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THE FREE.
ET ELIZA COOK.
v . wild streams leap with headlong sweep
:r curbless course o'er the mountain steep ;
i :r, -h and .strong they foam along,
. ,k:n" the rocks with their cataract song. J
jjv t . ve bears a glance like the beam on a lance,
L.le I watch the waters dash and dance ;
- -rn with glee, for 1 love to see
i .till of any thing that's free.
skylark springs with dew on its wings,
ind up in the arch of heaven he sings
I.nlia—Trilla, oh, sweeter far
_..u the notes that come through the golden bar. .
ILv joyous bay of the hounds at play,
The caw of a rook on its homeward way—
these shall be the inusie lor me,
■ r I Jove the voice of the free.
The Jeer starts by with his antless high,
proudly tossing his head to the sky ;
Ike barb runs the plain unbroken by the rein,
With streaming nostrils and flying mane ;
The clouds are stirred by the eaglet bird,
As the flap of its swooping pinions is heard.
>L' these shall be the creatures for me,
For my soul was formed to love the free.
The mariner brave, in bis bark on the wave.
Hay laugh at the walls round a kingly slave ;
And the one whose lot is the desert spot,
Has no dread of an envious foe in his cot.
The thrall and state at the palace gate
ire what my spirit has learned to hate*:
.hi the hills shall be a home for me,
7 r I'd leave a throne for the hut of the free.
pisallmwouisu
A STORY OFTHE OPEQUAN.
ZEg CHARIOT WITH THE HEADLESS HORSES. j
I da tie right bank of the Opequan—that
turesqae little stream which, rising
ve Manchester, in the valley of Virginia,
ws between rush-clad banks and be
white-armed sycamores to the Po- :
:_ic—there stands to-day, as it stood fif
■ ns ago, an old country house. This :
.has a wide hall, full of deer antlers, '
ktarcs ut race horses, fishing rods, fowl
og pieces aud game bags. In the large
"Attmeuts of the mausion, portraits of
ur and cavaliers, in lace aud ruffles,
j i>wn from the walls. Without, tall !
,i, . retch their mighty arms against the
an "1 *'gb around the gables. lu front
A br a'i p'-Ttch extends a sort of chase,
ttoi over yvilJU other oaks so huge and
: that they dying at the top. Be
ch the lull do w* the Opequan with a
w continuous murmur, a "river of time"
-rs.ug the Potomac, its eternity,
ii: the thirty years which have rolled over
head of the present writer since his
itldhood—each of which has destroyed
ime hope, brought to him some grief, or
tie away upon its dusky wings some
illusion—many hours have been j
e.riit by Lim in this good old mansion, and ,
-e hours were among the happiest ol his
: v--nce. The faces, the eyes, the lips — i j
or eyes! smiling lips! where are they ;
w ■' They shone aud laughed once, to- j
they are dim and cold
iinuiig the divertisemeiits of the place j
• • taiie were "ghost stories." W hence | ,
't-es that profound interest taken by so
-ay persons in tales of diablerie ? Does ,
•?ri:ig from some inherent weakness of
-uman mind, Home craving for a theory
•tfe more exciting than the real ? I
-* not: but I know that many hold to
o- itf that there are more things in heav- j
and earth than are dreamed of in the
• phy of mortals. Above all is this the
■friction of the yuung, it was the convic
at of him who writes this page
\ i-.ng gone years when he lead witli
of the nerves, the wondrous nar-
I frvjng, "The Mysterious Picture,"
■■Devil a.*ul Tom Walker," and all the
: rful repe. v torie of that prince of story
was better wading ghost
5, however, hearing them. iUj
-•< i house on the 0,' > oq u ' ia be received j
I •■portion of his educa.*h> n -_ By the \\ in-,
-re, or in the Summer nights, lui Us
i with more or less credulity, ad uis
• : = were few or many, to those singular
■ r.ives which escape from the lips of
ced in the midst of a circle of awe
i ■ i listeners ; aud, though since that
many real persons aud events have
I - into oblivion which awaits all human
j those narratives, falling upon the
ssihle mind of youth, struck so deep
| •• they remain rooteo in his memory.
■ tof these tales of diablerie is here
! lilted. It is not the product of the im
"•' nation, a fable feigned for the enter
• 'aent of the reader, but the offspring of
- r y. It was told me in the old house
- lV ? mentioned, the lontly mansion, with j
-aunted chambers," its dusty corridors,
' * 3 gt oaks without, those boughs, as I !
-■ d, brushed against the windows or
| around the gables with a weird
Mysterious effect, which made the au
"Urt at times and hold their breath.
I y story was called THE CHARIOT WITH
H£AI)LEM HORSES, and was as follows :
•arly in the precent century, there come
a small village on the Potomac, in
I | - '--a, a young gentleman named Shir
j • 't ii not necessary to say that the
' trance of a youthful stranger in any
of the known world is an occuf-
T breathless interest to the fraternity
" : P 8 J who have their representatives
• *uere ; ajul young Shirley at once
j ••••titrated upon himself a hundred eyes
H ' Ungues. All that anybody knew of
: ! <.r * dß ,at he came from Lower Virginia,
■ '-(.Hied to design remaining at the vil
li
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXVII.
lage for some lime, as it was discovered he
had taken lodgings by the month at the
village tavern. For the rest, he was a
young gentleman of about twenty-five, tall,
well-dressed, courteous, but grave in his
demeanor, and with an aristocratic pallor,
which his dark eyes and hair rendered still
more striking. Three days after his ar
rival, when the fraternity of gossips were
almost in a state ot frenzy from his unman
ly and insulting silence in regard to him
self and his errand, he suddenly terminated
all speculation by hiring a small office, in
front of which soon appeared a sign bear
ing the inscription "James Shirley, Attor
ney at Law."
In three weeks the gossips had discov
ered all about him, and their disappoint
ment was great. The "unknown stranger"
appearing so suddenly and mysteriously
was simply a young gentleman from Low
er Virginia who had, after the common
fashion, left home to commence life upon a
new arena. S. had been selected as that
arena, and there he was, a simple attorney
at law, not a royal exile or prince in dis
guise.
He soon made friends, though his man
ners were criticised as much too grave for
those of a youth. At times, this gravity
amounted to gloom ; but an unfailing cour
tesy conciliated everybody, and in six
months Shirley was what is called a "ris
ing man." He had appeared with great
success in several actions in the courts,
and had made an impression in society.
Letters of introduction had opened to him
the best circles of S. and the neighborhood;
and, wherever he appeared, he was re
ceived with smiles and welcome alike bv
old gentlemen and young ladies.
At twenty-five, the feelings soon concen
trate. In the skies of youth, one star
comes very quickly to outshine all others.
Shirley fell in love with a young lady of
about nineteen, bearing the pretty name of
Pauline Weston, a daughter of Colonel
Weston, to whom the young man had
brought a letter of introduction.
A month afterward, it was known that
he was engaged to this young girl.
She was gay, witty, and the soul of
every merry-making. A brighter pair of
blue eyes bad never shone in that region ;
redder lips had never uttered the jest or
the laugh. Why did Shirley select her ?
It seemed impossible to explain the fact,
save upon the "theory of opposites." En
gaged they were, however, and Colonel
W eston, who had become very much at
tached to the young man, placed no sort of
obstacle in the way. The gossips speedily
informed each other that the wedding day
was fixed, and this time the fraternity had
come into possession of the exact truth.
Fifteen days before the evening fixed for
the ceremony, Pauline Weston was set
ting at a window looking out upon the
main street of the town, when she saw
Shirley coming toward the house. She
awaited him with something nearly resem
bling gloom. Since her engagement Paul
ine had discovered in her lover some traits
of character which made her uneasy. For
a man of fresh and vigorous intellect, he
was strangely superstitious, and at times
gave way to fits of gloom and melancholy,
from which nothing could arouse him. At
such moments his pale face became paler ;
bis eyes bad in them a singular light, as
though the gaze of their owner were turned
inward ; and when any one spoke to him
he would start with a frightened air, and
answer entirely at random to any question.
More than once he had related with omi
nous gravity the wildest and most extrav
agant stories of weird occurrences in his
own family ; the appearance of spirits to
members of the household ; the fulfillment
of terrible dreams, and the strangest verifi
cations of mysterious warnings. That hu
man beings received these warnings of im
pending woe he believed as firmly as lie be
lieved in bis own existence ; and one of bis
habitual phrases was, "Three warnings
never deceive,"
One of Lis gloomy moods had attacked
him on the preceding evening, and Pau
line had vainly attempted to laugh him out
of it. He had remained obstinately som
bre, and had left the house about eleven
o'clock, the picture of despair.
As he now approached, Pauline saw that
his mood had not altered. As he entered,
Shirley's face was as dark as night. A
frightful pallor covered his features ; but
to all the young lady's questions, he only
replied that he had had "bad dreams."
Assuming a bright smile and a gay tone,
she endeavored to laugh her lover out of
his mood. The attempt was entirely un
successful. In vaiu did Pauline assume
her most coquettish provocation, twisting
as she did so one of her golden curls over
her white and taper fingers, the wide
sleeves falling back and displaying an arm
round, rose-white and charming. Shirley
remained gloomy and almost speechless.
" Upon my word," said the young lady
at lat, with something like a pout, " any
oue who saw you at this moment would
scarcely believe that you were engaged to
be married—and to my very bumble self."
A sigh was the only response. The young
lady colored slightly, forced a laugh, and
added :
"JYou surely must have had bad dreams!
What in the world is the matter that you
start so ?"
" You are right, Pauline," returned Shir
ley, "I have had the most distressing
dreams, and can not dissipate their influ
ence."
" Tell me your dream."
lie looked at her gloomily.
" I am afraid."
" ifo not be," was the earnest reply, in a
voice fuli of affection. " Have you forgot
ten that it is my light to share your trouble
—your sorrow as your joy ?"
lie looked at the blushing face, and a
slight co or came to his own.
" You are right," he said j "above all
does it concern you —for you were the sub
ject of my dream."
" I !" came again with a forced laugh,
" what in the world lias your lordship con
descended to dream about me ? That 1 had
cut my little finger, that I was thrown by
some wild steed i was riding, or did the
chariot with the headless horses stop be
fore my door ?"
At those words, the chariot with the
headless horses,ishirley gave a visible start,
and turned so frightfully pgle that he
seem d about to faint.
" What —do you mean ?" he almost
gasped, his dark eyes burning in his pallid
face. Then understanding, doubtless, that
this emotion would have a disagreeable ef
fect upon the young lady, he passed his
trembling hand over bis forehead bathed in
cold sweat, and said more calmly ;
" I do not understand yonr allusion to
'headless horses.'"
" Have yon never heard the legend ?"
said the young lady, with a troubled
glauce. " I thought every one in S. bad
heard it."
" I am a stranger—relate it," he said,
with gloomy calmness.
"It is very absurd, aud very simple.
They say that whenever any one is going
to die in S. a chariot with six horses, all
with ut heads, drives noiselessly up to the
door of the house where the sick person
lies, and at the moment when i e expires
the door of the chariot opens, without
noise, closes in the same manner, dusky
hands are seen to gather up the reius, and
the chariot drives silently away."
The words uttered by the young lady
produced a terrible effect upon Shirley. He
placed his hand with a quick movement
upon bis heart, uttered a groan of the deep
est agony, and, closing his eyes, sank back
almost fainting in his chair.
The younu girl ran to bring a glass of
water, which she placed to his lips, and in
an instant be opened his eyes.
" Do not trouble yourself about me," he
said, with an expression of almost agony
upon his features ; "I have these attacks
sometimes, but soon get over them. See,
Pauline, I am quite calm again."
And by a powerful effort he suppressed
his emotion, and resumed his former ex
pression of gloomy calmness.
" But you have not told me your dream;"
said Pauline, with a beating heart, "what
could it have been ?"
" 1 had three dreams —each time the
same," he responded in a low tone,' ' but
we will not speak further of them at pres
eut. This is almost my last visit before
going, Pauline ; let us speak of our mar
riage."
In fact Shirley designed setting out on
the next morning to visit home and make
every necessary arrangement for his mar
riage. He gave himself fifteen days for
this journey. On his return the marriage
was to take place.
Of this they now spoke, and it is unnes
cessary to listen to the conversation. At
the end of three hours, Shirley rose, en
closed the young girl in a long, lingering
embrace, and left the house.
On the doorstep he met Colonel Weston,
portly, rubicund aud laughing, as he struck
iiis gold-headed cane at every step which
he took, upon the pavement.
" Well,- James !" was his hearty excla
mation, ' you are not going just as dinner
is ready ? A bad rule—very bad ! But
what makes you so pale ?"
" Am 1 pale ?" muttered Shirley.
"Yes—as pale as if you had seen the
chariot tcith the headless horses I," laughed
the Colonel.
S' irley started.
" The second !" came in a hoarse murmur
from his lips.
"What—what—James? What did you
say, my boy ?"
" Nothing, sir, I hope you are well, and
that I will find you as -*ell on my return."
" Ah, yes ! yon go to-morrow ; you must
positively come in and diue. You can't ?
Y T ou have business ? Hang business, say
I ! or I would have said, a fortnight, be
fore my marriage ! But you will spend
the evening with us? Y r es? Well, come
early."
And the old Colonel stumped into the
house.
" The second ?" muttered Shirly again,
with a st: ange expression in his eyes, * ?
he went back to bis office.
He spent the evening at Colonel Wes
ton's, and when the rest of the family re
tired, he was left alone with the young la
dy, who continued to converse with him un
til midnight. What occurred during this
interview is not known, but it was after
ward observed that Pauline carefully avoid
ed any allusion to it. No one saw her af
ter the interview, on that night ; but on
the next morning all the roses in her cheeks
had faded.
The state of Shirley's mind after the con
versation was better known. A sort of
busybody of the town who spent his time
in collecting and disseminating news—
that is, gossip—of every imaginable des
cription, happened to be returning home
after midnight. Seeing a light in Shirley's
office, behind which was his bed-chamber,
the busybody conceived a desire to ascer
tain what kept the young lawyer up so late.
No rules of ceremony r< strain such people.
The busybody coolly entered, and a3 coolly
asked where Shirley—with whom he had
but a slight acquaintance—was going.
The reply of the young man, according
to the report of his visitor subsequently,
was rather rough.
" To make a journey !"
" I see," said the intruder, " but where ?
to the low country I suppose ?"
" Yes sir !" came still more curtly than
before.
" On business ?"
" On business, sir?"
A slight color began to tinge the pale
face of Shirley. This persistence annoyed
him.
" Well," said the visitor, " I see you are
busy, and I won't intrude. Preparing for
your marriage, I suppose ? lam told the
Colonel is delighted, and Miss Pauline is
the beauty of the country. In splendid
health, too. That is a great thing in mar
riage, Mr. Shirley. I have known hey from
a child—she never had a day of sickness,
You aro going away to-morrow?"
" Yes, sir !"
" Well, well, a pleasant journey."
And the busybody leit the office. —
Shirley continued to pack his valise, for his
journey was to be made on horseback
Suddenly the head of the busybody was
again thrust in.
" I forgot," he said.
" forgot what, sir V
"To say that you will miss old Torn
Brigg's fuueral 5 it will be a grand again ;
he was formerly sheriff, and very popular.
He died to" night. They said he would live.
1 knew he would not. I saw the chariot and
hornet."
"Saw what ?" exclaimed Shirley, turning
round.
" The chariot with the headless horses.
In a dream last night I saw them as plain
as t see yoy, drawn up before his door.
Did you ever hear the legend J"
And the busybody was returning quickly
REOAKDI.BS3 OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., MAY 31, 1866.
into the apartment, when Shirley abruptly
exclaimed, " I have heard it 1 good-night,
sir !" and shut the door in his face.
As the door closed, the visitor heard
Shirley fall into a chair, and utter, with a
species of groan, the singular words,
"The third !"
The busybody took his revenge by de
claring subsequently to all bis neighbors
that the young lawyer must "have some
thing on his mind"—his face was as livid
as a corpse, and his eyes looked wild.
On the next morning Shirley set out for
the low country, and in three or four days
reached his home without accident.
On the day after his arrival he received
a letter from Pauline—long, loving, so full,
indeed of evidences of her affection, that it
made his pale face fiusli. He had already
written—their mutual promise had been to
write every day.
Two letters came from Pauline. Then
they stopped. Shirley wrote daily—no an
swers came.
The effect of this upon the young man
was frightful. The darkest forebodings
seized upon him, and a settled gloom took
possession of him, rendering him almost in
capable of attending to the business of his
journey. The great irregularity of the
mails at the epoch gave him a faint glim
mer of consolation ; but as day after day
wore on, and no more letters came, he ab
ruptly terminated his arrangements,sprung
upon his horse, and set out rapidly for S.,
which by hard riding he reached before
midnight on the second day— the 1( )th of
November.
Three montiis after these events he was
dead. Those who held his dying form in
their arms heard him describe in faint mur
murs all that happened to him after com
ing in sight of the town.
As lie approached the village, he said, a
deeper and deeper gloom oppressed him ; a
more profound foreboding seized upon him.
A huge black shadow, like the wing of
some gigantic bird of night, seemed to
draw toward him from the far horizon; and
strange dim shapes flitted by bim in the
night. The moon had risen like a great
bloody disc, bathing the bleak forest in its
solemn and mysterious light ; a low, moan
ing breeze from the Potomac detached one
by one the last leaves from the Autumn
trees ; and the wind from the great river,
as it passed on, seemed to the startled
ears of Shirley like the sob of a host of
unseen mourners, accompanying some in
visible cortege to the grave.
What follows is given upon his own
statement Entering the town at a gallop,
he pressed on through the deserted streets, !
drew up in front of his office, threw the bri- j
die over the fence, and hastened toward j
Colonel Weston's.
As he turned the corner leading to the
house of his bride, he remembered looking
at his watch. Jt was twenty-right minutes
jjast eleven. Hurrying on, he emerged from
beneath a long row of over-shadowing
trees, nearly stripped of their foliage ; Col
onel Weston's house was then not more
than a hundred yards distant, when sud
denly he reeled and staggered against the
trunk of one of the trees. His blood was
frozen in his veins ; his eyes glared ; at
what he saw, shudder after shudder passed
through his limbs—a sort of vertigo seized
upon bis burning brain.
In front of Col. Watson's house stood a
black chariot with ebon plumes nodding
from the roof, and attached to the chariot
were six black horses, without heads, a
dusky figure driving with shadowy reins.
Over all fell the the blood-red moonlight,in
weird and solemn splendor.
The young man remained speechless and
without motion lor about two minutes, when
all at once a hoarse and stilled cry escaped
from his lips, and stretching out his arms,
he fell insensible to the earth, as if struck
by a thunderbolt.
The door of the chariot had suddenly
but noiselessly revolved upou its hinges ;
it opened ; a dusky something flitted for an
instant in the moonlight, and the door as
silently closed. The shadowy figure on the
driver's seat had then gathered up the
reins, the vehicle began to move without
noise, and passing within ten feet of the
young man, draw i by its headless horses,
dusky as phantoms, had disappeared with
out sound in the darkness.
The road which it took was toward the
village cemetery.
An hour afterward Shirley was discov
ered insensible upon the ground by Dr.
Butler, a physician of the village who had
just come out of Colonel Weston's house.
Assistance was promptly rendered him,and
he was put to bed ; but a violent attack of
brain fever ensued. Three months after
ward, he was dying ; but his mind, long
obscured by delirium, had regained its
clearness, and he listened calmly to Paul
ine's father, who sat sobbing by his bed.
What happened may be related in a few
words. Three days later after Shirley's de
parture, the young lady had gone to a par
ty in a very thin dress and slippers ; on
her return she had been attacked by pneu
monia, and this attack had proved fatal.
She would not permit any one to write to
her betrothed, fearing to alarm him un
necessarily—hence the cessation of the let
ters.
In her last moments she had muttered
faintly something about a dream-warning
of the young man's—a chariot with head
less horses which appeared to him three
times in sleep, even before he had heard
the legend ; and after this she sank rap
idly.
Pauline had expired at precisely half
jja-4 eleven on the night of the 10th of No
vember. The chariot with the headless
horses had waited but two minutes.
Three mouths afterward, as I have said,
Shirley had gone to rejoin her.
JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
An old fellow in a neighboring town,who
is original in all things, especially egotism
and profanity, and who took part in the late
great rebellion, was one day blowing iu
the village tavern to a crowd of admiring
listeners, and boasting of his many bloody
exploits, when he was interrupted by a
question ;
" I say, old Joe, how many reba did you
kill during the war f"
" Ilow many did I kill, Sir ? how many
rebs did 1 kill ? Well I don't know just
how many ; but I know this much, I killed
as many o' them as they did o' me 1"
TEE persons who live on the failings of
their neighbors will never die of starvation.
THE ATLANTIC CABLE.
PROGRESS OF THE MANUFACTURE—COILING THE WIRE
IN THE HOLD OF THE GREAT EASTERN—INTEREST
ING EXPERIMENTS—PICKXNG-UP APPARATUS.
[From the London Daily News, April 30,]
The Blender Birmingham wire, which we
recently traced from its arrival at the gut
ta percha works in the City-road, through
the various processes of manufacture, un
til it left Morden-wh&rf, Greenwich, a com
plete submarine cable, is now being coiled
at the rate of two miles an hour in the vast
tanks of the Great Eastern. The Amethyst
hulk, which we saw receiving its precious
freight the other day, is now moored along
side the great ship off Sheerness, while the
Iris is being laden in her turn at Green
wich, and will supply the Amethyst's place
directly the latter is emptied. Thus, manu
facture and stowage go on concurrently,
and at the moment one part of the great
wire is receiving its elementary coating of
Ckattertons's compound, or perhaps being
spun at Birmingham, other portions are
being laid down in the great ship ready
; for the final and momentous paying out.
j Standing on the deck of the Great Eastern,
! a few yards from its stern, you see the
cable slowly pass up the ship's side, and
over a series of wheels and pulleys, all in
geniously constructed and carefully watch
ed, and follow it under its covered way un
til it disappears into the large wooden hut
erected for its reception. This hut is the
size of a moderate barn, and is the deck
covering of the aft tank. Entering by its
doorway, you look into a yawning, dimly
lighted circular gulf, the bottom of which
6eems to be composed of light oak sym-
I metrically turned. The uniformity of the
| slightly corrugated circles within circles—
the mathematical exactitude with which
j each appears to fit into, and be part of, its
j neighbor—the seeming solidity and unity
> of the great whole—all speak of the lathe :
j and it is only when the eye has become, as
| it were, acclimatized to the pale glimmer |
jo the swinging lamps below, that the
\ silent white figures squatted at regular !
j intervals, and moving noiselessly around,
are seeu to be cable-men, and the apparent
| wood carving to be the cable. The exter- j
1 nal distinction between last year's electric j
' rope and this is now seen to be very mark- j
ed ; the absence of the tarry coating, and
| the clean, substantial look of the manilla '
j stand, giving an impression of mingled j
I strength and ductility, which is auspicious
!in itself. It may be repeated that this I
I year's galvanization of the outer protecting 1
| wires affords all the security against cor- j
I rosion given by the final coat of tar former- j
! !y applied, while in the event of an unlucky
i bit of wire defying precaution and finding
| its way into the tank, the chances of its
i sticking in the rope are sensibly diminished, !
through the latter being repellently yield-1
ing instead of glutinously adhesive. Very I
1 gradually and regularly are the circles in-;
[creased. No word is spoken as the rope i
slowly passes the officer on guard at what ;
we may call the top story of the tank, and !
is received by two of the white figures be-1
low. These march slowly round, handling
the gracefully descending coil as tenderly
as if it were alive, and under the close and
constant inspection of the officer on guard
below pass it to other white figures, who,
with equal tenderness, fit it into and steady
it in its appointed place. Thus ring after
ring is formed, each layer beginning with
the large outer circle of the tank itself, and
ending with the centre frame work of wood,
which is its bull's-eye, and serves to "shore
up" and keep all steady. Every man en
tering the tank is searched before going in,
puts on the nailless gutta percha shoes
provided by the Company, and goes through
his work of cabel-stowing under the con
stant and watchful supervision of tried and
experienced officers.
Besides these precautions, tests both of
insulation and continuity are being cease
lessly put by the electricians. Nor are
these confined to this year's venture. The
old cable on board is for this purpose con
nected with the new, and messages were
transmitted on Saturday through a tota 1
distance of 1,506 nautical miles. There
were then 485 of these miles in the after
tank, 856 in the main tank, and 265 in the
fore tank ; aud to make the test more
searching and complete,communication has
lately been established between all these
and the shore. An end from each tank is
brought into the testing-chamber on deck,
is there joined together, so as to make for
electrical purposes one cable, while another
end is passed over the ship's side, laid in
the mud and oozy bottom of the unsavory
Sheerness waters, in which the Great East
ern r'des, and landed on the stony slippery
bank hedging on the shore. The portion
thus running from ship to land has been re
cently added for the sole purpose of proving
Mr. WIIXOCGHBY SMITH'S improvements in
process of testing ; and to do this it has
not even been thought necessary to use the
completed cable. This particular succursal
leaves the ship without any other protection
than its guta-percha covering, and runs to
land, and into the cowherd's cottage,where
a room has been borrowed, a mere string
of slender piping, like a stick of chocolate.
Yet, unfair as it seems to work this bit of
core, without the jute, galvanized iron, and'
Manilla strands, which are its proper pro
tectors, the experiments tried have been
eminently satisfactory. On Saturday, mes
sages were sent from ship to shore, and
from shore to ship, with neverfailing regu
larity ; and, more interesting still, upon
artificial faults being created, the life-like
indicator betrayed them instautly and un
erringly. This was tried several times,
and in different ways ; for, through the
ends of the different lengths passing up to
and being joined in the testing chamber, it
is easy to create a fault, now at a distance
of a few hundred miles, now at a distance
:of as many yards from the operator. In all
[ cases the exquisitely delicate apparatus
made instant and decided protest, and the i
j result of the experiments proved that, as j
;in the forthcoming expedition insularity !
■ and continuity will be tested concurrently j
' qnd pops tap tjy, instead of at intervals, as
I heretofore, messages may aud probably
i will pass to and from Valentia and the
j Great Eastern during the whole voyage, BO
that thorn) on shore will be as fully inform
ed of the condition of the cable as those on
board. It is estimated that in the event of
a fault arising in the new cable, it will be
j discovered instantly, and be localized, and
the process of paying out reversed to that
of picking up, within a very few minutes
of its occurrence. It would be difficult to
#3 per Annum, in Advance.
speak too highly of the advance in the sci
ence of cable-laying these facts imply; and
it is impossible to inquire into the plans of
this year's expedition without being impres
sed with the care taken,not merely to guard
against disaster but to prevent disaster af
fecting result. The whole machinery for
both paying out and picking up has been
repeatedly tested ; the latter is entirely
refitted with two high pressure boilers, and
will now be of from five to seven and a
half times the strength of the breaking
weight. Whereas, too, the extreme break
ing strain in paying out is ten tons, the
large wheels employed will bear seven
times and the smaller ones nine times that
strain. The mishaps of last year were, it
is useful to remember,attributed to the pos
sibility of picking up a cable from the bot
tom of the Atlantic never having been con
templated. Neither ropes nor gear were
provided for such a contingency, and thos.
pressed into the service gave way when
| put to a strain they were never made to
i bear. Now, proficiency in picking up at
great depths is recognized as a necessity in
I suomarine telegraphy, and every provision j
I is made to make such picking up easy !
i and safe on hoard the Great Eastern. Last !
1 year it could only be done from the fore 1
i part of the ship ; this year matters will be 1
so arranged that the cable may be brought
in as well as paid out at the stern ; and
the saving of time and complications is ob
vious. The whole of this machinery—ropes,
wheels and gear—has been manufactured,
as before, by the Telegraph Construction
and Maintenance Company, under the im
: mediate superintendence of Mr. GLASS, his
: Managing-Director, and of Mr. CANNING, its
| Engineer-in-Chief, and the responsible head
j of the cable layers, mechanists and engin
i eers employed in the expedition.
Passing from the Atlantic cable to the
! grand vessel which is to carry it, it is grat
ifying to know that her keel and hull have
I been thoroughly and carefully cleaned, and
i that the divers' reports show them to be in
good sailing order. Considerable time and
| ingenuity have been expended on the con
struction of huge brushes and scrapers to
i effect this, for the immense mass of- shell-
I fish, weeds and dirt which had accumula
; ted and hardened at the bottom of the great
! ship made her cleansing no easy matter.
! A strong implement something like an ag
; ricultural harrow, has been constructed,
! and by aid of this and other brushes con-
I stantly applied, so much impedimenta has
[ been removed that an addition of two
knots an hour to her speed is counted on.
This, it is hoped, will give a power of nine
knots, when fully laden ; higher than is
needed for cable laying, and calculated to
insure the fullest speed necessary, even
against a head of wind and an adverse sea.
The directors of the Telegraph Construction
Company have chartered the Medway, a ship
of 1,813 tons, to accompany the Great East
ern on her voyage out. The Medway will
carry some hundreds of miles of the cable
of last year, and in the event of the expe
dition being successful, will ledisclurge
this into the then empty tanks of the Great !
Eastern, at Newfoundland. The Medway 1
will then start to locate the spot where the ;
broken end lies, to fix buoys, or it may be j
to commence picking up. Capt. Anderson,
to avoid taking the Great Eastern to the
Xore this year, will go direct to Beerhaven
from ShCerness, and will there supply him-!
self with coal for the voyage. The length
of time to be occupied iu an expedition du j
ring which the double process of laying j
down one cable and picking up another is '
to be gone through, is necessarily estima- ;
ted at a much higher rate than the one of 1
last year, and some seventy days are spo- j
ken of as the period the Great Eastern will j
be away. Assuming her to leave Sheer- j
ness from the 29th of .Tune to 3d July I
next, three days will take her to Beerhaven, j
where she will stay nine days to take in i
coal. Allowing five days for waiting lor ,
favorable weather, for splicing with the
shore end, and fifteen days for the passage |
to Trinity bay, we may look for messages j
from America about the beginning of Au- j
gust next. The Great Eastern will again !
supply herself with coal at Trinity Bay,and ;
at once follow the Medway to the grappling
ground ; this will take three days, and I
eight more are given for grappling, and ;
five for returning to Trinity Bay and lay- j
ing the remainder of the old cable. This j
done, the return of the Great Eastern to
England will take twelve days more, and
bring her home about the second week in
September. In each case a margin must j
be given to the foregoing figures, but they j
are based on present calculations, and may
be taken as authentic. Itwill.be seen that!
they assume success throughout, and it may [
be added that on an elaborate series of i
problems having been drawn up by author- j
ity, as to what would be the effect of diff
erent calamities or casualties, should they
arise, the responsible leaders of the com
ing enterprise have answered every sup
position satisfactorily in writing. The is- j
sue time alone can solve ; but whatever
may be its results, the more the prepara
tions for the Atlantic expedition of 1866
are known the more they will be regarded
as marvels of forethought, of precaution, of
skilful analysis of cause and effect, and of
logical deductions patiently, laboriously,
and courageously worked out.
How BODIES AKE EMBALMED. —By embalm-!
ing, people generally are apt to imagine
that the modern process consists of satur
ating,filling and surrounding the dead body
with spices, gums and other indestructible
and preservative substances, as is under
stood to have been the process practiced by
the ancients. Such, however, is not the
case. The modern process is about as fol
lows ; The blood is drawn off through the
jugular vein. An incision is then made up
on the inside of the thigh, through which a
chemical liquid is injected by a mechani
cal means. This liquid permeates all the
veins and arteries, taking the place befovo
occupied by the blood, and in a short time
renders tfie entire body as hard as stone,
and as rigid as statue. A portion of the
scalp is removed and the brain scooped out,
The chest is opened aud the heart, lungs
and viscera are abstracted. When the pro
i oess is completed, the body is reduced to a
! mere empty shell, having only the outward
: semblance of the departed individual. How
long a body thus prepared will remain un
changed we cannot say. The process has
only been employed for a few years—sippo
the war commenced, we believe —so that
time sufficient has not elapsed to test the
indestructibility of bodies thus prepared.
OLDEST CITY IN THE WOKLD. —Damascus is
the oldest city in the wo.ild : Tyre and Si
don have crambled on the shore, Balbee is
a ruin : Palmyra is buried in the sands of
the desert: Nineveh and Babylon have dis
appeared from the Tigrus'and Euphates.
Damascus remains what it was before the
days of Abraham—a centre of trade and
travel—an island of verdure in a desert —
"a presidential capital," with material and
sacred associations extending through more
than thirty centuries. It was "near Da
mascus" that Saul of Tarsus saw the "light
above the brightness of the sun." The
street, which is called Strait, in which it
was said. "He prayed," still runs through
the city. The caravan comes and goes as
it did a thousand years ago ; there is shiek,
the ass, and the water-wheel : the mer
chant of the Euphrates and of the Mediter
ranean still occupy these "with the multi
tude of their waters." The city which Mo
hammed surveyed from a neighboring hight,
and was afraid to enter "because it is giv
en to man to have but one paradise,and for
bis part he wan' r* solved not to have it in
this world," is to ?his day what Julian cal
led the "eve of the as il wati iu tliC
time oflsiah, "the heau of Syria " From
Damascus came the dams ali( * * e "
licious apricot of Portugal damasco :
damask, or beautiful fabric of
silk, with vines and flowers raised tp° n a
smoothe bright ground; the damask 1 ° Bo >
which was introduced into England in the
time of Henry VII : the Damascus blade,
so famous the world over for its keen edge
and wonderful elasticity,the secret of whose
manufacture was lost when Tamerlane car
lied oil the artists into Persia : and that
beautitul art of inlaying wood ami steel
with silver and gold, a kind of mosaic en
graving and sculpture united—called da
maskeening, with which boxes, and bu
reaus, and swords, and guns are ornamen
ted. It is still a city of flowers and bright
waters : the stream from Lebanon, the
"rivers of Damascus," the "rivers of gold,"
still murmer and sparkle in the wilderness
of "Syrian gardens."
NUMBER 1.
CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. —It matters not if
! you cannot tell just when you become a
| Christian. If we sow a handful of wheat
in our garden, we could not toll though we
watched it every so narrowly, the exact
moment when it germinated. But when
I we see the waving grain in the autumn, we
know it did germinate, and that it is all we
i care for. The young disciple should not
| expect too much light at once. It will grow
j brighter with every Christian duty he per
| forms. The Christian life is a sort of
! mountain path ; and the higher one climbs
the clearer the atmosphere, and the sooner
,he will see the morning sun. To the ad
venturous traveler who has ascended to the
summit of Mount Blanc, the sun rises ear
lier and sets later, and the nights are shor
i ter than to a peasant who lives down in
the valley at its base. So it is in the
I Christian life. Clearness of vision, and
j lirmuess of foot, and beauty of prospect
i came only to those who have struggled up
the bights to the heavenly places in Christ
Jesus. Conversion may be the work of a
moment, but a saint is not made in an
hour. Christian character, is not an act,
but a process ; not a sudden creation, but
a development. It grows and bears fruit
like a tree, and like a tree it requires pa
tient care and unwearied cultivation.
A PEW in a Congregational meeting house
is thus advertised lbr sale in the Amherst
(Mass.) Express : " A pew in the meeting
house of the first parish in Amherst is for
sale. The man that owns the pew owns
the right of a space as long and wide as
the pew is from the bottom of the meeting
house to the roof, and he can go as much
higher as he can get. If a man will buy
my pew and sit in it on Sundays, and re
pent and be a good man, he will go to heav
en, and my pew is as good a place to start
from as any pew in the meetiu-house."
" On) Cooper "is a Dutchman, and like
many another man, of whatever national
ity, has a wife that is "some."
One day the old man got into some
trouble with a neighbor, which resulted in
a fight. The neighbor was getting the bet
ter af the old man, which Cooper's wife was
not slow to see. The old man was resist
ing his enemy to the best of his ability,
when his wife broke out with :
" Die still, Cooper ! lie still ! If he kills
you I'll sue him for damages."
THREE WORDS I\ OXE.
There are three lessons I would write—
Three words as with a burning pen—
In tracings of eternal light
Upon the hearts of men.
Have Hope. Though clouds environ now,
And gladness hides her face in scorn,
Put then the shadow from thy brow ;
No niglit but hath its morn.
Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven
The claim's disport, the tempest's mirtlx—
Know this : God rules the host of heavens,
The. inhabitants of earth.
Have Love : and not alone for one,
Isut man, as man. thy brother call,
And scatter, like the circling sun,
Thy charities on all.
Thus grave these lessons on thy soul,—
Hope, Faith and Love, and thou shalt liml
Strength wbcu life's surges cease to roll,
Light where thou else were blind.
FUN, FACTS AND FACETIJE.
THE entire assets of a recent bankrupt
were nine children. The creditors acted magnan
imously, aud let him keep them.
WHAT business ought Tom Thumb to go
into ? Grocer {grow sir).
THE CHEAPEST WAY WITH THE LAWYERS.—
Keep one's own counsel.
THE following is an Irishman's descrip
tion of making a cannon ; "Take a long hole, and
pour brass or iron all round it."
A SCOTCHMAN asked an Irishman. "Why
were half-fartliings coined in England ?" Pat's an
swer was, "To give Scotchman an opportunity of
subscribug to charitable institutions. "
WHY is a mad bull an animal of a convi
vial disposition ?—Because he offers a horn to ev
ery one he meets.
AN irascible gentleman recently iought
a duel with liis intimate friend because he jocosely
asserted that he was bom without a shirt to his
back!
THE following purports to be a model
medical puff:
"DEAR DOCTOR.—I shall be ono hundred and
seventy-five years old next October. For over
eighty-four years I have been an invalid, unable to
| step except when moved with a lever. But a year
| ago I heard of the Granicular Syrup. I bought a
j bottle, smelt the cork, and found myself a man. I
' can now run twelve miles and a half an hour, and
j throw thirteen somersaults without stopping."
THE fellow who sat down ou a piu, got
up on the spur of the moment,
A deceased chief justice ouce addressed
a jury iu the following model speech ; "Gentlemen
of the jury, in the case the counsel on both sides
are unintelligible ; the witnesses incredible; and
the plaintiffs and defendents are both such bad
j characters that to me it is indifferent way
you give your verdict."