•t&S.'i i'T'>,'A'il 1 Mill Kffl»«BiMvii% .-^i ',.\V.- ■■;.\Vi ^"I'iH', W. Leisure..,-..Moments LIBRARY^CONGRESS. Shelf ,}k.(a. ^JJITED STATES OF AMERICA. V f Wayside Gleanings FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. , ^"-r-f^^^ >i ^i^ y Inntcd fot Iricatc (Kirculatiou. 1882. -vc,^3^ University Press: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. THE ORCHESTRA. [FROM THE GERMAN.^ The world is but a huge Orchestra, And we therein micst Players be, And she zvho stirs our human feelings Is our sweet sister, HarmoJiy. The great men, standing high above us, Shall the Coiiductor' s part fulfil. While we, poor devils, scrape and fiddle As best we ca7i, some well, some ill. The poor man^s Tempo is Andante, Allegro suits the rich jnan well. And iji the great man^s Maestoso Our piping notes the ?nusic swell. But many a one doth vainly fiddle, Nor clear nor tunefully plays he. And therefore must for life, contented, A humble bellows-blozver be. WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. OLD AGE. It is seldom, says the " Friend's Intelli- gencer," we see as beautiful a tribute to the worth of "old age" as is contained in the following, which recently appeared in one of our city periodicals, and is now offered for republication in our columns. "SHE HAS OUTLIVED HER USEFULNESS." Not long since a good-looking man, in middle life, came to our door asking for " the minister." When informed that he was out of town he seemed disappointed and anxious. On being questioned as to his business, he replied, " I have lost my mother, and as this place used to be her home, and my father lies here, we have come to lay her beside him." Our hearts rose in sympathy, and we said, " You have met with a great loss." " Well, yes," replied the strong man with hesitancy : " a mother is a great loss in gen- eral ; but our mother had outlived her use- fulness ; she was in her second childhood, and her mind had grown as weak as her body, so that she was no comfort to herself and a burden to everybody. There were seven of us, sons and daughters, and as we could not find anybody who was willing to board her, we agreed to keep her among us a year about. But I 've had more than my share of her, for she was too feeble to be moved when my time was out, and that was three months before her death. But then she was a good mother in her day, and toiled very hard to bring us all up." Without looking at the face of the heart- less man, we directed him to the house of a neighboring pastor, and returned to our nursery. We gazed on the merry little faces which smiled or grew sad in imitation of ours, — those little ones to whose ear no word in our language is half so sweet as "mother," — and we wondered if that day could ever come when they could say of us, " She has outlived her usefulness ; she is no comfort to herself, and a burden to every- body ! " and we hoped before such a day would dawn we might be taken to our rest. God forbid that we should outlive the love of our children ! Rather let us die while their hearts are a part of our own, that our grave may be watered with their tears, and our love linked with their hopes of heaven. When the bell tolled for the mother's burial, we went to the sanctuary to pay our token of respect for the aged stranger, for we felt that we could give her memory a tear, even though her own children had none to shed. " She was a good mother in her day, and toiled hard to bring us all up; she was no comfort to herself, and a burden to every- body else." These cruel, heartless words rang in our ears as we saw the coffin borne up the aisle. The bell tolled long and loud, until its iron tongue had chronicled the years of the toil- worn mother. One — two — three — - four — WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. five. How clearly and almost merrily each stroke told of her once peaceful slumber in her mother's bosom, and of her seat at nightfall on her weary father's knee. Six — seven — eight — nine — ten, rang out the tale of her sports upon the greensward in the meadow, and by the brook. Eleven — twelve — thirteen — fourteen — fifteen, spoke more gravely of school-days, and little house- hold joys and cares. Sixteen — seventeen — eighteen, sounded out the enraptured vis- ions of maidenhood and the dream of early love. Nineteen brought us the happy bride. Twenty spoke of the young mother, whose heart was full to bursting with the new- sprung love which God had awakened in her bosom. And then stroke after stroke told of her early womanhood, — of the love, and cares, and hopes, and fears, and toils through which she passed during these long years, till fifty rang out harsh and loud. From that to sixty each stroke told of the warm-hearted mother and grandmother, living over again her own joys and sorrows in those of her children and children's children. Every family of all the group wanted grandmother then, and the only strife was who should secure the prize ; but hark ! the bell tolls on ! Seventy-one — two — three — four. She begins to grow feeble, requires some care, is not always perfectly patient or satisfied : she goes from one child's house to another, so that no one place seems like home. She murmurs in plaintive tones, and after all her toil and weariness it is hard she cannot be allowed a home to die in ; that she must be sent, rather than invited, from house to house. Eighty — eighty-one — two — three — four — ah! now she is a second child — now " she has outlived her usefulness, she has ceased to be a comfort to herself or any- body ; " that is, she has ceased to be profit- able to her earth-craving and money-grasping children. Now sounds out, reverberating through our lonely forest, and echoing back from the '• hill of the dead," eighty-nine ! There she now lies in the coffin, cold and still ; she makes no trouble now, demands no love, no soft words, no tender little offices. A look of patient endurance, we fancied also an expression of grief for unrequited love, sat on her marble features. Her children were there, clad in weeds of woe, and in irony we remembered the strong man's words, " She was a good mother in her day." When the bell ceased tolling, the strange minister rose in the pulpit. His form was very erect, and his voice strong, but his hair silvery white. He read several passages of Scripture expressive of God's compassion to feeble man, and especially of his tenderness when gray hairs are on him, and his strength faileth. He then made some touching re- marks on human frailty and of dependence on God, urging all present to make their peace with their Master while in health, that they might claim his promise when heart and flesh should fail them. Then, he said, "The eternal God shall be thy refuge, and beneath thee shall be the everlasting arms." Lean- ing over the desk, and gazing intently on the coffined form before him, he then said rever- ently, " From a little child I honored the aged, but never till gray hairs covered my own head did I know truly how much love and sympathy this class has a right to de- mand of their fellow creatures. Now I feel it. Our mother," he added, most tenderly, "who now lies in death before us, was a stranger to me, as are all her descendants. All I know of her is what her son has told me to-day, — that she was brought to this town from afar, sixty-nine years ago, a happy bride ; that she passed most of her life toil- ing, as only mothers ever have strength to toil, until she had reared a large family of sons and daughters ; that she left her home here, clad in weeds of widowhood, to dwell among her children, and that, till health and vigor left her, she lived for you, her de- scendants. " You, who together have shared her love and care, know how well you have requited her. God forbid that conscience should ac- cuse any of you of ingratitude or murmuring on account of the care she has been to you of late. When you go back to your homes be WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. careful of your words and your example be- fore your own children, for the fruit of your own doing you will surely reap from them when you yourselves totter on the brink of the grave. I entreat you as a friend, as one who has himself entered the 'evening of life,' that you may never say in the presence of your families nor of Heaven, ' Our mother has outlived her usefulness ; she was a bur- den to us.' Never, never, never; a mother cannot Hve so long as that ! No ; when she can no longer labor for her children, nor yet care for herself, she can fall like a precious weight on their bosom, and call forth by her helplessness all the noble, generous feelings of their nature." THE FLOWER GIRL BY THE CROSSING. BY LORD LYTTON. By the muddy crossing in the crowded streets, Stands a little maid with her basket full of posies. Proffering all who pass her choice of knitted sweets, Tempting Age with heart's-ease, courting Youth with roses. Age disdains the heart's-ease, Love rejects the roses ; London life is busy — Who can stop for posies ? One man is too grave, another is too gay — This man has his hothouse, that man not a penny ; Flowers, too, are common in the month of May, And the things most common least attract the many. Ill on London crossings Fares the sale of posies ; Age disdains the heart's-ease, Youth rejects the roses. THE CANTEEN. BY PRIVATE MILES O'REILLY. There are bonds of all sorts in this world of ours, Fetters of friendship and ties of flowers. And true-lovers' knots, I ween : The girl and the boy are bound by a kiss. But there 's never a bond, old friend, like this, — We have drunk from the same canteen ! It was sometimes water and sometimes milk, And sometimes apple-jack, fine as silk ; But whatever the tipple has been. We shared it together, in bane or bliss, And I warm to you, friend, when I think of this, — We have drunk from the same canteen ! The rich and the great sit down to dine, And they quaiT to each other in sparkling wine. From glasses of crystal and green ; But I guess in their golden potations they miss The warmth of regard to be found in this, — We have drunk from the same canteen. We have shared our blankets and tent to- gether, And have marched and fought in all kinds of weather, And hungry and full we have been ; Had days of battle and days of rest ; But this memory I cling to and love the best, — We have drunk from the same canteen ! For when wounded I lay on the outer slope, With my blood flowing fast, and but little hope Upon which my faint spirit could lean; Oh then, I remember, you crawled to my side, And, bleeding so fast it seemed both must have died. We drank from the same canteen. IVAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. EX-PRESIDENT JAMES WALKER. [From the New York Evening Post, Aug. 15, 1S74.] Rev. Dr. James Walker, ex-President of Harvard University, reaches the vener- able age of eighty years to-morrow, August 16. He was born in Burlington, Massachu- setts, in 1794, was graduated at Harvard in 1814, was ordained pastor over the Har- vard Congregational (Unitarian) Church, in Charlestown, Massachusetts, in 1818, became assistant professor of moral philosophy at Cambridge in 1839, ^"^ President of Har- vard University in 1853. Since his retire- ment in i860 he has lived quietly at Cam- bridge, a constant and earnest student, and occasionally appearing as a writer and a preacher. Recently his bodily infirmity has kept him much at home, but his mind has never been clearer, and his conversation never more full of life. He and Rev. Dr. Dewey, who was eighty years old March 14, are the patriarchs of the Unitarian denomi- nation in America. The following poem, by Rev. Charles T. Brooks, of Newport, is to be sent to-morrow, with a rich work of Christian art in silver and gold, to Rev. Dr. James Walker, of Cam- bridge, ex-President of Harvard College, in honor of his eightieth birthday. The old parishioners and friends who send the gift have requested Rev. Dr. Osgood, of this city, one of the members of Dr. Walker's old parish, to write the letter in their name. TO JAMES WALKER, D. D. Oti his Eightieth Birthday. O full of years and of the stores Of tranquil wisdom years impart To him who, in their flight, adores The Eternal One with grateful heart ! O full of years, yet fuller still Of what no earthly years can give But he alone, whose mercies fill Pure hearts with love to all that live ! O full of years, with memories blest Of toil for God, and man, and truth. With hopes that calm and cheer the breast, And breathe a new, transfigured youth ! O full of years ! thy " fourscore years " Not "labor" bring, and "sorrow," — nay ! Thy peaceful sun, as evening nears, Points onward to still brighter day. Grateful we hail the blessed sight Of this thy tranquil eventide ; And would with thee, in its pure light, Thy guests and guests of heaven abide. This day, — to us a festal day, — Loved friend and father, we would bring Our debt of gratitude to pay The heart's memorial offering. Its sculptured language well may speak What tongue and pen in vain would say ; What the warm heart might vainly seek To breathe out in the tender lay. " The cup of blessing which we bless," Kindly accept ; and may it be An emblem of the happiness Life's brimming cup shall keep for thee ! To us thy heart's full, golden bowl Rich draughts of Heaven's pure wine hath brought. Nerving anew the jaded soul With quickenings of electric thought. We speak not for ourselves alone. But for a manly race, whose youth. Enkindled by thy thrilling tone. Woke to the majesty of truth ! Who, in that fresh and tender hour When burning passions dance their round, Thus felt Religion's gracious power. And saw her brow with beauty crowned ! WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. And thousands, too, who never heard Thy voice, have kindled o'er the page On which thy brave and lucid word Went forth to move and mould the age. The pulpit was thy "joy and throne ; " No less in Harvard's august chair, Thy manly, genial wisdom shone And breathed its blessed influence there. To-day, O loved and honored one, What throngs rise up to call thee blest. And pray thy slowly sinking sun Long linger in the glowing west ! \From the Transcript.'\ The Gift to ex-President Rev. James Walker, D. D., spoken of in the " Trans- cript," yesterday, is thus described : — A cup and plate in silver, relieved with gold, are made to tell the lesson of his life, and the good wishes of his old parishioners and friends. The cup is nearly a foot high, with a pedestal bordered with gold, with ivy and lihes in wrought silver upon the stem, and with rich designs and inscriptions upon the bowl, which is lined with gold. Upon one side of the bowl the seal of Harvard Univer- sity is given in bold relief, with the motto, " Christo et Ecclesiae," in raised letters, and with blades of wheat on one side, richly chased, and a vine branch on the other. Upon the opposite side of the bowl is the name of Dr. Walker, with the chief dates of his life enclosed within branches of olive and oak. Around the rim of the cup is the inscription in church letter, " The Cup of Blessing which we Bless." The plate is a foot in diameter, with a gold border of ecclesiastical pattern, and a wreath, vine and berries engraved around the inside. The name is in the centre, surrounded by the words, in antique letters, "Thine old age shall be clearer than the noonday ; thou shalt be as the morning." Both the cup and plate are inscribed, after name, " From old parishioners and friends, upon his eigh- tieth birthday" (it is a pity that the in- 2 scription did not read "upon the eightieth anniversary of his birthday," a form of words which would convey the meaning accurately), and were sent to the Doctor in a handsome case of morocco lined with blue silk. Hunt- ington, who saw the gift at Tiffany's before it was sent away, and whose judgment is authoritative, pronounced it a gem of Chris- tian art; and the letter that went with it said that it was meant to tell the Doctor at once that his friends believed that God had blessed him in his hfe, and that they gave their own "God bless you ! " in this pleas- ant and lasting form. \From the New York Evening Post.'\ Gift to King's Chapel. — The late Rev. Dr. James Walker, ex-President of Harvard College, left a special gift for Rev. Dr. Os- good of that city, the nature and disposition of which are thus stated : " Dr. Osgood re- ceived the costly and exquisite pieces of silver and the richly-wrought cup and plate that were presented to Dr. Walker last August, when he was eighty years old, by his old parishioners and friends. The gift was, of course, accepted with gratitude, but the re- ceiver thought it too sacred and impressive to be kept private in the household, and therefore offered it to King's Chapel, Boston, where Dr. Walker had so many friends, and where he was invited to be pastor after his retirement from the presidency at the age of sixty-six. The minister and wardens of King's Chapel signified to Dr. 0.sgood their grateful acceptance of the beautiful memo- rial, and the intention of the congregation to keep it with their communion plate and use the cup and plate at Christmas, Easter, and Whit Sunday at Holy Communion. The formal presentation of the gift was made in the Chapel on Sunday morning, Feb. 28, by the minister. Rev. Henry W. Foote, and the correspondence concerning it was then read. The only condition attached by Dr. Osgood was that it should go to Harvard University in case the Chapel should ever cease to hold it." lO WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. JOHN BROWN. We print to-day a graceful and serious lit- tle poem by Dr. Parsons, addressed to a friend who had lately returned from the Adirondacks. The reader who has ever vis- ited the grave of John Brown will be re- minded hj this sonnet of the great rock under whose shadow the old man rests. We take from the note-book of a friend who was there in 1S70 the following description of the spot : — Visited John Brown's grave at North Elba, half a mile across the fields from Hanmer's tavern, two miles by the road. His house, unpainted, small, one story and a half, with a small addition behind, is on a cleared pla- teau of five or eight acres : " Whiteface," in full sight on the north and a fine view for a full semicircle or more, all round to the east and south of the Adirondack ranges ; on the west and south, woods. The chief point about tlie place is the cleared, level plateau, laid down to grass, with scattered stumps now old and growing small ; on this the house stands ; my companion admires the taste that chose such a spot, — the finest site, he thinks, that we have seen. The grave is in a little enclosure, fifty feet square or so, close by the house, at the northeast ; a huge boulder, of a flat rather than high shape (it is about eight feet high), occupies a full third of the enclosure ; it seems bedded deep in the earth ; steps lead to the top of it, and there, where the side of the rock rises a little from its general slope, one reads these words, cut into the solid stone and facing the east : — JOHN BROWN. IS59. The grave lies at the side of this boulder and has at the head of it a slab, — an old one removed from some other place, — with an antique inscription to the memory of Captain John Brown, who died in 1776; under this is another one to "John Brown, born 1800, executed at Charlestown, Va., Dec. 2, 1859; " other inscriptions to his sons crowd the stone". This little enclosure is in grass, with a rose-bush or two ; off at the east corner is a small maple. The rugged, massive rock is a fit companion at the grave ; it is to be hoped that no other monument will be set up. . ... It comes over one here that this man, more than any other one person, must be thought of as the victim of slavery, and that in him — whether it be true or not that his mind grew disordered — are shown the re- vulsion and the protest of human nature it- self at the horrid system. The nobly simple inscription upon the rock at John Brown's grave was placed there by a citizen of Boston. TO A LADY, [Whose ring bore the motto Dieic est ma Roche.'\ What went ye forth in that fair wilderness To look on, lady ? — fawns of mottled skin. Or trembling does driven to unwonted deeps, Or the wild Saranac, half its glory gone Of grace obscure and lovely loneliness. And woods unconscious of the tourists' din, Where now no torrent unregarded leaps ? Or to see Autumn his red mantle don, And the free forest in imperial dress ? Lady ! thy legend should have graven been There in the Adirondacks, where he sleeps Whose soul, the song saith, still is marching on. God was Jiis rock, and fitly in the shade Of God's first handiwork that head was laid. General Schenck, U. S. Minister to England, has been using an old American anecdote to good advantage. To the wife of a British cabinet officer, who assured him that "England made America all that she is," he said : " Pardon, madam, you remind me of an answer of the Iowa lad in his teens, who, attending Sunday school for the first time, was asked by his teacher, ' Who made you 1 ' He replied, ' God made me so long (holding his hands about ten inches apart), but I growed the rest.'" WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. II MARY BOOTH. BY THOMAS W. PARSONS. What shall we do now, Mary being dead, Or say, or write, that shall express the half .? What aift we do, but pillow that fair head. And let the springtime write her epitaph, — As it will soon, in snowdrop, violet, Wild-flower, and columbine, and maiden's tear, Each letter of that pretty alphabet That spells in flowers the pageant of the year 1 She was a maiden for a man to love ; She was a woman for a husband's life; One that had learned to value far above The name of Love the sacred name of Wife. Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep, Had all there is of life, except gray hairs, — Hope — love — trust — passion, and devotion deep — And that mysterious tie a mother bears. She hath fulfilled her promise, and hath past; Let her down gently at the iron door ! Eyes, look on that loved image for the last ; Now cover it in earth, — her earth no more. MOTHER GOOSE NOT A MYTH. Mr. William L. Stone, of this city, writes as follows to the " Providence Journal : " — In the January number of the " Brauno- nian" appears a well-written and interesting paper entitled " Mother Goose's Melodies." In the first paragraph is this sentence : " Here the traditional bard is Mother Goose, of whom nothing certain is known But more than the name history does not reveal." In this statement, however, the writer is in error ; for, so far from " Mother Goose " being a creature of fancy, she was, we beg to assure him, a veritable person- age. The mother-in-law of Thomas Fleet, the editor, in 1 731, of the " Boston Weekly Re- hearsal," was none other than the original Mother Goose, — the Mother Goose of the world-famous Melodies. Mother Goose be- longed to a wealthy family in Boston, where her eldest daughter, EHzabeth Goose, was married by Cotton Mather, in 1715, to Fleet, and in due time gave birth to a son. Like most mothers-in-law in our own day, the importance of Mrs. Goose increased with the appearance of her grandchild, and poor Mr. Fleet, half distracted with her endless nursery ditties, finding all other means fail, tried what ridicule could effect, and actually printed a book with the title, " Songs for the Nursery; or, Mother Goose's Melodies for Children, printed by T. Fleet, at his printing house, Pudding Lane, Boston. Price ten coppers." Mother Goose was the mother of nineteen children, and hence we may easily trace the origin of that famous classic, — " There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children she did n't know what to do." About the Age of Horses. — A short time ago we met a gentleman who gave in- formation in regard to ascertaining the age of horses after they have passed the ninth year, new to us, and will be, we are sure, to most of our readers. It is this : After the horse is nine years old, a wrinkle comes on the upper corner of the lower lid, and every year thereafter he has one well-defined wrinkle for every year over nine. If a horse has three wrinkles, he is twelve ; if he has four, he is thirteen. Add the number of wrinkles to nine, and you will get it. So says the gentleman, and he is sure it will not fail. As a good many people have horses over nine, it is easily tried. If true, the horse dentist must give up his trade. 12 WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. A WELCOME TO CAPTAIN WILKES. Welcome to Wilkes ! who did n't wait To study up Vattel and Wheaton, But bagged his game, and left the act For dull diplomacy to treat on. Honor for one who dared assume Upon a critical emergence Responsibility, — and seize A precious pair of rank insurgents. Rather than let them slip, 't were well That precedent should bear transgression, And as for points of law, — why, Wilkes Made sure of nine — in flat possession. Who talks for exploit such as this Of government's assured displeasure .'' A country's gratitude instead Outspeaks in large, unstinted measure. Cashiered ! that banking term suggests A higher grade that may o'ertake him ; Another such Jacksonian deed, And, faith, a President 't will make him. So welcome. Commodore, your freight Of haughty, wily, wicked traitors Consigned to Dimmick's plain hotel, Where Uncle Sam in quiet caters ; — A warm Thanksgiving greeting waits For you, brave fellows of the navy ; So come and share our bounteous spread. Our pudding sauce and turkey gravy. THE FAMOUS BONE-SETTER. Writing from ConegUano, Italy, Charles Warren Stoddard says : " I have met one of the most celebrated women of Italy, Regina del Cin, whose marvellous successes in the setting of dislocations of long standing have made her famous even beyond the sea. You can read of her in the standard works on surgery. This uncultured woman, born with an instinctive knowledge of anatomy, lives in a handsome villa about twelve miles dis- tant. She is sought by people from all parts of the world, and, though she sometimes at- tempts to straighten limbs that have been distorted from birth and to correct the blun- ders of unskilful professionals, her specialty is the setting of hijD dislocations, and I be- lieve in this line she is without a living rival. I had been recommended to visit Regina, as she is familiarly called in this neighborhood, to see if she might not be able to regulate an arm that has troubled me somewhat since an accident I met with a year ago near Rome. The marvellous stories I had heard of her skill, the flattering tributes paid to her character by people of all professions, nationalities, and creeds, encouraged me to believe that my salvation rested in her hands, and I sought her this morning with my heart in my throat and my arm in a state of suspense. I went on alone to the villa of Regina, with its broad, cream-col- ored walls shining brightly on the hillside. A maid held the door open as I approached the villa, and I was at once ushered into a small drawing-room tastefully furnished. A portrait of Pope Pius IX. hangs conspicu- ously on one wall ; a life-size photograph of Regina is on the opposite side of the room ; a smaller photograph of the famous lady stood on the ^tagere in an elaborate frame, while a third was set in the cover of a large volume which ornamented the centre-table. This book, presented by the city of Trieste to Regina when she removed to her present villa, contains four thousand autographs of the best-known citizens of that place. There was also a large album, containing the photo- graphs of many who have been successfully treated for deformities of various kinds by that lady whom I had come to see. While I was looking at this album she entered, — a very plain woman of forty or more ; short, stout, untidily dressed. The lower hooks of her waist were bursted, and there was nothing attractive in her personal appear- ance. Two of her front teeth were gone, WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 13 her hair was rolled into a small wad at the top of her head, long gold eardrops dangled upon her shoulders, and about her neck she wore a massive gold chain. We proceeded at once to business. She stripped my arm to the shoulder, touched it hghtly here and there with a touch that was exceedingly agreeable. Her examination of my case was so shght, the questions she asked so few, yet her comprehension of my conditioii so complete, that I strongly suspected the lady of being a clairvoyant. She lays no claim to any such gift ; was born with the genius for bone-setting, which she is continually exercising, uses the simplest possible reme- dies, and in all cases performs her opera- tions without giving any pain whatever. I had proof enough of her marvellous skill. In the hall I saw a heap of crutches, braces, and straps, iron stilts, and other horrible aids such as cripples are forced to seek. These were left at the villa by sufferers who- had found complete relief under her roof, and many of them bore touching inscriptions in token of gratitude and affection and as voluntary testimonials to her skill. The place looked like the shrine of some saint with its multitude of votive oiTerings. There was one steel shoe with a sole at least a foot in thickness. Knowing me to be an Ameri- can, she called my attention to the inscrip- tion on it. I found that a gentleman of New York city had left it, certifying that he had been " cured of a dislocation of the hip of seventeen years' standing, instantly and with- out pain." It is her custom to ask no fee for her services. You pay according to your means. Those who desire it, and for whom it is necessary, lodge in the house and re- ceive her constant attention. She says at once whether she will or not attempt a cure. The good woman, after much persuasion, consented to give me her autograph. My conscience smote me for urging her, when I saw the great beads of sweat starting out on her forehead as she bowed over my pocket album and wrestled with her pen. Her signature is as unhandsome as possible, and under the circumstances I don't won- der that she has never attempted to write anything else. When it was time for me to leave her I hated to go ; her atmosphere is wholesome and strengthening; her home beautiful and full of peace." The narrative in the " Daily Advertiser " concerning Regina del Cin recalls the case of Rev. Dr. Temple, of Troy, N. Y., who is undoubtedly the New York gentleman there- in referred to. His hip was dislocated by an accident in which he was thrown from a carriage. He endured excruciating agony for years, during which the best surgeons of this country and of Europe found them- selves unable to restore the displaced bone to its socket. The London surgeons sent him to Paris, and the Paris surgeons de- clared that he could not be cured ; or, if at all, only by a quack, — plainly meaning he could not be cured. Dr. Temple chanced to hear of this woman, and, despairing of aid from the regular faculty, went to see her. His account of his experience is most inter- esting. The woman made but httle exami- nation, and seemed to have an intuitive knowledge of what must be done. She di- rected him to apply a poultice over the affected part for a few days, for the purpose of softening the bone. She then, in the ten- derest and easiest manner possible, put the bone back in its place ; the cure was effected and the pain instantly ceased. Dr. Temple preached in this city and vicinity several times last year. He is a man of high culture, and of most estimable and lovely character. He had just returned from Europe and was entirely well. There was no soreness or lameness left, and but a little inequality in his step owing to the long con- straint put upon the muscles of his limbs. He states that a son of the woman, who was a priest, had the same power the mother has ; but unfortunately he died a few years ago. For many years the woman was much troubled by vexatious opposition from the regular faculty. She now, however, has a license from the Italian government direct, having been successful in treating a mem- ber of the royal family. 14 WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. THE TRAVELLER'S HYMN FOR ALL SAINTS' DAY. BY ARTHUR P. STANLEY, DEAN OF WESTMINSTER. Where is the Christian's Fatherland ? Is it the Holy Hebrew Land ? In Nazareth's vale, on Zion's steep, Or by the Galilean deep? Where pilgrim hosts have rushed to lave Their stains of sin in Jordan's wave, Or sought to win, by brand and blade. The tomb wherein their Lord was laid ? Where is the Christian's Fatherland ? Is it the haunted Grecian strand. Where Apostolic wanderers first The yoke of Jewish bondage burst ? Or where, on many a mystic page, Byzantine prelate, Coptic sage, Fondly essayed to intertwine Earth's shadows with the Light Divine ? Or is the Christian's Fatherland Where, with crowned head and croziered hand, The Ghost of Empire proudly flits, And on the grave of Cassar sits ? Oh, by those world-embracing walls, Oh, in those vast and pictured halls, Oh, underneath that soaring dome. Shall this not be the Christian's home ? Where is the Christian's Fatherland .'' He still looks on from land to land. Is it where German conscience woke When Luther's lips of thunder spoke } Or where, by Zurich's shore, was heard The calm Helvetian's earnest word .'' Or where, beside the rushing Rhone, Stern Calvin reared his unseen throne ? Or where, from Sweden's snows came forth The stainless hero of the North ? Or is there yet a closer band, — Our own, our native Fatherland ? Where Law and Freedom, side by side. In Heaven's behalf have gladly vied .? Where prayer and praise for years have rung In Shakespeare's accents, Milton's tongue. Blessing, with cadence sweet and grave. The fireside nook, the ocean wave. And, o'er the broad Atlantic hurled, Wakening to life another world. No, Christian ! no ! — not even here. By Christmas hearth or churchyard dear ; Nor yet on distant shores, brought nigh By martyr's blood or prophet's cry ; Nor Western pontiff's lordly name ; Nor Eastern patriarch's hoary fame ; Nor e'en where shone sweet Bethlehem's star : Thy Fatherland is wider far. Thy native home is wheresoe'er Christ's spirit breathes a hoHer air ; Where Christlike Faith is keen to seek What Truth or Conscience freely speak ; Where Christlike Love delights to span The rents that sever man from man ; Where round God's throne his just ones stand. There, Christian, is thy Fatherland. Cologne, Sept. 20, 1872. Of the Prince of Wales and Dr. Lyon Playfair it is told that they were once stand- ing near a caldron containing lead, which was boiling at white heat. " Has your Royal Highness any faith in science .'' " said the doctor. " Certainly," replied the prince. " Will you then place your hand in the boihng metal and ladle out a portion of it .'' " "Do you tell me to do this?" asked the prince. " I do," rephed the doctor. The prince then ladled out some of the boiling lead with his hand, without sustaining any injury. It is "a well-known scientific fact that the human hand may be placed unin- jured in lead boiling at white heat, being protected from any harm by the moisture of the skin. Should the lead be at a percep- tibly lower temperature, the effect need not be described. After this let no one under- rate the couraofe of the Prince of Wales. WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 15 DON'T KISS THE BABY. \From the Scientific American.'\ The promiscuous kissing of children is a pestilent practice. We use the word advis- edly, and it is mild for the occasion. Mur- derous would be the proper word, did the kissers know the mischief they do. Yes, madam, murderous ; and we are speaking to you. Do you remember calling on your dear friend Mrs. Brown, the other day, with a strip of flannel round your neck ? And when little Flora came dancing into the room, did you not pounce upon her demonstratively, call her a precious little pet, and kiss her ? Then you serenely proceeded to describe the dreadful sore throat that kept you from the prayer-meeting the night before. You had no designs on the dear child's life, we know ; nevertheless you killed her ! Killed her as surely as if you had fed her with strychnine or arsenic. Your caresses were fatal. Two or three days after, the little pet began to complain of sore throat too. The symp- toms began to grow rapidly alarming; and when the doctor came the simple word " diph- theria" sufficed to explain them all. To-day a little mound in Greenwood is the sole monument of your visit. Of course, the mother does not suspect, and would not dare to suspect, you of any instrumentality in her bereavement. She charges it to a mysterious Providence. The doctor says nothing to disturb the delusion ; that would be impolite, if not cruel ; but to an outsider he is free to say the child's death was due directly to your infernal stupidity. These are precisely his words ; more forcible than elegant, it is true ; but who shall say, under the circumstances, that they are not justifiable ? Remember, — " Evil is wrought by want of thought As well as by want of heart." It would be hard to tell how much of the prevalent sickness and mortality from diph- theria is due to such want of thought. As a rule, adults have the disease in so mild a form that they mistake it for a simple cold ; and as a cold is not contagious they think nothing of exposing others to their breath or to the greater dangers of labial contact. Taking into consideration the well-estab- lished fact that diphtheria is usually, if not always, communicated by the direct trans- planting of the mahgnant vegetation which causes the disease, the fact that there can be no more certain means of bringing the contagion to its favorite soil than the act of kissing children, and the further fact that the custom of kissing children on all occa- sions is all but universal, it is not surprising that, when the disease is once imported into a community, it is very likely to become epidemic. It would be absurd to charge the spread of diphtheria entirely to the practice of child- kissing. There are other modes of propa- gation, though it is hard to conceive of any more directly suited to the spread of the in- fection or more general in its operation. It stands to diphtheria in about the same rela- tion that promiscuous hand-shaking for- merly did to the itch. It were better to avoid the practice. The children will not suffer if they go unkissed ; and their friends ought for their sake to forego the luxury for a season. A single kiss has been known to infect a family ; and the most careful may be in condition to com- municate the disease without knowing it. Beware, then, of playing Judas, and let the babies alone. Mr. Alcott, who is a hard rider of the vegetarian hobby, once said to Dr. Walker, of Harvard College : — " I think that when a man lives on beef he becomes something like an ox; if he eats mutton he begins to look sheepish, and if he eats pork, may he not grow swinish ? " "That maybe," said Dr. Walker; "but when a man lives on nothing but vege- tables, I think he is apt to be pretty small potatoes."- i6 WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. AN ENGLISH RIDDLE. [From the Transcript.'] Mr. Editor, — I send you an English riddle which has attained some notoriety, and, I think, a prize. Be- lieving no one in Boston knows the answer to it, I ask you to enlist the ingenuity of your young readers for its solution, which in due time I will communicate. Boston. Come and commiserate One who was blind, Helpless and desolate, Void of a mind. Though unbelieving, Free from all sin. By mortals adored. Still I ignored The world I was in. King Ptolemy, Cesar's, And Tiglath Pileser's Birthdays were shown ; Wise men, astrologers, All are acknowledgers Mine is unknown. I ne'er had a father, Or mother ; or, rather, If I had either, of them was neither Alive at my birth. Lodged in a palace, Hunted by malice, I did not inherit — By lineage or merit — A spot on the earth. Nursed among Pagans, No one baptized me ; A sponsor I had who will ne'er catechise me. She gave me a name to her Heart that was dearest ; She gave me the place to her Bosom was nearest ; But one look of kindness She cast on me never ; Not a word on my blindness I heard from her ever. Compassed by dangers. By foemen and strangers, Nothing could harm me, Naught could alarm me. I saved, I destroyed. Yet I never enjoyed : Kept a crown for a prince. But had none of my own ; Filled the place of a king, But ne'er sat on a throne ; Reserved a warrior, Baffled a plot. Was what I seemed not. Seemed what I was not ; Destined to slaughter, A price on my head, A king's lovely daughter Watched by my bed ; Though gently she dressed me, Fainting with fear, She never caressed me, Nor wiped off a tear ; Never moistened my lips. Though parching and dry; Cared not I should live, Feared not I should die. 'T was royalty nursed me, Wretched and poor ; 'T was royalty cursed me In secret, I 'm sure. I live not, I die not, But tell you I must, That ages have passed Since I first turned to dust. This parody : whence this Squalor ? This splendor ? Say, was I a thing, or a silly Pretender ? Fathom the mystery deep In my history. Was I man ? An angel imperial ? A demon infernal ? Tell it who can ! Answer to the above Riddle. — And Michal took an image, and laid it in the bed, and put a pillow of goats' hair for his bolster, and covered it with a cloth. — i Samuel, xix. 13. WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 17 IT 'S MIGHTY IMPROVIN'. The Irish peasantry have tales of a para- bolic character, — stories which, by means of some striking action or circumstance, set forth a hearty moral. On hearing such, their usual phrase is, " Oh, it is mighty im- provin'." And that, too, is what Molly Malone, a worthy washer-woman, used to say, — and say almost invariably, — after hearing a ser- mon on Sunday. One day, however, her clergyman, who was not quite content with this generality, spoke to her respecting his discourse, and Molly suddenly became what they call in Ireland a little bothered. Nev- ertheless, she got out of her difficulty with one of those parabolic answers which are such favorites with her class, and which, while it completely evaded the question, satisfactorily replied to it. Rev. Well, Molly, you liked the sermon, you say 1 Molly. Oh, yes, your riverence, — it was mighty improvin'. Rev. And what part of it did you like best? Molly. Well, sure, sir, I liked every part. Rev. But I suppose there was some por- tion of it that you were more struck with than you were with others. Molly. In troth, please your riverence, I don't remember any part exactly, but alto- gether 't was mighty improvin'. Rev. Now, Molly, how could it be im- proving if you don't remember any part of it? Molly. Well, 3rour riverence sees that linen I 've been washing and drying on the hedge, there ? Rev. Oh, certainly. Molly. Was n't it the soap and wather made the linen clane, sir ? Rev. Of course they did. Molly. And is n't the linen all the better for it ? Rev. Oh, no doubt of that, Molly. Molly. But not a dhrop of the soap and water stays in it. Well, sir, it 's the same thing wid me. Not a word o' the sarmint stays in me, ~ I suppose it all dhries out o' me, — but I 'm the better and the claner for it, when it 's over, for all that. A PLEA FOR JANUARY. BY T. W. PARSONS. [Lines addressed to a young girl who was complain- ing that of all the snow-storms of this stormy winter, the bitterest should have fallen upon her birthday.] If this white benediction of the snow Fell not from heaven upon our frozen fields, Thy summer festival would hardly know What wealth June ripeneth or proud autumn yields. If never sorrow should come near thy heart, Nor any coldness dim the light of love, Thou couldst not know thy nature's nobler part, Or look for Hope's best harvest from above. Unbroken -sunshine and perpetual heat Make deserts only. Clouds that bring no rain Shelter no gardens ; and thine eyes, my sweet. Must know what tears are, fond eyes to remain. The story is told of a Western woman who freely used her tongue to the scandal of oth- ers, and made a confession to the priest of what she had done. He gave her a ripe this- tle-top, and told her to go about in various directions and scatter the seeds one by one. Wondering at the penance, she obeyed, then returned and told her confessor. To her amazement, he bade her go back and gather the scattered seeds ; and when she objected that it was impossible, he replied that it would be still more difficult to gather up and destroy all the evil reports which she had circulated about others. i8 WAYSIDE CLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. LAURA BRIDGMAN. \Fro7n a letter to the Christian Union.'\ Laura Bridgman, Dr. Howe's pupil, born blind, deaf, and dumb, still lives at her home near the institution for the blind at South Boston. If any one supposes that by rea- son of her deprivation she is queer or awk- ward in person or manners, he is altogether in error. There is nothing at all singular in her appearance. When I entered the parlor a member of the family with whom she lives was playing on the piano, and close beside her, on a low seat, there was a very slight, very erect, quiet, self-possessed looking girl, who seemed to be listening to the music, while her hands were busy over some crocheting or similar work. She would have been taken for a guest who was nimbly fashioning some pretty article while being entertained with music. The expression of her face was bright and interesting, and one watching her satisfied look would have been slow to believe that she did not hear. The green shade over her eyes indicated that she was one of the blind. She had on a brown dress, a blue ribbon at the neck, a gold ring and chain, and a watch or locket in her belt, — a neatly-attired, genteel, lady- like person, looking about thirty-five, though her age is really not far from forty-four, with soft, brown hair, smooth and fine, a well-shaped head, fair complexion, and hand- some features. That was Laura. Dr. Howe spoke of her as "comely and refined in form and attitude, graceful in motion and posi- tively handsome in features," and of her "expressive face," which, indeed, in sensi- bility and intelligence is above instead of below the average. As soon as the infor- mation was conveyed to her that she had a visitor from her native State, who knew peo- ple in the town where her nearest kindred live, she came swiftly across the room, leav- ing her work on the centre-table as she passed it, and grasped my hand, laughing with the eagerness of a child. Then she sat down face to face with the lady who has charge of her, and commenced an animated conversation, by the manual alphabet, easily understood by one who has practised it ; but the sleight-of-hand by which the fingers of the friendly hostess, manipulating on Laura's slender wrists, communicated with that liv- ing consciousness shut in there without one perfect sense except to taste and touch, was something' mysterious, inscrutable, to my duller sense. Yet that the communi- cation was definite, quick, incisive, so to speak, was manifest enough, for Laura's face beamed, and she was all alert. Partly by the letters and partly by signs she said a great deal to me. She "ought to be at home to be company for mother," she said; and once or twice she fashioned the word " mamma " very distinctly with her lips. With regard to this vocal expression, Dr. Howe says: "she has attained such facility for talking in the manual alphabet that I regret that I did not try also to teach her to speak by vocal organs or regular speech." She asked if I knew a member of her family, now dead, and said, " That was a long year after Carl died." She seemed brimming over with things to tell me, and wanted me to know about her teaching some of the blind girls to sew, which is part of her daily em- ployment in the school near by, and which she takes great pride in, threading the nee- dles and making her pupils pick out their work if it is not done nicely. She is a good seamstress herself, does fancy work, and can run a sewing machine. Next, she caught hold of my hand and led me up two flights of stairs to her room to show me her things, but the first movement was to take me to the window, where she patted on the glass and signified that I should see what a pleas- ant prospect there was from it. And there she, who had never seen or heard, waited by my side in great content while I looked and listened. The sky was blue, with white clouds floating over it, and birds were sing- ing. It was a perfect April day, but she could get no consciousness of it except in the softness of the air. Yet her face was radiant, and she stood there as though she WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 19 both saw and heard. I wish I could bring before all those who are discontented with their lot, repining because God has withheld something from them or taken something away, the cheerful face of this girl who has so httle, but who accepted it as if she had all ; who has never seen a human counte- nance or heard a human voice ; who in the infinite glory and beauty of this outward world has no part, shut in by herself in that silent, dark, unchanging, awful loneUness. Finally she took out a sheet of paper, pressed it down on her French writing-board, exam- ined the point of her pencil, and wrote her autograph : " God is love and truth. L. N. Bridgman." And then from her needle-case and spool-box she produced a cambric nee- dle and fine cotton, and showed me how she threaded a needle, which was done by hold- ing the eye against the tip of her tongue, the exquisite nicety of touch in her tongue guiding her to pass the thread through. It was done in an instant, though it seemed impossible to do it at all, and then she pre- sented me the threaded needle triumphantly, having secured it by slipping a knot. " What 's that ? " the startled master cries ; " That, thir," a little imp rephes, '* Wath William Willith, if you pleathe, — I saw him kith Thuthannah Peathe ! " With frown to make a statue thrill, The master thundered, "Hither, Will !" Like wretch o'ertaken in his track, With stolen chattels on his back. Will hung his head for fear and shame. And to that awful presence came, — A great, green, bashful simpleton. The butt of all good-natured fun. With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, The threat'ner faltered, — " I 'm amazed That you, my biggest pupil, should Be guilty of an act so rude ! Before the whole set school to boot — What evil genius put you to 't ? " " 'T was she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad, " I did n't mean to be so bad; But when Susannah shook her curls. And whispered I was 'fraid of girls, And dars n't kiss a baby's doll, I could n't stand it, sir, at all. But up and kissed her on the spot ! I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not, But, somehow, from her looks — boo-hoo — I thought she kind o' wished me to ! " THE KISS IN SCHOOL. [The following incident in a district school, described by William Pitt Palmer, of New York, in an address before " The Literary Society," in Stockbridge, Massa- chusetts, his native home, will take many, whose heads are now streaked with silver hairs, a journey back to boy- hood and early life.] A District School not far away, 'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, Was humming with its wonted noise Of threescore mingled girls and boys, — Some few upon their tasks intent. But more on future mischief bent ; The while the master's downward look Was fastened on a copy-book ; When suddenly behind his back Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack ! As 't were a battery of bliss Let off in one tremendous kiss ! President Kirkland of Harvard. — President Kirkland was personally a great favorite with his students, and was a man of a good deal of dry wit. The famous old tavern on Harvard Square, now the horse-car office, was in his day a great resort of stu- dents, whose favorite beverage was " flip," a palatable drink, made more grateful by being stirred with a red-hot poker. Once Kirkland repaired to this tavern and sol- emnly called for a mug of the beverage, which he drank in silence. Setting down the mug, he remarked to the pubUcan, " I understand the students come here a good deal to drink flip." "Yes, sir," was the frank reply. "Well," said Kirkland, "I should think they would," and walked away. — Harper's Magazine. 20 WAYSIDE CLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. CAMBRIDGE IN 1826. COLLEGE PRAYERS AND COMMONS. — CLASS UNIFORMS. — SUNDAY EXERCISES. — OLD- TIME DISSIPATIONS. \Extracts from Private Letter si\ Cambridge, Sept. 14, 1826. Dear Brother, — I shall now endeavor to give some account of the College. The morning bell rings quarter before six. At six we have prayers. All students who do not attend must, after they miss a certain number of times, give an excuse. A short introductory prayer is made by one of the officers, then a chapter of the Bible is read, and after another prayer of five minutes the students are dismissed. Some then go to a recitation of the lesson they have learnt the previous evening. Some return to their rooms till the breakfast-bell, about seven or after. At eight the study bell rings. All must then go in their rooms and continue there, even if they have no lessons to learn, unless they attend a recitation which occu- pies an hour. At one, bell for dinner ; at two, study bell ; at five or after, bell for prayers, and (as the commons hall is under the chapel) take tea as we return from prayers ; at eight in the evening study bell. All students out are liable to punishment unless there be a good excuse. Mr. Lunt called me to account for being out as late as nine o'clock on a visit. We have three reci- tations a day, occupying an hour each. At breakfast we have warm bread and coffee. The table is painted, but has no cloth. We have, of course, plates to lay our bread on. The coffee is not very good, nor the butter. At dinner there is a cloth laid clean every day, two plates, one on another, and a dish of meat. A particular dish and a particular pudding each day. On Saturday, codfish and potatoes prepared in a pan, then rice and molasses for a dessert. When we have cleared the dish of meat we can have no more ; but everything else, as bread, butter, and potatoes (unpeeled), we have in abun- dance. Butter is on the table at all times, though in small quantities. The servant is often sent from our table for more. Eight or ten sit at each table on benches. There are ten tables in each hall, with one servant to wait on them. Each table has at its extreme two coffee or tea pots, one milk pot, and one sugar basin. There is one advantage, — the students can help themselves to as much as they please of anything. Cider and water are placed on the table with a glass for each student. Potatoes are almost the only vege- table sauce we have, except when we have beef and cabbage. I have twice tasted squashes, the best I have ever eaten. On some days we have what is called roast pig, tasting pretty well ; on some days beefsteak. We have no meat except at dinner ; at tea, bread and butter. We have the same fare day after day, which makes one a little tired of it. Our puddings are very good, — bread- puddings, plum-puddings, Indian-puddings, — I mean the Yankee Indian-pudding of mo- lasses. The tea, though not unpleasant, has no flavor. Sometimes at tea we have brown bread, made of Indian, and not unlike in color or taste that made of pumpkins. Thus you see anything in the shape of cake is never here. Nor do I regret it ; perhaps I should hardly have thought of it were I not writing to you. It is my wish to state all sim- ply as it is. At meals, if the tutor gets in be- fore they commence eating, he asks a bless- ing : they generally anticipate him, except at tea. Even then they strive to vex him by pouring out their tea, making some noise with the teapot, or turning over as if by accident a bench, while standing, for they rise when he asks the blessing. Few of the officers live in commons. These the students torment while eating, by scolding the servant, setting up a loud laugh, and making every noise they can while eating. One can hardly be heard across the table, speaking in his ordinary tone. The one in our hall, who has a very unpleasant countenance, and is apt to report students for ill-behavior, is called "Bruin," signifying in English ' a bear." The most IVAYSWE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 21 unpleasant circumstance attending the living in commons is that every one first helps himself, and has no concern for another. Thus, those who come late having little left them of what is considered good must take such as they can get. They eat very fast and generally finish in five or eight mmutes. I broke off a tooth by hastily biting on a crust of hot bread. The College halls, four in number, are built of brick, four stories high, without any taste. They have large rooms, and can accommo- date 300 or more students. A great many board out. University Hall, of white gran- ite, looks pretty well. It has the commons kitchen on the basement floor. Commons Hall is on the second floor, and the chapel 1 on the third floor, or second story. On the next floor above are recitation rooms. The chapel has an organ under the care of the students, and a gallery for the professors' famines. The buildings are nearly all withm a stone's throw of the chapel. The profess- ors have beautiful residences at some distance from the College. Some of the tutors live in the College halls with the students, to pre- serve order and watch over their conduct. The students, though a little mischievous at times, are much more like men than those in New York. It is a maxim that a lie for the benefit of the class is correct, — that is, if it will conceal one from punishment. The students are generally unpopular among the villagers. Every student is obliged to wear a untform dress as soon after he enters Col- lege as possible. This serves to make them known wherever they go, and stops extrava- gance. Mine cost only $27. The fashion of the coat is singular, and strikes the ob- server at once. Your class is designated by the number of sprigs stitched on the cuff and collar. The caps, too, are the ugliest you ever saw. Imagine a dark mixed-cloth cap fitted to the head, and on the top of this a shingle attached one foot square, and covered with'' the same kind of cloth. The coat is single-breasted, with a straight collar. We have services on Sunday twice a day. In the morning the President preaches a prac- tical sermon. He reads his discourses, and has httle animation. Dr. Ware gives a course of lectures in the afternoon on Natural Re- ligion, &c. There is a gymnasium where the students exercise themselves, walking on a springy pole or a rope, chmbing a rope, swinging, and various feats of activity, some- what like those at the circus. This serves to amuse them at recreation hours, when, otherwise, they might be lounging in bar- rooms, pilfering orchards, or vexing the vil- lagers. They have a uniform company and a fire engine. Our studies are much more laborious than at New York. I am now studying Juvenal in Latin, Hedge's Logic, and Farrar's Me- chanics ; also French. Chemistry is studied pretty extensively. Professor Webster has just published his book, and we attend his lectures in Holden Chapel. The hbrary is a si-ht. It has 30,000 volumes, arranged in alco'ves. Here I pass a part of Wednesday and Saturday in looking over the huge fohos. On Commencement Day a bar is placed across the alcoves to prevent promenaders from disturbing the books. The names of the donors are written in every book. The names of Hollis and Hancock are painted in crilt letters on a board over the books they have respectively given. There are several full-length portraits in the library of its bene- factors ; four of them are each ten feet long. There are, besides, many busts of illustrious men, as Adams, Washington, Hamilton, Wel- lington, &c. Here are manuscripts, orna- mented with great care, and a book printed in 1480. The library building is so old that the marble steps are worn down consider- ably. The village is two thirds the size of Jamaica. There is a good deal of travelling through it from Boston into the country, over Cam- bridge bridge. It has an Episcopal and a Congregational church, and three or four stores. A barber, tailor, seamstress, &c., are supported by the students. They have built a theological college here of brick, a very neat building. It is independent of the Collec-e. Our rooms are swept by homely 22 WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. old women called "goodies," who also do the chamber-work every morning. Many students have servants to go on errands, clean shoes, and fetch water, for the cham- ber-maids do not put water in the pitchers. The professors sometimes come around the rooms to see that all is well. I have a room to myself, — No. 6, Stoughton, on the sec- ond floor, neatly papered, — for which I pay $24 a year. I bought an open stove for $6, a bedstead, a maple table, a looking-glass, a yellow wash-stand, and two chairs, — cost of all $18. Some of the richer students have splendid furniture, sofas, large mirrors, sec- retaries, rich carpets, &c. Your affectionate brother, Henry Onderdonk, Jr. Cambridge, Oct. 22, 1S26. Dear Brother, — On Tuesday last there was an exhibition in the College, consisting of orations, dialogues, &c., in English, Latin, and Greek. The exercises were performed in the chapel, and attended by many ladies. It is a day of general festivity among the students and officers of the College. The speakers generally keep a free table, that is, give an entertainment to their classmates. As most of the speakers were from our class, I had several invitations. In those rooms that I visited the tables groaned under the refreshments and bottles of wine, brandy, and punch. Many felt the effects of their rev- elry. At dinner, they did little else than roar and sing obstreperously. The dinner- hall was a scene of confusion, noise, and good humor. It is the only day when the dishes are not emptied. The wine and cake (the last of which was "of the best kind) had completely taken away their appetite. The afternoon was spent in riotous conduct. There is always a tutor in each entry of the students' rooms, who lives there to preserve order; but this day they were at a dinner given by the government of the College, otherwise better behavior would have been observed. Tiiese excesses seldom happen. Not more than two students are allowed to stand together in the College yard to talk. I have been up about an hour. I have a black fellow who makes my fire about five o'clock. I then get up and look over my les- son so as to recite it, which is done as soon as one can see to read. We attend prayers as soon as the President can see to read in a very large print Bible. It is no uncommon thing to see students fall asleep; the seats, being not unlike the pews of a church, are well calculated for it. On September 26, we had finished Hedge's Logic, and were ex- amined in it in presence of a committee. We next took up Paley's Moral Philosophy, recit- ing ten pages (as near verbatim as possible) at a le.<5son. Our compositions we hand in to Professor Channing at his study in the rear of his residence, and he makes the merit mark on the margin. Half past six A. M. Now the bell is ring- ing for prayers, and I must go. What a scampering there will be among tardy ones ! Your affectionate brother, Henry Onderdonk, Jr. How the Professor Proposed. — The difficulty of proposing to the young lady is not always the most serious one the suitor has to encounter. Popping the question to one's prospective mother-in-law or "asking papa" is frequently the more arduous under- taking of the two. When Professor Aytoun was wooing Miss Wilson, daughter of Pro- fessor Wilson, the famous " Christopher North," he obtained the lady's consent con- ditionally upon that of her father's being secured. This Aytoun was much too shy to ask, and he prevailed upon the young lady herself to conduct the necessary negotiations. " We must deal gently with his feelings," said glorious old Christopher. " I '11 write my reply on a slip of paper, and pin it to the back of your frock." "Papa's answer is on the back of my dress," said Miss Jane, as she entered the drawing-room. Turning her round the delighted Professor read these words : " With the author's compli- ments." WAVSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 23 THE BRAVE AT HOME. BY T. BUCHANAN READ. The maid who binds her warrior's sash, With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though heaven alone records the tear, And Fame shall never know her story. Her heart has shed a drop as dear As ever dewed the field of glory. The wife who girds her husband's sword, 'Mid little ones who weep or wonder. And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder — Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of war around him rattle. Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured ujaon the plain of battle ! The mother who conceals her grief. While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God, To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor ! Rome, July, 1S61. FISHING. [Frovi the Galaxy-I the "Harry, where have you been all morning, — Down at the joool in the meadow-brook Fishing ? " " Yes, but the trout were wary. Could n't induce them to take a hook." " Why, look at your coat ! You must have fallen ; Your back 's all covered with leaves and moss " How he laughs, good-natured fellow ! Bad luck fishinjr makes most men cross. " Nelly, the Wrights have called ; where were you ? " " Under the trees by the meadow-brook, Reading, you know, and it was too lovely : I never saw such a charming book." The charming book has pleased her greatly ; There 's a happy light in her sweet blue eyes, And she hugs the cat in most fervid fashion, To staid old Tabby's intense surprise. Reading? Well, yes, but not from a novel. Fishing? Truly, but not with a rod. The hne is idle, the book neglected, The water-grasses whisper and nod. The sportsman bold and the earnest student Talk softly of — what ? Perhaps the weather. Perhaps — no matter ; whatever the subject, It certainly brings them close together ; It causes their words to be softly spoken, With many a lingering pause between, The while the shadows chase the sunbeams Over the mosses gray and green. Blushes are needful to its discussion, And soft sly glances from downcast eyes, In whose blue depths are lying hidden Loving gladness and sweet surprise. Trinity Chapel is gay this evening, Bright with beauty, and flowers, and light ; A full-dressed fisherman stands at the chancel. With Nelly beside him all in white. The ring is on, the vows are spoken, And smiling friends, good fortune wishing, Tell him his is the fairest prize Ever brought from a morninfr's fishing. At a hotel, a short time since, a girl in- quired of a gentleman at tlie table if his cup was out. "No," said he, "but my coftee is." The poor girl went away considerably confused, but determined to pay him back in his own coin. While at dinner, the stage drove up, and several coming in, the gentle- man asked, "Does the stage dine here?" " No, sir," replied the girl in a sarcastic tone, "but the passengers do." 24 WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. DARWINISM IN THE KITCHEN. [Froin. Judy.'] I WAS takin' oft my bonnet One arternoon, at three, When a hinseck jumped upon it, As proved to be a flee. Then I takes it to the grate, Between the bars to stick it ; But I had n't long to wait Ere it changed into a cricket. Says I, " Sure/zV my senses Is a-gettin' in a fog! " So to drownd it I commences, When it halters to a frog. Here my heart began to thump. And no wonder I felt funky ; For the frog, with one big jump, Leaped hisself into a monkey. Then I opened wide my eyes, His features for to scan, And observed, with great surprise, That that monkey was a man. But he vanished from my sight, And I sunk upon the floor. Just as missus, with a light. Come inside the kitching door. Then beginning to abuse me, She says, "Sarah, you 'vebeendrinkin'!' I says, " No, mum, you '11 excuse me, But I 've merely been a thinkin'. "But as sure as I 'm a cinder. That party, what you see A-gettin' out o' winder. Have developed from a flee ! " A SCHOOL GIRL has formed out of the word '' Charlestown " 523 words in the English lan- guage, using one letter but once in each word. THE DUCHESS'S WATCH. When Victoria was about thirty years younger than she is now, she was inclined to be very exact in the way of business, and, more especially, in the way of promptness to appointed times and places. Seven years a queen, four years a wife, and three years a mother, she felt probably a more weighty dignity resting upon her than she has felt since. And yet no crust of dignity or royal station could ever entirely shut out her in- nate goodness of heart. Many Americans remember well the duch- ess of Sutherland, whose hospitable doors were always open to the worthy ; and from one who enjoyed her friendship, I lieard the following anecdote, told by the duchess her- self. At the time of which we speak, the duchess of Sutherland held the office of mistress of the robes to the British queen, and on public occasions her position was very near to the royal person, and deemed of great impor- tance. A day, and an hour, had been ap- pointed for a certain public ceremony in which the queen was to take part. The hour had arrived, and of all the court the duchess alone was absent, and her absence retard- ed the departure. The queen gave vent more than once to her impatience, and at length, just as she was about to enter her carriage without her first lady of honor, the duchess, in breathless haste, made her ap- pearance, stammering some faint words of excuse. " My dear duchess," said the queen, smil- ing, " I think you must have a bad watch ; " and as she thus spoke she unloosed from her neck the chain of a magnificent watch which she herself wore, and passed it around the neck of Lady Sutherland. Though given as a present, the lesson conveyed with it made a deep and lively impression. The proud duchess changed color, and a tear which she could not repress fell upon her cheek. On the next day she tendered her resignation, but it was not accepted. WAYSIDE GLEANINGS FOR LEISURE MOMENTS. 25 LONGFELLOW'S RESIDENCE, CAMBRIDGE. BY CHARLES F. RICHARDSON. Few private houses in the United States are so well known as the residence of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, so often has it been described by affectionate antiquarians and enthusiastic pilgrims. It is not only the home of our most celebrated poet, it also surpasses in historic interest any building in New England, with the sole exception of Faneuil Hall. Its age, as compared with that of other Cambridge houses, is not great. It was buih in 1759, by Colonel John Vassall, a firm loyalist, who fled to England, in 1775, his property in Cambridge and Boston hav- ing been confiscated. Its next occupant was Colonel John Glover, a bold little Marble- head soldier, who quartered some of his troops in the spacious structure. When Washington rode into Cambridge, on Sun- day, June 2, 1775, he was greatly pleased with the appearance of the house, and hav- ing had it cleaned, he estabhshed himself therein during the same month. Martha Washington arrived at the house in Decem- ber, and Washington remained in it till April of the following year. The southeast room on the first floor Washington took for his study, in which the councils of war were all held during the stay of the commander-in- chief in Cambridge. He slept just overhead, always retiring at nine o'clock. The spa- cious room behind the study, which Mr. Longfellow now uses for his library, was occupied by Washington's military family, as a rule a pretty large one. A general's " military family," in English parlance com- prised his whole staff. Washington was not averse to a certain amount of official splen- dor, and was luckily rich enough to carry out his whim in the matter of making his assistants a part of his ordinary household. Trumbull, the artist, complained rather sar- castically that he, for one, could not keep his head up in the magnificent society of the house. " I now found myself," he averred, "in the family of one of the most distin- guished men of the age, surrounded at his table by the principal officers of the army, and in constant intercourse with them. It was further my duty to receive company and do the honors of the house to many of the first people of the country." But Washing- ton was thrifty and frugal personally; and his generous maintenance at his own cost of a sort of court was of great service to the colonial cause. The owners of the house after the Revolu- tion were Nathaniel Tracy (whom Washing- ton visited for an hour in 1789)5 Thomas Russell, and Dr. Andrew Craigie. Talley- rand and Lafayette slept in it, and in 1833 Jared Sparks commenced to keep house with- in its historic rooms. Everett, and Worcester the lexicographer, also occupied it for a time, and Mr. Longfellow took up his abode in it in 1837. At first he merely rented a room, establishing himself in Washington's south- east bed-chamber. Here he wrote "Hype- rion" and "Voices of the Night." In the dwelling, in one room and another, almost all his books, save the two which date from his Bowdoin professorship, have been pro- duced. Longfellow had not long been an occupant of the house before he bought it. Its timbers are perfectly sound. The lawn in front is neatly kept ; and across the street there stretches a green meadow as far as the banks of the Charles, bought by the poet to preserve his view. Mr. Longfellow himself, as he draws near seventy, is a fine picture of beautiful manhood. It has been remarked by his friends that his health has much improved since he delivered his poem, "Morituri Salutamus," at the fiftieth anni- versary of his graduation. And all Cam- bridge, down to coal-heavers and hod-carriers, reveres him for his benignity, and reveres him, not only as a poet, but as a kind and