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each other between it and the edge of the rocky
declivity.
Notwithstanding the danger always accom
panying the passage of such a place, thi3 was a
favorite resort of the young people on account
of the view of the surrounding country, pre
sented to the eye from the top of the hill—un
surpassed in extent and magnificence even in
that land of enchanting views and superb pros
pects.
Morrison had been boasting, as they ascended
the hill, of the superior fleetness and docility of
his horse. The one on which Alice was mount
ed, had for some time shown signs of impa
tience at the restraint imposed on it, and she had
just remarked that, when they reached a suit
able place, she should have to challenge them
both to a race to satisfy its restless spirit, when
it suddenly became unmanageable and dashed
off in the direction of the precipice. Morrison,
spurriug his horse, started in pursuit: then sud
denly checking his speed, he began to cry for
help.
A man who was laboring in the field by the
side of the road, had his attention drawn to the
approaching party, just as Alice lost control of
her horse, and comprehending at a glance the
state of affairs, sprang into the road and at the
imminent risk of his life caught the excited ani
mal by the bridle, checking his speed for a mo
ment, while he told Alice to spring quickly to
the ground.
Scarcely had she done so, when, rearing high
in the air, the horse plunged madly over the
precipice, leaving the brave man who had so
opportunely checked his course, prostrate only
a few inches from its brink.
Morrison now hurried up and, without even
noticing her preserver, who had been stunned
by his fall, began to enquire tenderly if she was
hurt. Disgusted by his evident cowardice, she
scarcely deigned a reply, but hastening to the
side of the prostrate man, who was now recov
ering, she thanked him warmly for her timely
rescue.
Morrison now began to talk of rewarding him
for what he had done, but the man, casting a
contemptuous glance at him, advised him to es
cort the ladies to a farm house near by, while
he would take his horse and go to Col. Lee’s for
a carriage to convey Alice home.
Col. Lee knew well the laborer who had saved
the life of his daughter at the risk of his own,
and that he was as poor as he was proud and
brave, and that a young family was dependent
on him for support; but while he expressed his
gratitude in the warmest terms, he forbore
wounding his sensitive feelings by any mention
of reward. From that time John Brown found
himself prospering in th 6 world as he had uever
done before. There was a hand, unseen but
not unsuspected, ever ready to assist him, and
an eye ever watchful to promote his interests.
Alice did not mention the cowardly conduct
of Morrison to her father, for she knew he would
despise him for it, and she thought it better
that the social intercourse between the families
should remain undisturbed. The young man
could not help feeling that he had exhibited him
self in a very unfavorable light, but as a short
time only would elapse before the return of
George Hastings, he determined to press his
suit at all hazards.
Entering the parlor of Col. Lee’s mansion a
few evenings after the adventure on the hill, he
found Alice alone, and at once proceeded to pour
forth his tale of love. She listened composedly
to his impassioned declaration of undying affec
tion, and then calmly told him that she could not
return his love. He was not, however, so easi
ly satisfied, and continued to implore that she
would give him some chance for hope, or, at
least, that she would promise not to engage her
self to any one else, until he could prove to hor
that she was dearer to him than his own life;
till, weary of his ungentlemanly importunity,
she told him that the proof he had given on the
hill, was all she ever cared to witness.
Springing up, with a face in which all the evil
passions of human nature were discernible, he
rushed out of the room, swearing that she should
be sorry for what she had said, some day.—
Alice regretted that she had allowed her indig
nation to so far get the better of her usual self
possession and refinement, as to cause her to
make this remark, but consoled herself with the
thought that it was no more than he deserved.
The next day George returned to his uncle’s,
having graduated with high honors, and in the
pleasure she felt in his society, she thonght no
more of the threat of Morrison.
chapter v. *
George Hastings remained at home only a
few weeks and again left, to commence the study
of law in the city of Baltimore. During the
time he spent at his uncle’s, his intercourse with
Alice was characterized with the same brotherly
affection which he had always shown for her. —
It is true that he sometimes thought of her in a
different light, but at the commencent of his col
lege career he had marked out the course which
he thought would be best for him to pursue, and
to this course he rigidly adhered.
As he had chosen the profession of the law,
he resolved that no gentle imago should come
between him and his studies; but when he had
entered upon the active duties of his profession,
then, and not till then, would he seek the socie
ty of ladies, though he doubted not, if Alice’s
heart remained free until that time, that she
would ultimately become the chosen companion
of his life.
Free, indeed! Ho little dreamed that her
heart was already his —bound by a chain, the
severing of whose links would be like rending
the very chords of life.
Condemn her not, fair reader, for having given
her affections unasked. Was not the image of
George Hastings associated with every cherish
ed recollection of her childhood? Had she not
always been accustomed to consult him in all
her little troubles, and had ho not been the sooth
er of all her childish griefs ? Did she not know
that his heart was good and noble, and that ho
was every way worthy of her admiration and
reverence? Where admiration and reverence
are combined iu the heart of a woman, how al
most imperceptibly does love follow ? When
aware of its presence, we may call pride to our
rescue, but the heart is not easily controlled—
“ Oh! the heart is a free and fetterless thin?,
Like a wave on the ocean, a bird on the win?;
A riderless steed on the desert plain bounding,
A peal of the storm thro’ the valley resounding.”
On the evening before George’s departure for
Baltimore he had sought Alice to bid her adieu.
He found her in the old bower by the river, and
there were traces of tears on her countenance
which she in vain endeavored to conceal. A
suspicion of the true state of the case flashed
upon him, and for a moment he felt strongly
tempted to tell her how dear she was to him,
and that, with her permission, when his studies
were finished, he would return to claim her for
his bride; but repressing what he considered a
weakness, he conversed with her as calmly as
ever, though there was an expression in his
eyes, when he finally took his leave, which made
her heart bound with hope. She felt that she
was indeed dear to him, and knowing his inflex
SOVVSESUB VXK&B ajfs vhubsxjnb.
ibility of purpose, she thought to herself, “he is
only waiting to complete his studies, and then
he will tell me all I so long to hear;” and with
this hope sustaining her, she went on her way
rejoicing.
Morrison had left the neighborhood after his
rejection, and of him she did not care to think.
Busy with her many duties as mistress of her
father’s household, and devoting every leisure
moment to the improvement of her mind, time
sped rapidly on.
All that knew her, loved her, but, naturally re
served, the little she had seen of society had not
tended to increase her conversational powers,
and but few suspected the real depth or the rare
gifts of intellect which she possessed. Even
George was not fully aware of them, though her
letters, as has before been mentioned, some
times displayed traces of mental power that
surprised him; still, when he was with her, she
was so quiet and unobtrusive, that even he saw
not the true strength of her mind.
She was particularly sensitive with regard to
her deficiency in conversational power, and this
but seemed to increase her natural reserve. Col.
Lee had at one time thought of sending her to
a boarding school, hoping thereby to remedy
this defect, but believing that home education is
always most desirable, and feeling that home is
ever the most appropriate sphere of woman, he
decided that he would not expose her to the
temptations attending such a course, but pre
ferred that she should be good and lovely, rather
than brilliant and showy.
(to be continued.)
hi
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
FOBEIGN CORRESPONDENCE.
Pass of the Stelvio, Oct 16,1859.
Mr. Editoi•: I Lave a great fancy lor moun
tain passes, and this you will not doubt, when
I tell you that this is the third time I have vis
ited the stupendous one known as the Stelvio —
German Stiffs or Wurmser Yoch. It is the
highest carriage road in Europe, and connects
the upper valley of the Adige in the Austrian
Tyrol with that called the Yaltelline, through
which the Adda wanders until it falls into the
lake of Como. Its course and destination re
mind one of those lines of Moore —
“ As a bright river that from fall to fall,
In many a maze descending, bright through all,
Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past,
In one full lake of light it rests at last”
This road was made at prodigious expense by
the Austrian government as a military commni
cation with Western Lombardy. They desired
to go through the Swiss canton—the Grisons—
where the ffiain chain of the Alps is more de
pressed, but could not obtain the consent of the
confederation, and thus had to scale these awful
steeps and mysterious solitudes where impend
ing glaciers and vast snowfields hold uninter
rupted sway.
Leaving the chief station in Munich, we reach
ed Rosenheim in a few hours, whence the rail
ways diverge—one towards Saltzburg (whence
came our Ebenezer —Effingham County emi
grants) and Vienna, and the other towards Inns
bruck—the capital town of Austrian Tyrol.—
This last road we took, and soon came upon the
rapid river Inn, making its way toward the Dan
ube. This stream betrays by an unmistakable
sign its glacial origin. This is the muddy or
slate color of its waters, which hold in suspen
sion the detritus ground out from the rocks over
which the glaciers move. Though glaciers
abound hereabouts, they are seldom seen from
the valleys where the roads lie. They always
come in view, however, when you ascend some
of the circumjacent summits —as do “the Alps ”
—as they are termed—or elevated natural ter
races and plateaus. Here you find a popula
tion, churches, Ac., which the traveler on the
high road never sees, and yet higher are slopes
to'which the cattle are driven during a few sum
mer months only. The life of these cow herds,
sleeping in dirty chalets, partly sunk in the earth
looks very well on paper, but the reality is sad
and miserable enough. We saw occasionally,
on this trip, the “ cow processions,’’ returning
from their summer excursions on the Alps—the
bravest and best of the animals proudly taking
the lead, with a quite heavy bell hanging from
her neck, and a garland of flowers on her head.
It was near night-fall, when we passed the mouth
of the Zillerthal. The place brought to my mind
a trout dinner I had bad a few miles up the val
ley, four years ago—which dinner was season
ed by the Ausbruch-Hunganan-wine, and the
delightful “ iodeling ” music of the sons and
daughters, nephews and nieces of my host—
Franz Itayner—one of those who sang in New
York some five and twenty years ago.
The light of day had already given place to
that of a brilliant moon when we sought lodg
ings in Innsbruck. Purposely avoiding the best
hotel, to which most of the traveling English
and Americans resort, we went to a respectable
one of the country, where not a word of English
was to bo heard. You get on at these houses
pretty well. A tall man can lie down in the
beds by doubling up his legs, though they are
often so narrow that the best way to turn over
is to get out and then back again ! For supper,
you have a pretty good soup, a fricasee of cha
mois, a veal cutlet, and a little later in the sea
son, hare, roebuck, Ac., and commonly, partrides
and plieasants. If you will step into the kitch
en, taking care to raise your hat with the cus
tomary ‘good evening’ to the cooks, you can see
how a veal cutlet is prepared. They take a
heavy knife, with both edges blunt, and beat
the slices until the fibre is well broken, so that
the original form even is lost Then with a feath
er, smear it with the white of an egg ; then roll
it over in powdered crackers or rolls, and fry it
in good butter. Try it, and see if it is not good.
As to the cooking range, it is a mass of mason
ry 8 or 10 feet long, by 5 or 6 wide, and 2 ) high,
with various openings under which fires arc made
and either an opening in the welh smoked and
vaulted ceiling, or a vast funnel through
which the fumes and smoke escape. The kitch
en, both in the Tyrol and Austria proper, is a
jolly place. In the principal room, where the
farmers and peasants eat on wooden tables, and
drink their beer or red Tyrolean wine, you will
see, depending from the ceiling, various objects
—perhaps “ Kerzen ” —(stearine candles) ar
ranged in columns under glass, or it may be im
plements of cutlery or other handiwork. Each
of them have been suspended a year over the
door of the inn. The poor apprentice, travel
ing about to complete the required term of his
education, on going into a town or village, in
quires where these symbols of his calling are
hung up, and going there, he receives an humble
supper and bed in the garret which his guild
provides for him. Sometimes, with respectful
humility, these-persons will ask alms on the
road —and the heart that is not accessible to such
appeals must be a hard one.
“Jocund day stood tiptoe on the misty moun
tain tops ” —that enclose Innsbruck on one side,
as we emerged from the town. At this early
hour we met loads of wood, cattle, Ac., coming
to market, and sad to relate, we met poor men,
women and children, who could not afford the
luxury of draught animals, doing the office of
horses and oxen, in pushing or pulling along
small laden carts. This is a thing you can see
any hour in the day in these countries—early
and late—a drudgery to which our negroes are
never subjected, and yet no one of the modern
philanthropists call this slavery. At this
season of the year operatives in factories in this
country are at work before daylight; but it is
no slavery. Women and young children drudge
in the fields and stables, carrying burdens that
cause incipient goitres in the throat, and >nake
them look old and ugly at the age of 30 years ;
but I hear of no sympathy for them. In Aus
trian Silesia, where 1 have lived, and where I
have had twenty starving people at my
door of a morning, the current wages for men is
$lO a year, and of serving women ss| to $6 a
year, and with this they must find clothing,
though they are fed with such black bread and
potatoes as the peasants eat
My dear Mr. Editor, I have spent three years
and more among just such people as these, where
they cannot even afford wood and candles to
while away the long and dreary winter nights;
and I tell you that neither New England nor Old
England philanthropy, with all its boasted
world wide range, has ever penetrated into these
and other European countries, equally desolate
—nor even attempted it. What but a contemp
tible sham and base counterfeit of the genuine
article is that misnamed philanthropy which ex
erts itself with ceaseless activity to do harm,
and cooly turns its back upon those parts of the
world where the great struggle of life is not to
get enough to put on, but enough to eat? Why,
sir, I have taken into the service of my family,
young women with sallow, sunken cheeks, and
feeble step, whom you would hardly recognize
to be the same persons, after eating wholesome
food a few weeks. Os course you will under
stand that, as a general rule, the peasantry in
in this part of the world never take tea
nor coffee—only a few times in the year,
meat, and hardly ever wheaten bread. I speak
now of those well situated, and among other
classes yet higher, there is an economy and even
meanness practiced in matters domestic, to which
every part of the United States is an absolute
stranger. I advert to these facts because I
I know and have seen them, and because they
are either not known or not credited in our
own country. Let it not be said that these re
gions are “ out of humanity's reach." If the
Northern societies will send me some of their
surplus funds, I will undertake to relieve more
real distress than was ever dreamed of in their
conventicles.
Our road lay along the lovely valley of the
Inn—always ascending through fields of maize
and other grains now mostly harvested, with
noble mountain slopes on either side on which
the dark foliage of the firs were in lovely con
trast with the autumnal tints of beeches and
other deciduous trees—with here and there open
glades of the liveliest green. The conical sum
mits are generally occupied by the ruins of old
feudal castles—the «donjon towers being the
most conspicuous objects. Passing through Zirl,
Telfs, Stambs, Silz, and Imst, we arrived at
Pfunds at about midday. Here the StiUwagon ,
which goes at a jogging pace, stops more than
an hour. Thus, by taking “a hasty plate of
soup,” and some bread and butter, we had
an opportunity of walking some eight miles to
Nanders through the magnificent pass of the
Finstermuntz. The new Austrian road through
this pass is a beautiful piece of master-work
manship with revetment walls of fearful height,
tunnels and galleries over whlcfi torrents, and av
alanches of earth and snow slide into the guff
below, without the least danger to the traveller,
or injury to the road. At an immense depth be
low, you see the Inn, to which you are soon to
bid adieu, come flashing and sparkling from out
the valley of the Engsdine, which is beyond the
border in Switzerland. The climax of grandeur
is attained when you approach the little Aus
trian fort that blocks up the pass. I prefer the
Finstermuntz to the Via Mala of the Splugen,
which contends with it for supremacy. The lat
ter is all savage grandeur, while at frequent
turns of the road in the former, the highest sub
limity is strangely mingled with traits of un
common beauty.
Resuming our seats at Nanders, near the.very
source of the Adige, we soon came in sight of
the immense mass of the “Ortler Spitz,” under
the base of which lies the Stelvio road. The
vast glaciers streaming down its eastern slopes
were in full view. We passed this—our third
night, at Mals. And here let me retrace my
steps a little to remark that the second night
was passed at Landek, beyond Imst. This place
is surrounded on all sides by high mountains. —
It was occupied by a battalion of Jagers, return
ed from with a portion of the band that
played for an hour under the moonlight. The
inn and streets were filled with Austrian offi
cers —always respectful, courteous and commu
cative. At Mals, we left the coupe of the amia
ble old Stillwagon , and took post horses—or ra
ther a post horse —to Prad, at the foot of the
Stelvio, distant about six miles, or three-fourths
of a post. Our conveyance was a covered post
chaiso, rickety enough, drawn by a crow-picked
horse on one side of the pole, and guided by a
deaf postillion, with his horn under his arm sus
pended by large cords in which tho Austrian
colors, yellow and black, were blended. At
Prad, more soldiers, more officers —one of whom
viseed ray passport, and gave a written permission
to tho summit of the Stelvio. With a peasant
to carry our traveling bags, we walked to this
place —probably one-third of the distance to the
summit, in about four hours.
Yours, Ac., J. L. L.
Milan, Oct. 23, 1859.
Mr. Editor: At Trafoi is a tolerably comforta
ble inn, though necessarily a dear one. You
have approached it by a narrow and gloomy val
ley under threatening precipices and along
steeps where avalanches of earth are frequent,
particularly in spring. Looking out into the
night where the moon was faintly contending
with gathering clouds, we could see across the
valley two immense blue glaciers pouring over
the steep, directly towards the inn. The sound of
cataracts were wanting, however. The
mysterious and awful silence was only inter
rupted by the swelling echoes of the torrent
that dashed through the gulf below. These
to, o glaciers, and one other of prodigious size,
come so near the road, that to visit them is but
half an hour’s walk, and this is one feature of
the Stelvio that distinguishes it from other moun
tain passes.
The next morning was bright, and we were
early on foot. Soon after leaving Trafoi, you
quit the main valley to gain a laie-al one, by a
series of zigzag terraces. Looking up to the
sky, you see not much else before you than the
revetment walls and parapets of these terraces
—apparently almost over one another, so sharp
is the ascent. Winding around this projecting
buttress, you reach, by yet other zigzags, a
small natural plateau called “ FranZenshohe ,”
about half way to “ Ferdinandshohe," which is
tho summit. Here is one of the chief “ canton
iere,’’ or station houses, and a small barrack, be
fore which a young officer, whom we had seen
beloq-, was drilling some thirty soldiers. He
and they were Poles, from Austrian Galicia.—
The soldiers spoke not a word of German. Here
we saw the stern Austrian discipline. Our
youngster, who, by his aristocratic bearing and
breeding, might have sat for a portrait of the
voting Pole in “ Debit and Credit,” carried it with
a high hand. If a foot was out of alignment,
he would give it a kick, and one awkward head
too far advanced, was put into line by the point
of his sword pressed continuously against the
forage cap. And yet these men, any one of
whom could have taken him on the end of his
bayonet, and pitched him down the steep, had fol
lowed him first through the baptismal fire of Mon
tebello, and subsequently at Magenta and else
where. At Montebello, this battalion, 1000
strong, lost 520 killed and wounded. It was
touching to meet the poor soldiers; some woun
ded, others recovered, traveling towards their
humble homes, and hear them recite the tales of
their fatigues and dangers. In every village sol
diers were billeted on the inhabitants. In small
houses, one little straw broom placed over the
door by tho staff officer, indicated that they
must receive one man. To larger ones, two or
three brooms were affixed.
Look up now, one moment, at the road before
you, and you will experience that Byron’s line,
“ High mountains area feeling,” is true in more
senses than one. Up, up, up, to the very ridge
or back bone of the Alps ; terrace after terrace,
many of them with covered galleries, over which
the snow avalanches may slide. It was after
mid-day when we came upon the summit, prior
to which our young officer, charmed to have a
little company in these dreary solitudes, joined
us, and wc were delighted with the tale of his
adventures. Lt. Maraszani (pronounced Maras
chani) was only 22 years of age. Speaking of
the sudden and unexpected attack at Montebel
lo—his first battle—he candidly confessed that
when he first saw the Turcos, after delivering
one fire, stick their muskets by the bayonets
into the ground, and spring upon them with their
long knives, he trembled from head to foot. "Ich
ziterte," he said, trembling with amusing gravity.
Do not let your readers misunderstand me. This
young officer was a gallant soldier, and true to
his colors. He trembled no more after that first
surprise. Probably many bravo men could
make the same ingenuous confession about their
“ first impressions.”
He paid the highest compliment to the cour
age and-dash of the French, who are, no doubt,
as soldiers, the first in the world. Arriving at
the summit, he offered, with unaffected grace,
some white bread and pure water, all ho had to
give us, and made us taste the dark bread of the
soldiers, which, with a piece of meat, constitutes
their ration, who sleep there at the limit of eter
nal snow, bivouacking on straw, under the gal
leries. These poor fellows have suffered immense
ly at times, from the insufficient supplies of the
commissariat. The Lieutenant himself assured
us that when the “ Garabaldini ” attacked the
position of “ Sponda Lunga" he had nearly starved
—having been among the snows for three days,
with but a bit of bread to eat.
Extending right across the road on the sum
mit, is a barrier of wood four feet high, and two
and a half wide. Here stood the Austrians on
one side, and Piedmontese on the other ; not a
word said; looking like strange cats in a garret
Our Lieutenant, with a merry twinkle in his eye,
asked us how we liked the appearance of our
new friends? There was a contrast The blue
uniforms, warm great-coats, and polished helmets
of the Austrians set them off to advantage, while
the clothes of the Garibaldini of dark mixture,with
thin pantaloons gathered above the ankles un
der their leather gaiters, were not very attract
ive, although excellent for service in these moun
tain passes. Bidding a kind adieu to our Lieu
tenant, whose eyes kindled at the name of Kos
ciusco, we began our descent on the Italian side,
with a Piedmontese soldier, kindly detailed by
the commanding sergeant to carry our luggage.
This, you know, was during the armistice. All
civil arrangements had given place to military
ones, and the route could not be considered open
to travelers. Wo were far down ere we lost
sight of our gallant Lieutenant, who stood upon a
projecting point of rock surrounded by snow,
and waved his cap in reply to our handkerchiefs,
as long as he had us iu view. It was with a
sigh that we turned our backs upon the magnif
icent scene we had so long enjoyed. The mon
arch of these Alps, the “ Ortler Spitz,” had long
kept us company with views ever changing.—
First the enormous buttresses of rock with gla
ciers between; then the vast snow-fields, and
finally its summit terminating in a diamond
pointed snow wreath of radiant white. Far up
wo could see a lofty precipice of pale green ice,
from which avalanches were daily falling. We
heard one avalanche fall from this spot before we
came in sight of it. The noise echoed with
strange reverberations through those awful sol
itudes, and w’e heard the mass, after it had beon
partially pulverized, pouring over precipices with
exactly the sound of a cascade, or rather cata
ract. Having seen and heard glaciers fall from
tho Jungfrau, Monte Rosa, and elsewhere, I
have come to the conclusion that no sound in na
ture so stirs up the feeling of the sublime. You
seem to be iu the presence of some great and
mysterious power that speaks to you from far
up in the sky.
A walk of an hour downwards on the Italian
slope, brought us to the first cantoniere on that
side—Santa Maria—where a large and massive
stone building, with vaulted ceilings and echo
ing corridors—serves habitually for frontier in
specting officers, hostel, Ac., though it is now
surrendered to the occupation of a large detach
ment of Garibaldini, known as “ Cassiatori delle
Alpi ,” —or Alpiue hunters, literally. Here we
were introduced without much ceremony into
the very room where the two officers on duty
were taking their dinner. Our own lunch, con
sisting of bread and butter, salami, cheese, red
w ine and fruit, was on the the table before they
had yet finished. The Ist Lieutenant in com
mand was a noble looking soldier of not less than
50 years, named Luini. His 2nd Lieutenaut, of 2G
years, named Feraresi , was a remarkably hand
some young man. He was from Venice, and had
been obliged to serve as conscript 5 years in the
Austrian army, from which he deserted last
spring, to draw his sword in the Italian cause.
Our reception was perfect, so far as was consis
tent with the dirt by which we were surrounded.
I think I never saw so dirty a garrison. Both
officers made a painful effort at apology, and
found sensible relief when I told them I had
been a soldier, and knew something of frontier
life. I account for the bad police easily. Not
only were most of these men volunteers, and as
such unaccustomed to the strict cleanliness of a
well ordered garrison, but they were changed
once in a week from post to post, so that what
was the business of all alike was naturally
dodged by the detail for a particular week to
w'hich the task of cleaning the Augean stables
would have been Herculean.
As I spoke above about uniforms, let me now add
that in dash and entrain , in hopefulness, good
sinews and elasticity, the Cacciatori left their
antagonists far behind. The latter represented
a passive, stolid, obedience ; the former, the im-
petuosity, ardor, and self confidence of newly
awakened life. The contrast in the fare of there
soldiers was just what the young Polish officer
described it His soldiers had for all their ra
tions dark bread and a piece of meat. The Gara
baldini had meat, wine, one ration of brandy rum
or kirsch, one of coffee, and fair white bread’
nay sweet, for some was placed before me
True, Italy is a more productive country, but on
the other hand, there are few countries under
Heaven more blessed by Nature than most parts
of Austria. This difference may be in part at
tributable to the neglect of its soldiers by the
Austrian government. We know, too, that
often even there rations have not been handed
to the poor Austrian soldier, owing to the cor
rupt administration of the Commissariat. A
permanent court ma.tial is now sitting in Vero
na, for the trial of these persons, and it will pro
bably soon appear why the Austrian soldiers
have marched and fought during two days with
hardly a bit of bread to eat. Speaking of the
food of some of the peasants : A friend of mine,
just returned to Munich, went over the Brenner
pass while I was passing the Stelvio. He saw
on the table before a family, what I have often .
seen—a large wooden bowl, in which he sup
posed was hot dish water, but the dinner was
not begun, for they threw in crumbs of bread,
and then all ate, each with his wooden spoon.
Yours, 4c., J. L. L.
CHILDREN'S COLUMN.
•‘PERHAPS I CAN HELP FATHER.”
“ Porhaps I can help father,” says little John
as he looks up into his mother’s face. He has
seen her sad anxious look. He has watched
his father coming home from his daily toil with
a careworn brow, and casting a troubled glance
towards the cradle where the twin babes are
lying. He is sure that something is wrong •
and looking, up with pleading earnestness as he'
stands by his mother’s knee, he begs to know
the truth, for “ perhaps he can help father.”
John is too young to give his father much
assistance. The strength and wisdom of a sev
en-year-old boy will not be able to combat vig
orously with the world. But the mothers
pleased tender look, as she returns his glance
shows that yonng as he is, his affection, his
sympathy, have already been of use.
The youngest child may help his parents
Harry, Mary, when your father comes home
tired from his daily work, your kiss of love or
sympathy may be as refreshing to his spirit as
the dew to the flowers. You may not be able
to bring a day’s earnings in your hand and add
them to the family store; and yet your father’s
heart will bless you for your help. You may
lighten your mother’s cares. You may spring
quickly to do her bidding. You may hold Wil
lie—the babe—in your arms, and still his fretful
crying while your mother is getting ready the
noonday meal. You may come gently to your
mother’s side as she is tired with the toil of the
day, and may whisper in her ear, “ Mother, I
love you.” Again, like the dew upon the flow
ers, shall your word or deed of kindness bring
refreshment to your mother’s heart.
“ Honor thy father and thy mother,” is the
commandment to which God has annexed His
especial promises. The child, if obedient and
reverent in youth, shall have God’s blessing in
his maturer years. The child who is a grief to
his parent’s heart may yet live to know a child’s
ingratitude to himself, and more than all, shall
bring down upon himself, the displeasure of the
Lord.
Do what you can to help your earthly parents.
They deserve from you all kindness and love
Do what you can to help on the work of your
Heavenly Parent. He has a work to be done
in the world. Begin in your early days to love
His service. There is a place for you. Find it.
There is work for you. Do it— [Sunday-School
Banner.
ENIGMA, NO. XII.
For the Very Little Ones.
I am composed of seventeen letters:
My 4,9, 10—is the name of a potato.
“ 8,9, 4—is the name of a month.
“ 7, 12,16 —is a beam of light
“8, 3, 14—is what the cat says.
“ 10, 1,1 —is what the cow says.
“ 3,11, 7—is what we hear with.
“ 3,4, 6—is what we see with.
“ 13, 12, 10, 2—is a pretty little animal.
17, 15,14 —is a carpenter’s tool.
“ 14, 5,6, 4—is drained from curds.
“ 17, 13, 16—is what I hope no little girl is.
My whole is what every little girl should
learn to do. Cousin Jessie.
ANSWERS.
To Enigma Xl—Epaminondas.
[Correct answer by L. M. Park, Greenville,
Ga. Received an Enigma from the same.
To Problem No. 2, (by “ James ”). The
numbers are 20. 40, 60.
tap Answers to Enigmas IX and X received
from Wylie A. Mason, of Tuskegee, Ala. The
person who is the subject of the Enigma sent by
W. A. M., must not receive the compliment of
even such notice in the F. 4F. The Enigma is
therefore declined.
13?” Story from Bessie B. for this column is
received and will appear soon.
A. Longstreel H. has sent an algebraic
solution of Problem No. 2, (by “James ”). The
foreman says he has not the type characters to
set up this solution, which must therefore be
omitted.
A correspondent, whose name the Editor says
shall not be told, this time, lias sent the follow
ing contribution to the Children's Column. It
is printed exactly as it was sent:
Solution to Problem No. 2, (by “James ”)
1. Since first and second, added together,
equals 3rd and the sum of all equals 120, it fol
lows that twice 3rd equals 120. Hence 3rd
is 60.
2. Third and first equals twice the second—
Hence the second, added to twice the second,
(viz: Ist and 3rd) equals 120. Hence 3 times
2nd equals 120, or second is 40.
3. Second and third equals 5 times the Ist
Hence the Ist added to 5 times Ist (viz.: 2nd
and 3rd) equals 120. Therefore 6 times Ist
equals 120, or Ist is 20.
Answer: 20, 40 and 60 are the numbers.
Very respectfully.
“ Boh Syntax ,” a youth of thirteen, got hold
of the above. Bob says he is not strong at
Arithmetic (either by head-work, or on the slate)
and he did not solve Problem No. 2, of which the
solution is just above given—but Bob says he
is “death upon grammar,” and he proposes as
his grammatical problem “ for the little folks,”
the discovery of the six grammatical errors which
occur in the solution of Problem No. 2 as above
given. It is hoped that some one of the boys or
girls who take an interest in the Children’s Column
will furnish for next week, the above “solution”
grammatically written. If they can’t detect
errors, suppose our friend “ James ” tries.
227