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Yoctviu
OVER THE WAY.
(jolie in her child-like purity
Out from the golden day;
Puling away in the light so sweet,
\\aere th e silver stars and the sunbeams meet,
iU g away for her waxen feet,
Over the silent way.
Over the bosom tenderly
The pearl-white hands are pressed ;
:' r lashes lie on her cheeks so thin—
l\" . ;<• the softest blush of the rose hath been—
-kitting the blue of her eye within,
The pure lids closed to rest.
Over the sweet brow lovingly
Twineth her sunny hair ;
>'■ - was so fragile that love sent down,
To talis heavenly gems, that soft crown,
To siiaJe her brow with its waves so brown,
Light as the dimpling air.
Ortue to sleep with a tender smile
Froze on her silent lips ;
, t!a farewell kiss of her dewy breath,
,i i in the clasp of the angel death,
.ike the last fair bud of a faded wreath,
Whose bloom the white-frost nips.
Robin—hushed in your downy bed
Over the swinging bough—
io you miss her voice from your glad duet,
,'iieii the dew in the heart of the rose is set,
ill its velvet lips with the essence wet
In orient crimson glow ?
Rosebud— under your shady leaf
Hid from the sunny day—
i, i miss the glance of lu-r eye so blight,
- blue was heaven to your timid sight ?
: is 11..niing now amid a world of light.
Over the starry way.
If arts 'Where the darling's head hath lain,
H Id by love's shining ray—
1> . know that the touch of her gentle hand,
1 brighten the harp in the unknown land?
1 >l.' she waits for us with the angel band
Over the starry way!
ptefleUmttous.
TWO WHO WAIT.
■There's rosemary—that's for remembrance."
I l'-ved Robert as i never could love again,
iv. ~saii orphan, and friendless. Being
. k with a needle I had come to Boston
;. i.g to find work there. Somehow chance
: ■ red me—no, 1 don't mean that—l mean
; who promised to be a father to the la
de.ss was good to me. I found a com
. table-hoarding place, aud, by means of j
y landlady, a paying run of custom. 1 i
■out out by the day to finish off dresses, \
wing with dress makers sometimes, and ;
.. often after the}T had got though and ;
:ne away. Robert Eden boarded in the j
lame house with me, and he liked me from j
he first.
How proud 1 was of his liking, the hand- i
one, manly fellow ! He was clerk in a
tore, and he got through every night at j
■ x o'clock ; and often, if he could find out
ahcre I was sewing, he would come and ;
v. ilk home with me. This was before we
re engaged. Afterward, of course, he
•.me every night, as a regular thing. But
I never shall forget how it used to be dur- j
ing those first months before he had asked |
to marry him. 1 never quite know ,
whether he would come or not, so it was
- mi-thing pleasant to think and wonder ;
about as ] sat over my work. Then, when j
saw that he was reall}' waiting, how shy
tse<i to be, and how demurely I used to 1
walk along with my eyes down until he j
1 me, and then look at him as if I were !
•' g' ther surprised ! It was an innocent'
'tie deception which harmed no one. I •
at know why I speak of it, only some- j
' i* > I like to go over all those old days j
my thought, and every one of their little
"ii ties seems bright and sweet as fresh
-SOtUS.
1 iiad known Robert six mouths, when ;
: night, instead of going home at once, j
usual, he asked me to go out to Mount |
'•'it urn with him. The days were at their
■Vest; it was only hull' past six, and |
•"i'e would be plenty of time for a ramble
"g those flowery plants before they!
■ : -hut he gates and leave the dead ,
•to their still night-slumber. I was
- < enough to go any were with him ; and
,s very pleasant to get out of town,!
-P' mi the long June twilight among 1
:, ntry sights and sounds. So we set off!
•t once.
w beautiful it was, walking about in |
-f ' vely grounds, with the day just
* wing to its close. There were flowers
" -y where—flowers growing up joyously,
: -baking udurs out of tiieir crimson and
•■■'lo cups upon the still air, emblems of j
- G. grateful life--and flowers, too, broken
1 iu their stems, aud laid upon the graves,
J ""rings of love and of memory, to give
'V there the sad sweetness of their ex
k jig breath, and then fade,emblems these
' atb and of woe.
't was there, among the flowers and the
-'faves, that Robert told me how dearly he
• grown to love me, and asked me to bc-
Vto him forever. Yes, I remember he
joiumt—belong to him forever. That
tn t, did it not, through life and through
'V ? Surely it found me—when Iliad
.' • "raised him—for all time, and all eternity
W( dl. It was strange, but in the midst
niy gct-at, deep joy a thought come over
—what it this troth-plighting among the
-laves were an omen—what if it should be
: 'math aud not for life ? But I tried to
ainsli this foreboding. I knew I was
■1 'T'stitious, naturally, so 1 would
' Jet myself utter the haunting thought
' hobert.
'■en the time came for the gates to be
we went out arm in arm, we two who
111 ged to each other for evermore. We
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXVI.
walked about for awile under the trees
there in old Cambridge before we went
back to town, and the moon poured down
on us a flood of silver light. It seemed to
us that we had never seen such moonlight.
It seemed to us that we had never seen
such moonlight—that we walked under new
heavens and upon a new earth.
When we got home we told our landlady
—good Mrs. Colesworthy, who had been so
kind to me—of our betrothal. Robert said
frankness was best in such matters, as in
all others. We could not be married just
yet. His salary was small, and he must
save enough to begin housekeeping in a
quiet way. In the mean time he would
want of course, to be with me as much a6
possible, and so it was well our relation
should be understood, and then there would
be no room for gossip.
That New-Year, however, the firm he
worked for raised his salary, so that he
saved the money we needed sooner than we
had any hope, and we were married the
next summer, a year after our betrothal.- -
Then Robert took me home. We had three
rooms—a chamber, a kitchen, and a little
parlor. We thought of a spare bedroom
at first, but I bad no friends who were like
ly to come and see us, neither had Robert ;
so we saved that expense. What a bright,
cheery home we had ! How much pride
and pleasure we took in every little con
venience and adornment! We thought we
were just as happy as we could be ; but
when another year went by, and with the
June roses came a baby girl to look up at
us with her shy sweet eyes, full of strange
baby wisdom, we found that we could be
happier still. 1 wanted to call the little
thing Rose, because she came when the
roses came, and Robert wanted to call her
Mary, because that was uiv name ; so we
compromised and called her Rosemary.
I think you never saw just such a baby
- -never, surely, unless you have had a first
baby of your own. She was such a round,
rosy, fat, dimpled, loving, sunny, bird-like
little creature, with wise, still ways too,
tliat kept you wondering how the world
looked to her, and what she was thinking
about. She was a perpetual novelty and
entertainment to us. We never tired of
speculating about her future, watching her
growth, playing with her. And so ten
months went by us most happily, until it
was the March after little Rosemary came.
Then Robert look a sudden violent, cold.
It came on to rain one day while he was at
the store. He had to go out to attend to
some business, and having no overshoes or
umbrella,went carelessly without them,and
came home to rile at night so hoarse he
could scarcely speak. It was his last day's
work
Let mehnrrv over these few terriblejweeks
of suffering and suspense through which I
nursed him. He died in the last of April.
Before he went away from us little Rose
mary had learned to say "papa." She said
it.to him just before he died, and I never
can forget the way his face kindled with a
lifelike brightness which made me almost
hold him back a little longer from death.—
He reached out his arms, those thin, weak
arms, and I laid the child in them.
" God bless you," he said, " my darling,
my little darling ! God bless you and keep
you from all evil!"
Then he began to cough, and I took her
away, and tied her into her tiny rocking
chair, where she had learned to set patient
-1- hour after hour, never troubling any one.
When the coughing-spell was over he clos
ed his ej'es, and I heard him say in a low
voice :
"Their angels do alwajm behold the face
of the Father and I know he was think
ing of his little one,and what her lot would
be when he was gone.
Just at the last he turned his eyes to me,
and said in weak faint tones :
" You have been my true wife, Mary.
You have walked with medown to the very
brink of the river. You must go back
alone."
With those words he made a sign for me
to kiss him,and bending down I pressed my
lips to his. that even then quivered beneath
my touch,and faintly returned my pressure.
When 1 lifted up my head he was dead.
1 had been alone a month before I had
courage to look about me, or think at all
what 1 was going to do. The firm had been
very kind. They continued Robert's pay
through his sickness, and for two months
afterward, making up the half year. Of
course that was all 1 could have expected
of them, or more—l must take care of my
self and my little girl. Robert had left a
little mouey, but that 1 did not mean to
j touch. I felt that it ought to remain as a
1 provision against anytime of peculiar need,
Sor for Rosemary if I should die. So I went
' round among mj T old customers and pro
I cured the promise ot as much work as I
' could do to take home, for it was of course
i out of the question to leave my child and
,go out all day, as 1 used to do. \\ hen 1
! saw how kind the}* all were to me,and how
, sorr3' for me, 1 began to realize how many
! good hearts there are in the world.
For two years 1 got along nicely. To
be sure it left an awful void in my life to
1 take Robert out of it, but I remembered
that 1 had promised to belong to him forev
!er ; so I felt that 1 was only waiting. My
I little one was a great comfort. She looked
at me with her father's eyes, and there was
a curious likeness in her words and ways
to his which some times gladdened and
some times saddened my heart,
i Her constitution was very frail. She
; had been a fat, dimpled baby enough ; but
1 after she could run alone she grew slender,
and her skin was almost transparent. But
| she was never really ill until the summer
1 two 3'ears after her father died. Then she
became so delicate that she required a
j great deal of 1113' time. I thought at first
! it was because she was cutting a long-de-
I ia3'ed double tooth, bnt soon I began to
fear there was graver cause for alarm. 1
! sent for a doctor, a kind, fatherly man—
jDr Grant his name was —and he told me
! that her spine was affected, and the disease
was of such a nature that she would re
-1 require the closest care and attention to
| save her life. And even then— But he
, did not finish the sentence. Looking into
my face I think lie could not nerve himself
to do so.
I used to hold her in my arms more than
i half the time by' night and by day. Of
course 1 could not sew much, and the mou
ey Robert had left dwindled away. I be
j gan to wonder how I could keep want from
' | the door. One day Dr. Grant came and
j seemed to have something in particular to
TOW AND A, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., OCTOBER 10, 1865.
I say. He had been very kind to my little
Rosemary, and she and I had both grown
fond of him in a certain way, and were al
ways glad to see him. But I never could
tell you the shock it was when he asked
me to marry him. I had known nothing of
his history hitherto, but he told me now
that he was a widower, and a lonely,
childless man, and that he had learned to
love me and mine better than any thing in
the world, lie wanted to marry me at
once, and take us home with him, where
Rosemary could have every care and luxu
ry, and where my lot should be eased of all
such burdens as he could bear in my stead.
While he talked I was terribly tempted.
The home he offered seemed to promise such
rest, such relief from care, and the tortur
ing anxiety how to do my duty to my child
and get my daily bread at the same time.
1 thought of my little one most of all. I
knew she needed so much that I could not
give her. Perhaps it would save her life.
Had I a right to refuse ? And yet I knew
I did not love Dr. Grant. I dared not an
swer him on any momentary impulse. So
I told him if he would go away and give
me time to think 1 would see him again on
the morrow. He held my hand a moment
with grave tenderness. *
" Remember, Mrs Eden," he said, " that
whatever way you may decide I shall not
be the less your friend If you can find it
in your heart to come to my home and let
me care for you I shall be happy indeed,
and 1 will do my best to make you so."
All that night, until the gray dawn light
ened the heavens, I sat holding my little
one in my arms and thinking. I went over
and over all the advantages of the case—
most of all what it would do Rosemary to
be in a home of plenty, surrounded with ev
ery appliance of ease and luxury ; const
antly watched, moreover, by a kind and
skillful physician, whose interest in her 1
knew, would be only second to mine. All
this on one side.
On the other the stern fact that I did not
love Dr. Grant—the holy, ever present
memory that I had promised to belong to
Robert Eden forever. Could I break that
vow ? Would he forgive me if, even for
his chi'd's sake, 1 suffered any other man
to press the lips on which his dying kiss
still lingered '!
Then I thought farther. Filled as my
heart was with fond memories of the dead,
thrilling to that remembered love as it nev
er would to the strongest utterance of any
living man's passion, should I not be wroug
i lg Dr. Grant's noble nature unpardonably
if 1 gave him a hand which held no heart—
vowed a fealty which was only lip-deep ?
At last, just :n the gray dawning, 1 made
up my mind that I would be faithful and
true at any cost, and trust all to God, even
Rosemary. I would not sin against my
womanhood by purchasing comforts for her
at the price of my fidelity to the vow I had
plighted to her father. I knew that I had
decided rightly by the great peace which
flowed into my heart. I lay down on the
bed, with my little girl still in my arms,and
I seemed to feel—was it all a fancy ? —the
presence of one I could not see, to hear a
well-known, well-loved voice murmur,
" Through life and through death ! My
beioved, thou hast been faithful."
Then I slept the long, deep sleep of ex
haustion ? and when I awoke Rosemary
was watching me with her great wide-open
eyes, and it was almost time for Dr. Grant
to come.
1 showed him honestly all my heart, and,
when he understood fully that I never could
have given him such love as he craved, he
told me 1 had done right—that any other
course would have been injustice to myself
to him, and to the dead. But if I could not
be his wife, he said, I must be to him as
his sister—l must suffer him to provide for
all my necessities, for he should not let me
sew any more until—he stopped an instant
and then finished his sentence—until the
little girl is better.
But, in spite of his attempt to spare my
feelingc, it struck in one moment to my
heart that he felt convinced she would nev
er be any better in this world. With that
thought all my independence, all my sensi
tive pride, was silenced. Ift It as willing
to accept the help he offered as I was grate
ful for his kindness. I could not give one
hour more of my darling's short life to any
thing but care of her. I knew he wanted
to assist me—was alike willing and able.
I took his generous hand and raised it to
my lips.
'• May God reward you !" I said. •' I
know 1 never can, and I accept your offer
ing as frankly as it is made."
So all the rest of that summer I tended
my poor, little fading flower, and I)r. Grant
supplied our wants like a brother. What
days those were !—those long, still ones,
in which I held her from morning till night,
clasped in arms which never wearied of
their burden ! A Strang, almost unnatural
wisdom seemed to develop in the little
three-year's child who was living her short
life so fast. 1 had long talks with her
about death and heaven, the home where
her father waited—where she, too, would
be waiting for me very soon.
At last the end came. She had been
growing more like an angel every day,and
at length the angels called her home. Her
little arms clasped my neck for the last
time—her lips pressed mine—and her baby
voice bade me good-bye. My darling, oh
my darling !
She has slept these two years beside her
father. lam looking forward always thro'
all the tumult of life to the day when I too
can go home. 1 bear life's burden patiently
—I try uo do my duty in the station to
which it has pleased God to call me ; but
my heart and my hopes are where Robert
waits, and with him my little Rosemary—
not sure, I think, that heaven is heaven un
til I join them there.
TRI E. —The man who ' does not take the
paper or who takes a paper and does not
read the advertisements, can never be said
to be well posted. The advertisements, in
dicate not only the business enterprise of
the place in which they are published, but
the enterprise of the advertiser. When
you see a man who advertises liberally,
you may be sure of finding a good stock
in his store—that he keeps up with the
markets, and can always sell a little cheap
er than those who do not advertise.
MEN with red noses should never be re"
ceived as workmen in powder mills.
You can train your muscles but not your
oysters.
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
THE WORKING.
The noblest men I know on earth
Are men whose hands are brown with toil :
Who, backed by no ancestral graves,
Hew down the wood, and till the soil;
And win thereby a prouder name
Than follows king or warrior's fame.
The working men, whate'er the task,
Who carve the stone, or bear the hod,
They bear upon their honest brows
The royal stamp and seal of God ;
And worthier are the drops of sweat
Than diamonds in a coronet.
God bless the noble working men,
Who rear the cities of the plain,
Who dig the mines, who build the ships
And drive the commerce of the main;
God bless them ; for their toiling hands
Have wrought the glory of all lands.
UNDER LAKE MICHIGAN-
On the 10th of August I was in Chicago,
and thought I ought to visit the tunnel. I
was told that I could see the shore shaft,
hut they would not let anybody go down.
1 did go down, and I saw the whole thing.
For this privilege I am indebted to one of
the board. During iny journey there were
times when I doubted about its being much
of a privilege. Mr. Rose took me to a
shaft near nine o'clock at night. A sort of
elevator filled it, and it is worked by an en
gine, with a strong wire-rope. They had
been bringing up dirt, which is sold at ten
cents a load.
The two miners stepped on the platform
of the elevator. He inspects the brick
work for the city and examines every brick-
The city keeps at least one man in the tun.
nel every moment to watch the progress,
and to guard airainst bad work and danger.
For there is danger. Of course there is
It is in case they come to quicksand, or
springs which rise up to the bottom of the
lake. At that time they had advanced
about three-quarters of a inile. The waves
of Lake Michigan are over them. When
steamboats pass, they plainly hear the
working of the engine and paddle-wheels.
The miners told me they were ieady, and
pointed to the place on the platform where
1 was to stand. It was something like the
platform where they hang folks, and a rope
was over head, but for another purpose. —
Then we started. The motion was swift
and easy. It was 77 feet to the bottom,
and we soon reached it. The tunnel was
before me, and not much larger than a good
sized brick oven. It was profoundly dark
within. Out of it came cold, damp air.—
Leading into the tunnel is a railroad track,
and there stood one of the cars on which
they haul brick, lime and dirt. Usually
they have a mule, but there was none down
at the time. One miner sat on the front of
the car with his lamp in his hand. They
gave me a little board to sit on. I partly
sat and squatted on the middle of the car.
The arch above was so low 1 had to stoop,
or my head would have touched. The oth
er miner was to walk. He bent forward
and pushed the car.
Then we started. Immediately a cold
blast came out of the tunnel. I almost re
gretted I had come, but I knew there was
fun ahead, and I would not lie frightened.
Alter we had gone a few rods one of the
men said we were under the lake. I asked
him how far it was to the water, lie said it
was about 40 feet. The lamps flared in the
blast, and almost went out. The car rat
tled, and its echoes rolled thru' the tunnel
like a constant peal of thunder. On the
right side of the wall, every live feet, the
distance was marked in black figures. At
the upper turn of the arch extended a black
six-inch pipe, made of sheet iron, through
which the engine 4!raws the bad air out of
the tunnel. Not only is there bad air, but
they And inflamable gases. Once they took
tire ; there was a great light through the
tunnel and one man was badly burned, but
he still lives. There seemed 110 end to this
black pipe, to the black figures, nor to the
tunnel, as we rolled through the chilly and
damp air. It was the blackness of dark
ness before, and the same behind. The
scene was like that in a sick dream, like a
nightmare in which there is no relief and
no change. Unless a man's duty lead him
he can have no business here. Had I not
wanted to describe the place I would not
have went down. One can visit no other
place in the world where so suddenly he i
may be cut oft" from human help. Should
they strike a vein of quicksand the wa
ters rush in; immediately they roar through
the tunnel, they pass beyond one, they rise
beyond one, they rise in the land shaft, and
he will be seen 110 more. Some say that if
one can swiu well ho may be saved. He
j will swim with the advancing waters, and
he will rise in the shaft ; but such will be
; the pressure of the water of the lake, that
jhe will be propelled with the velocity of a
I cannon ball, and he will be thrown out of
I the shaft in a monstrous jet of water and
| foam. Should he escape here, the chances
j are that he will he torn to pieces by strik
; ing against the sides of the tunnel, or be
j flattened into a mass against the sides of
i the shaft, or be rent gsunder in the whirl
pool made by the reaction.
I confess that I felt solemn. It was cold.
: Naturally one would tremble. It was a
i good place to pray. A short, fervent pray
-ler can be said as one rides along, even as
| one talks. It seemed to me like standing
I on the brink of eternity- like preparing
| one's self for taking a long farewell of the
jjstars and the sun, of the world, of wife,
j children and friends.
After a long time, we came to a chamber
dug out on each side, braced with timbers
and plank ; here mortar had been made
and brick deposited. We did not stop. —
The figures on the wail showed that we
were 1,000 feet under the lake, and still
the black pipe was overhead. Still the tun
nel echoed with thunder. I looked back
whence we came. There was no returning.
Again we passed another chamber, and the
figures showed we were 2,000 feet from the
shore. It was 40 feet to the water, and the
water is 40 feet deep. We have wondered
at the stores of enchantment in the Arabian
Nights. It has no such stories as'this.
The cold, nightmare scene was unchang
ed ; and still under the waves we rolled on.
After a long time the car went slower. A
few words were spoken, and we saw lights
ahead. We approached, and found men in
a chamber making mortar. Everybody
was busy. A man brought a broken hoe
to one of the miners who came with me ;
it was his hoe. He swore. I never was
so shocked to hear an oath. I thought it
strange. And yet I was informed that not
long ago two men got to fighting here, and
one killed the other !
Here we left the car and went oil foot.
We could see men at work in the distance.
This was 3,300 feet from the shore. The
water overhead shoals, and is only 35 feet
deep. Then we reached the spot where the
masons were laying bricks. We had to
pass a mortar-car, and it so filled the space
it was difficult to get by. My conductor
still led me on. 1 told him 1 did not care
about going further. Yes, 1 must see the
whole of it, since I had come so far. We
passed by the side of a pile of dirt 15 or
20 feet long, and came to where men were
picking and shovelling in the hard blue
clay. I remember taking up a lump. It
was damp but solid. I could not have seen
much else, but my recollection is not dis
tinct. I know 1 talked a little. I bade
them good bye, and remarked, what I then
happened to think, that God would prosper
the work because they were engaged in
getting pure water.
Then we went back by the masons and
those making mortar, and again I was on
the car. 1 was glad to return. I was
glad no accident happened. At last we
reached the land shaft, the elevator was
ready, I stepped in it, and again was in the
world. Mr. Rose was waiting in the office,
and said I had been down only about an
hour. It seemed to me a century. — Cor. of
N. Y. Tribune.
CORAL ROCKS.
The coral rocks, which grow from the
bed of the ocean, were formerly thought to
be ola vegetable nature ; but subsequent
investigation has demonstrated that the
foundation of these immense masses is el
fected by certain species of polypes. A
portion even of England is based on a foun
dation of coral, many of our transition
locks containing an immense number of
fossil corals ; and many islands between
the tropics appear to rest entirely on mass
es of coral rocks. The order uud regulari
ty with which these vast accumulations of
solid matter are constructed, by means
apparently so inadequate to the end, are
no less astonishing than the amazing num
ber of such masses which are known to
exist.
Thousands ot islands in tin* Eastern
Ocean owe their origin entirely to this
source ; and particularly those in the In
dian Archipelago, and round New Holland,
are produced by various tribes of these an
imals ; especially by the cellepora, isis, ma
drepora, millepma, and tubipora. The aui- j
nials which lorm these corals work with j
such rapidity, that enormous masses of i
them appear where there were scarcely any I
marks of such reefs before ; and the navi- j
gation of the seas iu which they abound is
rendered every day more difficult by the
continually increasing number of coral
reefs, which will bee me the basis of future >
islands. These reefs have Hat tops, and
rise so perpendicularly from the bed of the
sea, that the officers of vessels, within only
two ship's length of them, have found 110
bottom at the depth of 150 fathoms, or nine
hundred feet ! It is -an interesting object
of geological research to trace the progress
of these foundations, by the minute but
combined labors of millions of these marine
zoophitcs, which occupy the lowest rank in
the animal kingdom ; but which have been
instrumental in giving to the earth its pres
ent form. The following interesting ex
tract from " kot/.ebue's Voyages " gives
the best description of the mode in which
the islands consisting of coral reefs, may
have been progressively formed :
" As soon as the ridge or reef has reach
ed such a height that it remains almost dry
at low water, at the time of ebb, the poly
pes cease from building higher. Seashells,
fragments of corals, sea hedge-hog shells,
and their broken off prickles, are united by
the burning sun, through the medium of
the cementing calcareous sand, which lias
arisen from the pulverization of the above
mentioned shells, into one whole or solid
stone ; which, strengthened by the contin
ual throwing up of new materials gradual
ly increases in thickness, till it becomes at
last so high, that is covered only during
some seasons of the year by high tides. —
The heat of the sun so peuetrates the mass
of stone, when it is dry, that it splits in
many places, and breaks off in flakes.—
These flakes, so separated, are raised one
upon another by the waves, at the time of
high water. The always active surf throws
blocks of coral (frequently of a fathom in
length, and three or four feet thick) and
shells of marine animals, between and up
on the foundation stones ; after this the
calcareous sand lies undisturbed, and of
fers to the seeds and trees of plants, cast
upon it by the waves, a soil, upon which
they rapidly grow, to overshadow its daz
[ zling white surface. Eutire trunks of trees
| which are carried from other countries and
islands, find here, at length, a resting place
after their long wanderings. With these
come some small animals, such as lizards
and insects, as the first inhabitants. Even
before the trees form a wood, the real sea
birds nestle here, strayed land birds take
' refuge in tlie bushes, and at a much later
! period, when the work has been long since
j been completed, man also appears, builds
j iiis hut on the fruitful soil, formed by the
I corruption of the leaves of the trees, and
i calls iiimself the lord and proprietor of this
j new creation."
As AUTHENTIC ANECDOTE. —Talleyrand was
once in the company <>f Madame de Stael
and another eminent French lady, whose
name we do not remember.
"You say charming things to both of us,"
said Madame de Stael to hiin ; which do
you like best ?"
The wily statesman artfully replied that
he was delighted with both.
"Ah ! but you prefer one of us," contin
ued Madame de Stael: "suppose we were
both drowning in the Seine to-night, which
of us would you help first ?"
"I would extend my right hand to Mad
ame de Stael, and my left hand to Madame
yonder."
"Yes ; but suppose only one of us could
be saved, which would you attempt to res
cue ?"
Talleyrand's diplomacy was pushed to
its severest test, but not a whit discompos
ed, he turned to Madrme de Stael, and re
plied—
"Madame, you know most things, doubt
less you know how to swim."
SfjlS per* Annum, in Advance.
TEMPLE OP JUNO AT POMPEII
Mention was lately made of the discov
ery made at Pompeii of a temple of Juno,
with more than three hundred skeletons.
Those remains, which crumbled to dust by
degrees as they were brought to light,were
those of woman and children, who had been
buried beneath the burning ashes thrown
out by the volcano at the moment in which
a sacrifice was being offered up in the tem
ple to the Queen of Gods, no doubt to
implore her to avert the terrible calamity
which menaced the city. To the arm of one
of these skeletons,which, from the rich jew
els with wnich it was covered, is supposed
to be that of the High Priestess, was still
attached by a gold ring, a censer of the
same rnetal filled with calcined perfumes.
This vessel is of the form of those now used
in the ceremonies in the catholic churches,
and is of beautiful workmanship and in
laid with precious stones. The statue of
the god-dress is one of*the most magnificent
relics yet found in that city ; its eyes are
of enamel, and on the neck and arms, as
well as the ancles, are jewels and bracelets
of precious stones of the most exquisite
finish and elegance of form. The peacock
placed at her side is almost entirely com
posed of precious stones. The tripod be
fore the altar is like the censor held by the
High Priestess, magnificently worked gold.
The temple also contained lamps artistically
chased, of bronze, iron, silver and gold ;
branches of foliage, vine-stems, interspers
ed with flowers aud fruit of the most beau
tiful form. The space around the altar is
paved with splendid mosaics in excellent
preservation, and the rest of the temple is
inlaid with small triangular blocks of white
aud purple agate. The spot on which the
sacrifices was made is alone paved with
marble.
A GREAT CURIOSITY. —The Jacksonville
(Oregon) Sentinel, gives the following par
ticulars cf the discovery of a great sunken
take ;
" Several of our citizens returned last
week from a visit to the Great Sunken
Lake, situated in the Cascade Mountains,
about seventy-five miles northeast of Jack
sonville. This lake rivals the famous val
ley of Sinbad the sailor. It is thought to
average two thousand feet down to the wa
ter all around. The walls are almost per
pendicular, running down into the water
and leaving no beach. The depth of the
water is unknown, and the surface is smooth
and unruffled, as it lies so far below the
mountain that the air currents do pot af
feet it. Its length is estimated at twelve
miles, and its width at ten miles. There is
an island in its center, having trees upon
it. No living man ever has, and never
will be able to reach the water's edge. It
lies silent, still and mysterious, in the bo
som of the ' everlasting hills,' like a huge
well scooped out by the hands of the giant
genii of the mountains, in the unknown
ages gone by, and around it the primeval
forests watch and ward are keeping.
" The visiting party tired a rifle several
times into the water, at an augle of forty
five degrees, and we were able to note sev
eral seconds of time from the report of the
gun until the ball struck the water. Such
seems incredible, but is vouched for by
some of our most reliable citizens. The
lake is certainly a most remarkable curios
ity of nature.''
THE .MISERIES OF A RICH MAN.— The New
i York correspondent of the Rochester Demo
crat is responsible for the following ;
"Alexander T. Stewart clears one thous
and dollars per day, Sabbaths excepted, all
the year round. Cornelius Yanderbilt pleads
to double that sum, while William B. Astor
rates his income at four thousand three huu
•dred and thirty dollars par diem. Sleeping
or waking, the latter gentleman finds a
three dollar bill dropping into his hat every
minute of the twenty-four hours. He can
not sit down to talk with his physician
without having a little more wealth if not
health ; he cannot unburden his mind for
ten minutes without feeling the burden in
creasing into his pocket, and lie can't walk
Broadway however the weather may be,
without meeting a shower of money. At
every turn cash stares him in the face in
the most insolent manner. Banks liing
their dividends at his head ; ruthless finan
ciers beat him with coupons ; unpitying
and soulless corporations dump their filthy
lucre at his door step, and contemptuous
bill stickers plaster his house with green
backs. One might inquire what the fellow
lias done to merit this treatment, and the
only charge that can be brought is that he
was a rich man's son, and therefore must
sutler."
SMALL BEGINNINGS.— FrankIin had but lit
tle early education ; yet look at what lie
became and how he is reverenced. Fer
guson, feeding his sheep on the hills of
Scotland, picked up the rudiments of learn
ing, but subsequentls rose to be one of the
first astronomers in Europe. Herschell,
the great astronomer, was in youth a drum
mer buy to a marching regimeut, and re
ceived but little more than a drummer boy's
education ; but his name is associated with
the brightest discoveries of science, and is
borne by the planet that his zeal discovered.
A host ol instances rise up to satisfy that,
by properly improving the small and per
haps imperfect beginnings of knowledge,
they may become perhaps as foundation
I stones a temple of learning which the
future shall gaze at and admire.
OCR MISTAKES ABOUT EACH OTHER. —Not
ouc man in ten thousand sees those with
whom he associates as they really are. If
the prayer of Burns were granted, and we
could all see ourselves as others see us,
our self estimates would in all probability
be much more erroneous than they now
are. The truth is that we regard each
other through a variety of lenses, no one
of which is correct. Passion and prejudice,
love and hate, benevolence and envy, spec
tacle our eyes, and utterly prevent us from
observing accurately. Many whom we
deem the porcelain of human clay are mere
dirt, a still groator number of those we put
down in our "black books," are no further
off from heaven, and perchance a little near
er than the censors who condemn them.
THE reason why negroes are not allowed
to testify in Courts of Justice probably is
that colored men might probably give a
coloring to the truth.
THE SIBOOOO-
A correspondent of one of the Paris pa
pers gives the following account of a si
rocco in Algiers :
" Almost all the summer we have been
congratulating ourselves on the coolness of
the season, and when letters from France
complained of the heat, we recommended
our friends to come to Algiers tor fresh air.
But we reckoned without our host—the si
rocco; and now that has come with a veng
ance. It was prefaced by a tremendous
thunder storm, which broke the windows,
and roused the population from their beds.
An hour later, all was calm ; but the old
colonists knew what was coming, and sure
enough, next day the sky assumed that pe
culiar violet color which so astonishes ar
tists when they venture to pass a summer
on the other side of Mount Atlas. A few
burning gusts of air, feeling and smelling
like that issuing from an oven when the ba
ker opens it to take out the bread, served
as the advance guard of the enemy. The
temperature rose rapidly. On Friday, the
thermometer at Duchassing'a Club, with a
northern exposure, marked 113 Fah. in the
shade. At El Biar, at the same time, an
other thermometer, also in the shade, but
exposed to the full blast of the sirocco,
went up to 124. The most robust man
could not have crossed the sunny side of
the Government-place without danger.—
The ground burned the feet through the
shoe leather ; the hand that touched any
object whatever—a cane or a coat sleeve
—smarted with pain ; the nostrils con
tracted, and the eyes closed under the in
fluence of the torrid breath of the simoon.
In many houses, furniture fell to pieces, ta
pestry dropped suddenly from bursting
walls, and ceilings crumbled to pieces and
descended upon the heads of the inmates
like flakes of burning snow. Never, within
the memory of man, had such things been
seen in Algiers. At night a frightful spec
tacle was seen. From Gyotville to Cape
Matifou, along an extent of twelve leagues
of coast, a lurid glow suddenly appeared,
became rapidly more and more intense, and
it soon became apparent that the whole
country was on fire. Entire mountains
burst forth in a flame like a volcano, aud
burning forests lit tip the waters of the
harbor, and made the stars look pale. It
was a sublime horror. There are rumors
of loss of life, and the damage done to
property is necessarily enormous. Many
farms, barns and stacks have been entirely
destroyed."
NUMBER 21.
DON'T RUN THE COWS. —Now, buys, we
have a word to say to you. When we were
of your age we always had to drive the
cows to pasture, and go bring them, too.
Sometimes we got a little late, or we were
anxious to get ofl' to play, or a eow found a
bit of good sweet grass, better than she had
found all day in the pasture, and would
stop to take a bite and fall behind the rest.
That was provoking, and we were apt to
give her a pretty severe lesson. In fact, we
were guilty of hurrying up on many occas
ions. It was all wrong, but we little knew
how much injury we were inflicting ou our
selves as well as on the cows.
Now it is perfectly well known that over
driving causes the milk to be heated and
feverish, especially in hot weather, and this
milk is not a healthful article of food either
as milk or when made into butter or cheese.
Cows that are abused, kicked or rougldy
treated, cannot give good milk, and no pro
cess of manufacture can make it into so
good an article of diet as milk that is not
injured by such treatment.
Never let the dogs chase the cows. A
worriment of this kind not only lessens the
quantity, but injures the quality of milk,
and it snould be carefully avoided. Dogs
are generally a curse among a herd of cat
tle and particularly so among milch cows,
unless they are trained to drive and tend
them, as few of our dugs are.— Plaw/hman.
WIFE AND SQCAWS. —I heard an anecdote
of Kaffirlaud to-day, which, though irrevel
ant to our adventures here, is so amusing
that I must record it, particularly as my
informant vouched for its truth. At an
outpost far up the country resided an offi
cer and his wife. The latter was warned
by her husband not to venture alone far
from the house ; but one day imprudently
going beyond her usual limits, she encoun
tered a wild looking Kaffir, who took her
by the hand, and would be moved by no
entreaties to suffer her to depart. He
made her sit down, and untying her bon
net, let down her long hair, at which he ex
pressed rapturous admiration. He next
took oft' her gloves, and appeared enchant
ed with her white hands ; and then pro
ceeded to divest her of her shoes and
stockings, and wondered at her little white
feet. The next morning the lady uud her
husband were awakened at an early hour
by a chattering under their window ; and
on enquiring the cause of the disturbance,
the gentleman was aeosted by the hero of
the previous day, who had been so impress
ed by the charms of our fair country-wo
man, that he had come with twelve squaws
to make the liberal offer of exchanging
them for the gentleman's wife, and was not
a little surprised when his generous terms
were refused.— Mjor Paget'* ('amp am/
Cantonment.
NEW WAY OF APPLYING LEECHES. —" Well,
my good woman," said the doctor, " how is
your husband to-day ? Better no doubt."
" Oil yes, surely," said tiie woman. "He
is as well as ever and gone to the field."
" I thought so", continued the doctor.—
"The leeches cured him. Wonderful of
feet have. You got the leeches, of
course ?"
" Oh, yes, they did him a great deal of
good, though he could not take them all."
" Take them all ! Why, my good wo
man, how did you apply theiu ?"
" Oh, I managed nicely," said the wife,
! looking.quite contented with herself. "For
1 variety sake, I boiled one half, and made
' a fry of the other. The first he got down
! very well, but the second made him very
| sick. But what he took was quite enough,"
continued she, seeing some horror in the
doctor's countenance, " for lie was better
, the next morn'ng, and to-day he is quite
I well."
! " Umph," said the doctor, with a sapient
j shake of the head, " if they have cured
i him, that is sufficient, but they would have
! been better applied externally."
The woman replied that she would do so
the next time ; and 1 doubt not that if ever
fate throws a score of unfortunate leeches
into her power again, she will make a
, poultice of them.
AN UNHEALTHY HOCSE. —A dark house is
always an unhealthy house, always an ill
aired house, always a dirty house. \\ ant
of light stops growth, and promotes scrof
ula, rickets, etc., among children. People
| lose their health in a dark house, and if
they get ill, they cannot get well again iu
! it. Three, out of many negligences and
I ignorances in managing the health of lious
! es generally, 1 will hero mention as speci
! mens. " First, that the female head in
| charge of any bnilding does not think it
necessary to visit every hole and corner of
!it every day. Second that is not consider
ed essential to air, to sun, and clean rooms,
j while uninhabited. Third, that one window
i is considered enough to air a room.
ft