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New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, March 12, 1871, Image 6

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oTfIcuTjOU^ OF THE UliTED STATES
OFFICIAL IQURNAL OF NEW OBIEANS
MEN. JUDGE JENKINS.
Bit I NO TUB ONLY ©KSCISB HK<JTKLTO "MAri> WVT.l.BK."
Maud Muller all that siininier day
Halted th.' tueadow sweet with hay;
Tet looking down tlie distant lam',
She ho|*ed the Judge would eoine again;
But when lie eaiue with smile and how
{the only blushed and stammered " haow '
And «i>6ke of her Pa. and wondered whether
He'd give consent they should wed together f
Old Muller burst in tears and then
Begged that the Judge would lend him ten :
For trade was dull and wages low.
And the " crop*" this year were somewhat a;ow.
And ere the lauguid summer died
Sweet Maud beeauie the Judge's bru.e.
But on the day that they were mated
Maud's brother Bob was intoxicated;
And Maud's relations, twelve in all.
Were very drnnk at the Judge's ha;l.
And when the summer came again
The young wife bore him babies 1 wain;
And the Judge was blest, but thouelit it strange
That bearing babies made su< h a change;
For Maud grew broad, aud red. ami stout
And the waist that Ms arm onee clasped about
Was more than he now could span: and he
Sighed as he pondered ruefully,
How tliht which in Maud was native grace
In Mrs. Jenkins was out of place;
And thought of the twins, and wished that they
Looked less like the man who raked the hay
On Muller's farm, and dreamed with pain
Of the day he wandered down the lane;
And looking down that dreamy track,
lie half regretted that he came back;
For bad he waited lie might have wed
Some maiden lair aud thoroughbred.
Fbr there be women fair as she.
Whose verbs and nouns do nioie agree.
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge
For the sentimental, that soue-liatf fudge,
Ftor Maud soon thought the Judge a bore,
With all his learning and all his lore;
And the Judge would have bartered Maud's fair face
For more reliuement and social grace.
If. of all words of tongue or pen.
The saddest are these, " it might have been;
More sad are these we daily see,
" It is. but it hadn't ought to be.
NEXT DOOK TO BULLLHAN'H.
BV MAIN FKISWF.LL.
Which shall begin with—the Bulliman's
or Boxley I)ownf The person is ' more
worthy than the place; but, as the place is
known because it is the residence of the
persons—and because. " Sir-ree !" as they
say in America, the persons arc particularly
nice people—I will liret begin with the
place.
Boxley Down is one of the home counties.
I will not say which, because I live there,
and I wish to keep it " select." If every
body knew the virtues of Boxlev Down,
everybody would dock there, and it woulj
cease to liave any virtues at nil. Silence is
golden : I will be wisely reticent.
Boxley Down is also on a great high-road
to several ancient and excellent towns, aud
in years gone by the Boxlev Downy ones,
as we may call them, used, when out of
cash, to lay in wait for liis Majesty's mails,
and present a protocol, pistol-shaped, at the
inliaoitants of the mail coach—just as Prus
sia is, at the moment I write, holding sev
eral big guns at the head of Paris—and re
fresh their purses by gathering from the in
habitants certain gold pieces. When Boxley
Down was satisfied, the mail was at peace.
These days are remembered historically by
the Downy ones, and with regret. They are
a simple race, and talk ot the old robbers
with a justifiable pride.
The Down is parched iu summer and
frozen in winter. The noses of the Downy
ones are grilled a bright searlet during Juue.
July aud August, turn to a mellow brown
in autumn, aud achieve a beautiful black
blue in wiuter. The Down lias disappeared,
and a long, straggling town of small shops,
E retentions villas, good old houses and a
uge sprinkling of inns, taverns and beer
shops form, on the crest of a low hill—
which, by a gradual rise, is yet some hun
dreds of feet above the level of the sea—
what is fondly spoken of as "The Down."
The Downy ones are proud of it. If you
mention to them the small village of Boxley,
which is much more select and aristocratic,
they turn up their noses—red, brown or blue,
according to the season—and speak of it
with contempt. At Boxley Down, the, Eng
lish Philistine reaches a patriarchal old age
and the miuiuiuin of intelligence, lie be
lieves himself the salt of the earth. He
is very religious—having two Baptist,
one Congregational, and one English
church, which he calls the "Estab
lishment." The Baptist Downy
ones have lately split into two parties: but
both are equally bitter against the other re
ligionists. London is regarded by the
Boxley Down with mingled envy and hor
ror; and yet the most strict of the Downy
ones are suspected—more than suspected—
of running by railway from Boxlev Old
Town, as they call it, to laugh at the Adel
plii. or to be thrilled at the Victoria. This
dire suspicion has caused the Hev. Pineher
Twills, of the Established, to preach a
thrilling sermon, iu which the blandish
ments of Loudon were compared to those
of Daliah, and the backsliding Downy ones
to the defeated and shorn Samson. On the
same.suhject, the Rev. Spanker Borle, the
Baptist minister, produced a rousing dis
course, which sent two married aud jealous
ladies into hysterics.
I live at Boxley Down, and 1 am "next
door to Bulliman's." The deserted house I
have taken was never christened. It has
been called by various names, each man
who came to it giving it a new appellation.
1 prefer to have a local habitation without
a name. "The post of honor is a private
station," that is my motto; bills are, there
fore, sent as due from "next door to Bulli
man's," and they are duly paid.
Bulliinau's is a ladies' school. There is
no male Bulliinan. There was one, who,
says his mild relict, "was an officer in her
Majesty's forces." Officer is a wide word.
There are officers in her Majesty's customs,
and iu the local police—a force which,
though very efficient, has the benefit of
being totally composed of officers. But the
deceased Bulliinan—a meek fellow with a
tremendous beard, a weak head, and a con
sumptive chest—was neither in the police
nor in the customs, nor in the postoffice.
Neither was Bulliinan an officer in any regi
ment. He served, however, in the Crimea;
and his grateful country has pensioned his
widowjin so insufficient a way that Mrs. Bul
liman is fain to keep school. The truth is,
that William Bulliinan was in the Commis
sariat Department, and being of a tender
conscience, as well as having a "consump
tive chest," he, after the terrible revelations
about our starving troops and famished
horses, "took ill" aud died. "He was a ten
der-hearted fellow, aud never ought to have
been called Bulliinan." said his widow, as
if there was something terrible in the
name.
lus widow was a faint-hearted, mild lit
tle creature, as any one might see; but she
bad two little children, as different from
herself and the deceased officer us well
could he. Her theory about the matter
was, that they favored grandfather; and
from th* stones told about him, I think
they must have done so. Grandfather Bul
liiuan, a fine, dashing fellow, had been a
parson and was an officer iu a ve.ry different
army. From the story of his life one might
have supposed that the Rev. Bulliinan
acted up to his name, and that his son's
Bpirit was thereby crushed. By the rule of
contrary lie had' married a very meek, hut
tall, creature, whose nature had been be
queathed t(F the "officer," while the fierce
ness and dash of the gallant drill-sergeant
in the ranks of the, "Onety-tirst Regiment"
was given to his grandchildren, Dick and
Katey. Happily, toward their mother these
children showed nothing but tenderness
and love.
Dick had been well educated, as the chil
dren of most genteel widows are. Boor
creatures, how they do pinch and screw for
the res-'ii: and sometimes, liow poor a om
it is! Dick, however, did all in his power to
make ins mother happy; came out well in
his examinations, went in for chemistry,aud
was soon decently employed in the analysis
of water. sewage, ami other pleasant mat
ters. The British public, a yea* or two ago,
had a scientific craze; and Dick was lucky
in taking advantage of it. He was not at
present highly paid, but he delighted in bis
work and was full of hope. Katey helped
her mother in the school, and was rather
High Church. She affected the sermons of
the liev. Pineher Twills, who vacillated be
tween evangelical preaching and au orna
mental ritual: was ritualistic iu his service
and evangelical in his sermons; and who.
consequently, pleased neither party. Katey
road St. Augustine and Tliomas-a-Keuipis.
weut so far as to date " On the Eve of St.
Michael," ami always prefixed " 8." before
the names of the Apostles, us if each fwas
named Samuel; and was very particular in
turning to the east. Her chiet'lovc for ritual
ism was, however, seen iu decorating the
miserably ugly brick and stone church of
Boxley Down, built iu the style of the cele
brated 1840 Gothic.
Dick Bulliniau's dash, courage, good
hmuor and fun, made him a great favorite ;
so much so, that, when he came to Boxley
Down, he had to sleep at a far-distant cot
from the seminary, where he smoked like a
lime kiln, and kept, it was supposed, un
earthly hours. As, however, he was fouud,
winter aud summer, splashing in a huge
wash-tub—an extemporized hath—at six in
the morning, these wild rejiorts arc to lie
put down as exaggerations. Kate defended
Diek in any of his exeesses. anil against all
enemies : and the dozen or so youug people
at Bui liman's—who were instructed iu
primness, preciseness, piety, and pretty
wav s by Mrs. Katey Bulliinan—all agreed
that schoolmistresses' sous were generally
boors, but that Mr. Richard was a fine young
fellow.
In the deserted cottage with no name, a
large and productive garden, a tine view at
the back, and a roomy interior, in which I
lived, I had for my companion Jack
Komilly, of the -th, a crack regiment,
almost equal to the celebrated Onety-tirst,
and has all the victories of Great Britain in
scribed upon its flags. Jack was rather
stupid than otherwise at college; had come
away thence without distinction; hut, hav
ing something to do, he, with that tremen
dous resolution which dull people have,
went in and did it. He proceeded to the
school of the most celebrated crammer in
town or country, at Crovdon, worked like a
horse upon system, aud came out at the
very head of the Direct Commission Exami
nation with the enormous and utterly in
comprehensible number below. There you
see his name:
Boinilly, John-private tuition
1,3D3 t 4Ti& Was he not a clever fellow ?
Jack never, to this day, knew how lie did it;
and, after his success, presented a gold
watch to Captain Stuffem, his crammer, and
relapsed into his stupidity.
He had one other noticeable element in
him, this Jack ltoniilly. He was jealous.
He was jealous of me, his old school and
college chum; jealous of his dog Gyp, a
black Pomeranian, of distinguished family.
After smoking a pipe in a friendly manner,
and dining with great good nature, his jeal
ousy would suddenly boil up, and Jack
would say:
"You 'seemed to be precious glad to see
Smith."
"I was that," I would answer.
Another puff', and—
"You are precious fond of Smith."
"Not more thau you are of that word pre
cious. Yes—I like him."
"Do you ! I think lie's a conceited pup."
" No you don't, Jack Rumilly. You should
hear how well lie spoke of you! lie's a good
fellow; only he had just run down from
town, had a little while to stay, aud I made
him welcome."
" To the total exclusion of tnr. I had to
saunter about this cussed Down at your
heels."
"Because, Jack, y,.u arc what the song
says." Then I would tune up—
"Tell me, ye jealous-pated swains!"
"Now don't be a fool, Tompkins!" such
dear reader—do not despise me—is my far
cical name; "don't be a fool. Don't call me
a jealous-pated swaiu, and I will make it
up."
Simple fellow! In five minutes we were
the best friends. With all his dullness, and
the immense weight of marks upon liim, and
upon his conscience, I liked to talk to hand
some Jack Romilly better than many a more
brilliant man. He had a good heart aud
a fine sense: and his talk had a soothing,
wise method about it that was very pleas
ing. Yet, every now and then this sensible,
good fellow was disfigured witli gusts of
jealousy, even, as I said, with liis dog.
"Gyp, you little flirt," lie would say. "go
to your master—there he is; his name is
Tompkins."
Upon this. Gyp would look sadly into liis
face and put oue paw up, as if to plead
with him.
"Just like vour sex," he would say, spite
fully. "Don't you love him. Gyp !"
Upon which the poor lirute would
whine, aud 1 would break out with my
song—
"Tell me, ye jealous pateil swains!''
The reason why Jack Romilly came and
dwelt at Boxley was twofold. I fondly be
lieve that he came to see me—partly, of
course. There wasanotherreason. He was
in love with a young lady of—what he
called—"a ehariniug exterior and good
workmanship, admirably finished, and
thoroughly well furnished." I gathered
from this, that Lucy Spofforth was well
built, and had a good education: and I was
not mistaken.
Clear liazel eyes—very keen, very merry
and honest—au oval face, and what Jack
termed an Austrian chin; a small, capable
forehead, the hair brought down somewhat
low and worn very plain; a clear, fair com
plexion, and dark chestnut hair: a throat
very white, and beautifully set upon well
formed shoulders; a height of five feet
four; and a movement at onre quick,
graceful, and dignified, distinguished Miss
Lucy. But, more than these, her sweet
manners; her open, frank ways; her sweet
ly resonant and innocent voice; her ad
dress—so kindly that it pint every one at
his or her ease, yet so ladylike and distin
guished that none ever took, or thought of
taking, a liberty with her. Sueli was Luev
Spofforth; made both to delight and to
plague Jack. She would no more have
dreamed of being jealous than she would
have dreamed of rivaling Mrs. Crumles,
and of standing on her head on the top of
a pikestaff, and in the midst ot fireworks.
Whatever Lucy did seemed proper,
graceful and natural. Jack was deeply in
love with her, and showed it in the modern
way—by staring at her for hours after he
was accepted; sighing; walking with her in
deep silence; remarking that it was "an
uncommon fine day," and that he did so
wish she had been with him to the opera or
the "Zoo."
"Why, Jack," she would say, "Boxley is
ever so much better than the Zoo. See
what a breeze we have. Acres upon acres
and thousands of cherry orchards, of straw
berry fields, or raspberries and currants."
"But think of Downy ones," he would
say. "O Lucy, you should have seen the
dresses at the' Zoo."
"So gay! So tine!" cried Lucy. "Why,
I should have looked quite a shabby thing,
and you know, Jack, I should have had to
have a new dress."
"Pshaw ! nonsense!"returned Jack. "You
always look well dressed, Lucy !"
"That's what you say," laughed Lucy.
"Every man in love thinks the woman he is
in love with well enough dressed, because
she costs money."
"Now, don't say that, Lucy, don't say
that. You know 1 would dress you in gold,
if 4 could; and," he added soberly, "if I
thought it would please you."
" Luckily, you know it would not, Jack,"
she answered. " You belong to a noble pro
fession. What would please me is for you
to succeed iu it—moderately, of course, and
to become the most noble and the most
learned soldier in the world. Look at the
number of marks that you gained, after
being at the head of so many aspirants as
clever and as good as many were, no doubt.
Jack ! you never should be second to any
man. Xu Hi sccundns! Is that right. Jack!"
Even the soothing and gentle pinch she
gave the lobe of Jack's red ear did not re
concile Jack to that reference to liis pass
ing That immense number lay heavily on
his soul.
" Why, Lucy, you know it was all cram !"
"Others crammed, too, Jack; hut you
were lir-t !'"
Thus Lucy settled the matter. In her
oyes Jack was a hero. She was in love with
tiic young lieutenant, und determined to
urge him to fulfill her ambition.
And thus it was at Boxley Down that
these innocents found again a taste of par
adise. Jack w as to he maiTied as soon as
lie got his company, and Jack's father was
already in connection with Craig's court;
and, no doubt, by a judicious mixture of
purchase, allowed by our virtuous and
' happy country, young Romilly, who was
well connected, would not have to wait
long.
Dick Bulliman was dreaming of making
some wonderful discovery in chemistry; he
had already evolved a curious salt of no use
to auv one! Katev Bulliman was busy with
her school, and with making her mother
comfortable; and I was dreaming of—no
matter; not even the Downy ones of Boxley
shall know. „ „ .
One day not far from Christmas—so sum
many of *us!—when matters were proceed
ing in this i cist oral manner, Jack Romilly
came iu, silent and depressed. He gave
Gyp a cuff because the poor animal tawned
ou him, threw the Saturday Rtcino to the
end of the room and threw himself on the
sofa,
"What's the matter, Jack!" I asked.
Jack groaned plaintively.
"Is it so hud as that ?"
"Worse!" he said; "as bad as bad can he.
My dear boy, never place your heart, as I
have done, upou so frail a thing as woman."
"Jack," said I, "don't he foolish."
"I may he foolish," said lie, bitterly,
"when Lucy is false."
"Pshaw, my dear fellow; yon will he
angry with yourself for saying so. What
do you mean !"
Iu answer to this Jack took out his watch,
sighed heavily, and told me that iu a few
minutes we would be able to see.
"At four o'clock every other afternoon
that false girl," he said, "goes courting,
absolutely courting, Dick Bulliuiau !"
Lucy was a favorite of mine, and I would
not hear her abused. I told Jack so; aud
he, soberly sad and full of argument—so
certain was he that lie was right—heard all
1 said with calmness, aud again drew out
his watch.
"Now !" he cried—"now's the time 1 Come
up into my bedroom—we shall not he ob
served there—and from the window we can
observe Bulliman's garden.
At four o'clock precisely Miss Lucy Spof
fortli opened Bulliman's front gate, walked
through the. Meat little forecourt they digni
fied bv the name of garden, and we heard—
Jack heard as if it were the crack oi' doom—
her ueat little aristociatic double-knock on
Bulliman's frontdoor.
Jack's nature" was, as Lucy had assured
me—for I was in confidence with the two—a
large one. I don't like "large" natures, if
they are anything like Jack's. I have been
assured that Lord Byron's was a large na
ture: ami 1 have found, as a rule, that these
large natures are generally of a poetic,
tumultuous, greedy, ambitious, not to say
selfish kind; and that the poor and wretched
"small" natures are expected to do all the
kind work and self-sacrifice.
Jack, therefore, direct!v he saw Lucy,
and heard that knock, turned a sort of
green; and treating me as an extempore
Iago, hissed, literally hissed—the heroics of
the stage being but faint copies of the ex
aggerated passions of these large natures—
"What does she do at Bulliman's! She,
who is above them in rank and social posi
tion What does she do !"
[N. B. I may here remark that the Downy
ones of Boxley who live ou their means
never visit another Downy one who is in
trade, or even a profession: and that tin
old church at Boxley is carefully divided
into first, second, and third class pews—so
aristocratic are we.]
"Do!" I cried. "You great muff', you'
Why, she goes to take music lessons of
Miss Bulliman!"
"Does she!" sueered Jack. "Muff as 1
am. I know that Lucy could heat Miss Bulli
man all to shivers at music. Take lessons
in organic chemistry, you mean. Come
along. I'll settle this !"
pent it. You do not know these people."
" Beg pardon. Ido. I have been intro
duced to them ; hut I have been making in
quiries—"
" Dash your inquiries!" 1 jerked in.
"And my opinion is made up. I have
learned all about it. She lias visited this
house tor a fortnight thus ; and lias never
told me!"
This staggered me. Well. Dick Bulliinan
was a clover, good fellow. Hud Lucy got
.tiied of her great nature !
" Come on !" again cried Jin k.
And pushing me down stairs, he seized his
hat. put mine on—a modest billycock, use
ful in the country—and we went dow n stairs
quick foot, as they say in the country across
the water.
Down stairs we went on tiptoe. Why on
tijitoe. I don't know: hut we were excited
and histrionic. In we sneaked, also on tip
toe, into Bulliman's garden, and were guilty
—Ic ing great natures, and histrionic also—
of the unpardonable meanness—so oft< n
seen on the stage—of crouching to listen
and spy behind a thick cypress tree which
adorned the garden, aud of looking through
the window.
Boxley Down is a quiet place: and whether
our ears were sharper than usual, or the
silvery tones of Lucy's resonant voice
pierced further than usual, I can not say;
hut there we saw Miss «Bul!iuian, in a hat.
standing up and looking down on Lucy,
who. with lier hat off', was sitting down; and
we heard the latter say—
"He has sent iue a cruel letter, my dear—
a very cruel letter, aud I am alia.d 1 must
not come here again."
Jack gave me a cruel drive with his
elbow—such a cruel drive as 1 do not want
again to have just below my false ribs: and
then lie again hissed—
" 'Tis my letter! I will unmask the
hypocrite! Come ou !"
1 was dragged forward—how I hardly
know: but I soon found myself opposite
Lucy and Miss Bulliman. and heard Jack's
resolute and certainly offensive tones.
"I know all. Miss Spofforth. 1 have
heard what you have said; I have my wit
ness here." He three hack liis great hand
in his eagerness, and knocked my billycock
down with a crash—I had taken it off' po
litely to Miss Bulliinan, whom I rather ad
mired—and lie said, fixing his large, fierce
eyes upon pretty Miss Lucy—"1 have done
with you forever."
Hereupon Lucy, who was hut youug aud
very much in love, gave a great scream, and
"went off." Miss Bulliman went off too,
hut not iu a dead faint; called Jack Romilly
a coward, and sang out for her brother Dick.
In came Dick, aud his mother, too: and.
without any words, soon by vinegar and
smelling salts—Dick's chemicals were al
ways preferred at Bulliman's as being so
powerful—brought her to. Meanwhile t
and Jack Romilly stood like two guilty and
intruding fools; Jack suffering—as he after
ward confessed—the torments of a place of
which he has, I am sure, no experience, at
witnessing the tender dexterity of Dick
Bulliinan and the fainting of Lucy. When
the young lady was well recovered, Jack
and I—tor I had to follow that great
nature's lead—"thought that we had better
go." .
"No—don't," cried Katey Bulliman. "We
must settle accounts with you gentlemen.
Dick, stop them!''
"My good Katey," said Dick, shutting the
door, "I dare say that they won't go.
What's the row" ?"
"Can you light, sir !'' said Jack, with the
greatest amount of bitterness. "You area
man of peace."
"I'm a man of science," said Dick, slowly;
"not necessarily a man of peace. I can tight
if 1 want."
"Then, sir, you must fight me. I am an
officer in her Majesty's service. You have
taken away my only hope—my only love."
Here Lucy began to show a white feather;
that is. she cried a hit. aud looked at Jack
with some admiration—she saw that it was
all his love.
"I have nothing of the sort," said Dick.
"I love Miss Lucy as I love an angel, that's
all: but 1 know that she is bound to you—
and, Mr. Romilly, I am a gentleman."
"And the sou of an officer," whimpered
Mrs. Bulliman.
'But if you wish me to fight for Miss
Lucy, Tin willing," said Dick, "only let me
choose my own weapons. I'm going in
heavily lor poisons. I've a new salt. Let
me give you a (lose, and I'll take a dose, too;
and toss up for au emetic. If you die I'll
make observations on you, and immortalize
you as the first victim.' That's quite as sen
sible as the pistol business."
Jack looked very much like a fool; so
did I. 1 thought we'd better go in again;
hut Lucy had given one of those bright,
truthful, triumphant looks of hers, and Jack
was on his knees, calling himself an idiot,
and begging pardon heartily.
Lucy put her soft hand on his forehead,
and looking fondly into his dark eyes—so
resplendent now—said:
"My dear Jack, your large nature will,
some time, comprehend my small but clear
one. You have given me a pang, but I for
giv^you."
"But what were you doing here Lucy,"
said Jack—he had thanked her, it seems, in
a satisfactory way, with his eyes—"that I
did not know 1 It wasn't music, was it 1"
"No," said Katey; "except that Miss Spof
forth gives me, now and then, a lesson. She
plays beautifully."
"And it was not science," said Dick; "for
in inv laboratory I make such an awful
smell and smoke that I should choke any
woman, except Miss Canidia Pecker and
the Social Sense old Blues."
"Then what was it V' again urged Jack.
"God bless her!" cried that dear Mrs.
Bulliman. "She was aiding me, buying her
own stores, and making bandages and rhar
pie for the wounded, and preparing the Box
ley Down box for Colonel Loyd Lindsay and
the National Society in aid of the sick and
wounded in this dreadful war!"
"Think, Jack," said Lucy, "think for a
moment of the hundreds of poor men, who
lie in agony; of the wounds, the fever, and
the pain; and of the thousands of poor
widows! And I shall he a soldier's wife,
Jack!"
"God bless you, and forgive me, Lucy!
But why," cried the jealous-pated swain,
"Why did you uot tell me!"
"Because I should not let my right hand
know what mv left hand does; and you,
Jack, are my right hand!"
1*. S.—It's all right now! Jack and Lucy
are as fond as ever; and Katey—well. Dick
is an uncommonly good fellow: and I'm so
glad that I live "Next door to Bulliman's!"
Tra nau tinn tic Mayazine.
T11E BOYS* HOI SE OF .REFUGE.
A person may live in New Orleans for
many years without learning the location of
tlie Boys' House of Refuge, or even know
ing of its existence. For it is situated in a
part of the city less frequented than any
other; a part that has little or no interest for
strangers, and hence hardly known except
to residents, or to the few having business
there.
Passing up Poydras street to the ^corner
of Freret street, several blocks beyond the
Poydras market, you turn to the left and
see facing you, at a square's distance, a
long, low, toinhlike looking brick building,
flunked by thick, buttressed walls, as high
as the building itself, and surmounted by a
formidable species of serature, consisting of
broken bottles, imbedded in lime, a huge
portal grimly yawns in front of the
building, wide agape, it might seem, for all
comers. But a glance into the interior calls
to mind the •* facilis descensus" of tlie poet;
lor the grated doors on each side of the for
bidding vestibule, and the heavy iron gate,
redundant of lock aud holt, opening through
the inner wall, show the beholder that how
ever easy might be the entrance, the egress
is no optional matter, at least to those w hom
the law consigns there; for the. building is
the City Workhouse.
Immediately adjoining the City WoYk
house is the Boys' House of Refuge. There
is nothing in its appearance to indicate its
nature or purpose; nor can any ot the build
mgs he seen from the street. A wooden
wall, some twenty feet high, surrounds the
institution, the access to which is through a
small wicket at one end of tlie high wall.
But, although adjoining each other, there
is little affinity between the Boys' House ol
Refuge and the C'itv Workhouse; for the one
is reformatory, while the other is the recep
tacle of vice-sodden natures, fur whom, as a
rule, all hope of reform is dead.
The City Workhouse, like the grave that
ends all human aspiration and hope, seems
to possess infinity of accommodation for all
comers; while the capacity of the House of
Refuge is too limited. And if tlie former
requires such ample space for unnumbered
inmates, those who reflect at all ou these
things must sadly own that tlie cause is to
he found iu the want of projier and thought
ful attention to the latter, aud a sufficient
perception of the fact that the prevention of
crime, rather than its punishment, lies at the
threshold of every effort made by the phil
anthropist to ameliorate the miseries that
lawlessness brings home, sooner or later, to
its perpetrators.
It will require no deep thinking to per
ceive that, old as civilization is, it is yet in
its infancy in regard to the treatment of
off enses against morality or against the laws
necessary for the well being of society. So
far, society has been content with
affixing certain penalties to crimes
against itself, aud there suffering
the matter to rest. For it has hardly
more thau dawned upon those in whose
hands the law -making power abides, that
the great duty of society to itself, as well
as to that portion of the community which
the force of circumstances places iu the path
of temptation, is to look to the prevention
fully as much as to the punishment of
offenses by removing inducements to crime
from the way of the offender, and particu
larly by giving him opportunity to obtain
honest support hv honest industry; bv put
ting it into his power to acquire a lawful
calling,- lawful liahits and a light
mode of thinking. by convincing
him that society is not liis enemy,
hut that in violating its laws he is his own
worst enemy. It may be that all this is in
the main impracticable as regards the ma
tured offender, hut no one will deny its
fearibility as regards the young and yet un
burdened.
The House of Refuge, as found iH most
civilized communities, originated in this
idea: that juvenile offenders, yet ou the
threshold of crime, were not proper sub
jects of indurating prison discipline. It was
discovered years ago that youths consigned
to prison for morally venial offenses against
law became, from the necessary contact
w ith confirmed criminals, ripened for crime
of greatest magnitude. To consign to the
criminal prison au erratic lad. whose va
grancy (perhaps his worst offense) might
have arisen solely from neglected child
hood, is to consign him to had influences,
from the effects of which there is little
hope of escape.
The proper suceedaneum is an institu
tion where strict discipline may he com
bined with- mental aud moral influences,
calculated to foster rather than suppress
the seeds of good implanted in every hu
man heart. All this may appear trite to
many readers, hut the fact that so little has
yet been done in relation to the matter
shows that it is not yet sufficiently im
pressed upon the public mind.
The Boys' House of Refuge iu New Or
leans. although limited both in extent and
development, is still a satislactorv indi
cation of what may he done, to obviate tlie
bar of justice and the criminal prison by
checking evil impulses in their incipiency.
A visit there would correct a feeling exist
ing in tlie minds of many, that the estab
lishment is in the nature of a prison, the
main difference being that none but children
aud youth are admitted. This will be found
to be a wide, mistake, for if there he any
difference between the House of Refuge aud
the several orphan asylums that do such
credit to the enlightened charity existing
among us, such difference is principally in
the mode of admittance to the institution,
and dismissal therefrom. This can be best
shown by a slight sketch of the institution.
The Boys' House of Refuge occupies a lot
of ground, the lot being about three hun
dred feet long hv two hundred and eighty
feet in width. On this lot buildings have
heen erected in the form of a quadrangle,
detached from each other, however. The
building on the south side of the quadrangle
consists of a long one-story house, or rather
a continuity of rooms. The building, like
all tlie others, is neatly finished and com
fortable, being well supplied witli chimneys.
This building contains the superintendent's
office and the library (so-called), the shoe
makers' shop, the tailor shop, and the tin
shop. It also contains the eating room for
the hoys, and some other offices. Ou the
opposite side of the quadrangle is a well
built and eapacioustwo-Btorybuilding. This
contains the schoolfcom, the dormitories
for the hoys, and the. dwellings of the super
intendent and assistant superintendents
anil their families. The building forming
the rear of tlie quadrangle is one-story, and
contains the kitchen, the bakery, the bath
room for the hoys, and some other rooms
for various purposes. The area inclosed by
the buildings is used principally as a play
ground, for which purpose it is well adapted,
the front part containing shade trees and
shrubbery, which give the whole establish
ment a very pleasant appearance.
Nothing seems to have been left undone
that will contribute to tlie physical comfort
of the inmates of the House of Refuge.
The lodging, food, clothing, are altogether
beyond what falls to the lot of the offspring
of the slothful and the vicious outside or
the institution.
The House of Refuge reclaims hoys be
tween the ages of six and eighteen years.
They are subjected to a mild but firm and
unwavering discipline, which will encourage
I whatever of good is in them, while it will
......— " l
suppress any outbreak of viee or dnruliness.
Every inmate, of the asylum is taught the
branches of a plain English education, and
a trade also, should he remain long enough.
Withal, under any circumstances, he is
allowed a full sufficiency of the pabulum of
boyhood—play. At the same time his habits
are so regulated that he must be innately
bud, indeed, if he do not leave the refuge
improved in moral and mental requisites
for making his way in the respectable walks
of life.
One defect in the present system (a defect
perhaps, unavoidable at present) is the lim
ited number of occupations taught in the
House of Refuge. This, however, is not an
intrinsic defect, and could be easily reme
died should the ideas of the present Admin
istrator of Police, Captain Lewis, be
carried out by the City Council.
The institution contaius one hundred and
nineteen boys. Most of these are too young
to he put to trades; hut, besides the allot
ted hours of schooling, and the quantum
suffirit of play, every lad has liis time filled
up with some species of occupation suitable
to his strength and capacity. There are
seventeen shoemakers, nine tailors, nine
tinsmiths and four bakers. Of those not at
trades, there are six who wash the clothes
under competent supervision, six who saw
wood (not too much at a time), six to at
tend to the dormitory, and others to at
tend to the clothing. All have something
to do; there arc knives and forks to scour,
crockery to wash, rooms to keep in order,
chores of mauy kinds, all claiming atten
tion aud bestowing occupation; last hut
not least there is cooking to learn. Every
body is moderately occupied, and none
need he unhappy; for, as the good boy
story books say, "diligence bringeth re
ward," iu the licuse of Refuge at uny rate.
The officers iu charge of the institution
are: Mr. J. H. Henry, superintendent; Mr.
Charles Scliwiud, assistant superintendent;
Mrs. J! H. Henry, matron; Mrs. Catharine
Sehwind, teacher. In addition, there are
two day watchmen, one night watch
man, a messenger, a cook and a baker. All
these officials are employed by the city
administration, and receive salaries. Be
sides, there are a master shoemaker, a
tailor and tinsmith. These craftsmen, who
are superior mechanics, receive for compen
sation some emolument derived from the
labor of the boys whom they instruct.
The assistant superintendent acts also as
teacher ol the larger hoys, and the Lours of
instruction are so regulated.that the smaller
boys are at school while the larger ones are
at work. Thus, the shop boys go to school
from half-past five to half-past seven in the
morning, and from four to six o'clock in
the afternoon: the smaller ones having
their opportunity during the balance of the
dav.
The personnel of the hoys is indicative ol the
salutary treatment they receive. They are,
as a rule, very healthy'and as a consequence
cheerful. What is more, thev are evidently
contented. They are all clad uniformly,
iu serviceable clothing, which is made in the
establishment, in which the boys look more
like cadets than paupers.
Some attempt has been made to get to
gether a library for these boys, and some
one hundred aiid fifty volumes have heen
collected, principally by donation. But
most of the volumes contributed seem to
have heen given more iu reference to what
the donor did uot want than what the boys
needed; for most of them are exceedingly un
attractive to minds so youug. Even the
books intended for youth more especially
are ot the kind tlmt would interest n lie
hut the model good hoys we read of. who
invariably die and make au edifying death
bed, at a very tender age.
It would be a genuine charity, certainly
oil a par with the efforts making by Chris
tian people to evangelize the heathen, if
donations of hooks were made to the library
in the House of Refuge—of books abound
ing in the present age, calculated to interest
as well as instruct youth, and make read
ing an attractive pursuit. A good library
of suitable books is all the more to he de
sired. for the general docility ut the boys
and the attention they give to instruction
show s that they could be trained to habits
of reading and' study which w ould go far
to keep them from evil habits whenever
they leave the institution and are left to
provide for themseives.
Since tiie present superintendent. Mr.
Henry, and hi- assistant. Mr. Sehwind, have
been appointed, a new feature of instruc
tion aud recreation has been introduced—
the bovs being taught to sing. Like all
children with whom sufficient pains are
taken, they sing remarkably well, both iu
tunc and time, and it is remarked that since
singing has been introduced, the hoys are
still more docile thau before.
The view* of the present superintendent
are that little more discipline w ill he needed
among the hoys under liis charge than is
required iu any well-ordered house; hence
the influences of terror are to a great ex
tent discarded, and while a fault is invari
ably checked, there is little need of punish
ment as few faults are committed. The
officers of tlie institution evidently feel tlipt
the great object is not to keep the boys
under terror of punishment to procure good
behaviour while they are inmates ot the
refuge, but to tit them for a useful career
when vhey leave it.
Although the House of Refuge is not self
supporting. it could, by a proper arrange
ment, be easily made so. Even now the
bakery, besides what is consumed in the
refuge, supplies bread to the City Work
house, the Insane Asylum, tlie Home for the
Indigent und Infirm, and the Gil ls' House of
Refuge. Under a more extended system,
with larger premises, many trades could be
added to those already taught, to tlie bene
fit of the inmates, and the lessening, if not
entirely obviating the expeuse to which the
institution now subjects tlie city.
It has already been contended in the Rf
ruitLK AN that in procuring the utmost ex
cellence and working efficiency ill an insti
tution established for such high purposes as
the House of Refuge, the mere curtailing of
expenditure should he of secondary consid
eration at least. Much has been said aud
written respecting the dangerous element
in society, and the best method of disposing
of it. Dues uot the House of Refuge solve
the problem f If the uncareil tor and va
grant youth, who will mature into a dan
gerous element, he gathered up and instruct
ed in such an institution as a house of
refuge should he, will uot the dangerous
element disappear, at least to a great ex
tent, in the coining generation ! The more
the House of Refuge is cared for, the less
necessity will there he in the hereafter ot ■
jails and prisons.
We are gratified to know that the late
Administrator of Police, Senator Pierce, as
well as his energetic and clear-headed suc
cessor, Administrator Ijcwis, fully approve
of and second the efforts of the superin
tendent, Mr. Henry, to make the Boys'
1 louse of Refuge a reformatory institution
in the utmost and best sense of the term;
and it is to be hoped that the time is not
far off' when the means of the city will
enable the authorities to enlarge and found
the House oi Refuge on a most extensive
scale, worthy of a great city, and fully
efficient to strike at the root of social evil—
the neglect of parentless and vagrant
youth.
This, from the Madison Journal, is about
murderers:
Passengers on the railroad yesterday
morning inform us that Berry, one of the
persons charged with being accessory to
the murder of Mr. Muirhead, near Delhi,
some months since, was convicted at the
Richland district court on Saturday, and
sentenced to be hung on the sixth ot May.
It will be recollected that Berry, with
Drew Holley and his son, were confined in
our jail for some time, under the charge of
being accessory to that murder. From the
same source we learn that Holley and his
son were acquitted. The actual perpe
trators of the murder, two men whose
names have escaped our memory, were con
victed previously, without capital punish
ment, and will spend the balance of their
lives in the peniten tiary .
Commissioner Pleasanton is preparing to
urge on the new Congress the measures he
endeavored to have adopted by the last one.
He is of opinion that much more revenue
will be gained if the income tax is repealed,
and exportation of whisky with drawback'
permitted, than under the present laws.
He also desires the enactment of some new
regulations to secure additional revenue
from the various taxes on tobaoco.
Tight boots ore so "comfortable, became
they moke a man forget all his other
miseries."
[For the Sunday Republican.]
UNEH TP MBH. J.
Ob, hencefbrtb cause no music sweet
To thrill around, mine ear to greet;
For music liath no charm for me,
It speaks too much of memory.
Tn awaking within my soul
A feeling I would fain control—
Tlie loved—the lost of other days—
When you nttune your sweetest lay s.
Appear in fancy to ray gaze;
And I would uot, through memory's voice.
Weep wildly, whra I should rejoice.
The blood that courses cow my veins,
Knch drop is cold as snowy plains.
Anal slow their movements—one by one—
For well they feel that all is gone;
And that the heart no more may will
To warm with hope their icy chill,
Since aught like peace hath tied my breast,
And Love, for aye, in mourning dies:.
Pfrcv.
March, 1871. _
THE BURIAL OF GEORGE HOLLAND.
Tee "Little Church Around the Corner"
nod its .Henning—Sermon by Elder
Brook*— He Defends the Church and
Condemn* Snbine.
(From the St. Louis Republican. |
The excitement in relation to the burial
of George Holland, the actor, gives some
interest to the following sermon, delivered
by Elder Brooks, of the Christian church,
Seventeenth aud Olive streets, yesterday,
on the subject. It furnishes some idea of
the views taken of the matter by one class
of Protestant ministers.
Elder Brooks spoke substantially as fol
lows:
We are opposed to what are usually de
nominated sensational sermons, and we do
not advert to the now wonderful history of
the "Little Church Round the Corner" with
auy sensational purpose whatever, but. if
possible, to comprehend the reasons that
underlie the wonderful excitement caused
hv the refusal of Mr. Sabine, the rector of
a large and fashionable New York church to
extend the usual luneral rites of his church
to George Holland, the actor, and liis re
ferring Mr. Jefferson to the "Little church
round the corner, which was iu the habit
ol doing such things."
This foolish act of the rector has brought
down up*n his head th© denunciations of
almost the entire nation, religious and irre
ligious; hut not only that, it has furnished
an occasion to gentlemen of literary merit,
at least, to vent their spleen upon the un
attending Church of Christ. Some of these,
us Mr. Clemens, in the February number of
the Galaxy, nut content with heaping the
concentrated tilth of the English language
upon the head of Sabine, goes out of liis
wav to pour forth the long pent up wrath of
liis'heart, upon the church in general.
After exhausting his impotent rage—for I
suppose the church will survive it—lie sums
up the whole matter as follows: "The thea
tre teaches large audiences seven times a
week—twenty-eight or thirty hours alto
gether. and tlie novels and newspapers plead
aud argue, aud illustrate, stir, move, thrill,
thunder, urge, persuade and supplicate at
the feet of millions and millions of people
every single day. and all day long, and lar
into the night: and so these vast agencies
tili niite-teutlis of the vineyard, aud the pul
pit tills the other tenth."
But. if these things be true, why go to
the church at all for funeral rites .' If the
theatre lias accomplished quite all the moral
good iu the world, why uot disband the
church and devote the immense amount of
labor and money expenses upon the world
to the stage. It seems to me it would be
an easy matter to thus accomplish the re
maining tenth of good, besides, we should
have a jolly good time of it. and our hearts
would not he saddened by earing for the
poor, the pagan, the sick anil the dying.
But then, in the light of George Holland's
history, what shall we do when we come
to die!
It seems we cun live in the theatre aud do
without the church when living, hut we do
not want to die there, however illustrious
examples we have in that direction; aud
then we want a priest, not an actor, to pray
over us when dead, else w hy did uot Mr.
Jefferson attend to the matter himself, and
not disturb the pious conscience of the un
fortunate Sabine?
Evidently.notwithstanding all this abuse
ol the church, the true lesson is on the face
of the facts as now developed. The cry of
horror going up from tlie nation is but the
spontaneous expression of the national
heart that a man must either go to heaven
through the church or he prayed into
heaven by the church after death. Mark
Twain in liis iusune ravings against the
church may bring himself down to a
level with Sabine, but when death comes
to him. even lie will wish to breathe liis last
amid tlie songs and prayers of the saints.
But he should remember that as he lives he
shall die. "If the tree fall toward the
north or toward the south, iu the place
where the tree falleth there it shall be."
Ecc. xi., d. "He that is unjust let him he
unjust still; and he that is tiltliy let him he
filthy still; and lie that is righteous let liim
he righteous still; and he that is holy let
him he holy still." Rev. xxii, 2. Thus tlie
Savior, in his last vision of the resurrection
and the final destiny of the liumau family,
disposes oi this question.
Sabine's was a piece of heartless folly, to
say the least. \V hy not pray for the com
fort of the friends of the dead ? Not in
deed with the hope of changing the condi
tion of the departed, whatever that might
he, hut to comfort the aching hearts of
those remaining upon the shores of time.
Did he suppose that this lump of clay,
shrouded for its last long sleep, could pol
lute the walls and altar of his church, or in
any way tarnish liis priestly robes .' If so.
\to sav down with the pharisaical spirit
that prompted the thought, and the heart
less soul that could execute its diabolical
dictation.
But while much that is personal has been
said, i.nd, perhaps, much that ought not to
have heen said, the philosophy that under
lies the commotion incident to the facts has
been entirely overlooked. Other men,
in ages past, have been refused what is
called "Christian burial" by both Romish
and Protestant priests, and the Christian
world has looked on approvingly, while
other men silently submitted to the terror
ism of ecclesiastical authority. Wliat,
then, has produced the furore of excite
ment incident to this ease !" It is but a
preliminary manifestation of the storm oi
wrath soon to burst upon the human dog
mas aud practices of the false ecelesiasti
cisius of the hour; the stragglings of the
eulighteued conscience to be free, and of the
national heart sighing for that true
humanity and divinity which alone can
S iften, elevate aud adorn the soul for the
habitation of peace wheu the struggles of
life are ended. This demand the false and
stilted systems of the day fail to give,
aud hence the human will struggling To
be free and the heart aspiring to some
thing more in harmony with its own neces
sities, has rebounded to the opposite ex
treme of rationalism and latitudinarianism.
The struggle is upon us, and it remains to
bo seen whether Protestantism will yield to
this just demand and correct its faults, or
go down before the storm of wrath gather
ing to its sure destruction. But let us now
kindly indicate some of the errors of the re
ligious world against which this solemn pro
test has gone up from the nation's heart.
One of the incarnated ideas of the age is
opposition to human and authoritative
symbols of faith. Blind and foolish men
like Sabine may, in defense of these dead
forms of an ago past and gone iorever,
throw themselves in the breach, hut alas,
it is only to gather about tlieir heads a
storm of universal indignation. Such a
one is but a man wrestling with a nation
half right and half wrong. Do the masses
believe there is Divine influence in what is
called a "Christian burial ?" The clergy
have helped to incHleate the dogma, and
now shall they revise this last boon
to the friends of the dead, even though
he lived his life upon the stage,
in the midst oi sin, pleasure and
merriment? No! While the remem
brance of the Savior's blessiug upon the
dying thief is fresh in the memories of
men, and they are brought up under such
training, they will demand his influence in
such an hour; and if he refuse they will de
nounce him, and through him the church,
oe self-righteous hypocrites assuming the
high prerogative of the King eternal and
invisible.
No;_ if he would be consistent let him
abaipon his traditions, and frankly say to
Mr. yefferson when he comes again: "Sir,
nothing that I can say or do will in any wav
affect the condition of the dead. This i»
not mj high prerogative, hut if my humble
pravers, exhortations and warnings will
comfort the sorrowing and bring the living
to Christ, they are, with all my heart, at
your service.
Through small things God sometimes de
monstrate* grand truths to the world, and
whether George Holland accomplished any
good while living or not, let us hope that in
his death he shall demonstrate the frail
tenure of human svnibols over the public
mind, and awake tlie religious world to a
consciousness of the fact that the day ot
ecclesiastical despotism is passed, and that
a storm is gathering, before which these
systems will go down in utter ruin, unless
divested of the dead and false issues of the
past, and conformed to the more rational
and scriptural Cliristology of the New Test
ament.
Again, Cliristology declares that the Gos
pel is pre-eminently for the poor. But in
our great cities what provision is made for
the poor ? Do we build our churches for
their accommodation ? Can the humble
woman iu her plain gown and well-worn
sun bonnet feel at homo in these wordly
monuments of human pride and genius ?
No: churches are not built now For the
poor, nor do people attire themselves when
attending church with the view of mingling
with the poor. Preachers do not look after
them while living, nor care to be disturbed
by preaching tlieir funerals when dead.
Suppose George Holland by accident, or
from the public crib, or else, like the phari
sees of old, "hy robbing widows and or
phans of tlieir homes," had died rich., think
you liis body might not have found repose
for an hour in the big church on the avenue,
and even the priestly Sabine have shed
some ttars of sympathy, while the tones of
the great organ sounded forth the requiem
of the dead, and the rustling silks and
satins lent to the solemn occasion music
sweeter far, to many, than the songs of a»
gelic choral bauds ? W'liat matters it now
whether his life was godly, or whether his
spirit is writhing amid the damueil ? He
was rich and must be buried even though he
"lift up his eyes"—like one oi old—"in
hell."
No wonder the great masses—as they
contemplate this wauton indifference to the
poor—are. ready to cry out with Joe Jeffer
son : "All honor to the little church around
the corner." Here in this little church is
something in sympathy with the wants and
needs of the great masses of suffering, hum
ble poor.
Again, while tlie church justly denounces
tlie follies of the hour aud the sins of the
day, the question is not what we shall do
with the bodies of sinners when dead, but
what shall we do for tlieir souls while liv
ing. This is the snly question in which we
or they are in the least interested. If cer
tain vocations are sinful, what are we doing
to reclaim those who follow them l What
can we sap of the immense number of fallen
women that throng our city, to say nothing
of other sinners ? Here and there, indeed,
a spasmodic effort is made to save them by
a few noble spirits, but the great mass oi re
ligious society turn away from them with
utter loathing. Not one tear hare these
pious souls to shed over such. Those who
have ruined and blighted their hopes for
ever. may go "unwhipt of justice." the pet
ted and caressed ornaments even of reli
gious society, while the light of.duy is shut
out from these forever. The church, if she
would command the respect of the world,
must abandon such inconsistent and un
hallowed path*, catch the spirit of the
Savior, and while rebuking sin in all its
forms, yet wiu by kiuilness and love the
most wayward to Christ.
I have hut a word to say in refer
ence to the unjust attacks upon the
church growing out of this incident.
Mauy as are our faults, what would
become of tlie world without us ! France,
the patron of theatres, has made the ex
periment: aud who would have the scenes
of the French revolution of '89 re
euacted in that or any other country? By
the purest and best iu all nations, from the
days of the Roman republic till now, the
theatre has been regarded as pernicious and
baneful in its effect upon the public morals.
The history oi nations demonstrates the
truth of this conclusion. We have only to
look at modern France, and some cities in
our own country, to know that as the peo
ple cease to attend church and frequent the
theatre public morals become lax and social
ties are disregarded.
But does the fact that tlielite of the actor
is alleged to be in antagonism with Chris
tianity forbid efforts to reclaim him while
living, or sympathy with his friends when
dead? Not if the* spirit of the Master is
upon w. \Vi$h the Sa'vior. while we con
demn the conduct of publicans and sinners,
we will mingle with them, yea eat at the
same table with them, if passible, hy love
and kindness to win them to Christ. They
indeed are sick and need a physician.
We conclude,then, that the true philosophy
of the present excitement is to be found in the
fact that the world is wearied and disgusted
with obsolete symbols aud inconsistencies
of religious systems. Men must have some
thing better, or they will have nothing.
But is there no salvation for the church
and the world l Most assuredly there is.
I >>1 the church, and if not the church as
such, every individual minister, arise in the
strength of his God-given liberty, declare
allegiance to Christ alone, and refuse :•
how one hour longer before the false stand
ards of earth. Let them emulate the ex
ample of Christ, and go forth into the
world without respect of persous, labor
for the high and the low, the rich and the
poor alike. Let the world know that riches
give no man the pre-eminence in the king
dom of God; that the widow who con
tributes her mite is on it led to as many
rights and privileges in the church as the
rich man who contribute' his thousands.
That the Church of God ib es not belong to
the rich, but to the humble, whether rich
or poor ia this world's goods, and that the
Gospel is to the sinner, however great his
sins. Let the church «• all this in earnest,
and the day of her triumph is ut hand.
Let her refuse to do hit. and lebabod is
writteu on her wa'I-. ar i the day of her
doom is at the doo
HAWTHORNE'S Bit , > LI iNT AFTER.
DINNER SlKliCH.
UY .'AMKS T.'FlKI.DS.
I remember wc went together to dine at a
great house in the country, years ago. where
it was understood there would he no dinner
speeches. The banquet was in honor of
some society—I have quite forgotten what—
but it was a jocose, and not a serious club.
The gentleman who gave it, Sir-, was &
most kind and genial person, anil gathered
about him ou this occasion some of the
brightest and best from London. All the
way down in the train Hawthorne was re
joicing that this was to be a dinner without
speech-making; " for," said he, " nothing
would tempt me to go if toasts and such
confounded deviltry were to be the order of
the day." So wo rattled along, without »
fear of any impending cloud of oratory.
The entertainment was a most exquisite
one, about twenty gentlemen sitting down
at tlie beautifully ornamented table. Haw
thorne was in uncommonly good spirits,
and, having the seat of honor at the right
of his host, was pretty keenly scrutinized
by his British brethren of the quill. He
had. of course, banished all thought of
speech-ranking, and his knees never smote
together once, as lie told me afterward.
But it became evident to my mind that
Hawthorne's health was to be proposed
with all the honors. 1 glanced at his*
across the table, and saw that ho was un
suspicious of any movement against his
quiet serenity. Suddenly and without
warning our host rapped the mahogany,
and began a set speech of welcome to the
" distinguished American romancer."
It was a very honest and a very hearty
speech, but I dared not look at Hawthorne.
I expected every moment to see him glide
out oi the room, or sink down out of sight
from his chair. The tortures 1 suff ered on
Hawthorne's account, dear Jack, on that
occasion, I will uot attempt to describe
now. I knew nothiug would have induced
the shy man of letters to go down to B-,if
he had known ho was to he spoken at in
that manner. I imagined his face a deep
crimson, and his trembling with nervous
horror; but judge my surprise, when he rose
to reply with so culm a voice and so com
posed a manner, that, iu all my experience
of dinner-speaking, I never witnessed such
a case of apparent ease.
Easv-Chair C -himself, one of the beet
makers of after-dinner or auy other speeches
of our day, according to Charles Dickens—
no inadequate judge, you will allow—never
surpassed in eloquent effect this speech by

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