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is well worthy of being tried by those who have failed to derive benefit from other systems of treatment. As an alterative, the grape cure is probably a sound system, and it deserves more attention at the hands of English doctors than it has hitherto met with. It is as an alterative that it is looked on with favor by many of the most sound and sensible doctors in Germany, and many patients are sent by them from all parts of the country to try it.
Independently of the question of grape cure, Diirkheim is well worthy of a visit. The position of the place is very charming, and several objects of interest exist in the immediate neighborhood. The town is an ancient one, but as it was burnt down during the wars of Louis XIV., it contains no building of any interest. Diirkheim was formerly the capital of the Counts of Leiningen, a family now represented by the Prince of Leiningen, the nephew of our own queen, and continued their capital till the French revolution, when their castle was burnt down, and the principality and all their property was confiscated. Leiningen, the Stamm-ScMoss of the family, is a few miles distant, perched most picturesquely on the top of a conical hill. The family possess no longer any property in the neighborhood. No princely or noble families exist any longer in the Palatinate. The French revolution was the sponge which wiped them all out. Money is now the only nobility, and perfect equality is dominant. Property is much divided. The owners of vineyards are the people of the greatest influence.
Within half a mile from Diirkheim are the magnificent ruins of the Benedictine convent of Limburg, built of the red sand
stone of the country, which is as sound as on the day on which it was taken from the quarry. Like the castle of Leiningen, and many other places in the range of Haardt, the convent was perched on the flat top of a round conical hill. This common characteristic feature in the scenery of the Haardt is clearly due to the erosive action of the water of the great lake, which must at one time have filled the whole plain, before the Rhine had succeeded in bursting its way to the ocean.
Another very interesting object in the neighborhood of Diirkheim is the Heidenmauer, a circular enclosure on the top of a high mountain, overlooking the whole plain, formed of loose stones, sixty feet in breadth, twelve feet in height, and one and a half mile in circumference. The ancient Germans were probably its constructors, and iu uses were, it is thought, of a religious character. Cooper, the novelist, has made it and Limburg the subject of one of his novels. Other objects of interest exist in the neighborhood, but it would be tedious to enumerate them. The scenery all over the Haardt range of mountains is so picturesque and charming that the patient is seldom at a loss how to while away the time both with instruction and pleasure to himself. Diirkheim is not the only place in the Haardt where the grape cure is carried on. Both Neustadt and Gleisweiler, in the neighborhood of Landau, are rivals. The latter of these two places is beautifully situated high up in the face of the mountains, and combines a hydropathic establishment with the grape cure. Persons who cannot find accommodation at Diirkheim are in the habit of going to either of these places. The hotel Lowe at Neustadt, near the railway station, is very good, the cooking is excellent, and the wine faultless.
Perhaps there is no description of the coming on of light so perfect as that which Shelley 1ms given us in his little poem, The Boat on the Scrchio.—Transcript.
The stars hurnt out in the pale blue air,
And the thin white moon lay withering there:
To tower and cavern and rift and tree
The owl and the bat fled drowsily.
Day hnil kindled the dewy woods,
And tlic rocks above, nml the stream below,
And the vapors in their multitudes.
And the Apennines' shroud of summer snow,
And clothed with light of aery gold
Day hud awakened all things that ho,—
And the matin bell and the mountain bee.
PERE LA CHAISE.
fThe following verses were suggested by a Tlsit to the resting-place of BeYanger. He is boried by the side of Manuel, one of the patriotic statesmen of 1830. The same tombstone commcmonucs both names; on the one side is engraved the extract from Manuel's speech, given below; the other is covered with immortelles and other offerings to the poet.]
Two great names carved upon a simple stone;
Two great hearts mouldering 'Death the same
green grass; The patriot's voice, the poet's softer tone,
Ceasing together, into silence pass.
The one was bred to arms, and served the State;
Soldier mid senator, he stood his ground,— A star of battle, ruler of debate,
Firm against hostile ranks or storms of sonnd.
A spotless knight of France, he knew to wield Wcn;ions of reason keener than his sword:
** 'Twas yesterday that I refused to yield
The lines are there in iron, countersigned
With his, some happy choice has intertwined
BeVangcr, bard of cottage homes and king
Their votive wreaths, the village maidens bring The wild spring flowers I see so sweetly strung.
Old men and youths pay homage to thy name, And every hamlet miist its offering send;
This little crown is worth all Caesar's fame— "A poor man's tribute to his father's friend."
Dost thou look down, from some screner shore,
Is it not something to be held in store
And here, where yet the weeping willows wave,
I muse on memories of the double grave,
On great deeds done and great things nobly said.
Peace to the ashes of the good and bravo!
Remote from change they rest, whate'er betide, Beneath the soil they lived to grace and save,
The soldier and the singer side by side.
—Spectator. J. N.
THE LAST DAY OF OCTOBER, 1862.
The sea is calm and beautiful to-day,
As if fair Summer still o'er land and wave
Wielded her sceptre, and the south winds piny Among the withered leaves, and seem to crave Tint beauty that lies low in many a floweret's grave.
Amid its tones half pensive, half in glee,
Is heard the farewell of the Autumn hours, Murmured in fading words and by the sea And round fair homes, where late in goldem
The summer sunlight fell and pierced their vine-clad bowers.
But the blue sea unchanged around the isles
Poors its vast flood and gently ebbs and llnws, Unvexed by storms, while heaven above it
And earth looks on wrapped in its own repose,
Unheeding how they lie, dead violet and crushed rose.
Welcome calm Autumn days, whose hours distil
Immortal essence for the undying soul I How should we bear life's varied good and ill. How strive these deep heart-yearnings to control, Were Nature's chalice drained—her page a*
empty scroll 1 —Trantcript. H. J. I»
A DRIFTING LEAF.
FKOM THE ITALIAN.
"Eably torn from thy tree, Faded emblem of grief, Whither goest, poor leaf?"
"'Tis a mystery to me:
"Ever since that wild day
"The north wind, or west,
"With my fate need I quarrel?
Whes I do think on thee, sweet Hope, and bo?t
And bore with wayward murmurs, meek as thon That bringest waters from the rock, with bread Of angels strewing earth for us 1 Like Him Thy force abates not, nor thine eye groirs
But still with milk and honey-droppings fed, Thou leadest to the promised country fair, Though thou, like Moses, mayst not enter there!
HARBEN'S LOVE SONG. AlB — "Kathleen JUavourneen." Zostera M.viti\ \, grim Manchester's shaking, One-half of her steam-engines silent and still, No cotton's at hand, nnd we're all in a taking To know where to turn for new grist for the
mill. It seems to myself that the notion was clever, ,
(It came as I wandered by ocean, apart)' Thy fibre to take, and to make the endeavor To give drooping labor another fresh start.,
Zostcra Marina, though Manchester slumbers,
And sneers apathetic my labors requite, I'm happy to know that inventors in numbers
Believe that my notion's substantially right. So, Zostcra Marina, though wise folks are calling
My project a thing that can never succeed, He'll never climb high who's too frightened of falling:
The proof of the pudding's in eating, my weed.
Cockney Criticism.—Among the notices of new music wherewith some of our contemporaries at times delight the world, we see it said of one " morceau pour le piano," that—
* The sparkling roulades of the birds are rendered witli great effect."
"Sparkling roulades of the birds!" Well, what next we wonder! We suppose wo shall toon hear of the vibrato of the nightingale, and the sostenuto notes of the blackbird or the thrush. Or we may live to see it said of a Prize Canary Show, that such and such a feathered sougster had an exquisite organ, and won repeated plaudits by the vehemence and clearness of its ut tie poitrine. Song-writers may, moreover, be ^catching the infection, nnd may speak of sylvan harmony in the jargon of the concert-room, and apply to nature the hackneyed terms of art. Instead of the simple unatt'ected,
"Hark, the lark at Heaven's gate sings,"
we shall be hearing some such stilted stuff as this :—
"Hark, the high soprano lark to Heaven's gate up
ward flies, And executes his brilliant jioriture in the skies."
The boshiness of ballad-writing long since has disgusted us; and nonsense such as this would be really scarce more silly than much of the line language we have lately seen'in verse.
HOW TO SEE THE EXHIBITION IN TEN
Minutes.—"The Albany,—My dear Punch: I hate sensations, nnd I hate most of my fellowcreatures, and I hate trouble of all kinds. 1C there nro any other folks who entertain similar feelings, I think they will be as grateful to me— pooh, nobody is grateful—but 1 think they ought to say I have done them a civil thing in telling them that I have made the discovery announced
in the heading to this letter. There is a set of benevolent—at least nobody is benevolent—but there is a set of sensible people who call themselves the Stereoscopic Company. They havo taken photographs, capital ones, of all that is worth seeing in Fowkeria, and you can just buy these and a stereoscope, and in a few minutes you know all about the Exhibition, and a good deal more than most people who have tried to see it. ' Then there's the delicious quiet, and you can look as long as you lH<c at the Venus or the Reading Girl, without being shoved, and without hearing the various idiots, of nil ranks, emitting their noises. You are not irritated by the swell's "Pon m' word, not half bad,' the artist's 'Ah! now that color is not conscientious,' the snob's 'Spicy party that,' or tha clown's 'Be that Venice?' And no abomina* ble organs and bands, and no bother about gefr ting away—you lay down your stereoscope and you are again in your arm-chair You may print this, if you like, in the light of a testimo» nial, and I don't care whether you do or not. "Your subscriber,
"News Froh The Styx."—The mandate of
fashion has gone forth, nnd as may be read in the Fotlet, and seen at certain French and Eng* lish watering-places, a lady is henceforth, if sha wishes to be considered as completely furnished, to carry a stick. We see no objection to tha arrangement, indeed we suppose that it is a log>cal necessity consequent upon the increase in crinoline. As it is now impossible for a prop* erly dressed lady to reach a friend with her hand, she is supplied with the means of giving him a poke with a stick when desirous to attract his attention. AH we venture to hope is, that tha stick is to be blunt at the end, nnd not armed with a tiny spike, as in the latter case a shorv sighted Lord Dundreary, with n large circle of lady-ncquaintances eager to speak to him might, on returning home to dress, find himself unr pleasantly covered with scars and spots. On the whole there is more sense in this new can* trivance than is usually to be found in the conceptions of the tyrant-milliner.—Punch.
A Smooth Way Of Getting Out Op It. —A poet, who is prematurely bald, excuses it in ibis ingenious and complimentary manner: "Baldness," he says, "is only a proof of politeness paid to the beautiful sex. Is it not the duty of a gentleman always to uncover his bead in the presence of the ladies ?"—Punch.
Forgiveness Of Injuries.—So an amnesty is granled to Garibaldi. Very good. In K» _-land when we have trodden on the toe of a great man, we beg his pardon. In Iraly you pardon him when you have shot him in the ankle.-— Punch.
No. 967.—13 December, 1862.
1. Chronicles of Carlingford. Part 10, . . . Blackwood's Magazine, 482
2. The Water-Babies. Chap. 3. By Prof. Kingsley, MacmiUan's Magazine, 495
3. The Supernatural, Edinburgh, Review, 506
4. Lady Diplomatists, St. James's Magazine, 518
5. Specie Payments.—National Currency.—Sinking
Fund, A Letter to Secretary Chase, 527
Poetry.—The Widow and Orphan's Friend, 517. The Beauty of Winter, 517.
Short Articles.—Expenditure of Silver in Photography, 494. Lady Physicians, 494. Cod Liver Oil for Fattening Cattle, 494. Turkey Braised, 505. A Swiss Soup, 505. Charade, 526.
The War Powers Op The President, nnd the Legislative Powers of Congress in Rela tion to Rebellion, Treason, and Slavery. By William Whiting. Boston: John L. Shorcy. [From the vigor and clearness we have admired in a Speech of Mr. Whiting, we doubt not the ability with which this book is written, nnd commend.it to our rcadors.l
The Rebellion Record: Part 24. Edited by Frank Moore, and published by G. P. Puv nam, New York. This part contains portraits of Gen. Mjtchcl and tho rebel Gen. Robert Lee. A stern expression is on Gen. Mitchcl's face, instead of the bright smile which dwelt upon it when he was lecturing upon tho peaoeful stars.
The Siege Of Richmond: a Narrative of the Military Operations of Major-Gen. Geo. McClellan in May and June, 1862. By Jool Cook, Special Correspondent of tho Philadelphia Press. Philadelphia: George W. Childs.
PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY BY
LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON.
For Six Dollars a year, In advance, remitted direetiy to the Publishers, the Lircro Acs will be punctually lbtwaided/re* of postage.
Complete sets of the First Scries, in thlrty-slx volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, parked in neat boxes, and delivered in alt the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sail at two dollars a volume.
A*r Volcxi may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half In numbers.
A.tt FCKBia may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.
PAET X.—CHAPTER XXXII.
Bur while Mrs. Vincent sat in Susan's sick-room, with her mind full of troubled thoughts, painfully following her son into an imaginary and unequal conflict with the wife of the rebellious deacon ; and while the Salem congregation in general occupied itself with conjectures how this internal division could be healed, and what the pastor would do, the pastor himself was doing the very last thing he ought to have done in the circumstances—lingering down Grange Lane in the broad daylight with intent to pass Lady Western's door—that door from which he had himself emerged a very few minutes before. Why did he turn back and loiter again along that unprofitable way? He did not venture to ask himself the question; he only did it in an utterly unreasonable access of jealousy and rage. If he had been Lady Western's accepted lover instead of the hopeless worshipper afar off of that bright unattainable creature, he could still have had no possible right to forbid the entrance of Mr. Fordham at that garden gate. He went hack with a mad, unreasoning impulse, only excusable in consideration of the excited state of mind into which so many past events had concurred to throw him. But the door opened again as he passed it. Instinctively Vincent stood still, without knowing why. It was not Mr. Fordham who came out. It was a stealthy figure, which made a tremulous pause at sight of him, and, uttering a cry of dismay, fixed eyes which still gleamed, but had lost all their steadiness, upon his face. Vincent felt that he would not have recognized her anywhere but at this door. Her thin lips, which had once closed so firmly, and expressed with such distinctness the flying shades of amusement and ridicule, hung apart loosely, with a perpetual quiver of hidden emotion. Her face, always dark and colorless, yet bearing such an unmistakable tone of vigor and strength, was haggard and ghastly; her once assured and steady step furtive and trembling. She gave him an appalled look, and uttered a little cry. She shivered as she looked at him, making desperate vain efforts to recover her composure and conceal the agitation into which his sudden appearance had thrown her. But nature at last had triumphed over this woman who had defied her so long. She had not strength left to accomplish the cheat.
"You!" she cried, with a shrill tone of terror and confusion in her voice, "I did not look for you!" It was all her quivering lips would say.
The sight of her had roused Vincent . "You were going to escape," he said. "Do you forget your word? Must I tell liar everything, or must I place you in surer custody? You have broken your word."
"My word! I did not give you my word," she cried, eagerly. "No. I—I never said — and," after a pause, " if I had said it, how do you imagine I was going to escape? Escape! from what? That is the worstone cannot escape," said the miserable woman, speaking as if by an uncontrollable impulse, "never more; especially if one keeps quiet in one place and has nothing to do," she continued after a pause, recovering herself by strange gleams now and then for a moment; "that is why I came out, to escape, as you say, for half an hour, Mr. Vincent. Besides, I don't have news enough— not nearly enough. How do you think I can keep still when nobody sends me any news? How long is it since I saw you last? And I have heard nothing since then—not a syllable! and you expect me to sit still, because I have given my word? Besides," after another breathless pause, and another gleam of self-recovery, "the laws of honor don't extend to women. We are weak, and we are allowed to lie."
"You are speaking wildly," said Vincent, with some compassion and some horror, putting his hand on her arm to guide her back to the house. Mrs. Hilyard gave a slight convulsive start, drew away from his touch, and gazed upon him with an agony of fright and terror in her eyes.
"We agreed that I was to stay with Alice," she said. "You forget I am staying with Alice; she—she keeps me safe, you know. Ah! people change so; I am sometimes— half afraid—of Alice, Mr. Vincent. My
i child is like her—my child—she did not know me !" cried the wretched woman, with a sob that came out of the depths of her heart; "after all that happened, she did not know me! To be sure, that was quite natural," she went on again, once more recov
1 ering her balance for an instant, " she could not know me! and I am not beautiful, like Lady Western, to please a child's eye.
! Beauty is good—very good. I was once