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VOLUME 11.
AT VALOMBROSA.
"WHEBE THE ETEUEIAN SHADES HIGH
OVEEAECH'D EMBOWER."
Account of a Day J-.i-.-i I Among; the
Cloisters aud Groves of the Famous
Franciscau Monastery.
[Regular correspondence of the Recced -XtOM.
C'opyriKht, 18BL]
Flobexce (Italy), November24,lßßo.
That is a sweet old tale the books tell
about tbe origin of Valombrosa. It is
both sweet and largely Irue. A man of
arms, about to take life in revenge for the
murder of his own brother, suddenly filled
with divint compassion for his enemy, for
gave him. This man, Giovanni Guaioerto
to commenorate his salvation from a
damning deed, built the monastery of Va
lombrosa, nearly 900 years ago. Milton,
in the three lines,
"Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the
brooks
Iv Valombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades
High ovcrarch'd embower—"
Made Valombrosa endlessly live in the
minds of men. If to ti-.e morastery's sup
pression -ni been added It*- arterial de
struction, it would stilf forever aria? against
its emerald mountain-side, as millions,
reading Milton*! words, see the vision he
saw in his swift longing to again dwell
with his monks and yearn as he yearned
to know the cool depths of its" restful
shade.
.About 1,000 feet from Valombrosa's
gates is a fountain of tbe purest water,
leaping from an ever-living spring. On a
Bummer's day in 1008, Giovanni paused at
tbis fountain in search of a hermitage.
Hi.-, family wts one of the noblest of Tus
cany, from the royal race of the Cariovin
gians. He was reared to the fortune of
arms and received the education of a no
bleman of his time. In bis early life his
career was reckless and fiery. One of his
best-loved friends, Visdomini, quarreling
with his idolized brother, Hugo, plunged a
dagger into his heart and killed him. Gio
vanni swore vengeance r.pon Visdomini,
pursuing iiini in vain for years. At last
one morning of Good Friday in 1013, when
on his way to Florence accompanied by
his body-guard, he suddenly met his en
emy in a narrow rock-bordered forest path.
Visdomini was at Giovanni's mercy. The
avenging brother drew his sword and called
u:>on the murderer to prepare for instant
death. Without attempting defense he fell
upom his knee 3. and with hands outspread
in the ban of a cross, sued for mercy.
The mode of prayer touched the heart of
Giovanni. Springing from his steed he
lifted his enemy to bis feet, forgave him,
and dismissed him with his blessing.
Tbis much is true; act as heroic and God
like as ever impassioned rhymer sung
Then perhaps legend comes; if legend, still
tender, fitting sequel to glorious self-con
quering. Filled with holy awe at what he
had hiuiself escaped, Giovanni straightway
sought the neighboring monastery of San
Miniato. He prostrated himself "before a
crucifix in prayer. Long and earnestly he
gazed upon the figure of Christ above him.
Lo ! the image bent its head as if with
blessing at his act of mercy. Thereaf:er
follows historic truth. Giovanni related
the miracle to the Abbot, abjured his way
ward career, sought to enter the brother
hood, bnt was for a time dissuaded on ac
count of his noble father's opposition, but
finally took the religious vows of the Order
in April, 1004. His piety soon became re
nowned.
On the death of the Abbot of San Mini
ato in 1003, be was chosen to succeed him,
but refused the office under a desire to seek
a still more solitary retreat; and it was at
the fountain near the peak of the Prato
magno mountain, where he had halted in
his solitary wanderings. Near the spot,
which wus then called Acquabella, he
found two hermits, Paolo and Guntelmo.
who were Hying in huts. These joined
him, and there soon was gathered a little
community of monks and hermits. Their
sutlerings,'privations and self-inflicted tor
tures were horrible. Robbers and wild
beasts surrounded them, and both preyed
upon them savageiy. Their homes were at
first low huts, with a cross planted before
each, and a central place for "prayer; while
a rude wooden paling inclosed all. The
fame of their sanctity became so great that
gifts Mowed in upon them from every band.
Emperor Conrad 11., the Empress Gisela
and all tbe court visited them and left gen
erous presents. Complete ordinances of
the Benedictines were finally adopted. The
original hermitage, Ersmo, built in 1043,
was repeatedly enlarged, until finally com
pleted in 1040 as thestructurestands to-day.
The Order of Valombrosans, 500 years
after the death of San Giovanni, which
occurred En 1073, after be nad attained the
ripe age of 88 years, had become the rich
est and most powerful in Italy; and this
one old monastery held their chief treas
ure. For this Order Ciambue painted his
priceless Madonna; Perugino, his marvel
ous Assumption. But Valombrosa's dark
days came in with the French revolution.
When Napoleon's council debated whether
the Valombwwana should be spared, be
cause they kept the wolves thinned in the
mountains, it was asked,
"Snail we have monks or wolves?"
"Wolves," wus the answer.
The monastery and church were des
poiled of their priceless treasures; the im
mense domains were seized; and the monks
were driven from their cloisters. Then,
when Napoleon feli and Tuscany wel
comed back the sway of the Austriaos, the
monks were reinstated, but their matchie«3
painting?, wondrous vestments, their art
treasured, and their stores of bocks and
priceless manuscripts had been scattered
forever. Victor Emmanuel in 1860, at the
Italian disestablishment.completed their ex
tinction here. The place is now used as sn
agricultural school, with a corps of resi
dent professors; and just above the monas
tery is an observatory, one of the Italian
signal and weather stations of to-day.
Beautiful as ever is the matchless environ
ment. No ruthless band can drive from its
cloisters the forms which your fancy peo
ples it. Sau Giovanni and Milton are "still
here. Valombrosa's bells still call you
and I from a thousand leagues away, and
their echoes will never cease their melo
dies while Pratomagno mountain stands.
If yon go to Valombrosa, walk. It is
only seventeen miles as the crow flies: per
haps twenty-two by the entrancing way.
Every mile of it gives changeful and be
witching views in that most dreamful of
all garden-spots of Italy, the valley of tbe
Arno. Leaving Florence by the Porta alia
Croce, the way leads along the right bank
of tbe Arno. Scores of white valleys
.thread it as pearls upon a necklace, and
here and there are crosses and quaint old
shrines. At Pontassieve, the road diverges
from tbe Arno, leading over the hills; and
the real ascent of Pratomagno to Vailoru
brosa here begins. Pelago is soon reached;
Pelago, a crooked little town with bad inns
and swarms of beggars, by a brawling
stream; where of wild nights, when the
wind howls over the mountains, the old
crones shudder and whisper, "Ah, the
ghos's of the dead friars have come back
to chant their litanies!" Then, across
blossoming spaces, past terraces of olives
and -jrain, winding around tbe edges of
prec: r ic?s above misty torrents tumbling
towards the Arno, and often through silent
arcades of firs where the sunlight"freckles
the way like a brown gypsy's face, a six
mile tramp brings you to the tiny lumber
hamlet of Tosi. From Tosi a paved way,
along which stand gigantic crosses, leads
up, up, np to the monastery, s*ooo feet above
the sea-1-vel. In the old days the monks
went and came on hardy little donkeys:
visitors wrjte brought in a carrozza da buoi,
or "cow-ciiariot," a wicker-basket set on a
sledge drawn by those wondrous dove-col
ored oxen of Tuscany: but now the old
paved path has been transformed into a
modern road, and visitors may ride in car
riages from Florence to Valombrosa's
gates.
At Tosi I looked up the mountain and
saw away to the right and above where I
k"»w the monastery lay, lines of blue
s^oke in feathery pencihngs against the
dark green of the massed mountain firs.
"Those are the carbonari. They never
leave the mountain, save on feast days,"
said a kindly carrettajo. "When they come
to Toei for wine and oil, they are so black
and dreadful, our children run and hide.
But they do not harm." So with a vagar-
SACRAMENTO SUNDAY UNION.
ous impulse of adventure, I turned aside
from the paved mountain way. and, with
the cartmaii'3 son for a guide, skirted the
mountain, coming in a two hours' tramp
through dense forests of beech, chestnut
and pine, with here and there a blackened
opening where trees hsd already been
burned, or sunny space, where sportsmen
1 and shepherds snare tbe mountain birds, I
came to a charcoal-burner's camp, and was
hospitably received for the night.
These "carbonari form a distinct class
among the mountains of Italy. They
geneially live in the villages, the wife and
daughters engaging in tbe vineyards gath
ering olives or chestnuts, and often as
shepherdesses with small flocks. The
fathers and sons go from one forest to an
other as the owners desire charcoal made.
The landlord secures the felling and cnttiug
of the trees, and the carbonaro simply at
tends to building arid firing the pyres and
wa-ching day and night their smoldering
progress. In this labor the sons share, and
regular watches are taken. The logs are
stood on end in round piles of perhaps
eighteen feet in diameter, covered and
chinked with mossy earth and then fired
in a central hollow which has been filled
with chips of dry timber, fir cones, chips
from the logs and dead leaves and grass.
Once well ablaze, this flaming funnel is
covered with moss and earth, and the pile
is then left* to smolder for five or six days.
When reduced to carbone or charcoal, the
carbj-aro delivers it to the owner, packed
in sacks, two saccs composing a dunkey
load, for which he receives abort ten cents,
or about $2 for each burning, yielding forty
sscks. At this camp, an unasualij large
one, a score or more carbonaii were at
work, and, as the burning was to be for an
extended period, some six or eight of the
carbonari had built temporary huts and
had removed their entire families to the
forest.
This gave life and picturesqueness to the
scene, especially at night. A few iron
cressets had been fastened to the tree
trunks, and the crackle and flarings of
cones and knots lent wierd colorings to
the motley groups of women with dazzling
teeth aud eyes, and men grimy and swarth
beyond all description. I could not re
press the feeling that I was at my old
wanderings with my Gypsy friends again;
and as the night gathered close its sable
wing over the majestic forest trees above,
and, one by one some strange instrument
of music was produced from the shadowy
huts, while the melody and dancing added
their fascination to the wild, strange scene,
a thousand recollections of the days with
theßommany swept back on Pratomagno's
darkened heights. Deeper still grew this
feeling as I was shown to a couch of fir
branches for sleep. It came not for hours;
for in the gentie soughing of the firs, the
calls of the watchers to each other, and
bere and there through the camp sup
pressed tones of melody, as those who
watched grouped together and reassuringly
sang low and soft the stornelli of Italy, I
was with my loved vagabond friends by
their witching camp-fires in my own loved
land.
When the morning came, after a break
fast of pan unto, bread fried in olive oil,
,«nd many a kindly "audio!" and "vale!"
from my grimy hosts, I found my own way
back to Tosi. On such a June morning as
that in which I journeyed, the songs of
birds, the Eolian music of forest breezes, so
bewitch one all the way from Tosi that sud
denly and without warning you are at the
enchanting mountain eerie of Valombrosa.
The spot itself comprises but a few acres
of level meadow, through which runs a
long avenue of stately trees. At the end of
this avenue stand the lichened and gray
old buildings. On one side of the sunny
opening miles on miles of firs rise in ser
ried ranks to tbe very top of Patromagno ;
on the other thousands of chestnut trees
glow in their golden foliage. Behind and
above, hosts of sturdy beeches climb the
mountain. There are still standing 40,000,
planted by the busy priors' hands. The
monastery itself is a huge quadrangle
structure, with spacious inner courts.
The ancient church, completely robbed
(Jf its former treasures of paintings—save
an Assumption, by Franceschini, and the
cupola frescoes, by Fabbrini—stands in the
center of the courts. Its massive square
tower rises grim and loM above the naif
deserted buildings. Perhaps a score of
folk, professors, students, signal-bureau
agents and Government foresters, who act
as a sort of mountain police about the se
questered property, abide here, surly, in
hospitable, and as if doggedly conscious of
the sacrilege in their pretense of scholastic
life. The old monastery btll -still sounds
the hours, but it speaks only to silence
and decay. The great water basins which
held the monks' trout preserves are filled
with dead leaves. The wondrous old
kitchen, a mighty truncated cone, where,
swinging from a huge turnspit, the oxen
once were roasted, is cobwebbed, cold and
tireless. The Mettata, where a hundred
cows were kept, is untenanted. Paradis
ino, the ancient hermitage on the cliff
above the monastery, with its celle, tower
and church, are stripped and transformed
into a hayloft. The half-ruined mill, j
under which rushes tbe Vicano, is deserted ,
and still. Marvelous indeed is it that the
Italy of to-day has left one hint of the old
life bere. But there is just one. In the
church there is an elaborately carved silver
reliquary. It contains the relics of San
Giovanni. How tbe one brown bone
which has miraculously escaped decay
must haunt the grave professors of the
•'Collegio Forestale," as Valombrosa now
is called!
One thousand feet higher than where
ancient Valombrosa stands in its nest-like
valley 5,000 feet above the sea, rises the fir
crowned summit of Pratomagno. From
this point the most ravishingly beautiful
view in all Italy is presented. What won
drous associations are conjured in contem
plation of the fair, far Casentino valley
with its boundary beyond, formed by the
iofty Apennines, where are born historic
Tiber and entrancing Arno! Tuscany,
home of the dream-breeding vine and fair
est women, stretches sunnily to the west
ward. The Duomo glitters down there in
the center of the purple, vineyard-check
ered valley where Florence stands. And
far, faint and magically seen through the
passes of the uttermost peaks of Carrara,
gleams a speck of sapphire where sweeps
old Mediterranean's sails.
As incongruous as are the present occu
pancy, uses and association of Valombrosa,
the spirit of the olden time flames in all
one sees and feels at the deserted monas
tery. In this cell which now a stripling
student makes his cimara da letto, the
good monk Guido originated the modern
method of notation in music. In these
larger rooms reposed at different times the
noble forms of Emperor Conrad 11., Em
press Gise'a, the Abbess Ita, Countess Er
mellina. of San Pietro Igneo, after being
triumphant in his ordeal of flame, of Popes
Victor 11., Alexander 11. and IV., Innocent
11., Pascal 11. and Leo IN., of Beato Tesoro
Beccaria, the martyr, and tbat grandest
type of all Italian culture and chivalry,
Lorenzo tbe Magnificent. Christophano
Landini, the celebrated commentator of
Dante, made Valombrosa his haunt. The
famous botanist, Buoro Faggi, Mattio Ban
dello. Boccaccio's rival in letters, and Berni,
the brilliant humorist, all lived and medi
tated at the hospitable retreat. Dream
among its cloisters and groves as long as
you may, and then go your way never to
return. The most priceless association
that remains to you, P; to all men who
speak the English tongue, is that Milton
knew and loved this idyiic spot. For
months he was its welcome guest." Vtllom
brosa was the fouutain of his insptntion.
Here was conceived the plan of a great and
ennobling Arthurian epic. That gave place
to a loftier, grander theme whose sublime
motive, imagery and accomplishment form
the diadem in all that crowns the English
tongue. Because Valombrosa was the
foster-mother of "Paradise Lost," men will
ever bless the sweet old mountain-nest.
Edgab L. Wakemas.
Clearing-Houses.
The London institution is the older, but
the New York leads in the extent of its
transactions. About the beginning of the
century the London clearing-house was es
tablished, while tbat of New York, which
is the oldest in the United States, came into
existence in 1853. Last year s clearances
of the New York institution amounted to
about $35,000,000,000, and those of London's
$34,000,0000,000.
It is said a tramp found riding on a car
near Madison, Fla., last week, was ejected
by the conductor, when he (tbe tramp)
told the conductor of a pair of trucks that
were out of fix and about to leave the track.
The same, on examination, was found to
be true.
SACKAMENTO, CAL., SUNDAY MOEXIXG, JAAtfABX 4, 1891.
HOFFMAN'S EXPERIENCE.
THE TRIALS AHD TROUBLES OF THE
HOUSE HUNTER.
Should Women Be Allowed to "Pop the
Question?"—At IThat Age Should
Women Marry.
[Special Corresnondence of the Sunday Union.]
There is, in Nevada City, a young man
who is learning something new and useful:
something which he will never forget. He
is learning a great lesson of experience,
just a3 I learned it a few years ago, when I
thought there was nothing more for me to
learn.
This young man is looking for a bouse
to rent, and for more than a week he has
been running up one street and down an
other, always in a hurry, always hot and
tired and dusty, with littie fragments of
cobwebs on his hat and little patches of
whitewash on his elbows. His face has
grown pale and pinched, his eyes are
sunken and his knees knock together
sometimes and give forth an ancient; mumi
fied sound. His lips move spasmodically,
and ever and anon he mutters incohe
rently. He has been brought before our
Judge to be examined as to his sanity, and
he has been discharged. "Hunting a
bouse" —that was all our noble-hearted
Judge cared to hear.
"Young man," said his Honor, "I was
once in the same fix myself. The Court
understands you, and offers you its most
earnest and deepest sympathy. Go forth,
young man, and may the Lord have mercy
on your soul!"
Then his honor wept a tear or two, and
tbe young man went forth. He was after
ward heard asking the janitor if it would
not be possible to rent the Court house.
As I have already remarked, I learned
ill about house-hunting away back in the
misty past, and unto this day I have al
ways kept my memory particularly green
iv that spot where the house-hunting epi
sode is stored away forever.
When I first went forth in search of a
house I believed it would be an easy mat
ter. All one had to do, I thought, was to
pay his money and take his choice. Aye !
there was the rub! Take his choice .'
To make a choice of a house in a town
where there are several houses to rent,
each having its own peculiar advantages, ia
not an easy thing to do.
It would be just as easy for a fat mis
sionary at a feast lo choose the cannibal
who should have the honor of picking the
most tender portions from his wish-bone.
Some people like one sort of house, and
some another. One man wants a cellar,
and another does not want a cellar. One
wants a mansion and another does not
want a mansion. So it goes.
When I was hunting for a house I found
several that suited me, but there was al
ways something which caused me to give
them the shake. One had a ghost, another
bad two ghosts, another had a dead cat in
the kitchen, another had an army of rats,
another had a sewer under it tbat had re
tired from an exceedingly busy public life
to a state of very exclusive privacy, and
another had a well half full of excellent
water in which an old lady had drowned
herself a few weeks before and was not dis
covered as promptly as she should have
been.
But the greatest pleasure of house hunt
ing lies in the packing up, moving and un
packing of one's goods. It is simply joy
ous to me; an experience filled with the
greatest, purest, most unutterable delight—
hallalujah!
The more goods one has the greater the
pleasure. When I moved the first time I
had eight truck-loads of statuary. Venetian
glass mirrors, marole-topped walnut furni
ture of all kinds, spider-legged stoves,
costly paintings, Brussels carpets, old china
cuspidores and brie a-brac in endless vari
ety. When I was packing and unpacking
the stuft I fiirly bubbled over with fun and
other things. I stuffed the kittens into the
clock and the poodle into the stove, and
just shook the claws off the statuary and
stuck my legs through the mirrors out of
pure exuberance, hilarity and mirth.
People who had known me all my life
said that they had never seen me in so
entertaining a mood before. Of late years,
however, I have not carried so much fur
niture and household fixings with me, and
I move easily. If I want a new house I
send my devil out, he secures one, and
then I pack my collar button in a rag and
move.
A few days ago a young lady asked me
whether I thought women should have
the privilege of "popping the question;"
also, at what age did I think a woman
should marry.
These questions have been asked a thou
sand times already. They are older
than I am, and I am so old that my bones
wear holes in my garments, and my joints
skraek when I walk. But I will answer
them, as my old friend Corkey would say,
"onct fer all."
No. Ido not think women should have
this privilege. It would be an infernally
cold day for some of us. The girls would |
be on our trail for weeks, playing detective
to see whether we went to our clubs,
chewed, smoked, drank, swore, went out
for larks, played Dilliards or kept appoint
ments when the moon had climbed the
mountain, and so on. They would never
find a man good enough, and there would
be only about one wedding in ten years.
As the custom is now we men may
manage to chew cloves, practice a little
innocent deception, wear our Sunday
manners for awhile and get some sweet
little daisy ot a girl to marry us, but no
girl who has any sense would ask us to
marry her if she knew what awful, horrid,
mean things we really are.
As to the age when a woman should
marry. Well, that depends a great deal on
the woman. Some women would be bet
ter off if they were married before their
dolls were forgotten, and others would get
a great deal of good out of matrimony if
they never married at all. But I think a
woman should marry before she loses all
her teeth and her eyssight—or attempts
to raise a family. If she wants to
be happy, she should marry young.
There is nothing more painful to me than
an old woman who has lost all the fresh
ness and rosy beauty of her girlhood—who
has gone down into the shadows of ma
turity; who has longed for years for the
love and protection of a noble man; there
is nothing more painful, I say, than to see
a woman of this sort yearning" and hanker
ing for an opportunity to ask some lively
young fellow to marry her remains. And
how often this would happen it women
had the privilege of "popping the ques
tion!"
I may be wrong. My opinion never was
very good in any case.
Apropos of marriages: I was in Red
Bluff a few weeks ago, and while there a
very popular young lady told me that there
were very few eligible young men in that
pretty little city, and the girls would be
compelled to go away to marry or have a
few carloads imported, and that reminds
tn«* that I meant to write a good description
of Red Bluff for the Sunday Lsion, and
haven't done it, but I will next week.
A. V. Hoffmab*.
SCIENTIFIC HINTS.
The substitution of electric lights for the
Davy lamps in coal mines is likely to re
duce the danger of gaseous explosion to a
minimum.
The Scandinavians excel in the opera
tions of manufacturing and packing
matches. Machines are at work fa Nor
way which complete 1,000 boxes per
minute.
If a box six feet deep was filled with sea
water and allowed to evaporate under the
sun there would be two inches of salt on
the bottom. At this rate, were the Atlan
tic Ocean to dry up, there would be a layer
of fine salt on the bottom 230 feet thick."
Dr. Muirhead. of Lanarkshire, Scotland,
has kept $150,000 for the founding and
maintaining an institution for the instruc
tion and education of women in medical
and biological sciences, whereby they may
be trained to become medical practitioners,
dentists, electricians and chemists.
The London Invention remarks: "Not
withstanding the fact that cotton mills
are being increased wonderfully in the
South, New England mills are largely in
creasing their capacity. There seems to be
room enough for all." Yes, and the room
1 will be larger under our new tariff.
The Photographic Jftm* (Englisb) a3ks:
"Why does not one of the English photo
graphic organizations appoint a committee
to deal with al! new discoveries made in
foreign lands? From tne proceedings of
most of our societies (it remarks) it might
be inferred tha*. photographic workers do
not exist out of the United Kingdom."
Masters of vessels cannot be reminded
too often of tbe use of oil in stormy weath
er. Its importance is well illustrated by
facts now referred to at length in standard
books on seamanship, and Ihe Interna'ion
a! Marine Conference at Washington rec
ommended that "the several Governments
require all their seagoing vessels to carry
a sufficient quantity of animal or vegetable
oil, for the purpose"of calming the sea in
rough weather, together with snitable
means for applying it."— Pilot Chart.
MUSIC AND THE DRAMA.
Flashes from the Footlights ot Many
Theaters.
And now report says that John W. Nor
ton is to marry Louise Montague.
Chauncey Pulsifer has become manager
for McKee Rankin's "The Canuck."
Louis Harrison has once more gone back
to bis first love—"The Pearl of Pekin."
Hallen and Hart will have a new play
next season called "In It." In what?
Leonora Bradley continues with Mar
garet Mather for the rest cf the season.
Maurice Barrymore has left J. 11. Hill's
forces, and gone back to A. M. Palmer.
Johnstone Bennett's new play by Clay M.
Greene, is named "A Business Woman.'
Henry Irving is to revive "Much Ado
About Nothing," on January sth, ie Lon
don.
Julia Marlowe is now able to walk about
ber room. She wiil go South in a short
time.
Miss Minnie Seligman has been engaged
for the leading part of "Mr. Potter of
Texas."
Frank G. Cotter says he is still the man
ager of Margaret Mather, and will go to law
to prove it.
It is rumored in London theatrical
circles that Mary Eastlake contemplates
matrimony.
Gus. Kerker and William Gill are writ
ing a new comic opera that will be called
"The Sphinx."
Annie Lewi3 is going to star in "My
Sweetheart." with "yours merrily John
R. Rogers, as manager.
Augustus Pitou will produce a new play,
called "Tbe Powers ot the Press," at the
Star Theater, March 16:h.
Mathilda Cottreliy has left the McCall
Opera Company. She will probably retire
from the stage permanently.
A fine oil painting of Jeanne Samary has
been presented to the Comedie Fraucaise
by her husband, Paul Lagarde.
Effie Ellsler promises a revival of "Hazel
Kirke," with Couldock and other old mem
bers of the former successful cast.
Thomas E. Jackson has been engaged
for "Mr. Potter of Texas," which will" be
produced ai Providence, January 26th.
Denman Thompson has about settled to
revive ''Joshua Whitcomb" at the Acad
emy of Music, shortly after the holidays.
Robert Downing's new play, "The Sara
cen," has made a very strong hit, and wili
prove the strongest moLey winner he has
yet had.
Ambroise Thomas, the immortal com
poser of "Mignon," is setting "Tasso" to
music, the libretto of which ha 3 been writ
ten by Jules Barbier.
Dore Davidson has purchased a new play
entitled "Green Lights." It treats of police
life in New York, and Inspector Byrnes is
one of the characters.
H. 8. Taylor signed a five years' contract
on Tuesday with Joseph Haworth. by
which be is to star bim in a new American
play and in "Hamlet" and "Othello."
Mary Anderson refused to see Henry E.
Abbey when he called on her at Tunbndge
Wells, lately. She says she will never ap
pear on the stage again, and wishes noth
ing to do w'th theatrical people.
Nellie Cummings was severely bitten by
a bull-dog in Pniladelphia last week. She
had a narrow escape, as tbe dog jumped
for her throat when she was giving him a
piece of candy, and took a piece out of her
cheek. The dog was instantly killed.
The Howard Athemuum Company, which
is to appear at the Metropolitan Theater on
to-morrow and Tuesday evenings, made a
rrsat hit in San Francis:o. the California
Theater being crowded every night. The
triple horizontal bar performers are said to
be wonderful. Cinquevalli is said to be
the most graceful juggler ever seen bere.
About the "Cleopatra" production, Mr.
William Winter writes as follows in the
New York Tribune: "Miss Davenport
makes a good, wholesome, domestic Bos
tooian or Philadelphia Cleopatra, who
wonld really do not one of the naughty
deeds of the entrancing Egyptian, but
rather would have married Antony and
settled him as Chief-Justice of Alexandria.
Melbourne McDowell, a heavy man, with
vast jaws and a tiger-like countenance, pre
sented A-tony, and created frequent d;s
turbances." Miss Davenport is already be
ginning to find that she is handicapped by
that Ananias. Marcus Mayer.
Miss Adelaide Moore, who is engaged to
appear at the Metropolitan Theater on
Wednesday and Thursday evenings of this
week in "Romeo and Juliet" and "A Fatal
Marriage," is spoken of by Mr. Stevens, of
the Denver Xetcs, as follows: "The con
ception formed by Miss Moore is well
sustained throughout. Her Juliet is a
more than creditable impersonation, far
above the average; it is one that is pleasing,
one that is worthy of study and full ap
preciation. She is pretty and graceful,
has a winning intellectuality and every
thing she does or says is done or said
gracefully and appropriately. She reads
the lines more than well. Perhaps the
most appropriate thing to say of Miss
Moore's Juliet is that It commends itself
to admiration by grace of demeanor, gentle
dignity and tbe sad love of the part. In
some ways she recalls Adelaide Neilson, in
whose lovely and lovable temperament
cloud and sunshine contended, making
changing contrasts of expression and ever
interesting. As has been said in the Xews,
Miss Moore would make a good Rosalind,
or perhaps a belter Viola, which is 'the
poetic ideal of sweet, t9nder and melan
choly loveliness in woman.' And Miss
Moore is sweet, tender and poetic evi
dently."
He Had a Reason.
Murphy (spokesman of committee) —
"Slattery, we bye 3do be appointhed Oy
th' orther to wait on yez F.n' have yez put
yer name to this payteeshnn for shortber
hours."
Slattery—"Oi do put moy name to no
payteesbuns."
Murphy—"Phwot! Don't yez be in wid
th' movement?"
81attery—"O' course Oi do be in wid th'
movement, but Oi put my name to no pay
teeshuns."
Murphy—"What ails ye, mon ?"
Slattery—"Oi do tells ye Oi put moy
name to no payteesbuns."
Murphy—""All th' rist o' th' byes do be a
signin' o' it."
Slattery—"Well, Oi'il be domd if Oi do."
Murphy—"Don't ye be afcher wantin'
shorther hours and bigger pay?"
Slattery—"O' coorae Oi do."
Murphy—"Do ye wants th' byes to think
ye do be a scabber!"
Slattery— O' coorse not."
Murphy—"Thin. Mr. Slattery. pbwy tfi'
divii won't ye si^n vez namelo the paytee
shun?"
Slattery— " Because, Mr. Murphy, Oi
don't be afther knowin' how to wroitemoy
name.'— Epoch.
He Couldn't Muffle It.
The stockings of his little girl he filled with
sweets and toys,
And with a pair of brand new skates he stuffed
his little boy's*.
Within the stocking of his wiie he placed a
handsome Mr;,
And In his mother-in-law's a wrap for muffling
ber chin.
■ .
There is now on his way to England on
a health tour Professor Irving of Mel
bourne, a son of the renowned Edward
Irving, the sensational preacher, one of
Carlyle's earliest friends and his rival
with the lady who afterward became the
wife of the Chelsea sage.
AS ITALIAN KITCHEN.
TROUBLES OF AN AMEBIC AN LADY
RESIDIHG IN FLORENCE.
Looking for .Boston Baked Beans aud
Brown Bread and a Dish of
Stewed Codfish.
An Italian kitchen ! Who would imag
ine what one is like ? Of all strange sigh's
in this foreigu land the kitchen bears off
the palm. They are of a;l shapes and
siz-s, fom 6 feet by 9, tucked into little
dark corners opening only into small wells'
to large, well lighted and airy rooms.
Should you go into one, I am sure you
would say, "A kitchen! Wbere do they
cook?" And no wonder, for at first glance
one sees long rows of bright copper sauce
pans, hanging in rows on the walls, tables
with gleaming white marble tops, a very
rough, dingy brick floor, and a very strange,
uninviting-looking ''something" extending
nearly the whole side of the room. The
crudest devices for cooking in the
woods or among the rocks, when of!
on a picnic, seem hardly more primi
tive. The interest quickly centers here
when told this is the "focolare," or fire
place, and we try to discover the philuso
phy of it. A brosd, thick stone is built
into tbe wall about the bight of an ordi
nary stove, witb several openings, eight by
ten inches, and three inches deep, with
iron gratings to hold the charcoal, the ashes
falling into a receiver beneath, where there
are doors fitted with dampers. Tbe hearth
stone, or "focolare," is supported by sev
eral arches, wbich also serve as coal bins.
A hood, or apron, is built out over the fire
place, which prevents the smoke from fill
ing the room, and draws much of the
steam and odors from cooking into the
chimney. A space is left in the center of
the stone fitted with andirons, and here be
fore a blazing wood fire the roasting is done.
The meat is put into an automatic ma
chine wbich turns at proper intervals, and
we all know how delicious meats are
roasted in this manner. But it is very cu
rious to see the cooking done over the little
"fornelli," as tbe charcoal fires are called.
After kindling the coal you must stand and
fan it until it is entirely red. If the pot
does not boil fast enough you must fan
again; if you put on more coal keep ob fan
ning. It would seem that one ot the first
requisites of a good cook would be to be a
good "fanner." The coal crackles and the
sparks fly high in the air, like sparks from
a Roman candle, and if some fail back into
the food it only passes for seasoning. I
have finally convinced my maid that hot
milk looks better without the little black
specks, and now she kindly consents to
keep it covered.
All the boiling, stewing, broiling, brais
ing, frying and toasting is done over these
little charcoal tires. Bread, pies and cakes
are not baked at home, as there are no
ovens in the average kitchen. At one end
of the fireplace the stone is hollowed out to
form a sink and over it a wooden rack is
attached to the wall, where dishes are dried
after being washed. No soap is used in
this operation, but water in which ashes
have been boiled answers the purpose and
costs nothing.
Ths large kitchen of which I speak is
about twenty feet square, at the top of an
old palace in the heart of the city, owned
by a wealthy Count, now used for aa apart
ment house. Through its iron-barred
windows you may look far across to the
distant hills. On the walls are two long
rows of cleats, where hang all sizes of
copper sauce-pans, and shelves for the red
earthen vessels nsed for boiling. Black
pots and kettles are something unknown
in this country, as far as my observation
goes. A row of smali earthen dishes, with
handles, stand near the fire, ready to be
filled with fine coals, for at this season ot
the year (November) the Italian is depend
ent on these little aflair3 to keep hands and
feet warm, and from being benumbed with
the cold. They seldom have tires in their
rooms, and when they sit the charcoal pot
is placed at the feet and another in tbe lap.
In very cold weather they carry them in
the street, slung on one arm like a basket.
When the cooking is done the lire is ex
tinguished immediately, and there is not
much heat from it at best. One wooden
table, trie only thing in tbe room that looks
familiar, reminds me of those in our own
neat, convenient kitchens at hr.me, and I
remember how white they looked after the
Saturday's scrubbing, but I am fain to
add this" one looks as though it never had
a good scrubbing—home fashion—nor the
fl iors either. They clean these by strew
ing wet sawdust about and then sweep it
off. This is done only once or twice a
week, a dash of water and a light wisk of
the broom being held sufficient for every
day.
We are well pleased with the cooking,
and shall take great pleasure in introducing
many of these savory dishes to friends at
home. The cooks understand seasoning
to a nicety, and the cents' worth of differ
ent herbs is a constant item in the account
book. One of the favorite condiments of
the Italian is the rosemary, which the Ger
man peasant considers sacred, and wears a
sprig of it in his cap on Sunday, and
would think it a sacrilege to eat of it.
After * year's residence here in the
"Boot" (Italy is called "The Boot" on ac
count of its geographical lines), a longing
for home cooking occasionally seizes upon
us. and when Saturday night comes, vis
ions of the families at home, gathering
about the beans and fish-balls tl vat before
our eyes, and the desire to enjoy the old
time "customary repast is not to be longer
withstood. But there is a problem to be
solved —how to have baked beans without
an oven * The bakers were consulted and
found unwilling to bake them. They ob
ject to innovations. One day I saw our
maid, when cooking some meat in a pan.
use a large iron cover on which
she piled live coals. That gave me an
idea. I purchased an earthen soup-ooiler,
much the shape of our bean-pots, and
made ready for the fray. I ascended to
tbe kitchen, prepared the"beans in the pot,
put them over one of the little square coal
fires, covered the precious contents with
the iron pan, heaped on coals and ex
plained to the maid how she must keep a
constant and steady fire, above and below,
then patiently awaited results in my apart
ments below.
Fish balls, or fish croquets as they call
them here, they make in perfection. A
very clean Italian, who has what he terms
an English bakery a very good one it
is), promised to make brown bread if I
would bring the receipt, wbich I gladly
did. but it proved too much for him and
he excused himself by saying he bad no
time to attend to it. As we had no steam
ers nor tin pails with covers, the brown
bread problem was a little difficult to
solve, and we were obliged to take fried
Indian meai cake as a substitute. My
anxiety was so great lest accident should be
fall the beans, I went to tbe kitchen to take
the beans from the pot myself, and found
them ail my fondest hopes had pictured.
I forgot to mention that I was obliged to
pay thirty cents for a teacupful of New
Orleans molasses, but we must have it, and
a cupful goes a great ways in the matter
of sweetening beans.
Since our experiment proved so success
ful, we have had the pleasure of inviting
several of our American friends to our Sat
urday evening feast. For who is there,
from"one end of the United States of Amer
ica to the other, that does not like real
Boston baked beans. Are they not "a
classic" in cooking? Sometimes we add
apple, or pumpkin pie. We form an
interesting procession, my maid and
I, as we carry our treasures through tbe
streets. She, with a large tray of pies; I,
with a pitcher of pumpkin prepared to fill
the pies at the shop. Too much trouble,
you think? Well, it's only when the home
hunger comes over us, and we get tired of
the rich pastries served us to eat. then
the change and excitement of accomplish
ing something novel repays us for onr
trouble. I remember npon our arrival a
year ago, I went to the Anglo-American
store and asked the English-speaking clerk
for salt cod fish. These important beings
are analogous to the typical hotel clerk at
home; and, altogether, their knowledge of
English is exceedingly limited. Their
small acquirement makes them quite arro
gant, and this particular weigher of salt
and coffee gave me a withering look and
1
told me to go to the market. An Ameri
can lady, standing near by, turned quickly
and said. "Ob: you are. searching for salt
cod fish? Isn't it good with cream?
How I wish I could have some." I
meekly turned my steps toward the
market, but ala*-! I saw none,
and I could not make anyone understand
what I wanted; but one Friday I chanced
to see some of tbe desired article soaking
in water, with the scale side down, which
every well-regulated housekeeper knows is
radically wrong. I find it is" the custom
here to le- i-. saak until all the good taste
is out. and then expose it for sale on Fri
days—and then I discovered it was called
"bacala." Good friends, if ever yon get
cod-fish hungry in "fair Italia.' "inquire
for "Ba-ca-la." The dictionaries don't help
one much in these matters, for if they give
any name at all they are quite apt to give
a^word not in common use, as for exam
ple, last year 1 wanted a turkey in honor of
Thanksgiving Day, and after consulting
my dictionary. I confidently asked my
maid to bny a "Gallo d'lndia!" Sbe stood
dumbfounded. So stood I—and helpless,
too; but after many gestures and explana
tions, she understood, and, laughing im
moderately, exciaimed. "Oh, Signora, un
tachino." What a simple name, to be
sure; it seeme.i as though I might have
guessfd it. Well, live and learn. This
year I can order my turkey and not be
laughed at.
A turkey weighing five pounds costs
eighty cents. Cranberries we cannot have ;
but with the fine variety of vegetables, we
manage to enjoy a turkey dinner without
tfceiu. Celery is particularly good, and
cheap, a large banch costing three cents.
The most deliclcis little onions I ever saw
are plenty. Few only of the squashes are
allowed to mature. They pick them when
only two or three inches long, and they
gainer and cook the blossoms. When i
first saw baskets of those yeliow blrssoms
and little green squashes for sale, and was
told they were to cook, I could hardly be
lieve it. They cut the squashes into slices;
and dip them and the blossoms into an egg
batter "and fry in oil. They are delicious,
and a very good substitute for fried oysters,
which we don't have here, only in cans.
But who, after eating "Blue Points" and
"Providence Rivers," could abide the
canned article?
Once more this smiling city is gay with
banners in honor cf the birthday of the
Prince of Naples, when he also attains his
majority. He bas been promoted to the
Colonelcy of the First Infantry Regiment,
and is to go to Naples, whereit is stationed,
and assume personal command. Ha will
have a court of his own, also a suite, civil
and military, and iive exactly like a king.
Peoplehsre are usually rather silent. They
are very fond of the King and Queen, botb
for their own selves and for the love and
honor they bear Victor Emmanuel, but
they say the young Prince is a little tyrant,
a middle age despot, and he rather looks it
personal.appearance.
There'are many travelers in tbe city
now, Americans and English predominat
ing. R#v. Dr. Pentecost, of New York,
spent a couple of weeks here on his way
to India. He expect 3to pass the next two
years iv missionary work. He occupied
tbe pulpit of the Rev. Dr. McDougal
(Scotch Presbyterian) and delighted all
who heard him with his power and elo
quence. The doctor is also the best of
companions, and in tbe parlor, surrounded
by interested friends, he seems fairly in his
element when recounting some of his
manifold experiences. His daughter and
sou will spend the winter in Florence, and
are devoting themselves to music, paint
ing and Lalian. Mrs. Pentecost accom
panies the doctor on bis travels, and the
last tidings from them, at Port Said, gave
glowing accounts of their delightful trip
across the Mediterranean. Belle.
Florence, Italy, November 11, IS9O.
HE BEAT HIS WAY.
A Young Chicago Trickster Rides Down
Town for Nothing.
"I have not failed to ride down town on
a North Side grip-car free of charge for a
week," said a smoothfaced, dapper young
man to his companioss as he stood on the
corner of Clark and Center streets waiting
for a cfiur.ee to get aboard a car.
"That so? Tell us how you do it and we
will work the snap, too," said his compan
ions in the same breath.
"Well, it's this way: There are always a
lot of people on the corner waiting for a
car, and while the conductor is helping the
women on I jump aboard in front and take
a seat inside. Then I pull out a paper and
become intent on the news. The gripman,
nine times out of ten, is Jbusy fixing his
tension screw, or watching" the track
ahead, and pays no attention to me. When
the conductor comes through the car for
his fares I never look up. and he has
doubts about me, but usually after a hard
stare at me his memory gives cut, and he
passes on."
"Don't believe it works more'n one time
in a hundred," said one of the listeners.
"Bet you a V I do it on the ride down
town," promptly responded tbe smooth
faced individual.
"It's a go," said his companion.
The money was put up in the hands of
the other members of the party, and the
trio prepared to board a car. But for some
reason the first limits car that came along
did not appear to suit the free ride man,
and there being little room in it, he had an
excuse to wait for the next one. This was
a Lincoln avenue, and he directed his
friends to get aboard on the rear platform,
while he gained entrance in front, as he
had explained. Sitting down about the
center of the car, he pulled a paper from
his pocket and began reading with great
interest.
His friends secured seat 3 near him and
watched the proceedings. The conductor
went through to tbe front and collected a
fare, then on to the two friends, got his
nickels, gave an old lady change for a quar
ter in pennies, refused to accept a Canadian
dime from a fashionably-dressed young
woman, and passed out without so "much
as a glance in the direction of our reading
friend. Just as he was opposite him, bow
ever, the diligent reader rustled his paper
vigorously, quite like a roan whose sole
thought was to find the editorial column
or the fuaDy paragraphs.
When the three arrived at Washington
street they alighted aud sought the seclu
sion of a saloon to pay the stake-i.
"Pretty good scheme; I'll work it my
self," said the one who had lost his V.
"Yes, it's easy when you know how."
replied the winner as he pocketed his $10.
Then he left, and in another minute was at
the tunnel entrance, where he caught the
same car that he bad come down on. "I
had great luck that time, Jimmie!" said he
as he handed the conductor $2 50 — Chicago
Times
The Third Party Vote.
James B. Weaver, as Presidential nomi
nee of the Greenback party, obtained 307,
--306 votes in 1890. Tbis was the largest
vote ever polled by the Greenbackers. Pro
hibition strengh reached its highest mark
in 1888, when Clinton B. Fi3k, the Presi
dential candidate of the organization, re
ceived 250,290 votes. The only other
minor parties which ever had much sup
port were the Free Soilers in 1848, the
Know Nothings in 1856 and the Constitu
tional Unionists in 1860. The Free Soil
vote was 201,236, the Know Nothing 874,
--534, and the Constitutional Union 589,581.
Martin Van Buren was the candidate of
the first named of these organizations at
that time, Millard Fillmore of the second
and John Bell of the third. The Liberty
party, however, in 1844, James G. Birney
being its Presidental standard-bearer, al
though it polled only 62.000 votes in the
whole country, cast enough in New York
to give that State and the country to James
K. Poik, the Democratic nominee, defeat
ing tbe Whig candidate, Heary Clay.—
Slate Democrat.
The Last Factory.
A clergyman riding on the down train
from B-jston to Yarmouthport the other
day cad his attention attracted by ihe suc
cession of factories as the train was passing
through Brockton, the city of shoes.
"How many factories are there here?" he
asked a neighboring passenger; "has the
row no ena?'
"That's the last factory," replied the pas
senger.
"You're mistaken," said the clergyman:
"here is another?'
"I tell you that was the last factory," said
the other, imperturbably.
As there was likely to be a hot argument,
a third person pacifically interposed and
explained that it was the last factory, or in
other words, the factory where lasts are
made.— Cape Cod Item. " I
IN RELIGION'S REALM.
MATTERS OF INTEREST TO MINIS
TERS AND LAYMEN.
Expressions of Opinloo by Newspapers
Representing the Various Denom
inations, on Many .Subjects.
The Nashville Christian Advocate (Meth.;
says: "It does one's soul good to see the
fare of an old friend. Some years ago the
Jl'jiniletic Review published a pleasant but
somewhat superficial sermon from a text in
tbe Book of Exodus. During the summsr
following it was preached verbatim at a
District Conference in a certain State by
two different brethren on two successive
days, neither of tbe preachers being pres
ent to bear the other. Since then we have
caught the echo of it in more than one city
pulpit, and very recently we have known
it to do duty on a state occasion. We could
laugh onr sides sore over such things, if we
did not feel more disposed to cry."
The Christian Leader (Univ.) says: "An
editorial in the Christian Union of Decem
ber 4th excites our curiosity. We are
curious to know what, and how much. Dr.
Abbott means by expressions that teem to
announce explicit Uuiversuiism. This is
one. and there are many to the same pur
port: 'The whole process of iife, reaching,
we have no doubt, out into the other life as
well, since this iite is so fragmentary and
broken, is a process of redemption.' Doss
this mean wbat it appears to mean ? Doe:*
Dr. Abbott and does his paper stand on a
platform which declares that 'the whole
process of life,' including this world and
the next, 'is a process of redemption' ? An
other thing we are curious to know is, how
many ministers and churches, not Univer
salist, Dr. Abbott represents."
The Canada Presbyterian says: "Dr.
Dykes is of the opinion that five hundred
people willing to be edified make a much
better congregation than a 'thousand sen
sation hunters.' No doubt that is true, but
if a number of the five hundred constantly
grumble because the sensation hunters are
not there, what can a pastor do ? Tne man
across tbe street who gets up a show of
some kind to 'draw' the sensation hunters
wouM be perfectly welcome to them so far
as any sensible preacher is concerned, but
the trouble comes in when some who are
supposed to belong to the five hundred in
telligent hearers complain because the sen
sation hunters are absent. However it
may be in England, in this country too
many people estimate the value of a re
ligious service by the number present. li
the 'crowd' is there, all is well; if the sen
sation hunters are absent, all is wrong,
even though the Holy Spirit was manifest
ly present."
The Catholic World presents this pictnre
of the transcendentalists from the diary of
the late Father Hecker, who had stuuied
his subject at Brocfc Farm, Fruitlands and
Concord: "A transcendeutalist is one who
has keen sight but little warmth of heart;
who has fine conceits.but is destitute of tbe
rich glow of love. He is en rapport with
the spiritual world, unconscious -of the
celestial one. He is all nerve and no
blood—colorless. He talks of self-reliance,
but fears to trust himself to love, but is al
ways on the lookout for some new fact.
His nerves are always tight-stretched, like
the string of a bow ; his life is all effort.
In a short period he loses his tone. Behold
him sitting on a chair; he is not sitting,
but braced upon its angles, as if his bones
were of iron and his nerves steel: every
nerve is drawn, his hands are closed lifce a
miser's—it is his lips and head tbat speak,
not his tongue and heart. He prefers talk
ing about love to possessing it, and he pre
fers Socrates to Jesus. Nature is his church,
and he is his own god. He is a dissec.ing
critic—hejirtless. cold. What would excite
love and sympathy in another, excites in
him curiosity and interest. He would have
written an essay on the power of the soul
at the foot of the Cross."
The Christian Leader (Univ.) says: "In
the very short list of names of eminent
and authoritative evolutionists, Alfred
Russell Wallace is second to no one. ex
cepting Darwin himself. In describing a
certain stage of evolution Mr. Wallace uses
these words: 'We find a still more mar
velous change, one completely beyond all
possibility of explanation by matter, its
iaws and forces. Here we see introduced
sensation, the fundamental distinction be
tween tbe animal and vegetable kingdom?
If by 'introduced'—the italics are our own
—Mr. Wallace uses the word advisedly, he
virtually concedes the point of special cre
ation. Evolution has no place fl>r the in
traducing of anything. It would seem
from what Mr. Wallace says of other stages
in the order of nature, as if by 'introduc
ing' he means the opposite of development.
For example: 'The" "third stage is. as we
have seen, the existence in man of a num
ber of his most characteristic aud noblest
faculties, those which raise him furtherst
above tbe brutes, and open up possibilities
of almost indefinite advancement. Tucse
faculties could nol possibly hive been de
veloped by means of the same laws which
have determined the progressive develop
ment of the organic world in general. ar]d
also of man's physical organism. These
three distinct stages cf progress from the
inorganic world of matter and motion up
to man, point clearly to an unseen uni
verse, to a world of spirit, to which the
world of matter is altogether subordinate.'
This certainly is not Darwinism. It may
be well for the general reader to wait until
the masters have come to an ag-ecmsnt."
The Rev. George T. Rider says, in the
Liting Church (P. E.): "It is well that there
should be pause for Advent meditation ia
the choral world and its exciting work.
The 'four last things that concern any man,*
should command heart and voice and
voice and choir. This is a time for 'slow
ing up' and letting the heau-d journals
cool off, otherwise we shall b? in ill mood
for the glorious feast of tbe Incarnation.
The sober gravity of Advent is the liturgic
foreground, and the Holy Mother has so
tempered the liturgic approaches that the
great Christ-Mass shall break up this Ad
vent twilight witb all the glory of the
newly-risen Son of Righteousness. This
is immeasurably deeper and holier than
esthetic sentiment. It lies in the sacred
order and among the precious mysteries of
the church's liturgic year. The true priest
early catches the secret and tunes his ser
mons and ritual betimes. The colo-s of
altar and vestments are penitential. Why,
then, should the choir keep up the musical
bravery and exultation until Advent
merges into Christmas, hardly observed !
What a seaeon of choral self-denial and
abnegation 1 What an opportunity to get
acquainted with the ancient melodies of
our Holy Mother, and drink in the ineff i
ble sweetness and tenderness of those cradle
songs of eternal love when she held her
children very close to her breast! At least
let us try the sober majesty of unison com
munion services and anthems, if oar ears
and hearts are yet unwonted to the mysti
cal pleadings of the ancient Plain-song"."
The ar-iwirwrfßapt.) says: "Eckermann
reports, in one of his Contersations. the fol
lowing notable saying of Goethe: 'Tne
style of a writer is almost always the faith
ful representation of his mind; therefore, if
any one wishes to write a clear style let
him begin by making his thoughts' clear;
and it any would write a noble style let
him first possess a noble soul.' The culture
of expression mu3t include, therefore, the
culture of mind and heart. We must learn
how to think and feel about things. We
must get honesty, directness, and lofty pur
pose wrought into the fiber of our being.
We must fix right standards of judgment.
We must be taught, and be willing to learn,
of God 'the way that we should choose.' In
a very true sanse, all life is expression and
gives to this finest of arts its full and grand
est scope. By what we do we make known
to others wbat we are. Nothing can m.-jre
intimately concern us than to find the
worthiest way of expressing ourselves in
this larger application of the phrase. La
Bruyere used to insist that there is one
best way ot saying everything, and that tbe
artist in expression is he who finds that
way. The notion will, perhaps, hardly
bear pushing in the domain of literature,
but in tbat of life it has the highest war
rant. There is one best way for the soul to
express itself in life, and we can all know
what it is, for it has been shown us in the
life of him who is himself 'the way.'
Christ, in His incarnation, is the Word of
God, the utterance of the Divine thought.
God's expression of Himself 'in the form of
man.' If we shape onr characters after
Hie, and aim to reproduce His life in ours,
2STUMBEK 33.
we shall reach the most exalted possibili
ties of what the art of expression can
achieve."
The Standard (Bapt.. Chicago) says:
"Professor Swing called atteriiion, in bis
sermon on Sunday last in Chicago, to a
matter which to our mind is of very grave
interest. It is the fact that from year to
year the re!;>jr;ous pages have been elimi
nated from readers intended for use in the
public schools. He make 3 this statement:
"Thirty-thr^e years ego S_o3nffey'l Reader
contained 101 pieces in prose and poetry, 33
of which were religious. In bis sixth
reader, published recently, but 17 of th« 138
pieces pertain to religion, wit and humor
taking its place. Children laugh more and
muse less. This religious sentiment is
lessened still furth°r in Rrec.-nt fifth reader,
which has only 4 religious pieces iv 100,
and in a popular fourth reader there is not
a religions piece. In an elegant fifth reader
of k great publishing house of to da**- 5 out
of 90 chapters are'granted to religion.'
Whether or net. as Profeisor Swing main
tains, 'the State should tuak* its own read
ers fcr public schools," this which he adds
in that connection is certainly tiue, tbat
•money-seeking men' shou.d not be per
mitted to'pander to the materialism of the
times. At least,' he adds, some power must
come along witb the ability to perceive that
a fair portion of the literature must be re
ligious The school-readers must be for
human beings, and that, too, in their eariv,
flexible yean; and to bind np millions of
these bo.-ks with th? religions sentiment
omitted is to tell great falsehoods to mil
lions of our children.' There i 6 an im
mense perii in the direction towards which
the^e words point, and tbey oucht for that
reason not to pass with a mere utterance."
Dfaling with the matter of ministers
preaching in public halls white their own
churches are closed, tbe (hnaregatkmalm
says: 'The throngs which pour into
Central Music Hail in Chicago, tbe vast
audiences which Mr. McNeill has a.ldress<*d
in the rink in Edinburgh and more recently
iv a hall ou Hoiborn, London, show that
tbey may not be so averse to tbe proclama
tion of the good tidingsas tht--.-a-"-; sensitive
to the atsiosphere of proprietorship and
exclusiveness which pervades some
churches. At all events, if men like Dr.
Gnnsaulus and Mr. McNeill feel that by
preaching in a hall part of the time they
can double or triple the practical influence
of tbe Gospel upon the community, we
honor them for making the effort, and'their
churches for permitting theoi to do it. It
is an expedient which, as a rule, would not
be advisable outside of the cities, aad
even there only as a temporary uuii . at
best. For there is no inherent reason vs hy
the setting of the Gospel message cannot be
made approximately as attractive as the
message itself. John Wesley may have
preached in a barn, but bis "followers in
this country are erecting churches at the
rate of two a day. Chuiches are essential
to the permanence and power of religion.
Why should not every Christian church be
so wide open to the poor, the wanderer and
the forsaken, so ready to stretch out the
hand of helpfulness, si warm and loving
in its welcome of everybody, from the lady
in her silks to the workingman in his
blouse, tbat all shall feel disposed to come
and listen gladly to the message of Caris*'"'
The Christian Advocate -Meth ) says:
"Dr. South has a sermon on the 'Fatal Im
posture and Force of Words.' It is a cele
brated sermon, worthy of study far its lit
erary qualities as well as for its moral
teaching. In it he shows how a miser will
think himself practicing economy, and a
spendthrift will deceive bimseh' into tbe
belief that he is liberal. 8o many Chris
tians who are opposed to theatricals have
deceived themselves by tbe word 'cantata'
into the belief that some things tha? are
deleterious are barm'e-s. A corespondent
of the Sunday School Times writes to the edi
tor of that paper that 'some claim that
Christmas cantatas have a demoralizing
effect upon the children, some of them be
coming "stage struck," and led away by
them,' and esks the opinion of the editor
on this question: 'Is the use of the Christ
mas cantatas, as prepared and publisned
by the different church publishing bouses,
beneficial or otherwise to the best interests
of the snhnrtl*" Th? answer is s*> discri—i;
Rating that we quote it here: The terra
"Christian cantata" is by no means a defi
nite one. Strickly speaking, a "cantata" is
a choral composition, in which a narrative
is adapted to music, but 'intendesl to be
acted." Yet '.here are Christmas dramas of
all grades, with parts for acting by different
performers, now published under'the nar..e
of 'cantata.' These theatricals are out of
place in the sanctuary or the Sunday
School room, and a Christian child is out
of place in their performance. A Christ
mas cantata is well enough if it is acantata;
but Christmas theatricals are no better than
other theatricals simply through their be
ing miscalled "cantatas."''
Tbe Cliristian Union says: "Our readers
wiil recall Professor Booker T. Washing
ton's statement, in an article in the Christ
ian Union some time since, declaring in
general terms the ignorance and immoral
ity of a large proportion of the colored
preachers of the South. They will recall
tbe protests against this statement which
we have also given to them from certain
colored preachers in the S^uth. We now
find in the New York Age a letter from
Bishop Payne, of the African Methodist
Episcopal Church, written to Mr. Washing
ton after reading Mr. Washington's letter
and the animadversions upon it. Whst he
says on the subject is so important tbat we
give it entire: 'In regard to the moral
qualifications of the Methodist aad Baptist
ministers, so far as I have seen and known
them by personal contact. I believe that
you have not overstated, bnt rather under
stated the ficts. I say, emphatically, in
the presence of the Head of the Chnrch
that more than one third of the ministers,
Baptist and Methodist, in the South are
morally and intellectually qualified. I
will stand by this statement, and can
demonstrate the truthfulness by pain
ful facts with regard to names, times
and places. Doubtless I shall be ass«i:ed
like yourself for speaking tru'h aud re
cording facts. Denominational bias and
influence will not cause me to supprts- the
truth nor to hide facts when it is necessary
to speak out wit i the spirit of Christian
reform. lam a Methodist of the Method -
Uts. head, heart, and soul: and while I love
Methodism sincerely, I love Christianity
better. Therefore, in behalf of Christianity,
I speak what I believe and know to be triie
with reference to our people South I
commenced forty-seven years ago to labor
for a well-educated and thoroughly Chris
tian ministry. The apostles and prophets
were all condemned for speaking out
against tbe corruption of the chief priests
and the churches. But a power from above
compelled them to so cry out. We reaffirm
our conviction, though the reaffirmation
seems hardly necessary, tint the testimony
of Mr. Booker T. Washington, confirmed
by tbat of Bishop Payne, is abundantly
borne out by tbe tacts, and that it is a foily,
very nearly approximating a crime, to at
tempt to conceal these facts, or to present
in s. more favorable light than tliey deserve
the present quality of morai and spiritual
education which the colored people of the
South are receiving from those ministers
who have come to them from the o^d
regime, bringing witb tlieru the. ignorance
and the vice which slavery fastened upon
the race, and offering them, for a relijrion
of obedience and practical righteousness,
one of a wholly unmoral emotionalism."
Origination of "Pin-Money."
Pin? were introduced into England by
Catherine, first wife of Henry Vill, and,
as then made, were ornaments ratber than
articlts of utility. They were of brass,
ivory, silver or gold, were placed in the
hairor on various parts of the clotbiutr as
articles of jewelry, and sometimes weighed
eight or ten ounces. The Spanish makers
were allowed to sell them only during the
Christmas holidays, and it 'became the
fashion for a gentleman, at holiday sea
sons, to present the ladies of his family
with money to buy pics. Fn-tn the great
cost, only the wealthy could et first afford
to buy them, and even after the pins bad
become common and cheap, tbe practice of
giving the money continued, and hence
the name.
No Obstructions.
Miss Summit—"Why didn't Mr. Clever
ton come, Mr. Dashaway'.'"
Dashsway—"He was coming. Bul, you
see, his clothts didn't come home from the
tailor's."
Miss Summit— "That shouldn't have
made any difference. What we want to see
is the man, not the clothes."
Dashaway— "Well, if he had come, you
would have had a first-class view of him."
— Clothier.
