- 
posed to  let  them  off  so  easily  :  she  manned  her 
boats,  and  sent  out  to  the  pursuit  of  the  discom- 
fited Areas,  and,  in  the  meantime,  managed  to 
get  clear  of  the  combat. 

The  attack  was,  however,  briskly  continued. 
Amid  the  roar  of  the  guns,  and  the  rattling  of 
the  musketry,  were  heard  the  cries  of  the  con- 
quering, the  shriek  of  the  boatswain's  whistle, 
and  the  rolling  of  drums,  with  the  shouts  of  the 
delighted  spectators  on  both  banks.  The  board- 
ing parties  were  at  length  completely  repulsed, 
and  the  frigate  sent  out  her  boats  in  pursuit  of 
her  assailants,  who  retired  rapidly.  The  maga- 
zines of  the  Calypso  and  Areas  blew  up,  and 
both  steamers  hauled  down  their  flags.  The  fire 
ceased,  and  the  Ville  de  Paris  was  victorious. 


Gleason's  Pictobi.\l. — This  magnificently  illustrated 
quarto  is  constantly  improving,  both  in  its  typographical 
and  pictorial  appearance:  and  the  last  three  or  four  num- 
bers are  really  exceedingly  beautiful.  Mr.  G'eason  is  now 
doing  a  great  business  with  his  "  Pictorial  "  and  ■'  Flag," 
■which,  together,  have  a  circulation  of  nearly  or  quite  oiie 
hui>dre.fi  tliousand  copies,  weekly  !  The  character  of  both 
these  journals  for  fairness,  general  interest,  and  editorial 
management,  have  no  superiors  in  our  country  ;  and  the 
proprietor  has  well  earned  his  success  and  popularity, — 
New  England  Cultivator. 


WiLDwooD  Cemetery. — This  is  the  name 
given  to  a  beautiful  rural  cemetery  in  Winches- 
ter, which  was  consecrated  week  before  last. 
The  address  was  delivered  by  Rev.  Dr.  Neale,  of 
this  city. 

The  "Olive  Branch." — We  looked  in  upon 
our  neighbor  of  the  Olive  Branch,  the  other 
day.  His  office  is  neat  and  business-like.  Mr. 
Norris  deserves  the  success  he  realizes. 


There's  the  Rub  ! — What  a  pity  that  the 
hatters  could  not  have  made  Kossuth  heads,  as 
well  as  Kossuth  hats! 


Gold  Diggings. — Californian  and  Australian 
adventurers  will  find  themselves  well  represented 
in  the  present  number. 


*'  To-Dat." — Mr.  Hale  renders  his  exceeding- 
ly agreeable  journal,  bearing  this  title,  a  very 
valuable  literary  record. 


The  Dusseldoef  Gallery. — This  delight- 
ful collection  of  paintings  is  again  open,  and 
deservedly  popular. 


THE  MAGNETIC  TELEGRAPH. 

Nothing,  we  believe,  not  even  the  discovery  of 
the  power  of  steam,  exceeds  the  importance  of 
this  modern  discovery,  and  the  application  of  it 
to  practical  purposes.  The  humblest  capacity  is 
struck  with  amazement  on  a  careful  contempla- 
tion of  the  theme,  and  every  one  is  at  once  im- 
pressed with  a  realizing  sense  of  the  immense 
and  most  incalculable  benefit  it  already  is  and 
must  continue  to  be  to  the  human  family.  Since 
its  discovery  it  has  established  an  empire  of 
triumphs  everywhere.  In  the  nine  years  that 
have  elapsed  since  Morse  erected  his  first  tele- 
graph from  Baltimore  to  Washington,  from 
twenty  to  thirty  thousand  miles  of  wire  have 
been  stretched  over  this  continent.  England 
sends  her  galvanic  missions  under  the  sea  to  Ire- 
land, and  beneath  the  straits  of  Dover  to  Prance. 
Naples  unites  herself  to  Gaeta  by  a  subterranean 
rod.  In  Austria,  3000  miles  are  in  existence ; 
in  Germany,  4000  ;  and  all  Europe  is  becoming 
rapidly  interlaced  with  these  thought-avenues, 
while  Egypt,  Asia,  and  South  America  will  soon 
become  subject  to  their  dominion.  The  earth 
might  be  more  than  circled  with  the  rerial  sub- 
terranean and  submarine  pathways  for  intelli- 
gence, now  in  operation.  Politics,  individual 
interest,  nationality  even,  is  affected  by  this  light- 
ning messenger,  and  why  the  Latter  Day  Saints 
have  not  seized  upon  the  idea  as  being  the  pre- 
cursor of  their  oft  foretold  millennium,  we  know 
not ;  it  would  be  a  telling  argument ! 


Astronomical. — Ladies'  men  will  please 
take  notice  that  the  best  observatory  in  the  Uni- 
ted States  for  watching  the  "  heavenly  bodies," 
is  decidedly  Boston. 

Prosperous. — Friend  JoseljTi,  of  the  Lynn 
Bay  State,  has  built  him  a  nice  house  in  that  de- 
lightful city. 

Evident.— No  law  in  the  world  has  ever 
plucked  lip  one's  spirits  like  the  Maine  liquor  law ! 


^'^^X 


NEW  CAVALRY  COMPANY. 

Colonel  Isaac  H.  Wright  paraded  his  new  and 
very  splendid  company  of  Light  Dragoons,  on 
Thursday  week,  embracing  in  all  over  one  hun- 
dred horses  and  riders.  The  company,  as  it 
passed  our  office,  made  a  decidedly  soldier-like 
and  well-disciplined  appearance.  The  men  sat 
in  their  saddles,  they  did  not  hang  to  them,  and 
used  their  bridle  hands,  as  though  they  had 
turned  a  snafile  and  curb  before.  We  never  saw 
so  fine  a  body  of  horses  gathered  at  once  in  our 
city.  The  uniform  of  this  company  is  the  same 
as  that  of  the  XT.  S.  army,  neat,  serviceable  and 
handsome ;  the  cap  is  of  the  new  army  pattern, 
and  in  excellent  good  taste.  This  corps,  under 
so  able  and  experienced  an  officer  as  Colonel 
Wright,  can  hardly  fail  to  become  one  of  the  best 
drilled  and  well-organized  cavalry  companies  in 
the  Union.  We  shall,  next  week,  give  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  Light  Dragoons  as  they  appeared 
on  the  line  of  march. 


Very  evident. — "  What  is  the  merriest  city 
of  Europe?**  asked  one  sea  captain  of  another, 
in  our  office,  the  other  day.  "  Naples,  I  should 
say,"  answered  the  other.  "  Guess  not,"  re- 
sponded the  first.  "Berlin  must  be,  since  it  is 
always  on  the  Spree .'"  His  companion  knocked 
under,  as  a  matter  of  course. 


EuNNY,  isn't  it"? — The  airiest  place  in  Scot- 
land— "  Auld  Ayre  " — gave  birth  to  Burns ;  so 
that  we  have  no  faith  in  hot  stoves  inspiring 
poets,  or  producing  "words  that  burn."  An 
airing  once  in  a  while  is  not  a  bad  thing  for  a 
poet,  we  candidly  believe. 

«  ^•^.  » 

Theatrical. — Our  neighbor  of  the  Evening 
Gazette,  W.  W.  Clapp,  Jr.,  Esq.,  has  commenced 
in  his  paper  a  theatrical  record  of  the  Boston 
stage,  f  om  its  earliest  days  to  the  present  time. 
Mr.  Clapp  is  an  accurate  chronicler. 


Monumental. — We  observe  that  the  Univer- 
salists,  as  a  denomination,  are  raising  a  fund  for 
the  purpose  of  erecting  a  monument  at  Mount 
Auburn  over  the  remains  of  the  late  Hosca 
Balloa,  of  this  city. 

Boston  Custom  House. — How  about  that 
5  per  cent  ?  Wonder  if  all  those  not  turned  out 
came  down  with  the  tin,  as  was  demanded  ? 
Funny  world  this  !  There  were  two  who  went 
Scott  free — that  is  certain  ! 


A  GOOD  Rule. — Speak  just  what  yon  think, 
but  fia-3t  be  sure  that  what  you  think  is  just. 


In  this  city,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Skinner,  Mr.  Benjamin  Q, 
Budding  to  Miss  Lacy  A.  Fespenden ,  toth  of  Worcester. 

By  Rev  Mr.  Cnmmings,  Mr.  Edwin  A.  White  to  Miaa 
Jane  H.  Wilson. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Gray,  Mr.  Charles  M.  Kendall  to  Miss 
Mary  Cecilia  Pcirce. 

At  Cambridgeport,  Mr.  Charles  H.  Spencer,  of  Boston, 
to  Miss  Mary  C.  Brown. 

At  Dorchester,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Clinch,  Mr.  Jacob  Homer 
Crane  to  Miss  Ellen  Maria  Bird 

At  Sonierville,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Williams,  Mr.  D.  S.  Bowers 
to  Miss  Sarah  Maria  Breeden,  of  Boston. 

At  Lawrence,  Mr,  William  Acheson,  of  Milton,  to  Mias 
Sarah  Ann  Acheson. 

At  Leominster,  by  Rev,  Mr  Smith,  Mr.  Nathaniel  G. 
Thom,  of  Cincinnati,  to  Miss  Marv  E.  Joslin, 

At  Springfield,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bridge,  Mr,  Charles  E.  Fisk 
to  Miss  Luthera  S.  Spout,  of  Cireenwich ;  Mr.  Hilkiah 
Hawks  to  Miss  Ellen  S.  Fisk,  of  Shelburne. 

At  Acworth,  N,  H.,  Mr.  B.  F.  Woods,  of  West  Cam- 
bridge, to  Miss  N.  J.  Murdough. 

At  Portland,  Me  .,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Nichols,  Mr.  Charles  E. 
Jose  to  Miss  Martha  A.  Ward,  of  West  Bethel. 

At  Augusta,  Me  ,  Capt.  A.  H.  Caldwell,  of  ship  Ply- 
mouth Rock,  to  Frances  Augusta  Hallet. 

At  Warren,  Me.,  Mr.  John  T.  Bradlee,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Rebecca  R.  Richmond, 

At  New  York,  by  Rev  Mr.  Tennyle,  Mr,  Lyman  E. 
Kingbury,  of  Needham,  Mass.,  to  Miss  Louisia  H.  Holland  . 

At  Springwater,  N.  Y.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Van  Rensallaer,  Mr. 
Robert  McCarthy  to  Miss  Eliza,  Jaae  Peirce. 


In  this  city.  Miss  Elizabeth  Kelsey,  20;  Mrs.  Hepzibah 
C,  Rhodes,  4o  ;  Mrs.  Hannah  Gardiner,  78  ;  Mr.  Ephraim 
O.  Bouve,  62;  Miss  Catherine  Sargent,  77. 

At  South  Boston.  Mrs.  Susan  Jane  Parsons,  33. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr,  John  R.  Spinney,  26 ;  Ho  n.  Benja- 
min Thompson,  Bl,  C,  54. 

At  Cambridgeport,  child  of  Mr.  W.  H.  Onthank,  1. 

At  Brookline,  Mrs.  Ehzabeth  White  Thayer,  47. 

At  Watertown,  Miss  Helen  Frazer.  22. 

At  ErooKfield,  Kev.  Micah  Stone.  82. 

At  Saugus,  Charles  A,  Cheever,  M.  D.,  58. 

At  Danvers,  Capt.  Sylvester  Proctor,  83. 

At  Salem,  Capt.  Elijah  Fuller,  74. 

At  Salisbury.  Mr.  John  Pike,  82. 

At  Worcester,  Mr.  George  Tiddle,  22. 

At  Leicester,  Charles  K.  Sprague,  11. 

At  Westminster,  Mrs.  Parmela  Kendall,  47. 

At  New  Bedford.  Mr-  Joseph  Warren,  41. 

At  Springlield,  Mr.  William  Howe,  49. 

At  Middleborough,  Mrs.  Meicy  Sherman,  69. 

At  Dover,  N.H.,  Mrs.  Hannah  Allen,  61. 

At  Manchester,  N,  H.,  Emma  S.  Cilley,  of  Boston, 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Widow  Eunice  Richardson,  42. 

At  Bangor,  Me.,  George  Leonard,  E^y.,  68. 

At  New  York,  Capt.  John  Swift,  of  New  Bedford,  43. 

At  Norfolk,  Va.,  Mr.  Daniel  Pease,  35. 

At  Cleveland,  Ohio,  Mr.  Elbridge  Hosmer,  45. 

At  Fort  Smith,  Ark.,  Mrs.  Maria  Hagar,  57. 

At  sea,  on  board  sch'r.  Virginia,  Mr.  Leander  Dudiea. 

At  sea,  on  board  sch,  Louisa  Sears,  on  tlie  pa>5Sdge  from 
Port  au  Prince  to  New  York,  \V  iUiam  Biake,  of  England, 
19  <  ear,*,  and  Wiilium  Powers,  19. 


—  AND  — 

LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOUEiSrAL. 
GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

A  Record  of  the  heaxUifal  and  useful  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     ]iich  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  iu  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  In  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
ephere,  of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  lo 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  U 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  eixty-four  square, 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  ar.cl 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavD 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  affords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  ti\.<i 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  ail 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  sliort,  tlio  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  i:H 
fcombined  excellencies. 

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Publiihed  every  Satdrday,  by 

i\   ULEASON,  Boston,  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

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A,  WINCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  Co.,  Ill  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore. 
A.  C.  BAGLEY,  10  West  3d  Street,  Cincinnati. 
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238 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Writton  for  OluaHon'fi  Pictorial.] 
HER    I    LEt'T    ItEHIND    WE. 

BY  CHARLES  M.  TBNLET. 

'TIs  truo  I  noithor  wcop  nor  filph, 

When  frionds  about  mo  are  ; 
Nor  can  tlioy  on  my  brow  ilcecry 

A  single  trace  of  care. 
Yet  could  they  view  my  inmost  soul, 

Perhaps  they  then  would  find 
Tlio  name,  cnj^avcd  on  memory's  scroll, 

Of  her  I  loft  behind. 

'Tifi  true  the  cheerful  smile  is  mine. 

And  real  its  light  appears  ; 
But  0  I  'ti8  like  the  summer  wind, 

Accompanied  by  tears ! 
And  often  scenes  of  by-gone  days 

I'resont  themselves  to  mind  ; 
And  full  as  often  tear-drops  (low 

I'or  her  I  left  behind. 

'T  is  true  T  mix  in  pleasure's  train, 

And  mingle  with  the  fair; 
And  list  me  to  soft  music's  strain — ■ 

But  't  is  to  shed  a  tear  I 
For  0,  the  joy  that  pleasure  gives — 

The  wreath  of  beauty  twined, 
Keminds  mo  of  a  fairer  still — 

'Tis  her  I  left  behind. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

No    VII. 

BT  EEV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

JERUSALEM. 
Jekttsalem  is  a  Christian  city,  as  well  as  a  Jewish,  in  its  mem- 
ories. The  most  interesting  spot  to  us  was,  of  course,  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  Whenever  it  is  open,  a  Turkish  guard 
sits  smoking  just  within  the  onter  door,  to  prevent  violence  which 
dilferent  sects  of  Christians  have  been  wont  to  do  each  other — a 
mournful  commentary  upon  unity  of  faith  and  charity  of  spirit. 
As  we  entered  tlie  church,  its  tawdry  splendor,  its  rudeness  of 
architecture  and  poverty  of  decoration  impressed  us  mournfully. 
This  should  have  been  the  most  imposing  cathedral  in  all  Chris- 
tendom. Now,  the  rain  drives  in  through  the  cracked  dome,  the 
pavement  is  rough,  the  walls  of  coarsely-cut  stone  are  disfigured 
at  intervals  by  paintings  of  the  Russian  school,  and  the  whole 
effect  is  rather  that  of  a  deserted  riding-school,  than  of  the  holiest 
altar  which  Catholic  Christianity  has  anywhere  found.  The 
sepulchre  was  discovered  probably  by  the  Greek  Empress  Helena, 
who  visited  the  Holy  Land  at  the  advanced  age  of  fourscore,  and 
ordered  the  erection  of  temples  upon  the  principal  spots  where 
worship  is  now  offered,  early  in  the  fourth  century.  This  gave  a 
zest  to  pilgrimage.  Monks,  military  and  secular,  with  hermits 
and  nuns,  flocked  into  the  country,  and  a  tide  of  European  life  set 
towards  Palestine,  swelled  rather  than  stayed  by  constant  perse- 
cution and  occasional  martyrdom.  The  present  building  has 
been  twice  destroyed,  in  the  sei'enth  and  again  in  the  eleventh 
century,  besides  severe  injury  at  other  times.  It  may  cover  the 
"  new  tomb,"  I  think,  without  covering  Golgotha,  too.  It  is  evi- 
dent, that  there  are  several  natural  grottoes  within  the  rotunda, 
n'id  as  the  original  pavement  of  the  city  was  more  than  thirty  feet 
lower  than  the  present,  probably  these  caverns  were  known  and 
used ;  from  its  nearness  to  Pilate's  house  and  the  "  west  end  "  of 
the  city,  there  was  very  probably  a  garden  attached  to  some  rich 
dwelling.  All  these  probabilities  convince  us  that  Calvary  could 
not  have  been  here ;  this  is  a  depression  that  was  undoubtedly  a 
hill.  This  must  have  been  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  unless  we  give 
up  every  other  sacred  tradition ;  while  the  place  of  criminal  exe- 
cution would  naturally  and  necessarily  have  been,  as  the  Gospels 
imply,  outside  of  the  city — in  some  open  place,  where  a  crowd 
could  gather,  and  the  people  upon  the  city  house-tops  could  gaze 
at  the  mournful  spectacle. 

The  first  object  pointed  out  to  strangers  is  the  marble  slab 
where  the  Saviour  was  laid,  and  the  body  prepared  for  burial.  It 
■is  an  oblong  stone  as  plain  as  plain  can  be ;  and,  of  course,  is  not 
likely  to  have  been  remembered,  even  if  hearsay  had  kept  alive 
some  trace  of  the  "new  tomb  wherehi  never  man  was  laid." 
Then  came  a  crowd  of  things  of  less  account :  to  the  left,  a  little 
cavern,  the  pretended  tomb  of  Nicodemus  and  his  family,  by-and- 
by  a  piece  of  the  pillar  of  scourging ;  next  to  this  a  sacristy  con- 
taining the  spur,  sword  and  beads  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  who 
sleeps  beneath  the  consecrated  pavement — the  beads  alone  are 
gilt,  the  sword  is  entirely  plain  and  shows  service,  the  spur  is  of 
fearful  length  and  enough  to  kill  any  horse.  These  are  believed 
to  be  genuine;  at  any  rate,  they  are  deeply  interesting  as  monu- 
ments of  heroic  piety,  which  was  symbolized  by  the  sword  as  well 
as  the  beads  and  the  spur.  Then,  to  the  extreme  right,  the  place 
where  the  true  cross  is  said  to  have  been  found  for  the  pious  old 
queen,  which  was  distinguished  from  the  other  crosses  by  its 
power  to  work  miracles,  and  has  been  so  marvellously  multiplied 
since,  that  pieces  of  it  are  met  with  in  half  the  churches  of  Europe. 
The  tomb  itself  is  beneath  a  small  dome  directly  under  the 
great  dome  of  "  Santa  Scpulclirc,"  as  it  is  termed.  You  enter  a 
low  door  Avith  exceeding  difficulty  because  of  the  pressure  of  the 
crowd,  Tbere  are  two  apartments ;  one  where  the  angels  snt,  and 
the  inner  one  where  the  body  was  laid,  A  simple  olilong  white 
marble  slab  is  all  that  meets  the  eye  under  a  profusion  of  gold 
and  silver  lamps,  wblcli  are  kept  foi'cver  burning. 


It  was  pleasant  to  bo  relieved  from  gaudy  decoration  and  tinsel 
show.  It  seemed  as  if  the  sacrcdness  of  the  spot  Iiad  been  felt, 
and  the  heart  ajjin-opriated  to  undislurbed  reverie  and  spiritual 
supplication.  I  pity  the  man  that  would  not  be  touched  within 
that  vaulted  shrine  of  (ifteen  imndrcd  years'  devotion;  the  mere 
j)ossihility  that  the  Saviour  rested  there — as  certaiidy  no  one  can 
disprove — is  enough  to  start  the  tears  of  gratitude  and  prompt  tlie 
vows  of  obedience. 

The  native  rock  is  to  he  seen  in  dilferent  parts  of  the  cliurch, 
tlic  tombs  of  several  of  the  kings  of  Jerusalem  are  shown,  small 
chapels  commemorate  various  parts  of  the  Saviour's  suffering ; 
but  the  general  air  of  the  place  is  meanness  and  dilapidation. 
Owing  to  a  fierce  dispute  between  the  Greek  and  Latin  churches, 
upon  which  tlie  Sultan  has  recently  made  a  very  independent  de- 
cision, no  repairs  can  he  made  on  the  injured  dome.  Indeed,  the 
battle  of  sects  is  here  waged  unrelentingly.  Not  only  has  blood 
often  been  shed  at  the  annual  distribution  of  the  sacred  fire  in  the 
strife  of  each  party  to  light  their  torches  first;  but,  of  the  gro- 
tesque gold  and  silver  lamps  strung  across  the  building,  part  be- 
long to  one  sect,  part  to  another;  and,  the  Armenians  cannot 
light  the  Greeks',  nor  the  Greeks  the  Copts',  nor  the  Copts  the 
Latins'  lamps;  and  so,  where  all  ought  to  melt  into  that  harmony 
of  feeling  which  is  the  music  of  heaven,  there  is  nothing  but  quar- 
relling and  hatred.  Even  the  scorn  of  the  Infidel  cannot  shame 
these  brethren  into  decent  civility — the  Latin  friars  filled  our  ears 
with  scandal  regarding  the  Greeks  ;  the  Greeks  would  have  doubt- 
less repaid  the  compliment  with  interest,  but  could  not  communi- 
cate with  us  more  than  by  signs  and  salams.  And,  even  the 
grave  does  not  unite  these  disciples  of  the  "new  commandment" 
of  love.  Every  sect  has  an  entirely  separate  burial-place;  and 
Turk  or  Jew  will  as  soon  lie  down  by  the  side  of  Greek  and  Latin 
Christians,  as  they  will  by  one  another.  It  is  like  passing  from 
one  country  to  another  to  go  from  the  Protestant  burying-ground 
— where  I  saw  the  Episcopal  bisliop,  witli  his  oriental  robes  and 
flowing  beard,  amongst  such  gravestones  as  we  sec  at  home — to 
the  Turkish  cemetery,  with  a  turban  at  each  head,  or  the  Arme- 
nian, with  every  man's  business  marked  on  his  tombstone  by  em- 
blems of  his  trade,  or  the  Jewish,  engraved  with  Scripture-pas- 
sages in  venerable-looking  Hebrew. 

I  witnessed  only  one  grand  festival  in  Jerusalem — and  that  I 
hastened  from  Egj'pt  to  see — the  Greek  celebration  of  Epiphany. 
Nothing  could  be  imagined  more  stupid  and  unmeaning.  A 
filthy  and  uneasy  crowd  were  gathered  in  St.  Sepulchre  to  hear 
monotonous  and  unmusical  chants,  and  behold  three  patriarchs 
in  gorgeous  robes  go  through  an  extra  amount  of  bowing  and 
kneeling.  There  was  evidently  nothing  to  see  and  no  comfort  in 
seeing.  The  unwashed  multitude  seemed  impressed  by  noihing 
better  than  curiosity;  and  I  must  own  that  as  we  passed  out  by 
the  Turkish  guard,  we  were  not  disposed  to  hold  our  heads  any 
higher  than  they  because  of  our  Christianity.  The  Latin  ves- 
pers which  I  attended  afterwards  were  far  more  gratifying  because 
more  simple. 

Outside,  were  a  crowd  of  beggars  and  a  complete  market  of 
crosses,  chaplcts,  pearl-shells  and  pious  trinkets.  My  companion 
laid  in  a  stock  at  the  Monks'  Depository  in  the  Franciscan  con- 
vent. Pew  Protestants  have  ventured  within  this  vast  storehouse 
of  pilgrim-piety.  Tons  of  beads  of  olive  and  pearl,  monster 
heaps  of  crosses,  and  cargoes  of  carved  shells  arc  manufactured 
under  the  orders  of  friars,  and  sold  at  no  exorbitant  price,  Beth- 
lehem lives  entirely  by  the  business,  and  one  store  of  the  kind  has 
even  been  opened  by  the  English  consulate  for  the  help  of  con- 
verted Jews. 

"  Via  Doloroso  "  is  the  longest  and  straightest,  as  it  certainly  is 
the  most  interesting,  street  in  Jerusalem.  Here  are  shown  the  house 
of  Pilate,  the  spot — now  a  chapel — where  Jesus  was  scourged, 
the  residence  of  Annas,  that  where  Veronica  offered  the  napkin, 
which  she  received  again  with  the  Saviour's  face  upon  it,  the 
corner  where  the  women  were  told  by  Jesus  not  to  weep  for  him, 
but  to  weep  for  themselves,  three  scenes  of  his  fainting  and  that 
where  they  compelled  Simon  to  take  up  the  cross.  The  best- 
looking  ancient  house  is  named  after  Dives,  and  a  stone  at  the 
door  is  pointed  out  as  the  seat  of  Lazarus  among  the  dogs  at  the 
rich  man's  gate;  and  an  arch  over  the  street  contains  a  window 
where  the  Saviour  was  offered  to  the  people  side  by  side  with  Ba- 
rabbas.  Apparently,  the  guardians  of  the  Holy  Land,  as  they  term 
themselves,  did  not  mean  to  leave  any  devotional  want  unsup- 
plied  to  the  credulous  stranger.  And,  as  ninety-nine  in  every  hun- 
dred of  visitors  are  simple  as  children,  the  Empress  Helena's  labors, 
which  later  piety  has  magnified  as  well  as  improved  upon,  seem 
abundantly  blessed.  Considering  her  visit  did  not  take  place  be- 
fore 325  A.  D.,  and  that  fire  and  sword  had  destroyed  everything 
destructible  once  at  least  before  her  day,  so  that  Josephus  says 
"  no  passer-by  would  imagine  that  the  place  had  been  inhabited," 
we  see  how  impossible  it  must  be  to  prove  or  disprove  any  of 
these  pious  legends ;  and  that  Dr.  Robinson's  rule  of  believing 
nothing  on  the  mere  "say-so"  of  the  friars,  was  as  absurd  as 
Chateaubriand's  rule  of  believing  everything  on  the  same  author- 
ity. The  best  answer  was  a  Franciscan's,  as  we  crossed  St,  Se- 
pulchre to  the  chapel  of  his  brethren,  and  I  pressed  upon  him  the 
incredibility  of  more  than  a  score  of  events  having  taken  place 
so  close  around  the  tomb  of  the  Kedeemer.  "  Ah,  brother,  I  have 
never  paid  any  attention  to  such  questions !" 

Near  this  enshrined  heart  of  Christendom  is  the  ruined  hospital 
of  the  knights  of  St.  John,  before  their  day  a  house  of  reception 
for  poor  pilgrims,  and  protected  by  the  Turks  for  centuries  be- 
cause of  the  services  rendered  by  this  charitable  order  to  humanity. 


[WritU;n  for  GleMon's  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGltAPlIS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTINGUISHED  DTDIVIDUALS. 

No.  VI. 

BT  WM.  BDWAKl)   KNOWLES. 

David  Paul  Browk  has  liad  eminent  success  as  a  dramatic 
writer;  and  his  occasional  pieces  are  deservedly  popular.  But 
his  legal  profession  has  so  modified  his  handwriting,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  discover  in  it  any  peculiar  traits  of  character. 


The  chirography  of  Judge  Stohy  is  an  excellent  one — bold 
and  deliberately  formed.  Nothing  can  be  more  legible,  even 
when  hurried  by  a  press  of  business,  forming  a  most  desiraljle  ac- 
complishment in  a  man  of  the  legal  profession,  who  necessarily 
writes  so  much,  so  swiftly,  and  such  important  mattei*. 


Lord  Bacon  says:   "Bead  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor 
to  believe  and  take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse, 

but  to  weiijh  and  coiisitkr." 


Major  Noati  has  written  several  successful  plays,  which  were 
well  received  in  their  day.  His  manuscript  is  excellent — broad, 
massive  and  rolling.  When  viewed  in  the  main,  it  is  highly  pic- 
turesque. "  His  friends  were  many,  and  his  enemies  few."  The 
late  life  of  Major  Noah  is  confidently  recommended  to  our  read- 
ers as  being  richly  worth  their  perusal. 

Mr,  Smith  has  produced  several  good  poems  in  his  day.  He 
has  also- written  some  poor  ones.  His  "Powhatan,  a  Metrical 
Romance  "  was  a  slim  affair — scarcely  up  to  the  standard  of  •me- 
diocrity. Of  late,  he  has  done  better.  His  manuscript  is  vacil- 
lating and  unformed. 

Tlie  reputation  of  Joseph  E.  Chandler  is  deservedly  high. 
His  prose  tales  are  beatitiful,  and  give  evidence  of  superior  imag- 
inative talent.  He  has  also  produced  a  multitude  of  addresses, 
sketches  and  profound  essays.  His  chirography  is  bold  and  dash- 
ing, well  shown  in  the  signature. 

Our  readers  are  familiar  with  the  prose  and  poetic  contributions 
to  the  press  of  E.  Coetiss  Hine,  U.  S.  N,  The  author  possesses 
a  vivid  and  poetic  imagination,  a  graphic  pen,  and  a  very  ready 
hand.  This  last  is  shown  especially  by  his  signature,  which 
evinces  an  effort  only  to  place  his  ideas  legibly  on  paper,  without 
any  effort  at  ornament  or  display  in  the  chirography.  His  manu- 
script is  distinct  and  bold. 


RicnAKD  CoEDEN,  the  father  of  the  Corn  Law  movement  in 
England,  is  a  man  of  most  indomitable  application  and  persever- 
ance. His  great  characteristic,  as  evinced,  we  think,  also  in  his 
signature,  is  action.  He  is  never  idle.  What  he  does,  is  done 
qiiicldy ;  and  he  seems  ratlier  to  slight  detail  in  the  pursuit  of  some 
greater  purpose,  or  the  ultimate  result  of  his  efforts. 


'^-^y-O-^^^^ 


The  editor  of  the  New  York  Tribune  is  well  known  to  the 
American  public,  as  a  man  of  very  strong  feeling,  and  one  rather 
troubled  with  the  various  isms  of  the  day.  His  hand  shows  him 
to  he  very  impulsive,  and,  like  liis  manners  and  dress,  is  very 
careless  and — so  to  speak — slovenl}'.  Such  a  man  can  never  be 
great.  He  will  always  make  himself  felt,  and  will  make  the 
"  world  aware  that  he  is  in  it,"  but  will  build  no  fame  for  himself 
in  the  future. 


^^y^^Zle^^C^ 


/^^^.^^ 


Mr.  J,  C.  Neat-.  was  the  author  of  the  popular  "  Charcoal 
Sketches,"  But  in  our  opinion  they  were  far  over-rated.  There 
is  but  a  repetition  of  the  same  ideas,  mixed  with  slang  and  low 
burlesque.  But  he  evinct=d  a  talent  for  political  writing,  and  in 
that  sphere  stood  deservedly  high. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


239 


THE  V.  S.  3IIJVT. 
This  building,  its  machinery,  and  the  vast 
amount  of  coining  accomplished  within  its  walls, 
since  the  flow  of  gold  from  California,  is  now 
classed  as  one  of  the  most  attractive  lions  of 
Philadelphia,  and  it  has  become  a  favorite  resort, 
especially  with  strangers.  For  some  weeks  past, 
however,  the  visitors  have  been  deban-ed  from 
examining  the  vast  collection  of  coins  of  all 
ages,  arranged  within  that  portion  of  the  princi- 
pal building  known  as  the  "cabinet,"  in  conse- 
quence of  the  painters  being  engaged  in  renovat- 
ing the  appearance  of  its  cases,  and  beautifying 
the  ceilings  of  the  several  rooms.  Mr.  Gibson, 
who  had  the  -work  in  hand,  has  now  completed 
his  labors,  and  their  results  command  the  admi- 
ration of  the  visitors.  The  dome  which  lights 
the  centre  room  of  the  cabinet,  and  also  the  en- 
trance hall  below,  have  been  beautified  with 
stained  glass.  The  offices  on  the  lower  floor 
and  the  halls  have  also  been  revivified  by  the  art 
of  the  painter. 


THE  L.\ST  OF  THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 

"For  the  last  few  days,"  says  the  Weekly 
Times,  "  a  vast  number  of  persons  have  assem- 
bled round  the  ruins  of  the  once  far-famed  Crys- 
tal Palace,  probably  to  witness  its  gradual  demo- 
lition, as  they  once  did  to  sec  its  wonderful  erec- 
tion. The  palace  is  now  a  desolate  blank,  and 
in  a  few  days  every  portion  of  the  upper  part 
^vill  be  taken  away,  hundreds  of  vans  being  en- 
gaged daily  in  the  transit  of  the  materials  to 
Sydenham.  At  the  close  of  the  week  will  come 
the  '  diggings,' and  here  unthoughtof  treasures 
are  expected  lo  be  found.  The  flooring  will  have 
to  be  taken  up  last,  and  the  most  extraordinary 
prices  have  been  offered  for  the  privilege  of 
searching  the  ground  underneath,  where  it  is 
expected  many  valuables  will  be  found,  as  great 
room  was  afforded  in  the  flooring  of  the  Great 
Exhibition  for  valuables  to  pass  through.  The 
model  lodging-houses  erected  by  Prince  Albert 
are  also  demolished." 


AN  IDEA. 

The  Boston  Post  gives  an  account  of  the  way 
an  officer  in  the  British  army  of  India  killed  an 
alligator,  and  thinks  it  may  have  suggested  the 
voltaic  battery  in  the  capture  of  the  whale.  The 
alligator  had  established  himself  close  to  a  ford, 
the  disgust  and  terror  of  the  neighboring  popu- 
lation. The  officer  sewed  up  six  pounds  of  gun- 
powder in  the  stomach  of  a  nice  fresh  kid,  with 
which  he  went  trolling  for  the  creature,  as  a  fish- 
erman would  for  pike.  Having  bolted  it  greedi- 
ly, the  brute  sank  to  the  bottom  to  enjoy  its  di- 
gestion at  leisure.  His  scientific  enemy  then 
applied  a  voltaic  battery  to  copper  wire  running 
through  his  fishing  line,  and  there  was  a  violent 
tumultuous  boiling  of  the  water,  large  torn  pieces 
floating  hither  and  thither  in  the  eddy.  The 
alligator's  life  and  his  dinner  were  finished  to- 
gether. 

New  England  Cultivator. — We  have  re- 
ceived No.  1,  Vol.  2d,  of  this  very  excellent 
agricultural  weekly,  and  do  most  cordially  rec- 
ommend it  to  our  friends  and  the  public.  The 
editor,  Mr.  Geo.  P.  Burnliam,  is  a  gentleman  of 
much  practical  experience,  and  a  very  racy  and 
capable  writer.  The  Cultivator  is  got  up  in 
quarto  style,  and  is  richly  worthy  of  binding. 
Success  to  you,  George. 


Innocence. — "  0  dear !"  said  a  fashionable 
girl,  when  she  first  beheld  a  cucumber,  "  I  al- 
ways thought  such  things  grew  in  slices."  This 
is  almost  as  good  as  the  whe  legislator  asking 
a  lumberman  what  he  did  with  the  rafts  after  he 
had  sold  the  lumber  off  them.  He  had  a  glim- 
mering that  they  were  taken  back  for  a  fresh 
load. 


Lofty  Stalk. — Major  John  Bucklin,  Jr.,  of 
South  Adams,  has  raised  a  stalk  of  the  common 
twelve  rowed  yellow  corn,  which  measures  ten 
feet  three  inches  in  height. 


Time's  Changes. — Otsego  Hall,  the  late  re- 
sidence of  J.  Fenimorc  Cooper,  is  about  to  be 
converted  into  a  hotel.  It  was  built  by  the  no- 
velist's father. 


Sad. — A  woman,  a  stranger,  who  was  landed 
from  one  of  the  boats  at  Detroit,  recently  laid 
down  in  a  stone  yard,  and  died  friendless  and 
alone. 

Productive. — Capt.  Montgomery,  of  Rock- 
bridge, Va.,  sowed  half  a  bushel  of  Poland  rye, 
that  produced  a  yield  of  thirty  bushels. 


tDagsiilrc   ©atljeringa. 

The  potato  crop  in  Ireland  is  improving. 

Every  man's  fortune  is  in  his  own  power. 

The  coldest  winds  of  Egypt,  are  those  which 
blow  from  the  south. 

There  are  eight  men  confined  in  the  St.  Louis 
jail,  on  the  charge  of  murder. 

W.  F.  Johnson  is  playing  an  engagement  at 
the  Troy  Museum. 

The  Ocean  Eagle  sailed  from  New  York,  late- 
ly, with  200  passengers  for  Australia. 

The  use  of  buffaloes  as  beasts  of  burden  on 
the  prairies,  is  talked  of  in  Texas. 

A  f;irm:'r  near  Bangor,  Me.,  had  one  hundred 
bushels  of  wheat  per  acre,  on  a  large  lot. 

It  is  proposed  to  enlarge  New  Bedford  Com- 
mon to  eight  acres,  at  a  cost  of  S18,500. 

Tlic  Reindeer  steamer  was  going  nineteen 
knots  per  hour  five  minutes  before  her  calamity. 

Richard  Adams  Locke  has  been  engaged  to 
write,  for  Miss  Julia  Dean,  a  five  act  play,  found- 
ed on  a  prominent  event  in  American  history. 

A  keg  of  powder  exploded  at  Chillicothe, 
Ohio,  a  few  days  ago,  demolishing  six  houses, 
and,  it  is  supposed,  killing  several  persons. 

In  consequence  of  the  heavy  freshets  in  Geor- 
gia, corn  has  advanced  from  40  to  75  cents  per 
bushel,  and  wheat  from  60  cents  to  £1. 

A  number  of  wealthy  Chinese  residents  in  San 
Francisco  have  sent  to  Cliina  for  a  dramatic 
troupe,  which  is  shortly  expected  there. 

A  German,  engaged  in  a  sugar  refinery  in  St. 
Louis,  fell  into  a  cauldron,  a  few  days  since,  and 
was  dreadfully  scalded. 

An  only  child  of  George  Pillsbury,  of  Saco, 
came  to  his  death  by  eating  fly-poison,  which 
had  been  placed  on  a  table  in  the  room. 

Peter  Redding  killed  Christiana  Kramer,  in 
Cincinnati,  by  cutting  her  head  open  with  an 
axe.  He  then  cut  his  own  throat;  both  died. 
Cause — love  and  marriage. 

The  shoe  business  in  Lynn,  during  the  past 
year,  has  excelled  in  activity  the  enterprise  of 
many  preceding  years,  and  the  demand  promises 
well  for  the  future. 

The  San  Francisco  Whig  states  that  "  within 
the  last  three  months  no  less  than  fourteen  pairs 
of  twins  have  been  born  on  the  sterile  hills  of 
San  Francisco." 

Several  trees  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  are  sup- 
posed to  be  800  years  old.  Chestnut  trees  are 
known  to  live  900  years;  while  oaks  are  sup- 
posed to  live  1500  or  1600  years. 

Medical  writers  all  agree  that  gluttony  con- 
ducts more  people  to  the  grave  than  drunkenness. 
The  old  adage  is  true,  that  "  many  people  dig 
tiieir  graves  with  their  teeth." 

Chris.  Lilly,  the  notorious  New  Yoi'k  "bniis- 
er,"  has  purchased  a  schooner  at  Panama,  which, 
at  last  accounts,  he  was  fitting  out  for  the  gold 
mines  of  Australia. 

We  are  informed  that  a  highly  respectable 
lady  of  Dedham,  who  took  a  prominent  part  in 
the  late  Spiritual  Convention  in  this  city,  has  be- 
come insane,  and  been  taken  to  a  hospital. 

AVood  Bouldin,  Esq.,  was  the  purchaser  of 
Roanoke,  in  Charlotte  Co.,  Va.,  the  homestead 
of  Jolm  Randolph,  which  was  sold  at  auction  the 
other  day,  for  something  less  than  $25,000. 

Lecturing  before  public  audiences  is  the  best 
paid  of  any  similar  labor  in  New  England,  and 
the  most  attractive  speakers  are  eagerly  sought 
for  by  lyceums  and  associations. 

The  number  of  deaths  in  Havana,  in  August, 
was  U8 — about  double  the  usual  number  at  this 
season  of  the  year.  It  is  understood  the  returns 
do  not  include  the  soldiers,  among  whom  the 
mortality  has  been  very  great. 

A  farmer  in  Lower  Canada,  in  a  fit  of  passion, 
killed  his  horse  by  stabbing  him  with  a  pitchfork. 
The  sentient  creature  then  went  to  a  shed  near 
his  house,  and  hung  himself  with  a  rope  and  bit 
of  chain. 

Thomas  Rector,  who  has  served  out  one  sen- 
tence often  years  in  the  state  prison,  for  killing 
a  man  in  Albany,  has  repeated  the  crime  by  kill- 
ing the  keeper  of  a  gambling  house  in  the  same 
city,  with  whom  he  had  had  some  difficulty. 

The  editor  of  the  New  York  Mirror  having  re- 
ceived a  ticket  of  invitation  to  the  dinner  of  the 
American  Vegetation  Society,  requests  the  offi- 
cers of  tlic  society  to  furnish  him  with  a  bill  of 
fare,  before  he  accepts  the  invitation. 

Fine  sensibilities  are  like  woodbines,  delight- 
ful luxuries  of  beauty  to  twine  round  a  solid  up- 
right stem  of  understanding,  but  very  poor  things 
if,  unsustained  by  strength,  they  are  left  to  creep 
along  the  ground. 

The  greatest  pleasure  connected  with  wealth 
consists  in  acquiring  it.  Two  months  after  a 
man  comes  into  the  possession  of  a  fortune,  he 
feels  just  as  prosy  and  fretful  as  he  did  when  he 
worked  for  "  four-and-six  "  a  day. 

There  is  probably  no  place  in  the  world  where 
the  honor  of  high  birth  is  so  much  valued  by 
those  who  possess  it,  so  much  aped  and  envied 
by  those  who  do  not,  as  in  England.  One  of 
her  distinguished  writers  says:  "There  is  a 
scoundrelism  about  persons  of  low  birth." 

A  new  threshing  machine  is  said  to  have  been 
invented  by  a  Mr.  Palmer,  of  North  Carolina, 
which,  with  four  men  to  feed  it,  will  take  a  hun- 
di-ed  cart  loads  of  wheat  in  the  morning,  lying  in 
sheaf,  pa.'^s  it  thi-ough  the  thresher,  sepa^-ate  every 
kernel  from  the  straw,  winnow,  clean  and  put 
into  bags  1500  bushels  before  sunset. 


jForeign   JJHiaccUang. 

It  is  said  that  Georgey  is  to  he,  or  has  already 
been,  consigned  to  the  fortress  of  Kufstein,  in  the 
Tyrol. 

The  new  Crystal  Palace  at  Sydenham  will 
much  surpass  the  old  in  beauty,  and  will  occupy 
three  hundred  acres. 

Accounts  from  Berlin  state  that  the  Austrian 
government  contemplates  abolishing  the  export 
and  import  duties  on  raw  and  spun  silk. 

The  new  Cunard  propeller,  which  commences 
running  in  December  between  Liverpool  and 
Chagrcs,  will  also  touch  at  Portland,  Me.,  and 
Boston. 

The  French  government  has  sent  M.  Emile 
Chevalier  to  England,  for  the  purpose  of  inquir- 
ing into  the  construction  aud  operation  of  the 
model  lodging-houses. 

Md'lle.  Rachel,  the  celebrated  French  trage- 
dienne, who,  at  the  express  command  of  the 
empress  of  Russia,  went  to  Berlin,  has  been 
playing  to  empty  houses. 

Emigration  to  Australia  continues  undimin- 
ished. Fifty  ships,  of  from  500  to  2000  tons, 
are  entered  to  sail  during  the  present  month 
from  Liverpool,  London  and  Plymouth. 

One  of  the  ostriches  in  the  Regent's  Park  Zoo- 
logical Gardens  recently  laid  four  eggs,  which 
have  been  subjected  to  one  of  Canetlo's  Incuba- 
tors, and  the  result  will  be  reported  in  a  few  days. 

In  the  last  number  of  the  North  British  Re- 
view, an  attempt  is  made  to  prove  that  T.  B. 
Read  is  a  greater  poet  than  Longfellow,  and 
Poe  a  greater  poet  than  Bryant. 

Some  sound  beams,  formed  from  the  wood  of 
the  mulberry  tree,  have  been  found  in  the  ruins 
of  Nineveh,  where  they  are  supposed  to  have 
been  placed  at  least  700  years  before  the  birth  of 
Christ ! 

A  country  court  in  France  has  condemned  the 
owner  of  a  dog  that  had  gone  mad,  and  had 
caused  the  death  by  hydrophobia,  of  a  man  with 
three  children,  to  a  fine  of  20,000  francs,  to  be 
divided  among  the  children. 

In  twenty-two  years  there  have  been  only 
eighteen  accidents  in  France  by  the  explosion  of 
boilers.  In  that  country  no  locomotive,  nor  any 
steam  boiler,  can  be  used  without  having  "been 
first  submitted  in  the  examination  and  test  of 
one  of  the  government  engineers. 

Gottshalt,  the  New  Orleans  pianist,  was  at 
Madrid  on  the  12th ult.,wherche gave asplendid 
concert,  during  which  he  was  received  with  fran- 
tic plaudits.  The  audience,  composed  of  the 
aristocracy  of  Spain,  threw  wreaths  of  flowers 
at  his  feet,  and  hailed  him  with  enthusiasm. 


Soktfs  3ni%tt 


Sanits  of  ©oli. 


....  He  is  unfit  to  rule  others  who  caimot 
mile  himself. 

....  Sorrow  shows  us  truths,  as  the  night 
brings  out  stars. 

....  As  daylight  can  he  seen  through  the 
smallest  holes,  so  do  the  most  trifling  things 
show  a  person's  character. 

....  Talents,  merit,  beauty,  rank,  and  for- 
tune are  responsibilities  sufficient,  without  add- 
ing to  them  ostentation. 

....  The  fawning  courtier  and  the  surly  squire 
often  mean  the  same  thing — each  bis  own  inter- 
est.— Bishop  Berkeley. 

....  Do  you  suppose  we  owe  nothing  to  Pope's 
deformity  1  He  said  to  himself,  "  If  my  person 
be  crooked,my  verses  shall  be  straight." — HazJitt. 

....  Tears  are  as  dew  which  moistens  the 
earth,  and  renews  its  vigor.  Remorse  has  none  ; 
it  is  a  volcano,  vomiting  forth  lava  which  burns 
and  destroys. 

....  No  one  can  tell  the  misery  of  an  unloved 
and  lonely  child;  in  after-life  a  degree  of  hard- 
ness comes  with  years,  and  the  man  is  not  sus- 
ceptible of  pain  like  the  child. 

....  My  notions  about  life  arc  much  the  same 
as  they  are  about  travelling  :  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  amusement  on  the  road,  but,  after  all, 
one  wants  to  be  at  rest. — Sonthey. 

....  Purpose  is  the  edge  and  point  of  charac- 
ter, it  is  the  superscription  on  the  letter  of  talent. 
Character  without  it  is  blunt  and  torpid  ;  genius 
without  it  is  bullion — splendid  and  uncirculating. 

....  Sorrows,  pains,  and  troubles,  equally  di- 
vided among  community  greatly  diminishes 
them;  while  the  good  fortune  of  an  individual 
is  immeasurably  increased  by  the  participations 
of  many. — Hosea  BaHou. 

....  Little  truisms  often  give  the  clue  to  long, 
deep,  intricate,  undisplayed  trains  of  thought, 
which  have  been  going  on  in  silence  and  secrecy 
for  a  long  time  belbre  the  commonplace  result  in 
which  most  meditations  end  is  expressed. 

....  The  surest  hindrance  to  success  is  to 
have  too  high  a  standard  of  refinement  in  our 
own  minds,  or  too  high  an  opinion  of  the  judg- 
ment of  the  public.  He  who  is  determined  not 
to  be  satisfied  with  anything  short  of  perfection, 
w-ill  never  do  anything  at  all,  cither  to  please 
himself  or  others. — HazliK. 

....  He  whose  religion  is  ever  on  his  lips, 
has  seldom  any  of  that  valuable  treasure  in  his 
heart;  it  keeps  watch,  like  a  liveried  porter  at 
his  door,  but  there  is  nobody  at  home,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  steal ;  if  it  were  well  lodged  in  his 
soul,  he  would  not  be  so  afraid  of  its  escape. 
He  who  vouches  for  his  own  truthfulness  by  an 
oath,  will  tell  a  lie  the  next  moment  ■without  a 
blush. 


Punch  says  the  end  of  man's  life  is  glory. 
The  end  of  woman's  life  is  about  two-and-thirty. 

Dobbs  says  that  when  a  painter  can  no  longer 
earn  a  living,  he  should  throw  away  Wis  palate. 

A  medical  wTiter  in  the  Scalpel  speaks  of  two 
old  maids,  "so  dry  iheij  rattled  J"  The  fellow 
ought  to  be  indicted. 

As  an  inducement  to  their  clients,  the  Circle- 
ville  Journal  says  that  all  subscribers  paying  in 
advance,  will  be  entitled  to  a  Jirst  rate  obituary 
notice  in  case  of  death. 

The  man  who  never  told  an  editor  how  he 
could  better  his  paper,  has  gone  to  Schenectady 
to  marry  a  woman  that  has  never  looked  into  a 
looking-glass.     Their  children  will  not  live. 

The  newspapers  are  discussing  the  question 
whether  it  is  not  time  for  passengers  to  withhold 
their  "plate"  from  the  "fast"  captains,  who  boast 
of  making  the  "shortest  passage  on  record." 

Cowardice  is  the  "ice"  which  melts  and  nms 
away  in  time  of  danger,  and  is  quite  a  different 
article  from  cool  courage.  Another  frigid  article 
of  the  same  kind,  is  advice  which  is  not  warmly 
received  when  given  gratuitously. 

A  young  lady  told  her  father  a  few  days  since, 
that  tiie  doctors  said  gold  was  good  for  canker, 
and  that  she  had  the  canker  in  her  mouth,  and 
wanted  a  pair  of  handsome  gold  ear-rings  !  Her 
father  probably  thought  that  such  remedies 
would  cause  a  collapse  in  his  purse. 

Said  a  bed  hug  to  a  mosquito  whom  he  chanced 
to  meet :  "  Hoiv  is  it  you  make  out  to  extract  so 
much  more  of  life's  current  than  myself,  when  I 
can  bite  as  severely  as  you?  How  can  you 
explain  it?"  "For  particulars,  see  small  bills," 
quoted  the  mosquito,  with  dignity. 

Moses  says  he  wishes  he  could  hear  of  some 
place  where  people  never  die  ;  he  would  go  and 
end  his  days  there.  Moses  is  the  same  eccentric 
individual,  who,  attending  divine  service  in  a 
church  where  the  people  came  very  late  to  meet- 
ing, observed  that  it  seemed  to  be  the  fashion 
there  "for  nobody  to  go  to  meeting  till  after 
everybody  had  got  there." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  DRAWiNff 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  mth  giltedgea 
and  back,  and  illummed  sides,  forming  a  supurb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  Fojt  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     OOKTAININQ     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  : 
of  Scenery  in  all  pitrts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLmnNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilhant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  it-s  pagen 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  llecord  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNIOJf , 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  ANT)  KEFINED 

Miscellaneous  Pamily  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tjiles,  writtJin  exp.  ^sly  for 
tliis  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  pohtics,  ~nd  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoi-al  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  EOR  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  -WELCOME  '^^SITOIl  TO  TIIE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  U'eekly  -paper  hi  the  United  States,  and  its  literary 
contents  are  aUowed,  by  the  beet  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
so  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  are  admitCc(i 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  tbousauds  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEMS    TO    STTBSCEIBEES. 
1  Gubscriber,  one  year S2  00 

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8  «  "  .' 11  00 

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One  copy  of  the  FlaO  op  our  Ustoh',  and  one  copy  of  the 
Pictorial  Dbaw&'g-Room  Compastion,  one  yeai-,  for  S5  60. 

]!Cr'  Invariably  in  advance, 
f  Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  terms. 

0I?=*  All  orders  should  be  addressed,  POST  PAID,  to  the 
Poblisiier  op  the  FL.1.G  OF  oua  Uniox. 

\*  Tlie  Flag  can  be  obtained  at  any  of  the  nezcspcrpcf 
depots  in  the  United  Staf-es,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
FOUft  CEKT8  per  sing'.c  copy. 

P.     GLEASON, 
PUEUSHEB  AST)  PrOPEIETOB,  BOSTON,  MAS3. 


240 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAAVING    ROOM    (!0:MPANI0N. 


NAVAL  COMBAT  ON  THE  SEINE,  AT  PARIS. 


[For  description,  see  page  237.] 


MOUNT  ALEXANDER. 

Our  engraving  below  represents  the  rond  to 
the  Mount  Alexander  "  di^trings,"  Australia. 
On  Mitchell's  map  this  is  laid  down  as  Mount 
Byng,  but  is  now  known  as  Mount  Alexander. 
It  is  the  most  prolific  spot  yet  discovered  in  this 


modern  Ophir,  and  has  already  yielded  an  al- 
most incredible  amount  of  gold.  Not  only  are 
vessels  leaving  England  by  scores  for  Australia, 
but  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  adventurers  are 
leaving  the  United  States  every  week,  bound 
thitherward.      The    same    extravagant    stories 


reach  us  from  Australia  as  from  California, 
many  false  ones,  and  many  true  ;  many  go  to  en- 
rich themselves,  and  many  to  lay  their  bones  in 
the  sands  of  the  country.  It  requires  an  iron 
constitution  to  withstand  the  hardships  necessa- 
rily endured,  the  severe  test  of  acclimating,  and 


the  bad  food  afforded  to  the  settlers.  Want  of 
good  society,  and  especially  of  females,  is  sadly 
felt.  In  short,  it  is  a  second  California.  On 
pages  228  and  229  will  be  found  a  set  of  pictures 
relating  to  this  same  subject,  now  so  much 
talked  about. 


THE  ROAD  TO  MOUNT  ALEXANDER  GOLD  FIELDS^  THROUGH  TilE  BLACK  FOREST^  PROVINCE  OP  VICTORIA^  AUSTRALIA. 


tm 


F.  GLEASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMFLELD 
j    AND  TIIEMONT  ST3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  16,  1852. 


e2  PER  VOLUME. 
10  Cts.  single. 


Vol.  in.  No.  16.— Whole  No.  68. 


LIGHT  DRAGOOAS. 

The  very  spirited  and  truthful  picture  which 
we  present  below,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Manning, 
represents  Col.  Isaac  H.  Wright's  new  and  very 
soldier-like  body  of  cavalry,  organized  in  this 
city  the  past  season,  and  which  paraded  for  the 
first  time  on  the  last  Wednesday  in  May,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  uniform  on  Thursday,  the  23d 
of  September,  at  which  time  our  artist  sketched 
them.  There  were  about  a  hundred  horses  and 
riders  in  the  ranks,  and  we  do  not  remember  to 
have  seen  a  more  splendid  cavalry  parade,  or  a 
finer  body  of  men  and  horses  together  than  on 
this  occasion.  On  the  7th  and  8th  inst.,  the 
company  performed  camp  duty,  after  the  laws 
of  this  State,  at  Simpson's  Field,  near  the 
Cambridge  Observatory,  acquitting  themselves 


with  distinguished  credit,  and  evincing  a  higli 
state  of  discipline  and  thorough  drill ;  they  were 
reWewed  on  the  afternoon  of  the  8th  inst.,  by 
Gov.  Boutwcll,  on  Boston  Common.  Any  giv- 
en number  of  men  and  boys  may  join  themselves 
into  a  company,  and  after  certain  ceremonies, 
obtain  a  charter  of  the  State  authorities,  and 
march  or  ride  about  our  streets  with  guns  and 
swords  :  but  this  docs  not  make  soldiers.  To 
render  these  organizations  of  any  intrinsic  and 
positive  value,  much  labor,  time  and  assiduity  are 
requisite  to  perfect  men  in  the  school  of  the  sol- 
dier, to  accustom  them  to  the  promptest  obedi- 
ence at  the  word  of  command,  and  also  to  operate 
with  sure  effect  in  union  and  as  one  man.  Herein 
lies  the  great  strength  of  these  organizations  ; 
otherwise,  the  rawest  militia,  each  one  for  him- 


self, acknowledging  no  master,  and  knowing 
no  discipline,  would  be  equally  efficient  in  time 
of  need  with  the  best  drilled  corps.  We  are  sat- 
isfied, from  personal  observation  and  careful  in- 
quiry, that  the  Boston  Light  Dragoons  have 
made  up  their  minds  to  perfect  themselves  in 
cavalry  exercise,  and  the  very  beautiful  and 
elaborate  drill  attached  to  this  high  and  impor- 
tant arm  of  the  service.  They  have  turned  out 
to  drill,  not  in  squads,  but  as  a  company,  until 
the  horses  even  have  got  the  cue,  and  obey  alike 
the  word  of  command,  prompted  by  a  turn  of 
the  bit.  The  men  who  compose  this  body  of 
soldiery  are  of  the  bone  and  sinew  of  our  citi- 
zens, and  a  finer  set  of  figures  never  graced  cav- 
alry saddles.  To  ride  a  horse  tveU,  is  a  high  ac- 
complishment;  and  wc  marked  this   company 


carefully  in  this  respect — they  did  ride  well. 
Let  them  continue  to  improve  as  they  have  done 
from  the  first,  and  Boston  will  boast  the  best 
dragoon  corps  in  the  Union.  The  commissioned 
officers  are  Col.  Isaac  H.  Wright,  Commander, 
J.  R.  Bryant,  1st  Lieut.,  Samuel  W.  Clifford,  2d 
Lieut.,  Tlios.  H.  Ray,  3d  Lieut.,  P.  M.  Kibbe, 
4th  Lieut.  The  dragoons  number,  we  under- 
stand, some  hundred  and  fifty  active  members  ; 
enough,  numerically,  to  perform  the  cavalry 
movements  with  fine  effect  and  correctness,  as 
laid  down  in  tlie  service  manual ;  and  their  ex- 
perienced commander  has  the  tact  and  talent  to 
perfect  them  in  the  intricate  but  very  interesting 
manoeuvres  of  dragoon  tactics,  as  now  estab- 
lished in  the  United  States  service.  Success  to 
the  corps,  wc  pledge  them  with  all  our  heart ! 


APPE.^RANOE  OF  THE  NEW  CAVALRY  COMPANY,  THE  UQllX  PRAGOONS,  OF  BOSTONj  ON  THEIR  FIRST  UNIFORM  PARADE, 


242 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  ROMANTIC  STOUY  OF  INCIDENT  AND  ADVENTURE^ 

Entci-ed  according  to  Act  of  Congresa,  in  tlie  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  the  Clcrk'u  Ofiico  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[WKITTEN   EXVRES8LY   FOR  aLEABON'S   I'lCTOKIAL.] 


21  ©rapl)ic  Sale  of  Spain,  Italg  anii  €n2lanlr. 

byIfrederick  hunter. 


[  0  0  N  T  I  N  TJ  E  D  .  ] 

CHAPTER  XVIIL— [continued.] 
"  /have  no  secrets,"  interniplcd  Don  Miguel, 
addressing  himself  to  de  Nordo, 
tory  id  no  longer  a  secret  in  Lyons 


'  for  your  hU- 
I  had  sworn 
to  be  avenged  upou  you,  and  the  hour  is  come 
when  your  course  of  infiimy  is  to  be  arrested. 
Already  the  cliief  of  police  is  informed  of  the 
true  character  of  the  self-styled  '  Count  Anti- 
cnne,'  and  my  mission  here  is  but  brief.  I  de- 
mand possession  of  my  ward  !  And,  for  you, 
traitor  that  you  have  proved,  I  leave  you  to  the 
custody  of  the  guard,  which,  at  my  instigation, 
is  at  this  moment  under  this  roof!" 

A  shriek  of  terror  and  consternation  escaped 
the  lips  of  the  alarmed  and  innocent  wife,  at  this 
fearful  announcement,  which  only  preceded  the 
sound  of  heavy  fjotstcps  that  could  now  be 
plainly  heard  in  the  passage-way. 

What  was  to  be  done  7  It  was  a  terrible  moment 
for  dc  Norde,  who  saw  no  opening  for  escape  ; 
and,  if  he  did,  he  believed  that  his  plans  had 
been  laid  with  such  caution  that  he  could  not 
overtake  him,  at  least  when  he  should  be  thus 
utterly  unprepared  for  the  event.  It  was  a  des- 
perate position  for  him  indeed  ! 

If,  in  his  emergency,  he  could  have  disposed 
of  his  wife  even,  for  the  time  being,  he  could 
perhaps  have  resorted  to  some  chance  effort  to 
contrive  his  deliverance  from  his  present  dilem- 
ma; but,  as  it  was,  siie  could  not  ily  with  him, 
and  if  he  left  her,  he  saw  that  she  would  be  at 
liuberto's  mercy  on  the  instant.  The  r/ens  d'- 
anaes  were  at  that  moment  approaching  his  door, 
and  the  clank  of  their  movements  fell  upon  his 
senses  with  stunning  effect.  He  was  cornered  ; 
the  chances  were  all  against  him ;  but  his  quick 
wit  suggested  a  final  resort,  even  as  the  police 
advanced  to  seize  him. 

Drawing  from  his  bosom  the  heavy  breast- 
pistol,  which  was  his  ever  constant  companion, 
he  sprang  forward,  and  with  a  single  blow  laid 
Kuberto  senseless  at  his  feet.  Then,  dashing  the 
lamp  from  the  table,  which  was  instantly  extin- 
guished, he  assumed  the  tone  and  character  of 
his  antagonist,  and  called  lustily  to  the  guard  to 
advance  to  his  aid,  as  he  seized  the  arm  of  his 
wife,  and  advanced  to  the  door. 

"Quick!"  he  shouted,  as  the  guard  rushed 
into  the  darkened  apartment,  "quick  !  He  has 
struck  me;  secure  the  villain — quick!" 

The  oificers  approached  the  prostrate  form  of 
Don  Miguel,  supposing  it  to  be  that  of  the  alleged 
outlaw,  and  while  they  secured  his  person,  raised 
him  up,  and  obtained  lights,  some  two  or  three 
minutes  passed  away,  during  which  time,  de 
Norde,  with  his  half-fainting  and  frightened  Cor- 
rinne,  had  disappeared  from  the  hall,  and  had  ac- 
tually left  the  house  !  It  was  a  desperate  moment, 
but  the  end  was  not  as  yet ! 

Fortunately  the  darkness  of  the  night  favored 
the  progress  of  the  fugitives.  A  stray  cabriolet 
hove  in  sight  as  they  turned  into  the  second 
street,  after  leaving  their  lodgings  in  such  hot 
haste,  and  the  circumstance  was  quickly  turned 
to  present  advantage.  A  golden  lois  d'or  was 
thrust  into  the  driver's  hand,  and  as  Bernard 
lifted  his  wife  into  the  vehicle  ho  said : 

"Haste,  garcon !  To  the  quay.  Put  your 
hor.sc  to  his  best  speed,  for  one  hundred  frP'--a:s  !" 
The  cab  rattled  forward — tlie  gunrd  were  left 
behind  with  their  prisoner — and  in  ten  minutes 
Bernard  and  his  wife  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  pier 
which  shot  out  into  the  r'vcr.  As  the  vehicle, 
on  its  return,  passed  .out  of  sight  above  the  quay, 


a  small  whci-ry  was  discovered  by  de  Norde,  se- 
cured at  the  capstan  of  the  dock.  Into  tliis  he 
placed  his  wife,  and  seizing  the  small  oar,  he 
pushed  off,  at  once,  quietly  into  the  stream. 

The  current  was  running  outward,  and  he  soon 
descried  a  small  vessel  lying  at  anchor,  hut  a  few 
cables'  distance  from  the  shore.  He  headed  for 
this  craft,  forthwith,  and  in  five  minutes  longer, 
he  stood  upou  her  low  deck.  All  was  as  silent 
as  the  gi-ave  !  Corrinne  spoke  not,  but  clung  to 
her  husband's  arm  with  nervous  tenaciousness — 
hoping  for  the  best,  but  fearing  the  worst  of  con- 
sequences in  prospective. 

The  captain  of  the  little  schooner  was  sleeping 
soundly  in  his  berth,  and  dreaming  quietly  of 
aught  but  such  a  visit  as  this  !  when  a  hand  was 
placed  upon  his  shoulder,  he  was  aroused  from 
his  slumber,  and,  by  the  light  of  the  little  hang- 
ing-lamp in  his  cabin,  he  suddenly  found  himself 
in  the  presence  of  a  total  stranger,  who  stood 
over  him  with  a  bag  of  gold  in  one  hand,  and  a 
very  suspicious  looking  pistol  in  the  other  ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AN    UNANTICIPATED    VOYAGE. 

As  may  well  be  supposed,  the  master  of  the 
schooner  was  not  a  little  surprised,  and  quite  as 
much  tcrritied  at  this  sudden  and  curious  call,  at 
midnight,  and  his  first  impulse,  since  he  was 
apparently  at  the  mercy  of  the  man  who  thus 
stood  over  him,  was  to  cry  out  for  help.  On  a 
second  thought,  however,  considering  the  singu- 
lar manner  of  liis  visitor,  he  concluded  to  do  no 
such  foolish  thing.  His  eye  fell  upon  the  heavy 
purse  which  de  Norde  held  forth  towards  him, 
and  as  soon  as  he  could  well  recover  himself, 
after  the  first  fright,  he  concluded  to  look  again 
before  he  made  any  unnecessary  disturbance. 

"  Arc  you  not  the  master  of  this  vessel  1" 
asked  de  Norde,  hurriedly. 

"  Yc — ^ye — s  !"  muttered  the  man. 
"  So  I  supposed." 

"  You're  not  going  to  kill  me  at  sight,  are  you 
—eh  V 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  good  fellow,  it  is  for 
my  best  interests  that  you  remain  alive.  Come, 
up  with  you  I" 

"  Then  take  away  that  ugly  looking  comforter 
you  have  in  your  right  hand." 

"Exactly;  I  will  not  harm  you,  be  assured. 
But,  be  stirring  now.    I  have  a  lady  upon  deck." 
"'  A  woman,  too  V 

"A  lady,  I  said.  Here  is  gold,  and  I  have 
more  in  plenty.  I  want  to  use  your  vessel  and 
your  skill,  instantly.  Take  this  purse  as  an 
earnest  of  my  future  intentions  towards  you,  if 
you  do  my  bidding.  Here — it  contains  an  hun- 
dred louis  d'  ors.  Come,  do  not  hesitate — time 
presses  ;  I  have  no  leisure  for  dallying,  now." 

"  Welt,  what  is  your  wi.sh,  then  ?"  inquired 
the  captain  of  the  little  vessel,  springing  out 
upon  the  floor,  and  securing  the  bag  of  gold  at 
the  same  time. 

"First,  that  you  give  up  thi^  cabin  for  the  use 
of  myself  and  the  lady." 

"  Uho !  I  sec,  I  see  !  An  alfuir  of  the — well, 
never  mind.  An  elopement  isn't  very  bad — 
but — " 

"  Quick,  then,  and  ask  no  questions.     Call  up 
your  hands  and  put  to  sea  at  once." 
"  Put  to  sea  1" 
"Instantly." 
"  And  the  lady?" 
"  Is  my  wife.     I  am  hot  pressed,  and  there  is 


not  a  moment  to  be  lost.     You  have  provisions 
on  board  V 

"  Yes,  for  a  month's  voyage." 
" And  water';" 
"Yes." 

"  Set  sail,  then,  forthwith;  and  you  shall  be 
hand.<iomely  paid  for  the  service,"  continued  de 
Norde,  in  a  hurried  manner  ;  and  then  repairing 
to  the  deck,  where  his  trembling  wife  awaited 
Ids  return  most  impatiently,  ho  said  : 

"  Dearest  Corrinne,  wc  are  safe,  once  more, 
at  least  from  present  harm.  We  shall  sail  hence 
immediately.  All  is  arranged;  I  find  the  cap- 
tain of  this  little  craft  is  a  reasonable  man,  and 
we  shall  escape,  again,  Corrinne;  let  us  retire 
below." 

There  was  a  hustle  about  the  deck  immedi- 
ately. All  hands  had  been  summoned  from  be- 
low, and,  as  it  chanced,  the  vessel  was  a  coaster, 
in  the  possession  of  open  "clearance"  papers,  so 
that  she  could  depart  from  her  anchorage  when- 
ever it  pleased  her  commander,  without  exciting 
suspicion.  De  Norde  handed  his  wife  into  the 
little  cabin,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  order  was 
given  to  up  anchor. 

It  was  II.  desperate  shift,  to  be  sure ;  but  de 
Norde  had  but  this  single  chance  for  escape,  un- 
der the  circumstances.  The  schooner  lay  at  an- 
chor in  the  stream,  fortunately  in  readiness  for 
sea,  and  bound  to  Marseilles  in  a  day  or  two. 
The  wily  captain  said  nothing  about  this  fact, 
however,  but  rather  gave  de  Norde  to  understand 
that  he  sailed  to  accommodate  him,  personally. 
At  Marseilles,  therefore,  the  schooner  put  in,  for 
a  few  hours,  where  fresh  provisions  and  water 
was  taken  on  board,  and  where  the  letters  of 
credit  which  the  "  Count  Antienne"  possessed 
were  turned  to  account  for  his  present  purposes. 
As  the  captain  was  entrusted  with  the  business 
of  obtaining  the  money  Bernard  desired  at  this 
port,  he  made  himself  acquainted  with  his  pas- 
senger's finances  sufficiently  to  satisfy  him  that 
there  would  be  no  further  risk  of  following  his 
directions.  And  when  he  returned  on  hoard, 
finally,  having  concluded  his  own  business  at 
Marseilles,  he  asked  de  Norde  what  he  desired 
further  with  him  and  his  vessel. 

In  reply,  he  was  instructed  to  make  the  port 
of  Barcelona,  in  Spain,  as  quickly  as  possible. 
This  place  was  well  known  to  de  Norde,  and  he 
liad  previously  placed  certain  property  of  some 
value  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  there,  with  wdiom 
he  desired  to  communicate.  The  voyage  thither 
was  made  in  a  short  space  of  time,  for  the 
schooner  proved  a  fine  sailer,  and  worked  ad- 
mirably. From  thence  the  vessel  sailed  to  Car- 
thagena,  where  de  Norde  halted  for  two  days 
only,  an-anging  his  affairs  as  he  went  along  with 
accuracy  and  despatch.  The  weather  continued 
fine,  and  from  Carthagena  the  little  party  pro- 
ceeded to  Gibraltar,  from  whence  de  Norde  had 
resolved  to  depart  in  another  vessel,  direct  for 
England. 

And  while  our  hero  and  his  beautiful  young 
wife  were  thus  putting  a  long  distance  of  sea  and 
land  between  them  and  their  persecutors,  there 
were  other  parties  connected  with  our  narrative, 
and  other  scenes  enacting,  in  which  we  have  yet 
an  interest,  and  to  which  we  must  now  return. 
The  schooner  left  Carthagena  on  a  bright,  clear 
morning,  with  a  good  crew  and  a  promising 
prospect,  bound  for  tlie  port  of  Gibraltar.  While 
she  skims  blithely  over  the  waves,  before  a  fresh 
north  wind,  let  us  go  back  for  a  moment  to  Ly- 
ons, and  look  after  Don  Miguel  Ruberto,  whom 
we  left  in  custody  of  the  vigilant  police  of  that 
renowned  city ! 

It  turned  out  that  Ruberto  had  laid  his  plans 
with  precision  and  good  judgment,  but  he  could 
not  forego  the  opportunity  which  he  believed  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  afforded  him  of  seeing 
de  Norde,  and  of  personally  denouncing  him, 
after  all  the  trouble  he  had  had  to  find  him.  By 
means  of  the  duplicity  of  one  of  his  own  clan, 
whom  Don  Miguel  had  searched  out  among  the 
mountains,  be  had  been  able  to  get  a  clue  to  his 
whereabouts,  and  having  found  him,  at  last,  by 
means  of  his  a/m^,  the  "Count  Antienne,"  he 
lost  no  time  in  putting  the  authorities  upon  his 
tracks. 

But  Fontini — the  former  master  of  dc  Nordo, 
and  his  original  instructor  in  crime — could  not 
be  content  merely  with  the  satisfaction  to  be  de- 
rived from  seeing  the  police  perform  their  duty. 
He  was  not  satisfied  to  know  that  Bernard  would 
be  urrcsted,  easily  convicted,  and  condemned  to 
the  galleys  for  life,  probably,  but  he  must  meet 
him  once  more,  face  to  face,  and  let  him  know 
to  whom  he  was  indebted  for  his  final  arrest ! 
This  was  what  the  old  robber  gloated  over ;  and 
he  would  also  tear  Corrinne  from  him,  in  the 


midst  of  his  consternation,  at  the  moment  when 
the  soldiery  sliould  pounce  upon  him  at  his  hotel. 
Such  was  his  plan,  and  we  have  already  seen 
how  successful  it  proved  ! 

The  better  to  enable  Iiim  to  carry  out  this 
sclicmc,  he  had  provided  himself  with  letters  of 
credit  upon  the  best  bankers  in  Lyons ;  and  ho 
had  also  brought  with  him  ample  credentials  of 
character  from  prominent  c-itizens  at  Seville,  who 
had  known  him  in  that  neighborhood  fur  the 
previous  six  years  or  more.  A  retaliatory  dis- 
position on  de  Norde's  part,  after  his  arrest, 
would  therefore  have  availed  him  nothing.  Suf- 
ficient evidence  had  been  prepared  by  Don  Mig- 
uel to  fix  a  hundred  crimes  upon  him  ;  and,  had 
he  left  the  authorities  to  do  their  duty  unmo- 
lested, he  might  have  triumphed.  As  it  was,  his 
antagonist  was  more  than  an  even  match  for 
him. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  we  left  Don 
Miguel  in  the  dark,  surrounded  by  half  a  score 
of  gens  d'armes,  in  the  apartment  from  which  dc 
Norde  so  singularly  made  his  last  escape.  In 
the  confusion  which  ensued,  the  soldiers  rushed 
in  and  secured  the  man  they  chanced  to  find 
there  !  They  were  completely  deceived  by  the 
assumed  voice  and  manner  of  Bernard  ;  and,  as 
it  had  been  arranged  l>ctween  the  guard  and  Don 
Miguel,  that  at  the  moment  of  dc  Norde's  pro- 
posed arrest,  the  old  Spaniard  should  secure  the 
person  of  the  young  lady  whom  he  claimed  as 
his  legal  ward,  they  were  thrown  entirely  oft" 
their  guard  for  the  moment,  as  they  supposed 
that  Ruberto  had  taken  possession  of  Corrinne 
as  they  entered  the  room,  and  that  all,  of  course, 
was  proceeding  just  as  had  been  previously 
agreed  upon.  "  Seize  him  !  secure  your  pris- 
oner !"  shouted  do  Norde,  as  he  rushed  by  them 
with  his  wife.  And  they  did  secure  the  man 
who  lay  stunned  upon  the  floor. 

Lights  were  procured,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
delay,  Don  Miguel  came  to  himself,  and  the  un- 
lucky rwse  was  discovered.  Ruberto  swore,  and 
charged  the  guard  with  conniving  with  the  scoun- 
drel to  escape  I  The  officer  of  the  guard  retali- 
ated, and  threatened  the  Spaniard  with  arrest, 
unless  he  kept  a  civil  tongue  in  his  head.  In 
the  meantime  de  Norde  and  his  wife  were  in- 
creasing the  distance  and  chances  of  recovery 
between  them  and  their  pursuers. 

The  hotel  was  quickly  ransacked  by  the  police, 
and  within  half  an  hour  spies  were  sent  out  in 
every  direction  in  search  of  the  "  Count  An- 
tienne" and  his  companion.  In  vain  was  inqui- 
ry, in  vain  did  the  patrol  turn  corner  after  corner, 
and  put  question  after  question  to  all  whom  they 
chanced  to  meet.  The  lucky  pair  had  been  seen 
by  no  one,  and  tlieir  retreat  was  perfectly  suc- 
cessful. Don  Miguel  was  in  a  deadly  rage,  but 
he  could  not  find  the  object  upon  which  he  de- 
sired to  wreak  his  vengeance.  Bernard  de 
Norde,  with  his  loved  Corrinne,  were  far  beyond 
the  reach  of /i/s  arm,  or  his  influence,  and  the 
lovers  were  now  congratulating  each  other  upon 
their  peculiar  good  fortune,  as  the  frowning  rock 
of  Gibraltar  hove  in  sight  from  the  deck  of  their 
staunch  and  well  managed  little  schooner ! 

Don  Miguel  left  Lyons  as  he  came,  therefore. 
The  circumstance  of  de  Norde's  escape  filled  the 
newspapers  for  a  week,  but  with  the  Spaniard's 
departure,  the  fact  ■wa.s  forgotten.  He  repaired 
to  his  residence  near  Seville,  and  as  soon  as  his 
new  dwelling  was  completed,  he  once  more  sat 
down  to  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  life  which  were 
still  left  him  ;  for,  notwithstanding  his  disasters, 
he  had  yet  a  goodly  amount  of  means  at  his 
command. 

The  schooner  reached  Gibraltar  in  good  time, 
safely,  and  de  Norde  having  paid  the  captain 
roundly  for  his  trouble  and  faithfulness,  took 
lodgings  at  a  retired  hotel,  for  a  few  days,  in- 
tending, as  soon  as  Corrinne  should  recover 
from  the  fatigue  and  effects  of  the  vo'yage,  to 
quit  the  continent  and  repair  to  England,  wly'r*' 
it  was  their  purpose  permanently  to  reside.   ' 

While  tarrying  at  Gibraltar,  the  welcome  \  rs 
reached  de  Norde  that  a  full  and  free  pardon  had 
been  granted  by  the  Portuguese  and  Spanish 
governments  to  all  the  clans  of  bandits  and  brig- 
ands who  had  infested  the  mountains,  on  condi- 
tion that  they  laid  down  their  arms  and  dispersed. 
This  intelligence  was  of  the  most  gratifying  char- 
acter to  Bernard,  who  had  been  one  of  the  most 
prominent  of  the  oficndcrs  ;  and  he  gladly  availed 
himself  of  tlie  opiiortunity  thus  aflbrded  to  free 
himself  from  future  legal  proceedings  and 
jeopardy. 

This  news,  therefore,  changed  ItttJ  purpose  of 
quitting  Spain,  at  least  temporarily.     He  too" 
measures  to  communicate  with  his  late  followers 
and  the  authorities,  also  ;  and  his  sojourn  at  Gib- 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DE.AWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


243 


raltar   wiis   consequently  extended  beyond  the 
period  he  had  originally  intended. 

Don  Miguel  did  not  forget  the  purpose  he  had 
had  nearest  his  heart  so  long,  however.  He  re- 
turned to  his  haeienda,  but  still  determined, 
sooner  or  later,  to  obtain  satisfaction  from  the 
man  wbo  he  conceived  had  so  deeply  wronged 
him.  How  he  finally  succeeded  in  his  purpose, 
and  what  was  the  fate  of  our  characters,  subse- 
quently, we  will  inform  the  reader  in  our  suc- 
ceeding chapters. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    MAGICIAN — A    FEARFUL    RIDE. 

As  soon  as  the  news  had  been  circulated 
among  the  community  of  peasants  who  inhabited 
the  borders  of  the  infested  districts,  for  their  o^vn 
future  peace  and  comfort  they  took  early  meas- 
ures to  communicate  the  fact  to  the  bands  that 
were  located  about  them,  that  they  might  avail 
themselves  of  the  olfer  of  pardon,  and  retire  from 
their  unlawful  pursuits. 

The  news  was  generally  receive  d  by  the  rob 
bers  with  gratitude,  and  a  very  large  portion  of 
the  clans  were  very  soon  broken  up.  Those 
who  were  sufficiently  hardened,  and  reckless 
enough  to  refuse  to  accept  tlic  proffered  lenity  of 
the  governments)  however,  were  hunted  down, 
at  last;  and,  within  a  year's  time,  the  mountains 
were  ridded  of  the  pests  that  had  for  a  long  pe- 
riod previously  occupied  their  caves  and  passes, 
to  the  imminent  peril  of  the  residents  near  by,  as 
well  of  the  travelling  community  in  the  region. 

The  mansion  of  Don  Miguel  was  finished  at 
last,  and  a  very  showy  and  elegant  one  it  was, 
too.  The  ancient  robber's  taste  was  good,  and 
he  did  not  spare  expense,  for  he  had  ample 
means,  notwithstanding  his  reverses,  and  the 
dwelling  which  replaced  the  original  was  in  every 
respect  superior  to  that  which  had  been  sacked 
and  destroyed.  As  soon  as  it  was  complete,  he 
left  it  in  charge  of  his  secretary  and  the  house- 
keepers, and  departed  in  search  of  de  Norde, 
whom  he  still  hoped  to  punish  for  having  over- 
reached him — an  error  ho  could  not  forget,  nor 
forgive;  and  besides  this,  he  had  a  further  de- 
sign, to  wit,  the  abduction,  or  the  an-est,  of  Cor- 
rinne,  whom  he  still  loved,  and  who  he  believed 
was  not  the  wife  of  his  adversary. 

On  his  journey  from  Gibraltar  to  Malaga,  de 
Norde  halted  at  the  town  of  Marabella  for  a 
week  or  two,  to  await  the  arrival  of  some  chests 
which  he  had  stored  at  another  point,  in  charge 
of  an  old  friend,  with  whom  he  had  lately  com- 
municated, and  who  had  shipped  the  articles  to 
the  address  of  "  Signer  Bleitzer,"  at  Malaga, 
agx'ceably  to  Bernard's  order. 

These  boxes  contained  the  gorgeous  parapher- 
nalia, the  wardrobe,  and  tlie  superb  appointments 
that  de  Norde  made  use  of  at  his  magical  exhi- 
bitions, and  wliich  were  now  about  to  be  brought 
into  requisition — for  his  means  were  not  over- 
ample,  his  expenses  and  losses  had  been  very 
large,  during  the  past  few  montlis,  and  upon  his 
leaving  the  band  over  which  he  presided,  he  left 
behind  him  the  great  bulk  of  what  of  right  be- 
longed to  him  as  "  captain,"  but  which,  at  Cor- 
rinne's  solicitation,  he  did  not  take  away  with 
him.  With  his  elegant  wardrobe  and  fixtures, 
and  his  still  unimpaired  tact  and  knowledge  of 
legerdemain,  the  road  to  fortune  was  open  to  him 
by  an  honorable  route,  and  he  resolved  to  pursue 
it  and  trust  to  his  accomplishments  for  future 
success  in  his  career. 

This  determination  was  suggested  by  his  lovely 
and  devoted  wife,  who  was  overjoyed  when  de 
Norde  informed  her  tiiat  a  free  pardon  had  lieen 
granted  to  himself  and  his  anforlunate  compan- 
ions, and  that  from  that  time  forward  he  should 
pursue  his  profession  as  a  means  of  obtaining  a 
livelihood.  The  chests  reached  Malaga  safely 
and  seasonabh'',  and  de  Norde  proceeded  for- 
w.  at  once,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  to  the 
lat  place,  where  he  proposed  to  give  a  series 
of  c.viiil>itions  in  the  "  magic  art." 

His  entertainments  were  highly  successful, 
subsequently,  and  he  had  finished  his  engage- 
ments in  Malaga  about  the  time  that  Don  Mig- 
uel got  ready  to  leave  Seville.  The  old  Span- 
iard entered  a  coffee-room,  after  a  visit  to  his 
banker,  just  before  starting  from  home,  and  tak- 
ing up  a  paper,  his  eye  suddenly  fell  upon  a 
paragraph  which  contained  an  unusual  amount 
of  interest  for  him-  under  the  circumstances.  He 
slowly  read  it  as  follows  : 

■  "  A  Kema^-icable  Man. — We  have  been  high- 
vigratified  wita  the  unique  and  artistic  exhibi- 
^ons  of  Signor  Blcitiier,  who  has  delighted  our 
citizens  during  the  fortnight  past,  with  his  elegant 


entertainments  in  the  art  marjique,  in  which  he 
may  be  pronounced  a  most  accomplished  pro- 
fessor, without  show  of  flattery.  His  necroman- 
cy, his  sleight  of  hand,  his  jugglery,  and  his  va- 
rious optical  deceptions — all  are  of  the  most  ex- 
traordinary character;  and,  in  our  very  limited 
experience,  we  have  never  met  the  man  who 
could  approach  him  in  neatness  of  execution,  or 
who  could  at  all  compare  with  him  at  successful 
experiment  in  the  black  art.  He  is  certainly  a 
most  singularly  foitunate  person  in  these  re- 
spects, and  his  success  elsewhere  cannot  but  be 
sure,  wherever  rare  talent  can  be  appreciated. 
He  goes  hence  to  Almeira,  we  learn,  and  will 
shortly  leave  Spain  for  England,  on  a  profes- 
sional visit.  Signor  Bleitzer  is  really  an  extra- 
ordinary man." 

"  So  he  is  !"  exclaimed  Huberto,  as  he  laid 
aside  the  journal  from  which  he  had  so  unex- 
pectedly obtained  the  very  information  he  most 
desired,  and  wliich  he  was  at  that  very  moment 
on  the  eve  of  leaving  Seville  to  obtain,  in  a 
very  diiferent  character.  "Tes,  he  is  an  extra- 
ordinary being,  to  be  sure  !  But,  unless  For- 
tune greatly  abuses  me,  I  think,  this  time  I  shall 
make  sure  of  ray  prey.  To  Almeira,  eh  ?  Well, 
let  us  see.  That  is  near  the  coast.  He  will  not 
be  there  long,  and  he  is  about  to  quit  Spain  for 
his  Majesty's  dominion  across  the  water.  We 
shall  see  about  that !  We  shall  see.  Perha]>s 
he  wont  go — maybe  he'll  be  detained  !  We 
shall  see  :"  and  with  those  conflicting  self  assur- 
ances, Don  Miguel  Rubcrto  left  the  cnfe,  and 
prepared,  forthwith,  to  visit  the  tovm  of  Al- 
meira, to  confront  and  punish  his  former  lieu- 
tenant. 

In  the  meantime,  de  Norde  was  pursuing  the 
even  tenor  of  his  way."^  He  was  aware  that  a 
pardon  had  been  proclaimed  by  the  authorities 
of  the  two  governments  for  him  and  his  follow- 
ers, and  he  felt  safe  from  trouble  on  that  score. 
He  gave  his  entertainments,  therefore,  under  the 
nome  de  gueire  of  "  Signor  Bleitzer,"  as  he  had 
previously  done,  and  quietly  pocketing  his  ra- 
pidly accumulating  income,  he  was  preparing  to 
bid  adieu  to  Spain,  when  Don  Miguel,  after 
reading  the  account  we  have  quoted,  left  Seville 
and  arrived  in  Almeira. 

Amidst  all  his  shiftings,  and  changes,  and  ad- 
ventures, de  Norde  had  constantly  retained 
nominal  possession  of  his  f;tvorite  black  mare, 
"Peri."  When  he  absented  himself  from  the 
country  he  always  placed  her  in  charge  of  a 
faithful  person,  who  provided  for  her,  and  who 
took  a  pride  in  preserving  her  in  fine  condition 
constantly,  against  the  hour  when  her  master 
might,  at  any  time,  send  for  her.  This  was  a 
noble  beast,  and  next  to  his  wife,  de  Norde  loved 
his  matchless  "  Peri." 

Few  men  in  Europe  could  manage  a  horse, 
or  ride  one,  with  a  better  grace  than  Bernard  de 
Norde  ;  and  this  was  a  favorite  exercise  with 
him,  for  his  wife  was  a  magnificent  horse-woman, 
as  well.  Their  excursions  into  the  suburbs,  on 
all  convenient  occasions,  therefore,  on  horse- 
back, were  frequent,  and  proved  a  very  delight- 
ful and  healthy  pastime.  They  were  entering 
Almeira  one  evening,  just  at  dusk,  riding  slowly 
along,  when  the  palfrey  upon  which  Corrinne 
was  seated  became  suddenly  alarmed  at  some 
object  on  the  roadside,  and  bolted  unexpectedly. 
In  her  sudden  attempt  to  recover  the  bit  and 
bring  her  horse  into  hand  again,  the  girtli  of  her 
saddle  slipt,  and  the  lady  instantly  sprang  to  the 
ground,  to  save  herself.  De  Norde  was  at  her 
side  immediately,  and  the  saddle  straps  were  at 
once  tightened,  and  she  sprang  lightly  into  her 
seat  again,  as  her  pony  timied  about  and  started 
off"  at  a  gallop.  As  de  Norde  wheeled  to  mount 
his  mare  he  felt  a  sharp  blow  at  the  back  of  his 
head,  from  whence,  or  by  whom,  he  had  no 
idea,  and  as  he  fell  senseless  at  the  side  of  the 
road,  a  stranger  jumped  over  his  prostrate  body 
into  his  saddle,  and  the  mare  dashed  away  furi- 
ously upon  the  track  of  Corrinne. 

It  was  two  or  three  minutes  before  Corrinne 
could  draw  up  her  palfrey,  wdiich  had  been 
frightened  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  man's 
form  which  protruded  fioin  the  side  of  the  road, 
and  which  neither  de  Norde  nor  his  wife  had  ob- 
served. That  intruder  was  Don  Miguel  Ku- 
berto  !  who  had  just  reached  Almeira,  and  hav- 
ing learned  the  temporary  whereabouts  of  those 
he  sought,  determined  to  wait  upon  them  at 
once,  and  make  the  most  of  the  advantages 
which  might  ensue  in  his  favor,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

De  Norde  was  unsuspicious,  and  at  this  mo- 
ment, was  totally  unprepared  for  an  assault 
which  he  had  no  reason  whatever  to  anticipate. 


He  was  stunned  by  the  blow  he  had  received, 
and  he  still  lay  unconscious  of  anything  when 
the  stranger  rider  overtook  Corrinne.  Evening 
had  set  in,  and  it  was  very  nearly  dark  when 
the  well  known  Peri  dashed  up  to  her  side,  and 
she  noticed  that  her  rider  (whom  she  mistook 
for  her  husband)  seized  upon  her  pony's  bit. 
She  shouted  at  this  act,  which  she  supposed 
was  to  aid  her,  and  said  ; 

"  Do  not  touch  him,  Bernard  ;  he  is  behaving 
very  well ;  I  am  quite  safe :  do  not  check  him 
thus ■" 

"  Coninne  Almanza  !"  said  a  familiar  voice, 
which  penetrated  to  her  very  heart,  "halt,  Cor- 
rinne, and  listen  to  my  words  !" 

Paralyzed  with  terror,  shocked  at  the  sudden 
appearance  of  her  guardian,  Don  Miguel,  and 
deeply  alarmed  for  her  absent  husband,  poor 
Corrinne  could  not  speak  for  a  moment !  She 
looked  back,  then  at  her  guardian,  then  at  Peri, 
and  thus  she  shrieked  ; 

"  Bernard  !  Bernard !  De  Norde,  my  hus- 
band !  Where  is  he  ?"  she  exclaimed,  wildly, 
and  with  dreadful  emphasis. 

"  Hear  me,  Corrinne,"  said  Don  Miguel,  as 
he  clenched  her  palfrey's  bit  firmly,  "  you  have 
escaped  me  thrice;  you  cannot  do  it  again.  1 
have  staked  my  all  of  hope  and  revenge  upon 
this  moment " 

"  Don  Miguel,  tell  me,  is  he  hurt  V 

"  Forward,  Corrinne  !  You  must  accompany 
me,  now !  De  Norde  will  not  molest  us  at  pres- 
scnt,  be  sure  of  it  !  Forward,  I  say  !"  and  the 
Spaniard  drove  his  rowels  into  Perl's  sides, 
while  he  still  clutched  the  bit  of  Corrinne's 
pony  with  an  iron  gripe,  and  away  dashed  the 
horses  side  by  side,  the  unfortunate  wife  scarcely 
realizing  where  she  was,  or  what  she  was  doing, 
amid  her  terror  and  excitement ! 

[concluded  next  week.] 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial,] 
OCTOBER, 

BY   MRS.   M.   W.   CDRTIS. 

Autumn  wimls  ate  sighing, 

Through  the  forest  lone  ; 
Summer  flowers  are  dying, 

Sommer  days  are  gone. 

Forest  leaves  are  falling, 

Withered  to  the  ground  ; 
Many  hearts  appalling 

With  the  lonely  sound. 

Gone  the  merry  birdlingg, 

To  a  fairer  clime; 
Chilling  are  the  breezes, 

Gone  is  sunmier  time. 

Welcome  is  the  fire  glow, 

By  our  own  hearthstone ; 
llappy  whilt  the  hours  flow, 

Though  the  summer  "s  gone. 

possr!:ssioN. 

Possession,  like  all  earthly  blessings,  canies 
witlnn  it  its  own  principle  of  corrustion.  The 
deadliest  foe  to  love  is  not  change,  nor  misfor- 
tune, nor  wrath,  nor  anything  that  flows  from 
passion,  or  emanates  from  fortune ;  the  deadliest 
foe  to  it  is  custom !  With  custom  die  away  the 
delusions  and  the  mysteries  whicli  encircle  it. 
'With  all  passion,  the  sonl  demands  something 
unexpressed,  some  vague  recess  to  explore  or  to 
marvel  upon.  Custom  leaves  nothing  to  ro- 
mance, and  often  but  little  respect.  Tlie  whole 
character  is  bared  before  us  like  a  plain,  and  the 
heart's  eye  grows  wearied  with  the  sameness  of 
the  survey.  And  to  weariness  succeeds  distaste, 
and  to  distaste  one  of  the  myriad  shapes  of  the 
Proteus — aversion;  so  that  the  passion  we  would 
make  the  rarest  of  treasures,  fritters  down  to  a 
very  instance  of  the  commonest  of  proverbs ; 
and  **  out  of  the  familiarity  cometh,  indeed,  con- 
tempt."— Bulwer. 


THE  PIRAKHA. 

This  fish,  which  contends  for  the  dominion  of 
the  Brazilian  portion  of  South  America,  is  one 
of  terrible  voracity  :  there  is  hardly  any  animal 
that  ventures  into  the  water  but  that  suffers  from 
its  attacks.  The  victim  of  the  piranha  is  gener- 
ally surrounded  by  large  shoals  or  swarms  of 
them ;  they  may  be  justly  compared  to  a  nest  of 
water  hornets.  Horses  and  cattle  do  not  ven- 
ture to  drink  of  til e  water  below  the  surface,  lest 
their  snout  should  be  bitten  off" — an  accident 
which,  however,  sometimes  befalls  them.  The 
cajman  himself  is  forced  to  fly  before  this  ter- 
rible enemy,  and  turns  his  unprotected  belly  to- 
wards the  top  of  the  water ;  the  otter  alone, 
whose  hairy  skin  deadens  the  force  of  the  bite,  is 
proof  against  their  attacks. — ^yilson. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pit-torial.] 
I  DO  MOT  ASK  FOR  FAZIIE  NOR  WEALTH. 

Ur    Bins.   R.   T.   ELDREDGE. 

I  do  not  ask  for  fame  nor  wealth, 

To  shine  ^nthin  our  home  ; 
Nay,  all  I  ask  is  pcice  and  hca.lth, 

Thy  love,  and  thine  alone  ; 
For,  blest  with  that,  my  Ufe  will  he 
From  dark,  despairing  shadows  free. 

And  should  it  ever  be  my  lot, 

To  toil  with  thee  for  bread  ; 
BiL'st  \nth  thy  love,  I'U  heed  it  not, 

Life's  paths  with  thee  I  '11  tread ; 
Though  rough  and  thorny  they  may  be, 
When  by  thy  side,  they  're  smooth  to  me. 

What  can  I  ask  for  more  on  earth, 

Thy  heart  is  wholly  mine  ; 
And  dearly  do  I  prize  its  worth, 

For  wealth  [  never  pine  ; 
0  may  my  love  be  prized  by  Ihee, 
As  dear  as  thine  is  prized  by  me  1 

RISING  IN  THE  WORLD. 

Ton  should  bear  constantly  in  mind  that  nine 
tenths  of  us  are,  from  the  very  nature  and  neces- 
sities of  the  world,  born  to  gain  our  livehbood 
l)y  the  sweat  of  the  brow.  Wliat  reason  have 
we,  then,  to  presume  that  our  children  are  not 
to  do  the  same  ?  If  they  be,  as  now  and  then 
one  will  be,  endowed  with  extraordinary  powers 
of  mind,  those  extraordinary  powers  of  mind 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  developing  tliem- 
selves  ;  and,  if  they  never  have  that  opportunity, 
the  harm  is  not  very  great  to  us  or  to  them. 
Nor  does  it  hence  follow  that  the  descendants  of 
laborers  are  always  to  be  laborers.  The  path 
upward  is  steep  and  long,  to  be  sure.  Industry, 
care,  skill,  excellence  in  the  present  parent,  lay 
the  foundation  of  a  rise,  under  more  favorable 
circumstances,  for  the  children.  The  children 
of  these  take  another  rise ;  and,  by-and-by,  the 
descendants  of  the  present  laborer  become  gen- 
tlemen. This  is  the  natural  progress.  It  is  by 
attempting  to  reach  the  top  at  a  single  leap  that 
so  much  misery  is  produced  in  the  world.  So- 
ciety may  aid  in  making  the  laborers  virtuous 
and  happy,  by  bringing  children  up  to  labor  with 
steadiness,  with  care,  and  with  skill;  to  show 
them  how  to  do  as  many  useful  things  as  possi- 
ble;  to  do  them  all  in  the  best  manner;  to  set 
them  an  example  in  industry;  sobriety,  cleanli- 
ness and  neatness  ;  to  make  all  these  habitual  to 
them,  so  that  they  never  shall  be  liable  to  fall 
into  the  contrary  ;  to  let  them  always  see  a  good 
living  proceeding  from  labor,  and  thus  to  remove 
from  them  the  temptation  to  get  at  the  goods  of 
others  l»y  violent  and  fraudulent  means,  and  to 
keep  far  from  their  minds  all  the  inducements  to 
hypocrisy  and  deceit. —  Cobbeft. 


LAST  WORDS. 

There  is  often  a  significance  in  the  last  words 
ofa  great  man — a  correspondence  between  his 
death  and  the  tenor  of  his  life — expressions 
which  furnish  to  us  a  new  and  correct  index  to 
his  character,  and  then  they  are  well  worth  re- 
cording. Tlie  world,  then,  presents,  generally, 
little  temptation  for  dissimulation  or  pretence; 
and  his  vanities  and  afi'ectations  are  laid  aside  ; 
so  that  then,  if  ever,  we  may  see  the  man  as  he 
is.  And  it  would  he  strange  if  it  were  not  so. 
When  tiie  thread  of  life  is  snapped,  why  should 
the  end  differ  from  the  remaining  parf? 

The  common  anecdotes  of  the  closing  scenes 
of  the  lives  of  great  men,  whether  authentic  or 
not,  frequently  show  the  truth  of  this.  When 
Montesquieu  was  asked  if  he  were  truly  sensible 
of  the  greatness  of  God,  "  Tes,"  answered  the 
dying  philosopher,  "  and  of  the  littleness  of 
man."  Goethe,  the  never  satisfied  student  of 
truth  in  all  its  forms,  asked  only  for  "Light !" 
Cromwell,  the  fanatical  religionist  and  stubborn 
soldier,  begged  to  know  if  the  elect  would  ever  fall. 
"Never!"  said  his  spiritual  adviser.  "Then  I 
am  safe,"  said  he,  "  for  I  am  sure  I  was  once  in 
a  state  of  grace."  When  Napoleon  came  to 
die,  so  many  years  after  his  turbulent  and  de- 
structive career  bad  closed,  that  it  must  have 
been  to  him  indistinct  as  a  dream — his  mind 
wandered  to  the  scenes  of  his  former  triumphs  ; 
and  those  who  stood  round  his  death-bed  heard 
him  murmuring  :  "  Tete  d'armee!" — To-Day. 


Those  who  have  become  addicted  to  evil  hab- 
its, must  conquer  thtm  as  they  can — and  they 
must  be  confjuered,  or  they  will  conquer  us,  and 
destroy  our  peace  and  happiness.  And  those 
who  have  not  yet  yielded  to  bad  habits,  must  be 
on  their  guard  lest  they  be  unexpectedly  assault- 
ed and  subdued. 


OUR  "BETTERS." 

Very  comfortable  lives  are  led  by  the  majority 
of  them,  and  hence  "things  as  they  are  "find 
favor  in  their  eyes.  For  their  tastes — they  are 
shown  in  the  subordination  of  national  business 
to  the  shooting  of  grouse  and  the  chasing  of 
foxes.  For  their  pride — it  is  in  wide  estates  or 
long  pedigrees ;  and  should  the  family  coat-of- 
arms  bear  some  such  ancient  motto  as  "  Strike 
hard,"  or  "  Furth  fortune,  and  fill  the  fetters," 
it  is  a  great  happiness.  As  to  their  ideal  of  so- 
ciety, it  is  eitlier  a  sentimental  feudalism,  or  it 
is  a  state  something  like  the  present,  under  which 
the  people  shall  be  respectful  to  their  betters, 
and  "  content  with  that  station  of  life  which  it 
has  pleased  God  to  call  them  ;"  or  it  is  a  state 
arrar^ed  with  the  view  of  making  each  laborer 
the  most  efficient  producing  tool,  to  the  end  that 
the  accumulation  of  wealth  may  be  the  greatest 
possible. — Social  Statics. 


Sweet  arc  the  nee^■of  adversity, 
Which,  like  a  toad,  ugly  and  venomoue, 
Wears  yet  a  precioun  jewe^  in  his  head. 

S'uiispeare. 


244 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    (!()]MPANI()N. 


A  PAR8EE  LADY. 

I  nskcd  her  how  the  hnirwas 
disposed  of  with  iheni  !  Where- 
upon, merrily,  she  threw  hack 
hor  saree,  and  the  disli^'urin^ 
kind  of  handa^e  whitli  con- 
cealed the  forehead  and  Iiead, 
and  shaking;  down  a  (]UiHi(iiy 
of  hliiek,  silky  hair,  her  eyiK 
sparkling;  with  animation,  she 
really  looked  so  heiiuiiliil,  that 
I  eould  not  refrain  from  loudly 
cxehiiming  at^ainst  the  harha- 
rous  style  of  eosiume  wlueh 
thus  transformed  a  pcrfeet  houri 
intoabanduffed  Ejiyptian  mum- 
my. Another  personal  disfig- 
urement they  very  ingeniously 
contrive,  by  perforating  eom- 
pletely  their  small,  delieately 
formed  cars  all  round,  inserting 
such  heavy  pendants  that  the 
shape  beeomes  distorted  with 
increasing  years,  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  feature  is  so 
unnatural  that  I  was  glad  to 
sec  the  saree  drawn  over  it. 
All  these  ladies  were  of  small 
stature,  with  slight  and  graceful 
figures,  regular  features,  and  a 
pale  olive  complexion,  which 
ill  their  estimation  is  the  highest 
attribute  of  heauty.  My  soci- 
able friend  pointed  out  to  me  a 
little  girl  of  about  nine  years  of 
age,  who,  she  said,  was  so  strik- 
ingly fair  that  her  hand  had 
been  eagerly  sought  in  marriage 
by  sei^eral  before  she  attained 
her  fourth  year.  She  had  been 
now  for  some  time  betrothed  to 
the  son  of  a  wealthy  Parsee ; 
and  when  of  sufficient  age  to  be  separated  from 
her  mother,  she  was  to  take  up  hei-  abode  in  the 
family  of  her  future  husliand.  She  was  a  sweet, 
gentle  little  creature,  with  an  expression  of  mel- 
ancholy in  her  soft,  gazelle-like  eyes  ;  and,  judg- 
ing from  the  mother's  constant  caresses  and 
looks  of  love  bestowed  upon  her  child,  I  could 
well  imagine  how  heavily  the  thought  of  ap- 
proaching separation  must  press  on  both  their 
hearts.  X  was  delighted  to  see  some  specimens 
of  needlework  strewed  about  the  room,  such  as 
canvass-work  and  embroidery;  and,  upon  in- 
quiring how  they  had  learnt  these  arts,  1  was 
informed  that  an  Engltsli  missionary  lady  had 
lately  given  them  some  instruction  in  the  use  of 
the  needle  ;  and  that  the  father  was  so  astonished 
at  their  progress,  that  he  talked  of  allowing 
them  to  learn  the  piano  forte,  and  had  actually 
provided  a  magnificent  instrument  in  anticipa- 
tion. I  begged  to  see  it,  and  never  shall  I  for- 
get their  delight  as  I  ran  my  fingers  over  the 
notes.  The  entire  female  household,  including 
the  servant,  gathered  round  me,  clapping  their 
hands  as  I  played  a  few  lively  airs  ;  and  when  at 
length  I  rose  to  depart  they  all  loudly  entreated 
me  to  come  soon  again,  and  stay  the  whole  day 
with  them.  Their  only  recreation  appeared  to 
consist  in  giving  occasional  parties  to  the  ladies 
of  their  acquaintance,  and  making  a  grand  dis- 
play of  silken  sarees  and  jewels. — Life  in  Bombay. 


INlLiUUK  VIEW  Oi!   L    S    DiUGGbb  L\CL    \ND  bUJSNbT  STOKE,  NO  S  li  AND  JO  HANOVER  STREET,  CObTON 


DRIGGS'S  LACE  AND  BONNET  STORE. 

Above  we  give  the  reader  an  interior  view 
of  one  of  our  large  and  elegant  dry  goods  estab- 
lishments, situated  at  Nos.  24  and  26  Hanover 
street.  This  street  is  fast  growing  to  be  one  of 
the  most  frequented  thoroughfares  in  the  city 
for  "  shopping  "  purposes  by  tiie  ladies.  In  this 
respect  there  has  been  a  very  decided  change  in 
this  neighborhood  within  a  few  years  past.  At 
the  mammoth  establishment  represented  above, 
ma}'  be  found  the  finest  of  French,  German, 
Swiss,  Scotch  and  American  goods  ever  offered 
to  the  public.  Mr.  Driggs  imports  his  goods  di- 
rect by  every  steamer  from  Europe,  and  there- 
fore can  always  serve  his  customers  with  the 
latest  styles  and  fashions  generally.  In  the  rear 
of  the  room  which  is  here  represented,  is  situated 
the  manufacturing  room,  where  some  forty  or 
fifty  girls  are  constantly  employed.  Dress  bon- 
nets and  caps  are  the  principal  articles  of  manu- 
facture here,  and  these  articles  are  made  in  tlie 
highest  state  of  finish,  and  for  all  prices  from  a 
shilling  up  to  thirtij  doUars.  Mr.  Driggs  operates 
upon  what  is  called  the  low  price  system — small 
profits  and  large  sales — and  isdoinga  very  large 
and  excellent  business,  as  we  are  pleased  to  learn. 
Boston  is  fast  being  filled  with  these  elegant 
business  establishments,  and  we  certainly  rejoice 
to  see  such  substantial  evidence  of  her  growing 
wealth  and  prosperity. 


SUCCESS  IN  LIFE. 
In  no  department  of  life  do  men  rise  to  emi- 
nence who  have  not  undergone  a  long  and  dili- 
gent preparation  ;  for,  whatever  be  the  dilference 
in  the  mental  powers  of  individuals,  it  is  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  mind  alone  that  leads  to  dis- 
tinction. John  Hunter  was  as  remarkable  for 
his  industry  as  for  his  talents,  of  which  his  mu- 
seum alone  forms  a  most  extraordinary  proof. 
If  we  look  around  and  contemplate  the  history 
of  those  men  whose  talents  and  acquirements  we 
most  esteem,  we  find  that  their  superiority  of 
knowledge  has  been  the  result  of  great  labor  and 
diligence.  It  is  an  ill  founded  notion  to  say  that 
merit  in  the  long  run  is  neglected.  It  is  some- 
times joined  to  circumstances  that  may  a  little 
influence  in  counteracting  it,  as  an  unfortunate 
manner  and  temper ;  but  it  generally  meets  with 
its  due  reward.  The  world  are  not  fools — every 
person  of  merit  has  the  best  chance  of  success; 
and  who  would  be  ambitious  of  public  approba- 
tion, if  it  had  not  the  power  of  discriminating^ 
By  a  kind  of  natural  law,  people  usually  find 
the  exact  niche  in  the  social  fabric  designed  by 
Providence.  Energy  and  perseverance  are  the 
handmaids  of  success,  and  the  individual  who 
possesses  these  requisites  has  usually  the  guar- 
antee of  triumph,  whatever  opposing  obstacles 
may  seem  to  rise  to  thwart  his  purposes. — Physic 
and  Physicians. 


08TEND. 

Ostcnd,  a  fine  view  of  which 
is  given  below,  is  a  fortified  sea- 
port town  of  Belgium,  province 
of  West  Flanders,  capiial  of  the 
canton,  on  the  shore  of  the 
North  Sea,  14  miles  west  by 
north  of  Bruges,  27  miles  cast 
north-east  of  Dunkirk,  and  GO 
miles  east  the  North  Foreland. 
Lat.  51  14  north,  Ion.  2  5.')  cast. 
Population  about  1.3,OU0.  Few 
foreign  travellers  speak  in  fa- 
vorable terms  of  Ostend.  It  is, 
however,  neatly  and  regularly 
built,  and  has  a  lively  apjjcar- 
ance,  the  houses  being  painted 
of  different  colors.  It  is  also  a 
favorable  watering  place  of  the 
Belgians,  and  is  occasionally 
resorted  to  by  the  royal  family. 
It  has  no  public  edifice  worth 
notice,  except  a  good  bathing- 
house,  with  reading-rooms,  etc., 
on  the  levm^  a  sloping  glacis  of 
stone-walk,  originally  erected  to 
serve  as  a  dyke,  having  on  its 
summit  a  favorite  promenade. 
Ostend  is  strongly  fortified  by 
ramparts,  a  broad  ditch,  and  a 
citadel ;  but  it  is  ill  supplied 
with  water,  which  is  assigned 
as  a  reason  for  its  being  in  parts 
rather  dirty.  The  interior  har- 
bor, which  is  large  and  commo- 
dious, is  bordered  by  a  broad 
quay ;  but  ships  of  considerable 
burden  can  only  enter  the  port 
at  high  water,  and  in  strong  ofi^- 
shore  winds  is  diflicult  of  ac- 
cess. There  are  two  lightliousea 
which,  when  brought  in  line, 
mark  the  channel  that  leads  into  the  port.  The 
exports  consist  of  corn,  clover  seed,  cattle,  and 
other  farm  produce  ;  and  the  imports  of  sugar, 
coffee,  and  other  colonial  products,  wines,  spices, 
manufactured  goods,  etc.  The  cod  and  herring 
fisheries,  especially  the  former,  are  carried  on  to 
a  considerable  extent  from  Ostend,  Some  few 
years  since  the  produce  of  this  fishery  amounted 
to  8799  tons  salt  fish.  The  aggregate  value  of 
the  imports  by  sea,  amounts  to  considerably  more 
than  10,000,0*00  francs.  Exclusive  of  its  trade, 
Ostend  has  some  sugar  and  salt  refineries,  and 
sailcloth,  soap,  tobacco,  and  other  factories,  with 
ropewalks,  building  docks,  distilleries,  etc.  It  is 
connected  by  a  canal  and  railroad  with  Bruges, 
and  by  the  great  Belgian  railroad  with  Antwerp 
and  other  cities  of  the  interior.  It  is  the  seat  of 
a  tribunal  and  chamber  of  commerce,  and  the 
residence  of  a  military  commandant  and  of  for- 
eign consuls.  During  the  ever- memorable  strug- 
gle made  by  the  Dutch  to  emancipate  themselves 
from  the  blind  and  brutal  despotism  of  Old 
Spain,  Ostend  sustained  one  of  the  most  celebra^ 
ted  sieges  of  which  history  has  preserved  any  ac- 
count. It  continued  from  the  4th  of  July,  1601, 
to  the  28th  of  September,  1604,  when  the  garri- 
son capitulated,  on  honorable  terms,  to  the  ablest 
of  the  Spanish  leaders,  the  famous  Marquis  of 
Spinola.  This  siege  is  supposed  to  have  cost 
the  contending  parties  the  lives  of  100,000  men  ! 


Sit  ^  ^i©^S^.ttii 


yiEW  OP  OSTEND,  THE  ''kKY"  OS  OONTINENrAL  EUROPE. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING    EOOM    COMPANION. 


245 


PROME,  SKETCHED  FROM  THE  IRAWADDY. 


BURMESE  SCENES. 

Upon  this  page  we  give  two  views  of  Burmese 
towns  and  Fcenery.  The  first  shows  Prome 
sketched  from  the  Irawaddy  ;  the  distant  moun- 
tains are  crested  with  pairodas ;  the  extreme 
mountains  are  some  fifteen  miles  distant.  The 
heijrhts  above  Prome  are  stockaded  by  the  Bur- 
mese. In  tlie  front  of  the  view  is  seen  a  curious 
looking  specimen  of  nautical  ingenuity  in  the 
shap<?  of  a  Burmese  boat.  Prome  is  the  most 
important  place  on  the  Irawaddy,  between  its 
mouth  and  Rangoon,  the  Burmese  capital  and 
chief  place  of  trade.  It  is  a  very  thriving  town, 
and  has  some  10,000  inhabitants.  Yenbenzeik, 
is  seen  in  the  fine  sketch  which  wc  also  give  be- 
low, with  its  richly  wooded  hills,  crested  with 
pagodas,  the  point  in  the  extreme  distance  being 
seen  from  Prome.  But  little  is  known  of  this 
place  ;  the  scenery  about  it  is  imposing,  and  the 
representation  we  give  is  a  fair  specimen  of  na- 
ture's variety  in  the  East.  We  may  as  well  al- 
hide  to  the  principal  of  tlie  Burmese  ports  in  this 
connection,  and  give  our  readers,  as  far  as  our 
limits  will  allow,  some  notices  of  Rangoon, 
which  is  situated  in  lat.  16  deg.  40  min.,  north, 
long.  96  deg.  25  min.,  east,  on  one  of  the  many 
branches  of  the  great  Irawaddy,  at  a  distance  of 


about  twenty-five  miles  from  the  sea.  The  river 
is  many  mites  wide  at  its  mouth,  and  opposite 
the  town  is  about  a  mile  broad  ;  it  is  navigable 
for  ships  of  large  tonnage,  which  find  excellent 
anchorage  while  loading.  Rangoon  is  the  great 
port  of  the  Pegu  coast,  and  is  the  outlet  for  the 
fine  teak  timber  grown  in  the  upper  provinces, 
and  for  cutch,  seeds,  etc.,  which  are  brought 
down  by  native  boats,  and  find  a  market  among 
the  Rangoon  merchants,  who,  with  two  excep- 
tions, are  Armenians  and  Moguls.  The  town 
suffered  severely  by  fire  in  December,  1850, 
when  nearly  the  whole  of  it  was  burned  to  the 
ground.  The  houses  are  built  of  teak  and  bam- 
boo, with  thatched  roofs  ;  and  when  a  fire  breaks 
out,  it  is  only  by  pulling  down  many  of  these 
erections,  and  breaking  off  communication,  that 
it  can  be  arrested,  the  materials  being  very  dry 
from  exposure  to  a  tropical  sun.  Since  the  foreign 
inhabitants  left  in  January  last,  the  goveraor 
has  purposely  destroyed  the  town  again,  and  it 
is  believed  has  defended  its  site  with  stockades 
along  its  front.  The  principal  building  was  the 
custom-house,  a  large  open  shed,  about  as  re- 
spectable in  appearance  as  a  common  cow-house, 
and  would  strike  with  surprise  those  who  draw 
their   notions   of  "  custom-houses "   in   general 


from  the  princely  edifices  of  our  commercial 
cities.  According  to  Mr.  Malcom,  who  visited 
Rangoon  in  1835,  '*  the  city  is  spread  upon  part 
of  a  vast  meadow,  but  little  above  high  tides, 
and  resembling  a  neglected  swamp.  The  fortifi- 
cations are  of  no  avail  against  modern  modes  of 
attack.  They  consist  of  merely  a  row  of  wooden 
timbers  set  in  the  ground,  rising  to  the  heiglit  of 
about  eighteen  feet,  with  a  narrow  platform  run- 
ning round  inside  for  musketeers,  and  a  few  can- 
non lying  at  the  gateways  in  a  useless  condition. 
The  eaves  of  the  houses  generally  descend  to 
within  six  or  eight  feet  of  the  ground ;  very  fe\y 
being  of  more  than  one  story,  or  having  any 
other  covering  than  thatch.  Cellars  are  un- 
known, and  all  the  houses  are  raised  two  or 
three  feet  above  the  ground,  for  coolness  and 
ventilation.  As  the  floors  are  of  split  bamboo, 
all  dirt  falls  through  ;  and  what  is  not  picked  up 
by  crows,  dogs,  fowls,  etc.,  is  occasionally  swept 
out  and  burned.  The  streets  are  narrow,  and 
paved  with  half-burned  bricks,  which,  as  wheel 
carriages  are  not  allowed  in  the  city,  are  in  tol- 
erable repair.  There  is  neither  wharf  nor  quay 
— at  four  or  five  places  are  wooden  stairs,  at 
which  small  boats  mav  laud  passengers;  but 
even  these  do  not  extend  to  within  twenty  feet 


of  low  water  mark.  Vessels  lie  in  the  stream, 
and  discharge  into  boats,  from  which  the  pack- 
ages, slung  to  a  bamboo,  are  lugged  on  men's 
shoulders  to  the  custom-house.  About  two  miles 
from  Rangoon,  is  the  celebrated  Shoe-Dragon 
Temple,  which  is  highly  ornamented.  The  two 
principal  roads  leading  to  it  are  lined  on  either 
side  with  numerous  pagodas,  some  of  consider- 
able size.  The  great  temple  stands  on  a  planted 
terrace,  raised  upon  a  rocky  eminence,  and 
reached  by  an  ascent  of  100  stone  steps.  The 
area  of  this  terrace  is  about  two  acres ;  tlie  tem- 
ple at  its  base  is  310  feet  in  diameter,  and  338 
feet  in  height,  surmounted  by  a  tee,  or  umbrella 
of  open  iron  work,  forty-five  feet  in  height,  and 
richly  gilt.  The  golden  temple  of  the  idol  may 
challenge  competition,  in  point  of  beauty,  with 
any  other  of  its  class  in  India.  The  building  is 
composed  entirely  of  teak  wood,  and  indefati- 
gable pains  are  displayed  in  the  profusion  of  rich 
carved  work  which  adorns  it.  The  whole  is  one 
mass  of  the  richest  gilding,  with  the  exception 
of  the  three  roofs,  which  have  a  silvery  appear- 
ance. A  plank  of  a  deep  red  color  separates 
the  gold  and  silver,  which  has  a  happy  effect  in 
relieving  them.  This  temple  is  resorted  to  by 
numerous  devotees. 


YENBENZEIK,  AS  SEEN  FROM  PROME. 


246 


GLEASON'S   nCTOHTAL   DRAWING   r.OOM    COMPANION. 


[\VriUeii  for  (JIchwoii'k  PIctoriiU.] 
AJDDJIKSS    TO    TIIK    MUSK. 

BY  MlStt  MAllV  N.   DUAIIIIOHN. 

CeloHtiul  MiiHC !  my  verso  Indite, 
And  tunc  my  iint:i.u;;lit  lyro  ; 

With  holy,  siicrod,  living  lov«, 
My  curly  Hong  iiiHjfiru. 

Cilvo  mo  u  s])ui'k  of  that  ^Thie)l  biiniB 

III  thy  iiiimoi'tiil  breast ; 
TliMi  8hull  my  spirit  loikrii  to  chant 

Thu  chorus  of  thu  blust. 

Aw!iU«n  ilII  my  drowsy  thoughts, 
And  give  tht-m  strength  to  sorir 

Fur  from  this  duat  and  drosa  of  earth, 
To  miiiglo  with  the  puro. 

To  join  with  that  enraptured  host, 
Who  strike  their  barpu  above  ; 

Wliosu  every  line  iloth  tell  of  peace, 
Auduuivertial  love. 

I  fain  would  seek  that  "  better  land,'' 
Where  hiating  pleasures  reign  ; 

l''or  they  eternal  love  eiball  find, 
Who  may  that  country  gJi'io. 


[Translated  from  the  German  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  MAGIC  RING. 

BY   MISS   ANNE   T.   WILBUR. 

It  is  well  known  that  every  morning  at  eight 
o'clock,  during  the  annual  exhibition  of  pictures 
at  Paris,  those  persons  who  have  courage  to  rise 
early  enough,  arc  admitted  by  tickets  to  the 
Louvre.  It  is  an  innocent  privilege  which  is 
refused  to  no  one,  and  of  which  all  arc  eager  to 
avail  themselves,  precisely  because  it  is  a  privi- 
lege. 

Now,  the  first  time  during  the  season,  in  which 
this  favor  could  be  enjoyed,  a  young  man,  who 
might  be  easily  recognized  as  a  foreigner  by  the 
peculiar  fashion  of  his  garments,  his  long  and 
blonde  hair,  and  the  light  beard  on  his  chin,  was 
carelessly  strolling  along  the  Place  du  Louvre, 
which  he  was  traversing  in  its  whole  extent. 
He  had  exhausted  every  possible  means  of  di- 
verting liimself  while  awaiting  the  moment  of 
entering  the  galleries  of  the  Louvre;  and,  it 
must  be  confessed,  that  what  made  the  delay 
seem  so  long,  and  this  moment  so  impatiently 
expected,  was  less  the  desire  of  visiting  the  pic- 
tures, than  the  necessity  of  escaping  from  the 
cold,  which  was  purpling  his  face.  For  the  poor 
young  man  was  shivering  beneath  a  great  coat, 
neat,  but  thread-bare ;  and  Iiowever  carefully  he 
buried  his  hands  in  tlic  pockets  of  the  pantaloons, 
which  enshrouded  his  elegant  form,  he  could  not 
prevent  their  being  nipped  with  the  frost. 

Without  a  shelter,  witliout  resources,  robbed 
the  night  before  of  the  little  purse  which  had 
contained  all  his  slender  fortune,  he  had  been 
obliged  to  pass  the  night  on  tlie  stone  bencli  of 
the  neighboring  hotel, — a  night  cold  and  almost 
endless.  Judge  then  of  his  joy  when  day  ap- 
peared, and  especially  when  the  door  of  the  Lou- 
vx*e,  not  of  the  ground  entrance,  but  a  little  mys- 
terious door  at  the  side,  opened.  The  young 
man  immediately  entered,  hastily  ])laced  before 
the  eyes  of  the  concierge  a  card  bearing  the  name 

of  Frederic  ,  cleared  four  steps  at  a  time  of 

an  obscure  staii'way,  and  entered  the  gallery  of 
paintings. 

His  first  look  was  for  his  own  picture,  that 
work  so  long  dreamed  of,  so  long  caressed,  and 
in  the  execution  of  which  he  had,  without  hesita- 
tion, sacriliced  all  his  resources.  Then,  when, 
after  long  months  of  labor  and  study,  he  had 
succeeded  in  re-producing  on  canvass  the  lumi- 
nous and  brilliant  ideas  which  had  originated  in 
his  young  German  head,  art  did  not  satisfy  him ; 
he  coveted  fame.  Paris,  its  celebrated  exhibi- 
tion, this  was  what  he  desired  with  all  the  facul- 
ties of  his  soul,  and  had  succeeded  in  attaining 
at  the  price  of  many  sacrifices.  As  a  hist  resort, 
he  had  sold  a  few  jewels,  the  only  inheritance  re- 
ceived from  his  poor  mother,  rolled  up  his  can- 
vass, placed  it  on  his  shoulders,  and  started, 
alone  and  on  foot,  without  a  friend  to  accompa- 
ny him  on  the  way,  or  a  voice  to  say,  "  Adieu  !" 

And  yet  he  left  in  the  city  a  young  and  laugh- 
ing girl,  whose  features  he  had  more  than  once 
Kicalthily  copied  ;  whose  liglU  and  rapid  step  he 
liad  more  than  once  followed  afar  ofi".  But  ho 
had  never  dared  speak  to  her;  for,  in  Germany 
as  well  as  in  France,  poor  unknown  artists  dare 
not  speak  to  young  girls  who  arc  rich  and  of 
high  birth.  One  needs  fortune  or  fame  to  ensure 
a  smiling  and  welcome  reception ;  and  ])oor 
Frederic,  for  want  of  fortune,  had  coveted  fame; 
for  ibis  he  hud  painted  Iiis  i)i';ture,  kit  Germany, 


and  come  to  Paris,  where  he  found  himself  with- 
out resources,  without  :i  shcltcT,  without  bread. 

While  he  j^tood  tlicre,  stid  and  dreamy,  evok- 
ing all  the  memories  of  his  life,  the  crowd  by  de- 
grcis  arrived,  and  grouped  ihcmsclvcs  in  tui'ii 
before  the  /ifirhcl  of  Lcchmaini,  that  aH'ccting 
page  of  the  Bible,  before  the  picturesque  scene 
wherein  Clement  Bolangcr  bus  unfolded  in  its 
whole  length  a  Houcnncsc  procession,  or  before 
tlie  pictures  of  Biard,  now  grave,  now  amusing. 
Frederic  hastily  left  the  saloon ;  for  the  timid 
artist  feared  lest  the  hitter  criticisms  or  scorn 
of  the  visitors  for  bin  work  should  take  away 
his  last  illusion,  deprived  of  which  he  must  die, 
his  slender  faitli  in  his  own  talents.  He  went 
to  take  refuge  in  the  gallery  of  antiquities ; 
there,  exliaustcd  by  the  fatigues  and  cold  of  the 
night,  with  his  brain  disturbed  by  hunger  and 
anxiety,  he  sat  down  on  a  I>ench  placed  against 
one  of  those  glass  cases  which  contain  Egyptian 
antiquities,  and  began  to  look,  without  seeing 
them,  at  the  curious  oltjects  displayed  around 
him.  By  degrees  his  eyelids  closed;  his  head 
drooped  on  his  breast,  and  lie  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep,  which  did  not  prevent  his  hearing  the  slow 
and  grave  step  of  a  guard,  who  was  solemnly 
promenading  the  vast  galleries. 

Frederic,  without  perceiving  it,  had  rested  his 
elbow  on  the  glass  which  covered  the  case  be- 
hind him.  Suddenly  he  felt  this  glass  give  way 
beneath  the  weight  pressing  upon  it,  and  break. 
Judge  of  the  terror  of  the  young  man,  now  sud- 
denly aroused.  The  guard  would  soon  perceive 
the  accident,  and  come  to  demand  the  value  of 
the  broken  glass,  perhaps  see  in  it  an  attempt  at 
theft.  And  Frederic  no  longer  has  even  the 
sliglit  sum  necessary  to  pay  this  expense.  What 
shall  he  do,  what  will  bqcome  of  him  1  While 
he  was  tormenting  himself  Avith  such  thoughts, 
the  i)oor  young  German  feigned  to  be  asleep  and 
dared  not  move  his  arm,  although  he  felt  a  vio- 
lent pain  in  his  elbow,  caused  by  a  bit  of  glass, 
or  contact  with  some  sharp  object. 

"  If  some  miracle  does  not  extricate  me  from 
this  difiiculty,"  said  he,  "I  am  rained  !  0,  why 
am  I  not  the  possessor  of  a  talisman,  which 
would  give  me  the  power  to  banish  from  this 
saloon  the  formidable  guard,  who  has,  perhaps, 
already  seen  me?" 

He  had  scarcely  formed  this  desire  when  he 
heard  the  steps  of  the  guard  become  fainter,  and 
at  last  entirely  die  away  in  the  distance.  Fred- 
eric opened  his  eyes.  0,  happiness!  he  alone 
remained  in  the  saloon.  To  rise  and  hasten  ra- 
pidly into  the  picture  gallery,  that  he  might  lose 
himself  in  the  crowd,  was  for  him  but  the  affair 
of  a  moment. 

There,  surprised  at  his  good  fortune,  out  of 
breath,  exhausted,  he  began  to  look  at  his  own 
picture,  before  which  a  numerous  group  was 
collected. 

"  O,"  said  Frederic,  "if  the  misfortune  which 
has  pursued  me  would  at  last  cease ;  if  some  one 
would  only  buy  my  picture;  but  it  is  folly  to 
think  of  it,"  he  added.  "Because  I  have  just 
extricated  myself  from  a  ridiculous  position,  can 
I  hope  to  succeed  in  everything  1  Alas!  I  do 
not  possess  any  talisman  to  ensure  this." 

Scarcely  had  this  tiiought  formed  itself  in  his 
brain,  when  two  persons  left  the  group  assembled 
before  his  picture.  One  was  a  respectable  old 
man,  the  other  a  youth,  well  known  for  his  im- 
mense fortune  and  passionate  love  of  the  arts. 

"  Charles,"  said  the  old  man  to  the  latter, 
"  allow  me  to  purchase  this  picture.  I  demand 
this  as  a  proof  of  friendship.  I  have  but  a  short 
time  to  live,  and  you  are  my  sole  heir.  Let  me 
become  the  owner  of  this  wonderful  painting." 

"  I  give  it  up  to  you,"  replied  the  young  man ; 
"  but  on  condition  that  his  next  picture  shall  be 
mine,  and  that  Tou  will  allow  me  to  order  one 
to-day,  before  the  second  which  you  wish  to  have 
from  him  as  a  companion  picture." 

"  Be  it  so,"  replied  the  old  man  ;  "  but  you 
are  very  tyrannical." 

Frederic  thouglit  himself  the  sportof  a  dream ; 
but  he  was  quickly  assured  of  the  reality  of  what 
he  had  heard,  when  the  youth  and  the  old  man 
advanced  towards  him,  with  smiles  on  their  lips. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  youth,  "pardon  me  for  speak- 
ing to  you  of  business  in  this  place,  but  my 
uncle,  the  Prince  of ,  desires  to  be  intro- 
duced to  you,  and  to  become  the  owner  of  jour 
picture." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  belongs  to  me,  and  I  entreat  you 
to  receive  its  value  on  the  spot,"  added  the  old 
man,  presenting  to  Frederic  a  package  of  bank 
bills.  "  I  desire  besides,  sir,  a  second  picture  of 
the  same  dimensions." 

"And  I  two  similar  ones,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  "  and  in  order  Lliat  }'ou  may  be  j*lcdged  to 


me  and  form  no  other  engagements,  allow  mc  to 
pay  you  in  advance." 

"  And  you  will  give  us  much  pleasure,"  re- 
sumed the  prince,  "if  you  will  dine  at  my  house 
today.  You  will  meet  there  several  of  your 
countrymen  ;  licrc  is  my  address.  Adieu,  sir, 
till  evening." 

Both  went  away.  Frederic  remained  stupified. 
He  held  in  his  hand  tliirty  thousand  francs  in 
bank  notes ! 

" Is  it  a  dream  ?  or  I  have  lost  my  senses!" 
he  exclaimed. 

The  movement  of  tJie  arm  which  accompa- 
nied this  exclamation,  made  something  Jiill  at 
his  feet;  it  was  two  little  bits  of  glass,  which  had 
remained  attached  to  his  elbow,  and  a  rusty 
Egyptian  ring. 

After  having  picked  up  the  ring  and  curiously 
examined  it,  Frederic's  first  thought  was  to  re- 
store it  to  the  case  from  which  he  had  uninten- 
tionally taken  it.  He  was  already  on  his  way  to 
the  saloon  of  Egyptian  antiquities,  when,  at  the 
sight  of  a  group  of  young  ladies  assembled  before 
a  picture,  his  thought  took  another  direction; 
for  one  of  these  young  ladies  reminded  the  young 
artist  of  the  object  of  his  love,  Marie,  Iier  to 
wliom,  in  Iiis  poverty  and  obscurity,  he  had  not 
dared  to  address  a  word. 

While  he  remained  motionless,  as  in  the  pre- 
sence of  an  apparition  which  he  feared  to  see  va- 
nish, the  young  girl  suddenly  turned.  O,  incredible 
prodigy!  It  was  Marie  !  it  was  indeed  herself. 
Can  so  much  happiness  be  -real  ?  He  advances, 
he  salutes  her,  she  replies  by  a  smile.  It  was 
indeed  herself,  and  her  mother  also.  This  rich 
baroness,  who  has  heretofore  looked  on  Frederic 
with  so  much  disdain,  advances  towards  him, 
accosts  him ! 

"  Allow  me  Monsieur  Frederic,  to  congratu- 
late you  on  the  brilliant  success  which  you  have 
obtained  at  this  exposition,  on  the  glory  you 
have  shed  upon  Germany,  on  our  beautiful  and 
beloved  country.  Indeed,  Monsieur  Frederic,  it 
is  with  tears  in  my  eyes  that  I  have  looked  upon 
your  picture  for  the  first  time." 

And  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  affec- 
tionately pressed  that  of  the  artist.  And  Marie 
also  said  to  Frederic  a  few  words  in  her  soft 
voice,  and  raised  her  eyes  with  emotion  on  the 
great  painter  of  her  country.  Then  she  placed 
her  arm  within  that  of  the  young  man,  and 
passed  proudly  through  the  curious  throng,  who 
turned  to  look  at  the  artist,  and  in  a  low  voice 
repeated  his  name. 

As  for  Frederic,  he  could  account  for  his  hap- 
piness only  by  ascribing  it  to  magic.  As  this 
happiness  had  commenced  at  the  moment  in 
which  he  had  found  himself  in  the  possession  of 
an  Egyptian  ring,  some  fancy  suggested  to  him 
that  this  must  be  the  ring  of  Solomon.  Having 
once  cherished  this  idea,  everything  appeared  to 
be  accounted  for,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after- 
wards he  would  not  have  exchanged  this  ring  for 
all  the  treasures  in  the  world,  for  it  was  in  his 
eyes  the  talisman  of  his  happiness. 

An  hour  afterwards  the  German  ladies  took 
their  leave  of  Frederic,  who  saw  them  go  with 
regret,  but  was  consoled  by  an  invitation  to  ciill 
on  them  the  next  day. 

After  having  breakfast,  he  furnished  himself 
with  the  materials  for  an  elegant  toilet,  and,  at 
the  appointed  hour,  repaired  to  the  hotel  of  the 
prince.  When  he  entered  the  saloon,  he  was 
welcomed  and  cordially  congratulated  by  all  his 
countrymen ;  but  Frederic  remained  stupified, 
for  near  the  fire-place  he  saw  Marie,  her  mother 
and  sisters ;  he  saw,  also,  Fritz  Mayer,  the  friend 
of  his  childhood)  the  confidant  of  his  tenderness 
for  Marie. 

The  two  friends  pressed  each  others'  hands, 
and  retired  to  a  window  to  converse. 

"  I  see  you,  then,  a  great  painter,"  said  Fritz  ; 
"  I  behold  you  rich  and  at  the  height  of  your 
desires,  for  to-morrow  you  may  be  the  betrothed 
of  Marie.  I  have  told  the  baroness  that  you  love 
her  daughter,  and  the  good  lady  wept  with  joy. 
'Frederic,  my  son!  Frederic,  the  husband  of 
Marie !'  she  said.  *  It  is  a  happiness  which  I 
accept  with  transport,  and  for  whicli  1  bless 
Heaven ;  for  I  have  never  dreamed  for  my  be- 
loved child  so  much  happiness  and  honor !'  " 

"  O  my  talisman,  my  talisman !"  exclaimed 
Frederic. 

Fritz  asked  an  explanation  of  these  words, 
and  Frederic  related  the  history  of  llie  Egyptian 
ring,  and  the  mysterious  influence  it  had  exerted 
upon  his  destiny. 

Fritz  took  the  ring  and  looked  at  it  with  a 
smile. 

"My  friend,"  replied  he,  "this  ring  is  an  an- 
tifpiity   of  modern    manufacture,   which   might 


easily  deceive  an  unpractised  eye.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  you  maybe  sure,  the  ring  of  Solomon." 

"  But  how  then  t^hall  I  explain  the  supernatu- 
ral good  fortune  which  has  so  suddenly  changed 
my  destiny  V 

"  By  another  magic  talisman,  as  precious  as 
the  ring  of  Solomon  ;  by  a  talisman  which  you 
possess — genius." 

Then  he  took  Frederic  by  tlie  hand,  and  led 
him  to  the  family  of  Marie. 

"  Here  is  your  son,"  said  he,  to  the  baroness, 
"  Here  is  your  lover,"  said  he,  to  Marie. 

One  week  from  that  evening,  Frederic  became 
the  husband  of  Marie. 


CHANGES  or  TIMJE. 

In  Asia  Minor  we  tread  upon  a  soil  rich  in  in- 
teresting and  s|)lendid  recollections,  with  an  ex- 
isting population  completely  debased  by  ignor- 
ance and  slavery.  The  glory  of  twenty  dilJer- 
ent  nations  that  once  fiourished  here,  has  Iiecn 
extinguished ;  flocks  wander  over  the  tomb  of 
Achilles  and  of  Hector ;  and  the  throne  of 
Mithridates  and  the  Antiochnses  have  disap- 
peared as  well  as  the  pala<'es  of  Piiam  and  Croe- 
sus. The  merchants  of  Smyrna  do  not  inquire 
whether  Homer  was  bom  within  their  walls; 
the  fine  sky  of  Ionia  no  longer  inspires  either 
painters  or  poets ;  the  same  obscurity  covers 
with  its  shades  the  banks  of  the  Jordan  and  ilio 
Eupln-ates.  The  republic  of  Moses  is  not  to  be 
found.  The  harps  of  David  and  Isaiah  are  si- 
lent forever;  the  wandering  Arabian  comes,  in- 
different and  unmoved,  to  rest  the  poles  of  his 
tent  against  the  shattered  columns  of  Palmyra; 
Babylon  has  also  fallen  beneath  the  stroke  of 
an  avenging  destiny,  and  that  city  which  reigned 
supreme  over  oppressed  Asia,  has  scarcely  left 
behind  it  a  trace  that  can  show  where  the  ram- 
parts of  Semiramis  were  raised.  "  I  have  seen," 
says  a  traveller,  "  the  accomplishment  of  that 
prophecy,  'Tyre,  the  queen  of  the  nations,  shall 
be  made  like  tlie  top  of  a  rock,  where  tlie  fisher- 
men shall  spread  their  nets.'  " — Malie  Bran. 


A  MISER. 

Lord  Barco,  an  ancestor  of  the  Earl  of  Fife, 
was  remarkable  for  practising  that  celebrated 
rule — "  Get  all  you  can,  and  keep  all  you  can 
get."  One  day,  walking  down  the  avenue  from 
his  house,  he  saw  a  farthing  lying  at  his  feet, 
which  he  carefully  cleaned.  A  beggar  passing 
at  the  same  lime,  entreated  his  lordship  would 
give  him  the  fartliing,  saying  it  was  not  worth  a 
nobleman's  attention.  "Fin'  afarthingto  your- 
sel',  puir  body,"  replied  his  lordship,  and  care- 
fully put  the  coin  in  his  breeches  pocket.  In  ad- 
dition to  being  his  own  farthing  tinder,  his  lord- 
ship was  his  own  factor  and  rent  collector. 
A  tenant  who  called  upon  him  to  pay  his  rent, 
happened  to  be  deficient  a  farthing.  This 
amount  could  not  be  excused,  and  the  farmer 
had  to  pay  the  farthing.  When  the  business 
was  adjusted,  the  countryman  said  to  his  lord- 
ship :  "  Now,  Barco,  I  would  gic  ye  a  shillin'  for 
a  sight  o'  a'  the  goud  and  siller  ye  hae."  "  WecJ, 
mon,"  replied  Barco,  "it's  no  cost  ye  ony  mair ;" 
and  accordingly  for,  and  in  consideration  of  the 
aforesaid  sum,  in  hand  first  well  and  truly  paid, 
his  lordship  exhibited  several  iron  boxes  filled 
with  gold  and  silver  coin. — "Now,"  says  the 
farmer,  "  I'm  as  rich  as  yourseF."  "Ay,  mon," 
said  his  lordship,  "how  can  that  be?"  "Be- 
cause I've  seen  it — atd  you  can  do  no  mair." — 
Scottish  Uistoiy. 


WODIAN'S  LOVE. 

A  man  who  had  struggled  with  a  malignant 
disease  approached  that  crisis  in  its  stage  on 
which  his  life  seemed  to  depend.  Sleep,  uninter- 
rupted sleep,  might  ensure  his  recovery.  His 
anxious  wife,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  was 
sitting  by  his  bffd,  her  servants,  exhausted  by 
constant  watching,  had  all  left  her.  It  was  past 
midnight,  a  door  was  open  for  air,  she  heard,  in 
the  stillness  of  the  night,  a  window  open  below 
stairs,  and  soon  after  approacliing  footsteps.  A 
moment  more,  and  a  man  with  his  face  disguised 
entered  the  room.  She  instantly  saw  her  hus- 
band's danger;  and  anticipating  the  design  of 
the  unwelcome  intruder,  she  pointed  to  her  hus- 
band, and  ])rcssing  her  finger  upon  her  lijis  to 
implore  silence,  held  out  to  The  robber  her  purse 
and  her  keys.  To  her  great  suri)rise,  he  took 
neither.  Whether  he  was  terrified  or  charmed 
by  the  courage  of  her  affection,  cannot  be  known. 
He  left  the  room,  and,  without  robbing  a  house 
sanctified  by  such  strength  of  affection,  he  de- 
paricd.—Famili/  Herald. 

HOPE. 

Sweet  Hope  of  life,  where  shouldat  thou  dwell  ? 
Not  with  the  eagle  on  the  rock, 
Tbe  civic  strife,  or  battle  shock, 
But  near  thy  sister  Truth's  deep  well ; 
Midst  shadowy  wooila  and  grassy  lanes, 
Where  tenderness  with  beauty  i-eigns, 
And  heaven's  bright  silence  breeds  a  voice  within ! 
This  be  lile's  eare  to  win, 
Its  noblest  scope — 
But  not  ill  solitude — atone—  sweet  Hope  ! 

Dick^ens's  Huiisikold  yVords. 


Love  is  like  a  hunter,  who  cares  not  for  the 
game  wiien  once  cauglit,  whicli  lie  may  have 
pursued  with  the  most  intense  and  breathless 
eagerness.— Love  is  strongest  in  pursuit;  friend- 
ship in  possession. — Emerson. 


Make  tl^e  doors  upon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it 
will  out  at  the  casement;  sliut  tiuit,  and  'twill 
out  al  the  keyhole;  stop  that,  'iwill  fly  with  the 
smoke  out  at  the  chimney. — Shahpcar'e. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


247 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
O,  GIVE  ME  BACK  THY  SUNNY  smLE. 

BY  REBECCA   E.   PIERCE. 

0,  ^ve  me  back  thy  sunny  smile, 

Sly  weary  spirit  to  begiiile  ; 

For  my  sad  heart  no  joy  hath  known, 

Since  the  love-light  from  thine  eye  hath  flown. 

I  ne'er  had  known  its  %vitching  power, 
Ere  that  sad  parting  ;  till  that  hour 
I  knew  not  that  my  spirit-shrine 
Were  dark,  without  that  smile  of  thine. 

I've  mingled  with  the  fair  and  gay, 
To  banish  thoughts  of  thee  away, 
That  steal  in  sadness  o'er  my  heart; 
But  no,  0,  no  ;  they  ^11  not  depart ! 

When  amid  pleasure's  festive  throng, 
I  breathe  the  gayest  jest  and  song ; 
There  is  a  something  haunts  me  still, 
A  void  thy  emile  alone  may  fill. 

Earth's  brightest  hopes  may  ne'er  impart 
The  light  of  gladness  to  my  heart ; 
And  pleasure's  voice  can  ne'er  beguile, 
Unhallowed  by  thy  love-Ut  smile. 

i  — *^  t 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  VI. 
THE  SULTAN'S  HAKElff. 

BY  DR.  JEROME  Y.  C.  SVOTH, 

AUTHOa    OF    A     "pilgrimage    TO    EQTPT." 

WiTHO0T  circumlocution,  the  fact  may  be 
promptly  stoted,  that  polygamy  is  an  institution 
that  has  been,  sustained  and  nurtured  by  the 
Turks  in  every  stage  of  their  history.  They  did 
not  originate  it,  nor  have  they  essentially  modi- 
fied the  system,  as  it  has  existed  from  the  days 
of  Lamech,  who  was  the  first  notable  of  a  remote 
antiquity  who,  in  the  quaint  language  of  the  Old 
Testament,  "  took  unto  him  two  wives." 

Some  physiologists  look  to  the  unalterable 
laws  of  physiology  in  search  of  an  apology  for 
this  perverse  custom  in  the  character  of  the  cli- 
mate of  the  East ;  but  the  Christian  philosopher, 
the  philanthropist,  and  all  who  acknowledge 
that  females  have  political  rights,  social  claims, 
religious  hopes  and  accountabilities,  arc  horror- 
stricken  at  the  promulgation  of  a  doctrine  so  re- 
pugnant to  the  moral  sense,  and  the  supposed 
revealed  will  of  God. 

From  an  early  period — far  back  in  the  patri- 
archal days  of  nomadic  simplicity — the  vice  of 
polygamy  and  concubinage  was  firmly  estab- 
lished through  all  phases  of  society.  In  every 
country  of  the  Orient,  among  the  most  refined, 
as  well  as  ^^itl^  barbarians,  the  usage  of  having 
more  than  one  wife  has  prevailed,  and  still  re- 
mains in  universal  force. 

When  Mahommed  developed  his  plan  for  re- 
generating the  people  of  his  day,  who  had 
plunged  into  a  universal  con-uption  of  manners 
and  idolatry,  he  originated  nothing  new  in  the 
marital  relations,  but  simply  incorporated  with 
his  own,  a  practice  already  venerable  for  its  age. 
He  had  the  sagacity  to  perceive  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  legislate  against  a  plurality  of 
wives,  had  he  entertained  the  idea  of  doing  so ; 
and  he  therefore  defined  the  rights  of  his  faithful 
followers,  being  careful  to  show  them  sufficient 
indulgence  in  case  that  four  legal  helpmates 
were  insufficient  to  occupy  all  the  space  in  their 
capacious  hearts,  with  as  many  more  as  they 
chose  to  procure  under  another  name.  But  all 
beyond  the  prescribed  number  were  to  be  noth- 
ing more  than  purchased  servants,  at  the  perfect 
disposal  of  their  absolute  masters. 

"Writers  of  distinction  not  unfrcquently  reso- 
lutely assert  that  this  odious  feature  in  the  organ- 
ization of  Moslem  society  is  wearing  away. 
And  with  this  declaration,  high  hopes  are  ex- 
pressed of  a  complete  revolution,  which  must 
unquestionably  elevate  female  character,  and 
signally  change  the  entire  moral  aspect  of  Tur- 
key. This  is  really  ridiculous,  and  without  foun- 
dation. The  very  life  and  perpetuity  of  Mahom- 
medanism  is  based  essentially  on  polygamy. 
When  that  is  willingly  abandoned,  then  the  very 
government  itself  will  cease  to  exist. 

On  account  of  the  immense  expense  of  main- 
taining four  wives  in  equal  state — which  is  an 
expensive  aflTair  with  a  great  Turkish  dignitary 
— even  the  richest  among  them  have  found  econ- 
omy required  that  their  household  disbursements 
should  be  regulated  according  to  their  ability  to 
meet  them,  without  pecuniary  embarrassment. 
To  this  end,  therefore,  the  installation  of  one 


wife  is  quite  enough  for  multitudes  of  discreet, 
money-loving  gentlemen  in  long  beards  and  tur- 
bans ;  but  ihcy  solace  themselves  for  the  depri- 
vation of  what  the  Koran  allows,  by  purchasing 
scores  of  female  servants  of  all  ages  and  com- 
plexions. They  can  neither  demand  as  a  eon- 
ceded  right,  nor  expect  in  the  relation  they  bear 
to  the  purchaser,  apartments,  jewels,  slaves  or 
indulgences  which  exclusively  appertain  to  the 
first  lady  of  the  harem. 

In  this  manner,  extensive  domestic  establish- 
ments gradually  augment  from  small  beginnings, 
according  to  the  ability,  ambition,  and  perhaps 
other  considerations  of  the  owner,  till  a  very 
numerous  family  is  collected. 

A  similar  method  is  practised  among  the  opu- 
lent in  Egypt.  Economy  is  studied  with  far 
more  concern  there  by  the  upper  classes,  than 
among  the  poor  fellahs,  who  are  sometimes  ac- 
tually obliged  to  steal  their  own  millet  from  the 
growing  stalk  to  keep  from  starvation.  Yet 
those  very  ^\Tetched  people  rejoice,  oftener  than 
otherwise,  in  a  full  complement  of  four  wives, 
but  never  recklessly  attempt  the  additional  lux- 
ury of  female  associates,  like  the  rich  residents 
of  Cairo.  This  observation  applies  with  equal 
pertinency  to  all  the  dependencies  of  the  viceroy 
of  the  land  of  the  pyramids,  as  it  does  to  that  of 
his  august  sovereign,  the  Sultan  of  Turkey. 

One  of  the  anomalies  of  Mahommedan  coun- 
tries more  striking  than  all  others,  considering 
their  devotion  to  the  precepts  of  the  Prophet,  is 
the  low  estimate  in  which  women  are  held  by 
the  masses.  Necessary  as  they  are,  and  coveted, 
too,  as  an  important  clement,  and  indispensable 
in  the  social  structure,  in  their  best  estate,  they 
are  but  menials  of  the  lowest  order.  Even  their 
lives  are  at  the  mercy  of  those  who  ought,  by 
the  constitution  of  their  nature,  to  cherish,  pro- 
tect and  elevate  them. 

There  are,  beyond  question,  instances  of  sin- 
cere affection  on  the  part  of  husbands ;  and  of 
their  children,  whether  born  of  Circassians  or 
natives  of  Mozambique,  they  are  excessively 
fond,  as  a  natural  trait.  But  with  all  this,  no 
efforts  are  undertaken  to  give  them  a  position 
that  corresponds  with  that  held  by  women  where 
Christianity  is  revered. 

In  the  course  of  these  prelections,  instances 
may  be  cited  of  female  geniuses.  AVith  a  proper 
mental  culture,  there  is  no  calculating  the  extent 
of  the  poetical  resources,  aside  from  all  others, 
of  many  a  splendid  woman  in  Turkey,  who  has 
passed  away  without  leaving  a  trace  of  her  foot- 
steps on  earth,  who  might  have  exercised  the 
highest  order  of  abilities  for  the  advancement  of 
the  sex,  could  her  latent  powers  have  been  de- 
veloped. Nothing  is  doing,  nor  can  anything 
be  done,  for  their  advancement,  without  running 
counter  to  the  dogmas  of  the  prescribed  religious 
creed. 

Woman  in  Turkey  is  an  article  of  trade,  and 
unless  presented  distinctly  as  a  gift,  she  is 
bought  and  sold,  without  being  consulted  or 
apologized  to,  under  any  form  of  destiny  to 
which  she  is  driven.  And  although  thus  de- 
graded and  trodden  into  the  dust,  she  is  not  as 
ivTCtched  as  might  at  first  he  supposed,  because 
ignorant  of  the  depths  of  her  degradation.  In 
the  relations  which  she  bears  to  her  children, 
ti-ue  to  the  instincts  of  her  being,  she  is  still  an 
angel  in  character,  and  a  beauty  in  form.  With 
no  hold  upon  the  affections  of  man  beyond  those 
inspired  by  physical  organization,  she  lives  and 
dies,  without  knowing  the  multitude  of  wrongs 
she  has  suffei'cd. 

Whoever  visits  Constantinople,  expresses  his 
astonishment  at  the  exterior  precautions  that 
have  been  taken  from  the  commencement  of  the 
imperial  Turkish  rule,  to  the  present  day,  to 
guard  the  royal  household  from  the  contamina- 
tion of  vulgar  eyes.  Of  the  internal  economy 
of  the  establishments  occupied  by  ladies,  but 
very  little  is  known,  beyond  an  inspection  of 
their  apartments  when  unoccupied. 

Curiosity  has  prompted  many  European  la- 
dies of  distmction,  the  wives  of  ambassadors  re- 
siding at  the  Tui-kish  court,  to  gain  access  to 
the  kadines — the  sekct,  the  mothers  of  the  Sul- 
tan's living  children — but  their  curiosity  has  not 
been  gratified.  They  have  seen  enough  to  sur- 
prise them  in  the  harems  of  the  great  dignitaries, 
but  the  interior  of  the  imperial  residence  of  bliss 
—to  use  an  Orientalism — has  been  denied  them. 
Such  facts  only  are  here  given  as  have  been 
gathered  from  a  reliable  source,  together  with 
my  own  personal  examination  of  the  apartments 
formerly  occupied  by  a  succession  of  imperial 
kadines,  up  to  the  death  of  Mahommed  II. 
The    fortunate    kadine  who    bears   the   first 


prince,  has  pre-eminence  over  all  other  females 
of  the  harem,  but  has  no  title  until  her  son  ar- 
rives at  the  throne.  From  what  is  known  of  the 
numbers  of  females  belonging  to  the  late  Sul- 
tans, it  is  probable  that  from  three  to  five  hun- 
dred, including  all  orders  of  females  slaves,  con- 
stitute the  present  establishment.  No  catalogue 
of  them  is  ever  published,  of  course ;  but  from 
the  fact  that  thirty  millions  of  piastres,  equal  to 
554,600  dollars,  is  taken  from  the  public  treasury 
for  the  support  of  that  branch  of  the  Sultan's 
demands,  it  is  morally  certain  that  there  is  a 
large  number  of  them. 

A  cash  income  of  £110,000  is  represented  by 
an  English  writer,  who  gathered  his  information 
from  official  sources,  belongs  exclusively  to  the 
mother  of  the  present  Sultan.  His  aunts,  sisters 
and  daughters  are  specifically  supplied  with 
large  incomes  derived  from  products  of  the  earth, 
in  certain  districts  or  islands.  One  has  a  tax  on 
all  the  oranges  sold  at  Naxos ;  another,  that 
arising  from  the  wines  of  another  place,  and  so 
on.  The  Vilada  Sultana,  the  fortunate  mother 
of  Sultan  Megid,  whose  name  is  Berma  Allem 
(ornament  of  the  universe),  was  a  Georgian 
slave. 

All  the  kadines  of  the  now  reigning  Sultan 
are  Circassians,  and  were  purchased  slaves,  pre- 
sented as  gifts  by  his  mother,  aunts,  sisters,  and 
those  great  men  who  wish  to  court  his  special 
favor^  together  with  such  ladies  besides  as  have 
been  purchased  by  his  instructed  commissioners. 
They  have  equal  rights,  and  favoritism  is  stu- 
diously avoided ;  yet  their  lordly  proprietor  is 
never  approached  by  them  without  making  the 
profoundest  reverence.  These  few  scraps  illus- 
trative of  the  doings  within,  are  gathered  prin- 
cipally from  ladies  who  have  collected  them,  it 
is  presumable,  from  the  servants,  tradeswomen 
and  medical  attendants  of  the  harem. 
[For  engraving  of  Musician  of  the  Harem,  see  page  256-] 

These  kadines  arc  not  called  wives,  for  they 
stand  in  no  such  relation.  They  are  not  allowed 
to  sit  in  the  Sultan's  presence,  except  upon 
cushions  on  the  floor,  but  his  daughters  may. 
Five  of  the  kadines — one  bearing  the  following 
name,  Zihem  Felik,  ornament  of  heaven — died 
in  1844.  Among  them,  they  have  had  eight 
children,  three  of  wliom  have  died.  One  of  the 
sons  bears  the  name  of  Sultan  Mohammed  Mu- 
rad,  and  another.  Sultan  Abdoul  Hamid — ser- 
vant of  the  good. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

SONNET— TO  LUELLACEINE. 

WRITTEN  AT  PARTING. 

ET  J.   STARR  HOLLOWAT. 

If  I  could  trace  ■within  the  days  to  come, 
One  sorrowful  presentiment  of  ill ; 
If  any  shape  or  form  of  gloom  could  fill 

My  feeing  now,  some  grief  would  tear  me,  some 

Wild  agony  would  make  me  sick  and  dumb  ; 
And  I  could  not  go  hence  so  calm.    Yet  still 
My  soul  is  sad,  although  I  feel  there  will 

No  danger  come  upon  thee  while  I  roam. 

Sad,  sad  am  I  to  go,  my  dearest,  sad 
To  part  from  thee,  beloved  one,  at  all ; 

Yet  calm  and  happy  do  I  leave  thee,  glad 
No  dark  forebodings  o'er  the  future  fall ; 

And  thou  dost  seem  so  happy,  so  serene, 

My  bride,  my  beautiful  Luellaocine  I 


THE  SEASONS  IN  ICELAND. 

From  the  IGth  or  18th  of  June,  till  the  end  of 
the  month  there  is  no  night.  The  sun  disap- 
pears for  a  short  lime  behind  the  hills,  but  twi- 
light and  dawn  are  blended  together,  and  the 
last  rays  of  evening  have  not  faded  from  the  sky 
before  the  morning  light  breaks  foith  with  re- 
newed brilliancy.  I  was  in  Iceland  fi'om  the 
15th  of  May  to  the  29t]i  of  July,  and  although  I 
never  went  to  bed  before  11  o'clock,  I  did  not 
once  require  the  light  of  a  candle.  In  May,  as 
well  as  towards  the  end  of  July,  the  twilight 
lasted  about  two  hours,  but  it  was  never  dark. 
Even  at  the  time  of  my  departure  I  could  see  to 
read  till  half  past  eleven.  At  first  it  seemed 
very  strange  to  go  to  bed  in  broad  daylight;  but 
I  soon  got  used  to  it,  and  no  sunshine  was  bright 
enough  to  keep  me  awake  after  11  o'clock.  It 
often  struck  me  as  very  ridiculous,  however,  to 
go  out  for  an  evening  stroll  about  ten,  and  find 
myself  in  the  full  light  of  day,  instead  of  the 
soft  glimmering  of  the  moon  and  stars. — Baud. 


CHILDREN'S  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 

I  can  endure  a  melancholy  man,  but  not  a 
melancholy  child ;  tlie  former,  in  wliatever 
slough  he  may  sink,  can  r^isc  his  eyes  either  to 
the  kingdom  of  reason  or  of  hope ;  but  the  lit- 
tle child  is  entirely  absorbed  and  weighed  down 
by  one  black  poison-drop  of  the  present.  Think 
of  a  child  led  to  the  scaffold,  think  of  Cupid  in 
a  coffin  ;  or  watch  a  butterfly,  after  its  four 
wings  have  been  torn  off,  creeping  like  a  worm, 
and  you  will  feci  what  I  mean.  But  wherefore  f 
The  first  has  been  already  given  ;  the  child,  like 
the  beast,  only  knows  purest,  though  shortest 
sorrow;  one  which  has  no  past  and  no  future  ; 
one  such  as  the  sick  man  receives  from  without, 
the  dreamer  from  himself  into  his  asthenic 
brain  ;  finally,  one  with  the  consciousness  not  of 
guilt,  but  of  innocence.  Certainly,  all  the  sor- 
rows of  children  are  but  shortest  nights,  as  their 
joys  are  but  hottest  days  ;  and,  indeed,  both  so 
much  so,  that  in  the  latter,  often  cloudless  and 
starless  time  of  life,  tlie  matured  man  only  long- 
ingly remembers  his  old  childhood's  pleasures, 
while  he  seems  altogether  to  have  forgotten  his 
childhood's  grief.  This  weak  remembrance  is 
strangely  contrasted  with  the  opposing  one  in 
dreams  and  fevers  in  this  respect,  that  in  the  two 
last  it  is  always  the  cruel  sorrows  of  childhood 
which  return  ;  the  dream  this  mock-sun  of  child- 
hood— and  the  fever,  its  distorting  glass — both 
draw  forth  from  dark  corners  the  fears  of  de- 
fenceless childhood,  which  press  and  cut  with 
iron  fangs  into  the  prostrate  soul.  The  fair 
scenes  of  dreams  mostly  play  on  an  after-stage, 
whereas  the  frightful  ones  choose  for  theirs  the 
cradle  and.  the  nin'sery.  Moreover,  in  fever,  the 
ice-hands  of  the  fear  of  ghosts,  the  striking  one 
of  the  teachers  and  parents,  and  every  claw  with 
which  fate  has  pressed  the  young  heart,  stretch 
themselves  out  to  catch  the  wandering  man. 
Parents,  consider  then  that  every  childhood's 
Rupert — the  name  given  in  Germany  to  the  fic- 
titious being  employed  to  frighten  children  into 
obedience — even  though  it  has  lain  chained  for 
tens  of  years,  yet  breaks  loose  and  gains  mas- 
tery over  the  man  so  soon  as  it  finds  him  on  a 
sick-bed.  The  first  fright  is  more  dangerous  the 
sooner  it  happens  .  as  the  man  grows  older,  he 
is  less  and  less  easily  frightened  ;  the  little  cradle 
of  the  child  is  more  easily  quite  darkened  than 
the  starry  heaven  of  the  man. — JRicIder. 


LADIES'  DRESSES. 

Incongruity  may  be  frequently  observed  in  the 
adoption  of  colors  without  reference  to  their  ac- 
cordance with  the  complexion  or  stature  of  the 
wearer.  We  continually  see  a  light  blue  bonnet 
and  flowers  surrounding  a  sallow  countenance, 
or  a  pink  opposed  to  one  of  a  glowing  red ;  a 
pale  complexion  associated  with  a  canary  or 
lemon  yellow,  or  one  of  delicate  red  and  white 
rendered  almost  colorless  by  the  vicinity  of  deep 
red.  Now,  if  the  lady  with  a  sallow  complexion 
liad  worn  a  transparent  white  bonnet;  or  if  the 
lady  with  the  glowing  red  complexion  had  low- 
ered it  by  means  of  a  bonnet  of  a  deeper  red 
color ;  if  the  ])ale  lady  had  improved  the  cadav- 
erous hue  of  her  countenance  by  surrounding  it 
with  pale  green,  which,  by  contrast,  would  have 
suffused  it  with  a  delicate  pink  hue  ;  or  had  the 
face 

"  Whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on," 

been  arrayed  in  a  light  blue,  or  light  green,  or 
in  a  transparent  white  bonnet,  with  blue  or  pink 
flowers  on  the  inside,  how  different,  and  how 
much  more  agreeable  would  have  been  the  im- 
pression on  the  spectator.  How  frequently, 
again,  do  we  see  the  dimensions  of  a  tall  and 
embonpoint  figure  magnified  to  almost  Brobdig- 
nagian  proportions  by  a  white  dress,  or  a  small 
woman  reduced  to  Liliputian  size  by  a  black 
dress  !  Now,  as  the  optical  effect  of  white  is  to 
enlarge  objects,  and  that  of  black  to  diminish 
them,  if  the  large  woman  had  been  dressed  in 
black,  and  the  small  woman  in  white,  the  appa- 
rent size  of  each  would  have  approached  the  or- 
dinary stature,  and  the  former  would  not  have 
appeared  a  giantess,  or  the  latter  a  dwaif. — 
31rs.  Meirijield  in  Art-Journal. 


FACTS  IN  PHYSIOLOGY, 

A  man  is  taller  in  the  morning  than  at  night 
to  the  extent  of  half  an  inch,  owing  to  the  relax- 
ation of  the  cartilages. 

The  human  brain  is  the  twenty-eighth  of  the 
body, but  in  the  horse  but  a  four-hundredth. 

Ten  days  per  annum  is  the  average  sickness 
of  human  life. 

About  the  age  of  36  the  lean  man  generally 
becomes  fatter  and  the  fat  man  leaner. 

Eichter  enumerates  600  distinct  species  of  dis- 
ease in  the  eye. 

The  pulse  of  children  is  180  in  a  minute;  at 
puberty  it  is  80  ;  and  at  60  it  is  only  60. 

Elephants  live  fo  r  two  hundred,  three  hundred, 
and  even  four  hundred  years.  A  healthy  full- 
grown  elephant  consumes  thirty  pounds  of  grain 
per  day. 

The  flea,  grasshopper  and  locust  jump  200 
times  their  own  length,  equal  to  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  for  a  man. — British  Glean&'. 


No  one  has  a  right  to  trifle  even  with  the 
slightest  opportunity  of  being  useful.  Few  can 
work  out  splendid  achievements;  hut  that  indi- 
vidual who  unobtrusively  pursues  his  way,  and 
feels  a  quiet  joy  in  dropping  an  appropriate  word 
of  rational  instruction,  who  judiciously  expresses 
sympathy,  or  utters  his  convictions  in  tones  of 
virtuous  persuasion,  may  do  more  in  the  course 
of  his  humble  life  than  another  who  endows  hos- 
pitals, patronii^es  popular  institutions,  and  blazes 
out  into  sudden  acts  of  brilliant  munificence. 


THE  LEECH. 

Recent  observations  on  the  comparative  anat- 
omy of  this  little  animal  have  made  known  to 
us,  that  just  within  its  mouth  it  is  furnished  with 
three  little  jaws,  triangularly  arranged,  on  each 
side  of  which  are  inserted  a  row  of  very  minute 
sharp-pointed  teeth,  mucli  resembling  the  teeth 
of  a  saw.  Each  jaw  has  its  appropriate  muscu- 
lar apparatus  for  its  peculiar  action,  and  thus  is 
explained  the  constant  shape  of  tlfe  wound  ob- 
served after  the  application  of  tliis  very  useful 
animal. — Annals  of  Chemistry. 


248 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


VIEW  OF  MOYAMENSING  PBISON,  PHILADELPHIA  COUNTY,  PENNSYLVANIA. 


MOYAMENSING  PRISON. 

Philadelphia  County  Prison,  of  which  our  ar- 
tist has  given  us  a  fine  view  above,  is  situated  on 
Passyunk  road,  in  the  district  of  Moyamensing, 
about  one  mile  south  of  the  city  proper.  A  line 
of  omnibuses  constantly  runs  from  the  Exclianf:,re, 
via  Chestnut  and  Sixtii  Streets,  to  within  half  a 
square  of  the  prison.  The  front  of  this  structure 
consists  of  a  centre  building,  with  receding  wings 
on  either  side,  flanked  by  massive  octagonal 
towers ;  beyond  these  towers,  receding  wing 
walls  are  continued  to  the  extremities  of  the 
front,  and  terminate  with  embattled  bastions. 
The  whole  exterior  is  constructed  of  Quincy 
granite,  and  the  style  of  architecture,  that  of  the 
olden  days  of  chivalry,  decorated  in  the  Tudor 
style  of  English  Gothic.  The  wings  are  two 
stories  high,  and  contain  the  gates  of  entrance. 
These  wings  and  the  towers  which  flank  them, 
together  with  the  bastions  on  the  extreme  angles 
in  front,  are  finished  to  correspond  with  the  cen- 
tre edifice.  The  extreme 
height  of  the  centre 
building  is  seventy-five 
feet.  The  interior  of 
the  main  prison  is  di- 
vided into  two  general 
divisions — one  for  un- 
tried prisoners,  va- 
grants, etc.,  and  the 
other  for  convicts.  It 
contains  four  hundred 
and  eight  separate  cells, 
built  in  two  blocks,  three 
stories  high,  extending 
from  each  wing,  at  right 
angles  with  the  princi- 
pal front.  The  cells 
open  into  a  corridor  oc- 
cupying the  centre  of 
each  block,  and  extend- 
ing the  whole  length 
and  height  of  the  build- 
ing; the  upper  stories 
being  approached  by 
means  of  granite  stair- 
ways leading  to  galler- 
ies supported  by  cast 
iron  brackets.  A  clerk's 
office  is  situated  at  the 
head  of  each  corridor, 
from  which  every  cell 
door  may  be  seen 
throughout  the  entire 
range.  The  apartment 
for  females  is  situated 
on  an  adjoining  lot. 
This  building  embraces 
one  hundred  separate 
cells,  a  suite  of  rooms 
for  an  infirmary,  and 
two  apartments  for  the 
keepers.  The  principal 
entrance  to  tins  portion 
of  the  establishment  is 
in  Eleventh  Street ;  it 
uonsists  of  a  gateway, 
placed  in  the  middle  of 
a  projecting  centre,  con- 
structed of  brown  stone, 
finished  in  the  Egyptian 
stylo  of  architecture. 
The  prison  combines  all 
the  charactenstics  of  a 


penitentiary  proper,  as  well  as  those  of  a  county 
jail  and  workhouse.  It  is  under  the  manage- 
ment of  a  board  of  fifteen  inspectors,  whose  du- 
ties are  pro')ably  more  arduous  than  those  of 
any  other  in  the  country ;  yet  we  liave  no  hesita- 
tion to  speak  with  confidence  of  the  generally 
correct  regulation  and  superintendence  of  every 
department.  The  health  of  the  prison  is  good. 
In  this  respect,  it  will  compare  with  any  other  in 
the  United  States.  Great  care  is  taken  to  fur- 
nish wholesome  food,  and  to  have  it  properly 
cooked;  every  person  is  allowed  as  much  as  he 
wants — this  being  found  more  economical  than 
the  mode  of  individual  rations.  We  refer  with 
pleasure  to  the  moral  instruction  of  the  prisoners. 
The  Key.  W.  Alexander  fills  the  office  of  in- 
structor, with  both  credit  to  himself,  and  satis- 
faction to  the  inspectors.  The  female  depart- 
ment is  regularly  attended  by  a  committee  of 
four  ladies  belonging  to  the  "  Association  of 
Women  Friends."     The  inspectors  and  others 


acquainted  with  the  labors  of  this  society,  speak 
highly  of  the  wholesome  effects  resulting  from 
their  efforts.  Indeed,  there  is  nothing  connected 
with  the  internal  arrangement  of  the  prison,  that 
presents  a  more  pleasing  and  interesting  specta- 
cle than  the  untiring  energy  and  laudable  zeal  of 
these  truly  benevolent  ladies.  Each  convict,  on 
leaving  the  prison  at  the  expiration  of  his  sen- 
tence, is  furnished  with  a  suit  of  decent  clothes 
and  a  sum  of  money  for  his  present  wants,  as 
tlie  means  of  removing  him  from  the  immediate 
temptation  to  commit  crime.  The  officers  of  the 
prison  consist  of  a  superintendent,  a  clerk,  a 
matron,  two  deputies,  a  physician,  and  a  moral 
instructor.  The  heavy  and  unwelcome-looking 
omnibus,  called  the  "  Black  Maria,"  runs  regu- 
larly with  passengers  to  and  from  the  County 
Prison.  Our  artist  has  sketched  us  an  "old 
off^ender,"  who  is  about  taking  a  summer  excur- 
sion to  the  suburbs,  where  the  moral  influence  of 
the  institution  may  bring  about  a  reform. 


VIEW  OF  THE  CROTON  DAM. 


CROTON   DAflr. 

Tlie  Croton  Aqueduct  was  designed  to  supply 
the  city  of  New  Y'ork  with  an  abundance  of  pure 
and  wholesome  water.     It  commences  about  six 
miles   above   the   mouth  of  the   Croton  River, 
where  a  dam  has  been  constructed  to  elevate  the 
water  of  the  river  forty  feet  to  the  level  of  the 
head  of  the  aqueduct,  or  1 G6  feet  above  mean 
tide.     Below,  our  artist  has  sketched  a  view  of 
this  dam.     The  course  of  the  aqueduct  passes 
along  the  valley  of  the  Croton  to  near  its  mouth, 
and  thence  passes  into  the  valley  of  the  Hudson. 
At  eight  miles  from  the  Croton  dam  it  reaches 
the  village  of  Sing  Sing,  and  continues   south 
through  many  other  Tillages  until  it  reaches  its 
consummation  in  New  York  city.     The  southern 
shore  of  the  Croton  River  at  the  point  where  the 
dam  is  located,  is  a  gneiss  rock,  moderately  slop- 
ing up  the  hill  from  the  water's  edge,  but  not  ap- 
pearing to  extend  far  into  the  river.     The  dam 
required  to  be  raised  forty  feet  above  low  water 
in  the  river,  and  it  was 
an  important  object  to 
arrange  the  plan,  so  as 
to  obtain  a  rock  founda- 
tion  for  the  masonry. 
This   was    ingeniously 
done,  but  our  limits  will 
not  permit  a  description 
^_  of  the  details  of  the  la- 

bor ;  suffice  it  to  say,  the 
dam  admirably  answers 
~  the  purpose  of  its  con- 

struction, and  is  a  beau- 
^_  tiful  piece  of  masonry. 

'"'.^  At  .300  feet   below  the 

!^  main  dam  a  second  dam 

has  been  constructed, 
which  is  9  feet  high,  and 
built  of  timber,  stone 
and  gravel,  which  also 
sets  the  water  back  over 
the  main  dam  and  forms 
a  pool  to  check  the  wa- 
ter as  it  falls  on  it.  The 
contractors,  Messrs. 
MeCuUougli,  Hepburn, 
Black  and  McManus, 
have  evinced  commend- 
able ability  in  its  prose- 
cution, The  main  dam 
sets  the  water  of  the 
river  back  five  miles, 
and  forms  a  reservoir  of 
about  400  acres,  and 
has  rendered  it  neces- 
sary to  construct  sca'- 
cral  new  roads  and 
bridges  as  a  substitute 
for  those  covered  by  the 
flow,  the  principal  of 
which  is  the  Somers- 
town  turnpike.  The 
grounds  lightly  flowed 
on  the  margin,  havo 
been  excavated  so  as  to 
give  four  and  a  half 
feet  for  the  least  depth 
of  water.  From  this  res- 
ervoir the  water  flows 
into  the  bulkhcad.at  the 
upper  end  of  the  tunnel, 
IVom  a  level  averaging 
H)  ft.  below  the  surface. 


^^ 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


249 


BEFOHM  SCHOOL 

This  State  insti- 
tution, located  in 
Westboroutih,  Wor- 
cester County,  Mas- 
sachusetts, was  es- 
tablished in  1846; 
and  is  intended  for 
the  reformation  of 
male  juvenile  of- 
fen ders  under  six- 
teen years  of  age.  It 
can  accommodate 
300.  Thedcaignof 
the  State  govern- 
ment in  the  founda- 
tion of  this  Reform 
School,  is  the  hope 
of  saving  young  de- 
linquents from  the 
corrupting  in  H  uen- 
ces  resulting  from 
association  with  con- 
firmed criminals. — 
This  school  does  nut 
in  any  of  its  various 
departments  bear 
any  resemblance  to 
a  prison :  the  boys 
are  placed  under  ex- 
amples, and  sur- 
rounded by  influen- 
ces which  are  not 
only  calculated  to 
reform  them,  but  to 
lead  them  to  look 
with  high  hope  and 
trust  to  the  future. 
The  late  Theodore 
Lyman  left  S50,000 
hy  will  to  the  Ke- 
form  School.  He 
had  made  it  previ- 
ously donations 
amounting  to  S22,- 
500,  of  812,500  were 
expended  for  the 
two  farms  on  which 
thcschoolis  located. 
The  remaining  60,- 
000  is  invested  as  a 
permanent  fund,  ac- 
cording to  the  wishes 
of  the  testator,  the 
income  of  which  is 
to  be  used  at  the  dis- 
cretion of  the  trast- 
ecs  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  will  be  most 
in  accordance  with 
the  intentions  of  the 
donor,  and  at  the 
same  time  most 
beneficial  to  the  in- 
stitution. 


VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  REFORM  SCHOOL^  AT  WESTBORO',  MASS. 


CALDWELL,  N.  Y. 

Caldwell,  a  view 
of  which  is  given 
in  the  picture  below, 
is  delightfully  situ- 
ated at  the  head  of 
Lake  George,  on  its 
south-west  shore ;  it 
is  about  62  miles 
north  of  Albany, 
and  24  from  Sara- 
toga Springs.  The 
village  and  the  lake 
are  ordinarily  taken 
in  the  circle  of  the 
northern  tour,  and 
commonly  sought 
by  visitors  to  the 
Saratoga  Springs. 
The  village  on  tlie 
west  is  bordered  by 
a  range  of  hills,  the 
highest  of  which, 
Prospect,  or  Rattle- 
snake Hill,  attains 
an  elevation  of  abou  t 
1500  feet.  There  is 
a  path  of  difficult 
ascent  to  its  sum- 
mit, yet  when  this 
is  once  attained,  the 
extensive  and  diver- 
sified view  it  affords, 
fully  compensates 
for  the  trouble.  Be- 
neath is  the  village 
and  its  neighboring 
farms ;  in  the  deep 
valley  on  the  north, 
the  lake  stretches 
away,  decked  with 
its  hundreds  of  fairy 
islets,  visible  for  17 
miles,  its  shores  sur- 
mounted by  craggy 
ridges,  rising  gently 
from  the  water  for 
a  short  distance, then 
by  abolder  acclivity 
some  eight  hundred 
feet.  Prominent  in 
our  view  is  the  Lake 
George  House,  a 
spacious  hotel,  ca- 
pable of  receiving 
over  one  hundred 
persons,  and  afl^ord- 
ing  superior  accom- 
modations to  the 
visitor.  A  steam- 
boat plies  every  day 
down  the  lake,  to 
meet  the  steamboat 
ninnine:  on  Lake 
Champlain. 


VIEW  OE  THE  TOWN  OF  CALDWELL,  ON  LAKE  GEORGE,  NEW  YORK. 


2.50 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gloason's  Pictorial.] 
LITTLE  EVA. 

AT  amohy  hall,  boston. 

BY  B.   0UKTIS8  HINB,  U.  B.  N. 

By  II  seulpturcii  mnrblo  fountfiin, 

W'horo  thi)  wiitcra  brightly  gleam, 
Liky  a  disUnt  Piiow-ni)tpcd  mountain, 

Or  some  wildly  ruahing  Htrcum  ; 
Sit  two  boingfl,  flwcotly  smiling, 

In  tlio  niorniug'fl  goldisn  priuio. 
And  tlic  day's  young  hour  Itoguiiing, 

In  tlio  BUDoy  sontbcrn  clime. 

One,  a  little  olf  or  fairy, 

With  bor  wuvy  locks  of  gold. 
And  the  other  doomed  to  carry 

Miiny  a  bitter  woo  untold ; 
Yot  a  smile  is  on  her  features, 

And  tho  lovo  beam  in  her  eyo  ; 
Tor  of  all  earth's  myriad  creatures, 

Lovea  she  Jiva,  sitting  by. 

Tiolot  eyes  and  golden  tresses. 

And  a  form  of  life  and  light, 
Tbut  an  ebon  fiice  caresses, 

Ijiko  the  morn  beside  dusk  night; 
Kadiaut  art,  with  skilful  finger, 

llath  inwrought  with  beauty  there; 
On  whieh  many  an  eyo  will  linger. 

While  the  heart  forgets  its  care. 

[Written  for  Gloason's  Pictorial.] 

LOUIS  SUMMERFIELD: 

— on   THE — 

FKUITS  OF  A  COLLEGE  VACATION. 

BY   GEO.  CANNING   HILL. 

JnsT  as  the  shadows  of  a  summer  evening 
■were  gathering  vn  the  spacious  yard  of  a  New 
England  college,  a  young  man — a  student  in  the 
place — seated  himself  in  a  huge  easy  chair  hy 
the  window,  and  watclicd  the  coming  and  tlie 
thickening  of  the  gloom. 

The  masses  of  leaves  among  the  mayile  and 
elm  boughs  seemed  peopled  with  weird  and 
strange  creations  ;  rising  sombre  and  sad  out  of 
the  young  man's  brain,  perhaps,  but  having 
hardly  less  vivid  power  over  him  than  if  they 
were  living  and  moving  realities. 

He  gazed  out  among  them,  and  all  manner  of 
feelings  swam  over  his  heart.  He  lived  over 
again  the  days  of  sunshine.  He  revelled  once 
more  among  pleasant  memories.  He  thought  of 
his  mother, — what  lonely  young  student  fails  to 
think  of  her "? — of  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
his  many  absent  friends.  And  amid  all  his 
thoughts  of  them,  he  found  time  and  room  to 
ask  himself  if  he  was  not  fully  answering  the 
hopes  of  all  of  them. 

"  Let  me  see,"  mused  he,  hitching  in  his  chair, 
and  throwing  back  his  head  still  farther,  "  let  mc 
see;  where  had  I  better  go  this  coming  vaca- 
tion ';" 

He  might  have  gone  where  he  chose,  I  con- 
clude; but  he  was  manifestly  trying  to  think  of 
such  a  distribution  of  his  time  as  would  be  like- 
ly to  bring  him  the  greatest  variety  and  pleasure 
at  once. 

"  There'll  be  Uncle  Tom's  for  one  place,"  con- 
tinued he  ;  "  and  Aunt  Mary's  for  another ;  and, 
of  course,  I  shall  have  to  go  to  see  Harry,  and 
that'll  take  from  me  quite  a  little  piece  of  my 
vacation  ;  and — and,  let  me  see.  Yes,  I  have  it; 
I  have  it !  I'll  go  and  see  Clara  Barker,  upon 
my  word !"  and  with  this  sudden  happy  thought, 
he  half  jumped  from  his  chair,  as  if  it  momenta- 
rily threw  him  from  his  balance. 

Who  Clara  Barker  was,  and  how  she  stood  re- 
lated to  the  tenderer  feelings  of  Louis  Summer- 
field,  and  what  finally  became  of  this  very  peculiar 
acquaintance,  the  reader,  if  he  has  patience,  will 
discover  to  his  satisfaction  before  he  gets 
through. 

Louis  passed  but  a  restless  night  of  it,  at  the 
best.  The  last  day  of  the  term  was  over.  On 
the  following  morning,  he  would  wander  forth 
into  the  world,  going  and  coming  as  he  listed. 
The  university  dream  would  be  gone. 

He  was  thinking,  too,  of  the  many  ways  he 
had  planned  to  go,  during  this  very  vacation ; 
and  the  voices  he  should  hear;  and  the  faces  he 
should  see;  and  tlie  many  scenes  lie  should  wit- 
ness, and  himself  go  through.  All  these  things 
tended  naturally  to  make  him  restless. 

Morning  dawned  as  brightly  as  it  ever  did. 
The  gold  sun-streaks  eame  pouring  through  the 
damp  maple  leaves  into  his  window,  making  all 
aorts  of  quaint  figures  upon  the  carpet.  They  fell 
across  the  face  of  the  little  clock  on  his  mantel, 
and  lit  up  the  moment  that  was  passing.  It  was 
already  six  o'clock. 


The  heart  of  Louis  Summcrfield  was  all  in  a 
flutter.  His  feelings  and  fancies  wore  most 
strangely  mixed  up.  And  the  appearance  of  his 
apartment  was  not  less  confused.  His  trunks 
and  carpet-bugs  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
nearly  filled  with  all  kiiuls  and  qualities  of  cloth- 
ing, and  seemingly  waiting  for  their  departure. 
They  looked  as  if  they  had  rcnuuncd  hidden  in 
their  dark  closets  until  they,  too,  needed  a  change 
as  much  ns  he. 

Books  were  strewn  ])rofusely  over  the  table, 
and  he  was  in  the  act  of  gathering  them  rapidly 
up,  and  decently  arranging  and  stowing  them  on 
the  shelves  of  his  secretary.  He  shuffled  over 
piles  of  manuscripts,  of  mixed  names  and  char- 
acters, bestowing  some  of  tlie  loose  leaves  in  the 
huge  drawer  that  gaped  under  the  table's  edge, 
and  ])acking  others  away  in  the  ])ockets  of  his 
portfolio.  All  the  time  he  alternately  hummed 
and  whistled,  to  temper  his  excitement.  He 
kept  hurrying  round  the  room,  too,  overhauling, 
arranging,  stowing,  packing  away,  and  complet- 
ing his  preparations  for  leaving  town  by  an  eai'ly 
hour. 

He  at  length  left  the  apartment,  his  trunks 
going  down  on  the  shoulders  of  the  hackman  be- 
fore him.  As  he  was  about  to  shut  the  door,  he 
hesitated,  gave  a  parting  look  of  sadness  about 
the  apartment,  shut  the  door,  and  locked  it.  He 
tore  himself  from  the  memories  that  held  him 
bodily  back. 

The  whole  of  his  journey  home  was  but  a  va- 
riety— at  last  grown  monotonous — of  feelings 
and  fancies  connected  with  the  six  weeks  before 
him.  He  planned  till  he  could  plan  nothing 
more.  He  plotted  till  he  could  not  excite  him- 
self with  any  further  eflbrts  of  iiis  ingenuity. 

And  that  same  night  he  reached  home.  lean- 
not  tell  the  reader  how  glad  weix  his  brothers 
and  sisters  to  see  him ;  nor  with  what  a  tender 
smile  his  mother  hurried  to  his  embrace ;  nor 
how  the  glistening  eye  of  his  doting  father  dilat- 
ed with  pride  to  see  the  added  manliness  that  be- 
trayed itself — his  son's  manner.  Louis  had  got 
home ;  ho  was,  for  the  moment,  happy. 


When  he  finally  reached  the  pleasant  country 
village  of  Grassmoat,  which  it  took  him  quite 
two  days  to  reach,  it  was  evening.  The  stage 
whirled  him  round  a  sharp  corner  of  a  wooden 
building,  and  he  alighted  before  the  door  of  what 
everyone  in  that  vicinity  called  the  hotel.  There 
were  a  few  dimly-burning  tallow  candles  about 
the  bar-rooms,  and  a  handful  of  men  and  boys 
near  the  door.  Above  his  head  he  observed  a 
huge,  square  board  sign,  that  looked  as  if,  when 
it  swung  in  the  winds,  it  must  keep  an  enormous 
shadow  flapping  and  sailing  for  the  whole  length 
of  the  village  street. 

He  entered  the  house,  paid  his  fare  to  the 
coachman  who  followed,  accosted  the  individual 
who  looked  large  enough  to  be  the  landlord,  and 
requested  to  be  shown  at  once  to  his  room. 

When  he  was  fairly  within  the  four  walls  of 
his  apartment,  he  placed  the  light  on  the  table, 
shut  the  door,  and  proceeded  to  unlock  his  trav- 
elling trunk.  From  this  he  managed  to  draw 
forth  what  articles  he  seemed  most  to  need,  and 
then  began  his  equipment  with  them. 

To  one  thing  he  had  long  ago  made  up  his 
mind.  He  came  to  Grassmoat  expressly  to  see 
Miss  Clara  Barker.  He  was  determined  to  wait 
on  her  at  her  house  just  as  soon  as  he  could  put 
himself  in  becoming  trim. 

Clara  was  an  only  child,  and  her  mother  was 
a  widow.  The  widow  Barker  was  esteemed 
quite  rich,  and  certainly  went  as  far  as  she  could 
in  the  way  of  strengthening  such  public  opinion, 
by  living  on  one  of  the  most  delightful  and  ro- 
mantic places  that  could  be  found.  Yet  she  was 
proud — intensely  proud  ;  and  rather  than  suffer  at 
the  hands  of  another  in  meekness  and  submis- 
sion, she  would  have  sacrificed  the  half  of  her 
ample  estate. 

As  Chira  was  an  only  daughter,  she  was 
thought  quite  as  much  of  as  only  daughters  are 
apt  to  be.  Whoever  else  in  that  family  might  be 
first,  it  was  pretty  certain  that  she  was  not 
second.  The  pride  of  the  mother  had  descended 
to  the  daughter.  But  it  could  not  have  repro- 
duced itself  in  the  latter  with  such  an  intensity 
as  it  betrayed  itself  in  her  mother. 

We  ask  the  reader's  pardon.  We  will  let  this 
all  take  due  care  of  itself. 

To  come  back  again  to  Mr.  Louis  Summei-field. 
He  had,  at  length,  completed  liis  change  in  his 
dress,  and,  taking  a  final  look  in  the  little  mirror, 
and  adjusting  his  hat,  with  a  view  to  a  trifle 
more  of  effect,  upon  his  forehead,  he  walked 
down  stairs,  and  emerged  into  the  jmblic  street. 


It  had  suddenly  grown  quite  dark,  and  a  cool 
wind  blew  now  through  the  village.  The  leaven 
were  stirred  in  the  darkness,  and  rustled  myste- 
riously. He  saw  lights  in  ])lenty  in  a  large  house 
across  the  Common,  anil  heard  strains  of  music 
from  the  same  quarter.  He  met  a  few  passers, 
some  of  them  ladies,  and  all  going  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  lighted  house. 

Pushing  his  own  way  on  to  the  residence  of 
the  widow  Barker,  ho  finally  found  himself  on 
the  broad  door-step  beneath  the  woodbine-clad 
porch.  He  raised  the  huge  brass  knocker,  and 
let  it  fall  three  or  four  times  against  the  plate. 

A  gill  opened  the  door,  holding  a  light  in  her 
hand. 

"Is  Miss  Clara  Barker  at  homo?"  inquired 
Louis,  stammering  somcwiiat  with  his  question. 

"  No.sir,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  she's  gone  out." 

"  Out  of  town  ?" 

"No,  sir;  but — " 

"Is  her  mother  at  home?"  interrupted  and 
persisted  he. 

"No,  sir;  she  went  with  her,  too.  But  Cla- 
ra's cousin  is  at  home,  if  you  would  like  to  see 
her." 

This  was  intelligence  the  young  student  had 
not  anticipated.  Ho  did  not  know  before  that 
Clara  had  a  cousin.  Therefore  he  hesitated. 
At  length  he  replied  : 

"  I  would  like  to  see  her  a  few  moments." 

The  girl  beckoned  him  in  with  her  head.  She 
closed  the  door  after  liim,  and  led  him  across  the 
spacious  hall  to  the  door  of  a  room  in  the  back 
part  of  the  house.  She  opened  it,  and  asked 
him  to  go  in. 

Louis  walked  across  the  threshold,  and,  in- 
deed, had  gone  quite  into  the  middle  of  the 
room  before  he  saw  that  any  one  beside  himself 
was  there. 

A  young  girl  sat  in  the  hither  corner,  near  a 
lamp  that  was  set  upon  a  little  stand,  engaged  in 
reading.  She  looked  up  as  she  saw  a  gentleman 
standing  before  her,  with  much  astonishment  and 
alarm. 

"  This  gentleman  called.  Miss  Ellen,"  said  the 
servant. 

Ellen  half  rose,  and  looked  alternately  at  the 
girl  and  her  new  guest,  as  if  she  would  by  her 
inquisitive  look  ask  whom  he  came  particularly 
to  see. 

"  I  understand  your  embarrassment,"  said 
Louis,  taking  a  step  gallantly  forward.  "  I  am 
a  stranger  to  you,  as  you  are  to  me.  My  name 
is  Louis  Summerfield.  I  am  an  acquaintance 
of  Miss  Clara  Barker  and  her  mother  ;  and  as  I 
came  from  a  distant  to^vn  to-day,  thought  I 
would  call  on  them  this  evening.  I  learn  that 
they  are  out.  At  any  rate,  I  hope  they  are 
well." 

"  They  are,"  said  the  cousin — a  pretty  miss  of 
nineteen.  "lam  very  sorry,  on  your  account, 
that  they  are  not  here  ;  but  we  all  were  invited  out 
to  Mrs.  Williams's  party  this  evening,  and  cousin 
and  her  mother  went;"  and  after  a  little  hesi- 
tation slie  added  :  "  I  staid  at  home." 

She  asked  her  visitor  to  be  seated,  an  invita- 
tion with  which  he  found  compliance  by  no 
means  difiicult.  The  servant  left  the  room,  and 
they  were  alone. 

They  entered,  by  slow  degrees,  into  conversa- 
tion. Louis  suggested  the  topics,  and  himself 
led  the  way.  He  was  struck  with  the  appearance 
of  the  young  girl  from  the  first  moment  he  saw 
her;  but  as  he  succeeded  in  engaging  her  in  con- 
versation, her  beauties  and  various  points  of  in- 
terest multiplied  marvellously  in  his  sight. 

She  talked  with  fluency  and  grace.  She  be- 
trayed an  intellect  of  freshness,  and  more  than 
ordinary  culture.  And  her  beautiful  face  was 
not  unworthy  to  illustrate  such  a  mind.  In  her 
remarks,  in  her  questions,  and  her  answers,  she 
showed  such  an  innocence,  so  much  of  artless- 
ness,  and  so  much  more  of  refinement  of  taste, 
that  the  young  student  was  deeply  impressed 
with  everything  he  heard  and  saw. 

He  asked  her  what  book  he  had  interrupted 
her  in  reading,  and  heard  her  reply  that  it  was 
one  of  Scott's  novels.  And  from  that  starting- 
point  they  went  on ;  discoursing  on  literature 
and  literary  persons,  and  books,  and  matters  of 
taste,  for  a  long  time.  Ellen  evinced  a  large 
and  accurate  knowledge  of  the  topics  that  were 
brought  up. 

It  was  quite  ten  o'clock  when  he  rose  from  his 
chair  to  go,  and  he  excused  himself  to  Ellen  for 
lengthening  his  call  ?o  much.  He  was  not 
aware  that  the  time  coiikl  have  passed  so  rapidly. 
The  color  flew  to  her  face.  Carrying  her  lamp 
along  with  her,  she  followed  him  to  the  hall 
door;  and  while  he  stood  on  the  broad  door-step 


again,  he  bade  her  good-night,  telling  her  to  as- 
sure her  aunt  and  cousin  that  he  should  call 
upon  them  the  next  day. 

When  Mrs.  Barker  and  Clara  returned  from 
tlio  party  of  that  evening,  it  was  nearly  midnight; 
yet  they  found  Ellen  patiently  sitting  up  for 
them.  She  was  still  poring  over  the  novel  on 
which  Mr,  I^uis  Summerfield  had  surprised  her. 
Somehow  what  she  read  was  very  strangely 
mixed  in  with  what  he  had  said,  and  the  golden 
page  of  the  great  magician  was  all  the  time  in- 
terwoven with  the  sentiments  and  the  words  of 
the  young  student.  She  could  not  give  herself 
so  completely  to  the  narration  now  as  before. 

It  must  he  confessed,  too,  that  Louis  was  much 
given  to  wakefulness  that  night,  and  that  he  felt, 
in  the  morning,  to  use  his  own  and  a  quite  com- 
mon expression,  "  as  if  hia  eyes  were  full  of 
sticks." 

Ellen  acquainted  Mrs.  Barker  with  the  fact  of 
a  ^'isit  from  Mr.  Summerfield,  almost  as  soon  as 
she  entered  the  room.  That  lady  lifted  her 
hands  in  astonishment. 

"  0  dear !"  exclaimed  Clara,  "I  wish  I'd  staid 
at  home." 

"But  we  shall  see  him  to-morrow,  my  child," 
said  her  mother. 

"  Yes ;  but — "  and  she  glanced  at  Ellen. 

"  How  long  did  he  stay  V  asked  Mrs.  Barker, 
taking  a  hint  from  the  envious  glance  of  her 
daughter. 

"I  should  think  nearly  three  hours,"  replied 
Ellen. 

Clara  scowled  fiercely.  Had  her  sex  been 
different,  I  should  be  allowed  to  speak  the  whole 
truth,  and  say  that  she  gritted  her  teeth. 

"A  pretty  long  call,"  remarked  Mrs.  Barker. 
"Pray,  how  did  you  manage  to  entertain  him, 
Ellen  V 

"  He  seemed  to  find  no  trouble  in  entertaining 
himself,"  answered  she.  "  He  was  very  much 
inclined  to  conversation,  and  certainly  carried  it 
on  as  one  docs  not  often  have  an  opportunity  to 
witness." 

Tho  mother  exchanged  looks  with  the  daugh- 
ter. 

"  Well,"  said  the  former,  at  length,  "you  had 
better  retire  now ;  you  must  be  exceedingly  tired 
with  sitting  up  so  long  for  us." 

And  Ellen  bade  them  good-night,  and  went 
out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Barker  sat  a  long  time  afterwards  with 
Clara,  talking  alternately  of  the  little  events  of 
the  evening  party,  and  of  the  very  unexpected 
visit  of  Mr.  Summerfield. 

"  I  wish  I'd  staid  at  home,  mother,"  said  Cla- 
ra, looking  anxious  and  disappointed.  "  I've  no 
doubt  that  Ellen  did  all  she  dared  to  poison  his 
mind  about  me." 

"  If  I  did  but  know  she  did  !"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Barker,  threateningly. 

"  Yet  why  not  as  well  believe  so,  and  say  so, 
as  to  only //(?»^' so  ?  Yon  know  how  bent  she 
always  has  been  on  doing  just  what  is  most  apt 
to  annoy  and  mortify  me ;  and  I  verily  believe 
that  if  a  gentleman  should  desire  to  pay  any  very 
particular  attention  to  me,  as  they  sometimes  do, 
Ellen  would  work  with  all  her  might  to  draw  his 
attention  to  herself." 

"  I  made  a  great  mistake — a  fp-eat  mistake!" 
muttered  and  whispered  Mrs.  Barker  together. 

She  probably  meant  in  reference  to  adopting 
Ellen  into  her  own  family. 

"  But  did  you  see  how  hateful  that  Mary  Win- 
ter was  this  evening  ?"  asked  Clara,  breaking 
out  in  a  new  spot. 

"  Pray,  my  daughter,  did  she  show  any  of  her 
airs  to  you  V 

"  To  be  sure  she  did.  She  took  particular 
pains  to  have  me  understand  that  she  esteemed 
herself  quite  as  much  as  I  did  myself." 

"  Did  you  have  anything  to  say  with  her?" 

"Not  I,  indeed  !  I  fancy  I've  got  too  much 
of  your  blood  to  suffer  such  a  person  as  she  to 
approach  me  at  such  a  time  as  that !  And  then, 
did  you  see  how  all-sufficient  and  satisfied  she 
felt  when  she  promenaded  through  the  rooms  on 
the  arm  of  that  Mr.  Van  Wort?  and  he  a  per- 
fect stranqcr,  too  !  I  declare,  I  wonder  how  and 
where  she  got  acquainted  with  him.  I  never 
saw  another  such  person  as  she  is ;  there's  never 
a  stranger  in  town  but  she  has  hold  of  him.  And 
I  sup]iose  she'll  get  in  with  Mr.  Summerfield 
next !" 

" /7/  stop  any  such  plan  as  that,  Clara,"  said 
her  mother.  "  I  know  I  have  influence  enough 
to  prevent  her  having  her  own  way  there!" 

"  0,  if  I'd  only  staid  at  home,  mother  !"  per- 
sisted the  dissatisfied  and  unhappy  girl.  "  I'd 
rather  have  had  onythimj  happen  than  that  Ellen 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


251 


should  have  had  the  company  of  Mr.  Louis  Sum- 
merficld  for  a  whole  evening.  I  A-noiy  everything 
now  will  turn  out  just  as  I  fear.  She  has  so 
much  deception  about  her,  and  all  the  time  pre- 
tends to  so  ranch  innocence." 

"Ellen  will  know  ha- place  here,"  replied  Mrs. 
Barker,  her  eyes  kindling  strangely,  "or  she  will 
liud  it  somewhere  else  !"  she  added,  fiercely. 

And  after  this  determination  had  been  fairly 
laid  upon  its  foundation,  the  proud  mother  and 
her  spoiled  daughter  weut  off  at  a  very  late  hour 
to  bed. 


Mr.  Summerfieid  was  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Barker  again  by  eleven  o'clock  of  the  next  morn- 
ing. They  had  been  expecting  him  for  some 
time ;  and  when  he  at  last  did  come,  it  cannot 
be  gainsayed  that  he  met  with  an  uncommonly 
enthusiastic  reception. 

Mi"S.  Barker  took  him  and  shook  him  by  the 
hand.  It  was  very  cordial,  her  greeting.  And 
Clara  tried  not  to  seem  too  much  rejoiced,  for 
fear  she  might  transgress  that  law  of  propriety — 
a  law  as  reasonless  and  heartless  often  as  any  of 
the  most  rigid  enactments  of  the  Medes  and  Per- 
sians ;  but  in  despite  of  her  coquettish  predilec- 
tions, she  was  so  far  perfectly  natural  as  to  tell 
Mr.  Summerfield  very  distinctly  that  she  was 
right  glad  to  see  him  again. 

They  had  a  long-  and  an  agreeable  day  of  it  ; 
for  they  made  their  young  friend  remain  to  din- 
ner and  to  tea,  and,  even  after  that,  late  into  the 
evening. 

It  was  some  time  after  he  had  been  in  the 
house  that  he  was  able  to  see  Ellen,  and  for  that 
he  was  obliged  to  ask  particularly  for  her,  too. 
Mrs.  Barker  looked  vexed.  Clara  icas  vexed, 
whether  she  looked  so  or  not.  And  Ellen  en- 
tered the  room. 

Mr.  Summerfield  accosted  her  with  much  po- 
liteness. He  could  not  conceal,  either  from  her 
or  from  her  friends,  the  pleasure  of  his  visit  the 
evening  before. 

He  did  not  mean  at  any  moment  to  forget 
what  was  due  from  himself  to  his  old  acquain- 
tance, nor  did  he  for  a  moment  forget ;  but  still, 
the  face  of  Ellen  was  looking  steadily  through 
the  wicket  that  guarded  his  heart. 

It  was,  altogether,  a  very  pleasant  day.  Mr. 
Summerfield  proposed  a  walk  in  the  spacious 
garden  after  dinner,  and  they  all  went,  and 
lounged  on  the  cushioned  seats  in  the  little  rustic 
temple  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  plucked  the 
leaves  and  blossoms  as  they  sat  there,  talking  of 
friends,  and  fashion,  and  college,  and  the  great 
world  beyond.  Ellen  did  not  sit  down  much  of 
her  time.  She  roamed  about  by  herself;  and,  at 
last,  the  young  student  sprang  suddenly  from  his 
seat  beside  Mrs.  Barker,  and  wondered  where 
Miss  Ellen  could  have  betaken  herself. 

*'  0,  she's  probably  gone  back  bito  the  house/' 
said  Mrs.  Barker,  with  a  tone  of  disparagement. 
"  It's  not  at  all  likely  that  anything  ive  could 
talk  about  here  could  interest  her  much.  She's 
happiest  by  herself,  I  think." 

Louis  stared  into  her  brilliant  eyes  at  this 
speech,  to  sec  whether  she  might  be  altogether 
serious ;  but  his  gaze  was  met  by  one  fully  as 
collected  and  steady  as  his  own.  He  thought  it 
was  truly  a  strange  estimate  for  an  aunt  to  place 
on  her  own  niece  ;  especially  when  it  conflieted 
so  completely  with  the  one  he  had  formed  him- 
self of  her.    And  so  he  hesitated. 

'*  I  believe  I  heard  her  in  the  farther  part  of 
the  garden,"  said  he,  at  length.  "  Excuse  me  a 
minute,  and  I  will  go  look  her  up." 

Mrs.  Barker  was  going  to  tell  him  it  was  of 
no  sort  of  consequence,  or  something  to  that 
effect ;  but  before  the  words  were  on  her  lips,  he 
had  fled  past  her,  and  found  his  way  into  a  dis- 
tant thicket  of  tulips,  and  rose  trees,  and  vines. 

"  How  strange  he  thinks  so  much  of  her  !"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Barker,  as  soon  as  he  had  gone  out 
of  hearing. 

"  It's  just  as  I  said,"  replied  Clara,  testily ; 
"it's  just  the  way  Ellen  always  manages  when 
any  one  comes  here  expressly  to  see  meV 

"  But  she  shall  do  it  no  more !"  said  her  mo- 
ther. "  She  has  forgotten  who  she  is  here.  I 
will  quicken  her  thoughtfulness." 

In  a  few  moments  Mr.  Summerfield  returned 
to  the  little  temple,  Ellen  leaning  on  his  ann ! 
Her  face  was  flushed  with  a  beautiful  color.  So 
was  Clara's  when  she  saw  them,  but  it  was  the 
sudden  flush  of  passion. 

"  I've  found  the  runaway !"  cried  Louis,  draw- 
ing her  forward,  and  leading  her  in  where  her 
aunt  and  cousin  sat.  "  She  was  down  among 
the  rose-trees." 

Neither  mother  nor  daughter  made  any  reply. 
"  And  just  see  what  I  have  got  for  my  pains  !" 


cried  he  again,  holding  up  a  pretty  bouquet  that 
hhe  had  gathered  and  given  him. 

Mrs.  Barker  gave  her  niece  a  look  that  was  in- 
tended to  crush  her  at  once.  It  did  not  do  quite 
that  with  her  spirits,  but  it  had  the  effect  to 
sober  them  marvellously.  Clara's  face  was 
crimson. 

They  went  thence,  a  little  while  after,  into  the 
house.  And  late  in  the  evening,  as  1  have  re- 
lated already,  Louis  took  his  leave  for  the  niuht. 

A  few  days  passed  by,  each  one  of  which 
found  Louis  at  the  house  of  the  widow  Barker, 
where  lie  managed  to  spend  very  much  of  his 
time.  Ellen  made  her  appearance  as  often  as 
the  pecuUar  circumstances  that  suiTounded  her 
would  permit ;  and  each  interview^  she  had  with 
him,  however  brief  and  broken  it  was,  did  but 
confirm  the  impression  he  first  received  from  her. 

One  day,  there  was  to  be  a  party  of  the  young 
people  of  the  village,  in  the  woods.  It  was  al- 
ready early  autumn,  and  rambling  across  sunny 
slopes  and  pastures,  and  among  the  gorgeous 
apparel  of  the  trees,  and  vines,  and  bushes,  was 
an  occupation  of  pure  pleasure.  Quite  a  large 
band  of  young  persons  cf  both  sexes  had  resolv- 
ed to  go.  They  were  all  to  carry  their  dinners, 
or  refreshments,  and  so  go  when  and  where  they 
might  choose. 

The  evening  before,  Mrs.  Barker  was  sitting 
by  herself  in  the  pleasant  sitting-room  of  her 
mansion,  apparently  tost  in  thought.  Clara  had 
retired,  and  Ellen  was  nowhere  to  be  heard. 
The  whole  house  was  uncommonly  still. 

Ellen  had  given  much  more  than  her  usual 
oftence  that  day,  by  receiving  so  much  attention 
from  Louis, — a  matter  she  had  no  power  to  re- 
sist or  avoid;  and  thus  the  spirits  of  her  aunt 
were  not  any  too  quiet.  Indeed,  had  any  one 
had  a  fair  opportunity  to  do  so,  he  could  have 
observed  that  at  moments  her  passion  drove  such 
rich  and  vivid  colors  to  her  face,  and  caused  her 
dark  eyes  to  sparkle  and  swim  so  strangely,  that 
she  was  not  altogether  herself. 

At  length  she  rose  from  her  chair,  and  rang 
the  bell.     A  servant  answered. 

"  Tell  Miss  Ellen  that  I  wish  she  would  come 
here,"  said  Mrs.  Barker. 

The  maid  shut  the  door,  and  hastened  to  obey 
her. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  Ellen  entered  the  room, 
and  took  a  seat  not  far  from  her  aunt,  upon  a 
low  ottoman. 

"  I  wished  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  to-night, 
Ellen,"  began  her  aunt,  "on  the  subject  of  the 
party  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  replied  Ellen. 

"You  had,  probably,  thought  of  going,  then?'* 
asked  Mrs.  Barker. 

"  I  have  got  myself  all  ready  to  go,"  said 
Ellen,  in  reply. 

Her  aunt  gave  expression  to  an  ejaculation  in 
an  under  tone. 

"  You  had  said  nothing  to  me  about  it,  I  be- 
lieve," persisted  Mrs.  Barker,  "/have  not  been 
advised  of  your  going,  I  believe." 

The  pretty  niece  cast  her  eyes  in  all  humility 
npon  the  figure  in  the  carpet,  and  offered  nothing 
in  answer.  She  was  in  a  state  of  novel  and  un- 
expected excitement. 

"Ellen,"  again  began  her  aunt,  this  time  in  a 
much  graver  and  more  distant  tone,  "  I  am  very 
anxious,  if  you  are  to  remain  with  me,  beneath 
my  own  roof,  loo,  that  yon  should  understand 
properly  the  relation  that  exists  between  us." 

The  girl  ventured  to  look  up;  but  felt  much 
easier  with  her  gaze  fastened  on  the  carpet. 

"  You  are  here,  in  my  house,"  continued  her 
aunt,  "  dependent  on  ray  kindness.  I  adopted 
you  as  my  own  child  the  day  you  became  an 
orphan,  rtsolved  to  do  what  I  thought  it  my 
conscientious  duty  to  do  for  the  only  child  of  my 
husband's  brother.  You  are  fatherless  and  mo- 
therless, I  know  ;  yet  I  determined,  as  I  also 
wished,  that  you  should  find  parents  in  me ;  or, 
at  least,  what  might  be  tliought  almost  their 
equivalent.  Now,  see  how  differenth'  you  man- 
age from  what  I  had  intended.  Instead  of  ap- 
pearing to  be  my  dependent,  as  you  know  you 
really  are,  you  even  set  yourself  above  my  own 
daughter,  and — " 

"Aunt!"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

"  You  will  not  seem  content  unless  you  are 
permitted  to  exercise  your  authority  over  me!" 

"O,  aunt!  My  dear  aunt!"  sobbed  the  poor 
girl,  innocent  in  her  heart  of  all  such  intention 
as  had  been  imputed  to  her. 

"  Now,  I  will  have  you  understand  one  thing, 
Miss  Ellen,"  continued  Mrs.  Barker,  freezingly, 
"  and  that  is,  that  if  you  stay  here  even  another 
day  with  mc,  you  must  do  as  I  wish.  You  must 
thiow  off  your  ah'S,  and  deport  yourself  more 


meekly  bythesideof  Clara,  especially  when  there 
are  gentlemen  about.  You  seem  to  think  they 
all  come  to  see  yon,  when  you  ought  to  know 
that  you  are  the  last  person  in  the  house  thought 
of  by  them.  Now,  I  wish  to  give  you  directions 
for  to-morrow." 

Ellen  looked  up  at  this  point.  Her  eyes  were 
glistening  with  tears. 

"It  is  my  wish  that  you  do  not  go  with  the 
party  in  the  woods  to-morrow,  I  prefer  that  you 
stay  at  home.  I  conclude  I  have  but  to  express 
my  wish  to  you,  to  have  it  regarded  most  re- 
ligiously. This  is  all  I  wanted.  You  may  leave 
me  now." 

Ellen  forthwith  left  die  apartment,  and  retired 
to  her  chamber. 

Slie  tlirew  herself  on  the  bed,  burying  her  face 
in  the  downy  pillows.  And  for  a  full  hour,  she 
sobbed  and  cried  bitterly.  The  poor  orphan 
prayed — O,  how  she  prayed  ! — that  she  might,  if 
only  for  a  single  passionate  moment,  feel  the 
presence  of  her  dead  mother.  It  would  have 
been  so  sweet  to  have  got  a  whisper  of  consola- 
tion from  her  at  that  time. 

She  wept  till  she  fell  asleep.  It  was  not  until 
late  in  the  night  that  she  awoke  again,  and  found 
her  little  lamp  still  burning  upon  the  little  table 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 


The  next  day  came.  Droves  of  gay  young 
folk  were  on  foot,  on  thek-  route  to  the  distant 
woods  and  meadows. 

The  sun  shone  brightly,  and  the  air  was  tem- 
pered by  one  of  the  pleasantest  winds  that  ever 
sailed  gently  through  the  air.  The  forest-leaves 
had  already  begun  to  change  their  green  for  liv- 
eries of  a  more  gorgeous  hue,  made  up  with  all 
the  colors  that  ever  graced  the  rainbow. 

They  were  many  in  number,  and  as  gay  as 
numerous.  On  reaching  the  far-off"  hill-side,  just 
before  they  took  an  old  cart-path  into  the  blazing 
woods,  they  set  up  a  shouting  and  singing,  as  if 
for  the  very  joy  of  the  thing,  till  the  still  au- 
tumnal morning  was  peopled  with  living  echoes. 

Ellen  was  silting  at  the  window  of  her  little 
chamber.  She  had  seen  her  cousin  go  away  in 
the  company  of  Mr.  Summerfield,  and  was  sad- 
dened to  think  what  di'eadful  suspicions  of  her 
aunt  only  prevented  her  going  witli  them. 

She  saw  them  all  as  they  deployed  on  the  sun- 
ny hill-side,  and  as  they  turned  through  the  old 
bars  into  the  wood.  And  when  the  last  form 
dwindled,  and  dimmed,  and  finally  vanished 
from  her  sight  altogether  in  the  woods,  tears 
started  again  to  her  reddened  and  swollen  eyes  ; 
and,  bowing  her  head  at  last,  they  dropped 
steadily  into  her  lap. 

Thus,  for  several  hours,  she  continued.  It  was 
but  an  alternation  between  tears  and  sad  looks. 
The  vei-y  day  itself,  beautiful,  and  golden,  and 
genial  as  it  was,  had  no  power  to  reconcile  her 
spirits  to  the  gloom  that  had  been  suddenly 
drawn,  like  a  thick  curtain,  around  them.  There 
was  a  dark  bank  of  it  between  her  and  the  sun. 
She  could  not  so  much  as  see  the  sun.  It  did 
not  warm  her.  It  had  not  the  least  power  to 
cheer  her  heart. 

When  Louis  came  for  the  girls  that  morning, 
expecting  to  find  both  of  them  in  readiness  for 
the  day's  excursion,  he  was  sorry  beyond  mea- 
sure to  find  that  Ellen  was  kept  at  home,  as  her 
aunt  told  him,  by  sudden  indisposition;  and  he 
did  not  hesitate  so  to  express  himself  to  Mrs. 
Barker.  So,  leaving  his  regards  for  her,  and 
saying  that  he  hoped  she  would  soon  recover,  he 
wended  his  way  towaid  the  appointed  rendez- 
vous with  Clara  alone.  Ellen  saw  them  depart, 
from  the  lonely  seat  at  her  window ;  but  her 
heart  wiis  too  full  for  tears.  She  only  prayed  in 
silence  that  her  aunt's  cruel  suspicions  might 
soon  be  rooted  out. 

They  had  a  merry  time  of  it  in  the  woods  all 
day.  They  romped  and  roamed  everywhere. 
Some  gathered  the  splendidly-colored  autumn 
leaves,  the  dying  tints  still  upon  them,  intending 
to  press  and  arrange  them  again.  Some  gather- 
ed the  fallen  chestnuts,  picking  them  from  the 
thin  -rass,  and  out  of  the  prickly  burrs.  And 
some  sat  down  on  the  crisp,  and  golden,  and  vel- 
vet mosses,  chatting,  and  reading,  and  dreaming 
in  the  genial  warmth  of  the  day.  And  others 
were  scattered  about  in  groups,  sailing  hither 
and  thither  as  they  felt  disposed.  It  was  a  scene 
calculated  to  inspire  any  one  with  fresh  feelings. 

Clara  seemed  to  claim  the  particular  escort  of 
Mr.  Louis  Summerfield  all  day.  She  appeared 
unwilling  to  let  him  move,  unless  she  was  with 
him.  She  certainly  was  envious  of  his  slightest 
attention  to  any  one  else  present.  And  this  was 
none  of  it  unnoticed  by  Louis  himself.  He  was 
b}'  no  means  blind. 


It,  therefore,  did  not  now  take  him  long,  other 
revelations  of  a  similar  trifling  character  having 
been  already  made,  to  form  pretty  nearly  a  clear 
idea  of  the  design  Mrs.  Barker  might  have  in 
her  mind  respecting  him;  and  his  suspicions 
once  awakened,  especially  as  they  furnished  him 
with  little  cause  of  flattery,  there  was  no  point  or 
plan  that  did  not  undergo  his  most  rigid  scrutiny, 

"  Was  Ellen  really  sick  that  she  could  not  come 
with  us  to-day  ?"  asked  he  of  himself. 

Clara  tried  to  be  as  entertaining  as  possible ; 
but  his  mind  was  now  set  strangely  in  another 
direction.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  entertained. 
He  began  to  feel  that  others  were  making  a  mere 
machine  of  him,  in  order  to  compass  their  own 
ends. 

When  the  sun's  rays  began  to  fall  aslant  in  the 
woods,  they  all  made  ready  to  move  back  to  the 
village  again.  It  had  been  a  beautiful  day,  and 
heartily  had  they  enjoyed  it.  By  some  means, 
just  at  that  time,  however,  Louis  had  left  the 
party,  and  wandered  off  by  himself.  He  did  not 
know  that  they  were  yet  planning  to  go.  He 
reached  a  little  glen,  perhaps  a  half  mile  from 
where  the  rest  were,  and  entered  it.  His  mind 
was  full  of  the  matter  of  Ellen's  remaining  at 
home,  which  he  firmly  believed  was  compulsory. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  shadowed  place,  he 
thought  he  saw  a  figure  moving  across  the  dis- 
tant pathway.  He  sprang  forward  to  see  what 
it  was.  His  heart,  even  then,  was  full  of  strange 
emotions.  The  figure  stopped,  he  looked  close- 
ly. It  was  Ellen  herself!  In  another  moment 
he  was  by  her  side. 

"  I  had  come  to  see  if  by  some  fortunate 
chance  I  could  not  see  you,"  said  she,  in  reply 
to  his  inquiry  how  she  eame  there  alone. 
"  My  heart  is  torn  with  strange  and  terrible  feel- 
ings. I  am  very  unhappy  ;  and  it  has  been 
brought  about  because  of  you." 

"Of  7He/"  exclaimed  Louis,  "Do  explain. 
Do  tell  me  all  your  trouble.  Never  have  I 
knowingly  done  an  act  that  could  bring  wretch- 
edness to  your  heart!"  and  he  took  her  hand 
passionately  within  his  own. 

She  narrated  to  him  the  entire  history  of  her 
wrongs  at  the  hands  of  her  aunt. 

"  Then  you  were  not  kept  at  home  by  sick- 
ness ?"  said  Louis. 

"  Only  by  sickness  at  heart.  Aunt  forbade 
my  coming  with  you  here.  More  than  that,  she 
charged  me  with  wishing  to  usurp  to  myself  at- 
tention that  was  meant  for  Clara,  I  cannot  bear 
such  suspicions.  I  cannot  live  under  them  !  It 
is  only  to  see  you  and  to  tell  you  all  this,  that  I 
came  here.     I  am  so  glad  I  have  found  yon." 

Louis  offered  her  all  his  tenderest  sympathies. 
She  was  happier  at  even  than  in  the  morning. 

He  returned  to  the  party,  and  found  that  they 
had  begun  to  stroll  slowly  homeward.  When 
they  reached  the  house  of  Mrs.  Barker,  Ellen 
was  in  her  room  again.  Her  aunt  did  not  know 
that  she  had  gone  out  at  all. 

Louis  took  his  leave  a  day  or  two  aftei-wards ; 
but  he  had  hardly  reached  home  when  he  sat 
do\vn  and  addressed  a  letter  to  Ellen,  Mrs. 
Barker  knew  of  it,  and  was  angry  beyond  con- 
trol. He  received  a  letter  from  Ellen,  not  long 
after,  in  reply.  She  acquainted  him  with  the 
fact  that  her  aunt  had  obtained  for  her  a  situation 
as  teacher  in  a  distant  seminary. 

It  was  commencement  day  at  the  university 
to  which  Louis  Summerfield  belonged.  He  was 
about  to  leave  his  alma  mater's  protection,  and 
try  the  voyage  of  the  world's  rough  seas.  He 
mounted  the  spacious  rostrum,  and  delivered  the 
speech  he  had  prepared.  All  eyes  were  upon 
him;  but  none  were  more  proudly  fixed  than 
those  of  Clara  and  her  mother.  But,  unknown 
to  them,  a  pair  of  heavenly  blue  eyes  were  also 
fixed  on  him.  They  belonged  to  Ellen  !  She 
had  come  there  by  his  special  request,  though  he 
was  ignorant  of  Mrs.  Barker's  intention  to  be 
present  with  her  daughter. 

At  the  levee  at  the  President's  house  that  even- 
ing, Louis  Summerfield  was  observed  with  a 
charming  I'oung  lady  on  his  arm.  They  prome- 
naded the  rooms  together.  He  saw  Mrs.  Barker 
and  Claj:a  there,  and  hastened  to  introduce  them 
again  to  their  old  friend.  The  mother  bit  her 
lips  in  rage,  and  Clara  crushed  her  fan  cruelly  in 
her  hand.  But  it  was  in  vain.  They  knew  it 
all  too  plainly. 

Louis  and  Ellen  were  betrothed.  In  less  than 
three  months  afterwards,  her  uncle — her  father's 
brother,  and  a  rich  old  bachelor — died,  leaving 
Ellen  the  bulk  of  his  fortune.  The  lovers  were 
married.  Ellen's  aunt  was  at  lai^t  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge her  neglected  niece's  worth,  though  it 
cost  her  a  pang,  and  the  loss  of  a  son-in-law. 


252 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   Il(X)M   COMPANION. 


SURRENDER  OF  MARY,  Ul/EEN  OF  SCOTH. 

The  large  and  vtry  finely  executed  pietiirc 
wliK'li  wc  pioscnt  on  this  pni^e  below,  is  a  draw- 
inf?  by  our  artist  from  Mrs.  Stimpson's  elaborate 
and  very  elegant  piece  of  needle  work,  now  on 
exhibition  at  Aniory  Hall,  entitled  the  "  Surren- 
der of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scot.-.."  The  aiitliorcss 
of  this  universally  eommcnded  and  highly  ex- 
tolled picture  in  worsted,  is  the  lady  of  Mr.  C. 
A.  Stimpson,  teller  of  the  Merchants'  Bank,  of 
this  city,  and  is  herself  a  native  of  St.  John, 
N.  B.  Mr.  Stimpson  is  establishing  a  sort  of 
arts  union,  on  a  plan  of  his  own,  intended  to  ben- 
efit all  concerned,  and  to  give  labor  to  the  needy, 
industrious  and  respectable  female.  For  this 
purpose,  he  has  organized  and  perfected  a  soci- 
ety, already  numbering  a  large  share  of  our  best 
families  in  its  list  of  members.  And  wc  advise 
our  readers  to  give  the  subject  their  attention, 
and  possess  themselves  of  a  circular  at  the  exhibi- 
tion room — which 
every  one  should 
visit,  if  only  to  see 
the  superb  picture 
which  our  artist 
has  hercwitii  illus- 
trated for  the  Pic- 
torial. The  design 
of  this  institution 
is  the  encourage- 
ment of  a  better 
and  more  profit- 
able system  of  em- 
ployment among 
those  ladies  who 
have  to  toil  inces- 
santly to  gain  a 
livelihood.  It  is 
well  known  that 
those  who  have  to 
toil,  toil  indeed, 
for  a  mere  pittance. 
This  noble  institu- 
tion commenced 
its  operation  in 
December  last, 
and  has  been  the 
means  of  furnish- 
ing a  great  deal  of 
useful  employ- 
ment. Its  receipts, 
thus  far,  have  been 
about  one  thous- 
and dollars,  most 
of  which  has  been 
expended.  Many 
ladies  who  have 
been  applied  to, 
seem  to  think  that 
they  too  must 
work,  which  is  not 
the  case.  The  de- 
sign is  for  those 
who  are  able  to 
subscribe,  to  do  so, 
and  those  who  are 
not  able  to  sub- 
scribe, to  receive 
the  work  and  to  be 
paid  liberally  from 
the  subscription 
fund  thus  raised 
from  those  ladies 
or  gentlemen  who 
can  best  afford  to 
subscribe.  Each 
member  of  the  in- 
stitution is  not  only 
entitled  to  a  beau- 
tiful book,  equal 
in  value  to  his  or 
her  subscription, 
but  is  also  entitled 
to  an  engraving  or 
beautiful  piece  of 
work  at  the  end  of 
the  year.  The 
pieces  of  work  are 
all  executed  under 
the  manager's  su- 
perintendence. 
But  what  we  have 
mainly  to  consider 
is  this  picture  and 
its  Iheine ;  it  is  but 
oneof  alargc  num- 
ber of  very  elabo- 
rate scenes  from 
the  same  hands, 
and  that  of  other 
artists  in  this  line. 
The  scene  here 
rep  -esented  is  that 

of  the  famous  historical  painting  of  Mary,  Queen 
of  Scots,  as  she  appeared  at  Loch  Leven  Castle, 
resigning  her  crown.  The  interesting  incidentis 
given  with  much  minuteness  by  Abliot,  in  his 
excellent  Life  of  Mary.  The  unfortunate  queen 
had  been  committed  to  Loch  Leven  Castle,  by 
her  enemies,  to  the  keeping  of  Lady  Douglass,  a 
bitter  foe.  They  selected  her  castle  as  the  place 
of  Mary's  confinement,  partly  on  this  account, 
and  partly  on  account  of  its  inaccessible  position 
in  the  midst  of  the  waters  of  the  lake.  They  de- 
livered the  captive  queen,  accordingly,  to  the 
Lady  Douglass  and  her  husband,  charging  them 
to  keep  her  safely.  The  Lady  Douglass  received 
her,  and  locked  her  up  a  prisoner  in  the  octago- 
nal tower  of  the  castle.  At  this  juncture  she 
was  overwhelmed  in  a  sea  of  troubles.  All  Scot- 
land took_sides  for  or  against  her.  The  strong- 
est party  were  against  her;  and  the  Church  was 
against  her,  on  account  of  their  hostility  to  the 
Catholic  religion.  A  sort  of  provisional  govcrn- 
incnt  was  instituted,  which  assumed  the  manage- 
ment of  public  affairs.     Mary  had,  however. 


sonic  fricndfl,  and  they  soon  began  to  assemble 
in  order  to  see  wliat  could  lie  done  for  hercimse. 
Their  rendezvous  was  at  the  palace  of  Hamilton. 
This  i)ahicc  was  situated  on  a  plain  in  the  miclst  ■ 
of  a  beautiful  park,  near  the  rivei"  Clyde,  a  few 
miles  from  Glasgow.  The  Duke  of  Iliimilton 
was  ])romincnt  among  the  supporters  of  the 
queen,  antl  made  Iiis  house  then"  head(|uarters. 
They  were  often  called,  from  this  circumstance, 
the  Hamilton  lords.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
party  opposed  to  Mary  made  the  cjistlc  of  Stir- 
ling their  hcad(iuarters,  bec^ausc  the  young  prince 
was  there,  in  whose  name  they  were  proposing 
soon  to  assume  the  government.  Their  plan 
was  to  depose  Mary,  or  induce  her  to  abdicate 
the  throne,  and  then  to  make  Earl  Murray — 
Mary's  half  brother,  at  first  her  friend  and  coun- 
sellor, though  afterwards  her  unrelenting  perse- 
cutor— regent,  to  govern  the  country  in  the 
name  of  the  prince,  her  son,  until  the  prince 


There  were  three  instruments  of  abdication  pre- 
pared for  her  to  sign.  By  one  she  resigned  the 
crown  in  favor  of  lier  son.  By  the  second  nlie 
appointed  Murray  to  be  regent  as  soon  as  he 
should  return  from  France.  By  the  third  she 
appointed  commissioners  to  govern  the  country 
until  MuiTay  should  return.  They  knew  that 
Mary  would  be  extremely  unwilling  to  sign  these 
papers,  and  yet  that  they  must  contrive,  in  some 
way,  to  obtain  her  signature  without  any  open 
violence ;  for  the  signature,  to  be  of  legal  force, 
must  be,  in  some  sense,  her  voluntary  act.  The 
two  commissioners  whom  tiicy  sent  to  her  were 
Melville  and  Lindsay.  Melville  was  a  thouglit- 
ful  and  a  reasonable  man,  who  had  long  been  in 
Mary's  service,  and  who  possessed  a  great  share 
of  her  confidence  and  good  will,  Lindsay  was, 
on  the  other  hand,  of  an  overbearing  and  violent 
temper,  of  very  rude  speech  and  demeanor,  and 
was  known  to  be  unfriendly  to  the  queen.     They 


SURRENDER  OF  MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 


should  become  of  age.  During  all  this  time 
Murray  had  been  ab.sent  in  France,  but  now  they 
sent  urgent  messages  to  him  to  return.  He 
obeyed  the  summons,  and  turned  his  face  toward 
Scotland.  In  the  meantime,  Mary  continued  in 
confinement  in  her  little  tower  in  the  castle. 
The  Hamilton  lords  were  not  strong  enough  to 
attempt  her  rescue.  The  weight  of  influence 
and  power  throughout  the  country  went  grad 
ually  and  irresistibly  into  the  other  scale.  There 
were  great  debates  among  the  authoruies  of  gov- 
ernment as  to  what  should  be  done.  The  Ham- 
ilton lords  made  proposals  in  behalf  of  Mary 
which  the  government  could  not  accede  to. 
Other  proposals  were  made  by  different  parties 
in  the  councils  of  the  insurgent  not)les,  some 
more  and  some  less  hard  for  the  captive  queen. 
The  conclusion,  however,  finally  was,  to  urge 
Mary  to  resign  her  crown  in  favor  of  her  son, 
and  to  appoint  Murray,  when  he  should  return, 
to  act  as  regent  till  the  prince  should  be  of  age. 
They  accordingly  sent  commissioners  to  Loeh 
Leven  to  propose  these  measures  to  the  queen. 


hoped  that  Mary  would  be  induced  to  sign  the 
papers  by  Melville's  gentle  persuasions  ;  if  not, 
Lindsay  was  to  see  what  he  could  do  by  denun- 
ciations and  threats.  When  the  two  commis- 
sioners arrived  at  the  castle,  Melville  alone  went 
first  into  the  presence  of  the  queen,  lie  opened 
tlic  subject  to  her  in  a  gentle  and  respectful  man- 
ner. He  laid  before  her  the  distracted  state  of 
Scotland,  the  uncertain  and  vague  suspicions 
flivoiingin  tliepul)lic  mind  on  the  subjectof  Darn- 
ley's  murder,  and  the  irretrievable  shade  which 
had  been  thrown  over  her  position  by  her  unhap- 
py marriage  with  Bothwcll ;  and  he  urged  her  to 
consent  to  the  proposed  measures,  as  the  only 
way  now  left  to  restore  peace  to  the  land.  Mary 
Iieard  him  patiently,  but  replied  that  she  could 
not  consent  to  his  proposal.  By  doing  so,  she 
should  not  only  sacrifice  her  own"  rights,  and  de- 
gnide  herself  "from  the  position  she  was  entitled 
to  occupy,  but  she  should,  in  some  sense,  ac- 
knowledge lierself  guilty  of  the  charges  brought 
against  her,  and  justify  her  enemies.  Melville, 
finding  that  his  efforts  wore  vain,  called  Lindsay 


in.  He  entered  with  a  fierce  and  determined  air. 
Mary  was  reminded  of  the  terrible  night  when 
lie  and  Ruihven  broke  into  her  little  supper 
room  at  Holyrood  in  (juest  of  Rizzio.  She  wa3 
agitated  and  alarmed.  Lindsay  assailed  her 
with  denunciations  and  threats  of  the  most  vio- 
lent character.  There  ensued  a  scene  of  the 
most  rough  and  ferocious  pa-esions  on  the  one 
sicie,  and  of  anguish,  terror  and  despair  on  the 
other,  which  i^  said  to  have  made  the  day  the 
most  wretched  of  all  the  wretched  days  of  Mary's 
lile.  Sometimes  she  sat  pale,  motionless,  and 
almost  stupefied.  At  others,  she  was  over- 
whelmed with  sorrow  and  tears.  She  finally 
yielded  ;  and,  taking  the  pen,  she  signed  the  pa- 
pers. Lindsay  and  Melville  took  them,  left  the 
castle  gate,  entered  their  boat,  and  were  rowed 
away  to  the  shore.  This  was  on  the  2rnh  of 
July,  L'J67,  and  four  days  afterward  the  young 
prince  was  crowned  at  Stirling.  His  title  was 
James  VI.  Lind- 
say made  oath  at 
the  coronation  that 
he  was  a  witness 
of  Mary's  abdica- 
tion of  the  crown 
in  favorof  her  son, 
and  that  it  was  her 
own  free  and  vol- 
untary act.  James 
was  about  one  year 
old.  The  corona- 
tion took  place  in 
the  chapel  where 
Mary  had  been 
crowned  in  her  in- 
fancy, about  twen- 
ty-five years  be- 
fore. Maryherself, 
though  uncon- 
scious of  her  own 
coronation,  weep- 
ed  bitterly  over 
that  of  her  son. 
Unhappy  mother ! 
how  little  was  she 
aware,  when  her 
heart  was  filled 
with  joy  and  glad- 
ness at  his  birth, 
that  in  one  short 
year  his  mere  ex- 
istence would  fur- 
nish toherenemies 
the  means  of  con- 
summating and 
sealing  her  ruin. 
After  her  abdica- 
tion, however,  she 
grew  restive  in  the 
confinement  t  o 
which  she  was  sub- 
jected. She  re- 
mained during  the 
winter  in  captivity, 
earnestly  desiring 
to  find  some  way 
of  escape,  although 
warned  that  such 
an  attempt  would 
bring  great  danger 
upon  her,  and  in- 
volve her  in  still 
deeper  trouble. 
Still  she  knew 
there  must  be 
manywho  remain- 
ed steadfast  in  her 
cause,  and  hoped 
that  if  once  out  of 
her  prison,  they 
would  rally  around 
her,  and  she  might, 
perhaps,  regain  her 
throne.  But  strict- 
ly watched,  as  she 
was,  and  in  a  pris- 
on surrounded  by 
the  waters  of  a 
lake,  the  effort 
seemed  hopeless. 
However,  the  at- 
tempt was  made ; 
a  plan  was  ripened, 
she  escaped  from 
the  cflstle,  but  her 
disguise  was  pene- 
trated, and  she  was 
again  remanded  to 
captivity.  Here 
she  remained  un- 
der a  stricter  watch 
until  another  op- 
which  was  more  successful.  Popular 
feeling  swayed  in  her  favor,  and  she  was  shortly 
at  the  head  of  an  army  of  six  thousand  men. 
A  battle  was  fought  wirh  the  forces  under  Earl 
Murray  arrayed  against  her;  lier  troops  were  de- 
feated, and  finally,  after  passing  through  many 
vicissitudes  of  sorrow,  she  perished  on  the  scaf- 
fold, in  1587.  The  tomb  of  Mary  is  still  seen 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  her  remains  were 
placed  by  her  son  James,  when  he  succeeded  to 
the  English  throne.  The  castle  of  Loch  Leven, 
the  scene  of  this  imforlunate  queen's  captivity, 
is  now  a  solitary  ruin.  The  waters  of  the  loch 
have  been  lowered  by  means  of  an  excavation  of 
tlie  outlet,  and  a  portion  of  the  land  has  bean 
left  bare  around  the  walls,  which  Ims  been  plant- 
ed with  trees.  Tlie  courtyard  is  overgrown  with 
weeds,  and  encumbered  with  fallen  stones  and 
old  foundations.  The  square  tower,  though 
roofless,  still  stands.  The  octagonal  tower  which 
Mary  occupied  remains  ;  I)ut  the  chapel  is  gone, 
though  its  oullines  im\y  bo  still  traced  in  the 
ruins  of  its  walls. 


]50rtunity. 


GLEASONVS   PICTORIAL    DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


253 


FREDERICK   GLEASON,   Proprietor. 

MATURIN    M.    BALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTEiNTS  OB^  OUR  NEXT  MTJIKER. 

"  The  Secret  Sign,"  a  sketch  of  the  Southern  Cam- 
paigns," a  story,  by  Mrs.  M.  E.  Robinsox. 

"  The  Happy  Mistake,  or  the  Fortunes  of  a  Poor  Cous- 
in," a  story,  by  Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr. 

"Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  Vtl,  deficriptire  of  the 
Seraglio,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  IX  of  the  series,  relating  to 
tho  Environs  of  Jerusalem,  by  Hev.  F.  W.  Holland. 

"Autographs  and  Autography,"  No.  Till,  by  William 
Edward  Knowles,  giving  the  signatures  of  George  R  Gra- 
ham, Charles  J.  Peterson,  L.  A.  Godey,  Andrew  Jackson 
Davis,  Andrew  McMakin,  Louis Bl;inc,  Epes  Sargent,  J.  Q, 
Adams  and  George  1*.  Morris. 

"  The  Light  from  the  West,"  verses,  by  Sdsas  H.  Blais- 

DELL. 

'•  The  Fall  of  the  Leaf,"  lines,  by  Joseph  H.  Bdtler. 

"Don't  give  up  the  Ship,"  a  poem,  by  C.  G.  Dunn. 

"  Shades  of  Evening,"  lines,  by  0.  Hardy,  Jr. 

"My  Answer,"  verses,  by  J.  Hunt,  Jr. 

"  Good-by,  Mama,"  lines,  by  Mrs,  M.  W.  Curtis. 

"Obscurity,"  a  poem,  by  J.  Starr  Hollaway. 

"  An  Angel  in  the  Clouds,"  verses,  by  Geo.  \V.  Buxgat. 

ILLUSTBATIONS. 

"We  shall  g^ve  our  readers  a  very  capital  representation 
from  life,  of  Billy  Bowltgd  and  bis  companions,  of  the 
Seminole  Indians,  as  they  lately  appeared  in  New  York. 
Drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Chapia. 

A  characteristic  and  large  picture,  representing  the  fa- 
mous Dog  Market,  of  Paris. 

Also,  a  large  and  interesting  scene,  giving  a  view  of  the 
Bird  Market,  of  Paris. 

A  very  elaborate  and  beautiful  series  of  pictures,  rela- 
tive to  the  City  of  Worcester,  Mass. 

First,  a  very  accurate  view  of  the  State  Lunatic  Asylum, 
by  our  artist,  Mr.  Manning. 

Second,  a  fine  view  of  Lincoln  Square,  Worcester,  show- 
ing the  new  Antiiiuarian  Hall,  the  old  and  new  Court 
Houses,  and  the  tuitarian  Church.  By  our  artist,  Mr. 
KUbum. 

Third,  a  fac-simile  of  the  Belt  worn  by  King  Philip, 
sketched  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Kiibarn^  and  now  in  the  An- 
tiquarian Hall,  Worcester. 

Fourth,  a  picture  representing  Tomahawks,  of  various 
shapes,  specimens  of  wliich  our  artist  found  in  the  Anti- 
quarian ilali,  us  above. 

Fifth,  a  drawing  of  the  Moccafina  worn  by  the  famous 
■wariior  and  Indian  king,  Tecumseh,  by  our  artist,  as 
above. 

Sixth,  a  portrait  of  Richard  Mather,  the  first  of  the  Ma- 
thers in  America.  Drawn  by  our  ai  ti.it,  Mr.  Kilburn^  from 
the  original  now  in  the  .vuticioariau  Hall. 

Seventh,  a  fine  portrait,  as  above  by  our  artist,  of  John 
Rogers,  the  martjr,  burnt  at  the  stake  in  1565. 

Eighth,  a  fac-simile  of  the  Pipe  used  by  the  Rocky 
Mountain  Indians.  Drawn  by  our  artist,  from  the  origi- 
nal, in  tbe  Antiquarian  Hall. 

Ninth,  a  fac-simile,  by  our  artist,  of  the  Comb  used  by 
the  same  tribe  of  Indians,  as  found  iu  this  exhibition. 

Tenth,  a  drawing  of  the  original  style  of  the  Indian 
Tomahawk,  drawn  by  our  artUt,  as  above. 

A  fine  illustration  of  our  Novelette,  by  Frederick  Hun- 
ter, now  publishing  in  our  columns. 

An  interesting  engraving  of  a  new  and  excellent  style  of 
lafe  Boat.     A  spirited  picture. 

A  characteristic  picture  of  a  Burmese  Soldier.  A  very 
capital  scene. 

A  large  and  (■uperb  drawing,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Chapin^ 
of  Costoli's  Columbus  Group.    An  elegant  engraving. 


France. — Our  foreign  exchangei  are  full  of 
the  regal  doings  in  celebration  of  Louis  Napo- 
leon's tour  through  the  south  of  France.  This 
fickle  nation  seem  delighted  that  Napoleon  the 
Utile  has  successfully  swindled  them,  and  so 
"  toss  high  their  caps  in  air  !" 


SPLINTERS. 

....  Some  one  says  that  all  cows  once  wore 
calfskins  boots.     Very  probable. 

....  Mrs.  Sinclair,  since  her  return  from 
England,  has  been  playing  in  Philadelphia. 

....  The  Hon.  Thomas  Baring  has  been 
most  courteously  received  at  Washington. 

....  The  Boston  Museum  is  doing  a  sure,  re- 
liable business,  and  is  very  popular. 

....  Mrs.  Sanderson,  of  Lexington,  Mass.,  is 
now  in  her  hundred  and  fifth  year! 

A  tunnel  under  the  Hudson  at  Albany  is 

seriously  talked  of. 

Mt.  Washington   has  been   white   with 

snow  for  more  than  three  weeks. 

....  The  population  of  Paris,  France,  is  set 
down  at  one  million  of  souls. 

The  Londoners,  for  the  first  time,  we  be- 
lieve, are  complaining  of  mosquitoes. 

. . . ,  Will  somebody  (unknown  to  us)  please 
be  thanked  for  a  fragrant  bouquet? 

....  Julia  Bennett  plays  with  a  most  irresist- 
ible naivete  at  the  Museum. 

....  The  stock  company  at  the  Howard 
Athenaium  improve  on  acquaintance. 

There  are  now  four  hundred  and  thirty- 
six  students  in  Yale  College. 


THE  IRON  DUKE. 

So  the  proudest  soldier  of  old  England  is  dead, 
the  hero  of  Waterloo,  the  conqueror  of  Napo- 
leon, and  the  favorite  of  the  qutcn  and  the  peo- 
ple of  Great  Britain.  We  see  by  the  foreign 
papers  that  his  decease  has  created  a  profound 
sensation,  and  that  all  classes  are  striving  to  do 
his  memory  honor.  Doubtless  our  readers  will 
thank  us  for  refreshing  their  memories  touching 
the  life  and  career  of  this  military  chieftain. 
Arthur  Wellesley,  Duke  of  Wellington,  fourth 
son  of  the  second  Earl  of  Mornington,  was  born 
at  Dangan  Castle,  county  of  Meaih,  Ireland, 
May  4,  1769,  and  died  at  Walmer  Castle,  Eng- 
land, Tuesday,  Sept.  14, 1852.  Receiving  the  early 
part  of  his  education  at  Eton,  lie  afterwards  went 
to  the  military  college  at  Angiers.  He  became 
Captain  Wellesley  in  1793,  and  in  1797  distin- 
guished himself  as  Colonel  Wellesley  at  the 
storming  of  Seringapatam.  In  1802,  as  General 
Wellesley,  he  gained  further  successes  in  the 
Mahratta  war ;  and  in  1802  won  the  famous  field 
of  Assaye.  As  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley,  he  obtain- 
ed great  distinciion  in  1S08  and  '9  in  the  Penin- 
sular war. — After  the  battle  of  Talavera,  and  the 
passage  of  the  Douro,  he  received,  August  20, 
the  honor  of  a  peerage,  by  the  title  of  Baron 
Douro  and  Viscount  Wellington,  Parliament 
voted  him  thanks  and  a  pension  of  £2000  a  year. 

In  1813  he  was  created  the  Marquis  of  Wel- 
lington by  the  prince  regent.  The  battle  of  Tou- 
louse, which  terminated  Wellington's  seventh 
peninsular  campaign,  was  fought  after  Napoleon 
had  abdicated.  The  buttle  of  Waterloo  put  the 
apex  to  tlie  pyramid  of  his  military  renown.  In 
1814  he  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
On  the  12th  May  of  that  year,  it  was  voted  by 
the  House  of  Commons  tliat  the  sum  £10,000  be 
annually  paid  the  "  Duke  of  Wellington."  This 
was  afterwards  commut\?d  for  half  a  million  ster- 
ling.— The  passing  of  the  reform  bill  may  be 
said  to  have  been  the  closing  of  the  duke's  politi- 
cal life.  A  London  paper  closes  an  article  on 
the  great  warrior  as  follows  : 

"  When  men  in  after  times  shall  look  hack  to  the  annals 
of  EngKand  for  e?mmples  of  energy  and  public  virtue 
among  those  who  have  raised  this  country  to  her  station 
on  the  earth,  no  name  will  remain  more  conspicuous  or 
more  unsullied  than  that  of  Arthur  Wellesley,  the  great 
Duke  of  Wellington.  The  actions  of  his  life  were  extra- 
ordinary, but  his  character  was  equal  to  his  actions.  He 
was  the  very  type  and  model  of  an  Englishman  ;  and  al- 
though men  are  prone  to  invest  the  worthies  of  former 
ages  with  a  dignity  and  merit  they  commonly  withhold 
from  their  coutemponiries,  we  can  select  none  from  the 
long  arriiy  of  our  captains  and  our  nobles  who,  taken  for 
all  in  all,  can  claim  a  rivalry  with  him  who  is  gone  &om 
amongst  us,  an  inheritor  of  imperishable  fame.-' 


THE  PREilUUM  FOWLS. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  last  week  we  gave 
a  fine  picture  of  the  premium  fowls  exhibited  at 
the  Utica  State  Fair.  D.  P.  Newell,  of  Roches- 
ter, Munroe  Co.,  N.  Y.,  received  the  first  pre- 
mium on  the  occasion,  and  though  our  picture 
gave  Jlr.  Newell's  fine  Canton  cock  and  hen  and 
Dorking  cock  and  hen,  his  name  was  omitted, 
as  being  the  breeder  and  owner  of  them.  He 
received  the  first  premium  for  the  best  lot  of  pure 
bred  fowls — SIO;  also  the  first  on  wliite  Surry 
Dorkings.  The  first  premium  were  also  award- 
ed him  for  the  best  coop  of  fowls.  In  this  coop 
were  one  pair  each  of  fine  Cochin  Chinas, 
white  Shanghaes,  black  Shanghaes;  also  the  firsr 
premium  on  Canton  or  China  fowl,  buff  Shang- 
haes, white  Shanghaes,  and  black  Shanghaes. 
Mr.  Newell  was  awarded  some  second  premiums 
on  other  varieties.  There  was  but  one  opinion 
in  reference  to  his  stock  of  poultry.  His  superb 
specimens  were  probably  the  finest  ever  exhibit- 
ed by  one  person  in  the  State  of  New  York. 


Gleason's  Pictorial  — There  is  no  paper  or  magazine 
we  receive,  which  can  compare  with  this  incomparable 
sheet.  As  a  litersiry  paper,  it  numbers  among  its  con- 
tributors many  of  the  very  best  and  most  pohshed  writers 
of  the  country  ;  nnd  as  a  paper  devoted  to  illustrations,  it 
stands  far  ahead  of  all  rivals.  The  attention  paid  to  this 
department  is  great,  and  its  readers  are  weekly  surprised 
and  gratitied  with  :he  boldncHS  of  conception,  and  the  ar- 
tistical  genius  displaced  in  the  execution  of  each  picture. 
—Mitford  Htrald. 


SosTAG. — We  are  to  have  this  queen  of  song 
at  the  Melodeon  soon.  What  a  music-loving 
people  we  are  !  Pierpont  was  right,  speaking  of 
music : 

'■  Wlio  ne'er  hath  felt  her  hand  assuasivc  steal 
Along  his  heart,  that  heart  can  never  feel !  ' 


A  Warning. — There  is  a  scoundrel  travelling 
in  Indiana  and  the  West,  who  signs  himself  A.  C. 
Ewing,  La  Fayette,  Ind.,  and  represents  himself 
as  our  agent.  He  has  no  connection  with  this 
establishment,  nor  have  we  ever  employed  him. 


Liberal  ! — American   newspapers    are    now 
prohibited  altogether  in  Cuba. 


Tremont  Temple. — We  rejoice   to  see  that 
this  building  is  fast  being  completed. 


OUR  CONTRIBUTIONS. 

We  trust  that  the  subscribers  of  the  Pictorial 
read  with  interest  and  protit  the  very  graphic  and 
faithful  series  of  articles,  now  publishing  in  these 
pages  (and  which  we  frequently  illustrate),  from 
the  pen  of  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith.  The  same 
remark  may  apply  to  the  very  valuable  series  of 
letters  from  Palestine,  by  Rev.  F.  W.  Holland, 
which  have  already  reached  to  No.  VIU.  The 
autographs,  too,  which  have  been  given,  have 
formed  a  new  and  peculiar  feature  of  our  paper 
for  some  time  past.  All  these  cost  a  heavy  out- 
lay of  money,  and  a  great  expense  of  time  and 
attention  to  produce  for  the  gratification  of  our 
readers.  We  believe  that  the  patrons  of  the 
Pictorial  can  discern  between  commonplace  ma- 
terial and  really  valuable  reading  matter,  which 
literally  instructs,  while  it  amuses  and  entertains. 
We  believe,  too,  that  it  requires  no  boasting,  or 
selfpufling,  to  lead  them  to  discover  the  intrinsic 
merit  of  our  literary  department. 

Tlie  names  that  so  frequently  appear  at  the 
head  of  our  original  articles,  are  a  guarantee  of 
the  character  and  the  contents  of  the  paper.  No 
articles  are  accepted  for  the  paper  unless  they 
are  worth  paying  for,  and  all  are  paid  for  that 
appear.  It  has  been  the  practice  of  some  of  our 
weekly  publications  to  print  any  sketch,  prose  or 
poetic,  they  could  possess  themselves  of  without 
cost,  and  thus  a  mass  of  miserable  twaddle  is 
palmed  otF  upon  the  public  by  a  class  of  un- 
fledged literary  aspirants,  that  is  calculated  to 
ditgust  all  sensible  people. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  no  person  labors 
for  this  paper  without  full  remuneration;  we 
do  not  want  any  but  known  and  experienced 
writers  for  its  columns,  and  such  always  find  us 
ready  and  willing  to  consider  their  articles,  and 
when  accepted,  to  pay  for  them  liberally.  It  is 
well,  when  there  is  so  much  spurious  matter 
afloat,  that  our  readers  should  be  made  fully 
aware  of  these  facts,  so  important  to  their  and 
our  own  interests. 


BINDING  THE  PICTORIAL. 

We  are  still  constantly  binding  volumes  1st 
and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  in  the  most  beautiful 
style;  gilt  edges  and  back,  and  illumined  sides, 
with  a  rich  frontispiece  and  correct  index,  for 
one  dollar,  at  our  office  of  publication  in  Boston. 
Our  agents,  Samuel  French,  151  Nassau  street. 
New  York;  A.  Winch,  116  Chestnut  street,  Phil- 
adelphia; Burgess,  Taylor  &  Co.,  Ill  Balti- 
more street,  Baltimore,  and  A.  C.  Bagley,  10 
West  Third  street,  Cincinnati,  will  receive  the 
numbers  and  bind  them  in  the  same  style  for 
SI  25,  being  an  addition  of  twenty-five  cents  for 
cost  of  transportation.  This  will  enable  many 
of  our  subscribers  who  are  located  at  a  great  dis- 
tance from  our  publishing  office,  to  avail  them- 
selves of  our  cheap  terms  of  binding,  and  to  pre- 
serve their  papers  in  an  available  and  ornamental 
form  for  reference.  Any  back  numbers  of  the 
paper  may  still  be  obtained  as  above,  to  com- 
plete broken  files,  or  to  replace  injured  numbers. 

Advertise. — Give  me,  said  an  ancient  phi- 
losopher, where  to  stand,  and  with  a  lever  I  will 
move  the  earth.  Men  of  business,  employ  this 
lever — advertise,  and  you  may  move  the  world 
where  you  will.  N.  B. — This  is  disinterested 
advice,  inasmuch  as  we  do  not  advertise  in  the 
Pictorial  for  any  one. 


Political. — The  presidency  is  my  oyster, 
and  I  will  open  it,  said  a  stalwort  general,  no 
matter  where  or  when.  Whereupon  down  went 
his  oyster  out  of  sight;  and  the  tall  general, 
after  a  few  brandishes  of  his  sword,  opened  his 
— eyes ! 

Heraldry. — There  are  various  coats  of  arms, 
but  no  particular  coat  of  honor;  for  honor  may 
want  a  coat,  or  be  found  in  all  coats,  and  is  a 
badge  as  illustrious  upon  the  shoulders  of  an 
apple-seller  as  when  it  adorns  a  State  Street 
merchant. 

"  The  King  op  the  Sea  ;  a  Tale  fffhe  Fear- 
less and  Free,"  by  Ned  Buntline. — We  have 
just  issued  a  new  edition  of  this  popular  book, 
long  since  out  of  print. 


Postage. — To  regular  subscribers  the  postage 
of  this  paper  is  only  one  half  cent  each  to  any  part 
of  the  United  States,  according  to  the  new  law. 


Boston  Military. — The  first  regiment  of 
infantry  are  in  a  very  efficient  condition  at  this 
present  moment,  under  Colonel  Holbrook. 


Wanted. — Two  or  three  first  rate  agents  for 
the  Flag  and  Pictorial. 


In  this  city,  by  Kev.  Dr.  Eaton,  Samuel  Kettell,  Esq., 
to  Miss  Lois  Jane  Rohbins. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Kirk,  Mr.  Oliver  S.  Lyford,  of  New  York, 
to  Miss  Lovina  A.  Norris. 

By  Rev  Mr.  Bosworth,  Mr.  William  H.  Wood  to  Miss 
Martha  E.  Morton. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Frotbingham,  Dr.  Joseph  11.  Foster,  of  New 
York,  to  Miss  Mary  Frotbingham. 

At  Chelsea,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Damon,  Mr.  James  L.  Pink- 
ham  to  Miss  Caroline  A.  Bennett,  both  of  Boston. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev  Dr.  Withington,  Mr.  Elijah  P. 
White,  of  Georgetown,  to  Miss  Lydia  D.  Coffin. 

At  North  Middleboro',  by  Rev.  Mr  Bliss,  Mr.  Thomas 
D.  Stjill,  of  Taunton,  to  Miss  Mary  L.  Pratt. 

At  Fall  River,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Mason,  Mr.  Leander  A.  De- 
vol  to  Miss  Mary  Maria  Beers. 

At  South  Berwick,  Me.,  Mr.  Reuben  W.  Drew,  of  Salmon 
Falb,  N.  H.,  to  Miss  Susan  M.  Ham,  of  Dover,  N.  H. 

At  Portland,  Me  ,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Dwight,  Mr.  Edward  E. 
Ficket  to  Miss  Harriet  S.  Maynard. 

At  Hancock,  N.  H.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bigelow,  Mr.  Joel  H. 
Hills,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Edwina  Pranceaca  Bugbee. 

At  Brattleboro',  Vt.,  Robert  Perkins,  M.  D.,  of  Adrian, 
Mich.,  to  Mr.1.  Celia  M.  Herbert,  of  Northfield,  Mass. 

At  Springfield,  Vt ,  Mr.  Royal  B.  Stearns,  of  Woodstock, 
to  Miss  bVances  H.  Porter. 

At  I'rovidence,  R.  [.,  Mr.  Henry  F.  Alien,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Susan  Harmus,  of  Kew  Bedford. 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Mr.  Philip  H.  Stevens  to  Miss  Lue 
J.  Stoddard- 

At  Columbus,  N.  Y.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bowdish,  Mr.  Theodore 
H.  Cone,  of  iSew  Berlin,  to  Miss  Harriette  Kennedy. 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Josephine  Theresa  Ballard,  48 :  Mrs. 
Rebecca  Armstrong  Williams,  72  ;  vvilliam  Kmery  Seaver, 
10;  Mr.  George  0.  Harvey,  26:  Miss  Eli/Jibeth  Kelsey,  of 
Deer  Isle,  Me.,  20;  Mr.  Frederick  0.  Smith,  of  Norfolk, 
Va.,  22  ;  Miss  Matilda  Davis  Goodrich,  17  ;  Mr.  Thomas  T. 
Hayden,  34  ;  Miss  Susan  Oxford,  26. 

At  Rosburv,  Benjamin  Weld,  Esq.,  84. 

At  Charlestown,  Mrs   Sarah  M.  Hoyt,  2G. 

At  Somerville,  Mrs.  Abigail  Jackson,  90. 

At  Chelsea,  Widow  Mary  Pratt,  95. 

At  Dorchester,  Caroline  D.,  wife  of  Mr.  James  Sirret,  25. 

At  Saugus,  Dr.  C.  A.  Cheever,  of  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  68. 

A'.,  Lynn,  Fredericka  P.,  youngest  daughter  of  Mr.  Fred- 
erick C.  Hanson,  1  jcar  and  5  months. 

At  Quincy,  Mrs.  Sarah  HallstRim,  72. 

At  Cohassett,  Mr.  Henry  Pratt,  71. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Mary  Butman,  53. 

At  Marblehead,  Mr.  John  Coll>er,  84. 

At  Holliston,  Mr.  Asa  E^isfc,  73- 

At  East  Walpole,  Mrs.  Martha  Newell  Bird,  81. 

At  West  Newbury,  Mrs.  Lydia  Merrill  Poore,  80. 

At  Weston,  Mr.  Stephen  Abrahams,  71- 

At  Pittsfield,  Mrs.  Susan  Cobb,  72. 

At  Stoughton,  Mr.  William  George,  76. 

At  Sterhng,  Mary,  wife  of  Dr  E.  Lyon,  of  Essex,  Ct.,  27. 

At  Wells,  Me.,  Capt.  Moses  Wells  75. 

At  Keene,  N.  H.,  Eliphalet  Hale,  Esq.,  78. 

At  Stratham,  N.  H.,  Hon.  James  Foss,  50. 

At  Washington,  Dr.  T.  P.  Baldwin,  of  Vershire,  Tt.,  28. 

At  Milwaukie,  Prof.  Amasa  Buck,  67. 

At  Rockton,  111.,  Martha,  wife  of  Rev.  S  G.  Randall,  31. 


^  sipaiEia'iDEi  iPHES^aiiia 


LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASOX'S    PICTORIAL 

A  Jlecord  of  the  beautiful  and  vseful  in  Art. 

Tlie  object  of  this  p.iper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  niel.mgo  of  notable 
events  of  tlie  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cre.im  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  tbe  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  tlie  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  tine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  bo 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, tlie  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  eoa.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-stirface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contuins  fifteen  hundred  and  .'^i.Kty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  allords,  and  tho  rich  ari-iy  cf  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  ai,Ll 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  iu  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

TERMS:    S2  00    PES    VOLUME. 

OR,    S4  00    PER    ANNUM 

INT.\IIIABLY   IN   ADVANCE. 

Each  six  months  completes  a  volume,  commencing  oa 
the  l.Pit  of  Januai-y  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  volumes 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

in?^  One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  our  Umon,  and  one  copy 
of  the  Pictorial  Drawikg-Eooji  Coupamox,  one  lear, 
for  So  00. 

\lZr'  The  Pictorial  Dra wing-Room  Companion  uiay  be 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  t'le 
country,  and  of  newsmen,  at  tat  cejils  per  single  topy 

Published  every  S.vtl'rday,  by 

F.    GLEASON,  Boston,  M.vhs. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTC. 

B.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  York. 
A.  WaNCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  CO.,  Ill  Baltimore  St.,  BaJtimore 
A.  C   EAGLEY,  10  West  Third  Street,  Cincinnati. 
J.  A.  ROYS,  43  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit. 
E.  K.  WOODWARD,  cor.  Fourth  and  Chesnut,  St.  Lcuis. 
(C7="  Subscriftlionx  received  at  fither  oj  Che  afwvp  plttctf. 


254 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL   DRAWINCx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Wrlthrn  for  GloiiHOn'w  Pictorliil.]     . 

AUTUMN  WINDS. 

The  iiutunin  wiudH  iiro  WJiilinK  now  o'or  llclds  of  rlpcnod  corn, 
Whicii  bright  in  yellow  beiiuU!tm»noHs  tho  dlHtjinct-H  adorn  j 
And  ncnv  tho  Hilvitry  Bpirit  volro  of  Huniaier'H  parting  hr«t'/« 
Until  Hung  its  pliilntlvu  untliuni  mid  tho  iuhIuh  of  wltl)i<n;d  trvos; 
And  a  warning  voice  Ih  whlsporing  to  the  erring  child  of  clay, 
"  Y«  are  passing!  yu  aro  pawwing,  like  the  fading  luaven,  away  !" 

Tho  bright,  green  hair  that  dci^ked  the  head  of  many  an  aged  tree, 
Like  Bnow-du.it  falling,  rlothes  the  brt^ast  of  uioadow-liind  and  lea ; 
And  now  yo  little  Piuniner  birdrt,  go  ecek  uuother  cllnio, 
For  the  autumn  windH  are  wailing  with  a  sad  and  doleful  chuuo; 
And  their  melanclioly  niut^ic  Rcerae  imploringly  to  say, 
"  Prepare  ye  for  the  future !  yo  are  paasing  all  away  !" 

Wail  on !  wail  on  I  yo  autumn  winda '.  though  rudely  yo  do  bear 
The  fltalwort  wood-kings  of  their  leaves  by  cool  and  trunchant  air, 
And  force  tho  little  summer  birdu,  at  close  of  nummor  time, 
To  leave  their  warm  and  happy  homes  and  seek  another  clime  ; 
Still  thou  dost  over  teach  to  man  that  all  that  'a  briglit  must  fade, 
That  all  that  *8  beautiful  of  earth  must  in  the  tomb  be  laid! 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

No    VIII. 

BY  REV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

JERUSALEM. 

The  Armenian  church,  on  the  spot  where  St.  James  was  be- 
headed, is  the  richest  clmrch  in  Jerusalem,  because  its  members 
are  tho  principal  bankers  and  great  merchants  of  Syria.  At  ves- 
pers their  Persian  rugs  were  quite  covered  with  a  kneeling  crowd 
— the  women  worshipping  separately  from  the  men,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom even  in  the  American  churches  in  Palestine.  Hundreds  of 
lamps  of  every  pattern,  material  and  size  hang  from  the  ceil- 
ing, along  with  ostrich  eggs,  and  quantities  of  poor  gilding  and 
execrablepaintings  hiding  the  walls.  The  Syrian  church,  though 
far  poorer,  was  also  curious  in  tlie  same  way  for  its  want  of  every 
kind  of  taste,  of  solemnity  as  well  as  beauty.  In  what  was  once 
a  Latin  church,  but  now  the  ante-chamber  of  a  very  holy  mosque, 
the  scene  of  the  Last  Supper  is  placed  by  tradition  ;  and,  as  I  un- 
derstood the  interpreter,  beneath  is  the  tomb  of  David,  which 
neither  Jew  nor  Christian  is  permitted  to  see,  as  the  place  is  hal- 
lowed by  a  peculiar  sanctity. 

The  houses  of  Annas  and  Caiaphas — two  convents  connected 
with  these  names  for  want  of  a  better— were  visited  to  close  the 
Christian  curiosities  of  the  city.  Like  all  establishments  of  the 
kind  in  Syria,  they  tell  their  own  tale  of  peril  and  injury— a  low, 
iron  door  affording  the  only  entrance  through  a  solid  wall  of 
great  height,  and  that  being  kept  fastened  day  and  night.  On 
one  occasion,  Old  Maundrell  tells  us  that  the  nuns  of  a  Syrian 
convent,  dreading  defilement  by  the  Saracens  who  were  storming 
the  town,  followed  the  example  of  their  abbess,  and  so  mangled 
their  faces,  as  to  prompt  no  other  desire  in  the  lustful  conquerors 
than  of  completing  the  work  of  blood  which  had  begun,  "  thus 
restoring  them,"  says  he,  "  to  an  inviolable  beauty  in  the  other 
world." 

Among  the  places  of  Jewish  memory  none  interested  me  more 
than  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  a  dry  reservoir  three  hundred  and  sixty 
feet  by  one  hundred  and  thirty,  with  two  lofty  arched  vaults,  that 
reminded  one  of  the  "porches"  in  which  the  sick  waited  for  the 
moving  of  the  waters,  but  were  really  built  to  support  streets, 
which  now  cross  the  basin  and  cut  off  nearly  half  its  ancient  lim- 
its. It  is  some  seventy  feet  below  the  street,  with  an  altogether 
neglected  look,  and  a  few  wild  trees  scattered  in  its  deep  enclos- 
ure. There  has  been  no  water  within  it  for  centuries,  though  its 
sides  arc  coated  with  cement  so  as  to  make  it  a  perfect  reservoir, 
nor  any  means  of  access  ;  but  it  is  close  against  the  outer  walls  of 
the  temple,  so  that  the  boiling  up  which  the  impotent  man  had 
been  looking  for  so  long,  may  have  been  occasioned  by  the  dis- 
charge from  the  temple  of  the  water  and  blood  poured  out  at  the 
annual  sacrifice.  Dr.  Robinson  imagines  this  only  the  ditch 
around  the  tower  of  Antonia — but  the  cistern-like  coating  upon 
the  sides  of  it,  seems  to  me  to  settle  the  question  in  favor  of  tradi- 
tion. 

The  ancient  court  of  the  Gentiles  you  arc  not  permitted  to  en- 
ter, hardly  to  look  within.  It  is  the  most  sacred  spot  ia  tlie  Mos- 
lem faith  after  Mecca,  as  from  its  centi'C  stone,  where  Jacob  was 
thought  to  have  slept,  Maliommed  leaped  up  into  heaven.  From 
the  Mount  of  Olives  you  have  a  perfect  view  of  the  whole  interior, 
and  can  witness  every  day,  and  at  every  hour  of  the  day,  men  en- 
gaged in  prayer,  or  the  preparatory  ablutions,  under  the  shade  of 
orange,  olive  and  cypress-trees,  and  beneath  the  walls  of  the  fa- 
mous mosques,  Omar  and  El-Achsa.  The  best  autliorities  con- 
sider that  the  present  area  is  about  the  size  of  Solomon's,  that  the 
central  mosque  erected  by  the  Caliph  Omar  occupies  tlie  site  of 
the  Jewish  Holy  of  Holies,  and  that  the  arches  visii)le  at  one  cor- 
ner of  tne  court,  date  back  to  tlie  time  of  Herod,  if  not  to  that  of 
So'omon. 

The  less  elegant  mosque,  Kl-Achsa,  is  supposed  to  be  the 
Christian  church  erected  in  the  sixth  century  by  the  Emperor 
Justinian.  As  the  form  of  a  temple  of  that  period  is  still  pre- 
served witliin,  as  that  building  occupied  such  a  prominent  posi- 
tion as  could  have  been  found  at  no  other  part  of  Jerusalem,  as 
the  Saracen  conquerors  are  more  likely  to  have  taken  pride  in 
erecting  the  crescent  over  the  cross  than  in  entirely  destroying  the 
trophy  of  their  conqucKt,  iii'm  is  prol>abIy  a  relic  of  the  worship  of 
the  virgin. 

But  the  grand  structure  la  the  fairest  thing  in  Jerusalem,  and 
one  of  the  most  fairy-like  bnihllngs  in  the  world.     The  fiict  of  Its 


being  eigiit-sided  and  of  a  bluish-white  marble,  led  mc  to  expect 
nothing  of  grace  or  magnificence.  But  while  you  will  search  the 
world  in  vain  for  so  glorious  a 'plaifDrm  "  for  a  nation's  cathe- 
dral, the  material  cx(|uisitcly  becomes  the  lofiy  place  which  it  oc- 
cupies, as  if  it  were  an  enthroned  cloud  ;  and  its  dome  looks  just 
ready  to  iloat  away  into  the  azin-e  depths,  wliich  seem  its  native 
home.  No  structure  tluit  ever  stood  over  this  unquarried  rock 
could  hnvc  had  such  a  heavenly  look,  tliough  the  original  temple 
had,  of  course,  a  diviner  conscerution  and  a  special  acceptance 
with  the  Most  Higli. 

The  liheralizing  spirit  of  the  nineteenth  century  will  achieve  no 
more  gracious  task  than  wlien  it  shall  throw  open  this  jcalously- 
ginirdcd  sanctuary  to  Christian  feet.  Great  discoveries  may  yet 
remain  to  be  made  within  its  unvisited  vaults.  It  is  liardly  possi- 
ble that  the  Jews  would  have  themselves  destroyed  the  sacred 
relies,  vessels  and  records  within  tlie  temple  at  the  time  of  its 
capture  by  tlic  Romans.  Neither  was  Titus  such  a  barbarian  as 
to  have  wilfully  made  an  end  of  these  tablets  and  sacred  memo- 
rials, Far  more  probably,  they  were  buried  in  some  of  those  deep 
vaults  on  which  tlic  temple  was  erected,  and  their  hiding-place 
was  buried,  too,  from  human  knowledge  by  the  teiTible  carnage 
which  washed  out  the  sin  of  the  nation  in  a  sea  of  blood.  Very 
possibly  our  own  countrymen,  having  rendered  a  liitherto  unat- 
tempted  service,  to  the  world,  by  tlie  thorough  examination  of  tlic 
Jordan,  and  by  perfecting  our  knowledge  of  the  Dead  Sea,  may 
make  still  more  interesting  discoveries  on  this  luillowcd  area,  and 
bring  to  light  the  unquestionable  seals  of  a  most  ancient  revela- 
tion. 

At  the  foot  of  the  side  wall  of  the  temple  enclosure,  I  saw  the 
saddest  sight  in  all  the  world — the  Jews  assembled  on  their  weekly 
day  of  wailing,  I'cading  the  penitential  prophets,  repeating  the  pe- 
titions of  the  psalms,  mourning  over  their  "beautiful  house,"  and 
praying  passionately  for  its  restoration — weeping  profusely,  and 
beating  their  heads  against  the  stones.  The  females  seemed 
deeply  affected,  the  younger  children,  of  course,  were  little  better 
than  lookers-on,  but  some  noble  old  men  made  the  spectacle  im- 
posing in  the  extreme  by  a  silence  like  despair.  I  did  not  need 
to  ask  if  they  believed  what  they  were  reading  of  the  coming  of 
the  Redeemer,  because  a  room  cannot  be  let  or  hired  among  them 
without  reference  to  this  event,  which  is  understood  to  annihilate 
all  contracts ;  and  I  could  not  fail  to  pity  and  lionor  this  unwav- 
ering fidelity  to  the  faith  of  their  fathers.  Watched  as  they  are, 
everywhere  oppressed,  every  way  wronged,  tlie  old  stories  of  their 
murdering  Christian  children  for  their  sacrifice  being  still  kept 
alive  at  Damascus,  Constantinople  and  other  places,  it  is  found 
almost  impossible  to  change  the  faith  of  a  Jew. 

TIic  Jewish  quarter  of  the  city  no  one  can  mistake.  "When  my 
wanderings  through  a  number  of  well-paved  streets  brought  me 
into  some  muddy  lanes,  full  of  all  sorts  of  holes  and  choked  up 
with  rubbish  and  filth,  I  knew  into  what  neighborhood  I  had  fallen, 
even  before  a  funeral  procession  came  along,  the  body  home  on 
men's  shoulders  in  an  open  coffin  and  the  dress  of  life,  the  wildest 
train  of  followers  straggling  and  wading  behind.  Imagine  all 
the  rejected  garments,  worn-out  boots,  brimless  bats  and  heathen- 
ish caps  of  Christian  garretdora  to  marcli  in  Indian  file  through  a 
floating  mass  of  decay  and  ruin,  and  some  shadow  can  he  caught 
of  this  gloomy  ceremony.  Their  wild  eyes,  untrimmed  beards, 
haggard  looks,  set  off  the  tattered 'dress  to  perfection,  and  made 
me  shudder  as  I  encountered  them  alone  at  nightfall.  Coming  to 
this  Holy  City  in  advanced  years,  that  tliey  may  die  upon  the 
spot  where  the  trumpet  of  redemption  is  to  first  sound  abroad, 
their  funds  are  frequently  exhausted  when  they  arrive;  and,  if 
not,  the  Turk  marks  them  out  for  systematic  spoliation,  while 
few  means  of  support  arc  oy>cn  to  tliem,  and  the  indulgence  of 
pious  feeling  in  reverie,  prayer  and  the  study  of  the  Talmud  is 
more  natural  under  the  circumstances  than  any  labor.  I  am  glad 
that  their  prospered  brethren  in  this  country  remember  their  ne- 
cessities, and  amongst  the  help  sent  from  abroad  to  a  really  help- 
less and  still  oppressed  race,  that  of  America  occupies  an  honor- 
able place.  If  Christianity  is  to  work  in  amongst  them,  I  believe 
it  must  be  first  of  all  by  treating  them  generously,  by  remember- 
ing that  they  furnished  the  Founder  and  first  missionaries  of  our 
faith,  who  could  be  found  nowhere  else,  and  that  this  noble  ser- 
vice has  been  rewarded  hitherto  only  by  disgracing  them  as  felons, 
hunting  them  down  as  highwaymen,  and  keeping  them  through- 
out Christendom  a  degraded,  and  therefore  a  hating  race. 

At  the  Zion  gate  sit,  as  of  old,  the  veritable  lepers,  tempting  us 
to  cry  "  unclean,  unclean,"  and  loosing  our  purse-strings  in  sym- 
pathy for  that  disease  which  so  often  received  the  pity  of  Him, 
who  is  remembered  still  in  some  parts  of  Palestine  as  the  Great 
Physician.  There  appear  to  be  two  forms  of  the  malady,  in  one 
of  which  it  is  not  contagious,  but  in  both  it  might  bo  modified 
and  gradually  subdued  by  those  early  habits  of  cleanliness,  which 
the  Jew  lias  neglected  ever  since  his  tribes  went  forth  like  the 
dove  seeking  in  vain  for  a  resting-place  to  her  feet.  At  present, 
no  pains  appear  to  be  taken  either  for  cure  or  prevention.  In- 
fected persons  withdraw  from  society  as  ihcy  did  in  ancient  time, 
live  in  community  with  one  another,  marry  and  raise  up  fami- 
lies to  perpetuate  wliat  they  believe  to  be  a  divine  judgment,  and 
go  down  to  an  unwept  grave,  after,  say  fifteen  years  of  constantly 
increasing  wretchedness — afiiicling  evidence  certainly  of  tlie  truth 
of  their  history,  since  the  spirit  which  animated  them  thousands 
of  years  ago  has  not  materially  changed,  nor  appears  likely  to 
change  If  the  old  Roman  was  right,  and  the  noblest  life-picture 
is  "the  good  man  struggling  against  adversity,"  how  much  more 
noble  is  tlie  sight  of  a  whole  people  constantly  under  the  liarrow 
of  persecution,  yet  never  crushed — without  a  country,  a  temple, 
an  altar,  or  a  home,  and  yet  full  of  faith,  as  when  their  Jerusalem 
was  the  "joy  of  all  the  earth,"  their  Solomon  the  praise  of  the 
world. 


[■\Vritti-n  for  Gleaflon'fl  Pictorial,] 

AUTOGIIAPIIS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTINGTHSHED  INDIVrDUALS. 

N...  vn. 

BY  WM.  KUWAKD    KNOWLEB. 


Mn.  LuNT,  of  Massachusetts,  is  a  more  tlian  ordinary  poet 
He  is  known  as  a  writer  of  more  than  common  force  and  gran- 
deur. His  handwriting  is  bold  and  massive,  and  without  hair 
strokes.     It  is  also  very  illegible. 

CiiAnLES  West  Thomson  has  written  many  poems  that  are 
characterized  by  a  tenderness  of  expression  seldom  equalled. 
His  manuscripts  are  cleiir,  rolling  and  extremely  legible.  Still  it 
is  entirely  without  the  force  and  decision  necessary  to  become  a 
(jrenl  poet.  No  one  can  read  the  most  of  his  poems  without  ad- 
miring them. 

The  handwriting  of  Mrs.  Esling  seems  to  he  performed  after 
some  schoolday  model,  and  continued  the  same  ever  since. 
When  such  is  the  case,  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  discover  any  in- 
dications of  cliaracter  from  that  alone.  She  has  written  many 
beautiful  poems,  whicli  have  had  a  due  amount  of  popularity. 
Her  manuscripts  are  very  legible. 

The  chirography  of  Mrs.  Ellet  is  very  different  from  that  of 
Mrs.  Esling.  It  is  much  neater,  and  more  forcible.  Her  contri- 
butions are  chiefly  translations  from  the  Italian.  Like  all  transla- 
tors, she  is  destitute  of  originality,  or  superior  genius  of  any  kind. 


The  ladies  of  America  are  indebted  to  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens 
for  many  Iiours  of  pleasurable  reading.  She  lias  long  been  con- 
nected with  the  periodical  press  of  the  day,  and  has  written  a 
great  deal  of  both  prose  and  verse.  Her  chirography  is  strikingly 
beautiful,  and  suggests  force  and  pure  originality. 


^__.^.^/C^te^ 


The  fiiends  of  John  G.  Wiiittiek  liave  fur  overrated  Iiis  tal- 
ents in  many  respeets.  Tlicy  imagine  that  his  anti-slavery  poems 
deserve  a  place  beside  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis,"  Hallcck's  master 
poems,  and  the  matchless  gems  of  Longfellow.  In  this  respect, 
they  err— and  err  to  an  unpardonable  extent.  Still  he  possesses 
talent,  and  pure,  high-born  originality.  His  versification  is  un- 
equalled— smooth,  graceful  and  harmonious.  But  his  imagina- 
tive powers  are  below  the  ordinary  grade,  and  his  handwriting 
precise  and  quaker-like. 

The  learned  blacksmith  seems  possessed  of  a  mind  as  well 
tempered  as  his  own  anvil,  and  we  are  indebted  to  him  for  some 
sparks  from  its  creative  power  that  have  burst  into  never-dying 
flame.  The  signature  we  will  leave  for  the  analyzing  of  the  reader. 
The  manuscript  is  rather  uncouth  and  irregular. 


^»^ 


»--Zl^     «ir 


^^ 


-  c<;<^^''x-<?' 


This  well  known  and  popular  French  editor  is  now  very  prom- 
inently before  the  European  public.  The  hand  is  as  delicate  as  a 
female's,  and  indicates  little  of  character  to  our  eye.  He  is  a 
swift  writer,  and  generally  forms  his  letters  in  an  indistinct  and 
running  manner.  His  touch,  though  light  upon  the  pen,  often 
conveys  matter  of  heavy  and  vital  importance. 

Bayard  Taylor  is  imdoubtedly  one  of  our  best  poets,  and  he 
is  fast  adding  to  his  other  celebrities  by  becoming  one  of  the  most 
noted  of  modern  travellers.  We  bear  of  him  in  California  writing 
a  book  upon  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento,  and  the  next  wo  hear  of 
him  eating  salt  with  the  Arabs  of  the  East,  and  out-bragging  the 
])etty  princes  of  the  desert.  His  manuscript  is  very  correct,  and 
in  body  is  regular  and  hanilsome.  Mr.  Taylor  was  brought  up  a 
practical  printer. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


255 


3rLLE  RACIIKL. 

A  letter  writer  says  :  "M'llc  Rachel  has  just 
returned  to  Paris  from,  her  foreign  tour.  We 
liave  not  yet  seen  published  the  amount  of  the 
profits  of  her  recent  excursion.  It  is,  doubtless, 
ft  round  sum,  that  will  go  far  to  satisfy  the  pro- 
verbial appetite  of  her  race,  which  she  is  known 
to  possess  in  a  remarkable  degree.  She  employs 
all  the  vacations  allowed  her  at  the  French  The- 
atre in  traversing  the  provinces  of  France  and 
the  capitals  of  Europe,  at  the  head  of  a  special 
company  of  actors  and  actresses,  of  which  her 
brother  is  manager.  She  is,  unquestionably, 
the  first  tragedian  of  her  day,  but  she  practises 
her  noble  art  less  nobly  ;  slie  uses  her  admirable 
talent  with  less  apparent  consciousness  of  its 
lofty  nature,  and  more  exclusively  with  an  eye 
to  its  value  as  a  source  of  revenue,  than  any 
eminent  artist  of  her  day." 


MODES  OF  EXECUTION. 

A  correspondent  of  the  National  Intelligencer 
■was  "struck  lately  in  reading  the  accounts  of 
nearly  simultaneous  public  executions,  by  the 
variety  of  modes  which  exist  in  Europe  of  exe- 
cuting capital  punishment.  In  Spain  a  criminal 
has  just  been  strangled  (garroted).  In  Prussia 
another  has  been  beheaded  with  axe  and  block. 
In  England  one  has  been  hanged.  In  France 
one  has  been  guillotined ;  and  another,  con- 
demned by  court  martial,  has  been  shot.  In 
many  parts  of  Germany,  beheading  with  a  sword 
is  still  the  mode  of  executing  criminals." 


Rather  queer. — A  remarkable  instance  of 
the  mutability  of  fortune  occurred  lately  in  the 
appearance  of  Garibaldi,  the  Italian  patriot,  at 
Lima,  as  the  commander  of  a  Peruvian  guano 
ship.  He  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm 
by  the  people,  and  has  since  been  otfered  the 
command  of  an  expedition  against  Flores. 


Another  Cuban  Expedition. — The  leader 
of  the  Cuban  movement,  Gonzales,  writes  to  the 
New  York  Herald,  that  an  expedition  like  that 
■which  resulted  so  fatally  to  Lopez,  is  now  in 
contemplation  by  the  Cuban  sympathizers. 


Mrs.  Mowatt  lias  lately  closed  a  brilliant 
engagement  at  the  Providence  Museum,  in  her 
own  brilliant  play  of  "  Fashion,"  which  attracted 
the  fashion  of  the  Roger  Williams  city.  She 
has  achieved  new  triumphs. 


A  Comparison. — Europe  and  America  may 
be  compared  to  the  minute-hand  and  hour-hand 
of  a  clock.  The  former  makes  the  most  revolu- 
tions :  whereas  the  latter  makes  a  steady  progress, 
and  determines  the  real  march  of  advancement. 


Very  good. — Considering,  says  Punch,  the 
immense  variety  of  smelts  that  emanate  from  the 
Thames,  what  a  capital  speculation  the  river 
would  be,  if  it  could  be  made  to  pay  one  per 
(s)  cent. 

A  "Warning. — A  leading  medical  practitioner 
at  Brighton,  England,  has  lately  given  a  list  of 
sixteen  cases  of  paralysis,  produced  by  smoking, 
which  came  under  his  own  knowledge  within 
the  last  six  months. 


Handsome  Donation. — The  mayor  has  re- 
ceived a  check  for  SIOOO  from  the  Hon.  Wm.  C. 
Appleton,  M.  C,  for  the  purchase  of  books  for  a 
public  library. 


Vessels  at  the  Navy  Yard. — There  have 
been  fitted  out  at  the  Cbarlestown  Navy  Yard, 
during  the  last  seven  yeai-s,  thirty-six  vessels. 


Naval. — Commodore  Ringgold  is  to  have 
charge  of  the  expedition  to  .survey  the  China 
seas.  The  United  States  ship  Vineennes  will  be 
the  flag  ship  of  the  squadron. 


Large. — The  editor  of  the  Nantucket  Mirror 
has  a  pumpkin  measuring  four  feet  eleven  inches 
in  eircumferehce. 


Naturalized. — Ole  Bull  has  declared  his 
intention  of  becoming  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  and  has  taken  the  necessary  oath. 


Curious. — The  bones  of  a  mastodon  have 
been  dug  up  in  the  town  of  New  Britain,  Ct. 


Bruih. — A  bear  weighing  400  pounds  was 
killed  in  Middleboro',  Vt.,  on  Saturday  week. 


Gas. — Woonsocket,  R.  I.,  is  to  be  lit  with  gas. 


tUaiisilJe   (Uatljerings. 

Ex-Governor  Chambers,  late  of  Iowa,  is  dead. 

Providence  is  at  jn-esent  the  place  for  burglars. 

Every  man  complains  of  his  memory,  but  no 
man  complains  of  his  judgment. 

The  Providence  people  arc  determined  to 
have  a  new  cit^'-  hall.     That's  right. 

At  the  house  of  Coirection  in  Cambridge, 
there  are,  at  present,  12S  convicts. 

The  value  of  tobacco  raised  this  year  in  Ohio, 
is  computed  at  $1,300,000. 

The  world's  contempt  for  some  sort  of  people 
serves  only  to  reconcile  them  the  better  to  them- 
selves. 

Spatch  remarks  that  as  "  Procrastination  is 
the  thief  of  time,"  he  must  be  the  scoundrel  ■who 
stole  his  watch. 

At  Hartford,  Ct.,  recently,  Owen  Gaven  was 
killed,  and  John  Gaven  nearly  killed,  by  de- 
scending into  a  foul  well. 

Tens  and  twenties  of  the  Hamilton  Bank, 
Scituate,  R.  I.,  wortliless,  altered  to  Hamilton 
Bank,  Boston,  Iiave  just  been  put  in  circulation. 

The  only  child  of  Joseph  Roby,  of  South  Dcd- 
ham,  a  girl  three  yeai-s  of  age,  was  drowned  re- 
cently by  falling  into  a  tub  of  water. 

In  Wardsboro'  Vt.,  on  the  night  of  the  8th 
ult.,  the  house  of  Peter  Moore  took  fire,  and  six 
of  his  children  perished  in  the  flames. 

A  man  named  Robert  Simkins  was  killed  in 
Albany  lately  by  the  bursting  of  a  grindstone, 
which  was  used  for  polishing. 

A  man  in  describing  the  inhabitants  of  Ore- 
gon, said  ;  "  They  live  high,  dress  well  and  ride 
their  horses  on  the  canter." 

There  are  at  Gloucester  twenty  fishing  firms 
fitting  out  about  three  hundred  fishing  schooners, 
manned  by  some  three  thousand  men. 

There  are  ninety-five  persons,  corporations, 
etc.,  in  the  city  of  Providence,  who  are  taxed  for 
over  $50,000  each. 

An  Irishman  named  Lcarywas  killed  in  Low- 
ell, Sunday,  by  the  giving  way  of  a  derrick  in 
the  canal. 

Madame  Sontag  has  recovered  a  verdict  for 
$20,000  against  Lumley ;  but  whether  she  will 
recover  the  money  is  doubtful. 

It  is  said  that  Jlrs.  Sinclair  and  Mr.  Vanden- 
hofi^  will  shortly  appear  at  Niblo's,  in  Miss  Van- 
denhofTs  play,  called  "  Woman's  Heart." 

Mrs.  Eliza  Blank  died  in  New  York,  lately, 
from  blows  administered  by  her  son.  A  warrant 
has  been  issued  for  his  arrest. 

The  President  has  approved  the  proceedings 
of  the  recent  court  martial  at  Brooklyn,  by  which 
Lieuts.  John  H.  Devlin  and  J.  Hartley  Strick- 
land were  cashiered. 

Clarence  A.,  three  years  of  age,  son  of  Mr. 
James  Deluce,  of  South  Boston,  was  run  over  by 
a  heavily  loaded  team,  lately,  near  his  father's 
house,  and  killed. 

Look  out  for  counterfeit  $2  bills,  on  the  Bank 
of  Burlington,  Vt.;  they  are  a  fac  simile  of  the 
genuine.  The  engraving  is  coarse,  but  the  gen- 
eral appearance  of  the  bill  is  good. 

The  Lowell  machine  shop,  and  the  machine 
shops  at  Lawrence,  IManchester,  Bidileford  and 
Holyoke,  have  reduced  the  hours  of  labor  to 
eleven  per  day  for  the  workmen  in  their  employ. 

Ac'^'ording  to  the  Cincinnati  Gazette,  there  are, 
at  this  time,  in  twenty-one  of  the  older  States,  a 
city  population  of  3,223,041  to  a  rural  population 
of  14,461,882. 

During  the  last  quarter,  the  post-office  depart- 
ment at  Washington  have  opened  one  million 
and  a  quarter  of  dead  letters,  from  which  the  de- 
partment obtained  over  $11,000. 

The  Shawnee  Indians  who  have  been  at  Wash- 
ington since  last  winter,  have  concluded  their 
business  with  the  Indian  bureau,  and  have  re- 
ceived $38,000,  to  be  distributed  among  their 
people  at  home. 

The  Bangor  Mercury  says  the  custom  of  gen- 
tlemen taking  the  headof  tlie  pew  came  in  vogue 
in  the  early  settlement  of  this  country,  when  it 
was  necessary  to  carry  muskets  to  the  place  of 
worship  as  a  defence  against  Indian  depredations. 

A  negro  woman  belonging  to  Geo.  JI.  Garri- 
son, of  Polk  county,  killed  four  of  her  children 
by  cutting  their  throats  while  they  were  aslee]), 
on  Thursday  jiight,  the  2d  ult.,  and  then  put  an 
end  to  her  o^vn  existence  by  cutting  her  throat. 

James  H.,  son  of  Jacob  B.  Wilson,  at  Pigeon 
Cove,  aged  15  years,  was  shot  in  the  neck  by  the 
accidental  discbarge  of  a  gun  in  the  hands  of  a 
lad  named  John  Troy,  so  that  he  lived  but  a 
few  minutes. 

On  the  3d  ult.,  the  dwelling  house  of  Mr. 
Esek  Hawkins,  in  Dickinson,  Franklin  county, 
Avas  burned  down.  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  her 
youngest  child,  a  lad  seven  years  of  age,  perished 
in  the  flames. 

The  Concord  Reporter  says  a  squash  -vine 
commenced  growing  in  the  garden  of  Colonel 
Samuel  M.  Currier,  of  Hopkinton,  about  the 
middle  of  June,  and  by  the  IGih  of  September 
had  attained  a  length  of  252  feet.  It  bore  fifteen 
respectable  sized  marrowfat  squashes. 

There  are  two  sawmills  at  Chitantami,on  the 
Saguenay  River,  Canada,  which  run  182  upright 
saws  and  ten  circular  saws.  From  the  St.  Lixw- 
rence  to  those  saw-mills  the  distance  is  ninety 
miles  up  the  Saguenay.  Square-rigged  vessels 
of  large  tonnage  go  up  to  the  mills  to  take  in 
their  loads  of  lumber,  and  sail  direct  for  Europe. 


J^orcicin  illisallanti. 


A  new  palace  for  the  queen  is  to  be  built,  at  a 
cost  of -£100,000,  at  Balmoral,  Scotland. 

Lord  Byron's  daughter,  Ada,  now  known  as 
Lady  Lovelace,  was  reported  to  be  dangerously 
ill.     She  is  about  thirty-six  years  of  age. 

The  disease  in  the  grape  vine  is  still  progress- 
ing in  many  parts  of  Enrope,  and  on  the  shores 
of  the  Rhine,  as  well  as  in  Piedmont. 

Mr.  Owens,  the  comedian,  who  has  been  mak- 
ing the  tour  of  Great  Britain,  France  and  Swit- 
zerland, at  last  accounts,  was  on  the  eve  of 
ascending  Mont  Blanc. 

Thackeray  is  to  receive  $1500  for  a  course  of 
lectures  on  the  writers  of  the  age  of  Queen  Anne, 
before  the  New  York  Mercantile  Library  Asso- 
ciation. 

A  letter  from  the  Hague  state^  that  two  cases 
of  hydrophobia  have  been  cured  there  by  the 
employment  of  sulphate  of  quinine,  combined 
with  opium. 

On  the  1st  of  August  there  were  329  manu- 
factories of  beet-root  sugar  in  operation  in 
France.  The  quantity  manufactured  this  season 
was  74,183,999  kilogrammes. 

Sportsmen  in  France  are  limited  in  their  ex- 
peditions, being  unable  to  obtain  more  than  half 
a  day's  supply  of  powder  owing  to  the  law, 
which  docs  not  permit  any  large  quantity  to  be 
sold  at  one  time. 

A  splendid  monument  of  Peter  the  Great  has 
been  erected  by  the  nobility  of  the  government 
of  Waldimir,  at  the  village  of  Wieskowa.  The 
remains  of  Peter  the  Great's  fleet  are  still  at  this 
place. 

Queen  Victoria  has  granted  to  the  Duchess  of 
Buckingham  a  suite  of  apartments  in  Hampton 
Court  Palace.  The  Duke  of  Buckingham,  it 
will  be  remembered,  became  bankrupt  and  im- 
poverished a  few  years  ago. 

At  Tottenham,  Eng.,  a  person  undertook  for  a 
bet,  to  lay  a  gun  on  the  ground,  throw  a  potato 
up,  turn  head  over  heels,  pick  up  the  gun  and 
hit  the  potato  once  in  five  shots  before  it  fell  to 
the  ground.     He  won  his  bet  the  first  shot. 

Napoleon's  marriage  with  the  Princess  Vasa 
has  been  postponed  by  the  advice  of  tlie  lady's 
physician  ;  but  it  will  certainly  take  place.  The 
only  alteration  in  the  programme  being  that  the 
proclamation  of  the  empire  v,i\\  precede  instead 
of  following  the  nuptials. 

A  Mr.  Nield,  recently  deceased  in  England, 
has  bequeathed  to  Queen  Victoria  nearly  the 
whole  of  his  property.  It  consists  chiefly  of 
land  scattered  in  various  counties,  and  is  valued 
at  half  a  million  sterling.  We  could  have  sug- 
gested to  the  gentleman  a  more  needy  heir. 


jJoker'g   Bubget. 


Sanis  of  ©olb. 


....  Who  cannot  keep  his  own  secret,  ought 
not  to  complain  if  another  tells  it. 

....  Common  sense  and  substantial  home- 
spun garments  are  not  much  used  in  these  days. 

....  Beware  of  dwelling  on  the  number  of 
your  good  qualities.  It  was  King  David's  count- 
ing his  subjects  that  deprived  him  of  them. 

....  That  alone  can  be  called  true  refinement 
which  elevates  the  soul  of  man,  purifying  the  man- 
ners by  improving  the  intellect. — Uusea  Ballon. 

....  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity,  which, 
like  the  toad,  though  ugly  and  venomous,  wears 
yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head. — ShaJcspeare. 

....  We,  ignorant  of  ourselves,  beg  often  our 
own  harms,  which  the  powers  deny  us  for  our 
good ;  so  we  find  profit,  by  losing  of  our  prayers. 

....  In  women,  the  heart  is  the  citadel,  and 
all  the  rest  mere  suburbs ;  in  men,  an  inconsid- 
erable outwork,  which  can  be  lost  without  injur- 
ing the  strength  of  the  place. 

....  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 
omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  iheir  life  is  bound  in 
shallows  and  in  miseries. — Shakspeare. 

....  The  forms  and  ceremonies  of  politeness 
may  be  dispensed  with,  in  a  measure,  in  the  re- 
laxations and  intimacies  of  one's  o^\'n  fireside, 
hut  kind  attentions  never. 

....  There  was  never  yet  philosopher  that 
could  endure  the  toothache  patiently,  however 
they  have  writ  the  style  of  god^^,  and  make  a 
pish  at  chance  and  sufferance. — Shakspeare. 

Nature    hath   so   distributed    her    gifts 

among  her  children,  as  to  promote  a  mutual 
helpfulness ;  and  what,  perhaps,  is  still  more 
precious,  a  mutual  humility  among  men. —  CIuil- 
jiiei's. 

....  This  life  will  not  admit  of  equality ;  but 
surely  that  man  who  thinks  he  derives  conse- 
quence nnd  respect  from  keeping  others  at  a  dis- 
tance, is  as  base-minded  as  the  coward  who 
shuns  the  enemy  from  the  fear  of  an  attack. — 
Goethe. 

Admiration  is  a  very  short-lived  passion, 

that  immediately  decays  upon  growing  familiar 
with  its  object,  unless  it"  be  still  fed  with  fresh 
discoveries,  and  kept  alive  by  a  new  perpetual 
succession  of  miracles  rising  up  to  its  view. — 
Addison. 

....  Courtship  is  a  fine  bowling-green  turf, 
all  galloping  round  and  sweet-hearting,  a  sun- 
shine holiday  in  summer  time  ;  Imt  when  once 
through  matrimony's  tumpike,  the  weather  be- 
comes wintry,  and  some  husbands  are  seized 
with  a  cold,  cguish  fit,  to  which  the  faculty 
give  the  name  of  indiffercnec. — G.  A.  Stevens. 


A  good  name  will  wear  out ;  a  bad  name  may 
be  changed  by  the  legislature;  a  nickname  sticks 
to  you  like  the  shirt  of  Nessus. 

Dickens,  in  speaking  of  a  friend,  says  that  his 
face  has  been  so  pitted  and  seamed  by  the  small 
pox,  that  it  looks  hke  a  cane-bottomed  chair. 

The  climax  of  superfluous  politeness  has  been 
declared  to  be  that  of  holding  an  umbrella  over 
a  duck  in  the  rain  ! 

Why  is  a  clock  the  most  persevering  thing  in 
creation?  Because  it  is  never  more  inclined  to 
go  on  with  its  business  than  when  it  is  completely 
"  wound  up." 

A  broker  in  State  Street,  deeply  absorbed  in 
speculation,  being  asked  the  other  morning, 
"  How  do  you  do?"  replied  abruptly,  "About 
two  per  cent,  a  month." — Yankee  Blade. 

Somebody  has  discovered  the  art  of  extract- 
ing gas  from  vegetables.  We  expect  soon  to 
see  carrots  substituted  for  lamp  posts — the  latter 
producing  the  gas  and  posts,  both  in  one. 

A  Western  paper,  in  describing  the  effect  of  a 
severe  thunder  shower,  says  :  *'  A  cow  was  struck 
by  lightning  and  instantly  killed,  belonging  to  the 
village  physician,  who  had  a  beautiful  calf  only 
four  days  old." 

Certain  coquettes,  gaily  dressed,  thickly  pow- 
dered, and  well  rouged,  being  at  a  ball  in  Paris, 
asked  a  foreigner  present  how  he  was  pleased 
with  the  French  beauties.  "  Ladies,"  he  replied 
with  great  naivete,  "  1  am  no  judge  of  painting." 

An  elderly  female,  for  whom  we  have  the 
highest  respect,  says  that  she  examined  one  of 
the  Hungarian  refugees  minutely ;  and  she  has 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  more  of  the 
foreign  air  (fur  and  hair)  about  him  than  any 
other  she  ever  saw. 

A  Western  editor  annoimces  the  death  of  a 
lady  of  his  acquaintance,  and  thus  toucliingly 
adds :  "  In  her  decease,  the  sick  lost  an  inval- 
uable friend.  Long  will  she  seem  to  stand  at 
their  bedside,  as  she  was  wont,  with  the  balm  of 
consolation  in  one  hand,  and  a  cup  of  rhubarb  in 
the  otiier." 


VOLTIMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Drawing 
KooM  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  i\-ith  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illuiuined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  Foir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINIKQ     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  currtint  Eventi  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  Tery 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Bes^ides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUll  UNION. 

AN'  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  IlEl'INED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  irit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and.  original  prize  tales,  ^mtten  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  FOB,  THE  MJLLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  "VaSITOlt  TO  TILE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  weekly  paper  in  tke  United  States,  audits  literary 
conteuL^  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  forei!2:n  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
so  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
omnunt  of  inti?lli£ence.  No  advertisements  are  admitteii 
to  the  paper,  thiis  otfenng  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regulariy  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

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8        »  »        nm 

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Cue  copy  of  the  Fug  op  oub  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
Pictorial  Drawing-Room  Companion,  one  year,  for  So  00. 

ECT^  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  termd. 

fTT"  All  orders  should  be  addrf!.sed.  POST  PAID,  to  t/ie 
PCBLI3ilER   OP  THE  FlaiI   OP   OUB   UsiON. 

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FOUR  CENTS  per  single  copy, 

F.     GLEASON, 
PUBUSaEB  AKD  PbOPRIETUR,  Bo3TOS,  Ma33- 


256 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    1)11AAVIN(;    ROOM    COMPANION. 


nORTICULTURAJj  EXIIIUITION. 

Tlic  Into  floral  and  apriciilturnl  exhibition  in 
our  I'lihlic  Giirtk-n,  wliicli  took  placu  nmk'r  Mr. 
Wriglit's  maniniotli  tout,  was  a  most  praiiti  affair, 
and  our  artist,  Mr.  Kosenljury,  fjivus  us  below  a 
fine  interior  view  of  the  tent,  sketched  during  the 
exhibition.  We  never  looked  in  upon  a  more 
enlivenintj;  and  beautiful  .stene  than  was  here 
presented,  while  tlic  car  was  rc;j;alcd  by  sweet 
sounds  from  tlio  well  accorded  instruments  of  a 
full  baud.  The  tlironp  was  immense,  and  people 
were  tiioroiif^hly  deli[j;hted  :  tlio  variety  of  fruits, 
flowers  and  vegetables  was  most  sui-prising.  I 
notited,  says  the  correspondent  of  the  Boston 
Transcript,  piles  and  (groups  of  vegetiibles. 
Enormous  pumjikins,  waiting  the  Governor's 
proclamation  for  Thanksgiving — huge,  crooked, 
round,  ribbon-colored  squashes,  side  by  side — 
beets  which  lieat  all  I  ever  saw  in  size  and  form 
— turnips  of  great  rotundity — mangel-wurzell  of 
hirsute  skin,  tlie  delight  of  kinc — cabbages  so 
large,  that  one  would  make  a  hearty  dinner  for 
the  gigantic  Polyphemus — parsnips  of  superior 
length  and  kind — beans,  with  pods  so  long  and 
ambitious  that  they  seemed  still  growing  and 
threading  it  out  on  the  tabic — melons,  water  and 
musk,  tempting  to  the  eye — and  cucumbers  which 
must  be  measured  by  the  yard,  for  no  foot-rule 
could  reach  tl  em,  were  among  the  multitudinous 
samples  of  cultivation  ;  a  glory  to  the  farmer  and 
a  blessing  to  the  citizen.  1  saw  specimens  of 
sweet  corn  on  cobs  of  great  size  and  symmetry; 
and  potatoes  were  of  such  numerous  kinds,  colors 
and  qualities,  that  it  would  appear  as  though  the 
PolatO'fhohra  had  received  its  death-blow  in 
Massachusetts.  Indeed,  the  vegetables  alone 
were  a  curiosity,  and  though  less  showy  than 
fruits  and  flowers,  attracted  much  attention. — 
Fruits,  in  some  instances  of  a  hundred  species, 
were  arrayed  upon  the  crowded  tables  in  great 
])rofusion  and  elegance.  Some  in  glass  vessels, 
some  in  baskets,  some  in  vases  ingeniously  cov- 
ered with  wreaths  of  evergreens,  and  adorned  with 
flowers.  The  arrangement  of  these  fruits,  so 
luscious  and  tempting,  where  apples,  peaches, 
pears  and  grapes,  with  round,  rich  plums,  and 
indeed  every  kind  of  garden  production,  belong- 
ing to  the  season,  was  tasteful  and  happy.  Sev- 
eral exotic  plants  were  exhibited.  The  pitcher 
plant  in  particular,  from  the  superb  garden  of 
Mr.  Gushing,  in  Watertown,  to  very  many  was 
a  great  novelty,  and  it  may  not  be  generally 
known,  that  to  this  vegetable  cup,  which  gathers 
the  dews  of  the  atmosphere,  certain  tropical  birds 
often  resort  in  a  dry  season  and  dip  in  their  bills 
for  drink.  The  weary  traveller  has  also  found  re- 
freshment from  this  beautiful  provision  of  nature. 
The  festoons,  bouquets,  garlands  and  glasses  of 
flowers,  of  different  kinds,  and  some  of  exceed- 
ing tastefulness,  rivalled  the  fruits  in  variety,  and 
gave  a  brilliant  coloring  to  the  whole  scene. 
Both  riora  and  Pomona  must  have  shaken 
hands,  when  they  met  at  the  same  table— around 
■which  so  many  bright  eyes  were  pazmg — and 
saw  how  much  they  were  honored  by  the  horti- 
culturists of  New  England.     In  a  word,  the  whole 


MUSICIAN   OF  A   TURKISH  HAREM.  [Sue '-Tuikcy  und  the  Turks,"  page  247.] 


exhibition  was  a  most  splendid  affair,  whether 
seen  in  the  gas  illumination  of  a  crowded  evening, 
or  in  the  sunlight  of  one  of  our  brilliant  autumnal 
days.  I  would  not  have  missed  this  display,  for 
it  has  convinced  me  how  much  we  are  all  in- 
debted to  the  Horticultural  Society  for  promoting 
the  public  good.  This  splendid  exhibition  closed 
with  a  brilliant  display  of  fireworks,  which  were 
highly  creditable  to  Mr.  J.  G.  Hovey,  the  pyro- 
technist. The  weather  has  been  highly  propi- 
tious; and  the  whole  exhibition,  from  its  com- 
mencement to  its  close,  was  remarkably  suc- 
cessful, being  rich  in  all  the  choicest  and  rarest 
of  the  productions  of  Flora  and  Pomona,  which 
were  admitted  by  competent  judges  to  be  the 
best  of  the  kind  which  this  country  has  yet  af- 
forded. The  public  are  greatly  indebted  to  this 
useful  society  for  their  important  and  disinter- 
ested labors.  "  Peace  has  its  triumphs  as  well 
as  War,"  and  these  are  among  its  noblest  and 
most  enduring  laurels. 


THE  fllOSdUE  OF  ST.  SOPHIA. 

The  mosques  of  Constantinople  have  all  an 
open  space  around  them,  generally  planted  with 
trees,  and  refreshed  by  fountains.  The  princi- 
pal mosque,  the  celebrated  St.  Sophia,  stands  on 
the  western  declivity  of  the  first  hill,  near  the 
Sublime  Porte  of  the  Seraglio.  It  was  begun 
and  finished  under  the  Emperor  Justinian,  be- 
tween the  years  5.31  and  537.  It  is  in  the  form 
of  a  Greek  cross,  269  feet  in  length,by  24.3  wide, 
or  about  3  5ths  the  length  of  St.  Paul's,  London, 
by  nearly  the  same  width;  and  surmounted  in 
its  centre  by  a  dome,  the  middle  of  which  is  180 
feet  above  the  floor.  The  dome  is  of  an  ellipti- 
cal form,  and  much  too  flat  to  be  externally 
beautiful,  its  height  not  exceeding  l-6th  part  of 
the  diameter  ;  wliich  is  115  feet,  or  15  feet  more 
than  that  of  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  and  18  feet 
less  than  that  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  It  is 
lighted  by  twenty-four  windows  ranged  round  its 
circumference,  and  rests  upon  four  strong  arches, 


tlic  weight  of  wliich  is  firmly  supported  by  four 
massive  piles,  Btrcngthcned  on  the  north  and 
south  sides  by  fourcuhimns  of  Egyptian  granile. 
The  present  dome  is  not  coeval  with  the  build- 
ing; the  original  one,  which  was  less  lofty,  and 
more  circular,  having  been  thrown  down  by  an 
earthquake  twenty-one  years  after  its  erection. 
There  are,  besides,  two  large  and  six  smaller 
semi-domes,  the  whole  of  which  blending  inter- 
nally with  the  principal  one,  form  altogether  a 
magnificent  exjjanse  of  roof.  Four  minarets, 
but  each  of  a  different  sliajic,  have  been  added  to 
tliis  mosque  by  tlie  Mohammedans.  The  build- 
ing has  been  outwardly  so  much  patched  and, 
jjropped  up  in  difi'ercnt  ages,  that  it  has  lost 
whatever  beauty  it  may  have  originally  possessed, 
and  is  now  a  heavy,  unwieldy,  and  confused- 
looking  mas."?.  It  is  entered  on  the  west  side  by 
a  double  vestibule  about  38  feet  in  breadth,  which 
communicate*  with  the  interior  by  nine  bronze 
doors,  ornamented  with  bas-reliefs  in  marble. 
The  interior  is  spacious  and  imposing,  not  being 
broken  by  aisles  or  choirs ;  but  the  variegated 
marble  floor  is  covered  with  mats  and  carpets ; 
the  mosaics  of  the  dome,  etc.,  have  been  wliite- 
washed  over  by  the  Turks;  the colo.ssaI  seraphim 
and  other  sculptures  have  been  in  great  part  de- 
stroyed, and  the  general  coup  d'tnil  is  spoiled  by 
"a  thousand  little  cords  depending  from  the 
summit  to  within  four  feet  of  the  pavement,  and 
having  at  the  end  of  them  lamps  of  colored  glass, 
large  ostrich-egg.s,  artificial  horse-tails,  vases  and 
globes  of  crystal,  and  other  mean  ornaments." 
The  building  is  said  to  contain  170  columns  of 
marble,  granite,  porphyry,  verd  aniif/ue,  etc., 
many  of  which  were  brought  from  the  temple  of 
the  Sun,  built  by  Aurelian,  the  temjde  of  Diana 
at  Ephesus,  and  other  ancient  structures.  The 
cost  of  the  building,  owing  to  the  ambiguity  of 
the  Byzantine  historians,  cannot  be  accurately 
determined  ;  but  Gibbon  observes  in  his  Decline 
and  Fall  of  Rome,  that  "  the  sum  of  one  million 
sterling  is  the  result  of  the  lowest  computaiion." 
Yet  with  all  this,  Justinian  seems  to  have  failed 
in  making  St.  Sophia  a  really  fine  edifice.  Sir 
J.  Hobhouse  says  of  it,  "  My  impression  was, 
that  the  skill  of  the  one  hundred  architects,  and 
the  labor  of  the  ten  thousand  workmen,  the 
wealth  of  an  empire,  and  the  ingenuity  of  pre- 
siding angels,  had  raised  a  stupendous  monu- 
ment of  the  heavy  mediocrity  which  distinguished 
the  productions  of  the  sixth  century  from  the 
perfect  specimens  of  a  happier  age."  But  most 
travellers  agree  in  preferring  the  mosque  of  So- 
lyman  the  Magnificent,  to  St.  Sophia.  This 
splendid  edifice  is  216  feet  in  length  by  210 
feet  broad,  and  has  a  hnndsomedome.  supported 
on  four  columns  of  Thebaic  granite  60  feet  high, 
pavements,  galleries,  etc.,  of  marble,  several 
minor  cupolas,  four  fine  minarets  at  the  angles, 
a  f-pacious  courtyard  leading  to  it,  with  galleries 
of  green  marble  on  either  side,  and  twenty-eight 
leaded  cupolas,  -and  a  very  handsome  gate  of 
entrance  ascended  by  a  flight  of  twenty  marble 
steps.  The  whole  of  this  mosque  is  in  very  good 
taste. — McCuUoch's  Gazdleer. 


L/\TE  EXIHBITION  OF  THE  HOKTiCULTURAL  SOCIElYj  IN  THE  PUBLIC  GARDEN,  BOSTON. 


p.  GLBASON, 


I  CORNER  BROMFLELD 
1  AND  TKEMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  23,  1852. 


s2  per  voltbie. 
10  Ctb.  single. 


Vol.  in.  No.  17  —Whole  No.  69. 


BILLY  BOWLEGS  AND  SUITK 

Our  artist  has  presented  for  us  below,  a  very 
fine  and  lifelike  picture  of  an  Indian  party  from 
the  -westem  wilds,  as  they  lately  appeared  in 
New  York.  The  party  consisted  of  the  famous 
Billy  Bowlcg;s,  six  Indian  chiefs  and  an  inter- 
preter. Billy  is  himself  a  short,  stout  built  and 
quite  ordinary  looking  man,  of  about  forty  years 
of  age,  and  was  clad  in  a  calico  frock,  leggins,  a 
belt  or  two,  and  a  sort  of  short  cloak.  On  bis 
head  he  wore  a  kind  of  turban  enclosed  in  a 
broad  silver  band,  and  surmounted  by  a  profu- 
sion of  blackx)Strich  feathers.  Billy  is  the  hered- 
itary chief  of  the  Seniinoles,  and  nephew  of  Mic- 
conopy,  the  old  chief,  who  ruled  the  tribe  at  the 
commencement  of  the  Seminole  War  in  1835; 
he  is  also  a  relative  of  King  Payne,  who  gave 
our  people  so   much    trouble   in   Georgia  and 


vicinity  in  1812.  Another  of  the  party  is  John 
Jumper,  a  subordinate  chief  of  the  Seminoles  ; 
his  father  Jumper  was  famous  as  a  persevering 
enemy.  Nocose  Emanthla  is  still  anotlier  Sem- 
inole chief,  whose  people  are  yet  in  Florida. 
Nocose  dresses  in  a  calico  shirt,  fringed  and 
rudely  embroidered  ai-ound  the  edges ;  he  also 
wears  a  turban,  formed  of  a  narrow  shawl, 
wound  several  times  around  his  head.  Chocotc 
Tustenuggee,  a  Miccasukie  chief,  living  at  Sam 
Jones's  settlement,  is  also  one  of  the  members, 
and  is,  perhaps,  the  best  looking  of  the  whole 
delegation.  Fasatchee  Emanthla  is  another  of 
the  red  skin  visitors;  but  what  entitles  him  to 
the  importance  of  a  delegate  to  Washington  is 
not  made  public.  He  is  probably  a  subordinate 
chief  of  the  Seminoles,  to  which  tribe  he  belongs. 
Sarparkee  Yohola  and  Pasackecathla  are  two 


Seminole  chiefs,  who,  with  their  people,  have  re- 
moved from  Florida  to  Arkansas.  They  visited 
Florida  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  the  Indians 
to  emigrate  to  the  West.  They  say  there  is 
better  hunting  and  more  comfort  in  their  new 
home  than  the  Florida  Indians  can  possibly 
have.  Abram,  the  negro  interpreter,  is  no  un- 
important personage  in  the  suite.  Abram  is 
about  70  years,  but  holds  his  own  remarkably. 
All  together  form  a  wild  group  of  the  red  race 
of  America,  and  the  picture  will  be  a  very  sug- 
gestive one  to  the  minds  of  our  readers.  The 
whole  delegation  appears  to  look  up  to  Billy 
Bowlegs  as  their  leader,  and  he  is  not  at  all 
modest  in  the  matter,  for  he  always  assumes  the 
chief  prerogatives.  Nor  docs  he  do  this  with 
any  show  of  even  savage  politeness.  He  is  surly, 
and  at  all  times  cross  and  unmanageable.     There 


seems  to  be  but  little  of  the  "noble  Indian" 
about  him.  When  Osceola  was  alive,  Billy  Bow- 
legs was  hardly  known,  except  among  his  own 
people.  After  the  death  of  that  celebrated  chief, 
however,  Billy  took  rank,  and  soon  became 
known  as  a  wily,  dangerous  foe  of  the  white  man. 
He  soon  gained  the  reputation  of  being  treacher- 
ous and  cruel,  and  has,  down  to  the  present  time, 
proved  a  troublesome  fellow.  He  now  pretends 
that  he  is  willing,  and,  in  fact,  desirous,  to  emi- 
grate;  he  says  that  game  is  getting  scarce  in 
Florida,  and  he  thinks  he  can  do  much  better  at 
the  West.  He  is  utterly  surprised  at  what  he 
has  seen  since  he  came  North,  and  is  perfectly 
satisfied,  that  with  the  big  guns,  powerful  steam- 
boats, and  "  much  folks  "  which  he  finds,  that 
the  great  Seminole  nation  itself  must  yield  before 
the  white  man. 


EILT.Y    liOWLEGS. 


CHOCOTE    TUSTENUGGEE.  ABRAM.  JOHN    JUMPER.  FASATCHEK    KMANTKLA. 

BILLY  BOWLEGS  AND  CHIEFS  OF  THE  SEMINOLE  INDIANS. 


SAKPARKF.E    yOHO^V 


258 


GLEASON'S   1>ICT0RIAL   DRAWIxXG    ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  ROMANTIC  STOIIY  OF  INCIDENr  AND  ADVENI'UIIE 

Ectored  according  to  Act  of  Congrcsfi,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  tho  Clerk'a  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Maseachusotta. 


[WEITTEN   EXrRKSSLT   FOR   OLEABON's   riCTORlAl.] 


11 


31  ©rapljU  «Ialc  of  Spain,  3tab  anii  QEnglanJ?. 
BY  FREDERICK  HUNTER. 


[C  ON  C  LUDED.] 


CHAPTER  XXr. 


DON   MIGUEL  AND   HIS   WARD. 

Away  went  Peri  at  top  speed  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, but  she  very  soon  discovered  that  she 
carried  an  unnatural  weij^ht,  and  that  the  spurs 
which  gored  her  flanks  were  altogether  a  new 
mode  of  impetus  for  her  !  The  palfrey  was  like 
a  fox,  and  Corrinne  still  kept  her  seat,  bound 
whither  she  had  no  idea. 

On  dabhed  the  guardian  and  his  wnrd  at  a  fu- 
rious pace,  and  poor  de  Norde,  robbed  of  his 
wife  without  a  moment's  warning,  lay  for  some 
moments  senseless  upon  the  roadside,  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  his  trouble,  and  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  what  had  been  transpiring  since  he  re- 
ceived the  blow  upon  his  forehead. 

Forward,  then,  Ruberto  !  It  is  your  last 
chance.  The  game  is  a  desperate  one,  and  you 
may  win,  but  the  chances  arc  against  you,  ncver- 
tlieless.  Have  a  care,  too,  for  the  beast  you  ride 
has  known  the  voice  of  a  kinder  rider,  for  many 
a  long  month,  and  her  proud  spirit  will  scarcely 
brook  the  treatment  you  now  offer  her.  The 
matchless  Peri  strode  away  at  a  terrible  rate, 
and  the  little  palfrey  upon  which  Corrinne  was 
seated  still  galloped  on,  as  fast  as  her  tiny  legs 
could  carry  her,  while  the  desperate  Spaniard 
still  drove  his  rowels  into  Perl's  side,  and  con- 
tinued still  to  shout  "  forward,  Corrinne,  for- 
ward !     There  is  no  other  course  left  you  !" 

Five  minutes  is  a  long  space  of  time  for  a  man 
to  be  bereft  of  his  senses,  and  in  five  minutes  of 
time,  at  the  pace  they  travelled,  the  Spaniard 
and  his  captive  must  have  gone  a  very  consid- 
erable distance  from  the  spot  where  de  Korde 
had  been  struck  down.  But,  as  there  is  usually 
an  end  to  this  sort  of  thing,  so  there  was  an  end 
to  de  Norde's  unconsciousness ;  and  when  he 
came  to  himself,  partially,  he  arose  half  up — en- 
deavored to  look  about  liim,  and  call  to  mind 
what  had  happened  ;  but  his  sensations  were 
such  that  he  could  not  determine  where  he  was, 
or  what  had  brought  him  there.  Suddenly, 
however,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  jumped  into  the 
road,  and  cried — ■ 

"  Corrinne !  My  wife — Corrinne  \" 
The  truth  flashed  upon  his  memory,  and  he 
bethought  him  of  the  attack,  the  accident,  and 
then  all  was  chaos  again !  His  horse  was  gone, 
his  wife  was  gone,  his  enemy  (whoever  it  was)  was 
gone,  he  was  not  badly  hurt — his  purse  was 
safe,  but  he  was  entirely  alone !  What  could  it 
mean  ? 

He  did  not  halt  to  make  unnecessary  and 
fruitless  inquiries,  but  as  well  as  he  was  able, 
though  still  confused  and  dizzy,  he  staggered, 
half  ran,  along  the  road  toward  the  town.  Ah  ! 
how  did  he  hope  and  trust  that  his  poor  wife  had 
not  been  harmed,  and  that  he  should  be  able 
soon  to  greet  her  in  safety.  He  hastened  on, 
therefore,  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  toward 
his  hotel. 

The  refugees  had  arrived  within  half  a  mile  of 
the  line  of  tho  town,  when  Peri  became  furiously 
excited  from  tho  repeated  urgings  and  gorings 
she  had  received  from  her  unknown  rider.  Three 
or  four  times  she  had  plunged  and  struck  out,  or 
leaped  fearfully  forward,  as  tlio  rowels  pene- 
trated her  tender  sides.  But  Don  Miguel  main- 
tained a  good  seat  in  tho  saddle,  and  still  he 
pressed  lier  on,  when,  suddenly  rearing,  the  pal- 
frey cut  her  on  the  gambrcl  (being  close  behind 
*ner),  she  plunged  madly  out,  and  lioltirg,  threw 
Don  Miguel  witli   dreadful   violence  against   n 


lodge  of  rock  by  the  side  of  the  path.  Tlien 
turning,  as  slie  thus  relieved  herself  of  her  un- 
wclconie  burden,  Corrinne  saw  with  painful  hor- 
ror, that  Ruberto's  foot  was  thrust  througli  the 
stirrup. 

Peri  was  quite  as  much  alarmed  as  was  the 
wife  of  Bernard ;  and  wheeling  once  more  away 
she  dashed,  wildly,  madly,  desperately,  with  her 
late  rider  dangling  at  her  hteis.  The  work  of 
death  was  brief,  but  terrible  !  The  horse  only 
knew  that  some  extraordinary  event  had  occur- 
red, and  at  a  murderous  leap  slie  went  off  to- 
ward the  stable  in  which  she  had  been  housed 
for  several  days.  When  she  reached  it,  she 
scrambled  headlong  into  the  court-yard,  leaped 
the  paling,  and  fell,  covered  with  sweat  and 
dust  and  blood — near  the  outer  door. 

Tiie  groom  instantly  caught  her  head,  and 
aided  her  upon  her  feet.  The  foam  dripped  from 
her  sides,  and  she  was  badly  scarred.  The  head- 
gear was  out  of  shape,  one  stirrup-strap  was 
missing,  the  saddle  was  turned  down  under  her 
belly,  and  it  was  plain  that  some  shocking  acci- 
dent had  taken  place.  Aid  was  sent  out,  at  once, 
from  the  hotel,  in  the  direction  that  de  Norde 
had  been  known  habitually  to  take  in  his  eques- 
trian excursions,  and  matters  were  soon  ex- 
plained, in  a  measure.  The'body  of  a  man  was 
found  by  the  roadside  awfully  mangled  and 
bruised,  around  whose  right  ankle  there  hung  a 
stirrup  which  matched  the  otiier  in  Peri's  saddle. 
But  this  man  was  a  stranger!  It  was  not  the 
'■  magician,"  as  he  was  known  there,  but  an 
older  person.  How  came  he  there  ?  How  could 
he  have  occupied  the  signer's  saddle  i  Where 
was  the  lady,  too  ?  There  was  plainly  foul  play, 
in  some  way,  and  the  people  who  huddled  about 
the  body  became  excited  and  curious. 

"  Send  for  a  doctor,"  suggested  some  one  in 
the  crowd,  at  last. 

"  Rather  too  late,"  replied  another,  taking  up 
the  man's  hand.     "  He  is  dead." 

A  surgeon  was  sent  for,  however,  the  body 
was  removed  to  a  more  suitable  place  for  ex- 
amination, but  all  was  useless.  Don  Miguel 
Roberto,  the  oppressor  and  teacher  of  de  Norde, 
tho  sworn  enemy  of  Bernard  and  Corrinne, 
the  former  robber  chief  FontinI,  ivas  no  more  I 

But  Bernard  hurried  along,  and  as  he  ad- 
vanced, the  exercise  rather  aided  him.  He  was 
all  in  doubt  and  confusion,  hopeful,  yet  fearino- 
to  know  the  result  of  this  night's  work,  when  lie 
heard  a  horse  galloping  down  the  road  towards 
him,  at  a  rapid  rate,  from  the  direction  of  the 
tovn.  As  the  animal  approaclied  nearer,  he 
stepped  a  little  aside,  until  (if  he  had  a  rider) 
he  might  be  hailed,  when  he  shouted,  "  he  !  he!" 
which  brought  both  palfrey  and  rider  to  a  stand- 
still, for  that  voice  was  well  remembered. 

*'  Bernard,"  shouted  Corrinne  in  response,  as 
she  leaped  from  her  saddle  at  a  bound,  *'  Ber- 
nard !  my  husband!  are  you  safe  ?  Are  you  not 
hurt?     Speak,  quick!" 

"No,  loved  one,  I  am  not  hurt  much.  But 
where  is  Peri  ?  Whence  came  you,  and  what 
docs  all  this  mean  V 

"  0,  Bernard^n  one  word,  I  beg  you  has- 
ten. Don  Miguel  lies  bleeding  by  the  road,  not 
a  hundred  rods  hence." 

"  Don  Miguel !" 

"Yes,  yes— do  not  pause,  noW' — do  not  ask  a 
question,  I  beseech  you;  but  haste,  in  human- 
ity's name,  hasten  to  aid  him." 

"  How  canie  he  here  ?"  said  de  Norde,  con- 
fuBcdly,  and  iusisting  first  upon  placing  his  wife 


in  the  saddle  again.     "  Where  did  Don  Miguel 
come  from,  pray  ?" 

"Away,  Bernard!  l-'or  7/jj/ sake,  now,  away 
and  save  him,  if  poHsiljle,"  conliniicd  Corrinne, 
kindly.  And  in  a  very  little  time  they  reached 
the  spot  where  lay  the  form  of  the  once  power- 
ful roltber,  who  had  now  ceased  to  brciiLho  !  In 
vain  was  sympathy,  kindness  or  surgical  skill. 
'J'he  die  was  cast — Don  Miguel  was  dead  ! 

Tiie  body  was  removed,  as  we  have  stated, 
and  a  brief  exi)lanation  took  place.  It  was  clear 
to  the  examining  authorities  that  this  man  was 
upon  the  wrong  horse,  at  any  rate  ;  and  it  was 
quite  as  clear  that  he  not  only  had  no  right 
there,  but  that  his  death  occurred  by  being 
thrown  and  dragged  against  the  rocky  road. 
However,  he  was  dead!  and  they  could  not  pro- 
ceed further  towards  him,  even  if  he  had  crim- 
inally possessed  himself,  for  tlic  lime  being,  with 
de  Norde's  horse.  So  they  suftcred  the  magi- 
cian to  take  po>session  of  the  mangled  body,  and 
the  event  was  soon  afterwards  forgotten. 

Corrinne — though  deeply  agitated  and  alarm- 
ed— reached  lier  hotel  in  safety,  at  last,  where 
she  very  quickly  explained  the  whole  affair  to 
her  husband,  in  detail.  De  Norde  bore  no  mal- 
ice in  his  composition  ;  and  so  after  hearing  his 
wife's  story,  though  he  saw  that  Ruberto  would 
have  ro!)bed  him  of  Corrinne,  and  left  him  to 
die  by  the  road-side,  in  order  that  he  might  thus 
triumph,  yet  the  old  Spaniard  was  now  beyond 
harming  him,  further,  and  he  forgave  him  for  the 
multifold  injuries  he  had  sustained,  at  his  hands, 
and  went  about  the  work  of  having  liis  remains 
cared  for,  in  a  suitable  and  respectable  manner. 

After  some  consultation  between  Bernard  and 
his  wife,  such  a  version  of  the  story  of  his  death 
as  seemed  fit  to  them,  under  the  circumstances, 
was  prepared  and  published,  to  be  sent  to  Seville, 
for  the  information  of  that  community.  In  gen- 
eral terms,  this  account  stated  that  Don  Miguel 
came  to  his  death  by  being  run  away  with,  and 
thrown  from  his  horse  ;  and  no  questions  were 
subsequently  asked  which  were  not  readily  an- 
swered in  connection  with  this  statement. 

The  body  was  placed  in  a  leaden  coflfin,  and 
afterwards  in  a  wooden  one,  and  these  were  en- 
cased and  sent  forward  at  once  to  the  hacienda 
of  Don  Miguel,  whither  de  Norde  and  Corrinne 
resolved  to  follow  the  corpse,  and  give  it  a  pro- 
per burial,  having  in  view,  also,  an  examination 
into  Rulierto's  pecuniary  affairs,  and  a  determi- 
nation to  look  after  his  property,  which  they  both 
supposed  to  be  valuable. 

At  an  early  moment,  therefore,  they  arranged 
to  leave  Malaga  ;  and  having  sent  forward  their 
own  luggage  and  Bernard's  paraphernalia,  they 
quit  the  place  which  had  been  big  with  so  impor- 
tant a  turning-point  in  their  existence,  and  head- 
ed towards  Seville  at  once. 

The  journey  "  homeward"  was  a  melancholy 
one,  for  Corrinne  could  not  hut  deplore  the  un- 
happy fate  of  old  Don  Miguel,  who  had  done  so 
much  for  her,  but  who  had  also  been  so  cruel, 
subsequently  !  After  a  few  days'  travel,  they 
reached  the  neighborhood  of  the  town  where 
Corrinne  had  resided  nearly  seven  years  ;  and  as 
the  "old  familiar  places"  arose  to  her  view,  she 
became  more  resigned  to  the  situation  she  so  un- 
expectedly found  herself  in. 

The  coi-pse  of  Don  Miguel  had  reached  his 
dwelling  a  little  time  before  them,  and  they 
found  the  house  in  mourning.  The  household  had 
not  forgotten  their  beautiful  young  mistress,  and 
the  attendants  joyed  to  greet  Iier  again. 

Corrinne  assumed  her  place  at  once  in  the 
mansion  of  her  iformer  protector;  and,  as  none 
had  ever  known  aught  of  her  troubles,  she  was 
quickly  and  gratefully  recognized,  as  she  intro- 
duced her  husband,  and  proceeded  appropriately 
to  care  for  Don  Miguel's  remains. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CONCLUSION    OF    OUR    STORY. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  disposition 
of  the  Spaniard  towards  his  former  lieutenant, 
or  however  bitter  was  his  feeling  and  desire  for 
revenge  upon  d6  Norde,  it  turned  out  that  Don 
Miguel  entertained  no  spark  of  malice  against 
his  former  nominal  ward  ;  for,  among  the  docu- 
ments found  among  his  private  papers,  was  one 
that  very  conclusively  convinced  both  Bernard 
and  his  wife  that  he  felt  kindly  for  Corrinne. 

As  soon  after  the  burial  as  ]))*oprietv  ^vould 
seem  to  sanction  it,  an  examiniition  of  the  affairs 
of  Ruberto  took  place,  and  a  will,  executed 
nearly  a  twelve  month  previouslv,  by  his  pro- 
tector, was  discovered,  in  which,  after  the  be- 
stowal of  a  few  hundred  ducats  in  value  to  his 
housekeeper,  and  one   or  two  old  Bcrrants,  in 


case  of  his  death,  ho  had  bequeathed  )iis  entire 
property,  his  mansion,  lands,  stocks,  and  money, 
to  Corrinne  Almanza!  His  ward  was  made  exe- 
cutrix, also,  a  proof  of  his  undiminished  and 
entire  confidence  in  her  whom  he  had  secretly 
hred,  and  whom  ho  originally  intended  to 
marry. 

Upon  a  further  investigation,  his  fortune  was 
found  to  have  been  a  very  handsome  one  ;  amply 
sufficient  to  place  tlie  young  coujde  fur  beyond 
the  reach  of  future  want  or  embarrassment.  His 
debts  were  all  called  in,  therefore,  and  fully  dis- 
charged, and  within  two  montlis  from  the  day 
of  Ruberto's  death,  his  estate  had  been  settled 
up.  At  the  expiration  of  another  month,  notice 
was  given  to  the  household  that  the  mansion 
would  soon  be  disposed  of;  and  shortly  after- 
ward a  sale  was  made  of  all  the  property  in 
Spain,  and  de  Norde  with  his  wife  prepared  to 
leave  the  scenes  which  had  been  so  full  of  trou- 
ble and  peril  to  them,  and  retire  to  England,  as 
they  had  previously  intended  to  do. 

In  the  meantime,  de  Norde  had  not  forgotten 
his  staunch  friend  and  companion,  the  faithful 
Pierre,  who  had  availed  himself,  witli  most  of  his 
associates,  of  the  lenity  of  the  crowns  of  Sjiain 
and  Portugal.  Bernard  provided  him  with  such 
ready  means  as  would  establish  him  in  trade,  and 
Pierre  retired  to  a  small  town  in  ihe  interior, 
where  he  commenced  an  honorable  business,  in 
which  he  was  subsequently  very  successful. 

The  affairs  of  Don  Miguel  were  fairly  closed 
up,  and  de  Norde,  with  his  lovely  and  faithful 
wife  departed  for  the  north,  having  turned  their 
entire  eflTects  into  cash  and  exchange  bills  on 
England,  whither  they  proceeded  finally  to  lo- 
cate themselves  permanently. 

"  Ah  !  Corrinne,"  said  her  husband  affection- 
ately, as  they  were  about  to  depart,  "  how  much 
do  I  owe  you,  for  your  confidence  and  love  and 
devotion!  Fortune  has  at  length  smiled  upon 
roe,  unworthy  as  I  have  been  of  her  favor,  and  I 
may  indeed  joy  over  the  possession  of  such  a 
companion  as  you,  my  loved  Corrinne,  have 
proved.  May  we  not  be,  hereafter,  very  happy  V 

"  Trust  me,  Bernard,"  rejoined  the  wife,  fer- 
vently, "trust  me,  that  when  I  joined  my  fate 
with  yours,  I  had  no  aim  but  to  deserve  your  af- 
fection. In  our  early  intercourse,  did  you  not 
more  than  once  save  my  life  1  For  this,  then, 
alone,  should  I  be  your  grateful  and  your  con- 
stant debtor.  But,  since  the  hour  when  we  stood 
before  the  holy  priest,  and  pledged  to  each 
other  our  love  and  lives,  surely  have  I  had  no 
cause  to  regret  the  union  which  succeeded.  Be- 
lieve me,  dear  Bernard,  since  fortune  has  so 
kindly  cared  for  us,  at  last,  I  feel  that  we  must, 
indeed,  henceforth,  be  very  happy  I" 

The  errors  of  Don  Miguel  were  forgiven  by 
the  lovers,  who  remembered  only  his  kindnesses 
towards  them.  The  estate  near  Seville  passed 
into  the  hands  of  new  proprietors,  for  the  asso- 
ciations connected  with  the  hacienda  of  Ruberto 
were  all  too  painful  for  Corrinne  to  remain 
amongst  them,  and  the  hour  of  departure  finally 
came — the  moment  when  they  bade  adieu  for- 
ever to  Spain,  her  beauties,  and  her  sunshine 
scenes  ! 

The  journey  to  Paris  was  a  very  pleasant  one, 
for  the  season  was  fine.  At  the  capital  the  lovers 
halted  for  a  few  weeks,  during  which  time  de 
Norde  and  his  wife  embraced  the  opportunity 
offered  to  examine  the  beauties  and  the  curios- 
ities of  the  metropolis  of  fashion  in  the  Old 
World,  and  at  last  crossed  over  to  Calais,  and 
thence  proceeded  by  steam  to  London. 

A  few  weeks  only  elapsed,  subsequently,  when 
de  Norde  selected  a  beautiful  estate  in  tlie  sub- 
urbs of  the  British  metropolis,  which  was  made 
in  every  way  desirable  through  his  own  natural 
good  taste,  and  the  suggestions  of  his  adored 
Corrinne  ;  and  to  which  spot — after  the  trials 
and  perils  and  mishaps  to  which  they  had  been 
subjected  for  the  previous  year,  they  retired  at 
length  to  enjoy  the  ample  fortune  now  possessed 
by  the  faithful  and  accomplished  wife. 

The  dwelling  wasof  modem  construction,  and 
the  grounds  were  laid  out  in  romantic  and  at- 
tractive style.  A  fine  park  and  a  young  grovo 
backed  the  villa,  and  a  small  lake  adorned  the 
middle  grounds.  Tlie  establishment  was  apjiro- 
priatcly  decorated  and  appointed  throughout, 
and  among  the  occupants  of  the  comfortable 
stable  were  "Peri,"  and  the  natty  little  palfrey 
that  had  done  their  owners  such  good  in  the  days 
when  their  services  were  needed. 

"  At  home,  dear  Corrinne,"  said  Bernard 
kindly,  one  evening  after  they  found  themselves 
agreeably  settled  in  their  new  quarters,  "  at 
home,  and  happy,  at  last  I  Wo  have  passed 
through   some   exciting   scenes,  since  the  hour 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    CO:\irANION. 


259 


when  we  first  met,  but  the  prospect  now  before 
us  is  indeed  a  prornising  one." 

"  Yes,  Bernard,"  responded  his  wife,  in  a 
pleasant  tone,  "  wc  find  ourselves  home  after  a 
merry  journey  and  many  an  incident  of  peril; 
but  Providence  has  smiled  upon  us,  and  wc  may 
well  he  grateful  for  the  final  result." 

"  So  we  should  be,  Corrinne.  I  had  scarcely 
looked  forward  to  enjoyment  like  this." 

"  It  is  well,  de  Nordc,  but  there  will  come  a 
frequent  regret  for  the  fate  of  poor  Kubcrto, 
nevertheless." 

"  With  you,  I  suppose  so,  Corrinne  :  for  what- 
ever he  was  to  others,  he  was  kind  to  you." 

"  He  was,  indeed,  do  Nordc,  and  I  think  he 
really  loved  me.  But,"  she  added,  "  it  was  liis 
own  error,  he  found  his  fate,  and  became  a  vic- 
tim to  his  own  unhappy  passions." 

"Ton  are  right,  Corrinne.  Hs  never  injured 
me  much,  as  fortune  would  have  it.  His  inten- 
tions, however,  were  evil.  Yet,  he  is  gone,  and 
I  forgive  him  for  his  errors." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Bernard,  and  I  sliall 
love  you  the  mox'C  since  you  exhibit  so  gentle  a 
resentment." 

The  speakers  ceased,  for  the  subject  was  a  dis- 
agreeable one,  and  each  enjoyed  tlie  thoughts 
which  presented  themselves,  under  the  circum- 
stances for  a  few  minutes,  when  the  servant  en- 
tered the  apartment,  and  informed  *'  Madame" 
as  she  called  her,  that  a  lady  desired  to  speak 
with  her  in  the  reception  room,  below. 

Upon  entering  that  room,  Corrinne  found  a 
stranger  there,  who  curtsied  low  as  the  former 
made  her  appearance. 

She  had  come,  she  said,  in  response  to  an  ad- 
vertisement in  the  "  Chronicle,"  for  a  house- 
keeper. She  had  had  a  goodly  experience  in 
this  line  of  duty,  and  her  credentials  were  flatter- 
ing. She  learned  that  the  proprietor  of  "  Se- 
ville Hall"  was  the  party  who  desired  the  services 
of  such  a  person,  and  she  came  to  bespeak  the 
place,  if  possible. 

"  I  see  by  your  broken  language,"  said  Cor- 
rinne, quickly,  "that  you  arc  not  an  English 
woman." 

"  No,  madam,  I  am  from  Spain." 

"And  you  have  had  charge  of  a  household 
there  V 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  occupied  the  situation  of 
housekeeper  to  Don  Miguel  Ruberto,  near 
Seville  !" 

"  Marguerritte!"  exclaimed  Corrinne,  in  her 
well-acquired  Spanisli  tongue,  "Marguerritte! 
Don't  you  remember  me  ?" 

The  woman  sprang  forward  at  this  familiar 
address,  and  sunk  at  the  feet  of  her  former 
lovely  and  beloved  young  mistress. 

It  was  a  joyful  meeting,  indeed ;  for  Mar- 
guerritte had  always  looked  upon  Corrinne  with 
a  mother's  devotedness,  and  she  was  more  than 
happy  to  meet  and  recognize  her. 

"  Signora  Corrinne !  Is  it  possible !  Ah, 
signora  I  You  may  believe  I  am  greatly  joyed 
to  meet  you  again.  Tell  mo,  shall  I  be  your 
housekeeper,  once  more  V 

"  Indeed  you  shall,  Marguenitte,  and  I  assure 
you,  you  could  not  have  come  at  a  more  fitting 
moment.  Since  we  parted,  wlicrc  have  you 
been  ;  and  pray  inform  me  how  you  chanced  to 
fall  in  with  our  notice  for  an  attendant  ?" 

Matters  were  very  quickly  explained.  Mar- 
guerritte had  left  Spain  about  the  same  time 
that  Bernard  and  Corrinne  went  north.  She  had 
a  smattering  of  English  upon  her  tongue,  and 
she  fancied  she  could  do  well  by  crossing  the 
channel.  She  went  to  London,  and  having  a 
little  means  of  her  own,  was  contemplating 
whether  she  should  not  embark  in  some  small 
business,  and  thus  add  to  her  funds,  when  the 
advertisement  in  the  Chronicle  met  her  eye,  and 
changed  her  determination. 

Nothing  could  have  happened  more  oppor- 
tune, for  Corrinne  was  comparatively  inexpe- 
rienced in  household  duties,  and  Marguerritte 
— whom  she  had  long  knoiMi  as  a  competent  and 
faithful  servant — was  in  every  way  just  suited 
to  her  present  wants.  She  was  engaged  at  once, 
therefore  ;  and  entered  forthwith  upon  her  duties 
at  the  newly  furnished  villa  which  Bernard  had 
named  "  Seville  Hall,"  out  of  respect  to  past 
events  ! 

And  there,  surrounded  by  all  that  a  compe- 
tency funiished,  in  the  enjoyment  and  devotcd- 
nc>:3  of  each  other,  happy  in  their  splendid 
home,  and  content  with  themselves,  their  fortune 
and  their  position,  we  leave  the  happy  lovers, 
and  bring  our  story  of  "  The  Magician"  to  an 
end. 

THE    END. 


OVritten  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 
THE  LIGHT  FROM  THE  M'EhT. 

Er  SDSA.V   H.  BLAISDELL. 

Tlie  chili  autumn  rain  had  fiillcn  through  the  d.iy, 

And  cold  winds  were  mourning  the  summer's  decline  ; 
While  dark  rolling  clouds,  from  the  sky's  sullen  gray, 
Seemed  to  frown  on  the  offering  they  laid  on  earth's 
shrine. 
And  I  watched  with  aad  heart,  but  the  storm  lulled  apace, 

And  sunset  broke  forth  on  the  green  hill's  fair  crest  j 
Whiie  a  full  flood  of  glory  poured  over  the  earth, 
In  the  hght  from  the  west. 

And  'tis  thus,  when  across  the  warm  spirit  there  steals 

The  dim,  brooding  shadow  that  loneliness  lends  ; 
And  wc  look,  but  in  vain,  for  one  gladdening  ray 

That  from  the  veiled  future,  to  meet  us,  ascends. 
0,  'tis  thus,  like  the  sunshine  that  breaks  through  the 
cloud, 
And  heralds  a  season  of  calmness  and  rest. 
That  a  smile  is  as  sweet,  from  the  lips  that  we  love, 
As  the  light  from  the  west. 


ENEHIIES  OF  THE  OUSTER. 

The  enemies  of  the  oyster  are  many,  and  all 
of  them  go  about  seeking  what  oyster  they  may 
devour.  First  comes  the  sea-crab,  who  seats 
himself  on  an  oyster  and  drills  a  lirtle  round 
hole  in  his  back  and  makes  poor  oyster's  back 
ache,  which  causes  him  to  open  his  mouth  to 
take  along  breath,  when  the  villanous  crab  runs 
a  *  stinger"  down  his  throat,  and  poor  oyster  is 
in  the  sea-cral>'s  stomach.  On  the  seashore 
bushels  of  shells  are  found  perfectly  riddled  with 
holes  by  the  crabs.  Sometimes  the  crab  files 
the  oyster's  nose  off,  so  as  to  run  in  his  stinger. 

Second,  comes  the  drum-fish,  who  weighs 
about  thirty  or  forty  pounds,  and  is  about  two 
feet  long ;  he  is  large  about  the  stomach  and 
tapers  off  toward  both  ends.  He  is  by  no  means 
a  modest  fish,  for  just  as  soon  as  his  eye  rests  on 
an  oyster,  he  starts  toward  him,  for  the  purpose 
ofmakiog  his  acquaintance,  and  grabbing  him 
in  his  mouth,  smashes  him  into  chowder,  "in 
the  twinkling  of  a  cat's  tail,"  and  immediately 
looks  about  for  his  nearest  relative — being  op- 
posed to  having  families  separated,  lie  is  anxious 
to  have  them  all  rest  in  his  stomach  at  once.  It  is 
often  the  case  that  two  or  tliree  pounds  of  oyster 
shells  are  found  in  a  drum-fish's  stomach. 

Third,  comes  the  seastar — everybody  knows 
what  a  sea-star  is,  for  they  look  just  like  a  star. 
These  stars  have  five  points,  but  no  legs;  and, 
as  they  do  not  keep  horses  and  wagons,  they 
find  it  very  inconvenient  to  go  a  foot — not  hnv- 
ing  any  feet — so  when  they  wish  to  travel,  they 
lock  themselves  fast  to  each  other  until  they 
form  a  large  hill,  sometimes  ten  feet  in  circum- 
ference, and  permit  themselves  to  be  driven 
about  by  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  roll  away, 
they  know  not,  nor  care  not  whither  ;  hut  if  they 
happen  to  roll  over  an  oyster  bed,  they  all  im- 
mediately let  loose  of  each  other,  and  hug  an 
oyster,  and  wrap  their  five  points  about  him, 
and  hug  him  closely,  hug  him  dearly,  until  the 
oyster  desires  him  to  stop,  and  just  opens  his 
mouth  to  say,  "hold,  enough,"  when  the  ras- 
cally star  runs  a  little  "nipper"  down  oyster's 
nose,  and  he  is  a  "gonner." 

Fourth,  conies  man,  with  dredging  irons,  with 
scoups,  shovels,  and  tongs,  pulling  him,  and 
making  him  into  oyster  soup,  pie.  fry,  roast,  and 
so  on  and  so  forth,  eating  him  whole,  and  indis- 
criminately body  and  soul,  without  saving  the 
pieces.  Thus  it  is  with  poor  oyster ;  troubles 
beset  him  on  every  side,  and  tliough  thousands 
desire  to  have  him,  yet  none  wish  to  be  him. — 
Norlhern  Journal. 


GEORGE  I  AKD  GEORGE  II. 

George  the  First,  and  his  successor,  George 
the  Second,  could  never  learn  to  speak  English, 
and  neither  of  them  ever  felt  himself  at  home  in 
England.  They  were  always  going  over  to  Han- 
over, where  they  found  themselves  lords  and 
masters,  while  in  England,  though  they  had 
been  raised  so  much  higher,  their  dignity  never 
sat  very  easy  upon  them.  George  the  Second 
laid  great  stress  on  the  minutest  trifles,  insisting 
on  wearing  his  shirts  in  the  order  in  which  they 
were  numbered,  and  flying  into  a  violent  passion 
if  they  brought  him  the  wrong  number.  "  Why 
am  1  to  wear  No.  16,  when  1  have  not  had  No. 
15"?  Why  am  I  to  do  nothing  that  I  like?  Am 
I  king  of  England  or  am  I  not  ?  That  is  what 
I  want  to  know."  And  then  he  would  fall  to 
kicking  his  hat  about  the  room,  to  vent  his  anger, 
and  rating  any  of  the  ministers  that  came  in,  in 
his  outlandish  jargon.  Once  he  was  going  to 
kick  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  who  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  sword,  and  withdrew  in  high  dudgeon. 
Meeting  Sir  Robert  Walpole  on  the  staircase,  he 
complained  of  what  had  happened,  to  which  the 
other  replied,  "O!  that's  nothing,  he  has  treated 
me  so  a  hundred  times. "^Youth's  Cabinet. 


TIME  AND  WONEY. 

Many  people  take  no  care  of  their  money  till 
they  have  come  nearly  to  the  end  of  it,  and  oth- 
ers do  just  the  same  with  their  time.  Their  best 
days  they  throw  away — let  ihem  run  like  sand 
through  their  fingers,  as  long  as  they  think  they 
still  have  an  almost  countless  number  of  them  to 
spend ;  but  when  they  find  their  days  flowing 
rapidly  away,  so  that  at  last  tliey  have  very  few 
left,  then  they  will  at  once  make  a  very  wise  use 
of  them  ;  but,  unluckily,  they  have  by  that  time 
no  notion  how  to  do  it. — Go'ttke/y. 


How  cling  Tve  to  a  thing  our  hearts  havo  nursed ! 
Mrs.  C.  H.  W.  Esluig. 


MIGHTY  MEN. 

Dr.  Adam  Clarke  said,  that  "  the  old  proverb 
about  having  too  many  irons  in  the  fire  was  an 
abominable  ohi  lie.  Have  all  in  it,  shovel,  tongs 
and  poker."  It  is  not  so  much  the  multiplicity 
of  employments,  as  the  want  of  system  in  them, 
that  distracts  and  injures  both  the  work  and  the 
workman.  Wesley  said,  "  I  am  always  in  haste, 
but  never  in  a  hurry,  leisure  and  I  have  long 
taken  leave  of  eacli  other."  He  travelled  about 
5000  miles  in  a  year ;  preached  about  three  times 
a  day,  commencing  at  5  o'clock  in  the  morning  ; 
and  his  published  works  amounted  to  about  :200 
volumes  !  Asbury  travelled  GOOO  miles  a  year, 
and  preached  incessantly.  Coke  crossed  the 
Atlantic  eighteen  times,  preached,  wrote,  trav- 
elled, estabiisiied  missions,  begged  from  door  to 
door  for  them,  and  labored  in  all  respects,  as  if, 
like  the  aposcles,  he  would  "  turn  the  world  up- 
side down."  At  near  70  years  of  age,  he  started 
to  Christianize  India !  It  is  said  that  Luther 
preached  almost  daily;  he  lectured  constantly 
as  a  professor:  he  was  burdened  with  the  care 
of  all  the  churches  ;  his  correspondence,  even  as 
now  extant,  fills  many  volumes  ;  he  was  perpet- 
ually harassed  with  controversies,  and  was  the 
most  voluminous  writer  of  his  day.  The  same, 
or  even  more,  might  be  said  of  Calvin.  While 
in  Strasburg,  he  preached  or  lectured  every  day. 
In  a  letter  to  Farcl,  dated  fi.-ora  that  city,  he  says 
that  on  one  day  he  had  revised  twenty  sheets  of 
one  of  his  works,  lectured,  preached,  ^^'ritten  four 
letters,  reconciled  several  parties  who  were  at 
variance,  and  answered  more  than  ten  persons 
who  came  to  him  for  advice.  In  Geneva  he  was 
pastor,  professor,  and  almost  magistrate.  He 
lectured  every  other  day ;  on  alternate  weeks  he 
preaelied  daily  ;  he  was  overwhelmed  with  let- 
ters from  all  parts  of  Europe  ;  and  was  the  au- 
thor of  works  (amounting  to  nine  volumes  folio) 
which  any  man  of  our  generation  would  think 
more  than  enough  to  occupy  his  whole  time. 
And  this  amid  perpetual  infirmity,  headache, 
catarrh,  strangury,  gravel,  stone,  gout.  Baxter 
says  of  himself,  that,  before  the  wars,  he  preach- 
ed twice  every  Sabbath,  and  once  in  the  week, 
besides  occasional  sermons,  and  several  regular 
evening  religious  meetings.  Two  days  in  the 
week  he  catechized  the  people  from  house  to 
house,  spending  an  hour  with  each  family.  Be- 
sides all  this,  he  was  forced,  by  the  necessity  of 
the  people,  to  practise  physic  ;  and  as  he  never 
took  a  penny  from  any  one,  he  was  crowded 
with  patients.  In  the  midst  of  all  these  duties, 
though  afflicted  with  alniost  all  the  diseases 
which  man  is  heir  to,  he  wrote  more  books  than 
most  of  us  can  find  time  to  read.  All  these  men 
were  poor.  We  find  Luther  begging  the  elector 
for  a  new  coat,  and  thanking  him  for  a  piece  of 
meat ;  Calvin  selling  his  books  to  pay  his  rent ; 
and  Baxter  was  a  curate  with  sixty  pounds  a 
year. — Sketches  and  Iticidenls. 


[Written  for  Gleason'e  Pictorial.l 
OBSCURITY. 

BT   J     STABR  HOLLOWAY. 

O,  dull  and  cold !   0,  dead  Obscurity ! 

Uncompromising  miner  of  rest  I 
Ghost  of  obliTiou  I  who  silently 

Makest  thyself  a  fchrice-un welcomed  guest! 

I  have  become  famihar  with  thy  face, 
I  know  thee  as  I  know  my  own  sad  heart ; 

0,  hated  one!  dost  thou  not  love  to  trace, 
Deep  in  my  soul,  the  influence  of  thine  art? 

Go!  leave  me  now  I  leave  me  forever !  Go! 

Go  !  there  are  many  who  will  welcome  thee ; 
Many  who  gladly  would  be  thine,  I  know, 

But  I,  I  only  long  to  fly  thee,  to  he  free  ! 

Hard,  hard  and  wretched,  stern  and  bitter  fate. 
To  live  out  life  uncared  for  and  unknown  ; 

And  thuH,  perhaps,  I  '11  live  !     Then  come,  create, 
0  gloom,  at  once,  within  my  heart,  thy  throne  I 

But  I  will  strive,  strive  well  to  emulate, 
Strive  well  to  excel  the  few  who  'vb  won  a  name  ; 

"  Excelsior  "  my  aim  I  be  this  my  fat-e, 

To  win,  at  last,  some  high,  immortal  fame  I 

CONCERTED  PIECES. 

The  musical  education  of  the  lower  class  of 
the  Parisian  people  has  made  wonderful  pro- 
gress since  the  Revolution  of  17S9.  Gratuitous 
performances  were  frequently  given  after  that 
event,  and  especially  in  1792;  but  the  "patriots" 
knew  so  little  of  music,  that  they  thought,  that 
when  three  or  four  performers  sang  together,  it 
was  to  get  through  the  piece  sooner.  On  one 
occasion  in  1793,  at  the  Grand  Opera,  they  posi- 
tively refused  to  allow  a  concerted  piece  to  be 
executed.  "A  la  lauterne!  a  la  lanterne!"  they 
yelled  at  tlie  terrified  performers.  "May  I  ask 
what  is  your  pleasure,  citizens?"  said  a  per- 
former, stepping  forward,  and  really  not  know- 
ing what  the  tumult  was  about.  "  I'll  tell  you," 
roared  a  brawny  butcher,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
from  one  of  the  principal  boxes,  "you  think  that 
because  we  came  in  here  without  paying,  we 
may  be  treated  with  disrespect;  and  so  three  of 
you  sing  together  to  get  done  quickly!  But 
you  shan't  treat  us  so,  aristocrats,  miiscadins, 
canaille!  Sing  one  at  a  time,  or  we'll  hang  you 
a  la  lanterne!" — Liitrary  Gazette. 


If  men  were  compelled  to  give  a  reason  for 
everything  they  profess  to  believe,  one  of  two 
things  is  certain;  either,  reasons  would  become 
more  abundant  than  they  are  io  the  present  day, 
or  doctrines  would  be  fewer. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
AN  ANGEL  IN  THE  CLOUDS. 

DY   GEORGE  1 

Methought  the  clouds  in  heaven  so  fair. 

Were  isles,  with  cities  filled; 
With  spires  and  turrets  gleaming  there, 
Just  like  the  castles  in  the  air. 
We  often  build. 

These  islands,  in  the  realms  of  space, 

Sailed  on  through  seaa  of  blue  ; 
And  there  I  could  distinctly  trace 
The  azure  wing  and  angel  face 
Of  one  I  know. 

She  sat  upon  a  radiant  throne, 
And  wore  a  crown  of  light ; 
More  glorious  than  the  sun  at  noon, 
A  heavenly  halo  round  her  shone, 
Iler  robes  were  white. 

She  was  a  pleasant  angel  here, 
Before  wings  had  been  given 
To  bear  her  to  that  blissful  sphere, 
Beyond  the  silver  cloud,  so  near 
Her  native  heaven. 

I  've  seen  her  at  the  sick  child's  bed, 

Watch,  ^nth  unsleeping  eye, 
Until  its  gentle  spirit  tied. 
On  rosy  pinions  from  the  dead, 
To  God  on  high. 

When  sun-lit  clouds  are  floating  by, 

I  oftvn  bow  to  hear 
The  sweep  of  wings  from  yonder  sky, 
Where  ministering  sphifcs  lly 

From  sphere  to  sphere. 


TYROLESE  COTTAGE. 

Descending  the  mountain,  we  saw,  at  diffxjreut 
distances,  twelve  or  fourteen  stables  for  cattle, 
all  lately  built.  We  entered  one  of  them.  The 
mistress  received  us  kindly  ;  she  was  neatly  clad, 
and  the  greatest  cleanliness  prevailed  everywhere 
— even  in  the  part  where  the  cattle  stand  to  be 
milked,  every  sort  of  litter  was  carefully  removed. 
From  this  side  of  the  stable  there  was  a  door 
into  the  dwelling  of  the  owner,  where  even  foot- 
marks are  carefully  cleaned  off.  In  one  corner 
of  this  room  was  a  fire,  above  which  a  kettle  was 
hung,  in  which  the  cream  that  was  skimmed  was 
placed,  that  it  might  be  curdled,  and  ready  for 
making  cheese.  The  most  dainty  food,  accord- 
ing to  tlie  taste  of  cowiierds  (a  portion  of  the 
best  eream  mixed  with  meal  well  salted,  and 
cooked  over  the  Are),  was  prepared  for  us,  with- 
out our  request,  and  the  yoimger  females  could 
not  understand  why  we  scarcely  touched  their 
delicate  fare.  Near  to  the  dwelling  was  another 
room,  in  wliich  the  fresh  cheese,  and  the  rolls  of 
butter,  fairly  formed,  and  ornamented  with  the 
printed  impressions,  and  the  low  but  broad, 
wooden  vessels  for  holding  milk  are  kept.  Above 
is  a  private  bedroom,  in  which  a  little  altar  is 
not  wanting  (this  is  among  Koman  Catholics), 
and  great  order  and  cleanliness  may  also  be  ob- 
served here,  according  to  the  character  of  the 
cowherds'  wives.  A  heai'y  rain  detained  us  for 
some  time  in  this  cabin,  and  when  the  sky  was 
again  clear,  we  set  out  again,  by  a  narrow  foot- 
path, which  was  then  very  slippery.  At  a  con- 
siderable height,  we  found  a  hunting-lodge,  sur- 
rounded by  a  neat  and  pleasant  garden,  in  which 
a  number  of  flowers,  which  are  highly  prized  in 
our  gardens  at  liouie,  awakened  in  my  mind 
both  pleasing  and  painful  recollections.  These 
sweet  friends  of  mine  said  to  me,  in  an  impres- 
sive manner,  "The  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the 
fulness  thereof,"  and  reminded  me  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Him  who  has  said,  "Heaven  is  my  throne, 
and  earth  is  my  footstool.  Hath  not  my  hand 
made  all  these  things  V  Thus  I  was  led  to  ac- 
knowledge that  I  was  no  farther  from  my  real 
home  than  when  I  was  in  my  own  house. — From 
a  German  Work. 


THE  AMERICAN. 

The  American  accepts  any  work yor  the  time,  if 
it  pays.  He  does  it  cheerfully  ;  he  does  it  man- 
fully ;  but  if  it  is  at  the  bidding  of  another,  he 
does  not  intend  to  do  it  always,  or  to  do  it  long. 
The  American  journeyman  intends  to  be  an  em- 
ployer. The  American  clerk  has  it  in  his  own 
mind  that  in  good  time  he  will  he  a  capitalist. 
Any  man  who  is  satisfied  with  perpetual  depen- 
dence, any  man  who  is  void  of  aspiration,  and 
incapable  of  effort,  is  not  in  harmony  with  the 
spirit  of  American  life,  and  with  the  genius  of 
American  society.  *  *  I  advocate,  indeed, 
the  sentiment  of  aspiration,  but  it  is  aspiration 
following  its  piu'pose  with  the  constancy  of 
Christian  rectitude,  and  with  the  quiet  of  manly 
perseverance. — Henry  Giles. 


COURTESY  OF  AMERICAJVS. 

I  like  the  Americans  more  and  more.  Either 
they  have  improved  wonderfully  lately,  or  else 
the  criticisms  on  them  have  been  wonderfully 
exaggerated.  They  are  particularly  courteous 
and  obliging,  and  seem,  I  think,  particularly 
anxious  that  foreigners  should  carry  away  a  fa- 
vorable impression  of  them.  As  for  me,  let 
other  travellers  say  what  they  please  of  them,  I 
am  determined  not  to  be  prejudiced,  but  to  judge 
of  them  exactly  as  I  find  them;  and  I  shall  most 
pertinaciously  contiime  to  praise  them  (if  1  see 
no  cause  to  alter  my  present  humble  opinion), 
and  most  especially  for  their  obliging  civility 
and  hospitable  attention  to  strangers,  of  which  I 
have  seen  many  instances. — Lady  Wortley. 

Look  for  ruin  when  a  coward  wins. 

For  fear  and  cruelty  were  ever  twins. — Aleyn. 


200 


GLEASON'S    PKJTOPJAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


THE  DOG  MARKET  AT  PARIS. 

The  Doy^  Miirket  at  Puris  is  opfn  on  Sandays 
between  12  and  2  o'clock  on  tlic  site  of  the  horse 
mai-t.  It  in  simply  an  uttair  of  tolerance,  not  of 
munii-ipal  retrnhition.  The  locality  is  tlie  Bou- 
levard lie  I'llopital,  at  some  disiance  from  the 
cenire  of  the  city.  Do^^s,  like  hordes,  have  their 
jockeys — fellows  whom  nothing  will  put  out  of 
countenance,  no  ohjeclion  citnfu^c,  and  who  are 
very  skillful  in  fjildintj;  the  pill  they  force  lln-ir 
customers  to  swallow.  One  must  look  sharp  in 
this  tnillie,  and  not  lend  too  credulous  an  car  to 
the  jioelical  a(;counts  of  tiie  dealers,  who  do  not 
■  scruple  to  endow  their  wares  with  all  the  pre- 
cious qualities  and  virtues  under  heiivcn.  You 
must  judf!:c,  sec  and  examine  I'or  yonrself,  and 
especially  take  care  that  the  animal  ottered  is 
not  a  foundling — a  genteel  expression  employed 
to  save  the  feelings  of  the  dog  jockeys.  The 
finding  of  dogs  is  a  profession  more  generally 
practised  at  Paris  tlian  most  people  imagine.  It 
has  its  precepts,  its  tricks  and  proeeedingp,  per- 
fectly well  known  lo  those  who  are  most  inter- 
ested in  the  knowledge.  A  dog  is  found,  either 
for  tlie  purpose  of  selling  him  out 
of  Paris — expatriating  him,  as 
they  call  it — or,  as  is  more  often 
the  case,  with  the  view  of  carrying 
him  hack  in  triumph  to  his  mas- 
ter— that  is,  if  lie  has  been  duly 
advertised,  and  a  truly  liberal  re- 
ward promised  for  his  recovery. 
The  owner  often  goes  to  the  mar- 
ket to  hunt  up  and  discover  his 
lost  dog.  This  course,  winch  is 
not  always  useless,  would  be  vain 
if  tlie  dog  had  been  really  fonml, 
in  the  bad  sense  of  the  word  ;  his 
new  master  would,  in  that  case, 
seek  to  sell  him  out  of  Paris,  and 
to  have  any  chance  of  recovering 
him  it  would  then  be  necessary  to 
dive  into  all  the  holes  and  cor- 
ners, which  arc  even  unknown  to 
the  police,  and  in  which  the  very 
honest  dealers  conceal  their  fraud- 
ulently acquired  dogs  under 
double  locks,  until  they  find  a  fa- 
vorable opportunity  of  getting  rid 
of  tliem.  This  would  be  a  very 
ditfii-ult,  and  not  very  amusing 
course,  and  the  better  plan,  in 
such  a  case,  is  to  give  the  police 
officer  of  the  horse  mart,  who  has 
also  charge  of  the  dog  market,  an 
exact  description  of  the  animal 
claimed,  taking  care  to  promise  a 
liberal  and  definite  reward  to  the 
possessor.  For  a  franc,  you  can 
have  the  description  and  the  re- 
ward copied  and  posted  up  among 
the  numerous  notices  which  form 
the  unique  decoration  of  a  special 
office  established  in  the  market 
place.  Speaking  of  these  notices, 
we  read  of  one  which  attested  at 
once  the  profound  grief  and  the 
talent  of  tlie  bereaved  proprietor. 
It  was  a  delightful  drawing  in 
colored  crayon,  representing  the 
finest  of  King  Charles  Spaniels. 
We  have  not  learned  whether  so 
much  solicitude  attained  its  end. 
The  tlieft  of  a  dog  was  an  offence 
punished  formerly  with  much 
greater  severity  than  it  is  at  pres- 
ent. In  the  seventh  century,  the 
man  who  killed  a  first  rate  hunt- 
ing dog  was  fined  six  sous,  three 
sous  for  a  dog  of  inferior  merit, 
three  sous  for  a  common  dog,  if 
killed  during  the  nigiit  time,  and 
one  sou  only  if  the  assassination 
was  committed  during  the  day. 
But  to  return  to  our  dog  market. 
Let  us  see  how  the  bargaining 
goes  on  for  one  of  these  unfortu- 
tunate  animals  who,  with  his  ribs 
apparent,  his  ears  drooping,  and 
his  tail  I)etween  his  legs,  seems  to 
solicit  the  pity  of  the  purchaser. 

"My  good  fellow,  what  kind 
of  a  dog  do  you  call  this  V 

Now  the  dog  happens  lo  be  of 
an  indescribable  race — something 
between  a  greyhound  and  a  mas- 
tiff. 

"Sir," replies  the  dealer,  "this 
is  a  bracli  of  the   finest  species.     Twelve  hun- 
dred francs  were  offered  for  his  mother  and  re- 
fused.    When   he   comes   to  a  point,  he   stands 
like  a  post." 

"  And  this  other  dog  ?" 

"  He  has  not  his  equal  for  docility  and  as  a 
pointer.  Put  a  pheasant  in  this  lantern,  and 
he'll  point.  You  might  go  to  Versailles  for  your 
gun,  yes,  and  breakfast  there,  and  on  your  re- 
turn, I'd  wager  a  hundred  dollars  you'd  find 
him  true  to  his  point  with  one  foot  in 'the  air." 

"Haven't  you  anything  better  to  show  me." 

"You  are  hard  to  please,  sir." 

The  customer  is  going  off,  when  the  dealer 
whispers  in  his  ear: 

"  Bo  you  want  a  dog  for  the  city  V 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you." 

There  are  many  persons  who  do  not  scruple 
to  sanction  similar  arrangements  as  those  last 
hinted  at,  but  besides  that,  morally  speakino-^ 
one  niay  affirm  that  it  is  indelicate  lo  purchase 
a  dog  suspecrcfl  of  having  been  stolen,  you  ex- 
pose yourself  tp  ft  fhpusand  annoyances,  of 
which  tlie  least  wquljd  be  tp  find  yourself  face  to 
face  with  the  legitimatp  prflprjetor,  who,  on 
recognizing  hjs  dog,  might  pbjcct  to  hj^  /iitv|ng 
tt  s§(wn4  maijljcr^  ajjtJ  exprpss  hjmsclf  pi^  tJjat 


point  rather  enoi'getically.  Every  Snndny,  (he 
government  puts  uji  at  auction  all  stray  dogs 
seized  during  the  )n*eceding  week,  and  sometimes 
the  finest  animals  are  knocked  off  in  this  way 
for  a  song.  This  custom  requii'cs  some  com- 
ment. In  the  first  place,  the  icgnlation  ])ro- 
scribing  stray  dogs,  particularly  in  large  cities, 
is  a  salutary  one.  Jf  wc  rcHcct  how  many  ter- 
rible accidents  a  mad  dog  may  cause,  and  that 
it  is  precisely  these  vagabond  animals,  which  re- 
ceive neither  necessary  care  nor  nourishment 
that  arc  most  likely  to  be  smitten  with  tlnit 
dreadful  scourge,  the  hydrophobin,  it  will  doubt- 
less be  acknowledged  that  all  means  are  juslili- 
ahlc  to  purge  the  streets  of  them.  Formerly 
poi.son  was  employed  for  this  purpose,  and  the 
cify  of  Paris  caused  thousands  of  noxious  pills 
to  be  scattered  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  at 
an  expense  of  something  like  12,000  francs  a 
year.  The  dog  was  thus  attacked  in  his  weakest 
])oint  (voracity),  and  the  ravages  caused  were 
enormous;  but  in  this  manner,  quite  as  many 
dogs  with  homes  and  masters  were  destroyed,  as 
vagabonds  and  runagates.    The  vexation  caused, 


upon  the  vci'dant  are  almost  as  flagrant  and  art- 
ful as  those  of  horse  jockeys.- — The  dog  has  ever 
been,  and  will  ever  be,  an  object  of  interest  lo 
man  all  over  the  world.  To  no  animal,  per- 
haps, arc  mankind  more  indebted  for  failfiful 
and  unswerving  afl'ection  than  to  him.  His  in- 
corruptible fidelity,  his  forbearing  and  enduring 
attachment,  his  inexhaustible  diligence,  ardor 
and  obedience,  have  been  noticed  and  eulogized 
from  the  earliest  times.  This  valuable  quadru- 
ped may  be  emphatically  termed  the  fiiend  of 
man  ;  as,  unlike  other  animals,  his  attachment 
is  purely  personal,  and  uninfluenced  by  changes 
of  time  and  place.  The  dog  seems  to  remember 
only  ilie  benefits  which  he  may  have  received, 
and,  instead  of  discovciing  resentment  when  he 
is  chastised,  exposes  himself  to  torture,  and  even 
licks  the  hand  from  which  it  piocceds.  Without 
the  aid  of  this  almost  reasoning  animal,  how 
could  man  have  resisted  the  attacks  of  the  sav- 
age and  ferocious  tenants  of  the  forest,  or  have 
procured  sustenance  in  those  ages  of  the  world 
wlien  agrifulturc  was  unknown  !  When  we  at- 
tempt to  trace  the  source  or  origin  of  the  species, 


THE  DOG  MARKET,  AT  PARIS. 


and  the  complaints  preferred,  induced  the  mag- 
istracy to  abandon  this  measure.  The  rag-pick- 
ers were  next  authorized  to  rid  the  streets  of 
stray  dogs ;  all  those  found  in  the  night  time 
were  killed  without  mercy,  and  a  bounty  was 
paid  for  the  remains.  But  every  medal  has  its 
reverse,  and  so  had  the  dog  law.  The  rag-pick- 
ers did  not  employ  all  the  delicacy  desirable  in 
their  functions,  and  killed  dogs  in  broad  daylight 
by  their  masters'  sides.  On  one  occasion,  an 
officer  avenged  his  dog  by  immediately  killing 
his  assassin.  This  plan  was  therefore  abandoned 
for  the  present  system,  by  which,  every  dog  found 
at  large  upon  the  public  street  is  sent  to  the 
pound — Rue  dc  Petit  Banquet,  Boulevard  dc 
I'Hopital.  There  he  is  kept  about  eight  days,  if 
he  is  worth  the  pains.  At  the  expiration  of  that 
time,  if  he  is  not  claimed,  he  is  killed;  or,  if  a 
dog  of  any  value,  he  is  sold  at  auction  in  the 
midst  of  the  dog  market,  a  commissary  an- 
nouncing the  sale  to  amateurs  by  ringing  a  hand 
bell.  Those  in  want  of  frizzled  poodles,  lap 
dogs,  and  supplies  of  ordinary  qualities,  can  ob- 
tain them  at  the  dog  market.  But  staghotmds, 
pointers,  and  the  nobler  varieties  of  the  animal 
are  not  readily  to  be  found  here.  One  must  bo 
a  thorough  connoisseur  of  dogs  to  attempt  pur- 
eji^sing  them  in  this  place.     The  tricks  practised 


it  will  be  found  that  the  changes  and  varieties, 
which  the  influence  of  domestication  and  the  in- 
termixture of  races  have  produced,  are  so  multi- 
farious and  interminable  as  to  baffle  all  research. 
Pennant  is  of  opinion  that  the  original  stock  of 
dogs  in  the  old  world  is  with  great  reason  sup- 
posed to  be  the  jackal ;  that  from  their  tamed 
offspring,  casually  crossed  with  the  wolf,  the 
fox,  and  even  the  hyena,  have  arisen  the  num- 
berless forms  and  sizes  of  the  canine  race.  Buf- 
fon,  with  much  ingenuity,  has  traced  out  a  gen- 
ealogical table  of  all  the  known  dogs,  deducing 
all  the  other  varieties  from  the  shepherd's  dog, 
variously  affected  by  climate,  and  other  casual 
circumstances.  From  the  recent  observations  of 
travellers  in  the  high  northern  parts  of  this  con- 
tinent, where,  although  dogs  have  been  employed 
for  an  incalculable  length  of  time,  they  still  re- 
tain much  of  the  external  appearance  and  gen- 
eral carriage  of  a  wild  animal,  it  would  seem 
that  Pennant's  suggestion  is  worthy  of  attention. 
But,  at  the  same  lime,  it  should  be  remarked, 
tliat  the  breed  of  dogs,  produced  from  the  wolf 
and  varieties  of  the  domestic  dog,  during  a 
long  succession  of  generations,  still  retains 
marked  characteristics  of  the  predominance  of 
the  savage  qualities  derived  from  its  untamed 
progenitors,  in  the  keen  and  vivid  expression  of 


the  eye,  ferocity  of  disposition  and  severity  of 
bite.  It  is  also  a  singular  fact,  that  the  race  of 
European  dogs  evince  as  great  an  antipathy  to 
the  Esquimaux  species  as  they  do  to  a  wolf. 
Linnajus  has  asserted  that  the  tail  of  this  animal, 
in  all  its  species  and  varieties,  invariably  bends 
to  the  left ;  but,  although  such  is  very  often  the 
case,  it  is  by  no  means  universal,  as  the  slightest 
observation  will  demonstrate.  Dcsmarest,  how- 
ever, has  remarked  a  peculiarity  as  respects  the 
tail  of  dogs,  which  appears  much  belter  to  rank 
as  a  specific  character ;  that,  wlienevcr  this  mem- 
ber is  of  white  united  with  any  other  color,  the 
white  is  always  terminal.  The  same  remark 
applies  to  other  species  of  this  genus  equally 
with  the  dogs.  Naturalists  have  divided  dogs  in- 
to several  classes  :  1.  jnaslij/'s,  including  the  dog 
of  New  Holland,  the  mastiff  (particularly  so 
called),  tlie  Danish  dog,  and  the  varieties  of 
greyhound;  2.  the  i!/;a;((Wx,  including  the  spaniel 
and  its  varieties,  the  water  dog,  the  hound,  the 
terrier,  the  shepherd's  dog,  the  wolf-dog,  the  Si- 
berian dog,  and  the  aleo  or  Peruvian  dog;  3. 
bulldogs,  consisting  of  the  bull  dog  and  its  vari- 
eties, the  house  dog,  the  turnspit, 
the  pug,  etc.  The  sagacity  and 
attention  of  the  dog  are  so  great, 
tliat  it  is  not  difficult  to  teach 
him  to  hunt,  dance  and  exhibit  a 
thousand  tricks.  The  mode  in 
which  he  is  taught  to  point  out 
different  cards  is  this :  he  is  first 
taught,  by  repeated  trials,  to 
know  something  by  a  certain 
mark,  and  then  to  distinguish  one 
ace  from  another ;  food  is  fre- 
<|uently  offered  him  on  a  card  he 
is  unacquainted  with,  after  which 
he  is  sent  to  search  it  out  from 
the  pack  ;  and,  after  a  little  expe- 
rience, he  never  mistakes.  Profit- 
ing by  the  discovery  of  receiving 
food  and  caresses  for  his  docility, 
he  soon  becomes  able  to  know 
each  particular  card,  which,  when 
it  is  called  for,  he  brings  with  an 
air  of  gayety,  and  without  confu- 
sion. But  of  the  attainments  by 
which  the  dog  has  been  distin- 
guished, that  of  learning  to  speak 
is  the  most  extraordinary.  The 
celebrated  Leibnitz  communicat- 
ed a  fact  of  this  nature  to  the 
royal  academy  of  France;  and 
were  it  not  that  he  asserts  that  he 
himself  was  a  witness  of  the  phe- 
nomenon, we  should  scarcely 
have  dared  to  report  the  circum- 
stance. The  dog,  from  his  ac- 
count, could  articulate  about  thir- 
ty words,  but  it  was  necessary 
that  they  should  be  first  pro- 
nounced to  him.  Dogs  are  found 
in  all  parts  of  the  world,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  groups  of 
islands  in  the  southern  Pacific 
ocean.  It  is  only  in  temperate 
climates  that  they  preserve  their 
ardor,  courage,  sagacity  and  other 
talents.  When  transported  to 
very  hot  countries,  they  lose  those 
qualities  for  which  we  admire 
them.  These  animals  foi-m  an 
important  article  of  food  among 
many  nations.  In  China,  the  So- 
ciety Islands,  etc.,  young  puppies 
are  considered  a  great  delicacy, 
and  are  allowed  by  Europeans, 
who  have  overcome  their  preju- 
dices, to  be  very  sweet  and  pal- 
atable. This  taste  for  dog's  flesh 
is  of  very  early  origin.  The  an- 
cients regarded  a  young  and  fat 
dog  as  excellent  food  ;  and  Hip- 
pocrates placed  it  on  a  footing 
with  mutton  and  pork,  and,  in 
another  place,  observes,  that  the 
flesh  of  a  grown  dog  is  whole- 
some and  nourishing.  The  Ro- 
mans admired  sucking  puppies, 
and  sacrificed  them  to  the  gods, 
as  the  most  acceptable  offering. 
Virgil  has  not  thought  the  praise 
of  dogs  a  subject  unworthy  of  his 
pen.  He  recommends  it  to  the 
husbandmen  of  Italy  to  pay  par- 
ticular attention  to  the  rearing 
and  training  of  dogs.  The  dog 
is  born  with  his  eyes  closed  ;  they  do  not  become 
opened  until  the  tenth  or  twelfth  day.  Its  teeth 
begin  to  change  about  the  fourth  month,  and  its 
growth  is  perfected  in  two  years.  The  female 
generally  has  a  litter  of  from  six  to  twelve  pups. 
The  dog  seldom  lives  beyond  fifteen  years. 
Among  the  many  varieties  of  the  dog  tribe,  there 
is  one  called  the  Hare  Indian  Dog,  thus  describ- 
ed by  Richardson,  with  which  we  close  this  arti- 
cle. He  says  :  "  This  species  of  animal,  which 
is  peculiar  to  North  America,  derives  its  name 
from  the  Hare  tribe  of  Indians,  and  others,  on 
the  borders  of  the  Great  Bear  Lake,  and  the 
banks  of  the  Mackenzie.  It  is  a  favorite  animal 
with  those  tribes,  and  is  used  by  them  in  the 
chase  only ;  not  being  of  sufficient  size  for  the 
purpose  of  burden  or  draught.  It  is  not  so  large 
as  the  prairie  wolf,  but  exceeds  the  red  American 
fox ;  and  yet  it  bears  a  greater  resemblance  to 
the  former  than  to  the  latter.  The  Hare  Indian 
dog  has  a  small  head,  slender  muzzle,  erect  ears 
and  thick;  oblique  eyes,  slender  legs,  broad 
hairy  feet,  and  a  bushy  tail,  which  it  usually 
carries  curled  over  its  right  hip.  It  is  covered 
with  long  hair,  particularly  about  the  shoulders, 
p.nd  at  the  roots  there  is  a  thick  wool.  The  hair 
on  the  top  of  the  head  is  long,  and  on  the  hack 
part  of  the  cheeks  is  directed  backwards." 


GLEASOTs^'S   PICTORIAL   DP.AWIXG   ROOM    CO^MPANION. 


261 


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THE  BIRD  3IARKET  AT  PARIS. 

The  Bird  Market  of  Paris  is  situated  in  the 
Kue  Lobineau,  alone  the  market  of  St.  Germain, 
and  the  towers  of  St.  Sulpiec.  noticeable  in  the 
eugravin<r,  embellish  it  at  the  first  glance.  It  is 
characterized  by  animation,  enthusiasm  and  va- 
riety. The  car  recognizes  it  at  once  by  the  gay 
and  musical  twittering  that  pervades  its  atmos- 
phere. There  are  cages  of  every  shape,  in  which 
each  bird  contributes  his  quota  to  the  music, 
T\ithout  troubling  himself  about  his  neighbor,  or 
disturbing  the  general  harmony,  and  contributes 
by  tlie  variety  of  his  colors  to  the  charm  of  the 
picture.  There  are  pigeons  and  turtle  doves, 
whose  perpetual  cooing  serves  as  a  base  to  the 
flourishing  soprani  around  him.  Tiiere  are  rab- 
bits, too,  in  this  market,  gray,  black  and  white, 
peaceably  feeding  on  cabbage  leaf  and  appearing 
indilterent  to  the  musical  racket  around  them. 
Here,  dealers  of  the  city  have  established  them- 
selves with  their  treasures  for  a  day,  along  the 
wall  exposed  to  the  sun,  constructing  ingenious 
pyramids  of  cages,  animated  by  the  perpetual 
motion  of  their  inmates  ;  there,  citizens  and  me- 
chanics, trying  to  sell  their  birds, 
their  canaries  or  starlings,  walk- 
ing about,  cage  in  hand,  according 
to  an  ancient  custom  to  be  noticed 
hereafter.  The  taste  for  birds 
can  be  traced  to  a  great  antiquity. 
The  ancient  auttiors  who  have 
spoken  of  them  greatly  in  detail 
are  very  numerous.  Cornelius 
Agrippa,  an  emperor  { Frederic 
11),  son  of  Henry  tlie  Falconer, 
Mainfioy,  kinir  of  Sicily,  Angclo, 
and  many  others.  The  unknown 
author  of  the  celebrated  work  cln 
linij  Modus  et  de  la  Royne  Rach 
treats  minutely  of  falconry  and 
the  taking  of  birds  in  nets,  and 
the  principles  of  the  craft  Iiave 
remained  unchanged  for  more 
than  five  hundred  years,  though 
many  of  the  technical  terms  are  no 
longer  the  same.  Fowlers  were 
persons  of  importance  at  this  pe- 
riod, when  falconry,  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  most  difficult  of 
all  kinds  of  hunting,  reign-d  su- 
preme in  the  favor  of  the  great. 
Many  numerous  and  curious  ordi- 
nances were  applied  to  it,  and  at 
the  risk  of  being  charged  with 
pedantic  antiquarianism  we  shall 
quote  a  few  immediately  applica- 
ble to  our  subject.  The  fowlers 
■ — we  speak  of  the  year  1400 — 
were  established  on  the  Pont  au 
Change — flanked  on  both  sides  by 
a  range  of  shops  occupied  by 
money-changers  and  goldsmiths 
— an  ordinance  had  granted  them 
the  privilege  of  fastening  their 
cages  to  the  walls  of  the  aforesaid 
shops,  and  even  without  the  leave 
of  tlie  proprietors.  Charles  VI 
was  the  author  of  tliis  munifi- 
cence. '*  In  consideration  of  which 
they  were  bound  to  loose  four 
hundred  birds  when  a  king  was 
crowned,  or  a  queen  made  her 
entry  into  the  city  of  Paris."  The 
money-changers  and  goldsmiths 
often  attempted  to  resist  the  priv- 
ilege of  the  fowlers,  but  the  par- 
liament invariably  sustained  their 
rights.  The  affair  assumed  a  cer- 
tain tragical  complexion  even. 
Seeing  that  they  could  not  attain 
their  ends  legally,  the  goldsmiths 
resorted  to  force,  and  one  fine 
day,  the  cages  were  all  taken 
down  and  with  their  contents 
thrown  into  the  Seine,  the  pro- 
prietors receiving  some  injury  in 
the  fracas  this  high-banded  pro- 
ceeding provoked.  What  a  sub- 
ject for  an  epic  poem.  The  right 
of  the  strongest,  in  spite  of  La- 
fontaine,  is  always  the  best.  But 
it  did  not  serve  the  money-chang- 
ers in  this  crisis.  The  leader  of 
the  coalition  against  the  fowlers, 
a  goldsmith  named  Fillacicr,  paid 
for  the  rest;  he  was  condemned, 
by  a  decree  of  the  parliament,  to 
a  fine  of  twenty  crowns  for  the 
benefit  of  the  victims  or  their  representatives, 
and  ten  crowns  to  the  king,  and  committed  to 
prison  till  tlie  payment  of  the  judgment  and 
costs.  Moreover  the  fowlers  were  commended 
to  the  special  care  of  their  adversaries.  Thus 
ended  the  tragedy.  Two  hundred  years  later 
came  a  special  edict  of  the  Marble  Table  forl)id- 
ding  the  chase  of  birds  from  the  middle  of  May 
till  the  middle  of  August,  designed  to  favor  tlie 
increase  of  the  species.  The  young  were  not 
allowed  to  be  taken  until  arrived  at  a  proper  age 
for  rearing.  Article  III  of  the  same  statute  per- 
mitted the  sale  of  birds  in  the  Vallee  de  la  Misere 
{ Valley  of  Misery),  now  the  poultry  market,  on 
Sundrtys  and  festival  days — religious  festivals, 
and  days  of  jubilee  and  general  processions  ex- 
cepted— from  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  till 
one  o'clock.  Change  the  Vallee  de  la  Misere  to 
the  Rue  Lobineau,  and  the  regulation  is  still  the 
same.  Another  custom,  which  seems  to  have 
been  preserved,  was  for  the  city  dealers  to  sus- 
pend their  cages  along  the  walls,  and  the  out-of- 
town  dealers  to  hold  them  in  their  hands,  in  or- 
der, says  article  IV  of  the  statute — that  the  first 
may  be  pointed  out,  as  they  sell  dearer  than  the 
others.  But  there  were  some  otlier  regulations 
which  show  with  what  vigilance  the  interest  of 
purchasers   was   sought  to  be  protected.     The 


out-of-town  dealers  who  brought  common  cana- 
ries or  other  birds  to  Paris  for  sale,  were  not  al- 
lowed to  carry  them  to  the  Vallee  de  la  Misere, 
till  they  had  previously  exposed  them  on  the 
marble  stone  in  the  courtyard  of  the  palace,  on 
the  days  of  the  entry  of  parliament.  The  follow- 
ing article  gives  the  key  to  this  provision;  in 
fact,  the  city  fowlers  were  forbidden  to  purchase 
birds  bf  out  of-town  dealers  in  the  Vallee  before 
eleven  o'clock,  and  in  the  palace  court  before 
noon,  in  order  that  the  governor  of  the  royal 
aviary,  and  after  him  the  citizens,  might  provide 
themselves  with  birds,  by  taking  advantage  of 
the  good  bargains  olfered  by  the  country  dealers, 
and  without  the  city  dealers  having  the  oppor- 
tunity of  advancing  prices  by  buying  up  the 
whole  stock  of  birds.  With  the  same  view,  arti- 
cle IX  forbade  the  aforesaid  city  fowlers  going 
to  meet  the  country  dealers  on  their  way  to  Paris 
to  purchase  birds  at  a  lower  rate.  But  they  had 
A  right  to  go  to  Havre  or  other  seaports  and  buy 
up  birds  brought  from  foreign  countries.  Among 
other  regulations,  permission  was  given  to  em- 
ploy experts  to  examine  birds,  to  see  if  they  were 


to  preserve  the  buyer  from  the  deception  and 
tricks  of  the  venders.  Nearly,  if  not  all,  of  these 
precautions  have  been  abandoned,  and  hence, 
unquestionablv,  the  little  importance  attached  to 
this  branch  of  trafllc,  for  nothing  afl'ords  a  wider 
field  of  fraud  than  the  sale  of  a  bird.  Let  us 
take,  for  instance,  the  goldfinch,  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest of  our  singing-birds.  The  price  of  an  indi- 
vidual varies  from  fifty  centimes  to  twenty  francs. 
We  can  see,  at  a  glance,  what  a  margin  this 
affords  the  dealer  to  deceive,  and  the  buyer  to 
to  be  deceived.  Fifty  centimes  (about  ten  cents) 
is  the  ordinary  price  of  a  goldfinch  not  a  year 
old — and  therefore  not  perfectly  plumed,  and  not 
dieted  or  tamed.  Twenty  francs  is  the  utmost 
price  for  a  perfect  goldfinch.  Now  between 
these  extremes,  how  many  qualities  of  age,  color 
and  song  are  to  be  estimated,  and  how  much 
knowledge  it  requires  to  buy  a  goldfinch ! 
Among  the  most  valuable  acquisitions  of  late 
years  may  be  cited  that  of  a  charming  little  par- 
roquet,  the  undulatus,  scarcely  larger  than  a  tom- 
tit, and  quite  as  active.  Its  brilliant  ])luinage  is 
of  a  clear  green,  streaking  with  little  undulating 


KIE 


THE  BIRD  MARKET,  AT  PARIS. 


sound  and  healthy;  and  the  corporation  of  fal- 
coners, who  alone  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  taking 
birds  in  nets,  were  enjoined  "to  loose  on  the 
festival  days  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  and  the  en- 
trance of  the  king  and  queen,  in  token  of  rejoic- 
ing, as  many  small  birds  as  should  be  judged 
fitting,  according  to  the  ancient  usage."  Besides 
the  right  of  hunting  and  selling  birds,  the  fowlers 
of  Paris  claimed  also  the  possession  of  an  exor- 
bitant and  exclusive  privilege,  that  of  breeding 
them  in  captivity.  The  burgesses  presented  a 
remonstrance  against  this  claim,  in  which  the 
following  passage  occurs  :  "  It  must  be  a  pleas- 
ure to  us,"  they  said,  "  and  to  our  wives  and 
daughters,  to  raise  canaries  which  we  should 
teach  a  thousand  graces  and  winning  ways ; 
while  those  purchased  on  the  Pont  aux  Chan- 
gcurs  are  ditticult  to  teach,  being  too  old."  Their 
petition  was  granted,  and  a  decree  of  the  Marble 
Table  of  Jan.  29,  1697,  allows  citizens  to  multi- 
ply birds  in  captivity.  At  present  there  are  no 
corporations  of  bird-catchers,  and  the  use  of  nets 
has  been  positively  forbidden  in  all  unenclosed 
lands.  This  was  the  only  way  of  preventing  the 
destruction  of  birds  rendered  imminent  by  the 
number  of  net-hunters  and  the  destructive  kinds 
of  snares  set  for  them.  From  these  old  regula- 
tions we  see  how  many  precautions  were  taken 


lines  of  a  deeper  tint,  passing  towards  the  head 
into  a  light  yellow,  relieved  by  delicate  feathers 
of  vivid  ultramarine  blue.  The  green  and  blue 
mingle  in  the  tail  feathers.  No  bird  is  more  ac- 
tive in  its  motions  or  graceful  in  its  manners. 
Its  little  curved  bill,  almost  hidden  in  plumage, 
is  constantly  moving,  and  emits  a  song  or  rather 
twittering  much  like  that  of  the  hcngaloe.  Its 
most  valuable  quality  is  the  rapidity  and  ease 
with  which  it  is  bred.  Neither  the  cold  weather 
nor  the  moulting  season  prevents  its  laying  and 
incubating.  The  young  birds  are  able  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  at  an  early  age,  and  begin  to 
incubate  six  months  after  leaving  the  nest. 
Thanks  to  this  facility,  the  undulatus  bids  fair 
soon  to  be  as  plenty  in  the  bird  market,  and  as 
cheap,  as  the  common  yellow  bird. — Turning  to 
our  Encyclopedia  Americana,  while  upon  this 
subject,  we  find  the  following  interesting  facts, 
which  we  compile  for  the  information  of  our 
readers.  The  symmetry  and  beauty  displayed 
in  the  graceful  forms  and  varied  colors  of  this 
part  of  creation,  strike  the  most  casual  and  at- 
tentive observer ;  and  the  wonderful  adaptation 
of  their  structure  to  their  peculiar  habits  and 
modes  of  living,  is  a  source  of  constant  admira- 
tion to  the  student  of  nature.  Almost  every  pe- 
culiarity in  the  external  appearance  of  birds  is 


fitted  for  the  element  they  inhabit,  and  conducive 
to  swiftness  of  motion.  Every  part  of  their 
frame  is  formed  for  lightness  and  buoyancy  : 
their  bodies  are  covered  with  a  soft  and  delicate 
plumage,  admirably  calculated  to  protect  them 
from  cold  or  moi.^ture  ;  their  wings,  although  of 
the  lightest  materials,  are  furnished  with  mus- 
cles of  such  power  as  to  strike  the  air  with  great 
force,  and  to  impel  their  bodies  forward  with 
astonishing  rapidity,  whilst  the  tail  acts  as  a  rud- 
der, by  which  their  course  can  be  directed  at 
pleasure.  Their  internal  structure  is  in  perfect 
consonance  with  those  external  peculiarities. 
Their  lungs  are  fixed  against  the  ribs,  and  envel- 
oped with  a  membrane  pierced  with  large  holes, 
which  permit  the  air  to  pass  into  cavities  in  the 
breast,  abdomen,  and  even  into  the  interior  of 
the  bones.  This  conformation  not  only  renders 
them  more  buoyant,  but  also  prevents  any  inter- 
ruption in  their  respiration,  by  the  rapidity  of 
their  motion  through  a  resisting  medium,  and 
increases  their  vital  energy.  Some  idea  may  be 
formed  of  the  capacity  of  birds  for  respiration 
from  the  fact  stated  by  Lavoisier,  that  two  spar- 
rows consume  as  much  air  as  a 
Guinea  pig.  The  anterior  ex- 
tremities of  birds,  being  solely 
fitted  for  the  action  of  flying,  are 
useless  either  for  resting  or  grasp- 
ing ;  hence  these  animals  are  bi- 
ped, and  take  objects  from  the 
ground  with  their  mouth,  for 
which  purpose  the  neck  and  beak 
are  elongated  and  very  movable  ; 
the  body  is  also  inclined  forward 
beyond  the  feet;  the  thighs  are  in 
advance,  and  the  toes  of  such  a 
length  as  to  form  a  sufficient  ba- 
sis. The  pelvis  is  very  long,  to 
give  origin  to  muscles  supporting 
the  trunk  on  the  thighs,  and  a  set 
of  muscles  pass  from  the  pelvis  to 
the  toes,  so  arranged  that  the  sim- 
ple weight  of  the  bird  retains  the 
toes  in  a  fixed  condition  ;  in  con- 
sequence, they  are  able  to  sit 
perched  upon  one  leg  with  secu- 
rity, and  without  becoming  fa- 
tigued. The  posterior  parts  of 
the  pelvis  (in  common  language 
known  as  the  side-bones)  are 
elongated  and  separated,  to  give 
room  for  the  developement  of  the 
eggs.  The  bill  of  all  birds  con- 
sists of  two  mandibles,  the  upper 
and  lower,  the  former  being  gener 
ally  fixed  and  immovable,  though 
in  the  parrots  it  has  the  power  of 
motion  to  assist  them  in  climbing. 
None  of  the  feathered  tribe  have 
teeth,  but  the  horny  case  which 
covers  the  mandibles  supplies  the 
place  of  these  instruments,  and  is 
sometimes  serrated,  so  as  to  re- 
semble them.  In  some  birds,  as 
the  falcons,  the  base  of  the  beak 
is  covered  with  a  skin  called  the 
cere;  and  in  the  turkey,  the  car- 
rier-pigeon, etc.,  it  is  covered  with 
a  earneous  appendage.  The  bill 
is  in  some  kinds  straight;  in  oth- 
ers curved  upwards  or  down- 
wards ;  in  some  flat ;  in  others 
comic,  wedge-shaped,  or  hooked, 
etc.  It  enables  the  bird  to  take 
hold  of  his  food,  to  strip  or  divide 
it,  to  carry  materials  for  building 
bis  nest,  or  food  to  his  young,  and 
is  a  formidable  weapon  in  the  ra- 
pacious tribe.  The  nostrils  are 
usually  of  an  oval  form,  and  pla- 
ced near  the  base  of  the  beak. 
The  eyes  are  so  disposed  as  to 
distinguish  equally  well  near  and 
distant  objects,  and  their  sense  of 
sight  is  exceedingly  acute.  The 
pparrow-hawk  discerns  small  birds 
from  an  incredible  distance.  Be- 
sides the  ordinary  eyelids,  there 
is  a  third,  called  the  nicitating 
membrane,  which  is  translucent, 
and  defends  the  eye  of  the  bird 
fiom  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun, 
without  obstructing  the  sight. 
Birds  have  no  external  ear,  with 
the  exception  of  the  nocturnal 
tribes  :  these  have  a  large  exterior 
conch,  in  the  form  of  a  thin  leath- 
ery piece  of  flesh.  The  intemal  ear,  however,  is 
very  large,  and  their  sense  of  hearing  very  quick. 
The  brain  of  birds  is  distinguished  by  its  great 
proportionate  size,  and  appears  to  be  formed  of 
tubercles,  and  not  of  convolutions.  Their  diges- 
tive powers  are  very  great:  the  stomach  is  com- 
posed of  three  parts — the  crog,  which  is  a  thin 
membranous  expansion ;  succenturlum,  also  a 
membranous  pouch,  furnished  with  a  multitude 
of  glands ;  and  the  gizzard,  which  is  provided 
with  two  strong  muscles,  covered  inside  by  a 
velvet-like  cartilage  :  here  the  food  is  ground,  or 
triturated,  and  its  action  is  aided  by  the  presence 
of  small  stones,  which  birds  swallow  for  that 
purpose.  The  coverings  or  feathers  of  birds 
are  admirably  calculated  for  security,  warmth, 
and  celerity  of  motion.  They  are  of  three  kinds; 
down,  smaller  feathers,  and  quills.  The  feathers 
which  inve-t  the  body  have  small  shafts  and 
large  vanes,  and  are  placed  over  each  other  like 
shingles,  so  as,  at  the  same  time,  to  permit  the 
water  to  run  off^  and  to  exclude  the  cold.  The 
down  is  placed  under  these,  and  serves  as  a  fur- 
ther protection  against  the  cold  :  hence  it  is  most 
abundant  in  those  species  that  inhabit  the  polar 
regions.  The  feathery  covering  of  birds  consti- 
tutes their  peculiar  beauty:  on  this  nature  has 
lavishoil  Iho  most  beautiful  colors. 


2()2 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COIMPANION. 


t\Vrltt<>n  for  OlcnsoirM  Pictorial.] 
"DONT  tilVJG  US'  TlIU  Sllll*." 

DY  C.  0.  DUNN. 

TToundod,  faint  iinil  bleeding,  dying, 

Noblo  Liuvroncp  deigiiH  to  npoiilt ; 
Thougli  tho  but;  of  death  Is  lying, 

Moaarcl),on  iila  bloodloss  cboolc. 
Guzo  upon  tbat  uyo  of  firo, 

Mark  tliut  fervent,  quivering  liii ; 
Hoar  liim  I  now  his  voice  flwelln  higher, 

"fiailoral  don't  give  up  the  ship!" 

Thougli  the  fatal  wound  bna  broken 

Strongest  tics  of  life  apart; 
Still  affection's  mystic  token 

Smiles  within  bii^  deathless  heart. 
Flames  of  life  thjit  erst  were  living. 

names,  that  from  bealth'a  fount  did  sip, 
Dimly  burnt,  when  he  wan  giving 

Orders — '■  Don't  give  up  the  ship  I" 

Noblo  Lawrence  I  bravo  commauderl 

Fought,  his  country's  rights  to  save  ; 
America's  immortal  stjindard 

A  guardian,  o'er  bim  did  wave. 
Freedom's  banner,  brightly  shining, 

Faithful  vigila  o'er  b;»i  kept; 
Hope,  though  dim  and  faintly  beaming, 

Never  in  hid  bosom  slept. 

i    m*^    t 

[Written  for  Glejison's  Pictorial.] 

THE  HAPPY  MISTAKE: 

— OK    THE — 

FORTUNES   OF   A  POOR  COUSIN. 

BY  SYLVANUS  COBB,  JR. 

Mr.  Lot  Perkins  was  a  merchant,  and  Mrs. 
Lot  Perkins  was  the  merchant's  wife.  Mr.  Lot 
Perkins  was  thought  to  be  a  great  deal  more 
wealthy  than  he  really  wus,  and  Mrs.  Lot  Per- 
kins held  her  head  a  great  deal  higher  in  society 
than  slic  ought  to  have  done.  They  had  one 
daughter,  eighteen  years  of  age,  who  was  as 
proud  as  her  mama,  and  whose  blushes  were 
bought  at  the  perfumer's,  and  whose  charming 
curls  were  given  her  in  return  for  a  certain  sum 
which  she  had  paid  to  the  hairdresser.  Arabel- 
la Perkins  was  not  so  beautiful  as  her  mother 
had  often  assured  her;  but  her  father's  supposed 
wealth  gave  a  passing  glow  to  her  features,  and 
she  ranked  among  the  beauties. 

There  was,  however,  one  beautiful  being  in 
the  merchant's  household.  It  was  Maria  Per- 
kins, a  poor  cousin,  the  daughter  of  the  mer- 
chant's deceased  brotlier.  She  was  a  year  older 
than  Arabella,  but  smaller  in  stature,  more 
youthful  in  appearance,  and  more  strong  in  prin- 
ciple. She  was  ever  kind,  ever  gentle,  with  a 
sweet  smile  almost  continually  resting  upon  her 
features,  except,  indeed,  when  she  met  with  chilly 
harshness  and  unkindness  from  those  about  her. 
And,  alas  !  this  she  met  too  often.  Her  position 
in  the  merchant's  family  was  but  that  ofa  meni- 
al at  best,  and  in  one  respect  she  was  even  below 
the  kitchen  cook,  for  she  labored  full  as  hard, 
and  received  no  pay  for  it,  excepting  her  board 
and  the  scanty  clothing  she  wore,  and  even  this 
latter  article  she  got  but  second-handed,  for  she 
was  obliged  to  wear  the  cast  off  clothing  of 
Arabella. 

"There,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Perkins,  as  she 
handed  the  poor  girl  a  soiled  silk  dress,  "  you 
can  fix  that  over  for  yourself,  after  you  get 
through  your  day's  work." 

"It  will  need  much  cleaning,  ma'am,"  return- 
ed Maria,  as  she  saw  the  great  wine-spots  and 
grease-marks. 

"Then  you  can  clean  it;  and,  indeed,  I  think 
you  ought  to  be  very  grateful  for  it,  at  any  rate. 
'Tisn't  many  girls  in  your  humble  position  that 
can  have  silk  dresses  at  all." 

"I  am  grateful  for  all  your  kindness,"  said 
the  fair  girl,  with  a  smile. 

"  So  you  ought  to  be." 

In  fact,  the  poor  girl  was  grateful ;  but  there 
was  a  heart-pang  her  countenance  did  not  show, 
nor  her  lips  speak.  Her  father  and  mother  had 
both  been  called  away  from  earth,  and  when  her 
uncle  bad  taken  her  she  was  penniless ;  there- 
fore, she  felt  grateful;  and  when  sorrow  for  the 
unkindness  she  sometimes  met  sprang  up  in  her 
])03om,  she  would  drive  it  back  if  possible,  but 
hide  it  from  others  at  any  rate. 
.  "  0,  mother !"  exclaimed  Arabella,  springing 
into  the  room  just  as  Maria  took  tlie  dress, 
"  what  shall  I  do  '?  Lucicn  MiUium  has  arrived, 
and  father  says  he  will  call  here  this  week.  My 
new  dress  must  be  finished  before  he  calls." 

"  Certainly  it  must,"  said  the  mother.  "  I  de- 
clare, Bella,  we  must  be  up  and  moving.  Wlicn 
you  arc  hin  wife — " 


"  O,   mother,  dont ! Miiria,  go  out  of  the 

room  I" 

The  fair  cousin  turned  at  tliis  impcriou.s  com- 
mand, and  left  the  iipiirtment.  What  might, 
under  otlicr  circumstances,  Inive  caused  her  a 
thrill  of  anguish,  proved  a  relief  to  hci-  now,  for 
the  mention  of  Lucicn  Milburn's  name  had  pro- 
duced a  strange  emotion  in  her  soul,  and  she 
gladly  embraced  the  opportunity  thus  atfordcd 
her  of  hiding  it  from  her  proud  relations. 

This  Milburn  was  a  young  man,  whose  father 
had,  years  before,  been  a  business  partner  with 
Mr.  Perkins;  Imt  he  had,  some  time  before, 
moved  to  New  Orleans,  whore  he  had  amassed 
considerable  wealth.  Between  the  two  parents 
there  had  been  a  sort  of  agreeable  understanding 
that  Arabella,  when  she  was  old  enough,  should 
be  Lucien's  wife  ;  and  during  the  time  that  Mr. 
Milburn  lived  in  New  Orleans,. the  subject  was 
often  mentioned  between  the  two  friends.  Wlicn 
the  latter  died,  whicli  was  about  a  year  previous 
to  the  opening  of  our  story,  and  left  the  wliole  of 
liis  vast  wealth  to  his  son,  Mr.  Perkins  corres- 
ponded occasionally  with  Lucicn,  and  the  subject 
of  the  marriage  still  remained  a  tlicmc  of  the 
correspondence;  so  that,  at  the  present  time, 
though  the  young  people  had  not  seen  each  other 
for  years,  yet  the  parents  of  Arabella  looked 
upon  her  as  just  about  the  same  as  betrothed  to 
the  wealthy  heir. 

"  Father  says  Lucien  will  send  us  word  when 
he  intends  to  call,"  said  Arabella,  as  soon  as 
Maria  had  left  the  room,  and  slie  had  recovered 
from  the  shock  her  sensibilities  had  received  by 
her  mother's  hasty  speech. 

"Certainly  he  will,"  returned  mama;  "but, 
perhaps,  he  may  be  at  the  party  to-night.  If 
Mrs.  Longwortb  knows  he  is  in  town,  she  will 
certainly  invite  him.  You  must  fix  up  for  it,  at 
all  events.  Now,  my  daughter,  you  must  keep 
in  your  mind  the  value  of  the  prize  you  have  to 
win.  Lucien  Milburn  is  a  husband  not  to  be 
met  with  often,  and  you  must  study  out  his  weak 
points  and  flatter  them.  If  you  manage  proper- 
ly, you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  Let  me  alone  for  that,"  said  Arabella,  with  a 
toss  of  her  curl-Iadened  head. 

And  thus,  for  an  hour,  did  the  mother  and 
daughter  plan  together  for  the  consummation  of 
their  object — the  trapping  of  the  rich  young  hus- 
band ;  and  when  they  adjourned,  they  looked 
upon  the  matter  as  securely  fixed.  Arabella 
studied  languishing  positions,  and  with  a  large 
mirror  before  her,  she  studied  any  number  of 
smiles  that  she  had  learned  to  call  at  will  to  her 
countenance.  She  went  through  a  new  course 
of  steps  and  shutHes,  and  practised  assiduously 
the  latest  fashionable  sentences  she  had  learned 
from  the  Prench.  The  most  difficult  task,  how- 
ever, was  to  decide  upon  the  exact  tableau  she 
should  introduce  when  Lucien  should  "  pop  the 
question."  But  even  this  all-important  point 
was  at  length  settled,  and  the  conquest  was  sm-e. 

That  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lot  Perkins  and 
their  dauglxter  went  to  Mi's.  Longworth's  party, 
and  Maria  was  left  at  work  upon  a  new  satin 
dress  for  Arabella,  with  directions  to  remain  in 
the  large  parlor,  and  answer  the  call  of  the  door- 
bell. She  remained  undisturbed  at  her  work 
until  after  nine  o'clock;  but,  at  length,  the  door- 
bell was  rung.  The  poor  cousin  v.-as  gathering 
the  rich  fabric  up  to  lay  it  aside,  when  she  heard 
the  steps  of  one  of  the  kitchen  girls  in  the  hall, 
and  ere  she  could  gain  the  parlor  door,  it  was 
thrown  open,  and  a  young  gentleman  entered. 

"  I\Iiss  Perkins,  I  believe,"  said  the  stranger, 
in  a  voice  full  of  richness  and  afl'able  ease. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  almost  unconsciously  fell  from 
Maria's  lips. 

"  My  name  is  Milburn,"  continued  the  new 
comer,  with  a  smile,  "and  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
circumstances  have  rendered  us  far  from  stran- 
gers to  each  other." 

Ashe  thus  spoke,  he  took  a  seat;  but  in  a 
moment  more,  as  Maria's  sweet  face  was  turned 
full  upon  him,  he  started  up  and  gazed  earnestly 
into  the  fair  girl's  features. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  cannot  be  mis- 
taken. Have  we  not  played  together  when 
children  V 

"  Yes,  sir,"  murmured  Maria. 

"  You  once  came  with  your  mother  and  spent 
a  long  time  at  our  house  in  the  city,  years  ago, 
when  wc  wei'C  both  laughing,  .sporting  beings  V 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Maria,  striving  hard  to 
keep  back  the  .strange  emotions  tliato-aged  in 
her  bo.som. 

"  Strange  that  I  should  have  forgotten  a  cir- 
cumstance that  now  comes  so  vividly  back  to 
mc,"  uttered  Lucicn  Milburn,  once  more  sinking 


into  his  seat;  "but  the  business  of  active  man- 
hood makes  sad  liuvoe  among  the  memories  of 
cliildhood.  Yet,  Miss  Perkins,  when  we  can 
sometimes  call  up  to  mind  those  scenes  of  inno- 
cence and  guilclcssness,  they  come  with  a  calm, 
soothing  inllucnee  over  the  soul.  Do  you  not 
Komctinies  live  in  the  past?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  i-eturncd  Maria,  while  a  bright  (car 
glistened  on  her  dark  lashes.  "Sometimes  I 
feel  that  all  of  joy  is  in  the  past;  but,  still,  the 
present  is  kind,  for  it  leads  us  to  the  future,  and 
ttie  future  iiolds  out  to  us  the  bright  torch  of 
hope." 

"  You  are  right,"  uttered  the  young  man,  with 
his  eyes  fastened  in  beaming  admiration  upon 
the  blushing  girl  before  him.  "  You  are  right. 
Hopes  are  ever  rising,  and  though  some  of  them 
may  be  false  lights,  yet  our  present  happiness 
clings  to  them  for  support.  God  grant  that 
some  of  our  sweetest  hopes  mayend  in  fruition." 

Maria  was  almost  astonished  at  the  presence 
of  the  power  that  sustained  her,  and  ere  long  she 
became  so  absorbed  by  the  mystic  charm  of  cir- 
cumstances, by  the  words  of  her  companion,  and 
by  the  answering  sentiment  that  they  found  in 
her  own  soul,  that  she  fell  into  a  conversation  as 
easy  and  untrammelled  as  though  she  had  been 
talking  with  an  acquaintance  of  years. 

As  the  clock  struck  eleven,  Mr.  Milbiun  took 
bis  hat,  and  arose  to  depart. 

"  Miss  Perkins,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  made 
strangely  soft  by  some  inward  feeling,  "  it  has 
been  long  years  since  I  have  passed  two  hours 
so  pleasantly  as  those  that  have  just  fied  ;  but,  I 
trust,  they  may  not  be  the  last.  Hope — that 
hope  in  which  we  all  must  live — tells  me  they 
are  but  the  precursors  of  many  and  happier  ones 
to  follow." 

Maria  stood  for  a  moment  where  Lucien  had 
left  her,  and  then,  as  she  heard  his  departing 
footsteps  upon  the  side-walk,  she  sank  upon  the 
sofa,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Indeed!"  she  murmured,  as  she  at  length 
arose,  and  moved  towards  the  place  where  lay 
her  work,  "  what  a  bright,  and  yet  a  cruel  dream 
is  this !  '  Two  hours  of  happiness,'  he  said. 
Yes,  they  have  been  happy  ;  but  for  me  they  can 
bring  no  more." 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  endeavored  to  sew,  for 
her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  and  her  hands 
trembled.  At  length  her  relations  returned,  and 
Arabella's  first  movement,  as  she  entered  the 
parlor,  was  to  see  how  her  dress  progressed. 

"  Well,  I  declare !"  she  exclaimed,  "what  a 
lazy  good-for-nothing  you  must  have  been.  Just 
look  at  that,  mother,  not  half  done," 

"What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing,  Maria?" 
sharply  asked  Mrs.  Perkins.  "I  expected  you 
would  have  had  this  all  finished  to-night,  and  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  make  you  sit  up  and  do  it 
now,  I  don't  wonder  you  cry  about  it.  Any- 
body ought  to  cry  to  be  so  negligent  as  you  have 
been." 

"Perhaps  she  isn't  well,"  suggested  Mr.  Per- 
kins, as  he  noticed"  Maria's  pain-marked  counte- 
nance. 

"  Then  you  can  go  to  bed  now,"  added  the 
unfeeling  woman ;  "  but  this  must  be  finished  be- 
fore noon  to  morrow.     Do  you  understand?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am."  returned  the  poor  girl ;  and 
with  a  bursting  heai't  she  hurried  from  the  room. 

Little  sleep  visited  the  pillow  of  Maria  that 
night.  The  circumstances  of  the  evening  whirl- 
ed through  her  brain  till  her  head  ached ;  but, 
still,  a  soft  stream  of  sunlight  would  now  and 
then  break  across  her  padi.  The  soft,  sweet 
words  of  him  who  had  sat  with  her  a  few  hours 
before  still  sounded  in  her  ears;  but  suddenly, 
like  the  crashing  ofa  temple,  that  source  of  com- 
foi't  was  thrown  down. 

"He  has  mistaken  me  for  my  cousin !"  she 
wildly  uttered  to  herself,  and  sank  sobbing  upon 
the  couch. 

That  niglit,  Mr.  Perkins  held  a  long  consulta- 
tion with  his  wife,  the  amount  of  which  was  that 
young  Milburn  nmst  be  secured  as  a  means  of 
propping  up  the  father-in-law.  Mr.  Lot  Perkins 
was  upon  the  stormy  sea  of  pecuniary  difficulty, 
and  he  wanted  the  aid  of  Milburn's  purse.  He 
licsitated  not  at  the  barrier  that  strict  honesty 
imposed,  but  reckless  of  moral  consequences  he 
laid  his  jjlans. 


"Well,  Lucien,"  said  Henry  Porrcst,  on  the 
next  morning  after  the  visit  above  mentioned,  as 
they  met  at  the  hotel,  "did  you  make  your  in- 
tended visit  last  night?" 

Henry  Porrcst  had  been  a  school-fellow  with 
Lucien,  and  the  confidence  of  former  years  was 
mutually  extended  by  each  to  the  other  as  soon 


as  they  had  met  on  the  return  of  the  latter  from 
the  South. 

"  Yes,  Harry,"  returned  Lucicn,  with  u  joyous 
beaming  smile. 

"And  did  you  see  Miss  Perkins?" 

"Yes," 

"  Well,  and  wliat  is  your  opinion  ?" 

"  She  is  an  ungtl." 

"  P-h-c-c-e-c-w  h  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Harry?" 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Lucicn  V 

"  To  be  sure  I  am." 

"Then  I  give  you  joy  of  your  discovery. 
You  have  found  out  what  no  one  else  has  ever 
done." 

"  What  do  you  mmti  ?" 

"  You  say  Miss  Perkins  is  an  angel  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  she  suits  your  taste?  That  is,  she 
comes  up  to  your  beau  ideal  of  a  woman  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  Yes ;  but  you  shall  say  it,  though.  Now 
tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  You  will  be  oit'ended,  Lucien." 

"No,  Harry.     Go  on." 

"Well,  then,  the  lady  in  question  has  the 
name  of  being  anything  but  an  angel.  She  bor- 
rows her  beauty  from  the  rouge-cup,  has  dull 
leaden  eyes,  is  ignorant,  has  a  heart  as  hard  as  a 
flint,  is  proud  and  overbearing,  and  ready  to 
jump  for  the  first  rich  husband  she  can  catch." 

"  0,  how  base  is  the  slander !  Paint ! — Hariy, 
I  saw  her  rich  color  come  and  go  last  night,  like 
the  sunset-clouds  of  heaven.  Ignorant ! — She 
has  a  mind  overrunning  with  the  richest  gems 
of  thought.  Hard-hearted,  say  you? — By  hea- 
vens !  Harry,  she  has  a  heart  as  tender  as  a 
babe's.  Proud! — No,  no  ;  she  is  as  meek  and 
mild  as  the  petted  lamb,  and  as  gentle  as  the 
dove.  And  I  can  tell  you  more  than  that.  I 
found  in  her  one  whom  my  heart  has  held  in  se- 
cret for  years — the  laughing  innocent  playmate 
for  a  month  when  wc  were  but  children." 

"  Then  either  you  or  myself  must  be  wonder- 
fully mistaken,"  said  Henry,  with  a  puzzled 
look. 

"  You  are  wonderfully  mistaken.  But  tcU  me, 
Harry,  how  could  you  have  formed  such  a  set  of 
will  opinions  ?" 

"  Partly  by  observation,  and  partly  by  the  re- 
port of  others-" 

"  The  report  of  others  is  good  for  nothing  ; 
but  tell  me  of  your  own  observations." 

"  Well ;  first,  I  don't  like  the  color  of  her 
hair.     That's  beginning  at  the  head." 

"  Why,  man,  her  hair  is  pure  as  refined  gold." 

"  Then  she's  colored  it.  Then  I  don't  like  the 
hatchet-look  of  her  face." 

"  Her  face !  Why,  it  is  the  very  acme  of  har- 
monious perfection," 

"  Then  I  don't  like  her  tall,  gu-afFe-liko 
figure." 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul,  Harry,  are  you  crazy? 
She  is  a  perfect  model  in  her  form — not  over 
five  feet  two,  and  graceful  as  the  wild  gazelle." 

"  Well,  Lu.,  either  you  or  I  are  blind.  I  sup- 
pose you  will  mairy  the  girl." 

"I  intend  to." 

"  Then  I  hope  you  will  find  out  that  I  am 
mistaken." 

"  I  know  I  shall.  The  girl  is  industrious,  too, 
for  I  found  her  sewing  last  evening." 

"  Sewing !" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  it  was  to  trap  you.'* 

"  No ;  for  she  did  not  know  that  I  was  com- 
ing. I  told  Mr.  Perkins  I  would  send  word  be- 
fore I  called  ;  and  I  took  her  unawares  last  even- 
ing on  purpose  to  read  her  before  she  should 
prepare  for  the  occasion." 

"  By  the  way,"  muttered  Henry,  half  to  him- 
self, "  Mrs.  Longworth's  party  came  ofl'  last 
niglit,  and  I  was  there.  At  what  time  did  you 
call  at  Perkins's  1" 

"At  nine,  and  stopped  till  eleven." 

"Egad,  Lu.,  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  cried 
young  Forrest,  bringing  his  hands  together  with 
a  vigorous  slap. 

"  Of  course  you  have ;  but  how  could  you 
have  made  so  wild  a  one  ?" 

"  Simply  by  mistaking  the  person." 

"  How  is  that  ?" 

"There  arc  tico  Misses  Perkins.  I  had  my 
mind  on  the  other  one." 

"Aha!"  laughed  Lucien,  feeling  greatly  re- 
lieved. 

"Ha-ha-a-a-ha!"  laughed  Henry,  with  a  com- 
ical look  of  roguery  stealing  over  his  features, 
"/meant  Arabella  Perkins,"  said  Lucien. 
"Did  you  call  her  Arabella  last  evening?" 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROO^I    COMPANION. 


263 


"No;  I  wasn't  so  familiar." 

Henry  turned  away  to  hide  the  rogue-imp  that 
danced  in  his  eyes,  and  shortly  afterwards  the 
breakfast- bell  rang. 


During  the  day,  Lucien  called  upon  several  of 
those  who  had  been  friends  of  his  father,  and 
once  or  twice  it  was  whispered  in  his  ear  that 
Mr.  Lot  Perkins  was  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy. 
One  man  assured  him  that  he  saw  one  of  the 
merchant's  notes  on  'Change  for  sale.  Though 
these  things  had  but  little  effect  upon  the  young 
man's  mind,  as  far  as  the  real  worth  of  the 
daughter  was  concerned,  yet  they  could  not  but 
throw  him  into  a  thoughtful  mood,  and,  at 
length,  he  began  to  wonder  if  it  were  possible 
that  he  could  have  been  mistaken  in  his  estima- 
tion of  Arabella's  character ;  but  that  thought 
was  at  once  hushed,  for  he  was  too  good  a  judge 
of  human  character  to  be  thus  deceived. 

In  course  of  time,  Lucien  called  at  Kr.  Per- 
kins's counting-room,  and  informed  him  that  he 
should  visit  his  family  on  the  following  evening. 
He  found  the  old  gentleman  in  the  midst  of  a 
heap  of  papers,  and  he  noticed  that  some  of 
them  were  quickly  hidden  from  sight  wlien  he 
entered.  A  warm  greeting,  but  yet  palpably 
strained  in  its  cordiality,  was  extended  to  the 
young  man,  and  in  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion, Perkins  took  good  care  to  speak  of  the  im- 
mense anxiety  which  his  daughter  felt  to  see  the 
friend  of  her  childhood ;  and  he  failed  not  to 
weave  into  his  conversation  sundry  commenda- 
tions of  the  young  lady.  Some  things  that  he 
said  about  his  daughter  sounded  rather  strange- 
ly to  the  young  man,  but  the  latter  attributed 
them  to  the  natural  partialities  of  a  father,  and 
let  them  pass. 

"  Let's  see,"  said  Lucien  ;  "  you  have  a  bro- 
ther, I  believe?" 

"I  had  one,  but  he  died  some  years  ago." 

"And  his  wife?" 

"  She,  too,  is  dead," 

"  I  hardly  remember  him,  and  yet  I  think  I 
have  seen  him.  Was  it  you  or  your  brother  that 
saved  me  once  from  drowning  1  I  think  I  have 
beard  my  father  speak  of  such  a  circumstance." 

"Ah,  yes.  It  was  my  brother,  I  believe,"  re- 
turned the  merchant,  with  much  hesitation ;  and 
then  he  changed  the  subject  of  conversation. 
"  This  evening,  then,  we  may  expect  you  V 

"Yes." 

"At  what  time?" 

There  was  an  anxiety  manifested  in  this  last 
question  of  the  old  gentleman's,  and  Lucien  at 
once  noticed  it. 

"At  nine  o'clock,"  he  returned. 

"At  nine.  Then  we  will  be  at  home  to  meet 
yon." 

In  a  few  moments  more,  the  young  man  left, 
and  when  he  reflected  upon  the  manner  of  the 
merchant,  something  whispered  to  him  that  all 
was  not  right.  There  had  been  a  constraint 
upon  certain  points,  and  a  sort  of  over-reaching 
in  others,  and  he  allowed  himself  to  sink  into  a 
nervous  thought ;  but,  ere  long,  the  sweet  face 
and  sweeter  words  of  the  fair  girl,  who  had  taken 
possession  of  his  heart,  came  back  to  his  mind, 
aud  he  felt  re-assured. 

Instead  of  waiting  until  nine  o'clock  on  that 
evening,  to  pay  his  promised  visit,  he  went  an 
hour  earlier. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perkins  were  in  the  parlor,  and 
so  was  Arabella  and  Maria.  The  former  of  the 
two  girls  was  sitting  on  the  music-stool,  and  the 
latter  was  arranging  some  ornaments  in  her 
proud  cousin's  hair. 

"  Come,  huiTy,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Perkins, 
**for  I  want  you  to  go  to  your  own  room  as  soon 
as  you  get  through." 

At  that  instant  the  door-bell  rang,  and  ere 
there  was  much  chance  for  a  theatrical  arrange- 
ment of  things,  Lucien  Milburn  was  ushered  in- 
to the  apartment. 

"  Aha,  good  evening,"  uttered  Mr.  Perkins, 
with  a  smile.  '■  My  wife,  Mr.  Milburn.  This  is 
my  daughter,  Arabella,  sir." 

Arabella  arose  mincingly  from  her  seat,  moved 
as  though  she  were  afraid  of  breaking  in  two  by 
over-exeriion,  and  calling  up  a  very  delicate 
smile  through  the  paint,  she  put  daintily  forward 
two  fingers  of  her  right  hand. 

"Is  this  your  daughter,  sir?"  uttered  Lucien, 
so  bewildered  by  the  circumstance  that  he  forgot 
to  take  the  jewel-laden  band  that  was  so  proper- 
ly proffered.  "  TJds  your  daughter  ?"  be  con- 
tinued, gazing  upon  the  palpable  paint  and  ex- 
cruciatingly nice  dying  look  that  was  thus  raised 
up  before  him. 

"  Yes,"  stammered  the  father. 


"  And  this  ?  Wlio  is  she  ?"  anxiously  asked 
the  young  man,  pointing  to  Maria. 

"  One  of  our  servant  girls,"  quickly  returned 
Mrs.  Perkins,  with  a  flushed  face.  "Maria, 
leave  the  room  instantly  !" 

"Maria!"  repeated  Lucien,  with  a  start. 
"  Stop,  stop  !  It  is  your  brother's  child,  Mr. 
Perkins." 

And  as  he  thus  spoke,  he  plaf;ed  his  hand 
upon  the  fair  girl's  arm,  and  arrested  her  pro- 
gress from  the  room. 

"Yes,"  faintly  stammered  the  merchant. 

"  We  give  her  a  home  here  to  protect  her  from 
poverty,"  added  Mrs.  Perkins. 

"Heavens!  what  a  mistake  I  have  made  !" 
said  the  young  man,  as  he  gazed  first  upon  the 
thing  of  paint,  jewels,  and  satin,  and  then  turned 
his  eyes  upon  the  trembling,  fi-ightened  being 
who  had  stopped  beneath  his  touch. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  murmured  Maria.  "  It  was  all  a 
mistake.     Let  me  go." 

"  0,  indeed !  it  was  a  happi/  mistake.  No,  no ; 
you  must  not,  shall  not,  go  from  mc  !" 

"Mr.  Milburn,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all 
this  V  at  length  asked  Perkins,  as  he  found  a 
tongue  to  articulate. 

"It  means  simply  this,"  returned  the  young 
man,  withont  hesitation,  as  be  drew  Marianearer 
to  him.  "I  came  here  with  a  slight  expectation 
of  finding  one  whom  I  might  make  my  wife.  A 
few  evenings  since  I  spent  two  hours  here  with 
this  young  lady,  and  until  now  I  thought  she 
was  your  daughter.  1  found  in  her  one  who 
was  imaged  in  the  love  of  m}''  childhood,  and  I 
loved  her  again,  not  as  a  child  of  yours,  but  for 
what  I  found  her  to  be." 

"  You  deceitful  huzzy !"  gaspeti  Mrs.  Perkins, 
as  Arabella,  with  an  excellently  modulated 
scream,  fainted  upon  the  sofji. 

"0!  I  thought  you  knew  me,  then,"  uttered 
Maria. 

"  This  is  a  strange  piece  of  business,  sir," 
pronounced  Mr.  Perkins,  with  a  flash  of  anger 
and  disappointed  hopes.  "  Of  course,  sir,  you 
will,  now  that  j^ou  see  your  en-or,  make  repara- 
tion to  my  daughter,  and  allow  that  girl  to  go 
about  her  business." 

"As  for  your  daughter, sir,"  returned  Lucien, 
"  I  have  no  reparation  to  make.  That  belongs 
to  you  ;  but  as  for  this  fair  being,  if  she  will  but 
accept  the  hand  I  now  offer,  togetlier  with  the 
heart  that  is  already  hers,  this  '  filra/ir/e  business  ' 
may  be  easily  settled.  Speak,  Maria ;  will  you 
be  mine !" 

"  Yes  !"  trembled  upon  the  poor  cousin's  lips, 
and  as  she  spoke,  her  head  sank  upon  the  bosom 
of  him  to  whom  her  answer  was  directed. 

Mrs.  Perkins  knew  not  what  to  do,  so  she 
happily  fainted  by  the  side  of  her  daughter, 
and  wliile  the  husband  was  gone  for  the  smelling- 
salts,  Lucien  drew  Maria  aside,  and  whispered  a 
few  hurried  words  in  her  ear.  A  beam  of  hap- 
piness sprang  to  her  cheek  as  she  consented  to 
the  proposition  she  had  heard,  and  shortly  after- 
wards Lucien  Milburn  left  the  house.  He  now 
understood  the  strange  remarks  of  Harry  For- 
rest, and  he  knew  that  Perkins  had  been  aiming 
at  his  money;  but  in  his  heart  he  thanked  God 
for  the  turn  affairs  had  taken. 

On  the  next  morning,  he  called  again  at  the 
merchant's  dwelling,  but  no  one  was  "at  home" 
to  see  him,  excepting  Maria ;  but  seeing  that  she 
was  the  only  one  he  wished  to  see,  the  disap- 
pointment was  bearable. 

In  less  than  a  week,  the  "  Poor  Cousin  "  had 
become  Mrs.  Milburn.  Her  dream  had  not  been 
cruel,  for  earth  had  not  a  happier  realization 
than  was  her's. 

Before  Lucien  took  his  beautiful  wife  away 
with  him  to  his  sunny  home  in  the  South,  he 
beard  of  the  failure  of  Mr.  Lot  Perkins,  and 
though  be  would  gladly  have  helped  a  friend  in 
distress,  yet  he  felt  that  Mr.  Perkins  and  his  fa- 
mily needed  the  lesson  they  would  thus  receive, 
and  he  left  them  to  profit  by  it. 


THE  GREAT  MORAL  WANT. 

AVhat  is  the  quality  in  which  the  improvident 
masses  are  so  deficient? — sdf-restraint,  the  abili- 
ty to  sacrifice  a  small  present  gratification  for  a 
prospective  great  one.  A  laborer,  endued  with 
due  self  restraint,  would  never  spend  his  Satur- 
day-night's wages  at  the  public-house.  Had  he 
enough  self-restraint,  the  artizan  would  not  live 
up  to  his  income  during  prosperous  times,  and 
leave  the  future  unprovided  for.  jMore  self-re- 
straint would  prevent  imprudent  marriages  and 
the  growth  of  a  pauper  population.  And  were 
there  no  drunkenness,  no  extravagance,  no  reck- 
less multiplication,  social  miseries  would  be 
trivial. — Social  Statics. 


I  am  not  now  in  fortune's  power ; 

He  that  is  down  can  sink  no  lower. — Sutler. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
GOOD-BY,    MAMA. 

BT  MBS.  M.  W.  CURTIS. 

"  Good-by,  mama,"  said  a  lovely  child, 
And  the  angel  of  death  hovered  near  ; 
But  they  saw  it  not  in  that  playful  smile, 
Or  that  happy  voice  so  dear. 

"  Good-by,  good-by,"  said  the  little  one, 
And  before  the  midnight  hour 
The  angel  had  marked  her  for  his  own, 
lie  had  blighted  the  little  flower. 

Calm  and  still  little  Mary  is  sleeping  now, 

A  marble-like,  dreamless  sleep  ; 
Cold,  icy  cold,  is  that  fair  young  brow, 

She  has  gone  where  they  never  weep  I 

She  has  joined  her  infant  brother  there, 

Where  flowers  celestial  bloom  ; 
And  joys  of  earth  may  not  compare 

With  bliss,  beyond  the  tomb. 

Mary  and  Arthur  are  angels  now, 

Where  no  good-by  is  spoken  ; 
Nor  shadows  come  to  cloud  the  brow, 

Where  love  ties  are  unbroken. 

THE  TRIAL  OF  BAXTER. 

The  trial  of  Baxter,  the  celebrated  Non-con- 
formist, supplies  an  admirable  specimen  of  the 
fashion  in  which  a  criminal  case  was  conducted 
under  these  respectable  auspices  in  theyear  16S5. 
When  the  trial  came  on,  a  crowd  of  those  who 
loved  and  honored  Baxter  filled  the  court.  Two 
whig  barristers  of  great  note,  PoUexfen  and 
Wallop,  appeared  for  liie  defendant.  PoUexfen 
had  scarce  began  his  address  to  the  jury,  when 
the  chief  justice  broke  forth  :  "  PoUexfen,  I  know 
you  well.  I  will  set  a  mark  upon  you.  You 
are  the  patron  of  the  faction.  This  is  an  old 
rogue,  a  schismatical  knave,  a  hypocritical  vil- 
lain. He  hates  the  Liturgy.  He  would  have 
nothing  but  long-winded  cant  without  book;" 
and  then  his  lordship  turned  up  his  eyes,  clasped 
his  hands,  and  began  to  sing  through  his  nose, 
in  imitation  of  what  he  supposed  to  be  Baxter's 
style  of  praying — "  Lord  we  are  thy  people,  thy 
peculiar  people,  thy  dear  people."  PoUexfen 
gently  reminded  the  court  that  his  late  majesty 
had  thought  Baxter  deserving  of  a  bishopric. 
"And  what  ailed  the  old  blockhead,  then,"  cried 
Jeffreys,  "  that  he  did  not  take  if?"  His  fury 
now  rose  to  madness.  He  called  Baxter  a  dog, 
and  swore  that  it  would  be  no  more  than  justice 
to  whip  such  a  villain  through  the  whole  city. 
Baxter  himself  attempted  to  put  in  a  word  ;  but 
the  chief  justice  drowned  all  expostulation  in  a 
torrent  of  ribaldry  and  invective,  mingled  with 
scraps  of  Hudibras.  "  My  lord,"  said  the  old 
man,  "  I  have  been  much  blamed  by  Dissenters 
for  speaking  respectfully  of  bishops."  "  Baxter 
for  bishops,"  cried  the  judge,  "  that's  a  merry 
conceit,  indeed!  I  know  what  you  mean  by 
bishops ;  rascals  like  yourself,  Kidderminster 
bishops,  faction  Presbyterians."  Again  Baxter 
essayed  to  speak,  and  again  Jeffreys  bellowed  : 
"Richard,  iVichard,  dost  thou  think  we  will  let 
thee  poison  the  court?  Kichard,  thou  art  an 
old  knave.  Thou  hast  written  books  enough  to 
load  a  cart,  and  every  book  as  full  of  sedition  as 
an  egg  is  full  of  meat.  By  the  grace  of  God, 
I'll  look  after  thee.  I  see  a  great  many  of  your 
brotherhood  waiting  to  know  what  i\  ill  befall 
their  mighty  don.  But  by  the  grace  of  God  Al- 
mighty, I  will  crush  you  all !"  The  noise  of 
weeping  was  heard  from  some  of  those  who  sur- 
rounded Baxter.  "  Snivelling  calves  !"  said  the 
judge. — Macaalay's  History  of  England. 


A  WORD  WITH  BROTHER  JONATHAN. 

Perish  all  the  cod  and  mackerel  in  the  ocean — 
fine  eating  as  they  are — before  we  go  to  war  with 
brother  Jonathan  for  a  cause  as  scaly  as  any  fish 
can  be  that  have  no  scales.  We  can't  think  of 
quarrelling  with  Jonathan  about  fish,  at  a  time 
when  our  general  enemy  is  plotting  everywhere 
to  reduce  us,  in  a  greater  measure  than  we  like, 
to  a  fish  diet;  and  would,  if  possible,  move  all 
the  nations,  and  heaven  and  earth,  and  another 
place  also,  even  worse  than  Ireland,  against  us 
for  that  end.  We  must  recollect  that  Jonathan 
is  now  the  only  national  creature  of  any  impor- 
tance, except  ourself,  that  is  not  priest-ridden 
and  soldier- ridden ;  the  soldier  in  the  saddle, 
and  the  jack-priest  on  the  crupper.  Our  natural 
relation  to  Jonathan  at  present  should  be  that  of 
a  league,  offensive  and  defensive,  against  despo- 
tism and  papal  petticoat  government  all  over  the 
world. — Punch. 


A  BILJLION. 

What  a  very  great  sum  is  a  billion  !  It  is  a 
million  of  millions.  A  million  seems  large 
enough — but  a  million  of  millions  !  how  long  do 
you  suppose  it  would  take  you  to  count  it  ?  A 
mill  which  makes  one  hundred  pins  a  minute,  if 
kept  to  work  night  and  day,  would  only  make 
fifty-two  miUions  five  hundred  and  ninety-six 
thousand  pins  a  year — and  at  that  rate  the  mill 
must  work  twenty  thousand  years  without  stop- 
ping a  single  moment,  in  order  to  turn  out  a  bil- 
lion of  pins  !  It  is  beyond  our  reach  to  conceive 
it — and  yet  when  a  billion  of  years  shall  have 
gone,  eternity  will  seem  to  have  just  begun. 
How  important  then  is  the  question,  "  Where 
shall  1  spend  eternity  V — Savannah  Courier. 


An  hour's  industry  will  do  more  to  produce 
cheei  fulness,  suppress  evil  humors,  and  retrieve 
your  affairs  than  a  month's  moaning. 


THE  FORBIDDEN  BLUSH. 

Bed,  it  is  said,  enrages  the  bovine  race;  but 
we  doubt  the  fact,  stated  as  a  peculiar  trait.  The 
thousands  of  instances  in  which  old  women  with 
red  cloaks,  farmers  with  red  waistcoats,  and 
young  girls  with  red  ribands,  have  braved  herds 
of  horned  cattle,  are  forgotten,  in  favor  of  the 
instances  in  which  some  unlucky  wight  with  red 
appurtances  of  one  sort  or  other  has  been  gored 
and  trampled.  It  is  true  that  t!ie  baited  bull  of 
the  Spanish  arena  is  inflamed  by  a  red  flag  waved 
before  his  eyes ;  but  we  question  whether  any 
other  gentleman  would  not  be  equally  irritated 
by  the  same  treatment,  and  whether  any  other 
would  not  serve.  Take  any  grandee,  for  exam- 
ple, place  him  in  the  arena,'  shoot  into  his  sides 
a  few  small  darts  adorned  with  fusees,  whirligigs, 
and  other  variations  of  pyrotechnic  art,  prick 
him  witli  a  few  sharp  goads,  and  tlien  wave  a 
riband  of  any  color  before  his  eyes,  and  see  if 
human  irritability  is  not  as  much  excited  as  bo- 
vine would  be — ay,  even  though  the  riband  be 
yellow.  The  greatest  argument  with  which  we 
are  acquainted  in  favor  of  the  red  theory,  is  the 
conduct  of  French  officials  and  other  Austrian- 
ized  animals.  In  Spain,  a  man  may  wear  a  red 
smoking  or  travelling  cap,  and  even  a  red  sash, 
without  molestation ;  but,  as  we  have  observed 
experimentally,  no  sooner  docs  he  cross  the  fron- 
tier than  the  otficial  flies  at  him  and  obliges  him 
to  reUnquish  the  forbidden  hue.  It  is  a  French 
axiom  at  present,  that  gules  and  government 
cannot  coexist  within  the  Gallic  boundary.  The 
antipathy  extends,  to  a  certain  degrees,  through- 
out absolutist  domains.  The  reason  foritisstUl 
obscure.  Eouge  is  the  ensign  of  two  orders — 
the  meretricious,  and  the  ultra-republican ;  but 
"supported  by  seven  millions,"  "my  lord  bis 
highness,  the  prince  president,"  cannot  be  alarm- 
ed at  the  mere  memory  of  the  Leicester  Square 
classes  of  society.  Red,  however,  is  the  color  of 
blood,  and,  probably,  "my  lord,"  &c.,  in  com- 
mon with  his  fellow-philanthropists  of  Naples 
and  Vienna,  may  feel  a  fain  ting-qualm  at  the 
sight.  _  One  proof  of  the  supposition  is,  that 
when  it  became  necessary  for  his  plans  to  shed 
it,  he  tried  to  do  so  in  the  dark. — Spectator. 


STRANGE  EXHIBITION. 

Great  excitement  was  created  at  Cremorne 
Gardens,  and  indeed  throughout  the  metropolis, 
recently,  by  the  extraordinary  daring  gymnas- 
tic performance  of  Edward  Bouthellier,  under 
and  with  the  Cremorne  balloon.  Bouthellier  is 
one  of  the  clever  artists  performing  in  SouiUier's 
Cirque  Oriental,  under  the  title  of  the  Italian 
Brothers,  and  he  was  announced  to  make  a  dis- 
play of  his  extraordinary  powers  witli  the  bal- 
loon ;  but  the  public  were  not  prepared  for  what 
actually  did  take  place.  At  7  o'clock,  a  splen- 
did car,  drawn  by  four  beautiful  horses  abreast, 
was  driven  into  the  balloon-ground,  from  which 
descended  Bouthellier  appropriately  dressed, 
and  with  a  moment's  preparation,  he"  bowed  to 
the  surrounding  multitude,  and  catching  hold  of 
a  small  rope  which  was  attached  to  the  car,  was 
immediately  borne  up  and  away.  In  an  instant 
he  threw  himself  over  and  was  hanging  by  his 
heels  without  the  slightest  assistance  of  the  hands, 
though  the  balloon  was  bearing  him  along  at  a 
rapid  rate,  and  for  fully  half  an  hour  did  he  exe- 
cute all  the  difficult  positions  for  which  he  and 
his  brother  are  so  celebrated  in  the  Cirque. 
Scarcely  had  the  feelings  of  astonishment  at  this 
display  subsided  when  his  return  was  announced. 
The  balloon  had  descended  in  Victoria  Park, 
and  a  gentleman  having  kindly  lent  him  his 
horse,  he  was  back  in  the  grounds  by  9  o'clock, 
and  was  literally  carried  in  triumph  to  the 
Cirque,  where  he  went  through  bis  usual  per- 
formances, and  from  thence  to  the  dancing 
arena,  where  he  was  received  with  unbounded 
applause. — London  Sun. 


HARSH  EDUCATIONAL  SYSTEBI. 

What  Anselm,  of  Canterbury,  at  the  end  of 
the  eleventh  century,  said  against  the  rigid  mo- 
nastic discipline,  is  admirable.  An  abbot  com- 
plained, in  conversation  with  him,  of  the  incor- 
rigible youths  who  would  not  be  amended  by  all 
the  correction  he  administered.  Anselm  replied  : 
"You  never  cease  beating  the  boys,  and  what 
sort  of  men  will  they  be  when  they  grow  up  ?" 
"  Stupid  and  brutish,"  answered  the  abbot.  "A 
good  sign  for  your  method  of  education,"  said 
Anselm,  "  when  you  educate  men  into  brutes !" 
The  abbot  answered  :  "  Is  that  our  fault?  We 
try  to  compel  them  in  all  manner  of  ways,  to  be 
better,  and  yet  we  effect  nothing."  "You  com- 
pel them  1"  answered  Anselm.  "  Tell  me,  then, 
I  pray  you,  if  you  planted  a  tree  in  your  garden, 
and  enclosed  it  on  all  sides,  so  that  it  could  not 
spread  out  its  branches  in  any  direction,  aud 
after  some  years  transplant  it  in  an  open  space, 
what  kind  of  tree  would  it  have  become  !  Cer- 
tainly a  useless  one,  with  crooked,  tangled 
branches. — And  whose  fault  would  it  be  but  your 
fault,  who  trained  the  tree  in  this  over-compul- 
sory manner." — Meander's  Memonals  of  Christian  - 

Lifi-         __    

ECHOES. 

The  best  echoes  are  produced  by  parallel  walls. 
At  a  villa  near  Milan,  there  extend  two  parallel 
wings  about  fifty-eight  paces  from  each  other,  the 
surfaces  of  which  are  unbroken  either  by  doors 
or  windows.  The  sound  of  the  human  voice,  or 
rather  a  word  quickly  pronounced,  is  repeated 
above  forty  times,  and  the  report  of  a  pistol  from 
fifty  to  sixty  times.  Dr.  Plot  mentions  an  echo 
in  Woodstock  Park,  which  repeats  seventeen 
syllables  by  day,  and  twenty  by  night.  An  echo 
on  the  north  side  of  Shipley  church,  in  Sussex, 
repeats  twenty  syllables.  There  is  also  a  re- 
markable echo  in  the  venerable  abbey  church  of 
St.  Albans. — Natural  Pheiiomena. 


264 


OLEASON'S    nCTCmiAL    DRAWING   I10()]M    COMPANION. 


VIEW  OF  THE  LUNATIC  ASYLUM,  AT  WORCESTEE,  MASd. 


liUNATIC  ASYLUM  AT  WORCESTER. 

We  present  on  this  and  the  opposite  page  a 
series  of  pit'tures,  drawn  for  us  by  our  artist,  and 
rcliitini:  to  Worcester,  Mass.,  and  some  of  its 
notable  matters.  Above,  wc  present  a  tine  view  of 
the  Lunatic  AsyUim,  so  well  known  in  the  coun- 
try. Thisediiice  was  erected  in  1831-32,  in  pur- 
suance of  an  act  of  the  legislature,  passed  the 
10th  of  March,  1830.  The  tirst  patient  entered 
on  the  19th  of  January,  1833.  By  the  end  of  the 
year  there  were  1 64  patients  ;  in  the  first  year  it 
became  so  crowded  that  no  less  than  thirty  appli- 
cants were  rejected  for  want  of  room.  Dr. 
Samuel  B.  AVoodward  became  the  superintendent 
that  yeai'.     In  1S33-34,  272  patients  were  ad- 


mitted, and  154  discharged;  70  were  incurable, 
who  had  been  previously  inmates  of  jails,  alms- 
houses and  houses  of  correction,  from  periods 
ranging  from  ten  to  thirty-two  years.  In  1834, 
47  were  received,  and  46  applications  were  re- 
jected for  want  of  space.  At  that  period,  the 
proportion  of  insane  persons  was  one  in  a  thou- 
sand to  the  whole  population.  In  1835,  an  ex- 
tension was  commenced,  running  hack  fioin  the 
former  building  134  feet,  and  34  feet^vide.  This 
addition  was  occupied  Sept.  28,  1836,  by  the 
class  of  incurables,  being  adapted  for  the  occu- 
pancy of  57  patients.  A  north  wing,  accommo- 
dating 59  persons,  was  finished  in  September, 
1837.     The  legislature,  in  that  year,  authorized 


the  erection  ot  a  chapel,  also  a  wash-house,  shoe- 
maker's shop  and  a  carpenter's  shop.  In  tlie 
year  1838,  the  legislature  granted  the  sum  of 
$8000  to  defray  the  current  expenses  of  the  hos- 
pital, and  S2500  for  furnishing  proper  apart- 
ments for  the  sick.  In  the  year  1841,  the  hospi- 
tal received  a  handsome  bequest  of  George  S. 
Johonnot,  Esq.,  being  in  cash,  mortgages  and 
stocks,  valued  at  Si45,S43  72,  subject  to  life  an- 
nuities to  twenty-three  individuals,  amounting  to 
52520  annually.  In  1843,  the  trustees  were  au- 
thorized to  erect  additional  buildings,  sufticiently 
large  for  the  accommodation  of  l.'iO  insane  per- 
sons, and  to  provide  all  necessary  accommoda- 
tions and  furniture  for  the  same.     This  enlarge- 


ment was  commenced  the  same  year,  and  con- 
sisted of  a  wing,  extending  100  feet  south,  and 
160  feet  east,  leaving  an  open  court,  64  feet  wide, 
between  the  old  and,  new  lateral  wings.  This 
new  stnicture  was  called  the  "Johonnot  Hall," 
out  of  respect  to  the  late  George  S.  Johonnot, 
and  his  widow,  Mar.ha  Johonnot. 

Below,  we  give  a  fine  and  accurate  view  of  a 
scene  in  Lincoln  Square,  representing  the  new 
Antiquarian  Hall,  Court  Houses  and  Unitarian 
Church.  On  the  opposite  page  will  be  found 
some  of  the  Indian  curiosities,  etc.,  preserved  in 
the  building  known  as  Antiquarian  Hall.  In 
the  last  report  of  the  committee  of  the  society, 
we  find  the  following  remarks  relative  to  the 


LINCOLN  yQUAllIT;,  WOKCESTERj  MASt^.j  WITH  A   VIEW  OF  TIIK  NEW  ANTIQUAIUAN  HALL,  OLD  AND  NEW  COUUT  HOUSES^  AND  UNITARIAN  CUUilCIL 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DRAWINCx   ROOM    CO:\IPANION. 


265 


follection  of  curiosities  :  "The  sciences  of  lan- 
^iiaj;;e,  anatomy,  and  geology,  have  opened  to 
explorers  new  fields,  rich  in  those  productions, 
which  have,  in  this  our  day,  rlirown  a  flood  of 
light  upon  things  before  imperfectly  understood. 
Tlirough  the  evidence  disclosed  by  fossil  remains, 
we  can  ante  date  all  written  history,  and  satisfy 
ourselves  what  animals  and  fishes  existed  before 
letters  were  known,  and,  through  the  help  ot 
anatomy,  assisin  to  them  their  appropriate  classi- 
tication.  So  it  is  with  languages.  Their  ele- 
ments are  easily  analyzed,  and  it  is  not  difficult 


BELT   -WORN   BY   KING   PHILIP. 

to  trace  the  proofs  of  a  kindred  relation,  where 
it  exists,  until  the  head  or  source  is  discovered. 
But  it  rakes  time,  labor  and  patience.  This 
source  of  evidence  is  open  to  us  among  the  In- 
dians, and  in  the  absence  of  all  written  records 
may,  and  probably  will,  lead  us  step  by  step  till 
the  parent  tongue  is  found,  and  the  line  of  kin- 
dred traced  back  to  a  common  ancestor.  Bv 
this  process,  much  may  be  done  to  settle  vexed 
questions,  and  improve  our  knowledge  of  Indian 
history.  Analysis  reaches  the  person  of  the  In- 
dian, as  well  as  his  language.  Although  much 
has  been  done  to  develop  a  knowledge  of  his 
physical  characteristics,  yet  it  is  believed  much 
remains  for  re-;earch.  When  this  field  is  fully 
explored,  and  the  facts  are  collected,  they  will  do 
much  to  settle  and  define  the  relation  which  he 


TOMAHAWKS    OF    VARIOUS    SHAPES. 

hears  to  the  other  races  inhabiting  the  earth." 
We  may  add  that  the  society  has  also  a  fine 
library,  numbering  some  20,000  volumes,  and  to 
which  they  are  constantly  adding.  The  first 
portrait  on  this  page  is  that  of  Richard  Mather, 
who  was  an  eminent  scholar  and  divine  of  puri- 
tanic date.  He  was  a  native  of  England,  and 
came  to  America  in  the  year  1635,  to  escape 
from  persecution  in  his  own  country.  He  was 
settled  for  a  number  of  years  in  Dorchester, 
Mass.  This  portrait  is  in  a  fine  state  of  preser- 
vation in  the  society's  rooms.  The  second  por- 
trait is  a  copy  of  that  now  hanging  in  the  Anti- 
quarian Hall,  and  drawn  by  our  artist,  repre- 
senting John  Rogers,  the  world-renowned  mar- 
tyr, who  was  burned  at  the  stake  in  1555,  being 
the  first  who  suffered  martyrdom  at  the  stake  in 
Smithfield  ;  but  of  this  history,  our  readers  are, 
of  course,  familiar.  The  portrait  is  an  original. 
The  following  incidents,  which  we  gather  mainly 
from  "Barber's  Historical  Collections,"  relating 
to  the  early  history  of  the  city  of  Worcester,  is 
])articularly  interesting,  as  referring  to  the  In- 
dians, and  their  hostilities  to  the  whites  :  "  In 
October,  1G68,  a  township  of  land  of  rather  more 
than  eight  miles  square,  bounded  easterly  by 
Quinsigamond  Pond,  was  granted  by  the  gene- 
ral court  to  Daniel  Gookin,  Daniel  Henchman, 
Thomas  Prentice,  and  their  associates.  On  ac- 
count of  the  Indian  war  prevailing  about  this 
jieriod,  the  immediate  settlement  of  the  place  was 
prevented.  In  1685,  the  Indians  appearing 
friendly,  the  persons  named  above,  together  with 


South  Church,  in  1719.  According  to  the  evi- 
dence furnished  by  the  proprietary  records,  there 
were  in  Worcester,  in  1718,  fifty  eight  dwelling- 
houses.  '  Tradition  says  they  were  humble  edi- 
fices, principally  of  logs,  one  story  higli  with 
ample  stone  chimneys.  Some  were  furnished 
with  windows  of  diamond  glass,  where  the  re- 
sources of  the  proprietor  afforded  the  means  for 
procuring  such  luxury ;  the  light  was  admitted 
in  many  through  the  dim  transparency  of  oiled 
paper,'  During  the  first  movements  of  the  Re- 
volution, Worcester  was  the  central  point  whence 
the  animating  influences  in  favor  of  American 
freedom  were  diffused  over  the  surrounding 
country.  In  March,  177.^),  the  company  of  min- 
ute men  in  this  place  were  directed  to  train  half 


PoKrUAlT  OF  RICHARD  MATHJbR. 


bly  a  favorite  residence  for  them,  on  account  of 
tlie  fish  and  wild  game  in  the  vicinity.  These 
Indians  were  visited  by  Mr.  Eliot,  the  '  Indian 
apostle,*  and  Mr.  Gookin,  1674  ;  at  this  time  they 
had  made  considerable  advances  in  civilization, 
and  some  of  them  professed  Christianity.  In 
1675,  Pakachoag  wns  visited  ty  King  Philip, 
who,  by  his  artifices  and  threats,  induced  most  of 
the  Indians  to  take  up  arms  against  the  whites. 
After  the  return  of  the  whites  to  Worcester,  in 
1685,  the  settlement  of  the  place  went  on  pros- 
perously till  1701,  when  the  Indians  again  began 
to  attack  the  frontier  towns,  and  Worcester  was 
again  depopulated.  After  all  the  other  planters 
had  fled,  Dickery  Sargeant,  with  his  family,  de- 
termined to  remain  and  brave  the  dangers  from 
the  Indian  foe.  He  remained  unmolested  till 
1703  or  1704.  The  following  particulars  of  his 
death  are  preserved.  When  the  Indians  sur- 
rounded his  house,  Sargeant  seized  his  gun  to 
defend  himself;  as  he  was  retreating  to  the  stair- 
way, he  was  shot  down  by  the  savages.  Upon 
this  they  rushed  into  the  house  and  completed 
tiie  work  of  death  bj  their  tomahawks,  and  tore 
off  Iiis  scalp.  They  seized  his  wife  and  five  chil- 
dren, and  commenced  a  rapid  retreat  westward. 
Mrs.  Sargeant,  overcome  with  grief  and  fatigue, 
impeded  their  progress.  As  they  wei-e  ascend- 
ing the  Tataesset  or  Tatnick  hills,  a  chief 
sicpped  out  of  the  file,  and,  while  pretending  to 
be  looking  for  game,  came  up  behind  Mrs.  Sar- 
geant in  an  unsuspected  moment,  and  deprived 
his  sinking  captive  of  life  at  a  single  blow.  The 
children  were  carried  into  Canada,  where  they 
remained  a  long  time  before  they  were  restored 
t>  their  friends.  Two  of  the  children,  Daniel 
and  Mary,  preferred  remaining  with  their  cap- 


tors, and  adopted  the  habits  and  manners  of  the 
Indians.  In  1709,  Elisha  Ward,  who  was  sent 
on  an  express  from  Marlborough  to  Hadley,  hav- 
ing stopped  to  examine  his  deserted  farm,  was 
killed.  Peace  being  concluded  with  the  Indians, 
Mr.  Jonas  Rice,  with  his  family,  on  the  21st  of 
October,  1713, -moved  into  Worcester,  and  were 
the  only  inhabitants  of  the  town  until  the  spring 
of  1715.  The  first  white  male  child  born  in 
Worcester  was  Adonijah  Rice,  who  was  born 
Nov.  7,  1714.  His  father  built  his  house  on 
Sagatabscot  Hill,  and  his  farm  included  some  of 
the  lands  once  cultivated  by  Sargeant.  In  1715, 
a  considerable  number  of  persons  joined  the  set- 
tlement; in  1718,  their  number  was  augmented 
by  emigrants  from  Ireland,  principally  of  Scotch 
descent.  The  first  labor  of  the  inhabitants  was 
to  erect  a  garrison-house,  on  the  west  side  of  the 
Leicester  road,  not  far  from  the  Old  South 
Church.  Another  log  fortress  was  built  near  the 
head  of  the  street  called  Columbian  Avenue  ;  a 
third  was  on  the  Connecticut  Road,  north  of 
Lincoln  Square.  A  regular  block-house  was 
placed  north  of  Adams  Square,  where  a  long 
iron  cannon  was  afterwards  mounted  to  give 
alarm  of  coming  danger.  During  the  French 
war,  this  gun  was  removed  to  the  green  near  the 
meeting-house.  On  the  commencement  of  the 
Revolution,  it  was  posted  westward  of  the  court- 
house. On  the  news  of  the  march  of  the  British 
to  Lexington,  its  voice  aroused  the  people  to 
arms.  Meetings  for  religious  worship  were  first 
held  at  the  house  of  Gershom  Rice.  A  building 
was  soon  erected  for  religious  worship  on  Green 
Street,  north  of  the  union  of  Franklin  Street, 
where  the  inhabitants  met,  until  a  spacious  meet- 
ing-house was   reared  on  the  site  of  the  Old 


MOCCASINS    WORN    BY    TECLMSEH. 

John  Wing,  George  Danson,  Peter  Goulding, 
Dickery  Sargeant,  Isaac  Bull,  and  Jacob  Leon- 
ard, ventured  to  begin  the  plantation.  It  ap- 
pears, however,  that  there  were  six  or  seven 
houses  erected  here  in  1675,  but,  on  account  of 
King  Philip's  war,  which  then  raged,  they  were 
soon  deserted.  The  natives  who  inhabited  Quin- 
sigamond  were  of  the  Nipmuc  tribe.  The  prin- 
cipal settlement  of  these  Indians  in  Worcester 
was  on  a  hill  in  the  south  part  of  the  town,  ex- 
tending into  Ward,  called  by  them  Pahiclioag, 
now  known  as  Bogachoag.  Wigwam  Hill,  on 
the  eastern  shore  of  Quinsigamond,  was  proba- 


PIPK    USKD    BY    KOOKY    MOUNTAIN    INDIANS. 

a  day  in  each  week.  This  company  had  met  al- 
most daily  for  months,  and,  under  the  instruction 
of  Capt.  Bigelow,they  attained  great  proficiency 
in  military  science.  Their  services  were  soon  to 
be  required  for  the  defence  of  the  country.  Be- 
fore noon  on  the  19th  of  April,  an  express  came 
to  the  town,  shouting,  as  he  passed  through  the 
street  at  full  speed,  '  To  arms,  to  arms,  the  war 
is  begun  !'  His  white  horse,  bloody  with  spiu'- 
rhig,  and  dripping  with  sweat,  fell  exhausted  by 
the  church.  Another  was  instantly  procured, 
and  the  tidings  went  on.  The  passage  of  the 
messenger  of  war,  mounted  on  his  white  steed, 
and  gathering  the  population  to  battle,  made 
vivid  impression  on  memory.  The  tradition  of 
his  appearance  is  preserved  in  many  of  the  neigh- 
boring villages.  In  the  animated  description  of 
the  aged,  it  seems  like  the  representation  of  death 
on  the  pale  horse   careering  through  the   land 


COMB    USED  BY  BOCKY    MOUNTAIN    INDIANS. 

with  his  temfic  summons  to  the  grave.  The 
bell  rang  out  the  alarm,  cannon  were  fired,  and 
messengers  sent  to  every  part  of  the  town  to  col- 
lect the  soldiery.  As  the  news  spread,  the  im- 
plements of  husbandry  were  thrown  by  in  the 
field,  and  the  citizens  left  their  homes  with  no 
longer  delay  than  to  seize  their  arms.  In  a  short 
time,  the  minute  men  were  paraded  on  the  green, 
under  Capt.  Timothy  Bigelow;  after  fervent 
prayer  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Maecarty,  they  took  up 
the  line  of  march.  They  were  soon  followed  by 
as  many  of  the  train  bands  as  could  be  gathered, 
under  Capt.  Benjamin  Flagg.  On  that  day,  110 
marched  from  the  town  of  Worcester  for  Con- 
cord. Intelligence  of  the  retreat  of  the  enemy 
met  them  after  they  advanced,  and  they  turned 
towards  Boston.  When  Capt.  Bigelow  reached 
the  ancient  Howe  tavern,  in  Sudbury,  he  halted 
to  rest  his  men.  Capt.  Benjamin  Flagg,  who 
had  commenced  his  march  an  hour  or  two  later. 


PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN  ROQERSj  THE  MARTYR;  BURNT  AT  THE  STAI-LE,  1555- 


TOMAUAWK    OF    THE    ORIGINAL    SHAPE. 

came  up,  and  insisting  on  pushing  forward  with- 
out loss  of  time,  both  officers  moved  on  to  Cam- 
bridge." Being  the  focus  from  which  radiates 
numerous  lines  of  railroads  north,  south,  east 
and  west,  Worcester  is  growing  with  a  rapidity 
almost  magical,  and  gives  token  of  mercantile 
importance  only  second  in  this  State  to  Boston 
itself.  Vast  amounts  of  capital  are  embarked 
here  in  various  manufacturing  interests,  and  the 
population  is  steadily  and  swiftly  increasing. 
As  it  regards  the  views  of  the  city,  which  we 
present  on  these  two  pages,  our  artist  has  drawn 
them  on  the  spot,  and  they  arc,  therefore,  truth- 
ful and  life-like;  and  our  friends  in  Worcester 
will  readily  bear  testimony  of  tliis.  Fi'om  time 
to  time,  we  shall  thus  illus'tratc  the  various  towns 
and  cities  of  New  England,  thus  enriching  our 
paper  and  enhancing  its  value  to  our  already 
immense  list  of  subscribers.  Our  artists  are  con- 
stantly engaged  on  every  matter  of  general  in- 
terest, and  we  shall  continue  to  give  them  in  the 
utmost  perfection  as  heretofore. 


206 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[Written  for  GIoa«on's  I'lctorlal.] 
THE  TALL  Ob-  THE  LEAF. 


BY  JOSIJL'B   n.  BUTLEB. 

Yo  autumn  loaves,  that  full  no  fimt, 
When  Hweopa  along  the  waUiiip;  bliutt; 
Yo  tinted  leavc'ri,  that  ttrow  tlio  leii, 
Slid  tboughta  your  fall  liwitkes  in  mo. 

0  cmblyiiifl  of  tlio  life  of  man, 
■\VhilHt  lioro  your  fadud  stiito  I  scan  ; 
T  f  L-titn  to  view  the  hopec  ho  gay, 
Thut  gild  awhile  Iila  littlo  day. 

1  Bco  tho  loves,  on  angol  wing, 
That  o'er  his  path  anibrofin  fling; 
I  view  the  friendships,  false  as  fair, 

That  round  him  Hpread  their  pJesising  snaro. 

ThuH  do  the  winds  of  fortune  blow, 
j\nd  all  his  withered  blossoms  go  ; 
Uchold,  his  glorious  hopes  are  dead, 
See,  friendship's  glossy  smiles  are  lied  I 

And  love,  that  was  his  bosom's  boast, 
Droops— of  its  former  self  the  ghost ; 
Time,  that  blights  the  sweetest  flower. 
Steals  tho  rose  from  pleasure's  bower. 

All  the  hopes  on  life  ^hat  beam, 

Fly  as  the  shadows  of  a  drejim  ; 

The  dearest  friendships  youth  can  make, 

Fate  or  accident  may  break. 

Yet,  weep  not,  man  1  thou  child  of  sorrow, 
Hope  on  !  behold  a  brighter  morrow  I 
Unmoved,  pursue  life's  stormy  way, 
Nor  droop  at  pleasure's  pale  decay  ; 
Let  blight  arise — let  t«mpestM  rave — 
There  is  a  world  beyond  the  grave  I 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  SECRET  SIGN. 

A  SKETCH  OF  THE  SOUTHERN  CAMPAIGNS. 

BT  Jims.  M.  E.  ROBINSOS. 

In  a  desolate,  rugged  valley,  the  American 
army  were  encamped  for  the  winter.  The  dis- 
tance from  Philadelphia  might  be  about  twenty 
miles,  in  a  north-westerly  direction.  The  condi- 
tion of  tlie  troops  was  lamentable  in  the  extreme ; 
and  the  only  wonder  is  that  they  did  not  sink 
under  their  accumulated  misfortunes.  The  win- 
ter was  a  most  rigorous  one ;  they  were  without 
shoes,  blankets,  or  provisions  ;  their  course  could 
be  traced  by  the  tracks  of  their  bleeding  feet, 
cruelly  cut  by  the  ice,  while  their  only  shelter 
from  the  cold  and  piercing  blasts,  were  rude  log- 
huts,  constructed  to  accommodate  twelve  men 
each,  within  which,  upon  the  damp  ground,  was 
scattered  straw  for  their  beds. 

It  is  indeed  surprising  that  hope  did  not  give 
place  to  despair ;  but  the  intense  desire  for  lib- 
erty, and  an  unshaken  belief  in  the  justness  of 
their  cause,  enabled  them  to  cheerfully  endure 
hardship  and  privation. 

During  this  time  the  British  had  possession  of 
Philadelphia,  and  were  rioting  to  excess  ;  luxury 
and  revelling  were  the  order  of  the  day,  and  the 
possessions  of  the  brave  men  they  were  striving 
to  subdue,  wantonly  appropriated  to  their  use, 
while  the  rightful  owners  were  struggling  under 
the  pressure  of  unequalled  suffering  for  the  love 
of  country. 

Paper  currency  was  almost  worthless,  and  but 
little  specie  being  in  circulation,  farmers  were 
disinclined  to  part  with  their  produce,  and  those 
indeed  were  fortunate  who  obtained  a  sufficient 
supply  for  their  daily  wants. 

Many  of  the  whig  families  who  remained  in 
the  city  were  robbed  by  the  British  soldiery,  who 
left  them  but  little  or  nothing  to  subsist  upon. 
The  ladies,  however,  with  ears  ever  open  to  the 
calls  of  charity,  carried  food  from  their  own  ta- 
bles to  the  American  prisoners,  and  did  all  in 
their  power  to  relieve  the  wants  of  the  destitute. 
A  few  had  friends  without  the  city,  who  watched 
every  opportunity  to  send  a  basket  of  provisions 
or  a  little  money  to  their  suffering  relatives. 
These  acts  of  kindness  were  attended  with  con- 
siderable risk,  and  numerous  are  the  instances  of 
life  and  liberty  being  hazarded  for  the  sake  of 
doing  good. 

A  farmer  by  the  name  of  Israel,  who  resided 
in  Wilmington,  had  a  mother  remaining  in  Phil- 
adelphia. He  feared  her  slender  means  were 
exhausted,  and  resolved,  in  some  manner,  lo  aid 
her. 

"  I  cannot  divest  my  mind  of  the  idea  that  my 
mother  needs  assistance,"  he  remarked,  one 
morning  to  his  wife. 

"  It  la  probable  she  does,"  she  replied.  "  We 
have  no  reason  lo  suppose  that  she  has  escaped 
the  cowardly  and  brutal  conduct  of  our  common 
enemies." 


"I  must  visit  her  in  person,"  added  the  farmer, 
after  a  short  pause.  "  My  moiherniust  not  want 
for  food  w!ien  I  am  blessed  with  plenty." 

**  It  will  be  a  dangerous  Journey,"  said  Mrs. 
Israel,  anxiously. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  but  I  can  afford  to  risk 
something,  as  well  as  others  of  my  countrymen. 
Think  of  tho  sutfering  at  Valley  Forge." 

"  I  cannot  discourage  you,  but  I  have  many 
fears  for  tlie  result,"  replied  the  wife,  as  she  re- 
membered tho  rumors  tiiat  each  day  brought  to 
her  ears.  *'  You  cannot  pass  in  the  daytime/' 
she  added. 

"  No,  I  must  go  in  the  night ;  darkness  is  tlic 
best  security." 

"But  you  have  not  the  countersign,"  said 
Mrs.  Israel,  quickly. 

"  I  can  obtain  it  fi-om  one  of  our  toiy  ncigli- 
bors." 

"And  we  must  not  overlook  the  fact  that  by 
that  very  circumstance,  you  will  place  yourself 
in  liis  power,"  rejoined  the  wife. 

"  Women  are  always  anticipating  evil,"  con- 
tinued the  farmer,  with  a  smile.  "  Williams 
always  lias  the  pass-word,  and  you  know  we  are 
as  good  friends  as  two  men  can  well  be,  whose 
sentiments  differ  so  widely." 

"  He's  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Israel,  warmly.  "A  man  that  will  descit 
the  standard  of  his  country,  and  league  with  its 
enemies,  is  not  to  be  trusted." 

"  We  must  hope  in  One  who  sways  the  desti- 
nies of  nations,  and  eventually  rights  the  wrong- 
ed," was  the  earnest  rejoinder  of  the  brave  farmer, 
as  he  set  about  the  needful  preparations. 

Mrs.  Israel  said  no  more  ;  she  was  a  patriotic 
woman,  and  though  she  felt  some  anxiety  re- 
specting the  fate  of  her  husband,  she  thought  it 
best  not  to  dishearten  liim  by  unnecessary  fears. 
As  the  farmer  had  anticipated,  be  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  procuring  the  countersign  from  the 
neighbor  mentioned,  who  granted  the  request 
without  the  least  seeming  reluctance. 

Israel  reached  the  ferry  without  the  occurrence 
of  anything  worthy  of  note,  and  was  allowed  to 
pass,  by  the  sentinel,  upon  reiieating  the  pass- 
word. He  proceeded  immediately  to  his  moth- 
er's residence.  Upon  entering,  he  was  mnch 
surprised  to  find  a  younger  brother  there,  upon 
the  same  business  as  himself ;  the  latter  belonged 
to  the  American  army,  and  had  been  prompted 
by  filial  affection  to  privately  visit  his  mother, 
who  was  now  left  alone,  with  the  exception  of  a 
black  servant. 

The  unexpected  meeting  was  a  joyous  and 
opportune  one ;  for  Israel  soon  discovered  that 
his  mother  was  really  suffering  for  want  of  food 
and  the  customary  comforts  of  life.  While  they 
were  earnestly  conversing  together  respecting 
the  deplorable  state  of  the  country,  the  heavy 
tramp  of  horses  and  loud  voices  were  heard  at 
the  door. 

The  two  sons  sprang  up  and  unsheathed  their 
swords,  while  the  terrified  mother  could  barely 
articulate  : 

"  Save  yourselves,  my  children  !  it  is  the  Hes- 
sian officer,  who,  with  his  men,  comes  and  goes 
when  he  pleases.  You  can  escape  by  the  roof." 
And  seizing  the  one  next  her,  which  happened 
to  be  the  youngest  son,  she  fairly  forced  him  up 
stairs  and  through  an  aperture  in  the  roof. 

Meanwhile  the  knocking  and  uproar  did  not 
cease  below,  and  Israel,  followed  by  his  mother, 
considered  it  the  safest  course  to  open  the  door. 

"  Be  calm,  mother  !"  he  whispered,  as  slie 
wildly  besought  him  to  attempt  an  escape. 
"  Show  no  fear,  and  act  as  though  nothing  un- 
usual had  occurred." 

Israel  opened  ihe  door.  In  rushed  the  Hessian 
officer  and  his  men,  the  former  of  wliom  instanlly 
seized  him,  exclaiming ; 

"  We  have  cauglit  the  rebel !" 

"  You  arc  wrong,"  said  the  farmer,  with  much 
self-possession.  "I  am  all  right,  it  must  be  my 
brother  whom  you  seek." 

The  officer  looked  at  him  intently,  but  did  not 
relax  his  grasp. 

"Judge  for  yourself,"  added  Israel,  seeing  his 
incredulity,  and  the  thought  flashing  across  his 
mind  that  he  had  been  mistaken  for  his  brother. 
"Judge  for  yourself,"  he  continued.  "Do  I 
look  much  like  a  soldier  V* 

The  Hessian  sergcint  looked  at  him  still  more 
utLenlivcly,  and  after  a  moment's  pause,  said  : 

"  You  don't  wear  uniform,  as  I  expected.'* 

"  Ko,  and  here  is  a  suit  belonging  to  my 
brother,  which  he  left.  You  see  it  is  much  too 
small  for  me."  And  Israel  put  on  the  uniform, 
with  much  coolness  of  manner,  and  quite  con- 
vinced the  officer  that  he  liad  secured  the  wrong 
man. 


"  I  perceive  you  arc  a  loyaliKt/*  Huid  the  lat- 
ter, shaking  Israel  warmly  by  the  hand,  and 
pressing  him  to  take  a  seat  at  the  taljle  which 
had  been  spread  by  the  airectionalc  motlicr.  He 
felt  himself  obliged  to  comply,  and  indicated 
to  the  latter,  by  a  .significant  glance  to  do  the 
same.  She  obeyed,  and  forced  herself  to  listen 
quietly  to  the  coarse  and  brutal  remarks  of  the 
unwelcome  guest,  who  repeatedly  bojusted  of  his 
success  in  diiipntching  "the  cowardly  rebels," 
and  in  forcing  tho  black  to  confess  the  fact  of 
his  young  master's  presence  at  home. 

After  he  had  protracted  his  stay  to  what 
seemed  an  interminable  length  of  time,  he  re- 
marked that  lie  was  on  duty,  and  quitted  the 
dwelling,  much  to  tlic  satisfaction  of  his  Iiostess. 

Israel  congratulated  himself  on  his  fortunate 
escape,  and  soon  after  took  leave  of  his  mother 
and  brother.  He  reached  home  safely,  but  an 
hour  afterward  was  arrested  and  made  a  prison- 
er. The  words  of  liis  wife  had  i)roved  prophetic ; 
his  tory  neighbor  had  indeed  given  him  the 
counter-sign,  but  lie  had  also  betrayed  him. 

Tlie  royal  frigate  Roebuck  was  then  lying  in 
the  Delaware,  directly  opposite  his  farm,  and 
Israel  and  his  wife's  brother  were  instantly  con- 
veyed on  board,  to  be  tried  as  apies. 

The  farmer  was  one  of  the  "  Committee  of 
Safety,"  and  this  fact  being  known,  his  position 
under  the  circumstances  was  a  most  dangerous 
one  Much  severity  and  hardship  were  used 
toward  him  ;  his  watch,  a  small  sum  of  money, 
and  even  Iiis  clothes,  were  taken  from  liim;  his 
bed  consisted  of  coils  of  ropes  on  sacks,  with 
not  the  slightest  covering  to  protect  him  from 
the  cold  night  air. 

Israel  considered  his  case  a  hopeless  one, 
and  quietly  resigned  himself  to  his  expected  fate. 
His  tory  neiglibors  gave  evidence  against  him, 
and  repeated  a  remark  which  he  remembered 
having  made,  implying  that  lie  "would  sooner 
drive  his  cattle  as  a  present  to  General  Washing- 
ton, than  to  receive  thousands  of  dollars  for 
them  in  British  gold,  to  supply  the  royal  ships 
of  war." 

This  speech  was  full  of  treason,  and  speedily 
excited  the  ire  of  the  British  commander  of  the 
ship.  He  ordered  a  file  of  soldiers  to  proceed 
to  the  meadow,  drive  the  cattle  to  the  water's 
edge,  in  full  view  of  the  prisoner,  and  slaughter 
them  without  hesitation. 

The  farm  was  at  the  distance  of  a  mile  from 
the  river,  but  as  the  ground  from  the  meadow 
sloped  gradually  down  to  the  water,  there  was 
nothing  to  obstruct  the  view,  and  Mrs.  Israel 
who  was  watchful  and  anxious,  saw  every  move- 
ment. She  observed  the  soldiers  leave  the  ship, 
go  on  shore,  and  proceed  in  the  direction  of  the 
meadow,  where  the  cattle  were  quietly  grazing. 
Instantly  divining  their  intention,  she  determined 
to  save  the  cattle,  if  she  risked  her  life  in  the  at- 
tempt. Ordering  a  small  boy  to  follow  her,  she 
hurried  to  the  spot,  lowered  the  bars,  and  at- 
tempted to  drive  them  through  the  opening. 
The  soldiers  shouted  to  her  to  desist,  threaten- 
ing to  fire  upon  her  if  she  did  not.  The  un- 
daunted woman  heeded  them  not,  and  they  put 
the  threat  into  execution.  The  shots  did  not 
harm,  save  to  make  almost  wild  the  already 
affrighted  brutes,  :vlio  bounded  in  every  direc- 
tion across  the  field,  while  Mrs.  Israel,  to  the 
hazard  of  life  and  limb,  succeeded  in  driving 
them  into  a  yard  adjoining  the  barn. 

Not  daring  to  venture  farther  among  tlie  farm- 
houses, the  disappointed  assailants  returned  to 
the  ship,  and  related  to  the  chagrined  officer  the 
failure  of  their  mission.  This  incident  hap- 
pened, it  should  be  remembered,  in  sight  of  the 
commander  of  the  Roebuck  and  his  two  prison- 
ers. 

Israel  was  treated  much  more  rigorously  than 
his  companion ;  daily  was  his  situation  liecoming 
more  critical,  for  the  time  was  fast  approaching 
for  his  trial.  He  knew  the  character  of  his 
judges  well,  and  expected  no  mercy  at  their 
hands. 

One  night  as  he  was  reclining  upon  his  hard 
bed,  a  friendly-looking'  sailor  approached  him. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  question,"  he  said,  in  a 
low,  but  kind  tone.  "  I  am  a  friend,  and  wish 
you  well,  so  you  need  not  fear  to  answer  me 
truthfully." 

Israel  signified  his  willingness  to  do  so. 

"Are  you  a  free-mason,"  resumed  the  sailor. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Israel,  much  astonished  at 
the  question. 

"Then  there  is  some  hope  for  you,"  added 
the  sailor  quickly.  "  To-morrow  night  tliere  is 
a  lodge  held  on  ship-board,  the  officers  who  be- 
long will  assemble,  and  in  some  way  you  may 


be  able  to  alter  their  opinions  respecting  you. 
It  is  your  last  chance,  for  they  will  likely  find 
you  guilty  of  being  a  spy." 

The  countenance  of  Israel  brightened  up;  ho 
expressed  his  gratitude  to  the  sailor  in  the 
warmest  terms,  and  laid  himself  upon  the  coil 
of  rope  with  a  lighter  heart. 

The  next  day  he  was  brought  up  for  trial  in 
due  form;  his  tory  neighbors  were  examined, 
and  their  depositions  told  fc'arfully  against  him. 
Contrary  to  the  expectations  of  both,  the  prison- 
ers were  j)crmitted  to  speak  for  themselves.  Is- 
rael boldly  but  respectfully  avowed  the  truth  ; 
candidly  acknowledged  his  visit  to  the  city,  jet 
denied  going  as  a  spy  ;  but  on  the  contrary  to 
afford  relief  to  a  beloved  and  suffering  mother. 
His  earnest  and  eloquent  wonh  had  no  observ- 
able effect;  the  faces  of  his  judges  were  stern 
and  inflexible.  Soon  after,  the  farmer  watched 
his  opportunity,  and  made,  to  the  commanding 
officer,  the  sign  of  the  secret  order  to  which  he 
belonged. 

The  change  in  the  deportment  of  the  officer 
was  almost  magical.  The  severity  of  his  coun- 
tenance relaxed,  he  manifested  some  confusion 
of  manner,  and  presently  communicated  with 
his  brother  officers  in  a  suppressed  tone. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  commander  mildly, 
"  it  seems  that  we  have  labored  under  some  mis- 
apprehension in  regard  to  the  character  of  this 
person.  Instead  of  coming  among  us  as  a  spy, 
it  was  to  bring  relief  to  a  parent  in  need.  I  do 
not  think  it  advisable  to  proceed  further  with 
the  case." 

In  this  opinion  the  others  fully  conenrred,  and 
Mr.  Israel  was  acquitted.  This  was  not  all ;  be 
was  treated  with  the  greatest  hospitality  by  the 
British  otBcers,  loaded  with  gifts  tor  himself  and 
wife,  and,  as  an  additional  mark  of  distinction, 
was  sent  on  shore  in  an  elegant  barge.  For  this 
remarkable  escape  he  was  indebted  to  the  s^ecret 
sign  of  the  masonic  brotherhood. 


A  SNAKE   STORY— BUT  TRUE. 

One  of  our  most  respectable  citizens,  residing 
within  the  corporate  limits  of  the  city,  has  re- 
lated to  us  that  two  years  ago  a  small  green 
snake  was  discovered  in  his  grape  arbor  by 
some  member  of  his  family.  It  was  not  disturbed 
or  molested  in  any  way.  Little  Snaky  seemed 
to  understand  and  appreciate  this  exemption 
from  the  curse  pronounced  against  the  serpent 
tribe,  and  has  ever  since  continued  its  habitation 
in  the  arbor.  During  the  time  it  has  grown 
quite  a  respectable  length,  and  become  perfectly 
domesticated,  and  recognizes  at  once  any  mem- 
ber of  the  family,  allows  itself  to  be  caressed, 
and  in  gathering  grapes  has  not  unfrequently  to 
be  pushed  out  of  the  way.  But  lot  a  stranger  ap- 
proach it,  and  at  once  it  manifests  its  displea- 
sure, and  will  allow  no  familiarity.  This  is 
every  word  true. — On  inquiring  the  probable 
cause  of  its  attachment  to  the  grape  arbor  and 
its  domestication — or  rather  civilization — the 
idea  was  suggested  that  possibly  the  juice  of  tho 
grape,  and  fine  shade  afforded  by  the  vines,  in- 
fluenced the  selection  by  his  snakeship,  and 
that  the  former  had  no  doubt  brought  the  ameli- 
orating and  humanizing  habits  he  had  con- 
tracted. Our  worthy  informant  is,  uncompro- 
misingly down  upon  li^e  "  ardent,"  and  thinks 
its  constant  use  as  a  drink  is  altogether  brntal- 
izing,  bringing  its  votaries  upon  a  level  with  the 
crawling  reptiles  of  the  earth.  On  the  other 
baud,  he  is  inclined  to  believe  that  the  juice  of 
the  grape — concocted  as  it  is  into  various  whole- 
some and  pleasant  wines,  has  a  tendency  to  ele- 
vate, humanize,  etherialize.  He  cited  the  tem- 
perate habits  of  the  people  of  wine-producing 
countries,  and  their  high  appreciation  of  the 
beauties  of  nature,  and  love  of  rural  pursuits,  as 
proof  of  the  fact.  We  may,  therefore,  deduce 
from  this  argument,  that  such  influences  oper- 
ating upon  the  snake  in  question,  have  brought 
it  to  its  present  civilized  state  and  kindly  dispo- 
sition.— Mobile  Tribune. 


AND  MHAT  NEXT? 

A  gentleman  residing  near  the  city  overtook 
a  well-dressed  young  man,  and  invited  him  to  a 
seat  in  his  carriage.  "  And  what,"  said  the 
gentleman  to  the  young  stranger,  "are  your 
plans  for  the  future  V  "  I  am  a  clerk,"  replied 
the  young  man,  and  my  hope  is  to  succeed  and 
get  into  business  for  myself."  "  And  what 
next  V  said  the  gentleman.  "  Wliy,  I  intend  to 
marry  and  set  up  an  establishment  of  my  own," 
said  the  youth.  "And  what  next?"  continued 
the  interrogator.  "  Wliy,  to  continue  in  busi- 
ness and  accumulate  wealth."  "  And  what 
next?  "  It  is  the  lot  of  all  men  to  die,  and  I,  of 
course,  cannot  escape,"  replied  the  young  man. 
"And  what  next  ?"  once  more  asked  the  gentle- 
man ;  but  the  young  man  liad  no  answer  to 
make — he  had  no  purposes  that  reached  beyond 
the  present  life.  How  many  young  men  are  in 
precisely  the  same  condition,  careful  of  the  life 
that  now  is,  but  thoughtless  of  that  to  come  ! — 
Familf)  IIcrakL 


The  gloomy  outside,  like  a  rnety  chest. 
Ooiit;tinB  tho  shining  trciisuvo  ofa  aoul, 
Resolved  and  bnive. — Drydeii. 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


267 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
STANZAS. 


BY  B.   CURTIS8   HISS-E,   O. 


.  N. 


Maiden  fair,  I  fain  would  ponder 

On  thy  future  destiny, 
As  tUe  bark  of  life  doth  wander 

Over  time's  tempestuous  sea ; 
But  the  task  I  find  before  me, 

Is  a  task  too  great,  I  sec, 
So  I  'II  pray  the  heavens  o'er  thpe, 

May  ever  bright  and  cloudless  be. 

May  the  path  of  life  thou  'rt  treading, 

Strewn  with  fresh  hopes  ever  be  ; 
May  it  lead  unto  a  wedding 

With  a  husband  worthy  thee  ; 
May  thy  name  be  ever  cherished, 

As  a  bright  and  holy  thing, 
When  thine  earthly  part  has  perished, 

And  thy  spirit  found  its  wing. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  YII. 
THE    SERAGLIO. 

BY  DR.  JEROME  V.  C.  SMITH, 

AUTHOR    OF    A     "PILGRIMAGE    TO    EGYPT." 

A  gentleman  connected  with  the  American 
legation  informed  myself  and  those  of  his  coun- 
trymen who  were  in  Constantinople,  one  morn- 
ing, that  if  we  had  any  curiosity  to  visit  that 
singular  and  altogether  extraordinary  palace  of 
the  Ottoman  rulers,  which  is  called  Serai  Bour- 
nou,  that  an  opportunity  was  then  presented. 
A  firman  could  be  procured  that  would  not  only 
permit  us  to  go  over  the  whole  Seraglio,  but  also 
the  Mint,  the  Arsenal,  the  great  Mosques  of  St. 
Sophia,  of  Solyman  the  Magnificent,  the  Mau- 
soleum of  Mahmond  II,  and  some  other  of  the 
first  class  religious  edifices.  Of  course  the  pro- 
position was  instantly  embraced.  About  forty 
dollars  was  the  sum  paid.  We  were  accom- 
panied by  Mr.  Holmes,  the  secretary  of  legation, 
and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Goodale,  a  missionary, — who 
both  understand  the  Turkish  language,  and  who 
were  of  the  highest  value  to  us,  in  examining 
objects,  and  in  translating  notices,  inscriptions, 
etc.,  which  presented  in  the  course  of  our  explor- 
ations within  the  ancient  walls  of  that  most  ex- 
traordinary of  all  national  establishments. 

On  approaching  the  city  by  water  from  the 
Sea  of  Marmora,  the  Seraglio  is  the  leading, 
prominent  object,  on  the  European  side  of  the 
Bosphorus.  A  kind  of  triangular  enclosure,  em- 
braced by  a  strong  wall,  large  enough  for  a  tol- 
erable sized  city,  is  studded  with  a  vast  variety 
of  edifices,  irregularly  aiTanged,  covering  an  im- 
mense extent  of  ground,  which  was  the  ancient 
Byzantium.  Here  are  courts,  extensive  gardens, 
parades,  and  also  unappropriated  fields,  of  suffi- 
cient dimensions  to  accommodate  a  multitude  of 
inhabitants. 

Mahomet  II  was  the  originator  of  this  imperial 
seclusion.  A  first  consideration  was  to  have 
every  inch  of  it  so  that  no  vulgar  eye  could  pos- 
sibly profane  the  females  by  seeing  them.  All 
the  buildings  are  inelegant,  but  rather  uncouth, 
externally,  having  each  and  every  window  thor- 
oughly grated,  or  rather  protected,  by  fine  lattice 
work.  Some  of  the  edifices  have  wide  project- 
ing eaves,  deep  recesses,  and  such  prodigious 
departures  from  all  the  common  details  of  archi- 
tecture of  other  countries,  that  if  there  were 
nothing  else  to  be  seen,  the  oddity  of  these  ac- 
cumulations, the  suggestions,  and  mostly,  the 
creations  of  tlie  ladies  of  the  harem,  it  would  be 
an  ample  compensation  for  the  fatigue  and  ex- 
pense of  a  visit. 

With  their  large  incomes,  from  age  to  age, 
without  the  possibility  of  appropriating  it  any 
other  way,  the  successive  sultans  have  permitted 
them  to  rear  these  structures.  One  usually 
connects  with  another,  and  consequently,  the 
old  and  the  new,  the  creations  of  past  centuries, 
with  modem  times,  give  additional  interest  to 
the  whole  group.  We  travel  from  the  old  to  the 
comparatively  new,  and  thus  learn  something  of 
the  whims,  caprices  and  taste  of  their  beautiful 
projectors. 

A  more  hopeless  task  could  not  be  undertaken, 
than  an  attempt  to  describe  the  inside  appear- 
ances of  the  various  apartments,  in  the  different 
buildings  we  inspected,  and  shall  not,  therefore, 
presume  upon  the  reader's  patience  beyond  a 
few  general  observations. 

Some  of  the  rooms  were  superb  both  in  respect 
to   prospect   and  finish.     Gilded  corniccF,  high 


studded  walls,  and  magnificent  workmanship  in 
marble,  in  the  bath  rooms,  especially,  were  the 
striking  points.  Neither  pictures  nor  statuary 
of  any  kind  were  any  where  seen,  except  in  a 
long  corridor,  perhaps  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
in  length,  through  lYhich  the  secluded  inmates 
passed  from  one  superb  suite  of  apartments  to 
another,  and  tliere  we  saw  a  row  of  engravings, 
colored,  in  simple  gilded  frames.  On  the  left 
hand  was  a  plastered  wall,  without  a  break  of 
door  or  window,  the  whole  way,  and  on  that 
surface  they  were  suspended.  On  the  right, 
there  were  a  succession  of  lai-ge  windows,  latticed, 
looking  into  a  garden. 

The  pictures  were  representations  of  Napo- 
leon's battles,  with  one  or  two  views  of  wrecked 
vessels.  In  one  small  room,  among  tlie  dozens 
that  we  examined,  about  fifteen  feet  square,  the 
walls  were  either  colored  or  papered,  I  forget 
which,  almost  black.  There  were  three  common 
parlor  chairs  in  it,  but  no  other  furniture.  These 
were  the  only  things  for  silting  on,  according  to 
civilized  rules,  in  the  series. 

In  another  apartment,  looking  out  upon  the 
Bosphorus,  a  heavenly  position  on  earth,  so  far 
as  surrounding  scenery  contributes  to  give  any 
spot  the  beauty  of  paradise,  besides  the  large 
latticed  windows,  richly  draped,  there  was  an 
immense  mahogany  bedstead.  It  was  a  great 
box,  ten  feet  square,  the  sides  near  three  feet 
high,  with  high  posts,  sustaining  a  heavy  tester 
overhead.  It  would  conveniently  accommodate 
six  persons,  without  being  crowded.  A  low 
bench  ran  round  the  walls,  near  the  floor,  in  very 
many  of  the  rooms,  on  which  were  cushions, 
similar  to  those  in  pews.  Bedding  was  not  seen 
anywhere. 

Baths  abounded :  they  were  marble  depres- 
sions in  the  floor — or  rather  shallow  tanks,  put 
below  the  common  floor  level,  some  ten  feet  one 
way,  by  six  perhaps  in  diameter.  Scroll  work 
in  marble,  bold  curves  and  richly  chiselled  vines, 
were  the  principal  ornamental  appendages  of  the 
female  residences. 

There  were  a  multitude  of  small  apartments 
connected  with  the  spacious  ones,  and  doors 
leading  from  a  second  corridor  to  suites  of  rooms 
that  we  did  not  enter.  Each  and  all  the  ladies 
of  position  have  their  own  places  for  themselves, 
servants  and  children.  Various  apartments  were 
for  common  use,  admitting  of  freedom  of  range 
quite  necessary  for  health,  in  a  community  of 
females,  exclusively,  who  rarely  expose  them- 
selves to  the  influences  of  the  open  air,  except 
when  closely  veiled,  and  in  the  gardens,  in  which 
the  atmosphere  is  not  much  superior  to  the  air 
of  the  house,  on  account  of  the  high  walls  by 
which  they  are  hemmed  in. 

Then  there  were  the  dining  rooms,  drawing 
and  frolicking  rooms — for  such  were  the  names 
we  gave  them,  besides  accommodations  for  an 
army  of  female  slave  attendants,  the  various 
grades  of  black  and  white  eunuchs,  with  a  num- 
berless retinue  of  gardeners,  grooms,  soldiers, 
civil  officers,  etc.,  who  are  attached  to  the  Se- 
raglio in  various  capacities, — who  never  set  foot 
beyond  the  theatres  of  their  appropriate  duties. 

Having  been  repeatedly  asked  where  the  ladies 
of  the  harem  were  all  the  while,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say,  that  had  they  been  in  the  Se- 
raglio, no  visitors  could  have  had  admission.  A 
new  palace  on  the  Bosphorus,  above  the  city,  to- 
wards the  Black  Sea,  occupied  considerably  by 
the  father  of  Medjid,  was  in  the  occupancy  of  his 
family  while  we  were  in  Constantinople. 

The  deeds  of  blood  and  cruelty  which  have 
been  transacted  in  the  old  Seraglio,  have  created 
a  repugnance  in  the  mind  of  the  Sultan,  and  he 
may  be  said  to  have  abandoned  it.  Still,  eu- 
nuchs are  there,  and  in  secluded  parts  of  the 
establishment,  are  supposed  to  be  kadines  of  his 
late  terrible  father. 

In  one  direction  in  the  yard,  were  a  cluster  of 
kitchens — each  recognized  by  its  little  dome. 
Every  lady  has  her  own  cooks,  food,  and  culina- 
ry apparatus.  Several  white  eunuchs,  small, 
pale,  cringing,  obsequious  males,  without  beards, 
were  leaning  against  pillars,  walking  across  en- 
closures, and  going  from  or  entering  doors.  Of 
coui-se,  they  would  be  the  only  safe  persons  to 
admit  into  the  apartment  of  the  females,  wlicthcr 
ladies,  servants  or  prisoners.  I  could  not  dis- 
cover to  what  race  they  belong;  but  my  opinion 
is  this,  that  they  were  Greeks. 

Mr.  Goodale  said  that  on  a  former  occasion, 
he  was  permitted  to  pass  through  a  suite  of  apart- 
ments closed  to  us.  He  remembered  of  having 
seen  on  the  doors,  labels,  in  Arabic,  designating 
them  as  the  first,  second,  third,  fourth,  etc.  ladies' 
quarters.  It  was  evidence  of  their  occupancy, 
from  being  thus  tabooed. 


On  entering  the  gardens — those  plats  espe- 
cially considered  select — the  promenades  of  the 
kadines,  they  disappointed  me.  There  was  a 
perfect  stiffness  and  perpendicularity  excessively 
tedious.  Hundreds  of  orange  trees,  in  tubs,  as 
they  are  seen  in  the  orange  gardens  of  Paris, 
make  up  a  large  part  of  the  show.  A  row  of 
demi-green  houses  are  for  their  protection  in  the 
winter.  Kaised  beds,  formal  and  hard,  covered 
with  flowers  make  up  the  remainder.  It  was 
like  being  in  a  deep  pit,  in  one  of  these  gardens 
— long  and  narrow,  the  sun  only  exerting  a  full 
influence,  at  least  when  we  were  in  it,  by  being 
du'cctly  overhead. 

Mahomed  II,  by  wliosc  determination  this 
house  for  himself  and  successors  was  projected, 
was  proclaimed  Padishain  1451.  He  took  Con- 
stantinople May  29th,  1481.  He  was  sirnamed 
Fatih — tlie  opener,  because  he  opened  a  way 
into  the  Christian  city  of  the  Greeks,  and  ci-ushed 
their  empire. 

No  one  of  the  Turkish  dynasty  has  evinced  a 
more  heroic  spirit,  or  entertained  clearer  percep- 
tions of  absolute  power.  Bold,  enterprising  and 
regardless  of  the  flow  of  blood  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  lofty  designs,  he  entertained  such  well 
grounded  confidence  in  the  preparation  the 
prophet  had  made  for  all  true  believers,  ihat  he 
calmly  prepared  his  own  epitaph,  and  a  cata- 
logue of  the  countries  he  had  overcome,  to  be 
inscribed  on  his  own  tomb. 

A  prominent  sight  within  the  great  mural  en- 
closure, is  the  pillar  created  by  Flavins  Theo- 
dosius  I,  a  Greek  emperor,  who  died  of  the 
dropsy  in  395.  I  do  not  understand  writers  who 
say  that  it  was  thrown  do^vn  by  an  earthquake, 
when  it  is  certainly  standing,  or  guides  and  his- 
torians have  appropriated  his  name  to  some  other 
monument. 

There  were  several  enormously  large  sarco- 
phagi in  a  yard,  of  puii^hyry — large  enough  for 
comfortable  bedrooms.  Tliey  are  of  a  remote 
antiquity,  and  show,  beyond  all  contradiction,  to 
what  extraordinary  perfection  the  ancients  car- 
ried the  art  of  working  in  stone.  As  they  had 
neither  iron  nor  steel,  but  cut  those  sarcophagi 
with  copper  tools — a  material  almost  as  difficult 
to  chip  as  flint,  they  could  not  be  equalled  in  our 
day,  without  costing  more  than  any  potentate 
would  be  willing  to  pay. 

LIBRARY    OF    THE    SERAGLIO. 

It  Strikes  a  stranger  as  an  absurdity,  that  books 
should  be  accumulated  for  those  who  never  read. 
But  several  grand  seignors  have  had  an  ambition 
to  be  learned,  rather  in  the  possession  of  the 
written  wisdom  of  those  distinguished  for  their 
political  and  liistorical  attainments,  than  to  actu- 
ally profit  by  the  lessons  of  i\Titten  wisdom. 

Here  is  a  one-story  building,  quite  by  itself  in 
an  open  space,  ascended  by  steps — having  a  large 
window  each  side  the  door,  erected  by  order  of 
Mustapha  III,  in  1767,  in  the  Bostangelar,  or 
garden.  I  find  it  described  as  having  beauties, 
marble  columns  and  other  affixes  that  were  not 
discovered  by  me.  Unfortunately,  the  key 
keeper  could  not  be  found,  and  we  therefore 
were  obliged  to  get  the  limited  knowledge 
within  our  grasp,  in  regard  to  the  books,  by  peeps 
through  the  windows.  On  three  sides  of  a  large 
square  room  ttiere  were  shelves,  perhaps  one 
foot  apart — commencing  some  four  feet  from  the 
floor,  and  reaching  the  ceiling.  Not  any  of  them 
were  full,  and  some  had  but  a  vei-y  few  books 
upon  them  at  all. 

Instead  of  standing  on  their  ends,  the  volumes 
were  packed  on  their  sides — one  above  anotlicr. 
They  were  generally  quite  thin,  with  a  string  or 
bit  of  ribbon  hanging  perpendicularly  from  be- 
tween the  leaves,  and  were  of  all  sizes.  They 
were  represented  1o  be  mostly  Korans,  executed 
by  a  pen,  on  parchment,  paper,  etc.,  at  difl'erent 
epochs,  and  variously  ornamented  and  gilded. 
Sentences  from  the  Eoran  were  inscribed  on  the 
walls,  as  they  are  on  various  buildings,  door- 
ways, gates,  and  other  marked  places  within  the 
choice  enclosure  of  the  Seraglio.  On  the  other 
hand,  guide-books  assert  that  this  library  pos- 
sesses costly  works  on  all  subjects — and  among 
others,  a  splendid  edition  of  Autar,  on  metallic 
paper.  I  cannot  credit  the  declaration  of  Mr. 
White,  that  the  collection  contains  4440  volumes, 
upon  any  other  principle  than  this,  viz.,  that 
every  little  thin  mass  of  leaves,  a  hundred  of 
which  would  not  have  the  thickness  of  a  common 
duodecimo  of  four  hundred  pages,  was  counted 
as  an  individual  volume. 

While  we  were  reconnoitering  some  of  the 
splendid  series  of  rooms,  especially  for  the  Sul- 
tan's use,  communicating  with  each  otlier  by 
passage  ways  with  those  of  the  select  ladies,  a 


small  case  of  books  was  shown  that  contained  a 
choice  collection  of  favorite  works,  chiefly 
amatory  poetical  effusions,  which  the  grand 
seignor  had  brought  to  him  whenever  he  felt 
inclined  to  have  reading.  It  was  a  mahogany 
box,  two  feet  high,  two  wide,  and  about  eiglit 
inches  thick,  with  two  shelves  inside,  on  which 
were  reposing  twenty-five  or  thirty  extremely 
thin,  but  richly  bound  volumes.  Their  titles 
were  on  strips  of  pendulous  ribbons — some  of 
which  the  Rev.  Mr.  Goodale  read.  They  were 
protected  in  front  by  a  wire  gauze  covering. 

In  several  of  the  mosques,  and  at  the  residen- 
ces of  the  great  officers,  and  the  chief  expounders 
of  the  Koran,  there  are  collections  of  books, 
chiefly  Persian  and  Arabic  authors.  The  Turks 
appear  to  have  had  but  a  very  few  native  writers. 

These  libraries  had  their  origin  in  a  desire  to 
copy  the  custom  of  the  Kaliphs  of  Bagdad  and 
Damascus,  as  an  appendage  of  distinction,  ratlier 
than  from  an  inherent  love  of  literature,  for  which 
the  Turks,  as  a  people,  have  no  cultivated  taste. 
There  are  individuals  who  read,  and  some  his- 
torians have  lived,  but  their  thoughts  and  their 
narrations,  locked  up  in  a  harsh  language,  in  the 
Arabic  character,  cannot  readily  be  disseminated, 
especially  when  not  printed  with  type. 

Some  of  the  females  of  the  imperial  harem 
have  discovered  a  decidedly  poetical  talent,  but 
the  most  that  is  known  of  them,  comes  obscurely 
and  indistinctly,  through  the  language  of  adula- 
tion, from  some  dependent  on  the  Sultan,  who 
exalts  to  the  skies,  on  account  of  the  position  of 
the  poetess,  what  might  not  be  considered  above 
mediocrity  in  a  child  of  a  less  exalted  station. 

There  are  writers  and  commentators  on  the 
laws,  at  Constantinople,  but  few  if  any  on  any 
other  branch  of  what  may  be  called  literature  or 
useful  information. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SHADES  OF  EVEN. 

BY  D.   HARDY,  JE. 

Shades  of  even  !   gently  falling, 

Welcome  is  the  rest  ye  bring ; 
Birds  now  seek  the  forest  shadows, 

Where  they  rest  with  folded  wing ; 
Sound  and  echo  now  are  dying, 

Silence  reigns  on  all  around  ; 
Stars  gleam  up  amid  the  stitine^, 

In  the  azure  vault  profound. 

Shades  of  even  I  ye  are  welcomed, 

By  the  noble  men  of  toil ; 
For  in  sleep  are  they  a  season, 

I'ree  from  busy  life's  turmoil. 
Twilight  hour,  so  pure  and  holy, 

Brings  a  train  of  happy  thought; 
And  our  silent,  sweet  communion, 

"With  the  beautiful  is  fraught. 

Even's  shades,  descending  gently, 

Hare  a  sad  and  holy  power ; 
Memories  of  the  days  of  olden 

Come  at  this  most  hallowed  hour. 
Eve- tide  music,  gently  floating, 

Oft  I've  heard,  but  vainly  tried 
To  give  back  the  sounding  cadence, 

Ere  the  holy  echoes  died. 

«     ^a^i     » 

THE  FIKST  I'RI^TEI)  BOOK. 

It  is  a  remarkable  and  most  interesting  fact 
that  the  very  first  use  to  which  the  discovery  of 
printing  was  applied  was  the  production  of  the 
Bible.  This  was  accomplished  at  Mcntz,  be- 
tween the  years  1450  and  1-155.  Gottenburg 
was  the  inventor  of  the  art,  and  Faust,  a  gold- 
smith, furnished  the  necessary  funds.  Had  it 
been  a  single  page,  or  an  entire  slieet  wliich  was 
then  produced,  there  might  have  been  less  oc- 
casion to  have  noticed  it ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  whole  character  of  the  affair,  which, 
if  not  unprecedented,  rendered  it  singular  in  the 
usual  current  of  human  events.  The  Bible  was 
in  two  folio  volumes,  which  have  been  justly 
praised  for  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  paper, 
the  exactness  of  the  register,  and  the  lustre  of 
the  ink.  The  vork  contained  twelve  hundred 
and  eighty-two  pages,  and  being  the  first  ever 
printed,  of  course  involved  a  long  period  of 
time,  and  an  immense  amount  of  mental  and 
mechanical  labor  ;  and  yet  for  a  long  time  after 
it  had  been  finished  and  offered  for  sale,  not  a 
human  being,  save  the  artists  themselves, 
knew  how  it  had  been  accomplished.  Of  the 
first  printed  Bible  eighteen  copies  are  known  to 
be  in  existence,  four  of  which  are  printed  on  vel- 
lum. Two  of  these  are  in  England,  one  being 
in  the  Grenville  collection,  one  is  in  tlie  Royal 
Library  of  Berlin,  and  one  in  the  l^oyal  Library 
of  Paris.  Of  the  fourteen  remaining  copies  ten 
are  in  England — there  being  a  copy  in  the  Li- 
braries of  Oxford.  Edinburgh,  and  London,  and 
several  in  the  collections  of  different  noblemen. 
Tlie  vellum  copy  has  been  sold  as  high  at  .£1300. 
James  Lenox,  Esq.,  of  New- York  city,  has  a 
copy  in  his  library,  which  was  purchased  by  Mr. 
Davidson,  (Agent  for  Messrs.  Wiley  and  Put- 
nam,) at  auction,  in  London,  in  IS48,  for  ihe 
sum  of  .£500  stcrhng,  equal  to  $2,200  indepen- 
dent of  freight  or  duties.  The  custom  lunisc 
officers  passed  it  free  of  duty,  in  consideralion  of 
its  being  a  curiosity.  It  is  tiie  only  copy  upon 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic. — N.  Y.  Miiror. 


268 


GLEASON'S   riCTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


NEW  LII'K  ItOAT. 

"Wo  eivo  liciow  un  iiccuniLc  rc|iresc',ntation 
of  a  now  life  hoat  lately  cunstriicted  and  per- 
fected liy  a  Mr.  Loo,  of  Manehostor,  Enn;- 
land.  It  will  be  scon  by  tho  pirturo  that 
sho  is  rif^^'ud  and  manned  for  eli/htcm  oars, 
besides  a  jiii  and  two  liifj;{;cr  sails.  Sho  is 
composed  of  two  tiilies  of  cylinder  iron, 
supporting  each  other  on  the  arch  principle. 
Sho  can  neither  sink,  upset,  swamp,  nor  bo 
waterlo^jjcd.  Wcij^ht  of  tho  boat,  with 
^ear,  54  cwt.  3  qrs.;  weight,  without  gear, 
48  ewt.,  I  (|r.,  as  ascertained  by  actual 
weif;hingin  Woolwich  Dockyard.  Wclind 
the  following  account  relating  to  this  very 
remarkable  structure  in  a  Loudon  paper : 
At  Liverpool,  having  been  tested  in  gales, 
by  steam,  and  every  other  means  of  proving 
her  strength  and  stability,  she  issued  her 
challenges  to  the  life  boats  of  Great  Britain. 
But  none  would  accept,  or  go  tin'ongh  the 
whole  trials,  except  tlic  Northumberland 
Prize  Life  Boat,  which  prolfcred  to  meet  the 
tubular,  if  it  would  sail  round  to  Ranisgate. 
The  Tubular  Life  Boat  immediately  started, 
and  on  her  voyage  touched  at  Menai-bridge, 
Caernarvon,  Portdyllacm,  andAbcrsock:  at 
Barmouth  the  boat  was  tried  on  the  bar  on 
a  heavy  surf,  and  pronounced  by  certificate 
to  be  the  most  perfect  life  boat  the  harbor 
master  and  pilots  had  ever  seen.  She  then 
sailed  to  Aberdovcy,  Cardigan,  Fishguard, 
Dale,  and  Milford  Haven,  the  Mumldes,  II- 
fracombc,  Pads  tow,  St.  Ives,  Penzance, 
Falmouth,  Plymouth.  Here  she  wa^  tested 
by  the  Port  Admiral  Sir  John  Ommaney, 
and  taken  alongside  the  Leander  frigate,  in 
the  Sound,  where  ciglity-two  men  were 
placed  on  her  side,  for  the  purpose  of  upset- 
ting her,  but  were  unable  to  effect  it.  From 
Plymouth  she  sailed  to  Cawsand  Bay,  Sal- 
combe,  Tynemouth,  Lyme  Regis,  Cowes, 
Southampton,  Portsmouth.  Here  she  was 
again  inspected  and  tested  by  the  Port  Ad- 
miral, Sir  Thomas  Briggs,  to  his  entire  sat- 
isfaction. She  then  sailed  to  Shorehara, 
Newhaven,  Rye  and  Ramsgatc.  On  her 
arrival  the  following  further  notice  and  chal- 
lenge was  issued  : — "  The  Tubular  Life 
Boat's  challenge  not  having  been  accepted 
at  Liverpool,  and  the  Northumberland  Prize 
Life  Boat  having  stated  her  readiness  to 
meet  her,  provided  the  former  would  come 
round  lo  Riimsgate,  the  Tubular  Life  Boat 
has  sailed,  and  arrived  at  Ramsgate.  And, 
in  addition  to  the  first  challenge,  she  will 
carry  one  pcr^-on  to  every  foot  in  length,  and 
beach  on  a  lee  shore;  and  sixty  persons  shall 
at  one  and  the  same  time  jump  and  rush  on 
board  as  if  alongside  the  wreck  of  an  emigrant 
ship."  But  it  was  found  that  the  Northumber- 
land Prize  Life  Boat  had  been  sold  to  the  Rams- 
gale  Harbor  Truitees,  who  refused  to  let  the 
boat  undergo  all  the  trials  proposed  unless  she 
was  guaranteed  by  theliuilders  in  case  of  loss  or 
damage.  Tliiy  the  builders  declined.  The  Tu- 
bular Life  Boat  then  sailed  for  Woolwich,  touch- 
ing at  Margate  and  Gravesend.  In  her  voyage 
round,  the  Challenger  experienced  much  rough 
weather:  strong  gales  and  white  squalls  off  the 
Welsh  coast;  wild  races  through  Ramsey  and 
Jack  Sound ;  a  heavy  gale  on  the  night  of  the 
2.5th  of  June,  off  Tintagel  Head,  Cornwall; 
thick  blowing  weather  round  the  Land's  End 
and  in  the  English  Channel.  The  crew  consist- 
ed of  the  proprietors,  with  Mr.  Thomas  Evans, 
master  of  the  Liverpool  Magazine  Lilc  Boat,  as 


UUJNJNA  CUliKiWJNE  ALMANZA. 


[see  Frederick  Hunter's  biovy  ] 


sailing-master,  and  five  sailors.  We  trust  that 
our  Atlantic  seaboard  may  soon  be  supplied  with 
this  invaluable  life-saver.  If  the  invention  de- 
serves one  half  the  encomiums  of  praise  lavished 
upon  it  by  the  English  press,  it  is  far  superior  to 
all  boats  of  this  character  yOt  improved  in  this 
part  of  ihe  world.  That  we  have  most  perfect 
and  elaborate  life  boats,  we  arc  well  aware  ;  but 
the  one  of  which  we  give  a  representation  here- 
with, is  certainly  a  most  remarkable  and  success- 
ful invention,  and  worthy  of  attention  by  all  in- 
terested in  such  matters.  We  are  gratified  to 
sec  inventive  genius  directed  in  this  channel,  and 
for  the  purpose  of  the  preservation  of  life :  now 
and  then  we  are  called  upon  to  chronicle  the  im- 
provements in  fire-arms,  to  detail  how  they  arc 
rendered  tenfold  more  destructive  thim  heretofore, 
but  this  accords  poorly  with  our  own  feelings — 
humanity,  not  brutalism,  is  the  predominating 
and  most  natural  trait  of  the  human  heart. 


A  BURMESE  SOLDIER. 

Wc  present  below  a  rough  sketch  of  one  of 
the  Burmese  soldiers,  as  they  commonly  walk 
about  the  town.  Many  of  them  have  endeavored 
to  imitate  the  British  soldier's  costume  in  part, 
and  wear  a  short  red  jacket  made  of  cotton 
or  cloth,  and  on  their  heads  have  a  sort  of  a  con- 
ical pot  made  of  tin,  with  a  wide  rim  of  the  same 
material,  to  resist  sabre  cuts.  Others  again  wear 
painted  tin  helmets  of  the  shape  that  used  for- 
merly to  decorate  the  heads  of  warriors.  A 
large  portion  carry  muskets  instead  of  spears* 
bat  all  have  the  dha  or  sword  represented  id  the 
sketch.  It  is  said  that  they  are  bad  soldiers  in 
the  open  field,  but  beliind  stockades  they  exhibit 
much  courage.  They  are  a  strong,  able-bodied 
and  muscular  race  of  people,  and  afford  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  puny  Bengalees.  The  bodies 
of  the  men  are  tattooed  from  about  four  inches 
above  the  hips  to  a  little  below  the  knees.     Some 


of  tho  designs  are  very  curious,  and  repre- 
sent dragons  and  tigers  in  uncouth  positions, 
snakes,  etc.,  but  all  executed  with  much 
skill  anil  with  regard  to  minuteness.  The 
man  from  whom  the  accompanying  sketch 
is  made  has  an  irregular  scroll-work  pattern 
on  )iis  legs,  interspersed  with  grotesque  ani- 
mals, and  about  his  waist  the  onniment  fin- 
ishes with  a  design  looking  somelhing  like 
the  tops  of  the  pagoda-t  of  his  country. 
They  arc  domestic  in  their  habits,  and  ex- 
hibit the  strongest  alfection  for  their  off- 
spring. A  Burman  never  considers  the 
number  of  his  progeny  too  large,  as  the 
means  of  provision  for  them  arc  always 
within  his  reach,  and  it  is  considered  honor- 
able to  have  his  "  quiver  full."  Altogeiber 
they  appear  to  he  a  happy,  contented  people, 
full  of  fun,  always  ready  to  laugh  at  a  joke, 
practical  or  otherwise,  and  exhibiting  much 
good  temper  in  all  their  amusements.  Of 
these,  cock-fighting  is  one  of  the  principal, 
and  it  is  one  in  whicli  they  show  much 
skill  in  training  their  pugnacious  favorites. 
Matches  are  made  on  the  open  roads,  and 
when  from  the  length  of  the  "round,"  the 
birds  are  exhausted,  the  owners  take  them 
up  and  carefully  shampoo  their  proteges, 
and  revive  them  by  moistening  their  beaks 
and  rubbing  the  muscles  of  their  thighs. 
Much  money  changes  hands  on  these  occa- 
sions. The  dress  of  the  women  consists  of 
a  piece  of  silk  or  cotton  cloth,  drawn  across 
the  bust,  under  the  arms,  leaving  the  shoul- 
ders bare.  This  reaches  to  the  waist,  whence 
another  piece  of  silk,  called  the  "ta-mien," 
falh  to  the  knees.  The  narrowness  of  this 
petticoat,  which  is  only  wide  enough  to  be 
tncked  in  at  the  waist,  causes  the  leg  to  be 
exposed  above  the  knee  at  every  step. 
Among  the  higher  classes,  an  en-gyee  or 
jacket  of  fine  muslin  or  silk  gauze  is  worn 
in  addition  to  the  above  dress.  The  nar- 
rowness of  the  lower  garment  prevents  the 
woman  from  walking  in  a  free  and  unre- 
strained manner,  and  she  shulfles  along  in  a 
shambling  style  that  is  anything  but  elegant. 
Their  long  glos.sy  black  hair  is  drawn  back 
from  the  face  and  tied  behind  with  great 
care.  Upon  this  portion  of  their  toilet  they 
bestow  much  pains,  and  they  exhibit  con- 
siderable taste  in  arranging  roses  and  other 
flowers  in  their  jetty  tresses.  Both  se.xcs 
have  ho^es  in  their  cars  through  which  they 
pass  cylindrical  pieces  of  wood,  bone,  glass, 
or  gold  ;  and  the  size  of  some  of  these  orna- 
ments is  marvellous.  When  the  incision  is 
first  made  in  a  boy's  or  girl's  ear — an  occasion 
of  much  rejoicing  and  fest^'ity — a  small  roll  of 
thin  fine  gold  or  bamboo  is  inserted  ia  the  ori- 
fice. This  is  removed  after  a  time  for  a  larger 
piece,  which  again  gives  place  to  another  of  in- 
creased size,  until  it  reaches  about  an  inch  in  di- 
ameter, and  the  lobe  of  the  ear  becomes  a  mere 
thin  ficshy  circle,  encompassing  the  ornament. 
When,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  this  is  a  roll  of 
pure  gold,  measuring  about  an  inch  and  a  quar- 
ter in  height,  and  about  three  quarters  of  an  inch 
in  diameter,  the  ear  is  dragged  down  to  a  length 
that,  to  a  foreigner,  appears  very  ugly,  but  by  a 
a  Burman  is  considered  fashionably  elegant. 
These  holes  are  sometimes  useful,  and  serve  the 
purpose  of  cheroot  cases.  It  is  not  uncommon 
to  see  a  girl  walking  along  the  road  with  her 
cheroot  poking  through  her  ear.  This  she  re- 
moves on  meeting  some  friends,  and  with  them 
squats  on  the  ground  and  enjoys  her  tobacco. 


SPECIMEN  Ol-'  A  InLVV   teTVLL  Ui'  LIFE  BOAT. 


KEPHE&ENTATIUN  UF  A  BUKWliSE  SULmER. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DHAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


269 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Proprietor. 

MATTJRIN    M.    BALLOTJ,    Editor, 

COKTKATS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NU3IBER. 

<'  The  Poor  Cousin,"  an  admirable  story,  by  Mrs.  Caro- 
use Or>'e. 

"  The  Green  Chamber,  or  the  Midnight  Tisitor,"  a  fine 
storv.  by  Fkancis  A.  Durivage. 

^■The  Mameluke,  or  the  ^igu  of  the  Myotic  Tie,"  a  tale 
of  the  camp  and  court  of  Bonaparte,  by  B.  Pebley  Poore. 
We  f-hall  coQimence,  in  our  next  number,  a  superb  histo- 
rical romance,  thus  entitled. 

''Turkey  and  the  Turka,"  No.  Ttll,  relating  to  the 
Throue  of  Turkey,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Autographs  and  Autography j"  So.  IX,  by  William 
Edward  Kkowles,  giving  the  signatures  of  James  K. 
Polk,  Lewis  Cats,  John  Tyler,  Charles  Dickens,  T.  S.  Ar- 
thur, Dr.  J.  H.  Kobiuson,  James  T.  Fields,  and  A.  J.  H. 
Duganne. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  X,  describing  the  Dead  Sea, 
by  Kev.  F.  W.  Holland. 

"  The  Hours  of  Childhood,"  verses,  by  E.  CurtiS3  Hike, 
U.  S.  N. 

"  Truth  and  Friendship,"  lines,  by  Caroune  A.  Hat- 
den. 

"  The  Oak  of  the  Forest,"  verses,  by  Joseph  H.  Butler. 

"Farewell,"  a  poem,  by  Mrs.  H.  Marion  Stephens. 

"  The  Sailor's  Bride,"  lines,  by  Phila  Earle. 

"  The  Exile  Sisters,"  a  poem,  by  Mrs.  R.  T.  Eldredge. 

'■Musint^s,"  verses,  by  Edward  M.  Bisbee. 

"  The  Gem  of  the  Tropics,"  verses,  by  M.  M.  Ballod. 

"  liemembered  Ones,"  lines,  by  J.  Hunt,  Jr. 

"  The  Autumn  free,"  a  poem,  by  Owen  G.  kVARREN. 

ILLUSTEATIONS. 

We  shall  give  a  very  elaborate  and  perfect  general  view 
of  the  New  Hampshire  State  Fair,  which  lately  took  place 
at  Meredith  Bridge,  N.  H.  Drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  ALin- 
ning. 

A  fine  series  of  CaUfomia  scenes,  characteristic  of  the 
gold  region. 

FirBt,  a  Bridge  across  the  American  River,  at  Leslie's 
Ferry,  California. 

Second,  a  view  representing  a  Miner  in  a  prospecting 
train,  in  search  of  gold. 

Third,  a  very  accurate  view  of  Sacremento  Cemetery, 
where  rest  the  ashes  of  many  a  sanguine  gold  seeker. 

Fourth,  a  very  excellent  and  interesting  picture  of  a 
Native  Indian  Chief,  as  they  now  appear. 

Fifth,  a  characteristic  view  of  a  California  Pampero,  in 
the  gold  region. 

Sixth,  an  interesting  picture  of  a  Cahfomia  Senorita,  as 
drawu  upou  the  spot. 

Seventh,  an  expressive  and  accurate  view,  giving  a  pic- 
ture of  an  Indian  Squaw  and  Children. 

A  picture  of  Chinamen  en  route  for  the  mines  inland,  to 
dig  gold. 

Al.'O  an  interesting  series  of  New  York  State  views,  made 
by  our  artist,  Mr.  H.  W.  Parker. 

First,  an  admirable  picture  of  the  State  Prison  and  Rail- 
road Buildings,  at  Auburn,  N.  Y. 

Second,  a  fine  view  of  Fort  Hill  Cemetery,  situated  at 
Auburn,  N.  Y. 

Third,  a  beautiful  picture  of  Olenhaven  Water  Cure  Es- 
tablisDment,  on  Skeueateles  Lake,  N.  Y. 

Fourth,  an  admirable  drawing  and  picture  of  the  famous 
Owasco  Lake,  N.  Y.,  forming  a  very  tine  series. 

i  large  and  very  artistic  picture,  representing  the  late 
Duke  of  Wellington  on  horseback. 

An  eastern  picture,  finely  illustrating  Dr.  Jerome  T.  C. 
Smith's  interesting  aeries  of  articles,  by  an  engraving  of  a 
Muezzin  calling  to  Prajers,  alter  the  style  of  the  east,  by 
our  artist,  Mr.  Maniuug. 

A  local  picture,  representing  a  body  of  Swedish  Emi- 
grants, as  they  lately  appeared  passing  our  office.  My  our 
artist,  Mr.  tiowse. 


"  The  Queen  of  the  Sea  :  or.  Our  Lady  of 
the  Ocean."  By  Ned  Buntline. — The  constant 
demand  for  this  interesting  nautical  tale  has  in- 
duced us  to  issue  a  new  edition  of  the  same — it 
liaving  been  long  out  of  print.  It  is  now  for 
sale  at  all  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout 
the  United  States,  and  at  the  office  of  publication. 


SPLINTERS. 


Mad.  Sontag  i.s  creating  a  musical  furore 

only  second  to  Jenny  Lind's. 

....  Monsieur  Petin  made  a  successful  balloon 
ascension  from  Bridgeport,  Ct.,  on  the  7  th  inst. 

....  Little  Camille  Urso  "  draws  a  long  bow/' 
considering  her  extreme  youth. 

The  Spanish  authorities  are   entangling 

Cuba  in  a  most  fatal  situation. 

....  Punch  notices,  as  properly  named,  the 
7v7//-bury  and  il/a?-ms-worth  railway. 

Lessing's  gorgeous  painting,  "  The  Mar- 
tyrdom of  Huss,"  is  exhibiting  at  the  Athenaium. 

....  A  keg  of  silver,  containing  SlOOO,  was 
lately  dug  up  near  Norfolk,  Va.,  dating  1827. 

There  are  said  to  be  a  vast  number  of 

Americans  in  Italy  this  season. 

....  The  U.  S.  treasury  and  mint  are  said  to 
contain  some  S20,000,000  in  coin. 

....  Boys  playing  truant  from  school  are 
punished  by  the  Boston  city  authorities. 

The  yellow  fever  has  been  terribly  fatal 

the  past  season  in  the  West  Indies. 

Mr.  Goodall,  at  the  Howard,  bids  fair  to 

be  a  great  favorite  with  our  theatre-goers. 


POLITICAL  M'ARFARE. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  political  discus- 
sions and  struggles  for  political  a.scendency  can- 
not be  conducted  with  amenity  and  dignity.  It 
is  a  deplorable  thing  that  men  cannot  confine 
their  arguments  to  principles  without  descending 
to  personalities.  What  a  spectacle  is  that  pre- 
sented by  a  great  people,  divided  in  opinion,  and 
through  their  oral  and  published  organs,  reviling 
and  railing  at  each  other,  vicing  in  the  use  of 
opprobrious  epithets,  and  hurling  every  sarcasm, 
in  which  the  vocabulary  of  Billingsgate  abounds, 
at  the  heads  of  antagonistic  candidates !  The 
far  outsider,  perched  upon  some  transatlantic 
eminence,  and  surveying  the  deadly  strife,  with- 
out any  intimate  knowledge  of  the  electioneering 
practices  and  customs  of  the  Yankees,  must  in- 
fallibly come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Ameri- 
cans always  select  for  incumbents  to  fill  the 
highest  office  in  their  gift,  the  most  worthless 
fellows  to  be  found,  that  the  government  is  al- 
ways corrupt  and  badly  administered,  and  that 
the  country  is  going  to  ruin  with  railroad  speed. 

Our  neighbors  across  the  ocean  are  thus  led  to 
wonder  how,  with  such  infamous  leaders,  such 
villanous  corruption  and  neglect  in  all  the  de- 
partments of  government,  the  nation,  as  such, 
can  exist  at  all.  And  he  finds  it  hard  to  recon- 
cile its  seeming  prosperity  with  the  assertions  of 
its  o\vn  citizens.  A  nearer  and  closer  investiga- 
tion solves  the  mystery. — It  is  plainly  evident 
that  personal  abuse  and  fierce  philippic  have 
come  to  be  the  objurgatory  weapons  of  political 
contest.  Vainly  do  rival  candidates  for  the  pre- 
sidency endorse  each  others'  characters,  and  pro- 
fess mutual  respect  and  regard,  it  is  only  a  pretty 
dumb-show,  mere  by-play,  and  precedes  a  battle 
royal  between  their  partizans.  How  volubly  the 
lie  is  given  and  returned !  what  fierce  charges 
I'ing  from  the  rostrum,  and  reverberate  around 
the  stump  !  How  active  are  the  partizan  editors  ! 
What  seas  of  ink  are  shed !  What  ingenious 
fabrications  are  resorted  to  ! 

0  consistency!  fair  daughter  of  wisdom,  where 
art  thou  departed  ?  This  crying  evil  grows 
worse  and  worse,  instead  of  abating;  as  the  ha- 
bitual dram-drinker,  or  opium-eater,  feels  com- 
pelled by  his  craving  to  increase  his  dose  of  the 
stimulus  daily  as  he  becomes  more  and  more 
accustomed  to  it;  so  do  political  partizans,  as 
their  moral  epidermis  becomes  toughened  by  con- 
tinual drubbing,  require  more  furious  attacks 
and  sharper  methods  of  annoyance.  Truly  this 
is  a  most  unfortunate,  most  unhappy,  and  need- 
less state  of  affairs. 

We  esteem  ourselves  very  fortunate  that,  in 
the  midst  of  the  noise,  confusion  and  commotion 
of  contending  parties,  we  enjoy  the  peaceful  po- 
sition of  neutrality;  seeking  rather  to  amuse, 
divert  and  instruct  the  minds  of  our  readers, 
than  to  inflame  and  exasperate  them.  For  our- 
selves, we  have  a  full  faith  in  the  fortunes  of  our 
country,  and  the  brilliancy  and  permanency  of 
her  institutions. 


THE  MAMELUKE: 

— OR — 

THE  SIGN  OF  THE  MYSTIC  TIE. 

A  Tale  of  the  Camp  and  CouH  of  Bonapcuie. 

BT    B.    PERLET    rOORE. 

We  shall  commence  in  our  next  number  a 
superb  historical  romance,  thus  entitled,  by  the 
above  able  and  well-known  writer  and  traveller, 
who  has  succeeded  in  weaving  together  liistory 
and  romance,  so  as  to  form  one  of  the  most 
spirited  and  delightful  stories  we  have  ever  pub- 
lished. Major  Poore  writes  of  the  spots  which 
he  has  visited  in  person,  and  Egypt  and  the  Holy 
Land  are  described  as  he  himself  has  seen  them. 


National  Theatre.  —  This  establishment 
will  open  on  Monday  next,  when  the  Boston 
public  will  be  ottered  something  in  the  way  of 
theatricals,  richly  worth  their  attention  and 
patronage. 

Louis  Napoleon. — We  are  not  naturally 
vindictive — but  if  this  scape-grace  had  chanced  to 
have  been  killed  by  that  machine — well,  we 
should  not  have  wept,  that's  all. 


Rather  inglorious. — To  think  that  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  should  have  died  of  eating 
too  much  venison  steak  ! 


W.  F,  Johnson.— We  are  pleased  to  learn 
that  this  old  favorite  of  the  Boston  theatre-goers 
will  be  with  us  this  winter. 


INDIA. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  we  last  week  gave 
our  readers  a  fine  view  of  Prome,  and  the  river 
Irawaddy,  since  when  the  last  English  news 
brings  us  an  additional  item  of  interest,  by  the 
overland  mail  from  India,  by  which  we  learn  that 
the  chief  event  of  importance  that  had  occurred 
at  the  seat  of  war  in  Burmah,  since  the  depar- 
ture of  the  previous  mail,  was  the  capture  of  the 
town  of  Prome,  by  a  fleet  of  light  steamers,  un- 
der the  command  of  Capt.  Tarlton.  The  river 
Irawaddy,  below  Prome,  divides  into  two  branch- 
es, the  left  channel  being  defended  by  two  strong 
fortresses,  and  the  right  unnavigable,  except 
during  the  rainy  season.  Capt.  Tarlton  having 
been  warned  by  some  friendly  natives  that  the 
left  channel  was  defended,  and  being  also  favor- 
ed by  the  flood,  ascended  the  right  branch  of  the 
river,  and  entered  the  town  without  resistance, 
carrying  oil"  twenty-eight  guns.  Having  no 
orders  to  advance,  he  returned  to  Kaugorm,  al- 
though there  was  reason  to  believe  that  the  fleet 
could  have  made  its  way  to  Ava,  the  capital. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  Fabian  policy  of 
the  general  in  command  has  given  rise  to  con- 
siderable discontent.  A  postscript  to  the  above 
intelligence  states  that  an  immediate  advance  on 
and  occupation  of  Prome  is  expected,  and  rein- 
forcements will  at  once  be  sent  from  Madras  and 
Bengal.  We  mention  these  facts  as  being  of 
addiiional  interest  to  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial, 
who  are  thus  timely  informed  of  striking  Eu- 
ropean events,  and  also  have  depicted  before 
them  the  interesting  localities  themselves. 


SUGGESTIVE. 

Walking  by  the  southern  entrance  to  the  Com- 
mon, the  other  day,  with  a  friend,  we  found  one 
of  the  large  iron  gates  unshipped  from  its  sup- 
porters, having  apparently  been  just  repaired  in 
some  injured  bars. 

"  Remarkable  coincidence,"  said  Muggles. — 
(Maggies  is  a  great  friend  of  ours.) 

"  What  is  a  remarkable  coincidence  V*  we 
asked,  innocently,  looking  around. 

"  The  resemblance  that  gate  bears  to  a  con- 
demned criminal,"  he  replied,  looking  solemnly 
at  the  piece  of  iron-work. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Muggles  1  Are  you 
dreaming-  awake,  eh  V* 

"Don't  you  see  the  resemblance  between  that 
gate  and  a  condemned  criminal^'* 

"  No." 

"  Why,  it's  going  to  be  hung  I  can't  you  see 
the  hook  and  staples'?" 

We  turned  down  Winter  Street,  and  left  Mug- 
gles to  reconcile  the  suggestive  scene  with  his 
own  conscience. 


MUSICAL. 

It  is  long  since  we  enjoyed  such  a  musical 
treat  as  was  afforded  us  by  attendance  upon 
Mdlle.  Caroline  Lehmanns  debut  at  the  Melodeon, 
a  few  evenings  since.  Coming  among  us  almost 
entirely  unheralded,  this  beautiful  woman,  and 
really  brilliant  vocalist,  delighted  and  astonished 
her  audience,  who  evinced  their  appreciation  by 
long  and  reiterated  plaudits.  The  house  was 
quite  full,  and  among  the  company  we  noticed 
a  large  number  of  amateur  and  professional 
musicians. 


Miss  IviMEERLY. — This  lady  has  certainly 
improved  vastly  in  her  profession  since  her  for-' 
mcr  appearance  in  Boston.  Her  conception  of 
character  is  marked  by  originality,  and  her 
reading  is  faultless. 


The  Mountain  Eagle  (Oregon),  chronicles  the  fact  that 
a  lunip  of  nearly  pure  gold,  weighing  twenty-five  pounds, 
had  been  found. — PliUaielpkia  fSaliirday  Post. 

It  is  "orful"  hard  to  believe  some  of  these 
gold  stories,  isn't  if? 


Mild  for  the  Season. — We  hear  of  many 
trees  in  this  vicinity  that  are  in  blossom  for  the 
second  time,  so  mild  has  been  our  Fall. 


South  Boston  Gazette. — This  excellent 
local  paper  has  lately  entered  on  a  new  volume, 
and  evinces  unmistakeable  tokens  of  enterprise. 


Personal. — Hon.  Abbott  Lawrence,  late  min- 
ister to  England,  is  expected  to  eat  a  dinner  in 
public  with  his  friends,  in  honor  of  his  return. 


Military. — The  Boston  Ai'tillery had  a  splen- 
did time  in  New  York. 


In  this  city,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Pond,  Mr.  Eleazer  Eoynton, 
Jr.,  to  Miss  Mary  E.  P.  Chadboume. 

By  Hev.  Mr.  Kirk,  Mr.  Luther  Shaw,  of  Providence,  R, 
I.,  to  Miss  Lucrutia  Chapin. 

By  Hev.  Dr.  Neale,  Mr.  Archibald  Cameron  to  Mias  Mary 
J.  Robinson. 

By  Rev.  Mr,  Richards,  Mr.  John  S.  Sanderson  to  Miss 
Charlotte  H.  Little. 

By  ReT.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  WiUiam  B.  Coan  to  Miss  Ada 
L.  Hoyt. 

At  Ro.xbury,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Anderson,  Mr.  John  J.  Mann, 
of  Brooklyn,"N.  Y.,  to  Miss  Sarah  E.  Dove. 

At  Chelsea,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Thayer,  Mr.  Abner  I.  Benyon 
to  Miss  Huth  Ann  Town. 

At  Reading,  by  Rev.  Dr  Barrett,  of  Boston,  Mr.  Joseph 

D.  Cobum,  of  Boston,  to  Mis.s  Maria  E.  Baker. 

At  Lowell,  by  Kev  Mr.  Cox,  Mr.  Char'es  Thompson  to 
Miss  Lucy  Brighaai. 

Atllingham,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Richardson,  Dr.  Robert  W. 
Olipbant,  of  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  to  Mis.'!  Sarah  M.  Harding. 

At  North  Bridgewater,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Ashley,  Mr.  Emory 
F.  Wetherell  to  Miss  Ellen  ¥.  Gates,  both  of  Worce.-iter. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Bart,  Mr.  Lorenzo  D.  Da^ 
vis  to  Miss  Susan  P.  Potter. 

At  Bradford,  by  Rev  JMr.  Munroe,  William  N.  Kimball, 
Esq.,  to  Miss  Louise  Hopkins,  of  Groveland. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  Itev.  Dr.  Carruthers,  Mr.  Timothy 

E.  Stewart  to  Miss  Sarah  F.  Emery. 

At  Ctaremont,  N.  H,.  by  Bishop  Chase,  Mr.  James  E.  P. 
Stevens,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Mary  P.  Abrams. 

At  Amsterdam,  N.  Y.,  Mr.  Timothy  C.Pelton,  of  Spring- 
field, Ms.,  to  Miss  Sarah  B.  Arnold. 


Receipts. — The  Horticultural  Exhibition,  re- 
presented in  our  last  paper,  netted  $1250. 


In  this  city,  Mra.  Mary  Walker,  39  ;  Mra.  Judith  Smith, 
57;  Mr.  Thomas  Drown,  44;  Mrs.  Margaret  B.  Robbins, 
76;  Mr.  Samuel  H  Skimmings,  of  Halifax,  N- S.,  29  ;  Mias 
Nancy  Hunt,  65;  Mrs.  Elizabeth  McKenzie,  late  ot  Aber- 
deen, Scotland ;  Mr.  Geo.  Knot,  22;  Mrs.  Lydia  Baker,  68. 

Ac  Roxbury,  Mrs.  Nancy  Sampson,  T2. 

At  Chelsea,  Mrs.  Joanna  W.  P.  Wilder,  33. 

At  Cambridge,  Nancy  Hale,  63. 

At  Dorchester,  Mr.  Thomas  Lewis,  88. 

At  Lynn,  Mrs.  Abigail  Brickett,  47. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Harriet  Kendall  Treadwell,  61. 

At  Beverly,  Mrs.  Mary  Sargent,  70. 

At  Ipswich,  Capt.  William  Willcomb,  55. 

At  Newburjport,  Mr.  David  W.  lleynolda,  27. 

At  Lowell,  Miss  Caroline  B.  Fullcrton,  20. 

At  Billerica,  Mrs.  Philadelphia  Aldrich,  of  Bow,  90. 

At  titchburg,  Mrs.  Phebe  P.  Abbott,  of  Lowell,  34. 

At  South  Dennis,  Mr    William  Dean,  40. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mrs.  Margaret  Young,  40. 

At  Nantucket,  Mrs.  Ljdia  Calder.  80. 

At  Worcester,  Hon  John  W.  Lincoln,  65. 

At  Stow,  Mr.  Walter  Miles,  of  Boston,  46. 

At  Springfield,  Mr.  Soljman  Merrick,  50. 

At  Seiibrook,  Mr.  Edward  Gove.  81. 

At  Portland,  Me-,  Mr.  John  R.  Hall,  29. 

At  Kennebunkport,  Me  ,  Mrs.  Betsey  Huff,  68. 

At  Well.-^,  Me.,  Mrs  Abigail  tiiiton,  92. 

At  Duxbury,  Vt  ,  Mr.  David  Phelps,  105. 

At  Providence,  It-  1.,  Samuel  Green,  Esq.,  44. 

At  Pomfret,  Ct..  Mr.  Noah  Perrin,  ?52. 

At  iioboken.  N.  J.,  Mr.  Edwurd  Brown,  55. 


AND 

LITERAHY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

Xlt'rtwiiT(j^H00tn  (!l0in;)5rtin0tt, 

A  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  Art. 

The  objec  t  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  Bketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMEEICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  forei^  news ;  the  whole 
■well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

Trith  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  malcing  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  tine  ana  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
^ven,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-sui'face  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactui-ed  cxpres.sly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty -four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  ia  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  atlords,  and  the  rich  an-ay  of  orip- 
nal  miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiciing  all 
that  ia  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
fcombined  excellencies. 

TEEMS:    $2  00    PER    VOLUME. 

OR,    S4  00    PER    ANNUM. 

1NV.\HIABLT  IN   ADVANCE. 

Each  six  montha  completes  a  volume,  commencing  on 
the  fiiit  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  volumes 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

[IT?"  One  copy  of  the  t'LAO  of  oub  Union,  and  one  copy 
of  the  Pictorial  Dii-^wisg-Koom  Compasiox,  one  year, 
for  So  00- 

[O^  The  Pictoriai.  Drawing-Room  CosrpA^^o^■  may  be 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depoM  throughout  the 
country,  and  of  newsmen,  at  ten  cents  per  single  copy 

Published  every  Saturday,  by 

F.    ULEASON,  Boston,  Mas8. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  Tork. 
A.  WINCH,  110  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  Co.,  Ill  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore. 
A.  C.  BAGLEY,  10  West  3d  Street,  Cmcinnati, 
J.  A.  ROYS,  43  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit. 
E.  K.  WOODWARD,  cor.  4th  and  0ht>3ttUt,  Se.  LouJp. 
[0="  Subscriptions  rfceived  B(  (^Uh&r  of  the  above  plar-.t. 


270 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gloaflon'fl  Piutorliii.] 
MY    ANSWER. 

BY  J.    HUNT,  Jll. 

Tf  T  were  nHkoil,  what  best  I'd  prlzo, 
Ah  Hoprcd  gifts  I'onforrcd  on  iiio  ; 

And  which  I'd  hoard  ob  troasureH  rart», 
My  aiiBwor  buck  would  nadly  bo  : 

A  mind,  that's  void  of  all  oITcnce, 
A  heart,  as  puro  iifl  slnleKH  youth; 

A  will,  to  iicvur  swerve  from  ri|;ht, 
A  soul,  whOBu  polur  Hbir  In  truth. 


[Writtun  for  Gloason's  Pictoriiil.] 

TRAVELS   IN   PALESTINE. 

No.  IX. 

BT  RKV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

ENVIU0N3    OP    JERUSALEM. 

AnonND  Jerusalem,  the  presence  of  the  Great  Teacher  is  more 
easily  felt  tlum  witliin  the  dome-crowned  capital :  these  steep  hill- 
sides and  ancient  graves,  these  twisted  olive  trees  and  melancholy 
walks  remain  the  same  as  wlien,  over  this  same  mule  path,  he 
crossed  the  mountains  to  his  friend's  house  at  Bethany,  or  dis- 
coursed with  his  disciples  beneath  the  forest  shelter,  or  ])rayed  in 
the  solemn  shade  of  the  grove  at  eventide.  Bethpliagc  is  quite  un- 
known, Bethany  has  entirclj'  lo-;t  its  name,  Kedron  is  utterly  dry 
even  in  the  season  of  rain  ;  but  yet,  the  valley  of  Jehoslinphat,  of 
Gihon  and  of  Hinnom,  the  pool  and  village  of  Siloam,  the  Mount 
of  Offence  and  of  Olives,  the  tombs  of  the  kings  and  the  prophets. 
Job's  well  and  the  potters'  field,  the  frcsli  air,  rich  slope  and 
graceful  outline  of  the  curtain  of  Judean  hills  remain  substantially 
what  they  were  eighteen  centuries  ago. 

Very  impressive  is  it,  and  very  much  in  sympathy  witli  one's 
feelings,  that  Jerusalem  is  surrounded  by  tombs.  That  which 
bears  the  name  of  Jeremiah,  the  Turkish  Custodc  could  never  bo 
found  to  open  :  my  consolation  was,  that,  after  passing  through 
those  tombs  at  Thebes,  nearly  as  long  as  the  Quincy  Market,  and 
carved  all  the  way  above  and  around,  the  two  chambers  honored 
by  the  name  of  the  gloomiest  of  prophets  had  not  much  to  exhibit. 
The  "  tombs  of  the  kings  "  on  the  same  side  of  the  city  had  rather 
a  handsomer  carved  front,  very  much  like  an  old-fashioned  chim- 
ney-piece. Through  this  opening  you  pass  into  a  spacious  ante- 
chamber, out  of  which  are  three  cliambers,  each  with  six  or  eight 
vaults,  whose  stone  door  lay  flat  and  fallen  before  us  :  but  there 
arc  no  hieroglyphics  or  paintings,  the  whole  wears  a  modern  air, 
and  no  Hebrew  inscripiions  are  to  be  found.  If  the  tomb  of  the 
Tlmpress  Helena,  who  was  buried  somewhere  here  in  great  mag- 
nificence, why  so  many  small  a])artments,  and  why  no  trace  of 
her  revered  name  in  legendary  history?  On  tlie  opposite  side  of 
the  city,  upon  that  western  slope  of  Olivet  which  looks  to  the 
Omar  mosque,  we  visited,  what  Robinson  did  not,  the  tombs  of 
the  prophets  and  of  Absalom,  cut  out  of  the  live  rock,  the  latter 
in  almost  perfect  preservation,  surmounted  by  a  little  pyramid 
and  rather  a  fine-looking  monument.  In  the  absence  of  any  cer- 
tainty about  these  names,  it  is  far  more  pleasant  to  believe  than 
to  disbelieve.  Nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  to  visit  a  coun- 
tiy,  whose  chief  interest  is  its  traditions,  for  the  sake  of  question- 
ing and  doubting  them  all.  And  it  is  very  certain  that  this  valley 
has  been  watered  by  the  blood  of  the  prophets,  and  that  their 
tombs  were  standing  in  good  repair  when — in  the  twenty-third 
chapter  of  Matthew — Jesus  pointed  his  warning  against  the 
Pharisees. 

Higher  up  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  we  passed  down  into  a  sub- 
terranean chapel,  and  were  shown  the  spot  where  the  disciples 
slept  while  their  Master  was  in  his  agony.  Hard  by  is  Gethscm- 
ane,  a  g.arden  enclosed  by  a  lofty  stone  wall,  containing  eight 
immensely  old  olive  trees,  which  the  friars  were  just  that  moment 
manuring  with  their  own  hands.  These  trees  have  evidently  en- 
joyed such  constant  care,  and  present  such  genuine  signs  of  an- 
tiquity, and  the  olive  itself  is  so  capable  of  prolonged  life,  that  I 
could  readily  believe  these  to  he  the  immediate  descendants  of  the 
original  trees;  but  eighteen  hundred  years  are  rather  too  much 
for  the  age  of  a  fruit  tree  anywhere.  Besides,  the  Romans  bad 
an  ugly  custom  of  cutting  down  the  groves  around  a  place  which 
they  besieged,  every  particle  of  wood  that  they  could  obtain  being 
in  demand  for  the  cumbrous  military  machines,  sheds,  towers 
and  battering-rams  which  we  know  they  employed  against 
Jerusalem.  And  yet,  too,  I  liked  to  feel  that,  not  far  from  where 
I  stood,  He,  whose  bosom  throbbed  with  intense  love  for  human- 
ity, in  sight  of  the  flitting  lights  of  the  crowded  streets,  in  hear- 
ing of  the  ancient  prayers  which  went  up  from  thousands  of 
house-tops,  in  the  quiet  air  of  evening,  and  with  a  perfect  vision 
of  all  that  the  dreaded  morrow  should  bring,  gave  himself  up  a 
willing  sacrifice. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Ascension  upon  the  crest  of  the  hill  is  evi- 
dently a  mistake.  The  Record  says  that  it  was  toward  Bethany, 
and  Bethany  lies  hidden  in  a  hollow  some  ways  down  on  the  fur- 
ther side  of  the  mountain,  a  small  village,  containing  the  tomb  of 
Lazarus,  and  some  forty  inhabited  houses,  in  the  best  of  which  we 
passed  a  tolerable  night  upon  the  bard  earth -floor. 

Siloam  hangs  on  a  very  steep  slope,  over  the  banks  of  the  Ke- 
dron, which  divides  it  from  the  pool  bearing  the  same  name  :  the 
"  poet  Harriet"  thought  it  had  "  some  grandeur,"  but  if  Miss 
Martincau  could  have  walked  with  me  over  heaps  of  decaying 
matter,  and  been  as  fiercely  assailed  by  wolfish  curs,  and  seen 
there  was  no  decent  place  in  the  whole  village,  she  could  not  have 
named  it  less  than  llic  mcanef>t  bole  in  Syria,  "  Siloa's  Iirook 
that  fiowcd  fa^t  by  the  iii-iii-Ie  of  God"!/,  quite  a  difi'erent  thing, 


and  its  waters  still  roll  on  as  clear  ami  sweet  as  ever;  the  fountain 
of  Mary,  more  to  the  nurtli,  which  was  perhaps  tiio  "  king's  pool" 
of  Nehemiah,  feeds  Siloa ;  and  is  supplied  itself  with  a  peculiar 
bubbling  and  a  sudden  swell  at  times,  from  a  singular  .source  that 
has  been  discovered  but  not  explored  under  the  great  mosque  : 
this  again  no  doubt  comes  from  the  "  pools  of  Solomon,"  which 
still  remain  near  Bethlelieni,  and  send  their  unfailing  blessing 
through  the  aqueduct,  believed  to  be  nearly  three  thousand  years 
old.  At  the  upper  ibuntain,  wiiich  Is  directly  bencatli  the  old 
temple's  walls,  you  descend  twenty-six  stone  steps,  and  come  to 
a  stream  a  foot  deep,  purling  sweetly  over  a  pebbly  bed  seven- 
teen hundred  feet,  through  a  sulitcrrancous  canal,  as  was  jusccr- 
tained  by  the  examination  of  Dr.  Robinson.  This  issues  in  a 
deep,  nearly  square,  i)it,  wlicre  persons  are  lo  be  fmen  every  day 
drawing  water,  a  number  of  gardens  and  orchards  arc  supplied 
through  a  small  conduit,  and  a  very  agreeable  change  is  made 
from  the  yellow  barrenness  of  the  hill-tops,  and  the  gloomy  as- 
pect of  such  a  multitude  of  graves. 

Opposite  to  this,  and  just  above  the  Absalom  monument,  the 
Jews  love  to  rest,  little  thinking  how  much  of  their  history  is 
symbolized  in  that  of  the  spoilt  child  of  David.  They  prefer  it 
to  all  the  world  for  a  resting  place,  and  gladly  sacrifice  everything 
to  sleej)  here  in  the  dust  hallowed  by  their  holiest  and  nolilest. 
The  mountain-slope  is  entirely  covered  with  Hebrew  inscriptions, 
and  I  found  them  frequently  making  more.  Here,  they  think,  the 
Redeemer  will  come  with  the  sound  of  trumpet  to  judge  the  na- 
tions, and  avenge  his  own  people,  according  to  Zecharlah,  the 
prophet. 

It  is  amazing,  that  while  the  view  from  the  Mount  of  Olives  is 
so  wonderfully  rich,  the  Mount  itself,  like  the  other  hills,  remains 
most  of  the  day  and  all  the  evening,  unvisited.  To  the  east  you 
look  do\vn  upon  the  rich  plain  of  Jericho,  in  the  distance,  the 
desolate  mountains  of  the  Temptation,  the  appalling  loneliness  of 
the  Dead  Sea,  and  behind  that  again  utter  desolation.  To  the 
west,  beneath  your  feet,  is  the  valley  of  the  Kedron,  running 
down  by  Hinnon  or  Gehenna,  where  now  tiie  savage-fire  of  Mo- 
loch, or  that  which  consumed  the  city  ofi^al,  is  alike  extinguished, 
though  naturally  enough  the  accursed  flame  gave  an  appalling 
idea  of  punishment  to  the  Jew  of  ancient  time  :  the  inaccessible 
summit  of  Moriah  lies  mapped  out  beneath  your  eye,  you  see  how 
irregularly  the  buildings  are  arranged,  bow  much  over-praised  the 
general  effect  has  been,  and  how  straggling  are  the  turbaned 
worshippers.  More  in  the  heart  of  the  city  is  the  huge  cupola 
over  the  sepulchre,  and  to  the  left  the  mosque,  David's  tomb  at 
Mount  Zion,  and  the  pretty  English  church  of  St.  James,  over  a 
spot  consecrated  by  Christian  martyrdom.  At  the  nortii  stretch 
Ebal  and  Gerizim,  and  the  mountains  of  Ephraim,  all  inbatfited 
still  with  thrilling  memories  of  the  suffering  and  triumph  of  the 
chosen  race. 

An  hour  and  a  quarter  of  smart  riding  Ijrought  us  to  Bethle- 
hem, a  small,  dirty,  half-ruined  place,  hanging  on  a  hill-side,  hav- 
ing nothing  save  the  large  convent  and  church  erected  by  the 
Empress  Helena  upon  the  place  of  the  Nativity.  On  the  way  you 
pass  the  undoubted  tomb  of  Rachel,  once  only  a  pyramidal  col- 
umn of  stones,  and  now  a  modern  Turkish  structure,  and  the 
Greek  convent  of  St.  Elias,  where  he  is  said  to  have  rested  on 
his  way  from  Bethlehem  to  Mount  Zion. 

The  soil  around  Betbleliera  is  excellent,  but,  not  much  culti- 
vated, the  people  not  being  numerous  or  energetic  enough  to 
repel  assault,  and  the  Bedouins  always  hovering  near  to  steal 
even  their  unripe  crops.  The  Moslem  quarter  was  entirely  de- 
stroyed because  of  the  rebellious  character  of  its  inhabitants,  and 
none  but  Christians  occujiy  the  village  now;  but  the  story  of  the 
people's  t)eing  disarmed  cannot  be  true,  because  there  was  a  con- 
stant popping  off  of  muskets  while  we  were  there,  in  honor  of  the 
Armenian  bishop,  who  had  just  concluded  some  festival  service, 
and  was  returning  with  a  motley  crowd  to  Jerusalem.  The  tlirce 
thousand  inhabitants  assigned  by  the  books  must  be  twice  or 
thrice  the  present  population. 

But  the  main  thing  is  the  spacious,  castle-like  convent  and 
church  on  the  side  towards  Jerusalem.  The  Latins,  Armenians, 
and  Greeks  hold  their  church  in  some  sort  together  :  the  Arme- 
nian chapel  is  poor  and  mean  ;  the  Greek  has  some  beautiful 
m.arbles,  but  nothing  to  compare  with  Italy;  the  Latin  is  distinct 
from  the  others,  but  neither  large  nor  handsome.  The  Convent 
of  Franciscans  is  marked  by  the  same  air  of  voluntary  poverty 
noticed  at  Acre  :  the  brethren  were  exceedingly  polite  and  hospit- 
able, begging  us  to  tarry  with  them  and  share  their  table,  and 
freely  opening  to  us  the  whole  building.  St.  Jerome's  cell  was 
shown  first,  in  which  he  made  his  version  of  the  Scriptures,  and 
died  A.  D.  426,  and  was  buried  under  the  pavement  of  the 
church.  In  an  underground  grotto,  the  place  of  the  Saviour's 
birth,  once  marked  by  a  silver  star,  was  pointed  out— the  star  is 
gone  now,  stolen,  say  the  Latins,  by  the  Greeks,  and  the  spot 
where  the  wise  men  worshipped,  with  that  of  the  cradle,  each 
marked  by  an  altar,  and  greeted  by  the  embraces  and  prayers  of 
all  true  pilgrims.  Our  servant  kissed  every  such  place  with  in- 
tense satisfaction,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  see  one  whose  life  had 
neither  comfort  nor  promise,  filling  his  heart  so  full  of  hallowing 
memories. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Nativity  never  deserved  to  be  termed  "gor- 
geous," though  splendid  lamps,  the  offerings  of  all  the  world, 
throw  their  ever-burning  lustre  around. 

From  the  convent  we  were  carried  into  several  houses  to  inspect 
and  purchase  crosses,  chaplcts,  roses  of  Jericho,  and  carved  shells, 
and  our  horses  were  surrounded  by  men  and  boys  exceedingly 
eager  for  a  bargain.  It  is  indeed  the  only  life  of  tlic  place  ;  and 
we  must  not  complain  of  the  ignorant  natives  for  manufacturing, 
if  the  most  intelligent  European  visitors  are  ever  eager  to  pur- 
cliasc. 


[WrltU'ii  for  Gleimon'B  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGRAPHS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTINGUISHED  DfDIVrDTIAlS. 

No,  Vlll. 


BY  WM.  BDWARD   KNOWLEB. 


Geo.  R.  Graii.v.m  is  well  known  to  the  literary  world  as  editor 
of  "  Graham's  Magazine."  He  has  contributed  considerably  to  this 
periodical,  and  written  it  w(ll.  His  manuscri])t  Is  extremely  il- 
I'jgible,  and  shockingly  acrntchy.  Yet  it  plainly  Indicates  more 
than  ordinary  eiwi/jy,  a  quality  which  he  possesses  in  an  eminent 
degree. 


Godey's  reputation  as  a  magazine  conductor,  is  par  with  that 
of  Graham's.  And  though  not  an  author  of  distinction,  yet  his 
autograph  is  valuable  in  many  respects.  The  literature  of  Amer- 
ica owes  much  of  its  perfection  to  him.  He  has  encouraged  na- 
tive talent,  and  caused  many  shining  lights  in  the  galaxy  of 
American  authors  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  popularity. 


Mr.  McMakin,  the  editor  of  the  "  Saturday  Courier,"  has  pro- 
duced some  fine  things  in  the  way  of  poetry.  His  manuscript 
is  rather  picturesque,  and  conveys  the  idea  of  a  true  perception  of 
the  beautiful.  The  chirogrnphy  resembles  Godey's,  tliough  more 
uniform. 


Chakles  J.  Peterson  has  for  several  years  been  connected  with 
the  literature  of  the  city  of  Philadelphia.  Ho  was,  we  believe, 
one  of  the  editors  of  "  Graham."  His  manuscript,  when  hurried, 
is  no  writing  at  all,  bat  a  mere  continuation  of  characters.  This 
is  owing  to  the  slight  variation  in  the  form  of  the  letters.  But 
when  not  excited,  it  is  graceful  in  the  extreme. 


cj^r^<^     ^^^ 


o 


Louis  Blanc.  There  are  few  men  that  write  a  more  marked 
hand  than  Louis  Blanc.  It  is  legible  in  the  extreme,  and  sug- 
gests firmness  and  decision.  He  has  written  some  valuable 
works,  among  which  are  his  articles  on  the  "Organization  of 
Labor,"  which,  when  collected  in  book  form,  ran  though  several 
editions.  His  "  History  of  the  French  Revolution"  is  indeed  a 
master-work,  and  has,  we  believe,  been  well  received  generally. 
The  sio^nature  is  rather  more  diminutive  than  the  rest  of  his 
manuscript. 

No  one  can  doubt  for  a  moment  that  Andrew  Jackson  D.vvis 
is  a  genius,  and  a  most  queer  and  indefinable  one  too.  He  is  well 
known  to  the  public  as  being  one  of  the  cliampions  of  what  is 
termed  the  new  doctrine  of  spiritualism.  Mr.  Davis  writes  a 
very  good  hand,  but  as  he  has  often  declared  that  it  is  a  departed 
spirit  and  not  himself  who  guides  Ills  pen,  he  certainly  is  deserv- 
ing no  particular  credit  for  his  style  of  chitography. 

Epes  Sargent  is  the  well-known  and  talented  editor  of  the 
Boston  Transcript,  whose  fame  as  a  poet  is  by  no  means  limited  ; 
but  he  has  come  more  prominently  before  the  public  lately  as  the 
editor  of  a  superior  work  on  elocution,  entitled  "  Sargent's  Stan- 
dard Speaker,"  a  most  valuable  work.  Mr.  Sargent's  signature, 
like  his  thoughts,  is  easy  and  flowing. 


Geo.  p.  Morris.  Who  has  not  long  been  familiar  with  the 
author  of  "  Woodman,  spare  that  tree  V  Morris  and  Willis  are 
synonymous  names,  and,  as  everybody  knows,  they  are  partners  in 
tlie  Homo  Journal  newspaper  of  New  York.  There  is  a  delicacy 
and  completeness  in  the  general's  sigmxture  that  is  characteristic 
of  his  universally  popular  ballads.  Few  writers  in  this  country 
liave  proved  more  ])Opular  or  successful  than  George  P.  Morris. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


271 


AIV  I3I3IEKSE  SHIP. 

The  Boston  AtUis  says,  Mr.  McKay,  of  East 
Boston,  is  now  at  work  upon  a  clipper  ship, 
■which  will  surpass  in  size  and  sharpness  every 
merchant  ship  afloat  or  known  to  be  in  the  course 
of  construction.  She  will  be  three  hundred  f^et 
long,  have  fifty  feet  breadth  of  beam,  twenty- 
eight  feet  depth  of  hold,  with  three  decks,  and 
will  register  over  three  thousand  tons  !  Slic  will 
be  diagonally  braced  with  iron,  and  built  in 
every  particular  equal  in  strength  to  the  best  of 
ocean  steamers.  Her  model,  in  point  of  beauty, 
is  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  all  who  have 
seen  it.  She  will  have  four  masts,  with  Forbcs's 
rig.  Mr.  McKay  builds  her  on  his  own  account, 
and  will  sail  her  too,  if  he  does  not  sell  her. 


A  KINGLY  EXAMPLE. 

One  of  the  first  acts  performed  by  George  the 
Third,  after  his  accession  to  the  throne  of  Eng- 
land, was  to  issue  an  order  prohibiting  anj'  of 
the  clergy  who  should  be  called  before  him  from 
paying  liim  any  compliments  in  their  discourses. 
His  majesty  was  led  to  this  from  the  fulsome 
adulation  which  Dr.  Thomas  Wilson,  ])rebenda- 
ry  of  Westminster,  thought  proper  to  deliver  in 
the  royal  chapel ;  and  for  which,  instead  of 
thanks,  he  received  a  pointed  reprimand — his 
majesty  observing  "  that  he  came  to  hear  the 
praise  of  God,  and  not  his  own.*' 


BURMAG  FLCID. 

No  amount  of  care  can  insure  perfect  safety 
when  using  this  explosive  compound.  The 
more  brilliant  the  light  from  it,  the  more  liable 
it  is  to  generate  a  gas  which,  being  mixed  with 
common  air,  becomes  explosive.  This  gas  is 
always  present  in  the  upper  part  of  the  lamp, 
and  there  is  never  any  certainty  that  the  flame 
of  the  lamp  will  not  cause  it  to  explode.  Have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  "  liquid  gunpowder." 


Minot's  Ledge. — Many  of  our  readers  will 
remember  the  picture  which  we  gave  in  our  first 
volume  of  the  Pictorial,  of  the  loss  of  Minot's 
Ledge  Lighthouse.  "We  see  that  government  is 
about  to  build  another  and  more  substantial  bea- 
con light  upon  the  spot. 


Natal. — The  Hon.  J.  P.  Kennedy,  Secretary 
of  the  Navy,  visited  our  navy  yard,  at  Charles- 
town,  a  few  days  since,  and  expressed  much 
satisfaction  at  the  appearance  of  this  fine  national 
establishment,  which  we  have  fully  illustrated  for 
our  readers  in  former  numbers. 


Taste  for  Liter.vtuke. — A  taste  for  litera- 
ture secures  cheerful  occupation  for  the  unem- 
ployed and  languid  hours  of  life  ;  and  how  many 
persons,  in  these  hours,  for  want  of  innocent  re- 
sources, are  now  impelled  to  coarse  and  brutal 
pleasure ! 


Life  of  Hosea  Balloit. — Any  person  en- 
closing Si  to  Abel  Tompkins,  publisher,  Boston, 
can  have  a  copy  of  this  book,  by  the  editor  of 
the  Pictorial,  sent  by  mail,  or  otherwise,  as  may 
be  directed. 


It  cost  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  dollars  to  bury  the  late 
King  of  Siam.— £o.^(oH  Banner. 

Funny  that  it  costs  one  more  to  die  than  it 
does  to  live. — Being  naturally  economical,  we 
prefer  most  decidedly  to  live  ! 


Conversation. — Sir  W.  Temple  says  that 
the  first  ingredient  in  conversation  is  truth;  the 
next,  good  sense;  the  third,  good-humor,  and 
the  fourth,  wit. 


Vulgar    Fractions— exemplified     by    two 

lines  out  of  Goldsmith's  "Deserted  Village;" 

"  While  broken  tea-cups,  wisely  kept  for  fihow. 
Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  gli3t«ned  iu  a  row  1" 


Musical. — Camille  Urso,  the  famous  little 
Italian  violinist,  according  to  our  New  York  ex- 
change papers,  has  proved  entirely  successful  in 
her  debut  in  America. 


Masonic  Temple. — Mr.  Dempster,  the  fiivor- 
ite  hallad  singer,  has  been  rendering  this  place 
musical  with  his  vocal  efforts,  on  Saturday  even- 
ings.    Mr.  D.  is  very  popular  in  our  city. 


The  Ether  Controversy. — This  subject,  it 
seems,  is  not  yet  exhausted  ;  another  instalment 
being  promised  to  the  public! 


Rapping  Convention.— This  meeting,  which 
came  off  at  Worcester,  not  long  since,  was  a 
most  ludicrously  ridiculous  affair. 


lllaiJsiLie   (!?atljcriugs. 

The  Eousset  sisters  have  been  performing  in 
Albany. 

Sontag  is  most  happily  named,  that  being  the 
German  for  Sunday. 

Commodore  Salter  has  received  orders  to  take 
command  of  the  Brazil  squadron. 

Measures  for  the  independence  of  Lower  Cal- 
ifornia were  still  in  progress. 

Capt.  Kalapza,  late  of  Kossuth's  suite,  has 
opened  a  riding  school  in  this  city. 

The  corn  crop  in  Tennessee  and  Georgia  is 
reported  to  be  the  largest  ever  produced. 

The  new  planet  discovered  by  Mr.  Hind,  has 
been  named  by  him  "  Melpomene." 

Sextus  declared  that  he  would  "  rather  be  fet- 
tered with  ailliction  than  pleasure." 

The  total  debt  of  the  city  of  Charleston,  S.  C, 
is  SI,S82,285  Gl. 

A  writer  in  the  Louisville  Journal  says  the 
whole  West  will  not  produce  over  35,000  hhds. 
tobacco  this  season. 

The  first  locomotive  brought  to  this  country 
was  from  Liverpool.  Recently  she  was  repaired 
at  Tamaquc,  Pa.,  and  is  now  doing  duty. 

There  ai-e  two  men  in  Cincinnati,  born  and 
reared  in  the  West,  who  are  firm  believers  in  the 
Muhommedan  faith. 

A  chestnut  tree.  Centre  Sti'eet,  Pottsville,  is 
covered  with  fi-esh  blossoms,  nnd  at  the  same 
time  hanging  full  with  seasonable  buns. 

Richard  Walker,  Jr.,  has  been  convicted  at 
Sijringfield,  Mass.,  for  the  murder  of  his  father, 
while  intoxicated. 

Mr.  James  Dcverell  Gibbon,  once  a  popular 
English  vocalist,  recently  died  in  a  poor-house, 
aged  74. 

Gen.  Persifer  F.  Smith,  who  is  in  command 
upon  the  Texan  frontier,  was  recently  compli- 
mented with  a  public  festivity. 

Anabaptists  are  forbidden  to  preach  or  meet 
for  worsiiip  within  the  territory  of  Hanover, 
under  pain  of  imprisonment. 

The  potato  rot  has  made  its  appearance  in 
Western  Virginia,  though  thus  far  the  damage 
has  been  slight. 

Richard  Adams  Locke  has  been  engaged  to 
write  for  Miss  Julia  Dean,  a  five  act  play,  found- 
ed on  n  prominent  event  in  American  histoiy. 

A  writer  in  the  New  York  Tribune  estimates 
that  tea  could  be  produced  in  the  United  States 
at  from  five  and  a  half  to  seven  cents  per  pound. 

During  the  present  year,  there  have  passed 
through  Iowa  city,  about  40,000  emigrants  for 
California,  and  10,000  for  Oregon. 

Great  activity  prevails  at  the  Austrian  navy- 
yard  in  Venice.  Two  new  propeller  frigates 
have  been  ordered  to  be  built  in  England. 

A  Canadian  paper  suggests  that  a  law  be 
passed  forbidding  steam  vessels  upon  the  lakes 
coming  within  half  a  mile  of  each  other. 

There  are  three  sorts  of  friends — your  friends 
who  like  you,  your  friends  who  do  not  care  for 
you,  and  your  friends  who  hate  you. 

In  New  York  city,  during  the  last  week,  there 
w(re  eight  cases  of  murder,  homicide,  or  deadly 
assault  by  the  knife,  the  pistol,  or  brutal  violence. 

In  the  days  of  Charles  II.,  the  ladies  used  to 
frizzle  their  curls  with  the  nicest  art,  and  call 
them  "  heart  breakers !"  Fashions  in  this  re- 
spect have  not  changed. 

It  is  said  that  three  or  four  judges  in  New 
York  city  are  constantly  employed  in  granting 
naturalization  papers  to  foreigners  desu'ous  of 
becoming  citizens. 

Mr.  Wm.  D.  Arnctt,  of  Iowa,  has  made  cer- 
tain improvements  in  the  locomotive,  by  which 
it  is  adapted  to  running  on  plank  or  macadera- 
izcd  roads. 

A  Yankee  has  invented  a  new  and  cheap  plan 
for  boarding.  One  of  the  boarders  mesmerizes 
the  rest,  and  then  eats  a  hearty  meal,  the  mes- 
merized being  satisfied  from  sympathy. 

The  whole  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's 
hufi'ato  robes,  amounting  to  two  hundred  and 
thirty-three  bales,  have  been  sold  at  Montreal, 
at  five  dollars  each  robe. 

Should  Louis  Napoleon  be  made  emperor,  he 
will  reign  as  Napoleon  IU.,  not  II.,  as  that 
title  belonged  to  the  king  of  Rome,  son  of  Napo- 
leon I.,  though  he  never  reigned. 

James  Hogg,  an  Engli.shman,  was  recently 
convicted  of  smuggling  into  Paris  revolutionary 
papers,  and  sentenced  to  six  months'  imprison- 
ment and  3000  francs  fine. 

There  are  in  Virginia,  550  Baptist  churches, 
90,000  members,  and  413  ministers.  The  Rev. 
John  Clay,  the  father  of  Henry  Clay,  was  a 
Baptist  preacher,  and  a  resident  of  Hanover 
county. 

Edward  S(  guin,  the  popular  basso  and  found- 
er of  the  excellent  operatic  troupe  of  that  name, 
has  been  engaged  by  James  Wallack,  Sr.,  of  the 
Lyceum,  New  York,  to  appear  iu  eccentric 
comedy. 

The  brig  Mount  Vernon,  from  Havana  for 
New  Orleans,  was  caps^izcd  at  sea  on  the  10th  of 
September,  and  immediately  sunk.  Eleven  of 
the  crew  were  drowned ;  the  captain  and  five  of 
the  crew  were  saved. 

The  directors  of  the  Camden  and  Amboy 
Railroad  Company  have  provided  medicine 
chests  for  each  train  of  cars,  so  that  in  case  of 
sickness  or  an  accident,  the  proper  remedies  will 
be  accessible  at  the  shortest  notice. 


Jbrcign   fllistcllang. 

j\riss  Martineau,  the  authoress,  is  on  a  tour 
through  Ireland. 

The  bullion  in  the  bank  of  England  has  in- 
creased to  £21,500,000. 

The  statistical  congress  proposed  to  be  held 
in  Brussels  during  the  present  year,  is  postponed. 

Father  Mathew,  the  noted  tetotaller,  and  five 
other  Roman  Catholic  priests,  have  sailed  for 
Calcutta. 

Advices  from  Milan  state  that  two  girls  of  the 
ballet  have  been  whipped  for  their  politics,  and 
sixteen  Milanese  shot. 

Lady  Louisa  Lc  Poer  Trench  was  frightened 
to  death  by  a  flash  of  lightning  while  attending 
church  in  Kildare  lately. 

Letters  from  the  various  seaports  indicate  that 
the  French  goveniment  is  devoting  much  atten- 
tion to  strengthening  the  steam  navy. 

The  crew  of  her  majesty's  steam  yacht,  Victo- 
ria and  Albert,  were  recently  detected  smuggling 
tobacco  from  Antwerp  to  England. 

The  latest  reprint  of  an  American  book  in 
England,  is  Richard  Ilildreth's  "  White  Slave." 
It  is  announced  as  a  companion  to  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin"  and  the  "Mayflower,"  by  Mrs.  Stowe. 

A  musical  balloon  ascent  took  place  at  Vaux- 
hall,  recently.  Ten  performers,  with  brass  in- 
struments, ascended,  ])laying  "  The  National 
Anthem,"  followed  by  "The  British  Grenadiers." 

The  chloride  of  zinc  is  now  used  in  Paris  for 
the  preservation  of  anatomical  specimens :  a 
prize  of  2000  francs  has  been  awarded  to  M. 
Sucquet,  the  inventor  of  the  new  method  of  em- 
balming for  the  discovery. 

The  eldest  son  of  the  famous  William  Cobbett 
has  been  confined  in  a  debtor's  prison  for  the 
last  thirteen  years.  The  detaining  creditor, 
however,  has  lately  relented,  and  ]\Ir.  Cobbett 
has  been  released. 

The  Valparaiso  Reporter  says  that  the  colonial 
authorities  at  the  Falkland  Islands  have  decreed 
that  vessels  of  all  flags  may  load  guano  in  the 
island,  by  paying  five  shillings  sterling  per  ton, 
asking  for  a  license  from  government  to  do  so. 

Fasciola,  publisher  of  the  revolutionary  paper 
at  Havana,  The  Voice  of  the  People,  was  gar- 
rotted on  the  26th  ult.  He  met  his  fate  with 
composure.  His  parents,  who  resided  in  a  neigh- 
boring town,  were  denied  communication  with 
him  previous  to  his  death. 

The  Liverpool  Standard  of  the  31st  August, 
has  an  account  of  the  arrest  of  an  American 
forger,  named  Murphy,  in  Dublin.  He  had  em- 
ployed an  engraver  of  that  city  to  execute  a  plate 
on  the  bank  of  Hartford,  which  was  duly  com- 
pleted, a  trap  having,  in  the  meantime,  been  set 
for  Murphy's  conviction. 


j3anlJ0  of  ©ollr. 


....  Labor  is  a  business  and  ordinance  of 
God. 

....  The  heart,  like  the  veins,  bleeds  most 
readily  when  warm. 

....  Lies  are  hiltless  swords,  which  cut  the 
hands  that  wield  tliem. 

....  Wholesome  sentiment  is  rain,  which 
makes  the  fields  of  daily  life  fresh  and  odorous. 

....  Knowledge  is  proud  that  he  has  learned 
so  much,  wisdom  is  humble  that  he  knows  no 
more. 

The  good  heart,  the  tender  feelings,  and 

the  pleasant  disposition,  make  smiles,  love  and 
sunshine  everywhere. 

....  Zeal,  not  rightly  directed  is  pernicious ; 
for  as  it  makes  a  good  cause  better,  so  it  makes 
a  bad  cause  worse. 

....  Intense  mental  activity  steadily  directed 
to  some  leading  pursuit  is  the  source  of  all  dis- 
tinction. 

....  Wi^e  men  are  instructed  by  reason  ;  men 
of  less  understanding  by  experience  ;  the  most 
ignorant  by  necessity  ;  and  brutes  by  nature. 

, . . .  Dignity  is  often  a  veil  between  us  and 
the  real  truth  of  things.  Wit  pierces  this  veil 
■with  its  glittering  shafts,  and  lets  in  the  "  inso- 
lent light." 

Hasty  words   often  rankle   the   wound 

which  injury  gives ;  but  soft  words  as.=uagc  ir, 
forgiving  cures  it,  and  forgetting  takes  away  the 
scar. 

Remember,  ye  who  ridicule  a  young  man 

for  his  par6imony,and  stigmatize  him  as  "small," 
that  by-and  by  he  can  afi'ord  to  be  generous  when 
you  have  nothing  to  give. 

....  Let  go  thy  hold  when  a  great  wheel  runs 
down  the  hill,  lest  it  break  thy  neck  with  follow- 
ing it ;  but  the  great  one  that  goes  up  the  hill, 
let  hira  draw  thee  after — Shaispeare. 

....  Help  and  give  willingly,  when  you  have 
anything,  and  think  not  the  more  of  }0urself ; 
and  if  you  have  nothing,  keep  the  cup  of  cold 
water  always  at  hand,  and  think  not  less  of 
yourself. 

Beauty  has  but  little  to  do  with  engaging 

the  love  of  woman.  The  air,  the  manner,  the 
tone,  the  conversation,  the  something  that  inter- 
ests, and  the  something  to  be  proud  of;  these 
are  the  attributes  of  the  man  bound  to  be  loved. 

....  A  preacher  once  said  :  "  If  you  know 
anything  that  will  make  a  brother's  heart  glad, 
run  quick  and  tell,  it !  but  if  it  is  something  that 
will  only  cause  a  sigh,  io^/e  it  up,  bottle  it  vp!" 
We  never  get  good  bread  for  ourselves  till  we 
begin  to  ask  for  our  brethren." 


Joker's  Subgct. 


Punch  says  he  is  preparing  a  bill  to  prevent 
cruelty  to  quotations,  which  he  means  to  lay  be- 
fore Parliament  at  an  early  day. 

At  what  time  of  life  may  a  man  be  said  to  be- 
long to  the  vegetable  kingdom  ?  When  expe- 
rience has  made  him  sage. 

A  Scotch  gentleman  puts  the  postage  stamp 
wrong  way  up  on  his  letters,  and  calls  it  with  a 
tender  feeling — turning  a  penny  ! — Punch. 

If  five  dollars  make  a  sovereign,  how  many 
will  make  a  president "?  Think  twice  before  you 
answer. 

The  last  and  most  important  case  brought  be- 
fore the  niayor,  at  Tinnecum,  was  that  of  an 
"assault  and  battery,  with  intent  to  kick." 

A  fellow,  who  was  being  led  to  execution, 
told  the  olticers  they  must  not  take  him  through 
a  certain  street,  lest  a  merchant,  who  resided 
there,  should  arrest  him  for  an  old  debt ! 

An  exquisite  instance  of  flattery  is  related  of  a 
maid  of  honor  in  France,  who,  being  asked  by 
the  queen  what  o'clock  it  was,  answered,  "  What 
your  majesty  pleases." 

A  young  fellow  offered  to  bet  the  teacher  of  a 
young  ladies'  grammar  school,  wdio  was  boasting 
of  the  proHcicncy  of  his  pupils,  that  not  one  of 
them  would  "decline"  a  husband. 

There  is  a  lake  in  Minncfota  called  Minne- 
tonka,  which  must  be  very  clear  and  very  deep, 
for  a  strange  genius,  in  describing  it,  says,  by 
looking  into  it  you  can  see  them  making  tea  in 
China. 

A  French  officer,  quarrelling  with  a  Swiss,  re- 
proached him  with  his  country's  vice  of  fighting 
on  either  side  for  wo/(e^;  "  while  we  Frenchmen," 
said  he,  "  Hght  for  honor."  "  Yes,  sir,"  replied 
the  Swiss;  "everyone  fights  for  that  he  most 
wants." 

The  ultra  dandies  of  New  York  are  adopting 
the  mouse-tail  fashion  for  moustaches,  described 
by  us,  last  year,  as  the  military  fashion  on  the 
Cascine,  at  Florence.  By  means  of  gum,  or 
soap,  the  moustaches  are  made  to  stand  out  on 
either  side  the  face,  like  the  horns  of  a  catfish ! 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  Ist  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Dbawisq 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edgeu 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  moat 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  Toir  and  Five  Hundred  Pag-es, 

AND     COSTAINirJG      KEAELT 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illuatratioas,  it  embraces  hi  its  pages 
a  vast  Jimount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  :iDd  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  culhors,  ftith  a  current 
News  Kecord  of  the  times  ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  aud 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustnitioas. 

Fer  sale  at  the  Publication  OlBce,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Tiiree  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION, 

AN  ELEGANT,  MOKAL  AND  REFIt;!^ 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  exp.cssly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  poUtics,  "md  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns  j 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEE  FOR  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CHICLE. 

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leading  weekly  -paper  hi  the  United  Stales.,  and  its  literary 
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It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
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our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

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other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

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P.     GLEASON, 
PTTBLIBHETt  AND  PhOPBIETOB,  BOSTOHj  MAB9. 


272 


GLEASON'S    I'ICTORIAL    DRAWINCJ    ROOM    COMPANION. 


COSIOLPS  COLU3IKIJ.S  GROUP. 

TliC  aniicxuil  I'lij^riivin^'  of  u  poiip  iTpvrscnt- 
inp;  "  Columltus  iiiiN'ciliri^j;  the  New  to  tlie  Old 
World/'  W114  copK-d  hy  our  artist  from  the  model 
by  the  distiri^^uisjied  dcsi^^ncr  himnelf,  CostoH — 
the  profe-isor  of  snilpturo  and  architecture  in  the 
academy  of  line  arts  in  Florence.  This  fine 
group  is  regarded  as  the  c/ifj'-d'amvre  of  the 
sculptor  hy  the  patrons  of  the  arts  in  Italy 
anil  in  Kngland — the  model,  from  wliicli  the 
engraving  is  taken,  having  been  exhibited  in 
London  by  order  of  tlie  owner,  the  Grand  Duko 
of  Tuscany,  during  the  World's  Fair.  Colum- 
bus k  represented  in  the  most  beautiful  and 
characteristic  action 
of  his  life,  namely, 
in  the  moment  of  his 
unveiling  the  New 
to  the  Old  World. 
The  position  of  the 
figures  gives  a  clear 
view  of  the  standing 
of  the  several  coun- 
tries on  our  globe, 
and  also  of  some  of 
their  chaiacterisiic 
qualities.  Thus 
Asia,  cradle  of  man- 
kind and  of  ancient 
science,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  larg- 
est and  richest  in 
natural  gifts,  is  seat- 
ed high.  Kuropc,  as 
the  one  who  main- 
tains the  fii-st  rank 
for  moral  and  physi- 
cal cultivation,  has 
a  dignified  and  sjjir- 
itual  expression,  and 
seems  surprised  at 
the  unexpected  dis- 
covery of  the  great 
Italian.  Africa, 
prostrated  under  sla- 
very, in  its  torpor  is 
hardly  noticing  the 
great  event ;  while 
America,  scarcely 
observing  the  others, 
looks  astonished  at 
Columbus,  doubtfnl 
■whether  to  be  grate- 
ful, but  in  her  uncer- 
tainty keeps  within 
herself,  and  bids 
them  defiance.  The 
discoverer  is  not  sur- 
rounded by  many 
figures,  and  the  artist 
seems  to  have  pre- 
ferred the  greatest 
simplieity  of  idea  to 
a  fantastic  or  highly 
ornamented  compo- 
sition. That  it  is  by 
far  the  best  design 
yet  made  of  a  monu- 
ment worthy  of  the 
gre;it  Genoese — that 
tills  country  is  the 
most  appropriate  to 
be  possessor  of  it — 
and  that  the  seat  of 
the  national  govern- 
meiit  should  have 
this  among  those  cre- 
ations of  art,  with 
which  the  taste  and 
energy  of  its  citizens 
have  adorned  and 
are  adorning  it,  are, 
considerations  which 
have  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  a  wealthy 
and  distinguished 
Italian,  and  that  of  a 
number  of  citizens 
of  this  country.  In 
pursuance  of  these 
thoughts,  several  cit- 
izens of  the  cities  of 
Washington  and  N. 
York  have  associat- 
ed themselves  to- 
gether to  aid  the 
agents  of  the  sculp- 
tor, the  Fabbri  Bro- 
thers, of  New  York, 
and  have  erected  a 
colossal  marble  rep- 
resentation of  this 
model  in  the  former 
city.  The  group  and 
pedestal  are  intend- 
ed to  be  forty  feet  in 
height.  They  will 
be  greatly  aided  in 

their  laudable  effort  by  large  assistance  in  Italy, 
and  with  this  aid,  the  main  prop  of  their  under- 
taking, it  will  require  comparatively  little  exer- 
tion on  the  part  of  our  people  to  raise  the  addi^ 
tional  sum  necessary  to  place  this  noble  allegory 
in  the -first  style  of  the  art  upon  the  site  so  appro- 
priately selected.  Indeed,  the  site  is  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  capital  of  the  Union.  It  is  the  sum- 
mit of  the  beautiful  swell  of  ground,  on  Monu- 
ment Square,  between  the  Smithsonian  Institute 
and  the  National  Washington  Monument,  and 
thus  will  he  visible  from  nearly  all  parts  of  the 
city  of  Washington,  and  also  in  full  view  of 
these  gieat  national  works,  and  the  Capitol,  the 
President's  Houftc,  and  several  other  of  the  pub- 
lie  buildings,  the  waters  of  the  Potomac,  and  the 
bills  of  the  Virginia  shore.  From  the  high  char- 
nctyr  of  thy  friends  of  the  sculptor  and  of  the 


committee  under  whoso  supervision  the  Fubbri 
Brotlicrs  net,  and  tlii',  great  aid  wliicli  the  project 
is  receiving  in  Europe — the  erection  of  the  mon- 
ument is  looked  upon  by  those  acquainted  with 
its  connections,  as  a  certainty.  The  fame  of  the 
sculjjtor  assures  us  that  his  piirt  will  be  well  per- 
formed—  our  knowiedgi'  of  the  ground  selected 
that  it  is  appropi'iately  located  in  cveiy  sense — 
and  the  engraving  which  accompanies  this  arti- 
cle must  impress  the  reader  that  the  admirers  of 
the  art  have  not  given  too  high  an  opinion  wlicn 
they  deem  that  this  chi-J-d'ornvm  of  CostoH  stands 
in  prefci'cnce  to  anything  which  genius  has  yet 
presented  as  worthy  of  the  great  discoverer,  and 


image  of  Christoplier  Columbus,  and  forming 
the  entrance  to  tlie  tomb  where  rest  the  ashes  of 
this  discoverer  of  a  Westei-n  World.  Here,  loo, 
are  the  iron  chains  with  which  an  ungrateful  sov- 
ereign once  loaded  him.  Columbus  died  in  Va- 
ladolid  in  l.^Uii.  In  ITjiahisremains  were  trans- 
ferred to  Seville,  preparatory  to  their  being  sent, 
as  desired  in  his  will,  to  St.  Domingo.  When 
that  island  was  ceded  to  France,  tlic  remains 
were  delivered  to  the  Spaniards.  This  was  in 
1 79G,  one  hundred  and  tliree  years  af(er  they  had 
been  jilaced  there  ;  they  were  brought  with  great 
])omp  to  Havana  in  a  national  ship,  and  were 
deposited  in  the  presence  of  all  the  high  authori- 


VIEW  OF  COSTOLl's  COLUMBUS  GROUP. 


the  republic  which  directs  and  controls  the  des- 
tinies of  the  land  which  he  is  here  represented  as 
unveiling  to  the  Old  World.  We  wish  it,  as  it 
eminently  deserves,  most  abundant  success. — 
In  our  private  journal,  kept  during  a  visit  to  the 
West  Indies,  we  find  the  following  memorandum, 
which  may  interest  the  reader  in  this  connection. 
The  cathedral  of  Havana  is  the  finest  we  have 
ever  seen,  and  is  situated  in  the  Calle  del  Igna- 
cio.  Its  towers,  and  pillared  front  of  defaced  and 
moss-grown  stone,  call  back  associations  of  cen- 
turies gone  by.  This  cathedral,  like  all  Catholic 
churches,  is  ornamented  with  many  fine  old 
paintings  of  large  size  and  immense  value.  The 
entire  dome  is  also  ornamented  by  paintings  in 
fresco.  The  chief  object  that  attracted  our  at- 
tention was  a  tablet  of  marble  inlaid  in  the  wall 
at  the  right  of  the  altar,  having  upon  its  face  the 


ties,  in  the  cathedral.  Tlie  church  itself,  aside 
from  this  prominent  feature  of  interest,  is  vastly 
attractive  from  its  ancient  character  and  appear- 
ance, and  one  lingers  with  mysterious  delight 
among  its  marble  aisles  and  confessionals.  In 
Blake's  Biographical  Dictionary  we  find  the  fol- 
lowing fiiets,  which  we  compile  as  interesting  to 
accompany  the  fine  engraving  given  herewith. 
Columbus  entered  upon  a  seafaring  life  at  the 
age  of  14.  He  married  the  daughter  of  an  old 
Italian  seaman,  from  whose  journals  and  charts 
he  received  the  highest  entertainment.  He 
now  conceived  his  great  design  of  finding  India 
in  the  west.  He  knew  from  observing  lunar 
eclipses,  that  the  earth  was  a  sphere,  and  con- 
cluded that  it  might  be  travelled  over  from  west 
to  cast.  Having  established  his  theory  and 
formed  his  design,  he  now  began  to  think  of  tlie 


means  of  carrying  it  into  execution.  Deeming 
the  enterprise  too  great  to  he  undertaken  liy  any 
but  a  sovereign  Ktate,  lie  applied  first,  it  is  said, 
to  the  republic  of  Genoa,  or  to  John  11,  king  of 
I*ortugal.  He  next  repaired  to  Ferdinand,  king 
of  Spain.  The  proposal  of  Colurntius  was  re- 
jected by  the  most  learned  men  in  Spain  to  wliom 
the  king  had  referred  it.  But  by  the  influence 
of  Juan  Perez,  a  Spanish  priest,  and  Lewis  San- 
tangel,  an  officer  of  the  king's  household,  queen 
Isabella  was  persuaded  to  listen  to  his  request, 
and  after  he  had  been  twice  repulsed,  recalled 
him  to  court.  By  an  agreement  with  their  Cath- 
olic maiesticB  of  April  17,  1492,  he  was  to  he 
viceroy  and  admiral 
of  all  the  countries 
which  he  should  dis- 
cover, and  was  to 
receive  one  tenth 
part  of  the  profits 
accruing  from  their 
commerce  and  pro- 
diiciions.  He  mailed 
from  Palos  in  Spain, 
J*'riday,  August  .3d, 
1492,  with  tlirce  ves- 
sels, two  of  which 
were  called  caravels, 
Ijcing  small  vessels 
without  decks,  ex- 
cept perhaps  at  the 
ends,  having  on 
board  in  the  whole, 
ninety  men.  He  left 
Canaries  Sept.  fith, 
and  when  he  was 
about  two  hundred 
leagues  to  the  west, 
the  magnetic  needle 
was  observed  Sept. 
1 4th,  to  vary  from 
the  pole  star.  This 
phenomenon  filled 
the  seamen  with  ler- 
ror,  but  his  fertile 
gen  ius,by  suggesting 
a  plau^iMc  reason, 
in  some  degree  qui- 
eted their  apprehen- 
sions. After  being 
twenty  days  at  sea, 
without  sight  of  land, 
some  of  them  talked 
of  throwing  their 
commander  into  the 
ocean.  All  his  tal- 
ents were  required 
to  stimulate  their 
hopes.  At  length, 
when  he  was  almost 
reduced  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  abandon- 
ing the  enterprise,  at 
ten  o'clock  in  the 
night  of  Oct.  llth, 
he  saw  a  light,  which 
was  supposed  to  be 
on  shore,  and  early 
next  morning,  Fri- 
day, Oct.  12th,  land 
was  distinctly  seen, 
which  proved  to  be 
Guanabana,  one  of 
the  Bahama  isl- 
ands. Thus  he  ef- 
fected an  object 
which  he  had  been 
twenty  years  in  pro- 
jecting and  execut- 
ing. At  sunrise  the 
boats  were  manned, 
and  the  adventurers 
rowed  towards  the 
shore  with  music  and 
in  martial  pomp. — ■ 
The  coast  was  cov- 
ered with  people, 
who  were  completely 
overwhelmed  with 
astonishment.  Co- 
lumbus was  first  on 
shore,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  his  men. 
They  all  kneeling 
down,  kissed  the 
ground  with  tears  of 
joy,  and  returned 
thanks  for  their  suc- 
cessfulvoyage.  This 
island,  which  is  in 
north  latitude  25, 
Columbus  named 
San  Salvador.  Hav- 
ing discovered  a 
number  of  other  isl- 
ands, and  among 
them  Cuba,  Oct.  27, 
and  Hispaniola,Dec. 
6th,  he  began  to  think  of  returning.  His  large 
ship  having  been  wrecked  on  the  shoals  of  His- 
paniola,  he  built  a  fort  with  her  timber,  and  left 
behind  him  a  colony  of  thirty-nine  at  the  port, 
which  he  called  Navidad,  the  nativity,  because 
he  entered  it  on  Christmas  day.  From  this 
place  he  sailed  Jan  4,  1492.  During  his  pas- 
sage, when  threatened  with  destruction  by  a  vio- 
lent storm,  he  wrote  an  account  of  his  discoveries 
on  parchment,  wliich  he  enclosed  in  a  cake  of 
wax.  This  he  put  into  a  cask,  and  threw  it  into 
the  sea,  with  the  hope,  that  it  might  be  driven 
on  shore,  and  that  his  discoveries  might  not  be 
lost,  if  the  vessel  should  sink.  But  he  was  prov- 
identially saved,  and  arrived  at  Lisbon  Mai'ch  4. 
He  was  received  with  the  highest  tokens  of  honor 
by  the  king  and  queen,  who  made  him  admiral 
of  Spain.     Thus  ended  his  first  voyage. 


F.  GLEASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
i  AND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  30,  1852. 


S2  PER  VOLUME,  i 

10  ctb.  single.  I 


Vol.  in.  No.  18.— Whole  No.  70. 


NEW  HABIPSHIRE  STATE  FAIR, 

Our  artist,  Mr.  Manning,  has  presented  for  us 
below  a  very  fine,  accurate  and  comprehensive 
view  of  the  late  State  Fair,  which  took  place  at 
Meredith  Bridge,  N.  H.,  on  the  6th,  7th  and  8th 
of  the  present  month.  It  was  the  third  annual 
assembly  of  the  kind  held  by  the  New  Hampshire 
State  Agricultural  Society.  Hon.  George  W. 
Nesraith,  President,  assisted  by  the  following 
gentlemen  as  vice-presidents,  and  a  numerous 
executive  committee ;  John  H.  Steele,  Hills- 
boro';  Joseph  Sawyer,  Grafton ;  Ruel  Durkee, 
Sullivan ;  David  Buffum,  Chesliire ;  Samuel 
Tilton,   Belknap;    Levi    Bartlett,   Merrimack; 


Oliver  Hill,  Carroll ;  Henry  F.  French,  Eocking- 
ham  ;  William  F.  Fstes,  Strafford,  and  Simeon 
Warner,  Coos.  The  exhibition  was  held  on 
what  is  called  the  "  Old  Muster  Field,"  situated 
near  to  the  depot,  within  an  enclosure  of  thirty 
acres.  Water  ran  through  one  part  of  the  field, 
furnishing  an  inexhaustible  supply,  and  was  ap- 
proachable for  a  long  extent,  in  its  original  bed, 
known  there  as  the  "  Durkee  Brook,"  a  stream 
of  mountain  purity  direct  from  Mount  Belknap. 
This  water  was  also  exhibited  by  mechanical 
power  at  different  points  on  the  field,  so  that 
the  ingenuity  of  machinery  and  thequality  of  the 
water  were   tested  both   together.      The   exhi- 


bition grounds  were  in  readiness  on  tlic  4th. 
Yale's  three  largest  tents  were  erected  within  the 
grounds,  for  the  exhibition  of  implements,  ma- 
chinery, manufactures,  and  fancy  articles  of 
every  description.  Conveniences  for  the  accom- 
modation of  stock,  hay  and  grain  were  amply 
provided,  free  of  charge,  to  the  exhibitors. 
Committees  were  in  attendance  at  the  depot  and 
tiie  hotels  to  direct  strangers  to  the  grounds,  to 
assist  in  driving  stock  and  to  provide  lodgings. 
The  railroads  throughout  the  State  conveyed 
stock  and  all  other  articles,  intended  for  exhibi- 
tion, free,  at  the  riisk  of  the  owners,  and  passen- 
ger* at  half  price.     William   S.   King,  Esq.,  of 


Rhode  Island,  delivered  the  address.  His  repu- 
tation as  a  powerful  speaker  and  \vriter  ensured 
him  an  attentive  audience.  Hon.  Frank  Pierce, 
Hon.  Koah  Martin,  governor  of  the  State,  and 
several  other  distinguished  citizens  of  N.  H.,  and 
other  States  were  present.  Meetings  of  the  so- 
ciety were  held  on  tlie  Wednesday  and  Thursday 
evenings  subsequent,  at  one  of  the  churches,  for 
free  discussion,  addresses,  etc.  Altogether  the 
whole  affair  was  highly  creditable  to  all  con- 
cerned, and  cannot  but  prove  beneficial  to  the 
cause  of  agriculture  in  the  Granite  State.  Our 
artist  has  succeeded  in  giving  our  readers  a  most 
life  like  view  of  the  scene. 


/M^.y  „f^ 


VIEW  OF  THE  NEW  HAMl'SHIRE  STATE  FAIB,  AT  MEKEMIH  BRIDGE. 


274 


GLEASON'S   IMCTOPJAL    DRAWIXG    nOOM    C0:MPAXI0X. 


Entared  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  llie 
District  Court  of  Massacliusetts. 


I  WRITTEN   EXPItESSLY   FOK   OLKASOn'S   PI0TOlnAI,.| 


miri 


mE 


THE   SIGM   OF    THE   MYSTIC  TIE. 

A  Tale  of  llac  Ciinip  and  (Jourt  of  Bosiapartc. 

BY  B.  PERLEY  POORE. 


CHArXER   I. 


THE    i\tVSTIC    TIE. 


The  Pyramids  of  Egj-pt.  Earth  cannot  pro- 
duce a  more  varied  or  a  more  interesting  land- 
scape, than  that  which  is  yisihlc  from  their  sum- 
mitSj  nor  one  embracing  so  many  monuments  of 
human  greatness  or  of  Divine  omnipotence.  On 
one  side  is  the  lovely  and  majestic  land  of  Go- 
shen, watered  by  the  fcrLilizing  Nile,  whose  broad 
tide  meanders  like  a  serpent  among  villages, 
and  palaces,  and  olive  groves,  and  gardens — 
■while  on  the  other  hand  is  the  fearful  desert,  its 
sandy  waste  stretching  to  the  far-off  horizon, 
without  exhibiting  any  traces  of  vegetation  or  of 
human  existence.  Nothing  can  be  more  beau- 
tifully illustrative  than  that  valley,  decked  in  its 
rich  mantle  of  verdure,  and  adorned  with  rare 
architectural  ornaments  ; — nothing  is  a  more 
fearful  type  of  death  than  that  grave  like  desert. 
What  a  symbolic  locality  for  the  Pyramids, 
those  ancient  temples  erected  by  the  brothers  of 
the  "  mystic  tic."  And,  their  successors  in  the 
secret,  who  make  pilgrimages  from  distant  lands 
to  the  old  fountain  head  of  their  rites  and  cere- 
monies, can  yet  read  upon  each  massive  pile, 
graven  ill  hieroglyphic  characters,  the  dedication 
])laced  there  three  thousand  years  ago.  "  Supe- 
rior to  all  on  earth,  that  has  been,  that  is,  and 
that  will  be — nor  can  any  save  the  initiated  raise 
the  veil."     So  mole  it  be. 

Between  the  Pyramids  and  the  banks  of  the 
Nile  {where,  as  tradition  says,  Pharaoh's  gentle 
daughter  had  a  country  residence),  there  stands 
a  beautiful  Jciosk,  or  summer  palace.  It  is  a 
massive  stone  building,  painted  in  gay  stripes, 
and  studded  with  large  projecting  windows,  cov- 
ered with  lattice-work,  through  wliich  the  vision 
of  no  curious  passer-by  can  penetrate.  A  re- 
freshing shade  is  afforded  by  clusters  of  huge 
palm  trees,  and,  extending  to  the  river's  bank,  a 
smiling  garden  lies  embosomed  in  a  grove  of 
myrtles,  acacias,  and  pomegranates. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last  centuiy,  this  kiosk 
was  the  home  of  Mourad  Bey,  chieftain  of  the 
Mamelukes,  a  chosen  band  of  arbitrary  warriors, 
who  dazzled  the  Egyptian  people  with  their  pa- 
rade of  magnincence,  and  struck  terror  into  the 
hearts  of  their  surrounding  enemies  by  their 
chivalric  daring.  Their  ranks  were  recruited 
from  the  slave-marts  of  Alexandria,  and  a  score 
of  youth  were  ever  in  training  at  the  chieftain's 
tiosJc,  where  most  of  them  soon  forgot  their  na- 
tive Circassian  or  Albanian  homes.  There,  want 
had  been  their  portion  until  their  relatives  sold 
them  to  the  slave-trader.  But  if  they  possessed 
sufficient  intelligence  and  manly  beauty  to  tempt 
the  Mameluke  purveyor,  they  at  once  became 
the  favored  youth  of  Egypt.  Ercnch  and  Italian 
instructors  stored  their  minds,  while  veterans 
taught  them  how  to  manage  Arabian  steeds,  to 
poise  the  lance,  and  to  wield  the  scimitar  with 
deadly  skill.  And,  as  a  stimulus  to  exertion,  of 
body  and  of  mind,  each  one  knew  that  when 
death  or  old  age  caused  a  vacancy  in  the  band 
of  leaders,  the  best  qualified  slave  was  selected 
to  fill  it.  Rich  armor,  fine  horses,  and  all  that 
a  follower  of  the  Prophet  can  desire,  were  thence- 
forth his. 

Our  story  commences  with  the  promotion  of 
one  of  these  Mameluke  cadets,  named  Osmanli. 
He  had  been  purchased  when  young,  much  to 
the  surprise  of  the  slave-dealer,  who  could  not 
imagine  that  such  a  young  stripling  would  ever 
make  an  athletic  warrior.     In   this  opinion  his 


purchaser  secretly  concurred,  but  a  peculiar 
mark,  tattooed  in  blue  characters  upon  the  boy's 
arm,  touched  the  Mameluke's  heart.  Hazarding 
Iiis  reputation  as  a  knowing  purchaser,  he  sent 
the  lad  up  to  Cairo,  and  soon  saw  with  great 
satisfaction,  that  those'  who  jested  at  his  judg- 
ment would  be  deceived.  Ere  he  had  attained 
his  sixteenth  year,  young  Osmanli  was  imdoubt- 
edly  t!ie  first  among  the  cadets.  He  spoke 
French  and  Italian  with  fluency,  had  read  the 
Koran,  and  was  a  skillful  engineer.  And,  wiiile 
his  naturally  fine  intellect  was  enriched  far  in 
adv.ance  of  his  comrades,  his  bodily  powers  had 
so  matured,  that  he  excelled  them  in  all  athletic 
sports  and  warlike  exercises.  Eminently  hand- 
some, as  though  a  sculptor  had  moulded  his 
form  he  displayed  in  every  feature  a  spirit  of  the 
manliest  daring  and  valor.  Thick,  glossy  black 
hair  waved  gracefully  over  his  noble  brow,  for 
the  Mamelukes  did  not  shave  their  heads  (like 
other  Moslems)  until  they  had  made  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Mecca.  His  bright  blue  eyes  sparkled 
with  vigorous  thought,  and  his  countenance,  al- 
though o'ercast  by  a  hue  of  deep,  settled  thought- 
fulness,  wore  a  genial  sincerity  of  expression 
which  could  not  fail  to  inspire  confidence. 

Nevertlieless,  Osmanli  was  enfranchised  and 
promoted  without  the  usual  ceremonies  and  re- 
joicings. Mourad  Bey  sent  him,  with  his  yfVma/i, 
or  commission,  a  gorgeous  suit  of  chain  armor, 
on  whose  bright  steel  links  were  enamelled  qaaint 
devices  in  virgin  gold.  His  old  protector,  whose 
cheek  flushed  with  proud  delight  as  be  gazed  on 
the  chivalric  form  of  his  once  deprecated  pur- 
chase, sent  him  a  fleet  Arabian  courser,  and  his 
comrades,  who  loved  and  respected  him,  joined 
their  scanty  funds  for  the  purchase  of  a  scimitar 
with  which  a  spider-web  or  a  steel  casque  could 
be  severed — so  keen  and  yet  so  staunch  was  its 
wavy  blade.  Yet,  there  was  no  solemn  investi- 
ture of  arms  in  the  mosque.  No  mimic  warfare 
honored  the  admission  of  the  favored  recruit. 
The  kiosk  of  the  Bey  did  not,  as  was  ilie  custom, 
resound  with  warlike  songs,  nor  did  the  warriors, 
as  they  enjoyed  their  pipes  and  coffee,  witness 
the  voluptuous  dance  of  the  Almeh  girls,  to  the 
music  of  the  tambour  and  the  castanets.  More 
serious  matters  occupied  the  thoughts  of  all. 

Strangers  had  invaded  the  land  !  A  messen- 
ger from  Alexandria  had  brought  word,  about  a 
fortnight  previous,  that  a  squadron  had  cast  an- 
chor in  the  bay  of  that  city.  The  next  day,  tid- 
ings came  that  an  army,  landing  on  the  beach, 
had  soon  effected  an  entrance  through  the  ruin- 
ous city  walls,  and  were  occupying  the  once 
proud  capital  of  Cleopatra. 

To  the  Mamelukes,  who  regarded  themselves 
as  invincible  lords  of  the  Nile  valley,  this  intelli- 
gence seemed  at  first  incredible.  But  it  was 
soon  confirmed,  and  their  surprise  was  converted 
into  rage  when  they  received  copies  of  procla- 
mations, conciliating  the  harmless  Egyptians  by 
flattering  their  animosity  against  their  warlike 
desi)Ots.  "  Know  ye  faithful,"  said  one  of  these 
addresses,  "  that  the  French,  who  have  destroyed 
the  vassal  power,  are  the  allies  of  the  Sultan  and 
the  enemies  of  his  enemies.  They  come  not  to 
wage  war  against  true  Mussulmen,  but  against 
revolting  despots.  Thrice  happy  shall  they  be 
who  assist  us — blest  in  their  fortune  and  inheri- 
tance :  but  woe  to  all  who  arm  in  defence  of  the 
Mamelukes,  and  fight  against  us.  For  them 
there  is  neitlicr  recompense  nor  hope.  It  is  de- 
creed, that  they  shall  perish."  And  to  all  these 
proclamations  there  was  signed   "  Bonaparte." 


No  learned  .«Iicik  at  Cairo  had  ev(!r  heard  of  that 
name  among  those  distinguished  by  hereditary 
rank  in  ICurope.  But  the  Italian  [irofewwor  who 
had  instructed  the  cadets,  told  tliem  it  was  a 
Corsican  soldier,  who  had  carved  with  his  good 
sword  a  proud  reputation,  and  wlio  had  con- 
quered the  land  of  the  Caisars. 

Housed,  and  aware  that  it  was  acontest  of  ex- 
termination, on  one  side  or  the  other,  the  Mame- 
lukes nerved  themselves  for  the  conflict  with  that 
ferocious  spirit  tliat  prompts  the  lioness  to  stand 
at  bay,  when  the  hunters  invade  her  den.  Learn- 
ing that  the  French  were  advancing  up  the  river, 
Mourad  Bey  resolved  to  make  a  desperate  stand 
at  his  head-(|uarters,  where,  if  he  conquered,  he 
cduld  annihilate  his  surviving  opponents  crc 
they  could  retreat  to  the  seashore.  Here  all  his 
forces  were  concentrated,  and  many  a  warlike 
tribe  of  Arabs  came  in  from  the  shores  of  the 
Red  Sea,  proud  to  fight  witli  the  Mamelukes, 
and  eager  to  aid  in  extirpating  the  unbeliev- 
ing dogs  that  sought  to  extend  their  dominion 
over  the  faithful  followers  of  Mahomet.  The 
sacred  green  banner  was  unfurled  before  Mou- 
rad Bey's  kiosk,  defended  by  a  small  battery, 
while  on  either  side  were  entrenchments,  reach- 
ing on  the  one  hand  to  the  river  bank,  and  on 
■the  other  to  the  very  foundations  of  the  great 
Pyramid. 

"On  the  vast  plain  in  front  of  this  line  of  forti- 
fications, the  Moslem  host  arrayed  itself,  on  the 
morning  of  July  2Ist,  1798,  for  the  decisive  com- 
bat. The  Mamelukes,  arrayed  in  light  yet 
highly  tempered  armor,  and  bearing  the  choicest 
weapons  manufactured  at  Damascus,  appeared 
invincible.  Arabs,  mounted  on  their  desert 
steeds,  moved  in  bodies  like  clouds  of  dustbefore 
the  north  wind,  and  hordes  of  Nubians,  armed 
with  spears  and  shields,  sang  their  discordant 
war-songs.  It  was  a  gallant  host,  well  calculated 
to  inspire  the  hearts  of  its  leader  with  high  hopes, 
and  to  make  him  certain  of  victory  over  the 
comparatively  feeble  columns  of  the  French 
troops  just  coming  in  sight,  winding,  like  ana- 
condas, over  the  sandy  plain. 

The  sounds  of  the  Tartar  drums  and  the  clang- 
ing cymbals,  the  neighing  of  the  horses  and  the 
clash  of  arms,  had  attracted  all  the  inmates  of 
the  kiosk,  with  a  solitary  exception,  to  places 
where  they  could  gaze  upon  the  proud  array  of 
the  champions  of  their  faith.  But  the  inmate  of 
one  richly  furnished  saloon  (the  latticed  windows 
of  which  denoted  that  it  was  a  portion  of  the 
king's  harem)  knelt  in  prayer,  unconscious  of 
the  animated  scene  without.  Her  strongly  marked 
countenance  had  the  olive  tinge  peculiar  to  the 
Jewish  race,  but  her  complexion  was  neverthe- 
less clear  and  transparent.  Long,  silken  eye- 
lashes, over-arched  by  thick  raven  brows,  added 
to  the  lustre  of  her  full,  clear  orbs,  which  shone 
through  her  tears  as  the  sun  beams  through  an 
April  cloud.  Golden  coins  were  strung  on  the 
braids  of  her  long,  jetty  tresses,  and  on  the  top 
of  her  classically  shaped  he.ad  was  a  scarlet  cap, 
trimmed  with  gold  and  gems.  A  tight  fitting 
yellow  silk  tunic  was  disclosed  by  an  open,  gold- 
embroidered  crimson  velvet  jacket,  in  the  fur- 
lined  sleeves  of  which  nestled  arms  like  alabaster. 
And  bound  around  the  delicate  waist,  was  a 
valuable  cashmere  scaif,  which  served  as  a  girdle 
to  sustain  flowing  yellow  silk  trowsers,  gathered 
at  the  ankles,  where  their  heavy  folds  disclosed 
tiny  bare  feet,  partially  encased  in  richly  wrought 
slippers. 

Judith  Fezenzac,  for  sueh  was  the  maiden's 
name,  was  the  only  child  of  a  wealthy  Jewish 
merchant  at  Smyrna,  who  had  sent  her  to  Eu- 
rope to  receive  a  thorough  education.  She  em- 
barked for  Genoa  in  an  Italian  felucca,  but  was 
captured  by  an  Egyptian  corsair,  and  exposed 
for  sale  in  the  slave-market  at  Alexandria.  Her 
charms  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Nubian 
purveyor  for  the  Bey's  harem,  who  immediately 
purchased  her,  and  sent  her  to  his  mastei-.  But 
while  on  her  passage  up  the  Nile,  a  messenger 
passed  on  the  bank  with  news  of  the  French  in- 
vasion, and  when  she  arrived  at  Cairo,  Mourad, 
intent  on  defending  his  power,  did  not  even  care 
to  glance  at  the  new  exotic  brouglit  to  grace  his 
seraglio.  Meanwhile  Judith  suft'ered  the  agony 
of  suspense,  and  the  fear  of  a  degradation  worse 
than  death,  with  a  firm  reliance  that  the  God  of 
Israel,  of  Isaac,  and  of  Jacob,  would  succor  her 
in  the  hour  of  need. 

And  now,  unacquainted  with  the  cause  of  the 
warlike  preparations  without,  and  uninterested 
by  the  martial  display,  she  poured  forth  her  soul 
in  prayer.  A  captive,  she  supplicated  the  God 
of  her  fathers  for  deliverance,  even  as  he  deliv- 
ered them,  when,  centuries  before,  they  were  in 
bondage  on  the  same  soil.     Acknowledging  his 


mighty  power,  that  gnideth  the  hosts  ot  heaven 
in  their  glory,  and  yet  protects  the  sparrow's 
tender  brood,  she  prayed  that  he  might  stretch 
forth  his  riglit  arm,  and  release  her  from  the  op- 
pressor. Then,  with  a  rich,  sonorous  voice,  she 
began  to  oliant  a  psalm  of  David,  each  note 
Kijurkling  in  its  outward  gush,  with  the  clearness 
and  I)rilli:An(y  of  the  diamond. 

The  door  was  opened  wuddcnly,  and  Judith, 
springing  to  her  feet,  instinctively  carried  her 
riglit  hand  to  the  folds  of  her  girdle.  A  dagger 
was  there  concealed,  which  she  had  found  in  her 
room  at  Alexandria,  and  she  had  so  nerved  her 
heart,  that  she  felt  ready  to  sacrifice  her  life, 
rather  than  to  suffer  dishonor. 

Osmanli,  for  he  was  the  intruder^  entered  the 
room,  his  prepossessing  exterior  set  off  by  bis 
gorgeous  suit  of  flexible  chain  armor.  Judith 
gazed  at  him  for  an  instant  with  an  expresnion 
of  anxiety  and  doubt,  but  the  kindness  stamped 
upon  his  open  countenance  apparently  relieved 
her  fears.  Crossing  her  alabaster  arms  upon 
her  throbbing  chest,  she  bowed  reverentially,  and 
then  cast  an  imploring  glance  of  resignation. 

"  Is  it  the  daughter  of  Mordecai  F''ezenzac  ?" 
he  inquired,  in  a  rich,  musical  voice,  and  in  pure 
French, 

"  I  am  that  old  man's  child,"  was  the  reply, 
in  the  same  tongue. 

"Allah  be  praised  !  Latelastnightlreceived 
from  Alexandria  a  sign  and  a  token  that  you — 
the  child  of  a  brother — were  here  in  bondage. 
Luckily,  the  Bey  has  taken  his  seraglio  guard  to 
the  lines,  and  I,  lingering  behind,  have  managed 
to  enter  the  sacred  spot  without  being  observed. 
Every  one  is  without,  or  upon  the  terraced  roof, 
and  now,  gentle  maiden,  escape  from  the  nest 
ere  the  eagle  returns." 

"  The  God  of  Israel  be  praised  !"  ejaculated 
Judith. 

Then,  her  woman's  heart  dictated  prudence, 
and  she  asked : 

"  Where  will  you  take  me  V 

As  she  put  the  question,  in  a  tone  which  im- 
plied doubt,  Osmanli  noticed  a  ring  of  quaint 
device  on  one  of  her  taper  fingers.  Hastily  strip- 
ping up  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  of  mail,  and  baring 
bis  left  arm,  he  showed  her  a  peculiar  emblem, 
indelibly  marked. 

"  See,"  said  he  *'  the  same  emblem  that  is 
wrought  upon  your  ring.  Your  fatiicr,  although 
I  know  him  not,  is  my  brother,  and  I  am  bound 
to  protect  you." 

Judith's  eyes  flashed  with  joyful  confidence, 
and  she  replied  in  a  gladsome  tone  : 

"I  have  often  seen  that  mystical  sign,  and 
never  have  I  known  it  associated  with  evil. 
Command,  and  I  will  obey." 

"  Hasten,  then,"  said  the  Mameluke,  "  and  I 
will  place  you  in  a  safe  retreat,  once  used  as  a 
refuge  by  the  priests  of  Isis." 

Putting  on  a  large  mantle,  and  throwing  a 
thick  veil  over  her  head,  Judith  intimated  that 
she  was  ready,  and  they  left  the  kiotk.  Hastily 
traversing  the  garden,  they  reached  a  ruined 
pile,  on  the  north  side  of  which  Osmanli 
pushed  against  a  large  stone.  To  the  great  as- 
tonishmLUt  of  Judith,  it  revolved,  and  she  was 
ushered  into  an  obscure  passage.  Closing  the 
massive  door  behind  them,  and  then  opening 
another,  equally  hidden,  Osmanli  handed  Judith 
into  a  vaulted  apartment,  lighted  from  above. 
It  was  well  supplied  with  the  conveniences  of 
life,  and  a  table  was  covered  with  food. 

"Here,"  he  remarked,  "I  must  leave  you, 
although  I  hope  soon  to  return.  Even  if  1  do 
not,  another  will  see  you  restored  to  your  father. 
Farewell." 

Before  Judith  could  recover  from  her  aston- 
ish raent,  her  preserver  was  gone,  and  as  the  outer 
door  closed  after  him,  the  roar  of  artillery  shook 
tlie  very  earth. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    BATTLE. 


Victory  and  glory.  The  ancient  chivalry 
of  France,  who  followed  the  oriflamb  under 
Bayard  and  Duqueschir,  were  not  more  infatua- 
ted in  their  pursuit  of  these  martial  phantoms, 
than  was  every  man  of  the  French  army  in 
Egypt,  And  now,  as  they  saw  the  Mameluke 
forces  drawn  up  in  hostile  array,  their  brave 
hearts  echoed  each  defiant  beat  on  their  spirit- 
stirring  drums.  On  they  moved,  with  erect 
bearing,  firm  tramp,  determined  eye,  and  com- 
pressed lip,  eager  for  the  hazards  of  adventurous 
action,  and  submissive  to  the  commands  of  their 
adored  leader,  whose  star  had  never  paled  upon 
the  field  of  battle.  This  fixed  devotion,  mani- 
festo.!  by   shouts   of    "Long   live  Bonaparte." 


gleasojV's  pictorial  dPvAwing  R003I  co:mpaniox. 


275 


flushed  the  young  general's  sallow  face  with  en- 
thusiasm, and  he  glanced  with  exultant  pride 
over  his  serried  bands.  His  perception  quick- 
ened, and  his  iron  nerves  strengthened,  as  he 
rode  through  tlie  ranks  of  the  dittcrent  brigades, 
stimulating  his  well-tried  veterans.  "  Consider," 
said  lie,  pointing  to  the  Pyramids,  "  that  from 
the  summits  of  yonder  monuments,  forty  centu- 
ries survey  your  conduct.     Act  like  heroes  !" 

Inspired  by  this  matchless  Idea,  the  Erencli 
troops  advanced  at  quick  time  to  the  attack, 
formed  into  Jive  large  squares.  When  advanc- 
ing, the  sides  of  these  squares  marched  "  by  the 
flank,"  hut  at  the  word  "  halt,"  all  facsd  out- 
ward, and  thus  formed  an  impregnahl  nedgc, 
enclosing  the  artillery  and  the  general  officers. 
Onward  they  moved,  like  so  many  torrents  of 
glistening  bayonets,  and  waving  plumes,  and 
flashing  sabres,  while  over  the  midst  of  each 
phalanx  floated  the  brilliant  tri  colored  flag,  that 
palladium  of  republican  victory. 

At  length,  raising  their  war-cry  of  "  Allah-el- 
AUah  !"  the  Mamelukes  came  charging  across 
the  plain,  which  resounded  beneath  the  thunder 
of  their  horses^  hoofs.  Brilliant  and  valiant  as 
was  the  onset,  it  did  not  intimidate  the  French, 
who  received  their  assailants  at  the  bayonet's 
point,  with  a  murderous  fire.  The  sun,  which 
had  glistened  on  the  polished  armS'  and  accou- 
trements on  both  sides,  was  soon  obscured  by  the 
smoke  which  poured  forth,  in  circling  wreaths, 
from  cannon,  muskets,  and  pistols,  to  hang  in 
heavy  clouds  over  a  deadly  storm  of  uon  hail 
and  leaden  sleet.  In  vain  did  the  Mamelukes 
rush  at  full  gallop  against  the  French  squares. 
In  vain  did  they  wheel  their  Arabian  steeds, 
and  endeavor  to  rein  them  backward  through 
the  serried  ranks  of  bristling  bayonets.  In  vain, 
when  they  grew  frantic  with  despair,  did  they 
Imrl  their  pistojs  and  their  yataghans  into  the 
faces  of  the  French,  or,  when  their  horses  were 
shot  down,  crawl  along  the  sand,  to  hack  at  the 
limbs  of  their  invincible  foes.  The  calm,  steady 
discipline  of  the  French  was  not  to  be  shaken, 
even  by  the  war-bronzed  childi-en  of  the  desert. 
Band  after  band,  advancing  in  solid  phalanx, 
would  recoil,  staggering  before  the  fiery  dis- 
charges, like  some  sturdy  ship  cast  against  break- 
ers, but  return  again  and  again  to  the  attack, 
until  the  warriors,  with  their  noble  chargers, 
sank  like  frail  shallops  cast  upon  a  rocky  coast. 

Mourad  Bey,  his  white  charger  covered  with 
foam  and  spotted  with  gore,  was  ever  where  the 
flght  raged  hottest.  One  moment,  he  would 
urge  a  squadron  to  advance,  in  the  name  of  the 
Prophet,  and  destroy  the  unbelievers — and  when, 
as  was  always  the  case,  they  fell  back,  he  would 
check  their  retreat,  as  if  determined  not  to  sub- 
rait,  but  to  seize  victory  from  the  averted  hand 
of  destiny.  Dauntless  as  an  uncaged  eagle,  his 
eye  was  clear,  and  his  manner  calm,  even  when 
bullets  hailed  about  him,  but  neither  his  example 
nor  die  impetuous  bravery  of  his  followers  could 
make  any  impression  against  the  French  squares. 
At  this  disastrous  stage  of  the  conflict,  Mourad 
determined  to  withdraw  his  forces  up  the  river. 
Calling  an  attendant  spahi  to  his  side,  he  or- 
dered him  to  summon  Osmanli,  who  had  been 
sent,  at  the  head  of  the  cadets  able  to  bear  arms, 
to  the  extreme  left. 

"Allah  is  great!"  replied  the  spahi,  "but  his 
servant  Osmanli  is  not  at  his  post.  I  saw  him 
last  in  the  kiosk  of  your  highness,  when  you  sent 
mc  with  orders  for  the  removal  of  the  seraglio." 

"In  my  kiosk?     Where?" 

"Leaving  ihc  harem  by  the  garden  gate." 

"  Coward '.     Can  it  be  possible  ?     But  was  he 

alone  ?" 

"He  was  not,  your  highness." 

At  this  moment  the  captain  of  the  seraglio 
guard  rode  up,  and  announced  that  the  Bey'.s 
wives  and  slaves  had  been  sent  up  the  river, 

"All?"    inquired  Mourad,   in   a  passionate 

tone. 

"All,  your  highness,  save  the  Jewish  slave, 
who  was  sent  up  last  \veek  from  Alexandria,  and 
who  has  never  yet  basked  in  the  sunlight  of  your 
favor." 

"Traitor!"  muttered  Mourad,  a  spasm  of 
rage  convulsing  his  noble  features,  for  he  well 
remembered  that  Osmanli,  that  very  morning, 
had  made  particular  inquiries  about  the  Jewess. 
They  had  undoubtedly  escaped,  and  richly  mer- 
ited death,  hut  a  new  movement  on  the  part  of 
the  French  left  him  no  time  for  thoughts  of  jeal- 
ous revenge. 

Bonaparte,  seeing  that  the  enemy  was  thinned 
and  dispirited,  had  given  the  order  to  charge, 
and  Mourad,  maddened  with  rage  and  mortifi- 
cation, saw  his  followers  precipitately  retreating. 
Panic-struck  and  disorganized,  the  Mamelukes 


sought  to  escape  before  the  billow  of  steel  which 
now  swept  across  the  plain,  with  murderous  im- 
petuosity. There  remained  behind  a  sea  of  blood 
and  slaughter,  on  which  drifted  standards  and 
arms,  and  which  was  agitated  with  the  convul- 
sive, death-like  gasp  of  the  unstiUed  waves  after 
an  ocean-tempest. 

Osmanli  had  not  participated  in  the  contest, 
for  he  had  felt  it  his  duty  to  inform  a  brother  of 
the  "  mystic  tie"  where  Judith  was  concealed. 
When,  at  last,  he  reached  the  spot  where  he  had 
been  posted,  he  found  nothing  but  the  corpses  of 
several  comrades,  mingled  with  those  of  their 
opponents.  But  the  survivors — both  the  pursued 
and  the  pursuers — had  moved  on  up  the  river, 
and  he  lost  no  time  in  following  them,  guided 
by  the  noise  of  the  conflict.  Hoping  to  force  his 
way  through  the  French,  and,  to  rejoin  his  leader, 
he  took  a  circuitous  route,  which  led  him  through 
a  small  village.  A  garden  wall  barred  his  pro- 
gress, but  his  steed  cleared  it  at  a  bound,  and 
the  Mameluke  found  himself  by  the  side  of  two 
Frenchmen. 

One  of  these,  who  wore  a  sergeant's  uniform, 
no  sooner  saw  Osmanli  suddenly  appear,  than 
he  took  to  his  heels.  But  the  other,  who  was 
earnestly  examining  a  map,  evinced  no  fear.  Of 
a  slight  figure,  and  rather  under  the  u?ual  stature, 
there  was  nevertheless  a  quiet  consciousness  of 
power  manifested  in  his  appearance,  nor  did  his 
unadorned  gray  uniform  detract  the  dignity  of 
his  attitude,  or  dim  the  fire  of  his  eye,  as  draw- 
ing his  slender  uniform  sword,  he  advanced  to- 
wards the  intruder.  A  blow  from  the  yataghan 
of  Osmanli  shivered  the  feeble  weapon  into  frag- 
ments, yet  its  owner's  lips  blanched  not,  nor  did 
he  display  any  fear.  Again  the  Mameluke  raised 
his  "r7ell-tempered  blade,  but  at  that  moment  his 
defenceless  antagonist,  with  a  proud  glance  of 
confident hope,made  asimpie  yetexpressivesign. 

Osmanli's  uplifted  arm  was  aiTCSted,  as  if  by 
some  mighty  spell  of  enchantment.  Sheathing 
his  weapon,  he  sprang  to  the  earth,  and  extended 
his  hand  in  amity.  It  was  grasped,  and  the  two 
men,  who  but  a  moment  previous  had  been  en- 
gaged in  deadly  strife,  now  interchanged  friendly 
tokens,  which  assured  them  that  their  hearts 
were  linked  by  a  "  mystic  tie." 

Another  moment,  and  with  loud  cries  of  "  ven- 
geance," a  body  of  French  grenadiers  rushed 
into  the  garden.  But  when  they  beheld  the  ob- 
ject of  their  solicitude  unscathed,  there  burst 
from  their  throats  a  shout  of  "  Long  live  Bona- 
parte !"  It  was  repeated  along  the  whole  French 
line,  and  Osmanli  now  knew  that  his  brother 
was  no  less  a  personage  than  the  leader  of  the 
French  forces. 

"Flints  and  hammers,"  growled  a  veteran 
sergeant  major  of  grenadiers,  upon  whose  coat 
sleeves  were  a  dozen  badges  of  good  service. 
"Flints  and  hammers,  my  general,  there  just 
came  a  sergeant  to  the  front,  at  double-quick 
time,  crying  that  you  were  captured — perhaps 
killed.  Million  bombs,  we  left  the  enemy  to 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  came  to  the  rescue. 
You  are  unharmed — so  much  the  better.  But 
why  are  you  thus  without  an  escort,  and  on 
foot?" 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  my  braves.  My  horse  was 
lamed  by  chance  shot,  and  while  my  orderly 
went  to  the  rear  for  another,  I  ciime  in  here  to 
examine  my  map,  that  I  might  see  where  we 
could  drive  these  infuriated  demons.  As  for 
sergeant-major  Sauterre — " 

"  Present !"  said  the  veteran. 

"  Ay,"  continued  Bonaparte,  "  ever  present  in 
the  hour  of  dangei-.  And  now,  old  grumbler, 
look  after  my  Mameluke  friend  here,  and  bring 
him  to  me  after  evening  parade." 

"Flints  and  hammers!  Have  you  made  a 
prisoner?" 

"  No  !  I  found  a  brother,  and  as  such  I  vouch 
for  him." 

The  defiant  look  with  which  the  veteran  had 
regarded  Osmanli  softened  down  into  a  credu- 
lous expression,  but  his  doubts  were  soon  re- 
moved. 

"Brothers,"  said  Osmanli,  in  good  French, 
"I  have  done  my  duty — can  I  not  rejoin  my 
chieftain  ?" 

"  Not  now,"  replied  Bonaparte.  "  You  would 
but  rush  into  the  very  jaws  of  death.  Besides,  I 
must  borrow  your  horse.  This  evening,  when 
all  is  quiet,  you  can  go  if  you  wish.  Till  then, 
good-by." 

Mounting  Osmanli's  charger,  Bonaparte  gal- 
loped to  the  front,  where  his  presence  animated 
the  French  with  renewed  ardor.  The  Mame- 
lukes, completely  routed,  fled  at  random,  and 
strove  for  individual  preservation.     Mourad  Bey 


was  only  saved  by  the  strength  and  speed  of  his 
horse,  and  in  less  than  four  hours  after  the  first 
shot  was  fired,  his  forces  were  dispersed,  and  his 
entrenchments  were  occupied  ''by  the  French. 
The  Mussulnien  who  had  gazed  upon  the  bloody 
scene  from  the  minarets  and  the  lofty  citadel  of 
Cairo,  were  so  strongly  impressed  by  the  dread- 
ful havoc  made  by  the  fiery  phalanxes  before 
which  Mourad's  hitherto  invincible  legions  had 
quailed,  that  they  named  Bonaparte  "  El  Sooltan 
Keber,"  the  "  Sultan  of  Fire." 

The  bugles  now  sounded  a  "  recall,"  and  the 
victorious  troops  were  ordered  to  bivouac. 
Camp  fires  were  kindled,  and  the  Pyramids  soon 
echoed  back  patriotic  songs,  the  familiar  notes 
of  which,  rich  with  pleasing  remembrances, 
cheered  the  wounded  in  their  ambulances,  and 
softened  the  pangs  of  many  a  dying  veteran. 
Then,  again  the  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  again 
the  long  line  was  formed  in  martial  array,  a 
simple  "  close  up"  filling  all  the  death  gaps.  It 
was  the  evening  parade,  and  just  as  the  red  orb 
of  day  sank  into  the  molten  sands  of  the  desert, 
Bonaparte  rode  along  the  line.  His  numerous 
staff-oflicers  were  resplendent  with  gold  lace  and 
rich  embroidery,  but  the  general  wore  the  small 
cocked  hat,  and  the  simple  gray  coat,  in  which 
be  first  won  his  soldiers^  hearts,  and  which,  in 
their  eyes,  were  associated  with  victory.  After 
the  review,  the  troops  were  formed  in  a  hollow 
square,  that  Bonaparte,  as  was  his  wont,  might 
address  them.  He  spoke,  and  such  was  the  si- 
lence in  the  ranks,  that  every  file-closer  heard  his 
clear  voice. 

"  Soldiers  !"  he  said.  "  I  thank  you  from  my 
heart,  for  you  have  more  than  sustained  your 
reputation.  Five  years  ago,  the  independence 
of  the  French  people  was  threatened;  but  the 
capture  of  Toulon  was  the  presage  of  ruin  to 
our  enemies.  A  year  afterwards  you  defeated 
the  Austrians  at  Dego.  In  the  following  year, 
you  were  fighting  upon  the  summits  of  the  Alps. 
Two  years  ago  you  were  contending  beneath  the 
walls  of  Mantua,  and  achieved  the  celebrated 
victory  of  St.  George.  Last  year,  you  were  at 
the  sources  of  the  Drave  on  your  return  from 
Germany.  Who  would  then  have  ventured  to 
predict,  that  to-day  you  should  be  on  the  banks 
of  the  Nile,  in  the  centre  of  the  ancient  continent  ? 
From  the  Britons,  renowned  in  arts  and  com- 
merce, to  the  ferocious  Arab  of  the  desert,  you 
fix  the  attention  of  mankind.  Your  destiny  is 
noble,  because  you  are  worthy  of  your  achieve- 
ments and  of  the  reputation  you  have  acquired. 
You  will  die  with  honor  like  the  unburied  brave 
around  u<,  whose  names  I  shall  have  inscribed 
on  yonder  Pyramid,  or  you  will  return  to  your 
country,  covered  with  laurels,  and  exciting  the 
admiration  of  all  nations." 

Enthusiastic  shouts  hailed  this  eloquent  ha- 
rangue, and  the  soldiers,  leaving  their  ranks, 
thronged  around  their  idolized  leader,  who  thus 
won  their  affections.  After  the  review,  he  estab- 
lished his  quarters  in  the  kiosk  of  Mourad  Bey, 
and  lost  no  time  in  sending  for  Osmanli.  The 
young  Mameluke,confused  by  the  startling  events 
of  the  day,  and  looking  upon  the  chief  mover  as 
little  short  of  a  divinity,  was  awe-struck  as  he 
entered  the  general's  presence.  But  Bonaparte, 
with  kind  sympathy,  soon  made  him  feel  that  as 
brothers  they  were  equal,  and  then  he  asked 
him  to  name  some  boon. 

"  For  myself,"  said  Osmanli,  "  I  have  nothing 
to  ask.  I  but  performed  my  duty.  I  am  in 
your  hands.  Yet  for  another  I  ask  protection. 
A  Jewish  maiden,  who  is  the  daughter  of  a 
brother,  was  yesterday  a  prisoner  in  the  kiosk. 
It  was  my  good  fortune  to  rescue  her  in  the  con- 
fusion which  preceded  the  combat,  and  she  is 
now  concealed  in  yonder  ruin.  Deal  with  her, 
mighty  lord,  as  the  child  of  our  brother,  who  is 
in  peril." 

Sauterre  immediately  received  orders  to  accom- 
pany Osmanli  with  a  file  of  men,  and  escort  Ju- 
dith to  the  kiosk.  Plour  after  hour,  entombed 
in  the  ruin,  had  she  listened  with  anguish  to  the 
noise  of  the  battle,  a  thousand  fears  tormenting 
her  brain,  and  when  Osmanli  again  entered  the 
tomb,  she  uttered  a  shriek  of  joy,  and  then  sank 
senseless. 

"  Million  bombs,"  grumbled  Sauterre.  "  She 
doesn't  know  that  our  general  has  sent  for  her." 
Recovering,  and  assured  of  protection,  Judith 
returned  to  the  kiosk,  and  met  with  a  kind  re- 
ception, Bonaparte  assuring  her  that  he  would 
soon  restore  her  to  her  father.  That  night  she 
again  occupied  her  splendid  apartment  in  the 
harem,  witli  a  joyful  sense  of  freedom  from  that 
degradation  which  had  before  made  its  luxuries 
hateful  and  its  beauties  odious. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

ENGLISH    JEALOtJST    AROUSED. 

The  army  commanded  by  General  Bonaparte 
had  embarked  with  such  secrecy,  that  when  the 
English  government  learned  its  departure,  it  had 
not  the  slightest  degree  of  the  destination  of  the 
hostile  armament.  Great,  therefore,  was  the 
excitement  in  London,  when  intelligence  was 
received  by  a  trading  vessel  that  the  "conqueror 
of  Italy  "  had  captured  Malta,  on  his  way  to  Al- 
exandria. He  was  undoubtedly  hcnt  upon  the 
conquest  of  Egypt,  "  the  tlieatre,"  to  use  his  own 
words,  of  "mighty  empires,  where  all  the  great 
revolutions  of  the  earth  had  arisen,  where  mind 
had  its  birth,  and  all  religions  their  cradle,  and 
where  six  hundred  millions  of  men  still  had  a 
dwelling-place."  Moreover,  it  was  affirmed  that 
through  this  land  the  ambitious  young  French- 
man hoped  to  reach  the  British  possessions  in 
India,  and  to  found  a  new  empire,  extending 
from  the  mouths  of  the  Nile  to  the  banks  of 
the  Ganges.  This  idea,  though  vague  and  ex- 
travagant, roused  the  British  nation,  which  still 
smarted  from  the  loss  of  its  American  colonies, 
and  nothing  was  left  undone  that  afforded  the 
slightest  prospect  of  tliwarting  Bonaparte's  plans . 
Large  reinforcements  were  sent  to  Lord  Nelson, 
whose  fleet  had  been  seen  by  the  French  frigates, 
as  they  sailed  past  Candia  on  their  way  to  Alex- 
andria, shrouded  by  a  friendly  haze — afactwhich 
was  highly  annoying  to  the  British  tars.  And 
secret  agents,  well  provided  with  gold,  were  de- 
spatched to  every  accessible  port  on  the  Medi- 
terranean. 

Prominent  among  these  agents  was  Colonel 
Hudson  Lowe,  a  young  Englishman,  who  added 
most  of  the  frivolities  and  many  of  the  crimes  of 
fashionable  life  to  a  malignant  and  treacherous 
disposition.  Detected  when  an  ensign  in  an  at- 
tempt to  cheat  at  the  card-table,  he  only  escaped 
an  ignominious  dismissal  from  the  British  army 
by  accepting  a  commission  in  the  "  Mediterra- 
nean regiment."  TbiS'  was.  composed  of  rene- 
gades, Corsicans,  Italians  and  Spaniards;  out- 
casts of  every  degree  and  of  every  dye,  from  the 
murderer  to  the  debauchee,  who  sought  refuge 
under  the  English  flag,  and  preferred  the  iron 
severity  of  military  discipline  to  the  punishment 
from  which  they  had  escaped.  Admirably'  fitted 
to  rule  such  desperadoes,  young  Lowe  was  rap- 
idly promoted,  and  at  the  siege  of  Toulon,  he 
was  promised  his  rank  in  one  of  the  regular  regi- 
ments of  infantiy,  if  he  would  hut  kill  or  capture 
Bonaparte,  whose  sudden  appearance  lent  con- 
quering vigor  to  the  French  forces.  He  was  un- 
successful. General  O'Hara  was  as  unsuccessful 
as  he  had  been  when  second  in  command  to  Lord 
Cornwallis  at  Yorktown,in  Virginia.  Colonel 
Lowe,  thwarted  in  his  hopes,  vowed  vengeance 
against  Napoleoa  Bonaparte.  England  could 
not  have  selected  a  more  fitting  tool,  and  the 
commencement  of  his  operations  showed  how 
deeply  he  could  plot  and  project. 

"  The  Albatross,"  a  noted  smuggling  cutter, 
had  been  seized  a  few  weeks  previous,  and  con- 
fiscated. Colonel  Lowe  saw  her  at  Portsmouth, 
and  obtained  her  for  his  cruise,  enlisting  her  for- 
mer captain  and  crew,  who  were  delighted  to  get 
out  of  jail.  Thoroughly  sea-worthy,  she  was  a 
beautiful  craft,  with  sharp  bows,  great  beam, 
bright  copper,  and  a  run  clean  as  a  racer's  fet- 
locks. Her  lower  masts  were  clean-scraped  and 
brightly  varnished,  sustaining  taper  topmasts 
painted  white,  with  many  a  mazy  line  of  well 
laid  cordage.  Her  well  cut  canvass  was  as  white 
as  the  snowy  foam  at  her  bows  when  going  be- 
fore a  stiff  breeze  ;  nor  was  anything  lacking — 
fore-topmast  staysail,  jib,  mainsail,  upper  kite, 
studding-sails  aloft  and  alow,  ringtail — nothing 
wanting.  Nor  did  a  more  gallant  craft  ever 
float. 

Leaving  England's  chalky  cliffs,  the  "  Alba- 
ti'oss"  cleaved  the  waves  like  a  wedge,  and  her 
crew,  overjoyed  at  receiving  their  liberty,  worked 
with  alacrity  and  spirit.  The  tempestuous  Bay 
of  Biscay  was  soon  ti-aversed,  the  rocky  citadel 
of  Gibraltar  was  passed,  and  the  anchor  was 
dropped,  after  a  quick  run,  in  the  pleasant  har- 
boi'  of  Ajaccio,  the  principal  city  in  the  island  of 
Corsica.  Here,  where  Bonaparte  was  born,  the 
wily  Englishman  sought  men  who  would  execute 
his  schemes  with  zest,  and  felt  certain  that  he 
could  find  them.  Beautiful  as  is  the  face  of  the 
island,  the  happiness  of  its  inhabitants  is  man-ed 
by  a  horrible  system  of  family  feuds. 
[to  be  continued.] 


Misfortune  does  not  always  wait  on  Tice ; 
Nor  is  success  the  constant  guest  of  virtue. 

Hazard. 


276 


GLEASON'S    PICTOPJAL    DUAWING    U()i)M    (HmPANION. 


A   SERIES    OF    INTERESTING   SKETCHES    AND   SCENES    IN    CALIFORNIA. 


BRIDGE  ACROSS  THE  AMERICAN  RIVER.  AT  LESLI&'s  FERRY,  GALIFORNK 


CALIFORNIA  SCENES. 

We  give  to  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial,  on  this  and  the  opposite  pase, 
a  series  of  interesting  views  illustrative  of  the  characteristics  and  be- 
longings of  El  Dorado.  The  tide  of  emigration  seems  to  be  but  little 
stayed ;  death,  privation  and  the  numerous  casualties  that  stare  the  ad- 
venturous ixold-seekcr  in  the  face,  do  not  seem  to  prevent  thousands 
upon  thousands  from  wending  their  way  to  tlie  golden  shores  of  the 
Pacific.  We  liave  become  so  entirely  used  to  the  stories  of  suddenly- 
acquired  foi'tunes,  tliat  the  items  whiclx  at  first  seemed  to  us  to  be  fabu- 
lous arc  now  too  well  authenticated  to  be  challenged.  True  there  has 
1  itely  aiisen  a  rival  to  California, and  one  which  seems  to  be  a  formid- 
able one — we  reft  r  to  Australia,  which  has  been  finely  illustrated  in 
th':!se  pages— but  the  stream  of  emigration  still  sets  to  the  westward, 
t  lough  a  few  prefer  to  seek  llieir  fortunes  in  the  South  Pacific,  in  the 
penal  colony  of  Great  Britain.  The  view  above  represents  the  fine 
and  substantial  bridge  across  the  American  River  at  Leslie's  Ferry. 
It  was  commenced  in  the  spring  of  1851,  and  completed  in  the  month 
of  September  of  the  same  year.  It  is  the  largest  and  most  substantial 
structure  of  the  kind  in  California,  being  620  feet  in  length,  25   feet  in 

width,  and  30  feet 
above  low  water 
mark.  It  spans 
the  American  Riv- 
er about  a  mile 
east  of  the  city, 
and  over  it  pass 
daily  the  Marys- 
ville,  Nevada  and 
Auburn  stages.  It 
is  on  the  grand 
thoroughfare  of 
travel  to  all  the 
rich  mining  coun- 
ties of  Placer,  Ne- 
vada, Sierra  and 
the  upper  part  of 
Yuba.  This  bridge 
was  erected  with  a 
view  of  withstand- 
ing the  severe 
freshets  of  the 
American  River ; 
and  during  the 
great  spring  flood 
of  the  present  sca- 
.^on,  when  nearly 
eveiy  other  bridge 
on  the  North, 
South  and  Middle 
Forks  of  this 
stream  were  swept 
away,  itstood  firm 
and  uninjured. 
No  pains  or  ex- 
pense were  spared 
in  rendering  it  an 
elegant  and  taste- 
ful structure,  as 
well  ,as  a  strong 
and  durable  one. 
In  every  respect, 
it  will  compare  fa- 
vorably in   archi- 


tectural beauty  and  finish  with  many  in  the  Atlantic  States, 
where  labor  and  materials  are  cheaper,  and  greater  facilities  af- 
forded for  building  than  in  the  youngest  State.  The  tirst  pic- 
ture below  is  a  characteristic  and  truthful  one  of  a  miner  start- 
ing off  on  a  prospecting  tour.  He  looks  over  his  shoulder  at 
us  with  a  self  satisfied  air,  and  strides  oflf  like  a  steam  engine. 
He  is  fully  equipped,  having  all  the  tools  necessary  for  making 
a  thorough  examination  of  the  ground  whicli  he  designs  to 
prospect.     From  the  discoveiy  of  the  gold  until  the  summer  of 


otherwiEC  worthless,  pays  richly.  The  next  picture  wliich  we 
present  speaks  Ic^s  of  hope  and  cheerful  i)romise  tlian  the  one 
to  the  left  of  the  page.  It  is  a  view  of  ihe  cemetery  at  Sacra- 
mento. Tlie  view  is  taken  as  it  appears  from  an  elevated  point 
on  the  road  to  Sutter.  This  cemetery  was  laid  out  in  the  fall 
of  1850,  and  just  before  the  dreadful  cholera  made  its  appear- 
ance there.  licfore  that  time,intei'ments  were  made  on  the  up- 
per part  of  J  Sfreet,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Sutter's  Fort. 
In  fact,  this  ground  had  been  the  receptacle  of  bodies  for  a  .ong 


'i'^^z  ^  A^Mmj^i'^'^ 


VIEW  OF  SACRAMENTO  CEMETEBY. 


MINER  ON  A  PROSPECTING  TOUB. 


1849,  a  pnn  find  knife  were  th<?  only  tools  the  difrger  would  use. 
With  these  he  proceeded  to  some  ledge  overhanj^ing  the  moun- 
tain current,  and  commenced  chipping  off  loose  pieces  of  slate 
rock,  thus  working  liis  way  into  tlie  crevices,  where  the  glitter- 
ing tumps  lie.  In  the  course  of  time,  the  arrivals  became  so 
numerous,  that  other  and  more  extensive  diggings  on  the  bars 
and  in  the  ravines  were  located  on.  The  i-ocker  then  came  into 
use,  and  now,  as  the  richest  dirt  has  been  overliauled  and  its 
hidden  wealth  extracted,  the  "long  torn  "  and  sluice  have  been 
substituted  for  the  rocker ;  and  it  is  found  that  with  these,  dirt. 


time  prior  to  the  discovery  of  the  gold,  as  the  dates  upon  the 
tombstones  show.  It  has  since  been  .'^o  far  encro.ached  upon  by 
the  public  road,  that  many  of  the  graves  are  now  daily  troddeil 
under  foot  by  animals  and  foot  passengers  going  on  the  Colonm 
road.  The  present  cemetery  is  on  the  highest  ground  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  city,  and  commands  an  unobstrueted  view  of  the 
river,  the  coast  range,  the  Sierra  Nevada  and  the  city  itself. 
Tlie  hill  is  composed  of  sand,  and  every  portion  of  it  is  fir 
above  high-water  mark,  which  circumstance  renders  it  a  pecu- 
liarly favorable  location  for  a  cemetery.     The  friends  and  rela- 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


277 


A    NATIVE    INDIAN    CHIEF. 

tives  of  many  of  the  deceased  buried  in  these 
f:i-oinids,  liavc  exhibited  their  love  and  lenicni- 
hrauiu  for  tiic  deparicd,  by  adorning  and  beauii- 
fving  their  ^Taves,  by  the  planlhig  of  shrubbery, 
ami  the  erection  of  neat  and  substantial  palin»i;s. 
The  prominent  monument  which  appears  in  tlie 
c'cnrrc  of  the  view,  was  erected  to  the  memory  of 
Mr.  Woodland,  one  of  the  most  efficient  officers 
and  ef-teemcd  citizens  of  Sacramento.  He  was 
sliot  while  discharging  his  duties  as  a  civil  mag- 
istrate during  tlic  disgraceful  Squatter  riots. 
During  the  prevalence  of  the  cholera,  the  city  of 
tJie  living  emptied  a  great  portion  of  its  popula- 


INDIAN    SQUAW    AND    CHILDREN. 

tion  into  the  city  of  the  dead,  until  there  were 
scarcely  enough  left  who  could  he  found  williii<j 
to  nurse  the  sick,  or  convey  the  dead  to  their 
long  home.  It  is  computed  that  this  awful 
scourge  swept  off  at  least  one  thousand  of  the 
residents  of  Sacramento  and  vicinity.  The  city, 
however,  has,  since  the  disappearance  of  that 
terrible  disease,  enjoyed  an  immunity  from  sick- 
ness which  ranks  it  among  tlie  most  healthful 
towns  of  the  continent.  Our  next  view  is  that 
of  a  native  Indian  chief.  Since  the  whites  have 
so  completely  overrun  the  country,  his  occupa- 
tion may  be  said  to  be  gone  indeed.  He  still 
bears  himself  bravely,  however,  siill  feels  actu- 
ated by  the  native  hre  of  liis  race  ;  but  the  white 


man  is  too  powerful,  too  cunning  for  him,  and 
he  must  submit  to  the  force  of  circumstances. 
The  next  pictm-c  below  is  that  of  an  Indian 
squaw  and  her  children,  representing  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  arc  accustomed  to  carry  their 
children  about  until  they  are  old  enough  to 
walk.  The  women  are  bright  and  intelligent, 
and  are  Hnely  formed  In  every  limb ;  the  children 
are  entirely  nude,  and  naturally  merry  and 
healthy.  The  third  picture,  in  the  centre  of  the 
page,  represents  a  California  senorita,  whose 
contact  or  intercourse  with  the  whites  has  taught 
her  to  dress  somewhat  better  than  the  less  civil- 
ized of  her  people,  and  also  we  fear  has  taught 
her  as  well,  many  of  the  vices  of  the  whites. 
She  is  smoking  her  cigar  with  unmistakeable 
satisfaction  and  perfect  complacency.  The  next 
picture  to  the  top  and  right  of  the  page  is  that  of 
a  California  vaquero,  or  hunter.  He  is  more 
fond  of  the  lasso  than  gold-digging,  and  is  half 
Indian,  half  Spaniard.  As  a  horseman,  he  has 
no  superiors,  and  it  is  mounted  that  he  operates 
with  such  sure  effect  against  the  wild  animals. 
The  sport  of  "  lassoing"  wild  bulls  and  other 
cattle  is  highly  exciting,  and  one  of  which  all 
Spanish  Americans  are  passionately  fond.  To 
catch  the  animal  by  his  horns  or  neck  requires 
much  skill,  yet  to  seize  him  with  certainty  by 
the  leg,  when  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  requires 
greater  practice  and  dexterity.  The  "  reata  "  is 
made  of  braided  thongs,  cut  out  of  green  hide. 
Its  end  is  wound  round  the  knob  of  the.  saddle, 
and  before  thrown,  is  swung  repeatedly  round 
the  head,  to  give  it  the  greatest  force  and  preci- 
sion of  aim.  The  horses  are  taught  to  lean 
back  when  checked,  so  as  to  resist  the  shock, 
and  keep  the  "reata"  tightly  drawn  after  the 
animal  is  overthrown.  The  last  picture  repre- 
sents a  Chinese  gold  liunter.  Tlie  pioneer  Ce- 
lestial miners  made  their  appearance  in  the 
mountain  gorges  and  on  the  river  bars  of  Cali- 
fornia early  in  1849,  and  ever  since  that  time 
they  have  been  steadily  increasing  in  numbers 
until  they  have  now  overrun  the  whole  mining 
country.  They  are  industrious,  frugal,  peaceable 
and  temperate;  and  ai'C  willing  to  take  up  aban- 
doned chiinis.  They 
are  generally  quite  in- 
offensive, and  as  they 
molest  no  one  are  not 
looked  upon  as  intru- 
ders.— While  upon 
this  theme  we  are  led 
to  recall  the  wonder- 
ful incentive  that  has 
peopled  California 
in  an  incrcdiblj' 
short  period  of  time 
with  so  dense  a  pop- 
ulation— gold,  gold. 
A  few  words  relative 
to  this  metal  geolog- 
ically considered, 
will  be  perhaps  in- 
teresting to  tlic  read- 
er. Gold  is  the  only 
metal  which  has  a 
yellow  color — aciiar- 
acter  by  which  it  is 
at  once  di-tinguir.hcd 
from  all  other  timplc 
metallic  bodies.  It 
is  the  most  malleable 
of  the  metals.  It  is 
exceedingly  soft  and 
flexible,  but  its  te- 
nacity is  sufficiently 
great  to  sustain,  in 
a  wire  one  tenth  of 
an  inch  in  diameter,  500  pounds  weight  without 
breaking.  It^  specitic  gravity  is  19.3.  In  hard- 
ness it  is  above  lead  and  tin,  but  inferior  to  iron, 
copper,  platina  and  silver.  Its  lustre  does  not 
equal  that  of  steel,  platina  or  silver,  but  it  sur- 
passes the  other  metals  in  this  respect.  It  may 
be  exposed  for  any  length  of  time  to  the  atmos- 
phere, without  sufferint;  the  least  change.  It  is 
also  equally  unalterable  in  the  common  tire;  but 
on  being  exposed  to  powerful  burning  mirrors, 
or  to  the  heat  of  the  oxy-hydrogcn  blowpipe,  it 
melts,  and  even  rises  in  vapor.  Gold  is  not  oxi- 
dized or  dissolved  by  any  of  the  pure  acids.  Its 
only  solvents  are  chlorine  and  nitro-muriatic 
acid;  and,  according  to  Sir  Humphrey  Davy, 
the  chlorine  is  the  agent  in  both  cases,  since  the 
uitro-muriatic  acid  docs  not  dissolve  gold,  ex- 
cept when  it  gives  rise  to  the  formation  of  chlo- 
rine. It  is  to  be  infen'ed,  therefore,  that  the 
chlorine  unites  directly  with  the  gold,  and  that 
the  compound  formed  is  a  chloride  of  gold. 
There  is  no  inconvenience,  however,  in  regard- 
ing it  as  a  muriate;  since  re-agents  act  upon  it 
as  if  it  were  such.  The  gold  is  precipitated 
from  its  solvent  by  a  great  number  of  substances. 
Lime  and  magnesia  precipitate  it  in  the  form  of 
a  yellowish  powder.  Alkalies  exhibit  the  same 
appearance ;  but  an  excess  of  alkali  re-dissolves 
the  precipitate.  The  precipitate  of  gold  obtain- 
ed by  a  fixed  alkali,  appears  to  be  a  true  oxide, 
and  is  soluble  in  the  sulphuric,  nitric  and  muri- 
atic acids  ;  from  which,  however,  it  separates  by 
standing.  Gallic  acid  precipitates  gold  of  a  red- 
dish color,  and  very  soluble  in  nitric  acid,  to 
which  it  communicates  a  fine  blue  color.  Am- 
monia precipitates  the  solution  of  gold  much 
more  readily  than  fixed  alkalies.  This  precipi- 
tate, which  is  of  a  yellowish  brown  color,  pos- 
sesses the  property  of  detonating  with  a  very 
considerable  noise,  when  greatly  heated.  It  is 
known  by  the  name  of  fulmimtjnfj  f/okl.  Most 
metallic  substances  precipitate  gold  from  its  so- 
lurion  in  nitro  muriatic  acid.  Lead,  iron  and 
silver  precipitate  it  of  a  deep  and  dull  purple 
color ;  copper  and  iron  throw  it  down  in  its  me- 
tallic state.  A  plate  of  tin  immersed  in  a  solu- 
tion of  gold,  aftbrds  a  purple  powder,  called  the 


A   GALIFORNtA  SENORITA, 


purple  powder  of  Cassius,  which  is  used  to  paint 
in  enamel.  Ether,  naphtha  and  essential  oils 
take  gold  from  its  solvent,  and  form  liquors, 
which  have  been  called  potable  gold.  The  gold 
which  is  precipitated  on  the  evaporation  of  these 
fluids,  or  by  the  addition  of  sulphate  of  iron  to 
the  solution  of  gold,  is  of  the  utmost  purity. 
The  principal  use  of  gold,  as  is  well  known,  is 
in  coinage.  It  has  been  with  mankind,  from 
time  immemorial,  the  representative  sign  of  ev- 
ery species  of  pi'operty.  Even  before  the  art  of 
coining  was  invented,  it  passed  for  money  in  the 
condition  in  which  it  was  found  in  the  earth ; 
and  in  this  form  it  still  enjoys  a  currency  in 
many  parts  of  Africa.  It  is  rarely  employed  in 
a  state  of  perfect  purity,  but  is  almost  universally 
alloyed  with  copper,  or  with  silver,  to  increase 
its  hardness.  The  alloy  of  gold  and  silver  is 
found  already  formed  in  nature,  and  is  that  most 
generally  known.  It  is  distinguishable  from  that 
of  copper,  by  possessing  a  paler  yellow  than  pure 
gold,  while  the  copper  alloy  has  a  color  border- 
ing upon  reddish  yellow.  A  variety  of  means 
are  employed  to  judge  of  the  quality  of  alloys, 
supposed  to  consist  in  part,  or  principally,  of 
gold,  without  resorting  to  a  regular  analysis. 
The  most  common  of  these  consists  in  the  use  of 
the  touchstone.  A  mark  is  made  upon  t!ie  stone 
with  the  alloy,  upon  wdiich  a  drop  of  nitric  acid 
is  placed  by  means  of  a  feather;  if  the  metallic 
streak  disappears,  the  alloy  is  destitute  of  gold; 
if  visible  only  in  little  points,  at  distant  intervals, 
it  indicates  a  small  proportion  of  this  metal ; 
whereas,  if  the  continuity  and  density  of  the 
mark  remain  unl)roken,  it  evinces  that  the  piece 
on  trial  is  pure  gold.  This  test  is  obviously 
founded  upon  the  property  possessed  by  gold  of 
being  insoluble  in  nitric  acid,  while  silver,  cop- 
per, and  their  alloys,  with  zinc,  are  instantly 
taken  up  by  this  solvent.  It  requires,  however, 
much  practice  to  determine,  with  any  consider- 
able degree  of  precision,  the  amount  of  gold 
present  in  alloys  by  means  of  this  test.  The 
trial  of  specific  gravity  is  another  mode  of  ascer- 
taining the  proportion  of  gold  in  alloys  ;  and  it 
was  in  this  manner  tiiat  Archimedes  detected 
the  amount  of  silver 
in  a  crown  which 
was  to  have  been 
made  of  pure  gold 
for  Hiero,  king  of 
Syracuse.  But  this 
method  only  gives 
approximations, 
since  certain  alloys 
are  more,  and  others 
less  dense,  than  the 
mean  density  of  the 
metals  which  com- 
pose them.  In  the 
coining  of  gold, 
where  it  is  necessary 
to  he  assured  of  the 
purity  of  the  metal, 
the  trials  just  men- 
tioned are  never 
adopted.  If  the  gold 
to  be  made  use  of 
appears  to  contain 
copper — which  is  in- 
ferred from  its  red- 
dish tinge — it  is 
made  to  undergo  cu- 
pellation  with  a  giv- 
en quantity  of  pure 
lead;  by  which 
means  the  copper 
quits  its  union  with 
the  gold,  and  unites 
with  the  lead,  leaving  the  former  by  itself,  and, 
in  this  way,  the  proportion  of  gold  in  the  alloy 
is  ascertained.  If  silver  is  presumed  to  be  the 
alloying  metal,  the  operation  consists  in  melting 
the  alloy  with  three  times  its  weight  of  silver, 
rolling  the  compound  into  thin  sheets,  forming 
these  into  coils,  and  plunging  them  into  nitric 
acid,  slightly  diluted  :  the  silver  is 
promptly  dissolved,  while  the  gold  re- 
mains unaffected.  Boyle  has  observed 
that  a  grain  of  gold,  reduced  to  leaves, 
will  cover  a  sniface  of  fifty  square  inch- 
es ;  that  each  one  of  these  square  inches 
may  be  divided  into  46,G5G  other  little 
squares,  and  that,  of  course,  the  entire 
amount  of  surface  derived  from  one 
grain  of  gold  is  capable  of  being  divided 
into  2,322,800  parts,  each  of  which  is 
visible  to  the  naked  eye.  Native  gold 
exists  in  veins  in  primitive  mountains, 
but  not  in  the  greatest  quantity  in  those 
wliich  arc  esteemed,  to  be  of  the  oldest, 
formation.  Its  immediate  gangue  is 
generally  quartz ;  and  it  is  associated 
with  the  ores  of  silver,  sulphuret  of  iron, 
lead,  nickel,  copper,  etc.  It  is  often  so 
minutely  disseminated,  that  its  pres- 
ence is  detected  only  by  pounding  and 
washing  the  rocks  in  which  it  exists. 
But  native  gold  is  more  often  found  in 
the  sand  of  rivers,  in  valleys  and  plains, 
into  which  it  has  been  carried,  from  its 
oritrinal  repositories,  in  the  shape  of 
larger  or  smaller,  generally  fiat  pebbles, 
mingled  with  quartz.  The  mountain  of 
Vorospatak,  near  Abrudbanya,  in  Tran- 
sylvania, is  a  remarkable  instance  of  a 
rock  impregnated  throughout  with  a 
small   portion   of    gold.      It  has    been  ~ 

worked  to  a  considerable  extent  since 
the  time  of  the  Romans ;  it  consists  of 
greywacke  and  porphyry.  In  a  similar 
rock  it  is  found  in  many  places  along  the 
chain  of  the  Alps,  and  in  the  Schlangen- 
berg  in  Siberia.  But  the  greatest  quan- 
tity of  gold  is  obtained  from  the  alluvial 
soils  of  several   islands   in   the   Indian 


ocean,  from  the  southern,  middle  and  western 
parts  of  Africa,  and  from  Brazil,  Mexico  and 
Peru.  The  sands  of  several  European  rivers, 
also,  as  the  Danube,  the  Rhine  and  the  Rhone, 
afford  small  quantities  of  gold;  and,  within  a 
few  years,  the  rivers  of  California  have  been 
found  to  yield  abundantly  of  the  precious  metal. 
The  mines  of  North  Carolina  have  furnished  lu- 
crative diggings,  chiefly  in  the  counties  of  Meck- 
leuberg  and  Cabarras ;  in  the  latter,  a  single 
lump  of  gold  was  found  weighing  twenty-eight 
pounds.  The  gold  is  not  wholly  obtained  from 
alluvion  in  these  districts,  but  is  occasionally 
pursued  in  the  quartz  rock,  wln<-h  abounds  with 


A    CALIFOENIAN    VAQUERO. 

cavities,  often  partly  filled  with  decomposed  iron 
pyrites.  Huinboldt  estimates  the  average  pro- 
duct of  gold  per  year  of  South  America  and 
New  Spain,  at  nearly  ©11,000,000;  while  Eu- 
rope furnishes  annually  about  one  twelfth  this 
amount,  the  greater  part  of  which  comes  from 
the  mines  of  Huugaiy.  The  largest  amount  of 
gold  from  Georgia  and  Carolina,  coined  in  any 
one  year,  has  been  about  8320,000.  The  metal- 
lurgic  treatment  of  the  ores  of  gold,  where  the 
gold  is  free,  consists  in  submitting  them  to  the 
contact  of  mercury  after  they  have  been  crushed 
and  rendered  fine  by  washing.  The  levigated 
ore  and  the  mercury  are  agitated  together,  until 
it  is  conceived  that  the  amalgamation  is  perfect, 
when  the  compound  is  exposed  to  a  heat  suffi- 
ciently intense  to  volatilize  the  mercury,  winch 
is  condensed,  and  recovered  for  successive  opera- 
tions. Wlien  gold  occurs  intimately  mingled, 
with  iron  pyrites,  the  process  differs  from  that 
described  above,  only  in  that  it  is  necessary  to 
roast  the  ore,  in  order  to  pulverize  it  sufficiently 
to  set  it  at  liberty.  Much  more  might  be  given 
while  on  this  subject,  but  our  readers  will  find 
abundant  information  in  almost  every  work  that 
treats  of  the  precious  metals. 


A    CHINAMAN    EN    ItODTE    FOR    THE    MINES. 


278 


GLEASON'S   riCTOrJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gloiison'H  I'lctorinl.] 
THE  HOURS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

liy  K.  CUKTISS  niNB,  U.   B.   N. 

The  iiK-mory  of  our  cliHdhood  hours 

TcniictouH  clinss  nround  the  heart, 
Afi  wrctLtliH  of  fnishly-gathi;rcil  Howura 

HefiiHc  from  hi.'auty'H  brow  to  piirt; 
TUou)^h  ctiro  itnd  grief  should  rutiiluH9  seize, 

And  toiir  the  fmgrant  leavps  away, 
As  autumn  strips  tlie  forest  trccfl, 

The  hardy  flowerets  yot  will  stay. 

Thoy  Ktiiy  to  sront  our  wintry  diiyH, 

Wlirn  aH  on  earth  beside  has  fled  ; 
As  oft  the  rose  its  form  displays 

Above  the  spot  where  reata  the  dead  ; 
And  e'en  amid  the  battle's  din, 

When  swiftly  bolts  of  vengeance  fly, 
As  tovard  some  planet  stooped  in  sin. 

Wild  meteors  cleuTe  the  midnight  sky — 

The  memory  of  our  childhood's  hours 

Still  lingers  round  to  shield  tin  heart ; 
When  stem  Misfortune  frowning  lowers, 

And  shakes  on  high  his  burnished  dart ; 
Like  stniin  that  wakes  us  from  our  sleep, 

When  sweetly  o'er  ^'Eolian  string 
The  midnight  breezes  softly  creep. 

It  fans  us  with  an  angel's  wlog. 


[Written  for  Gleasou'a  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  VIII. 
THE  THKONE. 

BY  Dll.  JEROME  V.  C.  SMITH, 

AUTHOR    OP    A     "PILaEIMAOE    TO    EQTPT." 

The  A'ast  enclosure  of  the  Seraglio  may  be 
entered  from  several  points,  but  there  is  one 
which  actually  gives  name  to  the  empire.  A 
lofty  gateway,  arched  overhead  with  an  Arabic 
inscripEion,  is  called,  by  way  of  distinction,  the 
Porte,  on  account  of  its  supeiior  workmanship, 
as  well  as  from  the  circumstance  that  it  gives 
passage  through  a  massive  pavilion,  towards  the 
harem,  or  the  concealed.  It  is  in  a  charming  po- 
sition, on  a  rise  of  land  favorable  for  an  impos- 
ing effect. 

Passing  over  an  extensive  parade  lined  with 
sentry  boxes  and  various  accommodations  for  a 
multitude  of  watchmen,  porters  and  soldiers,  I 
am  unable  to  recollect  how  many  smaller  arches 
we  passed  under  before  arriving  at  a  building 
containing  the  imperial  divan  or  throne.  It  is 
on  the  first  floor,  not  more  than  twenty  feet 
square,  and  accessible  by  two  doors. 

In  one  corner  there  is  a  dark,  wooden  box,  of 
the  dimensions  of  an  ordinary  double  bedstead. 
It  precisely  fits  against  the  wall  on  two  sides; 
at  the  lower  corner,  which,  of  course,  juts  out  to- 
wards the  middle  of  the  room,  is  a  high  post. 
As  a  whole,  this  apparatus  is  like  a  bedstead 
pushed  into  one  corner,  with  one  single  post. 
Overhead  is  the  tester,  supported  in  part  on  the 
one  post,  and  in  other  directions  against  the  wall. 

A  singular  taste,  quite  barbaric,  is  shown  in 
the  manner  of  ornamenting  that  solitary  pillar. 
From  top  to  bottom  it  is  thickly  covered  with 
precious  stones  and  gems,  of  mimense  value. 
They  are  of  all  sizes  and  shapes,  just  as  nature 
allowed  them  to  leave  her  workshop,  without  be- 
ing ground,  polished  or  symmetrically  shapcn. 
Metallic  sockets  of  gold  are  sunk  into  the  wood, 
and  into  them  the  stones  are  set,  saving  their 
best  faces  for  the  exterior  show.  I  noticed  that 
several  of  them  were  empty.  Whether  the  gems 
had  been  taken  out  purposely,  or  had  dropped 
out,  was  not  ascertained. 

On  that  box,  rieli  cushions  were  thrown  ;  and 
when  an  audience  was  to  be  given  to  an  ambas- 
sador, the  Sultan  being  seated  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  permitted  an  entrance,  embarrassed  with 
fatiguing  ceremonies. 

The  indignities  the  Sulians  were  in  the  habit 
of  heaping  u))on  the  ministers  of  European  king- 
doms, till  wiiliin  the  last  fifiy  years,  were  of  the 
most  humilialing  character.  Being  led  in  at  one 
door  by  the  grand  vizier  and  other  ministers  of 
the  divan,  the  envoy  wad  compelled  to  assume 
the  attitude  of  ahject  obeisance,  amountin"-  al- 
most to  an  appearance  of  adoration.  The  busi- 
ness was  announced,  without  raising  his  eyes 
to  the  resplendent  throne  tliat  bore  ilic  self  styled 
Shadow  of  God.  An  interpreter  explained  it  in 
Turkisli,  when  the  Sultan,  in  the  haughtiest  tone 
of  sovereignty  that  a  despot  ever  assumes,  gave 
a  decision,  and  the  humble  mcssengerof  a  Cliris- 
tian  emperor  was  slowly  backed  out  at  the  oppo- 
site door. 

Standing  precisely  where  those  degrading  cere- 


monies were  conducted  over  and  over  again,  it 
appeared  that  not  more  than  six  personrf  couUl 
coniforlultly  stand  at  the  foot  of  the  linonc,  at 
the  same  moment. 

Singular  as  it  now  appears  in  this  advanced 
period  of  civilization,  the  Sultan  often  sent  for- 
eign legations  to  jirison.  Acliillc  dc  Ilarlcy,  in 
1612,  after  being  grossly  insulted  by  Arlimet  I, 
was  threatened  with  torture!  In  1660,  Sultan 
Ibrahim  actually  sent  a  French  amba8.sador  to 
the  Seven  Towers.  It  is  my  imprcs.sion  that 
the  old  state  apartments  in  the  Seraglio  have 
been  neglected  since  Sultan  Medjid's  inaugura- 
tion. An  air  of  abandonment  ^was  perceptible 
about  the  throne,  that  led  to  this  conclusion. 

In  the  new  palace,  which  is  now  being  com- 
pleted on  the  Pera  side  of  the  Bosphorus,  far  su- 
perior to  most  of  the  royal  ])alaccs  of  Europe, 
there  arc  undoubtedly  some  more  modern  apart- 
ments for  state  ctfect  and  receptions,  in  accord- 
ance with  an  improved  taste,  which  must  have 
been  imbibed  fiom  intercourse  with  foreigners, 
who  have  introduced  the  arts  and  the  architec- 
tural refinements  of  modern  times.  The  exterior 
of  the  palace  is  extremely  imposing,  and  far 
transcends  in  beauty  and  grandeur  every  other 
edifice  in  Constantinople.  Some  of  the  great 
mosques  arc  massive,  huge  constructions,  but 
they  command  no  admiration  from  a  cultivated 
mind,  beyond  that  of  astonishment  that  brick, 
wood  and  stone  should  ever  have  assumed  such 
singular  forms.  To  the  credit  of  the  improved 
views  of  the  Sultan,  the  new  palace  is  not  hidden 
from  human  eyes  by  high  walls.  It  is  all  open 
in  front  towards  the  Bosphorus,  with  no  obstacle 
to  conceal  a  single  beauty,  or  mar  one  of  its 
classical  proportions. 

This  is  an  immense  stride  in  civilization, 
therefore,  that  a  costly  palace,  mainly  designed 
for  the  accommodation,  security  and  seclusion 
of  females,  should  be  left  open  for  the  gaze  of 
all  eyes  ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  prognostics  of  a  still 
greater  change  that  is  gradually  and  irresistibly 
coming  over  the  whole  nation. 

A  more  frequent  and  necessary  intercourse 
with  Europe  and  America,  must  have  an  influ- 
ence on  the  habits,  customs  and  peculiarities  of 
the  people.  Even  Mahommedanism,  with  its 
doctrines  of  fatalism  and  polygamy,  whieli  denies 
one  half  of  the  population  of  countries  professing 
»hc  faith  of  the  Koran,  all  civil  rights,  is  des- 
tined to  give  way  to  a  purer  and  more  elevated 
hope,  based  on  the  progressive  march  of  Chris- 
tianity. 

METKOPOLITAN    MOSQUES. 

As  no  one  can  gain  admission  to  the  interior 
of  the  Sultan's  residence,  while  himself  and  fam- 
ily are  within,  no  account  can  be  given  of  the 
character  of  the  furniture,  the  decorations,  or,  in 
fact,  gain  any  reliable  information  in  regard  to 
them,  beyond  what  may  be  gleaned  from  timid 
servants,  who  run  the  risk  of  losing  their  head  for 
a  piastre,  whenever  they  divulge  a  secret. 

I  have  seen  many  edifices  erected  at  different 
epochs  in  Turkish  history,  but  that  which  was 
occupied  a  little  time  by  Mahmoud  ]I,  on  the 
Bosphorus,  is  the  best  of  all.  It  is  not  far 
north  from  the  new  one  now  constructing,  and 
is  the  present  residence  of  Sultan  Medjid.  Some 
of  the  pillars,  of  beautiful  marble,  fluted,  the 
splendid  iron  gates,  superb  lamps,  rich  displays 
in  the  finish  of  the  windows,  doors,  marble  steps, 
and  various  other  outside  shows  of  unlimited  re- 
sources, amply  compensates  the  traveller  for  re- 
connoitering  it  in  a  boat.  We  were  told  that 
the  Sultan,  and  perhaps  the  ladies  of  the  harem, 
were  watching  us  closely,  and  speculating  on 
our  long-tailed  coats,  and  laughing  at  our  high 
hat  crowns  behind  the  latticed  windows,  while 
we  were  contemplating  the  elegances  of  imperial 
accommodaiions. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  mosques  were  opened 
to  us  by  the  firman,  and  we  therefore  visited 
those  most  remarkable  for  age,  sanctity  and 
splendor. 

St.  Sophia  is  a  monster  in  size.  Constantine 
the  Great  was  excessively  proud  of  it.  He  melt- 
ed down  a  silver  statue  of  Theodosius,  that 
weighed  7400  pounds,  to  complete  the  work. 
Five  years  and  eleven  months  were  consumed  in 
the  construction.  The  ground  plot  is  a  Greek 
cross,  in  a  square  243  feet  by  269.  An  arched 
dome,  180  feet  aliove  the  floor,  sustained  on  four 
enormous  arches,  admits  a  strong  light  from 
above.  It  did  not  strike  me  as  beautiful,  but 
massive.  No  two  arches  in  the  building  are  seg- 
ments of  the  same  circle.  Some  of  them  in  the 
partitions,  over  doors,  were  singularly  warped, 
if  they  ever  had  any  symmetry.  There  arc  184 
pillars  to  sustain  the  weight  inside.     Eight  of 


them  arc  porphyry,  excessively  hard  to  cut,  once 
in  the  Temple  of  the  Sun,  at  Home,  and  six  of 
green  ja-;per,  wrenched  from  the  Temple  of 
Diana,  at  Ephcsus.  Two  of  the  porphyry  col- 
umns have  been  cracked  and  otherwise  injured, 
probably  by  a  fire,  that  nearly  destroyed  the  whole 
fabric  soon  after  its  completion.  They  arc  now 
held  together  by  strong  iron  hoops.  One  of  the 
arches  sustaining  tlic  dome  has  settled  consider- 
ably, and  I  fear  the  vast  skylight  may  sudekniy 
fall  in  when  least  expected. 

Of  course,  no  idea  is  entertained  of  describing 
St.  Sophia  with  minuteness.  A  building  that 
has  withstood  the  assaults  of  time  since  the  third 
century,  is  venerable,  and  that  accounts  for  va- 
rious admeasurements  and  historical  accounts, 
which  abound  in  the  diaries  of  Eastern  travellers. 
When  wo  entered,  a  Moslem  priest  wiis  sitting 
flat  on  the  pulpit  floor,  cross-legged.  That  sen- 
try box  of  the  clergy  was  of  white  pine,  ascended 
by  a  considerably  long  flight  of  steps,  and  the 
whole  was  moveable.  In  front  of  him  sat  an 
attentive  congregation  of  men  and  women,  also 
on  the  floor,  the  males  one  side,  and  the  females 
— all  enveloped  in  white  sheets  and  veiled,  lis- 
tening as  though  deeply  interested  in  the  dis- 
course— on  the  other.  St.  Sophia  being  built 
without  reference  to  facing  Mecca — it  being  orig- 
inally a  Christian  Church — long  strips  of  car- 
peting were  spread  diagonally,  producing  a  lu- 
dicrous effect;  but  it  was  of  grave  importance  to 
the  prayerful  audience  to  know  the  exact  bearing 
of  that  holy  city,  in  order  to  face  it  in  their  de- 
votions. 

When  the  expounder  of  the  Koran  had  brought 
his  loud,  earnest  discourse  to  an  end,  he  came 
down  with  a  small  dish  in  his  hand,  which  he 
presented  to  the  people  for  backsheish. 

Thus  he  raised  his  salary  as  he  rendered  ser- 
vice, and  when  he  finished  entirely,  an  idiotic 
boy  or  girl — I  could  not  decide  which — made  his 
appearance  in  the  passage  way  between  the  two 
sexes,  which  the  women,  particularly,  appeared 
to  enjoy  exceedingly.  He  sang,  and  in  some 
very  indefinable  and  mysterious  manner,  seemed 
to  fascinate  them  all,  as  they  gathered  round 
and  paid  something  to  him,  as  an  earnest  of  their 
satisfaction.  Overhead  I  could  discern,  distinct- 
ly, some  excellent  paintings  that  the  Turks  had 
endeavored  to  conceal,  by  daubing  them  over 
with  a  thin  coat.  The  great  seraphim  in  the 
angles,  under  the  dome,  have  had  sad  work 
made  of  their  faces,  to  get  rid  of  their  fascina- 
tions, but  still  they  remain,  without  any  pros- 
pect of  obliteration,  smiling  with  lieavenly 
sweetness. 

It  is  a  subject  of  historical  interest  with  refer- 
ence to  the  condition  of  the  arts,  and  the  actual 
religious  feeling  of  the  age  among  Christians,  to 
present  some  of  the  following  facts  in  relation  to 
this  vast  Christian  edifice,  now  desecrated  to 
Moslem  service. 

St.  Sophia  was  reared  in  the  year  325,  and 
therefore  is  an  ancient  temple — the  boast  of  the 
Byzantine  city.  One  hundred  architects,  says 
tradition,  superintended  the  work  ;  five  thousand 
masons  were  employed  on  one  side,  and  an  equal 
number  on  the  other.  All  the  mortar  was  mixed 
in  barley  water,  and  the  foundation  walls  ce- 
mented with  mastic  and  lime.  The  walls  had 
reached  but  six  feet,  when  it  was  ascertained 
that  452  pounds  weight  of  gold  had  been  ex- 
pended. Within,  the  length  is  269  feet,  and  the 
breadth  143.  The  great  cupola  is  pierced  by  24 
windows.  Arabic  inscriptions  are  variously  in- 
troduced to  raise  up  devotional  feeling  in  the 
breasts  of  the  turbaned  worshippers.  Granite 
columns  from  Egypt,  twenty-four  in  all,  eight  of 
green  marble,  besides  quite  a  forest  of  all  others, 
baffle  description. 

Riches  glittered  in  the  temple  at  every  point, 
on  the  day  of  its  first  consecration.  A  golden 
cupola  with  lilies,  and  a  golden  cross  of  massive 
weight,  adorned  with  costly  gems,  was  but  a 
small  part  of  the  wealth  within.  Golden  vessels 
of  all  sorts  for  celebrating  the  twelve  great  an- 
nual church  feasts,  were  42,600  in  number. 
Twenty-four  huge  volumes — the  evangelists — 
each  having  golden  covers,  and  candclabras,  also 
of  gold,  two  of  which  weighed  111  pounds,  be- 
sides seven  crosses  of  pure  gold,  weighing  one 
hundred  pounds  each,  gives  an  idea  of  tlie  con- 
centration of  riches,  and  the  resources  of  the 
emperor  at  that  early  period  in  the  progress  of 
Christianity.  When  the  Mahommcdans  took 
possession  of  this  very  famous  structure,  they 
speedily  remodelled  some  parts  of  it,  built  up  its 
minarets  and  purged  it  of  Christian  uncleanness. 
Murad  the  IVth  put  in  the  permanent  pulpit,  on 
each  side  of  which  are   two  enormously  large 


candles,  to  light  %\hich,  the  servant  is  obliged  to 
ascend  on  a  ladder.  In  several  mopques,  they 
are  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet 
high. 

Notwithstanding  the  glowing  descriptions  of 
visitors,  and  the  details  of  professed  architects, 
in  connection  wiijj  all  the  historical  associations 
with  which  St.  Sophia  is  connected,  I  did  not 
regard  it  as  much  of  a  wonder  Perhaps  a  fa- 
miliar acquaintance  with  the  great  ruins  of 
Egypt  had  a  counteracting  influence  on  my 
mind.  Had  St.  SojiJiia  been  seen  first,  perhaps 
my  astonishment  might  have  been  greater,  and 
more  surprising.  I  fully  expect  that  the  dome 
will  by-and-by  fall,  and  then  the  whole  mass 
will  go  lo  ruin. 

Of  the  so  called  twenty-four  first  class  mosques, 
a  ^tiw  hold  a  distinguished  pre-eminence  on  ac- 
count of  their  architecture,  wealth,  and  the  names 
of  those  by  whom  they  were  erected.  Among 
some  of  those  I  visited  belonging  to  that  denom- 
ination, the  following  is  quite  remarkable  for  its 
beautiful  proportions. 

so  LYMAN. 

By  way  of  eminence,  this  is  called  the  Mosque 
of  Solyman,  the  Magnificent — whom  the  Turks 
speak  of  as  Kanuni,  or  institutor.  He  was  con- 
temporary with  Henry  VIII,  Edward  VI,  and 
Queens  Mary  and  Elizabeth,  having  ascended 
the  throne  in  1520  and  leaving  it  in  15G6, 

The  mosejue  was  five  years  in  building,  and 
bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  St.  Sophia.  Pil- 
lars, tiles,  floors,  windows,  a  magnificent  dome, 
and  its  various  properties,  conspire  to  make  the 
Solyman  a  proud  monument  of  Turkish  skill, 
wealth  and  piety.  Columns,  arches,  enormous 
wax  candles,  ten  feet  tall,  candclabras,  etc.,  are 
in  keeping.  The  minarets  are  slender,  but  the 
proportions  admirably  maintained.  An  unfor- 
tunate carpenter  sent  up  to  repair  one  of  them,  a 
few  days  before  I  examined  them,  pitched  over 
the  slender  railing,  fell  to  the  ground,  and  died 
instantly. 

When  all  the  minarets  are  manned  with  muez- 
zins, at  the  hours  of  prayer,  calling  with  uniteel 
voices  for  the  faithful  to  commence  their  devo- 
tions, the  effect  is  extraordinary.  Not  a  bell 
ever  rings,  and  the  shrill  voices  of  those  ener- 
getic servants,  fifty  feet  in  the  air,  who  sing  out 
their  commands  in  a  recitative,  is  musically  sol- 
emn. At  Cairo — very  compact,  compared  with 
Constantinople — four  hundred  lubberly  bawling 
fellows  wake  the  hardest  sleepers  at  morning  call. 

In  Egypt  the  muezzins  are  blind,  usually;  and 
men  without  eyes  are  preferred  there,  because 
they  cannot  look  down  into  the  yards  and  see 
what  the  females  are  doing.  In  villages,  through- 
out Turkey,  a  similar  precaution  leads  to  the 
employment  of  the  blind  for  that  important  func- 
tion. They  did  not  appear  to  be  blind  in  the 
capital,  as  far  as  I  observed.  They  were  pretty 
warmly  dressed,  advanced  to  middle  life,  and 
held  their  hands  as  though  they  were  afraid  of 
having  the  drums  of  their  ears  cracked  with  their 
own  voices. 
[See  engraving  of  Muezzin  calling  to  Prayers,  page  288.] 

Two  of  the  four  pillars  which  sustain  the  great; 
dome,  were  once  devoted  lo  another  purpose,  in 
the  ancient  history  of  the  city.  One  of  them 
bore  the  statue  of  Venus,  and  the  other  that  cf 
Justinian,  on  the  Augustean.  It  is  supposed 
that  the  others  had  originally  upon  them  the 
statues  of  Theodora  and  Eudoxia. 

Reading-stands  for  holding  copies  of  the  Ko- 
ran are  occasionally  noticed,  like  the  letter  X, 
made  of  two  pieces  of  board,  from  a  foot  to  two 
in  width,  variously  inlaid  with  pearl  and  other 
precious  things,  according  to  the  place  and  cir- 
cumstances of  its  location.  Devout  readers, 
writers,  and  indeed  every  person,  high  or  low, 
who  has  anything  to  do  with  pens  or  books,  sits 
on  the  floor.  When  reading  the  Koran,  it  is 
rarely  taken  from  the  stool — the  reader  turning 
the  leaves  as  they  are  completed. 

Whenever  I  have  seen  a  man  reading  in  the 
mosques,  it  was  generally  near  some  window,  in 
a  corner.  Without  the  least  regard  to  the  com- 
fort of  others,  they  kept  a  continual  see  sawing, 
while  their  voices  were  raised  to  an  annoying 
pitch  to  every  one  within  hearing. 

In  rooms  over  the  vaults  of  the  Sultans  and 
their  families,  there  are  sarcophagi — wooden 
boxes,  raised  three  and  four  feet,  directly  over  the 
graves  of  each,  covered  usually  with  cashmcio 
shawls — a  rich  turban  at  the  head  indicating  the 
sex  and  condition  of  the  person  beneath.  Im- 
mensel"  large  canellcs  in  candlesticks  chained  lo 
the  floor  and  numerous  copies  of  the  Koran  aio 
resting  on  saw-horse  stools,  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  all  good  Mussulmcn  visitors. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


279 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictoriiil.] 
FAREWELL. 

BY  MBS.   n.   MARION    STEPHENS. 

Farewell '.  farewell  for  aye  ! 
Not  when  my  heart  is  aching  'neath  the  weight 

Of  utter  loneliness— not  when  the  knell 
Of  dying  hope  comes  with  its  bitter  freight 

Of  wordless  agony  and  woe,  to  tell 
How  giimt  pnEsiODS,  kindled  into  life, 
Have  drooped  and  perished  'neath  the  world's  cold  strife ; 
Not  in  such  scenes  of  tumult  and  unrest, 
Shall  thoughts  of  thee  commingle  in  my  breast. 

But  when  forgetfulness  her  watch  shall  keep. 

With  folded  wiog,  by  pas.sioQ's  turbid  shore  ; 
When  o'er  my  heart  sweet  memories  come  like  sleep, 

And  the  soul  dreams  its  strife  is  haply  o'er. 
Then  shall  the  past  gleam  out  a  ray  of  light  I 

A  fairy  isle  on  life's  tumultuous  sea! 
Like  stars  that  lit  the  wasting  soul's  dark  night, 

Shall  be  the  memories  that  still  cling  to  thee. 
Farewell  I  farewell  for  aye  I 

Those  memories  now  are  twining  round  my  heart, 

Binding  its  pulses  with  a  mighty  spell ; 
TelUng  how  hard  a  thing  it  is  to  part 

From  the  dear  treasure  it  has  loved  so  well, 
Tet  must  we  part !     I  may  perchance,  forget 
The  summer  friends  who  need  not  my  regret ; 
I  may  be  heedless  of  their  onward  lot, 
But  thou,  ah,  thou  canst  never  be  forgot  I 

Farewell!  the  last  farewell! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE    GREEN   CnAMBER: 

— OK — 

THE  MIDNIGHT  VISITOR. 

BY  FRANCIS  A.  DORIVAGE. 

In  my  younger  days,  "  ghost  stories  "  were  the 
most  popular  narratives  extant,  and  the  lady  or 
gentleman  wlio  could  recite  the  most  thrilling 
adventure,  involving  a  genuine  spiritual  visitant, 
was  sure  to  be  the  lion  or  lioness  of  tlie  evening 
party  he  enUveacd  {1)  with  the  dismal  details. 
The  elder  auditors  never  seemed  particularly 
horrified  or  terror  stricken,  however  much  grati- 
fied they  were,  but  the  younger  members  would 
drink  in  every  word,  "supping  full  of  horrors." 
After  listening  to  one  of  these  authentic  narra- 
tives, we  used  to  be  very  reluctant  to  retire  to 
our  dormitories,  and  never  ventured  to  get  into 
bed  till  we  had  examined  suspicious  looking 
closets,  old  wardrobes,  and,  indeed,  every  nook 
and  comer  that  might  be  supposed  to  harbor  a 
ghost  or  a  ghoul. 

Fortunately  for  the  rising  generation,  tlicse 
tales  have  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  though  some 
attempts  to  revive  the  taste  have  been  made — as 
in  the  ''  Night  Side  of  Nature  " — .such  efforts  have 
proved  deplorable  failures.  The  young  people 
of  to  day  make  light  of  ghosts.  The  spectres  in 
the  incantation  scene  of  "Der  Frcyschutz  "  arc 
received  with  roars  of  laughter,  and  even  the 
statue  in  Don  Giovanni  seems  "jolly,"  nothwith- 
standing  t!ic  illusive  music  of  Mozart.  We  were 
about  to  remark  that  the  age  had  outgrown  su- 
perstition, but  we  remembered  the  Rochester 
knorkings,  and  concluded  to  be  modestly  silent. 

One  evening,  many  years  since,  it  was  a  blus- 
tering December  evening,  llie  wind  howling  as  it 
dashed  the  old  buttonwood  limbs  in  its  fury 
against  the  parlor  windows  of  the  country  house 
where  a  few  of  us  were  assembled  to  pass  the 
winter  holidays,  we  gathered  before  a  roaring 
tire  of  walnut  and  oak,  which  made  everything 
within  doors  as  cheery  and  comfortable,  as  all 
without  was  desolate  and  drear}-.  The  window 
shutters  were  left  unfastened,  that  the  bright 
lamplight  and  ruddy  firelight  might  stream  afar 
upon  the  wintry  waste,  and  perhaps  guide  some 
benighted  wayfarer  to  a  hospitable  shelter. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  group, 
as  an}'  such  portrait  painting  would  not  be  ger- 
mane to  the  mutter  more  immediately  in  hand. 
SulHce  it  to  say,  that  one  of  the  youngitcrs  beg- 
ged Aunt  Deborah,  the  matron  of  the  mansion, 
to  tell  us  a  ghost  story — "a  real  ghost  story. 
Aunt  Deborah  " — for  in  those  days  wc  were  ter- 
ribly afraid  of  countevfcits,  and  hated  to  hear  a 
narrative  where  the  ghost  turned  out  in  the  end 
to  be  no  ghost  after  all,  but  a  mere  compound  of 
flesh  and  blood  like  ourselves. 

Aunt  Deborah  smiled  at  our  earnestness,  and 
tantalized  our  impatience  by  some  of  those  little 
arts,  with  wliich  the  praclised  story-teller  en- 
hances the  value  and  interest  of  her  narrative. 
She  tapped  her  silver  snuff-box,  opened  it  delib- 
erately, took  a  very  delicate  pinch  of  the  Lundy 
Foot,  shut  the  box,  replaced  it  in  her  pocket, 
folded  her  hands  before  her,  looked  round  a 
minute  on  the  expectant  group  and  then  began. 

I  shall  despair  of  imparting  to  this  cold  pen 


and  ink  record  of  her  story  the  inimitable  con- 
versational gr?ice  with  which  she  embellished  it. 
It  made  an  indelible  impression  on  my  memory, 
and  if  I  have  never  before  repeated  it,  it  was 
from  a  lurking  fear  that — though  the  old  lady 
assured  us  it  was  "  not  to  be  found  in  any  hook 
or  newspaper " — it  might  have  found  its  way 
into  print.  However,  as  twenty  years  have 
elapsed,  and  I  have  never  yet  met  with  it  in 
type,  I  will  venture  to  give  the  outlines  of  the 
narrative. 

Major  Kupert  Stanley,  a  "bold  dragoon*'  in 
the  service  of  his  majesty  Geoi-ge  HI.,  found 
himself,  one  dark  and  blustering  night  in  au- 
tumn, riding  towards  London  on  the  old  York 
road.  He  had  supped  with  a  friend,  who  lived 
at  a  village  some  distance  off  the  road,  and  he 
was  unfamiliar  with  the  country.  Though  not 
raining,  the  air  was  damp,  and  the  heavy,  sur- 
charged clouds  tlireatened  every  moment  to  pom- 
down  their  contents.  But  the  major,  though  a 
young  man,  was  an  old  campaigner;  and  with  a 
warm  cloak  wrapped  about  him,  and  a  good 
horse  under  him,  would  have  cared  very  little 
for  storm  and  darkness,  had  he  felt  sure  of  a 
pood  bed  for  liimself,  and  comfortable  quarters 
for  his  horse  wlien  he  had  ridden  far  enough  for 
the  strength  of  his  faithful  animal.  A  good 
horseman  cares  as  much  for  the  comfort  of  his 
steed  as  for  his  own  ease.  To  add  to  the  dis- 
comfort of  the  evening,  there  was  some  chance  of 
meeting  highwaymen  ;  but  Major  Stanley  fflt  no 
uneasiness  on  that  score,  as,  just  before  leaving 
his  friend's  house,  he  had  examined  his  holster- 
pistols,  and  freshly  primed  them.  A  brush  with 
a  highwayman  would  enhance  the  romance  of  a 
night  journey. 

So  he  jogged  along;  but  mile  after  miic  was 
passed,  and  no  twinkling  light  in  the  distance 
gave  notice  of  the  appearance  of  the  wished-for 
inn.  The  major's  horse  began  to  give  unmis- 
takeable  evidence  of  distress — stumbling  once  or 
twice,  and  recovering  himself  with  diiRculiy. 
At  last,  a  dim  light  suddenly  ajjpcared  at  a  turn 
of  the  road.  The  horse  pricked  up  his  ears,  and 
trotted  forward  with  spirit,  soon  halting  beside  a 
one-story  cottage.  The  major  was  dis.appointcd, 
but  he  rode  up  to  the  door  and  rapped  loudly 
with  the  butt  of  his  riding-whip.  The  summons 
brought  a  sleepy  cotter  to  the  door. 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  the  major,  "  can  you 
tell  me  how  far  it  is  to  the  next  inn  V 

"Eh!  it  be  about  zeven  mile,  zur,"  was  tlie 
answer,  in  the  broad  Yorkshire  dialect  of  the 
district. 

"Seven  miles!"  exclaimed  the  major,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  disappointment,  "and  my  horse  is 
already  blo^vn  !  My  good  fellow,  can't  you  put 
my  horse  somewhere,  and  give  me  a  bed?  I 
will  pay  you  liberally  for  your  trouble." 

"Eh!  Goodness  zakes  !"  said  the  rustic.  "1 
be  nought  but  a  ditcher !  There  be  noa  plaze  to 
put  the  nag  in,  and  there  be  only  one  room  and 
one  bed  in  the  cot." 

"Wha-t  shall  I  doV  cried  the  major,  at  his 
wit's  end. 

"I'll  tell  'ee,  zur,"  said  the  rustic,  scratching 
his  head  violently,  as  if  to  extract  his  ideas  by 
the  roots.  "  There  be  a  voine  large  house  on 
the  road,  about  a  moile  vurther  on.  It's  noa  an 
inn,  but  the  colonel  zees  company  vor  the  vun  o' 
the  thing — 'cause  he  loikes  to  zee  company  about 
'un.  You  must  'a  heard  ov  bira — Colonel  Rogers 
— a'  used  to  be  a  soger  once." 

"  Say  no  more,"  cried  the  major.  "I  have 
heard  of  this  hospitable  gentleman  ;  and  his  hav- 
ing been  in  the  army  gives  me  a  sure  claim  to 
his  attention.  Here's  a  crown  for  your  informa- 
tion, my  good  friend.     Come,  Marlborough  !" 

Touching  his  steed  with  the  spur,  the  major 
rode  off,  feeling  an  exhilaration  of  spirits  which 
soon  communicated  itself  to  the  horse.  A  shaq? 
trot  of  a  few  minutes  brought  him  to  a  large 
mansion,  which  stood  unfeiiced,  like  a  huge  ear- 
avansery,  by  the  roadside.  He  made  for  the 
fi'ont  door,  and,  without  dismounting,  plied  the 
large  brass  knocker  till  a  servant  in  livery  made 
his  appearance. 

"  Is  your  master  up  V  asked  the  major. 
"  I  am  the  occupant  of  this  house,"  said  a  ven- 
erable gentleman,  making  his  appearance  at  the 
hall  door. 

"  I  am  a  benighted  traveller,  sir,"  said  the 
major,  touching  his  hat,  "and  come  to  claim 
your  well-known  hospitiility.  Can  you  give  me 
a  bed  for  the  night  'i  1  am  afraid  my  four-footed 
companion  is  hardly  able  to  carry  me  to  the  next 
inn." 

"I  cannot  promise  you  a  bed,  sir,"  said  the 
host,  "forlhave  butonesparebcd  in  the  house." 
"And  that?" — said  the  major. 


"  Happens  to  be  in  a  room  that  does  not  enjoy 
a  very  pleasing  rcputatiou.  In  short,  sir,  one 
room  of  my  house  U  haunted  ;  and  that  is  the 
only  one,  unfortunately,  that  I  can  place  at  your 
disposal  to-night." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  major,  springing  from 
his  horse,  and  tossing  the  bridle  to  the  servant, 
"you  enchant  me  beyond  expression  !  A  haunt- 
ed chamber !  The  very  thing— and  I  who  have 
never  seen  a  ghost !  What  luck  !" 
The  host  shook  his  head  gravely. 
"  I  never  knew  a  man,"  he  said,  "  to  pass  a 
night  in  that  chamber  without  regretting  it." 

Major  Stanley  laughed,  as  he  took  his  pistols 
from  the  holster-pipes.  "  With  these  friends  of 
mine,"  he  said,  "I  fear  neither  ghost  nor  demon." 
Colonel  Rogers  showed  bis  guest  into  a  com- 
fortable parlor,  where  a  sea-coal  fire  was  burning 
cheerfully  in  a  grate,  and  refreshments  most 
welcome  to  a  weary  traveller,  stood  upon  a  table. 
"  Mine  host "  was  an  old  campaigner,  and  had 
seen  much  service  during  the  war  of  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution,  and  he  was  full  of  interesting 
anecdotes  and  descriptions  of  adventures.  But 
while  Major  Stanley  was  apparently  listening 
attenti\'ely  to  the  narrative  of  his  hospitable  en- 
tertainer, throwing  in  the  apjjropriate  ejacula- 
tions of  surprise  and  pleasure  at  the  proper  in- 
tervals, his  whole  attention  was  in  reality  ab- 
sorbed by  a  charming  girl  of  twenty,  the  daughter 
of  the  colonel,  wlio  graced  the  table  with  her 
presence.  Never,  he  thought,  had  he  seen  so 
beautiful,  so  modest  and  so  ladydikc  a  creature ; 
and  she,  in  turn,  seemed  very  favorably  impress- 
ed with  the  manly  beauty  and  frank  manners  of 
their  military  guest. 

At  length  she  retired.  The  colonel,  who  was 
a  three  bottle  man,  and  had  found  a  listener  to 
his  heart,  was  somewhat  inclined  to  prolong  the 
session  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  but 
finding  that  his  guest  was  much  fatiguel,  and 
even  beginning  to  nod  in  the  midst  of  his  choicest 
story,  he  felt  compelled  to  ask  him  if  be  would 
not  like  to  retire.  Major  Stanley  replied  prompt- 
ly in  the  affirmative,  and  the  old  gentleman, 
taking  up  a  silver  candlestick,  ceremoniously 
marshalled  his  guest  to  a  large  old-fashioned 
room,  the  walls  of  whiuh  being  papered  with 
green,  gave  it  its  appellation  of  the  "green 
chamber."  A  corafortaide  bed  invited  to  repose ; 
a  cheerful  fii-e  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and 
everything  was  cosey  and  quiet.  The  major 
looked  round  him  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction. 

*•  I  am  deeply  uidcbted  to  you,  colonel,"  said 
he,  "  for  affording  me  such  comfortable  quarters. 
I  shall  sleep  like  a  top." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  answered  the  colonel,  shak- 
ing his  head  gravely.     "  I  never  knew  a  guest  of 
mine  to  pass  a  quiet  night  in  the  Green  Chamber." 
"I  shall  prove  an  exception,"  said  the  major, 
smihng.     "But  I  must  make  one  remark,"  he 
added,   seriously.     "  It  is   ill  sporting  with  the 
feelings  of  a  soldier  ;  and   should   any  of  your 
servants   attempt   to  play  tricks  upon  me,  ihcy 
will  have  occasion  to  repent  it."    And  ho  laid 
his  heavy  pistol  on  the  lightstand  by  his  bedside. 
"  My   servants.  Major  Stanley,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  with  an  air  of  offended  dignity,  "  are 
too  well  drilled  to  dare  attempt  any  tricks  upon 
my  guests.     Good  night,  major." 
"  Good-night,  colonel." 

The  door  closed.  Major  Stanley  locked  it. 
Having  done  so,  he  took  a  survey  of  the  apart- 
ment. Be^ides  the  door  opening  into  the  entry, 
there  was  another  leading  to  some  other  room. 
There  was  no  lock  upon  this  second  door,  but  a 
heavy  table  placed  across,  completely  barri- 
caded it. 

"  I  am  safe,"  thought  the  major,  "  unless  there 
is  a  storming  party  of  ghosts  to  attack  me  in  my 
fastness.    I  think  I  shall  sleep  well." 

He  threw  himself  into  an  arm  chair  before  the 
fire,  and  watching  the  glowing  embers,  amused 
himself  with  building  castles  in  the  air,  and  mus- 
ing on  the  attractions  of  the  fair  Julia,  his  host's 
daughter.  He  was  fiir  enuugh  from  thinking  of 
spectral  visitants,  when  a  very  slight  noise  struck 
on  his  esr.  Glancing  in  the  direction  of  the 
inner  door,  he  thought  he  saw  the  heavy  table 
glide  backwards  fi-om  its  place.  Quick  as 
thought,  he  caught  up  a  pistol,  and  challenged 
the  intruder.  There  was  no  reply — but  the  door 
continued  to  open  and  the  table  to  slide  back. 
At  last  there  glided  into  the  room  a  tall,  graceful 
figure,  robed  in  white.  At  the  first  glance,  the 
biood  curdled  in  the  major's  veins;  at  the  sec- 
ond, he  recognized  the  daughter  of  his  host.  Her 
eyes  were  wide  open,  and  she  advanced  with  an 
assured  step,  but  it  was  very  evident  she  was 
asleep.     Here   was   the   mystery  of  the  Green 


Chamber  solved  at  once.  The  young  girl  walked 
to  the  fire-place  and  seated  herself  in  the  arm- 
chair from  which  the  soldier  had  just  risen. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  vacate  the  room,  and  go 
directly  and  alarm  the  colonel.  But,  in  the  first 
place  he  knew  not  what  apartment  his  host  oc- 
cupied, and  in  the  second,  curiosity  prompted 
him  to  watch  the  denouement  of  this  singular 
scene.  Julia  raised  her  left  hand,  and  gazing 
on  a  beautiful  ring  that  adorned  one  of  her  white 
and  taper  fingers,  pressed  it  repeatedly  to  her 
lips.  She  then  sank  into  an  attitude  of  repose, 
her  arms  drooping  listlessly  by  her  sides. 

The  major  approached  her,  and  stole  the  ring 
from  her  finger.  His  action  disturbed  but  did 
not  awaken  her.  She  seemed  to  miss  the  ring, 
however,  and,  after  groping  hopelessly  for  ir, 
rose  and  glided  through  the  doorway  as  silently 
as  she  had  entered.  Siie  had  no  sooner  retired, 
than  the  major  replaced  the  table,  and  drawing 
a  heavy  clothes-press  against  it,  efieetually  guard- 
ed himself  against  a  second  intrusion. 

This  done,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed,  and 
slept  soundly  till  a  late  hour  of  the  morning. 
When  he  awoke,  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  ran 
to  the  window.  Every  trace  of  the  storm  hal 
passed  away,  and  an  unclouded  sun  was  shining 
on  the  radiant  landscape.  After  performing  tlie 
duties  of  his  toilet,  he  was  summoned  to  break- 
fast, where  he  met  the  colonel  and  his  daughter. 
"  Well,  major, — and  how  did  you  pass  the 
night?"  asked  the  colonel,  anxiously. 

"  Famously,"  replied  Stanley.  "  I  slept  like 
a  top,  as  I  told  yon  I  should." 

"  Then,  thank  Heaven,  the  spell  is  broken  at 
last,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and  the  White  Phantom 
has  ceased  to  haunt  the  Green  Chamber." 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  major,  smiling,  "the 
White  Phantom  paid  me  a  visit  last  night,  and 
left  me  a  token  of  the  honor." 

"  A  token  !"  exclaimed  the  father  and  daugh- 
ter, in  a  breath. 

"  Yes,  my  friends,  and  here  it  is."  And  the 
major  handed  the  ring  to  the  old  gentleman. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this,  Julia?"  ex- 
claimed the  colonel.  "  The  ring  I  gave  you  last 
week !" 

Julia  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and  turned  deadly 
pale. 

"  The  mystery  is  easily  explained,"  said  the 
major.  "  The  young  lady  is  a  sleep-walker. 
She  came  into  my  room  before  I  had  retired, 
utterly  unconscious  of  her  actions.  I  took  the 
ring  from  her  hand  that  I  might  be  able  to  con- 
vince 3^ou  and  her  of  the  reality  of  what  I  had 
witnessed." 

The  major's  business  was  not  pressing,  and  he 
readilj'-  yielded  to  the  colonel's  urgent  request  to 
pass  a  few  days  with  him.  Their  mutual  likiu 
increased  upon  better  acquaintance,  and  in  a  few 
weeks  the  AVhite  Phantom's  ring,  inscribed  wit 
the  names  of  Rupert  Stanley  and  Julia  Rogers, 
served  as  the  sacred  symbol  of  their  union  fur 
life. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  AUTUMN  TREES. 

BY   Or7EJf   G.   VTARREN. 

I  looked  on  a  rainbow,  it  compaseed  the  west, 
And  on  the  broad  primitiTe  world  found  a  rest ; 
The  earth,  clad  in  foliage,  with  joy  like  a  child, 
Looked  up  on  the  beautiful  viiiun  and  smiled. 

The  spirit  of  autumn  came  by  on  the  breeze, 

And  shattered  the  bow,  and  it  fell  on  the  trees ; 

Then  the  staid  sober  forest  on  every  hillside, 

Caught  the  fragments  and  wove  them  in  garments  of  piide 

The  oak  took  the  red,  but  with  Tynan  dye 

Did  the  maple  and  sumach  each  other  outvie ; 

The  butternut,  proud  of  the  jellow,  took  hold, 

And  wreathed  round  his  form  with  the  splendor  of  gold. 

The  plane  sought  in  orange  a  tint  warm  and  mellow, 
And  some  took  a  brown  hue,  and  others  pale  yellow  ; 
The  purple,  unwelcomed  to  forest  or  bower, 
Took  the  shape  of  the  iris,  and  dwelt  in  a  flower. 

The  hemlock  and  cypress,  the  spruce  and  the  pine, 
Too  gloomy  to  robe  them  in  colors  divine ; 
Too  fond  of  the  clothes  they  all  summer  possessed, 
Stood  frowning  and  cold  while  the  forest  was  dressed. 

The  blue,  like  the  truth,  found  no  favor  below, 
Each  tree,  in  its  pride,  asked  a  ruddier  glow ; 
It  huDg  o'er  the  trees,  through  the  calm  autumn  even, 
Unclaimed  and  unwelcomed,  then  went  back  to  heaven. 


Happiness  is  the  very  light  and  snn  of  the 
whole  animated  universe;  and  where  she  is  nut, 
it  were  better  that  noihing  should  be.  Without 
her,  wisdom  is  but  a  shadow,  virtue  a  name  ;  she 
is  their  sovereign  mistress;  for  her  alone  they 
labor;  to  enjoy  and  to  communicate  her,  is  tlieir 
eftbrt,  and  tbc  con:ummatiou  of  thch-  toil. 


280 


GLEASON'S    nCTOrJAL   DRAAVING    llOOM    (;031PA^'1()N. 


VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  PKISON  AND  RAILROAD  BUILDINGS,  AUliURN,  N.  Y. 


SCENES  IN  NEW  YORK. 

Not  lonj2;  since,  our  rearlers  were  presented 
with  sketches  of  Portage  Falls,  Owejio  and  Glen- 
inary,  in  southern  New  York.  We  have  now  to 
jjive  interesting  drawings  and  descriptions  of  a 
place  that  illustrates  ilie  more  mature  condition 
of  central  New  York,  and  is  a  fair  specimen  of 
the  beauty  and  enterprise  of  this  Ioniser  settled 
region.  The  city  of  Auburn,  N.  Y.,  with  its 
State  Prison,  new  Female  College,  Theological 
Seminary,  and  other  institutions ;  its  manufac- 
tories, book-trade,  cemetery,  and  residences  of 
well-known  public  men ;  and  the  points  of  pic- 
turesque and  other  interest,  in  its  vicinity — de- 
serves a  prominent  place  in  our  occasional 
sketches  of  the  Empire  State.  It  is  one  of  the 
chain  of  six  or  seven  large  towns  on  the  central 
railroad  from  Albany  to  Buffalo,  the  name  of 
all  which  are  familiar  to  the  travelling  public 
throughout  this  country  ;  and  it  well  maintains 
the  disrinclion  of  its  English 
original — "  Auburn,  the  love- 
liest village  of  tlie  plain  " — 
altliough  the  "  vaulting  ambi- 
tion "  of  the  American  bearer 
of  the  name,  has  "o'erleapt 
itself"  so  far  as  to  sink  from 
a  large  village  to  a  small  city. 
It  has  a  population  of  some 
ten  thousand,  and  is  the  capi- 
tal of  Cayuga  councy,  than 
which  there  is  not  a  liner 
grain  region  in  all  those  cen- 
tral districts  of  New  York,  so 
long  celebrated  for 
tiour."  It  is  the 
place  of  the  size  within  our 
personal  observation,  the  no- 
ble blocks  of  stores,  and  the 
many  public  editices,  remark- 
able, in  our  land,  for  their 
excellent  taste  and  correct 
architecture — nearly  all  being 
composed  of  a  light-blue  lime- 
stone, neatly  dressed,  and  nev- 
er losing  its  freshness  of  lint. 
This  stone  abounds  in  the 
vicinity,  and  is  the  ri^'al  of 
the  Lockport  limestone,  wher- 
ever, throughout  the  State, 
there  is  water  conveyance  to 
carry  it.  The  Town  Hall, 
Court  House,  and  several  ho- 
tels are  very  noteworthy  struc- 
tures, and  six,  among  other 
churches,  are  models  in  their 
way.  The  Theological  Sem- 
inary, of  the  "  New  School  " 
Presbyterian  body,  is  a  larj;e 
and  imposing  stone  building, 
with  an  average  of  fifty  stu- 
dents, who  were  under  the 
supervision  of  Dr.  Hickok, 
a  very  effective  speaker,  and 
well  known,  among  metaphy- 
sicians, as  the  author  of  a 
book  on  "  Rational  Psycliolo- 
gy;"  during  Ihc  last  month 
he  mavmcd  the  "Vice  Presi- 
dent's chair  of  Union  College, 
and  is  understood  to  be  (suc- 


cessor of  President  Nott.  Indc(d,  Auburn  is 
the  rendezvous  of  several  religious  denomina- 
tions, and,  at  certain  seasons,  is  quite  animated 
with  convocations  pertaining  thereto.  Here  is  a 
depot  of  Rleibodist  publications,  and  here  the  re- 
nowned Mr.  Maffit,  now  no  more,  a  long  time 
sojourned,  attracting  much  attention  by  his  ora- 
tory, and  issuing  a  monthly  magazine.  Here, 
too,  is  an  active  Universalist  press,  and  a  large 
society  of  that  persuasion,  with  a  beautiful  house 
of  worship,  all  in  charge  of  Mr.  Austin,  who  is 
known  as  an  author.  And  here,  in  common 
with  Rochester,  were  the  first  exciting  scenes  of 
the  "  Spiritual  Rappers,"  who  not  long  since, 
and  perhaps  still,  piopa^atc  their  belief  by  peri- 
odicals printed  in  these  places.  Above  all.  Au- 
burn is  becoming  the  Berlin  of  its  State,  more 
j>ages  of  popular  literature  being  annually  pub- 
lished there,  than  in  any  town  of  the  State,  out 
of  New  Y^ork  city.     Many   standard   works  are 


constantly  thrown  off  from  its  busy  steam  press- 
es ;  but  the  style  of  its  issues  is  mainly  the  "  ad 
cajilandmn" — compilations,  historical  and  other 
sketches,  together  with  school  books.  Messrs. 
Derby  and  Miller,  and  Aldcn,  Beardsley  &  Co., 
are  the  leading  publishers.  It  is  an  encouraging 
fact  that  books,  with  some  show  of  usefulness, 
often  of  real  value,  and  not  merely  printed  paper, 
subserve  the  interest  of  these  enterprising  firms  ; 
and  it  is  a  significant  fact,  illustrating  the  west- 
ward march  of  art,  that  they  aie  dependent  on 
no  other  place  for  any  part  of  a  book's  manufac- 
ture, nor  do  their  richly  bound  volumes  suffer  by 
comparison  with  those  of  any  mctrojiolitan  house. 
So  much  for  literary  matters.  Among  the  pri- 
vate residences,  inquired  aficr  by  sight  seers,  is 
that  of  ex-Gov.  Seward — a  large  cream-colored 
brick  mansion,  with  a  tower,  a  dense  mass  of 
shade  trees,  and  two  iron  lions  at  the  gate,  fierce 
as  the  living  ones  tlmt  frightened  Bunyan's  pil- 


w  I  orK,  so         ^     !v  ^ / 

-superfine        3r  ^\  ^ // 
best  built       s  Ap^  1   2L. 


VIEW  OF  FORT  HILL  OliMETFRY,  AUBURN,  N.  Y. 


grim  from  the  precincts  of  the  "House  called 
Beautiful."  This  is  near  the  centre  of  the  city, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  which,  also,  is  the  resi- 
dence of  Mr.  Morgan,  late  Secretary  of  New 
York  State.  Another  ex-governor — Mr.  Throop, 
until  recently,  lived  two  miles  soulii  of  Auburn, 
on  the  shore  of  Owasco  Lake  ;  the  house,  an  ex- 
tensive and  beautiful  Italian  villa,  is  plainly  seen 
in  the  middle-ground  of  our  sketch  of  the  foot  of 
the  lake.  The  grounds  have  the  happiest  charm 
of  meadow,  stream,  fanciful  bridges,  soft  masses 
of  willow,  a  lakeside  grove,  which  is  often  made 
free  to  large  picnic  gatherings,  and  a  garden 
which  is  particularly  rich  in  varieties  of  roses. 
In  the  horizon  of  our  view  may  be  faintly  traced 
the  spires  of  the  city.  On  the  left  of  the  picture, 
across  the  lake,  is  the  memorable  scene  of  the 
nmrder  of  a  family  by  the  negro  Freeman,  whose 
trial,  six  years  since,  was,  for  several  reasons,  a 
very  "  celebrated"  one.  The  Owasco,  a  lovely 
sheet  of  water,  is  from  one  to 
three  miles  wide,  and  twplve 
miles  long,  nor  is  it  the  hast 
of  the  many  larger  lakes  of 
tlie  region,  since  it  has  been 
rendered  classic  by  the  poem, 
"  Elsinore,"  of  an  Aubumian, 
now  a  Gotbamitc — Peter  S. 
Myers,  Esq..  whose  fictions, 
.^uch  as  "The  Last  of  the 
Knickerbockers,"  have  had  a 
success  that  is  due  to  some- 
thing more  than  the  imprint 
of  the  Harpers.  On  the  west 
t-ide  of  the  Owasco,  the  favor- 
ite drive  of  Auburn  people — 
a  plank  road  extends  the 
length  of  the  lake,  winding 
around  with  the  curvature  of 
shore,  and  varied  by  woods, 
picturesque  clumps  of  syca 
more,overhanging  rocks,  bays 
and  capes.  Returning  from 
this  road,  the  reader,  curious 
in  the  "  homes  and  haunts" 
of  notabilities,  will  sec,  near 
the  town,  a  very  tall  and  spa- 
cious slone  bouse  ;  it  is  "  Mel- 
rose " — the  home  of  Judge 
Conklin,  lately  appointed  min- 
ister to  Mexico,  and  father  of 
the  accomplished  authoress  of 
the  same  name.  A  little  way 
fiom  "  Melrose,"  you(omelo 
the  suburbs,  and,  looking 
down  into  the  deep  gulf  of 
Owasco  outlet,  you  discover 
an  immense  and  costly  wood- 
en factory.  It  is  said  to  ex- 
ceed in  size  and  expensive 
arrangements,  any  building 
for  the  same  purpose,  in  tlie 
country.  Passing  this  we  en- 
ter the  main  street,  near  the 
aristocratic  "  West  End  "  of 
which,  and  already  surround- 
ed by  the  growing  city,  is 
Fort  Hill,  a  hi^ib  woo<ied 
ground,  with  remains  of  an 
Indian  fortification  still  visi- 
hle.     This  tract  of  mount  and 


GLEASO^^'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


281 


glen,  overgrown  with  fine  old 
trees,  seems  to  have  been  de- 
signed by  nature  and  reserved 
by  Providence,  as  a  rural  cem- 
etery— a  purpose  to  which  it 
has'bccn  applied  recently.  A 
sketch  of  its  best  finished  por- 
tion is  piven  in  our  enf^rav- 
in;;.  It  has  the  peculiarity  of 
tuimes  taken  from  well  known 
cemeteries  for  its  principal 
seciions,  one  bearing  the  name 
of  Mt.  Auburn,  another  of 
Greenwood,  etc.  An  accurate 
view  is  given  on  the  preced- 
ing page  of  the  State  Prison, 
together  with  the  buildings  of 
the  Auburn  and  Syracuse 
Railroad,  and  the  U-.vasco 
outlet,  which  passes  through 
the  midst  of  the  city,  like  the 
river  of  Babylon,  and  is  here 
d.immed  up  to  supply  water 
power  for  the  Prison.  The 
t-entral  part  of  this  grand 
range  of  edifices  is  occupied 
by  the  superintendent,  and  is 
piimaeled  with  a  copper  mili- 
lafv  figure,  musket  in  liand, 
uinl  known  as  "copper  John." 
The  wings  are  the  dormito- 
ries, or  cells,  of  the  convicts. 
Behind  these  are  many  long 
shops  for  tlie  making  of  cut- 
lery, carpets,  clothes,  cabinet 
ware,  combs,  steam-engines, 
etc.,  tlie  labor  of  a  certain 
number  of  men  for  a  term  of 
years  being  contracted  ibr  by 
individuals  outside,  and  the 
products  sold  in  warehouses 
of  the  town.  In  the  rear  of 
this  busy  enclosure  is  a  gar- 
den and  burial  ground,  and 
the  whole  area  of  the  ct^tab- 
lishment,  amounting  to  some 
twelve  acres,  is  surrounded 
by  a  massive  stone  wall,  with 
a  railed  walk  onihetopfor 
armed  sentinels.  The  statis- 
tics of  this  criminal  institu- 
tion are  far  more  suggestive 
and  interesting  than  perhaps  the  majority  of 
readers  imagim.- ;  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  such 
items  are  usually  left  buried  in  legislative  docu- 
menis.  Nothing,  for  a  long  while,  has  thrown 
us  into  a  more  curious  reverie,  than  tlie  last  an- 
nual report  of  the  inspectors  of  Auburn  Prison. 
There  are  two  other  institutions  of  the  kind  in 
New  York  State — one  in  Clinton  county,  where 
the  prisoners  are  largely  engaged  in  quarrying 
btonc;  the  other  at  Sing  Sing,  the  only  place 
where  female  convicts  are  sent;  the  three  num- 
ber 1540  criminals.  At  Auburn  there  were,  at 
the  time  of  the  report,  732  convicts.  These  en- 
joy a  good  library,  a  Sunday  school,  in  which 
the  neighboring  theological  students  engage 
themselves,  and  a  week-hour  school,  where,  in 
the  year,  193  received  instruction  in  English  ru- 


GLENHAVEN  WATER  CURE,  SKANEATELES  LAKE,  N.  Y. 


diments ;  109  of  these  could  not  read.  Of  the 
whole  number,  468  had  never  any  religious  or 
moral  teaching ;  512  had  never  read  the  Bible  ; 
181  were  orphans  before  sixteen  years  of  age, 
and  191  had  then  but  one  parent;  308  had,  be- 
fore sixteen,  no  home ;  517  were  never  trained 
to  any  trade  or  calling,  being  all  but  215  of  the 
whole;  185  were  intoxicated  in  the  act  sentenced 
for,  and  371  were  habitually  intemperate.  Of 
the  1540  in  all  three  prisons,  928  were  under  30 
years  of  age  at  the  time  of  commitment.  In  the 
year  of  the  report  before  us,  303  were  received 
at  Auburn  prison,  only  1  in  6  3-4  of  whom  were 
re-committed  ;  but  1  in  6  of  these,  however,  had 
no  available  employment — a  significant  fact. 
During. that  lime  329  punishments  were  infiicted ; 
some  of  these,  we  believe,  are  merely  denials  of 


privilege.  The  "shower-bath,"  a  most  dreaded 
penalty,  as  administered,  has  taken  the  place  of 
savage  and  degrading  flagellations.  On  the 
other  hand,  various  favors  are  held  out  as  re- 
wards for  good  conduct.  The  health  of  the  in- 
mates is  a  reinarkable  proof  of  the  benefits  of 
cleanliness,  regularity,  and  plain  diet ;  only  nine 
deaths  occurred  in  the  year.  The  cost  of  food 
per  ration  is  but  six  cents ;  the  average  daily  ex- 
pense of  each  person,  including  everything,  is 
about  23  cents,  or  a  little  over  eighty  dollars  a 
year,  and  this,  too,  for  working  men — a  truth 
that  should  lead  us  to  scan  the  present  wasteful 
arrangements  of  human  society,  whereby  many 
comforts  and  time  for  self-cultivation  are  the  lot 
of  but  few.  The  average  working  time  in  this 
"  State  boarding-house/  is  ten  hours,  seventeen 


minutes.  The  annual  balance 
of  earnings  over  cost  of  sup- 
port, $12,317.  The  facts,  al- 
ready stated,  in  regard  to  re- 
commitments, anticipate  any 
expression  of  a  conviction 
that  the  results  of  the  Auburn 
system  are  very  encourajring. 
"We  may  add  that  the  olfem  es 
here  expiated  are  chiefly  lar- 
ceny and  burglary ;  only  six 
actual  murderers,  in  law,  are 
to  be  seen  in  the  prison  ;  but 
the  varieties  of  crime  are  a 
long  list.  No  traveller,  who 
has  time,  should  fail  to  visit 
the  institution.  It  is  full  of 
matter  of  curiosity.  The  new 
female  college,  with  an  en- 
dowment of  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  to  begin  with,  is  not 
yet  built.  It  is  to  be  in  the 
north-east  quarter  of  the  town, 
on  the  site  of  the  Rev.  Drs. 
Lansing's  and  Cox's  forujer 
residences.  When  this  is  fin- 
ished, Aubm'u  will  be  as  much 
a  centre  of  education,  as  it  is 
now  of  books,  manufactures, 
theology,  public  men,  and 
criminal  punishment.  It  has 
a  manifold  interest,  as  its  sis- 
ter towns  have  a  more  partic- 
ular reputation, — Albany  for 
legislation  and  science,  Sche- 
nectady for  its  university,  Sy- 
racuse for  salt,  Utica  for  an 
Insane  Asylum,  Geneva  lor 
its  dioccsa-i  importance,  Can- 
andaiguifor  refined  society, 
Rochester  for  flour,  and  Buf- 
falo for  western  trade.  The 
country  around  Auburn  is 
a  flat,  rolling  one,  the  many 
little  hills,  tufted  with  woods, 
looking  in  the  distance  like  a 
heavy  sea  changed  to  solid 
earth.  There  is  a  cherished 
tradition  current  among  the 
citizens,  to  the  effect  that  Jen- 
ny Lind  expressed  herself 
more  pleased  with  this  city, 
its  people  and  environs,  than  with  any  she  had 
visited  at  that  time.  Besides  Owasco  Lake — the 
name  meaning  "  floating  bridge  "  in  the  Cayuga 
Indian  dialect — there  are  other  frequented  resorts 
in  the  vicinity,  eminent  among  which  is  the 
Glcnhaven  water-cure  establishment  at  the  head 
of  Skaneateles  Lake.  A  sketch  of  this  is  given 
herewith,  taken  from  a  circular  island,  surround- 
ed by  flag-marsh,  aud  pleasantly  arranged  for 
the  many  pleasure  parties  that  visit  it.  A  seven 
miles  drive  from  Auburn  brings  you  to  the  beau- 
tiful village  of  Skaneateles,  from  which  a  view 
up  the  lake  takes  in  the  finest  conceivable  ex- 
panse of  farms,  sloping  to  the  water,  on  the  left, 
and  on  the  right  the  imperial  "  De  Zang  place  ;" 
from  this  point,  a  steamboat  runs  to  Glenhavea, 
between  shores  of  romantic  beauty. 


^VX-         .  WiBisf^'      "^    *^   T^' 

'^"       '-W?^/^^>- -t^^    i^^    Ibk-. 


VIEW  OF  OWASCO  LAKE,  IN  THE  STATE  OE  NEW  TOIUi. 


282 


GLEASON'S   nCTOllIAL   DllAWING    llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Oleitson'H  Plutorial.] 
THE  SAILOR'S  KKIDIJ. 

UY  PUILA  KARLE. 

A  fair  anci  cliorialicd  britio,  T  took  th«o  from  thy  liomo, 
Where  Kophyrs  over  Hlgli  with  low  and  gcntio  tono  ; 
Wlioro  peviiinio-liiden  \vind»  o'or  fun  the  weary  brow, 
And  joyous  song  birds  Ring  on  overy  IbroBt  bough  ; 
Whcrti  cvory  tiny  IiJiif  m-cins  fraught  with  lifo  n.nd  light, 
And  beauty's  linos  aro  traced  on  every  floweret  bright; 
AVhoro  melody  is  breathed  in  every  streamlet's  ilow, 
And  plaintive  night-winds  sigh  so  sadly  sweet  and  low  ; 
■\V'bere  purling  rills  gush  forth  from  every  mountain's  side, 
And  ripples  dance  and  play,  as  onwardly  they  glide  ; 
Where  iloworfl  of  every  liue  so  beautiful  and  fu.ir, 
Are  shedding  incense  sweet  upon  the  balmy  air. 

A  bright  and  joyous  bride,  I  took  theo  from  tby  homo, 
To  cheer  my  weary  path  upon  the  ocean  foam  ; 
To  gladden  oft  my  heart  upon  the  lonely  deep, 
WhtTo  hardy  sailora  e'er  their  lon-ly  vigils  keep ; 
Where  oft  the  surging  waves  rise  like  a  mountain  high, 
And  bathe  with  briny  tears  the  diatjint,  burning  sky  ; 
Where  raging  billows  wild  so  madly  lash  the  shore. 
Where  angry  Boreas  rough,  so  wildly,  hoarsely  roar ; 
Where  wailing  winds  sweep  by  with  deep  and  sullen  moon, 
And  rocky,  sea-girt  isles  are  eeen  amid  the  foam  ; 
Where  darkening  waves  e'er  roll,  sublimely,  grandly,  free, 
And  everything 's  so  wild  upon  the  deep  blue  sea. 

A  loved  and  loving  bride,  I  took  theo  from  thy  home, 
But  ah  1  my  aching  heart  too  soon  will  beat  alone  ; 
i'or  thou,  my  cherished  one,  art  fading,  dying  now, 
Death's  pressed  his  icy  hand  upon  thy  pallid  browj 
Thy  lightest,  faintest  breath  seems  sadly  to  me  say. 
That  thou,  like  all  that's  bright,  art  passiof;  now  away. 
O,  can  I  give  thee  up,  and  lay  thee  down  to  rest, 
Beneath  the  ocean's  deep  and  darkly  heaving  breast? 
Upon  a  coral  bed,  where  I  may  never  weep, 
Above  thy  lowly  couch  of  long  and  dreamless  sleep  ? 
'T  is  done  !  and  thou  art  gone  !  within  the  trackless  deep. 
With  sad  and  breaking  heart,  [  've  laid  tbeo  down  to  sleep. 


[Written  for  Glcason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  POOR  COUSIN. 

BY   MHa.    CAnOLlNE   ORNE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"  I  HAVE  just  received  a  letter  from  your  Aunt 
Jrwin,"  said  Mrs.  Beckct,  addressing  her  two 
daughters,  one  of  whom  sat  near  the  fire,  read- 
ing; while  the  otiicr  reclined  indolently  upon  a 
lounge,  with  her  violet  eyes  so  nearly  closed  that 
their  long  silken  lashes  almost  rested  on  her 
checks,  smooth  and  delicate  as  a  rose-colored 
shell. 

"  What  a  tease  Aunt  Irwin  is,"  said  she,  with- 
out raising  her  snowy  eyelids. 

"  What  does  she  say  in  her  letter  V  said  Mi- 
randa, the  eldest  dauy:hter. 

"I  hope  she  has  not  written  you  another  beg- 
ging letter,"  said  Anna,  languidly. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  call  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Becket.  "  I  will  read  it  to  you,  and  then  you 
can  advise  me  what  to  write  in  answer." 

She  accordingly  read  as  follows  : 

"  Deak  Sister  : — As  you  think  you  cannot 
spare  fifty  dollars  to  enable  me  to  pay  Mr.  Har- 
den, I  shall  be  obliged  to  let  Iiim  have  the  cow, 
and  several  articles  of  furniture,  which,  though 
it  will  cause  us  great  inconvenience,  we  must 
manage  to  do  without.  How  we  are  to  get 
through  the  winter,  which  is  close  at  hand,  I  am 
unable  to  tell ;  but  I  try  not  to  distrust  Provi- 
dence. Willie  and  Lucy,  as  you  know,  are  too 
young  to  do  anything  towards  their  own  support, 
and  Eva  can  find  no  employment  here,  except  at 
very  low  wages.  Her  education  is  good — much 
better  than  that  of  most  girls  of  her  age,  as,  dur- 
ing her  father's  life,  when  we  were  in  compara- 
tively prosperous  circumstances,  she  enjoyed  the 
advantages  of  a  good  school,  where,  besides  at- 
tending to  what  are  considered  the  more  useful 
branches  of  education,  she  acquired  a  knowledge 
of  the  French  and  German  languages,  and  made 
considerable  progress  in  music.  But  in  nothing 
did  she  excel  so  much  as  in  drawing  and  paint- 
ing. Her  teacher  thinks  her  fully  competent  to 
give  lessons  in  either  of  them.  Do  you  think  it 
possible  for  her  to  obtain  a  class  in  your  city  ? 
If  she  could,  and  you  would  be  willing  to  board 
her  for  the  assistance  she  would  find  time  to  ren- 
der you  with  her  needle,  she  tliinks  the  proceeds 
might  enable  me  and  the  children  to  get  through 
the  winter,  when  added  to  what  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  earn  myself  by  taking  in  plain  sewing. 

*' I  beg  that  you  will   answer  ihis  as  soon  as 
you  can  conveniently,  it  being  necessary  that 
something  should  be  decided  on  at  once. 
"From  your  sister, 

"Marian  Irwin." 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Anna,  when  her  mother 
had  finished  reading  the  letter,  "  that  Aunt  Ir- 


win imagines  you  have  nothing  to  do  besides  at- 
tending to  lier." 

"If  she  really  understands  drawing  and  paint- 
ing," said  Miranda,  "  I  should  like  to  take  les- 
sons of  her." 

"Do  you  suppose  she  does,  ma?"  Haid  Anna. 

"  She  has,  probably,  painted  a  mourning- piece 
at  the  famous  school  alluded  to  by  her  mother — 
an  achievement  quite  sullicient  to  excite  the  ad- 
miration of  the  entire  community  in  such  an 
out-of-lhe-way  place  as  she  lives  in.  lier  mother 
ought  to  know  that  something  more  is  required 
here  to  make  a  prodigy  of  her." 

"You  painted  a  mourning-piece  once,  did  you 
not,  ma?"  iufiuii'ed  Anna. 

"  It  is  of  no  con.sequence  whether  I  ever  did 
or  not,"  replied  her  mother. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Miranda,  "there  is  one 
in  an  old  chest,  which  stands  in  the  attic.  The 
urn  leans  so  far  to  one  side  as  to  look  as  if  it  were 
just  ready  to  tumble  down;  and  what  is  intended 
to  represent  a  stream  of  water,  looks  like  a  sky- 
blue  ribbon." 

"  Come,"  said  Mrs.  Beeket,  "  we  want  to  talk 
about  your  aunt's  letter,  not  about  mourning- 
pieces." 

"  I  for  one,"  said  Anna,  "  should  like  to  have 
Eva  come.  She  will  do  to  amuse  me  when  I 
get  tired  of  my  music  and  embroidery,  and  every- 
thing else  of  the  kind  that  is  available,  as  I 
sometimes  do.  The  worst  of  it  is,  people  will 
find  out  that  she  is  our  cousin." 

"  And  what  if  they  should  V  said  Miranda. 

"I  don't  like  to  be  laughed  at  on  account  of 
my  poor  relations." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  any  one  laugh  at  me 
on  that  or  auy  other  account,"  said  Miranda. 
"I  think  the  experiment  would  be  one  which 
would  be  gladly  al)andoned." 

"  On  the  whole,"  said  Mrs.  Becket,  "I  think 
we  had  better  let  the  girl  come.  I  have  a  great 
deal  of  sewing  on  liand — enough  to  employ  a 
seamstress  for  months,  and  you  know  that  her 
mother  offers  to  have  her  sew  for  her  board." 

"  If  she  can  sew  nice,  I  shall  want  her  to  do  a 
great  deal  of  sewing  for  me,"  said  Anna. 

"  You  needn't  think  to  monopolize  her,"  said 
Miranda,  "that  is,  if  she  really  knows  anything 
about  drawing  and  painting." 

"  We  must  try  to  get  her  a  class,"  said  Mrs. 
Becket. 

"  Now,  ma,  we  cannot  have  a  dozen  girls  com- 
ing to  the  house  to  take  lessons,"  said  Anna; 
"  and  if  she  were  obliged  to  call  at  their  own 
homes  to  give  them,  I  suspect  she  would  have 
little  time  left  for  sewing  or  anything  else." 

"Iti^ill  be  time  enough  to  settle  that  when 
we  ascertain  whether  or  not  she  is  qualified  to 
give  lessons,"  said  Miranda.  "If  she  is,  I  am 
determined  that  she  shall  devote  most  of  her 
time  to  me." 

"How,  then,  is  she  to  earn  anything  to  help 
her  mother  along?"  said  Mrs.  Becket.  "Of 
course  she  wont  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  accept 
anything  for  giving  j/oii  lessons,  when  she  is  in- 
debted to  us  for  a  home." 

"And  suck  a  home,"  said  Miranda,  while  a 
sarcastic  smile — so  slight  as  to  be  imperceptible 
to  her  mother  and  sister — curled  her  lips. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Becket,  "it  will  be  quite 
different  from  the  poverty-^ti'uck  home  she  has 
been  accustomed  to." 

"Poverty-struck  in  worldly  splendor,  though 
rich  in  what  is  better,  and  which  gold  cannot 
buy,"  murmured  Miranda,  to  herself. 

"What  can  that  be?"  said  Anna,  who  over- 
heard her  sister's  remark. 

"  If  it  be  an  enigma  to  you,"  was  Miranda's 
answer,  "  I  had  better  leave  you  to  find  it  out  at 
your  leisure.  If  it  should  always  remain  so, 
then  so  much  the  better,  as  you  will  never  real- 
ize the  want  of  it." 

"  What  a  queer  girl  our  Miranda  is !"  said 
Anna.  "  Half  of  the  time  I  don't  understand 
what  she  means." 

"It  is  not  likely  tliat  she  does  herself "  said 
Mrs.  Becket. 

"Not  at  all  likely,"  was  Miranda's  rejoinder. 

"Are  you  going  to  answer  Aunt  Irwin's  let- 
ter, ma?"  inquiicd  Anna. 

"  I  should  prefer  to  have  Miranda  answer  it; 
I  always  did  and  always  shall  bate  to  write 
letters." 

Without  speaking,  Miranda  brought  forward 
a  writing-desk,  and  arranged  her  materials  for 
writing.     The  letter  was  speedily  written. 

" Do  you  wish  me  to  read  it  to  yon?"  she 
asked,  staying  her  hand  as  slic  was  preparing  to 
fold  it. 

"No,"  replied  her  mother.  "Just  mention 
what  you  have  written,  that  will  be  enough." 


"  I  have  told  Aunt  Irwin  that  you  have  author- 
ized mc  to  suy  to  her  that  you  arc  willing  Eva 
should  come  and  remain  a  few  weeks  on  trial." 

Siie  did  not  tell  her  mother  that,  in  addition, 
she  had  promised  to  pay  the  expenses  of  her 
journey  from  her  allowance  of  pocket  money,  ho 
that  her  aunt  could  retain  what  was  intended  for 
that  purpose  to  ^^o  towards  the  maintenance  of 
herself  and  children. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Eva  Irwin,  though  nineteen  years  old,  had 
never  been  in  one  of  our  larger  cities  ;  and  when 
at  the  dose  of  a  cold  misty  day — the  mist  hav- 
ing changed  to  a  dull  heavy  rain  a  little  before 
sunset, — the  coach  which  she  had  taken  at  the 
depot  stopped  in  front  of  a  large  brick  house; 
she  had  never  in  her  life  felt  so  lonely  and 
desolate. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  the  coachman,  open- 
ing the  door  of  the  vehicle,  and  letting  down  the 
steps. 

He  assisted  her  to  alight,  placed  her  baggage 
on  the  door-steps  of  the  stately  mansion  that 
seemed  to  look  down  upon  Iier  with  a  frown,  and 
was  about  to  resume  his  seat  on  the  coach-box, 
when  he  returned,  pulled  the  bell  handle,  and 
said  : 

"  That  will  bring  somebody  out,  I  guess." 

And  it  did.  The  door  was  at  once  opened  by 
a  servant  in  livery,  who  said  ; 

"Miss  Irwin,  I  presume.  Mrs.  Becket  is  ex- 
pecting you.  Walk  this  way  ;"  and  with  quite  a 
patronizing  air,  he  preceded  her  to  the  door  of  a 
small  back  parlor,  which  he  licld  open  till  she 
had  entered. 

The  remains  of  a  coal  fire  were  in  the  grate, 
and  a  brass  lamp  was  burning  on  the  mantel, 
but  neither  aunt  nor  cousins  came  to  welcome 
her.  She  ventured  to  divest  herself  of  her  bon- 
net and  damp  shawl,  and  then  shivering  with  the 
cold,  she  drew  her  chair  close  to  the  nearly  ex- 
tinguished fire. 

Five,  ten,  and,  at  last,  twenty  minutes  had 
passed  away,  when  the  door  opened,  and  a  young 
lady  with  a  quick,  elastic  step  entered,  and  ap 
preaching  lier,  held  out  her  hand.     Eva  arose. 

"I  am  your  cousin  Miranda,"  said  the  young 
lady,  "  and  I  have  been  trying  to  break  away 
from  a  few  tiresome  people  in  the  drawing  room 
ever  since  you  have  an-ivcd.  You  must  be  cold, 
for  I  see  that  the  fire  is  nearly  out,  and  hungry, 
too,  for  I  suppose  you  have  not  dined." 

"  No,  I  have  not." 

Miranda  was  about  to  ring  the  bell,  and  order 
something  to  be  brought  up,  when  a  girl  entered, 
bearing  a  tray,  on  which  was  a  cup  of  weak  tea 
and  a  few  thin  slices  of  bread  and  butter.  Mi- 
randa looked  at  the  contents  of  the  tray,  then  to 
Eva  with  a  kind  of  comical  smile.  She  next 
turned  to  the  girl. 

"  Take  this  tray  down  again,"  said  she,  "  and 
make  an  addition  to  the  bread  and  butter,  such 
as  my  mother,  sister,  or  I  should  require,  if  we 
had  been  travelling  ever  since  sunrise  without 
having  had  anything  to  eat.  Instead  of  this 
sloppy  stuff,  bring  up  some  tea,  also,  such  as  1 
like." 

"  Yes'm,  I  understand,"  said  the  girl. 

Miranda  now  replenished  the  grate  from  the 
contents  of  a  coal-scuttle,  which  she  found  in  a 
closet,  and  seated  herself  opposite  her  cousin. 

"  I  hope,"  said  she,  "  that  you  are  not  one  of 
those  delicate  young  ladies  who  would  be  shocked 
at  my  ordeiing  more  substantial  food." 

"Far  from  it,"  replied  Eva.  "I  really  feel 
the  need  of  something  a  little  heartier  than  slices 
of  bread  and  butter,  so  thin  as  to  be  transpa- 
rent." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  have  known  girls  of  our 
age  who  imagine  it  is  not  genteel  to  have  a  good 
appetite.  Anna  has  a  dear  friend  (the  friendship 
subsisting  between  them  was  formed  at  a  board- 
ing school,  and  in  their  own  estimation,  will  end 
only  with  life),  who  pretends  slic  can  dine  on  a 
slice  of  pine-apple,  or  a  quarter  of  an  orange." 

"  You  know  that  I  am  a  country  girl,"  said 
Eva. 

"  And  so  is  Anna's  dear  friend.  But  I  suspect 
she  can  eat  the  wing  of  a  chicken  behind  the 
elosct  door.  And  now  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you 
really  understand  anything  about  drawing  and 
painting?" 

"  I  must  leave  that  for  you  to  decide.  I  have 
brought  a  few  specimens  v.hich  will  help  you  to 
judge." 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  I  am  rather  a  good 
judge  for  a  girl  of  twenty,  I  have  always,  ever 
since  I  can  remember,  had  a  fondness  for  pic- 
tures, and  have  availed  myself  of  every  opportu- 


nity to  gratify  my  inclination  to  look  at  them. 
This,  however,  has  generally  been  done  in  too 
idle  a  mood,  to  enable  mc  to  profit  by  it  as  much 
as  1  might  have  done.  Yet,  after  all,  as  I  have 
said,  I  am  rather  a  good  judge." 

"  So  good  as  to  condemn  my  poor  attempts,  I 
am  afraid." 

"  It  is  not  impossible  but  that  I  may  sec  faults 
in  them;  yet  I  hope  to  find  you  able  to  be  my 
teacher." 

"  O,  I  cannot  think  of  such  a  thing," 

"We- shall  see.  I  have  never,  as  yet,  done 
anything  more  than  to  make  a  few  sketches. 
But  here  comes  Janet  with  something  more  in- 
viting than  weak  tea  and  bread  and  butter.  Do 
you  know,  Eva,  that  I  like  you  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter than  I  expected  to?"  said  Miranda,  as  she 
handed  her  cousin  a  cup  of  tea. 

Eva  smiled  as  she  replied  : 

"I  can  say  the  same  of  you" 

"How  did  you  form  an  opinion  of  me — from 
imagination  or  description  ?" 

"From  dcsciiption." 

"And  there  were  some  tj-aits  in  my  character 
that  were  not  remarkably  amicable,  you  thought  ?" 

"I  certainly  have  been  told  that  you  are  a  lit- 
tle apt  to  laugh  at  people  in  your  sleeve,  and 
being  an  awkward  country  cousin,  I  expected  to 
yield  you  a  double  share  of  merriment." 

"  The  imputation  may  not  be  without  founda- 
tion ;  but  I  assure  you  I  never  laugh  at  what  is 
neither  silly  nor  lidiculous,  therefore,  }ou  may 
be  certain  that  I  shall  never  laugh  at  you." 

"Much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Eva. 

"And  what  information  did  you  receive  as  to 
my  personal  appearance  ?" 

"  Such  as  prepared  me  to  find  you  much  less 
good  looking  than  you  are." 

"  While  Anna  was  described  to  you  as  very 
beautiful." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  thought  so,  and  so  she  is,  yet  T  would  not 
exchange  this  phiz  of  mine,  had  I  the  power,  for 
hers.  I  like  my  face  altogether  the  best,  and  so 
I  think  you  will,  for  there  is  more  character  in  it." 

"  If  so,  I  certainly  shall." 

"Anna  has  mind  enough,  but  she  is  too  indo- 
lent to  use  it.  She  will,  probably,  show  you,  by 
the  manner  she  treats  you,  that  she  considers 
herself  much  above  you  ;  but  you  must  not  mind 
it,  so  as  to  feel  unpleasantly  about  it.  Having 
been  told  so,  she  takes  it  for  granted.  As  for 
mother,  she  is  terribly  afraid  of  Mrs.  Grundy. 
Some  invisible  imp  is  constantly  at  her  ear, 
whispering,  '  What  will  the  world  say  ?'  There, 
I  hear  steps  in  the  passage.  A  messeuger  for 
me,  I  dare  say,  and  I  musPnot  too  long  neglect 
those  stupid  people  in  the  drawing-room,  for,  as 
they  may  be  spiteful  as  well  as  stupid,  it  is  best 
to  keep  friends  with  them.  The  fire  and  supper 
have  wonderfully  improved  your  personal  ap- 
pearance. You  looked  very  blue  and  miserable 
when  I  first  saw  you  this  evening,  and  no  won- 
der. Well,  Milly,  what  do  you  wish  ?"  said  she, 
to  a  little  servant  girl,  who  had  been  standing  at 
the  door,  waiting  patiently  for  an  opportunity  to 
speak. 

"  Mrs.  Becket  wants  to  know  if  you  will  please 
come  to  the  drawing-room." 

"  Certainly  I  will.  Eva,  there  are  a  few  books 
which  may  serve  to  amuse  you  till  I  return, 
which  will  be  in  season  to  show  you  to  your 
room — a  privilege  of  which  I  intend  to  deprive 
Milly,  at  least,  for  to  night." 

The  ensuing  day  a  consultation  was  held  re- 
lative to  the  few  pictures  and  sketches  which  Eva 
had  brought  as  specimens  of  her  skill. 

"  She  will  do  to  teach  me,"  said  Miranda. 

"  Don't  judge  too  hastily,"  said  her  mother. 
"It  appears  to  me  that  the  colors  are  not  bril. 
liant  enough." 

"  That  is  what  I  think,"  said  Anna.  "  I 
should  not  imagine  the  coloring  to  be  at  all 
Titan-like.  It  was  Titan,  was  it  not,  Miranda, 
who  was  so  celebrated  for  the  brightness  of  his 
tinting?" 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  Miranda,  grave- 
ly, "  the  Titans  were  more  celebrated  for  their 
strength  and  dexterity  in  hurling  rocks  than  for 
their  skill  as  painters." 

"  Well,  I  should  think,"  said  Anna,  "that 
Charles  Lyndale  would  know  as  well  as  you,  for 
he  has  been  through  college,  and  travelled  all 
over  Europe  and  Italy,  and  lie  said,  the  other 
day,  that  Titan  was  one  of  tbe  finest  painteis 
that  ever  lived.  Ah  !  here  he  comes,  I  will  ask 
him." 

"You  mean  Titian,"  said  Eva,  so  softly  as 
not  to  be  heard  by  a  young  gentleman,  who,  at 
that  moment,  entered  tbe  room. 

But  Anna  cither  did  not  understand  what  she 


GLEASON'S   I'ICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


283 


said,  or  did  not  choose  to  be  set  right  by  her 
poor  cousin,  the  appclhition  which  she  and  her 
mother  liad  ah'eady  commenced  applying  to  Eva 
whenever  they  mentioned  her.  She,  therefore, 
appealed  to  Sir.  Lyndale,  in  order  to  settle  the 
question. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  Titian  was  a  fine  painter, 
and,  as  you  say,  a  distinguished  colorist,  though 
more  as  it  regarded  tones  and  shades  than  for 
peculiar  brilliancy,  for  which  he  was  less  celebra- 
ted than  Rubens." 

"  There,  I  knew  he  was  a  great  painter,"  said 
Anna,  pouting  her  pretty  lips. 

"  You  merely  left  out  the  i,"  said  Miranda, 
"  a  fault  you  are  never  guilty  of  in  reference  to 
yourself.  You  are  too  mucli  of  an  egotist  for 
that." 

In  the  meantime,  Lyndale  found  opportunity 
to  make  Miranda  understand  that  he  wished  to 
be  presented  to  Eva.  She  accordingly  intro- 
duced her  as  her  cousin,  and,  in  return,  received 
an  angry  glance  from  her  mother,  who,  by  way 
of  apology,  remarked  to  Lyndale  that  she  sup- 
posed Miranda  imagined  that  he  had  as  great  a 
fondness  for  making  new  acquaintances  as  she 
had. 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  happy  to  have  the  honor 
of  Miss  Irwin's  acquaintance,"  said  he. 

This  was  said  in  such  a  manner  that  Eva 
could  not  doubt  his  sincerity,  and  though  she 
remained  silent,  he  could  sec  by  her  countenance 
that  she,  on  her  part,  entertained  no  objection  to 
becoming  better  acquainted  with  him. 

"What  do  you  think  of  these  paintings,  Mr. 
Lyndale  1"  said  Anna.  "  Do  you  think  the  per- 
son who  could  paint  such  capable  of  teaching 
mC?" 

"I  think  (AaC  must  depend  on  yourself,"  was 
Lyndale's  reply. 

"Anna  has  quite  a  genius  for  painting,"  said 
Mrs.  Becket. 

"If  so,"  said  Lyndale,  "she  can,  doubtless, 
take  lessons  of  Miss  Irwin  with  advantage  to 
herself." 

"lam  certain  that  she  can  teach  jwe,"  said 
Miranda,  "so  I  shall  commence  taking  lessons 
at  once." 


CHAPTER  TIL 

"  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Lyndale?"  inquired 
Miranda  of  Eva,  as  tliey  sat  together  in  a  small 
apartment  fitted  up  as  a  school-room. 

"  I  have,  as  yet,  had  little  opportunity  to  fonn 
an  opinion  concerning  him." 

"  No  matter  for  that ;  you  have  formed  one,  I 
know." 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  I  have,  and,  as  I  think, 
a  pretty  correct  one." 

"And  you  consider  him  superior  to  any  young 
gentleman  you  ever  saw  V 

"  Which  may  not  be  any  great  admission,  as  I 
never  saw  many." 

"  Nor  I,  though,  I  suppose,  I  have  seen  many 
more  than  you  have;  never  but  one,  however, 
who  might  be  considered  Lyndale's  equal,  and 
he,  poor  fellow,  found  that  he 

' to  foreign  lands  must  hie. 

Pursuing  fortune's  slippery  ba — '  " 

"Wlio  is  he?" 

"His  name  is  Berringfon,  and  some  time  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  him." 

"Is  not  Anna  pleased  with  Mr.  Lyndale  V 

"  Yes,  with  his  good  looks." 

"  And  your  mother  ?" 

"  She  is  pleased  with  his  well-filled  purse." 

"  Is  he  not  partial  to  Anna  V 

"  He  was  at  first,  I  think,  but  not  now.  His 
is  not  a  mind  to  be  long  held  in  thrall  by  mere 
personal  beauty.  I  am  glad  you  have  come, 
for  he  began  to  be  in  danger  of  falling  in  love 
with  me,  which  would  have  been  an  unfortunate 
affair,  as  my  allegiance  is  due  to  another.  You 
will  avert  the  threatened  danger,  for,  though  not 
before  aware  of  the  deficiency,  he  will  now  find 
that  I  lack  several  qualities  which  you  possess, 
and  which,  now  that  he  has  discovered  them  in 
you,  he  will  consider  indispensable." 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  Eva,  "  and 
imagine  an  impossibility.  Mr.  Lyndale  is  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  not  to  treat  me  politely 
when  we  chance  to  meet ;  but  if  I  should  leave 
here  to-mon-ow,  I  do  not  imagine  that  he  would 
ever  bestow  on  me  a  single  thought.  Then, 
there  is  Anna." 

"Any  other  handsome  face  will  please  her  as 
well,  and  better,  as  it  will  have  the  charm  of 
novelty,  and,  as  I  have  said,  there  must  be  some- 
thing more  than  personal  beauty  in  the  lady  who 
holds  any  permanent  control  over  him.  As  for 
Anna,  her  education  is  so  wofully  deficient,  that. 


if  she  were  his  wife,  he  would  tremble  every  time 
she  opened  her  lips,  witli  the  expectation  that 
she  would  betray  her  ignorance.  I  used,  former- 
ly, to  blush  when  she  committed  some  gross  mis- 
take ;  but  I  have  become  hardened  now,  and 
frequently  feel  really  amused.  Yoa  would  hard- 
ly believe  that  she  has  had  the  best  advantages 
for  acquiring  a  good  education — better  than  I 
have  had,  she  being  the  favorite.  Her  pretty 
face  and  unlimited  indulgence  have  come  near 
making  an  imbecile  of  her." 

Mrs.  Becket  now  entered  the  room  with  a 
large  work-basket  on  her  arm. 

"Miranda,"  said  she,  "it  wont  answer  for  you 
to  engross  so  much  of  Eva's  time  with  your 
drawing.  Here  is  a  great  deal  of  sewing  which 
must  be  done." 

"  Why  don't  Anna  finish  her  morning-dress 
herself?"  said  Miranda.  "X  am  sure  she  has 
time  enough." 

"  Why,  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  she  is  too 
delicate  to  sew  much,  and  even  if  she  could,  she 
so  dislikes  to  have  her  fingers  scarred  with  a 
needle,  just  as  if  she  were  a  common  seamstress. 
Eva,  see  that  you  complete  that  morning-dress 
before  you  sleep,  as  Anna  wishes  to  put  it  on  in 
the  morning.  You  had  better  waste  no  more 
time,  but  go  to  work  at  once." 

Eva  quietly  took  up  the  dress  and  commenced 
sewing. 

"  Be  very  particular  to  do  it  nice,"  said  Mrs. 
Becket. 

"  I  will,"  was  Eva's  reply. 

"  I  have  just  realized  the  force  of  example," 
said  Miranda,  when  her  mother  had  left  the 
room.  "  I  was  about  to  make  a  rather  pungent 
remark  when  mother  spoke  of  your  wasting  time, 
but  the  calm  way  in  which  you  listened  to  her 
showed  me  the  magnanimity  of  forbearance." 

"  You  know,  as  a  dependent,  it  is  necessary 
that  I  should  exercise  sclf-eontrol." 

"  I  should  have  thought  Aunt  Irwin  might 
have  known  that  it  would  not  do  for  you  to  un- 
dertake to  sew  for  your  hoard  without  certain 
restrictions.  I  don't  believe,  were  you  to  work 
twelve  hours  out  of  every  twenty-four,  that  you 
will  do  more  than  will  be  expected  of  you." 

"  The  evenings  are  long  now." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  finish  Anna's  dress  V 

"  Yes,  I  can  do  it  by  ten." 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,  for  I  intend  that  you 
shall  spend  a  part  of  the  evening  in  the  parlor." 

"  For  what  reason  ?" 

"  No  matter  now.  I  may  tell  you  when  the 
time  comes." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Anna,  when  her  mother 
returned,  "  that  I  thought  of  something  that 
would  keep  the  poor  cousin  away  this  evening, 
for  I  heard  Charles  Lyndale  tell  Miranda  that 
he  and  Mr.  Lascelles  were  coming." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Lascelles  V' 

"  The  gentleman  I  saw  at  Mrs.  Barstow's  par- 
ty. If  Lyndale  don't  mind,  he  will  throw  him 
quite  into  the  shade.  O,  he  dresses  so  elegantly, 
and  is  so  polite." 

"  That  may  be,  yet  I  don't  believe  him  to  be 
equal  to  Charles  Lyndale.  I  am  certain  he  is 
not  as  wealthy." 

"Who  cares  for  wealth,  ma?  O,  I  always 
thought  it  would  be  so  pretty  to  live  in  a  cottage 
half  covered  with  vines,  and  close  to  a  purling 
stream,  and  to  dress  in  simple  white  muslin,  and 
to  play  on  the  harp  and  guitar,  and  have  plenty 
of  strawberries  and  cream,  and  not  be  plagued 
with  servants.  My  friend  Juliet  told  me  in  her 
last  letter  that  no  consideration  on  earth  would 
induce  her  to  marry  a  rich  man.  The  idea  was 
so  unromantic,"  she  said. 

"Aunadeav,"  said  Mrs.  Becket,  "you  must 
recollect  that  simple  white  dresses  need  washing, 
and  that  even  strawberries  and  cream  cannot  be 
prepared  without  labor." 

"I  never  thought  of  tliat,  and  I  don't  believe 
Juliet  did." 

"  I  suspect  not,  I  advise  you,  now  that  I  have 
reminded  you  of  it,  to  bear  it  in  mind  ;  also,  that 
a  Charles  Lyndale  is  not  to  be  met  with  every 


CHAPTER   IV. 

As  was  expected,  Ljndale  and  his  friend  Las- 
celles came  to  spend  a  social  evening.  Anna, 
whose  head  had  been  full  of  Lascelles  all  day, 
con^iumed  as  much  lime  at  her  toilet  as  if  she 
had  been  going  to  attend  a  ball,  or  a  soiree,  and, 
as  Miranda  said,  she  looked  like  a  beautiful 
piece  of  wax-work. 

The  time  she  had  not  spent  in  dressing,  had 
moi^tly  been  devoted  to  studying  the  most  grace- 
ful attitudes.     Her  mother,  as   she   gazed  with 


fondness  on  her  fiivorite,  could  not  forbear  think- 
ing that  Lyndale  would  find  her  charms  so  irre- 
sistible, as  to,  at  once,  bring  him  to  her  feet. 
Vain  expectation  !  He  had  discovered  that  be- 
side the  defects  of  her  education,  she  was  unami- 
able,  and  sometimes  absolutely  ill-natured. 

Lascelles,  who  had  been  struck  with  her  beau- 
ty the  evening  he  saw  her  at  Mrs.  Barstow's, 
was,  on  the  present  occasion,  fascinated.  His 
was  a  mind  differently  constituted  from  that  of 
Lyndale's ;  he  cared  more  for  beauty,  and  less 
for  mind. 

Lyndale,  from  having  been  uncommonly  ani- 
mated, had  gradually  become  silent  and  absent- 
minded.  He  often  turned  his  eyes  towards  the 
door,  as  if  in  expectation  of  the  entrance  of  some 
one,  whose  presence  he  had  anticipated.  He 
had  no  thought  that  Eva  was  sitting  alone  in  her 
remote  and  solitary  chamber.  It  was  now  three 
hours  since  she  had  been  at  her  task,  and  she  be- 
gan to  grow  weary  and  exhausted,  yet  finding 
that  she  had  under-rated  the  amount  of  what 
was  to  be  done  to  finish  the  dress,  she  could  give 
herself  no  time  to  rest,  if  she  hoped  to  satisfy  her 
aunt  and  her  fair  cousin,  who,  of  the  two,  was 
the  most  exacting  and  heartless  task-mistress. 
It  cannot  be  denied  that  it  would  have  been  grat- 
ifying to  her  to  have  joined  the  little  social  cir- 
cle in  the  parlor,  if  she  could  have  done  so  on 
terras  of  equality ;  but,  as  on  several  occasions 
heretofore,  to  be  considered  a  legitimate  object 
of  mirth  to  the  pretty  Anna,  who  tittered  at  the 
poor  cousin  behind  her  fan,  and  as  a  target  for 
what  Mrs.  Becket  considered  shafts  of  wit,  which, 
however,  savored  far  more  of  malevolence,  was 
an  infliction  which  more  than  transcended  the 
pleasure. 

"  You  have  not  seen  the  poor  cousin,  have 
you  ;"  said  Anna,  addressing  Lascelles. 

"  I  have  not,"  he  replied,  with  a  look  which 
indicated  some  surprise. 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  send  for  her,  then. 
You  cannot  think  how  much  she  amuses  me 
when  I  get  tired  of  everything  else." 

"  I  hope  that  is  not  the  case  now,"  said  Las- 
celles. 

"  O,  no  indeed  !"  she  replied ;  "  but  I  thought 
she  might  amuse  you;  I  was  afraid  it  would 
seem  dull  here." 

"  That  would  be  impossible  in  your  presence." 

"  You  are  very  complimentary,"  said  Anna,  a 
remark  which  she  could  not  have  applied  to  Lyn- 
dale, had  she  seen  the  look  with  which  he  re- 
garded her. 

"  I  will  go  and  ask  Eva  to  come,"  said  Miran- 
da, as  Anna  was  going  to  ring  for  a  servant. 

"  Come,  Eva,"  said  she,  "  lay  aside  your  work, 
and  I  will  help  you  finish  it,  if  you  are  deter- 
mined to  finish  it  to-night." 

"  Why  should  I  lay  it  aside  ?"  said  Eva. 

"  You  are  wanted  in  the  drawing-room  by  my 
fair  sister,  and  still  more  by  Charles  Lyndale,  if 
I  may  judge  by  the  way  he  has  watched  the  door 
for  the  last  hour." 

"  I  cannot  go." 

"  And  I  cannot  blame  you  if  you  do  not;  yet, 
I  wish  you  would.  If  you  don't  comply  with 
Anna's  whims,  her  antagonism  will  be  aroused, 
and  then  there  will  be  so  little  peace  for  you 
here,  you  will  be  obliged  to  quit,  which  (you  see 
I  am  selfish  as  well  as  the  rest)  will  put  an  end 
to  my  drawing  lessons." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Eva.  "  As  I  am  situ- 
ated, it  would  be  indiscreet  for  me  to  refuse." 

"It  certainly  would,  if  you  have  any  wish  to 
remain  a  few  weeks  longer.  Now  go  to  the  glass 
and  arrange  those  dark  rich  braids  of  hair,  and 
you  will  look  well  enough." 

"  Eor  the  poor  cousin,  you  might  add." 

"There  she  comes,"  said  Anna,  to  Lascelles, 
as  Eva  entered  the  room. 

"  Who  I"  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  the  poor  cousin  I  spoke  to  you  about." 

"Ah !  I  recollect." 

" Look  at  J\Ir.  Lyndale,"  said  Anna.  "One 
might  imagine  by  the  manner  he  addresses  her 
that  he  had  mistaken  her  for  a  princess." 

"  Nor  would  it  be  drawing  very  hard  upon  his 
imagination  either,"  said  Lascelles. 

"  Well,  she  does  give  herself  mighty  fine  airs. 
That  is  one  thing,  when  she  is  so  very  poor,  that 
amuses  me  so  much." 

"  She  is  not  really  your  cousin,  I  suppose. 
'The  poor  cousin'  is  merely  a  soubriquet." 

"Nothing  more,"  said  Anna,  evasively,  and 
screening  her  face  behind  her  fan,  to  prevent  him 
from  perceiving  her  heightened  color, 

[CONCLUDKD    NEXT    WEEK.] 


"  Ye.",  let  truth  te  free, 
To  ipake  her  sallies  upon  tbee  and  me, 
Which  way  it  plcuscis  Ijod." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  OAK  OF  THE  FOREST. 


Thou  oak  of  the  forest  1  whose  dark  branches  away 
O'er  the  wild  lonely  paths  of  my  weed-tangled  way ; 
Proud  oak  of  the  forest !  0  hear  me  complain, 
That  the  journey  of  life  is  a  journey  of  pain. 

Where  the  pilgrim  of  sadness  his  hard  hurthen  bears, 
Where  the  fond  child  of  sentiment  hopes  and  despairs ; 
Where  pleasures,  succeeded  full  soon  by  dL=gust, 
Remind  us  that  man's  but  heir  of  the  dust  I 

Ah  !  would  that  like  thee  I  might  safely  defy 
All  the  tempests  that  sweep  o'er  the  world's  fickle  sky  ; 
Ah  1  would  that  like  thee  1  could  calmlr  behold 
The  murderous  whirlwind  its  terrors  unfold. 

But  never,  no,  never,  thou  beautiful  tree, 
Shall  my  spirit  be  firm  and  majestic  as  thee  ! 
For  still  by  the  cares  on  my  bosom  that  crowd, 
Will  its  firmness  be  shaken — its  fortitude  bowed. 

And  still  shall  the  frost-winds  that  ravaging  go, 
Kill  the  buds  of  my  fancy  as  fast  as  they  blow  ; 
Proud  lord  of  the  forest !  I  gaze  on  thy  prime, 
And  sigh  as  I  view  thee  thus  towering  sublime. 

For  thou,  vdth  thy  brethren,  wilt  flourishing  grow, 
AVhen  this  bosom  is  cold,  and  this  head  is  laid  low  ; 
In  the  fresh  gale  of  spring  shall  thy  green  honors  wave, 
When  I  shall  be  dust  in  the  mouldering  grave. 

Each  summer  that  comes  \n\\  thy  foliage  restorcj 
^Vhen  £  shall  be  withered  to  flourish  no  more; 
But  hold  1  there  is  hope,  there  is  comfort  for  me, 
Mid  the  darkness  of  sorrow,  rich  dawnings  I  see. 

0  world  I  where  the  weary  shall  endlessly  rest, 
No  longer  by.  power  or  fortune  opprest ; 
0  realms  I  where  my  spirit  shall  joyously  soar, 
When  the  oak  of  the  forest  shall  flourish  no  more ! 


HOW  TO  TREAT  A  RATTLESNAKE. 

Our  guide  told  us  be  was  once  camping  out 
with  an  old  Indian  ;  it  was  raid-day,  and  he  was 
lying  on  tlie  ground  whilst  the  old  chief  was  re- 
clining with  his  back  against  a  tree, -when  .'jud- 
denly  a  large  rattlesnake  wriggled  ilself  delibe- 
rately across  the  old  chief's  iniked  body.  The 
snake  seemed  to  enioy  the  warmth  of  it,  remain- 
ing ."^ome  time  on  the  Indian's  stocnach.  The 
chief  was  watching  it  all  the  time,  but  dared  not 
move,  knowing  if  he  did  so  the  snake  would 
strike  him.  At  length,  without  moving  a  mus- 
cle, he  made  a  peculiar  hissing  noise,  and  the 
snake,  after  lifiing  up  his  head  and  listening, 
glided  away. — Sullivan  s  RumUts  in  Amtiica. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    EXILE    SISTERS. 

BY    MRS.    R.   T.   ELDBEDGE. 

"  Sing  to  me,  sister,  I  am  sad  to-day, 

Come,  tune  thy  harp  in  low  and  pensive  sti'ains  j 
Siug  of  our  home,  that  lies  be>  ond  tue  seas. 

Sing  of  its  flowery  bauks,  its  grassy  plains; 
The  sounds  of  home  to  me  are  ever  dear, 
They  soothe  my  heart  when  sonow  'h  lingering  near." 

Sweet  Emma  took  her  harp  and  swept  the  strings, 
And  ''Home,  sweet  Home,"'  fell  on  her  sister's  ear; 

"  Cease,  Emma,  cease  I  though  passing  sweet  the  strains, 
The  sounds  of  home  are  dear,  alas,  too  dear ! 

Hang  up  thj'  harp,  it  speaks  to  me  of  home. 

Why  were  we  forced  from  that  lovtd  land  to  roam  ?" 

And  then  the  sisters  bowed  their  heads  and  wept, 
riigh  answered  sigh,  that  spoke  of  untold  grief; 

They  raised  their  e^es,  and  murmuring  "home,  sweet 
home," 
Sadly  they  smiled,  for  tears  had  brought  relief. 

Each  strove  the  other's  heartfelt  grief  to  heal, 

None  but  the  exile,  grief  like  theirs  can  feel ! 


OK  SIIRLTISHIP. 

He  that  is  surety  for  a  stranger,  shall  smart 
for  it;  but  lie  that  iiateih  suretyship,  is  sure. 
Piov.  11  :  10.  Be  very  wary  for  whom  thou  be- 
comest  securiry,  and  for  no  move  than  ihou  art 
able  to  discharge,  if  thou  lovest  thy  liberty.  The 
borrower  is  a  slave  lo  the  lender — the  secnrily  is 
.<!lave  to  both  ;  while  the  borrower  and  lender  are 
both  eased,  the  security  hears  both  their  burdens; 
he  is  a  wise  secuiity  that  secures  himself. — 
Fiancis  Quarles,  1630. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
REftiElJlBLRED  ORES. 

BY   J.    mJNT,   JR. 

Not  those  who've  trod  the  martial  field, 

And  led  to  arms  a  battling  host ; 
And  ut  whose  name  the  "  world  grew  pale," 

AVill  be,  in  time,  remembered  moot. 

But  they  who've  walked  the  paths  of  peace, 
And  gave  their  aid  to  deeds  that's  just, 

Shall  live  for  aje  on  memory's  paee, 
When  heroes  sltep  in  unknown  dust. 

The  privations  of  povtrty  render  ns  loo  cold 
and  callous,  and  t4ie  privilege  of  properly,  too 
arrogant  and  consujucntial  to  feel;  the  first 
places  us  beneath  the  influence  of  opinion,  the 
second  above  it. 


284 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DllAWING    llOOM    (JOMPANIOX. 


DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 

Though  wc  have  so  hiti-ly  ^^ven  our  renders  a 
brief  sketeh  of  the  life  uud  Hcrvieos  of  llie  late 
Duko  of  Wellin^'tmi,  yet  wo  deem  it  interesting 
to  mftko  a  further  sketeh  of  liis  earecr,  to  aeeom- 
pany  the  fine  pieture  of  the  rcno\vTied  old  warrior 
on  horseback.  Although  theru  can  be  no  moral 
doubt  that  the  duke  was  born  in  Dublin,  yet  this 
fact  has  been  disputed;  and  with  rcspcet  to  the 
day  and  month  of  birth,  although  not  fixed,  they 
are  usually  stated  as  the  1st  of  May,  in  the  year 
1769.  The  illustrioua  subject  of  our  engraving 
first  saw  the  light  in  the  town  residence  of  his 
parents,  the  Earl  and  CountehS  of  Mornington, 
Mornington  bouse— a  mansion  of  some  preten- 
sions in  the  centre  of  the  eastern  side  of  Upper 
Mcrrion  street,  Dublin,  and  which,  as  it  abutted 
eighty  years  ago  as  a  corner  bouse  upon  a  large 
area,  since  enclosed  with  buildings,  was  occasion- 
ally  described  as  situate  in  Merrion square.  The 
duke  kept  his   birthday  on   the   18th  of  June. 


cd  a  subaltern  four  years  and  three  months,  at 
the  expiration  of  which  service  ho  received  his 
captaincy.  On  the  :(Otb  of  June,  1701,  he  was 
promoted  to  a  captaincy  in  the  58th,  from  which 
corps  he  exchanged  into  tlie  18tli  Liglit  Dra- 
goons in  the  October  of  the  following  year.  At 
length  on  the  aoth  of  April,  ITii.'J,  be  obtained 
bis  majority  in  tlic  33d,  a  regiment  which  may 
boast  of  considerable  identification  with  his  re- 
nown, for  he  proceeded  in  it  to  bis  lieutenant- 
colonelcy  and  colonelcy,  and  comnninded  it  per- 
sonally throughout  the  early  stages  of  his  active 
career.  In  the  month  of  May,  1794,  Arthur 
WcUesley,  being  then  in  bis  26tb  year,  and  in 
command  of  the  33d  Kcgiment,  embarked  at 
Cork  for  service  on  the  continent  of  Europe,  so 
tliat  bis  first  active  duties  involved  great  inde- 
pendent responsibility.  The  aspect  of  affairs  at 
that  period  was  unpromising  in  the  extreme. 
War  had  been  declared  about  twelve  months 
previously  between  England  and  France,  and 


to  acquire,  in  conjunclion  with  subsequent  events, 
u  providential  character,  the  orders  were  ulti- 
mately changed,  and  the  services  of  the  young 
colonel  were  employed  on  a  scene  far  better  cal- 
<rulated  to  develop  his  military  genius.  In  the 
spring  of  170(>,  the  weather-beaten  33d  received 
directions  to  embark  for  Bengal.  At  this  criti- 
cal period,  however,  the  health  of  Colonel  Welles- 
ley  suddenly  failed  him.  Considering  that 
strength  of  constitution  and  temperament  with 
which  we  have  since  become  familiar,  it  is  re- 
markable to  observe  how  repeatedly  the  Iron 
Duke,  in  earlier  days,  was  attacked,  and  appa- 
rently almost  mastered  by  debility  and  sickness. 
On  the  present  occasion,  lie  was  actually  unable 
to  embark  with  bis  regiment,  but  a  favorable 
change  afterwards  supervened,  and  he  succeeded 
in  joining  the  corps  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 
The  remainder  of  the  voyage  was  soon  complet- 
ed, and  in  February,  1797,  Arthur  Wellesley 
landed  at  Calcutta,  to  commence  in  earnest  that 


of  the  Mabratta  States,  by  which  it  was  surround- 
ed ;  and  Madras,  in  earlier  times  the  leading 
government,  had  recovered  much  of  its  impor- 
tance from  the  virtual  absorption  of  the  Carnaiie, 
the  formidable  resources  and  uncertain  disposi- 
tion of  the  Ni/.am,  and,  above  all,  the  menacing 
attitude  of  Tippoo  Sultaun,  the  adventurer  oi 
Mysore.  It  was  against  this  barbaric  chieftain 
that  the  spurs  of  Arthur  Wellcsley  were  won. 
In  September,  1805,  he  returned  to  England,  af- 
ter nine  years  absence.  The  spkndid  success 
attending  his  European  campaigns  now  won  for 
him  a  new  wreath  of  laurels  witii  the  noble  title  of 
duke.  But  the  details  of  hismilitary  career  in  Eu- 
rope against  the  armies  of  Napoleon,  are  so  much 
matters  of  common  history  as  to  be  perfectly  fa- 
miliar to  our  readers ;  and,  as  we  cannot  in  our 
limits  give  anything  like  a  full  view  of  tbern, 
we  pass  them  by,  and  in  conclusion  say  that  the 
private  life  of  the  duke  was  simple,  methodical, 
and  familiar  in  most  of  its  features  tu  all  inhabi- 


HQUESTRTAN  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  L  \TE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 


Arthur  Wellesley,  hy  tlie  death  of  his  father  in 
1781,  became  dependent  at  an  early  age  upon 
the  care  and  prudence  of  his  mother— a  lady,  as 
it  fortunately  happened,  of  talents  not  unequal 
to  the  task.  Under  this  direction  of  bis  studies 
be  was  sent  to  Eton,  from  which  college  he  was 
transferred,  fir-it,  to  private  tuition  at  Brighton, 
and  subsequently  to  the  military  seminary  of 
Angers,  in  France.  At  Angers,  though  the 
young  student  left  no  signal  reputation  behind 
him.  it  is  clear  that  bis  time  must  have  been  pro- 
ductively employed.  Pignerol,  the  director  of 
the  seminary,  was  an  engineer  of  high  repute, 
and  the  opportunities  of  acquiring,  not  only  pro- 
fessional knowledge,  but  a  serviceable  mastery  of 
the  French  tongue,  were  not  likely  to  have  been 
lost  on  such  a  minda^  that  of  his  pupil.  On  the 
7th  of  March,  1787,  the  Hon.  Arthur  Wellesley, 
beini;  then  in  bis  18th  year,  rccpivcd  his  first 
commission  as  an  ensign  in  the  73rd  Regiment 
of  Foot,  His  promotion  was  rapid,  but  not  more 
so  in  its  fir-'t  steps  than  in  examples  visible  at 
the  present  day,  and  much  less  fo  than  in  the 
case  of  some  of  his  contemporaries.     He  remain- 


10,000  British  troops,  under  the  command  of  the 
Duke  of  York,  had  been  despatched  to  aid  the 
operations  of  the  allied  powers  in  the  low  couti- 
tries.  The  Duke  of  York's  corps  was  disem- 
barked at  0-*tcnd,  with,  perhaps,  less  prestige 
than  any  division  of  the  allied  army.  Though 
the  exertions  of  the  royal  commander  hud  al- 
ready been  directed,  and  with  some  success,  to 
military  reforms,  yet  the  conditions  of  the  service 
were  still  miserably  bad.  The  Duke  of  York 
was  repulsed  in  a  series  of  engagements,  and  it 
was  in  aid  of  his  discomfited  force  that  Colonel 
Wellesley  carried  out  the  33d  Regiment  to  the 
scene  of  his  first  as  wtU  as  of  his  last  services — 
the  plains  of  Belgium.  On  the  return  of  the  ex- 
pedition to  England,  the  .33d  was  landed  at  Har- 
wich, and,  for  a  short  time,  encamped  at  Warley, 
where  it  soon  recovered  its  effective  strength.  In 
the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  Colonel  Wellesley 
conducted  his  corps  to  Southampton,  where  it 
Wivs  embarked  on  board  the  outward-bound  fleet, 
under  the  flag  of  Admiral  Christian.  The  dcs- 
ttnfition  of  the  force  was  the  West  Indies,  but, 
through  a  series  of  accidents  so  remarkable,  as 


career  of  service  which  will  reflect  such  cttmal 
lustre  on  his  name.  Small  as  were  the  anticipa- 
tions of  the  active  service  which  the  young  colo- 
nel could  have  entertained  at  his  first  landing  in 
India,  a  few  months  saw  him  in  the  field  with  his 
corps  against  a  resolute  and  formidable  enemy. 
By  a  notable  instance  of  fortune,  the  elder  bro- 
ther of  Arthur  Wellesley  was  nominated  to  the 
Governor-Generalship  of  India  within  a  few 
months  after  Arthur  had  arrived  at  Calcutta,  and 
the  talents  of  a  most  accomplished  statesman 
were  thus  at  hand  to  develop  and  reward  the 
genius  of  the  rising  soldier.  Lord  Mornington, 
like  many  of  his  successors,  went  out  in  the  con- 
fident expectation  of  maintaining  peace,  but 
found  himself  engaged  in  hostilities  against  his 
most  ardent  desire.  At  that  time  the  three  pre- 
sidencies of  India  shared  pretty  evenly  between 
them  the  perils  and  prospects  of  active  service  in 
the  flcld.  Bengal,  since  the  definite  submission 
of  Oiule,  liad  l»een  comparatively  quiet;  but  it 
was  the  imperial  presidency,  and  its  troops  were 
held  readily  disposable  for  the  exigencies  of  the 
others.     Bomliav  viliratcd  with  everv  convulsion 


tants  and  visitors  of  the  metropolis.  His  attend- 
ance at  the  early  service  at  the  Chapel  Royal, 
and  at  the  Whitehall  sermons,  his  walk  in  the 
park  in  former  years,  and  of  late  days  his  ride 
through  the  Horse  Guards,  with  his  servant  be- 
hind liim,  arc  incidents  which  every  newspaper 
has  long  chronicled  for  the  information  of  the 
world.  His  personal  habits  were  those  of  mil- 
itary punctuality,  his  daily  duties  were  discharg- 
ed systematically  a"*  they  recurred,  and  his  estab- 
lishment was  as  thriftily  regulated  as  the  smallest 
household  in  the  land.  This  economy  enabled 
him  to  effect  considerable  savings,  and  it  is  be- 
lieved that  the  property  of  the  title  must  have 
been  very  largely  increased.  He  married  in 
1806  the  Hon.  Catherine  Pakenham,  third  daugh- 
ter of  the  second  Baron  Longford — a  lady  for 
whose  hand,  as  Arthur  Wellesley,  with  nothing 
but  the  sword  of  an  infantry  captain  to  second 
his  pretensions,  he  had  previously,  wc  ai'e  in- 
formed, been  an  imsuccessfu!  suitor.  The  du- 
chess died  in  1831.  The  duke  expired  a  widow- 
er, leaving  two  Fons  lo  inliciii,  Ids  name  and 
his  glory  as  a  soldier-staiesman. 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL   DRAWING    HOO'SI    COMPANION. 


285 


rHEDEEICK    GLEASON,   PRorniETon. 


MATURIN   M.    BALLOU,    Editor. 


COATEiNTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  AU3IKER. 

'■  Cnoper  Isle,''  a  tale  of  the  sea,  by  E.  Cdrtiss  Hine, 
U.  S.  N. 

^'Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  TX,  relating  to  the 
Mosque  of  \chmet,  by  Dr.  .Ieromb  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Autographs  and  Autojrraphy,"  No.  X,  by  William 
Edward  Knowles,  givinf^  the  Fipnaturci  of  Frank  Pierce 
(Democratic  candidate  for  the  Presidency).  11.  Il.istings 
Weld  .lohn  P.  Kennedy,  Charles  Sprague,  J.  T.  Headley, 
flco.  Tanning  Hill,  Ben;  Perlcy  Poore  and  Parke  Goodwin. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine.''  No.  XI,  relating  to  tlie  KiTer 
Jordan,  bv  Rev.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

"  The  Heart  that  loves  truly  can  never  forget,"  lines,  by 
Mary  G.  Kalping. 

'*  The  Hook  of  the  Future,'  verses,  by  Owen  G.  Warren. 

*'  Consolation,"  verses,  by  J.  Starr  Hollowat. 

"  Life's  Dark  Hours,"  3  poem,  bv  Joseph  11.  Butler. 

"  Modesty,"  verses,  by  Mrs.  R.  t.  Eldredge- 

'*  A  Song,"  by  Caroline  A.  Hatden. 

"  Au^tralia."  versus,  by  E  Cdrtiss  Hine,  U.  S.  N. 

"  4mie,"'  a  poem,  by  .Tohn  II.  Goodwin. 

"  Kudy  and  Willie,"  verse.'',  by  Conrad  S.  Kyser. 

'*  The  Indian  Summer,"  lines,  by  Francis  A.  Duritage. 

ILLTJSTEATIONS. 

We  shall  give  a  fine  view  of  the  Baptist  Theological  In- 
stitute, Newton,  Mass.,  drawn  on  the  spot,  by  our  artist, 
Mr.  Mallory. 

An  interesting  view  of  Sutter's  Mill,  with  a  view  of  Co- 
lonia,  California,  former  residence  of  the  founder,  Capt. 
Sutter. 

An  eastern  ecene,  representing  the  Sultan's  State 
Barge,  in  which  the  monarch  navigates  the  Bosphorus 
and  Golden  Horn. 

A  maritime  picture,  representing  the  late  spirited  re- 
gatta which  took  place  at  Lisbon. 

A  view  of  a  California  locality  known  as  the  Mission  of 
San  Carlos. 

We  Bh.ill  give  a  very  fine  and  lifelike  picture,  represent- 
ing the  late  Firemen's  Parade  in  Brooklyn  City,  N.  Y. 

Also  a  view  of  Firemen's  H.ill.in  its  gala  dress,  arranged 
for  the  occasion  of  its  dedication. 

A  portrait  of  Viscount  Hardinge,  the  new  commander 
in  chief  of  the  armies  of  Great  Britain,  successor  to  the 
Duke  of  Wellington. 

An  agricultural  scene,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Chapin,  rep- 
resenting the  late  Ploughing  Match  at  Bridgeport,  Ct. 

A  view  of  the  island  of  Icbaboe,  the  famous  deposit  of 
guano,  about  which  there  is  now  so  much  said. 

Also  a  representation  of  the  mode  of  gathering  and 
shipping  the  guano  for  this  and  otner  countries. 

An  interior  view  of  the  well  known  riding  school  of 
Disbrow  &  Co.,  Boston. 

A  fine  view  by  our  artist,  Mr.  MnnninSi  representing 
the  Court  House  at  Pittsburg,  Pennsylvania. 


CHANGE  OF  RESIDENCE. 

We  not  unfi-equently  receive  such  notices  as  the 
following,  and  wish  to  impress  it  upon  our  read- 
ers that  when  they  desire  the  address  of  their 
papers  changed,  they  must  be  particular  to  state 
where  it  has  been  sent  hpretofore.  It  would  occu- 
py one  of  our  clerks  a  week  or  more  to  hunt  up 
a  given  name,  without  the  residence  being  given, 
among  our  immense  list  of  subscribers. 

Selma,  Ala.,  October  7, 1852. 
Mr  Frederice  Gleason, — -^iri-You  will  see  by  the 
Ciiption  of  tiiis  that  1  Jim  now  in  trelnia.    I  expect  to  make 
it  my  home  for  some  time  to  come.     Thert^fore,  be  so  kind 
u»  to  Rend  the  Flag  to  that  place   and  oblige 

l^ours, . 


SPLINTERS. 

....  Biscaccianti  has  piicked  up  her  wardrobe 
and  gone  to  South  America. 

Miss  Kimberly  has  proved  very  success- 

fnl  in  her  engagement  at  Providence. 

....  We  suspect  that  the  manager  of  Camille 
Urso's  concerts  didn't  know  the  "ropes." 

....  One  of  the  Boston  editors  has  been  sent 
to  an  insane  asylum.     Only  one! 

It  is  beautifully  said  that  faith  spans  the 

gulf  of  death  with  the  bridge  of  hope. 

....  We  are  tired  of  reading  the  fulsome  flat- 
tery expended  upon  public  performers. 

....  The  people  of  New  York  city  consume 
100  000  quarts  of  milk  (orwhat  is  so  called)  daily. 

Mad.  Sontag  wore  a  S1500  dress  at  one 

of  licr  late  concerts.     It  was  made  in  New  York. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  received  $80 

per  day  as  commander  in-chief  of  the  British  army. 

....  We  saw  a  letter  from  Kossuth,  the  other 
day;  he  is  "  biding  his  time  "  quietly  in  London. 

Wont  Miss  Bennett,  at  the  Boston  Mu- 
seum, please  to  stand  up  straic/ht? 

....  Professor  Morse,  in  the  National  Intelli- 
gencer, sustains  Mr.  Hill's  claim  to  the  Hillotype, 

....  Theodore  Parker  and  R.  W.  Emerson 
are  engaged  for  lectures  in  Cincinnati  this  winter. 

....  Snow  six  inches  deep  fell  at  Nashua, 
N.  tl.,  on  the  15th  inst. 


EASTERN  TRAVEIi. 

Modern  travellers  are  beginning  to  forsake  the 
old,  beaten  routes  of  European  tourists,  as  too 
commonplace  and  familiar.  The  continent  of 
Europe  has  been  brought  by  steamers  so  close 
to  our  doors,  that  a  trip  to  Europe  is  now  no 
more  of  an  undertaking  than  a  trip  to  Niagara, 
or  a  journey  from  Boston  to  New  York  was,  a 
few  yfars  ago.  You  miss  a  friend  from  his  fa- 
miliar haunts  for  a  few  weeks — they  seem  like 
days,  and  when  you  meet  him  again,  you  ask 
him  carelessly  where  he  has  been  "?  laid  up  with 
the  influenza'?  or  on  a  visit  to  his  uncle  in  the 
country'?  He  replies  quite  as  carelessly,  that  he 
has  been  making  the  European  tour.  He  has 
seen  Liverpool,  he  has  seen  London,  the  Tower, 
Whitehall,  Westminster  Abbey,  St.  Paul's ;  the 
Kegent's  Park,  Hyde  Park,  the  Derby  races ;  he 
has  crossed  the  Channel,  visited  Paris,  sauntered 
on  the  Boulevards,  been  to  the  grand  opera, 
seen  a  review  and  a  revolution  there  ;  steamed 
it  down  the  Rhine,  glanced  at  the  "  castled  crag 
of  Drachenfels,"  gazed  on  Ehrenbreitstein's 
ruined  wall,  black  with  the  miner's  blast,  and 
and  heard  in  imagination  the  song  of  Lurelic  ; 
then  he  has  crossed  the  Alps,  has  seen  the  Cam- 
pagna,  Rome,  St.  Peter's  and  the  Forum,  "as- 
sisted "  as  the  Prench  say,  at  the  Carnival  of 
Venice,  and  so  home  again  by  railway  and  trans- 
atlantic steamer,  bringing  witii  liim  a  trunk  full 
of  Torr's  hoots,  and  two  dozen  pairs  of  white 
kid  gloves.  And  he  talks  about  all  this  care- 
lessly, and  you  listen  carelessly,  without  any  sort 
of  wonder,  for  the  names  and  places  he  mentions 
are  familiar  as  household  words.  Soon  the  elec- 
tric telegraph  will  render  the  mental  communica- 
tion instantaneous,  and  the  second  editions  of 
the  penny  papers  on  State  street  will  tell  you 
what  they  are  doing  at  the  same  hour  at  the 
Stock  Exchange  of  London  and  the  Bourse  of 
Paris.  Yes,  it  must  be  confessed — Europe  is 
essentially  used  up. 

But  the  East — the  gorgeous  £ast — the  fountain- 
head  of  religion,  art,  civilization,  the  home  of 
romance,  the  abiding  place  of  mysteries  yet  un- 
ravelled, the  vast,  the  mighty,  the  yet  uricompre- 
hended — this  realm  so  dear  to  memory  and  im- 
agination, is  still  far  from  being  used  up.  ''Not 
every  one  can  visit  Corhith,"  says  the  old  Greek 
proverb ;  and  not  every  one  can  dare  the  dangers 
and  ftitigues  of  the  desert,  crossing  it  camel-wise, 
and  encamping  on  the  arid  sand  beneath  the 
Arab  tent.  But  to  him  who  is  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  adventure — who  is  fearless  of  camels, 
dragomen,  sheiks  and  robbers,  simoons  and  sand- 
drifts,  the  obloquy  of  the  "faithful"  cast  on  all 
unbelievers,  the  chances  of  the  plague,  and  the 
certain  horrors  of  the  quarantine,  the  East  holds 
inducements  for  travel  which  no  other  land  can 
supply. 

To  the  Christian,  the  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy 
Land  is  one  that  cannot  be  performed  without 
profit.  It  is  impossible  to  visit  the  scenes  once 
peopled  by  those  ruder  races  whose  mighty 
achievements,  whose  idyls,  pastorals  and  trage- 
dies fill  the  pages  of  Scripture;  where  the 
founder  of  our  faiih  lived,  wrought,  spake,  and 
surtered ,  without  recognizing  with  a  clearer  under- 
standing the  truth  of  that  sacred  record,  and  the 
memory  of  the  East,  seen  with  the  bodily  and 
spiritual  eyes,  is  a  "joy  forever."  "  So  finally 
lie  in  the  mind,"  says  the  eloquent  Howadji,  all 
lands  we  have  seen.  The  highest  value  of  travel 
is  not  the  accumulation  of  facts,  but  the  percep- 
tion of  their  significance.  It  is  not  the  individual 
pictures  and  statues  that  we  see  in  Italy,  nor 
the  elegance  of  Paris,  nor  the  comfort  of  Eng- 
land, nor  of  the  splendor  of  the  Orient  in  detail 
which  are  permanently  valuable.  It  is  the 
breadth  tlie_y  give  to  experience,  the  more  reas- 
onable faith  tliey  inspire  in  the  scope  of  human 
genius,  the  di-eamy  distances  of  thought  with 
which  they  surround  life.  In  the  landscape 
wliich  we  enjoy  as  a  varied  whole,  what  do  we 
care  for  the  branching  tree  or  the  winding  river, 
although  we  know  without  tree  and  river  t'^ere 
can  be  no  landscape  1  When  Italy,  and  Syria, 
and  Greece  have  become  thoughts  in  your  mind, 
then  you  have  truly  travelled. 


Back  Numbers. — Our  readers  will  please 
remember  that  we  can  always  supply  all  the 
back  numbers  of  the  Pictorial  from  its  com- 
mencement. 


Boston  Museum. — Madame  Radiuski's  voice 
is  ."^lill  the  delight  of  the  patrons  of  this  establish- 
ment. 

Of  course  not. — The  Carpet  Bag  man  says 
no  one  ever  tried  to  reap  with  an  i-cicle  ! 


NATIONAL  THEATRE. 

The  new  National  Theatre  is  at  last  opened  to 
the  public,  and  on  the  tide  of  success  is  floating 
in  time's  current.  The  house  for  the  purpose  to 
wliich  it  is  appropriated,  is  a  most  admirable 
construction,  and  will  seat  very  comfortably 
2500  persons.  The  entrances,  or  lobbies,  on 
each  floor,  will  give  standing  room  to  nearly  600 
persons ;  and  there  are  eight  places  for  entrance 
and  exit  from  the  auditory  or  audience  part  of 
the  house.  The  stage  is  also  furnished  with  six 
entrances  from  Traverse  and  Friend  Streets. 
The  stage  is  76  feet  wide  by  66  feet  deep,  and 
29  feet  between  the  wings  or  side  scenes.  The 
curtain  is  40  feet  wide  by  38  feet  high  ;  proscen- 
ium, or  portion  of  the  stage  from  the  foot-lights 
to  the  curtain,  13  feet;  width  of  the  parquette, 
50  feet.  The  whole  theatre  is  151  feet  deep  by 
80  feet  wide.  A  building,  containing  a  large 
scene  room,  and  nearly  all  the  dressing  rooms, 
green  rooms,  etc.,  is  also  added  and  is  also  part 
of  the  theatre ;  it  is  50  feet  long  by  17  feet  wide. 
The  theatre  is  under  the  management  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Leonard,  as  principal  and  lessee;  stage 
manager,  J.  B.  Wright ;  prompter,  Henry  Lewis  ; 
treasurer,  W.  Ellison ;  box-office  keeper,  H.  W. 
Fenno ;  scenic  artist,  J.  E.  Hayes ;  machinist, 

Gill,  and  leader  of  orchestra,  J.  HoUoway. 

The  company,  as  far  as  announced,  appears  to 
be  a  good  one,  and  a  number  of  most  desirable 
star  engagements  have  already  been  made  pub- 
lic.    Success  to  the  National ! 


MUGGLES  AGAIN. 

We  made  a  call  on  a  lady  friend,  the  other 
day,  with  Muggles  (he's  very  fond  of  the  ladies). 
The  usual  compliments  had  hardly  been  ex- 
changed, before  Muggles  tapped  us  gently  on 
the  shoulder,  and  whispered  : 

"  Wh}'  is  the  lady's  chair  like  her  dress  1 
answer  before  she  turns  round." 

"Do  be  quiet,  Muggles.  You'll  make  us 
ashamed  of  you." 

"No  matter.  Why  is  the  chair  Hke  her  dress? 
can't  you  guess  ?" 

"No,"  we  replied,  fidgetting  for  fear  he  would 
be  overheard. 

"  Perfectly  plain,"  said  Muggles,  quietly ; 
"  because  it  is  sat-in  !" 

Muggles  was  going  on  to  say  something  about 
chair-aids  in  general,  when  the  lady  turned  again, 
and  changed  the  conversation,  by  asking  if  we 
had  seen  little  Camille  Urso  perform. 


The  late  Hon.  Henkt  Clay. — An  eff'ort  is 
being  made  in  Washington  to  form  an  associa- 
tion, having  for  its  object  the  erection  of  a  Na- 
tional Monument  in  honor  of  the  late  Henry 
Clay.  The  association  is  to  be  composed  of 
members  in  every  section  of  the  Union,  and  a 
number  of  members  of  Congress  have  announced 
their  readiness  to  cooperate  in  the  movement  at 
the  next  session  of  Congress. 


"  The  MLuiELUivE." — AVe  wish  to  call  the  at- 
tention of  our  readers  paiticularly  to  the  excel- 
lent story  written  for  us  by  Major  Ben:  Perley 
Poore,  commenced  in  the  present  number  of  the 
Pictorial.  It  is  a  work  of  sterling  interest  and 
merit.  A  fact  which  the  reader  will  discover  at 
the  outset. 


"  CoRRiNNE  Alm.\nza:  or,  Tlie  Magician  of 
Seville." — This  fine  story,  by  Frederick  Hunter, 
just  completed  in  the  Pictorial,  is  now  published 
in  book  form,  and  may  be  had  at  all  the  periodi- 
cal depots,  and  at  our  office. 


Gleaso>''s  Pictorial  — This  is  the  only  American  work 
of  the  kind  now  published,  and  for  beauty  of  .appearance, 
neatness  of  tjpogr.iphy,  and  finish  of  engraTiugs,  is  not 
surpassed  by  any  other  publication.  Gleasons  Publish- 
ing tlall,  in  Boston,  is  a  palace,  and  is  well  wortli  a  visit 
from  anj  one  desiring  to  see  the  sights  of  the  city. — Maine 
Fariiitr. 


Wants  to  Sell. — Laraartine  is  negotiating 
with  some  English  capitalists  for  the  sale  of  his 
estate  in  Asia  Minor,  presented  to  him  several 
years  ago  by  the  Sultan.  The  Sultan  may  fancy 
that  he  has  a  continjfent  remainder  in  that  estate. 


Theatrical. — Mrs.  Mowatt  is  announced  to 
perform  an  engagement  in  Philadelphia,  during 
November. 


Pf.rsonal. — The  late  Duke  of  Wellington  is 
still  the  absorbing  theme  of  the  English  press. 


Operatic  ^Madame  Bisbop  is  about  to  bring 
out  her  English  opera  troupe  at  Niblo's. 


Military. — The  Boston  Light  Infantry  cele- 
brated their  anniversary,  18th  inst.,  with  full  ranks. 


In  this  city,  by  ReT.  Mr.  Barrett,  Mr.  Joseph  P.  Whal^ 
to  MiFS  Georgiana  Fay. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Kirk,  Mr  George  Papendick,  of  Milwaukie, 
Wis  ,  to  Miss  Sarah  -Tane  Ilobart. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Neale,  Mr.  Charles  Small  to  Miss  Julia  P. 
Clark. 

Bv  Rev.  Mr.  Cilley,  Mr.  William  S.  Ring  to  Miss  Rachel 
E.  Oliver. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Cruft,  Mr.  John  Plumer  to  ML=s  Ellen  Jane 
Wood  worth. 

At  Roxbury,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Putnam,  Mr.  Thumas  Harris 
to  Miss  Kate  Dexter. 

At  Somcrville,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Baker,  of  Lynn,  Rev.  Edwin 
Teele  to  Miss  Sarah  E  Lord,  of  Thetford,  Yt. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Pope,  Mr.  Peter  R^-id,  of  Govan,  Scotland, 
to  Miss  Jane  VVat-son. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  T.  Edson,  D.  D.,  Mr.  Geo.  P.  Hayes, 
of  Mansfield,  to  Miss  M.  Ann  Cochran,  of  Quebec. 

At  Springfield,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bridge,  Mr.  James  Clapp,  of 
Worcester,  to  Miss  Augusta  Meekins.  of  Conway. 

At  Worcester,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Mann,  Mr.  Barney  Bemis  to 
Mii-fl  Mary  A.  Valentine 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Girdwood,  Mr.  Jonathan 
Howland,  Jr  ,  to  Miss  Caroline  T.  Remingtou. 

At  Bvfield,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Tcnney,  Mr.  John  F.  Twombly, 
of  New  York,  to  Miss  iusan  K.  Merrill,  of  Georgetown. 

At  Providence,  R.  I.,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Crocker,  Dr.  Samuel 
L.  Abbott,  of  Boston,  to  Mi.s3  Eliav  Jones  Hoppin. 

At  Stratford,  Ct.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Paddock,  Mr.  George  C. 
Dunbar,  of  New  York,  to  Miss  June  V.  Shelton. 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y,,  Mr.  Charles  N.  Emerson,  of  Great 
Earrington,  Ms.,  to  Miss  Jeannie  M.  Fobes. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  Frederic  W.  Edea,  35 ;  Mrs.  Sarah  W. 
Kelley,  31 ;  Miss  Mary  Brimmer  Warner,  26 ;  Mrs.  Lydia 
Gorham,  of  Barnstable,  64;  Mrs.  Temperance  Webber,  58  ; 
Mrs,  Deborah  Lerow,  63;  Mi-s,-!  Mary  Walker,  67;  Mrs. 
Sarah  Kiley,  84;  Miss  Jane  Claudine  IIodgman,28;  Mr. 
Joseph  Muncreef,  87  :  Romanus  Emerson,  Esq.,  70 ;  Mr. 
Alexander  Houaten,  65. 

At  Roxbury,  Emily  R  ,  wife  of  John  A.  Hanson,  Esq. 

At  Chelsea,  Harriet,  wife  of  Dr.  R.  H.  Cary. 

At  Medford,  Mrs.  Phebe  Porter,  87. 

At  Maiden,  Mr,  John  Sprague,  71. 

At  Watertown,  Miss  Eleanor  Wheeler,  24, 

At  Dedham,  Miss  Sarah  Farrington,  87. 

At  Waltham,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Brookings,  65. 

At  Salem.  Mr.  Solomon  Emerson,  56. 

At  E:ist  Weymouth,  Mr.  Peter  Whitmarsh,  79. 

At  Gloucester,  Miss  Lois  Bray,  18. 

At  Taunton,  George  Mercy,  Esq  ,  75. 

At  Westminster,  Georgiann  P.,  aged  2,  and  Emerett  L., 
aged  4  years,  only  children  of  Mr.  Thomas  L.  Eaton. 

At  Dighton,  Mr.  Eliakim  Briggs,  87. 

At  Kaynham,  Mrs.  Lurane  White,  76. 

At  Marlboro',  Daniel  Stevens,  Esq.,  81. 

At  Fall  River,  Mr.  Henry  Potter,  37. 

At  Truro,  Capt.  Levi  Stevens,  73. 

At  Worcester,  Abiel  Jaques,  Esq..  72. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Mii-s  Clara  C.  Kimball,  17. 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Mrs.  Eliza  A.  Milne,  42. 

At  Washington,  D.  C,  Serj.  Maj.  Yenerando  Puliz2d,  57. 

At  Chicopee,  Dr.  David  Bemia,  54. 

At  Plymouth,  Eng.,  Mrs.  Catherine  Frances  Macready. 


—  AND  — 

LITERAHY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 

GLEASON'S    PICTOEIAL 

A  Itecord  of  the  heantifid  and  uscfid  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  not^ible 
events  of  the  day.  Its  coliunns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMEBICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
■well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.    Each  paper  la 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

■with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
not:ible  objects,  current  evtnts  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  iu  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  port£;aits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  bcautil'ul  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  M"ith  numerous  Fpecimens  from  the  animal  king- 
Uoin,  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  i.^ 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  pnpcr,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expres.?ly  for  it; — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
page;.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fu:id  of  amusement  it  allbrds,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nnt  miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest'and 
highest  toncof  moi-.ility,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
Eh;it  i-Si  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

TEEMS:    $2  00    PEE   VOLTTME. 

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the  f  r  ;t  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  uuiking  two  volumes 
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^Zr"  One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  our  Union,  and  ono  copy 
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for  S5  00. 

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obt:iined  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throug  lout  t!iu 
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Published  every  S.vturbav,  by 

F.    GLEASON,  Eostox,  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS- 

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A.  WINCH,  110  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLUK  &  CO.,  Ill  Baltimore  St.,Baltunorp. 
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28(1 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DUAWINCx   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


[Written  forOleoHOD^H  Plctorlnl.] 
THE  GEM  OF  THE  TROPICS. 

BY   MATUaiN    M.    IIALLOU. 

Orecn  IhIo  of  tho  oconn,  bright  gom  of  the  soa, 
Tbu  la,Ht  "  Koli-f-noor  "  in  Ciintilo'fl  puling  crown  ; 

O  would  tliy  lono  Btar  triuiiiphaot  might  bo, 
And  "  Moro  "  no  lougor  on  llborty  frown. 

Bright  land  of  the  Run,  the  faircHt  yot  known, 
Exuberant  in  frulta,  and  sweet  food  for  tho  beo; 

One  plant  in  thy  soil  ia  yet  to  be  sown, 
The  broad-8p rending  branches  of  Llborty'H  tree. 


[Written  for  Gleanon's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS   IN   PALESTINE. 

No.  X. 

BY  RBV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

THE  DEAD  SEA. 

The  Dead  Sea  is  about  six  hours  from  Jerusalem,  Jordan 
about  eight;  remembering  that  these  distances  are  a  liard  scram- 
Iile  over  precipitous  rocks,  neither  of  these  objects  of  painful  in- 
terest to  the  Christian  pilgrim  can  be  more  than  about  twenty 
miles  from  the  city.  The  inviolable  *'  custom  of  the  country"  is 
to  hire  the  right  of  way  from  the  Arab  Sheik  of  Jericho  for  about 
five  dollars  per  head;  the  contract,  which  is  sealed  and  deposited 
at  some  consulate,  rendering  your  guide  responsible  for  damages, 
should  any  occur  on  the  way.  Besides  the  attendance  of  this 
official  character — whose  dashing  yellow  turban  had  one  end  that 
hung  loosely  as  a  sort  of  flag,  when  the  wind  caught  it  up  as  he 
pushed  his  I)lood  mare  into  a  gallop — travellers  are  often  decoyed 
into  taking  a  guard  of  soldiers,  a  tent  and  various  other  super- 
fluities. One  sumpter-mule  was  more  than  enough  for  my  friend 
and  myself;  our  servant,  who  attended  us  half  to  gratify  his  de- 
vout feelings  by  the  first  sight  of  these  hallowed  places,  went  rath, 
er  for  his  own  pleasure  than  ours,  and  carried  no  arms ;  and  al- 
most the  only  precaution  we  had  taken  was  to  leave  everything  of 
value  in  the  safe  keeping  of  the  convent.  The  real  danger  I 
suppose  to  be  thievery  and  murder.  But,  except  one  defile 
through  the  most  banditti-looking  rocks  which  man  ever  crossed, 
I  do  not  believe  there  is  any  danger  any  part  of  the  way :  and 
here,  a  party  of  good  size,  who  kept  compactly  together  and  did 
not  loiter,  would  be  in  no  peril  even  without  the  safeguard  of  the 
Bedouin  chief.  The  Arab  guns  have  commonly  nothing  better 
than  flint  locks,  and  so  often  miss  fire,  that  their  owners  do  not 
care  to  measure  them  with  our  o\vn  percussion  caps. 

The  route  to  "  Lot's  Sea,"  as  the  Arabs  call  it,  follows  the  bed 
of  the  Kedron  through  an  exceedingly  wild  and  mountainous 
country,  occupied  by  nothing  but  a  few  Arab  tents,  and  their 
wild-looking  goats.  lu  less  than  five  miles  from  Jerusalem  you 
begin  to  ascend  a  road  hewn  out  of  the  live  rock,  with  a  parapet 
on  the  lower  side,  which  leads  to  tlie  strong  castle  of  the  Santa 
Saba  monks,  who  made  this  road  as  a  mercy  to  pilgrims.  Forti- 
fied by  a  letter  from  the  Greek  patriarch,  we  besieged  the  low  iron 
postern  for  some  time — perhaps  there  was  no  brother  at  leisure  to 
decipher  our  letter  of  introduction.  At  last  the  bolts  were  slowly 
drawn,  and  we  were  ushered  one  by  one  into  a  spacious  arched 
saloon,  where,  reclining  upon  the  rugs  which  were  to  be  our  couch 
at  night,  we  were  first  refreshed  by  a  cordial  glass  of  gin,  manu- 
factured by  the  friars  themselves,  and  a  single  handful  of  raisins  ; 
next,  the  egg-shell  cup  of  thick  Mocha  peculiar  to  the  East,  with- 
out milk,  strong  and  fragrant ;  then,  after  some  pause,  the  dinner 
of  rice  soup,  eggs,  wine  and  oranges — neither  meat  nor  woman 
being  allowed  to  enter  these  very  holy  walls — here  again,  came 
the  one  glass  of  sphit,  and  another  upon  our  visit  to  the  chapel 
and  within  the  sanctuary  itself. 

St.  Saba  is  a  wonder  of  wonders  to  all  Americans.  Amidst 
this  howling  wilderness,  in  a  frightful  gorge  of  the  sterile  moun- 
tain, stands  this  baronial  castle,  with  everything  but  its  draw- 
bridge and  moat,  having  two  strong  towers,  lofty  walls  of  stone 
making  part  and  parcel  with  the  solid  rock  on  whicii  they  stand, 
and  in  the  centre  an  ancient  chapel,  surrounded  by  buttresses 
nearly  as  large  as  itself,  and  able  to  serve  in  time  of  need  as  a 
citadel  within  a  citadel.  Saba  was  a  monk  of  the  fourth  century 
of  eminent  sanctity  and  belligerent  orthodoxy.  When  not  forced 
into  the  arena  of  controversy  by  the  heresies  of  his  day,  he  lived 
in  such  odor  as  a  hermit,  that  multitudes  were  drawn  after  him 
into  this  wildest  of  wildernesses,  by  the  charm  of  his  self-sacrifice, 
and  the  fame  of  his  miracles.  Fourteen  thousand  anchorites  are 
said  to  have  lived  around  him  in  these  little  burrows  wliich  you 
see  on  either  mountain-side — and  I  could  well  credit  the  number, 
even  without  the  testimony  of  a  heap  of  skulls  piled  up  reverently 
in  a  kind  of  cavern-chapel.  Now,  that  all  the  romance  is  over — 
thoueh  the  strict  discipline  remains — and  the  hermit  life  of  an  en- 
thusiastic age  is  quite  obsolete,  and  this  impregnable  pile  shelters 
once  in  a  month  a  few  pilgrims,  instead  of  serving  as  the  watch- 
tower  of  a  legion  of  saints,  the  convent  is  always  well  filled. 

There  are  many  memories  of  suffering  about  the  place.  Some- 
times they  must  have  endured  famine;  once,  at  least,  they  were 
all  massacred  by  the  Arabs  in  the  seventh  century ;  and,  until 
these  few  years,  they  have  lived  since  their  founder  died.  A,  I)., 
532,  in  peril  of  martyrdom.  Upon  the  walls  they  showed  us  the 
piles  of  loose  stones  ready  1o  be  hurled  upon  an  enemy,  and  in 
the  principal  tower  was  a  signal  by  which  the  watchman  could 
rouse  the  wliole  brotherhood  at  once;  and  they  themselves  told 
us  that  they  should  have  lived  on  in  Ihe  same  terror  but  for  Il)ra- 
blRi  IWip,.     And  thron^^b  the  embarrassment  of  their  Greek  talk 


wo  Icnrnt  that  thoy  maintained  a  sort  of  friendwhip  with  their  old 
enemy,  by  giving  the  Arabs  occasionally  some  of  their  excellent 
breail,  so  that  the  lion  may  be  said  to  "  lie  down  with  the  lamb" 
ut  last.  Miss  Martineau  supposed  them  to  posscs.s  some  inesti- 
mable manuscripts  which  arc  kept  sacred  from  common  eyes. 
Their  little  lilirary,  evidently  not  often  dlsturlicd,  was  freely 
thrown  open  at  our  request,  and  proved  to  be  just  what  was  to 
have  been  expected,  chiefly  the  f.itliers  of  the  Greek  Cliurch, 
cased  in  grim  looking  parchment.  Should  their  eagle's  nest 
be  stormed  again,  these  musty  old  tomes  might  come  to  no  bad 
end  in  the  shape  of  wadding  for  the  ancient  muskets  in  the  room 
above. 

The  convent  church  is  lined  with  tinsel,  and  hung  with  the 
coarsest  heads  of  saints,  presented  by  the  emperor  of  Russia,  whose 
taste  for  painting  is  worse  than  barbarous.  The  massive  building 
almost  hangs  over  a  precipice  four  hundred  feet  deep,  where  none 
but  wild  beasts  ever  pass.  In  the  early  morning,  as  I  paced  the 
pavement,  worn  smooth  by  sandalled  feet,  and  caught  the  matin 
chant  as  it  was  echoed  from  thousands  of  mountain  caves  to  this 
heart  of  rock,  from  whose  centre  it  seemed  to  burst  out  as  a  live 
spring,  I  could  not  but  feel  anew  the  power  of  faith  in  retaining 
fifty  voluntary  exiles  within  this  awful  solitude.  They  seemed 
entirely  dead  to  the  world — dead  as  their  founder,  whose  bones 
repose  in  a  little  circular  shrine  in  their  midst.  They  asked  us 
no  questions,  they  stared  upon  us  from  no  sly  corners,  they  did 
not  even  care  to  talk  us  into  a  good  opinion  of  themselves;  the 
three  or  four  with  whom  we  came  in  contact  were  courteous,  but 
not  inquisitive,  neither  seeking  nor  shunning  our  questions  and 
our  visits.  Impossible  and  incredible  as  their  life  may  appear  to 
us  in  New  England,  it  may  be  explained  no  doubt  partly  into  the 
solemnizing  impression  of  the  Holy  Land  upon  Oriental  imagina- 
tions, quickened  by  a  peculiar  religious  training  into  an  admira- 
tion of  this  sort  of  living  martyrdom.  As  these  men  work  hard 
upon  the  roads  as  well  as  fare  poorly,  as — except  the  generous 
liquor  which  they  distil — all  creature  comforts  arc  put  far  from 
them,  as  their  abundant  hospitality  has  often  been  the  saving  of 
life,  I  cannot  comprehend  the  spirit  which  would  whisper  a  scan- 
dal or  point  a  sarcasm  against  such  simple-hearted  hosts. 

A  few  hours  of  constant  descent  brought  us  upon  the  white, 
gravelly  shore  of  the  Dead  Sea,  where  nothing  but  a  thorn-bush 
or  two  is  living,  and  a  few  dried  boughs  from  the  Jordan  have 
been  thrown  up  by  the  waves.  Even  in  January,  the  air  was 
warm  and  sulphury — a  change  not  at  all  surprising  from  the  tem- 
perature of  Jerusalem,  considering  that  we  had  descended  three 
thousand  feet  below  the  level  of  Mount  Zion,  and  were  actually 
beneath  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  In  this  season  of  rains,  when 
the  Jordan  pours  in  a  full  and  swift  flood,  the  water  is  less  strong- 
ly tainted  than  in  midsummer;  still,  no  medicine  was  ever  so  nau- 
seous to  any  palate  ;  and  upon  the  skin,  I  found  it  to  be  burning, 
sticky  and  heating.  Magnesia  and  soda  arc  the  two  principal 
salts ;  these  with  lime  make  about  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the 
mixture.  Yet,  it  is  clear  and  without  any  trace  of  animalcula;; 
as  lifeless  a  mass  as  molten  lead.  The  average  width,  as  we 
know  by  the  thorough  exploration  under  Capt.  Lynch,  is  about 
nine  miles ;  the  length ,  forty.  The  bottom  is  the  most  remarkable 
in  the  world,  one  part  averaging  only  thirteen  feet  of  depth,  the 
other  thirteen  hundred — as  if  some  vast  earthquake  had  swallowed 
so  much  land  and  caused  the  deep  waves  to  roll  over  what  had 
been  life  and  joy.  The  bitumen  found  along  the  shore,  the  op- 
pressive heat  and  the  earthquakes  which  still  occur,  show  the  vol- 
canic character  of  the  place.  The  danger  of  disease  is  from  the 
Egyptian  sultriness,  which  scorches  the  feet  upon  the  beach  even 
in  April,  and  causes  the  Arabs  to  think  strangers  insane  who  lin- 
ger around  its  feverish  shores.  Fortunately,  every  question  of 
any  interest  is  settled  now  by  the  American  Expedition,  and  no 
more  lives  need  be  thrown  away  upon  this  silent  tomb  of  the 
guilty  past.  The  pillar  has  even  been  found  again  upon  the 
Usdom-hill,  at  the  head  of  an.  abrupt  chasm,  which  Josephus  and 
Clement  of  Home  fancied  to  be  Lot's  wife :  and  Dr.  Robinson 
seems  to  have  determined  the  "  apples  of  Sodom  "  to  be  the  osiier, 
or  botanically  the  Asclepias  gigantca,  a  sort  of  milk-weed  tree, 
whose  orange-like  fruit  on  being  pressed  bursts  and  leaves  a  small 
quantity  of  fine  silk,  which  the  Arabs  twist  up  for  their  guns,  and 
prefer  them  to  the  ordinary  match.  The  stereotype-superstition 
that  birds  would  drop  dead  in  flying  over  the  lake  is  refuted  by 
the  fact  that — though  very  rare,  because  there  is  nothing  green  to 
invite  them  into  the  neighborhood — the  American  party  repeated- 
ly saw  wild  ducks  even  floating  at  their  ease  upon  the  surface  of 
the  water.  The  wonderful  buoyancy  of  the  sea  has  not  been  ex- 
aggerated ;  it  is  very  difficult  to  keep  one's  feet  do\^^l  in  the  waves, 
and  quite  impossible  to  sink — horses  have  even  rolled  over  at 
times  upon  their  sides,  and  been  very  much  alarmed  at  the  strange 
condition  of  things.  The  metal  boats  employed  by  Capt.  Lynch 
were  polished  like  new  coin  by  their  own  motion,  and  the  stroke 
of  the  waves  in  a  storm  was  said  to  ring  like  a  hammer,  while  a 
book  dropped  accidentally  into  the  briny  mass  could  not  after- 
wards be  dried.  Of  course,  nothing  is  ordinarily  seen  upon  or 
around  the  waters,  and  nothing  heard  save  the  sound  of  St.  Sa- 
ba's convent  bell.  If  vSodom  and  Gomorrah  lie  entombed  heic, 
there  never  was  a  more  impressive  burial  place — even  in  the  glare 
of  a  most  brilliant  moon,  its  whole  look  was  deathly ;  and,  at 
night,  or  when  the  thunder  rolls  and  the  earthquake  heaves  the 
steaming  cauldron,  it  would  not  take  much  imagination  to  believe 
it  indeed  the  final  abode  of  the  condemned. 


The  memories  of  childhood,  the  long,  far  away  days  of  boy- 
hood, the  mother's  love  and  prayers,  the  voice  of  a  departed  plav- 
fellow,  the  ancient  church  and  schoolmaster  in  all  their  green  and 
hallowed  associations  come  upon  the  heart  in  the  nutunm  time  of 
life,  like  the  passage  of  a  pleasantly  remembered  dream,  and  east 
a  ray  of  their  own  piirily  and  sweetness  over  it, 


[Written  for  01ea«on'fl  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGRAPHS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTINGUISHED  DTDrVCDUALS. 

No.  JX. 

BY  WM.  EDWAUD   KNOWLBB. 


The  autograph  of  Cihrt.es  Dickens  is  more  picturesque  than 
that  of  any  otiicr  living  author.  It  has  all  the  unique  uniformity 
of  the  old  German  text ;  and  is  as  distinctly  legible  as  it  is  grace- 
ful. There  is  a  peculiarity  in  his  style  that  is  beyond  imitation  ; 
lie  writes  in  a  sphere  wholly  his  own.  Yet  he  has  never  produced 
anything  new,  but  rather  lengthens  his  thoughts  into  sentences, 
and  his  ideas  into  chapters.  He  spreads  a  few  thoughts  over  a 
great  surface  of  paper,  and  extends  them  to  an  unnatural  length. 
This  quality  is  clearly  seen  in  his  signature. 


<f:::^2i^'Z:>€L 


T.  S.  Arthur  has  won  a  brilliant  reputation  as  a  novelist. 
He  possesses  talent,  superior  talent,  and  employs  it  to  the  best 
advantage.  He  writes  to  instruct  the  heart  and  head.  No  one, 
however  dull,  but  rises  from  the  pei-usal  of  bis  temperance  tales  a 
better  man,  and  strengthened  in  the  resolution  to  live  a  temperate 
and  respectable  life.  The  signature  is,  to  all  appearance,  carefully 
studied. 


q/  ,    ^   •  ^H^-S^tA^^ 


The  late  John  Q.  Adams  has  written  some  beautiful  things, 
both  in  prose  and  verse.  Nor  has  any  lover  of  good  poetry  for- 
gotten his  "  Wants  of  Man,"  a  poem  of  considerable  merit.  To 
be  convinced  that  he  possessed  genius  of  the  highest  order  one 
need  but  to  look  at  his  autograph.  Though  it  wavers  in  every 
line,  still  it  has  a  decisive  and  firm  appearance. 


©/&>*-a..,.^  C^^  '  cTir^i 


The  autograph  of  the  late  President  Polk  is  beautiful  and 
picturesque  in  the  extreme.  Yet  his  chirography  is  exceedingly 
commonplace.  A  man  who  writes  such  a  hand,  will  never  get 
far  astray  from  right,  nor  will  he,  unaided,  ascend  to  the  highest 
eminence  among  his  fellow-men.  The  signature  is  a  fair  speci- 
men of  his  chirography. 


John  Tyler. — The  ex-president  writes  a  very  peculiar  and 
characteristic  hand  ;  it  evinces  an  impulsive  and  unfonned  pur- 
pose, which  is  a  truthful  peculiarity  of  the  man.  There  is  little 
method  in  the  arrangement  of  his  manuscript,  which  in  body  ap- 
pears careless  and  unformed. 


The  chirography  of  the  Hon.  Lewis  Cass  resembles  strongly 
that  of  Edward  Everett.  He  has  won  for  himself  a  lasting  repu- 
tation, both  as  a  statesman  and  author.  At  one  time  he  was  a 
regular  contributor  to  the  "  Southern  Literary  Messenger,"  and 
has  written  many  creditable  pieces  for  the  "Detroit  Miscellany," 
edited  by  I.  K.  Wellman. 


^Jl^.  QA.a-^'i^'in^ 


i^-^'Z^ 


Dr.  J.  H.  Robinson  is  well  known  to  the  readers  of  the  Pic- 
torial as  a  regular  contributor  to  its  columns.  He  wields  a  versa- 
tile and  industrious  pen,  but  his  chirography  is  indistinct  and  hur- 
ried. Dr.  Robinson  has  successfully  asserted  his  title  to  the  name 
of  poet,  as  well  as  an  entertaining  novelist. 


llU 


5r  yC^^*^ 


James  T.  Fields. — This  young  American  poet  has  taken  high 
rank  in  literature,  and  understands  the  secret  of  success  and  ap- 
preciation. He  docs  not  write  too  o/ieii ;  what  we  see  from  his  pen 
is  finished  and  artistic.  He  has  just  returned  from  a  European 
tour.  Mr.  Fields's  handwriting  exhibits  much  of  the  finish  ob- 
servable in  his  composition. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


287 


NAUTICAL  DISCOVERY. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the  lali- 
tude  of  a  ship  cannot  be  taken  if  the  sun  and 
horizon  be  not  both  visible  at  the  same  time,  and 
that  the  artificial  horizon  used  on  land  to  obtain 
the  latitude  of  a  place,  cannot  be  used  at  sea, 
owing  to  the  constant  motion  of  the  ship  destroy- 
ing the  horizontal  surface.  It  is  stated  that  Mr. 
Brinsden,  of  Mont  St.  Hilaire,  Canada  East,  has 
perfected  a  mode  for  using  the  artificial  horizon 
at  sea,  so  that  it  is  perfectly  uninfluenced  by  the 
motion  of  the  ship,  and  the  altitude  may  be  tak- 
en at  all  times  when  the  sun  is  visible.  Such  a 
discovery  will  tend  much  to  the  security  of  ves- 
sels, the  preservation  of  the  lives  of  our  hardy 
sailors,  and  must  command  the  attention  of  ship 
owners. 


CUBA. 

The  disaffection,  at  last  accounts,  was  growing 
stronger  every  day,  and  the  acts  of  Canales,  the 
captain-general,  had  been  openly  denounced. 
Arrests  of  suspected  persons  continued  to  be 
made  daily.  The  police  force  had  been  increased, 
and  domiciliary  visits  were  of  frequent  occur- 
rence. So  fearful  are  the  authorities  of  the  least 
outbreak,  that  scarcely  a  vessel  reaches  that  port 
which  is  not  immediately  boarded  bj'  one  or 
more  officers,  and  thoroughly  searched.  That 
this  state  of  things  cannot  long  continiie  is  ver}' 
evident,  and  those  who  have  looked  on  with  apa- 
thy before  now,  begin  to  feel  aroused  at  the  das- 
tardly conduct  of  the  Spanish  authorities. 


THE  NEIV  COMET. 

The  comet  recently  discovered  by  Mr.  Pirsson 
was  examined  on  the  evening  of  the  12th  inst., 
from  the  Cambridge  Observatory.  It  was  still 
invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  but  in  the  telescope 
appeared  quite  bright,  having  a  good  nucleus  and 
a  very  perceptible  tail  of  about  one-half  a  degree. 
Its  general  course  appears  to  be  to  the  south- 
west, at  the  rate  of  about  a  degree  a  day.  It 
may  be  looked  for  at  9  o'clock,  P.  M.,  about  8 
degrees  below  the  pole  star,  a  little  to  the  west. 
A  common  spy-glass  will  show  it. 


Suicidal  Attempt. — A  day  or  two  since,  at 
the  navy  yard,  Chartestown,  a  man  named  Pear- 
son, corporal  of  the  Marines,  attempted  to  de- 
stroy his  life  by  taking  laudanum.  A  stomach- 
pump  and  an  emetic  interfered  with  the  opera- 
tion, and  he  is  now  alive,  a  "  wiser,"  and,  it  is  to 
be  hoped,  a  "  better  man." 


Miss  Catherine  Hayes'  Concert. — Her 
last  concert  in  this  section  of  the  country,  pre- 
vious to  her  departure  for  California,  was  given 
on  Tuesday  evening,  the  12th  inst.,  before  a 
Ijynn  audience.  She  was  greeted  by  a  full 
house,  and,  in  closing,  she  sung  "  Erin  Is  my 
home,"  with  a  peculiar  and  touching  pathos. 


Japan  Expedition. — Orders  have  been  is- 
sued at  Washington  to  fit  up  the  Vermont,  Ma- 
cedonian, and  several  other  ships  of  the  line,  for 
the  Japan  expedition,  which  is  to  be  prosecuted 
with  all  reasonable  dispatch. 


Liberality. — The  City  Council  of  Cincin- 
nati has  appropriated  S500  to  the  widow  Strow- 
der,  whose  husband  was  killed  some  time  since, 
while  in  the  service  of  the  city. 


Masonic  Institute. — The  Masonic  Frater- 
nity of  Aberdeen,  Mississippi,  have  taken  mea- 
sures to  establish  a  Masonic  Male  Institute  in 
that  city. 

MosiCAL. — The  editor  of  the  New  York  Mir- 
ror suggests  that  the  new  music  hall  in  this  city 
be  called  "Beethoven  Hall." 


Queer  how  it's  done. — Lynn  makes  nearly 
5,000,000  pairs  of  shoes  a  year,  and  yet  has  but 
15,000  souls  in  the  city. 


Safe,  after  all. — The  man  who  was  carried 
away  by  his  feelings,  has  returned  safe. 


Gone  Home. — Billy  Bowlegs  has  returned  to 
his  native  everglades  in  Florida. 


A  Brave  Man. — One  who  isn't  afraid  to  wear 
old  clothes,  until  he  is  able  to  pay  for  new  ones. 


A.    good   Rule. — Against   the  fickleness   of 
fortune  oppose  a  bold  heart. 

<  ■^■».  fc 

High. — Hay  is  selling  in  Boston  at  $25  per  ton. 


UlaijsiiJe   ©atljcrinjs. 

The  wife  of  Mr.  Maci-eady,  the  actor,  is  dead. 

Columbus,  the  discoverer  of  America,  was  a 
weaver. 

The  total  population  of  the  city  of  New  Or- 
leans is  145,449. 

The  Artesian  well  at  Louisville  has  been  sunk 
to  the  depth  of  800  feet. 

Beef  cattle  are  very  scarce  in  Louisville,  and 
command  high  prices. 

The  Seminole  Indians  will  emigrate  west  the 
present  season.. 

The  telegraph  wire  is  stretched  across  the 
Ohio  river  at  Cincinnati. 

Twenty  mad  dogs  have  been  shot  at  Reading 
during  the  past  few  days. 

Lecount,  sentenced  to  be  hung  for  murder, 
will  be  executed  in  Cincinnati  on  Friday,  the 
26th  of  November. 

A  Southern  Cotton  Planters'  Convention  is 
to  be  held  at  Macon,  Ga.,  on  the  third  Monday 
of  November. 

Thomas  Jefferson  Sunderland,  the  Canadian 
agitator,  died  in  Nebraska  Territory,  on  tlic  7ih 
of  September. 

A  firm  at  Wheeling,  Virginia,  have  already 
engaged  forty  thousand  hogs  to  be  slaughtered 
at  their  establishment  this  winter. 

Mr.  Matson,  of  Bourbon  county,  Kentucky, 
has  imported  a  Durham  bull  that  cost  him  over 
$1000.     He  is  a  rare  specimen. 

In  Savannah  a  physician  of  high  standing  re- 
ports that  he  has  never  known  so  much  sickness 
as  exists  in  that  city  now. 

The  population  of  Paris  is  1,000,000,  and  it 
has  10,000  beds  in  hospitals  ;  but  London,  whose 
population  is  2,000,000,  has  only  5000  beds. 

Mrs.  Venable,  aged  eighty-two,  a  resident  of 
Itliaca,  New  York,  committed  suicide  by  hang- 
ing herself  from  a  beam  in  her  chamber. 

Fourteen  vessels  have  left  the  United  States 
for  the  Australian  gold  mines.  Nearly  two  thou- 
sand emigrants  have  gone  out  in  them. 

A  woman  named  Bedwell  was  drowned  in 
Oswego  river,  last  week,  while  endeavoring  lo 
save  her  child,  who  Iiad  fallen  into  the  water. 

The  caterpillars  and  boll  worm  have  made 
their  appearance  in  Bager  county,  Ga.,and  have 
caused  considerable  damage  to  the  cotton  crop. 

Two  men  were  killed  on  Tuesday  of  last  week, 
near  Rochester,  on  the  Pittsburgh  and  Cleve- 
land Railroad,  by  standing  on  the  cars  while  go- 
ing under  a  bridge. 

A  highly  respectable  lady  of  Dedhani,  Mass., 
who  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  late  Spiritual 
Convention  in  Boston,  has  become  insane  and 
been  taken  to  the  hospital. 

There  is  a  movement  in  New  York  to  get  up 
a  third,  or  City  Reform  party — independent  of 
national  politics.  A  call  has  been  issued  for  a 
mass  meeting,  to  deliberate  upon  the  subject. 

At  least  three  thousand  marriages  are  celebra- 
ted every  day,  and  there  is  not  a  moment,  from 
one  year's  end  to  anotlier,  in  which  the  delightful 
ceremony  is  not  somewhere  coming  off'. 

Abel  Blood,  of  Goshen,  New  Hampshire,  who, 
_with  Benjamin  Pierce,  the  father  of  Frank, 
fought  in  the  Revolution,  died  on  the  19th  ult., 
aged  94  years.  He  fought  bravely  in  eight  great 
battles. 

Two  Irish  children  were  recently  boxed  up 
and  sent  as  baggage  by  railroad  from  Manchester 
to  Liverpool.  Fortunately  the  box  was  placed  on 
top  of  the  car,  whereby  the  poor  children  were 
not  suffocated. 

Some  published  articles  on  the  milk  trade  of 
New  York,  show  the  causes  of  much  of  the  sum- 
mer sickness  in  that  city.  The  articles  have  cre- 
ated some  stir  among  the  manufacturers  and 
owners  of  distillery-slop-fed  cows. 

Mr.  James  Wairen,  the  collector  on  the  Balti- 
more Railroad,  was  killed  by  being  thrown  acci- 
dentally under  the  wheels  as  the  cars  were  leav- 
ing Broad  and  Prime.  Mr.  Warren  was  36 
years  old.  He  leaves  a  wife  and  six  children, 
and  was  highly  respected. 

There  is  in  New  York  ciiy  a  milk  establish- 
ment, and  another  in  Williami^burg,  which  fur- 
nish daily  for  consumption  between  six  and 
seven  thousand  gallons,  or  near  thirty  thousand 
quarts.  The  former  contains  thirteen  hundred 
cows;  the  latter  twelve  hundred. 

A  shocking  accident  happened  at  New  York 
recently.  A  rock  from  a  blasting  broke  through 
the  roof  of  a  house  on  the  corner  of  Oth  avenue  and 
25th  street,  and  killed  a  child  that  was  sleeping 
in  a  cradle,  besides  dreadfully  injuring  a  sister 
who  was  watching  him.  The  person  who  fired 
the  blast  has  fied. 

Mrs.  Herschell  C.  Benson,  of  Palmer,  Massa- 
chusetts, ejected  from  her  stomach,  on  tlie  27th 
ult.  a  live  red  evet,  or  water  lizard,  nearly  three 
inches  in  length.  It  is  supposed  that  she  carried 
the  animal  in  her  stomach  about  three  years,  she 
having  during  that  time  suffered  much  distress 
in  the  stomach,  with  occasional  spasms  and  a 
peculiar  appetite. 

At  the  New  York  State  Fair,  the  highest  prize, 
for  the  best  mowing  machine,  and  the  second 
prize  as  a  reaper,  was  awarded  to  John  H.  Man- 
ny, of  Illinois.  There  were  a  dozen  competitors, 
including  McCormiek  and  Hussey's,  but  Manny's 
was  considered  superior  on  account  of  the  per- 
fection of  its  cutting  apparatus,  and  some  other 
appliances,  by  whicli  it  would  serve  both  as  a 
mower  and  reaper. 


Jofcign  iMisrellan^. 


Parliament  will  meet  early  in  November. 

Five  of  the  Madrid  papers  have  ceased  to  ap- 
pear, their  publishers  being  in  prison. 

According  to  the  late  census  of  France  there 
are  nearly  a  million  and  a  half  more  women  than 
men  in  that  countiy. 

A  Berlin  correspondent  mentions  that  Lowell 
Mason  has  purchased  for  America  the  valuable 
music  library  of  Rink,  the  organist. 

Thirty -six  live  rattlesnakes  have  been  import- 
ed into  Liverpool  by  M  Van  Gordon,  who 
caught  them  on  the  Alleghany  mountains. 

A  great  festival  and  public  rejoicing  has  taken 
place  on  occasion  of  the  opening  of  the  first  dry 
dock  ever  built  in  the  kingdom  of  Naples. 

In  Prussia  they  have  been  fining  a  post-ofiice 
clerk  for  endeavoring  to  discover  the  contents  of 
a  letter,  by  looking  too  closely  into  the  envelope. 

The  London  papers  are  rabid  against  Capt. 
Jewett's  expedition  to  the  Lobos,  saying  it  is  a 
deep-laid  scheme  for  the  annexation  of  Peru. 

Madame  Pulszky,  since  her  return  to  Europe, 
has  completed  an  account  of  the  residence  and 
travels  of  Kossuth  and  his  companions  in  the 
United  States. 

The  British  bark  Thetis  arrived  at  Honolulu, 
July  21st,  with  a  second  cargo  of  coolies,  one 
hundred  in  number,  contra'jted  for  by  planters 
and  others  at  the  islands. 

Francisco  and  Rosa  Madiai,  of  Florence,  at 
the  age  of  fifty  years,  have  been  condemned  for 
reading  the  gospel,  to  four  years  at  the  galleys. 
Their  prince  has  rejected  their  appeal  for  mercy. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Montpensier  lately 
attended  some  religious  services  at  Chipioni,  in 
Spain,  and  liberally  presented  the  Virgin  with  a 
magnificent  dress  of  tissue  of  gold  and  white 
lace  and  a  silver  crown. 

It  is  said  that  Louis  Napoleon  will  return  to 
Paris  as  emperor,  and'that  the  proclamation  will 
be  made  at  Tours,  the  ancient  capital  of  Tou- 
rienne.  His  reception  at  Toulon,  Avignon  and 
Marseilles  was  enthusiastic.  He  was  met  by  the 
envoys  of  Piedmont,  Naples,  and  the  Pope. 

From  the  Port  Philip  mines  the  accounts  are 
favorable.  Severe  fioods  bad  been  experienced 
in  many  districts,  and  communication  had  been 
interrupted.  The  anti-convict  movement  is  car- 
ried on  with  energy — another  public  meeting  on 
the  subject  had  been  held  at  Sydney. 

One  of  the  ceremonies  at  the  late  Paris  fetes 
was  the  portioning  by  lot  of  fourteen  couples  to 
be  united  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony.  There 
were  over  t'lelce  thouscwd  offered  for  the  dowry, 
of  whom  50.3  had  already  been  married  once, 
314  twice,  6  three  times,  and  4  four  times ! 


J?ok£r'3    Subget. 


0anbs  of  (Solir. 


Deeds  are  fruits — words  are  but  leaves. 

You  will  never  repent  of  being  patient 

and  sober. 

....  Education  is  theproper  employment,  not 
only  of  our  early  years,  but  of  our  whole  lives. 

....  We  always  overrate  the  happiness  of 
others,  and  underrate  the  means  of  our  own. 

....  Peace  is  the  evening  star  of  the  soul,  as 
virtue  is  its  sun,  and  the  two  are  never  far  apart. 

....  He  who  envies  me,  makes  my  virtue  his 
vice,  and  my  happiness  his  torment. 

....  The  love  of  society  is  natural,  but  the 
choice  of  our  company  is  a  matter  of  virtue  and 
prudence. 

All  other  things  being  transitory  and  per- 
ishing, true  wisdom  is  to  think  of  etemiiy,  and 
to  a  good  man  the  best  of  philosophies. 

....  The  marks  of  good  and  evil  to  be  found 
in  man's  natural  state,  evince  both  that  he  has 
descended  from  perfection,  and  to  perfection  may 
return. 

The  soul  without  action  is  like  an  instru- 
ment not  played  upon,  or  like  a  ship  in  port, 
knowing  no  process  while  it  stays  there,  but  that 
of  decay. 

Fortunately  it  is  not  in  our  power  to 

commit  most  kinds  of  sin  continually.  A  man 
cannot  break  his  word,  the  marriage  vow,  or  his 
neighbor's  strong-box,  every  minute. 

....  What  the  impulse  of  genius  is  to  the 
great,  the  instinct  of  vocation  is  to  the  mediocre 
— in  every  man  there  is  a  magnet — in  that  thing 
which  the  man  can  do  best,  there  is  a  loadstone. 

....  Women  always  show  more  taste  in 
adorning  others  than  in  adorning  themselves; 
and  the  reason  is,  that  their  persons  are  like 
their  hearts — they  read  another*s  better  than 
their  own. 

....  False  men's  words  and  deeds  remind  us 
of  thunder  and  lightning  on  the  stage,  which, 
united  in  heaven,  in  the  theatre  are  generated  in 
opposite  corners  of  the  house,  and  by  different 
operators. 

....  That  is  not  the  best  sermon  which  makes 
the  hearers  go  away  talking  to  one  another,  and 
praising  the  speaker,  but  which  makes  them  go 
away  thoughtful  and  serious,  and  hastening  to 
be  alone. — Bishop  Burnet. 

....  This  life  will  not  admit  of  equality ;  but 
surely  that  man  who  thinks  he  derives  conse- 
quence and  respect  from  keeping  others  at  a 
distan ce,  is  as  base-  min ded  as  the  coward 
who  shuns  the  enemy  from  the  fear  of  an 
attack. 


The  rage  for  mronautics  in  England,  just  now, 
is  called  halloonacy. 

Is  it  practicable  for  square-rigged  vessels  to 
adopt  the  system  of  great-circle  sailing '? 

The  Lantern  says  that  Gen.  Scott  is  diligently 
preparing  for  the  next  March. 

Voltaire  said  of  M'Ue  de  'Livrj :  "  She  was  so 
beautiful,  that  I  rose  before  her  like  a  point  of 
admiration." 

The  more  a  man  loves  preserves,  the  more  he 
is  attached  to  the  women.  And  why  shouldn't 
he  be  ?     Aint  they  both  sweetmeats,  say  ? 

There  is  a  man  in  Philadelphia  so  thin  that  it 
is  thought  he  will  never  pay  the  debt  of  nature, 
but  will  dry  up  and  be  blown  away ! 

If  a  spoonful  of  yeast  will  raise  fifty  cents 
worth  of  flour,  how  much  will  it  take  to  raise 
funds  enough  to  buy  another  barrel  with  '?  An- 
swer may  be  handed  in  over  the  fence. 

Voltaire,  speaking  of  law,  said  :  "  I  never  was 
but  twice  in  my  life  completely  on  the  verge  of 
ruin  ;  first,  when  I  lost  a  law-suit,  and,  secondly, 
when  I  gained  one." 

Somebody,  who  writes  more  truthfully  than 
poetically,  says  :  "An  angel  without  money  is 
not  thought  so  much  of  now-a-days  as  a  devil 
with  a  bag  full  of  guineas." 

"A  Practical  Schoolmistress"  says,  in  the 
Educational  Times:  "  It  would  be  impossible 
for  me  to  state  how  often  the  question  has  been 
directly  put  to  me  by  mothers,  '  Can  you  make  a 
sti/lisk  girl  V  " 

One  of  the  ballet  girls  connected  with  Niblo's 
Theatre,  is  so  light  and  fairy-like,  that  she  fre- 
quently sleeps  all  night  in  a  water-lily.  In 
Paris  she  once  danced  on  a  platform  composed 
of  cobwebs  and  moonbeams — the  former  answer- 
ed for  boards,  and  the  latter  for  the  timbers. 

Lord  Gadsby,  over  the  entrance  of  a  beautiful 
grotto,  had  caused  this  inscription  to  be  placed  : 
"Let  nothing  enter  here  but  what  is  good." 
Doctor  Reanel,  the  master  of  the  temple,  who 
was  walking  over  the  ground,  with  much  point 
asked ;  "  Then,  where  does  your  lordship  enter  V 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Drawino 
Room  Oompasiok  elegimtly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edges 
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Betweer  Foir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAININQ     NEARLY 

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ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

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THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNIOK, 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  REFINED 

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AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

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288 


TtLEASOX'S   PICTOPJAT.    DUAWINU    POOM    (COMPANION. 


ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  SNAKE. 

Wliat  gcolof^y  and  anatomy  have  uiifolclcMl  of 
the  nature  of  serjients,  in  rc^^ard  to  their  present 
condition,  amounts  to  this:  that  their  parts  are 
as  cxquisiteljMulinsted  to  the  form  of  the  whole, 
and  to  their  hiihits  anil  Fphere  of  life,  as  is  the 
orfijanization  of  any  animal  whieh  we  call  MU|)e- 
rior  to  them.  It  is  true  the  serpent  has  nolinihs, 
yet  it  <-an  ontelimh  the  monkey,  outswim  tlie  fish, 
outleap  the  jerhoa,  and,  suddenly  loosing  the 
coils  of  its  crouching  spiral,  it  can  spring  into 
the  ail*  and  seize  the  bird  upon  the  wing;  thus 
all  these  creatures  fall  its  prey.  The  si^rpcnt 
has  iR'iiher  hands  nor  talons,  yet  it  can  outwres- 
tle  the  athlcle,  and  crush  the  tiger  in  its  fohls. 
ypiir  from  Heking  u\>  its  fund  as  it  glides  along, 
tiie  serpent  lifts  up  its  criislH'd  prey,  and  presents 
it,  grasped  in  the  di-atli-roll  as  in  the  hatid.totho 
gaping,  slimedropi)ing  mouth.  It  is  truly  won- 
derful to  sec  the  work  of  hands,  feet,  fins,  per- 
formed hy  a  simple  modification  of  the  vertehral 
column  in  n  mnltijilieation  of  its  joints,  with  mo- 
liility  of  its  rihs.  As  serpents  move  chiefly  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  their  danger  is  greatest 
from  pi'essnre  or  hlowsfrom  above;  oil  the  joints 
arc  accordingly  fashioned  to  resist  yielding,  and 
to  sustain  pressure  in  a  vertical  direction  ;  there 
is  no  natural  undulation  of  the  body  upwards 
and  downwards,  it  is  jjermittcd  only  from  side 
to  side.  So  closely  and  compactly  do  the  ten 
pairs  of  the  joints  between  each  side  of  the  two 
or  three  hundred  vertebrre  fit  together,  that  even 
in  a  relaxed  and  dead  state  the  body  cannot  he 
twisted,  except  in  a  series  of  side  coils.  Of  this 
the  reader  may  assure  himself  by  an  experiment 
on  a  dead  and  supple  snake.  Let  him  lay  it 
straight  along  a  level  surface;  seize  the  end  of 
the  tail,  and,  by  a  movement  of  rotation  between 
the  thumb  and  finger,  endeavor  to  screw  the 
snake  into  spiral  coils;  before  he  can  produce  a 
siufile  turn,  the  whole  of  the  long  and  slender 
body  will  roll  over  as  rigidly  as  if  it  were  a  stick. 
When  we  call  to  mind  the  anatomical  structure 
of  the  skull,  the  singular  density  and  structure 
of  the  bones  of  the  cranium  strike  us  as  a  special 
provision  against  fracture  and  injury  to  the  head. 
When  we  contemplate  the  remarkable  manner 
in  which  all  the  bones  of  the  skull  overlap  one 
another,  we  cannot  but  discern  a  special  adapta- 
tion in  the  structure  of  serpents  to  their  com- 
monly prone  position,  and  a  provision  for  the 
danscrs  to  which  they  were  subject  from  falling 
bodies,  and  the  tread  of  heavy  beasts — so  says 
Professor  Owen.  We  are  aware  that  their  mo- 
tion is  rapid  in  some  species,  and  is  accomplished 
by  means  of  the  sinuosities,  or  folds,  which  they 
form  with  their  bodies.  When  in  a  state  of  re- 
jjose,  they  us^^aIly  dispose  themselves  in  coils, 
with  the  head  in  the  centre ;  and  many  are  en- 
abled to  spring  to  a  certain  distance  by  the  sud- 
den unfolding  of  these  coils.  Serpents  are  dts- 
tiiute  of  movable  eyelids,  or  distinct  tympanums. 
All  have  teeth,  but  they  serve  onlyto  retain  their 
f"od,  and  are  not  adapted  to  the  purpose  of  mas- 
tication. They  arc  long,  very  sharply  pointed, 
and  incline  backwards. — ExcJiange  paper. 


MUt:ZZIN    CALLING    TO    PRAYERS.  [Soe  "Tuikf-y  and  the  Turl:s,"  page  278  ] 


SWEDISH  EMIGRANTS. 

A  few  days  since  some  three  hundred  Swedish 
emigrants  arrived  at  this  port  from  Gottenburg. 
They  are  what  is  called  Jenny  Lind  Swedes, 
being  from  the  better  class  of  agricultural  laljor- 
ers  in  their  own  country,  and  all  possessing 
more  or  less  ample  means  foi-  forming  a  pcrn)a- 
neut  and  comfortable  settlement  in.  this  country. 


They  are  all  Protestants,  as  we  were  informed 
by  Mr.  P.  Frederick  Williston,  who  transacts 
their  business  for  ihcm,  and  sees  them  well  on 
their  way  for  the  far  west.  Seldom  does  a  body 
of  emigrants  make  so  fair  an  appearance  as  this 
delegation  of  the  countrymen  of  Jenny  Lind,  the 
sweet  songstress,  who  greeted  us  from  their 
fatherland.     They  were  all  of  them  very  well 


dressed,  hale  and  hearty  in  their  appearance, 
and  there  were  some  fifty  women  in  the  ranks  as 
they  passed  our  office.  Having  seen  in  former 
numbers  of  the  Pictorial,  whirh  tiicy  have  met 
with  in  their  own  r^iuntry,  rcpresentulions  of  par- 
ties of  their  countrymen,  who  have  arrived 
in  this  city  heretofore,  they  incpiircd  for  our 
olfice,  and  when  passing  it,  hblted,  faced  tlie 
building,  and  gave  us  three  cheers.  Success  lo 
those  hardy  emigrants.  Our  artist  ha^  given  a 
very  wpirited  and  correct  view  of  them  below,  as 
they  appeared  passing  our  oHicc.  The  view  is  a 
perspective  one,  looking  down  Tremont  Street, 
from  the  Tremont  House,  towards  the  Common. 
There  is  room  enough  and  to  spare  in  our  west- 
ern country  for  all  such  emigrants  as  these.  Wc 
grieve  to  see  paupers,  and  such  like,  arriving 
from  abroad  ;  but  when  we  behold  a  body  of  in- 
telligent and  well-found  emigrants  like  these, 
arrived  on  our  shores,  we  rejoice  to  extend  to 
them  the  honest  hand  of  welcome.  The  party, 
represented  below,  took  passage  at  once  by  the 
Western  Railroad,  via  Albany  and  Buffalo,  for 
the  rich  agricultural  lands  lo  be  found  westward. 


[IVritten  for  Glcason'H  Pietoriiil.] 
TRUTH  AND  FRIENDSHIP. 

BT  CAROLIKB  A.  DAYDBN. 

The  heart  that's  noble,  kind  and  true, 
Ni-ode  Dot  ttie  glnre  of  wealth  to  prove  it; 

And  purely  wberenoe'er  we  find 
A  gtni  po  rare,  we  well  may  love  it. 

Thy  pppech  is  blunt,  thy  words  bo  free, 
Thy  proud  and  independent  spirit, 

Are  jUBt  f!0  ma^y  proofs  to  me, 

rtTio  know  thee  -well,  of  ntcrling  meiit. 

Then  deem  it  not  an  idle  jcsf, 

That  flattery's  hand  would  iiahtly  proffer; 
But  (live  it  room  within  t'ly  breast, 

Tia  truth  and  friendship  T  would  offer. 

LOVE  OF  FLOWERS. 

Tn  all  countries  women  love  flowers  ;  but  it  is 
only  in  the  bosom  of  plenty  that  tiicy  conceive 
the  idea  of  embellishing  their  dwellings  with 
them.  The  cultivation  of  flowers  among  the 
peasantry,  indicates  a  revolution  in  all  their  feel- 
ings. It  is  a  delicate  pleasure,  whirh  makes  its 
way  through  coarse  organs ;  it  is  the  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  which  is  awakened ;  colors,  forms, 
odors,  are  perceived  for  the  first  time,  and  these 
charming  objects  have  at  last  spectators.  Those 
who  have  travelled  in  the  country  can  testify, 
that  a  rose-tree  under  the  window,  a  honeysuckle 
around  the  door  of  a  cottage,  are  always  a  good 
omen  to  a  weary  traveller.  The  hand  that  cul- 
tivates flowers  is  not  closed  against  the  supplica- 
tions of  the  poor,  or  the  wants  of  the  stranger. 
Flowers  are  the  alphabet  of  angels,  wherewith 
they  write  on  hills  and  plains  mysterious  truths. 


A  COMPANY  OF  SWEDISH  EMIGRANTS  PASSING  OUR  OFFICKj  BOUND  TO  THE  WEST 


F.  GLBASON, 


I  CORNER  BROMTLELD 
I  AND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  6,  1852. 


s2  per  volttme. 
10  cts.  single. 


Vol.  III.  No.  19.— Whole  No.  71. 


NEWTON  THEOLOGICAIi  INSTITUTION. 

BeloTV  we  give  a  fine  view  of  this  seminary, 
under  the  patronage  of  the  Baptist  denomination. 
It  was  founded  in  Newton,  in  1825,  and  was  in- 
corporated by  the  legislature  the  next  year.  In 
1828,  a  brick  building,  three  stories  in  height, 
besides  a  basement  storj',  eighty-five  feet  long, 
and  forty-nine  feet  wide,  was  erected,  at  an  ex- 
pense of  about  $10,000.  Three  convenient 
houses  have  been  since  erected  for  the  professors. 
In  the  mansion-house  are  accommodations  for 
the  steward's  family,  a  dining  hall,  a  chapel,  and 


recitation  rooms.  The  regular  course  of  study 
occupies  three  years.  There  are  two  vacations 
of  six  weeks  each;  one  from  the  last  Wednesday 
but  one  in  August,  the  other  from  the  last  Wed- 
nesday in  March.  The  seminary  is  about  seven 
miles  from  Boston,  in  a  very  healthy  position, 
being  beautifully  situated  on  an  elevated  bill, 
which  commands  an  extensive  prospect  of  Bos- 
ton, and  of  the  rich  country  around.  In  the 
central  part  of  the  town  there  are  many  elegant 
country  residences.  Newton  lies  in  a  bend  of 
Charles   Kiver,    which  forms   its   boundary  on 


three  sides,  and,  by  two  falls  of  considerable  ex- 
tent, affords  an  extensive  water  power.  There 
are  two  manufacturing  villages  at  these  falls. 
The  Upper  Falls  village  is  nine  miles  from  Bos- 
ton and  seven  from  Dedham;  it  contains  some 
three  or  four  churches,  a  nail  factory,  rolling 
mill,  and  several  other  manufacturing  establish- 
ments. At  this  place  the  water  descends  thirty- 
five  feet  in  the  distance  of  half  a  mile,  and  at 
one  place  pitches  over  a  ledge  of  rocks  twenty 
feet  high.  The  village,  which  is  well  built,  is 
iiTcgularly  situated  on  a  rocky  elevation  which 


rises  with  some  abruptness  from  the  bed  of  the 
river.  The  Lower  Falls  village  is  eleven  miles 
from  Boston,  about  two  miles  north-west  from 
the  Upper  Falls  village.  The  institution  we 
have  sketched  below  is  a  favorite  one  with  the 
Baptist  denomination,  and  many  of  its  graduates 
are  the  occupants  of  pulpits  in  every  part  of  onr 
land ;  some  have  been  called  to  till  professor- 
ships in  other  institutions;  and  all  cherish  a 
fond  remembrance  of  its  shades,  and  rejoice  in 
its  success,  and  the  high  and  commanding  char- 
acter of  its  influence. 


VIEW  OF  THE  BAETIST  TIIEOLOGICAL  INSTITUTIONj  NEWTON,  MASS, 


290 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DUAAVING    llOOM    COMPANION. 


Eatsrod  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1 852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  the  Clerk's  OiKco  of  tlic 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[written   expressly   fob   GLEABON'S  PIOTOniAL.] 


]  SIG-ir  OF   TEE 

A  Tale  of  the  Camp  anil  Court 


YSTIC 

f  Bonaparte. 


BY  B.  PERLEY  POORE. 


CHAPTER  III— [coxTisuiiD.] 
The  vendetta,  as  this  barbarous  social  code 
is  called,  obliges  all  the  male  relations  of  a  mur- 
dered man,  to  the  third  degree  of  contangninity, 
to  avenge  his  death.  Burglary,  counterfeiting, 
poisoning — in  fiict,  few  if  any  of  the  crimes 
which  spring  from  a  refinement  of  civilization — 
are  almost  unknown  in  Corsica.  But  the  vic- 
tims to  a  savage  thirst  of  family  vengeance  are 
numerous.  Merciless  and  relentless,  the  self- 
appointed  executioners  of  the  vendetta  do  not 
even  give  their  doomed  enemies  a  chance  to  fight 
for  life.  Amid  the  mountains  are  large  plains 
of  table  land,  covered,  with  the  luxurious  growth 
of  the  arbutus,  the  myrtle,  and  the  gum  eistus. 
Here  the  executioners  of  hereditary  vengeance 
will  lie  concealed  for  hours  and  even  days,  until 
the  doomed  victim  passes  unconsciously  along 
one  of  the  few  tracks  whii^h  arc  formed  through 
the  bushes,  more  by  cattle  and  horses  than  by 
the  labor  of  man.  A  bullet  sends  the  iinforiu- 
nate  man  to  his  last  account,  and  a  rough  wooden 
cross  marks  tlie  spot  where  he  fell. 

Day  after  day  did  Colonel  Lowe  stroll  about 
Ajaeeio  and  its  vicinity,  endeavoring  to  hnd 
some  one  who  cherished  a  vendetta  against  the 
object  of  hi's  hatred.  At  last,  he  learned  that 
Carlo  de  Bonaparte,  the  general'-s  father^  liad, 
some  thirty  years  previous,  accidentally  killed 
the  father  of  one  Giacomo,  an  honest  wine-seller. 
The  emissary  at  once  repaired  to  his  shop,  and 
ordered  a  flask  of  the  best  wine  in  the  cellar, 
which  soon  sparkled  on  the  table. 

"  And  now,  Giacomo,"  said  Colonel  Lowe, 
with  a  cold  yet  gracious  smile,  "  sit  down  and 
join  me  in  the  discussion  of  your  wine." 

"  Thanks,  excellency,"  replied  the  frank  look- 
ing, good-natured  host,  but  his  quick  intellect 
instantly  mistrusted  his  entertainer.  English 
officers  were  frequent  visitors  at  Ajaccio,  but  he 
never  before  had  known  one  of  them  to  drink 
and  chat  with  a  peasant.  Neither  did  he  like 
the  distrustful  glances  cast  from  beneath  the 
shelter  of  his  long  and  lowering  red  eyelashes. 
"  Your  townsman  Bonaparte,"  soon  observed 
Colonel  Lowe,  *' is  making  quite  a  noise  in  ihe 
world.  It  is  perhaps  lucky  that  he  did  not  stop 
at  Corsica  on  his  way  to  Egypt,  or  your  ven- 
detta might  have  given  him  trouble." 
"My  vendetta,  excellency'?" 
"  0,  1  know  all  about  it.  Nor  is  it  wrong  for 
you  to  wish  to  avenge  your  father's  death.  Lis- 
ten, my  good  fellow.  You  know  me.  I  have 
commanded  your  countrymen.  I  epeak  your 
language,  Well,  I  too  have  a  vendetta  against 
Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Join  me,  and  you  shall 
be  well  paid.  Gratify  your  venge:.mce,  and  wealth 
awaits  you.  Think  of  this  offer,  and  should  you 
decide  to  accept  my  proposition,  come  on  board 
\^nder  cutter,  prepared  for  a  cruise  up  the  Le- 
vant.    Good  day." 

And  flinging  a  purse  of  gold  upon  the  table, 
the  English  officer  strode  away,  leaving  Giacomo 
in  a  bewildering  state  of  surprise  and  indignation. 
"  Vendetta — wealth — vengeance  !"  he  ejacu- 
lated. "  Why,  if  my  poor  father  was  accidentally 
shot  by  Monsieur  de  Bonaparte,  did  he  not  pro- 
vide for  my  father  and  all  of  us  children  7  And 
was  not  Madame  Lctitia  ever  solicitous  for  our 
comforts  And  Napoleon — why  I  sat  on  the 
same  bench  with  liim  at  Madame  MusclU's 
Bchool,  and  rare  sport  we  used  to  have,  down  on 
the  beq,ch,  (jring  the  Ultle  brass  cannon  given 
him  by  his  uncle  ]l/neicn.     Why  did  I  not  strike 


down  that  insolent  red-coat,  instead  of  listening 
to  his  wicked  words  ?"  And  the  honest  conn- 
tenanee  of  the  wine  merchant  glowed  with  indig- 
nation as  he  spoke. 

"  Bravo  !  bravissimo  !"  responded  a  musical 
voice,  and  a  heavy  cypress  vine  that  shrouded 
the  window  was  pushed  to  one  side,  disclosing  a 
small,  emaciated  looking  man,  wearing  an  ec- 
clesiastical costume. 

"  Saints  preserve  us  !"  exclaimed  Giacomo. 
"  Is  that  you.  Father  Jerome,  and  have  you 
overheard  the  offer  made  me  by  that  fiend  in  a 
red  coat  V 

"  Ay,  and  you  must  accept  of  it  V 
"Not  I!     What?     Murder  my  schoolmate — 
my  benefactor's  child?" 

"  No — but  preserve  his  life." 
And  the  priest  soon  convinced  Giacomo  that 
by  accompanying  Colonel  Lowe,  he  could  not 
only  thwart  his  evil  dcsij>ns,  but  perhaps  avert 
the  assassin's  dagger  from  Bonaparte.  Leaving 
his  shop  in  charge  of  his  sister,  and  hastily  pack- 
ing a  few  articles  of  clothing  in  a  light  basket, 
the  wine-seller  repaired  to  the  quay.  Here  he 
engaged  a  boat,  and  soon  stood  on  the  white 
deck  of  the  "Albatross."  Colonel  Lowe  had 
seen  him  approach,  and  welcomed  him  on  board, 
assigning  him  a  berth  with  the  mates.  Prepara- 
tions were  made  for  sailing,  the  water  casks  were 
sent  ashore  and  filled,  the  new  hands  came  on 
board,  and  as  the  sun  rose  the  next  morning,  the 
"Albatross"  left  the  harbor,  like  an  imprisoned 
bird  set  free.  Among  the  gazers  on  the  quay, 
Giacomo  could  distinctly  see  Father  Jerome,  and 
as  the  v/ind  iilled  the  sails,  the  good  priest  raised 
his  hands,  as  if  to  bless  the  shield  so  providen- 
tially interposed  between  his  loved  pupil  and  a 
vindictive  enemy. 

Giacomo  had  always  been  fond  of  the  sea, 
and  he  was  delighted  with  the  cutter,  which  was 
a  man  of-war  in  miniature.  Four  handsome 
brass  guns  were  on  either  side  of  the  neat  deck, 
and  amidships  a  heavier  piece,  mounted  on  a 
revolving  carriage,  was  sheltered  by  the  long- 
boat. Cutlasses  and  boarding-pikes  were  ranged 
against  the  bulwarks,  nor  was  there  a  rope  out 
of  place,  or  a  spar  that  was  not  symmetrically 
squared.  The  crew,  which  had  been  doubled  in 
number  at  Corsica,  was  composed  of  sturdy, 
daring  seamen,  most  of  lliem  old  smugglers. 
Nor  was  there,  in  the  whole  British  navy,  a  more 
gallant  commander  than  Jack  Norman.  Tiie  cut- 
ter was  his  idol.  Its  construction  had  swallowed 
up  all  his  savings  and  his  wife's  dowry,  for  he 
felt  certain  that  could  he  but  escape  the  custom- 
house officers  with  her  for  one  year,  he  would 
acquire  a  competence.  But  he  had  not  reckoned 
upon  treason,  and  a  false  friend  bctrajed  him 
on  his  first  voyage.     All  was  lost. 

Colonel  Lowe,  however,  came  like  a  guardian 
angel,  and  the  smuggler  was  now  cheered  by 
the  hope  that,  could  Bonaparte  be  captured  or 
killed,  his  craft  would  be  restored  to  him.  Need 
it  be  added  that  he  used  every  caution  to  for- 
.'vard  the  plans  of  his  master,  and  was  stimulated 
by  his  nautical  pride. 

CHAPTEE  IV. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL  JEWESS. 

Flushed  with  victory,  the  E'rench  army  re- 
mained during  some  twelve  weeks  in  the  vicinity 
of  Cairo,  In  lower  Egypt,  the  soldiers,  who  had 
been  Hccustonied  to  the  voluptuous  climate  and 
the  pk'utij'ul  fertiliry  of  Italy,  murmured  loudly. 


The  heat  of  the  tropical  sun,  the  frequent  want 
of  water,  tlio  blinding  sands,  and  the  bwnrmH  of 
pcsiiferous  insects,  had  combined  to  iiu'rease 
their  discontcur.  But  when,  after  the  defuat  of 
Mourod  Bey,  lliey  revelled  in  the  kio.sks  of  the 
Mamelukes,  theirs  was  a  happy  life.  "  On  duty, 
discipline — o(f  duty,  dissipation,"  has  ever  been 
the  motto  of  l-'rcnch  troops,  who  vauntingly 
boast  that  they  can  live  as  fast  as  their  columns 
advance,  or  drink  as  hard  as  they  can  tight.  To 
the  debuuclicd  conquerors  of  Egypt,  the  present 
rcpo.iC  was  delighlful.  The  i^pacious  gardens 
were  full  of  luscious  fruits  and  beautiful  flowers, 
interspersed  with  arbors  of  vines,  loaded  with  the 
finest  grapes  in  the  world.  In  the  kiosks  were 
rich  carpets,  damask-lined  apartments,  vases  of 
perfume,  fragrant  tobacco,  and  store  rooms  filled 
with  delicious  confectionary.  Neither  were  fair 
ones  lackhtg — blushing  Hcbes  who  minisicred 
in  these  pleasant  retreats — for  hundreds  of  beau- 
tiful Circassians,  emancipated  from  the  convent- 
like seclusion  of  the  harems,  lived  in  a  new 
phase  of  existence.  Ready  pupils,  they  were 
soon  able  to  mingle  in  the  joyous  dance,  and  to 
join  in  the  varied  amusements  inwhieli  the  light- 
headed Frenchmen  indulged,  multiplying  pleas- 
ure into  many  fantastic  shapes. 

The  most  popular  evening  resort  was  the  can- 
teen of  the  grenadier  regiment,  which  was  the 
body-guard  of  General  Bonaparte,  and  was  sta- 
tioned near  the  kioik  he  occupied.  The  pretty 
vivandiere  was  the  dauglitcr  of  sergeant-major 
Sauterre,  and  many  a  hundred  glasses  did  she 
sell  to  those  who  fancied  the  spirit-stirring  songs 
of  her  father,  with  their  inspiring  chorus.  The 
favorite  was  a  rude  ditty,  improvised  by  Louise 
herself  to  a  well  known  air,  and  the  chorus  was 
often  taken  up  by  one  corps  after  another,  until 
it  rang  from  the  Pyramids  to  the  citadel  of  Cairo, 
and  the  echoes  died  away  upon  the  wastes  of  the 
desert. 

"  Let  every  comrade  raise  his  voice,' 
Viva  la  cninpagnie, 
And  cheer  the  heio  of  his  choice, 
Viva  la  compagnie, 
Yb-a  la,  viva  la,  I'iva  Vaniour, 
Viva  la  cmiipngnie. 

"  With  eabre,  gun,  and  march  of  toil. 
Viva  la  compngnie, 
AVe've  conquered  on  tbi;^  sandy  soil, 
Vita  !a  compngni-', 
Viva  lay  viva  la,  viva  Vcvnour, 
Viva  la  compagnie. 

"  We  gather  fruit  from  the  high  palm  tree, 
Vica  la  compagnie. 
And  all  the  old  musty  wonders  -we  see, 
Viva  la  compagnie, 
Viva  la,  viva  la,  viva  l'a}fwtir, 
Viva  la  compagnie. 

"  But  we're  sick  of  the  sun  and  burning  sand. 
Viva  la  compagnie, 
And  we  sigh  for  France,  our  dear  native  laud, 
Viva  la  compagnie, 
Viua  la,  viva  la,  viva  I'amour^ 
Viva  la  compagnie. 

"  But  let  us  be  merry  before  we  start, 
Viva  la  cowpagiiie, 
And  pledge  the  health  of  Bonaparte, 
Viva  la  compagnie. 
Viva  la,  viva  la,  viva  Vamoiir, 
Viva  la  compagnie.''^ 

But  whilst  the  sounds  of  revelry  echoed 
through  the  can-.p,  all  was  quiet  at  head  quar- 
ters— officers  and  soldiers  indulged  in  luxurious 
dissipation,  but  the  iron-nerved  mind  of  the 
young  commander-in-chief  was  never  relaxed. 
During  the  day-time,  he  received  deputations 
from  ihe  Egyptians,  and  framed  granite  edicts, 
upon  which  he  hoped  to  rebuild  the  glorious 
empire  of  Isis.  And  at  night,  long  after  the 
violin  and  the  castanet  had  ceased  to  inspire  the 
meiry  dance,  and  when  no  sound  met  the  ear 
save  the  measured  tread  of  the  sentries,  or  the 
challenge  of  the  patrols,  the  future  emperor  ma- 
tured those  gigantic  plans  which  afterwards  en- 
abled him  to  rule  France,  and  to  sway  Europe. 
Judith  was  domesticated  at  tlie  kiosk,  and 
soon  became  a  delightful  companion  for  Bona- 
parte, who  ever  retained  his  domestic  habits. 
Nor  was  it  long  ere  he  discovered  her  superior 
vocal  powers,  and  persuaded  her  to  receive  mu- 
sical instruction  from  one  of  his  band  masters, 
an  Italian  who  was  well  versed  in  his  art.  She 
proved  herself  an  apt  scholar,  and  was  in  a  few 
weeks  able  to  sing  the  general's  favorite  airs, 
with  a  puiity  of  intonation,  and  a  brilliancy  of 
execution,  that  captivated  her  hearer. 

"  Decidedly,"  renmrked  Bonaparte,  one  even- 
ing, after  listening  to  one  of  these  improvised 
concerts,  "  decidedly,  Mademoiselle  Judith, 
you  must  go  on.  the  stage.  I  will  promise  you 
a  good  reception  at  the  Paris  opera,  and  all  these 
otlicerfl  will  take  tickets  to  your  benefit.'' 


The  staff  oflicers  {as  staff  officers  always  do) 
echoed  their  jicneral's  wi.sh,  and  from  that  mo- 
ment the  young  girl's  thoughts  were  all  centered 
in  a  desire  for  professional  success.  Her  instruc- 
tor, who  did  not  fjncy  military  discipline,  fanned 
the  flame,  and  Judith  listened  with  delight  to  hi^ 
account  of  the  ovations  paid  to  distinguiishcd 
vocalists  by  his  warm-hearted  countrymen.  Bou- 
quets, hiurul-wreaths,  Hereuading,  processions — 
all  served  to  increai-e  the  intoxication  of  the 
pupil,  and  to  stimulate  her  to  fresh  exertion. 

Osmanii  was  also  an  inmate  at  head-quarters, 
having  been  admitted  to  the  general  wiaff,  with 
the  rank  of  "  captain  interpreter."  The  young 
man  had  been  denounced  by  Mourad  Bey  as  a 
renegade,  and  the  faithful  followers  of  the  prophet 
were  enjoined  to  kill  him,  as  a  "dog"  who  had 
forsaken  his  creed,  and  his  master — who  had  vio- 
lated the  sanctity  of  a  harem  and  carried  off  one 
of  its  inmates — who  now  dwelt  with  the  infidel 
French,  and  ate  their  bread.  '*  Accursed — thrice 
accursed  be  Osmanli  the  renegade,"  proclaimed 
the  teachers  in  the  mosques,  after  morning 
prayers;  "let  him  be  swept  from  the  earth." 
And  the  hearers,  bowing  reverentially  towards 
Mecca,  responded,  "  Allah  alone  is  great,  and 
Mahomet  is  his  prophet — let  the  renegade  Os- 
manli die  !" 

Little  cared  Osmanli  for  this  excommunica- 
tion, for  the  charms  of  Judith  had  completely 
enthralled  his  heart,  and  the  giant  intellect  of 
Bonaparte  had  captivated  his  will.  Nor  was  it 
to  be  wondered  at  tliat  the  young  Jewess  had 
fascinated  the  young  soldier,  for  he  had  never 
before  enjoyed  die  charms  of  female  society,  and 
now,  all  his  dreams  were  more  than  realized. 
Harmonious  and  lovely  to  behold,  and  to  think 
of,  there  was  not  a  solitary  fragment  of  her 
character  out  of  proportion  with  the  rest.  Grace- 
ful, ethereal  and  gifted,  she  appeared  to  the  young 
Mameluke  like  the  animated  statue  of  a  Grecian 
sculptor,  inspired  by  all  the  gifts  of  education 
and  of  refinement.  Hour  after  hour  did  he  lin- 
ger on  the  divan  where  she  wrote  from  Bona- 
parte's hurried  dictation,  and  gaze  on  her  with 
rapturous  delight,  treasuring  her  every  smile 
with  miser  like  avarice.  A  new  fueling — a  new 
sense— entered  his  very  soul,  and  her  presence 
was  the  sunlight  of  his  life,  endowing  all  things 
wich  animation  during  its  effulgence,  but  leaving 
them  dark  wiicn  it  disappeared.  And  his  heart, 
like  tlie  smothered  bulb  of  the  hyacinth,  longed 
to  send  forth  pure  flowers  of  affection,  that,  if  she 
but  deigned  to  encourage  their  growth,  could 
bask  in  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  and  expand 
into  the  beauties  of  that  perfect,  reciprocated  love, 
which  is  the  choicest  reality  of  life. 

But  Judith,  although  she  could  not  but  have 
perceived  the  depth  and  intensity  of  the  young 
Mameluke's  affection,  gave  him  but  little  en- 
couragement that  it  was  reciprocated.  Love,  in 
true  female  hearts,  is  too  holy  and  farvent  a  pas- 
sion to  be  kindled  by  every  passing  spark,  but 
requires  earnest  and  continued  fanning  ere  its 
refined  flame  blazes  with  steady  light,  exerting 
over  its  possessor  the  vivifying  influence  of  an 
all-enlivening  passion.  Occasionally,  when  Ju- 
dith would  allude  to  her  past  dangers,  Osmanli 
would  hope,  for  her  cheek  would  glow  with 
gratitude,  and  her  eye  would  beam  with  unutter- 
able affection.  Then,  a  cloud  would  seem  to 
shoot  athwart  her  heart,  and  her  manner  would 
relapse  into  a  rigid,  icy  coldness,  that  effeeiually 
checked  any  declaration  on  the  part  of  her 
admirer. 

Nor  was  Osmanli  alone  in  his  admiration  of 
the  beautiful  Jewess.  Nearly  every  odicr  officer 
attached  to  tlie  general's  staff  attempted  to  en- 
gage her  affections,  but  none  of  them  were  so 
marked  in  their  attcnliouo  as  was  Alphonse  Mar- 
gry.  They  but  sought  relief  from  the  monotony 
of  camp  life,  by  a  display  of  their  politeness  and 
of  their  gallantry — but  Margry  was  inspired  by 
a  frantic  passion.  He  was  about  thirty- five  years 
of  age,  tall,  robust,  and  appearing  to  great  ad- 
vantage in  his  dashing  hussar  uniform,  decked 
with  the  rich  embroidery  to  which,  as  lieutenant- 
colonel,  he  was  entitled.  Well  informed,  witty 
almost  10  sarcasm,  capricious,  and  imperious  to 
excess.  Colonel  Margiy  was  equally  noted  for 
his  deferential  obsequiousness  towards  his  supe- 
rior officers,  and  for  his  haughty  demeanor  to- 
vrards  these  under  hi^  command.  Possessing 
the  true  egotism  and  cynical  gallantry  of  his  na- 
tion, he  blazoned  forth  his  passion  for  Judith  by 
many  a  marked  act  of  devotion,  and  soon  be- 
came piqued  at  her  ai)parent  indifference  to  his 
professions.  For  some  time,  he  persevered  in 
his  attentions,  but  Judith  was  so  decided  in  her 
cool  treatment  towards  him,  and  so  unmoved  by 


GLEASON'S   nCTORlAL   DRAWING    r.OO:^!    COMrANION. 


291 


his  protestations  of  love,  from  which  she  invari- 
ably turned  the  conversaiion  without  even  notic- 
ing them,  that  he  became  enraged.  And  when 
he  saw  with  what  attention  she  listened  to  Os- 
manli,  whose  eyes  beamed  with  confidence  and 
hope,  he  felt  that  lie  was  eclipsed.  He,  Alphonse 
Margry,  lieutenant  colonel  of  hussars,  and  senior 
aid-de-camp  to  General  Bonaparte,  was  slighted 
for  an  obscure  Mameluke,  of  unknown  parent- 
age. Rankling  was  the  wound  thus  inflicted 
upon  his  vanity,  nor  was  it  the  less  painful  be- 
cause it  touched  an  unfatliomed  spot  in  his  heart. 
For  some  days  he  watched  the  young  lovers 
with  an  uneasy  and  jealous  gaze,  evidently  hop- 
ing that  Judith  would  discover  his  many  charms 
and  superior  qualifications.  Bat  when  he  found 
uU  hi>  attentions  repulsed,  his  countenance  as- 
sumed a  sardonic  expression  of  revengeful  ha- 
tred, whenever  he  was  near  his  more  favored 
rival.  At  last,  the  volcano  of  his  pent-up  pas- 
.sions  burst  forth.  He  had  sent  Osmanli  to  a 
village  some  miles  up  the  river,  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  forage,  and  determined  to  profit  by 
his  absence.  Fatting  on  his  handsomest  uniform, 
and  arraying  himself  in  a  manner  which  he  evi- 
dently considered  irresistible,  he  went  to  Judith's 
apartment,  and  knocked. 

"Enter,"  in  tlie  well  known  tones  of  tlie  occu- 
pant, dispelled  a  slight  foreboding  which  he  had 
liad,  tlxat  he  would  not  be  received,  and  he  open- 
ed the  door  in  the  full  confidence  of  success. 
There  sat  Judith,  busy  with  her  embroidery 
frame,  and  by  her  side,  holding  an  open  book 
from  which  he  had  evidently  been  reading,  sat 
Osmanli  I  Margry  started,  for  his  cup  of  joy 
was  thus  snatched  away,  and  with  eyes  that 
flashed  fire,  he  said,  iu  a  fierce  tone  : 

"  You  Mameluke  traitor,  why  did  you  not  go 
where  I  sent  you  ?  If  you  are  afraid  of  the  death 
your  cowardly  desertion  will  yet  gain  for  you, 
strip  off  your  X>ench  uniform,  and  become  a 
lady's  waiting-maid  at  once.^' 

Osmanli  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  What  V  he 
exclaimed.     "  Traitor,  coward,  deserter?^' 

"  Each  and  all.  Kow  go  to  the  guard  house, 
like  a  whipped  cur,  and  wait  there  until  your 
Corsican  master  can  punish  you."  And  the 
colonel's  face  glowed  with  rage,  and  jealousy, 
and  disappointment. 

Ohmanli  drew  his  sabre,  but  at  that  moment 
a  man  who  had  been  reposing  on  a  divan,  in  a 
sitaatiou  where  he  was  not  visible  to  Colonel 
Margry,  jumped  up,  and  stood  between  the  two. 

The  colonel  turned  suddenly  pale,  and  his 
bloodless  lip  quivered  as  he  attempted  to  stam- 
mer out  an  excuse.  Bonaparte,  his  mucli  dreaded 
commander,  stood  before  him.  Every  angry 
word  lad  been  heard. 

"Th^  Corsican,  Colonel  Margry."  and  Bona- 
parte enphasized  each  offensive  word,  "  regrets 
that  an  ofiBcer  of  his  staff  should  be  forced  to 
associate  with  a  traitor,  a  coward,  a  deserter." 

*'  General — "  stammered  the  unlucky  man. 

"Net  a  word,  sir  !  You  are  dismissed  from 
my  stafT,  and  will  at  once  report  yourself  to  the 
provost  marshal  as  under  arrest.     March!" 

And  tlie  crest-fallen  colonel  left  the  room, 
casting  at  Osmanli  a  glance  fraught  with  the 
deepest  hatred. 

"  There,"  said  Bonaparte,  "  you  sec,  fair 
Smymiote,  the  extent  of  your  power,  in  a  nega- 
tive sense.  Now,  exercise  it  in  a  positive  man- 
ner, ns  an  endorsement  to  Captain  Osmanli  not 
to  carry  this  matter  further,  upon  any  consider- 
ation." 

"But  my  honor,  general'?" 

"Never  mind  your  honor,  a  pistol  ball  will 
not  metd  it,  should  it  be  damaged.  Besides,  I 
shall  SOD'S  have  special  duties  for  you,  and  as  for 
Margry,  1«  can  fight  the  Turks  to  his  heart's 
content  when  we  reach  Syria.  So  remain  peace- 
ful, and  now  go  on  with  the  book  you  were  read- 
ing when  thai  hot-headed  fellow  entered." 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN    ATTEMPTED    CONFESSION". 

On  one  of  those  calm  and  beautiful  evenings, 
such  as  only  the  clime  of  Egypt  can  boast,  Os- 
manli and  Judith  s!rolled  oat  into  the  garden  of 
the  kiosk,  upon  ttie  river-bank.  It  was  that 
witching  hour,  when  the  stars  come  forth,  one 
after  awother,  from  the  azure  vault  of  eternity, 
to  illuminate  our  earth  with  the  silvery  light  of 
distant  worlds.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the 
perfume  of  the  scented  uilica  and  blooming  aca- 
cii,  v/hile  in  the  quiet  light  new  l»eauty  was 
added  to  the  tlowery  tenants  of  the  varied  par- 
terres. There  were  the  gay  blossoms  of  the 
scirlet  pomegranate,  and  the  pure  white  blooma 


of  the  orange — the  sky-blue  water-lotus,  and  the 
golden  hemasagara — the  rich  green  clusters  of 
palm  leaves,  and  the  luscious  luxuriance  of  the 
fig-trees  ; — all  forming  a  scene  of  joyous  verdure, 
which  no  inhabitant  of  a  frigid  zone  could  even 
imagine,  in  the  wildest  flights  of  a  poetic  fancy. 

Along  the  water's  edge  stood  a  row  of  giant 
sycamores,  the  white  branches  of  which  were  en- 
twined in  many  a  caress,  while  they  supported 
the  fragrant  yet  wanton  honeysuckle — that  living 
emblem  of  woman's  weakness,  and  of  her  cling- 
ing, tenacious  love.  The  birds  had  finished  their 
evening  songs,  but  some  hard  working  bees  still 
liuramed  merrily  as  they  returned,  richly  laden, 
from  their  epicurean  forays.  Mvriads  of  fire- 
flies danced  erratically  over  luxuriant  parterres, 
illuminating  the  gorgeous  flowers  with  a  wave- 
like light. 

Bordering  this  ten'cstrial  paradise  was  the  river 
Nile,  flowing  majestically  along,  placid  as  the 
brow  of  a  slumbering  infant.  On  its  broad  sur- 
face was  a  variety  of  large  barges,  their  white 
sails  having  a  spirit-like  look,  as  they  glided 
along  before  the  evening  breeze.  In  smaller 
boats,  hardy  natives  tugged  at  the  oar,  as  they 
fenied  across  swarthy  Nubians  or  bearded  Turks, 
fair-browed  Frenchmen,  or  homeless  Arabs. 
Emit  boats  were  also  passing,  laden  with  rose- 
hucd  peaches, luscious  melons,  and  grapes  in  such 
luxurious  profusion, that  their  clustering  branches 
often  hung  over  the  gunwales,  rippling  the  water. 

Butneither  Osmanli  nor  Judith  appeared  con- 
scious of  the  beauties  which  nature  and  art  had 
thus  lavishly  spread  around  them.  The  spirit 
of  each  appeared  chastened  by  melancholy  pre- 
sentiments, nor  were  many  words  interchanged 
ere  they  arrived  at  their  favorite  evening  resort. 
It  was  a  rustic  summer-house,  hanging  over  the 
bank  of  the  Nile,  and  enshrined  among  weeping 
willows,  the  long  boughs  of  which  drooped  with 
quiet  pensivcness,  like  the  eyelids  of  a  sleeping 
beauty. 

Seated  here,  Osmanli  made  several  attempts 
to  keep  up  a  general  conversation,  but  his  fair 
companion  answered  only  in  monosyllables,  and 
the  rapidity  with  which  he  passed  from  one  topic 
to  another,  showed  how  impossible  it  was  to 
escape  from  the  dominant  idea  of  his  heart. 
Let  him  urge  his  thoughts  wherever  he  would, 
they  would  rush  back  and  revel  in  a  glow  of  ad- 
miration, until  forced  out  again,  like  the  mes- 
senger dove,  to  find  no  resting  place. 

Just  then  a  "kandja,"  or  barge,  came  very 
near  the  bank,  as  it  ascended  the  stream.  It 
was  manned  by  a  dozen  Arabs,  and  as  they  bent 
to  their  huge  oars,  they  joined  in  the  chorus  of  a 
song  chanted  by  the  helmsman.  Their  voices 
were  harsh,  and  the  air  was  monotonous,  yet 
there  was  something  pleasing  in  the  chorus  : 

'■'■  Ty'eb — ty'eb — en  nil  mooljarek  I" 

"  Good — good — is  the  blessed  Nile,"  repeated 
Osmanli,  "  and  a  blessed  river  it  is  to  the  Egyp- 
tians. Indeed,  the  Mahometans  say  that  if  their 
prophet  had  but  tasted  its  waters,  he  would  have 
prayed  for  terrestrial  immortality,  that  he  might 
have  enjoyed  it  forever.  To  me,  though,"  and 
the  speaker's  heart  beat  fast,  while  he  turned  his 
eloquent  eyes  upon  Judith,  as  if  to  study  the 
efl'ect  of  his  every  word,  "  to  me,  though,  the 
Nile  is  but  an  emblem  of  my  own  existence. 
No  one  knows  where  it  rises,  neither  am  I  aware 
where  I  first  drew  breath,  or  from  what  source 
my  blood  flowed  into  life.  It  first  is  known 
among  the  barbarous  Abyssinians,  even  as  I,  in 
early  life,  found  myself  among  the  Mamelukes. 
And  it  pursues  its  course,  for  many  a  hundred 
miles,  without  receiving  a  single  tributaiy  stream 
— even — even — ay,  dear  Judith,  as  my  life  has 
been  passed  in  heart  loneliness.  Here,  having 
left  behind  the  desert  and  the  squalid  villages,  it 
laves  this  lovely  garden — and  I,  dear  Judith, 
now  bask  in  the  sunlight  of  your  smile.  O  ! 
cannot  my  love  meet  a  response  1  cannot — " 

"Stop!  For  my  sake,  stop  !"  exclaimed  Ju- 
dith. ^Haen  the  young  soldier  commenced  his 
avowal,  she  had  raised  her  full  eyes  with  invol- 
untary surprise,  then,  turning  pale,  and  her 
whole  frame  quivering  with  emotion,  she  inter- 
rupted him  : 

"Nay,"  he  continued,  with  an  imploring  ges- 
ture, "listen  to  me !" 

"  Not  another  word  in  such  a  strain.  You 
saved  my  life,  (Jsmanli,  and  during  that  life  you 
will  find  me  grateful.  Let  U5  be  friends — true 
friends.  Let  me  be  as  your  sister.  Let  me  see 
you  leave  all  your  Slahometan  habits,  and  rise 
high  under  the  powerful  protection  of  General 
Bonaparte.  But — "  and  here,  her  voice  falter- 
ing, she  burst  into  tears. 


The  tender  despondency  with  which  this  re- 
fusal had  been  nitered,  saddened  and  influenced 
Osmanli,  whose  bursting  heart  could  find  no 
words  for  utterance.  No  words  could  have  ex- 
pressed his  anguish. 

At  that  moment  a  heavy  cloud  swept  before 
the  face  of  the  moon,  and  cast  a  deep  shadow 
over  the  river. 

"See!"  said  Judith.  "That  you  now  love 
me  1  do  not  deny,  and  my  refusal  to  reciprocate 
your  affection,  like  yonder  cloud,  may  darken 
your  heart.  Eat  as  the  river  will  flow  on — will 
again  become  bright — and  will  to-morrow  derive 
more  brilliancy  from  the  sun  than  it  just  received 
fiom  the  moon,  so  your  heart  will  find  others 
who  will  add  more  to  your  happiness  than  I  can." 

"  Never !  never  !"  exclaimed  the  sorrow- 
stricken  young  man.  "  Bat  can  you  give  me  no 
hope '?" 

"  Osmanli,"  replied  the  maiden.  "  Brother 
Osmanli — I  am  one  of  a  peculiar  people,  and 
from  early  youth  liave  been  taught  that  God 
commands  me  to  honor  my  father.  Perchance, 
in  years  to  come,  we  may  all  meet,  and  then,  if 
you  persevere  in  your  flattering  appreciation  of 
my  poor  self,  I  shall  refer  you  to  him.  But — 
decidedly — 1  cannot,  until  he  approves  your  suit, 
grant  you  the  least  encouragement.  Good-night. 
May  the  God  of  Israel  bless  you." 

And  ere  the  sorrow-stricken  youth  conld  re- 
cover fiom  his  astonishment,  she  had  left  him. 
Late  that  night  did  he  walkthrough  that  garden, 
heedless  of  a  severe  rain  storm  which  raged  after 
midnight.  What  a  change  had  that  day  brought 
about  ?  In  the  morning  everything  looked 
bright,  for  his  future  pathway  was  illuminated 
by  hopes  of  his  love,  which,  like  the  silver  planet 
of  the  night,  tinged  everything  with  its  own 
beauty.  Now,  that  brilliant  sky  was  overcast  by 
the  clouds  of  disappointment— the  glittering  per- 
spective had  faded  into  a  desert  landscape. 


CtlAPTER   VI. 

THE    MAGICIAN. 

Bonaparte  not  only  treated  the  sacred  insti- 
tutions of  the  Egyptians  with  respect,  but  con- 
formed to  many  of  their  customs  and  ceremonies. 
Even  their  predilections  in  lionor  of  the  marvel- 
lous were  humored,  and  one  evening  he  consent- 
ed to  receive  a  visit  from  a  noted  soothsayer. 
All  of  tlie  principal  ofhcers  were  invited  to  wit- 
ness the  seer's  performances,  though  nothing  but 
respect  for  their  general  kept  many  of  them  from 
openly  scoflSng  at  the  very  idea  of  foretelling 
future  events. 

The  magician  entered,  accompanied  by  a  small 
boy.  He  was  a  tall,  strongly  built  man,  with  a 
long  black  beard,  and  wearing  a  green  turban, 
to  show  his  descent  from  the  Prophet  Mahomet. 
Leaving  his  slippers  at  the  door,  he  made  a  pro- 
found reverence,  and  asked  the  general  if  he 
wished  to  possess  oracular  knowledge.  Osmanli 
acted  as  translator,  and  informed  him  that,  as 
he  possessed  supernatural  gifts,  he  should  know 
what  information  was  most  desired. 

"Tell  the  Sultan,"  said  he,  "that  I  can  not 
only  divine  the  interrogatories  which  his  heart 
propounds,  but  can  answer  them." 

A  domestic  then  brought  iu  a  furnace,  filled 
with  lighted  charcoal,  a  reed  pen,  an  inkstand, 
and  some  strips  of  parchment.  The  incantation 
was  then  commenced  by  the  magician,  who  wrote 
some  unintelligible  characters  upon  a  long  strip 
of  parchment.  Then,  placing  the  furnace  be- 
tween himself  and  the  boy,  he  ordered  his  ser- 
vant to  cast  in  aromatic  perfumes,  at  short  inter- 
vals. The  fragrant  ingredients  snapped  and 
sparkled,  sending  up  gracefal  columns  of  smoke 
towards  the  ceiling.  Then,  taking  the  boy's 
hand  in  his,  he  poured  some  ink  in  it,  making  a 
large  bright  spot.  At  this,  he  directed  the  boy 
to  look  attentively,  and  to  narrate  what  he  saw. 
Then  waving  his  hands,  he  repeated  an  incanta- 
tion until  the  boy's  lips  began  to  move.  All 
others  were  silent,  and  even  the  most  incredulous 
listened  attentively. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  boy  (Osmanli  translating  his 
words),  "  many  houses.  It  is  a  city.  Through 
it  runs  a  river,  across  which  are  many  bridges. 
I  enter  a  house.  A  lady  is  there  unveiled.  She 
is  reading  a  letter.  Over  the  fire-place  is  a  pic- 
ture of  an  officer.  She  finishes  the  letter,  and 
then  opening  a  drawer,  takes  out  a  fan.  Upon  the 
fan  is  a  small  picture  of  the  same  officer,  which 
she  kisses." 

"Bravo!"  interrupted  Bonaparte.  "I  will 
admit,  gentlemen,  that  I  desired  to  see  Madame 
Bonaparte,  and  I  know  that  my  picture  is  not 
only  on  the  wall  of  her  boudoir,  but  that  she  has 


a  fan  on  which  is   my   miniature.     But  you  all 
can  try  him — I  have  but  one  question  more." 

The  magician  repeated  his  incantation,  and 
the  boy  again  propiiesied.  "  Many  years  have 
passed,  and  the  warrior  is  dead.  He  breathes 
his  last  on  an  island.  He  is  followed  to  the 
tomb  by  soldiers  in  scarlet  uniforms." 

"  Not  bad,"  again  interrupted  Bonaparte.  "I 
wished,  gentlemen,  to  know  where  I  should 
breathe  my  last,  and  it  appears  that  I  shall  die 
King  of  England,  and  be  buried  on  that  foggy 
island  by  my  conquered  foes.  A  rare  idea.  But 
let  us  hear  about  the  rest  of  you." 

The  other  officers  now  interrogated  the  boy, 
and  laughed  at  what  they  regarded  as  flattery. 
Some,  he  predicted,  would  wear  crowns,  all 
would  attain  rank  and  fortune.  Yet  to  three  or 
four,  he  described  their  last  moments  in  fearful 
colors,  depicting  them  horribly  mulilated  by 
cannon  ball  or  sabre  stroke.  At  length,  when 
he  had  gone  the  round,  Bonaparte  said  : 

"Now,  Osmanli,  inquire  about  your  own  des- 
tiny, but  be  sure  and  interpret  all  that  he  says." 

"Every  syllable,"  replied  Osmanli,  and  im- 
mediately commenced ;  "  Why  is  this  young 
sapling  of  the  western  forests  away  from  his 
home?  He  w'eareth  the  French  uniform,  yet  is 
not  a  Christian.  Neither  is  the  creed  of  Maho- 
met in  his  heart.  Stay.  He  is  one  of  the  mystic 
brethren — one  who  has  been  tried — who  has 
never  been  denied — and  is  ready  and  willing  to 
be  tried  again.  Yonder  pyramids  perish — minds 
and  hearts  are  annihilated — but  in  this  young 
man's  heart  doth  the  great  secret  reign.  I  pay 
it  I'everence.     I  have  done." 

And  the  boy  fell  down,  in  violent  convulsions, 
which  lasted  about  five  minutes,  after  which  he 
fell  into  a  trance,  and  then  awoke  with  an  ex- 
pression of  bewilderment  and  surprise. 

The  magician  was  liberally  rewarded,  even 
those  who  laughed  the  most  at  his  predictions 
treating  him  with  marked  respect.  Wise  and 
gifted  minds,  in  every  age,  have  been  impressed 
by  revelations  of  hidden  truth.  And  there  have 
been  those,  who  could,  by  some  mysterious  in- 
spiration, produce  efiects  so  startling  and  mar- 
vellous that  the  strongest  minds  yielded  to  their 
influence — satisfied  that  such  things  are,  yet  un- 
able to  say  wherefore. 

Refreshments  were  now  handed  round,  and 
afterwards  the  whole  party  walked  out  into  the 
garden,  General  Bonaparte  entertaining  them 
with  anecdotes  of  fortune  tellers  and  soothsayers. 

"  General,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  "  do  not 
deem  me  impertinent,  but  I  have  heard  that 
Madame  Bonaparte  is  a  firm  believer  in  divina- 
tion.    Is  it  so  V 

"It  is,  Berthier,"  was  the  reply,  "and  if  you 
will  all  sit  down  in  this  summer-house,  I  will  tell 
you,  as  she  has  often  told  me,  how  and  when  she 
became  impressed  with  the  belief. 

"  Madame  Bonaparte,  as  most  of  you  know, 
is  a  native  of  Martinique,  where  she  passed  her 
childhood.  One  day,  when  she  was  just  budding 
into  womanhood,  she  was  persuaded  by  two 
friends  to  visit  a  noted  sibyl,  who  inspired  great 
dread  among  the  negroes  far  and  near.  No 
sooner  did  the  old  Pythoness  see  her,  than  she 
uttered  a  loud  exclamation,  and  seized  her  hand, 
which  was  carefully  examined. 

"  ^  Well,'  said  Josephine,  '  do  you  discover 
anything  extraordinary  in  my  destiny  V  'Yes,* 
was  the  reply.  '  Is  happiness  or  misfortune  to 
be  my  lot  1'  '  itisfortune — yes,  and  happiness 
too.'  'But  your  oracles  are  not  clear,  my  good 
dame.'  '  I  am  not  permitted  to  render  them 
more  clear,'  said  the  old  woman,  raising  her 
eyes  towards  heaven.  'But  to  the  point,'  ex- 
claimed Josephine,  whose  curiosity  began  to  be 
excited.  '  Tell  me  all  that  I  am  to  fear  and  to 
hope.' 

"  'Listen,  then,'  and  the  fortune-teller,  exam- 
ining Josephine's  hand  with  scrupulous  atten- 
tion. *  You  will  first  marry  a  native  of  this  isl- 
and, who  will  take  you  to  Europe,  where  he  will 
perish  tragically,  leaving  you  two  helpless  chil- 
dren. Your  second  husband  will  be  a  European, 
who  will  be  famous  without  fortune,  and  who  will 
crown  you  as  his  queen.'  On  concluding  her  pre- 
diction, the  old  hag  hurried  away  as  fast  as  her 
enfeebled  limbs  would  permit.  At  first  Jose- 
phine thought  of  the  affair  only  to  laugh  at  it, 
but  when  her  first  husband  took  her  to  Europe, 
and  then  perished  on  the  scaffold,  she  began  to 
regard  the  prediction  as  by  no  means  improbable." 

"And  she  may  yet  be  queen,"  remarked 
Berthier. 

"Patience,"  replied  Bonaparte,  with  a  smile. 
"Let  us  wait  until  the  pear  is  ripe  before  we  talk 
of  plucking  it." 

[to  ke  continited.] 


292 


OxLEASON'S    I'ICTOllIAL    DRAAVING    R()():\r    COMrANION. 


Sutter's  mill,  with  a  view  of  coloma,  California. 


CALIFORNIA  VIEWS. 

"We  pive  the  readers  of  the  Pietorial  ahove  a 
very  fine  picture  of  the  famous  Sutter's  Mill,  and 
a  view  of  Coloma,  California.  This  was  the  spot 
where  the  first  discovery  of  gold  was  made  in 
the  country,  and  here  the  first  operations  were 
successfully  carried  on.  On  the  opposite  page 
is  seen  another  characteristic  and  interesting  pic- 
ture of  California,  representing  the  Mission  of 
San  Carlos,  one  of  the  noted  localities  of  the 
gold  country,  and  from  whence  many  have  re- 
turned enriched  with  fortunes,  while  others  have 
here  laid  their  hones  to  mingle  with  the  dust 
far  from  their  bereaved  homes.  These  California 
pictures  are  of  a  very  interesting  and  truthful 
character,  particularly  to  those  who  have  friends 
in  this  modern  Ophir. 


THE  310  ON. 

I  know  not  that  there  is  anything  in  nature 
more  soothing  to  the  mind  than  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  moon,  sailing,  like  some  planetary 
bark,  amidst  a  sea  of  bright  azure.  The  subject 
is  certainly  hackneyed  ;  the  moon  has  been  sung 
by  poet  and  poetaster.  Is  there  any  marvel  tliat 
it  should  be  so^  Is  it  possible  that  the  mo'^t 
beautiful  ornament  of  the  firmament,  the  regal 
gem  of  night,  should  remain  undescanted  on  by 
all  who  can,  or  think  they  can,  breathe  forth 
their  admiration  of  her  charms?  Rather  say 
that  he  who  has  never  looked  upon  her  light  but 
as  a  lantern  to  warn  his  feet  from  the  ditch,  hath 
not  the  spirit  of  feeling,  of  poetry — nay,  of  true 
piety  within  him  !  She  never  shone  forth  in 
more  splendid  beauty  than  she  does  at  this  mo- 


ment; and  the  mild,  silvery  radiance  which  she 
flings  over  the  Burmese  mountains  before  me, 
appears,  as  it  were,  the  shadowy  effulgence  re- 
flected from  the  ethereal  wings  of  some  pure  an- 
gel, who  has  stooped,  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
to  gaze  witli  pity  on  a  world  of  misery.  A  calm 
repose,  rich,  delicious,  and  soothing,  steals  oTer 
me,  as  I  watch  her  brilliant  path  ;  soothing  it  is, 
but  not  unmixed  with  melancholy — a  melan- 
choly, however,  far  more  exquisite  than  mirth  in 
its  noisiest  mood. 

Do  we  not,  when  we  contemplate  the  moon  in 
perfect  loneliness,  always  revert,  almost  me- 
chanically— only  that  nothing  so  delightful  «m 
he  mechanical — to  former  days,  ibrmer  joys, 
former  son'ows  ?  to  the  past  rather  than  to  the 
future,  whilst  the  present  is  unlieeded  f     It  is 


ever  thus  with  me.  I  never  behold  her  pale  orb 
—  beautiful  though  pale,  like  the  wan  beauty  of 
a  dying  girl — without  the  reminiscence  of  some 
moment  of  bygone  bliss,  fluttering  like  alovely 
bird  of  passage  before  rae;  the  recollection  of 
some  happy  ramble  with  a  dear — it  msy  be  a 
deceased — friend,  beneath  a  similar  moonlight; 
the  memory  of  some  bright  frolic  in  an  hoar  as 
quiet;  or  perhaps  the  remembrance  of  i  sad 
farewell,  uttered  in  such  a  moment,  with  a  heart 
— with  hearts — torn  by  unspeakable  anguish. 
Alas,  such  a  farewell,  in  such  a  night,  with  the 
same  sad  light  gleaming  over  us,  has  passed  my 
lips — a  farewell  which  was  indeed  a  last  one  ; 
and  often  flits  across  my  memory,  laden  with  its 
pensive  mementoes  of  buried  hopes  and  joys. — 
Colder  CampbtU. 


THE  TURKISH  SULTAW'S  STATE  BARGE. 


[See  "  Turkey  iind  tbc  Turlcs,"  p  295,  for  dnscrlptlon.] 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   P.OOM    C0:MPANI0N. 


29' 


THE  FIRST  REGATTA,  AT  LISUON. 


FIRST  REGATTA  AT  LISBON, 

We  present  our  readers  with  a  fine  maritime 
picture  representing  the  late  regatta  which  oc- 
curred at  Lishon.  The  foreign  papers  contain  a 
very  succinct  account  of  the  scene,  which  wc  sub- 
join. The  race  was  for  a  silver  cup,  by  four 
boats  rigged  as  "  cahiques."  Two  of  them 
sailed  under  the  British  flag — the  Arrow,  and  the 
William  and  Edward,  of  about  12  tons  burthen 
each  :  the  former  was  built  at  Oporto,  and  the 
latter  at  Lisbon,  by  Mr.  Edward  Shirley.  The 
other  two  competitors  were  under  the  Portuguese 
flag,  and  were  built  at  Lisbon — the  Corca,  after 
the  design  of  Mr.  Ronnlds,  in  England,  12  tons 
burthen  ;  and  the  Patusco,  by  Mr.  Faria,  of 
about  6  tons.  The  course  was  about  fifteen  nau- 
tical miles,  between  Belem  Tower  and  Fort 
Mayas,  crossing  and  recrossing  several  times  the 
Tagus.  The  wind  on  the  above  day  was  a 
strong  breeze  from  the  north,  and  flood  tide. 
The  boats  took  position  at  Da  Funda,  according 
to  the  lots  they  drew.  The  first  to  windward 
was  the  William  and  Edward,  second  the  Arrow, 
third  the  Corca,  and,  to  leeward  of  all,  the  Pa- 
tusco, with  three  minutes  start  allowed  fordifi^er- 
ence  of  tonnage.  The  Arrow  got  under  way  in 
gallant  style,  followed  by  the  Corca,  and  shortly 
after  by  the  William  and  Edward;  the  course 
being  a  close  haul  to  Boa  Viagem,  the  Arrow 
leading.  The  Corca  gaining  on  the  Arrow,  was 
very  soon  in  her  wake,  and  manoeuvred  for  some 
time  to  get  to  windward   of  the  Arrow,  which 


she  effected  at  the  moment  of  reaching  the  Boa 
Viagem  mark,  when  the  Arrow  bore  up  sharply 
round  the  mirk,  the  Corca  being  obliged  to  shoot 
past  a  considerable  distance  before  she  could 
wear;  having  done  so,  she  in  a  few  minutes 
crossed  her  opponent's  bow;  the  William  and 
Edward  followed  the  Corca  closely  on  her  star- 
board quarter;  the  three  rounding  the  mark  at 
Trafaria  in  the  following  order :  the  Corca.  in 
24m.  ;  the  William  and  Edward,  in  25m.  25s.; 
and  the  Arrow,  28ai.  53s.;  the  distance  being 
3  1-2  miles.  The  Patusco  gave  up  on  leaving 
the  Boa  Viagem  mark,  a  distance  of  1  1-2  mile, 
which  she  ran  in  20m.  25s.  On  the  arrival  of 
the  Corca  at  Trafaria,  she  hauled  her  wind  on 
the  starboard  tack  for  the  Fort  Mayas — on  the 
north  bank  of  the  Tagus,  with  the  William  and 
Edward  on  her  larboard  quarter;  the  Arrow 
keeping  more  away,  in  order  to  avail  herself  of 
the  eddy  that  runs  along  the  southern  coast 
through  the  Golada,  by  which  she  regained  on 
the  Corca  4m.  21s.,  and  on  the  William  and  Ed- 
ward 3in.  7s.,  rounding  the  mark  at  Fort  Mayas 
—the  Corca  in  58m.  30s.,  the  William  and  Ed- 
ward in  5Sm.  41s.,  and  the  Arrow  in  59m.  27s. 
In  going  about  here  the  William  and  Edward 
shot  in  between  the  mark  and  the  Corca  ;  and, 
luffing  up  hard,  became  the  leading  boat,  with 
the  Corca  on  her  weather  quarter,  who,  gather- 
ing way  and  bearing  down  upon  her,  passed  her 
in  a  few  minutes,  arriving  at  Porto  Brandon — the 
Corca  in    Ih.  26m.  253.,  the    William  and  Ed- 


ward in  Ih.  27m.  15s.,  and  the  Arrowin  Ih.SOm. 
The  next  mark  to  be  weathered  was  below  Belem 
Castle,  one  mile  dead  to  windward.  The  Corca 
and  the  William  and  Edward  hauled  their  wind 
on  the  larboard  tack,  which  they  prolonged  until 
they  were  in  a  position  to  weather  the  mark. 
The  Arrow  followed  a  difl'erent  plan,  going  about 
to  the  starboard  tack  in  rounding  the  Porto 
Brandon  mark,  rounding  it  in  Ih.  48m.  15s.; 
the  Corca,  in  lb.  41m.  15s.;  and  the  William 
and  Edward,  in  Ih.  43m.  From  hence  the  course 
■was  again  to  the  south-west,  and  the  three  boats 
bore  away,  with  the  wind  on  the  quarter,  on  the 
starboard  tack,  distance  1  1-4  mile,  rounding  the 
Trafaria  mark  second  time — the  Corca,  in  Ih. 
50na.  35s. ;  the  William  and  Edward,  in  Ih.  52m. 
55s. ;  and  the  Arrow,  in  Ih.  5Sm.  26s.  The  re- 
maining points  to  be  attained  was  when  they 
started  at  Dafundo,  on  the  north  bank,  distance 
1  1-2  mile,  dead  to  windward.  The  Corca  and 
William  and  Edward  hauled  their  wind  on  the 
starboard  tack  ;  and  when  they  found  themselves 
well  to  windward,  being  abreast  of  Caxias 
they  went  about  with  the  wind  on  the  beam, 
and  out  of  the  influence  of  the  tide  which 
sets  across  to  the  south-east.  The  Arrow  did 
not  follow  this  movement,  but,  on  passing  Tra- 
faria. went  about  on  the  larboard  tack,  steering 
for  Belem  Castle.  The  Corca  arrived  at  the 
winning-post  in  2h.  24in.  51s.  ;  the  William  and 
Edward  in  2h.  28m.  49s.  ;  and  the  Arrow  in  2h. 
41m.  27s.  ;  the  Corca  being  declared  the  winner, 


beating  the  William  and  Edward  by  4m.  53s., 
and  the  Arrow  by  4m.  24s.  The  course  the 
boats  ran  is  computed  at  about  nineteen  nautical 
miles. 


VEN03I  OF  THE  RATTLESNAKE. 

A  farmer  one  day  mowing,  by  chance  trod  on 
a  rattlesnake,  that  immediately  turned  upon  him 
and  bit  his  boot.  At  night,  when  he  went  to 
bed,  he  was  attacked  with  sickness,  and  before  a 
physican  could  he  called  in,  ditd.  All  his  neigh- 
bors were  surprised  at  this  sudden  death ;  hut 
the  corpse  was  interred  without  examination. 
A  few  weeks  after,  one  of  his  sons  put  on  his 
father's  boots,  and  at  night,  when  he  pulled  them 
olf,  he  was  sei/.ed  with  the  same  symptoms,  and 
died  on  the  following  morning.  The  doctor  was 
unable  to  divine  the  cause.  At  the  sate  of 
the  effects,  a  neighbor  purchased  the  boots,  and 
on  putting  them  on,  experienced  the  like  dread- 
ful symptoms  with  the  father  and  son;  a  skillful 
physician,  however,  being  sent  for,  who  had 
heard  of  the  preceding  affair,  suspected  the 
cause,  and,  by  applying  proper  remedies,  recov- 
ered his  patient.  The  boots  were  now  cirefuUy 
examined,  and  the  two  fangs  of  the  snake  were 
discovered  to  have  been  left  in  the  leather  with 
the  poison  bladders  adhering  to  them.  Taey 
had  penetrated  entirely  through,  and  both  fat'ieV 
and  son  had  imperceptibly  scratched  themselves 
with  their  points  in  pulling  oft'  the  boots. — Cham- 
bers' Miscdlajty. 


MISSION  OF  SAN  CARLOS,  CALIFORNIA 


294 


GLEASON'S   riCTOrJAL   DRAWING   P.OOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  lor  GIciihou'h  I'ictorliil.] 
CONSOLATION. 

BY  J.  STARR  HOI.LOWAY. 

Say  not,  thcro  is  no  balm 
l''or  tbw  diflconifortH  imd  the  woes  of  life  ; 

Say  not,  no  hctvvonly  cnlni 
Lurkfl  cloKo  buhind  these  Hternor  ecencM  of  strife. 

Say  not,  the  skies'  Kwcot  blue 
Can  never  pierce  the  t-louds'  obHtruutiug  veil  j 

0  8iiy  not,  gloom  nhiill  woo 
Thy  HOul,  until  all  other  lovers  fiuL. 

Life  Is  a  prison-houpc, 
A  battle-scene,  a  htorm,  ivhate'cr  jou  will; 

n'hero  mortals  idly  drowne, 
Or  perish  after  sullering  their  fill. 

Uut  yet  for  hhn  who  will, 
There  passes,  sometimes,  o'er  the  chequered  scroll, 

Scenes  that  must  haply  fill 
■With  ecstasj'  hid  sad,  despairing  soul. 

All  may  be  darkness  now, 
Yet  soon  will  shine  the  sweet,  unclouded  day  ; 

Storm  on  tho  heaven's  brow 
Was  no'er  so  dark  it  did  not  clear  away. 

Keep  a  brave  heart  alway — 
This  is  the  edict  of  divine  formation  ; 

And  he  who  will  obey, 
Will  find,  amid  his  woea,  some  consolation. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  POOR  COUSIN. 

by  sirs.  caiioline  orne. 

[concluded.] 

Eva,  who  had,  during  the  foregoing  colloquy, 
been  held  in  conversation  by  Lyudale,  now  ap- 
proached Anna,  and  said  : 

"  1  believe  that  you  sent  for  me." 

There  was  a  dignity  in  Eva's  demeanor  which, 
for  once,  asserted  its  power  over  tlie  spoiled 
beauty,  and  with  undisguised  confusion  she  mur- 
mured an  unintelligible  reply. 

"  There  is  one  thing  which  we  must  certainly 
give  you  credit  for,"  said  Lyudale,  addressing 
Anna. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Your  ingenuity." 

"  Well,  ma  thinks  I  am  very  ingenious." 

"  She  is  perfectly  right.  Few  besides  yourself 
would  be  able  to  hnd  amusement  in  the  way  you 
profess  to." 

Anna  hardly  knew  whether  to  consider  this 
remark  as  complimentary  or  sarcastic;  but,  as 
Lascelles  had  already  gained  the  ascendency  in 
her  favor,  she  cared  little  concerning  what  Lyn- 
dale  might  think  of  her,  and  soon  dismissed  the 
subject  from  her  mind. 

"  I  await  your  commands,"  said  Eva,  again 
addressing  Anna. 

"  When  one  has  so  mavy  accomplishments," 
said  she,  "it  is  rather  difficult  to  decide  which 
of  them  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  show  off  first. 
Cannot  you  sing  us  a  song?  such  as  they  sing 
up  in  the  woods,  where  you  came  from." 

" I  can,"  was  Eva's  reply;  and  without  say- 
ing another  word,  she  took  her  seat  at  the  piano. 
The  song  she  selected  was  the  "Meeting  of  the 
Waters,"  one  to  which  her  voice— a  mezzo  so- 
prano— was  well  adapted.  She  certainly  could 
not  be  rated  high  as  a  performer  on  the  piano ; 
yet  the  sweetness  and  pathos  of  her  voice  made 
amends  for  this  defieiuncy,  as  was  testified  by 
the  attention  with  which  Lyndale,  Miranda,  and 
even  Lascelles  listened, 

"  Well,  Eva,"  said  Miranda,  bending  over  the 
piano,  when  the  song  was  finished,  "we  haven't 
got  much  good  out  of  you,  in  the  way  Anna 
anticipated." 

"No,"  said  Lyndale,  aside;  "the  amusement 
is  of  a  different  and  much  higher  quality." 

Mrs.  Beeket,  who  overheard  this  remark,  cast 
a  look  at  Eva,  which  seemed  to  ask:  "How 
dare  you  do  otherwise  than  to  appear  foolish  and 
ridiculous,  when  you  know  you  are  expected  to  \" 

From  thi:i  time,  Lascelles  paid  such  marked 
attention  to  Anna  Beeket,  whenever  they  met,  it 
soon  began  to  be  whispered  in  the  fashionable 
world  that  it  would  be  an  engiigement.  His  at- 
tentions, however,  were  always  so  carefully  re- 
stricted that  he  never  could  have  been  said  to 
commit  himself 

One  day,  during  a  morning  call  at  Mrs.Bcck- 
ct's,  by  Lascelles,  Lyndale,  and  one  or  two  la- 
dies, the  door-bell  rang,  and  a  few  moments 
afterwai-d  a  middle-aged  gentleman  was  ushered 
into  the  drawing-room.  He  was  intelligent  and 
benevolent-looking,  and  his  eyes  of  some  nonde- 
8cni)t  color  emitted  sunny  beams  which  diffused 


themselves  over  lii.s  wliolc  countenance.  He 
gave  his  name  as  IliclmrdLoekwood.  Hisdresa 
and  a|)puarancc  in  every  respect  being  unexcep- 
tionable, Mr.s.  Bcckct  received  him  with  mueii 
politf-ness.  The  glance  was  keen,  though  bc- 
nigmint,  which  he  east  round  the  room  on  those 
present.  Miranda  and  Anna  alone  arrested  his 
gaze.  These  he  regarded  witii  a  si-ruriny  a.s 
strict  as  possii)lc,  without  its  deserving  the  impu- 
tation of  rudeness.  The  result  wa^  evidently 
unsatisfactory,  and  turning  to  Mrs.  Beeket,  he 
eaid  : 

"  Your  daughters,  f  presume." 
Mrs.  Beeket  assented. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have 
a  niece  who  at  present  is  residing  in  your  family; 
can  I  sec  her.  a  few  minutes  without  the  presence 
of  a  third  person  V 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Beeket,  "though  I 
may  as  well  mention  that  if  you  have  a  daughter 
or  any  other  young  lady  under  your  care,  whom 
}ou  wish  to  have  take  lessons  of  her  in  drawing 
or  painting,  it  will  be  useless  for  you  to  see  her 
on  that  account,  as  I  have  decided  against  her 
giving  lessons  to  any  one,  except  to  Anna  and 
Miranda." 

"It  is  not  my  object  to  engage  her  to  give  les- 
sons to  any  one," 

Mrs.  Bccket's  only  answer  was  a  look  of  sur- 
prise, while,  turning  to  Miranda,  she  said  : 

"  You  had  better  ttll  Eva  that  a  gentleman 
wishes  to  see  her." 

Miranda  left  the  room,  and  soon  afterward  a 
servant  appeared,  and  conducted  Mr.  Lockwood 
to  the  little  room,  where  Eva  had  spent  the  first 
evening  after  her  arrival.  The  interview  be- 
tween her  and  Mr.  Lockwood  was  strictly  confi- 
dential, except,  if  she  chose,  she  was  to  have  the 
liberty  of  informing  Miranda  of  the  nature  of  his 
communication.  He  had,  he  told  her,  already 
seen  her  mother. 

People  have  been  said  to  have  notes  of  inter- 
rogation in  their  eyes ;  but  every  look  and  mo- 
tion of  Mrs.  Beeket  was  interrogatory  the  first 
time  she  and  Eva  met,  after  the  departure  of  Mr. 
Lockwood.  Finding  that  Eva  was  not  disposed 
to  be  communicative,  she,  in  a  very  mild  and  in- 
sinuating manner,  gave  her  to  understand  that 
it  would  be  particularly  grateful  to  her  to  be  in- 
formed of  the  object  of  Mr.  Loekwood's  visit. 
When  convinced  that  this  method  would  not 
draw  forth  the  coveted  secret,  she  talked  feeling- 
ly and  pathetically  of  the  duty  incumbent  on  a 
young  and  inexperienced  girl  of  reposing  confi- 
dence in  those  older  and  wiser,  and  of  asking 
their  advice,  especially  wlien  one  of  the  other 
sex  was  concerned,  even  if  he  had  arrived  at  the 
middle  age,  as  men,  whether  old  or  young,  were, 
in  her  opinion,  with  a  few  exceptions,  base 
deceivers. 

"I  have  written  to  my  mother  about  it,"  was 
Eva's  answer  to  a  speech  of  this  nature. 

"  Ungrateful  girl !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beeket. 
"  you  have  for  weeks  been  dependent  on  my 
bounty,  and  this  is  the  way  you  repay  me.  lie- 
member  that  to-morrow  you  leave  this  house." 

"  1  have  made  arrangements  to  leave  this  after- 
noon," said  Eva. 

"  You  aint  going  to  elope  with  that  Mr.  Lock- 
wood,  are  you?"  said  Anna. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  wei'e,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Beeket. 

"  I  hope,  at  least,"  said  Eva,  "  that  I  shall  do 
nothing  to  disgrace  either  my  relations  or 
myself" 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  of  disgracing  as," 
said  Anna. 

About  three  o'clock,  a  carriage  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  house.  In  a  few  minutes,  Eva 
opened  the  drawing-room  door.  She  was  attired 
in  travelling  costume,  and  remarking  that  she 
did  not  expect  to  return,  bade  her  aunt  and  cou- 
sin Anna  good-by. 

"  You  are  really  going,  then,"  said  her  aunt. 
"  I  wish  you  well,  1  am  sure  ;  and  maybe,  when 
it  is  too  late,  you  will  repent  in  dust  and  ashes 
that  you  had  not  confided  in  me — that  you  had 
not  sought  my  advice.  I  knew  the  moment  I 
set  eyes  on  that  Mr.  Lockwood  he  was  no  better 
than  he  should  be.  0,  Eva,  'tisn't  too  late  now. 
I  am  still  willing  to  advise  you,  if  you  will  con- 
fess all!"  and  she  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  as  if  deeply  affected. 

Miranda,  who  had  helped  I'>a  pack  her  trunk 
— not  a  very  capacious  one,  though  abundantly 
so  to  hold  her  scanty  wardrobe, — and  who  now 
stood  waiting  for  her,  took  her  hand,  as  she 
turned  from  the  drawing-room  door,  and  said,  in 
an  undertone ; 

"  I  shall  tell  Charles  Lyndale  where  you  have 
gone,  and  who  Mr.  Lockwood  is." 


This  bad  all  been  agreed  upon  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  Miranda  repeated  it,  that  Eva  might  be 
sure  that  siie  bore  it  in  mind. 

"And  }ou  will  come  when  I  send  for  you," 
said  Eva. 

"I  certainly  .shall  if  I  can.  At  any  rate,  I 
shall  write,  and  that  very  soon.  There,  I  must 
not  detain  you  another  minute;  Mr,  Lockwood 
i.s  waiting  for  you." 

Adieus  were  interchanged,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  poor  cousin  was  handed  into  the  car- 
riage by  Mr.  Lockwood,  who  had,  with  a  coun- 
tenance beaming  with  smiles,  stood  with  his 
hand  hold  of  the  carriage  door,  during  this  leave- 
taking  of  the  two  cousins- 


CHAPTER  V. 

After  the  departure  of  Eva,  Lyndale  used 
often  to  call  at  Mrs.  Becket's,  and  invite  Miran- 
da to  walk  with  him.  Mrs.  Beeket  was  rather 
pleased  at  this,  as  she  did  not  fear  but  that  her 
beautiful  Anna  would  make  an  eligible  match 
all  in  good  time. 

Eva  had  been  gone  a  number  of  weeks,  when, 
one  day,  Mrs.  Beeket  received  a  letter  from  her 
sister  Irwin. 

"This  letter  was  mailed  in  Philadelphia," 
said  she,  looking  at  the  post-mark;  "  what  can 
it  mean  V 

An  explanation  will  be  found  by  the  conver- 
sation which  passed  between  her  and  Anna,  after 
reading  the  letter. 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Mrs.  Beeket,  "that  Mr. 
Lockwood,  who  carried  off  Eva,  is  no  other  than 
the  little  Neddy  Irwin,  who  went  to  the  East  In- 
dies wlien  I  was  a  girl  of  sixteen  V 

"  I  think  it  is  a  made  up  story  from  beginning 
to  end,"  said  Anna. 

"  I  rather  think  it  is  true." 
"  I  don't  understand,"  said   Anna,  "why  he 
should  be  called  Lockwood,  when  his  real  name 
is  Irwin  ?" 

"  Why,  he  had  his  name  altered.  It  was  on 
that  condition  that  old  Mr.  Lockwood  made  him 
his  heir." 

"  0,  was  that  it  ?  Well,  I  don't  believe  that 
old  Mr.  Lockwood  was  so  very  rich,  do  you  V 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  your  aunt  Irwin  exag- 
gerated ;  but  he  was  worth  a  great  deal  of  mo- 
ney, no  doubt." 

"  And  so  Aunt  Irwin,  and  Eva,  and  the  gen- 
tleman we  thought  she  had  eloped  with,  are  liv- 
ing in  Philadelphia  in  great  style.  O,  it's  too 
bad,  isn't  it,  ma  ?" 

"And  Mr.  Lockwood  has  purchased  a  lieauti- 
ful  summer  residence  on  the  Hudson,  which  is 
worse  still.  What  provokes  me  most  i>,  that 
your  aunt,  the  moment  she  rises  from  the  depths 
of  poverty,  should  be  so  presuming.  If  you 
would  believe  it,  she  demands  that  we  should 
contradict  the  report  that  has  gone  abroad  about 
Eva's  elopement.     I  shall  do  no  sueb  thing.'* 

"  Nor  I  either.  It  is  none  of  our  look  out 
Avhether  peojjle  think  she  eloped  or  not." 

"As  you  reported  the  story,  I  think  it  is  no 
more  than  fair  that  you  should  contradict  it," 
said  Miranda,  who  had  returned  from  a  walk 
with  Charles  Lyndale  in  time  to  hear  these  last 
remarks. 

"We  will  leave  that  for  you  to  do,"  said 
Anna. 

"A  task  I  shall  perform  with  pleasure,"  she 
replied. 

"  You  are  always  ready  to  stand  in  your  own 
light,"  said  her  mother.  "  If  Charles  Lyndale 
finds  that  more  money  is  to  be  obtained  by  mar- 
rying Eva  than  you,  there  will  be  little  chance 
for  you — of  that  you  may  be  certain." 
"  There  is  little  chance  for  me  now." 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Has  he  dared  to  de- 
ceive you  as  well  as  Anna  ?" 

"  He  has  deceived  neither  of  us.  Anna  pre- 
fers Lascelles,  I  prefer  Arthur  Beri'ington,  and 
Lyndale,  ever  since  he  first  saw  lier,  has  prefer- 
red Eva.  He  does  not  know  yet  that  she  is  an 
heiress,  and  half  an  hour  since  he  told  me  that 
he  had  offered  her  his  hand.  He,  therefore,  can- 
not be  accused  of  being  mercenary." 

"If  you  do  prefer  Arthur  Berrington,"  said 
her  mother,  "  you  shall  never  marry  him — 
never." 

"Perhaps  I  may." 

"  If  you  do,  you  shall  never  have  a  cent  from 
mc,  all  shall  be  Anna's.  You  know  that  your 
father  left  the  property  entirely  at  my  disposal." 
"I  shall  be  perfectly  satisfied  for  Anna  to 
have  the  whole,  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that 
Artluir  will." 

"  There  is  no  knowing,"  said  Anna,  "  that  he 


is  living.     If  he  Ik,  I  don't  believe  he  will  ever 
come  I)ack  at;ain." 

"  He  has  already  returned,  and  I  have  seen 
him." 

"  Well,  lie  wont  have  the  audacity  to  call  here, 
I  presume,"  said  Mrs.  Beeket,  "  when  he  recalls 
to  mind  the  reception  I  gave  him  the  last  time 
he  called,  previous  to  Ins  departure  for  Europe." 
"I  believe  it  is  not  Iiis  Intention  to  call,"  said 
Miranda. 

"  No,  you  are  to  call  on  him,  I  suppose,"  eaid 
Anna. 

"I  called   at   his   sister's   as   usual,   wiihout 
knowing  that  he  had  returned,"  said  Miranda. 

"Are  you  at  home?"  said  a  servant,  looking 
into  the  room. 

"  Who  is  at  the  door?"  said  Mrs.  Beeket. 
"  Mrs.  Mercer." 

"  Yes,  I  am  always  at  home  to  her." 
The   lady   was   accordingly  admitted.      Any 
one  at  all  acquainted  with  her  would  have  known 
by  the  look  of  importance  depicted  in  her  counte- 
nance, accompanied  with  an  effort  to  appear  un- 
commonly careless  and  composed,  that  she  was 
full  of  news,  which  she  was  most  anxious  to  im- 
part.    She,  however,  constrained  herself  at  first 
to  speak  on  ordinary  subjects.     When   the  self- 
imposed    constraint   became    unendurable,    she 
turned  rather  abruptly  to  Mrs.  Beeket,  and  said  ; 
"  My  dear  friend,  have  you  heard  that  Arthur 
Berrington  has  returned?" 
"  I  have." 

"Is  it  possible?  But  to  think  how  he  has 
turned  out!     I  couldn't  have  thought  it." 

"  Well,  I  should.  I  always  knew  how  he 
would  turn  out." 

"  Did  you  ?     What  did  you  judge  by ''" 
"  I  knew  what  Aa(/ been  would  be.     When  he 
went  away,  he  was  over  twenty-three,  and  had 
never  laid  up  a  cent,  which  was  a  strong  pre- 
sumption that  he  never  would." 

"  That  was  my  own  opinion ;  but   we   both 
prove  to  be  mistaken;  he  has  turned  out  entirely 
different — what  I  should  call  well." 
"  Well,  did  you  say?" 
"  I  think  so ;  you  may  think  differently." 
"  0,  I  shall  agree  with   you,  I  know.     I  am 
always  disposed  to  judge  leniently  of  the  yoang 
and  inexperienced." 

"  While  Arthur  was  absent,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer, 
"  he  fell  in  with  a  distant  relation,  who  was  rich 
as  Croesus.  He  has  come  over  to  this  country 
with  him,  and  openly  states  it  to  be  his  intention 
to  make  him  his  heir.  Young  Berrington  will 
consequently  rank  with  the  wealthiest  men  in  the 
city,  and  his  habits,  you  know,  were  always 
good." 

"  Miranda,  did  you  know  of  this  change  in  his 
prospects?"  said  her  mother. 
"  I  did." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  then?  You  know 
how  much  pleasure  it  always  gives  me  to  patron- 
ize the  really  deserving." 

"  Arthur  Berrington  is  no  more  deserving  now 
than  he  was  three  years  ego,  and  then  you 
thought  him  unworthy  your  notice." 

"  How  strangely  you  talk,  Miranda !  No 
matter ;  I  shall  send  for  him  at  once." 

"  I  don't  think  that  it  will  be  of  any  use,  if 
you  do,  for  he  ascertained  by  his  sister  that  you 
were  no  more  friendly  to  him  now,  than  before 
he  went  away." 

"Miranda,  you  always  was,  and  always  will 
be  a  trial  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Beeket,  putting  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  hope  not,  mother,"  said  Miranda.  "At 
any  rate,  I  mean  to  try  not  to  be." 

"  We  all  have  our  trials,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer, 
who  now  rose  to  go.  "  I  have  mine,  but  I  Ii'y  to 
be  patient  under  them." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  was  unable  to  control  my 
feelings,"  said  Mrs.  Beeket,  "  but  I  am  so  easily 
afl'ected." 

"  Just  like  me,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer;  "  I  know 
how  to  sympathize  with  you.  Do  try  to  com- 
pose yourself     Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,"  returned  Mrs.  Beeket,  as- 
suming a  brisk,  lively  air.  "1  have,  you  see, 
choked  my  feelings  down  now;  Ic««  sometimes." 


In  something  less  than  six  weeks  from  the  time 
of  the  foregoing  conversation,  Mrs.  Beeket  and 
Anna  received  an  invitation  from  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lyndale  to  pass  a  few  weeks  with  them  at  their 
villa.  It  was  situated  on  the  Hudson,  being  the 
same  alluded  to  by  Mrs.  Irwin  in  her  letter  to 
her  sister,  and  was  presented  to  Eva  by  her  uncle 
Lockwood,  on  the  day  of  her  mariiagc,  us  a 
bridal  gift. 

"It  will  be  a  delightful  excursion,"  said  Mrs. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAY/ING   ROO^I    COMPANION. 


295 


Becket,  "  and  I  sliall  certainly  accept  the  invitii- 
tion." 

"1  hope  there  will  be  some  genteel  people 
tiiere,  so  that  I  can  exhibit  ray  new  dresses," 
said  Anna.  "I  wonder  if  Lascelles  will  be 
invited''" 

"  Without  doubt ;  he  is  such  a  particular 
friend  of  Lyndale's." 

"  I  should  much  prefer  to  have  them  invite 
Frank  Darson.  He  is  so  much  handsomer  than 
Lascelles." 

"1  wish  that  Miranda  was  here  to  answer  this 
note,"  said  Mrs.  Becket. 

"  0,  she  is  so  domesti:  since  she  was  married 
that  she  don't  allow  herself  to  look  out  doors." 

"  Anna,  dear,  I  wish  you  would  answer  it." 

"  0,  ms,  don't  abk  me.  I  so  hate  to  write,  I 
always  ink  my  fingers  so  bad." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  answer  it  myself, 
then." 

She  was  spared  the  trouble,  however ;  for,  at 
that  moment,  Miranda — now  ISIrs.  Berrington — 
entered,  and  oifered  to  write  the  note. 

"Do  you  intend  to  accept  the  invitation  ?"  she 
inquired. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  her  mother. 

"Then  we  may  as  well  all  go  together,  for 
Arthur  and  I  are  also  invited." 


[Written  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 
AUSTRAlilA. 

BY   E.   CORTJSa   HINE,  U.  S.  S. 

We  retupnj  ire  return,  we  return  no  more ! 

J\Irs.  Htmans. 

"  The  land  of  gold !  the  laud  of  gold !"' 

Is  now  the  cry  from  Albion's  shore  ; 
The  weak,  the  fragile,  and  the  bold, 

Across  the  moaning  waters  soar. 
To  search  the  woods  and  dark  rdvinea, 

For  worthless  dross  and  glittering  ore ; 
And  to  their  childhood's  blissful  scents, 

Keturn  no  more— return  no  more  1 

Alas  \  alas  '.  that  love  of  gain 

Should  tempt  poor  man  to  leave  behird 
The  loved  and  true,  and  cross  the  main, 

The  mountaiu^a  hoarded  wealth  to  find  1 
Dauntless  along  their  path  they  roan:, 

Nor  heed  the  angry  ocean's  roar  ; 
Bat  to  the  cherished  scenes  of  home, 

Return  no  more — retiun  no  more  1 

Australia!  in  thy  rugged  breast, 

When  rolling  years  have  passed  away, 
Full  many  a  broken  heart  will  rest. 

And  there  await  earth's  latest  day  ! 
Yes,  countless  thousands  there  will  sleep, 

Their  dreams  and  fevered. longings  o'er; 
And  to  the  friends  that  for  them  weep, 

Iteturn  no  more — return  no  more  I 

INDIAN  NOTIONS. 

The  Indians  have  no  idea  of  time  or  space 
that  I  could  discover ;  they  talk  of  so  many 
moons,  and  of  when  the  sun  is  at  a  certain  alli- 
tude.  Their  calendar  of  months  is  rather  curi- 
ous:  January, monthof storms;  February, month 
when  racoons  travel;  March,  month  "  mal  aux 
yeux;"  April,  the  month  that  the  game  begins 
to  arrive;  May,  when  trees  are  in  leaf;  June  (in 
lower  country),  strawberry  month,  (in  upper 
country),  the  month  when  the  huft'alo  run  ;  July, 
month  of  ripe  cherries ;  August,  com  month  ; 
September,  month  when  flower:=  on  tbe  Prairie 
blossom;  October,  month  in  hen  they  grille  the 
rice;  November,  deer  month;  December,  month 
of  "  I  forget  what  " — Sullivan's  Rambles. 


[Written  for  Gleason'a  Pictorial.] 
MUSINGS. 


BV  EDWAtlD   M     BISBEE. 


I  love  to  roam  through  the  wild  summer  woods, 
And  view  the  blue  daisies  and  long  winding  floods; 
Where  violets  blow  'neath  the  shady  bill, 
And  fishes  sport  in  the  glistening  rill. 

I  love  to  go  to  the  waters  wide, 
Where  tbe  river  clear  o'er  the  rocks  doth  glide  ; 
When  morn's  fresh  blossoms  deck  the  plain, 
Aud  the  blue-bird  sounds  forth  her  notes  again. 

I  love  to  muse  at  eventide, 

Where  clear,  deep  watei-s  gently  glide  ; 

Wtiile  the  brecM  sweeps  by  and  shakes  the  dew 

From  sleeping  flowers  of  crimson  hue. 

And  it  falls  in  the  water,  making  waves 

That  cU-cle  around  where  the  popliu-  laves 

Its  leaves  with  slender  and  trembling  stems, 

That  glance  in  the  moonbeams  like  gleaming  gems. 

I  love  to  rest  'ueath  rfome  evergreen  tree, 
When  the  sun  on  the  forest  shines  fervently  ; 
And  list  to  the- roar  of  the  waterfall, 
Ti'd  evening  spreads  her  sombre  pall. 


The  epitaphs  of  most  men  might  read  :  "  He 
was  born  ;  he  toiled  and  worried  for  food,  cloth- 
ing and  equipage  ;  he  sought  the  phantom,  hap- 
piness ;  he  died." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  31  IE. 

av  JOBS  R.  Goonwi:^. 


'Tls  strange,  yet  'tis  true,  this  baby-bird. 

The  depths  of  my  bachelor  heart  hath  stiiTed; 

Uer  roild,  merry  eye,  of  softest  blue, 

Her  round,  little  cheek,  of  rose-leaf  hue  ; 

And  her  flute-toned  voice,  like  tbe  voice  of  a  dove, 

Hath  oped  in  my  soul  the  fountains  of  love. 

I  know  not  why,  but  as  to  my  breast, 

Her  tiny  form  is  gently  prest ; 

And  I  fc;el  her  brejithings  upon  my  cheek. 

My  heart  has  eniotioos  no  language  can  speak; 

But  prayer  and  praise  from  its  depths  arise 

To  the  bright  ones  dwelhng  in  Paradise  j 

And  I  feel  as  if  I  were  nearer  them. 

It  may  be  that  the  baby  hath  touched  the  hem 

Of  a  guardian  spirit  that  hovcreth  near, 

Whom  Heaven  hath  sent  to  watch  her  here. 

0,  I  cannot  think  a  blight  will  mar 

The  life  of  this  being — my  idol  star ; 

1  would  rather  see  it  close  its  eye 

In  the  virgin  flush  of  its  morniug  sky. 

And  feel  and  know  'twas  a  seraph  blight. 

By  the  spotltss  throne  in  the  realms  of  light. 

Than  ever  its  guileless  heart  should  bo 

Stained  by  one  touch  of  impvu:ity. 

<    »ma    » 

[Written  for  Gleason'a  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  IX. 

ET    DK.    JEROME    V.    C.    SMITH. 


MOSftTJE  OF  ACHMET. 

This  is  considered  the  chief  religious  edidcc 
—  superior,  in  many  respects,  to  all  others.  Its 
six  minarets  give  a  peculiiu*  character  to  it;  and 
when  the  fom*  pillars  sustaining  the  dome  are 
examined,  the  spectator  is  constrained  to  admit 
that  the  Turks  are  susceptible  of  grandeur  in 
architecture.  They  arc  each  made  up  of  three 
marble  blocks,  one  placed  on  the  end  of  the 
other.  The  diameter  of  these  colossal  columns 
is  eigliteen  feet. 

"Fgvpt  and  Baalbec  have  no  parallelism  for 
these  monsters.  Two  candelabras  of  extraordi- 
nary dimensions,  sustaining  wax  candies  quite 
ten  feet  high,  with  galleries,  sufficiently  elevated 
to  give  an  air  of  loftiness  to  the  whole,  on  both 
sides,  are  a  striking  feature.  Koran  stands,  for 
the  accommodation  of  students  and  devout  per- 
sons, arc  numerous. 

No  orher  mosque  is  so  mnnitlcently  provided 
with  funds  foi  ils  support,  or  contains  such  a 
profusion  of  costly  fixtures  and  appendages  in 
the  way  of  permanent  wealth.  Four  emerald 
lamps  are  suspended  by  golden  chains  from 
above,  and  give  some  idea  of  the  concentration  of 
riches  uithin  this  celebrated  and  truly  magnifi- 
cent establishment.  They  were  a  present  from 
the  govenior  of  Abyssinia. 

On  the  left  gallery  there  is  an  immense  pile  of 
boxes,  chests,  and  other  strong  contrivances,  ir- 
regutaidy  heaped  together,  whicli  contain  an 
amount  of  treasure  altogether  incalculable.  For 
some  ages  past,  it  has  been  customary  both  for 
individuals  and  families  to  deposit  their  money, 
iewels  and  other  precious  effects  in  this  moyquc, 
for  snfe  keeping.  Each  has  his  box,  large  or 
small,  according  to  their  circumstances,  w-ith  a 
key.  No  questions  are  asked,  no  record  kept, 
labels  are  unknown,  and  tbe  owners  bring  or 
carry  away,  as  they  choose,  and  without  inter- 
ruption. 

So  sacred  is  the  Mosque  of  Achmet,  that  no 
one  would  dare  attempt  the  terribly  sacrilegious 
act  of  theft  from  its  holy  portals.  Whatever  is 
there  deposited,  is  sacred  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses. The  idea  that  it  is  possiMe  that  anything 
thus  lodged  for  safe  keeping  cou'd  be  clandes- 
tinely taken  away,  was  never  entertained. 

Bank  vaults  are  far  more  exposed  to  the  dep- 
redations of  robbers,  than  the  open  treasury  gal- 
lery of  the  Mosque  of  Achmet.  Some  of  the 
boxes  may  not  have  been  unlocked  in  the  last 
hundred  years  ;  yet  they  arc  as  they  were  left  by 
the  owners,  undisturbed.  Yet  the  doors  are 
open,  strangers  are  walking  about,  and  not  nn- 
frequently  stop  and  stare  at  the  miscellaneous 
accumulation,  like  fi-eight  on  the  deck  of  a 
steamboat;  and  when  informed  of  the  untold 
millions  thus  promiscuously  thrown  together, 
seem  to  consider  it  simply  in  the  light  of  wonder, 
and  pass  on. 

No  revolution,  civil  commotion  of  tbe  p_eopie, 
or  necessities  of  the  government  ever  perilled,  in 
the  least  degree,  this  concentration  of  gold,  sil- 
ver and  jewels.  Neither  guards,  watchmen, 
wvilking  sentinels,  nor  a  police  vigilance  have  ever 


been  required  for  the  preservation  of  the  deposit. 
A  religious  respect  for  the  sanctuary,  with  the 
education  all  Mahommedans  receive,  is  superior 
to  bolts,  bars  or  the  guns  of  an  army.  Not  in- 
tending even  a  further  description  uf  mosijucs — 
since  a  volume  would  be  required  fur  tliat  pur- 
pose— that  of  Sultan  ilahoniet  II  must  necessa- 
I'ily  be  passed  over,  rich  as  it  is  in  architecture 
and  gloiious  memorials  of  a  flourishing  epoch  in 
Turkish  history. 

Tliere  is  the  hippodrome,  with  its  stolen  obe- 
lisk and  remnants  of  a  monument  of  braxen  ser- 
pents, now  called  the  atmeldan,  or  place  of  ihc 
horse.  Once  it  had  extraordinary  dimensions, 
but  is  now  reduced  to  250  paces  in  length,  by 
150  in  breadth.  It  is  a  shabby,  bare,  gravelly, 
uninteresting  square,  yet  it  is  associated  with 
wonders  in  days  of  the  Greek  cmpir&. 

Other  chariicteristic  cniiosities  are  the  cistern 
of  a  thousand  columns,  the  burnt  column,  the 
extensively  covered  bazaars,  the  watch  lower, 
the  new  university,  mint,  slave  market,  arsenal, 
the  seven  towers,  the  Greek  churches,  moristan 
or  asylum  for  the  insane,  schools,  whirling  der- 
vishes, and  numerous  sights  and  fixtures,  illus- 
trative of  the  mechanism,  skill,  artistic  ability, 
habits  and  customs,  which  must  all  be  omitted 
in  this  epitome  of  prominent  objects  in  Con- 
stantinople. 

SCLTAX    GOING    TO    MOSQUE. 

A  fundamental  law  requires  that  the  ruler 
shall  go  openly  in  sight  of  the  people,  to  prayers 
in  some  mosque,  every  Friday,  and  that  without 
failure,  if  in  health.  While  the  custom  demon- 
strates the  obedience  of  the  Sultan  to  the  com- 
mands of  the  founder  of  the  common  faith,  it 
has  a  direct  bearing  on  the  public  tranquillity,  to 
know  that  the  individual  in  whom  all  the  func- 
tions of  the  government  concentrate  is  alive,  and 
therefore  superintending  tlie  machinei-y  of  state. 

Every  Friday,  therefore,  brings  with  it  consid- 
erable commotion.  Every  stranger  is  desirous 
to  sec  the  great  man;  and  his  own  immediate 
subjects,  also,  exert  themselves  considerably,  to 
have  a  glimpse  of  the  Padisha.  By  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning  it  is  usually  ascertained  what 
mosque  he  intends  to  honor  with  his  royal  pres- 
ence. He  generally  selects  a  different  one  each 
succeeding  v»'eek,  rarely  going  to  the  same  twice 
in  a  season. 

Having  ascertained  on  a  charming  Friday 
morning  that  his  imperial  highness  would  attend 
prayers  in  a  small  mosque  near  the  arsenal,  and 
that  he  would  go  by  water,  we  procured  a  boat 
at  a  seasonable  hour,  and  having  taken  a  favor- 
able position  on  the  Bosphorus,on  the  prescrilied 
line  for  the  royal  aquatic  piocession,  waited  iis 
approach. 

There  arc  two  long  bridges,  built  of  boats, 
crossing  the  Golden  Horn,  the  draws  of  which 
were  swung  open ;  and  besides  four  bands  of 
music  at  the  break  of  the  draws — there  being 
one  on  each — the  main  bodies  of  tiie  bridges 
were  covered  with  troops  under  arras. 

Every  avenue  leading  from  Pera,  and,  in  factj 
from  other  parts  of  the  city,  was  lined  with 
people  hurrying  towards  the  water.  Steamers, 
vessels  of  every  description,  boats,  and  anything 
that  would  buoy  a  man,  or  whatever  position 
gave  a  chance  for  a  view,  were  quickly  occupied. 
There  was  a  general,  but  noiseless  commotion 
throughout  Constantinople.  It  was  a  grand 
sight  to  view  such  a  sea  of  human  heads,  and 
multitudes  of  beings  in  white  turbans,  quietly 
smoking,  yet  watching  for  the  appearance  of  the 
monarch. 

By-and-by  the  guns  began  to  roar  at  the  pal- 
ace up  the  Bosphonis,  at  the  exact  moment  he 
steppped  into  the  barge.  A  more  eager  curiosity 
was  awakened,  and  the  vast  multitude  swayed 
to  and  fro  for  an  early  glimpse  of  him.  AU  the 
vessels  in  the  navy  yard  were  manned,  flags 
were  floating  in  the  light  biecze,  the  cannon 
spoke  louder  and  nearer,  when  of  a  sudden  the 
golden  pageant  glittered  in  the  eyes  of  the  un- 
numbered thousands  who  wcyq  gazing  with  in- 
tense expectations  of  surprise  and  gratification. 

Not  a  voice  was  raised  :  neither  shouts,  huzzas, 
nor  other  tumultuous  demonstrations  broke  forth 
from  the  obedient  followers  of  Mahommed.  On 
the  contrary,  each  one  kci)t  perfectly  still,  while 
the  music  began  to  swell  upon  the  ear,  and  the 
sweet  sounds  rolled  away  over  the  beautiful  ex- 
panse of  the  BosphornSj  to  die  in  the  distant 
green  fields  and  water.  Water-bailiffs  kept  the 
army  of  caiques  back  from  the  indicated  course, 
—  leaving  a  highway  about  twelve  rods  wide — 
and  onward  shot  a  beautifully  moulded  barge, 
apparently  a  hundred  feet  in  length,  wide  and 
roomy,  entirely  gilded  with  gold  leaf  from  bow 


to  stern.  It  was  rowed  by  fifcy  oarsmen,  twenty- 
five  on  a  side,  dressed  in  white,  who  rose  upon 
their  feet  simultaneously  as  they  dipped  ihe 
blades  into  the  gentle  current  on  which  the  fairy 
boat  was  swiftly  gliding. 

[For  a  view  of  the  Sultan's  Barge,  see  page  292.] 

The  stern  was  raised  in  the  form  of  a  minia- 
ture quarter-deck,  some  six  feet,  over  which 
there  was  a  tasteful  canopy,  supported  on  four 
columns,  covered  with  red  silk,  and  the  roof,  on 
its  underside,  lined  with  the  same  fiery  material. 

In  the  centre,  protected  from  the  burning  rays 
of  the  sun,  seated  upon  an  immense  scarlet 
cushion,  sat  the  Sultan,  dressed  in  a  blue  frock 
coat,  buttoned  to  the  chin,  blue  pantaloons,  and 
a  red  felt  tarbousch,  or  cap,  swayed  a  little  to 
one  side  by  a  long,  heavy,  blue  silk  tassel.  Be- 
tween his  highness  and  the  rowers,  in  little  space 
in  front  of  the  canopy,  were  two  black  pages. 

His  majesty  is  too  much  accustomed  to  the 
show  10  be  particularly  struck  with  any  manifes- 
tations of  public  curiosity.  However,  when  he 
passed  us,  and  recognizing  us  as  Christian  stran- 
gers, no  doubt,  by  our  hats,  coats  aud  shorn 
faces,  he  gave  a  long  penetrating  stare— the  only 
civility  he  bestows  upon  anybody — while  our 
hats  were  raised ;  for  it  is  always  proper  in  every 
country  to  pay  respect  to  the  goverament  that  pro- 
tects us  while  remaining  within  its  jurisdiction. 

Immediately  after,  came  the  barge  of  the  first 
subject  of  the  empire,  the  Sadrazan,  known  to 
us  under  the  title  of  grand  vizier,  who  is  the  first 
minister.  In  all  respects,  it  was  ncp-rly  as  gor- 
geous as  his  sublime  masters;  but  had  fewer 
rowers,  and  was  smaller  in  dimensions.  On  the 
forecastle,  about  six  feet  in  length — in  other 
words,  Ihe  bow  tliat  was  decked  over — was  an 
enormously  large  carved  eagle,  silver  gilt,  with 
spread  wings,  standing  upon  the  tips  of  its  tal- 
ons, as  if  in  the  act  of  soaring  away  in  the  air. 
The  design  was  extremely  fine,  and  the  appear- 
ance beautiful. 

Then  came  a  third  barge,  also  gilded,  and 
propelled  by  gilded  oars,  in  the  hands  of  slaves 
dressed  in  loose  white  costumes,  and  snow  white 
turbans,  bearing  the  Kit^lah  Agah,  an  African 
eunuch,  and  his  tn-o  hiack  assistants. 

As  before  observed,  this  man  is  a  great  per- 
sonage, and  more  influential  on  account  of  his 
proximity  to  the  throne,  than  any  other  man  in 
the  realm.  He  was  small  in  size,  small  featured, 
not  very  black,  and  had  rather  a  pleasant  ex- 
pression. His  mutilated  assistants  seemed  to 
feel,  as  the  Kislah  x\gah  did,  the  importance  of 
their  jiosiiion,  by  putting  on  airs  of  amazing 
dignity. 

When  the  boats  passed  the  ships  of  war,  and 
especially  that  monster  ship,  Mahmoud,  too 
large  for  service,  the  roar  of  artillery  w^as  per- 
fectly deafening.  On  touching  the  shore,  where 
a  great  body  of  troops  were  in  waiting,  and  num- 
bers of  caparisoned  horses  stood  champing  the 
bit,  the  cortege  passed  quickly,  without  ceremo- 
ny, into  the  mosque.  All  the  oarsmen  leaped 
out,  and  amused  themselves  by  strolling  about 
at  their  ease,  while  the  troops  on  the  bridge  re- 
tired quietly  to  their  barracks. 

An  impression  was  abroad  that  the  Sultan 
would  return,  to  the  palace  on  horseback,  and 
the  crowds  therefore  dispersed  to  intercept  him 
on  the  return  route  ;  he  disappointed  them,  how- 
ever. When  he  had  completed  the  exercises 
dtie  to  religion,  he  returned  to  the  barge,  which 
was  quickly  forced  off  towards  an  elegant  steam- 
boat, which  had  recently  been  presented  to  him 
by  Abbas  Pasha,  his  disliked  vassal  of  Egypt. 
The  other  two  barges  returned  the  way  they 
came,  leaving  his  majesty  on  board  the  new  toy. 
How  he  finally  got  back  to  his  lodging  was  not 
ascertained,  as  we  were  too  weary  and  too  nearly 
roasted  to  remain  any  longer  watching  the  re- 
treating shadow  of  the  Slayer  of  Men — one  of 
the  lilies  that  belong  to  the  ruler  of  Turkey. 
No  pageant  in  Europe,  which  we  had  seen,  was 
more  imposing,  or  conducted  with   more  effect. 

An  extraordinary  privilege  is  accorded  to  the 
humblest  being  in  the  realm,  of  appealing  di- 
reclly  to  the  Sultan,  through  a  written  petition, 
each  day  when  he  is  on  the  route  to  the  mosque 
for  public  prayer,  on  horseback.  Placing  them- 
selves bolt  upright  against  the  houses  in  tlie  nar- 
row street,  as  the  Sultan  arrives  nearly  opposite, 
their  petitions  are  handed  to  the  grand  vizier. 
The  Sultan  has  each  read  on  returning,and  gives 
personal  directions  respecting  them.  In  this 
manner,  the  Padisha  learns  what  he  otherwise 
never  would  have  known  of  the  rascality  of  his 
beloved  subjects.  The  custom,  no  doubt,  pre- 
vents a  large  amount  of  iniquity,  through  fear 
that  it  may  reach  the  cars  of  him  who  acknowl- 
edges no  superior  on  the  globe. 


296 


GLEASON'S    nCTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


THE  LATE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FIRE  DEPARTMENT,  BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


On  this  page  we 
pve  two  pictures, 
drawn  by  our  artist, 
Mr.  Chiipin,  upon  the 
.spot,  the  first  illustra- 
ting the  second  annu- 
al parade  of  the  Eire 
Department  of  Brook- 
lyn, N.  Y.,  and  the 
second,  a  view  of  tlie 
new  Firemen's  Hall, 
dedicated  on  the  oc- 
casion. Early  in  tiie 
morning  preparations 
were  making  in  all 
parts  of  the  city  where 
the  Firemen's  pro- 
cession was  to  pass, 
flags  were  unfurled  to 
the  breeze  from  all 
public  and  many  pri- 
vate buildings.  Every 
engine,  hook  and  lad- 
der and  hose  carriage 
house  was  dressed 
with  flags,  wreaths 
and  bouquets — every- 
thing wore  the  appear- 
ance of  a  festive  occa- 
sion. The  aiTange- 
ments  made  by  the 
Fire  Department  com- 
mittee were  carried  out 
in  full,  without  con- 
fusion or  delay.  At 
'2  o'clock  the  proces- 
sion took  up  the  line 
of  march  through  the 
several  streets,  as  laid 
down  in  the  program- 
me. As  they  passed 
along,  at  almost  every 
dwelling  they  were 
greeted  by  the  fair  sex 
by  the  waving  of  ker- 
chiefs and  throwing 
of  bouquets — some  of 
these  were  truly  mag- 
nificent. The  proces- 
sion was  headed  by 
Gazelle  Company  No. 

4,  from  Providence, 
preceded  by  a  band  of 
music,  and  the  banner 
of  the  Fire  Depart- 
ment and  the  escort- 
ing committee.  En- 
gine Companies  6  and 
7,  from  Newark,  came 
next,  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  Grand 
Marshal,  Peter  B.  An- 
derson, and  Aids, 
Robt.  R.  Story,  Wm. 

5.  Sutphen,  Geo.  Sta- 
ley,  and  John  Green. 
Next  followed  the 
whole  Fire  Depart- 
ment of  Brooklyn  as 
laid  down  in  the  pro- 


VIEW  OF  firemen's  HALL,  BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


gramme,  excepting 
Engine  Companies 
Nos.  7,  U  and  16, 
Hook  and  Ladder 
Companies  Nos.  2  and 
3,  and  Hose  Compa- 
nies Nos.  2  and  3. 
The  machines  of  these 
Companies,  we  learn, 
were  not  in  repair ; 
but  most  of  the  mem- 
I>ers  were  attached  to 
other  companies. 
X^very  engine  was  fine- 
ly decorated.  No.  1 
l->gine  was  on  a  car- 
liage  drawn  by  eight 
handsomely  cap ar- 
isoned  horses.  No.  .*> 
Engine  was  mounted 
the  same  way,  and 
drawn  by  12  horses. 
On  this  carriage  were 
three  miniature  fire- 
men,— three  small 
boys, — who  were  fre- 
q  uently  applauded. 
No.  12  Engine  was 
also  on  a  carriage 
drawn  by  12  horses. 
Hook  &.  Ladder  Co. 
No-  4  had  a  live  eagle 
perched  on  their 
brake.  No.  14  Engine 
Co.  carriage  was  or- 
namented by  a  liirge^ 
wreath,  about  5  feet  in 
diameter,  in  a  frame, 
liresented  to  them  on 
Fulton  Avenue.  En- 
gine Company  No.  19 
brought  up  the  rear, 
drawn  by  ten  horses. 
The  procession  num- 
btied  about  one  thou- 
^  ind  firemen  and  ten 
binds  of  music,  and 
was  complete  in  every 
respect.  The  carriages 
\M_re  all  handsomely 
decorated,  and  the 
members  of  the  De- 
|)irtmentall  in  good 
turn.  About?  P.  M  , 
tilt  procession  reached 
the  place  of  starting, 
^\hcn  the  companies 
Wire  dismissed.  In 
the  evening  a  largo 
number  of  the  firemen 
mended  at  Concert 
H  ill,  to  listen  to  the 
didicntion  address  by 
Klv.  Mr.  Hodge.  The 
house  was  well  filled, 
a  large  number  of  la- 
dies being  prescnt.and 
the  audience  was  in- 
terested deeply  in  Mr 
llodgo's  address. 


GI.EASON'S   PICTORIAL   DTIA^^IXG   ROOM    COMPANION. 


297 


LORD  HARDINGE. 

We  present  to  our  readers  herewith  a  fine  por- 
trait of  the  new  commander  in-chief  of  the  armies 
of  Great  Britain.  The  subject  of  our  illustration, 
Henry,  Viscount  Hardinge,  of  Lahore,  and  of 
King's  Newton,  co.  of  Derby,  G.C.B.,  is  descend- 
ed from  Nicholas  Hardinj^e,  who  was  living  in 
King's  Newton  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  The 
present  viscount  is  the  third  son  of  the  late  Rev. 
Henry  Hardinge,  rector  of  Stanhope  Durham, 
by  Frances,  his  wife,  daughter  of  James  Best, 
Esq.  He  was  horn  on  the  30th  of  March,  1785, 
and  entered  the  army  on  the  8th  of  October, 
1798,  at  the  early  age  of  thirteen,  as  ensign  in 
the  Queen's  Rangers.  He  subsequently  became 
lieutenant  in  the  47th  (Lancashire)  on  the  25th 
of  March,  1802  ;  was  gazetted  captain  in  the  57th 
(West  Middlesex),  April  7,  1804;  major,  April 
13,  1809;  lieutenant-colonel.  May,  30,  1811; 
colonel,  July  19,  1821;  major-general,  July  22, 
1830 ;  lieutenant-general,  November  23,  1841. 
He  has  filled  the  offices  of  Clerk  of  the  Ordnance, 
Secretary  at  War,  Secretary  for  Ireland,  again 
Secretary  at  War,  and  in  1844,  after  the  unex- 
pected recall  of  Lord  EUenborough,  was  appoint- 
ed to  the  rank  of  Governor-General  of  India. 
Viscount  Hardinge  is  one  of  the  now  fast  dimin- 
ishing number  of  military  men  who  served 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  Peninsular  war ; 
nearly  all  the  time  he  was  deputyquartermaster- 
general  of  the  Portuguese  army.  He  was  pre- 
sent at  the  battles  of  RoHsa  and  of  Vimiero,  in 
which  he  was  wounded.  At  the  glorious  battle 
of  Corunna,  Captain  Hardinge  was  on  the  staft" 
of  the  brave  and  unfortunate  Sir  Jolm  Moore  ;  he 
was  near  when  the  general  received  his  death- 
wound.  On  observing  that,  as  the  soldiers  were 
placing  him  in  blanket,  the  hilt  of  his  sword  got 
entangled  in  the  wound,  he  attempted  to  take  it 
off;  the  dying  hero  stopped  liim,  saying :  "  It  is 
a^  well  as  it  is ;  I  had  rather  it  should  go  out  of 
the  field  with  me."  Viscount  Hardinge  was 
afterwards  at  the  passage  of  the  Douro,  at  the 
battle  of  Busaco,  at  the  lines  of  Torres  Vedras, 
at  the  battle  of  Albuera,  the  first  and  second 
sieges  of  Badajoz,  at  the  siege  and  capture  of 
Ciudad  Rodrigo,  at  the  third  siege  of  Badajoz, 
at  the  battles  of  Salamanca  and  Vittoria,  where 
he  was  severely  wounded ;  Pampeluna,  the  Py- 
renees, Nivelle,  Nive,  and  Orthes.  He  served 
also  in  the  campaign  of  Waterloo,  and  lost  his 
hand  at  the  battle  of  Ligny,  on  the  16th  of  June. 
Even  as  Governor- General  of  India,  he  was  en- 
gaged in  the  battles  of  Moodkee,  Ferozeshah, 
and  Sobraon.  It  was  on  the  ISth  of  December, 
1845,  that  the  battle  of  Moodkee  was  fought; 
when  tlic  British  troops,  after  forced  marches  of 
one  hundred  and  tifiy  miles,  and  while  the  men 
were  suffering  severely  from  want  of  water  and 
exhaustion,  received  the  attack  of  a  force  treble 
their  own  in  number,  defeated  them  with  great 
slaughter,  and  captured  seventeen  of  their  guns. 
But  it  was  at  Ferozeshah,  where  he  offered  his 
services  to  Sir  Hugh  Gough,  that  the  military 
talents  and  the  personal  courage  of  Viscount 
Hardinge  were  pre-eminently  seen.  On  account 
of  his  conduct  on  these  memorable  occasions, 
which  ended  in  the  discomfiture  of  the  Sikhs,  the 
governor-general  was  elevated  to  the  peerage. 


VISCOUNT  HARDINGE,  COMMANDER  IN  CHIEF  OF  THE  BRITISH  ARM7. 


THE  AMERICAN  REPUBLIC. 

There,  probably,  never  was,  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world,  an  instance  of  such  solid,  sud- 
den and  dazzling  prosperity  as  has  been  achieved 
within  the  last  fifty  years  by  the  United  States  of 
America.  By  peaceful  industry  and  bold  but 
well  weighed  enterprise,  they  have  advanced  to 
a  degree  of  material  and  well-being  which,  to 
those  who  only  know  the  world  from  hooks, 
must  appear  almost  incredible.  They  have  but 
to  persevere  in  the  same  course,  and  there  is  no 
limit  to  the  triumphs  that  lie  before  them.  They 
have  still  a  boundless  ten-itory  to  occupy  and 
improve,  in  the  posse:^sion  of  which  they  are 
without  a  neighbor,  and  a  mission  of  civilization 
and  consolidation  to  execute  as  noble  as  ever  de- 


volved upon  the  sons  of  men.  But  the  previous 
triumphs  of  their  industry  and  their  enterprise 
have  been  so  rapid  and  portentous,  tliat  they  would 
seem  to  have  a  tendency  to  turn  aside  the  nation 
from  its  steady  onward  course,  and  to  enlist  it  in 
jnore  brilliant  but  far  less  certain  schemes  of  ag- 
grandizement. A  nation  struggling  day  by  day 
with  praiseworthy  perseverance  and  intensity  for 
the  possession  of  the  "almighty  dollar,"  so 
shrewd  and  calculating  in  its  private  transactions, 
becomes,  when  it  touches  on  public  affairs,  bound- 
less in  its  aspirations.  It  possesses  a  will  as  un- 
controllable as  the  powers  of  nature  which  sur- 
round it,  and  spurns  the  control  of  law  to  which 
these  mighty  agencies  so  humbly  submit  them- 
selves.— London  Times. 


PliOUGHING  MATCH  AT  BRIDGEPORT. 

The  ploughing  match  of  the  Fairfield  County 
Agricultural  Society,  of  which  we  give  an  illus- 
tration below,  came  off  at  Bridgeport,  Ct.,  on 
Thursday,  the  7th  ult.,  and  was  attended  by  vast 
crowds  of  people  from  the  sunounding  country. 
The  ground  was  about  one  and  a  half  miles  from 
Bridgeport,  on  the  line  of  the  New  York  and 
New  Haven  Railroad,  and  in  the  immediate  vici- 
nity of  the  Sound.  Thirty-two  teams  were  en- 
tered to  contend  for  ten  premiums,  ranging  from 
S50  to  S5.  The  rules  were  :  each  team  to  plough 
one-fourth  of  an  acre  in  two  hours  time,  the  fur- 
row to  be  seven  inches  deep,  the  sod  to  be  com- 
pletely turned  and  well  covered,  and  every  man 
to  be  his  own  driver.  The  ploughing  commenced 
at  eleven  o'clock,  and  better  work  it  was  never 
our  good  fortune  to  witness.  Where  all  were  so 
nearly  perfect,  it  would  be  invidious  to  particu- 
larize. After  much  difficulty  in  coming  to  a  de- 
cision, the  judges  finally  announced  the  following 
award  of  the  premiums:  A.  H.  Jerome,  of 
Hartford,  Ct.,  first  premium,  S50;  J.  L.  Hart, 
Cornwall,  Ct.,  second  premium,  S25 ;  L.  G. 
Bliss,  Brattleboro',  Vt.,  third  premium,  $25;  Al- 
bert W.  Knap,  Fairfield,  Ct.,  fourth  p.emium, 
S25  ;  Charles  B.  Clark,  Monroe,  Ct.,  fifth  pre- 
mium, S18;  EUas  Plum,  Bridgeport,  Ct ,  sixth 
premium,  S16;  George  Morehouse,  Fairtield, 
Ct.,  seventh  premium,  S14 ;  Isaac  E.  Bostick, 
Trumbull,  Ct.,  eighth  premium,  S12;  Curtis  L. 
Bostwick,  Monroe,  Ct.,  ninth  premium,  SIO; 
Calvin  W.  Nourse,  Westboro',  Mass.,  tenth  pre- 
mium, S5.  Twenty-two  other  gentlemen  received 
diplomas.  Eight  of  the  premium  ploughs  were 
from  the  manufactory  of  Ruggles,  Nourse,  Ma- 
son &  Co.,  and  two  from  Prouty  &  Mcars. 
Thirty-one  of  the  teams  were  oxen,  making  al- 
together a  sight  worth  a  journey  to  see.  The 
field  was  a  sward  upon  loamy  soil.  All  the 
ploughing  was  skillfully  and  perfectly  executed. 
The  town  was  crowded  with  people — the  day 
being  one  worthy  of  note  for  its  exceeding  love- 
liness. The  exhibition  of  farm  products  and 
other  matters,  was  worthy  of  commendation. 
We  did  not  see  theshowof  stock,  but  understood 
there  were  some  remarkably  good  animals  on  the 
ground.  For  the  large,  beautiful  red  Devon 
oxen,  we  can  vouch  they  would  be  hard  to  beat; 
iinywhcre.  P.  T.  Barnum,  of  course,  was  in  his 
glory.  He  is  certainly  entitled  to  much  credit 
for  the  course  he  has  taken  to  improve  the  agri- 
culture of  Fairfield  County.  During  the  plough- 
ing, the  assembled  multitude  was  addressed  by 
Professor  J.  J.  Mapes,  in  an  excellent  practical 
agricultural  speech,  of  some  two  hours  in  length, 
in  which  he  touched  upon  many  topics  of  interest 
to  the  farmer  and  horticulturist.  After  the  award 
of  premiums,  the  judges,  orator  of  the  day,  and 
members  of  the  press,  dined  by  invitation  with 
the  President  of  the  Society,  P.  T.  Bamum, 
Esq.,  at  his  palace  of  Iranistan,  and  were  then 
driven  in  his  carriage  to  the  Fairfield  County 
Agricultural  Fair,  which  was  being  held  in 
Biidgcport.  A  balloon  ascension  and  circus 
were  among  the  thousand  and  one  attractions  of 
the  day.  The  ploughing  match  is  finely  illustrated 
by  our  artist  in  the  beautiful  engraving  which 
we  have  given  below. 


FAIRFIELD  COUNTY  AGRICULTURAL  SOCIETY'S  PLOUGHING  MATCH,  AT  BRIDGEPORT,  CONN. 


2')8 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gloiwon'fl  Pictorial.] 
THE    IN  1)1  AM     SUMMER. 

DY   I'lUKClt)  A.  UUBLVAOK. 


Autumn  hnH  conic,  iind  winter's  fltop  13  near, 
Ili.t  rootwtupfl  ruHtIo  In  the  I'lilllnt?  limvcH  ; 

Ills  rhlU  breutli  uiuruuirn  In  tiio  herbage  sore, 
His  frown  would  drirkon  oven  the  givrnoreJ  HhcttTCH  ; 

But  kindly  uaturo  mitigates  bin  frown, 

And  gllilfi  the  d>ing  year  with  glories  all  her  own. 

Itcforo  our  raptured  sonRos  now  unfol'l 
ScencB  of  a  pngoant  mimmor,  ono  more  bright 

In  varied  hues  and  garnlturo  of  gold, 
Than  "  leafy  .June  "  o'er  olTorod  to  the  sight. 

Tlio  sweeping  wooded  hills  are  all  abln/.;;, 

And  myriad  rainbows  glimmer  through  the  golden  bazo. 

The  limpid  streams  that  idly  saunter  by, 

A  burnished  mirror  in  each  tiny  wave, 
Roward  the  gaze  of  the  delighted  eye  ; 

for  jewels,  such  as  decked  Aladdin's  cavo, 
Shine  from  their  liquid  depths  in  wavering  light, 
From  mom  till  noon,  from  noon  till  starry  night. 

And  every  bright-wingod  and  melodious  bird, 
That  loves  the  woodland  haunt  and  sylvan  dell, 

Py  the  strong  spirit  of  his  uaturo  stirred, 
Pours  to  the  parting  year  his  wild  farewell. 

AhisI  too  soon  the  gorgeous  niiisque  must  end, 

And  ehilUng  skies  o'er  leafless  bowers  in  sadness  bend. 

How  like  a  monarch  regal  Autumn  dies  !, 

With  Tyrian  robes  and  gems  hia  couch  is  strown  ; 

Above,  the  drapery  of  the  golden  skies, 

Beneath,  the  Bplendor.-*  of  a  matchless  throne. 

Muyic  to  fill  with  joy  the  dying  ear, 

And  Ijear  the  spirit  to  a  brighter  sphere. 

So  died  the  sachem,  lord  of  these  deep  woods. 

Brightly  appareled,  in  the  days  of  old  ; 
So  lay  in  state  beside  the  rolling  floods, 

Oay  with  flamingo  plumes,  and  clasps  of  gold, 
And  trophies  of  the  battle  and  the  chase. 
Smiling  on  death  with  unavcrted  face. 


[Written  for  Gleasoa's  Pictorial.] 

CASPER     ISLE. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  SEA. 

BV    E.    CURTISS    niNE,    U.    S.    X. 

And  then  there  was  a  little  isle. 
That  in  my  very  fiice  did  smile. 

The  only  one  in  view; 
And  on  it  there  were  waving  trees. 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  niountiLin  breeze, 
And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing. 
And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing, 
Of  gentle  breath  and  hue. 

JSi/roa's  Prisoiitr  of  ChUlon. 

The  morning  sun  rose  bright  and  red  over  the 
blue  waves  that  wash  the  shores  of  South  Ameri- 
ca, and  the  soft,  tropical  breezes  swept  along  the 
azure  sky  which  bent  above  the  scene,  and  the 
finny  tribes  darted  like  beams  of  light  in  sport- 
ive gambols  througli  the  deep. 

A  sail — one  solitary  sail,  broke  in  upon  the 
monotony  of  that  vast  expanse  of  sky  and 
ocean,  that  immensity  of  grandeur  and  sublimi- 
ty. Since  the  morning  of  the  day  before,  she 
had  laid  with  drooping  wing  like  some  sleeping 
sea-bird  upon  1  he  silent  waters,  her  snow  white 
sails  idly  rustling  against  her  lofiy  masts,  as  she 
rolled  lazily  to  and  fro  in  the  heavy  ground 
swell;  but  now  she  had  caught  the  newly-wak- 
ened breeze,  her  canvass  was  all  expanded,  and 
she  was  gliding  onward  along  her  watery  path, 
with  the  speed  of  a  falcon. 

Sbe  was  a  large  brig,  some  four  hundred  tons 
burthen,  sharp  and  long,  like  the  clippers  of  our 
own  day,  and  with  a  breadth  of  beam  so  great 
that  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  be  impossible  to 
capsize  her,  though  a  hurricane  should  pour  its 
fur}*  upon  her.  Her  decks  were  white  and  clean, 
and  an  air  of  order  and  decorum  was  visible  in 
the  cut  of  her  sails,  the  fashion  in  which  her  rig- 
ging was  flemished  down,  and  tlie  quiet  manner 
in  which  the  several  duties  of  the  erew  were  car- 
ried on.  Amidships  of  the  craft  was  mounted 
upon  a  pivot  a  long,  bi-ass  forty-two  pounder, 
which  was  kept  as  bright  as  polished  silver,  and 
reflected  back  the  burning  rays  of  the  tropical 
sun  like  some  resplendent  mirror,  while  in 
groups  around  the  decks  stood  the  athletic  sailors 
in  their  snow  white  dresses,  conversing  in  tow 
tones,  and  occasionally  casting  long  and  anxious 
glances  over  the  surface  of  the  surrounding  sea. 
Tlic  captain,  a  short,  swarthy,  ferocious  looking 
fellow,  with  sun-bumcd  face  and  bushy  whiskers, 
was  walking  briskly  to  and  fro  the  quarter  deck, 
conversing  with  the  mate,  who  like  himself  had 
little  in  his  pergonal  appearance  to  recommend 
bim  to  the  favor  of  the  physiognomist.  They 
were  both  dressed  in  a  suit  of  uniform — a  plain 
blue  coat  with  anchor  buttons,  and  gold  laeed 
caps,  while  around  their  capacious  waists  were 
bound  large  red  silk  sasiie.':,  such  as  are  some- 
times worn  by  the  olHccrs  of  the  army  while  on 
duty. 


"  Well,  Santon,"  .said  the  commander  to  bis 
subordinate,  "  I  suppose  if  this  wind  should 
hold,  wu  will  be  enabled  to  reach  Casper  Island 
by  to  morrojk' night.  I'm  very  anxious  to  get 
in,  for  my  provisions  arc  nmning  .short,  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  prospect  of  falling  in  with 
any  thing.  I  believe  that  all  the  trading  vessels 
have  got  scent  of  mc,  and  steer  in  some  otiier 
direction,  for  I  ean't  get  a  sight  of  one.  Con- 
found them  ;  tlie  next  one  I  do  fall  in  with  will 
he  apt  to  fare  slim.  I'll  make  every  mother's 
son  of  them  walk  the  plank," 

"  Yes,  no  doubt  of  it — every  mother's  son  of 
them,"  answered  the  mate,  drily ;  "  but  you 
don't  say  anything  about  the  {kvifjhiers." 

"There  you  arc  again,  Jenkins,  always  throw- 
ing u|>  to  me  about  saving  the  lifd  of  that  girl 
when  we  made  the  last  capture.  You  yourself 
will  admit  that  she  is  surpassingly  beautiful." 

"  \''cs,  she  /*•  beautiful.  But  what  upon  eartli 
can  you  do  with  her  ?  She  will  only  be  a  bur- 
then upon  our  handi,  and  should  she  live,  and 
we  ever  bo  brought  before  a  court  of  justice,  her 
evidence  would  go  hard  against  us.  I  move 
that  we  poison  her." 

"  jN^o,  no,  that  shall  not  be  done,*'  answered 
the  captain,  in  a  stern  tone  of  voice.  '*  I  com- 
mand here,  and  it  is  for  ine  to  judge  what  is 
best.  It  is  for  me  to  command — it  is  for  you  to 
obey.  You  ask  what  I  am  going  to  do  with 
her,  I  answer  that  1  am  going  to  make  her  my 
wife  when  I  reach  the  island." 

"  Impossible — she  will  never  consent — " 
"  Consent  or  not,  my  wife  she  shall  be,  if  I 
murder  her  first  and  man-y  her  afterwards.  My 
mind  is  made  up  on  that  subject,  and  it  will  be 
of  no  use  to  attempt  to  dissuade  me  from  it. 
But  here  she  comes — go  forward  and  set  the  men 
at  work  to  repair  the  long  boat,  which  was  dam- 
aged in  the  last  brush." 

"  Ay,  ay,  &ir,"  replied  the  mate,  and  took  his 
departure  from  the  quarter-deck. 

A  tall  and  elegant  young  lady  came  up  the 
ladder  leading  from  the  cabin,  and  seating  her- 
self upon  a  settee  extending  across  the  stern  of 
the  vessel,  gazed  long  and  wistfully  over  the 
wide  spreading  waters  of  the  heaving  sea.  She 
was  apparently  some  nineteen  or  twenty  years 
of  age,  wicli  regular  and  agreeable  features,  re- 
markably white  and  even  teeth,  and  with  a  form 
at  once  graceful  and  voluptuously  matured. 
Her  dark  brown  hair  hung  negligently  in  show- 
ers over  her  alabaster  shoulders,  and  her  dark 
blue  eyes  were  dim  as  if  by  recent  weeping. 
She  seemed  listless  and  low-spirited,  and  lost  in 
a  sort  of  dreamy  reverie  as  she  gazed  off  over 
the  sparkling  sea,  but  her  reverie  was  soon 
doomed  to  be  disturbed. 

"  Well,  miss,"  said  the  captain,  who  had 
sauntered  up  unpereeived  to  where  she  was  sit- 
ting, for  her  thoughts  had  been  wandering  else- 
where, "well,  miss,  what  do  you  think  of  your 
present  prospects  ?" 

"They  are  gloomy  enough,"  answered  the 
young  lady,  sadly  ;  "  how  could  they  be  other- 
wise ?  my  friends  and  parents  slain  by  your  or- 
ders, and  myself  a  prisoner  on  board  a  piratical 
vessel." 

"Plold,  young  lady,  not  so  fast,  if  you  please, 
"We  of  this  profession  do  not  care  about  being 
called  by  hard  names.  Free-traders  is  our  title." 
"  I  care  not  by  what  name  you  are  known," 
answered  the  girl,  firm.ly.  "  You  are  no  less  a 
villain." 

"  Yes,  because  I  took  the  vessel  in  which  you 
were  a  passenger,  made  your  old  father  and  mo- 
ther, your  lover  {I  suppose  he  was),  and  all  tlie 
crew  walk  the  plank,  and  spared  you  for  ray 
own  pui-poses,  you  call  me  a  villain.  Well,  you 
will  get  tamed  down  amazingly  befoi'e  you  have 
been  many  months  in  my  power.  Where  was 
your  vessel  from  V 

"  London ;  we  were  bound  to  Rio  Janeiro, 
where  we  were  to  spend  the  winter,  and  expect- 
ed to  have  been  in  next  week,  when  your  vessel 
bore  down  and  captured  u.s." 

"  And  that  young  officer— who  was  he?  Your 
lover,  I  suppose  ?  O,  you  needn't  blush  so — I 
know  he  was  ;  1  knew  it  at  the  first  glance,  and 
so  I  threw  him  overboard  because  1  didn't  wish 
there  should  be  any  impediment  to  my  union 
with  you." 

"To  your  union  with  mn?''  said  the  young 
girl,  with  a  shudder. 

"Ay,  to  your  union  with  /»e,  madam.  Y'ou 
needn't  shrink  so,  and  tremi)lc.  What  did  you 
suppose  I  saved  3'ou  for,  and  destroyed  the 
others?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  lell." 

"lean,  then.     You  arc  to  become   my  wife 


when  we  reach  Casper  Island,  whither  wo  are 
now  bound,'' 

"I'll  die  first!" 

"  So  nniuy  a  girl  has  .said  before,  but  they  all 
came  to  it  in  time — they  all  come  to  it,  and  so 
will  you." 

"  0,  that  Rupert  wvre  living." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  all  ri/^ht  enough.  But  he's 
dead  enough,  I  can  tell  you.  But  who  was  that 
young  officer  '." 

"  Rupert  Stanslield,  a  lieutenant  in  the  royal 
navy,  lla  was  going  out  to  Rio  to  join  his  ship, 
the  Montague,  and  wc  chanced  to  be  passengers 
in  the  same  vessel." 

"  And  you  never  knew  him  before  you  met  on 
board  the  vessel  '." 

"  Never." 

"  'Tis  well — you'll  never  know  him  again. 
The  sharks  have  feasted  upon  his  delicate  limbs 
long  ere  this." 

And  so  the  gallant  brig  sailed  on  o'er  the 
laughing  sea,  as  if  unconscious  of  the  weight  of 
sin  she  bore  ;  the  breeze  sung  merrily  among  her 
mazy  rigging,  the  glad  waves  sparkled  in  the 
sunshine,  and  the  while-winged  craft  sped  on. 
0,  inscrutable  are  the  ways  of  Providence  ; — 
"  we  know  what  we  are,  but  wc  know  not  what 
wc  shu/l  be." 

Rosalie  Gilbert  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
English  gentleman  who  resided  on  the  Isle  of 
Wight.  A  short  time  prior  to  the  opening  of 
our  tale  he  liad  exhibited  symptoms  of  n  pul- 
monary complaint,  which  induced  his  medical 
adviser  to  recommend  that  he  should  spend  the 
winter  in  a  tropical  clime.  Acting  upon  this 
recommendation,  he  bad  sailed  from  London  in 
a  barque  for  Rio  Janeiro,  taking  with  him  his 
wife  and  daughter,  the  young  lady  already  in- 
troduced to  the  notice  of  the  reader.  Four 
weeks  the  barque  had  glided  on  towards  her 
destined  port,  and  everything  went  on  pleasantly. 

Nor  was  the  pleasure  marred  by  the  presence 
of  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  British  Navy,  who, 
in  obedience  of  orders  received  from  the  admir- 
alty, had  taken  passage  in  the  vessel  with  the  in- 
tention of  joining  the  Montague,  the  flag-ship  of 
the  Brazil  squadron.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
agreeable  manners  and  a  cultivated  mind,  and  a 
warm  friendship  sprang  up  between  him  and  the 
beautiful  Rosalie,  cut  o(f  as  they  were  from  the 
busy  world  and  thrown  almost  constantly  into 
each  other's  society,  which  soon  ripened  into  the 
deepest  love.  In  fact  they  bad  obtained  the 
sanction  of  the  parents,  and  it  was  a  settled 
thing  that  they  should  be  united  whenever  the 
barque  should  arrive  at  her  destined  haven. 

But  alas  !  their  dream  of  bliss  was  destined 
to  be  broken  in  upon  by  a  most  terrible  and  un- 
looked  catastrophe.  When  within  a  few  days' 
sail  of  Rio,  a  piratical  vessel,  with  a  large  black 
flag  floating  at  her  peak,  bore  down  and  gave 
chase  to  the  defenceless  merchantman.  She  was 
but  a  dull  sailer,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  fleet 
brig  was  alongside  ;  the  captain,  crew,  and  pas- 
sengers, with  the  exception  of  Rosalie,  were  re- 
lentlessly thrown  overboard,  the  barque  was 
plundered  of  everything  valuable,  and  being  set 
on  fire  was  quickly  wrapped  in  flames,  while  the 
corsair,  like  some  iU-omencd  bird  of  prey,  hav- 
ing completed  her  mission  of  destruction,  filled 
away,  and  stood  oft^  for  the  haunt  of  her  crew, 
bearing  with  her  the  insensible  form  of  the 
maiden,  now  a  captive  in  the  hands  of  miscre- 
ants, whose  tenderest  mercies  were  but  cruelties  ; 
a  band  which  delighted  in  deeds  of  violence  and 
blood ! 

Afar  in  the  midst  of  the  South  Atlantic,  where 
the  warm  sun  ever  pours  down  his  brightest  rays, 
and  chilling  winter  as  yet  has  never  dared  to 
drive  his  icy  ear ;  in  a  clime  where  perpetual 
summer  reigns  triumphant  throughout  the  live- 
long year;  where  the  music  of  the  singing  birds 
is  heard  from  early  morn  to  setting  sun,  mingling 
with  the  low  murmur  of  the  laughing  waves,  as 
they  leap  like  things  of  lif<;  and  light  upon  the 
sandy  beach,  on  a  spot  where  bounteous  Na- 
ture seems  to  have  showered  down  her  richest 
gifts,  rises  the  lovely  island  of  Casper,  the  bright- 
est jewel  that  emerald-like  sparkles  upon  the 
slumbering  bosom  of  that  tianquil  sea.  Its  pre- 
cise latitude  and  longitude  is  not  essential  to  the 
objects  of  our  lale,  so  we  shall  merely  state  that 
at  the  time  of  the  opening  of  our  tale,  it  had  re- 
mained undiscovered  and  unknown  to  all  save 
the  officers  and  crew  of  that  piratical  brig,  which 
wc  have  before  described  to  our  readers.  Car- 
lo Maurau,  tlie  head  of  that  redoubtable  gang  of 
freebooters,  in  traversing  the  wateis  of  that  tiieu 
unfrequented  sea,  in  search  of  such  inw  ships  as 
might  chance  to  pass  that  way,  had  discovered 


the  existence  of  ihat  little  green  and  verdant  isle, 
and  it  at  once  struck  him  that  it  would  aflbrd 
him  an  excellent  place  to  recruit  when  wearied 
with  the  active  nature  of  his  pursuits. 

A  settlement  was  therefore  formed  upon  tho 
banks  of  a  Utile  creek,  which  wound  its  course 
irdand  among  the  mountains  in  a  zigzag  direc- 
tion, and  which  aflbrded  an  ample  depth  of  wa- 
ter to  admit  vessels  even  deeper  than  the  brig  ; 
and  there  a  village  was  constructed,  frail  in  its 
materials,  it  is  true,  but  still  strong  enough  lo 
protect  the  pirates  from  the  heavy  rains  that 
periodically  deluged  the  island.  Here  they  were 
wont  lo  resort,  in  order  to  recruit  their  energies, 
which  were  often  exhausted  by  the  hazardou'i 
kind  of  life  they  were  compelled  to  lead,  and 
here  were  left  any  sick  or  disabled  members  of 
their  community,  when  necessity  or  lovo  of  ex- 
citement prompted  them  to  take  to  their  vessel 
and  put  to  sea. 

It  was  a  bright  sunny  afternoon  in  the  early 
autumn,  and  the  soft  breezes  rustled  among  the 
branches  of  the  lofty  palms  and  cocoas  that 
studded  the  island,  and  threw  in  sombie  shade 
tlie  virgin  earth  below.  Upon  a  iiill,  overlook- 
ing the  sea,  stood  a  group  of  ten  or  twelve  sea- 
men, invalid  members  of  the  piratical  commu- 
nity, who  appeared  anxiously  scanning  the  hori- 
zon in  search  of  some  object,  and  anon  passing 
remarks  upon  the  weather,  and  such  other  mat- 
ters, as  they  chanced  to  be  conversant  with.  One 
of  the  number  had  a  spy-glass  in  his  hand,  and 
as  be  gazed  off  over  the  blue  strctcli  of  waters, 
sparkling  and  flashing  in  tlic  sunlight,  he  report- 
ed, from  time  to  time,  to  bis  comrades  the  result 
of  his  observations. 

"  I  tell  you,  lads,  it  must  be  the  Raven  ;  I 
know  her  by  the  cut  of  her  fore-topsail.  You 
know  what  a  roach  we  gave  it  the  last  time  we 
had  it  down  for  repairs." 

"  Yes,"  answered  one  of  the  others  ;  "  but  it  is 
not  yet  time  to  expect  her.  She  has  not  been 
gone  more  than  a  month  or  so." 

"0,  the  skipper's  getting  tired  of  them  ar  long 
cruises.  I  heered  him  say,  not  long  ago,  ho 
meant  to  get  him  a  wife,  when  he  fell  in  with  a 
pretty  girl  aboard  some  one  of  the  vessels  he 
nabbed,  and  then  settle  down,  and  let  the  mate 
have  the  brig  for  a  while  to  try  his  luck." 

"  Yes,  and  that's  the  secret  of  liis  return  now, 
I  reckon,"  replied  the  man  with  the  glass  ;  "  for, 
if  there  isn't  a  female  on  the  quarter-deck  of  that 
brig,  then  my  name  isn't  Tom  Han-is." 

"And  so  there  is,"  said  several  of  the  gang, 
gazing  through  the  glass  in  rotation;  " that  is 
the  Raven,  standing  in  for  the  land  under  all 
canvass,  and  there's  a  lady  there,  too," 

"And  I  must  go  down  and  get  the  captain's 
house  in  order  for  its  nev/  mistress,  I  suppose," 
muttered  Harris,  "  or  I'll  be  apt  to  catch  a  few 
dry  knocks  about  the  ears  when  he  comes." 

And  the  corsairs  departed  from  the  hill,  and 
took  their  way  towards  their  rudely  constructed 
village,  in  order  to  put  everything  in  good  order 
against  the  arrival  of  the  working  portion  of 
their  community. 

Meanwhile  the  brig  was  gliding  in  under  a 
press  of  canvass,  and  soon  she  pointed  her  bow- 
sprit between  the  two  headlands  which  marked 
the  entrance  of  the  creek,  and  stood  boldly  up 
the  narrow  and  winding  channel  until  nearly 
abreast  of  the  bamboo  thatched  village ;  when 
clewing  up  her  sails  in  "regular  man-of-war 
fashion,"  and  rounding  gracefully  to,  her  anchor 
was  let  go  with  a  loud  splash  into  the  quiet  wa- 
ters, awaking  the  echoes  of  that  lonely  spot,  and 
swinging  slowly  round,  so  as  to  bring  her  buoy 
up  stream.  The  Raven  lay  silently  in  her  berth, 
the  black  emblem  of  her  fearful  calling  floating 
out  lazily  on  the  sunny  breeze,  and  all  her  tower- 
ing spars  and  unfurled  canvass  reflected  in  the 
clear  depths  of  those  translucent  waters. 

No  sooner  was  the  anchor  down,  than  the  gig 
of  the  captain  was  lowered,  and  that  worthy, 
handing  the  trembling  form  of  Rosalie  into  the 
stern,  fjuickly  followed,  and  ordered  his  coxswain 
to  pull  for  the  shore.  But  few  words  were  spok- 
en during  the  passage,  which  lasted  but  a  few 
moments;  and  when  the  bows  of  the  gig  were 
run  upon  the  yellow  sandy  beach,  the  captain 
leaped  out,  and  taking  the  lady  by  the  arm,  con- 
ducted her  to  a  house  a  little  apart  from  tho 
others,  and  having  more  pretension  to  style  than 
characterized  the  larger  portion  of  them, 

"Here,  madam,  will  be  your  homc,^'  said 
Manran,  as  he  entered  with  his  charge.  "You 
see  tho  place  is  tolerably  well  fitted  up ;  you  will 
have  one  of  the  boys  to  wait  upon  you,  and  at- 
tend to  your  wants;  and  yonder,"  pointing  to  a 
door,  "  will  be  your  apartment.     I  do  not  wish 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIxVL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


299 


to  use  force  to  compel  you  to  become  mine,  but 
rest  assured  that  the  sooner  you  consent  to  the 
arrangement,  the  better  it  will  be  for  you.  Mine 
you  }imst  be,  and  mine  you  sItaU  he,  with  or  with- 
out your  consent ;  but  I  will  give  you  a  few  days 
to  consider  upon  it,  before  proceeding  to  carry 
out  my  plans." 

"  Then  you  consent  to  give  me  a  few  days 
respite  ?"  said  the  captive  maiden,  while  her 
dovvncast  eyes  sparkled  for  a  moment  with  all 
their  wonted  brilliancy.  "  You  will  not  at  once 
proceed  to  extremities  ?" 

"0,  no;  I  have  no  reason  to  do  that.  You 
arc  safely  in  my  power,  and  cannot  escape  me. 
But  on  second  thought  I  will  only  give  you  until 
to-morrow  morning  to  deliberate.  To  night  we 
are  all  to  have  a  jollification  or  carouse,  and  I 
cannot  attend  to  you  ;  but  to  morrow  morning 
the  priest  shall  make  us  one.  We  have  a  priest 
here,  madam,  such  a  one  as  he  is." 

Saying  this,  the  rutTian  rose  and  took  his  de- 
parture, casting  a  hateful  leer  upon  his  hapless 
victim,  as  he  left  the  room,  and  went  whistling 
towards  the  humbler  quai*ters  of  his  men. 

"  So,  so  !"  murmured  Kosalie  Gilbert,  when 
she  was  left  alone.  "  The  villains  are  going  to 
have  a  carousa — are  they  ?  They  think  they 
have  me  securely  in  their  clutches,  but  they  shall 
see.     Wait  a  little." 

The  night  set  in  dark  and  showery.  It  was 
the  commencement  of  the  rainy  season,  and  gray 
masses  of  clouds  were  gatliering  around  the 
brows  of  the  mountains,  and  wrapping  their  dus- 
ky forms  in  shrouds  of  mist  and  vapor,  and  a 
fresh  land  breeze  was  roughening  tlie  crests  of 
the  waves,  as  they  leaped  and  danced  about  the 
island  in  wild  and  weird-like  forms.  But  what 
cared  the  corsairs  for  the  gathering  storm  with- 
out, or  the  leaping  of  the  ocean  waves  ? 

In  a  large  reed  built  hall,  now  brightly  lighted 
by  innumerable  lamps,  was  placed  a  long  table, 
which  fairly  groaned  beneath  the  weight  of  rich 
wines  and  viands,  which  the  pirates  had  plunder- 
ed from  many  a  peaceful  bark.  At  the  head  of 
this  table  was  seated  the  captain,  while  ranged 
along  its  sides  sat  tlie  other  members  of  that  un- 
holy fraternity,  now  deep  in  their  wassail  and 
their  cups.  Songs  were  sung,  speeches  made, 
oaths  and  imprecations  arose  on  evei-y  side, 
while  the  goblet  was  drained  to  the  very  dregs. 
And  when  there  chanced  to  be  a  pause  in  all 
this  drunken  revelry,  the  soft  rain  could  be  heard 
pouring  down  upon  the  thatched  roof  like  the 
mercies  of  a  kind  Providence  upon  a  sinful  and 
ungrateful  world. 

Let  us  now  return  to  Rosalie  Gilbert.  No 
sooner  had  the  darkness  descended  upon  the 
island,  and  the  uois>es  from  the  banqueting  hall 
convinced  her  that  the  revel  had  commenced, 
than  rising  to  her  feet  she  started  out  of  the 
house,  and  began  to  reconnoitre  the  premises. 
She  was  a  brave  girl,  and  having  been  reared 
upon  the  Isle  of  Wight,  she  had  been  familiar 
with  boats  and  their  management  from  her  earli- 
est childhood.  So  starting  off  by  a  circuitous 
route,  which  led  her  some  distance  from  the  lit- 
tle village,  where  she  would  have  been  in  danger 
of  meeting  with  some  of  the  corsairs,  she  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  the  beach  abreast  of  the  brig, 
where,  by  good  fortune,  she  found  one  of  the 
quarter-boats  of  the  vessel  made  fast  to  a  huge 
palm  tree,  which  threw  its  dark  shadows  over 
the  waters  of  the  creek. 

To  jump  into  this  boat,  cut  the  painter,  and 
hoist  the  jib  and  mainsail — for  she  was  sloop 
rigged, — was  but  the  work  of  an  instant,  and  the 
next  she  was  rapidly  flying  down  the  creek 
towards  the  open  sea.  Rosalie  sat  boldly  at  the 
helm,  and  directed  the  movements  of  the  little 
craft;  the  land  breeze  filled  the  light  sails,  and 
in  a  short  time  she  was  rising  and  falling  on  the 
long  and  regular  swell  of  the  open  sea. 

Rosalie's  plan  had  been  to  steer  boldly  out, 
and  stand  to  the  northward,  trusting  to  some 
passing  vessel  to  rescue  her  from  her  peril,  and 
she  accordingly  kept  the  head  of  the  boat  in  that 
direction,  until  the  island  faded  from  her  view. 

Day  after  day  did  the  brave  girl  steer  her  tiny 
hark  over  the  southern  sea,  and  now  the  few  eat- 
ables which  she  bad  managed  to  secure  at  the 
house  of  the  pirate  captain,  and  bring  away  with 
her,  were  nearly  exhausted,  and  starvation  stared 
her  like  some  lean  and  hungry  wolf  in  the  face. 
Still,  she  never  for  one  moment  regretted  the 
step  she  had  taken,  and  rejoiced  that  though  she 
might  meet  with  death  in  one  of  its  most  terrible 
forms,  she  had,  at  least,  escaped  from  infamy, 
and  preserved  her  honor  without  a  slain. 

At  length,  one  day  when  exhausted  nature 
could  endure  no  longer,  and  the  brave  and  high-' 


sjjirited  girl  was  about  to  sink  from  her  post  at 
the  tiller,  she  saw  a  sail  away  on  the  very  verge 
of  the  Jiorizon.  As  the  time  wore  on,  she  became 
convinced  that  the  vessel  was  standing  towards 
her,  and  just  before  sunset  she  had  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  that  her  boat  had  been  descried  from 
the  mast  head  of  the  strange  vessel,  which,  from 
its  immense  size,  she  f^^lt  convinced  was  a  man- 
of-war. 

As  the  noble  vessel  came  abreast  of  the  boat 
of  our  heroine,  she  threw  her  main-topsail  to  the 
mast,  and  displayed  the  chequered  broadside  of 
a  line-of-battle-ship,  and  in  a  few  moments  one 
of  her  quarter  boats  was  lowered  and  pulled  for 
the  light  craft  of  Rosalie.  She  quickly  learned 
that  the  ship  was  the  Montague,  of  seventy-four 
guns,  to  which  her  lover,  Rupert  Stansfield,  had 
been  ordered  ;  but  what  was  her  a^^tonishment, 
her  delight,  on  ascending  the  noble  ship,  to  be 
met  at  the  gangway  by  Rupert  in  person  !  Sink- 
ing to  the  deck  in  a  swoon,  she  was  borne  by  the 
young  officer  to  liis  state-room,  and  when  she 
had  sufficiently  recovered,  he  related  to  her  all 
that  had  transpired  since  their  separation. 

It  seems  that  when  the  pirates  threw  the  young 
lieutenant  overboard,  they  took  it  for  granted 
lliat  that  would  be  the  last  of  him,  and  gave 
themselves  no  further  uneasiness  about  him  ;  but 
being  an  expert  swimmer,  he  succeeded  in  get- 
ting hold  of  the  rudder-chains  of  the  burning 
ship,  and  when  the  pirates  had  taken  their  de- 
parture, finding  a  plank  adrift,  he  swam  to  it 
and  found  it  sufficiently  buoyant  to  sustain  his 
weight.  On  this  plank  he  drifted  about  tlie 
ocean  for  two  days,  when  he  was  picked  up  by 
an  American  brig,  and  carried  into  Rio  de  Ja- 
neiro, and  at  once  joined  his  ship,  which  was 
just  about  departing  for  a  cruise.  The  rest  the 
reader  knows. 

Rosalie  at  once  gave  such  information  in  re- 
gard to  the  pirates  as  induced  the  old  admiral  to 
endeavor  to  find  their  haunt,  and  ihe  head  of 
the  Montague  being  turned  to  the  south  again, 
she  steered  in  that  direction  until  at  length  the 
lofty  peaks  of  tiie  island  rose  to  view.  The  ship 
was  run  in  as  close  to  the  land  as  safety  would 
permit,  and  lowering  down  several  of  her  boats, 
they  were  despatciied,  well  armed  and  manned, 
to  capture  the  corsairs.  A  desperate  conflict 
ensued,  but  in  the  end  British  valor  was  tri- 
umphant, and  the  miscreants  were  completely 
routed  and  cut  to  pieces.  A  large  amount  of 
specie  was  found  at  the  house  of  the  private  cap- 
tain, and  this  the  admiral  presented  to  Rosalie, 
saying,  as  he  did  so,  that  it  was  entirely  owing  to 
her  courage  that  the  haunt  of  the  gang  had  ever 
been  discovered. 

Rupert  Stansfield  is  now  a  baronet,  and  a 
captain  in  the  royal  navy.  He  dwells  in  a  splen- 
did mansion  in  the  county  of  York,  has  his  race- 
horses, his  dogs,  his  pleasure  yachts,  and  his 
hunting  grounds.  He  has  also  four  fine,  fresh- 
looking  children,  and  what  is  more,  she  who  was 
once  Rosalie  Gilbert,  is  the  mother  of  them. 
She  is  a  noble  specimen  of  English  matronly 
beauty,  with  the  same  joyous  smile  upon  her 
face  that  it  wore  in  her  girlhood  ;  and  no  one,  to 
look  at  her,  as  she  moves  with  dignity  and  grace 
about  her  husband's  halls,  would  suppose  that 
the  quiet  Lady  Stansfield  had  ever  paid  a  flying 
visit  to  Casper  Isle,  which  now,  under  another 
name,  still  gleams  amid  the  plashing  waters  of 
that  sun-lighted  southern  sea. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A    SONG. 

BT   CAROLINE   A.   HATDEN. 

Far  o'er  the  sea,  where  the  azure  sky 
Tinges  the  wave  which  encircles  it  round  ; 

Where  the  sweet  breath  of  summer  is  ever  nigh, 
And  the  brightest  gems  of  the  earth  are  found. 

Come,  maiden,  come,  among  all  things  fair, 

I'll  treasure  thee  as  the  loveliest  there. 

Come  where  true  warm  hearts  :ire  beating, 
Where  kindness  beams  from  the  soul  and  the  eye  ; 

Where  the  stnirger  shall  meet  with  a  friendly  greeting, 
And  all  thing.-!  are  genial  beneath  the  sky. 

Come,  maiden,  come,  among  all  things  fair, 

I'll  treasure  thee  as  the  loveliest  there. 

"When  destiny  hung  a  dark  curtain  around  me, 

And  I  stood  like  the  doomed  on  the  verge  of  despair ; 

Thy  forni,  like  an  angel,  shed  sunlight  around  me, 
And  scattered  the  mist  fate  was  gathering  there. 

Then  come,  maiden,  come,  among  all  things  fair, 

I  *11  treasure  thee  as  the  loveliest  there. 


Our  first  fault,  like  the  prolific  poppy  of  Abou- 
tage,  produces  seeds  innumerable.  The  wind 
wafts  them  away,  and  we  know  not  when  they 
fail  or  wlxere  they  rise;  but  this  we  know,  that 
they  meet  us  at  every  step  upon  the  path  of  life 
and  strew  it  with  plants  of  bitterness. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  BOOK  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

BY   OWES   G.   WARREN. 

If  man  possessed  the  art  to  break 

The  seven-fold  seals,  and  look, 
With  sacrilegious  eyes,  upon 

The  future's  open  book  j 
Had  he  the  power  to  look  beyond 

The  vast  infinity. 
And  trace  his  march  of  progress  on, 

In  ages  yet  to  be  ; — 

It  were  a  malison  more  fell 

Than  has  on  man  been  laid  ; 
Since  in  his  happy  Edcu  bower 

Adam  first  disobeyed; 
Yet  all  look  forth,  and  seek  to  see 

The  path  they  yet  shall  tread  ; 
And  seek  to  scan  the  wide-spread  scene, 

Far  o'er  the  future  spread. 

The  book  of  fate  before  us  lies, 

Let  each  the  lesion  heed  ; 
The  opened  page  we  all  may  see. 

The  ne.\t  one  none  may  read. 
Full  fast  enough  the  leaves  will  turn, 

For  human  pains  and  strife  ; 
And  unto  all  who  read  it  right, 

Twill  be  the  book  of  life. 

DODDRIDGE  IN  HIS  LIBRARY. 

Entering  his  well-stored  library,  we  see  him 
suri'ounded  by  groups  of  listeners,  going  from 
shelf  to  shelf,  and  giving  a  viva  voce  catalogue, 
which  displays  a  surprising  extent  of  knowledge, 
and  recommending  at  what  period  of  their 
course,  and  with  what  special  views,  particular 
books  should  be  read,  and  which  of  them  it  is 
desirable  they  should  be  most  familiarly  ac- 
quainted with  when  settled  in  the  world.  And 
now  in  he  comes,  with  a  merry  laugh  and  a  lu- 
dicrous anecdote.  A  little  girl  had  just  been 
playing  with  a  dog,  and  nursing  it  in  her  lap,  as 
he  sat  in  the  old-fashioned  window  seat.  "  And 
do  you  know,"  she  gravely  asked,  "  who  made 
you?"  A  look  of  blank  wonder  from  the  ques- 
tioned animal  was,  of  course,  all  that  followed. 
"  Shame  on  you,"  proceeded  the  young  interro- 
gator, with  grave  reproof;  "  you  Dr.  Doddridge's 
dog,  and  not  know  who  made  you  !"  "  And  if," 
after  relating  the  comical  story,  he  adds,  ".so 
much  is  expected  from  my  dog,  what  may  be 
expected  from  my  students  ?" — Stoughton's  Life 
of  Doddridije. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
LIFE'S  DARK  HOURS. 

B;  JOSEPH   E.   BDTLEB. 

0, 1  am  sad !  thou  art  nob  here  ! 

Thy  gentle  band  I  cannot  press  ; 
Wy  anguish  wiiDgs  the  burning  tear, 

While  strangers  gaze  on  my  distress. 
My  couch  is  comfortless,  and  sleep 

Ilath  fled  these  weary  eyelids  now  j 
No  soothing  word  forbids  to  weep, 

No  tender  hand  is  on  my  brow. 

Dismal  night's  lagging  hours  depart. 

And  merning's  sun  no  joy  can  bring  j 
For  still  will  bleed  my  breaking  heart, 

And  thorns — not  roses — round  it  spring. 
Must  thus  my  setting  day  go  down, 

Without  affection's  smile,  or  eye 
To  scatter  sorrow's  gloomy  froiin, 

And  soothe  my  bosom  ere  I  die  ? 

God  I  grant  me  patience  !  nerve  my  soul 

To  hope,  and  bear  this  hard  decree, 
That  bids  affliction's  waters  roll 

Their  fiery  billows  over  me  I 
Or  shorten,  by  thy  sovereign  will, 

The  wretched  hours  that  now  are  mine ; 
Speak  "  peace,"  and  bid  my  mind  be  still, 

Or  take  the  spirit  that  is  thine. 


KEEP  THE  HEART  ALIVE. 

The  longer  I  live,  the  more  expedient  I  find  it 
to  endeavor  more  and  more  to  extend  my  sym- 
pathies and  affections.  The  natural  tendency 
of  advancing  yeai's  is  to  narrow  and  contract 
these  feelings.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  wish  to 
form  a  new  and  sworn  friendship  every  day,  to 
increase  my  circle  of  intimates;  these  are  very 
difierent  aflairs ;  but  I  find  it  conduces  to  my 
mental  health  aud  Iiappiuess  to  find  out  all  I  can 
which  is  amicable  and  lovcablc  in  those  I  come 
in  contact  with,  and  to  make  the  most  of  it.  It 
may  fall  very  short  of  what  I  was  once  wont  to 
dream  of;  it  may  not  supply  the  place  of  what  I 
have  kno\vn,  felt  and  tasted,  but  it  is  better  than 
nothing;  it  seems  to  keep  the  feelings  and  affec- 
tions in  exercise;  it  keeps  the  heart  alive  in  its 
humanity ;  and,  till  we  sliail  be  all  spiritual,  this 
is  alike  our  duty  and  our  interest. — Btrnard 
Barton. 


LIFE. 

I  once  said  to  an  agreeable  misanthrope,  who 
had  introduced  to  me  a  young  friend  of  his : 
"  Your  friend,  my  dear  sir,  has  no  worldly  tact ; 
he  knows  notliing  whatever  of  the  usages  of  life." 
"  Ah,"  said  R.,  "  lie  is  already  as  mournful  and 
downcast  as  if  knew  every  tittle  of  that  of  which 
you  reproach  him  with  utter  ignorance." — Cham- 
foit. 

One  swallow  docs  not  make  a  summer. —  Old  Pr^vtrb. 


TRUE  HOSPITALITY. 

I  pray  you,  0  excellent  wife,  cumber  not  your- 
self or  me  to  get  a  curiously  rich  dinner  for  tbis 
man  or  woman  who  has  alighted  at  our  gates  ; 
nor  a  bedchamber  made  at  too  great  a  cost ; 
these  tilings,  if  they  are  curious  in  ihem,  they 
can  get  for  a  few  shillings  in  anyvilla<ie;  but 
rather  let  the  stranger  see,  if  you  will,  in  your 
looks,  accents  and  behaviour,  your  heart  and  ear- 
nestness, your  thought  and  will,  which  he  cannot 
buy  at  any  price  in  any  city,  and  which  he  may 
well  travel  twenty  miles,  and  dine  sparely  and 
sleep  hardly  to  behold.  Let  not  the  emphasis  of 
hospitality  lie  in  bed  and  board;  but  let  truth, 
and  love,  and  honor,  and  courtesy,  flow  in  all  thy 
deeds. — Emerson. 


FOREST  HILLS. 

The  following  very  fine  tribute  to  departed  worth 
we  cut  from  the  Boston  Transcript,  and  at  once 
recognize  it  to  be  from  the  pen  of  a  distm- 
guished  member  of  the  legal  profession  of  tliis 
city.  Knowing  the  occasion  that  draws  forth 
this  poetical  expression  of  heart  promptings, 
we  see  peculiar  beauty  in  the  lines. 

O'erhanging  boughs  should  shade  that  Quiet  spot 
Where  sleeps  the  gentlest  form  that  Heaven  eie  sent, 

And  flowers  should  bloom  around  the  shrine  of  one 
Whose  hfe  a  pure  celestial  perfume  lent, 

The  passing  stranger  pauses  not  to  gaze. 
With  worldling  thoughts  upon  this  sacred  sod  ; 

But  reads — and  ponders  as  he  stoops  to  read, — 
'■  The  pure  in  heart,  indeed,  shall  see  their  God!" 

Tis  like  thyself! — For  through  thy  holy  life 
Sweet  thoughts  of  heaven  and  aacred  things  were  thine ; 

Earth's  beauties  moved  thee  ; — but  in  all,  thy  soul 
That  Goodness  saw,  which  heaven-sent  beams  divine  I 

Blow  soft,  ye  breezes  I     As  ye  sweep  along, 
Let  not  your  angry  discord  reach  this  spot ; 

For,  one  who  calmed  life's  wilder  passions,  here 
Sleeps  iu  peace  !     Beware,  jou  mar  it  not ! 

Or  if  you  come,  let  it  in  murmurs  be 
Soft  as  the  requiem,  which  bright  angels  sigh. 

Who  watch  and  guard  this  shaded  spot,  to  guide 
Her  angel  spirit  to  its  home  on  high  1 

In  such  a  spot  thy  spirit  loved  to  muse. 
And  with  the  spirits  of  the  dear  ones  gone 

To  hold  sweet  converse      Uere,  beneath  tbis  shad© 
Ag;iin  I  feel  thee  I — Yes, — 1  'm  not  alone  ! 

Thy  mem'ry,  dearest, — how  much  cherished,  loved, 
This  richly  sculptured  scroll  but  feeblj  tells  ; 

But  deeper  far  than  sculptured  art  can  carve. 
In  my  deep  heart  of  hearts  it  buiied  dwells.  p. 


OBSTACLES  TO  REFORM. 

Before  anything  wise  or  good  can  be  done,  in- 
numerable people  have  to  be  persuaded,  or  out- 
voted, or  tired  out.  All  the  possible  folly  that 
can  be  said  on  any  subject,  has  to  be  answered, 
and  borne  with,  and  exhausted.  The  chatf  has 
to  be  winnowed  away  many  times  before  the 
grain  can  be  got  at  at  all.  One  conclusion  from 
this,  in  my  mind  is,  that,  as  more  power  of  all 
kinds  is  allowed  to  the  individuals  in  modern 
constitutions  (as,  for  instance,  he  has  more  pow- 
er of  obstruction),  more  is  demanded  from  him 
in  the  way  of  individual  thought  and  exertion 
for  the  public  good. — Arthur  Helps. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
EDDV  AND  WILLIE. 

BY   COXRAD   S.   KrSEB. 

Eddy,  with  eyea  deep  aud  blue, 

And  lips  of  the  loveliest  red  ; 
Cheeks  of  a  starlight  hue, 
Where  the  fresh  bloom  of  liLiefi  are  ehed. 

Hair  like  the  golden  glow 

That  lingers  on  hiil-tops  at  mom  ; 

A  neck  and  a  boaom  below, 
That  rival  the  whitest  thorn. 

Willie,  with  eyes  dark  and  bright, 

A  blossom  so  sparkling  and  fjiir  ; 
The  tinge  on  his  cheek,  like  the  ligh  t 

Of  a  soft,  crimson  blush,  on  the  air. 

Both  are  like  flowers  of  gold. 

Fragrant  and  fair  to  the  sight ; 
Both  do  a  treasure  unfold, 

And  in  our  hearts  cause  a  well  of  delight. 

IIARITS. 

Like  flakes  of  snow  that  fall  unperceived  upon 
the  earth,  the  seemingly  unimportant  events  of 
life  succeed  one  another.  As  the  snow  gathers 
together,  so  are  our  habits  formed.  No  single 
flake  that  is  added  to  the  pile  produces  a  sensible 
change  ;  no  single  action  creates,  however  it  may 
exhibit,  a  man's  character;  but  as  the  tempest 
hurls  the  avalanche  down  the  mountains,  and 
overwhelms  the  inhabitant  and  his  habitation,  so 
passion,  acting  upon  the  elements  of  mischief 
whicii  pernicious  habits  have  brought  together 
by  imperceptible  accumulation,  may  overthrow 
the  edifice  of  truth  and  YinaQ.—-Jere'mij  Bent/utm. 


RURAL  TASTE. 

There  are,  probably,  more  pretty  rui-al  liomcs 
within  ren  miles  of  Boston,  owned  by  tho.se  who 
live  in  ihcm,  than  ever  sprung  up  in  so  short  a 
space  of  time  in  any  part  of  the  world.  The 
taste  once  formed  there,  it  lias  become  contagi- 
ous, and  is  diffusing  iiself  among  all  conditions 
of  men.  and  gradually  elevating  and  making 
beautiful  tlie  whole  neighboiJiood  of  that  popu- 
lous city.  Scarcely  anything  can  be  more  cliarm- 
ing  than  thus  ruralizing  the  tnvirons  of  city 
residence.—  Doicnivg. 


300 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


ICIIAKOE  ISLAND. 

TIic  pictures  which  wo  present  to  tho  renders 
of  the  Pii'torial  on  this  pnf;o  piirticu'iirly  refer  to 
the  islanil  of  Ichuhoc,  and  the  mode  of  shippin^^ 
punno,  l>y  vessels  ciitcuf^ed  in  the  riMdc,  Imtii  to 
Enf;;land  and  Ariiiriai.  The  supply  ol"  thr  iirti- 
cio  seems  to  ho  almost  incxhuustihie,  iind  as 
rc)j;ards  its  value  in  a  horticultural  point  of  view 
there  can  be  but  one  opinion.  Tho  small  island 
known  as  lehaboo,  has  thus  become  of  immenfie 
importance  in  commercial  respects,  and  is  tho 
seat  of  much  business.  While  California  and 
Au-itralia  are  yielding  poldcn 
stores  in  shape  of  the  glittering 
metal  itself,  lehaboo  and  tho 
Lobos  Islands,  on  our  own 
South  American  coast,  are  af- 
fording a  no  less  important 
yield  of  an  article  that  proves 
of  great  and  important  bcnotit 
in  agriculture.  The  trade  is 
becoming  a  legitimate  branch 
of  commerce,  and  employs 
much  shipping,  and  many  able 
hands,  and  a  large  amount  of 
capital — all  atfording  a  high 
per  ccntage  for  the  investment 
of  time,  money  and  enterprise. 
One  of  the  most  interesting 
questions  now  pending  of  a  na- 
tional character  is  touching  our 
rii^hr  to  operate  Ujfon  the  guano 
islands  off  the  coast  of  Peru. 
Ichaboe  Island  lies  ott'  tiie  west- 
ern coast  of  Africa,  within  one 
mile  and  a  half  from  the  main, 
and  forty-one  miles  to  tho 
northward  of  Possession  Isl- 
and, which  is  in  latitude  26 
dog.  57  min.  south,  longitude 
15  dcg.  8  min.  cast.  Ichaboe 
is  but  about  one  mile  in  cir- 
cumference ;  on  the  east  side 
fhips  may  anchor  in  perfect 
safety,  in  hve  fathoms  of  water  ; 
aiiout  two  cables'  length  from 
iu  shore,  a  convenience  of  great 
moment  in  connexion  with  the 
new  trade  in  guano.  Great 
numbers  of  the  riirht  whsUe 
strike  on  this  part  of  the  coast 
about  the  middle  of  June,  when 
they  may  easily  be  taken.  In 
the  months  of  October  and  Mo- 
vembcr,  the  i-^land  is  literally 
covered  with  jnckass  penguins 
and  gannets,  which  convene 
here  for  the  purpose  of  laying  and  incubation. 
The  shores  are  also  much  resorted  to  hy  multi- 
tudes of  fur-seal.  The  southeast  p  irt  of  the  bay, 
on  the  main  land,  directly  opposite  the  island,  is 
the  tinest  place  on  this  part  of  the  coast  for  jerk- 
ing beef,  it  being  only  four  miles  from  a  Hotten- 
tot village;  aud  the  springs  of  fresh  water  will 
supply  any  number  of  cattle.  It  is,  however,  to 
being' the  "depository  of  guano,  in  almost  incred- 
ible quantities,  that  Ichaboe  owes  its  importance  ; 
and  this  information  is  stated  to  have  originated 
in  the  following  passage  in  Morreirs  "  Narrative 
of  a  Voyage  to  the  South  and  West  Coast  of  Af- 
rica :" — "  The  surface  of  this 
island  is  covered  with  birds' 
manure  to  the  depth  of  twenty- 
five  feet."  Upon  this,  Lieuten- 
ant Petrie,  R.  N.,  who  has  ju?.t 
reprinted  Morrell's  "  Narra- 
tive," remarks  :  "  Our  author 
was  quite  aware  of  both  the 
name    and  nature  of  guano;  ^ 

but,  as  it  possessed  less  interest  ~ 

than  other  objects  of  traffic  with 
which  he  was  surrounded,  he 
does  not  enlarge  upon  the  dis- 
covery. In  his  fii'st  voyage, 
when  at  St.  Lobos  on  the  coast 
of  Peru,  the  bird  manure  is 
again    mentioned,   under    the 

Spanish  name  of  (/iianar.     It  is,  =^ 

says  he,  probably,  the  richest 
manure  in  the  world,  and  is  in 
sufficient  quantity  to  load  thou- 
sands  of  ships."     Lieutenant 
Petrie,  in  his  appendix  to  Mor- 
rell's "  Narrative,"  says  :  *'  The 
trade  in  guano,  which  has  been 
lately  opened  to   the  coast  of 
Africa,  has  not  only  raised  high 
hopes  as  to  its  beneficial  eifccts 
in   improving   agriculture,   by 
affording  an  abundance  of  the 
richest  manure,  but  on  the  com- 
merce, and   especially  on    the 
shipping  interests  of  the  coun- 
try, it  has  already  occasioned 
considerable  improvement.  Ev- 
erything relating  to  it,  there- 
fore, is  a  matter  of  importance, 
and  even  the  natural  history  of 
the  article  is  something  more 
than  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity. 
Its  name,  it  would   appear,  is 
of  Peruvian  derivation,  and  has 
been  called  in  the  language  of 
the  natives  huano,  the  meaning 
of  which  is  dung  or  manure;  but  the  Spaniards 
now  name  it  guano,  or  r/nanar.     The  aborigines 
on  the  coast  of  Peru  seem  to  have  used  guano 
from  time  immemorial  as  manure ;  and  at  the 
time  of  the   European  discovery  of  the  country 
strict  laws  had    been  enacted   by  the  Ineas,  to 
guard  the  islands  in  which  it  is  found,  and  to 
punish  with  death  even  those  wlio  killed  the  sea- 
fowls  from  which  it  was  derived.     Much  dou'it 
was  entertained  for  some  time  after  being  brought 
to  this  country,  with  regard  to  the  origin  of  gua- 
no ;  the  Spaniard.3   early  questioned  that  which 


seemed  to  liavc  been  clear  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Peru;  hut  chemical  examination,  and  other  evi- 
dence, leave  it  no  longer  undetermiuerl,  that  the 
enormous  accumulations  of  this  matter  on  sea 
islands,  in  various  localities,  i.s  nothing  more 
than  the  droppings  of  the  myriads  of  fowls  which 
inhabit  them  for  tlie  purpose  of  rest  and  incuba- 
tion." In  this  connection,  we  may  introduce  a 
little  anecdote  given  in  Harpers'  Magazine,  a 
spicy  illustration  of  Yankee  pre-occupancy. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  talk,  in  these  latter  days, 
about  the  articlcof  guano  :  the  right  of  discovery 


WELIilNGTON  AND  IVAPOLKON. 

It  Inis  been  said  that  tlie  Duke  of  VVellinglon 
never  wrote  a  des|mtch  in  which  the  word  i>uTv 
did  not  occur,  and  that  Nupoleon  never  wrote  a 
despatch  to  which  llieword  glukv  was  wanting. 
That  is  the  ditl'cretice  between  the  two  men,  and 
tlje  two  countries  to  which  ihey  Itelongcd  It 
was  tliat  moral  superiority  that  made  Welling- 
ton the  (in-\I  victor.  As  a  mere  general,  the 
Duke  of  Wellingtoji  was  immeasurably  the  in- 
fei'ior  of  Napoleon.  Napoleon  displayed  more 
genius  in  any  one  campaign,  than  Wellington 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  ISLAND  OF  ICHABOE. 


of  the  islands  where  it  is  obtained,  and  the  like. 
We  remember  to  have  heard  something  about 
the  discovery  and  occupation  of  the  first  of  these 
islands,  that  of  Ichaboe,  which  made  us  "  laugh 
consumedly  ;"  and  we  have  been  thinking  that  a 
thorouijh  exploration  of  the  Lobos  Islands  might 
result  in  a  similar  discomfiture  to  the  "grasping 
Britishtrs."  It  seems  that  a  party  of  English- 
men, claiming  to  have  discovered  the  island  of 
Ichaboe,  landed  from  a  British  vessel  upon  that 
"  rich  "  coast,  and  a]ipreciating  the  great  agri- 
cultural value  of  its  minerals,  walked  up  to  the 
top  of  the  heap,  to  crow  on  their  own  dunghill, 


did  in  hi-  whole  life  ;  but  the  dogged  man  of  du- 
ty triumphed  at  length  over  the  brilliant  man  of 
glory ;  so  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and 
ever  shall  be.  The  Frenchman  may  laugh  at 
tlie  stolidity  and  stupidity  of  the  Englishman, 
but  so  long  as  the  one  race  is  capable  of  believ- 
ing in  the  august  and  commanding  nature  of  du- 
ty, and  the  other  race  is  not,  England's  suprem- 
acy will  be  maintained.  Imagine  the  two  gener- 
als, Wellington  and  Napoleon,  changing  armies  ! 
What  fishes  out  of  water  they  would  both  have 
been!  Those  flaming  Napoleonic  bulletins  and 
harangues  that  u^ed  to  set  the  French  army  all 


CIRCUS  IN  OOAHrANTIAOPLK. 

One  evening  I  went  to  the  grand  Circo  Olimpivo 
— an  eipiestrian  cntertuiimient  in  a  vast  circular 
tent,  on  a  piece  of  open  ground  up  in  Pcra  ;  and 
it  was  as  curious  a  sight  as  one  could  well  wit- 
ness. The  play-bill  was  in  three  languages- 
Turkish,  Armenian  and  Italian  ;  and  the  audi- 
ence was  composed  almost  entirely  of  Levan- 
tines, nothing  but  fezzes  being  seen  round  the 
benches.  There  were  few  females  present,  and 
of  Turkish  women  none;  but  the  houftC  was  well 
filled,  both  with  spectators  and  the  smoke  from 
the  pipes,  which  all  of  them 
carried.  There  was  no  buzz  of 
talk,  no  distant  bailings,  nor 
whistlings,  nor  sounds  of  impa- 
tience. They  all  sat  as  grave 
as  judges,  and  would,  I  believe, 
have  done  so  for  any  period  of 
time,  whether  the  performances 
had  been  yivcn  oi  not.  I  have 
said  the  sight  was  a  curious 
one,  but  my  surprise  was  ex- 
"-1^  cited  beyond   bounds  when  a 

j^  real    clown — a    perfect    "  Mr. 

'^_  Merryman  "    of    the    arena — 

-z _^^  jumped  into  the  ring,  and  cried 

-=^^^  out  in  perfect  English  :  "  Here 

we  are  again,  all  of  a  lump! 
How  are  you  ?"     There  was  no 
—  response  to  this  salutation,  for 

it  Wixs  evidently  incoinprclien- 
sible ;  so  it  fell  flat,  and  the 
poor  clown  looked  as  if  he 
would  have  given  his  salary  for 
a  boy  to  have  called  for  '*  Hot 
Codlins  !"  I  looked  at  the  bill, 
and  found  him  described  as  the 
"  Gro(esco  Inqhse"  Whittany. 
I  did  not  recognize  the  name 
in  connection  with  the  annals 
of  Astley's,  but  he  was  a  clever 
fellow,  notwithstanding;  and 
when  he  addressed  the  master 
of  the  ring,  and  observed  :  "If 
^  you  please,  Guillaume,  he  says 

that  you   said,  that  I  said,  that 
they  said,  that  nobody  had  said 
nothing  to   anybody,"  it   was 
with  a  drollery  of  manner  that 
at  last  agitated  the  fezzes  like 
poppies  in  the  wind,  although 
tfie  meaning  of  the  speech  was 
still  a  sealed   book  with  them. 
I   don't    know   whether   great 
writers  of  eastern  travel  would 
have  gone  to  this   circus  but 
yet  it  was  a  strange  sight.     For  aught  that  one 
could  tell,  we  were  about  to  see  all  the  mishaps 
of  Billy  Button's  journey  to   Brentford,  repre- 
sented in  their  vivid  discomfort,  upon  the  shores 
of  the   Bosphorus,  and  within  the  range  of  the 
sunset  shadows  of  the  minarets  from  St!  Sophia  ! 
The  company  was  a  very  fair  one,  and  they  went 
through  the  usual  programme  of  the  amphithe- 
atre.    One  clever  fellow  threw  a  bullet  in  the 
air,  and  caught  it  in  a  bottle  during  a   "rapid 
act;"  and  another  twisted  himself  among  the 
rounds  and  legs  of  a  chair,  keeping  a  glass  full 
of  wine  in  his  mouth.     They  leaped  over  lengths 
of  stair  carpet,   and   through 
hoops,  and  did   painful  things, 
as   Olympic  youths   and   lion 
vaulters   of  Arabia.     The  at- 
traction  of  the  evening,  how- 
ever, was  a  very  handsome  girl 
— Madalena   Guillaume — with 
a  fine  Gitani  face  and  exquisite 
figure.     Her  performance  con- 
sisted in  clinging  to  a  horse, 
with  merely  a  strap  hung  to  its 
side.     In  this  she  put  one  foot, 
and  flew  round  the  ring  in  the 
most  reckless  manner,  leaping 
with  the  horse  over  poles  and 
gates,  and   hanging  on   appa- 
rently  by   nothing,   until    the 
fezzes  were  in  a  quiver  of  de- 
light, for  her  costume  was   not 
precisely  that  of  the  Stamboul 
ladies. — AlUrt  Smith. 


ICHABOE MOi'E  OF  SHIPPING  GUANO. 


and  take  possession  of  it  in  the  name  of  her  maj- 
esty the  queen,  with  the  usual  form  of  breaking 
a  bottle  of  Madeira,  and  other  like  observances. 
While  they  were  thus  taking  possession,  however, 
one  of  the  party,  more  :idventurous  than  the 
rest,  made  his  way  to  the  farther  slope  of  a  high- 
er eminence,  and  saw,  to  his  utter  discomfiture 
and  consternation,  a  Bangor  schooner  rocking 
in  a  little  cove  in  tlie  island,  a  parcel  of  Yankees 
digging  into  its  sides,  and  loading  the  vessel. 
He  reported  to  Ids  parly  what  he  had  seen,  and 
the  ceremony  of  takmg  possession  was  stopped. 


ablaze  with  enthusiasm,  would  have  been  simply 
laughed  at  by  the  English  soldier.  Nor  could 
the  solid  English  have  executed  those  brilliant 
aspirations  of  Napoleon,  by  wliieh  a  forced  march 
of  a  few  weeks  sometimes  made  a  whole  cam- 
paign his  own.  Wellington,  on  the  other  hnnd, 
could  have  done  nothing  with  a  French  army. 
It  would  have  ridiculed  his  caution  and  bluntness 
of  speech,  sunk  under  his  discipline,  and  run 
away  from  every  foe.  A  Fi-onchman  <-an  no 
more  fight,  tluui  a  balloon  can  ascend,  without 
inflation.— //o»*e  Journal. 


ROTARY  STEAM  PLOUGH. 

This  is  the  name  of  a  new 
plough  just  introduced  among 
the  agriculturalists  of  Scotland. 
The  ploughs,  or  rather  iron 
horns,  which  act  as  ploughs,  re- 
volve on  a  shaft  like  a  water 
wheel.  It  stirs  about  three  feet 
of  earth  at  once,  and  ."o  scatters 
and  pulverizes  it  as  to  make  it 
look  like  the  work  of  a  spade. 
It  moves  with  a  velocity  of 
5500  yards  per  hour,  ploughing 
about  six  acres  in  one  day. 
_  The    price   of   it   is   .£300   or 

^_  $1455.      It  requires  an    engi- 

neer and  two  laborcis  to  attend 
it.  It  will  never  be  introduced 
into  America,  for  the  reason 
that  it  is  too  large  and  expen- 
sive. But  while  it  will  not  be- 
come domesticated  with  us,  it 
will  be  a  production  of  much  good.  It  will 
show  our  farmers  what  is  doing  in  other  parts  of 
the  world  to  make  steim  power  subservient  to 
man  in  tilling  the  eartli.  It  will,  no  doubt,  also 
aflbrd  many  good  hints  to  some  of  our  invent- 
ors, for  steam  power  will  yet  be  cmi)loyed  more 
extensively  for  agricultural  purposes  than  it  is 
at  present.  This  plough,  when  not  tilling,  can 
be  thrown  out  of  gear  with  the  engine,  which  can 
then  be  made  by  pulley  and  belt  to  drive  a  thresh 
ing  machine  and  many  other  machines. — Scien- 
tijic  American. 


GLEASON'S   PTCTOTIIAL    DRA\YINrx   ROOM    COMPANION. 


301 


vC\.\.X.-v->.--^.-^'.  V  -■^-.  1-  V-.---I-  ■-  ."^--^ ---\.\/-iA.-i--^-v--v-i-V\<-i.-\,iA,\t: 

FREDERICK   GLEASON,   Proprietok. 

MATURIN    M.    BALLOTT,    Editos. 

CO^TEi^TS  OF  OUR  NEXT  KUfllBER. 

"  The  Voung  Doctor's  First  Patient,"  a  story  by  Mrs. 
S.  P.  Doughty. 

''  Uncle  Jefferson  and  his  Niece,"  a  story  by  Geo.  Can- 
ning Hill. 

"Tnivels  in  Palestine,"  No.  XIT,  describing  Tiberias 
and  its  Like,  by  Kev.  P.  W.  Holl.^nd. 

"Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  X,  referring  to  the  Ar- 
mory at  Constantinople,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C-  Smith. 

"  Autographs  and  Autogmphy,"  \o.  XI,  by  William 
Edw.^rd  Knowles,  giving  the  signatures  of  J.  G.  Spear, 
W.  L.  Stone,  Joseph  K.  Butler,  M.  St.  Leon  Loud,  T.  Q. 
Hawks,  Wm.  Laodor,  H.  J.  Legare  and  G.  Mellen. 

■'  Beauty's  Offering,"  lines,  by  Joseph  H,  Butler. 

"  Napoleon."  verses,  by  Caroline  A,  HAvnEX. 

"  The  Distant  City,"  lines,  by  0.  G.  Warren. 

*■  Winter  is  coming,"  poem,by  E.  Cotriss  Hine,U.  S.N. 

"Here  in  the  silent  shadowings,'  by  R.  Griffin  Sta- 

PL1!S. 

''Autumnal  Musings,"  lines,  by  Josepb  W.  Nye. 
"  The  Crucifixion,"'  poem,  by  Susan  U.  Blaisdell. 
*'  Annie  May,'"  verses,  by  Asgie  H.  Biuklow. 

ILLirSTBATIONS. 

We  shall  present  in  our  nest,  a  fine  monumental  design 
to  tne  niemoiy  of  the  late  Hon.  Daniel  Webster,  repre- 
Fenting  his  country  weeping  his  loas,  and  Liberty  laying  a 
crown  at  his  feet. 

A  representation  of  the  residence  of  Mr.  Webster,  at 
Marshfield 

AIbo,  a  view  of  the  room  in  which  thia  eminent  states- 
man breathed  hia  last. 

A  fine  series  of  pictures  illustratiog  the  city  of  Xew- 
buryport,  Muss.     All  by  our  artist,  Ulr.  Kilbuni. 

Giving  first,  a  very  fine  engraving  of  Putnam's  Free 
School,  Newburyport. 

Second,  a  correct  and  well  drawn  view  of  Newburyport, 
taken  from  Salisbury. 

Third,  a  picture  repre.'ienting  the  Essex  Merrimack  Sus- 
penaiuD  Bridge,  a  picturesque  structure. 

Fourth,  a  very  line  picture  representing  the  famous 
Oak  Hill  Cemetery,  Newburyport. 

Fifth,  an  elaborate  and  well  drawn  picture  of  the  City 
H:iU,  Newburjtport. 

A  large  and  elegant  picture  of  a  statue  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington. 

An  admirable  likeness  of  the  Hon.  Abbott  Lawrence, 
our  late  mtniscer  at  the  court  of  St.  James,  by  our  artist, 
JVir.   tioicse. 

A  fine  engraving  of  the  great  Water  Cure  Establishment 
of  the  West,  at  Harrodsourg,  Ky. 


PITTSBURG  COURT  HOUSE. 

On  our  last  page,  we  give  an  artistic  view  of 
this  beautiful  edifice.  It  stands  on  one  of  the 
highest  points  in  the  city.  It  is  a  most  magnifi- 
eent  structure ;  in  fact,  it  has  no  equal  of  its 
kind  west  of  the  mountains.  It  was  built  in 
1840.  The  picture  exhibits,  in  the  view  from 
the  north,  on  the  extreme  left,  a  portion  of  the 
jail  building,  or  the  sheriff's  residence.  To  the 
right  is  seen  a  portion  of  a  frame  building,  some 
two  hundred  yards  to  the  south,  in  which  Louis 
Philippe,  ex-king  of  France,  resided  when  an 
exile  in  this  country  many  years  ago.  The  pic- 
ture is  a  fine  one,  and  well  exhibits  the  architec- 
tural beauties  of  the  building. 


SPLINTERS. 


The  Lynn  City  Guards  is  a  fine,  soldier- 
like looking  company. 

Pickpockets  are  as  plenty  as  blackberries 

in  Boston.     The  police  are  busy. 

....   The  new  lord  mayor  of  London  is  a 
butcher  by  trade.     This  looks  republican. 

Warren,  with  his  inimitable  drollery  is 

still  the  "bright  particular"  of  the  Museum. 

....   The  course  of  lectures  before  the  Mer- 
cantile Library,  this  winter,  will  be  brilliant. 

....   Kossuth's  sister  has  opened  a  boarding- 
school  in  New  York  city,  comer  of  14th  street. 

....   Many  persons  in  Boston  declare  Alboni 
to  be  superior  to  Jenny  Lind. 

Great  activity  is  now  manifested  in  our 

navy.     "In  time  of  peace,"  etc. 

We  grasped  the  hand  of  General  Wool, 

a  day  or  two  since;  a  true  gentleman  and  soldier. 

....   Alboni  was  much  delighted  with  Boston 
and  environs,  visiting  Bunker  Hill,  etc. 

. . .   Rufus  Choate  is  said  to  realize  820,000 
per  annum  by  his  profession. 

....   Thank  Heaven,  our  exchanges  are  fast 
getting  over  their  political  fever. 

We  leai-n  by  the  papers   that  there  are 

thirteen  churches  in  San  Francisco. 

Goethe  said  that  modern   poets   put  a 

great  deal  of  water  in  their  ink ! 

Wanted  to  know,  if  the  bullet  ever  paid 

anything  for  lodging  in  the  man's  thorax  ? 

We  have  already  some  elegant  improve- 
ments in  hafnd  for  the  next  volume  of  the  Pictorial, 


PRESIBENTIAL  ELECTIONS. 

Before  these  pages  meet  the  eye  of  the  reader, 
the  presidential  contest  will  have  been  decided, 
and  the  political  complexion  of  the  administra- 
tion of  the  United  States  for  the  next  four  years 
settled.  We  are  now  writing  in  the  midst  of  the 
hurly-burly  and  excitement  of  the  battle ;  the 
papers  that  lie  before  us  on  the  table  are  full  of 
us  fierce  philippics  as  those  which  graced  the 
amiable  columns  of  the  "Independent"  and  the 
"  Eatonsville  Gazette,"  so  humorously  chroni- 
cled in  the  Pickwick  papers.  We  thank  our 
stars  that  ours  is  not  a  political  sheet. 

To  foreign  travellers  among  us  these  election- 
eering episodes  in  our  career  are  full  of  interest. 
An  Englishman  is  not  at  all  surprised  at  them. 
The  violence  of  political  contests  in  his  own 
country  is  fully  equal  to  that  which  disgraces 
the  most  excitable  localities  in  ours.  The  hust- 
ings of  the  small  provincial  towns  of  England 
frequently  exhibit  as  turbulent  scenes  as  are  ever 
enacted  in  the  fourth  ward  of  New  York.  It  is 
not  an  unusual  thing  to  pelt  a  candidate  with 
what  are  politely  termed  "unmerchantable  eggs !" 
Here  such  an  insult  is  never  offered  to  a  stump 
speaker.  The  Englishman  is  used  to  seeing  pro- 
cessions bearing  banners  with  the  threatening  in- 
scription "  Bread  or  Blood !"  But  he  is  not 
alarmed,  for  he  knows  that  the  most  menacing 
assemblage  of  starving  Chartists  is  easily  dis- 
persed by  a  few  constables  and  policemen,  and 
that  the  first  blast  of  a  cavalry  trumpet  is  sure  to 
startle  a  monster  mob  to  the  four  winds  of 
heaven. 

On  a  French  spectator  of  these  scenes,  the 
effect  is  very  different.  We  remember  of  being 
very  much  amused,  a  few  years  since,  by  the 
prognostications  of  a  French  gentleman,  recently 
from  Paris,  in  the  midst  of  one  pf  our  most  ex- 
citing political  contests.  He  was  fresh  from  the 
focus  of  revolutionary  France,  that  amiable 
country  where  blood  is  the  sovereign  panacea 
for  all  the  political  ills  that  man  is  heir  to.  He 
had  attended  one  or  two  political  meetings,  read 
daily  four  or  five  rabid  partizan  papers,  and  after 
a  residence  of  four  weeks,  considered  himself 
perfectly  acquainted  with  American  character, 
and  able  to  prognosticate  coming  events  with 
unerring  correctness. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  I  tremble  for  the 
perpetuity  of  your  institutions." 

We  smiled. 

"  You  are  incredulous,  my  friend,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "  but  I  tell  you  that  a  crisis  has  arrived 
in  your  political  affairs." 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  "holding  up  a 
finger,"  as  Leatherstocking  did  when  the  prairie 
was  on  fire ;  "  but  to-morrow  they  will  build 
barricades  in  Boston  !'* 

We  could  not  help  laughing  heartily  in  spite 
of  the  dictates  of  politeness;  the  idea  of  barri- 
cades being  so  exquisitely  absurd.  Our  French 
friend  went  to  bed  at  an  early  hour,  after  clean- 
ing his  pistols,  and  expressing  a  resolve  to  see 
the  emeute,  as  he  called  it,  out,  and  desired  to  be 
called  when  the  roll-call  was  beat  by  our  "  Na- 
tional Guard."  He  was  surprised  and  disap- 
pointed when  he  found  the  day  pass  off  without 
any  bloody  demonstration,  and  could  scarcely 
believe  his  eyes  when  he  saw  Col.  Greene  chat- 
ting pleasantly  with  the  editor  of  the  Atlas,  for 
he  had  arranged  a  duel  between  these  gentlemen 
to  come  off  without  fail — "  no  postponement  on 
account  of  the  weather !" 


Health  of  the  City. — Our  citizens  have 
great  cause  for  thankfulness  in  the  continued 
good  health  of  Boston.  While  nearly  every 
other  large  city  in  the  Union  has  suffered  by 
some  sort  of  epidemic,  ours  has  been  spared. 
Beyond  a  doubt  this  is  the  healthiest  city  in  the 
country, 

"  The  Spanish  Musketeer." — The  contin- 
ued demand  for  this  military  novelette,  the 
scenes  of  which  are  laid  in  Cuba,  has  induced  us 
to  issue  a  fresh  edition  of  it,  and  we  can  now 
answer  all  orders  for  the  same.  It  may  be  found 
at  the  periodical  depots  throughout  the  country. 

Gleason's  Pictori.\l  Draw IX a-R com  Companion,  pub- 
lished weekly,  in  Boston,  at  S4.00  per  annum.  We  do  not 
often  notice  the  millinery  magazines  or  trashy  newspapers 
issued  by  the  city  presses,  because  they  are  mostly  got  up 
for  the  purposes  of  speculation,  and  to  impose  on  the  pub- 
lic. But  the  above  work  is  of  a  wholly  different  character, 
and  deserving  of  a  wide  support.  It  is,  in  fact,  exactly 
what  it  purports  to  be,  a  drawing-rooDi  companion.  The 
illustrations  are  executed  in  a  beautiful  style,  and  each 
number  is  filled  with  them.  The  letter-press  and  paper 
are  excellent.—  Whig  Press,  Middle-town-,  N.  Y. 


Vert  good. — A  woman  out  West  having 
been  convicted  of  having  two  husbands,  a  cotem- 
porary  says,  she  loved  not  wisely  but  fu-o  well. 


DEATH  OF  3IR.  WERSTER. 

Hardly  had  the  public  mind  found  repose  after 
the  departure  of  one  of  America's  most  gifted 
sons — Henry  Clay, — ere  a  new  chord  of  grief 
struck  upon  the  ear,  vibrating  from  one  extremity 
of  the  Union  to  the  other,  bemoaning  the  death  of 
Daniel  Webster,  the  great  masterspirit  of  the  na- 
tion—one who  stood  before  the  world  in  the  glory 
of  lofty  and  commanding  intellect,  patriotism 
and  genius ;  a  statesman  wise  and  prudent,  a 
scholar  ripe  and  thorough,  an  orator  skillful  and 
unrivalled,  a  lawyer  shrewd  and  profound,  a  di- 
plomatistkecn  and  sagacious.  His  voice  is  silent 
in  death.  His  life,  so  long  and  brilliant,  his  ser- 
vices so  varied  and  useful,  his  triumphs  so  grand 
and  lustrous,  will  now  be  matter  of  history. 

"Daniel  Webster  was  born  at  Salisbury,  N.  H., 
Jan  18th,  1782.  He  graduated  from  Dartmouth 
College,  in  1801.  He  entered  the  law  otfice  of 
Hon.  Christopher  Gore,  of  Boston,  having  pre- 
viously given  a  portion  of  his  time  to  the  study 
of  law.  In  1805  he  was  admitted  a  member 
of  the  Massachusetts  bar.  He  first  pursued  his 
profession  at  BOscawen,  in  his  native  State,  but 
afrer  the  death  of  his  father,  in  1807,  he  removed 
to  Portsmouth,  where,  coming  in  contact  with 
that  distinguished  lawyer,  Hon.  Jeremiah  Mason, 
his  mind  first  developed  its  wonderful  powers. 
In  1812  he  was  elected  a  representative  in  Con- 
gress from  New  Hampshire. — He  was  also  re- 
elected in  1814.  In  1816  he  removed  to  Boston, 
devoting  his  energies  and  intellect  to  the  duties 
of  his  profession.  He  met  with  the  most  bril- 
liant success,  and  at  once  became  the  star  of  the 
bar.  Jn  1820,  he  was  a  meniberof  a  convention 
to  revise  the  constitution  of  Massachusetts.  In 
the  same  year  he  delivered  his  celebrated  ad- 
dress at  the  200th  anniversary  of  the  landing  at 
Plymouth.  Jn  1822,  he  was  elected  from  Bos- 
ton, a  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives 
of  the  United  States,  and  in  1826,  he  was  elected 
to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States.  In  Jan.,  1 830, 
Mr.  Webster  made  his  famous  constitutional  ar- 
gument in  the  Senate  in  answer  to  Gen.  Hayne, 
of  South  Carolina.  In  1833,  he  visited  Europe. 
In  March,  1841,  he  entered  the  Cabinet  of  Pre- 
sident Harrison  as  Secretary  of  State,  and  con- 
tinued in  office  during  the  administration  of  Mr. 
Tyler  until  May,  1843.  In  1842,  he  negociated 
at  Washington,  with  Lord  A.diburton,  the  im- 
portant treaty  in  relation  to  the  north-eastern 
boundary.  In  1845,  Mr.  Webster  was  again  re- 
turned to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  of 
which  he  continued  a  distinguished  member  up 
to  the  time  of  his  appointment  by  President  Fill- 
more to  the  oflice  of  Secretary  of  State,  July  11, 
1850.  On  the  7th  of  March,  1850,  he  made  his 
memorable  speech  on  the  Compromise  Measures 
— an  effort  which  will  ever  remain  a  proud  mon- 
ument to  his  patriotism.  The  departure  of  Mr. 
Webster  closes  the  earthly  career  of  that  trio  of 
statesmen  who  have  conferred  immortal  honor 
on  their  country — Calhoun,  Clay,  Webster." 

In  our  next  Pictorial  we  shall  present  some 
sketches  relating  to  this  mournful  event. 


EATING. 

We  most  firmly  believe,  that  if  animals  could 
speak,  as  jEsop  and  other  fabulists  make  them 
seem  to  do,  they  would  declare  man  the  most  vo- 
racious animal  in  existence.  There  is  scarcely  any 
living  thing  that  files  in  the  air,  swims  in  the 
sea,  or  moves  on  the  land,  that  is  not  made  to 
minister  to  his  appetite.  The  Esquimaux  de- 
vours raw  fish;  the  Tartars  eat  horse  flesh  ;  the 
South  Sea  Islanders  are  fond  of  dogs ;  the  Afri- 
cans relish  ants  and  monkeys ;  the  Chinese  think 
rats,  mice  and  cats  exquisite  delicacies ;  the 
polished  Parisian  is  partial  to  frogs ;  the  Italians 
regale  themselves  with  a  jelly  made  of  vipers; 
the  entrails  of  snipes  are  eaten  with  avidity 
among  us  at  game  suppers  by  all  true  epicures  ; 
while  the  New  Zealander's  favorite  dish  is  a 
roasted  missionary ! 

Perhaps,  if  the  aforesaid  animals  were  capable 
of  discrimination  as  well  as  speech,  they  would 
declare  the  Yankees  the  most  voracious  of  a  vo- 
racious family.  And  who  that  is  familiar  with 
hotel  and  steamboat  life,  would  deny  the  trutli 
of  the  assertion  ?  What  valorous  trencher-men 
we  are,  when,  after  having  been  with  difficulty 
kept  back  by  bolts  and  bars  and  an  army  of 
black  waiters,  while  the  supper-table  is  being  set, 
we  dash  upon  the  viands  at  the  first  summons  of 
the  welcome  gong  or  bell !  How  the  oysters, 
and  ham,  and  jellies,  and  hot  rolls,  and  biscuits 
disappear!  What  remorseful  agonies  and  inex- 
orable nightmares  ensue ! 


The  "Mameluke." — We  are  gratified  to 
know  that  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial  are  highly 
pleased  with  this  fine  story,  now  running  through 
our  pages.  It  is  written  in  a  chaste  and  elegant 
style,  and  is  historically  truthful. 


Theatrical. — The  new  National  has  opened 
under  the  most  favorable  auspices.  Mr.  Leon- 
ard is  a  liberal  and  intelligent  manager. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  Wm.  H.  Pillsbury,  of  Southampton, 
N.  H.,  to  Miss  Mary  S.  Dennett,  of  Salisbury.  Mass. 

By  ilev.  Phineas  Stow,  Mr.  James  Ackler  to  Miss  Mar- 
garet Reed,  both  of  Boston. 

By  Rev.  Dr  Stow,  Mr,  .John  B.  Bailey,of  Nashua,  X.  H., 
to  Miss  Martha  G.  Bacon,  of  Yarmouth,  Me. 

Mr.  Anton  William  Kolbe  to  Miss  Christiene  Henner. 

Mr.  Alfred  Ealch  to  Miss  fanny  M.  Buntin. 

At  Chelsea,  by  Hauilett  Bates,  Esq  ,  Mr.  .Tames  Con- 
nelly to  Miss  Mary  Meehin. 

At  East  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr,  Spalding,  Mr.  Oren 
Dolbear  to  Miss  Ann  C.  Frame. 

At  Lynn,  Mr.  George  P.  Crawford  to  Mips  Nancv  Maria 
Deland.  "^ 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr  Mills,  Mr.  Mark  Graves,  of  Bos- 
ton, to  Miss  Abby  M.  Stone. 

At  Danvers,  by  Joseph  Shed,  Esq.,  Mr.  Thomas  B.  Pad- 
dnck  to  Miss  Caroline  S.  Woodbury. 

At  Gloucester  by  Rev.  Mr.  Aiken,  Mr  Nathan  Nor- 
wood, Jr.,  to  Miss  Mnry  Jane  Rogers. 

At  Lowell,  by  Dr.  Lawrence.  Mr.  George  H.  Stone  to 
Miss  Louisa  G.  Ladd. 

At  Haverhill,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Mason,  Mr.  Charles  Gage  to 
Miss  Martha  A.  Carleton. 

At  Fall  Kiver,  by  Rl-v.  Mr.  Upham,  Mr.  Francis  Harri- 
son to  Miss  Abby  A.  Ricketson. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rcr.  Mr.  Howe,  Mr.  Anselm  Davis 
to  Mrs.  Sally  D.  Bloss^om. 

At  Whately,  by  Rev.  Mr  Eastman,  Mr.  Lyman  Rawaon 
to  Miss  Cynthia  Nuttiog. 


-"^^^  DEATH  S- 


In  this  city,  Mrs.  Catherine  F.  W.  CaBendar,  78 ;  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  W.  Blake,  51 ;  Charles  Lincoln,  Esq  ,  87;  Mr. 
Simon  Huff,  44;  Mrs.  Janet  L.  Fullerton,  78;  Mr.  George 
H.  Laggon,  24;  Rev.  Joseph  Lewis,  5b;  Mr.  .lames  L. 
Loud,  37. 

At  East  Boston,  Mrs.  Ruth  M.  Alden,  29. 

At  Charlestown,  Mrs  Harriet  A.  Doughty,  34. 

At  Rosbury,  Mrs.  Maria  A.  Porter.  28. 

At  Jamaica  Plains,  Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Poland,  3.5. 

At  Brooklinc,  Capt.  John  Woodward,  (i2. 

At  Maiden,  Mr.  Samuel  E.  C.  Turner,  36. 

At  Lynn,  Miss  Maria  Breed,  21. 

At  Salem,  Mr.  Arad  Pomroy,  7G. 

At  Beverly,  Mrs.  Sarah  Story,  26. 

At  Marblehead,  Mrs.  Ellen  M.  Stuart,  28. 

At  Danvers,  Mrs.  Lucy  Symonds,  61. 

At  North  Danvers,  Capt.  John  b'elton.  73. 

At  Lawrence,  Mr.  Leonard  Holoian,  43. 

At  Randolph,  Lyman  Belcher,  11, 

At  Gloucester,  Mrs.  Emily  Nickerson,  24. 

At  Dracut,  Mr.  Lendal  Underwood,  40. 

At  Newbury,  Miss  Harriet  E.  Stickney,  21. 

At  Grafton,  Mrs.  Azuhah  S.  Laithe,  74. 

At  Northampton,  Mr.  Warham  Clapp,  82. 

At  Shrewsbury,  Mrs.  Mary  D.  Miles,  79. 

At  West  Sandwich,  Mr.  Nathanitl  Wendell,  60. 

At  Marshpee,  Mr.  Alfred  Amy,  GO. 

At  Provincetown,  Mrs.  Saviah  H.  Small,  31. 

At  Edgartown,  Miss  Eliza  F.  Pease,  21. 

At  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  Mr.  Earnet  W.  Akerman.  35. 

At  New  Ipawich,  N.  H.,  Miss  R.  Eliza  Sawtelle,  28. 

At  Antrim,  N.  H..  Mrs.  Lucy  G.  Blanchard,  93. 


A  sipaiEsriiii  ipusssasiia 


LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL- 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL 

A  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  Art, 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present.  In  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.     Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 

tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  &MEBICAS  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.    Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirelj-  original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  everj'  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  line  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  femaic. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  tish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  p.ipcr,  from  a  font  of  now 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundi-cd  and  Fixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  aftbrds,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  r.v  d 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiaingnll 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
fcombined  excellencies, 

TEEMS:    $2  00    PER    VOLUME. 

OR,    S4  00    PER    ANNUM. 

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Each  six  months  completes  a  volume,  commencing  on 
the  first  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  volumes 
per  year,  of  lour  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

[[[T^  One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  our  Uxiox,  and  one  copy 
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PubUahed  every  Satuhd.w,  bv 

F.    GLEASON,   Boston,  M.vas. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS, 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  York. 
A.  WINCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  Co.,  ill  Baltimore  St.,  Eamnioro, 
A.  C.  BAGLEY,  Id  West  8d  Street,  Cincinnati. 
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302 


CxLEASON'S   nCTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


[Writton  for  Ok'iiflon's  Pictorial.] 
THE  HEART  THAT  LOVES  TRULY  CAN  NEVER  FORGET. 

UV  MARY  0.  HALPIHO. 

ITinl  1  lovod  tbco  for  lionor,  had  I  lovod  tbeo  for  gold, 
'Neath  lliu  utorui  of  niififortuno  my  lovo  bad  grown  cold  ; 
Had  I  lovod  thoo  for  beauty,  had  I  loved  thco  for  furno, 
I  nhould  have  forsook  tbco  In  norrow  iiod  ahame  ; 
But  I  loved  not  for  ricbu-s.  I  loved  tbeo  aloue, 
And  would  have  sbared  with  tbeo  a  cot  or  a  tbrono. 

Tbey  told  me  in  triumph— tbey  tell  mo  o'cn  now, 
Thou  wurt  false  to  thy  honor,  and  fulho  to  thy  vow; 
That  tbou  wort  unworthy  of  the  heart  that  I  gave, 
Ix-fls  fickle  the  /.ephyr — more  Ptuhlo  the  wave  ; 
But  their  effortH  wore  vain,  wo  had  met!  we  bad  met! 
And  the  heart  that  lovea  truly  can  never  forget  I 

Think  not  that  the  wealthy  may  purchase  for  gold. 
The  heart's  warm  alTections— those  riches  untold  ; 
That  time,  change  or  disttmce  can  alter  my  lovo, 
That  absence  may  weaken,  or  elander  may  move. 

Kemomber!  remember!  by  land  or  by  eea, 
Whatever  may  happen,  where'er  thou  may'st  be  ; 
Ah  '.  gentle  lad,  with  the  ej  c  of  blue, 
To  the  troth  of  our  plighting  I  am  true,  I  am  true. 


[Written  for  Gleasou's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

No.  XL 

BT  EEV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

THE   JORDAN. 

An  hour  and  a  half  of  good  riding  along  a  sandy  plain  brought 
\\s  to  the  pilgrim's  resting-place  on  the  Jordan,  opposite  to  Beth- 
abara,  near  where  the  Israelites  crossed  with  their  ark,  El-Meshra, 
as  it  is  called. 

The  Jordan  is  the  saddest  disappointment :  instead  of  the  clear, 
wide,  majestic  stream,  which  the  cherished  impressions  of  child- 
hood lead  everyone  to  expect,  there  is  nothing  but  a  deep  sunken 
mountain-torrent,  turbid,  winding  and  impetuous.  Its  highest 
source  is  now  ascertained  by  the  examination  of  our  own  coun- 
trymen to  be — not  Panias,  where  travellers  have  generally  been 
carried  to  see  tlie  fountain  head  of  the  holiest  of  streams — but 
Hasbciya,  where  it  boils  up  from  the  bottom  of  a  shallow  pool, 
twenty  miles  above  the  ancient  Cesarea  Philippi.  This  first  por- 
tion of  the  river  is  the  most  beautiful,  because  it  courses  clearly 
through  a  well  cultivated  valley,  its  banks  shaded  densely  by  the 
sycamore  and  the  willow,  and  innumerable  fishes  sporting  upon 
its  crystal  bosom.  It  then  begins  to  fall  rapidly  through  a  rocky 
gorge,  and,  after  ten  miles  of  constantly  enlarging  waters,  enters 
"  Lake  Hulet,"  the  ancient  Merom.  In  the  spring,  when  I  saw  i', 
it  was  a  seven  mile  pond,  but  in  midsummer,  it  was  a  mere  marsh 
pastured  upon  by  Arab  flocks,  trampled  over  by  wild  hogs,  and 
hovered  around  by  myriads  of  birds.  From  Lake  Merom  another 
ten  miles' course  brings  the  Jordan  to  the  "Lake  of  Tiberias," 
as  the  sea  of  Galilee  is  now  very  appropriately  named  from  the 
only  city  remaining  on  its  once  crowded  shores.  This  second  ex- 
pansion of  the  stream  over  some  ancient  volcanic  bed,  takes  up 
twelve  miles  more  of  the  river,  and  the  series  of  descending  rap- 
ids and  perpetual  windmgs  then  commence  which  carry  it  through 
two  hundred  miles  in  passing  over  what  is  actually  but  sixty 
miles  of  distance  from  Tiberias  to  the  Dead  Sea. 

A  geographical  problem  had  here  to  be  solved  by  our  expedi- 
tion. The  sea  being  a  thousand  feet  below  the  lake,  and  no  falls 
being  believed  to  exist  upon  the  river,  how  was  it  possible  to 
make  such  a  descent  within  only  sixty  miles?  As  the  banks  of 
the  river  are  frequently  an  impenetrable  jungle,  and  the  waters 
too  low — except  for  a  month  or  fo  in  the  year — to  float  a  boat  of 
any  size,  and  the  existence  of  dangerous  passes  more  than  sus- 
pected, and  the  character  of  the  people  upon  the  banks  unknown 
even  to  European  residents  in  Syria,  it  was  a  work  of  some 
bravery,  in  the  face  of  a  British  officer's  failure,  for  American  sail- 
ors to  attempt.  The  result  is  equally  creditable  to  themselves 
and  their  country :  and  though  not  so  entirely  novel  as  their  dis- 
coveries upon  the  Dead  Sea,  sets  the  matter  entirely  at  rest  for 
the  future. 

The  descent  from  the  Lake  of  Tiberias  was  made  in  a  week's 
time,  by  two  metal  boats,  one  of  copper  and  one  of  galvanized 
iron— the  only  native  boat  having  been  purchased  at  Tiberias, 
and  afterwards  aliandoned  on  the  river.  As  in  one  place  it  took 
the  party  two  days  to  get  twelve  miles — as  even  at  the  most  fa- 
vorable season  nothing  but  metal  boats  could  live  through  such 
fearful  rapids — it  is  evident  that  the  river  can  never  have  been  of 
much  use  as  a  highway  for  travel  or  tj-affic,  and  we  have  no  ac- 
count of  its  ever  having  been  for  business  or  pleasure.  Twenty- 
eeven  considerable  descents  were  numbered  by  Capt.  Lynch,  be- 
sides many  of  less  account — enough  to  explain,  in  connexion 
with  the  trebling  of  the  distance  by  continued  changes  of  course, 
an  even  greater  change  of  level. 

A  Jewish  work,  by  a  rabbi,  for  many  years  a  resident  at  -Jeru- 
salem, speaks  of  "  the  benutiful  arbors  "  along  the  banks,  making 
fairy-like  gardens.  This  is  mere  imagination.  The  Ghor-vallcy, 
liirougb  which  the  river  winds  its  silent  way,  is  particularly  cheer- 
less and  forlorn;  sometimes  for  miles,  jt  is  treeless  and  verdure- 
less,  shut  in  by  wild  ami  stony  difts,  on  wliich  the  Genius  of  Des- 
olation seems  to  sit  crowned.  But,  commonly  a  thicket  of  wil- 
lows, acacias  and  the  "reeds  shaken  by  the  wind"  fringe  the 
stream,  and  make  the  passage  by  land  as  difficult  as  lo  wovk 
through  the  caqebj-ajies  pf  thp  A'ljssissipj;).     Indeed,  jny  coat  was 


literally  torn  from  my  back  in  endeavoring  to  get  but  a  few  rods 
along  the  sedgy  himks ;  and,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the 
yellow  waters  were  rushing  and  winding  the  Hume.  1  never 
bathed  in  such  a  perfect  mill  race.  The  river  leaps  frantically, 
like  an  insane  man  hastening  to  throw  away  his  convulsed  life. 
Though  the  eastern  pilgrims  arc  accustomed  to  bind  themselves 
together  by  ropes,  as  they  rush  enthusiastically  into  the  cleansing 
stream,  many  lives  are  sacrificed  every  ycnr  (o  the  hallowed  mem- 
ory of  the  place  of  the  Saviour's  baptism.  It  is  always  cool  and 
refreshing;  and  the  only  pity  is  that  those  who  have  once  felt  the 
purifying  etlects  of  the  hath,  should  return  contentedly  to  their 
besetting  sin  of  uncleanncss. 

The  most  ojiposite  opinions  of  the  Jordan  may  all  be  ti'ue  at 
its  diUcrcnt  seasons.  No  river  varies  more.  It  was  twelve  feet 
deep  and  over  a  hundred  feet  wide  where  we  bathed  ;  yet  at  some 
seasons  it  was  possible  to  wade  across  perhnps  fifty  feet  of  water. 
Several  terraces  of  land  are  still  oljservcd  along  the  banks,  one  of 
which  seemed  to  be  submerged  every  rainy  season,  making  pi-ob- 
ably  the  overflowing  mentioned  in  the  Scripture — yet,  nothing 
like  that  to  which  some  other  parts  of  the  world  arc  subject. 
From  all  I  could  learn,  the  river  may  be  said  to  double  its  width, 
and  quadruple  its  depth  from  August  to  April. 

The  streams  that  empty  into  the  Jordan  are  mostly  but  winter- 
torrents.  Several  remains  of  bridges  arc  found  along  its  course, 
and  at  least  one  of  Roman  structure  is  yet  standing  above  the 
Lake  of  Galilee.  Leopards,  but  not  lions,  are  sometimes  traced 
along  its  banks,  and  numerous  fish  are  still  fo\md  in  its  waters. 

From  the  bank,  a  rich,  cultivated,  well-watered  plain  leads  for 
some  four  miles  to  the  wrctchcdest  of  Arab  villages,  Rihah,  which 
pretends  to  be  Jericho,  whose  mud-covered  huts  looked  so  grim 
and  filthy,  that  we  preferred  the  chance  of  passing  the  night  upon 
the  Mount  of  Olives  to  the  pi-oH'ered  hospitality  of  the  sheik. 
Very  probably,  this  is  not  the  ancient  Jericho  ;  and  (hough  that 
has  no  blessed  memory  with  either  Christian  or  Jew,  we  were 
glad  to  transfer  its  position  some  two  miles  on,  where  Bucking- 
ham found  a  few  stone  remains  near  the  fountain  sweetened  by 
Elisha.  A  hundred  sickly  and  indolent  wretches  harbor  in  what 
might  be  an  Eden  :  the  famous  groves  of  palms  have  disappeared. 
One  tower  yet  standing,  of  Saracenic  lime,  is  pointed  out  as  the 
house  of  Zaccheus  ;  all  the  rest  are  only  mud  sheds  fenced  in  by 
thorn-bushes.  The  dispute  about  the  location  of  the  ancient 
"City  of  Palms"  is  satisfactorily  dispatched  by  the  fact  that 
there  were  several  Jerichos,  besides  the  ancient  one  destroyed  by 
Joshua,  upon  which  a  curse  was  felt  to  rest;  and  that  these  were 
not  likely  to  occupy  precisely  the  same  ground,  because  occupied 
for  different  purposes  by  changed  masters — at  one  time  as  a  city 
of  priests,  again  as  the  winter  retreat  of  Herod,  again  as  a  Roman 
and  afterward  a  Saracen  stronghold. 

Northwest  of  this  loathsome  settlement  is  Quarantana,  a  lofty 
wall  of  hare  rock,  perhaps  fifteen  hundred  feet  high,  the  legen- 
dary scene  of  the  Saviour's  temptation  and  of  the  Baptist's  preach- 
ing. A  few  monks  still  tenant  its  caves  during  the  season  of 
Lent,  and  live  upon  su(;h  herbs  as  grow  without  care.  The 
gloom  and  nakedness  of  the  spot  no  doubt  caused  it  to  be  chosen 
by  the  lovers  of  tradition  for  those  passages  of  sacred  history. 

A  few  miles  from  Jericho,  on  the  only  road  to  Jerusalem,  we 
came  into  the  frightful  pass  where  the  scene  of  the  "  Good  Samar- 
itan "  has  been  laid — a  spot  which  every  one  hastens  to  pass,  as 
its  fame  is  still  bad,  and  the  numerous  crevices  of  the  rocks,  be- 
tween which  you  are  shut  in,  might  conceal  a  thousand  as  well 
as  a  single  man.  A  traveller,  who  should  drop  behind  his  party, 
would  be  almost  certainly  "stripped  and  wounded,"  and  left  half 
dead  from  fear,  if  no  more.  A  few  years  ago,  an  English  gen- 
tleman lingered  a  litlle — perhaps  at  the  flowing  fountain  of  the 
prophet — and  was  galloping  his  swift  horse  to  overtake  his  friends, 
when  suddenly  bis  progress  was  stopped  by  a  stiff  grasp  upon  his 
neck,  and  before  he  could  speak  he  lay  flat  on  the  ground.  A 
couple  of  Arabs  sprang  to  the  assistance  of  their  comrade,  and 
told  the  gentleman  that  "his  aunt  wanted  his  clothes."  Ashe 
seemed  slow  at  undressing,  they  very  soon  stripped  him  to  the 
skin ;  and  when  he  plead  stoutly  for  something  to  cover  his  naked- 
ness, they  handed  back  his  hat,  informing  him  that  "  his  aunt  had 
no  need  of  that."  If  my  iaipression  is  right,  the  stupid  govern- 
ment suffered  the  outrage  to  pass  unpunished. 

By  riding  till  late  in  the  evening,  we  reached  tolerable  quarters 
in  a  Bethany  cottage  ;  and  early  the  next  morning  feasted  our- 
sehcs  again  with  the  superb  view  from  the  Mount  of  Olives.  We 
were  refused  admittance  at  any  other  gate  at  Jerusalem  than  the 
southwest  one,  though  wc  had  to  pass  the  three  gates  as  we  made 
the  circuit.  The  ancient  Golden  Gate  is  entirely  blocked  up  be- 
cause of  a  Moslem  story,  that,  when  the  Christians  pass  through 
it  again,  the  crescent  must  sink  beneath  the  cross. 

My  purpose  was,  if  so  favored  as  to  reach  the  Holy  City,  to  visit 
either  Petra  or  Palmyra.  But  the  American  friends  whom  I  had 
engaged  to  meet  at  tins  season  in  Jerusalem,  were  put  six  weeks 
behind  me  by  being  turned  hack  just  as  they  were  entering  the 
Holy  Land  across  the  desert,  greatly  to  their  vexation.  And, 
there  was  no  person  to  be  heard  of  desirous  of  visiting  either  of 
these  remarkable  spots:  neither  was  the  season  favorable ;  forty 
or  fifty  dollars  must  be  paid  the  Bedouins  for  the  mere  permission 
to  pass  through  their  territory  to  Petra;  and  no  such  permission 
could  have  been  obtained,  nor  would  it  have  secured  from  robbery 
and  repulse,  in  the  case  of  Palmyra.  I  had  suffered,  too,  from 
exposure,  fatigue  and  want  of  food.  My  companion  was  in  haste 
to  see  his  Parisian  home  again.  The  labor  of  Syrian  travel,  too, 
had  proved  far  gi-eater  than  I  anticipated,  and  the  rewards  inli- 
nitcly  less,  So  that  1  fjund  myself  obliged  to  be  content  with  the 
certainty  of  seeing  the  magnificent  temple  at  Baalbec,  and  bask- 
ing in  the  paradise  sweets  of  Damascus  ;  and  for  these,  and  for 
what  I  had  already  seen,  I  did  IVel  deeply  grateful. 


IWritton  for  GleMon's  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGIiAPIIS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTDIGtnSHED  UTDrVlDUAlS. 

No.  X. 

BY  WM.  EDWARD   KNOWLEB. 


A.  J.  H.  DuGANNE  is  a  spirited  and  popular  writer.  His  great 
fault  is  permitting  his  imagination  to  run  away  with  him ;  and  in 
his  extremely  unintelligible  manuscript,  his  pen  appears  to  do  the 
same  thins.  Printers  do  not  like  such  "copy."  Yet  Mr.  Du- 
ganne  has  written  many  fine  poems  and  much  good  prose. 


CLdluT^^ 


'i> 


The  chirography  of  Mr.  Weld  is  very  illegible  and  scratchy. 
Yet  he  possesses  genius  of  the  highest  order,  and  has  been  con- 
nected with  the  press  for  a  number  of  years.  The  signature  ia 
better  than  the  majority  of  his  manuscript. 


J<£^   r.ift 


C^Ty^'O-'/ 


The  Hon.  Joii!^  P.  Kennedy  writes  a  heautifnl  manuscript. 
It  ha^  much  slope  and  gracefulness.  Should  he  direct  his  atten- 
tion more  to  literature,  his  success  as  an  author  would  be  un- 
bounded.    The  signature  is  rather  more  pdlte  than  it  commonly  is. 


The  handwriting  of  the  Rev.  J.  T.  Headley  is  a  noble  one, 
and  evinces  a  high-born  originality.  His  works  are  too  well 
known  to  need  comment  here.  His  letters  are  all  well  written, 
and  end  as  well  as  they  Ijegin.  We  know  of  no  more  promising 
an  author  than  Headley.  He  bids  fair  to  rank  amongst  our  first 
descriptive  writers.  The  signature  is  bad  in  comparison  with  the 
majority  of  his  manuscript. 


WV\  iKSvkji,. 


L 


\V\.  iXy  QtyLJ-O 


CiiABLEs  Sprague,  of  Boston,  is  a  beautiful  poet.  His 
"  Winged  Worshippers  "  is  unexcelled  by  any  other  production, 
of  its  length,  in  our  language.  And  the  exti-act  from  "  Curiosity," 
'  The  Burial  at  Sea,"  is  replete  with  mournful  tenderness. 
That  he  has  ceased  writing  is  regretted  by  every  lover  of  good 
poetry.  The  signature  has  much  grace,  but  little  force  or  energy. 
As  Mr.  Sprague  is  cashier  of  the  Globe  Bank,  his  autograph  dif- 
fers in  value;  and  when  attached  to  a  SIOOO  note  would,  of  course, 
bring  that  amount. 


A.G,«a^ 


Our  readers  are  familiar  with  the  writings  of  Geo.  Canning 
Hill,  as  a  contributor  to  the  Pictorial,  and  have  long  since  formed 
a  rao.st  favorable  opinion  of  him  as  a  writer.  His  manuscript  is 
very  uniform,  neat  and  distinct,  and  is  liked  by  the  "  compositor." 
Mr.  Hill  sustains  no  ordinary  merit  as  a  poet. 


Of  Major  Ben  :  Peeley  Pooee,  our  readers  are  well  informed 
liy  his  own  finished  and  very  delightful  contributions  lo  the  Pir- 
tori.al.  His  signature  is  a  good  sample  of  his  handwriting.  We 
never  saw  a  better  or  more  distinct  manuscript— coiTect  and 
legible,  and  exceedingly  picturesque  in  the  body.  Like  his  com- 
position, it  is  perfect  in  finish. 

We  have  a  good  share  of  the  ofi'hand  manliness  of  the  Demo- 
cratic candidate  for  the  presidency  represented  in  his  signature 
above.  The  general  manuscript  is  strong,  bold  and  business  like ; 
such  a  hand  as  expresses  a  firm  and  decided  purpose  and  charac- 
ter. At  present,  Frank  I^ierce  stands  very  prominently  before 
the  public  eye  of  the  world. 


ti    c/ O'^'CCou^'Zc^ 


Parke  Got>win  is  well  known  to  the  literary  world  as  a^^Titer 
of  much  force  and  excellence.  His  style  of  writing  and  composi- 
tion arc  both  bold  and  manly,  and  the  manuscript  is  distinct  and 
correct  in  detail.  We  like  his  chirography,  and  conceive  it  to 
bear  a  strong  analogy  to  his  general  characteristics. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


3o: 


NAPOLEON  THE  LlTlLB. 

"  Louis  Bonaparte,"  says  Victor  Hugo,  "  is  a 
man  of  middie  Iieight,  cold,  pale,  slow  in  his 
movements,  having  the  air  of  a  person  not  quite 
awake.  He  has  published,  as  we  mentioned  be- 
fore, a  tolerable  treatise  on  artillery,  and  is 
thought  to  be  acquainted  with  the  manceavering 
of  cannon.  He  is  a  good  horseman.  Bespeaks 
drawlingly,  with  a  slight  German  accent.  His 
histrionic  abilities  were  displayed  at  the  Tilgling- 
ton  tournament.  He  has  a  thick  mustache,  cov- 
ering his  smile,  like  that  of  the  Duke  d'Artois, 
and  a  dull  eye,  like  that  of  Charles  IX.  Judg- 
ing of  him,  apart  from  what  he  calls  his  '  neces- 
sary acts,'  or  '  liis  grand  acts,'  he  is  a  vulgar, 
common-place  personage,  puerile,  tlieatrical  and 
vain.  The  persons  who  are  invited  to  St.  Cloud 
in  the  summer,  receive  with  the  invitation  an  or- 
der to  bring  a  morning  toilette  and  an  evening 
toilette.  He  loves  finery,  trinkctry,  feathers,  em- 
broidery, spangles,  grand  words  and  grand  titles 
— the  sounding,  the  glittering,  all  the  glassware 
of  power.  In  his  quality  of  cousin  to  the  battle 
of  Austerlitz,  he  dresses  himself  up  as  a  general." 


DOMESTIC  ELOQUENCE. 

Mr.  Pitt  was  a  remarkably  shy  man.  He  was 
on  terms  of  the  greatest  intimacy  wiih  Lord  Cam- 
den, and  being  at  his  house  on  a  morning  visit : 

"Pitt,"  said  his  lordship,  "my  children  have 
heard  so  much  about  you  that  they  are  extreme- 
ly anxious  to  have  a  glimpse  r.t  the  great  man. 
They  are  just  now  at  dinner  in  the  next  room  ; 
you  will  oblige  me  by  going  in  with  me  for  a 
moment." 

"  0,  pray  don't  ask  me ;  what  on  earth  could 
I  say  to  them?" 

"  Give  them,  at  least,  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you." 

And  half  led,  half  pushed  into  the  room,  the 
prime  minister  approached  the  little  group,  look- 
ed from  their  father  to  them,  from  them  to  their 
father,  remained  for  several  minutes  twirling  his 
hat,  without  finding  a  single  sentence  at  his  dis- 
posal, and  departed.  So  much  for  the  domestic 
eloquence  of  an  orator. 

MODEL  TELEGRAPH  LINE. 

A  line  of  electric  telegraph  has  just  been 
established  in  France  which  may  be  regarded  as  a 
model  telegraph.  It  extends  from  Paris  to  Bor- 
deaux. The  wires,  ten  in  number,  go  the  whole 
distance  under  ground.  They  are  five  Inches 
apart,  and  form  a  hollow  square.  To  guard 
against  humidity,  they  are  supported  upon  wood- 
en blocks,  with  the  necessary  isolation,  and  en- 
cased in  a  coating  of  gutta  percha  and  lead.  An 
ingenious  contrivance  enables  the  guardians  to 
detect  at  once  the  exact  spot  where  any  flaw  or 
break  has  occurred,  without  digging  up  any  por- 
tion of  the  trench. 


Served  him  right. — Stephen  Chenault  was 
convicted  and  fined  SIOOO  at  the  last  term  of 
Limestone  Circuit  Court,  Ala.,  for  whipping  his 
wife.  He  is  at  present  in  prison,  and  unless  he 
"forks  over,"  which  there  is  no  possibility  of  his 
doing,  is  likely  to  remain  there  for  some  time  to 
come. 

CONSTITDTION     OF    INDIANA. — By    thc     nCW 

Constitution  of  the  State  of  Indiana,  all  foreign- 
ers who  have  been  in  the  United  States  for  twelve 
months,  and  have  resided  in  that  State  for  six 
months,  are  entitled  to  vote  for  all  ofiUces,  from 
President  downwards. 


ITALI.A.N  Banditti. — The  days  of  Fra  Dia- 
volo  appears  to  be  returning  in  Italy.  A  dili- 
gence full  of  travellers,  and  conveying  govern- 
ment funds,  was  recently  stopped  on  the  road 
between  Rome  and  Civitta  Vecchia,  by  an  armed 
and  masked  band,  and  robbed. 


Sent  back. — Twenty-three  paupers,  sent  to 
Boston  at  the  public  expense,  liave  just  been  re- 
turned on  thc  same  principle,  the  authorities  of 
Ireland  being  obliged  to  pay  their  passage  both 

ways.     This  is  as  it  should  be. 

<  ^»^  t 

The  Bible  in  South  America. — The  Bue- 
nos Ayrean  Government  has  recently  decreed 
that  in  the  course  of  instruction  pursued  in  the 
public  schools  in  that  country,  the  \Vord  of  God 
shall  be  included. 


Exports  of  Specie. — The  exports  of  specie 
from  New  York  for  the  first  nine  months  of  the 
present  year,  will  amount  to  about  821,000,000 

— behig   ¥10,000,000   less   than    for    the    same 
period  last  year. 


toagsiiic   ©atljmngs. 

Winter  has  already  commenced  in  good  ear- 
nest in  Canada. 

A  boy  aged  17  years,  is  on  trial,  inProvidtnce, 
for  murder. 

The  Japan  Expedition,  it  is  said,  will  rendez- 
vous at  Annapolis. 

The  Jewish  Synagogue  in  Sacramento,  Cali- 
fornia, was  dedicated  Sept.  4th. 

By  the  fire  at  Ansonia,  Ct.,  200  hands  were 
thrown  out  of  employment. 

The  Englisli  language  is  spoken  by  seventy- 
five  millions  of  people. 

Carpet  patterns  are  being  worn  in  pantaloons, 
by  the  bucks  of  New  York. 

^Vhy  is  the  Dead  Sea  so  called?  Because  no 
living  creature  can  be  found  in  it. 

Madame  Sontag  is  the  mother  of  eight  chil- 
dren, and  one  of  them  a  married  lady. 

The  Potomac  Savings  Bank,  at  Washington, 
has  suspended  payments  for  the  present. 

A  woman,  named  Winn,  died  at  St.  Louis  on 
the  .3d  ult.,  from  an  -application  of  chloroform. 

The  expenses  of  the  New  York  citj'  almshouse 
for  the  month  of  August  last,  amounted  to  nearly 
S49,000. 

The  late  Bishop  Pledding  bequeathed  his  valu- 
able library  to  the  Biblical  Institute  at  Concord, 
New  Hampshire. 

A  boy  in  New  York,  who  picked  up  S400  in 
the  street,  and  returned  it  to  the  owner,  was  re- 
warded by  being  told  to  clear  out. 

Should  the  Chinese  emigration  to  California 
continue,  it  may  not  be  long  before  we  shall  see 
a  Chinaman  in  Congress. 

Col.  C.  M.  Payne,  U-  S.  A.,  has  been  appoint- 
ed to  the  command  of  the  fortification  in  the  har- 
bor of  New  York. 

The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  has  received  an 
anonymous  letter  containing  SIOO,  with  reqnest 
to  place  it  in  the  U.  S.  Treasury. 

The  money  recently  stolen  from  the  Mount 
Vernon  Bank,  in  Foster,  R.  I.,  amounting  to 
$10,240,  ha?,  all  been  recovered. 

A  lightning  rod  peddler  has  been  doing  the 
people  at  Germantown,  Pennsylvania,  with  light- 
ning rods  furnished  with  pewter  points. 

Peter  Moore's  house,  in  Wardsboro,  Vt.,  was 
burnt  on  Wednesday  week,  and  six  of  his  chil- 
dren perished  in  the  flames! 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  the  19th  in  direct 
descent  from  King  Edward  I,  23d  fiom  Alfred, 
and  25th  from  William  the  Conqueror. 

It  is  said  that  SSO0,000,  besides  clothing  and 
provi-iions,  will  be  distributed  this  fall  and  winter 
among  the  Sioux  Indians  of  Minnesota. 

The  Boston  Transcript  states  that  Mr.  Ban- 
croft has  the  fifth  volume  of  the  history  of  the 
United  States  in  the  hands  of  stereotypers. 

Men  are  fined  in  Boston  for  using  profane 
language  in  public.  Right!  They  shouM  be 
fined  for  sueli  a  habit  at  any  time,  and  in  any 
place. 

Arkansas,  in  1849,  exported  46,733  hags  cot- 
ton, 44,890  in  ISoO,  62,973  in  1851,  and  8.';,4.50 
in  1S52 — thus  nearly  doubling  herself  in  four 
years. 

Accidents  from  burning  fluid  arc  now  of  so 
frequent  occurrence,  that  wc  cease  to  chronicle 
them.  They  are  noticed  in  pretty  much  every 
paper  we  open. 

Among  the  convicts  in  Massachusetts  State 
Prison  are  several  who  are  under  sentence  for 
life.  The  last  received  is  Thomas  Davis,  the 
murderer  of  his  sister. 

The  frigate  Columbia  is  nearly  ready  for  sea, 
at  Portsmouth,  Va.  Workmen  are  busy  on  her, 
and  as  thick  as  bees.  It  is  not  yet  known  where 
she  will  be  ordered. 

At  \Yorcester,  Mass.,  in  the  rooms  of  the  An- 
tiquarian Society,  there  U  a  copy  of  the  Bible, 
printed  in  Venice  in  1447,  being  forty-five  years 
before  the  discovery  of  America. 

Cortez,  in  a  letter  to  Charles  Y;  in  illustration 
of  the  advanced  state  of  society  among  the  Indi- 
ans of  Mexico,  says  that  "they  begged  in  the 
streets  like  civilized  people." 

Thc  late  e-insus  gives  thc  crop  of  Alabama  at 
.564,429  bales,  of  400  pounds.  Georgia  stands 
next,  with  a  crop  of  496,09!  bales,  and  Missis- 
sippi next,  with  a  crop  of  484,293  bales. 

A  Mr.  Mowry,  of  Auburn,  has  issued  a  card, 
in  wliich  he  states  he  has  invented  an  arrange- 
ment, by  which  the  elasticity  of  compressed  air 
can  be  used  to  propel  carriages  on  railroads. 

Mr.  Vanderbilr,  it  is  said,  has  offered  to  sell 
out  his  whole  interest  in  the  steamers  on  the  Ni- 
car.Tgua  route  for  SI. 100, 000,  and  that  a  party  of 
capitalists  have  undertaken  to  make  the  purchase. 

A  congress  of  German  short-hand  writers  has 
just  been  held  at  Munich.  'M.  Baumagartuer, 
of  Vienna,  explained  his  system  of  taking  down 
in  writing,  instantaneously,  the  notes  of  any 
musical  piece  played. 

At  the  last  monthly  meeting  of  the  American 
Bible  Society,  it  was  slated  tJiat  the  number  of 
Bibles  and  Testaments  issued  the  past  month 
was  83,304 — a  greater  number  than  was  ever  be- 
fore issued  in  the  same  time. 

The  hotel  keepers  of  Niagara,  who  generally 
close  in  September,  resolved  to  prolong  the  sea- 
son to  the  end  of  October,  in  consequence  of  the 
increased  trade  arising  from  the  facilities  afforded 
by  the  Eoehester,  Lockpqrt,  and  Niagara  rail- 
roads. 


-foreign   Jllisccllans. 

Sir  Thomas  Mitchell,  of  Australia,  has  brought 
out  a  new  mode  of  propulsion  for  steamers.  It 
is  called  thc  Bomcrang  propeller. 

A  report  liy  Lord  Shaftsbury  is  published,  re- 
garding Bethlehem  Hospital  for  the  insane,  and 
discloses  horrible  treatment  of  the  inmates. 

The  Queen  and  court  are  still  in  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland,  where,  also,  Lord  Hardinge, 
the  new  commander-in-chief,  is  in  attendance. 

Mr.  D.  D.  Howard,  late  of  the  Irving  House, 
New  York,  is  about  to  establish  a  hotel  on  a 
large  and  magnificent  scale  in  London. 

The  Loudon  papers  arc  rabid  against  Capt. 
Jewett's  expedition  to  thc  Lobos  Islands,  seeing 
in  it  a  deep-laid  scheme  for  the  annexation  of 
Peru. 

Mr.  Mackintosh,  the  India  rubber  patentee, 
advertises  a  paint  of  Nucons  Catchuck  for  ship's 
bottoms,  which  by  lessening  resistance  increases 
the  speed  two  knots  an  hour. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton never  visited  Scotland,  He  is  said  to  have 
entertained  a  superstition  that  a  visit  to  that 
country  would  be  fatal  to  him. 

It  ii  confidently  stated  in  circles  likely  to  be 
well  informed  on  the  subject,  that  the  funeral  of 
the  late  Duke  of  Wellington  will  take  place  on 
Saturday,  the  13th  of  November. 

Field-Marshal  Radetzky  is  about  to  retire  from 
active  service  to  his  villa  at  Kayback.  It  is  said 
that  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  has 
impressed  him  unpleasantly  with  the  fact  that, 
occasionally,  even  Field  Marshals  die. 

Mount  JEtua.  is  still  in  flames,  and  the  vine- 
yards of  Milo,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Catania, 
have  all  been  devoured  by  the  burning  lava. 
The  crater  of  thc  volcano  seems  a  mammoth 
light-house,  illuminated  with  a  toiver  of  gas. 

A  Swedish  yacht  called  the  "  Svriege,"  has 
arrived  at  Portsmouth,  England,  and  it  is  said 
is  to  enter  the  lists  against  the  yacht  America. 
She  is  said  to  be  built  nearly  on  the  lines  of  the 
America,  and  rigged  after  the  same  fashion. 

A  petition  has  been  presented  for  a  royal 
charter  to  establish  a  direct  communication  by 
means  of  steamers  from  the  east  and  west  coast 
of  England  to  Canada  and  the  United  States. 
London  will  prot)ably  be  the  eastern  port  and 
Liverpool  the  western. 

According  to  the  Breslau  Gazette,  General 
Haynau  has  been  summoned  to  Vienna,  by  order 
of  the  emperor,  his  majesty  considering  that  the 
demonstrations  which  his  presence  has  excited 
in  certain  places  are  calculated  to  compromise 
the  honor  of  the  Austrian  uniform. 


Joker's  Buliget. 


Sanlra  of  ©olir. 


....  He  declares  himself  guilty,  who  justifies 
himself  before  accusation. 

....  Praying  will  make  us  leave  off  sinning, 
or  sinning  will  make  us  leave  ofi^"  praying. 

....  We  are  esteemed  for  excellence  in  trifles 
at  the  expense  of  more  valuable  accomplishments. 

....  Wholesome  sentiment  is  rain — wliich 
makes  the  fields  of  daily  life  fresh  and  odorous. 

....  Many  an  event  in  life,  when  viewed  in 
thc  future,  looks  impossible. 

■  ■  ■  ■  Some  men  seem  most  severe  when  they 
are  in  reality  most  affected,  as  snow  turns  to  ice 
when  on  the  point  of  melting. 

....  Abundance  is  a  trouble,  want,  a  misery, 
honor,  a  burden,  and  advancement,  dangerous, 
but  competency,  happiness. 

....  Flatterers  only  lift  a  man  up,  as  it  is  said 
the  eagle  does  the  tortoise — to  get  something  by 
the  fall. 

....  Man  wastes  his  mornings  in  anticipating 
his  afternoons,  and  he  wastes  his  afternoons  in 
regretting  his  mornings. 

....  Tiiere  may  be  more  water  in  a  flowing 
stream  only  four  feet  deep,  and  containing  more 
force  and  more  health,  than  in  a  sullen  pool 
thirty  yards  to  the  bottom. 

....  Love  is  a  compound  feeling,  and  is  fed 
with  the  grossest  food  ;  but  friendship  is  a  pas- 
sion whicli  must  exist  on  a  moral  or  intellectual 
diet.  Though  love  is  more  fiery  and  ardent,  it 
is  also  more  fickle  and  uncertain. 

....  Most  precepts  of  parents  and  teachers 
arc  lost  sight  of  at  the  very  time  when  it  is  im- 
portant to  observe  them — as  tlie  label  "  shut  the 
door  "  is  invisible  when  the  door  is  opened  wid- 
est, and  thrown  back  against  the  wall. 

....  Politeness  is  the  spontaneous  movement 
of  a  iiood  heart  and  an  observing  mind.  Benev- 
olence will  teach  us  temperance  towards  tlie 
feelings  of  others,  and  habits  of  observation  will 
enable  us  to  judge  promptly  and  easily  what 
those  feelings  are. 

....  Thc  mixture  of  one  eiTor  with  much 
truth  adulterates  the  whole — as  the  chalice  of 
pure  liquid  is  rendered  dangerous  by  the  infusion 
of  a  drop  of  poison.  We  should,  therefore,  be- 
ware of  all  error,  however  slight  and  inconsid- 
erable it  may  appear.  One  error  may  soon  lead 
to  a  hundred,  ay,  to  a  thousand. 

....  Choose  ever  the  jilainest  road  ;  it  always 
answers  best.  For  the  same  reason  choose  ever 
to  do  and  try  what  is  the  most  just,  and  the 
most  direct.  This  conduct  will  save  a  thousand 
blushes,  and  a  thousand  struggles,  and  will  de- 
liver you  from  secret  torments  which  are  the 
never  failing  attendants  of  dissimulation. 


What  is  the  worst  kind  of  fare  for  a  man  to 
live  on  ?     Warfare. 

Why  is  a  newspaper  like  an  army  1  Because 
it  has  leaders,  columns  ahd  reviews. 

"  Julus,  am  you  conwalescent  dis  momin*  ?" 
"No,  I  was  conwalescent  yesterday,  but  I  took 
medicine  last  night,  and  worked  it  off." 

A  New  York  alderman  was  applied  to  the 
other  day  to  suppress  tlie  cattle  nuisance,  but  he 
replied  that  he  did  not  care  a  toss  up  about  it. 

Why  is  a  thoight  like  the  sea?  B?cause  it's 
a  notion.  Why  is  a  whirlpool  like  a  donkey  1 
Because  it's  an  eddy. 

"  Aint  it  wicked  to  rob  a  hen  roost,  Jim  r' 
"That's  a  great  moral  question,  Sam  ;  we  have 
not  time  to  argue  it — hand  down  another  pullet." 

"I  am  glad  this  cofi'ee  don't  owe  me  any- 
thing," said  an  accountant  at  his  breakfast. 
"  Wiiyso'?"  inquired  his  wife.  '''Cause  I  don't 
believe  it  would  ever  settle,"  he  replied. 

"  Nonchalant"  means  that  peculiarly  indiffer- 
ent look  which  is  put  on  Iiy  men  "who  never  pny 
when  dunned  for  money."  It  should  be  written 
non  shdl  oiiV. 

It  is  surprising  to  an  American  visiting  Eng- 
land, that  in  certain  portions  of  the  island  they 
speak  the  American  language  almost  equal  to  a 
native. 

The  Toledo  Blade  tells  the  story  of  a  chap  on 
their  road,  who,  apprehending  a  collision  of  the 
cars,  put  his  life-preserver  on,  blew  it  up,  and, 
leaning  his  back  against  the  side  of  the  car,  re- 
signed himself  to  his  fate ! 

A  recent  traveller  stopped  at  a  cabaret  in 
France,  where  thc  host  had  two  sorts  of  wine, 
wliich  he  called  "  first  table  "  and  "  common  ta- 
ble." "  I  tried  them  both,"  says  our  traveller, 
and  found  them  lamentable." 

"Poppy,  I  know  why  some  pistols  are  called 
horse  pistols." 

"  Why,  my  son  ?" 

"  Because  they  kick  so." 

"  Mary,  put  that  boy  to  bed ;  he's  getting  so 
sharp  he'll  cut  somebody  yet,  see  if  he  don't. 


VOLTTMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON  S    PICTORIAL. 

We  haTe  volumes  1st  and  21  of  the  Pictorial  Drawipo 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edge  b 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  moi  t 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  Fo  ir  and  Five  Htmdred  Pages, 

AND     COTAIN'ISQ     KEAKLI 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  cf 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;   and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 

of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pagts 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times  \  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustKi.tion.s. 

For  sale  it  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agent-s,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UA'IOX, 

AN  ELKGANT,  MORAL  AND  REFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devotfd  to  polite  Uterature,  wit  and  humor,  prope  and 
poetii;  gems,  itud  originiLl  prize  tales,  "^vritten  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEK  FOU  THE  MUXIOH, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOU  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  icf-eklif  paper  in.  the.  Uitiwl  States^  and  its  literary 
contents  are  aUowed.by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
po  condensed  as  to  en.ible  us  to  give  tho  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  arc  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  menus  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 


TEEMS    TO    SUBSCEIBEES. 
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One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  odr  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
PiCToauL  Dbawing-K.0031  Companion,  one  3'ear,  for  S5  00. 

D^^  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  ngents, 
and  fonn  clubs,  on  the  above  terms. 

(IT^  AU  orders  should  he  addre.-^seif,  post  paid,  lo  the 
Publisher  of  the  Flag  op  our  Union. 

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depots  in  the  United  States,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
Four  cents  per  single  copy. 

F.     GLEASON, 

1'LBJ.ISaER  AND  I'BOpRIETOn,   BoSTCN,  MaSS- 


304 


OLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL    DRAWIMG    ROOM    (lOMPANION. 


RIDING  SCHOOIi. 

Herewith  wc  pri'sont 
a  correct  rcprescntiition 
of  tlic  new,  large,  ccii- 
tnil  and  commodious 
KuWnir  School  of  I).  U. 
Disbrow  &■  Co.,  one  of 
the  most  ably  conducted 
and  popular  equestrian 
academics  in  the  United 
States,  and  excelled  \>y 
none,  either  in  reputa- 
tion, elegant  accommo- 
dations, or  the  skill  and 
system  by  which  the  art 
of  horsemanship  is 
taught.  On  the  1st  of 
March,  1851,  Mr.  Dis- 
brow  purchased  the  Ma- 
son St.  RidiHg  School, 
the  oldest  in  the  city, 
but  finding  it  insufficient 
for  bis  purposes,  ho 
opened  the  new  riding 
academy  in  Gilibon's 
Court,  415  Washington 
street,  near  Boylston 
street,  under  the  title  of 
Disbrow  &,  Co.'s  Riding 
School.  The  Riiifj,  the 
main  feature  of  the 
school,  is  180  feet  in 
circumference,  and 
throughout  its  whole: 
area,  which  forms  a  per 
feet  circle,  is  unobstruct 
ed  by  post  or  pillar  o 
any  sort.  Overlooking 
this  grand  sphere  of  ac- 
ademic horsemanship 
arc  a  large  number  of 
windows,  opening  from 
the  drawing  and  dress- 
ing rooms  of  the  ladies 
and    gentlemen    below, 


INTERIOR  VIEW  OF  DISBROW  &.   CO 'S  RIDING  SCHOOL,  415   WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON, 


and  two  commodious  and  tastefully  appointed 
galleries  for  spectators,  above.  From  the  ceil- 
ing, some  22  feet  above  the  Ring,  depends  a 
chandelier  large  enough  to  furnish  n  brilliant 
illumination  in  the  evenmg,  for  the  whole  circle. 
The  whole  establishment,  inclusive  of  the  gal- 
leries, dressing  rooms  and  other  apartments,  is 
lighted  by  gas,  and  thoroughly  warmed  and  ven- 
tilated. Doors  open  directly  upon  the  ring, 
both  from  the  dressing  rooms  of  the  ladies  and 
of  the  gentlemen.  Doors  likewise  open  from 
the  stable  in  the  rear,  a  model  establishment, 
neatly  and  systematically  arranged,  and  contain- 
ing tiiirty-five  stalls.  Here  are  to  be  seen  a  rare 
stud  of  horses,  all  kept  in  the  best  possible  trim, 
and  cared  for  by  faithful,  experienced  and  well- 
bred  hostlers.  There  is  probably  no  equestrian 
school  in  this  country  .eo    distinguished  for  the 


excellence  and  propriety  of  its  regulations,  as 
this.  A  card  of  address  is  requested  of  all,  pre- 
vious to  tuition,  and  by  thus  obtaining  the  names 
and  residences  of  applicants,  the  respectability 
of  the  pupils  is  rendered  beyond  a  doubt.  Among 
the  other  salutary  regulations,  tending  to  the 
harmony  and  regularity  of  the  school,  are  ttie 
following;  all  lessons  or  rides  are  paid  for  be- 
fore commencement ;  three  months  are  allowed 
for  a  course  of  lessons  ;  each  lesson  or  ride  is 
limited  to  one  hour;  each  lesson  on  the  road  to 
one  hour  and  a  half ;  gentlemen  are  not  admit- 
ted during  the  hours  appropriated  to  the  ladies  ; 
ladies'  and  gentlemen's  saddle  horses  are  let  for 
the  week  ;  the  owners  of  all  saddle  horses  board- 
ed at  the  establishment,  have  the  privilege  of 
riding  them  in  the  school,  without  extra  charge  ; 
private  parties  can  be  accommodated  on  Monday, 


Wednesday,  Thursday  and  Saturday  evenings, 
on  application  to  the  teacher,  on  which  occasion 
no  spectators  will  be  permitted  save  the  friends 
of  the  party;  and  on  Tuesday  and  Friday  even- 
ings, from  7  till  9  P.  M.,  equestrian  tuition  and 
exercise  rides  are  given  to  gentlemen  only.  Be- 
sides this,  the  stable  is  well  supplied  with  safe 
and  spirited  horses,  both  for  the  road  and  riding 
school.  The  Riding  School  of  Disbrow  &  Co. 
is  open  daily,  for  ladies  from  9  A.  M.  till  1  P.M., 
and  3  to  5  P.  M.  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays, 
from  9  A.  M.  to  5  P.  M.  For  gentlemen,  daily, 
from  6  to  9  A.  M.,  2  to  3,  and  5  to  7  P.  M. ; 
and  on  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays,  from  6  to  9 
A.  M.,  and  5  to  7  P.  M.  It  is  to  be  lamented 
that  the  advantages  of  so  useful  a  sanitary  agent 
as  equestrian  exercises,  should  not  be  more  gen- 
erally  understood    than   they   are.     The   press 


should  lend  its  influen- 
tial voice  to  impress 
upon  the  publif  mind 
till-  lienelit.s  to  be  derived 
from  the  practice  of 
horsemanship;  for  by  it 
disease  and  death  arc 
despoiled  of  their  bane- 
ful power  and  many  of 
their  victims  ;  the  blood 
is  made  pure,  nature  !« 
aided  in  the  concpiest  of 
a  tliousand  maladies  in- 
cident to  an  inactive 
system,  and  to  the  sed- 
entary life  led  by  resi- 
dents of  a  city  ;  health, 
and  strength  are  given 
to  the  frame,  and  in 
their  train  follow  beauty 
and  grace,  symmetrical 
and  hardy  development 
of  limb  and  form — and 
happiness — for  freedom 
from  disease  involves 
freedom  from  morbid 
gloom — the  blood,  pu- 
rified and  aroused,  aug- 
ments the  animal  spirits 
— and  the  salutary  ef- 
fects of  the  art  are  as 
palpably  evinced  in  the 
external  appearance  of 
the  person,  as  they  are 
felt  and  acknowledged 
by  him.  Thousands 
might  be  saved  from  liv- 
ing deaths  and  untimely 
graves,  from  mountains 
of  pills  and  seas  of  po- 
tions, from  doctors' bills 
and  chambers  of  sick- 
ness, from  pains  of  body 
and  gloom  of  mind, were 
they  to  pay  proper  at- 
tention to  the  art  of  horsemanship.  Thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands,  male  and  female,  are 
compelled  to  lead  such  sedentary  lives  in  the  city, 
that  existence  to  them  is  robbed  of  half  its  joy. 
The  cheering  and  inspiring  enthusiasm  belong- 
ing to  perfect  health,  and  which  is  such  a  chief 
and  invaluable  charm  of  life  in  childhood,  can 
only  be  imparted  to  such,  by  a  constant  course 
of  physical  exercise — and  of  all  exercises  we  re- 
gard that  of  horsemanship  as  obviously  the  most 
speedily  and  thoroughly  beneficial.  Ladies  and 
gentlemen  !  You  who  are  ambitious  of  all  the 
graces  and  accomplishments  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, we  commend  you  to  the  knowledge  and 
practice  of  so  noble  and  healthful  an  art — the 
preserver  of  health,  the  perpetuator  of  beauty, 
and  the  constant  furnisher  of  a  recreation  than 
which  none  is  more  exhaustless  and  sweet. 


VIEW  OF  THE  COURT  HOUSE,  AT  PITTSBURG,  PENN. 


[For  deacription,  see  paga  301  ] 


F.  GLEASON, 


(  CORNER  EROMFIELD 
1    AND  TIUMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  13,  1852. 


#2  per  volume. 
10  ct9.  single. 


Vol.  III.  No.  20.— Whole  No.  72. 


PUTNAM  FREE  SCHOOL. 

We  give  below,  a  fine  view  of  this  institution, 
located  in  Newburyport,  founded  by  the  munifi- 
cence of  Oliver  Putnam,  Esq.,  a  native  of  New- 
bury, and  which  has  now  been  in  operation 
about  four  years.  It  is  endowed  with  a  perma- 
nent fund  of  ©50,000;  the  building — one  of  the 
best  specimens  of  school  architecture  in  the 
State — with  the  grounds,  cost  about  S25,000 ; 
the  value  of  the  apparatus  for  illustrating  the 
different  branches  of  study  pursued  is  about 
SISOO.  Pupils  are  received  from  any  part  of 
the  country — none  admitted  under  twelve  years 
of  age.  The  course  of  instruction  embraces  the 
commoi  and  higher  branches  of  English  study 
and  the  French  language ;  regular  courses  of  lec- 
tures are  given  on  natural  philosophy,  chemistry, 
astronomy,  English  literature,  etc.  A  weekly  pa- 
per, entitled  the  *'  Experiment,"  is  sustained  by 


the  members  of  the  school,  which  numbers  about 
one  hundred  pupils  of  both  sexes,  say  fifty  each. 
Besides  this  fine  school,  there  arc  also  one  male 
high  and  one  female  high  school,  five  male 
grammar  and  five  female  grammar  schools,  and 
eight  male  and  eight  female  primary  schools. 
The  readers  of  tlie  Pictorial  know  with  what 
pleasure  we  chronicle  any  matter  relative  to  the 
advancement  of  the  facilities  for  the  dissemina- 
tion of  education.  It  is  not  in  academies  and 
school-houses,  however,  that  the  young  are  alone 
to  be  taught.  Education,  says  Dr.  Sears,  in 
its  widest  sense  commences  as  soon  as  one  is 
bom.  From  that  time  till  the  school-going  age, 
which  with  most  children  does  not  properly  be- 
gin till  after  they  are  six  years  old,  the  freedom 
and  activity  natural  to  childhood  may  better  be 
accorded  to  it  than  denied.  The  physical  con- 
stitution, whose  vigor  is  so  intimately  connected 


with  that  of  the  mind,  and  which  comes  first  in 
the  order  of  nature,  requires  a  great  amount  of 
unrestricted  exercise  in  the  open  air.  The  con- 
finement of  the  school  room  not  only  preys  upon 
the  animal  life  and  spirits  of  the  child,  but  in- 
terrupts that  inquisitive  notice  of  external  objects 
to  which  nature  prompts  it.  The  free  exercise  of 
the  perceptive  faculties  at  this  period  does  more 
to  produce  strength  and  individuality  of  charac- 
ter than  all  the  set  lessons  which  could  be  given 
in  the  schools.  The  truth  of  the  remark  now 
made  is  confirmed  by  the  early  history  of  dis- 
tinguished men  as  given  by  their  biographers. 
Disinclined  to  school  exercises,  but  admirers  of 
nature,  they  have  been  known  to  stroll  through 
the  fields  and  woods,  often  lying  upon  the  grass 
and  gazing  upon  some  beautiful  landscape,  while 
others  were  sitting  on  the  bench  waiting  by  the 
hour  to  say  their  alphabet.     Almost  every  line 


in  our  best  writers  shows  that  their  childhood 
was  spent  in  studying  nature's  golden  alphabet, 
written  in  the  sky,  in  the  flowery  field,  in  the 
grove,  and  in  the  plumage  of  its  gay  songsters. 
The  wants  of  the  mind,  as  felt  by  a  young  child, 
are  a  much  safer  guide  to  knowledge  than  any 
artificial  system  of  mental  exercise  devised  by 
the  teacher.  Providence  has  cared  for  that  bet- 
ter than  we  can  do.  Such  a  knowledge  of  the 
objects  of  nature  as  the  curiosity  of  a  child 
prompts  him  to  seek,  and  the  mental  activity 
produced  by  the  companionship  of  other  chil- 
dren, together  with  the  influences  of  home,  fur- 
nish the  best  kind  of  education  for  the  young. 
The  joyfulness  of  a  life  thus  spent  when  all  the 
instincts  of  nature  have  free  play,  and  evil  only 
is  restrained,  contributes  much  to  that  sprighlH- 
ness,  elasticity  and  vigor  which  ought  to  charac- 
terize the  young. 


VIEW  OF  THE  PUTNAM  FREE  SCHOOL,  AT  NEWBURYPORT,  MASS, 


;]0G 


GLEASON'S    nCTO RIAL 


AWINO    ROOM    COMPANION. 


Eiitsrcd  according  lo  Act  uf  Congress,  in  the  yeiir  1852,  by  F.  Glkason,  in  tiie  Clerk's  Ollice  of  tlic 
District  Court  of  Massuchusuits. 


[written  exi'KESSLt  fok  gleason'b  pictokial.J 


TOE 


THE  SIGN  OF   THE  MYSTIC  TIE. 

A  Talc  of  t!ac  Ca^tap  and  Gmivt  of  Itoiiapartc. 


BY  B.  PERLEY  POORK 


CHAPTEB  VI.— [continued.] 
Just  then  a  gun-boat  passed  up  tlie  river,  and 
was  recognized  as  the  mail-boat  from  Alexan- 
dria, so  all  returned  to  the  kiosk,  eager  to  receive 
iii'.w.s  from  home.  The  dispatches  were  not  long 
in  arriving,  and  no  sooner  were  the  letters  dis- 
Iributcd,  than  each  officer  retired  to  his  own 
quarters. 

Late  that  night,  as  Osmanli  lay  tossing  upon 
his  couch,  recalling  the  sad  disappohitment 
which  had  chilled  his  affections,  and  which  tilled 
his  heart  with  anguish,  his  door  was  suddenly 
opened.  Springing  to  his  feet,  he  grasped  his 
sabre,  bnt  his  defensive  attitude  was  soon  changed 
to  a  deep  reverence,  for  Bonaparte  stood  before 
him. 

"Osmanli,"  said  the  general,  "brother  Os- 
manli, I  know  your  disappointment,  for  I  was 
an  nnintentional  listener  to  what  passed  a  few 
nights  since  in  the  garden." 

The  young  man's  face  turned  crimson. 
"Nay,"  continued  Bonaparte,  "do  not  fjel 
ashamed.  Woman's  heart  is  a  more  iueom- 
]>rcliensible  riddle  than  the  inscriptions  on  the 
monuments  arouud  us,  and  perseverance  always 
brings  success.  But  that  jealous  rascal,  Margry, 
is  evidently  dogging  your  footsteps,  and  I  think 
it  would  be  best  for  you  to  go  away  for  awhile. 
At  any  rate,  I  wish  to  send  a  trusty  messenger 
to  prance,  and  have  selected  you." 

"But — but — general,"  asked  Osmanli,  "who 
will  protect  Judith  V 

"Isherfather  not  my  brother  as  well  as  thine  ?" 
replied  Bonaparte.  "  Have  no  ftars  upon  this 
point,  A  boat  will  go  down  the  river  to  mor- 
row, and  Berthier  will  furnish  you  with  the  ne- 
cessary funds.  I  wish  you  to  go  to  Paris  as 
speedily  as  possible,  and  then  to  remain  near 
Madame  Bonaparte  until  I  order  you  otherwise. 
One  of  my  correspondents  dares  to  hint  that  she 
is  unfaithful,  and  I  wish  you,  without  acting  the 
part  of  a  spy,  to  inform  me  if  you  discover  any- 
thing wrong  in  her  conduct.  Now,  good-night. 
I  have  my  letters  to  write." 

This  sudden  departure,  after  all,  was  not  re- 
pugnant to  the  young  man's  feelings.  His  heart 
was  sad,  and  any  change  was  acceptable.  Be- 
sides, he  had  become  enamored  with  the  civil- 
ized manners  of  the  French,  and  their  superior 
social  condition. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
the  old  .iewisii  banker. 

The  "Albatross,"  hauled  close  upon  a  light 
and  head  wind,  was  creeping  past  the  island  of 
Malta,  when  out  came  a  French  fiigate,  under  a 
cloud  of  canvass,  and  before  a  stiff  breeze.  Col- 
onel Lowe  was  almost  frantic  with  disappoint- 
ment, and  Jack  Norman,  pale  with  rage,  ordered 
out  the  sweeps.  The  men,  who  dreaded  a  French 
prison,  pulled  with  a  hearty  good  will,  but  the 
frigate  continued  to  gain  on  them,  and  soon  the 
shot  from  her  bow  guns  ricochetted  along  the 
water,  in  dangerous  proximity  to  the  cutter. 
At  last  came  the  breeze!  The  sweeps  were 
pulled  in,  royals  and  studding-sails  were  set,  the 
engine  was  manned  to  wet  the  canvass,  and  the 
"  Albatross,"  dancing  over  the  water,  fired  her 
stern  chasers  in  derision. 

Fortunate  as  was  the  escape.  Colonel  Lowe 
had  no  desire  to  risk  a  second  trial  with  any  of 
the  French  cruisers,  so  the  "Albatross"  bore 
away  to  the  northeast,  scudding  over  those  seas 
whose  shores  are  immortalized  by  Homer,    Eight 


[  C  0  N  T  I  N  U  K  D  .  ] 

days  after  she  had  left  Ajaccio,  her  anchor  was 
dropped  in  the  harbor  of  Smyrna — the  lovely 
ciown  of  ancient  Ionia— the  hustling  Paris  of 
the  Levant.  In  days  of  yore  it  was  famous  as 
the  bright  light  among  the  seven  Christian  cities 
which  composed  the  lignrative  candelabra  of 
Saint  John,  and  in  later  days  it  has  become 
equally  renowned  for  gay  society,  lovely  women, 
and  fresh  figs. 

Going  on  shore,  attended  by  Giacomo,  Colonel 
Lowe  threaded  his  way  through  a  labyrinth  of 
narrovv,  dog-infested  streets,  until  he  began  to 
ascend  the  bill  at  whose  base  the  city  nestled. 
Here  is  the  Mahometan  burial-ground,  studded 
with  white  marble  tombstones,  and  shrouded  by  a 
deep  grove  of  cypress  trees,  whose  dark,  motion- 
less branches  are  fit  emblems  of  mortality.  Near 
by,  in  a  mean,  dilapidated  looking  house,  resided 
the  Jewish  banker  upon  whom  the  English  emis- 
sary had  letters  of  credit — Mordecai  Fezenzae. 

It  was  only  after  loud  and  repeated  knocking 
that  the  door  was  opened,  and  then  a  strong 
chain  effectually  prevented  intrusion,  although  it 
enabled  Elnathan  to  survey  his  visitors,  and  to 
ask  what  they  wanted.  By  way  of  introduction, 
Colonel  Lowe  pulled  out  his  letter  of  credit,  and 
no  sooner  did  the  man  see  the  potent  name  of 
Eothscbihl  which  it  bore,  than  lie  unloosed  the 
chain,  and  opened  the  door. 

The  aspect  of  the  room  into  which  they  en- 
tered, was  even  less  inviting  than  was  the  exte- 
rior of  the  house,  but  passing  through  it,  the  Jew 
ushered  them  into  a  splendidly  furnished  apart- 
ment. A  rich  carpet,  soft  as  the  spring  grass, 
covered  the  floor,  the  walls  were  covered  with 
hangings  of  Damascus  silk,  and  around  three 
sides  of  the  room  were  wide,  luxurious  ottomans, 
covered  wiih  velvet  cushions.  A  harp,  with  silver 
keys,  stood  in  the  corner,  and  upon  a  table  covered 
with  pure  white  linen,  stood  a  huge  silver  can- 
delabra, with  seven  branches.  A  pair  of  rare 
singing  birds  were  suspended  from  the  ceiling  in 
a  gilded  cage,  and  in  the  deep  latticed  window 
were  rare  exotic  plants,  whose  fragrance  per- 
fumed the  room. 

The  occupant  of  this  elegant  room  presented 
a  marked  contrast  to  its  luxuriance  as  he  ushered 
in  his  guests,  bowed  down  by  the  weight  of  ty- 
ranny and  the  everlasting  .sin  of  his  race.  Dressed 
in  a  dirty  cloth  robe,  his  sallow  countenance, 
sunken  eye,  and  neglected  beard,  all  proclaimed 
the  oppressed  existence  which  he  endured,  but 
his  quivering  lip  showed  that  there  was  in  addi- 
tion some  present  grief.  Inviting  his  visitors  to 
be  .tieated  upon  the  ottoman,  he  carefully  perixsed 
the  letter,  examined  the  watcr-maik  of  the  paper, 
and  then  said,  in  choice  French  : 

"  Your  excellency  is  welcome  to  Smyrna, 
and  any  funds  you  may  need  will  be  forthcom- 
ing, although,  bowed  down  by  sorrow,  I  fear  that 
I  cannot  minister  to  your  comfort.  Grief  and 
bitterness  are  all  I  have  to  offer  in  my  humble 
abode." 

"  Has  anything  occurred,  that  you  are  so  de- 
pressed"?" inquired  Colonel  Lowe. 

"Happened!"  said  Mordecai.  "My  daugh- 
ter, my  darling  Judith,  the  light  of  these  old 
eyes,  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines.  In  an 
evil  hour  I  permitted  the  rabbi  of  our  syiiagogue 
to  take  her  to  Genoa,  that  her  voice  might  be 
attuned  for  the  Psalms  of  David  in  our  taberna- 
cle. Months  passed,  but  no  tidings  came — the 
felucca  never  reached  Genoa.  At  last  I  received 
positive  intelligence  that  she  was  captured  by  an 
Alexandriiin  corsair — sold  in  the  slave  market — 


carried  to  Cairo — and  was  to  enter  the  harem  of 
Mourad  Bey.  Alas  I  Alas!  The  Edomitcs 
have  triumphed,  and  my  old  ago  is  as  desolate 
as  tlic  hills  about  Jcruf^alcm." 

"  But  have  not  the  French  reached  Cairo?" 
"  I  know  not.  Some  oi'  the  Egyptian  Mame- 
lukes who  were  hero  hastened  to  Egypt  when 
thoy  learned  that  their  country  was  invaded— 
but  we  have  no  tidings  from  the  land  of  bondage. 
Ay,  ay— a  land  of  bandage  it  is,  and  I  fear  that 
there  i.s  no  deliverance  for  my  poor  daughter." 

"  The  French  will  respect  licr  thou^^h,  if  they 
have  not  been  repulsed,"  remarked  Colonel 
Lowe,  who  felt  somewhat  interested,  so  poignaiU 
was  the  old  mun's  grief. 

"  There  is  my  only  hope,"  replied  Mordecai. 
"Although  the  Moslems  will  kill  the  inmates  of 
iheir  harems,  rather  than  let  them  fall  into  the 
hands  of  Chri.stians.  Did  I  think  that  she  was 
protected  by  the  French,  if  money  could  buy  a 
vessel,  I  would  soon  be  on  my  way  to  Egypt. 
But  we  are  a  crushed,  oppressed  people,  and  I 
fear  that  my  daughter,  for  whom  I  have  toiled, 
and  garnered,  and  endured  contumely,  will  never 
yit  again  in  joyousness  under  her  father's  fig-tree, 
with  none  to  make  her  ashamed,  or  afraid." 

Here  was  another  golden  opportunity,  and 
Colonel  Lowe  started  with  joy.  Under  the  pre- 
text of  seeking  the  fair  daughter,  Giacomo  would 
be  introduced  into  Egypt,  and  could  approach 
the  supposed  object  of  his  vendetta. 

"Monsieur  Fezenzae,"  said  he,  "I  am  cruis- 
ing about  in  the  Levant,  in  a  fast  sailing  cutter, 
and  can  carry  you  to  Egypt  if  you  desire  it. 
That  is,  if  the  French  consul  here  will  gi-ant  us 
letters-of  truce,  to  save  us  from  captuie." 

"Thanks,  a  thousand  thanks,"  exclaimed  the 
the  Jew.  "  May  the  God  of  Israel  bless  you. 
The  French  consul  is  my  debtor,  and  I  can  easily 
obtain  the  desired  papers." 

"  And  how  soon  can  you  leave?" 
"  How  soon  1     O,  I  can  leave  ere  the  sun  sets, 
for  even  as  the  hart  pants  after  the  water  brooks, 
so  do  I  long  to  see  my  beloved  Judith." 

"I  will  return  on  board  again,  then,"  said 
Colonel  Lowe,  "  and  we  can  sail  the  moment 
you  come  on  board.  Good-by,  then,  for  a  few 
hours." 

And  as  the  gratified  Englishman  strode  away, 
the  Je\v  heaped  blesiings  upon  his  head.  Poor 
Giacomo.  As  the  hour  approached  when  he  was 
to  be  called  upon  to  execute  the  deadly  scheme, 
his  heart  failed  him,  lest  he  might  not  be  able  to 
avert  his  old  friend,  and  be  seized  as  an  assassin. 
The  cutter  was  immediately  prepared  for  sea, 
greatly  to  the  disappointment  of  the  sailors,  who 
had  counted  upon  a  revel  on  shore.  But  that 
same  afternoon  Mordecai  came  on  board  with 
the  French  consul.  The  necessary  papers  were 
made  out,  the  French  flag  was  hoisted,  and  then 
the  consul,  having  received  a  large  parting  loan 
from  the  enraptured  Jew,  returned  on  shore. 

"  All  hands  up  anchor,  ahoy!"  now  echoed 
through  the  cutler.  The  capstan-bars  were  rig- 
ged, and  the  men  heaved  away,  until  the  anchor 
was  "short."  Sail  was  then  made,  the  anchor 
was  tripped  and  stowed,  and  the  cutter  was  fairly 
aweigh  before  sunset.  Glorious  was  that  setting 
sun,  as  it  gilded  the  mountains  which  form  the 
western  boundary  of  the  lovely  hay  through 
which  the  cutter  glided  : 

"  Not  as  in  noi'thern  climes  obscurely  bright, 
But  one  unclouded  blaze  of  lining  liglit. 
O'er  thii  hushftd  deep  the  yellow  beam  he  throws, 
Gilds  the  green  wave  thattremblcs  as  it  glows." 

The  next  day,  as  the  cutter  left  the  island  of 
Patmos  on  her  Ice,  the  breeze  died  entirely  away. 
The  sky  was  intensely  blue,  with  an  occasional 
fleecy  cloud  drifting  lazily  through  the  azure  ex- 
panse, nor  did  a  ripple  disturb  the  broad  expanse 
of  water.  The  cutter  lay  becalmed,  her  sails 
flapping  against  the  masts,  and  had  it  not  been 
for  the  idle  rocking  occasioned  by  the  ground 
swell,  she  would  have  appeared  motionless. 
This  was  torture  to  the  afflicted  Jew,  who  had 
battled  against  his  sea-sickness  while  they  made 
rapid  progress,  but  now  was  the  image  of  misery. 
Neither  was  the  grim  Briton  in  the  best  of  hu- 
mor, especially  as  Giacomo  showed  an  unwil- 
lingness to  lay  his  plans  for  .^.ction  in  Egypt. 

"  Will  ibis  weather  always  last?"  he  inquired 
of  Jack  Norman,  with  a  fearful  oath. 

"I  fear  not,"  was  the  I'eply,  "for  a  storm  is 
brewing,  if  I  am  not  mistaken."  And  soon  the 
experienced  mariner  ordered  his  light  sails  to  be 
taken  in,  and  housed  his  flying  jib  boom.  The 
hatches  were  closely  battened  down,  and  every 
preparation  made  for  wliat  Jack  called  "a  Le- 
vanter." 

Night  came   on,   and  as   the    blood-red  sun 


sank  down  into  the  molten  waters,  a  breeze 
swelled  out  the  courses  of  what  sails  remained 
set.  MasHCs  of  dark  clouds  drifted  hm-riedly 
along,  and  the  atmosphere  felt  gloomy  and  heavy, 
'I'he  wind  increased.  Sail  after  sail  was  taken 
in,  but  the  cutter  dashed  on,  fuster  and  faster. 
Soon,  rapid  and  vivid  flashes  of  forked  lightning 
shone  across  the  angry  billows,  and  peals  of 
crashing  thunder  added  to  tlie  terrilie  grandeur 
of  the  scene.  The  gale  increased  to  a  hurricane, 
sails  were  close  reefed,  the  storm-staysail  sot, 
and  the  "Albatross"  struggled  before  the  fury 
of  the  tem]je8t,  now  poising  on  the  top  of  a 
mighty  wave — now,  witli  a  shud<ler,  sinking  into 
the  deep  hollow  of  the  sea. 

Poor  Giacomo!  He  felt  that  it  was  a  judg- 
ment, and  at  last  became  so  alarmed,  that  be 
communicated  his  fears  to  the  sailors,  with  whom 
be  had  become  intimate.  They,  naturally  super- 
stitious, aj^rced  that  the  Englishman  was  a  sec- 
ond Jonah,  and  it  was  determined  lo  get  rid  of 
him  as  soon  as  pos.sible.  At  last,  land  was  seen, 
looming  up  in  the  foggy  storm,  and  surrounded 
by  breakers.  But  ere  the  cutter  could  be  kept 
away,  the  solitary  staysail  which  kept  her  before 
the  wind  was  blown  from  the  bolt-ropes,  and  as 
she  lay  rolling  in  the  heavy  chopping  sea,  stout 
hearts  lost  courage. 

A  cry  was  heard  !  In  the  confusion,  Colonel 
Lowe  and  the  Jew  went  overboard,  whether  ac- 
cidentally or  not,  no  one  knew.  But  it  was  im- 
possible to  lower  a  boat,  and  so  hen-coops, 
benches,  and  other  light  materials  were  thrown 
overboard.  The  colonel  was  an  excellent  swim- 
mer, and  managed  to  reach  a  large  hen-coop, 
upon  which  he  floated  securely,  and  dragged 
Fezenzae,  more  dead  than  alive.  The  current 
carried  them  rapidly  towards  the  shore,  but  the 
cutter  on  which  a  new  staysail  had  been  set,  an- 
swered her  helm,  and  she  managed  to  weather 
the  promontory,  with  its  menacing  breakers. 
Once  free  of  the  land,  Norman  had  the  masts 
cut  away,  so  that  he  was  enabled  to  ride  out  the 
gale,  and  then  rigging  a  jury-mast,  on  the  fourth 
day  of  ths  passage,  he  reached  the  island  of 
Rhodes. 

The  English  squadron,  just  before  the  gale, 
had  put  in  at  the  harbor  of  Rhodes  for  fresh  wa- 
ter. So  when  Jack  Norman  made  the  light- 
house, and  run  boldly  in  between  the  points  on 
which  the  feet  of  the  famed  colossus  once  rested, 
he  found  himself  among  his  countrymen. 

Colonel  Lowe  and  Mordecai  were  also  saved. 
After  clinging  lo  the  hen-coop  for  hours,  as  it 
was  toised  over  the  billows,  they  were  drifted 
on  shore.  Some  Turkish  fishermen  found  them 
on  the  beach,  almost  exhausted;  but  Mordecai 
had  a  potent  claim  for  assistance.  Their  clothes 
were  dried,  their  hunger  was  relieved,  and  that 
night  they  were  taken  to  the  once  proud  city  of 
Ephesus.  Goats  now  browse  where  Pliny  tells 
us  the  largest  population  in  Asia  Minor  once 
dwelt;  nor  aie  there  many  tokens  of  the  once 
proud  temple  of  Diana,  but  it  is  easy  to  trace 
the  walls  of  that  famous  lodge-room  where  the 
good  Saint  John  once  held  the  gavel.  Business, 
and  pleasure,  and  worship  have  all  passed  away, 
yet  Mordecai  found  those  to  whom  he  was  united 
by  a  "mystic  tii."  They  relieved  him  and  his 
companion,  nor  was  it  many  days  ei-e  the  ship- 
wrecked couple  arrived  safely  back  at  Smyrna. 


CHAPTER  VXIL 

THE    SIAMELUKE    IN    FRANCE. 

Osmanli,  embarking  at  Alexandria,  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  escape  the  British  cruisers,  and 
arrived  safely  at  Toulon,  where  he  took  the  mail- 
coach  for  Paris.  In  vain  were  hospitulities  ten- 
dered to  him  on  his  journey  ;  nor  did  he  anliei- 
pate  any  of  that  enjoyment  which  is  the  grand 
magnetic  attraction  of  the  French  metropoli-'. 
The  voice  of  Judith  Fezenzae  alone  rang  in  his 
ears,  her  vi.-^ngc  was  ever  before  his  eyes,  and 
thoughts  of  her  alone  occupied  his  sad  soul,  ex- 
hausting its  freshness.  And  as  he  entered  the 
metropolis— that  focus  of  all  that  is  dazzling  in 
splendor,  all  that  is  elegant  in  manners,  all  that 
is  brilliant  in  genius,  all  that  is  mighty  in  power 
— his  thoughts  were  all  upon  the  banks  of  the 
distant  Nile.  Everything  appeared  cheeiful  and 
bustling  iis  he  passed  through  the  lighted  streets, 
but  his  heart  wa,9  as  dry  as  Gideon's  fleece,  while 
the  dew  like  influence  of  Parisian  life  fell  gently 
all  around. 

Without  stopping  to  change  his  attire,  Osmanli 
repaired  directly  to  the  house  of  General  Bona- 
parte, a  modest  residence,  which  had  recently 
been  purchased  of  his  friend  Talma,  the  trage- 
dian. Coaches  were  standing  before  the  entrance 
lo  ihe  courtyard,  and  Osmanli  was  informed  at 


GLEASON'S   nCTOPJAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


307 


the  gate  that  madame  had  guests  within — one  of 
those  delectable  re-unions  for  wliich  Paris  is  so 
renowned.  Revohition,  with  its  bloody  tide, 
had  just  swept  relentlessly  across  the  face  of  so- 
ciety, engulfing  monarchy,  and  polluting  the 
sacred  name  of  liberty  by  sanguinary  butcheries, 
yet  the  saloons  of  Paris  lost  not  their  brilliancy, 
i'emalc  influence,  graceful  in  its  sway,  there  re- 
strained the  political  gladiators,  and  even  the 
supreme  hcartlessness  tliat  was  so  apparent  had 
its  pleasing  effect,  increasing  thebrilliancj  of  the 
wit,  as  a  frosty  atmosphere  enhances  the  bright- 
ness of  the  stars. 

Remaining  in  the  ante-room,  Osraanli  took 
from  his  linger  a  ring,  and  sent  it  to  Madame 
Bonaparte  by  a  servant,  with  a  request  tliat  she 
would  receive  his  dispatches.  It  was  Napoleon's 
well-known  signet,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
messenger  returned,  to  usher  Osmanli  into  a 
gorgeously  furnished  boudoir.  Here  Josephine 
awaited  him,  and  the  young  soldier  was  dazzled 
by  her  personal  appearance.  She  was  then  in 
the  prime  of  womanhood,  and  strangely  beauti- 
ful. Her  luxuriant  ebon  hair  clustered  in  heavy 
curls  over  her  strongly  marked  forehead,  and 
shaded  a  countenance  of  tropical  east,  yet  daz- 
zling purity.  Deep  hazel  eyes  (lashed  a  welcome 
through  their  long,  black  lashes.  Her  teeth 
nestled  like  pearls  between  the  rosy  lips  to  which 
they  imparted  so  much  expression,  and  a  meteor- 
like  dimple  played  on  one  of  her  soft,  round 
cheeks.  Welcoming  Osraanli  with  inspiring 
ea^e,  she  asked,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
anxiety : 

"  Victorious  again  V 

"  Yes,  lady,"  replied  Osmanli,  completely 
fascinated.  "  The  general  is  master  of  Egypt, 
and  his  enemies  are  subdued  by  his  prowess, 
even  as — as — hii  lady  conquers  all  hearts  by  her 
beauty." 

"Bravo  !"  said  Josephine,  evidently  as  much 
delighted  by  the  compliment  as  she  was  by  the 
news.  "  Such  language  is  truly  oriental,  and 
rarely  heard  in  these  days  of  liberty  and  equality. 
When  I  become  Empress  of  France  (for  such  is 
my  predicted  destiny),  you  shall  be  my  chamber- 
lain. And  now,  captain,  join  the  company. 
Don't  look  at  your  dusty  uniform,  but  remember 
your  tidings."  And  taking  Osmanli  by  the 
hand,  she  opened  a  door  which  led  them  directly 
into  the  gay  and  brilliant  saloon. 

It  liad  already  been  whispered  among  the  gay 
t  irong  that  an  officer  had  arrived  from  Egypt, 
and  when  Josephine  re  appeared,  leading  Os- 
manli by  the  hand,  there  was  a  murmur  of  curi- 
ous excitement.  The  dancers  ceased  their  grace- 
ful measure,  the  loto  table  was  deserted,  and  the 
whole  party  clustered  around  the  hostess  and 
her  new  guest.  To  Osmanli,  who  had  been 
reared  in  the  East,  the  scene  was  one  of  enchant- 
ment. Tiie  guests  were  not  numerous,  but 
among  them  were  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  and  the  most  intelligent  Parisians — all 
as  deferential  to  Josephine  as  a  hive  of  bees  are 
to  their  queen.  And  worthy  was  the  beautiful 
Creole  of  royal  honor,  as  she  moved  tlirough  the 
throng.  Not  with  that  measured  tread  which 
the  mythologists  attributed  to  Juno,  but  rather 
with  that  wayward,  graceful  motion  with  which 
poets  represent  the  fairy-queen,  as  she  receives 
the  homage  of  her  blithesome  court. 

*' My  friends,"  said  Josephine,  "let  me  pre- 
sent to  you  Captain  Osmanli,  one  of  General 
Bonaparte's  oriental  recruits,  and  a  member  of 
his  general  staff.  He  comes  from  the  army  laden 
with  tidings  of  victory,  and  will  impart  his  intel- 
ligenee  whilst  I  retire  to  read  my  husband's  let- 
ter.    Listen  to  him  and  excuse  me." 

Exclamations  of  joy,  and  plaudits  from  many 
a  tiny  gloved  hand  responded  to  this  announce- 
ment, and  Osmanli  was  at  once  the  lion  of  the 
evening.  His  recital  of  the  battle  (the  first  in- 
telligence) was  listened  to  with  eagerness,  ques- 
tions were  asked  about  friends  or  relatives  in  the 
army,  regrets  were  uttered  for  those  who  had 
fallen,  and  then  the  merry  dance  was  renewed 
with  fresh  gayety. 

To  Osmanli,  the  scene  was  as  bewitching  as  it 
was  novel.  When  with  Judith  Fezenzae  he  had 
felt  ennobled,  as  if  holding  intercourse  with  some 
seraphic  visitor;  but  now  he  found  himself  encir- 
cled by  the  fair  and  the  beautiful,  the  fascinating 
and  the  gay.  Accustomed  only  to  veiled  faces 
and  to  closely  enveloped  forms,  he  now  witnessed 
the  twinkling  of  tiny  feet  in  the  circling  dance, 
and  encountered  the  formidable  artillery  of 
sparkling  glances  and  beaming  smiles,  wliile 
angelic  brows,  like  bended  bows,  menaced  his 
peace.  For  the  first  time,  he  felt  inclined  to  re- 
nounce his  creed,  and  to  pardon  the  bright  pro- 


genitor of  these  bewitchingcrcaturcs,  who  tempt- 
ed Iier  lord  to  eat  of  the  forl)idden  fruit;  at  any 
rate,  he  excused  the  ancient  father  of  the  human 
raec.  Had  he  been  iiimself  subjected  to  such 
overwhelming  tests  in  sunny  Eden,  he  felt  that 
he  should  have  yielded  like  susceptible  father 
Adam,  and  have  felt  little  compunction  as  he 
was  sent  forth  to  be  lighted  round  the  earth  by  a 
pair  of  eyes  whose  flashes  mocked  the  stars  in 
brilliancy.  Why,  he  thought,  was  Prometheus 
so  foolish  a;  to  steal  fire  from  above,  when  earth 
is  illuminated  by  such  heavenly  rays,  or  why  did 
Zoroaster  worship  fire,  when  there  were  such 
overpowering  beams  in  the  light  of  lovely  wo- 
man's eye  ?  All  the  degrading  ideas  of  his  creed 
respecting  woman  melted  away  like  an  autumnal 
frost  before  a  clear  morning  sun,  and  he  stood, 
entranced  as  it  were,  watching  the  glittering 
throng. 

The  poetry  of  motion  ceased,  and  a  lady 
whose  exquisite  dancing  Osmanli  had  particu- 
larly noticed,  was  handed  to  a  seat  near  him. 
She  wore  deep  mourning,  which  heightened  the 
charms  of  her  clear,  ruddy  complexion;  large 
expressive  eyes  cast  enticing  glances,  and  full, 
pouting  lips  gave  piquance  to  the  tones  of  her 
musical  voice. 

"Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "but  did  you  come 
alone  from  Egypt  V 

"Alone,  madame,"  replied  Osmanli,  "that  is 
to  say,  in  the  cabin.  There  were  some  wounded 
soldiers  on  board,  however." 

The  lady  then  asked  many  questions  about 
Bonaparte,  his  probable  return,  etc.,  completely 
fascinating  Osmanli  ere  Madame  Bonaparte  re- 
appeared. When  she  did  come,  her  face  was 
flushed,  and  joy  beamed  from  every  lineament 
of  her  countenance.  Again  everyone  gathered 
around  her. 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  she  asked,  "have  you 
heard  all  the  news  ?  All  about  the  A-ictorious 
career  of  my  martial  spouse  in  the  land  of  Pha- 
raoh ?  Nay,  I  will  warrant  a  dozen  of  gloves 
that  Captain  Osmanli  has  not  informed  you  that 
he  saved  my  husband's  life  !  His  blushes  show 
that  I  am  correct.  But — what  a  giddy  creature 
I  am  !  Here  this  young  man  has  travelled  post- 
haste from  Marseilles,  and  I  am  detaining  him, 
famished  and  weary,  for  jour  amusement,  as 
though  he  was  a  wild  beast.  Let  me  see — it 
will  never  do  to  have  so  handsome  a  cavalier 
under  the  roof  of  my  jealous  husband — "  and 
Josephine  looked  around  her  guests,  as  if  seek- 
ing a  host  for  Osmanli. 

"  Will  the  gallant  captain  accept  the  shelter  of 
my  roof  1"  asked  the  lady  with  whom  Osmanli 
had  entered  into  conversation. 

"Need  I  say,  Josephine,  that  my  'prophetic 
chamber,'  as  you  used  to  call  it,  u  at  the  service 
of  your  husband's  deliverer."  And  this  second 
offer  of  hospitality  came  from  a  matronly  look- 
ing dame,  who  wore  her  own  gray  hair  in  flow- 
ing curls,  and  whose  features,  although  furrowed 
by  trials,  were  radiant  with  benevolent  goodness. 

"  Must  I  decide,"  said  Josephine.  "  My  young 
friend  here  would  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  your 
magnificent  hotel,  Madame  de  Valmont,  but  I 
fear  that  he  rather  needs  seclusion  and  rest.  So, 
Captain  Osmanli,  I  entrust  you  to  the  guardian- 
ship of  my  good  American  friend,  Madame  Wil- 
mot.  The  fair  widow  (whose  acquaintance  I 
sec  you  have  already  made)  will  doubtless  lie 
happy  to  receive  you  as  a  visitor,  hereafter." 

Madame  de  Valmont  blushed,  bit  the  end  of 
her  fan,  and  then  casting  a  look  of  burning  ten- 
derness at  Osmanli,  which  made  his  pulse  tingle, 
she  poutingly  remarked : 

"  The  captain  can  elect." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  interposed  Josephine.  "Let  him 
enjoy  the  quiet  of  Madame  Wilmot's  retired 
apartment,  for  a  few  days,  at  least." 

Osmanli  now  entered  into  conversation  with 
his  hostess,  and  was  not  long  in  ascertaining  that 
she  was  a  lady  of  extensive  information,  coupled 
with  strong,  practical  sense.  When  the  guests 
began  to  depart,  Osmanli  offered  his  arm,  and 
was  escorting  her  lo  her  carriage,  when  Madame 
de  Valmont  passed. 

"  When  you  are  rested  and  released,"  she  ex- 
claimed, in  a  merry  tone  of  voice,  "I  shall  be 
happy  to  see  you  at  my  residence.  Come  with- 
out ceremony.     And  now,  good-night." 

The  syren-like  tones  of  the  fascinating  widow's 
dulcet  voice  rang  in  Osmanli's  ears  long  after  he 
had  arrived  at  Madame  Wilraot's  comfortable 
home.  She  attributed  his  abstracted  manner  to 
the  fatigues  of  his  journey,  and  lost  no  time  in 
installing  him  in  a  neat  bed-chamber.  There 
was  nothing  remarkable  about  the  room,  but  no 
sooner  was  the  young  man  left  alone  than  his 


attention  was  arrested  by  a  full  length  portrait 
over  the  mantel  shelf.  It  represented  a  tall,  vig- 
orous looking  man,  with  prominent  cheek-boncii, 
and  long,  black  hair.  Tne  eyes  were  small,  yet 
piercing,  and  the  open  countenance,  which  was 
of  a  peculiar  copper  hue,  bespoke  an  energetic 
mind,  fitted  for  a  high  destiny.  The  costume 
was  a  species  of  uniform,  to  which  was  added  a 
necklace  of  eagle's  claws,  and  in  the  belt  was  a 
polished  steel  hatchet,  of  a  peculiar  form.  That 
it  was  a  portrait  of  some  one  belonging  to  a  na- 
tion of  which  he  was  ignorant,  Osmanli  felt  con- 
vinced, yet  he  could  not  account  for  the  strange, 
fascinating  influence  which  it  exercised  overhim. 
The  eyes  appeared  to  follow  him  around  the 
room,  and  even  after  the  light  was  extinguished, 
be  fancied  that  he  could  sec  that  stern  counten- 
ance, endeavoring  to  read  his  thoughts. 

Nor  would  this  have  been  an  easy  task.  Up 
to  that  very  evening,  Judith  Fezenzae  had  been 
the  undisputed  sovereign  of  every  idea.  Each 
pure  thought  that  flowed  into  his  heart,  ebbed 
forth  impressed  with  some  recollection  of  her. 
But  now,  the  soft  yet  queenly  languor  of  Jose- 
phine had  brightened  the  dark  shadows  left  by 
the  parting  interview  in  the  garden  at  Cairo. 
And  Madame  de  Valmont,  entering  at  the  breach 
thus  made  in  his  constancy,  had  fascinated  the 
unsophisticated  young  Moslem  by  her  Circe-like 
wiles. 

Little  thought  the  ensnared  dreamer,  as  he 
tossed  about  on  his  restless  couch,  that  the  beau- 
tiful enchantress  who  had  so  speedily  woven  a 
charm  around  his  existence,  was,  at  that  moment, 
concocting  plots  of  the  most  sanguinary  nature. 
Fortunate  is  it,  that  an  cverwise  Providence  often 
keeps  us  in  happy  ignorance  of  events  which 
control  our  destiny.  Impious  is  the  hand  that 
would  raise  the  veil,  and  seek  to  enter  the  mys- 
terious portals  of  omnipotence. 


CHiVPTER  IX. 

STRONGHOLD    OF    CONSPIRATORS. 

Madame  de  Valmont,  on  leaving  the  Bona- 
parte house,  ordered  her  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
cathedral  of  Notre  Dame.  As  divine  worship 
luid  not  been  re-established  since  its  overthrow 
by  the  revolutionists,  the  domestic  thought  this 
a  strange  command.  But  his  mistress,  as  he 
well  knew,  would  not  be  questioned  as  to  any 
caprice  of  her  untrammelled  will,  so  he  drove  to 
the  cathedral.  By  a  curious  contradiction,  the 
vilest  purlieus  of  Paris  are  shadowed  by  this  gor- 
geous gothic  fane,  and  even  at  the  present  day, 
as  it  was  then,  thousands  of  God's  children  riot 
in  vice  and  degradation  within  the  sound  of  its 
pealing  organ.  Crowded  into  high  tenements, 
these  degraded  wretches  are  packed,  story  above 
story,  like  so  many  oysters.  Infants  are  reared 
in  these  hot  beds  of  crime,  or  die  in  the  dark 
scenes  of  their  birth,  like  ]jlants  which  are 
sprouted  in  a  tomb,  and  draw  their  brief  exist- 
ence from  corrupting  bones.  There,  in  an  at- 
mosphere so  deprived  by  use  of  vitality  that  the 
lamps  flicker  with  ghastly  pallor,  plans  are  laid 
for  unlawful  and  desperate  deeds,  and  there, 
when  successful,  the  villains  share  their  ill  gotten 
gains.  There,  hunger  is  often  without  food — 
hearths  are  often  without  fire — sickness  is  often 
without  a  bed — and  while  some  perish  by  the 
knife  of  the  assassin,  or  others  put  a  sacrilegious 
end  to  their  guilty  lives,  many  are  dragged  by 
the  strong  arm  of  justice  to  the  prison — some  to 
the  scaffold. 

Yet  Madame  de  Valmont,  with  unconstrained 
step  and  eagle  eye,  hesitated  not  to  penetrate  this 
labyrinth  of  iniquity,  and  was  soon  in  the  midst 
of  the  vilest  haunts,  where  the  abandoned  of  both 
sexes  hide  their  wretchedness  and  their  guilt. 
She  stopped  before  a  house,  over  the  door  of 
which  was  a  lantern,  bearing  the  inscription : 
"  cheap  lodgings."  A  rapid  glance  assured  her 
that  she  was  not  followed,  and  drawing  her 
cloak  closely  around  her,  she  entered.  The  soli- 
tary lamp,  almost  extinguished  by  its  own  en- 
crustations, disclosed  a  small  bar-room,  but  its 
only  occupant  was  a  gaunt  waiter,  who  was  sit- 
ting in  a  chair,  fast  asleep.  He  was  not  awak- 
ened by  the  gentle  tread  or  the  rustling  silk  of 
Madame  de  Valmont,  and  she  was  evidently  in 
no  want  of  his  attendance.  Evidently  familiar 
with  the  locality,  she  passed  through  the  bar- 
room, into  an  inner,  unventilated  apartment. 
There  lay  a  score  of  miserable  wretches,  nestling 
in  piles  of  foul  straw  like  so  many  wild  beasts — 
the  atmos|ihcre  was  warm  and  sickening,  and 
the  walls  were  damp  with  the  dew  of  death. 
All  was  stamped  with  vice,  save  a  young  child, 
that   peacefully  reposed  by  the  side  of  a  bloated 


woman,  whose  many  finger  rings  and  gold  chain 
denoted  the  mistress  of  the  establishment.  Sweet 
flower,  blooming  into  life  to  be  choked  and  with- 
ered by  the  filth  around  !  Could  it  not  find  de- 
liverance from  the  poets  who  musically  sung  of 
human  feeling — of  the  piie-'ts  who  preached  the 
religion  of  mercy — of  the  philanthropists  who 
collected  money  for  the  sorrows  of  the  poor — of 
the  sentimental  whose  hearts  were  touched  wiih 
tales  of  woe "?  No.  A  life  of  sin,  and  of  shame, 
and  of  misery,  is  marked  out  for  it,  and  the 
proud  lady  passes  it  with  a  scowl  wrinkling  her 
Parian  brow.     Alas,  alas  !     It  is  her  own  child  ! 

Passing  the  fruit  of  her  unlicensed  indulgence 
without  even  a  kind  look,  or  a  repentant  sigh, 
the  hardhearted  mother  entered  a  third  room, 
fitted  up  as  a  kitchen.  Here  she  knocked  four 
times  against  the  wall — the  signal  was  soon  re- 
sponded to,  and  then  the  entire  back  of  the  large 
fireplace  revolved,  disclosed  a  vaulted  passage. 
A  man  of  herculean  proportions,  armed  to  tlic 
teeth,  stepped  out  into  the  room,  and  said  ; 

"  Long  live  the  Bourbons  \" 

"Death  to  liberty!"  was  Madame  de  Val- 
mont's  reply,  and  she  then  inquired,  "is  the 
count  within  V 

The  sentinel  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and 
Madame  de  Valmont  ijiraediately  entered  the 
secret  passage.  After  carefully  closing  the  door, 
the  sentinel  lighted  her  down  a  long  flight  of 
steps,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  a  strong  iron  door. 
There  was  another  interchange  of  signals,  after 
which  this  barrier  was  opened,  and  disclosed  a 
large  hall.  The  roof  showed  that  it  was  exca- 
vated from  the  solid  rock,  but  the  sides  were 
lined  with  human  bones  ;  carefully  arranged  piles 
of  muskets  and  sabres  occupied  one  end  of  this 
sepulchral  apartment,  and  at  the  other  end  was 
an  altar,  arrayed  with  the  symbols  of  the  Romish 
faith,  the  large  wax  candles  dimly  illuminating 
the  whole  scene.  In  one  of  the  corners  near  the 
altar  was  a  table,  thickly  strewn  with  papers,  at 
which  a  young  man  sat  writing.  He  was  in  the 
prime  of  life,  with  expressive  gray  eyes,  silken 
black  hair  and  beard,  and  a  determined,  resolute 
countenance.  Rising  as  Madame  de  Valmont 
approached,  he  handed  her  a  chair,  with  a  grace- 
ful manner  indicative  of  good  breeding. 

"  Welcome  to  our  stronghold,  fair  conspirator, 
we  have  good  news." 

"  And  a  horrid  place  to  tell  it  in.  I  don't 
mind  the  cut  throats  up  stairs,  but  these  cata- 
combs have  such  a  dismal  look." 

"Would  that  thebonesof  Louis  the  Sixteenth 
and  Mai-ie  Antoinette  had  been  as  respectiully 
treated  as  were  these  around  us  when  removed 
here." 

"Thanks,  count.  I  should  not  complain. 
Now  for  your  news  !" 

"  I  knew  that  the  loyalty  of  a  do  Valmont 
would  even  overlook  the  horrors  of  the  cata- 
combs. The  news  is  this.  That  zealous  Eng- 
lishman, Colonel  Lowe,  is  at  the  island  of  Rhodes, 
with  several  allies.  By  the  next  arrival,  we 
may  hope  to  hear  that  Bonaparte  is  assassinated 
— and  then — huzza  for  France  and  our  legitimate 
king !  As  it  was,  the  Corsican  would  have  been 
killed  at  the  battle  of  the  Pyramids,  had  he  not 
made  some  mystic  sign  to  a  young  Mameluke 
who  was  about  to  cut  him  down.  Pest — but 
they  became  sworn  friends,  and  the  young  Mos- 
lem came  in  the  packet  which  brought  my  letters, 
to  watch  over  Madame  Josephine." 

"  Ay,  count,"  said  the  lady,  "  all  this  I  know, 
and  I  hope  to  make  this  same  Mameluke,  Cap- 
tain Osmanli,  one  of  our  agents  in  the  holy  cause 
of  restoration." 

"  You  know  him  already,  then  V 

"  Certainly.  Did  I  not  tell  you,  when  I  signed 
your  pledge  with  blood  from  my  veins,  that  I 
would  work  with  zeal  V 

"  True.  And  you  have  done  the  cause  good 
service.  Between  ourselves,  though,  fair  lady, 
I  think  you  are  animated  more  by  a  desire  to  re- 
venge yourself  on  Bonaparte  than — " 

"Not  upon  him,  count!  No,  no  !  Not  upon 
him,  for  I  once  loved  him.  But  my  revenge  is 
directed  against  that  wily  Creole,  Josephine." 

"  And  you  desire  to  sec  the  Bourbons  again  in 
power,  at  the  same  time'?" 

"  Bourbons — anybody—  but  I  would  check  the 
star  of  Josephine  in  its  ascendant." 
[to  be  continded.] 


Genius,  like  the  lark,  is  very  apt  to  despise 
its  post  upon  the  earth,  and  waste  its  time  in 
fluttering  and  quavering  among  the  clouds;  but 
common  sense  is  the  humble  fowl  which  picks 
up  the  barley  corns,  and  crows  and  fattens  at 
leisure. 


308 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


HIE  STATl'E  OF  M'ELLINGTON. 

The  present  ycnr  will  be  rendered  memoniblc 
by  the  death  of  two  of  the  most  remarkable  men 
that  have  ever  enacted  a  part  in  the  ^reat  inter- 
ests of  the  world.  Recently  we  gave  a  represen- 
tation of  an  equestrian  portrait  of  the  Iron  Duke, 
with  some  details  of  his  military  career.  Here- 
with we  give  a  view  of  the  Wellington  Statue, 
designed  by  Chantrey,  the  celebrated  sculptor. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  full  ornamental  border 
taken  from  the  Wellington  Shield,  a  beautiful 
design  by  Stothard.  This  border  is  divided  into 
ten  compartments,  in  each  of  which  is  repre- 
sented in  UiASo  rflip.ro  one  of  the  principal  events 
in  the  duke's  military  life  np  to  the  peace  of 
1814.  The  battle  of  Waterloo  took  place  in 
June,  1815,  and  ia  thus  excluded  from  the  bright 
6cric9.     The  statue  stands  in  front  of  the  Koyal 


left  the  whole  model  perfect;  the  work  was  after- 
wards completed  by  his  assistant,  Mr.  Weeks, 
under  the  direction  of  ihe  executors.  On  other 
pages  of  this  number,  will  be  found  atfecting 
reminiscences  of  the  death  of  our  own  revered 
Webster;  and,  in  this  connection,  we  cannot  do 
better  than  to  introduce  the  following  pcriinent 
remarks  from  the  New  York  Courier  and  En- 
quirer, suggested  by  the  coincidence  in  the  de- 
parture of  these  distin^^nislicd  men.  "  Welling- 
ton and  Web.-^ter !  The  iiiigblicst  man  of  the 
old  world,  and  the  migliticst  man  of  the  new.  It 
has  indeed  been  strangely  ordered  that  they 
both  should  be  lying  simultaneously  on  the  oppo- 
site shores  of  that  great  sea  which  divides  the  two 
hemispheres,  dead  and  yet  unentombed.  It 
would  seem  as  if  it  were  meant  to  teach  man- 
kind some  new  lesson  of  their  kindred  blood  and 


broken  only  by  sobs  that  will  not  be  suppressed, 
and  the  low  murmur  of  Ihe  neighboring  waves, 
will  be  lowered  into  the  narrow  house  which  is 
to  be  their  last  resting-place.  At  Walmar  Cas- 
tle, august  deputies  from  the  throne  will  take 
the  body  from  its  bier  of  state,  and  convey  it  in 
well-plumed  hearse,  stately  and  slow,  to  the 
mighty  metropolis  of  the  empire.  Its  entry  will 
be  the  triumphal  entry  of  a  conqueror,  like  to 
those  coronation  pomps  whidi  erst  were  witness- 
ed at  Westminster  or  at  Rheims.  It  will  be  a 
spectacle  most  dazzling  to  the  eye,  and  imposing 
to  the  imagination.  Nothing  which  the  present 
or  the  past  can  contribute  to  its  magnificence, 
will  be  wanting.  Westminster  Abbey,  the  me- 
tropolitan temple  of  all  that  is  great  and  glorious 
in  British  history  for  a  thousand  years,  will  be 
the  seat  of  the  funeral  service.     And  never  have 


every  officer  of  the  state,  every  institution  of  the 
nation,  every  remnant  of  ancient  chivalry,  will 
act  its  part.  Amid  the  booming  of  cannon,  the 
tolling  of  bells,  the  clangor  of  trumpets,  the 
tramping  of  squadrons,  and  the  wild,  tumultuous 
bciiiing  of  millions  of  hearts,  the  illustrious  dead 
will  enter  his  mausoleum  like  a  recognized  em- 
peror of  his  race."  There  is  something  exceed- 
ingly impressive  when  a  nation  puts  on  the  garb 
of  mourning  for  one  of  its  noble  sons.  The  ex- 
ternal drapery  of  woe,  the  dirge-like  pealing  of 
bells,  the  booming  of  cannon,  national  banners 
waving  at  half  mast,  the  manifestations  of  re- 
spect and  sorrow  apparent  everywhere — mean- 
ing indications  of  veneration  generally  entertain- 
ed for  the  men  whose  departure  it  is  called  to 
mourn — all  strike  njion  the  eye  and  ear,  and 
pour  a  mournful  tide  of  feeling  across  the  mind. 


EQUESTRIAN  STATUE  OF  THE  LATE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 


Exchange ;  !t  is  regarded  as  the  best  of  the 
equestrians  that  adorn  the  British  metropolis. 
The  horse  is  correctly,  gracefully,  and  yet  boldly 
formed  ;  the  attitude  of  rest  in  which  it  stands 
being  well  qualifled  by  the  appearance  of  life 
and  animal  energy  given  to  it.  The  mane  is 
flowingly  and  freely  treated.  The  figure  of  the 
duke  13  admirable;  while  his  position  on  the 
horse  is  as  easy  and  unembarrassed  as  tlie  ab- 
sence of  stirrups  renders  possible.  The  artist 
has  caught  the  almost  bending  back  uprightness 
of  the  attitude.  The  cost  of  the  statue  and  ped- 
estal was  £9000;  the  metal  is  valued  at  Si  500, 
and  was  supplied  by  the  government  from  the 
guns  which  Wellington  himself  had  taken  from 
the  enemy.  This  monument  of  Wellington  was 
erected  some  years  since,  and  had  been  framed 
by  the  hands  of  an  eminent  artist  now  no  more. 
It  was  the  first  equestrian  bronze  statue  that  ever 
had  been  erected  during  the  life  of  the  person 
represented.  The  contract  with  Sir  Francis 
Chantrey  was  made  in  1839.     At  his  death,  ho 


their  common  destiny — that  humanity  should  be 
made  to  look  upon  the  "  sad,  shrouded  eye,"  and 
"  chill,  changeless  brow  "  of  her  regal  children, 
and  that,  deep  answering  to  deep,  all  nature 
should  take  up  the  wild  lament,  and  join  in  one 
univcrf^al  wail  of  sori'ow.  It  is — it  is  the  hand 
of  Ilim  "  who  bringeth  the  princes  to  nothing, 
who  maketh  the  judges  of  the  earth  as  vanity." 
The  last  sad  rites  are  approaching.  The  lifeless 
form  of  each  is  about  to  be  borne  to  the  tomb. 
But  how  different  the  scene !  At  Marshfield  the 
small  circle  of  villagers  will  assemble,  simple  in 
garb  and  grave  in  mien,  and  yet  with  hearts  that 
they  could  pour  out  like  water  for  him  they 
loved.  The  village  pastor  will,  with  broken  ut- 
terance, put  up  one  childlike,  heartfelt  supplica- 
tion to  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well;  meek 
voices  will  unite  in  the  singing  of  some  sweet 
■village  hymn  ;  the  village  bell  will  toll  from  the 
old  weather-stained  belfry  ;  and  all  that  on  earth 
remains  of  Daniel  Webster  will  be  carried  out 
on  the  shoulders  of  men,  and  amid  a  silence, 


its  storied  windows  looked  upon  a  more  gorgeous 
spectacle  than  will  be  presented  by  the  queen  in 
her  royal  robes,  the  peers  in  gold  and  ermine,  the 
judges  in  their  vestments  of  state,  the  belted 
knights  in  their  stalls,  and  all  the  array  of  genius 
and  rank  and  beauty  gathered  from  all  parts  of 
the  mighty  British  realm,  in  one  dense  mass 
about  the  sarcophagus  of  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. And  never  has  that  embowered  roof 
echoed,  from  pealing  organ  and  full  voiced 
choir,  strains  of  loftier  beauty,  sublimity  and  tii- 
umph  than  will  then  wave  through  the  sable 
drapery.  There  will  be  military  and  civic  pomp, 
too,  in  the  streets,  such  as  England  has  not  often 
witnessed.  From  Westminster  to  St.  Paul's 
will  move  a  procession  glittering  in  tlie  sun  like 
one  broad  sti'cam  of  martial  glory.  It  will  be 
like  the  pageant  that  bore  Monk  to  the  tomb  iu 
the  seventeenth,  Marlborough  in  the  eighteenth, 
and  Nelson  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  yet 
more  magnificent  than  them  all.  It  will  be  a 
great  national  solemnity,  in  which  every  service, 


It  is  no  longer  an  individual  son'ow;  the  public 
heart  is  aitbcted,  and  the  public  demonstr.-ition 
of  grief  seems  the  befitting  expression  of  its 
affliction.  England  now  mourns  the  depar- 
ture of  one  who,  for  a  long  course  of  years,  has 
stood  before  the  Britisli  nation  in  all  the  prestige 
of  power  and  fiime — the  sticcessful  competitor 
of  him  before  whose  onward,  impetuous  rush 
the  nations  of  the  continent  paled  ;  and  our  own 
nation,  arrayed  in  weeds  of  mourning,  laments 
the  departure  of  one,  whose  peaceful  trophies  of 
fame  and  honor  shall  weave  for  him  a  more  en- 
during chaplet  than  e\'er  adomed  the  brow  of 
the  conqueror,  whose  pathway  to  glory  has  been 
marked  by  tears  and  blood,  and  strewed  by 
the  desolation  of  happy  homes.  The  historical 
record  of  the  life  and  character  of  Daniel  Web- 
ster is  a  rich  legacy  that  the  present  age  will 
bequeath  to  coming  time.  As  a  jurist,  a  patriot, 
and  a  statesman,  his  name  shall  be  treasured  in 
the  archives  of  nations  as  a  radiant  point  in  the 
glory  of  our  common  country. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


309 


HON.  ABBOTT  LA^lTtEIVCE. 

Herewith  we  give  a  fine  portrait  of  this  gentle- 
man, who  has  recently  returned  from  England, 
where  he  has  for  some  years  most  admirably  sus- 
tained the  relation  of  ambassador  and  minister 
plenipotentiary  to  the  British  Court.     It  is  well 
known  that  a  public  reception  was   designed  to 
have  been  tendered  to  him,  but  was  given  up  on 
account  of  the  death  of  Mr.  Webster.     We  sub- 
join a  brief  record  of  the  life  of  Mr.  Lawrence, 
who  was    born   in   the  town  of  Groton,  Mass., 
December  13,  1792.     He  received  a  liberal  edu- 
cation, and  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  left  his  native 
town,  and  took  up  his  residence  in  Boston.     In 
a  few  year^,  he  entered  into  pai-tnership  with  his 
brother,  as  an  importing  merchant.     Jlr.  Law- 
rence has  several  times  visited  Europe,  and  has 
thus   obtained   a  correct  knowledge  of  foreign 
life  and  manners.     The  change  of  policy  on  the 
part  of  ihe  United  States'  Government,  in  1815, 
led  to  a  change  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  business  views, 
and  he  forthwith   aimed  at  establishing  a  great 
home  manufacturing  district.     Lowell  was  the 
place  selected;  here  he  commenced  building  fac- 
tories for  the  manufacture  of  calicoes ;  and  al- 
though but  comparatively  few  years  have  elapsed 
since  the  first  establishment  was  raised,  Lowell 
now  numbers  more  than  four  hundred  factories  ; 
the  population  of  the  city  is  over  forty  thousand, 
and,  at  the  present  time,  it  is  one  of  the  fastest 
growing  cities  in  America.     In  November,  1839, 
Mr.   Lawrence   was   elected   a   member  of  the 
United  States  Congress,  and  the  following  four 
years  fulfilled  the  duties  of  his  office  in  the  most 
satisfactory  manner  to  his  constituents.    In  1842, 
he  was  appointed  one  of  the  commissioners  on 
the  part  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  to  aid  in 
the  negotiation  of  the   north-eastern  boundary 
question,  when  he  very  ably  performed  that  most 
arduous  duty.     In   1843,  he   again  visited  Eng- 
la:nd,  and  was  warmly  received  in  some  of  the 
first  circles  of  the  metropolis.     For  many  years 
his  business  has  been  very  prosperous ;  he  has 
amassed  great  wealth,  and  is   reckoned  one  of 
the  American  merchant  princes.     Mr.  Lawrence 
has  ever  been  regarded  as  one  of  our  most  liberal 
citizens,  and  has  been  an  active  friend  in  many  a 
public  enterprise.     Among  his  munificent  dona- 
tions is  one  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  Harvard 
University,  for  the  purpose  of  founding  a  scien- 
tific school.     He  has  also  aided  much  in  found- 
ing churches,  pnljlic  schools,  etc.;  and  his  chari- 
ties have  been  largely  and  judiciously  bestowed 
in  building  up  and  fostering   other   benevolent 
organizations.     He  has  returned  among  us  with 
honor,  having  sustained  the  interests  ot  our  na- 
tion abroad  in  a  manner  most  gratifying  to  his 
country  and  most  honorable  to  himself     He  has 
also  won  the  complete  esteem  of  the  British  people. 
An  influential  English  paper,  just  previous  to  his 
departure   for  America,  says:     "America   and 
England  both  owe  Mr.  Lawrence  a  deep  debt  of 
gratitude.    He  has  done  more,  perhaps,  than  any 
American  living,  to  unite  the  two    countries  in 
the  bonds  of  friendship.     Had   Mr.   Lawrence 
spent  a  million  in  building  some  great  hospital, 
or  endowing   some   mighty   charity ;  if  he  had 
constructed  at  his  own  cost  a  bridgeor  arailway ; 
if  he  had  tunnelled  a  river  or  a  mountain  for  the 
benefit  of  commerce,  or  appeared  as   a  public 
benefactor  in  any  more  apparently  solid  and  tan- 
gible manner  than  he  has  done,  he  could  not  de- 
serve a  tithe  of  the  gratitude  he  now  merits  from 
his   country.     In   fulfilling  the   mission  of  his 
country,  he  has  contrived,  as  few  others  would, 
or  could  have  done,  to  do  kindly  service  at  the 
same  time  to  England.     We  believe  that  his  last 
act  was,  by  conduct  at  once  decided  and  friendly, 
to  save  England  and  America  from  the   great 
curse  of  a  rupture.     We  have  reason  to  know 
that  his   active   and   timely   remonstrance   and 
warning  induced  the  British  Government  to  stay 
a  rash  hand   and  curb  an  ill-advised  measure. 
When  Mr.  Lawrence  goes,  he  will  deserve  the 
regrets   of  one   country,   and    the  welcome   of 
another;  and  whatever  may  occur,   both   as  a 
statesman   and  an  individual,  he  merits  amply 
the  thanks  and  suffrages  of  all  good  men  to  waft 
him  from  our  shores." 


PORTRAIT  OF  HON.  ABBOTT  LAWRENCE. 


MAMMOTH  WATER-CURE. 

This  establishment,  a  view  of  which  is  here- 
with given,  is  situated  on  a  commanding  emi- 
nence adjoining  the  village  of  Harrodsburg,  Ky., 
being  thirty  miles  from  Frankfort,  twenty-eight 
from  Lexington,  and  eight  from  Kentucky  River, 
near  the  geographical  centre  of  the  State.  The 
main  establishment  is  one  of  the  most  elegant 
and  spacious  buildings  in  the  West.  This,  to- 
gether wiih  the  surrounding  cottages  (which  are 
all  admirably  adapted  to  the  comfort  and  con- 
venience of  the  occupant),  will  accommodate  500 
patients.  While  seeking  to  render  the  dwellings 
as  desirable  as  possible,  other  and  equally  im- 
portant considerations  have  had  due  influence  in 
the  mind  of  the  proprietor.  The  grounds  are 
elevated  and  extensive,  adorned  with  every  va- 
riety of  shrubbery  grown  in  America,  inter- 
spersed with  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  rare 
exotics  from  Europe  and  Asia,  and  traversed  by 
wide  gravelled  walks,  intersecting  and  crossing 
each  other  in  every  direction.  A  small  and 
beautiful  lake  is  situated  within  the   pleasure- 


grounds,  whose  glassy  surface  is  enlivened  by 
many  tame  and  wild  water  fowls.  There  are 
also  two  bowling  saloons,  and  an  elegant  saloon 
for  the  accommodation  of  patients  who  may  wish 
for  other  kinds  of  physical  exercise.  The  medi- 
cal department  is  filled  by  Roland  S.  Houghton, 
M.  D.,  whose  experience  in  the  various  depart- 
ments of  hydropathy,  we  trust,  will  entitle  him 
to  the  entire  confidence  of  those  who  may  stand 
in  need  of  his  professional  services;  and  the 
whole  establishment  is  under  the  management  of 
C.  Graham,  M.  D.,  the  proprietor.  The  Water- 
Cure  has  proved  eminently  successful  in  rheuma- 
tism of  every  grade  and  character;  dyspepsia, 
with  all  its  attendant  evils,  as  nervousness,  head- 
ache, constipation,  palpitation  of  the  heart,  hy- 
pochondria, etc.;  also,  inripient  consumption, 
chronic  disease  of  the  liver,  popularly  called 
"liver  complaint;"  gout,  hip  disease,  chronic 
enlargement  of  the  joints,  ulcers,  and  every  va- 
riety of  skin  disease, — not  to  mention  a  host  of 
acute  diseases,  in  which  it  has  proved  superior 
to  any  other  mode  of  practice. 


MAMMOTH  WATER-CURE  ESTABLISHMENT  OF  THE  WEST,  AT  HARRODSBURG,  KY. 


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310 


GLEASON'S   riGTOPJAL   DP.AWIXG    UOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  aiowon'H  Pictorial.] 
TIIK  CIIUCU-'IXION. 

BY  aUBAN  IE.  BLAISDBLL. 

Thoni  wiia  oiio  all  mook  and  lowly, 

vviioni  mon  ImU  doomod  to  doath, 
Tho  cho^rn  of  a  pttoplu's  nins — ■ 

'  Twiis  Qc  of  Nii./,iu'oth  ; 
No  lowlier  nirfi'lng  tlioii  might  bo, 

Tliat  (Jin  should  HtautJ  forgiven, 
And  tliii  vttlu  of  shadows  opi-d  for  him, 

Who  tTrtt  Imd  dw«lt  in  huiivun  ; 
And  lie  hitd  made  his  home  on  earth. 

1 1  waa  for  us  ho  came. 
To  bring  salvation  unto  thoso 

iioliuving  on  his  uamo. 

And  hy  hh  hand  the  lame  were  hoalcd, 

Tho  blind  receivod  their  sight ; 
0,  wlittt  were  thoae  who  thus  should  Htrivo 

To  (lucntih  the  source  of  light! 
That  glorious  head  was  erowncd  with  thorns, 

Ifet  i)atioutly  he  stood 
Among  the  throng,  who  waited  there. 

To  slako  their  thirst  in  blood; 
And  fiercer  eyes  glared  upon  him, 

From  that  jeering,  mocking  crew. 
Yet  he  cried,  "  Forgive  them,  Father, 

For  thoy  know  not  what  they  do  I" 

0,  had  not  this  forgiving  love 

A  charm  to  shame  their  hate  ! 
A  Saviour,  held  up  to  the  scorn 

That  hung  round  such  a  fate  I 
Ay,  e'en  a  dj  ing  thief  had  faith 

In  the  hour  of  earthly  doom. 
Already  he  beheld  a  light, 

That  shone  beyood  the  tomb  ; 
And  his  master's  words  were  gentle, 

They  dwelt  not  on  his  vice, 
"  This  day  thou  shalt  be  with  me, 

Aa  tenter  Paradise." 

'Twas  past  1    A  star  had  fallen — 

The  star  of  Bethlehem; 
And  to  the  grave,  whose  sacrifice 

Kad  been  the  world  to  them. 
Three  mourning  women  came  alone, 

In  the  shadow  of  the  daT.vn, 
Yet  lo  I  the  stone  is  rolled  aw  ly. 

He  whom  they  seek  hath  gone. 
An  angel  ssiJth,  "  He  is  not  here, 

Behold  where  he  hath  lain. 
But  the  ruins  of  the  temple 

Have  risen  in  light  again  !" 


[Written  for  Glcasou's  Pictorial.] 

XmCLE  JEFFERSON  AI^D  HIS  IHECE. 

BT    GEO.  CANNING    HILL. 

■  The  world  is  all  up-hill,  when  we  would  do. — FesLus. 

In  a  little  chamber,  whose  single  window  a 
huge  lilac  bush  shaded,  where  the  tinkle  of  the 
rain  upon  the  dried  shingles  could  be  heard  on  a 
stormy  day  in  the  summer,  a  young  man  had 
been  sitting  before  his  table.  There  were  a  few 
books  at  his  hand,  dingy  and  well  worn.  He  had 
been  studying  them. 

He  pushed  back  from  his  table  rather  impa- 
tiently than  otherwise,  and  tried  to  look  out 
through  the  window  and  lilac  hush. 

"  I  might  as  well  make  a  start  now  as  any 
time,"  said  he,  after  a  few  moments  musing; 
"  and  I  think  I  will.  What  can  be  tlie  use  of 
waiting  longer  1  While  I  hesitate,  time  is  pass- 
ing. Others  will  be  before  me  in  the  race,  for  it 
is  all  hardly  more  than  a  race.  Notliing,  surely, 
is  to  be  gained  by  ray  delay  here;  and  if  I  am 
ever  to  accomplish  my  purpose,  I  must  begin  at 
once.  There  is  no  more  time  to  lose.  But 
then,  but  then,  there  is  Nelly!  What  shall  I  do 
away  from  her  ?  What  can  I  do  1  How  can  I  go 
from  here,  while  she  is  left  behind  'i  What  will 
my  life  all  seem  to  me  without  her"!" 

And  from  this  he  wandered  away  into  a  maze 
of  the  most  lugubrious  and  unhappy  feelings  one 
might  well  conceive. 

"  I'll  go  and  see  her  uncle  at  once !"  exclaim- 
ed he,  after  a  long  fit  of  such  musing,  during 
which  the  only  sound  that  might  be  heard  was  a 
mouse  nibbling  busily  in  the  corner;  "I'll  see 
him  at  once — this  very  afternoon." 

And  he  sprang  from  his  chair  as  he  said  it 
making  luistc  with  the  necessary  equipments  for 
liis  vit^it. 

He  approached  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Jefferson 
Brancli  by  a  sortof  blird  lane,  that  made  strange 
advances  toward  the  place  througli  a  little  copse, 
across  a  barren  heath,  and  then  behind  another 
patch  of  wood,  all  the  while  giving  his  heart  the 
strangest  feelings  to  feed  upon,  and  liis  feet  the 
greatest  distance  to  travel  over. 

At  length  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house.  It 
was  what  people  thereabouts  called  a  "sightly" 
biilding;  standing  on  a  slight  elevation,  and  ju- 
diciously shaded  and  protected  by  a  group  of 
twisted  o'd  c!m  trees  that  sitook  down  their  dingy 


blossoms  in  the  spring-time  upon  tlio  green  luwn 
and  the  roof.  There  were  good,  substantial 
grounds  around  the  house,  and  they  had  the  ad- 
ditional advantage  of  licing  well  laid  out.  There 
was  nothing  like  a  tawdry  attempt  at  effect  with 
them.  They  rather  had  the  air  of  a  solid  sys- 
tem in  their  outlay,  as  they  most  certainly  did  in 
their  cultivation.  Many  and  many  a  time,  as 
the  young  man  passed  in  view  of  them,  had  he 
secretly  envied  tho  thril"t  of  ihc  place  and  its 
posses'ior. 

But  this  is  not  getting  on  wiih  my  story.  By 
.'<onie  means,  iiroI)ably  unknown  even  to  himself, 
he  at  last  found  himselfstanding  on  tho  high  porti- 
co, gazing  rigidly  at  the  door.  He  was  not  quite 
sure  that  liis  knees  did  not  shake  a  trifle.  At 
any  rate,  he  was  very  certain  that  his  tongue  had 
swollen  so  much  in  liis  mouth  that  he  dou!)tcd  if 
be  should  be  able  properly  to  do  the  errand  on 
wliich  lie  had  come.  Mustering  courage,  how- 
ever, and  making  a  great  effort  to  believe  that 
he  was  as  calm  and  cool  as  fie  ever  was  in  his 
life,  he  let  fall  the  huge  brass  door-knocker,  cast 
after  tlie  fashion  of  one  of  the  tei-rible  heads  of 
Cerberus,  upon  the  capacious  plate  beneath. 
Ho  went  through  that  horribly  noisy  process  four 
or  five  times,  till  the  old  hall  rung  with  the  clat- 
tering echoes.     A  servant  waited  on  him. 

"  Is  Mr.  JelTerson  Branch  at  home  V  inquired 
the  young  man. 

He  was  very  particular  to  give  the  whole  name, 
because  he  felt  it  to  be  business  of  the  highest 
importance.  The  servant  assured  him  that  Mr. 
Branch  was  at  home.  The  young  man  would 
like  to  see  him. 

"  0,  yes  !"  that  was  a  thing  easily  done.  And 
so  he  was  carried  along  into  the  spacious  sitting- 
room,  stocked  with  its  quaint  old  furniture,  and 
hung  with  its  dreamy  old  papers,  where  he  was 
politely  requested  to  remain  until  Mr.  Branch 
could  be  apprised  of  his  proximity. 

"Ask  the  young  man  to  walk  in  here,"  said 
the  old  gentleman  to  the  servant. 

He  was  intently  studying  the  strange  figures 
on  the  queer  old  papcr-iiangings,  when  the  ser- 
vant interrupted  him,  and  desired  him  to  walk 
another  way,  across  the  hall  again,  into  tho  little 
room  the  old  gentleman  called  his  cabinet. 

He  entered,  timidly  of  course,  looking  every- 
where but  at  the  person  who  sat  leaning  far  back 
in  a  big  stuffed  chair. 

"Mr.  Edward  Gray,  I  believe?"  said  Mr 
Jefferson  Branch,  to  him,  as  soon  as  he  had 
taken  him  all  into  his  quick  eye.  "  Wish  to  sec 
me,  I  understand'?  Very  well — very  well;  that 
you  can  do,  sir.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Gray;  sit  down 
in  a  chair  you  will  find  yonder,"  said  the  talka- 
tive old  gentleman. 

And  then,  when  he  had  got  so  far  in  the  way 
of  opening  the  business  of  the  moment,  he  took 
it  into  liis  odd  head  to  stop  short  where  he  was, 
leaving  the  young  man  to  commence  with  his 
business  just  when  and  where  to  him  it  seemed 
most  proper.  And  to  add  still  more  to  his  visi- 
tor's embarrassment,  he  fixed  his  large  gray  eye 
upon  him,  and  kept  it  steadily  there  for  many 
moments. 

It  was  hard  work.  It  was  dreadful  hard  work. 
It  was  the  hardest  work  of  all  for  Mr.  Edward 
Gray  to  begin.  But  somehow  he  did  begin,  and 
it  was  on  this  wise  : 

'■  You  may  be  aware,  Mr.  Branch,"  said  ho, 
"that  for  some  time  Miss  Nelly  and  myself — 
that  I  have  been — that  is,  that  she  is  an  object  of 
much  more  than  ordinary  regard  to  me." 

"  The  dickens,  boy  !"  cried  the  old  gentleman. 
"  I  have  been  aware  of  no  such  thing !  Indeed 
— indeed,  sir,  I  am  aware  of  no  such  tiling  at  all ! 
But — but — but  I — " 

The  bachelor  certainly  was  growing  excited 
over  it. 

"Excuse  me,  then,  for  the  presumption,"  re- 
plied Edward,  growing  collected  with  seeing  Mr. 
Branch  grow  excited. 

"  Presumption  it  is,  I  should  think  !"  said  the 
old  bachelor. 

"  But  I  didn't  know  but  ahe  might — " 
"  Shf^!    Might  what?   Nelly  might'?    My  niece 
might?      Might  what?     But  this    is    all    the 
strangest  piece  of  work  to  me  !" 

"1  only  came,  sir,"  continued  Edward,  "lo 
ask  your  consent  to  my  addressing  your  niece, 
wlih  the  most  serious  and  honorable  intentions!" 
He  had  got  it  all  out  at  last.  In  a  breath. 
"What!  court  my  Nelly?"  said  Uncle  Jeff., 
staring  at  him  as  if  he  were  some  villain  who 
had  entered  his  house  to  rob  him  of  all  be  was 
worth. 

The  young  man  blushed,  to  hear  the  case 
slated  so  plainly.     He  assented  with  a  bow. 


"Court  Nell!  You  court  Nell!'*  cxcluinied 
the  old  man.     *'  Why,  what  have  you  ijot,  sir  'i" 

"  Health,  energy,  and  ambition,"  proudly  re- 
plied Edward. 

He  thought  that  this  kind  of  a  reply  would 
silence  tlie  jjroud  uncle's  cavils.  But  he  was  a 
trifle  mistaken  there. 

"  Health,  energy! — fudge!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
JeUerson.  "And  what  of  that?  Who  hasn't 
got  that?  What  lias  that  to  do  with  this  matter? 
How  fur  along  would  that  help  you,  do  you 
suppose?" 

"  It  is  a  good  start,  better  than  a  large  capital 
■iciihoni.  them,"  suggested  he. 

Uncle  Jeff  seemed  to  concentrate  his  vision  in 
a  more  burning  focus,  until  Edward  fancied  he 
was  looking  exactly  into  the  middle  of  his  heart. 

"  It's  no  start  at  all,  boy,"  said  he.  "  Why, 
what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  Want  to  get  leave 
to  come  and  wait  on  my  Nelly,  when  you're  so 
much  at  a  loss  how  to  get  on  for  yourself? 
Why,  the  thing  is  altogether  preposterous  !" 

Edward  already  began  more  than  half  to  think 
it  was,  too. 

*' Besides,  sir,"  continued  the  bachelor,  "your 
famih/? — "  and  there  was  a  painful  pause. 

The  fire  burned  up  strongly  in  the  young 
man's  heart,  at  these  last  words. 

"  Then  it's  because  I  am  a  poor  boy,  and  my 
mother  has  no  more  than  a  poor  widow  should 
have,  that  I  am  reduced  to  this  alternative  of 
fairly  begging  what  others  would  boldly  ask  for. 
It's  because  I  happen  to  have  lived  here  beside 
his  house  all  my  days,  that  he  thinks  I  cannot 
he  made  of  the  same  stuff  that  makes  other  men  " 

These,  and  such  as  these,  were  the  thoughts 
that  rushed  like  a  whirlwind  through  his  brain, 
as  he  sat  under  the  domineering  eye  of  the  proud 
and  haughty  old  bachelor  uncle.  He  sprang 
from  his  chair. 

"I  will  make  him  yet  know  of  what  I  am 
made !"  said  he,  to  himself,  as  he  stood  proudly 
up  before  the  watchful  guardian. 

"  You  presume  altogether  too  much,  sir, — al- 
together too  much,  sir,"  said  Uncle  Jeff,  curling 
his  wrinkled  lips  haughtily.  "I  wonder  that 
you  have  dared  to  think  of  this  thing !" 

"  I  sec  that  I  possess  no  favor,  sir,  with  you," 
replied  Edward,  deferentially,  "  and  I  may  as 
well  withdraw." 

"Aswell,  perhaps/' retorted  the  old  gentleman. 

"But  I  shall  see  you  again." 

"  Not  upon  this  subject.  Never  again  upon 
this  subject,  sir!"  said  he.  "  I  hope  you  will  re- 
member. I  trust  I  shall  not  have  to  remind 
you.  I  certainly  wish  you  well  in  your  way 
through  life;  but  that  doesn't  imply  everything 
else.  Good  morning,  sir.  Good  morning.  Nev- 
er think  of  such  a  thing  as  iliis  again,  I  beg 
you !"  And  the  old  gentleman  rose  from  his 
chair,  too,  and  fairly  bowed  him  out  of  the 
room. 

The  disappointed  lover  seized  his  hat  in  the 
hall,  and  hurried  out  of  the  house.  He  seemed 
to  know  nothing  either  of  himself  or  his  where- 
abouts, until  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  muslin 
dress,  glimmering  down  through  the  leaves.  It 
had  the  effect  to  bring  him  to  his  senses. 

He  found  that  he  had  wandered  off  into  the  re- 
mote end  of  the  little  copse,  that  received  the 
blind  lane  in  its  embrace.  But  bow  he  came 
there,  any  one  else  could  have  told  as  well  as  he. 
He  looked  steadily.  The  muslin  robe  was  ap- 
proaching him.  And  as  he  looked,  he  made  out 
the  person,  just  as  he  had  dared  to  expect.  It 
was  Nelly  herself! 

He  told  her  the  whole  of  his  determination, 
and  his  adventure.  His  heart  swelled  as  he 
spoke  ;  but  his  nerve  was  sufficient  to  keep  back 
the  overflow. 

"  It's  plain  enough,  dear  Nell,"  said  he,  taking 
her  band  as  they  sat  down  on  a  huge  gray  stone 
together,  "  it's  plain  enough  that  the  prejudice  of 
your  uncle  against  me  is  insurmountable.  As 
things  are,  I  have  got  but  one  course  before  me. 
^t.s  /  love  i/oii,  dear  Nell,  there  is  but  one  way  for 
me." 

"  Pray,  tell  me  what  it  is,  Edward,"  besought 
she,  her  eyes  moistening  with  the  t-ight  of  his 
deep  mortification  and  disappointment. 

"  Why,  this  is  all  there  is  to  it,"  said  he.  "  If 
I  stay  at  home  here,  plodding  slowly  along  as 
other  young  rustics  plod,  I  have  not  the  least 
hope  in  the  world  of  ever  producing  a  change  in 
the  sentiments  of  your  uncle.  I  never  could  do 
it.  He  taunted  me  with  my  birth  this  very  day. 
I  cannot  think  of  staying  here.  I  know  it  will 
be  my  greatest  loss  to  go  away  from  you  ;  but, 
then,  I  have  the  strongest  hope  that  it  will  be 
only  temporary." 

Nelly  seemed  lost  in  what  he  said. 


"  But  if  I  go,  as  I  have  long  been  thinking  I 
should  do,  I  can  see  that  an  honorable  way  is 
open  for  me  to  the  regard  of  even  so  opinionated 
and  proud  a  mau  as  your  Uncle  Jeff,  Nell.  And 
I.s-W^go!" 

iSlie  looked  fully  into  his  eyes.  lie  di'Cw  her 
closer  to  him,  and  she  broke  forth  in  sobs  and 
tears.  Cruel  uncle.  Tyrant  opinion.  Kcmorse- 
Icss  custom,  that  builds  high  a  wall  between 
two  such  natures,  merely  because  the  one  makes 
up  in  richness  what  it  lacks  in  ready  money  ! 

They  sat  there  in  the  little  tract  of  wood  for 
more  than  an  hour.  It  was  more  than  an  hour 
of  ordinary  life  to  them  both.  In  that  time,  Ed- 
ward had  laid  open  to  her  the  utmost  extent  of 
his  plans,  his  liopcs,  his  ambition,  and  objects  of 
pursuit.  All  he  sought  was,  her  encouragement. 
Neither  thought  of  the  waste  of  years  that  proba- 
bly stretched  between  that  strange  hour  and  the 
fruition  of  their  dearest  hopes.  Yet  they  were 
both  earnest,  full  of  faith,  and  full  of  truth. 

Only  three  days  afterward,  the  disappointed 
young  man  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  village 
stage,  his  loaded  trunk  being  safely  strapped  be- 
hind, and  trundled  sadly,  tliough  with  a  still 
stout  heart,  out  of  town.  He  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  white  kerchief  fluttering  from  the  chamber 
window  of  Mr.  Branch's  mansion.  He  needed 
not  to  be  told  what  it  meant.  Did  a  glistening 
tear  sail  across  the  glassy  disc  of  his  eye,  just 
then? 

Nell  sank  back  into  her  chair,  and  gave  way 
to  the  torrent  of  her  grief  in  secret.  She  had 
never  thought  of  committing  such  a  mistake  as 
mentioning  the  name  of  her  lover  to  her  uncle. 
There  was  no  solace  for  her  left.  Yes ;  there 
was  one.  Edward  was  to  write  his  mother  regu- 
larly; and  in  those  letters  Nell  was  promised 
that  she  should  always  find  enclosed  notes  for 
herself.  She  must  herself  manage  to  receive 
them  from  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Gray,  without 
awakening  the  suspicions  of  her  cruel  guardian. 
And  so  the  girl  became  quite  a  regular  visitor 
at  the  little  brown  cottage  of  the  widow  Gray ; 
her  uncle,  however,  mistrusting  nothing  at  all 
of  the  kind. 

The  first  letter  came  very  soon,  Nell  was 
both  happy  and  sad.  It  gave  her  joy  to  know 
how  her  lover  was  situated,  and  it  gave  her  pain 
to  know,  or  to  believe,  that  he  went  through  it 
all  on  account  of  her;  and  that  she,  too,  could 
not  help  matters  at  all,  if  she  Avould. 

Perhaps  a  year  and  a  quarter  had  passed. 
Uncle  Jeff  was  in  uncommon  spirits,  one  day, 
for  he  had  just  told  his  pretty  niece  that  he  was 
going  to  have  some  friends  come  to  visit  him 
from  abroad. 

It  was  a  charming  day  in  early  autumn,  when 
they  arrived  at  last.  There  was  a  stage-load  of 
them,  and  among  them  a  gentleman  who  had 
been  attracted  by  his  friends'  descriptions  of 
Nell,  to  come  on  with  them  and  measure  the 
truth  of  what  they  told  him.  The  very  natural 
result  was,  that  he  was  carried  away  with  Nell 
at  first  sight.  He  had  hardly  the  calmness  to 
admit,  even  to  himself,  the  nature  of  bis  feelings. 
In  a  word,  he  was  really  in  love. 

Uncle  Jeff  descried  this  new  partiality,  and 
favored  it.  As  circumstances  happened  to  con- 
cur, he  had  only  given  his  nieee  a  few  very 
shrewd  practical  hints  on  the  subject  of  encour- 
aging this  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Mr.  Ford, 
when,  on  the  selfsame  afternoon,  young  Edward 
Gray  himself  returned  to  the  village !  It  was 
some  time  before  he  could  contrive  to  convey  the 
intelligence  to  Nell,  but  he  did  it  at  last. 

A  day  or  two  after,  Mr.  Ford  was  closeted  in 
the  cabinet  with  the  bachelor,  talking  about  no 
one  so  much  as  the  old  gentleman's  niece.  He 
was  laying  open  his  wishes  to  the  uncle.  How 
it  gratified  him,  too,  to  hear  that  uncle  speak  ap- 
provingly of  them  all,  and  tell  him  that  nothing 
stood  in  the  way  of  their  accomplishment. 

At  the  same  hour,  Nell  was  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  little  lane,  talking  with  her  true  lover.  I 
cannot  attempt  to  rehearse  what  passed  between 
them.  The  reader  must  draw  that  out  of  his 
own  imagination.  It  is  his  prerogative  with 
such  subjects. 

It  is  enough  to  be  obliged  to  narrate,  that  just 
as  they  had  become  most  deeply  interested  in 
their  conversation,  and  when  they  were  most  for- 
getful of  everything  and  every  person  around 
them,  an  individual  leaped  a  hi^h  wall  just  in 
the  rear  of  the  spot  where  they  sat,  and  stood 
near  them.  It  was  no  one  but  the  strange  gen- 
tleman that  had  been  so  smitten  with  Nell ! 

He  bowed  to  her,  apologizing  in  a  word  for  his 
unexpected  intrusion  ;  though  he  said  he  bad 
been  told  that  she  walked  that  way,  and  he  was 
in    quest  of  her.     Then   casting   a   fierce   and 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL   DRAWING  .  ROOM    COMPANION. 


311 


searching  look  oa  Edward,  he  walked  hurriedly 
away. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  strangest  thing  con- 
ceivable, that  he  had  given  a  faithful  description 
of  the  scene  to  Mr.  Jelferson  Branch,  sometime 
before  Nell  came  home  again;  although  he  did 
so  under  an  exacted  promise  from  the  old  gen- 
tleman that  Nell,  at  least,  should  hear  nothing 
of  it. 

But  the  information  sped  like  a  poisoned  ar- 
row to  the  heart  of  Uncle  Jeff.  He  exliaustcd 
every  vituperative  epithet  upon  the  young  and 
ardent  suitor,  in  his  storming  rage.  He  assured 
]VIi'-  ITord  that  he  would  certainly  resort  to  some 
very  emphiilic  means,  and  at  no  great  distance 
of  time,  either,  to  teach  so  bold  a  person  his 
proper  place. 

All  this  gave  Mr.  Ford  new  courage.  If  such 
were  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Branch  on  the  subject, 
it  certainly  ottered  him  the  enjoyment  of  the 
widest  liberties  towards  the  young  man.  And 
he  was  in  haste  to  practise  upon  his  convictions. 

On  the  very  next  day,  a  knock  was  heard  at 
the  door  of  the  widow  Gray's  cottage.  The  door 
opened,  and  Edward  Gray  confronted  the  same 
Mr.  Ford,  who  had  surprised  him  with  Nell  only 
the  day  before. 

"I  would  see  you  a  few  moments  alone,"  said 
the  latter. 

They  walked  off  across  the  yard,  and  into  an 
adjacent  meadow.  Mr.  Ford  proeceded,  very 
laconically  and  directly,  of  course,  to  acquaint 
Edward  with  the  fiict  that  his  attentions  to  Miss 
Nelly  Branch  were  exceedingly  distasteful  to 
Jiim,  no  less  than  to  her  uncle,  and  he  doubted 
not  they  must  be  to  her  likewise.  And  on  the 
strength  of  this  much,  he  proceeded  also  to  de- 
sire that  he  would  from  that  day  cease  all  thought 
of  communicating  with  her. 

Edward  heard  him  patiently  through,  though 
his  blood  was  several  times  at  fever  heat ;  and 
then  he  took  the  occasion  to  say  to  Mr.  Ford 
that  he  was  a  contemptible  spy  on  other  people's 
affairs,  and  that  all  his  desires  would  be  respect- 
ed quite  as  much  as  he  was  respected  himself. 
AH  of  which  lie  took  in  very  liigh  dudgeon. 

But  it  wivs  of  no  use.  Words  on  liis  part 
were  met  with  firmness  on  the  part  of  Edward. 
He  blustered,  and  Edward  laughed.  He  boasted, 
and  the  young  lover  sneered,  as  no  other  man 
could  sneer.  He  dropt  a  few  words  by  way  of 
warning,  and  Edward  politely  advised  him  to 
husband  carefully  all  his  own  resources  against 
a  coming  day  of  need.  And  with  these  feelings 
and  impressions,  the  two  men  separated. 

When,  some  fifteen  montlis  afterward,  young 
Edward  Gray  had  fully  completed  his  prepara- 
tory legal  studies,  and  jiasscd  through  a  rigid  ex- 
amination with  high  credit  to  himself,  the  friend 
in  whose  office  he  bud  been,  made  him  an  offer 
of  partnership.  It  was  accepted ;  and  he  enter- 
ed upon  the  work  of  his  life,  without  wearing 
and  warping  through  that  sea  of  vexatious  de- 
lay which  discourages  so  many  who  see  in  it  all 
no  cause  but  the  envy  and  selfishness  of  their 
ciders.  He  assisted  his  partner  in  trials,  and 
had  already  begun  to  try  the  effect  of  his  o^\ti 
tongue  upon  a  jury.  Everybody  seemed  to  have 
imbibed  the  idea  that  he  was  a  young  man  of 
much  promise. 

A  new  term  of  court  had  begun.  As  Mr. 
Edward  Gray  entered  the  court-room  in  the 
morning,  he  found  quite  a  large  collection  pre- 
sent, Mr.  Jefferson  Branch  among  the  rest.  Yet 
Mr.  Branch  did  not  offer  to  renew  the  acquaint- 
ance. Edward  wondered  at  the  meaning  of  all 
this. 

Presently  an  indictment  was  read  to  the  court, 
a  prisoner  rising  to  listen  to  it.  That  prisoner 
was  Mr.  Ford  !  The  cliarge  was  the  commission 
of  forger y ;  he  having  used  tlic  very  "good" 
name  of  Mr.  Branch,  where  he  certainly  had  no 
authority  to  do  so. 

He  pleaded  "guilty,"  and  so  the  case  was 
ended,  so  far  as  a  trial  was  concerned.  Mr. 
Gray  gave  him  a  deliberate  look,  as  he  passed 
out  of  the  room,  but  the  wretched  fellow  dropped 
his  eyes  to  the  ground. 

"A  fine  husband  for  Nelly!"  thought  the 
young  lawyer. 

The  young  lawyer  had  again  returned  to  the 
village,  at  lengtii  determined  to  take  some  deci- 
sive step  with  the  crusty  old  Uncle  Jeff.  He 
knew  that  he  loved  nobody  as  he  did  Nelly,  and 
she,  too,  seemed  determined  to  marry  no  one 
except  hnn.  And  thus  he  was  led  to  make 
another  visit  home ;  this  time,  however,  not  as 
tlie  poor  and  friendless  boy,  but  with  a  good  start 
in  the  world,  and  a  professional  reputation  of 
fine  promise. 


The  same  mail  by  which  he  arrived  in  the  vil- 
lage, brought  likewise  a  letter  to  Mr.  Jefferson 
Branch.  It  happened  to  he,  too,  a  letter  of  ter- 
rible meaning  and  portent. 

Edward  Gray  was  sitting  with  his  mother,  in 
the  silence  of  her  little  cottage  and  his  own  na- 
tive home.  It  was  already  evening,  and  the 
widow  sat  patiently  listening  to  the  story  of  her 
son's  lofty  dreams,  and  of  his  love  for  Nell. 
There  was  a  sharp  ra]j  heard  suddenly  against 
the  door.  It  was  repeated,  as  if  the  person  with- 
out were  exceedingly  impatient.  The  door  was 
opened. 

"Mr.  Branch  says  he  must  see  Mr.  Edward 
Gray  at  once !"  said  the  servant  of  the  former, 
out  of  breath,  sadly. 

Somehow  Mr.  Brancli  had  become  apprised 
of  the  recent  arrival  of  Mr.  Gray.  The  latter, 
therefore  hastened  over  to  the  mansion  of  Uncle 
JcfF,  wondering  what  the  errand  could  be,  and 
leaving  his  mother  to  wonder  likewi^^e. 

He  entered  the  presence  of  the  old  bacheloi*, 
who,  without  being  at  the  pains  properly  to  ac- 
cost him,  at  once  broke  out  with  : 

"  I  had  a  letter  by  mail  to  night,  sir,  apprising 
me  that  nearly  all  my  property  was  gone  !" 

"  Gone!'*  Edward  could  not  help  repeating 
after  him,  amazed  to  understand  him. 

"  Two  large  mercantile  houses,  in  whose 
hands  it  all  has  been,  have  failed, — so  the  letter 
says ;  and  I  am  told  that  I  am  ruined — yes, 
ruined!  0,  did  I  ever  think  I  should  come  to 
this  !  Read  the  letter,  sir.  See  if  you  can  do 
anything  for  me.  I  always  believed  I  was  ac- 
counted what  they  called  a  'preferred  creditor.' 
Perhaps  you  can  see  into  the  matter!" 

Edward  Gray  read  the  letter  through.  After 
that  he  made  Mr.  Branch  go  through  a  clear 
statement  of  his  affairs,  as  they  were  at  all  in- 
volved with  the  business  of  these  two  mercantile 
houses,  in  order  to  satisfy  him  of  the  need  of 
taking  any  step  at  all,  and  if  so,  what  step. 
They  were  closeted  for  nearly  two  hours,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  the  j^'oung  lawyer  rose,  and 
hastened  to  his  mother.  Immediately  after  ap- 
prising her  of  the  urgcnty  of  the  case,  and  leav- 
ing his  love  for  Nell,  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen, 
he  started  off  for  town  again  in  one  of  Mr. 
Branch's  carnages. 

He  consulted  at  once  with  his  partner.  They 
made  strenuous  exertions  together.  In  their 
search,  they  found  quite  assets  enough  to  cover 
Mr.  Branch's  claims.  They  saved  him  his 
whole  estate ! 

I  need  add  no  more  to  this  simple  statement. 
Jefferson  Branch  received  Edward  Gray  with 
open  arms,  and  welcomed  him  to  tlie  free  enjoy- 
ment of  what  lie  had,  by  his  ready  tact  and  skill, 
saved.  In  other  words,  the  two  patient  lovers 
were  speedily  united,  as  ihey  had  long  desired  to 
be.  And  Mr.  Branch,  to  this  day,  has  a  way  of 
boasting  quite  as  much  of  the  husband  of  his 
charming  niece,  as  he  ever  had  of  praising  the 
pretty  niece  herself. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
ANNIE  MAY. 

Er   A>G1E   U.   BIGELOW. 

Gone  from  the  hearts  that  love  her, 

Gone  from  her  home  away  ; 
Gone  in  her  childish  beauty, 

Little  Annie  May  ! 

Gone  like  the  roooulight's  gUmmer, 

From  off  the  rippling  streftni; 
Gone  like  the  joyous  pictures 

Of  cMldhood's  glowing  dream. 

Gone  like  tbe  flowers  of  tearful  spring, 

Gone  us  the  dew  at  morn  ; 
Gone  like  the  songs  of  summer  birds, 

Fled  as  the  stars  at  dawn, 

But  in  a  land  of  beauty, 

Of  ever-blooming  flowers ; 
Where  care  or  sorrow  conies  not, 

A  holier  cJimc  than  ours  : 

She  dwelleth  now — and  knecleth      ' 

Before  the  throne  of  God ; 
In  praise  to  Him  who  raiseth 

The  spirit  from  the  sod. 

A  LESSON  IN  CIVILIZATION. 

In  Korway  the  laws  against  cruelty  to  animals 
are  very  severe. — In  Ciiristiana,  an  Englisli  work- 
man named  Thomas  Byrne,  employed  on  the 
railway  from  the  lake  of  Mjoesiu  to  that  town, 
had  been  condemned  to  eight  days'  imprison- 
ment on  bread  and  water  for  unmercifully  beat- 
ing a  horse.  But,  by  the  laws  of  the  country, 
and  on  account  of  the  health  of  the  piisoner, 
every  day's  feeding  on  bread  and  water  is  fol- 
lowed by  three  days'  feeding  on  the  ordinary 
food  of  the  prison,  making  in  reality  a  coniine- 
ment  of  twenty-nine  days. — J-orei'/n  Journal. 


[^Vntt^^n  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

Th3  Young  Doctor's  First  Patient. 

BY  iMKS.  S.  r.  DOUGnTY. 

"Give  me  joy,  Uncle  John,  I  am  safely 
through;  and  ihere  lies  the  foundation  of  my  fu- 
ture fortunes,"  exclaimed  a  pleasant,  manly- 
looking  young  man,  as  wiih  a  quick,  eager  step 
he  entered  the  apartment  of  his  kind-hearted 
relative,  and  placed  on  the  table  before  him  a 
roll  of  paper  tastefully  ornamented  with  blue 
ribbons. 

"  Your  diploma,  my  dear  boy,"  replied  the  old 
man,  wiih  warm  sympatby.  "  I  congratulate 
you  with  all  my  heart.  Not  that  I  liad  any  fears 
lest  you  should  not  succeed,  Herbert,  but  it  is 
plcasant'to  know  that  the  tedious  examination 
is  over,  and  that  the  M.  D.  for  which  you  have 
toiled  so  diligently,  may  now  be  rightfully  at- 
tached to  your  name." 

"And  now  if  I  meet  with  the  success  which  I 
may  reasonably  expect,  I  shall  not  much  longer 
be  a  burthen  to  you,  my  dear  uncle,"  continued 
the  young  man.  "  Yonr  kindness  lias  furnished 
me  with  tlie  means  of  acquiring  independence, 
if  not  wealth.  What  would  have  become  of  me 
— a  poor,  penniless  orphan — if  Providence  had 
not  raised  me  up  sncli  a  friend  ?" 

"You  were  the  child  of  my  dear  sister,  Iler- 
bert,and  when  your  parents  were  taken  from  you, 
I  could  do  no  less  than  to  receive  you  into  my 
heart.  Amply  have  you  repaid  the  care  which 
I  have  bestowed  upon  you,  and  gladly  would  1 
still  keep  you  with  me  to  share  the  fortune 
which  God  bath  given  me,  but  I  feel  that  it  will 
be  far  better  for  you  to  go  forth  into  the  world, 
and  exert  your  owm  talents,  and  learn  to  rely 
upon  your  own  resources." 

"  It  will,  indeed,  uncle.  I  could  not  be  happy 
to  sit  down  and  fold  my  hands  in  idleness.  Be- 
sides, I  love  my  profession,  and  am  anxious  to 
be  actively  engaged  in  it.  Your  old  friend,  Dr. 
Wing,  kindly  mentioned  to  me  today  an  eligible 
situation  in  a  flourishing  village  about  eighty 
miles  from  here,  and  Iiinted  tbat  lie  had  some 
influence  with  many  of  the  principal  inhabitants, 
which  he  would  exert  in  my  belialf,  if  I  wisiied." 

"  It  may  be  a  good  opening  for  you,  Herbert. 
I  will  see  the  doctor  myself  in  the  course  of  the 
day  and  make  some  inquiries.  I  shall  be  but  a 
poor  lonely  old  man  when  you  are  gone,  my 
boy,  but  my  selfishness  shall  not  stand  in  the 
way  of  your  rise  in  life." 

Much  affected,  the  young  man  pressed  the 
withered  hand,  which  was  extended  to  him,  to 
his  lips,  and  for  some  minutes  remained  silent 
and  thoughtful.  At  length  he  said  affectionately  : 

"I  have  often  wondered,  Uncle  John,  that 
you,  wliose  heart  seems  to  overflow  with  kind- 
ness and  sympathy  for  your  fellow-beings,  have 
never  formed  those  ties  wbich  would,  ere  this, 
have  gathered  loved  cues  around  you,  to  watch 
over  your  declining  years." 

"  Tbe  hopes  of  my  youth  were  blighted,  Pler- 
bert.  It  is  a  sad  tale,  which  has  long  lain  buried 
in  my  heart ;  but  if  it  will  be  any  satisfaction  to 
you,  I  will  explain  why  I  am  thus  d^olate  and 
alone." 

Herbert  di-cw  his  cliair  closer  to  his  uncle's 
side,  and  after  a  short  pause,  the  old  man  wiped 
his  moistening  eyes,  and  commenced  his  story. 

"I  was  but  a  little  stripling  when  my  parents 
received  into  their  family  the  orpban  daughter 
of  deceased  friends  who,  in  dying,  had  bequeath- 
ed her  to  their  care.  A  lovely,  fairy-like  little 
being  was  Grace  Maynell.  Your  mother,  who 
was  my  only  sister,  was  several  years  younger 
than  myself,  and  hitherto  I  liad  known  no  com- 
panion in  my  own  home ;  but  after  the  arrival  of 
Grace,  this  want  was  fully  supplied.  We  soon 
became  inseparable  in  our  studies,  and  in  our 
pleasures;  and  my  parents  rejoicing  in  our  hap- 
piness, encouraged  our  attachment.  Years  passed 
on,  and  the  progress  of  my  education  demanded 
that  I  should  leave  home,  and  devote  myself  to 
my  studies  in  one  of  the  best  literary  institutions 
of  our  country.  Well  I  remember  the  parting 
between  myself  and  Grace.  It  seemed  as  if  her 
little  heart  would  break,  as  she  sobbed  out  her 
grief  upon  my  bosom.  From  that  time  we  met 
hut  at  stated  periods,  but  always  with  joy  and 
unabated  aflection.  As  her  loveliness  expanded 
into  tbe  beauty  of  early  womanhood,  I  gradually 
recognized  the  nature  of  my  feelings  towards 
her.  She  was  no  longer  the  dear  and  clierished 
sister,  but  eagerly  I  looked  forward  to  the  time 
when  I  might  claim  licr  as  all  my  own — my 
bride — my  wife.  Ilcr  image  was  cnt\^'ined  with 
every  vision  of  the  future. 


"At  the  expiration  of  my  college  life,  I  rc- 
tui-ned  home  for  a  visit  of  a  f^w  weeks  before 
commencing  tbe  study  of  the  law,  which  I  had 
chosen  for  my  profession.  In  an  unguarded 
moment,  I  confessed  my  love  to  Grace,  and  fond- 
ly listened  for  tiie  assurance  tbat  it  was  returned. 
Alas  !  when  the  answer  came,  the  hopes  of  years 
perished  in  a  moment.  With  many  tears  for  the 
misery  she  felt  she  was  about  to  inflict,  slie  own- 
ed that  she  had  regardt  d  me  but  as  a  beloved 
brother,  and  had  supposed  that  my  affection  for 
her  was  of  the  same  nature.  Her  heart  was  al- 
ready given  to  another — one  whom  I  had  myself 
introduced  to  her  as  truly  deserving  of  her 
regard . 

"My  very  being  seemed  to  have  changed. 
The  charm  of  existence  had  gone.  My  home, 
once  so  dear,  had  now  become  distasteful  to  me. 
I  abandoned  the  profession  to  which  I  had  re- 
solved to  devote  myself,  and  plunged  at  once 
into  the  busy  scenes  of  an  active  mercantile  life, 
hoping  to  lind  some  relief  for  my  misery. 

"Not  many  months  elapsed  before  the  mar- 
riage of  Grace,  and  a  letter  from  my  sister  in- 
formed me  that  she  had  accompanied  her  hus- 
band to  the  western  country.  He  was  at  that 
time  an  intelligent  and  promising  young  man, 
but  subsequent  events  showed  him  to  be  devoid 
of  principle,  and  little  calculated  to  render  any 
woman  happy,  especially  one  so  gentle  and  sen- 
sitive as  Grace. 

"  We  heard  much  of  her  suflerings,  and  my 
father  once  visited  her  in  her  distant  home,  and 
begged  her  to  return  to  the  friends  of  her  child- 
hood. B.ut  she  still  clung  to  the  unprincipled 
man  who  had  gained  her  early  affections.  Sev- 
eral children  were  born  to  them,  but  all  died  in 
early  youth,  with  tbe  exception  of  the  youngest, 
who,  I  believe,  still  lives.  Since  tbe  death  of 
your  mother,  I  have  had  but  little  means  of 
communication  with  Grace.  We  have  never 
met  since  the  fatal  day  when  I  discovered  that 
all  my  cherished  hopes  were  but  vain  and  illu- 
sory ;  but  often  in  my  dreams  she  seeras  to 
stand  before  me  in  all  the  loveliness  of  her 
youth,  and  the  musical  tones  of  her  voice  once 
more  awaken  emotions  in  my  heart  which  I  had 
believed  long  since  cold  and  dead." 

The  sympathizing  interest  with  which  Herbert 
listened  to  the  simple  tale  was  grateful  to  Uncle 
John's  somewhat  excited  feelings,  and  with  an 
effort  to  regain  his  cheerfulness,  he  said,  kindly  : 

"  This  is  but  a  sad  story  to  tell  to  one  who  is 
just  entering  upon  life,  but  it  may  serve  as  a 
warning  to  you  never  to  surrender  your  heart 
until  you  have  good  reason  to  believe  yourself 
beloved  in  return.  And  now  let  us  return  to 
your  own  prospects.  You  say  that  you  are  de- 
sirous of  commencing  practice  at  once,  and  in- 
deed I  think  myself  that  it  is  better  that  you 
should  do  so,  while  the  knowledge  you  have  ac- 
quired is  fresh  in  your  mind.  You  must  not  be 
too  sanguine  of  immediate  success.  A  young 
physician  often  has  a  steep  and  toilsome  hill  to 
climb.  Years  may  pass  before  you  will  attain 
to  any  eminence  in  your  profession." 

"lam  not  easily  discouraged  my  dear  uncle," 
was  the  animated  reply,  "and  am  well  prepared 
for  disappointments  and  delays.  And  yet  I 
hope  that  I  may  prove  one  of  the  prosperous 
ones.  I  have  always  had  a  presentiment  that 
my  very  first  patient  would,  in  some  way,  affect 
my  future  fortunes." 

"Probably  some  poor  Irishman,  who,  with  a 
broken  head,  or  a  sick  wife  and  childer,  patron- 
izes the  young  doctor,  in  the  hope  that  his  fee 
will  be  a  more  reasonable  one  than  is  demanded 
by  the  well  established  practitioner,"  returned 
Uncle  John,  smiling.  "  I  do  not  think  much  of 
presentiments,  my  boy,  but  we  shall  see  how 
yours  turns  out." 

A  few  brief  weeks  passed  on,  and  the  busy 

gossips  of  die  flourishing  village  of  C had 

found  abtmdance  of  food  for  their  curiosity  in 
the  appearance  and  movements  of  the  young 
physician  who  had  come  among  them.  His  fine 
form,  and  open,  manly  countenance  gained  tbe 
good  will  of  tbe  community,  while  his  neatly 
fitted  up  office,  handsome  equipage,  and  other 
immistakeable  tokens,  convinced  tbe  elder  and 
wiser. Tones  tliat  be  had  something  besides  liis 
profession  to  depciul  upon,  and  that  they  should 
be  justified  in  showing  him  public  marks  of  re- 
gard, and  he  soon  became  a  favoiite  guest  at  all 
the  village  gatherings,  from  tlie  gay  picnic  to  the 
charitable  meeting  of  the  sewing-circles,  where 
the  fair  ladies,  suspending  their  labors  at  dusk, 
were  then  ready  to  welcome  those  of  the  other 
sex  who  were  inclined  to  pass  a  social   evening. 

[COXTINUED    ON    PAGE    314. J 


312 


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m^mmSd 


i^^M^sMP:^:^.^, 


VIEW  OF  THE  CITY  OF  NEWBURYPORTj  MASS.j  FROM    SALISBURY. 


CITY  OF  NEWBURYPORT. 

The  town  of  Newbiuy  was  established  in  1635,  and  separated 
in  17G4  by  setting  oft' from  it  a  part  lying  on  the  river  Merrimac 
as  the  town  of  Newburyport,  containino;  an  area  only  of  six  hiin- 
died  Olid  furl  1/  acves  in  extent  of  terriiory — the  smallest  town  in 
the  State.  In  the  year  1800  the  ])opulation  was  about  6500,  and 
has  varied  but  little  from  that  number  until  about  1838,  when  the 
cotton  factories  commenced  operations;  in  1850  the  population 
was  nearly  UOOO.  If  we  can  depend  upon  the  observaiion  of 
travellers,  there  are  but  few  towns  in  the  United  States  that  pre- 
sent a  more  beautiful  appearance  than  Newburyport.  From 
which  ever  quarter  it  is  approached,  one  is  struck  with  the  rej^a- 
larity  of  its  streets,  the  neatness  and  air  of  comfort  ofitsbuild- 
ingo,  and  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  its  shade  trees.  The  line  of 
separation  was  designed  only  to  comprise  the  merchants,  traders 
and  artificers'  dwellings  by  the  river-side,  w-ith  a  certain  portion 
of  common  lands  for  pasturage  and  other  public  purposes. 
Thus  set  off,  Newburyport  was  a  narrow  strip  of  land  along  the 
river  Merrimac,  and  not  even  extending  to  the  sea — although  ex- 
ercising of  necessity  pilotage  and  quarantine  jurisdiction,  it  being 
practically  the  seaport  of  the  river's  mouth. 
Ship  building  has  been  the  principal  business 
on  the  Merrimac.  The  place  was  distin- 
guished at  an  early  period  for  skilful  artists 
and  industrious  mechanics,  and  also  for  the  _ 

staunch   and  elegant  ships  which  they  pro-  M 

duce;  it   also   has   the  reputation  of  having  -^ 

been  a  flourishing  commercial  town  ;  hut  cir- 
cumstances  of  a  depressing  character  have 
arisen,  which  have  reduced  its  commerce,  and  t^_ 

placed  it  in  this  respect  far  below  tlie  import- 
ance it  once  sustained.  The  great  fire  in 
1811,  in  addition  to  other  causes,  which  com- 
menced on  the  31st  of  May,  in  the  heart  of 
its  business  population,  and  desolating  the 
fairest  and  most  important  section  of  the 
town.  Its  effects  were  lasting,  and  its  influ- 
ence blighting  to  the  spirits  of  its  citizens  ;  so 
furious  was  its  progress  that  no  efforts  were 
available  in  checking  its  ravages  until  it  had 
swept  over  a  space  of  nearly  seventeen  acres, 
leaving  only  a  mass  of  deplorable  ruins;  250 
buildings  were  entirely  destroyed ;  the  loss 
was  estimated  to  exceed  two  million  dollars, 
and  the  suffering  induced  was  beyond  calcu- 
lation. In  Coffin's  History  of  Newbury,  in 
speaking  of  this  fearful  calamity,  we  find  the 
following  description  :  "  The  'scene,  says  a 
gentleman,  who  was  present  during  the  night, 
was  the  most  truly  terrible  I  have  ever  wit- 
nessed. At  the  commencement  of  the  fire, 
it  was  a  bright  moonliglit  night,  and  the  even- 
ing was  cool  and  pleasant.  But  the  moon 
gradually  became  obscured,  and  at  length 
disappeared  in  the  thickeloudof  smoke  which 
shrouded  the  atmosphere.  The  glare  of  light 
throughout  the  town  was  intense,  and  the  heat 
that  of  a  sultry  summer  noon.  The  streets 
were  thronged  with  those  whose  dwellings 
were  consumed,  conveying  ihc  remains  of  their 
property  to  places  of  safety.  The  incessant 
crash  of  falling  buildings,  the  roaring  of  chim- 
neys like  distant  thunder,  the  flames  ascend- 
ing in  curling  volumcH  from  a  vast  extent  of 
ruins,  the  air  Hllfd  wiih  a  shower  of  fire,  and 
the  feathered    throng    fluttering    o-vcr    their 


wonted  retreats,  and  dropping  into  the  flames  ;  the  looing  of  the 
cows,  and  the  confused  noise  of  exertion  and  distress,  united  to 
impress  the  mind  with  the  most  awful  sensations."  The  same 
causes  which  led  to  the  growth  of  a  population  of  merchants,  tra- 
ders and  mechanics  on  the  river-side,  produced  in  course  of  time 
an  increase  of  that  population  on  the  borders  of  the  town.  Per- 
sons engaged  in,  or  more  or  less  dependent  on,  the  fishing  busi- 
ness, collected  along  the  river  on  one  side,  and  those  interested  in 
ship  building  on  the  other  side,  while  many  of  the  commercial  and 
trading  portion  retired  into  the  rural  part  of  Newbury;  the  effect 
of  this  was,  that  a  population  identified  as  one  community  in  all 
its  social  and  business  relations,  found  itself  unnaturally  sundered 
in  municipal  matters,  besides  heing  inconveniently  restricted  in 
territorial  limits.  Tliese  considerations  induced  suggestions  for 
the  enlargement  of  the  town  by  annexing  to  it  a  part  of  Newbury, 
which  was  at  length  amicably  consummated  in  1851,  by  an  act  of 
the  legislature  of  that  year.  By  that  act  the  territory  of  New- 
buryport was  increased  to  about  s/.r//iou.9an(/ acres,  and  the  popula- 
tion to  nearly  13,000,  entitling  it  to  a  city  form  of  government, 
according  to  the  institutions  and  usages  of  the  State  of  Massachu- 


KSSEX  MERRIMAC  SUSPENSION  BRIDGE,  NEWBURYPORT. 


setts  ;  and  application  being  made,  a  city  charter  was  granted  on 
the  24th  of  May,  1851 — which  was  accepted   by   the  inhabitants 
on  the  4th  of  June  following.     City  officers  were  elected,  and  the 
city   government   duly   organized.     The  city  is  divided  into  six 
wards,  the  aldermen  and  common   council   being  elected  in  the 
several  wards.     Within  the  last  ten  years  much  has  been  done  in 
public  improvements,  and  added  much  to  the  beauty  and  comfort 
of  the  place.     Many  trees  have  been  transplanted  in  the  streets; 
much   attention   and    labor  have   been   devoted  to  the  Mall,  and 
around  the  Pond  and  Burying-groimd.     The  city  is  well  supplied 
with  water  in  case  of  fire — the   erection   of  commodious  school- 
houses — a  superb  City  Hall,  etc.,  and  are  now  about  introducing 
gas,  the  works  being  nearly  completed.     A  breakwater  was  con- 
structed  by   the   United   'States,   in  1830,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
harbor,  for  the  purpose  of  improving  the  same,  at  an  expense  ex- 
ceeding $30,000.     It  has  been   as  yet  productive  of  but  little  if 
any  advantage.     A  pier  has  since  been  erected  on  Salisbury  side, 
covering  Badger's  rocks,  which  affords   a   convenient  harbor  for 
vessels   when  prevented  from    coming  up  to  town.     The  Merri- 
mac  Suspension   Bridge,  a  beautiful  erection,  a  view  of  which  is 
also   herewith   given,   crosses   the   Mcmmac 
from  the  north  part  of  the  town.     It  was  built 
in  1827.     Abutments  with  stone  walls,  filled 
in  with  sods,  gravel,  etc.,  project  from  either 
shore.     That  on  the  Newburyport  side  is  240, 
and  that  on  the  Salisbury  side   is    187  yards 
long.     The  bridge  rests  on  these  abutments 
and  on  four  jncrs  built   of  stone  from  high- 
water  mark,  and  is  further  supported  by  chains 
passing  over  the  tops  of  ])yramids  erected  on 
the  piers  and  iinder  the  centres  of  the  arches. 
The  span  of  the  centre  arch  is  83  yards.    The 
bridge  is  built   in  two   distinct  longitudinal 
parts,  so  that,  in  case  of  accident  to  one,  ihe 
passage  of  the  river  will  not  be  interrupted. 
Whole  length,  three- sevenths  of  a  mile.  Cost, 
$70,000.     There  has  been  a  rapid  and  steady 
increase  of  travel  over  this  bridge.     The  East- 
ern Railroad  Bridge,  another  beautiful  fabric, 
is  erected  immediately  above  the  Suspension 
Bridge,  and  presents  a  very  picturesque  aspect 
to  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  when  a  train  of  cars 
in  rapid  motion  passes  over  it.     Newburyport, 
in   common   with  many  of  its  sister  towns, 
suffered  much  during   the   early   days  of  the 
colonies  and  in  the  Revolution  subsequently. 
During  the  difficulties  with  the  French  direc- 
tory,  Newburyport  presented  an  uncommon 
example  of  patriotism  by  building  a  twenty- 
gun  ship   by   the   subscription  of  some  of  the 
principal  inhabitants  of  the  town,  and  offered 
it  to  the  government,  and  asked  for  the  final 
reimbursement  of  the  net  cost  "  at  the  con- 
venience of  the   government."      This   offer, 
when  our  navy  was  small,   and  the  means  of 
the  government  limited,   was  felt  to  be  valu- 
able.    The   commercial  prosperity   of  New- 
buryport was  at  one  period  almost  uneximi- 
pled  in  a  town  of  its   size.     But  commercial 
restrictions;  the  fire  of  1811  ;  and  the  war  of 
1812,   bore   heavily   upon   a  mercantile  and 
ship-building   populalion,   and  the  town  has 
hardly   yet  recovered  its  former  prosperity, 
but  of  late  years  its  commerce  ha*;  improved, 
and  its  fishing  interests   have  yielded  a  fair 
retuni. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


313 


The  Oak  Hill  Cemetery,  a  view 
of  which  is  also  given  here,  is  a 
most  beautiful  rural  location  on 
the  southwest  avenue  to  the  city. 
It  was  org:anized  and  incorporated 
in  1842,  and  consecrated  in  May, 
1843.  The  site  is  most  eligible  for 
the  purpose,  possessing,  as  it  does, 
a  varied  surface  ;  the  prospect  from 
its  highest  elevation  is  extensive 
and  pleasing.  It  derives  its  name 
from  a  luxuriant  growth  of  oaki 
which  originally  adorned  it,  and 
which  are  only  removed  from  the 
lots,  affoi'ding  still  a  delightful 
shade  to  the  paths,  thus  rendering 
it  a  pleasant  and  agreeable  resort 
during  the  summer  months  ;  it  con- 
tains several  chaste  and  beautiful 
monuments.  The  available  lots 
having  all  been  taken  up,  the  cor- 
poration is  in  treaty  for  several  ad- 
ditional acres  of  adjoining  land  to 
extend  its  limits.  And  here  we 
would  say,  we  are  glad  to  see  that 
our  cities  and  villages  are  more 
and  more  giving  attention  to  these 
rural  depositories  of  the  dead.  It 
accords  with  all  that  is  truly  good 
in  our  nature,  to  make  the  tomb  a 
source  of  healthful  contemplation. 
And  when,  instead  of  being  blend- 
ed with  repulsive  emblems  and 
gloomy  distortions,  it  is  embower- 
ed in  nature's  drapery,  and  adorn- 
ed with  the  cultivations  of  taste,  the 
associations  with  such  a  spot  can- 
not be  otherwise  than  delightful. 
Here  the  sadness  of  death  is  in  a 
degree  removed  by  the  beauty 
which  is  everywhere  addressed  to 
the  eye.  Green  foliage  hangs  over 
the  graves  of  the  departed,  birds 
build  their  nests  and  sing  among 
the  branches,  or  a  beautiful  stream 
glides  majestically  by,  and  the 
scene  reminds  one  continually  of 
the  mansions  in  the  skies,  as  well 
as  of  the  tomb  and  the  grave.  As 
the  heart  is  opened  to  feelings  of 
heavenly  comfort  from  the  scene,  you  may 
feel  that  your  departed  relatives  are  sleeping 
near  you,  and  fancy  that  you  are  hardly  sepa- 
rated from  tlicm,  that  you  are  both  contemplat- 
ing spiritual  things.  The  same  breeze  which 
sweeps  through  the  grass  that  waves  on  their 
graves,  bears  on  its  wings  no  noxious  miasma, 
but  gratefully  fans  and  refreshes  you.  The  bit- 
terness of  death  is  taken  away,  and,  instead  of 
going  to  a  graveyard  which  is  destitute  of 
everything  cheering,  and  which  appears  almost 
like  a  charnel-house,  you  visit  a  delightful  spot, 
intersected  with  beautiful  walks,  where  death 
seems  like  sleep,  and  where  you  cannot  help  re- 
alizing that  though  the  dust  has  returned  to  the 
earth,  the  spirit  has  returned  to  God  who  gave  it. 


OAK  HILL  CEMETERY,  NEWBORYPORT. 


The  engraving  below  gives  a  fine  view  of  the 
City  Hall,  Newburyport.  This  is  a  beautiful 
and  commodious  building,  located  in  Brown 
Square.  It  is  one  hundred  feet  long  by  sixty- 
four  feet  wide,  and  is  one  of  the  greatest  orna- 
ments to  the  city.  It  contains  good  accommo- 
dations for  all  city  purposes.  On  the  floor  of 
the  basement  are  rooms  for  the  mayor  and 
aldermen,  common  council,  school  committee, 
city  clerk,  assessors,  treasurer  and  collector,  and 
engineers,  and  one  ward  room.  The  hall  is 
spacious  and  elegant.  Its  dimensions  are  eighty- 
seven  by  sixty-four  feet,  with  two  convenient 
drawing-rooms,  and  a  commodious  gallery  over 
them.  This  building  and  the  grounds  connected 
with  it  cost  the  sum  of  532,000. 


EFFECT  OF  TRIFLES. 

Mohammed  pursued  by  his  enemies  ere  his 
religion  had  gained  a  footing  in  the  world,  took 
refuge  in  a  cave.  To  this  retreat  his  pursuers 
traced  him  ;  but  when  they  were  on  the  point  of 
entering,  their  attention  was  arrested  by  a  little 
bird  darting  from  an  adjoining  thicket.  Had  it 
not  been  for  this  trivial  circumstance,  which  con- 
vinced them  that  here  the  fugitive  could  not  be 
concealed,  Mohammed  would  have  been  discov- 
ered, and  he  and  his  imposture  have  perished  to- 
gether. As  it  was,  he  effected  his  escape,  gained 
the  protection  of  his  friends,  and,  by  a  most  art- 
ful course  of  conduct,  succeeded  in  laying  the 
foundation  of  a  religion  which  now  ]>revails  over 
a  large  portion  of  the  world, — Dr.  Duncan. 


THE  DEATH  OF  CLEOPATRA. 

Cleopatra  was  the  daughter  of 
Auletes,  king  of  Egypt.  When 
dying,  the  prince  left  the  crown  to 
the  elder  of  the  two  sexes,  with  an 
order  that  they  should  marry  each 
other,  according  to  the  custom  of 
the  family.  But  Diony&ius  the 
brother  of  Cleopatra,  desirous  of 
reigning  alone,  repudiated  and 
banished  his  sister.  Cleopatra  was 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  as  well 
as  the  best  informed  woman  of  her 
time.  She  spoke  all  languages, 
and  was  never  in  need  of  an  inter- 
preter. When  Cicsar  went  to 
Egypt  she  presented  herself  before 
him  for  justice  against  her  brother. 
Smitten  by  her  charms,  he  re-es- 
tablished her  in  her  possessions. 
He  had  by  her  a  son,  named  Ck- 
sarion  ;  and  he  promised  to  convey 
her  (o  Rome  and  there  celebrate 
his  nuptials.  On  his  arrival  in 
that  city,  he  placed  the  statue  of 
Cleopatra  in  the  temple  of  Venus, 
beside  that  of  the  goddess.  Dio- 
nysius  being  drowned  in  the  Nile, 
Cffisar  confirmed  the  crown  upon 
Cleopatra,  and  upon  a  brother  of 
hers  about  eleven  years  old,  wh"  m 
the  ambitions  queen  poisoned  be- 
fore he  had  attained  his  fifteenth 
year.  After  the  death  of  Cicsar, 
she  declared  in  favor  of  the  Tri- 
umvirate. Antony  then  beheld, 
and  was  incapable  of  resisting  the 
charms  of  so  beautiful  a  woman; 
and  the  time  they  passed  together 
was  marked  by  festivals  and  enter- 
tainments of  unparalleled  magnifi- 
cence. But  these  pleasures  were 
interrupted  by  the  departure  of 
Antony  for  Rome.  During  the 
absence  of  her  lover,  Cleopatra 
consoled  herself,  by  her  studies. 
She  re-established  the  Alexandrian 
library,  which  had  been  destroyed 
by  fire,  a  few  years  before,  and 
enriched  it  with  that  of  Pergamus, 
consisting  of  more  than  200,000 
volumes.  Upon  his  return  to  Alexandria,  An- 
tony caused  Cleopatra  to  be  proclaimed  queen 
of  Egypt ;  but  having  been  defeated  by  Octavius, 
at  the  battle  of  Actium,  the  princess  deceived  her 
lover,  and  to  rescue  her  crown  attempted  to  as- 
sume the  conquest  over  the  conqueror.  But  in 
this  hope  she  was  deceived,  and  to  avoid  the  dis- 
grace of  being  carried  to  Rome  in  triumph,  she 
applied  an  asp  to  her  bosom,  and  died  at  the  age 
of  thirty-nine,  in  the  year  80  B.  C.  A  small 
puncture  in  the  arm  was  the  only  mark  of  vio- 
lence which  could  be  detected  on  her  body;  and 
it  was  therefore  believed  that  she  had  procured 
death  either  by  the  bite  of  this  venomous  reptile, 
or  by  the  scratch  of  a  poisoned  bodkin. — Ameri- 
can Magazine. 


VIEW  OF  THE  CITY  HALL,  NEWBURYPORT. 


3U 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


[concluded  from  I'AOIC  ."Jll.l 
But  thoiii^li  su(Tt:ssfiil  in  gainiiij,' tliu^'ood  will 
of  tliofic  arouiul  liitn,  tlic  yount;-  doctor  Imd  as 
yot  received  no  r.ill  in  tlio  wiiy  oCliis  profession. 
In  iiit't,  tlicvilhigc  was  at  that  time  niosl  t/ishrss- 
iiH/lij  hcalf/ii/,  and  tlic  few  cases  oC  sickness  wliich 
occnrrcd,  were  anion;;  tiio.se  who  preferred  the 
services  of  one  who  had  ioni;  been  their  family 
physician,  hut  wdiose  age  and  many  intirmitics 
rendered  it  prolaihio  that  he  would  not  lonj,^ 
Btiind  in  the  way  of  his  young  successor. 

*'  There  is  nothing  like  patience/'  thought 
Herbert,  as  day  after  day  passed,  and  still  no 
call  to  exert  his  skill  in  the  healing  art.  "  This 
is  a  favoralde  opportunity  to  review  my  studies," 
and  he  scrupulously  devoted  a  large  portion  of 
each  day  to  the  attentive  perusal  of  the  many 
valuable  volumes  which  composed  his  library. 

At  length  the  long  expected  moment  arrived. 
A  loud  and  hurried  peal  at  iho  bell  summoned 
the  young  doctor  to  the  door  of  his  ol^icc.  A 
carriage  had  been  overturned  on  its  way  from 
the  depot  to  the  hotel,  two  ladies  injured,  imme- 
diate attendance  desired.  Visions  of  broken 
limbs  and  fractured  skulls  floated  through  the 
brain  of  the  young  practitioner,  as  seizing  his 
case  of  surgical  instruments  he  hastily  followed 
the  messenger.  The  ladies  had  already  been 
conveyed  to  the  hotel,  and  he  was  at  once  ad- 
mitted to  their  apartment.  They  appeared  to 
be  mother  and  daughter.  One  glance  at  the  al- 
most deathly  countenance  of  the  mother,  who 
was  reclining  upon  a  couch,  convinced  him  that 
she  was  the  principal  sufferer,  and  he  hastened 
to  make  inquiries  as  to  the  nature  and  extent  of 
the  injur}'-  she  had  received. 

"  My  daughter  is  your  patient,  doctor,"  she 
replied,  while  an  expression  of  anxious  solicitude 
passed  over  her  countenance.  "  I  am  uninjured, 
save  from  the  effects  of  the  jar  and  fright.  Hel- 
en, my  love,  show  your  arm  to  the  doctor,  at 
once.     There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Herbert  turned  quickly  toward  the  young  lady 
who,  with  a  vain  attempt  to  conceal  the  acute 
pain  which  she  suffered,  forced  a  smile,  as  she 
answered  : 

"  You  are  too  anxious  concerning  me,  dear 
mama.  I  trust  the  injury  will  prove  a  trifling 
one  ;"  but  even  as  she  spoke,  a  certain  faintncss 
came  over,  and  she  would  have  fallen  fiom  her 
chair,  had  not  the  strong  arm  of  Herbert  sup- 
ported her. 

Gently  placing  her  upon  the  couch  from  which 
her  mother  had  risen  to  offer  her  feeble  aid,  he 
proceeded  to  rip  the  sleeve,  which  the  already 
swollen  condition  of  the  arm  prevented  him  from 
loosening  in  any  other  way.  A  careful  exami- 
nation convinced  liira  that  no  bones  were  broken. 
The  violent  pain  proceeded  from  a  bad  sjirain, 
which  was  likely  to  prove  somewhat  tedious,  but 
by  no  means  dangerous. 

His  favorable  report  seemed  to  lift  a  mountain 
weight  from  the  mother's  heart.  Suitable  rem- 
edies were  at  once  applied,  which  relieved  the 
intensity  of  suffering  ;  and  with  renewed  strcngtli 
and  energy,  Helen  at  once  turned  her  whole  at- 
tention to  her  invalid  mother,  and  eai'nestly  im- 
plored her  to  take  some  rest. 

For  a  moment,  Herbert's  eye  dwelt  admiringly 
upon  the  perfect  symmetry  of  her  fairy -like  form 
and  the  extreme  loveliness  of  her  countenance, 
now  lighted  up  by  filial  affection,  and  then  he 
also  gave  his  attention  to  the  pale  invalid.  It 
was  evident  even  to  his  unpi-actised  eye  that  her 
days  were  numbered.  Death  was  rapidly  and 
surely  approaching,  and  human  skill  might  not 
hope  to  stay  him  on  his  course.  Something 
might,  however,  be  done  for  present  relief.  She 
was  then  suffering  from  the  effects  of  the  excite- 
ment occasioned  by  the  accident,  and  he  strongly 
recommended  perfect  quiet  for  several  days. 
Then  giving  directions  for  a  composing  draught, 
he  took  leave,  promising  to  see  them  again  before 
many  hours. 

Hastily  returning  to  his  office,  he  closed  the 
door,  and  throwing  himself  into  his  favorite 
chair,  indulged  in  oneof  those  reveries  delightful 
at  times  both  to  young  and  old. 

At  last,  then,  he  had  met  with  his  first  patient, 
wliom  he  had  so  long  cherished  the  belief  would 
exert  so  powerful  an  influence  over  his  future 
fortunes.  A  thousand  times  he  had  pictured  to 
Jiimsclf  [he  sudden  and  alarming  illness  of  some 
wealthy  and  influential  individual,  who, restored 
to  life  and  health  through  his  medical  skill,  would 
frratefnliy  endeavor  to  assist  him  in  his  ]»-ofcs- 
sion.  The  nature  of  the  vision  was  now  chnnged. 
His  first  patient  was  indeed  to  rule  liis  destiny, 
hut  in  adifferent  way  from  whathcliad  imnglncd, 
A'ready  was  Jier  image  indelibly  engraven  upon 


his  heart;  and,  though  as  yet  unknown  to  him 
even  by  name,  that  one  short  interview  hud 
0[>ened  a  new  world  of  love  and  hope. 

The  hours  (h-agged  heavily  on  until  the  time 
arrived  when,  as  their  medic.il  adviser,  he  deem- 
ed it  incumbent  upon  him  again  to  present  him- 
self at  the  hotel,  and  entering  Ihe  public  sitting- 
room,  desired  an  attendant  to  inform  the  ladies 
at  No.  45,  that  Dr.  Lansing  was  below. 

In  a  few  moments  the  polite  host  himself  en- 
tered, and  to  his  inexpressible  chagrin  and  dis- 
appointment, informed  him  that  the  ladies  had 
found  tiiemselves  somewhat  recruited  after  an 
hour's  rest,  and  had  left  in  the  afternoon  train. 
Ho  had  ventured,  he  said,  to  suggest  to  them 
that  it  would  be  better  to  remain  for  a  day  or 
two,  or  at  least  until  they  had  again  seen  the 
physician,  but  the  sick  lady  was  exceedingly 
earnest  to  proceed  on  her  journey,  and  her 
daughter  appeared  confident  that  the  motion  of 
the  cars  would  not  increase  the  pain  of  her  arm. 
They  had  left  a  small  enclosure  to  be  delivered 
to  Dr.  Lansing,  with  their  grateful  regards. 

Tluis  saying,  the  friendly  host  handed  a  neat 
envelope  to  the  young  physician,  and  with  a  po- 
lite bow,  he  left  the  room.  The  address  was 
written  in  a  delicate  female  hand,  but  there  were 
no  words  within.  It  simply  contained  a  hand- 
some fee  for  his  services. 

Determined  not  to  relinquish  the  hope  of 
tracing  the  fair  unknown  at  some  future  day, 
Herbert  sought  the  landlord,  and  requested  the 
names  of  the  ladies,  but  here  again  he  was  baffled. 
Their  stay  had  been  so  short  that  no  name  had 
been  registered  on  the  books. 

Nothing  more  was  to  be  done,  and  slowly  he 
retraced  his  steps  to  his  own  apartments.  Tnue 
and  patience  had  been  necessary  before  he  beheld 
his  first  patient,  and  time  and  patience  seemed 
likely  to  be  in  requisition  ere  they  would  again 
meet.  Good  fortune  seemed  to  follow  in  her 
train,  however,  for  scarcely  was  the  young  doc- 
tor again  seated  in  his  office,  when  the  bell  with 
another  loud  peal  summoned  him  to  the  door. 
One  of  the  principal  families  in  the  village  re- 
quested his  attendance.  Ere  the  evening  closed, 
the  names  of  four  patients  stood  conspicuously 
upon  his  tablets. 

Months  passed  on,  and  there  was  no  lack  of 
practice.  Dr.  Lansing  was  in  continual  demand, 
and  the  success  attending  the  exercise  of  his  pro- 
fessional skill  had  raised  him  high  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  whole  neighborhood.  Old  and  young 
regarded  him  with  favor,  as  many  a  rosy  cheek 
grew  still  more  rosy  at  his  approach.  liut  though 
ever  polite  and  attentive  to  all,  there  was  not 
the  slightest  appearance  of  preference  for  any  of 
the  fair  maidens  wlio  stood  ready  candidates  for 
his  favor. 

The  memory  of  his  first  patient  was  still  viv- 
idly present  to  his  mind,  and  in  his  dreams  she 
seemed  to  stand  before  him  with  the  same  gentle 
purity  of  expression  which  had  won  his  heart  in 
that  one  brief  interview.  There  seemed  little 
rational  hope  that  they  would  ever  meet  again, 
but  the  romance  of  youth  does  not  often  go  hand 
in  hand  with  rationality,  and  Herbert  frequently 
indulged  in  blissful  anticipations  of  the  future  in 
which  the  fair  unknown  held  a  conspicuous  part. 
Summer  and  fall  had  passed  away,  and  the 
holidays  were  fast  appi'oaching.  Urgent  letters 
from  Uncle  John  earnestly  pressed  for  at  least  a 
brief  visit  from  his  favorite  nephew  ;  and  indeed 
the  kind  old  man  was  continually  in  Herbert's 
thoughts,  but,  although  eighty  miles  seems  a 
short  distance  in  these  days,  the  constant  de- 
mands on  the  time  of  a  physician  had  hitherto 
rendered  it  impracticable  to  leave. 

Now,  howevci',  there  seemed  a  prospect  that 
he  might  be  allowed  at  least  a  day  or  two  of  re- 
creation. There  were  no  cases  requiring  very 
close  attention,  and  the  old  doctor  was  in  better 
health  than  usual,  and  kindly  offered  to  do  his 
best  to  supply  Dr.  Lansing's  place. 

A  pleasant  ride  of  sixty  miles  in  the  cars,  and 
twenty  miles  of  rough  jolting  in  a  stage  coach 
brought  him  within  a  short  distance  of  his  old 
home,  and  just  at  dusk,  one  clear  evening,  he 
suddenly  stood  before  Uncle  Jolm,  who,  seated 
in  his  arm  chair  before  a  blazing  fire,  was  in- 
dulging as  was  his  wont  in  a  short  nap. 

But  the  arm  chair  was  speedily  vacated,  and 
all  drowsiness  vanished,  as  he  clasped  his  nephew 
in  his  arms,  and  mingled  wordsof  welcome  with 
a  hearty  embrace. 

"It  makes  mc  feel  young  again  to  sec  you 
once  more,  my  dear  boy,"  he  exclaimed.  "  My 
heart  has  yearned  to  look  upon  your  face,  but  I 
knew  that  duty  kept  you  at  your  post,  and  your 
letters  have  done  much    (o    comfort  me  during 


your  al)sencc.  You  are  an  excellent  correspond- 
ent. I  could  almost  imagine  myself  talking 
with  you  sometimes." 

'*  I  am  glad  that  they  were  a  soun-e  of  plea';ure 
to  you,  my  ilear  uncle.  1  have  feared  that  the 
daily  life  of  a  physician  might  be  uninteresting, 
as  you  were  uimcquainted  willi  the  patients  oi" 
whom  I  frequently  gave  you  accounts." 

"Not  at  all,  Herbert,  not  at  all  ;  but  pray  tell 
mc  why  you  would  never  answer  my  inquiries 
as  to  your  first  patient?  What  became  of  your 
presentiment  ?  Who  did  the  important  individ- 
ual prove  to  be?" 

In  as  unconcerned  a  tone  as  possible,  Herbert 
replied  : 

"  Only  some  travellers.  Uncle  John,  who  met 
with  a  slight  accident  on  their  way  from  the  de- 
pot to  the  hotel.  I  made  them  but  one  call." 
Then  wishing  to  divert  his  uncle's  attention,  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  "But,  uncle,  do  explain 
to  me  the  cause  of  the  wonderful  change  which 
has  taken  place  in  this  apartment.  When  I  last 
saw  it,  if  you  will  excuse  the  expression,  it  was 
a  regular  old  bachelor's  parlor,  vastly  comfort- 
able, to  be  sure,  but  with  a  somewhat  stiff",  unso- 
ciable air.  Now  all  is  different.  Vases  of  flow- 
ers in  the  windows,  a  lady's  work-table  in  one 
corner,  books  of  poetry,  half  finished  drawings, 
the  old  fashioned  furniture  disposed  with  such 
wonderful  taste  ;  in  short,  a  complete  metamor- 
phosis, of  which  I  am  exceeding  curious  to  know 
the  cause.  What  fair  friend  manifests  so  great 
an  interest  in  your  domestic  concerns  1  Surely 
our  respectable  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Trueraan,has 
not  undergone  such  a  remarkable  transformation 
during  m}'  absence." 

"  Mrs.  Trucman  has  little  to  do  with  the  ar- 
rangements of  this  apartment,"  replied  Uncle 
John,  with  a  smile,  which  was  mingled,  how- 
ever, with  a  shade  of  sadness.  A  change  has 
taken  place  in  my  establishment,  which  for  cer- 
tain reasons  I  have  not  communicated  to  you  by 
letter,  preferring  to  wait  until  we  could  sit  down 
once  more  and  have  a  fine  chat.  Y'ou  doubtless 
recollect  the  history  of  my  early  days,  and  will 
be  interested  to  hear  that  I  have  once  more  be- 
held my  beloved  Grace.  Several  weeks  after 
you  left  me,  I  received  a  brief  note  without  sig- 
nature, begging  me  to  go  at  once  to  a  designated 
place,  wliere  I  should  find  a  sick  friend  who  had 
much  to  say  to  me.  I  immediately  obeyed  the 
summons,  and  found  myself  at  a  neat  hoarding- 
house,  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  city.  The  num- 
ber of  the  room  occupied  by  my  correspondent 
had  been  mentioned  in  the  note,  and  at  my  re- 
quest I  was  conducted  thither  without  hesitation. 
The  attendant  who  preceded  me,  remarked  in  a 
compassionate  tone  that  she  feared  the  poor  lady 
had  not  many  days  to  live.  Much  perplexed  to 
imagine  what  female  friend  could  desire  to  see 
me  on  her  death-bed,  I  tapped  at  the  door,  whifli 
was  instantly  opened  by  a  young  girl  so  exactly 
the  counterfeit  of  my  Grace  in  her  early  days, 
that  I  forgot  the  lapse  of  years,  and  almost  be- 
lieved that  she  again  stood  before  me. 

"  Hecovering  my  self-possession  with  a  strong 
effort,  I  gave  my  name,  and  mentioned  that  I 
had  received  a  note  requesting  my  presence. 
Ere  the  young  lady  could  reply,  a  feeble  voice 
was  heard  from  the  bed  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room  : 

"  'Has  he  come,  my  child  ?  0  bid  him  not 
delay,  for  I  shall  soon  be  gone.' 

"  At  a  signal  from  the  daughter,  I  stepped  for- 
ward, and  in  another  instant  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  dying  woman. 

"  It  was  difhcult  to  recognize  in  that  wasted 
form  and  countenance  marked  by  long  years  of 
suffering,  the  once  lovely  and  blooming  Grace; 
but  gazing  earnestly  in  my  face,  she  feebly  ex- 
tended her  hand,  saying  in  a  voice  of  deep  emo- 
tion : 

"  *  Have  you  indeed  forgotten  the  sister  of 
your  youth  ?  Has  the  name  of  Grace  Maynell 
passed  from  your  memory  V 

"Overpowered  by  this  unexpected  meeting, 
and  by  the  crowd  of  recollections  which  rushed 
to  my  mind,  I  sunk  on  my  knees  by  her  bed- 
side, unable  to  speak,  but  still  pressing  her  hand 
in  both  my  own. 

"  '  I  see  that  I  am  remembered,' she  continued, 
'  and  now  I  must  speak  quickly,  for  my  time  is 
short.  Some  months  ago  I  became  a  widow. 
My  own  health  was  rapidly  declining,  and  I  felt 
that  my  only  remaining  caitbly  treasure  must 
soon  be  left  fi-icndlcss  and  alone  in  the  wide 
world.  My  heart  turned  to  the  home  of  my 
youth.  Tbcy  who  had  been  to  mc  as  parents, 
were  indeed  gone,  but  you  were  still  living,  my 
more  than  brother,   and    would.   I  doubted  not, 


protect  my  orphan  child.  As  soon  as  possible  I 
coMecled  the  small  remnant  wiiich  remained  of 
the  property  of  my  misguided  husband,  and  with 
an  earnest  pi'ayer  tliat  my  life  migtit  he  pro- 
longed to  the  end  of  my  journey,  I  set  forth. 
After  repeated  delays,  occasioned  by  my  feeble 
ttatc  and  some  otlier  causes,  we  arrived  here  last 
evening,  and  I  lost  no  time  in  sending  you  the 
summons  which  you  have  so  promptly  obeyed. 
And  now,  John  Fairfield,  by  tlie  love  you  once 
bore  mc,  and  by  the  remembrance  of  our  early 
days,  I  implore  you  to  become  a  father  to  my 
child.' 

"  Quite  exhausted  by  the  effort  she  had  made, 
the  poor  invalid  sunk  back  upon  her  pillow, 
while  I  solemnly  vowed  to  fulfil  the  trustrc])osed 
in  me,  and  to  cherish  her  daughter  to  the  latest 
hour  of  my  life. 

"'It  is  cnougJi,*  she  exclaimed.  '  I  die,  in 
peace.  My  work  on  earth  is  finished.  Heavenly 
Pather,  receive  my  spirit  I'  and  with  her  eyes 
fixed  with  a  look  of  love  upon  the  wecj)ing  girl 
who  bent  over  her,  without  a  struggle  slie  sunk 
to  rest, 

"  I  will  pass  over  the  daughter's  grief,  and 
my  own  excitement  and  sorrow,"  contiiuied  Un- 
cle John.  "  In  a  few  brief  days  I  took  my  young 
charge  to  her  new  home.  Her  love  for  her 
mother  is  deep  and  abiding,  and  her  somewhat 
sudden  dep.arture — for  though  long  ill,  her  death 
came  at  last  unlooked  for — was  for  a  time  over- 
whelming ;  but  she  had  been  early  taught  to 
look  upward  for  consolation,  and  by  degrees  her 
cheerfulness  has  returned,  and  she  is  now  the 
delight  of  my  once  solitary  home.  In  truth, 
Herbert,  I  have  become  another  being  under  her 
gentle  influence,  and  while  still  fondly  cherish- 
ing the  memory  of  my  loved  and  unfortunate 
Grace,  I  cannot  be  too  thankful  for  the  blessing 
which  has  been  granted  me  in  her  sweet  child." 
"And  where  is  she  now,  my  dear  uncle?" 
asked  the  young  man,  who  had  listened  with  the 
deepest  interest  and  sympathy  to  the  touching 
recital.  "  I  am  impatient  to  be  introduced  to 
one  who  will  seem  to  me  as  a  sister,  as  we  are 
alike  blessed  with  your  fatherly  care." 

"  She  left  mc  an  hour  or  two  since  to  attend 
to  some  engagements  in  her  own  room.  I  must 
go  and  tell  her  of  your  arrival ;  but  hark  !  there 
she  comes.  I  can  tell  the  sound  of  her  fairy 
footsteps  among  a  thousand. 

"Helen,  my  darling,"  continued  the  old  gen- 
tleman, rising  from  his  chair,  as  the  yoimg  lady 
entered,  "allow  mc  to  introduce  you  to  my 
nephew.  Dr.  Hcrbcit  Lansing,  permit  rac  to 
make  you  acquainted  with  Miss  Helen  Atherton, 
yo\w  first  patknt ,  if  I  mistake  not." 

The  astonishment  and  delight  of  Herbert  as 
the  object  of  his  waking  reveries  and  midnight 
dreams  thus  unexpectedly  stood  before  him, 
fully  repaid  Uncle  John  for  the  vexation  which 
his  nephew's  want  of  confidence  had  occasioned 
him. 

"  You  see,  my  boy,  that  your  old  uncle  can 
have  his  secrets  as  well  as  yourself,"  he  whis- 
pered, as  Helen,  blushing  with  pleasure  at  again 
meeting  one  who  had  been  well  remembered, 
and  at  the  same  time  affected  by  the  recollections 
which  his  presence  recalled,  gracefully  acknow- 
ledged the  young  man's  somewhat  confused  salu- 
tation, and  passed  on  to  the  tea-table,  which 
awaited  her  presence. 

A  few  moments  seemed  to  relieve  Herbert's 
embarrassment,  and  with  a  heart  beating  high 
witli  hope  and  joy,  he  obeyed  Helen's  dieerful 
summons  to  the  evening  meal. 

All  reserve  was  soon  at  an  end  between  them, 
and  they  conversed  with  the  freedom  of  those 
who  have  been  long  and  intimately  acquainted. 
Uncle  John  gazed  upon  the  youthful  pair  with 
delight,  and  when  the  hour  for  retiring  to  rest 
arrived,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  solitude  of 
his  own  apartment,  his  grateful  heart  was  raised 
in  thankfulness  to  bis  Heavenly  Father,  who  had 
bestowed  upon  him  such  blessings  to  solace  his 
declining  years. 

The  time  fixed  for  Herbert's  departure  arrived 
but  too  quickly,  hut  the  sadness  of  the  farewell 
was  mingled  with  joy,  for  he  already  felt  a  full 
confidence  that  Helen  knew  and  returned  the 
devoted  affection  with  which  he  regarded  her, 
and   a  bright,  unclouded   future  seemed  before 

him. 

Ere  another  year  had  passed  away,  the  young 
doctor  had  exchanged  his  country  prnclice  for  a 
favorable  situation  in  the  city,  and,  with  the  full 
consent  and  blessing  of  Uncle  John,  had  claimed 
his  first  patient  as  his  bride. 


Tf  tliou  dost  ill,  tliejoy  ffidea,  not;  tlio  piiinF  ; 
If  ^vcll,  thu  pain  doth  fiidc,— the  joy  remaine. 

G.  Htrbert. 


GLEASOX'S   I^ICTOMAL   DUAWING   PvOOlSI    COMPATs^IOlS". 


315 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
AUTUMNAL  MUSINGS. 

BT   JOSEPH   W.   KYE. 

See  autumn's  glories  on  tbe  forests  ■wide, 

What  gtiVgeous  tints  of  beauty  meet  the  view ; 
More  pleasing  far  than  iiU  the  blooming  pride 

That  cheered  the  eye  the  summer  hours  through  1 
The  morning  brightness  of  the  budding  spring, 

The  noontide  glowing  of  the  summer  fair, 
Have  their  rich  ehanns,  but  ne'er  to  me  can  bring 

The  pleasures  which,  calm  autumn,  thou  dost  bear  ! 

Thou  hast  a  power  to  cheer  my  weary  heart, 

Amid  ihe  tumult  of  this  changing  life  ; 
To  soothe  my  spirit,  bid  my  griefs  depart, 

And  make  me  strong  amid  its  ceaseless  strife. 
Ah,  well  [  love  thy  calm  and  pensive  hours; 

Ah,  well  I  love  to  roam  the  forest  aisles, 
■\Miere  leaves  are  falling  in  rich  golden  showers, 

M'bere  bliss  untold  each  passing  hour  beguiles. 

There,  plaintive  voices  on  my  ppirit's  ear, 

Fall  in  sweet  tones,  with  soothing,  magic  sway  ; 
Telling  of  death— that  all  is  fleeting  here, 

That  all  of  earth  must  surely  pass  away. 
Spring  will  reclothe  again  this  fading  scene. 

The  birds  will  come,  their  songs  to  chant  anew; 
So  waits  for  man  an  endless  spring,  whose  sheen 

Celestial,  glo\7S  with  beauty  ever  new  1 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  X. 

BY    DK.    JEROME    V.    C.    SMITH. 

GOING  INTO  THE  AEMOKY. 
"Within  the  seraglio  enclosure,  not  far  from 
the  mint,  is  a  building  of  pretty  ample  dimen- 
sions, exclusively  devoted  to  the  protectioa  and 
preservation  of  ai-ms.  Not  so  much  those  in 
every  day  service,  as  memorials  of  the  past.  Like 
the  spears,  swords,  daggers,  battle-axes  and  rude 
guns  in  the  Tower  of  London,  a  display  is  made 
of  the  various  forms  of  arms  that  have  been  in 
use  in  different  reigns,  since  the  Turks  have 
been  established  in  Europe. 

On  entering  the  front  door,  the  form  of  the 
interior  resembles  an  ordinary  New  England 
meeting-house,  with  galleries  on  cither  side. 
All  the  antiques  imaginable  are  brought  togeth- 
er in  fantastic  figures.  Stars  and  crescents 
abound  ;  and  it  was  an  ingenious  fellow  who  put 
horse  pistols  and  Damascus  blades  into  such 
varied  and  curious  curves  and  angles. 

Of  course  it  would  be  tedious  to  particularize 
the  proud  instruments  of  death  that  may  have 
cut  a  million  of  throats.  Marvellous  stories  are 
related  of  the  achievements  of  some  of  the 
bloody  old  Sultans  in  thinning  the  ranks  of  the 
Christians. 

All  their  most  brilliant  engagements  and  sur- " 
prising  victories  have  been  over  the  hated  disci- 
ples of  the  Saviour,  Overhead,  suspended,  at- 
tached to  the  poles  by  which  they  were  borne  at 
the  head  of  advancing  columns,  are  dozens  of 
flags  taken  from  various  European  and  other 
nations  with  whom  they  have  been  at  war. 

The  Turks  have  really  something  to  be  proud 
of,  when  they  contemplate  those  evidences  of 
their  former  prowess.  But  they  will  never  be 
replaced  by  fresher  banners;  their  ranks  are  no 
longer  invincible,  and  the  glory  of  Mohammedan 
greatness  is  rapidly  passing  away. 

Ascending  the  gallery,  we  entered  a  small 
apartment  at  the  further  end,  protected  by  doors, 
locks,  and  a  special  janitor,  that  bespoke  the 
preciousness  of  the  treasury  that  was  kept  within. 
It  was  equivalent  to  the  crown  jewel  office  of 
England,  Scotland,  Austria,  and  some  other 
continental  countries,  in  which  the  public  is  per- 
mitted to  enter  under  certain  specific  restrictions. 
There  was  a  kind  of  show  case  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  elevated  to  a  convenient  height  for 
looking  in,  that  contained  a  row  of  large  keys. 
They  were  fac-similes — some  in  gold,  and  others 
in  silver — of  the  keys  of  cities  taken  by  the 
Turks  in  their  various  wars. 

Their  workmanship  was  beautiful,  and  their 
intrinsic  value,  as  bullion,  very  great  indeed;  but 
tlie  associations  connected  with  their  history  to 
the  Turks,  far  more  valuable.  They  are  con- 
templated with  pride  and  ambition  by  them,  and 
if  such  a  sentiment  as  loyalty  exists  in  the  bosom 
of  one  of  them,  they  are  among  the  proudest 
keepsakes  in  the  national  archives. 

Suspended  above  the  case,  by  hooks  on  the 
wall,  is  a  row  of  swords  of  the  richest  descrip- 
tion. There  were  Damascus  blades,  wiih  golden 
mountings,  and  jewelled  in  the  most  lavish  man- 
ner. The  series  represent  most  of  ihe  Sultans 
from  the  successor  of  Mahommed  IL,  who  was 


proclaimed  in  1451,  and  finally  caj^tured  and 
took  possession  of  Constantinople,  May  29, 1480. 
When  a  sultan  is  inaugurated,  and  the  heralds 
announce  to  the  world  that  the  tlirone  is  again 
occupied  by  a  descendant  of  the  author  of  their 
faith,  a  sword  is  buckled  on  his  thigh,  and  he 
passes  in  state  through  the  capital,  to  be  seen 
and  to  receive  homage. 

When  the  ceremony  is  concluded,  the  sword 
is  placed  in  the  jewel  office,  ever  after  to  remain 
a  memorial  of  the  event,  and  of  the  individual 
who  wore  it. 

Besides  these  extraordinarics,  there  are  multi- 
tudes of  objects,  both  new,  strange  and  rare, 
which  could  no  where  else  be  seen,  that  belong 
to  the  history  of  the  empire,  but  1  have  forgotten 
what  they  all  were. 

An  indistinct  impression  is  on  my  mind  that 
some  memorial  of  Mahommed  was  shown  us  in 
that  most  glorious  part  of  the  armory.  The 
covering  of  his  tomb,  whicli  is  renewed  annually 
— the  old  one  being  returned  when  the  new  one 
is  put  on — may  be  examined  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance in  a  mosque. 

In  all  our  examinations  under  the  authority  of 
protection  of  the  firman  from  the  department  of 
state,  we  were  accompanied  by  several  officials, 
one  of  whom  was  a  grave  young  man  who  car- 
ried a  mighty  big  staff  with  a  silver  head,  the 
size  of  an  orange.  On  arriving  at  a  point  em- 
braced in  the  permit,  the  man  with  the  staff 
merely  passed  a  word  with  the  outer  custode, 
and  the  doors  were  opened  at  once. 

The  public  officers  understand  the  natural  cu- 
riosity of  Frank  travellers  to  pry  into  their  af- 
fairs, and  profit  by  it  to  some  purpose.  No 
doubt,  every  farthing  of  the  forty  dollars  exacted 
for  the  document  by  which  access  was  given  to 
the  various  interesting  localities  and  places  de- 
tailed thus  far,  went  into  the  pocket  of  the  Def- 
tcrdav,  although  the  idea  was  held  out  that  the 
whole  sura  would  be  distributed  pro  rata  among 
the  mosques  that  were  troubled  by  our  presence. 
Whatever  is  excellent  in  Turkey,  is  to  be 
found  in  Constantinople.  Institutions  of  all  de- 
scriptions have  been  matured  there,  if  anywhere, 
and  being  under  the  immediate  eye  of  the  gov- 
ernment, are  to  be  considered  as  developed  and 
perfect  as  they  can  be  under  the  auspices  of 
Mahommedanism. 

In  the  sense  which  we  attach  to  science,  there 
is  none  among  the  people.  A  learned  man  is 
one  who  can  repeat  by  heart  more  of  the  Koran 
than  somebody  else ;  hut  in  the  exact  or  specu- 
lative sciences,  there  is  nothing  that  can  be  con- 
templated by  a  trained  mind,  as  worthy  of  con- 
sideration. There  are  some  mathematicians, 
but  those  who  are  distinguished  are  Arabs.  I 
made  an  agreeable  acquaintance  in  Damascus 
with  Hakem  Makarkav,  who  has  a  reputation 
for  being  a  celebrated  mathematician.  His  fam- 
ily for  a  hundred  years  have  been  remarkable 
for  their  cultivation  of  that  branch  of  knowledge. 
But  he  is  an  Arab  and  not  a  Turk. 

Tlie  Tm'ks  have  been  fighters  instead  of  schol- 
ars. Medicine  and  surgery  have  been  thought 
worthy  of  the  sustaining  influence  of  the  lastfew 
Sultans.  Not  for  the  sake  of  the  diffusive  good 
that  would  result  to  the  people  from  introducing 
skilful  practitioners,  so  much  as  from  a  selfish 
policy  of  curing  sick  and  disabled  soldiers,  and 
curing  themselves  against  the  contingencies  of 
ill  health.  Armies  must  have  surgeons,  and 
economy  suggested  the  manufacture  of  them  at 
home,  rather  than  to  rely  upon  foreign  countries 
for  them. 

A  medical  college  took  its  rise  out  of  this  idea, 
but  it  never  has  been,  nor  is  it  even  probable 
that  native  professors  will  ever  have  the  control 
of  it.  Germans,  French  and  Italians  are  placed 
in  chargeof  it,  and  the  students,  instead  of  being 
voluntary  applicants  for  education,  are  caught 
wherever  they  are  found,  of  suitable  age,  and 
subsequently  moulded  to  the  institution.  Mere 
boys  are  placed  under  a  system  of  primary  in- 
struction, preparatory  to  a  medical  course.  After 
learning  to  read  and  write,  they  are  ushered  into 
the  anatomical  theatre.  Each  one  is  clothed, 
fed,  and  paid  a  small  monthly  stipend  while  they 
remain — which  means  till  they  enter  the  army 
or  naval  service. 

The  first  college,  located  at  Pera,  was  burned 
do-wn,  as  everything  else  is  in  Constantinople.  A 
new  and  tremendously  large  edifice  is  now  being 
finished  on  a  commanding  elevation,  in  which 
the  preparatory  school,  and  each  and  every 
branch  is  to  be  taught. 

An  ambition  for  an  university  has  resulted  in 
the  construction  of  buildings  ;  but  who  are  to  be 
the  teachers,  or  what  is  to  be  taught,  is  still  an 
inquiry.     There  is  not  a  high  school  or  an  acad- 


emy in  Turkey,  nor  is  any  language  taught  be- 
yond their  own. 

Without  philosophers,  philologists,  linguists, 
mathematicians,  astronomers,  professors  of  liter- 
ature or  science,  it  will  be  a  comical  concern. 
If  it  ever  goes  into  operation,  the  faculty  must 
be  imported,  and  the  scholars  also.  It  is  quite 
prol)able  that  it  will  soon  fall  into  the  keeping 
of  Koran  readers,  and  those  ecclesiastical  digni- 
taries who  direct  the  services  of  religion,  and 
guard  the  faith  from  infidel  sources.  They  are 
the  Pethva  Eminy,  Arzuhaldjcc,  Maktoobjee  and 
Ders  Vekihy.  As  the  sentiment  is  universal 
among  them  that  all  knowledge  worth  having  is 
contained  in  their  inspired  volume,  what  is  not 
there,  is  not  worth  possessing.  Consequently, 
no  advances  can  be  anticipated  under  the  weight 
of  that  opinion. 

Astrologers  are  maintained,  and  their  calling 
highly  respected.  Two  are  especially  kept  in 
the  Sultan's  service,  with  the  rank  of  Oolema. 
Where  astrology  is  held  in  estimation,  and  tbe 
affairs  of  government  are  transacted  with  refer- 
ence to  lucky  days,  there  must  be  ignorance, 
which,  at  this  late  period  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  is  the  more  extraordinary,  because  the 
light  of  science  is  shining  brilliantly  in  every 
country  but  those  in  which  Mahommedanism  is 
in  the  ascendant. 

Medical  skill  is  held  in  estimation  in  Turkey, 
without  reflecting  upon  the  manner  it  is  acquired 
Mahmoud  II,  swayed  by  European  minds,  made 
tremendous  efforts  towards  rearing  surgeons 
among  his  own  subjects.  As  in  Egypt,  those 
that  have  been  placed  under  circumstances  to 
exert  themselves,  and  rise  to  distinction,  have  in 
no  instance  succeeded. 

In  1827,  the  medical  school  of  Galata  Serai 
was  opened  in  a  building  erected  by  Achmet  III, 
for  training  and  securing  the  royal  pages.  It 
was  a  hobby  with  the  Sultan  while  he  lived. 
With  his  own  hand  he  wrote  an  inscription  thus  : 
"All  who  look  upon  this  edifice  will  exclaim — 
Well  done!'"  With  a  board  of  German  and 
French  professors,  it  progressed  as  favorably  as 
any  new  thing  could,  where  it  conflicted  with 
the  long  cherished  prejudices  of  the  leading 
minds  among  the  people. 

When  I  was  in  Constantinople,  as  already 
observed,  the  college  was  in  ruins,  and  a  new 
one  going  np.  But  although  the  lectures  were 
delivei-ed  near  the  arsenal,  its  reputation  is  not 
so  high  as  it  was  under  the  patronage  of  Mah- 
moud. 

Subjects  for  dissection  were  first  procured 
through  tlic  determined  agency  of  Mahmoud, 
who  probably  gave  orders  to  Hekira  Bashy  and 
Tahir  Pashi,  who  had  command  of  tlie  fleet. 
"  Thou  shalt  not  open  a  dead  body,  although  it 
may  have  swallowed  the  most  precious  pearl 
belonging-  to  another,"  was  the  positive  injunc- 
tion of  the  prophet,  w^hich  was  enough  to  forever 
prevent  the  study  of  anatomy.  But  even  the 
authority  of  Mahommed  was  set  aside,  as  it  was 
in  respect  to  wine,  which  Mahmoud  drank  till  it 
killed  him,  leaving  a  large  collection  of  the  best 
of  wines  and  spirits  in  his  cellar,  at  his  death. 

Seven  medical  gentlemen  are  attached  to  the 
present  Sultan's  household,  one  of  whom  invari- 
ably lodges  at  the  palace  every  night,  whether 
their  services  are  required  or  not.  They  are 
from  France,  England  and  Germany.  It  was 
the  wife  of  his  English  physician,  who  took  np 
her  residence  in  the  harem  of  a  distinguished 
Turk,  leaving  several  children  at  a  tender  age. 
Her  subsequent  history  terminated  tragically, 
for  she  was  privy  to  the  murder  of  an  old  slave, 
and  it  was  unknown  what  had  become  of  her 
when  I  made  inquiries.  Opposed  as  the  Sultan 
is  known  to  be  to  capital  punishment,  it  was 
conjectured  that  she  had  probably  been  lowered 
into  the  Bosphorus  in  a  red  bag. 

Wherever  I  travelled,  medical  advice  and 
opinions  were  sought  with  avidity,  but  no  one 
offered  to  pay  for  it. 

Legal  science  is  represented  to  be  assuming  a 
respectable  position.  All  laws  have  their  origin 
in  the  will  of  the  Sultan,  regulated  by  the  divine 
directions  of  the  Koran.  Commentaries  have 
begun  to  accumulate,  and  reference  is  had  to 
former  decisions,  and  thus  tbe  value  of  prece- 
dents is  really  beginning  to  be  appreciated. 
Several  digests  of  the  laws  and  the  practice  of 
the  tribunals  have  been  written,  which  arc  sought 
for  with  confidence. 

Of  course  these  are  principally  confined  to  the 
capital.  With  half  a  dozen  presses  operated  by 
the  government,  books  have  not  been  multiplied 
by  them.  So  few  can  read,  that  no  remunera- 
tion could  be  expected  from  the  issue  of  an  edi- 
tion of  such  works  as  commentaries  on  laws. 


The  Koran  is  destined  to  be  executed  by  a  pen 
till  the  idea  that  it  is  profane  to  squeeze  the  sa- 
cred sentence  in  a  press,  like  a  tortured  criminal, 
is  overcome  by  a  higher  civilization. 

Books  have  not  been  multiplied  for  the  mil- 
lion, nor  would  it  be  worth  while  to  have  them, 
till  educational  processes  have  been  commenced 
where  there  is  a  lamentable  necessity  for  them. 
Those  who  can  read,  are  mostly  interested  in 
the  Koran.  It  is  questionable  whether  tliere 
would  or  could  be  any  demand  for  the  best 
treaties  extant,  were  they  put  into  the  Turkish 
language,  till  the  national  spirit  is  changed. 

Females  in  the  highest  circles — that  is,  in  no 
circle  at  all,  but  confined  to  the  apartments  of  a 
great  man — rarely  know  how  to  read  ;  yet  there 
are  slaves  who  can,  and  it  is  one  of  their  employ- 
ments to  amuse  their  fair  mistresses  by  reading 
to  them  anything  they  can  procure  that  ministers 
to  their  amusement. 

The  Turkish  newspapers  can  only  be  under- 
stood or  appreciated  by  a  comparatively  few 
persons.  Extracts  from  foreign  papers  are  in- 
troduced, and  a  variety  is  presented  in  the  topics, 
hut  there  is  no  mind  there  to  grasp  ideas.  Indo- 
lence, bigotry,  hatred  of  Christians,  and  a  hearty 
contempt  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  stand 
amazingly  in  the  way  of  intellectual  advance- 
ment. Turks  eat,  drink,  smoke  and  sleep — 
whether  they  dream  is  uncertain.  Resting  in 
the  opinion  that  all  the  world  is  in  tbe  darkness 
of  infidelity — Mahommedanism  alone  being 
blessed  with  the  special  favor  of  Heaven,  through 
the  powerful  agency  of  the  prophet — there  is  no 
hope  for  their  conversion  to  Christianity. 

Persian  literature  is  prized  above  all  other, 
and  especially  the  poetry.  There  may  have 
been  a  few  Turkish  poets,  but  my  knowledge  is 
too  limited  to  speak  decisively  on  that  point. 
Several  Turkish  females  have  manifested  con- 
siderable talent  in  that  direction,  according  to 
popular  report,  whose  names  will  be  found  in 
another  part  of  these  sketches. 

I  apprehend,  however,  tliat  their  manner  of 
life  is  such,  that  striking  figures,  hold  concep- 
tions, and  above  all,  classical  allusions, are  never 
expressed  in  their  poems.  An  active  imagina- 
tion, directed  by  the  finished  productions  of  a 
Persian  poet,  may  have  accomplished  enough  to 
pass  among  those  of  no  literary  cultivation,  for 
a  phenomenon. 

Several  works  on  history  are  extant,  by  Turk- 
ish authors.  It  is  the  only  line  of  writing  in 
which  they  have  achieved  a  respectable  standing. 
A  simple  narration  of  transactions  is  not  a  diffi- 
cult undertaking,  but  it  is  after  all  the  one  which 
commands  the  meed  of  praise.  The  historian  is 
either  a  chronicler  of  events,  or  a  philosophical 
commentator  on  the  phases  of  a  nation,  from 
one  epoch  to  another;  and  our  knowledge  of 
man  in  different  ages,  is  through  those  relations. 
There  are  six  printing,  besides  two  or  three  lith- 
ographic, presses  in  the  service  of  some  of  the 
government  departments ;  but  they  are  badly 
managed,  chiefly  in  the  multiplication  of  blanks 
for  public  offices. 

Books  are  to  be  had  in  the  market  stalls,  but 
generally  at  a  very  dear  rate.  Tiiey  are  princi- 
pally purchased  as  curiosities,  being  executed 
with  a  pen.  Perhaps  in  all  the  stalls,  there  may 
be  70,000  volumes  on  sale — usually  \ery  thin — 
and  the  majority  of  them  are  Persian,  Arafnc  and 
Armenian.  The  proportion  in  Turkish  is  small. 
A  disinclination  to  sell  Korans  to  foreigners  is 
a  matter  of  conscience.  Magnificent  copies,  of 
all  sizes  and  styles  of  caligraphy,  of  that  sacred 
volume,  and  the  richest  specimens,  too,  in  the 
world,  maybe  seen  on  the  stools  near  the  bodies 
of  the  defunct  Sultans,  in  the  mausolca  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

On  the  whole,  aided  by.  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
few  English  and  French  travellers,  who  have 
represented  the  march  of  Turkish  literature  lo 
be  far  supciior  to  what  a  sober  investigation 
finds  it  10  be,  the  Turkish  mind  is  wofully  dark. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
MODESTY. 

BY   MRS   R.   T.   ELUhEDGE. 

Brightest,  fairest  gem  on  eiirth, 
Priceless  is  thy  sterling  ivorth  : 
Wfiy  I  wear  tbec  next  my  heai't, 
Never,  never  thence  depart ; 
Ever  be  uiy  constjint  guide, 
Woman's  shield  and  woman's  pride  I 

Lovely,  beauteous  htt^e  gem, 

Brighter  than  a  diadem  ; 

Never  hcedirg  flutterj  's  power, 

Safeguard  iu  temptation's  hour ; 

Ever  be  my  contrtaut  guide, 

AV Oman's  shield  and  -n-ouian's  pride ! 


316 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


DAMKL  WEBSTER. 

The  cngrnvin;^  which  we  herewith  give  is  a 
beautiful  cniblematif  design  of  a  monument  to 
the  memory  of  this  liminent  Htatesman  and  pat- 
riot, and  represents  his  country  weeping  her  Ioks, 
and  Liberty  laying  a  erown  at  his  feet.  The 
design,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Kowse,  is  a  fine  one. 
In  our  last  we  gave  a  brief  synopsis  of  his  public 
life  ;  and  in  this  connection  wc  gather  up  a  few 
additional  facts  and  thoughts,  mainly  from  an 
article  in  the  Boston  Journal  of  the  25th  ult.,  as 
illustrative  of  his  character.  Daniel  Webster 
was  the  descendant  of  a  Scottish  ancestry,  who 
came  to  this  country  more  than  two  centuries 
since  and  located  in  Massa- 
chusetts. Tlicy  possessed  in 
a  marked  degree  the  distin- 
guishing attributes  of  thecarly 
Kew  England  settlers.  The 
father  of  Daniel  Webster,  in 
tlie  early  part  of  his  life,  had 
seen  much  military  service  on 
the  frontiers.  He  enrolled 
himself  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
in  what  was  called  Kogers's 
corps  of  Rangers,  which  was 
organized  for  the  purpose  of 
protecting  the  inhabitants  of 
New  England  against  the  In- 
dians. They  were  an  active, 
hardy  and  fearless  band  of 
men,  who  shrank  from  no 
danger,  and  dreaded  no  fa- 
tigue. Often  in  the  dead  of 
winter,  when  the  snow  lay 
deep  upon  the  ground,  and 
the  icy  blasts  of  our  bleak  cli- 
mate whirled  along  the  fleecy 
drift,  covering  up  and  blotting 
out  all  traces  either  of  friend 
or  foe,  would  these  brave  ran- 
gers, provided  with  skates 
and  snow-shoes,  penetrate  the 
wilderness,  even  to  the  Cana- 
dian frontier.  They  generally 
fixed  their  head-quarters  on 
the  borders  of  Lake  George, 
whence  they  made  many  and 
terrible  forays  into  the  enemy's 
territories.  Stark,  Putnam, 
and  many  other  men  who  af- 
terwards became  distinguished 
in  revolutionary  history,  were 
trained  in  this  school.  Eben- 
ezer  Webster  served  in  this 
corps  from  1755  to  the  cap- 
ture of  Quebec  in  1759.  After 
the  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
in  1763,  he,  with  several  other 
men,  pushed  into  the  wilder- 
ness and  settled  in  the  town 
of  Salisbury,  in  Merrimac 
county,  New  Hampshire,  at 
that  time  on  the  outmost  verge 
of  civilization.  Daniel,  one 
of  the  five  children  of  Eben- 
ezer  Webster,  was  bom  in  that 
part  of  Salisbury,  N.H.,  which 
is  now  known  as  Franklin, 
on  the  18th  of  January,  1782. 
In  early  life  his  literary  ad- 
vantages were  very  limited — 
but,  like  his  brother  Ezekiel, 
who  died  suddenly  some  years 
ago,  while  pleading  an  impor- 
tant case  in  court — a  man 
also  of  a  powerful  mind,  and 
great  natural  eloquence — he 
was  early  noted  for  his  activity 
of  mind  and  aptitude  to  learn ; 
but  he  did  not  especially  give 
indications  of  that  transcend- 
ent intellect,  which,  in  its  full 
and  noble  subsequent  devel- 
opment, was  destined  to  exert 
so  powerful  an  influence  upon 
the  fortunes  of  his  country. 
After  passing  some  time  at 
the  public  school — and  public 
schools  at  that  time  were  not 
of  a  high  grade — his  father 
was  reluctantly  persuaded  by 
Rev.  Samuel  Wood,  of  Bos- 
eawen,  to  allow  him  to  enter 
on  a  course  of  studies,  pre- 
paratory to  entering  college. 
He  was  accordingly  sent  for 
a  time  to  Phillips  (Exeter) 
Academy,  under  the  tuition 
of  that  celebrated  instructor 
of  youth,  Benjamin  Abbot, 
LL.  D.  He  subsequcMtly  com- 
pleted his  preparatory  course 
of  studies  under  the  direction 
of  Rev.  Dr.  Wood,  and  en- 
tered Dartmouth  College,  in 
which  institution  he  remained 
four  years,  graduating  in  1801. 
After  leaving  college,  Daniel 
Webster  engaged  for  a  time 
in  the  bu'^iness  of  teaching  school  in  the  beautiful 
village  of  Fryeburg,  Me.  The  site  of  the  build- 
ing still  remains,  dignified  by  the  name  of  Acad- 
emy, where  Daniel  Webster,  fifty  years  ago, 
labored  zealously  and  faithfully  in  the  honorable 
vocation  of  a  teacher  of  youth.  He  soon,  how- 
ever, returned  to  bis  native  town,  and  entered 
on  the  study  of  the  law.  From  the  year  1805, 
onward,  through  a  period  of  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury, be  has  been  identified  with  political  life, 
ascending  higher  and  higher  the  mount  of  fame 
and  honor,  until  he  had  attained  the  pinnacle, 
the  acknowledged  pre-eminent  mind  of  tiie  age. 
But  without  alluding  again  to  those  prominent 
occjisions  and  scenes  which  brought  him  so  con- 
spicuously before  the  world's  eye,  we  would 
adoptthe  words  of  our  contemporary,  in  this  con- 


nection, and  say — His  history,  or  at  least  the 
prominent  features  of  it,  arc  familiar  to  every 
intelligent  American  as  household  words ;  and 
his  fume  and  character  are  understood  and  ad- 
mired by  men  of  wisdom  and  learning  abroad  as 
well  as  at  home.  He  was  decidedly  tlie  intellec- 
tual giant  of  the  age.  No  man  of  modern  times, 
except  Napoleon,  can  be  compared  witli  him  in 
intellectual  greatness,  but  the  tide  of  their  two 
lives  ran  in  such  diverse  channels,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  draw  a  parallel.  Each  equalled  all 
other  men  in  his  own  sphere,  and  undoubtedly 
would  have  excelled  in  the  other,  if  the  Fates 
had  changed  their  places ;  but  Mr.  Webster's  is 


and  sedate  in  pu))lie  life,  possessed  a  warm  and 
poetical  imagiuaiion,  and  was  ever  an  admirer 
of  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art.  His  mind 
was  thoroughly  cultivated  and  disciplined.  Fa- 
miliar with  the  Latin  classics  as  almost  any  man 
of  his  day,  he  also  gave  his  attention  to  the  belles 
lettres  wi'itcrs  of  modern  times,  and  there  were 
few  English  authors  of  celebrity  and  power  with 
whose  works  be  was  not  conversant.  While  the 
richest  gems  of  the  ancient  classics  are  often 
found  in  Mr.  Webster's  speeches  or  addresses 
on  occasions  of  great  public  interest,  in  his  plead- 
ings at  the  bar  he  frequently  introduced  with 
powerful  effect,  illustrations  taken  from  the  light 


MONUMENTAL  DESIGN  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  HON.  DANIEL  "WEBSTER. 


the  higher  and  nobler  of  the  two.  Minerva 
crowned  them  both  ;  but  in  the  wreath  which  her 
fingers  twined  for  Webster's  brow,  tlie  leaves  of 
her  favorite  olive  tree  are  mingled  with  the  bay. 
Any  man  who  looked  upon  Daniel  Webster, 
would  be  irresistibly  impressed  with  a  conviction 
of  his  majesty  of  soul ;  for  never  was  a  mortal 
face  and  form  so  much  in  harmony  with  the  mind 
within.  His  brow  had  an  awful  sublimity  about 
it,  even  in  sunshine,  which  would  cause  most 
men  to  shrink  from  encountering  it  in  storm. 
It  has  often  been  remarked  of  Mr.  Webster,  that 
he  was  equal  to  any  emergency,  however  great — 
and  when  the  deep  passions,  which  on  ordinary 
occasions  slumbered  within  him,  were  moved, 
the  effect  of  bis  eloquence  was  iri-esistibly  terri- 
ble.    Mr.   Webster,   although    habitually  grave 


literature  of  the  day.  We  had  the  good  fortune 
to  be  present  at  a  case  of  this  kind  which  pro- 
duced a  powerful  sensation.  At  the  lime — more 
than  five-and-twenty  years  ago — when  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott's  novel  of  the  Pirate  first  reached  this 
country,  an  important  cause  was  pending  in  the 
Municipal  Courtof  this  city  before  Judge  Quincy. 
It  was  the  case  of  the  Commonwealth  versus 
Samuel  Upton.  The  cause  was  managed  by 
James  T.  Austin  on  the  part  of  the  State,  and 
by  Daniel  Webster  and  other  eminent  counsel 
on  the  part  of  the  defendant.  Mr.  Webster,  in 
the  course  of  Iiis  ibrcible  argument,  introduced 
the  interesting  description  by  the  novelist  of  the 
fierce  attack  upon  that  noble  animal,  the  wh.ale, 
in  one  of  the  voes  of  Orkney,  by  the  combined 
forces  of  all  the  men,  women,   and   children  in 


the  district.  In  his  peculiarly  vigorous  language, 
Mr.  Webster  likened  this  to  the  fierce  onslaught 
made  on  the  character  and  conduct  of  his  perse- 
cuted and  injured  client,  and  expressed  a  confi- 
dent belief  lliat  the  result  of  tlie  conllict  would 
be  the  same;  and  that  the  defendant,  rising  in 
his  might,  would  shake  off  the  darts  which  had 
been  hurled  against  bim,  and  yet  escape  almost 
unscathed  from  the  malign  attack  of  his  cnemiis. 
Mr.  Webster's  published  speeches  will  be  re- 
garded by  posterity  as  models  of  eloquence  and 
power,  combining  all  the  elements  of  beauty 
with  those  of  majesty  and  strength.  His  sen- 
tences are  perfect  in  themselves,  and  move  along 
with  the  quietness  of  a  revolv- 
ing sphere,  but  equally  with 
its  resistless  power.  A  man 
might  as  well  expect  to  stand 
against  the  weight  of  a  de- 
scending avalanche  as  to  re- 
sist the  moral  force  of  his  ar- 
guments. His  speeches  are 
the  lesson  of  the  elocutionist, 
the  model  of  emulation  for 
the  student,  the  pattern  of 
perfection  in  oratory,  and  the 
admiration  of  mankind.  His 
state  papers  and  diplomatic 
correspondence  are  replete 
with  wisdom  and  legal  learn- 
ing, and  will  be  referred  to 
and  quoted  as  authority,  on 
questions  of  state  policy  and 
international  law,  throughout 
the  world.  The  letter  to 
Chevalier  Hulseman, Austrian 
Charge  d'Afthirs,  for  instance, 
is  one  of  the  most  masterly 
productions  of  the  kind  ever 
written.  His  expositions  of 
impressment  and  the  right  of 
search,  entitle  him  to  the 
hearty  thanks  of  our  seamen, 
and  are  treasures  in  the  hands 
of  an  American  statesman. 
Nothing lightor  frivolous  ever 
fell  from  Mr.  AVebster's  lips  or 
flowed  from  his  pen  ;  his  ma- 
jestic periods  move  in  a  stately 
and  solemn  grandeur,  which 
is  an  index  of  the  greatness  of 
his  mind ;  and  not  a  sentence 
can  be  found  in  any  of  his 
public  speeches  or  writings, 
which  is  contrary  to  the  strict- 
est moral  purity,  or  which 
would  wound  the  keenest  re- 
ligious sensibility.  Indeed, 
an  ethical  and  religious  spirit 
pervades  all  his  productions, 
which  is  in  strict  harmony 
with  the  character  of  a  Chris- 
tian philosopher  and  states- 
man. His  mind  was  large 
and  liberal ;  and  eschewing 
sectional  prejudices  he  labored 
for  the  good  of  the  whole 
country,  and  was  an  American 
in  thought,  word  and  deed. 
He  never  greatly  prized  the 
breath  of  popular  applause ; 
and  many  times,  in  carrying 
out  what  he  deemed  to  be  the 
true  course  of  policy,  ran 
counter  to  the  wishes  of  some 
of  his  friends  and  warmest 
supporters.  He  never  "gave 
up  for  party  what  was  meant 
for  mankind."  He  did  what 
his  reason  and  his  conscience 
told  him  was  right,  let  the 
world  say  what  it  would  ;  and 
strong  in  the  rectitude  of  his 
intentions,  he  felt  that  al- 
though slander  and  party  ma- 
lignity might  assail  him  while 
living,  they  would  be  power- 
less to  blacken  bis  posthumous 
fame.  In  all  his  public  life 
Mr.  Webster  habitually  ab- 
stained from  the  use  of  the 
poisoned  weapons  of  personal 
invective  or  party  odium.  No 
one  could  more  studiously 
abstain  from  all  attempts  to 
make  a  political  opponent 
hateful.  With  Mr.  Calhoun, 
who  for  a  considerable  portion 
of  the  time  was  his  chief  an- 
tagonist, he  ever  maintained 
most  friendly  relations.  Mr. 
Calhoun,  in  his  turn,  also  en- 
tertained a  just  estimate  of 
his  great  op])onent's  worth. 
Such  was  Daniel  Webster ! 
While  it  has  ever  been  a  re- 
proach upon  the  people  of 
Athens  that  the  wise  and  the 
good  Aristides  was  banished 
from  a  country  which  he  had 
so  long  and  so  faithfully  served,  so  mankind  for 
ages  to  come,  will  wonder  why  this  great  Ameri- 
can statesman  and  patriot,  whose  devotion  to 
his  country  knew  no  bounds,  and  whose  services 
were  the  public  acts  of  his  whole  life,  was  not 
raised  by  acclamation  to  the  highest  ofiice  in  the 
gift  of  a  free  people  !  Daniel  AVcbster's  life  has 
passed  away  like  a  tale  that  is  told  ;  but  his 
memory  and  his  works  remain,  a  rich  legacy  to 
posterity.  He  filled  up  the  sum  of  three  score 
years  and  ten  which  are  allotted  to  man,  with 
honor  to  himself  and  distinction  to  bis  country  ; 
and  hns  gone  at  length  to  his  rest,  peaceful  and 
serene  as  the  fuU-orbed  sun,  shedding  a  halo  of 
glory  over  the  world  he  leaves  behind,  long  after 
his  declining  beams  are  quenched  in  the  bosom 
of  riic  western  sea. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION, 


317 


ly^-^Op  ^^'-^ 


FREDERICK   GLEASON,   PnorRiETOR. 

MATURIN    M.    EALLOTJ,    Editor. 

CONTEiVTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  1VU3IKER. 

*'  Boarding  vs.  Housekeeping,  or  Xothing  like  having  a 
Home."  a  story,  by  Mrs.  M.  E.  Kobinson. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  XI,  relatiDg  to  the 
Institutions  of  Religion,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"Autographs  and  Autography,"  No.  Xtl,  by  vVilliam 
Edward  Enowles,  giving  the  signatures  of  J.  K.Mitchell, 
Pliny  Earle,  SyWanus  Cobb,  Jr.,  Laura  Bridgman,  Dr.  3. 
G.  Howe,  Mrs.  Caroline  Orne,  Vv.  Gibnore  Sinimes,  and  J. 
Fennimore  Cooper. 

"Travels  in  Palestine,'^  No.  XIII,  relating  to  the  Be- 
douins, by  Rev.  F.  W.  Holland. 

•'  Daniel  Webster  at  Home,"  a  timely  and  interesting 
sTcetch  of  the  celebrated  statesman,  by  Maj.  BE^:  fERLEV 

POORE. 

•'  I  still  live,"  a  touching  poem,  from  these  last  words 
of  Daniel  M'ebster,  by  Mrs  Sigourket. 

"  The  Maid  of  Alder  "Valley, "a  beautiful  poem,  by  Alice 
Carey. 

"November."  lines,  by  J.  Starr  Hollowat. 

"  L*:onore,"  lines,  by  E.  Curtiss  Hike,  U.  S.  N. 

"  Autumn,"  lines,  by  J.  Hunt,  Jr. 

"  Thoughts  on  hearing  St.  John's  Bell  at  a  distance,"  in 
Ter^e,  by  Dr.  Frederick  Houck. 

"  The  Emigrant's  Tomb,"  lines,  by  William  T.  Hilsee. 

"  Lines  to  the  late  Daniel  Webster,"  by  J.  Alford. 

*'  Why  should  Spirits  talk  with  Men  ?'-  a  poem,  by  Miss 
MaetN.  Dearborn. 

"  The  Angel  Ladder,"  lines,  by  Wm.  Edward  Knowles. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

TVe  shall  pre.=ent  a  capital  sketch,  by  our  artis-t,  Mr- 
Bvrnham^  representing  the  Old  Warren  House,  Roxbury, 
as  it  was.     The  birthplace  of  General  Warren, 

A  large  and  finely  executed  picture,  being  a  copy  of  the 
famous  painting,  entitled  the  Prophecy  of  the  Flowers. 

Also  a  large  and  spirited  engraving  from  one  of  M. 
Tidal's  paintings,  entitled  Curiosity. 

TVe  shall  pre.«ent  to  our  readers  a  most  interesting  and 
timely  series  of  pictures,  drawn  for  us  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
ManniTig,  illustrating  the  melancholy  ceremonies  over  the 
remains  of  the  late  Daniel  Webster,  at  Marshfield. 

First,  an  engraving  representing  the  Funeral  Procession, 
as  it  occurred  at  Marshfield 

Second,  a  fac-simile  of  the  Metallic  Burial  Case,  in  which 
all  that  remains  of  the  great  statesuian  reposes. 

Third,  a  picture  of  the  Webster  Family  Tomb,  situated 
at  Marshfield. 

Fourth,  a  view  of  Mr.  Webster's  body  as  it  lay  in  state 
in  bis  library,  before  being  removed  to  the  tomb. 

Fifth,  an  admirable  picture,  representing  Mr  "Webster 
as  he  appeared  a  few  days  before  his  death,  on  his  farm. 

Altogether  forming  a  deeply  interesting  group  of  scenes, 
of  a  most  truthful  and  admirable  character. 

A  very  peculiar  eastern  picture,  representing  the  Whirl- 
ing De^vi^hes,  as  described  by  our  contributor.  Dr.  J.  V. 
C.  Smith,  in  his  sketches  entitled  Turkey  and  the  Turks, 
now  publishing  in  the  Pictorial. 

A  fine  horticultural  piece,  representing  the  late  Exhibi- 
tion of  the  Horticultural  Society,  at  Montreal. 

A  view  of  the  Old  South  Church,  Newburyport,  drawn 
on  the  spot,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Kiibum. 

Also  a  fine  view  of  the  Whitofield  Monument  in  the  Old 
South  Church,  by  the  same  artist. 


MARION'S  BRIGADE: 

OE — 

THE     LIGHT     DRAGOONS. 

A  Romance  of  the  Revolution. 

BY    DR.    J.    H.    ROBINSON. 

"We  commence  this  week  in  the  Flag  of  our 
Union,  a  storj  thus  entitled.  The  tale  is  one 
of  exceeding  great  interest,  the  writer  having 
blended  the  exciting  historical  facts  of  the  period 
with  the  plot  of  his  storj.  It  is  well  written,  is 
graphic,  entertaining,  and  the  interest  never  flags 
from  the  first  to  the  last  chapter.  Its  readers 
will  agree  with  us  in  pronouncing  it  to  be  one 
of  the  best  this  popular  writer  has  yet  produced. 


SPLINTERS. 

Mr.  Seguin   is  one  of  the  regular  stock 

company  at  Wallack's  Theatre,  New  York. 

....  It  is  queer  but  true  that  the  citizens  of 
Savannah  gettheir  winter's  meat  from  New  York. 

....  The  Alleghanians,  vocalists,  have  done  a 
famous  business,  we  learn,  in  California. 

"We  are  indebted  to  the  Home  Journal 

for  a  very  complimentary  and  kind  notice. 

It  is  said  tbat  there  are  nine  hundred  au- 
thors and  composers  in  the  city  of  Paris. 

Daniel  Webster's  fee,  in  the  late  India 

rubber  case,  was  ten  thousand  dollars,  cash. 

Mrs.  Mowatt  is  under  an  engagement  at 

the  Broadway  Theatre,  during  this  month. 

Jenny  Lind  has  settled  down  and  gone 

to  house- keeping  at  Dresden,  in  Saxony 

....  Macaulay,  the  historian,  is  represented 
to  be  in  a  dying  condition  by  the  English  papers, 

The  last  dying  words  of  Webster :  "  I 

still  live  !"  will  bear  many  interpretations. 


APPETITE. 

We  last  week  had  something  to  say  upon  this 
subject,  and  have  still  a  few  more  words  to  add 
relative  to  the  matter.  Some  sturdy  reformers, 
with  the  ultraism  that  distinguishes  all  reforms 
in  this  country,  have  attempted  to  remedy  the 
propensity  for  gormandizing,  that  is  so  univer- 
sally prevalent,  by  insisting  upon  a  purely  vege- 
table diet.  The  late  Dr.  Graham  made,  at  one 
time,  a  great  stir,  and  many  proselytes  by  his 
anti-animal-food  theories.  The  Grahamites  had 
distinguished  precedents  to  refer  to.  Tlie  an- 
cient Gymnosophists  thrived  so  well  on  a  purely 
vegetable  diet,  and  obtained  such  an  extraordi- 
nary longevity,  that  some  of  them  committed 
suicide  to  put  an  end  to  lives  so  wearily  pro- 
longed !  The  Brahmins  of  Hindostan,  who  nev- 
er touch  animal  food,  are  "modem  instances" 
of  the  possibility  of  living  very  comfortably  on 
the  Graham  system.  They  not  only  abstain 
from  animal  food,  but  take  the  utmost  care  of  all 
animals,  even  vermin,  erecting  hospitals  for  their 
convenience. 

The  first  food  of  man  was  probably  vegetable, 
but  either  from  taste,  or  because  the  alternative 
was  presented  to  him  of,  to  eat  or  be  eaten  by 
them,  he  improved  his  fare  by  dooming  the  ani- 
mals to  minister  to  his  appetite.  The  physiolo- 
gists tell  us  there  are  good  reasons  for  this.  "  If 
we  examine  the  animals  that  do  not  eat  flesh," 
they  say,  "we  shall  find  that  their  stomachs  are 
of  a  very  different  structure  from  that  of  man. 
The  animals  that  subsist  on  grain  and  berries 
have  a  thick  muscular  stomach,  before  which 
there  is  a  large  gullet.  The  organs  of  digestion 
of  the  graminivorous,  ruminating  animals  have 
several  cavities  in  which  the  food  is  gradually 
elaborated.  The  human  stomach,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  of  the  same  kind  as  that  of  the  dog  and 
other  carnivorous  animals." — The  juices  of  ani- 
mals have  a  closer  affinity  with  ours  than  the 
juices  of  vegetables,  and  are  more  nutritious 
to  us. 

We  see,  therefore,  no  absolute  necessity  for  a 
departure  from  the  time-honored  custom  of  eat- 
ing animal  food.  The  "flesh  pots  of  Egypt" 
need  not  be  wholly  avoided ;  and  though  one 
may  not  be  justified  in  selling  his  birthright,  like 
Esau,  for  a  mess  of  pottage,  still  he  will  be  en- 
titled to  absolution  if  he  eats  a  good  dinner 
when  he  can  get  one.  Our  restaurateurs  need 
not  fear  that  they  will  be  obliged  to  remove  their 
tempting  signs  of  savory  sirloins  and  haunches 
of  venison,  and  bunches  of  canvas-back  ducks, 
and  substitute  pictures  of  cabbages,  carrots  and 
turnips. 

Bran-bread  homceopathic  soup  made  of  the 
shadows  of  pigeons,  are  decidedly  at  a  discount. 
Sawdust  puddings  will  not  rise;  and  unbolted 
wheat  pancakes  are  down  flat!  "Dost  thou 
think  because  thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be  no 
more  cakes  and  ale  ?  No,  by  St.  Anne  !"  The 
poulterers  and  butchers  will  thrive,  in  spite  of 
theorists  ;  and  Brighton  will  still  be  the  Mecca 
of  the  hungered  faithful ! 


Portrait  of  Hosea  Balloti. — We  have  re- 
ceived from  Abel  Tompkins,  publisher,  38  Corn- 
hill,  Boston,  a  very  perfect  and  flnely-executed 
engraving  and  likeness  of  the  late  Rev.  Hosea 
Ballon.  As  a  likeness,  we  have  never  seen  its 
superior,  and  certainly  as  a  work  of  art,  it  chal- 
lenges our  highest  encomiums.  The  artist,  Mr. 
H.  W.  Smith,  of  this  city,  has  done  himself 
great  credit  in  the  engraving  he  has  produced. 


"  The  Yankee  Champion  :  or,  The  Tory  and 
his  League." — This  popular  story,  by  Sylvanus 
Cobb,  Jr.,  just  completed  in  the  columns  of  the 
Elag  of  our  Union,  is  now  published  in  book 
form,  and  is  for  sale  at  all  the  periodical  depots, 
and  at  the  office  of  publication. 


Munificent  Donation. — Joshua Bates,Esq., 
of  the  eminent  house  of  Baring  Brothers  &  Co., 
has  made  the  liberal  donation  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  for  the  purchase  of  books  for  the  Boston 
Public  Library. 


Gleasox's  Pictorial  Da.^wiNO-'RooM  Companion  Ptanda 
so  high  in  the  estimation  of  the  lovers  of  genuine  liteniry 
merit,  that  our  commendations  would  hardly  add  to  its 
well  e.^rned  popularity.  Its  embellishments  are  of  a  hi^h 
order,  and  the  mechanical  execution  of  the  paper  exhibits 
an  excellent  taste,  and  a  generous  outlay  of  expense,  that 
makes  it  a  desirable  and  attractive  parlor  companion. — 
PainesviUe  Free  Press. 


SoNTAG. — The  Philadelphians  were  thorough- 
ly aroused  into  a  furore  by  this  (sacredly  named) 
queen  of  song. 


BuEAL. — N.  P.  Willis  is  building  himself  a 
country  residence  on  the  Highlands. 


HOIVIE  AGAIN. 

After  a  brief  absence  from  home,  we  are  once 
more  in  our  cozy  sanctum,  with  an  abundant 
supply  of  white  paper,  ink  and  pens  lying  most 
suggestively  before  us.  Our  readers  will  bear  us 
witness  that  we  are  not  very  often  a  truant,  and, 
perhaps,  they  could  hardly  have  discovered  our 
late  absence,  but  for  this  gratuitous  acknowledg- 
ment ;  however,  we  returned  refreshed  for  the 
duty  of  our  post. 

New  York  is  growing  so  fast  as  to  seem  to  be 
going  out  of  town  towards  the  reservoir  by 
strides,  opening  its  immense  folds  of  resources 
as  we  do  the  sections  of  a  measuring  rule,  and 
stretching  its  length  and  breadth  with  colossal 
power  over  the  whole  of  Manhattan.  The  entire 
length  of  Broadway  seems  to  have  been  measured 
for  a  new  suit  of  marble  and  freestone — six  and 
seven  story  buildings  going  up  on  its  whole 
length,  of  most  magnificent  elegance  in  style. 
The  far-famed  Metropolitan  Hotel,  with  its 
multiplied  splendors  of  furniture  and  luxurious 
elegancies,  is  to  be  outdone  by  still  another 
Broadway  hotel,  now  half  constructed,  and  al- 
ready presenting,  with  its  snowy  front  of  white 
marble,  a  most  striking  architectural  picture — we 
refer  to  the  St.  Nicholas.  Indeed  public  and 
private  buildings  are  going  up  in  all  directions 
(and  especially  in  the  Fifth  Avenue)  with  Alad- 
din-like splendor  and  celerity. 

Theatricals  in  New  York  are  on  the  topmost 
wave  of  success.  Wallack's  Theatre,  late  Brough- 
am's Lyceum,  the  Broadway,  Niblo's,  Burton's 
Theatre,  the  National  and  Bowery,  are  all  open, 
and  pecuniarily  successful.  Wallack's,  Niblo's 
and  the  Broadway  are  model  theatres,  both  for 
the  beauty  of  their  interior  arrangements  and  the 
good  taste  displayed  in  the  character  of  the  per- 
formances. Wallack's  "Benedick"  carried  us 
back  to  our  earliest  theatrical  experience  in  the 
old  Tremont  Theatre,  of  this  city.  Wallack  is 
soon  to  perform  an  engagement  at  our  National, 
when  we  shall  present  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial 
with  an  admirable  original  likeness  of  him. 


THE  "CEDARS." 

A  few  days  since,  while  on  a  literary  pilgrim- 
age, we  called  upon  Henry  W.  Herbert,  at  his 
cottage,  near  Newark,  N.  J.,  by  the  banks  of  the 
Passaic,  which  he  has  named  the  "  Cedai-s."  The 
entitling  was  suggested  by  the  luxurious  abun- 
dance of  the  species  of  wood  that  hems  in  his 
rural  retreat  on  the  land  side,  forming  a  beautiful 
and  closely  interwoven  grove.  Here  we  found 
"  Frank  Forrester  "  in  his  element,  surrounded 
by  his  dogs,  guns,  and  trophies  of  tlie  sportsman's 
skill,  and  the  material  for  the  author's  hand  and 
brain.  Mr.  Herbert  is  too  well  known  to  require 
any  eulogium  from  us ;  his  industrious  pen  has 
rendered  him  famous  in  more  than  one  field  of 
literature,  and  has  won  for  him  a  lasting  and 
distinguished  reputation. 


VERY  GOOD. 

One  of  our  agents  made  ninety  dollars  in  the 
last  ten  days,  in  selling  our  hound  volumes  of 
the  Pictorial.  Another  has  madeyoriy  dollars  in 
the  last  week.  This  is  profitable  business  surely, 
and  shows  that  the  works  in  the  hands  of  a  smart 
man  will  realize  to  him  a  very  large  yearly  in- 
come. We  have  not  made  a  practice  of  sending 
out  agents,  but  seeing  how  well  the  few  that 
have  been  engaged  in  the  business  have  done,  we 
are  still  willing  to  try  a  few  more. 


Silver  Mines. — The  silver  mines  of  Chili, 
twenty  miles  south  of  Capiapo,  are  said  to  be  in- 
exhaustible. They  were  discovered  in  1812. 
A  peasant  pulled  up  a  bush,  and  at  the  root  was 
a  mass  of  solid  silver.  In  three  weeks,  more 
than  forty  veins  were  discovered.  The  Chilians 
are  too  lazy  to  work  these  rich  mines. 


The  Mayor's  Levee. — Mr.  Seaver  gave  a 
brilliant  and  most  agreeable  reception  party,  the 
other  day,  in  honor  of  the  return  of  Hon.  Abbott 
Lawrence.  Nearly  a  thousand  guests  responded 
to  his  polite  invitations. 


Houses. — Why  don't  people  build  dwelling- 
houses  in  Boston  1  they  are  in  great  and  con- 
stant demand. 


True. — The  world's  worst  traps  are,  doubt- 
less, in  the  shape  of  "  dangerous  facilities." 

^    .^«a».    » 

Musical. — The  Boston  Musical   Hall   is  al 
most  completed. 


Next  Number. — Read  the  announcement. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  J.  Commings,  J.  "W.  Harper, 
Esq.,  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  to  Miss  Abby  P.  Sleeper. 

By  Rev.  JVIr.  kirk,  Mr.  Edward  Bissel  Hunt,  TJ.  S.  N., 
to  Miss  Helen  Maria  Fiske. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Stone,  Mr.  Seth  Eastman  to  Miss  Olive  E. 
VToodsum. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  George  W".  Philbrick  to  Mias 
Mary  Jane  Matth'  ws. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Neale,  Mr.  Jacob  Traine  to  Miss  Mari^  T. 
Sayles,  of  Chelsea. 

By  Rev.  rhineas  Stow,  Mr.  Nathaniel  S.  Little  to  Miss 
MaryE.  Hook,  both  of  Manchester,  N.  H. 

At  Charlesto\m,  by  Rev  Mr.  Flint,  Mr.  John  GEluntz  to 
Mrs.  Florence  Norwood. 

At  Somerville,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pope,  Mr.  Robert  Hollings- 
wortb  to  Miss  Louiva  C.  Ireland. 

At  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Steams,  Mr.  Milton  "Wason 
to  Miss  Maria  A.  Borgnis. 

At  Reading,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Tolman,  Mr.  Enoch  Foster, 
Jr.,  to  Miss  Mary  Frost. 

At  Dedham,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Lamson,  Mr.  Charles  G.  Mack- 
intosh to  Miss  Harriet  Ann  Richards. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Asa  Thompson  to 
Miss  Sarah  Boardman. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Bowen,  Mr.  William  H. 
Swasey  to  Miss  Susan  Babson. 

At  Bolfast,  Me.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Cutter,  Mr.  Richard 
Brigg.^,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Fannie  Towne. 

At  Effingham,  N.  H  ,  Mr.  R.  H.  Burbank,  of  Boston, 
to  Miss  Abby  M.  Di"ake. 

At  Pluladelpnia,  Mr.  James  P.  Brown,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Ellen  D,  Cowperthwaite. 


In  this  city.  Mr.  James  H.  Plummer,  23  :  Mr  Horatio 
L.  Goodwin, '86  :  Mrs.  Emily  T.  Hathaway,  29;  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet Bradford.  82  -  Dr.  John  Ma.'^on,  63. 

At  Chariestown,  Mr  Isaac  Lothrop,  43. 

At  Roxbury,  Mrs.  Mary  Butler,  79. 

At  Cambridge,  Mr.  Joshua  Biniiey.  76. 

At  Cambridgeport.  Mr,  Lucius  R.  Paige,  Jr.,  23. 

At  Taunton,  Hon.  Francis  Baylies,  69. 

At  Medford,  Mrs.  Hannah  P.  Kidder,  09. 

At  W"altham,  Mr.  Levi  Gnrney,  54. 

At  W"eston,  Miss  LucyCoburn,  36. 

At  Sangus,  Mrs.  Abigail  Newball,  74. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Mary  S.  Clough,  S2. 

At  Marblehead,  Mrs.  Jane  Strong.  88. 

At  Lowell.  Mrs.  Sarah  H.  Stott,  48- 

At  Hamilton,  Mr.  William  Meady,  59. 

At  Gloucester,  Miss  Caroline  C.  Sayward,  16. 

At  Amesbury,  Mrs.  Ruth  Tibbetts,  74. 

At  Metbuen,  Mr.  Phineas  V.  Stanley,  38. 

At  Milbur^ ,  Mrs.  Harriet  N.  Holman  22. 

At  Worcester,  Mrs.  Mary  Ann  Smith,  36. 

At  t'itcbbursr,  Mr.  Benjamin  Brigham,  78. 

At  Dartmouth,  Mr.  Abiab  Jones,  Jr.,  62. 

At  West  Townsend,  Mr  Edward  WiswoU,  55- 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Mr.  Alfred  Beals,  25- 

At  Camden,  Me,,  Mrs.  Mehitable  H.  Bartlett,  28. 

At  Mason,  N.  H.,  Mr  Oliver  Hopmer,  88 

At  Hartford,  Ct.,  Mr.  Charles  M.  Clerc  26. 

At  iVe.st  Hapen.  Ct.,  Rer.  Edward  Wright,  3". 

At  Clarence,  N.  Y.,  Mr3.  Lu^nnda  Wright,  52. 

At  Ont.''rio.  111..  Mr.  I'.ieoaore  Cone.  Kl 


—  AXD — ■ 

LITERAEY  WEEKLY  JOURiSrAL. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL 

A  Record  of  the  heautiful  and  usefid  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  niclaugo  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMEKICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.    Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  iu  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  "ity  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  iu  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  affords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  Inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
combined  excellencies. 

TERMS:    $2  00    PEE   VOITTME. 

OR,    !?4  00    PER    ANNUM. 

IKVAKIABLT   IN   ADVANCE. 

Each  six  months  completes  a  volume,  commencing  on 
the  first  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  volumes 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

[C?^-  One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  our  Union,  and  one  copy 
of  the  PicTOEiAL  Drawing-Roou  Companion,  one  year, 
for  So  00. 

fCf"  The  Pictorial  Drawtng-Room  Companion  may  be 
obt;iined  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  the 
country,  and  of  newsmen,  at  ie>i  ceiiis  per  single  copy. 

Published  every  Saturday,  by 

F.    GLEASON,  B08T0N,  3Uss. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  I5i  .sasi^u,  cor.  spruce  otreet,  New  York 
A.  WINCH,  116  Che.itnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAYLOR  &  L  0..  Ill  Baltimore  St..  Baltimore, 
A.  C  BAGLEY,  10  West  Third  Street,  Cin.  innati. 
J.  A.  ROYS,  43  Woodward  Avenue.  Deti-oit. 
E.  K.  WOODWARD,  cor.  Fourth  aiid  Chesnut,  St.  Louis. 
Ql^r*  Sybscripiions  recMve/i  at  either  oj  the  cAm^t  places. 


318 


CLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[WrItteD  forGltiftBon'H  IMotorliil.] 
WINTKR     IS     COflUJSCi. 


ST  £.  CUIITIHS  IlINE,  V.  S.  H. 


Gono  uro  the  plcasimt  RUnimcr  days, 

The  chilHiiK  witidfl  Imvo  eorii«  ; 
And  chcurk'Mly  tbo  cold  smi  pliijH 

On  inimy  a  dreary  liomo. 
Tlio  floldfi  tliiit  smiled  ro  t'rcsb  and  grtien, 

Bwoeath  the  skies  of  Juno, 
In  rusact  muntlts  now  are  seen, 

And  birda  liavo  ceased  their  tuno. 

It  is  an  emblem  of  our  life, 

And  wjvkena  thoughts  of  pain  ; 
Reminding  uh  when  joye  were  rife, 

And  fell  like  summer  rain  ; 
Seared  are  the  meadowfl  of  the  heart, 

Chill  grief  baa  left  bis  atain  ; 
And  aa  our  youthful  days  depart, 

We'll  see  them,  ne'er  again  ! 


[Written  for  Gleason'e  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

Ko.  XII. 

BY  KEV.  r.  W.  HOLLAND. 

TIBERIAS  AND  ITS  LAKE. 
My  French  friend,  liaving  got  enough  of  Syria,  determined  to 
return  over  the  .same  track  which  wc  had  so  lately  jiassed  to  the 
steamship-station  at  Bciroot.  At  Nazaictli,  we  had  expected  to 
part  company,  and  I  was  likely  to  be  left  alone  with  my  Turkish 
muleteer,  whose  name  even  was  unknown  to  me,  and  the  reputa- 
tion of  whose  class  was  stupidity,  indolence,  cowardice  and  want 
of  fidelity.  This  was  anything  but  an  inviting  prospect.  So  I 
bustled  about  in  Jerusalem  to  discover  a  reliable  dragoman — one 
who  might  be  a  companion  as  well  as  a  guide,  a  protection  as 
much  as  a  domestic  convenience.  But  neither  of  the  consulates 
could  furnish  a  man  at  such  short  notice,  though  tliere  must  have 
been  hundreds  at  Jerusalem  acquainted  with  the  way,  and  entirely 
free  from  business.  So  I  had  to  start  again  from  a  city  where 
I  would  gladly  have  spent  a  month,  instead  of  a  week,  full 
of  apprehension  as  to  the  future.  The  road,  after  I  was  to  leave 
my  companion,  was  said  to  be  peculiarly  dangerous.  My  Syrian 
map  satisfied  me  there  was  no  comfortable  shelter  to  be  found 
from  Tiberias  to  Damascus;  and  in  this  monotonous  dragging 
along  through  voiceless  solitudes,  you  need  inexpressibly  some 
sort  of  society,  where  another  traveller  is  not  met  periiaps  for 
the  whole  day,  a  four-footed  creature  other  than  your  own  horses 
seen,  nor  a  sound  heard  save  from  some  startled  partridge  in  the 
woods,  or  the  erooning  dirge  sung  by  your  sad-voiced  mule-man  ; 
where,  too,  is  no  misty  morn  or  dewy  eve,  but  the  change  from 
the  intolerable  glare  of  noon  is  to  intense  gloom  at  night,  one 
may  be  pardoned  for  craving  company.  And, yet,  all  unarmed, 
and,  if  need  be,  alone,  I  was  determined  upon  visiting  Damascus. 
Providence,  however,  took  better  care  of  me  than  I  could  of  my- 
self; and  as  I  was  perplexing  myself  with  anxious  cares  on  the 
second  night,  I  heard  M.  Hamelin  say  to  our  old  servant :  "  Nico- 
lai,  we  are  all  going  to  Damascus  " — my  after  sleep  was  very 
sweet,  and  morning  never  looked  so  beautiful  before,  as  when  I 
woke  and  felt  the  perfect  security  which  one  European  friend 
always  gives  to  another — felt  the  carelessness  of  a  child  as  to  any 
future  difficulty. 

From  Nazareth  to  Tiberias,  the  first  part  of  the  route  that  was 
new,  a  delightful  six  hours'  ride  upon  one  of  the  sweetest  morn- 
ings that  ever  was  made,  led  by  Cana,  of  Galilee — a  poor,  thiev- 
ish, lazy  and  dirty  village — and  past  a  mount  termed  by  the 
Latins,  but  not  the  Greeks,  "  The  Beatitudes."  The  castle  and 
battlemented  walls  of  Tiberias  make  a  grand  show  as  you  first 
catch  sight  of  them  from  the  flowering  hillside,  but  the  shock  is 
very  great  when  you  come  to  enter  the  ruined,  poverty-stricken 
sickly,  nasty  hole,  It  is  one  of  the  four  holy  cities,  of  wliich  the 
Talmud  declares  that  "creation  must  cease  when  Jewish  worship 
ceases  to  be  offered  there ;"  and  is,  of  course,  greatly  resorted  to 
by  I*olish  and  Flemish  Jews,  who  while  out  a  miserable  existence 
in  praying  and  studying  the  Talmud  ;  but  it  is  such  a  furnace  in 
summer,  that  most  of  the  inhabitants  desert  their  houses  for  little 
green  arbors  on  the  roof,  where  they  sleep,  as  well  as  sit,  and 
vainly  hope  to  escape  swarming  vermin.  It  is,  besides,  subject  to 
tcrril)le  earthquakes — that  of  1837  having  killed  hundreds,  injured 
every  house,  thrown  down  much  of  the  walls,  and  branded  the 
whole  place  with  still  fresh  traces  of  destruction.  Half  of  the 
four  thousand  population  is  the  mo^t  bigoted  of  Israel;  the  other 
half  MuBSulmen,  or  Greek  Christians.  A  very  plain,  long  arched 
and  ancient  chapel  is  shown  as  the  scene  of  the  miraculous 
draught  of  fishes,  but  Robinson  thought  the  building  no  older 
than  the  times  of  the  crusades ;  a  single,  churlish  Gi'cck  monk 
has  charge  of  the  establishment,  which  is  owned  by  the  Nazareth 
friars,  and  dedicated  to  St.  Peter. 

Tiberias  was  built  by  King  Herod  in  tlie  best  part  of  Galilee, 
where  it  could  command  the  business  of  the  lake,  chipccially  its 
fishery,  and  was  honored  with  the  name  of  the  lloman  emperor. 
The  largest  city  in  the  vicinity,  it  has  long  outlived  its  rivals,  and 
is  resorted  to  now,  as  it  was  under  the  liomans,  for  the  hot  me- 
dicinal baths  at  Emmaus,  a  little  south  of  its  walls.  Joscjjbus 
speaks  of  these  sulphijr  and  chalybeate  springs,  and  the  latest 
Biblical  Cyclopedia  mentions  tliom  as  somctliing  of  ancient  re- 
nown. 13ut  people  still  resort  to  them  in  great  nnnibers,  and  are 
frCfjuG^tly  c^rc4  of  ciitqineous  disorders.     I  found  that  the  build- 


ings, cHpecially  the  beautiful  dome-covered  one  erected  hylbrnbim 
Pasha,  bad  been  greatly  injured,  but  the  basin  was  full  of  water, 
and  persons  were  enjoying  its  fragrant  steam,  even  at  the  twilight 
hour.  There  are  four  hot  springs,  some  of  tliem  with  a  strong, 
sulphur  smt'll,  of  the  highest  temperature  which  the  hand  can 
bear,  and  of  mineral  strength  enough  to  dye  the  stones  around 
their  mouths  with  the  gayest  hues.  There  is  no  "  village  of  Em- 
maus,"  as  Kitio  states,  nor  are  these  mineral  baths  of  grwat  an- 
tiquity, or  there  would  have  been  some  allusion  to  them  in  tlic 
Scriptures.  Some  of  the  modern  earthquakes  must  have  given 
freedom  to  a  mountain  rill,  and  helped  it  to  pass  over  beds  of  sul- 
phur, salt  and  iron  in  their  heated  state.  Tiie  whole  region  is 
unquestionably  volcanic. 

Massive  and  elegant  Roman  ruins,  columns  and  cornices  ex- 
tend from  the  present  city  about  two  miles  to  the  south.  They 
show  how  extensive  and  well  built  was  the  former  metropolis  of 
Galilee.  I  found  no  fragment  of  buildings,  in  Palestine  Proper, 
at  all  as  rich  and  spacious.  Erected  probably  during  tlie  ministry 
of  the  Saviour,  and  therefore  one  of  the  most  modern  places  in 
Palestine,  it  resisted  Vespasian  very  bravely,  but  unsuccessfully; 
was  afi;erwards  taken  by  Mussulmen,  Crusaders,  and  finally  by 
its  present  masters,  the  Turks.  Besides  its  importance  as  a  mili- 
tary position,  commanding  this  wide  sheet  of  inland  waters,  after 
the  overthrow  of  Jerusalem  it  became  the  centre  of  Jewish  learn- 
ing, and  is  still  the  seat  of  a  college,  a  sanhedrim  and  several 
synagogues.  But  there  is  neither  a  boat  nor  a  net  in  the  jjlacc ; 
and  so  wretchedly  unclean  are  the  houses,  that  the  proverb  in  all 
mouths  is  the  "king  of  fleas  holds  his  court  in  Tiberias." 

We  were  lodged  very  comfortably,  though  somewhat  expen- 
sively, by  a  German  Jew,  Dr.  Heirn  Wiseman,  the  whole  of  whose 
hotel  consisted  of  the  one  saloon  occupied  by  us,  and  not  visited 
before  for  more  than  a  month.  High  charges  for  such  very  rare 
services  seemed  not  at  all  unreasonable;  and  his  viands  were  ex- 
cellent, especially  the  delicious  fish  of  the  lake.  His  former  re- 
quest, that  "gentlemen  on  leaving  his  house  would  have  the 
goodness  to  give  him  what  ihey  pleased,"  is  changed  into  a 
lengthy  tavern  bill,  in  which  notliing  is  forgotten. 

This  plague-bitten,  death-doomed  city  is  another  specimen  of 
the  victory  of  religion  over  nature.  But  for  the  pious  traditions 
of  the  place,  it  would  have  been  deserted  long  ago  for  the  lovely 
mountain  slope  right  back  of  the  town,  where  every  advantage  of 
the  lake  would  be  enjoyed,  besides  a  constant  prospect  of  its  wa- 
ters, and  the  pestilence,  tlie  earthquake  and  the  burning  heat  es- 
caped. A  humane  government  would  have  removed  the  popula- 
tion after  the  great  earthquake,  and  not  have  encouraged  them  to 
rush  back  into  the  jaws  of  future  destruction.  But  the  Turkish 
rulers  have  about  the  same  love  for  the  people,  as  the  vulture  and 
jackal  which  infest  the  land. 

If  we  were  exposed  to  the  winter  severities  of  the  climate,  to 
rain  above  and  mud  below,  to  swollen  streams  and  occasional 
snows  upon  the  mountains,  we  were  amply  repaid  here,  especially 
by  such  beauties  of  scenery  as  summer  is  sure  to  wither.     Noth- 
ing could  be  greener  than  the  treeless  mountain  sides  which  frame 
in  the  glassy  mirror  of  this  lake.     At  the  end  of  January  the  win- 
ter crops  of  grain,  or  the  natural  herbage  freshened  by  frequent 
showers,  or  the  numberless  wild  flowers  made  a  richer  carpet 
than  Gobelin  tapestry  beneath  our  feet,  or  threw  a  spell  of  beauty 
over  the  fine  range  of  hills  on  the  distant  shore.     The  lake  itself, 
called  uniformly  by  the  native  name  of  the  city,  Tabarea,  is  twelve 
miles  long  and  five  broad,  and  in  its  greatest  depth  one  hundred 
and  sixty-five  feet.     It  is  exposed  to  the  same  sudden  squalls  as  it 
was  in  the  days  of  the  disci])les,  is  equally  abundant  in  fish,  and 
might  maintain  the  same  multitude  as  of  old  upon  its  rich,  but 
deserted    "  coasts."     The    latest    description    given    by   a  Jew 
(Schwartz),  says  that  "one  constantly  sees  an  active  intercourse 
carried  on  through  means  of  small  vessels,  in  which  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  opposite  side  bring  wood  and  other  articles  to   Tiberi- 
as."   Were  the  band  of  the  Arab  robber  restrained,  and  any  fixed 
inhabitants  settled  on  the  further  shore,  there  might  be  some  such 
commerce  again,  but  not  a  sail  now  glides  over  the  sleeping  wa- 
ters, nor  the  plash  of  an  oar  ever  disturbs  its  mournful  repose. 
The  silence  is  more  remarkable  than  that  which  you  expect  to 
see,  and  of  which  you  discover  the  natural  cause,  at  the  Dead  Sea. 
Capernaum,  over  which  that  doom  was  uttered  :  "  Thou  Caper- 
naum, which  art  exalted  unto  heaven, shall  be  cast  down  to  hell," 
some  Amerit-an  letter- writers  profess  to  have  seen;   but  the  very 
name  of  the  place  has  utterly  perished,  and  the  dispute  is  yet  go- 
ing on  as  to  its  true  location,  the  latest  authorities  placing  it  some 
five  miles  back  from  the  lake,  where  extensive  ruins  are  found. 
Medjel,  the  Dalmanntha  of  Mark,  originally  Magdala,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Magdalen,  a  wretched  and  sickly  village  of  thirty 
houses,  at  the  south  of  a  very  fertile  valley,  is  the  only  other  set- 
tlement on  the  same  side  with  Tiberias.     At  its  northern  extrem- 
ity are  the  ruins  of  a  khan.     As  our   procession,  increased  by  a 
young  soldier,  an  escort  from  Nazareth,  wound  along  the  head  of 
the  lake  on  a  most  lovely  spring  day,  the  air  just  warm  enough 
to  make  exercise  agreeable,  the  sunlight  gleaming  brightly  from 
the  unclouded  waters,  the  shelving   slopes  of  the  western  bank 
contrasting  finely  with  the  turrcttcd  mountains  of  the  eastem,  the 
first  object  of  interest  was  the  khan  of  "Joseph's  pit" — a  resting- 
place  for  caravans  on  the  great  road  to  Damascus,  where  both 
Moslem  and  Christian  tradition  ]:)laccs  the  scene  of  this  noble 
boy's  confinement  by  his  brethren,  in  a  rocky  pit  some  thirty-five 
feet  deep.     Following  what  the  Scripture  terms  the  "way  of  the 
sen,"  we  crossed  the  foaming  and  tossing  Jordan  over  an  old  stone 
bridge,  named,  from  an  unknown  period,  "The  Sons  of  Jacob." 
Here  another  khan,  intended,  peihaps,  as  a  protection  to  this  im- 
portant bi'idge,  invited  us  to  rest.     But  we  had  no  time  to  spare; 
we  made  the   hcst  of  our  way  to  a  Bedouin  encampment,  whose 
hoypitaliiicH  we  v/cre  determined  to  try. 


[Written  for  Glcaflon'fl  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGIIAPHS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 

OF  DISTINGTJISHED  HiTLIVID'aALS. 

No.  XI. 

BY  WM.  I!DWAItD   KN0WLE8. 


The  late  Edgar  A.  Poe  was,  indeed,  a  strange  genius.  His 
whole  writings  read  like  the  wild  imaginings  of  a  mind  diseased. 
As  an  author,  he  is  without  an  equal.  No  brainless  imitators  rise 
up  to  mutilate  the  thoughts  he  has  left  behind  him.  He  stands 
before  us,  unapproachable.  He  seemed  born  to  misfortune,  and 
tlie  knowledge  of  it  cast  around  him  the  gloom  of  melancholy. 
His  cliirogniphy  is  decidedly  picturesque,  and  evinces  a  mind 
wild  and  visionary.  It  gives  evidence  of  indcfnti/jaltiliti/ — a  quality 
which  he  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree.  The  signature  is 
heavier  than  the  majority  of  his  manuscript. 

W.  L  Stoxe  has  been  connected  with  the  press  for  many 
years.  His  autograph  is  heavy,  and  devoid  of  anything  like 
genius.  One  would  think,  to  judge  from  his  handwriting,  that 
he  had  written  it  under  the  impulse  of  some  strange  dream.  It  is 
extremely  sprawling  and  irregular. 

Mrs.  St.  LEoy  Loud  is  one  of  our  best  poets.  Her  manuscript 
is  neat  and  graceful.  Her  imaginative  powers  aie  good,  and  to 
this  she  owes  her  success  in  authorship.  She  ranks  high  among 
the  votaries  to  the  muses,  and  is  a  bright  star  in  tlie  constellatioa 
of  female  poets. 


T.  G.  Spear  has  written  some  very  creditable  things  in  the 
way  of  poetry.  His  productions  are  much  admired,  both  for  Ibeir 
gracefulness  and  beauty.  His  signature  is  a  fair  specimen  of  his 
manuscript. 


<y  .   cZ  ■    '^Cx^X^ 


Dr.  Hawks  w^as,  we  believe,  one  of  the  originators  of  the 
"New  York  Review."  He  ha-s  also  written  several  works,  among 
which  is  the  "  History  of  the  Episcopal  Church  of  Virginia."  His 
chirography  is  fluent  and  graceful. 


9r-  c/. 


a--^  oL  on^ 


The  chirography  of  Wsi.  Landor  is  petite,  and  without  hair 
strokes.  It  is  rather  stiflly  formed.  The  signature  is  far  better 
than  tlic  general  manuscript,  though  this  has  a  stubbed  and  crisp 
appearance. 


H.  S.  Legare  has  contributed  many  articles  of  real  merit  to 
the  southern  press.  But  his  handwriting  can  lay  no  claims  to 
gracefulness.  There  is  to©  much  pretension,  and  straining  after 
mere  effect.  This  is  not  as  well  seen  in  the  signature  as  in  the 
manuscript. 

The  late  Grenville  Mellen  was  a  strange  genius — with  a 
mind  flighty  and  unsettled.  His  straining  after  elfect  is  even 
greater  than  Mr.  Legare's.  Yet  he  has  written  some  verse,  which 
will  cstal)lish  his  name  in  the  galaxy  of  American  poets. 

JosErii  H.  Butler's  name  is  familiar  to  the  readers  of  the 
Pictorial,  as  an  author  whose  ])oetical  contributions  are  marked 
by  much  feeling  and  merit.  His  manuscript  is  peculiar,  being 
usually  more  like  scrawls  than  fair-formed  letters.  It  bears  the 
marks  of  haste,  and  seems  dashed  off  under  strong  impulse. 


GLEASON'S   nCTORlAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


319 


WATER. 

In  early  ages,  water  was  reverenced  as  the 
substance  of  which  all  things  in  ihe  universe 
■were  supposed  to  be  made,  and  the  vivifying 
principle  that  animated  the  whole  ;  hence  rivers, 
fountains  and  wells  were  worshipped,  and  relig- 
ious feasts  and  ceremonies  instituted  in  honor  of 
them,  or  of  the  spii'its  which  were  believed  to 
preside  over  them.  Almost  all  nations  retain 
relics  of  this  superstition,  while  in  some  it  is  prac- 
tised to  a  lamentable  extent.  Asia  exhibits  the 
humiliating  spectacle  of  millions  of  her  people 
degraded  by  it,  as  in  former  ages.  Shoals  of 
pilgrims  are  constantly  in  motion  over  all  Hin- 
dostan,  on  their  way  to  the  "sacred  Ganges ;" 
their  tracks  stained  with  the  blood  and  covered 
with  the  bones  of  thousands  that  perish  on  the 
road.  With  these  people,  it  is  deemed  a  virtue 
even  to  think  of  this  river ;  while  to  bathe  in  its 
waters  washes  away  all  sins  ;  and  to  expire  on 
its  brink,  or  be  suffocated  in  it,  is  the  climax  of 
human  felicity.  The  Holy  Well,  in  the  city  of 
Benares,  is  visited  by  devotees  from  all  parts  of 
India;  to  it  they  offer  rice,  etc.,  as  to  their  idols. 


LITERARY  REMAIAS  OF  WEBSTER. 

Besides  his  speeches,  orations  and  State  pa- 
pers— a  priceless  legacy  in  themselves — Mr. 
Webster  left  no  work  which  has  been  published. 
It  was  understood  that  he  was,  previous  to  his 
death,  engaged  on  a  History  of  the  Administra- 
tion of  Washington.  In  the  multiplicity  of  his 
public  and  professional  duties,  we  fear  the  la- 
mented statesman  found  but  little  leisure  to  de- 
vote to  this  great  work,  and  that  it  has  been  left 
unfinished.  It  is  less  than  a  year  since  the 
speeches,  orations  and  diplomatic  papers  of  Mr. 
Webster  were  collected  and  arranged  by  the 
Hon.  Edward  Everett. — They  were  published  in 
gix  octavo  volumes,  the  first  of  which  contained 
a  memoir. 


THE  DIPTHER,*. 

Such  is  said  to  be  the  name  of  a  new  tonnet 
which  is  all  the  rage  in  Paris — invented  by  a  re- 
tiring "goddess  of  fashion,"  Madame  d'Golberg. 
It  is  made,  can  it  be  credited,  out  of  "polished 
leather  ;"  and  it  is  said  that  the  really  beautiful 
way  in  which  the  material  is  made  subservient 
to  every  style  of  wearer,  from  the  truly  coquet- 
tish to  the  sombre  or  demure,  fully  justifies  its 
high  reputation.  Truly  has  some  philosopher 
said — "  There's  nothing  like  leather." 


Death  of  a  Revolutionary  Soldier. — 
John  Wadleigh,  a  soldier  of  the  revolution,  died 
at  Shaker  Village,  N.  H.,  October  23,  aged  95 
years,  7  months  and  23  days.  He  was  at  the 
battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  was  one  of  the  last  to 
leave  the  scene  of  action.  He  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  Society  of  Shakers,  having  been 
a  member  of  that  fraternity  over  seventy  years. 


Charlestown  Nayy  Yard. — The  navy  yard 
wears  a  lively  and  business-like  aspect;  all  the 
workshops  are  filled  with  workmen  busily  en- 
gaged in  preparing  equipments  for  the  vessels 
fitting  out  at  that  station.  About  three  hundred 
hands  have  been  recently  engaged  in  the  yard, 
and  additions  are  daily  being  made. 


Large  Funeral. — A  funeral  procession  late- 
ly formed  at  the  Endicott  Street  Church,  in  this 
city,  and  passed  through  several  streets  to  the 
Old  Catholic  Burial  Ground,  nuralicring  62  car- 
riages, and  368  persons  on  foot,  and  measured 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  in  length. 


Cholera  in  Europe.  —The  latest  reports 
from  the  district  of  Ctntral  Europe,  where  the 
cholera  has  prevailed,  are  more  favorable  than 
previous  ones.  Tiie  disease  is  abating  in  most 
localities  from  which  reports  have  been  received. 


Eulogy  on  Webster. — Hon.  Edward  Eve- 
rett has  been  invited  by  the  Committee  to  deliv- 
er the  eulogy  on  Jlr.  Webster  before  the  city 
authorities. 


Ekance. — The  English  presses  affirm  that  all 
the  demonstrations  wliich  have  greeted  Louis 
Napoleon,  during  his  tour  to  the  South,  are 
heartless,  or  got  up  for  the  occasion. 

Thanksgiving. — Thursday,  the  25th  inst., 
has  been  appointed  as  a  day  of  Public  Thanks- 
giving and  Praise  throughout  the  Commonwealth. 


MuBiCAL.— The  reason  of  Alboni's  brief  stay 
among  us  is,  that  she  is  under  previous  European 
engagements,  and  must  return. 


lUaiisiiJe   ©atljcrings. 

A  shark  was  lately  captured  off  Nahant,  weigh- 
ing 200  pounds. 

Judge  Woodbury's  papers  are  to  be  issued 
soon  in  Boston. 

Governor  Bigler  has  appointed  the  25th  inst. 
as  a  day  of  thanksgiving  in  Pennsylvania. 

The  Bath  Tribune  says,  the  fishing  fleet  of  that 
town  have  stocked,  during  the  present  season, 
S60,000. 

Mr.  Cogswell,  of  the  Astor  Library,  is  about 
to  go  abroad  for  the  purchase  of  still  more 
books. 

The  strike  of  the  long- shore  men  in  New  York 
has  terminated,  and  the  laborers  have  gone  to 
work. 

The  Mormons  are  building  a  dense  city  at  Salt 
Lake,  and  extending  their  sertlementsin  all  direc- 
tions in  the  valley.     The  tabernacle  is  finished. 

The  Portsmouth  Journal  states,  that  butchers' 
meat  is  cheaper  in  that  place  the  present  season, 
than  it  has  been  in  some  recent  years. 

The  Treasurer  of  the  Montreal  Relief  Eund 
acknowledges  the  receipt  of  $2700  since  previous 
announcement. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Jenkins,  of  Fitzwilliam,  raised 
a  potato  this  year  which  weighed  three  pounds 
and  four  ounces ! 

Martha  Holbrook  has  received  a  verdict  for 
SIOOO,  at  Providence,  against  Joseph  Pinkham, 
who  promised  to  marry  her,  but  failed  to  do  so. 

The  Blue  Ridge  Tunnel  has  penetrated  the 
mountain  about  1900  feet  from  the  western  base, 
and  about  800  feet  from  the  eastern  side. 

Gov.  Ujhazy  advertises  his  farm  in  Towa  for 
sale.  He  is  going  to  Texas.  The  climate  of 
Iowa  being  too  rigid  for  him. 

The  citizens  of  Savannah  have  subscribed 
SnOO,000  towai'ds  the  completion  of  the  Savan- 
nah and  Albany  Railroad. 

Mrs.  French,  wife  of  a  hotel  keeper  in  Wilton> 
committed  suicide,  lately.  She;  U  supposed  to 
have  been  deranged. 

Gov,  Reid,  in  his  late  message  to  the  Legisla- 
ture of  North  Carolina,  recommends  the  passage 
of  an  amendment  allowing  all  free  white  men  to 
vote  for  State  senators. 

The  editor  of  the  Biddeford,  Me.,  Journal  has 
been  sued  for  a  libel  at  Alfred,  in  saying  that  the 
jail  yard,  etc.,  was  in  a  filthy  condition,  and  a 
nuisance.     Damages  laid  at  $2000. 

John  Wise,  the  aeronaut,  is  said  to  be  prepar- 
ing his  large  balloon  for  the  purpose  of  testing 
the  praclicability  of  an  atrial  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic. 

To  encourage  emigration  to  the  Provinces, 
the  St.  John  News  aclvocales  the  aboHsliing  of 
"head  money  on  emigrants" — which  is  ten 
shillings. 

A  former  in  Euclid,  Ohio,  has,  this  season, 
raised  3000  bushels  of  potatoes  on  ten  acres  of 
ground,  and  marketed  tliem  in  Cleveland  at  30 
cents  per  bushel. 

Swallow's  India  rubber  clothing  fixctory,  in 
Connecticut,  has  been  destroyed  by  fire;  also  a 
car  spring  manufactory,  connected  with  it.  Loss 
of  the  latter,  $30,000,  only  $10,000  insured. 

Sixteen  head  of  short  horn  improved  stock, 
imported  b}"^  the  Sciota  company,  were  recently 
sold  in  Ohio,  bringing  $21,785,  averaging  over 
$1300  each.     The  highest  price  paid  was  $2520. 

Accounts  from  Cape  Breton  state  that  the  fall 
fishing  has  been  very  limited  on  the  coast.  Her- 
ring and  mackerel,  which  were  foi'merly  plenty, 
have  become  scarce. 

The  Treasurer  of  the  Seamen's  Orphan  and 
Children's  Eriend  Society,  of  Salem,  acknowl- 
edges the  receipt  of  five  hundred  dollars  as  a 
legacy  from  Mrs.  Pierson. 

While  the  governor  of  California  is  trying  to 
drive  the  Chinese  out  of  that  State,  the  govern- 
ment of  British  Guiana  oifcrs  a  bounty  of  eighty 
dollars  on  tiieir  importation. 

At  Utica,  N.  Y.,  recently,  sixty  head  of  cattle 
and  four  men  were  precipitated  into  the  Erie 
Canal  l)y  the  giving  way  of  a  bridge.  One  of 
the  men  was  seriously  injured.  All  the  cattle 
were  saved. 

An  e^^  within  an  egg,  both  shells  perfectly 
formed,  was  left  at  the  oftice  of  the  Exeter  News 
Letter,  lately,  by  Franklin  Clark,  of  Stratliam, 
N.  H.  The  interior  of  the  inner  shell  was  "  an 
empty  void." 

The  United  States  Treasurer  at  New  Orleans 
gives  notice  that  drafts  to  the  amount  of  over  a 
million  of  dollars,  transmitted  lo  the  Indian 
agent,  have  been  lost,  and  cautions  the  public 
against  receiving  them. 

Another  infant  drummer  lias  started  up  in 
Womelsdorf,  Berks  County,  Pa.,  who  is  describ- 
ed as  a  musical  wonder,  performing  difficult  mili- 
tary airs  with  great  precision  and  skill.  He  is 
the  son  of  Captain  Clouse,  and  is  only  three 
years  of  age. 

The  house  in  Providence,  knouTi  as  the  John 
Brown  house,  one  of  rhe  most  elegant  private 
residences  in  Providence,  has  been  lately  sold  for 
$30,000.  The  house  was  built  by  the  late  John 
Brown,  1778.  Connected  with  the  house  is 
about  thirty-six  thousand  feet  of  land. 

The  old  United  States  Bank  of  1791  is  pav- 
ing out  its  very  last  dividend  of  70  cents  on  "a 
share. — The  last  previous  dividend  was  in  1834, 
some  eighteen  years  ago,  when  about  two  per 
cent,  was  paid.  We  understand  that  the  whole 
amount  paid  to  stockholders,  since  the  expira- 
tion of  its  charter,  is  about  $109  per  share. 


foreign  iHisallang. 

Queen  A^'ictoria  has  left  Scotland  for  Windsor 
Castle. 

It  is  rumored  that  Lord  Fitzroy  Somerset  is 
appointed  Governor  of  India. 

Verdi,  the  composer,  has  had  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  conferred  on  him. 

The  export  of  corn  is  prohibited  in  Egypt  in 
consequence  of  an  apprehended  scarcity. 

The  whole  Russian  army  has  bicn  ordered  to 
go  into  mourning  for  the  L)uke  of  Wellington. 

The  Earl  of  Derby  is  elected  Chancellor  of  Ox- 
ford University. 

Oflicial  despatches  relative  to  the  cruise  of  the 
Prince  Albert,  have  been  published,  but  they  give 
no  tidings  of  Sir  John  Franklin. 

Louis  Napoleon  made  liis  triumphant  entry  to 
Paris  on  the  IGth  ult.  The  pageant  was  splen- 
did beyond  description. 

A  private  in  the  British  army,  4th  Regiment 
Light  Dragoons,  named  Hugh  Belfrage,  has  be- 
come heir  to  a  proi^erty  of  half  a  million  sterling. 

Arrivals  of  gold  from  Australia  are  recorded 
daily.  The  ship  Medway  has  just  reached  Lon- 
don with  61,500  ounces,  valued  at  £270,000. 

Intelligence  has  been  i-eceived  from  Syria,  that 
the  Qruses  are  everywhere  arming,  and  an  insur- 
rection in  Palestine  is  apprehended. 

In  Scotland,  the  grain  crops  are  unusually 
abundant,  but  the  potato  crop  has  failed  to  an 
enormous  extent. 

A  railway  train,  in  which  was  the  King  of 
Naples,  came  in  collision  with  another  train, 
lately,  but  no  one  was  injured. 

Miss  Rosa  Bennett,  a  sister  of  Miss  Julia  Ben- 
nett, made  her  first  appearance  on  the  7th  ult., 
at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  London. 

Lord  Combcrmere  is  nominated  Constable  of 
the  Tower  of  London,  vice  the  late  Duke  of 
Wellington. 

The  King  of  Denmark,  it  is  said,  intends  to 
abdicate,  the  constitution  forced  on  him  in  1848 
being  too  democratic  for  his  liking. 

The  appointment  of  G.  P.  E.  James  as  Con- 
sul at  Norfolk,  Va.,  appears  in  the  Gazette  of  the 
13th  ult.  Charles  Wilthem  is  appointed  British 
Consul  at  Acapulco. 

It  is  understood  that  the  papers  of  the  late 
Duke  of  Wellington — a  most  voluminous  collec- 
tion of  private  and  official  documents — are  en- 
ti'usted  to  Lord  Malion,  who  will  undertake  their 
preparation  for  the  press. 

The  Manchester  (Eng.)  Free  Libraiy,  formed 
by  subscriptions  to  the  amount  of  £12,000,  col- 
lected in  that  town  alone,  has  just  been  opened 
to  the  public.  The  books,  although  in  one 
building,  are  really  in  two  libraries,  one  of 
16,000  volumes  for  reference,  and  one  of  5000 
volumes  for  circulation. 


mtx  s 


Bitltiget. 


Sanis  of  ©olir. 


....  A  beautiful  eye  makes  silence  eloquent. 

Fable  is  a  torch  borne  in  the  hand  of 

truth. 

....  A  people  who  have  no  amusements,  have 
no  manner. 

The   cup   of  joy,   unlike   all  others,  is 

heaviest  when  empty. 

....  Habit  uniformly  and  constantly  strength- 
ens all  our  active  exertions. 

....  It  is  sound  policy  to  suffer  all  extremities 
rather  than  to  do  a  base  action. 

....  The  feelings,  like  flowers  and  butterflies, 
last  longer  the  later  they  are  delayed. 

....  Labor  and  prudence  relieve  us  from 
three  great  evils,  vice,  want  and  indolence. 

Onr  happiness  does  not  consist  in  being 

without  passions,  but  in  having  command  of 
them. 

The  blue  of  heaven  refreshes  the  eye  of 

the  soul  when  it  rests  upon  it,  as  much  as  the 
green  of  earth  does  that  of  the  body. 

....  A  handsome  woman  pleases  the  eye ; 
but  a  good  woman  pleases  the  heart.  The  one 
is  a  jewel,  the  other  a  treasure. 

....  There  is  a  heaven  in  woman's  heart,  full 
of  beauty,  but  dim ;  and  it  is  liard  for  man  to 
count  and  classify  all  the  stars  that  adorn  it. 

....  There  are  some  lessons  which  adversity 
will  be  sure  lo  teach  us,  and  among  others  this 
— that  goodness  in  a  woman  is  more  admirable 
than  beauty. 

....  Secret  kindnesses  done  to  mankind  are  as 
beautiful  as  secret  injuries  are  detestable.  To 
be  invisibly  good  is  as  godlike  as  to  be  invisibly 
evil  is  diabolical. 

Anger  is  the  most  impotent  passion  that 

influences  the  mind  of  man  ;  it  effects  nothing  it 
undertakes,  and  hurts  the  man  who  is  possessed 
by  it,  more  than  the  object  against  which-itis 
directed. 

....  He  who  can  wait  for  what  he  desires, 
takes  the  course  not  to  be  exceedingly  grieved  if 
he  fails  of  it.  He,  on  the  contrary,  who  labors 
after  a  thing  too  impatiently,  thinks  the  success, 
when  it  comes,  is  not  a  recompense  equal  to  all 
the  pains  he  has  been  at  about  it, 

....  Whatever  we  think  out,  whatever  we 
take  in  hand  to  do,  should  be  peifectly  and  final- 
ly finished,  that  the  word,  if  it  must  alter,  will 
only  have  to  spoil  it;  we  have  then  nothing  to 
do  but  unite  the  severed — to  recollect  and  restore 
the  dismembered. — Goethe. 


A  lady  once  entered  a  stage  coach  with  so 
much  powder  on  her  face  that  she  blew  up  the 
driver. 

A  man  in  Bristol  was  such  an  inveterate  gam- 
bler, that  he  not  only  lost  all  he  possessed  one 
evening,  but  lost  his  way  home  ! 

An  Irish  gentleman  lately  fought  a  duel  with 
his  intimate  friend,  because  he  jocosely  asserted 
that  he  was  born  without  a  shirt  to  his  back  ! 

When  the  rivers  are  low,  and  they  wish  to 
praise  a  steamer  in  Arkansas,  they  say  she  will 
run  anywhere  where  it  is  a  little  damp  ! 

"  I  say,  Jim,  don't  you  think  Glazier  has  a 
very  benign  countenance  V — "  Very,  indeed," 
was  the  reply,  "a  regular  7  by  9  countenance." 

A  person  complaining  of  the  smallness  of 
some  chops  brought  to  table,  an  incorrigible  wag 
observed  ;  "  Probably  the  sheep  was  fed  on  short 
commons !" 

"  Robert,  compare  the  adjective  cold,"  said 
a  schoolmaster  to  an  urchin.  "Positive  cold, 
comparative  cough,  superlative  coffin,"  said  the 
hoy. 

"  I  am  indeed  very  much  afraid  of  lightning," 
said  a  pretty  lady.  "  And  well  you  may  be," 
replied  a  despairing  lover,  "  when  your  heart  is 
made  of  steel." 

A  barrister  observed  to  a  learned  brother,  that 
he  thought  his  whiskers  very  unprofes.sional. 
"You  are  right,"  replied  liis  friend,  "  a  lawyer 
cannot  he  loo  barefaced." 

"  Well,  captain,  when  do  you  sail  for  Califor- 
nia"?"— "On  Tuesday  next," — "How  do  you 
go?" — "Through  the  Straits;  shall  I  book  you 
for  the  voyage?" — "  I  reckon  not;  I  left  home 
to  get  out  of  a  strait,  and  don't  mean  to  get  into 
another." 

A  gentleman  praising  the  personal  charms  of 
a  very  plain  woman,  his  friend  asked  him : 
"  Why  don't  you  lay  claim  to  such  an  accom- 
plished, beauty  V  "  What  right  have  E  to  her  V 
asked  the  former.  "  Every  right  by  the  laws  of 
nations,"  replied  the  other,  "  you  being  the  Jirst 
discoverer." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

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AND     CONTAININQ     MEAELT 

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ILLUmNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND   INDEX 

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POBLISHER  ^ND  PRpPRIETQ^,  BOSTQS,  MA§g. 


320 


GLEASONVS   PICTORIAL   DRAWINd    ROOM    tO:MPAi\ION. 


VIEW  OF  THE  RESIDENCE  OF  THE  LATE  HON.  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


DAHrtEL  WEBSTER'S  LATE  RESIDENCE. 

The  engraving  above  represents  the  farm  and 
residence  of  the  late  Hon.  Daniel  Webster,  at 
Marshfield,  Mass.,  where  this  eminent  statesman, 
when  permitted  to  retire  from  the  bustle  and  tur- 
moil of  public  life,  was  wont  to  sit  down  under 
his  own  vine  and  fiff  tree.  The  farm  is  most 
superbly  stocked,  and  carried  on  in  the  most 
thrifty  manner,  both  with  an  eye  to  economy 
and  excellence.  In  its  neighborhood  is  good 
shooting  and  fishing — sports  which  Mr.  Webster 
was  very  fond  of,  and  it  was  here,  dressed  in  a 
free  and  easy  style,  he  gave  himself  up  to  all  the 
prompting;^  of  the  place.  A  visit  to  this  farm  is 
no  small  gratihcation  to  all  admirers  of  this  great 
statesman.     It  is  now  invested  with  a  peculiarly 


solemn  interest.  The  engraving  below  gives  a 
view  of  the  room  in  which  he  breathed  his  last. 
The  circumstances  attending  the  closing  scene 
were  marked  by  a  sad  and  tender  feeling.  When 
the  announcement  was  made  to  him,  on  Satur- 
day eve,  that  his  last  hour  was  fast  approaching, 
he  calmly  requested  that  the  memliers  of  his  fa- 
mily might  be  called  in,  individually  to  whom  he 
addressed  a  few  words  of  farewell  and  religious 
consolation.  Then,  after  a  little  while,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  he  said  ;  "  On  the  24th  of 
October  all  that  is  mortal  of  Daniel  Webster  will 
be  no  more.*'  He  now  prayed  in  his  usual  voice, 
strong,  full  and  clear,  ending  with  :  "  Heavenly 
Fatlier,  forgive  my  sins,  and  receive  me  to  Thy- 
self, through  Jesus  Christ."     Repeatedly,  in  the 


course  of  the  forenoon  and  the  early  part  of  the 
afternoon,  he  conversed  freely  and  with  great 
clearness  of  detail  in  relation  lo  his  private  af- 
fairs. In  reference  to  his  funeral,  he  left  explicit 
orders  that  his  remains  he  entombed  upon  his 
farm  at  Marshfield,  and  that  they  be  followed  to 
their  final  resting  place  by  his  family  and  neigh- 
bors. He  also  desired  that  the  services  be  per- 
formed by  the  parish  clergyman.  He  wished  for 
no  pomp  or  display.  From  the  dawn  of  Satur- 
day evening  to  ten  o'clock,  the  great  man  failed 
rapidly.  Arousing  from  a  lethargy  at  ten  o'clock, 
his  countenance  became  animated,  and  his  eye 
flashed  with  its  usual  brilliancy,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  I  STILL  Live  !"  and  immediately  sunk  into  a 
state  of  tranquil  unconsciousness.     Those  were 


the  last  words  of  Webster.  His  breathing  now 
became  fainter,  and  his  strength  seemed  entirely 
prostrate.  He  lingered  in  this  condition  until 
twenty-two  minutes  to  three  o'clock,  Sunday 
morning,  the  24th  ult.,  when  the  spirit  returned 
to  its  God, — and  Daniel  Webster  was  no  more! 
His  bedside  was  surrounded  by  his  son.  Fletcher, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paige,  Mr.  Harvey,  Mr.  Leroy, 
Edward  Curtis,  Esq.,  Mr.  Thomas,  Mr.  Apple- 
ton,  Doctors  Warren  and  Jeffries,  Mr.  Abbot 
and  George  T.  Curtis.  A  few  moments  after  he 
had  expired,  Mrs.  Webster  entered  the  room  to 
gaze  upon  the  lifeless  remains  of  her  beloved 
partner.  The  scene  is  beyond  description.  Her 
grief  found  utterance  in  the  most  exquisitely 
agonizing  tones  of  sorrow. 


REPRESENTATION  OF  THE  ROOM  IN  WHICH  MR.  WEBSTER  DIED. 


AND  TKEMONT  SIS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  20,  1852. 


'^o'c^T^  Ii°n'gTe^}  Vol.  HI.  No.  21.-Whole  No.  73. 


BIRTHPLACE  OF  GENERAL  WARREN, 

The  scene  below  is  a  faithful  picture  of  the 
birthplace  of  General  Warren,  who  fell  in  the 
Revolution,  at  the  battle  of  Bunker  ( Breed's )  Hill, 
in  Charlesto^vn.  The  artist,  who  sketched  the 
picture,  took  the  original  drawing  in  1843,  upon 
the  spot;  and  the  picture  exhibits  the  old  home- 
stead in  its  somewhat  dilapidated  condition,  as 
it  appeared  at  that  period.  The  site  is  now  oc- 
cupied by  a  fine  modern  building  of  freestone  (of 


which  we  last  year  published  a  drawing  in  the 
Pictorial),  and  tlie  representation  below  will  be 
readily  recognized  by  thousands  who  remember 
the  old  "  Warren  House,"  upon  Warreu  Street, 
in  the  present  city  of  Roxbury.  The  fine  old 
elm  in  the  foreground,  and  the  rugged  poplars 
at  the  north,  still  grace  this  beautiful  spot — one 
of  the  finest  situations  in  the  counti-y-  These 
ancient  "  landmarks  "  are,  to  our  mind,  subjects 
of  great  interest,  and  our  artist,  Mr.  Burnham, 


could  hardly  have  chosen  a  better  subject  for  his 
very  perfect  pencil.  Our  readers  will  thank  us 
for  the  picture,  and  especially  will  our  friends  in 
Roxbury  regard  it  with  more  than  passing  inter- 
est. Perhaps  a  few  lines  recapitulatory  of  Gen. 
Warren's  life  will  not  be  inappropriate  here. 
Major-General  Warren  was  bora  in  Roxbury,  in 
1740,  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1759. 
He  studied  modiciue  under  Dr.  Lloyd,  and  in  a 
few  years  became  one  of  the  most  eminent  phy- 


sicians in  Boston.  From  1768,  he  was  a  princi- 
pal member  of  a  secret  caucus  in  Boston,  which 
exerted  very  great  influence  upon  the  political 
affairs  of  the  count  ly.  It  was  through  his  means 
that  Hancock  and  Adams  were  seasonably  ad- 
vertised of  their  danger,  while  at  Lexington,  on 
the  evening  of  the  18th  of  April.  Pour  days  pre- 
vious to  the  battle  of  Bunker's  height's,  he  received 
his  commission  of  major  general.  On  the  memo- 
rable I7th  of  June,  he  was  killed  in  the  retreat. 


VIEW  OF  THE  OLD  WARREN  HOUSE,  AT  ROXBURY,  MASS. 


322 


GLEASON'S    PICTOPJAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


oiiiiii?iii2i  §miiM  m  I 


mmm  ]^mM  i^iKm. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlio  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  the  Clerk's  Oifice  of  the 
District  Court  of  MaBsachusotts. 


[wniTTBN   EXPHESSLT   FOB  GI/EASON'B   nOTOniAL.] 


-OE, 


THE  SIGH  OF   THE  MYSTIC 

A  Talc  ©f  tlac  Camp  and  Co!u1  of  Bonaparte. 

BY  B.  PERLEY  POORE. 

[continued.] 


CHATTEH     IX— [CONTINTIED.] 

"  And  tills  young  Mahometan'?'* 
"  Is  just  the  object  for  a  true  woman  to  love. 
Masculine  and  regular  in  limb  and  feature,  with 
a  bold,  flashing  eye,  a  clear  lip,  and  an  entire 
absence  of  prcttiness,  he  is  one  of  nature's  noble- 
men. Josephine  Bonaparte,  who  must  know 
that  her  jealous  Corsican  has  sent  him  to  watch 
over  her  doings,  -will  evidently  try  to  ensnare 
him,  but  I  will  woo  the  young  eaglet  from  her 
wiles,  or  sacrifice  him."  Then,  looking  at  her 
watch,  she  continued:  "But  it  is  getting  late, 
and  my  coachman  may  get  into  dithculty  if  day- 
break reveals  his  rich  livery." 

"Perhaps,  madarae,  yet  this  is  not  the  first 
time  you  have  been  in  the  haunts  above  ground." 
"  Ah,  my  dear  count,  you  forget !  Was  it  not 
a  compact,  that  you  should  never  inquire  how  it 
happened  that  I  was  recognized  by  the  landlady 
above  stairs.  You  men  talk  about  female  curi- 
osity, yet — " 

"  Pardon,  madame.  I  was  indiscreet,  and 
■will  not  again  be  inquisitive.  Can  yon  attend 
to  some  messages  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Certainly.  And  now,  good-day." 
The  count  escorted  his  visitor  to  the  door, 
where  they  parted  with  ceremonious  salutations 
more  worthy  of  a  palace  than  a  charnel-house. 
Hastily  ascending  the  steps,  Madame  de  Val- 
mont  was  let  out  into  the  kitchen,  and  then, 
rapidly  passing  through  the  lodging-house,  she 
walked  to  her  carriage.  The  driver  was  fast 
asleep  on  his  box,  and  before  he  could  descend, 
his  mistress  had  opened  the  door  of  the  vehicle, 
and  was  getting  In. 

"  Never  mind,  Pierre,"  she  said,  *'  I  can  close 
the  door  on  the  inside.  Drive  home  as  fast  as 
possible." 

It  was  very  dark,  for  daybreak  was  at  hand, 
and  as  the  horses  started  forward,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  see  a  foot  before  one's  face.  Throwing 
herself  back  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  the 
bold  conspirator  rejoiced  in  the  good-working  of 
her  vengeance.  And  what  darling  passion  ven- 
geance is  1  Love,  ambition,  lust,  ])ridc,  avarice 
— all  pale  before  tlie  brightness  of  ils  fires.  To 
foster  it,  even  gentle  women  will  do  violence  to 
their  natures — be  hypocrites — fawn  upon  those 
whose  heart's  blood  they  could  drink — cringe  to 
those  upon  whom  they  could  trample — nay,  pro- 
fess friendship  for  those,  to  insure  wliose  ever- 
lasting torments  they  would  tliemselves  forfeit 
eternal  salvation.  Such  is  vengeance.  Such  was 
the  secret  fountain  which  fed  the  reservoir  within 
Madame  de  Valmont's  heart,  and  moved  the 
machinery  of  her  every  action.  The  hopedfor 
result  was  the  disgrace  of  Josephine  Bonaparte, 
and  as  the  proud  beauty  reposed  in  the  corner  of 
Iier  carriage,  her  imagination  painted  her  Creole 
rival  crushed  and  despised. 

But  the  dream  was  suddenly  interrupted.  The 
triumpli — imaginary  as  it  was — was  of  brief  du- 
ration. A  word  rang  in  the  car  of  the  guilty 
schemer,  and  in  an  instant  her  imaginary  triumph 
faded  into  ashes — her  exultant  joy  sank  into 
hopeless  terror.  And  that  word  was  : 
"  Zelia  !" 

It  was  her  own  name  !  It  was  spoken  in  the 
carriage  where  she  had  fancied  herself  alone ! 
It  was  pronounced  in  a  well-known  tone ! 

She  shrieked  frantically  to  her  coachman,  hut 
he  beard  her  not,  for  sleep  had  possession  of  his 
faculties,  and  he  was  urging  his  steeds  home- 
ward. The  clatter  of  their  hoofs  and  the  rattling 
of  the  swift- revolving  wheels  drowned  her  voice. 


Then  she  heard   those  well   remembered  tones 
again. 

"  Zelia.     Be  quiet  l" 

We  have  said  that  Madame  de  Valmont  was 
a  widow — a  wealthy  widow,  who  revelled  in  the 
dissipations  of  the  French  metropolis;  but  we 
must  now  lift  the  veil  from  her  past  life.  An 
orphan,  educated  in  a  convent,  she  had  attracted 
the  notice  of  Monsieur  de  Valmont,  a  rich  banker, 
who  acted  as  financial  agent  to  the  nuns.  Of 
course,  when  he  asked  her  hand,  it  was  given 
him,  and  the  poor  girl  found  herself,  at  a  tender 
age,  the  mistress  of  a  noble  mansion.  For  a 
while,  her  husband  idolized  her,  but  gradually 
he  returned  to  his  old  associates,  and  his  wife 
found  herself  deserted  for  the  society  of  opera- 
dancers  and  adventurers.  Then,  when  her  heart 
was  wounded  and  lonely,  she  met  Bonaparte,  a 
simple  officer  of  artillery,  but  gifted  with  the 
qualities  which  her  imagination  had  painted. 
Young,  talented,  affectionate,  he  soon  won  her 
heart  without  knowing  it,  and  when  he  did  sus- 
pect it,  he  at  once  avoided  her  society.  Again 
the  poor  woman  was  alone — uncared  for — un- 
loved. Then  came  another  officer,  beneath 
whose  fascination  she  fell.  For  a  while,  her  hus- 
band, intent  upon  bis  own  pleasures,  did  not 
suspect  his  wife's  infidelity.  But,  lured  on  by 
her  gay  deceiver,  she  soon  forgot  herself,  and 
when  Monsieur  de  Valmont's  eyes  were  opened, 
it  was  too  late. 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  did  she  ascertain  her 
husband's  affection,  and  her  deceiver's  unworthi- 
ness.  The  latter,  having  received  a  post  in  the 
staff  of  Bonaparte  (now  general),  coolly  threw 
off  the  weeping  woman  who  had  sacrificed  all 
for  him,  and  laughed  when  she  recalled  his  vows. 
But  tlic  husband — the  wronged,  confiding  hus- 
band, when  he  heard  of  her  desertion,  sought 
her  out,  restored  her  to  her  conjugal  rights,  and 
showed  a  disposition  to  forget  the  past.  Just 
then,  death  called  him  home.  His  widow  in- 
herited his  fortune,  and  with  her  recollections  of 
his  forgiving  kindness  was  blended  a  hatred  of 
the  man  who  had  made  her  unworthy  of  it. 
There  was  a  jealousy,  too,  of  Josephine,  who 
had  captivated  her  heart's  first  love. 
"  Speak,  Zelia,  you  must  know  me." 
Was  it  a  dream  ?  No  !  Just  then,  the  car- 
riage passed  the  guard-liouse  at  the  Louvre,  and 
as  the  light  flashed  in  at  the  carriage-window, 
the  terrified  woman  saw  a  well  known  figure  on 
the  front  seat. 

"Monster!"  she  exclaimed,  "is  that  you  V 
"  Yes,  my  pretty  Zelia,  it  is  I.  I  am  just 
fiom  Egypt — in  disguise — a  disgraced,  ruined 
man,  thirsting  for  revenge.  Business  carried 
me  first  to  the  Count  do  Vergenncs,  and  I  little 
thought  that  the  fine  lady  who  entered  as  I  left, 
was  you.  But  tlic  sentinel  so  informed  me,  and 
finding  your  carriage  here,  I  quietly  took  a  seat 
in  it." 

"  O,  why  can  you  not  leave  me  in  peace  1" 
"  Leave  you  ?  By  no  means.  Listen.  When, 
years  ago,  you  first  received  my  attentions,  it 
was  merely  to  excite  Bonaparte.  You  hoped  to 
make  the  Corsican  jealous,  and  sought  to  use 
me  as  your  tool.  But  I  turned  the  tables  on 
you.  And  now,  I  am  a  refugee.  I  seek  an  asy- 
lum, and  assistance.  AVho  is  more  bound  to 
give  it  me  than  Zelia  de  Valmont,  the  companion 
of  former  days — the  mother  of  my  cbikl !" 

Every  word  fell  like  molten  lead  upon  the 
brain  of  the  poor  woman,  who  so  suddenly 
found  herself  dependent  belbre  the  will  of  a  man 
whom  she  despised. 


CHAPTEIl  X. 

AN    INTKItKBTINO    HIBTOUY. 

TriE  fatigue  of  the  rapid  journey,  added  to 
the  excited  state  of  his  mind,  threw  Osmanli  into 
a  higii  fever,  and  for  five  long  weeks  Madame 
Wilmot  watched  over  him  with  motherly  care. 
Bound  to  the  young  Mameluke  Ity  one  of  those 
mysterious  threads  woven  into  the  woof  of  life, 
she  ministered  to  his  every  want,  and  hovered 
around  Iiis  delirious  couch  with  angelic  devotion. 
It  was  not  strange,  then,  that  she  won  the  young 
man's  heart,  and  as  he  became  convalescent,  he 
was  made  happy  by  her  unohtrusive  cheerful- 
ness of  manner,  and  by  the  habitual  content  of 
licr  pure  and  generous  spirit.  Iler  personal  ap- 
pearance was  very  attractive.  The  features  were 
east  in  a  noble  and  expressive  mould — the  fore- 
head evincing  a  fine  capacity  for  deep  thought, 
the  eyes  fervent  and  mellow,  and  a  general 
sweetness  diffusing  itself  over  the  whole  coun- 
tenance, indicative  of  the  highest  moral  and  in- 
tellectual cultivation,  qualified  by  a  nature  of  the 
tenderest  benevolence. 

Osmanli  soon  loved  her  devotedly,  not  with 
that  deep,  pure  and  holy  feeling  which  can  link 
youth  with  age.  Her  excellence  stole  upon  his 
heart,  like  the  light  of  a  balmy  summer's  morn- 
ing after  a  stormy  night,  and  slie  repaid  his 
confiding  friendship  by  elevating  his  thoughts  to 
the  sublime  consolations  of  the  Christian  religion. 
This  did  not  at  all  please  the  surgeon  in  at- 
tendance, who,  like  most  French  officers,  was  a 
professed  infidel.  He  saw  with  regret  the  grad- 
ual change  in  his  patient's  opinions,  and  found 
that  ridicule  only  hastened  what  he  wished  to 
prevent.  So  he  reported  Captain  Osmanli  as 
convalescent,  but  in  need  of  salt-water  baths,  and 
Captain  Osmanli  was  at  once  ordered  by  the 
city-major  to  repair  to  Dieppe,  bathe  during  a 
month,  and  then  report  for  duty.  This  was  an- 
noying to  the  young  convert,  and  he  was  almost 
tempted  to  resign  his  commission.  But  what 
could  he  do '?  So,  with  a  sad  heart,  he  said, 
"  Au  recoir"  to  his  kind  hostess,  paid  a  farewell 
call  to  Madame  Bonaparte  (who  was  not  at 
home),  and  left. 

Four  long,  long  weeks  passed  away,  during 
which  Osmanli  entirely  regained  his  health. 
And  so  anxious  was  he  to  see  Madame  Wilmot, 
that  he  persuaded  the  commandant  of  the  gam- 
son  at  Dieppe  to  send  him  to  Paris  with  de- 
spatches, two  days  before  the  expiration  of  his 
forced  furlough.  Arriving  in  the  metropolis, 
where  he  had  anticipated  a  cordial  welcome,  he 
was  told  that  Madame  Wilmot  had  gone. 
"  Where  V 

"  To  America,  captain,"  replied  the  porter. 
"America  !" 

"  Yes,  captain.  A  message,  proba])ly,  of  great 
importance,  made  her  suddenly  decide  to  leave, 
yesterday  afternoon.  But  she  expected  to  have 
seen  you  at  Dieppe,  I  know,  sir,  for  she  sent  me 
to  the  city-major's  to  ascertain  your  address 
there.  And  I  told  her,  as  they  told  me,  that  you 
would  not  leave  there  until  to-morrow." 

This  was  a  sudden  damper  upon  Osmanli's 
hopes,  and  he  wished  that  he  had  not  been  in 
such  a  hurry  to  leave.  He  then  repaired  to 
Madame  Bonaparte,  where  he  met  with  a  flatter- 
ing reception. 

"  So,  you  have  lost  your  hostess,"  said  Jose- 
phine. 

"  Unluckily,"  replied  Osmanli.  "  Can  you 
tell  me  why  she  left  so  suddenly?" 

"  Yes,  and  no  !  To  tell  you  what  I  can,  will 
be  to  recount  her  eventful  history,  and  the  love 
she  has  ever  cherished  for  her  savage  bride- 
groom— ■" 

"  Savage  bridegroom  !"  interrupted  Osmanli. 
"  Was  the  portrait  in  the  room  where  I  slept  that 
of  Monsieur  Wilmot  V 

"  Wore  he  the  eagle's  claws  as  a  necklace  V 
"Ay — and  his  look  was  noble  and  stem." 
"  It  was  a  portrait  of  Captain  Wilmot — or,  to 
give  him  his  true  name  and  title,  Miantomah, 
chief  of  the  Clicrokees." 
"  The  Cherokees  V 

"  So  are  called  a  tribe  of  American  savages, 
who  reside  on  the  southern  borders  of  the  new 
I'epublic  across  the  ocean.  Before  their  revolu- 
tion, Miantomah  was  sent  by  the  governor  of  the 
province  of  Georgia  to  England.  There  he  was 
carefully  educated,  under  the  patronage  of  King 
George,  and  his  strong  intellect  gave  rare  prom- 
ise of  distinction.  But  just  as  he  entered  the 
University  of  Oxford,  he  accidentally  met  with 
your  recent  hostess,  whose  fatlicr  was  in  Lon- 
don, as  secretary  to  the  French  ambassador. 
Ambition,  learning,  fiime — everything  was  for- 
gotten by  the  young  chieftain,   and  his  untamed 


lieart  tln-ohbed  with  wild  afTection  for  the  grace- 
ful young  French  girl.  His  guardians,  ignorant 
of  his  love,  thought  that  he  pined  for  his  forest 
wilds,  or  that  hiii  bruin  had  been  overtaxetl,  so 
they  introduced  him  into  the  depraved  gaycties  of 
the  English  court.  The  king  created  liim  a  cap- 
tain of  his  gentlemen-at-arms,  giving  him  the 
name  of  his  lord-treasurer,  and  no  party  was 
considered  successful  unless  honored  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Captain  Wilmot.  A  necklace  of  eaglc'u 
claws  was  the  sole  relic  of  his  former  garb,  and 
his  fine  stately  figure,  arrayed  in  uniform,  shone 
conspicuously  among  the  pride  of  England's 
chivalry. 

"But  whilst  he  mingled  in  the  dance,  and  lis- 
tened to  music's  entrancing  strains,  his  heart 
was  in  the  humbler  lower  parlor  of  tlie  French 
legation.  Nor  had  he  a  spare  half  hour,  that 
was  not  passed  with  Melanie,  before  whose  an- 
gelic nature  his  stout  heart  melted  into  blissful 
peace.  Months  passed,  and  then  the  French 
ambassador  removed  to  a  beautiful  countrj'-seat, 
where  he  invited  Captain  Wilmot  to  visit  him. 
The  invitation  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  now 
the  lover  had  frequent  opportunities  of  meeting. 
At  last,  without  counsel  or  advice,  they  were 
married — fatal  error — not  with  the  religious 
forms  of  civilized  life,  but  in  accordance  with 
the  customs  of  the  Cherokees.  Standing  by  the 
margin  of  a  running  stream,  they  clasped  hands, 
and  called  upon  the  Great  Spirit  to  blend  their 
lives,  and  to  let  them  float  down  the  waters  of 
time.  Then  Melanie,  baring  her  feet,  stepped 
into  the  water,  filled  a  cup,  and  handed  it  to  her 
future  lord.  He  drank — then,  clasping  her  to 
his  bosom,  greeted  her  as  his  wife." 

"And  was  he  not  faithful?"  asked  Osmanli, 
who  had  listened  in  eager  suspense. 

"  His  life  was  devoted  to  her,  and  although  it 
was  judged  best  to  keep  the  matter  a  profound 
secret,  until  Miantomah  could  return  to  his  peo- 
ple, yet  Melanie  enjoyed  much  of  his  society. 
At  last,  he  came  one  day  with  a  troubled  coun- 
tenance. A  messenger  had  arrived  from  his 
people,  and  had  brought  him  a  mysterious  snake- 
skin,  wrought  with  the  quills  of  the  porcupine  in 
peculiar  devices.  It  was  a  summons  not  to  be 
resisted  !  His  tribe  was  about  to  declare  war 
against  the  Choctaws,  and  he  was  imperatively 
called  home  to  head  the  warriors.  The  British 
colonial  government,  with  its  customary  cunning, 
had  fomented  the  war  among  its  savage  neigh- 
bors, and  Miantomah  felt  bound  to  return.  In 
a  few  days,  with  many  a  vow,  and  many  a  prom- 
ise to  return,  the  young  chieftain  left.  Weeks 
passed — months  passed — and  his  bride  was  point- 
ed at  as  one  depraved  and  fallen.  In  vain  did 
she  protest  that  she  was  married — she  was  mock- 
ed and  scorned.  And  when,  after  the  agony 
was  over,  she  asked  for  her  babe,  she  was  told 
that  it  was  dead.  Poor  Melanie  !  Her  father, 
who  really  loved  his  child,  began  to  repent  of  his 
cruelty,  and  endeavored  to  win  her  back  into  her 
former  joy  ousness-  Vain  attempt!  Her  thoughts 
were  across  the  ocean,  although  she  knew  not 
v/hether  her  husband  lived — her  love  was  with 
her  child,  although  she  knew  not  where  that  child 
was  buried." 

"  And  has  she  never  heard  from  her  husband  ?" 
asked  Osmanli,  who  was  deeply  interested  by 
the  recital. 

"  Never  a  word.  Year  after  year  rolled  on. 
Her  father  brought  her  back  to  Paris.  The 
American  Revolution  destroyed  all  connection 
between  that  continent  and  England — our  revo- 
lution destroyed  everything  here,  and  vainly  has 
my  friend  sought  tidings  of  her  lost  chief.  Her 
father  perished  on  the  scaffold,  and  it  was  when 
imprisoned  in  the  Bastile  that  I  learned  the  story 
of  her  woes.  Each  of  us  then  expected  that  the 
axe  would  soon  terminate  our  lives,  and  it  was 
her  dying  charge  that — if  I  escaped  the  fury  of 
the  sanguinary  tempest,  I  should  never  forget 
her  desire  to  cstablisli  her  character,  and  to  as- 
certain the  fate  of  her  child." 

"But,"  interrupted  Osmanli,  "did  you  not 
say  that  it  was  dead  !" 

"  I  said,  that  they  told  her  it  was  dead.  Yet, 
with  that  true  affection  only  found  in  a  mother's 
heart,  she  refuses  to  credit  it.  The  woman  with 
whom  she  was  placed  wlien  the  babe  first  saw 
light,  was  a  depraved  creature,  and  my  friend 
always  hopes  that  her  child  lives.  Tlirough 
Bonaparte's  intercession  she  has  obtained  her 
father's  confiscated  estate,  and  has  taken  tho 
name  of  her  husband.  Tho  portrait  of  him 
wliicli  3'^ou  saw  in  her  liouse  was  painted  in  Eng- 
land, by  a  French  artist,  and  fell  into  her  hands 
about  a  year  ago,  by  a  mere  chance.  AVatkitig 
in  the  street,  she  recognized  it  in  tho  window  of 
a  fnriiilui-o  broker,  of  wlioni   she   purclmscd  it. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


323 


The  possession  of  this  picture  has  hut  strength- 
ened her  belief  that  she  will  yet  ±ind  her  son." 

This  romantic  talc  was  here  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  a  small,  ill-faced  man,  dressed 
with  scrupulous  neatness,  and  looking  continu- 
ally about  with  small,  piercing  eyes.  After  ex- 
changing salutations,  he  handed  Josephine  a 
written  report.  She  glanced  over  its  contents, 
her  face  flushing  as  she  read,  and  at  last  ex- 
claimed, in  an  indignant  tone  : 

"  So — so  !  Monsieur  Fouche,  you  have  my 
thanks.  You  have  tracked  the  fox  to  her  den, 
and  it  seems  that  these  new  plots  against  my 
husband  come  from  a  disappointed,  jealous 
woman." 

"  Madame  Bonaparte,"  interrupted  the  wily 
chief  of  police,  in  an  entreating  tone,  and  with 
an  inquiring  glance  towards  Osmanli. 

"  Never  fear  him,  sir.  He  has  saved  General 
Bonaparte's  life,  in  Egypt,  and  can  do  it  again 
here  in  France,  if  necessary.  Are  you  not  ready, 
gallant  Osmanli  ?" 

"  My  life  is  devoted  to  General  Bonaparte," 
was  the  manly  reply ;  and  as  he  spoke,  Osmanli 
made  a  sign,  which  Eouche's  quick  glance  at 
once  comprehended.  He  saw  that  the  young 
Oriental  was  his  brother,  and  was  worthy  of  his 
esteem.  Returning  the  sign,  he  turned  towards 
Josephine,  and  remarked  : 

"  I  have  the  fullest  confidence,  madame,  in 
your  protege.  Nay,  I  will  vouch  for  his  conduct 
if  you  have  any  doubt." 

"  Bravo  !"  exclaimed  Josephine.  "  Why, 
captain,  you  must  be  a  magician,  for  you  have 
won  at  sight  the  esteem  of  Napoleon,  and  the 
confidence  of  Fouchc.  But  now  mark  1  Do 
you  remember  Madame  Valmont,  whom  you 
once  met  here  ?  A  dashing,  fine-looking  young 
widow,  who  wished  to  entertain  yon." 

"  I  do.  But  I  assure  you  that  I  have  little 
fancy  for  such  fashionable  dames." 

"  Listen.  That  woman  once  presumed  to  love 
General  Bonaparte,  and  tormented  him  with  her 
fawning  passion.  His  noble  heart,  spurning 
such  base  alliances,  turned  from  her  with  dis- 
gust, but  she  would  not  be  repulsed,  nor  did  she 
cease  annoying  him  until  I  became  his  bride. 
Then,  she  professed  entire  resignation,  congratu- 
lated me  with  apparent  sincerity,  and  I  was  at 
last  induced  to  admit  her  to  my  acquaintance. 
Fool  that  I  was.  For  I  now  have  positive  as- 
surance that  this  hypocritical  friend  is  plotting 
against  my  husband's  life." 

"  Why  not  arrest  her  V  asked  Osmanli. 

"  Spoken  like  a  true  child  of  the  desert,"  re- 
plied Josephine.  Everything  is  as  plain  as  day, 
but  were  I  to  call  upon  Monsieur  Fouche  for  his 
proof,  he  would  shrug  up  his  shoulders  and  re- 
fuse it.  Many  an  aristocratic  name  figures  upon 
his  roll  of  secret  spies,  but  few  of  them  would 
testify  to  their  reports  in  a  court  of  justice,  for 
that  would  brand  them  as  common  informers. 
No  !  Ton — you  must  turn  aside  the  blow,  and 
if  you  really  respect  Napoleon,  I  know  you  will 
not  refuse  me  V 

"  But  how  V 

"Listen.  Ton  must  see  that  woman  as  often 
as  you  can.  You  must  keep  your  eyes  and  your 
ears  open.  Note  whom  she  associates  with  and 
where  she  goes — who  visits  her  and  whom  she 
visits.  And  if  you  will  but  report  all  to  our 
good  friend  Fouche  here,  he  will  soon  unravel 
the  mystery." 

"  Really,  Madame  Bonaparte,"  observed  the 
functionary,  "I  could  not  have  given  better  in- 
structions myself.  Who  would  have  thought 
that  you  possessed  such  talents  in  our  line'?" 

*'  Whatever  threatens  my  husband,"  was  the 
reply,  "interests  me.  But  I  must  dress  to  re- 
ceive company,  and  so,  gentlemen,  adieu  until 
we  meet  again.  I  leave  Madame  de  Valmont, 
captain,  in  your  charge." 

And  the  gentlemen  left.  Osmanli,  excited  by 
what  he  had  heard,  paced  for  hours  beneath  the 
shady  trees  of  the  Tuileries,  but  his  tlioughts 
were  not  of  his  new  mission.  Some  secret  im- 
pulse directed  his  attention  to  Madame  Wilmot, 
her  savage  bridegroom,  her  lost  child.  And  0, 
ho^v  happy,  he  thought,  would  be  the  child  who 
could  have  such  a  mother. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    DESPERATE    AND    SUCCESSFUL   RUSE. 

General  Bonaparte,  meanwhile,  ruled  over 
Egypt,  where  he  was  equally  beloved  for  his 
clemency  and  feared  for  his  prowess.  City  after 
city  surrendered,  town  after  town  opened  its 
gates,  tribe  after  tribe  came  in  from  their  desert 
homes  with  trailing  spears,  and  all  acknowledged 
tlio  supremacy  of  French  rule.     Amid  the  enig- 


matical ruins  of  Thebes,  or  on  the  sacred  shores 
of  Palestine — m  the  fertile  gardens  that  fringed 
the  Nile,  or  on  the  burning  sands  of  the  un- 
tracked  desert,  naught,  save  the  plague,  impeded 
the  conqueror's  triumphant  progress. 

But  Ms  happiest  hours  were  passed  at  Grand 
Cairo,  in  listening  to  the  fascinating  vocalization 
of  Judith  Fezenzac.  Soul-wrapt  in  song,  she 
soon  tempered  her  wonderful  natural  gifts  by  a 
purity  of  intonation  and  chastity  of  style,  and 
even  the  stern  soldier  would  applaud  with  de- 
light, as  she  poured  forth  notes  fresh  as  those  of 
the  lark,  when  he  soars  aloft  to  meet  the  morn- 
ing sun.  Every  note  was  carefully  rendered, 
yet  her  voice  guslied  forth  wnth  an  exultant 
bound  of  freedom,  like  a  mouniain  torrent,  bub- 
b'ing  from  its  pellucid  source.  And  it  was  her 
heart-hope  that  the  night  would  come,  when  she 
could  hold  a  vast  audience  spell-bound,  as  she 
sang  some  master-piece,  supported  by  choral 
and  instrumental  accompaniments. 

Month  after  month  passed,  and  at  last  Bona- 
parte informed  Judith  that  she  must  prepare  to 
start  for  Paris,  accompanied  by  her  music-master. 
This  was  glad  tidings,  yet  she  could  but  regret 
to  part  with  one  who  had  evinced  such  paternal 
fondness  for  her,  and  who  promised  to  watch 
over  her  professional  career.  Giving  her  letters 
to  Josephine,  and  to  many  influential  friends  at 
Paris,  he  bade  her  good-by,  and  she  found  her- 
self once  more  afloat  upon  the  majestic  Nile. 
But  how  diff'erent  her  situation  from  what  it  was 
when  she  ascended.  Then,  she  was  a  slave, 
enduring  the  agony  of  suspense,  and  fearing  a 
fate  worse  than  death — now,  the  favored  protege 
of  a  victorious  general,  she  was  on  her  way  to 
win  honor  in  the  field  of  song. 

At  Alexandria,  Judith  embarked  upon  the 
"  Republique,"  a  staunch  gun-brig,  which  had 
managed,  thus  far,  to  escape  I^ord  Nelson's 
cruisers.  The  ofiicers  were  gentlemanly,  agree- 
able companions,  nor  was  Bonaparte's  letter  ne- 
cessary to  inspire  them  with  a  profound  esteem 
for  their  fair  passenger.  The  first  few  days  of 
the  voyage  were  delightfully  pleasant,  but  little 
wind  ruilling  the  surface  of  the  calm  Mediterra- 
nean, and  nothing  occurring  to  interrupt  the 
amusements  on  the  quarter-deck,  or  the  varied 
occupations  of  the  crew.  But  on  the  aftenaoon 
of  the  fifth  day  the  scene  was  changed. 

The  wind  was  nearly  aft,  and  the  "  Repub- 
lique," with  all  sails  out,  moved  majestically 
along  under  her  pyramid  of  snowy  canvass. 
"  Sail  ho  !"  sung  out  the  man  at  the  mast-head, 
and  reported  a  cutter  on  the  larboard  bow,  under 
English  colors. 

Soon,  the  officers  could  see  her  with  their 
glasses,  and  all  agreed  that  it  was  a  beautiful 
craft,  although  her  masts  and  sails  seemed 
strangely  out  of  proportion  to  her  hull. 

"  Ease  away  the  braces,"  said  the  captain ; 
"  bring  her  nearer  the  wind,  quartermaster.  Beat 
to  quarters !" 

And  at  the  rapid  notes  of  the  drum  the  men 
hastened  to  their  guns,  to  prepare  for  combat. 
The  ports  were  triced  up,  the  train  tackles  rig- 
ged, tompions  were  taken  out,  and  match-tubs 
made  ready.  Fires  were  extinguished,  the  mag- 
azine was  screened,  and  the  gunner's  crew  made 
their  preparations  for  passing  cartridges.  Bulk- 
heads were  taken  down,  and  Judith's  pretty 
cabin  vanished  like  a  fairy  palace.  And  mean- 
while the  sail-trimmers  had  been  busy  aloft, 
reeving  preventer  slings,  lashing  the  boarding 
nettings,  and  making  everything  secure. 

At  first,  the  strange  craft  evidently  endeavored 
to  escape,  but,  with  her  disproportionate  sails, 
she  could  not  evade  the  "Republique."  All  at 
once,  when  the  distance  between  the  vessels  had 
diminished  to  about  half  a  mile,  the  light  sails 
of  the  cutter  were  taken  in,  and  the  courses 
hauled  up. 

To  the  French  captain,  the  cutter  had  been  a 
mystery,  owing  to  her  peculiar  rig,  and  he  had 
taken  every  precaution,  lest  there  should  be  some 
stratagem  concealed  in  the  beautiful  hull.  He 
now  politely  requested  Judith  and  her  teacher  to 
retire  below,  where  they  would  be  out  of  danger. 
Then,  getting  in  all  his  light  sail,  he  fired  an 
unshotted  gun. 

Let  us  now  see  what  was  going  on  aboard  the 
other  vessel,  which  was  the  Albatross,  re-fitted 
at  Rhodes,  and  on  her  way  to  England  with  de- 
spatches from  Lord  Nelson.  Jack  Norman, 
when  the  French  brig  first  hove  in  sight,  saw 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  escape,  and  he 
laid  a  desperate  plan  of  action.  His  crew  num- 
bered thirty  men,  fierce,  desperate  fellows,  most 
of  them  old  iraugglers,  who  now  saw  that  im- 
plicit obedience  was  their  only  hope  of  escape 
from  a  French  prison.- ■ 


Wliile  Iiis  opponent  was  preparing  to  capture 
him  by  a  COM/)  (fe  main,  Norman  had  his  hands 
busily  occupied  in  flooding  the  magazine,  and 
then  spiking  the  starboard  guns.  Those  on  the 
larboard  side  were  loaded  with  grape  shot,  and 
a  man  stood  by  each,  with  spike  and  hammer, 
ready  to  disable  it  for  action  in  a  moment  after 
it  had  discharged  its  death-dealing  contents. 
Every  man  had  his  boarding  cutlass  at  his  side, 
pistols  in  his  belt,  and  a  pike  at  hand. 

On  came  the  French  brig,  her  bulwarks  crowd- 
ed with  men,  and  passing  under  the  stern  of  the 
Albatross,  he  rounded  to,  and  threw  out  his 
grapnels.  Another  moment,  and  as  the  3'ards 
of  the  two  vessels  clanked  together,  the  brig 
towering  over  the  cutter  as  if  to  crush  her,  Nor- 
man's clear  voice  shouted : 

"  Fire  !     Then  away !" 

And  the  blaze  was  followed  by  the  crash  of 
shot,  entering  the  planks  of  the  Frenchman,  and 
echoed  by  shrieks. 

''  Avancez!"  shouted  the  French  captain,  and, 
followed  by  the  unharmed  of  his  crew,  he  leaped 
on  board  the  Albatross. 

But  he  found  no  enemy  to  combat.  Norman, 
followed  by  his  crew,  had  boarded  the  French 
vessel  by  the  stern,  as  her  crew  left  the  bows, 
and  immediately  began  to  cast  oif  the  grapnels. 
The  astonished  Frenchmen,  the  moment  they 
comprehended  their  error,  endeavored  to  return 
to  their  vessel,  but  in  vain.  Norman  and  his 
resolute  crew,  having  mastered  the  few  on  board, 
were  able  to  defend  the  side,  and  the  vessels 
soon  surged  apart.  Then,  manning  the  guns, 
the  delighted  Englishmen  poured  broadside  after 
broadside  into  their  late  craft,  which  the  French 
were  vainly  endeavoring  to  get  before  the  wind. 
But  the  cut  rigging  and  spiked  cannon  showed 
so  plainly  that  they  were  victims  of  a  cunning 
plan,  that  the  French  crew  refused  to  work.  In 
vain  did  the  captain  urge  and  then  threaten  them. 
Their  courage,  their  hope,  their  confidence  in 
him  were  gone. 

Maddened  to  desperation  at  the  sight  of  his 
fine  vessel  sailing  proudly  away  from  him,  whilst 
his  crew  refused  to  aid  in  recovering  her,  the 
French  captain  left  the  deck.  A  few  moments 
more,  and  a  lurid  flame  gleamed  up  through  the 
hatchways  of  the  cutter,  followed  by  cries  of  de- 
spau*  and  agony,  for  the  Frenchmen  saw  that  one 
of  two  dreadful  deaths  was  inevitably  to  be  their 
lot.  The  flames  burned  with  terrific  brilliancy, 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  by  the  heavy  roUing  of 
the  cutter  that  she  was  water-logged.  At  length 
the  flames  reached  the  magazine,  and  although 
the  powder  had  been  flooded,  the  explosion  sent 
up  a  huge  column  of  fragments — then,  all  was 
still.  The  French  captain  had  buried  himself 
and  his  disgrace  in  a  watery  grave.  Norman 
hove  to,  and  lowered  a  boat,  but  every  man  had 
perished. 

Judith,  immured  below,  had  plainly  heard  the 
din  of  the  tumult.  The  tearing  and  splintering 
of  the  cutter's  broadside — the  collision  of  the  two 
vessels — the  sharp  report  of  small  arms,  as  the 
French  boarders  were  repelled  from  their  own 
vessel — and  then  the  terrific  explosion.  All  had, 
in  turn,  heightened  her  fears,  while  her  poor 
teacher,  upon  his  knees,  vowed  offerings  to  half 
the  saints  in  the  calendar  in  case  of  deliverance. 

At  last,  all  was  quiet  again,  and  then  the  wel- 
come form  of  the  cabin-boy  was  seen  descending 
the  ladder. 

"  Ah  ah !"  exclaimed  the  teacher,  "  all  is  well, 
my  brave  lad  !  Can  I  not  leave  my  pupil  and 
aid  in  defending  the  vessel  V 

"  Hu.sh !"  whispered  the  boy,  "weai'eims- 
oners." 

"  Prisoners  !"  ejaculated  the  cowardly  Italian, 
and  falling  on  his  knees  again,  here-commenced 
his  devotions.  But  Judith,  with  that  womanly 
courage  that  is  ever  I'eady  in  a  case  of  real  emer- 
gency, inquired  into  the  particulars  of  the  com- 
bat. Her  pallid  cheek  flushed  as  the  boy  went 
on  with  his  narrative,  but  all  at  once  a  happy 
thought  seemed  to  strike  her.  She  remembered 
Osmanli — her  rescue  from  the  harem — and  the 
ring  she  wore.  Drawing  it  from  her  finger,  she 
sent  it  to  the  new  commander  of  the  "Repub- 
lique," with  a  hope  that  the  talisman  might  be 
recognized. 

The  boy  left,  and  the  agonized  suspense  of  the 
poor  girl  can  be  easier  imagined  than  described. 
But  he  soon  returned,  accompanied  by  Jack 
Norman,  to  whose  dashing  features  victory  had 
imparted  a  pleasing  look.  Norman,  whilst  en- 
gaged in  smuggling  from  France,  had  acquired 
a  smattering  of  ihe  language,  and  he  lost  no 
time  in  quieting  her  fears. 

"The  daughter  of  a  brother,"  he  said,  "is 
ever  safe,''  and  in  an  hour's  time  Judith  was  re- 


installed in  her  cabin,  while  the  Republique, 
under  English  colors,  "  walked  the  waters  like 
a  thing  of  life."  The  fortress  of  Malta  was  visi- 
ble the  nest  morning,  but  Jack  Norman  thought 
it  best  to  continue  his  course  direct  for  England. 
Never  was  there  a  captain  prouder  of  his  vessel 
— never  was  there  a  crew  more  attached  to  their 
commander.  Loud  laughter  and  merry  songs 
rang  over  the  decks  from  morning  to  night, 
sometimes  ^cquered  by  erudite  calculations  as 
to  the  probable  value  of  each  share  of  the  prize 
money.  On  one  point,  however,  all  agreed. 
Each  man  resolved  to  give  one  half  of  what  he 
received  to  Captain  Norman — the  originator  and 
the  leader  of  their  success. 

It  was  rather  amusing  to  witness  honest  Jack's 
attempts  to  play  the  host,  and  do  the  honoi-s  of 
the  cabin  to  his  fair  passenger.  To  show  her 
appreciation  of  his  kindness,  she  endeavored  to 
harmonize  some  of  the  rude  ditties  trolled  forth 
upon  the  forecastle,  and  he  was  enthusiastic  in 
his  praise  when  she  thus  rendered  "Black-Eyed 
Susan." 

"  'Tis  worth,"  he  said,  "  all  the  foreign  lingo 
in  the  world,  and  coming  from  your  sweet  mouth, 
it  sounds  like  the  boatswain's  whistle  when  the 
enemy  is  in  sight." 

The  passage  to  England  was  a  pleasant  one, 
and  nothing  occurred  to  mar  the  harmony  and 
rejoicing  on  board  the  captured  vessel.  At  last 
the  chalky  cliffs  of  England  were  plainly  visible, 
and,  passing  the  fertile  island  of  Wight,  Norman 
steered  boldly  into  Southampton  roads.  Often, 
when  on  a  smuggling  expedition,  he  had  stole 
in,  at  the  dead  of  night,  seeking  the  friendly 
shade  of  the  high  cliffs.  But  now,  ti'eading  the 
quarter-deck  of  his  prize  with  exultant  pride,  he 
shortened  sail  with  precise  method,  until  the 
Republique,  under  her  topsails  and  jib,  was 
moving  quietly  along  towards  the  outer  mooring. 

So  well  known  was  the  vessel,  that  her  ap- 
proach was  chronicled  in  the  town,  and  on  board 
every  ship  in  the  anchored  squadron,  long  before 
she  approached.  The  quays  were  covered  with 
spectators,  and  the  bulwarks  of  the  vessels  were 
crowded,  all  wondering  what  the  noted  French 
cruiser  was  thus  coming  for,  and  with  the  Eng- 
lish ensign  at  her  mast- head.  Soon  a  gun  pealed 
from  the  largest  frigate,  which  bore  a  rear- 
admiral's  flag  at  the  mizen,  and  three  small  balls 
rose  to  her  fore,  where  they  fluttered  out  as  sig- 
nals. They  were  unintelligible  to  Jack  Norman, 
but  knowing  that  he  was  over  safe  anchorage,  he 
had  his  canvass  brailed  up,  and  the  Republique 
soon  lay  safely  moored.  Then,  ordering  a  boat 
to  be  manned,  he  went  on  board  of  the  flag-ship. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  enthusi- 
astic greeting  which  Jack  Norman  received,  or 
the  rejoicings  which  followed  his  arrival.  But 
the  honest  smuggler  did  not  forget  Judith,  and 
the  admiral  promised  to  send  her  to  France  by 
the  first  ship  bearing  letters  of  marque.  As  for 
Signor  Quavero,  her  music-master,  he  assumed 
half  the  glory  of  the  capture,  and  Jack  Norman 
found  him  one  night  in  the  streets  of  Southamp- 
ton, gloriously  drunk,  and  relating  his  wonderful 
exploits. 

In  a  few  days  a  vessel  came  from  Dover,  on 
its  way  to  Havi-e  with  prisoners  to  be  exchanged. 
Jack  Norman,  when  he  came  to  announce  the 
fact  to  Judith,  brought  her  a  ring  similar  to  the 
one  she  wore,  which  he  asked  permission  to  ex- 
change for  hers.  But  Judith  no  sooner  saw  it 
than  she  shrieked : 

"Where  did  you  obtain  this  V 

"From  a  passenger,  mademoiselle,  who  gave 
it  to  me  as  I  was  leaving  Smyi-na  with  him  in 
the  Albatross." 

"And  where  is  he  V 

"Alas,  I  fear  he  is  drowned  !" 

The  poor  girl  fell  in  a  swoon,  and  when  she 
recovered  her  senses,  she  was  again  on  ship- 
board, and  the  white  cliffs  of  England  were  fad- 
ing into  the  distance.  No  language  can  paint 
the  wretchedness  of  that  young  mourner,  as  her 
sufferings  found  utterance,  and  the  sweet  recol- 
lections of  her  father's  love  melted  into  tears. 

[to    BE    CONTINUED.! 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
AUTUMN. 

BY  J.   HUNT,  JB. 

The  northern  winds  are  sweeping  o'er  the  plain, 

The  forest  leaf  is  changed  to  red,  and  sere ; 
The  birds  have  left  for  warmer  climes  again, 

And  desolation  marks  the  closing  year. 
The  blighting  frosts,  and  showers  of  steady  rain, 

Foretell  to  us  the  gloom  of  winter  near  ; 
Fit  emblem  of  oui-  life  when  death  shall  come, 

To  freeze  the  blood,  and  hurl  us  to  the  tomb ! 


324 


GLEASON'S    PKJTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


THE  AMERICAN  RATTLESNAKE. 

Closely  rcsemlilin;;  the  vipt-r  in  appcnranco 
and  character,  Imt  t;rowiim'  to  u  lenglli  of'Hvc  or 
six  feet,  is  the  rattlesnake  of  America.  This 
reptile  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  its  family, 
its  bite,  properly  inflicted,  hein^'  sure  to  cniiso 
the  death  of  the  lar^icst  animal.  It  is  totally 
niiknown  in  the  old  world,  and  is  readily  distin- 
pui-slied  hv  iis  rattle,  an  instrument  situated  at 
the  tail  extremity,  and  consisting,'  of  several 
horny  nicmhranous  eclU,  which  rattle  upon  each 
other  when  agitated  by  the  animal,  tflie  rattle- 
snake is  of  a  tawny  and  black  color  aliove,  and 
ash-color  beneath  ;  has  a  short  and  rather  round 
liead ;  a  lar^e  protecting  scale  over  each  eye, 
and  long  sharp-pointed  fanps.  It  is  slow  in  its 
motions,  inactive  in  its  habits,  and  not  readily 
disturbed — features  which  luckily  tend  to  lessen 
tlie  mischief  whicli  otherwise  it  would 
be  capable  of  inflicting.  Its  head  is 
broad,  triangular,  and  generally  flat 
in  its  entire  extent.  Its  eyes  are  very 
brilliant,  and  provided  withanicitat- 
ing  membrane ;  the  mouth  very 
large,  the  tongue  forked  at  its  ex- 
treiniiy.  Its  body  is  robust,  elonga- 
tetl,  cylindrical,  covered  above  with 
cariiiated  scales.  Its  tail  is  short, 
cylindrical,  and  somewhat  lliick. 
The  number  of  the  little  bells  which 
terminate  it,  increases  with  age,  an 
additional  one  being  formed  at  every 
casting  of  the  skin.  These  bells  are 
truncated,  (luaiirangular  pyramids, 
received  witliin  each  other  in  such  a 
manner  that  only  a  third  part  of  eadi 
is  visible,  the  tip  of  every  bone  run- 
ning within  two  of  the  bones  below 
it.  Thus  they  are  united  by  a  kind 
of  ball  and  socket  joint,  and  move 
with  a  rattling  sound  whenever  the 
animal  agitates  its  tail.  The  noise 
resembles  that  made  by  rumpled 
parchment,  or  two  quills  of  a  goose 
rubbed  smartly  against  each  other. 
The  poison  fangs  are  traversed  by  a 
canal  for  the  emission  of  the  poison. 
These  fangs,  when  not  used,  rem;un 
concealed  in  a  fold  of  the  gum  ; 
when  the  animal  bites,  the  fangs  are 
raised.  Tliey  are  two  in  number, 
one  at  each  end  of  the  upper  jaw. 
The  effects  of  the  poison  of  course 
depend  much  upon  the  season  of  the 
year,  the  age  and  strength  of  the 
reptile,  and  the  part  struck ;  hence 
numerous  cases  are  on  record  of  in- 
dividuals recovering  in  a  few  weeks 
from  the  bite  of  a  rattlesnake.  It  is 
also  found  by  experiment,  that  the 
elfect  of  subsequent  wounds  is  greatly 
diminished,  either  by  the  diminution 
of  the  quantity  of  venom,  or  by  some 
deterioration  of  its  strength ;  so  that 
if  a  venomous  serpent  be  made  re- 
peatedly to  inflict  wounds,  without 
allowing  sufliciently  long  intervals 
for  it  to  recover  its  powers,  each 
successive  bite  becomes  less  and  less 
dangerous.  "  A  gentleman  of  my 
acquaintance,"  says  the  author  of 
British  Reptiles,  "  had,  some  years 
ago,  received  a  living  rattlesnake 
from  America.  Intending  to  try  the 
effects  of  its  bite  upon  some  rats,  he 
introduced  one  of  these  animals  into 
the  cage  with  the  serpent ;  it  imme- 
diately struck  the  rat,  which  died  in 
two  minutes.  Another  rat  was  then 
placed  in  the  cage ;  it  ran  up  to  the 
part  farthest  fi'om  the  serpent,  utter- 
ing cries  of  distress.  The  snake  did 
not  immediately  attack  it ;  but  after 
half  an  hour,  and  on  being  irritated, 
it  struck  the  rat,  which  did  not  ex- 
hibit any  symptoms  of  being  pois- 
oned for  several  minutes,  and  died 
twenty  m  inutes  after  the  bite.  A 
third  and  remarkably  large  rat  was 
then  introduced.  It  exhibited  no 
sign  of  terror  at  its  dangerous  com- 
panion, which  on  its  part,  appeared 
to  take  no  notice  of  the  rat.  After 
watching  for  the  rest  of  the  evening, 
my  friend  retired,  leaving  the  serpent 
and  the  rat  together.  On  rising 
early  the  next  morning  to  ascertain 
the  fate  of  his  two  heterogeneous 
prisoners,  he  found  the  snake  dead, 
and  the  muscular  part  of  its  hack 
eaten  by  the  rat.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber at  what  time  of  the  year  this  cir- 
cumstance took  place,  hut  I  believe 
it  was  not  during  very  hot  weather." 
All  the  species  of  rattlesnake  are 
confined  To  America;  and  the  indi- 
viduals of  this  genus  have  diminished  in  propor- 
tion to  the  increase  of  population.  Bartram 
says,  that  he  has  seen  some  rattlesnakes  as  thick 
as  a  man's  thigh,  and  more  than  six  feet  long. 
"When  the  winter  is  rigorous,  the  riittlcsnakes 
pass  some  time  in  a  lethargic  state,  near  the 
sources  of  rivers,  in  covert  places,  where  the 
frost  cannot  reach  them.  They  bury  themselves 
thus,  before  the  autumnal  equinox,  after  they 
have  changed  their  skin,  and  do  not  emerge 
until  after  tlie  vernal  equinox.  Mi  ny  of  them 
are  often  found  together  in  the  sane  hole.  Till 
the  month  of  July,  their  bile  is  <omparatively 
harmless.  At  Cayenne,  and  in  the  hot  latitudes, 
they  are  in  constant  activity  all  tl  e  year.  They 
arc  viviparous,  and  can  live  a  lo]  g  time.  Some 
have  been  mentioned  as  havii  g  forty  or  fifty 
pieces  in  their  rattles,  and  being  from  eight  to 
ten  feet  in  length.  They  have  great  tenacity  of 
life. 


THE  PROPHECY  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

The  very  beautiful  engraving,  which  we  pre- 
sent below,  is  entitled  the  "  l^rophecy  of  tlie 
Flowers."  Both  this  and  the  picture  on  the  op- 
]iosite  page,  are  from  the  famous  artist,  M.  Vidal. 
The  picture  below  represents  a  girl  consulting 
the  flower  for  a  favoral)le  angury  of  her  love ; 
the  jiraciice  is  not  wholly  unknown  in  England, 
but  iirevflils  more  on  the  continent ;  it  ranks  with 
the  many  other  little  superstitions  of  the  same 
kind,  that  have  furnished  so  many  themes  to 
poetry  and  painting.  Vidal  is  very  popular  in 
England  and  this  country;  engravings  frorn  his 
sketches  are  in  almost  every  print-shop  ;  his  fe- 
male Hgures  are  remarkable  for  grace  and  sim- 
plicity, with  an  originality  of  treatment,  that 
compensates  for  the  absence  of  more  elevated  and 
intellectual  qualities.     M.  Vidal's  beauties  have 


PILGRiniAGE  TO  MECCA. 

At  Cairo  I  had  viewed  the  departure  of  the 
caravan  from  the  Iladi,  as  a  Fpecics  of  public  re- 
joicing. The  whole  of  the  night,  which  preced- 
ed the  raising  of  the  tents,  the  camp,  resplendent 
with  the  lij;ht  of  millions  of  lumps,  and  re-echo- 
ing with  the  sounds  of  thousands  of  musical  in- 
struments, seemed  the  especial  abode  of  mirth 
aiul  pleasure;  and  the  ensuing  morning,  the  pil- 
grims, fresh  and  gay,  full  of  ardor,  and  prancing 
along  the  road,  looked  like  a  procession  of  the 
eleci  going  to  take  possession  of  Paradise.  Alas, 
how  different  was  the  appearance  of  this  same 
caravan,  after  a  long  and  fatiguing  march  across 
the  desert,  on  its  arrival  at  Mecca  !  Wan,  pale, 
and  worn  down  with  fatigue  and  thirst,  incrusted 
with  a  thick  coat  of  dust  and  jierspiration,  they 
who  composed  it  seemed  scarcely  able  to  crawl 


THE  PROPHECY  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 


elegance  and  reality  possessed  by  no  other  living 
arti\t,  with  the  exception  of  Gavarni ;  they  recal 
to  the  mind  the  celebrated  girls'  heads  of  Creuze. 
Vidal  executes  in  several  crayons,  a  mode  which 
has  become  now  as  great  a  rage  as  it  was  in  the 
last  century;  but  it  has  been  much  improved  by 
the  discoveries  of  our  modern  water-color  paint- 
ers ;  in  fact,  it  might  be  termed  a  combination  of 
the  two  systems.  Our  readers  will  observe  in 
this  and  the  picture  on  the  opposite  page  a  dif- 
ferent style  and  effect  of  drawing  and  engraving 
from  that  which  is  presented  by  the  pictures 
which  our  artists  take  froni  nature  in  room  of 
paintings.  If  this  difference  be  noted,  the  reader 
will  Hnd  a  matter  of  interest  in  the  subject,  inas- 
much as  it  will  thus  present  to  him  the  art  which 
we  so  often  exhibit  in  a  different  light.  These 
two  engravings  are  very  fine  pictures  from  the 
artist's  works  above  referred  to,  and  are  fine  sam- 
ples of  engravings  taken  from  painting)^. 


to  the  place  of  their  destination.  The  end  of 
their  journey  looked  like  that  of  their  earthly 
existence  ;  or  rather  one  might  have  fancied  their 
bodies  already  smitten  by  the  spirit  of  the  desert, 
and  their  ghosts  come  disemltodie*!  to  accom- 
plish their  vow.  Among  the  arrivals  were  some 
of  my  Egyptian  friends  ;  but  their  sufferings  had 
so  altered  them  that  they  were  obliged  to  sylla- 
ble their  names  before  I  could  recollect  them. 
One  had  almost  lost  his  sight  by  the  sand  and 
dust ;  another  preserved  but  a  remnant  of  intel- 
lect, and  a  third,  in  consequence  of  great  fatigue 
and  constant  alarms  and  fears,  had  become  sub- 
ject to  spasmodic  movements,  and  he  held  his 
head  fast  by  the  ears  to  prevent  its  turning  round 
like  a  top.  And  all  this  evil  and  suffering  was 
endured  from  a  mistaken  idea  of  reli  ions  duty  ! 
so  extortionate  are  tlie  pi'omptings  of  a  con- 
science unenlightened  by  the  dictates  of  a  pure 
religious  truth. — Eastern  Travels. 


FEATS  OF  MAGIC. 

One  of  ihe  most  ancient  feats  of  magic  was 
the  art  of  breathing  flume — an  art  which  even 
now  excites  the  astonihhment  of  the  vulgar. 
I)uring  the  insurrection  of  the  slaves  in  Sicily  in 
the  second  century  before  Christ,  a  Syrian  named 
Eunus  ac(|uircd  by  liis  knowledge  the  rank  of 
their  leader.  In  order  lo  tf^tablish  his  influence 
over  their  minds,  he  pretended  to  possess  mi- 
raculous power.  A\  hen  he  wished  to  ins]>ire  hia 
followers  with  courage,  he  breathed  fliimcs  or 
sparks  among  them  from  his  mouth,  at  the  same 
time  rousing  them  by  liis  eloquence.  St.  .Je- 
rome informs  us  tliat  llie  Kablii  Barchochebas, 
who  headed  the  Jews  in  their  last  revolt  against 
Hadrian,  made  them  believe  that  he  was  the 
Messiah,  by  vomiting  flames  from  his  month; 
and  at  a  later  period,  the  Emperor  Consiantiufl 
was  thrown  into  a  state  of  alarm 
when  Valentinian  informed  him  that 
he  had  seen  one  of  the  bodyguarda 
breathing  out  fire  and  flames.  Wc 
are  not  acquainted  with  the  exact 
methods  by  which  these  effects  were 
produced;  but  Floras  informs  us, 
that  Eunus  fllled  a  perforated  nut- 
shell with  sulphur  and  fire,  and  hav- 
ing concealed  it  in  his  mourh,  he 
breathed  gtntly  through  it  while  he 
was  speaking.  This  art  is  performed 
more  simply  by  the  modern  juggler. 
Having  rolled  together  some  flax  or 
hemp,  so  as  to  form  a  ball  the  size 
of  a  walnut,  he  sets  it  on  fire,  and 
allows  it  to  bum  till  it  is  nearly  con- 
sumed :  he  then  rolls  round  ii'while 
burning  some  additional  flax,  and 
by  these  means  the  fire  may  be  re- 
tained in  it  for  a  considerable  time. 
At  the  commencement  of  his  exhibi- 
tion he  intioduces  the  ball  into  his 
mouth,  and  while  he  breathes  through 
it  the  fire  is  revived,  and  a  number 
of  burning  sparks  are  projected  from 
his  mouth.  These  sparks  are  too 
feeble  to  do  any  harm,  provided  he 
inhales  the  air  through  his  nostrils. 
The  kindred  art  of  walking  on  burn- 
ing coals  or  red-hot  iron  remounts  to 
the  same  antiquity.  The  priestesses 
of  Diana  at  Castabalain  Cappadocia 
were  accustomed,  according  to  Stra- 
bo,  to  walk  over  burning  coals  ;  and 
at  the  annual  festival,  which  was  held 
in  the  temple  of  Apcdlo  on  Mount 
Soractein  Etruria.theHirpi  marched 
over  burning  coats,  and  on  this  ac- 
count they  were  exempted  from  mil- 
itary service,  and  received  other 
privileges  from  the  Roman  senate. 
This  power  of  resisting  fire  was 
ascribed  even  by  Varro  to  the  use  of 
some  liniment  with  which  they  an- 
ointed the  soles  of  their  feet.  Of 
the  same  character  was  the  art  of 
holding  red-hot  iron  in  the  hands  or 
between  the  teeth,  and  of  plunging 
the  hands  into  boiling  water  or  melt- 
ed lead.  About  the  close  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  an  Englishman  of 
the  name  of  liichardson  rendered 
himself  famons  by  chewing  burning 
coals,  pouring  melted  lead  npon  his 
tongue,  and  swallowing  melted  (ilass. 
That  these  effects  are  produced  part^ 
ly  by  deception,  and  partly  by  a  pre- 
vious preparation  of  the  parts  snl>- 
jected  to  the  heat,  can  scarcely  admit 
of  a  doubt.  The  fusible  metal  com- 
posed of  mercm"y,  tin,  and  bismuth, 
which  melts  at  a  low  temperature, 
might  easily  have  been  subslituted 
in  place  of  lead;  and  fluids  of  easy 
ebullition  may  have  been  used  in 
place  of  boiling  water.  A  solution 
of  spermaceti  or  sulphuric  ether, 
tinged  with  alkanet-root,  which  be- 
comes solid  at  50  -  of  Fahrenheit, 
and  melts  and  boils  with  the  heat  of 
the  hand,  is  supposed  lo  be  the  sub- 
stance which  is  used  at  Naples  when 
the  dried  blood  of  St.  Janarius  melts 
spontaneously,  and  boils  over  the 
vessel  which  contains  it.  But  even 
when  the  fluid  requires  a  high  tem- 
perature to  boil,  it  may  have  other 
properties,  which  enable  us  to  plunge 
our  hands  into  it  with  impunity. 
This  is  the  case  with  boiling  tar, 
which  boils  at  a  temperature  of  220 
det;rees,  even  higher  than  that  of 
wjiter.  Mr.  Davenport  informs  us, 
that  he  saw  one  of  the  workmen  in 
the  king's  dock-jard  at  Chatham  im- 
merse his  naked  hand  in  tar  of  that 
temperature.  He  drew  up  his  coat- 
sleeves,  dipped  in  his  hand  and  wrist,  bringing 
out  fluid  tar,  and  pouring  it  off  from  his  hand  as 
from  a  ladle.  The  tar  remained  in  complete 
contact  with  his  skin,  and  he  wiped  it  off' with 
tow.  Convinced  that  there  was  no  deception  in 
the  experiment,  Mr.  Davenport  immersed  the 
entire  length  of  his  forefinger  in  the  boiling  cal- 
dron, and  moved  it  about  a  short  time  l)cfore  the 
heat  became  inconvenient.  Mr.  Davenport 
ascribes  this  singnlar  effect  to  the  slowness  with 
which  the  tar  communicates  its  heat,  whicli  he 
conceives  to  arise  from  the  abundant  volatile 
vapor  wliich  is  evolved,  "carrying  ofl"  rapidly 
the  caloric  in  a  latent  state,  and  intervening  be- 
tween the  tar  and  the  skin,  so  as  to  prevent  the 
moi'C  rapid  communication  of  heat.  He  con- 
ceives also,  that  when  the  hand  is  withdrawn, 
and  the  hot  tar  adhering  to  it,  the  rapidity  with 
which  this  vapor  is  evolved  from  the  surface  ex- 
posed to  the  air  cools  it  immediately. — Brewster, 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COIMPANION. 


325 


LAKE  OF  ALLIGATORS. 

In  that  very  entertaining  work,  ''Dry  Leaves 
from  Younii:  Ej^rypt,"  we  tind  the  following?  de- 
scription of  this  interesting^  spot.  "  One  of  my 
first  exhibitions  after  rcachins;  Karachi  was  a 
'.-isit  to  the  Magar  Talao.as  it  i^  called,  or  Lake 
of  Allisators.  This  curious  place  is  about  eij^ht 
miles  from  Karachi,  and  is  well  worth  inspecting 
to  all  who  are  fond  of  tho  monstrous  and  gro- 
tesque. A  moderate  ride  through  a  sandy  and 
sterile  track,  varied  with  a  few  patches  of  jungle, 
brings  one  to  a  grove  of  tamarind  trees,  hid  in 
the  bosom  of  which  lie  the  grisly  brood  of  mon- 
sters. Little  would  one,  ignorant  of  the  locale, 
suspect  that  under  that  green  wood,  in  tliat  tiny 
pool,  which  an  active  leaper  could  half  spring 
across,  such  hideous  denizens  are  concealed. 
'Here  is  the  pool,'  E  said  to  my  guide,  rather 
contemptuously  ;  '  Imt  where  are  the 
alliaators  1'  At  the  same  time  I  was 
stalking  on  very  boldly  with  head 
erect,  and  rather  inclined  to  flout  the 
whole  affair,  iiaao  adanco.  A  sudden 
hoarse  roar  or  bark,  liowever,  under 
my  very  feet,  made  me  execute  a  pi- 
rouette in  the  air  with  extraordinary 
adroitness,  and  perhaps  widi  more 
animation  than  grace.  I  had  almost 
stepped  on  a  young  crocodilian  imp 
about  three  feet  long,  whose  bite, 
small  as  he  was,  would  have  been 
the  reverse  of  pleasant.  Presently 
the  genius  of  the  place  appeared  in 
the  shape  of  a  wizard-looking  old 
Fakir,  who,  on  my  presenting  liim 
with  a  couple  of  rupees,  produced 
his  wand — in  other  words,  a  long 
pole — and  then  proceeded  to  call  up 
his  spirits.  On  his  shouting  '  Ao  ! 
Ao  !'  (Come!  come!)  two  or  three 
times,  the  water  suddenly  became 
alive  with  monsters.  At  least  three- 
soorchuge  alli<;ators,  some  of  them 
fifteen  feet  in  length,  made  their  ap- 
pearance, and  came  thronging  to  the 
shore.  The  whole  scene  reminded 
me  of  fairy  tales.  The  solitary  wood, 
the  pool  with  its  strange  inmates,  the 
fakir's  lonely  hut  on  the  hillside,  the 
fakir  himself,  tall,  swart  and  gaunt, 
the  rubber -looking  Biiuchi  by  my 
side,  made  up  a  fantastic  picture. 
Strange,  too,  ihe  control  our  show- 
man displayed  over  his  'lions.'  On 
his  motioning  with  the  pole,  they 
stopped — indeed,  they  had  already 
arrived  at  a  disafrreeable  propinquity 
— and  on  his  calling  out  '  Baitho  ' 
(sit  down},  they  lay  flat  on  their 
stomachs,  grinning  horrible  obedi- 
ence with  their  open  and  expectant 
jaws.  Some  large  pieces  of  flesh 
were  thrown  to  them,  to  get  which, 
they  struggled,  writhed  and  fought, 
and  tore  the  flesh  into  shreds  and 
gobbets.  I  was  amused  with  the  re- 
s|>ect  the  smaller  ones  showed  to 
their  overgrown  seniors.  One  fel- 
low, about  ten  feet  long,  was  walk- 
ing up  to  the  feeding-ground  from 
the  water,  when  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  one  mucli  larger  just  behind  him. 
It  was  odd  to  see  the  frightened  look 
with  which  he  sidled  out  of  the  way, 
evidently  expecting  to  lose  half  a 
yard  of  his  tail  before  he  could  efi^cct 
his  retreat.  At  a  short  distance — 
perhaps  half  a  mile — from  the  Hrst 
pool,  I  wtLS  shown  another,  in  which 
the  water  was  as  warm  as  one  could 
bear  it  for  complete  immersion  ;  yet 
even  here  I  saw  some  small  alliga- 
tors. The  fakirs  told  me  these 
brutes  were  very  numerous  in  the 
river,  about  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
to  the  west.  The  monarch  of  the 
place,  an  enormous  alligator,  to 
whom  the  fakir  had  given  the  name 
of  '  Mor  Sahih'  (My  Lord  Mor), 
never  obeyed  the  call  to  come  out. 
As  I  walked  round  the  pool,  I  was 
shown  where  he  lay,  with  his  head 
above  water,  immovalde  as  a  log, 
and  for  which  I  should  have  taken 
him  but  for  his  small,  savage  eyes, 
which  glittered  so  that  they  seemed 
to  emit  sparks.  He  was,  the  fakir 
said,  very  fierce  and  dangerous,  and 
at  lea>-t  twenty  feet  in  length." 
These  terrible  animals  are  found  in 
the  rivers  and  lagoons  of  our  own 
country  as  well  as  other  pans  of  the 
world,  and  an  encounter  with  one  of 
them  is  fearful  on  account  of  its 
great  size  and  strength.  It  grows  to 
the  length  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet, 
is  covered  by  a  dense  harness  of  homy  scales, 
impenetrable  to  a  musket  ball,  except  about  the 
head  and  shoulders,  and  has  a  huge  mouth, 
armed  with  a  row  of  strong,  unequal,  conical 
teeth,  some  of  which  shut  into  cavities  of  the 
upper  jaw-hone.  They  swim  or  dart  along 
through  the  water  with  wonderful  celerity,  im- 
pelled by  their  long,  laterally-eompi-essed  and 
powerful  tails,  which  serve  as  very  efficient  oars. 
On  land,  their  motions  are  proportionally  slow 
and  embarrassed,  because  of  the  length  and  im- 
wieldiness  of  their  bodies,  the  shortness  of  their 
limbs,  and  the  sort  of  small,  false  ribs  which 
reach  from  joint  to  joint  of  their  necks,  and  ren- 
der lateral  motion  very  diffiLnilt.  The  alligator 
is  generally  considered  as  disposed  to  retire  from 
man,  but  this  is  only  to  be  understood  of  alliga- 
tors frequenting  rivers  or  waters  where  they  are 
often  disturbed.  In  situations  less  visited  by 
man,  they  are  very  ferocious. 


CURIOSITY. 

The  following  verses  explain  the  spirit  of  the 
fine  picture  which  wc  present  on  this  paije.  It  is 
a  su^^estive  subject,  and  the  readers  of  the  Pic- 
tortial  will  regard  it  with  interest. 

Betsey  I  art  thou  Eve's  true  daughter? 

Betsy  !  hast  a  peering  eye  1 
Wonldst  thou  read  as  clear  as  water 

All  the  honeyed  terms  that  lie 
Within  that  letter's  fragile  folds — 
Spell  every  word  that  letter  holds. 
And  know  when  thy  young  master,  Harry, 
Or  Lady  Jane  intends  to  marry  1 

What!  not  yet  in  the  secret,  Betsy! 
That's  very  puzzling — very  !     Let's  see — 
The  letter's  not  from  Lady  Jane. 
No,  no  !  you  need  not  peep  again. 


APPEARAXCE  OF  JOHN  HANCOCK. 

One  who  saw  Hancock  in  June,  1782,  relates 
that  he  had  the  appearance  of  advanced  aiie.  He 
had  been  repeatedly  and  severely  afflicted  with 
tlie  eout;  probably  owing  in  part  to  the  custom 
of  drinking  punch— a  common  practice  in  high 
circles  in  those  days.  As  recollected  at  this  time. 
Gov.  Hancock  was  nearly  six  feet  in  height,  and 
of  thin  person,  stooping  a  little,  and  apparently 
enfeebled  by  disease.  His  manners  were  gra- 
cious, of  the  old  style,  a  dignified  complaisance. 
His  face  had  been  handsome.  Dress  was  adapt- 
ed quite  as  much  to  the  ornamental  as  useful. 
Gentlemen  wore  wig?  when  abroad,  and  com- 
monly caps  when  at  home.  At  this  time,  about 
noon,  Hancock  was  dressed  in  a  red  velvet  cap, 
within  which  was  one  of  fine  linen.  The  latter 
was  turned  up  over  the  lower  edge  of  the  velvet 


CURIOSITY FROM  A  PAINTING  BY  M    VIDAL. 


A  lady's  hand — The  envelope 
Perfumed — The  seal  expresses  "  Hope." 
The  waiter  waits — no  longer  tarry — 
Go  !  give  the  letter  to  Lord  Harry. 
Betsy  !  St.  Martin's — hi^ht  Le  Grand — 
Might  give  thee  a  strong  reprimand ; 

For  people  say  that  there  Sir 

(We  never  like  to  mention  names) 
Punish'd  the  men  who  oped  the  letters, 
Or  of  their  worsers  or  their  betters. 
Yott  ope  no  letters,  Betsy  ;  but 
Strive  hard  to  read  them  while  they're  shut. 
How  long  shall  this  most  paltry  vice 
Be  linked  with  woman's  honored  name  f 
Shall  curiosity  entice 

The  fair  to  libel  their  own  fame 
Forever?     No  !     The  female  mind 

Looks  down  upon  the  "  pelites^e." 
Woman's  pure  spirit  was  designed 

To  trust,  to  comfort,  and  to  bless. 


one,  two  or  three  inches.  He  wore  a  blue  damask 
gown  lined  with  silk,  a  white  stock,  a  white  satin 
embroidered  waistcoat,  black  satin  small  clothes, 
white  silk  stockings  and  red  morocco  sIi])perK. 
It  was  a  general  practice  in  genteel  families  to 
have  a  tankard  of  punch  made  in  the  morning, 
and  placed  in  a  cooler  when  the  season  required 
it.  At  this  visit,  Hancock  took  from  the  cooler, 
standing  on  the  hearth,  a  full  tankard,  and  drank 
first  himself,  and  then  offered  it  to  those  present. 
His  equipage  was  splendid,  and  his  apparel  was 
sumptuously  embroidered  with  gold  and  silver, 
and  lace,  and  other  decorations  in  use  among 
men  of  fortune  of  that  period  ;  and  he  rode  with 
six  beautiful  hay  horses,  attended  by  servants  in 
livery.  He  wore  a  scarlet  coat,  with  ruffles  on 
his  sleeves.  It  is  related  of  Dr.  Natli.-.n  Jacques, 
of  West  Newbury,  that  he  walked  to  Boston  in 
one  day  for  cloth  for  a  coat  like  that  of  Hancock, 
and  returned  with  it  under  his  arm,  on  foot. 


JOSEPHINE  AETER  HER  DIVORCE. 

The  next  morning  at  eleven,  the  divorced  em- 
press was  to  leave  the  palace  of  the  Tuilleries, 
to  return  to  it  no  more.  From  the  highest  to 
the  lowest  member  of  the  household,  all  assem- 
bled to  witness  the  departure  of  her,  who  carried 
all  hearts  with  her  into  exile.  Leaning  on  the 
arm  of  one  of  her  ladies,  and  so  deeply  veiled 
that  her  countenance  could  not  be  seen,  she  de- 
scended the  stairway  in  silence  too  profound  to 
last ;  for  she  had  taken  but  a  few  steps  before 
there  was  an  involuntary  and  simultaneous  burst 
of  grief  But  she  spoke  not.  The  only  response 
she  made  to  this  touching  language  of  grief  from 
those  who  loved  her,  was  the  shudder  of  the  last 
pang  she  was  ever  to  feel  in  the  imperial  halls 
where  she  had  embellished  the  empire  of  Napo- 
leon. She  sank  fainting  into  a  close  carriaf^e, 
and  the  clatter  of  the  feet  of  six 
horses  echoed  coldly  through  the 
court  yard,  as  they  bore  her  away 
from  that  ancient  palace.  Several 
months  Josephine  had  now  passed  in 
solitude  and  grief.  Whatever  Napo- 
leon could  do  to  mitigate  the  harsh- 
ness of  this  severe  stroke  had  been 
done.  A  pension  of  six  hundred 
thousand  dollars  a  year  was  settled 
on  her  for  life,  and  promptly  paid 
till  Napoleon's  fall.  The  magnifi- 
cent villa  of  Malmaison,  with  all  its 
grounds  and  treasures  of  art  and 
beauty,  with  the  ancient  palace  of 
Navarre,  were  presented  to  her — and 
her  title  of  empress  was  confirmed. 
She  received  frequent  visits — "  al- 
most of  homage" — from  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Imperial  Court;  for  it 
was  universally  understood  that  Na- 
poleon desired  every  token  of  respect 
should  be  shown  to  his  former  wife. 
Her  villa  presented  a  more  animated 
and  brilliant  spectacle  than  even 
while  Napoleon  was  its  master.  It 
was  frequented  by  the  most  illustri- 
ous statesmen,  scholars,  artists  and 
men  of  taste  of  the  empire.  She  was 
universally  respected,  admired  and 
beloved,  and  her  fall  from  the  throne 
seemed  to  clothe  her  with  new  splen- 
dor. She  still  cherished  her  affec- 
tion for  Napoleon.  Tlie  apartment 
he  had  occupied  remained  exactly  as 
he  had  left  it;  she  would  not  sufier 
even  a  chair  to  be  moved,  and,  in- 
deed, very  rarely  permitted  any  one 
to  enter.  On  his  table  was  a  volume 
of  history,  with  the  page  doubled 
down  where  he  had  finished  reading; 
beside  it  lay  a  pen,  with  ink  dried  on 
the  point,  and  a  map  of  the  world, 
on  which  he  was  accustomed  to  point 
out  his  plans  to  those  in  his  confi- 
dence, and  which  still  showed  on  its 
surface  many  marks  of  his  impa- 
tience. These  Josephine  would  not 
allow  to  be  touched  on  any  account. 
By  the  wall  stood  Napoleon's  camp 
bed,  without  curtains ;  and  above 
continued  to  hang  such  of  his  arms 
as  he  had  placed  there.  On  different 
pieces  of  furniture  were  flung  vari- 
ous portions  of  apparel,  just  as  he 
had  used  them  last;  for,  among  his 
other  extraordinary  ways,  he  had  a 
practice,  on  retiring  to  rest,  of  fling- 
ing rather  than  taking  oflT  his  clothes, 
casting  down  a  coat  here,  a  vest 
there,  usually  pitching  his  watcli  into 
the  bed,  and  hii;  hat  and  shoes  into 
the  farthest  comer  of  the  apartment. 
In  devoting  herself  to  the  adornment 
of  the  villa  Malmaison,  Josephine 
displayed  the  most  refined  and  artis- 
tic taste.  In  the  pannels  were  placed 
fine  engravings  from  Bible  scenes, 
and  under  each,  a  portrait  of  the  dis- 
tinguished generals  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. In  the  centre  of  the  room  there 
was  always  to  be  a  large  flower-stand 
filled  with  fresh  flowers  in  their  sea- 
son, and  in  each  angle,  the  bust  of  a 
French  philosopher.  Her  private 
cabinet  was  to  be  in  light  blue,  with 
a  border  of  ranunculus  and  polyan- 
thus. Ten  large  engravings  from 
the  gallery  of  the  Muses,  and  twenty 
medallions  filled  up  the  pannels. 
The  casements  were  painted  white 
and  green,  with  double  fillets  of  gold. 
The  first  million  of  francs  which  Na- 
poleon allowed  Josephine  from  his 
own  purse,  was  expended  in  restor- 
ing the  castle  of  the  ancient  kings  of 
Navarre,  which  had  been  long  neg- 
lected, and  nearly  demolished  in  the 
Revolution.  Its  immense  park  had  once  been 
embellished  by  flowing  streams,  and  gleaming 
lakes;  but  the  water  courses  had  ceased  to  flow, 
and  the  lakes  had  become  stagnant  marshes. 
But  Josephine  soon  made  it  wear  a  new  aspect ; 
the  beds  of  the  streams  were  cleared  out,  and 
covered  with  white  gravel ;  the  lakes  were  exca- 
vated and  fllled  with  fish;  the  old  forest  roads 
were  repaired,  and  fertility  and  beauty  once 
more  embellished  this  ancient  retreat  of  the 
French  monarchs.  In  these  delightful  engage- 
ments phe  was  aided  by  the  taste  of  the  niopl 
distinguished  artists  in  France,  and  in  her  public 
improvements  Napoleon  himself  aided  by  his  in- 
genious and  practical  suggestions.  Thus,  grad- 
ually, the  heavy  cloud  which  had  so  Jong  hung 
in  blackness  over  her  heavens,  began  to  break 
awav,  and  was  dissolved  by  the  balmy  sunshine  ; 
and*  her  palace  wore  the  a'^pect  of  hospitality 
and  refinement. — Napoleon  Dynasly. 


326 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAYflNG    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gloiison's  Pictorial.] 
KAVOLEON. 

DV  CAROLrNH  A.    IIAYDEN. 

Tho  ship  that  lifis  borao  liim  iiorOHfl  tlio  deep, 

Ih  noiiring  now  tho  land  ; 
Who  will  Ko  Ibrwiird  in  Knglaud's  minio, 

And  Nupoleou'fl  sword  duuiand? 

There's  ii  hush  I  cah  it  ho  tliiit  yo  four  him  yot? 

That  before  tho  raRod  uiiglo  yo  f|aail? 
Or  think  yo  that  ngea  unboru  will  bluah, 

When  they  list  to  tlio  shameful  talo  ? 

Yo  nro  loyal  and  true,  and  your  monarch's  hroaHt 
Was  tlic  hirthpJaco  from  whence  it  sprung ; 

Wliy  should  a  Bentunoe  BO  simple  and  brief, 
In  fiilenco  cliain  every  tongue? 

PeriFh  tlie  thought  which  ehall  ^tamp  disgrace 

On  the  lips  now  doomed  to  break 
A  silence  more  eloquent  far  than  words, 

For  Napoleon,  and  England's  sake. 

There 's  a  movement  at  last !  the  insulting  duuiand 

Must  be  made,  and  who  fitter  than  he  ; 
The  highest  in  rank,  tho  flrot  in  command. 

On  the  blue  and  heaving  sea. 

Perhaps  it  were  better  to  stilie  the  thought. 

That  would  question  or  ca\il  still, 
The  motive  of  him  who  the  maudate  spoke, 

Or  the  slave  who  obeyed  his  will. 

"  England  demands  your  sword  !"'    Ye  gods  ! 
Saw  ye  that  fl.tsbing  eye  ? 
The  ray  that  shot  from  its  fiery  orb, 
Like  lightning  glancing  by ! 

And  saw  ye  the  stern  old  admiral? 

llow  his  boasted  courage  failed  ; 
And  bow,  'ncath  the  blast  of  that  withering  scorn, 

Ilis  haughty  spirit  quailed? 

Before  hior  the  parting  crowd  give  way. 

They  are  answered  without  a  word  ; 
And  the  conquering  hero  passes  on. 

His  hand  upon  his  sword  1 

[Written  for  Oleason's  Pictorial.]' 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  SI. 

BY   DK.   JEKOME   V.    C.    SMITH. 

INSTITUTIONS  OF  KELIGION. 

It  is  admitted  without  reservation,  that  the 
Turlcs  are  religious  bigots.  The  government  is 
predicated  upon  the  revelations  of  the  Koran. 
Law,  physic  and  divinity  must  accord  to  the  sen- 
timents of  that  singularly  constructed  volume, 
or  not  exist  in  Turkey  as  they  do  in  civilized 
countries. 

Every  man  believes  implicitly  in  the  divine 
mission  of  Mahommed.  There  are  no  doubters  ; 
no  hesitancy,  but  a  firm  reliance  on  the  prophet. 
There  is  a  laxity,  however,  in  some  individuals, 
and  an  excess  of  fervor  in  others.  As  a  nation, 
it  is  far  more  tolerant  than  any  Christian  coun- 
try on  the  globe ;  yet  there  are  persons  of  such 
fiery  zeal,  that,  were  they  not  restrained  by  fear  of 
the  civil  and  military  powers  of  the  pashas,  would 
cut  the  thi'oats  of  every  man,  woman  and  child 
who  presumed  to  dilfer  from  them  in  opinion. 

The  elements  of  bigotry  are  precisely  alike  in 
all  climates.  It  is  the  first  ambition  of  ignorant 
and  fanatic  professors  of  any  faith,  to  extermi- 
nate those  wlio  differ  from  them  in  religious  sen- 
timents. The  Turks,  therefore,  are  no  worse  in 
that  respect,  than  others,  more  enlightened  under 
a  loftier  and  lietter  dispensation. 

Moslem  worshippers  are  subdivided  by  various 
sects,  who  only  differ  from  each  other  on  certain 
points,  hut  not  so  essential  as  to  interfere  with  a 
general  harmony  for  the  protection  of  the  faith- 
ful of  all  shades  and  gradations  of  belief. 

It   must  suIHce  for  my  purpose  to  introduce 
.  but  two  specimens  of  religious  enthusiasts,  leav- 
ing all  minor  sects  of  Mahommedans  without 
mention,  because  they  are  comparatively  tame 
and  uninteresting  as  characters. 

All  over  Tmkey,  and,  in  fact,  wherever  the 
disciples  of  Mahommed  have  extended,  the  sect 
known  by  the  name  of  dervishes  have  been  estab- 
lished. They  are  in  Egypt,  and  even  in  Cairo, 
have  a  college  with  certain  privileges,  which  are 
recognized  as  important  by  the  people.  Before 
the  revolution  in  Greece,  they  were  there  also. 
Thatbeautiful  and  universally  admired  structure, 
belonging  to  a  remote  antiquity,  a  little  north  of 
the  Acropolis,  the  temple  of  the  winds,  was  in 
tho  possession  of  the  dancing  dervishes  when 
hostilities  commenced.  All  over  Syria,  they 
,  are  found  in  the  largo  towns,  and  also  in  I'crsia. 
At  Tcra,  there  is  a  neat  mosque  for  the  service 
of  this  order  of  devotees,  tliat  is  freely  opened 
for  the  entrance  of  Eriinks  as  readily  as  Turks, 
on  the  regular  days  of  exaltation.     It  is  a  neatly 


oonslructcd  huildlng,  of  wood,  at  tho  extremity 
of  a  narrow  lano,  having  sonielhing  of  a  yard  in 
front,  in  which  women,  children,  saints  and 
English  sinners  were  waiting  for  liie  doors  to  ho 
opened  wlicn  wo  arrived.  When  the  bolts  were 
drawn,  every  one  rushed  for  a  good  place,  but 
were  stopped  by  the  janitor,  who  required  us  to 
lake  off  our  shoes.  Some  were  so  fortunate  as 
to  obtain  slippers,  but  myself  and  corapajiions 
pushed  on  in  our  stocking  feet. 

Within,  the  entire  body  of  the  mosque  was 
given  up  to  the  derviihes,  with  the  exception  of 
one  corner,  separated  by  a  rail,  bcliind  which, 
Christian  spectators  and  others  were  permitted 
to  stand.  Directly  over  the  front  entrance  was 
a  snmH  gallery,  or  orchestra  box,  for  musicians, 
and  on  the  opposite  side,  a  corner  concealed  by 
line  wooden  gratings,  behind  whicli  females  were 
indulged  with  a  peep  without  being  seen.  The 
floor  was  a  clean,  well  scrubbed  pine  one,  smooth 
and  shining,  from  the  polishing  action  of  human 
feet  year  after  year. 

A  priest  of  mild  expression,  advanced  in  years, 
and  of  small  stature,  marched  into  the  arena, 
and  having  a  sheepskin  with  the  wool  on  spread, 
squatted  down  upon  it.  Immediately  the  breth- 
ren came  in,  to  the  number  of  five  and  twenty, 
dressed  in  closely-fitting  jackets,  high  felt  caps 
of  a  sugar  loaf  form,  minus  a  brim,  full  drah 
colored  petticoats,  and  barefooted. 

Taking  their  places  in  a  circle,  two  feet  apart, 
witli  the  right  hand  on  the  left  shoulder  of  the 
next,  the  group  had  a  picturesque  appearance  in 
the  stand  still  position.  Prayers  were  muttered 
by  the  director-general  on  the  sheepskin ;  and 
wiicn  concluded,  the  music  of  a  ney — a  flute 
blown  by  applying  the  lips  at  the  end — com- 
menced, accompanied  by  tambourines,  hand 
clappings,  and  sometimes  the  voice.  It  was  the 
first  and  only  time  I  ever  heard  anything  like 
harmony  in  the  country,  from  native  performers, 
with  the  exception  of  some  of  the  Sultan's  bands. 
Waiting  with  closed  eyes  till  the  music  became 
loud,  and  to  them  exciting,  each  one  began  to 
turn  on  his  own  axis,  while  he  progressed  round 
the  periphery  of  the  great  circle  described  by  the 
whole  company.  They  whirled  faster  and  faster, 
cramping  their  toes  into  the  boards  till  the  veins 
swelled  to  tlie  size  of  drum  cords,  and  the  instru- 
ments became  louder  and  louder,  and  the  air 
quicker,  till  the  point  of  exaltation  had  been  car- 
ried as  far  as  the  system  would  bear,  when  they 
simultaneously  came  to  a  stand  still. 

After  resting  a  few  moments,  they  re-formed 
again,  and  repeated  the  series  of  displays.  Their 
faces  were  flushed,  their  eyes  rolled  up  to  the 
zenith  with  a  devotional  cast,  and  when  too  gid- 
dy to  stand  a  moment  longer,  they  were  consid- 
ered in  the  most  intimate  communication  with 
the  prophet. 

[See  engraving  of  Whirling  Dervishes,  page  332.] 

Having  ascertained  that  an  extraordinary  reli- 
gious ceremony  would  take  place  at  the  mosque 
of  the  Howling  Dervishes,  on  the  Asiatic  side  of 
the  Bospliorus,  we  proceeded  there  in  a  caique, 
at  a  seasonable  hour  in  the  morning,  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  and  hearing  the  whole. 
The  orgies  of  these  fanatics  are  among  the 
strangest  exhibitions  of  humanity  in  the  great 
city  of  the  Sultan.  Prom  an  historical  inquiry, 
they  appear  to  be  really  and  truly  the  last  rem- 
nant of  tlie  fire  worsliippers  of  antiquity.  Un- 
fortunately, the  rain  was  pattering  so  freely,  that 
in  walking  up  the  hill  to  the  mosque  we  were 
both  ladened  with  mud,  and  made  thoroughly 
uncomfortable  for  want  of  umbrellas. 

On  reaching  the  door,  no  admission  could  be 
obtained  for  more  than  an  hour,  as  the  dervishes 
were  in  prayer.  We  were  compelled,  therefore, 
to  stand  wherever  the  rain  could  be  best  avoided, 
already  saturated,  and  raked  by  a  cold,  sleety 
wind. 

After  waiting  the  longest  hour  imaginable,  the 
outer  gate  of  the  yard  opened,  and  the  rabble 
immediately  made  for  the  door.  But  before  any 
one  was  allowed  to  pass  the  thrcshhold,  sugar 
plums  and  rose  colored  sherbet  weie  gratuitously 
and  plentifully  distributed.  Eacli  one  drank 
what  quantity  he  wislied ;  and  those  who  filled 
their  pockets  with  the  confectionary,  heard  no 
remonstrances.  Some  pious  foundation  proba- 
bly supports  this  custom. 

These  fantastic  exiiibitors  are  descendants  of 
the  Baaliies,  whose  temples  once  abounded 
throughout  Northern  Asia,  four  hundred  of 
whose  priests  were  .slain  by  Elijah  on  tlie  banks 
of  the  river  Kishon,  near  Mount  Carmcl,  in 
Syria — a  spot  which  X  visited  with  no  ordinary 
emotions. 
When  Mahommcdanism  began  lo  spread  abroad 


under  tho  irresistible  influence  of  Damasem* 
sword  hludes,  these  mad  fellows  cunningly  en- 
grafted just  enough  of  the  new  religion  upon 
their  old  unmeaning  bloody  rites  to  Have  their 
necks;  and  althout^h  they  would  soon  shake  ofl' 
the  tramtnels  of  Moslcmisra  if  they  dared,  these 
])i-ophcts  of  Baal  arc  among  the  most  devout  of 
the  orthodox  and  sanctified  worshippers,  in  ap- 
pearance, in  the  orient. 

Tho  mosque  of  the  howling  dervishes  at  Scu- 
tari has  sido  galleries,  one  being  occupied  hy 
women,  who  are  screened  from  vulgar  eyes  hy 
fine  lattice  work,  and  the  opposite  one  was  filled 
with  men.  No  females  were  admitted  on  the 
lower  floor,  as  spectators. 

On  entering  from  the  front  door,  we  turned  to 
the  right,  into  a  kind  of  long  pew,  separated  from 
the  main  apartment.  The  operating  floor  of  the 
mosque  where  the  devotees  assemble,  is  about 
forty  feet  square.  At  one  end  of  the  apartment 
sat  the  principal  priest,  a  man  of  about  fifty, 
with  keen,  restless  eyes.  On  either  side  he  was 
supported  by  inferior  priests,  conjectured  to  be 
assistants,  from  the  magnitude  of  their  turbans 
and  the  fashion  of  their  robes.  They  all  sat  on 
the  floor  on  their  cushions.  Back  of  them,  next 
to  the  wall,  were  several  very  large,  fat,  gray- 
bearded,  eminent  men,  well  accommodated  on 
soft  mats.  That  they  were  very  honorable 
somebodies,  was  apparent  from  the  obsequious- 
ness of  the  divinities  officiating  in  front. 

Two  parallel  lines  of  worshippers  extended 
down  towards  the  other  end  of  the  mosque.  On 
the  plastering,  suspended  from  the  wall  behind 
the  chief  operators,  were  horrible  looking  axes — 
one  having  a  rounded  catting  edge,  full  two  feet 
long,  and  a  tremendously  long  handle,  befitting 
the  hands  of  an  Anak.  Hooks,  sharp  spears, 
knives,  and  horribles  without  stint,  were  numer- 
ous, making  a  great  collection  of  tormentors, 
the  invention  of  a  brain  that  must  have  delighted 
in  the  agonies  of  despair,  making  one's  flesh 
crawl  to  gaze  upon  them.  A  recollection  of 
their  strange  crooks,  and  keen,  thorny  points, 
makes  me  recoil  with  a  chill.  On  the  line  mid- 
way between  the  floor  and  the  galleries,  were 
twenty-three  full  grown  tambourines,  eleven  of 
the  dimensions  of  a  quart  bowl,  together  with 
eight  pair  of  metallic  cymbals. 

Eor  a  considerable  time  the  fraternity  were  en- 
gaged in  an  ecstatic  prayer,  wagging  their  heads 
on  either  side,  with  closed  eyes  and  outspread 
hands,  while  the  principal  priest  kept  up  a  demi- 
musical  recitative  articulation. 

Suddenly,  they  sprang  simultaneously  to  their 
feet,  formed  a  circle,  and  placing  the  right  ai-m 
over  each  other's  shoulders,  commenced  a  move- 
ment faintly  resembling  poor  dancing,  stamping 
to  the  time  of  a  monotonous  chant,  and  coursing 
round  and  round  in  a  circle.  A  low  hum,  re- 
sembling the  drone  of  a  bagppipe,  as  we  hear 
them  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  an  octave 
below  the  tone  of  the  leader,  produced  a  striking 
effect  even  upon  myself,  a  mere  spectator.  How 
much  more  intense,  then,  on  those  who  under- 
stood the  language,  who  felt  the  spirituality  of 
their  exercises,  and  look  to  heaven  for  a  reward. 
By  degrees  the  devotees  warmed  up  till  the 
mercury  of  their  spirits  reached  the  highest  de- 
gree of  infuriated  enthusiasm.  One  after  anoth- 
er threw  off  an  upper  garment,  and  all  began  to 
appear  as  wild  as  maniacs  in  their  gesticulations. 
Next,  the  ring  was  broken,  and  lines  again  form- 
ed anew.  The  singing  became  more  impassioned, 
and  there  they  stood,  bowing  and  swaying  with- 
out moving  their  feet,  precisely  as  the  dancing 
girls  of  Upper  Egypt  entertain  their  patrons. 
Finally,  two  stout  fellows,  stripped  to  the  skin, 
all  but  their  drawers,  marched  up  reverentially 
to  the  priest,  who  put  into  their  strong  hands 
two  wooden  balls,  each  of  the  ordinary  dimen- 
sions of  ninepin  lignum  vita;  rollers,  some  eight 
inches  in  diameter,  projecting  from  which  were 
poignards,  ten  inches  long,  bright  and  sharp. 
Giving  themselves  a  haggard,  demoniacal  ex- 
pression, the  ball  holders  flourished  them  in  all 
directions,  bowed  repeatedly,  but  held  the  wicked 
poignards  so  loosely,  and  such  was  their  careless 
activity,  that  I  involuntarily  skulked  behind  a 
pillar  sustaining  the  gallery,  lest  one  of  them 
should  slip  from  their  grasp,  and  ti'ansfix  my 
humble  self  like  a  dead  fly  to  the  wall. 

At  a  moment  when  the  whole  amused  assem- 
bly were  contemplating  the  strange  scene,  and 
the  inflamed  disciples  were  wrought  to  the  high- 
est bearable  point  of  extreme  excitement,  amid 
the  din  of  tambourines,  drums,  cymbals,  chants 
and  intermittent  howls — low,  solemn  and  un- 
earthly— one  of  them  fell  on  his  back,  with  the 
keen  point  of  the  dagger  resting  on  the  pit  of  his 
stomach.     With  a  firm  hold  he  held  the   gleam- 


ing steel  perpendicularly  with   both   hands,  the 
wooden  hall  being  above  his  clenched  fingers. 

At  this  particular  juncture,  a  resident  of  New 
York,  bearing  the  name  of  Brown,  burst  into  an 
uproarous  horse  laugh,  to  the  astonishment, 
mortification  and  alarm  of  all  the  European 
strangers  present.  Had  he  cried,  we  should  not 
have  wondered ;  I)ut  to  burst  forth  with  a  sar- 
donic laugh,  dumbfounded  all  the  sjjectators.  I 
tap])ed  him  instantly  on  the  shoulder,  and  im- 
plored him,  in  the  name  of  decency,  propriety, 
and  the  laws  of  good  breeding,  to  hold  his 
tongue,  as  he  actually  endangered  our  lives. 

Nothing  would  sooner  rouse  the  sleeping  lion, 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  kindle  up  a  srnoth 
ered  hatred  to  Christians,  like  an  insult  of  that 
atrocious  character,  in  a  mostjue,  while  they 
were  celebrating  the  mysteries  of  their  religion. 
Fortunately,  the  bewildering  combination  of 
noises  from  the  instruments,  human  howls  and 
clapping  of  the  hands,  prevented  the  worshippers 
from  hearing  Blr.  Brown's  ill-timed  and  inappro- 
priate mirth.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  and  his 
vulgarian  voice  been  recognized  above  the  reg- 
ular uproar  of  the  occasion,  there  is  no  predict- 
ing what  might  have  been  the  consequencca 
of  that  unaccountable  explosion  of  vulgarity. 

While  the  inspired  shirtless  Samson  was  lying 
thus  on  the  floor,  face  upwards,  with  the  dagger 
pricking  his  skin,  one  of  the  priests,  supported 
by  putting  his  hands  on  the  open  palms  of  two 
assistants,  stepped  up  and  actually  stood  with 
one  foot  on  the  ball !  I  trembled  with  appre- 
hension, for  fear  the  weight  of  the  holy  old  di- 
rector should  drive  the  sharp  instrument  through 
the  prostrate  body  into  the  floor.  Because  the 
weight  of  the  priest  did  not  force  the  poignard 
in  the  line  of  direction  and  kill  the  man  outright, 
it  was  denominated  a  miracle  !  Surely,  he  was 
strong,  unusually  so,  to  have  thus  sustained  a 
load  of  such  ponderosity  as  the  corporation  of 
the  priest,  and  by  his  fingers  alone. 

The  Turks  are  immensely  powerful,  both  in 
raising  burdens,  and  in  sustaining  them  on  their 
backs.  I  once  met  a  porter  in  a  street  of  Smyr- 
na, carrying  a  barrel  of  New  England  rum  on 
his  back.  I  knew  what  it  was  by  the  lettering 
on  the  head.  Yet  he  walked  off'  as  carelessly  as 
though  it  was  not  particularly  diflicult  to  sustain 
the  weight. 

By  a  prodigious  digital  power,  the  ball  was 
kept  up  to  its  original  level,  although  laden  by 
the  fat  old  Baalite.  Had  it  settled  the  eighth  of 
an  inch,  the  needle  point  would  have  drawn 
blood,  and  the  devotee  run  through  the  middle. 
Next,  five  boys,  from  twelve  ranging  down  to 
about  six  years  of  age,  walked  to  the  front  of  the 
calm  priest,  who  took  a  sharp  steel  rod  the  size 
of  a  large  sail  needle,  having  a  heavy  flat  handle 
in  the  form  of  a  crozier,  and  thrust  it  through 
both  cheeks  of  each  lad — the  handle  being  on 
one  side,  and  the  protruding  point  sticking  out 
through  the  other. 

Being  between  the  jaws  they  could  not  be 
closed.  The  youngest  flinched  a  little,  but  the 
other  four  were  particularly  firm.  They  then 
took  their  places,  unable  to  shut  their  mouths, 
while  the  blood  trickled  down  their  chins.  Their 
distorted  faces  were  extremely  painful  objects  to 
contemplate. 

At  this  stage  of  the  exhibition,  miracles  were 
to  be  wrought  for  the  recovery  of  some  sick  per- 
sons. One  after  another  laid  flat  down  on  the 
hard  floor,  while  the  well  fed  operator  of  a  priest, 
in  his  stocking  feet,  trod  on  their  bodies,  and 
bore  his  whole  weight  on  their  chests.  Eive  ap- 
plicants were  prostrate  at  once,  over  whom  he 
walked  with  an  air  of  unconcern,  giving  to  each 
the  pressure  of  his  holy  feet.  Even  a  small  in- 
fant was  placed  on  the  floor  to  receive  the  tor- 
ture of  the  pontifical  tread.  One  female  was  led 
forward  also,  veiled,  who  was  placed  on  her 
face,  whereas  all  the  others  laid  on  theii-  backs. 
When  the  steel  stilettos  were  withdrawn  from 
the  bloody  checks  of  the  boys,  I  examined  the 
wounds  on  one  of  them,  and  to  my  surprise,  the 
little  deceived  chap  declared  that  the  aecapunc- 
turation  did  not  hurt  him.  The  gaping  crowd 
of  undignified  Moslem  starers  viewed  it  as  a  most 
marvellous  affair  that  neither  of  them  were  pain 
ed,  maimed  or  injured — a  convincing  proof  to 
them,  of  the  divine  nature  of  the  act. 

Government,  to  its  lasting  credit,  has  forbid- 
den the  practice  of  many  of  the  cruel  rites  here- 
tofore deemed  essential,  by  this  sect,  as  being 
too  abominable,  both  in  act  and  tendency.  Tho 
feats  I  witnessed  are  only  occasional.  An 
American  missionary,  who  has  resided  in  Con- 
stantinople many  years,  told  me  he  had  never 
witnessed  a  scene  analogous  lo  what  has  been 
here  described. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOIM    COMPANION. 


327 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

"I  STILL  LmS." 

THE  LAST  WORDS  OF  HON.  DiNLEL  WEB3TE3R. 

DV   MRS  L.   H.   SIGOnRNEY. 

*'5«'H  IlivcP^    The  leaves  wei-c  fitlllDg 

Eoimd  the  maDsion  -where  he  lay ; 
And  autumnal  voices  calling, 

Vt'araed  the  simuner's  pride  away ; 
Wliile  the  sighing  surge  of  ocean, 

In  its  crested  beauty  ran, 
Brcakmg  with  a  ceaseless  motion, 

Like  the  fleeting  hopes  of  man. 

"StUt  Ilive.'^^    0,  strong  and  glorious 

Were  those  prophet  words  of  cheer  ; 
For  where'er  in  truth  victorious. 

Greatness  hath  its  woi-ship  hero. 
Patriot  Power  its  high  ovation, 

Eloquence  its  lofty  birth  ; 
He  shall  win  from  every  natiou, 

An  undying  name  on  earth. 

^^Stiil  Hive!"    The  flesh  was  failing, 

All  in  vain  the  healer's  skill ; 
Light  in  that  deep  eye  was  paling, 

And  the  mighty  heart  grew  still. 
Yet  the  soul,  its  God  adoring,     - 

Clad  in  armor,  firm  and  bright, 
O'er  the  body's  ruin  soaring. 

Mingled  mth  the  Infinite. 

Where  he  sleeps,  that  man  of  glory, 

aiarshficld's  mournful  shades  can  say ; 
And  his  weeping  country's  story. 

Darkened  on  that  funeral  day  ; 
But  the  love  that  deepest  listened, 

Caught  such  balm  as  Heaven  can  give  ; 
For  an  angel's  pinion  glistened 

At  the  echo— "5uW  lUveP' 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

DANIEL  WEBSTER  AT  HOME. 

BY   ben:  pekley  pooke. 


A  NATION  mourns !  American  citizens,  with 
one  heart  and  with  one  voice,  pay  homaj,'es,  en- 
twined with  blessings,  to  the  memory  of  Daniel 
Webster,  who  has  departed  this  life  in  the  ful- 
ness of  years  and  of  reputation.  Statesmen,  in 
studied  language,  culogiiie  him  as  the  Defender 
of  the  Constitution,  patriots  enslirine  him  as  the 
champion  of  the  Union,  whose  glorious  triumphs 
were  achieved  by  the  moral  force  of  national 
feeling;  jurists,  in  eloquent  terms,  descant  upon 
his  familiarity  with  the  technical  refinements  of 
special  pleading,  and  the  recondite  learning  of 
real  law ;  and  the  press  has  recounted  in  detail, 
the  events  of  his  public  life,  a  history  of  good 
service,  which  has  imparted  renewed  and  aug- 
mented vigor  to  our  glorious  republic.  All  this 
is  Avell — is  true — is  merited.  But  it  was  not  be- 
cause he  was  an  able  statesman,  a  profound  jur- 
ist, or  an  eloquent  orator,  that  the  people  now 
mourn  as  they  have  not  mourned  since  the  death 
of  Washington.  Now,  as  it  was  then,  public 
glory  is  but  a  Iialo,  by  the  light  of  which  the 
home  life  of  the  man  stands  out  in  attractive 
relief.  A  yeoman's  son,  Daniel  Webster  never 
forgot  the  republican  habits  of  his  youth,  and  al- 
though his  subsequent  associates  might  have 
chilled  his  public  deportment,  yet,  in  hi.s  own 
home,  he  lived  and  died  a  good,  honest,  affec- 
tionate, true-hearted  man.  Of  him,  in  this  pop- 
ular, yet  almost  unknown  ptiase  of  his  career, 
we  propose  to  write,  and  to  show  our  readers 
that  the  domestic  endowments  of  the  man  far 
eclipse  the  lustre  of  the  statesman. 

The  official  home  of  Mr.  Webster  was  a  two- 
story  brick  house,  of  unpretending  appearance, 
situated  in  the  very  heai't  of  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington. The  front  door  opened  into  a  narrow 
hall,  containing  a  peculiar  hat-rack  made  of 
branching  antlers.  On  the  right  were  two  par- 
lors, which  occupied  the  whole  area  of  this  man- 
sion, and  at  the  extremity  was  the  library,  richly 
stored  with  works  on  constitutional  and  interna- 
tional law.  The  parlors  were  simply  furnished, 
and  decked  with  a  few  rare  pictures,  but  there 
was  generally  some  curious  gift  on  the  table, 
waiting  to  be  sent  to  Marshfield,  where  all  such 
cherished  presents  were  kept.  Opening  from 
one  of  these  parlors  was  a  spacious  dining-hall, 
erected  a  few  ycai"s  since,  when  Mr.  Webster's 
position  as  Secretary  of  State  obliged  him  to 
entertain  the  diplomatic  corps,  and  distinguished 
guests.  Nor  did  many  days  pass  that  friends 
from  various  sections  of  the  Union  did  not  sit  at 
that  liospitable  board.  The  judgment  displayed 
by  Mr.  Webster  in  classifying  his  invitations, 
was  often  a  subject  of  remark,  for  his  guests 
always  found  congenial  spirits  invited  to  meet 
them. 

At  Wasliington,  as  when  on   his  farms,  Mi*. 


Webster  rose  with  the  lark.  "  What  little  I 
have  accomplished,"  he  once  said,  "  has  been 
done  early  in  the  morning."  On  market  days, 
when  in  the  metropolis,  he  invariably  was  among 
the  first  at  the  stalls,  where  he  purchased  the 
delicacies  of  the  season  for  his  guests,  and  a 
plain  steak  or  chop  for  his  own  eating.  His 
cook,  a  colored  woman  named  Monica,  had 
served  him  many  years,  and  was  not  forgotten 
by  him  in  the  distribution  of  his  legacies. 

In  the  proper  season,  he  often  used  to  take  a 
friend  with  him,  and  drive  to  the  falls  of  the  Po- 
tomac, where  he  could  indulge  in  his  favorite 
sport  of  angling.  Mr.  Charles  Lanmau,  his  pri- 
vate secretary,  was  often  the  companion  in  these 
piscatorial  excursions,  and  bears  high  testimony 
to  his  skill.  Among  other  anecdotes,  he  once 
related  the  following  iish  exploit.  In  the 
spring  of  his  fifth  year,  when  a  barefooted  boy, 
he  happened  to  be  riding  along  a  road  near  his 
birthplace,  on  the  same  horse  with  liis  father, 
when  the  latter  suddenly  exclaimed ;  "Dan,  how 
should  you  like  to  catch  a  trout  V  Of  course 
he  replied,  that  he  would  like  nothing  better; 
whereupon  they  dismounted,  and  the  father  cut 
a  hazel  rod,  to  which  he  attached  a  string  and 
hook,  baited  it  with  a  worm,  and  told  his  son  to 
creep  upon  a  rock,  and  carefully  throw  in  on  the 
further  side  of  a  deep  pool.  The  boy  did  as  he 
was  bidden,  hooked  a  fish,  lost  his  balance,  and 
tumbled  into  the  water,  and  was  drawn  ashore 
by  his  father,  with  a  pound  trout  trailing  behind. 

When  at  home,  the  interval  between  his  morn- 
ing walk  and  the  breakfast  liour  was  devoted  to 
private  correspondence,  and  the  many  letters 
which,  since  his  death,  have  found  their  way  into 
print,  arc  but  specimens  of  his  voluminous  and 
numerous  epistles.  In  either  case,  he  was  inva- 
riably at  his  post  in  the  State  Department  at  ten 
o'clock,  where  we  find  his  time  described  as 
busily  occupied.  The  first  business  he  attended 
to,  was  to  read  his  mail.  The  only  letters  he 
read  with  attention  were  the  official  ones,  and 
they,  wlien  tlie  questions  they  brought  up  did  not 
require  investigation,  were  disposed  of  immedi- 
ately. Political  letters  were  merely  glanced  at, 
and  then  filed  away  for  future  consideration — 
those  of  a  private  and  personal  character  were 
also  laid  aside,  to  be  attended  to,  or  answered 
early  on  the  following  morning  at  his  residence, 
while  everything  of  an  anonymous  character  was 
simply  opened,  torn  in  two  pieces,  and  committed 
to  the  basket  of  waste  paper.  He  not  unfrc- 
quently  kept  two  persons  employed  writing  at 
his  dictation  at  the  same  time ;  for,  as  he  usually 
walked  the  floor  on  such  occasions,  he  would 
give  his  chief  clerk  a  sentence  in  one  room  to  be 
incorporated  in  a  diplomatic  paper,  and,  march- 
ing to  tlie  room  occupied  by  his  private  secre- 
tary, give  him  the  skeleton,  or  perhaps  the  yery 
language,  of  a  private  note  or  letter.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  he  made  it  his  business  to  grant  an 
audience  to  all  who  called  upon  him,  receiving 
dignitaries  with  dignity,  and  all  friends,  stran- 
gers, and  even  office-seekers,  with  kindness  and 
cordiality.  When  a  man  is  heard  complaining 
of  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Webster  once  re- 
ceived liim,rest  assured  that  he  was  importunate 
in  some  political  demand. 

At  the  dinner-table,  and  through  the  evening, 
Mr.  Webster  gave  himself  up  to  the  enjoyments 
of  social  life.  Never  did  we  listen  to  better  sto- 
ries, or  hear  them  better  told,  than  at  his  dinner- 
table  ;  and  Miss  Harriet  Martineau,  the  English 
tourist,  described  him  at  an  evening  party,  as 
"leaning  back  at  his  ease  on  the  sofa,  shaking  it 
with  burst  after  burst  of  laughter,  cracking  jokes, 
or  smoothly  discoursing  to  the  perfect  felicity  of 
the  logical  part  of  one's  constitution."  Such 
was  his  private  companionship.  Abroad,  how- 
ever, he  was  the  stern,  plainly-dressed,  grave  re- 
publican. His  favorite  dress  at  Washington,  by 
the  way,  was  a  blue  coat  with  gilt  buttons,  witli 
white  vest  and  pants  in  the  summer,  and  buff 
vest  and  black  pants  in  cooler  weather. 

Elms  Farm,  lying  on  the  Merrimac  Eiver,  in 
New  Hampshire,  was  cherished  by  Mr.  Webster, 
as  the  scene  of  his  childhood,  and  the  vicinity  of 
his  birthplace.  The  house  in  which  he  was  born 
has  long  since  disappeared,  and  the  engraving 
in  the  Boston  edition  of  his  works  represents  a 
subsequent  edifice  hard  by,  of  no  historical  inter- 
est. An  engraving  of  the  genuine  "  birthplace  " 
will  ornament  Harper's  editionof  Mr.  Lanman's 
work,  and  is  from  a  sketch  made  by  the  author 
under  Mr.  Webster's  direction.  He  describes  it 
as  one  of  the  farm  houses  of  the  last  century,  one 
story  liigh,  heavily  timbered,  clapboarded,  with 
rather  a  i)ointcd  roof,  one  chimney  in  the  centre, 
one   front  door,  with  a  wiiulow  on  either  side. 


three  windows  at  each  end,  four  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  an  addition  in  the  rear  for  a 
kitchen.  It  fronted  on  the  south,  a  picturesque 
well-curb  and  sweep  stood  near  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity, and  over  the  whole  a  mammoth  dm 
tree  extended  its  huge  arms,  as  if  to  protect  the 
spot  from  sacrilege.  In  the  rear,  on  a  hillside, 
was  a  spacious  barn,  and  a  partially  wooded 
pasture.  The  prospect  immediately  in  front  was 
enlivened  by  a  rude  bridge,  spanning  a  lovely 
little  stream,  and  bounded  by  a  lofty  hill,  upon 
which  is  still  standing  the  church  wiierc  he  was 
baptised. 

Elms  Farm,  to  which  Mr.  Webster's  father  re- 
raovca  from  the  above  described  house,  now 
contains  one  thousand  acres,  much  of  it  interval 
land  in  a  bend  of  the  Merrimac.  The  man- 
sion house  is  a  plain  edifice,  but  the  farm  will 
challenge  competition  with  any.  John  Taylor, 
who  has  managed  it  for  some  twenty  years,  is  a 
noble  specimen  of  a  New  England  yeoman,  and 
under  his  skillful  management,  following  the 
suggestions  of  Mr.  Webster,  the  farm  is  not  one 
of  those  ''  fancy  places,"  where  they  sow  dollars 
and  reap  fourpences.  In  1851,  it  produced  one 
hundred  and  forty  tons  of  English  hay,  two  thou- 
sand bushels  of  potatoes,  one  thousand  bushels 
of  oats,  seven  hundred  bushels  of  corn,  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  sheep,  and  one  Ixundred  head  of 
cattle.  One  yoke  of  oxen,  when  completely 
dressed,  weighed  twenty-nine  hundred  pounds, 
and  was  sold  in  the  Boston  mai'ket  at  seven 
dollars  per  hundred. 

Wlien  at  Elms  Farm  Mr.  Webster  was  un- 
tramclled  by  fashionable  connexions  or  aristo- 
cratic visitors,  and  was  "at  home."  His  dress 
was  of  republican  simplicity,  and  the  dag  uer  re  an 
sketch  in  another  column  represents  hiui  as  he 
used  to  sit  under  the  shade  of  his  paternal  elms, 
engaged  in  familiar  intercourse  with  his  neigh- 
bors. Politics  were  never  alluded  to  on  these  oc- 
casions, and  never  was  his  society  more  agree- 
able to  those  who  truly  loved  him,  than  when, 
in  his  slouched  hat  and  rough  apparel,  he  narra- 
ted the  agricultural  labors  of  his  youth,  or  the 
experience  of  his  later  years. 

All  around,  too,  were  spots  hallowed  by  his 
early  life.  The  saw-mill,  where  he  read  history 
while  the  saw  was  "making  the  cut"  throngli  a 
log.  The  spot  where  stood  the  schoolliouse  in 
which  Master  Hoyt  taught  him  the  rudiments  of 
his  education.  The  ponds  where  he  used  to  fish, 
or  to  swim,  or  to  skate,  according  to  the  season. 
The  fields  where  he  rode  the  horse  between  the 
furrows  of  corn,  or  raked  hay,  or  drove  team. 
And,  foremost  perhaps,  among  all  other  inter- 
esting scenes,  was  the  old  elm-tree,  under  whose 
spreading  branches  lie  first  read  the  constitution. 
He  purchased  it,  when  a  lad,  printed  on  a  cotton 
handkerchief,  for  which  lie  paid  all  the  money 
in  his  purse,  and  under  that  elm-tree  imbibed 
those  ideas  which  after  having  been  matured  in 
his  mighty  intellect,  have  sustained  the  magna 
charta  of  our  independence  amidst  storm  and 
peril. 

But,  whilst  Mr.  Webster's  official  home  was  at 
Washington  city,  and  his  childhood's  home  was  in 
New  Hampshire,  the  "home  of  his  heart "  was  his 
farm  in  Marshfield,  Massachusetts.  It  contains 
nearly  two  thousand  acres  of  land,  sheltered  on 
one  side  by  a  swelling  range  of  hills,  which  pro- 
tect it  from  the  wintry  storms,  whilst  on  the  other 
side  is  the  ocean,  flowing  past  into  that  world- 
reno\\'Tied  harbor  into  which  first  came  the  Pil- 
grim founders  of  the  "  Old  Bay  State."  Taken 
as  a  whole,  this  farm  is  described  as  the  most 
delightful  residence  in  the  Republic,  and  the 
most  desirable  in  point  of  location — variety  of 
soil  and  surface — beauty  of  landscape — splendid 
prospects  o'er  sea  and  land — invigorating  breezes 
— sea-fishing,  brook-ti"outing  and  game-hunting — 
tortuous  paths  and  extended  carriage  roads — 
excellent  agricultural  condition,  and  commodious 
mansion.  As  there  was  Imt  one  Webster,  so 
there  is  but  one  Marshfield. 

The  mansion-house  was  originally  built  by  the 
Thomas  family,  two  years  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, but  Mr.  Webster  made  extensive  additions, 
including  the  library  (which  was  designed  by  his 
daughter  Julia),  and  a  spacious  piazza  around 
the  whole  exterior.  The  style  of  architecture  is 
not  very  harmonious,  yet  the  very  incongruity 
of  the  individual  objects  makes  a  harmon}'  of  its 
own,  as  they  are  blended — and  the  kale i do s copal 
arrangement  of  the  interior  is  infinitely  more 
beautiful  than  the  established  order  of  things  in 
matters  of  household  decorutn.  A  suite  of  eight 
rooms,  furnished  with  good  taste,  contain  many 
mementoes  of  the  gratitude  of  republicans. 

On   the   beach   is  the    "  fish-house,"  lor  Mr. 


Webster  always  indulged  freely  in  out-of  door 
sports,  and  liad  we  space,  we  could  narrate  many 
an  anecdote  of  his  prowess,  and  of  the  astonish- 
ment with  which  city  gents  often  discovered  that 
the  "  rusty  old  codger "  with  whom  they  had 
been  conversing,  or  whom  they  had  lured  to 
procure  bait,  or  carry  them  across  a  creek  on  his 
brawny  shoulders,  was  Daniel  Webster!  flis 
barns  are  also  the  scene  of  many  a  talc  of  bis 
agricultural  skill.  But  a  few  days  before  his 
death,  he  made  his  attendants  carry  him  to  a 
window  of  his  chamber,  and  gazed  for  the  last 
time  at  his  fine  stock  of  Durhams,  Devons  and 
Alderneys,  as  the  fine  herd  was  driven,  one  by 
one,  before  him. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  library,  but  no  lan- 
guage can  give  an  idea  of  the  happy  manner  in 
which  JMr.  Webster  filled  its  armchair,  when  his 
guests  examined  its  richly  laden  book-cases,  or 
inspected  its  valuable  collection  of  medals.  But 
the  artist  has  sketched  this  classic  retreat  as  it 
appeai-ed  when  the  mortal  remains  of  its  late 
occupant  were  brought  there,  in  the  metallic 
burial  case.  The  body  was  clad  as  it  was  when 
he  was  accustomed  to  address  the  Senate,  or  the 
Supreme  Court — blue  dress  coat,  white  vest, 
pants  and  cravat.  No  death-Iiue  clouded  the 
countenance,  and  the  features,  placid  as  if  in 
quiet  slumber,  wore  a  serene  look — almost  a 
smile.  There  was  the  roseate  gloom  of  evening 
twilight,  when  the  orb  of  light,  with  godlike 
composure,  has  sunk  behind  the  horizon,  yet 
illuminates  all  around  with  serene  splendor. 

The  Tomb,  now,  is  the  home  of  "  all  that  is 
mortal  of  Daniel  Webster."  It  is  near  the  house, 
on  the  site  of  the  second  Puritan-built  church, 
and  shows  the  inherent  beauty  and  simplicity  of 
Mr.  Webster's  tastes.  On  the  summit  of  a  gen- 
tle knoll,  overlooking  a  wide  reach  of  cultivated 
land,  of  field,  forest,  glistening  stream,  and  ever- 
changing  ocean,  it  stands  out  and  apart  from  all 
things  else.  The  breezes  of  heaven  waft  over  it, 
the  stars  at  night  look  down  upon  and  watch  it, 
the  open-throated  ocean  smgs  its  ever-solemn 
du-ge.  Save  these,  and  the  occasional  footsteps 
of  man,  it  is  located  as  it  were  without  the  world, 
and  within  tlie  gates  of  eternity.  And  thither, 
without  pomp  or  display,  was  borne  the  corpse, 
followed  by  thousands  and  thousands  of  his  sin- 
cerely mourning  fellow-citizens.  The  magnates 
of  the  land,  and  the  humble  domestics,  followed 
side  by  side,  and  those  who  bore  the  pall  were 
tlie  honest  yeomen,  who  cultivated  the  adjacent 
fields,  and  who  lamented  their  departed  neigh- 
bor. Every  man  present  felt  ready  to  echo  the 
words  of  General  Pierce  (wlio  was  among  the 
mourners),  and  to  exclaim  :  "  How  mere  earthly 
lionors  and  distinctions  fade  amid  a  gloom  like 
this ;  how  political  asperities  are  chastened ;  what 
a  lesson  to  the  living ;  what  an  ad  monition  to  per- 
sonal malevolence,  now  awed  and  subdued,  as 
the  great  heart  of  the  nation  throbs  heavily  at 
the  portals  of  his  grave." 

But  we  have  exceeded  our  allotted  limits,  and 
must  close.  Others  may  extol  Mr.  Webster's 
unbounded  patriotism,  his  noble  intellect,  his 
wonderful  faculties.  Ills  glorious  life,  or  his  sublime 
death.  But  we  mourn  him  as  the  honest  yeo- 
man, tlie  steadfast  friend,  the  sterling  private 
citizen,  whose  "  splendor  at  parting  "  has  made 
radiant  the  "valley  of  the  shadow  of  death." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  DISTANT  CITY. 

BT   OWEN   G.   WARREN. 

Faint  aud  far  I  hear  the  hum 
Of  the  busy  town  to  my  senses  come  ; 
The  dust  and  dirt,  and  the  struggling  life, 
That  mingle  together  in  ceaseless  strife  ; 
They  reach  not  me  in  this  quiet  spot, 
Where  God  is  present,  and  men  arc  not. 

I  see,  in  the  distance,  upward  rise 

The  dust  and  the  smoke  that  reach  the  skies ; 

So  reach  to  heaven  the  sins  and  crimes, 

Kepeat*^d  over  a  million  times, 

That  men  commit  in  that  crowded  mart. 

And  deem  all  hid  in  their  o\Yn  dark  heart. 

I  hear  the  roar  of  a  thousand  cars 

O'er  the  flinty  streets,  and  their  thunder  jai-s 

The  solid  earth,  whereon  I  tread, 

And  through  the  air  is  a  murmur  spread  ; 

A  troubled,  uneasy  and  dissonant  roar, 

As  if  with  impatience  the  noisu  it  bore. 

And  now  this  spot,  in  the  fading  even. 

Seems  like  a  heart  prepared  for  heaveu ; 

The  noise  of  the  world  beats  loud  at  the  door, 

But  its  cares  and  its  troubles  can  enter  no  more. 

It  has  left  the  scenes  of  sin  and  strile, 

Aud  entered,  already,  an  endless  life. 

Virtue   grows   under  every  weight   imposed 

upon  it. 


328 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


X. 


FUNERAL  PROCESSION  OF  TTIE  LATE  HON.  DANIEL  WEBSTER,  AT  MARSIIFIELD,  MASS. 


WEBSTER  FUNERAL  CEREMOKIES. 

Kver  on  the  alert  to  depict  for  our  readers  every  scene  of  a  no- 
table and  interesting  character,  our  artist  was  early  on  the  spot  to 
sketcli  the  scenes  relating  to  the  liist  ceremony  of  public   duty  to- 
wards the  remains  of  the  great  statesman,  Daniel  Webster.     Our 
readers  are  fully  aware  that  he  lived  on  his  farm  at   Marshfield, 
and  here  he  was  buried.     The  ceremonies  of  the  funeral  had 
drawn  together  thousands-  of  people  from   various  parts  of  the 
country,  and  from  every  class,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor.     The 
scene   above  represents  that  immediate  part  of  the  procession 
where  the   body  and  the  pall  bearers  were.     These  pall  bearers 
were  from  the  sturdy  old  farmers,  who  liad  been  Mr.  Webster's 
neighbors  in  Marshfield.     The  funeral  car  was  drawn   by  two  jet 
black  horses,  appropriately  draped,  and  the  following  gentlemen 
acted  as   pall  bearers — Asa  Hewitt,  Seth  Weston,  Tilden  Ames, 
Seth  Peterson,  Joseph  P.  Cushman,  Daniel  Phillips.     The  proces- 
sion moved  to  the  tomb  in  the  following  order  : — Pletchcr  Web- 
ster and  three  children,  James  W.  Paige  and  John  J.  Joy,  the  at- 
tending  physicians  and  officiating  clergyman,  Mr.  Webster's  do- 
mestics, workmen  employed  on  the  farm,  selectmen  of  Marshfield, 
citizens  of  Marshfield,  governor  and  council,  president  of  the  sen- 
ate and  speaker  of  the  bouse,  Mayor  Seaver  and  Gen.  Pierce,  Ed- 
ward Everett,   Ilufus   Choate  and    Hon.  Abbott  Lawrence,  cify 
government  of  Boston,  Mayor  Frothingham  and  city  government 
of  Charlestown,  Mayor  Walker  and  the  city  government  of  Eox- 
bury,  a  delegation  from  the  New   York 
Historical  Society,  a  delegation  of  the 
New    York   bar,   a   delegation    of  the 
New     York    Democratic     Republican 
General  Committee,  delegations  fiom 
other  cities  and  towns,  representing  lit- 
crdry  and  other  institutions,  friends  and 
neighbors,  citizens  at  large.     So  large 
was  the  concourse  of  people  that  it  w  s 
found   necessary  to  remove  the  body    f 
the  illustrious  dead  to  the  open  air,  thit 
all  might  pass  by  it  and  take  a  parting 
look.     In  another  part  of  our  paper  "wl 
have  paid  a  more  extended  tribute   to 
the  subject  of  our   sketches,  and  must 
herein  confine  ourself  mainly  to  a  dt 
scripiion  of  the  pictures  accompanying 
The  second  picture  represents  the  me 
tallic  burial  case  in  which  the  remai 
were  deposited.     It  is  so  constructed 
to  combine  every  valuable  quality  for 
deposit  in  the  earth,  and  the   preser\ 
tion   of  remains   from   decomposition 
It  is  similar  in  its  outlines  to  the  humT  i 
form  when  placed  in  a  horizontal  or  re 
cumbent  position.     It  consists  of  an  up 
])er  and  lower  metallic  shell,  which  aic 
joined   together  in  a  horizontal  line  m 
the  centre,  each   part  being  of  about 
equal  depth.     These  shells  are  more  or 
less  curvilinear,  and  arc  made   exceed 
ingly  thin,  yet  being  sufficiently  strong 
to  resist   any  pressure   to  which   they 
may  be  subject  while  in  use.     The  shells 
have  each  a  narrow  flange,  which,  when 
placed  toiijether,  are  bound  by  sere  va 
THE  METALLIC  CASE,  in-^erted   through    the  fianges  and     c 
mented  at  the  point  of  junction  with  i 
peculiar  substance  which    soon   becomes  as   hard   as  the  metal 
itself     The  case  is  enamelled   inside  and    out,  and  is  made  thoi 
out;lily  impervious  lo  the  admission  of  air.     The  upper  shell   i 
raised  work,  and  ornamented  in  the  casting  with   the   appearan  e 
of  folding  drapery  thrown  over  the  body.     This  is  covered  with  a 
rich  black  drapery,  neatly  gathered  and  beautifully  fringed.     1 1  c 
case  was  superbly  decorated  with  chased  silver  ornaments,  with 
flowers  anu  emitlems  ot    mortality  neatly  inwrought.     It  has  a 
heavy  oval  glass  over  the  face,  on  which  is  screwed  a  silver  cover ; 
on   the  breast  of  the  upper  shell  is  a  smooth  silver  plate,  upon 
which  is  inscribed  jJone  the  name  of  Daniel  Weustku,     It  has 


three  ornamental  silver  handles  on  each  side.  This  elegant  piece 
of  work  was  made  by  Messrs,  Huylcr  &  Putnam,  of  New  York. 
At  12  1-2  o'clock,  the  last  solemn  rite  of  the  funeral  services  com- 
menced. The  relatives  and  friends  of  the  deceased,  together  with 
members  of  the  several  corporations,  occupied  the  main  rooms  of 
the  mansion.  The  officiating  clergyman,  Rev.  Ebenezer  Alden, 
of  Marshfield,  occupied  a  position  on  the  piazza,  where  he  could 
be  seen  and  heard  by  the  vast  multitude  which  had  now  assembled 
around  the  bier  of  the  illustrious  dead.  The  funeral  services 
were  introduced  by  selections  from  scripture,  appropriate  to  the 
occasion,  followed  by  an  address,  affectionate  and  solemn,  and 
closing  with  a  prayer,  when  the  procession  moved  to  the  cemetery. 
The  third  engraving  finely  represents  the  family  tomb,  erected 
after  Mr.  Webster's  own  design  as  his  last  resting-place,  and  the 
spot  where  those  most  dear  to  him  in  life,  also  sleep  in  death. 
This  is  upon  the  Webster  estate,  and  in  the  centre  of  what  is 
called  Winslow's  Burying  Ground.  The  remains  of  Governor 
Winslow  lie  here;  also  those  of  Peregrine  White,  the  first  person 
born  in  the  country  of  the  pilgrim  stock.  About  one  year  since, 
Mr.  Webster  caused  a  portion  of  this  place  to  be  enclosed  for  his 
own  family,  and  a  tomb  constructed.  This  tomb  was  first  occu- 
pied on  Thursday,  October  28tli,  by  the  bodies  of  Mr.  "Webster's 
family,  all  of  whom  were  removed  from  under  St.  Paul's  Church, 
in  this  city.  The  tomb  is  very  simple.  It  is  constructed  upon  the 
modern   plan,  and  bears  upon  a  plain  marble  slab  the  name  of 


Daniel  Webster.  The  enclosure  is  about  the  medium  size  of 
those  found  in  cemeteries.  The  whole  is  surrounded  by  a  plain 
iron  fence,  in  entire  unison  with  the  tomb,  the  monuments  and 
the  whole  appearance  of  the  place.  There  are  three  monuments 
erected  in  the  enclosure,  bearing  the  following  inscriptions  : 

GRACE    FLETCHER, 

WIFE    OP    DANIEL  WEBSTER, 

Bom  January  16,  1781 — Died  January  21,  1828. 
"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God." 


JULIA  "WEBSTEK, 

WIFE  OF  SAMUEL  A.  APPLETON, 

Bom  January  16,  1818— Died  April  28,  1838. 
"  Let  me  go,  for  the  day  breaketh." 


MAKY  CONSTANCE  APPLETON, 
Born  February  7,  1848— Died  March  15,  1849. 


MAJOR  EDWARD  WEBSTER, 

Born  July  20,  1820 — Died   at  San  Angclo,  in   Mexico,  in   the 

military  service  of  his  country,  January  23,  1848. 

A  dearly  heloved  son  .and  brother. 


VIEW  OF  MR.  Webster's  tomb,  at  marshfield,  mass. 


CxLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DP^ATTING   HOOM    COIMPANION. 


329 


Mr.  Webster  had  long  and  fondly  looked  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  the  deceased  members  of 
his  family  should  he  deposited  in  the  beautiful 
tomb  on  his  own  domain  at  Marshfield ;  and  the 
thought  that  they  would  be  gathered  within  the 
sight  of  his  own  secluded  habitation,  side  by 
side,  in  a  chosen  spot,  was  often  the  theme  of  his 
ardent  thoughts.  In  accordance,  therefore,  with 
his  last  request  that  they  should  be  home  there, 
the  day  before  his  burial,  they  were  disinterred 
from  their  former  resting-place  ;  they  were  depos- 
ited in  the  tomb  in  the  following  manner  :^-on 
the  right,  and  occupying  that  portion  exclusive- 
ly, is  the  body  of  Mr.  Webster.  On  the  oppo- 
site side  are  those  of  his  wife,  daughter  and 
grand-children,  the  one  upon  the  other,  as  if 
their  spirits  communed  in  death,  as  they  had  in 
life.  TJie  group  i?  a  most  interesting  one,  and 
none  can  look  upon  this  sacred  deposit  of  dust 
but  with  emotions  of  the  deepest  sadness  and 
grief.  At  the  going  down  of  the  sun  on  the  day 
of  burial,  a  fiimily  of  nine  were  gathered  in  one 
eternal  household,  the  like  of  which  can  nowhere 
else  be  pointed  to  in  America.  There  they  will 
sleep  in  death,  husband,  wife,  father  and  mother, 
son  and  daughter,  brother  and  sister.  Under 
the  bosom  of  that  peering  height  around  which 
the  sky  bends  down  to  shield,  and  the  ocean 
chants  its  ceaseless  requiem,  and  birds  sing,  and 
breezes  waft,  and  nature  is  decked  in  beautiful 
attire — there  repose  the  mortal  remains  of  Dan- 
iel Webster,  surrounded  by  the  kindred  dust  of 
the  beloved  members  of  his  family.  The  tomb 
is  enclosed  with  an  iron  fence,  and  in  the  enclo- 
sure are  the  three  white  marble  monuments,  in 
memory  of  members  of  the  family.  A  similar 
one,  "no  larger,  no  smaller,"  in  the  language  of 
Mr.  Webster,  is  to  be  erected  to  his  own  memory. 
The  fourth  picture  represents  the  appearance 
of  Mr.  Webster's  remains  as  they  lay  in  his  li- 
brary. The  scene  is  carefully  and  most  accu- 
rately delineated  by  our  artist.  On  the  wall, 
nearly  over  the  coffin,  hung  the  portraits  of  Lord 
Ashburton — with  whom  Mr.  Webster  conclu  (d 
the  famous  Boundary  Treaty  between  the  United 
States  and  Great  Britain — and  of  Edward  Web- 
ster, who  died  in  military  service  against  Mexico. 
At  the  further  end  of  the  room  hung  a  portrait 
of  Mr.  Webster  himself — a  good,  though  not 
complete  resemhlancc.     The  body  was  attired 


APPEARANCE  OF  THE  LATE  HON.  DANIEL  WEBSTER  AT  HOME. 


in  a  suit  familiar  to  all  who  have  ever  seen  Mr. 
Webster — the  Faneuil  Hall  suit — blue  coat  \vith 
bright  buttons,  white  pants,  white  vest,  white 
neckerchief,  with  wide  collar  turned  over.  The 
features  of  Mr.  Webster  were  natural,  and  ex- 
hibited a  marked  serenity,  seeming  rather  to  be 
those  of  a  pleasant  sleeper  than  one  in  the  arms 
of  death.  The  beholder  could  scarcely  realize 
but  that  the  great  man  would  ere  long  open 
those  massive,  startling  eyes,  move  that  large, 
iron  muscular  frame,  utter  with  that  eloquent 
tongue,  impress  with  that  mighty  intellect. 
Saving  a  thinness  of  cheek,  there  was  not  the 
slightest  change  in  Mr.  Webster's  face  ;  its  color 
was  the  same  as  in  life.  Over  the  whole  counte- 
nance there  rested  a  matchless  serenity,  almost 
the  sweetest  of  smiles.  There  was  no  indica- 
tion of  a  pain-racked  body,  or  a  shattered  mind, 
only  of  one  wlio  had 

"  Wrapped  his  mantle  round  him, 
And  laid  down  to  pleasant  dreams  " 

The  fifth  and  last  picture  is  a  copy  from  a  da- 
guerreotype lately  taken  at  Marshfield  of  Mr. 
AVebster,  as  he  appeared  sitting — to  use  a  com- 
mon simile — under  his  own  vine  and  fig  tr  e. 
It  is  an  actual  copy  from  life,  and  possesses  at 
this  time  extraordinary  interest.  It  exhibits  the 
statesman  ungirded  from  the  duties  of  his  public 
life,  in  the  quiet  repose  of  a  happy  home.  But 
that  august  presence  will  no  more  dignify  either 
the  public  forum,  or  the  private  parlor.  In  con- 
junction with  other  bright  luminaries  in  our  po- 
litical horizon,  he  has  gone.  In  the  language  of 
the  Charleston  Courier,  "  the  last  of  the  illustri- 
ous trio  of  intellectual  giants  is  no  more.  Son'h 
Carolina  has  mourned  her  beloved  Calhoun — 
Kentucky  has  mourned  her  venerated  Clay — 
Massachusetts  now  mourns  her  glorious  Webster 
— and  our  nation  mourns  them  all.  Beyond  all 
comparison,  they  were  the  three  greatest  men  of 
the  republic,  since  the  days  of  the  Revolution, 
and  long  will  it  be  ere  our  national  firmament 
will  be  again  illuminated  by  such  a  constellation 
of  intellectual  glory — and  long  will  the  nation 
lament  their  irreparable  loss.  They  came  into 
public  life  almost  simultaneously,  and  their  glo- 
rious sunsets  have  been  separated  by  but  short  in- 
tervals. Alike  have  they  spent  their  entire  ma- 
turity in  the  service  of  their  country,  and  alike 
have"  they  died  in  harness  at  the  post  of  dut}." 


330 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Qlcaflou'e  Pictorial.] 
HEKE,  IN  THE  SILENT  SHADOM  JWGS. 


UY  n.  aaiFPiw  staples. 

IToro,  in  tbo  silent  sluLJowinga, 

Ah  BiiiUti  the  nun  to  rt-at 
BojonJ  thv  f loud- cup |K'(-l  niountiiina, 

Fnr  in  t^«  iJiHtiint  west; 
Ah  diu  tlio  wliiatliugfl  of  tlio  wind, 

From  o'er  tliu  foaming  sen; 
'Tin  Hwcot  to  niina  our  eyes  to  liuiivon, 

And  bend  in  prayer  tho  kneo. 

Iluro,  wlioro  tho  giant  forest  trees 

Withstand  the  wind  und  storm, 
And  night  birds  Bcrofim  so  loud  and  long, 

Tho  traveller  feels  almm  ; 
"When  on  tlie  rocky  clifTd  \vc  sbind, 

'TiB  sweet  to  feel  and  know 
Ood'R  guavdiiin  eye  is  o'er  u8, 

His  hand  is  on  our  brow. 

Yes!  and  to  tho  Chriptian,  sbinding 

Upon  the  brink  of  fate  ; 
A\'lien  all  around  looks  sad  and  drear, 

And  men  are  filled  with  hate  ; 
'T  is  then  so  sweet  to  feel  and  know 

A  promise  sure  ia  given  ; 
And  that  beyond  this  world  of  care, 

There  is  for  bim  a.  heaven. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

BOARDING  rs  HOUSEKEEPING: 

— OR — 

NOTHING  LIIvE  HAVING  A  HOME. 

BY  MKS.   M.   E.   ROBINSON. 

A  GROUP  of  tliree  were  sitting  around  a  tabic 
within  a  wcll-farnishcd  and  pleasant  room.  The 
gentleman — a  middle  aged,  good  looking  person 
— was  busily  engaged  in  perusing  the  evening 
paper,  and  apparently  unconscious  of  anything 
going  oil  about  him ;  while  tho  lady,  who  evi- 
dently laid  claims  to  beauty  and  youth,  alter- 
nately did  a  few  stitches  of  needle-work,  and 
watched  the  movements  of  a  fine  boy  of  six,  who 
sat  by  her  side,  intently  occupied  in  arranging 
bits  of  curiously  shaped  wood,  dignified  by  the 
name  of  animals,  about  a  diminutive  "  Noah's 
Ark." 

The  room  had  an  air  of  unmistakeable  comfort, 
yet  the  lady  did  not  look  quite  happy ;  nor  was 
tlie  discontented  expression  of  her  countenance 
lessened  by  the  request  of  a  domestic  that  she 
would  visit  the  kitchen.  Returning  rather  an 
impatient  assent,  Mrs.  Lee  sent  away  the  child 
with  the  girl,  and  soon  after  left  the  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter  in  the  kitchen  1"  asked 
Mr.  Lee,  when  his  wife  had  again  taken  her  seat 
at  the  table. 

*'  The  old  story,  of  course ;  help  leaving,  and 
none  to  supply  their  places.  I  am  so  tired  of 
housekeeping !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  despair- 
ingly- 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  the  husband, 
good  humoredly ;  "I'll  send  a  girl  home  to-mor- 
row for  you  to  make  trial  of.  The  matter  can 
soon  Ite  remedied." 

"  And  ten  chances  against  one  she  wont  know 
a  potato  from  a  turnip !"  was  the  impatient 
rejoinder. 

"The  Irish,  generally,  are  very  well  acquaint- 
ed with  the  former  useful  vegetable,  I  believe," 
resumed  Mr.  Lee,  with  a  smile ;  *'  but,  in  case 
she  should  he  ignorant,  you  could  instruct  her, 
you  know." 

"  And  after  taking  all  that  trouble,  have  her 
coolly  inform  yon,  in  less  than  a  month,  that  she 
has  found  a  better  place.  Encouraging,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Well,  let  her  go,  and  get  a  substitute." 

"  The  fact  is,  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  decid- 
edly, "  that  you  gentlemen  don't  know  anything 
about  the  matter.  I  verily  believe  tliat  you 
imagine  housekeeping  affairs  look  after  them- 
selves principally;  and  that  when  washing,  iron- 
ing, sweeping,  dusting,  mending,  etc.,  need  to 
be  performed,  we,  fortunate  women,  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  utter  the  magical  words,  and  they 
are  done." 

"  O  you  are  altogether  too  hard  upon  the 
sterner  sex,"  laughed  the  gentleman.  "But  of 
the  two,  such  an  unlucky  belief  as  you  mention- 
ed would  be  rather  complimentary  to  the  quiet 
management  of  the  ladies  ;  for  it  would  imply 
that  they  were  capable  of  bringing  about  impor- 
tant events,  with  but  very  little  apparent  effort." 

This  kind  of  argument  did  not  seem  to  satisfy 
tijc  lady,  who  forthwith  went  into  a  relation  of 
tlie  troubles  and  trials  she  had  experienced  the 
past  week. 

"  And   how   -shall   we   amend    the   matter  ?" 


iiskcd  Mr.  Leo,  who  luid  attentively  heard  her 
through. 

"  By  doing  what  I  have  so  often  recommend- 
ed— boarding,"  wu.s  the  unhesitating  reply. 

"  In  my  oi>inion,  that  would  bo  increasing  tho 
evil.  We  bhould  he  obliged  to  give  up  our  plea- 
.sant  home,  and  receive  in  return  merely  a  place 
in  which  to  eat  and  sleep.  Witli  my  present 
sentiments,  that  is  tho  most  extmvagant  opinion 
I  entertain  of  boarding." 

"All  prejudice!  You  never,  to  my  knowl- 
edge, tried  the  experiment  I  have  named ;  you 
cannot  speak  from  experience." 

"  You  forget,"  resumed  Mr.  Lcc,  "  that  it  was 
necessary  I  should  eat  and  drink  before  mar- 
riage." 

"  O  that  was  very  different.  You  were  a 
bachelor  then,  and  could  not  expect  to  bo  very 
well  treated.  Under  those  circumstances,  a  lit- 
tle box  of  a  sleeping-room  in  the  fourtli  atory, 
and  the  additional  privilege  of  a  scat  in  the  pub- 
lic parlor,  was  deemed  sulhcicnt;  now,  of  course, 
the  case  would  be  otherwise,"  urged  the  lady. 

The  gentleman  smiled  dubiously,  but  made 
no  reply. 

"  We  should  have  a  nice  parlor  and  sleeping- 
room  adjoining,"  she  resumed,  eagerly,  "and 
that  would  be  very  nice  for  Freddy.  We  could 
go  and  come  when  we  please ;  have  company 
when  it  suits  our  convenience,  and — " 

"But  don't  we  have  the  same  privileges 
now?"  interrupted  Mr.  Lee. 

"  In  some  measure,  perhaps,"  was  the  quick 
reply. 

"  You  arc  a  novice,  it  is  plain,  in  boarding- 
house  operations,  or  you  would  not  mention  ad- 
ditional facilities  for  receiving  company,"  said 
the  gentleman,  dryly. 

"But  I  should  get  rid  of  all  domestic  duties 
and  trouble  with  servants,  and  that  is  no  mean 
consideration." 

"And  get  involved  in  numberless  quarrels 
with  your  fellow-boarders  and  landlady,  to  make 
up  for  it,'*  he  added,  archly. 

"  I  tliought  I  had  considered  every  objection 
you  could  urge ;  but  I  must  confess  I  had  not 
once  recollected  that  my  combative  qualities 
might  stand  in  the  way."  And  the  pretty  face 
of  Mrs.  Lee  expressed  considerable  indignation 
that  she  should  be  so  unjustly  suspected. 

"  Understand  me  rightly,  my  dear,"  said  the 
husband.  "I  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  you 
would  be  easier  to  quarrel  with  than  any  other 
person — far  from  it.  But  I  did  mean  to  say  that 
while  boarding,  one  has  more  individuals  to 
please  than  at  his  own  private  table,  and  conse- 
quently runs  a  greater  risk  of  conflicting  with 
the  habits  and  sentiments  of  others.  Is  it  not 
so?" 

Mrs.  Lee  was  in  a  more  positive  than  reason- 
ing state  of  mind,  and  could  not  perceive  any 
great  trutli  in  the  sentiment.  It  had  been  her 
desire  to  board  when  first  married  ;  but  her  hus- 
band, who  avowed  he  had  seen  enough  of 
"  boarding-house  misery,"  could  not  by  any 
means  be  persuaded  to  do  so.  He  wanted  a 
home;  a  place,  however  small,  that  he  could  call 
his  own,  and  carry  out  his  wishes  without  inter- 
fering with  any  one. 

So  to  housekeeping  they  went ;  and  having 
every  rational  want  gratified,  Mrs.  Lee  might 
have  been  very  happy,  had  not  her  "boarding 
fever"  every  year  continued  to  "run"  so  high, 
that  Mr.  Lee  thought  he  should  really  be  obliged 
to  make  use  of  the  only  successful  remedy  he 
knew  of — a  year's  experience  in  the  business. 

"What  would  be  done  with  our  furniture,  in 
case  we  conclude  to  do  as  you  wish?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause ;  "  for  I  should  dislike  to  have  the 
house  stand  useless  a  year." 

"I  think  the  furniture  had  better  be  sold.  It 
will  be  a  great  trouble  to  pack  it,  and  we  shall, 
probably,  never  want  it  again,"  said  the  lady. 
"  Don't  smile  so  incredulously,"  she  added,  upon 
perceiving  tiie  doubtful  look  upon  her  husband's 
face;  "for  I  am  certain  that  when  we  have 
boarded  six  months,  nothing  can  tempt  us  to  re- 
sume housekeeping  again." 

"  Eurniturc  disposed  of  at  public  auction  is  in- 
variably sacrificed;  it  will  not  fetch  half  its 
value." 

"But  half  its  value  is  better  than  having  it 
ruined  by  storing,"  interposed  Mrs.  Lee.  "Eor 
my  part,  I  shall  never  want  to  sec  a  domestic 
utensil  again." 

"  Where  would  you  wish  to  board  ?"  inquired 
the  hu-sband. 

"At  Mrs.  Clifton's;  it  is  the  only  suitable 
place  I  know  of,"  answered  Mrs.  Lee,  joyfully. 
"But  arc  you  really  disposed  to  give  your  con- 
sent?" she  added. 


"If  I  am,  it  is  merely  to  convince  you  that 
your  castles  are  made  of  air,  and  lliat  a  board- 
ing-house, however  fasliionably  kept,  will  fall  far 
short  of  a  heaven  upon  earth,"  was  the  smiling 
reply  of  Mr.  Lee,  as  lie  took  his  liat  and  left  tho 
house. 

"And  so  wo  arc  certainly  going  to  boarding!" 
soliloquized  Mrs.ljcc,  after  his  departure.  "  How 
nice  it  will  be !  and  at  Mrs.  Clifton's  we  shall 
meet  only  the  very  best  of  society,  for  it  is  a  first 
class  house," 

The  lady  certainly  looked,  and  we  suppose 
felt,  better  pleased  than  she  had  done  for  many  a 
day ;  foi*  she  liad  gained  a  point  that  she  believed 
was  to  crown  the  summit  of  her  happiness. 

Next  morning  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lcc  sallied  forth 
in  search  of  a  "place."  They  called  first  at 
Mrs.  Clifton's,  and,  mucli  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  latter,  found,  to  use  the  words  of  the  land- 
lady, that  "  a  beautiful  and  airy  suite  of  rooms  " 
had  been  vacated  the  day  before. 

"What  could  be  more  fortunate?"  observed 
Mrs.  Lee,  as  they  mounted  two  pairs  of  dark  staii-s 
to  examine  the  rooms. 

"  I  don't  have  a  vacancy  very  often,"  remark- 
ed the  lady  of  the  house,  who  overheard  the 
above  observation.  "  My  boarders  are  so  well 
satisfied  that  they  are  content  to  stay.  This  is 
the  parlor,"  she  added,  throwing  open  a  door. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lee  stepped  in.  It  was  a  rear 
apartment,  rather  longer  than  wide,  and  on  these 
accounts  not  so  desirable;  but  being  well  fur- 
nished and  quite  neat,  it  was  passable.  The 
sleeping  apartment — one  of  the  "airy  suite" — 
was  adjoining,  in  which,  by  ingenious  calcula- 
tion, a  bed,  a  sink  and  toilet  table  were  placed, 
allowing  very  little  extra  room  for  purposes  of 
ventilation  and  locomotion.  Mr.  Lee  thought  of 
his  spacious  bed-chamber  at  home,  but  said  no- 
thing, determining  to  let  his  wife  please  herself. 
The  latter  regretted  its  small  size,  but  as  there 
was  no  choice,  remarked  that  "it  would  have  to 
do,"  and  accordingly  the  rooms  were  engaged 
at  an  exorbitant  price,  on  account  of  the  "  fash- 
ionable location." 

The  next  week  saw  them  inmates  of  a  "gen- 
teel boarding-house."  Mrs.  Lee  was  in  exube- 
rant spirits  ;  but  her  husband  looked  sober,  and 
said  but  little.  He  had  disposed  of  his  furniture, 
let  his  house,  and  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  take 
circumstances  as  he  found  them;  but  he  was 
hardly  yet  reconciled  to  his  new  position. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  against  this,  husband  ?" 
queried  Mrs.  Lee.  "Isn't  it  quite  cosey  and 
comfortable?" 

"It  does  very  well,  but  you  know  *a  new 
broom  sweeps  clean.'  However,  I  have  no  par- 
ticular fault  to  find  yet." 

The  tea  bell  at  that  moment  rang,  and  in  obe- 
dience to  its  summons,  they  went  below-  A 
dozen  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  seated  about  a 
table  covered  with  a  superabundance  of  ware, 
and  but  a  scanty  portion  of  eatables.  A  few 
wafer-like  slices  of  bread,  a  little  jelly,  dealt  out 
to  each  in  homceopathie  quantities,  cake  remark- 
able for  nothing  but  dryness  and  limited  propor- 
tions, and  fluid  dignified  by  the  name  of  tea,  con- 
stituted the  eating  department.  It  was  all  very 
"genteel,"  however;  and  Mrs.  Clifton  intro- 
duced her  new  boarders  very  gracefully,  as  she 
took  her  place  with  due  dignity  at  the  head  of 
the  table. 

"  Rather  more  fashionable  than  substantial 
fare,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  when  they  were  in  tiieir 
room  again. 

"  I  like  it  much,"  rejoined  his  wife,  firmly, 
who  had  resolved  to  be  pleased,  or  seem  to  be, 
at  all  events.  "It  is  not  in  good  taste  to  load 
a  table  at  tea  time." 

Another  smile,  tlie  meaningof  which  Mrs.  Lee 
could  hardly  determine,  shew  itself  upon  the  face 
of  the  gentleman,  as  he  placed  his  feet  upon  the 
fender,  and  took  a  book  to  while  away  the  time ; 
for,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  was  already  be- 
ginning to  be  homesick. 

The  next  morning,  a  breakfast  was  set  before 
them,  which  certainly  possessed  one  recommen- 
dation, and  that  was — its  extreme  easiness  of  di- 
gestion ;  for  Mrs.  Clifton  averred  that  "  her  board- 
ers invariably  declined  to  crowd  their  stomachs 
with  such  hearty  food  as  fish  or  meat,  in  the 
morning,  at  the  expense  of  their  health." 

Mr.  Lee  made  some  pobte  reply,  and  as  he 
was  inclined  to  treat  the  opinions  of  others  with 
courtesy,  thought  that  the  next  meal  would  set 
him  riglit  on  tlie  probability  of  the  truth  of  her 
remark. 

When  the  hour  for  dinner  arrived,  and  the  fa- 
mily were  seated,  Mrs.  Lee  glanced  at  her  Iius- 
band  with  a  look  of  triumph,  which  seemed  to 


say,  "  Now  I  am  sure  you  will  have  no  reason  to 
complain." 

The  first  course  consisted  of  a  doubtful  look- 
ing soup,  the  principal  ingredient  of  whicii  ap- 
peared to  be  water,  relieved  by  a  few  grains  of 
rice  that  floated  on  the  surface.  Tins  was  dealt 
out  in  liberal  quantities,  but  did  not  particularly 
please  the  palate  of  Mi-.  Lee.  A  pair  of  small 
emaciated-looking  "chickens,"  of  mature  age, 
next  made  their  appearance,  and  tlie  latter,'  who 
remembered  that  appearances  were  sometimes 
deceitful,  was  tempted  to  try  a  wing  of  the  same. 
He  regretted  it  on  the  instant,  nevertheless  ;  for 
the  exceeding  dullness  of  his  knife,  or  some  other 
cause,  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  separate 
the  same  into  portions  small  enough  for  mastica- 
tion. But  his  wife,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of 
overturning  her  plate  into  her  neighbor's  lap, 
performed  the  feat  successfully,  and  with  a 
feigned  enjoyment,  in  silence  despatched  a  small 
portion  of  the  fowl.  And  now  came,  for  des- 
sert, a  pudding,  in  which  bread  was  made  to 
take  the  place  of  eggs,  and  molasses  was  substi- 
tuted for  sugar ;  —  a  compound  satisfactory 
enough  to  some  people,  perhaps,  but  one  which 
was  particularly  disagreeable  to  Mr.  Lee.  Ac- 
cordingly he  declined  being  helped  to  any,  po- 
litely begged  to  be  excused,  and  made  his  way 
to  a  neighboring  saloon,  where  he  satisfied  his 
appetite  as  soon  as  possible. 

In  the  interim,  what  were  the  thoughts  of  the 
sanguine  wife  ?  To  her  satisfaction,  Mr.  Lee 
did  not  refer  to  the  dinner  in  any  way  ;  for  had 
he  done  so,  she  would  not  have  known  what  re- 
ply to  have  made.  To  be  sure  their  living  was 
much  better  when  housekeeping,  and  her  domes- 
tics quite  as  attentive  as  Mi-s.  Clifton's;  but,  then, 
the  latter  had  not  had  a  fair  trial,  and  she  would 
suspend  her  judgment  for  a  time. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  Mrs.  Lee  was  no  better 
satisfied  than  at  first.  Things  had  not  improved 
in  the  least,  and  she  was  far  less  happy  than  she 
had  expected  to  be ;  for,  though  her  husband 
made  no  complaints,  she  saw  that  the  lecture; 
room,  the  street,  or  even  his  place  of  business, 
possessed  more  attractions  than  his  boarding- 
house.  As  for  her-self,  the  lime  she  had  expect- 
ed to  pass  so  agreeably,  hung  heavy  on  her 
hands.  She  had  no  particular  fancy  for  needle- 
work— that  never-failing  remedy  for  en»Mi;  and 
books,  in  her  present  state  of  mind,  did  not  inter- 
est her.  She  could  not  "  shop  "  all  day,  neither 
would  the  delightful  business  of  making  calla 
take  up  all  the  time.  If  she  could  have  watched 
the  different  passers-by,  it  would  have  been  bet- 
ter than  no  employment ;  but  this  was  impossi- 
ble, for  her  room  overlooked  a  number  of  sheds. 

At  last  she  concluded  to  go  down  into  the 
public  parlor  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  some 
of  lie  r  fellow-boarders,  that  is,  if  she  was  fortu- 
nate enough  to  recognize  any  who  were  present 
at  her  first  appearance  in  the  dining-room ;  for 
the  fact  that  there  had  been  several  removals 
and  new  arrivals  in  one  short  week,  seemed  a 
direct  contradiction  to  the  statement  of  the  land- 
lady respecting  the  attachment  of  her  boarders 
to  the  place,  and  a  mystery  which  Mrs.  Lee 
could  not  satisfactorily  solve. 

In  the  parlor  she  found  one  solitary  individual 
— a  lady  siie  had  seen  but  once,  but  who,  by  her 
conversational  powers,  proved  an  agreeable  com- 
panion. The  latter  had  been  an  inmate  of  tlic 
house  but  one  day,  and  Mrs.  Lee  did  not  think 
it  advisable  then  to  speak  of  other  than  general 
sulijects.  An  hour  or  two  was  thus  whiled  away 
in  social  chat,  and  before  leaving  the  parlor,  Mrs. 
Lee  invited  the  lady  to  spend  the  evening  with 
herself  and  husband. 

The  offer  was  accepted,  and  as  two  or  three 
other  friends  came  in,  Mrs.  Lee  enjoyed  herself 
better  than  she  had  done  that  week ;  she  even  re- 
tired that  night  without  mentally  regretting  that 
lier  bed-chamber  was  not  larger  and  better  ven- 
tilated. 

But  the  next  morning  brought  a  revulsion  of 
feeling ;  and  when  Mr.  Lee  came  in  at  noon,  he 
found  his  wife  looking  exti'cmely  vexed.  Hav- 
ing made  it  a  rule  to  ask  no  questions,  but  to  let 
things  take  their  course,  he  said  nothing. 

"  That  intolerable  Mrs.  Clifton !"  at  length 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Lee,  indignantly. 

"  So  soon !"  he  remarked,  with  a  smile  of 
meaning. 

"  I  gave  her  the  credit  of  being  a  well-disposed, 
peaeealilc  woman,  at  any  rate,"  returned  the  lady. 

"  And  has  she  proved  otherwise?" 

"  Tliis  morning  she  instructed  a  girl  to  tell 
me  that  there  was  quite  too  much  laughing  and 
talking  in  my  room  last  evening;  that  it  was 
against  the  rules  of  the  house  to  have  company 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


331 


after  ten  o'clock,  and  she  hoped— did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  assurance ! — that  it  would  not  occur 
again." 

"  Really !"  laughed  the  gentleman. 

"  I  must  say  that  you  take  insulting  language 
very  coolly,  husband,"  resumed  the  lady.  "For 
my  part,  I  think  it  very  impertinent  in  her  to 
dictate  to  us  in  that  style.  "Why,  any  one  might 
suppose  we  were  children,  and  didn't  know  the 
proper  hour  for  I'etiring." 

"  Was  that  alii"  demanded  Mr.  J^Qe. 

"All!  no  indeed!  She  had  the  politeness  to 
add  that  Freddy  had  been  seen  standing  in  the 
chairs,  and  rolling  a  ball  over  the  carpet.  Just 
as  if  I  would  permit  her  furniture  to  be  injured." 

"  What  a  careful  woman  !"  exclaimed  the  hus- 
band, good-humoredly.  "  She'll  get  rich,  I 
know." 

"  Mr.  Lee,  don't  you  consider  the  language  I 
have  repeated  very  disagreeable  V  inquired  his 
wife,  suddenly. 

"  Certainly  I  do,  my  dear." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  resent  it  V 

"  What  good  would  that  do  ^  it  would  only 
make  the  breach  greater.  If  you  let  this  pass, 
she  wont  be  likely  to  interfere  again,  until  Fred- 
dy repeats  the  offensive  operations  of  which  he 
has  been  accused.  Poor  fellow  !  I  shall  have  to 
buy  him  a  stool  to  stand  on." 

*'  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you,  Mr.  Lee," 
said  his  wife,  petulantly.  "  I  thought  you  had 
more  spirit  than  to  tamely  put  up  with  such 
abuse." 

"  It  is  nothing  more  than  I  expected,"  was  the 
-  quiet  reply.  "  I  knew  what  we  subjected  our- 
selves to  when  we  came  here." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  inform  me  V  inquired 
Mrs.  Lee,  looking  surprised  at  this  assertion. 

"  I  believe  I  mentioned  the  fact  several  times, 
though,  of  course,  I  could  not,  in  so  many  words, 
tell  what  the  first  trial  would  be.  Come  it  would, 
I  was  well  assured,  and  the  result  shows  the  cor- 
rectness of  my  opinions." 

"  Mrs.  Clifton  has  been  represented  to  me  in  a 
wrong  charactei',"  persisted  the  lady,  who  had 
no  idea  of  owning  that  she  had  been  precipitate 
in  choosing  a  boarding-house. 

"  She  is  a  '  fashionable '  lady,  and  that  certain- 
ly is  a  sufiicient  recommendation,  even  if  she  did 
not  consult  the  digestive  organs  of  her  boarders ; 
the  last  being  a  service  which  one  cannot  be  too 
thankful  for,"  was  the  sarcastic  rejoinder  of  Mr. 
Lee. 

Mrs.  Lee  declared  her  unwillingness  to  remain 
longer  in  a  house  where  her  own  actions,  and 
those  of  her  child,  were  to  be  restricted ;  and  in 
just  eight  days  from  the  time  they  entered  the 
house,  they  removed  to  another.  In  this  change, 
the  husband  was  a  passive  agent  in  the  hands  of 
his  wife ;  he  gave  no  advice,  expressed  no  wish- 
es, but  merely  carried  out  her  plans.  He  wished 
her  to  make  the  selection,  arrange  everything  as 
she  liked,  and  then,  in  case  of  a  failure,  have  no 
one  to  blame  but  herself.  He  was  obstinately 
determined  that  she  should  have  enough  of 
boarding  ;  that  she  should  try  the  experiment  to 
her  entire  satisfaction,  without  being  biased  by 
his  opinions. 

This  time  Mrs.  Lee  made  more  inquuies, 
looked  at  different  situations,  and  consequently 
procured  a  better  place.  Perhaps  the  location 
was  not  quite  so  fashionable  as  she  could  have 
wished,  but  the  landlady  was  much  more  reason- 
able, and  the  table  bounteously  supplied  with 
food.  So  far,  so  good  ;  Freddy  could  roll  a  ball 
undisturbed,  mount  a  chair  under  his  mother's 
eye,  and  the  latter  seemed  quite  happy  that  these 
childish  sports  could  go  on,  and  not  call  forth  a 
severe  reprimand. 

But  alas  !  the  "reasonableness"  of  the  lady  of 
the  house  did  not  extend  to  visitors,  who  were 
so  infatuated  as  to  stop  to  dinner  or  tea;  her 
kindness  and  politeness  was  limited  to  her  own 
household.  Much  to  the  mortiiication  of  Mrs. 
Lee,  several  intimate  friends,  whom  she  had 
taken  the  liberty  of  inviting  to  drink  a  social  cup 
of  tea  with  her,  were  met  with  a  frowning  face, 
which  signified  anything  but  an  hospitable  wel- 
come. Though  disappointed  and  chagrined,  she 
passed  it  over  Avith  comparative  indifl^erence,  and 
endeavored  to  a  tone  for  the  uncourteous  reception 
by  her  own  kind  and  attentive  manner. 

Was  Mrs.  Lee  content?  Had  her  glowing 
anticipations  been  realized  ?  We  fear  not ;  for 
often,  though  unacknowledged,  she  would  long 
for  her  own  spacious  house,  where  she  coiild  re- 
ceive as  much  company  as  she  liked,  and  enter- 
tain them  as  best  pleased  her.  There  her  little 
son  had  the  whole  range  of  the  house  ;  now  he 
was  restricted  to  a  small  space  ;  there  she  could 


confer  happiness  upon  others  as  well  as  herself, 
hut  now  she  was  restrained  by  the  will  of  others. 

Three  months  liad  passed,  bringing  with  them 
but  little  to  vary  the  monotony  of  her  life.  Hav- 
ing but  little  taste  for  reading  or  needle-work,  as 
we  have  before  remarked,  some  occupation  was 
necessary  to  her  enjoyment.  This  she  had  found, 
while  housekeeping,  in  the  performance  of  her 
domestic  duties — those  very  duties  she  had  here- 
tofore disparaged. 

Mrs.  Lee  was  uniformly  kind  and  polite  to 
those  about  her,  but  intimate  with  few.  This 
caused  a  feeling  of  jealousy  among  the  less 
favored  ones,  and  finally  ended  in  a  complete 
misunderstanding  between  the  parties.  Mrs.  A. 
intimated  that  Mrs.  Lee  "  felt  above  her  equals;" 
IMrs.B.,  "that pride  would  certainly  have  a  fall;" 
while  an  unmarried  lady  hinted  that  she  "  en- 
grossed altogether  too  much  attention  from  the 
opposite  sex,  for  a  person  who  had  a  husband  " 
— a  remark  in  which  she  was  fully  sustained  by 
several  of  her  female  friends. 

Mrs.  Lee,  though  naturally  of  an  amiable  dis- 
position, and  affable  in  her  manners,  found  her 
position  becoming  extremely  uncomfortable. 
She  renewed  her  efforts  to  conciliate  those  about 
her,  but  discovered,  to  her  mortification,  that  her 
■well  meaut  efforts  resulted  in  a  total  failure. 
She  became  unhappy ;  she  found  herself  the  ob- 
ject of  remark,  and  entirely  cutoff  from  the  sym- 
pathies of  those  about  her.  Those  who  were  less 
fortunate  in  regard  to  worldly  substance  envied 
her,  and  those  less  attractive  in  person  were  jea- 
lous of  her  superiority  in  that  respect.  Those 
who  had  previously  been  disposed  to  be  friendly 
were  also  infected  by  the  breath  of  petty  scandal, 
and  stood  coldly  aloof.  Her  situation  was  now 
intolerable,  and  her  misery  sepmed  daily  on  the 
increase.  She  began  to  regret  the  comforts  of 
her  former  home,  where  she  could  choose  her 
own  society,  and  her  own  eatables,  and  regulate 
her  own  habits,  without  being  made  the  subject 
of  observation. 

Although  Mi's.  Lee  felt  very  miserable,  she  did 
not  yet  feel  disposed  to  acknowledge  that  she 
had  taken  a  false  step  in  the  matter  of  boarding, 
or  to  ask  sympathy  of  her  husband,  who  was 
apparently  unconscious  that  anything  was  going 
wrong ;  but  Mr.  Lee  was  a  shrewd  man,  and 
evidently  had  his  own  thoughts.  The  lady  now 
secretly  resolved  to  make  another  change,  and 
took  daily  walks  with  that  object  in  view,  from 
which  she  invariably  returned  more  desponding 
than  before.  One  day,  after  one  of  these  fruit- 
less excursions,  Mr.  Lee  came  in  unexpectedly, 
and  surprised  her  in  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  V  he  inquired, 
kindly. 

"  Matter  enough,"  she  replied.  "  I've  been 
looking  for  a  boarding-house  for  the  last  three 
days." 

"  Is  it  possible !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lee.  "  Are 
you  not  satisfied  with  your  present  accommoda- 
tions— this  "  nice,  airy  suite,"  where  you  can 
come  and  go  when  you  please,  have  company 
when  you  please,  no  housework  to  do,  no  domes- 
tics to  look  after  1  Certainly  you  don't  feel  dis- 
posed to  leave  this  delightful  paradise,  do  you  ?" 

"I  don't  expect  any  sympathy  from  you!" 
sobbed  Mrs.  Lee,   with  another  fresh  burst  of 

SOITOW. 

"  What  have  you  seen  that  suits  you — some 
rare  Edens,  in  all  human  probability  V* 

"  All  I  can  say  is,  if  you  call  such  places 
Edens,  the  home  of  our  first  parents  was  not 
celebrated  for  neatness,"  replied  Mi'S.  Lee,  try- 
ing to  smile  through  her  tears.  "  I've  seen  dirty 
children,  dirty  servants,  dirty  doors,  unswept 
stairs,  unwashed  entries,  ill  bred  people,  small, 
dreary-looking  rooms,  entirely  unfit  for  our  ac- 
commodation, and,  in  short,  everything  that  is 
discouraging,  uninviting,  and  positively  repul- 
sive. I  feel  very  homesick,"  she  added,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  will  ever  want  to  go  to 
housekeeping  again  1"  suggested  Mi-.  Lee,  after 
a  short  pause. 

Mrs.  Lee  made  no  reply. 

"Notwithstanding  the  e3:cniciating  happiness 
which  we  mutually  enjoy  in  this  'airy  location,' 
I  sometimes  regret  having  disposed  of  our  house 
and  furniture,"  he  added,  demurely. 

Still  his  better  half  remained  silent,  although 
it  was  evident  that  she  felt  his  quiet  sai'casm 
keenly. 

Mr.  Lee  took  a  few  turns  across  the  fioor  in  a 
musing  mood,  and  then  proposed  that  his  wife 
and  Freddy  should  accompany  him,  in  order  to 
make  one  more  effort. 

In  a  few  moments  the  parties  were  in  readi- 


ness, and  passed  into  the  street.  Mrs.  Lee 
asked  no  questions,  being  absorbed  in  her  own 
thoughts,  and  not  until  she  found  herself  in  the 
hall  of  her  old  home  did  she  awake  from  her 
reverie. 

"  Is  it  not  unkind  of  you,  husband,  to  bring 
me  here  to  sec  comforts  and  conveniences  which 
I  can  no  longer  enjoy"?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Look  about  you,  my  dear,"  was  the  quiet 
reply,  "  and  see  if  the  old  place  looks  natural." 

Mrs.  Lee  glanced  into  the  parlors  and  kitchen, 
and  to.  her  extreme  astonishment,  found  the  fur- 
niture occupying  its  accustomed  position,  and 
everything  arranged  as  she  had  left  it. 

"  Where's  the  family  ?"  cried  the  lady. 

"  There's  no  family  here,"  replied  Mr.  Lee. 

"  Then  you  didn't  let  the  house  after  all !"  she 
added,  with  increasing  astonishment. 

"  No ;  the  house  has  been  kept  shut  since  you 
left  it  to  try  the  experiment  of  boarding,"  he 
added,  smiling  at  her  surprise. 

"And  there's  Margaret,  too,"  continued  Mrs. 
Lee,  joyfully,  as  a  former  and  favorite  domestic 
entered  the  kitchen,  bearing  a  market  basket  well 
stored  with  the  choicest  viands  the  season 
afforded. 

"That's  our  dinner;  and  if  the  lady  of  the 
house  has  no  objection  to  seeing  '  domestic  uten- 
sils '  once  more,  we  will  dine  here  to-day,"  re- 
turned the  smiling  husband. 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  said  the  lady, 
blushing  as  she  recalled  the  language  she  had 
made  use  of  on  a  former  occasion.  "I  am  satis- 
fied that  I  erred  in  judgment,  when  I  left  such 
comforts  as  these  for  the  inconveniences,  annoy- 
ances and  poor  accommodations  of  that  anoma- 
lous thing  called  a  boarding-house.  You  have 
exercised  much  more  sense  and  discretion  than 
I  have,  and  I  am  truly  grateful  that  your  expe- 
rience and  forethought  have  forestalled  the  con- 
tingencies of  an  experiment  Hke  the  one  I  have 
made." 

"I  was  well  persuaded,  in  my  own  mind,  how 
the  affair  would  terminate,'^  replied  Mr.  Lee, 
kindly,  "and  this  explains  the  appeai'ance  of 
Margaret,  and  all  that  has  astonished  you." 

"  And  sure  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again,  ma'am, 
for  I  knew  the  likes  of  ye  wouldn't  be  plased  a 
boarding  where  ye  hadn't  rooms  bigger  nor  a 
band-box,  and  nothin'  ye  could  call  yer  own  in- 
tirely,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Do  you  really  consent  that  I  shall  stay  ?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Lee,  turning  to  her  husband. 

"  Most  joyfully,"  was  the  emphatic  response, 
"  for  I  feel  the  need  of  a  home  as  much  as  you 
do ;  and  if  circumstances  ever  render  it  necessary 
for  us  to  board  again,  we  will  try  a  first  class 
hotel,  where  money  can  purchase  all  the  con- 
veniences which  we  may  desire." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  Mi*s.  Lee  did  not 
return  to  her  boarding  house  again,  and  was 
never  afterward  heard  to  complain  of  domestic 
duticj.  She  wisely  concluded  that  every  condi- 
tion of  life  has  its  cares  and  petty  annoyances, 
which  to  he  properly  met  and  overcome,  only 
required  the  exercise  of  a  little  patience  and 
firmness.  Mrs.  Lee  became  abetter  housekeeper, 
and  often  expressed  the  opinion  that  there  wns 
nothing  like  having  a  home ;  an  opinion  in  which 
we  think  our  numerous  readers  will  fully  concm*. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    AlVGEL    LADDER. 

BT  WUJ.IAM   EDWAED   KKOWLES. 

A  forlorn  and  weary  pilgrim, 
Journeying  on  life's  dusty  road. 

Saw  an  angel  ladder  mmling 
Downward  from  ttieir  high  abode. 

Step  hy  st-ep  the  snow-white  beings 
Came  to  earth  on  airy  rounds  | 

Footsteps,  that  to  ear  of  mortals 
Gave  no  evidence  of  sounds. 

Higher  up  its  mazy  mndings, 

Golden  turrets  rose  to  view  ; 
Lengthened  line  of  golden  turrets, 

Lost  amid  a  wealth  of  blue. 

Spirit-voices  chanted  praises. 

Which  to  him  were  tones  of  love  ; 

Sweeter  than  the  hilis  that  echo, 
Softly  echo  in  the  grove. 

Long  he  gazed,  in  silent  wonder, 
On  the  forms  that  brighter  seem ; 

Till  there  shone  a  heavenly  glory 
On  the  casket  of  his  dream ! 

He  was  dreaming,  sweetly  dreaming, 

Resting  there  beside  the  road ; 
And,  Jike  Jacob,  saw  the  ladder, 

Down  which  angels  came  from  God ! 

It  is   best  not  to  speak  of  things  which  arc 
base  to  do,  says  Euripides,  very  wisely. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial-l 
THE  BIAID  OF  ALDER-VALLEY. 

BY  AUCE  CARE7. 

In  the  green  Alder- valley, 

Once,  long  ago, 
"When  the  hght  airs  of  summer 

Sung  in  their  flow ; 
And  dril'ts  of  rosy  splendor 

Blew  from  above ; 
To  the  fair  maid,  Elmilna, 

Told  I  my  love. 

Like  a  cloud  of  golden  shadows, 

Drifting  o'er  snow, 
Fell  her  bright,  rippled  ringlets 

O'er  the  heaven  below ; 
And  her  cheek,  so  softly  blushing, 

Half  turned  aside, 
As  I,  with  fondest  kisses, 

Called  her  my  bride. 

Hough  winds  of  middle  winter, 

Pending  the  trees, 
Driving  the  crispy  spray-wreaths 

Down  the  black  seas ; 
In  the  dim,  chilly  shadows 

Of  your  ■wild  storms, 
Meekly  the  fair  Elmilna 

Pined  from  my  arms. 

White  snows,  wicj'n  your  season, 

Soft,  softly  fall ! 
Thostle,  that  haunf-s  the  tliicket, 

Sweet  be  your  call  1 
For  the  maiden,  in  whose  bosom 

Love  lay  so  deep ; 
Low  in  the  Alder-valley, 

Lies  fast  asleep. 


MOZART. 

A  great  many  curious  anecdotes  are  told  of 
this  wonderful  composer.  Among  others  related 
by  his  biographer,  it  is  said  that  his  cliarity  was 
once  appealed  to  in  the  street  by  an  old  acquain- 
tance, who  had  seen  better  days.  Mozart  put  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  but  found  nothing  there  ; 
the  discovery  was  embarrassing  and  painful  un- 
der such  circumstances,  but  immediately  an  idea 
occurred  to  that  great  genius;  he  requested  the 
man  to  wait — stepped  into  a  cofiee-room,  and 
there  instantly  composed  a  minuet,  folded  up  the 
paper,  and  gave  it  to  the  applicant,  recommend- 
ing him  to  give  it  to  a  music-dealer  in  the  city, 
who,  when  he  saw  the  contents,  would  give  him 
something.  The  man  received  five  louis  d'ors. 
It  is  needless  to  observe  that  the  minuet  is  con- 
sidered a  master-piece,  it  being  tlie  production  of 
an  artist  who  composed  nothing  but  master- 
pieces ;  but  it  is  more  striking,  as  it  displays  his 
musical  learning  and  originality. —  Yankee  Blade. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

LINES 

TO  THE  LATE  HON.  DiNIEL  WEBSTER. 

BY  J.  AlPORD. 


0  life  !  frail  offspring  of  a  single  day  ! 
'Tls  puffed,  alas !  with  one  short  gasp,  away  ; 
Swift  as  the  painted,  short-hved  flower,  it  fliea, 
It  springs,  it  buds,  it  blooms,  it  fades,  it  dies  I 
Open  thy  jaws,  0  massive,  marble  tomb. 
Conceal  this  treasure  in  thy  sacred  womb ; 
Take  with  it  all  a  nation  can  bestow, 
A  nation's  tears,  a  nation's  deepest  woe  ! 

0,  ghttering  prospect  1  in  thy  splendid  ray, 

Pangs  oft  assail  us,  while  thy  sunbeams  play ; 

E'en  while  their  cheering  influence  glads  the  heart, 

Relentless  death  sends  forth  his  fatal  dart 

To  wound  our  peace,  for  years,  ivith  saddest  grief, 

Unalterable  and  without  relief. 

See,  with  his  torch  the  great  archangel  come, 

And  claim  the  privilege  of  the  silent  tomb  ! 

What  though  no  titles  speak  thy  boundless  worth, 
Save  that  of  honor,  stamped  upon  thy  birth ! 
Nor  trophied  tombs,  where  glaring  emblems  shine, 
To  mark,  in  gloomy  state,  an  ancient  line 
Of  kings  and  heroes,  crnmbhng  near  the  spot, 
Where  every  folly  but  their  pride 's  forgot. 

The  blaze  of  fortune  and  the  swell  of  blood 
111  suits  the  grave  that  holds  the  great  and  good ; 
111  suits,  0  blessed  shade,  thy  noble  dust, 
Which  asks  no  flattery  from  the  breathing  bust. 
The  bosomed  shrine:^  that  own  thy  deathless  sway, 
No  moth  shall  perish,  and  no  worm  decay  ; 
Columbia's  grief  shall  make  thy  fame  more  dear, 
And  speak  thy  virtues  in  each  silent  tear. 

Departed  Clay  !  o'er  thee  M'e  've  shed  the  tear, 
■\Vhat  eye  withholds  it  from  our  Webster's  bier? 
'Tis  ours  to  mourn,  'tis  ours  the  loss  to  prove, 
And  pay  the  tribute  of  a  nation's  love ! 


A  BEAUTIFUL  THOUGHT. 

I  saw  a  mourner  standing  at  eventide  over  the 
grave  of  one  dearest  to  him  on  earth.  The 
memory  of  joys  that  were  past  came  crowding 
on  his  soul.  In  this  hour  of  his  agony,  the  form 
of  Christianity  came  by.  He  heard  the  song  and 
transport  of  ihc  great  multitude  which  no  man 
can  number  around  the  throne;  there  were  the 
spirits  of  the  just  made  ]jerfect,  there  the  spirit  of 
her  he  mourned. — Their  happiness  was  pure, 
permanent  and  perfect.  The  mourner  then 
wiped  the  tear  from  his  eye,  took  courage  and 
thanked  God.  "All  the  days  of  my  appointed 
time,"  said  he,  "will  I  wait  till  a  change  comes;" 
and  he  turned  to  tbe  duties  of  life,  no  longer  sor- 
rowing as  those  who  ]uivc  no  hope. — Christian 
Freeman. 


332 


GLEASON'S   PICTOniAL   DRAWIING   llOOM    COMPANION. 


HORTICULTURAL 
EXMIKITION. 

The  cngnivinp  be- 
low is  a  representa- 
tion of  the  Sixth  An- 
nual Exhibition  of 
the  Montreal  Horti- 
cultural Society.  Al- 
though the  severity 
of  the  winter  in  Ca- 
nada in  unfavorable 
to  horticulture,  yet 
theexhil)itionsorihc 
above  society,  which 
are  held  three  times 
duriuf;  the  Hummcr, 
in  atldition  to  the 
annual  /<:/«,  compare 
favorably  with  those 
of  other  countries  en- 
joying; a  more  genial 
climate.  This  ex- 
cellence was  mani- 
fested at  the  sixth 
annual  exhibition  of 
the  Montreal  Horti- 
cultural Society, 
which  was  held  at 
Guilbault's  garden, 
on  the  16th  and  17th 
September.  The  lo- 
cality was  admiral)ly 
adapted  for  the  pur- 
pose, the  garden 
being  situated  on  a 
rising  ground,  afford- 
ing a  tine  view  of  the 
city.  A  large  num- 
ber of  visitors  were 
attracted  to  the  ex- 
hibition, who  appear- 
ed much  delighted 
with  the  specimens 
of  fruits,  flowers  and 
vegetables,  which 
were  there  present- 
ed, while  the  splendid        —      - — - 

band  of  the  20th  Re- 
giment (English)  en- 
livened the  occasion 

with  its  fine  musii^.  A  large  number  of  the 
junior  visitors  amused  themselves  with  the  very 
complete  gymnastic  apparatus,  erected  for  the 
occasion.  The  fruits,  plants  and  flowers  were 
displayed  under  a  large  tent  nearly  one  hundred 
feet  in  length,  the  entrance  to  which  was  orna- 
mented with  arches  of  evergreens,  surmounted  by 
a  statue  of  the  "  Gardener  at  Eest."  The  fruits 
consisted  of  apples  {sixty  varieties),  pears  (nine- 
teen varieties),  plums  (thirty-four  varieties), 
peaches,  grapes,  nectarines,  currants,  melons 
(twenty-one  pound  weight),  raspberries,  water- 
melons, etc.  A  very  fine  pine-apple,  perfectly 
ripe,  being  the  first  ever  exhibited  in  Canada, 
was  sent  I)y  H.  Atkinson,  Esq.,  of  Quebec. 
Grapes,  of  fine  quality,  grown  under  glass,  were 
presented  by  J.  Torrance,  Esq.,  W.  Lunn,  Esq., 
and  E.  Muir,  Esq.  Several  varieties  of  peaches 
were  shown  by  S.  Jones,  Esq.,  of  Brockville, 
Canada  West.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Villeneuve,  supe- 
rior of  the  Seminary,  exhibited  fifteen  varieties 
of  pears.  Messrs.  Cockhurn  and  Brown,  nurse- 
rymen, received  four  prizes  for  dahlias.  The 
Hon.  J.  Leslie  exhibited  a  variety  of  greenhouse 
and  herbaceous  plants.  The  large  caoutchnuc 
tree,  measuring  twenty-eight  feet  in  height,  which 
ornamented  the  front"  of  the  tent,  was  from  the 
greenhouse  of  the  Hon.  J.  Molson,  who  also  sent 


"WHIRLING  DERVISHES. 


a  wax-plant  covering  trellis  work  fifteen  feet  liigli. 
Vegetables,  in  great  variety  and  of  excellent 
quality,  were  placed  upon  taides  in  the  optn  air. 
Two  of  the  '*  Canada  squashes,"  exhibited  by 
Mr.  James  Clark,  weighed  each  one  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds;  another,  one  hundred  and  twelve 
pounds.  On  a  former  occasion,  a  squash  of  the 
same  variety  was  shown,  weighing  two  hundred 
and  seventy-eight  and  one  half  pounds.  The 
large  egg  plants  and  vegetables  occupying  the 
end  of  the  principal  table,  were  from  Rose 
Mount  Garden,  the  residence  of  the  Hon.  John 
Young,  Commissioner  of  tlie  Board  of  Works. 
Many  prizes  were  awarded  for  bouquets,  floral 
designs,  etc..  of  which  there  were  quite  a  number 
very  tastefully  made.  Eighty  different  sorts  of 
garden  and  flower  seeds,  of  native  growth,  were 
presented  by  Mr.  Shepherd,  seedsman.  The 
day  was  fair,  and  the  spacious  grounds  afforded 
a  fine  opportunity  to  the  numerous  visitors  for 
promenading.  The  Montreal  Horticultural  So- 
ciety, of  which  Hugh  Allan,  Esq.,  is  the  active 
and  efficient  president,  has  been  in  existence  six 
years,  and  numbers  among  its  members  many 
of  the  leading  citizens  of  that  city.  We  cannot 
refrain  from  dilating  somewhat  upon  this  subject 
of  horticulture,  which  now  engages  so  much  of 
the  public  attention.     The  earliest  effort  of  man 


to  emerge  from  a  state  of  barbarism  was  directed 
to  the  tillage  of  the  earth  ;  the  first  seed  which 
he  planted  was  the  first  act  of  civilization,  and 
gardening  was  the  first  step  in  the  career  of  re- 
finement ;  but  still  it  is  an  art  in  which  he  last 
reaches  perfection.  When  the  savage  exchanges 
the  wild  and  wandering  life  of  a  wanior  and 
hunter,  for  the  confined  and  peaceful  pursuits  of 
a  planter,  the  harvests,  herds  and  flocks  take  the 
place  of  the  simple  garden.  The  mechanic  arts 
are  next  developed;  then  commerce  commences, 
and  manufactures  soon  succeed.  As  wealth  in- 
creases, ambition  manifests  itself  in  the  splendor 
of  apparel,  of  mansions,  equipages  and  entertain- 
ments. Science,  literature  and  the  fine  arts  are 
unfolded,  and  a  high  degree  of  civilization  is  at- 
tained. It  is  not  until  all  this  has  taken  place 
that  horticulture  is  cultivated  as  one  of  the  orna- 
mental arts.  Egypt,  the  cradle  of  civilization, 
so  far  perfected  her  tillage,  that  the  banks  of  the 
Nile  were  adorned  by  a  succession  of  luxuriant 
plantations,  from  the  cataract  of  Syene  to  the 
shores  of  the  Delta;  but  it  was  when  Thebes, 
with  its  hundred  brazen  gates,  and  the  cities  of 
Memphis  and  Hcliopolis,  were  rising  in  magnifi- 
cence, and  her  stupendous  jiyramids,  otielisks 
and  temples,  became  the  wonders  of  the  world. 
The  hills  and  plains  of  Palestine  were  celebrated 


for  beautiful  gardens 
but  it  was  not  until 
the  walln  and  tem- 
ple of  Jerusalem  an- 
nounced the  power 
and  intelligence  of 
the  iHraclitCR,  and 
the  prophets  had  re- 
linked their  luxury 
a  n  d  extravagance. 
'J'he  queen  of  the 
East  "  had  heard  of 
the  fame  of  Solo- 
mon ;"  his  fleets  bad 
brought  him  the  gold 
of  Uphir,  and  the 
treasures  of  Asia  and 
Africa;  the  kings  of 
Tyre  and  Arabia 
were  his  tributaries, 
and  princes  his  mer- 
chants, when  he 
"made  orchards," 
"delighted  to  dwell 
in  gardeuK,"  and 
planted  the  "  vine- 
yard of  Baalliaman." 
The  Assyrians  had 
peopled  the  borders 
of  the  Tigris  and 
Euphrates,  from  the 
Persian  gulpli  to  the 
mountainous  regions 
of  Ararat,  and  their 
monarchs  had  found- 
ed Nineveh  and  Ba- 
bylon ,  before  we  hear 
of  the  gardens  of 
S  emirara  is.  The 
Persian  empire  had 
extended  from  the 
Indus  to  the  Archi- 
pelago, when  the  pa- 
radise of  Sardis  ex- 
cited the  astonish- 
ment of  a  Spartan 
general,  and  Cyrus 
mustered  the  Gre- 
cian auxiliaries  in 
the  spacious  garden 
of  Celiena-.  Tlie  Greeks  had  repulsed  the  in- 
vasions of  Darius  and  Xerxes,  and  Athens  had 
reached  the  height  of  her  glory,  when  Cimon  es- 
tablished the  Academus,  and  presented  it  to  his 
fellow-citizens  as  a  public  garden.  Numerous 
others  were  soon  planted,  and  decorated  with 
temples,  porticoes,  altars,  statues  and  triumphal 
monuments ;  but  this  was  during  the  polished 
age  of  Pericles,  when  Socrates  and  Plato  taught 
philosophy  in  the  sacred  groves  ;  when  the  theatre 
was  thronged  to  listen  to  the  poetry  of  Euripides 
and  Aristophanes  ;  when  the  genius  of  Phidias 
was  displayed  in  rearing  the  Parthenon  and 
sculpturing  the  statues  of  the  gods ;  when  elo- 
tjucnce  and  painting  had  reached  perfection,  and 
history  was  illustrated  by  Herodotus,  Thuey- 
dides  and  Xenophon.  Rome  had  subjugated  the 
world,  and  emulated  Athens  in  literature,  science 
and  the  arts,  when  the  superb  villas  of  Sallus, 
Crassus,  Pompey,  Ca?sar,  Marcenas  and  Agrjp- 
pina,  were  erected,  and  the  palaces  of  the  em- 
perors were  environed  by  magnificent  gardens. 
The  historv  of  modern  nations  presents  similar 
results.  Horticulture  long  lingered  in  the  rear 
of  other  pursuits.  But  of  late  years,  horticulture 
has  made  rapid  progress,  and  each  nation  is 
emulous  to  perfect  its  culture,  in  accordance 
with  the  best  principles  of  science,  art  and  taiic. 


['^cf      T   Tke    and  thp  T     k 
page  3';!ij,  for  dtscnption.] 


EXHIBITION  OF  THE  HORTICULTURAL  SOCIETY,  AT  MONTREAL,  CANADA. 


GLEASOX'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWINCx   IIOOM    C0:MPANI()N. 


333 


FREDEIIICK   GLEASON,   Proprietor. 

MATUKIN    M.    BALLOTJ,    Editor. 

COMTKKTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER. 

"The  Half- ^V ay  Onk.  or  the  Combat  of  Thirt\ ,"  a 
fitory,  by  Henry  iVilliam  dERBBRT. 

"The  Walbridge  Family,"  a  Thanksgiring  story,  by 
Mrs.  Caroline  Oiise. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  XII.  relating  to  the  Pub- 
lic FouutuiDS.  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Autogmpha  and  Autography,"  So  X1I[,  by  Wiluam 
Edward  Knowles,  giriug  the  signatures  of  Francis  A. 
Durivage,  Dr.  JtroQie  V.  C- Smith,  Frtdcrika  Bremer,  N. 
C.  Brook.'J,  K.  T.   l^ickemian  and  Cheodore  S.  Fay. 

"Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  XIV,  rtlatiog  to  Damascus, 
by  Rev.  F.  U'.  Holland. 

"Death  of  Hon.  Daniel  Webstfir,"  Une3,  by  Ciboline 

A.  H.IYDEN. 

•'  A  Maiden'3  Tears,"  a  poem,  by  T.  Eocrakan  Read. 

"Sympathy,"  verses,  by  Mrs.  R.  T.  Eldredge. 

"Cliristios,"  lines,  by  Jobn  Weisiiampel. 

"  Dreams,"  a  poem,  by  Phebe  Cary. 

"  Memento  .Mori,  '  verses,  by  Edward  Stagg. 

"  Hjmn  to  ihe  Stars.'   by  Owen  G  Warren. 

•*  The  Aeronaut,"  verses,  by  E.  CuRTiss  Hj>e,  U  S.  N. 

ILLUSTBATIONS. 

We  shall  present  our  readers  with  a  fine  original  view  of 
New  York  Bay,  from  Telegraph  tit^ition,  Staten  island,  by 
our  artist,  Mr    Wadr. 

A  very  admirable  series  of  pictures,  representing  the 
new  Fire  Department  of  Berlin,  Prussia. 

Representing,  firtt,  the  Fire  Director,  with  his  style  of 
uniform ;  Second,  the  Master  .Adviser ;  third,  the  Fire  In- 
hpector  .  fourth,  a  Fu^  Engine,  at  Berlin,  in  operation  ; 
tfth,  the  Fire  Ma.•^te^;  si.\tn,  the  Firem-.'n;  5-eventh,  the 
IiDgine-man  ;  and  eighth,  a  combined  group  of  Firemen 
>iith  their  Engine.     Forming  a  capital  series  of  scenes. 

We  shall  give  a  very  excellent  and  interesting  picture, 
by  our  artist,  Mr.  Dever^nx^  representing  the  Philadulphia 
Fish  Market. 

A  very  perfect  likeness  and  beautiful  picture  of  Wallack 
the  elder,  who  is  now  the  manager  of  \Vulla«k's  Theatre, 
Broadway,  New  York.     By  our  ariist,  Mr.  Wallin. 

A  charucteriitic  and  large  view,  covering  an  entire  page 
of  the  Pictori.al,  representing  a  scene  verj  approprinte  lor 
Thanksgiving  Day,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Kilouni. 

A  large  and  effective  picture,  representing  a  vivid  scene, 
entitled,  tne  Refuge  at  ciie  A.ltar. 

An  interesting  engraving  of  the  Chincha  Guano  fslands, 
South  Jjiierica. 

U'e  shall  give  a  fac-simile  of  the  Block  of  Marble,  prc- 
eented  by  the  New  k'ork  liremen  to  tbe  Washiuglun  Mon- 
ument.    Drawn  lor  us  by  our  artist,  Mr.  H  rnck. 


DIAMOND  OF  THE  WORLD. 

The  Kohinoor  diamond  created  great  disap- 
pointment in  England  at  the  time  of  the  Great 
Exhibition,  as  it  did  not  shine  with  the  lustre  of 
several  smaller  diamonds,  and  was  of  an  irregu- 
lar and  clumsy  shape.  So  much  did  it  fall  short 
of  the  ideas  that  people  were  led  to  entertain  of 
it  from  its  rejiuted  value,  that  many  doubted  if 
it  were  indeed  tlie  genuine  gem.  The  cutting, 
however,  has  brought  out  its  beauties  to  the 
highest  degree  of  perfection,  and  with  scarcely 
any  diminution  in  size  it  is  now  said  to  be  the 
richest  jewel  tliat  has  ever  been  seen,  and  the 
real  bona  fide  Kohinoor.  Its  estimated  value  is 
£2,000,000  sterling,  or  $10,000,000. 


SPLINTEES. 


L  perpe- 


George  Barrett  is  to  be  manager  of  a 

theatre  in  Charleston,  S.  C,  this  winter. 

....  Poe  calls  a  beautiful  woman 
tual  hymn  to  the  Deity  !"     Good. 

....  Australia,  it  appears,  is  a  fine  wine-grow- 
ing country,  as  productive  as  Madeira. 

Sontag  may  say  of  Boston,  veni,  vidt, 

vici.     She  is  the  queen  of  song. 

President  Sparks  has  resigned  his  con- 
nection with  Harvard  University. 

A  new  and  beautiful  cemetery  has  been 

consecrated  in  the  town  of  Essex,  in  this  State. 

.....   The  editor  of  the  Boston  Post  has  won 
any  number  of  hats  on  the  presidential  election. 

Arista,  the  Mexican  President,  has  sent 

some  presents  to  Victoria's  children. 

Tardy  justice  has  at  last  caused  the  libe- 
ration of  Abd  el-Kadir  from  a  French  prison. 

The  temperance  excitement  in  Ireland 

proved  only  temporary,  we  regret  to  learn. 

....  Boston  now  boasts  a  musical  hall  un- 
rivalled throughout  the  world  ! 

Miss  Harriet  Martineau  is  travelling  in 

Ireland,  and  writing  letters  to  the  London  Times. 

Mr.  Webster  is  the  second  Secretary  of 

State  who  has  died  in  office — Mr.  Upshur  the  first. 

Concord,  N.  H.,  refuses  to   receive   the 

city  charter.     A  wise  decision,  very  likelv. 

Great  liberality  seems  to  characterize  the 

management  of  the  new  National  Theatre. 

We  consider  the  Revere  House,  Boston, 

decidedly  the  best  hotel  in  this  country. 


OLD  SPAIN. 

The  fortune  of  Spain  in  the  new  world  affords 
a  singular  proof  of  that  inflexibility  of  justice 
which  sways  the  destinies  of  nations.  The  dis- 
covery of  America  seemed  to  open  to  her  a 
boundless  source  of  wealth  and  splendid  power; 
triumph  awaited  her  arms  in  both  North  and 
Sonth  America.  Cortez  in  Mexico,  and  Pizarro 
in  Peru,  added  vast  territory  and  millions  of 
treasure  to  the  national  wealth.  But  those  vic- 
tories were  stained  by  unheard-of  cruelties,  and 
their  history  is  the  story  of  the  worst  passions  of 
the  human  heart.  Ferocity,  fanaticism  and  av- 
arice held  their  sway  in  the  new  world,  until  at 
last  retribution  came.  One  by  one  those  ill  got- 
ten possessions  have  escaped  the  grasp  of  the 
mother  country,  and  now,  in  her  old  age,  poor, 
enfeebled  and  worn  out,  she  clings,  with  the 
death-gripe  of  a  plundered  and  expiring  miser, 
to  her  la.st  earthly  possession  in  the  new  world. 
To  retain  it,  requires  the  exercise  of  prudence 
and  liberality;  and  prudence  and  liberality  she 
has  never  possessed. 

In  the  event  of  a  war  breaking  out  between 
this  country  and  Spain,  the  advantage,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  would  be  entirely  on  our  side.  In 
less  than  a  fortnight  after  hostilities  were  de- 
clared, the  key  of  the  Gulf  would  be  in  our 
hands,  never  to  be  surrendered.  The  city  of 
Havana  would  immediately  be  forced  to  capitu- 
late on  penalty  of  being  destroyed.  The  Span- 
iards have  made  a  great  bugbear  of  the  Moro 
Castle — though  it  has  itself  been  twice  captured. 
It  is  by  no  means  so  strong  a  position  as  San 
Juan  d'  Ulloa  ;  and  that,  we  all  know,  was  thrice 
taken — by  the  buccaneers,  the  French,  under  de 
Joinville,  and  by  our  countrymen.  Our  heavy 
shell  guns  would  reduce  the  Moro  in  a  few  hours, 
or  our  swift  war  steamers  could  shoot  by  the 
castle,  and  coming  to  anchor  in  the  harbor,  open 
upon  the  town  out  of  harm's  reach,  compara- 
tively speaking,  from  the  Moro. 

Let  the  word  be  given,  and  there  will  be  no 
trouble  as  to  consummating  the  capture  of  Cuba. 
Yankee  courage  and  Yankee  >kill  are  unmatched 
throughout  the  world  ;  and  if  we  had  not  thou- 
sands upon  thousands  of  disaffected  inhabitants 
to  aid  us  from  within  the  walls,  we  could  even 
then  make  an  easy  conquest  of  Havana  and  its 
boasted  Moro. 


Gleason's  Pictorial  Drawixg-RoomCompaxiox. — This 
is  every  way  superior  to  anjthingof  the  kind  ever  attempt- 
ed in  the  United  Statts.  On  Gleason's  stiirting  this,  two 
or  three  other  imitations  were  gotten  up  by  men  who  ex- 
pecttd  to  make  a  fortune.  One  was  located  in  New  York, 
one  in  Cincinnati,  and  another  in  this  city  ;  but  they  all 
soon  died,  involving  their  owners  in  heavy  lotses.  That 
in  New  York  maintiuned  vitality  the  longest,  but  was  com- 
pelled to  yield  up  the  ghost.  But  Gleason  has  been  en- 
abled to  proceed  with  his  enterprise,  which  has  constantly 
increased  in  popularity  and  uselulness.  Che  amount  of 
capital  reciuired  to  be  invested  was  absolutely  enormous, 
and  the  labor,  art,  talent  and  care  required  to  give  success 
to  the  enterprise,  cannot  be  conceived  by  one  uninitiated. 
I'he  engraving  i-cquired  tne  whole  time  of  a  large  number 
of  experienced  artistS.  I'he  most  gifted  men  were  emploi  - 
ed  to  make  tlie  designs.  The  best  paper  and  elegant  type 
were  used,  and  thus  weekly  appeared  a  vast  sueet  of  Iti 
super  rojal  quarto  pages,  tided  with  elegant  thoughts,  or 
covered  with  graphic  and  lifelike  pictures  of  grand  views 
of  nature,  art,  cuutlagnitions,  a^seuiblies,  groups  of  iudi- 
viUualfi,  etc., —  the  wUole  making  a  work  duing  credit  to 
Ameiicun  art;  and  all  tliisfor  the  paltry  sum  of  lour  dollars 
a  year.  The  engravings  alone,  in  ottier  hands,  would  have 
cost  amucn  larger  sum.  Mr.  Gleason  ha^  proved  himself 
a  man  oi  surprising  resources  and  ever  ready  enterprise. 
Both  the  Picwrial  and  Flag  appear  in  excellent  tasi^;,  and 
notniog  is  ever  found  in  eitber  that  can  otfend  the  mo?t 
fastidious  tiiste.  Tne  volumes  of  the  Pictorial,  bound,  ate 
au  oruainent  to  any  parlor,  and  its  contents  a  fea^jt  to  tne 
finest  class  of  intellect. —  O.ive  Branch,  Boston,  Mass. 


VERY  GOOD. 

One  of  our  agents  made  7unety  dollars  in  the 
last  ten  days,  in  selling  our  bound  volumes  of  the 
Pictorial.  Another  has  made/oiii/  dollars  in  the 
last  week.  This  is  profitable  business  surely, 
and  shows  that  the  works  in  the  hands  of  a  smart 
man  will  realize  to  hira  a  very  large  yearly  in- 
come. We  have  not  made  a  practice  of  sending 
out  agents,  but  seeing  how  well  the  few  that 
have  been  engaged  in  the  business  have  done, 
we  are  still  willing  to  try  a  few  more. 


Personal. — E.  Curtiss  Hinc,  late  gunner  in 
the  U.  S.  navy,  we  observe,  has  been  promoted 
to  a  lieutenantcy  in  tlie  revenue  service.  Lt. 
Hinc  is  well  known  to  our  readers  as  a  regular 
contributor  to  the  Pictorial. 


Spacious. — We  learn  from  "To-Day"  that 
the  area  of  the  stage  of  the  National  Theatre  is 
5700  feet.  Roomy  enough,  certainly,  for  all 
theatrical  purposes. 


CuRiotJs. — In  Chaucer's  works,  there  are  at 
least  thirty  thousand  verses,  which  may  be  said 
to  be  dedicated  to  love. 


QfTERT.— What  did  the  death  of  Tom  Hood 
occasion  ?  For  fear  you  will  guess  it  we  will  tcli 
you —  Widow-Hood. 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  HALL. 

One  day  last  week  we  stepped  into  this  spa- 
cious and  elegant  new  building,  and  were  no  less 
surprised  than  delighted  at  its  architectural  beau- 
ties and  excellencies.  We  have  not  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  Mr.  Snell,  the  architect,  but  do  not 
hesitate  to  pronounce  him  a  man  of  true  genius 
in  his  profession  ;  and  do  most  heartily  congrat- 
ulate all  those  interested  in  the  enterprise  of 
constructing  this  hall,  at  the  success  that  has 
crowned  their  endeavors.  The  first  impression 
that  strikes  the  visitor  is  that  of  vastness,  impart- 
ed by  the  great  height  of  the  hall,  which  is  some 
^/i;)een  feet  higher  than  Metropolitan  Hall  in 
New  Y'ork.  The  length  is  one  hundred  and 
thirty  feet,  the  width,  seventy-eight  feet,  height, 
sixty-five  feet. 

The  spacious  area  thus  formed  is  partially  en- 
circled by  a  narrow  strip  of  galleries,  capable  of 
seating  only  three  rows  of  persons,  and  really 
assuming  the  character  of  ornaments,  rather  than 
divisions  destined  for  use  by  the  audience.  The 
coloring,  gilding  and  ornamental  work  generally, 
is  of  the  most  beautiful  and  harmonious  charac- 
ter, and  good  taste  seems  to  have  infused  itself 
into  every  design.  Wc  might  dilate  upon  the 
original  and  very  perfect  manner  in  which  the 
hall  is  lighted  (with  a  view  to  the  comfort  of  the 
audience,  as  well  as  to  rendering  all  objects  in 
the  hall  sufficiently  visible),  but  we  prefer  to 
leave  our  readers,  with  these  brief  remarks,  to 
become  personally  conversant  with  the  new 
musical  hall. 


T.  BUCHANAN  READ. 

This  young  artist  poet  is  steadily  climbing  the 
steep  of  fame,  and  already  is  ranked  by  many  as 
equal  in  poetic  power  to  Longfellow.  A  volume 
of  his  poems  has  lately  been  republished  in  Lon- 
don, most  delicately  and  appropriately  embel- 
lished. Dropping  into  Mr.  Read's  studio  a  few 
weeks  since,  in  Philadelphia,  we  found  the  artist 
at  his  easel,  engaged  upon  the  embodiment  of  a 
most  beautiful  idea,  poetically  cxpicssed  by  Leigh 
Hunt,  in  the  lines  commencing 

"  Ahou  Ben  Adhem.  may  his  tribe  increase, 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace." 

Mr.  Read  has  represented  the  scene  where  Abou 
discovers  the  "  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold." 
The  soft  moonlight  atmosphere  of  the  room,  the 
unmistakable  Eastern  aspect  of  everything,  the 
iuqiiirinfj  features  of  Abou,  and  the  benign  ex- 
pression of  the  heaven-escaped  spirit,  challenged 
our  interest  at  once,  and  told  in  eloquent  but 
silent  language  the  story  of  the  scene. 


A  BOSTON  MILLIONAIRE. 

The  Boston  Mail  states  that  the  yearly  income 
of  a  certain  rich  citizen  of  this  city  would  buy 
twelve  hundred  farms.  His  income,  six  per 
cent,  on  his  entire  wealth,  would  amount,  daily, 
to  more  than  the  wages  of  two  hundred  hard- 
working men.  His  income  would  buy  a  bottle 
of  Schneider,  or  a  pair  of  boots  every  three  min- 
utes. Every  breath  the  old  man  takes  is  worth 
another  ninepcnce.  His  enormous  capital  com- 
mands the  toil  of  one  thousand  laborers  and  me- 
chanics yearly  to  pay  the  interest. 


THE  HOME  JOURNAL. 

This  favorite  and  excellent  weekly  paper,  ed- 
ited by  Messi-s.  Morris  &  Willis,  of  New  York, 
is  one  of  our  favorite  exchanges.  Mr.  Willis's 
letters  at  present  form  a  prominent  feature  of 
the  Journal,  while  the  polished  pen  of  the  poet 
editor.  General  Morris,  is  evident  in  every  num- 
ber. The  Home  Journal  holds  a  high  rank 
among  the  periodical  literature  of  the  day,  and 
richly  merits  the  large  degree  of  success  which 
it  realizes. 


"  The  Volunteer  :  or,  T/ie  Maid  of  Monte- 
rey."— This  interesting  novelette,  a  story  of  the 
Mexican  war,  having  been  long  out  of  print,  we 
have  just  issued  a  new  edition,  and  can  now 
supply  all  orders.  It  is  for  sale  at  all  of  the 
periodical  depots. 


Mr.  Weustfr's  Decease. — The  nation  sin- 
cerely mourns  the  loss  of  its  well-beloved  son. 
The  reader  will  find  a  choice  tribute,  on  another 
page,  to  the  memory  of  the  departed,  from  our 
valued  contributor,  Mrs.  Sigournev. 


"  The  Maid  of  Alder  Valley." — Need  we 
call  attention  to  this  beautiful  poetic  gem,  on 
another  page,  from  the  pen  of  Alice  Carey  ? 


Quaint. — The  last  words  of  a  good  old  man, 
Mr.  Grimshaw,  on  his  death-bed  were  these  : 
"  Here  goes  an  unprofitable  servant !" 


Tn  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Elakie,  Mr.  James  Taylor  to 
Miss  Margaret  P.  Bowman. 

Bv  Rev.  Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Robert  S.  Bailey  to  Mrs,  Etannah 
C.  Uavden. 

By  ilev.  Dr.  Vinton,  Mr.  T.  Jefferson  Coolidge  to  Miss 
Hetty  S.  Appleton. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Smithctt,  Mr.  John  Grant  to  Miss  Susan 
A.  Aiken. 

Ey  Rev.  Mr.  Coolidge,  Mr.  Charles  Morse  to  Miss  Alice 
M.  Arnold. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Dexter,  Mr.  Albert  S.  Wright,  of  Wooster, 
Ohio,  to  Miss  Phebe  Jane  Fowle. 

At  Roxbnry,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Putnam.  Mr.  Edward  Bartlett 
to  MissEUzabeth  H    Weld. 

At  Charlestown,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Ellis,  Mr.  George  L.  Prea- 
cott,  of  Concord,  to  Miss  Sarah  B.  Edcs. 

At  Medford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Ballon,  Mr.  Francis  Shedd  to 
Mrs.  Elizjvbeth  H.  Page. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Emerson,  Mr.  Otis  J.  Howard,  of 
Tynesborough,  to  Miss  Lucy  A.  Glover. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Spalding,  Mr.  George  H. 
Mixer  to  Miss  Melissa  Currier. 

At  Worcester,  bv  Rev.  Mr.  Mndge,  Mr.  Geo.  A.  Hardy 
to  Miss  Susan  M.  Bride, 

At  Springfield,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Ford,  Mr.  Henry  Foulds  to 
Miss  Polly  .S.  Leland. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Lowe,  Mr.  John  A.  W. 
Powell  to  Miss  Susiin  G.  Spooner. 

At  Exeler,  N.  H.,  Mr.  William  A.  Goodwiu,  of  Portland, 
Me.,  to  Mi?s  Belinda  K.  Shaw. 

At  Newport,  K  I  .  bv  Rev.  Dr.  Choulea,  J.  James  Ellis, 
M.D.,  to  Miss  Martha  G.  Choules 


DEATHS  ><%7s^^. 

In  *his  city,  Mr  Joseph  Williston, ;  6 ;  Miss  Elizabeth 
H.  Greene,  27  ;  Mrs.  L\  dia  Richards,  41 ;  George  James, 
son  of  Mr.  George  Little,  1  year  and  9  months  ;  Sirs.  Mury 
Butler,  62  ;  Mr.  William  D.  Timson,  84 ;  George  P.,  son  of 
Mr.  John  H.  Riley.  2  ;  Mr.  Abel  Hubburd,  73  ;  Mr.  Nathan 
B.  Lawrence,  63;  Miss  Ann  Jane  Hill,  49;  Mr.  Joseph  H. 
Bryant   37. 

At  Cam  bridgeport,  Mrs  Esther,  wife  of  Mr.  Ja's  S.  Dut- 
ton.  20,  formerly  of  Haverhill.  N.  li. 

At  Chelsea,  M"r.  Daniel  mgalla  Morse,  33. 

At  Newton.  Dea,  Benjamin  Eddy,  88. 

At  Waltham,  Mr.  Elisha  Crefaore,  26. 

At  Woburn,  Mrs.  Susannah  I'ults,  69. 

At  Methutn,  Mrs.  Lucy  P.  Hall   53 

At  Lowell,  Mr.  Albert  Frje,  printer,  22. 

At  Rowley,  Mr,  Daniel  Moody,  78. 

At  Rojalston,  Mr.  Hezekiah  Nekton,  65. 

At  Newbnryport,  Maj.  Jothua  Greenleaf,  86. 

At  Bloomttld,  Me.,  Mrs  Priscilla  Morton,  >Z. 

At  SaxonviUe,  Mrs.  Harriet  L.  VTheelock,  26. 

At  Worcester,  Miss  Susannah  Gardner,  b3. 

At  WinchendOQ   Mr.  Jason  Gooilale,  72 

At  New  Bedfoid,  Mr.  Joshua  Omans.  83. 

At  SpriLgtield.  Mrs.  Charlotte  aolfman  Lydston,  31. 

At  Westfield,  Mr.  Roswell  Brown,  Go- 

At  Deerfield,  Mr.  Abner  Goodnough,  87. 

At  Holden,  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Boiden,  of  Worcester,  32. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Alits  carah  Greenleaf,  74. 

At  Mew  ipsttich,  N.  H,,  Jcseph  Barrett,  Esq.,  78. 

At  Hollis,  N.  H..  Mr    Daniel  Morrill,  91. 

At  New  loik,  R.v.  Ilenry  Belden,  of  Port  Chester,  68. 


Ik  m%mEwm  m^mmM, 


LITERAKY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


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334 


GLEASON'S   riCTOPJAL    DP.AWING    P^OOM    COMPANION. 


[Writtpn  for  OUiuHon'H  Pictorial.] 

THOUGHTS 

ON  URAUTXO  ST.  JOHN'S  BKI-L  AT  A  DISTANCE. 

BT  DB.  I'REUEItlOK  HOUOK. 

Those  solomii  poundfl,  mclotliouHly  in  distance  mellowed  hcl-di, 
Like  inoruiuK'fl  muflic  o'er  the  landscape  of  a  dream; 
Sweet  an  my  motlier'n  voice  thoy  roll,  when  in  my  early  years 
I  bowed  beside  bor  gentle  knee,  in  tondernesa  and  tenra. 

Softly  unto  my  ears  thoRo  tones  the  balmy  brooze  has  given, 
As  melody  tVom  golden  harjtR,  In  yonder  halls  of  heaven ; 
WTiere  angel  choirs  in  prayer  and  praiae,  in  sweetest  accontd  slug, 
Amid  the  gardens  of  the  blest,  and  one  eternal  spring. 

That  bell  has  mourned  o'er  many  a.  henrt,  within  the  silent  gi*ave, 
The  city  of  the  dead,  where  sleep  the  beautiful  and  bravo; 
And  many  a  living  breast  that  bled  in  eohtude  alone, 
O'er  faded  hopes  and  blighted  blisa,  that  once  so  brightly  shone. 

0,  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  cruel  to  the  heart. 
As  from  the  friends  bo  long  beloved  that  wc  are  doomed  to  part ; 
To  stand  beside  the  awful  grave,  and  weep  the  last  farewell, 
0,  this  is  agony  indeed,  no  human  tongue  can  tell. 

Ah,  mournful  boll,  thou  tellest  mo  of  the  vain  things  of  life. 
How  vain  this  world  of  care  and  sin,  of  wretchedness  and  strife; 
Thy  tongue  is  eloquent  with  tones  that  sink  into  my  heart, 
And  wakes  me  to  a  consciousness  that  I  must  soon  depart. 

I've  pleasure  Eought  in  fortune,  fame  and  grandeur's  gayest  halls, 
And  in  the  bowers  of  beauty  moved,  where  fairy  footstep  falls  ; 
But,  like  the  bubble  on  the  sea,  it  broke  in  empty  air. 
And  thus  my  brilliant  hope  hath  been  the  beacon  of  despair. 

My  knell  of  life  is  tolled  in  heaven,  I  hear  the  trumpet's  blast, 
Creation's  clock  hath  struck  the  hour,  perhaps  for  me  the  last; 
Farewell,  0  v:un  and  vicious  joys,  I  bid  ye  alt  adieu, 
Should  death  delay,  my  heart  shall  seek  rehgion's  pleaaures  true. 


[Written  for  Gleason'a  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN   PALESTINE. 

No.  XUI. 

BT  EEV.  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

THE  BEDOUINS. 
We  had  fallen  in  with  part  of  tlie  powerful  tribe  of  Beni-Sakhara 
Arabs,  and  were  readily  received  in  the  tent  of  their  sheik,  who 
gave  up  the  whole  of  his  own  accommodations,  consumed  all  his 
wood  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  make  us  comfortable,  offered  our  men 
a  share  of  his  untempting  supper,  and  treated  us  with  the  real 
Mocha,  roasted,  ground  and  drunken  almost  at  the  same  moment. 
It  was  the  first  hospitality  I  had  found  in  passing  over  some  seven 
thousand  miles  ;  and  it  meant  something.  Not  that  we  had  any 
luxuries  for  which  to  be  grateful,  or  even  the  possibility  of  a 
night's  rest,  or  anything  to  brace  up  the  exhausted  frame  ;  but, 
that  all  he  could  do  was  heartily  done,  without  the  possibility  of 
our  compensating  him  in  any  way.  Hasscin,  our  host,  described 
himself  as  a  bachelor  of  thirty  years,  the  owner  of  twelve  cows,  a 
hundred  goats,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  sheep;  the  captain  over 
eight  hundred  persons,  and  a  tribute  taker  from  every  caravan 
■which  i>asses  through  his  territory.  Were  any  substantial  return 
made  for  tliis  toll  upon  travel,  and  a  reasonable  limit  set  to  the 
amount,  there  would  not  be  so  much  cause  of  complaint  at  the 
sum  which  each  one  must  pay  to  visit  the  Dead  Sea.  But,  noth- 
ing whatever  has  the  Bedouin  ever  done,  even  to  mark  the  ford  of 
the  river,  or  render  the  mountain-pass  less  perilous.  And,  while 
the  feeble  stranger  may  be  stripped  of  everything,  and  then  sent 
back  to  his  starting-point,  an  expedition  like  tliat  under  Captain 
Lynch  is  sure  to  pass  scot  free. 

And  yet,  there  are  some  noble  traits  among  these  wanderers,  as 
the  word  BeJouin  means.  They  are  honest  to  a  proverb.  "  The 
bar  of  iron  may  be  broken ;  but  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  nev_ 
er,"  is  true  to  the  letter,  of  them.  More  than  once,  Captain  Lynch 
advanced  money  to  his  Arabian  escort,  and  could  not  obtain  from 
them  even  a  receipt ;  but  they  did  not  seem  to  know  what  perfidy 
was.  Their  pledged  word  was  as  good  as  a  bond.  It  is  said, 
too,  that  whenever  a  loaded  camel  dies  on  the  journey,  the  Arab 
owner  simply  draws  a  circle  around  him  in  the  sand,  and  is  quite 
safe  in  leaving  his  goods  for  months  under  this  guard  of  honor* 
On  his  way  to  Akabah,  Dr.  Robinson  saw  a  black  tent  hanging 
on  a  tree,  which  he  was  assured  had  been  left  just  so  for  a  lono- 
time,  and  was  in  no  danger  of  being  taken  away  by  any  save  the 
owner.  Burckhardt  was  shown  a  place  in  the  rocks,  where  one 
of  the  Tawarah  tribe  had  thrown  down  his  own  son  for  a  theft, 
leaving  his  mangled  remains  to  the  wild  beasts  and  wilder  birds 
of  the  Sinai  wilderness. 

Their  temperance,  too,  is  equally  amazing,  and  docs  not  desert 
them  among  the  temptations  of  the  city.  The  intoxicating  drink 
which  others  make  from  rice,  especially  in  Southern  Asia,  re, 
mains  unknown  to  the  Arab.  He  has  no  name  for  wine,  cannot 
be  persuaded  to  taste  it,  and  permits  himself  nothing  stronger 
than  a  tiny  cup  of  clear  black  cofi'cc  ;  while  a  beggar's  boy  among 
us  would  not  be  satisfied  with  his  best  meal.  But  they  arc 
not  cleanly.  No  one  ever  sees  them  wash  anyihing  more  than 
their  feet;  yet  they  cat  in  oriental  fashion  with  their  hands  alone; 
sleep  in  the  same  raiment  winch  they  wear  all  day  long,  and  do 
not  notice  the  swarm  of  vermin  which  breed  in  their  tents. 

They  have  a  profound  contempt  of  labor,  which  makes  tiiom 
such  a  scourge  to  a  country.  One  of  their  chiefs,  when  asked 
why  he  did  not  till  his  fertile  lands,  instead  of  living  a  robber's 
life,  replied  :  "  Would  you  have  me  disgrace  myself  by  cujiivating 
the  ground,  like  one  of  these  k-Unhs  ?"  It  is  not  so  strange,  under 


this  feeling,  that  the  Bedouin  strips  tlio  ground  of  itw  half-ri])0 
crop,  or  takes  tlic  wliolc  stock  of  the  peasant  when  the  Iwirvcut 
has  been  gathered  in.  He  really  despises  the  calling  of  the  hus- 
bandman. Their  religion  U  the  worst  part  of  tliem.  Nominally 
Mussulmcn,  tlic  wandering  tribes  live  with  hardly  any  manifesta- 
tions of  piety.  Professedly  too  poor  to  practise  alms-giving,  too 
short  for  water  to  make  the  required  ablutions,  too  ignorant  of  the 
direction  of  Mecca  to  perform  their  devotions  towards  it,  they  are 
seldom  seen  to  pray,  are  unacquainted  even  with  the  forms  of 
supplication,  hardly  any  of  them  make  the  holy  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca,  the  only  festival  which  tliey  ever  observe  is  the  Kamadan 
fast,  and  their  mouths  arc  full  of  cursing.  The  superior  of  tlie 
Sinai  Convent  was  asked  if  the  Bedouins  would  make  any  objec- 
tion to  professing  Christianity.  "  None  whatever,"  was  the  reply, 
"if  they  could  only  get  fed  by  their  religion."  A  missionary, 
speaking  their  language  and  adopting  their  customs,  would  no 
doubt  possess  all  the  influence  he  could  ask;  but  no  permanent 
good  could  be  done  until  their  unsettled  habits  were  changed  for 
systematic  agriculture  ;  and  ^W,  nothing  but  some  person  invested 
with  a  supcmatural  character  like  Mahommed  can  hope  to  effect. 
The  city  seems  a  prison  to  them,  and  the  population,  slaves.  A 
peculiar  dreaminess  of  mind,  wliich  these  vast  solitiules  inspire  in 
every  one,  is  the  only  intoxication  of  the  desert  Arab.  He  sel- 
dom laughs,  is  never  weary  of  musing,  loves  his  cattle  as  he  does 
his  children,  and  dotes  still,  as  in  the  days  of  Haroun  El  Raschid, 
on  the  melancholy  tale  recited  6ver  his  solitary  cqmp  fire. 

A  troop  of  beautiful,  dark-eyed  children  gathered  round  us  in 
the  spacious  tent,  and  we  sun-endered  ourselves,  our  pockets,  and 
especially  our  watches  for  inspection  ;  all  was  a  wonder  to  them, 
even  the  cloth  of  our  European  coats,  which  they  felt  of  as  if  it 
were  a  real  living  skin.  What  stories  must  have  been  made 
among  themselves  over  these  strange  beings  who  were  spending  a 
night  under  their  camel's  hair  tent!  In  how  many  "Nights'  En- 
tertainments "  these  viziers  or  caliphs  may  have  figured  in  feats 
of  daring,  or  labyrinths  of  love  ! 

But,  after  all,  none  of  us  enjoyed  that  camping  on  Galilee  soil. 
A  chilling  east  wind  swept  all  night  through  the  half-open  tent, 
assisting  the  fleas  in  keeping  us  awake  to  our  strange  position, 
making  the  poor  picketed  horses  struggle  to  get  nearer  our  dying 
fire,  and  ensuring  us  stiffened  limbs  for  the  next  day.  Indeed,  it 
was  not  well  to  sleep  that  night.  A  thousand  stars  looked  up 
lovingly  to  us  from  the  lake,  over  which  we  seemed  to  be  the  only 
watclicrs.  Merom  spread  in  the  distance  her  curious  form,  and 
between,  the  holy  river  wound  its  way,  now  through  thickets 
where  wild  beasts  were  roaming,  and  now  beneath  yellow  walls  of 
precipitous  rock.  All  nature  seemed  hushed.  No  cry  came  from 
child  or  woman  around  us,  none  from  the  city  across  the  water, 
or  the  khan  between.  After  refreshing  ourselves  from  some  ham, 
which  we  had  not  touched  in  presence  of  the  Arabs  for  fear  of 
offence,  we  tried  to  stir  the  blood  by  a  rapid  walk ;  but  the  watch- 
dogs turned  us  back  on  every  side,  and  we  were  obliged  to  recall 
the  Psalm — "  More  than  those  that  watch  for  the  morning,"  a  hun- 
dred times  before  morning  came,  and  we  started  with  the  first 
blush  of  dawn  over  the  stony  and  barren  plain  leading  to  Sasa. 
This  place  is  really  a  riddle.  I  may  speak  of  it  the  more  freely 
because  it  has  been  so  rarely  visited — the  ordinary  route  for  trav- 
ellers leading  through  Cesarea  Philippi,  where  they  are  shown  the 
pretended  source  of  the  Jordan,  whose  real  fountain  head  is  at 
Hasbeuja.  After  riding  for  a  full  day  over  an  absolute  wilder- 
ness, not  quite  treeless,  but  monotonous,  bleak,  level  and  unpro- 
ductive, in  full  sight  of  Hermon,  which  is  named  Jebel-sheik, 
"  master-mountain,"  and  travelling  at  times  over  a  ruined  Roman 
road,  like  the  Appian  Way,  somelimes  very  dangerous  and  some- 
times quite  perfect,  we  reached  with  the  fall  of  night  a  walled  and 
fortified  city.  Externally,  Sasa  was  as  nice  as  need  be;  but  this 
was  only  a  whitewashed  sepulchre.  The  streets  were  so  piled  up 
with  soft  mud  that  we  could  not  alight  from  our  horses,  who  found 
the  utmost  difficulty  in  wading  through  the  heapedup  filth  to  a 
khan,  that  was  really  not  so  good  a  shelter  as  our  poorest  stable 
at  home.  And  right  opposite  to  this  hotel  was  the  only  mosque 
of  the  place — a  mere  mass  of  ruins,  its  walled  enclosure  broken, 
and  its  sacred  court  covered  with  weeds  and  fragments  of  building. 
But  I  was  never  more  perplexed  with  any  place  in  my  life. 
Who  built  this  stronghold,  and  who  ruined  it  ?  Who  cared  to 
make  such  a  broad  stone  street,  miles  upon  miles,  to  a  town  which 
never  could  have  had  anything  in  itself?  And  who  again  was  so 
foolish — not  to  say,  wicked — to  take  all  this  pains  to  destroy  if? 
Here  were  sixty  Turkish  families,  lazy,  unclean,  miserable,  pfl.s- 
turing  a  few  flocks  in  the  surrounding  desert,  feeding  upon  the 
few  passengers  that  come  their  way,  defiling  an  elegant  strong- 
hold, perhaps  of  the  Crusaders,  just  as  Arab  huts  disgrace  many 
an  Egyptian  temple.  The  inhabitants  are  as  ignorant  as  their 
visitors  can  be  of  the  origin  of  their  town ;  they  have  not  sense 
enough  even  for  a  tradition.  None  of  them  know  who  made  or 
who  unmade  the  only  road  in  the  country.  The  very  animal  life 
in  them  seemed  to  be  faint  and  fluttering.  Their  disgusting  heaps 
of  hovels  was  well  terminated  by  a  city  gate,  broken  down  and 
incapable  of  defence. 

The  next  day  was  most  wretched ;  the  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
drenching  us  to  the  skin.  Swollen  streams  had  to  be  crossed,  our 
horses  were  evidently  tired  out,  and  also  their  masters.  But  an 
entirely  different  region  was  receiving  us  in  its  generous  arras — 
clean  looking  villages  became  numerous,  mulberry  groves  greeted 
us  with  their  thick  green,  and  enclosed  gardens,  spacious  khans 
and  comfortable  houses  seemed  springing  up  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment. And  this  was  the  famous  Assyrian  plain  ;  thoroughly 
watered  by  the  prettiest  little  rivulets  in  the  world,  finely  wood- 
ed by  a  luxiuiant  growth  of  walnut,  mulberry,  poplar,  fig,  citron, 
pomegranate  and  orange  trees,  so  vast  in  extent,  and  so  perpetu- 
ally productive,  that  I  wonder  not  the  Turk  calls  it  a  paradise. 


[Written  for  Gleaflon'B  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGRAPHS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DlSTmGUISHED  rfTDrTIDUAIS. 

No.  XII. 


BT  WM.  EDWABD   KNOWLE8. 


Mit.  MiTCiiKLL  has  written  something  beautiful  in  the  way  of 
songs,  which  have  been  very  popular.  Wc  believe  that  he  has 
written  a  volume  of  poems.  Ilis  chirography  is  clear  and  legible. 
These  traits  are  well  shown  in  the  signature,  although  this  is  not 
so  well  marked  as  is  usually  the  ease  with  his  manuscript.  Wc 
like  such  a  manuscript  as  Mr.  MitehcU's.  It  is  straight  forward 
and  manly,  witli  sutlicient  finish  to  show  care  and  precision. 

Dr.  Eatile  writes  a  beautiful  manuscript.  His  poems  are 
among  the  most  graceful  of  our  language  ;  and  are  always  char- 
acterized by  more  than  usual  finish.  His  "Marathon,"  in  our 
opinion,  is  equal  to  "  Marco  Bozzaris,"  or  even  "Thanatopsis," 
The  hand  is  very  legible  and  graceful,  and  resembles  that  of  a  fe- 
male ;  but  the  matter  conveyed  tJirough  its  agency  is  often  weighty 
and  sound  beyond  the  ordinary  efforts  of  the  poets  of  the  day, 
who  float  rather  in  an  atmosphere  of  fancy  than  one  of  fact. 


W.  GiLMORE  SiiMMS  has  been  styled  the  "Bulwer  of  America;" 
but  they  are  far  different  from  each  other.  He  is  superior  to  Bul- 
wer  in  his  perception  of  the  graceful ;  but  in  beauty  lie  is  deficient 
to  a  certain  extent.  As  a  poet  he  has  done  well ;  and  has  written 
thoughts  that  linger  in  the  mind  like  the  recollection  of  some  goi'- 
geous  sunset.  His  handwriting  has  much  slope,  and  suggests 
gracefulness  and  perfect  freedom.  The  signatm-e  illustrates  this 
in  an  admirable  manner. 


c^  a''^a^<^h^  ^""y^ 


The  handwriting  of  the  late  James  Fennimore  Cooper  was 
decidedly  bad.  Of  the  two  lying  before  us,  one  seems  to  have 
been  written  with  a  steel  pen,  the  other  with  a  quill ;  and  both  are 
frightful  in  tlie  extreme.  Yet  he  possessed  talent  of  the  highest 
order,  and  left  a  name  imperishable.  It  is  difl^cult  to  draw  much 
of  an  inference  from  such  a  specimen  of  chirography  as  his  signa- 
ture displays;  but  there  is  a  strange  inconsistency,  to  our  eye, 
between  it  and  his  matter. 


^^ 


^/^-T/~     [X/V-VA^^ 


a  ^6,  y- 


The  readers  of  the  Pictorial  are  fully  aware  of  the  powers  of 
Mr.  Codb  as  a  writer;  his  prolific  pen  has  often  contributed  to 
their  edification  and  pleasure.  His  manuscript  is  distinct,  not  at 
all  affected,  but  manly  and  easy  to  read.  Mr.  Cobb  promises  to 
do  still  better  than  he  has  yet  done,  and  his  improvement  has 
been  rapid  and  obvious. 

Mrs.  Caroline  Orne  is  a  regular  contributor  to  our  columns, 
and  is  a  very  popular  and  delightful  writer.  Her  manuscript  is 
original,  unlike  any  that  we  ever  receive — regular,  plain,  and  very 
correct.  Her  signature  as  given  above  is  a  fine  representation  of 
her  usual  hand.  Mrs.  Orne  is  a  lady  of  much  cultivation  and  an 
industrious  authoress. 


Dr.  Howe  is  a  practical  philanthropist,  and  is  known  through- 
out this  country  and  Europe,  as  the  great  friend  of  education,  es- 
pecially among  the  blind.  The  blind  mute,  Laura  Bridgman,  is 
a  protege  of  Dr.  Howe's,  and  we  are  indebted  to  his  kindness  for 
her  autograph  presented  below.  The  doctor  writes  a  plain, 
straight  forward  hand.  When  Imrried,  it  is  somewhat  illegible, 
but  on  the  whole  is  a  good  hand,  nevertheless.  Like  its  author, 
it  is  subject  to  great  variation,  at  times  evincing  a  nervous  and 
uneasy  feeling. 


Xii 


iirra 


St  vd  I 


imorx. 


The  signature  of  this  remarkable  girl  is  vciy  peculiar.  It  is 
precise,  regular,  and  like  her  manuscript — how  strange  it  seems 
to  think  that  she  can  write  at  all — is  wonderfully  uniform  and 
neat.  Blind,  dcof  and  dumb,  h  seems  little  short  of  miraculous 
that  she  could  be  taught  to  read  and  write  !  Yet  Laura  is  very 
intelligent,  and  is  really,  in  many  respects,  highly  accomplished. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


335 


CHARITY. 

It  is  hard  for  the  judgment  to  keep  pace  with 
the  heart  where  our  sympathies  are  challenged. 
How  often,  do  we  pass  with  difficulty  the  out- 
stretched hand  of  the  street  beggar,  how  often 
fear  we  have  done  wrong  in  not  giving, 
and  how  often  fear  we  have  given  unwisely. 
No  rule  will  seem  to  fairly  apply  to  the  matter, 
and  it  is  difficult  for  one  to  know  how  to  act. 
We  have  just  met  with  an  article  in.  the  London 
Examiner  which  has  set  us  to  thinking  upon  this 
subject.  "  A  person  who  gives  alms  at  random," 
says  the  editor,  "  may  be  compared  to  one  who 
fires  at  random  among  a  crowd.  There  is  a 
seed  of  social  mischief  in  every  ill-bestowed 
bounty,  though  the  eye  does  not  see  what  the 
heart  rues.  How  many  a  criminal  has  to  curse 
the  careless  hand  that  first  encourages  him  in  a 
life  of  idleness,  imposture  and  vagrancy." 


INTERNAL  IMPROVEMENTS, 

The  important  ship  canal  which  is  to  unite 
hikes  Supei-ior  and  Michigan  will  soon  be  begun. 
The  surveys  for  the  location  have  been  comple- 
ted, and  the  ground  has  been  found  quite  as  fa- 
vorable for  the  easy  and  speedy  construction  of 
the  work  as  was  expected.  Several  routes  have 
been  surveyed,  which  will  enable  the  legislature 
of  Michigan  and  contractors  to  obtain  a  perfect 
understanding  of  the  whole  subject.  The  canal 
will  be  a  fraction,  less  than  a  mile  in  length. 
The  law  of  Congress  provides  that  the  locks 
shall  be  at  least  250  feet  long  and  60  feet  wide, 
and  the  Michigan  legislature  has  power  to  en- 
large the  dimensions. 


FEARFUL  INFLUENCE. 

At  Munich  on  the  9th  ultimo,  a  criminal  was 
beheaded.  A  crowd  surrounded  the  scaffold, 
and  as  soon  as  the  culprit's  head  fell,  the  people 
rushed  as  if  frenzied,  to  dip  pieces  of  rag  and 
paper  in  the  sti'caming  blood,  as  charms  against 
certain  diseases,  and  copies  of  their  numbers  in 
lottery,  to  insure  their  being  drawn  prizes.  The 
scene  was  fearful,  from  the  incredible  amount  of 
superstition  displayed.  It  is  a  fearful  example, 
to  hold  up  before  the  people,  this  taking  of  life 
publiclly ! 

UNFORTUNATE. 

"We  are  sorry  to  learn  by  our  foreign  exchanges 
that  the  late  Duke  of  Wellington  leaves  but  a 
poor  representative  of  his  honorable  and  proud 
name.  The  mantle  of  the  father  falls  not  upon 
the  son.  The  Duke  of  Welliugtou,  known  as 
the  Marquis  of  Donro,  who  succeeds  the  Iron 
Duke,  has  been  a  very  steady  worker  in  those 
fields  where  "  wild  oats "  arc  sown.  He  has 
been  a  "  mauvais  sujet,"  unprincipled  in  his  ca" 
reer,  unkind  to  his  wife,  and  has  neither  talent 
nor  character  to  adorn  his  new  title. 


Heavt  Operation. — A  monster  blast  by 
gunpowder,  fired  by  means  of  a  galvanic  battery, 
took  place  lately  at  Fumess  quarry,  on  Loclifine, 
near  Inverary.  It  is  computed  that  40,000  tons 
of  granite  have  been  torn  up,  varying  in  size 
from  five  tons  downwards.  The  total  charge  of 
powder  was  6000  pounds. 


Loss  OF  Life  at  Sea. — The  British  ship 
Maise  of  Queenstown  (Cork),  was  struck  by 
lightning  off  Malta,  and  completely  destroyed. 
X'ourtcen  lives  were  lost,  which  comprised  the 
crew  and  two  passengers. 


Personal. — We  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
H.  Fuller,  Esq.,  editor  of  the  New  York  Mirror, 
the  other  day.  Mr.  Fuller  is  a  sound  critic,  a 
little  radical,  but  honest,  and  polished  in  his 
stylo. 

Newspapers. — The  newspaper  is  a  law-hook 
for  the  indolent,  a  sermon  for  the  thoughtless,  a 
library  for  the  poor.  It  may  stimulate  the  most 
indifferent,  it  may  instruct  the  most  profound. 


Not  the  slightest  doubt  it. — A  young 
lady  being  asked  whether  she  should  wear  a  wig 
when  her  hair  turned  gray,  replied  with  the  great- 
est earnestness,  *'  O,  I'll  die  first." 


Whale  Oil. — More  oil  has  been  taken  this 
season  by  the  American  whalers  than  was  ever 
taken  before  in  one  season. 


Medical. — The  best  line  of  business  for  a 
medical  man  to  follow  is  a  railway  line. 


Liberal.— 01c  Ball  has  subscribed  $50,000 
to  the  Sanbury  and  Erie  Kailroad. 


toawaiirc   ©atljmuga. 

The  railroad  on  the  Isthmus  was  going  for- 
ward with  despatch. 

The  Isle  of  Wight  is  to  he  strongly  fortified 
at  an  expense  of  £60,000. 

The  prospects  of  the  republic  of  Liberia  are 
brightening  daily. 

The  cholera  has  made  its  appearance  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  on  the  Plains. 

A  contractor  on  the  Central  Illinois  Eailroad 
has  disappeared  with  $20,000  in  drafts. 

Mr.  James  Peints,  U.  S.  marshal  for  Virginia, 
died  on  Friday,  22d  ult.,  at  Staunton. 

The  London  Morning  Herald  fears  a  combi- 
nation between  France  and  the  United  States. 

Judge  Sullivan,  formerly  state  treasurer  of 
Ohio,  died  a  few  days  ago.  He  was  a  native  of 
Delaware. 

The  Home  Journal  justly  censures  the  players 
at  Wallack's  Theatre  for  attempting  to  improve 
Shakspeare ! 

A  judge  in  Louisville  has  decided  that  chil- 
dren must  go  to  school,  and  that  parents  who 
do  not  send  them  will  be  punished. 

It  is  said  that  the  Pope  has  refused  to  visit 
France  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  at  the  coro- 
nation of  Louis  Napoleon. 

Horace  Mann,  of  Mass.,  is  to  become  a  citizen 
of  Ohio,  he  having  accepted  the  Presidency  of 
Antioch  College. 

Prof.  Lowell  Mason  has  been  lecturing,  with 
acceptance,  on  music,  before  the  London  Me- 
chanics' Institute. 

Col.  T.  C.  Sharp,  one  of  the  pioneers  of  Ken- 
tucky, and  a  soldier  in  the  late  war,  died  in 
Hopkiaville,  Ky.,  last  week. 

The  first  importation  of  ice  direct  fi"om  Boston 
via  Cape  Horn,  has  arrived  at  Panama,  and  is 
selling  at  15  and  20  cents  a  pound. 

The  American  ship  Hoogley,  from  San  Fran- 
cisco, was  totally  lost  while  going  up  the  Shan- 
ghai river,  on  the  llth  of  August  last. 

Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke,  now  in  his  73d  year,  has 
been  lately  playing  some  of  his  favorite  nautical 
characters  at  the  Theatre  Koyal,  Edinburgh. 

Out  of  respect  to  the  memory  of  the  Iron 
Duke,  the  name  of  the  new  vessel,  "  Windsor 
Castle,"  has  been  altered  to  that  of  the  "Duke 
of  Wellington." 

A  telegraph  despatch  from  St.  Joseph  states 
that  Major  Norwood,  Indian  agent,  was  recently 
killed  at  Sargent's  Bluffs,  in  an  atfray  with 
another  individual. 

The  Panama  railroad  is  in  good  order,  and 
the  cars  run  twice  a  day  to  Barbacoa.  The 
boatmen  on  Chagrcs  river  had  made  an  unsuc- 
cessful attempt  to  burn  the  railroad  bridge. 

A  pensioner  at  Bristol,  England,  was  recently 
struck  off'  the  list  by  the  Chelsea  commissioners 
for  carrying  about  a  bill  issued  by  the  Peace 
Society  to  deter  persons  from  joining  the  militia. 

Md'lle.  Emile  Baron,  the  dauseuse,  was  se- 
verely burned  at  the  Varieties  Theatre,  St.  Louis; 
on  the  night  of  the  12th  ult.,  by  her  clothes 
catching  fire. 

Hon.  Edward  McGaugney,  formei'ly  a  mem- 
ber of  Congress  from  Indiana,  recently  died  on 
board  a  steamer,  on  the  passage  from  Panama 
to  San  Francisco. 

Capt.  Marcy,  whom  the  telegraph  killed  off  so 
often,  in  an  Indian  engagement  out  West,  some 
time  since,  is  at  present  in  New  York,  lying  very 
ill  at  the  house  of  his  father. 

The  prizes  to  the  London  Exhibition  at  the 
Crystal  Palace  last  year,  were  distributed  on 
Friday,  September  25th,  at  the  London  Tavern, 
Baron  Rothschild  in  the  chair. 

Mr.  T.  F.  Meagher,  the  Irish  exile,  will  de- 
liver lectures  before  the  Mercantile  Library  of 
New  York,  Albany,  Rochester,  St.  Louis,  and 
other  places  during  the  winter. 

The  Journal  of  Commerce  states  that  Presi- 
dent Fillmore  has  consented  to  sit  for  a  full 
length  portrait,  at  the  request  of  a  number  of  his 
friends  in  New  York. 

An  amorous  swain,  aged  70,  was  recently 
married  to  his  sixth  wife,  in  Cincinnati,  and  was 
serenaded  by  one  of  those  lawless  Calithumpian 
bands  that  are  a  disgrace  to  civilized  society. 

The  price  of  railroad  iron  in  England  has 
gone  up  from  $21  to  $31  per  ton.  This  adds, 
under  our  ad  valorem  tariff,  $6  per  ton  to  the 
duly,  thus  increasing  the  protection  on  our  side. 

Hon.  Franklin  E.  Plummer  died  recently,  at 
Jackson  City,  Miss.,  in  great  destitution.  At 
one  time  he  only  lacked  two  votes  of  beating 
Hon.  Robert  J.  Walker  for  U.  S.  Senator. 

_  Mary  Burr,  the  last  of  the  Piinkaquag  Indians, 
died  at  Canton,  Massachusetts,  recently,  aged 
101  years.  There  are  many  half  and 'quarter 
bloods  of  that  tribe,  but  none  of  full  blood. 

A  woman  dressed  in  man's  clothes,  attempted 
to  vote  in  the  fourth  district.  New  York,  lately, 
but  the  inspectors,  much  to  her  disappointment, 
rejected  her  vote. 

A  letter  from  Kossuth,  addressed  to  the  Con- 
gress of  the  American  Revolutionary  Fund  for 
Europe,  appears  in  the  newspapers,  in  which  he 
gives  encouraging  accounts  of  the  progress  of  the 
liberal  cause  in  Eui-ope. 

Mr.  Reuben  Squires,  of  Chelsea,  Vt.,  has 
raised  a  beet  which  beats  the  Webster  beet,  or 
any  other  beet  we  have  yet  heard  fiom.  It 
weighed  when  it  had  been  out  of  the  ground  a 
week  and  was  free  from  dirt  and  tlie  small  roots, 
fourteen  pounds  and  six  ounces. 


JTorcign   ililisallang. 

Lord  Rollo,  a  Scotch  nobleman,  is  dead. 
The  queen  of  Portugal  has  forbidden  the  wear- 
ing of  beards  in  her  army. 

The  yacht  America  has  triumphed  in  a  race 

with  a  new  Swedish  yacht  by  twenty  minutes. 

The  king  of  the  two  Sicilies  has  created  Baron 
Antonio,  his  representative  in  Paris,  a  marquis. 

The  owner  of  the  yacht  America  has  chal- 
lenged the  yachts  of  all  nations,  except  America, 
to  sail  for  £500  or  .£1000. 

The  Duchess  of  Orleans  is  very  ill  at  Lau- 
sanne, Switzerland.  Prince  Alexander,  of  Prus- 
sia, has  gone  to  visit  her. 

Madame  Batka,  once  a  German  prima  donna 
of  note,  much  admired  by  Schiller,  died  lately, 
at  Prague,  aged  88. 

Sir  H.  Bulwer's  mission  to  Rome  is  said  to 
have  been  with  the  view  of  obtaining  from  the 
pope  a  disclaimer  of  Irish  clergy  in  political 
matters. 

The  subscription  made  in  Spain,  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  families  of  those  killed  and  wounded  in 
the  Lopez  affair  in  Cuba,  amounts  to  28,000 
piastres. 

The  English  papers  announce,  as  a  great  curi- 
osity, the  "resignation  of  a  living  bishop,"  in 
the  person  of  the  Right  Rev.  Dr.  Eden,  Bishop 
of  Meray  and  Ross. 

Madame  Celeste  made  her  first  appearance  at 
the  Adelphi  (her  own  theatre),  London,  since 
her  return  from  America,  on  the  4th  ult.,  as 
Miami,  in  "  Green  Bushes." 

It  is  stated  that  Mr.  Gifford  has  been  success- 
ful at  the  Paris  Hippodrome,  with  his  new  flying- 
machine,  which  is  copied  after  that  projected  by 
Mr.  Robjohn,  of  New  York. 

A  Chinese  New  Testament,  printed  with  metal 
types,  and  of  a  superior  character,  has  been  for- 
warded to  the  directors  of  the  London  Missionary 
Society,  and  is  sold  for  fourpence. 

A  boatman,  named  Brice,  living  at  Spalding, 
near  London,  recently  had  one  side  of  his  lower 
jaw,  which  was  mortally  diseased,  removed  by 
the  saw  in  an  operation  of  thirty-six  minutes ! 
He  is  doing  wxll. 

The  Prussian  ambassador  has  ordered  all  na- 
tives of  Prussia  engaged  as  workmen  in  Switzer- 
land, to  return  to  their  native  country,  for  fear  of 
being  contaminated  by  the  democratic  doctrine 
prevalent  among  the  Swiss. 

A  watchmaker  named  Vital-Maneau,  residing 
in  Paris,  having,  as  he  believed,  succeeded,  after 
thirty-three  years^  labor,  in  constructing  a  per- 
petual motion  machine,  on  the  2d  ult.,  died  of 
apoplexy,  from  excess  of  joy ! 


J0anir0  of  ©clb. 


Genius  may  adopt,  but  never  steals. 

AH  are  ready  to  punish  a  bad  action — 

few  to  reward  a  good  one. 

....  The  opinion  of  a  fool  is  of  more  value 
than  the  oath  of  a  hypocrite. 

....  A  spare  and  simple  diet  conti'ibutes  to 
the  prolongation  of  life. 

True   bravery  is  as  far  removed  from 

recklessness  as  it  is  from  timidity. 

....  Time  marks  the  title  page  of  our  lives, 
death  the  finis,  and  the  grave  becomes  the 
binding. 

....  Superficial  knowledge  is  like  oil  upon 
water — it  shines  deceitfully,  but  can  easily  be 
skimmed  off. 

....  God  hath  given  to  mankind  a  common 
library — his  works;  and  to  every  man  a  proper 
book — himself. 

....  Glory  is  well  enough  for  a  rich  man,  but 
it  is  of  very  little  consequence  to  a  poor  man 
with  a  large  family. 

....  They  who  shake  their  head  at  irregular 
beauties,  are  like  divines  w^ho  will  not  admit 
good  works  without  faith. 

....  Talent  and  art  must  go  hand  in  band. 
Birds  rise  not  by  means  of  their  wing-feathers 
only,  but  by  those  which  guide  their  flight. 

....  Real  fidelity  may  be  rare,  but  it  exists 
in  the  heart.  They  only  deny  its  worth  and 
power,  who  never  loved  a  friend,  nor  labored  to 
make  a  friend  happy. 

Prudes,  who  take  fire  so  easily  at  the 

slightest  intimation  of  impropriety,  are  like 
punk,  which  catches  fire  instantly,  after  having 
been  once  burned. 

The  world  was   not  made  in  a  day — 

neither  can  any  hope  to  gain  wealth  by  sudden  ef- 
forts ;  for  the  sudden  efforts  that  are  now-a-days 
made,  are  not  a  whit  better  than  none  at  all. 

A  beautifal  sentiment  is  the  following, 

by  the  celebrated  Logan:  "Over  all  the  move- 
ments of  life,  religion  scatters  her  favors,  but  re- 
serves the  choicest,  her  divine  blessing,  for  the 
last  hour." 

Glancing  over  a  page  of  Blackwood,  re- 
cently, we  met  with  this  observation: — "There 
is  but  one  way  of  being  correct  and  agreeing 
with  everybody  ;  it  is  to  say  nothing  that  can  be 
of  any  possible  use  to  any  one." 

....  There  is  a  sacredness  in  tears.  They 
are  not  the  mark  of  weakness,  but  of  power ! 
They  speak  more  eloquently  than  ten  thousand 
tongues.  They  are  the  messengers  of  ovpr- 
whelming  grief,  of  deep  contrition,  and  of  un- 
speakable love. 


lokft's  Suiigct. 


To  what  race  of  giants  do  tipplers  belong'? 
To  the  Titans  (tight  'uns),  of  course. 

A  lady  down  east  has  sent  for  one  of  Espy's 
ventilators  to  prevent  her  husband  from  smoking. 

The  man  who  hung  himself  with  a  chord  of 
music,  lias  been  cut  down  with  a  sharp  east  wind. 

A  widow,  when  her  pastor  said  to  her :  "  God 
has  not  deserted  you  in  your  old  age,"  replied: 
"  No,  sir  ;  I  have  a  very  good  appetite  still." 

Punch  insists  there  will  be  no  security  to  rail- 
way passengers  until  a  director  is  compelled,  by 
act  of  parliament,  to  travel  with  every  train. 

One  day,  a  person  pointed  out  a  man  who  had 
a  profusion  of  rings  on  his  fingers,  to  a  cooper. 
"  Ah,  master,"  said  the  artizan,  "  it's  a  sure  sign 
of  weakness  when  so  many  hoops  are  used." 

Love,  like  the  measles,  is  rather  a  juvenile 
complaint.  Who,  for  instance,  ever  knew  a 
widower  to  die  from  mixing  a  broken  heart  with 
sixpence  worth  of  arsenic  % 

A  Frenchman  thinks  the  English  language  is 
very  tough.  "  Dare  is  lookout,"  he  says,  "which 
is  to  put  out  your  head  and  see  ;  and  look  out, 
which  is  to  haul  in  your  head  and  not  for  to  see 
— just  contrairie. 

The  following  advertisement  appeared  in  an 
Irish  paper  :  "  Whereas,  John  Hall  has  fraudu- 
lently taken  away  several  articles  of  wearing 
apparel  without  my  knowledge,  this  is  therefore 
to  inform  him  that  if  he  does  not  forthwith  return 
the  same,  his  name  shall  be  made  public." 

An  English  gentleman  observing  an  uneccle- 
siastical  looking  building,  asked  a  hoy  whose 
factory  it  was.  The  sharp-witted  lad,  after  an 
involuntary  consultation  with  the  crown  lawyers, 
replied  :  "  Mr.  Kinnear's."  "  Ay,  and  what  does 
he  manufacture  here?"  "Sinners  into  saints, 
sir  !"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"  I  sells  peppermints  on  Sundays,"  remarked 
a  good  old  lady  who  kept  a  candy  shop,  "  because 
they  carries  'em  to  church  and  eats  'em,  and 
keeps  awake  to  hear  the  sermon  ;  but  if  you  want 
pickled  limes  you  must  come  week  days.  They 
are  secular  commodities."  Quite  a  nice  dis- 
tinction. 


VOLTTMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

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336 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWINCx    ROOM    COMPANION. 


WILD  PIGEONS. 

Mr.  Audubon,   in   his  OrnithoIoRicftl  Biog- 
raphy, ^ives  a  curious  and  intcrcstinj:;  iicfount 
of  tho  Hi^ht  of  these  birds.     He  says  that  in 
passing  over  the  barrens,  a   few   miles  from 
Ilardensburgh,  he  observed  tlie  pigeons  flying 
from  northeast  to  southwest,  in  greater  num- 
berw  than  ho  had  ever  seen  them   before  ;  and 
feeling  an  inclination  to  count  the  flocks  that 
might  pass  within  tho  roach  of  his  eye  in  one 
liour,  he  seated  himself  on  an  eminence,  and 
began  to  mark  with  his  pencil,  making  a  dot 
for  every  tloek   that  passed.     In  a  short  time 
finding   the    task   impracticable,  as  the  birds 
jjoured    in    in    countless  multitudes,  he  rose, 
and   counting   tho   dots    already   put   down, 
found  that  one  hundred  and  sixty-three  had 
been  made  in  twenty-one  minutes.     He  then 
travelled   on,   and   still  met  more  as  he  pro- 
ceeded.    Tho  air  was  literally  filled  with  pig- 
eons ;  the  light  of  noonday  was  obscured  as 
by  an  eclipse,  the  dung  fell  in  spots  not  unlike 
melting  flakes  of  snow,   and   the  continued 
buzz  of  wings  had  a  tendency  to  lull  his  senses 
to  repose.     While  waiting  for  his  dinner,  im- 
mense legions  were  still  going  by,  and  on  Mr. 
Audubon's  arrival  before  sunset  at  Louisville, 
distant   from   Hardentburgh  fifty-three  miles, 
the  pigeons  were  still  passing  in  undiminished 
numbers,    and   continued    to   do  so  for  three 
days   in   succession.      Mr.  Audubon    makes 
the  following  curious  estimate  of  the  numher 
of  pigeons  contained  in  oj^eoH/^  of  these  mighty 
flocks.     Taking   a   column  of   one   mile  in 
breadth,  which  he  thinks  is  far  below  the  av- 
erage size,  and  supposing  it  to  pass  over  with- 
out interruption  for  three  hours,  at  the  rate  of 
one  mile  in  a  minute,  it  will  give  us  a  paral- 
lelogram of  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  by 
one,  covering  one  hundred  and  eighty  square 
miles.     Allowing  two   pigeons  to  the  square 
yard,  we  have  one  billion,  one   hundred  and 
fifteen   millions,   one  hundred  and  thirty-six 
thousand  pigeons  in  one  flock.     As  each  pig- 
con  daily  consumes  fully  half  a  pint  of  food, 
the  quantity  necessary  for  supplying  this  vast 
multitude  must  be  eight  millions,  seven  hun- 
dred  and   twelve   thousand    bushels   a  day. 
Nor  is  the   account   of  their  roosting  places 
less   curious.     One  of  them  on  the  banks  of 
the  Green  river  in  Kentucky  was  repeatedly 
visited  by  Mr.  Auduhon.     It  was  in  a  portion 
of  the  forest  wliere  the  trees  were  of  great  al- 
titude, and  where  there  was  little  underwood, 
and   the   average    breadth  was   about  three 
miles.     On   arriving   there   about  two  hours 
before   sunset,   few   pigeons  were  to  be  seen. 
A  great  number  of  persons,   however,  with 
horses   and  wagons,   guns  and  ammunition, 
had   already   established   themselves   on  the 
borders.     Two  farmers  had  driven  upwards 
of  three  hundred   hogs  from  their  residence, 
more  than  a  bundled  miles  distant,  to  be  fat- 
tened on  the  pigeons  which  were  to  be  slaugh- 
tered.    The  sun  had  set,  yet  not  a  pigeon  had 
arrived.     Everything,   however,    was   ready, 
and   all   eyes   were   gazing  on  the  clear  sky, 
which   appeared   in   glimpses   amid   the  tall 
ti'ces.     Suddenly  there  burst  forth  a  general 
cry  of  "  here  they  come!"     The  noise  which 
they  made,  though  yet  distant,  is  described  as  like  a  hard  gale  at 
sea  passing  through  the  rigging  of  a  close-reefed  vessel.     As  the 
birds  arrived,  they  were  knocked  down  by  thousands  by  the  pole- 
men.     As  they  continued  to   pour  in,  the  fires  wore  lighted,  and 
a  magnificent  sight  presented  itself.     The   pigeons,   arriving  by 
myriads,   alighted   everywhere,   one   above   another,  until  solid, 
masses,    as   large  as  hogsheads,  were 
formed   on    the    branches   all   round. 
Here  and  there  the  perches  gave  way 
under  the  weight,  with   a  crash,  and 
falling  to  the  ground,  destroyed  hun- 
dreds  of  the    birds    beneath,    forcing 
down   the   dense   groups   with  which 
every  stick  was  loaded.     The  pigeons 
kept  constantly   coming,    and  it  was 
past  midnight    before   a   decrease   in 
the  number  of  those  that  arrived  could 
be   perceived.     The   noise  made  was 
so  great,  that  it  was  distinctly  heard 
at  three  miles  from  the  spot.    Towards 
the  approach  of  day,  the  noise  in  some 
measure  subsided,  and  long  before  ob- 
jects were  distinguishable,  the  pigeons 
began  to  move  ojf  in  a  direction  quite 
different  from  that  in  which  they  had 
arrived  the  evening  before,  and  at  sun- 
rise all   that  wci'c  al>le  to  fly  had  dis- 
appeared.    The  ahovo  account  of  the 
numerous  floc-ks   of  these    birds,  and 
the  immense  numbers  of  each,  ai  also 
their  appearam-e  at  their  roosting' pla- 
ces, may  astonish   many  readers,  and 
appear  so   incrcdilde   as  to  challenge 
more  credulity  than  they  possess.    Re- 
ppccting  this,  we  can  only  say  we  shall 
not    hesitate   to   believe   a   statement 
wliich  rcsls  on  the  veracity  of  an  orni- 
thologist  so    distinguished    as   he   is 
whose    testimony   we   give.      Indeed 
every   year  accounts   are  given  from 
our  western  country  of  immense  flocks 
of  these  birds,  wliich  appear  soaring 
through  the  air,  so  completely  obscur- 
ing the  tun  with  their  dense  numbers, 
lu  almo-t  to  make  it  a  midnight.     In 
the  early  spiing  and  asain  in  autumn 
they  pass  in  flock.^  defynig  all  compu- 
tation,  and  have  long  been  an  object 
of  wonder  even  to  those  who  have  most 
frequently  witnessed  the  circumstance. 
Wilson  also  says  that  the  flocks  usu- 
ally  observed    in    the   Middle    States 
may  be  reckoned    by   thousands,  but 
are  utterly  insignificant  in  number  in 
<'omparisoo  wilh  iboirc  of  the  Western 
Stale.H. 


OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH,  NKWBURYPORT. 

The  annexed  engriving  represents  the  above  edifice, 
and  derives  its  principal  interest  from  the  fact  of  its 
containing  the  moimn.ent  of  Whltefield,  a  view  of 
which  is  given  below  It  is  an  elegant  structure  of 
Egyptian  and  Italian  nii.rMe,— the  gift  of  an  eminent 
merchant  of  Newburyport,  who  worshipped  in  tliis 
church, an  ardentndmirer  of  Whitcfield — and  contains 
the  following  inscription  : 

"Tnis  Cbnotapr  i8crert«d,  with  afTectlonafe  veneration,  to  tho 
Ilev.  (Jeorgit  Whit<;ltL'ld,  born  ut  Olout;«Ht€r,  KriKliind.  Dececiber 
If).  1714.  K(lufiit«d  lit  Oxford  UnivurHlty;  ordained  173'V  In  a 
niiniHtry  of  Thirty-four  yuarrt.  IIi^  croHned  tim  Atlantic  Chirtten 
tJiiicK,  and  Preached  moru  than  oiKhteen  thou^'and  Hermonn.  Ah 
axolJltrof  tho  crori«.  humble,  <luvout,  arJi;nt,  IIh  put  on  the 
whole  Armour  of  Uod ;  )»referrlriH  the  Honour  of  Ohrlft  to  hlfl 
own  Intvrcrtt,  Itejiorte,  KoputJition,  and  Life.  Ah  a  Chrietian  ora- 
tor, IiIm  deep  I'iety,  disinttTeHlt-d  zeal,  and  vivid  [niiigination, 
pave  unexampled  energy  to  hlw  look,  utterance,  and  action- 
Bold,  fervent,  pungent,  and  popular  in  his  eloquence,  no  other 
unlnpf'r  du  vrpruhdtfKol  rge  a.  sembl'ef  or  enforced 
tl  P  mp  t  Truth  of  the  flo  p  I  by  n  ot  v  h  bo  p  r  ui^ive  and 
ful  a  d  V  )  n  InH  ence  no  powerful  on  the  hearts  of  hla 
he  rtre      H    d  .-d  of  Abth         Scpte    ber  30  1    0  suddenly  ex 

hang  Dg  h  s  L  fo  of  unpar  Ueltd  Labours  tor  hlfl  Eternul  Itest 


VIEW  OF  THE  OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH,  NE^VUURVPORT,  MASS. 

LION  OF  SOUTH  AFRICA. 

Diedorik  MuUer,  one  of  the  most  intrepid  and  successful  lion- 
hunters  in  South  Africa,  gives  the  following  incident:  He  had 
been  out  alone,  hunting  in  the  wilds,  when  he  came  suddenly 
upon  a  lion,  which,  instead  of  giving  way,  seemed  disposed,  from 
the  angry  attitude  he  assumed,  to  dispute  with  him  the  dominion 


WIIITEFIELI)  MONUMENT,  IN  THE  OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH,  NEWBURYPORT,  MASS 


of  tho   desert.      Diederik  instantly  alighted, 
and,    confident  of  his  unerring  aim,  levelled 
his  mighty  rwr  at  the  forehead  of  the   lion, 
who  was  eouchod  in  the  act  to  spring,  within 
aljout   fifteen  paces  of  him ;  but,  at  the  mo- 
ment the  hunter  fired,  his  horse,  whose  bridle 
wa>i  round  his  arm,  started   back,  and  caused 
him  to  mifis.     The  Hon  bounded  forward,  but 
stopped  witlun  a  few  paces,  confronting  Die- 
derik,   who   stood   defenceless,   his   gun  dis- 
charged,   and    his   horse   running   olf.     The 
man  and  the  beast  stood  looking  each  other 
in  the  fac-e,  for  a  short  space.     At  length  the 
lion  moved  backward,    as   if  to  go  away. — 
Diedcrik   began  to  load   his   gun :    the   lion 
looked    over   his   shoulder,  growled,  and  re- 
turned.    Diedcrik  stood  still.     The  Hon  again 
moved  cautiously  off;  and  the  boor  proceeded 
to  load  and  ram  down  his    bullet.     The  lion 
again  looked  back,  and  growled  angrily;  and 
this  occurred  repeatedly,  until  the  animal  had 
got  off  to  some  distance,  when  he  took  fairly 
to  his  heels,  and    bounded   away.     This  was 
not  the  only  nor  tlie  most  dangerous  adven- 
ture of  Diedcrik  Muller  with  the  monarch  of 
the  wilderness.     On  another  occasion,  a  lion 
came  so  Buddenly  upon  him,  that,  before  he 
could  take  aim,  the  animal  made  his  formid- 
able spring,  and  aliglited  so  near  the  hunter, 
that  he  liad  just  space  to  thrust  the  muzzle  of 
his  gun   into   his  open  jaws,  and  shoot  him 
through  the  head.     Diedcrik  and  his  brother 
Christian  generally  hunt   in   company;  and 
have  killed   upwards   of  thirty  lions.     They 
have  not  achieved  this,  however,  without  many 
hair-breadth   escapes,   and    have   more   than 
once  saved  each  other's  lives.    On  one  of  these 
occasions,  a  lion  sprang  suddenly  upon  Diedc- 
rik, from  behind  a  stone,  bore  man  and  horse 
to  the  ground,  and  was  proceeding  to  finish 
his  career,  when  Christian   galloped   up  and 
shot  the  savii<j;e  tlirough   the   heart.     In  this 
encounter,  Diedcrik  was  so  roughly  handled, 
that  he  lost  his  hearing  in  one  ear,    the  lion 
having   dug  his   talons  deeply  into  it. — The 
hero  of  the  following  story  is  a  Hottentot  of 
the  Agter  Sneeuwbcrg.     I  have  forgotten  his 
name,  but  be  was  alive  two  years  ago,  when 
the  story  was  related  to  me   at    Cradock,  in 
that  neighborhood.     The  man  was  out  hunt- 
ing, and  perceiving  an  antelope  feeding  among 
some  bushes,  he  approached  in  a  creeping  pos 
ture,  and  had  rested  his  gun  over  an  ant  hill 
to   take   a  steady  aim,  when,  observing  that 
the  creature's  attention  was  suddenly  and  pe- 
culiarly excited  by  some  object  near  him,  he 
looked  up  and  perceived  with  horror  that  an 
enormous   lion   was   at  that  instant  creeping 
forward,   and   ready  to  spring  upon  himself. 
Before  he  could  change  his  posture,  and  direct 
liis  aim  upon  this  antagonist,  she  savage  beast 
bounded  forward,  seized  him  with  his  talons, 
and  crushed  his  left  hand,  as  he  endeavored 
to  guard   him  off  with  it,  between  his  mon- 
strous jaws.     In  this  extremity,  the  Hottentot 
had  the  presence  of  mind  to  turn  the  muzzle 
of  the  gun,   which   he  still  held  in  his  right 
hand,  into  the  lion's  mouth,  and  then  drawing 
the  trigger,  shot  him  dead  through  the  brain. 
He  lost  his  hand,  but  happily  escaped  without 
further  injury. — A  farmer,  of  the  name  of  Van  der  Merwe,  had 
outspanned  his  wagon  in  the  wilderness,  and  laid  himself  down 
to  repose  by  the  side  of  it.     His   two  Hottentot  servants,  a  man 
and   his  wife,   had   disposed  themselves  on  their  ready  couch  of 
sand,  at  the  other  side.     At  midnight,  when  all  were  fust  asleep, 
a  lion  came  quietly  up  and  carried   off  the   poor  woman  in  his 
mouth.    Pier  master  and  her  husband, 
startled  by  her  fearful  shrieks,  sprang 
to  their  guns,  but  without  avail.     Fa- 
vored  by  the  darkness,  the  monster 
had  conveyed,  in   a  tew  minutes,  hs 
unfortunate  victim  far  into  the  thicket, 
beyond  the  possibility  of  rescue.     A 
Hottentot  at  Jackall's  Fountain,  on 
the  skirts  of  the  Great  Karroo,  had  a 
narrow  though  ludicrous  escape  on  a 
similar  occasion.     He  was  sleeping  a 
few  yards  from  his  master,  in  the  usual 
mode  of  his  nation,  wrapped  up  in  his 
sheep  skin  carosse,  with  his  face  to  the 
ground.     A  Hon  came  softly  up,  and 
seizing  him  by  the  thick  folds  of  his 
greasy  mantle,  began  to  trot   away 
with  him, counting  securely,  no  doubt, 
on   a   savory  and  satisfactory  meal. 
But  the  Hottentot,  on  awaking,  be- 
ing quite  unhurt,  though  sufficiently 
astonished,    contrived    somehow    to 
wriggle  himself  out  of  his  wrapper, 
and  scrambled  off,  while   the  disap- 
pointed lion  walked  simply  away  with 
tho  empty  integument.     The  last  two 
anecdotes     illustrates    a    peculiarity 
ascribed  to  the  lion,  viz.,  a  supposed 
propensity  to   prey  on  black  men  in 
preference  to  white,  when  he  has  the 
choice  ;  or,  as  the  Cape  boors  explain 
it,  has  di-^cretion   in  refraining  from 
the  flesh  of  "  Christp.n  mmsch,"  when 
"  llotlcntot  vof/c"   are  to  be  come  at. 
The  fact  of  this  preference,  so  strong- 
ly alleged,  need  not  be  disputed;  but 
it  may  be  accounted  for  on  somewhat 
difi'erent  grounds  from  those  u-iually 
assigned.     The  lion,  like  most  other 
boasts  of  prey,  is  directed  to  his  game 
bv  the  scent  as  well  as   by   tlie  eye. 
Tho  peculiar  odor  of  the  Horten  ot, 
especially  in  his  wild  and  barhnrous 
state,  is  exceedingly  sti'ong  and  pun- 
gent, and  presents  to  the  lion,  who  i-i 
prowling  after  nightfall  in  search  of 
his  supper,  an  etliuvia  fully  as  attrac- 
tive  as  the  scent  of  a  savory  liecf- 
steak  can  be  to  a  weary  and  hungry 
traveller. — -I inericau  Ma'/azine. 


F.  GLEASOK 


(  CORNER  BROMPIEIJ) 
AND  TREMONT  ST3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  27,  1852. 


»2  PER  VOLUaiE. 

10  ctb.  single. 


Vol.  III.  No.  22.— Whole  No.  74. 


NEW  YORK  BAY  ANB  HARBOR. 

The  engraving  below  represents  New  York 
Bay  and  Harbor,  as  seen  from  the  Telegraph 
and  Narrows,  Staten  Island.  The  view  present- 
ed by  our  artist,  from  this  high  promontory,  is 
truly  beautiful ;  here  opens  from  the  sea,  or  low- 
er bay,  a  fairy  scene  unsurpassed  in  the  world, 
not  excepting  the  Bay  of  Naples.  All  tourists 
agree  on  this  point.  The  Bay  is  eight  miles 
long,  and  from  one  and  a  half  to  five  miles  broad. 
It3  smooth  surface  is  dotted  over  by  numerous 
snow-white  sails;  the  hurrying  to  and  fro  of 
hundreds  of  steamboats,  packet  ships,  and  small- 
er craft,  continually  passing  in  and  out ;  while 
here  and  there  is  a  gigantic  ocean  steamer  from 
old  Europe.  The  whole  forms  a  picture  of  bril- 
liancy, which  defies  the  painter's  pencil  or  the 
poet's  pen.  But  let  us  describe  the  objects. 
The  Telegraph  is  used  to  answer  to  the  Merchant's 
Exchange,   Wall  Street,  New   York,   in  refer- 


ence to  the  arrival  of  vessels,  and  the  arms  are 
kept  continually  moving.  Near  at  hand  is  a 
rough  old  fort,  and  very  extensive,  called  Fort 
Tompkins,  commanding  or  covering  the  new 
and  beautiful  fort  not  yet  completed,  but  rapidly 
approaching  it.  A  large  amount  of  money  has 
been  appropriated  on  this  Fort  Diamond,  which, 
together  with  the  one  before  named,  and  Fort 
Hamilton,  and  Fort  Lafayette,  on  the  opposite 
shore,  commands  the  entrance.  The  eye  follows 
the  entire  length  of  Staten  Island  to  quarantine. 
There  are  two  or  three  landings,  that  are  indicated 
by  a  steamboat  in  the  view ;  in  the  extreme  dis- 
tance is  the  Jersey  shore,  the  Palisades,  and  the 
noble  city  of  New  York,  in  as  bold  relief  as  if 
only  one  mile  distant.  On  the  other  side  is  Long 
Island.  The  ride  along  the  shore  to  Fort  Hamil- 
ton and  Fort  Diamond  is  beautiful.  One  or  two 
steamboats  leave  New  York  every  hour  for  Staten 
Island,  and  are  usually  crowded ;  and  on  gala 


days  from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  persons 
leave  the .  dust  and  heat  of  the  city  to  take  a 
breath  of  sea  air.  An  omnibus,  besides  car- 
riages, conveys  the  people  as  far  as  the  Telegraph, 
and  the  ride  from  the  ferry  is  delightfully  plea- 
sant. On  one  side  are  numerous  country  seats  and 
cottages,  built  in  form  like  castles  and  palaces; 
on  the  other,  is  the  bay,  laying  like  a  perfect  mir- 
ror, with  New  York  behind  and  the  sea  in  front. 
Nothing  will  compare  with  New  York  Bay.  No 
stranger  should  fail  to  see  this  view.  In  the 
striking  beauty  of  its  maritime  appearance.  New 
York  Bay  has  no  equal  on  this  continent,  and, 
perhaps,  but  one  superior  abroad.  A  few  weeks 
since  we  had  a  long  and  interesting  view  of  the 
scene  from  Brooklyn  Heights,  on  the  Long  Isl- 
and shore,  and  were  amazed  at  the  busy  scene 
of  commercial  prosperity  that  presented  itself  to 
our  eyes  from  this  point.  Innumerable  ferry- 
boats,  steamers,  packet    ships,    merchantmen. 


coasters,  ocean  steamships,  men-of-war,  revenue 
cutters,  sail  boats;  row  boats,  custom-house 
barges,  altogether  actually  swarmed  upon  the 
spacious  waters  off  the  Battery,  stretching  away 
north  and  east  up-  the  Hudson  and  East  River, 
toward  Long  Island  Sound.  Then  from  Castle 
Garden,  south-west,  lies  the  main  channel  for 
seaward-bound  vessels  through  the  Narrows,  >Dn 
to  the  broad  bosom  of  the  restless  ocean.  It  is 
a  most  exciting  and  interesting  scene,  and  tells 
of  prosperity  and  commercial  success  more  truly 
and  indisputably  than  columns  of  statistical 
figures  could  possibly  do.  Our  readers  wiU  prize 
the  picture  below  for  its  artistic  excellence  and 
truthfulness.  It  is  by  our  artist  Mr.  Wade,  of 
New  York,  whose  taste  in  mariiime  matters  is  of 
the  most  refined  character.  We  shall  often  en- 
rich our  columns  by  sketches  from  his  pencil, 
and  continue  to  give  all  such  scenes  of  interest, 
from  Maine  to  California. 


VIEW  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  BAY  AND  HARBOR,  FROM  THE  TELEGRAPH  STATION. 


338 


G REASON'S   ]>I(;T()?JAL   DRAAVIXG   llOOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massaclmsetts. 


[WKITTKN    EXPKESSLT    FOR   GLEASOn'S   PIOTOlilAr..] 


THE  SIGM   OF   THE  MYSTIC 

A  Talc  of  ilw  Camp  nM  Cwurt  ©f  Bonaparte. 
BY  B.  PERLEY  POOEE. 


[  C  0  N  T  I  N  U  !■:  I)  .  ] 


CHAPTER  XII. 


STRANQii    AND    SAD    TABLEAUX. 

Winter  enveloped  Paris  witli  his  snowy  man- 
tle, and  Osmanli,  deprived  of  liis  kind  Iiostes?, 
now  found  that  nowhere  is  solitude  so  pcifuct  as 
in  the  heart  of  a  large  city.  In  the  wildest  forest, 
or  the  smallest  hamlet,  where  the  din  of  traffic 
is  not  heard,  and  where  the  wheels  of  pleasure 
leave  no  trace,  humanity  and  sympathy,  under 
some  of  their  varied  aspects,  will  ever  greet  the 
stranger.  Some  one  will  ba  led  —by  cuviosiij' — 
or  by  goodness  of  heart — or  by  charity — to  visit 
the  stranger,  and  to  cheer  his  solitary  hours. 
But  in  a  large  city,  a  stranger  is  emphatically 
alone.  The  busy  tide  of  restless  humanity  ebbs 
and  flows  all  around,  but  no  one  thinks  of,  or 
caves  for  the  friendless. 

Osmanli,  anxious  to  show  his  devotion  to 
General  Bonaparte,  and  at  the  same  time  seek- 
ing society,  soon  passed  most  of  his  time  at  the 
house  of  Madame  de  Valmont.  But  in  endeav- 
oring to  watch  her  movement;?,  he  soon  forgot 
to  keep  guard  over  his  own  heart.  Then  Eros 
came,  hand  in  hand  wiih  Psyche,  to  stir  the 
young  man's  blood,  and  sweep  over  his  trem- 
bling lieart-strings  with  convulsive  movements. 
Tighter  and  tighter  the  wily  enchantress  drew 
the  meshes  of  her  cunning  entanglements,  and 
soon  every  moi'uing  found  her  victim  in  her 
boudoir.  A  fit  retreat  it  was  for  one  so  fasci- 
nating and  so  bewitching.  The  sunlight,  pass- 
ing through  stained  glass  windows,  partially  ob- 
scured by  heavy  crimson  damask  curtains,  gave 
everything  a  soft,  flesh-like  tone  of  luxurious 
life.  Rich  carpets,  noon  which  the  heaviest  tread 
fell  unheard,  covered  the  floor — mythological 
paintings,  in  their  nude  voluptuousness,  decked 
the  walls — flowers  perfumed  the  air, — whilst  the 
whole  scene  was  reflected  in  mirrors  of  great 
size  and  purity,  set  in  heavily  gilded  frames. 

And  here,  where  everything  blended  harmoni- 
ously, Madame  de  Valmont's  fascinating  beauty 
was  more  apparent.  Arrayed  in  her  morning- 
dress,  which  disclosed  the  luxurious  fulness  of 
her  form,  she  only  lacked  the  pure  blush  of  mod- 
esty to  have  personated  Venus  herself,  in  the 
regal  pride  of  matchless  charms.  Her  large  ex- 
pressive eyes  would  appear  to  float,  like  Mun?et 
clouds*,  in  purity, — her  rosy  nostrils  would  dilate 
with  heart  passion, — and  her  fall  ruby  lips, 
would  pout  archly  fortii  from  her  pca^jliy,  dim- 
pled cheeks,  the  upper  one  shaded  by  a  piquant 
tracery  of  raven  down.  Often,  as  she  sat  chat- 
ting with  Osmanli,  her  maid  would  comb  out  the 
thick,  clustering  curls,  until  they  enveloped  her 
bust  like  a  silken  veil,  and  then  arrange  it  in 
Kuch  form  as  to  add  beauty  to  th"e  contour  of  her 
classical  face.  And  never  was  a  snare  more  cun- 
ningly laid,  than  the  half-toilet  which  was  thus 
exhibited. 

Step  by  step,  Osmanli's  pure  heart  melted  be- 
fore  the  bright  glances  of  his  enchantress ;  nor 
was  it  long  before  he  became,  a  convert  to  the 
Epicurean  doctrines  which  lull  the  Parisians  to 
repose,  as  they  float  down  the  current  of  pleasure. 
"War,  love,  vnne.  music,  pleasure  and  opium, 
are  looked  upon  as  so  many  drugs,  each  produc- 
ing a  different  effect,  but  each  as  fit  for  indul- 
gence as  the  others. 

One  evening,  Madame  de  Valmont  called  ia 
her  carriage  for  Osmanli,  and  took  him  to  a 
masked  ball,  at  the  Grand  Opera  House.  The 
spacious  pit  was  floored  over  on  a  level  with  the 
stage,  and  upon  the  hirge   area   revelled  thou- 


sands of  maskers,  intoxicated  wirh  wine  and  joy. 
Seen  from  one  of  the  boxes,  which  Madame  de 
Valmont  had  engaged,  the  floor  appeared  like  a 
vast  cauldron,  where  wild  folly  was  fomenting, 
throwing  out  from  its  borders  a  foaming  noise, 
and  sending  up  to  the  overhanging  chandeliers 
a  mist  of  warm  breath.  The  imperious  notes  of 
the  orchestra  pealed  above  the  general  clamor, 
the  sharp  tones  of  post  horns  coming  in  clearly 
from  lime  to  time,  as  one  sees  the  fla&^i  of  can- 
non through  the  thickest  of  the  smoke.  Thou- 
sands of  lights  seemed  to  flicker  in  joyous  time 
to  the  music,  casting  a  lurid  glance  upon  the 
multitude  of  gay  costumes  below,  as  ever  chang- 
ing as  the  hues  of  the  kaleidoscope.  Each  eye 
had  a  wink — each  mouth  a  cr}' — each  arm  a 
mocking  gesture — each  form  a  provoking  move- 
ment. The  floor  trembled  under  the  pattering 
of  indefatigable  feet,  and  a  more  compact,  parti- 
colored mosaic  of  humanity  cannot  be  imagined. 
Hark  1  The  leader  of  the  orchestra  gives  the 
signal  for  the  commencement  of  the  gallop.  A 
sort  of  heaving  takes  place  in  the  thick  waves  at 
the  first  notes  of  thepost-hoi"n,acurrentis  gradual- 
ly established,  and  soon  the  triumphant  gallopade 
sweeps  around  the  area.  In  the  centre,  those 
maskers  who  did  not  join  in  the  diabolical  round 
formed  stagnant  groups — human  islands  which 
remained  stationary.  The  whirlpool  around  them 
hastened  and  leaped  onwards.  A  charge  of  cav- 
alry sweeping  down  upon  a  square  of  Infantry 
could  not  make  a  louder  or  heavier  noise,  and 
Osmanli  was  reminded  of  the  impetuous  hordes 
ofMouradBey.  Circling  like  a  maelstrom,  it 
was  a  symbol  of  tlie  evolutions  of  humanity, 
which  sweep  individuals  into  in'csistible  masses. 
As  the  night  wore  on,  Osmanli  and  his  com- 
panion left  their  box,  and  joined  thepromenaders 
in  the  saloon  of  the  theatre.  Here,  everything 
was  decorous  and  mysterious.  No  gentlemen 
were  admitted  in  disguise,  but  evei'y  lady  was 
masked,  and  so  concealed  by  a  black  domino 
hood,  as  to  render  recognition  next  to  impossi- 
ble. Madame  de  Valmont,  who  was  in  her  ele- 
ment, spoke  to  several  gentlemen,  and  intrigued 
one  or  two  by  her  knowledge  of  their  love  affairs. 
All  at  once  Osmanli  started,  for  the  well  known 
tones  of  Judith  Eezenzac  fell  upon  his  ear.  Could 
it  be  possible  1  He  eagerly  surveyed  the  masked 
forms  around  him,  but  could  not  distinguish 
any  one  that  could  be  her,  and  soon  the  thought 
was  chased  from  his  mind  by  the  bewitching 
folly  of  his  wild-hearted  companion. 

Yet  it  was  Judith's  voice  that  he  had  heard. 
She  had  arrived  at  Paris,  with  a  broken 
and  a  sad  lieart,  but  Josephine,  receiving  her 
into  her  house,  endeavored  to  dispel  her  grief. 
When  she  had  subdued  the  poor  girl's  outward 
sorrow',  she  began  to  question  her  as  to  the  state 
of  her  heart,  and  only  that  morning  Judith  had 
confessed  that  Osmanli,  above  all  other  men, 
had  won  her  love.  "Poor  girl,"  thought  Jose- 
phine, "another  hope  is  to  be  disappointed  ;" 
but  she  refrained  from  telling  her  that  the  young 
Mameluke  had  been  entranced  by  a  designing 
woman.  And  she  had  persuaded  her  to  attend 
the  ball,  in  the  hope  that  it  would  divert  her 
mind.  They  had  not  entered,  however,  ere  they 
saw  the  enraptured  Osmanli,  and  an  exclama- 
tion involuntarily  escaped  from  Judith's  lips. 

"  Hush  !'*  whispered  Josephine.  "  I  would 
not  for  worlds  be  recognized,  especially  by  the 
demon  who  accompanies  your  faithless  lover. 
But  now  you  sec  why  by  has  not  called  upon 
me,  and  why  he  has  forgotten  his   duty;    let  us 


go  to  the  police-box;  You  shall,  ere  morning, 
administerapointcd  rebuke  to  your  feeble-hearted 
swain.  Aficr  all,  poor  fellow,  perhaps  he  can- 
not help  it." 

Never  was  there  a  more  truthful  supposition. 
Bewildered  by  the  blaze,  deafened  by  the  noise, 
and  entranced  by  the  music,  Osmanli  lost  all 
self-command.  And  when  the  adroit  plotter 
against  his  iiappiness  left  the  gay  scene  with 
Iiim,  to  partake  of  supper  at  a  ncigliboring  res- 
taurant, he  was  completely  in  her  power.  The 
house  was  crowded,  but  the  keeper  had  one  pri- 
vate room  disengaged,  and  they  at  once  took 
possession  of  it.  Jt  was  not  large,  and  at  one 
end  were  folding-dooi's,  which  appai'cntly  com- 
municated with  an  adjoining  room.  A  f^umptu- 
ous  supper  was  soon  .served,  and,  when  all  was 
ready,  and  the  domestic  had  left  the  room,  Me- 
dame  de  A-^almont  said  : 

"  Now,  dear  Osmanli,  I  will  take  off'  this  mask 
about. which  you  have  grumbled  so  much." 

Never  did  the  sun,  after  a  total  eclipse,  beam 
forth  with  such  brilliancy  as  did  that  matcldcss 
creature,  when  she  threw  off  her  disguise. 
Dressed  in  tlie  scanty  ball  toilet  of  the  times, 
which  displa^'cd  the  classical  development  of  her 
form,  and  feft  her  fine  arms  bare  to  the  slioulder, 
she  appeared  to  Osmanli  like  some  visitor  from 
fairy  land.  A  collar  of  blazing  diamonds  decked 
her  beautifully  moulded  bust,  and  never  did  a 
spai'kling  river  wind  over  a  fairer  bed.  Nor 
could  the  enraptured  young  man  gaze  upon  her 
pure  complexion  and  her  classical  features,  with- 
out thinking  that  he  saw  that  loveliness  which 
Phidias  sculptured — the  Parian  mai'ble  marvel- 
lously animated  by  the  fire  of  life. 

Filling  glasses  to  the  brim  with  pearl-mantled 
champagne,  she  pledged  Osmanli  again  and 
again,  merely  sipping  the  wine  herself,  while  he 
drained  liis  every  time.  Then,  with  flashing 
eyes,  she  continued  her  remarks  in  such  a  tone, 
and  with  such  allusions  as  inflamed  his  imagina- 
tion. Ecstasy  surcharged  every  part  of  his  soul's 
faculties,  and  rapturous  joy  sent  his  heart's  blood, 
by  forced  marches,  joyfully  parading  through  his 
frame.  At  last  conversation  ceased.  Osmanli's 
heart  heaved  convulsively,  and  his  noble  nature 
at  last  prompted  him  to  avow  his  deceit.  Throw- 
ing himself  at  her  feet,  he  confessed  his  love,  his 
worship,  his  adoration — but  regretted  his  un- 
worthiness. 

"Unworthy'?  No!  dearest  Osmanli!"  was 
the  reply,  in  syren  tones,  and  tlie  crafty  woman 
leaned  her  downcast  head  upon  one  of  her  ex- 
quisitely tapering  arms,  the  glossy  fringe  of  her 
long  drooping  eye-lashes  falling  upon  her  checks, 
and  contrasting  deeply  with  the  light  blushes 
that  rose  to  meet  them. 

"  O,  forgive  mc !"  said  Osmanli,  in  heart- 
touching  tones.  "  Forgive  me.  But  I  am  but 
a  base,  degraded  spy,  who  has  agreed  to  betray 
you." 

"And  to  whom?"  asked  Madame  de  Val- 
mont, drawing  herself  up  with  queenlike  dignity. 
"  To  Pouche — to  Madame  Bonaparte.  Pity — " 
"  Pity  you,   you — but  her,  never.     Traitress 
that  she  is,  will  she  ever  thwart  my  projects  ■?" 

"Yes,  madame!"  said  a  voice  at  their  sides. 
It  was  the  unmistakeable  voice  of  Josephine! 
Both  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  saw,  with  aston- 
ishment, that  the  folding-doors  were  thrown 
open.  And  there,  encircled  by  police  ofiicers, 
stood  Madame  Bonaparte,  her  eyes  flashing  fire  ! 
"  Yes,  madame  !  1  can  thwart  your  diabolical 
plans,  and,  with  God's  help,  I  will.  This  is  no 
place  for  a  scene,  but  I  will  tell  you  that,  over- 
hearing a  part  of  your' conversation  at  the  opera, 
whither  I  went  to  distract  a  young  friend,  I  de- 
termined to  sound  the  depths  of  jonr  infamy. 
Peeling  certain  that  you  would  sup,  I  had  in- 
structions sent  to  all  the  neighboring  restaurants, 
and  let  you  liave  gone  where  you  would,  I 
should  have  been  a  listener.  Henceforth,  dare 
not  show  your  guilty  coxmtenance  where  I  am, 
and  remember  that  the  police  will  watch  your 
every  movement.  As  for  you.  Captain  Osmanli, 
a  glance  at  my  eomj>anion,  who,  like  myself  has 
been  a  witness  of  your  infatuated  treachery,  will 
perhaps  recall  you  to  your  senses.  And  as  Os- 
manli raised  his  eyes,  Madame  Bonaparte  lifted 
the  hood  of  her  trembling  friend.  It  was  Judith 
Pezenzac,  and  0,  what  an  reproachful  look  of 
sorrow  beamed  from  her  expressive  eyes. 

Another  moment,  and  the  folding  doors  had 
been  closed,  leaving  the  guilty  couple  alone 
again. 

"Maledictions  upon  her  head,"  muttered  Ma- 
dame de  Valmont,  her  features  worked  into  a 
fui'ious  expression  of  hatred.  I  will  yet  be  re- 
venged. Come,  Osmanli,  call  for  the  bill,  and 
let  us  leave  this  den  of  spies." 


Mechanically  and  without  a  word,  Osmanli 
settled  with  the  host,  called  a  carriage,  and 
handed  in  his  companion.  Then,  closing  the 
door  of  the  vehiele,  and  unmindful  of  the  calls 
of  the  nov/  frightened  woman,  he  walked  away 
at  a  rapid  pace. 

On — on  he  ;:trode  !  Now  jostling  those  whom 
he  met^now  stepping  aside  into  the  gutter,  in 
order  to  pass  those  who  occupied  tlic  narrow 
sidewalks,  and  were  too  tardy  in  tlieir  move- 
ments for  his  excited  frame.  Penetrating  into 
the  midst  of  the  mighty  labyrinths  of  stone  and 
mortar,  he  did  not  pause  until  he  reached  the 
old  bridge  across  the  Seine,  near  the  cathedral 
of  KoLre  Dame. 

It  was  a  tempestuous  night,  the  rain  falling  in 
torrents,  and  the  winds  howling  through  the 
arches  of  the  bridge  with  a  voice  of  lamentation, 
to  wnifli  the  gurgling  water  responded  as  it 
rushed  along.  Stopping  when  over  the  centre 
arch,  Osmanli  leaned  over  the  parapet,  and  gazed 
into  the  foaming  waters  i)eiieath.  Joy,  fierce 
and  thrilling,  now  animated  his  heart,  for  peace 
lay  in  the  eddying  wliirlpool  into  which  he  gazed, 
as  it  whirled  around  its  dimpled  centre,  like  the 
hawk  circling  around  its  distant  prey,  contract- 
ing hi  verge  until  it  bore  down  to  death  in  the 
depths  beloiv.  All  around  was  like  his  own 
heart,  dark,  tumultuous,  and  tempest-tossed. 
No  ray  of  light  cheered  the  darkness  of  his  soul 
— no  bright  and  lovely  moon  struggled  with  the 
clouds  of  his  destiny— nothing  presented  itself 
that  was  cheering  or  consoling.  Madly  he  in- 
voked the  winds,  and  asked  to  be  swept  into  the 
dark  bo.=:om  of  the  waters.  Then,  as  if  in  mock- 
cry  of  his  own  despair,  he  burst  into  a  hysterical 
laugh,  which  seemed  answered  from  below.  His 
reason  tottered — strange  and  horrible  faces  mock- 
ed him — ^unknown  voices  muttered,  and  hissed, 
and  groaned  in  his  ear — and  at  last,  a  maniac 
rage  taking  possession  of  his  soul,  he  sprang  into 
the  water.  There  was  a  plash,  a  cry,  and  then 
the  waves  whirled  around  with  glassy  surface, 
while  the  winds  howled  a  requiem  for  the  suicide. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   RESCUE — THE    CATACOMBS. 

Madasie  de  Valmoxt,  when  Osmanli,  left 
her,  ordered  her  coachman  to  drive  to  Notre 
Dame.  Enraged  by  her  exposure,  her  unbridled 
passions  raged  and  boiled  within  her  undisci- 
plined heart.  Now,  she  heaped  the  bitterest  de- 
nunciations upon  Josephine  Bonaparte— now, 
she  avowed  for  Osmanli  a  passionate  love  which 
triumphed  over  delicacy — nov,  she  cursed  Mar- 
gry  as  the  destroyer  of  her  happiness — and,  in 
the  intervals,  a  thousand  wild  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture floated  through  her  infuriated  brain.  Truly 
has  the  poet  said:  "Plell  has  no  fury  like  a 
woman  scorned." 

At  last  the  carriage  stopped,  and  before  the 
coachman  could  lower  the  steps,  the  maddened 
woman  had  lefiped  to  the  pavement.  Passing 
through  scenes  described  in  a  preceding  chapter, 
she  reached  the  catacombs,  but  found  an  un- 
looked-for sight.  On  a  mattress  placed  upon 
the  council-table,  lay  the  body  of  a  man,  wet  and 
dripping,  over  whom  Count  Vergennes  was 
bending  in  cartful  attention.  It  was — could  it 
be  "?  yes  !  it  was  Osmanli.  There  lay  the  object 
of  her  wily  machinations,  in  that  death-like, 
heavy  helplessness  which  characterizes  those 
taken  from  a  watery  grave. 

'*Th?-T!k  God  !"  said  the  count,  "he  breathes 
at  last,"  and  soon  the  livid  blue  lips  assumed  a 
roseate  hue,  while  a  faint  color  stole  over  the 
pallid  features.  He  opened  his  eyes,  hut  they 
encountered  Madsme  de  Valmont,  and  he  closed 
them  with  a  groan  of  angui.--li. 

"How,"  asked  Madame  dc  Valmont,  "did 
this  happen ';" 

"  But  a  few  moments  since,"  replied  the  count, 
"I  was  coming  hither  in  a  boat,  which  1  use  to 
escape  detection,  and  enter  by  what  is  apparently 
a  drain,  opening  into  the  river  near  the  cathe- 
dral. Just  as  I  approached  the  city  bridge,  I 
heard  a  heavy  splash  in  the  water,  and  my  boat- 
men lay  on  their  muffled  oars.  We  drified 
along,  and,  to  my  .great  joy,  I  saw  a  dark  object 
rise  to  the  suiface  of  the  water,  so  near  that  I 
clutched  it.  One  of  my  boatmen  sprang  to  aid 
me,  and  we  Eoon  had  this  poor  fellow  in  our 
boat.  Of  course,  I  dared  noi:  land,  and  so  I  had 
him  brought  here,  where  1  have  Tjecn  endeavor- 
ing to  resuscitate  him.     Wiio  can  It  be?" 

"  One  of  Foiichc's  spies,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Ntiy,  nay,"  answered  the  count,  "  I  have 
already  fcund  tokens  on  his  person  that  he  be- 
longs to  an  alliance  whicli  numbers  no  spies 
among  Its  memherB.     But  (lo  you  know  him  ?" 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


ooi 


"  Kno^v  him  ?  Why  this  is  Captain  Osmanli, 
the  renegade,  who  confessed  to  me,  not  an  hour 
since,  that  he  was  employed  to  watch  my  con- 
duct." 

At  this  moment  Osmanli  opened  his  eyes,  and 
looked  ai"ound  with  a  disturbed,  dreamy  glance. 
All  at  once  his  eye  brightened.  The  count,  who 
stood  behind  Madame  de  Valmont,  made  a  sign 
which  restored  life  and  animation  to  the  death- 
stricken  heart.  The  mystic  signal  was  returned, 
and  Osmanli,  raising  his  head,  again  looked 
around. 

"  Where  am  I V*  he  inquired.  "  A  tomb — 
human  bones — weapons — and,  and,  0  enchant- 
ress, have  you  followed  me  into  another  world, 
to  again  ruin  my  happiness  V 

"  Be  tranquil,  my  brother,"  said  the  count,  in 
a  gentle  tone.  Then  he  rang  a  bell,  and  a  ser- 
vant appearing,  he  ordered  him  to  show  the 
boatmen  the  way  to  his  bed-room,  for  a  portion 
of  the  catacombs  had  been  fitced  up  with  every 
comfort.  Hither  Osmanli  was  to  be  carried, 
then  divested  of  his  wet  clothes  and  put  to  bed. 

"  Arc  you  mad  ?"  asked  Madame  de  Valmont, 
her  tieautiful  features  convulsed  with  rage. 

"  Mad  !  Do  you  call  it  madness,  madame,  to 
rescue  a  human  being  from  destruction — espe- 
cially when  that  individual  is  bound  to  you  by  a 
mystic  tie?" 

"  Well,  sir  count,  if  you  harbor  spies,  and  en- 
courage our  enemies,  it  will  be  a  long  time  ere 
the  Bourbons  return  to  France." 

"  But  what  can  I  do,  under  the  circumstances  ?" 

"  What  can  you  do  V  shrieked  the  infuriated 
woman,  almost  delirious  with  rage.  "  Why,  let 
me  have  the  craven,  and  I  will  send  his  head  to 
Josephine  Bonaparte  as  a  keepsake,  while  the 
tishes  shall  feast  on  his  treacherous  heart. 
Wretch  that  he — " 

"  Silence,  madame,"  interrupted  the  count. 
"  Such  language  cannot  be  tolerated  here,  nei- 
ther can  your  private  ^vTongs  interfere  with  the 
cause — a  cause  which  recognizes  Christianity." 

"  Peidition  take  your  cause,  and  your  besotted 
Bourbons.  I  only  used  you  as  a  tool  to  gratify 
my  revenge  against  Josephine  Bonaparte,  but 
now  I  leave  you  to  your  new  associate.  Ha! 
ha!  The  elegant  Count  de  Vergennes  and  a 
renegade  spy  !  Adieu.  I  leave  you  to  play  the 
host."     And  the  desperate  woman  left  the  vault. 

"  She  will  not  dare  betray  me,"  murmured  the 
count,  and  he  then  repaired  to  the  couch  where 
he  had  ordered  Osmanli  to  be  laid.  He  had  re- 
covered from  the  effects  of  his  immersion,  but 
the  count  restrained  his  thanks. 

"  You  now  need  repose,"  he  said,  "  and  we 
will  converse  hereafter.  That  I  am  your  friend, 
you  know;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  in  a  portion  of  the  catacombs  of  I'aris. 
To-morrow  I  will  tell  you  more.  Adieu,  and 
pleasant  dreams  to  you." 

Would  that  Osmanli  could  have  slept,  but  it 
was  out  of  the  question.  Hour  after  hour  he 
tumbled  about  upon  his  couch,  with  the  sound  of 
the  rushing  waters  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  no 
air  to  breath.  Choking,  he  seemed  to  descend, 
then  to  rise  again,  gasping  for  breath.  And 
Madame  de  Valmont,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips, 
would  then  again  precipitate  him  into  the  watery 
abyss.  At  last  he  closed  his  aching  eyes,  and 
sank,  exhausted,  into  troubled  repose. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

NAl'DLEON    IN    FRANCE. 

News  from  Erance  reached  Egypt,  informing 
Bonaparte  that  the  moment  was  at  hand  when, 
by  casting  granite-like  edicts  upon  the  moving 
sands  of  revolutionary  misrule,  he  could  lay  the 
foundations  for  an  imperial  throne.  Making 
hasty  and  secret  preparations,  lest  his  design 
should  be  suspected  by  the  English  fleet  then 
hovering  off  the  coast,  the  victorious  general  re- 
cmbiirked  for  France.  Fortune  favored  her  war- 
like son,  and  after  a  speedy  passage,  through 
tempests  and  hostile  fleets,  he  arrived  at  Frejus, 
a  small  town  on  the  coast,  not  very  far  from 
Marseilles.  Quarantine  regulations  were  set  at 
defiance,  and  the  decks  of  his  ships  were  soon 
crowded  with  civil  and  military  functionaries, 
who  shouted  "  Hunafor  Bonaparte  and  victory  ! 
we  prefer  the  plague  to  Austrian  invaders." 
Even  the  wounded  soldiers  left  their  hospital,  to 
welcome  him  as  he  landed,  and  the  entire  popu- 
lation greeted  him  as  the  only  man  wlio  could 
restore  stability  and  concord  to  a  distracted  na- 
tion. The  church  bells  rang  forth  joyous  peals, 
the  cannon  roared,  bands  of  martiakmusic  were 
harmonious  in  their  glad  strains  of  welcome. 
But  Bonnparte  was  indifferent  to  all  these  mani- 


festations of  devotion.  Poison  had  adroitly  been 
mingled  in  his  cup  of  happiness,  and  the  sorrow 
he  felt  more  than  counterbalanced  his  ambitious 
pride. 

Madame  de  Valmont,  influenced  by  the  curi- 
osity of  her  sex,  was  so  eager  to  hear  with  what 
success  Colonel  Lowe  was  pursuing  his  diaboli- 
cal plans,  that  when  she  feared  to  remain  longer 
in  Paris,  she  repaired  to  Marseilles.  A  few 
mornings  after  her  arrival,  a  courier  came  from 
Frejus,  and  reported  Bonaparte's  arrival  from 
Egypt.  Starting  at  once,  she  arrived  just  as  the 
conqueror  landed,  and  managed  to  have  a  note 
handed  to  him,  in  which  she  accused  Josephine 
of  having  transferred  her  affections  to  his  brother 
Joseph.     The  note  concluded  tlins  : 

"  As  proof  of  what  I  have  asserted,  you  will 
find,  on  arriving  at  Paris,  that  the  guilty  couple 
have  fled  ;  upon  what  pretence  I  cannot  say. 
But  I  know  that  your  guilty  wife  will  not  dare 
to  face  you,  and  that  she  boasts  that  it  is  only 
the  first  burst  of  your  stormy  passions  which  she 
dreads. 

A  Devoted  Friend." 

Need  it  be  wondered  at,  that  the  jealous  hus- 
band was  in  haste  to  arrive  at  his  home,  although 
he  endeavored  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was  a 
miserable  invention.  The  official  ovation  with 
which  he  was  received  on  landing  seemed  to  oc- 
cupy an  age,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
authorities  of  Lyons  detained  him  one  day. 
"Faster!  faster!"  was  his  oft-repeated  exclama- 
tion, and  the  smoking  wheels  of  his  carriage 
whirled  over  hill  and  dale  with  greater  speed 
than  those  of  many  a  modern  locomotive.  In 
vain  did  the  rural  population  line  the  road,  with 
shouts  of  gladness,  and  ofierings  of  gratitude. 
A  rapid  glance  was  all  they  could  obtain — a 
passing  bow  was  all  the  return  for  their  display. 
Yet  they  murmured  not,  but  hailed  him  as  the 
rising  sun,  which  was  to  dispel  the  long  night  of 
national  gloom.' 

Onward !  onward !  The  olive  groves  of  Pro- 
vence— the  vine-clad  fields  of  Burgundy — the 
forests  of  Fontainbleau — all  were  passed  as  one 
sees  a  quick  moving  panorama.  And  at  last, 
seated  in  its  natural  amphitheatre,  Paris  appears 
in  sight.  It  was  a  bright  morning,  and  the  sun, 
which  flashed  from  the  graceful  domes  of  the 
Pantheon  and  the  Invalides  Chapel,  cast  dark 
shadows  behind  the  massive  towers  of  Notre 
Dame  and  of  Saint  Jacques.  There,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  civilized  world,  had  the  conqueror 
hoped  to  planthis  future  seat  of  empire.  There, 
on  a  locality  rich  and  rare  in  historical  associa- 
tions, had  he  hoped  to  found  a  dynasty  that 
would  overthrow  the  present,  and  overshadow 
the  past.  A  dynasty  that  would  gleam  like  the 
salient  domes  before  him  upon  the  pages  of  his- 
tory, and  would  cast  the  reigns  of  Charlemagne, 
and  Clovis — the  Bourbons  and  the  Valois — far 
into  the  shade.  But  now,  no  such  ambitious 
projects  occupied  his  thoughts.  All  the  sway 
he  coveted  was  over  one  heart.  Was  his  Jose- 
phine true  to  him,  or  had  she  fled  to  hide  her 
blushes  of  shame  ? 

He  reached  the  gateway  of  his  residence,  and, 
ere  the  porter  could  recover  his  surprise  at  see- 
ing his  master  thus  hurriedly  return,  Bonaparte 
was  in  the  house.  All  was  quiet.  Hastening 
up  stairs  into  his  wife's  room,  he  found  it  empty, 
and,  worse  than  that,  bearing  marks  of  having 
been  recently  Itft.  Drawers  had  been  emptied, 
the  travelling  trunks  were  gone,  and  the  unhappy 
husband  felt  his  worst  fears  confirmed.  The 
bell  summoned  a  domestic. 

"  Where  is  Madame  Bonaparte  V 

"  She  left  early  this  morning,  general,  in  great 
haste." 

"  Alone  V 

"  No,  general,  your  brother  Joseph  accompa- 
nied her." 

A  groan  forced  itself  from  the  heart  of  the 
wretched  husband,  and  he  motioned  the  aston- 
ished servant  to  withdraw.  Substantial  happi- 
ness was  now  fully  exchanged  for  sickly  doubt, 
the  soft  light  of  trusting  afiection  was  obscured, 
and  jealousy  held  possession  of  his  every  sense. 
Ordinarily,  his  powerful  will  controlled  any  dis- 
play of  jealousy  ;  but  now,  his  whole  frame  was 
convulsed  ;  the  "  green  eyed  monster,"  like  a 
barbaric  horde,  overwhelming  all  that  was  ex- 
cellent in  his  character.  Any  other  blow  he 
could  have  borne  up  against — his  plnlosophy 
would  have  borne  him  up  under  the  weight  of 
any  other  affliction.  But  his  stricken  heart 
writhed  in  anguish,  beneath  the  grinding  thought 
that  she  in  whom  he  had  centered  every  joy,  had 
turned  from  him  to  a  preferred  rival.  And  that 
rival,  too,  was  a  brother — one  against  whom  he 


could  not  draw  a  sword.  Beaded  drops  of  agony 
studded  his  forehead,  and  ineffable  anguish  was 
depicted  on  every  feature. 

There  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  but  Bona- 
parte heard  it  not.  Twice  was  it  repeated,  and 
then  the  door  opened,  but  the  sorrow-stricken 
man  saw  not  who  entered.  And  it  was  not  until 
he  felt  a  gentle  pressure  upon  his  arm  that  he 
looked  up.  Seeing  a  female  form,  he  at  first 
thought  it  was  Josephine,  and  he  clenched  his 
teetli  with  rage.  But  he  gave  a  look,  and  saw 
Judith  Fezenzac,  more  beautiful  than  ever,  al- 
though her  cheeks  wore  that  delicate  pallid  hue 
which  is  so  closely  imitated  by  Powers  in  his 
matchless  statue  of  tlie  Greek  Slave.  Clasping 
hi^  hand  in  hers,  she  said,  in  a  confiding,  gentle 
tone : 

"They  told  me  that  you  had  arrived  alone, 
and  thinking  you  would  feel  disappointed  at  not 
receiving  a  welcome  from  your  loving  wife,  I 
ventured  to  intrude." 

"But  Josephine  V 

"  Has  gone  to  meet  you." 

"To  meet  rae?  Why,  my  nightingale,  that 
is  impossible,  for  I  have  heralded  my  approach 
myself." 

"No  indeed,  general.  About  daybreak  this 
morning  a  lady  rang  at  the  gate,  and  said  that 
an  officer  had  anived,  bringing  news  that  you 
had  arrived  at  Frejus.  He  also  had  a  written 
request  from  you  that  Madame  and  your  brother 
Joseph  would  leave  at  once  for  Orleans,  to  meet 
you.  By  an  accident  his  carriage  was  over- 
turned, and  he  had  not  only  lost  the  missive, 
but  hrvd  received  such  an  injury  that  he  could 
only  re-v:h  her  house,  and  she  had  brought  the 
letter — " 

"And  did  Josephine  credit  this  falsehood?" 

"  Creditit, general ?" continued  Judith;  "why 
she  wo-  overjoyed  to  think  that  you  had  thus 
given  her  en  opportunity  to  meet  you,  and  enjoy 
first  g::::'ang5  away  from  the  public  gaze." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  lady  entered. 

"  Dearmother !"  exclaimed  Bonaparte;  "how 
kind  of  you  to  come  thus  to  greet  me." 

"  Welcome  to  France,  my  son,"  said  Madame 
Bonaparte,  and  as  she  took  off  her  bonnet,  Ju- 
dith could  scarcely  credit  that  she  was  the  mother 
of  thirteen  children.  Her  majestic  figure  re- 
tained its  early  grace,  her  passionate  dark  eyes 
were  undimmed,  and  age  had  left  few  traces 
upon  her  symmetrical  countenance.  "  Welcome 
to  France,  my  son  !  I  have  hastened  to  meet 
you,  because  some  one  left  at  my  house  this 
morning  an  anonymous  note,  informing  me  that 
Josephine  had  behaved  improperly,  and  had  gone 
off  to  escape  your  anger,  so  I  was  advised  to 
come  and  recommend  you  to  discard  her." 

"And  you  do,  mother  V 

"  Not  I,  Napoleon,  not  I !  Light  hearted  she 
maybe — volatile  she  may  be — fondof  gayetyshe 
may  be — but  she  is  as  true  to  you,  my  son,  as 
the  n  oon  to  the  sun." 

Sor.K*  one  knocked — General  Bonaparte  open- 
ed the  '^(^nr,  and  was  delighted  to  see  Fouche. 
After  cordial  greetings,  the  cunning  police-agent 
asked,  with  a  smile  : 

"  Is  it  customary  in  Egypt,  general,  to  have  a 
lady  precede  you  on  a  jouraey  V 

"  Su' !"  said  Bonaparte,  in  a  frigid  tone,  for 
he  thought  it  was  an  allusion  to  his  wife. 

"  O  nothing,  general.  But  the  reports  from 
the  south  show  that  a  lady  of  fashion  took  post- 
horses  at  Frejus  an  hour  after  you  landed,  and, 
fast  as  you  afterwards  travelled,  she  reached  the 
capital  nearly  a  day  in  advance  of  you." 

"And  who  was  this  female  Mercury  1" 

"  Madame  de  Valmont.  I  don't  know,  but  I 
fear  she  is  getting  herself  into  difiiculty,  and 
will  yet  see  the  inside  of  a  prison." 

"Have  you  your  letter,  mother?"  inquired 
Bonaparte. 

"  Here  it  is,  my  son,"  replied  Madame  Bona- 
parte, and  she  soon  lianded  him  the  epistle. 
The  general  took  fi-om  his  pocket  that  which  he 
had  received  at  Frejus,  and  handed  both  to 
Fouche. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  these  notes  V 

"  Tiiiuk,  general  ?  Why  the  first  glance  tells 
me  that  they  were  written  by  the  same  person, 
on  paper  from  the  same  ream,  and,  see,  each  is 
sealed  with  a  signet  ring  bearing  the  letter  V. 
Now"  (and  he  took  a  third  letter  from  his  coat- 
pocket),  "here  is  a  letter  written  in  the  same  hand, 
on  the  same  kind  of  paper,  and  stamped  with  the 
same  seal.  But  this  is  signed,  plainly  enough, 
'de  Valmont.'  " 

"  Therefore,  my  old  flame  wrote  all." 

"Exactly,  general,  and  preceded  you  here." 

Stepping  across  the  room,  Bonaparte  pulled 
the  bcll-ropc  with  such  force  that  it  broke.  AVhen 


the  servant  responded  to  the  summons,  he  sent 
him  for  the  porter.  That  functionary  was  not 
long  in  arriving,  and  was  questioned  thus : 

"  Was  it  you  who  received  a  message  early 
this  morning  V 

"  It  was,  general,"  and  the  domestic  quailed 
before  the  iron  glance  of  his  interrogator. 

"  And  who  was  the  lady  V 

The  porter  turned  crimson,  then  pale,  and  his 
lips  moved  without  sound. 

"  One  question,  general,  if  you  please,"  said 
Fouche.  "Tell  me,  fellow,  how  much  did  she 
give  you  V 

"  A  golden  twenty  flve  franc  piece,  sir." 

"  0,  ho !"  exclaimed  the  wily  police  agent. 
"  That  was  liberal  in  Madame  de  Valmont,  was 
it  not?" 

The  poor  fellow  sank  on  his  knees.  "Forgive 
me,  general,"  he  cried  ;  "  I  knew  not  that  I  did 
harm.  The  lady  was  evidently  vexed  that  I 
recognized  her,  and  she  begged  me  to  keep  si- 
lent, for  she  did  not  wish  it  known  that  the  oflicer 
who  brought  the  message  was  at  her  house.  I 
had  no  idea — " 

"Never  mind,  my  good  fellow,"  interrupted 
Bonaparte,  "your  ideas  are  of  little  value.  This 
once  I  forgive  you,  but  never  have  any  secrets 
again,  even  if  you  do  receive  gold." 

"  Plague  take  the  gold,"  murmured  the  man, 
as  he  bowed  himself  out,  "  I  will  see  it  changed 
into  good  wine  without  delay." 

"By  the  way,"  inquired  Bonaparte,  "where 
is  Captain  Osmanli?" 

Judith  turned  pale,  but  Fouche  responded, 
and  informed  the  general  how  the  young  man 
had  been  led  from  his  duty.  During  his  recital, 
Bonaparte  rose  from  his  chair,  took  snuff  vehe- 
mently, and  when  the  story  was  concluded 
with  the  abrupt  disappearance  from  the  ball,  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow.  Hark  ye.  Monsieur 
Fouche,  your  police  spying  is  all  very  fine,  but  I 
never  wish  you  to  enlist  my  ofiicers  in  it.  They 
have  other  duties." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  general,"  answered 
the  obsequious  agent,  whose  sagacity  foresaw 
Bonaparte's  coming  power.  "  Nevertheless,  I 
thought  that  this  Captain  Osmanli  came  here  on 
rather  an  inquisitive  mission." 

"Brigand!"  said  Napoleon,  with  a  smile, 
"  nothing  escapes  you.  But  is  not  that  a  carriage 
I  hear  entering  the  court-yard  ?" 

A  moment  more,  and  Madame  Bonaparte, 
who  had  just  left  the  room,  re  entered,  leading 
Josephine.  Never  did  the  faultless  symmetry  of 
form,  and  the  classic  features  of  the  bewitching 
Creole  appear  to  greater  advantage.  The  jour- 
ney had  animated  the  languor  of  her  complexion 
with  a  roseate  hue,  and  one  glance  from  her 
flashing  eyes  melted  away  her  husband's  doubts, 
as  the  last  fall  of  snow  disappears  before  the 
warm  sunbeams  of  spring. 

"  Welcome  home !" 

"Thanks,  thanks,  my  dear  wife.  You  have 
been  duped,  and  I  have  been  miserable ;  but  how 
can  I  doubt  you,  when  I  see  all  the  truth  of  your 
innocent  heart  reflected  from  your  loved  counte- 
nance." And  opening  his  arms,  the  conqueror 
pressed  Josephine  to  his  heart,  and  wept. 

Every  one  else  left  tlie  room,  for  the  scene  was 
too  sacred  for  mortal  eyes  to  witness.  From 
that  moment,  his  wife  became  his  confidant.  He 
recognized  her  as  a  guardian  angel,  and  submit- 
ted to  her  guidance. 

[to  be  continued.] 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    EMIGRANT'S    TOME. 

BT  WILLIAU  T.    Hn^EE. 

The  hills  had  scarce  concealed  the  sun, 

One  lovely  night  in  June  ; 
The  twinkling  stars  shone  one  by  one, 

Attendant  on  the  moon  ; 
Until  the  broad  and  blue  expanse 

Was  filled  with  starry  gems, 
Transcending  far  the  radiant  pomp 

Of  regal  diadems. 

When  strolling  through  a  sylvan  scene, 

Beside  a  stricken  pine 
I  saw  a  rude-made  mound  of  earth, 

Twas  called  the  '■  Wanderer's  shrine  ;" 
No  huge  mausoleum  upreared, 

The  lyre  sang  not  his  fame ; 
He  died  unhonored  and  unsung, 

He  died  without  a  name. 


Five  of  the  sweetest  words  in  the  English  lan- 
guage begin  with  H,  which  is  only  a  breath :  Heart, 
Hope,  Home,  Happiness  and  Heaven.  Heart  is 
a  hope-place,  and  home  is  a  heart-place,  and  that 
man  sadly  mistaketh,  who  would  exchange  the 
happiness  of  home  for  anything  less  than  heaven. 


340 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COIMPANION. 


THE  NEW  FIRE  DEPARTMENT   OF  BERLIN,  IN  PRUSSIA. 


THE  NEW  FinE  BEPARTMENT  IN  BERWN. 

On  this  and  the  next  pjijrc  wp  yive  ti  line  series  of  views  of  tlic 
cclchratecl  Fire  Dcpiirtment  of  Berlin.  The  Dcpjirtmcnt  eonsists 
of  a  Iitt?e  more  than  GilO  men,  unrter  the  mufn  orj;»nizcr  and  hciicJ 
of  the  estiihlishment,  M.  Seabell,  who  U  drrcetor  of  bnildhifr-s,  etc. 
The  military  ehanieter  of  the  nation  and  its  inslitutions  pervailes 
the  Fire  Department  even,  and  tliat  to  a  remarkable  extent,  as 
win  be  seen  by  this  (Tcsoription.  Under  M.  Seabcll  arc,  five  firc- 
tlircctors,.   tiity   upper-firemen,   220  Jiiemtn,  consisting  chiefly  ol 


FIRE   DIRECTOK. 


carpenters,  builders,  bricklayei's,  blacksmiths,  bellsmiths,  slaters 
or  tilers,  and  other  tradesmen  of  a  similar  kind,  wiiose  qualifica- 
tions, arising  from  the  nature  of  their  business,  render  them  pecu- 
liarly suitable  for  the  service — and  360  engine  men.  To  this  corps 
it  is  provided,  that  there  may  be  added  360  men  belonging  to  the 
department  of  the  street-cleaning,  which  is  subject  to  the  same 
head  officer,  although  separately  officered,  regulated  and  man- 
aged in  detail.  The  firemen  and  the  engine-men  (so  called)  are 
two  distinct  bodies,  but  both  subject  to  a  particular  drill  and  dis- 
cipline.    The  former  are  chosen  from  amongst  mechanics  having 


MASTER    ADVISER. 

a  certain  fitness,  from  previous  knowledge  and  habits,  for  the 
business,  the  latter  are  only  required  to  possess  health  and 
strength.  The  corps  is  provided  with  an  uniform,  and  arms  or 
weapons,  the  latter  varying  according  to  the  different  purposes  for 
which  they  are  designed.  The  helmets  are  very  strong,  yet  light 
and  well  calculated  to  protect  from  the  injuries  to  which  the  wear- 
ers are  exposed  from  falling  bodies,  as  stones,  timber,  etc.,  which 
may  be  considered  the  worst  enemies  of  the  firemen.  It  will  be 
seen,  also,  that  the  neck  and  shoulders  are  preserved  from  fire, 
burning  coals,  hot  ashes,  and  other  contingencies  I>y  a  leather 
cape.  The  axes  are  about  the  usual  size  of  a  carpenter's  axe, 
but  to  this  is  added  a  pick  (in  short  a  pick-axe)  ;  to  the  handling 
and  carrying  this  weapon  belongs  a  regular  drill  exercise,  as  will 
shortly  be  observed.  The}'  have  also  bill-hooks,  which  are  very 
useful  and  eflfective  weapons.  Attached  to  the  leathern  girdles 
on  each  side  there  is  a  strong  iron  hook,  by  means  of  which  the 
firemen  can  expeditiously  and  securely  fasten  themselves  to  the 
ladders,  and  leave  their  arms  at  liberty.  As  for  the  rest — the  en- 
gines, hose,  buckets,  ladders,  etc. — not  personal  implements,  they 
belong  to  the  establishment,  and  form,  as   it  were,   an  artillery 


corps,  together  with  the  so-called  f.m/hw.  men.  The  different  corps 
being  under  tlieir  own  oHiccrfl,  and  8ubje<-t  to  peculiar  training, 
and  drill  organization,  and  regulationn,  extending  not  only  to 
dress  and  deportment,  but  pergonal  cleanliness.  At  the  time  of 
actual  operation,  in  the  case  of  extinguiKhing  fires,  every  opera- 
tion is  regulated  by  word  of  command  with  the  alacrity  and  pre- 
cision of  regular  Koldiers.  To  this  end  the  head  establishment  of 
the  city  is  fitted  up  for  all  the  exercises  connected  with  the  vari- 
ous operations  of  the  firemen,  the  command  being  communicated 


FIRE   INSPECTOR. 

by  notes  of  a  fife.  Although  on  reading  a  description  of  these 
exercises  they  might  be  deemed  frivolous  or  unnecessary,  yet  far 
different  is  the  effect  produced  on  witnessing  the  wonderful  per- 
fection which  is  attained  by  this  practised  skill,  uniformity  and 
exactitude  in  every  movement  and  operation.  Hand  and  feet, 
body  and  mind,  are  taught  to  work  together  in  the  same  manner 
as  with  the  best  drilled  troops.  All  the  various  performances 
that  may  be  required  at  a  fire,  are  rehearsed  and  practised  syste- 
matically at  this  gymnasium,  until  the  actors  are  rendered  perfect 
in  their  parts,  and  act  with  all  the  order  and  efficiency  of  well- 


A  VIEW  OF  A  BERLIN  FIRE  ENGINE. 


GLEASON'S.  PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


341 


THE  NEW  FIRE  DEPARTME^^T  OF  BERLIN,  IN  PRUSSIA. 


accustomed  veteran  troops.  It  will  be  seen  in  the  engravin^:  on 
the  previous  pape,  that  the  ladders  employed  are  very  short,  reach 
ing  only  to  the  height  of  one  story.  In  this  particular,  with  some 
improvement,  they  have  adopted  the  plan  and  model  of  Paris, 
and  rejected  tlie  use  of  long  ladders,  as  formerly  practised,  which 
was  found  to  be  attended  with  many  inconveniences,  particularly 
in  narrow  streets  and  other  confined  localities.  Amongst  other 
exercises,  the  handling,  affixing,  and  mounting  these  ladders,  to 
a  four-story  house  is  practised  at  the  head-quarters  of  the  Fire 


FIRE    MASTER. 

Department,  where  there  is  a  building  used  for  the  express  pur- 
pose. These  ladders,  each  of  which  can  be  managed  by  asingle  man, 
are  provided  with  a  pair  of  strong  iron  hooks,  by  means  of  which 
they  are  easily  hnng  on  to  the  window  sills.  At  a  given  signal 
four  (or  more)  of  these  ladders  are  applied  to  the  lower  range  of 
windows.  The  panes  of  glass  give  away  before  them,  and  they 
hang  securely.  They  are  simultaneously  mounted,  the  man  be- 
strides the  \vindow  sill,  and  from  thence  with  his  right  arm  affixes 
his  ladder  to  the  window  in  the  story  above.  This  operation  is 
repeated  still  higher  up,  and  in  this  manner  the  windows  of  three 


FIREMAN. 

stories  may  be  gained  simultaneously  in  the  course  of  less  than 
five  minuies,  at  moderate  speed,  and  it  is  frequently  done  on  the 
exercise  ground  in  less  time.  Each  movement  is  made  with  the 
uniformity,  exactitude  and  celerity  of  a  traiaed  band,  and  resem- 
bles the  drill  of  a  cavalry  regiment.  The  city  is  divided  into 
eighteen  fire  wards.  Each  ward  has  an  engine,  its  complement 
of  men,  and  all  requisite  belongings,  in  constant  readiness.  Eight 
or  nine  of  these  engines,  etc.,  form  oae  group  or  company  belonging 
to  one  large  district,  of  which  there  are  five.  All  of  these  wards 
are  connected  together  by  means  of  electro-magnetic  telegraphic 
communication,  aho  with  the  head  police  department  and  the 
establishment  of -the  Fire  Department.  When  a  fire  is  discov- 
ered, it  is  made  known  simultaneously  at  all  these  stations,  and 
it  may  be  reached  from  the  nearest  station  in  two  or  three  min- 
utes, and  from  the  rest  proportionately,  according  to  relative  dis- 
tance. The  most  remote  fires  may  be  arrived  at  from  the  central 
point  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  very  farthest.  It  is  almost 
unnecessary  to  add,  that  when  at  the  scene  of  action,  every  pro- 


ceeding, from  the  first  recoimoitre,  is  conducted  with  all  the  forms, 
discipline  and  regularity  of  military  movements  ;  it  is  also  evident 
that  great  advantage  is  derived  from  the  system,  which  harmo- 
nizes every  movement,  and  brings  in  play  well  trained  and  prac- 
tised skill,  order  and  obedience. 

In  this  country  the  idea  of  a  military  organization  as  connected 
with  the  Fire  Department  of  any  of  our  large  cities,  would  be 
scouted  at.  Here  such  service  must  hear  on  its  crest  the  words 
"voluntary  aid,"  or  else  it  loses  the  main  feature  which  charac- 


ENGINE    MAN. 


terizes  its  spirit  in  America.  And  yet  we  can  see  some  propriety 
in  such  a  plan,  and  especially  in  European  countries,  where  the 
military  system  forms  so  large  an  element  of  the  principles  of 
government  and  police  regulations.  System  is  imparted  to  the 
efforts  of  the  body  of  firemen  thus  organized,  in  a  more  sure  and 
reliable  manner  than  can  possibly  attach  itself  to  a  volunteer 
corps  of  men  ;  and  yet,  what  would  our  New  York,  Philadelphia, 
or  Boston  firemen  say  to  such  a  plan  being  adopted  here  ?  It 
■would  find  few  advocates,  we  imagine,  in  this  country  of  republi- 
can ideas  and  feelings. 


BERLIN  FIRE  ENGINE  AND  MEN 


312 


GLEA SON'S   PICTOIIIAL   DPxAYflNG    TvOOM    COMI'ANION. 


[Written  for  OIciiHon's  Pictorial.] 

BEAUTY'S    OFFERING. 

ADDRESSED  TO  TilM  DRAWING-KOOM  COMPANION. 

BY  JOSliPU   11.  BXITLER. 

OlToring  lit  tho  shrine  of  beauty, 
Elegant  iiud  swcot  boufiuot ; 

00  thou  onward  in  thy  duty, 
Dear  art  thou  an  flowovH  in  May  I 

Ever  wolcorao  ia  thy  grootiog, 

Unto  mindB  of  love  and  light ; 
Sirttor-arts  *  in  theo  are  mooting, 

Blending,  beautiful  and  bright. 
, Honor  to  thy  varied  swcetnofla. 

Honor  to  that  master-mind;  t 
Who,  with  peerless  taste  and  neatness, 

Countless  heautite  has  combiued ! 

Tliou  shalt  live,  for  thou  hast  merit  _ 

Time  thy  value  shall  increase  ; 
"Wider  fame  thou  shalt  inherit, 

Visitant  of  light  and  peace  ! 
Lovely  eyes  shall  linger  on  thee, 

Fairy  hands  thy  pages  turn  ; 
Genius  easts  her  charm  upon  thee. 

Where  her  kindled  altars  burn  ; 

1  would  blend  with  thee  a  flower. 

Wild,  yet  sometimes  eiuiply  sweet; 
To  beguile  a  weary  liour, 
Twine  it  where  the  lovely  meet ! 


*  Poetry  and  Painting. 


t  r  Gleasou,  Esq. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  HALF-WAY  OAK: 

— OK — 

THE    COMBAT    OF   THIRTY. 

BY  IIENEY  WILLIAM  HEREEKT. 

In  tlic  beautiful  province  of  Morbihan,  one  of 
the  fairest  in  that  western  part  of  France,  known 
in  old  time  as  Brittany,  and  famous  for  the  hardy 
valor  and  somewhatbraggartspirit  of  its  natives, 
who  were  for  the  most  part  engaged,  during  the 
long  French  and  English  wars,  under  the  ban- 
ners of  the  British  Plantagenets,  against  the 
standard  of  the  House  of  Valois,  there  lies  be- 
tween the  towns  of  Ploermel  and  Josselin  a  wide 
expanse  of  heathery  waste,  extending  for  many 
leagues  on  every  side,  interspersed  here  and 
there,  on  its  more  elevated  surfaces,  with  patch- 
es of  old  forest,  occasionally  intersected  by  deep 
ravines,  where  the  streams  and  rivulets,  tributa- 
ry to  the  Oust,  the  CJaye,  and  the  Vilaine,  have 
channelled  the  sandy  soil  of  the  lands,  and  sink- 
ing, at  its  lowest  levels,  into  vast  green  morass- 
es, full  of  all  sorts  of  wild  water-fowl  v;hich  may 
tempt  tlic  ardent  sportsman. 

Most  solemn  and  most  solitary  are  those  vast 
level  tracts,  across  which  the  west  wind  sweeps 
uninterrupted,  from  its  long  career  over  the  wild 
Atlantic,  with  its  deep  melancholy  voice,  in  the 
lulls  of  which  it  requires  but  a  small  effort  of  the 
imagination  to  detect  the  wail  of  the  Ossianic 
ghosts,  which  may  well  be  supposed  to  haunt 
those  desert  heaths,  on  which  yet  stand  unvisitcd 
and  half- forgotten  the  mossy  cairns  and  mono- 
lithic circles  of  the  old  unhallowed  Druids. 

Yet  is  there  a  strange  quiet  beauty  in  those 
long  undulating  levels,  waving  far  and  near  with 
ihe  purple  blossoms  of  the  rich  russet  heather, 
relieved  here  by  the  golden  bloom  of  the  prickly 
furze  and  the  gorgeous  Spanish  broom,  haunted 
by  myriads  of  wild  bees ;  and  there  by  the  deep 
emerald  verdure  of  the  feathery  fern,  or  the 
brigliter  and  more  velvet-green  of  the  treacherous 
morasses,  from  which  the  lonely  bittern  booms 
and  tlie  curlew  screams  unmolested. 

Midway  between  the  two  quaint  old  provincial 
towns,  above  mentioned,  on  a  conspicuous  swell 
of  ground,  whereon  the  tufted  heatlier  has  made 
way,  over  a  space  of  a  few  hundred  paces  in  cir- 
cumference, for  a  growth  of  dense  short  mossy 
turf,  there  still  stands,  huge,  gray,  stag-horned 
and  lightning-sliivered,  yet  not  wholly  dead,  one 
of  the  giants  of  the  ancient  forest,  which,  proba- 
bly, before  the  days  of  Cassar,  overshadowed  all 
those  bare  and  barren  plains,  an  immemorial 
oak. 

Some  fifty  paces  from  the  trunk  of  the  grim 
veteran,  there  gushes  from  a  little  hollow  in  the 
hill  tide,  where  a  richer  growth  of  herbage, 
mixed  with  a  few  tall  meadow  rushes,  and  tufts 
of  the  sweet-scented  water  briony,  gave  token  of 
the  vivifying  effects  of  the  grateful  moisture,  a 
clear  sparkling  source  of  very  cold  water,  ^vhich 
ripples  away  merrily  over  a  bed  of  many-colored 
pebble.'!,  to  join  a  neighboring  stream,  the  chan- 
nel of  which  may  be  seen  furrowing  the  plain 
toward  the  far  liriglit  line  which  marks  thecoursc 
of  llie  Vilaine. 

The  shadow  of  the  old  oak  tree,  grateful  in  the 


noonday  lieats  of  a  French  September,  and  tlic 
delicious  cooliie.ss  of  tho  limpid  water,  found 
here  alone  amid  the  arid  and  treeless  waste,  had 
rendered  that  spot  a  favorite  resting-place  of 
mine,  when  wearied  witli  the  pursuit  of  the  rcd- 
Icggcd  partridge  and  tlic  blackcock,  ■  which 
abounded  on  the  heathery  swells  and  coppices  of 
oakwood,  or  of  the  snipe  and  woodcock,  which 
swarmed  in  the  marshes,  long  before  I  knew  or 
suspected  that  the  lone  mound  and  the  oaken 
cano[>y,  to  which  I  owed  so  many  a  noontide 
slumber,  or  half- waking  day-dream,  had  pillowed 
the  last  sleep,  and  waved  above  the  gory  and 
disfigured  forms  of  knighfs  and  nobles,  borne 
down  in  tlie  iierce  game  of  spears,  at  the  clear 
trumpet  call  of  chivalry  and  honor. 

Yet  so  it  was,  for  five  Inindred  years  ago  the 
half-way  oak  betwixt  Josselin  and  rioermel, 
old  even  then,  and  already  a  time-hoaoic-d  land- 
mark, had  felt  its  scanty  foliage  thrill  and  shiver 
to  the  keen-charging  blast  of  the  French  and 
English  trumpets,  and  its  gray  gnarled  trunk 
had  groaned  and  trembled,  when  the  earth  shook 
beneath  the  furious  horse-tramps  of  the  chivalric 
combatants  of  Brittany  and  Britain. 

Those  were  the  saddest  days — the  darkest 
days — that  ever  gloomed  over  the  fair  land  of 
France,  until  four  centuries  later  the  hellish  toc- 
sin of  mad  revolution  called  forth  a  nation  of 
enfranchised  slaves  to  celebrate  the  saturnalia  of 
lust,  and  blasphemy,  and  blood. 

The  leopard  banners  of  the  dread  Plantage- 
nets floated  free  as  the  winds  that  shook  their 
emblazoned  folds  over  one-half  of  the  provinces 
of  France.  The  wild  northern  dialects  of  York- 
shire and  Northumberland  were  as  familiar  as 
the  merry  langue  d'oil,  or  the  soft  langue  d'oc, 
to  the  sunny  shores  of  the  Garonne,  or  the  vol- 
canic mountains  of  Auvergne.  The  island  arch- 
ery held  watch  and  ward  in  half  the  garrisons 
and  castles,  from  the  jms  de  Calais  and  the  sand- 
hills of  the  British  Channel,  to  the  rude  crags  of 
Finisterre,  and  the  purple  vineyards  of  the  broad 
Garonne. 

All  France  was  alive  with  the  clangor  of 
trumpets  and  the  din  of  arms ;  for  when  the 
royal  armies  were  in  the  field  no  longer,  and 
weariness,  or  want  of  the  sinews  of  war,  had 
forced  the  chiefs  to  brief  inaction,  the  lords  and 
seneschals  of  the  French  provinces  and  the  com- 
manders of  the  English  garrisons  would  prose- 
cute their  private  feuds,  would  set  their  arrays 
in  fierce  opposition,  and  fight  as  gallantly,  as 
fiercely  and  as  fatally  for  the  possession  of  a 
frontier  town  or  fortress,  or  failing  these  incite- 
ments for  the  mere  winning  of  ^os  and  renown  in 
arms,  as  would  their  monarchs  for  the  sovereign- 
ty of  a  fair  empire. 

Never,  since  first  the  possession  of  Normandy 
and  La  Bretagne  had  been  disputed  to  the  pos- 
terity of  RoUo,  had  the  war-spirit  waxed  so  high 
between  the  sons  of  France  and  the  island  in- 
vaders, in  the  year  1351  of  the  Christian  era. 
This  was  in  truth  the  very  age  of  chivalry,  and 
the  English  Edwards  the  highest,  the  truest,  and 
the  most  consistent  of  its  champions  and  patrons. 
These  were  tlie  feats  of  knight  errantry,  the  high 
and  perilous  emprizes  for  the  light  of  ladies'  eyes, 
the  punctilious  and  fantastic  courtesies,  the  won- 
drous deeds  of  daring  and  devotion  done  and 
suffered,  which  arc  ascribed  by  the  poets  and  ro- 
mancers of  the  middle  ages  to  the  fabulous  court 
of  King  Arthur  and  his  table  round,  or  to  the 
early  feudal  days  of  Charlemagne.  The  order 
of  the  garter,  the  pearl  chaplet  of  Eustache  de 
Ecbeaumonte,  the  captive  majesty  of  France 
served  on  the  bended  knee  by  his  bare-lieaded 
conqueror,  himself  the  valiant  son  of  a  right  va- 
liant king,  the  passages  of  arms  fought,  out,  a 
I'outrance,  in  all  courtesy  and  grace  by  friendly 
and  admiring  foemen,  the  wild  honor  shown  in 
the  judicial  combats,  the  faith  that  yet  existed, 
living  and  real,  in  the  honor,  truth  and  gallantly 
of  man,  the  reverence  for,  and  adoration  of,  the 
virtue  and  the  purity  of  v/oman,  v/b.ich  pervaded 
every  sentiment  and  institution  of  that  age,  as 
never  any  other,  either  before  or  since,  attest 
those  bloody  years  of  France,  the  very  age  and 
body  of  the  days  of  chivalry. 

Nor  any  stranger  or  more  fiiraous  exploit  was 
performed  in  all  those  stirring  times,  than  that 
which  rendered  famous,  even  to  this  very  day, 
the  old  half-way  oak  tree  of  Ploermel,  that  even 
in  this  nineteenth  century  the  Breton  pea.sant  of 
the  landes,  striding  across  the  blasted  heath,  like 
some  gigantic  fowl  of  fairy  legends,  upon  his 
towering  stilts,  pauses  beneath  the  thin  shadow 
of  the  sere  oak  to  breathe  a  prayer  for  the  brave 
Bretons  who  died  there  for  their  country's  glory, 
or  to  cool  his  lips  at  those  limpid  waters,  from 
which    bravest  Beaumanoir  refrained  his  fiery 


tliirst,  so  long  as  one  foe  stood  unconquered  in 
tho  lists. 

About  this  time,  Sir  Thomas  ])aggcwort]ic,  a 
good  kniglit,  and  of  great  renown,  wlio  was  King 
Edward's  constable  in  Brittany,  was  slain  in  an 
action  with  the  French  ;  and  thereat  the  English 
knights  and  esquires,  nor  these  only — for  Sir 
Thomas  was  right  well  loved  Ijy  the  host, — but 
all  the  archers  and  varlcts  of  the  army,  were  ex- 
ceeding wrotj],  and  greatly  set  on  vengeance,  so 
that  they  filled  and  wasted  all  the  country  far 
and  near,  and  the  hamlets  and  open  villages  they 
fired,  whenever  they  came  into  them,  seeing  that 
they  might  not  lay  hands  on  those  who  slew  him 
to  have  present  vengeance;  and  of  what  cjistles 
they  took  they  admitted  not  the  garrisons  to  any 
composition,  nor  held  their  lords  or  castellans  to 
any  ransom,  but  put  them  to  the  sword  without 
mercy;  only  the  ladies  they  harmed  not.  But 
the  villains  and  the  Jacques  of  the  country,  on 
whom  the  war  had  laid  its  hand  lightly  hereto- 
fore, seeing  their  dwellings  wasted  and  destroyed 
with  fire,  and  all  their  substance  harried,  were 
enforced  either  to  fly  with  their  families  to  the 
strong  cities  fgr  succor,  or  else  they  scattered  them- 
selves abroad  in  the  heaths  and  forests,  and  be- 
come pillers  themselves,  and  murderers  of  men 
and  violators  of  women,  and  associated  them- 
selves in  armed  bands,  waging  war  on  all  sun- 
dry, whom  they  might  find  delivered  to  their 
hands,  and  they  did  detriment  to  the  country 
more  than  the  English  or  the  free  companions. 
And  thereat,  in  their  turn,  the  French  com- 
manders waxed  wroth,  for  they  said  it  was  for- 
tune of  war  that  Daggeworthe  had  fallen,  and 
that  in  rude  feats  of  arms  men  must  need  look 
of  such  things,  for  it  is  like  that  some  must  die; 
but  that  this  was  no  just  war  which  the  English 
and  the  companions  waged,  to  burn  open  towns 
and  hamlets,  and  plunder  miserable  peasants, 
and  put  knights  and  nobles  to  sword,  whom  they 
might  hold  to  ransom,  and  so  have  good  gain 
and  win  los  before  God  and  the  ladies. 

Now  Beaumanoir  was,  in  those  days,  mare- 
schal  of  France,  and  he  commanded  in  Bretagne 
for  King  John,  and  Sir  Miles  Bemborough  was 
governor  of  Ploermel  for  King  Edward,  and 
held  it  with  a  force  of  Englishmen,  and  some 
Germans  and  Bretons,  all  good  and  doughty 
men-at-arms. 

And  Beaumanoir,  desiring  that  this  sort  of 
cruel  war  should  have  an  end,  sent  to  Ploermel 
for  a  passport  to  hold  conference  with  Bem- 
borough ;  but  when  they  came  together,  nothing 
proceeded,  save  that  they  came  to  high  words, 
and  haughty,  and  defiances  on  both  sides ;  for 
Bemborough  had  been  a  comrade  in  arms  to 
Daggeworthe,  and  he  denied  calling  the  virgin 
and  the  saints  to  witness,  that  it  was  no  fortune 
of  war  or  fair  fighting  when  Sir  Thomas  fell, 
but  that  he  was  done  dishonestly  to  death  after 
he  had  yielded  himself  to  ransom.  Then  one  of 
them  proposed  a  combat  a  I'outrance  of  thirty  on 
a  side,  for  decision  of  all  difference,  and,  at  once, 
the  place  was  appointed  for  it  at  the  half-way 
oak,  between  Josselin  and  Ploermel,  and  the 
day  was  fixed  for  the  27th  of  March,  the  fourth 
Sunday  in  Lent,  when  they  should  meet,  armed 
each  as  he  should  choose  to  fight  it  out  for  honor 
and  the  ladies. 

The  day  came  round,  and  no  fairer  shone  that 
year  out  of  heaven  than  that  fair  and  fragrant 
Sunday,  in  the  sweet  early  spring-time,  when 
the  birds  were  singing  joyously  from  every  spray 
in  the  thickets,  when  the  meadow  blooms  were 
gay  among  the  green  springing  grass,  and  when 
the  newly  budding  leaves  were  lending  a  hue  of 
verdure  even  to  the  gray  and  gnaided  branches 
of  the  half-way  oak. 

With  the  first  break  of  dawn  came  a  few 
pages  and  varlets,  all  unarmed,  with  chinirgeons 
and  medicaments  for  the  wounded,  and  such  re- 
freshment as  might  be  needed  by  the  worn  and 
weary,  and  priests  to  shrive  the  dying,  and  smooth 
their  road  into  the  dark  and  pathless  realms  of 
the  unknown. 

Two  large  pavilions  were  pitched  at  a  mile's 
distance,  the  oak  midway  between  them  ;  nearer 
than  this  no  person,  save  the  heralds  on  either 
side,  with  their  poursuivants  and  trumpeters, 
should  be  permitted  to  approach  the  field,  lest 
succor  of  any  sort,  which  was  strictly  prohibited 
by  the  terms  of  the  cartel,  should  be  rendered  on 
either  side  by  the  pages  or  servitors  of  the 
knights,  who  should  chance  to  be  worsted  in  tlie 
melee. 

At  nine  of  the  clock  both  companies  made 
their  appearance  on  the  plain,  all  armed  with  the 
exception  of  their  casques,  ari-ayed  under  their 
proper  banners,  with  their  heralds  and  trumpet- 
ers before  them. 


That  was  a  goodly  and  a  glorious  sight  to  be- 
hold, for  they  were  all  noble  horsemen,  and  the 
horses  Ihey  bestrode  were  all  right  handsome 
and  strong,  and  full  of  fiery  spirit;  and  their 
riders  were  sheathed  in  suits  of  plate  and  mail 
that  blazed  in  the  red  sunlight,  and  ihey  wore 
overcoats  of  silk  and  sarcenet,  and  some  of  cloth 
of  silver  and  gold  tissue,  emblazoned  with  the 
bearings  of  their  houses.  And  they  all  bare 
themselves  bravely,  sitting  upright  in  their  stir- 
rups, with  their  lances  erect,  flashing  back  the 
sunbeams  from  their  broad  heads  of  Bourdeau 
steel.  They  had  all  confessed  them  ycstcreve, 
and  as  thcii*  souls  were  free  from  sin,  so  were 
their  breasts  light  and  confident,  and  their  coun- 
tenances joyous  and  full  of  animation,  as  cham- 
pions' countenances  should  be,  who  do  battle 
willingly  for  God  and  their  countries'  and  their 
ladies'  honor. 

With  Beaumanoir  there  rode  nine  knights  and 
oneand-twenty  squires,  whom  he  had  elected  for 
their  prowess.  The  knights  were  the  Lord  of 
Tintcniae,  Guy  de  Bochefort,  Yves  Charruel, 
Robin  Kaquencl,  Huon  de  St.  Yoon,  Caro  de 
Bodegat,  Olivier  Arrel,  Geoffry  du  Bois,  and 
Jehan  Rousselet, 

On  the  English  side  there  were  few  knights 
and  not  many  esquires,  for  the  number  of  the 
garrison  limited  them,  so  that  they  were  forced 
to  admit  private  men-at-arms,  and  some  free 
companions,  and  so  many  as  ten  Germans,  for 
of  Englishmen  or  true  Bretons  they  could  collect 
but  twenty.  But  among  them  were  some  sol- 
diers of  great  note ;  Sir  Robert  linolles  and  Sir 
Hugh  Calverley,  two  of  King  Edward's  greatest 
captains,  and  the  celebrated  Breton  partizan, 
Croquart,  and  Herve  de  Lexualen,  and  Richard 
and  Hugh  le  Gaillart,  and  Richard  de  la  Lande, 
and  two  private  soldiers — Hulbitee,  a  Breton  of 
gigantic  size  and  vast  strength,  and  Bilfort,  a 
north  countryman,  who  fought  with  an  iron  mace 
or  mallet  of  twenty-five  pounds  weight. 

Still  it  was  clear  that  the  English  were  over- 
matched, and  Bemborough  was  aware  of  it;  for 
before  they  joined  battle  he  observed  to  Beau- 
manoir that  he  had  engaged  ia  this  contest  im- 
prudently, for  that  he  had  not  the  permission  of 
his  king  so  to  risk  the  lives  of  his  fellows.  But 
the  mareschal  replied  :  "  See  thou  to  that.  It  is 
now  too  late  for  aught  but  battle.  Nor  will  we 
knights  of  Brittany  withdraw  till  it  be  proven 
by  the  lance  whether  we  nobles  of  Bretagne  or 
you  knights  of  England  have  the  fairer  and 
and  more  faithful  mistresses." 

Then,  on  both  sides,  the  champions  briefly 
harangued  their  men,  and  Bemborough  promised 
victory  to  his  troops,  since  he  declared  that  there 
was  an  ancient  prophecy  of  Merlin,  who  was 
equally  esteemed  a  seer  by  the  English  and  the 
Bretons,  to  that  effect.  Then  .shrill  and  piercing 
rose  tlie  clangor  of  the  trumpets  from  either  end 
the  lists,  and  above  the  din  of  the  screaming 
brass,  the  loud  voice  of  the  poursuivants.  Fakes 
vos  devoirs,  precise  chevaliers,  laissez  allei-l 

The  spurs  were  dashed  into  the  chargers* 
flanks,  the  lances  were  laid  in  rest,  and  with  a 
shock  and  a  clang  that  was  heard  at  a  league's 
distance,  the  champions  met  in  full  cai-eer. 

Many  a  gallant  horse  went  down,  many  a 
saddle  was  emptied,  and  many  a  proud  crest  sank, 
five  to  rise  no  more,  and  these  all  Bretons.  But 
scarce  had  the  dust  cleared  away  from  the  shock, 
ere  the  clang  of  arras  recommenced ;  and  fiercer 
and  moi"e  deadly  at  close  quarters,  with  short 
weapons,  now  between  mounted  and  dismounted, 
wounded  and  un wounded,  but  all  undaunted 
champions,  rallied  and  ruled  the  fray.  Tv.  o 
hours  raged  it  thus.  The  dash  of  the  two-handed 
broad-swords  on  burgonets  and  bucklers  still 
rang  unwearied  as  the  din  of  hammers  on  the 
armorers'  stithies.  And  the  wild  war-cries, 
*'  France  and  St.  Denys,"  "  St.  George  for  Mer- 
ry England,"  pealed  to  the  skies,  mixed  with  the 
gathering  cries  of  the  noble  horses  and  the  en- 
senzies  of  the  individual  champions. 

There  was  a  pause,  for  though  human  valor 
might  hold  out,  human  strength  could  endure  no 
longer.  The  trumpets  sounded  a  recall,  and  re- 
luctantly, though  but  for  a  while,  the  warriors 
parted. 

Of  the  Bretons  twelve  had  been  slain  outright, 
and  three  men  had  been  carried  from  the  field 
desperately  wounded.  Of  the  English  fourteen 
lay  dead  in  their  harness  on  the  plain  ;  not  one 
had  left  the  field,  though  two  or  three  could 
scarcely  drag  their  limbs  along  under  the  weight 
of  their  harness.  After  brief  pause  and  short  re 
frcshment,  the  trumpets  again  flourished  for  tho 
attack,  and  maddened  by  the  din,  again  tho 
champions  met. 

On  either  side  there  were  now  left  but  six 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   R003I    OOMPAXIOX. 


313 


knights  mounted,  and  these  again  charged  head- 
long. Bemboiough,  wcuadcd  thrice  already, 
met  Beanmanoir  i:i  fu'i  ca.-eer.  and  spiintered 
hid  lance  fairly-on  his  crest ;  b.;:  :iis  o^n  charger 
went  down,  and  ere  he  coulri  recover  his  feet, 
his  helmet  and  the  stout  head^vitnm  it  were  shat- 
tered by  an  axe  in  the  h..  nds  of  ihe  Lord  of  Tin- 
teniae.  Calverley,  Knolles  and  Cro^uart,  all 
tliree  unhorsed  their  antagonists,  buc  cheir  own 
chargers  were  killed  at  the  same  instant  by  the 
fooWeu  of  the  Bretons.  At  the  end  of  that 
chaige,  there  was  lef'i  i)ut  one  champion  who  yet 
kept  his  destrier,  "Walter  de  Montmorcnci,  an 
cstpiire  of  the  Bretons,  and  he  was  so  sorely  hurt 
that  he  was  forced  co  draw  out  of  the  melee  for 
a  while,  until  lie  niij;ht  staunch  his  wounds  and 
bind  them  with  his  scarf. 

Bnt  Croquart,  when  he  saw  Bemborough  go 
down,  rallied  the  English  in  a  solid  circle,  siiout- 
ing  to  them  cheen'.y  :  "  Companions,  think  not 
now  of  Merlin  or  his  prophecies,  but  depend  on 
your  courage  and  your  arms.  Hold  well  to- 
gether, be  Ih'ni,  and  tight  as  I  do  !" 

Then  thrice  up  went  the  sturdy  English  cheer, 
and  betaking  themselves  to  their  battle-axes, 
they  dealt  such  shrewd  and  heavy  blows  that  no 
casques  or  corselets  might  withstand  them,  and 
though  they  were  the  fewer  in  numbers,  the  Bre- 
tons might  make  no  impression  on  their  phalanx. 

Beaumanoir,  faint  with  thirst,  and  weak  with 
loss  of  blood,  reeled  toward  the  little  source,  in- 
tending to  refresh  his  failing  strength,  and  return 
to  the  fray  recruited,  when  Gsoffry  du  Bois 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  shouted  :  "  Bois  tnn 
sang,  Beaumanoir ;  iu  n'aurais  plus  de  soif!" 
(Drink  thy  blood,  Beaumanoir;  so  shalt  thou 
thirst  no  more. )  And  half  blind  with  agony  and 
anger,  he  reeled  back  into  the  mdee,  dealing 
blows  at  hazard. 

At  this  instant,  just  as  the  Bretons  v/ere  des- 
pairing, and  the  English  all  but  triumphant,  a 
tierce  shout  was  heard,  and  the  tramp  of  a  charg- 
ing stallion. 

"A  Montmorenci  to  the  rescue!"  and  the 
coal-black  war-horse,  whitened  with  foam  flakes 
as  with  a  snow-storm,  and  reeking  with  gore 
from  spur-galls  and  sword-cuts,  plunged  into  tiie 
little  English  band,  yerking  out  his  heels,  biting 
furiously,  and  overthrowing  men  on  all  sides. 
Calverley,  who  fronted  his  charge,  was  over- 
thrown by  a  blow  of  his  iron  charafront;  a  side 
croupade  struck  Knolles  to  the  ground ;  Cro- 
quart was  brought  to  his  knee  by  a  sweep  or'— = 
rider's  broad-sword.  All  three  were  or^stered 
and  made  prisoners  ere  they  could  recover  their 
footing.  Their  comrades  were  slain  to  a  man. 
That  chance  charge  of  Montmorenci  sectled  the 
debate.  The  Breton  lords  were  masters  of  the 
day — the  Breton  ladies  fairest.  For  this  died 
twenty-seven  Englishmen  and  nineteen  Bretons. 
The  vanquished  lost  no  honor.  Tinteniae,  by  the 
Bretons'  conquest  of  the  British,  had  the  prize  of 
valor.  Such  was  the  combat  of  ihe  thirty  l)y 
the  old  oak  of  Ploermel. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
A  MAIDEN'S  TEARS. 


BV  : 


BUCU.4NAN    BEAD. 


0,  when  a  maiden's  soul  is  stirred 

To  pity's  deepest,  last  excess. 
And,  like  aocie  lonely,  brooding  bird, 

Kolds  its  bright  -vviDgs  in  mom-nfulnfEs  ; 
And  pours  its  eymputhy  in  sigbB, 

That  sweeten  on  the  rosy  lips  j 
And  sends  the  tears  into  the  eye?, 

To  flood  tbeni  with  a  balfecHpae. — 
How  brighter  its  veiled  beauty  shows 
Than  all  the  light  which  joy  bestows '. 
Thus  fairer  the  fair  fiower  appeai-s, 

Beneath  a  dewy  fullness  bowed  ; 
The  moon  a  double  lustre  wears, 

Within  the  halo  of  a  cloud. 
The  music  of  a  maiden's  mirth, 
May  be  the  sweetest  sound  to  earth  ; 
But  tears,  in  love  and  pity  given. 
Are  welcomer,  by  far,  to  Heaven. 

«   ■»■—   » 

SHADOWS. 

There  is  a  mysterious,  a  spiritual  beauty  in 
shadows,  which  wc  iind  in  nothing  else;  and  in 
the  poetic  mind  they  always  awake  and  stir  a 
yearning  after  the  Unseen — a  consciousness  of 
the  Infinite, — thus  filling  a  great  want  of  the 
soul,  as  no  earthly  ministration  can.  I  know 
not  how  it  \i,  but  there  is  no'^hiiig  tonclies  me 
with  such  an  exquisite  sensibility  to  all  that  is 
lovely,  and  truthful,  aud  dirine,  as  the  shadows 
of  trees  seen  by  moonlight.  It  seems  to  me  that 
they  are  the  connecting  link  between  matter  and 
mind — between  sense  and  soul ;  and  though  un- 
substantial and  fleeting  of  themselves,  yet  they 
lie  on  the  very  borders  of  eternity,  reflecting  on 
this  sensual  being,  delicate  images  of  the  only 
great  and  real  realities — the  Spiritual  and  the 
Infinite. — Spirit  Metisengcr. 


[Written  for  Glcason'e  Pictorial.] 
DREAfllS. 

EY  PHEB£   CART. 

What^j'cv  before  my  sight  appears, 

One  vision  in  my  heart  is  borne ; 
Two  swectj  sad  faces,  w«t  with  t«ars, 

Seen  through  the  dim,  gray  light  of  morn. 

And  half  o'ershadowing  them  arise, 
Thoughts,  M'hich  are  never  lulled  to  sltei'. 

Of  one,  whose  calm,  rebukiug  eyes 
Are  sadder  that  they  do  not  weep. 

0  friend,  whose  lot  it  might  not  ha 
To  tread,  with  me,  life's  path  of  ills  ; 

0  friend,  who  jet  shalt  walk  v/ith  mo 
The  white  path  of  the  eternal  hills ! 

Gone  arc  the  moments  when  we  planned 
Those  sweet,  but  unsubstantial  bowers, 

In  some  unknown  and  pleasant  laud, 
AMiere  all  our  future  wound  tlirough  flowcra. 

Into  the  past  eternity 

Ilave  faded  all  those  hopes  and  scenies  ; 
That  summer  Lsland,  in  the  sea. 

Slept  only  in  our  se:i  of  di-eame. 

1  know  not  if  our  hope  was  sio. 

When  that  fair  structure  was  upbuilt ; 
But  this  I  know,  that  mine  has  been 
The  bitterest  recompense  of  guilt. 

And  the  wild  tempest  of  despair 
Still  sweeps  my  spirit  like  a  blast ; 

Years,  penance,  agonizing  prayer, 
(Jould  you  not  save  me  from  the  past  I 


<    ^a^     > 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  XII. 

BT    DR.    JEROME    V.    C.    SMITH. 

PUBLIC  FOTJM"TAINS. 
Contrasted  with  the  fountains  of  CairOj 
those  of  Constantinople  are  objects  of  attraction. 
They  are  protected  by  singularly  contrived  build- 
ings, having  a  resemblance  to  one  of  the  stories 
of  a  Chinese  pagoda.  Immensely  wide  eves  jut 
out  from  the  main  body,  ofiFering  protection  from 
the  sun's  rays  or  rain.  That  near  the  extreme 
gat«  of  the  seraglio,  is  studded  over  with  sacred 
inscriptions  from  the  Koran,  and,  by  way  of 
eminence,  it  is  called  the  Well  of  Paradise.  In 
point  of  elegance  of  design,  and  beautifuj  archi- 
tectural proporiions,  the  fountain  near  the  richly- 
finished  mausoleum  of  Mahmoud  II  excels  all 
others.  A  crowd  of  thirsty,  black-bearded  Mus- 
sulmen  were  invariably  drinking  its  pure  water 
whenever  we  happened  to  pass  it. 

Water  is  brought  to  tlie  capital  fiom  a  dis- 
tance. With  a  people  proverbially  temperate, 
both  from  choice  and  principle,  an  adequate  sup- 
l>ly  was  of  the  first  consideration. 

Water-bearers  constitute  a  distinct  class,  who 
are  divided  into  horse  watermen  and  those  who 
peddle  the  necessary  of  life  from  door  to  door. 
Those  on  foot,  much  after  the  custom  in  Egyp- 
tian cities,  have  strong  leather  bags,  or  skins 
taken  whole  from  the  animal,  wliicli  they  fill  at 
the  public  fountains  and  retail  to  families.  It  is 
a  tolerable  source  of  income.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  horse  watermen  merely  lead  about 
their  laden  beasts,  the  bags  being  large,  and  thus 
enabling  them  to  return  less  frequently  to  re- 
plenish. All  through  the  Orient,  these  skin 
bags,  both  for  water  and  other  purposes,  when 
fluids  are  to  be  conveyed,  are  universal,  as  they 
doubtless  have  been  from  a  remote  antiquity. 

A  third  order  of  water-bearers,  precisely,  in 
all  respects,  like  the  charity  water-carriers  of 
Arabic  cities,  move  about,  supplying  gratuitous- 
ly whoever  demands  a  swallow.  They  are  paid 
from  funds  provided  by  conscientious,  pious  per- 
sons, whose  benevolence  must  be  always  appreci- 
ated even  by  Christians  when  thirsty.  These 
laborious  ftUows,  always  staggering  under  a 
heavy  weight  of  the  precious  beverage,  fonn  a 
corporation  by  themselves.  The  patron  of  the 
guild  is  a  Mahommedan  saint,  one  Suleiman 
Kufaly,  who  once  had  the  supreme  happiness  to 
present  the  Prophet  water  enough  to  satisfy  his 
thirst.  Being  considered  an  honest,  discreet 
sort  of  men,  their  eutr-incc  into  houses  is  per- 
mitted at  all  hours.  A  multitude  of  families 
have  no  servants  to  send  to  the  wells,  and  cus- 
tom forbids  the  women  to  go,  hence  the  sakas 
are  allowed  this  freedom.  Report  accuses  them 
of  being  artful  dogs,  however,  who,  under  pre- 
tence of  gravely  supplying  the  families  of  their 
customers,  arc  sadly  guilts."  of  intrigues,  both 
'  with  the  inmates  of  the  harems  and  the  menial 
female  attendants. 


A  leather  bag  holding  ten  gallons,  is  sold  for 
ten  paras,  equal  to  two  cents  only,  of  our  curren- 
cy, however  far  it  may  have  been  transported. 

An  ofHcer.  called  Sou  Nazier,  has  under  him 
the  Sou  loiJgi,  and  other  hard-named  servants 
and  assistant.^,  who  have  charge  of  all  the  foun- 
tains, keep  them  in  repair,  and  see  thatno  injury 
accrues  to  ihem. 

While  on  the  Giant's  Mountain,  we  had  a  dis- 
tant view  of  the  whitewashed  arches  of  the  great 
aqueduct  of  Valens,  one  of  the  Greek  emperors, 
who  ascended  the  throne  in  the  year  376.  It 
conducts  water  from  hills  near  the  Black  Sea, 
and  thus  all  the  principal  cisterns  are  kept  full. 

BUItlAL    PLACES. 

After  having  examined  the  immense  burial 
(icids  of  this  great  city,  in  which  grave-stones  are 
numerous  beyond  any  examples  in  Christian 
lands,  the  question  involuntarily  obtruded  itself 
thus  :  Where  was  so  much  stone  manufactured  ? 

All  the  burning  yards  are  vastly  extensive, 
filled  with  the  tall,  dark  green  cypress,  and  the 
grave-stones  huddled  together,  leaning  at  all  con- 
ceivable angles. 

A  flat  stone  is  either  laid  over  the  grave,  with 
a  mortice  at  one  end,  into  which  the  foot  of  the 
upright  head-stone  is  inserted,  or  a  pretty  solid 
stone  block  is  partly  imbedded  at  the  head  of  the 
grave,  and  the  tenon  of  the  head  slab  let  into 
that. 

If  the  grave  of  a  male,  the  head-stone  is  sur- 
mounted by  a  heavy  excrescence,  made  to  imi- 
tate a  turban.  The  patterns  are  various,  and  so 
is  the  workmanship.  Millions  of  them  have 
fallen,  been  broken,  and  others  tumble  over  the 
first,  and  thus  the  burial  place  is  lost  sight  of  in 
a  few  years,  beyond  the  recovery  of  fiiends. 

All  the  yards  are  dark,  damp  and  dreary,  by 
reason  of  the  compactness  of  the  trees. 

On  the  Asiatic  side  of  the  Bosphorus,  the 
cemetery  of  Scutari  far  exceeds  all  others  in 
magnitude  that  I  have  seen  in  any  country — being 
over  three  miles  long,  by  a  mile  in  width,  appa- 
rently, and  perhaps  really  so,  in  several  places. 
As  but  one  body  is  allowed  to  be  put  in  a  grave, 
it  will  explain  the  amazing  dimensions  of  the 
still  increasing  city  of  the  dead. 

We  rode  by  it  on  horseback,  but  did  not  pene- 
trate its  interior,  dark  and  gloomy,  like  a  primi- 
tive forest.  Paths  stood  out  in  various  direc- 
tions, and  there  are  a  few  avenues,  obstructed  by 
heaps  of  broken  grave-stones  and  other  accumu- 
lations. 

Some  travellers  have  been  particular  to  dwell 
with  enthusiasm  on  the  beautiful  appearance  of 
the  cypress,  and  especially  in  Turkish  cemeteries, 
as  being  both  majestic  and  solemnly  appropriate 
to  that  especial  service.  To  me  it  appears  stifl", 
gloomy  and  unyielding.  Forbidding,  as  any 
graveyard  must  be,  tasteless  as  tliose  are  at 
Constantinople,  they  are  made  infinitely  more  so 
by  those  sad-looking  trees. 

In  consequence  of  the  universality  of  the  cus- 
tom to  have  stones  at  the  head  and  foot  of  every 
grave,  the  manufacture  of  them  is  a  productive 
trade.  All  the  shops  and  sheds  of  those  who 
work  in  stone,  are  filled,  wherever  there  is  room, 
with  those  ready  for  market,  of  various  kinds 
and  cost. 

In  connection  with  this  profitable  business, 
books  of  epitaphs  arc  kept  by  the  dealers,  out  of 
which  mourning  friends  select  something  appro- 
priate to  the  circumstances,  character,  moral 
worth  and  other  qualities  of  their  deceased 
friends. 

A  funeral  is  a  hnrrieJ  ceremony,  which  is  pre- 
sumed to  be  the  means  of  burying  many  alive. 
It  is  a  historical  fact  that  Othraan  HI  was  ac- 
tually put  into  the  sarcophagus  while  in  an  un- 
conscious condition  that  led  to  the  opinion  he 
was  dead.  Mustapha  III  was  immediately  raised 
to  the  throne.  Before  the  ceremony  was  con- 
cluded, it  seems  that  his  late  august  predecessor 
began  to  manifest  unmistakable  signs  of  retuni- 
ing  life.  The  grand  vizier,  however,  soon  put  all 
uneasiness  on  that  score  to  rest,  by  heaping  on  a 
pile  of  gravel. 

This  Mustaplm,  who  tluis  got  into  power  iu 
17.57,  made  rapid  advances  in  civilization.  Such 
was  his  respect  for  medical  learning  that  he 
caused  tlie  works  of  Boerhaavc  to  be  transhvtcd 
into  the  language  of  thecountr}-;  and  furtliur, 
had  his  son  inoculated  for  the  small  pox. 

CoflBns  are  not  common.  After  various  wash- 
ings of  the  body  by  persons  set  apart  for  it  in  tJie 
community,  and  the  funeral  clothing  put  on,  a 
large  sheet  is  wound  round  it,  being  long  enough 
to  be  tied  into  a  knot  at  either  extremity.  Next, 
it  is  caiTied  away  on  a  bier,  Hii-ed  mourners 
perform  their  part  finely  in  countcrfciling  grief 


The  mausolea  of  the  sultans  are  curiosities 
which,  on  no  account,  should  be  overlooked  by 
the  traveller.  Kadines,  tliose  distinguished  fe- 
males of  whom  mention  has  been  already  made, 
as  being  set  apart  to  be  mothers  of  the  royal 
children,  cannot  be  placed  after  death  in  the 
same  apartment  with  the  illustrious  fatlier  of 
their  children,  because  they  were  slaves.  Mo- 
thers of  sultans,  their  daughters  and  sons,  arc 
allowed  the  hoi\or  of  a  royal  sepulchre,  with 
their  relations. 

The  mausoleum  of  Solyman,  and  that  of 
Mahmoud  IF,  are  truly  beautiful,  bearing  no 
kind  of  resemblance  to  the  sombre  abodes  of 
death  to  which  we  are  accustomed,  where  civili- 
zation is  credited  with  improving  the  public 
taste.  Besides  large,  airy,  above-ground  apart- 
ments, well  lighted,  and  ornamented  with  book 
stands  for  pious  readers  of  the  Koran,  there  are 
glasslampSjbeautiful  metallic  candlesticks,  lamps, 
ostrich  eggs,  elegant  marble  floors,  drapery, 
lieavy  silk  coverings,  tassels,  cashmere  shawls, 
and  rich  parcels  of  carpeting. 

A  sandooka  is  a  kind  of  wooden  coffin,  laid 
on  the  floor,  on  a  marble  slab  that  covers  the 
body.  A  sultan's  box  is  disproportionately  large, 
but  it  is,  therefore,  the  more  imperial.  Seven 
shawls,  together  with  a  bit  of  the  holy  veil 
brought  from  Mecca,  adds  to  its  sanctity. 

Mounted  at  the  elevated  end  of  the  sandooka, 
is  a  rich  turban,  bearing  d.  cluster  of  diamonds 
in  front. 

Mahmoud  II  lies  in  state,  quite  alone.  His 
mother,  who  is  represented  to  have  been  the 
daughter  of  Charles  VII,  of  France,  is  near  by, 
which  this  conquering  hero  prepared  sometime 
before  his  own  death.  While  quite  young,  on 
the  way  to  become  the  queen  of  John  V,  the 
Greek  emperor,  she  was  taken  prisoner  by  a 
Turkish  corsair,  aud  given  as  an  acceptable  pre- 
sent to  Murad  II,  the  father  of  Mahommed  II, 
whose  existence  was  due  to  that  extraordinary 
misfortune  of  his  mother.  The  grandmother  of 
Medjid,  the  mother  of  Mahmoud  II,  lit  s  buried 
within  the  same  enclosure. 

Bajazet  II,  Selim  I,  Solyman  I,  Selim  II  and 
Murad,  are  objects  of  curiosity.  This  last 
named  Sultan,  Murad  III,  has  by  his  side  seven- 
teen murdered  brothers  and  ihe  son  of  Maliom  med  III. 
Achmet  I,  Murad  IV,  and  Osman  11,  strangled 
by  the  Janizaries,  in  1622,  and  a  host  of  mur- 
dered princes  who  were  put  out  of  the  way  on 
tlie  ascension  of  a  new  ruler  on  the  throne,  arc 
sad  and  awful  memorials  of  the  bloody  scenes 
that  have  been  enacted  in  Constantinople,  and 
may  again  be  repeated. 

But  the  mausoleum  of  Mahmoud  II  is  far  su- 
perior to  all  others,  and  as  a  piece  of  architecture, 
is  truly  a  remarkable  monument  of  taste  and 
skill.  We  walked  about  in  the  vast  room  con- 
taining biers,  sandookas,  carved  balustrades, 
drapery,  Korans,  shawls,  jewels,  aigrettes,  peer- 
ing through  the  magnificent  windows  to  a  fairy 
fountain  which  belongs  to  the  design,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  realize  that  the  dead  were  exclusively 
in  the  occupancy  of  the  costly  construction. 

Spread  about  the  lofty  apartment  are  the  indi- 
cated remains  of  the  cliildren  and  sistei'S  of  the 
stern,  imperial  Mahmoud.  The  female  graves 
are  not  surmounted  by  turbans,  while  each  prince 
is  marked  by  that  never-to-be  neglected  emblem 
of  royal  condition,  by  the  accident  of  birth. 

Some  of  the  sepulchres  of  the  mothers  of  sul- 
tans are  evidences  of  a  profound  respect  for  their 
memory  by  their  turbulent  sons.  If  they  even 
make  a  show  of  human  affection,  it  is  towards 
them.  Very  little  is  exhibited  for  fathers  or 
brothers. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
liEOJVOKE. 

BY   E,   CITRTISS   HIXE,   U.    S.    N. 

Where  the  long  summer  shades  are  lyioig, 

Thrown  from  the  willow's  crest ; 
And  the  evening  breeze  is  sighing, 

AVhen  red  in  the  golden  we&t ; 
IVliere  the  lettered  stones  are  shining, 

In  the  silvery  moonbeams  dreseed, 
liponore  in  sleep  is  reclining, 

With  the  green  earth  ou  her  hrent-t. 

Too  fair  was  she  for  a  mortal, 

To  the  angels  near  allied ; 
Lo  !  through  the  heavenly  portal. 

They  bore  the  destined  bride ; 
She  has  left  a  m  orid  of  sorrow. 

Of  sin  and  care  behind  ; 
But  her  voice  do  the  song-birds  borrow, 

As  they  .^oar  on  the  summer  wind. 

Dis^xmbled  holiness  is  double  iniquity. 


3U 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DIIAAVING   IIOOM    COMPANION. 


REPRESENTATION  OF  THE  PHILADELPHIA  FISH  MARKET. 


PHILADELPHIA  MARKETS. 

Few  cities  can  boast  of  markets  better  supplied 
with  the  bounties  of  nature  than  Philadelphia. 
Let  the  reader,  particularly  a  stranger,  take  a 
tour  of  observation  through  them,  especially  on 
Wednesday  and  Saturday  mornings,  and  be'will 
behold  an  exceedingly  interesting  spectacle.  He 
will  tind  these  buildings  well  supplied  with  all 
kinds  of  meat,  poultry,  game,  fish,  vegetables, 
fruit,  etc.,  while  the  streets  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  are  crowded  in  all  directions  with  well 
filled  baskets.  In  their  distribution  throughout 
the  city,  these  markets  embrace  altogether  over 
forty  entire  squares,  in  addition  to  the  range  of 
wagon  stands  on  Market  Street  and  on  Second 
Street,  which,  of  themselves,  form  a  line  equal 
to  three  miles.  The  Fish  Market,  here  present- 
ed in  a  correct  picture,  was  first 
erected  in  1710,  and  in  1729  was 
continued  up  to  Third  Street. 
For  a  long  period  it  was  marked 
with  the  appendages  of  pillory, 
stocks  and  whipping  post.  The 
last  remembered  criminal  punish- 
ed here  was  a  genteel  storekeep- 
er,  convicted  of  forgery.  The 
gentleman  made  amends  to  an 
injured  public,  by  having  his  face 
well  pelted  with  rotten  eggs,  and 
his  ears  clipped  by  the  sheriff. 
In  looking  through  this  market, 
lately,  we  were  reminded  of  the 
Fish  Market  of  Havana.  Thi» 
much  celebrated  market  aifords 
probably  the  best  variety  of  this 
article  of  any  city  in  the  world. 
The  long  marble  counters  display 
the  most  novel  and  curious  array 
that  can  weli  be  imagined ;  every 
hue  and  shade  is  represented,  and 
we  might  almost  say  every  shape 
also,  so  mfinite  is  their  variety. 
A  glance  at  the  tempting  display, 
taken  as  a  whole,  reminds  one  of 
a  look  through  the  prism  from 
the  Canada  shore  upon  Niagarai 
Falls,  all  its  harmony  and  beauty 
of  color  being  apparent  in  the 
scaly  creatures  before  him.  But 
a  curse  bangs  over  this  species  of 
food,  plenty  and  fine  as  it  is,  for 
it  is  under  government  monopoly^ 
and  none  but  its  agents  are  al- 
lowed lo  sell  or  even  to  catch  it 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  city.  This 
arbitrary  law  commenced  under 
the  government  of  Tacon,  who 
was  one  of  the  most  enterprising 
and  liberal  governors  that  Cuba 
ever  had,  though  some  of  his 
enactments  are  very  contradictory 
in  spirit.  A  man  named  Marti, 
a  pardoned  smuggler,  built  the 
btone  market  from  the  abundance 
of  his  ill-gotten  wealth,  under  an 
agreement  of  his  being  permitted 
to  monopolize  the  sale  of  fish  in 
Havana  for  twenty  years,  after 
which  period  the  building  revert- 
ed to  the  government,  by  whom 
the  monopoly  has  ever  since  been 
rigorounly  enforced,  and  the  pro- 
secutions under  the  law  are  even 
now  frequent,  and  the  penalty 
r^cvere,  affecting,  of  couj'se.  only 
1  ho  poorfer  and  most  needy  elaasen. 


JAMES  W.  WALLACR. 

The  accompanying  likeness  of  this  celebrated 
gentleman  is  from  a  very  fine  lithograph  by 
Baugniet,  and  will  at  once  be  recognized  by 
those  best  acquainted  with  him  as  a  \ery  accu- 
rate portraiture.  It  is  by  no  means  our  purpose 
to  attempt  a  complete  biography  of  Mr.  Wallack, 
but  we  will  give  a  brief  memoir  of  one  of  ihe 
most  varied  and  extraordinary  theatrical  careers 
on  record.  Mr.  James  William  Wallack  was 
born  at  Lambeth  (London),  on  the  17th  of  Au- 
gust, 179-4.  His  parents  intended  him  for  the 
navy,  and,  at  an  early  age,  he  received  his  ap- 
pointment as  midshipman;  but,  irresistibly  at- 
tracted by  the  profession  of  which  his  father  had 
been  a  distinguished  member,  lie  soon  renounced 
the  "  cocked  hat  and  dirk,"  and  became  one  of  a 


number  of  young  aspirants  called  "  The  Acade- 
micals." It  was  during  one  of  their  perform- 
ances that  the  great  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 
was  struck  with  the  promise  displayed  in  the  im- 
personation of  young  Wallack,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, procured  for  him,  at  the  age  of  twelve, 
an  engagement  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  where, 
for  some  years  after,  his  precocious  talents  con- 
tinued to  be  remarked  and  appreciated.  He  was 
but  eighteen  when  we  find  him  playing  "  Laertes" 
to  Elliston's  Hamlet.  This  was  on  the  occasion 
of  the  opening  of  the  new  Theatre  Royal,  Drury 
Lane,  the  old  theatre  having  been  completely 
destroyed  by  fire.  From  this  period  he  con- 
tinued a  member  of  the  Drury  Company,  play- 
ing, with  Edmund  Kean,  "Macduff',"  "Edgar," 
"Richmond,"   "lago,"   etc., — a  position  of  re- 


PORTRAIT  OF  JAMES  WILLIAM  WALLACK. 


sponsibility  which,  in  such  an  establishment,  at 
so  early  an  age,  we  believe  to  be  unparalleled. 
His  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  the  celebra- 
ted Mr.  John  Johnstone,  better  known  as  "Irish 
Johnstone,"  took  place  in  1817,  and  his  depar- 
ture, on  his  first  visit  to  the  United  States,  fol- 
lowed immediately.  He  made  his  first  appear- 
ance in  New  York,  in  "Macbeth,"  at  the  old 
Park  Theatre,  to  a  house  crowded  to  the  ceiling, 
and  his  success  was  instantaneous  and  decided. 
In  1819  his  eldest  son — Mr.  Lester  Wallack — 
was  bom,  and  may  thus  be  said  to  be  the  first 
comedian  introduced  by  his  father  to  New  York. 
Mr.  Wallack  returned  to  England  early  in  1820, 
and  appeared  at  Drury  Lane  as  "  Hamlet," 
"  Macbeth,"  "  Othello,"  etc.  In  1822,  he  again 
visited  America,  and  played  a  most  brilliant  en- 
gagement in  New  York.  Thence 
he  departed  for  Philadelphia,  and 
during  that  journey  it  was  that,  by 
the  breaking  down  of  the  stage,  a 
compound  fracture  of  the  leg  in- 
capacitated him  for  business  for 
the  space  of  eighteen  months. 
When  he  had  sufficiently  recover- 
ed from  this  terrible  check  to  his 
labors  and  his  triumphs,  he  again 
departed  for  England,  leaving  his 
i\ardrobe  in  New  York,  having; 
determined  to  act  nowhere  after 
his  accident,  until  his  re-appear- 
ance in  America.  When  he  did 
make  his  bow  at  the  Park  Thea- 
tre, some  short  time  afterwards,  it 
was  in  the  character  of  Captain 
Bertram,  an  old  sailor  o«  crutrhes. 
The  large  audience  assembled  to 
gi  ve  him  welcome,  though  de- 
lighted as  usual  at  the  beauty  of 
the  acting,  felt  a  mixed  sensation 
of  regret  to  think  that  the  favorite 
artist  was  forever  deprived  of  the 
free  use  of  his  limbs.  The  ex- 
pressions of  surprise  and  enthu- 
siasm may  be  imagined  when,  in 
tlie  second  piece — "  My  Aunt,"  he 
stepped  upon  the  stage  as  "  Dick 
Dashall"  with  the  elasticity  and 
firmness  of  tread  that  had  been 
wont  to  distinguish  him  during 
his  earliest  engagements.  Since 
then,  Mr.  Wallack  has  been  a 
constant  and  welcome  visitor  to 
our  shores,  and  his  popularity 
would  seem  to  increase  with  each 
succeeding  visit.  In  Boston,  he 
has  ever  been  a  most  especial  fa- 
vorite, no  better  proof  of  which 
could  be  adduced  than  the  fact 
that  when  he  la-it  played  here, 
some  ."iix  years  ago,  it  was  the/o/nvA 
engagement  in  eleven  months, 
each  one  of  which  was  most  brilli- 
ant and  successful.  Mr.  Wallack 
has  now  taken  what  was  formerly 
the  Lyceum  Theatre,  New  York, 
and  has  assembled  around  him  a 
company  certainly  never  surpass- 
ed. His  own  re-ajipearancc,  with 
all  the  pristine  vigor  of  former 
years,  has  been  a  triumph  of  the 
most  flattering  nature,  and  his 
theatre  is  in  the  full  tide  of  suc- 
cessful operation.  The  cngrav  ng 
wo  give  is  an  excellent  one,  asido 
frdm  its  being  a  fint)  likbness. 


GLEASONS   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


345 


34G 


GLEASUN'S   PICTOIUAL   DRAWING    llOUM    COMPANION. 


[\Vrltton  for  UluaHuii'H  I'icturial.] 

KOVEilIBIiK. 
AFTEIl  TOM  nOOD'9  "NO." 

BY  J.  STAER  irOLLOWAY, 

No  iifiu  iu  tiilking,  r«iiUy  'tlH  a  bIii, 
No  couiforfc  aii.\  wliuro,  out  doorn  or  in  ; 
No  wiintitli  ivitliln  tliw  oun-niyn, 
No  wiimitli  within  tbo  llrc-bliizu  ; 
No  Iinowini;  wurniUi  to  win  wlnjro  to  beyi"- 
No  plwifliiDt  tliinsfl  out-doorri, 

No  jirocty  girlH  to  look  ut; 
No  biibics  on  tlic  floors, 

No  clianco  to  ci-y  e'on  'fi-ciit ; 

No  M'lilkiiig  out  iiboiit  the  etreot  witli  fiieiids, 

No  meeting  onu  who  Btoopa  or  uondcacenda  ; 

(No  [Struct  lit  all,  in  lact, 

No  Irionda  not  pinclieil  or  ci-uckad  ;) 

No  siiying  "  how  d'  ye  do  "  to  tlioiu  you  know, 

No  tlianks  for  .showing  Btningers  tho  right  way  ; 
No  pardon  begged  for  lui  acciihnlal  blow, 

No  hciiliug  word,  naught  but  *' get  out,  I  say  !" 
No  spark  of  joy  on  auy  countenance, 
No  trilling  what  the  ■'  signs  "  are  at  a  glance  ; 
No  pockets  full  of  rocks, 
No  rises  in  the  stocks  ; 
No  news  in  the  newspapers, 
No  cutting  Mr.  Capers  ; 
No  Nicaragua /(^vs  to  care  about, 
No  "  outrage  "  worth  a  fig,  to  swear  about ; 
No  dinners  to  be  given,— no  visiting. 
No  toasting  any  one  or  any  thing. 

No  starting  on  a  speech  without  a  snoenej 
No  one  without  a  cold  when  asked  to  sing, 
No  getting  anywhere  to  got  a  Fqueeze. 
No  rest, — no  lying  down  in  (fuiet, 
No  getting  up  without  a  riot  j 
No  exercising  common  sense, 
No  use  in  all  this  eloquence. 
No  good  in  talking,  really  'tis  a  sin, 
No  pleasure  anywhere,  out  doors  or  in  ; 
"  No  go,"—  no  come. 
No  tweedle-dee, — no  tweedle-dum  ; 
"  No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member  ;" 
No  going  where  yon  please, 
-No  end  to  your  miseries  ; 
No  pleasant  breeze,— no  blessing  to  remember  ; 
No  life, — no  tlowers, 
No  birds, — no  bowers, 
No  shine, — no  showers, 

NoVEMBEIt. 

[\Vritten  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE   AVALBRIDGE    FAMILY. 

A   THANKSGIVING   STORY. 

Br   MRS.    CAROLINE   ORNE. 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  last  Thursday  in  ISIovember  had  been 
set  apart  by  the  governor  of  Massachusetts,  for 
the  celebration  of  Tlianksgiving.  The  long  In- 
dian summer,  with  its  golden  haze  floating  in 
the  air  and  tinging  the  purple  mantle  of  the  dis- 
tant hills,  bad  ripened  and  mellowed  the  fruits 
of  the  earth  to  a  degree  of  unusual  perfection. 
The  mild  and  Ijalmy  weather  had,  however,  sud- 
denly given  pUxcc  to  a  hard  frost.  Those  accus- 
tomed to  mark  with  care  the  atmospherical 
changes,  prognosticated  a  snow  storm,  and  as  it 
was  stated  in  the  almanac,  that  "  snow  might  he 
expected  about  these  days,"  the  inhabitants  of 
the  pleasant  and  retired  country  town  of  West- 
brook  conttdently  anticipated  that  sleighing 
would  be  added  to  the  other  enjoyments  of  the 
time-honored  festival. 

Preparations  for  its  celebration  were  com- 
menced early  in  the  morning  on  the  Monday 
preceding,  and  the  baskets  of  rosy-cheeked  ap- 
ples and  snowy  eggs,  the  lumps  of  fresh  butter 
and  bowls  of  delicious  cream,  and  above  all,  the 
large,  goldcn-ii"d  ]>umpkins,  displayed  on  the 
dreasci'.s  and  tables  of  the  ample  kitchens  of  the 
farm-houses,  constituted  a  delightful  premonition 
— to  the  juveniles,  iu  an  especial  manner — of  the 
nature  of  the  feast  which  might  be  expected  in 
the  articles  of  cakes  and  pastry,  before  which,  tn 
their  estimation,  the  turkey,  chickens,  sirloin  of 
beef,  and  the  ncvcr-to-be  omitted  boiled  dish, 
dwindled  into  comparative  insignificance.  But 
among  all  the  kitchens  of  the  comfoi  table  farm- 
liouscs  of  Westbrook,  none  exhibited  so  abun- 
dant an  array  of  edibles,  and  of  such  excellent 
(juality,  as  the  one  where  the  wife  and  daughters 
of  Esquire  Walbridge  were  preparing  for  the 
festival. 

Esquire  "Walbridge  was  the  i-ichest  farmer  in 
the  place,  and  an  exam  pie  of  the  dignity  of  labor 
was  truly  exhibited  in  him?>clf,  and  in  his  v.'ife 
and  daughters,  They  had  no  idea  of  its  being 
ungentecl,  or  beneath  them,  in  any  respect,  lo 
minister  to  their  own  necessities,  and  those  of 
the  family;  yet  tliey  had  their  own  ideas  of  ex- 
clusivencss,  and  tliough  cither  of  the  daughters 
would  have  accepted  a  freeholder  for  a  husband, 
\vIio  was  obliged  to  toil  early  and  lat3,  or  tlio 


son  of  a  farmer,  who  had  norhing  in  his  own 
right,  if  he  remained  at  home  and  worked  on 
his  father's  farm,  a  young  man  wlio  was  obliged 
to  hire  out  hy  tlie  mondi  or  year  would  have 
been  considered  as  iilUng  an  inferior  station  in 
society,  and,  con.sei|uently,  bencatii  what  they 
had  a  right  to  expect  in  forming  a  matrimonial 
alliance. 

Mark  Tiiurnton  was  what,  in  common  par- 
liuicc,  was  termed  Ks(|uire  Walhridge's  "  Iiired 
man."  He  would,  therefore — though  one  of  the 
best  educated,  the  most  intelligent  and  finest 
looking  young  men  in  the  place — have  been 
thought  arrogant  and  presuming,  had  it  been 
suspected  thai;  he  aspired  to  the  hand  of  one  of 
his  employer's  daughters.  Yet  it  was  a  piece  of 
arrogance  which  lie  did  venture  to  indulge  in  hi.i 
secret  heart;  and,  though  he  loved  silently,  the 
fair  object  of  his  devotion  knew  it  full  well. 
There  were  four  daughters — Jane,  llebecca,  Ann 
and  Ella — the  last  being  still  a  child.  Rebecca, 
the  second  daughter,  was  the  one  who  had 
a>vakened  the  admiration  of  Mark  Thornton. 
At  first,  he  being  only  the  "  hired  man,"  she 
looked  on  him  with  some  disdain;  but  his  hand- 
some' face,  superior  intelligence,  and  manly,  in- 
dependent demeanor,  were  not  wirJiout  their  in- 
fluence, and  she  soon,  without  being  exactly  con- 
scious of  it,  began  to  reciprocate  the  sentiments 
with  which  he  regarded  her.  Not  a  single  mem- 
ber of  the  family  suspected  anything  of  the  kind. 
Had  Esquire  Walbridge  himself  done  so,  he 
would  not  have  hired  him  a  single  day  after  the 
expiration  of  the  time  for  which  he  had  engaged 
him.  Mark,  for  the  present,  had  no  mind  that 
he  should  know  it.  He  preferred  having  the 
privilege  of  living  under  the  same  roof  with  the 
beautiful  Rebecca,  and  was  willing  to  "bide  his 
time ;"  for  he  felt  that  the  season  was  not  far  dis- 
tant, when  he  would  ask  for  her  hand  without 
danger  of  being  repulsed. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Mrs.  Walbridge,  as  she 
stood  at  a  table  paring  the  rind  from  the  long, 
curved  slices  of  pumpkin,  which  Rebecca  was 
cutting  from  an  uncommonly  fine  specimen  of 
the  indispensable  edible,  "let  me  see  liow  many 
we  shall  have  to  dinner  Thanksgiving  day. 
There  will  be  John  and  his  wife  and  three  chil- 
dren, Daniel  and  his  wife  and  their  little  Jenny, 
your  Aunt  Hannah  West  and  Uncle  Daniel 
Walbridge.  Then,  if  the  day  is  pleasant,  grand- 
father and  grandmother  Walbridge  will  come." 
"  Which  will  make  twelve,"  said  Rebecca. 
"And  then,  you  know,  we  always  ask  the 
Widow  Page  and  her  daughter." 

"And  it  will  be  no  more  than  common  polite- 
ness to  invite  the  schoolmaster,"  said  Jane. 

"It  will  be  well  enough  to  invite  him,  as  he  is 
a  stranger  in  the  place,"  said  Mrs.  Walbridge. 
"  Wliat  is  his  name  V 

"  Bateman,"  replied  Jane. 
"  I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  her  mother,  "  if 
he  was  a  son  of  old  Major  Bateman.  I  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  major  wdien  I  w^as  a  girl.  He 
was  as  smart  and  enterprising  a  young  man,  as 
one  you'll  see  in  a  thousand.  His  father  gave 
him  a  lot  of  wild  land,  when  he  was  twenty-one, 
and  he  went  right  to  work  and  cleared  a  dozen 
acres  of  it — half  of  which  he  sowed  to  rye,  and 
planted  the  other  half  to  corn.  In  the  fall,  he 
took  five  hundred  dollars  in  cash  for  what  he 
raised,  which  gave  him  a  fine  start  in  the  world, 
and  encouraged  him  to  go  on  as  he  had  begun. 
Now,  you  see,  if  he  had  done  as  Mark  Thornton 
has,  hired  out  by  the  month  or  year,  it  would 
have  taken  him  a  long  time  to  earn  what  he  did 
in  a  single  year." 

"  You  know  that  Mark  had  no  rich  father  to 
give  him  a  lot  of  land,"  said  Rebecca. 

'' That  is  true ;  but  I  don't  believe  if  he  had, 
that  he  would  have  been  enterprising  enough  to 
have  cleared  it,  Mark  is  a  civil,  industrious 
young  man,  hut  he  has  not  got  enterprise  enough 
to  suit  me.  I'll  tell  you,  girls,  what  I  have  been 
thinking  of." 

"  What  is  it,  mother  V  said  Ann. 
"  I've  been  thinking  that  Mark  Thornton  and 
Polly  Shores,  Mrs.  Dresser's  hired  girl,  would 
make  a  good  match." 

"  Why,  mother,"  said  Rebecca,  "  Polly  Shores 
is  at  least  five  years  older  than  Mark,  and  is  just 
as  plain  as  she  can  be.  Besides,  her  education 
is  very  poor;  she  can  read  and  write,  and  that 
is  all." 

"  Well,  she  is  a  good  working  girl,  as  ever 
was,  and  according  to  my  mind,  would  make 
Mark  a  first-rate  wife." 

"  Why,  Mark  has  as  good  an  education  as  any 
young  man  in  the  place,"  said  Rebecca,  "  and  is 
better  qualified  to  teach  the  school  than  Mr. 


Bateman.     Brother  John,  who  is  one  of  tlic  cx- 
uniiriing  committee,  says  he  is." 

"  You  had  better  mind,  Rebecca,"  said  Aim, 
"  or  we  shall  begin  to  think  you  have  taken  a 
fancy  to  Mark." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  think  so,"  said  Rebecca, 
bending  a  little  lower  over  the  pumpkin  she  was 
cutth)g  to  conceal  her  heightened  color. 

"  Come,  I  guess  wo  shan't  reckon  up  liow 
many  we  are  going  to  have  to  dine  Thanksgiving 
day,  at  this  rate,"  said  Jane. 

"I  guess  so,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Walbridge. 
"  We  had  got  up  to  fifteen,"  said  Ann,  "in- 
cluding tlie  Widow  Page  and  her  daughter,  and 
the  schoolma;;ter." 

"  Which,  with  our  own  family,  will  make 
twcnty-tlu'ce,"  said  Mrs.  Walbridge.  "  And 
then  we  some  expect  your  Uncle  David  and  his 
family  from  Ncwburyport,  which  will  make  tlie 
number  up  to  thirty.  Well,  if  there  should  be 
fifty,  we  shall  have  enough  and  to  spare.  Here 
comes  Mark  with  another  pumpkin.  I  am  glad 
he  has  brought  it,  for  the  kettles  will  hold  an- 
other just  as  well  as  not." 

"I've  just  seen  Sydney  Philips,"  said  Mark, 
as  he  placed  th'e  pumpkin  on  the  table.  "  Here, 
Rebecca,  let  me  cut  it  in  half  for  you — I'm 
stronger  in  the  hand  than  you  are." 

"Ann,  did  you  hear  what  Mark  said  about 
Sydney  Philips  V  said  Jane. 

"  I  rather  think  she  did,  by  her  blushing  so," 
remarked  Rebecca. 

"  I  thought  he  was  teaching  school  somewhere 
this  vacation,"  said  Mrs.  Walbridge. 

"  So  he  is,"  replied  Mark,  "  but  be  thought  he 
would  spend  Thanksgiving  week  at  home." 

"  Sydney  is  alinost  through  college,  isn't  he, 
Mark?"  inquired  Mrs.  Walbridge. 

"He  has  only  one  more  year  to  stay,  and  he 
then  intends  coming  home  and  studying  divinity 
with  his  father." 

"  So  I  viai/  have  a  minister  for  a  brother  in- 
law," said  Jane. 

"And  /  may  have  a  merchant  for  one,"  said 
Ann. 

It  was  now  Jane's  turn  to  blush,  there  having 
been  some  "  love  passages  "  between  her  and  a 
young  merchant  of  Boston,  by  the  name  of 
Dan  bury. 

"  Don't  you  want  some  oven-wood  "?"  asked 
Mark,  having  finished  cutting  the  pumpkin. 

"  No,  not  to  day,"  said  Mrs.  Walbridge.  "  All 
we  calculate  on  doing  to-day  is  to  stew  and  sift 
the  pumpkin,  prepare  the  minced  meat  for  the 
pies,  and  such  kind  of  chores.  To-morrow 
morning,  we  shall  begin  to  bake,  bright  and 
early." 

"And  wont  yon  bake  me  a  pie-crust  bird?" 
said  little  Ella,  who,  with  her  brother  Charley, 
had  just  come  in  from  the  barn,  where  they  had 
been  hunting  hens'  nest. 

"  And  me  a  pie-crust  horse  V  said  Charley. 
"  I  declare,  I  am  afraid  Charley,  if  he  lives, 
will   be  a  horse-jocky,"  said  Mrs.   Walbridge. 
"  His  mind  is  always  running  upon  horses." 

"  So  was  mine,  when  I  was  of  his  age,"  said 
Esquire  Walbridge,  who,  at  this  moment,  entered 
the  kitchen.  "  And  to  confess  the  truth,  I've  al- 
ways had  a  liking  for  a  good  horse.  I  talk  of 
riding  over  to  Smith's  Corner,  mother.  Don't 
you  want  to  send  for  some  little  knick-knacks 
for  Thanksgiving?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — we  are  pretty  w^ell  pro- 
vided for,  I  believe,  but  you  may  get  a  few  nut- 
megs and  cloves,  if  you  have  a  mind  to." 

"  We  ought,  to  have  a  dozen  pounds  of  nice 
raisin? ,"  said  Jane.  "  Those  we  have  in  the 
house  aint  first  rate." 

"Is  th  .t  all?"  said  the  'Squire.  "  Why,  I 
expected  yon  would  want  a  whole  wagon  load 
of  one  thing  and  another." 

"  La,  we  can't  eat  everything,"  said  Mrs. 
Walbridge.  "  Our  store  room  is  full  of  flour, 
rice,  sugar,  coffee  and  tea,  to  say  nothing  of 
such  articles  as  are  raised  on  the  farm." 

"  I  am  glad  we  arc  so  well  provided  for,"  said 
he,  "  and  it  reminds  me  of  those  who  are  not  so 
well  off.  Hadn't  I  better  take  along  some  arti- 
cles in  my  wagon,  to  help  a  few  poor  families  to 
keep  Thanksgiving?" 

"  Yes,  you  had  certainly.  I  am  glad  you 
thought  of  it.  Wait  a  few  minutes,  and  I  will 
put  up  a  lot  of  flour  and  sugar  and  other  neces- 
saries for  Mr.  Green's  family  and  a  few  others. 
He  has  been  sick  all  the  fall,  and  finds  it  hard 
getting  along." 

"  If  I  see  anybody  while  I  am  gone  tiiat  I  take 
a  fancy  lo  invite  lo  dine  with  us  Thanksgiving 
day,  I  shall,"  said  he,  taking  up  a  basket  she 
had  been  packing  in  one  hand,  and  a  pretty 
large  bag  of  fionr  in  the  other. 


"  Do,  do,"  said  his  wife,  "for  the  girls  and  I 
have  been  reckoning  up  how  many  we  expect, 
and  if  they  all  come,  there  will  only  be  thirty, 
including  our  own  family." 

"That  aint  enough  for  people  that  have  as 
much  house  room  as  we  have.  I'll  try  and  hunt 
up  a  few  more,"  said  the  'Squire. 

*'  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.s.  Walbridge,  "  Sydney 
Philips  would  come,  if  you  invited  him.  Jlu  is 
ut  home,  Mark  says." 

"  No,  no,  it  wont  do  to  break  in  upon  a  family 
circle  in  that  way.  If  we  invite  Sydney,  we 
must  invite  Mr.  Philips  and  liis  wife  too." 

"Well,  father,  supposing  we  ahould  invite 
them,"  said  Mri.  Walbridge.  "I  think  they 
would  like  to  come,  and  I  ani  sure  that  we 
should  all  be  glad  to  have  them." 

"  There  was  a  young  gentleman  cume  home 
with  Sydney,"  said  Charley.  "  I  was  down  by 
Mr.  Philijjs's,  and  saw  them  both  when  they  got 
out  of  the  stage." 

"  How  did  he  look  ?"  inquired  Ann. 

"  0,  lie  was  dressed  up  as  grand  as  could  be." 

"Did  he  look  as  well  as  Sydney?"  asked 
Rebecca. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  he  did.  His  eyes  were  as  black 
and  bright  us  our  Mark's." 

"  Well,"  said  Esquire  Walbridge,  "  if  they 
liave  a  visitor,  he  must  be  included  in  the  invi- 
tation." 

"To  be  sure  he  must,"  was  the  reply  of  bis 
wife. 


CHAPTER  IL 

"  It  begins  to  snow — it  begins  to  snow !"  ex- 
claimed Cliarley,  as  he  came  into  the  back  door, 
with  a  basket  of  chips  in  his  hand,  Wednesday 
morning;  and  he  fairly  danced  for  joy — an  exer- 
cise in  which  little  Ella  joined  with  a  hearty- 
good  will. 

A  few  large  flakes  of  snow  had,  indeed,  begun 
to  fall,  which  gradually  growing  smaller  and 
thicker,  promised  to  fulfil  the  prophecy  of  those 
who  had  foretold  a  snow-storm.  A  short  snow- 
storm would  be  most  welcome  ;  but  should  it 
prove  to  be  a  long  one — ah,  there  was  the  rub  1 

The  snow  continued  to  fall  during  the  day, 
and  many  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  looked  forth  into 
the  murky  air  the  last  thing  before  retiring  for 
the  night ;  while  Charley  Walbridge  went  to  bed 
with  a  full  determination  to  rise  every  half  hour, 
to  watch  the  progress  of  the  storm,  having  sol- 
emnly promised  Ella — the  door  of  her  bed-room 
being  left  ajar  for  the  purpose — that  he  would, 
each  time,  inform  her  of  the  result  of  his  obser- 
vations. Unfortunately,  he  had  but  one  nap, 
and  that  lasted  till  after  sunrise  the  following 
morning, 

"  The  storm  is  over,  Ella,"  said  he,  having 
drestcd  himself  in  great  haste. 

"  Over  so  soon  ?"  said  she,  rubbing  her  eyes. 
"  Wh}"^,  it  isn't  half  an  hour  yet,  since  we  went 
to  bed — is  it  ?" 

"  Only  think  of  the  sound  steep  of  childhood," 
said  Mrs.  Walbridge,  who  had  overheard  what 
was  said  by  the  children. 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  husband,  "  but  labor  will 
produce  sound  sleep,  too,  as  I  have  proved  dur- 
ing a  life  of  fifty  years.  Well,  girls,"  said  he, 
to  his  three  eldest  daughters,  who  now  made 
their  appearance,  "  the  double  sleigh  and  span 
of  grays  will  have  to  be  brought  into  service  to- 
day. I  guess  there  are  six  inches  of  good  solid 
snow,  and  as  smooth  as  the  house  floor." 

The  religious  services  were  to  commence  at 
eleven,  and  it  mast  be  confessed  that  the  girls 
felt  no  little  pleasure  in  having  so  good  an  op- 
portunity to  display  their  winter  bonnets,  and 
other  such  tasteful  paraphernalia  as  had  been 
prepared  for  flie  occasion.  There  was  a  fine 
show  of  waving  plumes  and  fluttering  ribbons, 
and  the  faces  that  looked  out  from  the  tasteful 
bonnets  were  fresh  and  fair  as  June  roses  spark- 
ling with  dew.  Even  Mrs.  Walbridge  did  not 
form  an  exception.  At  forty-five,  bright  chest- 
nut hair,  curled  according  to  the  approved 
fashion  of  earlier  days,  formed  a  rich  shade 
round  a  countenance  lit  up  by  dark,  beaming 
eyes,  and  bright  with  the  roseate  hues  of  healih. 
Rebecca,  however,  was  the  most  beautiful  of 
tiiem  all.  There  was  a  charming  abandon  in 
all  her  movements  and  attitudes,  which,  without 
the  least  consciousness  on  her  part,  gave  to  her 
appearance  a  grace  and  elegance  pei'fecily 
inimitable. 

When  the  double  sleigh,  drawn  by  the  spirited 
horses — which  sported  iheir  long  strings  of  silver- 
toned  bells,  as  proudly  as  a  lady  would  her  dia- 
mond necklace — dashed  up  "to  the  church  door, 
Sydney  Philips  and  a  young  man,  who  was   a 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


347 


stranger,  stood  in  the  porch.  He  %vas  a  fellow 
student,  hy  name,  Robert  Vinton,  and  ihe  same 
who  had  accompanied  him  home. 

"  By  the  red  Up  of  Hebe,  that  is  a  fine-looking 
girl,  Sydney,"  said  he,  as  Rebecca  Walbridge 
sprang  lightly  from  the  sleigh. 

"  Yes,  they  arc  all  three  of  them  fine-looking 
girls,"  was  Sydney's  reply,  as  he  sought  to 
catch  the  eye  of  Ann. 

Esquire  Walbridge,  who  now  entered  the 
porch,  shook  hands  very  cordially  with  his 
young  friend  Sydney,  who  introduced  Vinton  to 
him.  The  'squire  took  the  opportunity  to  invite 
them  to  dine  at  his  hou^e,  an  invitation  which 
was  gladly  accepted. 

Mark  Thornton,  who  stood  near,  without  be- 
ing able  to  assign  a  reason  satisfactory  to  him- 
self, did  not  feel  pleased  with  young  Vinton's 
appearance.  He  was  certainly  what  most  people 
would  call  handsome ;  his  eyes,  in  a  particular 
manner,  as  little  Charley  Walbridge  had  de- 
scribed them,  were  very  bright — as  bright  as 
Mark's— but,  at  times,  they  shot  forth  a  fiery, 
gleaming  light,  very  different  from  the  clear,  lus- 
trous beams  which  gave  life  and  animation  to 
the  bronzed  countenance  of  Thornton. 

The  Widow  Page  who,  with  her  daughter, 
had,  according  to  arrangement,  received  an  early 
invitation  to  dine  at  the  'squire's,  came  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  so  that  neither  Mrs. 
Walbridge  nor  one  of  her  daughters  would  be 
obliged  to  stay  from  chm-ch  to  prepare  dinner. 
When,  therefore,  the  family  returned,  accompa- 
nied by  their  two  married  sons  and  their  families, 
the  pastor  and  his  wife,  together  with  Sydney 
and  young  Vinton,  everything  was  ready  to 
place  upon  the  table.  The  parents  of  Esquire 
Walbridge,  also  Uncle  David  and  his  family 
from  Newburyport,  had  already  arrived,  much 
to  the  delight  of  the  Walbridges,  who  were 
afraid  they  would  not  come. 

Dinner  was  soon  announced,  and  while  Mr- 
Philips,  a  gentleman  with  a  mild  and  benign 
countenance,  said  grace,  each  one  present  stood 
with  reverent  air  and  downcast  eyes.  The  bless- 
ing was  rather  long — at  least,  so  thought  those 
whose  appetites  were  peculiarly  keen — but  all 
agreed  that  it  was  very  good,  and  very  appro- 
priate. It  is  true  that,  under  diiferent  circum- 
stances, it  might  have  passed  for  a  prayer,  and 
been  thought  rather  long  at  that ;  but  the  good 
pastor,  in  the  benevolence  of  his  lieart,  could 
not  think  of  passing  over  any  one  present  with- 
out a  kindly  mention,  and  he  was  prompted  by 
similar  benevolent  emotions  to  remember  the 
poor  and  destitute  of  his  own  country,  and  the 
perishing  heathen  of  distant  lands. 

When  ample  justice  had  been  done  to  the  feast 
of  good  things  set  before  them,  tlie  younger  por- 
tion of  the  company  were  soon  assembled  round 
a  good  fire  in  a  large  room  by  themselves,  leav- 
ing their  seniors  in  possession  of  the  parlor  to 
discuss  themes  of  grave  and  weighty  import, 
among  which  politics  bore  a  prominent  part. 
Mark  Thornton  mingled  with  the  young  people 
on  terms  of  perfect  equality.  Even  Esquire 
Walbridge  and  his  wife  did  not  consider  it  amiss 
for  him  to  be  admitted  to  the  social  circle  of 
which  their  daughters  formed  a  part,  but  for  him 
to  marry  one  of  them  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
Young  Vinton  began,  at  once,  to  be  most  as- 
siduous in  his  attentions  to  the  beautiful  Rebecca. 
Judging  from  the  manner  with  which  she  re- 
ceived them,  however,  she  did  not  imagine  he 
was  conferring  on  her  any  particular  honor.  In- 
stead of  this,  she  evidently  felt  annoyed  by  them. 
Mark  Thornton  watched  him  closely,  and,  as  it 
must  be  confessed,  with  a  slight  feeling  of  jeal- 
ousy. Not  that  he  distrusted  Rebecca,  but  be- 
cause he  felt  that  Vinton  was  not  worthy  to  be 
admitted  to  her  companionship,  even  for  an 
hour.  Vinton,  when  he  saw  how  closely  he  ob- 
served him,  felt  vexed  and  irritated,  and  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  all  present, 
asked  Sydney  Philips  who  that  clown  was,  who 
was  admitted  into  the  society  of  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen. Sydney  reddened  with  shame  at  the 
rudeness  of  one  he  had  introduced  as  his  friend, 
and  replied  in  a  low  voice  : 

"We  have  no  clowns  in  Westbrook,"  said  be. 
"  With  us,  a  tiller  of  the  soil  is  accounted  hon- 
orable." 

"  Honorable  or  dishonorable,"  said  Vinton, 
"  I  shall  not  associate  on  terms  of  equality  with 
that  fellow." 

Mark  Thornton  heard  the  remark,  hut  would 
not  disturb  the  company  by  appearing  to  notice 
it.  Vinton  found  he  had  gone  too  far,  and  had 
he  seen  the  look  of  disdain  ^hich  Rebecca  Wal- 
bridge cast  upon  him,  his  vanity  would  not  have 
been  greatly  flattered.     But  she,  as  well  as  the 


rest,  seemed  determined  to  forget  Vinton's  rude- 
ness. Everything,  to  appearance,  went  on  pleas- 
antly, except  that  Vinton  persisted  in  being  ob- 
trusively attentive  to  Rebecca. 


CHAPTER  HI. 
After  the  company  had  gone,  and  Rebecca 
Walbridge  had  retired  to  her  own  room,  she 
missed  a  small,  plain  gold  locket.  It  was  one 
that  Mark  had  given  her,  and  the  only  present 
he  ever  made  her.  As,  at  the  same  lime,  he 
presented  some  trifles  to  each  of  the  sisters,  the 
family  did  not  consider  it  as  a  lovetoken.  Nei- 
ther did  she,  at  the  time,  think  of  it  In  that  light ; 
but  latterly  there  had  been  cause  for  her  to  sus- 
pect that  the  presents  to  her  sisters  had  been 
made  to  prevent  her  from  refusing  the  locket. 
Though,  at  the  time,  she  would  have  thought 
him  too  presuming,  since  then,  her  appreciation 
of  his  character,  and  with  it,  her  feelings  with 
regard  to  him,  in  every  respect,  bad  undergone  a 
great  change.  This  little  ornament,  then,  thougli 
of  not  much  intrinsic  value,  was  held  in  higher 
estimation  than  those  liandsomer  and  costlier, 
and  when  she  found  that  it  was  gone,  she  went 
below  to  search  for  it.  She  found  the  piece  of  rib- 
bon to  which  it  had  been  appended,  but  the  locket 
was  gone.  She  consoled  herself  with  the  hope 
that  by  daylight  she  should  be  more  successful. 

It  so  happened  that  it  was  necessary  for  Mark 
Thornton  to  call  at  BIr.  Philips's  on  the  evening 
of  the  following  day.  lie  was  received  very  po- 
litely by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips,  also  by  Sydney; 
but  Vinton,  who  was  present,  did  not  deign  to 
recognize  him. 

At  the  time  Mark  entered,  the  two  young  men 
were  sitting  some  little  distance  from  the  fire,  at 
a  table  covered  with  bocks  and  papers.  A  chair 
had  been  placed  for  Mark,  nearly  opposite  the 
table.  All  at  once,  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  something  which  Vinton  was  turning  over  in 
his  hands  in  rather  a  careless  manner.  The  hot 
blood  mounted  to  Mark's  brow,  for  he  instantly 
knew  it  to  be  the  locket,  which  about  a  year  pre- 
vious he  gave  to  Rebecca  Walbridge.  He  had, 
with  secret  pleasure,  noticed  that  she  wore  it 
Thanksgi\'ing  day,  and  it  was  no  wonder  that  a 
quick  pang  of  jealousy  thrilled  his  bosom,  at 
seeing  it  in  the  possession  of  Vinton. 

"  What  have  you  there,  Vinton  V  said  Syd- 
ney, whose  eye  chanced  to  rest  on  the  locket. 

"  Nothing  but  a  little  keepsake." 

"  Given  you  by  your  sister,  I  suppose." 

Vinton  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

"  Who;  then  V 

"By  a  youHg  lady,  and  a  very  beautiful  one, 

too." 

"  Is  her  name  a  secret  ?" 

"  By  no  means.  Here  it  is,  inscribed  on  the 
back  of  the  locket." 

As  he  spoke,  he  handed  the  locket  to  Sydney, 
who,  with  a  surprise  he  could  not  conceal,  read 
the  name  of  Rebecca  Walbridge. 

"  Is  this  possible,  and  on  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance "?" 

"  I  think  that  the  loeket  will  speak  for  itself," 
said    Vinton,  casting  a  furtive   glance   towards 

Mark. 

"  I  could  not  have  thought  it,"  said  Sydney. 
"I  had  some  difficuliy  in  persuading  Ann  to  ac- 
cept a  trifling  present,  and  I  am  sure  that  Re- 
becca has  always  appeared  to  be  quite  as  much 
reserved  ia  such  matters  as  Ann." 

"  Rebecca  Walbridge  is  a  splendid  girl — that's 
a  fact,"  said  Vinton.  "I  could  not  have  be- 
lieved that  Westbrook  afforded  one  so  beautiful, 
and  I  consider  myself  a  lucky  dog  in  coming 
acro^is  her." 

This  conversation  had  been  carried  on  in  an 
under  tone  on  the  part  of  Sydney,  for  he  did  not 
wish  either  his  parents  or  Mark  Thornton  to 
hear  what  was  said.  Vinton,  on  the  contrary, 
had  taken  no  pains  to  suppress  his  voice,  having 
exhibited  the  locket  for  the  express  purpose  of 
exciting  Mark's  jealousy.  Sydney,  who  by  no 
means  felt  pleased  that  a  sister  of  Ann  should 
bestow  on  an  acquaintance  of  a  few  hours,  a 
trinket  intended,  as  Vinton  said,  for  a  keepsake, 
became  grave  and  silent. 

It  was  with  a  strong  effort  that  Mark  Thorn- 
ton maintained  an  appearance  of  composure, 
and  as  soon  as  he  possibly  could,  he  took  leave. 
"When  he  returned  home,  it  was  ob.:erved  by  the 
whole  family  that  his  spirits  were  much  depress- 
ed, while  towards  Rebecca,  his  demeanor  was 
singularly  cold  and  distant.  For  this  she  was 
totally  at  a  loss  how  to  account.  She  had  not 
mentioned  the  loss  of  tlie  locket  to  any  one, 
thinking  she  should  yet  come  across  it.  Several 
days  passed  away,  during  which  time  Mark  and 
Rebecca  had  scarcely  spoken  to  each  other.     At 


last,  one  evening  he  entered  the  kitchen  whex'e 

she  was  engaged  in  the  performance  of  some 

household  duty,  no  other  person  being  present. 

"Rebecca,"  said  he,  "I  am  glad  to  find  you 

alone,  for  I  have  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you." 

"  And  I,"  said  Rebecca,    "  have  something  I 

wish  to  say  to  you." 

"  What  is  it?" 

"  Tell  me  first  what  you  have  to  say  to  me." 
"  I  wish  to  speak  a  few  words  about  a  locket  I 
once  gave  you." 

"  Which  is  precisely  what  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  about." 

"  It  was  a  trifle,  I  know — not  worthy  your  ac- 
ceptance; yet  I  could  not  have  believed  you 
would  give  it  to  Vinton." 

"Give  it  to  Vinton  !"  she  repeated.     "Who 
says  I  gave  it  to  him'?" 
"  He  himself  says  so." 
"  Then  he  says  what  is  false." 
"If  you  did  not  give  it  to  him,  how  came  he 
by  if?" 

"  Is  it  possible  that  he  has  it  V 
"It  is — I  saw  him  with  it,  and  I  heard  him 
tell  Sydney  Philips  that  you  gave  it  to  him." 

"  I  lost  it,  and  he,  I  suppose,  must  have  found 
it ;  but  why  he  kept  it,  I  cannot  imagine." 

"  For  the  purpose,  no  doubt,  of  using  it  in  the 
way  he  has,  in  order  to  excite  my  jealousy,  and 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  succeeded.  I  might 
have  known  that  you  did  not  give  it  to  him." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  might.  .  Now  that  all  is  ex- 
plained, I  wish  he  would  just  return  the  locket." 
"  I  hope,  after  what  has  taken  place,  that  you 
would  not  wear  it,  if  he  did." 

"  No,  but  I  don't  wish  him  to  have  it." 
"  He  wont  have  it  long." 
"  I  beg  that  you  wont  say  anything  to  him 
about  it." 

"  I  may,  and  I  may  not,"  was  Mark's  reply, 
as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

The  very  next  day,  Mark  and  Vinton  happen- 
ed to  meet.  It  was  a  retired  place,  and  no  other 
person  was  in  sight.  Vinton  was  passing  on 
without  turning  his  head,,  when  Mark  abruptly 
accosted  him. 

" Miss  Walbridge,"  said  he,  "would  like  to 
have  that  locket  returned  which  you  took 
Thanksgiving  day  evening ;  and  as  I  am  going 
directly  home,  I  will,  if  you  please,  take  it." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Vinton,  "  you  are  ex- 
ceedingly accommodating,  and  excessively  im- 
pudent. In  the  first  place,  you  will  please  make 
it  appear  that  I  took  the  locket ;  in  the  next,  that 
the  lady  wishes  me  to  return  it." 

"  As  she  asserts  that  she  never  gave  it  to  you, 
the  presumption  is  strong  that  you  took  it,  and 
that  without  leave.  She  also  asserts  that  it  is 
her  wish  that  it  be  returned." 

"  And  has,  I  suppose,  commissioned  you  to  be 
her  Mercury.  Upon  my  word,  she  shows  both 
taste  and  discretion  in  selecting  a  person,  who  is 
capable  of  managing  an  afi'air  of  the  kmd  with 
so  much  delicacy  and  tact." 

"  I  may  have  little  claim  to  either — though 
quite  as  much,  I  should  imagine,  as  he  who  pre- 
sumes to  surreptitiously  possess  himself  of  an 
oi-nament  belonging  to  a  lady,  when  he  had 
every  reason  to  believe  that,  had  she  known  it, 
it  would  have  been  contrary  to  her  wishes.  But 
it  is  of  no  use  for  us  to  stand  here,  bandying 
words.  The  locket  I  am  determined  to  have." 
"  You  are." 

"lam.  If  you  refuse  to  surrender  it,  the 
whole  transaction  shall  he  made  public,  which 
will,  I  apprehend,  be  little  to  your  credit." 

"Make  it  public,  if  you  please.  I  am  not  to 
be  frightened  into  giving  it  up." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mark,  turning  on  bis  heel. 
"  Stay — take  the  bauble,"  said  Vinton.  "  It 
is  not  of  the  least  value  to  me,  in  any  sense 
whatever.  I  certainly,  at  first,  thought  Miss 
Walbridge  quite  passable  for  a  country  girl,  but 
her  choice  of  a  confidant,  by  exposing  the  coarse- 
ness of  her  mind,  destroys  the  illusion  of  her 
beauty,  and  when  you  give  her  the  locket,  I  will 
thank  jou  to  tell  her  so." 

"  If  I  should  tell  her,"  said  Mark,  as  he  receiv- 
ed the  locket  from  the  hand  of  Vinton,  "you 
may  be  assured  that  it  will  not  cause  her  a  mo- 
ment's uneasiness." 


half  a  mile  from  the  residence  of  Esquire  Wal- 
bridge. It  belonged  to  our  old  friend,  Mark 
Thornton,  who,  in  virtue  of  having  been  appoint- 
ed a  justice  of  the  peace,  had  now  the  prefix  of 
esquire  to  Ids  name. 

There  were,  probably,  no  persons  ia  West- 
brook so  much  surprised  as  Esquire  Walbridge 
and  his  wife  when  they  found  that  Mark,  their 
hired  man,  was  able  to  purchase  a  fifty  acre 
farm,  and  build  thereon  a  handsome  and  cooi- 
modious  house,  together  with  a  barn  and  other 
suitable  buildings. 

"  How  he  has  contrived  to  gatlier  so  much  to- 
gether, and  hire  out  by  the  month  or  year  all  the 
time,  is  to  me  a  mystery,"  was  the  remark  of 
Mrs.  Walbridge. 

But  there  was,  in  truth,  no  mystery  about  it. 
Ever  after  he  was  sixteen,  Mark  Thornton  was 
obliged  to  look  out  for  himself.  He,  at  once, 
commanded  a  man's  wages,  and  although  he 
aiforded  himself  time  to  acquire  a  good  educa- 
tion, and  always  dressed  quite  as  well,  or  rather 
better  than  the  young  men  of  his  age  and  class, 
there  was  not  a  year  that  he  did  not  save  a  hun- 
dred dollars  or  more,  which  he  could  always 
safely  invest.  Thus,  when  he  was  twenty-eight 
years  old,  he  ventured  to  ask  Esquire  Walbridge 
for  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  and  was  not  denied. 
As  has  already  been  mentioned,  it  was 
Thanksgiving  day,  and  the  Walbridge  family, 
also  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philips  and  Sydney,  were  go- 
ing to  dine  at  Esquire  Thornton's.  After  din- 
ner, they  were  all  to  proceed  to  the  family  man- 
sion, where,  in  the  evening  there  was  to  be  a 
wedding.  Mr.  Danbury,  the  young  Boston  mer- 
chant, and  the  fair  Jane  Walbridge,  were  the 
couple  who  were  going  to  be  married.  A  large 
number  of  guests,  most  of  them  being  relations, 
were  invited  to  witness  the  ceremony. 

It  was  whispered  that  the  next  Thanksgiving 
evening,  Sydney  Philips  and  Ann  Walbridge 
would  be  married.  They  were  certainly  en- 
gaged—everybody  knew  that;  but  when  some 
one  present  mentioned  the  subject  to  Mrs.  Wal- 
bridge, she  gave  it  as  her  opinion,  that  it  would 
be  two  years  before  they  would  be  married,  and 
she,  for  one,  thought  it  would  be  best  for  them 
to  wait. 

"  Sydney,  by  that  time,"  she  said,  "  expected 
to  have  a  chance  to  settle  down,  and  he  would 
then  have  the  means  to  maintain  a  family." 

In  less  than  ten  years  after  Mark  Thornton 
was  married  to  the  lovely  Rebecca  Walbridge, 
he  was  the  wealthiest  and  most  influential  citizen 
of  Westbrook.  He  was,  at  the  age  of  forty,  ap- 
pointed judge,  and  what  may  seem  somewhat 
singular,  was  called  upon  in  that  capacity  to  pro- 
nounce sentence  upon  a  culprit  for  petty  larceny, 
whose  bloated  countenance,  the  result  of  intem- 
perance, would  have  prevented  him  from  recog- 
nizing him,  had  he  not  been  told  that  his  name 
was  Robert  Vinton. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
DEATH  OF  HON.  JDAKIEJL  M'EIJSTER. 

BY   CAROLINE  A.   HAYDEN. 

Ay,  leave  him  alone  in  his  dreamless  sleep, 

The  contiicfc  is  over,  the  victory  won  ; 
lie  has  reached  the  proud  summit  of  glory's  steep, 

lie  would  rest  from  his  labor,  ay  let  him  sleep  on. 

Well  may  ye  gather,  with  solemn  tread, 
Round  the  grave  of  America's  favorite  son  ; 

Well  may  the  tears  of  a  nation  be  shed, 

When  it  mourns  for  so  mighty  au  intellect  gone. 

They  are  passing  away  !  they  are  passing  away  ! 

The  great  and  the  good  who  have  won  a  proud  name ; 
Cut  never  a  nobler  or  brighter  i-ay 

lias  circled  round  one  on  the  annals  of  fame, 

As  a  patriot,  a  statesman,  a  scholar,  a  man, 
i'OT  a  truer  or  better,  go  search  the  wide  earth ; 

As  a  husband,  a  father,  a  neighbor  and  friend, 
Let  the  grief  which  surrounds  him  attest  to  his  worth. 

Ye  have  pillowed  his  head  in  a  chosen  spot, 
Mid  the  scenes  which,  in  hfe,  he  loved  the  best; 

Surrounded  by  those  who  have  shared  his  lot. 
And  a  monarch  might  envy  liis  peaceful  rest. 

Then  leave  him  alone  in  his  lowly  bed. 
Long  iigcs  to  come  shall  re-echo  his  name  ; 

And  the  tears  which  a  grateful  nation  have  shed, 
Like  a  h:ilo  shall  circle  his  well  earned  fame. 


It  was  the  third  anniversary  from  the  Thanks- 
giving, of  which  mention  has  been  made  in  the 
preceding  chapters.  The  usual  preparations  for 
its  celebration  had  been  made  by  the  good  people 
of  Westbrook,  but  none  equalUd  those  which 
had  been  accomplished  by  the  aid,  and  under 
the  superintendence  of  the  mistress  of  a  hand- 
some white  house,  newly  built,  situated  about 


"I  have  found  a  good  in  everytliing  I  have 
learned.  By  degrees  your  destiny  will  open  be- 
fore you.  You  will  learn  what  you  are  good  for 
— what  you  are  made  for.  I  can  say  nothing 
more  definite,  and  this  is  definite  enough,  and 
full  of  animation.  Do  your  duty,  and  you  can- 
not fail  to  fit  yourself  for  an  honorable  woik." 


No  counsel  frcm  our  crut-l  wills  can  win  us. 
But  ills  once  done,  we  bear  our  guilt  within  u?. 
John  FunCs  Loce^s  Saaifice. 


348 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANIOX. 


JOHN  MAZEPPA. 

John  Mazeppa  was 
born  in  Podolia,  a  pro- 
vince in  the  sovUiioaHt- 
crn  part  of  rdand. 
He  Rccms  to  have  been 
descended  from  one  of 
the  many  noble  fami- 
lies which  had  fallen 
from  their  ancient 
wealth  and  conse- 
quence, by  the  hitc 
misfortunes  of  ihcir 
country.  Being  of 
necessity  obliged  to 
seek  employment  in 
some  one  of  the  more 
wealthy  families,  he 
became  page  to  one 
John  Casimir.  Casi- 
mir  was  fond  of  the 
arts  and  literature ; 
and  in  his  family  the 
young  Mazeppa  seems 
to  have  had  and  im- 
proved an  opportunity 
for  acquiring  many 
usef  u  1  accomplish- 
ments, whit'h  after- 
ward became  of  signnl 
service  to  him.  His 
conduct  towards  the 
Countess  Palatine  ex- 
cited the  count's  jeal- 
ousy. There  was  no 
doubt  of  his  guilt,  and 
the  count  bound  him, 
naked,  in  revenge,  up- 
on a  wild  horse,  and 
committed  him  to  his 
fate.  The  horse  was 
from  the  Ukraine,  an 
extensive  country  in 
the  south-eastern  i>art 
of  Russian  Poland, 
and  he  directed  his 
course  thither.  Ma- 
zeppa  was  found  by 
some  poor  peasants, 
half  dead,  and  they 
took  care  of  him.  He 
remained  there  a  long 
time,  became  distin- 
guished for  bis  dex- 
lerity,  bodily  strength, 
and  courage,  so  much 
so  that  be  was  suc- 
cessively chosen  sec- 
i"etary  and  adju  ant  to 
the  Hettman  Samoil- 
owirz ;  and  finally,  in 
1687,  he  succeeded 
Samoilowitz  in  the 
office  of  Hettman  or 
chief  general  of  the 
Cossack's.  He  gained 
the  confidence  of  Peter 
the  Great  of  Russia, 
and  received  from  him 
many  honorable  testi- 
monials of  distinction. 
Peter  finally  made 
him  prince  of  the  Uk- 
raine. One  day,  while 
at  the  tablewith  Peter, 
at  Moscow,  the  czar 
expressed  to  him  a 
desire  ihat  he  would 
so  discipline  the  Cos- 
sacks fts  to  make  them 
more  dependent  upon 
his  will.  Mazeppa  re- 
plied that  the  situa- 
tion of  the  Ukraine 
and  the  genius  of  that 
people  were  insur- 
mountable obstacles 
to  it.  The  czar,  who 
was  somewhat  heated 
with  wine,  called  him 
a  traitor,  and  threat- 
en*^d  to  impale  him. 
Unwilling  to  be  in 
subordination,  and  in- 
dignant perhaps  at 
such  treatment,  he  de- 
termined to  free  him- 
self from  the  Russian 
power.  He  join-^d 
Charles  the  Twelfth 
of  Sweden,  who  had 
just   set   a  king  over 

Poland.  With  Charles's  assistance  he  hoped  to 
withdraw  himself  from  his  allegiance  to  Peter 
the  Great,  and,  under  certain  conditions,  unite 
his  country,  the  Ukraine,  to  Poland.  Peter  wa^ 
at  first  unwilling  to  believe  that  Mazeppa  could 
havit  such  plans  in  view.  He  sent  the  accusers 
to  Mazeppahimself  for  punishment,  and  he  had 
the  audacity  to  cause  them  to  be  executed. 
Peter,  however,  soon  became  convinced  of  the 
trurh  of  the  charge*!,  and  many  of  Mazeppa's 
partisans  were  put  to  death,  and  the  prince  him- 
self hung  in  effigy.  With  a  few  adherents  he 
joined  Charles  the  Twelfth,  and  took  part  in  the 
campaign  of  the  Ukraine  which  followed.  He 
was  with  Charles  at  his  defeat  at  Pultowa.  It 
is  on  their  retiring  from  this  battle  that  Byron 
has  introduced  him  in  his  poem  called  "  Mazep- 
pa," where  he  gives  a  thrilling  account  of  the 
sufferings,  both  physical  and  mental,  which  he 
underwent  while  bound  to  the  wild  horse,  wh'n 
the  ravenous  wolves  pursued  him  all  night. 
After  the  defeat  at  Pultowa,  Mazeppa  fled  to 
Bender,  a  fortified  town  of  Russia,  near  the 
Black  Sea,  where  he  died  1769. — BfdUc. 


THE  REFUGE  AT  THE  ALTAR. 


[From  a  picture  by  Daerge,  Berlin.] 


THE   SANCTUARY   WON. 


BY  MUS.  t.  k.  hervey. 


On,  on  !     The  spoiler  through  our  land 

Hath  tracked  us  from  afar ; 
How  shall  our  woman's  strength  withstand 

This  bitter  curse  of  war? 
Where  can  we  turn,  or  whither  flee, 

When  blood  is  poured  like  wine? 
Since  ruthless  man  our  foe  must  he, 

What  help,  O  God  !  but  thine  ? 
Thy  Temple,  Lord,  at  last  is  won. 

Behold  the  gift  I  bring — 
My  firstborn  babe — my  darling  one, 

My  soul's  most  precious  thing  ! 
The  tumult's  rnge  hath  seared  my  boy; 

His  sweet  eyes  wandered  wild 
When  in  my  face  he  missed  the  joy 

That  kept  him  still  a  child. 
Ransomed  by  love,  he  standeth  free 

Upon  Thine  altar-stone; 
But  0,  the  voice  he  lifts  to  Thee 

Hath  caiight  the  flngfel's  tbhe  ! 


Girt  by  Thy  sanctuary's  light. 

Strange  peace  his  soul  doth  thrill — 
Guide  Thou  the  tender  foot  aright 

That  Icapcth  at  Thy  will ! 
O,  lead  him  still  each  deed  to  shun 

That  wears  a  gilded  name  ; 
Teach  him  to  do  Thy  work,  or  none. 

In  til  is  red  world  of  shame  ! 
Far  better  at  my  feet  he  fell 

A  slaughtered  lamb  this  day, 
Than  live  the  pomp  of  war  to  swell, 

And  midst  its  riot  say  : — 
"For  this  my  mother's  soul  grew  strong 

When  red  the  rivers  ran  ; 
She  bore  me  through  that  battle's  throng 

To  lead  this  battle's  van  !" 
Away,  away  !  such  fears  are  \'ain  ; 

Pure  on  God's  shrine  he  lies : 
Where  love  is  peace,  and  guilt  is  pain. 

Each  cruel  instinct  dies 
Heaven  set  ihe  thorns  around  his  brow 

To  point  a  refuge  near; 
Not  Death  itself  can  barm  him  now — 

Tlie  swbrd  is  broken  heuk  ! 


FALSE  PEARLS. 

A  costly  description 
of  glass  beads,  made 
m  imitation  of  pearls, 
h  IS  loni:;  been  pro- 
duced in  France;  al- 
though the  name  of 
the  inventor  has  been 
7  reserved,  the  period 
of  the  invention  U  not 
frccisely   known,     It 

4  supposed  to  have 
1  en  about  1050.  The 
in  inner  of  their  inven- 
ti  n  was  this  :  M.  Ja- 

)uin  having  observed 
th  It  upon  washine:  a 
bmall  fish,  tliery/jr/HHs 

II  nrnun,  or  bleak,  the 
water  contained  nu- 
I  icrous  fine  particles, 
I  u-ing    the    color  of 

liver,  and  a  pearly 
1  istre,  he  tuffered  the 
Iter  to  stand  some 
time,  and  collecting 
the  sediment,  covered 
with  it  some  beads 
made  of  plaster  of 
Paris,  the  favorable 
appearance  of  which 
mduced  him  to  manu- 
facture more  of  the 
same  kind  for  sale. 
They  were  at  first 
eagerly  adopted ;  but 
the  ladies  soon  finding 
that  when  they  were 
exposed  to  heaf,  the 
lustrous  coaling  trans- 
ferred itself  from  the 
beads  to  their  skin, 
they  were  as  quickly 
di  carded.  The  ntxt 
attempt  of  M.  Jaquin 
was  more  successful . 
He  procured  some 
glass  tubes  of  a  quali- 
ty easily  fusible,  and 
bv  means  of  a  blow 
p  ps  converted  the^e 
mro  numerous  hollow 
globules.  He  then 
proceeded  to  line  the 
interior  suiface  of 
these  with  the  pow- 
dered fish  scales,which 
he  cilled  the  essence 
ol  pearl,  or  essence  d'~ 

0  lent.  This  was  ren- 
dered adhesive  by  be- 
ing mixed  with  a  so- 
lution of  isinglass, 
when  it  was  introduc- 
ed in  a  heated  state 
mbide  the  globules, 
in  1  spread  over  the 
whole  interior  surface, 
>}  shaking  the  beads, 
w  hich,   for   that   pur- 

1  0  e,  were  placed  in  a 
I  owl  upon  the  table. 
These  hollow  beads 
King  blown  exceed- 
ingly thin,  in  order  to 
produce  a  be'.ter  ef- 
fect, were  conscquent- 
h  very  tender.  To 
itmedy   this   evil,   as 

oon  as  the  pearly  var- 
ni  h   was    sufficiently 
lr\,  they  were  filled 
w  th  white  wax,  and 
1  cmg    then     bored 
tl  lough  with  a  need 'c, 
weie  threaded  for  sale. 
An   expert  workman 
(  m  blow  from  five  to 
i\    thousand     small 
[.liss    globules    in    a 
lav ;  but  as  some  at- 
tention is  called  for  in 
re  gard   to    the   s  hape 
and    appearance    of 
these  bead^,  the  pro- 
duce of  a  man's  daily 
labor  will    not  much 
exceed  one  fourth  of 
that    quantity.      The 
closer   to    counterfeit 
nature  in  their  manu- 
facture,   these    beads 
are  sometimes  purposely  made  with  blemishes, 
and  of  somewhat   irregular  forms.     Some  are 
■pear   shaped ;  others  are  elongated  like  olives, 
and  others  again  are  flattened,  on  one   side,  iu 
imitation   of  natural  pearls,  which  are  set  in  a 
manner  to  show  only  one  side.     The  fish  whose 
scales  are  put  to  this  use  are   about  four  inches 
in  length.     They  are  found  in  great  abundance 
in   some   rivers;  and    being  excecdi-i<rly   vora- 
cious, suffer  themselves  to  be  taken  without  dif- 
ficulty.    The  scales   furnished  bv  two  hundred 
and  fifty  of  these  fish  will  not  weigh  more  than 
an  ounce,  and  this  will  not  yield   more   than  a 
fourth  of  that  quantity  of  the  pearly  ])owdcr  ap- 
plicable to  the  pieparation  of  beads  ;  so  that  six- 
teen thousand  fishes  are  required  in  order  to  ob- 
tain one  pound  of   \.\\Q  essence  of  pearl.     Up  to  a 
recent  period  ihe  heirs   of  Jaquin  carried  on  a 
considerable  manufactory  of  these  mock  pearls, 
in  I*aris.     The  fish  are  tolerably   abundant  in 
the   river    Seine  ;  but  their  scales  are  conveyed 
from  distant  parts  in  much  larger  quantities  than 
ciin  be  procured  on  the  spot,  for  which  purpose 
they  arc  preserved  in  volatile  alkali.^ — Am.  Slay. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


349 


0^^^^^ 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Proprietor. 

MATUIIIN    M.    BALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTEIVTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  AU.IIKER, 

"  The  Crossed  Dollar,  or.  The  Country  Dealer  and  his 
Clerk,"  by  Sylvakus  Oobb,  Jr. 

"The  Way  to  H'ashington,"  a  descriptiye  sketch,  by 
Ben:  Perley  Poore. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,'*  No.  XV,  relating  to  Damascus, 
by  Rev.  F.  \V.  Holland. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"'  No.  XIIT,  relating  to  cus- 
toms in  Constantinople,  by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C-  Smith. 

'■  The  Blind  Child,"  verses,  by  Mrs.  It.  T.  Eldredge. 

"Song  to  Night,"  by  George  \V.  Dewet. 

"  The  Cottage  by  the  Sea, '  lines,  by  E.  Cortiss  Hike, 
U.  S.  N. 

"  Woman,"  verses,  by  T.  Bcchanax  Read. 

"The  Happiest  Home,"  poem,  by  Owen  G.  Warren. 

"  The  Evening  Cross,'"  lines,  by  CAROLI^E  A.  Havden. 

"Faith  in  Death,"  Terse.«,  by  W.  A.  Fogg. 

"  Still  1  Live,"  poem,  by  Joseph  K.  Butlee. 

ILLUSTBATIONS. 

We  shall  give  our  readerg  two  admirable  likenesses,  one 
of  Gen.  b'rank  Pierce,  the  President  eltct,  the  other  of 
Hon.  William  R.  King,  the  Vice  President  elect.  By  our 
artist,  Mr,  liotcse. 

A  series  of  pictures  illuf  trating  the  Hunting  season  ; — 
firdt,  the  Kennel,  a  spirited  and  characteristic  picture ; 
second,  the  Dog  Yard;  third  the  Keeper's  House,  called 
the  "MV'alk-outi"  fourih,  a  picture  entitled  "  Drawing  in 
to  Feed ,"  lifth,  a  htter  of  Huntiug  Pups  ,  and  sixth,  tbe 
Feeding  of  the  pack.  All  illustrating  tne  economy  of  the 
kennel. 

A  fine  large  picture,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Deverevx,  repre- 
Eentiug  Third  Street,  Philadelphia,  showing  tne  Ledger 
and  Jayne's  Buildings.    A  capital  engraving. 

An  engraving,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Chopin^  representing 
the  supeib  Service  of  Silver  Plate,  manufactured  by  Ball, 
Blake  &  Co.,  Broadwaj-,  New  York,  and  presented  to  tde 
publisher  of  the  Pictoiial,  by  the  artists  of  the  United 
States,  as  a  token  of  legard  lor  his  services  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  a  love  for  art  in  this  country,  through  the  illum- 
ined pLiges  ol  the  Urawing-Koom  Companion.  The  Plate 
coiisi&tii  of  eight  richly  wrought  pieces,  and  cost  over  one 
thousand  dollars. 

A  large  and  interesting  picture,  representing  the  famous 
monumental  Fountain,  at  Nimes,  France. 

A  fine  picture  of  a  Turkish  Gentleman,  illustrating  the 
series  of  sketches  now  pubhr>hing  in  our  columns  from  the 
pen  of  Dr.  Jerome  V.  U.  fimilh.  Drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
planning. 

Also,  a  characteristic  picture,  illustrating  the  same  sub- 
ject, called  an  irabat,  or  i'nrSish  ladies'  carriage.  By  our 
artist,  Mr.  Manning. 


OUR  CONTEiSTS. 

In  these  times,  when  every  valuable  and  origi- 
nal enterprise  is  sure  to  find  a  plenty  of  counter- 
feiters and  sickly  imitators,  the  public  should  be 
on  its  guard  when  and  to  whom  it  gives  its  pa- 
tronage. Without  reflecting  personally  upon 
any  others,  let  us  call  the  attention  of  our  read- 
ers to  the  contents  of  the  Pictorial.  It  is  always 
original ;  and  we  also  refer  them  to  the  names  of 
our  contributors  for  a  guarantee  of  the  character 
which  our  paper  sustains  for  literary  merit.  The 
numerous,  expensive  and  beautiful  embellish- 
ments which  we  give  every  week,  are  fully  equal- 
led in  excellence  by  the  letter-press  of  the  paper. 
Our  aim  is  upward  and  onward ! 


Paul  Juhen. — This  little  musical  prodigy, 
attached  to  Sontag's  troupe,  recalls  the  days 
when  Master  Burke  made  his  debut  at  the  Tre- 
mont  Theatre.  Paul,  though  young,  has  already 
tested  the  severity  of  a  chequered  life.  His  pa- 
rents were  very  poor,  and  are  supported  solely 
by  the  genius  of  their  child. 


SPLINTERS. 

Ontheoccasionof  a  fete  in  Paris,  SI  0,000 

are  sometimes  expended  for  flowers  alone. 

....  Sontag  will  appear  in  opera  at  New  York 
before  the  close  of  the  coming  winter  season. 

....  We  boast  in  this  country  about  eleven 
hundred  chartered  banks.     Enough  surely. 

There  is   said   to   be   fifty  millions   of 

genuine  champagne  manufactured  annually. 

....  It  is  currently  reported  that  our  govern- 
ment has  again  offered  SSO,000,000  for  Cuba. 

....  Rely  upon  it  that  self-conceit  is  all  that 
ever  renders  a  man  obstinate  or  wilful. 

....  It  sounds  odd  to  say  so,  but  it  is  a  fact 
that  the  Bible  is  a  rare  book  throughout  France. 

....  So  far  this  year  seventy  vessels  have 
cleared  from  this  port  direct  for  California. 

....  The  earth  is  one  third  nearer  the  sun  in 
winter  than  it  is  in  summer. 

....  There  are  now  in  the  Island  of  Cuba 
some  20,000  Spanish  troops,  and  more  coming. 

....  The  Boston  Museum  conrinues  steadily 
successful.     Everything  is  in  liberal  taste. 

....  Paris  produces  annually  S2,000,000  worth 
of  perfumery,  and  the  same  amount  in  pianos. 


BOSTON, 

Portrait  painters  tell  us  that  it  is  extremely 
difficult  to  get  accurate  likenesses  of  faces  with 
which  they  are  perfectly  familiar ;  use  begets  an 
indifference  to  the  striking  characteristics  of  a 
face,  and  they  lose  the  faculty  of  separating 
what  is  essential  from  what  is  trivial  and  acci- 
dental, and  thus  produce  unsatisfactory  perform- 
ances. So  habit  renders  a  man  indifferent  to 
the  beauty  of  a  woman  with  whom  he  is  con- 
stantly associated,  and  a  beautiful  woman  to  the 
manifest  ugliness  of  the  man  to  whom  she  is 
linked  in  matrimony.  As  in  painting,  so  in 
writing,  your  author  cannot  describe  a  scene  with 
which  he  is  perfectly  familiar ;  you  must  absent 
yourself  from  it,  and  contemplate  it  through  the 
medium  of  the  memory,  if  you  would  perceive 
its  true  character  and  artistic  features. 

Thus,  if  we  wish  to  appreciate  a  familiar  resi- 
dence— take  Boston  for  an  example — we  must 
come  back  to  it  fresh  from  some  sojourn  in  a 
distant  city,  before  we  can  note  down  accurately 
the  peculiarities  of  its  features.  Coming  from 
New  York,  in  so  many  respects  its  antipodes, 
you  are  struck,  first,  with  its  comparative  cleanli- 
ness. Its  streets,  however  narrow,  compared 
with  the  vast  avenues  of  the  Empire  City — ave- 
nues in  their  amplitude — yet  none  too  large  for 
the  increasing  population.  Here  in  Boston,  the 
leaven  of  their  ancestors  is  stamped  even  on  the 
faces  of  the  hack  and  cab  drivers,  whom  you  en- 
counter as  you  arrive  at  the  railway  depot. 
There  is  energy  and  activity  in  their  manner  of 
soliciting  patronage,  but  it  is  accompanied  with 
civility  and  self-respect. 

As  yon  go  to  your  hotel,  the  clean  swept 
streets,  the  uniform  neatness  and  comfort  of  the 
dwelling-houses,  the  orderly  and  intelligent  air 
of  the  inhabitants,  strike  you  most  impressively. 
No  where  else  do  you  meet  with  such  a  suc- 
cession of  logical  faces,  and  they  are  historical, 
too.  You  can  trace  the  Puritan  leaven  in  the 
somewhat  stern  features  and  determined  glances 
of  the  men — a  type  softened  in  the  fair  but  self- 
possessed  faces  of  the  women.  Boston  is  the 
city  of  law  and  order,  par  excellence.  Even  the 
Uevolution  was  a  triumph  of  such.  True  our 
city  has  been  disgraced  by  riots,  like  all  great 
cities,  but  by  no  long  continued  or  bloody  ones. 
There  have  been  broken  heads,  in  certain  street 
emeiUes,  but  no  riotous  assemblages  since  the 
adoption  of  the  federal  constitution,  that  a 
charge  of  cavalry,  or  the  appearance  of  a  light 
infantry  company  could  not  instantly  disperse. 

Boston  to  our  mind  is  a  model  city,  and, 
prejudices  aside,  we  can  see  many  and  important 
advantages  that  it  possesses  over  many  of  its 
contemporaries.  Not  that  we  would  disparage 
any  of  them — far  be  such  an  effort  from  us — for 
we  have  enjoyed  the  kind  hospitality  and  gener- 
ous unselfishness  as  exhibited  in  the  friendship  of 
New  Yorkers,  Philadelphians,  Baltimoreans,  and 
in  short,  of  two-thirds  of  the  cities  of  our  happy 
Union,  and  our  heart  is  full  of  good  feeling  to- 
wards them  all. 


PERSONAL. 

We  were  honored  by  a  call  from  Mr.  Thack- 
eray, a  few  days  since.  A  brief  interchange  of 
greetings  gave  us  a  highly  favorable  idea  of  him 
as  a  polished  gentleman.  Mr.  Thackeray  in  per- 
son is  tall  and  well  developed,  with  a  kindly  and 
genial  expression  of  countenance,  gray  hair,  and 
a  rich  manly  voice.  His  lectures  will  first  be 
delivered  in  New  York,  after  which  he  will  ap- 
pear before  a  Boston  audience.  If  he  is  as  hap- 
py in  the  lecture- room  as  with  his  pen,  his  suc- 
cess is  certain. 


Gleason's  Pictorial. — Tbis  elegantly  illustrated  weekly 
journal  has  won  for  itself  a  popularity  which  is  surpassed 
by  no  other  publication  of  its  cast  in  this  country.  Con- 
sidered either  with  reference  to  neatness  and  clearness  of 
typography,  to  accuracy  and  beauty  of  embellishment,  to 
the  beautiful  in  art,  or  its  literary  excellence,  Gleason's 
Pictorial  Drawhig-Koom  Companion  cannot  be  eclipsed. 
Its  elaborately  executed  engravings,  its  varied  and  exten- 
sive miscellany,  its  original  tales,  sketches  and  poems,  in- 
vested with  much  that  is  adapted  to  please  the  fancy,  in- 
struct and  refine  the  mind  ;  and  dive.'ited  of  all  that  might 
bi3  calculated  to  warp  the  judgment  or  debase  the  pas- 
sions, eminently  commend  it  not  only  to  the  patronage  of 
the  family  circle  in  particular,  but  to  every  lover  of  polite 
literature  and  artistic  excellence  throughout  the  land. — 
hansingburgk  Gazette. 


Musical. — Sontag's  concerts  in  Boston  were 
admirably  managed,  without  any  of  the  clap-trap 
that  attended  Jenny  Lind's  debut  here ;  yet  her 
success  was  far  more  brilliant,  and  the  impres- 
sion she  made  will  be  vastly  more  enduring. 


Pianist. — Was  there  ever  a  more  magical 
performer  upon  the  pianoforte  than  Alfred  Jaell  ? 
Wc  pause  for  a  reply. 


LOCAL  CHARACTERISTICS. 

Puritan  prejudices  and  bigotry,  once  so  rife  in 
New  England,  have  mostly  flown  away,  and  the 
present  generation  is  exercised  by  sound  reason 
as  it  regards  amusements.  Formed  for  enjoy- 
ment, we  find  men  seeking  it.  After  the  labor 
of  the  day  is  over,  and  the  toil  of  life  is  done, 
they  turn  from  business  to  find  some  source  of 
recreation,  some  avenue  of  life  which  is  pregnant 
with  flowers,  and  which  echoes  with  sweet  music. 
Theatres  and  concerts  are  liberally  patronized, 
the  opera  is  no  longer /atoDC(/,  there  are  no  enact- 
ments against  luxury  of  dress.  Washington 
street  in  a  sunny  day  is  as  gay  and  sumptuous 
as  a  Parisian  boulevard;  but  there  is  a  method 
in  our  way  of  amusing  ourselves  quite  distinct 
from  Prench  or  southern  abandon.  Our  people 
make  a  business  of  amusing  themselves  on  holi- 
days, and  set  about  it  with  a  grave  intensity  that 
is  quite  amusing.  There  is  never  anything  like 
delirious  excitement  among  us,  even  on  the 
fourth  of  July,  with  a  rare  exception,  during  po- 
litical excitement,  and  politics  ever  seem  to 
change  men's  natures.  But  though  Bostonians 
are  somewhat  grave  in  comparison  with  others, 
yet  they  nevertheless  relish  a  bit  of  fun.  They 
are  the  Scotch  of  America.  They  possess  a  deal 
of  dry  humor  and  dry  wit,  and  some  of  the  best 
comic  writers  in  America  hail  from  the  "  city  of 
notions." 

COiyiMONWE.ALTH  OF   MASSACHUSETTS. 

BY   HIS   ESCELLEXCr, 

GEORGE  S.  BOUTWELL, 

Governor  of  the  Commonweallk  of  Massachusetts. 

A  PROCLAMATION 

FOR  A   DAT   OF   PUBLIC   THANKSOIVIXG   AND   PRAISE. 

Guided  by  the  example  of  our  ancestors  and  the  spirit 
of  the  Christian  religion,  it  becomes  the  people  of  Massa- 
chusetts to  recognize  a  superintending  Providence. 

In  the  variety  and  wealth  of  the  Harvest ; 

In  the  development  of  Agricultural  Science  ; 

In  the  elevation  of  the  Mechanic  Arts  ; 

In  tbe  prosperity  of  Manxifactures  and  Commerce ; 

In  the  foundation  and  support  of  noble  charities  for  the 
Poor,  the  Ignorant,  the  Aiilicted  ; 

In  the  spirit  of  progress  which  animates  all  our  Insti- 
tutions of  ijeamiog,  of  Liberty,  of  Iteligion  ; 

In  relations  of  Peace  and  Harmony  between  the  States 
of  the  American  Kepublic  ; 

And,  tinally,  in  the  benign  influence  of  Christian  prin- 
ciples upon  the  social  and  political  affairs  of  men. 

1  do,  therefore,  by  and  with  the  advice  and  consent  of 
the  Council,  appoint  Thursday,  the  twenty-filth  of  No- 
vember next,  Co  be  observed  by  the  people  of  this  Com- 
monwealth, as  a  day  uf  public  Thanksgiving  and  Praise,  for 
the  numerous  bieasmgs  and  bounties  uf  the  closing  j  ear. 
Given  at  the  Council  Chamber  at  Boston,  this  nineteenth 

day  of  October,  in  the  3  ear  of  our   Lord  one   thousand 

eight  hundred  and  (ift>-Lwo.  and  of  the  Independence 

of  the  United  States  the  seventy  -seveutu- 

GUIDKGB  d.  BOUT  .VELL. 

By  His  Excellency  the  Governor,  with  the  advice  of  the 
Council. 

AsiABA  Walker,  Secretary. 

GOD  SAVE  THE  COMMONWEALTH  OF  MASSACHUSETTS! 


CoxGKESSiONAL. — The  new  library  is  nearly 
completed. 


THANKSGIVING. 

Our  artist,  Mr.  Kilburn,  has  given  us  on  page 
345,  an  allegorical  scene,  representing  the  past 
and  present  idea  of  a  New  England  Thanksgiv- 
ing. Liberty,  Peace  and  Plenty,  three  patron 
goddesses  of  our  country,  are  prominent  in  the 
scene.  The  centre  of  the  picture  represents  a 
family  gathering,  on  this  day  of  universal  re- 
unions, and  a  happy  group  has  the  artist  suc- 
ceeded in  delineating.  Below  we  have  an  idea 
of  the  first  commencement  in  Pilgrim  times,  of 
this  sacred  institution,  where  our  fathers  are  re- 
presented as  meeting  in  one  of  the  rude  struc- 
tures of  the  period,  and  lifting  their  voices  in  de- 
votional language  to  the  Giver  of  all  good  gifts. 
On  either  side  of  this  scene  is  represented  the 
season  when  this  celebration  of  Thanksgiving 
occurs.  The  left  foreground  represents  the  log 
cabin  homes  of  the  early  settlers ;  and  on  the 
right  is  seen  a  representation  of  the  landing  of 
the  Pilgrims.  Altogether  a  most  happy  and 
seasonable  picture  for  our  readers. 


"  The  Enchantress." — Madame  Anna  Thil- 
lon,  in  this  opera,  at  the  Howard  Athenjcum, 
succeeded  not  only  in  enchanting  Don  Sylvio, 
as  she  is  expected  to  do  in  the  play,  but  operated, 
to  the  same  effect,  upon  the  crowded  audiences 
that  greeted  her  performances. 


"The  Heroine  of  Tampico." — The  con- 
stant demand  for  this  very  popular  Mexican 
story  has  led  us  to  publish  a  fresh  edition  of  the 
hook,  and  it  may  now  be  obtained  at  all  of  the 
periodical  depots,  or  at  our  office  of  publication. 


Abbott  Lawrence. — Our  distinguished  fel- 
low-citizen and  ex-minister  to  England,  for  ob- 
vious reasons,  has  declined  the  honor  of  a  public 
dinner,  lately  tendered  to  him. 

<  ^■^  » 

Rev.  Thomas  Starr  King. — We  hear  this 
gentleman's  sermon  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Web- 
ster, highly  commended. 


In  this  city,  bv  Rev.  J.  B.  Waterbury,  D,  D.,  Mr.  Ed- 
win 0  Tufts  to  5iis3  Ruth  B.  Foster. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Blaikie,  Mr.  George  L.  Smith  to  Miss  Isa- 
bella G.  Coggeswell. 

By  Rev.  !flr.  Skinner,  Mr.  H  Sargent,  of  Boston,  to  Misa 
Jane  M  Moody,  of  Portland. 

By  Kev.  Mr-  Stone,  Mr.  James  Preble  to  Misa  Mary  E. 
Josselyn,  all  of  Boston. 

By  Kev.  Dr.  Vinton,  Mr.  Charles  F.  Fessenden  to  Misa 
Mary  F.  Conant. 

By  Rev.  Phineas  Stow,  Mr.  Luther  Jones  to  Miss  Susan 
Dun  ton. 

At  Charlestown,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Caldicott,  Mr.  Asa  P.  Pol- 
lard to  Miss  M.irtha  F.  Hall. 

At  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Newell,  Mr.  George  Shat- 
tuck  Shaw  to  Miss  Georgiana  Henshaw. 

At  South  Reading,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Emerson,  Mr.  Thomas 
Winship  to  Miss  Maria  Aborn. 

At  c-alem,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Flint,  Mr.  William  H.  Johnson 
to  Miss  Caroline  A.  Millett. 

At  Danvers,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Appleton,  Mr.  Francis  A. 
Couch  to  Miss  Caddie  A.  Porter. 

At  Marblehead,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Richmond,  Mr.  William 
Hawked,  3d,  to  Miss  Elizabeth  H.  Thompson. 

At  Lowell,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Brewster.  Mr.  Henry  C.  Cnrrier 
to  Miss  Mary  R.  Hull. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Spalding,  Mr.  Horatio  N. 
Dennet  to  Miss  Clara  A.  Pierce. 

At  New  Bedlbrd,  by  Rev.  Mr.  McKown,  Mr.  John  R. 
Paige  to  Miss  Juha  A.  Wilniarth. 

At  Providence,  11.  I.,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Stockbridge,  Mr.  H. 
R.  Wilbur,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Susan  E.  Knowles. 


r<t^0r^- 


In  this  city,  Mr.  Matthew  D.  Smith,  34  ;  Mr.  Edmund 
Lewis.  61 ;  Mrs.  Rebecca  M.  Badger,  57  ;  Miriam  C.  Lang- 
don,  13;  Itev.  Francis  Parkman,  D.  D. 

At  Charlestown,  Mrs.  Catherine  Calitpell,  50. 

At  Koxburv,  Mr.  Ralph  HiLckios,  73. 

At  Camhrijgeport,  Mrs.  Catherine  E.  Tufts,  25. 

At  Watertown,  Mrs.  Jane  E.  Holden,  45. 

At  Lynn,  Miss  Susan  farrington,  GO. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Sarah  Hadlock,  26 

At  Marblehead,  John  G.  Hooper  E?q.,  82. 

At  South  Danvers.  Mr  Edward  P.  Bancroft,  21. 

At  Duxbury,Mr,  George  H.  Winsor,  26. 

At  Gloucester,  Mr.  John  M.  Stanwood.  78. 

At  Kockport,  Mrs.  Sarah  E.  J.  Sewall,  34. 

At  Newburyport,  Mr.  Smith  Noyes,  53. 

At  fall  River,  Mrs.  Agnes  Braj  ton,  55. 

At  Worcester,  Mrs.  Lucretia  Goddard,  77. 

At  Fairhaven,  Mrs   Parcette  Parker,  88. 

At  New  Bedford,  Mis.  Anna  M.  Young,  25. 

At  Plainfield,  Mr.  A.  C  Shattuck,  of  Boston,  23. 

At  Provincetown,  Mrs.  Cynthia  Sparks,  23. 

At  Millbrd,  N.  II.,  ^Vidow  Simeon  Albee,  77. 

At  Bristol,  N.  H.,  Mr.  Francis  Kidder,  b8. 

At  Portland,  Me.,  Mr.  John  H.  Steele,  20. 

At  KirkUind,  Me  ,  Mrs.  Mary  Mann,  91. 

At  Gardiner,  Me.,  Rufus  Gay,  Esq.,  83. 

At  New  Haven,  Ct..  Miss  Caroline  A.  Root.  23. 

At  Pomfret,  Ct.,  Smith  Wilkinson,  Ksq.,  72. 

At  Scoharie,  N.  Y.,  Mr  Francis  Becoft,  102. 

At  fuiks  Island,  Mr.  Samuel  Staples,  20. 

At  sea,  Mr.  Asa  llodgmau,  of  Massachusetts. 


AND 

LITERARY  AVEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

Dv'rtuntTg^U00tn  »il0m^rtitt0tT, 

A  Heconi  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.      Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 

tales,  sketches  and  poeuis,  by  the 

BEST  AMERICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  ot 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely orisinal  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  fi-om  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, tlie  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fi.sh  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty -four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations— a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.      It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  i.5  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  allords,  and  tlio  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  hy  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoiding  all 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  ita 
combined  excellencies. 

TEEMS;    $2  00   PEE    VOLUME. 

OR,    S4  00    PER    ANNUM 

INVARIABLY   ly   ADVANCE. 

Each  six  months  completes  a  volume,  commencing  on 
the  f-Fit  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  volume^ 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  pages  each. 

[Cr'  One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  our  Uxion,  and  one  copy 
of  the  Pictorial  Drawinu-Room  Compakion,  one  year, 
for  §5  00. 

ICr'  The  Pictorlvl  Drawing-Room  Compaxiox  may  be 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  tiirougrtout  the 
coui'.try.and  of  newsmen,  at  ten  cents  per  single  copy 

Published  every  Saturday,  by 

P.    GLEASON,   EosTOX,  Mass. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTF- 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  York. 
A.  WlWOH.  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  T.WLOIt  &  CO.,  Ill  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore. 
A.  C   BAGLEY,  118  Main  Street,  Cincinnati. 
J.  A.  ROYS,  43  Woodward  Avenue,  Detroit. 
E.  K.  WOODWARD,  cor.  Fourth  and  Cheisnut,  St.  Louia. 
[j;^  Subsrriptions  received  at  eithtr  of  the  abirt'e  pUirex. 


3r)0 


GLEASON'S    PICTOIILVL   DllAWING    llOOM    COMrANION. 


[Written  for  Gloiuioii'fl  Pictorial.] 
WHY  SHOULD  SPJKITS  TALK  IHTH  31I^N.' 

DY  MISa  MARY  N.  DEAIlUOnN. 


0  wliorcfoi'o  finm  "  tho  fiir-ollF  Inna"  do  its  ohildron  now  return, 
And  bciir  to  wondering  niortiil  uara  tlio  myflt<M'ioH  thoy  li);irn  ? 
Why  do  thoy  leiivo  tho  bllH»l'iil  courtH  of  that  colestliti  cllaio, 
To  travorsts  Htill  thu  hibyrlntliH  of  miacry  luid  crimo? 

Tleyond  tho  mount  of  Horrow,  and  over  tlio  viilo  of  sin, 
Strange  that  they  Rliould  iihiino  again  tlio  hrlghtly-foldcid  wing ; 
]h  it  to  mark  the  shining  ])tit.h,  and  bid  uh  hnt^tun  there? 
Is  it  to  raise  the  droopiog  ojo  from  scones  of  eiirthiy  euro? 

Shall  mortals  lift  tho  mystic  Tell,  and  pass  within  tlio  door, 

To  mingle  with  departed  ones  upon  tho  spirit  shore? 

In  vain,  in  vain  wo  wonder,  for  who  of  mortal  frame, 

■\\'ould  fltriigglo  with  the  "  sentry  grim  "  tliid  ancient  clue  to  gain  ? 

Ah,  we  may  over  question,  for  little  .shall  we  know 

What  lies  beyond  tho  River,  or  where  ite  waters  (low  ; 

But  that  there  is  a  brighter  home  along  that  gem-cijid  shore. 

And  mortals  who  ascend  its  bunks  '-arc  niorttils  never  more  1" 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS   IN   PALESTINE. 

No.  XIV. 

BT  HEV.  P.  W.  HOLLAND. 

DAMASCUS. 
The  neavev  came  the  queen  city,  the  larger  were  the  clay-built 
liouses  and  mud-wallcd  gardens  and  orchards  of  every  kind,  and 
the  more  enciianting  the  scene — until,  after  miles  upon  miles  of 
these  beautiful  environs,  all  of  which  bear  the  name  of  the  city, 
and  thus  reconcile  some  of  the  disputes  about  the  sizo  of  ancient 
towns,  we  reached,  at  length,  the  house  of  father  Abraham's  stew- 
ard, and  found  ourselves  the  only  occupants  of  its  only  hotel.  A 
palace  of  misery  it  proved  to  us  in  the  rainy  season  of  Eebruary, 
for  there  was  dampness  within,  and  dampness  without,  and  noth- 
ing but  dampness  everywhere ;  but  in  the  sultry  summer,  its  mar- 
ble ])avement  and  playful  fountains  may  seem  a  glimpse  of 
heaven,  after  the  disgusting  experience  of  Turkish  inns  and  way- 
side fastings  through  inhospitable  Syria.  Equally  trustworthy 
travellers  have  given  the  most  opposite  opinions  of  this  celebrated 
"  Locanda,"  as  it  is  named,  Italian  fashion,  in  Damascus ;  and-we 
may  as  well  tell  what  it  really  is,  because  such  houses  are  as 
peculiar  to  this  place  as  the  coffeehouses  and  prairie-like  gardens. 
Nothing  U  to  be  seen  from  the  street,  still  called  "  Strait"  as  in 
St..  Paul's  day,  but  a  dead  wall  of  stone,  and  a  mean  little  gate. 
The  first  com-t  is  always  the  servants',  containing  the  kitchen, 
store  room,  etc.  Through  this  you  pass  into  a  spacious  square 
of  different  colored  marbles,  with  a  water  tank  and  fountain  in 
the  centre  overhucg  by  vines  and  fruit  trees,  around  which  are  the 
principal  apartments,  seldom  of  more  than  one  story  but  often 
very  lofty.  The  richest  families  have  still  another  court  inside  of 
this ;  in  the  most  palace-like  of  all,  a  wealthy  banker's  whom  I 
visited,  with  several  fountains,  and  a  principal  saloon,  whose  fur- 
niture cost  at  least  five  thousand  dollars. 

Tlic  general  arrangement  of  this  "guest-chamber"  is  pretty 
uniform ;  a  sunken  part  of  the  floor  near  the  entrance  is  the  place 
of  deposit  for  shoe-i  and  pattens.  The  rest  of  the  room  is  covered 
with  Persian  rugs,  and  has  on  three  sides  a  raised  platform  on 
which  to  recline.  The  lower  part  of  the  walls  are  of  white,  red, 
or  dark  marble  ;  then  comes  richly  carved  and  gaily-painted  pan- 
nelling  for  perhaps  twenty  feet ;  then  above  this  rises  the  white 
wall  hung  with  mirrors,  surmounted  at  a  great  height  by  a  reddish 
ceiling  of  poplar.  This  lofty  hall  would  be  bad  enough  to  warm 
with  a  brazier  of  coals — which  is  all  you  can  ever  get — for  its  very 
loftiness  ;  but  it  rests  on  ground  all  permeated  by  tubes  of  unburnt 
clay,  supplying  the  city  with  v/ater,  and  leaking  famously  all  the 
time.  Only  s.  handful  of  Franks — and  among  them  I  include  the 
American  missionaries — know  such  a  luxury  as  a  stove.  There 
are  no  fireplaces,  and  no  opportunity  to  dry  or  worm  one's  self, 
even  within  the  houses  of  the  wealthy.  But,  then,  in  those  over- 
heated, nerveless,  changeless  summers,  which  the  natives  divide 
between  smoking,  praying,  bathing  and  sleeping,  such  lofty,  dewy 
apartments  must  be  perfectly  delicious.  And  an  eveniog  that  I 
spent  at  a  Jewish  banker's,  tasting  of  most  delicious  preserves, 
smoking  peifumed  tobacco,  and  laughing  with  some  exquisite 
Hebrew  maidens,  will  be  a  bewitching  memory  to  me  as  long  as  I 
live. 

The  Christian  antiquities  of  this  oldest  of  existing  cities  are 
very  soon  exhausted.  Besides  the  principal  avenue,  still  named 
as  it  is  in  the  "Book  of  Acts,"  and  inhabited  by  the  largest  shops 
and  best  houses,  our  Jew  guide  carried  us  to  the  spot  wliere  Paul 
is  said  to  have  been  let  down  over  the  outer  wall  in  a  basket. 
The  house  of  Ananias,  an  underground  chapel,  was  shown,  of 
course  ;  and  the  tomb  of  a  soldier  who  befriended  the  apostle,  just 
outside  of  the  city.  St.  John's  Church,  now  the  principal  mosque, 
and  forbidden  to  Clnistian  feet,  we  gaj^ed  into  from  a  neighboring 
roof,  admiring  its  vastness  as  well  as  the  six  great  Corinthian 
columns  of  its  front,  now  built  into  a  heap  of  shops  and  houses. 
One  particular  room,  it  is  said  to  be  death  even  for  a  Mussulman 
to  enter,  because  the  bones  of  the  apostle  rest  there.  This  tri- 
umph of  the  crescent  over  the  cross  it  was  sad  to  sec — none  the 
less  that  the  downfall  of  Chri.stianity  in  one  of  its  early  citadels, 
was  a  merited  judgment  upon  formalism,  sensuality  and  spiritual 
decay.  But  the  oonqncror  does  not  fail  to  show  the  decrepitude 
of  age.  Mahommedaniam  is  not  what  it  was.  Tlie  dervishes 
were  its  banner  men,  its   most  licry  defenders  and  propagators; 


and  now  thoir  beautiful  mosque  at  DamascuK  seems  tottering  lo 
its  fall.  Its  ppaciou.s  court  wears  a  deserted,  gloomy  look  ;  but 
few  of  the  fanatics  are  left,  and  thoHC  are  no  longer  students,  war- 
riors, Huints  or  apostles,  but  canting  beggars,  droning  out  their 
devotions  in  idleness,  filth,  and  general  contempt. 

The  Damascus  bazaars  have  a  very  animated  air.  I  did  not 
think  them  so  good  as  at  Constantinople.  There  are  no  such 
solid  stono  arches  reaching  for  miles;  the  business  khans,  where 
strangers  sleep  with  tlieir  goods  and  nearly  free  of  charge,  arc 
gloomier  and  older.  One  traveller,  however,  informs  the  public, 
that  "  tlierc  is  a  grand  bazaar  for  the  wholesale  business,  covered 
with  a  wide  dome  and  refreshed  by  a  central  fountain."  There 
arc  really  thirty  such  bazaars,  bearing  cacli  the  name  of  its  build- 
er, generally  a  Sultan.  Every  branch  of  Ijusincss  has  its  own 
quarter,  and  is  carried  on  full  in  your  sight  as  you  pass — the  silk 
manufacturer  is  winding  his  spools  upon  the  house  walls,  the 
butcher  slauglitering  his  meat  by  your  side  in  the  open  street,  and 
the  "  fig-paste "  merchant  working  over  the  sweetened  starch, 
which  makes  the  favorite  bonbon  of  the  Orient.  I  certainly  never 
saw — I  never  even  imagined  such  a  profusion  of  can<ly  makers 
aud  cook-shops ;  probably  the  prosperity  of  the  place  vents  itself 
in  this  sort  of  indulgence,  and  families  arc  much  in  the  habit  of 
dining  upon  dishes  not  home  made,  and  merchants  were  often 
supplied  at  their  counters,  as  I  saw,  by  a  cup  of  coffee  from  the 
neighboring  shop. 

The  silk  business,  the  great  business  of  the  place,  has  been 
sadly  injured  by  the  introduction  of  cheaper  and  gayer  fabrics  of 
English  cotton  and  linen.  The  patterns  never  have  changed  for 
these  thousands  of  years,  nor  the  mode  of  manufacture,  which  I 
often  witnessed.  Damascus  steel  is  wholly  a  thing  of  the  past. 
The  richly  inlaid  aVms  are  sold  only  as  antiquaries  ;  the  stock  of 
any  one  merchant  is  very  small;  the  shape  of  the  scimetar  quite 
ungainly,  and  the  "asking  price,"  ludicrously  high.  I  was  sur- 
prised to  find  factory  goods  with  an  American  stamp  upon  them, 
which  proved,  after  all,  only  an  English  counterfeit. 

The  eastern  fashion  of  bargaining  is  very  embarrassing  to  one 
who  cannot  speak  the  language — the  necessity  of  insulting  a  man 
by  so  much  less  than  his  price,  after  drinking  his  coffee  and  smok- 
ing his  tobacco — the  fear  withal  that  your  dragoman  is  making  a 
profit  out  of  your  inexperience,  by  a  previous  arrangement  with 
the  dealer,  is  particularly  unpleasant.  And  yet,  Damascus  silks 
are  cheap,  rich,  heavy  and  peculiar,  so  as  to  make  the  best  keep- 
sakes one  can  bring  home.  My  companioii  found  their  pipe- 
stems  so  far  before  the  rest  of  the  world  in  splendor,  that  he  pur- 
chased quite  a  load  as  remembrances  of  Parisian  friends.  They 
were  full  four  feet  long,  of  cherry,  covered  with  purple  velvet, 
wound  with  gold  ribbon,  and  hung  with  heavy  tassels  of  silk — 
making,  with  the  amber  mouth  piece,  a  toy  fit  for  a  prince's  lip. 

This  "eye  of  the  east,"  as  an  emperor  termed  it,  has  some  of 
the  blurs  of  age.  A  more  detestable  pavement  was  never  imag- 
ined. Its  stones  are  smooth  as  glass,  so  that  neither  man  nor 
beast  is  certain  to  keep  his  feet  upon  it,  and  are  full  of  sad  holes, 
where  at  night,  one  plunges  to  an  unknown  depth.  All  the  streets 
save  one,  are  nameless,  winding,  eyeless  lanes— all  mud  in  the 
wet  weather,  and  all  dust  in  the  dry,  shrouded  by  decayed  mat- 
ting, that  drops  upon  you  as  you  pass,  and  so  narrow,  that  the 
encounter  with  a  loaded  camel  is  rather  perilous. 

The  winter  cafes  were  all  that  were  to  be  seen  at  the  end  of 
February,  and  were  wonderful  for  space,  for  breadth  of  dome, 
and  for  the  merry  little  rivulets  which  dance  under  the  walnut- 
trees,  in  their  court-yard.  Eothen  speaks  of  one  that  might  con- 
tain a  hundred  persons ;  Rev.  Mr.  Barnard  carried  me  into  one 
where  he  professed  to  have  often  seen  more  than  a  thousand  per- 
sons, and  where  several  thousands  would  not  crowd  one  another 
more  than  in  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome.  This  absolute  necessity  of 
Turkish  life,  this  escape  from  the  leaden  dulness  of  home,  this 
lazy  substitute  for  the  daily  paper,  this  admirable  invention  for 
killing  languid  hours  of  the  season  when  foreigners  flee  for  life  to 
the  cooler  mountains,  is  carried  to  ])crfection  in  Damascus.  First 
of  all  is  the  lofty,  dome-covered  hall,  set  round  with  wide  couches, 
provided  on  all  gala  days  with  an  Arabian  improvisatore,  who 
generally  helps  his  recital  with  some  little  instrument  of  music. 
Back  of  this  are  a  number  of  rustic  arbors,  interlaced  with  noble 
shade-trees,  and  watered  profusely  by  nimble  brooklets,  the  whole 
lighted  every  night  by  the  palest  little  lamps.  This  is  the  Dam- 
ascene Exchange  ;  here  the  fragrant  chibouque,  the  cool  narghiley, 
the  cream-like  black  coffee,  the  indolent  game  at  dominoes  is  re- 
lieved by  such  domestic  anecdotes,  as — according  to  my  American 
friend,  who  has  resided  there  for  many  years — brand  the  home 
life  of  the  Turk  with  a  beastly  sensuality.  I  would  fain  hope  that 
this  is  an  exaggeration.  Still,  these  enervating  climates  must 
weigh  heavily  upon  a  decrepid  faith,  assisted  by  a  palsied  despot- 
ism at  home.  The  feeble  frames  and  wanton  eyes  of  the  Turk, 
his  utter  indisposition  to  improve,  his  contentedness  at  the  passing 
away  of  his  power,  tell  ftarfully  against  his  domestic  institution. 
There  seems  hardly  a  doubt  that  this  quarter  of  the  world  cannot 
advance,  but  must  rather  continue  to  sink,  unless  the  harem  is 
abolished,  and  woman  restored  to  something  of  her  equal  rights. 
Every  other  experiment  has  been  tried  and  has  failed.  The  model 
farms  of  the  Sultan  are  nearly  all  abandoned  ;  the  youths  educated 
at  Paris  are  neglected  upon  their  return  ;  foreign  mechanics  and 
men  of  science  are  capriciously  patronized,  and  as  capriciously 
discharged ;  the  generals  whom  Kossuth  mentioned  as  holding 
high  ofl^icc  in  the  army,  are  sometimes  only  drill-sergeants — are  dis- 
liked by  the  people,  and  baulked  in  their  places  by  some  favorite 
of  the  Sultan,  who  abuses  his  ear.  Sir  Stratford  Canning  is  the 
only  European  representative  believed  to  have  any  influence  with 
the  government;  and  he  has  only  succeeded  by  uniting  to  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  language  and  a  familiar  understanding  of  Turk- 
ish character,  the  despotic  energy  which  they  always  idolize. 


[Written  for  Qieaaon'H  Pictorial.] 

AUTOGRAPHS  AND  AUTOGRAPHY 
OF  DISTINGUISHED  n^IVIDTIALS. 

No.  XIII. 

BY  WM.  EDWARD   KNOWLE8. 


Dr.  S-MrTii  is  well  known  to  our  readers  by  his  contributions  to 
this  paper  under  the  title  of  "  Turkey  and  the  Turks."  Dr.  Smith 
is  a  practical  physician,  as  well  as  a  most  industrious  literary 
man.  With  an  observant  and  cultivated  mind,  he  has  stored  a 
vast  fund  of  useful  knowledge  by  foreign  travel.  Tiie  manuscript, 
like  the  signature,  is  very  hold  and  decided,  but  is  a  good  one, 
plain,  and  always  easy  to  read.  But  to  realize  the  doctor's  best 
points,  one  must  know  him  personally. 


,J^'lf^' 


'A 


Mr.  Brook.s  is  a  great  writer,  although  he  has  written  com- 
paratively but  little.  We  like  his  poetry  much  better  than  his 
prose.  His  chirography  is  a  fine  one,  bold  and  graceful  ;  in  the 
manuscript  it  is  a  rolling  hand,  easy  to  read,  and  excellent  in  its 
construction,  con  (-eying  the  idea  of  completeness,  with  a  slight 
straining  after  effect. 


;>^  /^^C;«v. 


TucKEEMAN  is  a  grammatical  author,  but  in  our  opinion  noth- 
ing more.  He  never  rises  to  the  sublime,  nor  descends  to  the 
vulgar  ;  but  always  writes  in  the  same  monotonous  style.  His 
manuscript  is  neat  and  legible,  but  destitute  of  originality,  and 
seems  to  be  ever  hurried  and  careless — very  unlike  the  formation 
of  his  sentences. 


^ 


O-^ 


Theodore  S.  Fat  is  a  strange  writer ;  and  bis  productions 
have  a  far-fetched  and  over  delicate  finish.  His  fame  as  a  noveli-it 
will  never  roach  very  high.  But  in  small  matters  he  is  deservedly 
popular.  His  handwriting  is  excellent,  being  pUin  and  suggestive 
of  finish  and  care  in  the  effort  of  tho  pen. 


C'tuy^^'i/'-^ 


^rD 


Mr.  Ddrivage  is  a  familiar  favorite  with  the  readers  of  the 
Pictorial,  and  as  a  writer  stands  deservedly  high.  He  is  a  ripe 
scholar,  a  fine  ]:ioet  (witness  his  last  poem  in  these  pages,  to  Au- 
tumn), a  most  graceful  artist,  and  in  short  a  thoroughly  accom- 
plished literary  man.  Like  his  signature,  his  manuscript  is  com- 
plete, and  nicely  finished,  and  his  subject  always  originally  handkd 
and  given  to  the  public  in  the  most  perfect  garb  of  language. 


^. 


Fredrika  Bremer.  This  lady,  with  her  world-wide  fame, 
riclily  deserves  all  the  praise  she  so  liberally  receives.  Her  man- 
uscript is  a  good,  though  irregular  one,  easily  deciphered  ;  it  indi- 
cates womanly  delicacy,  but  steadiness  of  purpose  in  its  general 
aspect.  The  Swedish  authoress  needs  no  elaborate  notice  from 
us,  her  fame  is  great  and  lasting. 


G.  P.  K.  James  has  written  more  than  any  other  living  author. 
Eor  a  long  period  his  productions  were  most  eagerly  sought  for; 
but  the  abundance  of  the  supply  has  in  some  respect  satisfied  the 
public  taste.  His  manuscript  is  plain,  hurried  of  course,  but  very 
uniform,  and  what  would  be  called  by  printers  a  good  one. 

With  this  number  we  close  the  scries  of  autographs  and  auto- 
graphy for  the  present.  At  the  commencement  of  our  new  vol- 
ume on  the  first  of  January,  we  propose  to  resume  it  again.  It 
will  be  conducted  by  one  who  has  made  the  subject  a  study,  and 
who  is  amply  able  to  do  it  full  justice,  besides  holding  in  his  pos- 
session nearly  every  autograph  of  interest  that  can  be  obtained. 
We  have  found  that  this  feature  of  the  Pictorial  has  wiven  great 
pleasure  in  certain  quarters,  and  therefore  mention  our  purpo.sc  of 
resuming  the  subject  in  our  next  volume,  that  there  may  bo  no 
disappointment  in  the  matto'.  Our  new  series  will  ho  more  club- 
orate  and  more  finished  than  the  one  herewith  completed. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


351 


THE  SULTAN. 

Bayard  Taylor  gives  the  foHowing  interesting 
description  of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  :  "  Sultan 
Abdul-Medjid  is  a  man  of  about  thirty,  though 
he  looks  older.  He  has  a  mild,  amiable,  weak 
face,  dark  eyes,  a  prominent  nose,  and  short 
dark-brown  mustache  and  beard.  His  face  is 
thin,  and  wrinkles  are  already  making  their  ap- 
pearance about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and 
eyes.  Bat  for  a  certain  vacancy  of  expression, 
he  would  be  called  a  handsome  man.  He  sirs 
on  his  horse  with  much  ease  and  grace,  though 
there  is  a  slight  stoop  in  his  shoulders.  His  legs 
arc  crooked,  owing  to  which  cause  he  appears 
awkward  when  on  his  feet,  though  he  wears  a 
long  cloak  to  conceal  the  deformity.  Indulgence 
has  weakened  a  constitution  naturally  not  strong, 
and  increased  that  mildness  which  has  now  be- 
come a  defect  in  his  character.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  style  of  the  utmost  richness  and  elegance. 
He  wore  a  red  Turkish  fez,  with  an  immense 
rosette  of  brilliants,  and  a  long  floating  plume  of 
hird-of-paradise  feathers.  The  diamond  in  the 
centre  of  the  rosette  is  of  unusual  size ;  it  was 
picked  up  some  years  ago  in  the  Hippodrome, 
and  probably  belonged  to  the  treasury  of  the 
Greek  emperors.  The  breast  and  collar  of  his 
coat  were  one  mass  of  diamonds,  and  sparkled 
in  the  early  sun  with  a  thousand  rainbow  gleams. 
His  mantle  of  dark -blue  cloth  hung  to  his  knees, 
concealing  the  deformity  of  his  legs.  He  wore 
white  pantaloons,  white  kid  gloves,  and  patent 
leather  boots,  thrust  into  his  golden  stirrups. 


OLD  BANK  NOTES. 

A  package  of  bank  bills  was  recently  found 
among  a  large  quantity  of  old  papers  which  had 
been  accumulating  in  the  store  rooms  of  the  late 
Dr.  Wing,  of  Albany,  N.  Y.,  for  many  years, 
and  which  had  been  put  aside  to  be  taken  to  the 
paper  mill.  The  package  was  enveloped  in 
'•  Cram's  New  York  Price  Current,"  of  August, 
1804,  and  contained  three  notes,  amounting  in 
all  to  fifteen  dollars,  which  appeared  from  a  writ- 
ten memorandum  on  the  wrapper  to  have  been 
laid  aside  to  pay  a  bill.  They  had  been  lying 
idle,  judging  from  the  date  of  the  paper  in  which 
they  were  enclosed,  at  least  forty-seven  years. 
They  were  probably  wrapped  up  by  the  late 
Matthew  Gregory,  father  inlaw  of  Dr.  Wing. 
The  Albany  Journal  says  that  the  three  banks 
which  issued  these  bills  fifty  years  ago  are  still  in 
existence,  ready  to  redeem  these  venerable  relics 
of  their  youth. 


Gold  in  Peru. — Great  excitement  has  been 
produced  throughout  Peru,  owing  to  the  discov- 
ery of  gold  in  the  mines  of  Huacho,  some  twenty 
miles  north  of  Lima,  on  the  sea  coast.  Large 
numbers  of  gold  seekers  have  already  gone  to 
the  diggings.  A  piivate  letter  speaks  of  the 
yield  of  metal  as  greatly  exceeding  that  of  Cali- 
fornia. 

— <     ^m^    > 

Lake  Steajikrs. — There  are  six  steamers 
contracted  for,  and  some  of  them  commenced,  of 
the  largest  dimensions  ever  built  upon  the  lakes, 
to  run  on  Lake  Erie,  and  to  he  out  in  the  spring. 
No  pains  or  expense  is  to  be  spared  in  making 
them  superior  in  point  of  speed  to  anything  afloat. 


The  Amazon. — It  has  been  decided  to  assign 
to  Lieut.  Page  the  exploration  of  the  Amazon 
River,  which,  it  is  ascertained,  is  navigable  for 
4000  miles,  with  a  depth  of  water  from  40  to  250 
feet,  approaching  within  150  miles  of  the  Pacific. 
The  Water  Witch  is  detailed  for  this  service. 


A  Sad  Rkai.ity. — The  Chinese  value  the 
Scriptures  chiefly  for  their  morocco  covers,  which 
t!iey  convert  into  shoes  !  How  many  use  the  Gos- 
pel thus — wearing  only  its  outside  appearance  ! 


No  DOUBT  OF  IT — A  Boston  tailor  told  us 
the  other  day  that  the  Spiritual  Kappings  were  a 
humbug,  but  that  his  (w)  rappingsfor  cash  were 
wonderfully  neat  and  comfortable. 


Mercantile  Library  Association. — Mr. 
J.  E.  Murdoch  will  occupy  one  of  the  evenings 
of  the  seasons,  before  this  association,  with  his 
recitations  and  Shaksperian  readings. 

Ka'Jame  ThiHon's  Fxicoess  in  opera,  at  the  Howard,  has 
b2en  remarkable. — American   Union. 

Kemarkable,  because  as  a  vocalist,  she  is  com- 
paratively )wthinf/ ;  Rs  a  woman,  she  is  benutifuL 


Musical  Hall. — We  learn  from  "To-Day" 
that  the  new  musiial  hati  cost  some  $140,000, 
iuilnding  furniture. 


lUausibc    ©atljcriiig©. 

Honor,  not  taleni,  makes  the  gentleman. 
Napoleon  landed  at  St.  Helena  on  the  13th  of 
October,  1815. 

To  cure  a  fit  of  passion  walk  out  into  the  open 
air. 

Potatoes  are  brought  from  California,  weigh- 
ing four  and  five  pounds. 

Julia  Dean,  at  the  Broadway  Theatre,  con- 
tinues to  be  very  attractive. 

We  would  not  give  a  fig  for  a  man  who  can't 
stand  abuse  philosophically. 

The  commerce  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  amounts 
to  over  8200,000,000  per  annum. 

Theodore  Parker  and  Daniel  Webster — the 
living  ass  and  the  dead  lion. 

Elk  county.  Pa.,  has  subscribed  $100,000  to 
the  Sunbury  and  Erie  railroad. 

Mi-s.  Sinclair  and  Mr.  George  Vandenhoff'are 
plajing  at  the  West. 

During  the  past  month  the  American  Bible 
Society  has  issued  83,304  bibles  and  testaments. 
Eighty  silver  cups  and  goblets  were  awarded 
at  the  agricultural  fair  lately  held  at  Sacramento. 
Tycbo  Brahe  amused  himself  with  polishing 
glasses  for  spectacles  ;  and  Socrates  by  playing 
with  children. 

Nearly  all  the  omnibus  lines  in  Philadelphia 
are  running  for  three  cents,  and  the  system  is 
found  to  work  well. 

The  common  council  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  have 
selected  Dr.  Bethune  to  deliver  an  eulogy  on 
the  death  of  Hon.  Daniel  Webster. 

The  recorder  of  San  Erancisco  has  decided 
that  horses  shall  not  be  driven  through  the  streets 
at  greater  speed  than  six  miles  an  hour. 

Rev.  George  Trask  asserts  that  sleeping  with 
a  tobacco  consumer  actually  affects  the  health 
of  a  person  who  does  not  use  the  article. 

The  number  of  sea-going  vessels  in  the  world 
is  about  eighty-five  thousand,  of  which  two-thirds 
belong  to  England  and  the  United  States. 
■  Not  less  than  50,000  barrels  of  fish  will  be 
shipped  this  year  from  a  single  district  in  the 
south  end  of  Lake  Michigan.  Value  $250,000. 
A  lump  of  saleratus  applied  to  the  sting  of  a 
wasp  or  bee,  will  stop  the  pain  in  one  moment, 
and  prevent  it  from  swelling.  Pin  this  fact  up 
somewhere  for  next  summer's  use. 

Dr.  Strachan,  Bishop  of  Toronto,  Canada, 
went  to  Kingston  recently,  and  baptized  fifty  of 
the  convicts  in  tlie  penitentiary,  and  confirmed 
one  hundred  and  fifty  others. 

Mrs.  Norton,  tried  and  acquitted  in  Marquette 
county,  "Wis.,  for  whipping  a  child  to  death,  has 
been  sentenced  to  the  State  prison  for  a  term  of 
ten  years. 

Mr.  Levi  Snow,  of  Hermon.  Me.,  while  driv- 
ing a  team  from  that  town  to  Bangor,  fell  from 
the  load,  and  was  run  over  and  injured  so  se- 
verely, that  he  lived  but  a  short  time. 

A  single  house  in  Ohio  have  shipped  to  Cali- 
fornia during  the  past  season  405,000  pounds  of 
butter.  The  Ohio  producers  are  paid  an  average 
price  of  12  1-2  cents  per  pound. 

Mr.  Webster's  congressional  career  embraced 
eight  years  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  and 
about  nineteen  years  in  the  Senate  ;  in  all  about 
twenty-seven  years. 

The  Sunday  Times  advises  certain  party  edi- 
tors to  read  over,  during  the  month  after  elec- 
tion, the  articles  they  wrote  in  the  month  before 
election — and  blush  ! 

The  subject  of  reviving  the  convocation  of  the 
Church,  in  England,  is  exciting  the  religious 
world.  Petitions  for  and  against  its  revival  are 
in  circulation  among  the  clergy. 

An  extensive  bed  of  sulphur  has  been  found 
between  the  village  of  Kench  and  the  Red  Sea, 
at  the  strait  called  Bahar  et  Sefingus,  Upper 
Egypt.  It  is  about  to  be  opened  for  commerce. 
"  Heroine"  is  perhaps  as  peculiar  a  word  as 
any  in  our  language  ;  the  two  first  letters  of  it 
are  male,  the  three  fir>t  female,  the  four  first  a 
brave  man,  and  the  whole  word  a  brave  woman. 
Edward  Bougbton  has  been  sentenced  by  the 
county  court  of  Litchfield,  Cl.,  to  six  years  im- 
prisonment in  the  State  prison,  for  placing  ob- 
sti'uctions  upon  the  track  of  the  Naugatuck  Rail 
Road. 

J.  Scott  Harrison,  son  of  the  late  President 
Harrison,  is  among  the  members  of  Congress 
just  elected  in  Ohio.  He  was  chosen  from  Cin- 
cinnati, and  bears  the  reputation  of  an  intelli- 
gent, upright  and  able  public  man. 

The  Sabbalh  of  the  Christians,  is  observed  on 
Monday  by  the  Greeks,  on  Tuesday  by  the  Per- 
sians, on  Wedncsdq^  by  the  Assyrians,  on  Thurs- 
day by  the  Egyptians,  on  Friday  by  the  Turks, 
and  on  Saturday  by  the  Jews. 

A  son  of  Mr.  George  Lutman,  of  Utah,  Ohio, 
aged  seven  or  eight  years,  while  eating  some 
hickory  nuts,  got  a  piece  of  the  shell  in  his  wind- 
pipe. Medical  aid  wa.s  called,  hut  the  shell  could 
not  be  extracted,  and  the  little  sufferer  died. 

The  Cincinnati  Commercial  says  that  a  luna- 
tic escaped  confinement  at  home,  went  into  Third 
street,  bought  and  sold  thirty  shares  of  railroad 
stock,  pocketed  5-90  clear  profit,  and  was  ar- 
rested before  he  could  go  on  another  speculation. 
The  Catholics  of  Memphis,  Tenn.,  are  about 
to  erect  one  of  the  most  splendid  edifices  west  of 
the  Alleghanies,  which  will  be  dedicated  by 
Bisliop  Hughes.  It  i«  to  have  towers  (ach  one 
hundred  feet  high,  surmounted  by  a  chime  of 
bciU. 


JTorcign  flliaccllanji. 

The  small  pox  is  raging  fearfully  at  Corfu. 

One  third  of  the  population  of  Europe  live  on 
rye  bread. 

A  shock  of  earthquake  occurred  at  Cadi/., 
October  14th. 

In  ten  years,  sixty  thousand  houses  have  been 
built  in  London. 

All  of  Prescott's  historical  works  are  published 
in  London,  in  six-shilling  volumes. 

The  cost  of  the  Burmese  expedition  up  to  the 
1st  of  July,  is  about  £500  000. 

In  the  German  universities  there  arc  18,810 
students,  and  1666  professors  and  tutors. 

The  Protestant  population  of  France  is  only 
one  million  and  a  half,  while  the  Catholic  popu- 
lation is  thirty-five  or  thirty -six  millions. 

Bristol  is  to  be  made  a  port  of  departure  for 
the  new  company  of  ocean  steamers  to  Australia, 
and  it  is  believed  for  those  also  to  America. 

The  Portuguese  wine  company  is  abolished. 
In  future  only  one  quality  of  wine  of  the  Douro 
is  exportable,  chiefly  Oporto. 

The  correspondence  of  Napoleon  the  Great, 
now  in  preparation  by  Napoleon  the  I-<ittle,  is 
expected  to  fill  about  seventy-five  octavo  volumes. 

Nelson's  funeral,  in  1809,  cost  about  seventy- 
thousand  dollars ;  William  Pitt's,  tliirty  tliou- 
sand.  Wellington's  will  probably  cost  as  much 
as  both  together. 

The  London  Chronicle  mentions  a  rumor  that 
another  infenial  machine  was  discovered  at  Fon- 
tainbleau,and  that  it  was  to  have  been  discharged 
at  the  president  while  hunting  in  the  forest. 

In  a  barber's  shop  in  North  Shields,  there  is  a 
bill  recommending  a  certain  patent  medicine, 
with  the  very  dubious  heading:  "  Try  one  box — 
no  other  medicine  will  ever  be  taken." 

It  is  stated  hy  a  traveller,  that  there  is  a  gen- 
tleman living  in  Jamaica,  whose  father  was  the 
Duke  of  Kent  (father  of  Queen  Victoria),  and 
whose  wife  is  a  daughter  of  George  IV. 

The  Duke  of  Terceira,  and  several  other  offi- 
cers, had  arrived  at  Southampton,  deputed  by 
the  Portuguese  government,  to  be  present  at  the 
funeral  of  Wellington. 

Tlie  two  largest  screw  ships  of  war  in  the 
world  are  the  "Napoleon,"  of  the  French  navy, 
and  ihe  "Wellington,"  of  the  English.  Tiiis 
last  ship's  broadsides  will  discharge  more  than 
four  thousand  pounds  weight  of  metal. 

The  area  of  Babylon  was  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  square  miles,  that  of  Nineveh  two 
hundred  and  sixteen  square  miles,  while  that  of 
London  and  its  environs  is  but  one  hundred  and 
fourteen  square  miles. 


3o\\txs   SuLigct. 


jSanifi  of  ©olb. 


A  flatterer  is  the  shadow  of  a  fool. 

....  All  are  not  thieves  that  dogs  hark  at. 

....  There  is  no  God  but  God,  the  living,  the 
self-subsisting. — The  Koran. 

To  be  really  and  truly  independent  is  to 

support  ourselves  by  our  own  exertions. 

....  A  mind  that  is  conscious  of  its  integrity, 
scoras  to  say  more  than  it  means  to  perform. 

. . .   Wo  gain  as  much  in  avoiding  tlie  failure 
of  others  as  we  do  in  imitating  their  virtues. 

.  . .  .Running  accounts  will  run  away  with  a 
person's  credit  more  rapidly  than  anything  else. 

....  It  is  not  decent  to  spend  your  money  in 
foolishness,  when  you  have  debts  that  ought  to 
be  paid. 

....  True  goodness  is  like  the  glow-worm  :  it 
shines  most  when  no  eyes  save  those  of  Heaven 
are  upon  it. 

....  Hear  no  ill  of  a  friend,  nor  speak  any  of 
an  enemy.  Believe  not  all  you  hear,  nor  speak 
all  }ou  believe. 

....  Old  men  are  long  shadows,  and  their 
evening  sun  lie.:,  cold  upon  the  earth,  but  they  all 
point  towards  the  morning. 

....  When  we  are  saluted  with  a  salutation, 
salute  the  person  witli  a  better  salutation,  or,  at 
least,  return  the  same,  for  God  taketh  an  account 
of  all  things- — Koran. 

....  We  should  all  he  cautious,  as  we  advance 
in  life,  of  allowing  occasional  sorrowful  experi- 
ences to  overshadow  our  perception  of  the  pre- 
ponderance of  good. 

....  As  defect  of  strength  in  us  makes  Fomc 
weights  to  be  unmovable,  so  likewise  defect  of 
understanding  makes  some  iruths  to  be  mysteri- 
ous.— Bishop  Sherhch. 

....  Passions  act  as  wind  to  propel  our  ves- 
sel, and  our  reason  is  the  pilot  that  steers  her. 
Without  rhe  wind  we  could  not  move,  without 
the  pilot  we  should  be  lost. 

....  Idleness  is  the  dead  sea  that  swallows  all 
virtues,  and  the  self  made  sepulchre  of  a  living 
man.  The  idle  man  is  the  devil's  urchin,  whose 
lively  is  rags,  and  whose  diet  and  wages  are 
famine  and  discafc. 

....  God  intended  for  women  two  prevent- 
ives against  sin — modesty  and  remorse  :  in  con- 
fession to  a  mortal  priest  tlie  former  is  removed  ; 
by  bis  altsolution,  the  latter  is  taken  away. — 
Mirai^da  of  Piedmont. 

....  Nothing  sets  so  wide  a  mark  between  a 
vulgar  and  a  noble  soul,  as  the  respect  and  n-v- 
crendal  love  of  woman-kind.  A  man  wJ  o  is 
always  sneering  at  woman  is  generally  a  coarse 
profligate,  or  a  coar.scr  bigot. 


Which  three  letters  are  of  most  use  to  a  states- 
man ? — AYZ  (a  wise  head.) 

There  is  a  gravestone  in  a  neighlioring  ceme- 
tery, bearing  the  inscription,  "Bub  and  Sis." 

Young  physicians  find  it  hard  to  get  into  busi- 
ness ;  but  they  will  succeed  if  they  only  have 
patieiits. 

An  American  traveller  in  Egypt  called  his 
Arab  guide  "  a  son  of  a  gun."  •' I  aui  not  a 
soldier,"  was  the  grave  response. 

The  man  who  has  no  music  in  his  soul,  was 
last  seen  listening  to  a  saw  filer  while  at  work. 
The  man  seemed  highly  delighted. 

A  sickly  friend  had  labored  so  hard  to  raise 
an  appetite,  that,  when  he  had  succeeded,  he  re- 
fused to  eat  meat,  lest  he  should  spoil  it  again. 

Dickens,  in  speaking  of  a  friend,  says  that  his 
face  has  been  so  jiitted  and  seamed  by  the  sniall- 
pox,  that  it  looked  like  a  cane-bottomed  chair. 

"  Sammy,  run  to  the  store  and  get  some  su- 
gar." "  Excuse  me,  ma;  I  am  somewhat  indi.s- 
posed  this  morning.  Send  father,  and  tell  him 
to  bring  a  paper  of  tobacco  along." 

A  certain  judge,  after  hearing  a  flowery  dis- 
course from  a  young  lawyer,  advi.=ed  him  lo 
pluck  out  some  of  the  feathers  from  the  wings  of 
his  imagination,  and  put  them  into  the  tail  of  his 
judgment. 

Placards  have  been  posted  on  various  parts  of 
the  rotunda  in  the  Merchant's  Exchange,  of  New 
York,  bearing  the  following  notice  :  "  Gentlemen 
using  tobacco  are  informed  ihat  no  extra  charge 
will  be  made  for  the  use  of  the  spittoons." 

At  the  Astor  House,  not  long  ago.  a  gentle- 
man saw  one  of  the  guests  give  bis  fork  to  anoth- 
er, with  "just  stick  that  fork  into  that  potato  for 
me,  will  you  V  His  neighborly  neighbor  did  as 
he  was  requested,  and  left  it  sticking  there! 

The  man  who  was  appointed  a  committee  to 
inquire  inio  his  own  conduct,  has  reported  in 
part,  and  asked  for  power  to  send  for  persons 
and  papers.  He  says  if  be  had  known  how  much 
there  was  to  do,  he  never  would  have  undertaken 
the  job. 


YOLTJMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictoejai  Dkawiko 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  mot  t 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  boot  of 

Betweer  Foir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     COKTAININQ      NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  ETent=;  all  over  the  world  ; 
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beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  >vith  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

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BesiUes  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pagr g 
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News  Kecord  of  the  times;  altogether  Ibmiing  an  exceed- 
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THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  MIO?\\ 

AN  ELEGANT,  MOKAL  AND  REKalD 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  expressly  for 
tliis  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothin"-  r>f 
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therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

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AND  A  WELCO^ilE  TISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
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352 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DIIAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


VIEW  OF  THE  CHINCHA  GUANO  ISLANDS,  ON  THE  COAST  OF  PERU. 


THE  CHINCHA  GUANO  ISLANDS. 

TheChincha  Islands  are  situated  between  the  13th  and  14th  de- 
crees of  south  latitude,  some  120  miles  from  Cailao,  the  port  of 
Lima,  and  twelve  miles  from  the  port  of  Pisco,  whence  laborers 
arc  procured  for  the  operations  of  digging  and  shipping  the  guano 
with  which  these  islands  are  covered.  Guano  has  been  taken 
from  the  northernmost  island  by  the  native  Peruvians,  from  time 
immemorial;  or,  at  any  rate,  it  had  been  taken  by  them  for  an 
indefinite  period  previous  to  the  discovery  of  the  country  by  the 
Spaniards,  now  more  than  three  centuries  ago,  and  it  has  contin- 
ued to  be  taken  by  them  ever  since.  Indeed,  without  guano,  the 
valleys  on  the  coast  of  Peru  could  never  have  arrived  at  the  highly 
productive  state  in  wbifh  they  now  are.  The  quantity,  however, 
required  for  that  strip  of  coast  is  a  mere  bagatelle,  which  is  shown 
by  the  slight  impression  made  on  the  deposit  by  an  abstraction  of 
the  article  during,  perhaps,  a  period  of  half  a  century.  Matters 
on  the  islands  of  Chincha  now  present  an  altered  appearance.  In 
1840,  attention  was  first  drawn  to  guano  for  the  purpose  of  agi-i- 
culture  in  Europe,  and  every  year  since  shipments 
have  ipcreased.  Until  quite  lately,  the  northernmost 
island  only  had  been  touched.  For  the  facility,  how- 
ever, of  more  rapid  shipment,  to  meet  the  increasing 
demand  for  the  article,  shutes  were  arranged  on  the 
middle  island,  where  vessels  are  now  also  loaded. 
The  waters  are  so  quiet  around  these  islands,  that 
vessels  are  enabled  without  danger,  to  haul  close  to 
the  cliff,  and  receive  their  cargoes  through  wooden  or 
canvass  shutes.  In  this  way,  a  vessel  of  500  tons 
may  be  loaded  in  a  couple  of  days.  As  to  the  quan- 
tity of  guano  existing  on  these  islands,  it  would  seem 
that  it  will  not  be  easily  exhausted ;  notwithstanding 
the  increased  demand  in  Europe  and  America,  and 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  no  addition  is  now  being 
made  to  it,  or  has  been  made  to  it,  since  the  Span- 
iards first  entered  the  valley  of  Itimac.  The  expo- 
sure of  a  perpendicular  surface  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom  of  the  deposit,  which,  in  some  places,  reaches 
a  depth  of  150  feet,  shows  a  uniform  appearance  of 
such  a  character  as  proves  beyond  a  doubt  the  anti- 
quity of  the  deposit.  It  must  have  been  the  work  of 
many  thousands  of  years.  It  is  rather  a  curious  fact, 
that,  although  there  are  many  islets  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, not  one  of  them  has  any  deposit  of  guano. 
These  islands  partake  of  the  advantage  enjoyed  only 
on  the  coast  of  Peru  and  Bolivia,  viz.:  that  they  are 
free  from  rain.  Hence  this  enormous  deposit  of  gua- 
no; and  hence  the  superiority  in  quality  which  it 
possesses,  as  a  dressing  for  the  land,  over  the  guano 
brought  from  the  coast  of  Africa  and  Patagonia.  A 
narrator  gives  the  following  graphic  description  of  the 
appearance  of  this  great  dejmsit  of  manure  :  "  Having 
anchored  between  the  north  and  middle  islands,  at 
the  latter  of  which  we  are  to  load,  we  will  borrow  the  boat,  and 
have  a  closer  look  at  the  huge  muck  heap.  Pulling  half  round 
the  island  to  the  landing-place,  we  step  ashore  on  a  narrow  slip  of 
sandy  beach,  which  appears  to  be  cleared  from  the  surrounding 
rocks  for  our  special  convenience.  Our  appearance  disturbs  thou- 
sands of  the  web-footed  natives  ;  these  thousands  count  with  the 
old  hands  as  nothing,  for  they  tell  us  that  the  shipping  have 
driven  all  the  birds  away.  Sailing  above  us  is  a  flock  of  pelicans, 
hovering  over  the  clear  water  like  hawks,  which  they  resemble  in 
their  mode  of  darting  down  or  stooping  on  their  prey.  One  of 
of  these  every  instant  drops  from  the  flock  as  though  a  ball  had 
whistled  through  his  brain  ;  but,  after  a  plunge,  he  is  soon  seen 
rising  to  the  surface  with  a  fish  struggling  in  his  capacious  pouch. 
Nearer  to  us,  whirling  round  our  heads,  are  gannets,  mews,  mut- 
ton-birds, divers,  gulls,  guano  birds,  and  a  host  of  others  whose 
names  arc  unknown  to  the  vulgar.  On  the  detached  rocks  and 
the  lower  edge  of  the  island — member  of  a  pretty  numerous  con- 


vocation— stands  the  penguin,  parson-bird  of  the  sailor,  whose 
good  name  is  fairly  earned  by  his  cut-away  black  coat,  white  tie, 
and  solemn  demeanor.  His  short  legs  planted  far  back,  and  his 
long  body,  do  not  fit  him  for  a  walk  ashore  ;  but  he  will  sit  for 
hours  on  a  little  rock  just  washed  by  the  waves,  apparently  in 
such  deep  absence  of  mind,  that  passers-by  are  attempted  to  ap- 
proach in  hope  of  catching  him.  Just  as  the  boat  nears  him,  and 
a  hand  is  already  stretched  out  to  grasp  hi^  neck,  away  he  goes, 
head  over  heels  in  a  most  irreverent  and  ridiculous  manner,  dives 
under  the  boat,  and  shows  his  head  again  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
out  at  sea,  where  the  sailor  may  catch  him  who  can,  for  he  is  the 
fastest  swimmer  and  the  best  diver  that  ever  dipped.  Stepping 
over  the  mortal  remains  of  several  sea-lions,  in  a  few  strides  we 
are  on  the  guano,  and  at  the  next  step  in  it  up  to  our  knees.  The 
guano  is  regularly  stratified ;  the  lower  strata  are  solidified  by  the 
weight  of  the  upper,  and  have  acquired  a  dark  red  color,  which 
becomes  gradually  lighter  towards  the  surface.  On  the  surface  it 
has  a  whitey-brown  light  crust  containing  eggs,  being  completely 


ties  to  the  landing  of  ships.  On  the  top  of  the  cliff  is  a  large  en- 
closure formed  of  stakes,  firmly  bound  together  by  strong  chains 
passed  round  the  whole.  This  enclosure  is  capable  of  holding 
four  or  five  hundred  tons  of  guano.  It  is  made  wide,  and  open 
at  the  upper  end,  and  gradually  slopes  down  to  a  point  on  the  ex- 
treme verge  of  the  precipice,  where  a  small  opening  is  left,  exactly 
fitting  which  is  a  large  canvass  shute  or  pipe,  which  hangs  down 
the  face  of  tlie  rock  nearly  to  the  water.  The  ship,  having  taken 
in  by  means  of  her  boats  enough  guano  to  ballast  her,  hauls  in  to 
this  shute,  the  end  of  which  is  taken  aboard  and  passed  down  the 
hatchway.  The  guano  is  then  poured  into  the  hold  in  a  continu- 
ous stream  at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  tons  a  day,  the  en- 
closure being  filled  by  the  Indians  during  the  night.  They  carry 
the  whole  of  the  guano  down  on  their  backs  in  bags,  taking  about 
eighty  pounds  at  each  journey.  Some  are  employed  in  pushing 
the  guano  down  the  shute,  at  the  mouth  of  which  is  stationed  an 
Indian,  who,  by  tightening  a  rope  passed  round  it,  regulates  or 
stops  the  descent  of  the  manure.  To  the  various  parts  of  the  long 
pipe  ropes  are  attached,  which  lead  to  the  different 
mast  heads  of  the  ships,  and  thence  on  deck,  where 
each  rope  is  tended  bj^  a  man  who,  by  successively 
hauling  on  and  slackening  it,  keeps  the  shute  in  mo- 
tion, and  thus  hinders  it  from  choking.  This  chok- 
ing, however,  now  and  then  occurs  ;  and  it  is  then  a 
difficult  and  tedious  matter  to  set  all  right  again,  as 
the  pressure  binds  the  guano  into  a  compact  mass, 
which  can  sometimes  only  be  liberated  by  cutting  the 
shute  open.  Birds  are  frequently  carried  down  into 
the  ship's  hold  ;  and  at  one  of  the  islands,  an  Indian, 
accidentally  slipping  in,  was  forced  through  the  shute, 
and  taken  out  at  the  other  end  quite  dead.  On  each 
island  there  are  two  enclosures  and  two  shutes,  one 
much  smaller  than  the  other,  being  used  only  for  load- 
ing the  boats.  The  ship's  crew  is  employed  in  tend- 
ing the  bowlines  attached  to  the  shute,  and  though 
working  in  the  open  air,  the  men  are  compelled  to 
wear  oakum  defences,  for  the  clouds  of  dust  arising 
from  the  hold  are  stifling.  The  ship  is  covered  from 
truck  to  kelson ;  the  guano  penetrates  into  the  cap- 
tain's cabin  and  the  cook's  coppers — not  a  cranny  es- 
capes. The  very  rats  are  set  a  sneezing,  and  the  old 
craft  is  converted  into  one  huge  wooden  snuff-box. 
The  infliction,  however,  does  not  last  long,  three  days 
being  generally  sufficient  for  the  loading  of  a  large 
ship.  At  the  end  of  three  days  right  glad  w^s  I  to 
see  the  hatches  on,  the  mooring  chains  hove  in,  and 
the  flying  jib-boom  once  more  pointing  towards  Pisco." 


BLOCK    OF    MARBLE    FROM    N.  Y.  FIRE    DEPARTMENT    TO    W^ASHINGTOX    MONUMENT, 


honeycombed  by  the  birds,  which  scratch  deep,  oblique  holes  in  it 
to  serve  as  nests,  wherein  eggs,  seldom  more  than  two  to  each 
nest,  are  deposited.  These  holes  often  running  into  each  other, 
form  long  galleries  with  several  entrances,  and  this  mining  system 
is  so  elaborately  carried  out,  that  you  can  scarcely  put  a  foot  on 
any  part  of  the  islands  without  sinking  to  the  knee  and  being 
tickled  with  the  sense  of  a  hard  beak  digging  into  your  unpro- 
tected ankles.  The  egg  shells  and  the  bones  and  remains  of  fish 
brought  by  the  old  birds  for  their  young,  must  form  a  considerable 
part  of  the  substance  of  the  guano,  which  is  thus  in  a  great  meas- 
ure deposited  beneath  the  surface,  and  thrown  out  by  the  birds. 
In  getting  the  guano,  the  diggers  have  commenced  originally  at 
the  edge  of  the  precipitous  side  of  the  island,  and  worked  inland; 
80  that  the  cutting  now  appears  like  the  face  of  a  quarry  worked 
into  the  side  of  a  hill.  The  steep  perpendicular  face  of  the  rock,  . 
which  rises  from  the  sea  like  a  wall,  and  the  boldness  of  the  shore 
— there  is  seven  fathom  water  close  in — have  afforded  great  facili- 


BLOCK  OF  MARBLE. 

This  chaste,  and  artistic  piece  of  sculpture  was  on 
exhibition  for  a  few  days  previous  "to  its  shipment  for 
its  destination,  at  the  Fair  of  the  American  Institute, 
in  New  York,  and  attracted  great  attention  from  the  crowds  of 
visitors  to  that  institution,  by  whom  it  was  much  admired  for  the 
beauty  and  softness  of  its  finish,  as  well  as  for  the  force  and  vigor 
of  its  outline.  It  is  a  block  of  about  three  feet  long  by  two  wide, 
and  bears  on  its  face  a  facsimile  representation  of  a  discharge 
certificate  of  the  New  York  Fire  Department.  On  the  left  is  seen 
a  fireman,  who  has  thrown  off  the  habiliments  of  his  honored  ser- 
vice, and,  presented  by  the  figure  of  Fame  (represented  by  the 
sitting  figure),  to  the  fire  department,  receives  at  her  hand  his  dis- 
charge certificate.  On  the  right  are  represented  the  widow  and 
orphan  of  a  deceased  fireman,  who  are  under  the  protection  and 
receive  aid  from  the  department.  Beneath  this  group  is  repre- 
sented the  habiliments  of  the  service  chastely  grouped,  surrounded 
by  a  length  of  hose,  and  flanked  by  the  following  inscription  : — 
"  Block  of  Alarhle  presented  to  the  W  iishin<]ion  AJonnment,  bi/  the  Fire 
DepartmentoftheCityof  New  York.'*  It  is  afine  piece  of  sculpture, 
and  is  a  fac-simile  of  the  fireman's  certificate  of  membership. 


p.  GLEASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
1  AND  TREMONT  ST3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  4,  1852. 


92  per  volume. 
10  cts.  single. 


A^OL.  m.  No.  23.— Whole  No.  75. 


PIERCE  AND  KING. 

The  President  elect,  of  whom  we  give  an  ad- 
mirable likeness  below,  by  our  artist  Mr.  Eowse, 
is  a  son  of  the  lale  General  Benjamin  Pierce,  of 
Revolutionary  memory,  and  who  was  Governor 
of  New  Hampshire  in  1827-29.  The  President 
elect  was  born  in  1798,  and  is,  therefore,  fifty- 
four  years  old.  He  commenced  his  public  ca- 
reer in  the  Legislature  of  his  native  State,  and 
distinguished  himself  both  as  member  and  speak- 
er of  the  House,  until  1833,  when  he  was  sent 
to  Congress  as  the  Democratic  candidate  from 
bis  native  district.  While  he  was  yet  a  member 
of  the  national  House  of  Representatives,  he 
was  chosen  by  the  State  Legislature  of  New 
Hampshire  a  member  of  the  United  Sfates  Senate 
for  the  term  of  six  years,  in  1837.  He  remained 
until  the  year  1842,  when  he  resigned  his  office, 


and  returning  to  his  home,  at  Concord,  devoted 
himself  to  the  profession  of  the  law.  He  was 
appointed  first  a  colonel,  and  afterwards  general, 
in  the  late  Mexican  war,  wherein  he  distinguish- 
ed himself  for  bravery  and  good  generalship. 
After  Mexico  had  been  conquered,  he  resigned 
his  commission,  and  returned  once  more  to  his 
home  in  New  England,  and  to  private  life,  from 
whence  the  late  vote  of  his  countrymen  has  ele- 
vated him  to  the  highest  post  of  honor  in  the 
world,  for  such  we  deem  the  Presidency  of  these 
United  States.  William  Rufus  King,  Vice-Pres- 
ident elect,  was  bom  in  North  Carolina,  and  is 
now  about  sixty-five  years  of  age.  Having,  at 
an  early  period  of  life,  taken  up  his  residence  in 
that  part  of  the  country  which  was  afterwards 
known  as  the  State  of  Alabama,  he  was  elected 
one  of  the  first  senators  of  that  State,  when  it 


was  admitted  into  the  Union,  and  he  took  his 
seat  in  the  body,  over  which  he  now  presides, 
thirty-three  years  ago.  He  is,  therefore,  since 
Colonel  Benton  and  Henry  Clay  are  no  longer 
there,  the  father  of  the  American  Senate.  For 
a  period  of  a  quarter  of  a  century,  without  in- 
terruption (1819  to  184-i),  he  represented  Alaba- 
ma in  the  highest  legislative  seat  on  the  conti- 
nent. He  was  appointed,  in  1844,  to  represent 
this  country  as  ambassador  at  the  Court  of  Louis 
Philippe.  Since  then  his  career,  as  a  promi- 
nent member  of  the  Democratic  party,  has  been 
of  a  character  to  render  him  familiar  to  all.  At 
the  late  (stormy)  convention  of  his  party,  at  Bal- 
timore, he  was  chosen  as  the  candidate  for  the 
Vice  Presidency,  in  connection  with  Gen.  Pierce 
as  the  Presidential  candidate.  The  result  is  fa- 
miliar to  everv  reader  of  the  Pictorial.     As  it 


regards  the  likenesses  given  below,  they  are  un- 
questionably excellent,  and  those  who  are  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  the  gentlemen  them- 
selves, will  bear  willing  and  ready  testimony  to 
this. — Now  that  the  election  and  the  excitement 
which  attended  it  have  subsided,  we  can  pause 
and  admire  the  firmness  and  stability  of  our  in- 
stitutions which  lead  the  masses  off  the  battle- 
field of  politics  to  the  great  plains  of  peaceful 
commercial  pursuits,  or  other  occupations,  with- 
out a  murmur,  when  the  voice  of  the  majority 
has  been  fully  expressed.  No  bloodshed,  no 
buUpts  (except  paper  ones),  no  riots ;  all  is  once 
more  quiet,  peaceable,  American  !  What  a  con- 
trast is  here  presented  to  the  manner  of  doing 
things  in  the  old  world  !  There  barricades  and 
gunpowder  would  be  the  probable  denouement  of 
such  a  change  of  administration. 


GENERAL    FRANK    PIERCE. 


HON,    WILLIAM    R.    KING. 


PORTRAITS  OF  GEN.  FRANK  PIERCE  AND  HON.  WILLIAM  R,  ZING,  PRESIDENT  AND  VICE  PRESIDENT  ELECT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


354 


GLEASON'S    ]>l(rr01lIAL   DRAAVIXG    llOOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  MasBiichusettB. 


[wniTTEN   EXPBBSSLT   FOR  OLKABON'S   PICTORIAL.] 


THE  SlO-If  0F   THE  MYSTIC  TIE. 

A  Talc  of  file  Camp  mul  C^wrt  of  Bonaparte. 
BY  B.  PERLEY  POORE. 


[continued.] 


CHAPTER   XV. 


AN    UNEXPECTED    JNTEEKDPTIOX. 

Bonaparte  had  not  passed  many  days  in 
Paris,  ere  he  was  looked  to  by  all  as  the  man 
who  should  seize  the  helm  of  state,  and  pilot  the 
vessel  of  state  into  more  peaceful  waters.  The 
enthusiastic  reception  with  which  he  had  been 
received  showed  the  tone  of  national  feeling,  and 
he  became  forcibly  impressed  with  the  necessity 
of  speedily  accomplishing  hij  long  thought  of 
plans.  To  deliver  France  from  the  domination 
of  unprincipled  factions,  to  surround  her  with  a 
glory  which  should  surpass  even  that  of  ancient 
Rome,  and  to  make  himself  the  arbiter  of  her 
destinies,  was  the  great  and  worthy  object  of  his 
ambitious  thoughts. 

Retiring  to  a  beautiful  country-seat,  named 
Malmaison,  which  Josephine  had  purchased  dur- 
ing his  absence,  he  kept  perfectly  tranquil,  but 
began  to  cautiously  fathom  the  men  who  were 
to  be  selected  as  subordinate  actors  in  the  ap- 
proaching drama.  Meanwhile  his  political  plans 
were  actively  going  forward,  through  the  active 
instrumentality  of  his  few  initiated  friends,  and 
most  of  the  superior  officers  were  engaged  to 
support  him.  The  rest,  be  well  knew,  would 
follow  their  leaders,  and  mechanically  act  in 
obedience  to  the  impulse  imparted  to  them. 

The  volatile  Parisians,  however,  grumbled 
loudly  at  the  seclusion  of  their  idol,  and  one 
evening  Bonaparte  suddenly  decided  to  gratify 
them  by  appearing  in  public,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  fulfil  a  long  given  promise.  The  next 
morning,  while  the  residents  at  Malmaison  were 
breakfasting,  the  papers  arrived  from  Paris. 
Bonaparte  and  Josephine  glanced  eagerly  at  the 
political  news,  but  Judith,  wedded  to  her  art, 
looked  at  the  musical  intelligence. 

Was  it  a  dream?  She  sat,  looking  intently 
at  the  paragraph  as  if  entranced,  until  Josephine 
read  from  the  journal  she  was  perusing  : 

"  We  understand  that  General  Bonaparte  will 
honor  the  opera  with  his  presence  on  Monday 
evening  next,  to  assist  at  the  debut  of  Mademoi- 
selle Judith  Fezenzac,  a  young  vocalist  of  rare 
merit,  who  has  come  from  the  East  under  his 
patronage." 

"  Ah  ha!"  said  Bonaparte.  "  Did  I  not  tell 
my  nightingale  that  I  should  soon  applaud  her 
performances.  Don't  look  so  frightened,  Judith, 
we  have  each  to  make  our  how  before  the  public, 
and  we  must  put  srout  hearts  upon  the  matter. 
The  manager  will  soon  be  here,  and  will  take 
you  into  the  city  for  rehearsal." 

"  Kind,  generous  man !"  exclaimed  Judith. 
"  Amid  all  your  varied  occupations,  you  have 
thought  of  the  poor  orphan,  and — " 

"  And,"  interrupted  Bonaparte,  "  here  comes 
the  manager's  carriage.  So  run  to  your  room 
and  get  ready.  Should  you  feel  timid  on  Mon- 
day evening,  remember  that  in  my  dictionary 
there  is  no  such  word  as  fail." 

****** 

Great  was  the  demand  for  tickets,  and  long 
before  the  doors  of  the  opera  house  were  opened 
on  the  appointed  evening,  the  adjacent  streets 
were  thronged  with  brilliant  equipages,  hackney 
coaches,  and  curious  pedestrians.  At  last  the 
hour  came,  and  soon  every  part  of  the  house 
was  crowded.  The  boxes  were  filled  with  ladies 
in  full  dress,  proud  in  the  consciousness  of  snr- 
paasing  loveliness,  and  expecting  not  only  to  be 
enchanted  by  the  debutante,  but  to  enchant  oth- 


ers by  their  charms.  In  the  pit  were  the  critics, 
their  faces  sharpened  by  expectation  of  the  new 
prey  within  their  grasp.  And  all  over  the  house 
were  right  worthy  citizens,  with  their  portly  wives 
and  their  blushing  daughters,  eager  to  see  the 
p;ttron  of  the  night.  All  present  evidently  con- 
sidered him  as  one  upon  whose  expression  bung 
the  fate  of  the  nation  ;  "  a  look  where  men  might 
read  strange  matters." 

At  last  a  prolonged  roll  of  the  drums  without 
was  heard,  but  the  clang  of  the  martial  salute  by 
the  guard  was  soon  drowned  by  repeated  cheer- 
ing. Again  and  again  shouts  were  heard — they 
came  up  the  staircase — they  echoed  through  the 
lobby.  Within  the  house  a  death  like  silence 
reigned,  but  when  the  door  of  the  reserved  box 
was  opened,  and  Bonaparte  appeared,  loud 
shouts  of  welcome  rang  from  pit  to  dome.  The 
orchestra,  inspired  with  the  prevalent  enthusiasm, 
struck  up  the  Marseilles  Hymn,  and  nearly  all 
present,  as  if  frantic  with  joy,  joined  in  its  in- 
spiring chorus. 

The  object  of  this  boisterous  homage  received 
it  unmoved.  Advancing  to  the  front  of  his  box, 
he  bowed  thrice,  and  then  stood  calmly,  with 
folded  arms,  surveying  the  brilliant  scene  before 
him.  He  wore  the  simple  costume  of  the  Insti- 
tute of  Sciences,  his  long,  chestnut  hair  fell  upon 
his  shoulders,  and  his  dark  blue  eyes  gave  ani- 
mation to  his  sun-browned  countenance,  over 
which  thought  had  cast  an  interesting  shade. 
By  his  side,  a  few  paces  in  the  rear,  however, 
stood  Josephine,  dressed  1o  perfection,  and  wear- 
ing a  tiara  of  diamonds  as  sparkling  as  her  wit. 
She  seemed  to  give  herself  up  to  the  illusion  of 
the  moment,  and  to  enjoy  the  regal  homage  paid 
to  her  warrior  lord. 

The  overture  was  at  length  performed,  the 
curtain  was  drawn  up,  and  Judith  entered, 
dressed  in  a  becoming  peasant  dress.  Loud  as 
was  the  applause  which  had  greeted  Bonaparte,  it 
was  re-echoed  when  the  audience  saw  in  the 
new  candidate  for  their  favor  such  exquisite  and 
perfect  beauty.  The  Parisians  love  female 
beatUty,  and  were  entranced  by  Judith's  exquis- 
itely proportioned  figure,  the  classical  loveliness 
of  her  intellectual  countenance,  the  glowing  bril- 
liancy of  her  eyes,  shaded  by  their  luxuriant 
lashes.  Every  charm  embodied  by  pencil  or 
chisel  seemed  united,  and  as  she  advanced  to  the 
foot-lights,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  protector, 
she  captivated  all  hearts. 

The  success  thus  commenced,  changed  into  a 
regular  frenzy  of  applause  when  her  voice  elec- 
trified the  house  with  its  sparkling  tones.  Clear 
and  brilliant  as  diamonds,  her  notes  charmed  the 
senses,  and  were  rendered  with  a  .'spontaneous 
emotion  seeming  to  emanate  from  her  very  soul. 

Suddenly,  and  some  thought  it  a  part  of  the 
opera,  an  old  man,  with  a  staff"  in  his  hand, 
rushed  upon  the  stage.  His  face  was  meagre 
and  pale,  a  grizzled  beard  hiding  the  lower  part 
of  it,  while  the  strongly  marked  Israelitish  fea- 
tures denoted  his  race.  No  sooner  did  Judith 
see  him,  than  she  ceased  singing,  and,  crossing 
her  hands  upon  her  breast,  sank  upon  her  knees. 
But  the  intruder,  with  relentless  grasp,  seized 
her  by  the  slioulder — one  of  those  moulded 
shoulders  which  had  been  so  much  admired. 

"  Judith,"  said  he,  in  an  angry  tone,  "  why,  0 
why  do  I  find  thee  in  tills  place  of  abomination'? 
Is  not  the  cup  of  ihy  people  full,  that  thou  join- 
est.in  such  heathen  mummeries,  which  will  ever 
ex(;lude  you  from  the  eternal  Zion?  Arise,  and 
go  hence  I" 


Meekly,  and  without  a  word,  the  poor  girl 
obeyed  her  father.  The  cup  nhc  had  so  long 
and  so  earnestly  desired  to  ta^te,  was  snatched 
from  her  lips,  and  her  houI,  wJiich  had  just  begun 
to  soar  in  the  realms  of  triumph,  sank  into  the 
abyss  of  despair,  The  audience  were  electrified 
by  this  unexpected  incident,  and  loudly  sllgma- 
tizcd  the  intruding  father.  Then  the  mana- 
ger came  forward,  and  announced  with  a  low 
bow,  that  "  a  favorite  comedy  would  be  substi- 
tuted for  the  unexpected  domestic  drama."  And 
the  pun  not  only  reconciled  the  versatile  Paris- 
ians, but  they  decided  that  the  new  singer  was 
not  much,  after  all.  The  men  thought  that  she 
had  a  good  figure,  but  the  gentler  portion  of  the 
audience  treated  her  without  mercy, 

Judith,  retreating  to  her  dressing-room  to 
change  her  costume,  was  followed  by  her  exas- 
perated parent.  No  sooner  were  they  alone, 
than  he  began  to  upbraid  her. 

"  Wo,  wo  unto  me  !"  he  exclaimed,  "that  my 
daughter  has  forgotten  the  courts  of  Salem,  and 
has  deserted  the  tents  of  Zion.  The  Lord  con- 
demned me  to  exile,  and  far  have  I  wandered  to 
find  my  only  child — my  pride — my  joy — my 
Judith.  I  discover  her — but  in  an  abyss  of  per- 
dition and  wo, .where  Moloch  reigns." 

"  Pity,  pity,"  cried  Judith,  wringing  her  hands 
in  despair. 

"  Pity !  What  pity  hast  thou  shown  for  me  ? 
For  years  have  I  nursed  you,  as  a  tender  flower, 
with  simple,  anxious  care.  For  years  I  watched 
its  growth,  all  pure  and  spotless  as  were  the  pa- 
triarchs' daughters.  Then  came  a  storm — it  rent 
my  precious  nursling  from  the  parent  stalk,  and 
I  did  follow.  For  many  a  month  I've  pursued 
my  idol,  hoping  to  find  it  worthy  of  my  love, 
and  of  a  place  in  Jacob's  heavenly  fold.  And 
now — 0  what  a  change !  Bitter  thorns  spring 
up  where  my  flower  was  cherished,  and  my  spirit 
is  bowed  into  the  dust." 

"Father!"  sobbed  Judith,  sinking  on  her 
knees  at  his  feet.  "Father,  may. the  God  of 
Israel  listen  to  me,  and  curse  me  if  I  speak 
falsely.  Here  on  my  knees  do  I  confess  my 
fault,  and  sue  for  pardon.  I  have  been  in  cap- 
tivity and  danger — I  have  felt  alone,  and  have 
followed  strange  counsels — but,in  no  one  instance 
have  I  forgotten  the  creed  of  my  fathers,  or 
thought  of  strange  gods.  Dependent,  I  wished 
to  gain  my  livelihood  by  exercising  a  fascinating 
talent,  but  no  breath  can  sully  the  purity  of  my 
reputation,  or  mar  my  fame — " 

"  The  God  of  Abraham  be  glorified  !"  inter- 
rupted Mordecai. 

"  Hear  me,"  continued  his  daughter.  "  Spot- 
less as  the  snow  upon  Mount  Sinai,  I  now  ask 
forgiveness,  feeling  that  I  have  sinned  against 
Heaven  and  in  thy  sight.  0,  I  am  a  wretched, 
a  hateful  sinner,  to  afflict  thee  thus.  I,  who  in 
former  years  believed  ray  daily  labor  was  and 
ever  would  be,  to  console  and  cheer  thy  days  of 
age  and  sorrow.  O,  canst  thou  not  smile  on  me 
once  more?  Can  thy  generous  mind  forget  the 
words  that  thou  hast  just  spokeU' — the  scene  thou 
saw'st  this  night"?  Father,  I  am  a  suppliant! 
A  prodigal !     Let  me  not  plead  in  vain." 

"  Jehovah  bless  thee  !"  said  Mordecai.  "And 
now,  let  me  leave  this  place." 

"  But  Madame  Bonaparte  !" 

"  Think  no  more  of  her.  I  am  your  father. 
I  have  wealth  enough  to  supply  our  wants,  and 
you  can  comfort  my  declining  years." 

There  was  a  knock  heard  at  the  door,  and  no 
sooner  had  Mordecai  unfastened  the  latch,  than 
Bonaparte  entered,  followed  by  Josephine. 

"  Well,  sir  !"  said  the  general,  "  you  brought 
your  daughter's  triumph  to  a  speedy  termina- 
tion. Never  mind.  No  reply.  I  wish  no  dis- 
cussion—no recrimination.  You  are  probably 
her  father,  and  if  so,  have  a  right  to  do  as  you 
please." 

The  Jew,  without  uttering  a  word,  changed 
his  position.  In  an  instant  Bonaparte  saw  that 
he  was  a  brother  of  the  "  mystic  tie,"  and  said  ; 

"  Well,  well !  You  have  an  undoubted  right 
to  both  your  daughter  and  your  opinion."  Then, 
addressing  Judith,  he  continued  :  "  as  for  you, 
my  nightingale,  you  must  not  forget  your  Egyp- 
tian friends,  and  Josephine  will  always  be  glad 
to  see  you.     Good  night." 

After  Bonaparte  had  gone,  the  exasperated 
manager  came,  evidently  thinking  that  by  offer- 
ing large  sums  of  money  he  could  move  the  old 
man's  heart.  But  all  his  tempting  offers  were 
refused,  and  he  followed  them  to  the  door  with 
mingled  entreaties  and  denunciations. 

Taking  a  coach,  Mordecai  and  Judith  went  to 
the  house  of  a  distant  kinsman,  where  the  former 
was  sojourning.  The  main  apartment  wastfltod 
up  in  true  Hebrew  style,    a   magnificent  seven- 


branched  chandelier,  of  solid  silver,  illuminating 
the  rich  damask  curtains  and  velvet  covered 
furniture.  Here  Judith  was  welcomed  by  some 
of  her  own  people,  and  treated  as  a  returned 
prodigal.  At  la.st,  they  retired,  and  then,  in  the 
solitude  of  her  chamber,  tihe  thought  over  the 
events  of  the  evening.  The  fluctuating  waves  of 
faces  at  the  opera  house,  tlic  intoxicating  homage 
of  applause,  the  sudden  apparition  of  her  father, 
the  thrilling  scene,  the  terrific  lecture  in  her 
dressing-room — all  passed  like  summer  clouds 
across  her  fevered  spirit,  and  a  fearful  re-action 
commenced. 

The  next  day,  after  a  disturbed  sleep,  she  be- 
gan to  realize  that  all  her  prospects  had  faded, 
and  a  dark  pall  enveloped  her  musical  hopes. 
Yet,  conscience  comforted  her  with  approving 
voice.  What  would  success,  or  applause,  be  to 
her,  if  her  father  was  miserable  7  And  she  offered 
up  her  powers  of  song,  a  willing  sacrifice,  upon 
the  altar  of  filial  love. 

Madame  Bonaparte  came  to  see  her  every 
day,  and  soothed  her  with  angelic  assiduity. 
Her  father  was  so  very  kind,  and  when  he  had 
learned  all  that  Bonaparte  had  done,  he  called 
to  express  his  devoted  thanks.  Of  Osmanli,  too, 
he  heard  much  that  called  forth  his  gratitude. 
Judith,  now  that  music  no  longer  reigned  in  her 
heart,  often  thought  of  her  noble-hearted  lover. 
But  he,  too,  was  gone. 

One  evening,  when  Mordecai  had  gone  to  at- 
tend a  meeting  of  his  brethren,  in  a  lodge  wherein 
the  "  mystic  tie  "  bound  Christian  and  Jew,  sol- 
dier and  civilian,  with  the  bonds  of  love,  a  lady 
entered  the  sitting-room.  At  first  she  seemed 
somewhat  embarrassed,  and  asked  : 

"Is  not  Madame  Bonaparte  here?" 

"  tihe  is  not,"  replied  Judith,  rising  and  offer- 
ing a  seat.     "  But  I  expect — " 

"  Not  me,"  interrupted  Josephine,  '■  for  here  I 
am,  and — why— is  it,  can  it  be  ?  My  dear  Ma- 
dame Wilmot,  welcome  back!"  And  the  two 
friends  embraced. 

"  Thanks,  dear  Josephine,  and  I  have  followed 
you  here.  I  am  almost  delirious  with  joy,  and 
have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

"But  you  have  not  been  to  America?" 

"  No,  no  !  I  found  all  I  wanted  in  England ; 
although  I  mourn  a  husband,  I  have  found  a  son. 
But  where  is  he  ?  Where  can  I  press  him  to  my 
heart?" 

"  Who?" 

"  My  son — Osmanli !" 

"Is  he  your  son  ?" 

"  Yes,  dearest  Josephine.  My  heart  whispered 
it,  and  I  have  the  fullest  proofs.  But  where  is 
he?" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE    MYSTIC    BRETHREN. 


On  the  morning  of  Madame  Wilmot's  return, 
Osmanli  awoke,  again  to  find  himself  incarcer- 
ated in  his  sepulchral  dungeon.  He  had  dreamed 
— dreamed  of  the  happy  hours  passed  at  Cairo, 
and  Judith,  pure  as  an  angel  of  light,  had  prom- 
ised him  that  she  would  see  his  mother.  But 
now,  as  even  the  recollection  of  his  vision  faded 
away  before  the  sunlight  of  reality,  the  image  of 
her  whom  he  loved  gave  place  to  that  of  Ma- 
dame de  Valmont.  Her  artful  wiles — her  syren- 
like smile,  and  her  fiendish  look  when  Josephine 
surprised  them  at  the  masked  ball — all  were  em- 
bodied in  his  imagination  into  a  demon,  that 
haunted  him  perpetually,  and  embittered  his  few 
pleasant  tlioughts. 

The  cathedral  clock  toned  eight,  and  for  a 
moment  interrupted  his  agony  of  thought.  Then 
the  awful  silence  was  broken  by  approaching 
footsteps,  and  soon  the  door  creaked  on  its  rusty 
hinges.  A  key  grated  in  the  lock,  and  then  a 
man  entered.  He  was  dressed  as  a  water-carrier, 
although  his  well  patched  suit  of  cotton  velvet 
had  not  the  cleanly  look  peculiar  to  that  cla^s. 
His  long  hair  fell  in  uncombed  masses  over  an 
unshaven  face,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  rage. 

"  Your  servant,  Cajitain  Osmanli,"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  mocking  tones.  "  You  may  not  rec- 
ollect this  form,  wasted  by  bearing  a  proscribed 
life,  like  that  of  a  wild  beast,  nor  may  this  mis- 
erable garb  resemble  my  once  brilliant  uniform. 
But,"  and  the  speaker's  voice  trembled  with  all 
the  vehemence  of  ungoverned  passion,  "you 
cannot  forget  that  you  have  a  long  account  to 
settle  with  me — me,  the  man  whose  love  you. 
crossed — whose  prospects  you  ruined,  andwhorn 
you  havc'cven  thwarted  in  this  den  of  conspira- 
tion !  In  short,  you  may,  nay  must  remo.nber 
-Colonel Margry  of  Egypt — the  Alphonscj  Mar- 
gry  who  lias  a  right  to  control  Madame  de  Val- 
mont's  heart — the  fugitive  from  justice   who  has 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


355 


fonnd  your  lair,  ami  demands  satisfaction  for  all 
the  wrongs  you  have  done  him." 

Osmanli,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  trembled- 
A  hon'id  raist  seemed  to  rise  around  him,  from 
which  glowed  the  furious  and  sneering  face  of 
his  unmerciful  enemy.  Unrecovered  from  the 
effects  of  his  rash  attempt  at  suicide,  he  knew 
that  he  could  have  but  little  chance  in  a  struggle 
with  one  who,  a  single  glance  sufficed  to  show, 
was  endowed  with  full  vigor,  and  whose  features 
bore  the  fearful  impress  of  deadly  wrath.  He 
pressed  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  to  shut  out  the 
hateful  vision,  and  to  bring  back  his  scattered 
senses. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Margry,  with  a  bitter 
sneer,  while  his  brow  grew  darker,  and  the  red 
hue  of  rage  fadedbefore  thelividnessof  adeeper, 
deadlier  passion.  "  Don't  hide  your  pretty  eyes, 
and  play  the  woman.  Here  aie  two  swords — 
take  one,  and  we  can  soon  settle  our  difficulties." 

The  gallant  Mameluke  gasped  for  breatli ;  his 
heart  beat  thick  and  fast,  and  he  endeavored  to 
rise,  but  was  forced  to  grasp  the  post  of  his  bed 
for  support. 

"  Trembling  coward!"  exclaimed  Margry,  in 
a  contemptuous  tone.  "  Would  that  the  fair 
Jewish  friend  of  General  Bonaparte  were  here, 
to  witness  the  pusillanimous  bearing  of  her  che- 
valier." 

This  taunt  inspired  Osmanli  with  his  wonted 
daring ;  the  veins  in  his  forehead  swelled,  and 
casting  a  look  at  Margry  which  was  so  deadly 
defiant  that  it  seemed  to  scorch  even  his  heated 
soul,  he  shouted : 

"Maniac!  traitor!  Give  me  a  sword,  and 
defend  your  craven  person." 

Margry  immediately  drew  two  swords  from 
a  rolled  up  cloak  which  he  had  brought,  and 
offered  one  to  Osmanli,  who  clutched  it  franti- 
cally. An  instant  more,  and  they  were  engaged 
in  deadly  combat.  Osmanli  was  an  adept  with 
the  weapon,  and  ere  the  swords  were  fairly 
crossed,  he  felt  that  he  was  in  no  danger  from 
the  mad  thrusts  of  his  infuriated  enemy.  But 
he  judged  it  best  to  act  wholly  upon  the  defen- 
sive, and  steadily  endeavored  to  disarm  his  op- 
ponent. The  moment  came,  but  no  sooner  did 
Margry  feel  his  sword  forced  from  his  grasp, 
than  with  a  howl  of  rage,  like  that  of  an  infuri- 
ated tiger,  he  drew  a  pistol.  But,  at  that  mo- 
ment, a  powerful  hand  seized  his  arm,  the  muz- 
zle of  the  weapon  was  averted  from  Osmanli, 
and  the  ball  went  through  a  door  opposite  to  the 
usual  entrance. 

An  unearthly  scream  echoed  the  report,  and 
Margry,  with  a  horror-struck  look,  rushed  out  of 
tlie  room.  Osmanli,  whose  unnatural  strength 
deserted  him  the  moment  it  was  no  longer  re- 
quired, sank  upon  his  bed  again,  and  saw  with 
delight  his  guji.rdian,  the  Count  de  Vergennes. 

"  How  is  this  V  exclaimed  the  count.  "  Did 
this  scoundrel  presume  to  attack  you  in  your 
defenceless  condition  V 

"  He  did,"  replied  Osmanli,  "  and  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  I  knew  what  it  was  to  fear ;  but 
courage  did  not  desert  me,  and  I — heavens  ! 
"What  voice  is  that  V 

The  count  also  heard  the  noise  which  had  at- 
tracted Osmanli's  attention.  It  was  a  stifled 
cry  of  agony,  from  behind  the  door  which  the 
pistol-ball  had  traversed.  It  was  locked  within, 
but  the  count  wrenched  it  open,  and,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  both,  Madame  de  Valmont  staggered 
into  the  room,  and  sank  upon  the  floor.  She 
was  dressed  in  white,  and  a  crimson  tide  of  blood, 
flowing  from  a  wound  in  her  side,  gave  her  a 
fearful  look. 

"  Mercy,  mercy !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice.  "  Cm'se  me — hate  m.e,  but  0,  for- 
give me !" 

The  count,  aided  by  Osmanli,  placed  the  un- 
fortunate woman  on  the  bed,  and  the  former, 
summoning  an  attendant,  despatched  him  up  to 
the  hospital  above  them,  for  a  surgeon  and  a 
sister  of  charity.  When  the  good  nun  arrived, 
he  requested  Osmanli  to  accompany  him  into 
another  room. 

"  Listen,"  said  he.  "  I  rescued  you  from 
death  as  a  fellow-mortal.  I  have  cherished  you 
as  a  brother,  to  whom  the  '  mystic  tie '  binds 
my  heart.  And  I  had  hopes  that  I  could  enlist 
vou  into  our  cause — a  cause  which  involves  the 
welfare  of  our  nation,  nay,  of  all  Christendom. 
But  T  learn  to-day  from  one  of  my  spies  who  is 
connected  with  the  police  department,  that  active 
inquiries  are  being  made  for  you  by — " 

"By  whom?"  interrupted  Osmanli. 

"Your  mother !" 

"Thank  God — thank  God!"  exclaimed  the 
young  man,  in  a  tone  of  such   reverential  grati- 


tude that  for  a  moment  the  count  did  not  inter- 
rupt the  prayer  that  evidently  ascended  from  his 
heart.     He  then  went  on. 

"Yes,  Osmanli,  your  mother  is  now  seeking 
you,  and  before  her  visit  to  the  metropolis,  anx- 
ious inquiries  were  made  by  General  Bonaparte, 
and  by  a  wealthy  Smyrniote  Jew,  one  Mordecai 
Fezenzac." 

"  The  father  of  Judith,"  murmured  Osmanli, 
and  then  the  blush  of  shame  mantled  his  brow. 

"  Count!"  said  Madame  de  Valmont,  "listen 
to  me.  I  feel  the  damp  dews  of  death  on  my 
brow,  and  wish  to  make  some  reparation  to  one 
victim  of  my  wicked  heart.  Will  you  promise 
me  that,  ere  the  sun  goes  down  to-night,  you  will 
have  Madame  Bonaparte  assured  that  I,  insti- 
gated by  a  spirit  of  jealous  revenge,  seduced  this 
young  man  from  the  paths  of  duty.  Promise 
me?" 

"  I  promise,  madame,"  said  the  count.  Then 
turning  to  Osmanli,  "Now,  captain,  you  must' 
retire.  To-night  I  will  take  you  from  this  char- 
nel-house, and  place  you  among  brethren." 

Then,  pointing  to  the  door,  he  escorted  Os- 
manli into  the  large  hall  just  as  the  surgeon  and 
sister  of  charity  approached  the  chamber  where 
reposed  the  suffering,  penitent  and  sad  Madame 
de  Valmont. 

****** 

That  same  evening,  when  darkness  had  cast 
her  welcome  veil  on  all  above  ground,  the  count 
came  for  his  protege.  Madame  de  Valmont,  he 
informed  him,  was  recovering  from  the  effects  of 
her  wound,  but  he  could  find  no  traces  of  Mar- 
gry, who  was  probably  in  possession  of  know- 
ledge of  some  other  entrance  to  the  catacombs. 
Osmanli,  meanwhile,  had  put  on  a  new  uniform, 
brought  by  the  attendant,  and,  wlien  he  was 
ready,  the  count  escorted  him  to  the  subterranean 
opening  leading  to  the  river,  where  a  boat  was 
in  waiting.  Two  sturdy  oarsmen  sent  them  rap- 
idly, yet  noiselessly  along  the  river,  the  count, 
who  sat  at  the  helm,  keeping  the  boat  under  the 
deep  shadow  of  the  huge  stone  quays.  Passing 
the  long  gallery  of  the  Louvre,  the  boat  was 
brought  alongside  the  landing  in  front  of  the 
palace  of  the  Tuileries.  Here  the  count,  fol- 
lowed by  Osmanli,  stepped  on  shore,  and  soon 
traversed  the  Palais  Royal,  then  the  focus  of 
Parisian  dissipation.  In  one  of  the  narrow 
streets  beyond  the  Palais,  the  count  stopped  at 
the  door  of  rather  a  mean  looking  house,  and 
knocked  thrice.  They  were  immediately  ad- 
mitted, and  the  count  led  the  way  up  stairs,  into 
a  large,  plainly  furnished  room.  At  one  ex- 
tremity of  this  room  was  a  large  double  door, 
studded  with  iron  knobs,  before  which  stood  a 
man  armed  with  a  drawn  sword. 

"I  seek  admittance  from  my  brethren  within, 
for  myself  and  my  companion,"  said  the  count. 

"They  who  seek  aright  ever  find,"  was  the 
laconic  reply  of  the  sentinel. 

The  count  knocked,  and  a  voice  from  within 
asked : 

"  Who  waits  without  ?" 

"  I,  Henri  de  Vergennes,"  replied  the  count, 
"  a  worthy  and  well  qualified  brother,  conduct- 
ing one  whose  rights  are  equal  to  mine  own." 

"  Who  is  this  strange  brother  V 

"Captain  Osmanli,  of  the  Egyptian  wind, 
that  blowetb  frcel}',  yet  sendeth  good  towards 
the  East." 

"  Do  you,  Henri  de  Vergennes,  vouch  for  his 
worthiness  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart ;  be  is  true,  faithful,  and 
discreet." 

"  Will  he  prove  brave,  silent,  affectionate  1" 

"  Yes — to  every  engagement." 

Then  a  deeper  toned  voice  was  heai-d,  saying : 

"  Strife,  and  cruelty,  and  discord  reign  upon 
the  earth,  yet  there  is  refuge  for  the  oppressed. 
The  promised  blessing  exists,  and  here  there  is 
peace  and  joy  for  the  brotherhood — a  mystic  tie 
uniting  us  all  in  bonds  of  love.  Prom  all  parts 
of  the  globe  the  winds  blow,  but  they  all  convey 
good  towards  the  East,  and  all  recognize  one 
Grand  Ax'chitect,  who  alone  can  re-construct 
man's  ruined  heart.  Then  let  the  Egyptian 
brother  enter.  He  comes  from  the  fountain- 
head  of  the  mystic  rites — may  he  find  the  stream 
here  unpolluted.  Let  him  enjoy  those  ceremo- 
nies which  are  to-day  as  they  will  be  to-morrow 
— which  will  be  to-morrow  as  they  were  yester- 
day— which  were  yesterday  as  they  always  have 
been  and  ever  will  be." 

And  scores  of  voices  responded :  "  So  mote  it 
be."  The  doors  were  tlirown  open.  The  senti- 
nel, stepping  to  one  side,  presented  arms,  and 
the  count,  taking  Osmanli  by  the  hand,  entered 
the  hall. 


What  transpired  within  those  mystic  portals, 
we  cannot  disclose.  The  veil  is  never  lifced  save 
to  the  initiated. 

Two  hours  passed.  The  doors  were  thrown 
open,  and  the  brethren  came  out,  chatting  cor- 
dially together.  Nor  were  any  ewo  apparently 
more  interested  in  each  other's  society,  than 
Mordecai  Fezenzac  and  Captain  Osmanli.  The 
old  Jew  had  been  overjoyed  to  meet  with  the 
preserver  of  his  daughters  life,  and  he  cheered 
Osmanli's  heart  with  the  information  that  Ma- 
dame Bonaparte  had  received  the  exculpating 
message  sent  by  Madame  de  Valmont. 

"  So  come,"  said  he,  "  and  join  us  at  the  sup- 
per-table. I  will  warrant  you  a  welcome  from 
Judith,  and  you  may  find  some  one  else  who  will 
be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Go,  my  friend,"  joined  in  the  Count  de  Ver- 
gennes. "  You  had  at  any  rate  better  not  ap- 
pear in  public  until  your  name  is  taken  from  the 
official  list  of  dead  or  deserted,  where  it  must 
have  figured  since  your  bath.  I  have  asked  a 
brother  here,  who  is  a  clerk  in  the  war  depart- 
ment, to  see  that  you  are  enregistered  among  the 
sick  to-morrow;  but  to-night,  keep  quiet.  And 
now  good-by." 

"  Adieu,  preserver  and  friend,"  replied  Os- 
manli.    "But  can  I  not  see  you  again?" 

"  Conspirators  must  be  secret  in  their  move- 
ments. 0  !  'tis  a  sad  thing  to  be  thus  in  arras 
against  our  own  country,  but  the  right  divine  to 
rule  must  be  sustained.  At  any  rate,  when  you 
^dsh  to  sec  me,  come  to  No.  17  ruelle  do  Notre 
Dame,  and  show  this  ring  to  the  bar-maid."  As 
he  spoke,  he  drew  a  rich  jewelled  ring  from  his 
finger,  and  handed  it  to  Osmanli.  They  then 
separated,  he  to  return  to  his  work,  whilst  Os- 
manli walked  home  with  the  father  of  Judith. 

It  was  a  lovely  night,  though  somewhat  cool, 
and  Fezenzac  consented,  after  urgent  solicita- 
tion, to  wear  the  large  mUitary  cloak  of  his  com- 
panion. The  streets  were  crowded  witli  the 
light-hearted  Parisians,  making  it  often  difficult 
to  move  along  the  narrow  sidewalk.  At  one 
corner,  where  there  was  a  dense  crowd,  Osmanli 
passed  before  the  Jew,  to  clear  the  way  for  him, 
but  scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when  he  heard  a 
gurgling  cry.  Fezenzac  grasped  him  around  the 
body,  and  Osmanli,  so  soon  as  he  could  disen- 
gage himself  sufficiently  to  turn  around,  saw  to 
his  horror  that  the  old  man  had  been  stabbed. 
The  hilt  of  a  knife  protruded  from  his  breast, 
and  the  blood  spouted  forth  in  torrents. 

"  Seize  the  assassin  !"  "  murder  !"  "  murder !" 
was  cried  all  around.  And  in  an  instant  Os- 
manli found  himself  a  prisoner,  upbraided  by  the 
assembled  multitude  as  a  murderer.  In  vain 
did  he  assert  his  innocence.  He  was  carried  be- 
fore a  justice  of  peace,  where  at  least  a  score  of 
eager  witnesses  testified  that  he  had  stabbed  the 
old  man.  One  added  to  his  guilt  by  swearing 
that  he  was  a  deserter.  It  was  apparently  a 
clear  case,  and  again  the  unfortunate  young  man 
found  himself  the  inmate  of  a  prison,  under  sus- 
picion, too,  of  having  basely  murdered  the  father 
of  his  early  love. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE     DEAD    BANKER. 


Meanwhile,  Madame  Wilmot  narrated  the 
principal  events  of  her  journey  to  Judith  and 
Josephine.  "Arriving  in  London,"  she  said, 
"  I  found  ample  documents,  informing  me  that 
ray  lamented  husband  had  espoused  the  royal 
cause  in  the  American  revolutionary  struggle, 
and  bad  been  shot  at  the  siege  of  Charleston. 
But,  among  the  papers  found  on  his  person,  that 
which  most  interested  me  was  a  letter  from  ray 
father,  stating  that  I  was  the  mother  of  a  son, 
and  that  he  should  send  the  infant,  with  a  nurse, 
to  America.  Then  there  was  another  letter,  da- 
ted at  Havre,  and  stating  that  the  nurse  and 
child  had  sailed,  a  few  days  previous,  on  board 
the  '  Champlain,'  Captain  Howe. 

"  Howe,  I  thought,  was  an  English  name,  and 
my  lawyer  suggested  advertising  for  him.  This 
was  done,  and  in  a  few  days  I  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  the  old  tar,  at  Greenwich  Hospital. 
He  distinctly  remembered  the  babe,  for  they 
were  taken  prisoners  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay  by  an 
Algerine  cruiser,  and  sold  into  slavery.  For 
some  years  they  were  the  property  of  one  master, 
but  at  his  death  the  lad  was  sold  to  an  agent 
who  was  recruiting  for  the  Mamelukes — " 

"The  Mamelukes  ?"  interrupted  Josephine; 
"  can  it  be  possible  that — " 

"  It  is  possible.  Why  go  into  tedious  details ; 
but  I  will  say  at  once,  Osmanli  is  my  son.  And 
0,  how  I  long  to  clasp  him  to  my  heart.     But, 


Judith,  you  look  sad.     No  ill   has  happened  to 
my  noble  boy,  I  hope  1" 

Just  then  heavy  footsteps  were  heard  on  the 
stairs  without,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  door 
was  opened,  and  a  party  of  the  police  entei-ed, 
bearing  the  wounded  Fezenzac  on  a  litter.  His 
eyes  were  closed,  his  face  wore  the  ashy  paleness 
of  death,  and  his  garments  were  stained  witli 
gore.  Judith,  springing  to  her  feet,  gazed  with 
speechless  horror,  and  Madame  Wilmot  could 
only  ask  : 

"  What  means  this  ?" 

"  Why,  madarae,"  replied  the  sergeant,  "  this 
old  gentleman  was  a  walking  along  the  street, 
just  do^-n  here,  with  a  deserter,  and  the  rascal 
stabbed  him.  One  of  my  men  was  on  hand,  and 
secured  the  murderer,  and  as  we  found  some 
letters  in  the  old  gentleman's  pocket  bearing  his 
address,  we  just  brought  him  home.  I  have  sent 
for  a  doctor,  and  the  sooner  you  can  get  him  in 
bed  the  better." 

Madame  Bonaparte  immediately  directed  them 
how  to  arrange  the  poor  sufferer,  whilst  Madame 
Wilmot  soothed  Judith.  Soon  did  the  maiden 
curb  her  wretchedness,  and,  when  the  surgeon 
had  pronounced  his  hopeless  verdict,  she  went 
and  sat  by  her  fatiier's  bedside,  in  a  mute  agony 
of  tearless  grief.  Josephine  felt  obliged  to  re- 
tura,  but  Madame  Wilmot,  with  several  Israclit- 
ish  friends  watched  around  the  dying  bed.  Time 
sped  slowly  along,  to  the  monotonous  tickings 
of  a  large  clock,  and  all  sat  absorbed  in  thought, 
in  momentary  expectation  that  the  pulse  of  life 
would  cease  its  beat. 

Towards  morning,  he  restlessly  turned  his 
head  several  times,  and  then  murmured  "  Os- 
manli !"  All  started  to  their  feet,  and  Madame 
Wilmot's  heart  beat  fast  with  conflicting  emo- 
tions. 

"  Save  me,"  he  continued,  at  brief  intervals  ; 
"  sare  me,  as  you  saved  Judith  !  Brother  Os- 
manli, keep  off  the  assassin  !  Ah !  that  knife — 
pull  it  forth,  Osmanli.  Judith  is  in  waiting  for 
us.     Judith." 

"  Here  I  am,  father,"  said  she,  in  as  composed 
a  voice  as  possible,  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

When  Mordecai  felt  the  pressure  of  his  daugh- 
ter's hand,  his  eye  brightened,  and  he  made  a 
faint  effort  to  rise.  But  the  vital  current  moved 
too  sluggishly  to  second  his  wishes,  and  Judith 
knew  by  the  icy  coldness  of  the  hand  which 
grasped  hers,  that  the  fountain  was  almost  dry. 
Life  remained,  but  a  dark  cloud  gradually  envel- 
oped his  soul,  as  it  fluttered  like  an  autumn  leaf 
after  a  killing  frost.  Occasionally  he  would 
open  his  glassy  eyes,  and  gaze  affectionately 
upon  the  child  of  his  love,  as  if  grateful  for  her 
devotion,  but  his  utterance  failed  him.  Day 
dawned,  and  just  as  the  sun  shone  in  at  the  cur- 
tained window,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and 
then,  with  a  slight  convulsive  shudder,  gave  up 
the  ghost. 

Judith  threw  herself  across  the  lifeless  form  of 
her  beloved  parent,  and  embraced  him  again 
and  again,  until  Madame  Wilmot  gently  with- 
drew her  from  the  spot.  The  Israelites  present 
then  arranged  the  body  in  their  own  peculiar 
manner,  binding  a  mystic  band  around  the  tem- 
ples, and  placing  under  the  head  a  small  package 
of  earth  from  Jerusalem.  They  then  emptied 
all  the  pitchers  in  the  room,  lest  the  angel  of 
destruction  should  have  cleansed  his  sword  in  one 
of  them,  and  tearing  their  garments,  they  prayed 
that  the  deceased  might  pass  quietly  into  the 
spiritual  valley  of  Jehoshaphat. 

To  say  that  Judith  was  agonized,  miserable, 
were  a  faint  expression  of  the  dismay  which  took 
possession  of  her  soul.  Man,  when  the  chains 
which  bind  his  affections  are  rudely  snapped 
asunder,  can  gird  his  heart  with  pride,  and  stand, 
scathed  yet  not  blighted,  a  monument  of  stern 
despair.  But  when  woman  has  the  tendrils  of 
her  heart  broken,  the  sundered  fibres  bleed,  and 
the  torn  affections  are  scattered  wide.  Poor 
Judith  !  What  was  earth  to  her,  now  that  her 
revered  father  was  no  longer  living  to  counsel 
and  guide  her  through  its  paths,  even  though 
they  were  flowery  and  joyous. 

But  she  bad  but  a  short  time  for  melancholy 
contemplation,  or  for  profiting  by  the  cordial 
sympathy  of  Madame  Wilmot.  Justice,  stem 
and  implacable,  demanded  her  attendance  at  the 
inquest  held  on  her  father's  remains,  and,  with 
a  deep  shudder  at  the  idea  of  seeing  the  mur- 
derer, she  repaired  to  the  chamber  of  death. 
[to  be  continued.] 


In  thenatm-eof  man,  the  humblest  or  the  hard- 
est, there  is  something  that  lives  in  all  of  the  beau- 
tiful or  fortunate,  which  hope  and  desire  have  ap- 
propriated, even  in  the  vanities  of  childish  dreams. 


35(5 


GLEASON'S    PICTC^RIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


AN    ILLUSTRATION    OF    THE    HUNTING    SEASON.-ECONOMY    OF   THE    KENNEL. 


VIEW  OF  THE  KENNEL. 


DOG  TRAINING  AND  KEEPING. 

We  give  on  this  and  the  opposite  page  a  series  of  views  illus- 
trative of  the  mode  of  dog  training  and  keeping  in  England. 
These  matters  are  not  so  minutely  managed  with  us,  but  the 
"  economy  of  the  kennel"  will  interest  our  readers.  It  is  won- 
derful to  what  perfection  this  training  is  brought;  and  ourAmeri- 
ican  backwoodsmen — the  only  chiss  in  this  country  who  have  a 
use  for  hounds — will  hardly  believe  that  these  animals  can  be 
taught  to  answer  with  a  keenness  near  akin  to  reason.  The  ken- 
nel, the  day-yard,  and  the  keeper's  house  sufficiently  bespeak  their 
purposes.  Nimrod  (Mr.  Apperley)  has  vividly  described  the  next 
scene — drawing  in  to  feed.  "See,"  he  says,  " ."lixty  couple  of 
hounds,  all  hungry  as  tigers,  standing  aloof  in  their  yard — a^  is 
the  practice  in  some  kennels — and  without  even  hearing,  much 
less  feeling,  the  whip,  not  daring  to  move  until  the  order  is  given 
10  them  to  move.  And  what  is  the  order  given  '?  "Why,  at  the 
words  '  Come  over,  bitches,'  or  '  Come  over,  dogs/  every  hound 
of  each  individual  sex  comes  forward,  as  the  sex  it  belongs  to 
may  be  called  for,  leaving  those  of  the  other  sex  in  their  places. 
Th(n  the  act  of  drawing  them  to  the  feeding-troughs  is  an  exceed- 
ingly interesting  sight.  Often,  with  the  door  wide  open,  and  the 
savory  meat  in  their  view,  the  huntsman  has  no  use  for  his  whip, 
havirg  nothing  to  do  but  to  call  each  hound  by  his  name,  whiclij 
of  course,  he  readily  answers  to.  The  expression  of  countenance, 
too,  at  this  time,  is  well  worthy  of  notice ;  and  that  of  earnest  so 
licitat'on,  of  entreaty — we  might  almost  say  of  importunity — can- 
not be  more  forcibly  displaved  ihan  in  the  face  of  a  hungry  hound 


THE  DAY  YARD. 


keeper's  house,  the  "walk-out.* 


GLEASON'S   PICTOniAL   DllAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


357 


DRAWING  m  TO  FEED. 


awiiiting  his  turn  to  be  drawn.  He  appears  absolutely  to  watch 
the  lips  of  the  huntsman,  anticipating  his  own  name."  The  full 
duties  of  the  huntsman  and  his  whips  we  shall  not  be  expected  to 
detail ;  but  of  that  other  important  personage,  the  feeder,  some 
few  words  may  be  said  :  and  they  will  suffice  to  convey  a  general 
idea  of  the  kennel  routine  of  his  superiors  in  office.  The  feeder's 
business  is  to  prepare  the  flesh  and  oatmeal  stirabout;  to  kill  and 
skin  the  animals  condemned  to  his  shambles  ;  to  keep  clean  and 
in  good  order  the  kennel  throughout ;  and  to  have  in  readiness  at 
their  stated  times  the  meals.  He  is  generally  something  of  an 
original  in  his  way,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  very  learned  in 
all  the  mysteries  of  health  and  disease  in  the  hounds  for  which  he 
cooks.  Supposing  it  to  be  a  hunting  day,  he  has  all  ready  for 
the  hunting  liouads,  wliich,  if  the  meet  is  not  too  distant,  generally 
return  to  kennel  at  four  or  five  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  notice 
having  been  given  of  their  approach  by  a  general  chorus  of  the 
*  hounds  at  home,  frequently  heard  in  full  song  some  minutes  be- 
fore the  huntsman's  horn.  This  is  as  singular  a  circumstance 
as  it  is  common,  for  Iiounds  whose  kennel  is  in  a  quiet  place  to 
challenge  the  returning  hounds  at  a  distance  from  two  to  three 
miles.  On  their  arrival,  the  huntsman  and  whips  give  up  their 
horses  to  the  helpers,  and  proceed  at  once  to  feed.  It  is  beautiful' 
to  see  eighteen  or  twenty  brace  of  hounds,  hungry  and  unfed  since 
the  preceding  morning,  and  after  a  hard  chase  to  boot,  wait  the 
calling  of  their  names  to  "  draw."  Each  has  his  individual  mode 
of  expressing  his  impatience.  The  older  ones  sit  quietly,  and  all 
that  escapes  them  is  a  low  whine  from  a  watery  mouth.  The 
younger  ones  are  excessively  fidget)',  but  each  waits  till  called  to 
feed.  They  certainly  make  short  work  when  at  it ;  and  the  whole 
pack  are  full  to  repletion  in  a  space  of  time  which  would  as- 
tonish a  gourmand.  After  feeding,  they  are  let  into  one  of  the 
day-yards  to  clean  themselves  of  the  splashes  of  food  with  which 
they  are  plentifully  endowed.  This  office  one  does  for  the  other 
in  ail  kindness,  and  with  a  sensible  enjoyment  of  what  may  be 
called  their  dessert.  After  this,  they  are  walked  out  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  to  bed.  The  lodging-house  is  well 
paved,  thoroughly  drained  and  ventilated,  and  supplied  with 
raised  benches,  well  littered  with  fresh  dry  straw,  on  which  the 
hounds  sleep — grouping  themselves  in  the  most  singular  manner. 
There  appears  to  be  a  well  understood  law  amongst  them  as  to 
right  of  bench  room ;  so  that,  with  the  occasional  occurrence  of  a 


LITTER  OE  PUPt\ 


growl  and  snap,  the  peace  of  the  community  is  well  kept.  In  the 
daytime  they  have  the  use  of  a  dry,  paved  yard,  well  supplied 
with  water.  The  hounds  in  kennel  are  exercised  thrice  a  day, 
and  it  is  droll  to  see  how  they  look  for  the  usual  "  walk  out  "  at 
its  stated  time — their  airing-ground  being  a  dry  field,  witli,  if  pos- 
sible, a  southern  aspect.  Here  they  break  off  into  groups,  and 
enjoy  themselves  as  they  will  for  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour, 
when  they  again  return  to  kennel.  In  one  of  the  remaining  illus- 
trations we  see  a  litter  of  pups.  Their  proper  treatment  requires 
that  they  be  fed  as  soon  as  they  will  take  nourisliment ;  which,  if 
they  are  numerous,  will  save  the  mother,  and  forward  their  own 
growth.  Allow  them  air  and  room  for  exercise  ;  and  mark  them 
in  a  way  agreeable  to  fancy,  so  that  each  Utter  should  be  known 
by  the  register  kept  of  these  matters.  When  a  month  old,  their 
dew-claws  are  taken  off;  and  such  breeders  as  stem  their  dogs  at 
the  same  time  take  off  the  smallest  piece  of  the  tip  of  the  tail. 
The  bound  forms  one  of  the  varluties  of  spaniels,  and  is  distin- 
guished by  its  long,  smooth  and  pendulous  ears.  England,  per- 
haps, excels  all  other  countries  in  her  breed  of  bounds,  not  only 
from  the  climate  being  congenial  to  them,  but  also  from  the  great 
attention  paid  to  their  breeding  and  management.  The  points  of 
a  good  hound  are  thus  laid  down : — his  legs  should  be  perfectly 
straight,  his  feet  round  and  not  too  large,  his  shoulders  back,  his 
breast  rather  wide  than  narrow,  his  chest  deep,  his  back  broad, 
his  head  small,  his  neck  thin,  his  tail  thick  and  bushy.  As  to 
the  size,  most  sportsmen  have  their  prejudices,  some  preferring 
them  small,  and  others  large  ;  for  general  service,  however,  it  ap- 
pears that  a  medium  is  best.  It  is  very  essential  that  all  tne 
hounds  in  a  pack  should  run  well  together;  to  attain  which  they 
should  be  of  the  same  sort  and  size.  The  management  of  hounds 
may  be  considered  as  a  regular  system  of  education  from  the  time 
they  are  taken  into  the  kennel.  The  feeding  of  a  kennel  of  fox- 
hounds, as  represented  in  our  series  of  pictures,  is  one  of  the  most 
striking  illustrations  of  the  power  of  training  to  produce  complete 
obedience.  The  beagle  is  the  smallest  of  the  dogs  kept  for  the 
chase,  and  is  only  used  in  hunting  the  hare,  and,  though  far  infe- 
rior in  speed  to  that  animal,  will  follow,  by  its  exquisite  scent, 
with  wonderful  perseverance,  till  it  fairly  tires  the  hare.  The 
harrier  differs  from  the  beagle  in  being  somewhat  larger,  as  wfll 
as  more  nimble  and  vigorous;  it  is  also  used  exclusively  in  the 
chase  of  the  hare.     This  series  is  altogether  a  very  interesting  one. 


FEEDING  THE  PACK. 


358 


GLEASON'S   riCTORTAL   DP.AWING   UOOM    COiSIPANION. 


[Written  for  Glooflon's  Pictorial.] 
MKIIENTO   MORI. 

TJy   EDWARD    BTAOa. 

When  the  honrt  itt  hMII,  (ind  tranquil 

(h  the  mind  iis  hif'nnt'H  drtiiim  ; 
And  (i.H  biiglit  iiH  climo  Elysian, 

All  the  outward  world  doth  Hoom  | 
Oft  the  tlioiifjht,  like  sonio  deep  shadow 

Passinff  o'or  the  lundi<cftpo,  when 
Thfirc'fi  been  no  sign  of  cloud  appearing, 

Comes,  unbid,  to  counsel  then. 

TVlien  the  heart  is  pained,  and  troubled 

Ts  the  mind,  like  Joseph's  dream ; 
And  ns  dark  as  Egypt  a  blackneafl, 

All  the  outward  world  doth  eeem  ; 
Oft  the  thought,  like  sweet  doliveranco 

Promised  to  the  captive,  when 
llis  prison  gate  shall  wide  fly  open, 

Comes,  invited,  welcome  then. 

When  tho  Goul  is  filled  with  pleasure, 

Sparhling  as  tho  wine-cup  free  ; 
And  its  joys  do  seem  as  boundless 

As  the  waters  of  the  sea; 
Oft  the  thought,  like  some  wrecked  vessel, 

Coming  on  the  vision  when 
Had  been  unnoticed  its  approaching, 

Comes  to  warn,  intrusive,  then. 

When  the  soul  is  filled  with  evil, 

Turbid  aa  a  cup  of  lees  ; 
And  its  woe  without  a  eoundiog, 

As  the  water  of  the  sea's  ; 
Oft  the  thought,  like  reef  e'er  dreaded, 

Rising  to  the  voyager,  when 
He  starts  from  slumber  and  beholds  it, 

Comes,  and  only  frightens  then. 

[Written  for  Gleason's  PictariaJ.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  XIII. 

BT  DK.   JEHOME   V.    C.    SMITH. 

CUSTOMS  IN  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

While  walking  about  the  city,  threading  my 
way  through  narrow  streets,  strange  sights  were 
perpetually  presented,  so  unlike  the  ordinary 
occurrences  in  European  towns,  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  make  rapid  progress.  Such  is  the  influ- 
ence of  novelty,  combined  with  an  instinctive  de- 
sire to  examine  each  oddity  in  detail,  a  week 
soon  passes  away  in  Constantinople. 

Horses  are  kept  saddled  near  the  landing- 
places  of  the  Bosphorus,  in  various  thorough- 
fares, where  they  can  be  hired  very  reasonably 
for  an  excursion.  They  were  not  usually  ac- 
companied by  tlaeir  owners  or  grooms,  as  at 
Beyroot,  in  Syria.  There  they  never  trust 
strangers  with  their  animals  far  out  of  sight. 
Turkish  horses  are  spirited,  tender  on  the  bit, 
thoroughly  broken,  and,  to  my  taste,  far  prefer- 
able to  donkeys  for  trips  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  multitude  is  ordinarily  on  foot.  Officers, 
gentlemen  quite  out  of  reach  of  the  vulgar 
throng,  either  by  their  position  or  wealth,  are 
frequently  met  on  horseback,  which  is  the  only 
way  of  going  abroad,  unless  they  take  to  their 
feet  like  the  masses,  moving  about  in  solid 
columns. 

If  ladies  ever  appear  on  the  saddle,  it  so  hap- 
pened that  I  did  not  see  them.  At  Pera  there  is 
one  street  wide  enough,  by  adroit  driving,  to  al- 
low an  ugly  cart  to  pass  along,  filled  with  fe- 
males, called  an  arabat.  It  is  drawn  by  oxen, 
conducted  by  a  barelegged  fellow  who  manages 
his  team  with  peculiar  tact.  A  drawing  is  in- 
troduced to  show  how  the  carriage  is  constructed, 
occupied  and  drawn.  All  the  women  are  closely 
veiled,  of  course,  sitting  on  the  bottom.  The 
jolting  is  fully  equal  to  that  of  a  Western  New 
York  wagon,  passing  over  a  pole  bridge. 

These  arabats  are  frequently  met  on  the  way 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  to  some  favorite 
country  place,  the  sweet  waters,  etc  ,  gaily  dress- 
ed with  ribbons,  and  even  the  horns  of  the  oxen 
serve  for  the  support  of  long  streamers. 

[For  picture  of  an  Aiabafc,  see  page  368.] 
Although  the  faces  of  the  select  party  are  prop- 
erly secured,  they  contrive  to  see  through  the 
gauze  coverings  very  distinctly,  and  chat  and 
laugh  with  a  heartiness,  as  the  ugly  machine 
rumbles  along  over  the  rough  pavements,  as 
though  there  was  actual  enjoyment  in  taking  an 
airing  in  an  ox  cart. 

Another  common  mode  of  riding  out,  is  to 
get  into  a  idelxi — a  coarse,  heavy  coach,  drawn 
by  one  horse,  led  by  a  servant.  Many  of  them 
are  elaborately  gilded.  Being  without  seats, 
ladies  sit  fiat  on  the  floor,  facing  each  other. 
As  the  side  door  has  no  glass  window  or  blind, 
they  seem  to  manifest  a  gratification  in  witness- 
ing the  living  panorama  of  the  streets. 


Not  unfrcquently,  tho  occupants  of  a  telcka 
pop  tlicir  heads  out  to  stare  an  infidel  in  the 
face,  wliicli  affords  an  opportunity  for  showing 
their  brilliant  khol  painted  eyelids. 

Nature  has  bestowed  upon  tfic  imported  ladies 
— Circassians  and  Georgians — tbe  finest  of  faces, 
and  beauty  of  expression,  which,  heightened  by 
art,  make  it  no  every  day  f^-at  to  look  one  of 
them  directly  in  tlic  eye. 

Groups  of  beauties  may  be  seen  in  fine  weath- 
er a  little  beyond  the  reach  of  noise  and  coni'ii- 
sion  inseparable  from  the  slir  of  nearly  a  million 
of  inhabitants,  quietly  seated  under  the  s.iade 
of  a  tree,  chatting,  or  moving  in  a  very  small 
circle  about  those  who  arc  lounging  on  bits  of 
carpeting.  Servants  are  invariably  near  at  hand, 
and  such  is  the  vigilance  with  which  ladies  are 
watched,  that  it  rarely  happens  they  fi^el  quite 
secure  enough  to  wholly  uncover  their  faces. 
To  expose  them,  would  be  a  scandal  not  easily 
overlooked.  Their  heads  have  the  appearance 
of  being  bandaged  ;  but  Jhc  material  is  perfectly 
gossamer  in  texture,  and  quite  transparent,  so 
that  all  their  beauties  are  actually  heightened  by 
the  very  process  devised  for  concealing  them. 

Female  dress  appears  to  a  stranger  to  be  al- 
ways the  same  in  Constantinople,  among  those 
regarded  as  ladies.  The  extreme  lightness,  uni- 
formity of  pattern,  color,  even  to  their  yellow 
slippers,  is  a  marked  peculiarity.  They  are  not 
tall,  but  of  medium  size  and  height,  but  inclined 
to  fatness.  A  life  of  indolence,  and  that  chiefly 
in  a  reclining  posture ;  living  on  sweatmcats, 
fruits,  drinking  milk,  and  being  wholly  freed 
from  mental  anxiety,  conduces  to  this  physical 
condition.  Their  longevity,  as  far  as  has  been 
ascertained,  is  not  remarkable. 

Under  all  circumstances,  in  door  and  out,  the 
floor  is  where  all  the  Orientals  seat  themselves 
— or  as  near  the  earth's  surface  as  possible. 
Thus  men  and  women  in  the  mosque,  in  their 
own  houses,  abroad  for  pleasure  in  the  green 
fields,  gazing  on  a  destimctive  conflagration,  lis- 
tening to  a  story  teller,  watching  the  bewitching 
gestures  of  a  dancing  girl,  or  simply  smoking 
away  life,  without  care  or  thought  for  the  future, 
or  regrets  for  the  past,  they  must  be  fiat  down 
near  the  ground.  Of  course,  the  rank  and  pe- 
cuniary ability  of  an  individual  determines  the 
quality  of  the  material  between  him  and  the  dirt. 
A  straw  mat  answers  for  one,  a  Persian  rug  for 
another,  a  yard  of  stair  carpeting  for  a  third. 

It  did  not  occur  to  me  to  examine  the  interior 
of  the  royal  box — a  conspicuous  construction  in 
all  the  first  class  mosques,  where  the  Sultan  as- 
cends by  stairs  and  goes  through  his  devotions 
unseen — with  reference  to  ascertaining  whether 
he  sits  on  the  floor  as  his  subjects  do. 

As  in  Egypt  and  Palestine — in  fact,  through- 
out all  Asia  Minor,  wherever  I  have  travelled — 
a  chair,  stool,  or  a  substitute  for  them,  are  quite 
unknown  as  articles  of  furniture.  If  they  mount 
an  elevation,  as  a  tnink  for  example,  their  legs 
are  drawn  up  under  them,  and  thus  the  position 
is  precisely  what  it  would  have  been  on  the 
floor. 

When  an  Arab  camel  driver  becomes  fatigued 
by  walking  at  the  side  of  his  patient  beast,  the 
posture  of  ease,  when  mounted  on  the  saddle,  is 
to  coil  up  his  limbs,  and  convert  the  calves  of 
both  legs  into  a  sort  of  cushion. 

There  is  scarcely  a  mechanical  pursuit  in 
which  the  artisan  does  not  have  that  national 
attitude.  Hundreds  of  pipe-makers  may  be  seen 
in  the  bazaars  manufacturing  mouthpieces  and 
long  stems,  in  turning  lathes,  which  are  scarcely 
six  inches  above  the  floor.  The  turner  sits  on 
the  floor,  whirls  the  thing  to  be  turned  backward 
and  forward  with  a  bow  in  the  right  hand,  and 
holds  the  handle  of  the  chisel  in  the  left  foot, 
guiding  the  cutting  edge  with  his  toes ! 

Shopkeepers,  accountants,  clerks  in  offices  and 
public  functionaries  are  all  down  on  the  same 
low  level,  gracing  the  locality  in  a  court  of  law 
with  the  name  of  divan.  I  once  saw  a  judge  on 
the  bench  in  his  stocking  feet,  using  his  knee  for 
a  writing-desk. 

Musicians  take  the  floor,  too.  Their  wretched 
music  is  made  worse  than  it  need  be,  owing  to 
the  extreme  difficulty  of  properly  managing 
some  of  their  instruments  in  a  sitting  posture. 
An  exception  is  found  to  this  general  rule  in  re- 
gard to  musicians,  however,  in  military  bands. 
But  left  1o  themselves,  they  would  instinctively 
settle  down  into  the  most  comfortable  attitude 
known  to  them — making  a  cushion  of  their  ex- 
tremities. In  short,  there  is  no  condition  of  life 
in  which  a  Turk  can  be  placed,  that  does  not 
difi'cr  essentially  from  the  European.  His  vir- 
tues are  Ids  own  exclusively,  and  his  vices  bear 
no  resemblance  to  the  Christian's.     Pic  is  honest 


from  principle,  and  a  fiend  in  the  cauflc  of  his 
faith. 

Vast  numbers  of  Turkish  women  arc  met  in 
Constantinople,  in  yellow  morocco  hoots,  pro- 
tected by  peaked- toed  slippers  without  heels, 
strangely  secured  against  the  prying  curiosity  of 
infidels.  In  the  market,  too,  they  press  onward 
in  groups,  ins])ecting  jewelry,  pricing  delicate 
fabrics,  and  above  all,  speculating,  no  doubt,  on 
the  busy  world  before  them.  When  thrown  o(f 
their  guard — which  is  not  an  unfrequent  occur- 
rence—the bandage  intended  to  secure  all  of  the 
face  below  tlic  eyes,  slips  quite  to  the  mouth. 
And  the  first  glimpse  of  a  man  who  dares  turn  his 
eyes  upon  her,  reminds  them  instantly  to  lift  the 
silken  swathe  up  to  its  place.  It  is,  therefore,  a 
state  of  vigilance  to  keep  bandaged  satisfactorily. 

Each  and  every  person  who  has  the  ability,  is 
ambitious  to  be  dressed  in  the  best  manner.  La- 
dies must  spend  considerable  in  the  ]jurchase  of 
some  of  the  textures  peculiar  to  their  wardrobe, 
although  the  fashion  appears  to  remain  the  same. 

No  garment  could  less  interfere  with  the  free- 
dom of  the  body,  than  those  worn  by  the  men. 
They  are  loose,  tasteful,  and  very  much  add  to 
the  dignified,  appearance  of  those  who  are  well 
dressed.  Colors  are  various ;  no  pervading  hue 
seems  at  any  time  to  he  the  rage.  The  cut, 
however,  is  ever  the  same.  A  close  fitting  coat, 
European  pantaloons,  with  stockings  and  boots, 
came  into  Turkey  when  Mahmoud  brought  about 
that  unlooked  for  revolution,  the  subjugation 
and  slaughter  of  the  Janizaries.  The  Turkish 
gentlemen,  however,  the  lover  of  the  soil  and 
the  hater  of  Jews,  copies  his  ancestors,  of  glori- 
ous memory,  who  planted  their  banner  where  it 
still  remains.  Large  pantaloons,  without  but- 
tons, held  up  by  a  string  or  a  rich  silk  scarf; 
with  a  scarlet,  blue  or  red  outer  covering,  having 
large  sack  sleeves,  a  clean  white  turban  and  a 
freshly  shaven  head,  makes  no  contemptible 
appearance. 

[For  picture  of  a  Turkish  Gentleman,  see  page  368.] 

A  distinguished  appendage  of  a  handsome 
Turk  is  a  bushy  coal  black  beard ;  where  nature 
has  provided  one,  it  is  nurtured  with  pride.  All 
who  would  like  one,  have  not  that  felicity.  This 
sketch  exhibits  a  real  character,  who  barely 
coaxes  out  a  little  feeble  growth  of  furze  on  the 
upper  lip. 

No  one  questions  that  they  dye  their  beards, 
since  it  is  incredible  that  a  nation  should  be  con- 
stituted of  black-besvrded  men,  exclusively.  I 
have  seen  some  with  red  beard  and  whiskers, 
but  they  are  rare.  A  color  so  disagreeable  as 
they  view  it,  is  made  intensely  black  by  processes 
unknown  to  us — far  more  simple  than  the  ex- 
pensive preparations  used  by  waning  bachelors 
amongst  us,  who  aspire  to  be  always  young. 

Whenever  there  is  a  sudden  commotion  that 
brings  rapidly  together  a  large  number  of  men 
— as  for  example,  the  fall  from  a  horse — it  affords 
a  perfect  illustration  of  the  character  and  fitness 
of  their  clothes — giving  a  striking  contrast  be- 
tween the  Foft  garments  of  the  rich,  with  the 
coarse  and  homely  coverings  of  the  poor. 

A  perfect  development  of  the  body  is  never 
retarded  by  the  vice  of  dress  with  these  people, 
which  is  an  advantage  of  the  first  consideration. 
In  no  country  are  there  fewer  distortions  or  mal- 
formations than  in  Turkey.  It  is  quite  remark- 
able to  see  a  cripple  in  the  streets  of  Constanti- 
nople; and  as  for  spinal  diseases,  these  very 
rarely  exist  in  the  humble  walks  of  life,  although 
females  of  the  lowest  orders  sustain  heavy  bur- 
dens upon  their  heads  for  transportation.  Per- 
haps it  is  a  labor  imposed  upon  the  cervicle  and 
spinal  muscles  that  conduces  both  to  their 
strength,  firmness  of  the  bony  column,  and  ex- 
emption from  forms  of  disease  that  appertain  to 
indolence  and  closely-fitted  garments. 


MUSIC  A  STIMULANT. 

Alfieri,  often  before  he  wrote,  prepared  his  mind 
by  listening  to  music.  "Almost  all  my  trage- 
dies were  sketched  in  my  mind,  either  in  the  act 
of  hearing  music  or  a  few  hours  after,"  a  cir- 
cumstance which  has  been  recorded  of  many 
others.  Lord  Bacon  had  music  often  played  in 
the  room  adjoining  his  study.  Milton  listened 
to  his  organ  for  his  solemn  inspirations ;  and 
music  was  ever  necessary  to  Warburton.  The 
symphonies  which  awoke  in  the  poet  sublime 
emotions,  might  have  composed  the  inventive 
mind  of  the  great  critic  in  the  visions  of  his  theo- 
retical mysteries.  A  celebrated  Erench  preaclier, 
Bordaloue  orMassillon,  was  once  found  playing 
on  the  violin,  to  screw  his  mind  up  to  the  pitch, 
preparatory  to  his  sermon,  whicli,  within  a  short 
interval,  he  was  to  preach  before  the  Court. 
Curran's  favorite  mode  of  meditation  was  with 
his  violin  in  his  hand  ;  for  hours  together  would 
he  forget  himself,  running  voluntaries  over  the 
strings,  while  his  imagination,  collecting  its 
tones,  was  opening  all  his  faculties  for  the  com- 
ing emergency  at  the  bar. — D'XsraeU. 


(Written  for  Ok-iiHon'f)  Pictorial.] 
HYMN    TO    THK    STARS. 

BY  OWEK  a.  WABBEW. 

Whftt  sing  the  Htars,  as  on  their  way 

Tliey  Bcuttftr  light  and  glory  ? 
T<-11  ufl  of  their  inimortJil  lay, 

'J'oll  UH  tljoir  wondrouH  ntory. 
Tlioy  HiDg  on  their  way,  und  tbcy  all  rejoice, 

Though  fur  iind  wide  ecuttered  and  lonuly  ; 
IJut  cTor  they  fling,  and  their  still,  smiiU  voice 

Ifl  heard  by  the  npirit  only. 

They  sing  of  God  and  his  boundless  might, 

Of  hifl  wiedoui  they  Hing,  and  his  glory  ; 
Of  his  love,  that  AIIh  all  space  with  light, 

And  this  is  their  wondrous  story. 
And  will  not  lie  that  created  them, 

And  is  their  destiny  weaving, 
Uis  children  crown  with  a  diadem, 

0,  faithless,  unbelieving ! 

He  made  us,  and  in  his  mighty  hand 

He  led  us  forth,  at  even  ; 
And  each,  like  a  star,  shall  eternally  stand, 

To  gem  the  crown  of  heaven  ! 
And  since  bis  love  and  power  can  hold 

The  Bpheres  sublime,  and  lead  them. 
Shall  he  not  gather  to  his  fold 

His  straying  flock,  and  feed  them? 

HOBBYHORSES. 

One  man's  hobby  is  books  which  he  never 
reads.  He  spends  his  life,  and  all  his  superflu- 
ous cash,  in  the  collection  of  volumes,  of  wbich 
he  never  peruses  more  than  the  title  pages.  His 
shelves  are  groaning  beneath  the  erudition  of  all 
ages  and  all  countries.  He  gloats  over  the  pos- 
session of  the  rarest  works,  and  will  travel  from 
one  end  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other,  for  the  mere 
chance  of  purchasing  a  unique  specimen  to  add 
to  his  collection.  It  would  take  him  a  century 
to  &pell  over  what  he  has  already  amassed  ;  but 
lie  never  dreams  of  such  a  thing — he  reads  the 
catalogue,  the  inventory  of  his  riches,  and  no- 
thing else;  every  addition  to  that  is  an  addition 
to  his  satisfaction,  because  it  is  an  additional 
grace  to  his  hobby.  Another  man's  hobby  is 
pictures.  His  mind  is  profoundly  impressed 
with  the  glories  of  art — the  mysterious  gloom  of 
Rembrandt,  the  savageness  of  Salvator,  the 
"con-egiosity  of  Corregio."  He  dreams  of  okl 
masters,  and  haunts  the  dusty  purlieus  of  War- 
dour  street  and  Soho,  and  hangs  about  the  auc- 
tion rooms,  and  nods  his  head  at  Christie  at  the 
cost  of  tifty  pounds  a  lime.  He  is  learned  in 
oils  and  varnishes,  and  knows  "all  about  me- 
gilps and  that;"  he  rises  with  Raphael,  of  whom 
an  "undoubted  original"  hangs  at  the  foot  of  his 
bed ;  he  breakfasts  with  Hobbima,  dines  with 
Rubens,  sups  with  Vandyke,  and  goes  to  sleep 
with  Claude  Lorraine.  He  is  never  taken  in; 
not  he,  he  is  too  good  a  judge  for  that !  Is  he  ? 
A  third  rides  a  musical  hobby,  and  goes  merrily 
through  the  world  to  the  sound  of  fiddle  and 
flute,  and  French  horn  and  double  base.  He 
puffs  and  scrapes,  and  blows  and  tbumps  away' 
the  days  of  his  years  upon  all  manner  of  instru- 
ments ;  and  his  mouth  is  full  of  German  and 
Italian  celebrities — of  Mozart,  of  Beethoven,  and 
Sebastian  Bach  and  Padre  Martini,  and  Al- 
brechtsberger  and  Rhigini,  and  Cherubini,  and 
Cianchettini,  "  and  all  others  that  end  in  ini;" 
and  Spohr,  and  Grann,  and  Droebs,  and  Eybler, 
and  Schneider,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  more, 
whom  to  pronounce  were  to  dislocate  one's  jaws, 
but  which  to  hear  were  to  be  rapt  in  elysium. 
His  whole  life  is  one  song ;  and  when  he  sinks 
into  silence  at  last,  it  is  with  the  blessed  hope  of 
a  joyful  da  capo  in  the  land  of  celestial  harmony. 
— Ihit's  Magazine. 

<  ^.^  > ■ 

THE  FATHER. 

He  is  the  appointed  head  of  the  family.  He 
may  rule  by  love,  but  it  is  his  right  and  duty  to 
rule;  and  to  him,  as  the  monarch  of  that  little 
slate,  must  be  the  last  appeal.  Hence  he  ap- 
pears before  his  children  invested  with  authority 
— the  divinely  appointed  representative  of  law ; 
and  if  he  worthily  sways  the  sceptre  over  his  lit- 
tle realm,  he  developes  in  his  children  some  of 
the  most  desirable  traits  of  character.  If  love  is 
one  of  the  elements  of  family  happiness,  order 
is  another;  and  it  is  his,  in  the  last  appeal,  to 
support  order.  If  the  sympathies  and  affections 
of  children  should  be  developed,  so  should  their 
spirits  of  obedience  to  rightful  authority.  It  is 
undoubtedly  desirable  to  raise  the  mother's  au- 
thority to  the  highest  degree ;  and  when  the 
father  is  what  he  should  be,  and  docs  what  he 
should  do,  she  stands  invested,  in  the  eyes  of  her 
children,  with  a  power  combining  an  indirect 
reverence  for  the  father,  wbo  appeal's  only  to 
sustain  the  maternal  rule,  witb  direct  obedience 
to  her  own  gentleness. — Miss  Whittlesey. 


THE  OLIYE. 

In  the  south  of  France,  I  was  miserably  dis- 
appointed with  the  olive.  It  is  one  of  the  ro- 
mantic trees,  full  of  association.  It  is  a  Biblical 
tree,  and  one  of  ihe  most  favored  of  the  old 
Eastern  emblems.  But  what  claim  has  it  to 
beauty'?  The  trunk,  a  weazened,  sapless  looking 
piece  of  timber,  the  branches  spreading  out  from 
it  like  the  top  of  a  mushroom,  and  the  color, 
when  you  can  see  it  for  dust,  a  cold,  sombre, 
grayish  green.  The  tree  bas  no  picturesquencss, 
no  variety.  Put  it  beside  the  birch,  the  beech, 
the  elm,  or  the  oak,  and  you  will  sec  the  poetry 
of  tho  forest  and  its  poorest  and  most  meagre 
prose. — Angus  Beach, 


GLEASON'S   PICTOllIAL   DRAWI^^G   ROOM    COMPANION. 


359 


[TTrltten  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SOKG  TO  NIGHT. 


BY    GEO.    W.    DEWET. 


The  stars  bend  from  th(;  azure, 
I  could  reach  them  where  I  lie, 

And  they  whisper  all  the  pleasure 

Of  the  sky. — Buchanan  Read. 

When  sinks  the  sun,  and  stai-  with  star 

Keeps  tryst  within  the  bhssful  azure. 
The  heavens  that  all  day  stood  afar, 

Draw  near  and  woo  the  soul  to  pleasure. 
Then  welcome  shadowy  Xight,  to  me, 

Whose  dreams  usurp  the  realms  of  sorrow, 
With  love  and  starlight  let  me  be 

Awhile  regardless  of  to-morrow. 

As  music  in  a  vocal  strain 

Unites  the  words  that  love  hath  spoken, 
Thy  dreams  re-link  the  golden  chain 

Of  hopes  which  waking  cares  have  broken. 
Then  come,  and  let  thy  veil  of  sleep 

Be  cast  o'er  all  the  world  of  sorrow  ; 
But  bring  me  dreams,  and  let  me  keep 

A  tryst  with  thee  until  to-morrow. 

Dear,  peaceful  Night,  thy  shade  to  me 

Brings  nought  akin  to  pain  and  terror  j 
And  in  thy  depths  I  cannot  see 

The  symbols  of  a  world  of  error. 
But,  like  a  life  to  goodness  given, 

Thou  bring'at  relief  bo  those  who  sorrow*; 
Thy  starry  hand  still  leads  to  heaven, 

And  points  unto  a  brighter  morrow. 


[Written for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  WAY  TO  WASHIXGTOX. 

BY   B.   PEHLEY   POOKE. 


Off  for  the  south !  Such  is  the  evident  de- 
termination of  the  numerous  waterfowl,  which 
have  for  the  past  week  been  floating  along  in 
unwearied  flight  through  the  pathless  air.  And 
why  should  not  I,  doomed  to  ply  the  feathered 
quill  with  equal  industry,  also  flit  for  a  more 
genial  clime  1  The  answer  to  the  self-proposed 
question  comes  in  the  shape  of  a  mission  from 
Mr.  Gleason,  requesting  me  to  furnish  pen  and- 
ink  sketches  of  what  may  transpire  daring  the 
coming  season  at  the  metropolis,  and  I  am  at 
once  on  the  way.  Not,  be  it  understood,  as  a 
"  correspondent,"  merely  re-hashing  what  I  may 
find  in  the  newspapei-s,  but  as  a  collector  of 
"waifs,"  which,  when  enshrined  in  the  fair  pages 
of  the  Pictorial,  will  edify  some,  please  others, 
and  leave  every  reader  iu  the  best  of  humor ! 

The  way  to  Washington !  If  I  was  called  up- 
on to  define  it,  in  a  national  sense,  I  should  re- 
ply; "Via  Concord!"  But  having  no  desire 
for  the  "  loaves  and  fishes,"  I  started  this  morn- 
ing from  my  country  home,  raacy  miles  further 
down  on  the  picturesque  Merrimac.  And  it  is 
the  only  time  of  the  year  when  we  can  leave  a 
New  England  homestead  without  regret.  The 
forests  have  thrown  otF  their  gorgeous  drapery, 
for  a  meagre  brown  livery,  iu  which  they  shiver 
and  moan.  The  golden  autumn  haze,  reposing, 
like  a  benediction,  upon  the  harvest  fields,  has 
been  chased  away  by  November's  blasts.  Gar- 
den walks  are  slumpy,  plethoric  gobblers  fore- 
shadow Thanksgiving  stuffing,  and  tiny  feet  are 
disguised  in  misshapen  overshoes.  It  is  the  very 
time  to  leave. 

Newburyport  is  the  first  stopping  place ;  but 
as  it  has  just  been  portrayed  in  the  "  Pictorial," 
with  pen  and  with  pencil,  I  will  not  add  but  a 
word.  Here,  until  within  a  year  or  so,  stood 
*'  ye  olde  Morse  house,"  where  "  spiritual  demon- 
strations "  first  flourished  on  this  continent.  To 
use  the  words  of  Goodman  ]Morse  himself,  as  he 
testified  under  oath  :  "  The  two  pottes  which  did 
hange  in  ye  chimbly  did  knocke  together  very 
violentlye  for  severalle  minutes.  Moreover  ye 
andiron  did  leap  into  ye  big  potte  and  dance, 
and  leap  out  againe.  and  then  upon  ye  tayble, 
and  there  abide.  I  putt  my  awle  in  a  cupboard 
and  fastened  ye  dore ;  anon  itt  come  down  ye 
chimly,  I  know  not  how.  We  heard  a  noise  at 
midnight;  arouse  and  found  a  grate  hogge  in  ye 
house,  ye  dore  being  locked — very  willing  to  goe 
out."  All  interested  have  only  to  obtain  Cotton 
Mather's  Magnalia,  where  there  is  more  on  the 
same  subject.  "  When  found,  turn  down  the 
leaf,  and  make  a  note  thereof." 

Leaving  Newburyport  on  the  Eastern  Kail- 
road,  we  pass  through  the  mother  town  of  New- 
bury, which,  like  many  a  rural  matron,  is  shorn 
of  wealth,  power  and  estate  by  its  civic  offspring. 
Here,  some  two  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago, 
came  the  most  intellectual  colony  that  left  the 
seagirt  isle  for  a  forest  home.  One  family,  the 
Dummers,  left  a  fine  farm  for  tbe  support  of  an 
academy,  tlie  first  established  on  this  continent. 


and  the  place  where  a  "Farm  School"  should 
be.  And  many  of  our  first  minds  are  descended 
from  a  pastor  of  the  wandering  flock,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Parker.  Elliot,  Mather,  Cotton  and  Phil- 
lips  were  all  learned  men ;  but  Parker,  who  was 
an  Old  Catabridge  man,  stood  pre-eminent  for 
classical  lore.  This  he  once  put  to  good  use, 
when  a  few  would-te  smart  parishioners  under- 
took to  "instruct"  him  in  bis  duty.  Thinking 
that  he  was  growing  too  liberal,  they  addressed 
him  a  "  protest "  in  our  vernacular;  he  replied 
in  Latin.  They  next  addressed  him  in  that  lan- 
guage, and  received  an  answer  in  Greek.  In  re- 
turn they  took  the  Greek  for  their  communica- 
tion, he  rejoined  in  Hebrew.  They — by  the  aid 
of  a  neighboring  parson — then  resorted  to  He- 
brew, and  Mr.  Parker,  wishing  to  close  the  dis- 
cussion, sent  them  an  epistle  in  Arabic.  After  a 
few  days  interval,  the  questioners  brought  back 
the  last  letter,  saying  :  "  We  do  not  understand 
Arabic."  "  Why,  gentlemen,"  was  the  reply, 
"  do  you  undertake  to  instruct  me,  if  you  do  not 
know  as  much  I  do ';" 

Skimming  past  the  old  towms  of  Rowley  and 
of  Ipswich,  we  come  to  Hamilton,  where  preached, 
some  half-century  since,  the  learned  Doctor  Cut- 
ler, equally  celebrated  as  a  horticulturalist,  a 
linguist,  a  Calvinist,  and  a  federalist.  And  it 
was  under  his  direction,  that  a  band  of  colonists 
started  from  the  green  in  front  of  Hamilton 
church,  with  a  wagon,  on  which  was  inscribed : 
"For  the  Ohio."  This  was  the  first  attempt  to 
colonize  those  broad  valleys  and  fertile  hills, 
which  now  teem  with  civilization.  A  few  miles 
further  on,  the  railroad  intersects  the  fine  farm 
once  cultivated  by  the  Hon.  Timothy  Pickering, 
a  noted  politician  in  his  day,  who  has  left  as  a 
monument,  long  rows  of  noble  evergreens.  Hard 
by  is  Wenham  Pond — some  call  it  a  lake  now- 
adays— whose  crystal  waters,  in  a  congealed 
state,  cool  the  rare  wines  of  the  Oriental  nabob, 
and  the  more  potent  beverages  of  the  Califomians. 
Salem,  the  scene  of  the  first  Revolutionary 
struggle,  and  of  an  insane  passion  for  sustaining 
a  modem  aristocracy  of  wealth,  has  charms  for 
some.  But  had  I  wished  to  tarry  thereabouts,  I 
would  have  gone  down  to  Marblchead,  where 
dwell  the  hardy  fishermen,  and  where,  when  the 
country's  flag  was  not  respected  on  the  ocean, 
strong  arms  and  stout  hearts  sprang  forward  to 
defend  it. 

Nahant  is  next  passed  by,  stretching  out  into 
the  domain  of  Old  Neptune,  which  is  now  bor- 
dered by  the  summer  residences  of  the  Bostoni- 
ans.  Then  we  enter  Lynn,  called  the  Paradise 
of  Saint  Crispin  and  the  cordwainers,  who  have 
have  the  satisfaction — to  use  the  phrase  of  Tom 
Sheridan— of  having  their  handiwork  trampled 
upon  by  the  beauties  of  the  nation.  A  salubri- 
ous sea-breeze  now  invigorates  the  frame,  as  the 
cars  gently  cross  the  wide  expanse  of  salt  marsh, 
and  soon  the  granite  shaft  on  Bunker  Hill  pro- 
claims the  vicinity  of  the  capital.  Embarking 
in  the  gallant  ferry-boat— that  once  made  a  pas- 
sage to  Deer  Island  in  a  thick  fog — we  land  in 
the  metropolis  of  Massachusetts.  Much  has 
been  said  to  its  disparagement  of  late,  but  I  will 
challenge  Christendom  to  show  a  population 
containing  more  enlightened  mechanics  and  well 
educated  mercantile  men.  The  chief  springs  of 
action  may  be  found  in  the  stimulants  of  com- 
mercial and  manufacturing  enterprise,  but  the 
general  character  of  the  population  is  that  of  in- 
tellectual activity,  and  eagerness  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  general  and  available  knowledge.  In 
point  of  devotion  to  the  Union,  Bostonians,  who 
still  possess  the  "  Cradle  of  Liberty,"  acknowl- 
edge no  superiors;  and  tliey  ever  will  sustain  it, 
"  Iiowever  bounded." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
WO.UAN. 


BY  T.  BUCHANAN  BEAD. 


A  CURIOUS  nUEI,. 

Two  gentlemen  of  high  birth — the  one  a  Span- 
iard and  the  other  a  German — having  rendered 
Maximilian  many  services,  they  each  demanded 
as  a  reward  the  hand  of  his  daughter  Helena 
in  marriage.  The  prince,  after  much  delay,  told 
them  that  as  he  entertained  an  equal  respect  for 
them  both,  and  could  not  decide  in  favor  of  eith- 
er, they  must  determine  the  matter  by  their  own 
addresses ;  but  as  he  did  not  ^vish  to  risk  the  loss 
of  either  by  suffering  them  to  fight  with  danger- 
ous weapons,  he  had  ordered  a  large  bag  to  be 
brought,  and  he  who  succeeded  in  putting  his 
rival  into  it  should  obtain  his  daughter.  The 
strange  combat  actually  took  place,  in  presence 
of  the  whole  imperial  court,  and  lasted  nearly  an 
hour.  At  length  the  Spaniard  yielded;  and  the 
German,  who  was  no  other  than  tbe  Baion  of 
Tethert,  having  secured  him  in  the  bag,  laid  him 
at  the  emperor's  feet,  and  on  the  following  day 
maiTied  the  beautiful  Helena. — Southern  Literanj 
Gazette. 


Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  is  tried, 
Kor  yet  the  last  to  lay  tho  old  aside. — Fope. 


An  angel  wandering  out  of  heaven, 
And  all  too  bright  for  Eden  even, 
Once  through  the  paths  of  paradiEe 

Made  luminous  tbe  auroral  air ; 
And,  walking  in  His  awful  gui^e, 

Met  the  Eternal  Father  there; 
Who,  when  he  saw  the  truant  sprite, 
Smiled  love  through  all  thope  bowers  of  light. 
While  deep  within  his  tranced  spell. 

Our  Eden  tke  lay  slumbering  near, 
God  saw,  and  said  :  "  It  \s  not  well 

For  man  alone  to  linger  here.^' 
Then  took  that  angel  by  the  hand. 

And  with  a  kiss  its  brow  He  preFt, 
And  whispering  all  His  mild  command, 

He  laid  it  on  the  sleeper's  breast ; 
With  earth  enough  to  make  it  humau. 
He  chained  its  wings,  and  called  it  womar. 
And  if  perchance  some  stains  of  mat 

Upon  her  pinions  yet  remain, 
T  is  but  the  mark  of  God's  own  dust, 

The  earth-mould  of  that  EJen  chain  I 


AMUSEMEKTS  OF  GREAT  MEN. 

Spinoza,  after  some  hours  of  close  study, 
would  join  the  family  with  whom  he  lodged,  and 
take  part  even  in  the  most  trivial  conversation. 
A  favorite  amusement  of  his  was  setting  spiders 
to  fight  each  other.  So  much  interest  did  he 
take  in  their  combats  that  he  was  often  seized 
with  immoderate  fits  of  laughter.  Dr.  Samuel 
Clarke,  the  Bible  commentator,  used  to  amuse 
himself  by  jumping  over  tables  and  chairs ;  and 
Swift,  by  running  up  and  down  the  steps  of  the 
deanery.  Shelley  took  great  pleasure  in  making 
paper  boats,  and  watching  them  as  they  floated 
on  the  water.  He  used  up  in  this  way  the  fly- 
leaves of  the  books  which  he  took  with  him  on 
his  pedestrian  excursions.  On  one  occasion, 
finding  himself  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Serpen- 
tine River,  and  without  any  materials  for  indulg- 
ing that  peculiar  inclination  which  the  sight  of 
water  always  inspired,  he  twisted  up  a  fifty 
pound  bank  note,  and  committed  it  to  tbe  waves. 
While  Petavius  was  engaged  on  his  Dogmata 
Theologica,  his  principal  recreation  at  the  end 
of  every  second  hour  was  to  t^virl  his  chair  for  five 
minutes.  Barclay,  the  author  of  the  Argeneis, 
and  D'Andilly,  the  translator  of  Josephus,  di- 
verted themselves  during  their  leisure  hours  by 
cultivating  trees  and  flowers.  Tycho  Brahe 
amused  himself  with  polishing  glasses  for  spec- 
tacles ;  and  Socrates  in  playing  with  children.— 
Literary  Gazette. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
CHRISTOS. 


BY  JOHN  WEISHAMPEL. 


Now,  did  I  tune  king  David's  harp  of  gold, 
And  knew  to  chant  the  eloquence  of  old  ; 
With  dulcet  notes  sweet  words  I  would  combine, 
To  breathe  out  love  for  Jesus,  the  Divine! 

Come,  spirit,  come  1  last  night  who  woke  me  up, 
I  'd  taste  again  the  beverage  of  thy  cup  ; 
Thou  gavest,  then,  to  these  poor  lips  of  mine. 
The  draught  of  life  from  Jesus,  the  Divine ! 

0  how  depraved  my  youthful  heart  bag  been, 
To  hold  such  sacred  happiness  within; 

In  speechless  gratitude  would  I  resign 
My  heart  and  iOvX  to  Jesus,  the  Divine  ! 

1  cannot  sing,  T  know  not  how  to  speak, 
With  pleasure  full,  in  rapture  am  I  weak  j 
0  for  a  voice  I    kind  seraph,  lend  me  thine, 
To  sing  the  love  of  Jesus,  the  Divine  I 

INDIAJV  AND  EUROPEAN  ORATORY. 

An  Indian's  delivery,  when  speaking,  is  delib- 
erate, slow  and  monotonous,  almost  as  if  think- 
ing aloud,  and  the  punctuations  are  very  strong- 
ly marked,  and  very  long;  their  action  is  very 
fine,  and  they  use  a  great  deal  of  it.  They  dis- 
play a  favorable  contrast  to  European  orators, 
in  never  interrupting  one  another  by  word  or 
look,  even  though  the  speaker  may  be  uttering 
sentiments  quite  opposed  to  those  of  his  audi- 
ence, or  even  things  they  all  know  to  be  untrue, 
and  could  refute ;  still  he  is  always  listened  to 
with  apparent  respect  and  attention,  and  when 
he  has  sat  down,  although,  perhaps,  there  may 
be  a  dozen  who  are  burning  to  contradict,  or 
agree  with  him,  they  sit  a  few  minutes,  as  if 
meditating  on  what  had  been  said,  and  then  rise 
with  the  greatest  deliberation,  always  giving  way 
to  the  eldest.  Certainly  a  council  of  Indian 
chiefs  is  generally  conducted  with  more  decorum 
and  self-respect  than  most  public  meetings  in 
more  civilized  countries. — Sullivan's  Rambks  in 
America. 


milTlNG  AND  ACTING. 

Chatham  commenced  his  career  in  the  intrigues 
of  a  camp  and  the  bustle  of  a  mess-room ;  where 
be  probably  learnt  that  the  way  to  govern  others, 
is  to  make  your  will  your  warrant,  and  your 
word  a  law.  If  he  had  spent  the  early  part  of 
his  life  like  Mr.  Burke,  in  writing  a  treatise  on 
the  sublime  and  heautiful,  and  in  dreaming  over 
the  abstract  nature  and  causes  of  things,  he 
would  never  have  taken  the  lead  he  did  in  the 
British  Senate. — Literanj  Scraps. 


ANCIENT  HOSPIT.UilTY. 

It  was  once  tlie  universal  custom  to  place  ale 
or  some  strong  liquor  in  the  chamber  of  an  hon- 
ored guest,  to  assuage  his  thirst,  should  he  feel 
any  on  awakening  in  the  night,  which,  consider- 
ing that  the  hospitality  of  that  period  often 
reached  excess,  was  by  no  means  unlikely.  It  is 
a  current  story  in  Teviotdale,  that  in  the  house 
of  an  ancient  family  of  distinction,  much  addict- 
ed to  the  i*rcsbyterian  cause,  a  Bible  was  alwaj'^s 
put  into  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  guests, 
along  with  a  bottle  of  strong  ale.  On  one  occa- 
sion there  was  a  meeting  of  clergymen  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  castle  all  of  whom  were  invited  to' 
dinner  by  the  worthy  baronet,  and  several  abode 
there  that  night.  According  to  the  fashion  of 
the  times  seven  of  the  reverend  guests  were  al- 
lotted to  one  large  barrack-room,  which  was 
used  on  such  occasions  of  extended  hospitality. 
The  butler  took  care  that  the  divines  were  pre- 
sented, according  to  custom,  each  with  a  Bible 
and  a  bottle  of  ale.  But  after  a  little  consulta- 
tion among  themselves,  they  are  said  to  have  re- 
called the  domestic  just  as  he  was  leaving  the 
apartment.  '-My  friend,"  said  one  of  the  ven- 
erable guests,  "you  must  know  that  when  we 
meet  together,  the  youngest  minister  reads  aloud 
a  portion  of  Scripture  to  the  rest ;  only  one  Bi- 
ble therefore  is  necessary;  take  away  the  other 
six,  and  in  their  place  bring  six  more  bottles  of 
ale." — Sir  Walter  Scott. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
FAITH  IN  DEATH. 


BY  W.  A. FOGG. 


She  faded  as  the  summer  flowers 

Fade  from  the  fields  away  ; 
Her  spirit  passed  to  heaven  upon. 

The  wing  of  parting  day. 
No  shadow  rested  on  her  brow, 

She  uttered  not  a  sigh  ; 
Gently  she  drew  her  parting  breath, 

And  Boftly  closed  her  eye. 

And  still  we  watched  her,  deeming  not 

She'd  drawn  her  pai-ting  breath ; 
We  knew  not  that  her  heart  was  chilled 

By  the  cold  hand  of  death. 
But  soon  his  snow-white  seal  was  set 

Upon  her  beauteous  brow; 
A  voice  came  whispering  to  om-  hearts  : 

"  She  is  an  angel  now." 

Sadly  we  placed  her  in  her  shroud. 

And  wreathed  her  form  in  flowers ; 
Placed  her  beneath  the  coffin  lid— 

A  bitter  task  was  ours. 
Sadly  we  saw  her  borne  away 

Slowly  upon  her  bier ; 
Placed  her  beneath  the  cold,  cold  Bod, 

But  could  not  shed  a  tear. 

For  well  we  knew  that  she  had  gone 

Where  Borrow  is  unknown  ; 
Where,  o'er  the  pure  and  happy  heart, 

No  shadow  e'er  is  thrown. 
And  well  we  knew  that  when  the  etorms 

Of  this  drear  life  are  o'er, 
Within  that  blissful  spirit  land, 

We'd  meet  to  part  no  more. 

LADY  RALEIGH. 

Tho  gallant  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  in  daily  ex- 
pectation of  his  being  executed,  earnestly  en- 
deavored to  preserve  his  estate  of  Sherburne,  to 
his  wife  and  child.  To  Carl,  Earl  of  Somerset, 
who  had  begged  it  for  himself,  and  who  was  the 
rising  favorite  and  minion  of  King  James  I,  Sir 
Walter  addressed  a  letter,  beseeching  him  *'  not 
to  begin  liis  first  building  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
innocent — not  to  cut  down  the  tree  with  the  fruit, 
and  undergo  the  curse  of  them  that  enter  the 
field  of  the  fatherless."  The  letter  produced  no 
effect  upon  the  parasite  ,■  and  to  the  solicitations 
of  the  Lady  Raleigh  to  the  king,  upon  her  knees, 
with  her  children,  the  vile  sovereign,  the  first  of 
the  Stuarts,  only  answered ;  "I  niuu  have  the 
land — I  mun  have  it  for  Car !"  This  excellent 
lady  obtained  permission  to  reside  with  her  hus- 
band in  the  Tower,  where,  in  the  first  year  of 
his  imprisonment,  she  bore  him  her  second  son, 
Carew,  after  a  lapse  of  ten  years ;  and  shared 
his  adversity  and  sorrows,  during  a  period  of 
twelve  years,  between  his  trial  and  his  being  put 
to  death.  She  was  very  beautiful ;  faithfully  at- 
tached to  her  ill-fated  partner,  who  was  eighteen 
years  older  than  herself;  and  testified  her  affec- 
tion for  his  memory,  by  remaining  unmarried 
until  her  death,  which  happened  twenty-nine 
years  after  his  execution. — Starling. 

JOHN  BULL'S  GULLIBILITY. 

John  Bull  would  as  soon  give  up  an  estate  as 
a  bug-bear.  Having  been  once  gulled,  they  are 
not  soon  uvgulkd.  Tliey  are  too  knowing  for 
that.  Nay,  they  resent  the  attempt  to  undeceive 
them  as  an  injury.  Tbe  Prench  apply  a  bril- 
liant epithet  to  the  most  vulnerable  characters  ; 
and  thus  gloss  over  a  life  of  ti-eacheiy  or  infamy. 
With  them  the  immediate  or  last  impression  is 
everything;  with  us,  the  first,  if  it  is  sufficienily 
strong  and  gloomy,  never  wears  out ! — Hazlitt. 

<     ^a—     *         ~ 

LADIES  OF  THE  THREE  RINGD03IS. 

If  you  want  to  look  upon  woman  such  as  Ru- 
bens painted,  seek  her  in  England,  for  there  is 
beauty's  home.  If  you  would  have  wit,  and 
gayety,  and  loveliness  combined,  I'll  back  "ould 
Ireland"  against  the  world  for  that.  But  if  you 
would  avoid  being  regularly  bedevilled,  and  that, 
too,  before  you  ever  dreamed  you  were  in  dan- 
ger, keep  out  of  Scotland,  "  if  you  love  me." — 
Ma.ai-ell's  ]Var.d(:r!nns. 


360 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


PUBLIC  JtUILDIMGB. 

The  picture  below  represents  the  "  United 
Sciifes  Life  Insurance  and  Trust  Company's 
Bnil(lin<:,"  including;  Vv.  Jayne's  and  the  "  Led- 
^'cr  Buihlings."  These  betiutiCul  Hti'ucturcH  oc- 
cupy a  busy  part  of  the  city  of  Phihulelphia, 
forming  t)ie  pouth-east  and  soulh-wcst  eornerti  of 
Third  and  Chestnut  streets.  In  the  eon.struc- 
tion  of  the  buihlinj;  occupied  by  the  United 
States  Life  Insurance  Company  on  the  south- 
east comer,  the  architect  lias  judiciously  adapted 
his  ]>hin  to  the  limited  spaco  allotted  him,  and 
has  designed  the  exterior  in  a  tasteful  and  sci- 
entitic  manner.  It  is  of  brown  stone,  in  the 
Italian  stylo,  and  is  five  stories  hi^h.  The 
"United  States  Life  Insuriineo  Com))any*'  is 
one  of  the  most  prominent  institutions  of  that 
city,  of  whOiC  perfectly  solvent  and  substantial 


This  is  the  case  witli  the  United  States  Life 
Insurance  Company,  of  I'hiladelphia.  The 
l)oard  of  directors  of  this  institution  arc  known 
as  business  et^^ntlemen  of  that  city,  whose  hif^h 
character  fully  wunants  all  that  may  be  expect- 
ed or  desired.  Dr.  Jayne's  building  forms  a 
prominent  feature  in  our  picture.  It  is  built  of 
Quincy  granite,  of  inne  j^otliie  architecture,  and 
altogether  is  one  of  the  most  massive  and  im- 
posing structures  in  the  city.  In  depth  it  is  I'iG 
feet,  the  main  front  being  on  Chestnut  street, 
running  back  to  Carter's  Alley.  The  ground 
alnne  cost  ^144  000,  and  the  expense  of  the 
building  itself,  from  its  deep  base  to  its  topmost 
pinnacle,  "vviU  considerably  exceed  ^:I50,U00. 
The  height  of  the  building  to  tlie  top  of  the  cu- 
pola is  156  feet.  The  Ledger  Building  on  the 
corner  of  our  picturo   forms   the    foreground. 


other  business  increased,  the  buildings  were  nat- 
urally extended  along  the  Delaware,  and  now 
reach  from  the  lower  part  of  Southwark  to  the 
upper  part  of  Kensington,  near  four  miles,  and 
from  one  river  to  the  other.  The  houses  exhibit 
an  appearance  of  neatness,  uniformity  imd  com- 
modiousness,  and  most  of  them  arc  ornamented 
with  wliite  marble  steps  and  window  sills.  Sept. 
5,  1774,  the  members  of  tlic  first  congress  con- 
vened at  Philadel|)hia,  where  they  adopted  that 
celebrated  declaration  of  rights,  which  may  be 
considered  the  preface  to  the  declaration  of  inde- 
pendence. Within  two  years  after,  the  etermil 
separation  of  the  United  States  from  England 
was  decreed  by  that  augusthody,  and  proclaimed 
to  the  people  from  the  state  house.  Congress 
continued  to  sit  at  Philadelphia  until  the  ap- 
proach of  the  enemy,  at  the  close  of  the  autumn 


of  about  sixty  miles,  and  the  sum  annually  paid 
for  the  use  of  the  water  is  upwards  of  $00,000. 
The  experience  of  years  has  shown  that  the 
power  U  sullieicnt  to  raise  many  times  as  much 
water  as  the  city  can  possibly  require  for  its  con- 
sumption, and,  conscfiuently,  that  there  is  a  sur- 
plus power  applicable  to  other  purposes.  The 
provision  against  destruction  by  tire,  in  Phila- 
delphia, is  excellent.  There  arc  twenty-eight 
engine  companies  and  sixteen  hose  companies, 
and  the  sum  of  1^5000,  appropriated  by  the  city 
councils,  is  usually  distributed  among  these  com- 
panies annually.  In  many  resjiccts,  Philadel- 
phia particularly  resembles  Boston,  not  as  re- 
gards the  laying  out  of  the  city,  for  while  tho 
former  is  one  of  the  most  regular  in  the  matter 
of  its  streets,  the  latter  is  the  most  irregular  in 
the  Union.     But  there  is  the  same  neatness  and 


THIRD  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA, SHOWING  THE  LEDGER,  AND  JAYNE  S  BUILDINGS. 


character  the  public  have  the  most  abundant  and 
satisfactory  assurance.  The  greatest  interest 
has  been,  within  a  few  years  past,  awakened  in 
relation  to  this  class  of  insurance  otlices,  whose 
especial  object  it  is  to  secure  families  against  the 
misfortune  and  destitution  which  too  frequently 
follow  the  death  of  those  upon  whom  reliance 
has  been  placed.  The  head  of  a  family,  by 
means  of  the  security  afforded  by  a  "life  insur- 
ance policy,"  when  called  upon  by  death  to  leave 
the  loved  and  dependent  ones,  may  feel  an  inex- 
pressible consolation  in  knowing  that  their  wel- 
fare and  support  have  been  provided  for.  Tliis  is 
a  great  and  reasonable  coubolation  to  the  dying, 
but  its  value,  of  course,  depends  altogether  upon 
the  character  of  the  institution.  If  its  solvency 
is  ample,  then  it  is  in  reality  a  great  matter. 
This  is,  indeed,  of  so  much  importance,  that  we 
cannot  too  fre(|ucntly  or  too  earnestly  commend 
those  associations  of  whose  entire  solvency  and 
permanent  character  there  can  be  no  question. 


This  building  was  erected  in  1845.  The  paper 
was  established  in  March,  183G,  and  has  risen  to 
a  circulation  of  50,000  copies  daily.  It  was  the 
first  penny  paper  in  Philadelphia;  published 
and  owned  by  Swain,  Abell  &  Simmons,  They 
have  eight  of  Hoe's  cylinder  presses,  capable  of 
throwing  off  about  18,000  impressions  per  hour. 
The  proprietors  have  also  a  weekly  paper, 
and  in  addition  a  daily  and  weekly  paper  in 
Baltimore  called  the  Sun.  They  own  the  large 
and  beautiful  iron  Sun  Building  at  Baltipiorc, 
also  several  large  tracts  of  coal  land  in  Schuyl- 
kill county,  and  several  large  valuable  buildings 
in  other  parts  of  the  city. — The  name  of  the 
city  is  composed  of  two  Greek  words, — philos,  a 
friend,  and  ade/pfios,  a  brother.  The  city  was 
founded  by  William  Penn,  in  the  year  1G82. 
The  original  city  was  a  parallelogram,  extend- 
ing west  about  two  miles  from  the  Delaware, 
beyond  the  Schuylkill,  and  north  and  south  a 
little   more   than   a  mile.     As   conimerco    and 


of  1776,  compelled  them  to  retire  to  Baltimore. 
The  city  fell  into  the  possession  of  the  British 
forces  Sept.  26,  1777,  and  they  occupied  it  until 
the  18th  of  June  following.  During  the  remain- 
der of  the  war,  it  happily  escaped  the  ravages  of 
hostile  operations.  It  was  al^o  the  seat  of  the 
state  government  imtil  the  year  1800.  Institu- 
tions for  the  relief  of  the  unfortunate,  sick  and 
helpless  abound,  at  the  head  of  which  is  the 
Pennsylvania  hospital,  which  was  founded  in 
the  year  1750.  In  1819,  the  project  of  dam- 
ming the  Schuylkill,  and  erecting  the  works  at 
Pairmount,  was  commenced,  the  whole  cost  of 
which  was  in  1824,  $432,512,  and  the  entire 
amount  expended  on  the  successive  operations, 
$1,443,585.  The  consumption,  in  the  summer 
months,  is  about- 3,000,000  gallons  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  the  reservoirs  will  contain  a 
supply  for  ten  days,  at  that  rate.  The  iron 
pipes,  through  which  tho  water  is  conveyed  to 
the  city  and  districts,  make,  together,  an  extent 


evident  cleanliness  about  the  streets  in  the  city 
of  brotherly  love,  that  is  always  evinced  in  our 
own  city;  and  to  our  mind  the  inhabitants  also 
largely  share  in  the  same  general  elements  of 
character,  thrift,  respectability  and  quiet  unob- 
srrusiveness.  In  the  matter  of  current  literature, 
Philadelphia  and  Boston  arc  twin  sisters,  and  far 
exceed  other  cities  in  the  Union  as  it  rot^ardi 
this  matter.  The  arts  and  sciences,  aNo,  are 
largely  appreciated  and  cultivated  in  either  city, 
as  is  well  known.  Our  artist,  Mr.  Dcvereux,  has 
given  us  a  faithful  and  reliable  view  of  ibis 
thoroughfare  of  the  Quaker  city,  and  the  public 
can  depend  upon  its  aocuracy.  Our  readers  will 
appreciate  the  sketch  which  we  give  above,  and 
will  be  pleased  to  know  that  our  artists  will  he 
kept  constantly  busy  in  various  parts  of  tho 
country,  to  transcribe  in  the  same  truthful  man- 
ner, all  loca'ities  of  general  interest,  and  aU 
scenes  and  local  occurrences  calculated  to  in 
struct  and  amuse  our  army  of  subscribers. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


361 


PRESEjVTATIOIV  of  PLATE. 

We  have  engraved  this  week  an  excellent  re- 
presentation of  the  magnificent  Service  of  Plate 
presented  bj  the  artists  of  the  United  States  to 
F.  Gleason,  proprietor  of  the  Pictorial,  in  a  very 
flattering  letter  from  the  Committee  of  Presenta- 
tion, Messrs.  Chapin,  of  New  York,  Devercux, 
of  Philadelphia,  and  Manning,  of  Boston,  which, 
with  our  answer  thereto,  will  be  found  below. 
This  splendid  service,  which  was  manufactured 
expressly  for  the  parties  by  Messrs.  Ball,  Black 
&  Co.,  of  New  York,  well  known  as  the  most 
extensive  dealers  and  manufacturers  in  gold  and 
silver  plate  in  this  country,  at  a  cost  of  ©1000,  is 
the  same  pattern  and  was  made  by  the  same 
artist  who  made  the  service  for  E.  K.  Collins, 
Esq.,  of  the  Collins  line  of  Atlantic  steamers, 
which  attracted  such  marked  attention  at  the 
World's  Fair,  in  London.  When  that  set  was 
unpacked,  an  English  manufacturer,  who,  with 
others,  was  anxiously  waiting  to  see  it,  exclaim- 
ed: "  Well,  it  certainly  is  a  splendid  affair,  and 


The  drawing  which  we  present  to  our  readers 
was  taken  from  a  series  of  daguerreotypes  taken 
by  Meade  Brothers,  of  New  York,  and  presents 
as  faithful  a  representation  as  can  be  given  on 
wood  of  the  appearance  of  the  service.  It  may 
be  seen  at  any  time  at  our  office,  where  our 
friends  and  readers  arc  cordially  invited  to  call 
and  examine  it.  Wc,  of  course,  are  highly  flat- 
tered at  this  munificent  gift;  not  so  much  for  its 
intrinsic  value,  as  for  the  feelings  which  actuated 
its  presentation,  and  which  go  to  show  that  our 
untiring  efforts  to  produce  a  superbly  illumined 
journal,  intrinsically  valuable,  and  worthy  of  a 
place  in  every  refined  homestead  in  America, 
are  thus  appreciated.  If  we  had  not  been  ac- 
tuated by  sentiments  beyond  mere  dollars  and 
cents,  the  Pictorial  would  never  have  reached  its 
present  degree  of  excellence,  circulation,  or  firm 
basis;  but  it  has  our  undivided  attention,  our 
never-flagging  energy,  and  our  whole  heart  en- 
tirely devoted  to  its  good  and  perfection  ;  and 
thus  actuated,  our  readers  may  be  assured  that 


a  moneyed  aristocracy,  having  both  wealth  and 
leisure  at  its  command,  has  encouraged  and 
fostered  art  as  a  recreation  ;  where  access  to  tlie 
teachings  of  the  old  masters  is  so  easy,  and  where 
an  enlightened  public  taste  has  been  nurtured 
and  fed  by  talent  of  the  highest  order,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  the  fine  arts  have  flourished  and 
extended  the  area  of  their  adaptability  until  their 
encouragement  has  become  a  national  feature, 
and  the  national  taste  may  be  said  to  guage  the 
nation's  standing. 

In  our  own  country,  whose  history  fills  but  a 
few  pages  of  the  record  of  time,  the  case  is  dif- 
ferent. There  has  been  territory  to  discover 
and  annex,  forests  to  fell,  cities  to  build,  wars  to 
wage,  and  all  the  neccessary  adjuncts  of  a  newly 
discovered  and  settled  country  to  overcome. 
Occupied  as  he  is,  in  business,  and  having  yet 
his  fortune  to  make,  Brother  Jonathan  has  had 
but  little  time  and  small  means  to  spend  in  de- 
votion to  the  graces.  It  is  therefore  not  at  all 
surprising  that  the  past  ten  or  twefve  years  have 
witnessed  the  establishment  and  failure  of  several 
illustrated  journals  of  a  nature  similar  to  your 
own,  which  have  failed  for  want  of  a  taste  on 
the  part  of  the  public  for  pictorial  illustrations. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  individual  might 


will  be  rewarded  with  the   success   which  such 
noble  endeavors  deserve. 

It  is  with  the  view  of  testifying  to  the  feelings 
with  which  the  Artists  generally  view  your  exer- 
tions, and  as  an  evidence  of  their  appreciation  of 
the  benefit  derived  by  art  from  the  publication 
of  tUe  Pictorial,  that  we  otFer  the  accompanying 
Service  of  Plate  for  your  acceptance. 
With  sentiments  of  respect  and  esteem, 
Wc  beg  leave  to  remain. 
Yours,  etc., 
Jno.  R.  Chapin,        ')    Committee 
Geo.  T.  Deverecx,  /  of 

J.  U.  Manning,  )  Presentation. 


Boston,  Nov.  20, 1852. 
Gentlebien  : — Tn  acknowledging  the  receipt 
of  your  magnificent  present  of  Plate,  I  find  my- 
self at  a  loss  what  to  write.  To  say  that  I  am 
not  highly  gratified,  as  well  as  surprised,  at  this 
kind  demonstration  of  feeling  on  the  part  of 
yourselves  and  the  numerous  and  very  honorable 
class  whom  you  represent,  would  be  untrue.  It 
is  eminently  gratifying,  after  nearly  two  years  of 
incessant  labor,  anxiety  and  unremitting  care,  to 
say  nothing-  of  the  investment  of  an  amount  of 


REPRESENTATION  OF  THE  SERVICE  OF  SILVER  PLATE  PRESENTED  TO  MR.  F.  GLEASON  BY  THE  ARTISTS  OF  IHE  UNITED  STATES. 


they  ought  to  do  good  work,  for  they  have  got 
some  of  our  best  workmen  there."  "  Yes,  but," 
said  an  American  present,  "  I  happen  to  know 
the  maker  of  this  set,  and  he  is  a  self-taught 
American,  born  in  New  York."  The  Queen 
was  particularly  struck  with  its  beauty,  and 
spent  some  considerable  time  in  examining  and 
admiring  it.  The  service  represented  above 
contains  two  more  pieces  than  the  Collins  set, 
and  consists  of  seven  pieces  :  a  Vase  for  Flowers, 
Tea  Kettle,  Tea  Pot,  Sugar  Bowl,  Milk  Jug, 
Slop  Bowl,  and  Waiter.  It  is,  without  excep- 
tion, the  handsomest  Silver  Tea  Set  we  ever 
saw,  and  reflects  great  credit  upon  the  taste  of 
the  artists,  as  well  as  upon  the  skill  and  work- 
manship of  Messrs.  Ball,  Black  &  Co.  The 
design  is  exceedingly  rich  and  graceful,  while 
the  chaste  elegance  and  artistic  abandon  with 
which  the  leaves  and  tendrils  of  the  vine  are 
thrown  over  and  around  the  respective  pieces, 
has  never  been  excelled  in  this  or  any  other 
country.  The  elaborate  finish  of  the  handles, 
representing  branches  of  the  vine,  is  truly  sur- 
prising, and  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  stamp  the 
skill  of  the  maker  as  of  the  highest  order. 


they  cannot  but  reap  the  advantage  of  our  devo- 
tion to  their  amusement  and  instruction.  The 
present  is  not  an  unfavorable  occasion  to  call  the 
attention  of  all  to  the  character  of  our  contents, 
to  the  names  we  have  enlisted  in  our  service,  and 
to  the  specimens  of  the  art  pictorial  which  we 
are  weekly  presenting  to  the  public.  Of  the 
public  benefit  such  a  journal  must  prove  to  all 
classes,  we  leave  the  reader  to  judge,  and  desire 
to  call,  also,  his  attention  to  the  fact  which  this 
elegant  present  enforces  and  manifests,  that 
those  best  enabled  by  experience  to  judge  in 
these  matters,  have  spoken  in  the  most  com- 
mendatory terms  of  our  enterprise. 

New  Yoek,  November  19th,  1852. 
F.  Gleason,  Esq., 

Dear  Sir :  It  is  with  feelings  of  the  highest 
personal  gratification  that  we  announce  to  you 
tbat  we  have  been  selected  by  our  brother  Artists 
of  the  United  States  as  a  committee  to  tender 
for  your  acceptance  the  accompanying  Silver 
Tea  Service,  intended  by  them  as  a  testimonial 
of  their  high  appreciation  of  your  endeavors  to 
improve  Art  in  this  country  ;  and  we  esteem  it  a 
privilege  to  state  briefly — in  their  behalf — the 
reasons  which  have  drawn  forth  this  testimonial. 
Among   the  nations   of  the  Old  World,  where 


well  be  thought  visionary,  who,  having  acquired 
a  competence  from  the  successfal  prosecution 
of  business,  should  invest  in  an  enterprise  so 
often  unsuccessful,  the  amount  which  you  have 
spent  in  establishing  and  bringing  to  its  present 
state  of  perfection  the  only  pictorial  paper  in  this 
country.  The  secret  of  your  success,  however — 
to  our  minds — rests  in  the  fact  that  you  have,  to 
a  very  great  extent,  by  your  energy  and  perse- 
verance, been  the  means  of  creating  a  public 
taste  for  that  peculiar  branch  of  the  fine  arts  to 
which  your  paper  is  devoted.  The  outlay  neces- 
sary to  bring  about  this  desideratum  we  know 
must  have  been  enormous,  independent  of  the 
anxiety  consequent  upon  the  immensity  of  the 
enterprise.  But  it  is  your  proud  satisfaction 
now  to  feel,  not  only  that  you  have  greatly  con- 
tributed to  create  a  taste  for  art  in  this  country, 
but  that  the  public  appreciate  and  acknowledge 
that  fact,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  rapidly  increas- 
ing circulation  of  your  paper.  Your  liberality 
to  your  artists  has  encouraged  improvement  and 
afforded  opportunity  for  study,  which  was  entirely 
wanting,  where — as  formerly — the  artist  was  de- 
pendent upon  a  mere  mechanic's  wages,  and 
compelled  to  work  hard  for  that.  Your  energy 
and  determination  to  make  your  paper  equal  if 
not  superior  to  any  published  in  the  world,  as 
evidenced  by  the  continued  outlay  and  improve- 
ment in  every  department  connected  with  it,  has 
won  for  you  the  admiration  of  all,  and  we  trust 


capital  which,  if  named,  would  seem  almost 
fabulous,  to  find  all  this  labor  and  outlay  so  fullj 
appreciated  by  those  who  realize  its  character 
better  than  the  uninitiated  can  possibly  do. 
Gentlemen,  it  is  my  design  and  constant  en- 
deavor to  further  the  interests  of  art  in  America, 
by  paying  for  and  publishing  such  designs  and 
engravings  as  are  creditable  to  the  enlightened 
period  in  which  it  is  our  happy  lot  to  live.  I 
feel  that  I  am  not  actuated  by  mercenary  mo- 
tives. I  have  embarked  my  whole  heart  in  my 
illumined  paper;  and  it  is  because  my  heart,  and 
not  ray  purse  alone,  is  so  thoroughly  enlisted  in 
the  enterprise,  that  I  so  keenly  feel  and  appreci- 
ate your  splendid  gift  to  me.  Permit  me,  gen- 
tlemen, to  assure  you  for  yourselves,  and  through 
you,  the  Engravers  and  Designers  of  the  United 
States,  of  my  cordial  acceptance  of  this  tribute, 
and  tbat  its  receipt  will  ever  be  cherished  as  a 
memento  of  one  of  the  happiest  moments  in  my 
life. 

Very  sincerely  and  truly. 
Your  ob't  sen'ant, 

E.  GLEASON. 
To  Messrs. 
Jno.  R.  Chapin, 

New  York, 
Geo.  T.  Devereux,  }- Com.  of  Presentation. 

Philadelphia, 
J.  H.  Manning, 

Boston, 


362 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Oloason'H  Pictorliil.] 
THE     JiLlND     vnihJ), 


DY  MRB  A.  T.  ELDBEDQEI. 

CoiiiB  nciirov  to  mc,  mother  dciir, 
And  liit  nio  Iciiow  thy  form  is  near, 

And  tJilk  of  (layfl  gono  by  ; 
Of  hiippy  days  when  I  could  «eo 
lCiu:\\  puillo  of  love  that  beamed  on  mo— 

O,  mother,  do  not  sigh ! 
Although  thy  hajileHa  child  in  blind, 
Bow  to  the  will  of  Ood  reti^'iiud! 

0,  tell  mo  of  the  lovely  flowers 

That  bloom  in  green  and  fragrant  bowers 

Around  our  rural  home  ; 
Say,  in  the  Uttlo  stream  n.H  clear, 
Beside  Ihe  spot  I  loved  t^o  dt*ar, 

\\'here  I  was  wont  to  roam 
With  my  twin  eifltpr  by  my  nid«, 
To  watch  the  swiftly  Uowiug  tido  ? 

0,  mother,  do  not  sob  and  weep. 
For  in  thy  culm  and  rosy  sleep 

Thy  cherished  form  I  spe  I 
Although  my  bark  seems  rudely  driven, 
1  know  that  r  shall  see  in  heaven ! 

0,  do  not  weep  for  me  I 
Although  thy  hapless  child  is  blind, 
Bow  to  the  will  of  God  resigned  ! 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  CROSSED  DOLLAR: 

— OR    THE — 

COUNTKY  DEALER  AND  HIS  CLEBK. 

BY  STLVANUS  COBB,  JR. 


Mr.  Eli  as  Randall  kept  one  of  those  large 
stores  so  common  in  flourishing  country  towns, 
where  every  article  of  produce  is  bought  from 
the  farmers  round  iibout,  and  where  every  kind 
of  goods  usually  needed  in  the  country  is  kept 
for  sale.  He  was  a  sharp  featured,  shrewd-looking 
man,  somewhat  turned  of  fifty,  and  hard  as  a 
diamond  at  a  trade.  He  could  buy  the  best  of 
jiroduce  at  the  cheapest  rates,  and  he  could  sell 
his  auction-bought  goods  at  alarmingly  high 
prices.  In  short,  he  never  failed  to  make  a 
roimd  profit  at  both  ends  of  a  bargain.  He  did 
not  hesitate  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  honesty 
when  lie  had  a  fair  chance,  though  he  always  did 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  his  old  adage  "  A  bar- 
gain is  a  bargain  "  would  safely  shield  him. 

"Lyman,"  said  he  to  his  son,  one  day,  a 
young  man  some  twenty  years  of  age,  and  al- 
most the  counterpart  of  his  father,  save  that  he 
showed  more  recklessness  of  disposition,  "  did 
you  make  a  trade  with  farmer  Jones  V 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  you  charge  him  for  that  sugar  and 
te&V 

"  Ninepence  for  the  sugar,  and  half  a  dollar 
for  the  tea.  Made  him  believe  'twas  extra  nice, 
you  see." 

"  That's  right.  And  what  did  you  charge 
him  for  the  cotfee  V* 

"Ah,  there  I  had  him !  I  made  the  old  man 
believe  'twas  extra  old  Java — charged  him  fifteen 
cents." 

"  Pretty  good,  my  son,  only  you  might  have 
put  on  the  half  cent.  You  see  you  can  make  a 
great  point  out  of  that.  When  yon  come  the 
half  cents  over  them  they  think  you  are  shaving 
closer  dosvn  to  cost.  But  you  did  very  well, 
Lyman.  Now  what  did  you  allow  Jones  for  his 
beans  1" 

"  Seven  an'  sixpence." 

"0,  you  shouldn't  have  done  that.  A  dol- 
lar, or  dollar  nn'  ninepence  would  have  been 
enough." 

"But  they  were  nice  ones,  father ;  carefully 
picked  and  clean." 

"  You  should  have  made  him  believe  they 
were  poorer." 

"  Bat  how  V 

"  Why,  wlicn  you  found  the  old  man  had 
beans  to  exchange  for  his  goods,  you  should  have 
taken  a  handful  of  poor  ones  from  one  of  our 
barrels,  and  watched  your  opportunity  to  scatter 
them  over  the  top  of  his.  Don't  you  under- 
stand V 

"  Yes,  I  sec  now,  father." 

"  That's  right.  We  must  live  and  thrive,  you 
ficc,  and  he  who  makes  the  most,  comes  out  best 
at  the  end.  Always  take  advantage  of  a  cus- 
tomer when  you  can,  but  be  careful  and  keep  the 
bright  side  out." 

This  was  the  way  the  father  taught  his  son, 
and  how  that  son  profited  by  it  tlic  sequel  will 
show. 

"By  the  way,  Lyman,"  continued  the  old 
man,  "  I  have  discovered  who  it  is  that  has  been 
robbing  my  money-drawer." 


"Ah!"  uttered  the  son,  turning  at  that  mo- 
ment to  arrange  a  piece  of  calico,  which  didn't 
need  any  fixing  at  all.     "And  who  is  if!" 

"  Wilton  Cuniiingliani." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  in  the  least.  I  never 
liked  the  fellow,  and  I  have  often  wondered 
what  made  you  keep  him." 

"I  wouldn't  have  kept  him,  only  that  he  is 
uucli  a  remarkably  smart  book-keeper,  and  such 
a  beautiful  writer,  too.     He  aint  fit  to  trade." 

"No;  you  can  never  make  him  believe  it's 
right  to  drive  a  snug  trade.  But  how  did  yon 
manage  to  detect  him?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  returned  the  old  man.  "  Last 
week  I  took  particular  notice  of  some  silver  dol- 
lars that  were  in  tlie  money-drawer,  and,  deter- 
mined that  L  would  set  a  trap  for  the  thief.  I 
took  four  of  the  pieces  and  crossed  them  very 
carefully,  and  in  such  a  manner  that  one  not  ac- 
quainted with  the  secret  would  not  be  likely  to 
notice  it;  then  I  put  them  back  into  the  drawer. 
Next  morning  one  of  them  was  gone,  and  as  all 
our  trade  the  day  before  had  been  barter  or  cre- 
dit, I  knew  that  it  could  not  have  been  given  in 
change.  Of  course  my  suspicions  fell  upon 
Wilton,  and  I  at  once  began  to  look  about  to  see 
where  he  had  spent  money,  and  I  found  that  he 
had  paid  Mr.  Willey  for  his  mother's  rent.  I 
went  to  Mr.  Willey,  and  asked  to  see  the  money 
Wilton  had  paid  him,  and  I  found  my  crossed 
dollar  among  it.     It's  as  plain  as  daylight." 

"  Certainly  it  is,"  said  Lyman. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,"  added  the 
old  man,  in  a  confident  tone,  and  then,  with  a 
sarcastic  sneer,  he  said  :  "His  seeming  honesty 
is  all  the  result  of  fear.  He  dares  not  make  a 
bold  trade,  but  he  can  steal  in  the  dark,  though." 

Just  then  a  customer  entered,  and  while  Mr. 
Randall  was  trading  with  him,  Wilton  Cunning- 
ham came  in.  The  latter  was  not  over  one-and- 
twenty,  and  though  "  appearances  are  deceitful," 
yet  it  would  be  hard  work  to  make  a  physiogno- 
mist believe  that  he  could  be  capable  of  theft. 
The  young  clerk  went  immediately  to  his  desk, 
and  as  soon  as  Mr.  Randall  was  at  liberty,  he 
joined  him. 

"You  need  not  open  your  books  this  morning, 
sir,"  said  the  trader. 

The  young  man  looked  around  in  surprise. 

"Mr.  Cunningham,"'  continued  Randall,  "1 
have  discovered  who  it  is  that  has  been  for  so 
long  a  time  robbing  my  money-drawer." 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  trapped  him,  and  you  may 
judge  of  my  surprise  upon  finding  it  to  be  none 
other  than  Wilton  Cunningham." 

"  Do  you  mean  me,  sir  1"  uttered  the  young 
man,  stepping  down  from  his  stool  and  boldly 
facing  his  accuser. 

"  Of  course  I  do,  and  I  have  proof  of  what  I 
say." 

"  No  man,  Mr.  Randall,  can  produce  a  proof 
of  dishonesty  in  me." 

"Not  quite  .so  fast,  sir.  Did  you  not  pay  to 
Mr.  Willey  the  rent  for  the  house  which  your 
mother  occupies  V 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"And  did  you  not  give  him  this  dollar?" 
asked  Mr.  Randall,  producing  the  dollar  he  had 
crossed. 

"  I  might  have  done  it,  sir,  for  I  paid  him  sev- 
eral silver  dollars." 

"Ay,"  returned  the  old  man,  with  a  sort  of 
triumphant  look,  "and  that  dollar  was  stolen 
from  my  drawer  last  Wednesday  night,  and  you 
paid  it  away  on  the  same  night.  Now,  how  came 
you  by  if?" 

"  If  I  paid  it  to  Mr.  Willey—" 

"Butyoud'/rf  pay  it  to  him.  He  can  swear 
to  that." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  know  not  where  I  got  it.  I  had 
several  of  them.  Some  my  mother  has  taken  for 
butter  and  cheese,  and  some  I  have  laid  away." 

"  Yes,  some  you  have  laid  away!  T//ai  dol- 
lar, sir,  you  took  from  my  drawer  last  Wednes- 
day evening.     You  stole  it!" 

"  Mr.  Randall,"  said  Wilton,  in  a  tone  of  calm 
indignity,  "I  hardly  know  how  to  meet  your 
charge.  To  deny  it  would  be  only  to  contradict 
you ;  but  I  do  deny  it,  and  I  call  on  God  to  wit- 
ness that  I  never,  to  my  knowledge,  wronged  a 
man  to  the  amount  of  a  cent.  I  shall  see  Mr. 
Willey,  sir." 

"  Do  so.     I  will  go  with  you  at  once." 

Accordingly  Mr.  Randall  and  his  clerk  setoff. 
They  found  Mr.  Willey,  and  that  gentleman, 
though  he  felt  much  friendship  for  the  young 
man,  could  not  but  declare  that  the  crossed  dol- 
lar had  been  received  from  him.  Wilton  could 
not  deny  it ;  he  had  not  noticed  any  particular 
marks  upon  the  money  he  had  paid,  and  he  could 


only  reiterate  (he  asBertlon  that  he  had  not  taken 
it  from  his  employei''M  drawer,  lie  ftflt  giieved 
to  see  that  a  Hhadc  of  suspicion  rested  upon  the 
face  of  Mr.  Willey,  and  he  then  naw  how  strong 
was  the  evidence  agiunst  him.  He  turned  away 
to  hide  the  tear  that  sturicd  from  his  eye,  and  hia 
heart  swelled  with  a  painful  emotion. 

"  Is 'Squire  Bullard  at  home  f"  asked  Mr. 
Randall,  after  tlic  facts  in  the  ca.se  had  been  suf- 
ficiently diicussed. 

"  No.  He's  gone  down  to  I'orlland,  but  he'll 
be  at  home  to-night,"  returned  Mr.  Willey. 

"  Good  heavens !  Mr.  Randall,  you  do  not 
mean  to  make  a  legal  investigation  of  this  case  V 
cried  Wilton,  turning  pale  and  trembling  like  an 
aspen. 

"  Most  assuredly  I  do,"  calmly  returned  the 
trader.  "  If  you  are  innocent  you  will  have  no- 
thing to  fear." 

"And  suppose  I  cannot  prove  that  innocence  ?" 

"  That's  just  what  I'm  afraid  of,"  half  ironi- 
cally returned  Randall. 

"  0  God  !"  ejaculated  the  youth,  clasping  his 
hands  together  in  tortured  agony.  "  What  have 
I  done  that  I  should  come  to  this  V 

Mr.  Willey  liegan  to  show  evident  signs  of  re- 
pentance that  he  had  been  instrumental  in  bring- 
ing this  about,  and  as  Randall  noticed  it,  he 
made  haste  to  cut  the  meeting  short. 

"  You  need  not  go  back  to  the  store  with  me," 
he  said  to  his  clerk,  "but  I  shall  sec  you  this 
evening." 

Wilton  Cunningham  turned  his  steps  home- 
ward, but  his  walk  was  slow  and  sad.  He  knew 
the  disposition  of  Mr.  Randall,  that  he  was  hard- 
hearted, grasping,  ?.varicious,  and  capable  of 
doing  anything  that  might  answer  his  own  ends ; 
but  he  knew  not  then  all  the  ends  the  trader  had 
in  view — ends  which  will  be  easily  understood 
by  a  slight  conversation  at  the  store. 

"Lyman,"  said  Mr.  Randall,  after  he  had  re- 
turned from  Mr.  Willey's,  "  I've  got  young 
Qunningliam  hard  and  fast.  The  evidence  is 
clear,  and  if  Bullard  gets  home  before  dark,  I'll 
have  him  examined  and  bound  over  for  trial 
this  very  night." 

"But  you  don't  really  mean  to  try  Wilton  for 
theft,  do  you?"  asked  Lyman. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Do  you  suppose  a  man 
shall  rob  me  with  impunity  V 

"  But  you  might  turn  him  ofi^,  father,  and  keep 
back  his  last  quarter's  salary." 

"  You  don't  know  all,  Lyman.  The  young 
fellow  might  have  been  likely,  hadn't  this  thing 
have  turned  up,  to  have  proved  a  dangerous 
rival  to  us." 

"  How  so,  father  V 

"  By  setting  up  an  opposition  store." 

"But  he  hasn't  the  capital. " 

"He  can  raise  it,  though.  That  old  Jones 
that  was  in  here  this  morning  has  oflfered  to  lend 
him  two  thousand  dollars,  and  others  have  offer- 
ed to  advance  him  money  if  he  will  open  a  new 
store." 

"  That  would  be  rather  dangerous  business 
for  you/'  remarked  Lyman,  in  a  thoughtful 
mood. 

"But  he  wont  do  it  now,"  the  old  man  re- 
turned, with  considerable  satisfaction.  "  This 
thing  will  shut  him  up." 

When  Wilton  reached  his  home,  he  found  his 
mother  sitting  in  lier  front  room,  and  he  at  once 
told  her  all  that  had  passed.  She  was  horror- 
struck,  but  not  for  a  single  instant  did  she  enter- 
tain a  question  with  regard  to  the  entire  inno- 
cence of  her  dear  boy.  She  was  confident  that 
all  the  money  she  had  given  her  sou  towards 
paying  the  rQ|jt  she  had  received  from  Portland, 
and  that  she  had  had  it  in  her  possession  for 
several  weeks  before  it  was  thus  paid  out. 

The  conversation  between  the  mother  and 
child  was  long  and  earnest,  but  they  could  find 
no  clue  to  the  solving  of  the  difficulty.  All 
looked  dark  and  gloomy. 

After  dinner,  Wilton  put  on  his  hat  and  took 
a  few  turns  in  the  garden.  He  seemed  to  be 
struggling  with  some  strong  desire,  and  more 
than  once  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  latch  of  the 
gate,  and  then  turned  and  went  back  again.  At 
length  he  placed  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  and 
muttered  a  few  incoherent  sentences  to  himself. 
When  he  looked  up  again,  he  was  pale  and  sad, 
hut  appeared  no  longer  undecided.  He  opened 
the  gate  and  passed  out  into  the  street,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  loft  he  walked  away  from  the  vilhige. 
At  the  distance  of  half  a  mile,  he  came  to  a 
small  white  farm  house,  where  lived  Mr.  Drake, 
one  of  the  thrifiiest  farmers  in  the  town,  and  as 
he  turned  up  the  pink -bordered  walk  that  led  to 
the  door,  he  was  met  by  a  happy,  laugliing, 
beautiful  girl  who  came  running  out  to  meet  him. 


"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  dear  Wilton  ?"  she 
exchiimed,  as  she  noticed  the  pallor  that  over- 
spread Ilia  features. 

"  Come  into  the  house  and  I  will  tell  you,"  he 
returned. 

Alice  Di-ake  took  the  young  man  by  the  hand 
and  walked  wir'^  him  up  through  the  garden. 
When  tliey  reached  the  sittlngroom,  Wilton 
Cunningham  closed  the  door,  and  then  taking  a 
scat,  he  drew  Alice  to  his  side,  and  told  her  all 
that  had  transpired.  His  voice  was  firm,  for  he 
had  schooled  himself  to  the  task. 

"And  now/'  he  continued,  a*  he  finished  his 
Btory,  "  I  have  thought,  Alice,  that  it  would  be 
better  for  me  to  tell  you  this  than  to  have  it  como 
to  you  from  other  lips.  I  know  not  how  it  will 
turn  out,  but  I  fear  that  I  shall  be  unable  to  di.-i- 
prove  Mr.  Randall's  charge.  In  all  probability 
I  shall  this  evening  be  called  before  'Squire  Bul- 
lard for  examination,  and  the  event  cannot  but 
cast  a  foul  stain  upon  my  reputation.  It  is  a 
painful  thing  to  be  situated  thus,  for  others  mnst 
suffer  besides  myself;  but  you,  Alice,  I  would 
free  from — " 

Willon  hesitated  and  wiped  a  tear  from  his 
eye,  but  he  soon  gained  his  self-possession, 
though  his  voice  faltered  as  he  continued  : 

"  You  know  our  relations,  dear  Alice,  but  if 
this  stain  falls  upon  me,  I  must  release  you 
from  your  vows.  One  so  pure  as  you  should 
not  be  united  with  a  man  upon  whose  name  even 
a  suspicion  of  crime  can  fasten  itself.  It  is  like 
taking  my  life  itself  thus  to — " 

"Hold,  Wilton,"  uttered  the  fair  girl,  who 
had  managed  thus  far  Vo  keep  back  her  tears. 
"  Are  you  guilty  of  this  thing  V 

"  It  is  cruel  to  ask  me  that,  Alice." 

"I  ask  it,  nevertheless." 

"As  there  is  a  God  who  hears  me  now,  the 
thought,  even,  of  such  a  crime  never  entered  my 
mind.  The  person  does  not  live  who  can  say 
with  ti'uth  that  I  ever  wronged  him  or  her." 

"  I  believe  you,"  returned  Alice,  laying  her 
hand  upon  Wilton's  shoulder  and  gazing  affec- 
tionately into  his  face.  "  I  know  you,  and  know- 
ing you  as  I  do,  I  shall  never  forsake  you. 
When  I  promised  to  be  yours  for  life,  I  did  it 
upon  mature  deliberation,  nor  did  I  mean  that 
the  first  time  the  cold  breath  of  slander  or  sus- 
picion fell  upon  you,  that  I  should  throw  yon 
off." 

"Noble,  generous  girl!"  murmured  Wilton, 
as  he  wound  his  arm  about  her,  "  this  takes 
away  half  the  sting ;  but  you  must  remember 
well  what  you  do." 

"I  l-iiow  what  I  would  do,  Wilton.  Ah,  if  I 
could  forsake  you  in  your  trouble,  how  unwor- 
thy should  I  be  of  the  sacred  oflSce  of  wife  ! 
But  tell  me,  have  you  no  suspicions?  You  say 
that  for  some  time  various  small  snms  of  money 
have  been  taken  from  Randall's  drawer." 

"Yes,  dearest;  for  over  a  year  there  have 
frequently  been  discrepancies  between  our  cash 
record  and  the  amount  in  the  drawer ;  but,  in 
many  cases,  it  has  been  the  result  of  Mr.  Ran- 
dall's own  carelessness  in  taking  money  during 
the  day  for  small  purchases  without  giving  a 
minute  of  it ;  but,  in  some  instances,  I  know 
that  money  has  been  stolen." 

"  And  have  you  no  suspicions  of  who  took 
it?"  asked  Alice,  with  much  earnestness. 

"  I  do  not  know  who  took  it,  and  it  would  be 
ungenerous  to  tell  of  mere  suspicions." 

"  Well,  I  have  my  suspicions,"  said  Alice. 
"  I  was  in  the  store  after  you  went  away  to  sup- 
per last  Wednesday  evening,  and  I  waited  some 
time  for  you  to  come  back,  but  I  got  tired  ;  so  I 
came  away  without  seeing  you." 

"  Well,"  uttered  the  young  man,  in  almost 
breathless  anxiety,  "  did  you  see  anything  out  of 
the  way  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of;  but,  while  I  was  there, 
I  saw  Mr.  Randall  go  away  from  the  desk  where 
you  write,  and  put  some  heavy  pieces  of  silver 
into  the  money  drawer,  and  when  he  went  out 
of  the  store,  I  went  too,  for  I  did  not  like  to  re- 
main after  he  had  gone." 

"  That  was  probably  the  money  he  marked, 
and  it  was  after  he  had  gone  home  that  that  mo- 
ney was  taken,  for  when  the  drawer  was  taken 
out  of  the  safe,  the  next  morning,  he  says  it  was 
gone ;  and  it  was  after  that,  too,  that  I  paid  Mr. 
Willey." 

For  some  time  Alice  Drake  sat  in  deep  thought. 
Her  fingers'  ends  were  placed  upon  her  brow, 
and  weighty  ideas  seemed  revolving  in  her  mind. 
At  length  she  raised  her  head,  and  in  a  hopeful 
tone,  she  said  : 

"You  have  many  friends,  Wilton,  and  some 
who  may.  help  you  in  this  emergency.  I  will 
myself  seek  them.     Ah,  there  goes  'Squire  Bui- 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


363 


lai-d  now.  You  had  better  return  to  your  own 
cottage,  and,  trust  me,  a  woman's  wit  may  be  a 
match  for  them  all." 

"  But  I  cannot  consent  to  this,  Alice,  that  you 
should — " 

"  Let  me  have  my  own  way  this  time,"  inter- 
rupted Alice,  "  and  I  assure  you  that  you  shall 
not  often  find  me  so  stubborn.  The  merest  ac- 
cident in  the  world  may  turn  the  whole  current 
of  affairs." 

"  Well,  be  it  as  you  like,"  returned  Wilton, 
as  he  arose  from  his  seat,  "  though  it  will  be  a 
lucky  accident  that  settles  this  in  my  favor, 
though  God  knows  it  would  be  a  just  one." 

Shortly  afterwards  young  Cunninghaai  kissed 
Alice,  and  then  turned  his  steps  towards  his 
home.  He  had  been  in  the  house  but  a  short 
time  before  he  saw  Alice  ride  past  alone  in  her 
father's  wagon.  He  had  not  yet  dared  to  tell 
his  mother  that  he  expected  to  be  taken  to  a 
lawyer's  office,  and  rather  than  she  should  know 
of  it  till  the  result  had  appeared,  lie  resolved  to 
seek  Mr.  Randall  ere  he  should  be  sent  for,  and 
with  this  view  he  told  his  mother  merely  that  he 
was  going  to  the  store,  and  then  left  the  house. 
Before  he  reached  the  store,  however,  he  met  the 
deputy-sheriff,  who  already  held  an  order  for  his 
arrest.  Mi-.  Randall  having  entered  a  complaint. 

It  was  not  until  after  dark  that  Wilton  Cun- 
ningham was  conveyed  to  the  office  of  Mi*.  Bul- 
lard,  and  when  he  arrived  he  found  not  only  his 
accuser  and  his  witness  there,  but  also  several  of 
the  towns-people  besides. 

Those  who  know  anything  about  the  prelimi- 
nary examination  of  a  complaint  in  one  of  our 
country  lawjers'  offices,  understand  pretty  well 
the  latitude  that  is  generally  given  to  not  only 
witnesses,  but  also  to  plaintiff  and  defendant. 

Mr.  Bullard  opened  by  reading  Mr.  Randall's 
charge,  to  which  Wilton,  of  course,  responded 
"  not  guilty."  Randall  then  made  his  statement 
in  full.  His  son,  Lyman,  was  called  upon  to 
testify  to  the  fact  that  money  had  frequently  been 
stolen  from  his  drawer.  Just  as  young  Randall 
was  delivering  his  testimony  with  a  brazen-faced, 
offhanded  manner,  old  farmer  Jones  entered  the 
office,  followed  by  Alice  Drake  and  Mark  Loud, 
the  latter  of  whom  was  a  hostler  in  Mi\  Willey's 
stable. 

Randall  felt  uneasy  when  he  saw  Jones  enter, 
for  ho  did  not  like  the  man  at  all;  but  Lj'man 
betrayed  the  most  trepidation,  and  for  why  will 
shortly  be  seen. 

Mr.  Willey  was  then  called  upon  for  his  evi- 
dence, which  he  gave  with  precision  and  confi- 
dence. 

"  This  thing  looks  rather  dark,"  remarked 
Mr.  Bullard,  bending  a  sort  of  compassionate 
look  upon  Wilton. 

"'Squire,"  said  farmer  Jones,  in  his  Rsual 
blunt  way,  rising  slowly  to  his  feet,  "I  don't 
know  much  about  your  law  regulations,  but  I 
'spose  you  wouldn't  have  no  objections  to  my 
asking  a  few  questions  just  about  as  I've  a  mind 
toV 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  the  lawyer,  with  an 
air  of  deference,  for  farmer  Jones  was  one  of  the 
most  honest,  upright  and  influential  men  in  tlie 
tovm. 

"  Well,  then,  'squire  ;  'bout  an  hour  ago  Miss 
Alice  Drake  come  drivin'  up  to  my  house,  an' 
asked  me  if  I  didn't  remember  of  bein'  in  Ran- 
dall's store  last  Wednesday  night,  an',  of  course, 
I  remember  it,  though  I  don't  'spose  I  should 
ever  have  thought  of  it  agin  in  the  world,  if  she 
hadn't  'ave  mentioned  it.  Well,  I  come  rfght 
down  with  her,  and  a  tween  us  both  we've  got 
up  considerable  of  a  story.  Now,  I  should  just 
like  to  ask  Mr.  Randall  where  his  son  was  Sun- 
day 'fore  last." 

"  He  was  at  P Hill,  to  attend  meeting  all 

day,"  returned  Randall ;  but  when  he  saw  how 
his  son  trembled,  he  evinced  some  strong  mis- 
givings on  that  point. 

"  Rayther  guess  you're  mistaken  on  that 
point,"  said  Jones.  "I  saw  him  an'  old  Samp- 
son's boy,  with  one  of  Mi".  Willey's  wagons, 
postin'  off  airly  in  the  mornin'  in  another  direc- 
tion ;  an',  if  I  aint  mistaken,  they  spent  a  good 
part  of  the  day  on  Thompson's  Pond  a  fishin'." 

Mr.  Randall  turned  sharply  upon  his  sou,  and 
asked  if  that  was  true.  Lyman  at  first  denied 
the  gentle  insinuation,  but,  at  length,  he  was 
obliged  to  own  it. 

"Well,  that's  so  much  gained,"  continued 
Jones;  and  then,  with  lawyer-like  tact,  he  turn- 
ed to  Mr.  Willey.  " Mr.  Willc}-,"  said  he,  "how 
do  you  know  that  Wilton  Cunningham  gave  you 
that  crossed  dollar  that  Randall  lost  out  of  his 
drawer  V 


"Because  no  one  else  paid  me  any  such  mo- 
ney on  that  day,"  answered  Willey. 

"  Where  did  you  put  that  money  wlien  you 
got  it?" 

"  In  my  drawer." 

"  And  doesu't  somebody  else  ever  go  to  that 
drawer'?" 

"  No  one  but  Mark  Loud." 

"Well,"  continued  Jones,  "  last  Wednesday 
night  I  left  my  horse  in  your  shed,  and  after  the 
store  was  shut  up  I  went  after  him,  and  just  as  I 
was  onhitchiii'  him,  Mr.  Lyman  Randall  steps 
in  and  pays  Mark  Loud  for  the  horse  he  had  the 
Sunday  before,  though  he  didn't  notice  me  when 
he  did  it.  When  I  turned  into  the  street,  I  saw 
Alice  Drake,  an'  I  offered  to  cany  her  home, 
though  I  had  to  go  some  distance  out  of  my  way. 
As  we  were  riding  along,  we  got  to  speaking 
about  Randall,  an'  I  told  her  all  about  Lyman's 
ridin'  off"  Sundays,  an'  that's  the  way  she  hap- 
pened to  hit  on  me  in  this  case." 

"But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  my  com- 
plaint?" asked  Randall,  in  considerable  passion. 

"  Only  just  this,"  returned  Jones,  with  a  pecu- 
liar leer :  "  It  was  your  son  that  paid  that 
crossed  dollar!" 

"  It's  a  fact,"  said  Mark  Loud,  hopping  up 
from  his  seat.  "Lyman  Randall  paid  it  to  me 
for  the  horse,  and  I  put  it  into  the  drawer  with 
some  of  the  others,  and  if  you'll  look  on  the 
book,  you'll  find  that  I  gave  him  credit  for  it." 

"  I  remember  now  that  I  noticed  the  credit," 
said  Mr.  Willey;  "but  there  was  only  the  same 
number  of  silver  dollars  that  I  put  in  there  my- 
self, for  I  counted  them." 

"  Because  I  gave  one  of  them  to  Sam  Kendall 
in  change  for  a  two  dollar  bill,"  explained  Mark, 
"and  that  was  before  I  took  the  dollar  of 
Lyman." 

"And  how  do  you  know  that  it  was  the 
crossed  dollar  you  took  of  my  son  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Randall. 

"  Because  I  took  particular  notice  of  it,"  re- 
turned Loud.  "You  see  when  the  Portland 
stage  got  in,  and  after  the  horses  were  put  up, 
the  driver  wanted  to  'odd  and  even'  with  me  to 
see  who  should  carry  the  mail  up  to  the  post 
office ;  so  I  took  out  this  dollar — for  I  hadn't 
had  a  chance  to  carry  it  into  the  office, — and  I 
agreed  to  let  him  guess  on  the  date  of  that,  and 
when  I  come  to  look  at  the  figures,  I  found  a  lit- 
tle cross  that  looked  as  though  it  had  been  cut 
in  with  a  knife,  and  one  end  of  it  came  right 
down  to  the  date.  If  that's  the  dollar  that  Ran- 
dall's got,  you'll  find  it  just  as  I've  said." 

This  produced  quite  a  marked  sensation;  and 
when  Mr.  Randall  was  asked  to  show  the  dol- 
lar, he  freely  acknowledged,  though  with  accu- 
mulated wi'ath,  that  there  was  no  need  of  it. 

"  Then,  of  course,  you  withdraw  your  com- 
plaint," said  Bullard. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Randall ;  and  then  turning 
savagely  upon  his  son,  he  hissed  out  from  be- 
tween his  clenched  teeth  :  "  Lyman,  you  scamp, 
you  shall  suffer  for  this.  Come,  sir,  and  I'll 
teach — " 

But  the  boy  did  not  choose  to  hear  any  more, 
for  quickly  turning  at  bay,  he  retorted : 

"  Now  look  here,  father,  you'd  better  keep 
dark,  for  I  think  /  can  tell  some  things  as  icell  as 
you  !" 

Elias  Randall  was  humbled  in  a  moment,  and 
like  a  whipped  cur,  he  turned  to  leave  the  office; 
but  before  he  did  so,  he  heard  farmer  Jones 
remark ; 

"  Like  father  like  son.  The  boy's  learned  his 
lesson  well !" 

There  were  tears  in  Wilton  Cmmingham's 
eyes  when  he  took  Alice  by  the  hand,  but  he 
could  not  speak ;  nor  could  she,  for  her  excite- 
ment had  been  too  great ;  but  of  one  thing  I  am 
sure :  in  less  than  two  short  months,  they  had 
spoken  to  some  purpose,  for  they  had  become 
one  for  life,  and  on  the  next  Monday  afterwards, 
Wilton  opened  a  large  store  with  a  freely-loaned 
capital  of  eight  thousand  dollars. 

Just  seven  years  have  passed  away  since  then. 
Mr.  Randall  lost  all  his  customers  in  less  than  a 
year  after  the  opening  of  the  new  store,  for, 
through  Cunningham's  honest  trading,  the  peo- 
ple found  how  shamefully  they  had  been  cheat- 
ed, and  the  latter  has  not  only  cleared  enough  to 
refund  his  borrowed  capital  but  he  has  gained  a 
large  circle  of  true  hearted  friends,  such  as  true 
honest  worth  never  fails  to  win.  Lyman  Ran- 
dall was  just  in  time  to  take  ihc  first  "Oregon 
fever ;"  while  his  father  went  to  Canada,  and  en- 
tered into  horse-trading,  but  no  one  ever  bought 
a  horse  of  him  the  second  lime,  and  he  has  sure- 
ly lived  to  appreciate  the  old  adage;  "He  who 
swims  in  small  sin^,  will  sink  in  greater  sorrows." 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    COTTAGE    BY    THE    SEA. 

DT  E.  CURTISS  niNE,  U.  S.  N. 

Where  the  hoarse-voiced,  wild  Atlantic 

Throws  its  waves  upon  the  strand, 
And  with  rage  and  fury  frantic, 

Shakes  the  shores  -with  briny  hand, 
In  a  white-walled  cot  resided 

Once  a  hardy  fisherman, 
Gilbert  Rollins,  and  he  prided 

Oft  himself  upon  his  Dan. 

Brave  was  Dan  to  breast  the  billows 

rtTien  the  storm  king  waked  the  deep  ; 
Wheo  the  tempest  raged  the  wildest, 

To  his  skiff  the  youth  would  leap, 
Out  upon  the  foaming  ocean, 

To  assist  some  stranded  bark, 
And  amid  the  storm's  commotion, 

Kescued  men  from  perils  dark. 

Once  in  chill  and  bleak  December, 

On  the  shore  a  ship  was  thrown  ; 
Well  the  day  I  now  remember. 

Wildly  did  the  ocean  moan. 
Rescued  were  the  crew  by  Daniel, 

Every  wight  received  his  care; 
And  among  them  was  a  spaniel 

Owned  by  noble  lady  fair. 

And  the  dog  she  gave  to  Rollins, 

For  his  conduct  on  that  day — 
Charming  young  Augusta  Rollins, 

Wrecked  near  wild  Lynhaven  Bay  I 
Gave  she  more  of  costly  treasure — 

AU  her  goods  and  worldly  pelf; 
But  she  gave  young  Dan  most  pleasure, 

When  she  gave  to  him — herself.' 

Now  they  dwell  in  yonder  cottage, 

Shining  by  the  deep  blue  sea; 
Happy  is  the  shipwrecked  lady, 

Singing  ever  merrily  ; 
And  she  never  sighs  to  journey 

To  her  friends  on  England's  shore ; 
For  she  loves  the  gallant  boatman 

And  the  wild  Atlantic's  roar ! 

ANIMALS  FEIGNIIVG  DEATH. 

The  character  for  subtlety  which  the  fox  had 
from  the  earliest  ages,  is  the  main  reason  why 
his  assumed  or  presumed  inanimation  when  in 
danger  has  been  ascribed  to  intention :  for  other- 
wise some  of  the  instances  we  have  given,  on 
this  supposition,  would  not  appear  to  be  exceed- 
ingly well  devised.  In  two  instances  which  I 
have  adduced,  at  least  an  effort  at  escape  would 
have  been  the  most  judicious  proceeding;  and 
in  his  adventure  with  the  countryman  it  seems 
surprising  that  this  was  not  attempted.  But  a 
more  probable  explanation  is,  that  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  encounter,  at  a  time  when  the  crea- 
ture thought  of  no  such  thing,  had  the  effect  of 
stupefying  his  senses ;  so  that  an  effort  at  escape 
was  out  of  his  power,  and  the  appearance  of 
death  was  not  the  fictitious  contrivance  of  cun- 
ning, but  the  consequence  of  terror.  And  that 
this  explanation  is  ttie  true  one  appears,  among 
other  proofs,  from  the  conduct  of  a  bolder  and 
more  ferocioas  animal,  the  wolf,  under  similar 
circumstances.  If  taken  in  a  pitfall,  it  is  said 
that  it  is  so  subdued  by  surprise,  that  a  man 
may  safely  descend  and  bind  and  lead  it  away, 
or  knock  it  on  the  head ;  and  it  is  also  said  that, 
when  it  has  wandered  into  a  country  to  which  it 
is  a  stranger,  it  loses  much  of  its  courage,  and 
may  be  assailed  almost  with  impunity. — Couch's 
Illustrations  of  Instinct. 


A  MATRIMONIAL  HINT. 

We  remember  somewhere  to  have  read  a  story 
of  a  youth  who,  hesitating  in  his  choice  between 
two  young  ladies,  by  both  of  whom  he  was  be- 
loved, was  brought  to  a  decision  by  means  of  a 
rose.  It  happened  one  day,  as  all  three  were 
wandering  in  a  garden,  that  one  of  the  girls,  in 
attempting  to  pluck  a  new-blown  rose,  wounded 
her  finger  with  a  thorn.  It  bled  freely;  and  ap- 
plying the  petals  of  a  white  rose  to  the  wound, 
she  said,  smiling :  "I  am  a  second  Venus;  I 
have  dyed  the  white  rose  red."  At  the  moment, 
they  heard  a  scream  ;  and,  fearing  the  other  lady, 
who  loitered  behind,  had  met  with  an  accident, 
hastened  back  to  assist  her.  The  fair  one's 
scream  had  been  called  forth  by  no  worse  an  ac- 
cident than  had  befallen  her  companion.  She 
had  angrily  thrown  away  the  offending  flower, 
and  made  so  pertinacious  and  fretful  lamentation 
over  her  wounded  finger,  that  the  youth,  after  a 
little  reflection,  resolved  on  a  speedy  union  with 
the  least  handsome,  but  more  amiable  of  the  two 
friends.  Happy  would  it  be  for  many  a  kind 
hearted  woman  did  she  know  by  what  seeming 
trifles  the  affection  of  those  whom  she  loves  may 
be  confirmed  or  alienated  forever. — Olire  Branch. 


GOOD  NATURE. 

One  cannot  imagine  any  quality  of  the  human 
mind  whence  greater  advantages  can  arise  to 
society  than  good  nature,  seeing  that  man  is  a 
social  being,  not  made  for  solitude,  but  conver- 
sation. Good  nature  not  only  lessens  the  sor- 
rows of  life,  but  increases  i  s  comforts.  It  is 
more  agreeable  than  beauty,  or  even  wit.  It 
gives  a  pleasi^ff  expression  to  tne  rourtenanre, 
and  induces  a  multitude  of  the  most  amiable  ob- 
servations. It  is,  inrleed,  ihe  orifiin  of  all  soci- 
ety. Were  it  not  for  goi-d  nature,  men  could 
not  exist  t.  geiher,  nor  hold  inicrcouisc  with  one 
another. — Men  and  Manneis. 


VEGETABLES  AND  FLOWERS  IN  ENGL.4.ND. 

The  advantages  arising  from  the  exploration 
of  foreign  regions  are  scarcely  to  be  enumerated. 
To  the  discovery  of  AmcriLa  by  the  illustrious 
Columbus,  we  owe  the  introduction  of  that  truly 
useful  root,  the  potato.  The  pear,  the  peach, 
the  apricot,  and  the  quince,  were  respectively 
brought  into  Europe  from  Epirus,  Carthage,  Ar- 
menia, and  Syria,  and  by  degrees  into  England. 
Cherries  are  of  very  ancient  date  with  us,  being 
conveyed  into  Britain  from  Rome,  A.  D.  55.  In 
the  King  of  Saxony's  museum,  at  Dresden,  there 
is  a  cherry-stone,  upon  which,  aided  by  a  micro- 
scope, more  than  a  hundred  faces  can  be  distin- 
guished. Dr.  Oliver  was  shown  a  cherry-stone 
in  Holland  with  one  hundred  and  twenty-four 
heads  upon  it,  and  all  so  perfect  that  every  one 
might  be  seen  with  the  greatest  ease  by  the  naked 
eye.  Melons  were  originally  brought  from  Ar- 
menia. According  to  Mr.  Andrews,  fruit  was 
very  rare  in  England  in  the  reign  of  King  Henry 
VIII;  that  gentleman  informs  us  that  apples 
were  then  not  less  than  one  or  two  shillings  each ; 
a  red  rose,  two  shillings ;  and  that  a  man  and 
woman  received  eight  shillings  and  fourpence 
for  a  small  quantity  of  strawberries.  Cabbages, 
carrots,  etc.,  were  introduced  about  the  year 
1547.  Previous  to  this  period.  Queen  Catharine 
of  Arragon,  first  consort  of  Henry  VIII,  when 
she  wanted  a  salad,  was  compelled  to  send  to 
Holland  or  Flanders  on  purpose.  About  this 
time,  apricots,  goosebenies,  pippins  and  arti- 
chokes, were  first  cultivated.  The  currant-tree 
came  from  Zante,  and  was  planted  in  England, 
A.  D.  1533.  Cos-lettuces  were  brought  from 
the  Island  of  Cos,  near  Rhodes,  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean. Asparagus,  beans,  peas  and  cauli- 
flowers, were  introduced  in  the  beginning  of  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.  Nor  can  we  claim  the  jes- 
samine, the  lily,  the  tulip,  etc.;  for  the  jessamine 
came  from  the  East  Indies,  the  lily  and  the  tulip 
from  the  Levant,  the  tube-rose  from  Java  and 
Ceylon,  the  carnation  and  pink  from  Italy,  and 
the  auricula  from  Switzerland.  Thus  it  appears 
that  nuts,  acorns,  and  a  few  wild  berries,  were 
almost  all  the  variety  of  vegetable  food  indige- 
nous to  our  island. — London  Journal. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    EVENING    CROSS. 

BY  CAKOLI^'E  A.  BATDEN. 

Day  waa  departing,  and  the  sun's  last  ray 
Shed  o'er  the  scene  a  soft,  yet  glorious  light ; 

Except  ■where  some  deep  silent  shadow  lay, 
As  if  to  usher  in  the  coming  night. 

The  summer  flowers  mth  half  closed  lids  were  sleeping, 
Hushed  by  the  murmuring  music  of  the  breeze ; 

While  the  light  clouds  above  them  softly  weeping. 
Joined  their  mute  praise  with  nature's  melodies. 

But  as  the  twilight  deepened  in  its  beauty, 
And  the  last  daybeam  glimmered  in  the  west ; 

When  pensive  thought  came  whispering  of  duty, 
And  wakened  deep  reflection  in  the  breast: 

High  o'er  all  was  seen  a  withered  pine, 
With  wide  spread  branches  ;  and  the  parting  ray 

Which  lingered  round  it  seemed  a  glow  divine, 
Such  as  hope  sheds  when  joy  has  passed  away. 

0,  nature  teacheth  many  a  truthful  lesson, 
And  from  that  evening  cross  there  seemed  to  come 

A  spirit  whii^per — earth  has  many  a  blessing  ; 
But  0,  remember  it  is  not  thy  home. 

The  sunniest  spots  are  often  dimmed  by  tears, 
And  life  grows  dark  beneath  misfortune's  frown  ; 

But  for  the  pure  in  heart  there  are  no  fears, 
Who  bear  the  cross,  shall  surely  win  the  crown. 


A  TRUE  LADY. 

"  I  cannot  forbear  pointing  out  to  yon,  my 
dearest  child,"  said  Lord  Collingwood  to  his 
daughter,  "the  great  advantages  that  will  result 
from  a  temperate  conduct  and  sweetness  of  man- 
ner to  all  people  on  all  occasions.  Never  forget 
that  you  are  a  gentlewoman,  and  all  your  words 
and  actions  sliould  make  you  gentle.  I  never 
heard  your  mother — your  dear,  good  mother — 
say  a  harsh  or  hasty  thing  to  any  person  in  ray 
life.  Endeavor  to  imitate  her.  I  am  quick  and 
hasty  in  my  temper,  but.  my  darling,  it  is  a  mif- 
fortune  which,  not  having  been  sufficiently  re- 
strained in  my  youth,  has  caused  me  inexpres- 
sible pain.  It  has  given  me  more  trouble  to 
subdue  this  impetuosity  than  anything  1  ever 
undertook." — EmjUsh  paper. 


SINGULAR  CUSr03I. 

A  part  of  Bohemia,  called  Egra,  seems  to  be 
the  only  place  where  a  wedding  is  not  considered 
an  occasion  of  rejoicing.  There  it  would  be 
deemed  indecorous  for  a  bride  to  appear  in  white 
garments,  or  adorn  herself  with  jewels  and  white 
flowei's.  She  wears  her  usual  black  dress,  with 
a  cloak  of  the  same  color,  with  a  rosemary  iu 
one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  veil  with  which  lo 
cover  her  during  the  ceremony.  In  this  dismal 
attire,  she  demurely  proceeds  to  the  church,  at- 
tended by  her  relations,  who  preserve  the  utmost 
solemnity  of  countenance  during  the  ceremonies, 
— Bridal  Customs. 


What  a  meaning  and  unique  expression  was 
that  of  a  younjj  Iri.^-li  girl,  who  was  rendering 
testimony  against  an  individual  in  a  New  Or- 
leans court,  not  long  since.  "  Arrah,  sir,"  said 
she,  "  I'm  shure  he  never  made  his  mother 
smile."  Thfre  is  a  biogrnpliy  of  unkirdness  in 
that  suuplc  SL-ntence. 


364 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


MONUftlENTAIj  FOUNTAIN  AT  NOIES,  IN  FRANCE, 

Tiio  city  of  Nimcs,  where  the  Romans — that  gigantic  nation  of 
the  past  centuries — have  left  behind  them  so  many  admirable 
monuments  which  remind  the  traveller  of  the  grandeur  of  their 
power,  has  recently  erected  a  fountain  on  the  Square  of  the  Es- 
planade, in  tlie  heart  of  the  new  quarter  of  the  eity.  The  work 
wna  designed  by  Mr.  Rcvoil,  of  Nitncs,  and  executed  by  Mr. 
Qucstel,  the  arcliitcet,  and  I*radier,  the  celebrated  French  sculp- 
tor. In  the  midst  of  an  octagon  basin  of  gray  marble,  bordered 
by  a  parterre  of  flowers,  and  surrounded  by  a  graceful  railing, 
rises  a  pedestal,  with  abutments  of  four  vases,  each  ornamented 
with  three  lions'  heads  spouting  water  into  the  central  vase.  A 
statue  of  gigantic  proportions,  draped  in  the  antique  style,  person- 
ifies the  city  of  Nimes.  Tlie  head  is  at  once  vigorous  and  grace- 
ful, and  is  surmounted  by  a  mural  crown,  containing  miniature 
copies  of  the  arena,  the  square  house,  the  court  house  and  the 
theatre — four  architectural  gems,  the  piido  of  tlie  city  which  the 
statue  represents.  The  right  hand  rests  upon  a  shield,  whereon 
tlie  sculptor  has  engraven  the  arms  of  the  city,  two  clasped  hands, 
the  symbol  of  good  faith,  and  the  crocodile  chained  to  a  palm- 
tree,  with  the  words  "  Colonia  Nemansensis/'  Colony  of  Nimcs. 
Below  this  figure,  at  the  four  angles  of  the  monument,  the  sculp- 
tor has  grouped  four  other  figures  of  the  same  size,  representing 
the  river  Gard  (Vardo),  the  Rhone  (Rhodanus),  the  fountain  of 
the  Eure  (Ura),  and  of  Nimes  (Nemansa).  The  two  first  rest  upon 
reversed  urns,  the  others  on  antique  masks,  whence  the  water  spouts 
into  tlic  great  vases.  The  Rhone,  placed  at  the  angle  wliich  faces 
the  arena,  rises  on  his  pedestal  with  the  vigor  of  an  Olympian  god, 
and  the  vine  winds  its  graceful  tendrils  round  his  powerful  limbs. 
The  Gard,  a  pendant  to  the  Rhone,  has  been  modelled  by  Pradier, 
with  rare  ability.  This  statue  offers  singular  beauties  in  the  fore- 
shortening. The  right  hand  grasps  a  trident,  and  the  head  ex- 
presses the  irritation  which  the  torrent,  pei sonified  by  the  sculptor, 


antiques.  But  it  would  have  been  more  consistent  with  good 
taste  to  have  preserved  it  untouched  and  unoccupied,  in  its  an- 
cient simplicity,  The  amphitheatre  of  Nimes  is  admitted  to  he 
the  most  perfect  structure  of  its  kind  extimt,  after  that  of  Verona. 
It  stands  on  one  of  the  boulevards,  surrounded  by  a  large  open 


./ 


.^.^ 


eenee  of  the  ancient  eity,  Nimes  does  not,  however,  owe  its  solo 
interest  to  its  antiquities.  It  has  several  largo,  and  socne  good 
modern,  edifices.  The  cathedral,  began  in  the  eleventh,  but  prin- 
cipally constructed  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  has 
but  little  to  recommend  it,  except  its  occupying  the  site  of  the 
temple  of  Augustus,  but  the  Palais  de  Justice,  on  the  esplanade, 
the  Hotel  Dieu,  principally  re  built  in  1830,  the  general  nospital, 
the  new  theatre,  several  of  tlie  churches  and  the  public  library, 
are  handsome,  well  contrived  buildings.  A  large  fortress  to  the 
north  of  the  city  was  constructed  by  Vauban,  on  tlie  site  previ- 
ously occupied  by  the  basins  that  received  the  water  brought  thith- 
er by  the  aqueduct  of  which  the  Pont  du  Gard  forms  a  part.  It 
is  now  the  central  prison  for  the  southern  departments  of  France, 
and  has  usually  about  1200  inmates.  The  bishop's  palace.  Epis- 
copal seminary,  college,  and  large  Ijarriicks,  are  the  other  princi- 
pal public  buildings.  The  esphnuuic  <ontiguou8  to  the  amphithe- 
atre, and  the  Cours  Nenf,  arc  uniung  the  finest  promenades.  The 
last  named  extends  quite  througli  the  western  part  of  Nimes  from 
north  to  south,  and  leads  to  the  fine  and  extensive  ./ar^^/n  rie /a 
Fontaine.  Tliis  garden  derives  its  name  from  a  large  and  hand- 
some fountain,  and  has  in  it  many  statues  and  other  Roman  an- 
tiquities, besides  the  vymphamm  mentioned  above.  The  Poni  du 
Gard  is  in  the  Tuscan  style ;  it  is  very  little  ornamented,  but  is  a 
highly  picturesque  object.  With  singular  good  fortune,  it  escaped 
dilapidation  during  the  dark  ages;  and  the  greatest  injury  it  ex- 
perienced was  in  1600,  from  the  Duke  de  Rohan,  who  broke  away 
a  portion  of  the  second  tier  of  arches  to  facilitate  the  passage  of 
his  artillery;  hut  the  breach  was  afterwards  repaired  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  states  of  Languedoc.  Nimes  is  a  bishop's  see,  the 
seat  of  a  royal  court  for  the  departments  Gard,  Lozere  and  Vau- 
cluse,  courts  of  primary  jurisdiction  and  commerce,  a  chamber  of 
commerce,  coi/srH  de  jn-ud'hommes,  a  university  academy,  the  royal 
academy  of  Gard,  a  royal  college  etc.     It  has  schools  of  drawing 


REPRESENTATION  OF  THE  MONUMENTAL  EOUJSTAIN  OF  NIMES,  IN  FRANCE. 


experiences  at  meeting  the  obstacles  thrown  in  its  way.  The 
fountain  of  Nimes,  which  faces  the  Montpelier  road,  exhibits  the 
traits  of  a  young  girl,  whose  graceful  figure  is  half  concealed  by 
drapery,  and  whose  head  is  covered  with  a  wreath  of  water  lilies. 
At  the  angle  which  faces  the  boulevards,  her  eyes  turned  to  the 
Beaucairc  Railroad,  the  fountain  of  Eure — a  lyre  in  her  hand,  a 
coquette  of  dreamy  air — seems  lending  an  attentive  ear  to  the 
murmur  of  the  water  running  at  her  feet.  The  whole  monument 
is  nearly  fifty  feet  high.  The  water  is  brought  by  canals  from 
the  basin  at  the  foot  of  Mount  d'Haussez,  the  source  of  the  deli- 
cious water  which  gave  the  Romans  the  idea  of  constructing  those 
magnificent  baths,  the  ruins  of  which  are  among  the  most  inter- 
esting fragments  of  antiquity  found  in  this  celebrated  city.  On 
turning  to  McCuUoch's  Geographical  Dictionary,  we  find  some 
interesting  facts  relative  to  this  ancient  city,  which  we  compile  as 
gratifying  to  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial  in  this  connection. 
Nimes  is  principally  interesting  on  account  of  its  antiquities,  of 
which  it  probably  possesses  more  than  any  other  city  of  Europe, 
Rome  excepted.  The  most  classical,  though  not  the  most  exten- 
sive, of  these  is  the  oblong  temple,  absurdly  called  the  il/a^soH- 
carree,  nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  city.  This  edifice  was  sup- 
posed, from  an  inscription  discovered  on  its  frieze,  to  have  been 
built  in  honor  of  Caius  and  Lucius  Caisar,  grandsons  of  Augus- 
tus; but,  from  subsequent  discoveries,  it  would  appear  to  have 
been  erected  to  the  adopted  sons  of  Antoninus  Pius.  At  any  rate, 
it  dates  from  the  finest  period  of  Roman  art,  and  is  one  of  its 
most  perfect  remains.  It  is  raised  on  a  platform  ascended  by 
fifteen  steps,  and  has  thirty  Corinthian  columns,  six  in  the  front 
and  at  the  back,  and  nine  on  each  side,  exclusive  of  those  at  the 
angles.  The  portico,  which  is  of  ample  dimensions,  is  supported 
by  six  detached  columns  in  front,  and  two  on  either  side :  the 
other  cohimns  on  the  sides  and  back  of  the  building  arc  sunk 
half  way  into  the  walls.  The  capitals  of  the  columns,  and  the 
frieze,  cornice,  and  other  parts  of  the  building,  are  profusely 
adorned,  in  the  most  exquisite  taste.  The  maison-carrec  was  con- 
siderably injured  in  the  middle  ages  ;  but  it  is  protected  from  fu- 
ture spoliation  by  being  enclosed  within  an  iron  palisade,  and 
';ince  1823  it  has  been  employed  as  a  museum  of  paintings  and 


space,  on  which  no  buildings  are  allowed  to  be  erected.  It  is  said 
to  have  been  founded  by  Antoninus  Pius.  Its  longest  external 
diameter  is  437  feet;  its  shortest  332  2-3  feet.  It  has  thirty-two, 
or,  according  to  some  authorities,  thirty-five  ranges  of  seats,  and 
is  variously  estimated  as  having  sufficient  accommodation  for 
from  17,000  to  23,000  spectators.  Though  it  was  occupied  by 
the  Visigoths,  and  afterwards  the  Saracens,  as  a  fortress  for  their 
defence  against  the  Franks,  the  outer  wall  is  still  nearly  entire. 
It  consists  of  two  stories,  each  having  sixty  arches,  and  an  attic 
story,  and  is  entered  by  four  gates,  one  at  each  of  the  cardinal 
points,  the  principal  being  on  the  north  side.  The  arcades  of  the 
ground  story  are  separated  by  pilastres,  those  of  the  upper  by  col- 
umns, in  an  irregular  Tuscan  or  Doric  style.  The  interior  is  in 
many  parts  dilapidated  and  overgrown  with  vegetation ;  but  it 
still  serves  for  bull-baits,  jousts,  and  dramatic  entertainments,  to 
which  the  modern  inhabitants  of  Nimes  are  as  much  addicted  as 
their  ancestors  were  to  the  more  barbarous  exhibitions  of  gladia- 
tors. A  few  portions  of  the  ancient  walls  still  remain,  princi- 
pally in  \hQ  Portes  d' Auguste  and  de  France:  the  first,  which,  in 
the  time  of  the  Romans,  was  the  principal  gate  of  the  city,  con- 
sists of  two  large  and  two  smaller  arches ;  the  former,  which  are 
in  the  middle,  have  between  them  a  small  Ionic  column,  respect- 
ing which  there  has  been  much  controversy,  all  the  other  decora- 
tions of  this  gate  being  of  the  Corinthian  order.  In  the  north- 
west part  of  Nimcs  is  a  ruined  vipv plin'}n)i,  or  Roman  bath,  of 
considerable  size,  improperly  termed  the  Temple  of  Diana.  Near 
this,  on  a  height  overlooking  the  city,  is  the  Tour  jnagne  {tan'is 
magna),  a  tower  supposed  to  have  been  built  by  the  Greek  colon- 
ists of  the  city  before  the  Roman  invasion  ;  but  the  original  pur- 
pose of  which  has  not  been  correctly  ascertained.  It  is  in  the 
Doric  style ;  its  lower  part  being  heptagonal,  its  upper,  octagonal. 
It  is  in  great  part  ruined :  but  being  still  one  hundred  feet  in 
height,  and  in  a  conspicuous  position,  it  is  used  to  support  a  tele- 
graph. The  above  are  the  principal  objects  of  architectural  inter- 
est in  the  city.  The  Vandals,  and  other  barbarians,  are  said  to 
have  destroyed  the  basilica  of  Plotinus,  the  temples  of  Apollo, 
Ceres,  Augustus,  etc.;  but  the  still  existing  memorials  of  antiquity 
are  more  than  sufl[icient  to  evince  the  almost  unequalled  magniH- 


and  chemistiy,  as  applied  to  the  arts,  societies  of  agriculture, 
medicine,  etc.,  a  Bible  society,  a  commission  of  antiquities,  an 
atheufEum,  an  extensive  public  library,  and  a  cabinet  of  natural 
history.  Nimes  is  further  distinguished  by  its  manufacturing  in- 
dustry. It  is  one  of  the  principal  seats  of  the  silk  manufacture  of 
France ;  ranking,  in  this  respect,  immediately  after  Lyons  and, 
perhaps,  St.  Etienne.  Its  manufactures  are  principally  silk  hosie- 
ry and  shawls ;  and  silk  stuffs  mixed  with  cotton,  linen  and  wool- 
en. There  are,  altogether,  between  7000  and  8000  looms  at 
work  in  Nimes,  many  of  which  are  Jacquard  looms.  All  the 
weavers  work  with  their  families  at  their  own  homes,  there  being 
no  large  factories  except  for  dyeing,  or  for  printing  silk  stuffs ; 
which  latter  branch  of  industry  has  greatly  augmented  since  1836, 
when  it  employed  from  GOO  to  700  hands,  exclusive  of  children. 
But,  thougli  the  silk  manufactures  of  Nimes  be  extensive,  the 
goods  produced  are  not  much  esteemed  by  the  upper  and  middle 
classes,  being  mostly  mere  imitations  of  those  of  Lyons,  and  of 
inferior  quality.  From  this  and  other  causes  the  export  trade  is 
small ;  its  industry  is  not  progressive,  and  its  population  often 
experiences  distressing  crises.  The  weavers  employ  about  eleven 
hours  a  day  at  the  loom  ;  the  wages  of  a  man  being  estimated  by 
Villerme  at  an  average  of  thirty  sous,  those  of  a  woman  at  twelve 
sous,  and  of  children  from  five  to  twelve  sous.  These  low  wages 
being  barely  sufficient  to  provide  current  necessaries,  the  weavers 
are  almost  all  wretchedly  clothed,  dirty,  and  ill-provided  with 
fuel  in  winter.  According  to  Villerme,  tliey  are  intelligent  and 
laborious,  and  not  addicted  to  drunkenness  or  other  kinds  of 
profligacy;  but  they  have  neither  economy  nor  foresight,  with 
the  exception  of  the  silk  stocking  weavers,  who  being  employed 
on  articles  less  subject  to  the  caprice  of  fashion,  are  less  affected 
by  crises  than  the  rest.  These  form,  in  fact,  a  separate  class,  dis- 
tinguished for  economy  and  prosperity,  notwithstanding  that  their 
wages  are  smaller  than  that  of  most  other  artisans.  The  beset- 
ting fault  of  the  working  population  of  Nimes  is  a  want  of  perse- 
verance. Few  are  able  to  write  and  read.  Besides  silks,  Nimes 
has  manufactures  of  cotton  goods,  gloves,  leather,  brandy  and 
vinegar,  and  a  good  deal  of  trade  in  wine,  essences,  drugs, 
colonial  produce,  etc 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


365 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Pkoprietor. 
MATCRIN   M.    BALLOtr,   Editor. 

CONTKNTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NUMBER, 

"  The  Story  of  a.  GeniuB  :  Drawn  from  Life."  by  Rev.  H- 
HiSTiKGS  Weld. 
''  Che  \Vay  to  Washiogton,"  No.   II,  by  Ben:   Perlet 

POOBE. 

'  Fashion,''  a  prose  sketch,  by  MRS.  E.  Wellmont- 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks,"  No.  XIV,  relating  to  the  Hos- 
pitals, by  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C.  Smith. 

"  Travels  in  Palestine,"  No.  XVI.  relating  to  Baalbec 
and  Lebanon,  by  Rev.  F.  W.  Holland. 

"  Where  have  they  vanished, "  lines  by  P.vbk  Benj.\MIN. 

"  December,"'  verses,  by  J-  Starr  Holloway. 

"  Freedom's    Avatar,"  poem,  by  Augustine  J.  H.  Dc- 

GANNE. 

'■  Old  Songs,"  verses,  by  Owen  G.  "WARREr. 
'•  Autumn,''  poem,  by  Alice  Caret. 
"  A'isions  of  the  Night,"  lines,  by  Kenneth  Sinclair. 
'■The  last  Look  on   Nature,"   verses,  by  Joseph  H, 
Bdtler. 
■'  iVood  Notes,"  lines,  by  Geo.  W.  Bungay. 

ILLTJSTBATIOirS. 

A  fine  and  very  accurate  pif'ture  of  the  Merchant's  Ex- 
change, Wall  street.  New  York,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade, 
will  be  given.     A  most  admirable  scene. 

A  capital  picture  of  Madame  Anna  Thillon.  in  character, 
as  she  lately  appeared  at  the  Howard  Athenieum,  by  our 
artist,  Mr.  Rows/^. 

A  capital  picture  of  the  Monument  of  John  Harvard,  at 
Charlestown,  Mass.,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Mallort/. 

A  fine  engraving,  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Rosenbitrg, 
representing  the  City  of  Chicago,  Illinois. 

A  picture  of  Lola  Montez,  in  character,  as  she  lately  ap- 
peart-U  upnn  the  stage. 

A  magnificent  large  picture,  covering  two  entire  pages 
of  the  f  ictorial,  representing  tne  famous  Battle  of  Water- 
loo, with  the  Iron  Duke  in  command.  This  is  one  of  the 
largest  and  finest  engravings  we  have  ever  yet  given  to 
our  readers,  and  will  be  highly  prized. 

An  accurate  likeness  of  Don  Pedro  II,  emperor  of  Brazil, 
shall  appear.     A  fine  picture. 

A.  very  interesting  rural  Harvest  Scene,  representing 
this  period  of  the  year  in  Ireland.  An  actual  scene  copied 
from  life  in  Kilkenny. 

A  picture  of  the  "  Black  Maria,"  so  called,  being  the 
famous  vehicle  in  which  prisoners  are  conveyed  to  and 
from  the  Phiiadelpliia  Court  House  and  the  Prison.  By 
our  artist,  Mr.  Deverevx. 

A.  fine  large  engraving  of  the  Beacon  Hill  Reservoir, 
Bu»Gon,  by  our  ariint,  Mr.  Warrtn.  An  admirable  draw- 
ing- 


fllRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 

In  a  delightfully  quiet  street,  in  the  up-town 
portion  of  New  York,  protected  from  dust  and 
stray  annoyances  by  a  deep  front,  thick  with 
foliage  and  pageant  flowers,  we  found  this  distin- 
guished authoress's  home.  With  "not  many 
but  good  hooks,"  and  such  surroundings  of  real 
comfort  as  a  happy  and  quiet  ta.ste  would  sug- 
gest, besides  numerous  mementoes  of  persons 
and  places,  which  she  has  gathered  in  foreign 
travel,  Mrs.  Stephens's  cottage  home  (Cottage 
Place)  seemed  very  interesting  to  us.  No  lady 
in  America  stands  higher  as  an  authoress.  She 
is  in  imagery  what  Washington  Allston  was  in 
combination  of  colors,  without  a  rival. 


SFLINTEBS. 


The  Archbishop  of  Paris  has  a  salary  of 

about  §10,000  for  the  office  which  he  fills. 

It  is  suggested  that  our  public  garden 

should  be  named  Webster  Park.     Very  good. 

There  were  one  hundred  marriage  certi- 
ficates issued  in  this  city  in  one  week,  lately. 

....  Mr.  Forrest  has  performed  a  successful 
engagement  at  the  Walnut  St.  Theatre,  Phila. 

....  Sontag's  appearance  at  the  new  musical 
hall  was  the  crowning  of  her  Boston  triumphs. 

....  After  an  absence  of  two  years  in  Italy, 
James  Russell  Lowell  has  returned  home. 

....  Charlotte  Cushman  and  Grace  Green- 
wood have  gone  to  Rome  for  the  winter. 

Miss  Kimberly  is  under  a  theatrical  en- 
gagement in  Philadelphia.     She's  very  popular. 

....  Please  remember  we  send  the  Flag  and 
Pictorial  together  for  S5  per  annum. 

....  Brackett  has  sold  his  **  Shipwi-ecked 
Mother  and  Child  "  to  the  Boston  Athenaum. 

The  prices  of  meat  and  bread  are  regu- 
lated by  law  in  Paris,  and  should  be  here. 

....  William  C.  Bryant,  the  editor  and  poet, 
has  gone  to  Europe  for  a  six  months'  tour. 

The  Bostonians  are  to  present  General 

Pierce  with  a  carriage  and  span  of  horses. 

Macallister,  the   wizard,  will   visit  this 

city  professionally  next  spring. 

Henry  Russell  is  still  coining  money  by 

his  vocal  entertainments  in  England. 

Park  Benjamin  has  been  lecturing  in  the 

western  cities  with  distinguished  success. 


LETTER  WRITING. 

Old  Howell  says,  speaking  of  letter  writing, 
we  should  write  ai  we  speak ;  and  that  is  a  true 
and  familiar  letter  which  expresses  our  mind  as 
if  wc  were  discoursing  orally  to  the  party  whom 
we  address.  Letters  written  thus  are  truly  de- 
lightful ;  their  charm  is  next  to  that  of  colloquial 
interest,  which  they  so  nearly  represent.  The 
y«//n7/ar  letters  of  great  men  are  more  historically 
true,  are  more  certain  indices  of  their  character, 
than  their  elaborate  speeches,  essays  or  works. 
We  except,  of  course,  the  letters  of  finished 
diplomatists. 

Various  are  the  styles  of  epistolary  ^vriting. 
The  letters  of  the  unlearned  generally  commence 
in  a  buoyant  and  spirited  manner  that  is  quite 
refreshing :  "  These  few  lines  come,  hoping  to 
meet  you  in  good  health."  An  Irish  letter  gen- 
erally begins  :  "I  take  the  opportunity  of  writ- 
ing." The  "opportunity"  alluded  to  being  the 
regular  mail  conveyance,  which  "  happens " 
daily  in  due  course  of  a  fixed  institution.  A 
lady's  letters  are  always  graceful,  whether  invet- 
erately  ili-spelled — like  those  of  the  beauteous 
days  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  when  orthography 
was  deemed  too  high  a  branch  of  learning  for 
the  feminine  intellect  to  master — or  perfectly 
coiTect.  But  they  are  all  alike  in  the  fact  that 
the  subject  nearest  the  writer's  heart  always 
appears  in  a  postsa-ipt,  like  an  afterthought. 

Some  letter  wTiters  are  distinguished  for  ex- 
treme brevity.  Foote's  mother  wrote  to  him  as 
follows  :  "Dear  Sam,  I  am  in  prison  for  debt." 
The  dutiful  son  replied  at  once  :  "  Dear  mother, 
so  am  I."  "  Old  Put,"  the  hero  of  Horseneck, 
announced  in  half  a  dozen  words,  that  one 
'•Palmer,  a  spy,  had  been  taken  in  camp,"  and 
added :  *'  P.  S.  He  is  hanged." 

Diplomatic  letters  are  not  examples  of  unvar- 
nished truth,  that  is  very  certain.  A  foreign 
ambassador  writes  to  another  foreign  ambassa- 
dor, whom  he  despises  and  hates  from  the  bottom 
of  his  heart,  signing  his  missive  ;  "  Be  pleased 
to  accept  the  assurances  of  my  most  distinguished 
consideration."  We  are  afraid  that  "your  duti- 
ful son,"  ought  oftener  to  be  rendered  "your 
scapegrace  of  a  boy  ;"  and  that  the  "  affection- 
ate" in  the  signature  of  an  absent  husband,  is 
sometimes  to  be  taken  cinn  grano  sah's. 

To  write  agreeable  letters  requires  a  peculiar 
faculty.  Many  excellent  general  writers  have 
failed  in  writing  epistles,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  some  of  the  best  letter  writers  have  never 
succeeded  in  writing  anything  else.  Burns's 
letters  are  stiff,  ungraceful  and  unsatisfactory; 
so  of  the  letters  of  many  other  distinguished  po- 
ets. Byron's  letters  are  delightful,  easy,  grace- 
ful, lively,  witty  and  humorous.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  wrote  admirable  familiar  letters. 

Political  letter  writing  is  the  hardest  of  all; 
and  many  a  promising  presidential  candidate 
has  ruined  his  political  prospects  by  a  dasli  of 
the  pen  !  Letters  play  a  prominent  part  in  the 
great  business  of  courtship,  but  how  few  of  the 
millions  which  are  written  would  bear  examina- 
tion by  other  than  interested  parties ! 


Monetary. — "Look  out  for  the  pence,  and 
the  pounds  will  take  care  of  themselves  !" — A 
note  shaver  commencing  business  with  a  capital 
ofSlO.OOOand  getting  one  per  cent,  a  month, 
the  usual  rate  demanded  of  "gentlemen  in  diffi- 
culties," at  the  end  of  twenty-five  years  will  have 
accumulated  S320,000.  Why  don't  everybody 
turn  curb-stone  broker  ? 


MUSICAIi. 

Sontag's  concerts,  in  this  city,  proved  to  be  a 
series  of  musical  triumphs,  such  as  we  have 
never  before  witnessed  in  Boston.  A  most  liber- 
al policy  had  induced  the  engagement,  as  assist- 
ants at  her  concerts,  of  Badiali,  Pozzolini,  Rocco, 
Alfred  Jaell,  the  pianist,  and  that  little  musical 
wonder — Paul  Julien,  the  violinist.  Anyone  of 
these  might  give  a  concert  in  this  city  with  some 
minor  auxiliary  talent,  and  command  a  house ; 
but  when  combined  upon  one  programme,  the 
bill  off'ered  was,  on  each  concert  evening,  a  mu- 
sical ovation  to  be  enjoyed  and  longremembered. 
If  we  are  not  much  mistaken,  this  visit  has  been 
a  most  agreeable  one  to  the  queenly  vocalist 
herself,  for  she  could  not  mistake  the  character 
of  her  audiences,  nor  fail  to  observe  the  complete 
triumph  she  achieved  in  their  appreciation.  The 
Bostonians  are  critical,  not  over  lavish  with  ap- 
plause ;  but  when  they  are  moved,  it  is  in  earnest, 
and  this  has  been  most  unmistakably  manifested 
during  each  of  her  five  concerts  at  the  Melodeon. 
Owing  to  the  admirable  arrangement  of  her  busi- 
ness agents,  the  series  of  entertainments  have 
been,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  entirely 
successful. 

We  arc  strongly  tempted  in  this  connection  to 
refer  to  some  personal  anecdotes  relative  to  Son- 
tag,  but  the  theme  is  too  fruitful  a  one  for  us  to 
touch  upon  lightly.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  since 
her  brief  sojourn  among  us,  many  of  her  delicate 
and  private  charities  have  transpired  in  a  way  to 
show  the  truth  and  beauty  of  her  woman  heart. 
Not  only  as  exercised  towards  members  of  her 
own  profession,  but  also  to  others.  The  pre- 
sentation to  her  of  a  Bible,  by  the  clergymen  of 
Boston,  through  the  venerable,  highly  respected 
and  beloved  Dr.  Sharp,  is  a  tribute  that  any 
artist  living  might  be  proud  of, 


CrLEAsos's  PICTORIAL.— Out  of  many  illustrated  period- 
icals which  have  been  started  in  this  country,  there  is  but 
one  that  can  be  said  to  have  been  successful,  and  estab- 
lished itself  permanently  and  eOectunlly.  That  one  is 
Gleason's  Pictorial.  This  elegantly  illustrated  weekly 
journal  has  won  for  itself  a  popularity  which  is  equalled 
by  no  other  publication  of  its  cast  in  this  country.  Its 
elaborately  executed  engravings,  its  varied  and  extensive 
miscellany,  its  original  poems — invested  with  much  that 
is  adapted  to  please  the  mind,  and  divested  of  all  that 
might  be  calculated  to  warp  the  judgment  or  debase  the 
pn-^sions — eminently  commend  it,  not  only  to  the  patron- 
Mge  of  the  family  circle  in  particular,  but  to  every  lover  of 
polite  literature  and  artistic  excellence  throughout  the 
land.— 2VoT/  DaUy  Post. 


National  Theatke. — We  were  much  pleased 
on  dropping  into  this  house,  the  other  evening, 
at  the  very  orderly  appearance  of  the  audience. 
The  National  inerits  and  will  command  success. 


Cleanliness  is  a  great  Virtue. — Wont 
the  overseer  of  the  Melodeon  be  so  good  as  to 
^have  the  floor  of  the  house  swept  1 


TnEATRiCAL. — The  Eagle  Theatre  has  folded 
its  wings,  and  gone  to  roost. 


"UNr-TE  Tom's   Cabin.' 
Museu  :i  is  a  great  "  hit." 


-This  play  at  the 


Our  next  Volume. — We  have  long  had  in 
preparation  a  series  of  improvements  for  the  Pic 
torial  which  we  have  at  last  perfected;  matters 
that  will  vastly  enhance  the  value  and  interest  of 
our  favorite  paper,  and  which  will  still  more  in- 
terest our  readers  in  its  weekly  visits  to  the  home 
circle.  Next  week  we  shall  speak  more  fully  of 
these  plans. 


"French  made  east." — Certain  quacks  en- 
gage to  "  teach  the  French  in  six  lessons." 
Louis  Napoleon  taught  the  French  in  one  lesson, 
on  the  2d  of  December,  who  was  their  master. 
The  great  emperor  was  famous  for  his  bulletins; 
the  little  emperor  may,  one  day,  find  a  biiilet-in 
— himself! 


Political. — It  is  untrue  that  Ensign  Stcb- 
bings  is  about  to  contest  the  election  of  Frank 
Pierce.  He  is  willing  to  give  the  administration 
a  fair  trial,  and  will  make  no  opposition.  If  the 
new  President  decides  upon  taking  Cuba,  "  peace- 
ably if  necessary,  forcibly  if  possible,"  Ensign 
Stebbings  will  be  "  thar !" 


Humiliating. — The  bones  of  the  heroes  of 
Waterloo  have  been  exported  by  cart-loads,  to 
be  used  np  in  the  manufacture  of  ivory  black. 
There's  glory  for  you  \ 

"  Imperial  Ca;.«ar,  dead  and  turned  to  clay. 
Might  stop  a  gap  to  keep  the  wind  away." 


Flag  of  our  Union. — 4mong  the  numerous  weeklies 
published  in  the  Atlantic  cities,  this  paper  '^stands  fully 
a  head  and  shoulders''  above  any  other  It  is  the  beft 
paper  that  we  receive  from  the  eastern  cities,  and  one 
which,  while  it  enterkiins  the  render,  does  not  fail  to  in- 
struct. We  woulil  give  c!  iible  the  price  for  it  that  we 
would  for  any  other  paper  published  even  in  Boston,  New 
York  or  Philadelphia. —  Washington  Drmocrat. 


What  does  the  editor  of  Glea.son's  Pictorial  mean  by 
SRyiiigthatJwe  of  the  Mirror ai-e  ''a  little  radical?^ — N   Y. 

Mirror. 

We  meant  there  was  more  honesty  than  poUc}/ 
in  your  composition. 


Our  next  Number. — By  glancing  at  the  an- 
nouncement, at  the  head  of  this  page,  the  reader 
will  see  that  our  next  number  will  be  a  rich  one 
indeed.  Please  observe  the  names  of  cm*  origi- 
nal contributors. 


Merited  Trtbote. — We  observe  the  name 
of  Charlotte  Cushman  among  the  subscribers  to 
a  monument  about  to  be  erected  to  the  memory 
of  Thomas  Hood. 


Murdoch. — The  Mobile  Tribune  states  that 
this  celebrated  trotting  horse  has  been  sold  by 
Mr.  Cottrell  to  a  party  in  New  York  for  $25,000. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Kufas  McKenny 
to  Miss  Sarah  A.  Decker. 

By  Kev.  Mr.  Howe,  Mr.  Seth  Harding  to  Miss  Sarah  C. 
Simmons. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Edmands,  Mr.  Eliel  S.  Todd  to  Miss  Re- 
becca N.  Paul. 

By  Kev.  Mr.  Cumminga,  Mr.  Milton  Gale  to  Miss  Eve- 
line Priest,  s. 

At  West  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Banvard,  Mr.  Vamum 
Frost  to  Miss  Sarah  R.  Pierce. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr  Frothingham,  Mr.  Alexander  B. 
Merrill,  of  Danvers,  to  Miss  Ellen  Maria  Lord. 

At  Dcdham.  J.  Davenport  Howard.  Esq.,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Mary  SV.'  Griswold. 

At  Andover,  Dr  George  C.  S.  Choate,  of  Salem,  to  Miss 
Susan  0.  Kittredge. 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Merrill,  Mr.  George  H.  Hallow- 
ell  to  Miss  Hannah  N".  Reynolds. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Girwood,  Mr.  Anthony  D. 
Richmond,  jr.,  to  Miss  Maria  A.  Smith. 

At  Pittsfield,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Hawley,  Mr.  Nathan  H.  Webb 
to  Miss  Mary  Ann  Roberts. 

At  Williamstown,  by  Kev.  Mr.  Doolittle,  Mr.  Thomaa 
Smith  to  Miss  Maria  L.  Bacon. 

At  Portsmouth,  N  U.,  Mr.  Paschal  Hall,  of  Boston,  to 
Miss  Mary  K.  Howard, 

At  Portland,  Me.,  by  B  King,sbury,  jr.,  Esq.,  Mr. 
Charles  Skillings  to  Mi.ss  Hester  Ann  Moulton. 

At  Sebec,  Me.,  Mr  Lorin  L.  Fuller,  of  Boston,  to  Miaa 
Lucy  P.  Lovejoy, 

At  BarnesviUe,  Ohio,  by  Rev,  Mr.  Worthington,  Mr 
Eenjiimin  I.  Hager  to  Miss  Ann  Harriet  Mackall. 


How  TO  DO  IT. — If  you  wish  for  care,  per- 
plexity and  sorrow,  be  selfish  in  all  things. 


In  this  city,  Mr.  Thomas  Reed,  83;  Mr.  David  Watson, 
39;  Mrs.  Olive  Ruggles,  67;  Mr.  .John  Burke,  63;  Mr. 
Milton  B  am,  20;  Mr  Benjamin  Wheeler,  50. 

At  Chelsea,  Mr.  Horace  B.  Vans,  3S 

At  Charlestown,  Mr  John  D-  Edmands,  70. 

At  Somerville,  Miss  Mary  E.  Bailey,  45. 

At  Milton,  Mrs.  Ann  G,  Emerson,  45 

At  Nahant,  Mr.  Edmund  S.  Stephens,  32. 

At  Salem,  Mr.  Nathaniel  D.  Symonds,  jr.,  22. 

At  Danvers,  Mr.  John  Symonds,  61. 

At  Lowell,  Mrs.  Lucinda  Leavitt,  44. 

At  Newbuiyport,  Hon.  Charles  II.  Balch,  65. 

At  Northampton,  Warren  Brewster,  17. 

At  Grafton,  Mr.  David  W.  Brown,  45. 

At  Uolden,  Mr.  Edwin  Meade,  52. 

At  Fall  River,  Mre.  Ituth  Sawyer.  61. 

At  Worcester,  Miss  Caroline  Workman,  22. 

At  Pittstield,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Butler,  27. 

At  Chesttrfield,  Mrs.  Mary  Rice,  78. 

At  Feeding  Hills,  Mrs.  Mary  Smith,  49. 

At  Edgartown,  Mrs.  Sarah  Mellen,  51, 

At  South  Yarmouth,  Widow  Mercy  Covel.  79. 

At  Nantucket,  Mr.  George  Wyer,  41. 

At  Sangerville,  Me,,  Mrs.  Hannah  Walker,  87- 

At  Canaan,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  fliartha  Cummings,  lol. 

At  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Mr  Sylvester  S.  Gildersleeve,  23. 

At  Sing  Smg,  N.  Y.,  Hon.  Albert  Lockwood,  50. 

At  Cleveland,  Ohio,  Mr.  Willard  Buruham,  53. 

At  Charleston,  a.  C  ,  Mr.  John  D.  Winslow,  72. 

At  New  Orleans,  Mr.  James  H.  Van  Horn,  26 

At  California,  Mr  Lewis  Glover,  of  Bo.'Jton,  22. 


—  AND  — 

LITERARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

A.  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  usefid  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  In  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  Utcrary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  tlie  day.  Its  columns  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AKEEEICAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
notable  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world^ 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  m  the  kno^vn  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  line  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  fumalc. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  sccnerj',  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea.  It  is 
printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  it, — pre- 
senting in  its  mechanical  execution  an  elegant  specimen 
of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  cohinms  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  i^  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  aflords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
ing up  to  view  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  and  avoioing  aU 
that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  the  object  is  to 
make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
Combined  excellencies. 

TEKMS:    $2  00    PEE    VOLTTHCE. 

OR,    S4  00    PER    ANN'UM, 

INV.iRIABLT   IN   ADVANCE. 

Each  six  months  completes  a  volume,  comraencmg  on 
the  iir5t  of  January  and  July  ;  thus  making  two  volume3 
per  year,  of  four  hundred  and  sixteen  p.ages  each. 

QTT^  One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  oub  Union,  and  one  copy 
of  the  Pictorial  Dk.vwing-Uoom  Cosipanio:),  one  year, 
for  ^i)  00. 

[tT^  The  PicTORi.\L  Drawi^tg-Room  Companiox  may  be 
obtained  at  any  of  the  periodical  depots  throughout  the 
country,  and  of  newsmen,  at  ten  cents  per  single  copy 

Published  every  Saturday,  bv 

F.   GLEASON,  BosxoSj  MAsa 

WHOLESALE    AGENTS. 

S.  FRENCH,  151  Nassau,  cor.  Spruce  Street,  New  York. 
A.  WINCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
BURGESS,  TAY'LOR  &  Co.,  Ill  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore. 
A.  C.  BAGLEY,  118  Main  Street,  Otaclnijati. 
J.  A.  ROYS,  43  Woodwawi  Avenue,  Detroit. 
E.  K.  WOODWARD,  tjor.  4th  and  Ohesnut,  St.  tpuia. 
11^  Svi)scripiiou!i  receif'€(i  at  eitktr  qf  tbe  above  yte««. 


360 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DHAWIXG    ROOINI    COMPANION. 


[Writtun  for  aiciiHon's  PlctorJHl.] 

"I  STILl.  LIVE." 

THE  LAST  WORDS  OF  nON.  DANIEL  WEBSrER. 


DT  JOSEPH   n.  DOTLGB. 

"  Still  I  live  !"     Yes,  noble  Bpirit, 
Wisefit,  mightiest  of  thy  diiy  ; 
DvHtliluHH  fuQie  thou  slialt  Inherit, 
Till  the  earth  nhall  pnas  nway. 

In  the  hciirts  of  mlllloDB  weeping, 
Shrined,  thy  memory  Hhiill  bloom  ; 

I'rccJoui,  fileoplcua  watch  ia  keeping 
Round  thy  conwecrat^d  tomb. 

Sage  and  patriot— thou  art  resting 
With  earth'a  mighty,  gone  before  } 

God's  bi-ight  dludem  investing 
Thy  high  brow,  to  fade  no  more ! 

Lo  1  a  uatiOD  weeps  in  sorrow, 

For  her  noblust,  greateat  son  ; 
Thine  is  now  a  brighter  morrow, 

(.lloriously  thy  race  is  run  ! 

*'  Still  I  live!"  was  justly  spoken; 
Such  OS  thou  can  never  die — 
Though  Ufe'8  golden  bowl  be  broken. 
Thine  is  bright  eternity  ! 

While  around  ub  rise  the  mountalna, 
While  the  sun  its  light  shall  give  — 

And  guflli  out  Columbia's  fountains, 
Thou  Shalt  utter  :  "  Still  I  live  I" 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN  PALESTINE. 

No.  XV. 

BY   REV.  F.  "W.  HOLLAND. 

DAMASCUS. 
Damascus  has  no  competitor  for  age.  All 
its  contemporaries,  Nineveh,  Palmyra,  Babylon, 
have  wholly  perished  ;  while  this  oldest  inhabit- 
ed place  has  not  dwindled  in  population,  nor 
surrendered  its  local  pre-eminence,  nor  aban- 
doned the  manufacture  for  which  it  was  most 
famous,  nor  borrowed  any  thing  from  European 
thought,  worship  or  life.  Its  population  is  not 
far  from  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  of  whom 
about  twenty  thousand  are  thought  to  be  Arme- 
nian and  Greek  Christians.  Originally  the  scat 
of  a  most  renowned  kingdom,  and  afterward  the 
capital  of  the  Saracen  empire,  it  is  now  the  cen- 
tre of  an  Ottoman  pashalik  and  virtually  the 
metropolis  of  Syria.  Its  chief  importance  how- 
ever is  commercial,  which  will  be  greatly  aug- 
mented, if,  as  the  English  consul  at  Damascus 
believes,  the  government  will  make  a  road  over 
the  mountains  to  the  Mediterranean.  Two  hun- 
dred merchants  make  it  their  home ;  and  carry 
on  their  foreign  trade  by  the  great  Mecca  cara- 
van, the  Bagdad  caravan,  the  Aleppo,  and  small- 
er expeditions,  continually  sent  across  Lebanon, 
Beiroot  and  Acre. 

It  is  to  the  Mussulman  a  holy  city.  Christian 
life  has  not  been  safe  in  it  till  recent  years.  The 
European  costume  has  often  proved  dangerous, 
and  for  a  long  time  no  unbeliever  was  permitted 
to  ride  anything  but  an  ass.  Here,  too,  the 
Egyptian  conqueror  brought  safety  to  the  stran- 
ger; and  one  day  a  fanatic  complained  to  Ibra- 
him that  the  Christians  would  look  down  upon 
the  faithful  from  their  horses — "  No,  said  the 
witty  chief,  jou  shall  ride  dromedaries!"  And 
still,  when  the  pious  crowd  are  gathering  for  the 
annual  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  Franks  who  do  not 
like  to  be  insulted  find  it  best  to  keep  at  home. 

The  American  mission  here  interested  me 
exceedingly.  I  attended  its  religious  services, 
its  school,  the  families  of  its  leaders.  Neither 
the  American  nor  English  missionaries  live 
poorly.  Their  apartments  though  single  are 
comfortable.  Nothing  about  them  is  unworthy 
of  their  friends  at  home.  Their  school  is  but  a 
beginning;  indeed,  the  whole  work  is  so.  That 
of  the  brothers  of  St.  Lazarus  is  three  times  as 
large,  and  because  of  the  higher  studies  which  it 
pursues,  a  hundred  times  as  important,  because 
the  child  who  has  finished  his  primary  lessons 
with  the  Protestants  must  either  stay  there  or  go 
on  under  the  influence  of  these  Catholic  friars. 
The  Female  Academy  of  St.  Lazarus  seemed  to 
me  particularly  worthy  of  imitation  by  our 
American  friends. 

The  mission  has  failed  with  respect  to  the 
Jews,  for  whom  it  was  designed.  The  children 
of  Israel  upon  their  own  soil  are  immovable  as 
their  native  mountains,  arc  watched  around  by 
hallowing  memories  of  ancient  renown  and  kin- 
dling hopes  of  future  triumphs.  Their  female 
members  are  certainly  very  beautiful,  and  yet 
not  iv  beauty  which  leaves  its  image  on  your 


licart.  No  light  of  intelligence  kindles  the  eye, 
no  air  of  thought  gives  dignity  to  any  brow. 
The  elder  ones  arc  Immensely  fat,  the  perfection 
of  oriental  charms.  The  mistress  of  a  wealthy 
house  is  iiung  with  jewels,  utkI  gorgeous  as  the 
sea  in  colors  of  every  kind.  The  younger  wo- 
men are  but  jjainted  dolls,  merely  petted  chil- 
dren, whom  it  is  pretty  to  ply  with  sweetmeats, 
but  with  whom  married  life  would  be  anything 
but  living.  Their  laugh  is  empty  us  tlie  air  it 
falls  upon,  and  their  idle  curiosity  reminds  one 
painfully  enough  of  that  of  tiie  slave-boats  on  the 
Nile.  The  universal  habit  of  walking  about  on 
clogs  has  spoiled  their  gait  and  made  tiieir  com- 
mon motions  ungraceful. 

Nothing  can  the  missionaries  do  with  Arab  or 
Turk,  except  at  the  lia/.ard  of  martyrdom. 
Those  of  them  who  know  anything  about  Chris- 
tianity, look  upon  it  with  pity,  as  a  less  holy 
faith,  and  would  expect  to  be  degraded  morally 
as  well  as  cast  down  from  future  bliss,  by  conver- 
sion. Christ  they  honor,  Moses  they  revere ; 
but  many  of  them  cling  to  their  own  religion  as 
the  only  noble  peculiarity  they  profess,  and  exalt 
their  prophet  as  the  fulfilment  of  law  and  gospel 
alike.  There  remains  for  a  missionary  field 
only  the  various  "  Catholic"  bodies,  and  they 
are  exceedingly  ignorant  and  superstitious  at 
Damascus,  quite  unconscious  of  those  intellect- 
ual wants  which  Protestantism  professes  to  sup- 
ply, and  steeped  in  the  sensuality  so  congenial 
to  Syria.  So  that,  under  a  debilitatingclimate, 
amongst  a  population  ready  in  any  riot  to  take 
the  missionary's  life,  debarred  from  the  inter- 
course of  civilized  Protestants,  the  only  resident 
consuls  being  of  another  communion,  their  chil- 
dren necessarily  exiled  from  parental  care  to  be 
educated  tliousands  of  miles  away,  there  is  hard- 
ly any  other  field  of  efibrt  so  severe,  discourag- 
ing and  doubtful. 

The  gipsies  seem  to  belong  to  a  spot  believed 
by  many  a  Turk  to  be  the  ori[»inal  Eden,  only  a 
day's  ride  from  which  the  tomb  of  Adam  is  still 
shown  !  We  rode  out  one  day  over  hundreds  of 
branches  of  the  ancient  Abana  and  Pharpar. 
and  through  endless  avenues  of  trees,  and  by 
several  straw-colored  villages,  over  the  ground 
occupied  in  summer  by  the  favorite  and  fairy- 
like cofiee-houses,  until  we  came  upon  the  dusky 
encampment  at  last.  The  men  were  busy  mak- 
ing wire-sieves,  the  women  were  picking  olives 
for  the  land  owners  at  so  much  per  day,  though 
the  books  tell  us  they  never  are  known  to  work. 
Their  tents  were  rather  smaller  and  meaner  than 
the  Bedouins.  Their  dress  was  a  little  and  but 
a  little  peculiar.  Their  cattle  looked  wretchedly 
neglected  and  dwarfish.  The  human  faces  which 
we  saw  did  not  compare  with  the  common  Arabs 
for  beauty,  and  w*ere  far  more  defaced  by  want 
and  weather.  On  the  whole,  except  for  the 
wonderful  fact  of  their  maintaining  precisely  the 
same  features  of  character  the  world  over  with- 
out any  religious  motive,  they  were  not  half  so 
interesting  or  noble  as  an  Indian  village  in 
America.  The  head  man  very  naively  avowed 
that  their  religion  was  precisely  that  of  the  peo- 
ple among  whom  they  chanced  to  be — a  most 
easy  and  profitable  creed. 

As  I  gazed  the  next  day  with  Count  Guyon, 
a  Hungarian  exile,  from  the  half-ruined  citadel 
of  Damascus,  there  seemed  hardly  anything  in 
the  city  but  the  domes  of  baths — and  like  the 
other  orientalisms  of  Damascus  they  are  most 
oriental.  The  first  hall  which  you  enter  is  the 
undressing  and  dressing  room,  the  principal 
lounge  for  coffee,  sherbet  and  the  chibouque — 
lighted  and  aired  by  a  vast  dome.  Here,  your 
clothes  are  replaced  by  a  towel  over  the  loins 
and  another  around  the  head,  and  clumsy  pat- 
tens are  put  upon  your  feet  to  move  over  the 
marble  floors,  and  a  servant  merely  girded  with 
a  towel  leads  you  forward.  Tiic  next  room  is 
smaller,  but  quite  bare,  and  of  a  misty  warmth. 
You  are  glad  to  breathe  a  moment,  as  frequent- 
ly this  is  the  only  preparatory  apartment.  But, 
the  important  part,  the  inner  room  of  all,  also 
aired  by  a  dome,  exhibits  every  strange  process 
at  once  upon  all  sorts  of  odd  things.  Here  an 
African  is  prostrated  in  a  torpor  of  sensual  pleas- 
ure, there  an  Ai-abian  is  streaming  with  the 
soap  suds  which  an  attendant  is  working  into  his 
very  hair;  here  nothing  is  visible  of  a  fat  Turk 
but  his  pumpkin-like  head  on  top  of  the  stream- 
ing water.  Not  the  ripple  of  a  smile  even  at 
your  own  awkward  terror  disturbs  any  man's 
gravity.  Not  Egyptian  mummies  could  go 
through  the  streaming,  soaping,  twisting,  rub- 
bing, boiling  and  baking  with  more  serene  dig- 
nity. The  great  difference  from  our  hot  baths 
is,  partly,  that  you  are  bathed  by  your  own  per- 


ppiration  through  the  intense  heat  of  the  apart- 
ment, whose  pavement  really  makes  you  jump 
when  it  is  first  touched  by  naked  feet— and,  that 
the  rubbing  and  soaping,  never  half  done  by 
yourself  in  cither  hot  or  cold  bathing,  arc  ad- 
ininistered  by  the  most  rigorous  athletes,  until 
every  atom  of  the  old  skin  seems  to  have  peeled 
otT,  and  from  head  to  foot  another  covering  fre^h 
as  the  babe's  is  spread  all  over  you.  Then  you 
need  to  recline  upon  the  cushions  of  the  grand 
hall,  and  smoke  and  sip  sherbet  for  hour.'^,  to  re- 
cover your  fonner  self,  and  not  be  quite  drowned 
in  this  fiood  of  novel  sensations.  May  I  own, 
that  the  experience  was  one  which  I  should  not 
care  often  to  repeat — that  it  seems  to  belong  lo 
tlie  reverie-loving  Turk,  to  the  indolent  repose 
which  is  his  paradi.se,  and  to  the  sultry  summer 
when  energy  is  all  but  suicidal.  I  felt  debilitat- 
ed rather  than  renewed  by  the  process,  and 
more  ready  for  repose  than  for  either  thought  or 
bodily  efibrt. 

I  had  nearly  forgotten  one  natural  wonder  in 
the  saddler's  bazaar,  an  immense  plane  tree, 
probably  the  noblest  of  its  kind  in  existence,  a 
hundred  feet  high,  fifteen  feet  in  diameter  at  the 
trunk,  and  with  a  spread  wide  enough  to  answer 
for  a  roof  to  the  great  coifee-house  mentioned 
before.     Its  age  is  greater  than  any  tradition. 

On  the  whole,  and  after  Cairo,  Damascus  is  a 
disappointment.  Less  ruined  than  any  other 
eastern  city,  with  more  of  the  bustle  of  success- 
ful industry,  of  an  antiquity  actually  unknown, 
with  many  a  sweet  water-flow  to  refresh  the  sun- 
burnt pilgrim,  and  many  a  delicious  fraj;rancc 
to  whisper  into  one's  heart  all  the  poetry  of  Per- 
sia, the  legend  of  Mohammed,  that  he  refused  to 
enrer  the  city  for  fear  its  luxurious  beauty  should 
make  him  forget  paradise,  is  supremely  ridicu- 
lous. The  streets  are  narrow,  slippery  and  un- 
clean; all  that  you  can  know  of  most  of  the 
houses  is  the  dingy  mud  or  rude  stone  wall  upon 
the  street;  the  bazaars  are  commonly  only  a  pile 
of  unpainted  wooden  shelves,  with  a  counter  for 
the  shop-keeper's  lounge.  The  passing  groups 
are  seldom  so  picturesque  as  upon  the  Nile. 
There  are  no  public  edifices  to  compare  with  the 
St.  Sophia  Mosque,  the  Luxor  Temple,  the 
Shoobra  Palace  or  the  Acre  Fount.  Only  the 
fantasiic  and  airy  splendor  of  the  best  interiors 
of  houses,  the  beautifully -watered  and  nobly- 
wooded  gardens  all  round  the  walls,  the  spacious 
fitness  of  the  numerous  coffee  houses  give  the 
charm  to  "  Es-sham."  the  Beloved. 

The  Farewell  to  Damascus  from  the  ascent 
of  Anti-Lebanon  is  the  sight  for  all  the  world — 
then  indeed  you  have  "  the  pearl  set  in  emer- 
alds." There  is  the  richest  possible  green  from 
walnut  and  poplar  grove,  setting  olf  with  their 
luxuriant  foliage  the  wide-spread  dome  and  daz- 
zling minaret  of  the  extended  city — there  is  the 
outpouring  of  nature's  lap  around  some  of  the 
most  fairy-like  works  of  man.  Sadly  and  slow- 
ly you  leave  the  entrancing  scene,  bid  good-by  to 
the  merry  brook,  east  yourself  out  of  these  fra- 
grant arms  of  Paradise,  and  soon  the  cold  moun- 
tain breeze  begins  to  freeze  yom-  blood,  and  the 
ehill  rain  hurries  you  on  after  the  first  shelter 
And  so  farewell  to  perhaps  the  very  birthplace 
of  our  race !  Farewell  to  the  seat  of  Assyrian, 
Grecian,  Homan,  Saracenic  and  Turkish  power ! 
A  long  farewell ! 


THE  FIRE-SIDK. 

The  fire  side  is  a  seminary  of  infinite  import- 
ance. It  is  important  because  it  is  universal, 
and  because  the  education  it  bestows,  lieing 
woven  in  with  the  woof  of  childhood,  gives  form 
and  color  to  the  whole  texture  of  life.  There 
are  few  who  can  receive  the  honors  of  a  college, 
but  all  are  graduates  of  the  hearth.  The  learn- 
ing of  the  university  may  fade  from  the  recollec- 
tion, its  classic  lore  may  moulder  in  the  halls  of 
memory  ;  but  the  simple  lessons  of  home,  enam- 
elled upon  the  heart  of  childhood,  defy  the  rust 
of  years,  and  outlive  the  more  mature  but  less 
vivid  pictures  of  after  days.  So  deep,  so  last- 
ing, indeed,  are  the  impressions  of  early  life, 
that  you  often  see  a  man  in  the  imbecility  of  age 
holding  fresh  in  his  recollection  the  events  of 
childliood,  while  all  the  wide  space  lietween  that 
and  the  present  hour  is  a  blasted  and  forgotten 
waste.  You  have  perchance  seen  an  old  and 
half  obliterated  portrait,  and  in  the  attempt  to 
have  it  cleaned  and  restored  you  may  have  seen 
it  fade  away,  while  a  brighter  and  a  much  more 
perfi:ct  picture,  painted  beneath  is  revealed  to 
view.  This  portrait,  first  drawn  upon  tlie  can- 
vas, is  no  inajit  illustration  of  youth  ;  and  though 
it  may  be  concealed  by  some  after  design,  still 
the  original  traits  will  shine  through  the  outward 
picture,  giving  it  tone  while  fresli,  and  surviving 
it  in  decay.  Such  is  the  fire-side — the  great  in- 
stitution fumished  by  Providence  for  the  educa- 
tion of  man. —  Goodrich. 


INl'LUENCE  Ol'  NATURE. 

The  induencc  of  nature  in  the  formation  of 
character  has  been  much  insisted  on  by  metaphy- 
sicians, and  not  without  ample  reason.  The 
(jufllhics  of  men  arc  found  to  assimilate  very 
closely  to  the  chaiactcristics  of  the  country  they 
iidiabit.  Thus  tlie  mountaineer  Is  bold,  rugged, 
hardy,  independent,  and  fond  of  liberty.  In 
Eurojje,  surrounded  on  every  hand  by  despot- 
ism. Alpine  Switzerland  ha.s  preserved  its  politi- 
cal independence  for  ages.  But  CKpecially  is  the 
power  of  natural  scenery  witnessed  in  the  nur- 
ture of  deep  religious  feeling. 

"  The  groves  were  Clod's  flr^t  templefl." 

Tlie  first  prayer  uttered  by  man  was  breathed 
to  his  Creator  in  a  garden,  among  the  olive 
trees  of  Eden.  The  disciples  of  our  Saviour  lis- 
tened to  their  Lord  in  tiie  deep  wilderness,  in 
the  awful  solitude  of  rugged  mountains,  Jn  the 
licart  of  mighty  forests  and  by  the  shores  of 
ever-rushing  rivers,  the  littleness  of  man,  con- 
trasting with  the  grandeur  of  creation,  speaks  to 
his  awakened  soul  of  the  omnipotence  and  good- 
ness of  God.  Where  men  are  banded  together 
in  great  cities,  in  the  midst  of  splendors  and  tri- 
umphs of  art,  they  are  apt  to  feel  a  pride  and 
self  reliance  ^\hich  abandon  them  in  the  face  of 
nature.  Apart  from  the  frequent  spectacle  of 
man's  handiwork,  the  dweller  in  the  country 
learns  how  all  human  skill  is  impotent  to  imi- 
tate the  smallest  feature  in  the  great  work  of 
creation ;  to  create  the  lightest  blade  of  grass 
that  bends  in  the  summer  breeze;  to  fabricate 
even  the  minutest  grain  of  sand  that  sparkles  by 
the  river  shore.  Then,  as  he  lifts  his  eyes  from 
earth  to  heaven,  and  beholds  at  night  the  starry 
host  above  him  wheeling  unerringly  upon  their 
appointed  courses,  his  mind  cannot  but  acknowl- 
edge the  existence  of  God,  and  the  immeasur- 
able greatness  of  his  attributes. — Life  of  Hosea 
Gallon. 


'Ti8  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 

Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. —  Tfiutysc 


A  BElUTlFUL  FIGURE. 

Life  is  beautifully  compared  to  a  fountain  fed 
by  a  thousand  streams,  that  perish  if  one  be 
dried.  It  is  a  silver  cord,  twisted  with  a  thou- 
sand strings,  that  part  asunder  if  one  be  broken. 
Frail  and  thoughtless  mortals  are  surrounded  by 
innumerable  dangers,  which  make  it  much  more 
strange  that  they  escape  so  long,  than  that  they 
almost  all  perish  suddenly  at  last.  We  are  en- 
compassed with  accidents  every  day  to  crush  the 
mouldering  tenements  we  inhabit.  The  seeds  of 
disease  are  planted  in  our  constitutions  by  na^ 
turc.  The  earth  and  atmosphere  whence  we 
draw  the  breath  of  life  are  impregnated  with 
death ;  health  is  made  to  operate  its  own  de- 
struction ;  the  food  that  nourishes  containing 
the  elements  of  decay;  the  soul  that  animates  it, 
by  vivifying  first,  tends  to  wear  it  out  by  its  own 
action  ;  death  lurks  in  ambush  along  the  paths. 
Notwithstanding  this  is  the  truth  so  palpably 
confirmed  by  the  daily  example  before  our  eyes, 
how  little  do  we  lay  it  at  heart !  We  see  our 
friends  and  neighbors  die  among  us,  but  how  sel- 
dom does  it  occur  to  our  thoughts  that  our  knell 
shall  perhaps  give  the  next  fruitless  warning  to 
the  world  ! — Boston  Transcript. 


INDIAN  SUPERSTITIONS. 

The  Indians  believe  that  the  thunder  is  a  huge 
bird,  with  green  back  and  gray  breast,  and  that 
the  flapping  of  his  wings  causes  the  thunder 
(some  faint  resemblance  to  the  mythological 
birds  of  Jove,  who  carried  tlic  thunder  in  their 
claws.)  They  imagine  that  the  heavens  are 
supported  by  four  larye  poles,  resembling  large 
trees ;  that  the  big  bird  lives  in  the  west,  and  is 
only  heard  when  flying  east.  This  is  easily  ac- 
counted for  by  the  fact  of  their  storms  almost 
invariably  coming  from  the  west.  They  have  a 
superstitious  fi-ar  of  the  aurora  borealis,  which 
they  call  the  "medicine  fire."  They  believe  that 
it  has  the  power  of  rendering  them  good  shots 
(an  idea  arising,  I  imagine,  from  the  manner  in 
which  the  rays  of  light  of  an  aurora  dart  ahout 
in  the  heavens),  and  consequently  worship  it. 
Of  meteors  and  falling  stars  they  have  a  great 
dread;  they  believe  that  ihey  are  sent  by  the 
great  warriors  who  are  in  the  *'  happy  hunting 
grounds,"  to  warn  them  of  danger. — Sullivan's 
Hambles  in  America. 


POETRY. 

Every  belief,  or  non-belief,  has  found  its  poe- 
try, excepting  always  modern  materialism,  as 
represented  by  the  utilitarian  philosophy.  There 
is  no  speculation  in  ils  eye — no  man  of  genius 
can  make  it  beautiful,  because  it  has  not  one 
benutiful  element  in  it,  and  because  no  man  of 
genius  can  believe  it;  its  sole  music  is  the  chink 
of  money ;  its  main  theological  principle — the 
gradual  development  of  mud  into  man,  and  dirt 
into  deity — is  as  incapable  of  poetic  treatment  as 
it  is  of  scientific  proof;  and  what,  unless  to  place 
it  as  a  prime  article  in  the  museum  of  human 
folly,  can  be  done  to  a  caput  moiiuvm  so  hateful 
and  so  helpless  ? — Bards  of  the  Bible. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  OUR  SALVATION. 

AVhen  Antigonus  heard  some  of  his  troops 
rather  despondingly  say,  ''  How  many  are  com- 
ing against  us  ?'^  he  asked,  "But  my  soldiers, 
how  many  do  you  reckon  me  for  i"'  And  when- 
ever we  think  of  our  foes,  and  then  of  the  Cap- 
tain of  onr  salvation,  we  may  truly  say  more  are 
they  that  be  with  us  than  they  that  be  with  them. 
Greater  is  He  that  is  in  us,  ihan  he  that  is  in 
tlie  world.  Who  teaches  our  lingers  to  fight  ? 
Who  provides  for  us  ?  Who  lenevvs  our 
strength?  What  limits  have  his  wisdom  and 
power '?  Did  he  ever  lose  an  action  yet,  or  a 
single  private  in  his  army  ? — Jay. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


367 


RUSSIAN  POSSESSIONS  IN  AMERICA. 

These  possessions  are  ia  a  deplorable  condi- 
tion, from  the  ferocious  warfare  carried  on  by  the 
Indians  against  the  whites,  more  especially  on 
the  Island  of  Sitka.  Conunually  they  menace 
the  city  with  conflagration  and  the  inhabitants 
with  massacre ;  nor  does  one  week  pass  in  w4iich 
the  governor  is  not  obliged  to  prepare  the  inha- 
bitants for  self-defence ;  and  wherever  a  party  of 
the  latter  is  found  unprotected,  they  arc  indis- 
criminately slaughtered  and  horribly  mutilated. 
The  perpetrators  of  these  savage  deeds  are  said 
to  be  ft  fine  intelligent  race ;  but  war  is  their  pas- 
sion, and  their  method  of  conducting  it  is,  of 
course,  owing  to  their  false  ideas  of  warlike  con- 
duct. Considering  that  these  fellows  are  sup- 
plied with  arms  from  foreign  vessels,  the  Rus- 
sians will  have  no  small  difficulty  in  maintaining 
their  possition  against  them. 


A  WATER  DRINIiER, 

Cobbett  thus  describes  his  own  experience : 
"  In  the  midst  of  a  society  where  wine  or  spirits 
are  considered  as  of  little  more  value  than  wa- 
ter, I  have  lived  two  years  without  either ;  and 
with  no  other  drink  but  water,  except  when  I 
have  found  it  convenient  to  obtain  milk :  not  an 
hour's  illness,  not  a  headache  for  an  hour,  not 
the  smallest  ailment,  not  a  restless  nighf,  not  a 
drowsy  morning,  have  I  known  during  these  two 
famous  years  of  my  life.  The  sun  never  rises 
before  me ;  I  have  always  to  wait  for  him  to 
come  and  give  me  light  to  write  by,  while  my 
mind  is  in  full  vigor,  and  while  nothing  has 
come  to  cloud  its  clearness." 


AMERICAN  CONSUL  AT  MARSEILLES. 

It  is  stated  that  James  L.  Hodge,  Esq.,  the 
U.  S.  Consul  at  Marseilles,  who  figm-ed  so  con- 
spicuously in  the  reception  of  Kossuth  in  that 
city,  took  occasion,  on  the  recent  arrival  of  Louis 
Napoleon  there,  to  offer  him  special  incense. 
The  New  York  Tribune  says  "he  caused  a  body 
of  American  sailors  to  be  arrayed  beside  the 
prince's  path,  and  to  greet  him  with  hurrahs ;  he 
hung  the  portraits  of  Washington  and  Napoleon 
together  in  front  of  his  house,  and  finally  he 
illuminated  the  windows  of  his  residence  in 
honor  of  the  happy  occasion."  Can  this  be  ti'ue? 
It  would  hardly  seem  possible. 


C03i:tIERCE  OF  THE  PACIFIC. 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-one  vessels  arrived  at 
San  Francisco  in  July  and  August.  This  is 
equal  to  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  sixty  a 
year,  and  it  must  be  recollected  that  these  ves- 
sels are  mostly  of  the  largest  class,  700  to  1800 
tons  burthen.  Of  this  number,  seventeen  were 
from  New  York,  fourteen  from  Boston,  and  from 
China  twenty-six.  The  trade  between  China 
and  the  PaciSc  coast  continues  to  increase  rapid- 
ly, and  there  is  a  diminution  in  the  number  of 
Chinamen  passengers  arriving.  The  duties  on 
foreign  goods  this  year  are  estimated  at  three 
millions. 


GREAT  DISTRESS  AT  MADEIRA. 

The  fallui'e  of  the  vintage,  resulting  from  the 
recent  blight  upon  the  grape,  has  produced  the 
greatest  distress  among  the  inhabitants  of  Ma- 
deira, and  threatens  with  absolute  starvation 
large  masses  of  the  laboring  classes.  The  civil 
governor  of  the  island  has  issued  a  circular  ac- 
knowledging the  impotence  of  the  Portuguese 
government  to  meet  the  emergency  with  any- 
thing like  adequate  relief,  and  appealing  to  the 
Christian  sympathies  of  foreign  nations  for  aid 
to  avert  the  impending  calamity. 


Dramatic. — Mr.  Bunn  was  exceedingly  clev- 
er in  his  lecture  entertainments,  and  but  for  the 
abundance  of  evening  amusements,  just  now, 
would  have  reaped  the  pecuniary  harvest  that 
the  excellent  character  of  his  exhibitions  so  en- 
tirely merited. 


Vlrt  natural,  to  be  sure. — Since  the  in- 
troduction of  Croton  water  into  New  York,  and 
Cochituate  into  Boston,  the  milk  business  of  both 
cities  has  increased  to  an  alarming  extent.  We 
speak  advisedly. 


Maritime. — Mr.  Hall,  of  East  Boston,  lias 
now  his  eighty-founh  ship  on  the  stocks.  This 
place  is  already  famous,  all  over  the  world,  for 
the  clipper  ships  it  has  produced. 


Its  Origin. — The  word  London  is  of  Sclavo- 
nic origin,  and  signifies  a  town  upon  water.  Lon 
is  the  Sclavonic  for  water,  and  Bon  city. 


Publicity  is  the  soul  of  justice. 
Love,  and  love  only,  is  the  price  of  love. 
The  Alleghanians,  at  last  accounts,  were  at 
Sacramento. 

In  various  parts  of  Boston  they  are  erecting 
buildings  six  or  seven  stories  high. 

The  Japan  expedition,  it  is  said,  will  rendez- 
vous at  Annapolis. 

Mr.  Couldock,  Mr.  Burke  and  Miss  Julia 
TnrnbuU  are  at  Buffalo. 

The  brain  of  Daniel  Webster  was  thirty  per 
cent,  larger  than  the  average. 

Professor  Anderson  is  exhibiting  at  the  Musi- 
cal Fund  Hall,  Philadelphia. 

Horace  Greeley  is  going  to  devote  himself  to 
something  useful — having  got  sick  of  politics. 

Should  the  Chinese  emigration  to  California 
continue,  it  may  not  be  long  before  we  shall  see 
a  Chinaman  in  Congress. 

A  woman  entered  a  store  in  New  York,  on 
Wednesday  week,  complained  that  she  was  sick, 
and  fell  dead. 

There  are  immense  submarine  forests  off  Pat- 
agonia and  Terra  del  JFuego,  attached  to  the 
rocks  at  the  bottom. 

There  are  ten  thousand  miles  of  uncultivated 
and  unpopulated  country  in  the  north-western 
part  of  the  State  of  New  York. 

An  iron  bridge  is  to  be  erected  across  the 
canal  at  Washington,  at  a  cost  of  seven  thou- 
sand dollars. 

Grapes  should  never  be  gathered  until  perfect- 
ly ripe,  for,  unlike  other  fruits,  they  never  ripen 
after  having  been  plucked. 

Thomas  M.  Smith,  the  editor  of  the  Virginia 
Eecordef,  died  in  the  town  of  Buchanan,  Va.,  a 
few  days  ago. 

Seventy-live  thousand  persons,  male  and  fe- 
male, are  said  to  be  employed  in  Massachusetts, 
making  boots  and  shoes. 

"Man,"  says  Adam  Smith,  "is  an  animal 
that  makes  a  bargain.  No  other  animal  does 
this — no  dog  exchanges  bones  with  another." 

It  is  estimated  that  $12,000,000  will  be  ex- 
pended in  the  construction  of  railroads  in  the 
State  of  New  York  this  year. 

Three  pounds,  eight  ounces,  troy  weight,  is 
the  average  weight  of  the  brain  of  a  male  adult, 
and  three  pounds,  four  ounces,  of  a  female. 

So  level  are  the  plains  of  South  America,  that, 
in  the  space  of  nearly  300  square  miles,  not  an 
eminence  one  foot  high  can  be  found. 

The  prospect  of  having  Catharine  Hayes  in 
California,  is  the  great  topic  of  conversation, 
among  lovers  of  music,  in  that  country. 

Some  western  genius,  in  enumerating  the  vir- 
tues of  a  new  whetstone,  says,  it  is  wai'ranted  to 
put  an  edge  upon  dull  business. 

The  New  York  Tribune  has  very  credible  in- 
formation that  an  expedition  against  Cnba  will 
be  fitted  out  in  less  than  six  months. 

It  is  stated  that  Daniel  Webster  was  never 
out  of  order,  and  never  called  to  order,  during 
the  entire  period  spent  by  him  in  Congress. 

The  camphor  tree  is  a  native  of  Borneo  and 
Sumatra.  The  camphor  is  obtained  by  splitting 
open  the  tree,  when  it  is  found  in  large  pieces  in 
the  interior. 

A  man  named  I.  Woods,  hung  himself  in  Pe- 
tersham, on  Tuesday  of  last  week.  He  was  a 
poor  man,  and  was  threatened  with  a  law  suit 
by  his  creditors. 

The  newest  notion  of  Boston,  is  a  lady,  who, 
calling  herself  the  "  Veiled  Vocalist,"  sings  at 
the  Melodeon,  and  gives  the  proceeds  of  her  con- 
certs to  the  paupers. 

The  Wasliington  National  Monument  has  at- 
tained a  height  of  one  hundred  and  eighteen 
feet,  and  may  reach  one  hundred  and  thi.  ty  be- 
fore the  close  of  the  season. 

Accidents  from  burning  fiuid  are  now  of  so 
frequent  occurrence,  that  we  cease  to  chronicle 
them.  They  are  noticed  in  pretty  much  every 
paper  we  open. 

Angus  Taylor  was  t-hot  dead,  a  few  days 
since,  at  Cheraw,  S.  C,  by  his  brother.  Martin 
Taylor.  They  were  firing  at  a  mark,  and  quar- 
relled about  the  best  shot. 

Among  the  convict'?  in  the  Massachusetts 
State  Prison,  are  several  who  are  under  sentence 
for  life.  The  last  received  is  Thomas  Davis, 
the  murderer  of  his  sister. 

Among  those  who  votfd  in  Newport,  R^ode 
Island,  on  Tuesday,  was  Nathan  Munro,  who  is 
one  hundred  years  old.  He  voted  for  George 
Washington  at  his  first  election. 

A  gentleman  in  Cincinnati,  worth  $10,000, 
lost  ev^iry  cent  of  it,  besides  a  few  hundred  dol- 
lars he  borrowed,  in  betting  on  the  presidential 
election. 

In  the  Public  Garden  workmen  are  busily  en- 
gaged in  filling  up  the  marshy  places  with  dirt. 
New  walks  are  being  laid  out,  and  other  im- 
provements are  also  being  made. 

The  Buffalo  Courier  says  the  potato  crop  this 
year  will  be  uncommonly  large  and  good.  In 
Genesee  and  Wyoming  counties  the  yield  was 
never  larger,  and,  so  far  as  has  been  seen,  it  is 
entirely  free  from  lot. 

At  Brimswick,  Giynn  county,  Georgia,  no 
polls  were  opened  at  the  presidential  election — 
it  being  the  deliberate  opinion  of  the  go^d  peo- 
ple there,  that  none  of  the  candid  ts  were 
worthy  of  support. 


jTomgn   iilltsceUang. 

The  river  Indus  drains  an  area  of  400,000 
square  miles. 

In  Switzerland  only  one-fourth  of  the  soil  is 
under  cultivation. 

It  is  noticeable  that  the  Irish  Catholic  papers 
exult  in  the  prospect  of  the  re-establishraent  of  a 
French  Empire. 

According  to  the  late  census  of  France,  there 
are  nearly  a  million  and  a  half  more  women  thau 
men  in  that  country. 

Sir  Thomas  Mitchell,  of  Australia,  has  brought 
out  a  new  mode  of  propulsion  for  steamers.  It 
is  called  the  Bomerang  propeller. 

Eumor  via  Paris  says,  that  the  Pope  has  just 
appointed  Dr.  Dixon,  Roman  Catholic  Primate 
of  Ireland,  in  place  of  Dr.  Cullen. 

The  debtors*  prisons  of  England  contain  many 
thousands  of  persons  who  have  been  incarcerated 
for  years,  and  never  expect  to  be  liberated. 

In  Hungary,  it  is  said  that  the  idea  obtains 
that  Kossuth  has  been  proclaimed  King  of  Ame- 
rica, and  that  he  is  shortly  to  appear  again  in 
Europe  at  the  head  of  an  immense  army. 

Many  of  the  new  five-franc  pieces  issued  from 
the  French  mint  are  defaced,  and  in  modes  which 
does  not  evince  any  particular  attachment  to 
"  Napoleon  the  Little."  His  throat  is  frequently 
gashed  on  these  coins. 

Lamartine,  the  French  writer,  has  leased  out 
the  farm  given  him  by  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  for 
S4000  a  year  for  twenty-five  years.  This  is  a 
pretty  present.  It  was  given  to  Lamartine  for 
his  work  on  the  East,  which  pleased  the  Sultan 
exceedingly. 

Speculation,  in  England,  which  was  so  effect- 
ually put  at  rest  by  the  breakdown  following  the 
great  railroad  mania  in  1846,  is  now  reviving, 
and  showing  itself  in  the  various  interests  of 
com,  cotton,  iron,  etc.  "  Stand  from  under,"  is 
a  wholesome  caution  abroad  as  well  as  at  home. 

A  factory  is  going  up  at  Saltaire,  near  Ship- 
ley, England,  where  the  area  appropriated  to  the 
building  is  computed  at  six  acres,  while  the  sev- 
■eral  floors  in  the  mills,  warehouses  and  sheds 
form  a  superfices  of  55,000  yards,  or  11  1-2  acres. 
It  is  owned  by  one  man — Mr.  Titus  Salt — and 
employs  4500  hands. 

Parliament  has  granted  a  charter  for  the  con- 
struction of  a  line  of  telegraph  from  Quebec  to 
Detroit,  850  miles  long,  with  branches  800  miles 
long  extending  to  the  main  towns  near  the  route. 
Poles  for  some  800  miles  have  already  been  put 
up,  and  over  400  miles  of  wiring  are  finished, 
and  the  whole  will  be  finished  by  spring.  The 
line  will  cost  about  S250,000,  and  1000  business 
men  have  taken  stock  in  it. 


JJokfr's  Subget 


Banlrs  of  ©olir. 


....   Three  good  meals  a  day  is  bad  living. 

....  There  are  no  ugly  loves,  nor  handsome 
prisons. 

He  that  can  travel  w^ell   a-foot  keeps  a 

good  horse. 

If  you  desire  many  things,  many  things 

will  seem  but  a  few. 

....  Let  the  letter  stay  for  the  post,  and  not 
the  post  for  the  letter. 

....  The  use  of  money  is  all  the  advantage 
there  is  in  having  money. 

If  thou  hast  wit  and  learning,  add  to  it 

wisdom  and  modesty. 

....  Hast  thou  virtue  ? — acquire  also  the 
graces  and  beauties  of  virtue. 

....  Buy  what  thou  hast  no  need  of,  and  ere 
long  thou  shalt  sell  thy  necessaries. 

As  man  cultivates  his  intellectual  facul- 
ties, he  learns  to  mistrust  his  instincts. 

CiBsar  did  not  merit  the   triumphal  car 

more  than  he  tliat  conquers  himself. 

....  Of  two  friends  death  makes  but  one  un- 
happy— the  survivor  ;  but  absence  makes  two. 

....  Troops  would  never  be  deficient  in  cour- 
age, if  they  could  only  know  how  deficient  in  it 
their  enemies  were. 

It  is  with  books  as  with   men ;  neither 

giants  nor  dwarfs  are  apt  to  live  so  long  as  those 
of  moderate  proportions. 

A  poor   spirit  is   poorer  than   a  poor 

purse ;  a  very  few  pounds  a  year  would  ease  a 
man  of  the  scandal  of  avarice. 

....  Virtue  is  not  more  exempt  than  vice 
from  the  ills  of  fate,  but  contains  within  itself 
always  an  energy  to  resist  tlieni,  sometimes  an 
anodyne  to  soothe. 

....  No  matter  how  firmly  we  believe  an 
opinion,  it  is  always  strengthened  by  another's 
assent;  as  aquatic  plants,  though  living  in  the 
water,  are  refreshed  by  a  shower. 

Regret    for    past    happine?s   is   always 

stronger  than  the  hope  of  a  future  one;  and,  like 
Milton,  we  paint  our  Paradise  Lost  in  more  lively 
colors  than  Paradise  Regained. 

....  One  of  the  most  important  female  quali- 
ties is  sweetness  of  temper.  Heaven  did  not 
give  to  %voman  insinuation  and  persuasion  in  or- 
der to  be  imperious ;  it  did  not  give  them  a  sweet 
voice  to  be  employed  in  scolding. 

....  A  religion  that  does  not  constrain  a  man 
to  pay  his  just  debts,  when  he  has  the  ability  to 
do  so,  is  worth  nothing.  Tlmt  he  can  escape 
the  liabilities  through  some  defect  of  human  law, 
will  never  justify  him  at  the  bar  of  conscience 
and  God,  for  defrauding  others  of  their  due. 


What  is  next  to  an  oyster  1     The  sliell. 

Why  is  Ireland  like  a  bottle  of  whiskey  ?  Be- 
cause it  has  a  Cork  in  it. 

Wliy  is  a  newspaper  like  an  army  1  Because 
it  has  leaders,  columns  and  reviews. 

Which  was  General  Taylor's  most  favorite 
march?  Why,  March  the  fourth.  {It  was  a 
Capitol  march.) 

The  popularity  in  politics  is  to  see  your  name 
in  large  type  posted  to  a  fence.  Somebody  will 
inquire  who  you  are,  and  when  the  first  rain 
comes  you  will  disappear. 

Vermonters  live  to  a  great  age,  as  is  well 
known.  There  arc  two  men  so  old  that  they 
have  forgotten  who  they  are,  and  there  are  no 
neighbors  who  can  remember. 

A  southern  editor  in  giving  an  account  of 
some  rascals  who  stole  two  horses  belonging  to 
preachers  at  a  camp  meeting,  says  it  should  teach 
clergymen  to  "  watch  as  well  as  pray." 

Dobbs  says,  "  the  best  cure  for  low  spirits  is 
to  subscribe  for  a  newspaper  and  pay  for  it." 
He  has  known  that  to  succeed  when  all  other 
remedies  failed.  Asafcetida  is  "  no  whar"  com- 
pared to  it. 

The  man  who  thought  he  could  learn  to 
make  boots  by  swallowing  "sherry  cobblers," 
has  just  got  out  a  work,  in  which  he  attempts 
to  prove  that  by  eating  hops  you  will  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  waltzing.  Queer  customer,  isn't 
he? 

The  young  man  whose  ambition  towered  so 
high  that  he  would  not  follow  his  father's  pro- 
fession upon  any  consideration,  finally  obtained  a 
situation  commensurate  with  his  talent — that  of 
grinding  a  street  organ  for  a  dancing  monkey. 
Genius  will  triumph. 

A  friend  in  California  writes  us  that  he  is  so 
hard  run  for  victuals,  and  other  edibles,  that 
nothing  but  a  miracle  or  highway  robbery  can 
save  him  from  starvation.  For  two  weeks,  he 
says,  he  lived  on  a  piece  of  oil  cloth  boiled  with 
an  old  boot  to  give  it  a  meaty  flavor.  Here's  a 
situation  as  is  a  situation. 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Pictoeial  Drawtnq 
EooM  Companion  elegantly  hound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edgea 
and  back,  and  illumined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Between  Foir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     NEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad ;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ILLUMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 

brilliant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  iilastrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  ;unount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  Record  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illuatmtionfl. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  Tliree  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  MlOl, 

AS  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  KETINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  -written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  malung  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEU  FOR  THE  MILLION, 

AND  A  WELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  H0:ME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  aclcnowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading;  weekly  paper  in  the  United  States^  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
so  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TERMS    TO    SITBSCEIBERS. 

1  subscriber,  one  year, .  .  S2  00 

3  subscriberB,       "  5  00 

4  "  *'  6  00 

8  "  "  11  00 

16  "  '  20  00 

One  copy  of  the  Flag  op  ods  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
PiCTORL\.L  Drawing-Room  COMPANION,  one  3'ear,  for  So  00. 

[C/^  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  terms. 

0=-  AU  ordtrs  should  be  ae/dreased.  POST  PAID,  to  the 
POBLISHER  OF  THE   FLAQ   OP   OUB  UNION. 

\*  The  Flag  can  be  obtained  at  any  of  the  newspaper 
depots  ill  the  United  States,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
FOUR  CENTS  per  single  copy. 

F.     GLEASON, 
Publisher  and  Proprjetoh,  Boston,  Mi^g. 


368 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DHAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  SKETCH  OF  TURKISH  JUSTICE. 

The  Cadi  go'^i^  out  in  the  morninf?  without 
mnkiuK  known  his  intended  route ;  takes  Iiis 
■walk  with  suitable  attendants,  and  stops  at  the 
first  bazaar.  He  scats  himself  at  random  in  one 
of  the  shops,  and  examines  the  weij^hls,  meas- 
ures and  nierehnndize.  Ho  lends  an  ear  to  all 
<-omphiints,  interrogates  ony  nierehant  aecused 
of  infraetion  of  law,  and  then,  without  court  or 
jury,  and  es|)eeially  without  delay,  pronounces 
judj;;ment,  applies  the  penalty,  and  goes  on  in 
(juest  of  other  delinquents.  In  these  cases,  how- 
ever, the  punishment  is  of  a  different  character. 
Notwithstandinjj;  tlie  identity  of  the  crime,  he 
cannot  treat  the  oilendin/^  merchant  as  a  com- 
mon thief ;  that  would  have  n  prejudicial  effect 
on  commerce.  The  penally  is  {graduated  thus  : 
the  mildest,  confiscation  ;  the  moderate,  closing 
the  shop  ;  the  severest,  exposure.  This  lost  is 
inflicted  in  a  singular  manner.  The  culprit  is 
placed  with  his  back  against  his  shop,  and  is 
compelled  to  raise  himself  on  his  toes  until  the 
weight  of  his  whole  body  rests  on  them  ;  his  ear 
is  then  nailed  to  the  door  or  shutter  of  bis  shop. 
This  punishment  lasts  two,  four,  or  six  Jiours. 
It  is  true,  the  criminal  may  abridge  its  duration, 
whenever  he  chooses  to  let  himself  down ;  but 
the  Turkish  merchant  is  jealous  of  his  reputa- 
tion, and  nothing  but  the  last  necessity  would 
induce  him  to  resemble  a  thief  by  the  mutilation 
of  his  cars. 

I  stopped  in  front  of  one  of  these  wretches, 
who  had  just  been  nailed  up.  I  was  disposed  to 
compassionate  his  case,  but  Mohammed  told  me 
he  was  an  hahiiue,  and  that  if  I  would  observe 
his  ear  closely,  I  should  find  it  was  like  a  cullen- 
der. This  changed  the  current  of  my  sympa- 
thies, and,  as  he  was  to  remain  some  time  longer, 
I  ceased  to  regret  his  sufferings,  and  rejoiced  in 
the  opportunity  of  making  a  sketch.  I  drew 
forth  crayons  and  paper,  and  begged  the  rest  to 
continue  their  route  with  M.  Mayer,  leaving  Mo- 
hammed to  assist  me  in  any  embarrassment. 
But  Mayer  would  not  quit  me  ;  so  we  three  re- 
mained, and  the  others  proceeded  on  their  way. 

My  picture  was  composed  ;  the  criminal,  nail- 
ed by  his  ear,  was  standing  stiff  and  motionless 
on  the  extreme  points  of  his  great  tocr; ;  and 
seated  near  him,  on  the  sill  of  the  door,  was  the 
guard,  charged,  with  seeing  the  punishment  duly 
executed,  smoking  a  pipe.  The  quantity  of  to- 
baeco  in  the  pipe  seemed  to  be  graduated  to  the 
time  the  punishment  was  to  continue.  Around 
these  two  personages  was  a  demi-circle  of  idlers. 
We  took  our  places  at  one  side,  and  I  commenced 
my  task. 

After  a  time  the  culprit,  finding  he  had  noth- 
ing to  expect  from  the  crowd — among  whom, 
perhaps,  he  recognized  some  of  his  customers — 
hazarded  a  word  to  the  guard. 

"Brother,"  said  he,  "one  law  of  our  holy 
Prophet  is,  that  men  should  help  one  another." 

The  guard  seemed  to  take  no  exception  to  the 
precept  in  the  abstract,  and  continued  quietly  to 
emoke. 

"  Brother,"  resumed  the  patient,  "  did  you  not 
hear  me  V 

The  guard  made  no  other  reply,  than  a  large 
puff  of  smoke  that  ascended  to  his  neighbor's 
nose. 

"  Brother,"  still  persisted  the  man,  "  one  of 
us  can  aid  the  other,  and  do  a  thing  acceptable 
to  Mahomet." 

The  puffs  of  smoke  succeeded  each  other  with 
a  regularity  that  extinguished  the  poor  fellow's 
hopes. 

"  Brother,"  cried  the  dependent,  with  a  dolo- 
rous voice,  "put  a  stone 
under  my  heels,  and  I 
will  give  you  a  piastre.' 

No  reply. 

"  Two  piastres." 

A  pause. 

*'  Three  piastres." 

Smoke. 

*'Four  piastres." 

"  Ten  piastres,"  said 
the  guard,  quietly. 

The  ear  and  the  purse 
of  the  man  held  a  par- 
ley, which  was  visible 
in  the  countenance.  At 
length  the  pain  con- 
quered, and  the  ten  pi- 
astres rolled  at  the  feet 
of  the  guard,  who  count- 
ed them  with  great  de- 
liberation, put  them  in 
his  purse, rested  his  pipe 
against  the  wall,  and, 
picking  up  a  pebble 
about  as  large  as  the 
egg  of  a  tom-tit,  placed 
itunderthe  man's  heels. 

"  Brother,"  said  the 
culprit,  "  I  feel  nothing 
under  my  feet." 

"A  stone  is  there, 
however,"  answered  the 
guard,  resuming  his 
seat  and  pipe,  "  but,  it 
is  tnie,  I  selected  it  in 
reference  to  your  price. 
Give  me  a  tatari  (five 
francs)  and  I  will  place 
a  stone  under  you  so 
appropriate  to  your  ne- 
cessities, that  you  shall 
sigh  for  it  when  you 
reach  paradise." 

The  result  may  be 
anticipated — the  guard 
had  his  money,  and  the 
merchant  his  stone. — 
How  the  affair  termina- 
ted I  do  not  know 


A  TURKISH  GENTLEMAN. 


[See  "  Turkey  and  the  Turks,' 
page  35S,  for  description.] 


THE  RICE-BIRD. 

The  cultivators  of  rice  in  America  sometimes 
suffer  severely  from  the  depredations  of  the  rice- 
bird.  This  bird  is  about  six  or  seven  inches  in 
length,  its  head  and  the  under  part  of  its  body 
are  black,  the  upper  part  is  a  mixture  of  black, 
white,  and  yellow,  and  the  legs  are  red.  Im- 
mense flocks  of  these  birds  are  seen  in  the  island 
of  Cuba,  where  the  rice  crop  precedes  that  of 
Carolina;  but  when  from  the  hardening  of  the 
grain  the  rice  in  that  quarter  is  no  longer  agree- 
able to  them,  they  migrate  towards  the  north, 
and  pass  over  the  sea  in  such  numerous  parties, 
as  to  be  sometimes  heard  in  their  flights  by  sail- 
ors frequenting  that  course.  These  birds  appear 
in  Carolina  when  the  rice  is  yet  milky.  Their 
attacks  upon  the  grain  while  in  this  state  are  so 
destructive  as  to  bring  considerable  loss  upon 
the  farmers.  The  birds  arrive  in  the  United 
States  very  lean,  but  thrive  so  well  upon  their 
favorite   diet,   that  during   the  three  weeks   to 


which  their  visit  is  usually  limited,  they  become 
excessively  fat,  so  as  to  fly  with  diflSculty,  and 
when  shot,  to  be  burst  with  the  fall.  So  soon  as 
the  rice  begins  to  harden  here,  they  retire  to 
other  parts,  remaining  in  one  place  only  so  long 
as  the  rice  continues  green.  When  the  food  en- 
tirely fails,  they  have  recourse  for  their  subsist- 
ence to  insects,  until  the  maize  begins  to  form 
its  grains,  and  then  the  milky  substance  which 
these  contain  is  devoured  with  the  same  avidity 
that  marks  their  attacks  upon  the  rice-plant. 
Extensive  flocks  are  found  during  the  spring  and 
summer  in  New  York  and  Ehode  Island ;  there 
they  breed,  quitting  their  young  for  the  south- 
ward, in  time  for  the  tender  rice-grains  of  Cuba. 
It  is  remarkable  that  the  males  and  females  do 
not  migrate  in  company,  the  females  being 
always  the  first  to  perform  their  voyage.  These 
birds  are  eaten  as  a  great  delicacy^  and  the  song 
of  the  male  is  said  to  be  melodious. — Librari/  of 
Entertaining  Knouiedge. 


VALLEY  OF  fllEXICO. 

We  began  our  march  early  next  morning,  and 
kept  winding  round  hills  covered  with  thick 
woods  of  pines,  and  carpeted  with  a  variety  of 
wild  flowers,  until  about  eleven  o'clock,  when 
we  reached  a  meson  on  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  obtained  a  view  of  the  far-famed  valley 
of  Mexico.  Description  is  tame  when  one  tries 
to  convey  the  impression  which  this  scene  usu- 
ally makes  on  all  who  see  it  for  the  first  time. 
It  IS  certainly  the  most  magnificent  view  in  Mex- 
ico; perhaps,  of  the  peculiar  description,  the 
first  in  the  world.  At  an  elevation  of  about 
.'iOOO  feet,  the  spectator  sees,  as  if  spread  at  his 
feet  likeamap,  the  wholeof  the  valley  of  Mexico, 
its  circumference  at  the  base  of  the  mountains 
which  form  the  sides  of  the  mighty  basin,  120 
miles,  and  at  the  crest  of  the  mountains  200 
miles.  The  whole  of  the  plain,  from  the  height 
on  which  the  spectator  stands,  is  distinctly  taken 
in  at  one  view,  and  the  most  minute  details  are 
distinctly  defined  and  delineated,  owing  to  the 
remarkable  transparency  and  purity  of  the  at- 
mosphere. The  towers  and  spires  of  the  city  of 
Mexico,  twenty  five  miles  distant,  are  distinctly 
seen  peering  out  from  the  foliage  and  trees ; 
almost  the  only  part  of  the  valley  where  trees 
are  to  be  seen,  by-the  by,  is  that  round  the  city. 
The  remainder  of  the  valley  presents  the  uniform 
appearance  of  a  large  green  plain,  dotted  with 
white  churches,  spires,  and  haciendas,  and  con- 
taining several  large  sheets  of  water,  the  remains 
of  the  lakes  which  are  said  to  have  once  nearly 
covered  the  whole  valley.  Several  small  insu- 
lated mountains  may  also  be  distinctly  discerned, 
the  only  large  objects  that  rise  on  the  surface  of 
the  vast  unbroken  green  plain.  The  mountains 
of  Popocatepcl,  and  Iztaecihuati,  its  brother  gi- 
ant, rise  about  twenty  miles  to  the  left,  and  the 
spectator  is  standing,  though  owing  to  the  bright 
atmosphere  and  the  sun  shining  on  the  snow,  they 
seem  only  two  or  three  miles  distant.  The  whole 
of  this  beautiful  valle}' is  hemmed  in  by  a  com- 
plete circle  of  stupendously  rugged  and  dark- 
looking  mountains,  the  rough  but  sublime  set- 
ting of  nature  to  one  of  her  most  inimitable  pic- 
tures, a  most  perfect  combination  of  the  sublime 
and  beautiful.  Yes,  seen  from  that  elevation, 
the  valley  of  Mexico  is  a  most  glorious  and  mag- 
nificent sight,  "but 'tis  distance  lends  enchant- 
ment to  the  view,"  and  as  we  descend  into  it,  its 
beauties  vanish.  The  lakes  become  marshes, 
the  fields  are  not  cultivated,  the  villages  are  mud, 
and  the  inhabitants  wretched  looking  peons,  in 
rags  and  squalid  misery.  We  encamped  outside 
of  a  small  town  called  Chalco,  on  the  lake  of 
that  name,  and  near  the  left  edge  of  the  valley. 
On  descending  the  hill,  where  we  lay  two  days, 
Gen,  Scott  in  the  meantime  having  reconnoitered 
the  enemy's  fortifications  at  the  Penon,  decided 
in  trying  if  another  way  could  not  be  found  to 
reach  the  city.  Col.  Duncan  having  satisfied 
Gen.  Scott  that  a  road  for  artillery  could  be  cut 
from  Chalco  to  Augustine,  Gen.  Worth's  divis- 
ion moved  in  that  direction  on  the  15rh,  followed 
by  Twiggs'  and  Pillow's.  We  marched  by  short 
day's  stages  over  a  terribly  bad  road,  and  on  the 
18th  we  arrived  at  Augustine,  within  a  few  miles 
of  the  enemy's  position. — Adventures  of  a  Soldier 
in  Mexico. 


A  TURKISH  AKABAT,  OR  LADY  S  CARRIAGE. 


See  "  Turltoy  and  the  Turkp, 
page  358,  lor  descriptioD.I 


USES  OF  SILK. 

Silk  is  an  agreeable  and  healthy  material. 
Used  in  dress,  it  retains  the  electricity  of  our 
bodies;  in  the  drapery  of  our  rooms  and  furni- 
ture covers,  it  reflects  the  sunbeams,  giving  them 
a  quicker  brilliancy,  and  it  heightens  colors  with 
a  charming  light.  It 
possesses  an  element  of 
cheerfulness,  of  which 
the  dull  surface  of  wool 
and  linen  are  destitute. 
It  also  promotes  clean- 
liness ;  will  not  readily 
imbibe  dirt,  and  does 
not  harbor  vermin  as 
kindly  as  wool  does. 
Its  continually  growing 
use  by  man,  according- 
ly, is  beneficial  in  many 
ways.  Grace  and  beau- 
ty, even,  owe  something 
to  silk.  You  cannot 
stiffen  it  like  thick  wool- 
en or  linen,  without  de- 
stroying all  its  gloss 
and  value.  The  more 
silk  ribbons,  therefore 
— the  more  silk  ker- 
chiefs and  robes  are 
used,  instead  of  linen 
and  wool — the  more 
graceful  becomes  the 
outward  aspect  of  man- 
kind. A  number  of 
strange,  grotesque  fash- 
ions, originating  in  the 
use  of  linen,  would 
never  have  been  invent- 
ed during  the  more  gen- 
era! employment  of  silk. 
The  fluttering  ribbon, 
the  rustling  and  flowing 
skirts  of  silk,  the  silk 
kerchief  loosely  knotted 
round  the  neck,  have 
materially  contributed 
to  make  our  customs 
more  natural  and  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye.  It  is 
therefore  satisfactory  to 
see  this  gay  material 
becoming  every  day  the 
property  of  a  wider  cir- 
cle of  consumers.  — 
H&T  Kohl. 


>^-, 


F.  GLBASON, 


[  CORNER  BROMFIELD 
AND  TKEMONT  ST3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  11,  1852. 


S2  PER  VOLUME.  ] 
10  Crs.  SINGLE.    ] 


Vol-  m.  No.  24— Whole  No.  76. 


MERCHANTS'  EXCHANGE,  NEW  YORR. 

This  noble  structure — ihe  "RiaUo"of  New 
York,  where  merchants  most  do  congregate — is 
located  between  Wall  Street  and  Exchange 
Place,  William  and  Hanover  Streets.  It  is  built 
in  the  most  substantial  form,  of  blue  Massachu- 
setts g:ranite,  and  is  200  feet  long,  171  to  144 
feet  wide,  77  feet  high  to  the  top  of  the  cornice, 
and  124  to  top  of  dome,  which  in  the  street  can- 
not be  seen.  The  front  on  Wall  Street  has  a 
recessed  portico  of  eighteen  massive  Grecian 
Ionic  columns — twelve  in  front  and  six  in  rear. 
They  are  thirty-eight  feet  high,  four  feet  four 
inches  in  diameter,  each  formed  from  a  solid 
block  of  stone,  and  weighing  forty-five  tons. 
Besides  numerous  rooms  for  various  purposes, 
the  rotunda  in  the  centre  is  eighty  feet  in  diam- 
eter, with  four  recesses,  making  the  length  and 


breadth  100  feet;  the  whole  eighty  feet,  sur- 
mounted by  a  dome  resting  in  part  on  eight  Co- 
rinthian columns  of  Italian  marble,  forty-one 
feet  high,  lighted  by  a  skylight  twenty-five  feet 
in  diameter.  It  will  hold  three  thousand  per- 
sons. The  granite  columns  cost  S3000  each. 
They  are  the  largest  whole  columns  in  the  world, 
with  the  exception  of  those  in  a  church  in  St. 
Petersburg.  The  architect  was  Isaiah  Rogers. 
The  building  cost  a  little  more  than  a  million  of 
dollars.  It  belongs  to  a  corporation,  and  its 
rooms  command  enormous  rents.  It  contains  a 
very  extensive  reading-room  for  merchant  sub- 
scribers. The  chamber  of  commerce  holds  its 
sessions  here,  and  the  board  of  brokers  occupy 
the  rotunda  at  certain  hours  of  the  day.  The 
stranger  can  visit  all  parts  of  the  building.  We 
feel  confident  that  no  reader  of  the  Pictorial  will 


visit  New  York  without  taking  time  to  examine 
this  fine  piece  of  architecture,  so  imposing  and 
grand  in  every  particular.  As  a  monument  of 
enterprise  and  liberal  expenditure,  it  has  no  rival 
even  in  New  York.  Like  nearly  all  great  enter- 
prises, when  this  was  proposed,  it  was  deemed 
by  a  very  large  portion  of  the  citizens  as  very 
chimerical  in  its  propriety  or  usefulness;  hut 
what  merchant  in  Wall  Street  would  now  part 
with  this  leviathan  exchange  at  any  cost  ?  Our 
artist,  Mr.  Wade,  has  done  himself  credit  in  the 
excellent  and  perfect  representation  which  he 
has  given  us  of  this  public  building.  Few  men 
in  this  country  or  England  can  equal  his  pencil 
in  its  peculiar  sphere,  and  particularly  is  he  at 
home  in  architecture  and  maritime  views.  Our 
readers  have  often  met  with  his  drawings  in 
these  pages,  to  which  he  will  still  regularly  and 


frequently  lend  his  aid.  Our  readers  will  thank 
us  for  this  engraving  as  being  one  richly  worthy 
of  preservation.  In  this  connection  we  may 
add  that  we  shall  continue  to  illustrate  every 
public  building  of  note  in  the  country.  No  mat- 
ter how  far  distant,  or  how  elaborate  the  design, 
our  artists  will  be  on  the  spot,  and  our  readers 
will  reap  the  benefit  of  our  enterprise.  Nothing 
of  interest  in  this  or  any  other  country  shall  es- 
cape us;  our  aim  is  to  illustrate  everything  of 
public  interest  and  everybody  of  general  note. 
The  subscribers  to  the  Pictorial  will  therefore 
see  how  valuable  a  record  of  the  present  and  the 
past  they  are  preserving,  by  regularly  filing  and 
binding  the  illumined  paper  we  send  to  them; 
and  few  discerning  people,  especially  families, 
will  be  without  our  paper,  so  lifelike  in  its  pre- 
sentations of  scenes  and  localities. 


VIEW  OP  THE  MERCHANTS    EXCHANGE,  WALL  STREET,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


370 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleabon,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


[written   EXPKESSLT   fob  GLEASON'S   nCTOHIAL.] 


t 


ULa^ 


THE  SIGN  OF   THE  MYSTIC  TIE. 

A  Talc  of  the  Ciiiii])  and  Court  of  Bonaparte. 

BY  B.  PERLEY  POOEE. 

[continued . ] 


CHAPTER  XVII.— [continued.] 

The  justice  of  peace  was  there  ;  and,  his  face 
buried  in  his  Iiands,  there  sat  the  supposed  crimi- 
nal, surrounded  by  soldiers.  Unfortunate  Os- 
manli,  his  cup  of  misery  was  now  tilled  to  over- 
flowinfi,  and  all  that  night  had  he  pictured,  in 
horrible  colors,  the  scene  he  was  now  an  actor 
in.  Bat  he  was  not,  with  all  his  soul-nerving 
preparation,  expecting  to  see  Madame  Wilmot. 
Nor  had  that  lady  but  glanced  at  him,  ere  she 
left  Judith,  pushed  herself  through  the  soldiers, 
and  throwing  her  arms  around  Osmanli's  neck, 
■with  a  convulsive  shriek,  exclaimed  : 

"My  son!  my  son!  Thank  Heaven,  I  have 
found  you !" 

For  this  recognition,  so  long  desired,  and  yet 
under  such  circumstances  brought  to  pass,  the 
young  man  was  not  prepared,  but  every  emotion 
of  his  heart  chilled,  when  he  heard  the  well- 
known  voice  of  Judith,  speaking  in  low  and  ter- 
rified tones  : 

"  Osmanli !  O,  Osmanli  !  Can  it  be  that  you 
— the  son  of  my  friend,  the  possessor  of  my  heart 
■ — can  it  be  that  you  muidcred  my  poor  old  fa- 
ther f    0  no  !  no  !     It  cannot,  must  not  be  so." 

And  with  an  unearthly  burst  of  uncontrollable 
grief,  she  sank  into  a  chair,  insensible.  The 
justice  humanely  disposed  with  her  further  at- 
tendance, and  she  was  carried  back  to  her  cham- 
ber. Madame  Wilmot  stood  by  her  unfortunate 
son,  her  arms  clasped  around  his  neck,  and  her 
scalding  tears  betokening  the  agitation  of  her 
troubled  heart. 

"Young  man,"  said  the  justice,  "can  you 
not  explain  the  fearful  evidence  against  you  '? 
If  sOj  now  is  the  time  to  speak." 

Gently  removing  his  mother's  encircling  arms, 
Osmanli  rose,  and  his  eye  flashed  with  indignant 
energy. 

"What  have  I  to  explain?"  he  asked,  with 
an  eloquence  that  can  only  come  from  the  heart. 
"I  am  a  soldier — a  French  soldier.  I  have 
faced  death,  and  your  Egyptian  commander  will 
vouch  for  my  valor.  Circumstances  have  for  a 
time  kept  me  from  the  world — they  have  until 
the  past  moment  kept  me  from  a  mother's  love. 
But  can  you  imagine,  sir,  that  last  night,  when 
I  first  saw  yon  victim,  when  I  hailed  him  with 
joy,  when  my  heart  rejoiced  at  the  idea  of  again 
meeting  his  daughter "?  0,  think  you  that  at 
such  a  moment  I  would  dip  my  hands  in  his 
blood,  and  stab  him  like  a  ruffian  ?  If  you  do 
think  so,  sir,  you  know  me  not." 

"  Your  appeal  is  eloquent,"  said  the  justice, 
"and  if  assertions  could  overbalance  facts,  I 
might  acquit  you.  But  tlie  testimony  implica- 
ted you  so  directly,  that  I  must  order  your  im- 
prisonment, to  answer  a  charge  of  wilful  murder." 

No  sooner  did  Madame  Wilmot  hear  the  ap- 
palling decision,  than  she  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  her  loaded  lieart  was  thus  relieved 
from  a  load  of  sorrow  too  mighty  to  be  borne. 
Osmanli  shuddered,  but  drawing  himself  up,  he 
replied,  in  a  clear  tone  : 

"X  submit.  I  bow  before  my  fate.  And 
should  I  be  condemned  to  death,  I  shall  walk 
fearlessly  towards  the  guillotine,  as  a  step  to- 
wards a  tribunal  where  all  testimony  is  known, 
and  where  no  secrets  are  hidden."  Then  cast- 
ing a  look  of  mingled  agony  and  pity  at  Madame 
Wilmot,  he  continued  :  "As  for  you,  my  long 
sought  mother,  you  find  me  as  undcfilcd  by  this 
foul  crime  as  I  was  when  you  first  heard  my  in- 
fant voice.     Pray  for  mc,  sec  me  if  you  can,  and, 


0  do  not  let  Judith  curse  me  as  her  father's 
murderer.  You,  my  heart  tells  me,  do  not  ac- 
cuse mc." 

"  Accuse  you  !"  exclaimed  Madame  Wilmot, 
in  a  tone  of  piercing  anguish.  "  Can  I  think 
that  the  Almighty  would  restore  my  son,  after  a 
life-separation,  W'th  his  hands  red  with  the  blood 
of  him  whose  daughter  he  loved  ?  Never  !  No, 
my  noble-hearted  boy,  I  will  not  desert  you. 
My  soul  within  me  tells  me  that  you  are  inno- 
cent, and  that  your  name  will  never  be  branded 
with  ignominy.  One  kiss,  and  then  go  to  meet 
your  fate  like  a  man.     You  will  see  mc  often." 

And  it  was  there,  surrounded  by  armed  guards, 
with  the  awful  corpse  before  them  in  accusing 
terror,  that  the  mother  enibraced  her  son  for  the 
first  time.  Joy  surcharged  their  hearts,  and  rap- 
turous love,  unrestrained  by  fear  of  the  future, 
possessed  their  every  faculty. 

They  parted.  Madame  AVilmot,  after  a  few 
hurried  words  of  comfort  to  the  agonized  Judith, 
hastened  to  see  General  Bonaparte,  and  Osmanli, 
heavily  ironed,  w^as  conveyed  to  the  old  prison 
near  Notre  Dame.  His  heart  sank  within  him  as 
he  w^as  conveyed  along  the  gloomy  corridor,  and 
the  door  of  his  cell  creaked  on  its  hinges,  but,  as 
he  entered,  the  sergeant  of  his  guard  pressed  his 
hand.  It  was  the  grasp  of  a  brother,  and  his 
sad  thoughts  were  cheered  by  one  word,  spoken 
in  a  low  tone  of  voice.  That  consoling,  hope- 
inspiring  word,  accompanied  by  a  mystic  grasp, 
"was : 

"  Courage  !" 

And  throughout  the  long  day,  when  the  un- 
happy prisoner  thought  over  the  varied  events 
of  the  preceding  twenty-four  hours,  there  came 
shining  through  the  gloom — "courage."  It 
nerved  his  sad  heart,  and  inspired  him  with  hope. 

The  faint  light  which  had  penetrated  through 
the  thickly  barred  window  at  last  grew  dim,  and 
as  night  came  on,  an  awful  stillness  reigned  in 
the  prison,  only  interrupted  by  the  deep  tones  of 
the  neighboi-ing  cathedral  bells,  as  they  pealed 
forth  the  successive  hours.  Ac  last,  from  sheer 
exhaustion,  he  fell  asleep,  and  was  awakened  by 
the  light  of  a  lantern,  held  before  his  eyes. 

"  Hush  1"  whispered  a  strange  voice,  and  sit- 
ting up  upon  his  straw  couch,  Osmanli  saw  the 
sergeant  who  had  inspired  him  wiih  hope. 

"  You  don't  remember  me,  conyade  ?"  whis- 
pered the  soldier.  "Never  mind,  but  I  remem- 
ber you.  Saperlotte,  as  I  told  the  boys,  to  have 
a  comrade  who  had  saved  Napoleon's  life  ar- 
rested by  the  black-coats,  and  locked  up  like  a 
pickpocket.  In  short,  brother  Osmanli,  the 
guard  to-night  are  all  from  the  grenadier  corps 
which  once  surprised  you  near  Grand  Cairo, 
after  you  had  broken  the  '  little  eorporal'.s'  sword, 
Besides,  wc  are  most  of  us  bound  to  you  by  a 
'mystic  tie' — so  up,  fellow,  and  march." 

Osmanli's  thanks  impulsively  burst  from  his 
eyes  in  tears,  but  the  soldier  motioned  to  him  to 
be  silent,  and  to  follow.  They  stepped  out  into 
the  corridor,  and  the  sergeant,  after  re-locking 
the  door,  cautiously  led  the  way,  Osmanli  fol- 
lowing. In  a  few  moments  they  reached  the 
guard  room,  where  a  dozen  stalwort  fellows  wel- 
comed their  old  Egyptian  friend,  and  in  a  few 
moments  he  was  completely  uniformed,  his  long 
hair  was  reduced  to  the  regimental  cut,  and  his 
whole  appearance  was  so  changed  that  none  but 
the  most  practised  eyes  could  have  recognized 
him. 

"Bravo!"  said  the  sergeant,  when  the  cos- 
tume  was   pronounced   perfect.      "  Elints    and 


scabbards  I  ))ut  you  are  a  grenadier  of  tiie  first 
water.  Now  lay  down  on  a  mattress  and  Huioke 
until  daylight,  when  the  guard  will  he  relieved, 
and  you  can  marcli  with  us  to  the  barracks. 
Then,  my  brother,  you  can  go  where  you  please. 
Not  a  word  of  thanks  now,  and  pleasant  dreams 
to  you." 

Never  was  there  an  escape  better  planned — 
never  was  one  more  successfully  carried  out. 
And  when,  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning, 
Madame  Wilmot  visited  the  prison,  accompa- 
nied by  an  ollicer  in  command  of  a  guard,  the 
prisoner  they  sought  was  not  to  be  found.  Bona- 
parte had  signed  an  order,  claiming  him  as  be- 
longing to  the  army,  and  only  subject  to  a  court 
martial,  and  Madame  Wilmot  was  to  sh.are  his 
preliminary  confinement.  But,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, the  keeper  of  the  prison  declared  that  Os- 
manli must  have  escaped.  The  turnkeys,  when 
closely  questioned,  admitted  that  they  had  drunk 
with  tiie  guard  to  the  health  of  General  Bona- 
parte, and  afterwards  had  perhaps  slept  on  their 
posts.  But  the  inspectors  of  the  night  were 
positive  that  they  had  made  their  accustomed 
rounds,  and  that  all  was  quiet,  except  the  tread 
of  the  numerous  sentinels.  It  was  a  mysterious, 
unaccountable  afi'air,  and  puzzled  the  officials  not 
a  little.  As  for  Madame  Wilmot,  while  she 
I'cjoiced  that  her  son  was  thus  probably  delivered 
from  ignominy,  she  offered  up  a  silent  prayer  to 
Heaven  that  he  might  be  restored  to  her  arms. 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 

PROCLAMATION    OF    TIIE    HEPUBLIC. 

The  morning  was  cold  and  dreary,  yet  at  an 
early  hour  all  the  general  officers  in  Paris  were 
on  horseback,  on  their  way  to  the  residence  of 
General  Bonaparte.  Cavalcade  after  cavalcade 
arrived,  and  were  admitted  into  the  court-yard, 
exciting  the  curiosity  of  a  large  body  of  specta- 
tors, who  could  not  divine  what  was  about  to 
take  place.  No  review  had  been  announced,  no 
festive  preparations  had  been  made,  and  yet  every 
military  man  of  note  made  his  appearance,  and 
followed  his  comrades  into  the  court-yard.  Mu- 
rat,  with  his  long  curls  and  gorgeous  uniform — 
La  Salle,  with  his  honor-scarred  cheek — Moreau, 
pale  and  thoughtful — Andreossy,  powerful  as  the 
brigade  of  dragoons  whose  uniform  he  wore — 
Jourdan,  the  lion-hearted — Lefevre,  the  invinci- 
ble— all,  in  short,  were  there.  All  were  in  full 
uniform,  attended  by  their  brilliant  groups  of 
staff-officers,  and  as  each  cavalcade  passed 
through  the  assembled  populace,  its  leader  was 
complimented  by  allusions  to  his  well  known 
victories.  Last  of  all,  came  a  tall,  fine  looking 
man,  in  citizen's  dress.  It  was  Bernadotte,  and 
his  compressed  lip  betokened  his  disappointment, 
for  he  had  a  presentiment  that  Bonaparte  was 
about  to  do  what  he  had  long  wished  others  to 
do  for  himself.  Power  was  to  be  concentrated, 
and  a  strong  arm,  wielding  a  good  sword,  was 
to  rule  France. 

An  hour  passed,  and  the  crowd  without  had 
swelled  to  thousands,  when  the  sound  of  trum- 
pets checked  the  curious  in  their  speculations. 
Three  regiments  of  cavalry,  the  flower  of  the 
Paris  garrison,  made  their  way  through  the 
masses,  and  drew  up  in  an  adjacent  boulevard. 
What  their  officers  had  been  ordered  to  do,  the 
troopers  knew  not,  but  each  man  who  was  ques- 
tioned whispered  that  he  had  rations  in  liis  va- 
lise, and  his  holsters  full  of  ball-cartridges  for 
his  carbine. 

Something  was  evidently  on  foot. 

A  horseman  came  up  at  full  gallop,  and  called 
upon  the  people  to  make  way  for  a  state  mes- 
senger. 

"  Where  are  you  from  V  inquired  a  score  of 
voices. 

"  From  the  council  now  in  session  at  the  Tuil- 
eries,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  have  a  decree  for 
General  Bonaparte.  Let  me  pass."  And  as 
the  massive  gates  closed  after  him,  the  wonder 
increased. 

Soon  a  shout  was  heard  within  :  "  Long  live 
the  Republic !  Long  live  Bon.aparte !"  The 
multitude  without  took  up  the  cry — the  cavalry 
echoed  it  back,  and  soon  all  that  section  of  the 
mighty  metropolis  resounded  with  :  "  Long  live 
Bonaparte!" 

The  gates  swang  wide  upon  their  hinges,  and 
Bonaparte  rode  forth,  mounted  upon  a  noble 
gray  charger.  He  wore  the  uniform  of  his  grade, 
his  long  hair  partially  concealed  his  pale  cheeks, 
and  his  eye  flashed  with  daring.  Behind  him 
were  his  generals,  war-worn  and  bearing  marks 
of  many  a  fiery  baptism  upon  their  bronzed 
countenanees.  Before  him,  as  he  emerged  into 
the  streets,  was  the  Paris  populace — that  terrible 


multitude,  who-se  hands  still  reeked  with  the 
blood  of  their  murdered  fiovereigns.  Checking 
his  horse,  iie  raised  his  hat  and  cried,  in  a  tom- 
juanding  tone  of  voice  : 

"Long  live  tiie  Republic  !" 

But  tiie  people  and  the  military  suite  respond- 
ed with  an  enthusiastic  shout: 

"  Long  live  Bonaparte  !" 

The  general's  face  fiushed  with  pride,  and  ho 
gave   the   order   "  Forward    lo   the  Tuileries." 

From  that  moment  until  his  star  paled  bfforc 
British  gold,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  ruled  France. 

Let  U3  now  return  to  O-smanli,  who  marched 
away  from  prison  with  his  deliverers.  But  ere 
the  guard  could  reach  the  barracks,  they  met  ihe 
regiment,  and  were  ordered  to  fall  into  the  ranks. 
This  was  an  awkward  dilemma,  especially  as 
none  of  the  soldiers  knew  where  they  were  march- 
ing, but  there  was  no  altei-native.  Osmanli  fell 
in,  with  his  friends,  and  they  all  were  relieved 
when  they  found  that  they  were  marciiing  out  of 
the  city.  On,  on,  they  followed  the  inspiring 
martial  music,  nor  was  the  word  "halt"  given 
until  the  column  had  entered  the  shades  of  the 
park  of  St,  Cloud.  That  night,  Osmanli  biv- 
ouacked with  the  regiment,  and  such  was  the 
confusion  that  no  officer  remarked  a  new  face  iu 
the  ranks. 

Early  the  next  morning,  the  members  of  the 
legi:^lative  bodies  began  to  arrive  at  St.  Cloud, 
to  where  they  had  been  adjoumtd.  Guards  were 
posted  throughout  the  park  and  the  palaee,  and 
Osmanli  found  himself  stationed  in  the  orangery, 
where  the  Council  of  Five  Hundred  soon  began 
to  assemble.  The  members  were  in  a  high  state 
of  excitement,  as  tiie  Parisians  had  shown  no 
discontent  at  Bonaparte's  assumption  of  power, 
and  the  session  commenced  amid  excitement  of 
the  wildest  description.  General  Bonaparte's 
brother  Lucien  was  president,  but  he  had  few 
partizans,  and  there  was  soon  a  storm  of  abuse 
and  vehement  denunciation,  mingled  with  cries 
of  "  Down  with  the  dictator !  Death  to  the  new 
Cromwell !     Let  us  die  rather  than  submit !" 

At  this  critical  juncture,  Bonaparte  entered 
the  hall,  and  approached  the  president's  chair. 
The  tempest  now  became  a  hurricane,  and  just 
as  he  reached  the  centre  of  the  hall,  a  hundred 
voices  shouted  "  Death  to  the  tyrant."  Leaving 
their  seats,  they  rushed  towards  him,  and  one,  a 
Corsican,  aimed  a  dagger  at  his  throat.  Luckily 
for  Bonaparte,  the  grenadiers  on  duty  no  sooner 
saw  how  he  was  menaced,  than  they  hastened  to 
the  room,  and  Thome,  casting  his  arm  before  the 
assassin,  received  tlie  glittering  steel.  Another 
deputy  had  drawn  a  weapon,  but  Osmanli  seized 
him,  and  arrested  his  blow. 

For  the  first  and  only  time,  Bonaparte's  iron 
nerves  were  shaken.  He  could  brave  the  horrors 
of  warfare,  but  not  this  civic  ruffianism,  and  with 
a  hurried  word  of  thanks  to  his  preservers,  he 
staggered  rather  than  walked  into  the  open  air. 
There,  mounting  his  horse,  he  ordered  the  drums 
to  heat  "  to  the  colors,"  and  as  the  troops  sur- 
rounded him,  in  a  hollow  square,  their  serried 
ranks  restored  his  wonted  vigor. 

"  Comrades !"  said  he,  and  his  voice  rang 
like  a  clarion,  "  I  was  about  to  point  out  to  yon- 
der mob  the  means  of  saving  the  republic,  and 
of  restoring  our  honor.  They  answered  me  with 
drawn  daggers.  What  more  could  England 
have  desired  ?  Comrades,  I  have  led  you  to 
fjxme — to  glory — to  honor  !  Can  I  now  rely 
upon  you  V 

"  Yes  !  yes  I  We  swear  to  uphold  you  !" 
shouted  every  man,  and  putting  their  tall  bear- 
skin caps  on  their  bayonets,  they  waved  them  in 
manifestation  of  their  joyful  allegiance.  Soon 
the  beat  of  the  drums  restored  order.  Com- 
mands were  issued.  Companies  marched  in 
different  directions,  and  one  took  possession  of 
the  Council  Hall,  driving  the  refractory  members 
out  of  the  windows,  which  were  near  the  ground. 
The  bristling  line  of  bayonets  was  an  unanswer- 
able argument,  and  the  valiant  orators  retreattd 
with  such  undignified  precipitation  that  they  left 
their  hats  and  scarfs,  as  they  crowded  through 
the  narrow  outlet.  Leaping  to  the  earth,  they 
ran  away  like  frightened  sheep  througli  the  park, 
and  tiie  dynasty  of  the  military  ruler  was  estab- 
lished. 

Josephine,  who  had  urged  Bonaparte  to  take 
this  important  step,  awaited  his  return  with 
heartfelt  anxiety.  Sometimes  her  fondest  hopes 
seemed  about  to  be  realized,  and  she  imagined 
that  the  prediction  of  the  Creole  forlunc-tcUer 
was  about  to  be  fulfilled.  Then  gloomy  fears 
would  fill  her  with  apprehension,  lest  the  bold 
game  should  be  lost,  in  which  case  a  sealTold 
would  be  her  husband's  portion— dishonor  her 
lot.     At  last  the  sound  of  trumpets  iittraetcd  her 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DllAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


Oi  I 


to  tke  window,  and  Bonaparte,  with  a  numerous 
suite,  galloped  into  the  court-yard.  Dismount- 
ing, he  saluted  his  escort,  and  was  hailed  with 
loud  shouts  of  "  Long  li\'e  the  consul !"  Jose- 
phine knew  that  he  was  successful,  and  she  hast- 
ened to  the  door  to  greet  her  warrior  husband, 
in  a  delirium  of  proud  joy. 

That  night,  Madame  Wilmot  called,  and  was 
permitted  to  see  Josephine,  who  listened  with 
sympathy  to  her  sad  recital.  Judith  had  fol- 
lowed her  father's  remains  to  their  final  resting- 
place,  and  her  tirst  wretchedness  had  become 
chastened  by  that  self  controlling  philosophy 
which  is  one  of  the  blessings  of  grief.  But  of  Os- 
manli  the  poor  woman  could  bring  no  tidings, 
though  she  confidently  asserted  his  innocence. 
"While  they  were  conversing,  Bonaparte  entered 
the  room.  He  at  first  manifested  some  displea- 
sure at  finding  a  stranger  with  Josephine,  but 
when  he  saw  who  it  was,  his  countenance  bright- 
ened up. 

"I  have  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  thought  I 
knew  hira,  although  those  rascally  cut-throats 
i-ather  disconcerted  me." 

"Who'?"  eagerly  asked  Madame  "Wilmot. 
"  Osmanli':!" 

"  The  same,  my  good  woman,  if  I  am  not 
much  mistaken — " 

"And  he  was  doing  no  harm'?"  she  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Harm  !  Why  he  was  saving  my  life ;  a  fa- 
vorite movement  of  his,  with  which  I  find  no 
fault." 

"  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !"  ejaculated  Ma- 
dame Wilmot.  "  But  where  can  I  find  my  son  V 
"  You  shall  see  him  to-morrow  moraing,  my 
friend,  although  I  cannot  imagine  how  he  be- 
came transferred  from  a  bolted  cell  into  the 
ranks  of  my  grenadier  regiment.  But  they  are 
strange  fellows,  those  grenadiers,  and  seldom 
wrong.  Wait  until  to  morrow,  and  you  will  see 
them." 

And  Madame  "Wilmot  returned  to  Judith, 
who  was  equally  delighted  to  hear  the  intelli- 
gence. Still,  although  she  could  not  believe 
that  Osmanli  was  her  father's  murderer,  she 
could  but  shudder  at  the  thought  that  such  a 
fearful  accusation  bung  over  him.  A  heavy 
cloud  eclipsed  all  the  pleasant  emotions  of  her 
heart,  and  she  feared  that  the  affection  she  enter- 
tained for  Osmanli  could  never  blossom  again. 

Midnight  was  marked  by  the  cathedral  bell, 
and  as  the  other  city  clocks  pealed  forth  an  ir- 
regular response,  a  tall  man,  wrapped  in  a  cloak, 
rang  at  the  house  where  Judith  resided.  He 
asked  the  half-awakened  porter  for  Madame 
"Wilmot,  but  ere  he  could  persuade  the  stupid 
sen'ant  to  ask  that  lady  to  receive  his  visit,  she 
came  down  stairs.  Sleep  had  not  visited  her 
eyes,  and  as  the  knock  reverberated  thi-ough  the 
house,  she  fancied  that  it  might  be  Osmanli. 
Again  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment,  for 
she  knew  not  the  stranger. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  gentleman,  and 
a  friend  to  the  young  man  who  is  said  to  be  your 
son.  If  you  will  accompany  me,  I  can  convince 
yon  of  his  innocence  of  the  murder  of  Mordecai 
Fezenzac." 

"I  know  you  not,"  she  replied,  "but  your 
manner  is  that  of  an  honorable  man,  who  will 
not  add  to  the  misfortunes  of  a  lacerated  iieart. 
Permit  me  to  attire  myself,  and  I  will  cheerfully 
accompany  you." 

Hastening  up  stairs,  she  soon  descended,  and 
the  stranger  handed  her  into  a  coach.  A  rapid 
half-hour's  drive,  in  perfect  silence,  and  they 
stopped  near  the  cathedral  of  Notre  Dame. 
Alighting,  Madame  Wilmot  was  escorted,  with 
the  precautions  we  have  already  described,  down 
into  the  catacombs.  And  there,  stretched  upon 
a  bed  of  agony,  lay  the  once  brilliant  Colonel 
Margry.  He  had  endeavored,  the  previous  morn- 
ing, to  cor.Tp  some  of  the  soldiers  formerly  un- 
der his  command.  But  they  refused  to  listen  to 
his  seductive  promises,  and  when  he  unluckily 
denounced  General  Bonaparte,  they  nearly  bea^t 
him  to  death.  Nothing  but  the  exertions  of  an 
ofiicer  saved  his  life,  and  as  it  was,  his  proud 
heart  was  broken  by  the  indignity.  Managing 
with  difficulty  to  reach  the  catacombs,  he  threw 
himself  at  the  feet  of  the  Count  de  Vergennes, 
praying  a  shelter  while  life  lasted.  Although 
detesting  him,  the  count's  noble  nature  could 
not  refuse  this  request,  and  he  sent  for  a  physi- 
cian. But  it  was  too  late,  and  the  doctor,  with 
an  ominous  shake  of  the  head,  said  that  a  con- 
fessor would  be  more  serviceable. 

So  numerous  were  those  connected  with  the 
royalist  plot,  that  it  was  an  easy  matter  for  the 
count  to  summons  a  reverend  brother — and  the 
priest  who  came,  curiously  enough,  was  a  mem- 


ber of  the  lodge  where  Osmanli  and  Fezenzac 
had  met,  on  the  night  when  the  last  mentioned 
was  slain.  What  then  was  his  delight,  when, 
after  confessing  a  black  catalogue  of  crimes,  the 
dying  man  exculpated  Osmanli  by  avowing  him- 
self the  murderer  of  Judith's  father.  He  had 
intended  to  stab  the  young  Mameluke,  but  the 
unfortunate  Jew,  in  borrowing  Osmanli's  cloak, 
sealed  his  doom.  By  refusing  absolution,  the 
priest  compelled  his  penitent  to  acknowledge  his 
guilt,  and  Madame  Wilmot  arrived  in  time  to 
hear  the  very  justice  who  had  sentenced  her  son, 
receive  the  deposition  which  triumphantly  pro- 
claimed his  innocence. 

The  next  day,  as  the  grenadier  regiment  re- 
entered its  barracks  at  Paris,  a  staffofEccr  ap- 
proached the  colonel  with  a  summons  for  Ser- 
geant Thome  and  Private  Osmanli  to  appear 
before  the  consul,  whose  life  they  had  protected 
at  St.  Cloud.  This  order,  so  gratifying  to  the 
sergeant,  was  the  climax  to  Osmanli's  misery. 
He  could  endure  disgrace,  nay  death,  but  to  face 
Josephine  seemed  worse  than  death  itself.  But 
there  was  no  escape.  Evasion  was  impossible, 
and  in  a  few  moments  he  approached  the  house, 
where  he  had  once  been  the  object  of  such  atten- 
tion. Alas!  what  sad  changes  had- since  dim- 
med his  heart. 


CHAPTEK  SIX. 

A    BKIGUTER    DAY    FOK    OSMANLI. 

"  Napoleon'  Bonaparte  rules  France !" 
Such  was  the  cry  of  the  delighted  Parisians,  and 
it  was  re-echoed  by  the  hunters  on  the  Pyrenees, 
the  fishermen  on  the  Norman  coasts,  and  the 
idne-dressers  in  the  interior  provinces.  Fast 
sped  the  news,  over  mountain  and  vale,  plain 
and  forest,  with  the  rapid  flight  of  Clan  Alpine's 
fiery  cross,  awakening  high  hopes  in  the  breasts 
of  all  who  wished  well  for  the  nation.  True,  tlie 
adventurous  soldier  shared  the  power  with  two 
fellow-consuls,  but  every  one  knew  tlmt  he  could 
make  them  subservient  to  his  will,  and  carry  out 
his  own  plans.  What  those  plans  were,  no  one 
knew,  but  everyone  appeared  confident  that  they 
would  regenerate  public  affairs,  and  restore 
tranquillity. 

As  Osmanli  approached  the  residence  of  the 
commander  in-chief,  he  saw  many  evidences  of 
the  change  in  the  social  rank  of  its  owner.  A 
military  guard  was  posted  at  the  gate — couriers, 
mounted  on  fleet  steeds,  came  and  went  with 
dispatches — colonels  of  regiments  quartered  in 
the  city  called  to  receive  orders  or  to  receive  re- 
ports— while  wily  office  holders,  wiih  obsequious 
smiles,  were  anxious  to  pay  homage  to  the  new 
chief  of  the  state. 

An  orderly  was  in  attendance  at  the  door, 
evidently  expecting  the  two  grenadiers,  who 
were  at  once  escorted  into  the  drawing  room. 
It  was  filled  with  officers  and  civilians,  excepting 
an  open  space  near  the  door,  where  stood  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte,  the  observed  of  all  observers. 
No  sooner  did  his  quick  eye  discern  the  grena- 
diers' uniforms,  though,  than  he  advanced  to 
meet  them,  and,  taking  each  by  the  hand,  led 
Osmanli  and  Thome  into  the  midst  of  the  as- 
semblage. 

"  Gemlemen,"  and  never  had  his  voice  been 
so  commanding  in  its  tone,  "  these  two  grena- 
diers yesterday  saved  my  life,  and  gratitude  is 
an  immediate  du'y.  Sergeant  major  Thome,  I 
promote  you  to  a  captaincy,  with  an  annual 
pension  of  two  thousand  francs.  As  for  your 
comrade,"  and  Bonaparte  smiled  as  he  spoke, 
"he  is  a  captain  already,  although  now  in  the 
ranks  on  account  of  some  intrigue — the  ladies 
are  always  spoiling  my  best,  troops.  But  no 
matter — no  matter,  Major  Osmanli,  or  rather 
Major  Wilmot,  I  shall  detail  you  to  a  squadron 
of  horse,  which  I  propose  organizing,  as  a  con- 
sular guard.  And  now,  major,  open  yonder 
door,  and  enter,  you  will  there  find  friends." 

Bewildered  and  astonished,  Osmanli  mechan- 
ically turned  the  handle  of  the  door  pointed  out, 
and  entered  a  small  room.  There  stood  his 
mother,  who  bad  been  anxiously  awaiting  his 
arrival,  and  who  now,  with  a  cry  of  joy  folded 
him  to  her  heart.  When  the  first  transports  of 
delight  had  been  indulged  in,  she  gladdened  his 
heart  by  informing  him  how  the  dying  Margry 
had  disclosed  the  truth,  and  established  his  inno- 
cence. What  joyous  news  !  The  dark  clouds 
which  had  lowered  over  the  horizon  of  his  hopes 
disappeared  before  the  glad  tidings^the  world 
seemed  brighter  than  it  ever  had  before — nor 
could  he  look  upon  the  past  except  as  a  fearful 
dream. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Josephine 
entered,  leading  Judith  Fezenzac  by  the  hand. 


"Do  not  blush,"  said  Madame  Bonaparte, 
"for  we  know  all  your  temptations  and  afflic- 
tions— your  sufferings  of  body  and  of  mind. 
You  have  erred — who  has  not  1  But  all  that  I 
can  remember  of  the  past  is,  that  you  have  twice 
saved  the  life  of  my  noble  husband — besides 
having  preserved  my  nightingale  here  from  a 
fate  far  worse  than  death.  Besides,  your  mother 
is  an  old  fiicnd;  so  do  not  look  so  penitent." 

Osmanli  could  not  speak,  but  bowed  his  grati- 
tude. Never  had  Judith  appeared  so  lovely  to 
him  before,  for  sorrow  had  but  passed  over  her 
features  like  a  dove,  tlie  surface  looking  softer 
from  the  touch  of  its  wing.  Forgiveness  beamed 
from  her  sparkling  eyes,  a  kind  smile  kindled 
around  the  corners  of  her  expressive  mouth,  and 
as  she  sat  down  beside  his  mother,  the  young 
man  knew  not  which  to  admire  most — or  which 
he  loved  the  best. 

Josephine  was  in  high  spirits,  but  the  others, 
although  perhaps  happier,  did  not  say  much — 
their  hearts  were  too  full. 

"  By  the  way,  major,"  said  Josephine,  "  yom" 
post  ia  the  consular  guard  will  make  you  a  fre- 
quent inmate  of  the  palace  when  we  are  once  in- 
stalled lliere,  and  I  warn  you  in  advance  that 
you  are  not  to  make  love  to  my  maids  of  honor !" 

"  Ah,  Madame  Bonaparte,"  replied  Osmanli, 
"  you  need  not  fear  me.  Experience  has  taught 
me  how  dangerous  it  is  to  be  too  susceptible." 

"  Very  well !  Especially  the  side-glance  at 
Mademoiselle  Judith.  Well,  as  she  is  already 
named  as  one  of  my  attendants,  she.  should  take 
such  a  rejection  of  her  charms  as  an  insult." 

"  Madame,  I — I — " 

"  Don't  stammer,  major.  But  you  must  all 
know  that  I  have  to  make  preparations  for  our 
removal  to  the  palace,  so  I  shall  avail  myself  of 
my  official  privilege,  and  send  you  away.  Don't 
forget,  my  dear  Madame  Wilmot,  to  come  and 
see  me  when  I  am  installed  in  my  new  quarters." 

"  Yes,  your  majesty,"  replied  Madame  Wil- 
mot, with  a  low  courtesy.     "  You  remember — " 

"The  fortune-teller!"  exclaimed  Josephine. 
'  That  I  do,  and  I  feel  assured  that  the  predic- 
tion will  be  fulfilled.  Besides,  Napoleon  told 
me  last  night  of  a  wonderful  prediction  made 
about  him  when  he  was  in  Egypt,  by  an  Oriental 
magician.     Adieu.     Let  me  see  you  often." 

Osmanli  sighed,  but  the  kind,  earnest  tone  in 
which  Judith  said  farewell,  convinced  his  throb- 
bing heart  that  they  would  soon  meet  again, and 
that  lie  had  not  forfeited  her  esteem. 

They  were  soon  at  Madame  Wilmot's  house, 
and  the  fond  mother  took  her  son  to  gaze  upon 
the  portrait  of  his  faiher.  To  her  it  was  a  joyous 
though  melancholy  moment,  and  early  love,  re- 
lieved from  the  trouble  of  years,  was  as  bright 
and  as  fresh  as  a  house  at  Pompeii,  just  disen- 
tombed from  the  ashes  in  which  it  had  been 
buried  for  years. 

Happy  were  they  in  each  other's  society,  that 
long  separated  mother  and  son.  But  Osmanli's 
thoughts  would  occasionally  wander  to  General 
Bonaparte's,  and  he  would  wonder  if  there  would 
ever  be  a  time  when  he  could  woo  and  win  Ju- 
dith's gentle  heart.  The  duties  of  his  new  office, 
however,  soon  engrossed  his  entire  time,  and 
most  of  his  thoughts.  The  consular  guard,  in 
which  he  held  a  majority,  was  culled  from  the 
best  troops  of  the  army,  and  every  man  selected 
was  a  veteran,  who  had  served  in  those  cam- 
paigns which  elevated  their  leader  to  renown. 
Bonaparte  was  much  interested  in  the  new  corps, 
and  not  a  day  passed  that  be  did  not  visit  the 
baiTacks,  to  chat  with  the  war-bronzed  soldiers 
who  filled  its  ranks.  One  had  been  with  him  at 
Toulon,  another  at  Areola— some  had  fought 
under  bis  orders  in  Egypt,  and  many  bore  hon- 
orable scars  of  his  Italian  campaign.  Need  it  be 
said  that  he  was  welcomed  with  shouts  of  glad- 
ness, nor  was  any  one  more  delighted  to  see  him 
than  Osmanli,  for  he  always  spoke  of  Judiih, 
and  often,  by  a  delicate  jest,  brought  the  warm 
blood  to  the  major's  cheek. 

Soon  there  was  a  grand  military  parade — a 
double  ceremonial  of  rejoicing,  over  seventy-two 
Turkish  standards  captured  at  Aboukir,  and  of 
honor  to  the  memory  of  George  Washirgton. 
The  order,  signed  by  Bonaparte,  and  dated  on 
the  ninth  of  February,  ISOO,  closed  in  these 
words  :  "  Washington  is  dead — that  great  man, 
who  fought  against  tyranny,  and  com  olidatcd  the 
liberty  of  his  country.  His  memory  will  ever  be 
dear  to  the  French  people,  and  lo  all  freemen  in 
both  worlds  :  but  more  especially  to  the  soldiers 
of  France,  who,  like  him  and  his  American 
troops,  fight  in  defence  of  liberty  and  equality." 
This  ceremony  was  the  first  appearance  of 
Bonaparte  in  public  since  he  had  assumed  the 
consular  power,  and  at  an  early  hour  every  place 


that  commanded  a  view  of  the  expected  proces- 
sion was  occupied.  Eveiy  window  and  balcony 
of  every  house  teemed  with  the  fairer  sex,  the 
very  housetops  were  instinct  with  life,  and  the 
streets  on  either  side  presented  a  dense  mass  of 
human  beings,  wiih  difficulty  kept  back  wiihin 
the  bounds  of  their  confined  space  by  gi  urabling 
dragoons.  Soon  came  the  procession,  banners 
waving,  plumes  dancing,  bayonets  glistening  in 
the  sun,  and  martial  music  pealing  forth  inspir- 
ing strains.  The  captured  standards,  each  borne 
by  a  veteran,  formed  an  attractive  feature  of  the 
procession,  but  ihey  were  eclipsed  by  what  fol- 
lowed them.  In  the  midst  of  a  splendidly  uni- 
formed suite,  but  himself  dressed  with  republican 
simplicity,  rode  the  First  Consul,  the  cynosure 
upon  which  all  eyes  rested.  Loud  were  the 
shouts  which  greeted  him,  but  he  simply  ac- 
knowledged the  loyal  demonstrations  by  an  oc- 
casional dignified  nod.  The  Parisians,  at  last, 
had  found  a  master. 

Behind  General  Bonaparte,  in  a  carriage 
drawn  by  four  horses,  rode  Josephine,  whoi-e 
joyous  countenance  expressed  the  pleasure  she 
experienced  at  seeing  the  idol  of  her  heart  thus 
devotedly  cheered.  She  was  accompanied  by 
Judiih,  who  could  but  gaze  at  a  dashing  young 
officer,  who  commanded  the  consular  escort,  and 
rode  by  their  carriage  window.  Once,  too,  when 
his  high-mettled  charger  reared  and  plunged 
furiously,  taking  fright  at  a  band  of  music,  her 
cheek  blanched,  and  tears  dropped  from  her 
long  eyelids.  It  was  Osmanli,  and  then,  for  the 
first  time,  Judith  felt  that  she  really  loved  him. 
In  the  "  Temple  of  Mars"  the  scene  was  in- 
teresting and  impressive.  The  captured  stan- 
dards were  arranged  around  a  fine  bust  of  the 
American  liberator,  while  on  either  side  stood 
two  veterans,  each  in  his  hundredth  year.  An 
oration  was  pronounced  by  M.  de  Fontanes,  a 
funeral  ode  was  chanted  by  a  large  choir,  and, 
throughout  the  ceremony,  Bonaparte  received 
regal  honors. 

Returning  in  command  of  the  escort,  Osmanli 
was  richly  rewarded  by  a  smile  from  Judith,  as 
Madame  Bonaparte  invited  him  to  dine  that 
evening  at  the  consul's  tabic.  He  immediately 
led  his  squadron  out  of  the  more  crowded  streets, 
that  he  might  the  more  speedily  arrive  at  the 
barracks,  and  then,  having  dismissed  his  com- 
mand, returned.  But  on  the  quay  he  found  his 
progress  barred  by  a  large  assemblage,  appar- 
ently intoxicated  with  rage,  shouting : 

"  Hang  him  !     String  him  up  to  a  lamp-post !" 
"  What  is  the  disturbance  ?"  inquired  Osmanli 
of  a  burly  looking  man,  who,  with  a  coil  of  rope, 
was  hastening  to  the  scene  of  tumult. 

"Matter,  monsieur  officer!  Matter  enough. 
We  have  found  a  royalist,  a  rich  one,  too,  dis- 
tributing proclamations  against  Bonaparte.  Ah! 
the  rascal.  We  have  him,  though,  and  if  his 
name  is  De  Vergennes,  we  will  soon  string  him 
up." 

"De  Vergennes!"  exclaimed  Osmanli,  with 
astonishment.  Then,  recollecting  himself,  he 
added  :  "  The  very  man  I  am  commissioned  to 
arrest.     Where  is  he  V 

"  Safe  enough,  monsieur  officer.  But  he  will 
soon  have  little  breath  to  answer  your  inquiries. 
We  have  found  him  corrupting  the  people,  and 
we  must  hang  him.  After  that,  pest — you  can 
have  hira." 

"  But  General  Bonaparte  !     His  orders  !" 
"Bother   me   if  I  know!"     And  the  zealous 
amateur  hangman  evidently  felt  perplexed. 

"  Look  here,  citizen,"  said  Osmanli,  with  as 
much  coolness  as  he  could  assume.  "Here  I 
am,  in  command  of  a  squadron  of  General  Bona- 
parte's new  guard — I  must  have  that  de  Ver- 
gennes, or  I  can  never  return  to  my  superior 
officer.  And  I  know,  that  you  and  those  other 
citizens  will  feel  sure  of  justice  from  the  con- 
queror at  Montenotte  and  the  Pyramids  !" 

"  All  correct — wait  here  a  moment,  and  you 
will  have  your  man."  And  he  rushed  into  the 
mob,  whei'C  his  voice  was  soon  heard,  demand- 
ing silence.  Then  there  was  an  outcry.  Silence 
again.  And  then,  amid  shouts  of  "Long  live 
Bonaparte,"  the  mass  heaved  open,  and  the  un- 
fortunate de  Vergennes  appeared,  his  clothing 
rent  in  tatters,  his  face  covered  with  blood,  and 
his  hands  pinioned  behind  him. 

[concluded  next  week.] 


"Wlien  you  are  going  to  a  party  of  mirth,  think 
of  the  hazard  you  run  of  misbehaving.  While 
you  are  engaged,  do  not  wholly  forget  yourself. 
And  after  all  is  over,  rcfiect  how  you  have  be- 
haved. If  well,  be  thankful:  it  ismore  than  you 
could  have  pi-omised.  If  otherwise,  be  more 
careful  for  the  future. 


372 


GLEASON'S   nCTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


DR.  A.  G.  KRAGG. 

Addison    G.    BrnpR   was  born  in  Springfield,  Vermont, 
January  29,  1811.     Hu  was  the  sixtii  child  hy  liis  iather'H 
second  man-lagc,  and  by  whosu  (icatli  lio  was  early  thrown 
upon  his  own  resourt-es.     At  the  age  of  17  he  went  to  Bos- 
ton, and  engaged  an  an  apprentice  to  arcHpeetabledrnggist, 
whose  business  heing  birgely   of  a   retail  and  prescripti\'o 
character,  allbrded  young  Bragg  the  best  of  discipline  and 
experience.    With  that  (piickness  of  comprehension  which 
would  liave  done  creilit  lo  mature  years,  he  rapidly  acquired 
a   knowledge   of  the   "thousand   and  one"  things  which 
usually  escape  the  appreciation  of  the  greater  part  of  young 
men,  and  which  only  a  few  successfully  convert  into  a  snb- 
etantial  basis  for  fuiure  structures  and  operations.     He  dili- 
gently pored  over  the  select  medical  library  of  his  employer, 
investigating  and  copying  the  rcci|>cs  and  prescriptions  of 
those   jjhysicians   whose    reputation   stood    pre-eminent  in 
their  ])rofession,  wisely  reckoning  that  the  skill  and  science 
of  physicians  in  the  "Athens  of  America"   might  be  useful 
elsewhere.     Nor  did  he  omit  to  "commence  his  charities  at 
home,"  by  practising  among   his   young   associates,  whote 
physician  he  soon  became,  and  whoso  ailings  he  often  mended 
by  drawing  upon  the  treasures   of  his   recii)es.     In  short, 
youth  did  not  find  him  a  "  visionary  child  of  dreams,"  wirh 
incongruous  plans,  trying  to  temper  the  rigid  realities  of  life 
with  sentimental  speech,  void  of  reasoning  and  unsupported 
by  action.     He  was  early  characterized  by  that  industry  and 
sagacity  which  signally  marked  his  after  course,  and  which 
is  the  true  secret  of  his   success.     In  December,  1832,  ho 
married,  and  the  same  tics  that  linked  him  to  the  companion 
of  his  life,  bound  as  with  a  withe  all   his   purposes  in  one 
grand  object— that  of  removing  to  the  widest  possible  thea- 
tre of  action — the  forest,  and  of  rising  in  wealth  and  influ- 
ence.   And  by  the  way,  youthful  reader,  did  you  ever  think 
how  the  bright  bands  that  arc  being  woven  around  you  and 
some  idol  of  your  bosom,  would,  if  sealed,  bind  also  your 
scattered  mental  radiance  and  all  the  glowing  beams  of  light 
that  fall  upon  your  vision,  into  one  single,  burning  pharos, 
towards  which  with  a  single  eye  through  the  uncertain  fu- 
ture you  steer  your  bark^     In  1834,  he  travelled  through 
most  of  the  northern  and  western  atates,  till  he  penetrated 
the  wild  region  of  an  Indian  territory,  that  afterwards  be- 
came the  property  of  the  United  Slates,  and  which  is  now 
the  State  of  Iowa.     Here,  upon  the  banks  of  Iowa  Eivcr, 
and  about  ten  miles  from  its  mouth,  he  selected  a  place  for 
his  future  residence.     In  1837  he  emigrated  with  his  young  family 
to  this  new  home.     At  this  time  emigration   had  hardly  crossed 
the  Mississippi  to  form  settlements  that  now   cluster  like  isles  of 
the  ocean  on  those  illimitable  prairie  lands,  but  the  Sac  and  Fox 
Indians,  the  deer  and  the  butfalo  roamed  theie,  and  were  hardly 
as  yet  scared  by  the  riiie  of  the  white  man,  or  cheated  of  their  do- 
minion by  his  more  deadly  intrigues.     He  soon  became  on  terms 
of  intimacy  with  the  Indians,  with  whom  it  was  mainly  Ids  busi- 
ness to  trade.     Here,  as  in  most  new  and  fertile  countries,  where 
vegetation  is  luxuriant  and  the  climate  fluctuating,  disease  in  the 
form  of  ague  and  bilious  fevers  was  a  suie  inheritance  of  the  early 
settler,   wlio   was   induced   to   bear  his  hardships  by  the  smiling 
fields  of  grain  and  corn  that  burthened  the  earth  around  him.     It 
was  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  whole  families  prostrated  by  the 
ruthless  "  kaldas  fever,"  as  tlie  Germans  call  ague  and  fever,  with 
no  one  left  to  miuister  to  the  wants  of  the  rest.     Here  was  a  new 
held  open  for  the  subject  of  our  narrative,  in  which  his  knowledge 
of  medicines  was  brought  into  requisition.     The  pharmaceutical 
preparations  of  the  old  doctors  and  their  books  too  often  failed  to 
cure,  or  if  perchance  the  disease  was  broken  by  the  use  of  calo- 
mel, ipecac  and  quinine,  the  constitution  of  the  patient  was  also 
broken,  and  from  the  weakness  produced  by  bleeding  and  blister- 
ing months  often  elapsed 
before  any  ordinary  de- 
gree of  health  could  be 
regained.      After  much 
investigation  with  reme- 
dies, products,  and  vege- 
tables used  by  the  Indi-  -.^^ 
ans,  who  were  scarcely 
ever   confined    to    their 
wigwams    by    sicknes*, 
he  produced  as  the  re- 
sult of  his  experimentd 
and     study,    his    now 
widely  known  "  Indian 
Queen  Vegetable  Anti- 
Bilious  and  TonicPills," 
which  beyond  any  other 
medicine  has   proved  a 
specific  for  agues    and 
all  types  of  fevers  which 
abound  in  the  West.    In 
183S   the   death   of  hia 
wife  left  two  small  chil- 
dren dependent  on  him 
for  guidance,  which  gave 
a  new  cast  to  his  plans 
of  life.     Bereft  of   her 
who    had    shared  with 
him    the    diseases    and 
privations  of  a  life  on 
the  fioncier,  the  impulse 
became  uppermost  with 
him  to  leave  the  scenes 
of  so   many  struggles, 
and  now  of  so  many  un- 
happy associations.    He 
removed    to     Bellville, 
Illinois, where,  two  years 
afterwards,     he     again 
married.     The  demand 
for  his  Indian  vegetable 
medicines   still  increas- 
ing   beyond    his    most 
sanguine    expectations, 
he  found  it  necessary  to 
establish  himself  in  some 
more   central    position ; 
accordingly  he  removed 
to    St.  Louis,  where  in 
1848  he  associated  him- 
self with  a  gentleman  of 
sterling  attainments  and 
character.   They  opened 
a  large  drug  and  medi- 
cine stove  on  the  corner 
of    Third    and    Market 
Htreets,  now  the  western 
depot  of   ihe   Mexican 
Mustang  Liniment,  than 


^iS^^i^.. 


PORTRAIT  OF  DR.  ADDISON  G    BRAGG. 

which  no  other  point  connected  with  mercantile  business  is  more 
familiarly  known  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi Valley.  In  the  spring  of  1849  they  obtained  the  invalu- 
able recipe  for  the  "  Mexican  Mustang  Liniment,"  the  properties 
of  which  are  most  remarkable  in  their  chemical  and  physiological 
action  upon  organic  tissues,  not  only  imparting  to  them  a  healthy 
action,  but  absolutely  accelerating  their  growth,  the  same  as  the 
ammonia  of  manure  accelerates  the  growth  of  vegetable  tissues. 
The  principal  ingredient  in  this  liniment  is  a  napthaline  substance, 
sublimated  by  volcanic  flres,  and  is  found  in  large  quantities  in 
Persia,  in  the  Burman  Empire,  in  Scotland,  Bavaria,  Switzer- 
land, Italy  and  Mexico.  AtKangoon  there  are  upwards  of  five 
hundred  openings  in  the  earth  emitting  this  "  volcanic  oil,"  as  it 
is  termed.  It  is  used  in  many  parts  of  the  world  both  as  an  in- 
ternal and  as  an  external  remedy  for  a  great  vuriety  of  diseases 
(see  Malte  Brun's  Geography  and  Phillips'  Mineralogy).  It  is 
also  used  for  various  jjurposes  in  the  arts,  and  forms  among  the 
Cauciisians  and  Kussians  an  important  article  of  commerce. 
After  several  months  required  to  gather  the  materials  for  future 
operations,  they  commenced  the  manufacture  of  this  medicine  on 
a  most  widely  efficient  and  liberal  scale.  So  confident  were  they 
of  success,  and  that  their  knowledge  of  the  article  had  come  to 


the  acme   of  perfection,   that  they   cxi)ended  over  twenty 
thousand  dollars  before  ofl'cring   the  liniment  for   sale,  in 
printing,  making  of  bottles,  and  completing  necessary  mea- 
sures for  supplying  the  markets  of  the  nation.     The  great 
fire,  and  the  ravagea  of  the  choleraof  that  year  in  St.  Louis, 
greatly  retarded  their  progress,  making  it  late  in  the  fall  of 
1849  before  the  liniment  was  fairly  thrown  upon  the  market, 
since   which    time   its  progress  has  been  one  continued  tri- 
umph, till  it  is   familiarly   known  as   "household  words," 
thoughout  that  incomparable  and  mighty   region  that  lies 
between  the  Alleghany  and  Hoeky  Mountains,  and  whose 
southern  bound  is  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.     More  recently  the 
enterprising  jjroprietors  have  been  carrying  their  campaign, 
with  an  army  of  agents  and  influences,  eastward,  through 
the  older  and  more  populous  towns  of  New  York  and  Now 
England,  until  they  have  invaded  Nova  Scotia  and  the  Can- 
adHs.     To   supply  the   immense   consumption  consequent 
upon  opening  the  eastern  market,  they  have  established  (in 
addition  to  their  western  one  in  Sr.  Louis)   a  large  eastern 
depot  at  304  Broadway,  New  York,  for  the  sale  and  manu- 
facture  of  this   now  widely  scattered  and  staple  medicine. 
Certain,  if  favor  and  success  among  the  most  discriminating 
and  intelligent  classes  in  every  region  of  this  country  are 
any  evidence   of  merit,  then  it  is  a  trudi  that  this  liniment 
possesses   the   positive  medicinal  character  claimed  for  it ; 
not  one  whisper  of  complaint  has  ever  come  back  from  the 
vast  multitude  of  its  consumers,  nor  will  their  demands  be 
any  more  than  supplied  by  the  constant   manufacture  of  it 
iu  New  York  and  St.  Louis.    It  may  not  be  wraiss  to  present 
a  few  statistica,  which  we  have  collected  with  some  pains, 
relating  to  the  material  used,  and  the  persons   and  capital 
employed  in  the   manufacture   of  the   Mustang  Liniment. 
As  we  have  said  before,  over  twenty  thousand  dollars  were 
expended  before  ofl'eriog   it   to   the   market.     During  the 
present  year,  being  only  the  third  of  its  existence,  the  quan- 
tity of  glass  ware  contracted  for  is  thirty  thousand  gross,  or 
nearly  four  and  a  half  millions  of  bottles.     To  produce  this 
quantity  of  bottles,  nquiies    the   constant   labor  of  about 
forty  persons  during  eight  months  of  the  year.     The  con- 
sumption of  paper  is  correspondingly  great ;  some  five  thou- 
sand reams  of  which  are  required  for  directions,  labels,  cir- 
culars, show  cards,  free  almanacs,  &c.     There  are  also  near 
four  hundred  barrels  or  one  hundred  and  twenty  thou.sand 
gallons  of  material  annually  consumed,  much  of  which  is 
imported  at  an  immense  expense   from  Mexico  and  other 
foreign   ctjuntries.     The   number  of  hands  required  in  the  two 
manufactories  is  about  sixty,  while  not  less  than  forty  agents  are 
kept  constantly  travelling  through  the  various   States  and  Brhish 
Provinces.     The   enterprising  proprietors  of  the  Mustang  Lini- 
ment may  well  be  proud  of  their  enterprise ;  they  have  dcnionstra- 
tfd  to  the  world  what  magnificent  results   may   be  the  fruits  of 
energy  and  sagacity  in  the  boldly  designed  schemes  of  business 
life.     In  looking  back  over  Dr.  Bragg's  career,  from  a  druggist 
apprentice  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  till  reaching  his  present  posi- 
tion as  a  professional  and  business  man,  we  see  in  him  not  a  little 
of  practical  wisdom  and  commendable  philosophy.     Most  beauti- 
ful and  uscfel  things,  most  great  discoveries  and  reforms  spring 
from  simple  principles — from  a  simple  but  saeacious  adaptation 
of  means  and  influences.     The  youth  that  made  the  most  of  sug- 
gestions and  trifles  when  an  apprentice,  was  first  to  discover  the 
field  open  to  usefulness  and  success  in  a  new  country.     An  ordi- 
nary observer  may  have  gathered    much   informaiion   from  the 
Indian  mode  of  treating  disease,  but  few,  however,  would  bring 
to  bear  that  practical  inquiry  and  study  which  would  profoundly 
search   out   the   nature  of  the  climate  and  the  secret  medicinal 
properties  of  plants  used  among  the  Indinns,  and  make  up  a  tys- 
tem  of  treatment  adapted  to  the  wants  of  a  new  country. 


THE  HARVARD  MONUMENT,  CHAELESTOWN,  MASS. 


JOHN  HARVARD. 

The  monument  erect- 
ed to  the  memory  of 
John  Harvard,  a  repre- 
sentation of  which  is 
herewith  given,  is  situa- 
ted on  the  top  of  the 
hill  in  the  old  grave- 
yard, near  the  State 
prison,  in  Charlestowu, 
Mass.  It  was  erected 
by  the  subscriptions  of 
the  graduates  of  Harvard 
Universit}'.  It  is  con- 
btructed  of  granite  in  a 
solid  shaft  of  fifteen  feet 
elevation,  and  in  the 
simplest  style  of  ancient 
art.  On  the  eastern  face 
of  the  shaft,  the  name 
of  John  Hakvakd  is 
inscribed ;  also  on  a 
marble  tablet  the  follow- 
ing: "On  the  26ih  of 
September,  A.  D.  1828, 
this  stone  was  erected 
by  the  graduates  of  the 
university  at  Cambiidge, 
in  honor  of  its  founder, 
who  died  at  Charles- 
town,  on  the  26th  of 
September,  1638."  On 
the  western  side  of  the 
shaft  is  an  inscription  in 
Latin,  of  the  following 
purport:  "  That  one 
who  merits  so  much 
from  our  literary  men, 
should  no  longer  be 
without  a  monument, 
however  humble.  The 
graduates  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Cambridge,  New 
England,  have  erecttd 
this  stone,  nearly  two 
hundred  years  after  his 
death,  in  pious  and  per- 
petual remembrance  of 
John  Harvard."  At  the 
erection  of  this  monu- 
ment, the  Hon.  Edward 
Everett,  who  is  consid- 
ered one  of  the  most  ac- 
complished scholars  ed- 
ucated at  Harvard  Col- 
lege, delivered  an  ap- 
propriate and  eloquent 
address. 


I 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING   ROO^l^ 


.ON. 


373 


VIEW  OF  THE  CITY  OF  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS. 


CHICAGO. 

Unlike  the  maiority  of  our  lake  cities,  there  is 
but  little  in  the  siiuaiion  of  Cliifajro  which  would 
seem  to  recommend  it  to  the  founders  of  a  ciiy. 
It  lies  upon  the  edge  of  a  broad  and  extensive 
prairie.  Scarcely  a  stray  kuoil  or  scatrered  ris- 
ing would  seem  to  break  the  green  and  level  sur- 
face of  the  grassy  plain  on  which  it  is  couched. 
All  around  it  is  flat  and  even.  Beyond  it  and 
only  in  the  extremity  of  the  distance  does  the 
level  ground  puss  info  the  gentle  and  swelling 
risings  which  argue  the  commencement  of  a  more 
varied  and  hilly  country.  And  yet  art  has  done 
much  to  make  amends  for  the  natural  flatness 
and  uniformity  of  the  situation  in  which  Chicago 
is  placed.  Unlike  most  of  its  brethren  of  the 
lakes,  it  would  seem  to  have  been  laid  out  with 
more  than  an  ordinary  attention  to  appearance. 
Along  the  shore  which  fronts  upon  Lake  Michi- 
gan runs  a  fine  and  hroad  walk  planted  with 
young  trees.  Here  it  is  lined  with  graceful 
dwellings,  and  there  a  square  lies  back  from  it 
with  its  broad  flat  patch  of  verdure  shaded  with 
foliage :  and  although  not  yet  completed  and 
laid  out  as  it  will  doubtless  be  at  some  future 
day,  the  vfalk  promises  to  make  Cliicago  one  of 
the  fairest  of  tlie  numerous  cities  which  are  ev- 
erywhere scattered  upon  the  shores  of  the  lakes. 
A  stream  which  runs  into  the  lake  at  one  end  of 
the  city  has  been  widened  into  a  broad  and  nav- 
igable canal  which  contains  the  shipping,  which 
already  turns  into  Chif-ago  a  great  portion,  if 
not  nearly  the  whole,  of  the  commerce  of  th« 
lake.  This,  however,  is  scanty,  as  railroads 
have  been  gradually  linking  this  city  with  every 
part  of  the  Union,  and  making  it  one  of  the 
great  centres  of  the  Western  traffic.  This,  in- 
dited, ha*  grown  so  rapidly,  and  increased  the 
prosperity  of  Chicago  so  singularly,  that  thoi^e 
who  have  not  seen  it  within  "the  last  five  or  six 
years,  would  scarcely  recognize  it.  Its  growth 
in  weabh  and  prosperity  has  been  gigantic. 
Numbering  now  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  inhabit- 
ants, filled  with  fine  houses  and  large  hotels, 
and  daily  increasing  in  the  business  and  com- 
merce which  makes  it  wealthy,  it.  is  perliaps  the 
one  of  the  lake  cities  wliich  more  rapidly  than 
any  other  has  followed  on  the  march  of  improve- 
ment. New  streets  have  been  laid  out;  large 
]>ablic  buildings  are  in  progress  of  erection  ; 
stores  are  increasing  in  size  and  number;  fresli 
hotels  are  being  projected,  and  everything  argue."! 
an  even  more  prodigious  growth  in  the  next  few 
years,  than  that  which  has  as  yet  marked  it  out 
e^soneof  the  most  prosperous  and  growing  cities 
■  which  dot  the   lari:e   exp:inse  of  the   growing 

V  West.  The  United  States  own  a  strip  of  ele- 
K  vated  ground  between  the  town  and  the  lake,  on 
■>  which  are  situated  Fort  Dearborn  and  a  light- 
K  house.  The  fort  consists  of  a  square  stockade, 
B  enclosing  barracks,  quarters  for  the  officers,  a 
B  magazine  and  provision  store,  and  defended  hv 
H_  bastions  at  its  north  and  southeast  angles.  This 
^^n  frontier  having  ceased  to  be  exposed,  the  garri- 
^^Hf  son  has  been  withdrawn.     The  picture  above  is 


MADAME  ANNA  THILLON.  IN  TEiE  OPERA  OP  CARLO  THE  MINSTREL. 


MADA3IE  ANNA  THILLON. 

We  have  twice  already  in  these  pages  given  a 
representation  uf  this  popular  actress,  but  her 
late  appearance  in  ihe  play  or  opera  of  "  Carlo, 
tiie  Minstrel,"  in  which  she  personates  tiie  char- 
acter of  Carlo,  has  added  so  largely  to  her  previ- 
ous fame  in  this  city,  that  we  have  concluded  to 
give  a  sketch  of  her  in  this  part.  To  those  thou- 
sands who  ha\'e  seen  her  in  this  character,  as 
sustained  by  that  exceedingly  clever  actor  and 
vocalist,  Mr.  Hudson,  we  have  only  to  call  tlieir 
attention  to  the  part  of  tlie  play  where  elie  de- 
mands "halfs'^of  her  protege.  The  exquisite 
tionchalancJi  with  which  she  makes  tliis  claim  to 
<?ithor  his  ducats  or  his  commission  is  admirable, 
and  never  failed  to  "bring  dovra  the  house." 
Madame  Tbillon  has  but  lately  closed  one  of  the 
most  successful  engagements  of  the  season  at  the 
Howard  Athenaeum,  only  too  brief  in  duration, 
but  she  was  compelled  by  pre\'ious  engagements 
£0  bid  us  farewell-  Under  Mr.  Willard's  judi- 
cious management,  during  her  engagements — 
though  the  house  was  often  thronged  to  sulfoca- 
non — no  disturbance  or  annoyance  of  any  kind 
occurred.  Indeed,  we  look  upon  the  Howard 
as  quite  &  model  tlieatre  in  its  management,  and 
as  we  have  before  taken  occasioii  to  remark,  it 
possesses  j^eculiar  advantages  of  location  and 
arch i tec tuj-e,  which  will  ever  render  it  a  favorite 
with  the  theatre-going  public  of  Boston,  Mad- 
,-ime  Tiiillon  is  a  most  original  and  peculiar  ac- 
tress. We  know  of  no  one  with  whom  we  eati 
•compare  her.  Combining  a  sweet  and  highly 
cultivated  voice  with  a  most  thorough  knowledge 
of  stage  effect,  and  a  face  and  form  of  remarkable 
beauty,  she  can  produce  more  furore  in  an  audi- 
ence than  a  whole  troup  of  artists  can  ordinarily 
do.  She  is  artistic,  graceful,  and  yet  plays  with 
an  abandon  of  spirit  and  ease  of  expression  that 
charms  because  it  is  so  very  natural  and  unaf- 
fected. Her  voice  in  ordinary  dialogue  is  ex- 
ceedingly bewitching  and  melodious,  and  carries 
the  hearts  of  the  audience  always  with  her.  In 
the  application  of  p(tiiU  and  re/iaiiee,  she  is  ex- 
qnisitclv  perfect,  and  enters  soul  and  body  into 
the  scene,  as  in  the  part  our  artist  has  here  rep- 
resented. Her  roi^tume  as  Carlo  is  very  grace- 
ful, and  after  the  model  of  a  Spanish  page,  with 
velvet  jacket  and  cloak,  loose  linen  underdress, 
large  and  roomy  lower  garments  with  high  cav- 
alier hoots.  It  becomes  her  petite  figure  charm- 
ingly, and  prepossesses  the  admirer  at  the  outset 
in  favor  of  the  part,  and  she  who  assumes  it  so 
admirably.  We  have  before  taken  occasion  to 
refer  to  the  domestic  relation  of  this  lady  as  of  a 
character  to  challenge  admiration  and  respect. 
When  this  is  the  case,  as  it  regards  a  performer 
upon  the  stage,  it  should  not  be  lost  sight  of; 
for  it  is  very  delightful  to  recollect,  when  we  are 
so  charmed  by  the  phase  of  character  and  ac- 
romplishments  that  are  publicly  exhibited,  that 
the  individual  is  worthy  of  all  this  enthusiastic 
homage  and  admiration  so  lavishly  bestowed. 
We  say  it  is  a  pleasure  to  recollect  this,  and  it  is 
our  duty  to  record  it,  since  busy  tongues  are  too 
fipt  to  trifle  with  the  names  of  public  artists, 


374 


(iJJ':A.^ON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    (COMPANION. 


[Written  for  OJt'HSon'H  Pictorial,] 
FREEDOM'S    AVATAR. 

BY  J.  H.  iUOUfiTINE  DCGASKB, 


Tiy  Ijro, 


Out  of  deep  ^]cDp,  whcro  vlsiona  moved  before  me, 

nift'«  my  'wlUlored  soul ; 
Starlesu  a-wd  (lurk  tlic  heuvoiiB  nre  frowning  o'or  mc, 

And  iindcmeuth  mo  roll 
The  billowB  of  an  unknown  ffii,  whose  curge 

Is  nfl  an  eiidlusH  dlrgo. 

1,0  !  In  my  dreams  T  saw  the  iiridpn  mnn — 
Th'  unbound  P rouie the ufi. grand  with  conttuered  pain, 
Tramplinp  his  shattpied  chain  1 
Thou  with  a  mighty  jny,  that  ovHrnin 
The  utterance  of  my  heart.  I  elnppcd 
And  Hang  aloud  with  prophet  ire, 
Paug  with  exnbenmt  voice: 
"  0, 1'arth  I  rcjolci',  rcjoli^ol" 

I  «aw  young  Freedom  horn — ii  Chrit'om  child — 
And  Fupcfl  came  from  far, 
Led  by  the  radiant  star 
That  o'er  his  muiiger  gloriounly  Hmiled. 
And  I  sttiod  with  shcpherdfl,  who  watched  by  night. 
Till  mine  eyes  were  bathed  with  a  wondrouB  light ; 
Till  £  hoard  the  song  of  an  angel  throng, 

With  manifold  love  and  with  peace  oY-rfrauglit, 
Swaying  my  listening  thought. 

But  Herod,  the  murderer,  beard  — 

Herod,  the  tyrant  of  nations  ; 
There  swept  by  hi.i  prihice  a  mj  ftiinl  Word. 
And  the  hearts  of  the  people  wiih  wonderment  stuTcd, 
In  the  dust  of  their  dc^olatiODB. 

A  star  in  the  midnight  sky — 

A  gleam  of  the  Orient  morn — 
Itehold,  that  Word  swept  fiasbing  by. 

The  name  of  the  Child  new-boru  t 

Over  the  broad  world  (lashing  high. 

The  nanie  of  the  Child  new-born  1 

The  sword,  0,  nations  I  yp  beheld,  ye  saw 
Your  trembling  tyrants  draw! 
The  hand,  0,  nations  !  ye  beheld,  that  slew 
The  innocent  and  truel 
But  Freedom  Jives! 
The  Ahnigbty  hath  the  Child  outled— 

Egypt  her  shelter  gives  I 
With  strength  and  \iisdom  shall  its  youth  bo  fed, 
Till  in  man's  stature,  and  mid  fellow-men, 
Freedom— the  Saviour — shall  apiiear  again. 

The  Lord  God  mightily  reigneth  \ 
And  in  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  thrones  dissolve. 

Like  glittering  vapor— and  no  trace  reniaineth. 
Light  out  of  diirkneps  shall  hi.'*  word  evolve  ; 

Order  from  ehaos— and  from  the  womb  of  migiit 
The  eternal  soul  of  right  I 


cental  culture,  in  tliu  life-liiirvcBt  of 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  STORY  OF  A  GEJ^IUS. 

DRAWN  FROM  LIFE. 

BY    KEV.  H.   HASTINGS    W£LD. 

Tom  Smith  "  could  do  anything."  All  his 
friends  and  companions  believed  in  his  universal 
capacity,  and  he  himself  was  satisfied  of  it.  A 
dashing  cleverness  in  whatever  he  attempted, 
made  even  his  failures  seem  better  evidence  of 
genius  than  the  success  of  other  men.  "  He 
might  if  he  would,"  was  the  verdict  of  his  ad- 
mirers. *'  I  could  do  it,  if  I  thought  it  worth  my 
while,"  was  Tom's  own  consolation  under  re- 
verses and  disappointments. 

At  school  he  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  inat- 
tention to  his  studies,  while  an  occasional  bril- 
liant triumph,  when  all  around  expected  com- 
plete disgrace,  forced  the  admiration  of  teachers 
and  pupils  at  his  talents,  and  their  regret  at  his 
neglect  and  abuse  of  them.  He  was  content 
with  such  partial  successes,  and  was,  moreover, 
proud  of  his  contempt  for  his  own  abilities, 
which  others  so  much  admired  and  envied.  He 
delighted  to  show  the  plodders,  as  he  called 
them,  that  the  snail  docs  not  always  beat,  in  the 
race  with  the  liare,  as  the  fable  teaches,  though 
the  snail  does  labor  on  continually,  and  the  hare 
stops  every  now  and  then  for  a  frolic  at  the 
brook-side.  Such  was  the  character  which  lie 
carried  from  the  school  to  the  university.  And 
when  he  was  thence  expelled  for  the  eccentrici- 
ties of  his  genius,  which  were  developed  in  a 
shower  of  stones  against  a  professor's  windows, 
he  comforted  himself  with  the  distich  : — 

"  For  more  true  joy  Marcellua,  exiled,  feels, 
Than  Ciesar,  with  a  senate  at  his  heels." 

That,-  by  the  way,  is  a  couplet  which  has  been 
applied,  with  admirable  originality,  during  every 
college  rebellion,  and  the  rustication  or  expul- 
sion consequent,  which  have  occurred  since  col- 
lege misconduct  was  first  in  fashion.  Little 
consolation  docs  it  present,  however,  to  the  pa- 
rents whose  hopes  are  defeated,  and  whose  ex- 
pectations are  disappointed  by  the  misconduct 
of  the  son.  Small  promise  of  after  usefulness 
do   such    bnginningfi   aJTord,— ^Ijttle   warrant   of 


reward  for  pi 
the  boy. 

Now  let  us  advu'ncc  over  the  somewhat  stale 
description  of  a  reckless  youth  to  his  muturer 
manhood.  Deepile  of  tlie  prophecies  of  the 
comforters  of  his  parents  tliat  the  "nc'er-do- 
wcel  "  Tom  Smith,  would  "  never  come  to  any- 
thing," behold  him  admitted  to  the  bar,  with 
unusual  honors.  The  shame  of  being  taunted 
with  his  inclllciency  had  .^purred  him  to  such 
unwonted  exertion  and  application,  as  developed 
bis  full  strength.  Tor  once,  Tom  had  done  his 
best,  and  so  triumphantly  did  he  make  his 
entree  upon  his  professional  career,  that  it  began 
to  be  suspected  that  he  was  unjustly  misrepre- 
sented by  those  who  asserted  that  he  was  idle 
and  negligent  at  college.  Business  flowed  in 
upon  him  apace;  and  the  novelty  of  hiti  position, 
its  excitement,  in  which  he  delighted,  and  the 
pleasure  of  having  asserted  his  ability  by  a  vic- 
tory over  circumstances,  set  him  up  completely 
in  his  own  heart. 

But  his  application    did   not   long   continue. 
The  position  which  he  had  gained,  as  it  were,  at 
a  jump,  he  had  not  industry  suHicicnt  to  retain 
by  hard  labor;  and  hard  labor  only  can  main- 
tain him  who  by  accident,  or  a  specious   appear- 
ance of  fitness,  reaches  a  place  for  which  he  is 
really  incompetent.     Tom  had  genius  but   not 
karmng.     He  sported  with  the  feelings  of  his 
clients,  as  he  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  doing 
with  his  own  ;  and  though  he  often  succeeded  in 
retrieving  the  affairs  entrusted   to  him,  by  des- 
perate plunges,  at  the  close  of  long  and  weary 
doubts,  his  clients  were  not  so  grateful  for  being 
saved  "by  the  skin  of  their  teeth,"  as  the  pro- 
verb expresses  it,  as  Tom  thought  they  should 
have  been.     They  did  not  relish  being  thrown 
overboard,  to  display  his  skill  in  rescuing  them 
from  drowning ;  and  if  extrication  from  foarfnl 
dilemmas  did  minister  to  Tom's   triumphs,  they 
could  not  forget  that  his  carelessness  had  placed 
them   in   their  difficulties.     They  did   not  like 
that  their  causes  and  their  property  should  be 
put  in  peril  by  his  negligence,  in  order  that  the 
liair-breadth  victory  should  exalt  his  reputation  ; 
and  woidd  far  rather  that  a  little  of  the  plodding 
industry  which  he  despised  should  secure  them 
from  the  first,  than  that  they  should  come  in  vic- 
tors at  the  last,  by  a  coup  de  main.     It  resulted, 
at  last,  that  Thomas   Smith,  Esq.,  was  avoided 
a?  counsel  by  careful  men,  but  was  summoned 
in  desperate  cases,  which  none  other  cared  to 
undertake.     Under  such  a  stimulus  he  was  al- 
most  uniformly  successful;   and   thus,  without 
the  true  requisites  of  a  sound  jurist,  he  had  a 
conqueror's  reputation,  and  a  fitful,  though,  on 
the   whole,  a   lucrative   practice.      There   is   a 
western  boast  which  illustrates  the  life  of  such 
men.     He  could  fall  lower,  and  still  rise,  or,  as 
the  phrase  is,  "  dive  deeper  and  come  up  drier" 
than  almost  any  other.     It   was   always    dark 
night  or  bright   sunshine  with  him — a   fearful 
storm,  or  a  dead  calm. 

At  length  it  occurred  that  some  business  in 
which  he  was  engaged  required  the  intervention 
of  the  Legislature.     His  presence  at  the  capital 
was  required  to  expedite  it.     One  proposition  in 
the  consultations  with  bis  clients  led  to  another, 
until  it  was  suggested  that  it  were  better  to  elect 
him  as  a  representative,  than  to  depute  him  as  a 
lobby  member.     The  matter  was  talked  over, 
and  as  tliose  of  the  public  who  knew  the  secret 
saw  no  ])articular  fitness  in  the  election  of  a  law- 
yer with  half-a  dozen  clients  in  a  particular  case, 
as   his   actual   constituency,  there  were   strong 
symptoms  of  opposition.     But  this  only  stimu- 
lated him.     It  spurred  his  energy,  and  fixed  bis 
determination  to  be  elected,  for  though  he  cared 
little  for  the  honor,  and  knew  the   profit  was 
nothing,  to  be  opposed  was  to  ensure  his  success. 
He  threw  himself  into  the  work  with  his  whole 
energy,  and  after  vigorous  canvassing,  caucus- 
ing and  exertion,  he  was  returned  by  a  majority 
of  ten  votes;  a  much  more   acceptable  triumph 
to  him  than  if  he  had  been  elected  by  a  majority 
of  ten   hundred.     To   have   been  unanimously 
elected   would   have   possessed   no   charms   for 
him ;  and  had  the  reception  of  bis  nomination 
indicated  an  appearance  of  unanimity  among  the 
electors  in  his  favor,  we  do   believe  he  would 
have  declined  the  intended  honor. 

In  the  Legislature  he  was  true  to  his  old  char- 
acter. He  was  placed  at  the  head  of  an  impor- 
tant committee,  in  compliment  to  bis  reputation, 
but  his  committee  work  was  really  nothing.  In 
drawing  up  reports  and  investiguliTig  the  sub- 
jects referred,  he  had  absolutely  no  share.  But 
his  "  genius  "  stood  liim  in  good  stead,  for  with 
his  powerful  natural   abilities,  he  could   astoni.sli 


those  who  drew  up  the  reports,  by  making  a  bet- 
ter defence  than  tlicy;  and  his  skillful  ad  rap- 
tandiim  hits  and  witty  repartees,  liis  unbounded 
assurance  and  wonderful  readiness  completed 
the  work  which  others  had  begun,  and  made 
liim  who  was  really  the  cipher  in  the  business 
seem  the  character,  by  whom  only  the  others 
liad  significance.  Tom  was  delighted  with  legis- 
lation. It  was,  as  he  managed  it,  a  glorious, 
continual  contest  against  odds,  which  made  his 
fame  ring  again,  and  he  was  really  almost  de- 
ceived into  the  belief  that  he  was  a  statesman. 

But  the  Hon.  Mr.  Smith's  course  was  not  all 
sunshine.  His  old  carelessness  threw  him  into 
a  troublesome  difficulty.  He  was  absent  from 
his  post  when  a  decisive  vote  was  taken  upon 
the  very  question  which  he  had  been  elected  to 
cai-ry — and  ho  was  horrified  one  morning  to  find 
that  his  opponents  had  taken  advantage  of  his 
absence  to  defeat  his  clients.  Great  and  terrible 
was  the  wrath  of  his  friends,  and  even  Tom 
Smith — lucky  Tom  Smith — appeared  at  last  in 
a  laiie  which  seemed  to  have  no  lum.  He  saw 
no  mode  in  which  he  could  retrieve  himself,  and 
no  excuses' presented  themselves  with  which  he 
could  face  his  friends.  It  was  such  a  palpable 
and  unpardonable  fnult,  so  grossly  inexcusable, 
that  even  our  hero  was  ready  to  despair.  But 
his  good  fortune  did  not  yet  desert  him.  One  of 
the  *' plodders" — and  genius  is  often  more  in- 
debted to  the  plodders  than  the  world  suspects — 
saved  him  from  destruction.  A  careful,  old, 
dull-headed  tactitian,  who  was  in  the  same  inter- 
est with  Smith,  voted  against  him,  in  order  to 
secure  a  right  to  move  a  "reconsideration." 
This  was  opening  enough  for  Smith.  It  was  a 
breach  in  the  enemy's  defences,  into  which  he 
threw  himself,  and,  with  bis  old  success,  turned 
the  tables,  and  came  off  with  flying  colors,  and 
more  admiration  than  ever.  But  he  had  given, 
also,  an  endorsement  of  his  old  character,  that 
he  was  "  not  fit  to  be  trusted." 

The  session  wore  away,  but  the  Hon.  Mr. 
Smith  had  lost  his  interest  in  the  public  business. 
It  had  no  more  charms  for  him.  The  great  ex- 
citement was  over,  and  he  turned  with  distaste 
from  the  formal  phraseology  of  acts  to  repeal 
acts,  acts  to  modify  acts,  acts  to  continue  acts, 
and  all  the  forasmuches,  whereases,  preambles, 
chapters  and  sections  of  routine  law-making. 
He  sought  excitement  somewhere  else — and 
found  it.     Where  ■? 

Thereby  hangs  a  tale — or  rather  the  moral  of 
our  tale.  The  key  to  the  Hon  Mr.  Smith's 
strange  negligence  was  the  same  that  will  too 
often  explain  the  "aberrations  of  genius."  He 
was  fond  of  deep  potations  and  of  luxurious 
food.  He  liked  the  wit  and  excitement  of  the 
dinner  table,  and  the  supper.  He  was  the  soul 
of  convivial  parties,  and  was  prone  to  the  et  cet- 
eras  which  fill  up  the  days  of  those  whose  nights 
are  given  to  revelry,  the  excitement  of  the  bil- 
liard room  and  the  bowling  alley,  the  early 
mingling  of  strong  drink.  In  these  scenes  he 
could  shine  without  eflort.  Keady  applause  and 
hearty  appreciation  followed  all  the  sallies  of  so 
distinguished  a  convive.  To  such  haunts  and  to 
such  companions  he  was  ready  to  fly,  not  only 
from  the  fatigue  of  his  profession,  but  to  escape 
that  fatigue  before  he  incurred  it. 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Smith  would  have  quietly  re- 
tired from  public  life  entirely,  at  the  close  of  his 
first  term,  but  there  were  two  reasons  against  it. 
One  was,  that  he  liked  the  license  of  the  capital 
— the  other,  that  he  found  "  public  sentiment" 
so  unanimous  against  his  re  election,  that  to  de- 
cline to  contend  would  be  a  palpable  defeat.  In 
neglecting  the  business  of  the  House,  he  had 
sufi'ered  the  district  which  he  represented  to  lose 
some  important  advantages,  and  the  people 
were  not  at  all  disposed  to  forgive  him.  Again 
he  nerved  bim<^clf  for  the  contest.  Again  he 
succeeded.  Defeat  would  have  been  better  for 
him. 

We  must  spare  the  reader  the  narrative  of  all 
the  downward  steps  by  which  the  Hon.  Thomas 
Smith  became  a  sot.  The  first  steps  in  this 
path  were  taken  many  years  before.  In  his 
youth  and  college  days,  his  dangerous  passion 
for  praise,  and  fondness  for  unwise  excitement, 
had  betrayed  him  into  the  love  of  drink,  and  if 
conscience  or  some  considerate  friend  warned 
him  to  beware,  the  deceptive  promise  was  ready 
— "  0,  I  cannot  sink !  I  recover  myself  too 
easily."  The  recklessness  of  danger  which 
grows  out  of  over-confidence — the  estimate  of 
bis  own  powers  which  made  liim  despise  the 
fear  of  being  taken  at  a  disadvantage,  ruined 
Tom  Smith,  as  it  has  ruined  many  more.  The 
pride  which  exalts  in  .self  debasement  (not  abase- 


ment), in  order  that  it  may  be  shown  from  how 
low  a  depth  to  rise  is  po?^siblc,  is  much  more 
common  than  is  usually  imagined.  There  is 
scarce  an  outcast  in  the  world  who  does  not  im- 
agine that  he  could  rc-esiublish  himself,  if  only 
he  thought  it  worth  his  while,  and  would  set 
about  it ! 

Down  1  Pown  I  The  elasticity  of  the  strong- 
est must  give  way  at  last,  and  the  mind  sympa- 
thizes with  the  besotted,  as  well  as  with  the  vig- 
orous body.  "We  have  not  mentioned  Smith's 
wife,  but  it  must  not  therefore  Jjc  inferred  that 
he  had  none.  Women  are  admirers  of  the  bril- 
liant and  the  bold ;  and  each  of  Tom's  hair- 
breadth successes  would  have  procured  him  a 
wife,  if  it  were  the  custom  of  the  country  thus  to 
multiply.  That  his  disgrace  and  excesses 
brought  unbappiness  upon  her  and  misfortune 
upon  his  children,  is  the  old  story  of  every  ine- 
briate's home. 

At  last  he  was  given  over.  Even  his  wife — 
and  wives  hope  to  the  last — had  ceased  to  expect 
that  he  could  recover,  or  that,  from  the  deep  dis- 
grace into  which  he  had  plunged,  there  was  any 
expectation  of  his  emerging.  He  still  had  pro- 
fessional business.  Pickpockets  with  more 
aliases  than  changes  of  garments  ;  inebriates,  to 
whose  names  "drunk  and  disorderly "  was  as 
invariable  an  affix  as  esquire  is  to  that  of  a  gen- 
tleman— all  the  host  of  the  particular  acquaint- 
ance of  the  police  were  his  clients.  "  Even  in 
his  ashes  lived  his  wonted  fire,"  and  the  police 
transactions  were  never  so  interesting  as  when 
the  Hon.  Thomas  Smith  "  appeared  for  the  de- 
fendant." He  often  astonished  those  who  had, 
and  those  who  had  not  known  him  in  better 
days,  by  managing  petty  cases  with  a  skill  wor- 
thy of  a  better  arena.  This  was  triumph 
enough  for  him  !  Tell  him  he  could  do  better  if 
he  would,  and  he  would  acknowledge  the  com- 
pliment with  such  a  full  appreciation  of  its 
truthfulness,  as  indicated  that  he  considered  it 
unnecessary  labor  to  make  the  trial. 

It  so  chanced  one  day,  that  he  heard  himself 
discussed,  when  the  interlocutors  were  not  aware 
that  he  was  listening.  And  he  heard  them, 
moreover,  reach  the  calm  and  sad  conclusion 
that  he  was  sunken  past  recall  or  recovery. 
They  agreed  that  he  had  so  wasted  his  energy 
and  impaired  his  strength,  mental  and  physical, 
that  further  expectation  for  him  there  was  none, 
except  that  he  would  die  like  a  drunken  swan — 
if  such  a  bird  were  possible — in  singing  in  bac- 
chine  eloquence  his  own  defence  against  being 
committed  as  a  vagrant. 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Smith.  A  new  resolve 
was  awakened  in  him.  People  doubted  that  he 
could  overcome  temptation.     He  would  see ! 

From  that  moment  he  put  the  resolve  in  prac- 
tice. It  was  the  most  severe  struggle  he  had 
ever  undertaken,  but  his  rc-awakened  pride,  sec- 
onded by  a  strong  will,  was  triumphant.  He 
raised  himself  from  the  kennel,  as  he  had  prom- 
ised himself  he  would,  and  ended  life  where  he 
should  have  commenced  it,  a  sober  man. 

But  where,  meanwhile,  were  the  "  plodders," 
the  snails,  as  he  used  to  style  them,  when  he 
likened  himself  to  the  hare "?  All  in  positions  of 
competence  and  ease,  which  he  could  never  hope 
to  reach.  They  had  gained  in  the  long  race, 
though  often  and  often  he  had  frolicked  past  them 
in  derision.  Man  cannot  always  retain  his 
youth,  and  premature  old  age  settles  hard  upon 
hira,  even  though  he  be  a  genius,  who  lives  too 
fast.  Let  the  young  and  over-confident,  the  apt 
and  able,  especially,  beware  how  they  waste 
their  lives  and  trifle  with  their  powers.  It  is 
agreeable  to  astonish  one's  friends,  and  to  disap- 
point one^s  foes  ;  bat  it  is  not  safe  to  do  it  at 
your  own  expense.  Feeble  old  Justice  Shallows 
may  chuckle  over  the  irregularities  of  their 
youth,  but  it  is  better,  while  the  page  is  fair,  to 
make  no  blurs  upon  it.  It  is  very  much  to  a 
man's  credit  to  reform  from  vice  or  dissipation, 
but  it  is  better — as  the  good  book  advii5cs  us  re- 
specting contention — to  leave  such  things  oif  be- 
fore they  be  meddled  with.  Hon.  Thomas 
Smith  will  tell  you  so,  though  he  has  been  so 
long,  of  later  years,  in  good  repute,  that  his 
younger  friends  do  not  remember  when  he  stood 
otherwise.  Genius,  unguided  by  abiding  princi- 
ple, and  unaccompanied  by  industry,  is  a  dan- 
gerous gift. 


If  you  happen  to  fall  into  company  where  the 
talk  runs  into  party,  obscenity,  scandal,  folly,  or 
vice  of  any  kind,  you  had  better  pass  for  morose 
or  unsocial,  among  people  whose  good  opinion 
is  not  worth  having,  than  shock  your  own  con- 
science by  joining  in  conversation  which  you 
must  disapprove  of. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DEAWIXG   ROOM   COMPANION. 


375 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
VHERE  HAVE  THEY  VAJVISHED? 

BT   PAEK   BESJAMIN. 

Where  hnve  they  Tanished— all  my  youthful  fancies  ? 

^Vllore  have  they  Qovro — my  fnnd  delights  and  Jreiuus? 
Alas!  with  love's  remembertd  smiles  and  slimces, 

With  hope's  frail  fabrics  and  delusive  gleams. 

I  sit  and  muse  on  many  a  golden  glory 
That  played  like  sunshine  i-ound  my  early  years  ; 

Back  to  my  mind  comes  many  a  tender  story 
That  dimmed  my  yet  unfaded  eyes  with  tears. 

I  see  once  more  the  oft-frequented  places, 

Where,  like  a  group  in  some  old  picture,  throng 

Familiar  forms  and  unforgotten  faces, 

Gone  to  their  far,  returnless  home,  how  loQg ! 

And  one  is  fairer  than  the  rest,  as  morning 
More  lovely  is  than  noon  or  sinking  day  ; 

She  too  has  tlown,  that  loftier  sphere  adorning, 
\Vbere  grief  is  not,  and  sighs  are  done  away. 

As  years  increase,  my  heart  is  filled  with  sadness, 

t\Iore  prone  am  I  to  wander  in  the  past, 
And,  though  my  present  is  not  void  of  gladness, 

Still  is  my  tearful  vision  backward  cast. 

Forgive  me,  objects  of  my  dear  afFectiou, 

51 Y  treasured  blessings,  that  sometimes  T  turn 

From  thoughts  of  you  in  hours  of  lone  retlection. 
To  twine  some  leaves  round  memory's  funtral  um. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  WAY  TO  AVASHKGTON. 

No.  II. 


BT  B.  PERLEY  POORE. 

AFLOA.T  ON  THE  SOTIM). 

Boston  should  not  be  passed  through  without 
a  tribute  to  her  citizens.  Their  love  of  freedom, 
their  restless  activity,  and  their  veneration  for 
■whatever  is  great  or  beautiful,  have  gained  them 
the  honor  of  a  frequent  comparison  with  the  free 
and  polislied  Athenians — and  it  is  just.  Ihe 
old  republic  could  boast  of  few  orators  superior 
to  E\-erctt,  or  Choate,  or  Phillips,  or  Hillard — 
few  historians  superior  to  Sparks,  or  Prescott, 
or  Hildretli — few  essayists  superior  to  Whipple 
— ^few  poets  superior  to  Holmes.  The  "  Acropo- 
lis "  was  never  more  glorious  than  Bunker's 
height,  and  Paneuil  Hall  has  probably  echoed 
more  genuine  popular  eloquence  than  was  ever 
declaimed  on  the  "Pynx."  Call  Boston  the 
"  Modem  Athens/*  if  you  will,  but  remember 
she  is  as  much  superior  to  the  "  ancient  of  days, 
august  Athena,"  as  aa  express  train  is  to  a 
foundered  horse.  But  do  not  tliink  that  I  value 
Boston  because  I  admire  the  gifted  minds  who 
inhabit  Beacon  Hill,  and  draw  their  dividends 
on  State  Street.  If  you  want  to  see  a  sample  of 
her  sterling  men,  go  into  her  schools,  her  print- 
ing-offices, lier  workshops,  or  her  markets. 
Take,  if  you  please,  the  sacrificial  priests  in- 
stalled in  Quincy's  noble  piles,  who  sacrifice  the 
"cattle  on  a  thousand  hills"  for  the  domestic 
altars,  "What  a  hale,  hearty-looking  set  of  men 
they  are,  with  pleasant  smiles  on  theii*  faces,  and 
hearts  large,  almost,  as  those  of  the  oxen  they 
slay.  Surely  the  old  Atlienians  could  furnish  no 
such  display,  either  of  men  or  of  meats;  and 
could  they  have  had  such  troops  as  these  same 
knights  of  the  cleaver  make  when  "out  in  the 
Lancers,"  Alaric  never  would  have  despoiled 
their  city. 

Among  the  most  interesting  edifices  in  Boston 
— Gleason's  Publishing  Hall  occupying  a  prom- 
inent place  in  the  class — is  the  old  "  Hancock 
House,"  on  Beacon  Hill.  It  should,  by  right, 
be  State  or  city  property,  and  would  make  an 
excellent  as  well  as  appropriate  hall  for  a  His- 
torical Society.  Who'll  start  a  subscription  for 
the  purchase  ?  Every  one  is  familiar  with  the 
bold  signature  of  jMr.  Hancock,  wliicli  is  so 
prominent  upon  the  "  Declaration,"  hut  few  have 
any  idea  of  his  personal  appearance  or  dress.  It 
may  not  be  amiss,  then,  to  say  that  he  was  very 
tall,  thin  and  dignified  in  his  deportment.  At 
home,  towards  the  close  of  his  life,  he  used  to 
wear  a  white  linen  skull  cap,  with  the  edges 
turned  up  over  a  smaller  one  of  red  velvet,  a 
blue  damask  gown  lined  with  silk,  a  white  stock, 
a  white  satin  embroidered  waistcoat,  black  satin 
small  clothes,  white  silk  hose,  and  red  morocco 
slippers.  Allien  he  went  out,  a  full  wig  and 
cocked  hat  replaced  the  caps,  and  a  richly  em- 
broidered coat  the  dressing-gown — while  his 
equipage  was  a  carved  coach,  drawn  by  six  bay 
horses,  and  preceded  by  outriders,  all  the  ser- 
vants wearing  livery.  What  a  difference  be- 
tween the  "  Boston  merchant  prince  "  of  1776, 
and  the  one  who  has  just  returned,  in  1852,  from 


a  high  diplomatic  mission !  How  the  boys 
would  leave  their  sports  on  the  common  and 
rush  up  to  the  old  mansion,  if  they  could  see  the 
original  occupant's  counterfeit  start  out  for  a 
ride  in  all  the  ancient  state  !  And  what  a  ditFer- 
ence  between  his  imposing  figure,  in  gorgeous 
array,  and  suclx  modern  Boston  notables  as 
Holmes  or  Whipple — small,  intellectual  looking 
men  in  sombre  black. 

One  glance  at  the  city  ere  proceeding  further 
on  our  "w\iy,"  and  tliat  a  glorious  view,  and  at 
a  novel  hour — nine  at  night — from  the  State 
House  dome  There  lies  the  city,  once  occupy- 
ing three  hills,  now  extended  across  the  water  in 
two  directions,  so  as  to  form  a  treble  metropolis, 
whilst  around  about  are  the  three  cities  of  Kox- 
bury,  Cambridge  and  Charlestown.  There  she 
lies,  gleaming  with  her  myriad  lights,  some  ir- 
radiating in  starry  streatns  tracing  many  roads 
and  bridges  into  the  dark  distance  beyond.  Up 
to  the  ear  comes  the  rumbling  din  of  huge  found- 
eries,  mingled  with  the  going  home  bustle  of  a 
hurrying  populace,  and  the  faint  jarring  of  cabs, 
the  rattle  of  private  carriages,  and  the  rumbling 
of  sturdy  omnibii  forming  a  "running  accompa- 
niment." Then,  startling  to  the  listener,  comes 
the  long,  shrill  yell  of  the  steam-dragon,  scream- 
ing almost  joyously  as  it  booms  along  with  its 
blazing  breath,  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  home. 
And,  almost  directly  below,  the  rich,  trilling 
voice  of  the  fountain,  the  "spirit  bride  of  the 
elm,"  steals  sweetly  and  with  a  lulling  melody 
upon  the  evening  air. 

Those  whose  nerves  are  made  of  bell  wires, 
and  who  look  upon  travel  as  a  cough  mixture — 
when  taken  to  be  well  shaken — may  ride  upon  a 
rail  and  welcome ;  but  for  my  part  I  prefer  a 
commodious  steamer,  wliere  one  can  he  at  his 
ease.  So  when  on  my  "  way,"  I  always  go  by 
the  Fall  River  line,  even  if  a  stiff  breeze  comes, 
like  a  lawyer's  dun,  to  announce  that  Neptune 
will  make  me  "  settle  accounts  "  off  Point  Judith. 
For  the  exhibitions  on  such  stormy  passages, 
hunt  up  an  old  volume  of  fun  entitled  "John- 
son's Scraps,"  and  "  when  found,  turn  down  a 
leaf  and  make  a  note  on't." 

Newport !  How  well  I  remember  stopping 
there,  some  fifteen  years  ago — I  was  yet  in  jack- 
ets— at  the  old  Bellevue  House.  Mine  host  was 
a  motley  quaker — afterwards  excommunicated 
by  his  brethren  because  he  hired  an  old  piano 
for  the  benefit  of  his  lady  boarders — and  he  used 
to  scour  the  knives,  whilst  his  wife  did  her  part 
in  keeping  house.  Now  there  are  monster  ho- 
tels, armies  of  servants,  legions  of  cottages,  and 
some  other  appendages  to  "  fashionable  watering 
places."  But  those  who  once  came  to  Newport 
to-  enjoy  the  invigorating  sea  breeze,  the  elastic 
atmosphere,  and  the  wholesome  fare,  are  now 
never  seen.  Thei/  never  figure  at  fancy  balls — 
never  wear  fancy  bathing  dresses — never  drive 
hired  horses  above  their  natural  speed,  tlirough 
clouds  of  dust.  And  their  successors  are  either 
fashionable  drones,  or  that  most  uneasy  class  of 
pleasure  seekers,  city  business  men.  Poor  fel- 
lows, these  last,  dragged  from  mahogany  desks 
by  ambitious  wives  or  daughters.  A  rural  so- 
journ is  fatal  to  them,  for  tlieyarc  unlike  men  of 
imagination,  who  seek  repose  of  thought  in  the 
indulgence  of  ealm  reveries,  or  endeavor  to 
bury  care  and  anxiety  in  the  contemplation  of 
nature.  Their  minds  become  rusted  by  ennui, 
and  their  bodies  slothful  from  idleness,  so  that 
they  soon  long  for  home,  the  morning  paper,  the 
office,  the  law  or  the  profits. 

And  having  arrived  at  this  profound  conclu- 
sion, I  will  close  my  portfolio,  and  retire  to  my 
state-room.  To  morrow  morning  I  hope  to 
breakfast  in  New  York — a  century  since,  the 
journey  would  have  occupied  a  week. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
DECEMBER.— A   SONNET. 

Svggestfd  by  our  recent  National  Bereavement. 

BY  J.   STARR  HOLLOWAT. 

Thou  final  pillar  to  this  fatal  year. 
Be  thou  upreared,  and  do  thou  stand  in  peace, 
Until  thy  master,  Time,  shall  bid  thee  cease 

To  he ;  then  gently  fall,  nor  make  us  fear 

That  thou  wilt  crush,  in  falling,  one  soul  dear 
To  us — who.  by  high  deeds,  has  a  life-leaFe 
On  our  affections.     Spare,  0  spare,  the  few 

Bright  master  minds  that  yet  are  left  us  here  ! 

No  monument  to  Time,  save  this  alone. 

Which  only  waits  thy  crowning  piece,  to  view 

It  all  complete,  can  make  us  weep  and  moan 

So  bitterly  for  those  forever  gone. 

But  go ;  we  fear  to  trust  thee.     Come,  New  Year, 

Perhaps  tby  pile,  less  stern  ,will  free  our  .souls  from  fear. 


Zeal  does  well  in  a  private  breast;  and  mod- 
eration in  a  public  state. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
WOOD  NOTES. 


The/ollowipg  thus  iv^'e  wrillrn  rluniig  a  tmir  through  the 
woods  on  a  brigUt  day  in  lAtitiimn. 


BY  DR.   GEORGE  W.  BDKOAY. 


The  modest  daisj-  in  its  bloom, 

Here  meekly  wore  its  satiu  Irill ; 
Like  mourners  at  its  virgin  tomb. 

Wet  gniss-blades  how  upon  the  hill. 

The  thistle  vith  its  head  upreared, 

Like  genius  with  its  noble  deeds. 
Though  coarsely  clad  and  rough  its  beard, 

Sends  on  white  wings  afar  its  seeds. 

The  wood  hird's'nest  upon  the  bough. 
Is  like  my  saddened  htart  that  grieves — 

T  was  full  of  music  once ;  but  now 
Deserted  hangs  and  filled  with  leaves. 

As  hope  illumes  the  pilgrim's  eyes, 
Along  the  shadowy  vale  of  night. 

Yon  streamlet,  like  an  arrow,  Hies 
Between  the  hills  now  crowned  with  light. 

Cloud  heaped  on  cloud  goes  drifting  by, 
Like  billows  on  the  broad  deep  bay  ; 

And  then  the  white  wave.i  cf  the  .ssky 
Dash  o'er  the  bills  and  break  In  spray. 

Here,  like  the  patriirch  in  his  dreams, 

I  see  the  ladder  angels  trod ; 
This  mountain  to  poor  mortals  seems 

A  footstool  near  the  throne  of  God. 

LIFE  AND  EXISTENCE. 

The  mere  lapse  of  years  is  not  life.  To  eat, 
and  drink,  and  sleep  ;  to  be  exposed  to  darkness 
and  the  light ;  to  pace  round  in  tbe  mill  of  habit, 
and  turn  thought  into  an  implement  of  trade — 
this  is  not  life.  In  all  this,  but  a  poor  fraction  of 
the  consciousness  of  humanity  is  awaked,  and 
the  sanctities  still  slumber  which  make  it  worth 
while  to  be.  Knowledge,  truth,  love,  beauty, 
goodness,  faith,  alone  can  give  vitality  to  the 
mechanism  of  existence.  The  laugh  of  mirth 
that  vibrates  through  the  heart,  ihc  tears  that 
freshen  the  dry  wastes  within,  the  music  that 
brings  childhood  back,  the  prayer  that  calls  the 
future  near,  the  doubt  which  makes  us  meditate, 
the  death  which  startles  us  with  mystery,  the 
hardship  which  forces  us  to  struggle,  the  anxiety 
that  ends  in  trust,  are  the  true  nourishment  of 
our  natural  being  — James  Marlineaa. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE    HAPPIEST    HOME, 

BY   OTTEN   G.  WARREN. 

That  is  the  brightest,  happiest  home, 

Where  love  and  peace  ar&  shrined ; 
And  whence  the  heart  would  never  roam, 

A  warmer  spot  to  find. 
•Tis  not  the  mansion,  proud  and  high, 

Nor  halls  of  lordly  state  ; 
'Tis  not  the  robes  of  richest  dye. 

Nor  slaves  that  round  us  wait ; 
Tis  not  the  steeds  that  prance  in  pride, 

With  harness  flecked  with  foam  ; 
No — luxury  and  dominion  wide 

Have  nought  to  do  with  home. 

But  one  condition  makes  a  home  — 

Hearts  must  be  happy  there  ; 
As  well  in  hovel  as  in  dome. 

Content  can  find  a  lair. 
Want  and  disease  may  bitter  life. 

Discordant  souls  may  hate. 
Strong  interests  may  engender  strife — 

These  are  the  common  fate. 
But,  if  we  ask  it  prayerfully, 

Joy  to  our  roof  will  come ; 
Love,  the  condition  sole  must  he, 

For  love  will  make  a  home. 

A  HINT. 


"  Dear  mother,"  said  a  delicate  little  girl,  "  I 
have  broken  your  china  vase." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  naughty,  careless,  trouble- 
some little  thing,  always  in  mischief;  go  up 
stairs  till  I  send  for  you." 

And  this  was  a  Christian  mother's  answer  to 
the  tearful  little  culprit,  w^ho  had  struggled  with 
and  conquered  temptation  to  tell  a  falsehood  to 
screen  the  fault.  With  disappointed,  disheart- 
ened look,  the  child  obeyed;  and  at  that  mo- 
ment was  crushed  in  her  little  heart  the  sweet 
flower  of  truth,  perhaps  never  again  in  after 
years  to  be  revived  lo  life.  0,  what  were  a 
thousand  vases  in  comparison ! — East  Boston 
Ledger. 

FRENCH  NATIONAL  CHARACTER. 

The  histoiy  of  the  French  everywhere  depicts 
a  people  gallant,  gay,  ingenious,  versatile  and 
ardent  beyond  all  rivalry  and  all  example;  but 
it  also  sets  before  us  a  race  more  destitute  than 
any  other  of  profound  and  immutable  convic- 
tions;  .and,  therefore,  less  capable  than  any 
other  of  a  steady  progress  in  the  great  practical 
science  of  constitutional  government— a  people 
who  are  at  one  time  the  sport  of  any  demagogue 
who  can  veil  his  selfish  ambition  under  the  cant 
of  "  pure  ideas,"  and  another  time  the  victims  of 
any  despot  who  may  be  strong  enough  to  tram- 
ple both  t\ie  ifiealpgists  an^l  their  vevbal  science 
under  his  feet.Tr-jS^elf/o^i. 


EGVPTT.^N  LEGENDS. 

While  walking  along  the  banks  of  the  river, 
■we  shot  a  small,  beautiful  bird  called  sik-sak  by 
tbe  Arabs,  concerning  which  the  Egyptian  peas- 
ants have  a  curious  legend,  pretending,  that 
■when  the  crocodile,  in  fine,  calm,  sunny  days, 
ascends  out  of  the  river  to  sleep  upon  some  sandy 
islet,  this  bird  always  keeps  near,  and,  if  danger 
approadics,  takes  care  to  awaken  him  by  his 
.sharp  note.  They  add  another  particular,  w'hich, 
however  fabulous  it  may  be,  has  prevailed  from 
tlie  age  of  Herodotus  down  to  the  present 
day,  and  seems  to  be  founded  on  the  physical 
structure  of  the  bird.  The  siksak,  which  is  un- 
doubtedly the  trochilus  of  Herodotus,  is  armed 
at  the  point  of  each  shotUder  of  the  wings  with  a 
small  shaip  horn,  like  the  talons  of  an  eagle,  the 
use  of  which  the  Arabs,  with  their  habitual  in- 
genuity, explain  as  follows  :  The  crocodile, 
they  say,  hting  at  times  tormented  by  a  noxious 
kind  of  vermin,  which  creep  into  his  throat  and 
suck  his  blood,  lies  down  on  the  sand  and  in- 
stinctively opens  his  mouth.  The  crocodile,  for- 
getting the  presence  of  his  friend,  someiimes 
closes  his  mouth  and  imprisons  him,  upon  whieli 
the  siksak,  which  is  purposely  armed  for  the  oc- 
casion, lifts  up  its  wings,  and,  pricking  the  ten- 
der sides  of  his  throat  with  his  sharp  horns, 
quickly  procures  itself  a  safe  return  to  upper 
air.  Whatever  may  he  thought  of  this  legend, 
it  is  very  certain  that  the  crocodile  is  rarely  seen 
unattended  by  one  or  more  of  these  birds,  which 
seem  to  approach  him  fearlessly,  and  to  stand 
quite  within  his  reach  upon  the  sand. — Batjard 
Tayhr. 

«     a**^     > 

fWritten  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
VISIONS    OF   THE   NIGHT, 

BT  KE.VXETH   8ESCLAIK. 

'T  was  the  midnight  hour  I     Softly  sleep  had  stolen 
O'er  me,  as  restless  tossing  on  my  lonely  couch, 
I  pondered  on  the  past — its  joys,  its  griefe. 
Its  hap p)" moments  and  its  days  of  woe — 
And  called  up  sweet  faces  half  forgot. 
Fairy  forms,  and  dimpled  cheeks,  and  eyes 
That  dazzled  once  with  a  diamond  light, 
Since  then,  alas!  too  oft  bedimmed  with  tears. 
And  sleeping,  my  varied  thoughts  were  mingled 
With  my  dreams  ;  pleasant  voices  long  since  hushed, 
Tones  that  could  thrill  each  ciuivering  nerve. 
Once  more  I  heard  in  melody  greet  me. 
The  joys  of  other  diys  again  were  mine, 
Awhile  returned  childhood's  innocence. 
And  cares  and  hatreds  later-formed  were  not ; 
Dear  friends,  as  erst  I  had,  sincere^nd  true, 
'^  V>  ith  kindly  smile  and  open  brow  were  nigh." 
All,  all  the  joys  forever  lost  and  gone, 
The  buoyant  hopes  of  early,  happy  days, 
The  new  delights  of  each  recurring  morn, 
The  moonlight  rambles  in  the  wooded  glen, 
Or  merry  dance,  or  circle  round  the  hearth. 
To  list  with  strained  ear  to  fearful  tales, 
Or  legends  of  the  fairy  sprites  of  eld — 
All,  all  "neath  fiincy"s  sway  came  hack  again. 
.    Alas  !  too  soon  awaking,  sad  I  found 
Twas  but  a  mocking  vision  of  the  night! 


REFUTATION  AFTER  DEATH. 

It  is  very  singular,  how  the  fact  of  a  man's 
death  often  seems  to  give  people  a  truer  idea  of 
his  character,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  than 
they  have  ever  possessed  while  he  was  living  and 
acting  among  them.  Death  is  sogenuinea  fact, 
that  it  excludes  falsehoods,  or  betrays  its  empti- 
ness ;  it  is  a  touchstone  that  proves  the  gold, 
and  dishonors  the  baser  metal.  Could  the  de- 
parted, whoever  he  may  be,  return  in  a  week 
after  his  decease,  he  would  almost  invariably 
tind  himself  at  a  higher  or  a  lower  point  than  he 
had  formerly  occupied  on  the  scale  of  public 
appreciation. — Hauihonie. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  LAST  LOOK  ON  NATURE. 

BV  JOSEPH   H.  BUTLER. 

0,  for  one  hour  upon  the  hills 

Such  as  in  health  I  knew ; 
When  bounding  by  the  gushing  rills, 

I  brushed  the  morning  dew  I 

I  must  look  on  those  pleasant  things 

niiich  gave  me  joy  before ; 
I  must  walk  by  the  silver  springs, 

And  see  the  flowers  once  more  ! 

The  wild  bee  nestles  on  the  breast 

Of  yonder  opened  rose  ; 
Ah,  they  will  sport  when  Vta  at  rest 

Where  yon  green  willow  grows — 

And  every  flower  as  now  will  bloom, 

And  nature  will  he  gay, 
When  I  am  mouldering  in  the  tomb, 

Shut  from  the  light  of  day ! 

Ton  stream  will  leap  and  sing,  as  now, 

The  golden  harvest  rise, 
When  gi-Lm  decay  sits  on  my  hrow. 

And  darkness  clouds  these  eyes. 

A  better  world,  0  joy  I  is  mine, 

When  this  brief  life  is  o'er ; 
Where  angels  tread  tbe  fields  sublime. 

And  sorrow  is  no  more  I 

Whilst  we  live  let  us  live  well ;  for  be  a  man 
ever  so  rich  when  he  lights  his  fire,  death  may, 
perhaps,  epter  his  door  before  it  be  burnt  out. 


G  L  E  A  S  O  N '  S     1»  I  C  T  O  R  I  A  L 


DRAWING-ROOM    COMPANION. 


AN    EL.\BORATE    AND     ARTISTIC     ILLUSTRATION     OF     THE     FAMOUS     AND 


DECISIVE    BATTLE    OF    WATERLOO,    FOUGHT    ON    THE     I.Sth    OF    JUNE,     1815. 


?{78 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Wrltf:on  for  GIoaHon'H  Pictorial.] 
AUTUMN. 

•BY  ALICE  OARV.        , 

On  Hio  brown,  floworlesH  niwulow  Uos 
The  wraith  orauniniei' ;  out  llowoi-a  brigUt 

Nod  heavy  on  lier  dimtli-blliiil  cyvs, 
SmillnK  with  uiclftucholy  light. 

Ami  Autumn,  with  liifl  oyellclH  voU 

DroojiiHl  to  her  beiuity,  sits  to«ilay, 
JUb  aaJ  hoiu't  nwci-tly  coiiil'ortml  ! 

By  storniB  upon  thoir  Htiirk'HH  way. 

Softflona  continuous,  ininKHtiK)  thrill 
Our  houIh,  tiH  notes  that  sweetly  bleni.1, 

Until  wc  ciiDuot,  if  we  will, 

Tell  whore  th(«y  or  begin  or  enil. 

And  while  tlie  hluo  fly  singB  so  yf^M, 
And  while  tliu  orickct  chirps  flo  low; 

In  tho  bi'Ight  gnisH  I  seiu'co  can  hsU 
If  thcro  bo  anisy-flukofl,  or  Buow. 

But  when  along  tho  sIumbcrouH  blue, 

And  di-eamy,  (luiut  atinosphoro, 
I  loolt  to  find  tho  April  dow, 

I  know  tlio  autumn  time  is  liPie. 

Tho  lamplesfl  hollow  of  tho  skies 

Ifi  full  of  mists,  or  blank,  or  ilun  ; 
Where  all  day,  Poft  and  warm,  there  lies 

A  shadow  that  should  he  the  suji. 

The  winds  go  noiseloea  on  their  way, 
Scarcely  the  lightest  twig  is  stiiTod; 

Not  through  the  wild  green  boughs  of  May 
Slips  the  blue  hzard  so  unheard. 

Under  the  woolly  mullen,  flat 

Against  the  dust,  together  creep 
The  shining  beetles  ;  and  the  bat  [ 

Is  drowsing  to  his  winter  sleep. 

The  iron-weeds'  red  tops  are  downj 
Wilted  from  all  tbelr  summer  sheen  ; 

The  fennePsgoldcn  buds  are  brown, 
And  loncsomest  of  all  the  scene ; 

Hither  and  thither  lightly  blows 

A  white  cloud  o'er  the  darkening  wood, 

Like  some  unpastured  lamb  that  goes 
Climbing  and  wandering  for  food. 

But  plenty  gladdens  all  the  world, 

For  corn  is  ripe,  if  flowers  be  o'er ; 
Autumn,  with  yellow  beard  uncurled 

In  summer's  grave-damps,  sigh  no  more. 

[Written  for  Gleason^a  Pictorial.] 

:URKEY  AM*  THE  TURKS. 

No.  SIV. 
I  

'  BY   DR.   JEROME   V.    C.    SMITH. 

HOSPITALS. 

r^HARiTT  is  a  distinguished  virtue  in  the  esti- 
.tion  of  the  Mahommedana.  Constantinople 
srishes  many  institutions  which  have  in  view 

comfort  of  the  unfortunate.  Hospitals  in  all 
,er  countries  originated  in  a  philanthropic 
1  truly  Christian  spirit ;  but  it  is  very  question- 
e  whether  any  higher  principle  than  economy 

to  their  establishment  by  the  Sultans.  Cer- 
ily  Christianity  had  nothing  to  do  with  their 
relopment. 

t  was  thought  good  policy,  probably,  to  mend 
I  repair  those  savage  villains  who  have  com- 
'ed  the  armies  of  a  series  of  bloody,  conquer- 
JMoslem  heroes,  rather  than  the  country  of 
[i,  totally  ignorant  of  arms. 
I  did  not  pay  much  attention,  however,  to  the 

I'ely  Turkish  hospitals.  Left  to  themselves, 
loss  of  life,  through  the  ignorance  of  the  na- 
,  medical  attendiints,  would  be  terrific.  From 
RViowledge  of  their  own  incapacity,  they  em- 
oyed  European  physicians  and  surgeons. 
)ne  of  the  best  and  most  extensive  hospitals 
)ngs  to  the  Greeks,  located  a  short  distance 
n  the  famous  Seven  Towers.  "With  its  im- 
isely  long  wings,  and  ample  accommodations, 
ppeared  to  be  a  receptacle  for  all  who  have 
means  of  providing  for  themselves,  when 
rtaken  with  sickness. 

L  large  court  was  emhraccd  by  the  hospital, 
;hich  there  were  drying  grounds  for  cloths, 
paths  for  patients  lo  take  exercise,  entered 
jugh  a  high  gate. 

in  office  on  the  right  hand  was  immediately 
lin  the  arch,  where  we  obtained  permission 
;o  precisely  where  there  was  nothing  to  be 
I  of  the  institution. 

.pplicaiion  had  been  made  to  the  physician 
he  establishment,  a  Greek,  several  days  be- 
,  for  an  opportunity  to  inspect  the  establish- 
it,  but  it  was  disregarded,  although  he  was 
Irmcd  that  a  medical  stranger  from  America 
piled  the  favor.  Fearing  that  by  waiting 
fcr,  the  opportunity  would  be  wholly  lost,  as 
^opc  of  a  pass   from  the   doctor   had    been 


almndoned,  wo  redo  on  horseback  to  it,  Tho 
ride  alforded  n  fine  view  of  the  city  from  another 
point;  gave  us  a  correct  idea  of  the  Armenian 
and  Greek  quarters,  hcsido  the  Seven  Towers 
and  other  object!*  of  historical  importance. 

After  lounging;  about  the  enclosure  a  little 
time,  wo  walked  into  tho  oflice,  where  the  diroc- 
tor.s  happened  to  be  on  husinCKN.  Wc  made  a 
re(]uest  of  ibom  to  go  through  the  wards,  mating 
that  the  object  was  to  compare  their  aeeommoda- 
tioiis  and  methods  of  treatment,  with  similar 
charities  in  other  countries. 

On  stating  t!ie  fact  that  I  was  a  jdiysician, 
many  civilities  followed  quite  beyond  our  expec- 
tations. Our  names  and  country  were  requested. 
Being  seated,  staring  each  other  in  the  face, 
neither  party  could  possibly  make  the  other  com- 
prehend what  the  other  said,  very  satisfactorily. 

However,  one  of  the  gentlemen  marched  to 
mc  with  a  sugar  bowl  on  a  tray,  with  a  silver 
teas|joon.  Not  knowing|What  was  required,  and 
Jiesitating,  he  made  a  motion  for  me  to  take  a 
dose  out  of  the  vessel.  It  was  a  red  jelly-like 
confection,  which  created  an  immediate  thirst 
on  being  swallowed.  That  was  the  object,  to 
give  a  relish  to  some  tiny  cups  of  coflfee  that 
forthwith  followed. 

The  directors  then  led  off  from  one  apartment 
to  another.  We  next  requested  to  examine  the 
insane.  They  granted  the  request  with  extreme 
reluctance,  and  well  they  might,  from  a  con- 
sciousness that  ihey  both  practised  and  tolerated 
something  wrong  in  their  treatment. 

Both  men,  boys  and  women  were  actually 
chained  by  their  necks  or  wrists,  to  iron  bolts  in 
the  floor.  Mattresses  were  on  the  floor,  far 
enough  asunder  to  prevent  the  wretched  crea- 
tures from  interfering  with  one  another. 

A  boy  had  bruised  his  own  head  shockingly, 
either  with  his  chain,  or  upon  the  floor.  Some 
were  asleep,  stupid,  or  exhausted  by  the  weight 
of  their  miseiies.  A  finely-developed  Greek, 
from  one  of  the  islands,  had  been  apprehended 
by  the  Turkish  authorities  on  account  of  some 
insurrectionary  demonstration  that  would  have 
cost  him  his  life,  had  it  not  been  for  the  dis- 
covery that  the  bold  hater  of  the  Turks  was  un- 
questionably insane. 

The  Greeks  pleaded  for  him  successfully,  and 
agreed  to  keep  him  a  strictly  secured  prisoner 
for  five  years,  at  their  own  cost,  and  the  custody 
of  a  daring  fellow  was  given  over  to  them.  His 
eyes  sparkled  while  relating  his  wrongs, — de- 
claring at  the  same  breath,  that  he  was  no  more 
insane  than  his  keepers,  although  heavily  chain- 
ed. Were  lie  to  get  loose,  the  hospital  would 
feel  the  vengeance  of  the  law. 

We  did  not  continue  our  explorations  very 
far,  because  the  little  shown  was  too  painful  to 
be  prolonged.  No  effort  at  kindness,  no  sooth- 
ing sounds  strike  the  ears  of  those  poor  afflicted 
human  beings. 

I  believe  the  insane  are  fed  and  clothed,  and 
the  best  of  intentions  influence  those  who  have 
them  in  charge.  But  it  will  be  a  long  period  be- 
fore people  iu  Constantinople  can  feel  that  it  is 
safe  or  humane  to  permit  lunatics  to  exercise  in 
a  yard. 

In  the  Turkish  asylums,  the  system  is  precise- 
ly what  it  is  under  the  administration  of  the 
Greeks — shockingly  bad.  Probably  Greek  phy- 
sicians are  employed,  where  any  medical  man  is 
commissioned  to  visit  them. 

On  the  whole,  the  process  of  management  in 
a  great  moristan  or  madhouse,  visited  by  me  in 
Cairo,  is  superior  to  the  practice  in  Turkey,  in- 
asmuch as  chains  were  not  used,  and  the  incar- 
cerated, reason-bereft  inmates  had  tolerable  sized 
rooms,  and  no  interruptions  in  the  way  of  exer- 
cise in  waliving  in  them. 

All  other  hospitals  are  conducted  as  they  are 
everywhere  else,  when  under  the  judicious  con- 
trol of  European  surgeons,  as  most  of  them  are. 
It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  devote  a  line  further 
to  them,  since  the  whole  may  be  summed  up 
thus,  viz.',  the  sick  soldiers  are  received,  and  the 
surgeons  cure  them  if  they  can. 

Opium  is  both  smoked  as  well  as  taken,  it  is 
surmised,  in  a  Christian  manner,  by  swallowing. 
This  vice  they  unquestionably  learned  of  Euro- 
peans ;  but  the  practice  of  excessive  stimulation 
is  confined  to  circles  of  the  rich  exclusively.  It 
is  not  impossible  that  hashherb,  a  composition 
in  which  is  a  portion  of  the  extract  of  Indian 
hemp,  may  be  secretly  used  at  some  of  the  out- 
of-the-way  coffee  houses.  The  Turks  study  how 
to  stimulate  themselves,  without  producing  in- 
toxicarion.  Phillers,  or  what  might  vulgarly 
enough  be  denominated  luvc  powders,  are  always 
in  re(|uisition  to  recruit  the  exhausted  powers  of 
persons  of  the  first  rank. 


Hakim  Bashy,  a  great  somebody,  of  whom  we 
know  nothing,  coiiKcqucniial  as  he  is  at  homo, 
rose  in  favor,  obtained  wealth  and  the  particular 
friend.ship  of  Sultan  IMiihmoud,  who  died,  us  be- 
fore slated,  of  delirium  tremens,  l>eca«se  he  kept 
his  royal  jtatrun  in  a  i)rCH(-'nt  constant  state  of 
animal  exaltation  by  the  madjoon  ho  invented 
for  (lie  jinrpose.  The  Sultan  considered  iiim- 
Hclf  wonderfully  invigorated  in  the  manner  lie 
most  desired,  by  the  quack's  medicines,  sajB 
report. 

An  apothecary  cannot  succeed  in  Constanti- 
nople, unless  he  can  prc])are  some  sort  of  mad- 
joon. All  tlic  Turks  of  a  certain  condition  call 
for  these  supposed  restoratives  of  an  abused  con- 
stitution. Some  arc  lucky  enough  to  have  it 
bruited  abroad  that  they  have  discovered  a  now 
preparation — a  never-failing  bracer,  and,  of 
course,  it  creates  a  sensation  in  the  circle  where 
such  intelligence  outweighs  all  other  consider- 
ations. 

Those  .'^o  much  coveted  compositionB  are 
usually  a  mixture  of  cloves,  musk,  cinnamon, 
and  similar  spices ;  but  their  eflicacy  is  in  part 
due  to  excited  imaginations.  Had  the  druggists 
the  knowledge  we  possess  of  the  specific  action 
of  hehuius  divaclrr,  some  sti'finge  physiological 
phenomena  might  be  anticipated. 

An  impression  is  entertained  among  these  self- 
satisfied  people,  that  the  introduction  of  costly 
gems,  such  as  diamonds,  pearls,  etc.,  or  silver 
and  gold,  adds  prodigiously  to  the  active  medi- 
cinal virtues.  Thus  a  pharmaceutic  preparation 
is  patent  according  to  its  cost.  AViien  such  sin- 
gular doses  are  ordered  for  the  rich,  the  druggist 
contrives  to  cheat  them  out  of  the  real  articles, 
and  substitutes  something  else,  for  which  he  ob- 
tains a  gratifying  profit. 

On  the  other  hand,  medicines  are  actually  put 
up  for  the  purpose  of  tranquillizing  the  passions, 
influenced  and  excited  by  a  life  of  dreamy  seclu- 
sion in  a  harem,  without  a  single  intellectual 
pursuit,  where  youth  and  beauty  are  made  pris- 
oners for  life,  the  property,  perhaps,  of  an  old 
man  in  his  dotage. 

Certain  old  women  abound  in  Constantinople 
who  are  in  perpetual  request  by  natives  as  well 
as  enlightened  foreigners,  on  account  of  their 
accredited  skill  in  curing  obscure  chronic  mala- 
dies. Indeed  they  are  the  great  quacks  of  Tur- 
key, penetrating  the  interior  of  families,  and 
sowing  the  seeds  of  discontent  where  the  master 
contemplates  his  treasures,  not  by  stocks,  bonds 
and  mortgages,  but  by  the  transcendant  beauty 
of  his  wives.  These  old  hags  officiate  in  vari- 
ous capacities,  and  perform  services  for  their 
employers  that  would  be  quite  new  to  society  in 
New  England. 


TRADE  AND  COMMERCE. 

Notwithstanding  the  extent  of  the  Ottoman 
empire,  and  the  navigable  waters  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  people,  no  progress  has  been  made 
in  maritime  enterprise.  The  Turks  are  not  sea- 
men, even  under  the  best  advantages  for  develop- 
ing nautical  skill.  Willi  hundreds  of  beautiful 
harbors  ;  the  Black  Sea  with  its  incalculable 
riches,  and  the  seat  of  empire,  Constantinople, 
in  the  focus  of  natural  trade  for  the  whole  world, 
were  it  not  for  the  persevering  energy  of  Euro- 
pean nations  and  the  Americans,  but  very  few 
vessels  would  ever  glide  over  the  bosom  of  their 
own  waters. 

They  possess  neither  taste  nor  mechanical  in- 
genuity in  naval  architecture,  although  the  gov- 
ernment, at  the  present  moment,  has  some  of  the 
finest  warships  and  steamers  that  ever  floated 
through  the  ]^ardanelles.  To  foreign  artisans 
and  foreign  designers  is  Turkey  indebted  for  all 
her  beautiful  vessels,  whether  steamers  or  men- 
of-war. 

Greeks  are  valuable  sailors,  and  there  is  an 
energy  of  character  in  them.  The  commercial 
relations  of  their  former  oppressive  masters  with 
other  countries,  where  any  existed,  was  through 
their  efi^'orts.  Tliey  built  fi.ne  coasting  vessels, 
and  sent  their  workmen  to  those  islands  that  fur- 
nished the  most  appropriate  timber  to  construct 
ships ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  short-sight- 
ed policy  of  the  divan,  instead  of  discourag- 
ing and  embarrassing  their  efforts,  the  Mediter- 
ranean, ages  since,  would  have  been  swarming 
with  masts  bearing  the  crescent. 

After  the  achievement  of  Grecian  indepen- 
dence, which  was  accomplished  by  the  most 
heroic  deeds  of  daring,  and  the  memorials  of  the 
revolution  had  become  partially  forgotten  by  the 
masses  of  bigoted  Mussulmen,  the  industrious 
Greeks  renewed  their  business  of  ship  building  at 
Rhodes,  and  other  equally  advantageous  stations 


for  commercial  tliiift;  but  'lurlush  ignorance, 
stuplrlity  (iiul  jealousy  drove  tliem  ofi',  never  to 
return  till  better  times  came  round. 

Mr,  Kckford,  an  American  navnl  constructor, 
under  the  patronage  of  the  late  cfllcicnt  Sultan, 
Mahmoud  II,  designed  and  comi>leted  Hhips  that 
arc  unequalled  for  beauty,  capacity  and  thorough- 
ness, and  it  might  perhaps  he  said,  in  magnitude. 
Even  with  huch  vcBsels,  as  good  as  they  could 
be,  the  government  couUI  never  rely  upon  itJi 
Turkish  subjects  to  ni.an  tho  ropes,  or  navigate 
them  at  sea. 

Greeks  formed  a  majority  of  the  seamen,  and 
although  the  number  retained  on  board  the  Mar- 
modiah,  the  wonder  of  the  day,  is  so  small  as 
scarcely  to  be  suificient  for  manning  the  yards, 
still  they  arc  mostly  Greeks.  There  is  a  pros- 
pect that  the  few  vessels  lying  before  the  mosque 
in  the  Golden  Horn,  will,  piecemeal,  fall  into  de- 
cay, and  finally  drop  to  pieces  in  front  of  the 
arsenal. 

Some  of  the  highest  naval  functionaries  were 
never  out  sight  of  land.  An  admiral  of  the  fleet 
may  have  been  raised  from  ilic  bench  of  a  shoe- 
maker. It  is  sufficient,  if  the  Sultan  wills  it,  he 
can  make  or  unmake  at  his  pleasure.  Experi- 
ence seems  to  be  no  recommendation  at  all, 
either  with  his  Serene  Highness  on  the  throne, 
or  in  the  great  council  of  state,  for  commanding 
positions  in  the  naval  service.  Repeated  instan- 
ces are  recorded  of  men  being  converted  from 
land  favorites  to  marine  heroes,  who,  perhaps, 
were  never  on  the  deck  of  a  gunship,  till  they 
walked  it  with  the  dignity  of  commander-in- 
chief. 

It  is  impossible,  therefore,  with  such  views  of 
what  is  necessary  as  a  qualification  for  maritime 
life,  that  either  a  mercantile  or  national  marine 
could  thrive.  The  Turkish  mind  seems  not  to 
comprehend  why  a  successful  Pasha  may  not 
navigate  the  ocean,  and  achieve  glory  on  the 
restless  billows,  as  well  as  with  an  army  on  terra 
finna. 

Daring  as  they  are  on  their  own  soil,  or  when 
goaded  on  by  a  fanatical  spirit  for  the  subjuga- 
tion of  Christian  infidels  in  war,  they  are  wholly 
destitute  of  those  properties  which  fit  men  for 
the  excitements  of  ocean  life.  They,  therefore, 
must  always  be  dependent  on  foreigners  for 
manning  their  vessels,  and  consequently  no  pro- 
gress has  or  tiver  will  be  made  by  them  in  com- 
mercial trade  or  intercourse. 

A  nation,  however  favorably  located  and  am- 
bitious, in  this  age,  cannot  make  advances  in 
power,  and  certainly  not  in  civilization,  without 
the  first  element  of  national  grandeur — com- 
merce. Hence  the  Turks  must  deteriorate,  and 
lose  instead  of  gaining  wealth  or  vitality.  Theil* 
institutions  cannot  stand  under  the  influences  to 
wdiich  they  are  exposed  through  the  direct  influ- 
ence of  Christian  powers.  While  the  world  is 
advancing  in  intelligence  and  moral  strength, 
Turkey  withers  and  wanes. 

In  speaking  of  the  celebrated  Island  of  Rhodes, 
in  the  course  of  these  observations,  the  absurd 
policy  of  the  Turks  will  be  shown,  in  the  signal 
manner  in  which  they  have  contrived  to  drive  to 
the  verge  of  destruction  one  of  the  fairest  and 
most  productive  islands  in  the  Mediterranean, 
by  forcing  away  the  Greek  ship-builders.  If 
they  cannot  have  a  perfect  monopoly,  the  gov- 
ernment prefers  to  have  nothing  at  all. 

Several  beautifully  modelled  steamboats,  lying 
at  Constantinople,  appear  rather  objects  of  inter- 
est than  utility.  Occasionally  one  of  them  is 
seen  moving,  but  rarely.  On  a  cfrtain  occasion, 
when  the  Sultan  had  gone  thiough  with  the 
drudgery  of  state,  on  Friday,  having  said  his 
prayers  in  a  royal  manner,  while  the  -troops 
were  under  arms  and  the  population  in  commo- 
tion to  obtain  a  peep  at  the  unmatched  monarch, 
he  slid  away  from  public  gaze,  and  was  rowed 
rapidly  to  a  steamer  in  the  Golden  Horn.  I 
saw  him  ascend  the  gangway  with  a  lively  step. 
The  steam  was  not  on,  and  he  mu=t  have  either 
amused  himself  by  inspecting  the  machinery  and 
interior  finish,  or,  screened  by  a  partition,  he 
speculated  upon  the  multitude  of  human  beings 
who  were  watching  his  august  movements.  We 
could  not  discover  when  he  took  his  leave,  or 
how  or  when  he  returned  to  the  palace. 

An  old  fashioned  steamboat  that  used  to  ply 
between  Bangor  and  Boston,  many  years  ago,  is 
gradually  turning  into  dust,  near  where  the  fleet 
is  anchored. 

When  the  late  Sultan  purchased  it  of  some 
enterprising  Yankee,  who  had  the  temerity  to 
cross  the  Atlantic  in  the  frail  thing,  it  must  have 
been  considered  a  masterpiece  of  mechanism, 
or  it  never  cou'd  have  been  disposed  of  at  all. 
The  heavy,  coarse  build,  the  nngracefulness  of 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION. 


379 


the  hull,  the  bluntncss  of  the  bow,  and  the  gene- 
ral unoouthness  of  the  boat  ns  a  whole,  is  in 
striking  contrast  with  the  light,  clegimt  French 
and  English  boats  since  purchased  by  the  Sultan. 

"While  at  Constantinople,  we  saw  a  magnih- 
cent  steamboat,  of  medium  size,  that  had  been 
presented  to  the  Sultan  by  his  wary  vassal,  the 
Viceroy  of  Egypt,  Abbas  Pasha.  Altbough 
constructed,  said  report,  mainly  at  Alexandria, 
it  was  thoroughly  an  English  boat,  and  probably 
built  in  England,  where  his  Egyptian  Highness 
has  had  several  orders  of  that  kind  executed. 

Just  before  my  arrival  at  Smyrna,  the  Sultan 
had  been  there,  and  made  an  excursion  through 
some  parts  of  the  city.  He  came  down  from. 
Constantinople  in  one  of  the  steamers. 

Preparations  had  been  made  oh  a  magnificent 
scale,  in  Oriental  taste,  we  were  informed,  by 
the  Pasha  of  Smyrna,  even  to  lodging  the  des- 
cendant of  the  Prophet  on  shove  over  night.  But 
his  majesty,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself, 
merely  rode  through  some  of  the  principal  streets, 
and  quickly  returned  to  the  boat. 

It  was  remarked  that  even  while  on  horseback, 
the  little  lime  that  he  was  mounted,  he  betrayed 
evident  symptoms  of  uneasiness.  He  probably 
felt  that  a  bullet  from  an  obscure  window  might 
be  as  detrimental  to  his  royal  head,  in  Smyrna, 
as  anywhere  else. 

No  enthusiasm  was  discoverable  in  the  people  ; 
no  cries  of  "Live  forever,  0  king!"  nor  was  a 
single  gun  fired  in  honor  of  their  sovereign's  ar- 
rival or  departure.  It  is  not  customary  to  mani- 
fest their  satisfaction  either  by  an  uproar  or  fine 
speeches,  but  with  the  smoke  of  tobacco  pipes. 

Had  Sultan  Medjid  inquired  into  the  statistics 
of  the  loyal  city,  he  would  have  ascertained  the 
population  to  be  not  far  from  two  hundred 
thousand,  composed  of  Greeks,  Armenians,  Jews, 
Christians  and  Turks. 

Mosques  are  numerous,  but  not  remarkably 
elegant.  All  the  public  offices  are  mean  looking 
retreats,  in  which  very  grave,  eminent  persons 
smoke  away  life,  dipping  largely  into  the  reve- 
nues that  pass  through  their  fingers.  A  more 
proverbially  honest  set  of  merchants  could  not 
be  found.  In  all  their  extensive  bargainings 
with  foreign  merchants,  their  word  is  always 
sufficient,  and  a  sti-ict  fulfilment  of  their  obliga- 
tions is  rarely  violated  in  the  slightest  degree. 
The  Sultan  might  have  been  instructed  in  regard 
to  the  commercial  enterprise  of  his  principal 
maritime  city,  had  he  had  a  particle  of  curiosity 
or  anxiety  to  understand  the  resources  of  a 
flourishing  port. 

Whether  any  of  the  ladies  of  the  royal  house- 
hold accompanied  their  lord  and  master,  was 
not  known  ;  and  it  was  equally  uncertain  in  what 
way  he  was  provided  for  on  board.  Of  course, 
every  measure  was  taken  to  make  the  excursion 
as  agreeable  as  possible,  but  what  would  be  held 
to  he  so,  was  a  question  that  the  European  resi- 
dents were  curious  to  ascertain. 

The  trip  was  extended  no  further  than  Smyr- 
na, and  it  may  be  safely  presumed  the  Sultan 
has  never  been  a  greater  distance  from  Constan- 
tinople in  any  direction,  within  the  boundaries 
of  his  ample  Moslem  estate.  His  predecessors 
were  never  distinguished  for  a  love  of  travel. 

"When  roused  by  a  love  of  conquest,  some  of 
them  have  exhibited  the  ferocity  of  tigers,  ac- 
companying their  armies  more  for  the  purpose 
of  goading  them  on  to  exterminating  slaughter, 
than  from  feelings  of  humanity,  to  prevent  mise- 
ry, studying  the  resources,  or  contemplating  the 
benefit  of  the  country.  As  a  mere  tour  of  plea- 
sure, Sultan  Medjid's  hasty  voyage  to  Smyrna 
has  had  no  precedent  in  the  history  of  his  family. 


NEIGHEOHHOOD  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE. 

One  of  the  perplexing  circumstances  attending 
a  visit  to  Constantinople,  grows  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  determining  where  the  city  is  and  where 
it  is  not.  No  sucli  embarrassment  is  felt  in  any 
other  place  in  Turkey.  Prom  its  location  on 
botli  sides  of  the  Bosphorus,  and  the  complica- 
ted network  of  narrow  lanes,  often  very  steep, 
dark,  and  forbidding  to  a  stranger,  although  dig- 
nified as  streets,  without  a  guide  familiar  with 
each  and  every  cur\-e,  minaret  and  landmark,  it 
is  impossible  to  explore  either  the  city  or  the 
environs. 

One  day  we  crossed  over  to  Scutari,  having 
fine  horses  for  an  excursion  on  the  Asiatic  side. 
After  passing  beyond  the  immediate  margin  of 
the  houses  which  defined  the  line  of  city  popula- 
tion, the  country  opened  magnificently.  Vast 
fields  of  rich,  but  miserably  cultivated  land  were 
spread  out  as  far  as  the  power  of  vision  extend- 
ed.    There  were  scarcely  any  land  divisions,  ex- 


cept near  some  solitary  dwelling.  About  three 
miles  distant  from  the  Bosphorus  carried  us 
quite  beyond  even  country  establishments. 

Several  large  liouscs,  having  a  lonely,  solita- 
ry appearance,  with  latticed  windows,  the  proba- 
ble temporary  residences  of  well-to-do  gentlemen 
of  the  city,  were  passed,  but  neither  cheerfulness 
of  a  'pect,  the  hum  of  human  industry,  nor  taste- 
ful improvement  of  the  grounds,  was  recognized 
in  a  single  instance. 

No  carriages  rumble  along  the  way,  for  the 
best  of  reasons,  viz.,  there  are  no  roads  that 
would  admit  them.  Those  excessive!)'  awkward, 
fantastically  ornamented  ox  carts,  which  are  oc- 
casionally driven  through  one  of  the  streets  of 
Pera,  perhaps  the  only  one  in  that  section  of 
Constantinople  wide  enough  to  admit  a  wheeled 
vehicle,  are  rarely  to  be  found  anywhere  but 
there,  and  on  the  way  to  the  Sweet  Waters. 

Occasionally  we  passed  a  fat  Turk,  trotting  at 
a  leisurely  pace,  who  appeared  to  be  at  peace 
with  tiie  whole  world,  from  the  complacency 
with  which  he  contemplated  the  picturesque 
scenery  at  the  base  of  a  grand  elevation  called 
Bugerloo. 

A  few  females  were  grouping  their  course  be- 
tween the  tall  tombstones  of  the  vast  cemetery — 
the  largest,  no  doubt,  in  any  country  of  modem 
times ;  but  they  invariably  drew  down  their  veils 
as  we  neared  them,  and  wandered  off  among  the 
trunks  of  the  tall  sombre  cypresses,  quite  beyond 
the  ken  of  vision. 

After  galloping  from  one  point  of  interest  to 
another,  we  finally  ascended  the  side  of  Buger- 
loo. The  elevation  is  sufficient  to  give  a  view 
of  the  city  and  vicinity,  which,  for  beauty  of  ap- 
pearance, is  unrivalled.  The  domes,  minarets, 
columns,  towers  and  lofty  edifices,  have  a  splen- 
did and  truly  imposing  air  of  richness,  magnifi- 
cence and  grandeur  from  that  lovely  but  neglect- 
ed position. 

Those  lovely  edifices  were  presumed  to  be 
the  country  residences  of  such  denizens  of  the 
great  city  as  prefer  to  be  beyond  the  scrutiny  of 
their  prying  neighbors. 

Some  of  the  most  costly,  and  certainly  by  far 
the  pleasantest  dwellings  in  the  possession  of 
the  Turks,  are  on  both  sides  of  the  Bosphorus, 
towards  the  Black  Sea.  They  always  have  a 
sombre  look,  however,  there  being  none  of  those 
appendages  of  a  domestic  establishment,  like 
those  of  Europe  or  America,  which  give  anima- 
tion to  it. 

No  open  doors  are  permitted ;  noisy,  frolick- 
ing children  never  enliven  the  apartment,  so  that 
the  passer-by  recognizes  no  indications  of  that 
kind  of  every-day  felicity  which  characterizes  the 
homes  of  a  corresponding  class  in  other  coun- 
tries. By  this  I  mean  corresponding  in  that  so- 
cial position  which  has  its  foundation  in  proper- 
ty, but  in  no  other  way. 

Scutari  has  many  objects  of  interest  for  the 
stranger,  but  it  seems  to  be  rather  neglected,  in 
consequence  of  its  locality  on  the  shore  of  an- 
other continent.  It  is  a  city  in  all  the  essential 
characteristics,  although  viewed  and  governed 
as  a  section  of  ihe  city  of  the  Sultan.  A  carriage 
might  pass  tolerably  well  through  some  of  the 
streets,  which  are  wide,  and  kept  in  better  con- 
dition than  at  Pera,  on  the  opposite  side. 

Here  is  a  beautiful  valley — Bulbul  Derici — 
the  home  of  the  nightingales,  which,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  magnificent  hill  of  Bonkgalen, 
under  any  other  people  than  the  satisfied  Turks, 
would  have  become  one  of  the  loveliest  places  on 
earth. 

Nature  has  Iiecn  extremely  bountiful  in  the 
arrangement  and  diversity  of  scenery,  and  what 
of  it  has  not  been  marred  and  defaced  by  a  suc- 
cession of  semi-barbarians  through  a  succession 
of  ages,  is  still  extremely  lovely  and  command- 
ing. Usually  the  ministers  from  Asiatic  powers 
have  their  official  quarters  at  Scutari,  which  is, 
doubtless,  more  agreeable  to  them  than  Pera, 
where  European  representatives  reside,  on  ac- 
count of  the  inhabitants  being  nearly  all  Mo- 
hammedans. 

The  few  Jews  and  Armenians  who  have  a 
foothold  there,  are  not  a  source  of  annoyance, 
much  as  they  are  abominated  by  pious  Moslem 
believers.  A  splendid  mosque,  erected  by  a  fa- 
vorite daughter  of  the  Magnificent  Soleiman,  as 
he  was  called  by  his  cringing  subjects — as  well 
as  Kanuni,  which  means  inslitutor — considering 
the  period  of  its  creation,  is  a  noble  structure. 
It  was  built  in  the  year  1566.  In  the  reign  of 
Soleiman,  Elizabeth  was  on  the  throne  of 
England. 

The  traveller  should  examine  the  mosque 
with  care,  exteriorlv;  and  if  he  has  been  so  for- 
tunate as  to  procure  a  firman  for  entering  the 


inside  of  these  holy  places,  a  series  of  surprises 
await  him.  Sultan  Selim  once  set  up  a  printing 
otTice  in  Scutai'i,  and  undertook,  also,  to  manu- 
facture cotton  in  a  large  way,  but  they  fell  into 
disrepute  among  the  ignorant,  fanatical  rabble, 
and  when  he  died,  they  were  destroyed. 

From  the  highest  eminence  on  the  Bagerloo, 
sitting  upon  our  horses,  the  vast  panorama  of 
Constantinople  and  its  suburbs  could  be  taken 
in  by  the  eye.  There  is  no  sight  like  it  for  va- 
riety, beauty  and  magnificence  of  scenery  com- 
bined. Another  very  charming  prospect  is  ob- 
tained lower  down,  at  a  spot  known  as  Fcnner 
Batcbi,  from  which  the  various  islands,  lovely 
as  jjossible,  reposing,  as  it  were,  on  the  bosom 
of  the  calm  sea,  are  unsurpassed  in  all  that  is 
delightful  in  water  prospect. 

No  circumstance  surprised  me  so  much  as  the 
spiteful,  disturbed  expression  of  the  females  we 
passed  on  this  excursion.  It  is  true  but  very 
little  of  their  faces  was  exposed,  yet  a  keen, 
black  eye  occasionally  peered  out  by  the  side  of 
a  closely  drawn  veil,  and  it  flashed  with  an  uu- 
mistakeable  energy,  at  every  infidel  it  rested 
upon.  Some  of  them  muttered  a  hasty  sentence 
as  they  rushed  by,  and  others,  when  at  a  safe 
distance  for  retreat,  in  case  of  a  demonstration 
from  us,  raised  their  voices  a  tone  or  two  higher. 

Turkish  children  ai-e  truly  beautiful,  when 
well  dressed.  Even  with  infants,  fine  clothes 
contribute  to  their  loveliness.  With  the  upper, 
independent  classes,  an  ugly-featured  child  would 
be  an  anomaly,  for  the  reason  that  their  mothers 
are  selected  on  account  of  their  good  looks,  and 
hence  the  race  is  physically  improving,  as  the 
family  progresses. 

Of  course  the  poor,  or  such  as  occupy  inter- 
mediate places,  between  simple  artisans,  shop- 
keepers, and  those  removed  by  their  possessions 
beyond  the  necessity  for  servile  employments, 
cannot  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  foreign  wives, 
and  their  faces,  therefore,  are  of  a  coarser 
mould,  their  expressions  harsb,  and  the  cheeks 
angular. 

We  could  not  discover  that  the  same  ridicu- 
lous notions  were  entertained  by  mothers,  that 
obtain  universality  in  Egypt,  that  infants  were 
to  remain  encrusted  in  dirt  till  one  year  of  age. 
Boys  are  held  in  higher  estimation  than  girls, 
and  are  commonly  more  caressed,  even  by  their 
nurses,  fathers  and  mothers. 

In  no  instance,  where  groups  of  females  were 
enjoying  themselves  under  the  shade  of  wide- 
spreading  trees,  or  rowed  in  boats  about  the  un- 
equalled harbor  above  the  bridges,  were  little 
children  ever  seen  with  them.  Perhaps  they 
might  have  been  an  annoyance  on  these  pleasure 
excursions,  or  home  was  thought  a  fitter  place 
for  them,  under  the  charge  of  slaves. 

Occasionally  we  met  servants  carrying  costly 
dressed  little  ones,  followed  by  ladies  enveloped 
in  such  extraordinary  contrivances,  that  nothing 
but  their  yellow  slippers  could  be  recognized  as 
an  appendage  of  a  female. 

Wherever  we  were  brought  in  contact  with 
servants,  they  were  remarkable  for  their  uniform 
propriety  of  conduct.  Female  servants  are 
never  employed  beyond  the  harems,  unless  in 
the  office  of  airing  the  contents  of  the  nursery. 
Stout  men  in  the  houses  of  the  Franges,  or  for- 
eigners, execute  all  the  functions  which  the  other 
sex  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  with  us. 


EXCURSION  TO  THE  ELACK  SEA. 

While  we  were  on  the  heights  of  Bugerloo, 
a  glorious  opportunity  was  had  for  contemplat- 
ing the  graceful  windings  of  the  Bosphorus  to- 
wards the  Black  Sea.  On  returning  to  Pera, 
preparations  having  been  made  for  a  jaunt  to 
Euxine,  boats  were  hired,  and  ofl'  they  shot  with 
the  rapidity  of  a  steamer.  But  the  stout,  mus- 
cular arms  of  the  boatmen  soon  began  to  relax, 
and  shortly,  a  slower  but  good  speed  carried  us 
against  the  strong  current  that  sets  down  into 
the  Mediterranean. 

With  a  commendable  exercise  of  aquatic  judg- 
ment, the  caique  was  kept  near  the  European 
bank,  which  afforded  a  near  and  satisfactory  in- 
spection of  a  series  of  palacco  and  private  dwell- 
ings scarcely  inferior  to  the  imperial  residences. 
The  Turks  of  Constantinople  discover  a  good, 
if  not  a  refined  taste,  in  establishing  themselves 
on  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus.  They  can  only 
look  up  and  down  the  river,  and  to  the  opposite 
precipitous  hills,  rising  one  beyond  another  in 
terraces. 

Stationary  boatmen  are  always  in  waiting,  a 
short  distance  above  the  new  palace,  to  assist 
boats  with  a  tow  line  in  passing  a  severe  rapid. 
The  rope  is  thrown  to  them,  and  away  they  run, 


dragging  the  unwilling  boat  through  the  ripples, 
till  fairly  past  the  difficult  strait,  when  a  few 
paras  satisfy  tlicm  for  their  arduous  exertions. 

Sails  arc  rarely  if  ever  attached  to  small  boats. 
Hard  rowing  is  the  mode  of  progression  in  the 
water  about  Constantinople.  Labor  saving  ma- 
chines or  apparatus  are  not  encouraged  any 
more  than  Russia  duck.  Tlie  caiques  are  ad- 
mirably modelled,  aud  have  the  appearance  o 
being  made  of  a  single  piece  of  timber,  so  neatly 
fitted  are  the  joints  and  seams.  Each  oar,  close 
to  where  the  handle  is  clenched,  bulges  into  a 
large  oval  ball,  which  balances  the  blade  in  lift- 
ing it  out  of  the  water,  making  the  labor  much 
easier  for  the  rowers. 

There  is  a  continuous  line  of  beautifully  lo- 
cated, but  rather  prison-like  houses  on  both  sides 
of  the  Bosphorus,  perhaps  for  ten  miles.  Some 
of  them  arc  somewhat  shabliy  in  appearance, 
from  age.  All  of  them  seem  to  be  spacious 
within,  though  nothing  is  known  of  the  arrange- 
ments inside  by  strangers. 

The  grounds  are  not  laid  out  as  they  might 
be.  Where  fruit  trees  and  flowers  might  grow 
in  profusion,  there  is  notliing  at  all.  We  scarce- 
ly saw  a  human  being  the  whole  distance,  which 
shows  how  exclusively  the  residents  are  confined 
to  their  houses. 

A  short  canal  leads  from  the  water  under 
many  of  the  Bosphorus  houses,  into  which  a 
boat  may  enter,  from  whence  per'sons  may  as- 
cend by  steps  into  a  room  above.  With  this  ar- 
rangement, a  front  door  cannot  be  of  much  ser- 
vice, as  they  rarely  swing  on  their  hinges. 

All  the  land  at  the  back  of  the  long  chain  of 
marine  villas  is  steep,  rising  to  the  height  of 
some  hundreds  of  feet.  In  many  places,  but  hav- 
ing no  appearance  of  ever  having  been  cultivated. 
An  occasional  tree,  with  noble,  wide-spreading 
branches,  relieves  the  monotony  that  would  oth- 
ermse  be  complete. 

Perched  at  the  very  summit  of  one  of  the  lofty 
elevations  about  seven  miles  from  the  town,  we 
saw  a  charming  little  pavilion,  partly  hidden  by 
the  foliage  of  vigorous  trees  that  were  waving 
over  its  roof.  It  is  called  a  kiosk — a  favorite  re- 
treat of  the  Sultan.  Accompanied  by  one  or 
two  of  the  royal  ladies,  he  sits  there,  and,  while 
puffing  a  nargilah,  complacently  looks  down 
.upon  the  mighty  city  of  which  he  is  the  uncon- 
ti'olled  master. 

Still  further  on,  the  walls  of  a  new  palace,  ex- 
tremely elegant  in  its  proportions,  with  highly 
finished  fluted  marble  columns,  will  soon  be 
ready  for  occupancy. 

No  one  could  give  any  satisfactory  account  of 
the  object  or  probable  destiny  of  the  grand  struc- 
ture, which  will  equal  some  of  the  finest  private 
country  estates  in  England. 

When  a  house  is  completed  in  Turkey,it  sim- 
ply means  the  house  and  nothing  else  ;  since 
gardens,  walks,  tastefully  disposed  shrubbery 
and  plants,  are  not  common. 

We  wer'e  assured,  however,  that  the  Sultan 
was  the  owner  and  even  projector  of  the  hand- 
some dwelling;  and  moreover,  that  it  was  sur- 
mised for  one  of  his  royal  daughters,  whom  he 
hoped,  if  it  could  be  brought  about,  for  a  wife  of 
the  youngest  son  of  his  rebel  subject,  Mahoramed 
Ali,  of  Egypt. 

In  extreme  old  age,  that  bloody  hero  and  re- 
generator of  the  valley  of  the  Nile,  had  a  sou 
born  by  a  very  young  mother.  If  he  lives,  in 
the  course  of  events,  he  must  in  time  have  the 
government  of  his  father's  dominions,  with  all 
their  ancient  antiquities,  resting  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. 

Should  Abbas  Pasha — already  a  troublesome 
vassal — die,  abdicate,  or  be  compelled  to  leave 
the  country,  Said  Pasha,  his  brother,  admiral  of 
the  fleet,  who  has  recently  been  visiting  Europe, 
is  the  next  heir  to  the  vice  regal  throne;  and 
after  him,  the  young  prince. 

It  lias  been  asserted  that  the  Sultan  is  ambi- 
tious to  get  possession  of  the  little  fellow,  which 
would  give  him  at  once  a  strong  controlling  in- 
fluence over  the  affairs  of  that  miserablygovern- 
ed  appendage  of  the  Tui-kisli  empire.  Rumor 
says  that  the  Sultan  first  invited  Abbas  Pasha  to 
permit  the  prince  to  visit  his  court,  but  the  hcrse- 
loving  ruler  apprehended  a  plot,  and  thei-efore 
respectfully  declined  the  honor.  Finally,  the 
new  rural  palace  towards  the  Black  Sea,  quite 
beyond  all  other  establishments,  either  public 
or  private,  was  tendered  the  Egyptian  dcfpot  for 
the  use  of  his  Utile  relative,  if  he  would  permit 
him  to  accompany  his  mother  and  suite,  lo  mal;e 
a  pleasure  excursion  to  the  Golden  Horn,  which 
was  also  respectfully  dcdinccl. 


380 


GLEASON'S   riCTOTlIAI.    DRAWING    UiHm    f;()]MPANI()N. 


RON  PEDRO  H. 

Herewiih  we  give  (i  fine  cnprnving 
of  the  Kmperor  of  Bnizil,  f'lom  ft 
painting  hy  Almeida.  A  di'scriplion 
of  Don  Pedro  and  the  ccuntry  itself 
will  no  doubt  much  interc&toiir  read- 
ers. The  Empire  of  Brazil  borders 
on  the  ocean  fur  DOO  lengues,  and  is 
traversed  in  every  direction  hy  the 
finest  rivers  in  the  world  ;  it  is  a 
rountry  rich  and  fertile  in  ihe  hit:h- 
est  degree,  with  a  mild  and  healthy 
climate,  and  is  alvtndy  makinfc  vig- 
orous steps  towards  the  splendid 
future  reserved  for  it  by  Providence. 
Its  coasts  extend  from  2  deg.  of 
north  latitude  to  the  3!  deg.  of  south 
liititnde,  and  TjOO  leagues  inland. 
Its  soil  produces  almost  without  cul- 
ture all  the  plants  of  Europe,  Asia, 
and  Africa.  Its  climtite  is  milder 
than  that  of  Naples  or  Cadiz.  It 
includes  among  its  cities  Rio  de  Ja- 
neiro, the  capital  of  the  Empire,  one  ^ 
of  tlie  most  commercial  ports  and 
the  moiit  magnificent  harbor  in  the 
wor'd,  with  a  population  of  near 
;iUO,UUO  souls;  Bdli'a,  with  140,000; 
Pernamhueo,  with  80,000;  Maran- 
ham,  with  3.5,000;  Para,  Santos,  -^X 
Porio  Allegre.  Ccara,  Maeeyo,  Rio 
Grande,  Espirito  Santo,  Cottinquiba 
Campos,  and  many  other  populous, 
active,  and  flourishing  town-.  Its 
annual  income  is  at  present  uhont 
.£5,000,000,  which  has  been  regular- 
ly augmenting  one-tenth  at  least 
every  year  since  the  accession  of  the 
present   Emperor;    and,   when  one  ^ 

considers  the  number  of  expcnf^es 
which  are  decentralized,  and  that 
eacli  province  h&<  iti  own  particular 
budget,  it  is  not  astoni^^bing  that 
with  such  a  revenue  Brazil  pays  all 
internal  expenses,  the  dividends  of 
fts  debts,  Hnd  his  a  surplus  revenue 
of  from  £300,000  to  .£400,000.  The 
Constitution  of  Brazil,  given  to  it  by 
Don  Pedro  I,  is  admirably  sdepted 
10  the  ft  clings,  ai:d  customs,  and 
requirements  of  the  inhabitants  of 
ihi-t  vast  empire,  and  has  continued 
fresh  and  vigorous  in  the  irild  exer- 
cise of  its  laws  over  the  Brazili:  'a 
1  ation.  It  is  a  singular  fact  thnt  in 
the  midst  of  all  the  repul^.lican  insti- 
tutions of  South  America,  the  Bra- 
zilian a^one  has  fiourishcd  grfatand 
free:  while  the  others  have  fallen  to 
tyrant?,  or  crumbled  to  pieces  from 
the  defective  elements  which  c  m- 
posf  d  them.  And,  curiously  tnougb, 
this  Cnntirution  of  a  new  enpire 
has  at  this  time  only  two  Constitu- 
tions in  the  Christian  world  more 
•  ancient  than  itself —  the  Ensli-h 
and  the  Federal  Constitution  of  the 
United  States. — The  present  Emperor  of  Brazil 
is  the  son  of  Don  Pedro  I,  of  Braganza  and 
Bourbon,  and  of  the  Arch  duchess  of  Austria, 
I.ponnldina  He  is  the  legitimate  descendant 
of  the  three  grsat  royal  houses  in  Europe — Bra- 
ganza, Bourbon,  and   Hapsburg ;  and   was  pro- 


PORTRAIT  OF  DON  PEDRO  II,  KMl^fcROR  OF  BKAZIO. 


claimed,  upon  the  abdication  of  hi;  fiither.  at  the 
age  of  five  years  and  some  months.  A  Council 
of  Regency  composed  of  three  members,  took 
the  reins  of  government,  which  sliortly  passed 
info  fie  hands  of  one  regent;  and  so  truly  had 
statesmen    of  every   political  shade  the  good  of 


their  country  and  the  rights  of  their  prince  at 
heart,  that  during  this  critical  period,  from  18."?  I 
to  1835,  when  France,  Italy,  Sjiain,  Portugsil, 
Poland,  Greece,  and  all  American  States  w-re 
in  a  general  state  of  disturbance,  and  had  lo-t 
their   institutions,    or   modified  them  vijlentlv, 


Brazil  preserved  its  Constitution 
will)  only  sotnc  modifications  legally 
established  in  its  municipal  or  pro- 
vincial councils.  The  education  of 
the  young  Emperor  was  perfect.  In 
every  brunch  of  learning  that  it  was 
thought  necessary  to  teach  him,  he 
made  remarkable  progress.  His  two 
f isters — Donna  Januaria,  married, 
in  1844,  to  the  ('ount  of  Aquila, 
brother  of  the  King  of  Naples;  and 
Donna  Frflncisca,  married,  in  1848, 
to  the  Prince  dc  Joinville — shared 
with  equal  ardor  in  bis  hifiii  and  va- 
ried studies.  In  July,  1840,  the 
Emperor  Don  Pedro  II  was  (al- 
though he  had  not  yet  attained  his 
majority)  declared  by  the  Chambers 
to  be  of  age,  and  assumed  the  sov- 
f  reign  power  when  not  quite  fifteen. 
His  imperial  highness  was  united  in 
marriage,  on  the  30th  of  May,  1843, 
to  the  Princess  Theresa-Christina- 
Maria,  sister  of  the  King  of  Naples, 
eminently  distinguished  for  her  ac- 
complishments, her  patronage  of  the 
fine  arts,  unbounded  generosity,  and 
amiable  disposition.  From  the 
above  union  were  born  two  princes, 
who  died  young,  and  two  princesses, 
the  eldest  of  whom— Christina  Leo- 
poldina — bears  the  title  of  Imperial 
Princess,  as  hpir-presumptive  to  the 
crown.  Don  Pedro  is  tall  and  stout ; 
he  has  large  blue  eyes,  fair  and 
abundant  hair  and  beard — a  northern 
type  which  seems  to  have  come  from 
^  fair  Germany  rather  than  the  warm 
latitudes  of  the  brown  Rio.  He  is 
an  expert  horseman,  and  delights  in 
athletic  exercises.  When  at  Rio,  he 
is  constantly  in  public.  The  Em- 
peror receives  twice  a  week  his  sub- 
jects and  foreigners  who  desire  to  be 
presented  to  him.  He  speaks  to 
every  one,  and  listens  with  the  cour- 
teous mannprs  of  a  gentleman,  and 
converses  with  each  in  his  own  lan- 
guage ;  writing  and  speaking  fluently 
English,  French,  German,  Spanish, 
and  Italian.  Strongly  attached  to 
literature,  the  young  prince  presides 
assiduously  at  the  sittings  of  the  His- 
torical and  Geographical  Institute  of 
Rio,  and  his  interest  is  never  more 
vividly  excited  than  when  he  hears 
the  reading  of  historical  or  literary 
papers  concerning  the  origin  of  his 
empire.  But  the  great  work  of  Don 
Pedro  II,  is  that  of  having  openly 
attacked  the  national  prejudice  of 
the  necessity  of  black  slaves,  and 
having  overcome  it.  It  was  not  suf- 
ficient to  decree  the  suppression  of 
the  traffic,  but  it  was  necessary  to 
open  up  to  the  agriculturists  new 
ways  and  means,  by  which  they 
should,  within  a  longer  or  shorter  delay,  dispense 
with  black  laborers.  Two  very  etf:;ctive  liws  to 
this  end  were  passed  in  1850;  one,  concerning 
the  concession  of  territorial  properties  ;  the  oiher, 
settling  the  mode  of  colonization.  These  laws 
hare  been  attended  with  the  happiest  results. 


IPISH  HARDEST  SCENF,  IN  KILKENNV,  IRELAND. 


[See  page  o81,  for  dcscriptiou.] 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


381 


TEEDEKICK    GLEASON,   Pkoprietor. 


MATURIN    M.    BALLOU,    Editor. 

CONTEIVTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  KUMIJER. 

"  The  Humbled  Pharisee,"  a  story  with  a  moral,  by  T. 
S.  Arthur. 

"  Daniel  Webster,  as  a  statesman;  a  jurist  and  a  man," 
an  article  by  Rev.  F.  W.  Holland. 

'•The  A'ay  to  Washington,"  No.  Ill,  by  Ben:  Perlet 
POORE 

"Turkey  and  the  Turks,''  No.  XV,  Excursion  to  the 
Black  Sea,  etc  .  bv  Dr.  Jerome  V.  C-  Smith. 

"  The  Life  of  Trial,"  verses,  by  Ph«ebe  0.\ret. 

"  The  Child's  Prayer."  lines,  by  Jenny  Maesh. 

"  Autumn  Musings,"  poem,  by  E  Curtiss  Hi.ve. 

"  Woman's  Influence,"  verses,  by  Mrs,  K.  T.  Eldredge. 

'•I  miss  thee.  Love,"  lines, by  Robert  Griffin  Staples. 

"  Blow  the  Horn,"  verses,  bv  Wm   Edward  Kxowles. 

'■  Mount  Ida,"  verses,  by  Joseph  H.  Butler. 

ILLTJSTKATIONS. 

A  fine  large  interior  view  of  the  new  Musical  Hall.  Bos- 
ton, by  our  artist,  AJ>.  Row>e.  An  admirable  piece  of 
arohittctunil  display,  representing  the  finest  exhibition 
hall  in  the  country. 

A  large,  full  page  engraving  beautifully  executed,  rcp- 
Ksentiog  a  fine  equestrian  view,  and  a  likeness  of  Prince 
Albert. 

Also-  a  large,  full  page  picture,  in  the  same  style,  of 
Victoria,  Queen  of  England. 

A  large,  full  page  engraving,  of  a  very  elaborate  and 
perfect  character,  representiug  the  funeral  procession  of 
the  citizens  of  Boston  and  others,  which  occurred  a  few 
days  since  in  honor  of  the  lat«  Daniel  Webster,  by  our 
artist,  Ulr.  RotOfe. 

Also,  a  large,  full  page  engraving,  forming  a  fine  me- 
dallion picture  of  Webster,  surrounded  by  a  mourDing 
wreath,  emblematical  of  the  present  grief  of  the  nation 
for  his  loss.    By  our  artist,  ill',  tioivse. 

A  series  of  hunting  scenes,  very  capitally  executed,  rep- 
resenting the  hare  in  chase,  the  huntsman  mounted  and 
making  a  flying  leap  the  pack  of  dogs  in  fu;l  cry.  the 
deer  in  the  field  scenting  their  pursuers,  and  a  large,  fine 
head  of  a  hound—  forming  a  capital  teries  of  pictures. 

A  fine  picture  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Mannitie-t  representing 
Osmanli,  the  Mameluke,  as  described  in  the  commence- 
ment of  our  novelette,  by  Ben:  Perley  Poore. 

A  picture  of  a  Chiuese  Water  Bearer,  navigating  a  boat 
in  a  most  novel  manner,  and  of  a  most  curious  construc- 
tion. 

An  engraving  of  the  famous  Lola  MonteZj  in  character 
as  a  daneeuse. 

A  very  beautiful  picture  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Rosenbitri^y 
representing  Irenton  i'alls,  New  Jersey. 


THE  IRISH  HAKVEST. 

On  the  opposite  page  wc  present  to  our  read- 
ers a  charaeierislic  and  interesting  picture  of 
Irish  rural  life.  The  scene  represents  a  group  of 
laborers  in  the  harvest  field  partaking  of  refresh- 
ments after  the  labors  of  the  day.  In  many  dis- 
tricts of  Ireland,  there  are  scenes  like  this  whicli 
give  unmistakable  evidence  of  prosperity,  uot- 
withstanding  the  reports  that  are  constantly 
reaching  us  of  want  and  misery  in  that  unfortu- 
nate land.  It  is  true  that  many  parts  of  Ireland 
have  become  very  nearly  deserted  by  reason  of 
the  extensive  emigration  to  this  country ;  but 
there  are  still,  as  our  picture  represents,  smiling 
harvest  fields  and  happy  laborers  there,  still  rijh 
fields  of  ripened  grain,  and  richly  laden  store- 
houses of  prolific  yields.  The  picture  is  a  truth- 
ful one,  and,  to  our  eye,  has  many  points  of 
great  and  touching  interest. 


SFIINTEBS. 

....  The  liberated  Abd-el  Kadir  continues  to 
be  the  lion  of  the  day  in  Paris. 

A  Frenchman  lives  in  a  garret  that  he 

may  afford  to  be  a  dandy  in  the  street. 

....  Boston  folks  very  justly  complain  of  the 
high  price  of  provisions  in  the  city. 

....  Large  quantities  of  apples  have  been 
shipped  for  England  from  New  York. 

....  There  is  a  Chinese  theatrical  company 
now  peiforming  in  San  Francisco, 

....  Wild  ducks  are  represented  to  be  un- 
usually plenty  on  the  Chesapeake  River. 

They  are  erecting  a  very  large  theatre 

at  St.  Louis.     The  pit  to  hold  1000  persons. 

....  Mr.  Thackeray  has  proved  immensely 
popular  in  Kew  York,  as  a  lecturer. 

....  The  gold  mines  of  Australia  are  now 
yielding  at  the  rate  of  $48,000,000  per  annum. 

....  The  Philadelphians  are  reviving  the  idea 
of  erecting  a  very  splendid  opera  house. 

Madame  Sontag's  net  profits  from  her 

concerts  in  this  city  amounted  to  SIO.OOO. 

Little  Paul  Julien,  it  appears,  is  quite  a 

brilliant  composer  as  well  as  performer. 

Mr.  Clapp,  of  the  Evening  Gazette,  ren- 
ders his  theatrical  record  exceedingly  interesting. 

,  . . .  Mr.  Silsbee,  the  Yankee  comedian,  has 
re-appeared  with  great  s'uccess  in  London. 


BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO. 

We  present  our  readers,  on  pages  .376,  377,  a 
superb,  fine,  large  picture  representing  the  fa- 
mous Battle  of  Waterloo.  It  is  probably  the 
best  picture  we  have  ever  given,  hut  regardless 
of  expense,  we  are  resolved  to  give  our  readers 
a  paper  which  shall  be  unrivalled  in  beauty,  ex- 
cellence and  real  worth,  at  each  weekly  visit. 
Particularly  is  this  picture  timely  just  at  this 
period,  when  the  hero  of  this  battle — the  re- 
nowned and  lamented  Duke  of  Wellington — is 
just  departed  from  life,  and  when  his  deeds  are 
recalled  to  the  memory  of  all.  The  duke  and 
his  suite  will  easily  he  discerned  in  the  middle 
ground  of  the  picture  ;  he  wears  no  plume,  and 
is  seated  on  a  full  blooded  white  Arabian.  In 
the  foreground  we  have  represented  a  portion  of 
the  melee,  where  the  fight  has  become  a  hand  to 
hand  one,  and  where  cavalry  and  infantry  are 
contending  together.  The  picture  is  one  that 
will  tell  its  own  storj',  and  will  form  a  study  for 
hours. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  this  battle  took 
place  on  the  ISth  of  June,  1815,  between  the 
allied  army  under  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and 
the  French  under  Napoleon.  There  is  some  dis- 
crepancy in  the  statements  on  the  subject,  but 
each  army  probably  consisted  of  about  70,000 
men.  The  French  began  the  attack  between 
11  and  12  o'clock  in  the  forenoon.  The  object 
of  Napoleon  was  to  defeat  the  British,  or  force 
ihem  to  retreat,  before  tlie  Prussians,  who  he 
knew  were  coming  up,  could  arrive  on  tlie  field; 
while  the  army  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  to 
maintain  its  ground  till  he  could  be  joined  by 
his  allies,  when  it  might  be  in  his  power  to  be- 
come the  assailant.  The  attacks  of  the  French 
were  repeated  with  the  greatest  fury ;  but  they 
made  no  serious  impression  on  the  British,  by 
whom  they  were  sustained  and  repelled  with  in- 
vincible courage  and  resolution.  At  length, 
about  a  quarter  past  six  o'clock,  the  Prussians 
came  into  the  field,  with  a  strong  force  of  from 
15,000  to  20,000  men.  The  English  then  be- 
came the  assailants;  and  though  Napoleon 
brought  forward  his  guard,  which  had  not  pre- 
viously been  engaged,  it  could  not  stem  the  tor- 
rent, and,  having  been  forced  to  give  way,  the 
whole  army  got  into  inextricable  confusion,  and 
the  rout  became  universal. 

The  slaughter  was  enonnous.  The  British 
lost,  besides  officers,  about  15,000  men  killed 
and  wounded.  The  French  loss  is  not  exactly 
known  ;  but  it  was  not,  perhaps,  less,  in  the  bat- 
tle and  pursuit,  than  30,000  men.  All  their 
cannon  and  baggage  also  fell  into  the  hands  of 
their  conquerors ;  and  it  may,  indeed,  be  said 
that  the  French  army  was  entirely  destroyed. 
Such  was  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  in  which  the 
star  of  Napoleon  set,  never  to  shine  again  ! 


Life  of  Hosea  Ballou. — The  third  edition 
of  this  work,  by  the  editor  of  the  Pictorial,  is  just 
issued  from  the  press,  and  is  for  sale,  wholesale 
and  retail,  by  Abel  Tompkins,  38  Comhill,  Bos- 
ton. We  would  that  all  our  readers  might  be- 
come familiar  with  the  daily  beauty  of  the  life 
we  have  portrayed. 


Gleasos's  Pictorial. — Out  of  many  illustrated  period- 
icals that  have  been  started  in  this  country,  there  is  but 
one  that  can  be  said  to  have  been  successful,  and  estab- 
lished itself  permanently  and  effectually.  That  one  is 
(ileason's  Pictorial.  This  elegantly  illustrated  weekly 
journal  has  won  for  it3-;lf  a  popularity  which  is  equalled 
by  no  other  publication  in  this  country. — Laiisingburgk 
GazUe. 


Fire  Axxiicilatok.  —  The  establishment 
where  these  English  humbugs  are  constructed,  in 
London,  was  lately  consumed  by  Jire !  Com- 
ment is  unnecessary.  A  quack  dying  by  his  own 
medicine. 


"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." — This  piece  at  the 
Museum  is  pecuniarily  profitable,  for  the  time 
being;  but,  to  our  mind,  it  will  add  nothing  to 
the  respectability  of  the  establishment,  and  the 
sooner  it  is  dropped  the  better. 


Brevity. — When  a  man  has  no  design  but  to 
ppeak  plain  truth,  he  may  say  a  great  deal  in  a 
very  narrow  compass. 


pKRSONAL. — A  grandson  of  the  celebrated 
Paley  was  recently  ordained  in  England.  He  is 
going  as  a  missionary  to  Africa. 


What  next? — The  New  York  Tribune  sug- 
gests the  fitting  of  the  night  cars  on  railroads 
with  berths  instead  of  seats. 


Popular 
AND  your  life !' 


Railway  Maxim. — "  Your  money 
e!" 


1853. 

GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL 

YOL.  IV. 

NEW   TYPE,  NEW  HEADING  AND 
SPLENDID     IMPRO  VEMENTS, 

IN  EVERY  DEPAKTMEN'T. 

GREAT   REDUCTION   OF    PRICE! 

Determined  to  commence  the  year  1853  with 

100,000 ! 

circulation,  we  have  resolved  to  reduce  the  price 
of  our  paper  on  the  1st  of  January,  to  such 
terms  as  shall  place  it  within  the  reach  of  all, 
and  enable  us  to  increase  our  list  of  subscribers 
to  the  above  number ;  we  have  therefore  deter- 
mined to  offer  the  most  liberal  inducement  to 
clubs,  so  as  to  ensure  the  necessity  for  publish- 
ing this  immense  edition. 

Fully  realizing  tite  spirit  of  the  age,  the  great 
improvement  in  art,  and  the  constantly  increas- 
ing intelligence  of  the  people,  we  shall  with  this 
change  of  pTiccs  also  vastly  improve  our  already 
splendidly  illustrated  journal,  so  as  to  render  it 
a  most  invaluable  visitant  to  every  home  circle, 
both  for  the  beauty  of  its  mechanical  execution, 
and  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  paper  it&elf,  as  a 
literary  record  of  the  useful  and  beautiful. 

Therefore,  having  thoroughly  perfected  our 
plans,  especially  in  improving  our  engraving 
department,  as  well  as  the  literary  character  of 
the  Pictorial,  we  shall  bring  out  the  paper  in 
such  a  style  as  not  only  to  merit  all  the  enco- 
miums of  praise  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  it, 
but  also  so  as  to  challenge  increased  respect  for 
its  enhanced  excellence  and  perfection.  Some 
of  the  proposed  features  are  entirely  novel  and 
new  altogether,  and  will  be  duly  announced. 
In  short,  the  whole  paper  will  be  far  superior  to 
anything  we  have  ever  before  given  to  the 
public. 

By  reference  to  our  columns,  it  will  be  seen 
that  we  employ  the  best  writers  in  the  country, 
and  shall  continue  to  do  so.  Among  them  are 
the  following  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  require 
no  eulogium  from  us. 


Mrs,  Asx  S.  Stephens, 

Mrs.  L.  H.  SlQOLKNEV, 

Mrs.  Alice  E  Neal, 
Miss  Pikebe  Carey, 
Miss  Alice  Carey, 
Mrs.  Caroline  Orne, 
Miss  Anne  T.  O'ilbor, 
Mrs.  S.  P.  Doughty, 
Mrs.  C-  A.  IL\YDEN, 
Mrs    It  T   Eldredge, 
Mrs.  E.  II.  B.  ft' ALDo, 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


Rev.  H.  Hastings  Weld, 
Uexry  Wm.  Herbert, 
T.  BccHANAN  Head, 

r.  6.  Artuur, 

A.  J-   H    DUGANKE, 

EpEs  Sargent, 

tiEORGE  W.  DeWF.T, 
FRA>C1S  a.  D0RIVAGE, 

Park  Benjamin, 
Dr.  J.  V.  U.  risiiTB, 
Bem  Pehlet  Poore, 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


These  are  hut  a  few  of  the  names  actually 
enfjaged  upon  and  now  contributing  to  the  Picto- 
rial, and  we  respectfully  call  the  attention  of  our 
readers  to  the  fact,  that  never  was  such  an  array 
of  literary  talent  engaged  upon  any  newspaper 
establishment  in  this  country.  But  our  aim  is 
upward  and  onward,  and  our  readers  and  sub- 
scribers must  reap  the  benefit. 

In  pursuance  of  the  plan  we  have  sketched 
above,  we  offer  the  Pictorial  at  the  following 
greatly 

REDUCED  PRICES. 

TO    CLUBS — INVARIABLY    IN    ADVANCE. 

1  subscriber, — one  year,        .     .     .     .     S3  00 

2  subscribers,     "       *'         5  00 

4            "                ""..■...  9  00 
8  "  "       " 16  00 

Any  names  may  be  added  to  the  last  number 
at  the  rate  of  S2  00  each,  per  annum. 

One  copy  of  the  Pictorial  and  one  copy  of 
the  Flag  of  our  Union  one  year,  for  S4  00. 

Now  is  the  time  to  form  clubs  for  the  New  Year. 
We  hope  our  readers  and  postmasters  through- 
out the  country  will  form  clubs  at  these  rates. 

The  paper  will  also  be  for  sale  at  all-  the  peri- 
odical depots  throughout  the  country,  and  by  all 
the  newsmen,  for  Six  Cents  per  copy. 


Prolific  Growth. — The  California  papers 
boast  of  cornstalks  growing  to  the  height  of  20 
feet  in  that  prolific  country  of  big  stories  and 
gold  dust. 

QuKRY. — We  observed  a  sign  in  Washington 
Street,  the  other  day,,  which  read  thus  :  Pardon 
W.  Chase.     Wonder  what  he's  done? 


PcTHY. — Theodore  Hook  says  of  railroads: 
"  They  annihilate  space  and  time,  not  to  mention 
a  multitude  of  passengers." 


In  this  city,  by  Rev,  Phineas  Stow,  Mr.  Samuel  L.  B. 
Black  to  Miss  Martha  D.  Hopkins.  ' 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Bartol,  Dr.  John  E.  Hatherway  to  Miss 
CaroUne  A.  GafReld. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Kirk,  Mr.  David  T.  Stackpole  to  Miss  Ce- 
hnda  Ply mp ton. 

By  Itfcv.  5lr.  Stone,  Mr.  Diodate  Morgan  to  Miss  A.  M. 
Cutler,  deaf  mute3. 

At  Charlesto^vn,  Mr.  Frederic  Caisburg  to  Miss  Hannah 
Dalay. 

At  Chelsea,  Mr.  Wm.  Henrv  Hutchinson  to  Miss  Rosa- 
lie M.  Bliss. 

At  Roxbury,  by  Rev.  Mr  Alger,  Mr.  William  E.  Brown- 
ell,  of  Boston,  to  Miss  Mary  R.  Norwood. 

At  Dorchester,  Mr.  Augustus  C.  Blake  to  Miss  Tda  D. 
Woodward. 

At  Milton,  by  Rev.  Mr  Pike,  Mr.  J.  E.  Paine,  of  New 
York,  to  Miss  Eliza  K  Glover. 

At  West  Newton,  Mr.  Samuel  S.  Kilbum,  Jr.,  to  Miss 
Permelia  P.  Pike. 

At  Salem,  by  Itev.  Mr  Boyden,  Mr.  Henry  P.  Fowler  to 
Miss  Phoebe  Young,  of  Augusta.  Me, 

At  Lowell,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Moulton,  Mr.  Edwin  Paige  to 
Miss  Jjouisa  M.  EUiott, 

At  Gloucester,  Mr.  Ilenry  B.  Shute  to  Miss  Adelia 
Withers. 

At  Andover,  by  George  Foster.  Esq  ,  Mr.  James  Jackson 
Salkeld  to  MiPo  Marii  Maynard. 

At  South  Erooktield,  by  Rev  Mr.  Bragg.  Mr.  Isaac  W. 
Leach  to  Miss  Oelia  R.  Caswell,  both  of  Taunton. 

At  Westmoreland,  N.  H.,  by  Rev.  Stephen  Rogers.  Mr. 
Lewis  Webster,  of  Detroit,  to  Miss  Martha  F  Dunbar. 


In  this  city,  Payson  Perrin,  Esq.  67:  Mr.  Richard  W. 
StatoD,47:  Capt.  Samuel  Kobinson,  68;  Mrs.  Rliz;i  B. 
Lane,  56  :  Mr.  John  F.  L  Btckford,  24  :  Mr.  John  Warren, 
42;  Mrs  Sarah  Hannah  Boles, 90:  Capt.  Joseph  Burnham, 
of  Newcastle,  Me  ,  46 ;  FrankUn  Gertz,  youngest  son  of  Mr. 
John  H.  Rilev 

At  South  Boston.  Mary  Rudolph  Brabiner,  11. 

At  Charlestown,  Persis  8   Pooke,  9. 

At  Roxburv,  P.  1.  Farnham,  E^q.,  late  of  Salem,  64. 

At  Cambridg;eport,  Miss  Marv  Merrian),88. 

At  Cambridge,  Mr.  Thomas  Dudley,  39. 

At  Brookiine,  Mrs   Hiinnah  Bartlett.  70. 

At  Hinsham,  Dr,  Thomas  Barnes,  64. 

At  Groton.  Rev.  William  Grigg,  66. 

At  Salem,  Mrs.  Phebe  Saiitb,  60- 

At  Danvers,  Mr.  Sullivan  Hyde,  79. 

At  Gloucester,  Luov  Ann  Thurstou.  5. 

At  Newburyport,  Widow  Mary  Carlton,  75. 

At  Reboboth,  Mr    Abiel  Bliss.  89. 

At  Worctst-r,  Ann  EUzabeth  Chapin.  6. 

At  New  Pedford.  Mrs.  U.-psey  B.  'Vordt-Jl,  24. 

At  Holmes's  Hole,  Capt.  Zenas  Dillii.gham.  .Jr.,  44. 

At  Portland,  Me  ,  Capt  Tdoma.'^  Hjinna,  70. 

At  New  Haven,  Mr    ^:iron  E.  VV^hit[emore,  44. 

At  St.  Louis.  W.  C.  Roger*,  Esq 

At  Mormon  tslnnd,  Cal  .  Sir   Henry  B   Booth.  24. 

On  board  United  Stites  Receivirg '^i.ip  Ohio,  at  Navy 
Yard,  Charlestown,  Stephen  P.  Bronn;ll,50. 

Lost  overboard  irom  ship  Houghtm,  Nov.  22,  on  the 
pa-^sage  from  Liverpool  to  New  York,  John  Jojes,  waman, 


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[Written  for  GIuuhou'h  Pictorial.] 
THE  AKRONAUT. 

BY  R.  CUUTlBlj  illNt^,  U.  ti.  N- 

Up  !  up  tliiovigli  tho  blue  flhlntng  otUor, 

Fly  awiiy  to  the  homo  of  tho  suu ; 
PuuHu  not  in  thy  eiifil«-llko  aoaring, 

Till  thy  far  lofty  journey  bo  Jon«. 
Lilio  11  dim  Hpuok,  tUi)  groon  earth  bulow  thoo, 

Ih  fiidinij*  uway  from  thy  night ; 
Ah  to  rogioiiK  unknown  thou  art  flitting) 

Whore  dwoU  tho  bloat  sjdrits  of  light  1 

■   U|)l  up  through  tho  bill",  Hhioing  othur; 

Thou  "rt  k-aving  a  world  far  behindj 
■Whoru  thure'a  sorrow  onough  in  all  couscionce, 

A  land  whcro  thoro  'b  no  grief  to  find  1 
Stop  not  till  tTiy  mission  be  ondvd, 

What!  pauau  in  thy  upward  oarcur? 
Alas  !  thu  brave  wight  baa  descunded, 

"No  country,"  says  ho,  "  like  this  'ere I" 

And  thus  will  it  bo  with  him  ever, 
Wlio  seeks  a  world  better  to  gain  ; 

Though  he  soar  aloft  through  the  ether, 
Or  plunge  in  the  futhomless  main, 

Diflappointment  will  ever  awiiit  liitu, 
And  wht-n  ho  returna  ho  will  say, 

"  This  earth  is  a  bad  one,  I  grant  ye. 
But  wlicre  is  a  better  one,  pray?" 

[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

TRAVELS  IN  PALESTINE. 

No.  XVI. 


BY    REV.  P.  W.  HOLLAND. 

BiALBEG  AND  LEBiNON. 
Tn  crossing  from  Damascus  to  Beiioot,  by  way 
of  Baalbcc,  a  four  days'  journey,  yet  but  about 
seventy  miles  distant,  we  received  a  fearful  greet- 
ing from  old  Lebanon.  As  soon  as  the  vast 
panorama  of  city  gardens  and  groves  was  hidden 
by  the  intervening  ridge  of  the  Hermon  range, 
which  is  really  a  spur  of  Lebanon,  it  began  to 
rain,  snow,  thunder,  hail  and  blow,  until,  after 
enduring  everything  and  halting  two  days  upon 
the  route,  we  reached  the  snug  harbor  of  Bei- 
root.  Familiar  enough  with  winter  travel  at 
home,  there  was  slill  something  entirely  new  to 
me  in  a  fuur  days'  battle,  on  horseback,  with 
fierce  mountain-blasts,  drenching  to  the  skin, 
palsying  the  limbs,  chilling  the  heart,  so  that  for 
hours  not  a  word  was  spoken,— and  then,  rest- 
ing at  night  upon  the  hard  earth,  in  the  smoke 
of  some  wretched  brush,  our  wet  garments  cling- 
ing to  the  skin,  the  flat  mud-roof  distilling  upon 
us  something  more  abundant  than  dew,  a  poor 
apology  for  food  being  the  best  that  could  be  ob- 
tained. Sometimes,  too,  there  was  danger  ;  the 
bare  i"ocks  were  often  slippery ;  the  over-fatigued 
traveller  is  never  cautious ;  the  road  is  not 
marked  so  as  to  be  certainly  traced  through  the 
snow.  Once  I  forced  the  men  on  when  they 
pretended  it  was  too  foggy  to  find  any  path. 
Once,  too,  the  horses  floundered  in  a  swift 
stream,  and  once  the  mud  was  so  deep  that  it 
seemed  quite  impossible  for  the  beasts  to  get 
their  limbs  out  when  they  were  once  in.  But 
a  kind  Providence  took  the  care  of  us  we  could 
not  of  ourselves;  and,  without  one  fill,  or  once 
straying  from  the  track,  though  with  some  suf- 
fering and  mucli  privation,  we  found  ourselves 
again  within  the  embrace  of  civilization,  at  the 
seaport  of  S^-ria. 

The  ascent  of  Anti-Lebanon  was  magnificent. 
Parting  with  "  Es  sham  "  in  some  cypress-cov- 
ered cemeteries,  where  fresh  flowers  bloomed  at 
many  a  grave,  and  where,  in  the  fever-season, 
Ijurials  take  place  by  hundreds,  we  skirted  along 
the  Barrady,  a  fresh,  wild,  dancing  mountain- 
torrent,  with  fine  falls,  and  many  a  verdant  val- 
ley wherever  a  branch  of  the  river  unites  with 
the  main  stream.  These  are  generally  appro- 
priated to  the  culture  of  silk,  one  hundred  and 
ten  thousand  pounds  being  still  raised  annually; 
about  half  of  the  supply  before  the  introduction 
of  English  cottons.  Here  are  wild  glens,  ro- 
mantic passes,  English-looking  gardens,  apple 
and  apricot  orchards, — a  very  kind,  industrious 
and  simple-hearted  peasanti-y,  prospering  better, 
we  thought,  than  in  any  other  part  of  S^ria,— 
the  best  cultivators  of  the  soil,  we  suspect,  that 
tho  Sultan  can  boast  in  any  part  of  his  domin- 
ion. Ain  Fijji  is  the  richest  valley,  with  the 
largest  growth  of  the  mulberry,  and  abundance 
of  roses;  but,  Lebdany,  where  we  laid  by  to  let 
the  snow-stoim  blow  over,  at  the  source  of  the 
river  which  waters  all  tlie  Damascus  plain,  is  an 
ex(|uisitc  spot ;  tlie  ro^ds  hedged  in  by  luxuri- 
ant hawthorn  and  buckthorn,  the  orchards  in 
excellent  order,  and  some  of  the  while  houses 
looking  even  romantic.  The  Paradise  of  our 
lirsL  parcnt-i,  of  which  the  neighboring  tomb  of 


Adam  put  us  in  mind,  Bccmed  more  likely  to 
have  been  in  some  such  picturesque  valley,  than 
in  the  sunburnt  and  sickly  plain,  The  Moham- 
medan family  which  lodged  us  here  were  (luito 
as  alfectionalG  as  tho  Franciscans  at  Naz-arcth. 
Tho  children  became  even  too  familiar  and 
friendly,  and  were  as  curious  about  uh  as  tho 
little  Bedouins  whom  wc  took  such  pains  to 
amuse.  At  night,  parents  and  children  lay 
down  together,  a  few  feet  from  us,  upon  well- 
wadded  coverlets,  in  the  same  dresses  which 
they  had  worn  through  the  day.  In  the  morn- 
ing they  had  but  to  open  their  eyes  to  he  ready 
for  the  breakfast. 

Baalbcc,  a  half-ruined,  half- Christ! an  village, 
once  the  stately  "  city  of  the  Sun,"  then  rejoicing 
in  a  magnificent  temple  of  Jupiter,  under  Julius 
Caisar,  the  "  lieliopolis "  fortress,  the  most 
splendid  of  Syrian  towns  at  the  time  of  the  Mos- 
lem conquest,  gave  us  a  mockery  of  shelter  and 
no  food,  in  the  ancient  Greek  convent,  itself  a 
ruin.  Long  before  reaching  it,  indeed,  upon  en- 
tering the  valley  of  the  Bekaa,  which  separates 
Anti-Lebanon  from  the  loftier  Lebanon,  "  the 
glory  of  Baalbec"  towers  up  over  the  battle- 
mentcd  walls  of  a  deserted  fort.  This  glory 
consists  of  six  lofry  columns  inside  of  the  en- 
closure, upon  a  platform  one  thousand  feet  long 
and  seven  hundred  broad,  all  of  hewn  stones, 
three  of  which  lying  together  measure  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  feet,  called  the  "hill  of  Baal- 
bee."  On  the  outside  stand  six  lesser,  but  still 
superb  pillars,  as  if  mourners  over  a  confused 
mass  of  broken  shafts,  capitals  and  bases,  fruits, 
apparently,  of  some  earthquake  shock. 

The  principal  parts  of  this  famous  temple  of 
the  earliest  idolatry  are  a  Saracen  mosque,  com- 
paratively modern,  provided  with  port  holes  for 
defence,  and  bomb-proof  magazines  beneath ;  an 
elegant  temple,  with  fourteen  columns  on  either 
side,  bearing  the  name  of  the  Sun,  and  an  eagle, 
the  genuine  object  of  the  worship,  which  must 
be  guessed,  as  it  cannot  be  seen  on  the  huge 
carved  keystone  over  the  door,  which  seems  to 
hang  but  by  a  thread,  and  to  be  just  ready  to 
crush  the  profane  intruder  at  his  first  footfall ; 
then,  a  partly  circular  and  very  extensive  temple 
containing  shrines  for  all  the  gods,  superbly 
carved  with  Medusa  heads  and  sea-shells,  in  too 
rich  a  style,  with  a  private  place  for  the  priests. 
What  some  name  "the  Forum,"  must  have  been 
the  outer  court,  dedicated  to  the  same  purposes 
as  the  "  Court  of  the  Gentiles"  at  Jerusalem, 
perhaps  for  some  more  august  ceremony,  per- 
haps for  the  pious  meditations  of  the  devotees. 
The  Mosque,  Pantheon,  Temple  of  Baal  and 
open  Court  make  hut  a  single  whole,  who-^e  ef- 
fect is  greatly  impaired  by  the  fortress,  which 
completely  shuts  in  the  Acropolis-like  summit. 
Of  course  such  delicate  Corinthian  work  cannot 
be  the  oldest  shrine,  erected  before  Palmyra  had 
its  temples  or  Judaism  its  Sinai  commandments. 
The  most  ancient  part  of  Karnack  is  rudeness 
itself;  and  probably  those  monstrous  stones,  ar- 
ranged now  for  military  purposes  in  the  outer 
wall,  were  cut  and  laid  by  unknown  artists  in 
more  primitive  structures,  for  the  honor  of  the 
god  of  day.  Isis  and  Horus  are  often  traced 
among  the  caivings. 

Near  by  is  a  little  gem,  a  circular  shrine,  hav- 
ing an  outside  wall  of  the  richest  columns, 
carved  with  the  same  superfluous  ornament  as 
those  of  the  great  temple,  and  far  more  decayed 
and  injured  than  the  principal  sti'ucture. 

The  temple  quarry  is  not  far  distant,  A  sin- 
gle stone  still  lies  there,  nearly  ready  to  be 
moved,  of  a  size  surpassing  most  of  those  which 
are  so  justly  admired  in  Egypt,  It  is  sixty  eight 
feet  long,  eighteen  feet  wide  and  nearly  square. 
It  is  a  wonder  how  such  stones  were  ever  raised 
so  high  as  they  aie  found  at  Baalbec,  before  our 
machinery  was  known.  But  we  may  as  well 
own  at  once,  that  it  is  not  possible  for  us  to  im- 
agine how  the  ancients  tran ■sported  so  vast 
masses  over  such  distances,  and  raised  them  to 
such  heights  as  we  find  throughout  Egypt,  and 
here  at  Baalbec.  Far  out  in  the  plain  was  a 
little  oratory,  built  evidently  of  spoils  from  other 
buildings,  tasttless,  roofless  and  deserted. 

From  this  decaying  village,  no  longer  refresh- 
ing the  traveller,  as  of  old,  with  fruits  and  viands, 
to  the  Christian  town  of  Zaahly,  was  nearly  a 
day.  The  ferule  and  beautiful  plain  of  the 
Bckaa,  and  the  river  Lcontes  (now  Litany),  had 
to  be  crossed,  through  deep  mud  and  swollen 
waters — then  came,  after  a  scramble  over  wild 
mountains,  the  extensive  nurseries,  well-tilled 
gaidens  and  widely' scattered  homes  of  these 
Syrian  Swiss.  Zaahly  took  us  by  surprise.  It 
presents  a  beautiful  appearance  from  a  distance, 
has  a  large  population   lur  such  a  niouutaiu 


place,  boasts  of  numerous  schools  under  the 
charge  of  Jesuita,  and  no  little  business.  Had 
travellers  been  more  in  the  habit  of  passing  this 
way,  one  of  the  most  ])rospcrouH  plattes  in  Syria 
would  not  have  remained  so  nearly  unknown. 
It  certainly  outshines  Damascus  in  streams, 
groves  and  gardens,  and  from  its  lofty  position 
has  beauties  of  its  own,  with  which  no  mere 
plain  can  compare,  besides  being  the  healthiest 
collection  of  fifteen  tliou^and  people  in  all  the 
east.  Its  four  Christian  churches  have  each 
their  bell, an  almost  unknown  indulgence  in  any 
part  of  Turkey  ;  even  in  the  European  houses 
at  Damascus,  the  servants  were  commonly  sum- 
moned by  clapping  of  the  hands.  Our  pretty 
hostess  assured  me  that  the  taxes  were  very 
light,  and  she  had  many  a  rich  shawl  and  golden 
trinket  to  exhibit. 

The  famous  cedars  of  Lebanon  we  were  ob- 
liged to  give  up;  nine-tenths  of  the  year  they 
are  quite  inaccessible  because  of  the  snow,  and 
are  only  approached  with  any  comfort  during 
the  month  of  June.  There  is  but  a  single  patch 
of  them,  up  near  the  limit  of  perpetual  snow,  a 
dozen  of  the  oldest  of  which  are  called  by  the 
Christians, "  saints,"  and  by  the  Moslems, "  god- 
trees."  Lebanon  itself  is  not  a  hill,  so  much  as 
a  country,  inhabited  towards  the  sea  by  brave 
and  hardy  mountaineers,  in  numerous  villages, 
who,  Ity  the  improvement  of  every  inch  of  soil 
and  by  the  laborious  construction  of  terraces, 
raise  all  the  comforts  of  life,  particularly  the  fa- 
mous "  wine  of  gold,"  a  delicious  yet  very  sim- 
ple beverage. 

But  we  were  to  know  nothing  of  this  lime- 
stone-range, called  "White'*  or  Lebanon,  per- 
haps from  its  color,  except  its  winter-frown. 
The  Baalbec  monk  had  prayed  for  good  weather 
for  travellers;  the  prayer  of  the  lazy  beggar 
mnst  have  worked  by  contraries,  for  we  were 
swept  along  in  a  storm,  which  howled  through 
the  mountain-gorge  as  if  it  would  hurl  old  Leba- 
non down  upon  us,  and  gave  us  some  ideas  of 
sublimity,  which  we  would  gladly  have  spared. 

It  will  hardly  be  credited  that  the  best  road 
from  the  capital  of  Syria  to  its  principal  seaport 
is,  a  great  portion  of  it,  no  easier  than  the  worst 
ascent  of  the  "  White  Hills," — a  narrow  mule- 
path,  over  heaped-up  rocks,  with  nothing  like  a 
wall  to  guard  from  the  precipice,  no  convenien- 
ces for  passing  a  loaded  caravan,  no  resting 
places  better  than  Turkish  khans  for  most  of 
the  way.  The  English  consul,  who  is  often 
called  the  "  Pasha  of  Damascus,"  is  urging  the 
government  to  open  a  road  over  this  most  im- 
portant route.  The  whole  world  certainly  would 
be  benefited  by  a  grand  improvement  like  this, 
bringing  Damascus  within  a  day  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, pouring  its  silks  and  fruits  into  Europe, 
and  taking  in  turn  the  cottons  and  woollens, 
the  necessaries  and  comforts  of  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

To  one  that  rejoices  as  I  do  in  the  growing 
brotherhood  of  nations,  who  feels  that  the  pro- 
gress of  humanity  is  certain,  even  when  it  seems 
most  retarded,  it  is  more  than  a  hope  that  this 
earliest  seat  of  the  human  race  may  yet  be  as 
richly  blest  as  the  latest  home  of  civilization 
upon  our  own  shores,  that  a  fostei'ing  hand  may 
by-and-by  be  extended  from  the  New  World  to 
the  Old,  that  the  mouldering  tombstone  of  Mo- 
hammedanism may  be  lifted  off  from  the  still 
live  £oul  of  Syria,  and  a  buried  nationality  rise 
up,  only  second  in  beauty  to  that  when  the  Cre- 
ator breathed  "  let  there  be  light,"  and  life  and 
blessedness  sprang  into  being  at  a  word. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
SYMPATHY. 

Br    MRS.   a.   T.   ELDRED6E. 

Sweet  and  ever  fragrant  flower, 

Glowing  in  the  feeling  heart ; 
Bursting  forth  in  sorrow's  hour. 

Shedding  balm  for  soitow's  .smiirt; 
Never  leave  my  heart,  0,  never, 

I  will  hold  thee  as  my  friend; 
Time  and  change  fond  ties  may  sever, 

Hope's  thy  motto  to  the  end  I 

In  my  heart  thy  growth  I'll  nurture, 

Weary  hours  thy  sweets  Le^uile  ; 
Tainting  forth  a  brighter  future 

For  each  sonow-strickcn  child  I 
Firm  I'll  plant  thee  in  my  bosom, 

Usher  forth  at  sorrow's  call ; 
Ever  fragrant  are  thy  blosdouiu. 

Yielding  sweets  for  one  and  ail ! 


It  is  a  base  temper  in  mankind  that  they  will 
not  take  the  smallest  slight  at  the  hand  of  iho&e 
who  liavc  done  them  the  greatest  kindness. 


[Written  for  01ea«on'M  Pictorial.) 

FASHION. 

BY   MUB.   E.    WELLMONT. 

Fashion  ih  fast  taking  from  u»  our  rights. 
One  may  be  a  little  amused  to  see  how  wc  arc 
led  to  bow  as  instinctively  to  her  demands,  as 
though  a  law  imposed  a  penalty  for  our  viola- 
tion. Mr,  Pitts  had  a  new  hat  some  two  yeard 
since;  he  had  kept  it  merely  for  "great  occa- 
sions" the  first  year,  and  the  last  one  jt  has 
been  an  every  day  article.  He  calculated  wear- 
ing it  one  year  more — for  he  is  a  prudent  man 
— but  that  little  dandy  over  the  way  attacked 
him  thcotiier  morning  upon  its  pcnJiamti/le,  and 
Pitts's  children  joined  him,  and  almost  persuad- 
ed the  man  the  nap  was  all  gone  from  the  edges, 
and  the  crown  had  turned  red.  Pitts  said  he 
hated  to  be  out  of  fashion,  and  so  forthwith,  the 
old  comfortable  beaver,  just  as  good  as  new,  was 
sold  for  seventy-five  cents,  by  way  of  exi-hange, 
and  a  new  one  of  "  Genin's  best "  mounted  forth- 
with. Now  it  is  not  so  much  matter  in  the  case 
of  Pitts,  because  he  can  afford  it;  but  it  ilocs 
drag  hard  upon  the  Widow  Brown  and  her  five 
daughters,  who  have  a  bare  competency  with 
strict  economy.  Mrs.  Brown's  daughters  all  had, 
new  cloaks  last  winter — good,  comfortable  gar- 
ments. They  were  cut  with  yoke  necks ;  now 
the  fashion  has  changed,  and  the  girls  demand 
to  have  those  cloaks  transformed  into  fashionable 
capes — and  strange  to  say,  the  mother  complied, 
for  she  wanted  her  children  to  be  fashionably 
dressed.  These  capes  required  a  lassel  behind; 
tassels  varied  in  style  and  prices,  but  the  young 
ladies,  of  course,  desired  the  richest,  and  so  five 
dollars  were  paid  for  five  tassels  to  the  sacks! 
At  this  very  time,  Mrs.  Brown  told  a  friend  she 
did  need  a  barrel  of  fiour,  but  had  not  the  money 
just  then  to  buy  one. 

IVIr.  Gill  consulted  with  his  tailoress  and  found 
he  could  have  his  overcoat  repaired  to  look 
nearly  as  well  as  new;  but  she  inadvertently 
dropped  that  it  was  not  cut  in  the  present  mode, 
whereupon  all  his  determination  to  have  it  re- 
paired vanished.  He  dismissed  his  tailoress, 
told  her  he  supposed  "he  might  as  well  get  a 
fashionable  garment,  and  done  with  it." 

Mi's.  Jones  had  been  uneasy  for  sometime 
past  to  secure  a  pew  on  the  lower  floor  in  the 
broad  aisle  of  the  church.  Mr.  Jones  insisted 
upon  keeping  the  old  one,  affirming  he  could 
hear  just  as  well,  the  taxes  were  much  lighter, 
and  some  of  the  best  of  the  congregation  sur- 
rounded them.  But  the  good  woman  was  not 
to  be  put  off  in  that  way ;  she  knew  the  most 
fashionable  people  sat  there,  and  she  wanted  to 
be  in  proximity — for  she  would  be  devout,  and 
still  know  just  what  her  neighbors  wore ! 

Bytes,  the  landlord  of  many  stores,  told  me 
the  demand  for  plate  ghiss  of  enormous  size  had 
become  so  common,  that  in  fixing  his  tenants  up 
fashionably,  all  his  income  was  nearly  expended. 

Now,  having  sufficiently  berated  the  good  old 
dame  Eashion,  it  is  but  fair  she  should  tell  her 
story.  Speaking  of  hats — "  Why,"  said  she, 
"more  than  ten  thousand  journeymen  would  be 
turned  out  of  employ,  were  all  the  beavers  of 
the  same  identical  finish  and  style.  Do  I  not, 
therefore,  give  bread  to  the  families  of  such? 
As  to  the  tassels  that  swing  behind  the  Brown 
children's  capes,  why  the  people  engaged  in 
manufacturing  such  articles  are  named  legion. 
With  their  earnings  they  support  whole  families, 
decrepid  parents  and  crippled  children.  As  to 
overcoats,  why  Gill  would  become  so  selfish  in 
pocketing  his  dividends,  did  not  I  urge  my  claim, 
that  nobody  would  be  benefited  by  his  money. 
And  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter."  The 
camel's  hair  shawl  which  cost  a  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  the  India  seaif  for  which  one  hundred 
wa5  paid,  only  take  from  the  coffers  of  the  rich 
man  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  dependent  ven- 
ders of  the  same.  All  the  trouble  lies  in  keeping 
icitkin  one's  mtans.  We  should  keep  an  eye  to 
signing  mortgages  and  surrendering  rights  for 
the  sake  of  gratifying  our  love  of  show ;  but  good 
sense  will  always  regulate  sound  heads  in  these 
matters. 


Humanity  will  direct  us  lo  be  particularly 
cautious  of  treating  with  the  least  appearance  of 
neglect,  those  who  have  lately  met  with  misfor- 
tums,  and  arc  sunk  in  life.  Such  persons  are 
apt  to  think  themselves  slighted,  when  no  such 
thing  is  intended.  Their  minds  being  already 
sore,  feel  the  least  rub  very  severely.  And  who 
would  be  so  cruel  as  lo  add  affliction  to  the 
afilicted  ? 


Far  better  one  nnpuviihuHod  hrait, 

'liiau  glor>  'e  pioudubt  nuino. —  Tut/cernicui. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DUAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


383 


3IATR010NY  IN  RUSSIA. 

On  Whitsuntide  afternoon,  there  are  now  to 
be  seen  in  the  summer  gardens  of  St.  Petersburg 
the  daughters  of  the  middling  class,  ranged  in 
long  vows,  dressed  in  their  best,  and  often  be- 
decked with  costly  jewels.  Matrimoniji?.  the  ob- 
ject of  the  displa3^  Young  bachelors  walk  up 
and  down  the  line  of  damsels,  critically  inspect- 
ing them  as  they  pass.  Should  their  eye  indi- 
cate that  they  have  made  a  choice,  a  matchmak- 
ing friend  of  the  young  lady  steps  out  of  the 
rear  rank,  joins  the  would-be -wooer,  informing 
him  of  the  girl's  circumstances,  of  her  family, 
dowry,  of  her  housewifely  qualities,  etc.,  and  ob- 
tains from  him  similar  information  concerning 
himself.  Should  they  come  to  an  understanding, 
the  matchmaker  conducts  her  candidate  to  the 
mother,  who  introduces  him  to  ber  daughter,  in- 
vites him  to  her  house,  and  a  wedding  is  the 
most  usual  result  of  the  acquaintance  thus  com- 
menced. Some  may  smile  at  this  fact,  but  the 
cynical  will  declare  that  the  custom  is  in  reality 
by  no  means  peculiar  to  Kussia. 


IRON  HOUSES. 

The  New  York  Express  says  iron  houses  are 
no  longer  a  novelty.  The}--  are  an  every-day 
atfair ;  but  one  of  the  most  substantial  specimens 
of  that  species  of  architecture  is  the  warehouse 
just  commenced  iu  Beekman  Street,  next  to  St. 
George's  Chapel.  It  is  all  iron,  "  from  turret  to 
foundation  stones,"  with  the  single  exception  of 
the  floor  timbers  of  the  first  and  second  stories, 
so  that  destruction  by  fire  may  well  be  consider- 
ed a  physical  impossibility. 


Extreme  Age. — There  is  an  old  man  in  Bel- 
grade, on  the  frontiers  of  Turkey,  who  has  at- 
tained the  enormous  age  of  one  hundred  and 
seventy-two  years.  He  is  still  in  possession  of 
all  his  faculties,  and  smokes  his  pipe  regularly. 
Eifty  years  ago  he  used  to  go  out  hunting  with 
his  great  grandson,  and  it  is  not  quite  one  hun- 
dred years  since  he  made  his  third  marriage  witli 
a  young  girl  aged  nineteen,  whom  he  has  out- 
lived by  forty  years. 


DELA-WARii  College  — The  jiftij  ihousand 
dollars  for  the  endowment  of  Delaware  College, 
has  all  been  subscribed,  and  mainly  in  Delaware 
itself.  This  is  noble  and  worthy  of  the  patri- 
otic little  State.  A  Professorship  of  Agricul- 
ture has  been  endowed,  and  will  go  into  opera- 
tion the  present  winter.  This  is  as  it  should  be. 
Students  have  long  learned  ivords — it  is  time 
they  should  be  taught  ihliujs. 


Annexation  of  Cuba. — Mr.  Walbridge, 
member  of  Congress  elect  from  ihe  Third  Con- 
gressional District,  New  York,  has  issued  an  ad- 
dress to  his  constituents,  in  which  he  says  that 
he  regards  his  election  as  an  expression  in  favor 
of  incorporating  "  the  beautiful  island  of  the  An- 
tilles "  within  the  limits  of  our  government  as 
soon  as  it  can  constitutionally  be  done  without 
violence  to  existing  treaties. 


Practising. — The  artillery  in  Quebec  now 
practise  ball-firing,  frequently  along  the  surface 
of  the  water,  and  it  seems  this  will  be  continued 
as  a  large  quantity  of  gunpowder  has  been  al- 
lowed them  this  year  for  the  purpose.  It  is  also 
stated  that  several  heavy  pieces  of  ordnance  have 
been  lately  placed  on  the  fortifications.  These 
preparations  seem  to  portend  something. 


New  Character. — Lord  Hardy  was  so  much 
addicted  to  the  bottle  as  to  be  always  under  the 
influence  of  liquor.  Previous  to  a  masquerade 
night,  he  inquired  of  Eoote  what  new  character 
be  ought  to  appear  in.  "New  character"?"  said 
the  other.  "  Suppose  you  go  sober,  my  lord  V 
He  took  the  hmt  of  the  comedian,  and  actually 
reformed. 


Modest. — The  editor  of  a  village  newspaper, 
somewhere  in  Pennsylvania,  we  believe,  pub- 
lishes his  o(vn  marriage  with  somebody  whom 
he  leaves  blank,  as  she  doesn't  like  to  see  her 
name  in  the  newspapers. 


Premium. — At  the  Oneida  Agricultural  Pair, 
John  C.  Hastings  received  a  premium  of  Si,  for 
half  a  peck  of  Maiden's  Blush — apples. 


Modesty. — A  beautiful  flower,  that  flourishes 
only  in  secret  places. 


Too  true  ! — When  a  dog  is  drowning,  every 
one  offers  him  a  drink. 


illagsibf   ©atljerings. 

Women  should  rule,  but  not  govern. 

Banvard,  the  ai-tist,  has  arrived  in  New  York 
from  Europe. 

The  Lake  Shore  Railroad  from  Buffalo  to 
Cleveland  is  complete. 

A  Mr.  Chapman,  of  Maryland,  owns  a  Po- 
land hen  which  has  laid  70  eggs  since  August. 

Propeller  Oneida  has  been  passed  bottom  up 
on  Lake  Eric.    All  on  board,  17  in  all,  perished. 

It  is  said,  that  the  President  elect  receives  two 
bushels  of  letters  per  day,  containing  applica- 
tions for  office. 

In  Cincinnati  it  is  estimated  that  there  are 
$10,920  000  of  capital  employed  in  the  clothing 
business. 

The  number  of  midshipmen  and  acting  mid- 
shipmen at  present  at  the  Naval  Institution  in 
Annapolis,  is- about  120. 

Four  brothers,  Daniel,  Edward,  Carroll  and 
Wm.  Keane,  have  been  arrested  in  Wayne  coun- 
ty, 111.,  for  robbing  the  mail. 

John  Van  Burcn  has  been  to  see  Gen.  Pierce 
since  the  election,  and  the  political  jom'uals  have 
commenced  gossiping  thereon. 

John  Koshal  liad  both  his  arms  shot  off  at 
Bethlehem,  Pa.,  a  short  time  since,  by  the  pre- 
mature discharge  of  a  cannon. 

A  man  in  Cincinnati  the  other  day  married  a 
dumb  woman  weighing  three  hundred  and  sixty 
lbs.     Peace  and  plenty,  wi[h  a  vengeance. 

Every  State  in  the  Union  has  now  sent  on  its 
block  of  stone  or  marble  for  the  monument  to 
the  memory  of  Washington. 

A  woman  named  Margaret  Miller  was  shot  by 
an  insane  man  while  on  her  way  to  market,  in 
Philadelphia,  on  Wednesday  morning  last. 

A  boat  containing  20  laboring  men,  was  ran 
down  recently  in  the  harbor  of  St.  John,  N.  B., 
by  a  steam  ferry  boat,  and  13  of  them  drowned. 

Ten  thousand  pounds  of  buffalo  tallow  ar- 
rived at  St.  Louis  the  other  day  from  the  Far 
West,  done  up  in  the  hides  of  the  animals. 

A  n:ian  in  Middlesex  county  was  last  week 
fined  eighty  odd  dollars  and  costs  for  poisoning 
his  neighbor's  hens.     Served  him  right. 

Seldon  Gibson,  master  of  brig  J.  Marshall, 
died  at  Savannah,  Ga.,  a  few  days  since,  after  a 
brief  illness.  His  wife  and  family  are  residents 
of  Bath,  Me. 

The  steamer  Buckeye  Belle  exploded  her  boil- 
er in  Beverly  Lock,  near  Marietta,  Ohio,  on 
Friday  night,  killing  15  persons  and  severely 
wounding  several  others. 

Samuel  Byrne  was  arrested  at  Baltimore  on 
Wednesday  week,  on  charge  of  kidnapping  a 
free  colored  woman,  whom  he  brought  from  Vir- 
ginia, and  sold  as  a  slave. 

In  California  ladies  may  advertise  their  inten- 
tion to  carry  on  business  independent  of  their 
husbands,  which  legally  exonerates  them  from 
liability  for  their  debts. 

Winter  is  at  hand  with  its  brilliant  pleasures 
and  piercing  sufferings.  Let  those  who  enjoy 
the  foiTner,  endeavor  to  mitigate  the  latter  among 
the  destitute  and  afflicted. 

At  Cincinnati  they  opened  a  bale  of  cotton 
and  found  the  body  of  a  negro  pressed  into  it. 
So  great  was  the  pressure  that  the  body  of  the 
man  was  not  more  than  three  inches  thick. 

The  flour  and  grain  traders  of  New  York  have 
formed  an  exchange  association,  and  now  num- 
ber .350  persons.  They  embrace  all  the  principal 
traders  in  these  articles  in  the  city. 

The  railroad  through  Broadway,  New  York, 
is  looked  upon  as  a  fixed  fact,  the  committee  of 
the  board  of  Aldermen,  to  whom  the  matter  was 
referred,  having  reported  strongly  in  its  favor. 

A  farmer  in  Canton,  Mass.,  has  a  cranberry 
meadow  of  twelve  acres,  from  which  he  has 
raised,  the  presenD  season,  upwards  of  one  thou- 
sand bushels  of  fine  cranberries,  for  which  he 
has  realized  $3000  each. 

Frater  Johannes  Drabicius,  in  his  book,  De 
C(.do  et  Cihlfstl  Sktlii,  printed  at  jMcntz,  1718, 
employs  425  f>ages  to  prove  ihat  the  emplov- 
ment  of  the  blest  in  heaven  will  be  the  continual 
ringing  of  bells ! 

It  is  recorded  in  tlie  Norway,  Me.,  Advertiser, 
that  a  bear  has  be^n  captured  in  Vork  county, 
in  that  State,  which  weighed,  when  drt-ssed  360 
pounds,  and  that  over  60  pounds  of  leaf  or  rough 
fat  was  taken  our  uf  him. 

The  most  extensive  coal  field  in  the  world 
commences  near  CaiTolton,  Kentucky,  and  runs 
north,  through  Indiana,  Illinois  and  Iowa,  con- 
taining about  80,000  square  mihs,  of  which  a 
tenth  part,  or  SOOO  miles  are  in  Indiana. 

It  is  estimated  that  forty  thousand  persons, 
eight  hundred  wagons  and  sixty  rhousand  cattle, 
crossed  the  pUins,  going  to  Califurnia  this  year, 
and  it  is  said  that  parts  of  the  route  are  sticwed 
with  graves  and  human  bones. 

Two  women  in  St.  Louis  recentlv  assaulted  a 
man  with  cowhides.  Thtir  husbands  had  in- 
tended to  inflict  the  casiigation.  but  had  been 
bound  over  in  heavy  penalty  to  keep  the  peace, 
wherefore  the  wives  took  up  the  matter  and  car- 
ried it  through. 

A  lad  named  Patrick  O'Rourke,  fell  from  a 
free  in  Bridgeport,  Ct.,  and  was  kilkd.  His  fa- 
ther took  his  loss  so  much  to  heart  that  he  be- 
came deranged,  and  cut  down  the  tree  in  the 
vain  hope  of  finding  his  son.  After  it  bad  fallen 
the  poor  man  searched  in  the  branches,  calling 
fur  "  Patrick." 


JToreign  jUigaUang. 

The  Prince  de  Lucklenberg  died  at  St.  Peters- 
burg on  the  25th  of  October. 

Late  advices  from  Turks  Island  represent  that 
the  cholera  is  abating. 

The  government  has  made  an  offer  to  pur- 
chase the  Journal  Des  Debats,  with  the  view  of 
getting  rid  of  its  influence. 

A  late  traveller  in  Italy  says  that  the  back 
streets  of  Rome  are  paved  with  dead  dogs,  old 
boots  and  oyster  shells. 

Lord  de  Blaquiere  challenges  all  the  world, 
"  America  excepted/'  to  produce  a  yacht  equal  in 
speed  to  his  famous  yacht  America. 

A  line  of  powerful  screw-steamers  is  about 
to  commence  running  between  England  and 
Australia. 

A  letter  from  Malta  states  that  six  political 
prisoners  were  shot  at  Linigaglia,  af:er  an  im- 
prisonment of  nearly  four  years.  Among  them 
was  Col.  Simondelli. 

A  severe  shock  of  an  earthquake  had  been  felt 
at  Malaga,  which  shook  all  the  edifices  and 
caused  great  consternation  ;  many  families  had 
taken  refuge  on  board  the  vessels  in  the  harbor. 

Despatches  from  Prague  announce  that  the 
Emperor  of  Austria  has  had  an  attack  of  epilep- 
tic apoplexy,  and  that  he  has  received  the  last 
sacrament. 

The  Paris  journals  announce  that  M.  Vallee, 
one  of  the  officials  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantcs,  has 
succeeded  in  hatching  a  turtle  by  artificial 
means. 

The  deaths  from  explosions  in  the  British 
coal  mines,  now  average  one  thousand  annually. 
The  Davy  safety  lamp,  it  is  said,  cannot  be  de- 
pended on. 

The  commissioners  of  the  late  World's  Fair 
have  purchased,  with  the  surplus  funds  of  the 
exhibition,  a  plot  of  ground  near  Kensington, 
which  they  intend  to  present  to  the  nation  as  a 
site  for  a  new  National  Gallery  of  Art. 

Louis  Napoleon  is  declared  Emperor,  under 
the  title  of  Napoleon  III.  The  imperial  dignity 
is  made  hereditary  in  the  direct  descent  of  the 
Emperor,  and  regulates  the  order  of  succession 
to  the  throne  in  the  Bonaparte  family. 

The  Russian  and  Prussian  Ministers  have  re- 
ceived sudden  orders  from  their  governments  no 
longer  to  absent  themselves  from  their  posts  at 
Paris,  and  M.  Castlebeiac  has  in  like  manner 
been  ordered  immediately  to  return  to  St.  Pe- 
tersburg. The  quidnuncs  are  trying  to  worm 
some  diplomatic  secret  out  of  these  hasty  move- 
ments. 


JJoker's   ISubget. 


Sanbs  of  ©olb. 


Economy  itself  is  a  great  income. 

....  Boast  not,  for  discerning  folks  will  think 
you  a  fool. 

....  A  distinguished  teacher  defines  genius 
to  be  the  power  of  making  effort. 

....  Every  time  you  avoid  doing  wrong,  you 
increase  your  inclination  to  do  right. 

....  A  dull  day  and  an  empty  pocket,  and 
being  in  love,  affect  a  man's  spirits  most 
seriously. 

....  In  matters  of  conscience,  first  thoughts 
are  best;  in  matters  of  prudence,  last  thoughts 
are  best. 

....  God  hath  given  to  mankind  a  common 
library — his  works  ;  and  to  every  man  a  book — 
himself. 

The  cure  of  all  the  ills  and  wrongs,  the 

cares  and  sorrows,  and  the  crimes  of  humanity, 
lies  in  that  one  word,  Love  ! 

Truth — the  open,  bold,  honest  truth — is 

always  the  wisest,  always  the  safest,  for  every 
one,  in  any  and  all  circumstances. 

....  There  would  be  very  few  dinner  parties 
if  the  rule  were  once  made,  only  to  in\itc  those 
to  dinner  who  really  were  in  want  of  one  ! 

....  There  is  no  occasion  to  trample  upon 
the  meanest  reptile,  nor  to  sneak  to  the  greatest 
prince.  Insolence  and  baseness  are  equally 
unmanly. 

....  Sympathy  constitutes  friendship,  but  in 
love  there  is  a  sort  of  antipathy,  or  opposing 
passion.  Each  strives  to  be  the  other,  and  both 
together  make  up  one  whole. 

....  If  you  have  a  friend  that  will  reprove 
your  faults  and  foibles,  consider  you  enjoy  a 
blessing  which  the  President  of  the  United  States 
cannot  have. 

....  If  you  mean  to  make  your  side  of  the 
argument  appear  plausible,  do  not  prr-judice 
people  against  what  you  think  truth,  by  your 
passionate  manner  of  defending  it. 

....  There  is  hardly  any  bodily  blemish 
which  a  winning  behaviour  will  not  conceal,  or 
make  tolerable ;  and  there  is  no  external  grace 
which  ill-nature  or  affectation  will  not  deform. 


learning  will  make  j on  .acceptable 
to  the  learned  ;  but  it  is  only  an  easy  and  oblig- 
ing beha^'iour,  and  entertaining  conversation, that 
will  make  you  agreeable  in  all  companies. 

....  Nothing  is  more  nauseous  than  apparent 
self-sufficiency.  For  it  shows  the  company  two 
things  which  are  extremely  disagreeable  :  That 
you  have  a  high  opinion  of  yourself,  and  that 
yon  have  comparatively  a  mean  opinion  of" 
them. 


There  is  said  to  be  a  girl  somewhere  in  New 
England  whose  heart  was  so  warm  that  it  burnt 
through  her  bosom. 

Advice  is  like  a  policeman,  often  to  be  met 
with  when  not  wanted  ;  but  when  really  wanted, 
never  to  be  found. 

Winchell  says  the  people  of  Alabama  are  so 
hard  run  for  eggs,  that  they  have  to  set  their 
turkeys  on  Carolina  potatoes. 

There  is  a  fellow  in  California  so  extravagant 
that  he  kindles  the  fire  with  bank-notes,  and 
skates  on  ice  cream. 

A  gentleman  who  could  not  trust  to  his  mem- 
ory, wrote  in  his  pocket  book  :  "  I  must  go  and 
get  married  wlien  I  get  to  town." 

A  funny  chap  recently  entered  an  ivory  tur- 
ner's shop,  and  asked  if  any  one  about  the  estab- 
lishment knew  how  to  "  turn  an  honest  penny." 

"  Can  you  read  smoke,  ma  V  "  What  do  you 
mean,  child'?"  "Why,  I've  heard  some  men 
talk  about  a  volume  of  smoke,  and  I  thought 
you  could  read  anything  in  a  volume." 

Dow,  Jr.,  says  :  Sleeping  in  church  is  always 
tolerated  in  a  land  of  religious  liberty,  but  loud 
snoring  is  a  nuisance  to  the  more  quiet  and  re- 
spectable sleepers. 

An  Irish  doctor,  we  are  told,  advertised  that 
persons  alflicted  with  deafness  might  hear  of  him 
in  a  house  in  Liffey  Street,  where  also  blind  per-  . 
sons   might  see  him  daily  from  three  till  ten'' 
o'clock. 

The  ordinary  mode  of  churning  butter  in  Chili 
is  to  put  the  milk  in  a  skin — usually  a  dog's 
skin — tie  it  on  a  donkey.  Mount  a  boy  on 
him  with  rowels  in  his  spurs  about  the  length  of 
the  animal's  ears,  and  then  run  him  four  mile 
heats. 

"  Say,  w  here'd  you  get  yer  peaches  1"  "  Why, 
mother's  in  the  business,  and  imports  them  her- 
self; and  nobody  wont  buy  now,  cos  they're 
afeard  of  the  molcra  chorbus,  so  I  have  to  eat 
'em.  It's  hard  work,  but  I  dus  it  to  help  moth- 
er, and  filial  'fectiou,  you  know,  will  make  a 
feller  do  a  great  deal !" 


VOLUMES  1st  &  Sd. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  Piotobial  Drawiho 
Room  Companion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  ivith  gilt  edges 
and  back,  and  illumined  .sides,  forming  a  superb  and  mOot 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book,  of 

Botweer  Foot  and  I'ive  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     CONTAINING     KEARLT 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad ;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

ILLmilNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND   INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilliant  fi-ontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustrations,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketches,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  current 
News  llecord  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  eiceed- 
ingly  novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrationii. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  jHiree  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  U^^'IOX, 

AN  ELEGA.NT,  -MUil.VL  AND  lUIt'IN'El) 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  ■wit  and  humor,  prope  and 
puetic  gems,  jtaJ  original  prize  tale.s,  written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  lu  politics,  and  on 
Jill  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothin"-  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  coluiuns  j 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEU  POK  THE  MILLIOK, 

AND  A  IVELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
hniiins;  u-ttkli/  iKipcr  in  the  United  Stairs^  and  its  literary 
contents  are  ailowed,  by  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
so  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  Xo  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  eutire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    3IAMM0TH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  \vill.  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  aa 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEMS    TO    STTBSCRIBERS. 
1  subscriber,  one  year, S2  00 

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One  copy  of  the  FuG  ov  ouft  Union,  and  one  copy  of  the 
Pictorial  Drawing-IIoom  ComeajsioNj  one  year,  for  So  00. 

[tlT^  Invaluably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  arc  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  foi-m  clubs,  ou  the  above  terms. 

0=-  AH  oriltrs  should  he  addressed,  post  paid,  to  tli£ 
Publisher  of  the  Fl.\.g  of  oub  Union. 

*,*  The  Flag  can  he  obtained  at  any  of  the  newspaper 
Jrpats  in  the  United  Slates,  and  of  iiewspaper  earners^  at 
Four  CENTS  per  single  copy. 

F.     GLEASON. 
Pdslisheh  and  Proprietor,  Eosion,  Mass- 


.381 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DllAAVIXG   KOOM    CX)MPANI()N. 


THE  ItLAC'K  MARIA. 

Our  artist  litis  f^tvcn  us  herewith  a  cliararteri.i- 
tic  picture  of  what  is  termed  tlio  "  IJhu'k  Maria," 
or,  in  other  words,  the  vehielo  whii^h  runs  hc- 
twecn  tlie  i-ourt  house  and  the  prisons  with  such 
freip:ht  as  mif^ht  be  supposed  to  require  tnuispor- 
tation  between  thewc  two  very  ominous  points  of 
the  city.  The  very  phi/si(/iu;  of  the  *'  Ulaek  Ma- 
rin" U  repulsive,  apart  from  the  refinements  of 
mere  association.  What  is  it — u  coftin,  rudo 
but  gipantic,  travelling  to  and  fro,  between  the 
undertaker  and  the  sexton  {  Why  i-i  it  that  the 
eye  fails  to  penetrate  its  dark  recesses  V  No 
"sashes  "  ailorn  thi;  person  of  the  "  Black  Ma- 
ria.", Unlike  all  other  vehicles,  it  has  no  aper- 
tures for  li^bt  and  air.  save  those  openings  be- 
neath the  roof,  from  which  a  hafrp;ard  and  uneasy 
glance  flashes  forth  at  intervals,  or  from  which 
protrudes  a  hand  wavin^r,  as  it  were,  a  last  fare- 
well 10  all  that  pves  dclip;ht  to  existence.  Stern- 
ly and  rit^idly  sits  the  ^'uaid  in  the  rearward 
chamlicr,  and  beyond  him  is  a  door  heavy  with 
steel.  It  is  no  pleasure  carriage  then — it  is  not 
used  as  a  means  of  recreation,  nor  as  a  free-will 
conveyance,  travelHiifj;  at  the  pnidanco  of  those 
who  rest  within.  No ;  they  who  take  seats  in 
the  "Black  Maria"  feel  no  honor  in  the  eleva- 
tion— they  rid  )  neither  for  health  nor  amuse- 
ment. They  neither  say  "  drive  on,"  nor  desig- 
nate the  place  of  destination.  If  it  were  left  to 
them,  they  would,  in  all  likelihood,  ask  to  be 
taken  another  way,  and  they  would  sooner  trot 
on  foot  forever,  thun  to  be  thus  raised  above 
contact  with  mud  and  mire.  They  are  not  im- 
patient cither — they  make  no  olijection  to  the 
slowness  of  the  \xai(.  In  short,  they  would  like 
to  get  out  and  dismiss  all  cumbrous  pomp  and 
ceremonious  attendance.  But  there  are  bars  be- 
tween— yes,  bolts  and  bars,  and  there  is  nothing 
of  complaisance  on  the  brow  of  him  who  has 
these  iron  fastenings  at  control.  Polite  requests 
would  be  unheeded,  and  he  has  heard  the  curses 
of  despair,  the  sobs  of  remorse,  and  the  bitter 
wailings  of  heart-broken  wretchedness  too  often 
to  be  much  moved  by  solicitations  of  this  sort. 
The  "Black  Maria"  is  a  vehicle  peculiar  to 
cities.  Boston  has  a  most  ominous  looking  one, 
and  our  ar.ist,  Mr.  Devercux,  has  copied  that  of 
Philadelphia.  Heaven  send  that  no  friend  of 
ours  ever  gets  a  ride  gratis  in  such  an  omnibus 
of  sin  and  misery.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the 
lower  classes  look  upon  the  "Black  Maria"  as 
a  ghostly  affair,  and  seem  almost  to  hold  their 
breath  while  it  passes.  It  is  a  significant  token 
to  rogues  and  suspected  characters.  A  sort  of 
silent  monitor,  frowning  and  grim,  admonishing 
of  the  result  of  crime. 


BLACE:  MARIA THE  PRISONER  S  OWN  OMNIBUS. 


BEACOIV  HILL  REHERVOIR. 

The  moht  costly  distributing  reservoir  belong- 
ing to  the  Boston  Water  Works,  and  containing 
the  depOHit  of  f'ochituiitc  wiiter,  oh  brought  to 
town  through  miles  of  immense  iron  pipes,  is 
crcr'ted  on  the  spot  formerly  known  as  Beacon 
Hill,  one  of  t'>c  trimountains  of  Boston.  This 
work  is  an  immense  Btructurc,  almost  fahulouBly 
Hirong  and  costly,  and  answers  admirably  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  designed.  The  foun- 
dation is  more  than  seventy  feet  below  the  former 
elevation  of  the  hill.  The  reservoir  is  built  of 
granite  laid  in  hydiaulie  cement,  and  for  com- 
pleteness of  the  mason  work  is  a  perfect  model. 
Our  artist,  Mr.  Warren,  has  given  us  a  very  ex- 
cellent view  of  the  spot,  and  those  of  the  readers 
of  the  Pictorial  who  reside  in  this  vicinity  should 
visit  the  place  and  judge  for  themselves.  The 
reservoir  is  hounded  on  Derne  street  190  feet  3 
inches,  200  feet  5  inches  on  rear  of  Mt.  Vemon 
street,  191  feet  7  inches  on  Hr.ncock  street,  and 
182  feet  11  inches  on  Temple  street ;  the  highest 
part  is  58  feet  'J  inches  above  the  street.  The 
basin  is  1,')  feet  8  inches  deep,  supported  on 
arches  of  granite,  containing  2,078,961  gallouN 
of  water,  which  was  first  let  in  October  14,  1848. 
The  cost  of  this  immense  work  was  $509,010  31, 
as  it  appears  by  the  architect's  statistics.  As  is 
the  introduction  of  Croton  water  to  New  York, 
and  also  of  the  Schuylkill  through  the  works  at 
Fairmount  to  Philadelphia,  so  is  the  introduc- 
tion of  Cochituate  water  to  Boston  a.  most  un- 
questionable good — one  calculated  to  be  shared 
by  every  class,  and  the  benefits  of  which  must 
descend  to  our  children  and  our  children'.?  chil- 
dren. At  first  when  the  stupendous  plan  was 
proposed,  it  found  few  advocates;  people  looked 
upon  the  object  as  one  of  fabulous  propriety,  and 
the  estimate  of  cost  was  eufificient  to  frighten 
nearly  any  one ;  but  who  is  there  to-day  that 
does  not  rejoice  in  the  completion  and  perfection 
of  the  works  ?  The  large  and  splendid  reservoir 
represented  below  by  our  artist  is  only  one  of 
many  stupendous  structures  necessarily  connect-  , 
ed  with  the  Boston  water  works,  but  this,  situ- 
ated as  it  is  in  the  very  heart  of  the  ciiy,  is  doubt- 
less one  of  the  most  interesting.  As  you  pass 
its  lofty  and  massive  walls,  with  the  towering 
battlement  finish  ujion  their  summits,  you  seem 
to  forget  that  you  are  in  Yankee  land,  and  to 
recall  the  ancient  works  of  Rome  and  the  East, 
for  a  Pyramid  planted  in  the  same  place  would 
hardly  loom  up  more  imposingly  than  does  this 
magnificent  Beacon  Hilt  Reservoir.  Strangers 
are  particularly  struck  with  it,  and  many  people 
come  from  a  distance  to  see  and  examine  bo 
great  a  curiosity. 


BEACON  HILL  RESERVOIR,  ON  DERNE,  HANCOCK  AND  TEMPLE  STREETS,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


Fm  1?  1  Qnxr  f  cornek  bromfield 
.    WilJiAOUiM ,  i  AND  TREMONT  aT3. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  18,  1852 


%''£l  ISJ-c^T  1  Vol.  m.  No.  25  -Whole  No.  77. 


THE  NEW  MUSIC  HALL. 

The  splendid  new  Music  Hall  of  Boston  is 
an  ornament  to  our  city,  and  is  probably  unsur- 
passed for  architectural  excellence  and  beauty  in 
this  country.  In  a  former  number  of  the  Picto- 
iial  we  have  given  its  principal  dimensions   and 


below  our  artist,  Mr.  "Rowse,  gives  us  a  very  cor- 
rect and  excellent  interior  view,  taken  facing  the 
stage  from  the  rear  of  the  audience.  It  is  truly 
superb,  vast  and  magnificent  in  design,  and  com- 
pletely successful  in  execution,  exhibiting  genius 
in  the'conception  and  great  piactical  skill  in  the 


mechanical  details.  It  has  two  tiers  of  light  work.  The  seats  are  stuffed,  with  backs  and 
galleries  on  the  sides,  with  room  only  for  three  arm  rests,  and  covered  with  blue  and  white  fig- 
rows  of  seats,  with  two  galleries  on  the  end  more  ured  moreen,  each  seat  being  numbered.  The 
spacious.  On  the  opposite  end  is  a  space  for  a  interior  is  brilliantly  lighted  by  a  flood  of  gas 
large  orchestra  and  an  organ,  which  is  entirely  from  above,  around  the  cornices,  and  the  effect 
hidden  from  the  audience  behind  elegant  lattice  upon  the  audience  is  very  remarkable 


INTERIOR   VIEW  OF   THE   NEW    MUSIC    HALLj  BOSTON. 


38G 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWINCx    ROOM    COMPANION. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by  F.  Gleason,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the 
District  Court  of  Massacliusetts. 


[WEITTBN   BXPKESSLT   TOK  GLEASOn'S  PIOTOHIAL.] 


lAllLili 


THE  SIGN   OF   THE  MYSTIC  TIE. 

A  Tale  of  the  C<amp  and  Court  of  Bonaparte. 

[CONCHTDED.  ] 


CHAPTER  XIS— [CONTINUED.] 
Making  him  a  hurried  sign  to  be  quiet,  Os- 
mnnli  said,  "Aha,  count!  I  was  just  looking 
for  you,  but  these  good  citizens  have  hunted  you 
out."  Then  ordering  a  trooper  to  dismount,  he 
had  the  prisoner  placed  on  his  horse,  with  strict 
insti-uctions  to  kill  him  if  he  attempted  to  escape. 
This  pleased  the  crowd  much,  and  as  the  troop- 
ers trotted  off"  to  their  barracks,  they  were  salu- 
ted with  loud  cries  of  "Long  live  Bonaparte  !" 
"  Long  live  the  consid's  guard  !" 

The  instant  the  squadron  was  within  the  bar- 
rack-walls, Osraanli  ordered  the  prisoner  to  be 
conducted  to  his  own  room,  where  he  soon  joined 
him. 

"Pardon  me,  count,"  he  saidj  as  he  entered, 
*'  for  the  unceremonious  manner  in  which  I  have 
treated  you.     But — " 

"But  you  have  saved  my  life,  my  generous 
friend.  God  reward  you.  I  can  even  now  feel 
their  ferocious  blows,  and  imagine  myself  upon 
the  verge  of  the  grave.  Let  me  but  once  get  out 
of  France,  and  her  people  may  elect  their  own 
politics.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  play  the  con- 
spirator again.  But  will  I  not  involve  you,  my 
generous  friend"?" 

"Nay,  nay!"  replied  Osmanli.  "And  if  you 
did,  I  am  repaying  a  debt.  I  shall  see  the  tirst 
consul  this  very  evening,  and  think  I  can  obtain 
your  pardon.  Meanwhile  my  servant  will  aid 
you  in  changing  your  apparel.     Adieu." 

Late  that  night  a  post-carriage  started  from 
the  barracks  of  the  guard,  carrying  the  Count  de 
Vergennes,  with  a  passport  as  bearer  of  de- 
spatches to  the  Prussian  government.  Osmanli, 
iinding  General  Bonaparte  in  excellent  spirits  at 
the  dinner-table,  and  above  all  delighted  with  his 
new  regiment  of  guards,  narrated  their  first  ex- 
ploit. Bonaparte  was  delighted.  "  Let  me  but 
rule  Prance  a  few  years,  though,"  said  he,  "  and 
this  mob  will  behave  differently.  But  your  friend 
is  free,  and  I  "will  send  him  across  the  frontiers. 
Tell  him  that  I  respect  men,  although  I  oppose 
some  principles." 

Osmanli  left  soon  after  dinner,  to  prepare  for 
his  friend's  departure  ;  but  Judith  expressed  so 
much  interest  in  the  matter,  that  he  did  not  re- 
gret having  relinquished  a  cherished  project.  In 
his  dreams,  however,  he  knelt  at  lier  feet,  and 
told  his  love.  Nor,  when  the  reveille  awoke 
him,  was  he  certain  for  a  few  moments  whether 
he  was  an  accepted  suitor  or  not. 

"  Well,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  de_ 
scended  the  barrack  staircase,  "  a  few  days  more 
will  decide  my  fate," 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A    BRIGHT    AND    JOYOUS    CONSUMMATION. 

Ten  days  after  the  display  chronicled  in  tlie 
preceding  chapter,  General  Bonaparte  took  pos- 
session of  the  Tuileries  palace,  where  tlie  old 
Bourbon  kings  had  lived  for  centuries.  The 
procession  was  not  a  brilliant  one,  except  in 
military  pomp,  but  the  Parisians  tilled  the  streets 
through  which  it  passed.  No  sooner  did  Bona- 
parte enter  his  carriage,  than  the  air  seemed  to  be 
rent  with  a  thunderburst  of  joyful  cheering,  that 
came  reverberating  back  upon  the  utterers,  and 
appeared,  as  the  cortege  proceeded,  to  increase 
in  fervor  and  in  strength.  Arrived  at  the  pal- 
ace, Bonaparte  left  his  carriage,  vaulted  on 
horseback,  and  reviewed  the  troops  ;  after  which 
the  whole  force  defiled  before  him,  as  he  sat  on 
his   charger,   before  the  massive  portals  of  the 


noble  edifice.  Around  him  were  his  generals 
and  staif  officers,  "  every  one  of  whom  had  been 
in  more  battles  than  he  numbered  years;"  nor  was 
there  a  more  gallant  cavalier  on  the  ground  than 
Osmanli,  whose  squadron,  as  it  passed  in  review, 
elicited  loud  encomiums.  Last  in  the  brilliant 
columns  came  three  brigades  which  had  served 
in  Italy  and  in  Egypt,  and  whose  colors  were 
mere  shreds  of  tattered  silk,  rent  by  bullets,  and 
blackened  in  the  smoke.  As  they  were  carried 
past  Bonaparte,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  saluted 
them  with  a  profound  reverence.  Shouts  re- 
sounded through  the  air,  and,  ere  they  had  ended, 
the  dauntless  general  threw  himself  from  his 
horse,  entered  the  palace,  and  installed  himself 
in  the  home  of  the  monarchs  of  Pianee. 

A  magnificent  dinner  followed,  but  Osmanli, 
who  was  among  the  guests,  longed  for  the  close 
of  its  details.  At  length  every  course  was  dis- 
posed of,  and  then  the  entire  party  repaired  to 
the  saloon.  Here,  for  the  first  time  since  the 
death  of  her  father,  Osmanli  found  himself  alone 
with  Judith;  but  neither  of  them  could  converse 
on  the  ordinary  topics.  Their  hearts  were  too 
full,  and  it  was  not  until  they  had  strolled  out 
upon  a  balcony  overlooking  the  gardens,  that 
the  young  soldier  found  words. 
"  Judith,"  said  he,  "  can  you  listen  to  me ';" 
And  as  he  gazed  earnestly  on  her  classical  fea- 
tures, pure  as  the  moonbeams  which  shone  on 
them,  she  seemed  more  bewitching  than  ever. 
She  did  not  speak,  for  conflicting  emotions  stir- 
red her  heart,  but  a  deep  sob  convulsed  her  form, 
and  her  eyes  glistened  with  emotion.  To  Os- 
manli, these  tears  fell  like  the  dew  of  heaven, 
and,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  poetic  inspiration, 
he  unburdened  his  soul. 

"  The  bright  blush  of  shame  mantles  my 
check,"  he  exclaimed,  "as  I  think  how  I  was 
beguiled  from  your  influence ;  but  never,  upon 
my  honor,  never  have  I  ceased  to  love  you. 
Wlien  grief  has  oppressed  jne,  or  when  joy's 
bright  smile  has  illuminated  my  existence — when 
my  fondest  hopes  have  been  crushed,  or  when. 
bright  dreams  have  inspired  my  heart — your 
image  has  been  my  idol,  and  every  pure  thought 
has  been  mingled  with  your  name.  Forgive 
me  !  Gladden  my  heart  by  some  encouragement 
that  I  may,  when  I  have  proven  my  worthiness, 
call  yoa  mine  own.  Let  our  lives  mingle  their 
currents,  and  let  me,  as  your  protector,  replace 
yottr  father's  loss." 

There  was  no  reply,  for  the  agitated  girl  could 
not  speak.  But  Osmanli  took  courage  from  the 
'eloquent  encouragement  of  her  eyes,  those  tele- 
graphs of  love,  whose  bright  glances  convey 
liopc  quicker  than  speech,  even  as  the  lightning 
far  outstrips  the  thunder's  voice.  At  last  she 
smiled  through  lier  tears,  and  whispered  : 

"  Let  what  has  past  be  forgotten.  And  if  I 
am  worthy  of  your  devotion,  such  love  must 
make  me  happy." 

They  loved.  But  words  cannot  describe  their 
interchange  of  sentiment,  as  forhours  they  paced 
up  and  down  that  old  terrace.  The  moon  shone 
brightly,  and  the  stars  beamed  like  diamonds 
from  heaven,  to  hallow  every  thouglit.  Within 
was  dancing  and  gaiety — while  the  city  before 
them  was  busy,  and  noisy,  and  bustling— but 
neither  were  thought  of  by  the  now  happy  cou- 
ple. Often,  since  that  time,  has  the  same  terrace 
witnessed  the  interchange  of  vows,  but  among 
the  many  who  have  poured  forth  the  hoarded 
treasures  of  their  hearts,  none  have  loved  more 
I   devotedly   than   the  Mameluke.     Nor  could  he 


hear  Judith  own  her  preference  for  him,  without 
feeling  bin  heart's  chords  vibrate  before  her  voice 
like  those  of  an  Eolian  harp  touched  by  the  south 
wind. 

They  were  happy.  Heart  responded  to  heart, 
and  their  every  thought,  acquiring  ethereal  in- 
spiration, mingled.  And  what  can  be  holier,  on 
earth,  than  the  first  interchange  of  vows,  in  soli- 
tude, and  by  the  gentle  lights  of  night.  If  ever 
a  ray  from  the  better  world  gilds  the  gloom 
which  surrounds  earth's  fairest  creations — if  ever 
the  light  of  hope  mantles  the  cheek  of  dcs^pond- 
ency — if  ever  an  angel  folds  his  nestling  pinions 
to  contemplate  a  scene  of  earthly  happiness,  it  is 
when  the  solemn  hour  of  night  is  awakened  by 
the  pure  and  ardent  vows  of  two  loving  spirits. 
Past  existence  seems  worthless,  but  the  new  love 
blooms  as  a  heaven-budded  plant,  planted  deep 
in  the  existence  of  each,  and  moistened  by  the 
fountains  of  life. 
"My  children !" 

The  promenaders  stopped,  for  they  recognized 
the  voice  of  Madame  Wilraot.  "  My  children," 
she  said,  "for  so  I  now  feel  that  I  may  call  you, 
inclination  would  have  led  me  here  anhoursincc, 
to  assure  you  how  I  rejoice  in  the  betrothal  of 
two  so  well  qualified  to  make  each  other  happy. 
But  I  could  not  bear  to  interrupt  you.  Now, 
Madame  Bonaparte  is  inquiring  for  you,  Judith, 
and  I  can  only  say  that  I  shall  ever  ask  Heaven's 
blessing  upon  your  union." 

As  they  entered  the  saloon,  they  met  General 
Bonaparte,  with  Josephine  hanging  on  his  arm. 
"Well,  well!"  he  jocosely  remarked,  "while 
we  have  been  receiving  our  guests,  the  major  of 
my  guards  has  been  captivating  my  nightingale. 
So  goes  the  World.  But  mind,  major,  you  must 
not  be  tempted  from  the  service  again.  France 
has  need  of  such  as  you  just  now,  and  those  who 
serve  her  will  not  be  forgotten." 

"Nay,  general,"  replied  Osmanli,  "  my  heart 
is  pledged  to  Judith,  but  my  sword  is  at  your 
disposal." 

"Well  spoken.  What  say,  Josephine,  shall 
we  not  witness  the  marriage  ceremony  before  the 
major  is  ordered  on  his  first  campaign !" 

"  That,"  said  Josephine,  "  will  be  as  Judith 
says." 

Judith  hung  her  head  and  blushed. 
"  I  will  set  the  day  a  fortnight  hence,  then, 
and  we  will  have  the  marriage  ceremony  per- 
formed by  the  archbishop.  Now,  major,  it  is 
time  for  you  to  be  in  barracks,  and  Judith  shall 
go  with  me  to  my  study  and  sing  me  one  of  the 
airs  with  which  she  used  to  cheer  my  Egyptian 
campaign." 

"  I  obey,  general,  and  wish  all  good  evening." 
"  Bravo,  bravo  !  You  are  a  model  soldier, 
and  will  make  a  model  husband,  I  doubt  not. 
Meanwhile,  you  can  pass  all  your  evenings  here 
at  the  palace,  if  you  will  but  return  at  a  season- 
able hour,  in  order  to  be  up  at  reveille." 

When  Osmanli  awoke  the  next  morning,  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  persuade  him- 
self that  the  events  of  the  past  evening  were  not 
a  dream,  But  when,  after  morning  parade,  he 
called  at  the  palace,  he  found  that  he  was  indeed 
a  happy  man. 

To  add  to  his  pleasure,  he  received  a  long 
letter  that  day  from  the  Count  de  Vergennes, 
informing  him  that  he  had  safely  arrived  in 
Prussia,  and  should,  for  the  present,  remain  a 
quiet  spectator  of  political  events.  His  gratitude 
for  the  service  0;manlihad  rendered  him,  was 
unbounded,  and  he  expressed  strong  hopes  that 
at  some  time  he  would  repay  the  debt.  Accom- 
panying the  letter  was  a  small  parcel,  contain- 
ing a  valuable  diamond. 

To  display  the  many  other  gifts  which  Osmanli 
and  Judith  received,  would  require  more  room 
than  these  pages  can  afford.  Never  did  a  young 
couple  enter  upon  life  witli  fairer  auspices,  and 
yet,  at  times,  Judith's  fair  brow  was  overcast 
with  sadness. 

One  morning  Osmanli  called,  in  full  uniform, 
for  he  had  been  with  his  squadron  to  escort  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte  on  an  excursion  to  a  new  bar- 
rack. Judith  sprang  to  greet  him,  but  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  her  fine  lip  quivered.  She 
did  not  speak,  but  held  out  her  hand,  and  grasped 
his  warmly. 

"  Why  is  this  V  asked  Osmanli.  "  In  tears ! 
Surely,  dearest,  nothing  can  have  gone  wrong"?" 
"  No,  no !"  replied  Judith,  mastering  her 
emotion.  "Listen!  I  was  just  regretting,  be- 
fore you  entered,  that  you  had  embraced  the 
profession  of  arms — a  profession  that  is  glorious 
and  renowned,  but  alas,  full  of  peril.  Ycu  are 
to-day  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  life  and  health, 
but  let  duty  summon  you  to  the  tented  field,  and 
to-morrow  yoti  may  be  a  corpse.     Oppressed  by 


these  thoughts,  I  felt  fad,  and  your  unexpected 
entry,  in  the  trappings  of  war,  caused  an  over- 
flow of  my  laden  heart." 

"  Dearest  Judiih,  it  was  but  last  evening  that 
I  lield  a  long  conversation  with  my  dear  mother 
on  this  very  subject.  Hoiior  keeps  me  for  the 
present  in  the  service,  but  perhaps,  ere  very  long, 
I  shall  cross  the  ocean  with  my  mother,  to  sco 
my  father's  home.  Will  it  please  my  nightin- 
gale to  abide  there,  in  the  deep  forests,  where 
nature  reigns'?" 

"Anywhere,  Osmanli  if  you  arc  there.  But, 
if  you  love  me,  do  not  make  my  future  existence 
unhappy  by  remaining  in  the  army." 

"  Treason — rank  treason  !"  exclaimed  a  well- 
known  voice.  Both  started,  and  each  looked 
confused,  for  it  was  General  Bonaparte  who  had 
spoken.  He  had  entered  just  after  Osmanli, 
but  so  absorbed  were  the  young  couple  in  each 
other,  that  they  had  not  noticed  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "here  I  find  a  lady  en- 
deavoring to  persuade  the  major  of  my  guards 
to  desert,  and  that  just  as  his  command  is 
organized." 

"  No,  general !"  said  Osmanli,  in  a  respectful 
tone.  "  Not  to  desert.  Judith  knows  too  well 
how  deeply  I  am  indebted  to  you,  and  how  de- 
termined I  am  to  show  my  gratitude.  When 
the  enemies  of  France  are  conquered,  and  yoa 
are  king — " 

"  Say  emperor,"  interrupted  Bonaparte,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Well,  emperor.  Then,  and  not  until  then, 
will  I  resign  my  sword." 

"  Then,   and   not  until   then,  my  gallant  yet 
love  lorn  youth,  will  I  accept  your  resignation. 
When  is  the  wedding  to  take  place  V 
"  Next  week,  general." 

"  Well,  well.  We  must  see  that  the  ceremony 
is  worthy  of  the  occasion;  nor  will  I  longer  in- 
terrupt the  billing  and  cooing.  But,"  and  he 
I'aised  his  finger  menacingly,  "no  more  talk 
about  leaving  the  service.'"' 

Why  linger  upon  the  description  of  these  pre- 
cious interview,  when  we  can  at  once  portray 
the  accomplishment  of  each  fond  hope.  The 
marriage  ceremony  was  celebrated  in  the  mag- 
nificent gothic  pile  of  Notre  Dame,  a  chapel  of 
which  was  expressly  decorated  for  the  occasion. 
General  Bonaparte's  uncle  Lucien,  who  was  a 
dignitary  in  the  Roman  church,  performed  the 
cei'emony,  and  numerous  was  the  attendance  of 
fair  women  and  brave  men.  Each  of  the  happy 
couple  was  first  baptized,  and  then  joined  by 
those  sacred  ties  which  death  alone  can  sever. 
The  bridegroom,  in  the  prime  of  life,  seemed  the 
personification  of  happiness,  and  the  bride  could 
but  realize  the  most  refined  conception  of  female 
loveliness  that  ever  flashed  through  a  sculptor's 
dreams. 

"  Amen  and  amen !  Peace  on  earth  and  good 
will  to  man,"  rang  through  the  vaulted  aisles  of 
the  gothic  fane.  Osmanli  Wilmot  and  Judith 
Fezenzac  were  thenceforth  one,  and  as  the  happy- 
bridegroom  gazed  at  his  bride,  he  saw  her  star- 
light eyes  fliooded  with  the  same  sweet  tears  of 
joy  that  coursed  down  his  own  manly  cheek. 
The  wilderness  of  doubts,  and  fears,  and  trials, 
was  traversed,  while  happy  thoughts,  and  joyous 
raptures,  scattered  rose-leaves  upon  the  pleasant 
pathway  on  which  they  now  walked  hand-in- 
hand. 

After  the  ceremony  at  the  church,  there  was  a 
brilliant  entertainment  at  the  palace,  in  honor  of 
the  event.  For  the  first  time  since  the  unfortu- 
nate Queen  Marie  Antoinette  had  left  them,  to 
ascend  the  fatal  scaffold,  the  saloons  of  tlie  Tuil- 
eries, refulgent  with  the  light  of  myri-ids  of  wax 
candles,  were  filled  with  a  gay  throng.  But  the 
glare  of  illumination,  nor  the  splendor  of  dresses, 
nor  the  scintillations  of  jewelry,  nor  the  romantic 
beauty  of  the  young,  nor  the  mature  animation 
of  the  matrons,  was  not  equal  to  the  serene  de- 
light whicli  beamed  fi'ora  the  happy  couple's  eyes. 
Refreshments  were  most  profusely  circulated 
throughout  the  evening,  and  at  midnight  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte  and  Josephine,  followed  by  the 
bride  and  bridegroom,  led  the  way  to  a  magnifi- 
cent supper- tabic,  covered  with  game,  fruit  and 
choice  wines.  A  band  of  music  poured  forth 
lively  strains,  and  joy  reigned  on  every  hand 
Soon  the  music  ceased,  and  the  host  gave  a 
toast.     It  was  : 

"  The  health  of  Colonel  Wilmot,  of  the  con- 
sular guard — of  his  bride,  a  lady  of  honor  in  this 
palace,  and  of  his  excellent  mother,  superintend- 
ent of  the  consular  domestic  expenditures." 

And  turning  towards  Osmanli,  he  handed  him 
the  three  parchments,  commissions  which  half  of 
those  present  would  have  sacrificed  their  all  to 
have  obtained. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOPJAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


3  37 


There  was  an  instant  of  silence.  Osmanli  es- 
sayed to  reply,  but  could  not  express  his  grati- 
tude. Springing  forward,  lie  sank  upon  one 
knee,  and  grasping  Bonaparte's  hand  with  reve- 
rential deference,  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  The 
effect  was  electrical,  for  it  was  the  homage  only 
paid  to  sovereigns,  and  amid  loud  shouts  of 
"  Long  live  Bonaparte  !"  Osmanli  rose,  saluted 
the  company,  and  left  the  festive  scene. 

A  few  fleeting  days  of  happiness,  and  Osmanli 
was  ordered  to  march,  at  the  head  of  his  regi- 
ment, towards  Italy.  It  was  hard  1o  part  with 
Judith,  but  in  relinquishing  the  pleasures  of  con- 
nubial love,  he  entered  the  Held  of  glory,  where 
he  could  serve  his  idolized  benefactor.  Besides, 
his  mother  watched  over  his  bride,  and  they  both 
enjoyed  the  protection  of  Madame  Bonaparte. 

Crossing  France,  the  army  marched  directly 
towards  the  towering  Alps,  whose  summits, 
crowned  with  snow,  are  enthroned  in  clouds. 
There  was  no  road,  and  the  narrow  path  was 
one  along  which  the  chamois-hunter  picked  his 
way  with  caution.  On  the  one  side,  death  await- 
ed a  single  false  step,  on  the  other,  towered 
overhanging  avalanches  ;  but,  animated  by  the 
presence  of  Bonaparte,  tlie  columns  passed  over 
without  accident.  And  as  the  army  descended 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  entering  a 
beautiful  valley,  fall  of  verdure  and  luxuriant 
vines,  all  admitted  that  the  honor  of  the  passage, 
next  to  Bonaparte,  belonged  to  the  colonel  of 
his  guard,  who  had  led  the  way. 

Such  was  the  honorable  mention  of  Osmanli, 
in  the  bulletin  sent  by  the  general  to  Paris.  It 
gladdened  the  hearts  of  his  mother  and  his  bride, 
yet  they  wept  when  they  thought  of  the  dangers 
which  he  had  undergone. 


CHAPTER  XSI. 

FAREWELL    TO    FRANCE. 

MoNTEBELLO  and  Marengo !  They  were  hard 
fought  fields,  on  each  of  which  "  bones  crashed 
like  hailstones  against  windows,"  as  the  French, 
charging  with  vigor  into  the  Austrian  columns, 
won  brilliant  and  decisive  victories.  Foremost 
in  each  fight,  at  the  head  of  his  serried  ranks, 
was  Osmanli,  who  had  that  quickness  of  percep- 
tion so  necessary  to  an  ofiii;er,  yet  never  sufi'ered 
his  intrepidity  to  lead  him  beyond  his  duty.  At 
Marengo  he  won  high  honor,  for  when  sent  un- 
der General  Desaix  to  turn  the  tide  of  the  fight, 
before  which  some  French  regiments  had  faltered, 
the  brave  general  received  a  musket-ball  in  his 
forehead,  and  fell  dead.  For  a  moment,  the 
cavalry  tightened  their  reins,  but  just  then,  in  a 
tone  which  rang  far  above  the  din  of  battle,  Os- 
manli shouted : 

•'Forward!  Charge  for  Bonaparte  and  ven- 
geance !" 

*'  Bonaparte  and  vengeance !"  echoed  the 
guards,  the  cry  stimulating  them  witli  fresh 
courage.  On  they  dashed,  their  long  sabres 
gleaming  above  the  sulphurous  clouds  which 
rolled  over  the  plain,  and  soon  they  rode  through 
the  opposing  forces,  cutting  and  trampling  down 
the  Austrians  as  if  they  were  destroying  a  field 
of  wheat.  That  charge  gained  the  day,  but  the 
loss  of  Desaix  clouded  Bonaparte's  enjoyment, 
and  that  night,  when  Osmanli  came  to  make  his 
report,  the  general  said  : 

"  Your  bravery,  Colonel  Wilmot,  won  the 
victory,  and  your  young  wife's  heart  will  leap 
for  joy  when  she  hears  your  praises  on  every 
tongue.  Yet  how  different  would  she  have  felt 
had  your  fate  been  that  of  poor  Desaix.  Per- 
haps she  would  have  reproached  me,  too.  No — 
this  must  not  be.  Listen,  colonel,  I  once  told 
you  that  you  owed  me — owed  France,  a  debt. 
You  have  paid  it.  This  campaign  is  over,  and 
now,  honorably  discharged,  you  can  live  in  com- 
fortable retirement." 

"  General,"  replied  Osmanli,  "  I  have  but  per- 
formed my  duty,  and  never  will  I  forsake  you, 
whilst  you  need  a  sword  or  a  horseman.     Yet — " 

"  Yet,"  interrupted  Bonaparte,  "  you  love 
your  wife,  and  she  is  opposed  to  warfare.  Would 
that  all  mankind  were.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
but  as  the  mouth-piece,  through  which,  as 
through  a  tninipet,  speaks  the  warlike  genius  of 
the  French  people.  I  find  the  nation  turbulent 
and  dissatisfied,  and  I  unite  them  to  combat 
others.  Warfare  is  one  of  the  passions  of  man- 
kind, and  I  must  adopt  it  as  the  foundation  of 
my  power.  But  never  can  I  bring  sorrow  into 
so  gentle  a  heart  as  that  of  your  bride.  No,  no  ! 
They  may  call  me  a  military  tyrant,  but  my 
heart  is  not  callous  to  the  finer  feelings  of  hu- 
manity." 

"  Kind,  generous  man  !"  exclaimed  Osmanli. 
"But  I  cannot  desert  you  now.     When  you  as- 


cend the  imperial  throne,  I  can  perhaps  retire, 
to  contemplate  your  glories  from  another  hemi- 
sphere." 

"  Well,  well.  We  shall  see.  Kow  for  the 
reports." 

A  narrative  of  this  con\er5atiou,  which  Os- 
manli sent  to  Paris  by  the  same  courier  who 
conveyed  intelligence  of  the  victory,  gladdened 
the  hearts  of  his  wife  and  mother.  All  the  proud 
mentions  of  the  joung  hero's  name  did  not,  in 
their  eyes,  eompeuaate  for  the  anguish  they  ex- 
perienced when  they  first  received  the  false  in- 
telligence that  he  had  fallen. 

Soon  the  army  returned  to  Paris,  and  was  re- 
ceived with  tumultuous  applause.  Thanksgiv- 
ings were  ofiered  up  in  the  churches,  shouts  of 
welcome  and  congratulation  resounded  on  every 
side,  and  the  streets  were  strewn  with  flowers  as 
the  conquerors  passed.  The  valor  of  the  con- 
sular guards  had  preceded  them,  and  Osmanli, 
distinguished  by  his  uniform,  received  cheer 
after  cheer.  But  the  triumphal  ovation  was,  to 
him,  long  and  tedious.  At  length  his  regiment 
reached  its  barracks,  and  he  hastened  to  the  pal- 
ace. There,  folded  to  the  heart  of  his  own  Ju- 
dith, he  felt  happier  than  had  he  been  in  Bona- 
parte's position,  or  worn  a  crown. 

"And  you  will  not  leave  rac  again?"  she 
asked,  with  an  irresistible  smile. 

"  Henceforth,  dearest,"  was  his  reply,  "I  am 
yours  alone.  The  general  has  promised  to  give 
me  a  diplomatic  mission,  and  having  then  hon- 
orably resigned  my  commission,  I  can  be  ever 
with  those  I  love." 

'■  But,  Osmanli,  will  you  not  cros?  the  ocean? 
Your  mother  has  quite  prepossessed  me  in  favor 
of  America,  where  your  father's  estate  now 
awaits  your  coming." 

"  But  can  you  forego  the  luxuries  of  city  life  V 

"  Yes,  yes !  With  you,  dearest,  I  can  be  happy 
anywhere.  And  there  you  will  be  away  from 
the  enticements  of  military  glory.  But  here 
comes  our  mother." 

The  meeting  between  Osmanli  and  Madame 
Wilmot  was  affectionate  and  cordial,  and  she 
soon  united  her  prayers  to  the  wish  of  Judith, 
that  they  could  cross  the  ocean. 

"  Wait  until  after  the  imperial  coronation," 
said  Osmanli,  with  a  smile,  as  they  descended  to 
the  drawing-room. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  Osmanli  was  sent 
on  a  mission  to  Madrid,  and  when  he  returned, 
he  found  that  during  his  absence  he  had  been 
honorably  discharged  from  the  service,  and  ap- 
pointed treasurer  of  tlie  consular  household.  To 
Madame  Wilmot  and  Judith,  this  was  a  happy 
change,  for  they  could  now  live  united,  and  en- 
joy the  social  pleasures  of  domestic  life.  Os- 
manli was  also  rejoiced  at  being  able  to  enjoy 
the  society  of  his  wife  and  mother,  although  oc- 
casionally, when  his  old  regiment  passed  hirn  in 
the  street,  his  heart  would  throb  with  martial 
pride,  and  a  sigh  would  escape  his  lips.  Curi- 
ously enough,  General  Bonaparte  now  seldom 
noticed  Iiim,  but  that  was  not  perhaps  to  be 
wondered  at,  so  arduously  did  the  first  consul 
labor  to  consolidate  the  government.  Republi- 
can forms  and  usages  vanished  like  an  autumnal 
frost  before  the  morning's  sun.  The  etiquette 
of  a  court  was  revived.  Chamberlains,  equerries, 
and  other  costly  attendants  on  royalty  were  in- 
stalled at  the  palace,  nor  was  there  any  limit 
there  to  ostentatious  display  or  lavish  extrava- 
gance. All  the  shattered  fragments  of  society 
were  bound  up  in  the  chains  of  a  vast  military 
despotism,  the  Roman  church  rallied  around  the 
power  which  restored  its  fallen  altars,  and  the 
enraptured  Parisians  worshipped  their  new  idol. 
The  capital  resumed  its  ancient  splendor — talent, 
art,  and  genius,  no  longer  compelled  to  hide 
themselves  in  obscurity,  were  received  into  favor. 
Manufactures  flourished,  and  France  again  saw 
plenty  and  prosperity  reviving  in  her  midst, 
effacing  all  vestiges  of  the  long  night  of  sorrow 
which  had  passed. 

Madame  Bonaparte  did  much  to  ameliorate 
the  condition  of  society,  and  to  aid  those  who 
had  suffered  from  the  Revolution.  In  this  good 
work  she  employed  Madame  Wilmot  and  her 
son,  furnishing  them  with  unlimited  means  to 
succor  all  who  returned  from  exile  penniless. 

One  day,  Josephine  entered  Madame  Wil- 
mot's  room,  dressed  in  a  common  garb,  very 
different  from  her  usual  rich  and  tasteful  costume. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  appointing  an  in- 
terview in  your  room,  my  dear  madame,"  said 
she. 

"  An  interview  V 

"Don't  be  shocked  !  It  is  with  alady — a  for- 
tune-teller— the  celebrated  Madame  Le  Normand. 


We  shall  hear  if  she  endorses  the  statements  of 
our  old  West  Indian  friend." 

Soon  the  pythoness  was  announced,  a  good 
looking,  intelligent  dame,  of  whom  Josephine 
inquired : 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  I  am  to  remain  long  in 
my  present  condition  V 

Madame  Le  Normand  shuffled  her  mystical 
cards,  and  then  examined  them.  After  taking 
up  three  or  four,  she  stopped,  and  gazed  at 
Josephine. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  V  she  ejaculated. 

"  Everything  is  possible  to  those  who  will," 
was  the  reply. 

"  Such,  lady,  is  the  motto  of  your  chivalric 
husband,  whose  future  elevation  you  now  labor 
to  attain.     Success  will  follow — " 

"And  I  will  really  become  a  queen?"  inter- 
rupted Josephine. 

'•  Alas,  it  is  so  written  on  the  oracle.  Tou 
will  ascend  a  throne.  The  strength  and  power 
of  your  attending  genius  promise  you  a  wonder- 
ful, an  inconceivable  destiny — but  your  husband 
will  one  day  forget  his  solemn  vows.  Unhappily, 
the  greater  he  shall  become,  the  more  he  will 
stoop  to  artifice,  in  order  to  attain  his  own  ends." 

"Nay,  nay,"  responded  Josephine.  "It  can- 
not be  that  Napoleon  will  ever  desert  me.  His 
fate  is  too  closely  linked  with  mine.  To  ige, 
and  not  to  him,  did  destiny  promise  a  crown, 
and  through  me  has  he  risen — through  me  he 
will  rise.     Let  him  repulse  me,  and  he  will  fall." 

Months  passed,  and  one  day  Osmanli  came 
into  his  wife's  room,  where  he  found  his  mother. 

"  Good  news !"  he  exclaimed,  tenderly  em- 
bracing Judith. 

"  What  ?"  asked  both  ladies. 

"  Why  the  day  of  the  coronation  is  definitely 
fixed.  Monsieur  Le  Brun,  now  second  consul, 
is  named  treasurer  of  the  imperial  exchequer, 
and  I  have  General  Bonaparte's  permission  to 
retire.  Now,  dear  mother,  I  can  tread  the  soil 
of  my  ancestors,  and  with  you  and  Judith,  far 
removed  from  these  gay  and  frivolous  scenes,  we 
can  lead  that  life  of  quiet  enjoyment  for  which 
we  have  so  long  prayed." 

That  was  a  happy  evening  for  the  Wilmots ; 
nor  did  Bonaparte  display  a  more  childish  im- 
patience to  grasp  his  imperial  insignia,  than  did 
they  to  depart  for  the  retirement  of  their  forest 
home. 

At  length  the  eventful  day  was  ushered  in  by 
tlie  roar  of  artillery,  and  soon  there  was  such  a 
display  in  the  streets  as  the  gay  capital  of  France 
had  never  witnessed  before.  The  high  military 
and  civil  dignitaries  of  tlie  empii'e,  with  the  for- 
eign ambassadors,  and  troops,  formed  a  pageant 
unrivalled  for  magnificence.  The  interior  of  the 
cathedral  had  been  sumptuously  decorated,  and 
its  vast  galleries  were  thronged  with  titled  spec- 
tators, in  full  dress,  and  resplendent  with  gold 
and  jewels.  The  pope  consecrated  the  imperial 
diadem,  after  which  he  presented  it  to  Bonaparte, 
who  placed  it  on  his  own  head,  then  removed  it 
to  the  head  of  Josephine,  and  then  again  laid  it 
upon  the  aliar.  An  anthem  of  praise  was  chant- 
ed, and  then  the  heralds  proclaimed  that  the 
thrice  glorious  and  august  Napoleon  had  been 
crowned  "Emperor  of  the  French."  The  accla- 
mations of  the  assembled  multitude  pealed  as 
from  the  ocean,  while  the  thousands  without 
taking  up  the  shout,  all  Paris  echoed  with  "Long 
live  Napoleon  \" 

Joy  and  pleasure,  that  day,  had  dominion  in 
France. 

The  farewell  audience  was  brief.  Napoleon 
cordially  thanked  Osmanli  for  his  faithful  ser- 
vice, and  entreated  him  to  return  if  he  became 
dissatisfied  with  America.  Josephine  had  or- 
dered costly  gifts  for  Madame  Wilmot  and  Jii- 
didi.  "Perhaps,"  she  laughingly  remarked,  as 
they  left,  "  you  may  some  day  receive  a  visit 
from  me.  I  am  the  child  of  destiny,  and  there 
is  no  saying  wliere  the  ocean  of  time  may  yet 
cast  me." 

Leaving  Paris,  the  emigrants  repaired  to  Ha- 
vre, where,  to  their  delight,  they  found  their  old 
friend,  Jack  Norman,  in  command  of  a  vessel 
about  to  sail  for  Savannah.  They  at  once  en- 
gaged his  cabin,  and  the  vessel  was  nearly 
freighted  with  Osmanli's  purchases.  Books, 
furniture,  agricultural  implements,  with  many 
other  things  calculated  to  promote  comfort,  had 
been  carefully  selected,  and  a  few  trusty  domes- 
tics were  also  taken.  The  Indians  yet  inhabited 
the  region  where  Osmanli  proposed  to  settle — it 
was  his  father's  home — and  civilization  had  made 
little  progress  into  the  forest.  So  they  went 
prepared  to  transplant  their  home  comforts,  and 
to  improve  the  social  condition  of  their  wild 
neighbors. 


The  voyage  was  short,  but  tempestuous,  and 
the  staunch  old  vessel  had  to  struggle  hard  to 
surmount  the  mountain  waves.  But  they  were 
bound  to  thtir  home,  the  land  of  freedom,  and 
did  not  complain.  At  last,  they  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  Savannah  river,  with  its  sentinel 
light,  and  at  the  next  tide,  landed  under  the 
bluffof  the  city  of  Oglethorpe.  The  necessary 
preparations  were  soon  made  for  forwarding  the 
luggage,  and,  bidding  a  hasty  adieu  to  Jack 
Norman,  the  party  started  for  their  forest-home. 

*  '!?  *  *  *  * 

Years  passed  on !  Europe  was  convulsed, 
and  many  of  her  fields  were  fertilized  by  the 
blood  of  hostile  armies,  but  at  the  residence  of 
the  Wilmots  all  was  repose,  and  happiness,  and 
calm  tranquillity.  The  mild  and  benevolent  fea- 
tures of  the  old  lady  beamed  with  satisfaction, 
and  her  enjoyment  was  heightened  by  the  clan- 
nish respect  paid  to  her  son  by  the  surviving 
Indians  who  had  followed  her  husband  iu  war 
and  in  peace.  Judith,  a  buxom  matron,  sang 
to  her  infant  prattler  the  songj  with  which  she 
had  once  charmed  the  imperial  warriors,  and 
although  time's  unsparing  hand  had  chastened 
the  brilliancy  of  her  beauty,  it  had  brought  out 
the  deeper,  purtr,  holier  tints  of  her  mind  and  of 
her  countenance  in  stronger  relief.  As  for  Os- 
manli, a  sphere  of  active  usefulness  had  opened 
to  him  in  the  high  duties  of  an  American  citi- 
zen, and  instead  of  dreaming  away  existence,  he 
filled  many  important  offices  with  credit  to  him- 
self and  profit  to  his  adopted  country.  Nor  did 
he  ever  forget  the  deep  debt  of  gratitude  which 
he  owed  to  the  "  mystic  tie,"  for  he  owed  every- 
thing— his  life,  his  religion,  his  mother,  his  wife, 
his  home,  to  the  use  of  its  "secret  sign." 

THE    END. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE   CHILD'S   PRAYER. 

BY   JENNI   ilASBU. 

She  had  hid  the  rose  mid  her  golden  curia, 

And  bound  the  violet  there  j 
And  a  gleam  of  joy  lit  the  crimson  check, 

That  knew  no  shade  of  care. 
For  the  skies  ^Yere  blue,  and  the  flowers  bright, 

The  birdling's  song  was  love  ; 
And  a  charm  was  thrown  around  her  gentle  heart, 

Like  beamings  from  above. 

She  thought  of  the  home  in  the  better  land, 

Where  all  is  ^vreathed  in  light ; 
"My  Father,"'  said  she,  '-bless  the  flowers  here, 

And  keep  them  ever  bright. 
I>et  the  sunsiiine  fall  on  their  pretty  heads, 

And  bid  the  rosebuds  bloom  ; 
Nor  to  the  wild  storm  and  the  tempest's  WTatli, 

These  gentle  blossoms  doom." 

And  the  Father  smiled  on  the  little  one, 

For  He  loved  the  rosebuds,  too  ; 
And  He  knew  what  years,  with  their  bitter  strife, 

On  that  spotless  heart  would  do. 
He  feared  that  storms  of  life's  foaming  tide 

Would  robe  that  flower  in  night ; 
So  He  bore  it  hence,  where  the  angels  dwell, 

To  keep  it  forever  bright  1 

FAMILY  ON  THE  PRAIRIE. 

"We  passed  to-day  through  a  large  village  or 
settlement  of  the  prairie-dog,  extending  in  length 
not  less  than  half  a  mile,  i'hese  little  animals 
are  very  shy,  and  at  the  least  approach  of  a 
stranger  hie  themselves  with  all  speed  to  their 
holes,  in  which  they  partly  bury  their  bodies, 
leaving  only  their  heads  visible  just  above  the 
surface  of  the  ground,  where,  so  long  as  the 
alarm  lasts,  they  keep  up  a  continual  barking. 
The  note  somewhat  resembles  the  bark  of  a 
small  puppy,  but  is  nevertheless  so  peculiar  as 
to  \ii  instantly  recognized  afterwards  by  any  one 
who  has  distinctly  heard  it  once.  They  are  very 
hard  to  get,  as  they  are  never  found  far  from 
their  holes  ;  and  when  shot  fall  immediately  into 
them,  where  they  are  generally  guarded  by  a 
rattlesnake — the  usual  sharer  of  their  subter- 
ranean retreat.  Several  were  shot  by  us  in  this 
situation,  but  when  the  hand  was  about  to  be 
thrust  into  the  hole  to  draw  them  out,  the  omi- 
nous rattle  of  this  dreaded  reptile  would  be  in- 
stantly heard,  warning  the  intruder  of  the  danger 
he  was  about  to  incur.  A  little  white,  burrow- 
ing owl  also  is  frequently  found  taking  up  his 
abode  in  the  same  domicile,  and  this  strange 
association  of  reptile,  bird  and  beast,  seem  to 
live  in  perfect  harmony  and  peace.  I  have  never 
personally  seen  the  owl  thus  housed,  but  have 
been  assured  of  the  fact  from  so  many,  so  vari- 
ous, and  so  crtdible  sources,  that  I  cannot  doubt 
it.  The  whirr  of  the  rattlesnake  I  have  heard 
frequently  when  ihe  attempt  was  made  to  invade 
these  holes,  and  our  men  at  length  became  afraid 
to  approach  them  for  this  purpose." — Buffalo 
Rough  Notes. 


Don't  dispute  against  facts  well  established, 
merely  because  ihere  is  somewhat  unaccountable 
in  them.  That  the  world  should  be  created  of 
nothing  is  to  us  inconceivable ;  but  not  therefore 
to  be  doubted. 


GLEASON'S    I'lCrrOEIAL   DllAAVING    R00:M    COMPANION 


HIS    ROYAL    HIGHNESS,    PEINCE    ALBERT. 


[For  descri]  tlon,  see  pagu  397.] 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING- llOOM    COMPANION. 


389 


HER    MAJESTV,    QUEEN    VICTORIA    OF    ENGLAND. 


iFt  d»i8r,iiptioa,se«  piige  397.] 


390 


GLEASON'S   PTCTOIITAL   DRAWING   HOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  GIohkoii'h  Phrtorial.] 
I  I\11SS  THEE,  LOVE. 


BY   n.  ORTFFIN   BTAPLEB. 

I  miss  thco  in  tho  morning,  lovo, 
Afl  in  tho  ca.st  I  8Co 
Tlio  Hun  arisu, 
Anil  mount  tho  pkliss, 
Above  both  Bpiro  and  tree. 

I  miss  thio  at  llio  noontide  hour; 
No  mild,  blUR,  luughing  cya 

BBiimB  liencG  on  me, 

With  mirth  iind  gloe, 
Since  thou  art  never  nigh ; 

And  as  the  duHky  ahudowa  fall, 
J  uiias  thy  plaintive  voice. 

Which  thrilled  uiy  soul 

Beyond  control, 
And  mado  my  heart  rejoice. 

I  misB  thco  at  still  evening,  lovo. 
As  stars  play  o'er  yon  blue  ; 

And  earth  is  bright 

With  silver  light, 
Which  streams  the  darkness  through. 


^  [Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  HUiMBLED  PHAKISEE. 

BY   T.  S.    ARTHUR. 

"  What  was  that?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Andrews, 
to  the  lady  who  was  seated  next  to  her,  as  a  sin- 
gle strain  of  music  vibrated  for  a  few  moments 
on  the  atmosphere. 

"A  violin,  I  suppose,"  was  answered. 
"A  violin!"     An  expression  almost  of  horror 
L-ame  into   the  countenance  of  Mrs,  Andrews. 
"  It  can't  be  possible." 

It  was  possible,  however,  for  the  sound  came 
again,  prolonged  and  varied. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ■?"  asked  Mrs.  Andrews, 
looking  troubled,  and  moving  uneasily  in  her 
chair. 

"  Cotillons,  I  presume,"  was  answered,  care- 
lessly. 

"  Not  dancing,  surely  !" 

But,  even  as  Mrs.  Andrews  said  this,  a  man 
entered,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  violin.  There 
was  an  instant  movement  on  the  part  of  several 
younger  members  of  the  company ;  partners 
were  chosen,  and  ere  the  pious  Mrs.  Andrews 
had  lime  to  collect  her  suddenly  bewildered 
thoughts,  the  music  had  struck  up,  and  the 
dancers  were  in  motion. 

"  I  can't  remain  here.  It's  an  outrage !" 
said  Mrs.  Andrews,  making  a  motion  to  rise. 

The  lady  by  whom  she  was   silting  compre- 
hended now  more  clearly  her  state  of  mind,  and 
laying  a  hand  on  her  arm,  gently  restrained  her. 
"Why  not  remain?     What  is   an   outrage, 
Mrs.  Andrews  ?■"  she  asked. 

"Mrs.  Burdick  knew  very  well  that  I  was  a 
member  of  the  church."  The  lady's  manner 
was  indignant. 

"All  your  friends  know  that,  Mrs.  Andi-ews," 
replied  the  lady.  A  third  person  might  have  de- 
tected in  her  tones  a  lurking  sarcasm.  But  this 
was  not  perceived  by  the  individual  addressed. 
"But  what  is  wrong?" 

"Wrong!  Isn't  that  wTong?"  And  she 
glanced  towards  the  mazy  wreath  of  human 
figures  already  circling  on  the  floor.  "I  could 
not  have  believed  it  of  Mrs.  Burdick;  and  she 
knew  that  I  was  a  professor  of  religion." 

"  She  doesn't  expect  you  to  dance,  Mrs.  An- 
drews," said  the  lady. 

"But  she  expects  me  to  countenance  the  sin 
and  folly  by  my  presence." 

"  Sin  and  folly  are  strong  terms,  Mrs.  An- 
drews." 

"  I  know  they  are,  and  I  use  them  advisedly. 
I  hold  it  a  sin  to  dance," 

"I  know  wise  and  good  people  who  hold  a 
different  opinion." 

"  Wise  and  good !"  Mrs.  Andrews  spoke 
with  strong  disgust.  "  I  wouldn't  give  much 
for  their  wisdom  and  goodness — not  I !" 

"  The  true  qualities  of  men  and  women  are 
best  seen  at  home.  When  people  go  abroad, 
they  generally  change  their  attire — mental  as 
well  as  bodily.  Now,  I  have  seen  the  home-life 
of  certain  ladies,  who  do  not  think  it  sin  to 
dance,  and  it  was  fall  of  flic  heart's  warm  sun- 
shine; and  I  have  seen  the  home-life  of  certain 
ladies  who  held  dancing  to  be  sinful,  and  I  have 
said  to  myself,  half  shudderingly  :  '  What  child 
can  breathe  that  atmosphere  for  years,  and  not 
grow  up  with  a  clouded  .spirit,  and  a  fountain  of 
bitterness  in  the  heart!'" 

"And  so  you  mean  to  say,"  Mrs.  Andrews 


spoke  wirli  some  asperity  of  manner,  "  that  danc- 
ing makes  ])eoplG  bettur  ? — Is,  in  fact,  a  means  of 
grace '(" 

"  No.     I  say  no  sucb  tbing." 
"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  say?     I  draw 
the  only  conclusion  I  can  make." 

"  One  may  grow  better  or  worse  from  danc- 
ing," said  the  lady.  "All  will  depend  on  tho 
spirit  in  which  the  recreation  is  indulged.  In  it- 
self the  act  is  innocent." 

Mi'S.  Andrews  shook  her  head. 
"  In  what  docs  its  sin  consist '(" 
"  It  is  an  idle  waste  of  time." 
"  Can  you  say  nothing  more  of  it?" 
"  I  could,  but  delicacy  keeps  me  silent." 
"  Did  you  ever  dance  ?" 
"  Me  ■?     What  a  question  !     No !" 
"  I  have  danced  often.     And,  let  me  say,  that 
your  inference  on  the  score  of  indelicacy  is  al- 
together an  assumption." 

"  Why  everybody  admits  that." 
"Not  by  any  means." 

"  If  the  descriptions  of  some  of  the  midnight 
balls  and  assemblies  that  I  have  heard,  of  the 
waltzing,  and  all  that,  be  true,  then  nothing 
could  be  more  indelicate, — nothing  more  injuri- 
ous to  the  young  and  innocent." 

"  All  good  things  become  evil  in  their  per- 
verseness,"  said  the  lady.  "And  I  will  readily 
agree  with  you,  that  dancing  is  perverted,  and 
its  use,  as  a  means  of  social  recreation,  most 
sadly  changed  into  what  is  injurious.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  church  going." 

"  You  shock  me,"  said  Mrs.  Andrews.  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  but  you  are  profane." 

"  I  trust  not.  Eor  true  religion — for  the  holy 
things  of  the  church— I  trust  that  I  have  the 
most  profound  reverence.  But  let  me  prove 
what  I  say,  that  even  church  going  may  become 
evil." 

"I  am  all  attention,"  said  the  incredulous 
Mrs.  Andrews. 

"  You  can  bear  plain  speaking." 
"Me!"      The   church    member  looked  sur- 
prised. 

"  Yes,  you." 

"  Certainly  I  can.  But  wby  do  you  ask  V 
"  To  put  you  on  your  guard, — nothing  more." 
"  Don't  fear  but  what  I  can  hear  all  the  plain 
speaking  you  may  venture  upon.  As  to  church 
going  being  evil,  I  am  ready  to  prove  the  nega- 
tive against  any  allegations  you  can  advance. 
So  speak  on." 

After  a  slight  pause,  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
the  lady  said : 

"  There  has  been  a  protracted  meeting  in  Mr. 

B 's  church." 

"  I  know  it.     And  a  blessed  time  it  was." 
"  You  attended  ?" 

"  Yes,  every  day  ;  and  greatly  was  my  soul 
refreshed  and  strengthened." 

"Did  you  see  Mrs.  Eldridge  there  ?" 
"  Mrs.  Eldridge  ?     No  indeed,  except  on  Sun- 
day.    She's  too  worldly-miijjded  for  that." 
"  She  has  a  pew  in  your  church." 
"  Yes ;  and  comes  every  Sunday  morning  be- 
cause it  is  fashionable  and  respectable  to  go  to 
church.      As   for   her   religion,   it  isn't  worth 
much,   and  will   hardly  stand   her   at  the  last 
day." 

"Why  Mrs.  Andrews  I  You  shock,  me! 
Have  you  seen  into  her  heart?  Do  you  know 
her  purposes?  Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged, 
is  the  divine  injunction." 

"  A  tree  is  known  by  its  fruit,"  said  Mrs. 
Andrews,  who  felt  the  rebuke,  and  slightly 
colored. 

"True;  and  by  their  fruits  shall  ye  know 
them,"  replied  the  lady.  "But  come,  there  are 
too  many  around  us  here  for  this  earnest  conver- 
sation. We  will  take  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
ourselves  in  one  of  the  less  crowded  rooms.  No 
one  will  observe  our  absence,  and  you  will  be 
freed  from  the  annoyance  of  these  dances." 

The  two  ladies  quietly  retired  from  the  draw- 
ing-rooms. As  soon  as  they  were  more  alone, 
the  last  speaker  resumed. 

"  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.  Do 
men  gather  grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles? 
Let  me  relate  what  I  saw  and  heard  in  the  fami- 
ly of  two  ladies  during  this  protracted  meeting. 
One  of  these  ladies  was  Mrs.  Eldridge.  I  was 
passing  in  her  neighborhood  about  four  o'clock, 
and  as  I  owed  her  a  call,  thought  the  opportuni- 
ty a  good  one  for  returning  it.  On  entering,  my 
cars  caught  the  blended  music  of  a  piano,  and 
children's  happy  voices,  Eromthe  front  parlor, 
through  the  partly  opened  door,  a  sight,  beauti- 
ful to  my  eyes,  wasrevealed.  Mrs.  Eldridge  was 
seated  at  the  instrument,  her  sweet  babe  asleep 
on  one  arm,  while,  with  a  single  hand,  she  was 


touching  tho  notes  of  a  familiar  air,  to  which 
four  cliildren  were  dancing.  A  more  iimoccnt, 
loving,  haj)py  group  I  have  never  seen.  For 
nearly  ten  minutes  I  gazed  upon  tlicm  unob- 
served, so  interested  that  I  forgot  the  question- 
aljlc  propriety  of  my  conduct,  and  during  that 
time,  not  an  unkind  word  was  uttered  by  one  of 
the  children,  nor  did  anything  occur  to  mar  the 
harmony  of  the  scene.  It  was  a  sight  on  which 
angels  could  have  looked,  nay,  did  look  wiih 
])lcasurc ;  for,  whenever  hearts  are  turned  lo 
good  aflections,  angels  arc  present.  The  music 
was  suspended,  and  the  dancing  ceased,  as  I  pre- 
sented myself.  The  mother  greeted  me  with  a 
happy  smile,  and  each  of  the  children  spoke  to  her 
visitor  with  an  air  at  once  polite  and  respectful. 
"'I've  turned  nurse  for  the  afternoon,  you 
see,'  said  Mrs.  Eldridge,  cheerfully.  '  It's  Alice's 
day  to  go  out,  and  I  never  like  to  trust  our  little 
ones  with  the  chambermaid,  who  isn't  over  fond 
of  children.  We  generally  have  a  good  time  on 
these  occasions,  for  I  give  myself  up  to  thein  en- 
tirely. They've  read,  and  played,  and  told  sto- 
ries, until  tired,  and  now  I've  just  brightened 
them  up,  body  and  mind,  with  a  dance.' 
"  And  bright  and  happy  they  all  looked. 
"  '  Now  run  up  into  the  nursery  for  a  little 
while,  and  build  block  houses,'  said  she,  'while 
I  have  a  little  pleasant  talk  with  my  friend. 
That's  good  children.  And  I  want  you  to  be 
very  quiet,  for  dear  little  Eddy  is  fast  asleep,  and 
I'm  going  to  lay  him  in  his  crib.' 

"Away  went  the  children,  and  I  heard  no  more 
of  them  for  the  half  hour  during  which  I  staid. 
With  the  child  in  her  arms,  Mrs.  Eldridge  went 
up  to  her  chamber,  and  I  went  with  her.  As 
she  was  laying  him  in  the  crib,  I  took  from  the 
mantle  a  small  porcelain  figure  of  a  kneeling 
child,  and  was  examining  it,  when  she  turned  to 
me.  'Very  beautiful,' said  I.  'It  is,' she  re- 
plied. '  We  call  it  our  Eddy,  saying  his  prayers. 
There  is  a  history  attached  to  it.  Very  early  I 
teach  my  little  ones  to  say  an  evening  prayer. 
First  impressions  are  never  wholly  effaced ;  I 
ibeiefore  seek  to  implant,  in  the  very  dawning 
of  thought,  an  idea  of  God,  and  our  dependence 
on  him  for  life  and  all  our  blessings,  knowing 
that,  if  duly  fixed,  this  idea  will  ever  rtmain, 
and  be  the  vessel,  in  after  years,  for  the  recep- 
tion of  truth  flowing  down  from  the  great 
source  of  all  truth.  Strangely  enough,  my  little 
Eddy,  so  sweet  in  temper  as  he  was,  steadily  re- 
fused to  say  his  prayers.  I  tried  in  every  way 
that  I  could  think  of  to  induce  him  to  kneel 
with  the  other  children,  and  repeat  a  few  simple 
words; -but  no,  his  aversion  thereto  was  uncon- 
querable. I  at  last  grew  really  troubled  about 
it.  There  seemed  to  be  a  vein  in  his  character 
that  argued  no  good.  One  day  I  saw  this  kneel- 
ing child  in  a  store.  With  the  sight  of  it  came 
the  thought  of  how  I  might  use  it.  I  bought 
the  figure,  and  did  not  show  it  to  Eddy  until  he 
was  about  going  to  bed.  The  effect  w^as  all  I 
had  hoped  to  produce.  He  looked  at  it  for  some 
moments  earnestly,  then  dropped  on  his  little 
knees,  clasped  his  white  hands,  and  murmured 
the  prayer  I  had  so  long  and  so  vainly  strove  to 
make. him  repeat.' 

"  Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Eldridge,  as 
she  uttered  the  closing  words.  I  felt  that  she 
was  a  true  mother,  and  loved  her  children  with 
a  high  and  holy  love.  And  now,  let  me  give 
you  a  picture  that  strongly  contrasts  with  this. 
Not  far  from  Mrs.  Eldridge,  resides  a  lady,  who 
is  remarkable  for  her  devotion  to  the  church, 
and,  I  am  compelled  to  say,  want  of  charity  to- 
wards all  who  happen  to  differ  with  her — more 
particularly,  if  the  difference  involves  church 
matters.  It  was  after  sundo'^vn  ;  still  being  in 
the  neighborhood,  I  embraced  the  opportunity 
to  make  a  call.  On  ringing  the  bell,  I  heard, 
immediately,  a  clatter  of  feet  down  the  stairs 
and  along  the  passage,  accompanisd  by  chil- 
dren's voices,  loud  and  boisterous.  It  was  some 
time  before  the  door  was  opened,  for  each  of  the 
four  children,  wishing  to  perform  the  ofRce,  each 
resisted  the  others'  attempts  to  admit  the  visitor. 
Angry  exclamations,  rude  outcries,  ill  names, 
and  struggles  for  the  advantage  continued,  tmtil 
the  cook,  attracted  from  the  kitchen  by  the 
noise,  arrived  at  the  scene  of  contention,  and, 
after  jerking  the  children  so  roughly  as  to  set 
the  two  youngest  crying,  swung  it  open,  and  I 
entered.  On  gaining  the  parlor,  I  asked  for  the 
mother  of  these  children. 

"  '  She  isn't  at  home?'  said  the  cook. 
"'She's  gone  to  church,' said  the  oldest  of 
the  children. 

"  '  I  wish  she  'd  stay  at  home,'  remarked  cook 
in  a  very  disrespectful  way,  and  with  a  manner 
that  showed  her  to  be  much  fretted  in  her  mind. 


'  It's  Mary's  day  out,  and  she  knows  I  can't  do 
anything  with  the  children.  Such  children  I 
never  saw  !  They  don't  mind  a  word  you  say, 
and  quarr.  1  i-o  among  themselves,  that  it  makes 
me  sick  to  hear  them,' 

"At  this  moment  a  hcadlcfis  doll  .struck 
against  the  side  of  my  neck.  It  had  been  thrown 
by  one  child  at  another;  missing  her  aim,  she 
gave  me  ibc  benefit  of  her  evil  intenlion.  At 
this,  cook  lost  all  patience,  and  sei/Jng  the  of- 
fending little  one,  boxed  her  soundly,  before  I 
could  interfere.  The  language  used  by  that 
child,  as  she  escaped  from  the  cook's  hands,  was 
shocking.     It  made  my  flesh  creep  ! 

"'Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  your 
mother  hai  gone  to  church;'  I  a.skcd  of  Ihc 
oldest  child. 

"  '  Yes,  ma'am,'  was  answered,  '  She  's  been 
every  day  this  week.  There 's  a  protracted 
meeting.' 

"*  Give  me  that  book  !'  screamed  a  child,  at 
this  moment.  Glancing  across  the  room,  I  saw 
two  of  the  little  ones  contending  for  possession 
of  a  large  family  Bible,  which  lay  upon  a  small 
table.  Before  I  could  reach  them,  for  I  started 
forward,  from  an  impulse  of  the  moment,  the 
table  was  thrown  over,  the  marble  top  broken, 
and  the  cover  torn  from  the  sacred  volume." 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Andrews  became  instantly 
of  a  deep  crimson.  Not  seeming  to  notice  this, 
her  Iriend  continued. 

"  As  the  table  fell,  it  came  within  an  inch  of 
striking  another  child  on  the  head,  who  had  seat- 
ed himself  on  the  floor.  Had  it  done  so,  a  frac- 
tured skull,  perhaps  instant  death,  would  have 
been  the  consequence."- 

Mrs.  Andrews  caught  her  breath,  and  grew 
very  pale.     The  other  continued. 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  that  followed, 
the  father  came  home. 

"  '  Where  is  your  mother  V  he  asked  of  one  of 
the  children. 

"  '  Gone  to  church,'  was  replied. 
"  '  0  dear !'  I  can  hear  his  voice  now,  with  its 
tone  of  hopelessness, — 'This  church-going  ma- 
nia is  dreadful.  I  tell  my  wife  that  it  is  all  wrong. 
That  her  best  service  to  God  is  to  bring  up  her 
children  in  the  love  of  what  is  good  and  true, — 
in  filial  obedience  and  fraternal  affection.  But 
it  avails  not.' 

"  And  now,  Mrs.  Andrews,"  continued  the 
lady,  not  in  the  least  appearing  to  notice  the 
distress  and  confusion  of  her  over-pious  friend, 
whom  she  had  placed  upon  the  rack,  "When 
God  comes  to  make  up  his  jewels,  and  says  to 
Mrs.  Eldridge,  and  also  to  this  mother  who 
thought  more  of  church-going  than  of  her  pre- 
cious little  ones.  Where  are  the  children  I  gave 
you?  which  do  you  think  will  be  most  likely  to 
say,  Here  they  are,  not  one  is  lost  ?" 

"  Have  I  not  clearly  shown  you  that  even 
church-going  may  be  perverted  into  an  evil  ? 
That  piety  may  attain  an  inordinate  growth, 
while  charity  is  dead  at  the  root  ?  Spiritual 
pride ;  a  vain  conceit  of  superior  goodness  be- 
cause of  the  observance  of  certain  forms  and  cere- 
monies, is  the  error  into  which  too  many  devout 
religionists  fall.  But  God  sees  not  as  man 
seeth.  He  looks  into  the  heart,  and  judges  his 
creatures  by  the  motives  that  rule  them." 

And,  as  she  said  this,  she  arose,  the  silent 
and  rebuked  Mrs.  Andrews,  whose  own  picture 
had  been  drawn,  following  her  down  to  the  gay 
drawing  rooms. 

Many  a  purer  heart  than  that  of  the  humbled 
Pharisee  beat  there  beneath  the  bosoms  of  hap- 
py maidens,  even  thouj^h  their  feet  were  rising 
and  falUng  in  time  to  witching  melodies. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
WOMAW'S   INFLUENCE. 

BY   MBS   R.   T.   ELDHEDGE. 

Not  when  her  eye  is  brightest. 

In  pleasure's  heaming  hour; 
Not  when  her  heart  ia  lightest, 

Does  she  e.wrt  her  power. 
But  when  dark  shades  are  crowding 

Around  the  fireside  hearth, 
And  grief  her  home's  enshroudiug. 

Then  man  vnll  own  her  worth. 

If  she  he  kind  and  generous, 

With  fret'  and  open  heart, 
iler  love  will  grow  more  strenuous, 

As  fortune's  rays  depart! 
Would  you  secure  a  treasure 

To  stay  by  you  through  life — 
Search  not  'uiid  halls  of  pleasure, 

The  heart  e'er  makes  the  wife ! 

Never  offer  advice,  but  where  there  is  some 
probability  of  its  being  followed. 


GLEASON'S   PICTOHIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


391 


[Written  for  Gleasoa's  PictoriuJ.] 
3I0UWT  IDA,  TROV,  NEM'  ^ORlt. 


East  of  the  city,  to  the  height  of  400  feet,  stands  the 
mountainj  so  called,  from  whose  summit  Ls  to  be  seen  an 
extent  of  countri' embracing  all  that  is  picturesque  and 
grand  in  nature,  while  scattered  over  the  landscape  everj'- 
where  are  the  works  of  civilization.  At  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  you  have  the  elegant  city  of  Troy  brought  so 
distinctly  before  the  eje,  that  every  street,  house  and  oh. 
ject  are  minutely  discernible  ;  while  the  junction  of  the 
Mohawk  and  the  Hudson  with  tte  "  flashing  falls  of  the 
Cohoes,"  and  Albany  in  the  distance,  constitute,  as  a 
whole,  one  of  the  most  perfect  and  gorgeous  landscapes 
that  the  imagination  can  conceive.  Here,  the  writer  has 
pasted  some  of  the  happiest  moments  of  his  e.xistence- 
In  February,  1842,  a  teirific  land  slide  descended  from  the 
extreme  point  of  the  mountain  sweeping  everything  be- 
fore it,  killing  eighteen  persons  and  many  horses,  and 
destroying  a  large  number  of  dwellings. 

Ida  1  a  grandeur  is  around  thy  brow, 
Though  dread  iNiagara's  voice  in  thunders  speak, 
Droivning  thy  sweet  and  less  terrific  flow — 
Veleno's  broken  waves,  where  white  foam  sti-eak 
Its  sable  rocks,  charm  such  who  grandeur  seek ; 
But  yet  romantic  beauty  bides  with  thee, 
And  on  the  precipice  the  \vild  flowers  meek. 
Wave  wanton  in  the  breeze  that  sweeps  thcni  free, 
As  yoa  red  sun  descends  behind  the  sable  tree  ! 

Where  are  the  stalwort  hunters  of  the  hills  ? 
Where  the  red  brothers  of  thy  solitude? 
No  Indian  watch-fires  hght  the  silver  rills, 
No  war-whoops  on  still  echo's  ear  intrude  1 
Like  thy  own  wave,  that  noble  tribe  and  rade 
Hath  ebbed  away,  leaving  another  race, 
Whose  feet  the  wild  deer  never  hath  pursued 
Upon  thy  hills  of  vnnd  with  equal  pace  \ 

Enough !  the  seal  of  silence  is  upon 
My  voiceless  lyre,  fair  Ida,  fare  thee  well  I 
My  latest  steps  thy  fading  leaves  are  on  ; 
Yet  memory  of  thee,  my  heart,  shall  tell, 
As  gliding  days  sing  their  departing  knell, 
Like  thy  own  waters,  onward  to  the  deep — 
Thy  voice  is  solemn  as  a  passing  bell, 
As  down  the  cliff  the  tumbling  billows  leap, 
So  do  the  days  of  life  to  death's  dark  ocean  sweep  1 

On  the  level  brow  of  this  hill  is  a  beautiful  cemetery,  or 
"  city,  of  the  silent,"  within  view  of  the  cascade  called 
"  Ida  Falls.'-  In  this  romantic  spot  sleeps  the  writer's 
only  child.  A  neat  monument  of  white  marble  now 
I  stands  as  a  small  tribute  of  affection,  and  bears  the  fol- 
lowing inscription  from  his  pen: — "iVL\Rr  Anse  only 
■  child  of  Joseph  H.  and  Anne  Maria  Butler  ;  died  Sept. 
16, 1839,  aged  3  years." 

Little  flower  of  fragile  stem, 

Love  and  beauty's  treasured  gem. 

Shall  we  mourn  thy  early  doom? 

Thou  art  faded  but  to  bloom ! 

In  the  spirit  land  eternal. 

Blossom  valleys  ever  vernal; 

Fanned  by  Arinds  that  know  not  sighing, 

Decked  with  flowerets  never  dying. 

Faith's  bright  wings  to  heaven  are  spread, 

Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead  ! 

He  of  light  and^e,  the  giver, 

Loved  one — thou  art  his  forever!" 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  AVAY  TO  AVASHINGTON. 

No.  III. 

BY   B.    PERLEY    POOBE. 


The  approach  to  New  York  by  water,  on 
cither  river,  or  from  the  sea,  gives  an  imposing 
idea  of  the  city  to  the  visitor,  even  as  the  gigan- 
tic portico  of  St.  Peters  at  Rome  prepares  one 
for  the  glories  of  the  fane.  Nor  could  I,  as  I 
gazed  tbis  morning  upon  the  forest  of  shipping, 
the  miles  of  warehouses,  and  the  tleet  of  half- 
flcdged  steamers  on  the  stocks  which  we  passed 
in  review  as  we  steamed  along  the  East  Kiver, 
but  think  that  New  York  is  the  type  of  this  age 
of  material  civilization.  Other  epochs  in  the 
world's  history  have  been  characterized  by  par- 
ticular mental  and  moral  manifestations;  there 
has  been  an  age  of  violence,  an  age  of  faith,  an 
age  of  chivalry,  an  age  of  Icaijiing,  an  age  of 
manners — but  these  middle  decades  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  constitute  pre-eminently  an  age 
of  physical  development,  especially  on  the  west- 
ern continent.  And  nowhere  do  we  see  a  more 
striking  example  of  this  than  at  New  York. 
Docks,  ship-yards,  ocean  steamers,  and  acres  of 
buildings  rise  as  it  were  from  nothing — not  at 
the  arbitrary  dictate  of  a  powerful  despot,  but  in 
the  quiet  way  of  individual  enterprise,  and  solely 
in  obedience  to  the  requirements  of  an  ever- 
increasing  commerce  ;  and  an  imposing  power 
is  this  commerce,  for  nowadays  nearly  all  the 
working  intellect  of  the  age  is  in  some  way  in- 
volved in  its  physical  conquests.  Some  dislike 
this  bustling  industry  and  profitable  progress. 
Surrounded  by  dismal  thoughts,  as  Marius  sat 
amid  the  Carthagenian  ruins,  they  quote  an  apo- 


thegm from  Bacon,  or  a  stanza  from  Horace,  or 
a  verse  from  the  prophet  Jeremy,  winding  up 
with  the  tombstone  morality  of  "  Sic  transit 
gloria  mundi !"  But,  so  far  as  I  am  individually 
concerned,  I  prefer  to  watch  a  growing  plaut, 
and  to  hail  the  glories  of  the  world  as  they  pro- 
gress toward  their  point  of  culmination.  I  have, 
it  is  true,  gazed  upon  the  ruins  of  Thebes  with 
interest,  but  I  prefer  to  witness  the  prospeiity  of 
New  York,  where  "  commerce  thunders  loud 
with  her  ten  thousand  wheels."  There  is  some- 
thing cheering  in  the  very  growth  of  power  and 
magnilicence.  I  even  grudge  the  supernatural 
celerity  of  the  expansion  of  Aladdin's  palace; 
and  would  willingly  watch  in  the  story,  the  lay- 
ing of  its  bricks  of  alabaster,  the  mixture  of  its 
mortar  of  golden  sand,  the  placing  of  every  em- 
erald and  ruby  bestudding  its  glory-stained  win- 
dows. And  as  I  this  morning  approached  New 
York,  it  was  a  treat  to  watch  the  giant  steps  that 
progress  and  prosperity  have  taken.  Then, 
stepping  on  shore,  commenced  the  "battle  of 
life"  with  the  hackmen,  who  look  upon  travel- 
lers as  their  legitimate  prey — throw  open  the 
doors  of  their  vehicles,  and  seizing  the  unfortu- 
nate stranger,  endeavor  to  fulfil  tlie  apostolic 
injunction,  and  "  take  him  in." 

Up  Broadway  !  It  was  too  early  to  meet  the 
down  flood  of  business  humanity,  but  the  pave- 
ment resounded  with  the  rattling  of  milk-carts, 
and  the  closed  stores  echoed  with  the  shrill  cries 
of  the  news-venders.  A  f:;w  minutes'  walk,  and 
I  reached  "  Old  Trinity,"  the  fourth  house  of 
worship  which  has  been  erected  on  the  same 
spot,  each  eclipsing  its  predecessor  in  size  and 
beauty.  No  one  can  gaze  at  its  noble  exterior 
without  feeling  a  sentiment  of  deep  admiration  ; 
enter,  and  it  deepens  into  awe,  especially  if  the 
deep  pealing  tones  of  the  organ  are  echoing 
along  the  vaulted  ceiling,  while  a  "dim,  reli- 
gious light"  steals  through  the  storied  windows 
to  cast  a  Mosaic  of  bright  colors  upon  the  oaken 
seats.  Free,  these  seats  are,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  hereditary  seats,  so  that  there  is  no  dis- 
play of  pride  in  pew-rights,  and  all  can  worship 
"  without  money." 

Kegistering  at  the  Astor  House  is  securing  the 
comforts  of  home  whilst  in  the  city,  and  one  of 
the  oleasantcst  sights  in  Christendom  is  the  noon 
panorama  from  its  parlor  windows.  The  street 
is  an  intricate  current  of  vehicles,  dodging  about 
like  dancers  in  an  old  fashioned  contra  dance, 
whilst  on  the  sidewalks  arc  the  representatives  of 
"  all  the  world  "  and  a  fair  delegation  of  woman- 
kind besides,  all  mixed  up  like  the  ingredients 
in  a  bowl  of  punch.  Mustachiod  Frenchmen, 
rosy  Britons,  bearded  Germans,  patriotic  sons  of 
Erin,  and  gaunt  New  Englandcs  mingle;  and 
if  one  goes  out  to  join  in  the  promenade,  he 
hears  nearly  as  many  tongues  and  accents  as 
greeted  the  ears  of  the  Babylonians.  Then  how 
magnificent  are  the  stores — temples  consecrated 
to  fashion,  which  far  surpass  the  vaunted  bazaars 
of  the  Orient.  Enter  one  of  them — Stewart's, 
for  instance — and  gaze  on  the  rich  and  rare  fab- 
rics of  varied  tints  and  textures,  which  quiver 
before  the  eyes  of  prnxhasers,  as  thi  y  are  exhib- 
ited in  their  happiest  light.  Silks  from  Lyons 
and  shawls  from  Cashmere,  laces  from  Belgium 
and  poplins  from  Ireland — why,  Mother  Eve 
surrendered  without  a  tithe  of  the  temptations 
which  her  "  shopping  "  daughters  calmly  gaze  at. 

Not  far  distant,  where  a  gloomy  prison-house 
now  stands,  the  first  American  steamer  was  con- 
structed by  the  ill-used  John  Fitch.  There  was 
a  pond  there  in  those  days,  in  which  the  inventor 
launched  his  "  steamer,"  which  was  eighteen  feet 
long,  by  six  feet  beam,  with  a  ten  gallon  iron 
kettle  for  a  boiler,  and  wooden  machinery.  It 
went  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour,  but  was 
ridiculed  as  a  "  useless  theoretical  invention." 
So  the  boat  rotted  on  the  collect  pond,  whilst 
poor  Eiteh  committed  suicide,  a  broken-hearted, 
disappointed  man. 

But  I  am  not  describing  New  York,  although 
a  hasty  pen  and  ink  sketch  of  some  of  the  edito- 
rial fraternity  may  not  be  amiss.  Gen.  Webb, 
of  the  Courier  and  Enquirer,  is  entitled  to  prece- 
dence, and  a  fine  looking  specimen  of  humanity 
he  is,  although  he  lacks  the  joyous,  pleasant  ex- 
pression of  countenance  which  characterizes  Gen. 
Morris,  of  the  Home  Journal.  The  Messrs. 
Brooks,  of  the  Express,  show  that  assiduous  edi- 
torial labor  leaves  traces  of  its  toil;  and  as  for 
Horace  Greeley,  of  the  Tribune,  his  sheet  is  a  da- 
guerreotype of  the  mind  and  of  the  man — eccen- 
tric, erratic,  regardless  of  what  any  one  says, 
yet  true  and  staunch  at  heart.  Col.  Fuller,  of 
the  Evening  Miiror,  and  Mr.  Young,  of  the  Al- 
bion, are  living  proofs  that  editors  can  be  gentle- 


men— high  toned  in  thought,  untrammelled  by 
sordid  ties,  and  above  low  personalities ;  need  I 
add,  that  each  is  a  quiet  looking,  well  bred  and 
well  dressed  man  1  Then  there  is  Picton,  of  the 
Sachem,  a  jovial  bon  vivard — Pick  ScoviUe,  of 
that  mirth-provoking  sheet  which  every  lover  of 
fun  chooses  when  he  enters  a  news  shop  to  take 
his  'Pick,"  a  pleasant  companion,  too,  and  not 
bad  looking ;  Capt.  Farnsworth,  the  rollicking 
commander  of  the  Dutchman,  a  right  good  look- 
ing, fine  eyed  soldier.  And  then  there  is  Porter, 
of  the  Spirit  of  the  l^imes.  There  he  sits,  en- 
shrined in  a  cabinet  decked  with  trophies  of  the 
chase,  and  rejoicing  in  whiskers  which  equal  in 
size  the  circulation  of  Ills  journal — a  group  "of 
'em  "  always  around  him,  and  "  Frank's  "  but  a 
few  steps  beyond.  Verily,  the  editors  of  New 
York  are  a  companionable  class,  and  happy  is 
the  stranger  who  enjoys  their  hospitality. 

The  military,  also,  are  a  noble-hearted  set  of 
gentlemen,  who  meet  strangers  with  a  hearty 
welcome,  and  "put  through"  their  comrades 
from  other  States  "with  a  will."  The  fact  is, 
that  here  in  New  York  they  have  learned  by  sad 
experience  that  the  cartridge-box  is  necessary  to 
preserve  the  purity  of  the  ballot-box,  and  to  sus- 
tain the  laws.  It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  things 
for  men  to  give  away  any  advantages  that  they 
can  keep,  or  to  curb  passions  that  can  run  riot 
unlicensed.  They  may  not  always,  perhaps,  re- 
tain their  advantages  until  they  are  compelled 
by  force  to  resign  them — they  may  have  the  good 
sense  to  see  physical  force  at  a  distance,  and 
yitld  in  time;  but  no  liberty  can  exist  without 
armed  men.  King  John  signed  the  first  charter 
of  freedom  purely  from  a  dread  of  physical  force ; 
and  it  is  well  to  have  at  hand — not  hireling  mer- 
cenaries— but  well  disciplined  citizens,  who  nat- 
urally seek  to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  commu- 
nity in  which  all  their  interests  centre.  The  citi- 
zen soldiery  of  New  York  merit  high  honor,  and 
are  one  of  the  ornaments  of  that  busy  city. 

But  I  must  not  linger  on  "the  way,"  for  all 
the  world  and  his  wife  are  talking  about  "Wash- 
ington, where  there  is  anticipated  a  brilliant  ses- 
sion, followed  by  an  imposing  inauguration  on 
that  day  when  so  many  unfortunate  oftice-holdcrs 
will  hear  ringing  in  their  ears  :  "  March  Fourth  !" 
Poor  fellows ! 

"  We're  told  by  Sterne,  the  saddest  sound, 
'\rhich  ever  ear  of  mortal  heard, 
M'as  when  the  poor  imprisoned  bird 
Looked  on  the  free  air  all  around, 
And  cried  in  piteous,  plaintive  shout: 
'  I  can't  get  out — I  can't  get  out.' 

"  But  now  one  hears  a  sadder  strain, 
A  far  more  melancholy  song  | 
For,  as  they  pace  the  streets  along, 
Those  who  servo  0ncle  Sam  exclaim  : 
(Tis  plain  enough  beyond  all  doubt), 
'  They'll  turn  us  out — they'll  turn  us  out  '  " 


SIMPLICITY  IN  DRESS. 

Those  who  think  that  In  order  to  dress  well, 
it  is  necessary  to  dress  extravagantly  or  grandly, 
make  a  great  mistake.  Nothing  so  well  becomes 
true  feminine  beauty  as  simplicity.  We  have 
seen  many  a  remarkably  fine  person  robbed  of 
its  true  effect  by  being  o\er  dressed.  Nothing 
is  more  unbecoming  than  overloading  beauty. 
The  stern  simplicity  of  the  classic  tastes  is  seen 
in  the  old  statues  and  pictures  jsainted  by  men 
of  superior  artistic  genius.  In  Athens,  the  la- 
dies were  not  gaudily,  but  simply  arrayed,  and 
we  doubt  whether  any  ladies  ever  excited  more 
admiration.  So  also  the  noble  old  Roman  mat- 
rons, whose  superb  forms  were  gazed  on  delight- 
edly by  men  worthy  of  them,  were  always  very 
plainly  dressed.  Fashion  often  presents  the 
hues  of  the  butterfly,  but  fashion  is  not  a  classic 
goddess. —  George  v.  Prentice. 


TO  PROMOTE  HEALTH. 

Do  not  expect,  sir,  some  wonderful  announce- 
ment, some  fascinating  mystery !  No.  It  is 
simply  the  plain  little  practice  of  leaving  your 
bedroom  window  a  little  open  at  the  top  while 
sleeping,  both  winter  and  summer.  I  do  not 
come  before  you  as  a  theorist  or  an  inexperi- 
enced teacher,  in  thus  calling  loudly  upon  every 
fiimily  to  this  healthful  practice.  I  am  the  fath- 
er of  ten  children,  all  in  pure  health,  and  have — 
thank  God — never  lost  one,  aUhough  their  natu- 
ral constitutions  were  not  robust.  But  in  addi- 
tion to  the  salutary  effect  of  the  practice  in  my 
own  family,  wherever  I  have  advised  others  to 
try  its  efl^ects,  it  has  invariably  been  found  to  be 
both  pleasant  and  beneficial. — CoiTespondent  of 
the  London  Sun. 


AIMIKG  AT  EMINENCE. 

Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  "rising  to  emi- 
nence." If,  in  conser/ifeiice  of  your  writings  or 
your  deeds,  you  should  become  eminent,  very 
well ;  but  to  do  anything  /or  the  sake  of  "  rising 
to  eminence,"  is  unworthy  of  a  man.  Very 
comfortable  and  very  noble  lives  are  led  in  ob- 
scurity. Moreover,  true  eminence  is  not  attain- 
able by  any  man  who  places  it  before  him  as  his 
chief  object,  because  that  indicates  an  inliercnt 
weakness  of  character. — Home  Journal. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
AUTUMN  aiUSIAG. 

BT  LIEDT.   E.   CURTISS  HIKE. 

'Tis  good  when  the  rooks  are  calling, 

When  the  year  is  about  to  die, 
When  the  painted  leaves  are  falling. 

And  the  streams  run  moaning  by. 
To  muse  on  those  who  started 

With  us  on  the  race  of  life. 
But  who  shook  our  hands  and  pai'tcd, 

■W'om  out  with  the  cold  -world's  strife. 

They  drooped  by  the  wayside  weary. 

And  gazed  with  looks  forlorn, 
As  the  day  grew  dark  and  dreary. 

And  the  thoughtless  crowd  rushed  on, 
All  heedless  of  their  sorrow. 

Like  the  ocean's  restless  tide  ; 
But  when  diiwns  life's  glorious  morrow. 

They'll  stand  by  their  Maker's  side. 

Thus  muse  I,  long  and  often. 

As  the  year  draws  near  the  end ; 
And  my  eyes  with  tear-drops  soften, 

As  I  think  on  many  a  friend, 
Wtaried  with  life's  rough  journey, 

Sunk  by  the  wayside  worn  j 
And  waiting  with  quiet  patience, 

For  the  dawn  of  a  heavenly  morn. 


THE  ELEPHANT  IN  TROUBLE. 

An  affecting  incident  occurred  lately  in  St. 
Johnsville,  at  the  breaking  of  a  bridge  over 
which  two  elephants,  belonging  to  the  circus  and 
menagerie  of  Messrs.  Sands,  Quick  &  Co.,  were 
crossing.  It  appears  that  through  the  careless- 
ness of  their  keepers  in  allowing  both  elephants 
to  go  on  the  bridge  together,  their  weight  caused 
it  to  break  down,  when  the  two  noble  animals 
were  precipitated  from  a  height  of  fifteen  feet  to 
the  bed  of  the  river  among  the  rocks,  injuring 
the  female  (Juliet)  so  severely  that  it  was  a  long 
time  impossible  to  get  her  out  of  the  water. 
The  male  (Romeo)  not  being  as  much  hurt  was 
soon  in  a  condition  to  be  removed,  but  his  at- 
tachment toward  his  unfortunate  companion  was 
so  great  that  no  effort  could  induce  him  to  leave 
her  in  the  time  of  trouble.  Various  means  of 
persuasion  and  even  force  were  resorted  to 
without  effect.  Separating  them  alive  seemed 
almost  impossible.  At  length  a  large  powerful 
mastiff,  obtained  several  years  ago  from  the  farm 
of  Henry  Clay,  in  Lexington,  by  whom  the  ele- 
phants had  allowed  themselves  to  be  driven,  and 
of  whom  the  female  was  very  much  in  fear,  was 
brought  out  and  set  at  Romeo  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  him  away  from  his  mate.  Notwith- 
standing her  broken  limbs  and  dread  of  the  dog, 
the  faithful  Juliet  made  a  desperate  effort  to 
protect  her  partner,  in  doing  which,  the  position 
of  the  two  wounded  animals  became  so  much 
changed  as  to  enable  the  keepers  with  assistance 
to  drag  them  on  the  beach.  Finding  it  necessary 
to  leave  them  behind,  the  company  caused  a 
shed  to  be  built  over  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
where  the  devoted  friends  will  remain  until  their 
wounds  are  healed.  These  elephants  were-cap- 
tured  together  in  Asia  ten  years  ago  and  brought 
to  England,  where  they  were  purchased  by  the 
celebrated  Womble,  and  taught  to  perform  to- 
gether in  their  dramatic  pieces  at  all  the  princi- 
pal theatres  in  Europe.  They  subsequenily  be- 
came the  property  of  R.  Sands,  Quick  &  Co., 
with  whom  they  have  always  travelled  in  this 
country,  and  are  known  far  and  wide.  Eomeo, 
though  much  stiffened  and  bruised,  is  not  dan- 
gerously hurt,  and  will  be  continued  in  the  ex- 
hibition. But  poor  Juliet  is  past  all  surgery ; 
having  broken  her  shoulder  and  otherwise  being 
sadly  crippled,  she  cannot  long  survive  her  inju- 
ries, and  will  "never  march  again." — Uiica 
Gazette. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
BLOW  THE  HORN,  HUNTER. 

AN  ALPINE  SONG   OF   THE    CHASE. 


BY  J.  STARE  HOLLOWAT. 

Blow  the  horn,  hunter !  blow  the  horn  loudly  ! 

Blow  a  long,  cheerful  and  soul -stirring  strain  I 
Sound  till  the  echo  from  her  retreat  pi-oudly 
Answers  the  glad  tones  again  and  again. 
Tra,  la,  la,  la— tra  la,  la. 
Huzza,  huzza  1 
Sound  till  the  deer  from  his  dense  covert  startled. 
Tremblingly  rushes  upon  our  glad  Tiew — 
Then  up  and  pursue,  pursue  \ 

Into  the  forest,  see  the  doe  bounding 

Forward  so  fearfully  from  crag  to  crag  ! 
List  to  the  horn's  cheering  music  resounding, 
See  in  our  path  yonder  gleams  the  proud  stag  1 
Tra,  la,  la,  la— tra  la,  la, 
IIu/,ui,  huzza.' 
On,  on,exultantl  till  in  death's  last  shudder, 
TrembUngly  yielding  before  us  he  cowers — 
The  victory  is  ours,  is  ours  ! 

Economy. — Economy  is  a  good  thing,  and 
should  be  practised  by  all,  but  it  should  show 
itself  in  denying  ourselves — not  in  oppressing 
others.  AVe  see  persons  spending  dollar  after 
dollar  foolishly  one  hour,  and  the  next  trying  to 
save  a  penny  piece  off  a  wood-sawjer,  coal- 
heaver  or  market  woman.  Such  things  are  dis- 
graceful, if  not  dishonest. —  T.  S-  Aiihar. 

Wi.'-o  men  ne'er  sit  and  w.iil  their  los.", 
But  chcerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harm. 

Ska/cspeare. 


392 


GLEASim'S    nCTOllIAL   DIIAAVTNG-ROOM    COMPANION. 


3 


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GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL    DIIAWING-ROOM    COMPANIOX. 


393 


MEDALLION    HBAH  OE  WEBSTER    AKD    MOURNING  PIECE. 


[For  description,  see  pair.'  J)'j2  1 


394 


GLEASON'S   I^ICTOIUAL   DllAAVlNG   llOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  GIcuwoii'm  Pictorial.] 
THE  LIt'K  Ol''  TiilAL. 

VY  PlirF.DB  OAREir. 


I  am  glad  hor  llfo  ih  ovor, 

Olud  thntull  ber  triiilHiirc  pOHt; 

For  hor' pillow  was  not  Boftt'iiod 
Down  with  T03UH  to  tho  last. 

Wliori  aliarp  thorns  choked  up  tho  pathway 
Where  Bho  wandered  sail  and  worn, 

JJever  kind  hand  prosa{d  them  barkward, 
So  hor  fcot  wcro  piurcod  and  torn. 

And  when  life's  storn  course  of  duty 

Tlirough  tho  fiery  furnace  mn, 
Never  «aw  nho  one  bejrido  her, 

Likfl  unto  tbo  Son  of  Man. 

Ero  tho  holy  dow  of  baptism 

Cooled  her  aching  forehead's  heat, 

Ilcavicat  waters  of  nftliction 
Many  timen  had  touched  her  feet. 

Long  for  iior  deliverance  waiting, 

Ulung  she  to  the  cross  in  vain  ; 
With  an  agouiaing  birth-cry 

Was  her  spiiit  born  again. 

And  her  path  grew  always  rougher, 

Weiu-ier,  wearier,  still  she  trod, 
Till  through  gates  of  awful  anguish, 

She  went  in  at  last  to  God ! 

[Written  for  Qleason'a  Pictorial.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  XV. 

BY   DR.   JEROME    V.    C.    SMITH. 

EXCURSION  TO  THE  BLACK  SEA. 

Still  further  on,  we  arrived  at  the  base  of  the 
Giant's  Mountain,  which  required  a  fatiguing 
walk  to  reach  the  top.  It  is  by  far  the  most  ele- 
vated point  on  the  Asiatic  side,  near  the  Bos- 
phorus.  There  are  two  or  three  small  houses 
on  the  most  commanding  point,  with  an  occa- 
sional tree,  several  fenced  patches  of  land,  but 
nothing  like  industry  or  comfort  in  or  about  the 
premises. 

A  quiet,  moping  old  Turk  keeps  tobacco,  cof- 
fee, and,  perhaps,  some  vegetables  and  bread  in 
a  rickety,  one  story  shop,  from  which  a  m^agnifi- 
ccnt  view  is  had  of  the  entrance  into  the  Black 
Sea,  On  the  European  continent,  some  of  the 
masonry  by  which  water  is  conveyed  to  the  city, 
and  various  other  objects  that  give  variety  tc  the 
scene,  are  conspicuous. 

Back  of  the  principal  house,  resembling  an  or- 
dinary one  story  farmer's  quarters  in  New  Eng- 
land, is  a  small  yard,  enclosed  by  a  high  fence, 
not  for  the  protection  of  plants,  but  an  immense- 
ly long  grave,  forty  feet  in  length  !  By  univer- 
sal consent,  it  U  the  burial  place  of  Joshua,  the 
martial  successor  of  Moses. 

From  the  notes  of  travellers,  the  length  must 
have  varied  in  different  years,  since  some  of 
them  state  it  is  only  twenty  feet  long.  The  head 
and  foot  stones,  perfectly  rough,  might  be  rcadi- 
1}'  moved  backward  or  forward  by  a  child,  and 
wherever  they  are,  determines  the  altitude  of  the 
giant. 

Some  of  the  orthodox  believers  assert  that  the 
grave  simply  contains  one  foot  of  Joshua.  That 
renowned  Jewish  hero  was  never  out  of  Pales- 
tine after  he  entered  the  land  of  promise,  and 
the  whole  legend,  therefore,  has  grown  out  of 
Tui'kish  ignorance, — confounding  Joshua  with 
Jupiter,  whose  name  the  Romans  left  in  the  re- 
gion, in  connection  with  some  of  their  defences. 

Notwithstanding  tlie  often  repeated  assertion 
by  tourists  that  two  dervishes  perpetually  watch 
tlie  sacred  deposit,  it  is  untrue.  The  only  per- 
son seen  while  wo  remained  on  the  mountain, 
•was  the  keeper  of  the  smoking  shop.  Possibly 
a  community  of  dervishes  may  formerly  have 
had  their  abode  on  the  holy  eminence,  but,  cer- 
tainly, there  are  none  remaining. 

Looking  from  that  charming  spot,  towards 
the  entrance  into  the  Black  Se^,  the  spectator  is 
struck  with  the  grandeur  and  boldness  of  the 
mountain  curves,  and  the  richness  and  inviting 
character  of  the  soil.  Neglect,  not  precisely 
ruiUj  is  stamped  upon  the  whole  landscape. 

A  soft,  short  grass,  like  a  velvet  carpet  of  liv- 
ing green,  seems  interminable;  and  so  deep  is 
the  water,  and  inviting  for  commercial  enter- 
prise, we  could  not  restrain  ourselves  from  ex- 
pressing a  hope  that  civilization  mi;;ht  speedily 
place  its  seal  upon  those  admirable  localities  for 
towns,  and  unrivalled  facilities  for  human  indus- 
trial activity. 

Off  in  the  vast  distance,  a  few  small  vcsj^ela 
were  discoverable,  bound  to  Odessa,  Trebi:<ond, 
and  other  ports  of  less  celebrity  ;  but  the  re- 
sources of  the  whole  region  are  far  beyond  esti- 


mation, which  cannot,  in  tho  nature  of  things, 
much  longer  bo  defended  by  guns  or  treaties 
from  tho  grasp  of  Russia. 

One  reason  why  tho.sc  very  inviting  places, 
quite  to  tho  lust  tongue  of  land  before  tJic  ex- 
panse of  the  Black  Sea  commences,  arc  unoccu- 
pied, is  in  consequence  of  the  insecurity  of  pro- 
perty. Should  any  one  construct  conveniences 
for  landing,  open  a  store,  or  give  evidence  of 
ambition  in  the  way  of  accommodation,  by  some 
pretext  of  the  government,  he  would  be  inter- 
rupted, his  property  taken  out  of  his  control, 
and,  perhaps,  tlie  business  interdicted. 

Never  were  such  facilities  offered  by  nature  for 
shipyards,  docks,  and,  in  short,  any  pursuit  cal- 
culated to  develop  the  resources  of  a  country, 
while  it  contributi^d  to  individual  advancement. 
But  no  one  has  the  courage  to  attempt  running 
counter  to  the  genius  of  the  government,  which 
neither  aids  nor  protectsthesubject  in  any  scheme 
for  personal  aggrandizement,  independence  in 
wealth,  or  influence  In  society,  without  secretly 
contemplating  a  blow  that  shall  crush  his  power, 
and  turn  the  avails  of  his  industry  into  the 
cotters  of  the  Sultan. 

Of  late  there  has  been  something  of  a  pater- 
nal feeling  manifested,  and  there  is  certainly  a 
far  greater  security  for  the  rights  of  men,  than 
under  the  predecessors  of  the  reigning  Sultan. 
A  triumph  like  that  secured  recently  by  the 
Christians,  which  places  them  upon  the  same 
level  with  Mahommcdan  believers,  in  regard  to 
the  possession  of  property  and  the  maintenance 
of  their  civil  rights,  has  never  been  achieved  by 
the  Turkish  government  before,  in  any  period  of 
its  history. 

After  gaining  on  the  beautiful  bills  and  grace- 
ful undulations,  capable  of  the  highest  state  of 
productiveness,  but  now  fallen  and  totally  for- 
saken, solely  from  the  causes  already  stated — 
the  grasping  tyrranny  of  those  in  authority — the 
spectator  involuntarily  expresses  a  hope  that  the 
arts  of  domestic  life  and  the  institutions  and  civil- 
ization of  Christianity  may  speedily  uproot  the 
present  race  of  Moslem  fatalists. 

There  is  a  generous  widening  of  the  Bospho- 
rus  between  the  Giant's  or  Joshua's  Mountain 
and  tho  European  side.  A  continuous  series  of 
the  best  harbors  imaginable  might  be  selected  on 
both  shores,  quite  to  the  Black  Sea. 

Far  in  the  distance,  a  few  villages  could  be 
discerned,  and  also,  plainly  in  view  of  the  Rou- 
meli  Hissar,  or  castle  of  Europe,  which  might 
be  mistaken  for  a  pair  of  lighthouses,  were  such 
conveniences  established.  We  never  saw  a  light- 
house, to  my  recollection,  from  Alexandria, 
in  Egypt,  to  Constantinople.  If  there  are  any, 
they  were  certainly  overlooked  for  want  of  lights. 
On  entering  the  ancient  harbor  of  the  Piraeus, 
the  port  of  Athens,  in  Greece,  there  are  two 
lanterns  a  few  rods  apart,  perhaps  twelve  feet 
high,  and  those  were  all  that  are  recollected  in 
the  whole  course  of  our  explorations. 

Travellers  differ  exceedingly  in  their  accounts 
of  the  outskirts  of  Constantinople.  One  is  en- 
raptured with  the  picturesque  walks  along  the 
Bosphorus,  and  the  exceeding  loveliness  and  air 
of  rural  contentment  that  seems  to  reign  over 
those  little  diriy  villages,  scattered  here  and 
there  through  the  winding  valleys  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  ridges. 

Akhaba,  ssen  in  the  distance,  is  spoken  of  on 
account  of  its  chestnuts ;  while  another,  called 
Beghos,  is  celebrated  for  something  else;  and 
still  furtlier  on,  tlie  dwellings  reduced  by  dis- 
tance to  the  appearance  of  bee  hives,  stands  ■ 
Sekedere,  where  there  is  a  medicinal  spring,  the 
character  of  which  stands  high  among  the  na- 
tives. Several  chalybeate  fountains  in  the  in- 
terior have  been  analyzed  by  our  countryman. 
Dr.  Smith,  of  Charleston,  S.  C,  who  was  foi'- 
merly  in  Turkey  for  the  purpose  of  introducing 
the  culture  of  cotton. 

Sultania  was  a  favorite  temporary  abode  of 
some  of  the  old  heroic  Sultans.  The  general 
of  Murad  III  took  all  the  doors,  windows,  cush- 
ions, and  such  furniture  as  he  found  in  the  pala- 
ces of  the  cities  he  had  taken  in  one  of  his  de- 
vastating marches,  and  sent  them  to  this  place. 

We  did  not  derive  as  much  gratification  from 
these  sights,  so  poetically  dcscriljed  by  sentimen- 
tal tourists,  as  anticipated,  after  reading  a  des- 
cription of  them.  The  nearer  they  are  approach- 
ed, the  more  objectionable  they  are, 

A  country  village  in  Turkey  strongly  resem- 
bles the  Arab  towns  in  Asia  Minor.  Goats, 
dogs,  iihh,  smoking  loungers,  veiled,  barefooted 
women,  poultry,  perhaps  a  mosque,  and  hut  for 
mnkiiig  coifcc,  arc  the  prominent  things  that  at- 
tract attention.     If  there  are  natural  beauties  in 


the  risings  and  depressions  of  the  land,  the  utter 
neglect  with  wliieli  they  ai-e  regarded,  and  the 
ineflicieney  that  cbaratiterizesthe  domestic  econo- 
my of  the  inhabitants,  quite  satisfied  us  that  the 
art  of  being  comfortable  is  unknown  among  ihc 
common  people  everywhere. 

^^.^^m 

_   EMBASSIES  OF  CHRISTIAN  POWERS.  _ 

NKAur.v  every  lirst  class  power  in  Europe, 
and  the  United  Slates,  Imve  resident  ministers 
at  the  Sublime  I'orte.  Persons  residing  tempo- 
rarily in  the  city,  or,  in  fact,  any  part  of  the  Ot- 
toman empire,  arc  considered  under  the  imme- 
diate protection  of  their  ambassador,  consul  or 
government  agent.  They  arc  not  obliged  to 
pay  the  haratch,  or  poll  tax,  assessed  on  the  na- 
tives of  the  country. 

Each  legation  has  several  persons  attached  to 
it,  acting  as  interpreters,  servants,  etc.,  who  arc 
absolutely  necessary,  and  who  enjoy  complete 
protection  under  the  flag  they  serve,  however 
much  the  Grand  Seignor  might  wish  to  bow- 
string their  necks,  although  born  subjects  of  his 
majesty. 

'^  Some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  once  haugh- 
ty, despotic  bearing  of  the  government  towards 
official  messengers  from  the  kings  of  Europe,  by 
stating  the  singular  fact  that  they  were  frequent- 
ly thrown  into  prison,  their  lives  threatened,  and 
yet  their  imperial  masters  dare  not  resent  the 
affront.  But  the  overbearing,  despotic  sway  of 
the  crescent  has  passed  away,  and  Turkey  is 
completely  at  the  mercy  of  those  Christian  na- 
tions whose  prowess  was  once  despised,  and 
whose  solemn  embassies  were  treated  with  sove- 
reign contempt  on  account  of  their  religion,  and 
their  supposed  inferiority  in  m'litary  strength. 
•  Aehille  do  Harley,  a  French  ambassador,  in 
1612,  was  "  grossly  insulted,"  sa^'S  the  record, 
"  and  menaced  with  torture  by  Achmet  I."  In 
1660,  another  French  minister  was  arrested  at 
Adiianoplc,  by  Sultan  Ibrahim,  and  shut  up  in 
the  Seven  Towers — a  horrible  prison  which  we 
examined  on  the  outside,  while  sitting  on  horse- 
back, with  no  disposition  to  inspect  within, 
where  every  apartment  is  associated  with  crimes 
and  blood  of  an  atrocious  character. 

Still  later,  in  1G69,  Gabriel  dc  Guilexagues 
was  treated  as  though  he  were  a  monster,  unde- 
serving the  tender  mercies  of  the  faithful,  for 
daring  to  come  with  a  request  from  the  hateful 
Christians. 

Near  the  burnt  column,  there  used  to  be  a 
shelter  designated  as  Elchy  Khan,  where  the 
foreign  ambassadors  were  kept  under  the  eye  of 
the  Grand  Vizier. 

An  Austrian  internuncio  had  the  audacity  to 
peep  at  some  Turkish  ladies  through  a  back 
window  of  his  dismal  public  residence,  which  so 
exasperated  the  Sultan  that  orders  were  forth- 
with given  to  build  "up  a  brick  wall  to  obstruct 
the  view  in  that  direction  in  future,  and  His 
Highness,  the  messenger  of  the  emperor,  was 
thought  a  lucky  fellow  to  escape  so  favorably. 

An  entire  change  of  policy  has  come  over  the 
humbled  govemment  of  Turkey,  and  the  Chris- 
tians now  obtain  nearly  every  boon  they  are  dis- 
posed to  ask.  England  owns  a  spacious,  costly 
ambassadorial  palace  in  Pera,  protected  against 
fanatical  mobs,  and  the  most  potent  enemy  to 
he  contended  with  in  the  capital,  viz.,  fire,  by  a 
wall  laid  in  masonry,  about  twelve  feet  high, 
enclosing  an  extensive  plot  of  ground.  It  has 
been  occupied  by  Sir  Stratford  Canning  many 
years,  the  man  of  all  others,  who  best  under- 
stands negotiating  with  that  court. 

The  French  government  have  also  erected  a 
Ycry  beautiful  and  extensive  palace,  not  far  from 
the  British  ;  but  the  locality  is  unfortunate, — 
under  tho  brow  of  a  hill,  on  the  top  of  which 
runs  a  tolerable  kind  of  street  as  regards  width, 
giving  the  enclosure  a  chance  to  be  stoned  or 
otherwise  assaulted  b}'  infuriated  disciples  of  the 
Prophet.  We  were  gratified  with  the  cuhivated 
taste  evinced  in  the  arrangement  of  flower  beds 
and  shrubbery.  There  is  also  a  Russian  and, 
perhaps,  Austrian  palace  for  the  representatives 
of  these  monarchies,  but  the  particulars  relating 
to  them  are  rot  recalled,  if  seen  at  all. 

No  provision  has  yet  been  made  for  the 
American  minister.  He  resides  some  miles  up 
the  Bosphorus,  and  comes  down  to  an  office  at 
Pera,  where  business  is  transacted.  The  secre- 
tary of  the  legation  is  Mr.  Holmes,  of  Boston, 
an  obliging,  attentive  man  to  those  of  bis  coun- 
trymen who  ^isit  Constantinople.  He  was  for- 
merly connected  with  the  American  Board  of 
Foreign  Missions,  but  had  kft  the  connection 
before  our  arrival.  Through  liim  the  business 
was  transacted  with  tlie  government  for  the  libe- 


ration of  Kossuth,  who  was  a  prisoner  at  Kuta- 
ya,  five  days' journey  from  Constantinople.  It 
is  a  famous  antiquity— the  castle,  a  mighty  pri- 
son for  strength,  being  on  the  extreme  terminus 
of  a  hill  overlooking  tho  town. 

I  made  some  slight  preparations  fir  paying 
the  Hungarian  hero  a  visit,  but  fearir.g  that  the 
Austrian  ambassador's  spies  would  so  mark  my 
movements  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  escape 
police  scrutiny  on  arriving  a^  Trieste,  that  might 
lead  to  being  ordered  to  quit  the  emperor's  do- 
minions, I  thought  it  most  prudent  to  relinquish 
the  enterprise.  However,  1  addressed  Governor 
Kossuth  a  note,  which,  he  informed  me  on  his 
arrival  in  Boston,  was  received  by  him,  too  laic, 
however,  to  answer  the  object  in  view  by  thus 
addressing  him. 

Consuls  are  quartered  in  Pera  wherever  they 
can  obtain  the  best  locations  for  their  business, 
which,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  as  far  us  wc 
could  discover,  consists  in  fleecing  their  inexpe- 
rienced countrymen. 

Constantinople,  however,  instead  of  having  an 
American  born  citizen  to  sustain  the  office  of 
consul,  is  shamefully  misrepresented  by  a  man 
who  cares  a  thousand  times  more  for  his  own 
pocket  than  the  curses  of  American  travellers. 
Under  other  circumstances,  I  have  fearlessly  de- 
clared, that  the  American  consuls,  in  many  ports 
of  Europe,  and  certainly  in  certain  ports  of  Asia 
and  Africa,  are  infamous  rascals,  who  deserve 
punishment  for  oppressive  treatment  towards 
those  whom  it  is  their  duty  to  aid  by  their  coun- 
sel and  advice,  besides  giving  safe  conduct  with- 
in their  jurisdiction''. 

Not  a  single  French  or  Austrian  steamer  will 
take  a  passenger  from  Constantinople  for  Eu- 
rope, till  his  passport  has  first  been  signed,  if  tho 
applicant  is  from  America,  by  the  consul.  Then 
the  Austrian  or  Frenchman  signs  it,  and  both 
extract  an  unrighteous  fee ;  but  the  American 
takes  two  dollars  where  the  other  demands  half 
a  dollar.  From  an  opinion  that  all  our  consuls 
are  in  collusion  with  the  local  police  of  towns  in 
Italy,  and  their  brother  chips  at  the  points  at 
which  they  are  themselves  stationed,  to  spunge 
as  much  as  possible  for  evcTj  passer-by,  we  used 
to  thank  Heaven  in  loud  acclamations  on  arriv- 
ing at  a  spot  where  there  was  no  American  con- 
sul, to  rob  us  under  cover  of  the  wings  of  our 
eagle. 

I  should  unquestionably  have  entertained 
rather  different  sentiments  towards  these  licensed 
leeches,  had  they  been  my  countrymen ;  but  to 
be  thus  treated  by  an  official  who  has  no  sympa- 
thy for  the  United  States,  who,  perhaps,  never 
set  a  foot  on  the  continent,  or  could  read  or  write 
the  English  language,  makes  one  deplore  the 
political  corruption  of  the  day,  that  such  fellows, 
for  some  service  they  render  somebody  behind 
the  screen,  are  first  recommended  and  then  com- 
missioned at  Washington. 

Our  ambassadors  and  charges  d'affairs  must 
know  to  what  vile  purposes  the  consulates  are 
often  prostituted;  but  it  appears  to  me, for  some 
unknown  reason,  they  are  afraid  to  stop  them  in 
their  career  of  iniquity,  or  displace  them,  how- 
ever obnoxious  they  may  prove. 

There  is  not  a  Christian  power  on  the  globe 
that  pays  its' foreign  servants  so  meanly  as  ours. 
Not  a  single  one  in  Europe  has  enough  to  pay 
his  necessary  expenses,  without  leaving  him  a 
dollar  for  hospitality  or  civility.  They  are 
cramped  in  their  means,  and  not  unfrequently 
excite  both  the  pity  and  contempt  of  travellers, 
because  our  rich  republic  is  so  mean,  and  the 
commiseration  of  those  standing  upon  the  same 
official  level. 

England  pays  all  her  consuls  generously,  and 
pensions  most  of  them  after  a  service  of  fifteen 
years,  and  never  commissions  any  but  a  British 
subject. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  United  States  pay 
nothing,  but  virtually  gives  ihem  leave  to  get 
what  they  can,  provided  they  filch  all  they  have 
from  Americans. 

In  the  next  place,  it  appears  to  be  of  no  con- 
sequence from  what  country  their  consuls  hail, 
or  whether  they  ever  heard  of  the  government 
they  disgrace.  Every  traveller  in  the  East  knows 
that  it  makes  their  blood  boil  with  indignation 
to  contemplate  this  prostitution  of  an  imjaortant 
office  to  the  caprice  of  those  who  may  be  clothed 
with  tho  appointing  power.  Unfortunately  some 
of  our  own  citizens,  sent  abroad  with  consular 
authority,  are  worse  than  the  o'hcr  kind.  Broken 
down  politicians  are  thus  paid  for  their  stump- 
ing services  for  a  party,  and  reckless  of  all  con- 
sequence, having  neither  character  nor  pro^ierty 
to  lose,  they  prey  on  all  who  come  within  tho 
reach  of  ihcir  tentacuhu. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


395 


The  American  envoy  and  ministei'  resident 
receives  six  thousand  dollars  per  annum,  at 
Constantinople;  while  the  British  minister's  ex- 
penses rarely  faU  below  twenty  thousand  pounds 
sterling  a  year,  exclusive  of  the  money  put  at 
his  disposal  for  secret  service.  Then  there  is  a 
consul-general,  vice-consuls,  and  a  host  of  per- 
sons connected  with  the  chancery,  also  paid  by 
the  home  government,  costing  twenty-four 
thousand  pounds  more,  each  and  every  year 
they  are  there. 

Still  further,  the  English  parliament  meets 
stiJl  another  class  of  heavy  expenditures  con- 
nected with  the  Turkish  mission.  Despatches 
are  frequently  sent  on  by  an  express  steamer,  at 
a  cost,  upon  an  average,  of  fifty-liTC  pounds  each 
for  coals  alone,  amounting  in  round  numbers, 
from  Marseilles,  by  the  way  of  Malta  and  back 
again,  to  full  nine  hundred  pounds  more ! 

If  possible,  the  Kussian  embassy,  at  Constan- 
tinople, is  still  more  expensive  than  the  English, 
being  composed  of  about  thirty,  acting  in  all 
imaginary  high  capacities,  which  disburses  enor- 
mous sums  in  bribes,  besides  its  legitimate  ex- 
penditures. As  the  Czar  fully  intends  to  possess 
himself  of  the  only  jewel  within  his  grasp  worthy 
of  his  consideration,  it  requires  a  singular  com- 
bination of  diplomatic  machinery  and  naval  ap- 
paratus in  the  Black  Sea,  to  keep  in  actual  readi- 
ness to  take  possession  whenever  the  prize  di^ops 
into  his  lap 

Still,  it  strikes  me  that  Nicholas  \yill  never 
live  long  enough  to  realize  his  ambitious  hopes. 
Those  lean  apologies  for  embassies,  represent- 
ed by  a  profusion  of  stars  and  ribbons,  instead 
of  menial  vigor  or  demonstrations  of  resources 
by  the  occasional  visit  up  the  Dardanelles,  which 
are  sent  from  the  second  rate  sovereignties  of 
Europe,  are  not  worth  naming.  They  play  the 
small  parts  on  the  stage  of  nations,  like  chamber- 
maids and  upper  servants  in  the  theatre :  they 
assist  in  making  a  show,  without  materially  in- 
fluencing the  deliberations  of  either  party,  or 
effecting  anything  for  themselves." 

When  the  subjects  of  foreign  governments,  re- 
siding in  Turkey,  involve  themselves  in  debt, 
commit  crimes,  orstand  charged  with  delinquen- 
cies, if  not  forthwith  given  over  to  their  minis- 
ters, they  are  demanded  to  be  sent  home  for  trial. 
A  Turkish  jail  is  without  a  parallel  for  discom- 
fort, filth,  vermin,  and  concentrated  human 
misery. 

An  interesting  story  is  related  of  Izet  Mehem- 
et,  who  Avas  Grand  Vizier  in  1841,  but  degraded 
by  dismissal  from  office,  and  exiled  afterward, 
that  shows  there  may  be  sympathy  and  a  sti'ong 
sense  of  justice  in  the  heart  of  a  Turk, 

Being  repeatedly  assured  that  the  imprisoned 
debtors  in  the  prison  of  Constantinople  were 
harshly  treated,  and  cheated  out  of  the  rations 
appropriated  by  law,  he  dressed  himself  in  mean 
apparel,  one  evening,  and  stalked  into  one  of  the 
common  smoking  coffee  rooms  contiguous  to  the 
jail,  or  Zuidan  Kapoossy.  By  proper  manage- 
ment, he  persuaded  a  poor  fellow  with  whom  he 
fell  into  conversation,  by  giving  Iiim  a  suitable 
backsheish,  to  accompany  his  highness  to  a 
guard-house,  and  assert  that  he  was  a  debtor  to 
his  ragged  companion. 

Calling  the  Bashy,  or  captain  of  the  guard, 
aside,  he  pointed  out  Izet.  "  Do  you  see  him  V 
inquired  the  hired  stranger.  "  Yes,  and  an  ugly 
looking  fellow  he  is,  too !"  Suffice  it,  the  Sa- 
drazan,  the  prime  minister  of  the  empire,  was 
arrested,  and  speedily  incarcerated  in  the  vile 
hole  where  the  wretched,  unfortunate,  and  all 
kinds  of  criminals,  were  huddled  together  in  one 
common  pit  of  misery,  because  he  refused  to 
pay  for  a  better  apartment.  One  broken  pitcher 
and  one  mat  was  all  their  furniture.  When  the 
key-keeper  came  after  evening,  the  vizier  be- 
sought him  for  something  to  eat.  Bread  and 
soup  he  reminded  him  were  provided  by  the  Sul- 
tan, that  no  one  should  suifer  the  pangs  of 
hunger. 

This  made  the  villain  only  laugh.  "  We  give 
no  food  to  those  who  do  not  pay,"  was  the  reply. 
Finding  nothing  could  be  had  by  appealing  to 
his  sense  of  duty,  as  an  officer  acting  under  au- 
thority of  the  Grand  Vizier,  he  then  handed  the 
turnkey  sixty  paras  for  the  purchase  of  some 
bread  and  water;  for  which  he  gave  poor  bread 
and  but  little  water.  A  long  dialogue  ensued, 
in  which  the  official  had  his  daily  line  of  con- 
duct portrayed  ;  but  it  only  provoked  a  smile  of 
derision,  that  a  low  prisoner  should  undertake  to 
teach  him  his  responsibilities. 

Lastly,  as  he  was  going  out.to  cl.Q5e4;he  door, 
he  raised  the  bull's  hide  whip — always-ln  his 
hand, — and  threatened  to  gi^■e  the-hC-rt'  cbiier  a 


sound  flogging  if  he  presumed  to  say  another 
word! 

Eoused  to  a  pitch  of  almost  insupportable 
rage,  the  vizier  drew  forth  the  evidence  of  his 
great  rank — the  jeweled  nishan,  and  in  a  tre- 
mendous effort  of  lungs,  called  for  the  governor 
of  the  prison. 

Astonishment  overcame  both  the  associate 
prisoners  as  well  as  the  impudent,  selfish  key-bear- 
er, who  recognized  in  an  instant  the  awful  abyss 
beneath  his  feet.  He  fell  upon  bis  face  and 
cried,  "  Mercy,  mercy!"  It  would  be  a  narra- 
tion too  long  for  this  occasion  to  detail  all  the 
circumstances  that  followed  in  quick  succession. 
When  the  governor,  with  his  turbaned  attendants, 
came  in,  the  vizier  gazed  at  the  group  with  a 
keenness  of  the  eye  that  pierced  them  to  the 
heart,  and  ordered  them  to  show  him  the  whole 
establishment  at  once. 

Having  finished  the  inspection,  he  directed 
every  one  of  the  turnkeys  to  receive  one  hun- 
dred strokes  of  the  bastinado,  then  sent  the  gov- 
ernor to  the  batli  to  be  sweated,  and  afterwards 
dealt  with  as  he  deserved;  while  the  captain  of 
the  guard  who  arrested  him,  because  he  was 
bribed  to  do  it,  without  evidence  of  his  being  a 
debtor,  was  cashiered  and  placed  in  confinement 
where  he  had  sent  many  others  wrongfully. 


DARDANELLES. 
That  alternately  widening  and  naiTOwing  of 
the  water  way  between  Constantinople  and 
Smyrna,  which,  at  some  points,  resembles  a 
broad  river,  and  then  again  expands  beyond  the 
limits  of  vision,  embracing  a  variety  of  bays, 
islands  and  localities  of  ancient  renown,  is  desig- 
nated as  the  Dardanelles.  The  name  was  taken 
from  Dardanum,  now  a  tolerable  sized  Turkish 
town,  with  more  indications,  of  prosperity  than 
usually  appertain  to  them. 

It  ii  on  the  Asiatic  side,  has  quite  a  number 
of  landing  places,  a  quarantine  office,  one  long 
street  wide  enough  for  a  carriage,  quite  a  num- 
ber of  provision  and  grocery  shops,  a  yard  for 
building  boats  and  small  vessels,  and  is,  besides, 
dignified  by  having  both  an  English  and  French 
consul  residing  there. 

It  is  240  miles  from  Constantinople  to  Smyrna, 
through  the  Dardanelles.  Every  mile  of  the 
distance  is  associated  with  historical  events  of 
antiquity.  Every  island  has  been  a  theatre  of 
exploits,  and  the  shores  are  classical  ground. 

While  we  were  detained  at  the  different  call- 
ing places  for  the  despatches  of  the  several  con- 
suls, who  were  making  up  parcels  for  their  gov- 
ernments, to  be  conveyed  by  the  steamer,  the 
opportunity  was  ordinarily  improved  in  recon- 
noitering  the  region,  and  searching  out  ruins. 

This  same  spot  was  once  the  capital  of  a  king- 
dom, but  no  memorial  of  its  glory  can  be  detect- 
ed, unless  a  barrow,  or  mound  of  earth  standing 
some  way  back  in  a  field,  belongs  to  the  age  of 
its  greatness.  It  was  at  Dardanum  that  we  saw 
a  negro  in  the  management  of  a  row  boat,  who 
was  such  a  monster  of  fatness  that  he  was  an  ob- 
ject of  profound  astonishment.  How  the  blood 
could  be  propelled  through  those  vast  winrows 
of  blubber,  by  a  single  heart,  might  with  pro- 
priety engage  the  grave  consideration  of  a 
physiologist. 

The  mound  of  Hecuba  is  the  most  prominent 
of  the  ancient  things,  which  strangers,  of  course, 
take  pains  to  see.  By  the  Turks,  the  old  town 
of  Dardum,  or  DarJanum,  is  now  known  as 
Chaiiak.  Some  speculations  have  been  thrown 
out  by  topographical  scholars  in  regard  to  the 
exact  site  of  Ahydos.  But  the  wear  and  friction 
of  ages  upon  ages  have  quite  obliterated  every 
remnant  of  its  being,  so  that  even  tradition  points 
no  finger  towards  its  locality. 

Generally  there  is  somebody  on  board  the 
steamer  sufficiently  familiar  with  tbe  scenery  to 
indicate  where  the  bridge  of  Xerxes  stood;  where 
Alexander  the  Great's  army  crossed  over  into 
Asia,  and  to  particularize  points  of  romantic  in- 
terest of  less  note.  Singular  as  it  may  appear, 
Solyman,  in  1300,  selected  the  same  place  for 
boating  the  Ottoman  forces  over  into  Europe, 
and  there  he  raised  the  ensign  of  the  Mussulman 
power  for  the  first  time  on  a  new  continent,  from 
which  it  has  not  yet  been  dislodged. 

Some  formidable  castles  are  seen  in  the  course 
of  the  Dardanelles,  originally  the  Hellespont, 
which  appear  to  be  powerful  enough  to  prevent 
any  fleet  from  passing.  They  are  placed  on 
either  side,  Europe  and  Asia^ — for  this  irregular 
aquatic  roadstead  divides  the  two  continents. 
We  saw  where  Leander  swam  across  to  visit  his 
mistress,  a  feat  which  Byron  also  accomplished. 
An  extraordinary  fttrtress'  on  tlTc  route  gains 


the  special  attention  of  travellers,  from  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  outer  wall  actually  describes 
the  figure  of  a  heart  on  a  playing  card.  Being 
on  a  descent  towards  the  water,  and  built  on  the 
European  side,  the  back  elevation  is  sufficient  to 
give  a  complete  view  of  the  rural  enclosure.  Of 
course,  all  the  forts  are  strongly  fortified,  and 
manned  by  heavy  guns,  many  of  which  throw 
stone  balls. 


SMYKWA. 
Weiie  it  not  for  being  in  the  track  from  Syria 
to  Constantinople,  the  starting  point  also  for  the 
Grecian  Islands  and  Athens,  and  the  principal 
post  in  Turkey  with  which  American  merchants 
hold  a  direct  commercial  intercourse,  Smyrna 
would  hardly  have  received  the  attention  in  this 
notice,  which  is  obviously  due  to  its  past  renown 
and  present  importance. 

The  plan  contemplated  in  these  sketches  by 
no  means  embraces  a  modern  gazetteer  of  the 
Sultan's  dominions.  If  it  did,  more  than  one 
hundred  towns,  scarcely  known  to  us  even  by 
name,  would  have  claims  to  remembrance  on 
the  score  of  former  consideration,  before  the 
Turks  ever  had  possession  of  the  beautiful  coun- 
try, whose  destiny  is  under  their  control,  till  Provi- 
dence 1ms  accomplished  through  their  instrumen- 
tality the  designs  that  belong  to  the  counsels  of 
the  Sovereign  Disposer  of  events. 

Formerly  there  were  turbulent  disputes  as  to 
the  founder  of  the  city.  Whoever  first  selected 
it  for  a  town,  exercised  a  sound  judgment,  for 
Smyrna  has  all  the  advantages  of  a  magnificent 
bay,  deep  water,  a  fruitful  region,  a  delightful 
climate,  and  whatever  else  may  be  necessary  for 
progress  in  business,  wealth  and  influence. 

Smyrna  is  on  the  Asiatic  shore,  splendidly 
protected  by  graceful  elevations,  and  possesses 
within  itself  the  elements  of  incalculable  com- 
mercial power,  whenever  the  Anglo  Saxons 
take  it  under  their  care. 

Old  houses,  old  forts,  old  ruins,  old  women, 
and  old  gray-bearded  Jews,  are  among  its  curi- 
osities. The  streets  are  narrow,  not  remarkably 
clean,  and  filled  with  human  beings.  All  the 
world  i?  represented  in  the  bazaars  by  products 
from  all  lands. 

Jews  abound;  some  of  them  are  notorious 
cheats,  but  they  are  links  in  the  chain  of  society 
not  easily  dispensed  with,  notwithstanding  the 
contempt  with  which  they  are  generally  held. 

By  climbing  up  a  tremendously  steep  hiU, 
back  of  the  town,  a  lovely  panoi  amic  view  is  ob- 
tained over  distant  islands,  capes  and  bays.  An 
immensely  large  enclosure — the  ruined  fortress, 
no  doubt  the  site  of  the  ancient  Acropolis, — 
marks  the  place  where  Polycarp  was  martyred, 
a  disciple  of  the  Apostles. 

Looking  to  the  south,  the  ground  on  which 
stood  one  of  the  seven  churches  of  Asia,  of  apos- 
tolic antiquity,  is  designated,  off  in  a  partially 
cultivated  field,  perhaps  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
the  city. 

All  the  most  compact  and  business  part,  where 
the  population  is  the  densest,  the  ground  is  flat, 
and.  in  fact,  some  portions  of  it,  cultivated  as 
gardens,  seen  from  the  dilapidated  fortress,  the 
enclosures  appear  even  below  the  common  level 
of  the  section  built  upon. 

There  is  a  favorite  residence  for  Europeans 
doing  business  in  Smyrna,  called  Bournabat,  a 
pleasant  ride,  that  constitutes  one  of  the  crown- 
ing rural  beauties  of  the  modern  port. 

Smyrna  is  one  of  the  reputed  birth-places  of 
Homer.  We  shall  ever  retain  a  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  its  beauties  and  discomforts,  from  the 
circumstance  of  being  plunged  into  a  vile  qua- 
rantine hole,  to  doze  away  five  days  of  precious 
life,  although  in  perfect  health,  and  the  vessel, 
an  Austrian  steamer  which  brought  us  from 
Beiroot,  was  without  a  taint. 

A  more  shamefully  unrighteous  exaction  was 
never  made,  than  taking  a  heavy  fte  out  of  every 
foreigner  whom  the  government  obliges  to  pass 
from  the  vessel  into  ihe  walled  yard,  to  wear 
away  the  time.  Sick  or  well,  every  one  is  com- 
pelled to  look  out  for  himself,  or  starve.  Neither 
food,  beds  nor  medicine  are  brought  in,  unless 
the  individual  for  whom  they  are  designed  has 
the  money  to  pay  down. 

On  receiving  fratique,  that  is,  a  pass  to  go 
out,  either  into  the  city,  or  proceed  onward  to 
Constantinople,  a  fee  is  to  be  paid  into  the  coffers 
of  the  Sultan.  If  a  person,  thus  incarcerated, 
were  to  sleep  on  the  bare  ground,  tlie  rent  would 
be  exacted  with  equal  rigor;  and  if  some  poor 
Arab,  Jew,  or  Armenian,  has  nothing  to  pay 
with,  he  is  detained,  till,  through  the  S3'mpathy 
of  his  own  countrymen,  the  cash  is  raised. 


We  were  lodged  in  the  upper  story  of  a  largo 
building,  without  a  single  article  of  furniture 
that  was  not  hired  of  an  Italian  tavern-keeper, 
who  furnished  us  with  two  meals  a  day.  He,  of 
course,  took  advantage  of  our  condition  to  pock- 
et an  honest  penny.  Cooks,  waiters,  in  short, 
whoever  he  employed  in  any  menial  capacity  to 
keep  from  starvation,  came  in  with  a  demand 
for  service.  Even  several  bare-legged  Turks, 
who  were  spies  upon  our  movements  in  the  yard, 
walking  about  with  sticks  to  keep  us  from  touch- 
ing those  who  had  been  in  longer  or  shorter  than 
ourselves,  called  oul:  lustily  for  backsheish  ;  for  all 
the  compensation  they  had  was  what  they  could 
raise  out  of  those  they  were  perpetually  harass- 
ing and  annojing  by  their  presence. 

Smyrna  has  also  two  large  hotels,  but  the  one 
nearest  the  harbor  is  most  patronized  by  travel- 
lers. Dinner  is  served  much  as  at  the  hotels  of 
Germany,  and  the  expense  is  two  dollars  a  day. 
After  taking  quarters  and  depositing  luggage,  it 
is  customary  to  take  a  guide,  dozens  of  whom 
are  always  sauntering  about  the  doorway,  eager 
for  a  job. 

We  took  a  tall,  bushy-headed  Jew,  whose  tur- 
ban almost  rivalled  a  haycock  in  size,  who  turn- 
ed out  to  be  a  deceitful,  dishonest  knave.  There 
are  runners  in  abundance  who  intercept  stran- 
gers, strongly  recommending  certain  lodgings  as 
being  desirable  on  account  of  location  and  econo- 
my, for  whiL-h  they  get  a  handsome  percentage. 

Abraham  told  a  whopping  lie  to  secure  our 
patronage,  by  saying,  our  countryman,  a  gentle- 
man who  had  preceded  us  by  about  a  week,  had 
left  special  directions  for  him  to  wait  upon  us. 
Such  politeness  led  at  once  to  an  engagement. 
However,  he  was  subsequently  dismissed  in 
disgrace. 

The  Turks  seem  to  destroy  whatever  belongs 
to  them.  They  are  so  entirely  selfish,  bigoted 
and  absolute,  that  they  are  beyond  improvement. 
A  more  magnificent  opportunity  was  never  pre- 
sented  for  securing  a  trade  that  would  enrich  all 
Turkey,  while  the  resources  of  the  country  might 
be  developed,  than  by  constructing  warehouses, 
widening  streets,  and  abolishing  the  laws  which 
are  at  war  with  the  principles  of  trade. 

Of  ancient  Anatolia,  Smyrna  was  the  focus  of 
wealth,  business  and  knowledge.  It  was  said  to 
be  the  ornament,  the  city  of  renovation,  having 
been  often  destroyed,  and  as  frequently  rebuilt. 
Ten  times,  on  the  authority  of  historians,  has 
Smyrna  been  rebuilt,  and  on  each  occasion  was 
improved  by  the  disaster.  Like  Alexandria  in 
Eg}-pt,  Alexander  the  Great  has  the  reputation 
of  having  commenced  the  first  foundations. 

By  some  inexplicable  hocus  pocus,  contrary  to 
our  usual  foresight,  we  followed  the  Jew  guide 
to  a  hotel,  which  he  represented  as  altogether 
superior  to  all  others,  but  which  proved  to  be  a 
rickety,  filthy  old  house,  variously  patched, 
elongated  and  improved  by  extra  steps,  doors 
and  iron  bedsteads. 

As  the  luggage  preceded  us,  and  had  been 
partially  stowed  away,  it  was  thought  best,  on 
the  whole,  to  remain  over  night,  notwithstand- 
ing the  bad  first  impression.  Next  morning,  on 
giving  notice  we  were  to  leave,  a  perfect  uproar 
commenced  among  those  who  had  an  interest  in 
the  vile  Greek  establishment.  An  old  woman, 
who  appeared  to  be  general  in  command,  pre- 
sented exorbitant  bills.  One  gentleman  de- 
clared that  he  never  would  pay  it.  She,  on  the 
other  hand,  stated  the  disappointment,  the  cost 
of  the  dinner  she  had  purchased  for  the  day,  ex- 
pecting all  to  remain,  and  lastly,  secured  herself 
against  all  losses  by  detaining  his  trunks.  We 
offered  to  pay  for  the  marketing  jointly,  and  do 
other  acts  that  would  leave  no  stain  upon  her 
reputation.  No  proposition  was  of  nny  avail, 
short  of  promptly  paying  up  for  the  period  we 
contemplated  to  remain  on  our  arrival. 

The  absurdity  of  the  demand  induced  the 
party  to  delegate  one  of  the  number  to  complain 
at  the  police  ofiice,  if  there  was  one  in  the  town. 
No  sooner  had  this  intelligence  penetrated  the 
skulls  of  the  household,  than  through  the  spokes- 
man, the  big  old  woman,  the  cun-ent  of  events 
was  changed,  the  luggage  given  up,  and  the  bills 
settled  at  once  on  tolerably  equitable  terms. 
Fear  overruled  a  sense  of  justice.  This  affair 
was  no  sooner  ended  than  the  greasy  Israelite 
came  in  with  a  complaint  of  the  damage  he 
should  sustain  by  our  leaving.  He. might  have 
continued  his  solemn  argument  in  favor  of  a 
claim  for  backsheish,  had  we  not  brought  the 
interview  abruptly  to  a  close.  After  various 
petty  difficulties,  we  were  ultimately  emancipa- 
ted from  the  clutches  of  the  unprincipled  Greek 
rascals. 


396 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL    DRAWING    llOOM    COMPANION. 


HUNTING  SCENES. 
We  present  herewith  a  series  of  sporting  scenes,  as  being  scas- 
onablu  and  attractive.  The  first  picture  represents  the  hare  at 
full  speed,  liis  pursuers  are  after  him,  thou};h  they  have  not  yet 
come  in  view.  These  animals  are  found  in  nearly  every  part  ot 
the  world,  and  just  at  this  season  our  markets  show  a  t;ooiUy 
array  of  them,  the  result  of  the  sportsman's  skill.  They  form  a 
very  rich  and  palatable  dish,  under  the  hands  of  a  skilful  cook. 
The  bare  runs  by  a  kind  of  leapinp  movement  or  pace,  and  in 
walking,  uses  the  feet  as  far  as  the  heel.  The  tail  is  either  very 
short,  or  almost  entirely  wanting,  The  Eiuropean  hare  is  found 
throughout  Europe,  and  some  parts  of  Asia.     The  color  of  this 


.^>.<^^' 


^.,  '  >S' 


HUNTEK     LEAPING    A    DITCH. 

species  is  of  a  tawny  red  on  the  back  and  sides,  and  white  on  the 
belly.  The  cars,  which  are  very  long,  are  tipped  with  black ;  the 
eyes  are  very  large  and  prominent.  The  length  of  this  animal  is 
about  two  feet,  and,  when  fullgrown,itweighssix  to  eight  pounds. 
It  is  a  watchful,  timid  creature,  always  lean,  and,  from  the  form 
of  its  legs,  runs  swifter  up  hill  than  on  level  ground.     Hares  feed 


PACK    IN    lULL    CR\. 

on  vegetables,  and  are  very  fond  of  the  bark  ot  young  trees  ;  their 
favorite  food,  however,  is  parsley.  Their  flesh  was  forbidden  to 
be  eaten  among  the  Jews  and  the  ancient  Britons,  whilst  the  Ro- 
mans, on  the  contrary,  held  it  in  great  esteem.  The  flesh  is  now 
much  prized  for  its  peculiar  flavor,  though  it  is  very  black,  dry, 
and  devoid  of  fat. 


HARE    IN    FULL    RUN. 

It  is  cnrions  that  the  voice  of  the  bare  is  never  heard  but  when 
it  is  seized  or  wounded.  At  such  times,  it  utters  a  sharp,  loud 
cry,  not  very  unlike  that  of  a  child.  It  has  a  remarkable  instinct 
in  escaping  from  its  enemies  ;  and  many  instances  of  the  surpris- 
ing sagacity  of  these  animals  are  on  record,  though  it  appears 
that  all  of  them  do  not  possess  equal  experience  and  cunning.  A 
perpetual  war  is  carried  on  against  them  by  cats,  wolves,  and 
birds  of  prey  ;  and  even  man  makes  use  of  every  artifice  to  entrap 
these  defenceless  and  timid  creatures.  They  are  easily  tamed, 
but  never  attain  such  a  degree  of  attachment  as  renders  ihcm  do- 
mestic, always  availing  themselves  of  the  first  opportunity  to  es 
cape.  Among  the  devices  of  hares  to  elude  their  pursuers,  the 
following  have  been  observed  :  getting  up  into  a  hollow  tree,  or 
upon  ruined  walls  ;  throwing  themselves  into  a  river,  and  floating 
down  some  distance  ;  or  swimming  out  into  a  lake,  keeping  only 
their  nose  above  the  surface ;  returning  on  their  own  scent,  etc. 
The  American  hare,  so  well  known  under  the  name  of  rahb'U^  is 
found  in  most  parts  of  North  America.  The  summer  hair  is  dark 
brown  on  the  upper  part  of  the  head,  lighter  on  the  sides,  and  of 
an  ash  color  below  ;  the  ears  are  Avide,  edged  with  white,  tipped 
with  brown,  and  dark  colored  on  their  back;  tail,  dark  above, 
white  beneath,  having  the  inferior  surface  turned  up  ;  the  fore  legs 
are  shorter  and  the  binder  longer  in  proportion  than  those  of  the 
European.  In  the  Middle  and  Southern  States,  the  change  in 
the  color  of  the  hair  is  by  no  means  as  remarkable  as  it  is  farther 
north.  This  species  is  from  fourteen  to  eighteen  inches  long. 
The  American  hare  generally  keeps  within  its  form  during  the 
day,  feeding  only  in  the  morning  or  at  night.  The  flesh  is  in  its 
prime  late  in  the  autumn  and  in  the  winter.  The  hare  is  not 
hunted  in  this  country  as  in  Europe,  but  is  generally 
roused  by  a  dog,  and  shot  or  caught  by  means  of  a 
common  box  trap ;  this  latter  is  the  most  usual  mode. 
In  its  gait,  it  is  very  similar  to  the  European,  leaping 
rather  than  running.  Like  that  animal,  it  breeds  sev- 
eral times  during  the  year.  There  are  several  other 
species  of  the  hare  inhabiting  North  America,  of  which 
the  most  remarkable  is  the  polar  hare.  This  occurs 
iu  vast  numbers  towards  the  extreme  northern  part 
of  the  continent.  It  is  larger  than  the  common  hare. 
The  fur  is  exceedingly  thick  and  woolly,  of  the  purest 
white  in  the  cold  months,  with  the  exception  of  a 
tuft  of  long  black  hair  at  the  tip  of  the  ears.  In  sum- 
mer, the  hair  becomes  of  a  grayish  brown. — Our  sec- 
ond picture  represents  a  sportsman,  well  mounted,  in 
hot  pursuit  of  the  game,  and  leaping  a  fence  or  ditch. 
This  is  a  most  common  occurrence  in  Europe ;  the 
horses  are  well  trained,  and  taught  to  leap  anything  at  which  the 
rider  directs  them,  and  some  perform  prodigious  feats  of  leaping, 
both  in  distance  and  height.  This  sport  is  little  practised  in  our 
country,  at  least  not  in  the  Eastern  and  Middle  States — at  the  ex- 
treme South,  as  well  as  in  Canadi,  it  is  more  in  vogue. — The 
third  picture  represents  a  pack  of  hounds  in   full  cry,  far  in  ad- 


TOP  OF  THE  EARTH. 

Thirteen  thousand  seven  hundred  and  twenty 
ftet  above  the  level  of  the  sea  !  At  a  perpendi- 
cular elevation  of  upwards  of  two  miles  and  a 
half,  nearly  on  the  snow  Andes,  stands  the  top- 
most city  of  the  earth,  Ceno  de  Pasco.  It  is  the 
capital  of  the  richest  silver  district  in  Peru.  In 
the  shops  of  Pasco  are  found  the  richest  products 
of  all  countries.  Bass's  pale  ale  is  in  high  favor 
here,  and  knives  and  forks  carry  the  stamp  of 
Sheffield  cutlers.  I  remember  being  pleasantly 
surprised  in  a  shepherd's  hut  on  the  Puna,  at 
having  placed  before  me  some  boiled  maize  on  a 
plate  ornamented  with  a  picture  of  John  Ander- 
son my  Joe  and  his  gude  wife,  with  two  verses 
of  the  song  beneath  it.  The  Indian  was  delight- 
ed at  the  pleasure  I  took  in  the  plate,  and  was 
solicitous  to  have  the  lines  translated.  The  taste 
for  gambling,  so  prevalent  throughout  South 
America,  is  most  strongly  developed  at  Ceno  de 
Pasco.  Public  lotteries  are  drawn  every  week, 
and  sometimes  every  day  in  the  week.  The 
streets  are  continually  infested  by  fellows  crying, 
"  A  thousand  dollars  to-morrow  !"  These  men 
carry  books,  from  which  they  tear,  for  each  cus- 
tomer, a  ticket,  price  one  shilling,  giving  him  or 
her  a  chance  in  the  next  lottery.  The  prize  is 
sometimes  as  large  as  five  thousand  dollars,  with 
intermediate  ones  of  smaller  amount.  I  believe 
that  the  strictest  impartiality  and  fairness  cha- 
racterize the  drawing.  All  these  lotteries  are 
under  government  control.  The  billiard  and 
montero  tables  are  in  constant  request;  domi- 
noes is  a  fiivorite  game  in  the  cafes,  hut  those 
games  at  cards,  which  are  rapid  in  their  results, 
and  depend  wholly  upon  chance,  have  irresisti- 
ble attractions  for  all  classes.  The  shaven  priest, 
decorated  with  cross  and  rosary,  may  be  fre- 
quently seen  playing  with  the  ragged  Indian ; 
and  instances  are  told  of  the  wealthy  mine  pro- 
prietor losing  in  a  night  every  dollar  he  pos- 
sessed, to  one  of  his  own  ragged  men.  The 
cockpit  is  a  favorite  amusement.  The  comba- 
tants are  armed  with  one  spur  only;  this  is  aflat, 
curved,  two  edged  blade,  very  keen,  and  finely 
pointed.  The  first  blow  commonly  decides  the 
battle,  and  both  cocks  are  often  killed.  Hun- 
dreds of  dollars  change  hands  every  minute,  and 
the  excitement  of  the  betters  is  intense,  and  even 
here,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  Sabbath,  which  is 
especially  appropriated  to  the  cock  fight,  the 
priest  hands  around  the  begging  box,  or  lays  his 
dollar  on  a  favorite  bird. — Household  Words, 


vanccof  the  sportsman,  and  steadily  bent  on  running  down  the 
deer,  which  they  may  be,  or  fox  or  hare.  A  pack  in  full  cry  has 
been  the  theme  of  many  a  poem  ;  their  innaic  thrills  the  sportsman's 
heart,  and  is  exciting  to  the  mo.st  indififerent  and  stoical. — Our 
fourth  engraving  represcnla  the  head  of  a  hound,  and  a  fine,  natu- 
ral piece  of  drawing  it  is.  Who  cannot  read  intelligence  in  the 
sagacious  expression  of  those  eyes?  who  can  decide  where  instinct 
ends,  and  reason  begins,  in  the  actuating  motive  of  this  noble  ani- 
mal? His  attachment  to  his  master  is  proverbial;  Iiis  fieetnesa, 
docility,  and  endurance  has  passed  into  a  proverb,  and  his  useful- 
ness has  long  been  an  established  fact.  In  nearly  every  country 
the  sagacity  and  fidelity  of  the  dog  has  made  him  the  friend  and 
companion  of  man,  and  the  cheerful  partaker  of  his  fortunes.  In 
the  pursuit  of  the  chase,  and  in  the  avocations  of  more  domestic 
life,  he  has  ev«r 
been  the  atten- 
dant of  the  hu- 
man species, 
andscarcelyany 
other  animal 
has  been  made 
more  useful,  or 
been  employed 
to  better  advan- 
tage.  Anec- 
dotes of  his  cou- 
rage, and  in- 
stinctive reas- 
onings abound 
to  an  unlimited 
extent,  and  vol- 
umes might  be 
addtd  to  tho:;e 
heretofore    giv-  HEAD    OF  A   HOUND, 

en    on    these 

points. — The  fifth  engraving  represents  a  couple  of  deer,  fleeing 
swiftly  as  the  wind.     The  buck  has  just  scented  the  far-off  hunter 
and  pack.     The  picture  reminds  us  of  Scott's  lines ; 
"  The  Htap  at  eve  nad  (irunk  hifl  fill, 

AVherp  dancni  the  moon  on  Monans  rill, 

And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  mada 

In  lono  Glonartney'f  haz«l  shade; 

But  ere  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  BenToirlirh  8  head, 

The  deep-mouthed  b!oodhound"B  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  w.iy, 

And  faint  from  farther  distance  borne, 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn  1" 

When  turned  to  bay,  the  buck  will  fight  desperately,  and  often- 
times wound  both  hunter  and  dogs  seriously.  But  the  sport  to 
those     accus- 

/ 


tomed  to  it  is 

of    the    most 

exciting  char 

acter,   and  is 

largely  fol 

lowed  in  our 

country    at 

the    extreme 

north    and 

south.       The 

deer  is    pos 

sesaedofkeen 

senses,   espe 

cially  hearing 

and  smelling 

the    sight, 

though  good,  does  not  appear  to  equal  in  power  the  senses  just 

named.     It  is  necessary  for  a  hunter  to  approach  a  deer  against 

the  wind,  otherwise  he  is  discovered  by  the  scent.     The  slightest 

noise  appears  to  excite  its  fears  more  than   any  other  cause ; 

while,  on  the  contrary,  the  sight  of  accustomed  objects  seems  rather 

to  arouse  curiosity  than  produce  terror. 


^\  IV 


vyr     \ 


DELI.    SCLNTING    Tilt    CHASE. 


OSMANLI,  THE    MAMELUKE,  [8c«  Btory  cntUUa  "Tho  Mumoluko."] 


MR.  WEBSTER  AS  A  FAR3IER. 

Mr.  Webster's  property,  landed  and  personal, 
is  pretty  large.  His  stock  upon  his  farm  has  very 
great  value.  We  have  never  seen  the  man  who 
could  give  such  an  interesting  and  complete  dis- 
quisition in  relation  to  his  domestic  animals.  He 
was  not  more  quick  to  apprehend  the  most  hid- 
den point  in  law,  or  casuistry,  or  logic,  and  to 
turn  it  over  in  all  its  bearings  and  relations,  than 
at  a  glance  to  read  the  character  and  qualities  of 
cattle.  He  seemed  to  have  a  passion  for  good 
farm  stock.  He  was  once  showing  a  few  friends 
over  his  wide  domain  at  Marshfield,  and  point- 
ing out  his  animals,  when,  upon  reaching  a  field 
upon  which  an  hundred  head  of  cattle  were  feed- 
ing, he  stopped,  and  stood  gazing  at  them  some 
moments  before  speaking.  He  appeared  to  dote 
over  them. — "There,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a 
small  animal  lying  down,  "  there  is  a  cow  that  I 
will  put  against  even  yours  in  New  Braintree  or 
Barre.  She  is  of  the  Ayrshire  and  Devon,  was 
five  years  old  in  June,  and  since  the  24th  day  of 
May  last  she  has  yielded  —  pounds  of  milk  at 
night  and  —  pounds  in  the  morning ;"  and  so  he 
continued  in  relation  to  any  other  about  which 
he  was  questioned.  "  Happy  the  man,"  said  he, 
"  who  can  say  as  the  Duke  of  Devon  did  to  me — 
*  that  he  knew  his  name  would  live  and  have  a 
place  in  the  realm  so  long  as  good  cattle  should 
exist  in  England.' " 

It  is  a  singular  coincidence  that  almost  the 
last  letter  Mr.  Webster  wrote  with  his  own  hand, 
only  four  days  before  his  fatal  attack,  was  to  Mr. 
Stetson,  of  the  Astor  House,  in  relation  to  this 
favorite  subject  of  his  care  and  attention.  His 
attachment  to  this  pursuit  was  noble.  He  al- 
most lived  out  of  doors,  when  at  home.  He 
watched  and  studied  every  department  of  agri- 
culture with  a  devotion  that  was  equally  a  de- 
light. These  thoughts  never  left  him,  and  even 
in  his  last  sickness  he  had  much  to  say  about  his 
plans  in  this  pursuit.  With  Mr.  Webster,  tliis 
subject  was  endeared  to  him  by  his  piotracted 
experimental  exertions  to  improve  the  agricul- 
ture of  his  country.  In  its  prosecution,  as  at 
once  a  recreation  from  public  cares  and  a  daty 
to  his  countrymen,  he  became  attached  to  the 
fine  animals  upon  his  fields,  in  a  manner  which 
charmingly  illustrates  the  simplicity  of  his  nature. 
In  one  of  the  days  of  his  illness,  it  is  said,  he  sat 
np,  supported,  by  a  friend,  and  looked  out  with 
interest  oa  his  herds,  which  had  been  driven  up 
Dettrthajnaaaioa,at  his  request. —  Worcester  J^ia, 


GLEASONS   PICTORIAL   DRAWING -llOOM   C03IPANI0N. 


397 


FREDERICK   GLEASON,   Proprietor. 
MATURIN   M.    BALLOU,   Editor. 

CONTEKTS  OF  OUR  NEXT  NU3IBER. 

"  Memento  Tivorum,"  a  story  of  a  Pope's  Common 
Place  Book,  by  Augustine  J.  H.  Duganbe. 
"  The  Two  Wills,"  a  highly  interesting  story,  by  Mrs. 

*'  The  Way  to  Washington,"  No.  R',  by  Ben:   Peelet 

POOEE. 

"  Turkey  and  the  Turks."  No.  XVI,  relating  to  Smyrna, 
etc.,  by  Dr.  .Iebome  T.  C.  Smith. 

"The  Universal  Genius,"  a  story,  by  Dr.  J.  H.  Rob- 
inson. 

''  Song  of  the  Pilgrim  of  the  Alps,"  by  T.  Buchanan 
Read. 

"Rhyme  of  the  Autumn  Rain,"  by  Alice  Caret. 

"The  JuDiata  Talley,"  lines,  by  Lt    E  Cdrtiss  Hike. 

"The  Stars."  lines,  by  Joseph  H.  Butlee 

"Jack  Profit,"  verses,  bv  J-  Stair  Hollowat. 

"Friendship,"  lines,  by  Mrs.  R  T    Eldredge 

"The  Blind  Boy's  Dream,"  verses,  by  Mrs.  Saeah  E. 
Dawes 

ILLTTSTBATIONS. 

We  phall  present  a  large  and  beautiful  allegorical  pic- 
ture by  Billings,  of  Christmas,  a  seasonable  and  excellent 
scene. 

A  fine  maritime  picture  representing  the  new  Egyptian 
fiteam  frigat*,  named  the  "  Faid  Gihaad,"  now  in  the  har- 
bor of  Alexandria. 

A  picture  reprcKentin^  the  scene  of  the  commencement 
of  the  first  railroad  in  Brazil. 

A  portrait  of  the  famous  Abd-el-Kader,  now  the  lion  of 
the  French  capital. 

A  view  of  (he  castle  of  Pau,  the  late  prison  of  the  illus- 
trious Abd-el-Kader. 

A  very  excellent  picture  of  Grace  Church,  New  York, 
by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade. 

\  picture  of  the  Alms  House  on  Deer  Island,  Boston 
harbor,  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Mallonj. 

V  maritime  picture,  rep reifen ting  a  scene  on  the  North 
River,  with  canal  boats,  etc.,  by  our  arti?t,  Mr.  Wade. 

A  fac  simile  of  the  large  and  valuable  gold  rine  pre- 
cented  to  the  president  elect.  Frank  Pierce,  by  the  citizens 
of  San  Francisco,  will  be  given,  drawn  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
Cliapin, 

Trinity  Church,  New  York,  will  be  very  finely  and  per- 
fectly represented  by  our  artist,  Mr.  Wade. 

A  large,  full  page  picture  representing  thnt  interesting 
subject  and  most  timely  Iheme,  a  Christmas  Tree. 

A.  very  excellent  picture  representing  the  new  and  novel 
bridge,  prepared  by  Mr.  Genin,  to  span  Broadway,  New 
York,  from  his  store  to  St.  Paul's  Church. 


THE  CABINET. 

We  observe  that  the  press  is  very  busy  in  form- 
ing General  Pierce's  Cabinet  for  him.  Among 
other  names  of  prominfnt  men  of  the  rountry, 
we  observe  that  of  Charles  Gordon  Greene,  of 
the  Boston  Post,  as  likely  to  be  called  to  Wash- 
ington as  one  of  the  cabinet  of  President  Pierce. 
We  know  no  more  of  the  matter  than  others ; 
but  this  we  do  know,  that  Mr.  Greene  is  not 
only  eminently  qualified  for  such  an  appoint- 
ment, but  that,  aside  from  his  universal  popular- 
ity, his  unequalled  services  to  the  Democratic 
party  entitle  him  to  its  highest  honors. 


SPHNTEES. 


....  A  New  York  manager  offers  Mile.  Ra- 
chel 850,000  for  one  year's  engagement  here. 

How  long  would  England  put  up  with 

the  nonsense  our  government  bears  from  Spain? 

....  It  is  stated  the  ex-Emperor  of  Austria 
has  been  seized  with  apoplexy. 

Sontag  has  rented  a  private  house  in 

New  York,  which  she  will  occupy  this  winter. 

....  Mr  Bunn,  the  ex-mauager  of  Drury 
Lane,  is  very  popular  in  Boston  and  vicinity. 

It  is  proposed  to  greatly  enlarge  Fanenil 

Hall ;  a  very  proper  idea.     Carry  it  out. 

....  Kossuth  and  Mazzini  lately  addressed 
the  friends  of  liberty  in  London. 

Bayard  Taylor  was  last  heard  from  as 

being  in  London.     He  was  going  to  Spain. 

We  are  sorry  to  learn  of  the  serious  in- 
disposition of  Prentice,  the  poet  editor. 

Mr.  Chickering,  of  this  city,  receives  uni- 
versal sympathy  for  his  late  loss  by  fire. 

The  Evening  Gaze'tte  says  that  Sontag 

realized  S10,000  profit  by  her  visit  to  Boston. 

Can't  some  one  pat  a  stop  to  the  insane 

taste  for  negro  literature  1     It's  sickening. 

Mr.  James  T.  Fields  is   announced  to 

lecture  before  the  Mercantile  Library  Association. 

We   are   sick   enough  at  the  wholesale 

flattery  bestowed  upon  public  performers. 

Was  Mr.  Choate's/>er/br7HaHce  before  the 

Mercantile  Library worthyofhim?  Wethinknot. 

A  jcompany  of  Chinese   theatrical  per- 

formeris  are  now  in  New  York  city. 

Mr.  Hillard's  failing  is  "excessive  use  of 

^figurative  language,"  a  fault  he  himself  alludes  to. 


WIA'IER  EVENINGS. 

The  long  winter  evenings  are  upon  us  ;  the 
sun  goes  to  bed  early  and  gets  up  late.  Scarce- 
ly have  we  finished  dinner,  scarcely  indulged  in 
a  little  pleasant  chat  over  the  table,  ere  his  broad 
disk  dips  beneath  the  horizon,  and  the  brief  gold- 
en twilight  is  followed  by  the  footsteps  of  dusky 
night.  But  these  long  evenings  are  a  blessing 
to  all  classes,  abridging  as  they  do  the  hours  of 
labor  to  most  men.  The  teamster  puts  up  his 
horses,  and  earlier  sits  down  to  bis  frugal  meal ; 
while  the  shipwright  earlier  leaves  his  labor  on 
the  leviathan  destined  proudly  to  carry  the  stars 
and  stripes  over  the  mountain  waves  of  ocean, 
and  thus  the  commercial  quarters  of  the  city  are 
quieted,  and  prematurely  hashed. 

But  the  inhabited  parts  of  the  town  awake  to 
a  life,  stranger,  more  exhilarating,  more  brilliant 
than  that  of  day.  Gas  follows  hard  on  the  heels 
of  sunlight;  palace  like  stores  pour  forth  their 
effulgence  on  the  populous  streets ;  the  roar  of 
carriage  wheels  shakes  the  pavements  ;  and  the 
theatres  blaze  up  with  sudden  illumination.  The 
confectionary  saloons  are  very  inviting  in  appear- 
ance ;  lecture  rooms  yawn  and  engulph  enormous 
crowds.  Later  yet  the  mansions  of  the  rich  be- 
come one  blaze  of  light.  Through  the  plate 
glass  windows  you  descry  fairy  forms  of  sarpass- 
ing  loveliness  gliding  through  the  mazes  of  the 
dance,  flower-crowned,  blooming,  laughing,  ex- 
ultant, to  the  sound  of  mu«ic,  that  might  wile 
away  a  peri  from  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Stiy  !  What  is  that  pale  form  that  lingers  by 
the  granite  doorway,  resting  feebly  against  the 
huge  stone  Hon  that  seems  to  guard  the  portal  ? 
The  snow  is  on  the  ground,  yet  a  torn  shoe 
hardly  protects  the  little  foot  from  its  piercing 
coldness.  It  is  a  poor  little  match-girl.  Weary 
of  offering  her  wares  to  pre  occupied  persons  in 
the  street,  she  has  thought  (in  the  simplicity  of 
her  young  heart ! )  that  here,  at  the  door  of  wealth, 
where  thousands  were  being  lavished  for  a  few 
hours'  enjoyment,  where  diamonds  were  glitter- 
ing in  handsfuU,  and  orange  flowers  bloomed  in 
the  artificial  summer  atmosphere,  a  few  pence 
might  be  bestowed  on  her  who  came,  not  as  a 
beggar,  but  as  an  honest  vender  of  humble 
merchandize. 

Perhaps  she  deemed  that  the  lady  or  gentle- 
man of  the  house  might  purchase  her  whole 
stock  in  trade — it  is  only  a  ninepence  worth, — 
and  then  what  a  nice  supper  of  bread  she  would 
be  able  to  take  home  to  her  sick  mother  and  lit- 
tle crippled  sister !  But,  alas  !  all  her  hopes 
have  been  dashed  to  the  ground.  Contrary  to 
her  expectations,  the  lady  of  the  house  is  not  in 
the  habit  of  answering  the  door-bell,  and  the 
surly  footman  has  rudely  thrust  her  away;  while 
a  grim  policem.-.n  eyes  her  from  the  sidewalk,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  You  have  no  business  here  !" 
Yet  she  lingers  near  that  sunny  paradise,  and 
thinks  how  warm  and  fiappy  the  people  must  be 
who  live  there  ! 

Alas!  Poor  child!  hearts  may  ache  beneath 
satin  and  velvet,  as  bitterly  as  beneath  ragged 
calico,  and  you  have  many  a  time  eaten  a  hard 
cvust  with  more  relish  than  they  have  partaken 
of  the  daintiest  fare  served  on  golden  plates. 
And  sometime,  if  your  little  feet  again  stray 
hither,  you'shall  see  the  windows  darkened,  and 
a  mournful  procession  shall  issue  forth,  bearing, 
perchance,  its  loveliest  inmate,  motionless, 
breathless,  to  her  last  narrow  abiding  place  ! 

And,  Jiereajier,  when  all  these  things  have 
passed  away,  and  the  golden  gates  of  a  mansion, 
far  more  glorious  than  this,  are  opened  to  all, 
amidst  the  radiant  myriads  that  throng  around 
the  Throne  of  Grace,  thou  shalt  as  surely  have 
thy  place  as  the  happiest  and  loveliest  thine  eyes 
behold  to-night ! 


Splendid  Tebtimonial. — The  artists  of  the  United  States 
have  juflt  presented  to  Mr.  Qleason,  publisher  of  Glea- 
son's  Fictorial,  a  very  beautiful  service  of  plate,  manufiic- 
tured  by  Messrs.  Ball,  Black  &  Co  ,  New  York,  consisting 
of  seven  elegantly  chafed  pieces,  of  various  dimensions, 
the  largest  being  some  twenty  inches  in  height.  The 
whole  stated  on  a  large  massive  salver.  There  is  a  great 
amount  of  silver  conttiined  in  these  articles.  The  inscrip- 
tion on  tlje  plate  is  .is  follows  : — 

'=  Presented  by  the  arti.-Hs  n/ilie  United  States  to  F.  Glea- 
50H.  Es(/.j  of  Gleasoii's  Pictotial,  as  a  tesliinoni/il  offflr 
appreriation  of  his  endeavorsto  ijnprove  art  in  this  country.  " 

Mr.  Qleason  is  so  well  known  to  the  pubUcthatwe  need 
hardly  observe  that  this  offering  is  timely  and  well-'le- 
served.  It  is  well  north  a  visit  to  Gleason's  Publisbiug 
Hall,  Tremont  street,  to  see  this  superb  service  of  plate. — 
Boston  Fost. 


Theatrical.— Mr.  Brooke  has  been  highly 
successful  at  the  National  Theatre,  in  this  city, 
attracting  large  and  discriminating  audiences. 
He  is  also  very  finely  supported  by  the  company. 


Gleason's  Pictorial  Draicing-Tioom  Com- 
panion— published  in  Boston,  Mass., — will  com- 
mence, on  the  1st  of  January,  1853,  a  new  vol- 
ume, being  Volume  IV  of  this  elegant  illumined 
journal.  It  will  appear  with  new  type,  new 
heading,  and  splendidly  improved  in  every  de- 
partment, besides  which,  the  price  is  to  be  greatly 
reduced.  The  publisher  is  resolved  to  commence 
the  new  year  with  a  circulation  of  one  hundred 
thousand,  and,  therefore,  offers  the  most  liberal 
inducements  to  clubs.  Realizing  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  the  great  improvement  in  art,  and  the 
constantly  increasing  intelligence  of  the  people, 
the  publisher,  with  this  change  of  prices,  will 
vastly  improve  his  already  splendidly  illustrated 
journal.  Especially  will  a  great  improvement 
be  manifested  in  the  engraving  department,  as 
well  as  the  literary  character  of  the  paper,  so 
that  the  Pictorial  shall  appear  in  a  stjle,  not  only 
to  merit  all  the  encomiums  of  praise  so  lavishly 
bestowed  upon  it,  but  also  so  as  to  challenge  in- 
creased respect  for  its  enhanced  excellence  and 
perfection.  In  short,  the  whole  paper  will  be 
far  superior  to  anything  yet  offered  to  the  pub- 
lic by  the  publisher.  By  referring  to  the  follow- 
ing list,  which  forms  a  part  only  of  the  regular 
contributors  to  the  Pictorial,  its  high  literary 
character  will  at  once  be  understood. 


Mrs.  Ann  S-  Stephens, 
Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourxey, 
Mrs.  Alice  B.  Neal. 
Miss  Pa(EBE  Carey, 
Miss  Alice  Caret, 
Mrs.  Caroline  Gene, 
Miss  Anne  T.  WasuR, 
Mrs.  S.  p.  Dodohtt, 
Mrs.  C.  a.  Hatken, 
Mrs.  K.  T.  Eldredge, 
Mrs.  E.  R.  B.  Waldo, 

ttc,  etc.,  etc. 


Rev.  n.  Hastings  Weld, 
Henry  SVvi.  Herbert, 
T.  Buchanan  Read, 
T.  S  Arthcr, 
A.  J.  H.  Dcgakne, 
Kpes  Sargent, 
George  W.  Dewet, 
Francis  A.  Dcrivaqe, 
Park  Benjamin, 
Dr.  J.  V.  C.  Smith, 
B£n:  Perley  Poore, 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


Personal. — It  is  said  that  Mr.  Meagher,  the 
eloquent  Irishman,  is  about  to  be  married. 


The  following  are  the  terms  of  the  paper : — 
One  subscriber,  one  year,  S3  00 ;  two  subscribers, 
S5  00 ;  four  subscribers,  $9  00 ;  eight  subscrib- 
ers, $16  00.  The  paper  will  be  for  sale  at  all 
the  periodical  depots  throughout  the  country, 
after  the  1st  of  January,  at  six  cents  per  copy. 

CT'Any  paper  inserting  the  above,  editorially, 
with  thi3  paragraph,  shall  receive  the  Pictorial 
one  year. 

VICTORIA  AND  ALBERT. 

On  page  38S,  we  present  a  large  and  very  fine 
engraving  of  Prince  Albert,  the  royal  consort  of 
Queen  Victoria  of  England,  and  on  the  opposite 
page  a  mate  to  it,  representing  the  Queen  Vic- 
toria herself.  These  pictures  are  excellent  ones, 
and  the  likenesses  are  good.  Both  Victoria  and 
Albert  are  passionately  fond  of  equestrian  exer- 
cise, being  almost  daily  seen  in  the  saddle,  and 
much  of  the  good  health  enjoyed  by  the  queen 
is  doubtless  attributed  to  this  delightful  and 
healthful  exercise.  The  accomplishment  of 
being  a  good  equestrian  with  both  sexes  in  Eng- 
land, is  considered  absolutely  xu  indispensable 
point  of  education,  and  very  justly  so,  for  scarce- 
ly any  species  of  exercise  has  ahappier  tendency 
to  develop  and  give  strength  and  vigor  to  the 
physical  system.  The  readers  of  the  Pictorial 
will  prize  these  fine  engravings  of  the  prince 
and  the  queen. 


"  Selections  of  Poetrt." — This  admirable 
work,  from  the  hand  of  Epes  Sargent,  and  de- 
signed for  exercises  at  school  and  at  home,  is  a 
finely  illustrated  and  really  valuable  book.  Mr. 
Sargent's  thorough  experience  in  classical  mat- 
ters, and  his  ripened  judgment,  as  it  regards  the 
use  of  the  pen,  are  amply  exhibited  by  this 
choice  work.  As  its  title-page  indicates,  it  is 
calculated  for  the  library  and  centre-table  as  well 
as  the  school  house.  It  is  a  work  not  to  be  over- 
looked, in  this  age  of  book-making. 


The  Mat  oraltt  . — We  observe  that  the  Union 
Convention,  of  Boston,  have  nominated  Dr. 
Jerome  V.  C  Smith  as  candidate  for  mayor  of 
the  city.  Their  choice  could  not  have  fallen  on 
a  more  worthy  individual.  Our  readers  are  fa- 
miliar with  the  doctor,  as  a  regular  and  able 
contributor  to  the  Pictorial. 


Mrs.  Barrett. — The  visitors  of  the  National 
Theatre  are  largely  indebted  to  this  lady's  chaste 
peiformance  of  character  for  the  enjoyment  she 
imparts.  As  an  actress,  she  has  barely  escaped 
perfection. 

Cldbs. — Now  is  the  time  to  form  your  clubs 
for  the  new  year,  on  the  Pictorial.  Read  the 
terms,  and  send  in  your  names.  It  is  a  rare 
chance. 

Musical. — Ole  Bull,  Strakosch  and  Patti 
have  been  concerting  together  out  West. 

Miss  Lehmann. — This  lady  is  becoming  a 
favorite  with  our  citizens. 


In  tbis  city,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Keale,  Mr.  John  C.  Piper  to 
Mis,!;  Mary  Ann  Clark. 

By  Hf'V.  Phineas  Stowe,  Mr.  Michael  B.  Munroe  to  Mrs. 
Nancy  Donaldson. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Neale,  Mr.  Richard  H  Healey  to  Miss  Mary 
F.  Quigg. 

Mr.  Wiliinm  H.  DeCosta,  of  the  Cbirleatowu  City  Ad- 
vertiser, to  Miss  ATigustii  inn  Dennen 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Norris,  Mr.  Alexander  Cleary  to  ML=s  Mar- 
garet Brodie  of  Derbv  Line,  Vt. 

At  East  Cambridge,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Holland,  Mr.  Henry 
TThitney,  Jr.  to  Miss  Martha  R.  Hastings 

At  South  Dedliam,  S.  D.  Bacon,  of  Boston,  to  Misa  Ma- 
ria E.  Morse. 

At  Ljnn.  by  Rev  Mr.  Baker,  Mr.  Joshua  Patch  to  Miss 
Abby  h.  Baker. 

At  South  Rfadiug,  Mr.  John  T.  BurgeB.i,  of  New  York, 
to  Miss  Ellen  M.  Eustis 

At  Lexiogton,  Mr.  eidney  G,  Davis,  of  the  firm  of  Bige- 
low  &  Davis,  Boston,  to  Mrs.  Mary  Sinclair. 

At  Salem,  by  Rev.  Mr  Boyden,  Mr.  Henry  C.  Acker- 
man  to  Miss  Lucy  S.  Graves,  of  Danvers. 

At  Lowell,  Mr.  Benjamin  Parker,  of  Boston,  to  Mise 
Eunice  S.  Thurston. 

At  Newburyport,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Pike,  Mr.  Moses  B  Pike 
to  Miss  Mary  E.  Sawyer,  both  of  Sali'sbury. 

At  New  Bedford,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Eldridge,  Mr.  Thomas  S. 
Brjant,  to  Mit-s  Sepbronia  W.  Phinney. 

At  Grafton,  by  Rev.  Mr.  Biscoe,  Mr.  Alfred  Pettie  to 
Miss  Ellen  Emerson. 

At  Worcester,  by  Rev.  Dr.  SmaHey,Mr.  Edwin  H.  Wood 
to  Miss  Calista  M.  Johnson. 


In  this  citv,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  S.  Phelps,  36  ;  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth King,  60  ;  Mrs.  Mary  M.  Ball,  71 ;  Mr.  Charles  H. 
Roulstone.  38  ;  Mrs.  Emilv  S.  Jones.  22;  Mrs.  Helen  M. 
Crocker  ;  Miss  EUza  J  McManus,  17  ;  Mra.  Elizabeth  C. 
Niles,  23. 

At  East  Boston.  Miss  Harriet  M.  Huntress,  29. 

At  Koxbury,  Miss  Evelina  Watson,  37. 

At  WeHt  Roxbury,  Mrs  Judith  Locke,  91. 

At  Somerville,  Mr.  Theodore  A.  Eaton.  41. 

At  Cambridgeport.  Mary  Lizzie  Dodge,  5. 

At  Maiden,  Mr.  George  Nichols.  4i. 

At  West  Newton,  Mrs.  Miriam  G.  Dix,  28. 

At  Taunton,  Mr,  Benjamin  Seaver,  54. 

At  Abington,  Mrs.  Sarah  C,  Baker,  23- 

At  Newburjport,  Mrs.  Abigail  D  Cheever,  52. 

At  Sutton,  Mrs.  Abigail  S.  Hall,  68. 

At  fscituate,  Mrs,  Elizabeth  Pearson,  83. 

At  Uolden,  Mr,  Franklin  Dunn,  30 

At  New  Bedford,  Mrs.  Rebecca  Sherman,  85. 

At  Nantucket,  Mrs.  Merab  Pinkham,  fi8- 

At  Worcester,  Mr  Samuel  Henderson,  82. 

At  Fairhaven,  Mrs.  Cbarlotte  Morton,  64 

At  Keuuebunk,  Me.,  Mis;i  Mary  Storer,  21. 

At  New  York,  Mrs  Mary  E.  Louoon,  22. 

At  Woodstock,  Vt.,  Mrs.  Esther  Warren,  92. 

At  St.  Domingo,  Oct  30,  of  yellow  fever.  Mr.  Christopher 
Tilden  Dalton,  iS,  son  of  James  Dalton,  Esq.,  of  this  city, 
and  of  the  firm  of  Messrs.  Kettell,  Collins  &  Co. 

Lost  overboard  from  ship  Rotkall,  Sept.  3,  on  the  pas- 
sage from  Boston  to  Calcutbi,  Mr.  Richard  Roberson.of 
Ni'w  Vo'k,  first  officer  of  said  ship. 


A  mmmm  mmmum 

— AND  — 

LITEEARY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL 

A  Record  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  Art. 

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with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  of 
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and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  dc.«ign,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  everj-  populous  city  m  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  iu  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
Bphere,  of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  anU  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female. 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  ha 
given,  mth  numerous  specimens  from  the  animal  king- 
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printed  on  fine  satin-surface  paper,  from  a  font  of  new 
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of  art.  It  contains  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty -four  square 
inches,  and  sixty-four  columns  of  reading  matter  and 
illustrations — a  mammoth  weekly  p.iper  of  sLsteeu  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

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inasmuch  as  ita  aim  l.i  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
fund  of  amusement  it  affords,  and  the  rich  array  of  origi- 
nal miscellany  it  presents,  to  inculcate  the  strictest  and 
highest  tone  of  morality,  and  to  encourage  virtue  by  hold- 
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make  the  paper  loved,  respected,  and  sought  after  for  its 
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GLEASON'S   PICTORIAI.    DRAWING    IIOOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  OloivHon's  Pictorliil,] 
OLD   SON«S. 

BY  OWEN  a.  WARBKN. 


Old  HongH  iiro  old  frlondfi,  and  though  homely, 

Wo  lovci  thorn,  we  ciiuuot  tell  why  ; 
And  even  tholi-  look,  speaking  dumbly, 

Ol't  calls  forth  a  tear  from  the  eye. 
Though  (iimplo  tho  strain,  and  old  fa-ihlonod, 

Ww  love  them,  and  Hhall  love  them  Btill ; 
Fur  more  than  hravunis  Impjunsioned, 

Though  given  with  a  vocalist's  skill. 

Old  eonga  are  the  memory  of  morning, 

All  tinged  with  its  ^Obl^^t  rays  ; 
And  with  them  we  hail  the  returning 

Of  thfi  joy  of  lifii's  earlier  days. 
The  loves  that  wo  loved,  and  the  feeling 

That  dwelt  in  the  bofom  of  yore  ; 
All,  all  witli  the  gentle  strain  stealiog, 

Come  hack  to  existence  once  more. 

New  songs  for  the  banquet  and  festa — 

New  dances  for  misses  just  out — 
New  robes  for  the  votive  of  Vesta — 

New  modes  for  the  season's  first  rout ; 
But  if  we'd  recall  early  hours, 

And  the  joy  that  to  memory  belongs. 
And  tho  time  when  we  walked  hut  on  flowers, 

0,  sing  us  apain  the  old  i^ongs. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

DANIEL  AYEBSTER, 

AS  A  MAN",  A  STATESMAN  AND  A  JURIST. 

BV    REV,  F.  W.  HOLLAND. 

"  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fade, 
And  flowers  to  fall, 
But  all  are  thine,  0  Death  I  " 

With  the  fading  leaf  has  fallen  from  the  tree 
of  national  renown  one  possessing  an  almost  un- 
exampled combination  of  powers,  each  unrivalled 
in  degree,  and  unimpaired  to  the  last.  In  speak- 
ing of  the  great  jurist,  matchless  orator  and  con- 
summate statesman,  whom  I  need  hardly  name, 
because  no  other  name  is  in  every  one's  mouth 
to-day,  I  feel  that  there  is  no  one  remaining  to 
utter  his  eulqgy — none  but  a  mind  capacious  as 
his  own  could  bring  such  various  greatness  home 
to  our  sympathy. 

His  career,  as  a  public  man,  has  almost  made 
us  forget  his  earlier  fame  at  the  bar.  The  two, 
indeed,  seem  incompatible,  as  Judge  Sprague 
lately  remarked;  one  requiring  synthesis,  the 
other  analysis ;  on:;  demanding  comprehensive 
combination,  the  otlm-  ingenious  dissection; 
one  substituting  the  fervid  glow  of  imagination 
for  the  learned  research  on  which  the  other  de- 
pends; so  that  those  who  excel  before  a  jury  are 
hardly  noticed  in  the  halls  of  Congress,  and  men 
who  give  themselves  to  political  life,  find  that 
jealous  mistress,  the  Law,  withdrawing  her 
smiles  from  them  forever. 

Another  melancholy  experience  of  the  pleader 
— though  learned  as  Luther  Martin^  irresistible 
as  Mason,  profound  as  Pinckney  and  gifted  as 
Dexter — seldom  does  he  leave  anything  behind 
but  the  "  shadow  of  a  name."  Still  less  will 
his  printed  page  take  rank  with  the  classics  of 
the  world,  go  abroad  wherever  his  language  is 
spoken,  become  the  study  of  the  young  and  the 
aspiration  of  the  ambitious,  and  even  while  he 
lives  enter  into  the  history  and  litcratm-e  of  his 
age. 

But  Mr.  Webster  achieved  all  this.  His 
thoughts  were  axioms,  his  utterances  weighty  as 
decrees ;  principles  made  his  ground  work,  the 
argument  that  followed  seemed  fused  into  the 
one  that  went  before,  and  every  clean-limbed 
word  was  just  the  word  to  embody  his  matter. 
If  you  miss  the  relief  in  his  speeches  which  more 
fancy  and  a  poetical  play  of  words  would  have 
given,  there  is  nothing  for  elfect,  nothing  super- 
fluous, nothing  to  bewilder  a  jury,  nothing  to 
confuse  or  overawe  a  judge,  nothing  to  excite 
temporary  applause.  Witli  such  granite  strength 
as  belonged  to  a  brain  a  third  greater  than  al- 
most any  of  his  race,  with  such  eloquence  as  at 
a  moment  could  crowd  the  largest  hall,  even 
upon  the  driest  theme,  it  is  the  boast  of  the  Suf- 
folk Bar  that  their  leader  strengthened  by  his 
every  stroke  the  foundations  of  right,  and  lifted 
the  pillars  of  eternal  justice  higher  towards  the 
tented  heavens. 

Studying  his  case  on  all  sides,  bringing  to  it 
patient  learning,  unfaltering  memory,  rare  pres- 
ence of  mind,  a  rapidly  comprehensive  thought, 
setting  it  forth  on  the  broadest  ground,  and  plac- 
ing the  triimnal  he  was  addressing  to  stc  pre- 
cisely what  he  saw,  though  he  fought  not  imme- 
diate efl'ect,  as  great  lawyei'fi,  like  Erskine,  have 
often  done,  he  made  such  impressions  on  tiie 
■'Miiig,  even,  a«  can  never  be  elfaced,  and  cast 


such  n  spell  around,  ns  once,  at  least,  overcame 
tho  marhlo-likc  Marshall,  and  awed  those  dis- 
tinguisJicd  men,  who,  most  of  them  lawyers 
alone,  held  the  arena  unc)uestioned,  when  his 
Dartmouth  college  argument  seated  him,  as  an 
equal,  among  his  peers,  in  the  Sujn'ome  Court  at 
AVasbington. 

But  for  his  recent  triumph  in  New  Jersey,  we 
might  have  called  his  legal  preeminence  the 
opanhuj  chapter  of  his  life.  But  at  Trenton,  wo 
find  the  statesman,  on  whom  the  care  of  tiie  na- 
tion rested,  whose  patriotic  thought  was  brood- 
ing wherever  the  fhig  of  his  country  floated, 
nay,  wherever  the  sacred  name  of  freedom  was 
named,  at  the  ago  of  threescore  and  ten,  argu- 
ing, with  success  one  of  the  most  diificult  cases 
which  American  litigation  has  produced. 

As  an  orator,  his  massive  grandeur  of  intel- 
lect, his  unadorned  power  of  utterance,  have 
never  been  surpassed — never,  we  think,  in  any 
country,  any  age.  And  it  is  something  to  thank 
God  for,  to  have  known  this  human  Niagara, 
those  thunder-tones  of  emphasis,  that  ocean 
swell,  which  human  voice  and  yet  created  instru- 
ment have  not  rivalled.  To  be  sure,  his  princi- 
pal speeches  will  live  in  the  printed  page,  aided 
by  the  alfection  of  one  who  is  as  a  Cicero  to  our 
American  Demosthenes  ;  who  has  done  all  that 
rhetorical  art  can  to  perfect  tlie  form  of  utter- 
ances that  fell  like  newly-stamped  coin  from  his 
majestic  lips.  But  his  greater  manner  when  he 
was  aroused,  his  stern  simplicity,  unassumcd 
authority,  sometimes  moral  grandeur,  no  book 
can  contain,  no  eulogy,  not  even  by  Everett,  ex- 
press. It  must  be  told,  as  a  precious  tradition, 
by  this  generation,  to  the  next,  must  linger 
among  the  intellectual  heirlooms  of  New  Eng- 
land, must  pass  down,  unchallenged,  to  the  same 
distant  day  that  will  remember  England  perhaps 
by  the  lightning  of  Chatham,  and  Greece,  by  the 
thunder  of  Demosthenes.  He  was  their  brother. 
And  yet,  there  were  times  w^hen  he  failed  to  in- 
terest, because  he  was  not  interested  himself. 
There  were  speeches  which  could  not  have  satis- 
fied his  own  mind,  as  they  did  not  the  high  ex- 
pectations of  his  audience.  And  this,  I  suppose 
necessary  to  his  peculiar  greatness.  A  smaller 
brain  might  have  made  much,  even  of  these 
trifles.  As  Mr.  Pitt,  when  suddenly  called  to 
address  a  school  of  boys,  had  not  a  word  to  say, 
and,  after  twisting  his  hat,  retired  in  mortifica- 
tion, there  were  small  matters  on  which  Mr. 
Webster  could  not  be  great,  and  probably  did 
not  care  to  be ;  and  on  these  he  needed  the  fig- 
ures of  Wirt  and  the  earnestness  of  Choate,  the 
grace  of  Everett  and  the  persuasiveness  of  Clay. 
He  was  not,  certainly,  so  nobly  imaginative  as 
Burke,  not  so  pleasing  and  melodious  as  Clay, 
not  so  rhetorically  rich  as  Wirt,  not  so  fiery  as 
Patrick  Henry,  yet  still,  in  his  calm  dignity,  a 
king,  whose  like  we  shall  ne'er  look  upon  again 
in  this  century,  if  ever  upon  this  continent. 

While  this  splendid  triumvirate,  Calhoun, 
Clay,  Webster — the  south,  the  west  and  the 
north — made  that  scnatechamber  the  grandest 
arena  which  human  intellect  ever  had,  Webster 
vvas  ever  the  personal  friend  of  his  opponents. 
*'  Shoulder  to  shoulder  "  he  went  with  tliera  for 
the  counti'y,  the  whole  country.  With  them  he 
frowned  away  assaults  upon  character.  Under 
all  exasperations  there  and  abroad,  now  de- 
nounced as  the  merchant's  hireling,  and  now  as 
the  bond-slave  of  the  manufacturer,  he  heeded 
it  no  more  than  the  rock  heeds  the  surf  which 
tosses  the  weeds  upon  its  side, — he  was,  indeed, 
that  rock  which  no  current  could  turn,  no  tem- 
pest upheave.  Immortal  are  those  words  which 
closed  his  unequalled  debate  with  Gen.  Hayne, 
words  which  never  can  be  forgotten,  while  any- 
thing remains  of  New  England;  words  which 
his  guardian  angel  may  have  whispered  to  his 
failing  ear,  as  one  suggested,  while  she  waited  to 
waft  away  his  spirit. 

"When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold,  for 
the  last  time,  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I  not  see 
him  shining  on  the  broken  and  dishonored  frag- 
ments of  a  once  glorious  Union — on  States  dis- 
cordant, dissevered  and  belligerent !  Let  their 
last  lingering  glance  beliold  the  gorgeous  ensign 
of  ihe  republic  still  full  high  advanced,  its  arms 
and  trophies  streaming  in  all  their  original  lus- 
tre, not  a  stripe  erased,  not  a  single  star  obscur- 
ed, bearing  for  its  motto  everywhere,  spread  all 
over  in  characters  of  living  light,  blazing  on  all 
its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  sea  and  over 
land,  that  sentiment  dear  to  every  American 
heart — Libert//  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one 
and  inseparable  !" 

Of  Mr.  Webster  as  the  statesman,  it  is  even 
more  presumptuou«  for  me  lo  speak,  than  of  the 
orator  and  the  jurist;  yet  this  was  his  choicest 
crown,  and  the  closing  epoch  of  his  history. 
That  title  which  he  loved  best,' which  he  so  nobly 


earned,  and  so  proudly  wore,  no  other  statesman 
will  challenge,  no  fulure  day  will  feel  as  fully  a.^ 
the  present.  Much  of  what  is  now  constitutional 
law,  the  "  Defender  of  the  Constitution  "  was 
tho  first  to  draw  forth  from  the  original  compact. 
When  he  commenced  his  argument  in  behalf  of 
Dartmouth  College,  Judge  Story  thought  that 
nothing  could  be  said  on  that  side,  but,  before 
lie  finished,  the  whole  court  were  satisfied  that 
college-corporations  possess  rights  which  no 
State  can  violate.  His  great  senate  s])ceche3 
establish  other  constitutional  principles,  then 
questioned,  but  now  undoubted.  Nullification 
his  club  of  Hercules  is  commonly  thought  to 
have  demolished.  Next  after  Madison,  he  de- 
served, I  am  assured,  to  be  called  Father  of  the 
Constitution.  While  many  of  us  at  the  north 
regret  the  stand  he  took  on  a  painfully  agitating 
question,  yet  no  honors  and  no  monuments  can 
discharge  the  debt  which  the  whole  country  owes 
him  for  offering  up  to  its  integi'al  unity,  every 
sectional  feeling  and  every  personal  thought. 

He  did  not  need  the  presidency  for  his  fame. 
It  needed  him  for  its  strength,  energy  and  confi- 
dence at  home  and  abroad.  It  will  miss  that 
strong  arm  which  gave  it  so  paternal  an  embrace. 
A  cabinet  not  headed  by  the  late  Secretary  of 
State,  may  well  pray  to  be  delivered  from  those 
straits  of  difficulty  through  which  his  strong 
hand  held  the  ship's  helm  steadily  to  the  port. 
Nobler  is  it  to  ask  why  Ctcsar's  statue  stands 
not  among  the  idols  of  the  people,  than  for  any 
to  question  its  place  in  the  Walhalla  of  our 
heroes. 

Such  a  lofty  intellect  was  rather  to  be  admired 
than  loved.  After  one  of  his  efforts,  which  Mr. 
Calhoun  declared  had  saved  the  Union,  tliat 
generous  statesman  remarked,  "AVebster  ought 
to  be  President;"  and,  pausing  a  moment,  add- 
ed, "  but  is  too  great  a  man  ever  to  be."  Thou- 
sands were  awed  by  his  massive  intellect,  who. 
little  suspected  the  great  heart  so  reverential  to 
the  father  whose  declining  days  he  blest,  so  ten- 
derly fond  of  the  brother's  memory,  so  faithful 
in  friendship,  so  generous  in  affection,  so  wor- 
shipped by  all  who  were  favored  with  his 
intimacy. 

That  he  "gave  not  up  to  party  what  was 
meant  for  mankind,"  hear  how  the  entire  heart 
of  the  nation  "  l>eats  heavily  at  his  grave !" 
Each  of  our  cities  solemnizing  his  departure. 
Men  of  all  parties,  on  the  eve  of  an  embittering 
political  struggle,  vieing  in  his  eulogy.  A  spon- 
taneous, unpremeditated,  individual  lament,  ris- 
ing up  from  the  fisherman  over  whom  he  held 
the  tegis  of  protection ;  the  farmer,  whose  health- 
ful labors  he  loved  to  share,  the  last  objects  he 
looked  out  upon  being  those  noble  cattle  of 
which  he  was  so  fond  ;  the  merchant,  whose  ad- 
ventures he  defended  from  sudden  change  of 
policy  at  home,  and  the  peril  of  boundary  wars 
with  nations  abroad ;  the  manufacturer,  whom 
he  saw  prophetically  securing  our  independence 
of  foreign  supplies,  yet  feeding  the  foreign  hoi'des 
whom  oppression  forces  upon  us — a  lament  no 
more  honorable  to  him  than  ourselves !  Repub- 
lics are  not  uniformly  ungrateful.  Reverence  is 
not  quite  dead.  Admiration  for  such  splendid 
patriotism  will  find  a  voice.  Our  mourning  is 
far  nobler  tlian  that  of  England  for  her  Iron 
Duke — than  Europe  has  felt  for  any  who  have 
been  born  to  office  and  honor,  and  have  lavished 
wealth  and  fame  around  them.  We  mourn  for 
one  who  wept  the  thanks  he  could  not  speak, 
when  his  father  promised  to  part  with  every  acre 
sooner  than  deprive  him  of  an  education, — who 
afterwards  kept  a  school  himself,  to  secure  the 
same  privilege  to  a  brother,  but  who,  thus  un- 
aided, thus  self-made,  strengthened,  immeasura- 
bly, the  institutions  handed  us  by  the  patriot- 
fathers,  who  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  settled,  in 
those  few  years  of  senatorial  life,  the  chief  ques- 
tions which  could  agitate  a  republic  like  our  own. 
Himself  rather  a  pyramid  than  a  pillar;  nay,  a 
star,  guiding  not  only  while  he  lived  in  the  body, 
but  now  that  he  "still  lives"  only  in  that  ma- 
jestic presence  which  will  be  remembered  by  our 
children,  and  our  children's  children,  as  a  house- 
hold word — "still  lives"  in  that  immortality 
which  brightened  around  him  as  he  passed  on,- 
and  crowned  his  last  hours  with  a  glory  like  the 
gorgcousness  of  that  autumnal  foliage^  which 
made  his  death-shroud. 

Nor  may  we  forget  that  other  nations  mourn 
with  ours  ;  that  wherever  liberty  was  in  peril  and 
humanity  oppressed,  whether  on  the  plains  of 
South  America,  among  the  ruins  of  Greece,  or 
the  fields  of  Hungary,  his  voice  sounded  as  the 
clarion-cry  of  freedom.  Shortly  after  his  man- 
ful rebuke  of  that  despotism  wliich,  moi*e  even 
than  Russia,  ovei'ttwes  Europe  and  stifies  Italy,  I 


witncHficd  along  the  Mediterranean  shores,  and 
ebpccially  at  Atliens,  the  ccsiacy  of  hope  inspired 
by  his  brave  defiance  of  Austrian  tyranny. 
Wherever  the  languages  of  civilization  went, 
tliey  I>oro  that  letter  to  Hulseman  ;  and  America 
was  heard,  speaking  encouragement  to  the  op- 
pressed, and  warning  to  the  oppressor.  It  was 
felt  that  the  great  republic  of  the  west  made 
common  cause  with  republican  hopes  throughout 
the  world. 

But  "nothing  in  his  life  became  him  like  the 
leaving  of  it,"  In  the  autumn  of  the  year,  the 
autumn  of  his  life,  the  autumn  of  his  powers  and 
fame,  before  a  new  administration  could  place 
him  in  a  less  prominent  position,  witli  dear 
friends  around  and  no  unfulfilled  tasks  before 
him,  we  have  yet  more  to  rejoice  that  he  leaned 
on  that  staff  which  can  alone  support  through 
the  dark  valley — that  "  the  Gospel  was,  as  ho 
said,  his  promise  of  immortality" — that  a  su- 
preme sentiment  of  religion  pervaded  his  capa- 
cious mind — that  the  majesty  of  Job  thrilled  him 
and  the  love  of  John  comforted  him — that  to 
pray  with  his  hou-sebold  on  special  occasions  was 
his  pleasure,  and  to  unite  in  tender,  religious 
conversation,  his  cherislied  privilege — that  the 
Secretary  of  State,  whose  iron  pen  struck  as  a 
dagger  into  the  hearts  of  tyrants,  the  senator, 
whose  logic  was  tlic  eloquence  of  truth,  the 
statesman,  able,  like  Atlas,  to  bear  the  world  on 
his  broad  shoulders,  the  mightiest  intellect,  per- 
haps, which  has  ever  been  veiled  in  humanity, 
gave  hearty  homage  not  to  any  creed  or  secvq 
not  to  any  ceremony  or  "  ism,"  but  to  Chris- 
tianity in  its  breadth  and  depth,  its  solemnity 
and  its  promise,  its  law  and  its  love  ! 

Often  as  it  had  been  my  happiness  to  hear  him 
here  at  the  west,  in  tJie  Senate  chamber,  I  have 
still  been  surprised,  not  at  the  fact  testified  to  by 
his  pastor,  that  never  man,  in  any  profession  or 
condition,  spoke  and  thought  always  with  such 
awful  reverence  of  Deity — no  lightness,  no  fa- 
miliar allusions  to  God  or  his  attributes  ever  es- 
caping him — but  I  have  been  surprised  at  the 
freedom  and  fullness  with  which  his  more  sacred 
feelings  were  shown  forth  among  his  dearest 
friends.  "  What,"  said  he  upon  his  deathbed, 
"would  be  the  condition  of  any  of  us  without 
the  hope  of  immortality,  and  what  is  there  to 
rest  that  hope  upon,  save  the  Gospel  V  And  af- 
terwards, "My  general  wish  on  earth  has  been 
to  do  my  Maker's  will.  I  thank  him  ;  thank 
him  for  these  beloved  objects,  for  the  blessings 
that  surround  me,  for  my  nature  and  associa- 
tions. I  thank  him  that  I  am  to  die  under  so 
many  circumstances  of  love  and  aflection."  His 
reading  from  the  sermon  on  the  mount,  one  Sab- 
bath morning,  when  he  conducted  the  worship 
of  his  household,  those  present  say  they  can  nev- 
er forget,  especially  in  the  intense  emphasis 
which  he  gave  to  the  striking  passage  upon  for- 
giveness. And,  on  a  subse([uent  morning,  his 
pastor  was  requested  to  read,  in  their  connection, 
those  touching  words,  "Lord,  I  believe,  help 
thou  mine  unbelief;"  and  to  dwell  on  that  ten- 
der clause  in  the  Saviour's  prayer,  "  Holy  Eath- 
er,  keep  through  thine  own  name  those  whom 
thou  hast  given  me,  that  they  may  be  one  as  we 
are." 

And  so  this  oak  leaf  faded  and  fell,  rather 
vanished  from  our  sight,  and  was  borne  away  by 
invisible  hands.  The  "mighty  man,  and  the 
prudent,  the  honorable  man,  the  counsellor  and 
the  eloquent  orator  is  taken  away."  Sung  toby 
the  sea,  which  he  loved  as  a  thing  of  life, 
watched  around  by  all  whom  he  cherished  on 
earth,  anxiously  prayed  for  by  thousands  of  pat- 
riot hearts,  quietly  reposing  on  the  spot  his  own 
hand  beautified,  a  spot  which  will  be  honored  by 
us  next  to  Mount  Vernon,  he  has  died,  indeed, 
"as  though  he  had  been  studied  in  his  death." 


[Written  for  Gleason'8  Pictorial.] 
THE   HILL    OF   SCIENCE. 

BY   WILLUM   EDWARD   KNOWLES. 

When  the  pale  student  gains  the  dizzy  heiglit, 
And  treads  tlie  unknown  paths  on  learning's  .scroll, 
A  sudden  glory,  iritb  a  dazzling  light, 
Floods  the  deep  chambers  of  his  trembling  soul. 
How  thrills  his  heart — how  quick  its  pulses  beitt — 
As  up  hope's  ladder-rounds  lie  now  ascends, 
And  sees  tho  golden-pointed  turrets  mcot 
The  skies  of  fame — at  which  his  journey  ends. 
On  the  untrodden  heights  he  now  surveys 
The  struggle  of  the  busy  world  below  ; 
And,  hke  a  stoic,  calmly  feels  that  days 
Were  few,  einco  he,  like  them,  for  truth  to  know, 
Bent  to  the  stura  tusk  of  an  upward  flight 
High  on  tlie  liill  of  science,  where  tliore  glows  a  heavenly 
light. 


GLEASON'S   nCTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


399 


THE  WEBSTER  OBSEaUIES. 

The  30th  day  of  November,  1852,  will  long  be 
memorable  as  that  on  which  the  citizens  of  Bos- 
ton and  vicinity  turned  out  en  masse  to  form  a 
funeral  cortege  and  to  march  in  procession  to 
Faneuil  Hall,  where  was  delivered  the  eulogy  by 
Hon.  Geo.  S.  Hillard.  On  page  392,  our  artist 
has  presented  a  view  of  the  scene,  giving  the 
readers  an  idea  of  the  column  of  march,  by  a 
sketch  taken  during  the  moving  of  the  immense 
body  of  military  and  civilians.  It  was  a  most 
imposing  scene,  and  one  which  will  long  be  re- 
membered. The  day  was  a  fine  one,  and  every- 
thing passed  oft'  in  good  taste.  The  route  of  the 
procession  was  generally  draped  with  mourning 
devices,  as  variously  as  possible,  some  very  elab- 
orate and  beautiful.  If  we  may  believe  the  city 
press,  and  perhaps  our  own  convictions,  our 
Publishing  Hall, decorated  by  the  skilful  hand  of 
Mr.  Tale,  was  unsurpassed  in  its  appropriate 
draping  and  solemn  decorations  for  the  occasion. 
The  town,  from  an  early  hour  of  the  morning, 
was  crowded  with  embassies  from  the  neighbor- 
hood, either  destined  to  swell  the  ranks  of  the 
procession,  or  as  lookers  on.  On  page  393,  we 
have  given  a  medallion  picture  of  the  honored 
son  of  America,  Webster.. — appropriately  set  in 
a  mourning  wreath  of  weeping  willows,  etc  ,  as 
emblematical  of  the  sad  occasion,  and  forming  a 
picture  of  great  interest  at  this  time. 

The  following  is  the  order  in  which  the  pro- 
cession marched  over  the  route  :  Military  escort 
u..Jer  command  of  Brigadier  General  Samuel 
Andrews.  Suffolk  Brass  Band.  Battalion  of 
Cavalry  under  command  of  Major  J.  T.  Pierce : 
— National  Lancers,  Capt.  Gipson ;  Light  Dra- 
goons, Capt.  Wright.  Salem  Brass  Band.  Ar- 
tillery Regiment,  with  mounted  field  pieces,  un- 
dti-  command  of  Colonel  Cowdin ; — Washington 
Axtillery,  Capt.  Bullock ;  Boston  Artillery,  Capt. 
Evans ;  Cowdin  Phalanx,  Capt.  Wardwell ; 
Eoxbury  Artillery,  Capt.  Webber ;  Columbian 
Artilleiy,  Lieut.  Doherty ;  Gloucester  Artillery, 
Capt.  Cook ;  Lynn  Artillery,  Capt.  Herbert. 
Brigade  Band.  Regiment  of  Light  Infantry  un- 
der command  of  Colonel  Holbrook  : — Pulaski 
Guards,  Capt.  Wright;  City  Guards,  Capt. 
French;  New  England  Guards,  Capt.  Henshaw; 
Boston  Light  Guards,  Lieut.  Coverly;  Indepen- 
dent Fusileers,  Capt.  Mitchell ;  National  Guard, 
Lieut.  Walker ;  Washington  Light  Guard,  Cajjt. 
Plagg;  Boston  Light  Infantry,  Capt.  Ashley. 
Colonel  Green  and  Staff.  Cambridge  City 
Guards,  Capt.  Meecham ;  Richardson  Guards, 
Lieut.  Dearborn  ;  Stonehara  Liglit  Guards,  Capt. 
Djke;  Winchester  Light  Guards,  Capt.  Prince; 
Mechanic  Riflemen,  Capt.  Adams ;  Veteran  As- 
sociation, Capt.  Calfe.  Then  came  G«n.  John 
S.  Tyler,  chief  marshal  of  the  day,  and  his  aids, 
followed  by  carriages.  Next  came  the  Inde- 
pendent Cadets,  under  command  of  Colonel  T. 
C.  Amory — accompanied  by  the  Winchester 
Brass  Band, — as  a  guard  of  honor  to  his  Excel- 
lency the  Governor,  and  the  Executive  Council ; 
followed  by  the  Boston  School  Committee,  the 
Sergeant  at-Arms,  Senators  and  Representatives 
of  Massachusetts,  and  the  Webster  Executive 
Committee.  The  third  division  was  headed  by 
the  Newton  Brass  Band,  and  contained  the 
members  of  the  New  Hampshire  Legislature,  the 
City  Governments  of  Charlestown,  and  a  delega- 
tion from  Springfield.  The  fourth  division  was 
headed  by  the  Lowell  Brass  Band,  and  contain- 
ed the  "  Sons  of  New  Hampshire,"  "  Massachu- 
setts Society  of  Cincinnati,"  (in  carriages),  the 
"  Cape  Cod  Association,"  with  the  Braintree 
Brass  Band,  the  "  Massachusetts  Charitable  Me- 
chanic Association,"  and  the  "  Mercantile  Libra- 
ry Association,"  with  the  American  Brass  Band. 
The  fifth  division  contained  the  "  Scots*  Chari- 
table Society,"  and  was  headed  by  the  Roxbury 
Brass  Band  and  a  Highland  piper,  and  the 
"  Boston  Irish  Protestant  Mutual  Relief  Society." 
The  sixth  division  was  headed  by  the  Boston 
Brass  Band,  and  contained  citizens  of  Charles- 
town,  three  out-of-town  fire  companies,  the 
"  Bunker  Hill  Boys,"  and  the  *'  Sons  of  Maine," 
in  strong  force.  The  seventh  division  was  head- 
ed by  the  Dedham  Brass  Band,  and  contained 
the  "  Mechanic  Apprentices'  Library  Associa- 
tion," the  ''  Boston  Boy's  Webster  Club,"  and 
the  "  Jamaica  Plain  Boys."  The  eighth  divi- 
sion was  headed  by  the  Easton  Brass  Band,  and 
contained  various  associations.  The  cavalcade 
composed  the  ninth  division,  which  was  very 
numerous,  embracing  horsemen  from  various  ad- 
jacent towns  and  cities.  The  procession  was 
quite  full ;  but  the  number  of  people  that  crowd- 
ed the  streets  to  view  it  as  it  passed,  was  the  larg- 
est ever  seen  in  this  city  at  this  season  of  the  year. 


tllaB0ili£   ©atljerings. 

Two  men  have  been  arrested  in  Troy,  N.  Y., 
for  robbing  graves. 

A  large  number  of  spurious  gold  dollars  are 
said  to  be  in  circulation. 

Tartary  and  Persia  are  presumed  to  have  been 
the  original  country  of  wheal,  rye  and  oats. 

A  valuable  copper  mine  was  recently  discov- 
ered near  Culpepper  Court  House,  Va. 

The  trade  between  this  city  and  California 
has  increased  100  per  cent,  in  a  year. 

Eive  thousand  dollars  have  been  subscribed 
towards  the  endowment  of  the  Delaware  College. 

They  have  live  lobsters  and  fresh  halibut  at 
Chicago,  received  all  the  way  from  Boston. 

The  American  lakes  contain  more  than  half 
the  amount  of  fresh  water  on  the  globe. 

A  merchant  has  cleared  S40,000  by  flour 
shipped  to  California  this  season.  - 

The  University  of  Oxford  has  ISOO  students, 
and  an  annual  revenue  of  $800,000. 

The  death  of  Mr.  Gilbert,  senior  editor  of  the 
Alta  Californian,  is  announced  in  the  latest  Cal- 
ifornia papers. 

Letters  are  delivered  to  vesseU  lying  in  the 
river  Thames,  by  carriers  in  boats,  who  row 
from  ship  to  ship. 

Three  cent  pieces  are  getting  to  be  numerous. 
A  million  and  a  half  of  them  are  made  at  the 
mint,  a  month. 

That  which  we  call  kindness  or  affection,  is 
interest;  and  we  love  one  another  only  for  our 
own  ends. 

From  S200  to  S300  worth  of  silver  spoons 
were  stolen  from  the  Mansion  House  in  Troy, 
N.  Y.,  on  Sunday  night  lately. 

The  Valley  Cotton  Factory  on  the  Shenan- 
doah, above  Baltimore,  was  entirely  destroyed 
by  fire  on  the  ISth. 

The  doors  of  the  Boston  police  court  opened 
with  thirty-four  cases,  Monday  morning  week, 
mostly  devotees  to  the  bottle.   ■ 

Miss  Rebecca  Bulwer  has  bef?n  arrested  in 
Fall  River  on  a  charge  of  having  set  fire  to  sev- 
eral buildings  in  Medford. 

Mr.  Henry  Harper,  Jr.,  of  Pocahontas  county, 
Va,,  killed  himself  a  few  days  ago,  by  cutting 
the  artery  in  his  thigh. 

Foreigners  arriving  in  the  states  of  Russia  are 
compelled  to  make  a  declaration  of  the  amount 
of  money  they  have  with  them. 

The  owners  of  the  steamer  Atlantic,  lost  on 
lake  Erie  by  collision  with  the  propeller  Ogdens- 
burg,  have  sued  the  owners  of  the  latter  for  the 
loss,  and  claim  8100,000. 

Some  ladies  will  forgive  silliness ;  but  none 
ill  manners.  And  there  are  few  capable  of  judg- 
ing of  your  learning  or  genius  ;  but  all,  of  your 
behaviour. 

A  man  was  found  upon  the  track  of  the  Bos- 
ton and  Providence  railroad,  in  the  town  of 
Mansfield,  on  Saturday  morning  week,  supposed 
to  have  been  killed  by  the  express  train. 

The  Greenfield  Courier  states  that  Adaline 
Phelps,  of  Northfield,  has  been  arrested  and  com- 
mitted for  trial,  on  a  charge  of  poisoning  her 
father  by  putting  mercury  or  arsenic  into  his 
milk. 

A  married  man,  45  years  of  age,  and  a  young 
girl  1 8,  were  arrested  on  Saturday  week,  on 
board  a  California  steamer ;  the  former  having 
eloped  from  Boston,  where  he  had  left  a  wife  and 
family. 

It  is  ill  manners  to  trouble  people  with  talking 
too  much  either  of  yourself,  or  yonr  affairs.  If 
you  are  full  of  yourself,  consider,  that  you,  or 
your  affairs,  are  not  so  interesting  to  other  peo- 
ple as  to  you. 

Havana  letter  writers  state  that  recently  two, 
and  probably  several,  cargoes  of  slaves  have  been 
landed  in  Cuba.  On  one  of  them  it  is  stated 
that  the  captain-general  received  a  bribe  of 
$17,000. 

In  Ohio  city,  the  telegraph  wires  which  were 
blown  partially  down  by  a  storm,  caught  the  top 
of  a  buggy  in  which  Mr.  Prentiss,  and  his  wife, 
of  Cleveland,  were  riding,  tore  it  off,  and  consid- 
erably injured  the  lady. 

The  Androscoggin  Railroad  is  now  completed 
to  Livermore  Falls,  and  regular  passenger  trains 
commenced  running  from  Leeds — its  junction 
with  the  Androscoggin  and  Kennebec  road — to 
Livermore  Falls  last  Monday. 

Susan  M.  Learned  recovered  $3500  from 
Alfred  Watkins  for  breach  of  promise  of  mar- 
riage in  Albany,  on  the  ISth  ult.  The  lady  is 
only  21  years  of  age,  but  the  gentleman  is  56. 
The  latter,  however,  is  worth  $100,000. 

A  dwaif  ear  of  com,  a  real  Tom  Thumb  of  its 
kind,  has  bfcn  sent  lo  the  Newark  Daily  Adver- 
tiser, by  Mr.  McCormick,  who  desires  the  editor 
to  offer  $100  for  its  match.  It  is  less  than  an 
inch  long,  and  a  curious  freak  of  nature. 

Col.  Amasa  G.  Smith,  while  sitting  on  the 
rail  of  the  Lowell  Railroad  Bridge,  near  the 
city  depot,  waiting  for  a  vessel  to  pass  through 
the  draw,  about  a  quarter  past  six  o'clock,  on 
Monday  evening  week,  lost  his  balance,  fell  over- 
board and  was  drowned.  His  body  was  not  re- 
covered. 

A  man  named  C.  R.  Armstrong,  from  Maine, 
arrived  in  New  York  on  Friday,  and  sold  $200 
worth  of  axe  handles  next  day.  He  was  swin- 
dled out  of  the  whole  amount  of  his  hard  earn- 
ings at  a  mock  auction  shop.  Part  of  the  sum 
was  afterwards  recovered,  through  the  interfer- 
ence of  the  police. 


jForfign   iKlisallang. 

There  are  five  hundred  and  three  species  of 
birds,  in  Europe. 

There  are  no  signs  or  door-plates  in  the  Egyp- 
tian cities. 

The  finest  emerald  comes  from  the  veins  of 
clay-slate,  in  the  valleys  of  New  Grenada. 

Advices  from  Madrid  state  that  no  anxiety  ex- 
isted there  with  regard  to  the  Crescent  City  aft^air. 

A  line  of  powerful  screw  steamers  is  about  to 
commence  running  between  England  and  Aus- 
tralia. 

The  Sultan  has  granted  an  amnesty  to  the 
1400  families  of  insurrectionary  Bosnians  who 
fled  some  months  since  into  Austria. 

A  leader  of  the  London  Times  is  devoted  to  a 
notice  chiefly  eulogistic  of  the  late  statesman, 
Daniel  Webster. 

It  is  said  that  Hudson,  the  great  deposed  rail- 
way king,  has  redeemed  his  losses  by  railway 
speculation,  and  is  now  richer  than  ever. 

Brigadier-General  Lopez  Ballesteros  had  left 
Madrid  for  Cuba,  to  be  placed  under  the  imme- 
diate orders  of  the  Captain-General. 

A  severe  shock  of  an  earthquake  had  been  felt 
at  Malaga,  which  shook  all  the  edifices  and  caused 
great  consternation,  and  many  families  had  taken 
refuge  on  board  the  vessels  in  the  harbor. 

M.  Corte,  the  newly  appointed  director  of  the 
Italian  opera  in  Paris,  is  to  receive  .£4000  per 
annum,  as  a  government  subscription.  The  rent 
to  be  about  .-CSOOO. 

Madame  Cerito  is  to  re-appear  shortly  at  the 
grand  opera,  Paris,  in  a  new  ballet,  which,  it  is 
stated,  will  be  "  the  most  fairy  piece  of  fairy  work 
ever  seen  upon  a  stage." 

Labor  is  the  great  article  of  expense  upon  a 
farm  in  America,  yet  it  is  not  nearly  so  great  as 
in  England,  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  pro- 
duce of  a  farm,  especially  if  the  poor  rates  be 
included. 

The  prisons  in  England  contain  thousands  of 
persons  imprisoned  for  debt,  and  have  been  for 
many  years  ;  they  do  not  expect  ever  to  be  set 
free.  It  is  a  barbarous  custom  thus  to  inflict  on 
poverty  a  punishment  awarded  only  to  crimes  of 
a  high  grade. 

The  London  Times  states  that  anoincer  of  the 
United  States  Navy  has  recently  left  England 
for  the  purpose  of  endeavoring  to  urge  upon  his 
government  the  importance  of  trying  to  reach 
the  whale  fishery  of  Bebring's  Straits  from  the 
European  side,  by  the  way  of  Nova  Zembla,  in- 
tending to  volunteer  to  conduct  the  expedition, 
if  successful  in  getting  one  fitted  out. 


Sanbs  of  ©olir. 


Little  strokes  fell  great  oaks. 

What  ought  to  be  done  to  day  do  it — for 

to-morrow  it  may  rain. 

....  God  holds  us  accountable  for  our  wealth 
as  well  as  our  talents. 

....  The  beauty  of  behaviour  consists  in  the 
manner,  not  the  matter  of  your  discourse. 

....  A  sympathy  with  the  pains  and  pleasures 
of  others  is  the  foundation  of  our  social  virtues. 

....  Envy  is  fixed  only  on  merit,  and  like  a 
sore  eye  is  offended  with  anything  that  is  bright. 

....  Make  3'our  company  a  rarity,  and  people 
will  value  it.  Men  despise  what  they  can  easily 
have. 

....  A  man  of  genius  can  no  more  divest  him- 
self of  freedom  of  opinion  than  of  the  features  of 
his  face. 

Think  like  the  wise,  but  talk  like  ordi- 
nary people.  Never  go  out  of  the  common  road, 
but  for  somewhat. 

....  When  charity  walks  into  the  lowest 
places  of  want,  we  see  the  beautiful  purity  of  her 
robes  most  distinctly. 

....  The  men  who  flatter  the  women  do  not 
know  them  sutficiently,  and  the  men  who  only 
abuse  them,  do  not  know  them  at  all. 

....  The  forms  and  ceremonies  of  politeness 
may  be  dispensed  with,  in  a  measure,  in  the  re- 
laxations and  intimacies  of  one's  own  fireside, 
but  kind  atteniions  never. 

Lost,  yesterday,  somewhere  between  sun- 
rise and  sunset,  two  golden  hom-s,  each  set  with 
sixty  diamond  minutes.  No  reward  is  offered, 
for  they  are  gone  forever. 

....  In  general,  that  man  is  a  coward  who 
shapes  his  course  of  action  by  his  fears;  and  he 
alone  is  a  man  of  real  courage  who  dares  to  do 
right. 

....  Do  not  sit  dumb  in  company.  That 
looks  either  like  pride,  cunning  or  stupidity. 
Give  your  opinion  modestly,  but  freely;  hear 
that  of  others  with  candor;  and  ever  endeavor 
to  find  out,  and  to  communicate  truth. 

....  Good  humor  is  the  only  shield  to  keep 
off  the  darts  of  the  satirical  railer.  If  you  have 
a  quiver  well  stored,  and  are  sure  of  hitting  him 
between  the  joints  of  the  harness,  do  not  spare 
him.  But  you  had  better  not  bend  yom"  bow 
than  miss  jonr  aim. 

....  If  you  happen  to  fall  into  company  where 
the  talk  nins  into  party,  obscenity,  scandal,  folly, 
or  vice  of  any  kind,  you  had  better  pass  for  mo- 
rose or  unsocial  among  people  wliose  good  opin- 
ion is  not  worth  having,  than  sliock  your  own 
conscience  by  joining  in  conversation  which  you 
must  disapprove  of. 


Why  is  a  lady's  bonnet  like  a  cupola "? — Be- 
cause it  covers  the  belle. 

Why  are  most  pieces  of  villany  like  a  candle "? 
Because  they  are  brought  to  light. 

Gentility  is  said  to  be  eating  meat  with  a  sil- 
ver fork,  when  the  butcher  has  not  been  paid. 

AVhy  is  Bulwer  a  very  industrious  man  ?— 
Because  he  wrote  Night  and  Morning. 

The  last  case  of  absence  of  mind  is  that  of  a 
ship  carpenter,  who  bit  off  the  end  of  a  spike  and 
drove  a  plug  of  tobacco  into  the  vessel's  bottom. 

Why  is  a  man  ascending  Vesuvius  like  an 
Irishman  trying  to  kiss  a  pretty  girl  ? — Because 
he  wants  to  get  at  the  crater's  mouth. 

Society  is  composed  of  two  great  classes — ■ 
those  who  have  more  dinners  than  appetites,  and 
those  who  have  more  appetites  than  dinners. 

A  German  writer,  in  a  late  volume  on  the  so- 
cial condition  of  England,  observes  that  thieves 
in  London  must  be  scarce,  as  they  were  offering 
rewards  for  them. 

A  man  took  oflf  his  coat  to  show  what  a  ter- 
rible wound  he  had  received  some  years  past. 
"  0,"  said  he,  not  being  able  to  find  it,  "Ire- 
member  now,  it  was  on  my  brother  Bill's  arm  !" 

Dobbs  says  if  marriages  are  made  in  heaven 
he  is  sorry  for  it — for  that  very  many  alliances 
reflect  no  great  credit  on  the  place.  Dobbs  was 
locked  out,  the  other  night,  during  "  that  rain." 

An  excellent  eld  lady  says  the  only  way  to 
prevent  steamboat  explosions  is  to  make  the  en- 
gineers "bile  their  water"  ashore.  In  her  opin- 
ion, all  the  bustin'  is  caused  by  "  cooking  the 
steam  "  on  board. 

Nobody  likes  to  be  nobody;  but  everybody  is 
pleased  to  think  himself  somebody.  And  every- 
body is  somebody;  but,  when  anybody  thinks 
himself  to  be  somebody,  he  generally  thinks 
everybody  else  to  be  nobody. 

Shakspeare  asks  :  "  What's  in  a  name  1"  This 
only  shows  that  Shakspeare  never  kept  a  "  fam- 
ily grocery."  If  he  had,  he  would  have  known 
that  white  beans,  under  the  name  of  "  Old  Gov- 
ernment Java,"  sell  for  sixteen  cents  a  pound. 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  1st  and  2d  of  the  PiCTORiiL  DRAWraa 
Room  Oompanion  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  with  gilt  edges 
and  hack,  and  illumiued  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  most 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  Foir  and  Five  Hundred  Pages, 

AND     COKTAINING     NEAELY 

ONE    THOUSAND     ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Eventa  all  over  the  world  : 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe  ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Tillages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  infinite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects ;  with  an 

XLLUMTNED    TITLE-PAGE    AND    INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excellence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilhant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustratioES,  it  embraces  in  it-s  pages 
a  vast  :miount  of  original  Tales,  Sketche':',  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  curi-ert 
News  Record  of  the  times;  altogether  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  in  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illustrations. 

For  sale  at  the  Publication  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Union,  for  T/iree  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  U^ION. 

AN  ELEGANT,  MORAL  AND  REFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  Uterature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  \mtten  expressly  for 
tills  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  In  pohtics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothing  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  he  admitted  into  its  columns ; 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPER  FOE  TEE  MLLIOIf, 

ANT)  A  WELCOME  TTSITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

Ifc  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Fla  a  is  now  the 
leading  weekly  paper  in  the  United  Slates^  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  hy  the  best  judges,  to  he  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
so  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  ths  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAM3I0TH     SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributoi-s  are  regulariy  engagetl, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEMS    TO    SUBSCEIBERS. 

1  subscriber,  one  year, S2  00 

3  subscribers,       "  5  00 

4  '^  '-  6  00 

8  "  "  11  00 

16  "  '  20  00 

One  copy  of  the  Elaq  of  our  Ukiox,  and  one  copy  of  the 
Pictorial  Drawinu-Room  Companion;  one  yeiir,  for  So  00. 

QCT^-  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  terms, 

rCP*  Alt  orders  shoidd  be  addressed.  POST  PAID,  to  the 
Publisher  of  tqe  Flaq  of  odr  Union*. 

*4f*  The  Fla  q  can  be  obtained  at  any  of  the  nnospaper 
depots  in  the  United  States^  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
FOUR  CENTS  per  single  copy. 

F.     GLEASON, 
Pdblisuer  and  Proprietor,  Boston,  Mass. 


400 


GLEA.SON'S    PICTORIAL    DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


CHINESE  WATER  BRAVE, 

The  Chinese  arc  a  queer  people,  as  wo  Imvc  moro  than  onec 
taken  occasion  to  donionHtriito  in  tiie  Pictorial.  They  do  iiothinj^ 
like  other  people  ;  everything  witli  them  seems  odtl  enouj^li  to  uh. 
Our  picture  represents  what  is  called  a  Chinese  Water  Brave — a 
boat  tighter.  Ho  is  mounted  upon  ii  large  hollow  body  and 
armed  with  a  trident  weapon.  It  should  be  explained  that  the 
"  horse  "  whereon  the  "brave"  rides  is  made  of  pig-.skin  blown 
into  shape ;  ho  bears  a  match-lock  pistol,  and  upon  the  trident 
are  iron  rings,  which  he  shakes  to  intimidate  "  the  barbarians." 
The  costume  is  the  ordinary  Cliinesc  dress,  the  trousers  being 


A  CHINESE  WATER  BRAVE. 


tucked  up.  It  seems  really  hard  to  realize  that  a  nation  which 
has  been  the  author  of  three  of  the  most  important  inventions  or 
discoveries  of  modern  times — the  art  of  printing,  the  composition 
of  gunpowder,  and  the  magnetic  compass — has  failed  to  accom- 
plish what  might  have  been  expected  from  it.  Nevertheless,  it 
has  been  suggested  that  these  queer  water  boats  might  be  avail- 
able in  the  more  peaceable  occupation  of  fishing.  The  whole 
affair,  however,  is  peculiarly  Chinese,  and  is  very  indicative  of  the 
people,  and  their  manners  and  customs.  These  have  been  but 
indifferently  known  to  us  in  former  times,  but  modern  explora- 
tions and  the  copious  records  of  travellers  have  placed  us  in  full 
understanding  of  their  peculiar  institutions,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  anticipated  arrival  of  a  Chinese  member  of  congress  to  repre- 
sent the  interests  of  his  emigrated  countrymen  in  California,  who 
have  been  attracted  hither  by  the  luring  fate  of  gold  and  the  means 
of  quickly  realizing  a  fortune.  Well,  we  shall  see.  Perhaps 
they  will  send  one  of  these  "  Water  Braves  !" 


TRENTON  FALLS. 

Nothing  can  well  be  more  beautiful  and  moro  picturesque  than 
is  this  delightful  spot,  so  finely  represented  by  our  artist  below. 
Situated  within  tlie  distance  of  >iomu  two  hours'  drive  from  Utica, 
and  as  yet  unstifled  by  the  press  and  throng  of  the  mere  pleasure- 
seeker,  it  combines  within  itself  all  that  is  elsewhere  scattered  by 
nature  amid  her  various  scenes  of  loveliness  or  grandeur.  Chasms 
girdled  with  rock  and  tree,  threaded  here  by  a  gentle  and  rapid 
current,  which  anon  swells  into  a  foaming  and  troubled  stream, 
again  compreascd  by  masses  of  worn  and  dark  granite,  until  it 
shoots  in  a  miniature  cataract  (for  so  it  must  be  called  while  the 
memory  of  Niagara  is  still  fresh  upon  us)  over  the  precipice  which 
almost  seems  as  if  it  had  been  reared  by  some  old  Titan,  wiill- 
like,  to  check  and  bar  the  rush  of  the  laughing  and  turbulent  tor- 
rent,— knolls  covered  with  shrub  and  tree,  here,  swelling  with  the 
soft  and  springy  turf  which  asks  the  wanderer  to  throw  himself 
upon  it,  and,  basking  in  the  grL.en  shadows,  to  listen  to  the  mur- 
mur of  the  waters  chafing  far  beneath  him, — there,  protruding 
huge  fragments  of  rock,  overgrown  with  moss  and  lichen,  damp 
with  the  spray  of  the  flashing  fall,  that  splashes  and  sparkles  by 
them,  make  it  one  of  those  weird  and  romantic  spots  which  well 
deserve  to  lure  the  footsteps  of  the  wanderer,  and  to  chain  him 
to  them  until  the  necessities  of  life  liid  him  back  from  them  to  the 
world,  to  join  in  the  daily  struggle  for  wealth,  renown,  honor, 
bread  or  luxury,  or  any  of  the  score  of  chances  which  make  up 
the  sum  of  the  travail,  or  constitute  the  reward  of  existence. 
When  the  accompanying  sketch  was  taken  (at  the  close  of  the 
month  of  May  in  the  present  year),  the  torrent  was  far  more 
swollen  and  rapid  than  it  ordinarily  is,  and  in  consequence  some 
of  the  points  in  view  were  much  grander  than  they  can  generally 
be.  But  when  the  course  of  the  stream  is  smaller  and  lesser, 
Trenton  Falls  are  perhaps  far  more  lovely  to  the  loiterer  by  their 
banks.  He  is  enabled  to  thread  the  channel  of  the  waters  up  the 
picturesque  and  contracted  glen  through  wdiich  they  bubble  and 
foam,  and  as  he  turns  every  corner  of  its  winding  course,  new 
and  more  charming  views  break  upon  him.  Here  are  the  High 
Falls,  as  they  are  called,  wliich  are  presented  in  the  cut.  These 
are  ordinarily  broken  through  by  large  masses  of  rock  which 
pierce  and  divide  the  less  swollen  waves.  Here  again  is  the  fan- 
cifully lovely  portion  of  the  stream  which  is  called  the  Cascade 
of  the  Alhambra,  while  Sherman  Fall — the  wild  landscape  which 
hems  in  the  Rocky  Heart,  and  the  Village  and  Mill-Dam  Falls, 
each  presents  itself  under  at  least  a  score  of  changing  and  varying 
aspects,  every  one  of  which  impresses  itself  for  the  moment  upon 
the  gazer's  mind  as  more  picturesque  and  romantically  lovely 
than  any  of  those  which  he  had  previously  looked  upon,  and  com- 
bine in  tracing  the  scenery  ineffaccably  upon  the  memory.  And 
when,  in  addition  to  the  charms  which  nature  has  cast  around 
the  spot  with  a  more  than  commonly  liberal  hand,  it  is  remem- 
bered that  man  has  also  contributed  to  its  comfort  and  its  beauty 
— that  the  hotel  is  not  clogged  up  and  pressed  upon  by  a  score  of 
other  buildings,  but  stands  alone  in  the  very  heart  of  the  scenery 
we  have  been  attempting  to  give  some  faint  idea  of,  we  apprehend 
that  we  need  say  no  more  to  induce  those  who  have  not  previously 
visited  the  Trenton  Falls,  and  have  the  time  and  the  love  for  na- 
ture which  might  induce  them  to  do  so,  to  decide  upon  hurrying 
thither  and  pass  a  week  or  two,  if  not  more,  at  the  fairy  spot 
upon  which  Providence  has  wrought  a  copy  of  Niagara,  inferior 
indeed  in  grandeur,  but  immeasurably  more  graceful  and  lovely. 


PORTRAIT  OF  LOLA  MONFEZ. 

We  herewith  present  an  engraving  of  the  famous  danseuse, 
Lola  Montez,  as  she  lately  appeared  in  one  of  her  fnvorite  dances. 
We  need  not  particularly  refer  to  one  so  widely  known,  and  our 
readers  will  remember  that  some  months  since  we  gave  a  full 
size  picture  of  her  as  she  appeared  in  this  city  at  the  Howard 
Athenaeum.  On  her  first  arrival  in  America  there  was  an  uncon- 
trollable furore  to  see  her  on  the  stage ;  but  owing  this  popularity 
more  to  the  prestige  of  her  name  than  to  any  real  talent,  she  has 
gradually  "faded  out,"  to  use  a  Yankeeism,  and  is  now  compar- 
atively little  thought  of,  though  in  her  professional  engage- 
ments she  still  draws  large  and  intelligent  audiences. 


REPRESENTATION  OF  TRENTON  FALLS,  NEW  YORK. 


F.  GLBASON, 


(  CORNER  BROMTIELJ) 
i  AND  TREMONT  STS. 


BOSTON,  SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  25,  1852. 


«2  per  volume. 
10  ctb.  single. 


}  Vol.  m.  No.  26.— Whole  No.  78 


CHRISTBIAS. 

Below  we  present  an  allegorical  and  timely  pic- 
ture of  Christmas,  by  Billings  ;  it  is  graceful, 
full  of  significance,  and  tells  a  story  fluently,  at 
first  sight.  We  cannot  pass  this  time-honored 
and  religiously-hallowed  period,  without  recalling 
to  the  readers  of  the  Pictorial  the  myriad  of  as- 
sociations that  linger  round  its  annual  recurrenc- 
es, in  the  minds  of  old  and  young,  by  such  a 
scene  as  is  happily  illustrated  herewith.  On  one 
side  of  the  picture  is  seen  a  merry  company  danc- 
ing and  enjoying  themselves,  after  the  prompt- 


ings of  the  occasion.  In  the  immediate  fore- 
ground of  this  scene,  a  lover  kisses  his  mistress 
under  the  mistletoe  branch  which  is  suspended 
from  a  wreath  of  flowers ;  the  children  laugh  at 
the  surprise  of  the  maiden.  On  the  opposite 
side,  a  poor  fellow,  who  has  no  companions  nor 
other  sources  of  enjoyment,  is  endeavoring  to 
kill  time  by  an  out  door  walk ;  he  is  overtaken 
by  a  snow-storm,  making  his  situation  far  from 
agreeable.  In  the  centre  is  Old  Christmas,  call- 
ing on  all  to  make  merry.  Below,  "Jlemember 
the  poor,"  is  a  reminder  of  our  duty  in  this  joy- 


ful season.  At  the  foot  is  the  nativity  of  Him 
whose  birth  made  this  a  season  of  joy.  In  this 
country  of  enterprise,  business  tact,  and  money- 
making  propensities,  we  have  so  few  recognized 
holidays,  it  becomes  us  to  make  the  most  of  those 
few,  and  especially  such  as  Christmas.  It  should 
ever  be  a  delightful  period  to  old  and  young, 
rendered  so  by  the  united  effort  of  tongue  and 
hand,  to  put  aside  this  day,  of  all  others  in  the 
year,  for  sunshine  and  heart  work.  There  are 
few  enough  spots,  in  tliis  working,  mercenary 
world  of  ours,  on  which,  in  looking  back  upon 


the  past,  memory  loves  to  dwell ;  this  is  a  sad 
but  true  remark ;  and  if  we  can  but  have  one 
annual  period  which,  in  its  recurrence,  shall  be 
so  fixed  upon  the  mind  and  heart,  as  it  regards 
bygone  time,  as  to  radiate  peaceful  recollections 
and  joyous  memories,  O  let  us  cultivate  and 
cherish  the  chance  to  fix  such  a  beacon  along  the 
road,  that  must  form  the  vista  and  perspective  of 
our  past  journey  of  life  !  In  this  view  of  Christ- 
mas, and  feelings  thus  prompted,  we  think  our 
readers  will  delight  with  us  in  the  very  beautiful 
and  ingenious  picture  below. 


AN  ALLEGORICAL  PICTXJBE  OF  CHRISTMAS. 


402 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING 


RO(JM   CO:SIPANION. 


[Written  for  Qlcnson's  PIctorllil.] 

TURKEY  AND  THE  TURKS. 

No.  XVI. 

BY   DR.   JEnOME   V.    C.    9MITH. 
SMYBKA 

Lodging  at  thiit  den  of  thieves,  was  a  Mr.  Leo 
and  Iiis  tlirco  small  boy^,  who  siiid  ho  was  a  na- 
livc  of  Boston.  Ho  had  just  ari'ivod,  he  .said, 
fiom  Spain,  whevo  lie  had  been  performing,  the 
jiast  two  years,  as  a  kind  of  posturc-niastor.  He 
was  doinp  n  prosperous  bu-jinoss  in  a  Iarj;o  build- 
ing he  had  hired,  hy  lying  down  on  hia  back, 
and  throwing  iho  \^ds  about  in  the  strangest 
manner  imaginable.  The  exhibition  took  ad- 
mirably with  the  smoking  Turks. 

Word  reached  the  cars  of  the  governor,  a 
Fober,  discreet  man,  the  brother  in-law  of  the 
Saltan,  that  the  fea'^s  of  Mr.  Lee  were  extraor- 
dinary in  character,  which  so  stimulated  his  cu- 
riosity that  he  sent  a  message  to  him  while  wo 
wore  remaining  at  Smyrna,  to  perform  in  his 
great  presence  at  his  otlicial  residence. 

Happening  to  be  present  when  the  runners, 
servants  and  police  appendages  of  the  governor's 
palace  arrived  to  convey  the  apparatus,  prepara- 
tory to  the  exhibition,  it  was  amusing  to  watch 
their  honest  manner  and  obsequiousness  towards 
the  man  who  was  to  be  honored  by  the  call  from 
thfcir  dignified  master. 

Jlr.  Lee  subsequently  informed  me  that  he 
was  pUiced  in  a  large  room,  minus  furniture, 
well  carpeted,  with  a  raised  platform,  on  v/hieh 
sat  his  highness,  with  about  thirty  TuiUs,  his 
friends,  who  silently  gazed  at  his  gymnastic  an- 
tics with  evident  surprise,  which'  was  occasionally 
expressed  by  giving  vent  to  an  unusual  volume 
of  smoke,  taking  breath,  and  resuming  again  the 
quiet  happiness  of  pufling  at  the  narghilah. 

A  latticed  kind  of  gallery  was  observable  at 
one  corner,  where  there  was  probably  a  biilliant 
assemblage,  never  to  be  seen  by  other  eyes  than 
the  owner's. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  repeat  what  has  been 
often  written,  that  females  are  purchased,  and 
the  price  is  invariably  proportioned  to  the  grade 
of  their  facial  charms. 

An   anecdote   illustrative  of  the  character  of 
the  governor  was  related,  that  gives  au  insight 
into  the  constitution  of  the  Turkish  mind,  and 
the  processes  through  which  it  is   allowable  to  , 
proceed  to  accomplish  the  ends  of  justice. 

Some  English  gentlemen  in  the  coarse  of  their 
topographical  explorations  about  the  dilapidated 
castle,  on  the  hill,  were  assailed  by  a  host  of 
impudent  Turkish  boys,  who  stoned  them  bar- 
barously— a  common  fsat  in  that  neighborhood — 
to  show  their  contempt  of  infidel  dogs,  who  in- 
jured their  clothes,  and  actually  endangered 
their  lives. 

Pull  of  foam  and  fury  at  the  gross  indignity, 
they  hastened  at  once  to  the  house  of  the  pacha, 
got  admission  to  his  presence,  and  stated  their 
sufferings.  An  immediate  search  was  instituted 
to  detect  the  culprits,  but  without  success.  His 
highness  then  gave  orders  to  arrest  the  teachers 
of  all  the  public  schools — there  being  several 
under  the  patronage  of  the  government,  where 
children  are  taught  to  read  the  Koran. 

They  were  all  thrown  into  prison  for  not  hav- 
ing taught  their  pupils  better  manners,  where 
they  were  threatened  with  a  detention  till  the 
guilty  parlies  could  be  arrested.  At  the  expira- 
tion of  about  a  week  they  were  liberated — thus 
vicariously  sulTering  for  the  faults  of  others. 

Handsome  Greek  and  Italian  women  abound 
in  Smyrna.  They  were  under  no  facial  re- 
straints, and  consequently  they  are  at  full  liberty 
to  Btarc  with  great,  black,  lustrous  eyes  at  every- 
body and  everything  they  choose. 

Turkish  ladies  were  often  passed  in  groups, 
attended  usually  by  female  slaves,  walking  leis- 
urely along  the  narrow  streets  near  the  Turkish 
quarter  of  the  city.  Their  faces  were  invariably 
veiled,  but  not  with  the  usual  covering  of  white 
lawn,  drawn  closely  down  over  tho  chin  from 
tho  forehead.  They  have  a  thin  stuff  attached 
to  a  wire  to  keep  the  veil  off  from  the  eyes, 
which  only  reaches  to  the  mouth,  and  generally 
black — giving  them  the  appearance  of  being  cov- 
ered with  short  masks,  eeen  at  the  distance  of  a 
few  rods. 

In  dress,  they  are  all  alike,  precisely,  as  re- 
spects the  pattern  of  their  garments.  Yellow 
morocco  hoots,  loose  about  the  ankle,  stuck  into 
long  pcakcd-toed  slippers,  down  at  the  heels, 
were  usually  worn.  They  were  chatting  among 
iberaselveB,  but  put  on  a  proper  modicum  of  ro- 
aorve  afl  wo  drew  near. 


Among  the  standing  curiosities  of  Smyrna, 
are  the  caravansaries — buildings  into  which  any 
and  all  the  strangers  go  for  lodgings  and  the 
security  of  their  property,  while  sojourning  in 
tho  city.  Thoy  are  huge  constructions,  sur- 
rounding an  open  court,  entered  through  a  gate. 
Camels  and  horses  are  there  unburdened,  and 
tho  proprietors  secure  themselves  in  small,  cheer- 
less, dirty,  dark  rooms,  opening  towards  the 
yard.  Of  court-c  whoever  goes  there,  procures 
his  own  provi-;ions,  mats  for  sleeping,  cooks  and 
washes,  and  on  leaving,  pays  a  trifle  to  some- 
body for  the  privilege. 

A  caravan  arrived  while  wo  were  there,  from 
rcrsia,  bringing  the  rieh  shawls,  rags,  carpets, 
and  the  greatest  variety  of  goods.  Being  halted 
outside  the  town,  near  a  burying  ground  of  ex- 
tensive dimensions,  at  a  bridge  known  as  iho 
Caravan  bridge,  we  walked  there  one  morning 
to  view  the  .«ight. 

Having  travelled  with  an  occasional  caravan 
in  the  desert  of  Arabia,  and  often  met  them,  also, 
while  on  tl\c  way  to  Palestine,  from  Egypt,  the 
show  of  animals  and  bales  was  not  a  novelty  to 
me.  Evidently  the  camels  were  of  a  better  breed 
than  usually  met  with  among  the  Arabs.  They 
were  very  heavy  animals,  with  an  abundance  of 
long  hair  on  the  shoulders  and  haunfhes,  of  tiic 
color  and  appearance  of  a  buffalo  skin.  They 
still  had  their  high,  clumsy  saddles  on,  which, 
by  the  way,  are  never  taken  off  by  camel  drivers 
night  or  day.  No  matter  what  may  be  the  condi- 
tion of  their  galled  hacks,  no  mercy  is  shown  the 
patient  beast. 

Not  an  article  brought  from  Persia,  in  its  ap- 
pearance in  the  bazaars,  could  be  purchased  any 
cheaper  there  than  in  the  city  of  Boston.  I  was 
struck  with  the  same  fact  in  Damascus.  Persian 
goods  were  quite  as  dear  there  as  at  Smyrna ; 
nor  were  they  any  more  costly  after  being  trans- 
ported over  tho  tedious  waste  of  sand  to  the 
towns  and  villages  on  the  Mediterranean. 

Porters  are  invariably  coursing  through  the 
streets  with  such  enormous  burdens  on  their 
backs,  as  to  make  our  strongest  men  seem  weak 
and  feeble.  I  have  passed  a  small-sized  person 
actually  conveying  a  barrel  of  rum  on  his  back, 
marked  on  the  head  Neto  England. 

Smyrna  is  a  celebrated  fig  market.  Grown  in 
profusion  in  all  directions  in  the  interior,  they 
are  brought  in  as  they  ripen,  on  camels,  and  de- 
livered at  the  packing  houses.  An  acquaintance 
with  the  process  of  putting  figs  into  drums,  is  suf- 
flcicut  to  deter  most  people  from  eating  them 
ever  afterwards.  Unwashed  hands,  and  ihe  la}-- 
ers  of  dirt  on  the  floor,  where  the  whole  mystery 
of  packing  is  conducted,  for  shipping;  the  mil- 
lions of  worms  crawling  about  in  some  of  the 
old  establishments,  together  with  the  uncouih 
and  unsavory  looks  of  those  who  conduct  the 
manipulations,  are  disgusting  beyond  conception. 
"Whatever  is  anomalous,  on  account  of  differ- 
ing from  ourselves,  soon  becomes  familiar,  and 
the  stranger  is  ready  for  a  departure.  One  or 
two  learned  American  missionaries  reside  in 
Smyrna,  who  seem  to  have  the  confidence  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  who  are  translating,  writing, 
teaching,  and  introducing  the  excellences  of 
Christianity,  civilization,  literature  and  science, 
with  a  degree  of  success  that  will  be  felt  in  the 
nation  and  country  in  future  generations.  Their 
course  is  governed  by  prudence,  and  therefore 
encouraging  to  the  friends  of  the  Bible  and  hu- 
manity in  Christendom. 

It  would  be  quite  impossible  to  detail  all  the 
incidents  that  occurred,  or  strange  events  wit- 
nessed, while  traversing  town  and  country  in 
Turkey,  without  becoming  tediously  volumin- 
ous ;  and  here,  therefore,  is  a  proper  place  to 
bring  to  a  close  these  prelections  on  the  Turks 
and  Turkey,  as  Ihey  were  seen  while  sojourning 
in  their  diversified  country. 

The  Turks  in  Turkey  arc  widely  different 
from  the  Turks  in  their  own  native  country.  A 
history  of  this  extraordinary  race  of  men  is  em- 
braced in  a  single  paragraph.  They  originally 
came  from  the  river  Oxus,  beyond  the  Caspian 
Sea,  where  they  were  rude,  turbulent  shepherds, 
who  became  converts  to  Mahoramedanism,  and 
at  once  felt  themselves  called  upon  to  go  forth 
to  propagate  the  new  faith.  Possessing  all  the 
natural  elements  to  become  warlike,  fine  consti- 
tutions, combined  with  the  energy  of  fanaticism, 
they  at  once  became  conquerors.  Mahommed 
II.,  whose  title  appears  to  have  been  Faith,  tho 
Opener,  on  .-iccount  of  opening  a  way  into  the 
great  Christian  city  of  Constantinople,  wrote  an 
epitaph  for  himself,  in  which  was  catalogued  all 
the  rulers  he  had  overcome,  and  countrica  he 
had  eubdued. 


CYPEU3  AND  EHODES. 

From  a  remote  antiquity  the  island  of  Cypru-s 
has  been  familiarly  known  to  tlic  people  of  tho 
Kast.  It  is  nearer  the  western  coast  of  the  Med- 
iterranean limn  atiy  of  ihe  group  which  arc  scat- 
tered through  the  north-eastern  border  of  that 
sea,  and  easily  npiiroachuhlo  from  Asia  Minor, 
without  the  hazard  of  difficult  navigation. 

One  of  tho  earliest  names  by  wliich  it  was 
designated  was  Macaris,  m  allusion  to  its  fertility, 
and  the  term  signified  Furfa/ialc.  Copper  abound- 
ed, and  at  one  time  it  was  known  abroad  as 
Copper  Island.  Neglect,  perpetually  changing 
governments,  insecurity  of  property,  oppressive 
governors,  poverty  and  Mahommedan  fanati- 
cism have  reduced  the  splendid  garden  of  Venus 
to  the  extreme  depths  of  degradation. 

Zinc,  also,  v/as  mined  in  abundance;  but  even 
the  localities  where  the  copper  or  otlier  valuable 
ores  were  raised,  arc  now  quite  unknown.  Iron, 
tin,  gems,  marble  of  various  shades,  besides  vari- 
oui  suits,  of  importance  in  the  arts,  and  a  sure 
source  of  revenue  and  erajjloyment  to  a  dense 
population,  are  no  longer  sought,  or  perhaps 
recognized,  when  crossing  out  above  the  surface. 

During  the  age  of  Paganism,  Cyprus  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  favorite  of  Venus,  the  goddess 
of  love,  to  whom  it  was  dedicated.  Her  worship 
imbued  the  whole  territory,  and  her  shrines  were 
numerous  in  every  village  and  town.  At  Paphos, 
the  modern  Baffa,  wlicre  Venus  was  reputed  to 
have  first  appeared,  there  was  a  magnificent  tem- 
ple, in  which  a  hundred  altars  smolted  with  the 
offerings  of  slaughtered  animals.  Tiie  concourse 
of  strangers  from  the  then  whole  world,  to  wit- 
ness the  strange  system  of  worship,  which  per- 
mitted the  most  unbridled  excesses,  was  im- 
mense, and  the  fame  of  Cyprus  was  as  extensive 
as  the  glory  of  Greek  and  Roman  conquests.  At 
present,  the  once  attractive  city  has  dwindled 
down  to  a  wretched  village,  made  up  of  a  few 
Greeks  and  Turks,  who  are  ignorant,  fierce,  and 
fit  associates  for  the  desolation  that  reigns  about 
them. 

In  circumference,  Cyprus  is  about  550  miles, 
being  120  long,  east  and  west,  by  90  in  width, 
where  it  is  the  widest.  The  ranges  of  elevated, 
r.agged  mountains  are  disagreeable  at  a  distance 
at  sea,  which  have  a  dingy  appearance,  but  as- 
sume a  pleasanter  aspect  as  they  are  neared. 
Trees  grow  on  their  sides,  quite  near  the  peaks 
of  the  protruding  rocks;  vines  and  shi'ubs  of 
every  conceivable  kind,  everywhere  force  them- 
selves through  the  surface  ;  but  the  moral  dete- 
rioration is  also  accompanied  by  physical  de- 
bility, or  at  least,  a  determination  not  to  live  by 
the  sweat  of  the  brow.  Wine  was  once  made  in 
vast  quantities  for  exportation ;  olives  were  grown 
in  profusion — a  crop  that  was  as  highly  estima- 
ted in  former  times,  as  by  Syrian  cultivators  in 
our  day.  Both  are  quite  neglected,  and  solely 
because  the  oppressive  nature  of  the  government 
strikes  at  the  foundation  of  all  forms  of  industry 
that  might  better  the  condition  of  the  people,  if 
allowed  to  accumulate  property. 

Madder,  for  dying ;  henna,  universally  used 
throughout  the  East  for  staining  the  palms  of  the 
hands  and  finger  nails,  is  a  product  of  Cyprus. 
Poppies  yield  opium  of  an  excellent  quality ; 
and  soda  is  found  on  the  ground.  Some  wool  is 
grown,  but  not  a  tithe  of  what  might  be  annually 
sent  to  Europe.  Lemons,  oranges,  figs,  plums, 
pomegranates,  and  fruits  of  unrecollected  varie- 
ties, together  with  vegetables  of  the  first  quality, 
could  be  raised  with  the  slightest  solicitation  of 
mother  earth,  for  an  exceedingly  profitable  ex- 
portation. 

But  no  encoitragcment  is  given  to  agricultural 
efforts,  and  whatever,  therefore,  happens  to  gush 
up  for  man's  use,  more  than  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  feed  the  poor,  miserable,  ignorant,  semi- 
barbarians  that  constitute  the  hulk  of  the  popu- 
lation, is  bartered  for  the  commodities  of  other 
countries,  and  thus  an  irregular  intercourse  is 
kept  up  with  this  once  flourishing,  rich,  indepen- 
dent, but  nov/  prostrated  island. 

From  the  thrifty  growth  of  the  forests,  and  the 
quality  of  the  timber  for  houses,  boats  and  ship 
building,  and  the  cheapness  of  it,  too,  an  unsus- 
pected avenue  to  wealth  might  be  opened  by  the 
introduction  of  a  few  steam  saw-mills.  Were 
permission  obtained  from  the  Turkish  govern- 
ment to  export  it,  an  immensely  profitable  busi- 
ness wotild  follow.  Alexandria  alone,  one  of  the 
nearest  ports — the  door  of  Egypt,  where  wood 
has  always  been  scarce  as  well  as  dear,  would 
prove  a  perpetual  market.  This  suggestion,  I 
trust,  may  influence  some  bold  spirit  to  embrace 
this  and  some  other  opportunities  of  equal  valuo 
In  that  direction,  for  advancino'  his  own  fortune, 


while  the  operation  would  also  conduce  to  the 
prosperity,  comfort,  employment  and  civilization 
of  tho  Cypriots. 

Morocco  leather,  admirable. in  finish,  as  it  is 
good  in  quality,  is  manufdcturcd  by  rude  pro- 
ecssefl,  in  consideratjle  quantities.  A  trade  in 
liides,  tanned  leather,  blocks  of  marble,  etc.,  is 
worthy  of  the  consideration  of  those  who  buy, 
sell,  and  get  gain,  because  the  utter  neglect  of 
Cyprus  by  merchants,  especially  lho.se  of  that 
United  States,  renders  it  the  more  certain  that 
cheap  cottons,  hardware,  with  a  little  money, 
couid  be  exchanged  for  their  commodities  to 
advantage. 

Silk,  too,  were  the  feeding  of  worms  encour- 
aged, would  equal  the  quality  and  quantity  of 
the  fairest  mulberry  districts  of  Syria,  As  it  is, 
under  every  imaginary  embarrassment,  in  con- 
nection v^itli  tho  vi-t  inertia  of  the  people,  who 
cannot  be  robbed  of  the  pleasure  of  smoking, 
though  thoy  are  deprived  of  almost  everything 
else,  the  specimens  offered  for  barter,  in  texture, 
color,  and  excellence  of  workmanship,  demon- 
strate the  resources  of  Cyprus  under  all  its  dis- 
advantages. 

On  tho  island  of  Cyprus  there  were  once  nine 
distinct  kingdoms  !  Egyptians,  Phtenicians,  Per- 
sians, Macedonians,  Romans,  Arabs — each  had 
a  section  and  a  government  of  their  own 

When  Ihe  Crusaders  were  in  the  zenith  of  their 
success  in  Palestine,  they  got  a  strong  foothold, 
on  Cyprus.  Richard  I.,  King  of  England,  even 
made  a  present  of  it,  in  effect,  for  he  gave  tho 
crown  to  the  house  of  Lusignan.  The  Venetians 
took  a  turn  at  it,  and  while  under  their  jurisdic- 
tion, churches,  convents,  castles  and  fortresses 
without  number,  sprung  up  in  almost  inaccessi- 
ble places,  where  it  was  thought  a  military  force 
of  small  capacity  cottld  effectually  resist  the  bo- 
sieging  army.  But  the  terrible  Turks  made  a 
descent  at  last,  when  least  expected,  under  the 
victorious  Selim,  in  1570,  who  drove  out  his 
Christian  enemies,  planted  the  crescent  on  the 
cross,  where  it  still  floats  triumphantly;  and 
from  the  moment  tho  Sultan's  bloody  forces 
landed,  to  the  hour  this  is  being  written,  a  grad- 
ual deterioration  has  been  going  on,  till  its  pov- 
erty and  sparse  population,  contrasted  with  its 
known  capacity  and  unlimited  resources,  have 
become  a  by-word  and  a  reproach. 

No  longer  ago  than  1S22,  a  horrible  massacre 
of  25,000  Greeks,  and  the  atrocious  acts  of  a 
ferocious  army,  which  destroyed  seventy-four 
villages,  monasteries,  churches,  chapels,  and 
closed  their  unparalleled  barbarities  by  throwing 
a  multitude  of  women  and  children  into  the  rag- 
ing sea,  where  they  perished,  is  fresh  in  the  re- 
collection of  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
phases  of  the  revolution  of  modern  Greece,  and 
finished  the  last  great  act  in  the  modem  history 
of  the  island  of  Cyprus. 

KHODES. 

We  arrived  at  the  celebrated  island  of  Rhodes 
in  the  midst  of  a  succession  of  terrific  earth- 
quakes, which  had  sadly  shattered  some  of  the 
fairest  monuments  that  were  reared  by  the 
knights,  during  their  military  occupancy  of  this 
famous  old  theatre  of  the  heroic  ages.  A  boat 
put  off  after  sunrise  to  where  the  vessel  was 
swaying  at  the  end  of  her  chain,  in  which  was 
the  British  consul.  This  was  on  the  21st  of 
March,  1851.  He  gave  us  a  gloomy  picture  of 
the  condition  of  the  town  spread  out  before  us, 
and  the  interior  generally. 

Two  or  three  days  before,  the  shocks  were  so 
severe  as  to  frighten  tho  people  out  of  their 
bouses,  and  beyond  them,  lest  in  falling  thoy 
should  he  crushed  to  death.  The  famous  palace 
of  the  grand  master  was  severely  injured,  which 
was  much  deplored,  because  it  was  sure  never 
to  bo  repaired.  A  fine  arched  gateway,  close  to 
tho  small  harbor,  was  singularly  difitorted,  and 
left  with  the  appeari'mce  of  being  just  ready  to 
f.iU.  One  of  the  two  huge  brick  towers  erected 
by  the  Knights  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  known 
as  that  of  St.  John,  was  cracked  from  the  top  to 
the  bottom,  and  left  in  a  condition  altogether 
too  dangerous  even  to  trust  the  stairs  with  the 
weight  of  a  man.  It  was  feared,  (o  prevent  the 
mass  from  falling  into  the  deepwater  of  the  largo 
harbor,  the  whole  would  have  to  be  taken  down, 
after  having  bid  defiance  to  the  elements  and  all 
previous  tremblings  for  between  four  and  five 
hundred  years. 

The  mountains  easterly,  nine  miles  distant, 
were  violently  shaken.  One  elevation,  whei-e 
there  was  a  small  village  of  Turks,  actually 
opened  at  Ihe  apex,  into  which  every  vestige  of 
their  habittUions  and  the  people  themselves  drop- 
ped, and  the  cleft  pides  again  came  together  and 


GLEASON'S   PICTOUIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMrANION. 


403 


concealed  them  forever.  Tood  had  become 
scarce,  meats  could  not  be  procured,  and  for  four 
days,  the  consul  remarked,  he  had  lived  on  four 
fowls,  fortunately  secured  before  the  scarcity 
became  alarming. 

There  are  two  harbors  in  ifront  of  the  modern 
townofEhodes — which  is  walled — the  work  of 
the  knights.  To  the  traveller,  the  small  one, 
however,  possesses  by  far  the  largest  share  of 
interest,  from  the  circumstance  of  being  the 
identical  one  at  the  entrance  of  which  stood  the 
far-famed  Colossus — a  bronzed  lighthouse,  of  the 
figure  of  a  man,  between  the  legs  of  which  ves- 
sels passed  on  to  the  landings. 

Dignified  as  the  narrow  strip  of  water  is  by 
running  into  the  land,  curved  considerably,  with 
the  name  of  harbor,  it  is  an  insigniiicant  resting- 
place  for  vessels ;  and,  in  its  best  days,  could  only 
have  accommodated  the  monster  row  boats  of 
the  ancients.  I  noticed  a  few  small  sailing  ves- 
sels moored  within,  which  might  have  been  se- 
cured, as  doubtless  the  Rhodian  fleets  were,  by 
a  chain  across  the  mouth  of  the  harbor — the 
■width  being  scarcely  two  lumdi'ed  feet.  When 
the  walls  and  foundation  stones  were  in  condition 
to  receive  the  feet  of  tlie  Colossus,  probably  the 
width  had  been  contracted  to  less  than  fifty. 

Modern  Rhodes  is  but  a  faint  shadow  of  the 
imperial  Rhodes  of  a  remote  antiquity,  when  the 
arts  were  encouraged,  when  commerce  enriched 
the  people  and  liberalized  their  sentimenis  by 
intercourse  tlirough  the  agency  of  an  extensive 
mercantile  marine,  with  other  nations.  Just 
la-ns  were  established,  the  State  was  strong  in 
resources,  and  the  power,  the  glory,  and  the  in- 
stitutions of  this  same  degraded,  humbled,  pov- 
erty-stricken Rhodes,  were  celebrated  over  the 
remotest  boundaries  of  the  old  world. 

Although  in  the  quaint  but  truthful  language 
of  the  Bible,  the  land  abideth  forever,  the  revolu- 
tions upon  its  surface  are  among  the  most  strik- 
ing phenomena  in  the  habitable  sections  of  the 
world.  Every  country  has  its  infancy,  its  meri- 
dian of  strength  and  beauty,  and  the  waning  de- 
crepitude of  old  age.  Such  has  been  the  fate 
of  the  empires  that  have  passed  away.  Rhodes 
was  slowly  developed,  attained  the  highest  re- 
nown, and  then  slowly  declined.  All  this  is 
brought  about  by  the  agency  of  man,  and  not 
through  tbe  unwillingness  of  nature  to  give  seed 
time  and  hanest. 

In  the  year  58,  St.  Paul  visited  Rhodes,  on 
his  voyage  to  Rome,  which  appears  from  the 
annals  of  that  period  to  have  then  been  a  mart 
of  extensive  commercial  relations ;  but  nothing 
remains  of  that  or  even  a  far  later  date,  illustra- 
tive of  the  magniiicence  of  the  public  edifices, 
palaces,  colonnades,  baths,  theatres,  and  hyppo- 
dromes,  that  once  characterized  the  wealth,  taste, 
and  magnificence  of  the  Rhodian  advances  in 
civilization. 

A  disserttaion  on  the  earliest  condition  of 
Rhodes,  far  back  into  the  ages  of  mythological 
mysteries,  is  not  contemplated.  Before  the  Tro- 
jan war,  however,  a  son  of  Hercules  slew  some- 
body, and  for  personal  safety  fled  from  Argos  to 
this  island,  and  commenced  the  settlement  of  a 
colony.  He  became  the  king,  at  last,  ruling 
with  a  firm  hand  and  justly.  After  the  Trojan 
war,  the  Dorian  language  was  introduced. 
"When  Homer  lived,  there  were  three  great  cities 
on  the  island,  viz.,  Lindus,  Camisus,  and  Tolysus. 
The  sites  of  each  are  designated  by  villages, 
mean,  fihhy,  and  wretchedly  degraded. 

Rhodes,  a  fourth  city,  gradually  increased,  till 
it  eclipsed  the  others.  It  was  laid  out  skilfully 
by  the  architect  Hippodamus,  who  constructed 
the  Pirxus— the  once  unrivalled  harbor  of  Ath- 
ens. One  evidence  of  the  enormous  wealth  to 
which  the  government  attained  when  the  new 
city  became  the  capital  of  the  whole  island,  is 
the  circumstance  that  its  statues  equalled  in 
number  the  population. 

Incredible  accounts  of  the  splendor  of  Rhodes 
are  the  burden  of  the  ancients.  Among  other 
relations,  there  were  one  hundred  gigantic  stat- 
ues set  up  in  various  sections  of  the  city.  One, 
however,  of  universal  celebrity,  far  exceeding 
any  similar  work  of  art  in  any  other  country, 
called  the  Colossus,  was  of  cast  brass,  and  dedi- 
cated to  Apollo. 

As  before  remarked,  not  a  stone  or  remnant 
of  a  structure  of  the  day  of  Rhodian  glory  can 
be  found.  No  inscription  aids  the  traveller  to 
localities,  either  sacred  or  profane.  A  circum- 
stantial description  of  the  Colossus,  before  its 
destruction  was  completed,  is  as  follows ; 

According  to  the  most  reliable  accounts  that 
have  com^  down  to  us,  the  figure  was  somewhere 
between  one  hundred  and  five  and  one  bundled 


and  fifty  feet  tall.  Pliny  relates  that  the  artist 
was  one  Chares.  It  remained  astride  the  en- 
trance into  the  little  cove  of  the  harbor,  standing 
on  two  huge  rocks,  or  stone  platforms,  just  fifty- 
six  yeai's,  when  it  was  overturned  by  one  of  those 
earthquakes,  distinguished  for  their  suddenness 
and  destructive  violence,  that  still  occasionally 
manifest  their  frightful  energy.  The  region,  for 
a  circuit  of  more  than  sixty  miles,  appears  to  bo 
the  focus  of  intense  volcanic  activity. 

Some  idea  of  the  stupendous  magnitude  and 
proportions  of  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes  may  be 
formed  from  the  statement  of  the  Roman  natu- 
ralist, viz.,  that  few  men  could  clasp  round 
the  thumb — while  each  finger  was  larger  than 
the  size  of  common  statues.  Being  hollow,  va- 
rious parts  of  it  were  filled  with  immense  quan- 
tities of  stone,  to  keep  it  firmly  in  place.  Twelve 
years  were  required,  from  the  beginning,  to  the 
completion  of  this  unsurpassed  monument  of 
ancient  artistical  skill. 

Latterly  a  shade  of  doubt  lias  been  cast  on  the 
narrative  so  far  as  standing  astride  of  tbe  en- 
trance to  the  harbor  is  concerned.  When  it  fell, 
the  prostrate  brazen  monster  was  on  the  dry 
ground.  Had  it  have  stood  as  represented,  in 
falling  the  channel  must  have  received  the 
mighty  figure.  Reasoning  in  this  manner,  an 
opinion  prevails  among  travellers  that  the  Co- 
lossus must  have  been  erected  on  one  side  only, 
and  could  not  have  had  a  foot  on  both. 

A  fact  of  some  consequence  to  be  remembered 
in  connection  with  this  curious  affair,  is  this, 
viz.,  that  the  statue  remained  in  plain  everyday 
sight  to  all  eyes  for  the  long  term  of-  nine  hun- 
di-ed  years.  In  the  year  672,  a  Saracen  caliph, 
Maowia,  who  had  the  control  of  Rhodes,  sold  it 
to  a  Jew.  After  being  broken  up,  there  were 
nine  hundred  camel  loads  of  the  fragments. 

Great  as  have  been  the  transactions  on  the 
territory  of  Rhodes,  it  is  but  a  small  theatre  for 
the  many  and  extraordinary  exhibitions  of  hu- 
man prowess  that  have  been  displayed  upon  it. 
In  length  it  is  thirty-six  miles,  by  only  eighteen 
in  width — having  a  circumference  of  one  hun- 
dred and  forty.  Of  an  irregular  triangular  shape, 
with  a  seri-ated  coast,  afibrding  several  pleasant, 
secure  retreats  for  vessels,  the  interior  is  eleva- 
ted, and  the  centre  mountainous.  One  peak, 
higher  than  all  others,  is  known  as  Mount  Arta- 
mira.  A  more  fertile  soil  has  rarely  fallen  to 
the  lot  of  cultivators.  Rich  valleys,  splendid 
growths  of  wood  of  many  varieties,  and  babbling 
streams  to  fertilize  the  land,  with  a  profusion  of 
the  choicest  fruits  that  refuse  to  die  out,  even 
under  the  vile  rule  of  the  oppressive  Turkish 
administration,  show  the  striking  resources  of 
Rhodes. 

Any,  and  indeed  all  the  elevations,  a  short 
distance  from  the  beaches,  are  so  many  observa- 
tories, permitting  the  eye  to  range  through  a 
field  of  vision  of  unusual  extent  and  beauty. 

But  with  natural  advantages  scarcely  equalled 
by  the  most  favored  spot  in  any  country,  Rhodes 
has  been  languishing  under  the  severe  rule  of 
despotism,  till  nothing  remains  attractive  to  the 
stranger,  or  encouraging  to  the  wretched  crea- 
tures by  which  it  is  inhabited. 

In  tlie  age  of  Xerxes  the  imperial  government 
was  destroyed,  and  a  democracy  took  its  place. 
While  the  republic  endured,  Rhodes  became  a 
strong  power,  whose  independence  was  even  ac- 
knowledged by  Spain,  where  colonies  w^re  sent 
by  them.  During  a  profound  peace,  when  so- 
ciety and  trade  were  advancing  with  a  degree  of 
majesty  that  called  forth  the  admiration  of  sur- 
rounding people,  a  woman,  Artemeria,  a  bold 
queen  of  Caria,  pounced  upon  the  island  as  a 
tiger  stealthily  leaps  from  a  jungle  upon  its  prey, 
and  seized  the  prize  before  the  danger  was  ap- 
prehended. 

Demosthenes  advocated  the  cause  of  the  con- 
quered Rhodians,  at  Ath.ens,  and  by  his  masterly 
oratorical  influence  they  were  subsequently  re- 
stored to  their  civil  rights  and  liberty. 

Next,  Alexander  struck  terror  into  the  petit 
republic,  and  again  the  people  took  a  heavy  yoke 
upon  their  shoulders.  By  adroit  political  man- 
agement, some  concessions  were  made  by  the 
resistless  destroyer  of  nations.  When  death  con- 
quered him  who  never  before  yielded  to  an 
earthly  master,  the  I'epublic  was  again  re-organ- 
ized with  better  prospects,  and  a  well-grounded 
expectation  of  stability,  notwithstanding  a  siege 
of  a  whole  year,  against  a  force  of  35,000  soldiers. 
After  various  struggles,  internal  treasons,  and 
the  assaults  of  tyrants  without,  at  last  came  the 
Roman  Emperor  Vespasian,  who  humbled  and 
crushed  poor  Rhodes  into  the  dust.  Thus  it  he- 
came  a  Roman  province.    When  the  empire  was 


cut  in  twain,  into  Eastern  and  Western,  it  fell 
to  the  Eastern  rulers.  Next  the  Saracens  took 
possession  ;  the  Genoese  and  Eastern  emperors 
alternately  called  the  island  their  own.  All  this 
while  an  ambitious,  unflinching  series  of  govern- 
ors had  conducted  the  administration  of  the  reve- 
nues, and  fortified  tbe  assailable  points  so  long 
and  thoroughly,  that  one  of  them  openly  defied 
the  throne  at  Constantinople,  and  made  himself 
a  king. 

At  the  commencement  of  13CG,  Emanuel  made 
a  present  of  Rhodes  to  the  Knights  of  St.  John 
of  Jerusalem,  who  succeeded  in  expelling  the 
indigenous  monarch,  hut  not  till  the  metropolis 
had  resisted  for  four  years,  before  surrendering 
to  the  brave  knights,  August,  1.^10, 

Nothing  could  have  more  desperately  incens'ed 
the  Turks,  the  sworn  enemies  of  the  knights, 
than  to  have  them  for  neighbors.  An  immediate 
demonstration  of  hostilities  ensued,  sometimes  in 
favor  of  one,  and  sometimes  the  other.  But,  in 
\^-22,  Solyman  If.  brought  Rhodes  under  the 
crescent,  where  it  has  since  remained,  a  poor, 
run  down,  exiiausted,  debased  Mahommedan 
settlement,  proud  of  its  ignoraufe.  Intoleranee 
ia  mistaken  by  the  inhabitants  for  piety,  and  to 
show  how  intensely  they  detest  Cliristians,  they 
would  be  willing  to  suffer  rather  tlian  to  be 
benefited  by  them. 

Thus,  in  a  condeiised  view,  the  eventful  history 
of  this  memorable  island  has  been  given.  Trans- 
actions of  a  momentous  character  have  often 
agitated  the  multitudes  of  human  beings  who 
resided  upon  its  exhaustless  soil.  Enlightened 
senates  watched  over  the  public  safety,  while 
they  encouraged  literature,  the  flue  :vrts,  and  the 
elegances  of  a  refined  civilization. 

While  in  the  tide  of  prosperity  and  political 
independence,  the  population  must  have  exceeded 
a  million  and  a  half,  if  not  two.  This  is  an  in- 
ference drawn  from  national  resources  ;  the  ac- 
tivity of  their  fleets,  commercial  enterprises, 
influx  of  wealth,  and  well  directed  powers  of  re- 
sistance to  an  invading  foe. 

With  all  these  evidences  of  renown,  the  sun  of 
its  glory  set  in  blood  centuries  ago.  Under  the 
surveillance  of  Turkey,  it  has  been  sinking  lower 
and  lower  in  the  scale  of  humiliation.  Literally, 
Rhodes  is  the  emblem  of  poverty  and  a  perverse 
national  policy,  hostile  alike  to  trade  and  to 
happiness. 

At  farthest,  it  was  the  opinion  of  the  British 
consul  that  the  entire  population  of  Rhodes  does 
not  exceed  forty  thousand — distributed  through 
forty  or  fifty  villages  and  hamlets.  They  are 
the  least  enlightened  of  the  Sultan's  hot-headed 
sulijects.  To  such  a  degree  do  the  inhabitants 
of  the  city,  walled  by  the  knights,  and  therefore 
the  only  secure  place  against  the  incursions  of 
robbers  and  thieves,  carry  their  antipathies 
against  both  Jews  and  Christians,  that  not  a  sin- 
gle individual  of  either  denomination  is  permit- 
ted to  remain  within  the  gates  over  night  Even 
the  consular  agents  are  obliged  to  conform  to 
this  arbitrary  measure. 

A  little  to  the  north  of  the  great  towers  of  the 
knights,  and  on  the  northerly  side  of  the  small 
harbor,  there  is  a  cluster  of  tenements  where  the 
Europeans  are  principally  congregated  for  traffic 
and  residence — on  one  of  which  the  British  flag 
was  flying  at  the  extremity  of  a  staff  while  we 
v/ere  there. 

For  many  years  the  Greeks  canied  on  a  lucra- 
tive business  in  ship  building,  close  to  the  city. 
Workmen  came  from  remote  islands  for  employ- 
ment, and  the  craft  launched  annually  gave  a 
degree  of  activity  that  was  on  the  increase  till 
within  a  recent  period,  when  the  whole  was  ab- 
ruptly abandoned  in  consequence  of  a  decision 
of  the  divan  that  no  vessel  should  in  future  be 
built  that  did  not  carry  the  Turkish  flag,  and 
was  exclusively  navigated  by  subjects  of  the 
Sultau. 

Of  course,  the  Greek  mechanics  would  not 
comply  with  any  such  law.  Their  own  country 
was  emancipated  from  the  bondage  in  which  it  had 
been  held  through  generations  of  servitude,  and 
not  a  man  of  them  would  remain.  A  change  of 
policy,  allowing  the  fine  timber  to  be  manufac- 
tured on  tbe  spot,  would  instantly  infuse  a  new 
spirit  into  that  benighted  region  ;  but  no  relaxa- 
tion is  likely  to  follow,  till  Turkey  herself  shall 
fall. 

With  capabilities  in  the  agricultural  resources 
of  the  island  for  sustaining  a  million  ;  with  grain, 
fruits,  oil,  wine,  metals,  marble,  timber,  plank, 
boards,  cattle,  etc.,  for  exportation,  to  an  incalcu- 
lable amonnt,  the  present  forty  thousand  inhabit- 
ants find  it  difticult  to  procure  a  scanty  subsist- 
ence.    Should  any  one  practise  industry,  harvest 


a  crop,  or  gather  property,  the  legitimate  reward 
of  enterpri-ic,  it  would  invite  the  immediate  ac- 
tion of  the  pasjia.  He  would  be  stripped  of  his 
earnings,  and  might  lose  his  head  besides. 

A  vessel  cannot  be  constructed  throughoutthe 
dominions  of  Turkey,  till  whoever  entertains  the 
intention  of  doing  so  first  obtains  a  firman  at 
Constantinople,  granting  permission.  Months, 
and  even  years,  sometimes  pass  away  before  the 
urgent  request  is  oflicially  acknowledged.  Thus 
all  energy  is  paralyzed  by  hope  deferred,  and 
Turkey  in  the  future,  therefore,  is  a  problem  of 
difficult  solution. 


[Written  for  Gleason^s  Pictorial.] 
SONG  OF  THE  PILGRIM  OF  THE  ALPS. 

ST  T.   BUCHANAN   READ. 

0.  it  is  a  pleasure  rare, 

Ever  to  be  climbing  so  ; 
Winding  upward  tliroiigh  the  uir, 

Till  the  clouds  are  left  below  ! 
I'pwnrd  :inil  forever  round, 

Ou  tbe  stairway  of  the  stream, 
With  the  motion  and  the  sound  - 

Of  processions  in  a  dream  ; 
While  the  world,  beneath  all  tliie. 
Lies  a  fathomless  abyss. 

Freedom  singeth  ever  here, 

"^^Tiere  her  sandals  print  the  anow, 
And  to  her  the  piaes  are  dear. 

Freely  rocking  to  and  fro  ; 
Swinging  oft  like  stately  ships, 

Where  the  billowy  tempests  sport; 
Or,  as  when  the  anchor  slips 

Down  the  dreamy  wave  at  port ; 
Standing  silent  as  they  list, 
IVliile  the  zephyrs  reef  the  mist. 

Here  the  well-springs  drop  their  pearls, 

All  to  freedom's  music  strung; 
And  the  brooks,  like  mountain  girls, 

Sing  the  song  of  freedom's  tongue. 
Here  the  great  hiUs,  stern  and  staunch, 

Guard  her  valleys  arid  her  lakes ; 
And  the  rolling  avalanche 

Blocks  tbe  path  the  invader  makes ; 
While  her  eagle,  like  a  flag. 
Floats  in  triumph  o'er  the  crag. 

0  it  is  a  pleasure  rare, 

Ever  to  be  climbing  so, 
Up  the  streamlet's  winding  stair, 

Till  the  cloud  is  left  below  I 
Pleasanter  than  in  the  spring. 

Gathering  violets  in  tbe  dells  ; 
Music  sweeter  than  the  ring 

Of  the  bees  mid  fiower-bells. 
Like  yon  eagle's  spiral  flight, 
We  go  les-sening  up  the  height. 
Till  the  world  is  out  of  sight  I 

LOOK  UP. 

It  is  what  we  rejoice  to  see — men,  women,  and 
children — the  rich,  the  poor — the  old  and  the 
young,  always  looking  up.  It  shows  the  purity 
of  your  intentions,  and  the  determination  of  your 
own  hearts.  We  see  in  him  tbe  elements  of  a 
true  man.  No  matter  if  the  seas  have  swallowed 
your  properly,  or  the  fires  have  consumed  your 
dwellings — lookup,  take  fi'esh  courage.  Is  your 
name  a  by-word,  or  a  reproach  1  Look  up  to 
the  purity  of  the  skies,  and.  let  its  image  be  re- 
flected in  your  heart.  Detraction,  then,  will  re- 
bound from  your  bosom.  Are  you  trod  upon  by 
the  strong  ■?  Look  up — push  up — and  you  will 
stand  as  strong  as  he.  j\iq  you  crowded  out  of 
the  society  of  ihc  rich?  Lookup,  and  soon  your 
company  will  be  coveted.  Whatever  may  bo 
your  circumstances  or  condition  in  life,  always 
make  it  a  point  to  look  up — to  rise  higher  and 
higher — and  you  will  attain  your  fondest  expec- 
tations. Success  may  he  slow,  but  sure  it  will 
come.  Heaven  is  on  the  side  of  those  who  look 
up. —  Winchestei'  Republican. 


VERY  OliD  MULE. 

AVe  noticed  some  months  ago  that  an  old  mule, 
the  property  of  the  Earl  of  Ellesmere,  had  been 
stolen  from  AVorseley  village,  and  after  a  few 
weeks'  absence  had  been  fortunately  recovered. 
This  aged  creatui-c,  believed  to  be  between  90 
and  100  years  old,  has,  afcer  working  almost  a 
century,  been  at  length  "  turned  out  to  grass  " 
upon  the  moss,  and  is  described  by  those  who 
have  seen  it  to  be  "  as  lively  as  a  cricket."  The 
mule's  great  age  is  well  authenticated,  for  Mr. 
Brodierton,  jM.P.,  can  remember  some  tifty  years 
ago  to  have  seen  it  on  the  Bridgewater  estate, 
and  it  was  then  known  as  the  "  old  mule ;"  and 
a  carter  who  died  some  months  ago,  sged  80 
years,  could  remember  working  the  animal  above 
sixty  years  since.  It  is  of  a  very  diminutive 
size,  and  we  hops  it  is  now  to  eojoy  gi'een  pas- 
tures and  fresh  water,  freed  from  toil  for  the  re- 
mainder of  its  protracted  existence. — Mandiester 
Guardian. 


We  waste  our  best  years  in  distilling  the 
sweetest  flowers  of  life  into  potions,  which,  after 
all,  do  not  immortalize,  but  only  intoxicate. — 

Lom/felloiv. 


That  this  is  but  the  sui'face  of  his  sout, 
And  that  the  depth  is  rich  in  better  thinKS. 
Jlyroi 


404 


GLEASONS   PICTORIAL    DRAWING -ROOM    COMPANION. 


EGYPTIAN  STEAM  FRIGATE,  "FAID  QIHAAD." 


EGYPTIAN  STEAM  FRIGATE. 

The  beautiful  vessel,  a  view  of  which  is  p;iven 
above,  was  built  in  England  for  the  Pacha  of 
Egypt,  and  is  to  be  exclusively  employed  by  him 
for  marine  excursions.  She  is  flush  decked. 
Immediarely  abaft  the  funnels  is  a  smoking 
room,  eight  feet  in  height,  fitted  up  in  a  style  of 
great  splendor,  but  wind  and  water  tight;  next, 
a  covered  house,  in  size  and  appearance  similar 
to  the  smoking  room,  from  which  the  descent  is 
made  to  the  main  deck,  on  which  are  the  state 
cabins  ard  saloons.  Proceeding  below,  to  the 
apartments  of  his  Highness,  by  a  mahogany  stair- 
case, we  enter  an  ante-room  of  spacious  dimen- 


sions, with  state  bed-rooms  on  either  side.  This 
apartment  divides  the  two  great  state  saloons. 
On  each  side  of  the  fore  or  smaller  one  are  four 
state  cabins,  with  ventilating  doors,  separating 
the  saloon  and  state-rooms  from  theengine-room. 
Both  saloons  and  the  intermediate  ante-room  are 
fitted  up  in  a  uniform  style  of  great  richness  and 
effcL't.  Her  other  belongings  are  in  an  equal 
style  of  beauty  and  use.  She  measures  2200 
tons  burthen.  Her  entire  length  is  318  feet ;  her 
breadth  of  beam  40  feet,  and  her  depth  of  hold 
30  feet.  Her  engine  is  of  800  horse  power ;  and 
for  her  armament  has  two  eighty-four  pound  pivot 
guns,  and  twenty-six  thirty  two  pounders. 


FIRST  RAILROAD  IN  BRAZIL. 

The  advantages  of  railroad  communication 
are  so  palpable  tiiat  every  nation  seems  deter- 
mined to  avail  itself  of  it.  The  event,  a  view  of 
which  is  given  below, — of  the  greatest  importance 
to  the  Empire  of  Brazil — was  celebrated,  not 
long  since,  with  great  eclat,  when  the  emperor, 
with  his  ministers  and  the  principal  ollicers  of 
state,  formally  commenced  the  works  of  the  first 
railroad  yet  undertaken  in  this  flourishing  em- 
pire. The  Imperial  Petropolis  Eailway  and 
Steam  Navigation  Company  was  projected  last 
year  by  Senhor  Ireneo  Evangelista  de  Souza, 
for  the  purpose  of  bringing  into  closer  connexion 


with  Rio  the  healthy  and  fashionable  city  of  Pe- 
tropolis, and  of  forming  the  first  link  in  the  great 
chain  of  railways  intended  to  connect  the  pro- 
ducing districts  with  the  seaport.  The  elevation 
of  Petropolis  is  2790  feet  above  Rio,  and  it  con- 
sequently possesses  great  attractions,  from  the 
coolness  of  its  atmosphere.  The  city  is  at  the 
summit  of  the  mountains  which  bound  the  bay 
of  Kio  on  the  north  ;  and  it  is  at  this  time  reached 
by  voyaging  to  the  head  of  the  bay,  and  along  a 
crooked  river  to  Porto  d'Estrella ;  thence  by  car- 
riages to  the  foot  of  the  mountains ;  and  the  as- 
cent of  the  mountain  is  usually  made  on  mules. 
A  magnificent  road  has  recently  been  opened. 


C,OMMENCEMENT  OP  THE  WORKS  OF  THE  FIRST  RAILROAD  IN  BRAZIL. 


GLEASO^'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


405 


AMD-EUKADER. 

The  last  lion  of  Paris  has  been  the  brave  and 
far-famed  Abd-ei-Kader,  just  liberated  from  the 
castle  of  Pan.  Of  this  famous  eastern  prince 
■we  herewith  give  a  fine  likeness,  and  below  a 
sketch  of  his  prison,  the  well  known  castle  of 
Pan  It  is  already  well  known  to  the  readers  of 
the  Pictorial,  that  Louis  Napoleon  has  lately  lib- 
erated Abdel  Kader,  who  has  been  a  govern- 
ment prisoner  for   years  to  the  French  nation. 

Sidi-el-Hadj,  the  Pilgrim,  Abd  el-Kader,  Ser- 
vant of  the  Omnipotent,  now  forty-six  years, 
who  took  the  title  of  Emir-el-Moumenin,  Prince 
of  Believers,  and  Sultan  el  Arab,  Sultan  of  the 
Arabs,  is  the  second  son  of  Sidi  el-Hadj  Mahhi- 
Eddin,  Supporter  of  the  Faith.  He  springs  of 
pure  and  high  Arab  lineage.  He  received  an 
excellent  education — taking  the  Arab  standard 
for  culture — was  acquainted  with  law  and  reli- 
gion, geography,  mathematics  and  astronomy. 
His  corporeal  kept  pace  with  his  mental  culture. 
No  one  could  manage  a  horse  or  hurl  a  javelin 
with  the  dexterity  he  displayed  at  fifteen.  The 
Arabs  were  taught  to  believe  that  the  future 
greatness  of  Abd- el-Kader  was  predicted  by  an 
angel,  and  that  he  was  invulnerable.  After  the 
conquest  of  Algiers  by  the  French,  in  1830,  and 
the  revolt  of  the  Arab  tribes  against  the  Turks, 
Abd  el  Kader  took  the  field  against  the  Chris- 
tians of  Oran.  Feeling  the  necessity  of  combin- 
ing their  tribes  under  one  distinguished  leader, 
Abd-el  Kader  was  chosen  Sulcau  in  1832. — 
Against  the  French  he  displayed  for  years  the 
most  brilliant  courage,  and  gave  evidence  of  high 
military  qualities — while  his  good  fortune  for  a 
time  confirmed  his  followers  in  the  opinion  that 
he  was  invincible.  But  they  and  he  were  com- 
pelled to  acknowledge  their  mistake,  and  Abd- 
el-Kader  now  submits  to  the  French  ascendancy 
as  "manifest  destiny." — In  stature  he  is  small, 
but  well  and  elegantly  built.  His  shoulders  are 
somewhat  stooping,  and  he  has  the  defect,  com- 
mon to  Arabs  of  small  stature,  of  carrying  his 
head  too  far  forward,  from  the  necessity  of  resist- 
ing the  action  of  the  bournous,  whose  heavy  cape 
has  a  tendency  to  throw  them  back.  His  k-iik, 
according  to  custom,  is  confined  to  the  top  of 
his  head  by  a  cord  of  camel's  hair,  and  as  repre- 
sented in  our  picture,  he  wears  a  profusion  of 
beard.  He  has,  as  we  have  before  remarked, 
been  liberated  by  Louis  Napoleon,  and  is  now 
on  his  way  to  Broussa,  in  Turkey,  a  free  man 
He  has  sworn,  voluntarily,  never  to  take  up  arms 
against  the  French,  and  j-eems  to  feel  very  grateful 
for  his  deliverance,  which  has  been  so  tardily  ac- 
corded to  him.  During  his  confinement,  he  has, 
however,  been  well  treated,  and  permitted  to 
have  with  him  his  family,  wives  (plural  number), 
and  attendants  from  the  East.  It  has  cost  the 
French  nation  a  pretty  Httle  sum  to  take  care  of 
him,  but  it  was  cheaper  than  fighting  so  brave 
and  warlike  a  commander  as  he  has  proved  him- 
self. There  is  no  danger  of  his  ever  renewing 
hostilities  against  the  French;  like  all  his  coun- 
trymen, he  is  a  fatalist,  and  believing  that  sub- 
mission is  liis  destiny,  he  bows  his  head  in  slave- 


PORTRAIT  OF  ABD-EL-KADER. 


like  servility  to  the  decrees  and  institutions  of 
Mahomet. 

Pau  is  the  ancient  capital  of  tbe  little  kingdom 
of  French  Navarre  and  Beam,  now  the  principal 
place  in  the  Department  of  the  Lower  Pyrenees. 
It  stands  on  a  lofty  ridge,  forming  the  right  bank 
of  the  river,  or  Gave  de  Pau.  Its  situation  is, 
perhaps,  scarcely  surpassed  by  that  of  any  town 
in  France;  and,  says  "Murray's  Handbook," 
"  The  English  have  shown  their  good  taste  in 
having  chosen  it  for  their  residence,  especially  in 
winter."  From  this  accredited  work  we  select 
these  additional  descriptive  d'-tails.  Tne  range 
of  the  Pyrenees,  as  seen  from  Pau,  presents  a 
strikingly-beautiful  and  varied  outline  of  peaks, 
cones,  and  ridges,  often  cut  lik--.  a  saw,  rising 
against  the  south  horizon ;  the  Pic  du  Midi  de 
Pau  and  the  Pic  du  Midi  de  Bigorre  beinsr  the 
most  prominent  points.     These  members  of  the 


great  central  range  are  disclosed  to  view  through 
the  gaps  of  a  suborrinate  chain  of  round-bacl^ed 
and  wooded  liills.  forming  the  middle  distance  ; 
while  in  the  foreground  appear  the  venerable 
Castle  of  Pau  ;  the  torrent,  or  Gave,  its  banks 
beautifully  fnnged  with  trees;  the  picturesque 
bridge,  and  the  ruins  of  another  bridge  destroyed 
by  its  inundations.  Within  the  scope  of  this 
view  appear  Jurancon,  a  village  famed  for  its 
wines  ;  and  Bitherc,  where  Henri  IV.  was  nurtcd. 
It  is  a  glorious  prospect,  to  be  dwelt  upon,  and 
has  been  over  and  over  again.  Pau  owes  its  chief 
renown  to  its  having  been  the  birthplace  of  this 
"Bon  Roi,"  Henry  IV.,  who  drew  his  first 
breath  (December  13,  1553)  in  its  ancient,  lime- 
honored,  historic  castle,  the  most  conspicuous 
object  in  the  annexed  illustration.  It  stands 
statelily  upon  the  mountain  ridge,  looking  over 
the  river,  at  the  point  of  a  sort  of  promontory 


formed  by  a  small  rivulet  which  cuts  its  way 
through  the  town,  and  behind  the  castle  walls, 
at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  ravine,  to  throw  itself 
into  the  Gave,  just  below  it.  The  five  towers  of 
the  castle,  and  the  outer  wall  which  unites  them, 
and  serves  to  support  the  upper  stories,  are  the 
oldest  part,  and  supposed  to  date  from  the  time 
of  Gaston  Phixbus,  Count  de  Foix,  who  founded 
the  castle  about  1365.  The  tallest  tower,  or 
donjon,  named  after  Gaston,  rises  at  the  east  end 
115  feet  high.  In  the  gutted  and  half-mined 
lo'ir  de  la  Monnage,  rising  on  the  side  of  the 
castle  near  the  river,  from  the  bottom  of  the  em- 
inence on  which  it  stands,  to  a  level  with  the 
terrace,  Margaret  de  Valois,  it  is  said,  gave  an 
asylum  to  Calvin  and  other  persecuted  Reform- 
ers. This  tower  was  used  as  ajail  until  1814. 
The  Tour  de  Montauret,  on  one  side  of  the  court- 
yard, contained,  according  to  popular  belief,  the 
oubliettes.  It  is  about  80  feet  high,  and  its  walls, 
to  a  height  of  30  feet,  were  originally  destitute 
of  any  opening,  the  gate  at  the  bottom  having 
been  broken  through  in  1793,  when  the  castle 
was  sacked  by  the  Revolutionists.  It  stands 
within  and  detached  from  the  outer  wall  of  the 
castle,  from  which  a  small  drawbridge,  thrown 
over  the  gap,  gave  access  to  it  through  a  little 
door.  Opposite  the  tower  of  Montauret  is  the 
grand  staircase,  among  the  sculptured  vaulting 
of  which  are  the  letters  H  M.,  the  initials  of 
Henry  I[.  of  Navarre,  and  Margaret,  the  grand- 
parent of  Henri  IL,  by  whom  it  was  built.  The 
entire  restoration  of  the  interior  was  undertaken 
by  Louis  Philippe,  and,  as  far  as  completed,  has 
been  executed  with  good  taste  and  splendor. 
The  king  revived,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the  an- 
cient decorations  injured  by  the  Revolationisis, 
who  first  stripped  and  ruined  this  ancient  palace, 
and  then  degraded  it  to  a  barrack ;  and  he  has 
replaced  those  which  they  destroyed  by  others 
as  far  as  possible  in  accordance  with  the  age  and 
style  of  the  edifice.  The  walls  of  the  chief  apart- 
ments have  been  covered  with  tapestry,  and  the 
rooms  filled  with  ancient  furniture  of  the  period, 
collected  at  a  vast  expense.  In  an  apartment  on 
the  first  floor  is  preserved  the  cradle  in  which 
Henri  IV.  was  rocked ;  it  consists  of  a  large  tor- 
toise shell,  inverted,  and  suspended  by  cords,  like 
the  scale  of  a  balance.  In  a  room  of  the  second 
story  Henri  was  born.  On  the  day  of  Henri's 
death,  in  1610,  there  is  a  tradition  that  the  castle 
was  struck  by  lightning,  which  broke  in  pieces 
the  ro^al  escutcheon  !  Jean  d'Albert  was  also 
born  in  the  castle,  1528  U  was  alternately  the 
prison  of  Reformers  and  Romanists  during  the 
religious  wars  and  troubles  of  Beam,  and  was 
the  refuge  of  Theodore  Beza  and  other  Protest- 
ant teachers  whom  Jean  de  Navarre  protected 
from  persecution  Besides  those  mentioned 
above,  Pau  has  produced  several  distinguished 
persons,  among  whom  may  be  specified  Jlarshal 
JJernadotte,  king  of  Sweden,  and  the  Viscount 
Orthez,  governor  of  Bayonne,  who  nobly  refused 
to  execute  the  orders  issued  by  Charles  IX  ,  for 
the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew.  Such  is  a 
brief  history  of  the  prison  of  Abd-el-Kader. 


CASTLE  OF  PAU,  FRANCE,  THE  LATE  PRISON-HOUSE  OF  ABD-EL-KADER. 


40(5 


GLEvVSON'S    nCTOTlTAL   DRATflNG    TIOOM    COMPANION. 


nVritton  for  OlenHon's  Pietorinl.] 
JACK  FROST. 

BY  J.  STAKTl  IIOLLOWAY. 

In  my  window  pimo  hoV  poeping, 

Ere  tho  inoniliig  light 
i'com  the  rosy  onat  conies  creeping 

Ou  the  tmilofiiiKht. 
Gems  of  rare  iiiitl  mtliftut  Hplondor 

Glittei'  in  hia  crowii, 
DuzKling  more,  yet  yjuro  and  tender, 

Ar  tho  light  comes  down. 

What  a  hearty  grasp  and  greeting 

Meet  mo  iis  T  rise. 
Wliile  the  plensure  of  tho  meeting 

Spark  ley  in  his  oycB ! 
But  F  meet  htm  without  flinching, 

Though — no  matter  what, — 
For  he'a  HO  incliuod  to  pinching, 

That  I  love  him  not. 

Ab  I  looU  where  he's  been  pluyiug 

While  I  lay  asleep, 
Out  where  once  we  went  a-Muj  ing, 

I'm  iocHned  to  weep  ; 
E«'8  po  wild  uud  so  unruly 

While  he's  at  our  home, 
That  I  hate  him,  and  I  truly 

Wish  he'd  never  eome. 

[Written  for  Gleason'a  Pictorial.] 

MEMENTO  VIVORUM. 

A  STORY" 

OF  A  POPE'S  COMMON-PLACE  BOOK. 

Bt    AUGUSTINE    J.  H.  DUGANNE. 

PART  FIRST. 
In  the  reign  of  Gregory  XIII. — that  is,  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  century — there  lived, 
in  a  small  town  on  the  great  road  from  Florence 
to  Rome,  a  very  worthy  cordwainer,  who  was 
reputed  to  be  a  good  Catholic,  to  make  strong 
shoes,  and  to  sell  the  same  at  very  reasonable 
prices.  This  excellent  man  sat  one  day  at  the 
door  of  his  shop,  hammering  away  very  indus- 
triously, while  at  the  same  time  he  devoutly  re- 
peated to  himself,  alternately  a  poter  and  ai-e, 
thus  combining  work  with  prayer,  and  making 
every  peg  which  he  inserted  a  peg  to  hang  a 
good  thought  upon.  So  intent  was  be  upon  his 
occupation,  that  he  did  not  notice  the  figure  of 
a  monk,  in  the  habit  of  the  Franciscan  order, 
who  had  paused  opposite  to  him  in  the  highway, 
and  appeared  watching,  with  some  interest,  the 
moving  lips  of  the  good  cobbler,  as  the  latter 
fixed  in  its  proper  place,  by  a  tap  of  his  hammer, 
each  wooden  bead  of  his  novel  rosary. 

The  monk  was  a  young  man  of  mild  and 
thoughtful  face,  and  though  his  garb  was  soiled 
and  travel-worn,  and  his  appearance  gave  token 
of  poverty  and  hardship,  yet,  as  be  stood  now, 
with  crossed  hands  in  the  highway,  there  was 
something  in  his  mien  which  bespoke  a  more 
than  ordinary  character.  He  regarded  the  shoe- 
maker for  some  moments  in  silence,  and  then 
said,  in  a  low  voice — 
"  Beiiedicite  I" 

The  cobbler  looked  up  and  reverently  answer- 
ed, "  >Sa/ye  (e/"  for  he  was  not  unused  to  the 
■\isits  of  itinerant  friars,  and  had  often  shared  his 
humble  store  with  the  brethren  of  mendicant  or- 
ders. However,  he  glanced  curiously  at  the 
dusty  garments  of  the  Franciscan,  and  could  not 
help  noticing,  professionally,  that  bis  sandal 
shoes  were  much  out  of  gear,  so  that,  indeed, 
the  poor  monk's  feet  were  exposed  not  only  to 
public  view,  but  to  all  the  roughnesses  of  the 
public  road.  It  may  be  the  hope  of  a  customer, 
therefore,  flitted  through  the  pious  artizan's 
mind,  as  he  rose  from  his  bench,  and  invited  the 
monk  to  rest  himself;  but  the  Franciscan  waved 
his  band  with  a  dignified  gesture,  and  said, 
quietly, — 

"  Son,  I  must  journey  far  to  day  ;  bring  me,  I 
pray,  a  cup  of  water." 

"  Will  not  your  reverence  have  a  cup  of  sweet 
wine  1"  asked  the  shoemaker.  Then  turning  to 
the  curly-headed,  large-eyed  boy,  whose  face  now 
appeared  in  the  door-way,  "  Antonio  !"  whisper- 
ed he,  "  del  vino  dofce .'" 

"No,  my  son,"  said  the  Franciscan,  gravely. 
"  My  drink  is  of  cold  water,  and  my  bread  I  car- 
ry many  days  before  I  cat  of  it."  Saying  this, 
lie  produced  a  hard  crust  of  black  bread  frqm 
beneath  his  habit,  and,  raising  his  cyca  to  heaven, 
broke  it  with  a  reverential  motion.  The  cobbler, 
g'catly  edified  at  this  behaviour  of  the  monk,  re- 
sumed his  bench,  while  the  yount^  Antonio, 
bringing  a  cup  of  eparkling  water,  looked  with 
bis  serious  eyes  at  tho  reverential  man,  who 
s  oiled  pleasantly,  and  said,  laying  his  hand  upon 


the  hoy's  liead,  "Son  Antonio !  Heaven  bless  and 
keep  theo  \" 

Tho  good  cobbler's  glnneo  routed  oU'ectionute- 
ly  upon  his  son,  and  he  ventured  to  olwcrvc, 
"  Antonio  in  piously  inclined,  father,  and  I  hope 
to  live  to  sec  him  n  good  servant  of  tho  ultur — 
maybe  a  sacri:itan — " 

"Maybe  a, priest,"  interrupted  tlic  Ijoy,  and 
then  .sln-ank  back,  appalled  at  his  own  andacily. 

"  Maybe  a  bisliop!"  said  the  Franciscan,  with 
another  smile,  as  he  noticed  the  hoy's  calm  eyes 
lighten  with  sudden  emotion.  Then,  as  the  lit- 
tle fellow  modestly  looked  down,  he  remarked 
to  the  father,  "Dedicate  the  child  to  that  work 
which  his  heart  shall  prefer;  thus  will  he  best 
serve  the  altar." 

"And  now,"  continued  lie,  in  a  lighter  tone, 
"worthy  son,  I  will,  if  my  purse  shall  warrant, 
purchase  of  you  wherewith  to  guard  my  feet  from 
the  stony  paths  which  I  must  travel.  Yonder, 
methinks,  is  a  pair  of  shoes  which  will  suit  me, 
if,  likewise,  the  price  is  within  my  compass." 

Tlie  cobbler  exhibited  the  articles  designated, 
with  many  encomiums  upon  their  quality,  and 
expressions  of  delight  in  being  able  to  supply  the 
Franci.'^can ;  but  the  monk,  viewing,  scrutiniz- 
ingly,  his  contemplated  ptirchase,  cut  the  matter 
short,  by  abruptly  asking  the  price. 

"  Seven  jiilios,"  answered  the  shoemaker. 

"Nay,  it  is  too  much,"  returned  the  monk; 
"  I  cannot  alford  to  give  more  than  six." 

"  And  I  should  not  live  if  I  sold  shoes  like 
these  at  so  low  a  rate,"  said  the  cobbler. 

"But  what  say  you  if  I  have  only  six  julios 
in  my  purse  V  asked  the  monk. 

"  I  can  only  say  it  is  not  seven,'''  replied  the 
cobbler,  "  and  therefore  not  enough  for  the 
shoes." 

"But,  perhaps,  I  shall  be  able  to  give  you  the 
seventh  Julio  some  time  or  other." 

"Some  time  or  other!"  cried  the  shoemaker, 
with  a  laugh.  "Pray,  when  will  that  be'?  When 
you  come  to  be  pope  ?  Or,  perhaps,  when  my 
boy,  Antonio,  comes  to  be  a  bishop,  as  you 
said  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Franciscan,  gaily,  "I  will  pay 
you  the  other  julio,  with  all  my  heart,  when  I 
am  pope,  and  your  son  Antonio  is  a  bishop ! 
And,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Interest  for  the  mon- 
ey, too  !" 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  laughed  the  cobbler,  "  that  is  cer- 
tainly fair.  And,  since  I  see  you  are  not  without 
hopes  of  being  pope,  I  will  e'en  let  ycu  have  the 
shoes  on  those  terms." 

"  Very  good  !"  returned  the  Franciscan.  "I 
will  be  sure  to  remember  the  bargain." 

So  saying,  the  monk  drew  forth  a  leathern 
pouch,  and  taking  from  it  six  julios,  gave  them 
to  the  cobbler.  Then,  patting  the  young  Anto- 
nio's head,  and  placing  under  his  arm  his  new 
purchase,  he  bade  adieu  to  the  worthy  man,  who 
was  still  laughing  merrily  at  the  jest  of  his  son 
becoming  a  bishop,  and  the  Franciscan  a  pope. 

"  A  long  credit  I"  said  the  good  shoemaker  to 
himself,  as  he  went  on  with  his  pegging,  after 
the  monk  had  disappeared  on  the  dusty  highway. 

The  Franciscan  leisurely  pursued  his  journey 
along  the  road  leading  towards  the  great  city  of 
the  Seven  Hills.  What  his  thoughts  were,  are 
not  chronicled,  hut  certain  it  was  that  a  smile 
ever  and  anon  trembled  around  his  placid  lips, 
as  a  recollection  of  the  merry  bargain  he  had 
made  with  the  cobbler,  transiently  occurred  to 
him.  And  it  was,  in  sooth,  occasion  for  mirth 
to  think  of  such  an  event  in  the  future  as  that  he, 
an  humble  priest  of  St.  Francis,  and  late  a  sim- 
ple bachelor  of  divinity,  should  be  Pope  of  Rome, 
and  that  a  debt  of  one  julio  was  dependent  upon 
the  contingency.  However,  as  the  day  wore  on, 
graver  meditations  began  to  take  possession  of 
the  monk's  mind,  and  gave  a  shadow  to  his 
countenance;  and,  presently,  the  approach  of 
night,  accompanied  by  a  sudden  gusty  rain- 
storm, forced  him  to  quicken  his  pace,  in  order 
to  seek  shelter  and  repose  in  some  one  of  the 
many  religious  bouses  Ijing  upon  the  road  to 
Rome.  He  abandoned  his  dilapidated  sandals 
for  the  substantial  shoes  purchased  of  the  pious 
cobbler,  and  it  was  well  he  did  so ;  for,  as  the 
darkness  closed  in,  and  the  rain  beat  upon  his 
pathway,  many  were  the  thumps  and  blows 
which  the  thick  fabric  of  his  new  acquisition  pre- 
vented his  feet  from  feeling,  on  the  rough  road 
which  he  traversed.  Nevertheless,  though  our 
F'ranciscan's  course  led  him  in  the  vicinity  of 
several  convents  belonging  to  his  own  order,  he, 
singularly  enough,  avoided  asking  hospitality  at 
any  one  of  these,  but  journeyed  on,  through  the 
darkness  and  storm,  until  he  at  length  reached 


the  gate  of  a  convent  of  Augufitincs,  at  which  he 
knocked  boldly  and  demanded  shclicr, 

A  lay-hrolhcr  opened  the  wicket,  and  admitted 
our  pedestrian,  not,  however,  without  closely 
sciinning  his  Franciscan  gfirb;  but,  us  the  new 
comer  was  evidently  a  stranger,  tho  circum- 
stance of  his  not  seeking  a  convent  of  his  own 
order,  if  commented  on  at  all,  was  attributed  to 
his  having  been  benighted  ;  so  he  was  speedily 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  Father  Salviati,  tho 
superior  of  the  monastery.  Salviati  received  his 
visitor  with  the  urbanity  natural  to  a  benevolent 
nature;  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  two 
priests  were  seated  together  in  the  i-efectory,  par- 
taking of  the  frugal  convent  fare,  and  enjoying 
a  pleasant  and  edifying  conversation.  The 
Franciscan  discovered  himself  to  be  a  man  of 
erudition,  with  polished  manners,  and  enlarged 
views  of  religion  and  mankind,  while  the  good 
prior,  on  his  part,  listened  like  a  sensible  host,  or 
conversed  with  a  happy  appreciation  of  his  com- 
panion, until  a  tone  of  confidence  and  mutual 
nflability  imparted  to  their  intercourse  a  sort  of 
intimacy ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  when  the 
hour  for  retirement  approached,  the  excellent 
Salviati  tendered,  the  half  of  his  own  couch  to 
his  new  acquaintance. 

Betimes,  in  the  morning,  our  Franciscan 
arose,  and,  after  partaking  with  the  prior  of  the 
matutinal  meal,  prepared  to  renew  his  course 
towards  Rome.  But,  before  taking  leave  of  his 
Augustine  host,  he  said,  in  the  mild  tone  which 
was  his  wont, — 

"  Good  brother  Salviati,  I  have  a  boon  to 
crave," 

"If  it  be  in  my  power  to  grant,  of  a  surety  it 
is  thine,"  answered  the  prior. 

"Inasmuch,  then,  said  the  Franciscan  monk, 
exhibiting  his  yacant  money  pouch,  "as  lam 
without  money,  with  a  journey  before  me,  lend 
me  four  crowns,  and  I  will  be  thy  debtor 
forever." 

"  Gladly,  brother,"  cried  the  good  Salviati. 
"  I  will  hasten  to  get  thee  the  sum." 

Saying  this,  he  went  quickly  to  fetch  the  sil- 
ver, while  the  Franciscan,  calling  for  an  ink- 
horn,  drew  a  note  of  promise,  in  a  clerkly  hand, 
and  signed  boldly,  "  Gregory  Buono."  Then, 
receiving  the  four  crowns  from  Salviati,  assuring 
their  speedy  return,  the  monk  bade  adieu  to  the 
Augustine  convent. 

Prior  Salviati  w^aited  long,  after  that  morning, 
for  the  return  of  his  Franciscan  guest.  But  years 
rolled  away,  and  no  tidings  of  the  four  crowns 
was  received.  Diligent  search  was  instituted 
among  the  various  houses  of  the  order  of  St. 
Francis,  but  all  inquiries  resulted  in  the  certain- 
ty that  no  such  a  name  a-s  "  Gregory  Buono  " 
had  ever  been  registered  on  their  books.  So 
Prior  Salviati  concluded  that  his  pleasant  guest 
would  remain,  as  he  had  promised,  his  "  debtor 
forever." 


PART  SECOND. 
Many  years  glided  over  the  serene  convent 
life  of  Father  Salviati,  changing  the  young  man 
to  the  old,  and  marking  by  wrinkles  and  furrows 
his  progress  toward  the  new  life  beyond,  where 
the  "mortal  shall  put  on  immortality."  But 
Father  Salviati's  heart  was  not  one  which  grows 
old,  and,  therefore,  it  was  sad  and  sombre  v;hen 
injustice  rudely  visited  it.  Thus  one  morning, 
thirty  years  or  more  after  the  events  of  our  first 
part,  the  prior  sat  sorrowfully  meditating  upon 
a  reprimand  which  he  had  the  day  before  re- 
ceived from  his  diocesan  superior,  the  bishop, 
who  was  disposed  (as  is  many  a  like  dignitary 
now-a-days)  to  quarrel  with  an  humble  priest  on 
the  slightest  pretext.  And  not  only  had  the 
bishop  reprimanded  poor  Salviati,  he  had  more- 
over complained  of  him  to  the  congregation  of 
cardinals;  and  the  unhappy  prior  was  now  in 
fearful  expectation  of  receiving  some  heavier 
dispensation — perhaps  even  a  removal  from  the 
superiorship  of  the  small  convent  in  which  he 
had  passed  his  life,  and  won  the  love  of  all 
around  him. 

What,  then,  was  the  dismay  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Salviati,  to  behold,  advancing  towards  the 
convent,  four  monks,  of  stern  aj^pearance,  and 
clad  in  tlic  habit  of  his  order,  who,  deigning  no 
salutation  at  the  gate,  demanded  at  once  to  see 
the  prior  1 

"I  am  he,"  said  Salviati,  going  to  meet  them, 
though  with  great  foreboding. 

"  Then  you  must  go  with  us  directly,"  said 
one  of  the  monks,  sharply.  "  We  are  command- 
ed by  the  general  to  conduct  you  to  Rome." 

On  hearing  mention  of  the  general  of  the  Au- 
gustines,  who  was  known  to  be  a  very  severe 
dignitary,  poor  Salviati 'gave  himself  up   for 


lost;  neveriheless,  submitting  humbly  to  the 
messengers,  he  placed  himself  between  them, 
and  fhuH  guarded,  like  a  great  criminal,  was 
marched  from  h'la  convent  to  the  Eternal  City, 

The  bi.-ihop,  who  had  complained  of  the  prior 
on  11  very  tjifling  ju'ovocation,  was  at  first 
alarmed  at  the  summary  and  o.stentatious  man- 
ner in  wliich  (he  arrest  had  been  made;  hut 
mueh  more  startled  was  he,  to  Icnm  that  the 
pope  hira.self  had  ordered  it,— the  new  pope, 
Sixtus  V,,  who  had  just  succeeded  to  the  papal 
chair,  and  was  making  all  the  corrupt  church- 
men tremble  in  their  scarlet  robe?,  for  fear  of  his 
impartial  severity.  However,  the  proud  bishop 
made  no  doubt  that  his  complaint  had  been  the 
cause  of  the  prior's  trouble;  so  he  scitlcd  him- 
.sclf  back  on  his  purple  cuihions,  and  said,  "  I 
am  mighty  glad  I  have  found  a  way  to  curb  the 
insolence  of  these  priests.  AVe  must  do  these 
things,  sometimes,  to  humble  such  people,  and 
teach  them  to  behave  with  proper  respect  to  their 
bishop." 

Therefore,  notwithstanding  that  several  friends 
of  Salviati,  immediately  on  hearing  of  what  had 
befallen,  interceded  to  make  his  peace  with  the 
episcoijal  dignitary,  that  latter  personage  would 
not  budge  an  inch,  but  replied,  that  the  affair, 
being  now  in  the  general's  hands,  must  take  its 
course. 

In  the  meantime,  our  poor  prior,  guarded  by 
the  four  monks,  was  taken  to  the  palace  of  the 
Augustine  general,  v/ho  received  him  in  omi- 
nous silence,  and  conducted  him  at  once  to  the 
Vatican.  And  there,  in  the  ante-room  of  the 
pope's  audience-chamber,  we  will  for  the  present 
leave  him,  tremblingly  awaiting  the  pontifi^'s  ap- 
pearance, while  the  severe  general  threatens  him 
with  terrible  looks.  For  ourselves,  reader,  we 
shall  return  to  another  person  of  our  story — the 
shoemaker  of  thirty  years  before. 

Thirty  years  work  many  changes,  but  they 
did  not  materially  improve  the  worldly  prospects 
of  the  pious  cobbler.  It  is  ti-ue,  he  never  suf- 
fered want,  and  the  hopes  "of  bis  heart  were  in  a 
measure  realized,  for  his  son  Antonio,  after  ear- 
ly evincing  a  religious  turn,  had  become  at 
length  a  servite  in  orders,  and  was  reputed  to  be 
very  learned,  having  been  educated  by  the 
monks,  and  very  pious,  being  one  of  them.  He 
had  forgotten,  long  since,  we  may  be  sure,  about 
the  seventh  julio,  and  the  lasting  credit  he  gave 
to  the  Franciscan ;  but  he  was  destined  to  be 
reminded  of  it  in  a  summary  way. 

For,  one  morning,  as  our  good  cobbler  sat 
stitching  at  his  shop-door,  just  as  in  his  youthful 
days,  he  was  mightily  surprised  to  behold  draw 
up  in  the  road  before  him,  the  governor  of  the 
neighboring  town,  with  a  military  guard.  Not 
knowing  wherein  he  had  ofi'ended  the  laws,  he 
was,  nevertheless,  grievously  alarmed  at  being 
made  a  prisoner  by  the  soldiers,  bundled  upon  a 
horse,  and  trotted  away  on  the  high  road  to 
Rome,  without  as  much  as  "by  your  leave,"  on 
the  part  of  his  captors.  However,  being,  as  w^e 
have  seen,  a  good  Catholic  and  honest  shoemak- 
er, he  placed  his  trust  in  Heaven,  and  endeavored 
to  accommodate  his  muscles  to  the  jolting  gait 
of  the  high-backed  animal  which  bore  him. 
Thus  entered  he  the  great  city,  and  thus  was  he 
conducted  to  the  papal  palace,  and  presently 
ushered  into  the  pontiff's  presence. 

The  pope  looked  at  the  trembling  artizan,  fix- 
edly, for  some  minutes,  and  then  spoke  in  a 
voice  which  seemed  awful  as  the  thunder,  albeit 
it  was  not  a  very  powerful  one, — for  Sixtus, 
though  a  majestic  prince,  was  not  a  giant  of  a 
man, — "  Son,  hast  thou  ever  seen  me  before  '?" 

The  wretched  cobbler  was  nearly  frightened 
out  of  his  wits;  but  he  made  shift  to  reply, 
"  Never,  your  holiness,  that  I  recollect." 

"What !"  says  Sixtus,  looking  sternly  at  him, 
"Dost  thou  not  remember  that  1  once  bought  a 
pair  of  shoes  of  thee  V 

The  shoemaker  was  more  confused  than 
ever,  for  his  adventure  with  the  monk  had  quite 
departed  from  his  memory.  He  stammered  out, 
therefore,  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  circimi- 
stance. 

"  Then,"  said  the  popo,  "  I  must  remember  for 
you.  I  am  in  your  debt,  and  sent  for  you  hither 
that  I  may  pay  you." 

The  shoemaker  remained  speechless,  and  the 
pope  continued,  more  familiarly, —  'Thiity  years 
ago  you  sold  me  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  on  the 
price  of  them  you  gave  me  credit  for  one  julio, 
which  I  promised  to  pay,  with  interest,  when  I 
should  become  pope.  That  is  now  come  to  pass. 
I,  who  was  a  poor  Franciscan  mouk,  am  now 
pope,  and  I  have  a  mind  to  show  myself  an  hon- 
est man,  by  being  as  good  as  my  woid.     Then, 


GLEASOX'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


407 


summoning  his  major  tlomo,  Sixtus  ordered  him 
to  ascertain  to  bow  much  the  interest  of  a  julio 
amounted  in  thirty  years.  The  officer  answered 
n\^o  jutios,  whereupon  the  pontiif  commanded 
him  to  pay  the  principal  and  interest  to  his 
creditor. 

'  Now  the  shoemaker,  vrtiile  the  pope  vras 
speaking  lo  his  major  domo,  had  been  recalling 
the  incidents  of  his  early  life,  and  brought  to 
mind  his  encounter  with  the  Franciscan.  And 
the  discovery  that  his  ancient  debtor  was  now* 
arrived  at  so  great  dignity,  gave  rise,  naturally, 
io  anticipations  of  some  solid  benefit  to  himself. 
He  waS;  therefore,  a  good  deal  chagrined,  as  may 
be  imagined,  when  the  major  domo  tendered  him 
the  small  sum  of  three  jalios,  and  the  pope,  in  a 
fatherly  manner,  gave  him  his  blessing,  and  with 
'' Andale  in  pace!''  politely  waved  him  away. 
However,  he  humbly  kissed  the  sacred  slipper, 
and  departed  from  the  pontiff's  presence,  though 
not  without  inward  grumbling  ;  especially,  when, 
before  leaving  the  palace,  the  major-domo  de- 
manded from  him  a  receipt  in  full  for  the  three 
julios. 

Muttering  to  himself,  then,  in  nowise  pleased 
with  the  summary  treatment  he  had  received,  he 
was  hurrying  away  from  the  Vatican,  when  who 
t-hould  he  suddenly  encounter  but  his  own  son 
Antonio,  the  servite,  whom  he  had  thought  to  be 
many  miles  away  from  Rome  !  The  priest,  on 
his  part,  was  no  less  astonished  to  behold  his 
father  emerging  from  the  papal  palace,  and  he 
hastened  to  ask  the  occasion  of  so  strange  a  cir- 
cumstance. 

"  Faith,"  answered  the  old  man,  "  I  am  here 
without  having  much  to  do  in  the  matter  myself. 
I  was  brought  by  a  band  of  soldiers,  with  a  gov- 
ernor at  their  head." 

"And  for  what  purpose,  father?" 

"  Truly,"  answered  the  cobbler,  *'his  holiness 
the  pope  could  find  no  other  way  to  pay  me 
three  julios."  And  so  he  proceeded  to  relate  to 
the  servite  all  the  circumstances  connected  with 
his  knowledge  of  the  sovereign  pontiff,  not  for- 
getting to  complain,  at  the  end,  that  the  journey 
and  return  would  probably  cost  him  twenty 
crowns.  "  And  this,"  muttered  he,  "  for  a  beg- 
garly three  julios." 

"Hush!"  said  tlio  priest;  "it  is  not  well  to 
speak  so  boldly.  Btit  what  can  his  holiness 
want  with  me  ?  for  I  have  been  summoned  lo 
Rome  by  my  superior,  and  ordered  to  attend 
this  hour  at  the  Vatican." 

"  You  will  leam  that  presently,"  said  a  voice 
near  them,  and  the  cobbler  perceived  that  his 
friend,  the  major-domo,  had  followed  his  foot- 
steps, and  been  witness  of  his  meeting  with  his 
son.  "  You  may  both  return  with  me  to  his 
holiness,  for  he  has  not  done  with  eitiier  of 
you !" 

This  was  said  in  a  stern  voice,  and  the  poor 
j-lioemaker  turned  pale  at  the  thought  of  his  rash 
complaint  being  reported  to  the  pope.  How- 
ever, he  had  nothing  to  do  but  lo  obey  orders  ; 
and  so,  with  his  son  Antonio,  retraced  his  course 
to  the  palace. 

"VVe  left  Prior  Salviati  in  an  ante-chamber  of 
the  Vatican,  awail  ing,  in  company  with  his 
gloomy  general,  the  appearance  of  the  sovereign 
pontiif.  It  is  easy  to  fancy  that  his  thoughts 
were  clouded  with  apprehensions,  nor  were  these 
dissipated  by  the  entry  of  tlic  pope,  and  the  se- 
vere accents  in  which  that  exalted  personage  ad- 
dressed him.     "  You  are  called  Salviati?'' 

The  prior  i'cW  on  his  knees,  and  began  to  make 
apologies  and  excuses  for  hii  deportment  to- 
wards the  bishop,  offering  to  humble  himself  be- 
fore that  prelate  with  any  required  penance. 
Sixtus  listened  to  his  protestations  very  gravely, 
until  he  had  ended,  and  then  said  : 

"  You  are  to  he  reprehended  for  behaving  in  a 
disrespectful  manner  to  your  bishop  ;  but  that  is 
not  the  occasion  of  our  sending  for  you  at  this 
time.  At  present  you  are  accused  of  embezzling 
the  goods  and  revenue  of  your  convent;  a  griev- 
ous misdemeanor,  for  which  we  shall  hold  you 
to  a  strict  account.  First,  however,  we  are  will- 
ing to  hear  what  you  have  to  say  for  yourself." 

Salviati  w"as  thunderstruck  at  this  accusation; 
but,  reflecting  that  his  administration  of  affairs 
in  the  religious  house  of  which  he  was  prior,  had 
l)cen  always  conducted  with  integrity,  and  that, 
indeed,  the  convent  revenues,  under  his  good 
management  and  economy,  had  been  considera- 
bly augmented,  he  took  courage,  and  with  confi- 
dent innocence  replied  to  the  pope  : 

"If  your  holiness  shall  adjudge  me  guilty  of 
this  charge,  I  will  submit  to  any  punishment 
wliich  it  is  thouglit  proper  to  inflict  upon  ine." 


"  Take  care  how  you  say  that,"  rejoined  Six- 
tus, sternly.  "  We  have  proof  sufficient  to  con- 
vict you!  You  cannot  deny  that  in  the  year 
1564  a  religious  monk,  of  the  Franciscan  order, 
lodged  in  your  Augustine  convent,  and  that  you 
furnished  him,  the  next  morning,  with  four 
crowns,  which  he  never  repaid  you.  !Now,  we 
desire  to  know,  by  what  right  you  disposed  of 
your  convent's  money  in  that  manner?'' 

Prior  Salviati  was  silent  for  some  moment^;, 
recalling  the  incident  adverted  to  by  the  pontiff. 
He  then  ventured  to  say ; 

"It  is  very  true,  most  holy  father;  and  I 
should  have  lent  that  Franciscan  more,  if  lie  had 
asked  it  of  me ;  for  I  took  him  to  be  an  honest 
man.  But  he  proved  a  knave  and  rascal,  and 
gave  me  a  note  with  a  sham  name  on  it.  And, 
notwithstanding  I  have  often  inquired  concern- 
ing the  ingrate,  I  have  never  been  able  to  hear 
ought  of  him." 

Sixtus  smiled  at  the  warmth  with  which  the 
good  prior  spoke,  and  answered  ; 

"  You  need  be  at  no  further  trouble  about  that 
Franciscan ;  for,  take  my  word,  you  will  never 
find  him.  But  he  hjis  ordered  us  to  pay  that 
debt  of  four  crowns,  and,  moreover,  return  you 
his  thanks.  Arc  you  content  to  take  us  for  your 
debtor  V 

Salviati  now  trembled  more  then  ever,  for  he 
began  to  recall  something  fdiniliar  in  the  pope's 
face,  and  to  suspect  that  he  himself  was  llie 
Franciscan  ;  and,  thinking  of  the  harsh  terms  of 
"  knave  "  and  "  rascal "  which  he  had  just  used, 
he  was  much  concerned  about  the  result.  But 
Sixtus,  who  perceived  his  agitation,  put  an  end 
to  his  api)rehcnsions  by  continuing; 

"  It  is  time,  good  Salviati,  to  show  our  grati- 
tude. We  are  the  person  to  whom  your  kind- 
ness was  shoviTi;  and  as  yoli  received  us  hospit- 
ably in  your  convent,  it  is  but  just  we  should 
entertain  you  in  our  palace." 

So  saying,  he  gave  the  prior  his  hand  to  kiss, 
and  then  turning  lo  the  general  of  Augustines, 
informed  him  that  he  himself  would  dispose  of 
all  complaints  against  Salviati.  So  the  general 
hastened  away  from  the  Vatican,  and  wrote  to 
the  bishop  who  had  accused  the  priest,  that  the 
latter,  instead  of  being  punished,  as  was  expect- 
ed, had  been  assigned  an  apartment  in  the  pal- 
ace, and  was  entertained  by  the  pope  like  one  of 
his  relations.  And  scarcely  had  the  general 
departed,  than  the  pope's  major-domo  re-enter- 
ed, conducting  our  shoemaker,  and  his  son 
Antonio. 

Sixtus  received  them  smilingly,  and  address- 
ing Salviati,  said,  "  This  good  shoemaker  once 
trusted  me  with  a  julio,  in  the  purchase  of  a 
pair  of  shoes.  I  have  paid  him  principal  and 
interest,  but  for  fear  he  is  not  satisfied,  have  sent 
fur  his  son,  to  make  him  a  bishop." 

"A  bishop  !"  cried  the  cobbler,  falling  on  his 
knees,  while  Antonio  trembled,  not  daring  to  lift 
his  eyes. 

"  And  why  not  a  bisliop  V  asked  the  pontiff". 
"I  believe  it  is  according  to  the  terms  of  our 
bargain ;  and  as  I  have  inquired  strictly,  and 
found  your  son  Antonio  to  be  a  pious  and 
learned  priest,  I  think  it  will  be  doing  no  wrong 
to  the  church  to  make  him  a  pious  and  learned 
bishop !" 

'The  2>oor  old  cobbler,  unable  to  contain  him- 
self, threw  his  arms  about  his  son's  neck,  and 
wept  aloud,  v/hile  Sixtus  turned  to  Prior  Salvi- 
aji,  and  said  : 

"  You  perceive  we  have  settled  a  claim  of  one 
julio.  A  debt  of  four  crowns  must  bear  higher 
interest.  So,  good  Salviati,  prepare  3'ourself, 
shortly,  for  an  arch  episcopate.  And,  in  the 
meantime,  I  desire  that  you  and  my  other  cred- 
itor, the  shoemaker,  wili  place  your  signatures 
in  this  book,  that  Pope  Sixtus  may  be  able  to 
show  receipts  in  full  from  both  of  you." 

With  these  words,  the  pontiff'  produced  a  large 
book,  clasped  with  iron,  in  which,  to  the  great 
surprise  of  Salviati,  he  beheld,  upon  a  remote 
page,  his  own  name  and  that  of  his  convent,  and 
a  little  farther  back,  the  name  and  residence  of 
the  shoemaker,,  with  a  memoranda  of  the  debt 
of  one  julio  and  the  loan  of  four  crowns  in  15(5-4. 
It  was  a  diary  of  the  life  of  Francis  Peretti, 
from  the  time  of  his  bachelorship  and  poverty, 
till  he  became  cardinal,  and,  thereafter.  Pope 
Sixtus  v.;  and  in  its  pages  were  chronicled  all 
the  good  services  which  he  had  received  from 
different  pei'sons  throughout  his  struggles,  with 
the  names  of  his  bcncfaciors.  And  on  the  title- 
page  of  this  book  were  illumined  the  words  : 

MEMENTO  VIVO  RUM. 
There  remains  little  more   to  rehearse,  save 
tliat  the  bishop  v.-ho  had  accused  Salviati.  died  of 


apoplexy  and  vexation,  on  hearing  of  the  priest's 
good  fortune  ;  and  Antonio,  the  shoemaker's 
son,  was  promoted  lo  the  vacant  bishopric. 
Salviati  became  an  archbishop,  and  subsequent- 
ly, we  believe,  a  cardinal,  and  all  lived  long 
enough  to  lament-the  decease  of  their  benefactor 
Sixtus. 

And  now,  for  the  moral  of  this  historical  ro- 
mance. X\^ti  v/ill  simply  enjoin  upon  such  cred- 
itors as  may  be  harsh  upon  poor  men  of  genius, 
who  are  their  debtors,  to  consider  that  perhaps 
these,  like  Pope  Sixtus,  may  keep  a  M':me/ito 
Vir.unm,  in  which  to  chronicle  those  things  done 
unto  them  in  their  low  estate. 


[Written  for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 
THE  STARS. 

BY  JOSEPH   H.  BUILEB. 

Ye  brilliaut  stars  1  ye  seeming  islea  of  !ipht 
In  the  hike  mirrored  round  me,  and  above 
Sparkling  unnumbered,  what  and  whence  are  jc7 
Can  yc  he  worlds  like  thie,  blighted  and  sick 
With  ein  imd  sorrow?     No  ;  ye  look  too  fair  ! 
I  will  not  tliink  you  such,  but  rather  deem 
Ye  ai-e  the  resting-places  of  the  dead, 
"VVho,  disembodied,  on  the  wing  of  faith 
Win  their  fur  passage  to  your  unkno«-n  isles  1 
The  more  intent  I  gaze,  the  thicker  come 
Those  rising  worlds  of  light,  till  all  the  deep 
Infinitude  of  space  is  sparkling  blight 
With  mystic  fires — till  I  could  almost  bend 
Scforo  and  worship,  were  it  not  that  lie 
AVho  made  you  must  be  fdr  more  glorious  still, 
And  wortiiier  of  my  woi-shiiJ — dust  they  arc 
On  the  high  footpath  of  the  Eternal  One  1 


[Written for  Gleason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  WAY  TO  WASHINGTON. 

No.  IV. 

BT   B.   PERLET   POORE. 


"  Check  your  baggage  through  to  Washing- 
ton V  inquired  the  baggage-master  at  New 
York.  "  Certainly,"  was  my  reply,  for  I  fear 
my  wayside  chat  may  be  prosy,  and  wish  to 
reach  the  metropolis  in  season  to  have  my  Brst 
budget  of  metropolitan  gossip  unfolded  in  the 
first  number  of  the  new  volume  of  "  Gleason's 
Pictorial."  So  away  I  went,  the  cars  traversing 
(he  blood  stained,  hallowed  soil  of  New  Jersey, 
and  depositing  their  freight  at  Philadelphia  at 
early  dinner-time. 

Philadelphia !  Rectangular  and  cleauly  city, 
where  glide  along  those  demure  Quakeresses, 
*•  on  whose  calm  faces  the  dove  hath  folded 
w'ing;" — and  where  periodical  American  litera- 
ture re'gned,  until  Mr.  Gleason  transferred  the 
seat  of  empire  to  Boston  !  Thousands  traverse 
the  city  with  no  souvenirs  save  those  of  fair  ho- 
tels and  rascally  hackmen ;  hundreds  patriotically 
content  themselves  with  visiting  the  hall  wherein 
the  magna  charta  of  our  independence  was 
signed,  but  how  few — even  from  Boston — ever 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  that  sixteenth 
sjn  of  a  poor  taliow-chandler,  whose  name  is 
written,  with  electric  brilliancy,  upon  the  proud- 
est pages  of  American  history.  It  is  in  Arch 
Street  churchyard — simple,  massive  and  endur- 
ing as  the  great  man  whose  ashes  it  covers,  and 
upon  the  marble  slab  is  insciibed  : 

"  EE>'jA3tiN  AXD  Peborau  Franeli:*." 

One  of  the  prominent  festivals  in  Pliiladelphia, 
b}'  the  way,  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabit- 
ants, is  the  visit  of  the  Boston  City  Guards  in 
1831.  They  were  received  by  a  division  of  uni- 
formed militia,  and  among  other  visits,  marched 
to  St.  Paul's  Church,  where  they  heard  a  sermon 
from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tyng,  formerly  a  member  of 
the  Guards.  Their  uniibrtn,  in  those  days,  was 
a  gray  coat,  tastefully  trimmed,  white  panta- 
loons, high  cap,  and  long  black  feather.  They 
were  served  by  the  Boston  Brigade  Band,  whose 
fame  had  preceded  them. 

But  the  baggage  is  "  checked  through,"  and 
the  Bahiniore  train  is  impatient  to  be  off,  from 
a  magnificent  station-house,  with  a  wide-span- 
ning iron  roof.  It — the  new  station-house — is 
the  work  of  Mr.  Engineer  Pelton,  a  brother  of 
Professor  Felton,  both  of  them  natives  of  the 
pleasant  town  of  West  Newbury,  which  lies  em- 
braced by  the  Jlerrimac,  like  a  pretty  girl  en- 
circled by  a  loving  arm.  Oti"  go  the  can;,  "  bilin' 
and  bustin'  and  sleamin'  on't  along,"  as  the  old 
lady  remarked,  "  not  stopping  to  take  up  no- 
body— not  slopping  to  set  down  nobody — and 
runnin^  over  horned  creeters  like  all  possessed." 
It  is  a  tedious  ride  to  Baltimore,  only  enlivened 
by  a  ^QYYYy  across  which  every  one  makes  ready 
for  a  rush  on   reaching  the  other  side.     Then, 


what  a  "stampede."  Ladies  stand  no  chanee, 
and  dignity  has  all  its  starch  taken  out,  or  gets  a 
bad  seat.  Four  years  ago,  the  river  was  frozen 
so  solidly  that  passengers  walked  over,  and 
among  those  with  whom  I  thus  crossed,  was  a 
burly  gentleman,  who  had  a  heavy  carpet  bag, 
and  a  pleasant  eye.  No  one  offered  to  help  him 
carry  his  carpet  bag,  or  paid  him  much  defer- 
ence, for  he  was  simply  the  vice  president  elect, 
without  an  office  at  his  disposal.  But  v-'hen,  not 
very  many  montlis  afterwards,  I  again  travelled 
in  company  with  Mr.  Fillmore,  wlio  had  become 
President,  what  a  difierence  !  Surrounded  by 
anxious  expectants,  he  could  not  then  have  car- 
ried an  umbrella  without  kind  requests  to  be  re- 
lieved of  the  ti-ouble.     So  goes  the  world ! 

The  Chinese  have  a  way  of  executing  capital 
punishment  by  depriving  criminals  of  sleep,  and 
if  any  one  wishes  to  see  what  the  first  sensations 
of  continual  fifteen  minutes  "  wakings  up"  are, 
let  him  journey  from  Philadelphia  to  Baltimore. 
Both  by  day  and  by  night,  b-'t  particularly  by 
night,  do  the  conductors  perambulate  the  cars, 
rousing  all  who  are  nodding,  and  ordering  them 
to  "show  tickets!"  The  only  relief  is  to  gaze 
anxiously  out  at  the  machinery  of  the  telegraph, 
and  indulge  in  conjectures  as  to  what  is  passing 
over  those  wiry  nerves  of  the  press — 

"  In  a  thousand  miles  fiaeh — 
In  a  tick,  quick  and  low; 

With  a  dash  (— ),  dot  (.),  daah  {— ), 
As  I  write,  or  nearly  so  ; 

Over  State— Stite— State- 
Skipping  from  pole  to  polo. 

And  heamiog  fate — fat-e — 
Unto  heart— purse— soul." 

Baltimore,  the  city  of  monuments  and  canvas- 
back  ducks,  of  hospitable  mansions  and  of  uolde 
Catholic  fanes,  merits  more  than  a  passing  no- 
tice, but  the  inexorable  baggage  check  warns  ua 
off.  Here  settled  the  only  noble  "  pilgrims  ;"  for 
while  the  intolerance  and  persecution  which  was 
desolating  England  was  transplanted  to  Ply- 
mouth, and  to  Virginia,  and  to  Pennsylvania, 
George  Calvert — Lord  Baltimore — secured  pros- 
perity for  his  colony  by  building  it  upon  the 
foundation  of  religious  freedom  and  liberty  of 
thought.     High  honor  to  his  memory  I 

Annapolis  Junction  is  next  reached,  where  the 
cai's  are  generally  invaded  by  a  gallant-looking 
bevy  of  youngsters,  whose  anchor-buttons  show 
that  tliey  belong  to  the  Naval  School,  and  are  in 
future  years  to  uphold  the  "stars  and  stripes  " 
on  our  unconquered  naval  force.  Then  we  cross 
Bladenburg  Creek,  where  the  British  forces  wliip 
— no,  marched  too  fast  for  the  Americans  in  the 
last  war,  making  them  run  like  good  fellowij. 
Creak — creak — they  are  "braking  up"  the  card, 
and  here  we  are  in  "Washington.  Had  it  been 
daylight,  I  could  have  seen  the  capitol  some 
miles  off,  and  have,  perhaps,  written  something 
fine  about  "first  impressions,"  but  as  it  "was 
pitch-dark,  my  thoughts  were  of  supper  and  a 
fireside. 

A  fireside !  Seated  before  the  glowing  coals, 
with  the  rough  storm  weltering  against  the  win- 
dow panes,  the  best  affections  gush  forth,  like 
sunshine  after  summer  clouds.  The  holydara 
are  at  hand,  too,  and  will  be  here  by  the  time 
these  thoughts  are  embalmed  in  printer's  ink, 
although  the  boyish  enthusiasm  with  which  I 
once  hailed  Christmas  is  no  more.  Experience 
of  our  own  nature,  or  the  shifting  circnmstaneea 
of  life,  gives  a  more  sombre  color  to  every  revo- 
lution of  time,  and  we  look  at  the  world  through 
glasses  of  darker  and  darker  shades,  deeper  and 
deeper,  until  comes  the  final  one  which  is  to  be 
the  last. 

But  "MeriT  Christmas"  is  not  a  time  for 
croaking,  for  the  recollection  of  the  day  when  an- 
gels sang ;  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  on 
earth  peace,  and  good  will  towards  men !"  should 
inspire  lively  emotions.  True,  to  enjoy  the  pue- 
try  of  Christmas,  one  must  cross  the  waters  to 
Old  England,  and  there  witness  its  clan-like  gatli- 
erings,  its  laugh  of  loud  joy,  its  tables  groaning 
under  feasts,  it^  halls  of  plenty  and  welcome,  it3 
donations,  its  music,  its  piety,  its  green  and  fes- 
tive honors.  The  most  temperate,  then,  do  not  re- 
fuse a  glass  from  the  "  Wassail  Bowl,"  filled  with 
home-brewed  malt  liquor,  recking  hot. 

Though  you,  gentle  readers,  may  not  taste  tlie 
"Wassail  Bowl,"  yet  you  all  enjoy  Mr.  Gle.i- 
son's  well-fillpd  sheet,  sparkling  ^^ith  gems  of 
art,  and  replete  with  wholesome  literature.  My 
weekly  contributions,  for  some  time  fo  come,  will 
be  a  description  of  men  and  manners  in  this  our 
national  metropolis.  And.  avaiUng  myself  of 
our  past  and  future  acquaintance,  let  me  tender 
you  the  old  bcnison — tiiat  which  falls  like  magic 
on  the  heart*-:*  MtRKv  Christmas  ! 


4(8 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANION. 


GRACE  AND  TRINITY  CHURCHES. 

On  this  and  the  opposite  page  we  pre- 
sent pictures  of  Grace  Church,  and  Trin- 
ity Church,  New  York — the  former  at  the 
upper  part  of  Broadway,  the  latter  tiitua- 
tcd  at  tlio  head  of  Wall  street.  Tlieso 
are  two  of  the  finest  structures  of  tho 
same  clniractcr  in  America,  and  are  very 
similar  in  stylo  of  architecture  ;  indeed 
our  readers  will  observe  at  once,  that  if  tlic 
two  engravings  had  been  published  in 
different  numbers  of  the  Pictoriul,  it  would 
have  been  dilhcult  for  ihcm  to  have  dis- 
criminated between  them.  Grace  Church 
is  situated  so  far  "  up  town  "  that  it  would 
he  supposed  to  attract  to  its  service  more 
of  the  class  termed  the  "upper  ten  ;"  hut 
this  is  not  the  case.  '1  he  long-established 
and  inHucntial  corporation  of  Trinity  is 
the  wealthiest  on  this  continent,  and  its 
services  are  attended  by  the  richest  and 
proudest  citizens  of  New  York.  Both  are 
Episcopal,  both  richly  endowed,  but  Trin- 
ity so  far  surpasses  Grace  Church  in  its 
possessions,  that  we  must  detail  a  little 
more  of  its  history.  Grace  Church  is  a 
comparatively  modern  structure,  and 
though  a  few  years  since  it  was  just  at 
the  outskirts  of  New  York  city,  being 
nearly  up  to  Union  Square,  it  is  now,  so 
swiftly  has  the  city  increased  its  popula- 
tion and  dimensions,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  town.  The  riches  of  Trinity  Church 
consist  principally  of  real  estate  in  the 
city  of  New  York,  now  valued  at  several 
millions  of  dollars.  In  Phelps's  New  York 
City  Guide  wc  find  the  following  statis- 
tics of  Trinity  Chui'ch :  The  first  edifice 
erected  upon  its  present  site  was  reared 
in  169G,  during  the  reign  of  William 
and  iVlary.  Queen  Anne  endowed  it,  and 
presented  it  with  silver  communion  plate. 
The  buildmg  was  enlarged  in  1735,  and 
again  in  1737.  In  the  great  conflagration 
in  1796,  it  was  destroyed,  and  was  not  re- 
built until  after  the  war.  The  new  edifice 
was  completed  in  1799.  In  1834  it  was 
demolished,  and  the  present  costly  struc- 
ture was  commenced.  It  was  completed 
in  1846.  The  material  of  which  Trinity 
Church  is  built  is  a  handsome  brown 
stone  from  New  Jersey.  The  architect 
was  Mr.  Upjohn  ;  the  ornamental  stone 
work  was  wrought  under  the  direction  of 
the  late  Mr.  Thorn,  the  Scotch  sculptor, 
whose  beautiful  composition,  "  Old  Mor- 
tality," graces  the  entrance  to  Laurel  Hill 
cemetery,  near  Philadelphia  {a  fine  pic- 
ture of  which  we  shall  soon  give  our  read- 
ers). The  edifice  is  192  feet  in  length, 
by  80  in  width,  with  walls  GO  feet  high. 
The  style  is  Gothic,  of  the  chastest  char- 
acter. The  tower  and  spire,  the  most 
elaborate  and  costly  in  the  country,  rise 

to  an  altitude  of  284  feet.  In  the  tower  is  an  excoUont  chime  of 
bells,  which  send  forth  their  music  every  day.  The  tower  and 
spire  are  open  to  visitors  daily,  except  on  Sunday  and  during  the 
morning  and  evening  services,  which  occur  from  nine  to  half-past 
nine  in  the  morning,  and  from  three  to  half-past  three  in  the 
afternoon.  Visitors  may  ascend  by  a  spiral  stairway  of  308  steps 
to  the  height  of  2.'>0  feet,  whence  a  magnificent  view  of  the  city 
and  suiTOunding  scenery  may  be  obtained.  The  best  position 
from  which  to  view  this  gorgeous  panorama  is  the  battlements 
at  the  base  of  the  spii-e.    AH  around  you  perceive  the  I'oofs  and 


VIEW  OF  GRACE  CHURCH,  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

chimneys  of  the  great  city,  seemingly  piled  in  confusion,  and 
stretching  away  northward  to  the  extent  of  vision.  On  the  west, 
south  and  east,  there  is  a  fringe  of  merchant  ships  and  smaller 
craft  at  their  moorings,  while  the  expanse  of  water  is  dotted  with 
moving  vessels  propelled  by  steam,  wafted  by  the  breeze,  or  moved 
by  the  strong  arm  of  the  oarsman.  It  is  a  scene  of  rare  beauty  and 
interest,  and  may  be  seen  any  week-day  from  the  battlements  of 
the  tower  of  Trinity  Church.  No  fee  is  exacted  from  visitors,  but 
who  would  enjoy  the  glorious  siglit,  without  dropping  a  small 
coin  into  the  hand  of  the  obliging  attendant  below  ? 


ALMS  HOUSE,  DEER  ISLAND. 

Our  artist,  Mr.  Mallory,  has  given  us, 
below,  a  very  excellent  and  truthful 
drawing  of  the  new  Alms  House,  at  Deer 
Island,  Boston  harbor.  The  excellence 
and  importance  of  this  institution  has 
been  amply  tested,  and  the  citizens  of 
Boston  can  fully  realize  the  benefit  of 
Buch  an  establishment  to  all  classes.  In 
tho  Boston  Almanac  for  1851,  wc  find 
an  account,  from  which  we  gather  the 
following  important  details  of  descrip' 
tion  of  the  picture,  which  wc  present  for 
the  information  and  gratification  of  the 
numerous  readers  of  our  illumined  paper. 
The  form  of  this  structure  is  that  of  a 
"  Latin  Cross,"  having  its  four  wings  ra- 
diating at  right  angles  from  a  "  central 
building."  The  central  building  is  four 
stories  high;  the  lower  story  (on  a  uni- 
form level  with  the  cellars  or  work-rooms 
of  the  north,  east,  and  west  wings)  con- 
tains the  bathing-rooms,  cleansing-rooms, 
furnace,  and  fuel  rooms ;  the  two  next 
stories  contain  the  general  guard-room, 
to  be  used  also  as  a  work-room  ;  the  next 
story  is  the  chapel ;  and  the  upper  story 
is  the  hospital.  The  south  wing  is  four 
stories  high ;  the  lower  one  contains  the 
family  kitchen  and  entry  of  the  superin- 
tendent's family ;  the  second  is  appropri- 
ated for  the  family  parlors  of  the  superin- 
tendent, and  a  room  for  the  use  of  the  di- 
rectors, together  with  the  entrances  and 
staircases,  and  the  openings  or  carriage 
way,  for  receiving  paupers.  The  stair- 
cases communicating  with  the  guard- 
room, and  with  the  cleansing-rooms  in 
the  lower  story  of  the  central  building, 
are  also  located  in  this  story.  The  two 
remaining  stories  will  be  used  for  the 
family  sleeping-rooms — together  with  the 
entries,  passages,  closets,  and  staircases. 
Each  of  the  north,  east,  and  west  wings  Ib 
three  stories  high,  with  basements  and 
attics  over  the  whole  surface  of  each  wing. 
The  basements  are  for  work  rooms.  The 
remaining  stories,  including  the  attics, 
contain  the  wards,  hospitals,  and  day- 
rooms  for  the  inmates,  together  with  the 
sleeping  and  inspection  rooms  for  the 
nurses  and  attendants.  There  are  eight 
circular  towers  attached  to  the  exterior 
walls  of  the  north,  east,  and  west  wings  ; 
they  contain  the  water  closets  requisite 
for  the  inmates  of  the  building ;  two  of 
them  contain  staircases.  The  dimensions 
of  the  building  are  as  follows,  in  round 
numbers  :  The  centre  building  is  7.5, feet 
square  and  75  feet  high.eafh  perpendicu- 
lar comer  being  subtended  by  the  section 
of  a  circle.  The  superintendent's  house, 
if  the  building  faces  the  west,  makes  the 
west  side  of  the  centre  building,  except 
the  circular  corners,  and  is  thiown  out  by  these  corners  50  feet  by 
50  on  the  ground,  and  50  hi^h  ;  so  that  it  stands  almost  as  much 
sep.arated  from  the  main  building  as  if  it  were  entirely  disconnect- 
ed with  it,  and  is  still  near  enough  for  the  convenience  of  the  su- 
perintendent. The  north  wing,  intended  particularly  for  women, 
is  100  feet  by  50,  and  50  feet  high.  The  south  wing,  intended 
for  men,  is  of  the  same  dimensions.  The  cast  wing,  intended  for 
different  classes,  is  200  feet  by  50,  and  50  feet  high.  As  paupers 
arrive,  they  are  received  by  the  superintendent,  and  placed  in  the 
several  parts  of  the  building  to  which  they  may  belong. 


iiTi!       If    p  I r«    "     " ' M   "H.     t    t  t  L  E* 


I  1  r       *Tj  iin't   I     ' 
III  < I i'l ii         * 

:  II    I       1 1  1 1 (  <     ' 


VIEW  OF  THE   NEW  ALMSHOUSE,  DEER  ISLAND,  BOSTON  HARBOR. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING  IIOOM   COMPANION. 


409 


CANAL  BOATS  ON  THE  NORTH  RtVER,  NEW  YORK. 


CANAL  BOATS,  AT  NEW  YORK. 

*  Next  to  the  immense  foreign  export  and  import  trade,  comes 
the  inland  trade.  The  whole  of  the  western  country  from  Lake 
Superior  finds  a  depot  at  New  York.  The  larger  quantity  of 
produce  finds  its  way  to  the  Erie  Canal,  from  thence  to  the  Hudson 
River  to  New  York  The  canal  boats  run  from  New  York  to 
Buffalo,  and  vice  versa.  These  boats  are  made  very  strong, 
being  bound  round  by  extra  guards,  to  protect  them  from  the 
many  thumps  they  are  subject  to.  They  are  towed  from  Albany 
to  New  York — from  ten  to  twenty — by  a  steamboat,  loaded  with 
all  the  luxuries  of  the  West.  The  view  represented  above  is  tak- 
en from  Pier  No.  1,  East  River,  giving  a  slight  idea  of  the  im- 
mense trade  which,  next  to  foreign  trade,  sets  New  York  alive 
with  action.  We  subjoin  from  a  late  census  a  schedule  of  the 
trade;  the  depot  of  which,  and  the  modus  operandi,  Mr.  Wade, 
our  artist,  has  represented  in  the  engraving  above,  in  so  truthful 
and  lifelike  a  manner.  In  1840,  there  were  474, .i43  horses  and 
mules,  1,911,244  neat  cattle,  5,118,777  sheep,  1  900.065  swine,  poul- 
try valued  at  £1,153,413,  12,286,418  bushels  of  wheat,  2,520,060 
do.  of  barley,  20.605,847  do.  of  oats,  2,979,323  do.  of  rye, 
2,287,885  do.  of  buckwheat,  10,972  286  do.  of  Indian  corn, 
9,845,295  lbs.  of  wool,  447,250  do.  of  hops,  30,133,614  bushels  of 
potatoes,   3,127,047   tons  of  hay,    10,048,109   pounds  of  sugar, 


RING  PRESENTED  TO  GEN.  PIERCE. 

It  is  already  pretty  widely  known  to  the  public  generally  that 
a  number  of  the  citizens  of  San  Francisco  have  caused  to  be  man- 
ufactured and  forwarded  to  Gen.  Pierce,  a  most  valuable  and 
unique  present,  in  the  form  of  a  massive  gold  ring,  as  a  token  of 
esteem  for  the  president  elect.  Of  this  ring  our  artist  has  here- 
with given  us  an  admirable  representation.  It  is  a  massive  gold 
ring,  weighing  upwards  of  half  a  pound.  This  monster  ring,  for 
chasteness  of  design,  elegance  of  execution,  and  high  style  of  fin- 
ish, has,  perhap'^,  no  equal  in  the  world.  The  design  is  by  Mr. 
George  Blake,  a  mechanic  of  San  Francisco.  The  circular  por- 
tion of  the  ring  is  cut  into  squares,  which  stand  at  right  angles 
with  each  other,  and  are  embellished  each  with  a  beautifully  exe- 
cuted design,  the  entire  group  presenting  a  pictorial  history  of 
California,  from  her  primitive  sratc  down  to  her  present  flour- 
ishing condition,  under 
the  flag  of  our  Union. 
Thus,  there  is  given  a 
grizzly  bear  in  a  men- 
acing attitude,  a  deer 
bounding  down  a  slope, 
an  enraged  boa,  a  soar- 
ing eagle  and  a  salmon. 


the  staffs  crossed  and  groups  of  stars  in  the  angles.  The  part  of 
the  ring  reserved  for  a  seal  is  covered  by  a  solid  and  deeply  carv- 
ed plate  of  gold,  bearing  the  arms  of  the  State  of  California  in  the 
centre,  surmounted  by  the  banner  and  stars  of  the  United  States, 
and  inscribed  with  "Frank  Pierce,"  in  old  Roman  characters. 
This  lid  opens  upon  a  hinge,  and  presents  to  view  underneath  a 
square  box,  divided  by  bars  of  gold  into  nine  separate  compart- 
ments, each  containing  a  pure  specimen  of  the  varieties  of  ore 
found  in  the  country.  Upon  the  inside  is  the  following  inscrip- 
tion ;  *'  Presented  to  Frank  Pierce,  the  Fowieenth  President  of  the 
United  States."  The  ring  is  valued  at  S2000.  Our  engraving 
gives  a  separate  view  of  the  lid,  so  as  to  represent  the  appearance 
of  the  top  of  the  ring  both  when  it  is  open  and  when  it  is  closed. 
Altogether,  it  is  a  massive  and  superb  affair,  rich  in  emblematical 
design  and  illustration,  and  worthy  its  object. 


GOLD    RING    FROM  CITIZENS  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO  TO  GEN.  PIERCE. 


1735  lbs.  of  silk  cocoons ;  the  products  of  the  dairy,  S10,496,021  ; 
the  orchard,  $1,701 ,935;  lumber,  $3,891,302  ;  6799  gallons  of  wine. 
In  this  connection  we  may  say,  the  Hudson  and  Erie  Canal  is  a 
noble  work  of  enterprise.  It  passes  from  Albany  along  the  west- 
ern bank  of  Hudson  River,  until  it  meets  the  Mohawk;  then  runs, 
in  a  northwesterly  direction,  up  the  southwestern  bank  of  the  riv- 
er, to  the  town  of  Rome,  where  it  turns  more  westerly,  on  a  sum- 
mit level  of  about  sixty  miles,  without  a  lock,  and,  passing  in  a 
line  corresponding,  in  some  measure,  to  the  direction  of  the  south- 
ern shoie  of  Lake  Ontario,  and  crossing  the  Seneca  and  Genesee 
Rivers  in  its  course,  communicates  with  Lake  Eric  at  Buffalo,  363 
miles  from  Albany.  But  canals  are  fast  giving  place  to  railroads, 
speed  in  business  being  the  order  of  the  day. 


Then  wc  have  the  Indian 
with  his  bow  and  arrow, 
the  primitive  weapon  of 
self-defence ;  the  native 
mountaineer  on  horse- 
back, and  a  Califomian 
on  horseback,  throwing 
his  lasso  Next  peeps 
out  a  Califomian  tent. 
Then  you  see  a  miner  at 
work,  with  his  pick,  the 
whole  being  shaded  by 
two  American  flags,  with 


VIEW  OF  TRINITY  CHURCH,  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK.     [See  opposite  page.] 


110 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAAVING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


[Written  for  Gloa«on's  rictorial.] 
THE    JUNIATA  VALJUEY. 

DX  LIEUT.   E.  OUIlTieS  niNE. 


Whuro  tho  winding  Junluta, 

Sptirklin^,  gU'Jen  towiir(Js  the  wea, 
DviM  a  piHMloSf:  Indiun  malJcn, 

And  hvv  nlop  wna  liglit  imd  I'roB. 
Smiled  elio  in  the  eiirly  niovuinir, 

Sung  sho  in  tho  hush  of  noon  : 
Making  niusiu  liku  thi)  brooklet, 

Or  tlic  nlyhtlngiilo's  sucet  tuuo! 

Unppy  wiis  tho  young  Khuina, 

Like  the  ?jii'ing\vith  bluHhing  flowers, 
Were  her  round  chutka  full  of  roses 

Culled  from  health's  roi'plendi'ut  howers  ; 
And  lier  03  <;  wii9  like  11  Btar-beiim 

In  tbo  fjoety,  wintry  nigbt, 
When  the  sheeted  finowfl  are  uhluing. 

And  the  moonlit  world  is  bright. 

In  the  Juniata  valley, 

In  tho  days  long  long  gone  by, 
Drooped  the  smiling  young  Klniinii, 

I'lile  her  cheek  nnd  dim  her  eye. 
By  the  blue  and  winding  rltor, 

May  bo  seen  a  grassy  mound  ; 
Thew  thoy  laid  the  Indian  maiden, 

And  she  Blumbers  sweet  and  sound. 

[Writteu  for  Oleasou's  Pictorial.] 

THE  TAVO   WILLS. 

BY    MRS.    CAROLINE    OKNE. 

Many  years  ago,  it  being  sometime  j^revious 
to  the  Kevolation,  a  large  and  imposing,  though 
somewhat  irregular  mansion,  situated  in  the 
midst  of  grounds  so  extensive  as  to  form  an  al- 
most princely  domain,  was  in  possession  of  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Philip  Neville.  This 
estate  was  in  one  of  the  finest  and  most  fertile 
districts  of  the  Old  Dominion,  and  Mr.  Neville, 
who  was  a  younger  son  of  an  English  nobleman, 
maintained  much  of  the  state,  and  exercised  the 
same  liberal  hospiiality,  practised  by  the  country 
gentlemen  of  his  native  land. 

It  was  a  fine  morning  in  autumn,  and  Mr. 
Neville  stood  near  a  window,  with  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand.  A  cloud  was  on  his  brow,  and  his 
lips  were  tightly  compressed,  as  if  he  were  un- 
der the  influence  of  some  angry  feeling. 

"A  letter  from  my  cousin,  Kichard  Morton," 
said  he,  as  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  met  the  in- 
quiring glance  of  a  gentleman  present,  by  the 
name  of  Barclay.  "  He  pretends  that  this  es- 
tate belongs  to  him." 

"  On  what  grounds  V  inquired  Barclay. 

"  He  asserts  that  my  uncle,  the  original  owner, 
cancelled  the  will  which  he  made  in  my  favor  a 
few  years  previous  to  his  decease,  and  made  one 
in  his ;  but  as  no  such  will  is  to  be  found,  I  have 
a  right  to  believe  that  no  such  one  is  in  exis- 
tence." 

"  Do  you  know  what  reason  he  has  for  his 
assertion?" 

"  He  says  that  Uncle  Neville,  only  a  few  hours 
before  he  died,  told  him  that  he  bad  made  a  new 
will,  and  given  the  property  to  him,  but  failed  to 
designate  the  place  where  it  was  deposited.  He 
now  calls  upon  me  to  relinquish  the  estate,  and 
intimates  in  rather  broad  terms,  that  if  I  don't 
accede  to  his  demand,  he  shall  not  hesitate  to  re- 
present me  as  a  man  without  honor  or  integri- 
ty. Had  it  not  been  for  this  threat,  I  might 
have  consented  to  a  compromise." 

"  There  is  no  knowing,"  said  Barclay,  "  that 
the  will  your  uncle  mentioned  to  him  had  any 
existence,  except  in  his  imagination.  He  might 
not,  when  he  spoke  of  itj  have  been  in  his  right 
mind.  At  any  rate,  were  I  in  your  place,  I 
should  let  the  matter  rest  at  piesent.  If  there  is 
a  will,  it  must  certainly  come  to  light." 

If  Mr.  Neville  and  his  friend  had  any  inten- 
tion of  pursuing  the  subject  further,  they  were 
prevented  by  the  entrance  of  a  young  girl  about 
seventeen.  Her  name  was  Agnes  Granville,  and 
to  a  form  of  almost  faultless  symmetry,  was 
added  a  face  of  great  beauty  and  sweetness  of 
expression.  Mr,  Neville  was  her  step-father. 
Her  mother,  a  young  widow  when  she  became 
his  wife,  died  in  a  few  years  afterward,  and  since 
tlien,  Agnes  had  truly  been  the  light  of  his  home. 
Pie  had  always  intended  that  she  should  be  sole 
heiress  to  his  estate.  If  the  will  alluded  to 
bliould  be  found,  he  would  not  have  even  a  home 
to  give  her,  for  he  would  himself  be  homeless. 
At  her  appearance,  the  cloud  which  had  dark- 
ened his  brow  disappeared,  a>  if  by  magic  ;  but 
it  returned  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  open  letter, 
which  he  still  held  in  his  hand,  l^r  a  moment, 
he  resolved  to  acquaint  her  with  its  contents,  but 
^vhcn  he  raised  his  eyes  to  her  bright  and  beam- 
'      r-oimtenancc,  hi^  heart  failed  him. 


"  Why,"  thouglit  he,  "  should  a  shadow  fall 
across  her  ])alh  a  moment  sooner  ihan  can  be 
avoided?" 

The  morning  which  liad  been  so  Idand  and 
fliecrful,  was  succeeded  by  a  gloomy  afternoon, 
and  a  little  after  sunset,  a  heavy  rain  eomcQcnced 
falling,  attended  hy  a  strong  gusty  wind.  Mr. 
Neville,  Agnes  and  Barclay,  as  they  sat  together 
in  a  comfortable  apartment,  before  a  blazing 
wood  firo,  occasionally  paused  in  their  conversa- 
tion, when  a  gust  of  wind,  more  violent  than  or- 
dinary, shook  the  windows,  and  drove  against 
them  the  sleet  and  rain. 

"  A  wild  night,"  said  Barclay. 

"Yes,"  replied  Neville;  "even  with  my  ro- 
bust health,  I  should  not  care  to  be  abroad  on 
such  a  night  as  this." 

Agnes  rose  and  went  to  a  window,  but  every- 
thing without  was  wrapt  in  impenetrable  dark- 
ness. A  reflection  of  the  warm,  comfortable 
scene  within,  cast  upon  the  murky  air,  was  sill 
that  was  discerniljle.  Suddenly,  the  sound  of 
horses'  feet,  as  they  smote  the  hard,  flinty  path 
of  the  avenue  leading  to  the  house,  mingled  with 
the  noise  of  the  tempest,  came  to  her  ear.  She 
drew  the  curtain  still  farther  aside,  which  shaded 
the  window,  that  the  light  might  shine  more 
fully  upon  the  path,  and  then  resumed  her  place 
by  the  fireside.  She  had  hardly  done  so,  when 
the  sharp  strokes  of  the  brazen  knocker  rung 
through  the  hall  a  summons  so  imperative  that 
Mr.  Neville  hastened  to  see  who  had  arrived,  at 
the  same  time  that  a  servant  opened  the  outer 
door.  A  young  man  was  admitted,  muffled  in  a 
eloak,  from  which  the  rain  was  running  in 
streams ;  while  a  plumed  hat,  such  as  was  worn 
by  cavaliers  of  that  period,  concealed  his  fea- 
tures. The  hat  presented  anything  but  a  jaunty 
appearance,  the  dripping  plume  being  deprived 
of  its  wavy  grace,  while  the  brim,  which,  in  more 
genial  weather,  would  have  been  held  in  place 
by  the  diamond  button  which  sparkled  on  one 
side  of  the  crown,  had  been  slouched  to  ward  off 
the  rain  from  its  wearer. 

No  doubt  but  at  a  more  conspicuous  season  he 
would  have  worn  both  hat  and  cloak  with  much 
grace,  but  at  this  moment  his  appearance  bor- 
dered on  the  ludicrous,  as  seen  by  Agnes,  through 
the  parlor  door. 

"  I  would  attempt  to  excuse  a  visit  so  uncere- 
monious," said  he,  "  did  not  the  peltings  of  the 
storm  form  an  apology  so  ranch  better  than  any 
which  can  be  expressed  in  words." 

"  No  apology  of  any  kind  is  necessary  from 
the  traveller  who  does  Philip  Neville  the  honor 
to  call  on  him,  let  the  weather  be  foul  or  fair," 
said  the  host. 

Had  not  the  stranger  been  engaged  in  taking 
off  his  cloak,  the  start  which  he  gave  at  the 
name  of  Neville  might  have  excited  notice;  as  it 
was,  it  passed  unobserved  either  by  Mr.  Neville 
or  his  servant,  who  stood  ready  to  receive  the 
dripping  garment. 

Whatever  might  have  caused  his  momentary 
diEcoraposure,  his  self-possession  was  as  quickly 
regained,  and  he  did  not  fail  to  reply  lo  this 
courteous  remark  in  terms  equally  polite  and 
civil,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  he  had  re- 
cently arrived  from  England,  and  that  his  name 
was  Percy  Gordon. 

"  It  was  well,"  said  Mr.  Neville,  "  that  you 
discovered  my  house,  which  I  should  hardly 
thought  jou  would  have  done,  so  far  from  the 
road,  and  through  so  many  sheltering  trees;  for, 
had  you  failed  to  do  so,  you  must  have  ridden, 
at  least,  half  a  dozen  miles  further  before  you 
came  to  a  shelter." 

"  'Twas  a  light,  shed  from  an  uncurtained 
window,  which  guided  me.  Will  Shakspeare 
might  well  say ; 

'  How  far  a  little  candle  throws  its  beams  I' 

for  I,  at  least,  began  to  imagine  that  I  was  fol- 
lowing a  will  o'-thewisp,  so  long  and  weary  was 
the  way  I  had  to  ride  before  I  was  able  to  de- 
cide that  it  really  shone  from  heneath  the  roof  of 
a  house  which  was  habitable." 

By  this  time  Gordon  had  entered  the  parlor, 
and  Agues  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  me- 
tamorphosis he  had  undergone  by  the  removal 
of  his  hat  and  cloak.  She  had  never  seen  a 
finer  figure,  or  a  countenance  handsomer  and 
more  preposses-sing ;  and  if  the  glance  which  he 
directed  to  Agnes  could  have  been  riglitly  inter- 
preted, it  might  have  been  set  down  as  an  ad- 
miring one. 

"  I  think  you  said  that  you  had  recently  ar- 
rived from  England,"  said  Mr.  Neville,  after 
Gordon  was  seated  in  comfortable  proximity  to 
the  fire. 

"  1  did." 


"  You  arc  doubtless  a  passenger  in  the  ship 
Ilermoinc,  then  V 

"  No,  I  came  in  tlio  Pomona,  wliich  arrived 
only  a  few  hour.s  afterward,  though  it  left  port  a 
week  later." 

A  dead  silence  ensued.  Mr.  Neville  was 
thinking  of  the  letter  he  had  received  that  morn- 
ing, and  Gordon,  whatever  were  his  thoughts, 
did  not  appear  to  bo  exactly  at  hia  ease.  Barc- 
lay, who  sat  a  little  diitanee  from  the  latter, 
witiiout  appearing  to  do  so,  was  attentively  ob- 
serving him.  He  was  something  of  a  physiog- 
nomij^t,  and  took  pleasure  in  forming  conclusions 
relative  to  a  person's  character,  by  the  general 
traits  of  the  countenance.  His  speculations  this 
time  were  favorable  to  their  object.  They  could 
not  have  well  been  otherwise;  for  the  open 
brow,  the  deep  hazel  eyes,  tiie  finely  cut  lips  with 
their  classic  curve,  in  which  there  was  a  strange 
mingling  of  hauteur  and  sweetness,  formed  an 
ensemble  peculiarly  attractive.  Something  there 
was,  he  felt  sure,  which  caused  him  mueli  em- 
barrassment, and,  as  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the 
conversation  between  himself  and  Mr.  Neville  in 
the  morning,  the  thought  struck  him  that  Percy 
Gordon  might,  iij  some  way,  be  connected  with 
tlie  Mr.  Morton,  cousin  to  Neville,  who  had  laid 
claim  to  the  estate.  All  at  once,  a  kind  of 
dreamy  memory  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him, 
that,  previously  to  his  leaving  England,  which 
was  about  seven  or  eight  years  since,  he  had 
seen  Percy  Gordon  at  the  residence  of  Mr,  Mor- 
ton, and  that  he  was  a  nephew  of  Mrs.  Morton. 
The  more  he  looked  at  the  young  man,  the 
brighter  and  more  distinct  the  memory  grew. 

Had  the  will  alluded  to  been  found,  after  the 
letter  was  sent,  and  had  Gordon  been  delegated 
to  be  the  bearerof  the  inauspicious  tidingswhieh 
reduced  Philip  Neville  and  his  step-daughter  to 
penury  1  Such  were  the  questions  which  natu- 
rally grew  out  of  the  thoughts  which  had  already 
suggested  themselves  to  his  mind.  Ho,  at  the 
same  time,  imagined,  by  the  insight  which  he 
thought  he  had  gained  into  the  young  man's 
character,  that  it  would  be  to  him  a  most  un- 
grateful task. 

Neville,  at  last,  as  if  suddenly  reminded  of 
what  was  due  to  his  stranger  guest,  aroused  him- 
self from  the  fit  of  abstraction  into  which  he  had 
fallen.  He  made  many  general  inquiries  rela- 
tive to  his  native  land,  all  of  which  were  answer- 
ed to  his  satisfaction,  when  he  said  somewhat 
abruptly : 

"I  have  a  cousin  in  England,  by  the  name  of 
Morton;  it  is  possible  that  you  have  heard  of 
him." 

Mr.  Neville  waited  for  an  answer.  Barclay 
looked  at  Gordon,  and  thought  he  changed  color, 
as  after  some  hesitation,  he  replied  that  he  had. 
This  confirmed  the  suspicion  he  already  enter- 
tained ;  but,  though  he  watched  his  friend  Ne- 
ville, he  could  not  see  by  his  appearance  that  he 
entertained  the  most  remote  idea  that  Gordon 
was  in  any  way  whatever  connected  with  his 
cousin.  He  was  too  unaccustomed  to  dissemble 
to  prevent  its  being  manifest,  had  such  been  the 
case. 

As  the  evening  wore  away,  Mr.  Neville's  spir- 
its rose.  He  became  more  and  more  pleased 
with  Gordon,  who,  as  his  host  grew  more  social, 
was  able  to  throw  off  the  depressing  embarrass- 
ment, which  had,  at  first,  checked  the  pleasing 
conviviality  natural  to  him. 


The  sun,  after  a  night  of  storm,  rose  in  un- 
clouded splendor.  The  rain- drops  hung  like 
jewels  on  the  autumn  foliage,  and  there  was  a 
balminess  in  the  air  like  the  breath  of  summer. 

"Now  you  are  here,  you  must  stay,  for,  at 
least,  a  number  of  weeks,"  said  Mr.  Neville,  who 
had  been  pointing  out  to  his  young  guest  the 
improvements  he  had  been  recently  making  on 
his  plantation. 

There  was  a  slight  corrugation  of  Goi*don's 
brow,  as  if  the  words  of  his  host  brought  to  mind 
some  painful  thought.  As  be  did  not  immedi- 
ately reply,  Mr.  Neville  said : 

"Is  there  anything  to  prevent  you  from  stay- 
ing a  while  ?'' 

"Nothing,  and  yet  I — " 

Whatever  he  had  intended  to  say,  was  cut 
short  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Agnes  on 
horseback,  who,  by  an  abrupt  turn  of  a  thickly- 
shaded  lane,  was  brought  so  near  them  that,  had 
she  not  suddenly  checked  her  horse,  their  safety 
might  have  been  endangered. 

The  clear  morning  air,  Joined  to. the  exhilarat- 
ing exercise  of  riding,  had  imparted  to  her 
cheeks  a  rich  bloom,  and  a  sparkling  lustre  to 
her  dark  eyes,  which  made  her  look  even  more 
charming  than  the  previous  ovening. 


"Abroad  no  early?"  said  Gordon,  with  a 
graceful  bow. 

"This  13  the  time  for  ray  daughter  to  gather 
tho  roses  for  her  clieeks,"  eaid  Mr.  Neville,  as  he 
looked  at  her  with  mingled  admiration  and  fond- 
ness, as  she  maintained  her  scat  in  the  saddle 
with  apparent  ease  and  perfect  grace,  notwiih- 
.standing  the  inclination  manifested  by  thcspiiit- 
ed  animal  lo  indulge  in  sundi-y  eccentric  cara- 
coles. 

"  Come,  Gipyey,"  said  she,  in  a  soothing  voice, 
and  patting  the  proudly  arched  neck,  "  this  will 
never  do.  You  will  bring  scandal  on  yourself 
by  sueh  an  unseasonable  display  of  your  vola- 
tile spirits,  and  worse  still  on  your  mibiress,  hy 
showing  that  she  spoils  you  by  permitting  you 
to  have  your  own  way." 

Her  voice  seemed  to  have  a  spell  in  if,  for 
Gipsey  at  once  commenced  walking  by  the  side 
of  the  gentlemen  with  a  dainty  mincing  stej), 
and  so  light  withal  as  to  scarce  leave  a  trace  of 
her  footsteps  on  the  mossy  path, 

"If,"  said  Gordon,  "I  might  venture  to  ac- 
cept your  father's  invitation,  and  remain  here  a 
few  days—'* 

"  Weeks — weeks— nothing  short  of  weeks  !" 
broke  in  Mr.  Neville. 

"  Must  it  be  weeks  ?  Then  there  will  be  the 
more  reason  for  me  to  urge  my  request.  I  was 
about  to  express  a  wish  that  your  daughter 
would  permit  me  to  accompany  her  in  some  of 
her  morning  rides,  for  though  I  can  never  hope  to 
' ^vitch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship,' 

I  have  always,  since  early  boyhood,  had  a  great 
fondness  for  riding." 

"  I  have  no  great  partiality  for  solitarj'  excur- 
sions," said  Agnes,  "  either  equestrian  or  pedes- 
trian." 

"  That  is  what  she  has  not,"  said  Mr,  Neville. 
"When  cousin  Frank  was  here  last  summer,  I 
couldn't  keep  them  in  the  house  long  enough  to 
read  the  newspapers  to  me,  if  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  receive  a  package  from  England." 

By  this  time,  they  had  arrived  near  the  house, 
where  a  servant  stood  in  waiting  to  take  the 
horse.  Gordon  stepped  forward  and  assisted 
Agnes  to  alight,  with  rather  a  grave  air.  The 
truth  wa5,  the  spectre  of  that  consin  Frank,  al- 
luded to  by  Mr.  Neville,  whom  he  heartily 
wished  could  be  banished  to  the  wilds  of  Siberia, 
was  stalking  before  him. 

Agnes  went  into  the  house,  so  did  Mr.  Neville, 
but  Gordon,  who  saw  Barclay  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, went  to  meet  him. 

"  You  are  a  particular  friend  of  Mr.  Neville,  I 
believe,"  said  Gordon,  after  he  and  Barclay  had 
interchanged  a  few  common  place  remarks. 

"  I  am,  and  my  friendship  v^as  never  more 
worthily  bestowed." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it.  What  little  I  have  seen 
of  him  since  my  arrival,  tends  to  give  me  a  very 
favorable  impression  of  him.  I  was  prepai'ed  to 
encounter  quite  a  different  person." 

"Then  I  am  not  mistaken.  Your  visit  here 
was  intentional." 

"  It  was,  though  last  night,  bewildered  by  the 
storm  and  darkness,  I  lost  my  way,  and  had  no 
suspicion,  till  I  heard  the  name  of  Neville,  that 
I  had  arrived  at  the  place  I  vras  in  pursuit  of.  I 
found  that  Mr.  Neville  did  not  recollect  my 
name,  thoiigh  he  must  have  seen  me  when  I  was 
a  boy  at  the  house  of  his  cousin,  Biehard  Mor- 
ton ;  and  I  had  not  the  courage,  after  the  cordial 
reception  he  gave  me,  to  explain  the  object  of 
my  visit  to  this  country,  and  thus  at  once  assume 
what  he  would  consider  a  hostile  position  to- 
wards him.  I  knew  the  task  I  had  undertaken 
would  be  a  most  disagreeable  one,  under  any 
circumstances,  and  I  would  have  gladly  evaded 
it;  but,  unhappily,  I  could  not,  without  compro- 
mising the  comfort  of  an  only  sister, — perhaps 
deprive  her  of  the  very  means  of  subsistence. 
The  aversion  which  I  felt  on  my  first  arrival,  at 
disclosing  the  object  of  ray  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic,  has  now  increased  ten-fold,  or  rather  it 
has  changed  to  absolute  dread.  What  shall  I 
do  ?     M^bat  should  you  advise  me  to  do  ?" 

"  I  cannot  give  advice  -nitbout  knowing  what 
you  have  undertaken  to  do,"  said  Barclay, 
smiling. 

"  True,  but  being  the  particular  friend  of  Mr. 
Neville,  you  must  certainly  have  heard  him  men- 
tion something  about  a  certain  will,  which,  if 
found,  would  deprive  him  of  the  princely  do- 
main where  be  now  lives." 

"  I  have.  His  cousin  wrote  to  him  something 
about  it  a  number  of  years  ago— just  after  the 
uncle  died;  but,  as  he  heard  no  more  from  him, 
he  concluded  that  he  in!cndcd  to  let  the  subject 
drop." 


GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


411 


"But  lie  received  a  letter  by  the  Hermione." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  know  what  it  contained  V 

"1  do,  and  suspect  that  your  business  here  is 
to  let  him  know  that  the  will  is  found/' 

*'  It  is.  The- vessel  by  which  the  last  letter  on 
t^e  unpleasant  subject  was  sent,  had  liarrily  got 
out  of  sight  when  the  will  came  to  light  in  a 
most  unlooked-for  manner." 

"  You  are  aware,"  said  Barclay,  *'  that  besides 
this  estate,  Mr.  Neville  has  noihicg,  except  a 
little  personal  property,  and  that  his  step  dangh- 
K'T  is  wholly  dependent  on  him  for  a  mainte- 
nance." 

"I  feared  that  such  was  the  case  by  some 
casual  remarks  made  by  Mr.  Neville,  while  we 
were  just  now  walking  together.  Till  then,  I 
had  been  under  the  impression  that  the  Virginia 
estate  constituted  but  a  small  part  of  his  pro- 
perty." 

"  And  what  make  >  it  seem  harder,"  said  Bar- 
clay, "is,  he  came  t)  live  on  the  estate  by  his 
uncle's  desire,  with  the  full  impression  that  it 
was  to  be  his.  Had  it  not  been  so,  he  might,  by 
some  means,  have  endeavored  to  acquire  some 
property.  Now,  his  cousin  Morton  does  not 
need  this  estate — is,  in  fact,  better  without  it." 

"  He  certainly  does  not  need  it,  his  annual  in- 
come from  property  inherited  by  Mrs.  Morton 
alone  being  ample  to  tnable  him  and  his  family 
to  indulge  in  all  the  luxuries  of  life." 

"  If  he  knew  all,  would  he  not  have  the  gene- 
rosity to  give  up  his  claim  1" 

"I  am  afraid  not." 

"  I  know  he  used  to  have  the  name  of  being 
grasping  and  avarit-ious." 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  that  it  was  undeserved. 
One  thing,  however,  I  can  say,  and  that  is,  I 
wish  he  had  selected  some  other  agent  to  settle 
the  disagreeable  business.  I  have  half  a  mind 
to  write  to  him,  and  say  that  I  will  have  nothing 
to  do  about  it,  let  the  consequence  be  what  it 

will." 

''If  you  refuse,  another  will  be  employed  in 
your  stead,  who  may  have  less  consideration  for 
the  feehngs  of  Mi'.  Neville,  and  who  will  conse- 
quently manage  the  affair  with  much  less  deli- 
cacy." 

Gordon  remained  silent  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said  : 

"  Will  it  be  asking  too  great  afavor  to  request 
you  to  break  the  matter  to  him  f  To  let  him 
know  that  the  stranger  he  welcomed  with  so 
much  hospitality  had  come  for  the  express  pur- 
pose to  deprive  him  of  a  home." 

"  Will  it  not  be  better  for  you  to  speak  to  him 
yourself?" 

"  Perhaps  it  would,  but  I  cannot." 

A  servant  now  came  to  tellihem  breakfast  was 
ready,  and  Barclay,  on  Gordon's  repeating  his 
request,  promised  compliance,  the  first  favorable 
opportunity.  Mr.  Neville,  when  they  entered 
the  breakfast  room,  told  them  that  he  was  unex- 
pectedly called  away,  and  should  be  obliged  to 
be  absent  a  week  or  more.  He  told  Gordon  that 
he  must  not,  on  any  account,  leave,  during  his 

absence. 

Barclay  found  no  opportunity  to  speak  to  him 
before  his  departure,  and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  Gordon  expeiienccd  a  sense  of  relief  when 
he  found  that  the  communication  was  necessari- 
ly delayed,  as  it  gave  him  a  chance  of  enjoying 
the  society  of  Agnes  a  few  days,  during  which, 
he  could  not  help  hoping  that  lie  should  learn 
something  relative  to  the  cousin  Frank,  who,  the 
past  summer,  had  been  ihi  companion  of  her 
walks  and  rides. 

In  about  a  week,  Mr.  Neville  returned.  It 
was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  arrived,  and  the 
following  morning,  Barclay  souiiht  and  obtained 
a  private  interview  with  him.  Knowing  him  to 
he  naturally  passionate,  Barclay  was  prepared 
for  the  burst  of  stormy  indignation  which  fol- 
lowed the  communication. 

"Tell  him,"  said  Neville,  "  that  I  do  not  ex- 
pect him  to  remain  here  a  moment  longer  tlian 
is  absolutely  necessary.  His  horse  will  be  at  the 
door  in  five  minutes.  I  shall  not  see  him — I 
never  desire  to  see  birn  again.  Whatever  com- 
munication he  finds  it  necessary  to  make,  let 
him  do  it  by  writing,  or  through  any  person  he 
may  choose  to  employ.  Tell  him  also,  as  I  shall 
use  ail  possible  dispatch  in  leaving  this  place, 
he  "need  not  be  impatient,  even  though  he  is  to 
be  my  successor." 

"  I  don't  think  that  he  has  any  thought  of 
being  your  sucfcssor,"  Barclay  ventured  to  say. 

"  Is  it  not  plain  as  day  that  he  has  1  Kichard 
Morton  has  no  idea  of  coming  here.  This  fel- 
low, depend  upon  it,  is  to  manage  the  estate  for 
'him." 


"  If  I  read  him  rightly,  he  would  sooner  beg 
his  bread  than  take  possession  of  your  home. 
Be  assured  that  he  suffers  severely  at  the  bare 
thcught  of  your  being  obliged  to  leave  a  place 
which  owes  half  its  value  to  your  judicious 
mamigement." 

"All  fudge!  Why  did  he  undertake  a  task 
for  which  he  pretends  to  have  fo  little  liking';" 

"  He  is  poor,  and  has  a  sister  who  finds  a 
shelter  beneath  Richard  Morion's  roof.  Her 
home  is  respectable,  if  not  pleasant,  and  to  have 
refused  his  uncle's  request,  would  have  been  the 
same  as  to  deprive  her  of  that  home.  Besides, 
he  did  not  realize,  before  lie  saw  you,  what  a 
very  disagreeable  task  he  had  undertaken,  it 
having  been  impressed  on  his  miod  that  you 
were  a  different  person  from  what  he  found 
you." 

"  He  imagined  me  to  be  a  snarling,  peevish, 
cross-grained  old  fellow,  I  suppose, — in  short,  a 
kind  of  bear  in  human  shape,  from  having  so 
long  lived  in  the  woods." 

"  I  cannot  say  what  his  opinion  of  you  was — " 

"  V/halever  it  was,  is  a  matter  of  perfect  in- 
difference to  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Neville. 

"  I  know  that  he  now  thinks  highly  of  you," 
resumed  Barclay,  "  and  he  entertains  no  doubt 
that  means  were  taken  to  prejudice  your  uncle's 
mind  against  you,  which  was  the  true  cause  of 
his  making  a  will  in  favor  of  Kichard  Morton." 

"  Well,  Barclay,  say  no  more  about  it.  I  re- 
peat the  with  that  he  will  leave  without  delay, 
and  that  I  may  never  see  iiim  again.  In  six 
weeks,  at  farthest,  he  may  return  and  take  pos- 
session here.  He  will  find  no  one  to  dispute  his 
right." 

As  soon  as  Barclay  had  kft  him,  Mr.  Neville 
locked  himself  into  tlie  room  he  called  bis  libra- 
ry, to  preclude  the  possibility  of  his  again  meet- 
ing Percy  Gordon,  for  somehow  lie  distrusted 
his  ability  to  retain  his  anger  against  him,  if 
only  momentarily  exposed  to  the  influence  of  a 
countenance  so  full  of  manly  beauty,  and  with  a 
look  so  disdainful  of  all  that  was  low  and 
treacherous. 

It  was  not  long — certainly  not  more  than  three 
minutes, — before  he  heard  a  horse  dash  swiftly 
by  his  window.  He  knew  that  Percy  Gordon 
was  its  rider,  and  it  required  much  exertion  of 
will  to  master  the  impulse  he  felt  to  rise  and 
look  out,  in  order  to  obtain  a  parting  glimpse  of 
one  whom  he  had  already  begun  to  regard  with 
affection  as  well  as  esteem,  ere  he  learned  from 
Barclay  the  object  of  his  visit. 

Agnes  and  Gordon  had  just  returned  from  a 
walk  when  Barclay  sought  the  latter,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  making  known  to  him  the  result  of  his 
interview  with  Mr.  Neville. 

"  I  cannot  blame  him,"  said  Gordon  ;  "  but 
the  day  will  come  when  he  v,-ill  be  convinced 
that  he  has  been  unjust  towards  me." 

He  would  gladly  have  remained  long  enough 
to  say  a  few  words  to  Agnes,  of  whose  cousin 
Frank  he  was  no  longer  jealous,  he  baring  as- 
certained that,  instead  of  a  gentleman,  as  he  had 
supposed,  it  was  a  lady  who  bore  that  appella- 
tion; but  the  peremptory  manner  in  which  Mr. 
Neville  had  urged  his  departure,  had  aroused  his 
pride,  which  was  not  entirely  unmixed  with  an- 
ger, and  made  liim  resolve  to  obey  to  the  very 
letter.  A  wave  of  the  band,  and  the  words — 
"  Farewell,  Agnes,"  as  he  quickly  passed  the 
spot  where  she  stood,  was  all  that  he  permitted 
himself. 

Agnes  was  not  long  left  in  ignorance  as  to  the 
cause  of  his  sudden  departure.  Barclay,  in  com- 
pliance with  Gordon's  request,  told  her  what  had 
taken  place;  and  with  all  the  sorrow  and  regret 
it  caused  her,  more  on  her  step  fat'ier's  account 
than  her  own,  her  faith  in  Gordon's  worthiness 
was  not  for  a  moment  clouded. 

When  Gordon  left  Mr.  Neville's,  he  proceeded 
directly  to  Richmond,  where  he  found  letters 
from  home.  One  was  from  his  sister,  and  con- 
tained auspicious  and  mo?t  unexpected  tidings: 
Their  maternal  uncle,  a  bachelor,  who  had  more 
money  than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  had  been 
to  London,  sought  her  out,  and  was  so  well 
pleased  with  her  that  he  had  secured  to  her 
twenty-five  thousand  pounds. 

"  What^e  has  done  for  you,"  she  went  on  to 
say,  "may  be  seen  in  a  letter  Uncle  Thomas 
has  written  you,  which  will  reach  you  the  same 
time  tl>at  mine  does." 

A  third  letter  was  from  Mr.  IJichard  Morton, 
requesting  him  to  sell  the  estate  in  Virginia  at 
public  auction. 

Gordon's  determination  was  at  once  taken, 
and  as  soon  as  he  could  procure  writing  mate- 
rials, he  v/rote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Philip  Neville,  in 


which  he  enclosed  a  copy  of  the  instmetions 
which  he  had  just  received  relative  to  the  sale  of 
the  estate.  He  requested  that  Mr.  Neville  would 
appoint  any  day  he  chose  for  the  sale  of  the  pro- 
perty, within  three  months  from  the  date  of  his 
letter.  When  Mr.  Neville  received  it,  Agnes 
and  Bai'chiy  were  both  present.  He  quickly  ran, 
his  eye  over  the  contents,  and  with  a  fro^m, 
tossing  it  on  a  table,  exclaimed  passionately ; 

"  I  am  ready  today — this  hour — this  minute !" 

Barclay  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Kead  that  letter,"  said  Neville.  "  It  is  from 
that  fellow — that  Gordon." 

"  What  is  the  least  possible  time,"  said  lie, 
after  Barclay  had  read  it,  "  necessary  to  make 
arrangements  for  the  sale?'* 

"  They  might  be  made  in  a  week,"  replied 
Barclay,  "though  two  would  be  better.  But,  as 
Gordon  will  wish  to  be  present,  will  it  not  be  as 
well  to  say  three  weeks  V* 

"  It  will.  I  will  write  and  tell  him,  or,  if  you 
will  be  so  obliging,  I  should  prefer  to  have  you 
write." 

"  Certainly;  I  will  write  at  once." 

The  necessary  arrangements  were  commenced 
without  delay,  and  prosecuted  with  so  much  dili- 
gence that  all  was  ready  at  the  appointed  day. 
Mr.  Neville  and  Agnes  found  a  temporary  resi- 
dence beneath  the  roof  of  some  friends.  What 
they  were  to  do  ultimately,  the  hurry  and  exer- 
tion attendant  on  their  sudden  removal  left  them 
no  time  to  reflect. 

Wednesday  morning,  just  three  weeks  from 
the  time  Mr.  Neville  received  Gordon's  letter,  a 
flag  was  waving  at  a  corner  of  the  mansion,  the 
largest  and  most  ancient  in  the  Old  Dominion. 
An  auction  was  an  event  of  rare  occurrence,  and 
people  came  from  a  distance  of  many  miles,  in 
ordar  to  be  present.  Some  had  thoughts  of  pur- 
chasing, but  more  were  mere  lookers-on. 

There  had  been  time  for  Percy  Gordon  to  ar- 
rive, for  Barclay  had  sent  his  letter  by  a  special 
messenger,  but  he  was  not  present.  A  gentle- 
man, whom  no  one  seemed  to  have  any  knowl- 
edge of,  was  the  most  active  bidder.  For  a 
while,  several  gentlemen  bid  against  him,  but 
when  the  property  had  been  run  up  to  what  was 
considered  its  full  value,  competition  ceased. 
Those  who  most  wished  to  possess  it,  did  not 
feel  able  to  give  more  than  it  was  worth.  The 
stranger,  therefore,  after  a  reasonable  delay,  was 
declared  to  be  the  purchaser. 

Till  after  the  sale  of  the  property,  Mr.  Neville 
had  not  fully  realized  that  he  was  cast  upon  the 
world  without  a  home,  and  almost  pcnnilesss. 
As  he  sat  alone  in  the  room  which  had  been  as- 
signed to  him  in  his  friend's  house,  in  the  gloom 
of  the  evening,  he  had  never,  in  his  whole  life, 
felt  so  wretched.  His  mental  energies  were,  for 
the  time,  utterly  prostrate.  Agnes,  too,  felt  suf- 
ficiently miserable,  though  she  did  her  utmost  to 
appear  cheerful. 

In  something  over  a  week  from  the  time  the 
estate  was  sold,  a  package,  much  too  large  for  a 
letter,  was  received  by  Mr.  Neville.  He  had  no 
idea  as  to  what  it  could  be.  He  was  expecting 
nothing,  and  he  looked  a  second  time  to  see  if  it 
was  really  directed  to  hira.  Philip  Neville,  Esq , 
written  in  a  bold,  clear  hand,  put  the  question  to 
rest ;  and  without  further  demur,  he  broke  the 
seal  and  opened  it. 

The  first  paper  which  presented  itself  proved 
to  be  a  deed,  by  which  the  estate,  recently  sold 
at  auction,  was  conveyed  to  him  by  Percy  Gor- 
don. At  first  he  was  tempted  to  believe  that  it 
was  all  a  miserable  jest,  for  so  bitter  were  his 
feelings  towards  Gordon,  that  he  was  prepared 
to  think  him  capable  of  insulting  him  in  his  ad- 
versity. On  examining  it,  however,  he  found 
that  the  document  was  genuine.  In  a  few  lines 
which  accompanied  it,  ail  was  explained.  Gor- 
don informed  him  of  his  altered  fortunes,  and  in 
the  most  delicate  manner,  begged  him  to  allow 
him  the  privilege  of  restoring  the  property,  which 
he  could  do,  udthout  any  pecuniary  injury  to 
himself. 

"Restore  iti"  said  Neville,  addressing  Bar- 
clay.    "  How  came  it  his  to  restore  V 

"  Is  there  no  explanation  *?"  said  Barclay. 

"  0  yes — in  my  hurry  it  escaped  me.  He  says 
he  was  the  purchaser  of  the  estate,  the  person 
who  bid  it  off  having  been  employed  by  him." 

Mr.  Neville's  anger  was  not  proof  against  all 
this,  although  he  declared  that  he  neither  could 
nor  would  consent  to  the  restoration  of  the 
estate. 

"By  refusing,  I  thick  you  will  make  him  very 
unhappy,"  said  Barclay. 

"  But  I  cannot  be  beholden  to  him  fcr  a 
home." 


"You  need  not  be  beholden — give  him  an 
equivalent." 

"  Barclay,  arc  you  mocking  me  V 

"No,  I  am  not  mocking  you — I  am  in  right 
good  earnest." 

"I  do  not  understand  you.  What  have  I  to 
give  V 

"  That  which  Percy  Gordon  will  value  more 
than  half  a  dozen  such  estates." 

"  Ah,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Neville, 
with  a  sudden  lighting  up  of  his  countenance. 
"  You  are  thinking  of  Agnes — he  shall  have 
her." 

"  That  is,  if  she  will  consent,"  said  Barclay, 
smiling,  and  looking  at  Agnes,  whose  color  was 
a  good  deal  heightened,  he  could  perceive, 
though  her  face  was  half  averted. 

"  She  shall  consent.  I  have  been  unjust  to 
him — abused  him,  and  he  has  i-endered  good  for 
evil.  If  be  wants  Agnes,  he  shall  have  her. 
Write  to  him,  Barclay,  and  tell  him  to  come," 

Gordon,  who  had  for  more  than  a  week  been 
subjected  to  the  almost  unendurable  torture  of 
suspense — for  he  half  expected  that  the  deed 
would  be  contemptuously  returned  to  him. — • 
made  no  unnecessary  delay  in  accepting  Mr. 
Neville's  invitation,  contained  in  Barclay's  letter. 
In  a  few  days,  everything  in  and  around  the  old 
mansion  wore  its  usual  aspect.  No  one  would 
have  imagitied  that  the  sound  of  the  auctioneer's 
hammer  had  ever  re-echoed  through  its  spacious 
halls. 

A  change  came  soon,  however,  in  Agnes 's 
room,  where  there  was  an  unusual  display  of 
laces,  gauzes,  ribbons,  satins  and  brocades;  and 
if  any  opinion  could  be  formed  from  the  bright 
and  beaming  face  which  was  often  seen  bending 
over  them,  it  may  be  presumed  that  Mr.  Neville 
found  no  very  decided  opposition,  when  he  told 
his  step  daughter,  that  he  had  promised  Percy 
Gordon,  that  she  should  be  his  bride. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  department  over 
iiihich  the  housekeeper  presided,  gave  indications 
of  an  approaching  festival,  and  the  ser^'ants  be- 
gan to  whisper  among  themselves,  that  there 
would  soon  be  a  wedding.  This  would  have 
been  considered  far  from  a  joyful  event,  had 
they  not  known  that  Percy  Gordon,  already  a 
great  favorite  with  them  all,  had  yielded  to  the 
earnest  entreaty  of  Mr.  Neville,  and  promised 
that  his  home,  should  also  be  the  home  of  him- 
self and  Agnes,  when  she  became  his  wife. 


THE  REALITA^ 

Grace  Greenwood  found  nothing  of  romance 
in  the  celebrated  Vale  of  Avoca.  "I  looked  in 
vain,"  she  says,  "in  the  little  streams  Avonmore 
and  Avonberg,  in  their  wedding  at  Castle  How- 
ard, and  in  their  subsequent  twoinoneness,  their 
slow,  sedate,  matrimonial  on-flow,  as  the  Avoca, 
for  that  '  purest  of  crystal'  which  gleams  in  the 
song — the  poet's  words  have  a  more  silvery  low- 
ing than  these  waters,  and  this  valley's  'bright- 
est of  green '  is  surpassed  by  the  verdancy  of  the 
romantic  tourist  who  comes  hither  hoping  to  he- 
hold  a  picture  of  entrancing  loveliness,  which 
was  'all  in  the  eye'  of  the  melodist.  The  cur- 
rent of  the  Avoca  is  evidently  discolored  by  the 
copper  mines  worked  on  its  banks,  most  unpoetic 
and  unlooked  for  adjuncts  to  that  '  scene  of  en- 
chantment.' Yet,  believe  me,  I  felt  a  deeper 
pleasure  in  seeing  the  poor  countrymen  of  the 
poet  earning  an  honest  livelihood  by  mining  in 
those  beautiful  hills — rude  avocation  for  the 
*  Sweet  Vale  of  Avoca ' — than  I  could  have 
known  in  the  perfect  realization  of  his  most 
exquisite  dreams." — Artlni/s  Home  GozMe, 


TRUE  GREATXESS. 

Were  angels,  if  they  look  into  the  ways  of 
men,  to  give  in  their  catalogue  of  worthies,  how 
different  would  it  be  from  that  which  any  of  our 
species  would  draw  up  !  We  are  dazzled  with 
the  splendor  of  titles,  the  ostentation  of  learning, 
the  noise  of  victories :  they,  on  the  contraiy,  see 
the  philosopher  in  the  cottage,  who  possesses 
his  soul  iu  patience  and  thankfulness  under  the 
pressure  of  what  little  minds  call  poverty  and 
distress.  The  evening's  walk  of  a  wise  man  is 
more  illustrious  in  their  sight  than  the  march  of 
a  general  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  thousand 
men.  A  contemplaiioa  of  God's  work,  a  gener- 
ous concern  for  the  good  of  mankind,  and  un- 
feigned exercise  of  humility,  only  constitute  meii 
great  and  glorious. — Exchange. 


COMPOSITION  OF  THE  flIOON. 

Every  object  on  the  surface  of  the  height  of 
one  hundred  feet  is  distinctly  seen  through  Lord 
Kosse's  telescope.  On  its  surface  are  craters  of 
extinct  volcanoes,  rocks  and  masses  of  stone  al- 
most innumerable.  But  there  are  no  signs  of 
habitations  such  as  ours,  no  vestige  of  architec- 
tural remains  to  show  that  the  moon  is  or  ever 
was  inhabited  by  a  race  of  mortals  similar  to 
ourselves.  No  water  is  visible,  no  sea,  no  river 
— ^all  seems  desolate. — London  Glohtt. 


For  nought  so  vile  that  on  the  e-arth  doth  live, 
But  to  the  earth  some  fpccial  good  doth  give. 

Sluxlispeare 


412 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


A  BEAUTIfUI,  EEPRESENTATION  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  TKEE. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   COMPANION 


^^P?^^- 


FREDERICK    GLEASON,   Proprietor. 


MATURIN    M.    BALLOTJ,    Editor. 


CONTENTS  OF  OUK  NKXT  NUMKER. 

"  The  TouDg  Wife  :  or  Spending  and  Earning,"  a  story 
by  Alice  B  Neal. 

"  Stories  of  Gods  and  Goddesses,"  No.  I.  The  Golden 
Fleece  (illustrated),  by  T.  BuLFiNcn. 

*'  A  Gleam  of  Sunshine  :  or  the  Path  of  a  Money  Lend- 
er," a  story  by  T.  i^.  Artbub. 

"  Waifs  from  Washington,"   No.   I,  by  Ben:  Perley 

POORE. 

"  Rosalthe ;  or  the  Pioneers  of  Kentucky,"  being  the 
first  chapters  of  an  interesting  tale  of  western  life,  by  Dr. 

J.  U    llOBINSON. 

"  A  Visit  to  the  Churchyard  where  Gray  composed  his 
Elegy,"  verses  by  Mrs.  L.  II.  Scgourset. 

"  A   Flawed    Statue,"  poem  by  T.  Buchanan  Head. 

"Old  Father  Time,"  lines  by  Maturin  M.  Balloc. 

"  Charity."  poem  by  Augustine  J.  H.  Duqan>'e. 

"  A  New  Tear's  Carol,"  by  Francis  A.  Ddrivage. 

"  InTocation,"  by  Ellen  Louise  Chandler. 

'  Hymn  to  the  Hopeful,"  by  Phiebe  Carey. 

"  Voice  of  One  Departed,"  by  Alice  Carey. 

"Retro.'tpection."  lines  by  Mrs.  M.  W,  Curtis. 

"  Reciprocity,"  verses  bv  J-  Hunt.  Jr. 

"  The  First  Gray  Hair,"  lines  by  Caroline  A.  Hatdsn. 

"  Identity,"  poem  by  Nealb  Bernard. 

ILLVSTBATIONS. 

A  fine  allegorical  picture,  by  Billinps.  representing  the 
New  Year.  Old  Winter  is  seen  bringing  forth  the  young 
year,  1853,  in  his  arms,  accompanied  by  the  seasons- 
Spring,  Summer  and  Autumn— while  the  Old  Tear,  1852, 
all  hoary  and  gray,  is  silently  marching  away  into  the 
forgotten  past. 

Types  of  the  Mind — illustrated.  This  will  form  a  whole 
page  of  the  Pictorial,  and  is  the  commencement  of  a  series 
of  elegant  and  peculiar  illustrations,  giving  the  hkenesses, 
with  a  brief  note  of  the  handwriting,  and  the  tomb,  or 
otherwise,  of  eminent  characters.  Number  one — which 
will  be  in  our  next  number,  the  first  of  the  volume — illus- 
trates the  earliest  mode  of  writing  by  hieroglyphics,  the 
mode  of  the  Egyptians  and  Hebrews,  Indian  autographs, 
and,  finally,  the  signatures  of  Napoleon  at  the  various  pe- 
riods of  his  life.  This  is  an  entirely  new  and  original 
feature  of  the  Pictorial. 

Illustrations  of  the  ancient  mythological  story  of  the 
Golden  Fleece ;  a  very  interesting  picture,  illustrating  Mr. 
Bulfinch's  sketches  of  the  gods  and  goddesses,  commenced 
in  the  new  volume. 

A  most  seasonable  picture,  representing  a  sleighing 
scene  in  Russia,  peculiar  and  national. 

A  fine,  brilliant  picture,  representing  the  late  Count 
d'Orsay  mounted  upon  a  favorite  horse. 

A  very  artistic  picture,  drawn  by  Devereux,  called  Old 
Mortality,  being  a  copy  of  the  piece  of  sculpture  thus  en- 
titled, cut  by  Mr.  Thom,  in  Scotland,  and  now  in  Laurel 
'Hill  Cemetery,  near  Philadelphia. 

We  shall  present  our  readers  with  a  large,  full  page  pic- 
ture, drawn  for  us  by  Mr.  Wade,  of  New  Tork,  represent- 
ing the  New  Tork  American  Crystal' Palace.  One  of  the 
laigest  and  finest  pictures  we  have  yet  given  in  our  illus- 
trated paper. 

A  very  extraordinary  and  ingenious  puzzle  scene,  cover- 
ing an  entire  page,  will  he  given.  It  was  designed  aad 
drawn  for  us  by  Lieut.  King,  of  the  United  States  Reve- 
nue Service,  and  will  form  a  puzzle  to  occupy  these  long 
■winter  evenings.  The  key  to  unlock  its  myutery  %Till  be 
given  in  the  second  number  of  the  new  volume. 

A  fine  allegorical  picture  of  January  mil  be  presented, 
characteristic  and  appropriate  for  the  season. 

A  view  of  the  n'estern  Military  Institute  at  Drennen 
Springs,  Kentucky,  drawn  for  us  by  Mr.  Rowse. 


"  The  AaiERiCAN  Union." — The  Americaa 
Union,  published  by  R.  B.  Fitts  &  Co.,  Boston, 
has  recently  commenced  a  new  volume  with 
new  headings  and  a  complete  suit  of  new  type 
throughout.  This  paper  is  elegantly  printed, 
and  exceedingly  well  "  made  up,"  its  peculiar 
features  being  the  publication  of  short  domestic 
stories,  and  a  great  variety  of  contents,  making 
it  especially  a  choice  national  family  newspaper. 
It  is  ably  edited  by  our  esteemed  friend,  William 
E.  Graves,  Esq.,  and,  under  the  good  business 
management  of  its  publishers,  cannot  fail  to 
maintain  its  present  wide  and  constantly  increas- 
ing popularity.   Terms,  $2  00  a  year,  in  advance. 


BINDING  THE  PICTORIAL. 

We  are  now  prepared  to  bind  the  volume  of 
the  Pictorial  just  completed,  in  our  beautiful 
style,  gilt  edges,  gilt  back,  and  illumined  covers, 
adding  a  new  and  very  beautiful  title-page  and 
index,  all  for  the  low  price  of  one  dollar  each. 
We  can  supply  any  and  all  back  numbers  that 
may  be  wanted  to  complete  sets,  at  sir  cents  each. 
Those  who  wish  to  preserve  the  past  volume  in 
perfect  style,  have  now  an  opportunity  to  do  so, 
by  applying  at  our  office. 


Gleason's  Pictorial  is  the  only  illustrated  paper  wor- 
thy of  the  name,  in  the  Unitfd  ■'tates.  In  its  artistic  de- 
partment, the  judicious  liberality  of  the  publisherisabun- 
dantly  exhibited  ;  and  the  literary  portion  is  not  suffered 
to  flag  for  want  of  proper  attention — Heading  GazelU. 


MosiCAL.— Paul  Julien,  the  violinist,  has 
been  offered  $20,000  and  expenses  for  two 
years*  services. 


Frail. — Two  or  three  more  sham  built  houses 
have  tumbled  down  in  New  York  city. 


CLOSE  OF  THE  VOLU3IE. 

We  had  prepared  a  leading  ariicle,  relating 
to  the  close  of  the  volume  and  of  the  year,  but 
want  of  room  compels  us  to  omit  it.  We  need 
hardly  tell  our  readers  that  this  is  Xh^last  number 
of  the  third  volume,  and  yet,  owing  to  our  doing 
our  business  strictly  on  the  cash  principle,  it  is 
very  important  that  this  fact  should  be  remem- 
bered, since  all  subscriptions  are  stopped  at  the 
expiration  of  the  time  paid  for,  and  no  papers 
sent  until  the  subscription  is  paid  and  thus  re- 
newed. We  trust  that  our  readers  will  bear  in 
mind  the  importance  of  at  once  renewing  their 
subscriptions,  then,  and  thus  secure  a  prompt  re- 
ceipt of  the  paper,  without  even  a  week's  delay. 
This,  we  think,  will  be  more  particularly  desira- 
ble to  them,  from  the  fact  that  number  one  of  the 
new  volume  will  commence  some  new  and  novel 
features,  of  great  beauty  and  interest,  which  we 
cannot  find  space  to  mention  in  detail. 

Among  others  is  a  very  curious  and  elaborate 
picture,  designed  by  Lieutenant  C.  W.  King,  of 
the  U.  S.  revenue  service,  and  is  really  a  great 
curiosity.  It  will  cover  one  entire  page  of  the 
Pictorial,  and  embrace  in  its  design  some  five 
hundred  objects,  each  of  which,  by  turning  or 
reversing,  is  made  to  form  parts  or  the  whole  of 
another  subject,  thus  making  it  a  most  curious 
and  puzzling  study.  Held  in  one  position  the 
figures  will  form  perfect  elephants,  ships,  faces, 
birds,  railroad  trains,  rebusses,  allegorical  writ- 
ing, curious  mechanical  designs  ;  reversed,  all 
these  designs  will  make  very  different  objects, 
and  yet  quite  as  perfect  and  apparent,  forming 
altogether  a  miraculous  picture.  Any  person 
who  shall  write  us  out  the  key  to  it  shall  receive 
the  Pictorial  gratis  for  one  year.  In  our  second 
number,  however,  we  shall  explain  the  ingenious 
production.  It  is  peculiarly  appropriate  for  the 
holidays,  and  will  form  a  source  of  great  amuse- 
ment for  the  winter  evenings. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE. 

We  present  on  page  412  a  large  and  verv  fine- 
ly-executed picture  for  Merry  Christmas,  a  picture 
in  which  the  juvenile  portion  of  our  readers  will 
find  unusual  interest  and  pleasure.  Already  is 
the  annual  Christmas  Tree  established  as  one  of 
the  household  gods  of  New  England  and  a  large 
portion  of  the  States.  Its  story  and  significance 
is  known  to  our  most  youthful  readers ;  and  in 
the  picture  which  we  present,  many  will  recog- 
nize a  strong  likeness  to  the  very  same  one  which 
graced  the  parlor  of  their  own.  home  this  same 
joyous  Christmas  of  December,  1852.  But  par- 
ticularly is  this  ceremony  and  symbol  observed 
throughout  Germany,  a  custom  consecrated  by 
ages,  and  contributing  vastly  to  domestic  joy. 


THIRD  VOIAT3IE  BOUND. 

We  have  the  third  volume  of  the  Pictorial  now 
bound  and  for  sale,  in  our  usual  style;  with  gilt 
edges,  gilt  back,  and  illumined  sides,  with  a  new 
and  original  title  page  and  index,  for  S3  each. 
It  forms  a  most  elegant  book  for  the  centre-table, 
and  comprises  an  immense  fund  of  entertaining 
and  instructive  matter,  with  nearly  one  thousand 
fine  engravings.  The  Pictorial  is  too  well  known 
to  require  an  elaborate  reference  in  this  connec- 
tion. For  sale  at  all  the  periodical  depots.  A 
more  appropriate  present  than  this  volume  makes, 
as  a  New  Year's  gift,  could  hardly  be  found,  so 
intrinsically  valuable  as  well  as  ornamental. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNION. 

On  the  first  of  January,  we  shall  commence 
Volume  VIII  of  the  Flag  of  our  Union,  with  a 
new  lieading,  numerous  elegant  improvements, 
a  new  and  beautiful  suit  of  type,  and  new  designs 
throughout.  This  long-established  and  favorite 
paper  will  continue  its  present  popular  course, 
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"  The  Mameluke  :  or,  TJie  Sign  of  the  Mys- 
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bookstores  throughout  the  country.  It  is  one  of 
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Webster. — Nearly  $20,000  have  been  raised 
in  Boston  towards  a  monument  for  Webster. 


Personal. — Ole  Bull,  the  violinist,  is  aged 
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1853. 
GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL 

YOL.  lY. 

NEW   TYPE,  NEW  HEADING  AND 
SPLENDID     IMPROVEMENTS, 

IN  EVERT  DEPARTMENT. 

GREAT   REDUCTION   OF    PRICE! 

Determined  to  commence  the  year  1853  with 


100,000 ! 


circulation,  we  have  resolved  to  reduce  the  price 
of  our  paper  on  the  1st  of  January,  to  such 
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ing this  immense  edition. 

Fully  realizing  the  spirit  of  the  age,  the  great 
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ing intelligence  of  the  people,  we  shall  with  this 
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miums of  praise  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  it, 
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In  short,  the  whole  paper  will  be  far  superior  to 
anything  we  have  heretofore  given  to  the  public. 

By  reference  to  our  columns,  it  will  be  seen 
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and  shall  continue  to  do  so.  Among  them  are 
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no  eulogium  from  us. 

Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens, 

Mrs.  L.  H.  SlQOURNEt, 

Mrs.  Alice  E.  Neal, 
Miss  PucEDE  Caeet, 
Mis3  Alice  Caret, 
Mrs.  Caroline  Orne, 
Miss  Akne  T.  Wilbdr, 
Mrs.  S.  P.  DoncHTY, 
Mrs.  C.  A.  Hayden, 
Mrs  R  T.  Eldredge, 
Mrs.  E.  R.  B.  Waldo, 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


Rev.  H.  IlASTiNGa  Weld, 
Henry  Wm.  Herbert, 
T.  Buchanan  Read, 
T.  S.  Artbur, 
A.  J.  H.  Ddganke, 
Epes  Sargent, 
George  W.  Dewey, 
rR.A.NCI3  A.  Ddhitaoe, 
Park  Benjamin, 
Dr.  J.  V.  C.  Smith, 
Ben:  Perley  Poore, 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


These  are  but  a  few  of  the  names  actually 
engaged  upon  and  now  contributing  to  the  Picto- 
rial, and  we  respectfully  call  the  attention  of  our 
readers  to  the  fact,  that  never  was  such  an  array 
of  literary  talent  engaged  upon  any  newspaper 
establishment  in  this  country.  But  our  aim  is 
upward  and  onward,  and  our  readers  and  sub- 
scribers must  reap  the  benefit. 

In  pursuance  of  the  plan  we  have  sketched 
above,  we  offer  the  Pictorial  at  the  following 
greatly 

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One  copy  of  the  Pictorial  and  one  copy  o 
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TO  CLuns— 

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John  G.  Saxe,  Esq. — We  were  favored  with 
a  call  from  this  poet  wit,  a  day  or  two  since,  and 
were  rejoiced  to  find  him  quite  recovered  from 
liis  late  serious  indisposition.  To  know  Mr. 
Saxe,  is  to  love  him  for  his  genial  spirit  and 
true  manliness. 


Clubs. — Let  the  reader  observe  our  club  terms 
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be  remembered,  since  the  new  law,  is  only  one 
half  a  cent  to  any  part  of  the  United  States. 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  J.  I.  T.  Coolidge,  Mr.  Henry  P- 
Henshaw  to  Miss  Jane  F.  Jameson. 

By  Rtiv.  D.  P.  Cilley,  Mr.  Edward  A.  Emmons  to  Miss 
Almira  R.  Emmons,  both  of  Georgetown,  Me. 

By  Rev.  A.  S.  Francis,  Mr.  Thomas  S.  Qayton  to  Miss 
Charlottti  Ann  Elallock,  both  of  New  York. 

Mr,  GrifRth  Stackhouse  to  Miss  Jessie  Buist ;  Mr  Addi- 
son Swallow  to  Mips  Sarah  C.  Seavey  ;  Stillman  M.  Pratt 
E^q.,  to  Miss  Harriet  Bancroft,  both  of  Reading;  Mr.  Wil- 
liam R.  Bowen  to  Miss  Hannah  Goldthwait. 

At  South  Boston,  Mr.  Lucius  H.  Welbridce  to  Miss 
Mary  E.  Dunn. 

At  Charlestown,  Mr.  E.  R.  Chandler,  of  Boston,  to  Miss 
E.  S.  Downing.  ' 

At  Roxbury,  Mr.  Horace  Lathrop,  of  Boston,  to  Misa 
Carohne  Field  ;  Mr.  Alfred  Ritchie  to  Miss  Catherine  Rien 

At  Dorchester,  Mr.  John  F.  Chase,  of  Boston,  to  Misa 
Sarah  E.  Douglass. 

At  Jamaica  Pluin,  Mr.  I.  Edwin  Morrison,  of  Boston,  to 
alxss  S.  M.  Marble. 

At  Medford,  Mr.  John  H.  Haskell  to  Sliss  Sarah  E.  Cut- 
ler, of  East  Boston  ;  Mr.  George  C.  Herrey  to  Miss  Azubah 
nimoall. 

iit**;^?°°J^^f,-.^^^'=  ^-  Roberts  to  Miss  Harriet  Stanley : 
Mr.  Robert  Collins  to  Miss  Abigail  T.  Curtis  ■  Mr  Eben- 
ezer  Beckford  to  Miss  Hannah  M.  Clarrage :  Mr.  Michael 
Kelley  to  Miss  Esther  Josselyn 

At  Ossipee,  N- H.,  by  Itev.  William  Wood,  Mr.  William 
a.  Uiliman  to  Miss  Roxanna  Roles. 

At  Chnton  Furnace,  Scioto  county,  Ohio,  by  Rev  S 
Parker  Cummins,  Mr.  Wesley  Crandall.  of  Empire  Fur- 
nace, to  Miss  Nancy  AUce  Glidden.  ' 


In  this  city,  Jabez  Bullard,  Esq.,  79;  Mrs.  Mary  Ann 
Greene.  33;  Mips  Elizabeth  Stow  Beal,  14;  Mr.  Rodney 
Clement,  50;  Miss  Frances  T.  Humphrey,  15;  George 
Augustus  Buffington,  5  mos.;  Frances  Ann  Marshall,  4 ; 
Albert  Edwards  Stanwood,  5. 

At  South  Bostrn,  Mrs.  Mary  Harris,  77. 

At  Roxbury,  Mrs.  Abigail  B.  Gardner,  46. 

At  Dorchester,  Mr.  Jason  Clap,  79. 

At  West  Cambridge,  Mr.  John  Frost,  67. 

At  Medford,  Mrs.  Peggy  Watts,  7". 

At  Waltbam,  Anna  Tilden,  21  mos. 

At  Newton  Lower  Falls,  Mrs.  Eunice  Daniell,  82. 

At  Salem,  Mrs,  Elizabeth  Coombs,  75. 

At  Meilway,  Mrs.  Clara  Hunt,  69. 

At  Dedham,  Hon.  William  Ellis,  72. 

At  BcTerly,  Mr.  James  Masury,  35. 

At  Cohasset,  Mrs.  Betsey  Stockbridge,  81. 

At  Hingbam,  Mr.  Edward  Wilder,  71. 

At  Lowell,  Mr,  Charles  Bent,  (2. 

At  Worcester,  Mr.  Joseph  Griggs,  66. 

At  Tewksbury,  Mr  Edward  Wood,  82. 

At  Newbury,  Mr.  Richard  Plumer,  SO, 

At  Haverhill,  Mr.  Amos  B.  Chase,  64. 

At  Berlin,  Mrs.  Mary  A  Thurston,  25. 

At  Pawtucket,  Deacon  Stephen  Fisk  69. 

At  Ilallowell,  Me.,  Oapt.  Obadiah  Albee,  86. 

At  East  Jaffrey,  N.  H.,  Mrs.  Susan  M.  Johnson  37 

At  Surrj',  N.  H  ,  Mrs.  Rachel  Allen,  91.  '      ' 

At  New  Jork,  Mr.  Isaac  T.  Thayer  36. 

At  Ghent,  N.  \  ,  Mrs.  Eunice  Macy  72. 

At  New  Orleans,  Mrs.  ComeUa  L.  Taylor  45. 


Ik  m%mmm  mmmiMi 


LITERAKY  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 


GLEASON'S    PICTOEIAL 

A  Hccord  of  the  beautiful  and  useful  in  Art. 

The  object  of  this  paper  is  to  present,  in  the  most  elegant 
and  available  form,  a  weekly  literary  melange  of  notable 
events  of  the  day.  Its  colimnis  are  devoted  to  original 
tales,  sketches  and  poems,  by  the 

BEST  AMEEUCAN  AUTHORS, 

and  the  cream  of  the  domestic  and  foreign  news ;  the  whole 
■well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor.     Each  paper  is 

BEAUTIFULLY    ILLUSTRATED 

with  numerous  accurate  engravings,  by  eminent  artists,  ol 
notiible  objects,  current  events  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  of  men  and  manners,  altogether  making  a  paper  en- 
tirely original  in  its  design,  in  this  country.  Its  pages 
contain  views  of  every  populous  city  in  the  known  world, 
of  all  buildings  of  note  in  the  eastern  or  western  hemi- 
sphere, of  all  the  principal  ships  and  steamers  of  the  navy 
and  merchant  service,  with  fine  and  accurate  portraits  of 
every  noted  character  in  the  world,  both  male  and  female- 
Sketches  of  beautiful  scenery,  taken  from  life,  will  also  be 
given,  with  numerous  spechuens  from  the  animal  liing- 
doni,  the  birds  of  the  air,  aud  the  fi.sh  of  tho  sea.  It  is 
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and  beautiful  type,  manufactured  expressly  for  It, — pre- 
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ilIu.strations — a  mammoth  weekly  paper  of  sixteen  octavo 
pages.     It  forms 

The  Best  Family  Paper, 

inasmuch  as  its  aim  is  constantly,  in  connection  with  the 
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that  is  evil  in  its  tendency.  In  short,  tho  object  is  to 
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combined  excellencies, 

TERMS:    $2  00    PER    VOLTTME. 

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Published  every  S.worday,  by 

F.   GLEASON,  Boston,  M.A.SS. 

WHOLESALE    AGENTC. 

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A.  \V1NCH,  116  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
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GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING    ROOM    COMPANKm. 


[Written  for  aiuaHOn'H  Pictorial.] 
RHYME  OF  THE  AUTU3IN  RAIN. 


BT     ALIOS     OARKT. 

When  tlie  wind  shall  como  nRain, 

Tlio  Inst  loaHut  wiU  bn  clolt 
rrnm  the  bougli  thiit  cliiit'oH  the  pano — 

Only  two  of  UH  tiro  left. 
Two  of  U8  to  fliuila  or  wwop, 
All  the  otUora  aro  osleop. 

Ah,  the  winds  more  softly  blow, 
I3ut  th(!  wild  raiu  falls  instoatl ; 

And  thti  liLst  uiid  leaf  niutit  go  : 
All  itfl  pretty  mates  are  dead. 

So  T  Kit  in  muainy  sad, 

Of  the  mates  that  I  have  had. 

And  the  while  I  make  my  rhyme,?, 

llarking  to  the  dim  rain  f.iU, 
In  between  my  dreamp,  aomotimfis, 

Thoy  come  i^miling,  one  and  all. 
They  of  whom  wc  are  beroft — 
Only  two  of  us  uro  left- 
Many  a  time  wo  lay  across 

Ueda  of  eoft<'.st,  whitest  dowu. 
As  it  made  the  low  roof  mos3 

lireen  upon  a  ground  of  brown. 
Thoy  who  close  beside  me  lay 
Do  not  hoar  the  rain  to-day. 

«   ^a**    > 

[Written  for  Gieason's  Pictorial.] 

THE  UNIVERSAL  GENIUS. 

BT   UR.   J.    H.   KOBINSOIT. 

Frank  Hazard  was  a  universal  genius;  he 
coald  "  turn  his  hand  to  everything."  His  ge- 
nius began  to  manifest  itself  at  a  very  early  pe- 
riod of  life.  When  he  was  but  two  years  of 
age,  his  little  brother,  a  year  his  junior,  in  a  sud- 
den fit  of  philosophical  inquiry,  or  mental  ab- 
straction, thrust  one  of  his  hands  into  his — 
Frank's — mouth  when  the  latter  closed  upon  it 
like  a  turtle,  wounding  it  severely;  upon  which 
occasion  his  worthy  mother  remarked  that 
Frank  was  an  uncommon  child. 

"When  he  got  old  enough  to  worry  the  other 
children  with  a  whip,  the  good  lady  knew  he 
would  be  a  famous  wagoner,  in  nowise  inferior, 
perhaps,  to  Daniel  Morgan  himself.  When  he 
began  to  sail  miniature  ships  upon  the  adjacent 
frog-pond,  his  mother  was  certain  he  would 
take  to  the  sea.  When  he  made  himself  uncom- 
monly busy  in  cutting  and  hacking  the  peach- 
trees  most  cruelly  with  his  hatchet,  she  prophe- 
sied that  he  was  destined  for  a  ship-builder. 
When  he  knelt  down,  after  family  worship,  and 
made  mock  prayers,  his  mother  said  he  was  no 
doubt  designed  by  nature  for  the  ministry ;  and 
when  he  played  "  soldier  "  with  the  boys,  it  was 
equally  certain  that  he  would  distinguish  himself 
in  the  military  line.  The  same  principle  was 
adhered  to,  when  he  constructed  cob-houses,  and 
indicated  the  extraordinary  bent  of  his  youthful 
mind  for  architecture. 

When  he  made  the  neighbors  unhappy  hj 
playing  upon  a  tin  pan,  and  keeping  a  running 
accompaniment  with  his  voice,  Mrs.  Hazard  felt 
greatly  comforted;  for  to  her  it  was  sufficient 
assurance  that  he  would  one  day  be  a  star  in  the 
musical  firmament,  and  equal,  if  not  surpass, 
Beethoven  and  other  celebrated  composers. 

On  one  occasion  when  he  made  charcoal  dia- 
grams of  rather  an  obscure  character  on  his 
mother's  newly  washed  floor,  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
sudden  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  "  that  the  bent 
of  his  genius  was  plainer  than  ever." 

So  it  will  be  seen  that  Frank's  (jenius  began  to 
display  itself  at  a  very  "tender  age;"  and  his 
shrewd  feminine  progenitor  was  the  first  one  to 
call  attention  to  its  unmistakeable  signs.  His 
genius  continued  to  "stick  out"  in  the  same 
wonderful  manner,  nntil  he  was  sixteen,  when  it 
was  thought  best  that  he  should  go  to  the  L— — • 
Academy,  to  be  "  fitted  for  college."  He  attend- 
ed that  institution  of  learning  just  one  week,  in 
which  time  he  made  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in 
school,  and  discovered  that  "  study  did  not  ajree 
with  him."  His  expansive  mind  could  not  bear 
to  concentrate  itself  upon  one  subject;  no,  its  ge- 
nius must  not  be  curbed;  it  must  scintillate  in 
all  directions,  and  be  a  universal  light  to  the 
world  in  general. 

And  then  his  discreet  mother  remembered  that 
all  truly  great  men  which  this  or  an^"^  other  coun- 
try had  ever  produced,  had  detested  study  when 
they  were  young,  and  shrank  instinctively  from 
tlie  pedagogue's  hard  requirements, 

Frank  was  now  allowed  to  iiave  liis  own  way 
for  a  time,  and  was  the  acknowledged  "genius" 
of  the  family.  At  length  his  father  concluded 
L  uit  he  had  better  "  learn  some  kind  of  a  trade," 


and  ho  was  duly  apprenticed  to  a  cabinet  maker. 
He  worked  just  a  day  and  two  thirds,  and  a])- 
pcai'cd  at  the  supper  table  of  the  paternal  man- 
sion on  the  evening  of  the  second. 

Tiic  fact  was,  liis  *'  constitution  was  not  strong 
enough"  for  that  kind  of  business,  and  Mrs. 
Hazard  asserted  "  that  she  knew  it  wasn't  all  the 
time;"  moreover,  Frank's  genius  did  not  run  in 
that  direction.  He  was  "  cnl  out  for  sometliing 
better ;  perhaps  he  was  destined  by  an  inscrutable 
Providence  to  honor  one,  or  more,  of  the  leai'ucd 
professions !" 

But  Mr.  Hazard  doubted  whether  Frank  had 
learning  enough  for  that;  to  which  his  loving 
spouse  replied  that  he  was  such  an  uncommon 
young  man,  he  would  succeed  in  anything  he 
should  give  his  attention  to;  and  to  prove  this 
idea,  Mrs.  Hazard  cited  to  him  the  singular  fact 
that  Frank  began  to  wear  stand-np  dickeys  when 
he  was  but  fourteen  years  of  age  ! 

During  his  seventeenth  year,  Frank  "  went  a 
courting"  quite  extensively;  and  it  was  reported 
at  one  time  that  he  was  positively  "  engaged  "  to 
no  less  than  four  very  young  ladies  in  the  imme- 
diate neighborliood.  It  was  also  rumored,  in 
addition  to  this,  that  he  had  addressed  many  lines 
of  the  most  heart-rending  poetry  to  seven  or 
eight  more  young  misses,  who  were  not  yet  fairly 
emancipated  from  short  clothes. 

When  Mrs.  Hazard  heard  rumors  of  this  kind, 
she  usually'  remarked  "  that  he  was  just  such  an- 
other eccentric  genius  as  Robert  Burns."  Sud- 
denly Frank  took  it  into  his  head  to  go  to  sea; 
but  to  this  his  mother  made  some  objections, 
and  so  he  "ran  away  between  two  days "  and 
shipped  aboard  of  a  schooner  bound  to  New 
York  with  a  load  of  potatoes.  He  was  absent 
from  his  place  at  the  table  at  home  much  longer 
than  he  was  ever  known  to  be  before,  for  he  was 
gone  a  fortnight.  He  left  the  schooner  at  New 
York  "without  leave  or  license,"  took  the  cars 
and  came  directly  home,  firm  in  the  conviction 
that  the  sea  did  not  "  agree  with  him,"  and  that 
"  sea  captains  lacked  refinement  and  humanity." 

Frank  Hazard,  after  considerable  reflection, 
turned  his  attention  to  "civil  engineering."  In 
order  to  be  a  civil  engineer,  he  applied  himself 
to  close  study  for  three  days  and  two  evenings, 
at  the  expiration  of  which,  he  "made  up  his 
mind  that  it  was  not  a  profitable  kind  of  busi- 
ness." He  next  tried  landscape  painting,  and 
abandoned  it  because  he  "  could  not  bear  medi- 
ocrity in  anything  he  undertook.'^  If  he  did 
anything  in  that  line,  he  wanted  to  go  to  Italy, 
the  seat  of  the  fine  arts,  and  equal  the  old  mas- 
ters. He  also  gave  a  few  days'  attention  to  arch- 
itecture, and  found  that  it  was  not  "just  the 
cheese  "  for  a  man  of  his  capacity. 

He  would  have  launched  into  astronomy  full 
tilt,  but  he  observed  in  a  very  serious  way  :  "  that 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Newton,  that  would  certainly 
have  been  his  forte,  for  his  mind  always  had  a 
lofty  turn,"  but  said  Newton  had  left  but  little  to 
be  accomplished  in  that  field  of  labor — not 
enough  to  saiisfy  the  soaring  ambition  of  his 
intellectual  soul. 

As  for  geology,  it  was  of  a  too  low  a  character 
to  engage  his  serious  consideration  for  any  con- 
siderable length  of  time ;  moreover,  if  he  should 
write  a  work  on  that  subject,  he  might  be  both- 
ered to  get  a  publisher. 

The  next  step  in  Frank  Hazard's  meteoric  ca- 
reer was  law,  which  he  pursued  with  character- 
istic zeal  until  he  made  the  curious  discovery  that 
a  young  gentleman  so  conscientious  as  himself, 
could  not  consistently  practise  that  profession. 
Again,  it  was  not  always  lucrative,  and  he  had 
heard  that  some  lawyers  were  absolutely  obliged 
to  "  chase  rabbits  for  a  living." 

He  left  law  in  disgust.  Medicine  was  next  in 
the  order  of  progression.  He  read  three  chapters 
in  "  Wilson's  Anatomy,"  and  solemnly  declared 
that  the  English  language  had  been  tortured  out 
of  all  decency;  and  that  the  one  who  invented 
such  hard  words,  ought  to  have  been  transported 
for  life.  He  walked  out  of  the  office  of  Dr. 
Sawbones,  weeping  over  the  fall  of  man  from 
his  primitive  state  of  physical  and  mental  bliss  ; 
and  the  total  depravity  of  good  sense  in  works 
of  anatomy  in  general.  Medicine  was  too  dry  a 
study  for  him  \ 

Next  came  theology;  but  Frank  could  not  de- 
cide which  of  the  many  doctrines  prevalent  in 
the  world,  was  just  right.  He  took  half  a  day  to 
meditate  on  the  subject,  and  got  so  sadly  per- 
plexed, that  he  was  obliged  to  soak  his  head  in 
cold  water  for  several  hours  to  prevent  general 
wfurmotion  of  the  brain, 

lie  had  now  tried  about  everything,  and  was 
ready  to  "branch   out,"  to   u3e    his   mother's 


words,  and  apply  his  "universal  genius"  in  the 
best  way  he  could. 

When  Frank  had  recovered  a  little  from  his 
tlicologicul  shock,  he  condescended  to  try  ihc 
"  apothecary's  art;"  hut  the  first  prescription  ho 
was  trusted  to  put  up,  he  siq^plied  arsenic  for 
magnesia,  and  opium  for  gum  myrrh.  The 
mistake  was  discovered  just  in  time  to  save  the 
patient's  life — by  the  inlcrvcntion  of  a  stomach 
pump. 

To  a  md  .so  peculiarly  organized  as  Frank's, 
this  1'*'  Incident  was  enough  to  fill  his  bcnevo- 
h*^*'  with   horror.     He  took  a  solemn  fare- 

w  I  «  the  mortar  and  pestle,  and  earnestly  re- 
qtsst  ,x  his  mother  never  to  pound  salt  when  he 
was  in  the  house,  for  it  "revived  unpleasant 
reminiscences,"  The  valedictory  lines  which 
he  composed  at  that  crisis  in  his  eventful  career, 
are  not  nov/  extant,  hut  it  is  believed  that  they 
evinced  remarkable  genius,  even  for  him. 

He  succeeded  no  better  in  the  grocery  business, 
for  he  frequently  sent  table  salt  for  powdered 
sugar,  cream  of  tartar  for  soda,  pepper  for  all- 
spice, and  yellow  snuff  for  cinnamon,  which 
made  it  rather  bad  for  his  employer ;  consequent- 
ly he  was  discharg'ed  without  a  recommendation. 

Our  genius  now  "set  up  for  himself"  in  the 
dry  goods  ti'ade,  and  broke  down  at  the  end  of 
three  months,  in  debt  to  everybody  who  had 
trusted  him.  This  failure  he  attributed  to  his 
unwavering  honesty,  as  he  "  couldn't  bear  to 
take  advantage  of  people."  He  now  had  an  at- 
tack of  the  '*  California  fever,"  and  his  father 
fitted  him  out  to  go  to  that  region  of  wealth. 
After  he  was  in  readiness,  he  gave  up  the  idea 
entirely,  for  it  was  very  evident  that  a  man  of 
his  genius  ought  to  get  a  good  living  anywhere ; 
besides,  the  state  of  society  was  bad  in  California; 
people  had  to  work  hard  for  their  gold,  and  the 
climate  was  unhealthy. 

Thus  the  universal  genius  went  on  from  one 
thing  to  another,  succeeding  in  nothing,  just  be- 
cause he  was  "  not  appreciated."  He  got  mar- 
ried, after  many  failures;  but  did  not  "settle 
down,"  and  has  not  to  this  day.  Sometimes  he 
works  a  little  on  a  farm  ;  sometimes  he  does 
something  at  different  mechanical  trades;  then 
he  takes  up  with  some  new-fangled  notion,  and 
expects  to  make  a  fortune  in  a  few  months.  He 
labored  several  weeks  to  invent  "perpetual  mo- 
tion," and  came  "  very  near  "  succeeding  several 
times,  and  it's  a  wonder  that  he  hasn't  before 
now.  His  mother  is  at  present  the  only  one 
whose  faith  in  his  universal  genius  is  unshaken. 

How  these  important  fruits  of  his  genius  will 
afi'ect  mankind,  it  is  still  impossible  to  say.  We 
must  not  forget  to  add  that  Frank  has  peddled 
lightning  rods,  ear  trumpets,  green  spectacles, 
and  various  kinds  of  Yankee  notions  throughout 
the  section  of  the  country  where  he  resides ;  and 
he  was  forced  to  this  because  his  native  talent 
was  not  generally  recognized  by  the  masses. 
Frank  is  poor,  but  is  sanguine  in  his  faith  that 
he  shall  be  rich  before  he  dies.  He  says  that  he 
is  laboring  incessantly  for  humanity  with  his 
head,  even  when  his  hands  are  otherwise  em- 
ployed; and  many  folks  hint  that  more  real 
strain  comes  on  the  first-named  article  than  on 
the  second. 

What  Frank  Hazard  will  do  next  is  not  pre- 
cisely known  ;  but  it  will  certainly  be  something 
calculated  to  startle  the  world  out  of  its  long 
slumber. 


[Written  for  Oleaj^on'i*  PI«;torUl.] 
THE  KLIND    HOY'S    DUEAM. 


OT   MtUJ.    KARAIJ   B.   D.iWEH. 


[Written  for  Gleason'e  Pictorial.l 
FRIENDSHIP. 

BT    MRS.  R.  T.  ELDBEDGE. 

G  ive  me  a  friend  that  'a  kind  and  true, 

With  free  and  open  heart ; 
Who  ■wishes  me  life's  journey  through, 

To  ever  ehare  a  part, — 
In  every  .joy,  in  every  strife 

That  centres  in  hie  breast ; 
Through  every  varying  scene  of  life, 

I'd  deem  my  portion  blest! 

'T  is  sweet,  in  hours  of  untold  grief, 

To  know  one  steadfast  friL-nd 
Stands  near  to  offer  us  relief, 

And  friendship's  hand  extend  ! 
I  would  not  pnrt  with  friendship's  blisfl— 

'  Tis  neither  bought  nor  sold  ; 
True  friends  in  such  a  world  as  thifl, 

1  value  more  than  gold  ! 

If  you  put  on  a  proud  carriage,  people  will 
want  to  know  what  there  is  in  you  to  be  proud 
of.  And  it  is  ten  to  one  wlictber  they  value 
your  accomplishments  at  the  same  rate  as  you. 
And  the  higher  you  aspire,  they  will  be  the  more 
dchiious  to  mortify  you. 


"  0,  dearc-it  mother,  I  dre.-imed  lost  night, 
An  angel  came  all  whining  bright  \ 
And,  mother,  he  Btooped  to  kisa  my  brow; 
Methlnks  I  feel  hit)  warm  breath  now. 

"  Ife  Htood  bcHlde  my  little  bed. 
And  thus  to  me  the  angyj  nuiil : 

*  Blind  boy  of  eartli,  ijo  more  nhult  thou 
In  blindness  here  and  sorrow  bow. 

"  '  Kind  Heaven  liath  heard  thy  patient  sigh, 
And  bade  me  to  thy  prewnce  lly, 
And  t«ll  thee  how  tliose  sightless  eyes 
Shall  open  soon  in  yonder  skies. 

'  Dwelling  there,  sweet  visione  bright 
Shall  dawn  on  thy  enraptured  sight  j 
And  brighter  far  than  gcenee  below. 
Shall  heaven's  beauties  round  thee  glow. 

"  *  Then,  weep  no  moic,  blind  boy  of  earth, 
Thou  veiled  in  darkness  from  thy  birth  : 
Thou  ere  long  with  joy  ehiilt  find 
A  biiyaful  Jiome  where  none  are  blind.' 

"  .\nd,  mother,  I  seemed  to  hear  hi.g  wing 
Poaring  above  all  earthly  things  ; 
And,  0, 1  longed  with  him  to  fly 
To  that  bright  world  beyond  the  sky." 

Weeks  passed,  and  on  that  little  bed. 
The  blind  boy  laid  hie  dying  head; 
And  feebly  liapiug;  "  0,  how  bright!" 
His  spirit  winged  its  upward  flight. 

And  now  his  mother,  with  anxious  eye, 
Delights  to  gaze  on  the  evening  sliy, 
i'or  angel  voices,  tlien,  will  seem 
To  echo  still  her  blind  boy's  dream. 


cloak  than  courtesy  for  frnud  ? 

'  Earl  i\f  Stfrling. 


AMERICAN  BEAUTY. 

There  are  two  points  in  which  it  is  seldom 
equalled,  never  excelled — the  classic  chastenesa 
and  delicacy  of  the  features,  and  the  smallness 
and  exquisite  symmetry  of  the  extremities.  In 
the  latter  respect,  particularly,  the  American 
ladies  are  singularly  fortunate,  I  have  seldom 
seen  one,  delicately  brought  up,  who  had  not  a 
fine  hand.  The  feet  are  also  generally  very 
small  and  ex(juisitely  moulded,  particularly 
those  of  a  Maryland  girl;  who,  well  aware  of 
their  attractiveness,  has  a  thousand  little  co- 
quettish ways  of  her  own  of  temptingly  exhib- 
iting them.  That  in  which  the  American  wo- 
men arc  most  deficient  is  in  roundness  of  figure. 
But  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  well-rounded 
forms  are  not  to  be  found  in  America.  Whilst 
this  is  the  characteristic  of  English  beauty,  it  is 
not  so  prominent  afeatm-e  in  America.  In  New 
England,  in  the  mountainous  districts  of  Penn- 
sylvania and  Maryland,  and  in  the  central  val- 
ley of  Virginia,  the  female  form  is,  generally 
speaking,  as  well  rounded  and  developed  as  it  i's 
here;  whilst  a  New  England  complexion  is,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  a  match  for  an  English 
one.  This,  however,  cannot  be  said  of  the 
American  women  as  a  class.  They  are,  in  a 
majority  of  cases,  over  delicate  and  languid  ;  a 
defect  chiefly  superinduced  by  their  want  of  ex- 
ercise. An  E'.iglish  girl  will  go  through  as 
much  exercise  in  a  forenoon,  without  dreaming 
of  fatigue,  as  an  American  will  in  a  day,  and  be 
overcome  by  the  exertion.  It  is  also  true  that 
American  is  more  evanescent  than  English 
beauty,  particularly  in  the  south,  where  it  seems 
to  fade  ere  it  has  well  bloomed.  But  it  is  much 
more  lasting  in  the  north  and  north-east;  are- 
mark  which  will  apply  to  the  whole  region  north 
of  the  Potomac,  and  east  of  the  lakes ;  and  I 
have  known  instances  of  Pliiladelphia  beauty  as 
lovely  and  enduring  as  any  that  our  own  hardy 
climate  can  produce. — j\Iacl-ai/'s  Western  World, 


FLOWERS, 

How  the  universal  heart  of  man  blesses  flow- 
ers !  They  are  wreathed  round  the  cradle,  the 
marriage  altar,  and  the  tomb.  The  Persian  in 
the  far  east  delights  in  their  perfume,  and  writes  . 
his  love  in  nosegays,  while  the  Indian  child  of 
the  far  west  claps  his  hands  with  glee  as  he  gath- 
ers the  abundant  blossoms, — the  illuminated 
scriptures  of  the  prairies.  The  cupid  of  the  an- 
cient Hindoos  tipped  his  arrows  with  flowers, 
and  orange  flowers  are  a  bridal  crown  with  us,  a 
nation  of  yesterday.  Flowers  garlanded  ilie 
Grecian  altar,  and  hung  in  votive  wreaths  before 
the  Christian  shrine.  All  these  are  appropriate 
uses.  Flowers  should  deck  the  brow  of  the 
youthful  bride,  for  they  ai-e  in  themselves  a  lovely 
type  of  marriage.  They  should  twine  round  the 
tomb,  for  their  perpetually  renewed  beauty  is  a 
symbol  of  the  resurrection.  They  should  festoon 
the  altar,  for  their  fragrance  and  their  beauty 
ascend  in  perpetual  worship  before  the  Most 
High.— il/rs.  C/uid. 


FoRBV.ARANCE. — It  is  uot  SO  preat  matter  to 
live  lovingly  with  good-natured,  humble  and 
meek  persons;  hut  he  that  can  do  so  with  the 
immoral,  the  wilful  and  ignorant,  the  peevish 
and  perverse,  he  only  hath  true  charity;  always 
remembering  that  solid,  true  peace  of  God,  con- 
sists rather  in  being  complied  with  ;  in  sufl'ering 
and   forbearing,  rather  than  in  contention  and 

victory. 

■ — 1  * »^  > 

Books  are  leaves   thrown,  to  sink  or  swim, 

into   the  stream  of  time,  by  a  being  who  soon 

plunges  in  af.cr  iheni. 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM    COMPANION. 


■11 ; 


Gleason's  PrcTOKiAL  Drawing-Boom  Com- 
panion—puhMshcd  in  Boston,  Mnss., — will  com- 
mence, on  ihe  1st  of  January,  lSr)3,  a  new  vol- 
ume, being  Volume  IV  of  this  elegant  illumined 
journal.  It  will  appear  with  new  type,  new 
heading,  and  splendidly  improved  in  every  de- 
partment, besides  which,  ihe  price  is  to  be  great!.}/ 
reduced.  The  publisher  is  resolved  to  commence 
the  new  year  with  a  circulation  of  one  hundred 
thousand,  and,  therefore,  offers  the  most  liberal 
inducements  to  clubs.  Kealizing  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  the  great  improvement  in  art,  and  the 
constantly  increa&ing  intelligence  of  the  people, 
the  publisher,  with  this  change  of  prices,  will 
vastly  improve  his  already  splendidly  illustrated 
journal.  Especially  will  a  great  improvement 
be  manifested  in  the  engraving  department,  as 
well  as  the  literary  character  of  the  paper,  so 
that  the  Pictorial  shall  appear  in  a  style,  not  only 
to  merit  all  the  encomiums  of  praise  so  lavishly- 
bestowed  upon  it,  but  also  so  as  to  challenge  in- 
creased respect  for  its  enhanced  excellence  and 
perfection.  In  short,  the  whole  paper  will  be 
far  superior  to  anything  yet  offered  to  the  pub- 
lic by  the  publisher.  By  referring  to  the  follow- 
ing list,  which  forms  a  part  only  of  the  regular 
contributors  to  the  Pictorial,  its  high  literary 
character  will  at  once  be  understood. 


Mbs.  Ans  S.  Stephens, 
Mfb.  L.  H.  Sigofrxet, 
Mrs.  Alice  B,  Neal, 
Miss  Phoibe  Caret, 
Miss  Alice  Carev, 
Mks.  Carolise  Orne, 
Mies  AxxE  T.  IVilbcr, 
5I11S.  S.  P.  Doughty, 
Mita.  C.  A.  Havden, 
Mrs.  R.  T.  Elrredge, 
Mrs.  E.  U.  a.  ^Valdo, 

etc.,  etc.,  et( 


Kev.  H.  IIastisgs  AVeld, 

UeXRY   Wm    IfERBERT, 

C.  EuceANAN  Read, 
T.  S.  Arthur, 

1.  J.  H    DUGANNE, 

Epf,s  Sabgent, 

(jEORGE  TV.  DfiWET, 

fea^•cis  a.  doritage, 
Pare  Besjamin, 
Dr.  J.  V,  C.  SMint. 
Sex:  Perley  Poore, 

etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


The  following  are  the  terms  of  the  paper : — 
One  subscriber,  one  year,  S3  00  ;  t',vo  subscribers, 
S5  00  ;  four  subscribers,  89  00 ;  eight  subscribers, 
:?16  00.  The  paper  will  be  for  sale  at  all  the  pe- 
riodical depots  throughout  the  country,. after  the 
1st  of  January,  at  six  cents  per  copy. 

[E7"  Any  paper  inserting  the  above,  editorially, 
with  tliii  paragraph,  shall  receive  the  Pictorial 
one  year. 

PURE  AIR  IN  SCHOOLS. 

At  the  Kducational  Convention  in  Newark, 
N.  J.,  lately,  Dr.  Griscom,  of  New  Torb,  urged 
upon  school  committeemen  and  teachers  the  im- 
portance of  pure  air  for  scholars.  He  remarked 
that  it  would  astonish  some,  when  he  said  that 
respiration  was  the  last  act  of  digestion.  This 
act  oxydizes  and  decarbonizes  the  blood.  The 
want  of  fresh  and  pure  air  is  among  the  prime 
causes  of  mortality.  It  is  a  fact  that  half  the 
race  die  before  the  age  of  twenty-one.  The 
echool-room  and  dormitory  arc  changed  into 
abodes  of  death.  Fresh  air  is  deliberately  shut 
out,  and  foul  air — the  fell  minister  of  death- 
kept  in.  "When  will  due  attention  be  paid  to  the 
subject  of  ventilation  in  constructing  school- 
rooms, public  halls  and  dwelling-houses'? 


Mr.  Gleason  ajs'd  the  American  Artists.  -  The  artisfs 
of  the  TTDited  States  have  had  n  service  of  plate,  valutd 
at  SIOOO,  prepared  in  New  York,  for  preseo tuition  to  Mr. 
Gleason,  proprietor  of  "  The  Pictorial  Drawing- Ron)/t 
Com  pan  i  I'll  ^''''  for  his  encouragGinent  to  the  advancement 
of  science.  It  is  a  merited  tribute.  The  prcjector  of  the 
"Pictorial"  is  now  in  the  foremost  ranka  among  tbo.'-e 
whose  wealth  is  not  hoarded  with  a  miserly  grasp,  but  dis- 
tributed weekly  among  the  hundreds  of  artisans  and  me- 
chanics to  whom  his  enterprifc  affords  employment.  In 
bis  msgnilicentestabliehment  on  Tremout  Street,  Boston, 
employment  is  afforded  to  a  larpe  number  of  industrious 
citizens.  Every  room,  from  the  Cf  liar  to  the  attic,  is  occupi- 
ed with  an  appropriate  portion  of  the  business,  adapted  to 
its  location  and  size,  and  the  whole  establishment  presents 
a  s^ene  of  animation  and  industry.  The  basement  is  oc- 
cupied with  a  range  of  steam  prc>ses,  which  are  kept  con- 
Ftjiutly  at  work  priuting  the  Pictorial  Drawiag-Koovi 
Companion  and  the  Fifg  of  our  Union.  The  100ms  on  a 
level  with  the  street  are  cltgantly  fitted  up  for  sales-rooms, 
ware-roome,  counting-room,  etc.;  above,  are  the  composing 
looms,  engravers'  department?,  liodery,  etc  ,  occupjing 
and  filling  the  entire  building  formerly  known  as  the 
Montgomery  S-Ouae-^ LiUrnacionat  Journal. 


"  Mesioir  of  James  A  Cobb,  by  his  Mother." — 
We  have  received  from  the  authoress  this  little 
dewdrop  of  beauty.  It  is  a  most  charming  and 
delightful  Christmas  or  New  Tear's  gift  for  the 
young,  depicting  as  it  does  the  brief  career  of  a 
little  saint  who  died  at  the  age  of  nnie  years. 
No  Sunday  school  library  should  be  without  the 
memoir,  and  every  home  circle  would  find  a  hal- 
lowing influence  from  its  presence  and  perusal. 


A  TALI.  Refinery. — A  sugar-house,  nine  sto- 
ries high,  and  to  cost  $-300,000,  is  about  to  be 
erected  in  Laight  Street,  New  York. 


Musical— The  Mendelssohn  Quintette  Club 
have  again  commenced  their  attractive  concerts 
in  this  and  the  adjoining  ciiies. 


Personal. — G.  P.  II.  Jaraos,  the  novelist,  has 
been  recognized  by  the  President  as  British  Con- 
sul for  the  State  of  Virginia,  to  reside  at  Norfolk. 


lHajjsiire   ®atl)ering0. 

Prosperity  is  no  just  scale;  adversity  is  the 
only  balance  to  weigh  friends. 

Three  thousand  five  hundred  volumes  are  is- 
sued daily  by  the  American  Tract  Socieiy. 

The  town  of  Rutland,  Vermont,  is  said  to 
have  turned  out  a  million  dollars  worth  of  mar- 
ble the  past  year. 

A  cargo  of  S:600  bushels  of  superior  white  corn, 
from  North  Carolina,  was  sold  at  Norfolk,  Va., 
recently,  at  70  Cv-nts  per  bushel. 

Lamp  wick  soaked  for  a  quarter  of  ar  nr  in 
vintgar,  then  dried  before  being  put  into  ip, 

will  prevent  the  lamp  from  smoking. 

Lamartine  excuses  his  failure  in  politics  I    ti. 
fact  that  his  verses  were  so  well  known  that    Jth- 
ing  but  re-verses  could  increase  his  reputation. 

A  convention  of  editors  is  now  in  session  at 
Columbus,  S.  C.  The  object  of  the  convention 
is  the  adoption  of  a  fixed  system  of  prices. 

It  is  said  that  a  vigorous  attempt  will  be  made 
during  the  present  session  of  Congress,  to  pass 
the  bill  authorizing  the  payment  of  the  "French 
Claims." 

The  Charleston  Mercury,  one  of  the  most 
prominent  organs  of  the  late  secession  party, 
comes  out  strongly  against  the  annexation  of 
Cuba. 

The  Secretary  of  State,  Mr.  Everett,  is  nego- 
tiating with  the  British  minister  in  reference  to 
the  fishing  grounds  and  in  connection  with  reci- 
procity of  trade. 

A  project  is  on  foot  to  build  a  railroad  from 
Savannah  to  Pensacola,  which  it  is  estimated 
will  shorten  the  travel  between  New  York  and 
New  Orleans  to  four  days. 

The  British  North  American,  published  at 
Halifax,  comes  out  in  favor  of  a  union  of  the 
British  North  American  Provinces  and  the  island 
of  Jamaica  in  one  confedcra-^y. 

Counterfeit  threes  on  the  Tradesman's  Bank, 
Chelsea,  have  made  their  appearance.  The  gen- 
uine have  a  view  of  Chelsea,  which  is  not  on  the 
counterfeits. 

An  exchange  states  that  a  medicine,  "  war- 
ranted to  bring  the  hair  out,"  took  the  hair  all. 
out  of  a  gentleman's  head  at  Galena,  leaving  him 
entirely  bald. 

Mr.  Webster's  executors  have  given  notice 
that  they  will  publish  a  complete  edition  of  his 
works  as  soon  as  they  can  be  properly  prepared 
for  the  press. 

Mr.  Stone,  the  sculptor,  is  now  engaged  upon 
a  fine  marble  bust  of  President  Fillmore,  got  up 
by  the  senators,  and  to  l)e  placed  in  the  Presi- 
dential Mansion  or  "  White  House." 

Vicenza  Vichioni  was  tried  at  New  Orleans 
on  the  ISth  ult.,  for  the  murder  of  Manuel  Cu- 
tino,  in  January  last,  and  a  verdict  returned  by 
the  jury  of  "  guilty,  without  capital  punishment." 

The  work  upon  the"  important  light-house  at 
Sand  Key  will  be  resumed  in  January,  and  the 
appropriation  being  large,  and  the  materials  on 
the  spot,  it  is  confidently  expected  that  the  lan- 
tern will  be  lighted  on  the  1st  of  May. 

The  Methodist  Episcopal  Committee  of  New 
York  have  appropriated  $1^10,000  for  missions, 
of  which  the  Foreign  Missions  receive  S5n,000, 
Domestic  Missions  $144,000,  and  New  Missions 
$15,000. 

Twenty  millions  of  dollars  are  now  annually 
paid  by  the  United  States  to  Cuba  for  her  pro- 
ductions, and  of  this  only  about  six  millions  are 
paid  for  in  the  produce  of  this  country  and  goods; 
the  balance  in  specie  and  bills  on  London. 

Mr.  Flett,  clerk  at  Mr.  Magee's  shippers' press, 
in  Mobile,  committed  suicide  recently,  by  throw- 
ing himself  into  the  Alabama  river.  Depression 
of  spirits,  caused  by  ill  health,  is  said  to  have 
been  the  cause. 

William  Howard  has  been  convicted  in  La 
Grange,  Ky.,  of  a  murder  in  the  lirst  degree,  for 
stabbing  Henry  Dirohans.  A  motion  for  a  new 
trial  was  overruled.  Howard  was  sentenced  to 
be  hung  on  the  14th  of  January  cext. 

The  oldest  living  printer  in  the  United  States 
is  a  man  named  Carly,  in  Yorkville,  S.  C  He 
worked  with  Ben.  Russell  on  the  Boston  Centi- 
ncl,  over  half  a  century  ago,  and  he  yet  sets  type 
by  candle  light,  and  is  97  years  of  age.  Alas  ! 
poor  old  typo. 

The  Lowell  News  states  that  the  city  govern- 
ment of  Lowell  have  invited  the  Rev.  J.  H. 
Towne  (formerly  of  this  city)  to  deliver  a  eulogy 
on  the  life  and  character  of  the  Hon,  Daniel 
Webster,  in  April  next.  Mr.  Towne  has  accept- 
ed the  invitation. 

The  following  are  some  of  the  bills  paid  by  the 
city  government  of  New  York  for  the  mo'-k  fun- 
eral of  Henry  Clay.  For  decor^itiug  the  city 
hall,  S2547;  scaifs  for  marshals,  S940  for  under- 
takers, S14SI,  and  for  the  hoard  of  six  senators, 
three  days,  at  the  Irving  House,  82,161  75! 

The  Zanesville  (Ohio)  Gazette  notes  the  dis- 
covery on  the  line  of  the  Central  Ohio  Railroad, 
in  ihe  eastern  portion  of  that  city,  of  the  remains 
of  a  mastodon,  or  fossil  elephant,  apparently 
double  the  size  of  the  Asiatic  elephant.  The 
molar  teeth  were  sound  and  unbroken,  and  the 
two  largest  weighed  twenty  pounds  each. 

A  tragic  affair  occurred  near  Vicksburg,  be- 
tween Judge  James  and  Thomas  Carneal,  the 
former  being  fatally  stabbed  by  a  bowie  knife. 
The  son  of  Judge  James  then  f-hot  Carneal  dead. 
Sheriff  Ycager,  and  Roberts,  a  magistrate,  were 
also  wounded  whilst  endeavoring  to  stop  the 
affair.  Young  James  surrendered  himself  to  the 
authorities. 


JTorcign  iSIisrfillans. 

Mr.  Rives,  the  American  Minister  to  France, 
delivered  an  appropriate  eulogy  on  the  death  of 
Daniel  Webster. 

Louis  Napoleon  says  that  the  reason  that  he 
runs  in  debt  with  everybody,  is  because  he  wish- 
es to  gain  credit  with  all  classci;. 

So  many  young  men  have  emigrated  to  Aus- 
tralia from  England,  that  there  cannot  be  found 
sufficient  to  fill  the  vacancies  in  the  police. 

Very  high  floods  had  recently  occurred  in  the 
Tiiames,  Wye  and  other  rivers,  causing  much 
damage  to  property  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  Constitutionnel  newspaper  has  been  late- 
ly sold  to  the  proprietor  of  the  Payp,  and  the  two 
papers  are  to  be  amalgamated.  The  Constitu- 
tionnel had  about  42,000  subscribers, 

A  book  called  "British  Pomology"  has  ap- 
peared, contiining  a  description  of  942  kinds  of 
apples.  All  these  are  traceable  to  the  common 
crab. 

The  circulation  of  the  entire  daily  press  of 
Paris,  excepting  the  Moniteur,  the  official  organ 
of  the  government,  has  fallen  ofi'  some  65,000 
sheets  daily  under  the  reign  of  the  new  Napoleon. 

Tennyson's  "  Ode  on  the  Death  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington,"  written  in  his  capacity  of  "  Poet 
Laureate,"  is  severely  criticised  in  the  English 
papers.  It  is  undoubtedly  the  most  stupid  thing 
he  ever  wrote. 

A  line  of  steamers  is  projected  between  Bor- 
deaux, in  France,  and  the  Isthmus  of  Panama. 
A  conference  has  been  insiituted  at  Havre,  by 
the  minister  of  finance,  to  examine  and  discuss 
all  the  questions  relating  to  transatlantic  com- 
munication. 

Some  Christian  Jews  are  making  great  exer- 
tions to  promote  an  interest  in  agriculture  in  the 
vicinity  of  Jerusalem,  and  ihey  solicit  donations 
of  seeds,  plants  and  implements  from  the  United 
States.  Several  valuable  gifts  have  already  been 
sent  them. 

A  dreadful  accident  occun-ed  at  the  Arenes 
Kationales,  in  Pari^.  A  rope  on  which  two  rope 
dancers  v/ere  performing,  at  a  height  of  thirty 
yards,  suddenly  broke,  and  they  were  both  pre- 
cipitated to  the  ground  ;  one  was  killed  on  the 
spot,  and  the  other  was  so  dreadfully  injured 
that  he  died  an  hour  afcer. 

Lord  Byron's  grandson,  who  was  lately  ad- 
vertised in  the  London  Times  as  having  run 
away  from  his  parents,  has  been  recovered  by 
the  London  police,  in  Liverpool,  whither  he  had 
gone  to  ship  as  a  cabin  boy,  to  avoid  being  put 
on  board  of  a  man-in-war.  He  is  the  son  of 
Ada,  apostrophized  by  the  poet  as  "sole  daugh- 
ter of  my  bouse  and  heart." 


lobfs  SBuiiget. 


jSania  of  ©olir. 


....   When  one  wi/l  not,  two  cannot  quarrel. 

....   Woman  should  rule,  but  not  govern. 

....  That  is  a  base  and  narrow  mind  to  which 
suspicion  is  natural. 

....  Poeti-y  is  venerable  on  a  tombstone,  but 
shabby  on  the  man's  back. 

A  good  conscience  breeds  great  resolu- 
tion, and  an  innocent  soul  is  impregnable. 

....  Money  in  your  purse  will  credit  you — 
wisdom  in  your  head  adorn  you — but  both  in 
your  necessity  will  serve  you. 

....  When  onr  desires  are  fulfilled  to  the  very 
letter,  we  always  find  some  mistake  which  ren- 
ders them  anything  but  what  we  expected. 

....  Love  and  respect  are  rarely  found  in 
lost  fortune,  and  adversity  seldom  meets  with 
the  returns  of  friendship. 

....  Prodigals  may  be  compared  to  fig  trees 
growing  on  a  precipice,  whose  fruit  men  taste 
not,  but  crows  and  vultures  devour. 

....  Have  a  care  in  making  any  man  your 
friend  twice,  except  the  rupture  was  by  your  own 
mistake,  and  you  have  done  penance  for  it. 

....  Affection,  like  spring  Holers,  breaks 
through  the  most  frozen  ground  at  last ;  and  the 
heart  which  seeks  but  another  heart  to  make  it 
happy  will  never  seek  in  vain. 

....  Le^rn  to  admire  rightly,  said  Thackeray; 
for  it  is  a  great  pleasure  of  life,  to  admire  what 
great  men  admire — great  things;  the  narrow 
spirits  admire  basely,  and  worship  mean  things. 

Of  all  learning,  the  most  difficult  depart- 
ment is  to  unlearn  ;  drawing  a  mistake  or  preju- 
dice out  of  the  head  is  as  painful  as  drawing  a 
tooth,  and  the  patient  never  thanks  the  operator. 

....  Years  are  the  sum  of  hours.  Vain  is  it, 
at  wide  intervals  to  say  :  "  I'll  save  this  year,"  if 
at  each  narrow  interval  you  do  not  say;  "I'll 
save  this  hour." 

In  mixed  company,  be  readier  to  hear 

than  to  ppeak,  and  put  people  upon  talking  of 
what  is  in  their  own  way;  for  then  yon  will 
both  oblige  them,  and  be  most  likely  to  improve 
by  their  conversation. 

....  If  you  have  been  once  in  company  with 
an  idle  person,  it  is  enough.  You  need  never 
go  again.  You  have  heard  all  he  knows.  And 
he  has  had  no  opportunity  of  learning  anything 
new ;  for  idle  people  make  no  improvements. 

....  To  try  whether  your  conversation  is 
likely  to  ba  acceptable  to  people  of  sense,  imag- 
ine what  you  say  written  down  or  printed,  aud 
consider  how  it  would  rend;  whether  it  would 
appear  natural,  improving  or  entertaining;  or 
fefl'ected,  unmeaning,  or  mischievous. 


The  man  who  attempted  to  smoke  a  pipe  of 
brandy  is  troubled  with  dizziness  of  the  brain. 

Why  are  washenvomen  the  silliest  of  people  1 
Because  they  put  out  their  tubs  to  catch  sojl 
water  when  it  rains  hard. 

One  charge  in  a  lawyer's  bill  against  a  client, 
was  for  "  waking  up  in  the  night,  and  thinking 
of  your  business — $5." 

Some  one  advertises  for  the  recovery  of  a  lost 
wallet  belonging  to  a  gentleman  made  of  calf- 
skin ! 

An  editor  received  a  letter  iu  which  weather 
was  spelled  "wethur."  He  said  that  it  was  the 
worst  spell  of  weather  he  had  ever  seen. 

"Sam,  why  am  lawyers  like  fishes?"  "I 
doesn't  meddle  wid  dat  subject  at  all."  "  Why, 
kase  dey  am  fond  ob  debate!" 

"Ma,  whereabouts  shall  I  find  the  sfafe  of  mat- 
rimony ?"  "  You  will  find  that  to  be  one  of  the 
Uniled  States/'  was  the  answer. 

An  Austrian  upon  being  asked  for  a  definition 
of  paradise,  said  1  "  I  believe  it  to  be  a  kingdom 
where  you  can  travel  backwards  and  forwards 
without  a  passport." 

"  A  tailor  is  the  ninth  part  of  a  man,"  said  a 
would-be-wit  in  tlie  presence  of  a  knight  of  the 
shears.  "  But,"  responded  the  latter,  "  a  fool  is 
no  part  at  all." 

The  Spaniards  do  not  pay  hyberbolical  com- 
pliments; but  one  of  their  admired  writers, 
speaking  of  a  lady's  black  eyes,  says  "  they  were 
in  mourning  for  the  murders  they  had  com- 
mitted." 

A  country  fellow  came  to  the  city  to  see  his 
intended  wife,  and  for  a  long  time  could  tliinkof 
nothing  to  say.  At  la-t  a  great  snow  falling,  he 
took  occasion  to  tell  her  that  his  father'^  sheep 
would  all  be  undone.  "  Well,"  said  she.  taking 
him  by  the  hand,  "  I'll  keep  one  of  them." 

A  certain  preacher  having  remarked,  in  his 
sermon,  that  everything  made  by  the  Almighty 
was  peifect,  a  deformed  man  in  a  pew  beneath, 
said:  "What  do  }ou  think  of  me  ;"  "Think 
of  you,"  replied  the  minister,  "why,  that  you 
are  the  most  perfict  hunchback  ihat  I  ever  beheld." 


VOLUMES  1st  &  2d. 

GLEASON'S    PICTORIAL. 

We  have  volumes  Ist  and  2d  of  the  Pictorial  Drawinb 
Room  CoMpANTcn  elegantly  bound  in  cloth,  -vrith  gilt  edges 
and  hack,  and  illuinined  sides,  forming  a  superb  and  moefc 
attractive  parlor  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  book  of 

Betweer  rojj  and  Five  Hundred  Pag-es, 

AND     CONTAINING     KEARLY 

ONE    THOUSAND    ENGRAVINGS 

of  Men,  Manners,  and  current  Events  all  over  the  world  ; 
of  Scenery  in  all  parts  of  the  Globe ;  of  famous  Cities,  and 
beautiful  Villages ;  of  Pageants  at  home  and  abroad;  of 
fine  Maritime  Views  ;  and,  in  short,  of  an  indnite  variety 
of  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  ;  with  an 

ELLtJMINED    TITLE-PAGE    AND   INDEX 

of  great  beauty  and  artistic  excallence,  and  forming  a  very 
brilhant  frontispiece  to  the  volume. 

Besides  the  many  illustratioHs,  it  embraces  in  its  pages 
a  vast  amount  of  original  Tales,  Sketche?,  Poems  and  Nov- 
elettes, from  the  best  of  American  authors,  with  a  cuiTent 
News  Record  of  the  times ;  altogether  forming  an  exceed-; 
ingly  novel  and  elegant  volume,  for  future  reference  and 
present  enjoyment,  both  la  regard  to  reading  matter  and 
illufitratiocs. 

For  sale  at  the  PubUcation  Office,  by  our  Wholesale 
Agents,  and  at  all  the  Periodical  Depots  throughout  the 
Tlnion,  for  Three  Dollars  per  volume. 


THE  FLAG  OF  OUR  UNIOIs^ 

AX  ELEGANT,  MOKAL  AND  REFINED 

Miscellaneous  Family  Journal, 

Devoted  to  polite  literature,  wit  and  humor,  prose  and 
poetic  gems,  and  original  prize  tales,  written  expressly  for 
this  paper,  and  at  a  very  great  cost.  Iu  politics,  and  on 
all  sectarian  questions,  it  is  strictly  neutral.  Nothinp;  of 
an  immoral  nature  will  ever  be  admitted  into  its  columns } 
therefore  making  it  emphatically, 

A  PAPEK  FOK  THE  MULIOI^, 

AND  A  TVELCOME  VISITOR  TO  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Flag  is  now  the 
leading  weekly  paper  in  the  United  State.':,  and  its  literary 
contents  are  allowed,  hy  the  best  judges,  to  be  unsurpassed. 

It  contains  the  foreign  and  domestic  news  of  the  day, 
BO  condensed  as  to  enable  us  to  give  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  intelligence.  No  advertisements  are  admitted 
to  the  paper,  thus  offering  the  entire  sheet,  which  is  of 

THE    MAMMOTH    SIZE, 

for  the  instruction  and  amusement  of  the  general  reader. 
An  unrivalled  corps  of  contributors  are  regularly  engaged, 
and  every  department  is  under  the  most  finished  and  per- 
fect system  that  experience  can  suggest,  or  money  produce. 
Lacking  neither  the  means  nor  the  will,  we  can  lay  before 
our  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  an 

the  present  circulation  of  which  far  exceeds  that  of  any 
other  weekly  paper  in  the  Union. 

TEEMS    TO    SUESCEIBEES. 

1  subscriber,  one  year, $2  00 

3  subscribers,       "  S  00 

4  '■  "  6  00 

8  "  "  11  00 

16  »  "■  20  00 

One  copy  of  the  Flag  of  odr  U^■IO^',  and  one  copy  of  the 
Pictorial  DaAWiXG-Rooai  Oompasiox,  one  year,  for  S5  00. 

(C/^  Invariably  in  advance. 

Subscribers  or  postmasters  are  requested  to  act  as  agents, 
and  form  clubs,  on  the  above  terms. 

[HT"  Alt  orders  shindd  he  addressed,  post  paid,  to  llie 
PCBLISHER  OP  THE  FLAQ   OP   OCR  UKION. 

*^*  T/ie  Flag  can  be  obtained  at  any  nf  the  nrtcspnper 
depots  in  the  Unitrd  Slates,  and  of  newspaper  carriers,  at 
i'OUR  CE-NTS  ptr  single  copy. 

F.     GLEASON, 

PCBLISUER  iND  PnOPRlETOJl,   BOSTON,  MASS. 


416 


GLEASON'S   PICTORIAL   DRAWING   ROOM   CX)MPANION. 


«fcj 


GENIN  S  NEW  AND  NOVEL  BRIDGE,  EXTENDING  ACROSS  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


GEININ'S  BRIDGE. 

The  above  engraving  represents  the  design  of 
a  free  bridge  for  foot  passengers,  which  Mr. 
GeniQ,  of  New  York,  the  celebrated  hatter,  pro- 
poses to  erect,  at  his  own  expense,  across  Broad- 
way. He  has  applied  to  the  Common  Council 
for  permission  to  build  the  structure,  and  the 
application  is  now  before  a  committee  of  that 
body.  The  arch,  which  is  in  the  ornate  Moris- 
co  style,  is  intended  to  span  the  street  from  St. 
Paul's  Church  to  Mr.  Genin's  hat  store,  214 
Broadway,  which  directly  faces  that  edifice.  At 
this  point,  the  streams  of  travel  from  five  streets 
may  be  said  to  meet,  and  it  is  decidedly  the 
most  dangerous  crossing  in  the  city.  The  arch, 
if  constructed,  will  be  several  feet  higher  than 
any  car  or  omnibus,  and  (as  may  be  supposed 
from  the  engraving)  an  ornament  to  Broadway. 
Of  its  convenience,  we  need  not  speak.  At  pre- 
sent, it  is  in  the  highest  degree  liazardous  for  la- 
dies or  children  to  cross  at  the  point  referred  to. 
By  the  "  Genin  Bridge,"  they  might  pass  over 
pleasantly  and  safely.     The  cost  of  the  structure 


would  be  about  $5000.  The  ladies,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  are  unanimously  in  favor  of  it,  and 
we  think  that  if  the  Common  Council  consult 
the  wishes  of  these  constituents,  they  will  per- 
mit Mr.  Genin  to  carry  out  the  project.  As  we 
have  said,  he  is  willing  to  incur  the  whole  ex- 
pense of  erecting  the  bridge,  and  of  keeping  it  in 
repair.  The  enterprise  of  the  merchant  princes 
of  New  York  is  proverbial,  but  this  of  Mr.  Ge- 
nin's bids  fair  to  supersede  all  others.  For  our 
own  part,  we  most  heartily  wish  the  city  authori- 
ties of  New  York  would  give  Mr.  Genin  permis- 
sion to  carry  out  his  novel  and  excellent  idea ;  if 
in  no  other  way,  it  might  be  granted  to  him  to 
erect  this  bridge  conditionally ;  that  is,  if  after  its 
construction  it  should  be  found  to  be  objection- 
able, the  city  should  be  at  liberty  to  order  its  re- 
moval at  once.  This  would  obviate,  we  think, 
all  objections  as  to  its  construction,  and  require 
no  further  delay  in  granting  the  necessary  per- 
mission for  Mr.  Genin  to  act  upon,  and  to  carry 
out  a  very  reasonable  plan,  as  it  regards  safety 
and  ornament,  for  this  portion  of  Broadway. 


LIFE  IN  THE  HAREM. 

Mr.  St.  John  gives  an  insight  into  an  Egyp- 
tian harem  :  '*  We  probably  form  a  false  con- 
ception of  the  life  of  the  harem,  misled  by  writers 
who  suppose  its  inhabitants  to  be  swayed  by  a 
system  of  ideas  different  from  that  which  really 
prevails  among  them.  My  own  opinion  is,  that 
they  are  quite  as  happy  as  the  rest  of  their  sex  ; 
otherwise  nature  would  not  have  given  perpetui- 
ty to  the  institution,  which  seems  quite  as  suit- 
able to  the  East  as  very  different  institutions  to 
the  North.  At  any  rate,  the  women  themselves 
are  the  best  judges,  and  they  appear,  upon  the 
whole,  no  less  contented  than  their  sisters  of 
Frankestan.  Besides,  their  seclusion  is  not  so 
absolute  as  we  imagine.  I  have  seen  respect- 
able men  and  their  wives  going  out  to  spend  the 
evening  pleasantly  in  the  fields,  between  Cairo 
and  Shoubra,  forming  little  groups,  but  not  so 
far  removed  as  to  prevent  conversation.  They 
did  not,  of  course,  belong  to  the  upper  classes, 
which,  everywhere,  sacrifice  the  heart  and  its 
best  affections  to  pride  and  vanity ;  but  were, 


probably,  shop-keepers,  or,  what  are  called  in 
the  East,  little  merchants,  extremely  comfortablt^, 
and,  as  we  express  it,  well  to  do.  At  any  rate, 
if  mirth  be  a  criterion,  they  were  as  happy  as 
Greeks,  for  they  talked,  laughed,  related  stories 
and  anecdotes,  smoked,  drank  sherbet,  and  ate 
sweetmeats  and  all  sorts  of  delicacies,  with  much 
greatei-  gusto  than  the  same  number  of  princes 
and  princesses  in  the  sombre  North.  Again, 
when  I  visited  the  Mosque  of  Flowers,  I  saw,  at 
least,  four  or  five  hundred  women,  many  of  them 
of  the  Iiighest  rank,  distributed  through  the  va- 
rious aisles,  in  pleasant  little  groups,  seated  on 
carpets,  some  sewing,  others  suckling  their  chil- 
dren, others  talking  and  laughing,  or  eating  and 
drinking,  while  their  slaves  stood  round  in 
attendance.  As  I  was  dressed  like  a  Turk, 
they  bestowed  no  more  attention  on  me  than 
on  any  other  person.  So  I  gazed  on  them  at 
my  leisure,  while  I  affected  to  be  regarding 
the  architecture,  the  colors  of  the  painted  win- 
dows, and  the  materials  of  the  pavement." — 
Home  Journal. 


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l.P.L.B