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SUNDAY MORmIWO, OCTOBSB 18. 1068.
1 he Leass see7.
The shadows of the little wood
Closed round as is the burning noon,
The loneat shadou s of the leaves
Yet tender with the geen of Jne.
And there, while l a happy dream,
We wandered lawerd from the sun,
Windli sad toring at our will,
The fasses story was began
A story prodigal of love,
Of youth, and beauty been of youth;
Of sorrow tempered by romance,
And trial glerified by truth.
Lona, los ago it all had chanced
Or was it hply passing then
It might be true of any time
tneo women were belred of men.
I listened, yet I did nat heed;
A rippling role* was all I heard,
Tbt. softly cadenoed. had for me
The msale of a singing bird.
The tale went on, the voice I heard,
Yet all that I recall I. this
That earnest faee, those dreamy eys,
The altte moeth too sweet to kiss.
The tale wenD on, with many a pause,
With frequint outbursts of delight,
As breaks aad openings of the wood
Its hidde beauties gave to sight.
A pheasant asmsd across or path,
A squirrel ihot a sudden turn,
And now the cuckoo sang, and now
We waded coolest breadths of fern.
The little wood was long to cross:
Its winding paths were hard to fad;
And bours had fled ere we emerged,
And left its pleasant gloom behind.
And then beside the rustic fence,
Whence spread the meadows many a mile,
We lingeredildly band in hand
And perhie the tale went on the while.
The evening shadows lengthened out;
The heav. rooks winged home to nest;
The little wod was frlonged with light
Against the fiercely flaming west.
The son set i a fleecy hase,
bhrough are of crlase and of gold;
The sly gre. cool, the stars came out,
And yet the story was not sold I
WILLIAM SAWYER.
A JUO Of ALE.
MPrm AU * Ther Y Resd ]
Clear and golde as sherry; creaming up as
white as swsne'-down, in the long taper glass;
fresh. bright. sparkling ; with the pleasant aroma
of the Kentishýbop pervading the draught, grate
fully nourishing and gently efablrating-that is
what a glass of good BEg ale should be-ale
that Autotyces, a great judge on sunob matters,
declared stoutly, as he went singing along the
road to the shepherd's cottage, was "a dish for
a king."
We ean fancy the artful rascal, with oblique
eyes and greasy cap with broken feather, sitting
at the ale bench outside the Peal of Bells, ale
fellow well met, with Christopher l8y, whose
illustrious family came in with '" Richard Con
queror."' ly, being thirsty and more dry even
tha nausul, has just called for a "pot o small
ale." Be is telling Aatolyous of his desceat from
old Sly of Burton Heath. and has also informed
him thathe (Christopher) was by birth a peddler,
by education a card-maker, by transmutation a
bear-herd. and now, by recent profession, a
tinker. Fourteen pence Is the score for sheer ale
chalked against him by the fat ale wife of Win
cot.
Picture the scene at an Ostade alehouse. The
sunset is red on the old faded sign, and on the
dusky wagon a' the door, red on the vine-leaves
over the porch. red on the cope of the ale bench.
It makes the face of Autolycus to glow with the
cunning of a Mercury, andSly's Bardolphian coon
tenance to blaze again, as If be were peeping in
at a furesee door. The fat Falstaff of a landlord
breaks out laughing over the red eurtain of the
open lattice wmindow; the fat landlady and the
buzom servant roar from the upper window, at
the jokes of the two merry guests. The wagoner
and the ostler and the harvestmen laugh too,
while a great bear of a shepherd's dog barks with
delight, as Antolycus clears his pipes and sings
his favorite song of
THE JUG OF ALL
As I was sitting one afternoon
Of a plessant day in the month of June,
I heard a thrush sing down the vale,
And the tone be sang was " the jag of ale,'
And the tune he sang was the Jug of ale.
The white sheet bleached on the hedge,
And it sets my wisdom teeth on edge,
When dry with telling your peddler's tale,
Your only conmfort's a jug of ale.
Your only comfort's a aug of ale.
I jog along the footpath way,
For a merry heart goes all the day;
But at night. whoever may flout and rail.
I sit down with my friend-the jug of ale,
With my good old friend-the jug of ale.
Whether the sweet or sour of the year,
I tramp and tramp though the gallows be near.
O, while I've a shilling, I will not fail
To drown my cares in a jog of ale,
Drown my cares in a jog of ale !
This song is very unjustly confonaded by some
comrentstors with Mr. Lover's old Irish song--the
Jog of Puncl. As to the lines in it. which some
what reemib'e thoser in the Winter's Tale, there
can be no doobt that Shakspeare stole them. Our
copy of the Jog of Ale dates back to at least 1520.
and Is genelally attributed to Bishop Stll, that
convivial pro late, worthy descendant of earnest
Walter Msp's Bishop (Golia, who wished 'in
taberna otro." and, what's worse, rhymed that
disreputshle wish with "angelorum chori." The
Fiehop ttill we allude to was the writer of the
old farce ',medy, Gammer (urton's Needie,
which contatod the bacchanalian chant:
" I cannot eat but little meal,
My stomach Is not go'd ;
But ture I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood."
That fine old song of The Ex ale-tation of Ale
draws one of the earliest distinctions between
beer sod le e: a distianction stilt regarded in Som.
eruetshbire, ;loucestershre and ttsflordshare,
where ale is the common liquor and beer is the
gentleman. The writer observe quaintly :
" Bout now, as they say, beer hears it away.
The more is the pity. if rmght might prevail :
For with this same beer came up heresy here,
The old Catholic drink is a pot of good ale.
" Ard in very deed, the hoplt's but a weed,
Itroutght ocer ga:nst law and here set to sale.
HW'ou tl the law were renewed, and no more beer
brewed,
But all good men betake them to a pot of good
ale !
" Too manay. I wirs, with their deaths proved this,
And therefore (if ancient records do not fail)
IHe that holt brewed the hop was rewarded with
rope,
And found his beer far more bitter than ale."
This is one of the earliest denOanciaia o f the
newly invented drink, favored with the Flemish
hop. lntroduced in Henry the Eighths' time, and
denounced at firet by the ,hysicoas as un whole
some. The otld English ale mtm have been fresh
and creamy. lhke that of the Bavarians now.
Beresy and hops, according to the men of the old
fatbh, came in together.
• When the sine weold net grow, the barly rose,
sad shook itn ears to soothe ad solace man. The
Etyptias dlrank their beer hundreds of oenturies
ago. and they drink it now. It is, however, what
Besonmont weald Lhave called " a muddy drench.'
tasting too mooh of earth, and the malt retati
lng a scurrvy touch of the dull hand
that sowed it. Warriors under the feathery
palms of Psiib, with the asp of egypt
on their lelmets. and the vultre wings foer
their crests, puffed that horrible beer. The
ile boatmen give It you still. It is whltih,
thick asnd sur, like the wor: Bielgian brew. At
the foot of ihe Pyramids, wlh their backs to the
Lot stone blocks, the warri ,s of the Pharaohs
drank that execrable tap: and with the bliss of
Inorence nio doubt discussed the arnout merita
f the Barly and Perkinnes of Thebes and Ed
fio. That was the pour but mprovable beverage
wbich Joe uh and his brethren qiaffcd. and which
supported the Israelites at their toilsome tasks it
those brick felds whos cfires have long gone out.
It must have been toesd! ot ii those tremendous
tombs of the bings at Theb 5, as the swarthy
workmen retted after coloring their fourteenth
room of tieroglyphics., anid st down to sap
snugly upon ononns just wt.in the keen black
shadow of the scorching doorway hewn e qare in
the rock, waiting till the high priest himtnsclt came
down at snset, with all his fan-bearers, and
harpers, end spearme, to see the great dac
haster sarcophagus fashioning for the king soon
to be gathered toash fethers by natural causes
and tie help of a purple cushion or two.
It was "beer" "ooty" they eall it now) that ta.
spired the Egýpdmwhe they tore pdll-mell over
the desert eer the ladItaa ; beer thes led them
on to betIe wish the Bemau, to keep the crown
cn Cleopstrs'shead beer that- but perha, as
It wars beer tha led tom to do all the d - U e
they did, aad all the evil, we ma refer re
ene fore he nt of their deeds to R4 Itaery.
There b no doebt that ll the eiMas said Tar
tare races brought from those geat grmy plism,
where they had ended their mile of theep beag of
seedefrom the huge trats of ore they han raised.
and also the knowledge how to brew
from It a streg water, good for raising
the spirits aftsr batte, good aft long
rides of light or pursalt, good to make
Tartar mea Idoe sad bold, but apt, too, In over
doses.'to make Tartar men cruel, raving, blood
thirsty and mad. Pliny speaks of this oor wine
as oommon i Osal, Spae. sad, Indeed, all through
the west of brope. Pliny praises the Spaniards
for making this beer so that it oould be kept good
a long time, and then appeads his moral :
"So exquasite is the art of mankind in gratifying
their vicious appetites, that they have thu i.
vented a method to make even water taelf atoxi.
eating."
Or does it prove only that nature has in every
country provided a stimulus, harmless is modera
ties, which shall refresh weary nature, lessen ex
hamstiks, and repair ,be osses produced by ex
citement, labor and saiety ?
Isidore, describng the beverage of the ancient
Britons, ays :
" The grain is steeped in water, sad made to
germinate, by which its spirits are excited sad set
at liberty; it is then dried and gread; after
which it is infused in a certaino qantity of water,
which, being fermented, becomes a pleaseat,
warming, streagthenag sad inatoxioatlag liqeer."
Our rude forefathers made beer of wheat, oats,
and miMet. sw Pietso we believe, made a drink
heather, the seret which pered a ea
engagement which swept away the last of the
race. At least Sir Walter who knew everything
about the land of the beater. used to relate some
such tradition with much gusto. Perhaps, after
all, the Pict drink was only another form of
whisky, and the alchemists did not discover aqua
vita, and mistake it for the Elixir of Life, as gen
erally reported, after all.
the Welsh, who fought against Edward and his
mailed men, and went cheerfully to death, led by
three thousand drunken harpers, playing madly
' The Men of Harleoh." and "Of a Noble Race
was Sheekin," and those bare-legged sinewy
Scotch who wrestled with the enemies of Bruce,
Wallace and the Douglas, had two kinds of ale
common ale and spiced ale. One of their old
laws specifies:
' If a farmer have no mead, he shall pay two
casks of spiced ale, or four casks of common ale,
for one cask of mead."
Wine was no doubt slow In reaching Wales, the
purple casks of Gascon and Burgundian wine har.
iog to pass by too many a Norman gate to reach
Wales often safely, or without paying heavy toll.
Fed on bad beer, no wonder the Welshmen went
down before the charge of the Norman knights.
Is beer as good as it used to be? Was italways
the custom, when hops were dear, to add liquor
ice and black resin to give flavor, tone and color?
Did molasses, raw grain and sugar often take the
place of malt? Were brewers' chemists always
as respectable, honest, above board and ingenious
as they now are?
If gentian, bitterwort root, marsh trefoil and
quassia were used formerly, instead of hops, we
did not know it, and were therefore happy. We
used to feel a kind of warmth after a draught of
good ale, and never knew that it was derived
from capelcom; or that the solid crest of froth
came from the stimulating influence of salts of
steel and copperas. Is it possible that the beer
we used to quaff at Putney, af:er boating, and
thought nectar, was made from flown malt, coc
colus indicus, the bitter bean of St. Ignatius,
tobacco, or the poisonous nux vomlos? That
sweet flavor was boney, that refreshing headyness
caraway and coriander seeds, that efferveeceae
jalap, that indescribable something we used to
foudly term "the strawberry flavor," was oom
poed of ginger, grains of paradise, orange-peel,
long pepper, opium, hartshorn shavings, marble
dust, egg-shells sad oyster-shells (to check acid.
Ity), sub-carbonate of soda, magaesia and posas
sla. Such was the liquor prepared for us, and call
ed in brewers' advertisements "a healthy, bright,
exhilarating ale, gently stimulating the digestive
organs of the dyspeptic, and gracefully nourishing
the strength of the robust."
Porter was invented in the year 1731, by a Lon
don brewer, named Harwood, who combined the
flavor of "half-and half," or " three threads," as
It was then called, in a beverage which he was
pleased to all " atire butt." The new comsbai
tion took in the city, among the " porters," and
from its dew patrons it obtained Its name. Those
brawsy men with knots, all day resting their
broad back against the church walls, or on the
tramp between Lombard street and the locks, pa
tronized the brown refreshing drink, and found it
gave them fresh heart to endure the ourse of Cain.
The demagogues of the crowd, the hard hitters
from the shoulder, led the rabble to the same brown
fountain; they too drank, were cheered, and
smiled a gracious approval. The fan-tailed hats
and wearers of obscure white stockings, who took
an interest In coals and the Newcastle trade on
the shore of the Thames, very soon gave in their
vote also, and a plumper was for the same black
brown liquid, so gently acid, so harmless, so In.
vigorating.
But there are still vexatious antiquarians who
declare that the honest liquor (honest at least in its
you hb) never derived its name from the brawny
porters of London, but, on the contrary, derived it
from Harwood's practice of having his new ber.
erage 1 orctered or carried round to his customers'
areas, in shining pewter pots in long covered
racks; his pot-boys shouting "porter," to
announce their auspicious arrival, as they rat-tat.
tatted at the door. More than a century this
brown, mantling liquor-thin, slightly watery, but
pleasant and heartening-has gone frothing up in
the pewter pots of London; and may it go
frothing up forever! Good porter should have
fulness, potency and flavor; it bshould not be
thin ad vinous. Ilke good ale; for It is of hom
bler origin, has no blue blood it its veins, and is
only a sort of cousin-german of that fat, merry.
laughing hknight, old Cir John Barleycorn. Good
porter should be made from black.acorched malt,
made from good soand barley, of a uniform
chocolate eolor. The burnt suar contained in
the scorched malt and the mncilage imparts the
odor to porter, and dgives it its foe flavor and
tenacity. The gluten in the wort is, however,
destroyed by too long boiling. An eminent
brewer says: "The general method of ferment
ing porter differs from the cool and gradual pro
cese so esential to preserve the flavor and rich
ness of ale. Porter owes much of ita tart and
astringent flavor to a high, rapid fermentation,
which carries down the density without diminish.
lg the high flavor drawn from the materials.
The rapid process also sauite the brown malt,
whichblb, being less daese than that from pale, can
not support a vigorous fermentation, and the
yeast, bemi more rapidly throp off, leaves the
beer clear and durable."
One misfortune of porter is, that brewers often
scorch their damaged malt, and so dsuised use
it for porter-making. 1
We much regret that we are unable to gIvethe
exact date of the introduction of that fat, potent
liqu:d., stoot. Stll. we can go pretty near the
bult'a-eye, If we do not exact y touch its center.
As Mr. Kirkman, the biographer of Macklin, who
died in 17i97. at the age of one houndred and
seven, particularly records the fact that his hero
drank only a sort of beer called " stout: " It was
evidently not long instituted in 1767. Kirkman
says:
" I:t bad been his constant rule for a period of
thirty )ears or upwards to visit a publio house
inled the Antelope, m White Hartyard, Covent
(;arden, where hfis usual beverage was a pint of
beer, called stout, which was made hot and sweet
eied with moist sugar almost to a syrun. This, i
he said, balmed his stomach, and kept hin from
Laving any snward palae."
Isle ale-originally manufactored for India
alone--buas been a universal beverage for more
than twenty years. It has more hops than malt
in it, and wee at first derided by stoot drinkers as
a nauseonus, insipid medicine. Tonic it might be, i
but more it for people with no livers than for
your good livers and bo s c,- r,r fs. Perhaps,
however, even then, the busy age wu growing I
more dyspeptic; for it soon woke up, as it were,
from its tipey dream of the threebottle days, and
Ihke Sly, stretched, yawned and called for a pot
of the smallest ale. The doctors, always rather
valetudinarian in their notions, from being so shot
up with invalids, were in raptures at the pleuasant
aew tonic.
The new medicine was pronounced to be a cor
dial, warm, aperitive, digeetive, diuretic, stom
achic and suodorific. It was a anti-spusmodic
Its aromattc bitter was to restore the depraved ap-.
petite ad correct unwholesome nutriment. to pro
moe digestion and increase the nutritive value of
all food.
The hops used for this light India beer are of
the driest and lightest possible color. The Fars
hams, sad Goldin;as, or the very beat Et Keats,
are to be preferred. The hopes were the oheif
ingrediat, the brewers said, and they wer very
thing. The timid sad not unnatural question put
by the public was, if so little malt le wanted for
this new beer, we suppose it is going to be very
ceap--ay a peany a glass? "Not it; itrose
to twopence the half-pnt, fourpenee the pint,
eightpence the quart, Heaven knows what the
cask !-just as if it were the strongest and meat
stalwart beer possible. There was no appeal:
the trade persisted; and the public-poor patient
public-" sulgmes t l budge of all their
tribe "-had to fall prostrate, as usual, at the feet
of Monopoly.
The age of beer M asotlr question. Do we
ret our beer as old as it need to be ? Common
beer, brewed sad vatted eametn i ty* months of
March and April, can be dreak the next spring.
Bter brewed in October may need two seasons to
bring it late eedoa; bt t mit Is of a d
lasting quality. The aleohol, which is the strength
sand preservative esaenca of beer, will be in that
October infusion, and` also carbonic acid gas
enough to give it pungency and brilliancy, and
arm it against putrefyig termetedkm. It will
not be ropy; it will sparkl olear in the lass; It
will srine like amber; it will do a man good.
But we are, we fear, fallen o degenerate days.
Who bears now, as in the brave old times, (as far
as beer goes,) when, on the birth of an heir to
the old manor-bouse, a ton of strong, steadfast
beer was instantly prepared from the richest
malt, and the rarest nosegay of
Canterbury hps ? No east or time,
or labor was spared in belling wrts and
locking it safely in the great Paleta of an oak
hogshead. There it strengthened and strength
ened, and warmed and nestled, year after year,
while the ehild began to walk, then to ride, then
to slay the deer and hunt the fox, then to ight
and woo, and walk in cap and gown, and, lanly,
come of age; and then, at last, out to the castle
green, the faithfhl tnn was hauled frm its dark
abode and solemnly tapped-the young heir drink.
Ing hig father's and mother's health Ia the first
glass, and his tenantry's in the seoand; then
came the deace round the May-pole, and the
junketing, and the merriest feast at which a roast
ox was ever devoured. That was something like
ale-ale twenty-one years old-ale of worship
ale of experience; and Sly and Antolyous would
come lurking about the edge of the festivity for
their quiet share, you may depend upon It.
Of hops, the best are the Farnham sad those
from round Canterbury. The Worceeter are
mild sad pleaesat flavpred; the North Clays
(Northamponehre) ran, and chiefly used for
strong store beer. Good hops are best at two
months' old. The Parnhame are most suitable for
London ales and their imitations; the darker and
more astringent Keats for store beer and porter.
No qhemical or vegetable bitter has yet been dis
covered to supersede the warm, tousachlo, aro
matic and chberisg bitter of the hop.
The best pure malt is light; but if the " cock
spur" or shoot appear, it will tourn oor and
weak. It should be of equal color and uniform
sie ; hard and flinty malt Is bad. It should easily
bruise into a sweet white flour; the skin should be
thin, the meal sweet and rich to the taest. An
eminent brewer says:
" The test in common use is to put a handful of
malt into a glass of cold water; the flints or umalt
ed grain will sink to the bottom; those partially
made will drop obliquely in angles of depression
corresponding to their Imperfection; while the
thoroughly malted seeds will swim and float for
seversal bors before they absorb sufficient water
to precipitate them. Experseee will, however,
enable the eye, the teeth and the palate to deter
mine with some accuracy the quality of malt,
though the ultimate and best test of productive
ness is the caccharo meter."
Beer contains what barley contains, or rather
what malt (barley chemically treated) contains.
i. e. starch, sugar, farna, mucllage, gluten, .bitter
and extractive. Malting is, in fact, one long
chemical process of digestion, succeeding three
months' sweating in the stack that the barley has
previously undergone. It is to feed the young
plant that nature reserves all the choicest sac
charine iuices of the seed. The maluter, there
fore, wise and wily, contrives a spurious growth
of the plant, in order-to obtain these precious
Juices, and to turn all its starches iato sugar. It
is first steeped into water from forty to sixty-eight
hours. It is then drained and thrown tate a couch
to ferment. The heat is then ohecked, and ger
mination encouraged after the sixth day. The
grain then begins to swell, beat, and decompose,
as it would to the moist earth, the radicle shoots
forth, the acrospire swells and grows beneath the
huck, and in a few days the farinaeous matter
round the root becomes friable and sweet.
Germination and saccharization continue till
about the fourteenth day, when the moisture de
creases, and the particles turn to meal. That
is the moment the ever-watchful and wily
malater chooses. To check waste and
preserve the sweetness, he dries the grain
tn a kiln, and evaporates it to dryness. The
malt is sweet and mucilaginous, but if the ger
mination had continued,all the starch would have
burned into sugar, and passed into the juices of
the young plant, for whose necessities it was ori
ginally intended.
The use of beer has very much increased of late
years in Paris. In 105, a writer in the Almanac
des GOurmaad : so. " i ths meat, there are
only two places in Paris where you are perfectly
sure of getting good beer, ' on fsaincier de la rue
de l'Arbre Bec, et dnso le petit cf PlFlmand de
Ia rue Saint Louis Saint-HonorB.' " The French
at this time had strange, timid, heretical notions
about beer. They thought it chilled the stomach
and retarded digestion. They considered white
beer as less nutritious than red, but lighter and
more wholesome; they also insisted on a coup de
milieu, or middle dnner dram, to correct the
heaviness and boldness of the new beverage. Yet
even at this time the number of brewera in Paris
had wonderfully increased since the Revolution.
One of the chief of these was M. B~nterre de la
Fontinelle, in the Rue Neuve de Berry. He was
the brother of that " General Frothy" (Mons.
seux) is he was wittily called by the Parisian ga
mins, who bade his drums heat louder to drown
the remonstrances of Louis XVI. at the scaffold.
According to report,
Le general n'avalt ds Mars qu lI biers.
But what a change now ! All day long, on the
marble tables at every c'f' door in summer, you
see glass jugs full of the amber-colored beer of
Strasbonrg. Beer of the Teuton has all but driv
en away the Celtic raspberry syrup and water of
former years. The change has come on Paris,
as changes of diet do come upon a nation.
They are fashions. They are not founded on de
ductions of the judgment. They originate, no one
knows why: they lead, no one knows where. Taey
may save thousands, or kill thousands,-no one
beeds. The fresh creamy beer may be better than
the clogging syrup, bu t it s headier and more
bilious, and we very much doubt whether it is
so wholesome in so hot a climate, and among a
people who take so much Ise exercise for his own
sake than we Englishmen do. In Paris. this Oer
man beer always tastee to us less digestible and
more heavy, apoplectic and clogging than in Bog
land. Howbeit, change most come. Theplanete
are in the liber·aoterest; the sea ebbs and flows;
raspberry syrup had its day.
--
WoxN as PrnIRns.-The Round Table pub
;FeLes the following note from one of the most ac
complished priLters nm New York-the superin
teadent of Messrs. Gray & Green's large estab
lishment:
Dear 'i---Looklng over the Round Table yes
terday, I observed that in your paragraph on the
World and female compositore you made a some
what misleadiog statement, to-wit: " A part of its
(the Boond Table's) cinmposition at all times, and
more or lees of its proof-readling, have been done
by wcmen." Whatever credit m~y be due to any
boady for the typographical acouracy of the Round
Table is certainly not due to any of the female
compositors or proofreaders who have been em
ployed on it. Very little composition has been
done by females on the Round Table-not, in the
aggregate, over a single number of the paper.
As regards proof reading, I have found no one
though I have tried a good many ladies who
callEd themselves proof-readers-whom I should
be wilting to latrust with the commonest work,
much lees " reading" so intrinsically troublesmoe
as that of the Bound Table.
Of ourse, in making this explanation I do net
imply that women cannot attain ability in either
of the occupations mentioned above. Far from
it But there must first be a realsati oen their
part that something more than a few weks' ttle
ing is neoessary to enable them to compete with
men who have given several years to toe acquisi
tion of the trade. As the matter stands at pres
ent. there are probably not over half a dozen lady
compositors in this city to whom I should be wih.
tlg to pay the amount usually paid to ordinary
workmen.
If Miss Anthony, who seems to have taken the
lady compositors in hand, would oniy impress
upon them the necessity of being Utor'oug, she
would confhr a great boon on thoes who wish to
open all possible avenues of employment to
w -oen. Yoers, respectfull, Jone Boss.
? tw Yoik. Oct 5, LMo
Nuw Yost, AuIgust 7, 188.
MIfr. Editor-Several of your correspondents,
very old sad rcpecftable, no doubt, seem to be
wonderfllly egrosed as to the origin of our
Plantation Bitar.' to long as them Bitters are
all that we represent them to be. we do not know
that it makes any difference from whom they
come, or from whence-tley originated; but. for
the information of the p i generally, ant old
(opt. ulot in particlar, we will say that he
t..ld the truth, and that these Bitteft originated ino
the West India slasdds-teht many of the mgre
dients have been favorably amd for over a centu
ry, but that our combintuis of Clhsay is etirely
new, and our own. The rm aad ether matera
are the same, and, ua your mOu dt rays, a
better bitters and tonic is not d We recom
mend them particularly for dyspepals, fever and
ague, debility, less of appetite, ad l all cuases
where a tonic and stimuant bi reqau ,u.
P. H. Dauna & Co.,
t parkl eOw, . Yl.
BY euoaus V. m.IOts.
The twittering swallows whirl in apid ight,
Then backward tarn to ng o'er the sen
Eadeared lthrug L e slad -t dim tim,
Is **cast,
A laden ga o'er ~kt y in1,"
And gatherng mists bodim the ning Ma.
Ace thec thoww~boye hward feet
A green tra le ve uop th frosty gram.
Or lie . fragr t pies beneath the trees.
Hard by the farmhoase5YWn s the elder-pres,
While amber currets ll the vat below.
No tint of emerald ree pon the lawn,
In early sprJMJ whIAJd-- N ats poMints
With brush ofnbeame dippesd in mornin dew.
Nor yet the haue of fast smoeeding flowers
That spangle Oerthe meedo.t uwet daes,
Are lovelier than the rich and aLnlh dyes
That beautify the early autumn leaves.
The msple soft, upon its tender top,
And, by degree, adown tts'graeful form,
Reveals a light but deepening crimson tinge,
Out-rivalled only by the modest blush
That comes and goes ipot a maiden's cheek
When first she hear the earnest vow of love.
The flaming ivy, twining round the elm,
An emblem seems of ruined purity,
That in its deep despair still closel clings
About the parent of Its wrags. The tips
Of goldes.rod like funeral taper burn
A midst the melancholy esoaes of deth.
The sturdy oak in robe of purple stands,
An earnest maerar rwhelmed with grief-
Himsea the tasting viettm of deoe.
The hickory seem with golden pedats hug;
Fit emblems bohere of mortals' brightest hopes,
That soon, like Dead Sea fruit, to ashes tarn.
The hardy bemloek and the toweer pite
Alone retain their spring-time oveo s;
And stead ,ashaus in lb. tWm aloOm,
ike noble principle s an6 amsad
Amid the ephemeral fol o the went.
(New Tol avestag Pest.
in .rEA TTi m eARleN.
[Prom Tmple Bar ]
What is It to be haunted? Who can explain or
understand the laws which regulate the "night
side of nature," or trace to their source the phe
nomena that seem to stand beyond those ordinary
facts of every-day experience, which leong oustom
has caused us to leeook pon as a settled order of
the universe, though they are truly Wl miracles
and wonders, into whose remote depths we cannot
penetrate ? Yes; we may well ask, " What is It
to be haunted!"
It were perhaps best to pass over, without com
meat, the most recant maalfestatios which the
wisdom and onlightenment of this nineteenth
century have produced, and to refrain from try
ing to fathom the shallow mysteries that require
the intervention of a "medium" to interpret
them, lest perbchane they should rap out to us on
the table an order to sign a check for a few hun
dred pounds In favor of the medium. welt us with
stale fruit and mouldy flowers, or rattle trumpets
and accordeons about our ears in a dark room.
These being seem, indeed, in their spiritual state,
to profit so little by the expensive and liberal
education bestowed on them in their lifetime by
their parents, and to have sunk from the enter
taining, learned and genial friends we once knew,
the men of power and Influence the world once
admired, Into such very illiterate and stupid dolts,
such feeble inanities, that the lees we have to do
with thtm the less we shall expose oar character
and reputation to the deterioration and disgrace
which necessarily arise from keeping low
company.
It is, however, possible for a man ors place to
be haunted. I did not believe it onase, but I do
now. "' 0 yes!" you toll me, " one can be haunt
ed by remorse for evil deels, by a horrid secret,
by the memory of neglected opportunities that
never returned, by lost or by buried, but unfer
gotten, love, etc." But I had shated gardea !
Don't tell me that yours is haunted too.-by the
cats that roll on your choice flowers, and shriek
under your window as night, making you start
from your pillow with your hair on an end, and
with a vague sensation that murder or burglary is
going on close at hand.
My garden was haunted by a plant !
eow, don'tlaugh and say thtit wasexaotly the
right thing to hannt a garden, and that you wish
you had plenty to haunt yours. 1 had pleaty
before I had done with It; and to this day turn
my head away when I pass the green-groper's,
le.t I should find my old enemy following me still.
You must know that when I married (it Is
years ago now), I bought a p!eaant little villa
near what is now the " Great Chestem and Doer"
seumern sieway termmes. It was a p ety Iae
then, though ft Is a wilderness of brieks now
there was a shady lane leading to the house, sad
primropes grew In the hedge-bottoms in spring,
though it was near enough to town for me to
come home to dine after concludlng business.
You remember the little strip of garden behind
the house, and how it was divided from that of
ny neighbor on each side by a well kept privet
hedge. You saw it a few months after I went to
live there; and you know how nicely I laid it out
with small gravel walks and intricately shaped
beds bordered with box. Ah! my friend, when
you went away to India, you little thought what
trt ubie that small plot of ground would bring me;
bow one, only one, mistake in its cltuvation
would imbitter some of the best years of my life !
" Clara," said I to my wife, "with a little gar
den, sr.h as ours, it is of no use trying to grow
veget.b es or fruit; you know, my dear, every
potato and cabbage we we grew would cost us half a
crown; and perhaps, after all. there would not be
one worth eating. Let as cultivate flower only,
and then we can look after them ourselves, and a
gardener can come twice a week, just to do the
rough work, and dig and take and hoe the ground
when it wants it."
" 0 yes. George !" replied my wife; " And I
know of such a nice old man who will garden for
us; he keeps a small nursery ground of his own,
aod he says he can spare Just two days a week
fr mt his work; end thee, too, he can sopply us
with plants as manyas we like to bay. 8o, if you
wi.h, we wiil go and see him at once end engage
him, for old Mr. Dunlop, who lives next door,
tells me that we ought not to miss him, and you
know Mr. Dunlop cultivates choice geraniums,
carnaicns, and pansies, which he sends to all the
flower -hows in the counoty, end, he says. if it
were cot that Samuel Spienard, the gardener,
inar!y a!ways has better planta thee his own, he
shc ald certainly win every priae that he puts
So we went to the Nursery Gmrdeas. Samuel
Sikehard undertook to do all that we wlabsed,
and ifor a few happy months no garden could be
p~yer than the little patch behind Elm Tree Bow.
u h h pelargoniums, fuchsras and verbenasu -such
dahlias and petunia-I never saw before nor
since! It was Chris.tmas time, and a few old
friends were to dine with us. On Chrstmas Eve
the good cheer had come in from the grooer's,.
the baker's and the butcher's-from the last a
splendid sirloin, and from the greengroer's the
vegetables and trimmings-who my wife came
into the room with a series face. " GeOrge,"
she said, "I have soolded Turnips, the gree
grocer, over and over again about his vegetables
not being fresh end nice, but it is no use. Just
Iook what herbs he has seont. This pa'nley is
just like es old rag, sad I might as well serape
your walkln-stick as thin horseradish. You know
it has no flavor at all unless it is fresh, and your
aunt Judith is coming to oar Christmas dinner,
and she is so fond of It. It is all very well, my
dear, to grow flower Ino the garden, bht you really
nmut let me have a corner to grow some herbs.
so that we may run out nod gatbher them fresh
whenever they are wanted."
Could I do otherwise thm fall in with o rea
sonable a suggeston Alas I had I known
bwhat would follow, I would cheerfally have paid
Tornips a overeign for every iloh of parsley
rather than have taken the ne4 step that I
was led to do I
Belote the early spring emase roaund agaln
Samuel Spkenard was basy at his work,
turning over the ground and planting
his bulbs in the anticipation of a glo
rious bshow of eroeuses and tulips. I was stroll
ling round the garden in the twilght, when there
quest of my wife for a horb-bed came to my recol
lection.
"· Samuel," I said to him, " I want a few herbs
prown this serson, If you can spare a corner for
them. Jst a little partch of parsley, and some
esge and mintat and thyme, and a root or two of
horse-radish."
W ell, sir," saud Bamuel, "I thinks If a gentle
mn means to grow flowers as he ouLght to grow
em, and if he wants a markltgardmen he'd better
hire a aruket gard'ner to tend his bit o' groend;
an'Jl thinks, sir, as you'll do a deal better not to
have none o' that sorut of rabbish a mixln' with my
flowers here, for there isn't never a square tinch
asu I can spare 'em, and Turnips, the green-groer
he'll sell tam cheaper and better nor ever you'll
grow 'em here, sir."
The mentlos d Turaps. and the neolletio ofd
the musty trimmings to the Christms beef, deter
mined me, whea 1 ought to hrve yielded to Sam
sel's better knowledge.
" Samuel.," said I firmly but klndly, "I deli
you will plant the herbs I have aaetand, ad if
you can fad room elsewire. you must pat them
here and there amoungst the lowers-Just a few in
each bed, where they will noth e ceplcuou."
* Well, sir," returned he, " that's not my way
but howeamever, if you hordere it, asr, l' do i.t
and he wfped his forehead wh his sleeve, and
looied sulky.
" Samuel," said I, "I order you to rllow the
dirctione which I have gives."
Next day the seeds were a aght and sown
U t a lltt!e bit i each bed.) and eatly lablled. b
" Whsmt tme thgin, at ' I aseMd, obh- v
asr vie abot a doase llewhlitebrown tihn
i of mTer ermadft," id be, "Mes her a
deed ae tegl as l. jea aietleao ens o I
'am in the mItI. d as bed." a
" Do eu think awe inseeh bed is esoeg, m- tl
el T aid L " t'be f deues.* p
"ea .d asasa'll edaa," e Basa, a
wit s . Be they were peated la
Iedlike i nt.e re I
aipsig same Sbily Ia, with I goall wmater e
wa o itrs wers, whna am day wife csete ato
mo ad said: ' My dear orge. hew provokng
t is that we eemfet a ef h ereraish to a
grow in the gerdee I hael bees looki at the a
piee where Samuel stock the label PFebruary.
sad there Is not the lighIest aig of Its oming I
up; I do act eeve the eas m pted p
san. And did you ever see the - m. weedy
beoere, Oeoge? Thereis a sort of wed like a
deck-lea coming u il over every bed, sad I a
hasv paled it up, O, oftes! bat thn seeam t
no end of it. It comes ap is the sight, I think a
when oee is not looking. I sa ke to B amei boul
It, and asked him what t was; bet ls enwer p
wes: ' Ax master, man, he ra rts a r, he ml
orts; It's non o' my piant', mum.'" a
eamnu!el was Wor looml in the garde; he w
mmeed to ibve Iiey i Iv it. Tim bmrable hi
weed my wife had notied was green as all the
beds: the flowers were scanty ad por- the
white stick labelled horeradish stock up y It.as
self in the middle of seek bed. I was vexed,and,
I dare m, Ispokehrshly. b
" Mr. rd, aid I,"I am afraid you have p
loet all pMo in my garden ; look how weedy it is
And you could sot oblige me by raming a few hi
plants of horseradish. I believe you noever put Is k
theroot t all l" 4
S...el laid down his sde, ad rea hisha
Sera 'threh hi guled hair. He edeutl a
toom e for a tisad believed that VhM a
aew said was the dodepapl t Of a thIat o
had nt shown itself in Fehbruary. Ii
"Oreradisb ' exclaimed bhe; "good awks ! t
oaradish I urely yer don't mesa to may asyer V
waste more oan it? Aad looket my gard as was f
so bewtifle, overrun with it ! But I won't serve it
no one as is gone out o' his senses on the ubjeek
o' orsadish I so I'l leave yer, sir: I'l leave yer
service but I'll jest dig over er garden after the a
spring ting I isnk up, and then p'rap ye'll be w
app--wtb yer oraeadi !"
" lamue , are lameemt " I replied. "Look k
at those label; not a single leaf near them; and I
you tell me that the garden is overrun with horse
radish !"
" Good lawks, sir! aad what do ye call themt" a
pointing as e spoke to what I had taken for dock a
leave. " Did ever gntleman's garden look a
loh a sight a that before ? Don't ye knew, ir, a
as orarad never gpuws hstr t ap at wanst, but y
it stilkes out roots as run d tke dl stetk t"
" O I" said I, somewhat meied ; "then It has i
really grown and come up after all!" And I
went cheerfully to my wife to explain how mat.
tenr stood, and that the coare-ookng plants ji
which she had spposed to be weeds were really a
fue specimen of that useful but pungent vegete- b
ble which she had so long coveted. Y
" My dear." ed I, y" you oan pall up the spre p
plants and leave a few to grow to maturity and l
we will have roast beef and horseradish of our ti
own growing when Aunt Judith comes to see us a
again." 4
" The next week Bamuel Spikenard ame and w
took up the spring bulbs, which had ceased flow- a
ering. He quieas t sad suearly; but there was a s
malicious twinkle n his eye whioh I did not sder c
stand. This work completed, he began to dig a
over the garden for Its summer show of flowers. a
My aunt was to dine with s the nest day, and I
had my reasons for keeping on good term with I
her : she was wealthy, and her mney helped me t1
in my buhones. k
Dinner time came. My wife met me with tears
in her eyes. "0 George," she said," Aunt Judith a
is here, and dinner is ready, sad that tiresome, ti
nasty Samuel ha dug over the garden sad out up b
every single plant of horeradish into little bits, It
and seat won't eat beef without it." B
It could not be helped. There was no time to ti
send to Turnips, sad if there had been I would not t
have humiliated myself to him, after having ti
proudly told him that In future I should grow my I
own herbs. t1
o dineur was aten, sad we were all rros sad t
out of temper over it. My aunt ate only potatee
sad gravy. and refused beef shorn of her favor- a
Ite garnibhing. Before she left she aid to me:
"O George ! I wish to Invest that thousand pounds h
that I lent you in 'Cheatem and Doer' stock andl I b
am sorry to ask you to repay it to me so soon. bat b
yon mset contrive to let me have it next week." a
1iad her the money, but It Injured my bslnarse. y
nad'an emt '. h .W , cking ibtomy gaur
den, now bare and desolate (for Samal had left
me and I had not replaced him), I thought bit- o
te, iy of my fancy for growing my own herbs, and p
what it had brought upon me.
"I think, my dear," remarked my wifh, "that I a
see some of the horseradish coming up again."
Yes! It was coming up again! It did come up J
sgain! Do you know how horseradish grows. is
Did youn ever hear of the Hydra, a beast with a
hundred heads, which, if one was oat off, burst a
out with a new crop of half a dozen! Have you I
read of the marvellous vitality of wheat? Of its L
growing, when planted, after it had been elasped I
for thouands of years in the hand of a maummy d
Have you heard of seeds, buried in the earth for a
unknown ages, germinating into new form of
regetable tilo, when some railway cutting ex. c
posed them to air and light? Well, they are h
nothing to horseradish! Cut It up into pieoes, and b
every piece ends out a doses shoots sad oette; tl
bury it, and It forces Its way up; east it down on a
the raked soil, and it puts up a shoot to the light, I
and sends a root into the earth ; its stringy fibresroa
like a mole under the ground, and come up aganl b
in unexpected places a huge bunch of pungent si
green ; It scatters seeds, and they grow Ina seasoa 8
to seed and increase agai. learned al this,
but too late. In another momth my gardes was a ft
wildertness of coarme green! Every fragment that I d
Semuel had dog in became a score, ay, a bhudred •*
plant. I tore tblhm oat of the walks, the beds,
the borders, uprooting my trim box-edging and f
destroying my net gravelowalks. A
At last my wife said to me: "Geore, I a C
so sorry that you should be mortlled in this man
ner by that dreadful horsermdish. Lot us get It
carefully dug up, and we will have the garden ou
sown with grass, and make it into a lawn. A few "
nice thrubs will look nearly as well as the flowers, E
and we shall have no trouble with them."
Bo mp got a man to fork up the plants s well d
as be could, and my garden disappeored; the b
roots were carefully thrown aside in a hebo, and ti
trm was ewu over the plae where my flowers 5i
bad been so gay. b
But the grass would not grow Ito a lawn. It
did certtainly come up bhere and there to patehes,
but before it could grw the broad urling Imves n
of my enemy began to spruead over it. It was li
vain to cut it down; it sprang up agal in day
or two; the finoe threads from the roots grew
quickly into cords, o that to pall it up was to dee- I
troy my lawn.
I buombled mself o far as to mend for Bamoel
Spikenard: bu a the advice be gave me was to
try oddtng, seytg, "Them as 'ad It pet in orts a
for to know 'ow for to get it haout" He treated 'I
me as one would do who sees a gleam of retarn- I
ing reso n in a lounatic.
'I will have it sodded," said r to Clar; "ift will a
make a croquet ground." (The game had just d
then been invented )
Not long after thb my neighbor, old Mr. Dun- I
op, ·aue to call o me. He was an old mlt, and n
bad been a captatn of a ship, where he had se o0
, me roeIh ~rvioe. He had a meat folly atged .
in his garden, and two ship's carronades, sad a
pile of shot menaced all those who approached h
he verseds. His head was bald ad mshlog. ud hi
his stroneg heavy fee wee of the eoler of ma hi
hoeany. His back was bread as that of trtle, c'
d hii leg were like pillars set wideo sprt. Be
had been a striot dlplna I his ship. and he
now ruled his house and garde by the mot rigid
a8d iflexible laws. Noat a thing was out of It I
psace; nothing waus permitted to go wr1o, espe
claly among his geranoIomrs, pansies, sad cura
tuans, which engrgssed his whole care sad atten
tion. Do you know how a man of that ki'd can d
swear when be Is angry? Do oou kewhow he i
can set when be is ciosmed? es; you have not
been so long in the world without knowing some
thing about it P
It was ve oclock in Ithe moratning when I hur
ried down to answer his impatient rattle at the
door. (I am sot uan early rier.) I dare net re,
peast the language he used. Clara looked oat of
the window, tearing he would kill me, and trem
bled as she Ilsened. P
" Do you know. sir, do you know that ye've
been aid plied five tous of nasty horseradish
against my bedge, sir, and it's grown through, sir,
nlat, my garden, aad is amethermag the Mcarnati
that I was gong to semd to Dogglobry foewer
show, sir 1) you think. sir, thatL beoaoe you v
are such an idiot, sir, as to grow it yourself, r
hat I wnrt it straying on my prominss, air? I
hld you liable for allconsequnce,sir, end if you
don't have it cleaned awayr, sir, efore the end of
the week. 11 .... " The remaiader of the ao
tence 1 eanot record here.
I ttamered out my regret, sad promised ina
flterinag voIce to haveot removed. Alas! how
often bhad I tried in vals remove it!
The neat day the ple was taken to the oppaste e
ds of the garde. I tid to hmrn i, bu it weel B
not barn; it was growig at every joint, sad ays
assre n and ue aBeouldbe. Mowbare mte a
hedge loohed where ithed as, mad I could a I
trnh It the lol shoot that had er pto my I
wr ',bo.
"14 tw thoithet, heat" riad to " In
biM at i t se n te my ses. I ew how
w irMtedM keC roset rid of pit a. I
I thleave faprrow is y lhorma.
mnoi. SEl eo his ehek·le e weemed ib SOUSS
the pim ara lieea with w as istreel
plans; and I hed pued msle s h fa-mes
to the utter ruin ofthe remaiatag owers.
es. that dm e teth I had an nem.y ist deer.
My poor wife could so Mars as wga
e·lw to othe W t.a e asig wof aSe
able e. Her to p.
The ground bed been sodded ad dr ke
mown; but a day or two woold cover It with
no=foue plant Shpase, who seed to be etu
dred the rk crqaut plaer, woaid J.i or
tarle t p now sad the ; bat ae oom
plaim& s his eye smarted so meuk easy
gronad that he never soeld make a decent stroke.
The laws had sto be ebMsa for every puty,
and Mthe horrid euism of the root filled our m
trt. Ou ereqel e m w b ý Waes
up byld Daol p Be b aeeure a in
veNgeafce aod my stray roots for a SIting op.
and t rt meting he poured a
mingled with ateesretof impreations e the foots
who Ilked horseradish, and who should have alihe
had to san
" Let eave this plase, Clara." aid I; "I
can esda tile so L agpr; we wi let this hor
sad take another."
" OI Georg," replied she; "It is just what I
have been wishlsg for. Baby has bees erly
poiLed i thea gd with a ploe t
dresadfl stfthat e ee up; dand whoa It bit
his dear little toeg. he rubbed his eye with
Uhis d till heare as red as ire, and, O, a
dreadIt sre e; let as o "
At last welou a you ooupe who were
to ta the house; the garden had bose no
mown the day oe to lookat t, sad tht
ly r d n the arious smell. "1 I uotlI
like some flower be aeeao he geaso," said
the bride. I eld my breath, and saId nothg.
We sos tit left far alother boaro frther away
from tows. You may be sure I looked arefully
to ree what was growing to the garden I
Dut ta te 4m nort stmy Ian ; they sald osc.
in coldbe done with the ga n, that we
most have been sooastomed to pply all Loodos
with horseradish.
For a l tess am Ae house was nlet. Mr. Da..
lop was dealt ea I visited the place ooeealaally.
It has imbedded in a forest of rough loaves.
At t I foun a te t who. I hought would
salt me exactl " d't oare the garda,"
said he. If l doa little and whi
washing, ed buid ms a stable for my aters, you
can pbe the gardeu and make It It yard, asd,
as the itntles l iss lwm I tke, on a a re
years' lease."
Smal be se I was at l in eming to
terma, ad is having the stable ruan up and she
garden nicely paved over. " And now," thought
I, "that matter is settled t good" Ye may
judge what were m feelings whsa Torn Tandem,
my tenant, came with a long hos nto my soust(ag
hose three meathe afterwards, saying," I want
you to take that lease off my hands. I as not
perticular about terms, but m'slI be. rid of the
place. There is som nast last that grows be
twee. the pvgtases o the yard, sad we sa
not get It out, though half th pavem t has bee
disturbed by pull at it. But this s ot the
worst. AlotofItb to grow tow o stable
and when my groom pulted it p, u ir, there was
smell ust like new mustard tha mt t horse
coughin and meesing and klckg a if ey were
mad. ey have mashed the stalls to pleee
and half kled the room la the rg ."
"Call to-morrow" said , "and the meatime
I will think about it." But I mentally determined
that I would not let my tenant of h. lease If
knew It
The next morning I receved a letter and my ten.
sat at the same moment Havig red my letter t
tarneitablm. "Tandm," sad I, "lam glad to
be able to meet your wishes. d to t you your
lease on easy terms. The ' Chestnt d r
Balway Co ay have just set m settee that
hthde thatncJ you occupy for their
ims Bl ledi Juon nOsion, d I mean
to seed them word that they can have It o reasee
able terms, and without giving themselves the
trouble of passin i through the ands of pro
e.osal val "rs.
Well, the "Cheatem and Doer" took my houe
and demoled I The eomntry slae, the elm tree
row disappeared; a ruea cutting, like a half
healed scar, ran throghthe desolated fields, where
bricks were now ored, and shabby Ittle rows of
bhoose, at seither for town aor country,
up. Clo b Elm Bel Stat there wen a
erd4re a the beak, though all else was black
hern or gUly ed. I lived sge way down the
new is new, and noted that last ladmark of my
old reeldene, where all else had disappeared he
fore the ruthless tide of socalled mprovement.
I knew what it was, but It was so trouble to me
now.
Two years after the line was opened my anat
Judith sat, an usual at Christmas time, at y
table.
" A George !" sighed Abe, "I wish I had
never kon that thouand poounds from on to
invest that shocking Cbeste sad ber'
ULie Ever sines they made the new lm
Extesion they have never paid a pony of did
dend, and they tef m I oould not give the shae
away t"
No doubt she would have run oa with a log
catalogue of troubles about her railway property,
had not the wail of a wretched seag fom as
hard-froses rood fallen upon our ease. lesuehow
the note seemed familiar to ma, ad wL t to the
window. A poor, broken-down, ragged old m
rse shofling along the stre: Ino spltl of bi
battered at and cracked boots, his tea dsa'
beard, his shrunken limbs. and withered, faminse
stricken face, I recognlsed my old gardse.r,
Smauel Spikenard.
On feels soft-hearted at Christmna im; so,
forgetting the wrool he had done me, I an to the
door uad sailed h. "Why, Samuel," sld l,
" what h burbought you to tis? '
" Ay, sir," replled he, " you may well a me
that! rm a a led man, str-a ruled man
A deary mt To think o' my bewtle gari,
a I owned an' tended like a pet obld I"':
"A nd what hasbecome of it. Eauee? Why
did you part with ki, when yo were dl wg so
well, and with so many new ustomes oomlg
t your neaighborhood, too, by the Swindlui
Extanlon ?"
"'Tw' thatd as doea It, sir! Ye., yeal that
dene It. You know, sir, I was ls so peartkler to
ber' ricb, freeh soil put in everyo year; that was
the secret of my flowers, sir; an' two year ago,
ir, a eoutractor come to me, and, 'samuel,' ses
be, ' 've a spledid lot o' sol as 'll sit yo.'
' Where doe. it come from ?' se I, for I waeslui
so pertickler to how as it rhould coa from a right
.orto'place. ' Well.' e ira.' ilt 'a jet beo deg
Irom a stable ad stable yard, as the new lie ' a
o' throuba' It 's as fell of lkkd memore as
it ces b.' ,aed e ten load,' es I. S whe
theso lam, mr (my eye an'ta gsod o tha
was, lr). there was a smell about It as rmndd
me o' you,sr; but. thunks 1, It's the Ikkid ma
nure. Be I dige it lint the strawbevrie., a' I pots
am my hoce plsnt aIn it, ad spreds the rest
hou my gardee. You can rgaes the rest, sir
I see. by yer fae. Yer I So It was, sir
Vn I dgged that ore oreads into tyou, sir, I
never tbouglbt as 'ow it would oomee back to be
digged lit, myself; but so it was, sir. Next sum.
Per It ws orsCadsh here, and ousrdish there,
oand evrwerywee arunad me. I f.ouhi it til ae
next spring, but it beet me then, a.dl had to torn
out. I was too old to go uttd ', uad here
am, .sir, as j me."
I gave bt ive bilnag. I caroutes my eye
hrimed with a tear. "Samuel," sldI, "roe
know what retributios Is; but I forelvs you." I
bave not seen hl since. I know not wather the
ev spir that Mats that spot, i the form of
heradt, is hid by my forgiveles; we shall
Dt here ces my eldest so. from school, sad
I s see " awe" i hi fMoe.
"Well, my boy ! What wonder ave you to tell
aus of to day ?"
"'O, pnp! have yea beard of th frglhefel a -al
dest atim Bow itation tOday ? A poor old ma
trpped just at othe same part of the platform that
ir Joearph Dollarsn ei down on, whoa e broke his
collar buone, for which he nrenovered r thousond
pounds damae from the 'Chaem an Dor'
Company. The poor old man feoll under the
wheels of the exprese tral, ad i illed. They
say re in a lot of horseradish from some old
a uder that par of tLhe plator, sad tht
It force up tih pa ing tie soIt it lisl
posible to keep them level for a rl
Dd you hear the rran's name, my boy?"
" TYe, papa; tv a rathe a aurous e; it
ws Sam8ool 8pikensard."
My wife looked at am, ad sld, lp a low
voicet " My dear, youers sight. The place is
trn x saien tlll isa a sevotk test of the
efecy of the a r e yesterday evening, It
was avoraly idernd e hebeads of or are
depertmt. T.L' esedehs i portable I d
my kept i ees bedroom without lea0ve
iane. In thesbourbena trlo's, where there Is 5
s rty a r, Is is alost laispa.ble. It
i e inaders by the govermeat, enrace
rmle, ad the chiefsl of the ire departeat
of Latt sad other Wedteeu stiles. Essee
Brown & Co., 76 Camp street, are the solega
i this city. Call aod te a. it , cotta pron
propristors.
