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Eaton weekly Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1866-1875, May 19, 1870, Image 1

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GEO. W. MEHAFFEY, Proprietor and Publisher. V; "PRINCIPLES, NOT MEN." Two Dollars per Annum imAdvance
VOL. V. NO. 15. EATON, OHIO, THURSDAY, MAY 19, 1870. WHOLE NO. 223.
POETRY.
OUR MAY-DAYS.
A
-if
-rt i
PjJ Lot-te, gwil wifa. how well I remember
nut May when I lonnd yon, the sweetest
of4
ifuuvng
My lacbelor heart, like a half-dying ember.
Revived at joar prasencs, scarce oat of your
teens.
There on the lawn the Kay-pole was lifted,
Twined with artmms and evergreen apravs :
Throoifh the fresh twigs a aummcr-llght sifted,
Filling with splendor the early spring-days.
.On a thick carpet yonr throne nproe- greenly,
Wt ereonyou sat crowned with white roses and
leaves, -
Knighting 'he youths with an air grave and
queenly.
Accepting addresses and g tan ting reprieve.
Another Mar cane ; again, dear, I found yon
A. sby little woman as ever was seen.
An 1 under tne moon, my arm 4 close around you.
You vowed with drooped head to be ever my
queen.
Our Way-po'e la prone, a red flag entwines it,
Yor throne t uncertain, your sceptre a broem,
A towel your crjwa. and order resigns Its
Claims to our prince in freshness and bloom.
Ton gravely hold court, and still have petitions
From Biddy and Jennie, and three-year old
Kate;
Tou grant them reprieves, and ca m their sedi
tions. And have on these May-days receptions in state.
Cartmen and harkmen. If not fairly knighted,
Are dubbed by your maidens mast curious
name ;
Crooked affairs (chairs and tables) are righted.
And butchers and bakers rel.eved of their claims.
But royalty marks your straight glance.- purely.
And sits on your brew as of yore in your teens
My heart with its homage cf years rests securely.
Loyal forever, my sweetest of queens.
Hearth and Home.
MISCELLANEOUS.
THE PAINTER OF ROTTERDAM.
BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS.
My father was a trader and distiller at
Schiedam, on the Maas. Without being
wealthy we enjoyed the means of pro
curing every social comfort. We gave
tad received visits from a few old friends,
we went occasionally to the theater, and
my father had his tulip garden and summer-house
at a little distance from Schie
dam on the banks of the canal which
connects the town with the river.
But my father and mother, whose only
child I was, cherished one dream of ambi
tion, in which, fortunately, my own taste
led me to participate. They wanted me
to became a painter.
" Let me but see a picture by Franz
Linden in the gallery at Rotterdam," said
my father, " and I shall die happy."
Bo at fourteen yean of age I was re
moved from school, and placed in the
classes of Hesser Kesler, an artist living
at Delft. Here I made such progress that
by the time I had reached my nineteenth
birthday I was transferred to the atelier
of Hans Van Roos, a descendant of the
celebrated family of that name. Van
"Roos was not more than thirty-eight or
forty years of age, and. had already ac
quired considerable reputation as a painter
of portraits and sacred subjects. There
was an altar-piece of his in one of our
finest churches ; his works had occupied
the place of honor for the last six years at
onr annual exhibition, and for portraiture
he numbered among his masters most of
the wealthy merchants and burgomasters
of the city. Indeed, there could be no
question that my master was rapidly ac-.
quiring a fortune commensurate with his
popularity.
Still he was not a cheerful man. It was
whispered by the pupils that he had met
with a disappointment in early life that
he had loved, been accepted, and on the
eve of marriage had been rejected by
the lady for a more wealthy suitor. He
came from Freisland, in the north of Hol
land, when a very young man. He had
always been the same gloomy, pallid,
labor-loving citizen. He was sparing of
domestic expenditure, and liberal to the
poor. This every one could tell you, and
no one knew more.
The number of his pupils was limited to
six.- He kept us constantly at work, and
scarcely permitted us to exchange a word
with each other during the day. Stand
ing there among as silently, with the light
from above pouring down upon his
pallid face, and becoming absorbed in the
folds of his long, black dressing-gown, he
looked almost like some stern old por
trait himself To tell the truth, we were
all somewhat afraid of him. Not that he
. assumed any undue Authority ; on the con -1
trary, he was stately, silent, and frigidly
polite ; but his politeness had in it some
thing oppressive, and we were all happier
out of bis presence. None of us resided
under his roof. I had a second floor in a
neighboring street, and two of my fellow
students ccupied rooms in the same
bouse. We used to meet at night in each
other's chambers, and make excursions to
the exhibitions and theatres, and some
times, on a summer's evening, we would
hire a pleasure boat and row a mile or
two down the river. We were merry
enough then, and not quite so silent, I
promise, as in the gloomy studio.
In the meantime I was anxious to glean
every benefit from my master's instruc
tions. I improved rapidly, and my paint
ings soon excelled those of the other five.
My taste did not incline to sacred subjects,
like that of Van Roos, but rather to the
familiar rural scenes of Bergham and Paul
Patter, It was my delight to wander
along the rich pasture lands, to watch the
amber sunset, the herds coming home to
the dairy, the lazy wind-mills scarcely
ruffled by the passage of the public
treckuhuyt (canal boat). In depicting
scenes of this nature,
"The slow canal, the yellow-nlos'omed vale.
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,"
I was singularly fortunate. My master
never praised me by word or look, but
' when my father came up one day from
Schiedam to visit me, he drew me aside,
and in a voice audible to the rest, he told
him that " Messer Linden would do cred
it to the profession," which so delighted the
good distiller that he straightway took me
out' with him for the day, and having
given me fifteen gold pieces as a testimony
of his satisfaction, took me to dine with his
friend, the Burgomeister Von Gael. It was
an eventful visit for me. Upon that even
ing I first fell in love.
Few people, I think, would at that time
have denied the personal attractions ofG-er-trude
Von Gael. Yet I do not know that
it was her features as much as her so ft
voice and gentle womanly grace that fas
cinated me.
Though so young, she performed the
honors of her father's princely table with
, self possession and good breeding. In the
evening she sang some sweet German
songs to her own simple accompaniment.
We talked of books and poetry, and I
Totfnd her well-read in English, French
and German literatnr W nnnko of art.
and she displayed both judgment and en-
JIUBUM1U.
As we took our leave at night, the bur
gomeister shook me by the hand and told
me toaaae often.
f fancied that Gertrude's blue eyes
brightened When he said it, and I felt the
I color rush quickly to nv brow fta I bow.
ad sad, thanked him.
Franz,"taidijnY father, when we were
in the street,"" Trim old are you ?"
" Just twenty -two, sir," I replied, smi
prised at the question. '
"You .win not be dependent on your
brash, my boy," continued my father, as
he leaned upon my arm and looked back
at the lofty mansion we had just left. "I
have been neither wasteful nor unsuccess
ful, and it will be my pride to leave you a
respectable income at my death."
I inclined my head in silence, and won
dered what would come next.
" Burgomeister von Gael is one of my
oldest friends," said my father.
" t have often heard you speak of him,
sir," I replied.
" And he is rich."
" So I should suppose."
" Gertrude wi'l have a fine fortune,"
said my father, as if thinking aloud.
I bowed once more, but this time rather
nervously.
" Marry her, Franz."
I dropped his arm and started back.
"Sir! I faltered, "I t marry the
Fraulein von Gael ?"
"And pray, sir, why not?" said n
father, curtly. He stopped short in his
walk and leaned both his hands upon the
top of his walking stick.
I made no reply.
"Why not, sir?" repeated my father,
very energetically. "What could you
wish for better ? The young lady is hand
some, good-tempered, educated, rich.
Now, Franz, if I thought you had been
such a fool as to form any attachment
without "
"Oh, sir, you do me injustice ! " I cried.
" Indeed, I have done nothing of the kind.
But do you think do you think that she
would have me
" Try her, Franz," said my father, good
humorodly, as he resumed my arm. " If I
am not very much mistaken, the burgo
meister would be as well pleased as my
self. As for the fraulein women are
easily won."
We had by this time reached the door
of the inn where my father was to sleep
for the night. As he left me his words
were :
" Try her, Franz ; try her. "
" From this hour I was a constant visit
or at the house of the Burgomeister von
Gael. It was a large, old fashioned man
sion, built of red brick, and situated upon
the famous line of houses known as the
Boompjes.
In front lay the broad river, crowded
with merchant vessels, from whose masts
fluttered the flags of all the trading nations
of the world. Tall trees, thick with foli
age, lined the quays, and the sunlight
flickered through the leaves upon the spa
cious drawing-room of Gertrude's home.
Here, night after night, when the stud
ies of the day were over, I used to sit with
her beside the open window, watching
the busy crowd beneath, the rippling riv
er, and the rising moon that tipped the
masts ana city spires with silver, nere
we read together from the pages of our fa
vorite poets, and counted the first pale
stars that trembled Into light.
It was a happy time. But there came
at last a time still happier, when, one still
evening as we sat alone, conversing in
unfreqnent whispers and listening to the
beating of each other's hearts, I told Ger
trude that I loved her. and she. in answer.
laid her fair head upon my shoulder, with
a sweet confidence, as if content so to rest
forever.
Just as mv father had predicted, the
burgomeister readily sanctioned our be
trothal, specifying but one condition, and
this was that our marriage should not
take place till 1 had attained my twenty
fifth birth, day. It was a long time to
wait, but I should by that time perhaps
have made a name in my profession. I
intended soon to send a picture to the an
nual exhibition, and who could tell what
I might not do in three years to show
Gertrude how dearly I loved her?
And so our happy youth rolled on, and
the quaint old dial in Messer Von Gael's
tulip garden told the passage of our gold
en hours.
In the meantime I worked sedulously at
my picture. I labored upon it all the
winter, and when the spring came I sent
it in, with no small anxiety as to its prob
able position upon the walls of the gal
lery. It was a view in one of the streets of
Rotterdam.
There were the high old houses, with
their gables and carved doorways, and the
red sunset glittering on the panes of the up
per windows, the canal flowing through the
centre of the street, the white drawbridge,
with a barge passing beneath, the green
trees deep in the shadow, and the spire of
the church of St. Lawrence rising beyond
in the clear sky. When it was quite fin
ished and about to be sent away, even
Hans Van Roos nodded a cold encourage
ment, and said that it deserved a good po
sition. He had himself prepared a paint
ing this year, on a more ambitious scale
and a larger canvas than usual.
It was a sacred subject, and represented
the Conversion of St Paul. His pupils
admired it warmly, and none more than
myself.
We all pronounced it to be his master
piece, and the artist was evidently of our
opinion.
The day of exhibition came at las';. I
had scarcely slept the previous nihf, and
the early morning found me, with a num
ber of other students, waiting impatient
ly before the yet unopened door. When
I arrived it wanted an hour to the time,
but hall the day seemed to elapse before
we heard the heavy bolts give way inside,
and then forced our way through the nar
row barriers.
I had flown up the staircase and found
myself in the first room, before I remem
bered that I should have purchased a cat
alogue at the door. I had no patience,
however, to go back for it, so I strode
round and round the room, looking eager
ly for my picture. It was nowhere to be
seen, and I passed on to the next. Here
my search was equally unsuccessful.
" It must be in the third room," said I
to myself, " where all the best works are
hung. Well, if it be hung ever so high,
in ever so dark a corner, it is, at all events,
an honor to have a picture in the third
room."
But though I spoke so bravely, it was
with a sinking heart I ventured in. I
could not really hope for a good place
among the magnates of the art, while in
either of the other rooms there had been
a possibility that it might receive a fa
vorable position.
The house had formerly been the man
sion of a merchant of enormous wealth,
who had left it, with his valuable collec
tion of paintings, to the State.
The third room had been his reception
chamber, and the space over the magnifi
cently carved chimney waa assigned as the
place of honor to the best painting. The
painter of this picture always received a
costly prize, for which he was likewise in
debted to the munificence of the founder.
To this spot my eyes were naturally
turned as I entered the door.
Was I dreaming ? I stood still I turned
hot and cold by turns. I ran forward. It
was no illusion. There. was my picture,
my own picture in Its modest Uttle frame,
installed in the . chief place in the gal
lery (
And there, too, was the official card
stuck in the corner, with the words,
"Prize Painting " printed upon it in a
shining gold frame. I rah down the stairs
and bought a catalogue, that my eyes
might be gladdened by a confirmation of
this joy. And there sure enough was
?rinted at the commencement, " Annual
rize Painting View in Rotterdam No.
127 Franz Linden."
I could have wept for joy. I was never
tired looking at my picture. I walked
from one side to the other, I retreated, I
advanced closer to it, I looked at it in
every possible light, and forgot all but my
happiness.
"A very charming picture," said a voice
at my elbow.
It was an elderly gentleman, with gold
spectacles and an umbrella.
I colored up and said falteringly :
" Do you think so ?"
" I do, sir," said the old gentleman. " I
am an amateur. I am very fond of pic
tures. I presume that you are also an ad
mirer of art ?"
I bowed.
" Very nice little painting, indeed very
nice," he continued, as he wiped his spec
tacles and adjusted them with an air of a
connoisseur. " Waters very limpid, colors
pure, sky transparent, perspective admir
able I'll buy it."
" Will you' I exclaimed joyfully. " O,
thank you, sir."
" Oh," said the gentleman, turning sud
denly upon me and smiling kindly, " so
you are the artist, are you ? Happy to
make your acquaintance, Messer Linden.
You are a very young man to paint such
a picture as that. I congratulate you, and
I'll buy it."
So we exchanged cards, shook hands,
and became the best friends in the world.
I was burning with impatience to see
Gertrude and tell her the good fortune,
but my new patron took my arm and said
that he must take the tour of the rooms
in my company, so I was forced to com
ply. We stopped before a large painting that
occupied the next best position to my
own. It was my master's work, the Con
version of St. Paul, and while I was
telling him of my studies in the atelier of
the painter, a man started from before us
and glided away, but not before I had
seen and recognized the pale countenance
of Van Roos.
There was something in the expression
of his face that shocked me something
that stopped my breath, and. made me
shudder. What it was I scarcely knew ;
but the glare of his dark eyes and the
quivering passion of his lips haunted me
tor the rest 01 the day, ana came back
again in my dreams.
I said nothing of it to Gertrude that af
ternoon, but it had effectually sobered
my exultation. I dreaded next day to re
turn to the studio ; but to my surprise my
master received me as he never had re
ceived me before. He advanced and ex
tended his hand to me.
"Welcome, Franz Linden," he said,
smiling, " I am proud to call you my pu
pil." The hand was cold, the voice was harsh,
the smile waa passionless. My compa
nions crowded round and congratulated
me, and in the warm tones of their young,
cheerful voices, and the close pressure of
their friendly hands, I forgot all that had
troubled me in the manner of Van Roos.
Not long after this event Gertrude's
father desired to have her portrait painted
to console him for her absence, he said,
when I should be so wicked as to take
her away from him. I recommended my
old master, whose tutelage I had recently
left, and Van Roos was summoned to fill a
task that I would gladly have performed
had it been in my power to do so. But
portraiture was not in my line. I could
Saint a sleek, spotted milch cow or a
rove of sheep far better than the fair
skin or the golden curls of my Ger
trude. She could not endure the artist from the
first. In vain I reasoned with her all
was of no use, and she used to say at the
end of every such conversation, that she
wished the portrait was finished, and that
she could no more help disliking him
than than she could help loving me. And
so our arguments always ended with a
kiss.
But this portrait took a long time. Van
Roos was in general a rapid painter, yet
Gertrude's likeness progressed at a very
slow pace, and like Penelope's web,
seemed never to be completed.
One morning I happened to be in the
room a rare event at that time, for I was
hard at work upon my new landscape ;
and I was struck by the change that had
come over my late master he was no
longer the same man. There was a light
in his eye and a vibration in his voice
that I had never observed before, and
when he rose to take leave there was a
studied courtesy in his bow and manner
that took me quite by surprise.
Still, I never suspected the truth, and
still the portrait was as far as it ever was
from being finished.
It all came out at last, and one morning
Hans Man Roos made a formal offer of his
hand and heart.
Of course he was refused.
" But, as kindly as was possible, dear
Franz, " she said, when she told me in the
evening, " because he is your friend, and
because he seemed to feel it so deeply.
And you don't know how dreadfully pale
he turned, and how he tried to restrain
his tears. I pitied him, Franz indeed, I
was sorry. "
And the gentle creature could scarce
keep from weeping herself, as she told me.
I did not see Van Roos for some months
after this disclosure.
At last I met him in front of the Stadt
House, and, to my surprise, for the second
time in his life he extended his hand.
" A good day to you, Messer Linden, "
said he ; "I hear that you are on the high
road to fortune. "
" I have been very fortunate, Messer
Van Roos," I replied, taking the proffered
hand ; " but I shall never forget that I
owe my present efficiency to the hours
spent in your aUlier."
A peculiar expression flitted over his
" If I thought that," he said hastily, "I
I should esteem myself particularly
happy "
"There was so odd a difference in the
way in which he uttered the beginning
and end of this sentence so much hurry
and passion in the first half, such a delib
erate politeness in the last, that I started
and looked him full in the face. He was
as smiling and impenetrable as a marble
statue.
" I, too, have been fortunate," he said,
after a moment's pause. " Have you
seen the new church lately built at the
east end of the Haring vliet ?"
1 replied that I observed it in passing,
but I had not been inside.
" I have been intrusted," he said, after
a moment's pause, "with the superin
tendence of the interior decorations. My
' Conversion of St Paul' is purchased for
the altar-piece, and I am now engaged in
painting a series of frescoes upon the cell
ing. Will you come in some day and give
me your opinion upon them ?"
I professed myself much flattered, and
appointed to meet him in the church on
the following morning.
He was waiting for me at the door,
when I arrived, with a heavy key in his
hand. We passed in, and he turned the
key in the lock.
" I always secure myself against intrud
ers," he said, smiling. " People will
come into -the church if I leave the doors
unfastened, and I do not choose to carry
on my art like a sign painter, in the pres
ence of every blockhead who chooses to
stand and stare at me."
It was surprising in what a disagreeable
manner this man' would show his teeth
when he smiled.
The church was a handsome building
in that Italian style which imitates the
antique, and prefers magnificence to the
dignified sanctity of the Gothic order. A
row of elegant Corinthian columns sup
ported the roof at each side of the nave,
gilding and decorative cornices were lav
ished in every direction.
The gorgeous altar-piece already occu
pied its appointed station, and a little to
the left of the railed space, where the
communion table was to be placed, a scaf
fold was erected, that seemed from where
I stood to almost come in contact with
the roof, and above which I observed the
yet unfinished sketch of a masterly con
ception. Three or four more, already completed,
were stationed at regular intervals, and
some others were merely outlined in char
coal upon their intended sites.
"Will you not come up with me?"
asked the painter, when I had expressed
my admiration sufficiently, " or are you
afraid of turning giddy?
I felt some what disinclined to impose the
trial on my nerves, but still more inclined
to accept it ; but I followed him from flight
to flight of the frail structure without dar
ing to look down.
At last we reached the summit, and, as
I had supposed, there was hardly room
enough for the artist to assume a sitting
posture, and he had to paint while lying
on his back.
I had no fancy to extend myself on this
lofty couch, so I only lifted my head above
the level of .his flooring, looked at the
fresco, and descended immediately to the
flight below, where I railed till he joined
me.
"How dangerous it must be, " said I,
shuddering, " to let yourself down from
this abominable perch. "
" I used to think so, " he replied, " but
I am now quite accustomed to it Fancy,"
said he, approaching the edge of the scaf
folding, " fancy falling from here into the
church below. "
" Horrible ! " cried L
" I wonder how high it is from the level
of the pavement, " continued Van Roos,
musingly ; 180 feet, I dare say, perhaps
200."
I drew back, giddy at the thought.
"No man could survive such a fall, "
said the painter, still looking over, " the
thickest skull would be dashed to atoms
down there. "
" Pray, come away, " said I, hastily, " my
head swims at the idea. "
" Does it," said he, turning suddenly
upon me with the voice and eye of a fiend.
" Does it ? Fool !" he cried as he seized
me around the body in his iion grasp,
" fool, to trust yourself here with me
me, whom you have wronged, whose life
you have blasted ; me, whom you have
crossed in love and in fame. Down,
wretch, down ! I've vowed to have your
blood, and now my time has come."
It sickens me even now to recall that
horrible struggle. At the first word I had
sprung back and seized a beam over my
head. He strove to tear it from me. He
f named at the mouth ; the veins rose like
knots in his forehead ; and still, though I
felt my fingers strained and my wrists
cruelly lacerated, still I held on with the
terrible energy of one who straggles for
his dear life.
It lasted a long time at least it seemed
long to me, and the scaffolding rocked
beneath our feet. At length I saw his
strength failing. Suddenly I loosed my
hold and threw my whole weight against
him He staggered, he shrieked, he fell.
I dropped upon my face in mute horror.
An age of silence seemed to elapse, and
the cold dew stood upon my brow. Pres
ently I heard a dull sound far below. I
crawled to the edge of the scaffolding and
looked down.
A shapeless mass was lying on the mar
ble pavements, and all around the place
was red with blood.
I think about an hour must have elapsed
before I could summon courage to de
scend. When at length I reached the
level ground, I turned my face from what
was so near my feet, and tottered to the
door.
With trembling hands and misty eyes I
unlocked it and rushed into the street.
It was many months before I recovered
from the brain fever brought on by that
terrible day. My ravings, I have been
told, were fearful ; and had any doubts
existed in the minds of men as to which
of us two had been the guilty one, those
ravings were alone sufficient to establish
my innocence. A man in a delirious fever
is pretty sure to speak the truth.
Bv the time I was able to leave my
chamber, Gertrude had also grown pale
and spiritless, and unlike lier lormer sell.
Rotterdam was insupportable to me. I
found myself a hero of romance a lion
a thing to be stared at wherever I went ;
all of which only served to shatter my
nerves still more.
In short, change of scene and air was
recommenaed ior us Doth ; so we mougnt
we could not do better than marry and
take a wedding tour for the sake of our
healths. And I assure you, reader, it did
us both a great deal of good.
At- a minstrel show in New Orleans,
one Talbot performs William Tell by
shooting with a pistol an apple from the
head of his wife, the ball lodging in the
board against which she stands.
Pierbk Bonaparte's head is describ
ed as so flit that yod could let out a small
cold supper on the top of it
BOYS AND GUNS.
BY HENRY WAR BEECHER.
Hardly any thine just now attracts to
itself as much inventive thought as the
gun. In olden times the sword was the
typical implement bf war. It still re
mains so in literature, and probably will
continue long to do so, just as yet we
speak of palms and laurels, though ages
ago the custom died out which gave them
eminence. The sword has become little
more than a side ornament Even in cav
alry it more and more gives place to the
pistol and the carbine.
But it is not of the gun as a military
weapon that we mean chiefly to speak. It
is as an instrument of amusement and
profit in the hands of private citizens.
Every man should own a good gun (better,
if he can afford it, a shot-gun and a rifle
both), and no parent should let a boy go
past fourteen years of age without having
taught him to handle a gun with skill and
safety. We shall give the reason for our
position after first disposing of an objec
tion which all parents will at once express,
viz.: the danger of accidents from fire
arms. We admit that fire-arms are dangerous.
The long list of fatal accidents scored up
every year leaves no doubt upon 1 that
point. It will therefore seem paradoxical
to many when we say that it is in part to
prevent accidents that we recommend
early instruction in the use of fire-arms.
No amount of care will keep boys from
handling guns. It is a fascinating imple
ment. There is a charm about a gun
which bewitches a boy's imagination.
Guns are now so cheap that everybody
can have one. Even if timid parents
withhold fowling-pieces from their sons,
it will not prevent their handling them.
The town is full of them. And accident
ally or on purpose your son will find out
something about gunning.
The military companies are so many,
and the manual of arms so fascinating,
and sharp-shooting has become such' a
fashion, that yon may be sure that an av
erage boy will ome by a gun clandestine
ly, if he does not with your permission.
Now, we argue that it is far more dangerous
to leave boys to find out secretly the plea
sures of a gun than it is to teach them its
skillful use. A child soon learns caution
After a few weeks, a boy of ten years old
is in as little danger of doing mischief
with a gun as he is of taking poison or
falling into the river, or down-stairs, or of
stabbing himself with a knife.
We hold it to be sound philosophy, that
children are safer by being taught how to
meet danger and to overcome it, than by
seeking to keep them away from all dan
ger. It is not the bold and brave lads
that are apt to be harmed.
In wrestling, climbing, swimming, Tid
ing, leaping, shooting, they who have
been taught skill and self-reliance are sel
dom injured. It is the clumsy hand, the
awkward foot, of one untaught in manly
exercises that courts disaster. The boy
that is familiar with the gun is not the
one who snaps it at hia sister, thinking
that it is not loaded, and shoots her dead.
It is the green lubber who has never been
permitted to know anything about fire
arms that does that A wise father should
teach his boy how to load, how to carry a
gun safely, how to scale a fence, and all
the precautionary arts of hunting. It
would be well, too, to teaca every girl
how to use a pistol. Many a woman has
been placed in the power of burglars for
lack of that knowledge.
The moral uses of fire-arms are not the
least te be considered. A boy with a gun
on his shoulder, on Wednesday afternoon,
or on Saturday, tramping the forests
threading the river valleys, or searching
the hills, is learning self-reliance, skill,
enterprise. He is far less likely to fall
under temptations which so easily beset
high-spirited boys that have nothing to
do, than if he was pent up in narrow
quarters at home.
There is more power condensed in
small compass in a rifle than in any other
engine. It is so docile, so manageable, so
far-reaching, so instantaneous in its effects,
that it is attractive to every wide-awake
boy. It is still an object of fascination to
ourselves. When we shall be so old as
not to care for a fine rifle, and not to be
curious of every new invention that makes
fire-arms more efficient, we shall consider
ourselves in our dotage.
But, with a little care and instruction,
a boy soon hunts for something more than
merely to secure game. He becomes in
terested in natural history. He begins to
read about and to observe the habits of
birds, beasts and fishes. Nothing is more
important than to teach a child to derive
a pleasure from the use of his higher facul
ties. A boy that knows all the birds in his
neighborhood, their haunts and habits,
the style of their nests, their eggs, the
color of their young, their food, disposi
tions and uses in nature, the common
wild animals that exist in the region
around his home, the flora and simpler
elements of geology, has opened up in
himself tastes and habits which will
have a power upon his whole life for good.
Such education, by broadening the sources
of enjoyment, and by making him less
dependent for happiness upon any single
set of circumstances, diminishes the power
of misfortune and of commercial revul
sions. Men who derive their joys from
one or two sources only are usually very
unhappy or very stupid in old age. The
wider the range on which the mind
pastures, the less likely will it be to suffer
from famine.
These considerations are equally ap
plicable to the rod. Whether it be gun or
rod, or better yet, both, the man who
never saw anything but the pan and the
spit is not half a sportsman. The true
sportsman has a keen zet for early hours,
fresh air, the exh larations of vigorous
exerc'se; he learns to love the face of
heaven, of the earth, and of the sun.
Rejecting the stewing and cuddline luxu
ries of a lazy life, he purchases health and
pleasure in jone bargain. Nor is a true
son of the stream and the forest an un
kindly man. On the contrary, a true
sportsman is tendeTof every living thing.
He knows the rights of birds and beasu,
and respects them.
Would a true man stand near by the hour
firing into the dense crowds of a pigeon
roost? It is bird murder that should
shock a true son of a gun ! Killing for
the sake of killing is simple barbarity.
One may, and should, be a lover of field
sports, and yet be in sympathy with all
animated nature. An instructed and hon
orable boy will never kill anything tor
the sake of killing. Song-birds, snarrows
and the small fry are sacred. For the
table.it is lawful to slay that you may
eat But those gunners who go forth
shooting whatever they cm hit, be it
bird, frog, or hea3t. are barbarian. But
this is a thing to be learned. Unregulated
destructiveness belongs to the young
human animal, but the tongue of wisdom
end the rod of correction shall drive it far
from him. And so, for a hundred reasons,
we say, let the boys be taught how to use
a gun. At twelve, at fourteen certainly,
a boy is capable of taking care of himselt
out of doors. He ought to be able to drive
a horse, to climb the highest tree, to swim
skillfully, to carry a gun safely and to use
it aright, to be ofsuch a manly disposition
as not to provoke attack, or, if wantonly
assailed, to have such a courageous way
of using himself as that ' the same mis
creant will not choose to meddle with him
a second time. Nimble of hand, quick of
foot, strong of loins, patient of fatigue,
loving action'.for mere luxury this is the
boy that a pious mother finds it not bard
to train Christianly, and. when to this out
ward freedom is added the self-control
which a true religion gives, he will grow
up such a man as the State needs as
good men honor and true women fervently
love. Christian Union.
Invisibility of Light.
I
We are permitted to publish the follow
ing interesting extract from the Pjper
read a few evenings ago by Richard Wil
liams, Esq , before the Buffalo Society of
Natural Sciences :
A friend recently handed me a file of
English papers containing a partial report
of a lecture or lectures recently delivered
before the Royal Institute by Professor
Tyndall, and announcing whatseemed to.
me an important discovery. No account
of these lectures having as -yet appeared
in our own papers or journals, I have
thought a slight abstract from them, with
a few observations of my own, might be
interesting and instructive.
The discovery announced by Prof. Tyn
dall is, that paradoxical as it, may seem,
" light itself is a perfectly invisible thing "
It seems that Tyndall, in his experiments
on, the decomposition of vapors by light,
was much troubled by the dancing motes
or dust which we have all seen occasion
ally when a small body of light is let into
a partially darkened room. These motes
he found were both organic and inorgan
ic ; he was much troubled in his endeav
ors to get rid of them, and after trying to
do so unsuccessfully, by pas-ing the air
through caustic potash and sulphuric acid,
he finally succeeded in making the air
perfectly pure by burning them out. He
then showed by various experiments that
light would not pass through perfectly
pure air, and proved conclusively that the
thing we call light is absolutely without
witness of itself except it has something
to strike upon to reflect or fill with the
mysterious and subtle life of illumination.
One of the methods by which he proved
this was a flower shade with hydrogen
gas, or a glass tube with common air free
from those motes. On passing rays of
light through these vessels, ox intercept
ing the .rays, they became perfectly dark
in the vessel and light again upon emerg
ing from the other side. Another way of
showing it was to cover his mouth and
nostrils with a thick batting of cotton
wooL The motes were caught in the
lungs and cotton, and the exhaled breath,
instantly abolished the light in Its path.
Verily, the Bible and science are not at
war here, for we are told that " The light
shineth in darkness and the darkness
comprehended it not" an exact descrip
tion of this physical phenomenon.
One would naturally infer from the
multitude of stars we see in the heavens,
every one of which is a sun like our own,
that the universe would be filled with
light; but it is not so, and it is certain
that the orbs of heaven, guided by a Hand
that needs no light, wheel in their ap
pointed paths amidst the most profound
and inconceivable darkness. This discov
ery of Tyndall may explain the mystery
of the darkness of the great stellar spaces
which the astronomers have heretofore
been unable to account for. In reading
the history of scientific truths, one is con
stantly surprised at the important parts
mere 2 nance has played in their advance
ment The means of measuring the in
conceivable velocity pf light, a problem,
which Newton was unable to solve, were
discovered by accident, and often, in
searching after trifles we stumble upon
facts of the greatest value. This discovery
of Tyndall's lsastriking illustration of this
truth, and of that constant revolution of
knowledge from knowledge ever going on;
it: is full of significance, opening, as it
does, a vast field for inquiry, ana maybe
of the greatest practical value to man
kind. Tyndall also showed that iron,
when heated only to the temperature of
boiling water, partially bnrnt up these
motes. A French chemist recently an
nounced that one of the most poisonous
of the gases emitted in the combustion nf
coal went through red hot iron as easily
as water does through a sieve ; we know
that in the best constructed furnaces
there is always more or less leakage of
gas which is imperceptible to the senses,
and that, notwithstanding every one re
cognises the fact that basements are not
healthy places to live and. sleep in, we
take air from its lowest strata on the
earth's surface, and from cellars
to warm our houses. These facts
may go far toward explaining the
alleged unheal thiness of hot air furnaces.
The air filled with these motes we are
constantly passing through our lungs.
One of the scientific men of Europe, years
ago, asserted that when a decoction of
meat was shut off from common air, and
only exposed to that which had been
raised to a high temperature, putrefaction
never sets in thus showing that some
thing more than oxygen of the air was
needed in the process of destruction and
decay. A lady now in the city (Buffalo),
who was living in Texas a few years since,
at a place where the yellow lever raged
with great violence, and where the air is
so pure and dry that ordinarily, in the
hottest weather, freih beef never spoiled,
but dried up making the "Jerked beef"
of the Spaniards informs me that for a
few days before the fever broke out, their
fresh meat spoiled in a few hours, and
before the animal was fairly cold. Mala
rious and infectious diseases, and the hay
fever, have long been supposed to be
owing to germs in the air. Surgeons in
hospitals are careful not to allow wounds
to be exposed to the air for fear of gan
grene. We know how this class of dis
eases is propogated by clothes, hides, etc.,
and it may be that whilst pure air would
not carry along these infectious germs,
these motes act as a kind of raft to float
them from place to place, and this fact
demonstrated might give us the means of
stopping to some extent at least the spread
of infectious and epidemic diseases. Buf
falo Jtxprett.
In an English trial for breach of promise
of marriage, lately, a letter was red from
the lover, which, amon? many other nice
things, contained the following frank and
gracious eueircstion : " If I waa you, dear
est, I would take that beaBtly flower out of
your hair 1"
FACTS AND FIGURES.
Thkrb are in Kentucky 41,540 negroes
over 18 years of age.
The Boston Advertiser announces that
beards are going -rat of fashion.
A colored voter, a century old, was
registered the other day in San Fran
cisco. Sbhoba Blestiquh, a Mexican lady
died lately, and gave $3,000,000 to the
poor.
The opium revenue in India, for the
year 1867-8, was Jnst under $45,000,000.
A MAlf has lately been whipped at
Newgate Prison, London, for garroting a
lady.
A Connecticut wrestler recently
broke one leg in four places in his ath
letic practice.
It is estimated th it there will be half a
million Texas cattle driven to Kansas
this year.
Tub estimated population of Pennsyl
vania, by the. coming census, Is over 4,000,
000. The dealers in kerosene in a Vermont
town have agreed not to draw any oil af
ter sunset
Mr. Lyman Utly, of Walden, Vt, has
a tub of maple sugar that he made in
ll35, thirty-five years ago.
The oddity of book titles culminates in
one lately announced in London :
" Ginx's Baby; his Birth,. and Other
Misfortunes."
It is reckoned that there are fifty Pro
testant Missionary Societies in the world,
with 2,033 missionaries, and expending
5,164,020 ansaslly.
"Ob! my dear child, how came you so
wet ?" inquired an affectionate mother of
her son. " Why, ma, one of the boys said
I daresnl jump Into the creek, and by
jfogo, I tell you I ain't to be dared."
In 1868, 608 capital crimes were committed-in
France, while only eleven per
sons were conderoed to death, of whom
six were reprieved and five executed.
The total numb-r of persons buried,
during the past seven, years, in three
Cleveland cemeteries, was 6.S09, and of
this number 1.174 . died of diseases of the
lungs. I v
The Methodist Book Concern annual
ly publishes 2,000 bound volumes, and
about 1,000 tracts, and, in 180. printed
547.227,000 pages of Sunday school
books.
A Philadelphia blind man recovered
his sight remarkably when a passing po
liceman offered to drop a brick in his
cap. " No yer don't," said he, and was ar
rested. Ralph Waldo Emerson says the chain
of Western railroads to the Pacific has
planted cities and civilization in less time
than it costs to bring an orchard into
bearing.
The railways of Great Britain and Ire
land af e 13 344 miles in length, and for
the Week ending April 1, r-o-iv-d for
freight and passage money $3,783,990, or
f 'l-M m k mile..
M. Sommeb propounds a new theory of
sleep : his idea is that sleep is simply a
result of the deoxygenation of the system,
and he believes that sleepiness comes on
as soon as the sxygen that is stored in
the blood is exhausted.
Tax all-powerful influence of the Em
peror may be Imagined when it is stated
that there are in France 85,000
rural guards, 13.000 gendarmes,
38,000 primary sehoolmastesn, 8 ',000
private guards, 30,000 custom agenU
10,000 foresters, 6,000 police agents
8,'i00 justices of the peace, 8,450
lodges, at least 35,000 tobacco deal
ers (appointed by the Government), and
immense numbers of constables, notaries,
and pensioners.
Thr soil for Lima beans should be
richer than for the dwarfs, as they are
strong feeders. A shovelful of rich light
compost mixed with the earth in each hill,
will be the best fertilizer. rndy or
gravelly soils are much to be preferred,
as clay lands are subject to become hard
and retard their growth. Hills should not
be less than four feet apirt each way, as
upon an abundance of room will, in a
measure, depend the amount of the crop.
The Paris' Oaulou says that some
workmen, engaged in demolishing an old
house in Paris, came upon a nest of ad
ders containing some hundred of- these
reptiles, .-file bottom of an exhausted
well f nik Toidst bt this snake nest was
found a skStSB,n, vwhich. had probably
fallen ipto the well yesflpngo, and the
flesh of which had been Jfcroored by the
adders. Strange to say. rr the hand of
the. skeleton was a pobbeWbk nf red
ra ovoooo leather, in wMA fcen opened,
there-were found forty baBTfcotea fori ,00or
i in woman's likeness, and a letter
wbiSrtiad been almost entirely eaten Dy
the reptiles, the only fragment remaining
deciphersbVe bearing ttaPda, "Do not
make known tne piot ajuuiom
has been commenced.
Alas for the giant business in New
York State 1 The exposure of the Cardiff
humbuir has encouraged an old repro
bate to write to the Rutland (Vt ) Herald
that the Cohoes mastodon, so carefully
preserved in the museum' at Albany, is
the skeleton of a circus elephant which he
knows to have "been buried in 1833. In
those days caravans, not understanding
the art of advertising, used to travel by
night, to avoid being " seen for nothing,
and this animal died on the road, and was
buried consequently in the night The
circus was Tiins fe A-ngevine's, and the
keeper sawed off the tusks of the dead
elephant for preservation. The body was
so large that it had to he cut in pieces
before the horses could haul it out of the
road and dump it in neighboring peat
hole.
A Freend who has a dog, valued in the
family as a pet, rotates a strane incident
of the power to charm or fascinate, com
mon to reptiles, but rather extraordinary
among quadrupeds. Recently the kitch
en girl saw this dog seated on his binders,
with one fore foot lifted, eyeing a rat un
der a cupboard, in some room connected
with the house. The rat also bad his
eyeB fixed on the dog, and after watching
them a few minutes, the girl, think ng it
strange, called some of the family, who,
interested to see how this curious circum
stance would turn out "l001 bv- For
half an hour these animals maintained the
same position, being six or eight feet
apart At the end, the rat, slowly, and
trembling with fear bn to approach
the dog, their eyes still flx-d on sen oth
er immovably. Continuing to creep up,
when within' a oouole of feet lh dog
sprang, and catchinsr the rat quickly d s-po-.nl
of htn. It was afterward discov
ered that the hoi- ip the wall through
wh ich the rat came was Immexlbtt- ly back
bf where ha was first mieu..Spracuse, N.
F., Journal

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