f . . - , . " ' r im: "' ' ' " ' " ' " " ' ' ' '
H ftgMOTl TO ML TM fill OF MI CMOWJil, HTMATORl 1WS. BDUCATION. MM. Ti EMBKBTS, Eft "
l'lfr-; ' "ff. ; ItAI.KI NOUTH t.UUOLINA'. SATt III'AY. FKl'.KI VUY 7, KO, 10. , :
TO BE BEAD AT DUSK.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
tvo,' three,? ftjur, five. There were five of
i-i'ive .cpuriers, sitting oh a bench outside the con-'
' vent on-tJie summit of the Great St. Bernard in
. Switzerland, looking at the remote heights, stain
i a by the setting sun," as if a mighty quantity
.'-6T red w ine had been broached upon the moun-
: tarn tojyand had not yet had time to sink into the
it tnovv. j- , ; ' . . r "' .
I r-rThisiis not my simile. It as 'ade for the oc
Mttvsioii by the stoutest courier, vho , was "a German.
-5 one df the others toojc any more -notice of it than
Itlity "took of'me, sitting on anotber bench on the
t I "other "side of the convent door, sinpking my cigar
I dike them, .arid also like them-r4ook1?ig at the
jl'tIeuted-' snow,- and' at the lonely shed hardjby,
h'ereJtJije- bodies .of belated " travelers, dug. out of
Jf it; slowly wither away, knowing 'no .corruption in
thtit cylil region." -; - '
I ,:. The wine , upon the mountain top soaked in as
we looked ; the : mountain' became white 5 the sky
-vei;yjd;u-k blue ; tbe wind rose, ad.the air turned
1 piercing old. The five, couriers buttoned their
I TOtfgh coats. 1 Them being noafer man to imitate
' 'I in all such proceedings than a courier, I buttoned
i mine. : ". .. ....' i' "...' -. .''
. fL-y: Th.fj; mountain ijT the' sunset had stopped the five.
: couriers in a fconversation. It . is a sublime sight,
v.lik'i-ly ,to stop conversation. The mountain being
.. : now. tmt of the sunset, -they-resumed.' -Not thatJL
! ;) f;hI,-;hear4 any part of their previous discourse ; for,"
I Indeed, I had not then broken away from the Arheri
I can gentleman, in;the travel lers'parl or of the con
: '.vent, who, sitting with his face to the fire, had u'u
; J dei takcji ip realize to me the" whole progress of
I evetits jhich' had led t the accumulation by
' Julie"- I&n6jabl'cAnahias -'Dodger of one of "the
I larst acquisitions of dollars1 ever made in our
' 'country. '- '.
I : " My God!" said the Swiss courier, speaking in
I French, which I do not hold (as some authors ap
( I pear to do) to be such an albsufficierit- excuse for
f a naughty word, that I have only to write it in that
language Jto make it innocent ; "if you talk of
41 Of what then ?' asked the Swiss. "
". If I knew of what then." said the German, "I
' - should" probably know a great deal more."
. ;; It was a gbod; answer, I thought, and .it made
irafi curious. Sj I moved my. ' position.' to that
- I corner oLiny bench which was nearest -to them,
I and leaning my back against the, convent-wall, heard
perfect 1 without appearing to attend.
I ';- " Thunder arid lightning L" said tbe German,
I (warming, " ylrvn a certain man is coming to see
I ;you, unexpectedly ; and without Lis own know
J ' ledge, send sdme. invisible messenger, to put the
iidea bC himj'n your hehd all da,' what do you, call
that YTien you .walk aloncj a crowded street
,.vat Frankfort, Milan London, l4aris--and think that
vl,-'a .passing sranger-is like your friend Heinrich, and
x 'then 'that another passing stranger isl&e your friend
Heiiirich, and so begin to have, a, strange forekhow-
I ...leeiirej iuul inoseiuiv you 11 meet yyur.irw.-uu ih-ju
rich winch you .do, though .you believed him at
Trieste what do' you call that rf , .
" It's not uncommon either," murmured the Swiss
and the other three.-
' L ncommon said the German. " It s as com
mon as cherries iri. the Black Forest. ' It's as co
. moil as maccaroni at Naples. And Naples reminds
me AYTten the old March esa Senzanima shrieks'
at a card party on the Chiaia as I heard and saw
her, foe it happened w a Bavarian family of mihe,'
'..IT... if 1 .1 ' ,1 ,V T
jiiiu a y us ovei looKing t iTie service mat evening 1
" say, when' the1 old' Marchesa- startsUp at the card-
i ; 'table, white through her ipouge, and cries, ' My
I ;-" sister;in Spain." and when that sister is dead ;at
I';- the moment what do you call that ?'' .
I . : ; " Or vft hen the blood of San Gennaro . liquefies
I at the-request of the clersjv as ail . the ! world
1 -knows, that it does regularly once'ia year, in my
native Htv said the Neapolitan courier," after
f a-pausewth-'aijorriieajlook, 1',what do you call
, that f - j .. .-; l
That!" cried-the German,
kfiow a name for that;"
f Miracle-!'' '' said the Neapolitan, with the same J
" Tlie German merely smoked and' laughed ; and
I ' they all snwked and laughed. '" :'' : ;'
I I : " lfab I " said'the German, presently, " I speak
of tlmjgs that really do happen. TVTieu I want to
. . the conjurer, I pay to see a professed one, and
' ) ; have my moriey's'.worth. Very strange things do
I .'liappen: without ghosts. Ghosts ! Giovanni Bap
: tistiu' tell ;ydur story of tlie English bride; There's
1 .noghWt-tinl tliat, out something full as. strange.r
' "Will any man" tell, me what 2"
I -' .-.'; As there!'w:vs , a silence among .mem, I glanced'
I around. He whom I took to be, Baptista, was
1 Vligh ting a fresh ejgar. ue presently went on to
' 51-7 ' "UeV was- a Genoese, as I judged?" .
" The; story of the , English bride," said ha
f.-.y"Basta! one ought not to call so slight a tiling a
stpry. V ell, it s'.all one. But it's true. 'That which
glitters is not alwavs,o-0ld
but what I am going
to ten is tru
tea tins more-fli-m nnro
' '. j'.eap a", I t.'x.k my creilentials to an Eng
lish gentleman, at Long's -Hotel, in . Bond street,1
L6hdon, who was about to4rayel it might be for
.rieyear, it might be for imr He' approved "of
them ; iiKcwise ot me. Ue was pleased to make;
J . inquiry. The testimony that he. received was favcr'
'ratle. He engaged me by the six months, and my.
. entertainment was geuerousj t . . ,
v leas youn, handsome, very happy, "lie was
1 OMmoredlof a voting English lady, with a sufficient:
$ . fortune and theV' were going to be-married. : It
f ws' thewedding; trip, in short, that we were goinfT
I rtotake. ' djor three months' rest in the hot weather
(ij was early summer then) he had hired an- old
. palace or! the Riviera, at an easy distance from my
- fity, Genoa, on the roal to NiceJ- v Did I know
I that palace ? Yes;: I told him I. knew it well. It
was an old palace, with great gardens. It was a
little; bare, and it was a (little dark and gloomy,
lx-ing clost-ly surrounded by trees ; ' but it 'was spa-
.aucieni, graua, ana ou uie auoic. .
I said it had been so describexl to him exactly, and he
was well1 pleased that I knew it. For its being a
little bare of furniture, all such places were.
For its being a little gloomy, he (had hired it
principally for the gardens, and he and my" mis
tress would,, i ; their ;
shade.-.- ...:;:-zs-r;z '""--v'- r--- -r
" So all' goes well, Baptista ?" said he.
." Indubitably, signor ; very well."
We ljada traveling chariot for our journey, new
ly; huiltdbr us, and in all respects complete. All
we had was. complete ; we wanted for nothino-. '
The marriage took "place. They , were happy,
was happy, seeing all so bright, being so well situ
ated, going to my own city,- teaching my language
in tne rumble to tne raaiu, la ibella Carolina, whose
heart was gay with laughter : who was young and
rosy. " ' "
I The time flew. But I observed listen'to this,
1 1 pray !j r(and here the qourier dropped his voice)
1- observed my mistress sometimes brooding jin a
manner very strange ; in a frjhgned. manner '; in
an unhappy manner ; with a cloudy, uncertain alarm
upon her, I think that I began to notice this when -
1 was walking" up hills by the carriage side, and
master had gone on in front. At any rate, I . re
member that it impressed itself upon my mind one
evening in the south of France, wjjeri she called to
me to call master back ; and when he came back,
and walked for a long way, talking encouragingly
and anectionately to her, with lus hand upon the
open window, .and hers in it. Now and then he
laughed" in a.' merry way, as if he' were bantering
her out pf something, v By-and-by4 . she laughed,
and then all werft well again. "
It was curious, I asked la . bella Carolina, the
pretty . little one.. "Was mistress unwel' No.
Out . of spirits ! No. Fearful of bad t roads, or
brigands ? No,'. And vvh at made it more mys
terious was, the pretty little one would not
look at me in giving answer but would look at the
view. .' '
But, one day she told me the secret,
f " If you must know," said Carolina, " I find,
from what I have overheard, that mistress is
haunted." ' v
" How haunted ?"
"By a'dream," t .
" What dream V :
! : " By a dream of a face. For three nights before
her marriage, she saw a face in a dreani-Halwaya
the same face, and only one." ,."
" A terrible face?" . , '
man, an Dlack, with wack hair and a grey mus
tache a handsojiie'iiian, .except for a reserved
'.and secret air. No jai.fape she ever saw, or at
all like a face she ever . saw. Doing nothing in
the dream but looking at her fixedly, out of dark
" Does the dream come back ?"
"Never. The recollectiom of it, is all her trou
ble." '- . .. '
" And why does it trouble her V .
Carolina shopkdier head; j
" That's master's, question " said la bella. . " Slie
don't knowr She wonders why, herself.. But I
heard her tell him, only last mgut, that she was to t
find a picture of that face in our Italian house (which
she-, is afraid she will,) she did not know how she
could ever bear it." '
! Upon my word I was fearful 'after this (said the
Genoese courier,) of our coming to the old palazzo, f
lest some such ill-stared picture should happen to
be there. I knew there were many there; and, as
we got nearer and nearer to the place, I wished the
whole gallery in the crater of Vesuvius. , To mend
the matter itwas a, stormy dismal evening when
we, at last, a'pproacbed that part of the Riviera. It
tluindered, and the thunder of my city and its en
virons, rolling, among, the high hills, is very loud.
The lizards ran in . and out of the chinks in the
broken ston-e wall of the garden, as if they were
frightened ;. the frogs bubbled .and croaked 'their
loudest ; tbi sea-wink "moaned, and tb,e wet tress
dripped ; and the lightning body of Saa Lorenzo,
how it lightened ! "
'We all know what an old palazzo -in or near Ge
noa is how time and the sea air have blotted it
how. the drapery painted on ''the outer walls has
peeled off" in great rlakes of plaster how the lower
windows Tare darkened with rusty bars of iron
how the court-yard is over grown with grass
how the outer buildings: are dilapidated how the
whole pile seems "devoted to ruin.: Our palazzo was
one of the true kind. . It", had been shut up close
for months. Months ! years ! ; It had an, earthly
smell, like a tomb. The scent of ,the orange-trees,
on the broad back terrace, and of the lemon's ripen
ing on the wall, and of shrubs around a broken
fountain, had got into the house somehow, and had
never' been able to get out again. There it was, in
every room, an aged sfnell, grown' faint with con
finement. It pined in all the cupbbards.and draw-pi-fe.
Tf von turned a rieture to come back to
the pictures there it still was, cbnging to the wall
behind the frame, like a sort of hat.
The lattice-blinds were close shut, all over the
house. There were two ugly, gray old women in
the house, to' take care of it ; one of them with a
spindle, who stood winding and mumbling in the
doorway, and who would as soon have let in the
devil as the air..
Master, mistress, la bella Carolina and I, went
all through the palazzo. I went first, though h
I have named, myself last, opening the windows and
the laftice-bhnds, and shaking ,down on mys,eii
splashes r of rain, and scraps of mortar, ard now
khd then a dozing musqui to, or a monstrous, fat,
blotchy, Genoese spider.
When I had let the evening light into a room,
master, , mistress, and la bella Carolina entered.;
Then we looked round sX all the pictures, a.nd L
went forward again into another room. Mistressj
secretly had great fear of meeting with the like
ness of that face we all had ; but;there was no
such thing! :,The Madonna arid. Bambino, San
Sebastino, Venus, Santa Caterina, Angels, Bri
gands. Friarsi Temples at-Sunset, " Battles, White
Horses, Forests, Apostles, Doges, all my old ac
quaintances' many times, repeated, yes. Dark,
handsome man in' black, reserved and secret, with
black hair and grey mustache, looking fixedly at
mistress out of darkness I no.f
At last we got through all the rooms and all the
pictures, and came fout into the gardens. They
were pretty well kept, being rented by a gardener,
and were large and shady. , In One place, there
was a rustic theatre, open to the sky ; the stage
a green slope : the coulisses, three entrances upon
a side, sweet-smelling leafy screens. Mistress mov-
ed her bright eyes, evefl there, -es if she looked
to see the face come in upon the scene t but all
was well. .- . - - ".." -JL"-?,
" NoVi Clara," master said, in a low yoice 4yo'a
see that it ispothing jUXo.-ire- hppylf
Al is tress J wai"; m uch"encb urage Sho sooir
customed herself to that grim palazzo, and wooM
sing, and play the harp, and copy the old picture
and stroll with master under the green trees and
vines, all day." ' She was beautiful. He was hapV
py. He would laugh and say to me, motinl
ing his horse ' for his morning , ride,' before the
heat , y. . " i
;" All goes well, Baptista !"
4 " Yes, signore, thank Gbd ; very well !" '
We kept no company. I took la'belta to the
Duoma and Annunciata, to the Cafe, to the Op4
ra, to the village Festa, to the Public Garden, tp
the Day Theatre, to the Marionetti. The pretfy
Ikjle one was charmed with all she saw. -She;
learnt . Italian heavens ! miraculously ! Ws
mistress quite forgetful of that dream ? I asked
Carolina sometimes. Nearly, said la bella almost.
it was wearing out. , . r
1 One day master received a letter, and callea
: " Signore." . . ,'
I " ii gentleman who is presented to me will dine
here to-day. He is called the Signor Dellombra
Let me dine like a Prince."
j It was an old name. I did not know that name.
But, there had been many noblemen and gentle
men pursued by Austria on political suspicions,
lately, and some names had changed. Perha)s
this was one. ; Altro ! Dellombra was as good a
name to me as another.
i When the Signor Dellombra came to dinner
(said the Genoese courier in the low voice, into
which he had subsided pnee before,) I showed him
into. the. reception-room, the great sala of the old
I palazzo.: Master received him with cordiality, and
presented him to mistress. As she rose, her lace
changed, she gave a cry, and fell upon the marble
floor. ' i
1 Then, I turned my head to the Signor Dellonv
bra, and saw that he was dressed in black, an
had a reserved and secret air, and was a dark re
markable-looking man, with black hair and a gray
mustache. . - " j
Master raised mistress in his arms, and carried
her to her own room, where I sent, la bella Cnrn-1
' . . . . . -i .i i ....
nearly terrified to death, and that
li&I SlUl'jL about her dream, all
Master was vexed and anxious almost angry,
and vet full of solicitude. ' The Signor Dellombra
was a tourtly gentleman, and spoke with great res
pect and sympathy of mistress's being so ill.
The African wind had been blowing for some
days (they had told , him. at his hotel of "the
Maltese Cross,) and he knew that it was often
hurtful. -He hoped, the beautiful lady would
recover soon. He begged permission to retire,
and to renew his visit when he should have the
happiness of hearing that she I was ' better.
Master would not allow of this, and they dined
alone. ' . . .
He withdrew early. Next .day he called at the
gatej on horseback, to enquire for mistress. ' He
did so two or three times in that week!.
;. What I observed myself, and what) la bella Ca
rolina told me, united to explain to trie that mas
ter had now set his, mind on curing mistress of her
fanciful terror. He was all kindness, but he was
sensible and firm. - He reasoned with her, that to
encourage such fancies was to invite melancholy,
if not madness. That it rested with herself to be
herself. That if she once resisted her strange
weakness, so successfully as fo receive1 the Sig
nor Dellombra as an English lady would receive
any other guest, it was forever conquered. To
make an end, the Signor came again, and mistress
received hirn without marked distress (though with
constraint and apprehension still,) and the even
ing passed serenely. Master was so-delighted with
this change, and so anxious to Confirm it, that the
Signor Dellombra became a constant guest. He
was! accomplished in pictures, books, and music ;
and his society, in any grim palaz:o, w,ould have
been welcome. .
I used to notice, many times, that mistress was
not quite recovered. She would cast down
her eyes and drop her head, before the Signor
Dellombra, or would look at him with a terrified
and tascinated glance, as it his presence had some
I evil influence or power upon hers Turning from
her to him, 1 used to see him in the shaded gar
dens, or the large half-lighted sala, looking, as I
might say, "fixedly upon her out of darkness.'
But, truly, I had not forgotten la bella Carolina's
words describing the face in the dream.
After his second visit I heard master say
' Now see, my dear Clara, it's over ! Dellom
bra has come and gone, and your apprehension is
broken like glass."
" Will he will be ever come again ,1" asked
mistress. " , .
" Again? Why, surely, over and over again !
Are you cold ?" (She shivered.)
" No, dear but lie terrifies me : are you sure
that he need come again ?"
"The surer for the question, Clara !" replied mas
ter, eheerfully. . . v.
But, he was very hopeful of her complete reco
very now, and grew more and more so every day.
She was beautiful. He was happy.
" All goes well Baptista ?" he-would say to me
" Yes, signore, thank God : very well."
We were all (said the Genoese courier, constrain
ing himself to speak a little louder,) we were all at
Rome for the Carnival. I had been put, all day,
with a Sicilian, a friend of mine and a courier,
who was there Syith an English family. As I re
turned at night to our hotel, I met the little .Caro
lina, who never stirred from home alone, rimning
distractedly along the Corso. '
" Carolina; ! What's the matter ?"
" O Baptista ! Oh, for the Lord's sake ! where
is my mistress !"
" Mistress, Carolina ?" -t"
Gone since morning told me, when master
went out- on his ; day's journey, not to call her, for
she was tired with not resting in the night (having
been in pain,) and would lie in bed until the eveu-ino-
: then ?ot ud refreshed. .She is crone ! s he
is gone ! Master has come back, broken' down the
door, and she -is gone ! j My beautiful, my good,
my innocent mistress I . . ;
Ihe pretty little one so cried, and raved, and
tore.erself, that J. could not.have held, her, bnt '
for her swooning on my arm as if she had been
shot, ' . .. .-r-.JL.
.Master came up in manner, face, or voice, no
more the master that I knew, than I was he. He
took me (I laid the little one; upon her bed in the
hotel, and left her with the chamber woman,), in a
carriage, furiously through the darkness, across the
desolate Campagna. ' VV hen it was day, and we
stopped at a miserable post house, all the horses
had been hired twelve hours ago, and sent away
in different directions. Mark me ! bv the Siarnor
Dellombra, who had passed there in a carriage,
with a frightened English lady crouching in one
corner. ' i.
I never heard (said the Genoese courier, draw
ing a long breath) that she was ever traced beyond
that spot. All I know is, that she vanished into
infamous oblivion, with the dreaded face beside
her that she had seen.in her dream.
" What do you call that, said the German
courier, triumphantly ; " Ghosts ! There, are no
ghosts there! What do you call this, that I am
going to tell you f Ghosts ? j There are no ghosts
here " j
r took an engagement once (pursued the Ger
man courier) .with an English gentleman, elderly
and a bachelor, to travel through my countryKmy
Fatherland. He was a merchant who traded with
my country and knew the language, but who had
never been there since he was a boy as I judge,
some sixty years before.
His name was James, and he had a twin-brother
John, also a bachelor. Between these brothers
there was a great affection.; They were in busi
ness together at Goodman's Field's, but they did
not live together. Mr. James dwelt in Poland st.,
turning out of Oxford st., London. Mr. John re
sided by Epping Forest. ' .,
Mr. James and I were to start for Germany in
about a week. The exact day depended on busi
ness. Mr. John came to Poland st., (where I was
staying in the house,) to pass that week with Mr.
James. But, he said to his brother on the second
Iday, " I don't feel very well, James. There's not
?much the matter with me;; but I think l am a
little gouty. I'll go homeland put myself under
the care of my old housekeeper, who understands
mv wavs. . If I firet Quite better. I
1 11 come back
.. i T ' -. i i
enough to resume my visit wher'
why you willce and se me before you go."
Mr. James, of course, said he would, and they
shook hands both hands,! as they always did
and Mr. John ordered out his old-fashioned chariot
and' rumbled home.
It was on the second night after that that is
to say, the fourth in the week when I was awoke
out of my sound sleep by Mr. James coming into
my bedroom in hi flannel gown, with a lighted
candle. He sat upon, the side of my bed, and look
ing at me, said '
Wilhelm, I have reason to think I have got
some strange illness upon me."
I then perceived there was a very unusual ex
pression in his face.
" Wilhelm," said he, " I am not afraid or asham
ed to tell you, what I might be. afraid of or asham
ed to tell another man. You come from a sensible
country, where mysterious things are. inquired into,
and are not settled to haveibeen weighed and mea
sured or to have been unweighable and unmea
sureable -or in either case to have been complete
ly disposed of, for all the time ever so many years
ago. I have just now seen the . phantom of my
I confess (said the German courier) that it gave
me a little tingling of the blood to hear it.
"I have just now seen,?' Mr. James repeated,
looking full at me, "that I might see how collected
he was, "the phantom of my brother John. .1
was sitting up in bed, unable to, sleep, when it
came into my room, in a white dress, and, regard
ing me earnestly, passed up to the end of the room,
glanced at some papers on my writing desk, turn
ed, and, still looking earnestly at me as it passed
the bed, went out at the door. Now, I am not in
the least mad, . and am not' in the least disposed to
invest that phantom with an external existence out
of myself. I think it is a warning to me that I
am ill, and I think I had better be bled."
I got out of bed directly (said the German
courier) and began to get on my clothes, begging
mm not to be alarmed, and telling him that l
would go myself to the doctor. I was just ready,'
when we heard a loud knocking and ringing at the
street door. My room being an attic at: the
back, and Mr. James's being the second floor
room in the front, we went down to his room
and put Tip the window, to see what was the
"Is that Mr. James ?" said a man below, fall
ing back to the opposite side of the way to look
"It is," said Mr. James ; " and you are my bro
ther's man, Robert."
" Yevsir. I am sorry to say sir, that Mr. John
is ill. "He is very bad, sir. It is even feared that
be may be lying on the point of death. He wants
to see you, sir. I have a chaise here. Pray come
to him. Pray, lose no time."
'. Mr. James arid I looked at one another. " Wil
helm," said he, " this is strange. I wish you to
come with me !" I'. helped him to dress, partly
there and partly in the chaise ; and no grass grew
under the horses' iron shoes between Poland st,
and the Forest. ' I
Now, mind ! (said the German courier). I went
with Mr. James into his brother's room, and I saw
and heard myself what follows :
His brother lay upon his bed, at the upper end
of a long bed-chamber. His old housekeeper was
there, and others were there ; I think three' others
were there, if not four, and; they had been with him
since early in the afternoon. He was in white like
the figure necessarily so, because he had his night
dress on. ' He looked like the figure necessarily
so, because he looked earnestly at his brother when
he saw him come into thei' rPom. " .
But, when his brother Reached the bed side, he
slowly raised himself in bid, and looking full upon
him, said these words j ' :
" James, voc have seen me before, to-sight,
AND TOP KNOW IT !" j
And so died ! ' I 1
I waited, when the German courier ceased, to
hear something said of this strange story. The si
lence was unbroken. I looked round, and the five
couriers .were gone; so lioiselessly that the ghostly
mountain might have absorbed them intoits eter
nal snows. By this tim6, 1 was by no means in a
f-'iii.o sit alone in that awful scene, with the
chill air coming solemnly upon me or, if I may
tell the truth, to sit alone any where. So i went
back into the convent-parlor, and, finding the
American gentleman still disposed to ralate the
biography of the Honorable Ananias Dodger,
heard it all out.
The grandest office of music is. that in which,
no doubt, it originated that in which, early, it had
its first culture ; in which; latest, it had its best
I mean its office in religion.' In the sanctuary it
was born, and in the service of God it arose with
a sublimity with which it could never have been
inspired in the "service of pleasure.. More assimilat
ed than any other art to the spiritual nature of
man, it affords a, medium of expression the most
congenial to that nature. Compared with tones
that breathe out from a profound, .a spiritually
musical soul,, how poor is any allegory which
painting can present, or that symbol can indicate.
The soul is invisible ; its emotions admit no more
than itself of shapee or limitation. The religious
emotions cannot always have even yerbal utterance.
They often seek an utterance yet nearer to the in1
finite ; and such they find in music. You cannot.
delineate a feeling at most you can but suggest it
by delineation, but in music you can by intonation
direct! v give the feeling. Thus related to the un
seen soul, music is a voice for faith, which is itself
the realization ot things not seen. And waiting as
the soul is' amidst troubles and Joils, looking up
ward from the earth, and onward out of time, for a
bettor world or a purer life, in its believing and glad
expectancy, music is the voice of its hope. . In the
depression: despondency of Conviction ; in the strug
gles of repentance ; in the "consolations and. rejoic
ing of forgiveness ; in the wordless calm of interna
peace, music answers to the mood, and soothingly
breaks the dumbness of the heart.: r or every chart
ty that can sanctify and bless humanity, lmiaic has
its sacred measures; and well does goodness merit
the richest harmony of sound, that is itself the
richest harmony of heaven. Sorrow, also, has its
consecrated melody. The wounded spirit and the
broken heart are tempered and assuaged by . the
i ....... -.. - -K-i-u y fi- Taintive hymn
aodtries the departing loulr "limmgles w ith -weey
ing in the house of death. It befits the solemn
ritual of the grave. The last supper was closed
with a hymn, and many a martyr for Him who
went from that supper to' his agony, made their
torture jubilant in songs of praise. ' ;
An essay equal to the subject on the vicissitudes
and varieties of sacred musip, would be one of the
most interesting passages in the history of art. In
their long wanderings to-the land of promise, sacred
music was among the hosts of Israel ; and in that
great temple of nature, floored by the desert, and
roofed by the sky, they chanted the song of Miriam
and of Moses. It was in their Sabbath meetings it
.resounded with the rejoicings of their feasts and
with the gladness of their jubilees. When Solomon
built a house to the Lord, it was consecrated with
symbols, and psalteries, and harps, with the sounds
of trumpets, and the swell of voices. As long as
the temple stood, music hallowed its services ; and
that music must have been supremely grand which
suited the divine poetry of the inspired and kingly
lyrist. Israel was scattered the temple was no
more. Silence and desolation dwelt in the place
of the sanctuary. 5ion heard no longeEjije anthems
of her Levites. A new word that was spoken first
in Jerusalem had gone forth among 'the nations ;
and that too had its music. At first it was a whisper
among the lowly in the dwellings of. the poor.
Stealthily it afterward w;as murmured in the palace
of the Caisars. In the dead night, in the depths
of the catacombs, it trembled in subdued melodies
filled with the love of Jesus. , At length the grand
cathedral arose,, and the stately spire ; courts and
arches echoed, and pillars shook with the thunder
of the majestic organ, and choirs, sweetly attuned,
joined their voices iri all the moods and measures
of the religious heart, in its most exalted, most
profound, most, intense, experience put into lyrical
expression. I know that piety may reject, may
repel this form of expression, still these sublime
ritual harmonies cannot but give the spirit that
sympathizes with them, the sense of a mightier
being. ' But sacred music has power without a ri
tual.' In 'the rugged hymn, which connects itself,
not alone, with immortality, but also with the mem-,
ory of brave saints, there is power, There is power
in the hymn in which our father's joined. Grand
were those ruae psaims wnicn once arose amiust
thesolitudes of the Alps. Grand were those reli
gious songs, sung in brave devotion by the perse
cuted Scotch, iri the depths of their moors and their
glens. The hundredth psalm, rising in the fulness,
of three thousand voices up .into the clear sky,
broken among rocks, prolonged and modulated
through valleys, softened over the surface of mountain-guarded
lakes, had a grandeur and a majesty,
contrasted with-which mere art is poverty and mean
ness. And while thus reflecting on sacred music,
we think with wonder on the Christian Church on
its power and on its compass. Less than nineteen
centuries ago, its first hymn was sung in an upper
chamber of Jerusalem ; and those who sung it were
. quickly scattered. And now the Christian hymn is
one that never ceases one that is heard m every
tongue ; and the whisper of that upper chamber is
now a chorus that fills the world. Rev. Henry
Giles. . . i
The Power of Kindness. The Jacksonville
(III.) Journal says that when the superintendent
of the asylum for the poor in" that county first took
charge of it, he found an insane man who had been
loaded with heavy chains for years. Believing
his cruelty kept the man insane he took the res
ponsibility of taking them off, and gradually resto
ring him to liberty. The man at first raved, ex
pecting fresh torture; then he doubted, and finally
realized that he was , free. He was overpowered
with delight, exclaiming constantly, as he looked
upon the outer world of sunshine, "Oh, how beauti
ful f Then gratitude to his liberator prevailed.
At length he voluntarily went to work in the gar
den, though he had nearly lost all his power of
locomotion, and became entirely recPvered. He
is now working o'n a farm.
aJI 's well that ends well.
BEAR WITH ONE ANOTHER.
Rev. Dr. Boardman, in his admirable book " the
Bible in the Family," well remarks:
That bouse wuL.be kept in a turmoil wher
there is no to'errnce of each other's errors, no lenity
shown to failing no meek submission to icjorfat.
no sou answers tp turn away wrath. II you lay
a single stick of vood upon the andirons and apply
fire to it, it will go out ; put on another stick, and,
they will burn ; add a half dbzen, and you will have
a grand conflagration. There are other fires sub
ject to the same conditions. If one member of a
tamily gets, into a passion and is let alone, he will
cool down, and possibly be ashamed, and repent.
But oppose temper to temper ; pile on the iuel ;
lraw in the other members of the group, and let
one harsh answer be followed bv another : and.
there will soon be a blaze which will enwrap them
all in its lurid splendors; The venerable Philip
Henry understood! this well, and when his son
Matthew, the Commentator, w as married, he. 6ent
these lines to the wedded pair : '
" Love one another, pray oft together and see.-
You never both together ane
It one speaK tore, t other with water come : ' , .- ,
Is one provoked ? be t'other soft or dumb." !
So thought the excellent Bishop Cowper, of
whom" this remarkable anecdote is related. The wife -of
this good mau was afraid he would injure his
health by close confinement. So, one day, like a
kind-hearted, officious wife, she went into his library
in his absence, and gathering up all the manuscript ,
notes he had been eight years in collecting tor his
dictionary, threw them into the fire. When he
came home, she told him what she had done. As
sured of the. kind motive which had prompted her
to this .act of Vandalism, his only reply to her
was, " Woman, thou Jtast put me to tight years
This it must
be confessed, is carrying meekness .
flesh and blood can ordinarily be
But even a less measure of this '
be considered a great sedative to
about as far as
expected to go.
of passion ' which ruffle the! sere
nity of households. Allied with a sound judgment.
" and with true affection, it would aim at shutting"
out from the circle such topics of conversation aa
were' known to produce an irritating efl'ect upon
any of the group."
The same spirit would restrain a family from
pushing a question, on which they differed, to
the point o a peremptory decision. . It would
admonish them when the ice was beginning tp
quiver and crackle, and show them where they -must"
stop, unless they mean to break through,
There are too many who refuse to see, or at 'least';
to heed, these indications, and whom nothing will
arrest but an actual plunge into the wintry wave.
They will insist upon their point with such pertin
acity as to bring down at length that terrific M You
shall, or " You shall no?," which in conjugal life is
as freezing as a ;bath in December. 'Happy -are
those families, whenr discussions never j -reach this
crisis. It is said that in the' business irneetirigs-of
that exemplary Christian Society, the j "Friends,"
there is no voting, The clerk gathers he views of
the members from their observations, and frames a
corresponding minute, w hich, unless fexcepted-to,
stands, without a" vote, as the act of the body.
This rs a safe principle for households, j The opin
ions.of those who wear the purple can usually be.
got at without a vote ; and voting sometimes" create
a difference of feeling, where there was simply a
diversity of sentiment. '
Fashion at the North Pole. The way the
ladies indulge fancy among the Esquimaux may be -worth
comparing with our w ays in more temperate
latitudes : j
" The dress of a married lady is composed of a
-pair oi snort seai-skm pants, lur outside, extending
nearly to the knee joint, where it meets the legs of
the boots, made of the same material or pf deer
skin. The' upper part of the person is covered
with a "jumper," or a. kind of sack, with a hood
for the head, and sleeves, made whoe, with the.
exception of a placeor face and arms. JThis also i
made of seal-skin, and in the. warmer; weather is'
covered with a fancy -colored cotton cloth sack. In . .
the coldest and w'et weather the cloth sack is remof -ed
and a seal-skin covering, without fur, placed in'
its stead. This composes their, whole dress. The
dress of an unmarried lady is distinguished by a
broad band made of fancy figured webbing, about .
tw o and a half inches wide, sewed on each 6ide of
the front of their-pants, extending nearly the whole
length of them. j
A married woman can be distinguished from an"
unmarried one by the hair, which, in both cases, is- 1
tied upon the top of the head, and the; ends of that
of the married are colored blue, and' of the, un- i
married red. This enables a gallant to act the a
miable without danger of making advances to some
one already married, and getting a stray shot from
an injured husband. The boots are; made very
neatly, slender and well proportioned,; The UPP?'
leather is colored. They tan deer-s,kin with urine,
arid their seal-skins are dressed in a beautiful manner,
simply by drying and rubbing them with a smooth
stone. A pair of slippers completes tbe wardrobe .
of a lady in the Esquimaux country ; these are mada
of deer-skin, and neatly fringed round the tops with
white rabbits' fuv The clothing which was shown
us was made in a very tasty and 6trong manner,
every thread used being made of the sinews of the
deer, and, of course very durable. The dresses of )
the males are very similar to the married ladies, j
with the exception that they are longer and rather ;
heavier. The Danes are scattered about among
the Esquimaux, and furnish them with what few
foreign articles they 'may want, which are hmited - J
to steel for their spears, and some few ornaments
for their dresses and coloring for their hair and la
The Chief Jcstice. A very goo4 story is told
of Chief Justice Taney : When the Library in the
Capitol was in flames, and clouds of smoke werei
rolling out and enveloping the building, the Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court appeared in his seat
at the usual hour, looking quite tranquil and undi-1
turbed. ljuay it please your Honor, , said an officer '
of the Court, "will the Court sit tb-dayf The
Chief Justice looked up, and coolly and significant
ly asked, Ls the court-room real ly on fire f "
no, not yet," was the answer. " T- -Oh
it is," added the Chjefl A- ' uen we'll sit till
transacted business ' the Court did sit, and
about it .as usual, amid all the confusion
" )" -;: . - - -: - ' 1
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