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Southern miscellany. (Madison, Ga.) 1842-1849, December 10, 1842, Image 1

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volume I. | IjV c. R. HANLEITER. POITBY. the voices of life. “ VVe spend our years as a tale that is told.” —David. Like the sunset hue in the drups of dew, When night shades chase the day. Like the rainbow’s gleam on the leaping stream, Our life flies swift away. With a stealthy tread by the bridal bed Creeps He of the icy breath ; A kiss leaveth He, then laugheth in glee ; •Tig -he hollow laugh of Death. He nimeth bis dart at a maiden heart lie loves the beautiful best— And the brightest gem of his diadem He tore from a mother’s breast! 11, is plucking now from an infant’s brow The bud that is bursting fair; la the dismal lotnb will he hide its bloom No flowers can blossom there. In youth’s sonny hour, with a witching power, Hope leodeth a merry round, Cut the hoar old sage knoweth life’s brief page, A talc that hath ceased its sound- O! nothing hath birth in the beautiful earth Bat speaks with a tongue of fire, Beyond the blue dome the True hath its home; Then heavenward, my soul, aspire. ©GCET©[HIIE©o the haunted inn. BY C, F. HOFFMAN. My horse bail cast a shoe, and stopping about sunset at a blacksmith’s cabin, in one of the most savage passes of the Allega nies,a smutty-faced leatheru-aproncd fellow, was soon engaged in putting his feet in or der, to encounter the flinty roads of the mountains, when the operation was inter rupted in the manner here related : “ Pardon me, sir,” cried a middle-aged traveler, t itling up to the smithy and throw ing himself from his horse, just as the shag gy-headed vulcan, having taken the heels of my nag in his lap, was proceeding to pare off the hoof, preparatory to fitting the shoe, which he had hammered into shape and thrown upon the black soil beside him : “ Pardon me” —repeated the stranger, rais i„or his broad brimmed beaver front a head remarkable for what the phrenologist would call the uncommon development of “ ideal ity,” revealed by the short locks which part ed over a pair of melancholy gray eyes— “matters of moment make it important for me to be a dozen miles hence before night fall, and you will place me, sit, under sin gular obligations, by allowing this good fel low to attend to my lame beast instantly.” The confident, and not ungraceful man ner, iu which the stranger threw himself upon my courtesy, sufficiently marked him ns a man of breeding, anti I. of course, com plied at once with liis request by giving the necessary order to the blacksmith. His horse was soon put in traveling trim, and leaping actively into the saddle, be regained the highway at a bound ; clieckinghis course then a moment, he turned in his stirrups to thank me for the slight service I had ren dered him, and giving an address, which I have now forgotten, he added that if ever I should enter ’s valley, I might he sure of a cordial welcome from the proprietor. An hour afterward I was pursuing the same road, and rapidly approaching the end of my day’s journey. The immediate dis trict through which I was traveling, had been settled by Germans in the early days of Pennsylvania—a scattered community that had been thrown somewhat in advance of the more slowly-extended settlements. In populousness and fertility it did not com pare with the regions on the eastern side of the mountains; but the immense stone barns, which, though few and far between, occasionally met the eye, not less than the language spoken around me, indicated that the inhabitants were of the same origin with the ignorant but industrious denizens of the lower country. One of these stone build ings, an enormous and ungainly edifice,stood upon a bill immediately back of the Wolfs wald hotel—a miserable wooden hovel where l was to pass the night—and while descending the hill in the rear of the village, l had leisure to observe that it presented a 6omewhat different appearance from the oth er agricultural establishments of the kind which 1 had met with during the day. The massive walls were pierced here and there with narrow windows, which looked like loop holes, and a clumsy chimney had been fitted up by some unskilful mechanic, against one of the tables, with a prodigality of ma terials which mado its jagged top show like some old turret, in the growing twilight.— The history of this grotesque mansion, as I subsequently learned it, was that of a hun dred other scattered over our country, and known generally in the neighborhood as “Smith’s,” or “ Folly.” It had been commenced upon an ambitious scale, by a person whoso means were inadequate to his completion, and had been sacrificed at a public sale when half finished, in order to liquidate the claim of the mechanics em ployed upon it. After that, it had been us ed as a granary for awhile, and subsequent ly, being rudely completed without any re ference to the original plan, it bail been oc cupied as a hotel for a few years. The ruinous inn had, however, for u long period beeu abandoned, and now enjoyed the gen & JF&mflg : 33cfcotcfc to Sericulture, J&ccftauics, znrocatiou, jForciflw auU ©omcattc KuteUiseuce, &c. eial reputation in the neighborhood of be ing haunted ; for ghosts and goblins arc al ways sure to take a big house off a land lord’s hands, when he can get no other tenant. “We bant no room for mynheer,” said my host, Peter Sclimidtson, laying liis hand on my bridle, as I rode up to the door of a cabaret near this old building ; while three or four waggoners, smoking their pipes up on a bench in front of the house, gave a grunt of confirmation to the frank avowal of I’eter. I was too old to stager, however, to be so summarily turned away from an inn at such an hour; and throwing myself from my horse without further parley, ltold the landlord to get me some supper, and we would talk about lodging afterward. It matters not how I got through the even ing until the hour of bed-time arrived. I had soon ascertained that every bed in the hostelrie was really taken up, and that un less 1 chose to share his straw with one of the waggoners, who arc accustomed to sleep in their lumbering vehicles, there was no resource for me, except to occupy the lone ly building, which bad first caught my eye upon entering the hamlet. Upon inquiring as to the accommodation it afforded, I learn ed that, though long deserted by any per manent occupants, it was still occasionally, notwithstanding its evil reputation, resorted to by the passing traveler, and that one or two of the rooms were yet in good repair and partially furnished. The good woman of the house, however, looked very preten tious when I expressed my determination to take up my abode for the night, in the haunted ruin—though she tried, ineffectual ly, to rouse her sleeping husband to guide me thither. Mine host had been luxuriating too freely in some old Monongahela, brought by a return waggon from Wheeling, to heed the jogging of his spouse, and I was obliged to act as my own gentleman-usher. The night was dark and gusty, as with my saddle-bags in one band, and a stable lantern in the other, I sallied from the door of the cabaret, and struggled up the broken hill in its rear, to gain my uninviting place of rest. A rude porch, which seemed to have been long unconscious of a door, ad mitted me into the building, and tracking my way with some difficulty through a long corridor, of which the floor appeared to have been ripped open here and there, in order to apply the boards to some oilier purpose, I came to a steep and narrow staircase with out any balusters. Cautiously ascending, I found myself in a large hall which opened on the bill side, against which the house was built. It appeared to be lighted by a couple of windows only, which were partially glaz ed in some places, and closed up in others by rough boards, nailed across in lieu of shutters. It had evidently, however, judg ing from two or three ruinous pieces of fur niture, been inhabited. A heavy door, whose oaken latch and hinges, being incap able of rust, were still in good repair, ad mitted nie into an adjoining chamber. This had evidently been the dormitory of the establishment, where the guests, after the gregarious and most disagreeable fashion of our country, were wont to be huddled to gether in one large room. The waning moon, whose bright autumnal crescent, was just beginning to cast above the hills, shone through a high circular window, full into this apartment, and indicated a comfortable looking truckle bed at the further end, be fore the rays of my miserable lantern had shot beyond the threshold. Upon approaching the pallet, I observed some indications of that end of the apart ment being still, occasionally, occupied.— The heavy beams which traversed the ceil ing, appeared to have been recently white washed. There was a small piece of car pet on the floor beside the bed, and a de creipt table, and on arm-chair whose burly body was precariously supported upon three legs, were holding an innocent tete-a-tete in the cornel adjacent. I’ve had a rougher roosting-place than this, thought I, as I placed my lantern upon the table, and depositing my saddle-bags beneath it, began to prepare myself for rest. My light having now burnt low, I was compelled to expedite the operation of un dressing, which prevented me from examin ing the rest of the apartment: and indeed, although I had, when first welcoming with some pleasure the idea of sleeping in u haunted house, determined fully to explore it for my own satisfaction, bolbre retiring for the night, yet fatigue or caprice made mo now readily abandon the intention just when my means for carrying it into execu tion were being withdrawn ; for the candle expired, while I was opening the door of the lantern, to throw its light more fully up on a mass of drapery, which seemed to bo suspended across the further end of the chamber. The complete darkness that mo mentarily ensued, blinded me completely.; but in the course of a few riioinonts the shadows became more distinct, and gradual ly, by the light of the moon, 1 was able to make out that the object opposite to me, was only a large old-fashioned bedstead, pro digally bung with tattered curtains. I gave no further thought to the subject, but turn ing over, composed myself to rest. Sleep, however, whom Sliakspcarc alone has had the sense to personify as a woman, was coy in coming to my couch. The old mansion wheezed and groaned, like a hrok en-winded buffalo haul pressed by the hunt er. The wind, which had been high, be- M ADI SON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 10, 1842. came soon more boisterous than ever, and the clouds huddled so rapidly over the face of the moon, that her beams were as broken as the crevicesof the ruined buildingthrougli which they fell. A sudden gust would ev ciy now and then sweep through the long corridor below, and make the ricketty stair case crack, as if it yielded to the feet of some portly passenger—again, the blust would die away in a sullen moan, ns if baf fled on some wild night-errand, while anon, it would swell iri monotonous surges, which came booming upon the ear like the roar of a distant ocean. I am not easily discomposed, and perhaps none of these uncouth sounds would have given annoyance, if the clanging of a win dow shutter had not been added to the gen eral chorus, and effectually kept me from sleeping. My nerves were at last becoming sensibly affected by its ceaseless din, and wishing to cut short the (it of restlessness which I found stealing upon me, I determin ed to rise and descend the stairs at the risk of my neck, to try and secure the shutter so as to put an end to the nuisance. But now, as I rose in my bed for this pur pose, I found myself subjected to anew source of annoyance. The mocking wind, which had appeared to me more than once to syllable human sounds, came at length upon iny ear distinctly charged with tones which could not be mistaken. It was the hard suppressed breathing of a man. I listened, and it ceased with a slight gasp, like that of one laboring under suffocation. I listened still, and it came anew—stronger and more fully upon my ear. It was like the thick suspirations of an apoplectic.— Whence it proceeded, I knew not. But that it was near me, I was certain. A suspicion of robbery—possibly, assassination—flashed upon me ; but were instantly discarded, as foreign to the character of the people among whom I was traveling. The moonlight now fell full upon the cur tained bed opposite to me, and 1 saw the tattered drapery move, as if the frame upon which it was suspended, were agitated. I watched, I confess, with some peculiar feel ings of interest. I was not alarmed, but an unaccountable anxiety crept over me. At length the curtain parted, and a naked human leg was protruded through its folds —the foot came with a numb, deatli-like sound to the floor—resting there, it seemed to me at least half a minute before the body to which it belonged was disclosed lo my view. Slowly, then, a pallid and unearthly looking figure emerged from the couch, and stood with its stark lineaments clearly drawn against the dingy curtain behind it. It ap peared to be balancing itself for a moment, and then began to move along from the bed. But there was something horribly unnatural in its motions. Its feet came to the floor with a dull, heavy sound, as if there were no vitality in them. Its arms hung, appar ently, paralyzed by its side, and the only nerve or rigidity iu its frame, appeared about its head ; the hair, which was thin and scat tered, stood out in rigid tufts from its brow —the eyes were diluted and fixed with an expression of ghastly horror, and the petri fied lips moved not, as the hideous moaning, which came from the bottom of its chest, escaped them. It began to move across the floor in the direction of my bed—its knees at every step being drawn up with a sudden jerk nearly to its body, and its feet coming to the ground as if they were moved by some mechanical impulse, and were wholly wanting in the elasticity of living members. It approach ed my bed—and mingled horror and curios ity kept me still. It came and stood beside it, and child-like I still clung to my couch, moving only to the farther side. Slowly, and with the same unnatural foot-falls it pursued me thither, and again 1 changed my position. It placed itself then at the foot of my bed-stead, and moved by its piteous groans, l tried to look calmly at it —I endeavored to rally my thoughts—to reason with myself, and even to speculate upon the nature of the object before me.— One idea that went through my brain was 100 extravagant notto remember. I thought, among other things, that the phantom was a corpse, animated for the moment by some galvanic process, in order to terrify me.— Then, as I recollected that there was noonc in the village to carry such a trick into ef fect—supposing even the experiment possi ble—l rejected the supposition. How, too, could those awful moans be produced from an inanimate being I And yet, it seemed as if everything about it were dead, except tho mere capability of moving its feet, uud uttering those unearthly expressions of suf fering. The sceptre, however, if so it may be called, gave me butlittlo opportunity for reflection. Its ghastly limbs were raised anew with the same automaton movement; and placing one of its feet upon tho bottom of my bed, while its glassy eyes were fixed steadfastly upon me, it began stalking to wards my pillow. 1 confess that I was now in an agony of terror. I sprang from the couch and fled the apartment. Tho koen-siglitedness of fear enabled me to discover an open closet upon the other side of the hall. Springing thmugh the threshold, 1 closed tho door quickly af ter ine. It had neither lock nor holt, but the closet was so narrow, that by placing my feet upon the opposite wall, 1 could brace my back against the door so as lo hold it against any human assailant, who had on ly his arms for a lever. The perspiration of mortal fear started thick upon my forehead, as 1 heard the su pernatural tread of that strange visitant ap proaching the spot. It seemed an age be fore his measured steps brought him to the door. He struck it—the blow was sullen and hollow, as if dealt by the hand of a corpse. It was like the dull sound of liis own feet upon the floor. He struck the door again—and the blow was feeble, and the sound duller than before. Surely, I thought, the hand of no living man could produce such a sound. I know not whether it struck again—for now its thick breathing became so loud, that even the moanings which weie mingled with every suspiration became inaudible. At last, they subsided entirely—becoming at first gradually weaker, and then audible only in harsh sudden sobs, whose duration I could not estimate, “from their mingling with the blast which still swept the hillside. The long, long night had at last an end, and the cheering sounds of the awakening farm-yard, told me that the sun was up, and that I might venture from my blind retreat. But if it were still with a slight feeling of trepidation that I opened the door of the closet, what was my horror when a human body fell inward upon me, even as I unclos ed it. The weakness, however, left me, the moment I had sprung from that hideous embrace. I stood for an instant in the fresh air and reviving light of the hall, and then proceeded to move the body to a place where I could examine its features more favorably. Great heaven! what was my horror upon discovering that they were those of the interesting stranger whom I had met on the road the evening before. The rest of my story is soon told. The household of the inn were rapidly collected, and half the inhabitants of tlie hamlet iden tified the body as that of a ‘gentleman well known in the county. But even after the coroner’s inquest was summoned, there was no light thrown upon his fate, until my drunken landlord was brought before the jury. His own testimony would have gone for little, but he produced a document which in a few woids told the whole story. It was a note, left with him the evening before by Mr. , to be banded to me as soon as I should arrive at the inn. It briefly thanked me for the slight courtesy rendered him at the blacksmith’s, and mentioning, that notwithstanding all precaution, his lioise had fallen dead lame, and he should be obliged to pass the night at Wolfsvvald, he would still further trespass upon my kind ness, by begging to occupy the same apart ment with me. It stated that owing to some organic affection of his system, he had long been subject to the most grievous fits of nightmare, during which, lie still preserved sufficient powers of volition to move to the bed of his servant, who being used to liis attacks, would, of course, take the necessa ry means to alleviate them. The note con cluded by saying, that the writer had less diffidence in preferring his request to be my room-mate, inasmuch, as owing to the crowded state of the bouse, I was sure of being thrust in upon someone. The reason why the ill-fated gentleman had been so urgent to press homeward, was now but too apparent, and my indignation at the drunken inn-keeper, in neglecting to hand me liis uote, knew no bounds. Alas! in the years which have since gone by, there has been more than one moment, when the reproaches which I then lavished upon him, have come home to myself. For the piteous ly appealing look of the dying man, long haunted me; and I sometimes still hear his moan iu the autumnal blast that wails around my casement. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO! 11 Y DUMAS. In three hours we had passed through the fine forest of Soignees, and arrived at Mont Saint-Jean. Here thccicerreics come to at tend you, all saying that they were the guides of Jerome Bonaparte. One of the guides is ail Englishman patented by his government, and wearing a medal as a com missimnaire. If any Frenchman wishes to see the field of battlethc poor devil does not even offer himself, being habituated to re ceive from them pretty severe rebuffs. On the other hand lie has all the practice of the English. Wc took the firstguidetliat came to hand. I had with me an excellent plan of the bat tle, with notes by the Duke of Elcliingen (who is at this moment crossing his paternal sabre with the yatagan of the Arabs,) and asked at once to be led to tlie monument of the Prince of Orange. Had I walked a hundred steps farther,there would have been no need of a guide, for it is the first thing you sec after passing tho farm of Mont Saint- Jean. We ascended the mountain which had liecn constructed by tho hand of man upon the very spot where the Prince of Orange fell, struck in the shoulder while charging chivalrously, his bat in bis band, at the head of his regiment. It is a sort of round pyra mid, some hundred and fifty feet high, which you ascend by means of a stair cut in the ground and supported by planks. The earth of which the hill is formed was taken from the soil over which it looks, und the aspect of the field of battle is a consequence somewhat changed ; the ravine in this place possessing an abruptness which it had not originally. On the summit of this pyramid is a colossal lion (the tail of which our sol diers on their return from Antwerp would, had they not been prevented, cut off,) which has one paw placed on a ball, and with its head turned to the cast menaces France.— From this platform, round the lion’s pedes tal, you look upon the whole field of battle from Braine L’Allendandthe extreme point reached by the division of Jerome Bona parte, to the wood of Frichermont whence Blucher and his Prussians issued ; and from Waterloo, which has given its name to the battle no doubt because the rout of the Eng lish was stopped at that village, to Quatre Bras where Wellington slept after the de feat of Ligny, and tlie wood of Bossu where the Duke ot Brunswick was killed. From this elevated point we awoke all the sha dows, noise and smoke, which have been extinguished for five-and-twenty years, and were present at the battle. Yonder,a little above La Haye Sainte.and ataplaco where some farm buildings have since been erect ed, Wellington stood a considerable part of the day, leaning against a beeoh, which an Englishman afterwards bought for two hun dred francs. At the same time fell Sir Thomas Picton charging at tlie head of a regiment. Near this spot are the monu ments of the Gordon and the Hanoverians ; at the fool of the pyramid is the plateau of Mont Saint Jean, which would he about as high as the monuments which we have just mentioned, were it not that for the space of about two acres arour.d this spot, a layer of ten feet of earth has been taken away in or der to form the hill. It was on this jtoint, on the possession of which depended the gain of the day, that for three hours the main struggle of the battle took jilace. Here took place the charge of the 12,000 cuiras siers and dragoons of Kellermann and Mil haud. Pursued by these from square to square, Wellington only owed his safety to the impassability of bis soldiers, who let themselves be poignarded at their post, and fell to the number of 10,000 without yield ing a step ; whilst their general,tears in his eyes, ami his watch in his hand, gathered fresh hope in calculating that it would re quire two hours more of actual time to kill what remained of his men. Now in one hour he expected Blucher, in an hour and a half Nighr : a second auxiliary of whose aid he was certain, should Grouchy prevent the first ally from coming to his aid. To con clude, yonder on the plateau, and touching tlie high-road, are the buildings of La Haye Sainte, thrice taken and retaken by Ney, who bad in these three attacks five horses killed under him. Now, turning our regards towards France, you will see on your right in the midst of a little wood the farm of Hougoumont, which Napoleon ordered Jerome not to abandon were he and all his roops to perish there. In the face of us is the farm of Belle Alli ance, from which Napoleon, having quitted the observatory at Monplaisir, watched tho battle for two hours, calling on Grouchy to sive him his living battalions, as Augustus id on Verres, for his dead legions. To the left is the ravine where Cambronne, when called upon to surrender, replied, not with the words La garde meurt (for iu our rage to poetize everything, we have attributed to him a phrase which he never used,) but with a single expression of the barrack-room much more fierce and energetic, though not perhaps so genteel. In fine, in front of all this line was the high road to Brussels, and at tlie place where tlie road rises slightly, the spectator will distinguish the extreme point to which Napoleon advanced, when seeing Blucher’s Prussians (for whom Wel lington was looking so eagerly) debouch from the wood of Frichermont, he cried, “ Oh, here’s Grouchy at last, and the bat tle’s ours.” It was bis last cry of hope :in another hour that of Savvc qui peut sounded from all sides in his ears. Those who wish to examine in further detail this plan of so many bloody recollec tions, over the ensemble of which we have just cast a glance, will descend the pyra mid, and, in the direction of Braine L’Al lene and Frichermont, will take the Neville road which conducts to Hougoumont. It will be found just as it was when, called away by Napoleon at three o’clock, Jerome quitted if. It is battered by the twelve guns which General Foy brought down to the prince. It looks as if the work of ruin had been done but yesterday, for no one litis re paired the ravages of the shot. Thus you will be shown the stone where Prince Je rome, conducted by the same guide whom lie bad employed before, came to sit; ano ther Marius outlie ruins of another Carthago. If the corn is down you may go across the fields from Hougouinout to Monplaisir, where Napoleon’s olisevvatory was, and from the observatory to the house of Lacosto,the Emperor’s guide, to which, thrice in the course of the buttle, Napoleon returned from Belle Alliance. It was at a few yards from this house, and seated on a little eminence commanding the field of buttle, that Napo leon received Jerome whom he had sent for, and who joined him at three iu the af ternoon. The Prince sat down on the Em peror’s left, and Marshal Boult was on his right, and Ney was sent for, who soon join ed them. Napoleon had by him a bottle of Bordeaux wine, and a full glass which lie put every now and then mechanically to his lips; and when Jerome and Ney arrived be | NUMBER 37. W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. i smiled (for they were covered with dust and blood, and lie loved to see his soldiers thus,) and still keeping his eyes on the field, sent for three glasses to Lacosto’s house, one lor Ney, and one for Jerome. There were but two glasses left, however, each of which the Emperor filled and gave to a marshal, then he gave liis own to Jerome. Then with that soft voice of his, wbicM knew so well how to use upon occasion. “ Ney, my brave Ney,” said lie, thou ing him for the first time since his return from Elba, “ thou wilt take the 12,000 men of Milhaud Kellermann ; thou wilt wait until my old grumblers have found thee; thou wilt give tlie covp de boutoir; and then if Grouchy arrives the day is ours. Go.” Ney went, and gave the covp de bout-air ; but Grouchy never came. From this you should take the toad to Genappes and Brussels across the farm of Belle Alliance, whereßluclier and Welling ton met after the battle ; and following the road, you presently come to the last point to which Napoleon advanced, and where he saw it was not Grouchy but Blucher who was coming up, like Desaix at Marengo, to gain a lost battle. Fifty yards off the right you stand in the very spot occupied by the square into which Napoleon flung himself, and where he did all lie could to die. Each English volley carried away whole ranks round about him ; and at the bead of each new rank, as it formed, Napoleon placed himself: his brother Jerome from behind endeavoring in vain todrawhim back, while a brave Corsican officer, General Campi, came forward with equal coolness each time, and placed bimself and bis horse between the Emperor and the enemy’s batteries. At last, after three quarters of an hour of car nage, Napoleon turned round to liis brother: “ It appears,” said he, “that death will have none of us as yet. Jerome, take the com mand of the army. I am sorry to have known thee so late.” With this, giving his hand to his brother, he mounted a horse that was brought him, passed like a miracle through the enemy’s ranks, and arriving at Genappes, tried for a moment to rally tho army. Seeing liis efforts were vain, he got on horseback again, and arrived at Laon on the nighr. of the 19tli-20tli. Five-and-twenty years have passed away since that epoch, and it is only now that France begins to comprehend that for the liberty of Europe this defeat was necessa ry : though still profoundly enraged and humiliated that she should have been mark ed out as the victim. In looking, too, round this field where so many Spartans fell for her; the Orange pyramid in the midst ofit, the tomb of Gordon and the Hanoverians round about; you look in vain for a stone, a cross, or an inscription to recall our country. It is because, one day, God will call her to resume the work of universal deliverance commenced by Bonaparte and interrupted by Napoleon,—and then, the work done, we will turn the head of the Nassau Lion to- Europe, and all will be said. THE LAPLANDERS. With the most limited means of enjoy ment, the Laplanders are the happiest peo ple in Europe. They can never have a fix ed home, around which they may gather the comforts of life. They have no gardens, tio grain, no fruits, not even in their long glar ing summer—which is almost an incessant day—are they blessed with the sight of a rich ly verdant landscape. Their barren soft and ungenial climate, alternating between the dreary winter prospects of unlimited snow fields, and tire scanty sameness of the arid summer forbid all this. Yet no people, not even the Swiss, love tlieir native land so ardently as these poor step-children of na ture. They live in tents, summer and win ter, and—except fish—the reindeer furnish es their whole subsistence. It gives them food, raiment, and dwellings,and forms their only wealth and pride. Some Lapps have as many as two thousand of these useful an imals. They live chiefly on moss, and when they have exhausted the supply in tlieir neighborhood, they snuff up the wind, and start off’in search of fresh pasturage. The owners have nothing to do but to strike tlieir tents, pack up tlieir goods and tlieir little ones, and follow them. In this way they lead about tlieir patient, good natured mas ters, at all seasons, sometimes remaining six or eight weeks in one spot, and sometimes not as many days. Having so little to occu py and entertain them in their way of life, tire Lapps are driven to domestic habits, and their family attachments, like tlieir national predilections, are tender and strong. They speak with a kind of fond pride of the nor fhem lights that illuminate the darkness of tlieir polar winter, of the perpetual day that brightens their summer, cud of the flectncss ami sagacity of tlieir matchless reindeer. One of tlieir greatest pleasures is story telling. A large circle will collect in a tent, half buried, perhaps, in the winter’s snow, and seated on skins spread on the ground, each of the ring, in turn, relates an adven ture, a legend, or an historical event. In this way they receive and impart much Cu rious information, and become more intelli gent than one would suppose, from the ap pearance of tlieir rude camps and uncouth dresses. This community of tastes, inter ests and amusements, strengthens in a won derful degree their social feelings. Noth ing can detach a Lapp from his tamily, and they pine if even for a short time they are kept fiom their beloved encampment.