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Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, January 27, 1878, Image 7

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Breaking Music's Charms.
From the San Franciseo Call.
I wish I could mention the name of the
Amercan lady who has just returned from
Germany, and has had such a curious ex
perience" with Abbe Liszt. Briefly, how
ever, the lady is the daughter ot,I sup
pose, after Astor, the only really wealthy
man of the old school now living in New
York, and she has been indulging in an
extended pleasure trip in Europe this
year, escorted by one of her brothers.
When shewas inGermany she stopped at
the town of Weimar over night, and the
train by which she was to depart left at
5 o'clock the next morning. Before she
went to bed, she remembered that Wei
mar is the town where Liszt lives, and as
she is a splendid musician herself and a
passionate admirer of Liszt, she said to
her brother: "Now, before the train leaves
in the morning I am going to run up and
take a look at the house where LiszUives,
and pluck a leaf trom a bush in hi^gar
den, or something of that sort, as a souv
enir, you know."
"Jove"' cried her brother. "You 11
have to be up pretty early to do ^that.
You know the train loaves at five."
"Well, my devotion to Liszt will enable
me to make a special effort. You go to
the depot in the morning with my maid
and the trunks, and I'll be with you by
train time."
This programme they entered upon,
the brother, with the luggage and his sis
ter's maid, driving down to the station in
the hotel 'bus, while the lady set off on
her somewhat Quixotic errand into the
town. Though a good French scholar,
she knows little or no German, aud as
she had not the slightest idea of the lo
cality of Liszt's house, and could not
make herself undsrstood by the few per
sons she met stirring in the streets at 4:30
A. M., she lost a lot of precious time wan
dering around. At last some one direct*
ed her to the exact house, when she ha
got close upon it, and with mingled feelt
ings of awe and admiration she pushe
open the great man's garden gate, and
stooped to pluck a small flower from
a bed in [the centre of his little lawn.
Hardly had she done so than a strapping
German servant woman came flying out
of the house door, evidently prepared to
give the intruder a piece of her mind
when, observing, doubtless, the elegance
of the lady's attire and her distinguished
air, she stopped and asked her what she
wanted. ("Was wollen sie?") All my
friend could answer was, "Abbe Liszt
so thereupon the woman grinned from
ear to ear, and fairly dragging the lady
into the house, seated her in the drawing
room, and then disappeared.
In a few minutes a manservant who
spoke French entered and said, "Mon
sieur l'Abbe will be down in a minute,
Madame."
The American lady felt as if she would
sink through the floor, Fancy her disturb
ing Abbe Liszt at between 4 1-2 and 5
in the morning, with no letter of intr-o
duction to warrant it, and, moreover, no
time to bestow on him for was not her
biother awaiting her, no doubt with the
greatest anxiety, at the station? She was
on tenterhooks, and more than half con
templated running away without a word
of explanation. ,1 list as sh was debating
what on earth she should do, in walked
the Abbe, one of the sweetest, mostnc!le
looking creatures she ever laid eyes upon,
and greeted* hei with a couitly, yet cor
diai politeness which fairly charmed her
nxious pos.tion right out of her head.
He spoke French per fee'ly, and bowed
most grace!allv when she explained what
.lie had done, that she had set out to get
a glimpse of the great musician's house,
betore the train lefthere she looked at
her watehbut she had not dared to hope
for the pleasure of a glimpse at, much
less an interview with, Monsieur L'Abbe.
She felt supremely honoredher brother,
however, was awaiting her at the sta
tion
"Ah, you want to hear me play, that is
it," said" the charming old musician, smil
ing, and shaking his finger at her, and
completely ignoring what she said about
the train "Yes, yes, I see how it isyou
shall see he will play tor the charming
lady who comes all the way from Amer
ica, and desires to hear Liszt play his
own compositions."
So saying, he walked over to the piano,
and striking the keys with a mastery she
had never heard equalled, while his aged
features were brightened up by a beauti
ful expression which made him resemble
a samt, he proceeded to execute a musical
rhapsody, which, under other circumstan
ces, our friend would willingly ha?e giv
en a good many dollars to lisen to. But,
as it was, she could not enjoy a
note of it. She was half frantic with an
xiety. What should she do? How get out
of the house? It was the nearest approach
to the tortures of Tantalus she ever expe
rienced. Away off at Weimar in Germany
seated by Liszt's side, and having the op
portunity to hear him play, and yet crazy
to get away! The worst of it was that ev
idently the old fellow was wound up like
a music box, and would run on for hours
without a break. Her situation was des
perate, however. She had to take her
courage in her two hands, as the French
say, and rise right in the middle of one
of his gloiious pieces, aud tell him that
she could not stay another minute she
must go. She scarcely knows what words
were uttered at the leave-taking. As soon
as she got out of the door she started on
the keen run, everybody turning to stare
at her in the sleepy old'German town.
She found her biother and Her maid half
wild with anxiety about her, and undeci
ded whether to get the trunks off the
train or not. As it was, they just man
aged to haul her up into the car as the
train moved off. She thought a good
deal of Liszt before, but she says now
that every unoccupied movement of her
existence will be engaged in recalling
the charm, the surprise, the worry, the
torture of that singular interview.
A Singular Case of "Suspended Ani
matton."
While the extreme reticence of the
dramatis persona make it hard to get at
the minute particulars of the strange
events told below, the main facts of the
narrative are given on undoubted author
ity, and the story is believed to be in its
essential particulars strictly true: In a
family of excellent social position, resid
ing not a thousand miles from Boston, the
wedding of a young daughter was but a
few davs distant. Notes of preparation
precursory of the glad event re-echoed
in the family mansion busy finger3 put
the finishing touches on the bridal outfit
the tongues of the women folks rattled
with plans of future consummation the
drawing-room mirrors reflected no faces*
unwreathed with smiles.
Great frolic the young people made
over the coming marriage, and a merrier,
happier household would have been hard
to find. On the night in question jsllity
was unusually rife. This was the even
ing when the preliminarv rehearsal lor the
ceremony was taking place, and in the
parlors the to-be bride aud bridesmaids
were practicing their parts in the import
ant programme for the cay, disturbed only
by the door-bell's jingle now and then as
some new present for the bride reached
the house. It was a gay and boisterous
companv, and scarce a corner of the am
ple mansion was these unreached by the
voices, now chattering, now laughing, of
the merry party in the parlors. Yes, the
cheerful sounds, though half subdued,
found their way even into the upper room
where sat the dear grandmother of the
expectant bride, brisk in spite of her
eighty or ninety years, and reminding
her of such a time of joy in her own
youth, now so long gone by, brought to
her face smiles which lingered in peace
ful serenity. And her son, a man well
along in Hfe, seated for companionship
by her side, heard them too, and was hap
py at the hearing.
An interval of silence came by chance
in the conversation which nad been go
ing on between the mother and son both
were listening to the revelry below. A
moment later the son looked up, and his
lips parted to again address his mother
I her head dropped upon her breast below
the cap which covered the gray hair
the mouth, fo the dropping of the jaw,
was open wide, yet gave forth neither
voice nor breath her wan hands were
clenched she had fallen back in her
chair. He spoke to her there was no
answer only the glas9y eyes and the mo
tionless mouth. He placed his hands
upon her face and limbs they were cold
and rigid her pulse gave no responsive
throb to the pressure of his thumb:
vain he listened for the beating of her
I heart. The old lady was dead. And
outside the December wind whistled, and
up from below stole the laughter and gay
ety of the rolhckers practicing for the
marriage. "In the midst of life we are
in death."
She was dead, and what was to be done?
What was to become of the wedding
which the next day but one was to see?
Could a bride issue in marriage garments
from a house in which her own kin lay
robed for burial? Horrible! and yet
how cruel to turn the gladness of the
household into mourning, and get ready
for the bride on her wedding morning a
viel of blacK instead of white! Such
must have been the thoughts of the son
as he stood before his dead mother. And
there was no abatement in the mirth and
frolicking in the parlor. How awfuL to
dampen the spirits of the buoyant com
pany with news of the death! What a
shock for the lighte-hearted bride!
Could he not keep the sad fact from her,
from them all, until the morrow, at last*
Was it possible? He would try. Yet,
determined as he was not to spoil the
happiness of the evening, the offices of
death must be performed, and these he
could not do alone.
He went down stairs as though nothing
had happened, and, summoning his wile
unnoticed fmm the pailor, broke the
news to her, and legamed with her the
room upstairs. To have sent for assist
ance in laying out the corpse would have
been to alarm the household. Man and
wife laid her out as quietly as possible
themselves. By the time the remains
were disrobed, washed and covered with
a sheet, the company down stairs had
dispersed. The bride had gone to her
chamber unconscious of her grandmother's
death. It would be time enough to tell
her in th morning, poor thing. A board
was then go% and on it was placed the old
lady. The windows were thiown open
that the cool night air might assist in pre
serving the remains. The door was lock
ed upon the corpse alone in the cold and
darknes, and the tired workers sought
rest. There was an awful stillness through
the house, but the bride was asleep, un
conscious of the grief and disappointment
which was to be hers in the mornin _.
None but the two helpmates knew
that the stillness was the awful hush of
death.
The sun the next day streamed early in
through the open window of the apart
ment where the dead woman lay, and the
sheet which concealed the pallid
form moved gently at intervals with the
wind that came in with the sunbeams.
The husband and wife were in the rcom
with the corpse they had hurried to get
up to perfect the arrangements for the
luneral. In low tones they were discuss
ing what must be done. Tlie undertaker
and the minister must be told! "Yes,"
said the son "and now about the casket
I shall have to give the undertaker an
idea of the length, I suppose and both,
at this, involuntarily, as if to take the
measurment, turned their eyes to the
sheet, which with its fold*, outlined the
still figure beneath. As thej did so, hor
ror seized both. The woman shrieked:
the hair of the man, not figuratively but
literally, stood on end.
They saw the coprse kick up her feet
convulsively, and with a few lusty kicks
threw off the sheet which a moment be
fore had covered her geild limbs. Then,
like fabled Tim Finnegan at the wake,
the remains sat upright, ghastly, ghostly
and frightful to see. The two stared in
terror at the startling sight,but the corpse
did not leave them long in suspense. On
the contrary, she seemed in the highest
degree undisturbed by the situation
Her lips, nor longer colorless, moved,
and a voice and a request, each as natmal
as the day, came from the dear old dead
woman. "Give me some drink," she
said. And they knew that she had been
restored to life! Nobody was dead.
The bride needn't be told: the wedding
would not be postponed. Recoyering
their senses enough to interrogate and
look after her, the frightened gentleman
and his wife assured themselves that she
was indeed not dead.
Spite of the twelve-hours' exposure in
the sheet to the cold, her body showed no
effects of it, but was as warm as though
she had passed the night in her bed.
Asked how she felt the good old dame
leplied: "Never had a more comfortable
night's sleep in my life." She was total
ly ignorant ot what had happened to her,
and they let her remain so. I was an un
doubted case of suspended animation.
On the day following the wedding oc-
curred with nothing to hint at how near
it had come to being a funeral. At the
reception a sweet old lady sat in her easy
chair, chipper as a squirrel, in her best
black silk and apick-span clean white
cap. It was the bride's grandmother, the
corpse of the morning betore!Boston
Globe.
A LIFE FOE A LIFE.
Bertrode Dodge was blue. It was
August weatherthere was no air stir
ring from one arid noon until the next,
and the insects hissed maliciously all
day long the parched grasses. Per
haps that was the reason that Bertrode
was blue.
Perhaps it was that as she walked
Grover's Tract, day by day, and saw the
summer's hinted completion in the red
apples burning among the gray-green
boughs, the hay-fields at aftermarth, the
purple tasselled corn, and yellow wheat,
that she felt hsr life to be aimless. She
had let the summer come and wane
across her passive existence. The pre
vious winter she had said: "I feel ice
bound now. When summer comes I
will shake off this inertia and redeem
to-day."
Yet the summer was rapilly passing
and she was still in a dream. The hour
never seemed to come which called her
to exertion. Well, "Love's young
dream" comes but once it was all well,
perhaps.
Grover's Tract and her farmhouse life
was not as dull as she had Jpected it
would be when she returned from her
mountain tour a year before only at times
the out-door sounds and the leisurely
growing works of nature oppressed her.
In the winter she had been gay, looking
at the sunset across the snow,
watching the chick-a-dees, and searching
the woods tor purple mererion. In the
spring the long walks to the post-office
had been full of joyful fancies and golden
realities she loved the sweet country
sights and scents more than ever before
in her life.
But in August something seemed to
oppress her. The sky burned too blue,
the woods were too calmly content in
their greenness, the days closed too beau
tifully in their ripe splendor, as she
walked the Tract at sunset, coming from
the post-officecoming always empty
handed. Yes, something was wrong,
and when she realized it fully, she said:
"I am idleI am steeped in idlenes. I
have been doing nothing for a year. Now
I will have some work, and Dick may go
to the post-office. I care too much for
those letters."
Whatever those letters might be, there
came no more of them. A certain gay
tourist drifting about the world, forgot to
write them at last peihaps Bertrode was
pretty, but one traveling everywhere
meets many pretty faces.
Bertrode's cheek grew thin and white.
Her mother saw that she struggled to re
press a growing irritableness. But she
worked on unceasingly at her new em
ployment of teaching the dristict school
of Gro\ er's Tract. She devoted herself to
the childien. Their parents said they
had never befoie learned so fast. Ber
trode smiled only faintly at their piaise.
Ono day, coming home from -school
through the woods, she flung heiself down
anion" the feins and dry grasses,
[t is dust and ashes'" she cried.
The sky gleamed blue through green
bouqh* overhead, and a bird sang cheer
llj in a neighboring bush. She lay there
until she felt the dew falling. As she
lose up, something rustled at her side.
She looked down a great rattlesnake was
slipping through the grass, going from
her, apparently unawaie of her presence.
Fascinated, immovable, yet full of horror,
she stood and watched the creature. For
a moment it glided steadily on, its course
so direct, its appearance so subtle and
deadly, that she felt spell-bound as she
regarded it. Suddenly, with a thrill of
horror she saw the reptile's aim it was
making directly for a shady spot, where
a man lay asleep beneath the trees. One
moment more would be too late to pre
vent the threatened attack. Starting from
her passivity, she siezed a stone at her feet
and hurled it full at the creature. He
had just paused and raised his crest to
view his position, when the stone struck
him upon the back of the head, and with
a vengefull hiss he leaped into the air,
then fell at full length upon the ground
and slowly expired.
Bertrode stood looking at the dusky
length and bloody head of the dead snake,
her mind in sort of wonder that anything
could be so loathshme, when she heard
her name spoken. She raised her eyes
and saw Fennel Gould standing before
her. The young man looked at
the snake with a ssrt of shudder, and
then said:
"Bertrode, you must have saved my
life."
"I suppose I did," she answered. "The
creature was coming directly toward you.
Did you evei see anything so horrible,
Fennel?"
He took her hands she hardly glanced
at him.
Darling," he said.
She snatched her hands away in sud
den impatience.
"Don't!" [she said. I wish you
wouldn't, Fennel."
"But I love you.''
I cannot help it."
He regarded her sorrowfully. She
took her shawl from the grass and put it
on.
It is chilly here, and late, I am going
home," she said.
He walked silently at her side out of
the woods aud across the wide fields of
Grover's Tract. Never was there a more
hopeless lover than Fennel Gould. At
the farmhouse door he said, Goodnight,
Bertrode." She bowed, and he went on
over the hill in the warm gray twilight,
cursing his cruel fate as lovers have
cursed their fates before.
Through a succession of hot days the
month went out. Before it had passed,
Bertrode was taken sickmiserably ill
of fever. She suffered wearisomely, but
little could be done for her. It was a
slow fever which must burn out its course.
She was thirsty continually, and suddenly
in the midst of her suffering, the spring
which had supplied her with cool water
grew dry, and all other water tasted
warm and brackish to her fevered lips.
If I only had some ice, mother!" she
moaned.
I know, dear, but there is no ice in
less than twenty miles."
Too ill to express her misery, the poor,
fevered girl fell asleep, to dream of the
old yellow Grover Tract stage straining
its way over the heavy sandy roads to
Northboro', the only place where there
was an ice-housethere to procure for
her a great green block of the refreshing
ice she coveted.
"It will be so nice!" she murmured in
her sleep. "My throat is parched and it
will cool my drink so deliriously!"
A cricket sang in the heated wall and
woke her. She heard the stage trundling
over the hill.
"Has it come, mother?" she asked.
"What, dear? you are dreaming. Wake
up, and drink some of this nice iced lem
onade."
"Ice, mother! Where did you get it?"
"Fennel has been to Northboro, for it.
He's very kind to you, Bertie, dear."
"It's refreshing. How long have I been
asleep, mother?"
"All the afternoon, and I really think
you look better, Bertie."
Bertrode turned on her pillow and fell
asleep again. In the morning she was
better, but not well. The pale lips were
still parchedthe mouth so long fevered,
tasteless. She relished only the drinks,
iced and cool, which her mother prepared.
One day she said:
"How is it that that ice lasts so?"
"Why Fennel goes to Northboro' for
a fresh piece every other day. The
weather is so warm that it melts verv
fast."
"But it's haying time. How can he be
spared!"
"He goes at night after eight o'clock.
I don't see how he can do it when he
works in the field until he is ready to
drop.
"Then why do you ask him, mother?"
"Goodness, child! I never asked him
I guess I didn't! It's his own service. I
never dreamed of asking him."
Bertrode, bolstered up in bed sat silent
awhile.
Fennel's very kind," she said at last
but I don't like to tax people so. Moth
er, if I am better to-morrow can't I ride
out?"
"Perhaps so."
To-morsow Bertrode was feverish again.
Nothing passed her parched lips but a
yellow peach, a rareripe, that was a won
der to the neighborhood.
"Where did it come from, mother?"
"Fennel brought it."
The next morning, when she awoke,
a gust of spicy coolness whiffed into her
face.
What is that?" she cried, starting
up.
Just a pitcher of sprays from the scrub
oaks of the low-lands, their tender, pen
dant acorns swinging among the glossy
leavesbranches of bayberry, sweet
fern and a handful of checkei berry
mixed with sweet swamp heliotrope,
and wild asters, all dripping with the
morning dew.
':01i, mother, bring it closer! Where
did you get it?" placing her thin, white
hands among the cool, sweet foliage.
Fennel left it at the door this
morning. He thought it would please
you."
"It does please me."
No one but Fennel knew how she
liked fragrant green leaves and swamp
heliotrope.
She was grateful, and she told Fennel
so when she saw him. To prove it she
let him drive her out and find her roses
again among the fields. As the light
came back to her eye and the dimple to
her cheek, she laughed merrily sometimes
and forgot to look wistfully towaids the
mountains, as he had noticed her doing so
often two months before.
One day she was pa'e and troubled
when Fennel came with his buggy, She
was silent for a few moments after they
began their drive.
"Fennel?" "Well?"
Are you going away?''
Yes."
"Why, tell me, please?''
"That was all. She did not dare pre
tend not to understand him. Both faces
were pale* He turned towards her at
last, smiling faintly.
Yes, Bertie, you don't need me any
longer, and I am going away to try as
hard as I can to forget you. It is strange
that such a sweet-eyed girl should cause
so much pain, isn't it?"
Bertrode didn't speak. They rode in
silence along the river road. Bertrode
was listening, as if charmed, to the chirp
ing of a little bird among the scrub oaks
by the river, it was a hearty, cheery lit
tle bird that seemed to have no nonsense
about it.
The road grew narrower. The tree
branches met above their heads and
gradually grew lower. Fennel put out
his whip to hold them out of their faces.
The motion startled the horseor he
might have been twanged by the spring
ing sprays* He leaped suddenly forward,
and Bertrode was flung from the carriage
and down the steep bank into the river.
Stunned by the shock, she floated like
a corpse. If she had seen Fennel Gould's
face, then, she would have wondered,
even though she believed that she knew
bis love. He diew in the prancing horse,
and flung himself from the carriage.
Dashing down the steep declivity, he
threw* himself into the river.
The tide was rapid. Already the figure
of the drowninggirl, half submerged, was
floating into the middle of the current.
There were strong, fierce rapids, a quar
ter ol a mile below, and tke tide swept
them both toward it. Funnel Gould ex
pended every resource of body and
heart in that struggle for life and love.
She floated on on before him in the
flowing water until the great beads of
agony and pain stood upon his forehead.
But one fortunate stroke, and he caught
her scarf.
He struggled back to land and fell ex
hausted upon the bank. For a moment
he lay there, panting then rising, he lift
ed Bertrode into the carriage, and carried
home the life he had saved.
Evening came. Fennel was at home
pacing thoughtfully the floor of his little
chamber. It was twilight, and the scent
of the rip" apples in the orchard filled
the dim room. He did not notice either,
but he was roused suddenly by a knock
at his door. It was little Willy Dodge
with a note. He opened it. It bore
these words:
"Fennel come home with Willy. I
want to see you."
That was all, but he knew who sent it.
He went out of doors with the child
Holding the boy's hand, he walked the
fields he had walked a month before with
his heart bitter as rue. The crickets were singing among the grasses. A strange
lightness possessed him. and yet he kept
putting down his heartnot daring to
hope. The farmhouse door was open and
Bertrode was sitting in the porch. Little
Willy went into the house. Fennel
sat down on the step.
"What do you want, Bertrode?"
"I will tell you by and by."
The twilight grew more dim as they
talked of unimportant things, until thev
could not see each other's faces. The
crickets were singing hundreds of songs
in the grasses by the roadside. The dew
fell and woke the sweetness of the ferns
by the roadside.
A long time passed and at last Fennel
rose.
"It is time to go, Bertrode. Will you
tell me now?"
The moon came up and showed her
face pale and her lips tremulous, but
she stood up by his side and spoke
firmly.
"I want to ask you not to go awav,Fen
hel. Don't go."
There seemed more to be said, but she
could not say it. Her voice died on her
lips, and the eager light in Fennel Gould's
eyes faded.
I cannot stay, Bertrode don't be troub
led to pity me. Good-by, and God keep
you, dear, forever!"
He stooped to kiss her. Her arms were
around his neck.
"My love, my love," she cried, "don't
leave me. I want you you make me
happy and I have never, never, loved any
but jou, dear heart! Take my lifeyou
have saved it -and spare me the one you
risked in my salvation. I will try to
make it hapyy but, indeed, Fennel, I am
not worthy of you."
Heart to heart, at last Heaven's angels
bless them.
Miss Aleott,
St. Nicholas.
Close by Philadelphia, and now a part
ot that great city, is Germantown, a quiet
and lovely village then, which had been
settled many years before by Germans,
for whom it was named, and by Quakers,
such as- came ^o Philadelphia with Wil
liam Penn. Here Louisia May Aleott was
born, and she spent the two first years of
her life in Germantown and Philadelphia.
Then, her father and mother went back to
Boston, where Mr. Aleott taught a cele
brated school in a fine large building
called the Temple, close by Boston Com
mon, and about this school an interesting
book has been written, which, perhaps,
you will Bome day read. The little
Louisa did not go at first because she was
not old enoigh, but her father aDd mother
taught her at home the same beautiful
things which the older children learned
in the Temple school.
By and by people began to complain
that Mr. Aleott was too gentle with his
scholars, that he read to them fiom the
New Testament too much, and talked
with them about Jesus, when he ought to
have been making them say their multi
plication table. So his school became
unpopular, and all the more so because
he would not refuse to teach a pcor col
ored boy who wanted to be his pupil.
The fathers and mothers of the white
children were not willing to have a cl
ored child in the same school with their
darlings. So they took away their chil
dren, one after another, until, when Louisa
Aleott was between six and seven years
old, her father was left with onlj five pu
pils, Louisa and her sisters, ("Jo'' "Beth
and "Meg") one white boy and the colored
boy horn he would not send away. Mr.
Aleott had depended for his suppoTt on
the money which his pupils paid him,
and now he became poor, and gave up his
school.
There was a friend of Mr. Alcott's then
living in Concord, not far from Boston
a man of great wisdom and goodness,who
had been very sad to see the noble Con
necticut schoolmaster so shabbily treated
in Bostonand he invited his friend to
come and live in Concord. So Louisia
went to that old country town with her
father and mother when she was eight
years old, and lived with them in a co
tage, where her father worked in the
garden, or cut wood in the forest, while
her mother kept the house and did the
work of the cottage, aided by her three
little girls.
By and by, when Louisa was ten years
old, they went to another country town
not far off, named Harvard, where some
friends of Mr. Aleott had bought a farm,
on which they were all to live together,
in a religious community, working with
their hands, and not eating the flesh ot
slaughtered animals, but living on vege
table food, for this practice, they thought,
made people more virtuous. Miss Aleott
has written an amusing story about this,
which she calls "Transcendental Wild
Oats." When Louisa was twelve years
old, and had a third sister ("Amy"), the
family returned to Concord, and for
three years occupied the house in which
Mr. Hawthorne, who wrote the fine ro
mances, afterward lived. There Mr. Al
eott planted a fair garden, and built a
summer-houe near a brook for his chil
dren,where they spent many happy hours,
and where, as I have heard, Miss Aleott
first began to compose stories to amuse
her sisters and other children of the neigh
borhood.
When she was almost sixteen, the fam
ily returned to Boston, and there Miss
Aleott began to teach boys and gii Is their
lessons. She had not been at school
much herself, but she had been instructed
by her father and mother. She had seen
so much that was generous and good done
by them that she had learned, it is far
better to have a kind heart and to do un
selfish acts than to have riches or
learning or fine clothes. So, mothers
were glad to send her their children to be
taught, and she earned money in this way
for her*own support.
But she did not like to teach so well
as her father did, and thought that per
haps she could write stories and be paid
for them, and earn more money in that
way. So she began to write stories. At
first nobody would pay her any money
for them, but she kept patiently at work,
making better and better wThat
she wrote,
until in a few years she could earn a good
sum by her pen. Then the great civil
war came on, and Miss Aleott, like the
rest of the people, wished to do something
for her country. So'she wentjto Washing
ton as a nurse, and for sometime she took
care of the poor soldiers who came into
the hospital wounded or sick, and she
has written a little book about these
soldiers which you may have read. But
soon she grew ill herself from the labor
and anxiety she had* in the hospital, and
almost died of typhoid fever: since when
she has never been the robust, healthy
young lady she was before, but was more
or less an invalid while writing all those
cheerful and entertaining books.
And yet to that illness all her success
as an author might perhaps be traced.
Her "Hospital Sketches." first published
in a Boston newspaper, became very pop
ular, and made her name known all over
the North, Then she wrote other books
encouraged by the reception given to this,
and finally, in 1868. five years after she
left the hospital in Washington, she pub
lished the first volume of-'Little omen."
From that day to this she has been' (on-
stantly gaining in the public esteem, and
now perhaps no lady in all the land stands
higher. Several hundred thousand
volumes of her books have been sold in
this country, and probably as many more
in England and other European countries.
Faithtul Old Argns.
Argus was an old watch-dog, and be
longing to a farmer's family in Albany,
N. fl. Having long outlived his useful
ness (s it was presumed), his owners
had determined to put him out of the
way, and had several times disposed of
him, they thought, but he had always re
turned to them alive and well.
Finally a neighbor called one day,
with his rifle in his hand. He had been out
after a fox. One of the boys laid in with
him to take Argus out in the woods and
shoot him. The old dog was always
crazy to follow a gun. He lay in the
shed and heard the conversation, and
when, finally the rifleman called to him
he got up and followed him out,fol
lowed him around to the rear of the barn,
and there disappeared.
It would seem that he understood ex
actly the meaning ot the compact which
had been framed against his life. At all
events, he disappeared, and for six days
we saw him not, though two or three
times we fancied we could detect his
tracks, where he had been at the swill
tub during the night
The Seventh night of the dog's ab
sence was the night of Saturday, dur
ing the day soap had been made and
boiled down, and a heavy baking done in
the old oven. Somewhere past midnight
all hands were aroused by the barking
and howling, and whining and scratching
of old Argus. We knew the voice, but
we were determined not to let him in.
He redoubled bis cries and his snatching
upon the door.
At length the head of the family, in
his wrath, took down a loaded musket
loaded for a hawk,and threw up a win
dow of the sitting-room. No sooner was
the sash raised than the old dog came in
with a bound, and without stopping to
see what his reception was to be, he leap
ed through the door opening from the
great kitchen out into the washroom and
wood-shed, where he howled and scratch
ed like one possessed.
John and I knew that something must
be wrong outside, so we unfastened the
door, and as v\e opened it the dog
bouueded out to the shed where there
was a great wooden box half filled with
ashes.
But we had to go no fuithrr to karn
what was the matter. The shed was fil
led with smoke, and a sharp ciackling
broke upon our ears. The ash-box was.
on fire, from-coals which had been care
lessly thrown in during the afternoon be
fore, aud the fire had taken to the diy
pine partition between the shod and
ash-room, and had made its way almo st
to the root.
A smart wind was blowing and in ten
minutes more the fire would have been
bejond our control, and those ten min
utes would have been given to the enemy
but for the dog. As it was, having wat
er handy, we put out the fire with only
the loss of an ash-box and a part of the
partition but the experience gained was
worth more then that.
Grand old dog! He had crept to the
house to satisfy his hunger from the poor
swill-bucket fearing death if he were dis
covered but when he found danger to the
family,a danger which he must have
comprehended, instantly, and com
pletely,he thought no more of self
to save those whom he had loved became
sole object, and how he did it we have
seen. Be sure there were no more
thoughts of killing that dog, nor of giv
ing him away.
How Old Japanese Bronzes are Made.
A correspondent of the New York
Times has this in a letter from Kioto,
Japan: Bronzes and silks come in for a
very large share of the exports of Kioto,
and some ot the work in bronze is of a
superior charater. I have neard several
amusing stories about bronzes and the
wav they make them here. A meichant
of Kobe saw a pair of very old vases in a
Kioto shop their was no doubt about
their age, as they were eaten here and
theie by verdigris and the tooth of time
old Ternpus Edax Iter urn. He was sur
prised at the low price demanded, and
immediately bought them, and then ask
ed the shop-keeper if he had any more.
The latter said he had none, but would
make them to order.
I don't want new vaet,'' was the
repiy I want old ones like these.''
"Ill make them for you," the shop
keeper answered: "make them all just
like these."
The merchant gave the o"der, and in
month he had his n^w antiques, with the
nescessary stamp of Tempus Edax. He
ordered some more, sent the consignment
to London, and had the .satisfaction of
clearing about 400 per cent, on invest
ment. The Japanese maker told him
that the process of venerableizing
bronzes was very simple. "Get strong
vinegar," said he, and boil them in it
a few hours, and if you want to make
them very old add a little acid." The
same process has long been used at Bir
mingham in making Waterloo relics
and Egyptain antiquities, and the Japan
ese have not been slow to find it out
They are very clever at imitations of any
kind, and if you allow them a little
latitude they will improve upon the
model. The porcelain factory which I
mentioned in a preceeding paragraph had
imitations of all kinds of ware from,
Japan and China, and the proprietor
offered to reproduce any sample which'
could be brought. "You can buy plenty
of old ware here," said he, "but you had
better have it made, and then you know
you are not cheated." Very good and
practical advice.
m*i X3S

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