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V
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Pull up the Blind.
Poll up the blind, Kitty; pull up the blind!
You say, “Thessun will spoil the carpet.”
Never mind, never miud.
Far better so than that your cheek or mine
Should lose their worth or color, Kitty.
Let it shine, let it shine*
And you shall find new joy it wiy impart.
Full up the blind, Kitty; pull it up!
The sun helps the heart.
TIE Di! 1FTER R! Dlill.
CROSSING Tilt. RIVER STYX.
Charon and llis Ferry .Boat
Startling Dis«*l«Mir<*s in tlie Infer
nal Kegions.
CHAPTER VI.
THB CITY I F EBE EAK1HLY LIFE.
At length we were fairly unrU r way. Tbe dis
tance of the oity from ua, nnasuied by eartbl>
standards, was inmunse; but moh is the speeo
with which spiiiis prognss that m a very short
time we found ourselves up< n its outskirts. 1
feel that it would be nsel*. ss to attimpt to de-
s ribe to mortals the manner in which we mov
ed, indeed, the very word ‘motion’ itselt, as wei;
ss o'her expressions which 1 have made use of
such for instance as ‘form,’ ‘touch,’ ‘limbs,Mace,
•Innebeon’—are in reality quite inapplicable it
the things which they profi sa to designate, amt
are only employed ss a concession to the an
thropomorphism of mankind. And when will
reference to these qnesiions of motion and c
relative position-in space, I disclaim for rnyseli
ai d my fellow spirits the possession not only
oi anything resembling limbs, but even of tbi
p imary qualities of solidity and extension, it
wilt be seen how limited is the common ground
up< n which 1 BDd my readers could meet for
the interchange of ideas. I might probably suc
ceed in explaining to a German gentleman how
that which has no extension or solidity coutin-
ms to occupy space, and to transfer itself from
one place to another but I feel sure that the
solid (and extensive) common sense of the En
glish nation would resent any attempt on im
part to explain these phenomena without em
ploying. metaphorically at least, such words as
a mortal would use in describing the natural
phenomena of rest and motion.
Now, too, as we Lave entered the oity, I fear
the difficulty of making myself intelligible to
wbat it is no arroganoe in a spirit to call th.
limited faoultira of a mortal public will become
almost insurmountable. 1 must, in the firs;
I ihoe, inform the itader that the City of tbe
E r'bly L ie is, in general appearaDoe, exactly
i<h< London or Paris or Brnsales, or any other
Earoptan capital, and that it would be, in tbe
eyes of mortuls, could they be admitted to see
it. indistinguishable from one of these cities;
and yet, to prevent misconception, I must add
(though to me it of course s ema almost super
fluous to do so) that the streets and houses are
not made of stone or wood, or bricks and mor
tar, or in fact, of any m»terial possessing the
qna.'i iea of solidity and extension. Thus f feel
il l «*re to describe the city exactly as it ap
pears to spirits, many of my descriptions of it,
sod especially my criticism on its architecture,
vould lose mnob of theit meuniDg for the mor
tal r.ader. 1 must here again, therefore, have
recourse to that anthropamorphic mode of ex
pression, which I adopt reluctantly, and the
adoption of which 1 have already Lad to justify
in other matters.
Oar first impressions of the oity then, were
far from pleasant, but they were such as to ful
ly b- ar out. the apparitor's description of the
place as being in olose resemblance to the cities
of earth. We entered it by a m.an and misera
ble suburb, built irregularly of low, wretched-
1< oking houses. The apparitor apologised to us
for i<s unprepossessing appeaiance, and begged
us not to judge of the city generally by this the
!mgt a ’ractive of its faubourg*. It was, he said,
explaining, ‘the qua ter oi me poor.’
The a oi d ‘pooi’fell upon our spiritual ears
witt * cannot tell how strange a shock.
•1 he poor! exclaimed th- poet, ‘Good God!
are mere any poor in the city ?'
Really, bir.’ replied the apparitor, with a
slight touch of impatience in his tone, ‘you are
t-X’rrmely unpracticable in your “preconceived
notions.” Would you have a great city without
poor? If spirits prefer an earthly life to a spir
itual they must take it with the necessary in-
ci-’enta of the life of earth—inequality ot for
tune.’
•Necessary,' murmured the poet, sadly and
doubtfully.
• Vi«11,' said the apparitor, ‘I use the word that
is mos’commonly applied to such an incident
hy yourselves. Iam aware that some few en-
thnsiastics amongst you deDy its necessity; but
then, you know, you don’t regard them as ‘prac
tical men,’ so we may mglect them.’
•But the poor then selvi s? said the poet, ‘it
it surely not a necessary incident of their con
dition here? Why do they endures life that
t fl'eis them only the hopeless lot of poverty ?'
‘Is it any less hopeless for m* ny of them on
earth ? was th stern and aad r. ply; ‘but hope
less as it was they olnng to it there. And they
clitg to it here.*
T^e poet sighed an 1 was silent. We passed
on through the t-qaltd suburb, avoiding as best
we could the sights and sounds about us. But
we were, nevertheless, conscious the while of
he misery on every band, and our hearts ached
iD that shadowy city as they had aobed many a
time before in New York. Walking resolutely
on. our eyes set steadfastly berore us, we yet
knew that wretched figures weie crouching un
der arches, and blinking dully up at us from
tbe pavements, and slouching furtively past us
to miserable homes; and that the ourse of beg-
pwry was all around. Yea, beggary even here.
Note in be oity lacked food or drink, or rai
ment, for there is neituer hunger nor thirst,nor
cold in the world beyond tbe grave; but what
else were they to do ? They had begged on earth
fioru the uncared-for cradle to the parish grave.
They did not love the life, but i< was the beet
the oDly one they knew. Beggary is in the soul
as well as in the body. So they slunk, and
shivered, and whined, aD'd held out trembling
bands for tne coins wbioh we bad not, and they
ceeded not, and enrsed us we passed them by.
A; last it was too much for the poet’s sensi
tive nature.
‘1 cannot bear this!' he cried. 'It is indeed
tbe lite of sn earthly oity, with all the horrors
that make it hideous tome on earth. Can there,
in truth, be any spirits hard and callous enough
to choose a way o life so surrounded with the
wretchedness of others, and a habitation so full
of the sights of misery ?’
'Dear me,’ said the apparitor, ‘you are talking
very wildly. Why, the spirita who ohoose this
place, have, for a whole life time oa earth, been
a-obi touted to gsze unmoved on tbe terrible re
ality of the starring poor. Are they likely to
be aff cted by its unreal semblance here?’
The country gentleman, who had been very
uneasy at tbe sights around him, broke in in
dignantly with tbe exclamation:
•What tbe devil is therelieving-offioer about?'
'Come, now.
the mode in which the well-to-do spirits con-
tnve to endure the spectacle of all this misery.
1 he plan is, in fact, identical with that adopted
on eaitb. They provide themselves with a
Board ot Guardians, an overseer, a medic tl of-
licer, a relitviDg officer, aDd, iD fact, with all
the Btafl ol a poor law administration; and then,
when they fiod their feeliugs particularly bar-
towed, they turn to each other and say: ‘What
the devil is the relieving < fficer about? or utter
a diatribe uguitst the heartless snpinenet-s ot
■ he guardians they have-themselves appointed,
and then go on their way with calmed consci
ences, and at peace with all the world.'
‘Ah! unhappy ones,’ groaned the poet, who
had eith< r not heeded or not been satisfied with
this explanation. ‘And they tell you on earth
'! at jour sufferings there will be compensated
id the world beyond the grave.'
Ythjund an uncommonly grots piece of sel
fish and indoient assumption it is,’ rej >ined the
••ppatitor, somewlat indignantly. ‘They allow
he uulonunate wretches to lead a dog’s life on
< arth, and coolly remit the duty of humaniz eg
and recompensing them to another world. Your
■ ate ftiiow mortals gentlemen, cannot too soon
learn the lesson of attempting to make their own
world a little more tolerable to each other, and
leaving a iittle less to be performed in the next.’
In the c .urse of this conversation we had
emerged from the poor quarter, and found our
selves in a broad central iboionghfate. Here, a
most singular sight met our view. The street
wuh crowded with spirits, male and female, ucn
UDuuiiy walking backwards and forwards, up
and down, without apparently any object in
view. There Wbre two processions in constant
but measured motion, passing one up and the
other nown the street; and as each component
unit of the stiesm arrived at one end of the tho
roughfare, he would join the other stream, and
gravely reti ace his course to the other end. Each
of the two opposing processions eyed the otner
with looks not exactly hostile,but critical. They
were divided generally into detachments of two
and three, and they moved with such exceeding
slowness and solemnity that we at last asked
our guide whether we were not witnessing some
kind ot religious ceremony.
Tbe apparitor shook his shadowy sides with
laughter.
‘Ob, d< ar, no,’ be replied, Dcthing of the kind
This is the fashionable promenade of the city
and these are the fashionable promenadere.’
Or looking more closely at the bearing
and gait of the prooession wa now b* gaD to rec
ognize the diameter and object—it object it can
be called—of their solemn march, and to detect
its resemblance to processions of the same kind
which we had witnessed in N-w York or Phil
adelphia, and elsewhere. Oar mistake lose
from the fact that, as spirits unfortuhately do
not wear clothes, we were not at once attracted
by that eltgance and variety ot costume which
ot*icbcs the eye in the fashionable promenades
of earth.
At nist, too, the abscess of these attractions
dhappointed us, and madeua think the whole
ceremony foolish and unmeaning; but after a
few turns up and down, we began to get recon
ciled to the Dew conditions, and agreed that
the occupation of these spirits was very Dear as
rational and elevating at its counterpart on
earth. We ooulrt net, however, help remarking
on the. serious difficulties under which the fash
ionable cist sea of the oity were placed in indul
ging in their tavorite amusement, and we asked
the apparitor whether they did not find these
difficulties embarrassing.
•Y> s, poor sonis,’ was the reply, ‘they miss
their bidies, or rather their clothes, very much;
aad they were at first extremely desirous iLav
these latter should be supplied them; but the
diffion : y of clothing beings poss>steU of neither
solidity nor extension was lonnd to be insu.-
inoniitable, and the idea had to be abandoned.
But they still prefer as a pit alter their promo
nade without costumes, and their imaginary
criticisn of eaoh other s taste in dress, <> any
other occupation the oity affords. Imagination,
you know.tbrives UDder adverse conditions,and
1 believe that now they take as much pieman
in their promenade as though they were ac Dal
ly dressed, aDd only lookback with an occasion
al pang oi regret to all they have lost—tbi aUks,
and velvets, and laces, the frock coat and iignt
trousers, the glossy hats and lavendar kids ol
the happy past. Nay, imagination bra, tor tin
Indies at least, one great advantage over reality,
in that every one of them, iD addition to imag
ining her own toilette to be perfection, is able
also with the eye of fancy to see her rival dis-
fi Mired by an ill-made drees or an unbecoming
bonnet.’
•What are the hours of promenade?’ enquired
the M. G.
‘The hours?’ said tLe apparitor. ‘Ah! there
the superiority of the spiritual over the eatthly
life comes plainly out. They l ave no hours—
they promenade for ever.’
•F<-r ever!' we exclaimed, aghtst.
‘Why not? said the apparitor, coolly. ‘There
is neither day nor night, neither Lunger nor
weariness, in tbe spirit world. What should
take them indoors when they need no five
o’clock tea, and are not afraid of catching cold
by tbe chill at snrs-t ? No, those «ho prefer
this life are not hincered in the pursuit of their
ideal by tLe mi-terabte wants And weaknesses of
of tbe finsh. Their promenade is as eternal as
themselves ’
We remained silent, deeply moved. The M.
C. was the first *o speak.
‘This is dreadful! he exclaimed, with a shud
der. ‘An eternity of life like this?’
'Dieadfull said the apparitor, ‘in the name of
wonder why? Oh, I see,’ he continued after a
moment’s refleo.icn; ‘it's the old story again.
Want of dignity in the ideal, and worse still
want of resemblance to your own. Yes, there
is not much -solving of the problem of exist-
eDoe’ about this? But my dear sir, pray, pray
ba more praoticaf. Think now! Dans the prob
lem of existence trouble Rotten Row?’
‘No, no,' Baid the M. G., hurriedly, ‘I admit,
I admit, I am unpractical in my expectations;
but you must make allowance for the difference
between time and eternity. One tolerates friv
olity upon earth; but eternal frivolity—that is
the awtul thought.’
‘Are you Bure,’ said the apparitor with a
changed manner, and in a low g<ave tone, 'that
it is the frivolity that iB awful and not the eter
nity? Will you entei on your lofty life with no
whisper of distrust ? Is your vision of an eter
nity of Revealed Mysteries never haunted,’and
his voice sank almost to a whisper ‘by the awful
shadow of Satiety?
Our heaits stood still at this echo of their
smothered doubts.
'Go,' said the apparitor, after a pause, ‘the
fsshiou ot tbe earth oiinga about you still, and
the dread word is on your lips as lightly, and
with as little meaning here ss there.’
We walked on for a few minutes in an awk
ward silence, and were quite glad to be roused
from a train of uneasy thoughta by our guide
suddenly coming to a stop before a large and
important-looking building which stood a little
back from the main thoroughfare. It was evi
dently a plaoe of busy resort, for spirits were
oontinoally hurrying in and out, jostling eaoh
other as they did so, and keeping tbe swing-
ing-tioors of the building in perpetual motion.
The fates cf this busy crowd were quick, wist
ful, and anxious, and presented an extraordi
nary contrast to th6 vaeanoy of expression which
marked the countenances of tbs throng we bed
just quitted. We followed the apparitor through
the doors into a large under ooortyard, crowded
with su eh busily moving figures as ws bad seen
win#, now. that's more practical,’ said the t • Y' Tlitt*””
apparitor. ‘Your friend’s question,' he oontin- p *£2 ,n .® !? on * Jading,
ued, turning to the poet, ‘may snggest to you "® 0< *®" inquiringly at our
guide.
‘The Exchange,’ he answered, laconically,
‘these are the spirits of business. We have ar-
riv<-d here fortunately at the very busiest time’’
Tbe scene was indeed most animating. These
who have Been tbe activity and energy of eirthly
stook and share brokers, hampered as they are
by the laws of space and time, and the natural
limitations of bodily power, caa form no idea
ol the rapidity with which they transaot busi
ness wli*n freed from the restraint of tte j e con
ditions. A broker-spirit would hurry into the
court, and in less time than it would take in
LoodoD to D-<me a price for a single security,
he would have executed z. doz^n comuiisdons
and hurried back again to Lis clients. Ttie
spectacle ot these spirits flit inn in aud out, and
wh'zzing—for do other word describes it, from
jobber, to jobber, with a dezzling velocity that
the eve in vain attempted to follow, produced
an effect of almost intoxicating exhilaration on
our minds, while the shiill clamour of their
thin spirit-voices shouting the prices at wbicu
they could ‘do’ the various stocks and shares,
added to the ecene. The na'nre of the securi
ties in which they deal 1 am not permitted to
reveal, but I may assure my readers that they
are luliy as snb-tiamial as many which are
quoted iu the share list of the New York Slock
Exchange- The apparitor sp-m come time in
>-xplaining t > us the s> si eui <1 specula!ion which
prevails there, and tlieingeni ms devic s (which
1 leal would be unintelligible to my readers) hy
means of which they have coi tr.vei to render
time-bargains practicable transactions in eter
nity, These minor details however, interested
us i f S3 than the central tact itself, ot which we
were then witnessing the evidences; and as we
watched the intense, eager life of toe soene, the
shrewd anxious faces of the spirits aud the in
cessant bustle and agitation around us, weo tuld
hardly believe that we were not gazing upon a
crowd of actual flesh-and blood speculators in a
money-market of tbe earth.
‘But how on earth—1 mean, how in the world,'
sa'-d the country gen lernan, ‘can they speculate
v ithout money ?'
‘ Wno said they have no money? said the appa
ritor. L iok o osely at those who are settling ao,
conn's with each other, and when your eyes
g'-t familiarised to the sight, you will see some
thing pes-- between them.’
We did so, and after looking intently for
some minutes, we began to see some oblong
slips of an indescribably tine white film—as it
weie the dismlodied spirits cf bank-notes
p swing rapidly from band to Land.
That is their money,’ said theapyaritor, ‘and
a pretty heap of it some of tbe lnckier ones get
together. Look at that little spirit, who is just
Laving. See what a sum he has been carrying
ff.
We looked a the fortunate spirit to whom he
was pointing. He must iodeed, as our guide
said, have ama-sed an immense sum. The pile
ot films which he was oarrying off must have
numbered many thousands, and if spread out
one on the other upon the ground would have
been olose upon the thickness of a playing-
card.
‘He is one of the boldest and -most successful
speculators in the City, though he was, I be
lieve, bit hard at the last panic ’
‘But iu the named wonder,’exclaimed the
poet, who had been gazing on thesoene in blank
astonishment, ‘what do th-y do wiib this
money, as you call it, when they have got it?
•Why nothing, of course,’replied the appari
tor, ‘there is nothing to Bpend it in, and they
have no wants to supply.’
‘But yet they come here every day,’ contin-
U' d'the apparitor, ‘and strive, and plan, and
struggle for that which they can never fDjoy
when they have gained it ?’
•Exactly,’ er.in the apparitor, ‘it is a singular
phenomenon, and without,, 1 suppose, a parallel
on earth. They return to their homes, it is true,
at. certatn hours, from the force of earthly habit,
but they are restless aud uneasy until they are
again at their business. They simply abstain
for a certain number of hours from money uaah-
!ug, because on earth, where they needed inter
vals of rest and sleep, they were acoustomed to
d< so, end this habit or temporary cessation has
grown a second natare. Bat now that they oat>-
not fill up tne intervils ot business with their
other three earthly occupations—eating, drink
ing and sleeping the time hangs very heavily
on thetr hands. They flit about their houses
in an unsettled manner, till the allotted inter
val of cessation from business has expired,
when they hurry back eagerly to their money-
I a-s. But th ugh they still keep up this prac
tice of taking fixed periods of repose, they have
arranged for the public convenience while
o'hers are reposing, and thus tbe Exchange is
perpetually open and business doing.
•Another eternity,’muttered the M C , ‘but
this at least is an eternity of active life, and not
of lounging.’
Ws, said the apparitor, with a slight sneer,
‘an eternity of active money grubbing. I
thought that would please you better—it has
the ‘dignity of labour,’ hasn’t it ? I believe
that’s the correct phrase.’
The M. C. wi s a little nettled at the tone of
this reply, but he returned no answer, and after
a last glauce at the busy scene hround us we
turned aDd passed out of the Exchange. -
As we descended the broad steps which lead
up to its door, a spirit hurried past us in ex
treme agitation, and with a countenance of fixed
and unutterable despair
‘Look,’said tbe apparitor, pointing to him,
‘a ruined spirit. Ab! I expected it: he has beeD
shaky. I know, for some ttrno.’
•What, wilt the poor wretoh do?' asked the
poet, sympathising!}'.
•Oi !'replied the apparitor, oallously, ‘he will
flit round the exchange for an age or so, and try
in vain to borrow films of the more fortunate
spirita, that he may begin his career sirrah.
■Will beget anyone to grant him a loan? asked
the poet. ‘These films, as you call them, are
you admit of no use to anybody. Barely some
of bis friends will help him.’
Not they,’ said the apparitor. 'Films are
films, and they are not so easy to make now a
days in the City, that a man can afford to spare
any for hia bankrupt friends. No. ha will ulti
mately have to go through tbe Court.'
The Baokruptoy Court?’ enquired the coun
try gentleman.
•No,’ replied the other, ‘the Court of the
Sleepers—a business spirit who has lost hia
money, and can get no mote by hook or
by orook, h»a nothing else to exist tor, aud may
quality gg soon aa potsible tor annihilation.
But if you have seen enough ot this quarter ot
tbe oity, gentlemen, I think it iB time to move
on.’
Some Western School-Masters.
passing every moment to gonsip with an ac
quaintance, or to gaze into what I suppose I
must call—to make myself intelligible to mor
tals—the fronts of shops. Those who —from
tbe fact that spirita require not and indeed are
unable to make use of, food, drink, clothing, or
any of the other matters which are the object*
of earthly needs—have inferred that no shops
can have existed in the oity of the Eirthly Life,
have been guilty of a very raah assumption.
On the oontta r y, the city is full of shops, many
of which do a thriving busimas. The faot that
Done ot the inhabitants require aoy of the arti-
ch s which the shops supply, does not, curious
ly enough, prevent them, especially the female
spirits, trom shopping to a very liberal extent.
Iiis la ’lv necessary, However, to warn the
reader ti a* if he attempts mentally to represert
th «e establishments to his mind by co upari-
soes drawn Jrom the shops of a morta’ dispen
sition, be will fall into errors of. the grossest
materialism, and beaptto f »rm a v-ry unworthy wis an exciting sport IiUe bull baiting, o
and dishonouring conceptnin of spiritual trad
I must therefore beg him to accept the fact, ff
t ifir existence without questioning, on tl.e one
band, er, on the other, attempting to form any
conception of them; o mten'iug him-elf with
my assurance that th-y are something iDfl iit u ly
superior to any thing on earth—typ>-nnf fashion
able perfecion, of whose glories the eitablish-
tm-nts of Br >a lw «v »n I Kigent streets are but
dim aud earthly reflections.
The mntiunite ot the impressions which
were receiving from the busy scene around ns
left ns without muob leisure for self-analysis;
but from <>ime to time we examined our send
meDts with respect to the sights we were wit
nessing. and were surpris-d to fiud that t h ey
had undergooeflk considerable chang . For
my part I confesRhat. anxious as I still was for
the moment to arrive when we should be intro
duced to the s 1 ition ot the problem of exist
ence, I did not fiud tbe time hang at all heavily
on cuv bands. Confirmed oityite as I had been
in my lifetime, I was surprised to find the ex
tent to which my earthly attachment to the
life of cities bad influeno-d my charaoterasa
spirit. The M. C and tho oountry gentleman
were, I think, much in the same oase. Now
tuat we ha I become familiar with the idea of
the fxistence of poverty, tuisnry. eto., in the
city, we had almost grown reconciled to it, an-t
b gan to look with reviving interest and pleas
ur • on the more attractive fea urea of tbe seen
around ns. The only members of tbe par y
who did not seem to st are these feelings were
the artist and the poet. The former was, I
think, rather disgusted by tbe absence of the
picturesque from our urban surroundings, and
felt the wantof the beauties of natural -1 should
say supernatural so-nery. Tne poet’s extreme
sensibility was still sr ff ring from the sights he
bud met with in the quarter of the poor; and
be had, besides, always preferred a country to
a town life.
‘This is but a dreary place, to mv mind,’ he
said, suddenly addressirg the apparitor; ‘no
one with a poet’s love of reflection aud retire
ment could endure it for an hour.’
‘Indeed !j replied our guide, pointing to a
little spirit who was lau^ting, and talking
amongst a group of fashionable acquaintances
on the other aide of the Btreet. ‘Do you recog
nize that gentleman ?’
‘Gracious heaven ! yes,’ said the poet with a
start. ‘It is de Tomkins -Tristan l’Hermite de
To uikins ‘
What!’ I exclaimed, ‘the greAt author of
'Fiesbly F'-tters. and of those still finer poems,
‘Beating the Bars* and ‘Cries of an imprisoned
Soul ?•
‘T ie same, replied our guide.
•You surprise me, 1 I said. ‘Why, iu the
other world ho WB8 reported to live a lite ot
>he most melancholy seclusion, awaiting with
ao almost indignant impatience the reltase of
his aspiring spirit.*
‘He has taken,’ said tho apparitor, ‘a fashion
able little villa in one of the suburbs, and
spend8 the greater part of his time here
amongst the best society. You knew him,’be
continued, turning to the poet, with a slight
smile of compassion for mv innocence. ‘Never
was a man f inder et clanking his fl-sbly fetters
in a draw tog-room. The struggles of bis im
prisoned spirit to free itself were there made
the su jectot such complimentary criticism as
q tite to rt conoile it to its captivity. Tbe liter-
Asl recall the old-time school, 1 cannot but
hink that, if its discipline was somewh-U more
brutal than the school discipline of to dav.irs course
of study was far less so. Children did not often die
of the severity of the old masters, though many
peri-h irom the hard requirements of the model n
system
To a nervous ch id under the old dLcipline was.in
deed. very terrible. The long beech swi ches
banking on hooks against the wa’l haun’ed me
night and day, from tbe time I ente"e i one of the
old sc oo s. And whenever there came an out
burst between master and pupils, the thouahtless
child often rot the beating that should hive fallen
upou tne raa icious raise ief-miker. As the mai
ler was always quick to fly into a passion, the fun-
Living boys were always happy to stir him up It
like
poking sticks through a fence at a cr ss dog
Sometimes .he ferocious master showed an a d'ity
on hi* part to get some fun out of the conflict, as
when on one ociasionin a school in O lio, the boys
were forbidden to attend a circus. Five or six of
ihern went, in spite of the prohibition. The next
morning the school-mist r ciiled them out ia the
flojr and addressed them:
“ Soy« u Wiutto the ci cus, did you?’’
•‘ Ye-, sir.”
W 1 t e o hers did not get a chance to see
the cirous 1 want you hoys to show them what it
looked like, and how the horses galloped around
the ring’ You wi 1 join your hands in a circ:e
ab ut the stove. Now rtirt!’’
With that be b-gan whipping tnem as tbe
trotted sround aud around the stove. This story
is told, I believe, in a little volume of •* Ske'ches.’’
by Erwin House, now long firgotten, like many
oi her good nooks of the Western literature of a
neneratton ago. I think the author was one ff
tie boys wno “ played horse’ in the master's
0 reus.
It was fine sport for the more daring boys to
plant a handful of coffee-uuts to lie quietly in th-»
hot ashes for about half an hour, and tnen to ex
plode with a sharp report, scattering the live coals
in an inspiring way. Nothing could be funnier
than the impotent wrath of the school-master, as
he went poking in the embers to find the remiin.
ing nuts, which generally eluded his search and
popped away like torpedoes under his very nose.
The teaching in these schools was often quite
absurd. 1 was mode to go through Webster's
spelling-book five times before I was thought fit to
begin to read, and my mother, twenty years ear
lier, spelled it through tine i me* before she was
allowed to begin Lindley Murray's “ Eug'ish
Reader.” It was hy mere chance of the survival
of some of the tougher old masters that 1 knew
the old school in its gl >ry. The change fur the
he ter was already beginning thirty or forty years
ago. The old masters taught their pupils to “ do
sum*,’’ the new ones had already beitun to teach
arit malic. In one of the schools in the genera
tion before me was one JirnG -rner; he must be
an old man now if be is yet ivlng aud be will
pardon my laughing at the boy of fifiy years ago.
One doy he sat for a long time ta, ping his slate
with his penci .
Jecins ” cried the master, “ what are you do.
ing?
“ I'm a-tryin’ to think, and I can’t,” said Jiao,
if you take three from oue how many there is
left.”
It was in the same old Bethel sehool-house,
about the same time, that the master, oue Beuefiel,
called out tr e spelling class of which »y mother,
then a little girl, was usually at the head. The
word given out was “onion.” 1 supposed the
scholars at the head of the class had not recog
nized the word by its spelling in studying tbeir
lessons. They ali missed it widely, spelling it in
the most ingeniously incorrect fashions. Near the
foot of t he class stool a boy who had never been
able to climb up iowartt| ie head. But of the few
words he diil know how t» spell, one was “onion ”
When the word was mi-sea^t the head he became
greatly excited, twisting hi^eif j nt0 t he most
luoicrous contortions as it came i fMer ant j nearer
to him. At length the one just ibove it s eager
boy missed, tbe master said “ next,” whf reunon
he exultingly swung his hand above hv, head aad
ary aDd social success of bis utter despair made ‘ came out with : “ 0-n. un, i o-n, vun, hic-vn.-
hiu> completely nappy for life.* j 1 m head, by gosh ! and he marched to the head
‘Q me true, • muttered tbe poet, ‘and a man , while >he master hit him a blow across the
more particular about his dinners I never met, shou'ders for swearing.
nor a better judge of a glass of wine. But While the good Presbyterian minister was teach-
what then ? he continued after a pause; ‘this jug in our village, he wis waked np one winter
is only to say that he had the weaknesses and ■ morning by a poor bouud b >y, who had ridden a
vanities inseparable from tbe fl -sh. is he, in ’ h„ ra « msinv milan to t.h« •* mas op ' ta
CHAPTER VII.
THB CITY OF THE EAST ELY LIF*.
The further ws advanced in our walk through
the city, the more evident a met ua of the ac
curacy of our guide's description of it. and of
its title to ita name. It was really difficult, at
times, to recoll-ct that one was in Hades—so
forcibly did tne sights and sounds about us rt-
oall to us the etttes of tbe world of mortals.
The entire absence of hotses, and ft hides trom
its streets was, of course, an unusual feature,
but to anyone who recollected the silent thor
oughfare of Venice, this phenomenon presented
m itself nothing neoeraarily suggestive of the
unearthly. And, with this one exception, there
was little or no eternal difference between this
oity and onr American capital; there was the
same incessant stream of pedestrians passing to
and fro, some with tbe quick pace sod earnest
look of busy men, others with the alow step,
and vacant, desultory air of the street-lounger,
farm horse many miles to get the “ mas.er' to
shoe Lint how “ do a 8"m' that had puzz’cd
him. The tellod^vas trying to educate himself but
was required to be back at home iu time to begin
his day s work as usual. The good master, chaf
ing his bands to ke p them warm, sat down by
the boy and expounded the “sum to him so that
be unuerstood it- Then thp poor boy straightened
him-eii up aud. thrusting his bard hand into the
pocket of his blue j*-ans trowers, pulled tut a
quarter of a dollar, explaining, with a blush, that
it was all he could pav, for it was all he Lad.
Of course the master mxde hiru put it buck, atul
call it Pantheism, 1 believe, to tnainta n such a j told him to come whenever he wanted any help,
supposition. No; the spirit of John Smith is 1 remember the huskiness of tbe minister's voice
to be conscious of himself as John Buiitb's | when he to d us about it in school that morning,
spirit- is to be, in taci, John Smith, but divest- i When I recall how eagerly the people sought for
his spiritual lite. still to long for the fame ol
the drawing-room, and the vain delights of
flattery?’
What a curiously unreasonable s a t of persons
von mortals seem to be,’ said the apparitor,
ianghing. ‘I really don’t know what it is yon
would Lave. Yon seem to have dogmatized, all
your mortal lives, about the character and con
ditions of tbe tuture life, without the slightest
rrfltction upon all the consequences tfhich
your dogmas involve. A spirit is to retain his
personal ioentny; you indignantly repudiate
any supposition to the contrary; in tact, von
ed of all the niertal attributes, which he pos
sessed, or lather, wl iob together constituted
him on earth—cut off suddeuly and forever
irom the multitude of associations of thought
and feeling, the sum total o- which was what
John Smith Aiiy meant when he used that
most foolish ana unmeaning of words, 'I.' The
house, in other words, is to be the same, but
all the bricks and mortar composing it are to be
Different, That, 1 believe, is your theory, or
rattier, tbe impracticable and seli-contradictory
wish which you have exalted into a theory !
oppottuuities of education, I am not surprised
to tear that Indiana, of all the States, has to day
one of the larg'st, if not the largest, school,
fuud.
SEW YOKE*
UPTOWN A NO DOWN-TOW N.
Up-»< wn tbe shops grow year by year more
palatial. T ff ny s is quite remarkable, and tbe
collection ot ladies seen there cannot ba sur
passed on this continent for beauty and grace.
Costly cut flowers diffuse tbeir delicate fra
grance; elaborate cafes and restaurants, and long
lines of carriages t>elore them at lunch hour,
apeak of luxurious habits- There are thousands
of idlers who se« m to er joy their idleness and
in some myattrii ns msimer to make it pay.
People up-town in New York appear conven-d
to the European idea that life was made to be
enjoyed, and if there is a kind of teveiistiness
in their amusements, it is hi cause they get it
from the nervous ways ot tbe down-town peo
ple, who make the money for the up-towa
splendor. Every cne looks vorried dowi.-inv u.
by Tbe pallor ot tacts and tbs feverishness of de.
misfortunes, he meets failures and defeat, trials meanor are as marked aa the rich material and
and temptaiiens beset him; aDd needs some one . fashionable cut ot tbe garments worn by the
Why Men Need Wives*
It is Dot to sweep tbe bouse, msks tbe bed.
darn the socks end cook the me>>)s, that tbe man
cbnfly wants a wife. If tb>s is all be needs,
servants can do it more cheaply than a wife. Ia
this is all, when a yoang man calls to sees lady,
send him in<o the pantry to tasto the bread aud
cake she has made, send him to iaspeot the
needk-a ork and hed-mahiDg, or put a broom
into her hands and send him to witness its use.
Such things are important, and the wise young
man wilt look alter them- But what the true
man wants it- a wife's companionship, sympathy
and love. A man is s<>metim<s overtaken
to stand by him and sympathize. All through
lite, through storm and snnsLine, through con
flict and victory, through adverse and favoring
winds, man needs a woman's love. His heart
yearns tor it.
A Salt mountain.
A mass ot 90 GOO OCO ons of pure, solid, com
pact rock sail, located on an island 185 feet
high, which rises Item a miserable aeamaish on
tbe ronte trom Brasbear to New Iberia, up tbe
river Teobe, Louisiana, ia one of tbe wonders
ot the world. How tbia island, containing over
300 seres of excellent land, ever came into ex
istence in aucb a locality, is a matter ot eorjeo-
tore. Vegetation is prolific, and tbe scenery la uw »
beautiful and varied. Here is an immense bed 1 g Q( j 80 on torgotten.
of pure rook salt, whose extent is y et only eati- •
mated, and scientific men arepuzzied. <
dollar-seekers. A man olambers in an onmibns.
and fits absorbed in thought until be reaches
Wall street, when he pops out of hia seat aa if
shot from a gun, and dives into some dingy,
looki' g office with a disturbed and anxious air.
New York is cosmopolitan. Tbe ways aud cus
toms of East, West, and 8outb, are liberally
represented here; ao are those of E.igland and
oontinen'al countries. Oi^cmnot be bore im»ri
than two deys without discovering people trom?
the four corners of tbe globe- Tue broad-hatted
southerner, olad in tight-fitting black broad
cloth coat and trousers, elbow* the trim B ato-
nian aud tbe loose jointed, nnkept Westerner.
Thousands of men come here from far-away
cities txpectiDg to be enriched in business.
They get stranded, and, if they cannot by some
book or orook get afloat, down they go unpitied
Keep good company or none.