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SAMUEL wirinir, Fiitor and ProprietOr.
I , •OLUME XXXIII, NUMBER 37.]
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A Soldier's Story
BY MARY KYLE DALLAS.
My college days were over. Alma Mater
had done with me, and the - strong arms of
the law were open to embrneepnew neo
phyte. -.llPriweek r l' s eh - otild 'd - ceujifit desk
in n. girtalp, dingy ?office, and: enter at last
into the profession of-which,l expected (as
what : Toting,' than does 'hot!) to becdme
distingulp i lted,mehaber,- - .
My grand-aunt, Briggg, writing to her
friends, inforMed them'that "Albert knew
enough, 'and had left college." I did not
exactly coincide in Aunt Briggs' opinion;
but, nevertheless,- I certainly considered
myself a miracle of erudition, and felt
, a
strong disposition to explode mines of learn
ing at the foot of unwary - listners. I titter
ed apropos quotations in Greek' and Latin,
in the course of conversation with elderly
gentlemen who did not understand them,
but always bowed or smiled, or said ''very
goodindeedim tir conceal their ignorance.--'
I astonished Disitil6Vlui Mad r e my fire, by
informing her-that charcoal and diamonds
were, so to speak, one and the same thing,
and, that -it was within the power of sci
ence to change the former into the latter,
nr vice versa. The names of acids rolled
unawares from my tongue, and every mod
ern event was made the gateway by wiilch
which I lugged in the old Romans, as it were,
by the'napes of their necks, thrusting them
headlong at people who cared nothing about
them,-and were much more interested in the
of. living Smiths or Browns.
When I caught a friend nudging his
neighbor With his elbow, its I deigned to en
lightened them as to the remarks of those
learned ancients whose' names were forever
on my lips, I believed it to be in' admiration
or astonishment, and never 'gtiessed that
they were laughing at me. II id I been
offered the freedom of the city, or the thanks
of the civilized world, I should 'have felt it '
only my due. Had' a service of plate been
presented to me by the humble admirers of
my deep researches in the care of learning,
I should, according to custom, have returned
thanks in a neat and tippropriate speech,
and felt that; at last, the world begin to ap
preciate me.
In this mood, I took my seat upon the
enshimis'of the railroad car one fine spring
morning, attired in a span new traveling
costume; bearing a glossy portmanteau in
my hand, and bound for a new home and n'
new life. I was twenty-one. B myhood was
already far in the distance. I did not even
consider myself ayouth. Had it not been furl
the 'slOw growth of the lemon colored mous
tache which I was assiduously cultivating', ,
I shOuld hive had no Mere doubt of my ma
ture years than I had of my learning or of
my poirers of fascination.
I felt a sort of contemptuous pity for the
poor ignorant souls around me: the fat man
opposite, in his,greatcoat, with a, lunch-box
sticking out of the breast pocket, the young
(land, sitting near hint, with the eye-glass;
and the 'plain, blunt-fsatured mechanic,
epelling out the contents of a newspaper,
who sat near me. Even the bustling busi
ness man,. arguing with another still more
bustlipg,imsittess man; ;was not worthy of
my notice; 'and the Methodist' who
was improving the time by distributing
tracts to his neighbors, was a mere nolmey.
I should liked to have tackled them with a
little Latin, to have posed them with a Greek
quotation, or to have asked them a question
or two in chemistry. How blank they would
have looked. How their selfeonceitwould
have abated had they known that they were
in the presence of Albert Bonnycastle,;Esq..
a graduate of —College 7 —an embryo law
yer—a yonng_rnan who, in the opinion of
his grand-aunt.Briggs,"knew enough." As
for, the women, I took no notice whatever of
them. I never did. A , casual glance in
formed me that there was the usual number
of elderly ladies, muffled in shawls and
tippets. as though there ; was contagion in
fresh air; of young mothers with broods of
of small children, and of maiden ladies io
green spectacles. The inferior sex, as." de
nominated it, was very well represented.—
rreatit Trot-4'46
,another,, closed my eyes, and composed my
self Tor a nap.
I• had hardly fallen into a doze when
the train came. to a pause, and the bustle
of new passengers coming ,iti; and old pas
sengers going 'out', awoke me. I •did not
'stir, beiverer, but remained in my recut's
bent position until a lady, in a - blue veil
which 'hid her 'features as effectnay as a
mask could hare done , stopped . sunight be
fore me, and said, in a tone more suitable
to a command than a request.
"Will sou please to more your feet, air,
and let me sit down." ..
I had a good mind to say, "No!" but,
somehow, I had not. the courage, therefore
I slowly put down one foot after the other,
folded my arms and turned to look out the
window, while the lady squeezed herself in,
spread out her crinoline, and
_proceeded to
make herself comfortable. She had a reti
cule on her arm, and carried a little poodle
wrapped in a white merino shawl. At in
tervals she inserted her glove into the open
ing of the reticule, and drew forth Small
pound cakes, with which she fed herself and
the dog, alternately. The poodle vas a pink
eyed caterpillar looking concern, and I made
up my mind that the veiled lady was an ex
ceedingly ugly old maid. I felt a sort of
unaccountable spite towards her. Why
need she have squeeezed herself into that
p ,rticular seat, there were others vacant.—
It was a plan to disturb my nap—probably
to attract my attention—and I longed to
punish her for it.
31 SO
$039
In the next seat was an old gentleman—
a farmer-looking person—who had already
made sodable advances. Under cover of tt
conversation with this individual, I talked
at my crinoline neighbor. I remarked on
the disgusting 'practice of tnking pots upon
journeys; I commented on the absurdity of
the female costume, and expressed my
opinion of intrusive women who considered
public vehicles their especial property, and
wound up.by a denunciation of the whole
sex as inferior animals. Looking aronnd,
nt last, to observe.tho effect upon my neigh
bor, I thought I heard a faint giggle pro
ceeding from the depths of the blue veil.—
This irritated me still more, and I revenged
mysnlf by opening the window. It was a
cold day, and the draught was very disagree
' able; but I bare the discomfort like a herm
fur the female in the seat beside me had to suf
fer likewise, and the thought made me happy,
Fur awhile she went on fondling and feed
ing that detestable poodle, without taking
notice of my tit:lnce:tyre; but soon little
shrugs of the shoulders, ehort coughs, and
additional foldings of the traveling shawl,
gave taker, of her displeasure, and finally
she turned the blue veil towards me, and
made the cool request that I would shut the
window. My blood was up, and I answered
superciliously:
"There aro other seats, madam, where you
will not feel the air: I preter having the
window open."
The blue veil fluttered, as though the
head beneath it was tossed indignantly, and
the lady gathered up her poodle, reticule,
andlparcels, and crossed to a seat beyond
the reach of the draught at which l rejoiced.
For form's sake, I kept the window up for
ten minutes or so, and then, closing it, put
up my feet, and composed myself for another
'
nap.
This time.l slept. I awoke with a start.
and sat bolt upright, wondering who I was.
where I was, and what had happened to tne•
My first distinct imoression was, that I had
somehow taken a terrible cold. Then I re
membered the window, and knew how I
took it. Opposite, with some five seats be
tween us, sat the lady in the blue veil. She
had put it up at last, and I saw her features.
No high-nosed, sallow countenance, such as
I had expected, but a charming, rosy-cheeked,
black-eyed face, encircled by a mass of
black hair that coiled itself up in links and
waves and ringlets, every one a heart-snare
by itself. I had never seen a beautiful wo
man before. I would have shut twenty
windows, moved my seat twenty times,
done vtlii 64:1 it fait, " to' 111 . 64 . hid 'her
agativ sating beside met - I wanted-to- apolo
gise. I longed .to a"ntore favor
able Cut all in vain. • There she sat,
still , feedhather poodle &mit that inexhausti
ble reticule, and never, even looking towards
At twilight the train stopped at the Now
York depot. I had not moved my eyes
from her face since I first saw it, and I sigh
ed as she vanished in therrecieis•of a cab.—
If she ever remembered me, it . would be
as that insolent, disobliging fellow who
made such rude speeches and would not
shut the window. Portmanteau in hand,
I selected the mist convenient stago',' end
was soon on my way to Aunt Brig7,v. My
cousin opened the door for me, and, after
the usual greetings, ushered me into my own
room with the information that dinner
would be ready in ten mitiutev. In the hus
tle of unpacking my clothing and complet
ing my toilet, I did not nt first notice that
the door,of the adjoining room stood ajar,
and it was to late to close it, when I heard
my /WM.'S voice utter the words: , 1 .
"Mercy, what a bear! how different from
Albert."
"But if you had heard him! Description
will never do him justice. Oh, Mrs. Briggs!
if you could have heard him: 'There are
other seats where you will not feel the air,
I wish to have this window open.' And he
was shitering with cold all the while, I as
sure you."
Good gracious! It was the voice of the
lady in the blue veil that responded. 'She
was there in the house-4 should meet ,her
at dinner time. I had wild thoughts of seiz
ing my portmanteau and taking passage
that very night fur Ireland or Africa.,cr,the
reject
,lelaadi, or apy other locality where
our paths Ixduld . npvet:•crpsica.ekother. In
the midst of
_my . consternifipp ono
crossed My mind—she might not recognize
me. .Sontenlitt.,cTafurtcd,. I - obeyekthe
"NO ENTERTADDIENTIS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY 'PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 12, 1862.
stinmens - of the dinner bell and descended
"Miss Earle, my nephew, Mr. *Albert
Bminycastle." I bowed—she curtsied—and
I read my fate in the first gleam of her black
eye. She knew me, and she meant to pun
ish me. What I endured that night no one
knew. My aunt recited the story of the
rude young man in the cars for my benefit,
and Miss Earle—Kitty was her christian
name—asked me, with a meaning glance, if
he "wasn't a bear?" I agreed heartily, and
was laughed at fur my pains. Over and
over again were my remarks upon the
poodle, crinoline, and the softer sex com
mented upon, and innocent Aunt Briggs
never guessed the secret wifich Miss Kitty
Earle was driving into the remorseful soul
of her nephew Albert, the young man who
"knew enough." Oh, that envious blue
veil! how I anathematised it!
I was in love with Kitty. No one could
hare helped loving her; and it was terrible
to feel as I did, and never be able to ap-
proach her freely and frankly, with a friend
ly outstretched hand and a friendly inter
change of sentiment.
When we bad been under the same roof
three long months, matters had not changed.
llrith others, she was as merry as a child;
with me, stiff and cold as an icicle. My ap
proach was the signal for the discharge of a
thousand unmerciful little arrows, all remin
iscences of our first meeting. The greater
my anxiety to conciliate, the more revenge.
ful she became. It was a cruel ordeal, but
it did not cure me of my love.. Meanwhile,
I studied and worked hard at my profession.
As time passed on, my opinion of my own
acquirements because more rational. I was
maturing into a more sensible man, and
looked back almost with contempt upon my
former self. At the end of a year a great
change had taken place in me, and yet I
loved Kitty Earle only more fondly, and
stood at just as great a distance. She lived
with my aunt still, and would remain with
her until the return of her father, a lieuten
ant in the navy, from the three years' cruise
which he had just started upon at the period
of our first meeting. Daily intercourse must
have taught her that I was only too anxious
to serve and please her; but she persisted in
considering me a rule ungrateful being, and
treated me accordingly.
At last, amongst her admirers—and she
had many—appeared o:se who seemed, in
my jealous eyes, more favored than the rest.
Us was a fair, light whiskered, smooth
spoken young gentleman, who might have
been described as the pink of politeness and
propriety. Miss Kitty used him as a foil to
set off my supposed rudeness and want of
amiability; she praised his manner, his face
and his voice, until I woe well nigh distrac
ted. Many a troubled hour hare I passe I
in my offize, mmy a long night have I
tossed to and fro upon my pillow. pondering
on soma method which might obliterate the
bad impression which I had made on Kitty.
It was all in vain. Sometimes, when I had
striven my best to make her like me, I would
begin to hope that I had succeeded, and
fancy kindness in her eye and softness in
her voice; but the old spirit always broke
nut again, and blighted all my dreams.
It was just about this time that the cloud
which had been hovering over our land so
long burst over it in the black thunderstorm
of war. Oar m other country called upon
her sons for aid, and she was answered.—
From the desk and counter, from the work
shop and the forge, went troops of valiant
hearts to battle for the right. I could not
stand unmoved amidst the tumult, and I had
no wish to do so. ose night I frightened
my aunt into hysterics by making my ap
pearance in a captain's uniform. I had not
thought of' Kitty E trle —for the fret time I
had forgotten her—and when, after my aunt
had been somewhat comforted, they found
her lying senseless upon the fi for of Isar own
room, 1 never thought of ascribing her sor
row to my sudden announcement: the
thought was too absurd.
In a week we were to leave the city, and
I was very busy, so that I saw her but once
in all that time. The night previous to our
depaiture I went home, to bid them nll
formal farewell for the last time peril:it:m.-
1c was a solemn thought and I walked on
pensively, so absorbed in my own medita
tions that I did not even notice a lady who
crossed my path just beside the fountain in
Madison Square, and she uttered my name.
and touched me on the arm. It was Kitty
Earle. • .
"Albert," she said—and there was not
one touch of the old mockery in her voice—
" Albert, is this you? lam so glad that I. have
met you." filer beautiful face Gni never
seemed so lovely as it did now, with that
softened light upon it, And when. I offered
my arm, she took it frankly, and we walked
on together. Twilight had fallen—the child
ren and • nurse maids were all gone home,
and the plane w•ts very quiet. She did ,not
speak, and
. I was the first to break the si
lence.
"I leave to•morrow," I said. "I wonder
when I shall return?"
I thought who drew a little closer to me as
she answered—`•Sohn, I hope." .
"You say that as if you meant it," I said
beqiqg down to look into her face, "Have
you .really forgiven um so for? I should he
glad to know it."
tier h3CF, hand lay within coy , ,own..and
her right one cause softly and met it.—
Tel still she did not speak.
"Lek one hear it Imps your own, lips," I
said. "Shall we be friends hereafter? Do
you quite forgive pier , .
"It is you who shouLi • forgive," the sue-
BM
werecl. "I have used you shamefully.—
Listen to me, Albert. All along I have
known you better than I seemed to. I have
pleased myself with tormenting you, I have
acted an unwomanly part. Yours was a
slight offence, and I punished it as though
it were a great one. If—" and here her
voice broke down, and her eyes filled with
tears—"lf you should never return, 'cannot
forgive myself."
I took the soft hand which had crept up
to meet its follow in my own. She did not
draw it back. I pressed my lips upon it,
and she was not angry.
"Kitty," I burst forth, "dearest, dearest
Kitty, you cannot tell the load that you
have taken from my heart. To be despised
by you was almost more than I could bean
to know you are my friend is bliss indeed."
"I am your friend," she answered—"your
true and earnest friend."
The shadows had deepened about us, and
in our walk we had come back again to. the
fountain. No one was near to see us, and
my arm stole about her waist. "A friend
is very dear," I said, "but there is something
dearer. Will you be that dearer thing to me,
one day, Kitty? will you some time let me
claim you for my wife?"
I could not see her flee, but I needed no
answer save the drooping of her head upon
my shoulder. My Aunt Briggs nearly went
into hysterics again from sheer delight, when
I led Kitty up to her chair an hour after
wards, and said—" This is my treasure, now,
Aunty. Mike good care of it until I claim
it of you."
I sit beside the camp fire now, and think
of that sweet night. A little blue veil lies
folded against my heart, beneath my soldier's
unit' ffra, and when Kitty give it to me she
whispered such sweet words that I cannot
write them here, but can only think of the
happy day which is to come, if life is spared
to me until this war is over.-11r. Sandal/
Times.
The Unfinished Man
But first let me explain that a fairy man
is a man that is hand and glove with the
fairies; their Mend, you see—not a fairy
himself, but a sort of a kind of agent, hn
Irish agent, who stands betwixt the Christ
ians and the fairies, fetching and carrying,
doing a hand's turn fur one, and a hand's
turn for:another, now and again, but taking
his own share from one or the other, and
that not the stn illest. Ni one ever went fur
advice to a fairy mln empty-handed; they
expect sontztlan7, be it what it will.
%Veil, there was in old times wonderful
pearls found in the Slaney, and the reason,
above all others, that the people believed
Barney R' an was a fairy man, was that
fur every paarl any ()le else Btrney
&he I up ten. '0 le sal I, "It w m't la.t,
Barney," and another; "It can't last, Bar
ney,"—hat it did last; though the "luck
neither did gml t Bracy nor ilk tiends,
fur he wouldn't give the pearls, and he
wouldn't sell the pearls. Be always had
the ugly suspicion that if he sold them he'd
be cheated—lie was such a miser; and pearls
were as plenty is Barney's cabin as Week
berries about it.
Time went at a hand canter; and if Bar
stey wasn't rich, why, it was his own fault.
Some said it was only the kelpies, the bad
water fairies, that took any notice of him.
Anyhow, he was sitting very quiet and can
tentel in his little ralin one mid-summer
eve, dressed in his best, too, out of coripli
meat to the day—as if it was a saint's day,
the of l sinner!—and wondering, when the
moon rose, if be should see the Etiries dance
an the beautiful beams that spread their
silver threads over the waters of the lovely
river—midsummer eve ,being,the fairies:, de
light: And bewai . itlso, eimnt
ingibe number of 'peaile lie Vatl: tind • 'khat
he should get for them, when a poor, broken
down fellow creature asked him for a bit of
food.
"I have nothin' to give you in the house,"
a ys Barney; "I had only the, praytee that
did my own dinner." , • •
"Then give me a fippiny bit," be - RaYs.—
In those days the fippiny bit was our six- -
pence. "Give me a fippiny bit," he says,
"fur luck!"
"Oh, murder, where would I find it!" ex
claimed
Barney. "Do you think, it, is coin-
ers like you that have the right to take the
shine out of a poor laboring man like me?
A fippiny bit!—get out o' this with your
"Get out o' this with me, is it?" says the
beggar, "and no welcome—no rest—no taste
of meal or milk—not even a cup of cold
unzther, which, given in the name of Him
who gives nil thing', is a blessing to him
that gives and him that takes. You're en
unfinished man, Mr. Barney Regan. You're
not a bad looking ould fellow—your legs and
*arms and head are all sound enough—but
You've no !martin your body, 'Barney Began,
it's a wet potato that !coops triblling abiut
there, instead of a heart of flesh." 'Pio twin
Was fine spoken, end Barney felt as he had
never, felt before. "You're an unfinished
man," he says again; "Barney, 'leaven help
you: and indeed you're not worth the finish •
ing now; but. for fear you shouldn't under
stand the little good there is in unfinished
things, look to your tine boa pearls•lyinfi
by, Barney—look at your fine' pearls, onee
moot! And without another word the beg - -",
gar turned away;• and as Barney's eyes fob
lowed him, be saw the ould. gray coat. be-
comcatll over like a coat of silver, and the
fiat (in Ireland a- poor man's hat is called a
cawteen,) swell out into a golden ,crown.
and bif stick, grow into a glittering wand;
I and 'Barney began to - see the rights of it.—
Ar.:l he called to the stranger to come back,
begging and praying him to turn, and he'd
give him all lie had in the house; but it was
too late. Whatever the stranger was, he
I faded and faded—fainter and fainter—and
fairly melted away into the moon-beams.
"No heart," thought Barney, - "l've heard
that before; but Lion% believe it. I'm sure
I take great care of myself, and I pay my
rint, and I call myself a careful man:" and
then he bethought himself of the pearls, and
off he started to look after. them. Now, the
pearls were in a box, and the box was in
one of Barney's old night-caps, and that
was in another box, and that box was in a
hole under Darney'a bed. SJ lie took it out
of the night-cap, and laid it in the moonlight.
of the sweet mid-summer eve; and he put in
his great red finger and thumb to take out
a pearl, and instead of the pearl -he felt
something cold and slimy—and what should
come out but a mite of a frog.
"Bad luck to ye." sail Barney; "he off
with yerself—there, hop over the wet grass."
"Lean't, Barney," answered the frog, "I
can't. I've only three legs—l'm not fin
ished. What use am I to man or mortal—
apo 3r unfinished frog? But I•ve a. heart in
my body, Master Barney, and so, mlybe, I
might be a help or a comfort to your not
pearl—ah, ah!"
Well, in went the red finger and thumb
again, and out came a snail with no eyes in
its horns.
"Away with you," said Barney to the
snail; "away with you up the window."
"Alt, sir," says the snail, "I'm like yet
honor—Unfinished; I've no eyes. We all
feel fur you, sir, because your worse titan
any of us." '
"But look here:" says the frog, "if you'll
let me lane on you, nuld fellow, I'll be your
eyes, and your shell will be my leg; 'and
we'll be so gay together! I'll tell yi]
where the leaves are, and while-you ate I'll
sleep; you'll be my leg, and I'll be Your
eyes, and so we'll help each other. And
now we'll lz.tro.this poor man whose heart
is withered in his body; or, otherways, he
was made without one."
,•
Barney kept' diving into his box, but he
broUght out nothing only caterpillars with-
out teeth; moths wanting wings; and fish
without fins—slimy, useless things—and all
fell to pitying Barney because of his avant
I
of a heart. "To think of one of the lords of
creation being worse finished than our
selves," says one, "and we are all able to
pity him," says another; "an I not a pearl
left him," says a swaggering cockchaffer.
Barney began crying and tearing his hair,
and roaring—"Oh, what will I do far my
pearls? What will I do without my pearls?"
"They were no more to you than haw
stones," said a blink of a fairy, looking
down on him from the crook in the chimney,
where she glittered like a star in the dark
ness of night—"not a bit more good to you
than so many jack-straws; such hoards are
sure to turn into slime and snails. Stag
nant water grows bad, and so does unused
wealth. Da you understand me? If not,
the lazy pond at your door will tell you what
stagnant water is."
"Oh, my! oh, my!" exclaimed Barney.
"If I knew hew to 'do better I'd'do tt!" : ;
"Are — Yoil in Caraeii?" saia"the . bright
star, cutting a step on thla pot-hoolt.
put
you taltearay the wet-praytee, and
put a heart o"fleili in"my hoopla!"
".No, / can't; but - you pray for it, and
raynounce all your miserly ways, and there's
no knowing what you may come to. Every
prayer is a pearl of mire value than I can
tell." - • .
"And troohlyou get mete hack Mee pearl:32'
"1:11 ere you ono more trial, Barney."
And as she spoke B trney gave :a start"
and rubbed his eyes hard wid the back of
his hand, and jumped to his feet, and there
went the moonbeams dancing in Abe itlayr
bush, and under it stood the beggar be had
told to "get out of thit;" and Barney fund
he had slept and armed.
"Come in, mete poor man," he says to the
beggar, "and take an air of the fire, and a
draw at the pipe; and though I'm as poor—"
(oh, such a griP as came to his throat as he
said that)—"l mean, though I'm not as
poor as you, yet I'm. not rich." (Another
grip) "Anyway, you Shall have a sharp of
what I have, and good luck to you!"
That was Barney's first step.on the right
ladder; and he made the poor matt welcome;
and he (the beggar) was 'a knowledgeable
man, and told him much be never knew be
fore, and taught him the value of pearls;
and Barney found his boa all right, and
whenever be felt the wet prnytee feel in his
bosom he knew thins was going wrong, and
he'd pray against it, and that would put it
ail right again, and then, his heart would set
beating.
A Curious Chapter on Food.
The diversity prevailing in different na
tions in 'reference to articles of food seems
t) confirm in its literal sense the proverbial
saying, that '•Clae man's meat is another
man's poison." ,Many an article of food
which is in high esteem in one country is
regarded in others with abhorrence, wisidli
even famine can hardly surmount.
Jo the Shetland Islands it is raid that
c•zat= an. labstars abar.nd, crUieb the people
catch for tbeLnotiontnarket,' but refese to
oat oven when.half-starved. •. -
The John , Dory is beckoned by epicarsni
one of the choicest of fish; but in Deconshire,
where it abouude,. and also in Ireland, it,
81,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IP NOT IN
_ADVANCE
I used to be thrown away as unfit for food.—
There seems to be some superstition con
nected
with this, as it is said that a DCVOI3-
shire cook flatly refuses to dress it."
Eels, which are abundant and of good
quality in Cumberland and Westmoreland;
and also in Scotland,, are regarded by the
people there with as much disgust as snakes.
Skate, which is in high estimation in
England, in Ireland is hardly ever eaten ex
cept by the fishermen.
Scallops, on the other hand, are'hardly
erer eaten in- England, and, ale/Gogh
etey Ilia abundant. on many of the coats, :
few of the English have any idea that they
are eatals:e.
The euttle-fish (that kind which produces
the inky fluid), although found on-our coasts,
is not eaten by us. But at Naples, it is
highly esteemed, and travelers report that
it tastes like real.
Cockchafers are candied, and served up
with other confectionery, by the Italians.
The hedgehog no one thinks of eating in
England except the gypsies, and some who
have joined the.n, report that it is better
than rabbit, a -
The sailors in the- English and Dutelt
whaleships do not eat the flesh of the whale:
but those in the French whalers (With their
well known skill in cookery) are said to
make a palatable dish ofit.
By almost all the lower classes in Eng
lanevenison-and game of all kinds are held
in abhorrence, and so are fresh figs.
By the Australian savages, frogs, snakes,
large moths, and grubs, picked out from the
wood—all of which the English settlers
turn from with disgust—are esteemed as
dainties; but they are shocked at our eating'
oysters.
Milk, as am article of- food (escept fur
sucking babies), is loathed by the South Sea
Islanders. Goats have been introduced into
several of the islands; but the people deride
the settlers with using their milk; arid ask
them why they do'not milk their sows. Oa
the other hand dog; and rats are favorite
articles of food with them.
Those last, as is well known, are often
eaten by the Chinese, whonlso eat salt
earth-worms, and a kind of sea-slug, which
most Europeans will turn from with disgust.
In the narrative of Anson's voyage is
full account of the prejudice of the South
Americans (both Creoles and Indians)
against turtles as poisonous. The prisoners
captured on the prize ships warned the sail
ors against eating it, and for some time lived
on bad ship beef; but seeing our men thrive
on the turtle they began to eat it—at first
sparingly and at length heartily. And
when set ashore and liberated they declared
they blessed the day of their capture, which
had introduced to them a plentiful supply
of wholesome and delirious food.
Horseflesh, which most Europeans would
refuse to eat, except in great extremity, is
preferred by the Tartars to all other; and
the flesh of a wild ass's colt was greatly es
teemed by the It mans.
As for pork, it is on religious grounds
that Jews' and Maltommedans ab4tain from
it, as the 'Undoes do from beef. But the
Christians of the East seem to have an equal
aversion to it; and the like prevailed till
lately in Szotland.
The large shell snail, called escargot, was
a. favorite dainty with the ancient Romans,
and still is so in a great part of the south of
Europe, though nalst E Iglishmen would .be
half starved before they would eat it.
In Vienna the large wood ants are served
up and eaten slice.
Small land crabs are eaten alive in Chinn
The igauana, a large species of lizard, it
reekonetha great dainty, in some of the West
InEa ?sleuth , .
Maize (the Indian corn of . America) has
been introduced into New Zealand 1,3 , the
missionaries, and the people cultivate rind
highly esteem it. But their made of pre,
paring it fur food is to' Europeans most dis
gusting. They steep it into: water until it
is putrid, and then make it into ekind of
porridge, which emits a most. intaterable
stench.
Unman flesh has been, and still is eaten
in many parts of the world, and, that by
people considerably above the lowest rank
of savages—such as the Fijil Islanders 'and
an Indian people called the Datta, who are
said to have a written language. And even
in cannibalism there arc great diversities—
some nations est their enemies, and some
their friend's.
Ilerodotus relates that n Persian king
asked the Indian soldiers that were, in his
service what reward would induee them to
burn the dead bodies of their friends instead
of eating them. They replied by entreating
him not to mention anything so shocking.
Oa the other hand the New Zealoci:tars
before their conversion, who seemed to have
considered that the proper diet of mankind
is man—seem to have eaten only their
enemies. .
Among the Australian caltages, on the
000trary, it is said that-if. a-mother finds a
young baby troublesome to carry about she
will eat it (although she -would not allow
any one cite to do so) under the full perms
sion.that she bite merely deferred ,its birth,
and that the:next child she bears will he a
reappearance of the eaten one. 'Whew re.
m o nst rated with she wi I I ply
"Oh, maim, ho plenty comeogitin."
gerOld:sgs is liad fur the T.tee; bat good
for head. Every lsee has ihs.seores_:Td,. isi
a :nap of life. • 4,
[WHOLE NUMBER
Gems and Precious Stones.
Notwithstanding the .edictilLy_which he en
deavored to curb the fullies:ofzothers, CILAIT
was himself an indefatigable, collector of pre
tious stories, chiseled vases,,Statmes, pictures, ,
etc., especially„Then they had beo . the,,Work
of famous ancient masters The quanity.nf
gems the Cesare had at their command mud
have been enormous. Caligula bu It ships en=
tirely of cedar, with sterns inlaid with gims. 4
These were probably fine stones such' as 'Wel.
onyx. The emperor's mantle was heavy with
precious stones and gold embroidery; and In
citatus, his favorite horse, was covered with „
purple housings, and wore a pearl collar. - •.6.•
In the golien house of Nero, the panels '
were of i gnother-of-pearl, enriched with gold and'
gems. At the Great Games instituted. tiy-this •
emperor, as many as a thouasand lottery- tisk- '
ets were daily thrown to the people; thavrizins
consisted.of quanites of rare birds of Vanithsa.,
kinds, corn, gold, silver, robes pearls, precious
,stones, and pictures; during the.last days, even.
ships, houses, and lands. .
But it was under the reign of the Antonini.%
that luxury was carried to its greatest height.
Luxery in edifices, gardens, furniture, banquets
and dress, found historians to panegyrize or
satirize them as far back as the reign of_ Agustus;
but Pliny was the first writer who spoke of
precious stones.
When the mania for jewels reached its
max, it was not enough (or the canny oftheae'
masters of the world that their trinket■ crerai
valuable on account of the _workmanship and
beauty octhe gems; they were not content un
less they Colild:boast of-possessiny, such as had
an illustrious origin. A rin - g,ri vase, a !tag
of pearls, or a cameo, had ita,genealegy,,and,.
was traced back to a Cleopatra, an Antopy„ or,
some other illustrious owner. Tiha vanity
(arms the text of one of Martial's . epigrams.,
Alen and women vied with each other in their
fondness of jewels. Pliny indignantly relates,
that women, not content with wearing fold on:
their heads, arms, tresses and fingers; in their.
ears, and around the corsage of their tunises k
yet wore pearls on their bosom, in the dead oC
of the night, that even in theii steel) th.y might
be conscious of the iiosseSslon Of. inestimnble .
gems.
Ile complains, moreover; 'thit" they wore *old
on their feet, thus establishing,"between'thei
stole of the matron and the plebeian'tunic,4
sort of feminine equeitrian order. This was
but a trifling piece of extravagance, however
when compared with the whim of the Empress
Iloppwa, who caused her mules to be shod witti
gold.
Indeed moderation could scarcely be expect
ed from wives of the patricians who bad sub
dued empires, made kings their tributariesiand
reigned as sovereigns over the wide domains
wrested from surrounding nations to„be prov
inces of Rome. .1 haye seen," pays
.I.ollia Pauline, who was the Wife of the Empe7
ror Caligula, and this not on the occasion of ir
solemn festival, e r, ceremony, but merelyA
the supper of
,ordinary betrothals,l have scan
Lollia Pauliae . covered with emeralds and pearls
arranged alternately, so as to give each othei
additional' brilliancy on her bead - , - ne'ck . ,
hands, and girdle, to the amount of 10,000 seat;
erces (1230,000 sterling), the wich value she
was prepared to prove on the instant by Prot
ducing the receipts; and these 'Pearls cairre,iwt
from the prodigal generosity of an imperial hus
band, but from treasures which had been the
spoils of provinces. Marcus Lolling, her grand
father, was dishonored _in all the East ore cc.
count of the gifts he, had extorted from kings,
disgraced by Tiberius, and obliged to poison
himself by the light of the lucernie blazing
with jewels."
The Greek and Roman jewelers have varied
the form and style of ornaments to such a.de:
gree that, according to archreologisA, our : meat
skillful modern artists are merely. copyists or
imitators. The works that. treat oft tbciewool
ry of the ancients furniiM inexhiustj .
ries to those ilho explore their scientific depth:
Diadeiris, neck laces,. c,arrinis,:bia4l . eis,irfngs,
pins, biooches;iliiips of 'all ehakoeilnirtlinien
sioris;iuimounied with busts,StatuetteiGanimari
birds, insects, flowers, etc., were indespensablls
to the Roman ladies, and were frequentlyprired
far more for their 'artistic merit than (or the
substance of which they were composed., Hair
pinrconstituted• a.very impact' tit..artigla of the
toilet, and were elaborately , finiaheilkthe head
usually represented figures delicately. wrought :
Mention is made of a hair-pin that cost ,t:
Among the relics of Pompeii and Herculaneum
now in the Royal Musenm of Naples, is,a pijt
that had belonged to the Empress of Sabina; it
represents' the Goddeis of Plenty, Hearin' in
one hand the horn of Archelans, and cm reisingi
dolphin with the other. This pin is described
by Winkelman in his letter on the antiquities
of Herculaneum.
The nucklacc usually wound several times
round the neck, the last circle falling oaths
bosom; the-clasp was a rnagnificent.carneo.—
We may judge of the delicacy of the workiiin
ship, and of the beauty of. the design,' bithe
antique gems preserved in European calk.-
..
Cont.
. ,
, •
The very garters of the "Roman ladies were
spl!ndid trinkets, on which gold, silver, anii
precions Monis were prodigally employed.
Sabina, its younger, possessed a pair of garter"
valued at nearly .f40,000,' en account , of the
rich cameos that clasped them. .The patrician
dames, in their mad endeavor's - M rival rich
other in this species of ornament !Tent re large
part of their fortunes: The , gertevraf. those
days were not used to fastn stOeltiap
the R 013211115 wore no .stockinips—lint a kind-of
drawers of fine limn. Sometimes the •gatter
was worn on the naked leg. as brattlettora
wort on the arms.
Nero offered to Jupiter Capitolitrus::thisfint
cuttings of , his beiird ini.goidetrveseceniidscd
with very waitAppeniiw.-
—lieliogsbahts wore saruhils adernediwitbipte
<lons - stones of inestimable. pricewfistisivei t nytr
write Me estnelisir
El
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