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New-York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1854-1861, July 16, 1854, Image 1

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Softs Mb games for iljt |eogk.
tn th!« Department w« design to state facts and give useful !n
formation only—not to make It an organ of opinion. To do
this properly, requires considerable time and labor. We trust,
therefore, that our readers will not send us questions whichthelr
ewn judgment must tell them we cannot answer.]
R. B. Q. —The “ stars did not fall all over
’ the world as they did here some twenty years ago.” The me
teoric shower noticed in this vicinity on the night of the 13th of
November, 1833, alluded to in the quoted question of our cor
respondent, if it did not “ fall over the whole world” certainly*
’Covered no inconsiderable portion of it; as the “ shower” was
subsequently traced from the longitude of 60 deg. in tho Atlan
tic ocean to longitude of 100 deg. in central Mexico, and from
the North American lakes to the southern side of the island of
Jamaica The cause of meteoric stones and shooting stars
lias never been clearly ascertained; and many hypotheses are
consequently entertained by the learned, neither school being
willing to recede from the conclusions, in the absence of posi
tive evidence on the subject, at which it has arrived. Lardner,
in summing up the conclusions and enquiries of others, remarks:
•‘ But we are not yet in possession of all the information of
these phenomena which observation may supply respecting
them. The origin of meteoric stones is still involved in much
obscurity. It is not yet clearly ascertained whether they are
identical with the appearances so often exhibited in the heavens
called shooting stars, nor has the cause of this latter meteor
■Deen explained.” The phenomena, says Braude, is of a transi
tory nature and have their origin in the atmosphere. “ Meteors
are of various kinds. Some are produced simply by a distur
bance of the equilibrium of the atmospheric fluid.' and are call
ed aerial meteors.” “A second class,” he declares, “arise
from the deposition of the aqueous particles which the atmos
phere holds in solution, and which are precipitated in conse
quence of a diminution of pressure or temperature, sometimes
in a fluid and sometimes in a concrete form. These are called
nqizeoMs meteors.''’ A third class of meteors, he thinks, are
caused by the action of the watery particles dispersed in the
atmosphere on the rays of light. These are called luminous
vneteors. But the fourth class, which he groups under the head
of igneous meteors, this philosopher does not explain so readily
or so easily, dismissing the phenomena observed under the
igneous class very curtly. We do not here copy his words, but
iiis meaning is, that they comprehend those which present the
phenomena distinctive of combustion. Some philosophers refer
Iheir origin to the gases in the atmosphere, others to the electri
cal elements, others to causes within the surface of the earth,
and where meteorology is taken in its most comprehensive
sense, to lunar causes. It is only within the last fifty years
that men of science have declared their belief in the phenome
non : and although Chladni, Sir Joseph Banks and others be
came interested in the subject, it was not till the appearance of
paper in the “Philosophical Transactions,” printed
in 1802, that it was conceded to be a subject worthy of philo
sophical research. Further enquiry since that time has led to
the most astounding discoveries; seroelites having been found
in various parts of the world weighing from one to twenty-six
thousand pounds. Some of these have been found on isolated
peaks of mountains, while others have been discovered in
wide extended plains buried half way beneath the surface, by
the force acquired in their descent. Pallas discovered in Sibe
ria, near the river Yenesi, on a mountain of slate, an cerolite,
which weighed 1,400 pounds, composed of an iron ore totally
different from any which has been seen either before or since.
It was of an irregular form, not solid, but cellular, like a
sponge, the cells containing olivin—a chrysolitic formation of a
bottle-green color. Chladni’s theory on the subject is the most
plausible. He thinks meteors are bodies moving in space,
either accumulations of matter as originally created, or frag
ments separated from a larger mass of a similar nature. This
theory of Chladni Davy endorses. He remarks; “The velocity
oi motion of these bodies must, in all cases, be immensely
great, and the heat produced by the compression of the most
ratified air from the velocity of motion must be probably suffi
cient to ignite the mass; and all the phenomena may be ex
plained, if falling stars be supposed to be small bodies moving,
round the earth in very eccentric orbits, which become ignited"
only when they pass with Immense velocity through the upper
regions of the atmosphere, and if the meteoric bodies which
throw down stones with explosions be supposed to be similar
bodies which contain either combustible or elastic matter.” Si
ding in a measure with the opinions of Chladni and Davy, Hum
boldt, in his “Cosmos,” says: Shooting stars, fire-ba'lls, and
tneteorlc stones are, with great probability, regarded as small
bodies moving with planetary velocity, and revolving in obedi
ence to the laws of general gravity in conic sections around the
Bun. When these masses meet the earth in their course, and
Bre attracted by it, they enter within the limits of our atmos
phere in a luminous condition, and frequently let fall more or
less strongly heated stony fragments, covered with a shining
black crust.” Another author remarks: “ The fire-balls,
which are seen occasionally to shoot across the sky, have been
estimated at from 500 to 2,800 feet In diameter—thoir ueigiii,
when visible from the earth, at from sixteen to one hundred and
forty miles; and their velocity of motion at from eighteen to
thirty-six miles in a second. The regular recurrence of shoot
ing stars, about the middle of the month of August and Novem
ber of each year, is considered to confirm this astronomical
view of the origin of meteorlites; and different days through
out the year have been marked as distinguished by these phe
nomena, as if there were streams of these small bodies near
the earth on those days.” And Humboldt’s final views on me
teoric phenomena may be gathered from the following extract:
The different meteoric streams, each of which is composed of
myriads of small cosmical bodies probably intersect our earth’s
orbit in the same manner as Biela’s comet. According to this
hypothesis, we may represent to ourselves these asteroid mete
ors as comprising a closed ring or zone, within which they all
pursue one common orbit.” There are others from whom we
might quote on this interesting theme, but as they deal in a
manner similar to those we have permitted to speak, in barren
probabilities, keen suggestions, or in suppositions that may or
may not be considered philosophical, we shall let them go to
our correspondent for what they are worth, only adding in con
clusion to the list a thought of our own. We believe it can be
mathematically demonstrated, that at certain points in the at
mosphere, large masses can be made (supposing the power to
do so within the reach of man,) to float, setting, aoparently, at
defiance the law of gravitation, and that these masses might re
main there for ages, unless some atmospheric disturbance
hurl them to the earth. That at certain distances such masses
do really rest, revolving with our earth and its atmosphere,
and may even form a zone around us, in the manner indicated
by Humboldt. Conceding this: the next question that arises in j ’
the mind is, how came these masses in the atmosphere? As- 1
Burning for the argument the earth to be an animal, we shall 1
consider that like ail other animals it is constantly perspiring, 1
and that through its million of pours it is ever throwing off, or
radiating, immense volumes of gas, of a mineral basis, and
that as this mineral gas ascends it gradually, by some process ;
in the laboratory of the atmosphere, returns to the condition in ;
which it originally existed, and that the infinite particles thus de- •
veloped adding each to the other, on the corpuscular theory, gra
dually form tnose immense terolitic stones—of which It has '
been found that about ninety per cent, is composed of iron ore— '
which are occasionally discovered on the earth’s surface. May
not this, after all, be the true source and cause of those enor
mous masses of terolitic matter which have confounded and :
perplexed the acutest minds for years?
B. B. J.—A‘•cloud” is a mass of minute !
particles of water suspended in the atmosphere. Clouds, re- ■
marks Brande, differ from fogs or mists only in occupying a
more elevated position—in all cases the origin is the same, viz : 1 ;
the vapors which rise from the collection of water, and indeed j
from the whole surface of the earth. These vapors are con- t
densed in the higher and colder regions of the atmosphere, and
thus lose their transparency and become visible. Clouds differ
very greatly iu respect of form, magnitude, density, etc. These
differences depend on the quantity of vapor of which they are i
Composed, and the which they taka aslhey Unite with ,
one another; and are determined in a great measure by the j
direction and velocity of the motion communicated to them by i
the wind. The height at which they float in the atmosphere is j
determined by their specific gravity, and consequently varies i
with their density. Thus light clouds are observed higher than <
the summits of the loftiest mountains, while those which are <
dense and thick rise only to a small distance above the surface
of the earth. Their average elevation is supposed to be between
two and three miles, but it varies at different times of the year. t
Of the cause of rain, perhaps Dr. Hutton’s theory is the j
most satisfactory. His idea was that the capacity of air for <
moisture, or the quantity of moisture which a given volume of <
air will hold, increases with the temperature, but in a mueh i
g eater ratio than the temperature; and hence it follows that if f
iwo equal portions of air at different temperatures completely 1
saturated with moisture are mingled together, a precipitation £
must take place in consequence of the mixture which will have
the mean temperature of the two portions, being unable to
sustain the mean quantity of vapor. Luke Howard, in treating ;
upon Dr. Hutton’s theory, thinks it insufficient to explain the i
phenomena, and ascribes the immediate cause of rain in many i
instances, at least, to the electric action of the commingling i
clouds on each other : one being charged plus, the other minus ; j
and that when equilibrium is established, the suspending power <
is likewise removed, and the particles coalesce and fall in con- 5
sequence of their gravity. That rain is connected in some way
er other with the electric state of the atmospheee may readily
be conceded ; but as the disturbance of the electric equilibrium
remains to be accounted for, this theory, as it at present stands, ;
brings us no nearer to definite ideas. On this subject we would <
advise our correspondent for further, and, to our notion, practi- i
cal information, to peruse Andrew Jackson Davis’s theory of
rain, etc. If we are not mistaken he will find the whole sub- ]
ject discussed In Vol. 111. of the Great Harmonia Thunder ! i
is undoubtedly caused by the successive discharges of electri- •
city in a full-charged thunder cloud. The astounding noises I
which we hear accompanying these di7charges is caused by the 1 <
vibrations of the air agitated by the passage of the electric dis- I t
Charge with a greater or less degree of electricity. One theory ! <
of the cause of the noise is, that the electric 'fluid opens a i «
way through the air or other matter, in the manner of a prnjec- ' 1
tile, and that the sound is caused by the rush of the air into the ! i
vacuum produced by the instantaneous passage of the fluid: |
another, more in harmony with all the facts, is founded on the !
vibratory propagation of the electric flnid. When the electric j
spark passes between two points, there is a decomposition and ; i
recomposition of electricity in all the media in which it appears, i <
and consequently a vibration more or less violent is produced, I
which vibration gives rise to sound. On this hypothesis, the I <
continued roll is the effect of the comparatively slow pronaga- I j
lion of sound through the atmosphere Lightning and elec- ■
tricity, as Dr. Franklin has demonstrated, are homogeneous.
Electricity is an element over which we may theorise, but of ! <
its origin or cause the most adventurous in the arcana of na- I 1
ture has not as yet given a satisactory answer. We call it an 1 i
“element,” a “substance.” the “exhibition of an extraordinary i
power of matter;” but what it is cannot be stated. All that we • <
know is, that, in its active or quiescent, positive or negative ' 1
state, it probably pervades every substance in nature; and I
that while it has an affinity for some objects, others it rejects, or
intermingles with but slowly. But you ask what is electricity? ■ •
What definition shall we oiler? We will give vou one that we j j
feel assured you never heard or read before*. Electricity is ; i
the soul of heat!
W. C. Desmond. This correspondent •
writes: “I perceive that Webster has derived the term ‘Lynch .
law’ from a Virginia farmer. To me it seems probable that the I
application of the term as now generally used, arose from the | 1
Story of the • Irish Brutus,’ as one Lynch, once mayor of the i i
city of Galway, has. by historians and literary writers, been ■ ’
sometimes named. This Lynch, so runs the history, ‘took the , '
law into his own hands’ on a remarkable occasion, when his ]
only son was the victim. The severe act of justice of this man I
was the presiding at the trial, and for an offence which his son I
committed, at that time by the statute considered a capital |
crime, condemned him to undergo the extreme penalty of the 1
law. This Spartan act, although reprobated by the more hu- i
inane of Lynch’s contemporaries, has since been applauded to
the echo. Like his prototype he felt like a father, but as a ma- ;
gistrate inflexible even to tho cries of natural affection. The !
tale may be found in ‘Hardman’s History of Galway.’ I have i
somewhere read that the term ‘Lynch law’ had its origin in the '
above incident, which is perpetuated in the ‘City of the Tribes’ i
t»y the sculptured skull and cross bones over the door of the j
mayor’s house, which yet stands in tolerable preservation near I
fit. Nicholas Church, in the ‘City of the Tribes,’ if it has not
Been removed to the Crystal Palace, London, with the ancient ■
crosses and other antiquities of the country, as such removal I
■was threatened.” Like our correspondent, we have read the
historic legend to which he refers, but we can find in it no au- ;
thority for assuming that the Lynch of Galway was the origina- I
tor of the present code Lynch. The unnatural parent of Gal- i
■way—for such our feelings compel us to call nim—acted as
8, magistrate, strictly w“’ u i u V ne province of law; while he who :
gave his name io modern violations of right and of society,
acted without and beyond all law-peeking his revenge by |
av iiaught those conservative influences and customs '
which bind and protect society from the evil desires of tho.- 0
within its circle, as from those without. Lynch of Gal WAV if '
the story related of him is true, which yre hope for the honor’of
humanity is not, was a brute. He hot only officiously presided I
at the trial of his son, but even condemned him to death and
when he could not find a hangman base enough to carrv out hl» 1
bloody determination, voluntarily went to the place of that ■
son s confinement, there with his own hands tied the cord round '
his neck, and with a lurch swung him from the tree into the I
dread hereafter by a violent, unnatural and dishonorable j
death. His subsequent resignation of the post he held, his re
pentance and his being called the “Irish Brutus” do not ex- I
cuse him in our eyes, and should not in those of our much es
teemed correspondent. We prefer Webster origin of tho “code j
Seeker of Truth.—We do not, nor cannot,
Bf±, n Q! 0 a W Oun x/ or . t S° ‘contradictions of the spirits as re I
~ohn. Jranklin. Without resorting to solriis w
should learn to judge lor ourselves upon every subject within
the scope of our knowledge, or even conjecture. Common
•, u " c -o teach us that the unfortunate navi-
gacor had, with his gaLant and adventurous crew, passed away
like your last remark: “If Sir John is dead why
80 a . nd no ,’ allow other s ? irlts to mislead
mankind < Now , conceding this modern spiritualism to b t
true, how would Seeker” know if one from Hades came to
him, and said he was Sir John Franklin, that he was dead, and
teat he was the genuine person or some one who “desired to !
mislead him for the joke of the thing? Has “ Seeke”” ever 1
Chased an v/rns jutuus over marshy grounds with any hope ot I
catching it .• As well might he reek to grasp the phosphorenc ■ i
of tne F.warnp, as clutch the ignis fatUM called spiritualism. :
rnbli^ U o a ‘ J °’ H ’ rCj:ark -, (here is no doubt ia our I
mind that there are many persons who honestly, religiously be
lieve that th. y communicate with those who have passed from
this to another slam of existence; and certainly the evidence !
they bring forward to sustain the averment is of such a char- I
actet’ as to stagger the most incredulous. And may be there is
somethingbeyono Dr. Dods’ “involuntary action of the brain,”
or Dr. Faraday’s • muscular theory” in this mystery; but as
lhe most astounding of the material and mental displays have
only been vouchsafed to the few, and carefully preserved from
the many, leaving the latter upon the most aosorbing of all
the immortality of the soul-to grooe in the dark
ness. To what conclusion shall we arrive ? “ Media,” so called
between the na.ural and spiritual planes of existence are too
Powers formoney’s sake—and for thia we
feel jusdfied in denouncing most of this class (we excentone or
two. for a reasoninot necessity to explain at this time,) as Im
posters who trade In the aaec'lons and desires of the soul as
inerCuAfl’s do in flour or any other commodity, for gain. It is
against these we would warn our correspondent. Let him wiit
and if not here, perhaps in the hereafter, he will learn the fate
of Sir John Franklin.
Millard W. Boyd.—Complying with the
earnest request made by us some weeks since, that those in
possession of recipes for compositions which, applied to animals
in the service of man. would protect them from anuovance by
flies, etc.. Mr. Bovd has been kind enough to send us the follow
ing mode which, he assures us, has proved sufficient to prevent
his cattle from being troubled, at this season:—“My recipe for
keeping flies from animals is very simple. For my oxen i take
common lamp oil and wash with it the parts easily approached
particularly, at this season, when the new hair is‘not long
enough to ward off insects. It is customary with ine, some
times as often as twice or thrice each day, to wet a cloth with
oil and rub it over the nostrils, around the eyes, the edges of the
shoulder blades, the brisket, the flanks, and the abdomen—this
done, and until the oil is absorbed or rubbed off, neither fly nor
other insect will approach. When my animals are ‘skin
■wounded,’ I have found the following treatment effectual:—!
first take of alum the size of a walnut, reduce to powder
and burn-.then of md, clean leather, sufficient to cover my hand,
J also burn, powder and mix with the alum ; with this I clothe
the abrasion at night, and in twenty-four hours, if care is taken,
a new skin is formed,which in a week or ten days will be found
as strong as other parts ©f the hide. Should the wound by accD i
dent re open, repeat the powder; and. should the creature be
exposed io flies, moisten the edges of the wound with oil. Of
course it is understood, the larger the surface anointed with oil,
the less the animal will be annoyed. Oil placed in the nos
trils of horses, prevents gad-flies from entering and depositing
eggs, and so protects them from the bots.”
Lafayette.—Our correspondent is in part ;
correcL There Is a water fall on the Delaware, near Trenton, :
N. J., which has an abundance of permanent water power for ■
manufacturing purposes; but Is incorrect in supposing that
there were no Trenton Falls, in the State of New York. The I
falls in West Canada creek. Oneida county, this State, are six i
in number, and separate. All these are formed by solid masses
of rock which cro;s the beds of the stream. The lirst, called ;
tiie Upper, is described by another pen, from which we quote ■
the remainder of this answer, as having a perpendicular
descent of about 20 feet; .the second, the Cascades, 18 feet* !
the third. Mill Dam, 14 feet; fourth, the High Falls, which have I
three separate cascades of 48, 11 and 37 feet; the fifth, Sher- 1
man’s Falls, 35 feet; the sixth, Conrad’s Falls, 15 feet, termi
nates the ravine. The entire descent of lhe stream (including '
the rapids.) from the top of the Upper Fall to the foot of Con
j-ad's Fall, is 312 feet, and the dis’auce is about two miles. The I
ravine through which the waters flow is often one hundred feet
deep, with banks of stone almost perpendicular. The scenery i
around these falls is wild, picturesque and beautiful, and when •
the water is high, is of much grandeur. , The country adjoining '
is mostly covered with forest trees, thus retaining for the ravine i
its primeval appearance, and constitutes the greatest charm of
those falls.
Vabick street. —-You will excuse our giv- ;
ing as your signature the street in which you reside. The fact '
is, we have received this week no less than fourteen no es
signed “A Constant Reader,” and as we cannot answer all i
under this signature without creating confusion we are com- !
pelled to adopt some other appellation. If correspondents i
would but take take the trouble i« append their initials or a
word or name by which they could be distinctly a Idr issed, they '
would please us much. It is not unusual tor us to receive
batches of inquiries in the course of the week, wt’h “An Old ;
Subscriber,” “A Subscriber.” “A Constant Reader,” etc., j
etc., appended, which often give us more trouble than the in- i
quirles involved, and which might in future be avoided by I
accepting our suggestion The “exact time” of the Ara- I
bia, on her shortest wesiern voyage, was made in the month of I
August, )853. The Arabia left Liverpool at 2 P. M. on the 13th '
that month, and arrived in New York at 7:55 A. M. of the :
23d—her lime was 9 days, 1? hours and 55 minutes. Her quick- :
eastern trip was made in the month ot June, 1853. She left i
New Yoi k at 12,35 P. M.. June 15. and arrived at Liverpool on I
the 25th of d e same momh, at It >i2 A. M.—exact time 9 days, '
22 hours and 7 minutes. J I
Anxious Mother.—Children from seven to
-twelte ought not io eat treen stuiiW. meat, fish, stale e"gs nor
a ink sth -f «d milk, in the summer months, especial! v. Farina '
r-omminy, home-made bread, corn bread, ripe fruit, samp’ 1
s yieh. in -.he furm of pudding, rice plain, or made into a I
L... ui g n,, ‘ lco rich< Arrow-root, eie,, e.c., make excellent food
ciu.aien a: any season. We beg of you “Anxious Mother” !
« h lVe lhe welfare ol " > onr children at heart, not to po ir
flVrßnv ,;5 e . doW^I heiriender . ,hroa,s - O’ l any occasion or un
emuioh'd Ils 1ls ilw- very best fluid that can be '
?et bem ,|n ‘ llel ‘ ;L,: V- l! W fond of sweets, I
t »• 11 '■« contents of
if h' UH,,., ■ AbO'h. rlbougi:t»-e wouldadvlss “AurlousMo
taken u,.- ™ri" 1 1 0 " h ' tresutniag that, a, she has
' _~?er 11, slle wl1 '' 1,1 1 J “«. cur directions
n’rlock ar nipht 1 nTI ma - a out of 1,0(1 la er t’»an nine
the! a'i "'t'' 1 ' '’»««>«>» In‘he looming without
5 as ia°h. 1 1( « a mb of tepid water. Water
“i?e?o£; c P hT ky tLe e:l icleas S° ol foodi3l °
' J’. 5 a n recover from A. the thirty
renders null all its other Rti''uia“oiS d u T ■* ca,e ""
of A. but oust him from only re,:over
A native of the Unb.-d S i-es. t, ,' e Property....
citizen. Present your vote at the next eiZ/Hnn anViJV.ni 1
lenged swear it in. Should legal proceeding?’be ?nsH”ited
?ffn Jo O ;^’r-mm W «‘«ieiTnt Ivid’enceto

physician who at.enned your motber at pariuHiion'nr^h'L
♦ men: of persons in it© neighborhood in which
Hided would be accep-able to the conn, l would re P s. w?th ffie
J- late to prove that ? on were not born in the place you allege.
Joachim Halbert.—While we advocate
to S '> llr ?, we « ber ’ •’«’*“ exactly a,.prove of
pickled cabbage. ' Persons wfao permit themselves to ba
‘•pickled’’ in that way, are apt to get in-o a “pickle” from whuffi
ail the nortymns in JUatcria Slt'lica cannot release them. Pickle 1
vegetables occasionally, will not iqjtire anyone; buteonAant
reliance on this class of food is very liurtfr.l even to the ro on st.
... ..Eleeping lu the night air will narm no one, provld id tiier
»teep vs here nriasmaic influences cannot reach them.. p u .
r»y your siomach and blood, and wash your body one -eV-rv
Lrffi ! 0 ' 1 ' ’ “ “‘" •'-•■fu 'saier, H ou dosire a situ “aeati-
,penucil as alabaster. ’
- woiuk fits!® wS «£ 0-
VOL. 9. NO. 34.
F. Merriam to Querist. —“ I meant that
piece of circle included between the hypothenuse and the two
right lines drawn from the acute to the centre of tho inscribed
circle. Your problem, given as “some” is impossibleTo
Co-Tangent.— “ The length of the wheelband is, 11.79235 feet,
the given diameters of the pulleys being 30, and 2% inches”...
To B. L. B.—“ The sides of your triangle are, 8, 10 and 6 feet;
those of the rectangle 4 and 10 feet, and the side of the square ]
8 feet.”To Leo.— “ The product of the two legs of vour 1
right angle triangle, divided by their sum, and their quotient. ]
multiplied by the square root of two, Gives the true length of (
the right line drawn from the right angle through the centre of 1
the c rcle to the opposite side of the triangle; and 40—10=30 1
3MC=SOO. From this take 4/71—12000 multiplied bv 314.16—1, }
one piece of the triangle.” ' *
Anonymous.—For tho proper use and under- .
standing of the words till and until we refer our correspondent ?
to Webster's lexiconlt is true that G. P. R. James, the ‘j
novelist, resides at Norfolk, Va. He is British Consul at that J
port Prof. Longfellow was, and we believe is, professor of *
modern languages and belles lettres at Harvard College, Cam- 1
bridgeWe suppose we could, with a little study, name 1
some twenty or thirty authors who composed books between I
the “ages of seventeen and twenty.” We cannot call to mind 1
any at present. A. J. Davis completed his master work, “Na- 11
ture’s Divine Revelations,” before he was twenty years old.
W. W. M.—The newspapers say that there r
“is a fillibustering party party now organized in United States, c
designing an attack on Cuba ”General Quitman is sup
posed to be the chosen chieftain of the invading army. The f
moneyed supporters of the expedition are not positively known.
... ..The expedition to Cuba will probably leave the United
States from the mouths of the Delta, below New Orleans
“Itvould be advisable to join it,” if you have any particular
love for the garote, and would like the title of “pirate” added to
your name.
Horatius.—“ Wilson’s Anatomy,” for use is, -
perhaps the best work on the subject extant. It fe a text book
in meqical colleges Horatius requests the solution of the
following problem: “ There is a circular race course 550 yards
in circumference: a horse starts at a certain point of this and
goes round at the rate of one mile in two minutes ; a man starts
from the centre of the course, and runs with his face turned
directly towards the horse, running at the rate of one mile in
a>v minutes. Tin, .jumuvu t», iu wnu* we man «na •
the horse be together, and what will be the figure described
within the circle.” •
IL Shaw.—Only in the Territories of Ore
gon and Washington are lands granted in fee simple in limited
quantities to actual Settlers. The emigrant who settles in the
Territory of Kanzas will have to purchase the section he locates
upon when it is brought into the market There are many
routes that may be taken to reach Kanzas. The most direct
routh from this city to the borders of Kanzas would be by the
way of the Erie Railroad to Dunkirk, thence up Lake Erie to
Toledo, thence to Chicago, thence to lowa City, and from thence
across the country of the Sacs and Foxes to Council Bluffs.
A Single Man.—Our answer to this corres
pondent should be after the lucid manner of Jack Bunsby,—
“If so, why—if not, then why so!” How are we to know
whether it would be “advantageous for youto tear down the
house at present upon your lot and erect another one in its
place.” Some of the neighbors acquainted with the value of
Sour property, can advise you much than one who only knows
lat it is “sixty-five feet in depth,” but who has not the slightest
Inkling as to whether its location be in the moon, Kamschatka
or New York.
Know-Nothing.—Wc really cannot say how
you “could retain a letter, supposing it was mis-directed when
directed to us.” When our correspondent next writes for in
formation he will please be a little more explicit Your let
ters “directed to Pennsylvania and New Jersey six months
agn,” have probably been lost, miscarried or misdirected, and
so for want of applicants to take them from the offices of deliv
ery have been forwarded to the Dead Letter office, Washington
W. R.—Deer, and other game of the forest,
may be found in Sullivan county. The county is hilly, and in
its numerous streams—particularly jn the Mongoup and Never
sink rivers, in the branches of the Delaware, and iu Bache’s,
Beaver, and Little Beaver creeks—fish in abundance may be
caught by expert anglers Like all other hilly countries,
Sullivan county has its romantic prospects, rich valleys, and
pleasant streams. The county may be said to be exceedingly
healthy The New York and Erie Railroad runs through a
section ot Sullivan county.
Contributor.—To use the pithy expiession “
of one of our correspondents the Far West is “some” in extent,
variety and richness of its soil, hugeness of its trees, fatness of
its cattle, beauty of its women, and untiring industry and enter
prise of its men“ Contributor,” we presume, can find a
market for his drugs in any of the great towns of the West. If
it Is his desire to emigrate thither, we would advise him to make
the tour of the country before settling down in any particular
Reader.—lf your invention is really as im
portant as you would have us believe, we dp not see why you t.
cannot and without any very great trouble, interest a gentle- f«
roan of capital in its behalf. Surely a ‘patented invention
which will completely revolutionize a great commerce both in a
Europe and in the United States.” cannot long remain without k
friendslt is customary with inventors to advertise the sale
of an interfest in their inventions in order to secure for it sue- O
cess, and reward for the proprietor. g
An Old Subscriber.—Probably at one 0' v
the first class hotels, a directory of the city of New Orlean v
may be obtainedTo secure an appointment ou one of th • '
Chagres steamers, application must be made through the presi- B
dent to the directors of the line The ‘shortest and best
mode of restoring those suffering under the effects of su .
stroke,’ is to dash cold water over them,more particularly on the B
head and chest. The dash •will shock the system of the patient, p
and change the circulations from the head downwards. .
John Hyland.—An alien cannot become I'
a citizen of the United States in any other manner than by sub- .
mining to the form of proceedings laid down in the act of Con- ti
gross for the naturalization and admission of aliens to citizen
ship. An oath of allegiance to the constitution is absolutely u
insisted upon in every caseNo term of service, long S'
or short, on an American vessel, will admit an alien to eiti- «
zenship. ,
Fat.—We suppose the reason why yon are t
lean is because you have heretofore eaten food not nutritious; “
and, perhaps, have “bolted,” without the leave of yourmasti- p
cators, whatever you have permitted to enter that receptable f.
of yours for all that is unwholesome. Read our advice to 1
“Anxious Mother,” and profit by it. The diet prescribed for
her children, will be found as nutritious for grown people; and, *’
perhaps, quite as fattening as gross animal food.
Armstrong.—About the best course you |
could pursue to keep water out of your cellar would be to pack u
the clay around the foundation walls, then cover the floor abouts!
six or eight inches with sand—on this lay a flooring of brick, and
over the latter cast an inch of cement. It would be to cement 1
the foundation walls. A drain should be built in the cellar be- ti
fore the sand is put down.
J. C. B.—Of course “it is a criminal offense h
in one merchant to forge the name of another,” for his own or
anybody else’s accommodation. His preventing the note “being u
dishonored,” will not excuse him of the crimeHe can be S'
“prosecuted by the person witnessing the offense.” From
sl2 to 525 per week is charged for board at the Catskill Mouxx- r '
tain House. c
W. H. G.—An achromatic lens, three and n
one half inches in diameter cannot be purchased for a sum less
than $25; one of five inches diameter will cost $75. An eye
piece, of one inch diameter, is worth $4 50. These glasses a
could not, with safety, be sent by mail. There would be little e
danger in forwarding them by express. For further informa
tion, address John Roach, optician, 111 Fulton st. P
Bions Mines.—The barrel of the Sharp rifle
is made to weigh eleven pounds, and is of cast steel: usual
length, 26 or 28 inches. The size of round ball, 60—90 to the v
pound ; conical of the 60 is 24 to the pound ; conical of the 90,
40 to the pound. Barrel octagon Your safest co“ i ' sc would P
be to have the rifle forwarded to your address by Adams & Co.’s a
Lansing.—Bank officers, clerks, etc., are f,
ftaid by the institutions in which they are employed. The cash
er, we presume, pays each man the salary to’ wldch he is en
titled. Employees in banks are paid, generally, every month,
or at the expiration of the quarter The adhesive mixture
put on the back of postage stamps is “composed of’ gum- a
Arabic. J
T. W.—as “ Sir” is not a hereditary title, d
and as we have never heard that William Don was knighted, y
we presume the prefix to his name is assumed, or perhaps given . •
him at baptism as a Christian nameAs it would cost you *
more to clean the Panama hat than it is worth, it is not neces- h
sary to inform you how to proceed to bleach it.
Rahwack.—How, in common sense, sir, are .
we to unriddle the name of the secret society known to you as
“Ox. Tike.” Pray be reasonableWe have on two occa- t
sions, given a recipe for removing India ink from the hand or f
arm. We refer you for information on this subjcct.to preced
ing columns. e
Otsego.—The law ante-dating the pensions
of revolutionary soldiers was not intended for the benefit of C
their heirs, but for those soldiers living, or in case of their de- q
cease, their relicts. Descendants of revolutionary pensioners ,
are debarred, we believe, from the concessions of tne act allu- 1
ded to by our correspondent.
Music.—“ Popular human (not negro) songs,” t
are to be found as plentiful as “leaves in Vallambrosa/’ at c
The price of “human song books” varies,
according to binding and letter press. “ Human” song books *
can be purchased at prices ranging from 25 cents to $2. |
Quaere. —Men shipping on United States t
vessels are entitled to advance pay—three months, we be- c
lievePersons enlisting as landsmen, simply, are not
called upon in the Navy to do the duty, of expert or able-bodied 1
O. C. G. and G. S.—Mr. J. R. Anderson is r
a native of the city of Edinburgh, Scotland. In what year he r
was born we cannot state... .We are not advised as to Mr.
Anderson’s present whereabouts; and cannot sav on what stage | fl
he will next appear.
Pekma.—The hair wilt eventually be remo
ved if the person desiring it persists for a season in applvin; „
the composition furnished by us some some two or three week i d
since. It will not kill, on the first nor second application, th ; t
roots of the hair. g
G. E. D.—The matter you sent us is inter- | r
teresting only to the parties immediately concerned. The death ’ 4
of your friend should be published under the obituary head, ■ v
and tlie poem should follow it. The cost of its insertion in that I 1
shape will be 12% cents per line. '
N. V. H.—Cannot say where J. Lester j y
Wallack Is at present Sanctum sanctorum are Latin words, r
and mean -most holy place.” The cin the first syllable of c
each word is pronounced as k ; and the oin torum has a long
sound. .
Constant Reader.—We cannot inform ;
“Constant Reader what the initials E. Z. C. signify in the name
of the individual commonly known as ‘Ned Buntline’ and
whose real name is Judson.”
L. R. S.—Our correspondent will do well to a
call on and state his case to Dr. Gouraud, No. 67 Walker street. I
Gouraud will supply him with a medicament that will erad- Q
icate the cutaneous disease to which he is subject. d
E. D.—lt is not lawful to carry upon the ‘
person, concealed, a loaded pistol; or indeed, any other weapon a
that would be likely to cause deathlt matters not whether |
the pistol has or has not upon its nipple a percussion cap.
J. B.—“ Wants to know if Kossuth is a true [
friend of freedom?” People on this as upon many other sub- !
jects widely differ. In our opinion Kossuth is a “true friend of i
F. T.—A paper called the “ Cosmopolite” v
was published in this city some years since. It was discontin- !
ued in 1847.
J. M. Prie.—As your questions are purely ; j
personal wc cannot answer them. We never interfere in the -.
business of others. i I
Advice.—Our “suggestion” is, get married. ' 1
Marriage for young men like you is the very best remedy that
can be prescribed. ' £
John J. Cook.—We have no “opinion” to
offer about the “Grecian Love” or any other Powder. ; (
J. F.—According to your computation, the
mortgage money, including interest, was fully paid.
G. W. C. Jr.—We cannot, at present, ob- e
tain reliable answers to your enquiries. • ! (
j €
Buckwheat Straw.—The public are famil- *
iar with the uses cf buckwheat cakes; but it would seem that (
buckwheat straw has been used in Russia for a number t
of years, as a substitute for quercitron or yellow oak bark. ]
This will tell against the American Importers of this bark, if
it be found in Europe that buckwheat straw answers as well 1
in dyeing. We do not know how much quercitron is now 1
exported; but the quantity cannot be small; still we think it 1
is not so large as it was thirty years, ago, owing to
ed use of the bi-chromate of potash since that time, for dye
ing yellow on cotton fabrics. Quercitron, or yellow oak bar.
is an American dyewood, discovered by Dr. Bancroft, of I
London, while in America before the Revolution. It was, *j
and is now employed in dyeing yellow on wollen, silk and 1
cot:on good£, also for dyeing green on a blue ground. The r
latter color is produced on cotton by dyeing the fabric a blue J
color in an indigo vat, then preparing the cotton for the bark (
decocation with pyroligneous acid, or a preparation of alum }
I and the acetate of lead. The bark is scalded or boiled and
the goods handled carefully in the clear liquor for half an . £
’ hour. To dye yellow with quercitron, bark it is
only necessary to scald some of it in a clean vessel, t
and use the clear deciion by placing it in a boiler, j
, bringing it up to the boil, and using a small quantity .
, of the sulpho muriate of tin in the liquor. The goods receive j J
two or three dips in the liquor—each dp requ'ring abaut 15 ►
I minutes handling— then an airing. Cotton and woollen goods j
| are boiled in :he bark liquor, but silk goods are not boiled, f
they are merely handled in the scalding hot liquor. This bark !
i makt s a very beautiful color, but if buckwheat straw will 1
i answer as gcod a purpose our farmers can use it for dye- <
I Ing yellows and browns, in the same manner as bark, only |
i it will be more convenient for them to use alum in place of r
• the sulpho-muriate of tin, as the mordant. It is a well
i known fact, that quercitron bark was evperted from Phila- 1
delpkia for many years to England, and used there for dye- 1
; ing yellow, before the secret of its use was known at home. j
i Gen. Washington on Slavery.—ln 1781, ’
Washington wrote to Lafayette:—“ The scheme, my dear 1
■ Marquis, which you propose as a precedent to encourage the ]
i mancipation of the black people of this country from that state I ,
of bondage in which they are held, Is a striking evidence of j
the benevolence of your heart. I shall be happy to join you
1 in so laudable a work.” In 1785, Washington wrote to the ,
I samb distinguished gentleman: “The benevolence of your
i heart, my dear Marquis, is so conspicuous on all occasions, ;
that I never wonder at any fresh proofs of it; but your late
1 purchase cf an estate in the colony of Cayenne, with the view |
I of en-amcipaiirg the slaves on it, is a gene oas and noble proof 1
| of your humanity. M ould to God a like spirit might diffuse 1
i self generally into the minds of the people of this country. 1
1 But 1 despair of seeing it. * * * » * |
To set the slaves afloat at once would, I really believe, be
1 productive of much mischief and inconvenience; but by de
i grets it might, and assuredly ought to be effected; and that
' too, by legislative
| slve commentary on this correspondence between Washington
; ai.d Lafayette, on the subject of American slavery, to quote I
I the words v.h'.ch the latter wrote from the prison of Made- !
burg : “ I know not what disposition has been ma le of my
< plantation at Cayenne, but I hope that Madame de Lafayette ■
ttl'.l take care that the negroes tcho culticaie it shall preserve
tl.ew idcr’y." In 1786, Washington wrote to Mr. John F. :
Mercer; “I never mean,* unless some particular circum- ■
stances compel me to it, to possess another slave by pur- I
chase, it beii.g among my first wishes to see some plan adopted I
ly u hich slavery in this country may be abolished by latc. u
A Whale among the Whalemen.—A short
time since, a finback whale was seen and capturM off the bar *
at Nantucket, by the captain and crew of the sihooner Wil-
Lam P. Dolliver, 'lhe schooner was bound on a whaling
cruise ; but, when off the bar, it was discovered that they bad
forgotten their chart. A boat was sent on shore for it. As '
, ihe schooner lay to. awaiting the return of the jioat, a whste I
vas descried. Another.boat was instantly launched, and
’ chase given. They soon came up with the whale: a bomb I
lai <:r was shot into it, which killed it at once. On the return
i ‘ of the boat the’schooner was worked alongside, and the whale '•
[ taken in tow. The steamer Massachusetts was signalized, and I
L came and took the sc.booner and whale in tow, and brought
' t'rcin both into the harbor, where the whale was beached for I
’ thj Inspection of “Young America” at Nantucket, many of j
r whom bad never before seen a whale. The whale was about
sixty feet in length, and will yield about 70 barrels oil, worth
“ Coming qvents cast their shadows before them” with pecu*
liar truthfulness in some cases. I have known persons who
professed to be informed of every day’s occurrence through th i
medium of dreams, the most ancient and most rational medium
of communication between our physical and moral being ; bu
it was no dream-inspired reminiscence of the past which occu
pied the thoughts 01 my early friend Jessica, when, as we sat
together in the holy calmness of moonlight, she-whispered in
her own soft, low tones :
“ I knew he would never return, for on opening my bible the
night before his departure to read him one last chapter, my eyes
were directed sympathetically to the 88th Psalm: my voice
hardly faltered as I read, ‘ Lover and friend hast thou put far
from me. and mine acquaintance into darkness’; but a shadow
from the future fell upon my heart which has never since been
lifted by a ray of hope. I knew he would never return, when,
with his whole soul beaming in his eyes, he drew picture after
picture of the wealth he should accumulate for my sake, and of
the joy we wonld feel at having endured the pangs of parting
for the sake of such a meeting. I knew he would never return
when the fatal moment came, and turning paler than he could
have looked in death, his icy cold lips touched mine, just as I fell
into a temporary unconsciousness of my loss, and awakened to
find myself alone.”
The following little ballad is the result of my friend’s sorrow
ful remembrance:
Will you leave me, my beloved one ?
Must another path be thine,
Where the foaming waves are rushing
From the ocean’s secret mine ?
Our home will now be desolate —
I’ll look around in vain
For the worshipped smile of fondness
That I ne’er may see again.
Will you leave me, my beloved one,
* In this world without a stay—
A wanderer from thy bosom,
Like a bird that lost its way ?
• x niiaier as me primxose
That on Summer’s threshold dies,
When nature just begins to look
Most lovely in her eyes ?
He kissed her, the beloved one,
When her plaintive song was o’er:
He whispered of returning
From the far, far distant shore ;
She smiled in secret bitterness—
She knew his words were vain-r-
He left her, the beloved one,
But he said he’d come again.
He left her, the beloved one,
For India’s sunny shore ;
He prized love’s priceless treasure
Far less than golden ore.
Ah ! soon they made his narrow bed
On India’s burning plain;—
He left her, the beloved one,
But he never came again.
The Cabin Boy’s Story:
“ Dead, men and drowned women tell no tales.”
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Clerk’s Office
of the Southern District of New York.
“ My hair turned white in a single night,
But not with years.”
The Giour.
Throughout that sorrowful day Seymour sat by
the side of the corpse of his adored Zuleika, alone,
for he refused to be comforted. The wound in his
arm, though severe, was not dangerous, and it had
been carefully dressed by some of the Greek women
of the island, who generally practised what little
surgery and medical duty was required and usually
with success; but he heeded not the pain of the
wound; even had it been ten times more painful,
he would not havefelt it. Jane Miller, Marie Wilson,
and Capt. De Sylva, each and all strove to admin
ister comfort to him ; but in vain. He at first list
ened with apparent patience ; but with his thoughts
in reality dwelling upon other topics, until at length
he sternly, almost savagely desired them to leave
the apartment. They complied and he locked the
door and closed the shutters, and then turning him
self on the bed beside the dead bodies of his wife
and child, he thus remained until night and through
the night until the morning again broke, and his
friends having grown alarmed at the silence that
prevailed in that dark, closed, desolate apartment,
forced open the door.
What thoughts had passed through the mind of
the mourner during that long period of intense
grief, no one knew, no one can ever know. De
Sylva entered and found him kneeling by the j
side of the bed, the fair hand of his wife, now
rigid and cold in death, clasped in his own so
tightly that it was with difficulty De Sylva could
unloose it. Seymour at first seemed unconscious of
his presence, and it was only after repeated en
deavors to recall him to himself, that the grief
stricken husband allowed himself to be led from the
room. His friends were terror stricken at the
change which those twenty-four hours of woe had
made in his appearance. His sable hair was strewn
with threads of gray ; his face was haggared ; his
athletic form seemed to have lost all its vigor and
elasticity, and his clear, olive, richly sunburnt com
plexion had become sallow. Twenty years seemed
during the course of that one day and night to
have been added to his life. On the day before he
was the beau ideal of a handsome man, in the full
P»imo -rijsvi ur mannoou, now he presented the
appearance of a man far advanced into middle life,
with a shattered constitution and a debilitated
Sunken into despondency, he barely replied to the
few necessary questions that were addressed to him
and shrunk alike from observation and sympathy.
But he did not attempt to enter the chamber of
death again—and when De Sylva, and Jane Miller—
who had been under the necessity of explaining to
the young Portuguese, the apparent mystery of
her presence, with as much delicacy as possible
hinted the necessity of making preparations for !
the funeral, he made no objections. He left all to i
them, anti seemed only desirous to be left alone
to the indulgence of his silent and painful rev
The negro nurse, assisted by Jane Miller, pro
ceeded to arrange the corpses of the young mother ■
and her child for interment. Poor Julia, had j
been forgotten amidst the terrific events of the late
deadly struggle, but she had heard the approach of
the pirates, before Zuleika’» ear had caught the I
sound of their footsteps. She had risen from 1
her bed and gone Out to reconnoitre, and J
being afraid to enter the cottage again after it i
was surrounded by the armed band; she had con- I
cealed herself amongst the shrubbery and there j
had been a witness of the strife.
But the negress had been fondly attached to her ■
mistress and. the infant, and with the peculiar j
characteristic of her race, she had since Zuleika |
aad the child’s deaths, given way to boisterous un
controllable grief.
With sobs and lamentations, loud and long, she ,
assisted Jane in the mournful task. The carpen
ter of the Petrel jvas instructed to make the coffin, I
and by nightfall of that day, every thing was ar- I
ranged for the funeral—Seymour was informed of ;
this, and then for the first time since he had been
led from the room in the morning, he expressed hi.
desire once again to look upon the remains of hi t I
wife and child, before they were committed to th : ■
He was led into the room by De Sylva, who re
quested Jane Miller to be at hand, as he expected
another frantic display of grief.
But he was agreeably disappointed.
Seymour approached the coffin, stooped down
and kissed the cold cheek of the infant which lay
upon its mother’s bosom—and then imprinting
another long, lingering kiss upon the pale lips of
Zuleika, he took her hand in his, and whispered,
as though she could hear him;
“ I will remember V’
Then turning to De Sylva, he said, calmly,
“ Lead me from the room —Ifeel weak andfaint.”
De Sylva led him from the apartment.
“ All is ready for the funeral,” said he, “ are you
willing that it should take place to-night ?”
“ Yes, to-night,” replied Seymour.
“ Several of the matrons and maidens of the is- ;
land desire once more to look upon the remains of
her they have learnt to love so well, and old Otho is j
here, he would like to see ‘ his lady,’ as he calls
her, again—are you willing they should be admit- ’
ted 1”
“ Yes,” replied Seymour, in the same cold, apa
thetic tone of voice.
The Greek women and old Otho were admitted.
The girls had brought handfulls of sweet wild flow
ers with which they strewed the bier, and almost
covered the bodies it contained, and then one by
one they kissed Zuleika’s brow, which they bathed ■
in tears, unable to control the warm impulses
of their ardent natures. Old Otho was the last '
who approached the corpse; he took Zuleika’s
hand in his own, and then raising his trembling
right hand to heaven, he muttered almost inaudi
bly, some Greek words, then letting his arm fall,
laid liis hand upon his heart, exclaiming—
“ All is peace I”
He was led by De Sylva from the room, and the
bearers arrived to carry the coffin to the grave,
lhe carpenter screwed down the lid, and assisted
by De Sylva, bore it to the outside of the cottage.
The bearers who had volunteered, were six young
Greek girls, who placed their ’kerchiefs beneath the
bier and holding either end, walked three on each
side. There was no pall, nor no inscription upon
’ the coffin ; a bunch of white flowers alone bedecked |
the bier ; a red poppy was intertwined with the
boquet, to signify that the deceased had died a vio- ■
lent death; but Jane Miller desired its removal.
She wished to associate no ideas of violence with 1
the last of one so innocent and beautiful as Zuleika, i
and her desire was readily complied with. Indeed, ■
it was she who took upon herself with a calmness I
and assiduity that attracted the admiration of all, :
the entire arrangement of the melancholy cortege.
There was no priest on the island, and old Otho—
now nearly blind and so decrepid that he was obli- |
ged to be supported by two stout Greek youths, of- j
fered to recite the prayers of the Greek church
(from memory) over the grave ; Seymour followed
immediately behind the bier, supported by De Sylva,
then followed Jane and Marie, then the- negress Ju
lia, and behind them a procession of Greek men, I
women, and youths of both sexes, comprising al
most all the inhabitants of the island.
The Greek girls cliaunted a mournful dirge as the
cortege winded slowly along the margin of the
beach, to the spot where the wild surf broke un- I
ceasingly against the rock-bound coast, making that ;
melancholy music which Zuleika had so much de- '
' lighted to listen to.
There, far above high water mark, in a cypress ]
' grove, beneath the overhanging cliffs, whence, in I
this spot, probably in consequence of some convul
sion of nature which had occurred centuries ago,
| the waters had receded, leaving a long, deep beach,
fringed close beneath the cliffs with sombre ever
: greens, the grave had been prepared at Jane Miller’s
desire, in consequence of Zuleika having one day
observed that if she were to die upon the island, it
was near this spot she would wish to be buried.
The coffin was lowered into the lonely grave, and
the sandy soil was thrown upon it, until it was filled
up—while the voice of old Otho reciting the fune
l ral prayers of his church was heard above the deep
| voice of the sea and the hollow sound of the falling
clods of earth.
The mournful ceremony was over, and slowly, in
' little saddened groups, the islanders departed to
i their homes. But Seymour now threw himself upon
j the grave, and again gave vent to the violence of
his grief, so long suppressed. Be called wildly up
lon Zuleika to awaken from her sleep—to come
! forth from the grave to speak to him; to visit
j him again in form or in spirit—not to forsake him
I forever. Jane Miller and Marie became alarmed at
i the violence cf his emotion, and De Sylva sat down
| beside him, and strove, for a long time in vain, to
! comfcrthim. At length he succeeded. Thestranga
| apathy which Lad followed the first violent out-
burst of grief, again took possession of him, and
he allowed De Sylva and Jane to lead him towards
the cottage of the poor fisherman ; and the grave
of Zuleika was left to the wild, savage solitude of
nature. The hollow winds whistled over it; —above
it the sea-bird whirled its flight and screamed its
discordant notes; and the moaning surf, beating
upon the rocks near by, sung a perpetual requiem.
Another aad another day dawned upon Zuleika’s
Isle, no longer graced by the gentle being whose
name it bore, but bearing wituin its bosom her
mortal rqmains, there to rest in peace till the day
of resurrection. Seymour had fallen into a state of
stupor, which alarmed his friends. At Jane Mil
ler’s urgent request, seconded by Marie, and by the
promptings of his own generous nature, De Sylva
delayed the departure of the Petrel for several
days after his new spars had beta made and his
vessel repaired, although he was anxious to proceed
on his voyage. Jane was fearful, and not without
reason, that when the remnant of the pirate crew
reached the body of the fleet, after their ill-starred
expedition, they would seek revenge, and again
visit the island in overpowering numbers, and she
was anxious to quit it as soon as possible—anxious
again to revisit her home, and her mother and bro
ther-growing more and more anxious every day.
But daily did Seymour visit the grave of his be
lovedwife, and spend hour after hour vainly calling
upon her to come back to him—entreating her not
to leave him to anguish and despair. His friends
alarmed for his reason ; and De Sylva at last—
rnought or carry mg nun away u.; rjicvA-
One evening, he, for the first time since Zuleika’s
death, contrived to interest him in conversation.
It was his last hope. He had resolved, on the mor
row, to leave the island, and to take with him to
Odessa, Seymour, Jane and the negress, trusting to
circumstances with regard to then- future move
ments ; but upon this evening Seymour appeared
willing to converse, and De Sylva adroitly turned
the subject of conversation to the future prospects
of Jane Miller.
“ Jane is anxious to reach her home again, poor
girl!” said he ; “ and you, Captain Seymour, it
were well if you sought some other scene, where
you might in time learn to resign yourself to your
. “ It is irreparable,” replied Seymour.
“So it is. Still, it is vain to repine for' that
which cannot be helped. I am going to sail
for Odessa to-morrow morning ; let us all go
together. When you arrive there we can consult
as to what course is best to pursue. You can go
back with me to my own country, or can probably
procure a passage for yourself and Jane to Ame
“I shall not return to America,” interrupted Sey
“Then you can go to England or France or where
you will. But recollect your promise to Jane Mil
ler, that you would see that she returned home to
her mother.”
“ I will go with you” said Seymour, sud
denly arousing himself, as it were, from his
torpidity—as though some new idea had struck
him. “ I will go with you ; to-morrow, do you say
you sail ? Well, be it so; the sooner the better.
Let it be to-morrow. But is Jane Miller pre
“She is ready at anymoment. I have request
ed Marie to speak with her. She has entered into
all our arrangements.
Once possessed with the new idea that seemed
to have suddenly to have occupied his mind, Seymur
displayed much of his wonted alacrity. He made all
ready for his departure ; saw Old Otho, and arrang
ed for his future support, and engaged a Greek
woman to attend upon him—and then took an affec
tionate farewell of the old man, whose sand of life
was fast running out.”
“Otho—good old man,” said he—“ You will
in all probability meet the spirit of my sainted
Zuleika in heaven ere long, while I must stil
wander a desolate outcast upon earth. But tell
her if beatified spirits are permitted to hold con
verse together, and to speak of things of earth; tell
her that I will remember her parting request—my
last silent promise. Farewell —pray for me, that
some day I may meet you in that happier abode.”
De Sylva—Jane, Marie and Seymour since the
destruction of the cottage had made the humble
cabin of the fisherman their residence; him, Scy
the widow and children of the fisherman whose life
mour handsomely remunerated; he also provided for
had been lost in the defence of the cottage, and
made presents of trilling worth—yet still valuable
to the poor, simple Greeks, to all the inhabitants of
the islands—-presents that would be of benefit to
them, and at the same time serve as souvenir's
of her whose memory he hoped would ever be
cherished by them.
The day was far advanced before all these ar
rangements were completed ; In the evening Sey
mour seemed livlicr than he had been since Zulei
ka’s death. The prospect of change appeared to
have planted fresh hope in his heart, and after an
evening of pleasant, though subdued conversation,
he and his friends retired to rest. It was the last
time they would sleep in a place embittered to
them by such painful recollections.
On the morrow De Sylva rose early, and going on
board his brig, ordered the mate to get every thing
in readiness for sailing.
He then returned on shore for the i>urnn<M of
- his passengers on board. Jane Miller and
Marie and the negress were ready; but Seymour
had not made his appearance. Jane had knocked
at the door of his room, but no answer had been
returned and the women were beginning to feel
When De Sylva was informed of this, he entered
the sleeping chamber. It was empty —and more
than that, Seymour’s bed had not been slept in on
the previous night.
At first a suspicion that the unhappy man had
committed suicide flashed upon the mind of De
Sylva—and then the idea struck him that he might,
perhaps, be found at the grave of his wife. He
hastened thither taking Jane Miller, to whom he
had imparted his suspicions, with him.
WflCh they reached the spot, their minds were
touch relieved on witnessing the object of their
search seated on the little mound, which, planted
with grass seed, had been raised OYW the grave (>j
the mother and child. A white rose bush which
Jane recognized as having once been a favorite
plant ofZuleika’s, and from which she had been
wont to pluck the flowers to adorn her hair, had
been newly planted on the grave, and Seymour
was sitting with his head resting upon his hand,
so earnestly contemplating the rose bush that he
did not observe the approach of his visitors until
they were close upon him.”
“All is ready for sea, on board the Petrel, Cap
tain Seymour” said De Sylva. We have been look
ing for you, and Jane, here, got frightened on find
ing that you had not slept in your bed last night.
Here, on this grave, has my last night in Zulei
ka’s Isle been passed,” replied Seymour. “ I went
to the garden and dug up this rose-bush, after we
parted last night, and brought it here and planted
it. It was a favorite plant of Zuleika’s, and it is
emblematical of her own innocence. I had thought
to have spent the last night in vigils over her tomb;
but I have been sleeping for hours—and she and
our Labe have appeared to me in my dreams. They
smiled sweetly, and Zuleika said she was happy—
and hade me remember my promise to her. I
awoke and registered a vow, before heaven, that I
would not forget it; nor will I. I had forgotten
that lhe hour of embarkation drew near, or I would
not have kept you waiting. I will pluck one white
rose from the tree and wear it next my heart, for
Zuleika’s sake ; and then I will bid farewell forever
to the spot, and the precious dust it contains, and
be with you.”
He plucked the flower as he spoke, and casting a
lingering look upon the grave, rose from the sod
and accompanied De Sylva and Jane to the cabin
of the fisherman. They found Marie and the ne
gress awaiting them, and together they proceeded
to the boat that was to carry them on board the
In half an hour's space the Petrel was under
weigh, and with a fine fresh breeze was running
along the shore of the island, which was lined with
the honest, simple inhabitants, who cheered the
wanderers on their way, and bestowed blessings
innumerable upon Seymour, in return for the few
kind offices he had done them since he had chosen
—unluckily, this island for his young wife’s abode.
Jane and Seymour stood upon the raised poop of
the brig, until the last faint shadow of the land was
no longer visible, and then the former retired to
the cabin occupied by Marie—but Seymour sat on
the taflbail, with his eyes turned in the direction of
the land long after it had sunk below the horizon.
The seamen passed to and fro busily engaged in
their duties, but he heeded them not; he heard not
the orders given by the captain and the mate, as
alternately they relieve I each other in the occupa
tion of the quarter deck ; the day passed away,
and already the first watch of the evening had com
menced , and his reveries had not been disturbed, for !
De Sylva knew well that it was better that his pas- I
senger should be left uninterreptedly in commun- |
ion with his own thoughts. But when the hour of
supper arrived; he touched him gently on the
“Come, Captain Seymour,” said he, “supper
awaits us in the cabin ; come down and join Jane
and Marie and me there. We have, left you undis
turbed to your reveries all day, but you must be
hungry and weary now ; so come below.”
“ The island has disappeared beneath the hori
zon?” said Seymour, in an absent manner, and yet
half interrogatively.
“ Hours ago,” replied De Sylva.
“And yet until you touched me just now, I fan
cied I saw it still. I seemed to wake to your touch,
and the shadow- disappeared.”
“You saw it merely in your imagination,” an
swered De Sylva. “Come, come away below. Ma
rie and Jane are growing impatient. The former ;
has called us half a dozen times—come, recollect
you have had no dinner.”
Seymour suffered himself to be led below to the
cabin, where, after he had partaken of the food that
had been prepared, he laid down upon the sofa
locker, and fell asleep, ferhis mind and body were
, alike wot n and wearied.
The Peirel met with no adventure of moment dur
ing the remainder of her passage through the Dar
danelles and the still narrower channel of the Bos
-1 pherus, and within a week after passing the latter,
i she entered the port of Odessa. A caravan was on
i the point of starting overland to Moscow, at the
j time of their arrival, and Seymour hearing this, re
' solved to go with it. He had no passport, but he
I had money, and that will buy or break passports,
or io anything else in Russia ; powerful, as it every
where is—there it is all powerful. So soon as it was
ascertained that he bad wealth, his purposes were
I no longer rpestioned ; he fee the governor, and the
deputy governor, and half a dozen subordinates
j military and civic, and a passport was forged for
’ him, and he was desired to h»ld himself in readiness
I to start with the caravan on the following morning.
I He stated the object he had in view in undertaking
I thus journey to no one, furtherthan telling Jane Miller
and De Sylva, that he hoped the change of scene, and
the new mede of travel would serve to divert his
mind from brooding over his sad loss, and placing
sufficient funds in the hands of Jane to enable her
to meet abundantly all the expenses she might find
j it necessary to incur in order to reach home ; and
. thanking De Sylva for his kindness, in few words,
but with a'warm pressure of the hand, and bidding
farewell to Marie, be left them, and they saw him
no mere, though he was subsequently heard of by
It was arranged that Jane should stay with Ma
rie, who, like herself, was a fugitive from home, and
return with De Sylva to Oporto, from which port he
promised ts procure her a passage to New York,
and h< re for the present shall we leave them, and re
tuntothehistcry of those other personages who have
figured in our narrative, whose existence the reader
will begin to think, we have forgotten.
Some months after the occurrence of the events
described in the preceding chapter, the widov Mil
ler was seated with her son at breakfast in the parlor
of the little cottage in New Jersey. Tom wasread
ing the newspaper aloud to his mother, occasionally
stopping to sip his coffee, for he had already fin
ished the substantial portion of his breakfast, when
tie knock of the postman was heard at the door,
and shortly afterwards the servant maid entered the
parlor with a letter addressed to Mr. Thomas Miller.
Tom received the letter from the hands of the ser
vant, and breaking open the seal commenced to
peruse it. Something peculiar in the handwriting
or something remarkable in the contents seemed to
startle him, for he sprang up from his chair, and
the blood rushed from his cheeks, leaving his face
pale and colorless ; while, although not subject to
nervousness, his hands trembled so much that he
could scarcely read the letter.
“ What is the matter, my dear?” asked the widow.
“ Have you any bad news in that letter ?”
“ No—mother—oh, no”—stammered the youth.
“ Then you must be unwell, for you trembie as if
you had an ague fit, and your face is as pale as that
of a corpse.”
HYe.s—l mean—no. mother Tam onU-a-wll—
but—there is no bad news in the letter. Onthw
contrary, good news. Still, it has taken me una
wares. I will retire to my own room and finish its
perusal, and then I well explain.”
“ You are ordered away to sea again,” said the
widow, in a tone of alarm. “ Surely, they might
give you longer leave of absence, after having been
so long away from me.”
“ No, mother. This letter has noreferenceto the
Service,” said the youth; but—l cannot explain
now. You shall know all; you shall read it your
self, by and by.”
Thus speaking he left the parlor and proceeded
to his bedroom, where he finished the perusal of
tbe letter which had so much surprised and startled
It was from his sister Jane. She had reached
Oporto in safety in the Petrel, and thence had
taken her passage to New York, at which place she
had arrived but a few hours previous to writing the
i letter, which was dated from the Hotel in
Broadway. The letter was brief; but it said
enough to account for much of the mystery which
Tom had hitherto been unable to penetrate. It
stated that she had made enquiry immediately
upon her arrival with regard to her mother’s pres
ent place of residence,, and had learned that she
still lived near Jersey city. She had also learned
that her brother was at home, and she had thought
it advisable that he should call upon her at the hotel
before she went home, in order that he might be
able to break the news of her arrival to her mother.
She made brief allusion to the visit of the young
midshipman to Annabon, and explained the nature
of the letter which in a state of nervous excite
ment she had sent him by the hand of Miss Her
It was little wonder the young man was agitated
and that his hand trembled and his pulses beat ra
pidly and his cheeks alternately flushed and turned'
pale, but having read the letter, he resolved to visit
the hotel and see his long lost sister before he ex
plained the nature of the news he had received to
his mother.
Hastily preparing himself for the walk, he re
entered the parlor where the widow was still sit
ting, anxiously awaiting his return, and pondering
over the probable nature of the news which had so
agitated her son.
“Mother,” said he, “I must go over to New
York, immediately. I shall not be long absent, and
wheft I return, I will show you the letter I have re
“ Why not now, Tom?” said Mrs. Miller, “surely
there is some bad news.' My boy, you are ordered
to sea again ?”
“ I do not know that I ought to consider that bad
news,” said Tom, smilingly—“ though I should be
sorry to leave you so soon, as I expect to be at
home at least six months ; but, set your mind at
ease on that score. The letter, as I have already
said, does not relate to me personally at all; and
so far from being the bearer of bad news, the intel
ligence it contains, will, if I mistake not, gladden
your heart.”
“ Then, why not satisfy me now, Tom ?” reitera
ted the widow.
“ I wish to be sure that the good news is true
first, mother.”
“ Is it anything about Jane?” asked the widow,
her voice trembling as she spoke, and her counte
nance assuming an expression of intense anxiety.
“Dear mother, wait until I return, and then you
shall know all,” replied Tom ; “ Good bye, I shall
be back before dinner time and, without giving
the anxious widow time to put any more questions,
he left tbe parlor and the next minute was hurrying
towards the ferry.
Mrs. Miller was fain to content herself with his
promise to return speedily and communicate to her
the gratifying intelligence he alluded to.
“ What can it be?” said she to herself, as, after
I he hftd o-nno. fihft bo* r,n f.nr> Bafo and foil inr.a
a brown study; “ I should be certain it was an ap
pointment to some ship, if Tom had not told me
positively it was not, and I know he would not tell
me a falsehood. Can he have heard anything with
regard to Jane? No: poor, dear girl,” and the
widow shook her head and a tear rolled down her
cheek, as she thought of her lost daughter. “No :
I shall never hear anything of poor Jane, again. I
wonder now,” thought the widow, in her simplicity
and her ignorance with regard to nautical matters,
and the slow progress of promotion in Uncle Sam’s
national marine—“l wonder, now, whether Tom
has’nt done something or other very gallant and
brave, while he was away at sea, which he has
been too modest and bashful to tell jne of?” (Oh !
Widow Miller, Widow Miller-.jww son, Tom, too
modest and bashful! Those are failings or virtues,
call them which y on p’ iea36j yOttf Uarlmg .
JS pot troubled with,) “I should’nt wonder, now, if
he has,” repeated the widow, and they’re going
to make a lieutenant of him, right away. He’ll
buy himself a pair of epaulettes, if it is so, before
he returns home, and present himself to me in his
new finery; that’s it, depend upon it,” and the
widow roused herself from her brown study, confi
dent in her own mind' that she had shrewdly
fathomed* the mystery of her son’s behavior, and
set herself to work at the daily routine of her do
mestic duties.
Meanwhile Tom reached New Y’ork, and hastened
to the Hotel. It was a moment of intense
feeling to him, that moment when, led by the wai
ter, he tapped at the door of ihe room occupied by
his sister. A voice—a voice he readily recognized,
albeit it sounded somewhat tremulous and husky,
hade him enter. He turned the handle of the door;
it swung open. He stood in the room—in the pres
ence of his long-lost sister.
“Tom, dear Tom!” she exclaimed, and rushed
into his arms, hanging about his neck, as though
she were fearful she should lose him again.
“ Dear, dear Jane !” answered Tom, from the in
nermost depths of his heart. It was all he could
say ; and his manhood forsook him, and he sobbed
aloud. For some moments the brother and sister
clung speechless in other’s embrace, mingling each
other’s tears. Then came the explanation. Jane
confessed how she bad become foolishly infatuated
with Seymour ; at the same time exonerating him
from all blame ; for though he had shown a marked
partiality for her society, he had not spoken of
love. The interview at Annabon was talked over,
and an hour bad elapsed before the re-united bro
ther and sister thought of the flight of time. Then
Jane besought her brother to carry her to her mo
“ W’U she forgive me, Tom?” she asked. “Will
she not be angry with me f»r leaving her in the un
natural manner I did ?”
“She will,” replied Tom. “Dear Jane, you
know not how deeply she has mourned over your
supposed death. How she has longed for some to
ken that she might always wear about her to re
mind her of you. For a long time she wore a ring,
supposed to have been that given to you by Captain
Seymour, and found upon the finger of a floating
corpse, in the Hudson, which we all imagined to be
your mortal remains; but lately we have discovered
that the corpse was that of a young lady of the
name of Donaldson, who with her father was upset
from a boat in the Hudson about the period of your
disappearance. Since then our mother has restored
it to the aunt of the poor young lady, who, by the
way, is a relative of Captain Seymour’s. All this I •
will explain to you another time. Now, dear, get
ready, and I will hire a carriage, and we will go
home together. How rejoiced our mother will be
when we arrive.”
“ Then she knows not of my return ?” said Jane.
“ No,” replied her brother, “ I thought it advisa-.
Lie to keep her in ignorance of the contents of the
letter until I had seen you. Such strange events ;
j such apparent mysteries have transpired, that,
until I saw you with my own eyes, I refused to
credit even the assertions in your own hand
The carriage was brought to the door of the
hotel and the brother and sister entered and were
driven rapidly to Jersey city. They reached the
cottage and the carriage stopped opposite the gate.
“ Stay inside, Jane,” said Tom. “ I will go in
and break the intelligence of your return to our
mother,” and he alighted from the carriage and
opened the gate. Mrs. Miller had heard the ap
proach of the carriage wheels, and had opened the
door of the cottage herself, anticipating her son’s
He came not with the new epaulettes of the lieu
tenant’s grade upon his shoulders, as the widow
; had so simply anticipated, and in answer to her
question whether he had obtained promotion, for
I she still adhered to the fancy she had conceived,
he replied:
“No matter, I told you that the letter had no
reference to me. Come into the parlor,” and taking
her by the arm he led her into the room.
“ Mother,” he said, “ I have all along told you
that I did not believe Jane was dead, or had even
left us for ever. I said she would some day return
to gladden us.”
“ Then it was of Jane, that letter told?” almost
sei earned the widow.
i “ It was.”
“ And you have heard news of her ?”
i “ I l ave.”
, “ Tell me, Tom, my son, tell me at once. I can
bear it. She is well ?”
i “ She is well, and I have seen her.”
> Tbe widow gave vent to a piercing shriek and
i fainted in the arms of her son, who led her to the
t sofa, and carefully rested her npon it.
: Jane had heard that shriek and unable to con-
t tain herself any longer, she had alighted from the
. carriage—opened the gate of the avenue which led
; to the cottage—rushed up the gravel walk—enter
ic ed the cottage, and in another moment was kneel
-1 ing by tbe prostrate form of her mother.
s In the course of a few moments the widow be
-5 gan to show symptoms of recovery. “ Was it a
r drcam?” she eaid, passing her hand across her
i brow, “or did they tell me Jane had returned.”
1 She opened her eyes and beheld both her chil
i, dren Lending over her. Her emotions again over
g powered her—excess of joy is more prostratihg
u than excess of grief—and she closed her eyes and
y relapsed into unconsciousness ; but she lay in this
condition but for a few moments. Again she
t- opened her eyes, gazed earnestly upon her chil
d dren, as if to assure herself that it was, indeed,
ie their loved faces she saw bending over her 1 ; her
c, lips moved as if in prayer, and then she exclaimed
e- aloud as tears rushed to her relief and gushed from
r e [ her eyes.
“Thank God! she that was lost is found. He
Lath restored my child to mo again.”
She clasped the returned prodigal in her em
brace, and the long separated mother and daugh
ter mingled their tears together, while both
were speechless from excess of emotion. Tom stood
aside, and turned away his head, unable to wit
ness the happy greeting.
By and by, the re-uhited family became more
composed, and when able to control their feelings,
the long story of Jane’s mysterious absence was
told. So passed the remainder of that happy day, !
in the family of the widow Miller. Jane felt a deli
cacy in meeting with those she had known before '
she left home. She felt no particular friendship
for them, for she had, in consequence of her pov- :
erty, been treated by them with neglect and con- ;
tumely, and Mrs. Miller, whose circumstances were
now comparatively easy, resolved to remove to a
distant place, and at Tom’s suggestion, it was de
termined that the family should pay a visit to
Camden, where his old shipmate Frank' Martin
and—his sister, Sarah, lived.
Leaving them, for the present, to prosecute, their '
journey, let us revert to Mr. Mordant and his fami
ly, whom we have for some time lost sight of.
From the hour when the fortunes of Mr. Mordant
leached their culminating point; and the loss of
the Dolphin and the Albatross ; the elopement of
Ills daughter with the music master ; the discovery
of the. fraud with rearard to Mrs. Millorfo |
the reckless and scandalous behaviour of his son, :
and various other minor matters, all rushing, crowd
ing upon him at once with the terrible and irre- [
dstible power of an avalanche, this gentleman, who ■
lad so long held a position of eminence in the i
'ashionable and influential circles of the city, felt
.hat one after another the stilts which had suppor- I
;ed him were giving way. His wealth had been
great; but it had, in consequence of unsuccessful
speculations, entered into unadvisedly with the
rope of repairing the damages that his fortune had
sustained, became less and less, and he foresaw
that unless he retired with the remnant of his for
tune, he stood a good chance of losing, it all. He
iad been compelled to pay ten thousand dollars to
Mr. Dixon, the father of the girl whom his son
Charles had so basely betrayed, or sought to betray,
though he had, happily for the young woman, been
decsived. He had again been compelled largely to
fee parties at Sierra Leone, who were conscious of
his direlictions. Mr. Harvey had absconded with a
larje amount of his money of which he held
in trust, after having pretty well feathered his
nest with pickings from the merchant’s pockets, in
the way cf legitimate business, and the last that
was heard of him he was in Europe, living on the
Continent in great style. Charles Mordant had
contracted new debts, not in the most honor
able manner, which the father, to preserve
his own waning reputation, was compelled to
pay. Miss Dixon, as we will still call her, for
she vas Charles Mordant’s wife only in name,
had succeeded in obtaining h divorce, and to
hush up the prejudicial reports which would
otherwise have got abroad, the merchant was com
pelled to pony down handsomely to lawyers of low
reputation, and reporters, editors and others, of still
lower. To save his daughter’s elopement from in
volving him in disgrace, he had been compelled
to take her home, and to pay the music-master
handsomely, and provide him with a situation to
insure bis secresy ; for, although this scoundrel was
obliged to keep out of the way, in order to evade
the stern penalty of the laws he had outraged, he
had the effrontery to threaten his father-in-law with
exposure, aye, and would have had the hardihood
tcexpose him, too, had bis threats been unheeded.
All these, and other misfortunes, had compelled Mr.
Mordant to give up. business while lie had any busi
ness left to give up, and to retire to a small estate
in the West, which he purchased with the remnant
of his fortune, where, for the remainder of his life,
he will probably languish in obscurity and com
parative poverty.
His second daughter, educated after a similar
fashion and possessed with the same romantic senti
ments as her sister, failed to take warning by her,
and married a quack doctor and itinerant lecturer,
who happened to visit the village where the broken
down merchant had located himself; and with him
she went still further West, and has not since been
heard of. Charles Mordant, his father having re
fused, actually because he was no longer able, to
supply his extravagances, at last persuaded the old
gentleman to raise him sufficient money to carry
him to California, where, shortly after his arrival
there, he perished in a drunken brawl in San Fran
cisco. Sarah is still at home ; and, having learned
experience from her former misfortunes, she pro
mises yet to retrieve herself, if she can only
escape from the meshes in which, by her false step,
she has entangled herself. She devotes herself to
the household duties of the farm ; and, being a
really good-looking girl, a wealthy though unedu
cated young farmer of the vicinity has fallen over
head and ears in love with her. He knows nothing
of her former history, and was somewhat taken
aback when, upon making her an offer of his heart
• and hand, he received a respectful refusal, for he
feels confident she loves him—and so she does, in
truth ; and should any lucky chance put an end to
the life of her rascally and dissipated husband, she
will, no doubt, eventually accept the hand of the
honest farmer.
As'fo Mrs. Mordant, she sits day after day,
the whole live long day, in a rocking chair, brooding
upon the misfortunes that have befallen her fami
ly and laying all the blame upon her husband,
who, poor man, leads a wretched life—troubled as
he is with the reproaches of his wife, as well as
with the small, still, yet constantlyreproving voice
of his own conscience. He thought he was making
a great figure in the world, and so he was; but
when his affairs begun to assure a downward ten
dency, and his former friends found that he was no ’
longer possessed of the wealth he once had, it was
astonishing how soon he was forgotten. So far
from being the pillar of society he vainly imagined j
himself to be, he found that he was not missed
from the structure when he was compelled to with
draw bimeelf, and that his very existence was for- ,
■ gotten. -He Is just beginning to see the folly, {
wickedness and vanity of his past career—begining
to see it, at a late period of life certainly, still let
us hope he will benefit by the retrospect. Here we
will leave him to that painful retrospect and wo
trust to repentance.
Mrs. Miller and her son and daughter visited
Camden, as we have stated was their intention.
The place so pleased the widow, who found an
agreeable companion in Mrs. Marlin, that she de
termined to sell her property in New Jersey and
purchase a farm near that occupied by the Martins.
She was much influenced in this matter by her son,
who has fallen deeply in love with Sarah Martin.
Sarah, too, reciprocates the affections of the young
egilor, and on his return from his present cruise to
the Japanese Islands, she is to become his wife.
We have mentioned that a divorce from Charles
Mordant had been obtained by Miss Dixon, and
shortly afterwards, at the regret of Miss Martin.
the request being urged at the instance of her son
she paid a visit to Camden, and she and Frank
Martin, who is now a steady farmer, were very
soon engaged to each ether. Frank said he need
ed a wife to manage tho domestic duties -of the
farm, and as he would brook no delay, they were
married within three months after the visit was
made, and on the same day William Martin and
Jessica Deane were united.
William is settled near Augusta, where he has
gone into business on his own account and prom
ises one day to become a thriving lawyer.
Mrs. Donaldson, who we hinted had learned that
the drowned female found floating in the Hudson,
and supposed to be Jane Miller, was her unfortu
nate niece, and who was satisfied that her brother
had likewise perished, is still living at Camden, and
has made a will, bequeathing all her large property
to William, Frank and Sarah Martin, her grand
nephews and niece—thus when she dies they will
be amongst the wealthiest families in the State of '
As to Jane Miller, she has declared her intention '
never to marry. It is evident to her friends that
she was really strongly attached to Seymour; and
in spite of all that has passed; in spite of het
knowledge of his character, and the hopelessness
of her love, she cannot efface his image from her
memory. The scene she witnessed on Zuleika’s
Isle had a marked influence upon her. She is in
clined to melancholy, and is fond of walking alone
on the sea shore and brooding over past recollec
tions. It has, however, been noticed that site has
of late been joined in her walks, as it were, acci
dentally, by a young physicians, who has lately
.commenced practice in the vicinity, and who has a
--‘strange fancy for gathering sea shells, just at tho
hour when Jane wanders on the beach. He has
been instructing her in the science of conchology,
and there are shrewd whispers abroad that she is
an apt pupil, and is also taking lessons from the
same gentleman in another science. Wc should not
at all wonder if before long Jane Miller became
Mrs. Doctor somebody. We wont say whom.
Capt. De Sylva made a successful market at
Odessa and a quick passage home to Oporto ; and
on his arrival at home he introduced Marie to his pa
rents. We are not in the secret with regard to
what happened on the passage home, or as to
where the courtship commenced; but a fortnight
after the arrival of the Petrel at Oporto, Doni Se
bastin De Sylva, and Mademoiselle Marie Wilson
were made man and wife at the Cathedral of Oporto.
We learnt the news through a letter which was
received by her sister Louise, in which she men
tions how happy she is, and how dearly she loves
er generous husband and she also invites her sis
ter to visit her in Portugal. Her husband has left
the sea, and she says he has promised to make the
tour of Europe with her. She wishes her sister to
accompany her ; and Louise is inclined to do so.
But at present she is unable, as her guardian keeps
her very close. However, his health is failing, and
should he die she will be her own mistress, and the ’
possessor of great wealth. Then she has resolved j
to visit her sister, and has written her to that ef
fect. Captain De Sylva blesses the hour when he
fell in with his Marie on the door step of the hotel,
on that stormy night, at New Orleans. They have
given Julia, Zuleika’s old nurse, a home with them.
Fora long time after the return of her daughter
it remained a mystery to Mrs. Miller as to who was
the author of the anonymous letters she received at
different times after her daughter’s disappearance ;
but the mystery was at length unravelled. A let
ter, which shortly after the family had quitted New
Jersey, had been sent to the cottage in which they j
had lived, was forwarded to their new abode in |
Camden. It was in the well remembered handwri- |
ting of the anonymous scribe, who requested an in- '
terview with Mrs. Miller or one of her family. She
stated that she was dying of consumption in the
New York Hospital, and no time was to be lost if I
they wished to hear further from her.
Yotng Miller was just going to New York on his
way to join the ship, in Commodore Perryis squad
ron, to which he had been appointed ; and he paid
a visit to the hospital and asked for the inmate, who
had in the last letter signed herself “ Mary Ed
He found her in the ward appropriated to per
sons suffering from consumptive complaints.
“ You are the son of Mrs. Miller, and brother of
Jane Miller, who disappeared from home some time
since?” said she.
“I am,” replied Tom.
“ I am dying,” said the poor girl, “ but before I
die, I wish to clear up that which otherwise may rc
i main a painful mystery. I am the daughter of a
farmer who resided in New Jersey—where, I will
not say—it does not matter—l met with Captain
. beymour in New York, and, attracted by his many
fascinations, I fell in love with him, madly, hope
l lessly. I knew this from the first—that is to say,
t from the first time, I was so weak as to let him
| perceive that I loved him ; st 11 I could not leave
him ; I haunted his footsteps ; I followed him and
watched him when he knew not that I was near ; I
witnessed his attentions to your sister, and the
thought that he loved her, maddened me ; I saw
them together the day previous to her departure
from home ; I was concealed in the grove where
they were walking, and I heard all that passed ; I
knew then that Seymour did not love Jane Millem
Still he did not love me, and I hated her to whom
he showed more attention ; I watched her closely,
and knew of her disguise ;<I could have betrayed
her, but I did not, because I hoped Seymour would,
and so I should be revenged. I was driven to in
sanity, and in that state I penned those letters,
scarcely knowing what I wrote or what was my ob
ject, unless it was to make others as wretched as
mySelf. I wished to render her miserable, and at
the same time to detach her from Seymour. Since
that time, I have lived a life of poverty, earning
my bread as a seamstress, until the disease, which
months ago attacked me, rendered me powerless to
earn it any longer. Then I was admitted here. I
shall not live through another day. I feel that my
last hour is drawing near, and I have long felt that
I could not die happily, unless I had unburthened
my mind of this deceit.”
The poor girl fell back upon her pillow exhausted,
and deeply moved with the distress he had wit
nessed, the young midshipman leftthe hospital. He
departed for Norfolk that evening ; but before he
Lc icibci tu ma luubiicr ana w uane,
informing them of all the uuhappy girl had told
We have only now to relate what we know of the
fate of Seymour and one or two others who have
figured in our narrative, and then our task of many
weeks duration will be at an end. But we shall
make this relation the subject matter of another and
a concluding chapter.
“ But little more remains to tell,
I’ve suffered—yet deserved it well—
Scarce thirty summers yet have sped
Their brief existence o’er my head.
Yet, see ! this premature decay,
' These sable hairs, thick strewn with gray;
This furrowed brow and visage pale,
Betray alas ! a mournful tale,
Of passions, under no control,
All reckless in their fiery course,
Breeding that cancer in the soul—
The torturing demon ©f remorse.”
[Unpublished Poem.
Seymour arrived with the caravan at Moscow ;
but neither ihe diversity of scenery nor the change of
habit were able to banish from his memory the recol- i
lection of his past career; the tragical end of
his beloved Zuleika, nor the image of his child
whom he had nursed in his arms in the evening, ;
full of life and health and infantile glee, and whom
in the morning he had seen a corpse. These
thoughts haunted him in his waking moments
and in his dreams ; night brought no rest, day no
respite to his mental sufferings.
From Moscow he journeyed to St. Petersburg, :
and thence travelled into Austria, ’whence he
still pursued his way southward into Italy. He
had, it would seem, a purpose in view from the
moment he had quitted Russia, for his journeylngs ’
thenceforward were not marked by the vascilla- ;
tion which bad characterized them through that !
country. His course from St. Petersburg until he
arrived at Parma, in Italy, was as direct and as I
rapid as he could render it.
At Parma he hired obscure lodgings, mingling !
neither with the inhabitants nor with the numer
ous foreigners who visited that city. Though, as it
was soon spread abroad that he was possessed of
wealth, for the cormorants who seek to prey upon
the unwary in those cities which are much visited
by strangers seem to have an intuitive faculty of
discovering the possessors of wealth, however they
may seek to hide it, as easily as the vulture scents
(ho blood of its victims.
Seymour, however, spurned all overtures that
were made to him to induce him to mingle in soci
ety, and soon, finding that it was useless to
waste time upon him, he was left to himself, and
About six months after his marriage to Miss
Dixon, Frank Martin resolved to visit the continent
of Europe with his bride, Mrs. Donaldson, who
was very partial to him, amply providing him with
funds for that purpose. He landed in England,
thence travelled through France into Italy, stop
ping a few days at any city or locality famed for
its historical associations, or which particularly
pleased his fancy. However, as his tour was to be
a brief one, he hurried to Italy, which country his
wife wished particularly to visit.
They had travelled from Milan to Parma, where
Mrs. Martin, feeling fatigued with her journey, ex
pressed a wish to remain for a few hours, although
it had been their- intention to hasten on to Florence
as quickly as possible.
Leaving his wife resting upon a couch in the
hotel at which they had put up, Frank strolled i
through the city, for the purpose of amusing him
self, and passing away the time.
He found, however, little to attract his attention,
except the churfthes, and of these ho had seen so.
many that he began to weary of them.
“Have you nothing worthy of the inspection of
a truvcllvr lix tl.ii pinna Ro anhzod of a barefooted ’
friar, who had conducted Mm over a cathedral. ;
“Signor, yes,” replied the friar. “We have a '
monastery a mile or two beyond the gates of the
city, worthy your excellency’s notice ”
“Bah 1 a monastery !” exclaimed Frank, in a
tone of disgust. “I am sick of eternally visiting
monasteries and churches and convents,”
“But this is worth a visit, signor,” returned the
friar. “The grounds are extensive and admirably
laid out. Your excellency will be delighted.” ■
“Well, then, call a carriage, and let us proceed I
thither,” said Frank, yawning with ennui. “The
drive will serve to pass away an hour at any rate.”
In the greedy hope of extracting an additional
fee, from one who had already feed him handsome
ly, the friar was not long in procuring a ricketty
conveyance, in which he and the Milord America
nb, as ue’teimed his companion, proceeded to the
monastery in question.
“Can we alight and walk over the grounds?” '
said Frank, growing somewhat interested as they
drew near the spot. “The grounds of this place do '
seem more interesting than those of most monaste
ries I have seen.”
“ Certainly, excellency ; by paying a fee to the l
porter at the gate, you can enter with me, and ;
wander freely over the grounds. Another fee to '
the porter inside will procure you ready admission
into the monastery.”
“ A fee, of course,” said Frank; “nothing can
be done here without a fee. Go ahead, then.”
The entrance fee was paid. Frank and his guide
alighted from the crazy vehicle which had brought
them from the city, and together they walked
over the grounds, the filar, though a sycophant,
and little better than a mendicant, being really a
very shrewd, intelligent guide, and being especially
well posted upon all matters connected with the
churches and religious houses.
“ I should like to visit the interior of the monas
tery,” said Frank, after they had promenaded the
grounds until he began to feel weary ; and ou the i
payment of a second fee they were, as the friar had ;
said they would be, really admitted.
It was a stupendous, gloomy pile, and Frank
soon grew tired of wandering about amongst the i
dark corridors, paved with stone, and having cells
on either side let into the walls.
There was no variety—nothing to attract the at
tention, save that now and then tall, gaunt figures,
wrapped in cowls and robed in gowns of coarse
serge, would flit noiselessly by them, like ghosts ;
and Frank was on the point of leaving the places
when, just as one of these ghostly objects was pass
ing by him, in the centre of a long, dark passage,
the lantern that he held in his hand disclosed such
portions of his face as were not covered with the'
Frank glanced at the face, and then, starting
Lack, suddenly, with difficulty suppressed an excla
mation of surprise. It appeared that he, too, was
noticed by the ghostly father, for the latter also
started, and, crossing himself devoutly, muttered a
prayer, and passed hastily into a cell, securing the
doer behind him.
“ What is the name of that monk ?” asked Frank I
of his conductor. “ You appear to know every one
here—who is that man ; I have seen his face, I
think, before.”
“May be, your excellency,” replied the friar,
who never ventured to contradict his patrons.
“ May be; that holy man is called Father Geor
gious ; he has been here but a short time.”
“ What countryman is he ? He is not an Ita
“ Signor, I do not know,” replied the friar ; “ I
only know that he came to Parma some months
since ; that he lived iu retirement, and that he is
rich, and -more than that, he has resolved to leave j
his wealth to the monastery, when he dies ; that
will not be long, for he is killing himself with mor- }
tifications and scourgings. Ah! Signor, truly he ;
is a holy man 1”
That was all that Frank could glean from the
friar. He lingered about for some time in hopes
that the monk would again come forth from the
cell, but he waited in vain, and at length getting
weary and anxious to proceed on his journey, he '
returned to the hotel at Parma, where he had left
his wife.
He told her that he had met with a priest in the 1
monastery of Saint Giachimo, who, he could almost
be certain, was Seymour, so strongly did he resem
ble him. “ But yet it could not be,” he added,
“ Seymour would never become a friar, besides even
if he did, he would not already be honored with the
appellation of ‘ Father,’ and according to the tes- ,
limony of the friar; who conducted me around the '
place, be treated with so mueh respect and deference
as this man is.”
“ It is not likely that it is Seymour,” replied Mrs.
Martin ; “ but as to the deference with which he is 1
treated, and the rank he holds in the monastery, the
wealth—and Seymour has wealth—that can pur- I
chase indulgences, and immunities from sin—is able
to accomplish anything else in this country.”
Nothing further was said at the time. Frank and
his wife visited Florence, and Rome, and Naples, and |
three months afterwards again found themselves at !
“Do you know, Jeannette,” said Frank, after i
they had finished dinner at the hotel, “ I have a
great fancy to visit that monastery again. I cannot
get the idea out of my head that that anchorite I ;
met when we were here last was really Seymour. I :
should like to learn something more of him, and to ’
see him again if possible. Ha 1” he suddenly ex
claimed, “as good luck will have it, there goes the
very mendicant friar who conducted me over the
monastery on my last visit. Stay here, my dear,
till my return, I will not be long away; but
: I really must visit the monastery once more,”
: and darting into the street, he seized the aston-
I ished friar by the arm, and slipping a piece of mo
ney into his hand, desired him to procure a convey
ance and again conduct him to the monastery of St.
! Giachimo. Nothing loth, the friar consented; the
I camage was produced, and in the course of half an
> hour, Frank again stood within the walls of the
| venerable edifice.
I “Is Father Georgious still an inmate of thismo
: nastery ?” he asked of his guide ; “ if so, I should
! much like to see him, to speak with him if possible.”
The friar crossed himself reverentially.
“ Father Georgious has gone to heaven,” he said,
“ daily mortifications of the flesh, continual scourg
ings,and fasts, and nightly vigils, wore out the body
of the holy father, who has left his wealth to the
monastery and has been canonized under the name of
St. Georgious and as he pronounced the name,
the friar made repeated crosses and genufluxions,
and added—“ he died in the odor of sanctity.”
“ But,” he continued, “ on the payment of a fee,
. you can see the relics the holy man has left behind
: | him. They are daily visited by the faithful. One
i \ is a portrait of the Holy Virgin, set ia pure gold, so
j beautiful that it is not believed to have been the
work of mortal hands ; the other is a faded rose,
which was found attached to the portrait, and
I both were lying beneath his robe close to his heart.
. : The Abbot of the monastery asserts that the rose
' has been plucked in the garden of Gethsemane q
for it still miraculously preserves its fragrance,.
: though enclosed in a glass case, which is never
: raised.”
i “ I should, indeed, like to see these relias,” said
; Frank; and, on payment of the fee, he was allowed
j to visit the place where they were kept.
j He doubted no longer ; the portrait of Suleika
' was before him—that portrait which more than
I once, when a cabin boy on board the Albatross, he
had seen in the possession of Seymour. Beneath it
was inscribed—“ / will remember."
“ What is the meaning of that inscription?”
j asked Frank, of the friar.
“ These were the last words the holy man uttered;”
: was the reply.
I Frank gazed long and earnestly upon the locket;
| the portrait was beautiful indeed, and the original
' was pure as she was lovely ; but little did Seymour,
, little did Zuleika think, that that picture would ever
be shown as the relic of a departed saint, and as a
; portrait of the Holy Virgin, and as such be visited
c.ud v<n®kippca uT devotees : and
the rose—it was a faded white rose—and strange to
I say, a strong perfume was perceptible, even
through the glass case in which it was enclosed !
but Frank rightly suspected that artificial means
i were employed to create its seeming fragrance.
Frank left the monastery strangely impressed
with whaf he had seen, and he obtained permission
for Jeannette also to see the relics before he quitted
They returned home—and the strange story fur
nished matter for much.interesting conversation,
and led to many reminiscences of former days.
u And the rose,” said Frank one day, when he
was speaking to Jane Miller on the subject, “ I
wonder what could have made Seymour cherish a
faded white rose so fondly ; or, perhaps he did not
carry it about his person ; it may have been placed
in the cell as a relic, by the orders of the Abbot.”
u Seymour plucked a white rose from poor Zulei
ka’s grave,” answered Jane, “ and placed it in his
bosom. I have no doubt he wore that rose next
his heart until he died.”
* * * * * j? -At.
Reader, we have but a few words more to add.
1 Shortly after Frank’s return from abroad, a man,
i apparently a seaman, to judge from his attire, was
j picked up m a state of destitution on Broadway,
i and carried to the Bellevue hospital Frank was
! passing by at the time, happening to be then on a
; visit to New York ; and although vice, and intem
perance, and disease and starvation, had almost ef
; faced the human lineaments from the man’s features,
' there was something in the appearance of the poor
i wretch that led Frank to fancy he has seen him be
j fore. He followed him to the hospital, and then he
I felt sure he was correct in his surmise ; the man
, was Tolcroft, the ci devant mate of the Albatross.
| He partially revived, and lived for some hours, and
I Frank talked with him in his more lucid moments,
| and obtained much information respecting Sey- j
i mour’ooarcci from nun. But he died a raving ma
; nine, and Lis spirit look its departure irom the body J
I while a fearful blasphemy was still lingering upon
' his lips.
With a saddened heart Frank left the Hospital.
Reader the cabin boy has told his story. •
We find in the last number of Blackwood's Magazine, a de
scription of the customs, literature, &c., of India. The author '
speaks of the “ well-nigh God-forgotten ” state of the country !
and people—steeped in ignorance and licentiousness. “ Per
haps such words,” continues he, “as ‘ superstitious savage
ry ’ may appear an overstrained statement of the condition of
a country which sent us the beautiful productions witnessed
in the Indian Courts of tbe Great Exhibition, and which pro
duced epic poems and rock-cut temples, when our ancestors
were wandering about with unshorn locks and family por
traits stained on their knee-cans.” But “ such civilization as
the Hindoos ever possessed has steadily retrograded these
many centuries.” Some of the native East Indians, many of
whom have received collegiate education abroad, are begin
ning to write and labor for the much needed reform, Sho
shee Chunder Dutt of Calcutta, has published a book entitled, ’
“ Essays ou Miscellaneous subjects,” from which the writer
in Blackwood largely quotes: “ None of the arts and sciences
ever reached to any extraordinary degree of perfection in In
dia,” (so writes Baboo Shoshee Chunder Dutt;) “and the '
history of the Hindoos bears testimony to but a very ordinary ;
degree of education, and a very low degree of morality. It
is true that the Greeks, before the time of Pythagoras, used,
to travel into India for instruction; but that, we believe,
proves that the Hindoos were a much older people, and had
attained, even at that age, a certain degree of improvement.”
The Baboo further states that the learning of the Hindoos had
nothing remarkable in it, save its subtlety, and that the na
tional character was ever a depraved one. That the Hindoo
I mind is as capable of intellectual and moral improvement as
any other race; but from its utter seclusion, never coming in
contact with other nations and profiting by their revolutions
and progressions, it is now walking in heathen darkness. Of
the Brahmins, their hereditary priesthood, whose very exist
ence is “the deadly Upas, whose noxious exhalations have
made us what we are,” Chunder Dutt continues as follows:
“Cicero, speaking of the Roman Senate of his time, says,
' ‘that, a more scandalous company of sharpers never sate
L round a gamine.table,’ a compliment which can be applied
I with perhaps even greater felicity to our clergy ; only, that
their right to pre-eminence extends to every sort of guilt, and '
is not circumscribed to thieving alone.”
“These are startling sentences,” says the reviewer in '
Blackwood ; “ but we have not quoted them as particularly ■
I favorable specimens of the Baboo’s style. They derive their ■
value from the fact of their affording the best of all testimony, i
that of a true Indian patriot, to the fact so long overlooked by '
the zeal of reformers, that for Indian society in foreign influ- '
ences alone is its chance of redemption. In enumerating !
• some of the Hindoos who have signalized themselves in learn- :
i ing, some of whom have broken through that bigoted conser- ;
j vatism which binds the Hindoo to his native shore—seeking a
I collegiate education in the Universities of Great Britain—our j
j author gives the following names: the earnest Ramnwhun !
I Roy; Dwarkananth Tagore, (both of whom died from the ef- !
fects of the ungenial climate of Gret t Britain ,) Prosainoco- I
mar Tagore, the munificent patron of education; Ramgopul
] Ghore, the whole family of the Dutts—sons and nephews of 1
i Baboo Russomy Dutt, a well known and deservedly respect- '
able Judge in Calcutta. Our reviewer quotes some very fine '
: verses of Baboo Shashee Chunder Dutt’s, written in the Eng
i lish language, which som6 of our rhymsters might be proud
■ to own. He quotes also several pieces of verse, written by
Jovlnd Chunder Dutt.
In speaking of the position of women in India, our re
-1 viewer says :—“ The leading features are these : early mar-
I riage, complete ignorance, domestic subservience, and drudg
ery without parallel—without intermission, exclusion from
| society, and restriction from second marriage. Uncompromi
: sing is tho»observance of the ancient text of Menu : ‘ Whether
■ a female be a child, or a young woman, or old, she must ever
I be dependant. In her childhood, she must be in subjection to
I her parents; in her youth to her husband, aud in her old age
■ to her children.’ * * * So profound is tbe contempt en
tertained for the sex, that the birth of a female child is usu
ally regarded as a family misfortune. * * * Aud, amongst
whole tribes, and those some of the noblest in the laud—the
parents, high and low, murder their female offspring with a
shameless pertinacity. * * * still lower is the degrada
tion of the widow. The married woman, during the life-time
of her husband, enjoys some advantages in freedom from per-
| sonal danger or temptation, and in that natural supremacy
over the domestic department of which nothing can deprive
the warm and busy female heart. * * * But for her
whose lord is dead, though the ceremony may be (and often is)
nothing but an unconsummated betrothal, there remains nothing
but menial drudgery, aud unnatural solitude, with the possi
ble alternative of unhonored concubinage.” The law which
ordained that the wife or wives should ascend the funeral pile
of their dead husbands, is now suppressed under the present
; English government. The Baboo Shoshee. in speaking of this
! evil, writes thus : “ All children are still born in Paradise—
-1 a paradise as beautiful as that in which Adam lived—and born
I with hearts as sinless and as pure as were those of our first
| parents. What converts this Eden then, into an uuweeded
i garden ? What but the training which the sinful communicate
I to the sinless. * * * If the opinion of schoolmasters were
taken, it would be found that in educating Hindoo la is, more
difficulty is encountered in weaning them from wrong notions
and ideas, than in impressing on them more correct principles.
* * * Why is this so, but th at the mother is ignorant ? Na
ture has provided her with patience, gentleness, eloquence,
and love ; educate her, and she becomes fit for her duly. Who
so fit to teach a child as she? Who can weave instruction and
love in one sweet cestus around its heart ? Is the mother to be
left illiterate— this being who can hardly breathe around her
self without blighting, or shedding freshness and life on the
souls of hex* children ?”
The reviewer speaks of the picture of Zenana life, as given
by the Baboo,.as being new, valuable, and complete. That
no European had a correct idea of it before the publication of
this essay which appeared originally lu 11 Saunlers Magus
zine.” “In this country,” continues the Edinburgh reviewer,
“we are sure that, beyond a vague picture of latticed stone
work and hookah-smoking, not one person iu a million has
ever attempted to form a notion of Zenana life. Yet the con
dition of the women of a country is not only its domestic life,
but the hinge upon which turns the whole framework of so
ciety. What were the history of Greece without the Hetaire ?
What that of Rome without the free and high hearted matrons ?
What that of France without the heroines, the princesses, the
! intriguantes, the Cordays, Rambouillets, Longucvilles, Ro
lands, or De Staels?”
Our reviewer next enters into the intricacies of the religion
of India, unveiling its darkened superstitions, and pointingout
what there is in it of truth. In speaking of the despotism of
caste, he states that its laws have been to keep all classes
apart, each in their respective, original states of misinforma
tion, so as to render it necessary to have one religion for the
high, and another for the low; and to perpetuate and strengthen
false principles in science, art, njanufacture, and social prac
tise. He adds that Shoshee Chunder Dutt and others like him
are working, and that honest Englishmen are working with
them, to bring about the much needed reformation in young
Bengal, and express the hope to see their efforts crowned
with success.
A long review, entitled “ Professor Forbes and Mr. Lloyd
i in Scandinavia,” of two late works— *‘ Norway and its Gia
! cfers,” 4* c ,> ly James D. Forbes; and '■ l Scandinavian Adven
tures,” by L. Lloyd— ls contained in the last number of the
' North British Review. A few remarks drawn from its inter
! esting pages, will, we think, instruct and pleace. Professor
: Forbes sighted the coast of Norway on the 24th of June, 1851,
! and his first impression of the coast scenery was one of dis
i appointment whilst nearing the headland of Lirplesnaes ;—the
hills being low and devoid of boldness, and the general char
i actcr of the scenery extremely monotonous; tbe same well
| wooded undulations continued all the way to Christiana, whose
I fiord he thinks overrated. A great resemblance in many
■ points exists between some of the coast features of Norway
' and those of the north of Scotland. Whilst many of the nat
ural characters cf Southern Norway resemble those of the
Northern parts of England;—the climate of Scandinavia being,
however, vastly superior to that of Great Britain, and the soil
more productive. The trees of North Britain the Reviewer
compares to “ large shaving-brushes very much the worse
for wear on one side”! those of Scandinavia, on the contrary,
are of lofty stature and luxuriant growth. Prof. F. journeyed
i by carriole across the country to Trondheim in eight days—a
: part of two being devoted to repose, and a third to exploring
the Doorelield. The distance 330 miles, 80 of which are per
! formed by steam on the lakes Meosen and Losna. He speaks
1 in the highest praise of the civility and honesty of both post
. masters and peasants. The chiefest discomfort connected with
Norwegian travel arises from the melting of the snow at cer-
I tain seasons. Not enough of it remains for sledges, and too
j much for carrioles. The end of April and the beginning of
May are the worst months to travel in Norway. The thaw
■ converts the roads into snow-pits, not • broad enough for car
nage heels and retaining pools of ice-cold water. In pla
ces where the snow is still deep, it becomes incapable of bear
ing the weight of a horse, and in these drifts the animal sinks
to his girth, or above, and the traveler, left to his own resour-
[ ces, in attempting to proceed on foot, plunges first one leg and
i then another into the chill abyss, often finding himself sitting
j astride a more compacted and icy piece, with his feet dang-
Ing in the running rivers of the melting snow. Here and
I there the traveler encounters a small hamlet, basking on a
; sunny spot among productive meadows overhung on both
i sides by precipitous mountains. The scenery through mos
I parts of Norway is bold and Impressive. Of the inhabitants
I Prof. F. says that never in any country had he seen so fine a
j peasantry, in point of physical development and expression of
countenance. The men are tall and muscular, and their de
portment unites manliness with gentleness in a remarkable
degree. As the hair is worn long at all ages, the appearance
of the aged men is venerable, and occasionally highly striking.
Their costume is extremely becoming, being of brown, home
. manufactured woolen cloth, embroidered with green; the tunic
being confined by a belt, curiously jointed with leather and
! brass, from which hangs a knife—also made iu the rural dis
-1 tricts—with a earned handle; this knife is used in eating. A
picturesque, hanging red woolen cap completes the attire.
Ihe Norwegians, being by some travelers represented as stu-
■ pid and slow, are spoken of by Prof. F. as being more than
i commonly intelligent and courteous. Our Reviewer men
: tiens Mr. Laing as giving the same favorable testimony. The
I northern parts cf Norway are almost one unbroken chain of
mountains toward the coast; the shore being intersected by
deep fiords, and guarded by great insular masses detached
from the mainland. All roads cease, and steam navigation
is now in use for more than seven hundred miles northward
toward Hammerfest.
' The Reviewer carries our traveler as far as Hestmando or
the Horseman’s island, interesting as commencing the en
trance into the Arctic circle. The vegetation here is peculiar
’ ly fresh and verdant, the result of a rapid development by
the unceasing presence of the suu. Here the entire summer
T knows no night—if darkness means night, and the snowy
i summits of Fondalcn and the majestic scenery of the coast
« as far as the eye can reach, are seen by the rich glow of an
‘ arctic summer’s midnight and is geographically described by
, the author. Tbe “greatest difficulty here is to discover when
to go to bed, especially in fine weather.”
Of the vegetable productions, those most cultivated are
’ potatoes and barley while the fiocks during the slior? sum.
‘j infers rejoice in gtoen pastures. Arriving as far as Kaageu.
: one of the stupendous range of the Loffcden Islands, under
j the 70th degree the people (the Lapps) are c'f a diminutive
; stature and squalid aspect but of much in telligence and
sweetness of disposition. A young mother wa'-s observed to
bring out her baby and pack it up for the nig’ht, in a little
i cradle- cut out of the solid wood aud stuffed wi’lh rein-deer
I moss. The little creature fitted in so sanely it co uid neither
| stir hand or foot. The whole wealth ci these p eople consist
of reindeer. A total eclipse of the sun is described which
in these regions is awful and sublime !■ ths- extreme- _ In re
lation to the picturesque, the pervading fist .lures of Norway
! may be classed under three great heads: the, Valleys, the
! Fields, and the Fiords. The first are somewhat similar to
i those of the Alps. The second are- table-toy med, mountains
1 and so broad and flat that a coach and four m y be driven on
; ward or across there for miles. Another ciha rming charac
teristic of Norway is the sparkling- abundfia ce of running
waters;—its noble rivers and impressive falls,, ft 'rm one of its
■ finest features. The source of all this proifo ’ion of living
i vater is found-in the peculiar configuration of'• the country—
j the mountains being wide and flattened, the val’k ys deep and
I far apart. The single rivers- which water thu* ' lengthened
i lower grounds represent the drainage of a vastt l pper coun
j try, fed by streamlets, which, uniting on the jpl ’ateau, are
' thrown as cascades into the ravines below. The-. fall of rain
is also very large throughout Norway. Of the ters, those
strange, terrific formations of ice, we wi.T speafe; hereafter,
having attempted only in this t a give setae of 3 leading
features of Norway.
The Rev. George Gilfilllan relates in the Jul v K®, of Gra
hOm, his first impressions of that remarkable ml.n, G?C -onuell,
at the “ O’Connell festival,” in Edinburgh, 3e;ot. l~tl», 1835.
I Mr. Gilfilllan also narrates many interesting ft.ett i coma irnlng
i “ the groat Irish chief, the last of the Milesian ni onar&Si % not
' merely an orator, but a barbaric prince, ruling over b> trba
rattHma >» Mr. gpniiian describes tpe day> .the- s®aaery
around, and the vast multitudes of people who had iasaemu bled
lon Gallon Hill, close by Edinburgh, to hear O’Con seal’s ech
previous to the great dinner. Much of that remarkable sped eh,
commencing, “Men of Scotland, I have news for ‘'vow I” is
' given by Mr. Giltillian. In looking around uoon thaV era Sass
. concourse of people, Mr. G. heard the question as-feed”, l 'Wl
I this immense multitude hear him ?” “ They’ll hear hus
■ at least,” was the reply. In describing the gestures of “his
j arms,” Mr. G. says : “Now he waved them both aid ft over
: • his head, now he shook one of them in the air, now ho fcldted
I them, as if they had been eagles’ wings, over his breast, now
i he stretched them out imploringly to his audience, and &P1 wa«s
,to thoroughly natural.” And of his appearance:
“He had a presence which, from its breadth, height aud
command, might be called majestic. He had a head oPan'.pie
compass, and an eye of subtlest meaning. * * * Ro -had
the richest and best managed of voices. He had wit, hum»or,
sarcasm, and invective, at will. He had a fine Irish fkney,
flushing up at times into imagination. He had fierce and dark
passions. He had a lawyer-like acuteness of understanding-
He had a sincere love for his country. He had great readi
ness, and also that quality which Demosthenes deemed so- es
, sentidl to an orator, action, * * * * manly natural
and powerful action. And over all these faculties' he cart a
conversational calm, * * * * while others were scream- |
ing or shouting, or lashing themselves into noisy fury, O’Ccu
nell was content to speak, and to speak with authority. * *
* * His very faults and errors had a princely air. . His
craft was ‘king-craft.’ * * * * And his high stature,
his dignified carriage, and his massive brow, all seemed to
bear the inscription— l This man is made to reign.’ ” In al
luding to his speech of the morning on Calton Hill, Mr. Gilfll
lian says : —“ His abuse and sarcasm were, as usual, exceed
ingly fierce, but accented by the music of hig tones into a
kind of wild harmony. He called Peel, we remember, ‘ the
greatest humbugger of the age, and as full of cant as any
canter who ever canted in- this canting world. * * * * *
* Altogether, it was Titanic talk. ***** Ty ß have
often heard more splendid spouters, more fluent and rapid
deciaimers, men who coin more cheers,” <fcc., Ac., “ but here
for the first time, is an orator in the full meaning and amplest
range of that term.”
Mr. a. says, tbe really great men of Ireland, -have been
Berkeley, Swift, Burke, and O’Connell. Berkeley, the author
pain's as having little relationship with his birth-place, in his
ieellngs, predilections, or style of thought—belonging not to
Ireland, but to Earth. Swift, too, with his great talents and
the terrible energy and desperation with which he wielded
them, “hated bis native land, with a hatred only inferior to
that with which he regarded the men in England, who had
compelled him to rusticate there ; and of the Irishman there
was Jittle_or nnthincr in his oonoGtuiiaai • ai- -best, 'He was OnlV
a dried specimen oft th* Mon-ih# an Irish-
man." Burke's universal genius carried him clear and. high
above his native bogs, and made him free of —
“ Whatever clime the sun'sbright circle warms.”
He left Ireland early ; his soul, manner and mental habits
had left it before, and he never returned. But O’Connell.—
while not to be named with Berkeley in subtle thought; while
not to be named with Swift,—the Demon of Common Sense
in inventiveness and Satanic power, or with Burke in depth,
comprehension, richness, and grandeur ; excelled them all in
hts knowledge of his country, in his sympathy with it, in his
determination to link himself with its fortunes, and in power
of popular effect—not to speak of his religious creed, and of
the influence it gave him over the minds of the ‘ seven mil
lions.’ Just as certainly as Burns or Scott was the Genius of
Scotland, ****** so Bure i y wa3 D an i e i O’Connell
the express image of an Irishman ; the biggest beggar-man
in a land of beggars ; the calmest, yet most powerful orator
in a kingdom of eloquence; the craftiest scion of a crafty
race; the most self seeking and patriotic of a people who love
‘ the sod’ and themselves with an identical affection.”
To quote all the interesting remarks of Mr. Gilfillian,
would be to swell our article beyond our limits. We will
merely give the substance of some of the good effected by
O’Connell, as stated by Mr. G.
“ First of all he was one of the most determined, disinte
rested, and unwearied denouncers of slavery in all its forms,
and hi all countries, that has ever been known ; here he was
in earnest, and here his word was with power. Secondly,
O’Connell has forever demolished Old Toryism. Thirdly, he
gave a lesson of the effect of perseverance. In 1828, the
name of O’Connell was a term of reproach ; being spoken of
as a mere ‘mob orator.’ In 1830,die became a member of
Parliament. In 1831, he was listened to as the first orator in
the House of Commons; and ia 1835, as he stood on his
proud pinnacle on the Calton Hill, he had become, (Wellington
not even at that time excepted,) the most noticeable and power
ful man in the country. The most loved by his friends and
the most dreaded by his foes. ******* Never
since the days of Oliver Cromwell, was there in Britain a
man who exerted more power, who was more of, and who,
on the whole, deserved more to be, a monarch.” The fact
that he failed, (Mr. G. says, in conclusion,) ought to teach us
the lesson that all merely human power, is utterly incapable
to produce any result which shall deliver the world perma
nently from any one of its primal evils.
We find several curious facts related on this subject in an
article, in the United States Review for July, entitled “Holi
days.” Our Holy-days and ‘ merry-making anniversaries are,
with some few exceptions, not national, but brought from the
good “olden time” across the water, by our ancestors, prin
cipally from Great Britain and Holland—the Mother-country
and the Father-land (Vaterlandt).
The Review states that the festivals of Christmas and New
Year were never observed in the New England States until
since the close of the Revolution. The first code of laws pro
mulgated in Connecticut declare that “no one shall read the
Common Prayer, keep Christmas or Saints’ days, make mince
pies, dance, play-cards, or play on any instrument of music,
except the drum, trumpet, or Jew's harp.”
The writer in the Review thinks it difficult to account for the
preference given to the latter instrument, unless upon the
principle that the early Connecticut legislators referred to the
Old Testament for their authority in making laws. “ King
David was a Jew. and he played upon the harp ; ergo, it was
a Jew’s harp, and a lawful scriptural instrument.” Our
author says Ihe Puritans were not only opposed to the cele
bration of all holy festivals, but also to every kind of merry
making ; that they held all pastries, plumb-cake, Ac., in
niter abomination. In 1643, the Puritanic Court of New
Haven banished Goodman Hunt and his wife, “for keepinge
the councells of William Harding, bakeiny him a pastry and
wicked plumb-cakes, and keepinge company with him on the
Lord’s day, and she suffering Harding to kiss her?’
Kissing, in those days, was considered a heinous offence,
and, a man could not kiss his wife or child on the Sabbath
without violating the law.
The Review, after speaking of other Puritanic law, states
that in the Middle, or Southern, colonies all the old Holy-days
were kept from the first. Christmas was a great season of
festivity also in the colony of New York from its earliest set
tlement. Among the old English families in the vicinity of New
York “it was customary on Christmas Eve to place on tho
fire a large log of hickory wood, which had previously been
selected and prepared, called the ‘Christmas log? This
was the Yule cleugh of the Saxons.” The Necfew gives
the origin of the term. The log was to be cut some time pre
vious to the Eve, and of hard wood, and of sufficient size to
burn through the night and the succeeding day. The light of
their burning was supposed to drive away all evil influences,
Ac. “In Rolla’s translation of some of the Psalms of David,
made in the fourteenth century, we have the word Yule used
in this sense:—‘ I shall not dread Yueles,’—the present trans
lation being, ‘I will fear no evil’ (see Psalm 23).” The ex
pression, therefore, meaning a log burnt to drive away evil
The author goes on to say that among the Dutch inhabitants
of New York, this day was always a high festival, and one on
which St. Nicholas, who, according to the popular belief of chil
dren, comes down the nursery chimney in his little wagon,
depositing his gifts Ln their nice, clean woollen stockings,
which hang in a row near the fire-place, W'as in great repute.
“The Dutch children,” in the writer’s words, “in and about
New York, had a hymn in praise of St. Nicholas, or Santa
Klaas, as they called him. ***** qt began with
l Sanctus Klaas, geett keyligh man,'* &c. Among the Penn
sylvanians ‘Belsh Michel' has been the patron of Christmas
amusements from far back time. He is identical with Sanc
tus Klaas,” the name signifying the “ ‘good, holy man,’mean
ing Nicholas in his fur, or sheep-skin clothing.”
From many of the established usages discussed by the wri
ter of the Review we mention, one other—prevalent in New
York, Albany, Ac., among the Dutch,—that of going on Christ
mas day from house to house with guns, to give the inmates
“fire-salutes.” At every house thus visited, they were invited
in to partake of good cheer. “This firing of guns was carried
to such an extent in the city of New York, that as early as
Dec. 31, 1765, the ‘Deputy Mayor and Aidermen’ were obliged
to pass an ordinance to prohibit it; which is still preserved
among the city records.” The custom continued in full force
in Albany and parts of Long Island, Ac., until the Bth of
March, 1773, when “an Act to prevent the firing of guns and
other fire-arms within these Colonies,” was duly passed.
* “St. Nicholas, good, holy man.
The ancients used many surfaces for writing upon before
the Invention of paper. Lead and other metals made smooth,
tables surfaced with wax, parchment made from the skins of
animals, and the Egyptian papyrus. The latter was the most
largely sought and the most extensively used.
Godty for July, in a description of the Egyptian papyrus,
says: “The various species of the papyrus plants belong to
the natural order Cyperacccc, or sedges of botanists; a main
characteristic of which is a certain triangularity of stem. The
method of constructing a writing surface from these stems
was as follows: The available portion was cut off (it was
seldom more than twelve inches in length) and split, or, more
properly speaking, unfolded into thin sheets, which were
glued together transversely in such a manner that the origi
nal length of the papyrus stem became the breadth of the fu
ture sheet; the length of which might be Increased at the
pleasure of the operator. Frequently the manufactured scrolls
were more than thirty feet long. As different methods pre
vail in the manufacture of our ordinary paper, so, in like
manner, there were different processes of fashioning the papy
rus into shape. The rudest manufacture appears to have
been that of Egypt, and the best papyrus sheets appear to
have been made in Rome during the Augustine era ”
The surface of this papyrus was smooth, and its color re
sembled that of India paper. The hyroglyphics, forms of ani
mals, Ac., that the ancients employed to express their Ideas
were painted indifferent colors, red being the predominant
Godey further speaks o F the extinction of the real papyrus
plant; that until recently it was thought that it had been per
fectly well identified as the species of cyperus grown in botani
cal gardens under the name of cyperus papyrus; a plant com
mon in parts of Sicily. Signor Parlatore, an Italian natural
ist, thinks that the species found in Nubia is that which was
used for the manufacture of scroll paper, and that it is the
same which once grew in Egypt; that this species only should
be called cyperus papyrus.
After the Saracens conquered Egypt in the seventh centu
ry, the exportation of papyrus was at au end, aud writing
surfaces became so scarce throughout Europe, that many an
cient documents of great value were erased, that they might
be used for new writings. But if the Saracens had closed the
avenue for supplying the.ancient papyrus, they gave to the
world in compensation the art of making paper such as we
now use—manufactured from cotton instead of linen. This
discovery was made prior to the year 700 A.D. In the year
706 a manufactory of £aper was in operation in Samarcand.
The Saracens, after conquering Spain in the eighth century,
introduced into that country the manufacture of paper.—
This useful art crept very slowly into the rest of Eu
rope. It was not krown iu Italy until the eleventh or twelfth
cen'ury. In fact, whilst the whole of Europe was buried in
the profound darkness of ignorance, the Saracens were pos
sessed of many arts and sciences.
Speaking of the vast amount of papyrus used in ancient
Italy, the writer says it “may be inferred from the number of
rolls or acqpi discovered in Herculaneum and Pompeii, also,
from the perusal of many existing documents, bearing directly
or indirectly on this branch of commerce. Even so late as
the commencement of the sixth century, Cassidorus congratu
lated the u orld on the abolition, by King Theodoric, of the
high duty on papyrus from Egypt; and he spoke iu high
flown terms ou the great utility of the material. The latest
papyrus roll known, is of the twelfth century, containing a
brief of Pope Paschal 11., in favor of the Archiepiscopal See
of Ravenna.”
Sized paper, such as w r e now use, is of a later invention.
The Chinese discovered a method of forming paper out of silk
pulp mixed with the inner fruit of the bamboo. This was as
early as the year 95 A. D. In the time of Confucius, the Ce
lestials wrote with a style upon the inner bark of trees.
Chamlcrsl Journal for July, in speaking of the syslem of
“School Discipline” of the ancient and eminent school of Har
row, relates an anecdote which, had such an occurence trans
pired in any of our schools, would have raised the indigna
tion of ‘Young America,’ to the point of abolishing the inhu-
I man law which allowed the circumstance to transpire. The
i school authorities of Harrow have deputed to one set of boys,
; called ‘monitors’ 'he right to flagellate the rest whenever
they think it necessary. “In the quarrel between the moni
tor and another boy, the monitor, has the pleasant advau
' tage of ‘whipping’ his antagonist, to within an inch of his
j life if he pleases, under the color of the law, and in perfect
safety from retaliation.” The Journal relates an instance
which has lately come to light, where two boys of Harrow,
one a monitor, had a dispute on the play-ground, in which,
as was afterwards found, the monitor was in the wrong. Ex
ercising his monitorial privileges, he inflicted thirty-one
I blow s with a cane on the bare back of his victim; who was
■ left in such a critical state that medical aid had tOzbe called
i in. The monitor justified himself by saying that he had
I known as severe punishment inflicted by monitors for less
. offences. The writer in Chamlers' reprehends very strenu
ously such barbarity, adding: “Harrow is an ancient and
eminent school, and such dignified establishments are usual
ly not very open to advice. Yet it is a fact which might be
worthy of the regard of Harrow, that there are other schools,
and passably successful schools too, which, so far from mul
tiplying the lashing-power in this extraordinary way, have
almost abolished or dispensed with it even among the mas
ters. It is a world of change, and, many think, of progress;
and among its changes is a gradual doing awuy with the law
of force, and a promotion of that of gentlemen.. It Urapllly •
becoming a prevalent opinion as to schools, that the necessity
°f f° is simply in proportion to the incompetency of ths
teacher, and the inadequacy of the moral superinten
dence.” ♦
The law' of love has every where been found to be more
effective whenever it has been used, than the law of stripes;
in family discipline, and the discipline of all public institu
tions, as well as in schools for youth. Kindness is the only
weapon also, which has ever been able to strike a death
blow at the root of insanity, and to restore the wandering
mind back to its wonted bent. Whatever expands and in
structs the heart must improve tho individual. Severity tends
but to contract and harden the heart, arousing the worst
passions of human nature. At no age of the world, so much,
as in the present, has the truth of this been felt. We are
gradually emerging from the incrustation of the cruelty bora,
of barbarism, into a clearer, purer life where the divine law
of love shall govern all nations:—where all evil passions
shall be lost in the harmony which comes the “perfect love”
<4 which casteth out fear.”
“ That ligld-hovse far away in the greenfields of infancy*
Thou wert an angel, Conscience ;—thine no Gaming sword
Before the soul’s great vestibule;
Mild, faithfully, thou e’er dost rule,
Like gentle mothei- with rebuking word.
How thy blest halo lights our early years;
Our wayward hearts they fret
The meshes of thy hallowed net,
And, save a shred, departs all salutary fears.
A lake of molten silver, thou, that bright reflects
The sunlight of God’s spirit;
O, treasure to inherit!
To moor our bark where come no tempest wrecks.
fcrffolh of all sorts of Jfeia
Smoking Opium.—-Bayard Taylor has tried
he effect of smoking opium. We understood that in those
states where the Maine Law is enforced, the use of opium
as a stimulant is quite common and proves au agreeable sub
stitute for the ardent. Its effects, however, are more dele
terious, and we cannnot say that we recommend the use of
his gum, though the THfcune correspondent found it so de
licious. Mr. Taylor says: “In spite of the penalties at
acnedto it by Chinese law, the smoking of opium is scarcely
a concealed practice at present. I have seen it carried on in
open shops in Shanghai, where there are some streets which
are never free from the sickening smell. It had always been
my intention to make a trial of the practice, in order to learn
its effects by personal experience, and being now on the eve
of leaving China, I applied to a gentleman residing here, to
put me in the way of enjoying a pipe or two. He was well
acquainted with a Chinamnn who is addicted to the practice
and by an agreement with him, took me to his house. The
epium pipe is a bamboo stick, about two feet long, having jv
small drum Inserted near the end, with au aperture in its
centre. A piece of opium, about twice the size of h pin’s
head, is taken up on a slender wire and held in the flame of
the lamp until is boils or bubbles up, when it is rolled into a,
cylindrical shape on the drum, bv the aid of the wire It
loses its dark color by the heating and becomes pale and soft.
Having been sufficiently rolled, it is placed over the aper
ture, and the wire, after being thrust through its center to
allow the air to pass into the pipe, is withdrawn. The pipe
is then held to the flame, and as the opium burns, its fumes
are drawn into the lungs by a strong and long-continued in
spiration. In about' half a minute the portion is exhausted
and the smoker is ready for a second pipe. To my surprise
I found the taste of the drug ■as delicious as its smell is disa
greeable. It leaves a sweet, rich flavor, like the finest 11-
quorive, upon the palate, and the gentle stimulus it commu-
Rica<.es to the mood in the lungs, fills the whole body with a
sensation of warmth and strength. The fumes of the opium
are no more irritating to the windpipe or bronchial tubes
than common air, while they seem imbued with a richness of
vitality far beyond our diluted oxygen. I had supposed that
opium was smoked entirely for the purpose of mental exhila
ration, and that to the smokers, as to many who intoxicate
hemselves with ardent spirits, there was no sensual gratifi-
taste of the article. The reverse is un
doubtedly the truth, and the* practice, therefore, is doublr
dangerous. Its victim becomes hopelessly involved in its
fascinating illusions, and an awful death, such as I witnessed
not long since, is sure, sooner or later, to overtake him who
indulges to excess. I have a pretty strong confidence in my
own power of resistance, but nothing could induce me to
mi’ke the experiment a second time. Would smoking opium,
bo good for the cholera or other disorders?
The Japanese.—Wherever we go over this
Wide world, we find that men are men and only men.
are huraan beings like ourselves; and, al
though their ports were shut against us, it seems that they
neither wear their heads under their arms or devour children,
A writer from the American squadron s:ys that the chaplain
of the expedition, tlie Rev. Mr. Bittinger, took occasion, dur
ing the progress of the late treaty, to visit the large cities of
Kanagawa and Kasacca, situated some fifteen or twenty
miles distant from the ships. The population of Kanagawa,
he says, is from one to two hundred thousand. Immense:
crowds thronged the streets as he passed, and finally a mes
senger was sent before him to oblige the people to back them
selves close up to the houses, thus leaving the centre of the
road clear to our traveller. Mr. Bittinger entered many of
their houses, and found them, though furnished in primitive
style, clean, nea t andVomfortable. when compared with other
Oriental dwellings of the same class. He entered several tem
ples, and was treated courteously by all. The cities he visited
were each about six miles long,, with wide, well-formed streets.
On his rmurn, he found that everything which had occurred,
during his excursion, had been noted down bv the Jaoanese -
officials, even the number of buttons on his coat ‘ beinir
recorded. ®
Russian Politeness—A Fact.—The Scot
lish Fre S#l a European print, says: About the close of last
July a very loquacious and corpulent German ladv, resident
in St. Petersburg, having quarreled with her servants (Rus
sian;, the.latter gave Intimation to the Prefecture of Police
that the former had spoken of >he Russian government in
Tneiaay-receiveu a sum
accordingly, vowing revenge on the whole tribe of servants.
On her arrival at the office, the Prefecture most politely re
ceived her, and ushering her into a small, box-looking apart
ment, commenced reading over sundry charges against her,
which he had scarcely finished wlifndown sunk the corpulent
lady through a trap in the treacherous floor, above which no
thing of her portly figure w'as to be seen but her head, arms
and crumpled habiliments—and, shocking to relate, thirty -
blows from an unseen hand were administered, where, how
ever, they were unlikely to cause permanent injury except to
ihe feelings of the sufferer. On the completion of the sen
tence the stout lady’s person reappeared again above ground,
almost as suddenly as it had disappeared, and the Prefecture,
in ihe most courteous and polite manner, bowed her out of tho
Stewed Monkeys.—A young lady, writing"
from California to her sister in Luzerne county, Pa... says,
among other interesting things “We reached Aspinwall on.
the morning of the second of March. This is a small town,
the houses being principally “ Hotels” with big names and
very small accommodations, kept by skin and bone Yankees,
who would doubtless remove, in a very respectful manner,
the pennies from a dead man’s eyes, if opportunity served.
Wc took dinner at one of these establishments, the main fea
ture of which was a plate of stewed chicken, at least it was
so called, but after eating a small quantity, I was satisfied that
there was a mistake in the name. A discussion arose at once
upoil this question: ‘ls this chicken ?’ which was soon decided
in the negative. Now the question was, what is it? After
much fruitless examination, a gentleman volunteered to put
enough of the thing together to determine whether it was a
biped or quadruped at least. He collected our forks and com
menced sticking the parts together, and what do you think he
built up ? Why nothing more or less than one of those abomi
nable detestable stinking monkeys that abound in that region.
A feeling akin to sea-sickness seized me, and in ten seconds
you might have seen a sturdy Dutchman occupying my place
at the table.”
Mean Affair.—lmpositions by drivers of
carriages are so common that vigorous measures should be
taken to put a stop to them. A gentleman from Brooklyn,
L. 1., a few days ago, upon the recommendation of a friend,
proceeded to Port Chester, for the purpose of engaging board
at the Haseco House, in that village, kept by Mr. L. Wel
ton. On arriving at the depot he entered a carriage, and told
the driver to convey him to Mr. Welton’s; but instead of doing
so, he took the stranger to several other places, assuring him
that Mr. Welton did not take any boarders now, because Mrs.
Welton was sick; but not being pleased with the locations of
the houses to which he was taken by the disinterested driver,
he insisted on being conveyed to Mr. Welton’s, as at first re
quested. The knight of the whip of course complied, and.
then demanded full fare for every house he had taken the
stranger to; which the latter paid, not, however, without re
solving that “it would be the last time the same little bit of
humanity, with a still smaller soul, would have the chance of
imposing upon him.
Heart Trials of the English Poor.—
Mr. Godwin, who has lately published some of his experiences
of London homes, tells that when visiting one miserable
room, he by chance opened the cupboard, and was startled to
find upon one of its shelves, shut up with the bread and the
teapot, the uncoffined body of a child. The little limbs were
decently disposed, and covered with a cloth, and on a shelf
above—as they put over a peer his coronet, or a warrior his
arms—there was the little house-fairy’s cracked mug, with its
golden label: Mary Anne. She lay there till her coffin could
be earned. Not many weeks before, the mother of that
household had perished, and had been kept in the room for x
fortnight, the work-room, eating, and sleeping-room of tha
widower and of a family of children.
Hydrophobia—The cure of this terrible
disorder is said to be hopeless. The proper preventive is, to
cleanse or wash out the poison after having been bitten by a
rabid animal. To this end, Muriatic Acid, Aqui Fortis, or
(better still) Caustic Potash, may contribute; but the actual
cautery, or burning with a red-hot iron is best of all. Wash,
the wound Instantly on its infliction, or as soon as may be ;
then apply the red-hot iron until every trace of it is burned
away—a severe remedy, but the only true one; and it will
not do to desist until it has been applied most thoroughyl. la.
view of the dread consequences of being bitten by a mad dog,
we are inclined to ask why many useless curs are still kept
by persons claiming to be possessed of common sense.
Femininity in the Market.—What shall
we do with all these lady writers? The Lamplighter, Uncle
Tom’s Cabin, Fanny Fern, and others, seem to be sweeping
everything before them. The fair sex are winning all the
laurels, and leaving us nothing but >the wHlow ! Cannot a
stop be put to all this? Who will make a large bandbox, and
put all these femininities into it, so that they shall scribble nd
more? The Lamplighter has been sold to the tune of fifty
five thousand in four months; and Fanny Fern is covering the
earth like a Deluge. Somebody in the Tribune is petting and
coaxing Fanny at a great rate, to make her more pliable to
John Bull—“ Whoa, Dobbin I whoa I” seems to be the drift
of his argument.
The Dead Waking up.—Whether spirtual
rappings are genuine or not, the following looks like a waking
up of the departed. A Hebrew woman in Baltimore, sup
posed to be dead, was dressed in her shroud and placed in
her coffin. When they were about to screw down the lid,
she rose up and embraced her children and friends. She
partook of food and seemed to be recovering; but towards
night, she threw herself on the bed and expired. Her friends
should have been very certain she was gone before proceed
ing to bury her.
Killed by the Dead—lt would appear
that some persons are much more dangerous when dead,
than when they are alive. In England, a short time since
a gentleman, who was suffering from ulcerated sore throat,
removed from Grays to pass some time with his neices—x
Mrs. Seabrook and Miss Luscombe—residing in the Terrace,
Gravesend. He afterwards died, and during'their attentions .
upon him, they both suffered some of tho discharge to pene
trate trivial incisions on their Lands. Inflammation and sub
sequent mortification have ensued-in both cases, and resulted,
in untimely death.
Mistaken for a Goose.—A southern paper
says :—A strange and sad accident happened in Illinois on the
26th ult. While out hunting, Mr. Howard mistaking Mr. Mc-
Gaw for a goose, shot him in the thigh. Amputation was per
formed, but he died on the following night. Crawling through,
the bushes, the mistake was made by seeing only this portion
of the person; and being in search of geese, Mr. Howard mis
took his companion for oqe. One might be pardoned for ac
cidentally shooting his friend, but to be mistaken for a goose,
oh ! that is altogether unpardonable !
Suicide.—A young woman, whose maiden
name was Davis, committed suicide in Cohoes on Wednesday,
(he 12th irfst., by swallowing 172 grains of corrosive sublimate.
She died on the succeeding day, at 4 o’clock, P. M. The usual
remedies were resorted to, but failed to relieve the unfortu
nate victim. She committed the rash act in consequence of &
disturbance which originated in her marriage, a short time
before, to a young man to whom her friends were opposed.
It was said they bitterly opposed her for marrying a Catholic,
she being an Irish Protestant.
Juries.—ln the year 1739, at the Romford,
petty sessions, two mon were charged with committing an.
assault on Andrew Palmer. “The jury could not for several
hours agree upon their verdict, seven being inclinable to find
the defendants guilty, and the others not guilty. It was
therefore proposed by the foreman to put twelve shillings in
a hat, and hustle most heads or tails, whether guilty or nob
guilty. The defendants, therefore, were acquitted, tha
chance happening in favor of not guilty.”
Too Poor to Afford a Name.—Few of tha
Swedish peasants have surnames, and in consequence their
children simply take their father’s Christian name in addition
t© their own: for example, if the father’s name be Sven Lars
son, his sons’, in consequence, would be Jan or Nils Svens
son; and his daughters’, Maria or Eliza Svens daughter. Tho
confusion that this system creates would be endless, were it
not that in all matters of business the residence of the party
is usually attached to his name.
A Desperate Game Cook.—A remarkable
instance of the daring of a game cock lately occurred at Mel
ton Mowbray to a young man named Hill. He was endea
voring to catch a hen, when the cock flew at him from.a wall,
striking one of his spurs into his neck just behind the right
ear, while with the other spur he cut his left eyebrow nearly
cff. Hill was knocked down, and from the great quantity of
blood which flowed, it was at first apprehended that the jugu
lar vein had been cut.
Guanite. —A deposits of semi-crystalline
character, found abundantly In the Falkland Islands, has been
analysed at the Royal College of Chemistry, and found to be a
rich manure well worth importation. It contains somewhat
less ammonia than guano, but double the proportion of phos
phoric acid, and its value as a manure is estimated at £7 to £8
per ton. It must be ground to powder before being applied
o the soil.
Weather Signs.—lt is said that, if you
want to know how the day will prove on a cloudy morning,
you must observe the ants. If they have cleaned their ho
tels nicely, and piled the dirt up high, it seldom fails to bring
a clear day to the farmer, though it may be cloudy till ten or
t leven o’clock in the forenoon.
A Transformation.—The peach originally
was a poisonous almond. Ils fleshy parts were then used to
poison arrows, and was for this purpose introduced into Per
sia. Transplantation and cultivation have not only removed
its poisonous qualities, but produced the delicious fruit W 3
now enjoy.
Cure for Stammering.—Read aloud with the
teeth closed. This should be practised for .two hours a day,
for three or four months. The recommender of this simpla
remedy says, “ I can speak with certainty of its utility?’
The Church in England.—The Establish'
ed Church of England has within the last twenty years’
without the assistance of the State, built two thousand church
es, a cost of £5,500,000 or $27,000,000.
A Deep Well.—The Artesian Well in
Charleston is 1150 feet deep, and yet they are boring it deep
er, not heeding O’Connell’s advice, “to let well alone.”
Peach Leaves.—The leaves and kernels of
peaches eonta’n a large quantity of prussic acid, so as. to en
danger the life of those who eat them.
Five Millions !—Over five millions of dol
lars are said to be left by Dr. Peter Shoenb'«rger. who died at»
Marietta, Pa., lately. lie was known aq, “the king” trQiv

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