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Herodotus, cannot, —as the same British review
er suggests, in accordance with Mr. Rawlinson’s
own view,—be supposed to be the result of any
actual measurement, but were probably founded
upon some popular tradition, adopted by the
priests. But, bless my soul! [here Prof. Hast
ings draws out his watch and blushes violently,]
I’m becoming garrulous. I’ve exhausted my
breath and your patience, no doubt; the fact is,
I always think of Herodotus, not as one who
died and was “ turned to clay ” so many ages
ago, but as mine own familiar friepd, whose
character and genius I am bound, at all times,
to defend. I admire Polybius, I revere Tkuci
aides, but Herodotus I love ! If, as I hope, he is
now abiding on the right side of the Styx, I can
not help believing that his very shade is a ge~
nial presence, warming, like pleasant May-sun
shine, the coldness of Hades.
Whittington. —After this earnest eulogy, Pro
fessor, I must renew my own acquaintance with
your favorite; one cannot fail to read - him more
appreciatingly, if, as you observe, he is consid
ered in the light of a legendary compiler, as
well as an historian. .
And now, Bishop, the Professor having lapsed
into obstinate silence, what have you to say or
read to us?
Bishop. —Nothing. Is it not Mrs. Whitting
ton’s turn to play the critic this evening?
Mrs. Whittington. —ithiuk you are mistaken.
But still, if no one else is prepared with an es
say, I will cheerfully read some notes I have
written on several recently published books.
“ 1 The Mill on the Floss ’, by Miss Evans, the
author of ‘Adam Bede’* is a work which will
not only confirm, but greatly increase the writer's
fame.. Among the many novelists, more or less
able, who have arisen since Charlotte Bronte’s
death, none are comparable to Miss Evans in
massive force of conception, and in passionate
fervor and originality of genius. She writes
with an earnest purpose, from a definite stand
point, and with a power of objective vision
which elevates, what, in other hands, would be
simply a clever tale, to the height of the noblest
dramatic art. Hitherto she has drawn her chief
materiel from a low, sometimes from the lowest
orders of society; the cares, the jealousies, the
passions which display themselves in the infe
rior strata of humanity, are painted by her as
they have seldom been painted before, with a
lurid vividness, reflected and thrown upward, as
it were, upon the middle classes, and thence,
undiminished in its terrible, truth-revealing
lustre, upon the lofty spheres of patrician life,
so that the masterly light of description and an
alysis, first brought to bear upon the obscurest
depths of the social organism, is made to em
brace at last, in the wide range of its typical
significance, all ranks of people, burning the
thin veils of convention into ashes and uniting
the lowest to the highest by the subtle links of
vices or of virtues common to the race of man,
and in their essence the same, though exhibited,
on the one hand, in filthy rags, on the other, in
the radiance of 1 purple and fine linen.'
“ One great advantage gained by the author
who chooses to deal with what your kid-gloved
and fastidious critic calls ‘ vulgar material ’, if
the advantage involuntarily imparted to him, of
tyiewing things in their unadorned, bare reality#
and thus he is led ts adopt a tope stern, passion}
* hbtory, as Mia. Evans he|
self admirably expresses it, of unfashioualwj j
families, one is apt to fall into a tone of emphaWf
which is very far from being the tone of good!
society, where principles and beliefs are not on
ly of an extremely moderate kind, but are al
ways presupposed, no subjects being eligible
but such as can be touched with a light and
graceful irony. But then, good society has its
claret and its velvet carpets, its dinner engage
ments six weeks deep, its opera and fairy ball
rooms; rides off its ennui on thorough-bred
horses, lounges at the club, has to keep clear of
crinoline vortices, gets its science done by Fara
day and its religion by the superior clergy; how
should it have time, or need for belief and em
phasis?
“ ‘But good society, floated on gossamer wings
of 'light irony, is of very expensive production,
requiring nothing less than a wide and arduous
national life, condensed in unfragrant factories,
cramping itself in mines, sweating at furnaces,
grinding, hammering, weaving, under more or
less oppression of carbonic acid, or else spread
over sheep walks and scattered in lonely houses
and huts on the clayey or chalky corn lands,
where the rainy days look dreary. This wide
national life is based entirely on emphasis , the
emphasis of want, which urges it into all the
activities necessary for the maintainance of good
society and light irony; it spends its heavy
years often in a chill, uncarpeted fashion, amid
family discord, unsoftened by long eorridors.’
“In these few pregnant and caustic sentences,
we find the author’s justification as an artist for
selecting the dramatis personae of her tales, from
amongst the highest classes of society.
“ Considering the highly artificial conditions of
existence, which everywhere prevail in this
nineteenth century, I cannot but think that an
author chooses wisely who, wishing to place be
fore us the deep, warm heart of humanity, and
not the flimsy tinsel which clothes and conceals
it, steps out of the circies of form and fashion,
descending to a level of custom, whereon sin
uplifts itself in its naked hideousness, and the
heoric, or the humble virtues, are not lost in the
glare of gas-light, or smothered b.C the weight of
crinoline!
* * * “ Every truly great and wise pro
duction must possess a fundamentaliidea
foundation thought, upon which the superstruc
ture is reared. In ‘ Adam Bede ’ this idea was
the awful certainty of Retribution; in Miss
Evans' recent novel it is the still more awful, be
cause the more mysterious idea that is evolved
from a philosophic appreciation of the force and
influence of circumstance!
“ The two principal characters are Tom and'
Maggie Tulliver. ‘ The Mill on the Floss,” (the
name of a river) is their home; and the miller,
an ignorant, not over shrewd, but very self
opinionated man, is their father.
“ Tom inherits his self-asserting temper, but
he is gifted with a larger heart a bolder intel
lect.
“ Upon Maggie, however, the chief interest of
the story centres. She is portrayed as one of
those rare personages, uniting in the balance of
a perfect propriety and beauty, the qualities of
an exquisite genuis, with all the endearing traits
of womanly devotion and affectionate faithful
ness. Her pure and and noble character is, from
the beginning of her career, misunderstood by
the coarse beings who surround her. Even
Tom, whom she loves with all her soul and
strength, finds it hard to comprehend, and im
possible fully to appreciate, his sister. Under
such conditions as these, Maggie leads a life un
happy and comparatively futile. She is particu
larly oppressed by a quartette, of aunts (her
mother’s sisters), each of whom possesses an
ingenious secret of torture. The veriest slaves
of convention and conventional arrangement,
*“The Mill on the Floss.” By Geo. Elliot, (Miss
Evans.) anthor of “Scenes of Clerical Life,” “Adam
Bede,” Ac. Harper & Brothers, New York.
lioiHraauui mmm yx&ssxbk.
these women religiously believe that their niece,
whose spirit is compounded of higher elements
than their own, has been sent to disgrace the
family, because she happens to be impulsive,
passionate, genuine—because she will not obey
their presumptuous mandates, or conform to the
rules of their sordid morality. But these aunts
are not alone to blame. Both Tom and his fath
er (the latter aggravated by pecuniary failures)-
are represented as treating Maggie with cold
neglect. Then, the poor girl, baffled by the
hard problem of existence, goes astray. Even
her tow proves to be unfortunate; and what is
all this—but the result of Circumstance ? Pain
ful as this novel, ‘ The MiU upon the Floss,’ un
undoubtedly is, I think, that the moral, however
unacceptable in itself, should generally be re
ceived as true.
“It may add, a thousand fold, to the mystery
of Jehovah’s earthly government—but are we
not thereby thrown back upon the primary forces
of our early faith and made to feel that until
we can become ‘as little children,’ it will bo im
possible for us to enter into the ‘kingdom ot God?’
“ A very different work from the ‘ Mill on the
Floss,’ is the handsome volume* which contains
the ‘ Letters of Alexander von Humboldt to
Vambagen von Ense.' In the edition before me,
translated by Frederich Kapp, we have many
hundred epistles, not more than a third of which
can be considered as intrinsically- interesting. —
The remainder are notes, containing brief and
superficial remarks upon current publications, or
merely acknowledging the receipt of friendly
memoranda in regard to literature aud art, and,
still oftener, in reference to strictly private affairs.
In Europe—more especially in Germany—Hum
boldt’s ‘ Letters ’ have been received with lit
tle favor. It could not have*been otherwise,
when we consider how freely he has spoken of
‘ dignities.’ The Princes and the great men of
Europe doubtless thought that, in entertaining
the illustrious savant, the honor was entirely his
own! Curiously enough, this ungrateful Hum
boldt seems to have taken a very opposite view,
for he dares to affirm that Napoleon 111. is an
unprincipled tyrant—also, that he is the illegiti
mate son of Admiral Verhuel; that his majesty,
the King of Prussia, was guilty of serious pec
cadilloes; that Prince Albert, the virtuous
spouse of Victoria, might, in the exercise of a
candid nomenclature, be termed a ‘muddle-head
ed’appendage of royalty; that Raumer was
a dullard, Bunsen a bore, Sir Robert Peel a sort
of human twenty-pounder, with more brass than
true metal about him; and finally, that the
Princess de Liegnitz was, for a protracted pe
riod, in the position of ‘ Katharine,’ who stood
in mortal need of Petruchiol! In this case, wo
have reason to suppose Petruchio never came 1
The fact is, these ‘ Letters ’ of Humboldt ought
never to havo been published. The sentences
which forms the motto, or introduction to the
volume,and which appears to bo relied upon as a
justification for issuing them, seems to me
wholly unsatisfactory. I will not believe that
a really great great man like Humboldt could
have designed the publication of ‘ Letters,’
which So far from adding to his reputation, or
rendering more permanent his memory, bear ,
throughout the marks of having been hastily
composed in order to answer the transient de
mands of courtesy and friendship, or the still
jin transient demands of a ceremonious court
ly Observance 1
* * * ‘“EI Fureidis’,f (which signifies
‘ Paradise ’,) is the title of the next book I shall
notice. It is written by the author of ‘The
Lamplighter’, and shows, I think, a degree of
power, for which the readers of the former work
would hardly have been prepared. The author,
in her preface says: ‘ Always worship the rising
sun,’ was the maxim of an old nurse, who ex
ercised a vast influence over my childhood; and
recalling this favorite proverb of my early oracle,
I set myself diligently to the study and compre
hension of that mystical secret which makes the
Orient a charmed land.
“ ‘ln El Fureidis, she continues, ‘you behold
the result. Stanley took me by the hand, and
led me across Sinai into the Canaan of promise.
Kelly next became my traveling companion.
Porter has been throughout my friend and guide.
Robinson has proved a safe mentor to my inex
perience. I have shared the adventures aud
perils of Van de Velde. Thompson lias unfold
ed tome the details of Syrian life; Churchill
has lured mo into the mountains of Lebanon.
Chasseaud has, by his fascinations, compelled
mo to linger there. Buckhardt has introduced
me to Bedouin hospitality, and Burton has ta
ken me on the sacred pilgrimage. Lamartine,
too, has sung to me his sweetest songs.’
“ Thus, the author of ‘EI Fureidis ’ frankly
confesses, that her ideas of the country and the
people of Syria have been derived altogether
from the testimony of others. But as one of
the best pictures of a ‘ Voyage ’round the
World,’ was written by a person whose prosaic
fortune bound him to the city of London, so
this beautiful ta'e, composed by an individual
who has never been permitted to tread ‘the
holy soil of Palestine,’ exhibits the minutest and
most graphic comprehension of the localities de
scribed. And yet, the landscape-drawing, fine
as it is, must yield, in point of merit, to the
thoughtful representation of character.
“ Meredith, the hero, is a pleasing specimen
of tho noblest type of English manhood.
Passionate, impulsive and generous at heart, ho
possesses, even to an exaggerated degree, tho
cold exterior which has always rendered his
countrymen hateful to the more demonstrative
Southron. The chief fault of his nature is an
inordinate pride. The processes and events by
which his temper is finally softened, are detailed
with considerable force, and exhibit, moreover,
no small share of that peculiar psychological
knowledge which strikes me as especially dis
tinguishing the best novels of our time.
“ Havilah, in whose veins flows the mingled
blood of the West and the Orient, (for her father
is of Saxon, and her mother of Eastern origin,)
is a delicate, spiritual creation, as beautiful in
person as she is pure in soul. Like Hilda, in
Hawthorne’s tale of ‘ Monte Beni’, she is some
what too ethereally angelic, perhaps; but still,
her character is a more natural, and, therefore, a
more engaging one.
“ Meredith first encounters this exquisite crea
ture in El Fureidis, a picturesque village, situa
ted in the heart of the Lebanon mountains.
Fascinated by her beauty and the lofty sweet
ness of her character, Meredith, (who has taken
up his temporary abode in her neighborhood,)
soon learns to worship 1 ivilah with all the pas
sion of a vigorous nature. His feelings are pre
maturely discovered by the girl’s parents, and
(in accordance with Eastern custom, though
greatly to the lover’s annoyance, who would
fain I go a-wooing ’ in his own person,) Ilavi
lah’s mother undertakes to plead his suit. As
this scene is one of the most impressive in the
book, I will read a portion of it to you:
“‘lanthe(the mother) has been urging her
daughter, in the metaphorical language of tho
* Letters of Alex, von Humboldt to Vambagen von
Ense. Translated by Frederich Kapp. liudd & Carle
ton, Publishers, New Tork,lS6o.
t“ El Fureidis.” By the author of “The Lamplight
er.” Ticknor & Fields, Publishers. Boston, 1950.
country, to * plant the roots of her young life on
the grand, sure foundation of an honest man’s
love.’
“ 1 The Englishman is manly, generous, and
brave,’ said Havilah, musingly.
“* He comes of a lordly race,’ said lanthe,
eagerly catching up and seconding her daugh
ter’s commendatorywords; for the mother’s heart,
her hopes, her wishes, were all with Meredith.
1 1 have heard it said that nature boasts no nobler
sons than the men of the British isle, and he
degrades not his ancestral stock.’
“ 1 He is rich and learned and wise,’ continued
Havilah, in a sort of pensive soliloquy, speaking
in a low, minor key, which gave a touching
plaintiveuess to her words. I He is respectful
to the old and bountiful to the poor and gentle
to the mountain girl, who would gladly repay
his kindness, but cannot.’
“ ‘ Cannot! Havilah?—does my daugnter
count up her lover’s virtues aud sound his
praises and acknowledge the worth of his heart,
then thoughtlessly pierce it with an arrow ?’
“ 1 Havilah sighs over his virtues,’ was tho
grieved reply; ‘she praises him through grate
ful tears, and if an arrow of her sending wounds
his heart, it will rebound and strike her own.’
“ Her eye was moist, her voice unsteady with
emotion, ere she finished speaking. lanthe was
puzzled, doubtful.
“‘Alas! my daughter,’she murmured, ‘why',
then, this needless pain ?—why cannot you re
turn the Englishman's love and both be blest ?’
“ ‘My mother,’ said Havilah, with a solemn
earnestness which gave dignity to her youthful
features, ‘do you remember tho deep flowery
banks of the Barfik stream which rushes down
our Lebanon cliffs and pierces through the heart
of the distant valley, till it loses itself in the
wild Leontes? Do you remember how, in long
parallel lines, the opposite shores of tho narrow
glen go winding together through the mountain
pass, ever near, yet ever parted—sometimes al
most meeting above the dividing torrent, yet
never melting into one?’
“‘ I remember them well, my child; what,
then?’
11 ‘ Like the deep ravine, the cold impassablo
gulf which separates the twin banks of the Ba
rflk, is the deep, dark barrier which sundersmy
hpart from the Englisman’s.’
“ ‘You dream, my child 1’ exclaimed lanthe,
rising upon one elbow and gazing steadily at
Havilah. * * • Either your fancy wanders,
or you wrong the Englishman.’ * * *
“As lanthe spoke, Havilah had risen from
her kneoling attitude, and with a slow, almost
majestic movement, she straightened her slight
figure, threw back her head, so that her whole
face was lit up by the moonlight, aud with the
air of an inspired prophetess, said, fervently:
“ ‘I wrong him not, for I judge him not; but
his pathway and miue lie apart. Mis God is
here,’ and she laid her forefinger on her fore
head, — ‘mine here!’ and she clasped her hands
upon her heart. ‘I might scatter his gold with
lavish hand—might strain my mind to compre
hend his mental height,—my earthly heart
might glory in his fame—but he could never be
,thc husband of my soul!' }
“Thus, for a nyne, MarqteuM hopes are pros
trated, and a dart despair/, Mam over him. But
events subsequently oceiy Agvhicli develops the
highest traits of pis lordly£«Sbro; the coldness
and partial soeptfcism repelled Havi
lah, are melted in the hot furAace of affliction;
and, at a moment when he lKtlo expected it, tho
revelation comes to him that Havilah’s senti
ments have changed; that vote he is as deeply
beloved as in the most extravagant indulgence
of his hopes, lie could possibly havo dreamed
of being.
“Os course tho novel concludes happily.—
With the marriage of tho lovers, and their de
parture for England, we cloy the last pages of
one among the most delightffa and original pic
tures of the season.”
[For the Southern Field end Fireside.]
ARROWS
FROM A TOURIST’S QUIVER;
08, '
Scenes and Incidents of a Tour
From New Orleans to New Yorlc.
BX oN H or TUB J'AIITY,
ARROW XIX.
Fuiladeu-uia, Dec. 23,1859.
After one day’s very agreeable sojourn in
Pittsburg, we took tho cars at two A. M. for
this city. We loft the city of manufactories,
called fondly by the Piftsburgians the “ Man
chester of tho Wost,” in a bright starlight night;
and thereby can testify that the smoke which
usually veils its skies is sometimes dispersed,
giving tho good citizens g.impses into tho bright
spheres over head. Our stay, though brief,
gave us a high opinion of the hospitality aud
intelligence of its society; for many cards soon
appeared on our table, and invitations to dine
which only want of time prevented us from ac
cepting ; but we hope, at a future day, to con
firm our pleasant impressions of Pittsburg, and
assure our friends there that wo-appreeiate their
graceful courtesies.
The Major, however, was in bad spirits, or
what might not inelegantly bo applied to his
state, quite down in the mouth. At the hotel
the fair Louisiana widow had unexpectedly
met an old admirer, an officer in the army, on
his way to his command in the weßt, who no
sooner recognized her in the drawing-room than
he hastened to her with an exclamation of
pleased surprise that suffused his fine face with
a blush as bright as a young girl’s, and grasp
ing her hand with an empressement that at once
aroused the Major's astonishment, which was
not appeased when the widow, also blushing
and looking more beautiful than the Major ever
beheld her, made the military stranger take a
seat by her side and entered into conversation
with him about his sisters, his brother in the
navy, his mother, and, lastly, about himself;
“ where he had been for the last seven years ?”
and finally ending with an arch look and affect
ed badinage with the interrogative observation,
“ I suppose you are married long ago, Cap
tain?” %
“I? married? No, my dear Louis , par
don me, my dear madam.”
“ Nay, don’t bo so formal, Charles—call me
Louisa and be friends again!” she said, in an
enchanting voice that pierced the Major’s heart
like a thousand needles.
“ With all my heart. We ought never to
have been etherwise 1”
“ Perhaps not —but —” and here the widow's
eyes were suddenly shaded by tho drooping lids
while the officer’s were bent upon her face with
admiration and joy. There was evidently in
that moment a recalling by both of the past.’
“ Married—oh—no, Louisa,” he said, shaking
hi* head with a sad smile on his features.
“ From that day I vowed celibacy. I am charm
ed to see you looking so young and beautiful as
ever! Whither are you traveling ?” ,
“ To Washington City, under my brother's es
cort.”
“Me is here, then. How will he meet me ?’’
“As formerly. He never blamed you 1”
“I am glad to hear it with all my heart.”
Here was evidently the healing of an old love
affair, which had had the usual incidents—a mis
understanding—a quarrel—a parting—a mar
riage of the lady in another direction, while her
affections flowed in the old channel —a widow
hood—and a meeting with the former betrothed
—and the past forgotten and sealed up forever
by the happiness of the present and the sweet
hopes of the future.
The brother now entered, and after a
second glance at the officer, he advanced and
offered him him his hand with a frank and cor
dial—
“ Upon my soul, Charles, I am happy to meet
you, and in such company. I see all is right
again! I saw your name’ gazetted as bound
west, and I suppose you are on your way.”
“ I was,” he answered, after receiving and re
turning the warm congratulations of his friend;
“ but I have a great temptation to make some
excuse of business with the Department at
Washington, to join you and Lou.—l mean your
sister on your journey thither; especially as I
am several days in advance of my time to arrive
at my post.”
“By all means, then,make some business with
the War-Secretary and accompany us. Lou.
will be delighted.”
Tho widow made no reply. The officer re
garded her face—their eyes met for an instant,
aud his fate was sealed—and the Major's too 1
Poor gentleman! He had witnessed and
heard all! From astouisbment his looks grew to
amazement, and from amazement to anger, and
from anger to horror, and from horror to despair,
lie saw that it was all up with him 1 I observed
him closely. When it was settled that the re
covered lover was to turn back and join the
party to Washington, he'became palo as death,
save his rubicund nose, the hue of which even
such a woe could not change, or doubtless its
fires would also have paled. Ho tried to look
daggers at the officer, who paid him no atten
tion, being ignorant of his antecedents with the
widow.
At length, when the “old lover revived”
took the widow’s hand, both wholly ignoring
the Major’s existence, and led her to tho piano
to sing one of tho “ songs of yore," he desper
ately and irefully rose up and, with a tear in
each eye, took my arm in his nervous grasp and
said, in the tone of a sick man, which recalled
the cry of Ciesar to Cassius, “ Help me, Cassius,
or I sink,"
“Como, Poyns, let us go—this room is close
enough to choke a man I
When we got into the reading room, ho sat
down and fanned himself, and I believed he
would faint.
“Never mind it, Major! There arc as good
fish in tho sea as ever were caught! "
“ isl challenge him 1 I’ll fight him across that
infernal piano—pistol to pistol. I’ll fight him
with any weapons he chooses, from a broad
sword to a bowio knife, from a revolver to a
musket! To come across my path that way with
his eagle bnttonyund old loves 1 There is one •
consolation, to } now that. Tim will be as badly'
done far as I alp 1 If lam to be cut out, I
would rather bn twenty thousand dollars it
were by this offiAr than by Tim.”
The Major was at length pacified by me and
abandoned tho idea of sending a challenge; but
he resolved ho would never look upon a young
widow again, “ for there would be always some
old lover turn up to tako the fiold and carry
off the prize.”
Wo, therefore, took our departure from Pitts
burg the same night, ns the Major said it would
break his heart or he should break tho officer’s
head if tlioy travelod together. We left tho
widow, her brother and military lover in that
city and took tho cars for this place. Tho Ma
jor refused to take leave of tho fair Louisianian,
but Tim did so and informed his uncle “ how
distressed she was that the Major was going so
soon and without seeing her; hoped she had
dono nothing to offend him, aud trusted she
should havo tho ploasure yet of seeing him in
Washington 1”
“Cool, Poyns! Yet she led moon!" said the
poor gentleman ; “it was not my fault I fell in
lovo with her. Sho has been playing mo like
an angler! But the old adage is slightly altered
in my case. It should read, a widow at one
end of tho lino—a fool at the other! "
From that time and speech tho Major has not
alluded to the widow; but he has lost three
pounds of good flesh in two days and has the
air and aspect of a man with a growling tooth
ache. In the cars his savago visage repelled all
who would have asked him for one of the two
seats he took up.
We had a delightful ride after the sun rose
and we could seo the scenery, which for a hun
dred miles was truly wild and grand, interspersed
with tho loveliest valleys, watered by pebbly
brooks and adorned with comfortablo homes.
An air of ancient occupation characterized the
greater portion of the country, the look of new
ness which is left by the pioneers having every
where yielded to beautiful aud cultivated land
scapes. The cars were commodious, and we
were so highly favored as to have a conductor
who willingly answered all our inquiries as to
places and scenes, and oven volunteered histor
ical information, pointing out to us the localities
of war-like deeds in the olden time.
The truth is, we need guide-books on all our
great railway lines, giving in detail an interest
ing description of places and scenes, that it
would be gratifying to travelers to be informed
of. As it is, one is borne two hundred miles a
day through a charming country and past a
scene of towns and villflfes, tho names of which
lie is familiar with on tho map, but which he
does not recognize at sight.
This information is meagerly supplied on some
lines by a list of towns, printed on the back of
the tickets. I have also seen them on the cards
of landlords who send agents to distribute their
advertisements among travelers; and no doubt
they find their profit in it. A guide book, such
as I allude to, would sell better than these
trashy works that car-boys are constantly thrust
ing into travelers’ faces.
And speaking of this, oue boy came into the
car with a dozen copies of Harper for January 1
Several were bought, supposing them to be for
January 18G0; but in a little while Tim shouted
out, “ We’ve been cheated 1 I knew I’d read this
story before and seen these pictures I”
All examined their copies aud found that the
rogue had carefully scratched out 1859 (for the
copies were of that date) on the corner and in
all places where it occurred, taking for granted
that the word “ January ” would sell it; as it
did both tho copies and tho passengers who
bought them 1 I was told that this is an old
trick, buying up old numbers of an unsaleable
edition, and no doubt many are deceived by it.
Conductors are bound to protect passengers from
such organized imposition. Even if one has not
read last year's magazine, he does not wish to
be cheated. „ , ..,
As it was very cold, we suffered with our
feet, as tho stoves could not heat the lower
stratum of air in tho cars; but our sufferings
were increased by the selfishness of a woman
who sat well forward and insisted on keeping a
window up, which chilled not less than a dozen
persons who sat in range of the icy draft. She
was thrice politely requested to close it by suf
fering gentlemen, but said, vixen-like, “she
liked fresh air." , “
At length the Major, irate from what he had
at heart, and at feud with all the sex, and half
frozen, rose and in a determined manner closed
it. The “lady", for she was attired like one.
and perhaps we may call her one, as she actual
ly did belong to the F. F.'s where she lived,
muttered,
“ Impertinent old fellow!”
The Major had hardly resumed his seat before
up went the window again, with an emphasis
of defiance. At length the conductor came to
the door, shouting, fiercely, some undistinguish
able name, as is the custom, in a loud voice, of
the next station, when I said to him very civilly,
for one has to speak very civilly to these gentle
men to get any notice at all, “ Sir. will you give
mo another seat?”
“ Cars full!" curtly, and running past.
“ Will you then ask that woman to shut the
window ?”
“Ladies must do as they please," he respond
ed. “If she wants it up she must have it up."
“ But we are all suffering by it,” cried several
gentlemen.
The conductor fled, leaving us to our fate. It
was necessary to do something, for we could
stand that Arctic air no longer. Tim suddenly
rose and advanced very quietly to the gentleman
who sat by her. He was shivering and had his
head half buried in his collar. He was evident
ly her husband, for he looked as miserably hen
pecked as the weaker half of such a woman
might be supposed to look.
“Is that lady your wife, sir?” asked Tim,
with his long Henry-Clay face pulled down to
its greatest gravity.
“Yes, young man—yes 1” he responded,
shrugging up his shivering shoulders.
“ Make her close that window and keep it
closed 1”
The quiet, resolved way he spoke caused the
husband to regard him attentively before he an
swered,
“ You must ask her yourself, young man 1”
“ Madam, will you shut the window ?” said
Tim, respectfully bowing.
“ I consider this an insult,” she cried, “and
I wonder you can (addressed to her weaker
half) Col. Smeecham, sit there and see me in
sulted. You know I must have air I All women
must I Their ribs are shorter than men’s and
don’t hold so much air as theirs! I shall die
without air I Besides there’s frost on the glass
and I wish to see the scenery! No, I won't shet
the window 1 Who are you, young man ?”
“Then, madam, I will shut it for you;” and
suiting the action to the word, Tim reached over
and closed it. She was about to raise it again,
when he drew that celebrated bowie knife and
said in a voice full of murderous resolve, “If
you open that window again, I will put your
husband to death here by your side I”
Tim then took his post near by and watched
her I The whole scene was infinitely comic.
The whole car-fall of passengers had looked and
listened, with the deepest interest. When the
window.carae down a dozen voices cried,
“A capital fellow! A vote of thanks to
him!”
But when ho drew his bowie-knife and looked
murder, some cried, “Don’t, don't,” and others
laughed merrily. The poor husband held up
botli hands aghast, as if to ward off the blow,
while he shouted—
“ Help—conductor—gentlemen—don’t let me
bo murdered!”
“Your life depends on your wife! for, by the
head of General Jackson, you are a dead man if
that window is raised 1”
The wife twico moved her hand as if to open
it, when Tim raised, also, his • dagger, whereat
the husband caught the window and held it
with one hand and extended the other depreca
tingly.
“She sha'n’t, sir, she shan’t! I know she'd
be glad to seo me dead, but she sha’n’t, sir! I’ll
answer for the window!” '
A general laugh welcomed these words of
despair and resolve, and Tim took his scat. The
window remained closed! Tim was regarded
by the passengers as a hero—by the husband as
a desperado—by the “ lady 1” as a monster!
Now all this trouble and annoyance could
have been prevented if the conductor had doue
his duty. The safety and comfort of passen
gers are equally in his hands. He must consult
always the greatest good of the greatest number.
It was his duty to close the window. If the lady
must have air, then he could have given her the
hindmost seat of the car, where the air of tho
open window would have fallen alone upon her.
Ladies who must have windows up, if they are «
ladies, will be anxious not to incommode oth- '
ers. If ladies wish air,let them take back seats
and nobody will be discomforted. Nor does the
air from a window fall only upon those who sit
behind it. When cars are running twenty miles
an hour the speed deflects the current of air
and carries it diagonally across the car, so
that it is felt quite as strongly by the passengers
on the opposite seats as by those behind it.
There is, also, another class of window raisers
in cars, who have no excuse in “ shortness of
ribs,” and this consists of the tobacco-spitters!
They open their window to spit out, and, per
haps, givo two or three people a cold that lasts
them for weeks. It is better to spit out of a
window than to make a disgusting puddle-pond
on the floor, for the lady who occupies the filthy
place to soak her feet and dress in, a consequence
that no gentleman should be a party to! This
window-raising by selfish and boorish travelers
of both sexes is one of the niost d ; sagreeable
features of car-traveling. Conductors should
regulate it by seating the’ window-raisers aft!
I know an instance of a young gentleman go
ing from Augusta to Memphis to wait on a friend
at his nuptials, who, falling asleep with his head
on the back of the seat before him, awaked two
hours afterwards with a severo cold in his head
and scarcely able to speak. A “lady” in front
of him had opened her window and the cold
night air chilled him as he slept. When he
reached Memphis ho was in a brain fever,and in
ten days was a corpse!
We at length reached this city at five o’clock,
and wero conveyed to tho “La Pierre House,”
one of the most quiet and elegant hotels in the
Union —aud one which I would commend to all
quiet, invalid gentlemen like myself. Au revoir.
——
The Life and Letters of Washington Irving,
edited by Mr. Pierre M. Irving, his literary ex
ecutor, will shortly be published, in three vols.,
by George P. Putnam, of New York.
It is easy in the world to live after the
world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live
after our own ; but the great man is he who
in the midst of the crowd, keeps with per
fect sweetness the independence of solitude.
■
Motto for a Neutral Paper —All talk and
no sider. • „
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