She SsUUigron)
PDBLI3H3OXSVEBT WEDIHCSDATBT
ii. o. saiiTn & go
A. Jh STEIHMJIIT
Jl. G. Smith.
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( '(<OOD *IIDIXGS.*’
GaM tidings! Good tiding l
Ring otr, «> Calstmas b i!«t!
Tun old familiar music mill
O'er bill aud lowland awellß 1
Go twine with Ivy leaves and bay
The holly's c ra! gem,
And welcome, Cni 1 .tiau hearts to-Jay,
The Babe or uotnlehem.
Good tidings! Good tiding:!
It Is the selfsame slruiu
That once the holy angels sang
To shepherds on the plain ;
A song which brings the weary res?,
And comforts those that mourn ;
The ancient, anthem, ever blest—
“To us aChlld Is born.”
<Jr»od tidings! Good tidings!
Tho world is old and i-aid;
We need tbo blessed Christinas tide
To make ns young»nd gild!
To darkened eyes who saw through tears
Taetr earth lights pale and dio
This holy radiance appears—
•* Tho day-spring Irum on hlg!j.”
Good tidings ! Good Tidings !
O meek and lowly King!
Teach overy faithful heart this day
Thy praise aright to slug;
Teach us to do Thy detda of love,
Thy precious sued to sow;
As angels work for Tine above,
fco let us work bol .w.:
Good tidings! Good tidings !
The in tisle shall not cense ;
He came to guide our wayward f ct
Into tho way ol peace;
Chime, tuneful bulls, aud loudly ring
To hull the Christmas morn ;
Awake, a 1 Cht !s wu souls, and -s' og
••] o ls a Chi 1 l Is b. ru ”
From the quickened worn b of the primal gloom
Tue huh j oIU-d bi* ok aud bare,
Till 1 wove him a v.\*>t for his Lthtop breast
Of the threads of my golden hair;
And when the lima I tent of the llrruum r nt,
Arose on Its airy Bpar«q
I penciled ttjo hue or Its matchless blue.
Aud spangled l; round with siarj
I painted the llowcrs of the Eden b rwtra,
And their leaves o! living i-nen,
And ml no were the dye»lu i h a hluU ss i yes
Of Edeu’s virgin ipmeu ;
And when the lleud’a ai l i.i Hie trust u! heart
llad p.Htene l its m >ral sp»- 1,
In the silvery sp iere ot . be II -v -barn l- nr
TO|tho trembling earth I i :l.
When the wives that burA o'c .i w.» 'd ac
cursed
Their work of wr.vh lmd sp •<),
Aud tlie Ark’s Pure tew, ail tired and lr i-,
Came forllt unions the d-a •,
With tho won i ions gleam i of the bridal beams,
I bade the terrors cease,
As I wr-teon the toit.f lbc s’.arm's dark
scroll,
God's covenant of pea" \
Like a pall at rest on t.he senseless breast,
Night’s fUU‘ ral shadow slept—
Where Khephord sw ;i oon Bet hlchem's plains
Their lonely vigils Ue; l ;
When 1 11 isned on their si {it the hertlds
bright
Of Heaven’s re Icriii! g pi n,
Am thev* chaired t i m j: oof a -i.i\ .:>.tr b »ru
Joy, Joy, to ttie oulc i->t mar .
Equal lavor I show to the lofty amt i .w,
on the Just uud u i J ist 1 >Je ;
E’en the blind, wii <so v;»l:i >pn.i.s toll lu
darkness an ■ ti ar g ,
Feel iny smile the blest nnllo of a friend.
Nay, the II >wer of ll.e waste by my love lu
embraced
As the rose of tin: gin- eu of kings ;
At the chrysalis bier ot the woi m 1 appear,
Aud lo ! tho gay but U t lly’s wings !
The desolate nmi n, like a mourner lor !< m.
Conceals a<l ho pude ol hoi charms,
Till I bid tho bright hour» cause Hie night
from tier 1! *wers.
And loud the young day to her arm l :;
And when the g*y rover seek) E.e for Ills
lovor,
And sinks to her b Umy repo i\
I wrapt their soft test ny the zephyr-fanned
west.
In curtains of amber uud rose.
From my sentinel st op by Lhe night-brooded
deep,
Igsziwitb nnslumborlng eye,
When the cynosure star of the tnarlucr
Is blotted out from thesky;
And guld* d by me through the merciless s?a,
1 hough sped by tho bun 1 cane’s wings,
Ills o mipaulonlu-'s, dark, lone, weltering bark,
i o the imvtn home s ifedy ho hi lugs.
I wiktu tlio fl}\v.*r.H hi tii) dew-spsinsled
bow.is, °
The bi lls in 0 | green,
Anti mounUlu-. nuil jiliin ” u>» mu.
again.
As Uiey bv-k Hi (heir inntinnt iliren.
O, it bu.;li ill - gliid \v?nhof my i-rasenco on
e H th.
Tlio'iyti n:ful and (1 v I'.nij in
WkU 141011'. h must r ■ t
blest.
Ever br.’ght
’* miillf'!
M'm I ill Palmer,
.a AIIF.I) I I.L 111
Falhdi oJ sud Tru(.t<, " upi n x time,’
Ono«lay In June h <J> Le.ou- tveaiuer
('Twtt* lu a dim mi l njm it ml mime,)
Like BlK'.orh In >l-: a walk lorn tner.
On, on. thtlr uicriy way llu y t ols,
'1
To wlioio a beecii i o-1(1l- a brook
Iu vltod re-il beu- ai li t ;S sstoudow.
Ther , sluing lu tlio pleasant bind-.-,
Up.tu tUe margin's gran y m itiing,
(A. velvet cushion ready m ule )
The young cn rpi'iUms fo'.l to chilli:.y.
Now, while In voluble discourse
On this and t.hn' their tnn.-ues are ruunlnc,
A*» habit bid*, each sj. a'-;s pir orec
The out* U film*, the oih-*r eimnli g.
Fti'Hcdiood, at h-ijjji h, 1m p .1 lent grown,
With r-caudals >.I her owu creation,
Fald i “Since we tw.> nr *i] illn alone
And nicely s.u-.auvd lYoiu i b-orvull n.
Suppoto. lu this dillghirul rill,
Whi!o all arijund Is so popni tuo.
Wo take u hath ?” SuUl 1 rut.u : “1 wil
A bub, I’m .sure, will bo doLca/us!"
At this bo- rc.bn ohe ca d. .‘.side,
Ami lu Him mrenm Ui»i- ran In f i t p In r
hhe plu ugod, like ocean ’h li tippy b. 1 do.
Aa uako.l as her mother boro her.
Falsehood at h lmiro uow undressed,
Futoll' ho robt« her limbs that hump r,
And having dom.i d Truth's snowy veal,
Ran oil'as fad as aho cjiial scampi r,
Since then, the simile maid, in sonili,
Expert lu lies unit shrewd eviiKion*,
II is buruo Urn houo>t name of Truth,
Aud wears her 'dot lies on all oe* si w.s.
While Truth, disdaining to aojx <ir
In Falsehood's pett lco.it »md bod Ice,
BUII braves all eyes, iruia y«*ar to j c.r,
As naked as a marble goddess !
gjJlteceNiuuflUis.
*,» Undertaker’s Wedding,
There is ft 11 melancholy interest ” iu
a little ailair that actually occurred not
a thousaud miles from Boston, a short
time since. A well kuown clergyman
received oue morning an imperative
summons to be in attendance to per
form “ the ceremouy ” at the residence
of an equally well-kuo.vn undertaker
in the evening. He went, accordingly,
supposing, of course, that he was to ac
company the man of grief to a house of
mourning, but was agreeably disap
pointed ou liuding the house (over the
shop) brilliantly lighted aud filled with
guests, whom the uudertukerproceeded
to introduce as follows:
“ This is my intended wife, sir, Miss
Crape. Ishall marry her To-night, if
you’ll officiate,”
“Certainly,” replied the clergymau,
somewhat amuaia; “ami these are
your friends to witness the ceremony ?”
looked round at ihu crowded apart
meut.
*» Q, yea, yon know many of them—
allow me—this is Mr. Boaes, Sexton of
St. Charles Church.”
Mr. Bones ro-«esolemnly, and heaved
a hundred dollar funeral sigh as he
bowed to the minister,
‘'Mr. Mould, sexton of the biick
chapel.”
Mould, who hid a low cut white vest,
a large glassy wiiite shirt bosom aud
collar, a pale face ami sunken eyes,
which gave him the appearanoe of being
•‘laid out,” replied to theclorgymen's
greeting with the usual sad shake of the
head he hud practiced at funerals the
past twenty years.
“ This,” said the UoM, as the individ
ual approached ou tip toe, with down
cast gaze, us if afraid of disturbing the
silence of a grief stricken family sitting
In the front parlor at a funeral “ this is
Mr. Black, the undertaker; I believe
you’ve met before.” Black bowed, and
inclined his sideways, a* if he ex
pected Ihb minister to whisper some
directions to him before proceeding
with the servioe.
“Allow me to make you acquainted
with Mr. Stone, the sculptor.” Stone
griped the minister’s hand as he would
a mallet; he was proprietor of Stone’s
Monumental Workq. Then followed
introductions to the superintendents of
two cemeteries, a plate eugraver, and
others more or less connected with the
grim business of the host, who after
finishing iu trod uctious.auuouuced him
self ready for the marriage ceremony.
“You don’t mind stauding here and
usiDg this black walnut case for a table,
do you?" said the bridegroom: “itwas
too heavy to movp, besides it's full of
□hrouds hud caps that we don’t want to
tumble."
The minister acquiesced, aud he
twain were duly united, after which
cake, wine and conversation pervaded
the company.
The clergyman congratulated the
bridegroom on hio bride. “Yes,” re
plied the happy man, “she's been my
housekeeper some time, —nice woman—
aint afraid of dead folks."
“Ah, indeed," said the clergyman,
getting a little chilly down along bis
backbone in spite of himself, and wish'
log to change the subject, he remarked
“Anynews today, Mr. Tressells?"
“News, no—that is, yes! You re-
VOLUME 70
member Merker, who jumped overboard
and drowned himself from a ferry boat
last week? ”
“Yes,"
“Well, they found him this morniDg
in ten feet of water, and paving stones
in his pockets."
“Indeed!”
nyes! We've got him up stairs, 1/
you'd lilce to see him /”
Not knowing what might come next,
the clergyman thought best to take his
departure, which he did with a grave
demeanor suited to the occasion.
flow the Umbrella flan Away with Ellle.
A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR THK CHIL-
The old clock in the market place
rang out the hourof three in tonessweet
and tremulous with age. The children
coming from school counted the strokes
and rejoiced ; for when the black, spi
dery pointers should have thrice again
travelled around their dial, Christmas
eve would be begun.
The afternoon is crisp and cool. Jets
of thin, bluish smoke curl from the
chimneys like long fingers, ail pointing
the same way—pointing to the flr-clad
hill which rises beyond the town. If
we followed their direction, we should
find ourselves on the steep path which
crosses its top, and, winding down the
other side, luns close to the door of a
small cottage —the cottage of Dime Ur
sula and her little Ellie.
A tiny place—so low, and brown, and
hidden among the mossy rocks, that we
might pass by without seeing it. In
summer, there are bee*hives, and the
bees buzz cheerfully among the wild
thyme: but now their music is frozen
into winter silence. Aod the porch,
where Ellie sat at her spinning during
the sweet, warm days, is empty. Only
the faint gray curl from the chimney
tells of life within.
The door is on the latch. Lst us push
it open. A few sticks on the hearth,
the clock ticking—that is all. No, one
other sound —a sigh from the bed in the
corner. It is Dame Ursula lying there
alone. Poor woman !—something very
aud has happened.
She has always been so strong and
active that she forgot she was no longer
young, and climed up a ladder to mend
the thatch on her roof. And she fell,
and twisted and bruised her back dread
fully. It hurls her a great deal. She
cannot move or work; and here is
Christmas at hand, and all her plaus
for giving Ellie a treat are spoiled. No
wonder she sighs.
We came in so softly that she did not
hear us; but now the door is pushed
open again aod she looks up. It is EN
lie, all llushed and rosy, and dragging
e great spruce-bough fresh from the
forest. She claps her hands joyously
as she cries : “ See, grandmother, here
is our Christmas tree.”
“ Poor child, thou hast nothing to
put on it.”
“ Ah ! but this is not all,” cries Ellie
again clapping her hands. “I've
thought of a plan—such a plan, grand
mother !”
“ And what is that, my Ellie ?”
“Thou knowest the silver thaler in
the stocking we said should go for the
candles and the plums for the Christ
mas fete, my grandmother?”
“ Yes,’liebchen ; but I cannot go to
town to buy them.”
“Put I can, grandmother —that is my
good plan ! I will trim the fire, ami
set the soup beside thee, before I go. I
know the way so well, and the shop
with the great fir tree in the window,
aod I shall say : ‘ I am Dame Ursula’s
little Ellie, and thou must sell me a
good measure of plums, because my
grandmother has hurt her back.’ Aud
wucn i will light the can
dies aud hang the raisins aua
on the bough, and it will be so gay.
Dear grandmother, do say I may go.”
She looked so eager that the Dame
bad not the heart to refuse her. She
thought of the long distance, and the
lonely path; but she knew the little
feet were light and active, aud the little
head as wise a 3 a woman’s. So she
kissed the bright cheek and answered :
“ Yes, liebchen, thou mayest go. Put
on thy Sunday kirtle, and thy red cap,
and make thyself neat, as soon as may
be, and do not linger upon the road,
lest night overtake thee.”
h jiiie of ibo
Eilie was soon dressed. The fire was
stirred, the broth prepared, the little
basket reached from its nail.
“And take the umbrella with thee,
dear. The'winter days often cheat us
with rain, and I would not have the
wet,” said the grandmother, last of all.
Now, to be trusted with the umbrella
was counted by EiJieagreat honor. —
She willingly obeyed. It had been her
grandfather’s, and was very big and
blue, with his name cut upon a horn
shield on the handle. It was taller than
she, and not easy to carry , but she felt
proud of it, as, mounting the hill, basket
in hand, she went, looking very like
Red Riding-Hood, and full of iiappy
thoughts.
The town was safely reached, the er
rands douo. Everyone was in holiday
humor, and gave full measure to the
bright-eyed little maid. Jan, the fruit
merchant, even tucked a gift into her
hand —a bright, rosy cheeked apple.
The plums, the tapers, the bit of beef,
the filberts, were all stored safely iu the
basket; but time had fiown, aud it was
nearly six before the heavy laden little
messenger was ready to turn her steps
toward home.
The pleasant day was changing into a
wild, gusty evening. Little dull, red
fragments of sunset were scudding over
the sky, and a atromr, chill wind
piped through the mountain pass.
It blew Eliie aloDg, and was of
use in that way ; but her fingers grew
cold and stiff, and she could hardly
hold the basket. At last, she hung it
ou her arm, and just then a few heavy
drops fell, aud, miudful of grand
mother’s order,sheputup theumbrella.
Alas for Ellie! As well might a lamb
have attempted to manage a balloon at
full sail. The umbrella took matters
into its own hands at once, [t pulled,
it Mapped, it tore along with the wind,
Eliie holding fast the handle. L raced
down the hill at full speed as if be
witched, carrying her with it. First
her little cap blew off, then the ribbon
that bound her hair. The long curls
blew into her eyes. Blinded, confused,
but never letting go, she lost her breath,
and was just beginning to cry when,
before she knew her danger, the um
brella fiuished by twisting her sharply
to one side, and over the edge of a low
ravine full of trees. She felt herself
falling—feltthe umbrellasnatched from
her grasp, aud then she know no more.
All the world grew dark, and sho lay as
if aslec-p.
It was long before she woke. When
she did, her head and limbs felt heavy
and ached. She did not know where
were the basket and umbrella? Gone,
quite gone, and it was dark, and the
wind blew loudly in the trees overhead.
Was not that enough to make a little
girl feel frightened?
She sat up after a while, aud theu she
saw a light twinkling from a little hol
low just below. Itwas bright and wink
ing like a miliionof little tapers, or a
whole room full of glow worms, and she
thought she would creep forward and
find out what it was
Sbo did so. Such a wonderful sight
she had never seen before. The hollow
was lined like a nest with green and
brown moss and soft yellow grasses. It
was so light that she could see every
blade, and the light fiery points of the
cup mosses; and the light came from
torches, each about the size of a pin,
worn in the caps of myriads and myr
rlads of tiny fays, who were flying to
and fro, and shattering and clustering
together like a swarm of bees. Thou
sands and thousands of them, and every
moment more came—from nowhere In
particular that Ellie oould see They
just appeared and took their part in the
general hubbub.
But by far the greatest stir was going
on about a mossy nook a little distance
where sat three old men. Great pine
torches were stuck into the trees above
their heads and showed them plainly.
One bad a seat a little higher than the
others, and was taller and more digni
fied. His face was sweet and solemn,
and looked at least a thousand years
old, but his eyes had all the fire of
youth, and seemed never to have been
weary or ever shed a tear. The other
two were stout and furry, with snow
white beards, and faces pink and round
like a schoolboy’s. One wore a queer
Dutch roundabout, trimmed with
lamb’s-wool. The other had a great
fur-lined wrapper. Both carried point
ed caps on their heads, from under
which their little eyes twinkled bright
ly. Around them on the ground lay
heaps and|heaps of things; clothep,bcoks,
sugar-plums, rocking horses, dolls,
drums, whistles, great piles of coal, fat
turkeys, smoking-hot pies with savory
crusts —every kind of things that you
can think of! All these they were
packing away as hard as they could in
to great bags, and as soon as one was
filled, two or three thousand fays would
seize and drag it off to a place behind
the bushes, from which came now and
then the tinkling of bells, and a sound
as of animals stamping the ground.—
Ellie looked very hard, and thought she
could make out in the dim light a pair
of horns above the bushes, but she was
not sure. ~ , ,
But neither the fays nor the torches
nor even the mysterious sounds attract
ed her as did the face of the beautiful
old man in the midst. It was so Bweet
and kind that it seemed impossible to
keep away from him. Almost before
she knew it she had made a few timid
steps forward, and was standing iD the
middle of the hollow. The fays espied
her first. With cries and shrieks of
laughter like tipsy bells, they clustered
about and drew her gently along till she
was close to the larger group. A myriad
tiny voices began explaining, but the
grand old man held out his hand, and
with a look commanded silence.
“I know all, dear little one,” he said;
“I heard thy steps in the wood path,
and sent the elves but now to break thy
fall. Thou knowest me not, but I know
thee. Thou art one of my children.
Dost thou not guess my name? I am
Father Christmas.”
“Oh! yes, dear Father Christmas, I
know the well,” cried Ellle in rapture,
and she kissed tbe hand so aged, yet so
unwrinkled.
Father Christmas smiled, well pleased.
“And these are my sons,” he went
on. “This Kris Kringle. Thou hast
heard of him ? He takes my gifts toall
the little beloved ones of German land
and to the Hollanders. Once, a long
time since, he used to carry toys across
the sea to the children iu Manhattan,
but it was far to go, and now m.v son
Bauta Claus takes that business off his
hands. They are good boys, both of
them, but they are young—quite
young.”
“ Are they much younger than you?”
asked Ellie. “Are you very old, dear
Father Christmas?”
“Going on two thousand,” replied
Father Christmas with a genial laugh.
“ But I feel young as ever. Hast thou
not something in thy pack for this dear
child Kris Kringle ?”
“ Yes, indeed,” cried the old “ boy "
at his Bide. “See, little one—this —and
this—and this,” and he held up a doll,
a book of beautiful pictures, aud a fat
goose, with its legs tied ready for the
spit. H And these stockings are for thy
grandmother,” he went on, as he hud
dled them into his bag, “but neither
she nor you must have them before the
time comes. I shall leave them on my
way back from town. Many, many
people are waiting for me there.”
“And for me,” said Santa Claus,
“they are getting ready even now in
England. The stockings are hung up,
aud the children have begged to go
early to bed that they may wake tne
sooner. The ringers are collecting in
the church-towers and blowing upon
their fingers that they may be warm to
make the bells peal merrily. And the
little American boys aud girls are wait
ing. Soon they too will be tucked up.
I must be off.”
And have you done your work, my
fays?” asked Father Christmas.
“We have painted all the windows
in tbe world with pictures,” answered
some, “and they are all about Christ
mas: “crosses and evergreeu-boughs
and spires so delicate aud beautiful.
Now, if people only were not stupid.
They will wake up to morrow and see
them, and never guess what is meant.
There isafirboughon yourlittlepane,”
nodding to Ellie.
“ Ami r have been round and tucked
the children up all over the world,”
said another. “ And kissed the babjes
so that they shall sleep like dormice
while their mammas trim the nursery.
Not one is awake in all the cradles, ex
cept one little deformed boy who can
not sleep, and for him I won such a
pretty picture that he is laughing in
stead of crying.”
“And I,” said another, “have been
to visit the crocuses, who are asleep in
the cold ground. They roused a little
and smiled when I told them what the
season was; and I promised if they
would be patient and slumber yet a
while longer, that I would return and
awaken them in the spring.”
“ And I,” cried an elf, who seemed to
brim over with frolic and mischief as a
flower-cup withdew, “I have been tick
ling the noses and pulling the wigs of
the rich men who sent no turkeys to
the poor. ‘ What, gnats so late in the
season I’ cried one, and gave his ear a
great slap, while another said, ‘ Phew !
it is indeed stinging cold! ’ “Ho!”
cried the elf, “ stinging cold! ”
“And I,” said a fifth, “ have been
distributing the dreams. To the sad,
sweet ones; to the sick, peaceful ones
—bright and frolicsome ones to all the
children. And to good boys and girls I
gave the dream of Christmas.”
“And I have visited all the poor,”
whispered another, “aud trimmed their
dull fires and put sugar in their cups,
and above their doors aleafof the plaut
called ‘Hope.’ Have I done well Omy
Father ?”
“All have done well,” said Father
Christmas. “And now the clock strikes
ten. We must be upon our journey,
harness the reindeer, my elves, aud
make all ready ; but first this dear child
must be safely set upon her homward
way.”
The fays bustled about her brightly.
Fifty-four of them brought each a rasin
from the scattered parcel, others
hunted for the basket, while a fatigue
party of eight carefully rolled the big
red apple into it. Myriads more pur
sued and found the umbrella, which
had stuck fast in a furze-bush. Father
Christmas gave his blessing; and aided
and helped, sho knew not how, by a
million tiny fingers, she found herself
again on the top of the bank whence
she had fallen, her basket on her arm,
and the big umbrella in her hand.
The wiud had died away, and the
moon shone clear. Lightly she tripped
down the path and rattled at the latch
of the cottage. Poor Dame Ursula had
passed a wretched evening listening to
the rain, fearing all sorts of evils for E.-
lie, and weeping over the helplessness
which kept her from going to her aid.
She had just fallen into a troubled sleep
when in danced Ellie, with cheeks like
roses, and eyes bright with excitement.
She threw herself into her grandmoth
er’s arms.
“O grandmother!” sho cried, “I
have such things to tell thee! Such a
wonderful story!”
And granny listened to the tale with
utter bewilderment. Of only one thing
she felt sure, she had her darling safe
at home again. That was enough to
complete her wishes.
It was too late for the Christmas tree,
but they had it next day. The first
thing in the morning Eliie looked at
the pane. Yes, there was the fir
bough, the fairy favor, drawn in lines
of silvery frost. And at noon came the
pastor’s wife. Sho bore in her arms a
doll. Her little daughter bad sent it,
Bhe said. There was a picture book,
too. Ellie laughed with glee. She had
seen them both before. Later in the
day their neighbor, the farmer’s wife,
who did so much for them, made her
appearance.
“I have brought you a goose, Dame,”
shesaid. “[hopeitisagoodone. And
these stockings are my own knitting.
Don’t be discouraged about you fall.
It’s a long lane that has no turning, you
Udow, and soon you will be up again.”
Eilie kissed the kind hand that
Drought these good things. In her heart
she knew that they were not her gift
only, but the gift of Christmas.
And that evening, when the spruce
bough twinkled with its tapers, and the
raisins and nuts qung beneath them,
when the fire blazed its cheeriest, and
grandmother In her new stockings was
raised a little in bed, that she might see
the savory goose hissing and bubbling in
the pan, Eliie crept away into the cor
ner of the kitchen and patted the big
umbrella with a loving hand.
“If you hadn’t run away with me,”
shesaid, “I should never have seen it
all."
Lessou for Boys.
Several little boys were amusing them
selves by snowballing in the upper part of
New York on Saturday, when one, named
James Doody, aged six years, was struck
on the head by a ball with a piece of ice in
it. The little fellow was taken home and,
complaining of illness, was put to bed. He
grew worse rapidly, and died on Monday
a fternoon from the effects of the iDjary re
ceived. We hope this sad lesson will not be
lost upon the youth of our city.
LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING DECEMBER 29 1869
The Peril of the Ice.
The broad bosom of one of oar north
ern rivers was covered with a smooth
sheet of ice; and at a point where the
stream widens after passing through
scenes rich in historical interest, King
Winter seemed to have taken especial
delight in spreading a table so attrac
tive as to draw from out their houses
nearly the whole population of a thriv
ing village that stood upon its banks.—
Men, women and children had turned
out to participate in the delightful sport
of skating, or to 'watch the evolutions
of tbe skaters.
It was, in truth, a grand sight to ob
serve hundreds of both sexes, dressed
in various costumes, and gliding rapid
ly over the smooth, translucent surface,
while shouts and peals of laughterrang
mellow aDd merry on the still night
air. A great bonfire, kindled on the
ice, sent up its red flames, throwing
their light far along the river, over the
quiet village nestled near its bank,
glistening from a frosted forest on the
opposite side, and rendering the scene
so wild and fanciful that the skaters, as
they glided to and fro, might easily
have been mistaken for the ghostly in
habitants of seme supernatural world.
“What splendid skaters!” was the
exclamation passing through the crowd,
as a young lady aud gentleman made
their appearance upon the ice, comiDg
up the river from below. They were
skating hand in hand, now backward,
now forward, now performing some dif
ficult feat, or whirling around in wide,
sweeping circles.
“ Who are they?” was the question
asked by many among the spectators.
“ Kate Clinton and Frank Hill,” was
the reply, pointing them out as belong
ing to the most prominent families in
the neighborhood, whose splendid man
sions stood near the river’s bank a lit
tle further down.
The two skaters, who had thu3 unex
pectedly made their appearance, at
once became the objects of universal at
traction, and an admiring crowd soon
collected around them.
Observing this, and not appearing to
like such apublic exhibition, the young
lady whispered some words in the ear
of her companion, who, suddenly
wheeling, so as to face down the river,
and carrying her along with him, by a
few forcible strokes shot clear of the
crowd, and skated rapidly away from it.
A murmur of disappointment follow
ed their departure, whileglances some
thing like disapproval were cast after
them as they glided off under the gleam
ing moonlight.
“They appear vexed at our leaving
them,” remarked the young gentle
man. “They don’t often see such an
accomplished skater as you are, Kate.”
“As yourself, you mean, Frank. It
was your performance that gave them
pleasure. And now I think of it, it
wasn’t graceful in me to have been the
cause of disappointing them. Suppose
you go back and show them a little
more of your skill. Do, Frank; I can
stay here till you return.”
“Anything to please you, my dear
Kate.”
Aud so saying the young man releas
ed the tiny gloved hand of his fair
partner; and, after a few long shots,
was again in the midst of the villagers,
gratifying them with the display so
much desired.
More than five minutes were thus
spent, during which time the accom
plished skater was repeatedly cheered,
and greeted witfeoraplimentary speech
es. Then, bethinking him of the fair
creature he had left waiting, aloße and
m the cold, he was about to break off,
when the eager spectators entreated
him to remain a moment longer, and
once more show them a figure thathad
elicited their most enthusiastic ap
plause.
He consented; repeated the figure
called for; and then, resisting all fur
ther appeal, with one grand stroke he
glided out from among the spectators,
and on toward the spot where he had
left the young lady on the ice.
On nearing it, he saw that she was
not ihere, nor anywhere in sight!
Where could she have gone to ?
It occurred to him that while he was
entertaining the village crowd, she
might have rejoined it, and become her
self one of the spectators.
With all speed he skated back again,
and quartered the crowd in every direc
tion, scattering the faces and figures.
But among them he saw neither fea
tures nor form bearing any resemblance
to those of the beautiful Kate Clinton,
“Oh!” thought he, “she’s baen play
ing a little trick to surprise me. She
has slipped in under the river bank;
and while I am rushing to and fro in
search of her, she is, nodoubt, standing
in the shadow of a hemlock, and quiet
ly laughing at me.”
Yielding to his conjecture, he once
more plied nis skates, and went rapidly
back down the river—keeping close
alongside the bank, andscanning every
spot overshadowed by the dark fronds
of the hemlocks.
But no Kate Clinton was there, either
in moonlight or shadow; nor was there
any score made by skates upon the in
shore ice.
It now occurred to him that he might
discover where she had gone by getting
upon the track of hrr sliatea, and follow
ing it up. With this intent, be hasten
ed to the spot where he had left her
standing.
On reaching it a cold thrill shot
through his frame, as if the blood had
suddenly become frozen within his
veins. In addition to the two sets of
skate tracks, left by himself and the
young lady in their up and down ex
cursions, he now saw a third, whose bold
scores upon the ice showed them to have
been from the feet of a man ! There were
confused curves and zigzaggings, as if
there bad been a struggle, or some slight
difficulty at starting; but beyond that
point, there were two sets of straight
continuous furrows, running parallel,
and side by side, as if the skaters had
gonejaway with joined hands!
The direction was down the river—
towards home. At a glance Frank Hill
recoguized the thin, tiny score left by
the slender steel blades on the feet of
Miss Clinton. But the man who had
gone skating so close by her side—who
was he ?
A painful suspicion shot through his
brain. He remembered that, shortly
after leaving the house, they had passed
a man upon the ice, who was also on
skates. They had brushed so near him
a 3 to see who he was, and in the moon
light had beheld a countenance bearing
a most sinister cast. It was the face of
Charles Lansing, whom Frank knew to
be a rival suitor for the hand of Kate
Clinton.
This man had made his appearance
in the neighborhood some three months
before ; coming no one knew whence.
In fact, there was nothing known of
him, except his name ; and this might
easily have been an assumed one. He
put up at the principal hotel of the vil
lage ; appeared to have money, and to
be a gentleman of birth and education.
Was Charles Lansing the man who had
come to Miss Clinton upon the Ice and
carried her away with him ? It could
be no other; for Hill now remembered
having heard the ring of skates behind,
as they were coming up the river from
the place where Lansing had been seen,
and shortly after they had passed him.
The first thought of Kate Clinton’s
lover was one of a most painful nature.
It was, in fact, a bitter pang of jealousy.
Had the whole thiDg been pre-arranged,
and bad she willingly gone away with
this stranger, who, though a stranger
to others, mightbebetterknowntoher?
LansiDg, if not what might be called a
handsome man, was good looking
enough to give cause for jealousy.
It was a fearful reflection for Frank
Hill; but, fortunately, it did not loDg
endure. It passed like a spasm; another,
nearly as painful, taking Its place. He
recalled a rumor that had been for some
days current in the neighborhood—of a
strangeness observed in the behavior of
the hotel guest, that had caused doubts
about his sanity. And more forcibly
came back to Frank Hill’s mind what
he had heard that very morning—how
Lansing had presented himself at the
house of Miss Clinton’s father, had act
ed in such a strange manner—littering
wild speeches and threats against the
young lady—that it became necessary
to use force in removing him from the
premises.
Could this be the explanation of the
disappearance ? Was the maniac now
in the act of carrying out the menace he
had made—some terrible mode of ven
geance under the wild promptings of
insanity?
Tfre thought came quick, for this
whole series of surprises and conjec
tures did not occupy three seconds of
time. And with the last of these, Frank
Hill threw all his strength into a pro-
pulsive effort, and shot off like an ar*
row down the river.
A bend was soon passed, beyoad
which there was a stretch of dear ice
extending for more than a mile. Away
at the farther end, two forms were dim
ly discernible; and opon the still frosty
air could be heard the faint ringing of
skates, at intervals repeating their
strokes.
Frank Hill had no doubt about one
of these being she of whom he was in
Bearcb; and, nerved by the sight, he
threw fresh vigor into his limbs and
flew over the smooth surface like a bird
upon the wing..
On, past rock, and tree, and hill, and
farm houses sleeping in silence; on in
long, sweeping strides; his eyes flash
ing, but fixed upon the two forms,
every moment getting more clearly dis
cernible as the distance became lessened
by his Bpeed.
And now he was near enough to see
that is was LaDsing.
The latter glanced back over his
shoulder, recognized his pursuer, and
taking a fresh hold on the wrist of his
apparent unwilling partner, he forced
her onward with increased velocity.
She had looked back, and saw who
was coming after. The silver light of
the moon, falling upon her face, showed
an expression of sadness suddenly
changing to hope; and raising her
gloved hand in the air, she sent back
a cry for help.
It was not needed. That wan face;
seen under the soft moonlight, appeal
ing to Frank Hill for protection, was
enough to nerve him to the last exer
tion of his strength, and he kept on,
without speaking a word, his whole
thought and soul absorbed by the one
great desire to overtake and rescue her.
From what? From the grasp of a
maniac, as the behavior of Lansing now
proved him to be.
Merciful Heavens! What is that
sound heard ahead, and at no great dis
tance? r
Hill did not need to ask tbe question.
He knew it was the roar of water —he
knew that a cataract was below. And
near below ; for, on sweeping around
another curve of the .river, the black,
smooth water could be seen rushing
rapidly forth from under the field of ice,
quick whitening into froth as it struck
againßt the rocks cresting the cataract.
The pursuedsaw it first, but soon after
the pursuer.
“My God !” gasped Hill, iu a voice
choking with agony. “Can the man
mean to carry her on—over? Stop,
madman!”
Lansing heard the call aud looked
back. The moonlight, falling upon his
face, revealed an expression horrible to
behold. His eyes were no longer rolling,
but fixed in a terrible stare of determi
nation, while upon his features could be
traced a smile of demoniac triumph.
He spoke no word; but raising his un«*
employed arm, pointed to the cataract.
There could be no mistaking the ges
tu re; but what followed made still clear
erhis intent. Giving aloud Bhriek that
ended in a prolonged peal of laughter, he
faced once more toward the edge of the
ice. Then, throwing all his mad energy
into the effort, he shot straight for if,
dragging the young lady with him.
The crisis had now come. A moment
more, and Kate Clinton, struggling in
the arms of a madman, would be carried
over the cataract down to certain de
struction on the rocks below.
With heart hot, as if on fire, her lover
saw her peril, now proximate and ex
treme. But his head was still cool, and
at a glance be took in the situation.
By bearingdirectuponthemhe would
only increase the momentum of their
speed, aud force both over tbe edge of
the ice. His only hope lay in making
one last vigorous effort ta get between
them and the water. A grand sweep
might do it; and without waiting to
reflect farther, he threw his body for
ward in the curve of a parabola.
With his hands and teeth both tight
ly clenched, with eyes fixed upon one
point and thoughts concentrated into
one great purpose, he passed over the
smooth surface like an electric flash,
ending in a shock as his body came in
contact with that of LansiDg. A blow
from one arm. already sent, sent the
latter staggering off upon the ice, at
the same time detaching his grasp from
the wrist of hiß intended victim. Itwas
instantly seized by her rescuer, who,
continuingthe sweep thus Intercepted,
succeeded in carrying her on to a place
of safety.
In vain the madman tried to recover
himself. The momentum of his own
previous speed, increased by the power
ful blow from Hills’s clenched fist, sent
him spinning on the extreme edge of
tbe ice, where he fell flat upon his face.
Perhaps he might still have been
saved, but for hisown frenzied passion.
As the skaters, following along the
curve, swept close to where he lay, the
skate of the young lady almost touching
him, he made an effort to lay hold of
her ankle, as if intending to drag her
over the cataract along with him. For
tunately he failed, but the movement
was fatal to himself. A piece of rotten
ice on which he rested, giving way un
der his weight, brok off with a loud
crash : and in another moment the de
tached fragment, bearing his body along
with it, swept over the falls, to be
crushed to atoms, in the seething caul
dron below.
Tbe lovers, now safe from any dan
ger, stood for a time silent, with arms
crossed, and listening. But after one
wild, appalling shriek that rose from
the maniac’s lips, as for a moment his
body balanced upon the combing of the
cataract, they heard no more—only the
hoarse monotone of the waters.
Remarkable Memories
Maglibecchi, the founder of the great
library at Florence, had so wonderful a
memory that Gibbon styled him “mem
ory personified.” At one period of his
life feeneca could repeat two thousand
words precisely as they had been pro
nounced. Gassendi had acquired by
heart six thousand Latin verses, and in
order to give his memory exercise he
was in the habit of daily reciting six
hundred verses from diflereD t languages.
Siuuderaou, another mathematician,
could repeat all Horace’s odes and a
great part of Latin authors. La Croze,
after listening to twelve verses in as
many languages, could not only repeat
them in the order In which he heard them
but could also transpose them. Pope
had an excellent memory, and many
persons have amused themselves by
looking through his writings and point
ing out how often he had brought it
into play. He was able to turn with
great readiness to the precise place in
a book where be had seen any passage
that had struck him. John Lynden
had a very peculiar faculty for getting
things by rote, and be could repeat cor
rectly any long, dry document, such as
a deed or act of Parliament, after having
heard it read; but if he wanted any
single paragraph he was obliged to
begin at the commencement, and pro
ceed with his recital until he came to
what he required. There was a French
novelist, who, being a printer, compos
ed a volume in type, and thus the book
was printed without having being writ
ten. Bishop Warburton had a prodig
ious memory, which he taxed to an
extraordinary degree. His “Divine
Legation" would lead one to suppose
that he had indefatigably collected and
noted down the ennumerable facts and
quotations there introduced; but the
fact is that his only note-book was an
old almanac, in which he occasionally
jotted down a thought. Scaliger ob
tained so perfect a knowledge of one
Latin book, that he offered to repeat
any passage with a dagger at his breast,
to be used against him in case of a fail
ure of memory.
Old Age.
“We say ‘declining years;’ but if
heaven be onrtrue centre, thedeclineof
our two-fold being is contemporaneous
with its ascent. 800 l and body are in
almost perpetual contradiction. In the
failing of nature, it is not merely de
struction which is hastening ou, but
liberty and glory—the perfection of a
soul which growß ever more radiant as
the spiritual principleabsorbsall others.
As the body sinks into decrepitude,
the soul is tempered; and, by the sim
ultaneous acceleration of these two
processes, th 6 frame returns to the
dast, and the spirit to heaven. Death
for the one is immortal youth for
the other. David was old when he
called upon the God of his youth, but
it was not the God of hia past whom he
invoked, any more than the God of
Jacob is the God of the dead. It was
the God of the present to whom David
appealed—the God of that youth which
he felt flourishing and blossoming in the
depths of his being. For if the children
of light enjoy day in the midst of night,
ftie children of immortality keep their
youth amid thesnowsof age ” PMadame
Bwetchine.
The Crow.
Pliny calls the crow a bird of ill
omened garrulity, most inauspicious at
the time of incubation, or just after the
summer solstice. The appearance of a
flight of crows upon tbe left of their
ca »jP to cow the courage of the
soldiers of old Rome, since they looked
upon it as a certain sign of defeat, as
certain as when the birds hovered or
passed over their standards. So Shakes
peare’s Cassias presages misfortune at
Philippi:
Ravens, crows ana kites
FJy o cr onr beads, and downward look on us
As we wero sickly prey, t hese shawdows stem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our a:my lies, ready to give up ibo ghost.
A shrewd Bcotch observer remarks
that crows have a very keen and cor
rect perception of changes in the weath
er, aud that stormy winds may be pres
aged when they feed greedily, and fly
speedily along the lower edges of the
glens: while, if they betake themselves
to sheltered places when the tempest
begins, it is a certain indication that it
will increase to a hurricane. Still, their
weather-wisdom does not suffice to save
them from destruction. In 1839, thirty
three thousand dead crows were count
ed on the shores of a lake in West
meath, after a violent storm; a few
years ago, the beach of Crow Island, a
favorite resort of the Ceylon crow was
strewed with the remains of the birds
killed by a thunderstorm; and when
Pea Patch Island was inundated one
night, the shores for miles were black
ened by the bodies of thousands of un
lucky crows, as the streets of Calcutta
were filled with them after the last great
cyclone swept the Indian continent.
Our sable subject owes no little of his
evil reputation to the fact, that nature
has not cursed him with a fastidious
palate; but if he can make a meal off
what a bird of nicer taste would rather
starve than touch, he only does so when
nothing better is to be got. There is no
doubt that when the choice is given him
he prefers dining upon a tender leveret
or young rabbit; aud he will work hard
enough at unearthing grubs and worms
where he c*»n earn fair wages for his
labor. It must be admitted the crow
has an unfortunate liking for poached
eggs, combined with a blissful Igno
rance of the aacredness of a partridge’s,
or pneasant’s nest, while he will not
hesitate at appropriating stray duck
lings or chickens, if they come in his
way. When stealing eggs, he gener
ally impales them dextrouslyonhis bill,
not always ; Mr. Weir frightened a fly
ing crow into dropping his burden, and
found it was a wild duck’s egg, perfectly
whole.
Another crime of which this bird is,
upon very strong evidence, accused, is
that of putting sickly sheep out of their
misery; and, as Mr. Hogg puts it, of
desceudiog to the most dishonorable
dodges to maintaih himself in good con
dition. That gentleman peisonally
complains that while at other times his
farm was only favored by the patronage
of a single pair of crows, in the lambing
season, the hills swarmed with them,
ready to take advantage of the ewes in
their hour of trouble, and destroy both
them and their offspring. The crow fs
by no means a one ideaed bird. Small
feathered game he strikes as it flies;
sheep, and such-like victims, he first
disables by picking out their eyes; if
he gets hold of a nut, he cracks
the shell by dropping it again and
again from a great height. One was
seen to kill a young chicken by laying
it upon the ground, aud then walking
backwards and forwards over it until
its life was trodden out of it; and the
Roman naturalist tells us of a thirsty
crow heaping stones in an urn contain
ing rain water it could not reach, until
it brought the draught to a convenient
height.
Somebody, however, has said a good
word in behalf of the crow; Friar
Glautvilledeposing ; “In Exameron,
it is said the mildness of the crow is
wonderful, for when the old crows in
age be both naked and bare of covering,
the young ones cover them with their
feathers and feed them. And when they
wax old and feeble, the young crows
undersit them, and rear them up with
their wings, and comfort them to use
to fly, to bring their members that be
diseased into state again.” Although :
it is hard to believe In such filial affec
tion on the part of the young crows, we
may say that the old birds deserve every
kindness from them, seeing they tend
upon their offspring long after they can
fly, instead of, like most other birds,
leaving the youngsters to their own de
vices at the earliest possible period. In
deed, the cro svisa model parent. When
Mr. Weir had deprived a lady crow of
her liege lord, he was astonished by
finding her provided with asecond mate
before three days had elapsed. Deter
mined to get rid of the family, he next
shot the hen bird; but even her death
did not suffice, for the male bird con
tinued to feed the motherless brood, and
persevered in performing his paternal
duty until he paid for his constancy
with his life.
The note of the crow is said to have
twenty-five modulations. He possesses
the capacity of imitation in an extraor
dinary degree. “At the momWfl am
writiug this,” says Pliny,” “ tlrere is in
the city of Rome a crow, whiuri belongs
to a Roman of equestrian rank,)and was
brought from Bretica, able to pronounce
several connected words, and repeatedly
learning fresh ones.” There is nothing
very surprising in this, considering that
the corvine family is famous for its pos
session of the often worthless gift of the
gab. This imitative faculty makes the
crow an amusiDg pet. He is easily
tamed, being of a sociable temperament,
and may be taught many tricks, while
he is-not incapable of attachment. Mr.
Weir kept one time, which
flew around about the neighborhood in
the bay, and roosted at night in his
shrubbery. The sound of his master’s
voice was enough to bring him to him
immediately to receive his careselng,
but he sharply resented any stranger’s
making free to stroke his back. This
bird’s favorite amusement was to peck
ib* heels of barefooted urchins. His
memory was astonishing. One Monday
morning, after being satiated with food,
he picked up a mole in the orchard, and
hopped with his prize into the garden,
wnere he buried it so nicely that his
master could not discover where he had
put it. As his wings had been clipped,
to prevent him flying over the garden
wail, he was unable to get into the gar
den again until Saturday evening, when
seeing the door was open, he hopped at
once tothevery spot where the mole lay
hidden, and disinterred it in the twink
ling of an eye.
In 1807 a gentleman told the follow
ing story in a magazine: “In spring,
1789, a boy brought a nestling crow to
my house, where he remained until the
harvest following and then disappeared.
In June, 1790, I observed a crow ap
proaching near the house, and suspected
it might be my old bird. I threw a
piece of bread to him which he imme
diately picked up. From that time he
paid regular visits, and is known by
the name of Wattie. After pairing, he
brings his mate with him; who waits
for him at a distance until he returns
with his allowance, when they eat very
lovingly together. In breeding-time he
comes very often, and when his young
take wing, brings tnem to a little dis
tance from the house. If he finds the
door fast, he first caws, then thumps
on the door with his bill, and if still un
successful, utters a pretty loud sound
like the barking of a little dog. If he
meets me at a distance from the house,
he comes up to me and if coming home,
accompanies me all the way, either
hopping or taking short flights. He
once recognized me three mileß from
home, and I was obliged to beg some
bread to pacify him !”
Some writers credit the corvine tribe
with possessing an organization un
heard of among any other members of
the ornithological kingdom, actually
averring that they hold regular assizes
for the trial of offenders who have set at
naught thelawßof the black community.
Edmonstone declares the crows of Zea
land seldom associate, except when they
m eet together for the purpose of hold i ng
a crows’ court, when numbers of them
assemble on a particular hill or in a
particular field. All the delegates having
arrived, proceedings are opened by a
general croaking, and after a while the
whole body fall upon two or three indi
viduals, and put tnem to death, dispers
' ing immediately afterwards, it would
, seem the crow, like Coventry Patmore,
; believes
1 That Penalty is best to bear,
! "Which follows soonest upon crime.
Landt not only corroborates Edmon
stone’s story,bat pretends be was able to
distlngnlsh the j udges, jary, council and
accusers.— Chamber's Journal.
OBSEQUIES OF A CHIXAHAN.
The Ghost of Ah Poj Blown and Ban;
Into the Rea'm of Spirits—Fuo
erat— Baked Heats and
Saered Tapers.
From the San Francisco Bnlletln.
Three days since In this city at his
bouseon Jackson street, died Ah Poy,
a Chinese merchant The disease which
baffled the skill of Chinese doctors and
carried him off was a lingering con
sumption. Little could be learned of de
ceased save that he was born at Canton,
and at an early age entered opon mer
cantile pursuits. He came to.this coun
try and continued his native avocation.
He died at the age of 50 years. At first
the exhibitions of sorrow were in pri
vate,by his nearest relatives and friends.
The remains were placed in a metallic
case for shipment to Canton—the only
city In the world from which a China
man can properly or safely ascend to
the realm of spirits. It waa determined
that as the malignant deities had man
ifested peculiar activity in protracting
Ah Poy’s sufferings, particular and ex
traordinary means should be taken to
appease them or frighten them away,
and at the same time to propitiate the
good gods. The rooms in Which the
private exercises were had were too
small, and the leaders of ceremonies
obtaiued permission from Chief Crow
ley to occupy a portion of the side walk
on Jackson for a
PUBLIC EXHIBITION.
Accordingly at an early hour yester
day, a man dressed in priestly robes
came out of the house, holding in one
hand a large ox horn. He applied it to
his lips, aud elevating the instrument,
blew shrill and sharp into all quarters
of the heavens. This is supposed to
have started the evil ones into a com
prehension of the fact that some demon
stration was about to be made against
them. After blowing the horn for sev
eral minutes, the priest was succeeded
by other men with bells, and these were
jingled and beaten till the din was hid
eous. It was more than the infernals
could stand,and they retreated pell-mell
into every direction. Some ffew down
Jackson street,some up the street, others
into tbe adjacent alleys, and still others
to the Headquarters of the Anti-Coolie
Society. While the bells were ringing,
and only good gods wero around in the
air,the mourners came out in the street,
Then the coffin was brought out and
placed on the sidewalk, draped with
red, white and green cloths. The
mourners, of whom there were about
a dozen—all women but one—were
dressed in white robes, with white colws
on their heads. The hair on the
women’s heads was disheveled. Sev
eral of them wept in a genuine man
ner, but the rest howled in such a way
as to justify the statement made by
some in attendance that they were’
hired mourners. When the coffin wrs
put down the mourners filed around it
several times, weeping, wailing and
throwing up their hands, and then all
bowed themselves with their faces to
the ground, and remained in that posi
tion several hours.
THE SACRIFICES.
On the sidewalk, below the coffin,
were ranged three or four wide tables,
and on these were deposited the sacrifi
cial offerings. There were five roasted
hogs—full Blze —with tips of tinsel on
their ears and wreathed about their
snouts. Three sheep, skinned and laid
on large pans, occupied prominent
places. Then there were chickens
roasted whole, with many colored can
dies melted and run over them in imi
tation of robes. They were set upright
in edible chairs, with their necks
straightened,and fantasticcovers placed
on top of their heads. Their claws were
bent up and made to grasp spears, darts,
and exorcising wands. Several roosters
had been baked till they were brown,
and yet the feathers on their wings, the
wattles on their necks and the crests on
their heads were noteven wilted. These,
too, were ornamented with tinsel and
paper. Several largo crabs from Meiggs’
wharf lay in the centre of the table and
were set off with ornameuts like ail the
rest of the offerings. There were nu
merous pyramids of fruit also—apples,
pears, grapes and nuts; pyramids of
high-coiored, greasy looking cakes;
loaf imitations of lamb, goats, ducks,
etc., covered with melted confectionery;
piles of Josh! sticks aod sacred tapers,
with rows of them burning, smoking
and spluttering on the borders of the
table ; strips of red, white and yellow
paper beariug mysterious characters;
doll looking images at several points;
and everywhere tinsel, paper, smoke
fumes and insufferable stench. The
streets were blocked by the throng of
Chinamen, negroes and “superiors”
but in the crowd next the coffin and
free lunch table of the gods women pre
dominated. They were a degraded and
diseased looking set for the most part,
and seemed to be riveted in their tracks
by idle curiosity.
A line of hacks and a rank of badg*-
ering hackmen occupied one side of the
street waiting for their “ loads.”
At 12 M. an old white headed woman
came out of tbe house bearing in her
skinny arms a huge load of tinseled
paper. She threw it ou the pavement?
aud taking a lighted Josh stick set the
mass on fire. Then other women
brought out some curious looking im
ages, about two feet high, and supposed
to be representations of several anti*
coolieites. These they cast into the
flames, evidently believing that posses
sion of them would certainly appease
the malignant gods, and give Ah Roy a
safe entree into the land of the good.
At 1 P. M., the coffin was placed in a
hearse, the mourners got into the hacks,
and the melancholy procession of pa
gans and Christians proceeded to Lone
Mountain, where the remains will be
entombed till the sailing of tho next
China steamer.
A Touching Relic of i’ompeU.
In digging out the ruins of Pompeii,
every turn of the spade brings up some
relic of the life, some witness of imper
ial luxury. For far the greater part,the
relics have a merely curious interest:
they belong to archreology, and find
appropriate resting places iu historical
museums.
But there are some exceptions. Here,
for Instance, the excavator drops, an
uninvited guests, upon a banquet; there
he unexpectedly obtrudes himself into
a tomb. In one place he finds a miser
cowering ou his heap; another shows
him bones of dancing girls and broken
instruments of music lying on the mar
ble floor. In the midst of the painted
chambers, baths, halls, columns, foun
tains, among the splendid evidences of
material wealth, he sometimes stumbles
on a simple incident, a touching human
story such as strikes the imagination
and suggests mournful interest of the
great disaster, as the sudden sight of a
wounded soldier conjures up the hor
rors of the battle.
Such to our mind, is the latest discov
ery of the excavator in tfiis melancholy
field. It is a group of skeletons in the
act of flight, accompanied by a dog.—
There are three human beings; one of
them a young girl, with rings and jew
els still on her fingers. The fugitives
had a bag of gold and silver with them,
snatched up, no doubt, in haste and
darkness. But the fiery flood was on
their track, and vain theirwealtb, their
flight, the age of one, the youth of the
other. The burning lava rolled above
them and beyond, and the faithful dog
turned back to share the fate of his mis
tress, dying at her feet.
Seen by the light of such an incident,
how vividly that night of horror looms
upon the sense. Does not the Imagina
tion picture the little groupin theirown
house, by the side of their fountain,
languidly chattering over the day’s
events and of the unusual heat? Doea
it not hear with them the troubled swell
of the waters in the bay—see as they do
how the night comes down in sadden
strangeness, how the sky opens over
head , and flames break out wbLie scoriae,
sand and molten rocks came pouring
down? What movements, what emo
tion, what surprise ! The scene grows
darker every instant; the hollow mono
tony of the bay is lifted into yells and
shrieks; the air grows thick and hot
with flames, and at the mountain's foot
is heard the roll of the liquid lava.
Jewels, household gods, gold and sil
ver coins, are snatched up on the in
stant. No time to say farewell. Dark
ness In front and fire behind, theyrnsh
into the Btreets, choked with falling
houses and flying citizens. How find
the way through passages which have
no longer outlet ? Confusion, darkness,
uproar every where; the shouts of parted
friends, the agony of men struck down
by falling columns; fear, -madness and
despair unchanged : here penary clutoh.*
| ing gold it cannot keep, there gluttony
feeding on its final meal, and phrenzy
NUMBER 52
striking in the dark to forestall death.
Through all, fancy hears the young
girl’s screams ; the lire is on her jeweled
hand. No time for thought, no pause,
the flood rolls on, and wisdom, beauty,
age and youth, with all the stories of
their love, their hopes, their rank,
wealth and greatness, all the once afflu
ent life, are gone forever.
When nnearthed after many years,
the nameless group has no other im
portance to mankind than as it may
serve to “point a moral or adorn a
tale.”
luterTlew with the Mother of Jfapo-
icon 111.
It was a fine autumn day, says a cel
ebrated French writer, when I bad oc
casion in the course of my wauderincs
to pass through the town of Constauce.
I was informed that the Chateau of
Arenenberg, the residence of the Duch
ess of Bt. Lece, the ex-Queen Hortense,
was situated only half a league distant
from tbia ancient city. I,felt desirous
therefore, to place my homage at the
feet of this fallen sovereign, to see this
queen—this graceful daughter of Jo
sephine—this sister of Prince Eugene
—this once sparkling jewel of Napole
on’s crown. I had ofteu heard Queen
Hortense spoken of iu my youth as a
sort of good fairy, very gracious, and
very beautiful. I had been told of the
young maidens she had dowered, the
mothers whose sous she had bought off
after conscription, aud the condemned
culprits whose pardons she had obtain
ed. Added to all this, I slill retained
a vivid recollection of both the words
and airs of various songs composed by
her.
I resolved, therefore, to gratify my
long cherished desire of becoming ac
quainted with [the ex-queen ; aud,
though it was too early in the morning
to present myself at the chateau, 1 left
my card at the door, aud tlieu, spring
ing into a boat, took a row on the lake
to an adjacent island. On returning
after this brief excursion to my tempo
rary home, I found awaitiug me an
invitation to dinner from Madame du
Bt. Lece.
The chateau of Arenenburg wears, by
no means, the aspect of a royal resi
dence; it is simply a pleasant looking
home, such as might belong to any pri
vate gentleman of wealth. The emo
tion 1 felt on approachlug its precincts
did not, therefore, arise from external
circumstances, but from the thoughts
which filled my miud ami stirred all
the deeper feelings of my heart. I pro
ceeded slowly ou my way, and more
than once felt tempted to retrace my
steps. I had an indistinct dread lest
my illusions should be dispelled and tho
dream of early years should lose Its en
chantment. Suddenly, however, on
entering a shady avenue, I perceived
three ladies, accompanied by a young
man, advancing towards me. Instinct
ively I recognized In one amongst them
the ex-Queen Hortense, and hastened
towards her. Little could she have
divined the nature of the emotions
which at that moment filled my heart
—emotions of mingled respect, pity and
admiration. Had she been alone, I
should have felt tempted to bend my
knee before her. My countenance
probably betrayed, in some degree, the
conflicting feelings by which I was agi
tated, for smiling sweetly, she held out
her band to me, and said : “It is very
good of you to come aud visit a poor
exile like me.”
As she thus expressed her gratitude
for the trilling mark of respect I had
shown, I could not help mentally ex
claiming, “In this instance, atleast, the
dreams of my youth have proved no
deception ; this tone of voice, thisglauce
exactly realize the ideal I had formed
when thinkiug of the daughter of Jose
phine.”
The Queen placed her arm in mine
and led me through the grounds. Time
glided imperceptibly away, until at last
she proposed to me toeuter thechateau.
In the drawing-room the first object
which arrested my attention was a
magnificent portrait.
“ How very beautiful!” I exclaimed.
“ Yes, it is a beautiful painting,” re
joined Madame de Bt. Lece ; “ it repre
sents Napoleon at the bridge of Lodi.”
“It is painted by Gros, is it noL?”
“Yes, it is his, copied from nature,
and marvelously like.”
I stood for some moments absorbed
in thought, and when I suddenly start
ed, roused from my reverie, I perceived
the eyes of Madame St. Lece fixed upon
me with a smiling expression. She
then arose and asked whether I should
like to accompany her, and she would
show me her imperial reliquary! I
was only too happy to accept the offer,
and she conducted me towards a piece
of furniture in tbe form of a bookcase,
fitted up with glass paues and on each
shelf of which were ranged different
objects which had belonged to Joseph
ine or Napoleon.
Firstinordercamea portfolio, marked
with A. J. and ail N., aud containing
the familiar correspondence of the Em
peror and Empress. Every letter was
autograph, and many amongst them
were written from tho fieldß of Marengo,
of Austerlltz, or of Jena, hastily scribbled
at the cuuuon mouth, and eacti contain
ing tidings of victory. Next followed
the Talisman of Charlemagne, and to
this relic a singular history was attached.
When tbe tomb in which tho great
monarch had Jaiu buried for well nigh
a thousand years was opened at Aix la-
Chapelie, hisskeleton wasfouud clad in
hfs robes of state; the double crown of
France and Germany rested on h is flesh
less brow; by his side, together with his
pilgrim’s purse, fiuug his good sword
Joyeuse— this sword with w hich, as the
Monk of Bt. Denis relates, he felled at
one stroke a knight in full armor; his
feet rested on the shield of massive gold
given him by Pope Leo; andarouudhis
neck hung an amulet, which secured to
him victory in war. This amulet con
sisted of what was said to he a piece of
the true cross, sent to him by the Em
press Irene. It was set in emeralds aud
suspended by a chain of massive gold.
The citizens of Aix-la Cbapelle present
ed this talisman to Napoleon when he
made his entry into their town; and
Napoleon, in -1811, one day playfully
threw this chain around the neck of
Queen Hortense, owning to her at the
same time that he bad worn it at the
battles of Austerlitz and Wagram, even
as Charlemagne had done a thousand
years before.
The next relics shown me by tho
Duchess were the belt of Napoleon iu
Egypt, the wedding ring he had him
self placed on her mother's hand, and,
last of all the portrait of the King of
Rome, embroidered by Mark Louis—a
portraiton which the eyes of the dyiug
conqueror had rested at tbe latest mo
ments of his existence, and which had
been fondly pressed to his expiring
lips.
J I a3ked to see the sword which
Marchand had brought back from Bt.
Helena, and which the Duke of Reim
stadthad bequeathed to Prince Louis
Napoleon, but this dyiDg bequest had
not yet been forwarded to the Queen,
and she seemed to fear it might never
reach her hands.
At this moment tbe dinner bell rang.
“So soon! ” I exclaimed.
“You shall visit my reliquery again
to-morrow,” she kindly replied.
When dinner was concluded, we re
turned to the drawingroom, and in a
few moments Madam Recamier was
announced. This lady, too, was, in her
own way, a queen—a queen of beauty
and of intellect; and Madame de St.
Lace received her as a sister. I have
often heard Madame Recamier’s age
dlscussad. I only saw her, it is true, by
candle light, dressed in black, and with
a veil of that color falling over her neck
and shoulders; bat Ishould certainly not
have supposed her to bo more than flve
and-twenty, judging from the youth
ful freshness of voice, the beauty of her
eyes, and herexquisitely moulded hand.
It struck me, tnerefore, as somewhat
singular to hear these two ladies con
verse together about the Directory aud
the Consulate, as of periods in which
they had lived and with the eveuts of
which they were familiar.
After some time, Madame de St. Lece
was earnestly requested to take her place
at the piano. She acceded to our wishes,
and sung several which she had lately
set to music.
“Might I venture to make one re
quest? ’ lenquired.
“ Aud what may your petition be?”
rejoined the ex-queen.
“That you would sing ouo of your
old compositions.”
“ Which of them?” she required.
“ You leave me to march to glory."
“ That was oneof the very first lever
wrote," she exclaimed. 41 It dates
from 1809. How do you happen to
remember it? You could scarcely have
been born when it was in vogue?”
“ I was only five years and a half old;
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but my sister, who wasaome years older
than myself, used to sing to me, and
this waa my favorite soug.”
“ It is very unfortunate, then,” re
plied the Duchess, “ that the words
have altogether passed from my
memory.”
“ I remember them well, however,”
I rejoined, and arisiDg from my seat, t
Mood behind her at the piano, aud be
gan to repeat to her the lines so familiar
to my memory.
“My poor mother; ” exclaimed Ma
dame de Bt. Lece, with a deep sigh,
when I had finished tho recital.
“It is a mournful recollection,” I
replied.
“Mournful Indeed,’’said thoDucbess.
“ It waa iu ISOS, as you must be aware,
that the rumors concerning a divorce,
began to ciiculate; they smote my poor
mother to llio heart; aud hs the Em
peror was on the point of set ting out for
Wagram she requested M. de Legur to
write a song on the subject of his de
parture. The Conut brought her tho
lines you have just repeated; my mo
ther asked me to set them to music;
and I sang them to the Euiperor on the
eveuing preceding his departure. My
poor mother! I could almost fancy I
see her still—anxiously watching the
Emperor’s careworn countenance, and
seeking to dLcover the impression
made upon his mind by tho words of
the song, so admirably suited to the cir
cumstances in which they both wero
placed at that moment. The Emperor
listened attentively uutil the last noto
had ceased to vibrate, then turulug to
ward my mother, he said in a tone
which betrayed deep emotion :
“ You are the best creature I havo
ever known;” aud so saying, ho hast
ened from the apartment. My mother
burst into tears; and from that moment
she felt that her fate was sealed. You
can now readily understand what touch
ing recollections are associated lu my
memory with this air, and how vividly
it transports me hack to by gone years.”
“ Pardon me,” I exclaimed, “ I ought
not to have recalled it to yourmlnd.”
“ On the contrary,” replied Queen
Hortense, as she again seated herself at
the piano, “so many other sorrows
have passed over me since then that I
cau recall tboso days without bltter-
Tho ex Queen then ran her fingers
over the keys, and, after a plaintive
prelude, sang the same touching words
she had sung before Napoleon on the
memorable occasion.
Thus ended my eveniug at Areuen
burg, aud it was with a heart filled with
confiloting emotions that I quitted tho
presence of Hortense, the ex-Queen of
Holland—the daughter of Josephine
uud the mother of Louis Napoleon, the
presentEmperorof the French.
Alaska and Its Inhabitants,
The report of General Thomas con
cerning the territory of Alaska and its
inhabitants, human and phocan, con
tains the following interesting facts :
The Aleuts though strict members of
the Greek Church, seem to have no con
trol over their passion for ardent spirits,
nor correct ideas In regard to chastity;
consequently the effects of contact with
the Americans are apparent, as diseases
are common, and there are scarcely any
male or female, who will not get intox
icated if they have the opportunity;
the first thiog they ask foris whisky.
I believe much good might be done if
one or two reliable persons could be ap
pointed to live among them as superin
tendents. Buch if of good character,
would have great influence, as tho
Aleuts have great respect for authority*—
To the creditor the people of Kenny
and the islands of St. George and Bt.
Paul, I must say I saw no evidence of
dissipation among them, duo no doubt
to their isolation, though I was Inform
ed they were liable to the frailty of
their race If inducements were offered.
They impressed me with their intelll
genoeand honesty; many of themen are
skilful mechanics, aud their skin boats
are creditable as models of grace and
strength.
On Bt. Paul and Bt. George only are
the fur-bearing seal found, and' are
killed for their furs and oil. The habits
of these animals are peculiar. About
the last of April or early part of May
the old male seals arrive, and go ou
shore at the places frequented by them,
called rookeries ; they make a thorough
examination of the ground, then tho
great body arrive, and iu a short time
all have occupied their positions. The
females come up on shore, and are col
lected together in communities or fami
lies by each one of the old seals, who
possesses sufficient powers to maintain
and guard his family ; the young miles
and supernatural ones are forced to
take their place outside of tho area
occupied by the families, and if
they attempt to interfere with
domestic arrangements aro summa
rily driven off. In these troubles
terrible affrays occur. This arrange
ment around the rookeries make It very
easy for the hunters to place themselves
between tho families and the young
males, from whom only the skins aro
taken, which, when they want to kill,
they do in parties of -10 or 50, all armed
with clubs. They get between the
families and the young males, then
drive them inland some two or three
miles distant, letting all not wanted for
slaughter drop out by the way ; theso
return to the rookeries. After getting
only as many a*» they can skin and salt
iu one day to the proper places, they
are killed by striking the noses of the
aulmals with the clubs. The next day
is devoted to pnckiDg. By this means
the families are not disturbed, aud
remaiu to rear their young. As far as I
cau judge, the business of the old males
is to compel tho females to take care of
their youDg unlil they have grown suf
ficiently to take care of themselves;
they then appear to give up all control
over the females, who are permitted to
leave theiryouug and go into the water,
the old male still guarding and over
looking the youDg. In September all
are permitted to go into the water,
where they sport during the day, com
ing on shore in the evening. At this
period all move further inland and min
gle together indiscriminately. If the
Autumn continues mild, they remain on
the islands till the latter part of October
when they disappear very sudden)y,and
have been seen going through the pass
es between the Aleutian Islands, In a
southerly direction. Nothing more of
them is seen until next Bpring, neither
is itknown where they pass the Winter.
The number of seals on the Island can
only be estimated. In the height of
the season, after the young are born,
ihey are estimated all the way from five
to fifteen millions ; but they are count
less, covering hundreds of acres, like
sheep in a pen. The habits of theso
animals are such that If permitted to be
hunted at random they would be soon
driven from the islands. This has
been proved by the Russians, who
totally destroyed some rookeries before
they knew how to treat them. If It
is desirable to perpetuate the fur-bear
ing seal, one of two plans should be
adopted. One is, to confine the killing
to the natives, permitting none but
authorized agents of the government to
live on the islands, and permit traders
to purchase only after the skins have
been prepared and the seals have left
for the south. This course would ne
cessitate the stationing of an agent on
each of the islands, to guard the inter
ests of the Government and prevent the
demoralization of the natives by such
unscrupulous traders as would not hesi
tate to furnish them with liquor for
the purpose of cheating them.
Tobacco an Exhaustive Crop.
In speaking of tb« exhaustive effects of
the tobacco plant, tbe Journal of Chemistry
says:
To tbe farmer that cultivates the plant It
proves a robber of the first magnitude. It
possesses capacity for plundering tbe soil
greater than any other tree, shrub, or plant
known. The amount of mineral constitu
ents which it carries off can bejudged of by
carefully examining the ash as it accumu
lates a;>on tbe end of an ignited cigar. It
often remains nfter the organic portion is
removed, showing tbe full size and outliuo
of rolled leaves, and to tho eye apparently
nothing Is lost by combustion. Ii the wood
burned in our stoves and upon our hearths
was as rich in soil constituents, wo should
need ttu services of extra servants to carry
away tho ashes. Every hundred pounds
of tho dried leaves which the sbH produoes
robs it of at least twenty pounds of)ts most
valuable mineral atoms.
Tho comparative exhaustive effects of to
bacco upon soils may be judged from the
fact that fourteen tons of wheat, fifteen tons
of eorn, and twelve tons of oats remove no
more of the principal of fertility than a sin
gle ton of tobacco.
Mr. James Moon, living at Weatboro,
Clinton county, Ohio, Is tbe father of fifteen
children. He had in the army seven sons,
three sons-in-law, and nine grandsons, who
all went through the war without r. ccrttaa,