7
1
Siiillioii
B. F. SCHWEIER,
TEE C033TITTITI05-THE UBlOH-AlfD THE ESrOEGIMEITT OP THE LAWS.
IZditor ami Proprietor.
VOL. XXXI.
ii.i
MIFFIJXTWX, JUXIATA COUNTY, PEXXA., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 1S77.
XO. 24.
THE VEB OF YEA.RS.
From oat the loom of time the rev
Unroll a fabric ail mast wear ;
The wool of Joy aod warp of team
Are spun br moving hope aod fears.
Aod preened bj weight; rolling care.
What nv asnre noto each is given ?
A span mar gnape tbe greatest part.
And ret the lcaet from earth to heaven
Do reach, as in the qniet even hearts.
hhort prayers sent op from children's
The web too quickly for us all
Is wove, while pass the shuttles fleet.
And when the threads have ceased to fall.
Death throws it e'er us as our pall.
Or round as as our winding-sheet.
LI.IZVBETH'S r.CKI.E.
BY LI7.ZIK M. MfLHERX.
Elizabeth Caverly stood leaning list
lessly against tb window, her clear
gray eyes resting on tbe green fields
and sunny meadow before her.
"Elizabeth!"
"What is it,' Y arena! Yoa look ex
cited." Oh, Elizabeth, think of it. Old
Aunt Kate is dead, and yoa yon, Eliza
beth Caverly, are her heiress. Heiress
of bouse and land, and all her grand old
jnwelry, . How I envy yon, ma belle.
Xo I don't either, only I am wild with
delight."
"Delight over the death of a poor old
lady, who waa always kind to us."
Warena'e face sobered.
"So." she said, "ouly glad you are
her heiress."
"Yes. I suppose that is all."
"You will go away to-morrow, Eliza
beth, to be in time for the funeral, and
to take possession of your new home."
"And you, little cousin are to take
possession of it along with, me."
"XoElizbttU, 1 will etill live with
grandma. 'J j J ' ' . I:
A few nrinatee afterward Elizabeth
was wandering down through tbe sun
ny meadows, past the drooping labur
num trees, till she stood iu a pretty,
leaf-skeltered glade. A young man,
tall, dark, handsome and auubrowued,
stood leauing against a tree. r.
"Have I kept you waiting long.
John f she Mid. , . .
"Not very. Only 'long enough to
make it impossible for us to liuieh
Elaine" this evening."
"I am afraid we will not finish it at
all," she said a faint rosetfusb staining
her cheeks, "for John, Aunt Kate is
dead, and I am her heiress."
The man's face grew very pale.
"Then you are very w y, Eliza
beth, and of course the humble home
where you have spent your life will be
vonr home no longer!
"Xo," she answered, half sadly, "I
leave it to-morrow. I have to be at
the funeral. I will have to bid you
farewell. John."
"You we going away to another life
entirely, Elizabeth, a life so different
from ours, we can scarcely understand
it."
"So I believe."
"And you can say farewell so calmly.
Oh! Elizabeth, the dream of my life is
past."
"Is it!" she said slowly.
"Yes," he answered, "for you are one
of the wealthiest heiresses in the
' country, and 1 am simply John Flow
era. I bid you and my dream good-bye
together. Good-bye Elizabeth." ;
"Good-bye," she answered, laying
her hand in his and looking up into his
face, and then she turned slowly away,
her face pale, her eyes glowing.
-'If be loves me lie will tell me so of
his own accord, for I will give no sign,"
she said.
One year later John Flowers lay
dreaming in the sheltered glade where
he bad parted from Elizabeth Caverly.
He was dreaming of her, tbe woman
be loved, the. fair, proud woman, who
was more to him than all else on earth.
He bad loved her from the time when
she had been a tiny child with curly
bair and big gray eyes, and could he
cease to love her then, when she was
the fairest woman his eyes had ever
rested on! In a few hours he would
see her, for she was down at her old
home, and she had sent for him. sent
for her old playmate to come and aee
her.
She had come down to the old home
stead pale and a little sorrowful look
ing. "Are you not happy. Elizabeth!"
AYarena asked, though wondering how
she could be otherwise.
"I scarcely know, AYarrie;" then
after a pause, "I have felt happier in
my life than I do now."
VYarena opened her eyes.
"Warrie," Elizabeth said, "do you
remember the amethyst necklace Aunt
Kate prized so highly!"
"Yes; the old-fashioned thing with
the legend attached to it. The neck
lace lost and found so many times!"
"Yes. Well, it is lost again stolen."
"Stolen!"
"Yes, along with some other jewelry.
It is said when it is lost it will be
found, and the finder will bring either
happiness or misery to its owner."
' "Such nonsense!" -- ! i I .- i .'
"If yoa. believe Annt Kate, it was
lost many times, and not only was it
found, but the legend verified on all
occasions."
Just then John Flowers entered.
Elizabeth met him with her cold, sweet
smile, and laid her white hand in bis.
She looked so beautiful then, that be
felt his pulse leap beneath the touch of
her hand. ' '
"Why do yon come Elizabeth!" he
aid, scarcely knowing what he did say.
'Why did you send for me, when I was
struggling to forget yon. Are all wo
men tbe same; do they delight in the
pain a mas sutlers for her sake. I
would not have believed"
Elizabeth turned coldly away, a half
angry light in her eyes. She knew be
loved her, but she was far too proud to
let him know how little wealth and
position were to his love; far too proud
to let him see how willing she-was to
come down- from her high estate and
become a farmer's wife. " ,
"It my love is not worth asking for,"
she tnurmnred to herself, "it is not
worth bestowing." '
It was late that night when John
Flowers left for bis own borne. It waa
. quite a little distance, bat there was
an old. nnfreqnented road, by which
he could go iu a much shorter time
than by keeping to the main road. He
turned his horse iu that direction, and
rode leisurely along thinking of Eliza
beth. "My love for her grows deeper day
by day, and hour after hour. But she
was glad to aee me to-day. I saw the
welcoming light in her eyes. Oh! my
love"
Just then two men confronted him.
"We want your horse," said the fore
most, "and we have no objection to any
loose cash you have arouud yon.
For answer John leaped oft his horse,
and dashing the pistol which one man
held, to the ground, closed with him.
The other man lifted the pistol aud
tired.
A low cry came from John's lip, bis
clasp on the ruffian loosened, and be
fell to the ground, and there be lay.
senseless, his arm shattered, aud an
amethyst necklace lay glittering at bis
feet.
It was not long till consciousness re
turned to him, and of coarse his eyes
rested on the necklace dropped by one
of the robbers, no doubt. He lifted it
up and put it in his pocket, and then
almost faint with pain, he made his
way to the nearest house.
A few days later he lay tossing in a
brain fever, for a ball bad entered his
shou'.der as well as the one that shat
tered his arm, and Elizabeth Caverly
knelt beside his couch. It was pitiful
to hear biui call her name.
"Elizabeth!" be cried. "Oh! my
darling, why did yon leave me! Wealth
came between us, my love, for would I
ask you to be mine when riches came
to you, when I bad been silent before.
But I was waiting, yes. I was waiting,
and, my love, I waited too long," and
the girl who loved him so well, laid
her proud bead on the side of the couch
beside the crazed man.
? "Must my wealth ataud between us
forever!" she cried. ' ' -
One month later he was himself
again, pale aud grave, but proud aud
self-willed as of old.
- Elizabeth Caverly sat in the old leaf
shaded dell, a few days before she was
to leave for ber home, She looked
pale and weary, and she had come to
bid farewell to the old spot. She was
going back to her etately home never
to return.
"Elizabeth!" j
She rose to her feet, for John Flow
ers stood before her, aud something
glittered in his hand.
"My amethyst necklace !" she said
ber face paling, then flushing, as she
remembered the old story connected
with it.
The finding of it wonld bring happi
ness or misery to its owner. ' Which
would it bring her! '
"Yes," he said, laying tliem in her
baud, his eyes on her face. "Yoa are
going away again going away to hap
piness, I hope, for I have heard the
story of the necklace; aud God forbid
that auy thing but happiuess should be
yours. 1 have tried to forget you,
Elizabeth, but I have loved"
He stopped short.
Xo. She was wealthy and high, and
she might misjudge him. Anything
was better than that.
Suddenly she laid her hand on bis
arm.
"I am not going away to happiness,"
she said, slowly; "I am leaving happi
ness behind me, but the old legend will
be fulfilled."
"Elizabeth!"
She smiled softly, and raised her
eyes to bis.
"Do not trifle with me," he said,
"but tell me, do you mean you love me,
and are willing to be my wife. Do you
mean this Elizabeth!"
"I have loved you all my life," she
said, as be folded her in bis arms, aud
kissed her sweet, red lips.
Three month later, when Elizabeth
Caverly knelt in her bridal robes, and
rose Elizabeth Flowers, an amethyst
necklace glittered round her white
throat.
Errors of Newspapers.
A Western school master, says the
Printer' Circular, in order to sharpen
tbe wits of bis pupils, set them to work
for half an hour each day to search for
errors in the newspapers which tbe
pedagogue habitually read himself.
There is do fault to be found with this
method of developing tbe vouthfu
mind. Xot a few errors were discover
ed, and tbe teacher jumped to the con
clusion that editors .and printers were
ignorant of the very rudiments of their
callings; and be was not by any means
the first individual who pronounced a
similar verdict on tbe same slender
evidence. It is a thousand pities that
some of the people who pass such sharp
nd sweeping snap judgements could
not be induced to take charge of a daily
or weekly journal, just for one issue;
they would have no desire to try their
hands at a second nnniber, for they
would discover that the making of a
newspaper is about the most difficult
and complicated woik in the world.
Tbey would be brought face to face,
witb a formidable mass of matter to be
gleaued in as many minutes as they
would de6ire days; they would be cotn
oelled to write on topics as widely dis
similar as possible, at a moment's no
tice; consult the best authorities, and
with an unerring certainty to Know
where to find them. Diffuse accounts
of important intelligence would come
streaming in upon them for condensa
tion at the last moments. Their hand
writing would become hurried and il
legiable, to the despair of the composi
tors, who are frequently compelled to
put into type so few lines of copy at a
time having not the remotest idea what
thev are thus translating, and depend
ing for accurracy solely on their trained
nower to decipher - illegible writing
with -their . eyes, while mechanically
picking up types with their fingers.
That the critical typo would become
utterly bewildered, and in despair
abandon bis task before it was hall com
pleted, is reasonably certain. And we
tnsv also rest assured that one and all
of tbe captious critics that undertook
the labor of setting journals to righto
would arrive at the sensible conclusion
that the wonder is not that there are so
many, but so very few mistake in the
newspapers. -
The re of Terra Cotta. Vases
In building appeared for the first time
in the reign of Goidiano, and not in
any preceeding construction.- Winkle-
man write that these vases or urns of
terra cotta wer placed with the
mouths upward; then they were filled
and surrounded with little stones and
lime. Winkleman also writes that
Aristotle told of vases and urns of terra
cotta being used in the construction of
rooms and halls for acoustic advanta
ges to make the voice sound stronger.
I remember, when I waa at Ravenna,
having my attention directed, by read
ing in Agiocourt, abont that time, to
the construction of the cupola of San
Yitale,, in that city, a work of Cbistian
times, of the sixth century, the period
of Justinian. That cupola is made en
tirely of empty terra cotta tubes placed
horizontally; eue enters another; they
are fitted with such exactitude and
proportion that they obtain light weight
and great strength for the cupola.
D'Agincourt also gives an account, with
illustrations, of the vaults of the Ro
man Church of St. Stefano Rotondo,
on tbe Celian. in which are those terri
ble martyr pictures of Pomerancio. In
iu these vaults earthen tubes are also
used, but pl"ed perpendicularly.
This nse of terra cotta vases and the
finding of them among ruins, led
them in the sixteenth century to
believe that tbey - bad been pots
of treasure bidden away by the
Goths in the ground. In that period
there was little understood either about
Goths or Roman history. There was a
great rage for treasure seeking; tbe
common people dug about for pots of
money, and the nobles for statues, coins
and medals; and in their blind, careless
excavations they did as much injury to
tbe ruins as the invaders of the middle
ages. In the interesting "Meuiorie of
Flatninius Vacea," written 1594. be
says, "Many years ago went to look up
some antiquities. I found myself out
side "Porta Bastuuia" (Sebastiano),
"at Capo di Bove"' (Cecil Metclla, so
called at time because of tbe ornaments
and figures on the frieze). "To shelter
myself from a shower I went into au
Osteriolo" (iuu). While waiting I
talked with (he host, lie told me that
some months previous a man came in
to warm himself; he returned in the
evening with three other men; they
ordered a supper, which they ate iu si
lence.theu went away. This they did six
nights consecutively. The host sus
pected them of some evil design; so
one night he followed them; it was
moonlight; be saw them enter the sub
terraneans of the circus of the Cara
calla" (Romulus).
The following morning the innkeeper
informed the court. An examination
was immediately made of the place.
A great deal of freshly upturned earth
was found, also a deep cave, in which
were niauy broken terra cotta vases.
"I beitig near the place," continues
Vacca, "went there, saw the freshly
turned np earth, and the bowls of bro
earthen vases, like large vetriue (water
pipes). These were probably Goths,
who, from some ancient information
they possessed, went there to gather
treasures." ' '
Adornment ef florae.
Money which goes to buy a picture,
statuette, or tasteful bracket for adorn
ment, is all wisely spent. If young
people just starting in life, after having
secured the few articles of furniture
that must be had, and made sure that
they are what they ought to have, and
if they have some money left to get a
picture, an engraving, or a cast, they
ought to work to get this cast, they
ought to work to supply this want as
seriously as the other, which" seems
more necessary, but which 1 in realllty
not a bit more necessary. The general
character of a home will make a great
difference to the children who grow up
In It, and to all whose experience Is as
sociated with it, whether it be a beauti
ful and a cheerful one, or a merely
formal and conventional one. Tbe re
lation of these things to education is all
that gives dignity or poetry to the sub
ject, or makes It allowable for a reason
able mau to give much thought to it.
But it has a real relation to life, and
plays an Important part In education,
and deserves to be thought about a
good deal more than It is. Seeming
trifles like this make life either happy
or miserable.
. , The Rarer Xetals.
t ti l . i . '
It is stated that four hundred years
ago bus seven metals had been dis
covered, while we are now acquainted
with the existence of fifty-one, .thirty
of which, nearly three-fifths, have been
made known to us since the beginning
of the present century. The properties
of the commoner metals are so generally
kuowu, that a statement of them would
be almost superfluous; but as we are
always interested in what Is strange,
and frequently of no practical use, we
may glye a brief account of the rarer of
these unfamiliar substances. '
Cadmium Is a white,' malleable and
ductile metal resembling tin. Its sul
phide, known a tcudraiuin yellow, Is of
a very bright color and has other quali
ties of great value to artists. The metal
itself seems to I ,of little use.
Calcium Is a yellow, ductile and
malleable metal, softer than gold. At
a red heat it burns . with a dazzling
white light.
Erbium is a very rare metal at present
and seems to resemble aluminium iu its
properties and compounds.
Glucinum Is a white, malleable and
moderately fusible metal, also resem
bling aluminium.
- Iridium Is a very hard, White, brittle,
and infusible metal; when pure it is
never" acted upon by any acid. The
uses to which this metal can be applied
seem to Increase rapidly as It Is becom
ing more common. - "
Lithium is a metal resembling silver
in cvlor. It admits of being drawn out
into wire, but has very little tenacity.
It Is remarkable for iu extreme Ugh t
uess and the readiness with which it Is
acted upon by oxygen. .
Molybdenum is a silvery-white, brittle
and infusible metal. It never occurs
native, and neither it nor Its compounds
seem to be of much pratical use. -.
Osmium Is chiefly remarkable for its
high specific gravity and Infusibility.
Palladium closely resembles platinum
in iu properties. An alloy of 20 per
cent, of this metal and 80 per cent, of
gold Is perfectly white, very bard and
not tarnished by exposure. This makes
it admirably adapted for scales for
astronomical Instruments, but its high
price at present prevents its general
use.
Rhodium is a white, very hard and
infusible metal. It is said that a small
quantity of rhodium greatly Improves
steel. A It costs considerably more
than osmium, the uses to which it is
applied are very limited.
Ruthenium in everything except
specific gravity resembles iridium. It
Is rare and of little practical value.
S'rontlum Is a yellowish, ductile and
malleable metal ; burns In the air with
a crimson flame.
Thallium Is a very soft and malleable
metal. It Is not very rare, but seems
to be of very little use.
Thorium is an extremely rare metal,
remarkable for its property of taking
fire below red heat, and burning with
great brilliancy. Xeltber the metal
nor its compounds are of any practioal
use, but its oxide is of interest for its
high specific gravity of 9. 4.
Titanium is a very rare metal, usually
obtained in the crystalline form. It
can be produced also as a heavy iron
gray powder. The crystals are copper
colored and of extreme hardness.
. Tungsten is a hard, Iron-gray metal,
very diilleult of fusion. An alloy of 10
per cent, of this metal and 90 per cent,
of steel is of extreme hardness. Both
the metal and its compounds have
proved of value.
Uranium is a very heavy and hard
but moderately malleable metal, resem
bling nickle and iron ; hut for its rarity
It would be of considerable use, a it Is
nnaltered at ordinary temperatures by
air or water.
Vanadium is present In very minute
quantities in nearly all clays. It is, as
now produeed, a brilliant powder.
Rubidium and caesium so closely re
sembles platinum that no ordinary test
will distinguish which metal Is present.
Indium is very soft, malleable and
fusible; marks paper like lead.
Btirluin, cerium, columblum, (or nio
bium), diJymium, lanlhanium, tan
talum, terbium, yttrium aud zirconium
are ail rare metals. Their properties
are not very well knowu.
The discovery of a new metal called
gallium has been announced recently,
hut we believe it has not been isolated.
AVir l'vrk Mtrcantile Journal.
Uimm In faltleaesa.
According to the author of La Politetse
Frnncaiae, a work recently published In
Paris, a gentleman, when he gives his
baud to a friend, must press his friend's
hand but not shake it. If he Is about
to shake hands with a peasant he must
present his hand ungloved or the
Ieasant will consider himself insulted.
If be is about to shake hands with a
lady he must keep bis gloves on. When
he offers to conduct a lady to tbe piano
he must, in taking her hand, half close
his own. In dancing with a lady he
must "not permit himself" to squeeze
her hand ; and he must, if he wishes to
show himself a true gentleman or, at
least, "nn veritable gentleman" spend
18,000f., or $3,500, a year on his gloves.
A gentleman who spent this much a
year on his gloves, of various kinds and
colors, would probably, if only for the
sake of consistency, treat himself every
day to at least one new hat. All, how
ever, that we are told on the subject is
that a gentleman's hat should always
be "bright and brilliant." A gentle
man never altogether separates himself
from his hat, though it is not etiquette
to wear it in a room. In the street, on
meeting an equal of his own sex, be
takes it off for a moment. Ou meeting
a lady, or superior of his own sex, he
remains uncovered until he is told to
put his hat on. Do not eat in the street,
do not smoke a pipe iu the street, do
not smoke a cigar in the street if you
are walking with a lady "not even if
you happen to be this lady's husband."
it seems odd to tell a gentleman who is
supposed to spend $3,600 a year on his
gloves not to smoke a pipe In the street,
but we have reproduced this caution as
we find IU When you bow, bow
properly, but not so deeply that your
vertebral column will make a right
angle with your legs. If an officer in
uniform salutes you, do not make yeur-
self ridiculous by returning his salute
in military fashion. A lawyer will not
only think you silly, but will be greatly
irritated if, visiting him on a matter ot
business, you ask him how he is, in
quire alter the healh of his wife, ex
press a hojie that the children are all
well, and soon. This sort of talk should
be reserved for friends whose time is
not valuable or who have no right to
charge for it.
Day-Mare
During the intensely hot summer of
1SJ5 (savs a philosopher), I experienced
an attack of day-mare. Immediately
after dining, I threw mvself on bit back
- i i r ' t "
upon a soia, anu ociore i wan aware,
was seized with difficult respiration.
extreme dread, and utter incapability
of motion or speech. I could neither
move nor cry, while the breath came
from my chest In broken and suffoca
ting paroxysms. During all this time
I was perfectly awake; f saw the light
glaring in at the windows in broad
sultry streams; I felt the intense heat
of the day pervading my frame; and
heard distinctly the dinerent noises in
(be street, and' even the ticking of mr
own watch, which I had placed on the
cushion beside me. I had, at the same
time, the consciousness of flies buzzing
around, and settling with auuoying
pertinacity iiimui my laee. Lhiring the
whole fit, judgment was never for a
moment suspended. I felt assured that
1 labored under a species of incubus.
I even endeavored to reason myself out
of the feeling of dread which filled my
mind, and longed with an insufferable
ardor for some one to open the door,
and dissolve the spell which bound me
in its fetters, The fit did not continue
above five minutes; by degrees I re
covered the use of speech and motion ;
and as soon as they were so far restored
as to enable me to call out and move my
limbs, it wore insensibly away.
rORREGGIO'S"LT ANGEL.
Brother Thaddeus was once a brave
officer, and served long and honorably
In the Venetian Army ; but growing
weary of a soldier's lfie, he found a
happy home on the quiet heaths of
Parma. He lived about half a league
from the village of Correggio, in a sort
of hermitage grotesquely constructed
from the ruins of an old Roman camp.
Our hermit was widely known and
loved, for he united the skill of a phy
sician with the charity of an apostle.
Late one night, in the summer of
1534, Brother Thaddeus heard a loud
knocking at his door. In the ringing
voice that once cheered his Sclavouian
troops on to victory, he cried, "Who is
there?"
But when a trembling, childish voice
replied, "The son of Antonio AUegrl,"
tbe hermit hastily rose and opened the
door. Tbe child was out of breath, his
eyes were full of tears, and those be
bad shed in his rapid walk had been
dried on his cheeks by the midnight
wind.
"My father is very sick," sobbed tie
boy, "and mother begs you to come
quickly."
The hermit seized his staff.
"Come, my child! We will throw
weariness aud sleep to the briars of the
road."
As they hurried along the hermit
asked Ludovic the cause of his father's
illness.
"Ah! brother, said the child in a
strange voice for a boy of thirteen
years, "my father's disease springs
from an ancient trouble from pov
erty.'
Thaddeus looked at the child in sur
prise.
"Yes," persisted Ludovic, "poverty
has killed him. You know my father's
toil canuot satisfy his bard - hearted
creditors. Eight days ago our landlord,
that wealthy Jew of Parma, for four
crowns that father owed him, took
away the painting of ."Christ in the
Garden of Olives." Father had worked
diligently on it for six mouths. The
same day the collector of the village
made him paint portraits for himself
and his wife for nothing, pretending
that we had not paid our taxes."
"Alas !" said the hermit "Is there no
sympathy in this world for geuius?"
"Some days after this," continued
Ludovic, "the baker refused to trust my
mother, and Bonoletta, the milkmaid,
would not leave the pint of milk for
my two little sisters. Mother wept
passionate tears of shame and despair,
and the children wept because they
were hungry. Then father said, 'If
you weep, you will dishearten me, and
1 cannot work. The Franciscan con
vent owes me money, and to-morrow 1
I will go to Parma. In the meantime,
here are some crumbs of bread I have
saved. Share them, and be patient till
to-morrow evening.' And he took a
piece oT bread from the drawer of his
easel. He had eaten nothing himself
for two days."
"Why did not Antonio come to me?"
Interrupted Thaddeus.
"My father's heart Is larger than his
fortune, and be would blush to beg a
glass of water from his best friend."
"O Antonio, Antonio!" cried the
hermit, deeply moved. "But finish
your sad story, Ludovic."
"Father started for Parma before
dawn the next morning. He hastened
to the monks and induced them to pay
htm ; but either from malice, or because
the reverend fathers had no other coin
in their coffers, they paid the two hun
dred crowns In copper. My father re
turned to Correggio on foot, under a
burning son, with this enormous bur
den. When he reached home be had
hardly strength to say, we are saved !'
Dropping his heavy load, be drank two
large goblets of cold water to quench
the thirst that devoured him. An hour
afterward he was seized with a raging
fever. A terrible crisis has come to
night, and mother sent me for you.
Perhaps it Is too late," added the boy,
"for death comes swiftly." And rev
erently making the sign of the cross.
he led the recluse to the chamber of the
Invalid.
The noble peasant, the illustrious
author of so many grand works, was
lying upon a miserable pallet covered
with green serge. His wife and eldest
sou stood at the head of the bed and
made with their entwined hands a pillow
for the painter, for breathing was al
ready painful. Julia, the eldest daugh
ter who was celebrated at Parma for
her great beauty, leaned against the
bed-post, her bauds crossed upon her
breast; ber eyes were fixed upou a cru
cifix which bung from the wall, and
she seemed to pray fervently. The lit
tle girls, Agnes and Veronica, slept
peacefully in each other's arms on a
bundle of straw in a corner of the room.
Tbe violence of the disease distorted
the features of tbe artist, and bis fine
face bore the marks of both physical
and mental suffering. He was fright
fully thin, and flames seemed to dart
from his sunken eves.
"Thaddeus,' said the painter in a
faint voice, "am 1 In danger of death ?"
Thaddeus made no reply. The painter
repeated the question, but was again
met with silence.
"Then there Is no longer any hope,"
he sadly cried ; "and my poor child
ren I"
"God may work a miracle," said the
hermit, "but science can do naught."
"He m ill not save me," said Antonio.
"Does he help the feeble? The day
I came from Parma I saw an innocent
dove balancing itself on the branch of a
sycamore; a serpent was coiled upon
the trunk. Lightning struck tbe tree
and the dove was killed ; but the reptile,
unharmed, fled hissing away."
"Dear Antonio, let us not seek to un
derstand the mysteries of God. My
friend, think of your soul, recall your
past life, and "
"My past life I" interrupted the dying
man. "Toil and poverty have been my
constant companions. I have borne
humiliation and Injustice without mur
muring, and have never resented the
insults heaped upon me. I have edu
cated my children in the fear of God.
Why, then, do you wish me to review
my past life, and why should I fear tbe
Judgment of Him who bas meted out
my sufferings."
The recluse kissed the band of the
painter. "Simple man ! Sublime gen
ius I" he cried. "Yes you are right.
The purity of your life, your active
charity, will be your best advocate be
fore the tribunal of God."
Antonio now felt that life ebbed fast.
"My wife, my dear children," he said,
"I must leave you. O, do not weep! 1
could have wished to make you happi
er, but the perseverance of misfortune
overcame the perseverance of my brush.
Ottavia and Ludovic, never abandon
your mother and little sisters, who
sleep there, under God's protection and
yours."
At this moment little Agnes awoke
with a start, and struck by tiie mourn
ful tceue before her eyes, the tears of
her brothers and sisters, she kneeled In
her crib, folded her hands, aud mur
mured a prayer. The grace of the
child, the perfect oval of her figure,
framed by the luxuriant ringlets ot
her golden hair, the sweetness of her
face, which seemed to seek in the heav
ens an unknown star, awoke the in
stincts of the artist.
"Give u.:- my brushes, my pallet!" be
cried.
"Give them to him," said Thaddeus.
"The artist as well as the warrior, longs
to die on the battle-field."
They raised the sick mau and made a
kind of ease on his bed. The great
master took his brushes, mixed his col
ors, and with a band already cold with
death, reproduced upon the canvas,
with that correctness of design, that
harmony of coloring which distin
guished his artistic genius, the features
of tbe delicate child, whom he made an
angel before leaving an orphan. The
work ended, the paiuter said. "I sigued
my first pictures, 'Antonio Alegri,'
which was my father's name. Later
ones 1 have signed 'Lieti,' my mother's
name. How shall I name this one?
"With your immortal name," said
the recluse; "the name of Correggio."
Antonio then slowly wrote these
words at tbe bottom of the canva:
"Currrgjin in limine mortii Pinxil, 17
Auut 15.14."
Then, completely exhausted, he fell
back, turned his beadtowar dthe cruci
fix, extended bis arm to his children,
and breathed his last. But the soul of the
artist, before leaving its earthly abode,
was revealed in the admirable sketch
he had just traced. The "Last Angel
of Correggio" was his farewell to earth,
aud one of his most brilliant titles to
glory iu the eyes of posterity.
Tbe villsgers of Correggio and Parma
crowded to the funeral of the great
artist that Italy had lost. Thus the
man whose life had been crushed by
adversity was called great and divine
when the coffin closed over his body.
The noblemen wf all the countries ol
Italy sent Jewish courtiers to Correggio
to purchase the works of the illustrius
painter. Advised by these secret
agents and influenced by ber poverty,
bis widow consented to make a public
sale of those rich waifs of genius.
When the other paintings had been
disposed of, the last work of the artist
was put up at auction, his 'Last Angel.'
This masterpiece was about to be struck
off at the moderate sum of thirty-three
ducats, when a man dressed as a cap
tain of the Sclavonlan troops boldly ad
vanced, and proudly placed his buff
gauntlet upon the picture.
"In the name of Francis I.," said he
in a loud voice, "I offer twenty thous
and crowns lor this picture." Xo one
dare outbid the king of France. When
the Venetian captain took possession of
the picture in the name of Francis 1.,
the widow and children of Correggio
recognized the recluse of the Roman
camp.
"You save us. Captain !" they cried.
"Xot I; the king of France is your
preserver. My only merit Is having
pointed out to that magnanimous
prince a great talent dea I, and a great
misfortune existing."
"And where are you going?" aked
Julia.
"1 return," said Thaddeus, "to the
Roman camp, to lay aside my uniform
and resume my hermit's robe, not
again to leave It until 1 rejoin my well
loved Correggio."
Conversation.
Three subjects of conversation are
specially dangerous to the comfort of the
listener servants, children, and per
gonal ailments. If circumstances com
bine to launch you upon either of these
topics, dear reader, beware ! remember
that your children's perfection aud do
mestic's faults may jiossess less inter
est for your friends than for yourself,
while a catalogue of your aches and
pains should be kept for your physi
ciau's ear. Who has not fidgeted under
this last affliction, wheu some matter of
fact individual has conscientiously gone
through a fever for our benefit, and re
tailed all the changing symptoms with
aggravating carefulness! Even the
kindest sympathy is not proof against
such exhaustive treatment, and the
habitual coin plainer finds himself, or
herself, sedulously shunned.
Doubtless, the more unselfish we
strive to be, and are, the more accepta
ble and interesting we shall prove to
our friends.
Aa Elephant's Trunk.
Cuvier tells us the trunk of the ele
phant is composed of forty thousand or
more smalt muscles, interlaced in all
directions, the contraction and relaxa
tion of which enable the animal to
shorten or lengthen its trunk, and
render It so flexible. It is perforated
through its entire length by a double
tube, through which the animal
breathes ami drinks. At the end of the
trunk is a little finger-like appendage
which serves to pick up small objects,
aud also acts as a feeder. With this
wouderful instrument, as with a hand,
the elephant can pick up a needle or
tear up a tree, twist the herbage from
the ground, or strip the young branches
or leaves frogq the trees upon which he
feeds.
The Leopard of the Air.
"Yes," said Querlaoun, "in my
younger days I remember, my wile
aud myself were on our plantation with
some of our slaves, and one day we
heard the cries of a baby aud saw a
child carried up into the sky by one of
these guauiouiens. The baby hail been
laid ou the ground, and the guaniouien
whose eyes never miss anything, aud
which had not been noticed soaring
above our heads, pounced on its prey,
and then laughed at us as he rose aud
dew to a dispart part of the forest."
Then Querlaoiiu showed me a fetich
partly made of two huge claws of this
bird. U hat tremendous things the
talons ! how deep they could go into
the flesh !
Then came the wonderful stories of
the very great strength of the bird
The people were afraid of them, and
were compelled to be very careful of
their babies. These grand eagles do
n'ot feed on fowls; they are too Miiall of
game for them. Monkeys are what
they like best; they can watch them as
they float over the top of the trees of
the forest; but sometimes the monkeys
get the better of them.
People had better not try to get hold
of the guaniouien young, it they want
to keep their sight" said Gambo "lor,
as sure as we live, the old bird will
pounce upon the man that touches its
young."
For a long time I beard the people
talking ol'llieguauionieii, but had never
yet had a glimpse of one. Now, look
ing up again, 1 saw several of them,
llow high they were! At times tliey
would apiear to lie quite still in the air;
at other times they would soar. They
were o high that I do nut see how
they could possibly see the tree; every
thing must have beeu in a haze to
them ; monkeys of course, could not be
seen. They were, no duiiht, amusing
themselves; and 1 wonder if they tried
to see how uear they could go to the
sun. Some at tiuies Hew s liigh that
I lost sight of them.
In the afternoon I thought I would
ramble round. 1 took a double-barrel
sinoth-bore gun, ami loaded one side
with a bullet, in case 1 should see
larger game; the other barrel 1 loaded
wilii siiot Xo. 2. Then 1 carefully
plunged into the w oods till I reached
the banks of a little stream, and there
1 heard tiie cry of the luomii (Colohus
fiatanus), which is the largest monkey
of these forest. From their shrill cries
1 thought there might be at least half a
dozen. I was glad indeed that I had
one barrel loaded with big shot. If
the mom I is were not too far off, I would
be able to get a fair shot aud kill one.
I advanced very cautiously until 1
got near to them. 1 could then see
their big bixlies, long tails, ami long,
jet-black, shining bair. What hand
some beasts they were! what a nice
looking mud" their skins would make, 1
thought. '
Just as I was considering which of
them I would fire at, 1 saw some big
thing, like a shadow, sin Men I v come
down upon the tree Then I beard the
flapping of heavy w ings, ami also the
death cry of a )xor ninmli. Then I saw
a huge bird, w it U a breast spotted soine
w hat like a leopard, raise itself slow ly
into the air, carrying the monkey iu
its powerful, ringer-like talons. The
claws of one leg was fast iu the upMr
part of the uerk of the lnonkey ; sodeep
were they in the flesh that they were
completely buried ami a few drops of
blood fell ujkii the leaves below. Tbe
other leg had its claws quite deep into
the back of the monkey. The left leg
w as kept higher than the right, and 1
could see that the great strength of the
bird was used at that time to keep the
neck and also the hack of the victim,
from moving. The bird rose higher
and higher, tiie monkey's tail swayed
to aud fro, aud then both disappeared.
It was a guaniouien. Its prey was no
doubt, taken to some big tree where it
could be devoured.
The natives say that the first thing
the guaniouien does is to take out the
eyes of the monkeys they catch. But
there must be a fearful struggle, for
these mondis are powerful beasts, and
do not die at the eagle's will. There
must be a great trial of strength, for if
the monkey is not seized at an exact
place on the ueck he can turn his bead
and then in diets a fearful bite on the
breast of the eagle, or on his neck or
leg, w hich disables his most terrible
enemy, and then, both falling, meet
their death.
I looked on without firing. The mon
keys seemed pa raized with fear wheu
the eagle came down upon them, anil
did not move until after the bird of
prey had taken one of their number,
and then decaniMil. When 1 looked
for them they had fled to arts uukiiow u
to me in the forest. I was looking so
intently at the ea;le ami its prey lhat
for a while I had forgotten the mondis.
I do not woiider at It. for monkeys I
could see often, but it is only once in a
great w hile thai such a scene as I w it
nesseil could lie seen hv a man. It was
grand: and I wondered not that the
natives called the giiauionien the leop
ard of the air. I'.ial ClmillH.
The Hibernation nf Swallow.
The controversy res-etiiig the al
leged hibernation of swallows has re
ceived a new contribution in a letter
w ritten by rir John .McNeill to his
brother-in-law. the Ihike of Argyll,
and printed in a late numlier of .murr.
This letter, after some preliminary re
marks, continue" as follow:
"About twenty-five miles south of
Teheran, the capital of Persia, there is
a village called Kenara gird, near
which is a stream of brackish water
miming in a deep bed with nearly per-M-inlictilar
brinks some forty or fifty
feet high. Beitig largely impregnated
w ith salt this stream is rarely if ever
frozen, and in frosty weather is re
ported to by flights of wild ducks.
During a frost of unusual severity 1
went from Teheran to Kenara-gird. ac
companied by Sir Henry Rawlin-ou for
the purpose of duck-shooting, the se
verity of the frost promising good
ort. Having slept at the village we
next morning followed the downward
course of lhe stream along the north
bank, and had proceeded altotit a mile.
I should think, when we came to a
place where there had quite recently
licen a small landslip. The brink of
the hank to the extent of perhaps
tw enty feet in length, and ten or twelve
broad in the middle, t.iiering oil' to
each end. bad slipped, but had not
fallen dow n the bank. Between this
detached portion and the iierpemliciilar
face about ten feet high, from w hich it
had broken off, we saw, to our great
surprise, a number of swallows, not
less, I am sure, than twenty or thirty,
lying, as I at first supposed", dead, but
ou taking up one of them I found that
it was alive hut dormant,; it was warm
and its breathing was quite pen-epti-ble.
I examined a considerable num
ber, aud found that they were all alive
and breathing, but none of them gave
any sign of consciousness. My atten
tion was then attracted to tbe perpen
dicular face on our left, from w hich
the slip had broken off, and which was
perforated by a vast number of holes
each about the size of a rat hole. On
looking into such of these as I was tall
enough to see into, I found in all of
them swallows in the same dormant
state. I was able with my finger and
thumb to pull out swallow s from sev
eral of these holes, and in each case
found that the hole, which penetrated
horizontally a considerable way into
the bank, contained more swallows in
the same condition. In no case did 1
see one lying on another they were
all lying singly w ith their heads in
ward, each head touching the tail ol
the bird before it. How far these holes
penetrated into the bank, or w hat num
ber of swallows each contained. I did
not ascertain, but it is plain that the
original entrance to those dormitories
must have been in the external face of
of the portion that had slipped, w hich.
as I have stated, was, in the middle,
from ten to twelve feet thick. The
holes in the umlisturhed portion may
probably have been of eijual or greater
length, and if so the number of swal
lows hibernating there must have
amounted to mauv hundreds."
The Leaaon in the sky.
It is a strange thing how littla in
general eople know about the sky. It
is the part of creation in which nature
has done more for the sake of pleasing
man, more tor the sole ami evident pur
pose of talking to him than in any other
of her works, and it is ju-t the part in
w hich we least attend to her. There
are not many of her other works in
w hich some umre material or essential
purpose than the mere leaing of man
is not answered by every part of their
organization ; but every essential pur
pose of tbe sky might, so far as we
know, be answered, if once in three
days or thereabout a great, ugly, blai-k
raiu clouds were brought up over the
blue, and everything well-watered and
so all left blue agaiu till next time with
perhaps a film of morning and evening
mist for dew. And instead of this,
there is not a moment of any day of our
lives wheu nature is not producing
scene after si-ene, picture after picture,
glory after glory, and working still
upon such exquisite and constant prin
ciples of the most perfect beauty, that
it is quite certain it is all done for us
and intended for our perpetual pleas
ure. And every man wherever placed,
however far from other sources of in
terest or beauty, has this doing for him
constantly. The noblest scenes of the
earth can be seen and known by but
few; it is not intended that mau should
live always in the midst of them; he in
jures them by his presence, he ceases
to feel them if he be always wish them ;
but the sky is for ail; bright as it is, ii
is not too "bright and good for human
nature's daily food ;" it is tilted in all
its functions for the M-rietual comfort
and exalting of the heart, for the sooth
ing and purifying it from its dross and
dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes ca
pricious, sometimes aw ful, ino-t human
iu its passions, almost spiritual in it
tenderness, almost divine in its infinity
its appeal to w hat is mortal in us is as
distinct as its minisrry of chastisement
or of blessing to w hat is mortal is es
sential. Aud yet we never attend to
it, we never make it a subject of thought
but as it bas to do with our animal sen
sations; we look uoii all by w hich ii
speaks to us more clearly than to brute,
ujxni all which bears w ilni-ss to the in
tention of the Supreme, that we are to
receive more from the covering vault
than the light aud dew w hich we share
with the weed and the worm, only as a
succession of meaningless and monoto
nous accidents too common and too vain
to be worthy of a moment of watchful
uess or a giauce of admiration. If iu
our moments of utter idleness ami in
sipidity, w e turn to the sky as a lat re
source, w hich of its phenomena do we
speak of? One says it has been wet,
and another it has been w indy, and an
other it has been warm. Who, among
the whole chattering crowd, can tell
me of lhe chain of tail white mountains
that girded the horizon at noon yester
day? Who saw tiie narrow sunbeam
that came out of the south and smote
upon their summits until they melted
and mouldered aw ay in a dust of blue
rain? Who saw the dance of the dead
clouds w hcu the sunlight left tliem last
night, and the west wind blew them be
fore it like withered leaves? All has
passed uiiregretted a unseen : or if the
apathy lie ever shaken off even for an
in-taut, it is only hy what is gross or
w hat is extraordinary : and yet it is
not in the broad and tierce manifesta
tions of the elemental energies, nor in
the clash of hail nor the drift of the
whirlwind, that the highest characters
of the sublime are developed. God is
not in the earthquake, nor in the fire,
but in the still, small voice. Ther are
but the blunt, low faculties of our na
ture which can only be addressed
through lampblack and lightning. It
is in quiet and uldu-d paage ol un
obtrusive majesty, the deep and the
calm and perpetual that w hich mu-it
be sought ere ic is seen and loved, ere
it isuuiterstood,thing? which the angels
work out for us daily, and yet vary
eternally, which are never wanting,
never res-ated. w hich are to be found
but once ; it is through the-e that the
lesson of devotion is chiefly taught,
and the ble.-ing of lieauly given.
Maxim fur Young Men.
Always speak the truth.
Make few promises.
Keep good company or none.
Live np to your engagement.
Never gamble.
Drink nn intoxicating liquor.
Never speak light In of religiou.
Be just before you are generous.
Never be idle.
If yonr hands cannot be usefully em
ployed, attend to the cultivation of the
mind.
When yon speak to auy peisou look
him in the face.
Good company and good conversation
are the very sinews of virtue.
Good character is above all things
else.
Never listen to idle or loose conver
sation. Your character cannot lie esseutially
injured except by your own acts.
If any one speaks evil of you let your
life be so virtuous that no one will be
lieve him.
Ever live (misfortune excepted ) w ith -in
yonr income.
When you retire to bed think over
what you have done dnrirg the day.
Make no haste to be rich if you would
prosper.
Never run in debt unless you se a
way to get out agaiu.
Never borrow if it is possible to
avoid it.
Keep yourself luuocent if you would
be happy.
Save wheu you are youug aud spend
when your are old.
Never think that which you do for
religion is time or money misspent.
There are two hundred and fifty
Protestattt churches in the Holy Lnd.