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T-SE NEW ERA.
MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. THURSDAY, OCT. 25, 1960 Give me leave to enjoy myself. That place that does Contain mv Imoks, the best companions, is To me a glorious Court, where hourly I Cmverse with the old Sages and Philosophers' Fletcher. Written for the JVew Era. OCTOBER. ■ T B. HATHAWAY. Again wild Boren* with end-finger shake* The ripened clusters from the crimson vine; Olsl Autumn, boarding of toe vintage, breaks A brimming bumper of the glowiug wine ; While heaping o’er the h irve*t horn he take*, Pomona’s treasures shine. Through all the d«y, from the firs* peep of morn, I hear the creaking of the loaded wain; I h« the resile of the ripened corn. And mark the gleaming of the golden grain; And roam the while where lucious fru>t* adorn The orchard-boughs agtin. In path* that deepen in the woodland maze ' Are truants wandering in their joyance free, Intent with h ardmg, for the wintry days, The brown nut* showering from bour.tiou* tree Blending their voices with the wilder lays Of Autumn's minstrelsy. There lies a glory on each sobered scene, — The vale wide stretching to an ampler view, The hills reposing in their sombering sheen; The wood* far brightening in the deep’ningblue Changing their mantle with it* summer screen, For Autumn’s varying hue. The noontido lustre is more softly shed, Like mildest splendor of a sunnier clime. The brook runs listless in its pebbly bed, With lowlier murmurs in its rippled chime; The dry leaves rustle to the failing troad Of the slow lingering time. A calm sits brooding in the tempered light, The sky o’erarched with a kindlier blue; The morn’s upspringing is more sweetly bright, The days more lovely, the more brief and few; The stars do kindle on the dome of night More tenderly and true. The cozy hours seem grown supremely, The loitering sun slants thro’ the dreamy haze; As he would fain the failing year prolong, Or cheer his dying with serenest rays; To thee, oh, Autumn, thee alone belong Divinely golden days. And oh, what joy if in life’s waning yoars, Their summer radiance, with their storms o’er passed, Our days shall brighten as our Autumn nears, A heavenly halo on its fading cast, Their suns still kindle as their beauty nears, More lovely till the last. Little Prairie Ronde, Mich. J 9» 1 1 e c 1 1 U Garibaldi’s Marriage. Garibaldi’s second marriage, of which pi • much has been gossiped in the journals at home and abroad is thus ventilated in the Paris correspondence of the New Orleans Picayune : ‘’l dare say you have heard a great mkny allusions to Garibaldi’s marriage, and have been rather puzzled to form nn opinion whether he was or was not married, the whole matter being shroud ad in mystery. 1 think 1 can tell you the whole story, lie was engaged to marry Miss Josephine Raymondi, a daughter (so everybody said) of the Marquis Raymondi, a wealthy Milan landed proprietor. The Marquis Ray mondi lives with Ronconi’s wife's sister, and Miss Josephine Raymondi is the eldest of the five children (all daughters) that have issued from this uni >n. She is a tall brunette, with brilliant eves, regular, but prominent features, and a rather flat face. She is 22 years old. Last .summer when the Italian cam paign was at its height, the Marquis Raymondi and Iris family were residing at his summer residence, Kino Castle, which is some fifteen or eighteen miles from Milan, and is situated on the west ern bank of Lake Como. Garibaldi and his hand were at Verese. lie had entered Como a few days before, and made the acquaintance of the Marquis of Raymondi and his family. The Aus trians had marched forward, cut off all communication between Como and Ve rese, intending to concentrate their forces by different roads on Verese, in large numbers, so as to surround and crush Garibaldi and his followers. The Podestat (Mayor) of Como was anxious to communicate this intelligence to Gar ibaldi, and made a proclamation to his fellow citizens, calling upon one brave Italian to volunteer and risk his life for Garibaldi’s safety. Nobody offered. When Miss Josephine Raymondi heard of this she became indignant at the cowardice of men, and offered her self as a volunteer> saying to the Pode stat, ‘Give mo the dispatch; I will go to Garibaldi and bring back his reply.’ The Podestat hesitated to accept from a young girl of one and twenty (who, by reason ot her sex, ran much greater risks than a man would be exposed to) services deemed by men too hazardous to be encountered. But Miss Josephine Raymondi insisted so strenuously that the dispatch should be given her that the Podestat yielded; besides, wiinm else b*»d he to send? and the danger pressed. Sha got on her horse and ia an instant disappeared in the mountains’ defiles.— She knew every path that lay between Como and Verese, for from her youth *ll«ibs4 trod all on fbof or on horseback. WILLIM H. WOOD, YOL. 1- —NO. 42 She escaped the Austrians, and at sun rise was at Garibaldi’s camp. She de livered the dispatch into his hands.— She returned home as safely as she had gone to her destination. Being fore warned, Garibaldi was forearmed; he forced Borgho Vico defile, and drove back the Austrians beyond Lake Como. After the peace was made at Villa franca, Garibaldi paid the Marquis Ray mondi a visit at Fmo Castle, for the fair warrr>r of Como had made a deep im pression on him . He asked her in mar riage of her father. The Marquis was delighted at the proposition, and instant ly gave his consent, and the marriage was announced everywhere in the neigh borhood. and was soon heard of through out Europe. When the Marquis told Josephine that he hid given her hand to the Lib erator of Itally, she appeared stupified rather than delighted. She c mid not refuse to wed G rihaldi, for every I'al ian regards him as something more than a demi-god—besides, what pretext could she give? Her family took her stupefaction for the emotion natural to her sex at this supreme hour of woman’s life, and they hastened the preparations for the marriage. The whole Raymon di family were soon collected at Lino Castle. Garibaldi came with all h:s friends and a second marriage was soon negotiated between Garibaldi’s son and a younger sister (said to be a beauty)of Josephine Raymondi. All at once, and the day before the time appointed for the marriage, Miss Josephine fell sick It was hoped she would he better the next day; on the contrary, she became worse; two—three—four—five days came and went; Miss Josephine became worse. The physician said it was no thing serious, and at last the father of the bride determined to make her dress, and have her carried to the altar; the marriage was 10 be celebrated in the chapel in the castle. It became neces sary to take some measure of this sort, for all tnc newspapers in Europe were making inquiries on the subject, and several persons from remote cities had quitted their ordinary avocations to act as Garibaldi’s groomsmen; (among them Mons. Alexander Dumas) and they could not he expected to wait there in definitely dancing attendance upon ti woman’s vapors. The marriage ceremony took place in Pino Cpstle Chapel, but after the cere mony the bride declared she felt worse than ever, and begged her friends to excuse her from takieg any share in the festivals prepared in honor of th j occa sion, and took t° hod- The wedding party was, under these circumstances, gloomy, of course, soon broke tip, leav ing Garibaldi alone with his new family. He could not enter his nuptial chamber; his wife’s illness forbade that. He slept in an adjoining room The mails next morning broughthim a letter—an anon ymous letter—sent, as it stated, by one of h s friends. It acquainted him that Miss Josephine Raymondi, or rather Mrs. Josephine Garibaldi (for such she was now) had long honored her cousin, Count , with her favors. The most irresistible evidence was given, and the names of witnesses cited. Garibaldi gavu the letter to the Marquis Raymon di, who hastened to the bride’s room and gave her the fatal paper. There was no denying the charge made. A distressing scene took place between father and child. Garibaldi quietly quitted the house and went to his retreat on the Island of Cnprera Josephine quitted her father’s house next lav, and fled with her seducer to Switzerland, where they now are. Who sent the anonymous letter? It c uild not have been a friend, for a fiiend w >uld have sent it before, not after marriage. It is said : t was sent by some Italian devoted to Austria, or some adherent of Muzzini, to fever Garibaldi with milita ry phrenzy, and keep him from the qui et of a home and a wife.” Blondin and tue Clergy —Blondin shows that he has none of the superstit ion of the Cape Cod skippers, who used to be reluctant to take Methodist minis ters as passengers, fearing that they would prove Jonahs, and bring disaster upon the craft. The great Frenchman has offered to carry any clergyman on his back across his rope, which is streched two hundred feet above the ground at Jone’s Wood, in New York. We fear that there are some parishes which would be willing to contribute a minister for the experimen t, of courts merely to test Blondin’s powers. We should like to see him try to carry over all the theological treatises, of a clergy man we could name. He would have to enlarge his wheelbarrow.—Providence Journal. The Rev. William Taylor in his late work, “The Model Preachej,” says:— “Often when a preacher has driven a nail in a sure place, instead of clench ing it and securing the advantage, he hammers away until he break* off the bead or «plit« the board. M Motto—“ Freedom is the only safeguard of Government, and Order and Moderation are necesary to Freedom.” —Mill an SAUK BANDS, MIN., THURSDAY, OCT, 25,1860, Fall ! liow eloquent the word ! The flowers fall in the gardens, the fruits fall in the orchards, the nuts fall in the woods, the stars fall in the sky, the rain falls in the tubes, the leaves fall every where, and Fall it is. The wind is sighing round the cor ners, moaning over the threshold, sing ing at the windows, roaring over the chimney-tops and harping through the forests. The gray clouds look anger and sul len. The great, heavy drops come driving against the window panes; the cattle stand in the fields, with the wind astern; ‘.he sheep gather under the lee of the barn They banked up the house yesterday; put the cabbages in the cel lar the day before; will cover the pota toes to-morrow The black-birds, a rabble rout, hold higlt council of flight, on a dry elm in lhe“meadow, there is a twitter and a flutter, and a eteat acclamation. Up go the swallows in a cloud; away ride the sparrows on the billowy air. The robin and his wife hear the sound of wings in the thicket, and go too. The owl looks from his hollow tree, and gathers still closer, his russet muffler about his ears. The riged and tawny fields look like corduroy, their rustling and golden glo ries have depaited. The corn stands shivering in long lines, wrapped in rusty overhalls, like a regiment of “Old continentals in their ragged regimentals.” The pumpkins lie in great heaps, here and there, like cannon-shot. Little ‘flurries’ of snow whirl doubt fully through the cloudy air, and shift over the dark old fallow. The sun goes down with a bounce; it is dark before night. The asparagus is bundled out of the fireplace, the old andirons are wheeled into the line, the hearth is a blaze, the windows are curtained, the old circle is narrowed around the old fashion ed fire. Just the season for Saturday nights ! What blessed things they a:e, and what wonld the world do without them.— Those breathing moments in the tramp ing march of life; those little twilights in the broad and glarish glare of noon, when pale yesterday looked beautiful through the shadows, and faces ‘chang ed’ long ago, smile sweetly again in the dusk, when one rembers ‘the old folks at home,’ and the old-fashioned fire, and the old arm chair, and the little brother that died, and the little sister that was ‘translated.’ Satin day nights make people human, «t>t their hearts to beating softly as they used to do before the world turm d them into wat’-drums and jarred them to pieces with tuitoes. Do You Want A Piano? Can you go into any dwelling, in these times—a dwelling above the ac tual presence of want—and not see a piano? Can you tread your way through any New York street not exactly inclu ded within the well-known limits of downright poverty, and not hear the sounding chords of this omnipresent in strument? Did you ever happen to meet a young woman at home, or at a neighbor’s, without expecting her to perform the “Anvil Chorus,” or “Do I not prove thee?” Do you hope to be considered a civilized creature, yourself, fit for something besides paying a lady’s millinery bills, or carrying her French poodle to its lunch, if you cannot finger the keys of a piano with more celerity than you can count over a pile of bank notes, and “do” the latest Ethiopian thanson with the most heart-rending pa thos you can conjure up into a naturally pathetic vocal organ? We put these questions because they are timely, Read the newspapers, and you will fine pianos advertised for sale at prices which quite fordid the idea that any house should be destitute of such afflic—we mean—ornament. We have one advertisement before our eyes a 3 we pen this paragraph, which says: “One 6-12 octave rosewood piano for $66, and one for $80; three mahogany piano* for sl6, S3O, and $45, and twenty others at bargains. Pianos tun ed, Second* hand pianos taken in ex change.” Now, who could resist a piano at sixteen dollars—particularly if another socond-hand one were to be accepted at fifteen, in exchange? No body, of course: ar.d hence every fam ily keeps its piano just as it keeps its cat, and the community becomes, per force, most musical. Perhaps your daughter cannot sew a button on a shirt; but then she can play an overture at sight Perhaps she knows nothing of baking bread, and cannot discriminate between saleratus and corrosive subli mate; but then she can distinguish four flats from three sharps, and make glor ious discord in any key, major or minor. Isn’t that a consolation ? Isn’t it enough to make home a paradise, end convert women into angels? Ahem? do you want a piano? Fall Physical Training. One of the most hopeful things we see for Young America is, the revival of physical life and activity. A nation of puny dyspeptics is of little worth. Now we have gone to ribirig, rowing, playing ball, and drilling, with an earnest ef fort for military superiority, there is hope. We shall havo physical man hood, at all events, which is e basis for intellectual and moral excellence. Our boys are doing well. Every town has its gymnasium—every village its ball club. Our military companies, instead of meeting once a year, drill several hours every week. Some of them have achieved prodigies of strength activity, and precision. If they never come into active service against an e ne my, these accomplishments are invalua ble. The man who goes through a course of lessons in boxing, or fencing, does not expect to fight; but he feels himselfjust so much inure a man for having developed his latent powers - And this manliness comes out in all his thoughts, words actions. The real Len efit of all these exercises, then, is not to make good riders, dancers, rowers, hall playeis, or soldiers; but to develop manhood in all its faculties. But more is wanting. If men h; ve all the physical development, what is to become of the future? Our women have far less opportunities for physical culture than men. They form no ball clubs or military companies. A few lido, and fewer swim. There must be more exercise proper for ladies Let us recommend, first of all strong serviceable shoes, good for an hour’s ramble over the roughest mountain side. Secondly, strong, arid not too I ng or cumbrous dresses, with less length of skirt, less amplitude of crinoline, and more freedom of waist. :\o lady can take useful exercise unless her limbs are allowed to expend to their full cap acity. Let the hat be light, airy, pro tective from the sun, not easily spoiled by the rain and as becoming as you please. YThenovalk', tide, hunt fish, swim, go sketching, swim, play at battledore and shuttlecock; play ball, which is a very graceful exercise; form boat clubs where there is water; bathe every day; and live out doors as much as possible. Pretty dolls, with pretty bonnets, small waists, delicate shoes, and pearly complexion, whose utmost e.xeitinnto a shopping-tour or a dance, are very fas cinating creatures; but not quite the mothers we require for the America of the Future. How a Lady Presprved Web ster’s Reply to Hayne. The Taunton (Massachusetts) Ga zette, incorporated the following inter esting reminiscence in a notice of the ar ticle on “The National Intelligencer and its Editors,” in the last Atlantic Monthly : “ It will be seen from this interesting narrative that there was a time when Josoph Gales stood alone among Con gressional reporters; and to still further illustrate his position in that line, we call to mind what we once heard an in timate friend of Mr. Webster say we owed to him and his wife with regard to the celebrated reply to Mr. Hayne.— Meeting the Massachusetts Senator cs he was going to the Capitol on that morning, Mr. Gales inquired ofhim how long he intended to speak. About half an hour, was the reply. The editor’s duties at that time were pressing; but he ventured to take so much time from them. Mr. Webster, however, directly after met Judge Story, who said that he thought the time had come to give to the country his views on the Constitu tion. To this proposition lie assented Mr. Gales took up his pencil, unaware ot the new arrangement, and alike un conscious of the lapse of time under the enchantment of the orator, and conse quently he wrote on until the close of the spell. Some days passing away and the “proof” of the speech not appearing, >lr. Webster called on the reporter and made inquiry. I have the notes, said Mr. Gales,, ar.d they are at your service, as I shall never find time to write them out. This led to some remonstrance and persuasion, but the over-tasked ed itor stood firm. Then Mrs. Gales caine to his rescue by saying that she thought 6he could decipher her husband’s short hand, as she had formerly occasionally done so. Mr. Gales doubted, seeing Vulgarity op Life. --Man is inclin that it was fifteen years since she had ed to give himself up to common pur tried it. But she had heard the speech, suits. The mind becomes so easily dul and as the resistless sweep of its argu- led to impressions of the beautiful and ment and the gorgeous and massive perfect, that one should take all possible magnificence of its imagery were yet means to awaken one’s perceptive facul vivid in her mind, she persisted in un- ty to such objects; for no one can entir dertaking the difficult work In dne ely dispense with these pleasures; time thereafter, the fair manuscript it is only the not being accustomed to came to Mr. Webster’s hands for final the enjoyment of anything good, that correction. Scarcely a word needed to causes many men to find pleasure in be changed; and soon a set of diamonds, tasteless aud trivial objects, which have costing thousands of dollars, accompa- no recommendation but that of novelty, nied the rich thanks of the eloquent One ought, every day, to iiear a song statesman. Thus was saved to liter** to read a little poetry, to see a good tore the most memorable oration of the picture, and if it is possible, to say a American Senate, few reasonable words — Gfaetk*. >r*jjicr •iii Hi •fti.Ji’ll "fHo) 1 fepfHH. Editor and Proprietor. ONE DOLLAR A YEAR Harvest-Time. 9T J Ji'PH lARJf.t. God’s rain and sun Tht if goinl work havo dune. In the grain-fiekb, fair and vvido; And with aruied hand*, Lo ’ the reaper baud* Tluough the toppling harvest* glide, tsee swarihe* of gold From the “cradles'’ rolled, Gjki the aoi by the scythe* laid bare, A* ridges of mist, By the -unset kustd. Gild the broader field* of air. The binder* lithe. Who .Follow the scythe For the treasures it crop* and leave*, A* wnb laugh un i song 'I liey hurry ulong, Leave « w.ike of golden sheave*. But the h ippiest seeoo Is the last, 1 ween, \Y hen o\cr the y ielding loam, 1 he l/si toad is borne I rom the field* close shorn, l or thin i* the “Harvest Home.* ’Ti* a blessed toil From the teeming soil To garner the nation’* bread. Let the farmers sir.g At iher harvesting, For by them the wo.ld is fed. '1 hough bunk* may fail, And m ruin’* gala Every speculator reel; The fruitful sod 1* the Bank of God, And it* wealth no knave can steal. From the pale green «po*r To the hoarded ear, That its peifect growth has won. He feeds the grain W th the tempered rain. And the beams of the ripening sun. What is Money’* dearth, While the solvent Earth Such a glorious tribute yields; And a Runic mock*, A* she meets il* shocks, U ith the shocks of her harvest field*. O, were I ihc lord Of some acres broad, With the strength my land to till. I’d folio v the plough, With a beaded brow, And renounce the ‘‘grey goose-quill.” For of fi-lds of thought. Though with patience wrought, The harvest oft is spurned. Bat the seeded field, With a solid yield, Pays for every furrow turned. The rich and the Poor. Mr. Raskin, after many years of de votion to art, has betaken himself to political economy, where he is likely make as much of a sensation as hereto fore, Not that his views are nltftgclh er novel, but his way of putting then, is sure to attract attention. For example, .Mr. Kuskin, curiously illustrates the principle of the depen dence ef wealth upon poverty. The only value of a dollar lies in the fact that some man is so in want of it, that he is willing to give his lab >r in ex change for it. Otherwise, a million of dollars would not he of the slightest use. The greater the poverty, the more pressing" the wants of people around you —the greater is the value of your dollar the more service will it briug you.-- But suppose a whole community rich; what will you do with your dollar.' You might as well land on an unliabit* ed island No man can be rich, unless somebody else is poor. Where there is no poverty, labor must be univeisal I may have the for ty millions of an A*tor, and yet be com pelled to black my own boots, and boil my own potatoes, if there is no one about me who wants my money enough to be come my servant. It is clear that one might possess a million acres of land, and houses, and property of nil kinds, with more money than there is in Wall street, and st.ll be obliged to work day by day unless there were people around him who, from choice or necessity, would sell their labor. The real element of all wealth, then, is poverty. The rich are dependent on the poor. England is rich because some millions of her people are so poor as to be obliged to sell their daily labor for daily bread. To wish to be rich, then, is to wish that others may be pour. To wish to be rich is to wish for the power of com pelling a certain number of people to labor for our benefit; and this is true, without respect to latitude or longitude —true in Europe iu America—true in the North as in the South. THE NEW ERA Printing Establishment Second Story, NEW EKA BIILDIXG, SAIK RAPIDS n "i* V. fe a J ar « p assortment of new and Type* <-m t-r Cuts, Etc., » hirh enable* iu to turn out some ot ttw u?»« j.»b wort in the Suite, and at low prioes. BiuHudi, Po«tf*j, Blakks, CaM)», Bin.!, Cl KCt LAM, IxVitatios', Label*, Etc. And every other description of i tinting except Cook word, done neatly and promptly at thw office Bl a nk» of every description prints to order. THE MARCH OF GARIBALDI. It is true that the progress of the He ro of I tally has in it sonwting of the moral sublime. The other day, he made his entree into Naples, the capital of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies, ac companied only by his stuff, and receiv ed by the acclamations of the people A city of five hundred thou and inhab itant;! taken without firing a gun. The capital of a nation of nine millions, with itsfleet.and army, abandoned to him by a flying king and court. It is one of the most rouiarkable eveutsin all hista •y• r We are not yet at the end. Victor Emanuel, in whose name GaribaldictS as Dictator, feels himself overshadowed by his general. And it would not be very strange were the people of Italy to say: What have we to do with Victor Emanuel? Garibaldi has freed ns, let Garibaldi be our king. The Americans made Washington President; will not the Italians do as much for Garibaldi ? Southern Italy and Scity are annex ed to Sardinia. There remain but the Papal States and Venitin. Rome is pto tected by France; the States of the Church ate guarded by thirty thousand soldiers under Lamouriciere, a general of the highest ability, with soldiers who will fight; and six hundred thousand Austrians are behind the fortresses that guard Vt nitia. Most portentious ot all, Russia shakes hands with Austria. Europe apprehends a general war.— If Louts Napoleon, with England for his ally, declares for peace, there will be peace. Providence places the destinies of millions in the keeping of one human w ill. FLOWERS AGAINST WALLS A great number of plants flower well against walls, nod people are generally very cateful to n.atihani, a* a preserva tive from frost; but it is almost, if not quite, as necessary to mat them when the sun shines hot and bright. The cam< iia will do admirably ugainst a wall out of doors, and will stand even without a covering; but of ten all the flowers are seen killed in a single night of liurd frost—at least nil the blooms that are expanded—whereat a mat would have saved them. But two things should be provided for that are not often noticed. In the first place, a ledge or coping should he so placed that the cove ing may bo fastened under it so that no vacancy shall appear at the top, but all shall run otf, and next, that pens or stops should stick out from the wall a few inches, to keep the covering from touching the plant. Then, again, there is another point to be attended to —the mat most be placed over them in the hot sun as well as the cold frost; and the same must be observed in heavy showers and cold winds—all ulike in imical to flowers, and to tire young growth of plants. The Magnolia pur purea, conspicua, and some others, show their flowers very early in the spring, and very frequently have all the expan ded blooms killed ofTby cold winds or frosts. In the open air, and when the plants attained considerable magnitude, tfiis cannot be helped; but when trained against a wall, they may be saved, and the plant preserved in ail its beauty for many w eeks, by means of a covering, to put up or take down as required, accord ing to the state of the vvea her—but es pecially at evening. DEATH OF THE DOGS, “Sainbo, did you see them two dogs what 1 had last ?” “I believe I did.” “Dey was nice dogs, wasn't dey?” '•What breed were they?” ‘‘One was Newfoundlan’ and de oder was a Foodie.” ‘‘A Poodle?” "Yes, dat what I said.” ‘‘Dey both died dead, de big one fust, and de little one next fust.” “What killed them?” “One of dem died while I was a cur in’ him of fleas.” “Curing him of fleas?” “Yes, a friend ob mine told me dat I could cure him ob fleas by soakin’him in turpentine about two hours, and den set fire to him, an* he would neber be troubled wid fleas any more.” “Did you do as directed?” Yes sah, but when I come home I couldn’t find nofin ob de dog but a grease spot !” “Why, he must have been burned to death.” “Gues he did.” “Well, how did the other die?” “1 seen dat dog myself. He died e very singular death. ” “How go 5 ” . “Guess dat dog died ds only death ob de kind on record.” “How did be die?” “He stepped out mighty queer.” “Will you tell me how hq died?** “Yes; he swallowed a fine-toeta comb, and tickled himself to death. The onceHain men •» like a weve of the soa, foreVer tossed to and fro.