The national era. [volume], November 26, 1857, Image 1

About The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860

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Washington, d. c.
For the National Era
lingekings with nature-no i.
BY ANNA.
greenwood cemetery.
Th? City of the Dead I It is meet tb&t it
Bv. u i he more beautiful than that of the livj,ht!
It is fitting that roses should bloom and
j'.u- it!' shadows fall upon the graves of the j
jdVt.i who have gone before! It is just that
Ie Ar: should lay her magic hand upon the
n uuuertal marble, and thus lend to the heart's
r.t affection faultless embodiment I It is
, , j tl a' (?od permits us the grandeur and
ru!oess of the stately elm and drooping
w i;d*. the sparkling beauty of falling water,
.; j ;he brilliant hues of opening flowers, to
..jjrrj t1..; cherished homes of our honored
and grant us these types and shadows of
;; wrT. - ?! fountains, the unfading bloom and
the itn nortal verduro of that blest home whith.
r;. v 1 .iv-> gone. A dim vision of that blissful
abode is Greenwood Cemetery, with its
minting of sunshine and shadow, lake and
: ur.tair\ statuary and flowers, ocean-views and
river windings,
from Ocean Hill, looking far over the level
n, we behold the whitening sea-foam; and
rr. l .y Grove Hill, we gaze in rapture upon
gLpiy waters of New York Bay, tremulous
rli ! motion of laboring steamers and flut- '
v-in? sailing-vessels. Below us lies Brooklyn,
? i's run,': outposts and pleasant surround- !
while- beyond the glittering water, far as
r e eye can reach, etretches the Emporium of
the New World?the great island city. From
:ne rand view, en com passing so much ofbeautv,
vastnes?, and power, we turn to the miracles
of nature and the wonders of art, outspread at
I oar feet. Delicate-hued blossoms, drooping
' hovers, and gorgeous shrubs, rise from the
srreen and mossy carpet, half concealing the
marble slab, or surrounding the graceful statue
or lofty monument. Cherub babes lie motion|
in their silent and stony quiet, and angel's
wirseemingly ever ready to flutter, still remain
changeless in their holy purity. The
!> mocking marble moves not, nor even renins
the dripping tears which ever and anon
fall upon it. for the cherished dust beneath,
full ssa! bronze embalms a nation's memories,
at. 1 gra eful and loving hearts are enshrined
in many lofty monuments?silent, yet speaking.
Winding aisles, long labyrinths, and Bhaded
avenues, lead up the gentle Blopes, and
arc lost in the broad carriage-roads, which
wander through the whole area, often curving
dowc to the water's edge, and revealing to the
enraptured eye dream-like visions of beauty,
ur,ottered and unutterable.
From the centre of the miniature lake rises a
single jet of water, high as the surrounding
irce tops, and, failing back, ripples the whole
sj'f e, even to the grassy bank, bestirring the
heavy foliage of the beautiful trees leaning caressingly
to their own reflection in the sky-mirror
below. There, where the waving shadows
reep. and the falling spray glitters in the warm
suniight, open the deep-mouthed vaults; the
i.i'Jiic monuments, towering above, give to
the long landscape view an endless and enchanting
variety. There, where the silent
p.irn c i >13 iau?mere, wr.ere me wan oi me
mourner and the groan cf the afflicted chime
with the ripple of the water9 and the muaic of
the winds? there, ever-deepening, widening,
w.il expanding, we can view the living original
of those rapt picturing of Heaven's portal,
with which the imagination ia ever rife.
Ir" the good and the loved must die?if our
fri-nds must be darkly buried out of our sight,
let it be amid the thick evergreens, beneath
the drooping willow, or beside the silver poplar.
L*t them lie near to kindred dust, in some
(her1 shod spot, whefe gentle hearts, when
w a:v of world-strife, come to weep, and seek
th soothing balm of Nature's presence. Green
fading waters, and blue summer skies,
may be seen elsewhere; but none so green, so
clear. an! so dfep, as those of Greenwood.
THE SLEDGE DRIVE TO CHURCH.
A TALE OF NOEWAY.
What a strange, wild country is old Norway!
The brow of the earth, the forehead of the
*or!J, as the Scalds of old loved to call it in
their songs. Even in the map, how singular is
that jagged, furrowed, long coast line, stretching
above a thousand miles, from the North
'"ape with its eternal ice, down to a genial latitude
of wheat lands aud flowers. On this vast
seaboard, water and land seem to have been
struggling for the mastery, till at last all was
amicably settled by a division of the territory,
and the deep fiords run miles inland, and the
steep promontories project far out into the
ocean. Truly it is a beautiful country, with its
great bosses of snow fields, the long windings
of the lake-like fiords, the roaring Fobs, and the
endless pine forest. Then, too, what strange
sight8 meet the traveller: the midsummer
night's sun never setting, the months of darkness,
the ehepherd's lite in the Saeters, the
wandering nomade Lap3, and their encampments,
the bear hunts, and the Old World superstitions
and customs which linger in the secluded
valleys.
Norway has still other and more important
.'aims to notice: it is one of those few and favored
countries where freedom is enjoyed, and
the hardy, prosperous peasantry are living witnesses
of the worth of its immemorial institutions.
Norway, also, was among the first tc
?hake off the errors of Home, and to embrace
the doctrines of the Reformation. It is true
that rationalism and indifference have lonp
chilled the Christian heart of the country, but
i.ow i: i3 throbbing with increased vigor, and
sending warm streams of life-blood to the ex
tremities of the land.
A pleasant looking farm that of Ravensdal
. ?tling beneath some sheltering rocks in at
inland valley, not far from the Arctic. Th<
commodious dwelling was of blackened tim
her, adorned with curious carving, aHd pioui
sayings cut in the beams; while clustering
round stood the cottages of the peasants whe
cultivated the soil. In all the province of Nor
land there was not a farmer more respectec
and esteemed, or a more upright, honorabh
man, than Andreas Jansen, the owner of Ra
venadal.
It was early one Sunday morning in mid
winter, and the Jausens were preparing to star
for church, a drive of many miles. One of th<
sledges had been recently disabled, so none o
the taria servants were able to go with them
Rather a large party got into the remaining
sleigh, which, though a roomy one, was mon
than full; but when the farmer proposed t<
leave the two boys at home, there was so mucl
lamentation that he relented. Andreas hande<
his comely-looking wife Ingeborg to her seat
she was followed by her sons?Raoul, th
younger, a walking bundle of fur, taking hi
place on his mother's knees; Ella, the prett
only daughter, next stepped in; and lastly
carrying sotue wrap for his lady-love, cam
Hugo, Ella's betiothed, who the day before ha
arrived on snow-shoes from the southward, t
spend a few days at Ravensdal. Andrea
mounted to his seat, gently touched with th
whip the three horses, harnessed uoicorn fasl
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ion, and they started at 4 ? art pace. It waB
quite ehrly, for service b At twelve; and as
the distance was great, it * - yecessary to start
betimes. As yet there vAa - o- glimmer of daylight,
bat moon and star* #. fbae with a radiance
unknown in onr latifc^Ve, and there was
abundance of light for they urney. Buried in
skins and furs, the partjM^ not feel the cold
which, though great, was Tnt excessive?the
absence of a breath of a- d, and the perfect
dryness ot the atmoapber^ , making it much
more endurable than the ?-wie depression of
the thermometer would he * iihis country. It
was a grand event, this jo? uey to church, for
weeks and weeks had pay, since last they
were able to go. True, I qdreaa had every
Sunday a sort of prayer-m^ Ung at Ravensdal
with the neighboring peas*, *4, but this did not
compensate for the lack or^i J public services.
Then, too, the whole thought it moBt
fortunate that the fairness or tae weather should
enable them to go on thUt^special Sunday of
all others, for it was what fey call an altarday?t.
e.t the sacrament *as to be administered.
b,.
There was an eerie beat- 7 in the scene; the
solemn monutains lifting t .heir hoary hesdi
into the star-sprinkled sky,"-"he small tarn with1;
its glittering icy surface, < stern old pines, :
whose green looked alma < black contrasted 1
with the snow, and the g fjeful birken trees, i
those " ladies of the woo- <?'' decked 'out, as j
little Raoul said, when tl^ first rime fell that j
winter, in their white mn les, all ready fori
Bister fc.lla a wedding day.?_t?ut, as it to mane
amends for the stillness * dewhere, there was
no silence in the sledge. A"> reas turned round
to address his wife, or tallr*^ to his horses, in
that brotherly way so char, ^eristic of the Norwegian,
who always makefi iends of the fourfooted
creatures in his servos, and particularly
of his horses. Olaf, the ij ler boy, who wals
perched on Hugo's knee,-4-fer gome vain attempts
to obtain his atteT *;on, turned to his
mother and Raoul, and ^5?c up with them a
continuous stream of quf* ion and remark;
while Hugo and Ella, le-ining back in one
corner, heeding nobody bnt themselves, found
much to say to each other in low, happy tones.
And the tinkling of the merry sleigh-bells, as
they jingled round the horses' collars, made tp
all this a most musical accompaniment.
One-third of the journey was over, when,
with a startled exclamation, Andreas suddenly
pulled up his horses. At a turn of the road
there lay, extended on the snow, a human from.
In a minute the farmer had confided the reins
to Olaf, proud of the charge, and he and Hugo,
I jumping down, ran to give assistance. The
pack at the man's side toll them that he was
, one of those pedlars who wander from farmhouse
to farm-house all over the country. Overpowered
by the cold, he had sunk into that!
fainting, deathlike sleep, from which there is
oftentimes no waking. At first, all efforts to'
rouse him failed, but life was evidently not extinct
; so seeing a chalet close at hand, which
in the summer had beerftused as covert for
cattle, and now was a store for firewood, they
carried him there, and, kindling a fire on the
outside, they rubbed his limbs till some warmth
returned, and poured so rue corn brandy (which
no Norwegian travels witnout) down his throat*
i and he partially revived. . All this occupied
some time, and now they were quite in a
dilemma as to what to do next. Leave
him they could not, to take him on with them
was impossible; he was not sufficiently recovered
to bear the air, even if they could
make room for him in that state. To turn back
and take him home was almost as difficult, and
if so they must give up church entirely. KUa,
who had alighted to assist them, at last said, in
a decided tone, 44 There is but one thing, father,
[ we can do: Hugo must stay with the poor
man."
44 Yes," said Hugo, 44 that is the best plan.
You drive on to church, and take us up in the
I afternoon as you return; by that time he is
sure to be all right."
44 Well," said Andreas, 44 it dies seem the
only way; but it will be a sad disappointment
for you, my poor girl."
4> I do not know that," mattered Hugo;
j 44 she was the first to propose getting rid of
me."
44 Now, that is too bad," said Ella, with a
face rnelul enough to satisfy her lover, 44 when
you know I have been Counting for weeks and
weeks upon your being with us for this altar
Sunday."
It clearly was the mW feasible plan, and so
it was settled. Ella murmured to Hugo as he
helped her into the sledge again, 44 God will
not the less bless our engagement, that it begins
with an act of self-denial."
Some provisions, which had been put into
the .sledge ready for any emergency, were
handed ont to Hugo, and he was entreated to
take care of himself a? well as the pedlar, and
to keep np a good fire?'
4* Certainly," said he; 44 no fear of not doing
that. Why, here ie firewood enough to
roast half a dozen oxen whole. You nre sure
you will be able to do without me, Father
Andreas ? " I
44 Perfectly. The horses are quite manageable,
the road good, and the weather set fair?
we can have no difficulty."
So they started off'again, Olaf saucily calling
ont to Hugo, that,'now he was gone, 4]lla
would be of some use to other people, and hat
the rest of the party would gain, not lose, one
by his departure. However, Ella was not inclined
to be lively, and her gravity infected
even the high spirits of her young brothers.
The remainder of the drive was rather dnl} for
_ii - .: i ?
t**t paibicOf aim ctcijt uiic f*ao ?s ? ""cm. iuc
peaked roofs of the 6mall Iowd came into sight.
The Jansens drove to a relation's house, put up
the horses, left their outer coverings in the
sledge, and then catered the church soon after
service had commenced. The pastor wrs a
venerable old ma** dressed in the black ; anonicais
of the 'tutberan clergy. A t'lick
white ruff was rotund his neck, his long a.hite
hair floated over bis shoulders, while, on
account of the cold, he wore a black velvet
skull-cap on his head. Prayers and singing
over, he commenced his discourse without
notes of any kind, apd in a strain of simple,
fervid eloquence^ which riveted the attention
. of his auditors, h^ expounded the Bublime*precept
which Christianity first inculcated, of doing
' to others what we would that they should do to
us. The sermon over, some christenings fol
lowed, and then the commanion. The service,
> which had lastel more than three hours, at
s length terminate-l, and they emerged from the
i church. Many vere the greetings to be ex!
changed between friends and neighbors unseen
for long, and it #as some time ere the Jansene
1 reached the relation's house, where they were
- to partake of the mid-day meal. This over,
they did not linger long, for Andreas had
i promised Hugo they would return as soon ai
i possible. As they were leaving the town, the)
- were stopped near the parsonage by the pastor,
- who pressed them to come in and see the Frat
3 Pastorinn. Andreas explained the reasont
' which made the-.a snxious to be off, and th<
> good old man, th&king him heartily by th<
- hand, said:
I " So some of ^ros. have been acting what ]
s have been preaChin r, playing the good Samar
p itan. Well, well, i( shall not lack its reward
God bless you, frier d Andreas! "
t n
i The short-lived n cthern day had long waned
f when, leaving the .flustered wooden dwelling
. surrounding the cl.urch behind them, the Jan
? sens started on their homeward route to Ra
a vensdal. But lttle was the daylight missed
J for the glorious northern lights were up, stream
i ing, flickering like fiery banners across the skj
i brighter far than the pale Arctic winter sun
; and diffusing around a mild, beautiful radiance
e neither sunshine nor moonshine, but a ligh
s more poetic, more romantic, than that of com
y mon day or night. Little Raoul clapped hi
r, hands with delight, as from the luminous cloui
e on the norther: i horizon streamers of greet
d purple, red, anl golden light, shot up. As
o areas said it ?u years and years since an Ac
ts rora so splendid had been seen.
? . A lone,y r(*d was their way home; no hat
i- itations, except a few farm-houses near th
%
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1 ,
IE N
swelling into a note, tnen dying away, ana was c
1 decidedl/ nearer than when first she had re- d
marked U. The horses, too, seemed by some b
wonderful instinct to partake her father's unea- e
aiuess. fujt theu, the noise began afresh, and a
now an t nmistakable howl sent a flash of cer- *,
tainty to her mind. Unable longer to bear the Ji
suspense she half rose, and gasped out?" Oh, l"(
father, is it?is it the wolves ? " d
"Thtj are a long way behind," said An- 1<
i drec-s ; ' we shall reach home well, never fear." ii
f But tl s farmer's face contradicted his cheer- lj
: ful Word i, and with a sinking of heart as. if its ti
action h ,d been stopped, and then a tumultu- p
ous rusb of blood through her veins, Ella sank *
back in ter seat. It was a fearful revulsion of o
feeling If be thus suddenly torn from a state of t
| dreamy reverie, and brought face to face with v
a great danger. The fainting sensation was v
ovep dif ectly, and closiug her eyes for a mo- q
meUt, a td murmuring a heartfelt prayer, her r
natural courage returned. Ella had till then s
onl,7 se sn dead wolves, the trophies of the t
chase, sod once or twice one securely muzzled c
on its * ay to some foreign menagerie ; but too p
matiy (readed wolf-stories are current round t
Norwe^an hearths in the winter for her not to s
divine t -tQ greatness of the peril, and she tried
to oalci late their probable distance from home, a
and the chances of escape. 1
Erao Ingeborg next heard the bowl, and f
askeu t je same terrified question as her daugh- v
ter. * t
" Ofc God, my poor children! " was her only s
exelarr vtion ; and then she, too, was calm and p
still.
Nea sr, nearer is the howling?faster go the i
trrrifie-' horses; their instinct has told them the ]
datigei Ella gently disengages herself from the 1
sleepir p Olaf, and, unbidden, gets out the rifle t
and p wder-disk, and in silence looks to the 1
loftdin, Andreas's eye falls on her; he is t
evsn a that moment pleased with the fruit of
th S trg .ning he has given his child, in her pale, <
compo ed face and steady hand, like a brave i
Norse maiden as she was. Her eyes are now y
strain** to look back as far as Bhe can. Ere j
long, ot. the brow of a hill they have descended, \
she ser? a'black moving mass against the sky. i
" I tee them, father, but they are far off i
yet." t
A g -oan escapes from Andreas. " God help I
us, tb ,n 1 " he mutters. Wife and daughter <
read I s face, and from their hearts, too, goes
up th I agonized prayer. Ah ! well may they
pray i . On came the pack, some half hundred i
g&unt hungry wolves, their dismal howl fretz
in? th life-blood of the Jensens. The horses i
bt'unc onward with red nostrils and panting
si1e8 they go like the wind, but the distance 1
is ste diiy diminished. And the howl of the 1
wilve sounds like a mocking demon cry? i
" K \ ha ! ye go fast, we faster; ye are few,
we ar many. It is our turn now. Ye are the '
h ante we the hunters. Ha, ha ! how like ye j
the cl ?nge ? "
" Would it not be possible," said Ella, " to
take refuge in one of these chalets ? Could we ]
not barricade ourselves there ? " ]
" It would be only quicker death. Tho i
wolve*. would soon force the door; there would j
be ntf fastenings of sufficient strength to resist i
thent-"^ 1
Th^^k^ed above, around?neither help nor I
b.ope*^Hmo be seen. The pitiless earth was i
tVrapjwMm one vast winding-sheet of snow, and <
the cold glancing lights in the sky revealed 1
chly loo clearly their desperate condition. A |
cold damp stands on the farmer's brow ; still, i
be guides his horses with firm hand, speaks en 1
Cjourtgingly to them, and though he, knowing '
the r;firil best, has given up hope first, he re- t
laxee nq effort. It was hard, in the first fiush
of manhood, the prime of life, with the blood
loursiug through every vein in strength and
{ ower, to have nothing to do but die. As he 1
l ooked at his dear ones, he thought, were these
but safe, death would not be so fearful; but, I
t hen, the image of the pleasant home at Rwenacal
rose up before him; and to leave all this, 1
to die, and leave no name, no heir behind, it |
vras hard ! Was it not a triumph of Christian
faith that he, thus circumstanced, could bow his |
head meekly, and say, " Thy will be done ? "
Dame Iugeborg said nothing, but her tears <
fell fe.st over the nestling Raoul she was strain- 1
ing to her heart, and, as the child started at the i
noise, she hushed him cff to sleep as carefully
Is if he had been in his little bed at home, <
. thankful that one at least of her darlings was
. spared the anguish of this valley of the shadow
i 'of dr-Ath. And yet to her arose a ray of light,
( \ gleam of happiness, as she thought that she <
1 and all her dear ones would cross the river of
i death at the same time. No widowhood, no i
r orphanage, no childlessness?the parting of a
r moment, and then the eternal reunion in bliss, i
l Olaf, roused by his sister's rising, had awoke,
i and, seeing the wolves, had burst out into terri- i
j fied crying; but when Ella gently bade him
? pray to God, and try and be a brave boy, he
caught the infection of her calmness: Swallow[
ing bis tears, he knelt on the sea*, and, hiding
. bis face in the fur wraps, that he might not see
( the object of his dread, he manfully tried to
stifle his sobs, and repeated over and over again
his simple prayer.
Of all, Ella was the happiest, for one great
, comfort was hers; her best-beloved was safe,
b and, as she thought, with a thrill of joy that
. seemed strange at such an instant,-through an
r act of self-denial to which she had urged him,
i, and which God was blessing by his deliverance.
! The wolves were gaining fast; they could distinguish
the fiery eyes, the red tongues hangi,
j ing out.
i, ' Ella, as she saw one in advance, quite close
t to them, cried out?
i-) 44 Father, father 1 the rifle."
s j 44 Then take the reins an instant," said he,
i as be took the weapon from her hand,
i, Ella obeyed, the horses wanted but little
I- guidance, and the wolf fell dead beneath her
i- father's sure aim. There was a stop of the whole
pack, and the Jensens almost dared to hope.
> Andreas's face was as gloomy as before,
e 44 Only a check," murmured he; 4*they are mad
BAILEY, EDITOR AN
f
WASHl]
town, and, when these were passed, a long w
stretcl pf .desolate country?wild, rocky vai- v
leys, all clad in their snowy garments, with the
desertod summer chalets scattered over them, ti
mocking tie traveller with an idea of human a
life ; beneath, frowning precipices of black rock, w
where the ftnow could find no resting place; c
through'pi le woods, whose venerable denizens si
had surviv >d many generations of mortals. a
? ' Moored to the rifled rock.
Proof 10 the tempest shock." J,
The chi! Jren were asleep, Raoul in his mother's
arms,?-ho half unconsciously was humming A
'to herseif i hymn of praise as she wrapped the h
little nfftt! ng warm in her furs. Olaf, after
repeater! ijclarations that he was not in the
least sluef f, had been glad to lean his head ^
against his sister's shoulder; his eyes soon r,
closed, tig be was as sound asleep as his little a
brother. EUa gave herself up to a dreamy s,
reverie, as she thought over the solemn commun- 0
ion service, the sermon, and then the bright h
future Wore her. Pleasant thoughts they g
were; ro h>r life's horizon it was all blue sky a
I behind her, and she saw still more before her. tl
| And soon tHese thoughts were woven together, (j
and bri ?ht pasties in the air arose, which made tl
her smile 1q herself as she pictured them before
her miid*e aye; what {lugo and she would do p
when tl.ey *>ad a home of their own?how they c
would 'veioome the wayfarer, nurse the sick, a
and succor the distressed.
| Lost ir her own thoughts, Ella had little h
heeded a loise which was heard from time to fi
| time, and which she fancied the fall of ava- ^
lanches f; om crag to crag in the mountains. ^
But now i 11 on a sudden she remarked that her
father ha 1 several times turned his head to g
look bad;, and that his facs wore a troubled 1^
expressio i. 44 What is it, father?'' she asked ; d
44 is there anything the matter ? "
"Nothi ig, nothing," he answered, in a short, y
stern mai ner, not at all usual to him?4' I hope n
nothing;.' and then murmured to himself, in a h
lower ton ??44 God grant it may be nothing."
Her ut>easiness by no means lessened, but, w
unders'ar ding he did not wish to be questioned, p
she rema ned silent, but with her attention on w
the ahjrt to discover the cause for anxiety, h
The dull noise in the rear certainly increased, a
and was heard at fitful intervals, now almost u
ATf
I
D PROPRIETOR; JO
NGTON, 1). C., THUii
rith hunger. The one I hare killed will be de
onred, and then "
His words were verified. In five minutes1
uae, they again heard the baying of the park;
nd they were soon in sight, their appetite
dietted by the taste of blood?on, on, with inreased
ardor for the chase. Again was one
hot down?again occurred the temporary lull,
nd then afresh began the ghastly hunt.
There is but one charge more, father," said
Ilia.
' We will save it as long as we can/' was
mdreas's reply. And his voice was hoarse and
nsky.
III.
Wa left Hugo at his Good-Samaritan deed of
indness towards the hawker. The man soon
ecovered sufficiently to sit up, and give some
coouut of himself. As Andreas Jansen had
apposed, he had lost his way, travelling from
ue farm-house to another, and had tuuk exaustf
d into the deep slumber which generally
ubsides into death. In answer to bis inquiries
s to how he had been found, he heard about
ae intended drive to church, and discovered
lie self-denial Hugo had practised in giving up
be expedition to take care of him.
" I owe you thanks, young man. You have
referred remaining with an old pedlar in diffiulties.
to accompanying yonr betrothed. It is
dull exchange."
" Indeed," said Hugo, " I am quite repaid
y seeing you all right again. I was afraid, at
rst, it was all over. What a narrow escape !
Lnother half hour, we should have been too
ite."
" Yea, another lease of life," said the hawker,
ravely ; " spared a little longer by the Heaven7
Friend who has stood by my aide in many
angers during a long life of wandering."
" Let me hear yonr experiences. How much
ou must have seen ! It will be houra before
ty friends are back. Talking them over will
elp while away the time."
The sketch Eric Peterman gave of hia life
ras indeed remarkable. He was one of those
ious men not unfrequently met with in Norway,
who, while earning their livelihood by
awking, are at the same time humble misaionriea,
Bible and tract colporteura, holding prayer
ieeting8 in the villages when they can get a
ongregation, and, in an unobtrusive way, often
oing a great deal of good. Like most of his
rcthren, he was a man of few advantages of
ducation, but well versed in the Scriptures,
nd possessing native elcqpence, combined
nth the unfailing attraction of a soul thoroughf
in earnest, and ennobled by the pursuit of a
ofty and disinterested aim. He had been a
isciple of the celebrated Hauge, the John Wes*y
of the North, and had shared some of hia
mpriaouments at a time when little about reigioua
toleration was known in Norway Many
imes he had traversed the country, and even
icnetrated far into Russian Lapland. One
/hole winter he bad been weather bound on
ne of the Loffodens. Strange stories could he
ell of perils by land and perils by water, shipwrecks,
and hair breadth escapes from robbers
who coveted his pack. The time passed
[uickly in listening to such narratives. The
ecord of this good man's life was like a living
ermon to Hugo; the exposition of Gospel
ruth in a most inviting form, the example of
me who had practised all he taught. After a
>ause, during which they had been partaking of
,.C r? T_?u 1. i 1--.
1-v vyiJiOUW3 Ul JL/??LUC ll'i^CUUI'g 3 UtkHttCLj LLiriV
aid, rather abruptly?
' By the bye, I heard Borne unpleasant news
it the form I was at yesterday. They say a
urge pack of wolves has come down from the
ields to the northward ; the early and severe
vinter this season is supposed to have driven
hem down. Some hunters out on a bear-chase
i few days back had a uarrow escape; they re>ort
the wolves as going to the south."
" I hope not," said Hugo; " they had heard
lothing about it at Ravansdal. No more had
[; but then I came from the contrary direction.
I hope not, though I should like it above every
ifcing if we could muster a strong party, and
lave a good hunt; but wolves are fearful foes
0 meet unprepared."
Undefined apprehensions he could not shake
iff filled the young man's mind ; and, after tryng
to talk of other things, he came back to the
volvcs, and to speculations as to their position
ind movements. So time sped on, and he paced
lp and down with a growing uneasinees he in
?ain told himself was ungrr ur.ded and absurd ;
ind he longed for the return of the sleigh, to
erminate these secret fears. Eric had been
listening intently for some minutes, and all at
jnce exclaimed?
" There, now, I hear a howl 1 "
Hugo threw himself on the snow to hear better,
and ere long heard the same sound.
" I fear it is so. It is far, but, oh, in the
same direction they have taken."
After eome moments of intense attention,
both men satisfied themselves that it was not
the howl of a solitary wolf, and that it was
steadily advancing.
" Oh, tell me what we can do," cried Hugo;
' it is on the track which leads from the town,
just the time they would be on the road. My
poor Ella, what can I do?"
" Unarmed as we are, it is only by remaining
here we can be of any service, and this is a
position we can easily defend. With that
amount of fire wood at our back, I would defy
au army of wolves. Look ! the chalet stands
in a recess of rock ; from point to point we can
make a rampart of fire." So saying, he began
bo arrange fagots in a line from one point of
rock to the other, leaving an onen snare in the
centre. I think, with you, young man, that your
Friends are on the road, and that the wolves are
pursuing them, else we should not hear that
continuous howling nearer and nearer. I am
leaving this space for the sledge to pass ; the
wolves would never dare to attempt to follow
through such a wall of flame as we can raise."
44 Hist 1 I hear the gallop of horses," said
Hugo, kneeling on the snow.
44 Then set fire to the barrier. It may be a
beacon to them, and show them where we are."
44 This was done, and the bright pine-wood
Same was ere long streamirg into the sky.
"Now," said Eric, 44 get more fagots ready,
for you and I must be prepared to close up the
passage immediately the sleigh is safe."
44 But the horses," said Hugo, 44 will they
pass between two such fires as we have here?"
44 No fear ; they are terrified enough to leap
over a precipice, if it came in their way?anything,
everything?to escape those that are
ifter them."
A few minutes passed in breathless suspense,
during which the noise of horses and wolves
became louder and louder.
44 Ah! there they are," cried Hugo, 44 and the
whole pack close behind. They see us; Andreas
is flogging the horses. Oh, God! there
is a great wolf close upon them ! I would give
ten years of my life for a rifle for one instant.
Andreas dares not leave the reins. Ella is
standing up ; she has the rifle. Good heavens 1
the woll will spring at her. No, she has fired?
Bhot him down I My brave Ella! my own dear
girl!"
Another second, and the sledge was in the
haven of refuge provided by the forethought oi
the pedlar, from the ruthless wolves, behind
the barrier of flames. The exhausted horses
had stopped of themselves *, the Jansens were
beneath the shelter of the chalet, half fainting,
scarcely crediting their preservation. As soon
as he could s_peak, the farmer said, in a tremu
loua tone, " Wife, children,let as thank God 1"
and, kneeling, with the tears rolling down hii
hardy cheeks, in a few words of heart warm
thankfulness he returned thanks for their de
liverance from a blocdy death.
It was some time before sufficient compos art
returned to relate all that had passed, and whet
that had been done, Andreas said, " Our pastoi
might well say, 1 It shall in no wise lose its re
ward.' If you "?turning to the pedlar, " had
not required assistance, if Hugo had not re
mained, we must all have perished."
The Jansens had to stay in the chalet thai
night; but when the next morning dawned, th<
wolves had all dispersed, and they reached
home with ease and safety. A few days later
Andreas and Hugo had the satisfaction of ex
hibiting some wolves' skins, as trophies of theii
vanquished enemies.
'
H s Q. WHIT TIER, go:
:SDAY, NOVEMBER 2
THE CTTBBEHCY QUESTION.
North Brookfikld, Mass.,
November 10, 1857.
To the Editor of the National Era:
A demagogue is one who appeals to popular
ignorance or prejudice for (he accomplishment
of a political or private end. Is not this a good
.definition ? Allow me to address you briefly on
the demagoguisra of credit money advocates.
There is large room for such vulgar appeals, in
the discussion of this question of the currency.
Very little is understood of the nature and uses
of money by the people. They know how to
earn and how to spend it; but, when they are
deprived of their daily bread by a revulsion of
the discordant elements of our currency, they
"don't know what hurts them." For this reason,
uui okaiamcu m"a uius'. U^gTUUea UQ801 SeiVeS,
when, for party <jr personal motives, they have
led the people, on this question, by the very
long nose of their stupidity.
Mr. Webster showed something of this disposition
when, in his Bpeech on the removal of
the depositee from the National Bauk, he
spoke of the generous aid given to young men
by the banks who discount to get a circulation.
He knew, or onght to have known, that these
institutions discount to those who can pay most
for favor, to those who have more wealth and
influence, and can keep the best bank account
and the largest perm a nent deposites. He should
have known that, by increasing the risks of
business and the risks of credit, young men
especially sutfer, and that credit money does
this.
But one charge against a value or "hard
money" currency is most scandalously false,
and most unworthy of a man. It has been uttered
and repeated in Congress, and by demagogues
elsewhere. It is, that a value money
system takes from the wages of the laborer.
Politicians, who are affected with an intermittiP.nt.
InOft ftf tVlP lt?Kr*ri?r? wnn * ~
----- - ? ? W. .MV ?ww^/kiug Uinuy OIC UtUU^Ul IU
have peculiarly strong views of this every leap
year, in the fall. There was an instance of
this, of considerable force, in the last Presidential
campaign. It was a display of that spirit,
which is most dangerous to Freedom, from
those of power and iniluence. All will recollect
the epithet which was applied to Mr. Buchanau?"ten
cent Jimmy"?a matter small
in itself, but possessing significance in respect
to that all-important question which will before
long be agitated. Could laboring men vote for
one who would reduce their wages to ten cents
a dayf If such questions are to be asked in
future, with such a spirit and meaning, well
may the friends of financial reform turn to the
people, to teach them what is money and what
are wages. Mr. Henry C. Carey, of Philadelphia,
the most learned, voluminous, laborious,
and, erroneous of political economists, virtually
repeated this charge, without its coarse vulgarities.
In his ''Twenty-five Reasons for Supporting
John C. Fremont," he would support
him, because be was not in favor of advancing
our manufactures by degrading our people to
the level of the pauper laborers of Europe.
First disclaiming any partiality for Mr. Buchanan,
let me state the origin of this epithet.
Like a sensible stateeman, not as the feed advocate
of the banks, he saw the evil effects of
credit money upon our manufactures, and advocated,
at some lime, in Congreea, the adoption
of a value money system of currency, as
that under which our manufactures might compete
with foreign fabrics, and the price of labor
be reduced to its natural point.
Mr. John Davis, of Massachusetts, followed
him with statistics, showing that the wages of
the German laborer, to which Mr. Buchanan
had compared that, of the American, were about
ten cents a day. Of coutse the cry at once was
raised of starving the laborer, to advance the
manufactures of the country. " How much
better it would be," would Mr. Editor Greeley
say, " simply to impose a tariff on foreign
goiods, than thus to starve the laborer on ten
cents a day ; why, that would not buy a pound
of meat!" Ah! but would it not? Certain
ly, li laoor com only tnat. n hat are wages r
The. reward of labor?the laborer's share of
the production of the country. In distributing
this, something is used as money, in order that
the laborer may take his share when he pleases,
where he plea=es, and in what commodity he
pleases. Now it is true, that in this country
the laborer obtains very great wages. He does
so, because there is no great power of capital to
rob him of his just due. lie does not have
great wages in that he gets one or two bank
bills every day. He gets a certain show of the
whole national income, determined and regulated
by competition. This constitutes his
wages. By the existing standard of prices?
money?this share is called so much?one dollar
or two dollars. If the standard of prices be
so altered that it be called fifty dollars or one
hundred, it rnak's his real wages no greater.
Money serves to exchauee commodities ; and,
according to the want of it is it dear or cheap,
just as other things are. Suppose the amount
of money to be doubled, the prices of those
things whose exchange the money effects are
doubled, very nearly. Everything is called
' something else; but it is what it was before.
Thus, by the inflation of the currency, the nominal,
the money wages of labor have been increased.
The laborer has not been benefited,
but the country may have suffered loss in its
manufactures. So, whenever a value currency
is urged, the laborer is befooled into the idea
that he is to be cheated out of his earnings.
Well may they shudder at the idea of receiving
seventy-five cents a day, if flour is thirteen dollars
per barrel. But a barrel of flour will feed
the same number of mouths for the same length
of time, whether its value be expressed by
the Scripture penny or the American dollar.
The bosom of oar Pennsylvania economist
should swell with complacency and love to the
Continental Congress, for giving such splendid
pay to its soldiers. Yet, unfortunately, such pictures
have always two sides; and the colonel's
pay hardly kept his horse in oats.
How wretched must the poor landlord, of
seripture, have been, when, for feeding and tending
the wounded Jew, he received the miserly
reward of the?miscalled?4< Good Samaritan! "
Yet we doubt not that he was particularly well
pleased at having so gocd a customer and paymaster
; and that the two shillings (or somea.
t_ : \ a r a J- a 1
IDiLi^ near ium aum?j wcui lar wwaruu mc
purchase of some finery for his wife, or luxury
; for himself, as did the pay of the patriot landlord
who had one hundred dollars for a day's
entertainment. The German laborer iB not
poorly paid because he gets only " ten cents "
a day; nor the English, in that he has only fifty
cents; nor is the American well paid because
he has one dollar and a half. But Germany
diminishes very much the laborer's share
of the national produce, by the cost of sustainF
ing her many useless Courts. England eats up
half her income in feeding her idle soldiery, in
i sustaining her costly establishments, and in
i paying interest on her terrible debts, and,
i therefore, has not so much, by half, to divide
i among her laborers. America is free from the
terrible follies of the Old World; and, there'
fore, her laborers are well paid?not because
i she has a false, deceitful, and hurtful currency,
i but in spite of this evil. Not only does the laborer
not gain by this fictitious increase of
prices, but he loses by it, through the distnrb)
ance of his employment and pay. It may be
i true, that, in the fever of speculation, engen
r dered by this credit money, employment may be
- more freely offered, (though this is not affected
I by the mere increase of money,) and wages
- may be high. But the terrible day of reckoning
" poors on him its seven-fold vial." Notht
ing can compensate the laborer for the loss of
i regular employment and uniform wages ; and
1 this every workingman will feel this winter.
, Would that they might understand by what
- cause this suffering has been induced, and der
mand, earnestly and effectually, a sufficient
remedy. f. a. w.
171 n
j hifi
RRESP0ND1NG EDITO
6, 1857.
A TOUCHING EXTRACT.
"The room, then, was made ready; and,
though I took some pains not to speak of the
arrangement too suddenly to Mary, yet there
was no need of diBguise or hesitation ; for when 1
at last I told her, 4 Is that all ?' said she, and
took my hand with one of her blessed smiles,
and vowed that she and Jemima would keep
the room as pretty and neat as possible. 4 And
I will cook your dinners,' added she; 4 for you
know you said I made the beat rolly-polly puddings
in the world.' God bless her ! I do think >
some women almost love poverty; but I did
not tell Mary how poor I was, nor had she any
idea how lawyers', and prisons', and doctors'
fees had diminished the sum of money which
she brought me when we came to the Fleet. It
I was not, however, destined that she and her
f child should inhabit that little garret. We
were to leave our lodgiugs on Monday morning
; but on Saturday evening the child was
seized with convulsions, and all Sunday the
mother watched and prayed for it; but it pleased
God to take the innocent infant from us, and
on Sanday, at midnight, it lay a corpse in its
mother's bosom. Amen. We have other children,
happy and well, now round about us;
and from the father's heart the memory of this
little thing has almost faded ; but I do believe,
that every day of her life the mother thinks of
the first born that was with her for so short a
while; and many and many a time has she
taken her daughters to the era-ve. in Saint i
Bride's, where he lies buried, and wears still at
her neck a little, little lock of gold hair, which
Bhe took from the head of the infant as he lay
smiling in his ccftin. It has happened to me
to forget the child's birth day, but to her never;
and often, in the midst of common talk, comes
something that shows she is thinking of the
child still?some simple allusion that is to me
inexpressibly affecting. I shall not try to de
scribe her grief, for such things are sacred and
secret; and a man has no business to place
them on paper for all the world to read. Nor
should I have mentioned the child's loss at all,
but that even that loss was the means of a great
worldiy blessing to us, as my wife has often
with tears and thanks acknowledged. While
my wife was weeping over her child, I am
ashamed to say I was distracted with other
feelilgs besides those of grief for its loss; and
I have often since thought what a master?nay,
destroyer?of the affections want is, and have
learned from experience to be thankful for
daily bread. That acknowledgment of weakness,
which we make in imploring to be relieved
from hunger and from temptation, is surely
wisely put in cur daily prayer. Think of it,
you who are rich, and take heed how you turn
a beggar away. The child lay there in its
wicker cradle, with its sweet fixed smile in its
face, (I think the angels in heaven must have
been glad to welcome that pretty iunocent
smile;) and it was only the next day, after my
wife had gone to lie down, and I sat keeping
watch by it, that I remembered the condition of
| its pareuts, and thought, I can't tell with what
j a pang, that I had not money left to bury the
little thing, and wept bitter tears of despair.
Now, at last, I thought I must apply to my
poor mother, for this was a sacred necessity;
and I took paper, and wrote her a letter at the
baby's side, and told her of our condition. But
thank Heaven 1 I never sent the letter; for, as
I went to the des < to get sealing wax, and seal
that dismal letter, my eyes fell upou the diamond
pin that I had quite forgotten, and that
was lying in the drawer of the desk. 1 looked
into the bed room?my poor wife was asleep;
she had been watching for three nights and
days, and had fallen asleep from sheer fatigue;
and I ran out to a pawnbroker's with the diamond,
and received seven guineas for it, and
comiDg back, put the money into the landlady's
hand, and told her to get what was needful.
My wife was still asleep when I came back;
and when she woke, we persuaded her to go
i J * * _ 1 Jl_ J_>_ 1 - 1
uuwn Hiaira 10 tue mnuituiy a panor, anu meanwhile
the necessary preparations were made,
and the poor child consigned to its ccflin."
THE FLOATING CITY.
Everything concerning the Great Eastern
hag an interest for our readers, and we therefore
copy the following carious particulars :
The accounts received from England of the
progress of this mammoth steamer intensely
interest the American public. The certainty
of her completion, and that within a short time,
is now universally admitted, and her proportions,
character, and finish, are now palpable
to the eye. Without going into detail, which
would be an endless task, we may form some
idea of her by alluding merely to the generalities
which belong to her design and structure.
Her upper and lower decks may be estimated
by the acre, and 1,600 workmen employed
about her are out of speaking distance, and
appear as but a handfull. The state cabins
are as large as the parlors of a New York house
of twenty-two feet front, and they open upon
regular squares and streets, as if city built.
They will be found by numbers, lighted by a
gas company on board the ship, be indicated
by a directory for the use of passengers, and
be patrolled at night by a regular police. The
saloons into which the passengers can enter
from the streets, for recreation or from curiosity,
will be as large as most of those found in
our best hotels, being in fact equal in size to
the main deck of a line of battle ship.
Her population will be 400, those resident
permanently on board; but 10,000 travellers
can be accommodated at a time, should so many
desire to make a voyage in company ; 250 tons
of coal per day will be the fuel required to keep
tier in motion; ana when the whole power ot
the combined engines is working, it is the same
as if the ship were dragged along by 11,500
stont horses, or 57,500 men.
There is on board this ship, according to this
calculation, force enough to drive all the machinery
in Manchester, to lift a column of
200,000 gallons of water 200 feet high in a
minute. We can hardly comprehend how her
plans were ever arranged by ordinary common
minds, or those accustomed only to the usual
details of engineering. The idea of a combi
nation of paddle engines and screws was a bold
one, outstripping, apparently, all the nece?ei
ties and requirements of the case. Tne paddle
engines are oscillators of 74 inches diameter,
and 14-inches stroke, working up with 15
pounds of steam, and 11 strokes per minute, to
the power of 3,000 horses.
Tbe boilers are in sets, each having about
8,000 square feet of tube surface. Small auxiliary
high pressure engines are placed near the
large ones, like servants near their master, to
do the small work of the ship?drive the pumps,
hoist sail, and various other little matters, to
save the time or the number of the men. The
screw engines, consisting of four cylinders of 84
inches diameter, and four-feet stroke, work up,
with 15 pounds pressure, and 45 strokes per
minute, to the power of 4,400 horses, but with
?> C mmnn<da aC olott m on/1 ft* ofwAlrAS rtna mihmSa
LO puuuuo vi ovvaui auu vv ovivnua pci lilmuiC|
to the power of 6,500 horses. These also have
some mechanical attendants, in the shape of
two auxiliary high pressure engines, to do the
small business of the screw.
But the most curious thing about her is the
fleet of steamers and yachts she will carry on
board, to be used in case of accidents at sea,
for the safety of the passengers. Astern her paddle-boxes
will hang two screw steamers, each of
: which will be one hundred feet long, sixteen feet
beam, forty-horse power, and one hundred and
: twenty tons?almost eaual to a large Albany
! sloop 1 and beside this,there will be a whole fleet
of yachts, decked, masted and rigged complete,
ready for a regatta or a cruise to save life.
Her anchors, cables, masts, are all on the
same magnificent scale, and the very ways on
which she is to be launched are being constructed
as if they were to be the foundation of
a fortress. Some anxiety is felt by scientific
men as to the probable action of the needle on
board such a mass of iron j but probably the *
plan of Dr. Scoresby will be resorted to, as well,
also as that of the astronomer royaL The first
is to carry a standard compass about thirty-two
; feet above the deck, and the other to place fixed \
1 magnets near the compass, that they may neu
'
? ? ?
*
R.;
I NO. 569.
traliz^ the action of the ship, and leave it free
to obey the " directive force of the earth's polarity."
It would be a curious thing, however, if, when
this g.*eat steam leviathan were alloat and ready
to sail, it should be found that the compasses
were not to be trusted, and that their variation
could not be calculated. The secrets of mag
netisri and electricity are only beginning to be
disclosed, but our knowledge of them is increasing
every day, and we have no doubt that
not only navigators will be ablo to trust implicitly
to the needle on board iron ships, but
that magnetism will indicate by its force, intensity,
and variation, the precise position where
the observer is at the moment. This is an inference
of our own, from facts that have recently
come within our knowledge.
The Great Eastern may be considered the
masterpiece of naval architecture, and her future
career is expected to decide some great
qnestions. If successful in all respects, she
will le imitated, and thousands will be trav
tiling abont the world, as groups of families
now do. Some seaports that have been famous
will :?all in decline, deep water determining
their value. Sailing vessels will become curiosities
; population will tend to that happy
coumry where life is most agreeable and healthful,
and where there is most prosperity and
freedom. The face of the civilized globe will
be af?ected by the substitution of these great
steamers for the small craft of 3,000 tons, and
the s rength of nations will be changed, as well
as ths balance of power. Such at least are the
theories of some very sensible persons.
CONFERBIRG DOCTOR S DEGREES.
The prodigality of parchment indulged in by
some of our universities about the commencement
season is truly wonderful. Having it in
their power to make Doctors of an indefinite
number of maukind, they seem disposed to exercise
their prerogative to tho utmost. Every
trustee, of course, has a friend ; and this friend
he d?ems it a special duty to have dubbed a
D. D. or LL. D., without inquiring over-care
fally into his qualifications for tho title. Brains
may be below par, education at a discount -,
but it matters not. Like charity, the Doctor's
diploma covers a multitude of sins. It makes
little difference what the deficiences of the recipient
may be; the mystical letters, backed up
I -I a ./? " ' * * "
uya uneei 01 vcuura, lairiy engrossed in Latin,
excuse them all. They are necessary to cap
the climax of scholastic diguity and ecclesiastical
worth in the eyes of an ignoble crowd.
But we know that " familiarity begets contempt;"
and the lavish rate at which doctorates
have been conferred of late years is certainly
not calculated to enhance their value.
If this Btate of things continues, the question
will soon be, not ''Who is a Doctor?" but
" Who is not a Doctor ?" and the untitled
man will be the more remarkable, ana therefore
in a measure the more honorable cf the
two. The fact is already beginning to be felt;
so much so, that some of our clergy have even
declined the proffered degree. The market has
been glutted, and, as a necessary consequence,
the demand has in a measure ceased.
Moreover, it is not alone the number of those
who have been made Doctors, but in many cases
their manifest unfitness, that has brought the
degree into disrepute. It was recently stated
in the Congregational ist that a letter had been
received from a gentleman created Doctor of
Divinity this summer, which abounded in errors
of spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Such
cases are not rare; and even when there is no
such gross ignorance of the rudimentary
branches, there ib too often a lack of that high
learning which distinguishes a man above his
fellows. If the title of Doctor means anything,
it means learned man, and should be bestowed
only where there is learning to justify it.
It behooves our Colleges and Universities to
sep to this, and, iu conferring their honors, use
more discrimination than they have done during
the past three or four years. A degree is
very properly bestowed upon such as art; really
u.m.Wvu? >v/i ic^ai iroi 11111 y Dl UUIUrt<[|ip, (>T IFIHological
acumen. It is a token that the world
appreciates their labors, and respects assiduity
and talent. But the moment that such honors
become insignificant, by reason of their commonness,
or, being conferred through personal
feelings, ceaee to be the rewards of special
merit, they are a mere nullity, and might better
be entirely abrogated.
It ia the duty of every Trustee utterly to ignore
friendship and favor in this matter, and to
be governed exclusively by high and honorable
motives. No matter how popular a man may
be, no matter how prominent a position he may
occupy, no matter how much he may have done
for this denomination or that institution, he
should not, for any such reasons, be dignified
with an honorary degree. Proficiency in law,
theology, science, language, or general learning,
should be a sine qua mm, a condition insisted
upon with no variableness or shadow of turning.
T&e ease with which our honorary degrees
are obtained, and the curious results to which
their promiscuous bestowal leads, brings to
our minds a good story, which may be profitable
as well as entertaining.
Some years ago, the University of St. Andrews,
one of the moat famous in Scotland, having
rather a lean treasury, determined to replenish
it by a new branch of commerce, and
announced that it would sell its Doctors' Degrees
at ?20 apiece. Mauy took ad van age of
this liberal offer; and among the rest, a cer
tain minister, who thought his services would
be more acceptable to his flock, were he possessed
of a handle to his uame, put the required
sum in his purse, and went np to St. Andrews
to purchase the coveted honor.
" A man servant accompanied him, and was
present when his master, having previously
tooted the bill, was formally presented with the
official narcbmunt
On his return home, the new Doctor sent for
his servant, and addressed him a9 follows :
" Noo, Sandy, ye'll aye be sure to ca' me the
Doctor; and gin onybody spiers at ye about
me, ye'll be sure to say, The Doctor's in his
study, or the Doctor's engaged, or the Doctor
will see ye in a crack, as the case may be."
"That a' depends," replied Sandy, "on
wuether ye ca' me the Doctor, too." The reverened
Doctor etared. "Aye, its just so," continued
the other, " for when I foond it cost sap
little, I e'en got a diploma mysel. Sae ye'll
just be good enough to say, 4 Doctor, put on
some coals 5 or, Doctor, bring me the whiskey.'
And gin onybody spiers at ye about me, ye'll
aye be sure to say, The Doctor's in the pantry,
yr the Doctor's in the stable, or the Doctor's
digging potatoes, as the case may be."?American
Educator.
Paying Toll.?"The principal avenue of
our city," writes a learned friend in Detroit,
" has a toll-gate just by the Elm wood Cemetery
. oad. As the cemetery had been laid out some
time previous to the construction of the plank
oad, it was made one of the conditions of the
j>ompany's charter, that all funeral processions
should go back and forth free. One day, as
\ji. rriue, n teicutowu jmyeician, Slopped tO
pay hia toll, he remarked to the gate-keeper?
"Considering the benevolent character of
oar profession, I think yoa ought to let pa pass
ree of charge."
" No, no, Doctor," the keeper readily replied,
" we couldn't afford that. You send too many
dead heads through here as it is."
The Doctor paid his toll, and never asked
any favor after that.
Da. Livikoston* ok Africa.?The Africans
look upon us white people as only another tribe
of men 5 and when I attempt to tell what their
numbers may be, they put me the question?
M Are they as many aB a cloud of locu9taV "
If I say yes, they ask further, whether, if each
of the white people were to take a locust into
his hand, they would finish the whole cloud 1
0 course I say I think they would.
Then they will add?
"Your Queen must be very rich, indeed, when
she has so many people."
"Ob, yes," I reply,"she is exoeedingly rich,'
And I am asked?
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G. BAILEY, Washington, D. C.
" Has sh? many cows ? "
A qnestion I really could never answer; and
when I mention the fact that I have never seen
the Queen, they say?
u What sort of people must you be, never to
have seen your chief? "
A great many other questions show the same
kind of ignorauce respecting us. Many European
gentlemen have gone to that country to
hunt; but, as the Africans have no idea of
sport, they wonder to see gentlemen working
so hard for a little dry antelope meat, and they
put the question to me?
" Have your friends no meat at home?"
Not wishing my friends to appear in such a
light, I say?
" These gentlemen could have beef every day
of thtir lives, if they liked ;" but they reply to
me?
" Ah, ycu know better." (Laughter.]
When English people think about Africa,
they imagine that all the Africans are like the
specimens we have in front of the tobacconists'
shops. This is not the case at all. That is the
real negro type that is only to be found in the
lowest part of the population. The people
generally are not altogether black. Manv r.f
them are olive color, or of the color of coffee
and milk, and usually the higher grades of
society are of tfcia lighter color. I imagine that
the type we cee on the ancient Egvptian mouuments
ia more near the type of the central
population than the tobacco-shop variety.
THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW ON FEMALE
FASHIONS.
The qies'iou of the preseut fashion of
women's dress is discussed by the Wtalminnier
Review in a pithy article cf the October number.
Most of the statements of the writer will suit
the meridian of Washington as well as of London.
He is especially savage on
THE BONNET OF 1C57.
Glancing at the fashions for 1837, what do
we 3ee 7 On the head is a something, the purpose
of which it would be difficult to discover
by rea3on; a structure of silk or st-aw, adorned
with flowers, ribbon, and lace, crowded on
the angle of the jaws and the nape of the neck,
and with its fore part just reaching the crown
of the head. We have Mr. Spurgeon's authority
for the effect to the eye of the spectator in
front. Being advised to preach against the
prevailing folly in head-gear, he paused as he
stood upon the platform, looked around him,
and said : 'I have been requested to rebuke
the bonnets of the day, but, upon my word, I
do uot see any.' This is the bonnet of 1H57,
pinned to the head in some troublesome way,
leaving the face exposed in a manner which
one need not bo a Turkish parent to disapprove,
and causing the hair to be powdered with dust,
aud the bead and face to be alternately heated
and chilled by sun and wind, so that the physicians
are easily believed, when they declare
that cases of eye disease, of toothache, and
neuralgic pains of the head and face, are beyond
all precedent in their practice. For many
momns past, bnglish women, and the ladies of
America, where the extremes of heat and cold
are greater than with us, have been subjecting
themselves to the inconveniences of going out
bareheaded, with the added annoyance of an
apparatus which heats and worries the back of
the neck. The broad-brimmed hats are a piece
of good sense in the midst of a mass of folly.
Punch, and other satirists, may qui;: the hat as
a device for looking young; hut the ridicule
touches only the elderly wearers, and leaves the
hat utninpeached.
Some quizzical specimens, plumed and beribboned,
and so turned up and twisted about as to
serve no more useful purposes than the prevailing
bonnet, may be seen here and there; but
the simple original hat, with a brim which
shades the eyes, and a crown which protects
the head, is woithy of all approbation, while it
is exceedingly becoming to jout'g wearers. As
to older people?if they sensibly decline wearing
the bounet which exposes their gray hair
to the v ry or wij, and feel that the bat is too
jaunty?why do they not recur to the indigenous,
serviceable, becoming, unobjectionable
Knglish straw bounet of all times ? Not the
fancy chip, or the open shell work of straw,
filled up with hi 1 k, but the v rtitable straw fabric
(Tuscan or Illimitable, at pleasure) which will
outlast all changes of fashion in a climate like
ours. There is no occasion to wear it in a
coal-scuttle fashion, like holy district visiters,
so that a pious woman is always to be looked
for at the end of a long bonnet; nor do the
milliners insist on all ladies going bareheaded.
The straw bonnet admits of all reasonable modifications
; and that of five years ago, enclosing
the face modestly, and covering the head comfortably,
gratified good taste then, while it satis
lies sound reason now. Instead of it, we daily
see old ladies in one of two extremes?either
their lank jaws are expobed by the dark strings
cf a slouching hat, or their wrinkled faces aud
gray hair are encompassed with blonde and
artificial lljwers, as the trimming of the little
excrescence "calied a bonnet in our day. One
would think that no woman conld fail to pc
eeive that wreaths aud garlands are a youthful
adornment, and that no one should wear artificial
Uowers who could not fittingly dress her
hair with natural ones ; yet we see d imagers
with roses and foliage clustering around their
cheeks at every turn.
lie is milder on
THE MANTI.K.
The mantle is perhaps the best idea among
the fashions of the day, and now and then we
see one worn by a sensible woman, which fulfils
all reasonable conditions; but the majori- t
ty of them are so ma le as to partake of all the
disadvantages of the existing gown. It used
to be thought, and it will be thought again,
that everything in the cloak way loses its character,
and therefore it3 tastefulness, by being
fitted to the figure. A modern mantle, which
is confined at the waist, and has sleeves inserted
in a tight armhole, is certainly not a veritable
mantle, whatever else it may be ; and when
we see it, as in this summer of 1857, cut down
to a mere band around the chest, extending no
higher than the point of the shoulder, and turning
into a sleeved jacket below, we have no
more to say as a respectable member of the
mantis tribe. Bat to respectability in the eyes
of taste, it usually forfeits all pretension by its
parade cf ornamentation. Its fringes, and bugles,
and braids, and gimp9, and laces, and huttons?its
frillings, and quillings, and puffings,
and edgings, and slashings, are too meretrifMAtift
fr?r ann (rarmonl aC 1? r
j imvijw ui iuc vH'an uruer, or ior
permanent fashion, though this article is perhaps
the least objectionable of the whole suit *
now favored by the fashionable caprice of the
day.
Hut he grows frantic at the extravagance
and ugliness cf
THE MODERN GOWN.
The madness runs riot in the gown, (to use
the old fashioned word, which is more distinctive
than the technical use of the term
"dress.") The consciousness of the whole
pnblic enables us to be brief on this head.
When we enter on the topio of the crowns of
1857, every reader's "prophetic soul" warns
him what auimadversion to expect on tight
waists, bare shoulders and arms, cumbrous and
encroaching skirts, and au apparatus for their
management, which is in every way objectionable.
The costliness, the clumsiness, the ugliness,
the affectation, the stiffness, the noisiness, the
complete reversal of the objects and attributes
of dress in the " dress," evening and moruiug,
of the present fashion, seems to be generally
admitted ; therefore, we shall not insist on them
at any length. Ths plain facts of the case are
these: The gown of 1857 is made of the
1 expensive materials obtainable. Ladies who
< used to dress handsomely on thirty pounds a
year, now find that sum insufficient for their
gowns alone; and middle class young ladies,
who have hitherto been satisfied with twenty
i pounds a year, are now driven to their wits'
end to keep up with the mode at all; and they
' have recourse to cheap showy silks that will not
last, or light gauze materials requiring a style