Newspaper Page Text
218
“ According to your account of him, this would
be evidence, but for one fact. You know the
little circumstances which preceded our foolish
flirtation —flirtation on his part; sad, unrequited
love on mine. We entered into it forewarned
and forearmed. Os course he considered him
-Belf_and leant blame him—justifiable in usipg
any means, to get the best of the contest. A
declaration of love undea such circumstances
does not amount to anything, even from such a
true hearted man as you describe Mr. Hampton
to be.”
“If you love Uncle Charley, Mrs. Holmes, on
the honor of a gentleman, and one who has never
flirted, I tgßfeou he loves you.”
“LoveMpß? Alas, for my happiness—you
are the sdn of your father, Mr. Hopeton, and
therefore discreet ?”
“ On my life, madam, I will be so.”
“ Well, I love Mr. Hampton, madly, devoted
ly I”
And the unhappy lady hid her face.
“ Then,” said a deep voice, and the speaker
seated himself between us and took Mrs. Holmes’
hand, “ if the devotion of life, body, soul, to your
service will render me worthy of that love, it
shall be done.”
It was Undo Charley, who had come during
the night, by private conveyance—he would travel
in fine style.
Without even shaking hands with the gentle
man, I left the parlor.
So much for the happiness of others; but the
next time I saw Mr. and Mrs. Bently, I was sure
they looked coldly on me, though they treated
me with scrupulous politeness. No smile, no
cortiality of manner evinced the pleasure they
used to exhibit when they saw mo. What to
make of it I knew not. There was nothing in
their bearing of which I could request an expla
nation, but enough to convince me that some
thing unfavorable to my happiness was at work
in their minds.
The ballroom was crowded again that night,
and I was talking earnestly to Mrs. Holmes.
Uncle Charley had told me how they had pledg
ed mutual love to each other that morning.
Turning to leave her, I saw Fitzwarren and
Helen Bently talking together—at least he was
addressing her, with an eagerness and animation
entirely unusual witk him, while she was look
ing in the direction toward where I had been
standing.
At first her face wore an expression rather
sad than otherwise, but when our eyes met, she
first colored aud then, as I approached her, with
the proud and haughty bearing she knew so well
how to assume, returning my bow, she immedi
ately turned and sought another part of the
room. I was thunder-struck and speechless.
“There, Jack,” said Fitzwarren. “That is a
specimen of feminine caprice.''
“I see,” was my reply.
“I thought there was the very best under
standing between you two.”
“ There was.”
“ Thank God ! no woman has ever yet had the
opportunity to jilt me.”
“Why, Fitz, do you suppose such an infliction
is in store for me ?”
“ I don’t know what such conduct on the part
of a lady to whom one is engaged means. My
education on this point has been neglected. I
am entirely ignorant; but if I were in your fix
th&t flight, if unexplained, would be sufficient
cause for some jilting on one side or the other.”
I was silent, for I was thinking.
“ There is something the matter, Jack,” contin
ued Fitzwarren. “ Miss Bently’s manner toward
me was very cold, and I was, very calmly, try
ing to divine the cause, when you came up.”
“ And did you make any discoveries ?”
“ No.”
“ The parents, also, Fitz, treated me very cold
ly to-day.”
“Ah? And they did me. Well,” continued
Fitzwarren, musingly, “ I can account for that,
but why should Miss Bently treat me with re
serve'merely,while toward you she showed actual
repugnance?”
“ How do you account for it ?” said I, eagerly,
catching at the first part of the sentence.
“Do you see that man ?” asked Fitzwarren,
fixing his eyes intently toward a corner of the
room.
Following the direction of this glance, I saw
Lorraine.
“Yes.”
“He is the arch agitator 1”
And Fitzwarren left me, abruptly.
Again I was near Helen, and this time she
could not get away very easily.
“ Miss Helen,” said I, “ will you allow me the
honor of dancing the next cotillion with you ?”
“ I am engaged,” she said, coldly.
“Well, the next, then?”
“ I am engaged for that also.”
She had avoided looking at me, so far. For
a moment I was silent, trying to catch her eye.
At length she looked up and I gazed enquiring
ly at her. At first her look was cold and haugh
ty, but she read in mine, a sad and sorrowful
surprise, and her’s faltered, while the tell-tale
blood mounted to her forehead.
“ May I,” at length I spoke, “ May I hope to
have the pleasure of dancing with you any time
during the evening?”
“ I fear, ” she said in a low tone, “ that the
cotillons 'for which I am already engaged will
fatigue me so much that I shall bo compelled
“True," said I. “Your excuse is sufficient.”
“And now, Miss Helen,” I resumed after a
pause, “ one more question; shall I ever dance
with you again ?”
“ I cannot say,” was the almost inaudible re
plv.
“ Indeed, Mr Hopeton," she continued, again,
assuming a proud, offended look, “you put ques
tions you have no right to ask.”
“No right, Miss Bently ? but I beg your
pardon.”
I turned away with a feeling of bitterness at
my heart to which I had before been a stranger.
What a difference in my feelings one short day
had produced 1 What can it all mean ? I asked
of myself. To request an explanation of Helen,
after her conduct toward me, would be too hu
miliating. And when I thought of her injustice
in not allowing me an opportunity of vindicating
myself from the charge I knew must have been
prefered against me, my indignation almost
overcome every other feeling.
But I sought diversion and forgetfulness in
the dance. Several times I was in the same set
with Helen. She was reserved and dignified.
No word or look of recognition passed between
us. I noticed, whenever I touched her hand,
that it was icy cold, —that hand which the eve
ning before was so warm and thrilling in its
touch.
If I sought my pillow twenty-four hours be
fore, the happiest of mortals, that night I left
the ball room the most miserable.
As I passed along an ill-lighted corridor, to
my room, I saw two men in close conference.
As I approached, disturbed by my footsteps,
. they botb turned, and the rays of my little lamp
fell on their faces. They were Lorraine and
Fitzwarren!
(to be continued.)
tmm sowohshx hip mms ixeesxbe.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE GRAVE OF MRS. M .
“ He giveth his beloved sleep.”
Tread lightly here! for Jesus keeps
Wateh where His “heavy laden” sleeps,
With weary eye and dim;
lie guardeth well the promised rest.
And takes the sleeper to His breast,
Who fell asleep in Him.
Tread lightly—for the “mortal” clay
That mingles with the dust to-day,
In cold “corruption sown,”
With “immortality put on,”
Will join, upon the judgment mom,
The throng about the Throne.
Tread lightly here 1 Beneath thy feet
A saint, in slumber soft and sweet,
Awaits the trumpet's call.
To rise, when graves give up their dead,
With crown of glory on her head.
To meet the Lord of All.
Tread lightly here!—beneath the sod,
Beposing in the “peace of God,”
Let “His beloved sleep,”
In mercy He has closed those eyes.
Too loving for this world of sighs—
And destined here to weep.
Safely the gentle law of love,
By which she walked, hath led above
To virtue's bright reward.
Too “pure in heart” on earth to stay,
Her tears have all been wiped away,
“ To gaze upon the Lord.”
South Carolina. H.
—
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
A LIFE HISTORY.
BY LAVRA LINCOLN.
A drunkard’s wife I “Oh I fate worse than
death.” Would that the gift of eloquence were
mine that I might pour forth, in “words that
burn, ” the story of her wrongs. Even now be
fore my mental vision rises the image of a fair
young girl, whose youth and happiness was
blighted by the fatal curse of intemperance in
the being who had promised before God to
“love and cherish” her till death did them
part.
Annie Melville was the daughter of wealthy
parents.
“ She was not beautiful: but her youn" face
“ Made up in sweetnesß what it lack'd in grace.”
Annio was high-spirited and wayward, but
withal, loving and affectionate, and capable of
the utmost devotion to the object of her affec
tion.
With a man of the right stamp for her life
companion, she would have made a noble wo
man. As it was, adverse circumstances called
forth the evil as well as the good of her na
ture.
She had been a petted, an indulged child;
and her parents had never taught her the diffi
cult and much-needed lesson of self-control.
Annie met Walter Carlton, and soon a mutual
love sprang up between them. He addressed
her and was accepted, and the maiden thought
never was there bliss like unto hers. Hand
some and fascinating—gifted with talents, which
bado fair to give him a prominent place among
the great of the land—the young man seemed
well worthy a heart’s devotion.
Her father and friends, while admitting the
many noble qualities of her suitor, told Annie
plainly that he possessed one failing, which if
not speedily overcome, would prove the ruin of
himself and all connected with him—viz: a
fondness for strong drink.
But the warm-hearted and impulsive girl
would listen to no remonstrances.
“ I will marry him,” she cried, “ and by my
love and faith 1 will redeem him.”
Oh 1 rash and headstrong youth 1 when will
ye profit by the wisdom and experience of the
aged, who have learned through bitter suffering
what they would fain teach you 1
And in spite of repeated warming, Annie Mel
ville did marry Walter Carlton. Alas! could
she, with prophetic eye, but have seen the dis
mal future, with all its weight of woe, sooner
would she have cast herself from the highest
precipice into the sea, than have allied her fate
with that of Walter Carlton.
For a time all went well, and Walter’s friends
hoped that his marriage had effected a thorough
change for the better in his character. Some six
months after their union the young couple went
to housekeeping—hitherto they had resided with
Annie’s father.
When Walter went from among comparative
strangers to the associates of years the evil habit
which had been more firmly fixed than his wife
imagined, again began to assert its power.
Again and again, would the young man re
turn home partially intoxicated. Annie plead
and wept, and endeavored to make home as
pleasant as possible to her husband. Soon came
a son to them ; and the young wife thought,
“Now certainly Walter will stay more at home,”
and for a brief period he did, evidently strug
gling to resist temptation—but again he fell; and
“ the last state of that man was worse than the
first.”
The human heart seeks for sympathy in its
sorrows. Wo feel our burthens lightened if
they be but shared by some friendly confidante.
Thus Annie felt, when in the midst of her sore
troubles, she turned to her relatives for sympa
thy and consolation. But like Job’s comforter’s
of old, they replied : “ You knew that he drank
before you married him.” And here permit us a
few words not altogether irrelevant: Often,
when a young wife is made unhappy by some
fail ig in the husband of her choice —perhaps
such as the one of which we are now treating—
instead of meeting with pity and kind forbear
ance from those to whom she may confide her
griefs, how frequently do they say—“ You knew
this before you married him—as you have sown,
so must you reap.”
When has heedless, happy youth ever been
known to calculate the consequences of their
present acts, when influenced by love ? They
believe that with love, all things are possible,
and that their power for good is illimitable. —
Exalted by their devotion, they believe them
selves impervious to the darts of fate. Ere long
—though affection be fond as ever—these ro
mantic dreams fade away, and the cold, stem re
ality stares them in the face. Then, unless up
held by an arm stronger than of flesh, they
faint and fall in the conflict, and the Pharisee
passes by on the other side, saying—“ I have
no pity for them—they did this thing with their
eyes open.”
Charity, we are told, is the greatest of all vir
tues ; therefore let us be charitable to those in
fatuated young creatures, who trusting to the
promptings of their own loving hearts, rush—
not blindly, perhaps—but no less surely to their
destruction.
Children were rapidly born unto Annie Carl
ton, and her unhappiness increased. Not the
least among her troubles, was pecuniary difficul
ties, for it is notorious, that when a man drinks,
he scatters his money broad-cast.
Annie had ere this discovered a fact, of which
before her marriage she had not been aware,
viz: that she was very high tempered, and at
times her outraged feelings caused
“ Words of unkindness, as bitter as gall” to
'* Bubble up front the heart to the lips. ’
Often, often did the poor wife feel that, but
for her children, how gladly she would lay down
the burden of life. But why protract this dra
ma of real life ? It ended as such things nearly
always do. The inebriate s constitution gave
way beneath repeated shocks, and in the prime
of manhood, surrounded by everything to ren
der him happy, had he so willed it, Walter Carl
ton went down to the [tomb —“unwept, unhon
ored and unsung."
And was it strange that Annie's grief was not
deep nor lasting, for the being who had blighted
her womanhood, and by his own misdeeds
alienated her heart ? In the society and affec
tion of her children, she found that happiness
which had been so long denied her.
Relieved from the pressure of anxiety and
care, her face resumed its freshness, and her
form its roundness, and people said she was
handsomer than she had ever been. Suitors
presented themselves as candidates for her hand,
but to all she gave a positive denial. She had
in girlhood risked her all upon a single chance
and lost—never more would she place her hap
piness in the keeping of mortal man.
Sons and daughters of beauty bloomed around
her, and as they grew in years she strongly im
pressed upon their minds one thing—To her
boys, to “ touch not, taste not, handle not ” of
the poisonous draught. To her daughters, nev
er—no matter what their talents or virtues might
be—unite their destinies with wine-bibbers, lay
ing “ the flattering unction to their souls,” that
they could reclaim them, for she, their mother,
had proved by bitter experience, that such a
hope was founded upon the “ baseless fabric of
a dream.”
—
[For the Southern Fiqld and Fireside.]
THE ENCHANTED MOUNTAIN.
BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH.
This singular natural curiosity is situated in the North
eastern part of Georgia, near the Tennessee line. It
derives its name partly from the traditions of the In
dians and partly from the fact that agreat number of im
pressions appear in the rocks, above the surface of the
earth, which present to the eye the appearance of having
been made when the rock was in a soft state, by the hands
and feet of human beings, and the feet of birds and ani
mals.
The “ giant foot,” mentioned below, is seventeen and a
half inches in length, with six toes, and near it is the
distinct impression of a finely formed female hand. This
mountain is the Ararat of the Southern aborigines.
Pale daughter of the snow I
Why stealing thus apart, with upturned brow,
Bared to the sunlight, w ith thy clustering hair
Dark waving on the wind, and folded hands
Press'd to thy throbbing bosom, dost thou stand
As wrapt in visions, with thine azure eye
Centred on yon far summit t —Dost thou hope,
With that unshrinking and far-reaching gaze
To pierce the canopy of golden mist,
Which shades that sacred summit from the eye
Os all but the Great Spirit ? List! how deep
Around thee now the voice of Nature tells
Os au Almighty presence ! Up the height
The torrent’s peal comes solemnly, and see
This meek-eyed blossom bends, and stately boughs
Os the old forest monarchs lowly bow,
If but his breath pass over them.
Our sires,
Who long ago have sought the “land of souls,”
Were wont to tell a story of this Mount
To us, their children. Once, they say, of old,
This pleasant world was drowned. Wild Tnmult trod
The raging waters, rousing'from his bed
That mighty Eastern sea, which from us hides
The Bleeping sunrise; and, when wakened, he,
Like a great giant, rose and clasped,the earth
In his embrace, till tempest-surges swept
All life from her fair bosom. Many days
A world of cloud above o'erhanging, hurled
Its driving rains abroad; and Thunder crouched
Behind their folds, and shot his arrows through
Down the deep darkness. For there was no light,
The star-fires all went out, the moon had hid,
And that great orb which brings the day, still slept
In the red tents of sundown.
Then, they say,
All people perished, save one mighty Chief,
And his fair bride, whom the Manitto loved,
And placed them in a great canoe, with birds,
And many beasts, that there they might be safe
Till the dark days were over. Thus they lived,
For they were good and beautiful, and both
Served the Great Father, who had made them so.
There are no forms among his sons which now
Can vie with his, the stately and the strong;
In stature we are children; nerve and might
Have left our puny limbs, and the god-fire
Has faded from our eyes. Our daughters now
Scarce bear a trace of their magnificent
And great queen-mother, whose bright loveliness
Was like the Northern star's sweet, shining face,
Far smiling through the storm, and from whose lips
There flows a gentle, never-tailing stream
Os eloquence and music. Still those strains,
Whene'er the soul stands forth and lists alone,
Come faintly stealing down the steeps of Time;
But we —our cars are dull, our day is dark,
We may not understand them.
Night was o'er,
The darkness broke at last, the rosy morn
Peered through dissolving haze, and shadowy
And slow the light poured in. The great canoe
Upon yon lofty pinnacle, that far
O'ertops its fellows, rested there. A path
Was painted down the sky, with gorgeous hues,
And, then, the chieftain and his bride first saw
The world’s “ good angels” coming back to her.
'Twas down that path they came. Time passed away,
The waters fell, the earth grew green anew,
And they once more looked forth upon a scene
Os grandeur and of beauty. Day arose.
They saw the world awake, the valleys smile,
The slumbrous shadows of the dewy hills,
The clear, broad river flowing past the steep,
A sea of glassy fire, as o'er its wave
Rolled the red blaze of morning. Then, alone,
Sole dwellers on a new and blooming Earth,
The two went forth, and all the beasts and birds.
Rejoicing, followed them.
Palo child of snow 1
If now thou doubtest what the red man says,
(This story told—by many sires to sons,)
Go, climb the mountain's summit—thou wilt find
So writ by Manitto’s finger on the rock,
That what we say is true. There wilt thou see
The proofs they left their children. Bedded deep
In solid granite, still is kept the mould
Os our queen-mother's haud, the giant foot
Os her great lord, and numerous foot-prints too
Os bird and beast, with closely circling coil
Os scaly serpents. There 'tis all so plain
As though in written record on that rock
'Twere registered, and this the signet stamp
Os the Great Spirit!
Oliver Goldsmith’s “Vicar of "Wakefield”
has been translated into Armenian by T. C.
Averoom, Esq., a distinguished Armenian
scholar and an established merchant in Cal
cutta.
[Fo he Southern Field and Fireside.]
FOEEIGN CORRESPONDENCE.
Mrxicii, Bavaria, OetcLer, 1859.
Mr. Editor: That Havre line of steam
ers composed of the Fulton and Arago, is
highly favored. The ships are strong and well
formed, and the discipline is so well performed as
to ensure confidence. Hence they have ever been
well patronized, and I trust will continue to be.
They are not remarkable for speed, though fast
enough, and their complete success is a proof
that there are Americans who do not think a
difference of a day or two in a trans-atlantic
voyage a thing of vast importance.
The Fulton, in which we came over, shot out from
her dock, at the hour of meridian on the 20th of
August. The Atlantic—that most tempestuous of
all Oceans that roll over the globe—is unusually
quiet at this season, and as we were between
the annual outward and inward throng of passen
gers, we had a very restricted number to be
looked after. It was my fourth voyage over,
and candor compels me to say, that I never
sailed in a cleaner or sweeter ship than the Ful
ton. The event of the voyage was the aurora
borealis , observed on the evening of the 28th of
August—not particularly borealis, by the way,
since all the best manifestations began in the S.
W., and the whole display was pretty fairly dis
tributed over all points of the compass. I think
we were in latitude about 49 deg., 30 min., and
longitude 39 deg. west, or thereabouts. I was
walking the deck with a friend, at about three
quarters past 9 o’clock P. M., when I observed
a soft, pale light rising up from behind some
clouds near the S. W. horizon, so much like
moonlight, that my companion insisted it was
nothing else. Immediately, a belt of streamers,
two or three deg. in width, shot up from that
quarter, passing with inconceivable rapidity
over tlio zenith, and down to the opposite hori
zon. It was like the sheaf of rockets you
sometimes see sent up preparatory to a display
of fire-works. The colors were red, with shades
of green and blue passing into white. Then,
for perhaps twenty minutes, a warm, blushing
red covered the heavens, occasionally forming
arches above, but looking so much like soft
clouds, that it was astounding to see the whole
pageant fade away, and the stars come out
again. During this time, the ship seemed to be
making her way through a sea of blood. Then
succeeded streamers of pure white, sometimes
from particular quarters, but more commonly
from all directions. The effect was that of a
well-defined dome. As soon as the streamers
appeared towards the horizon,a white rosette was
formed in the zenith, which sent down points to
meet the ascending ones. This process was re
peated more than fifty times in forty minutes.
During this time, the light was as bright as that
half an hour after dawn. At all events, a pas
senger took from his pocket a testament printed
in diamond type, and read it with facility, it
being near 11 o’clock, P. M. The whole spec
tacle was incomparable, and quite without a
parallel in the observation of any one.
Had this phenomenon not been so universal,
I should have connected it with another which
began at this moment. IVe were now entering
that portion of the Atlantic which extends up
towards the North, between Greenland and Ice
land, and about midnight a tremendously heavy
sea began to roll, which lasted three days.
Then, immense waves came directly from the
North, so that we, (being in calm weather all
the time,) were exactly in the trough of the sea.
It was immensely uncomfortable, and the racks
were upon the dining-tablo all the while. In
other words, a tremendous wind must have
been blowing, perhaps 1,000 miles to the North
of us, during near three days. The waves, not
the wind, reached us. The following morning,
the remark was common, that we had entered
upon a tract where a gale had been blowing.
But you will see at once that as the sea, when
lashed by a tempest, will subside in five or six
hours, this solution soon ceases to be satisfac
tory. Now for another one:
You will remember that some two years ago
the Russian frigate, Diana , was wrecked during
a frightful earthquake at Simoda, in the island
of Japan. Great rollers, 60 feet high—three of
them, I think—came in and overwhelmed her.
Now, in five or six hours, these waves were
registered on the tide-guage of the coast survey
at San Francisco, as was shown by Prof. Bache,
the superintendent of the survey. The waves
themselves had not travelled over this vast ex
panse, but they have the faculty of propagating
an image of themselves along the ocean with
astonishing rapidity. To conceive this motion,
take an extended rope thirty feet long by one
end, and give it a quick movement in a vertical
direction—this motion is propagated to the
other end in waving lines, though the rope re
mains where it was. Such is the only apparent
explanation of these formidable waves.
As this sea began to rise about the time when
the Aurora appeared, one is prompted to trace
both phenomena to the same atmospheric dis
turbance. The question remains: “ what is the
Aurora?” I have always supposed it to be
electricity, since it is pretty well established*
that in Norway and elsewhere, a hissing sound,
like that made by tearing some delicate
silk fabric, has been heard to attend the shoot
ing of the streamers. Such a noise would re
sult from the explosions of positive and negative
electricities meeting—when, as is known, the
generation of these electricities is unequal near
the tropics and around the pole. To illustrate
this idea, it is necessary to regard electrical cur
rents as we do the winds which, by a compen
satory action, re-adjust their occasional distur
bances. The wiuds themselves probably cause
the generation of electricity, and a continued
gale might create a vacuum great enough to ac
count for some of these extraordinary appoar
anees.
Dupin was right when he said that Provi
dence did not seem to have intended that the
French should be a great maritime people. The
wastern coast of France, swept by the S. W.
gales has, I think, no harbors except artificial
ones. Havre has its docks, but if you arrive
outside on a falling tide, you must wait until
near high water in an open roadstead before
you can enter. How different from the natural
entrance to Savannah, where you can bring in
ships at all stages of the tide!
Landing early in the morning, we could not
get at our luggage to pass it through the cus
tom-house until 5 o'clock, P. M. And then
such a rush and such confusion, all in a restrict
ed space! The officials did the best they could
to get us oft’ in the express train for Paris.
Some fast citizens succeeded, but I did not even
attempt it. It was better to take tea comforta
bly and go in the 10 P. M. train, arriving soon
after daylight. lam a Napoleonist out and out,
(first and third,) but I do think that the
present Emperor ought to remedy these vexa
tious delays, and not subject strangers who go
to I ranee to spend their money, to be shut up
like so many sheep in a pen—then to work like
baggage-porters, or else be sure to come out
last of all.
Paris has changed immensely under this Na
poleon. The drive to and in tho “Bois de Bou
logne" is incomparable, and that portion of it v
called the “ Pre^Catalan” —a miracle of beauty,
where, in the distribution of hills, lawns, lakes,
forests and glades, art has almost outdone na
ture in her happiest moods. Before the revolu
tion of 1789, this wood was celebrated for its
immemorial trees. It suffered great depreda
tions then, and when the Russians occupied the
ground in 1814, the work of devastation was
completed. The oldest trees now in the forest
date from 1816, if I mistake not. We stopped
three days in Paris to rest ourselves and look
about, and left in the express mail train for
Munich—through in 24 hours. Our route lay
through Epernay and Chalons, Ac., to Stras
bourg. There we crossed the Rhine by a bridge
of boats, and came on by Bruchsaal, Stuttgardt,
Ulm and Augsburg. We took first class pas
sages through France, and second class in Ger
many, the latter being far superior in comfort to
the former. Indeed the second class in Ger
many corresponds to the first in France and
England. The one or two coupes in a whole
train, called first class, are seldom used in Ger
many. On leaving Stuttgardt, we found our
selves for two or three hours in American care—
the first I ever saw on this side of the Atlantic.
A portion of our route lay along the romantic
valley of the Neckar—the ruins of the feudal
castles of mediaeval times crowning the summit
of many a rocky or wooded steep.
A return to Germany is pleasant, were it only
for the incomparable coffee and the bread, which
is a standing reproach to all American bakers.
In most of the comforts of life, however, they
are longo intervaUo behind us. Such beds!—
boxes never long enough for a man six feet high,
with narrow feather beds for covering. Os these,
I do not believe there is one in all Germany now
for sale, long enough to protect the shoulders
and feet of- such a man at the same moment.—
Mind, I do not speak of certain first class hotels
in first class cities. That is not Germany; and
having spent more than three years in this coun
try, I know exactly where the English travelers
or their wants have introduced better beds
with woollen covers, Ac. What do you sup
pose the custom is hero now in Munich in hired
apartments with what are the summer coverlets,
like our “comforter,” or else blankets? Why I
to stitch on the sheet, which is to remain thus
attached one month, unless you have it taken
oft' sooner. The wash basins are of the depth
and shape of some of our elliptical pudding
pans, with a small glass decanter for the water.
It is a strict fact that the use of carpets is al
most unknown in Munich. I have thus far seen
no carpeted rooms, even among genteel families
—the only exception being at the house of an
English acquaintance. In vacant suites of apart
ments, of which I must have seen forty or
fifty in a search of moro than two weeks, I
saw but one suite of carpeted rooms, and they
had been put down by an English family. Ac
cordingly, we found that in purchasing carpets
for our parlor and bed room, the supply for sale
was absurdly small. I really had supposed
that in large cities these wants had been sup
plied since sixteen years ago, when I first came
over. These are very grave and strange facts
to record of a people, among whom the polite
arts are so far advanced.
The great day of the October festival has just
passed over. On an immense meadow, known
as the “ T heresienwiese," at least seventy thou
sand persons must have assembled. The whole
ground was gay with pavillions and flag stall's,
with banners bearing the Bavarian arms and
innumerable clusters of banneroles, Ac. Every
where the Bavarian colors of sky-blue and
white, or the yellow and black of the old Dukes
of Bavaria, were fluttering. A band of 300 or
400 pieces (those of several regiments united,)
played tho national air, the people’s hymn, se
lections from the Trovatore and the German
composers. There were horse racing, and the
distribution of prizes by the King to those who
had gained them by exhibiting tho best animals,
the most skill as marksmen, Ac. In all this as
sembly—the largest by far that I ever saw,all was
quiet and gentleness—no pushing, no swearing,
no drunkenness,and the few mounted hussars that
kept the ground, had literally nothing to do to
preserve order. I wish the boys of Georgia
would imitate those of Munich. If you go to
dine in a garden, the little sparrows will throng
around you to receive the crumbs, and birds’
nests are everywhere—in passages, under city
lamps, Ac. The doves are fed at the windows
of houses. If you only invito them, they will
come regularly to take their faro on a window
seat or projecting moulding. I have counted 115
doves on the facade of one church at the same
moment. Munich is as much the paradise of
these birds as Constantinople.
Yours, J. L. L.
&T We conclude to-day, from our number of
the 22d October last, (page 171,) the extracts
promised from the sheets furnished us by the
Rev. B. W. Whildex, a returned missionary
from China, relative to the Chinese. We do not
for a moment doubt tho perfect truthfulness of
our respected contributor, nor the scrupulous ex
actness of all the facts that he relates. But, we
must say, we have not risen from the perusal of
his statements relative to Chinese society and
institutions, with such a strong feeling of re
pugnance to Asiatic abominations, compared
with abominations elsewhere, nor with such
quickened gratitude and exultation that our own
lot has been cast among the partakers of our
Western civilization, as we had anticipated. In
Europe and in America wo have not so much
the advantage of the Chinese, in the matters of
honesty and morality, of social, civil and poli
tical condition, as wo had supposed. Many of
our readers will smile—as, it is coufessed, we
ourselves do, at the simplicity and naivete with
which the Reverend narrator accumulates his
facts to support his premises; seemingly unsus
picious of the easy retort which the native of
the East might, in almost every instance, make
upon tho Western critic, mutato nomine de te fa
hula narratur. In fact, sneering aside, an intel
ligent, educated Chinese, resident for a year in
France, Germany, England or the United States,
could hardly fail, with his eyes and ears open,
to collect numerous facts, and of the same kind
with those specified by Mr. Whilden, in dispar
agement of the Christian religion and of our
Western civilization. The only exception to our
advantage that occurs to us at this moment, is
the destruction of female children, which can
hardly be presumed to prevail in that country
to any great extent, in view of the great density
of Chinese population.
THE CHARACTER OF THE CHINESE.
They are money-loving and selfish. —One of the
first things that a child is taught in China, is to
hold out his hand for a piece of money. It is
very common, too, for men and women, even