Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, June 8, 1873, Page 7

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated June 8, 1873 Page 7
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WYOMING. 'Upland Hoads—A Handle— Indians —South Pass City. Mountain - Scenery—Porcupines Gold-Mines —Sioux—Ab- original Dandies. ’ Dame-Miners’ Delight—A Mining Camp. . From Our Oxen Correspondent* Mines*’ Delight, May 26,1873. , The.ride from Bryan, on the Union Pacific Railroad, up * info the mountains, is pleasant enough, though THE TOWN OP. BKTAN is as desolate a place os I have ever. seen. A few houses are.inhabited, but the majority of them, have gone to join, and only some broken adobe walls are visible. The usual amount of old tin cans and bones are lying around loose, and add to the dreariness and wretchedness which rises all about.. The stage-coach, rolls along over the gravelly rood, skirted on either hand with dwarf sage-brush, and prairie-dogs look at us wisely as we pass along. At Green Biver there is a ferry-boat, and, after some difficulty, we are safe ly carried over, and again roll on over one of the finest natural roads in tho world. The vast plain stretches oat to the right and left, diversi fied with bafctes and benches of land; and, far away to the north, rise,' grim and white, the snow-capped Wind Biver Mountains. We see occasional patches of cottonwood and aspen trees, with here and there a giant cedar, which hae been sleeping through the winter. We cross the Big Sandy Biver, one of the tributaries of Green Biver, and continue our way along the old emigrant-road. A coach full of merry passengers causes the time to pass away agreeably enough, and we feel little appre hension in regard to Indians, who occasionally prowl* around. About nightfall we come to a neat-looking log-house,—after crossing the Big Sandy a second time, —where we get an excel lent supper. This place is called A HANCHE, and, as the country we have been traveling over •once belonged to the Bepublic of Mexico, I do not know but it is all well enough. It is easier to say ranche than farm-house, or log-cabin, and conveys its full meaning to all who hare lived in the Par West. The Mexican line extended north as far as the forty-second degree of north lati tude, and this ranche is near the line. The landlady has a handsome baby, and, ou being questioned if she is not afraid of Indians, woman-like replies that she is not afraid on her own account, hot is somewhat ap- prehensive on account of the baby. Baby herself is bright-eyed and healthy, and crows as If the world contained no such hateful things as Arrapahoe, Sioux, or Cheyenne Indians. In coming along, we pass Simpson’s Hollow, where the Mermens burnt one of the supply-trains be longing to the Government, in the autumn of 1837, some evidences of that event still remain ing. little Sandy is crossed, as well as Dry Sandy, and then we commence getting among the foot hills of the Wind Biver Bange. As we approach Pacific Spring, the man on the box hallooa out: “ INDIANS 1” and, on. looking out to the left, sure enough there they are, way over on the side-hill, halted and intently looking at us. The driver of a freight-wagon, who has halted at the xanche near . the spring, is considerably excited about it; but we tell him to come on with us, and, getting our fire-arms in readiness, commence ascending the hills. The hand of Indians numbers perhaps a dozen, and .in the distance they look grim enough. We rise up on the different hills, looking intently for the aborigines, but they seem to have disappeared in the earth, or to have been translated to an other sphere j they are nowhere to he seen! By and by the driver thinks ho can see them way off in a gorge behind ns, and the memory of them fades from our minds. TTe'oome to great drifts of snow, and cross the Sweetwater* Biver, which is rushing clear and headlong to join the turbid waters of the North Platte, and thence oh to the Missouri and the ■Oolf of Mexico. The waters of Pacific Spring, .which we.hare just left, empty into the Colorado of the West, and thence to the Gulf of Califor nia. We are indeed way np on the back-hone of the continent! After a rough ride of several miles, we reach south pass cm, a town of wonderful memories and dreary expe riences,—a place which has been death-stricken, and one which appears as if it had been blown 3nto tatters by the mountain galea. A more thoroughly **played out” city I never have Been, —for city it ie ; so far as houses are con cerned; hut the inhabitants have ** evanished before the storm. 11 How sad it is to see so many excellent buildings gone entirely to mins, and blackened by the mosses and dampness which -have crept over them. Thi« traa at one time a place of exceeding promise, and vast sums of money have been expended here in the endeavor to improve the country. Some geld has been taken out, but not near enough to pay ex penses ; and here is the result! The question m, Will the country arouse from its sleep, and become a mighty mining camp j .or will it again relapse into the slumber of oblivion? Who can .tell? For my part, I believe it has a bright future before it, and tnat ■gold will be found in such quantities as to .well reward the laborer; and the black gorges" will surrender to the hand of man their hidden •treasures. I could not have understood from a mere description how much has been done here, nor what a town once flourished in the gulch of Willow Greek. The mountain-rangr* runs in a northwesterly direction, and is believed by the red-skins to be the c ,... BACK-RONE OF THE WORLD. ouUiurther to the west is the gigantic summit of Fremont e Peak, which towers, in all its mag above the white domes of the .neighboring elevations. Thepure white is inter mingled with ethereal Mae nhadowa, -which are delicate in appearance as the veriest traceiy. .Immense chasms, miles in ei tent, axe bnned in white mantles, and Bleeping qmetiy through the misty ages. Groves of pine throw their dark shadows over the lower hills; and unsightly cottonwoods, white and Btraggling, nestle like ghosts in the gorges • tlwir long and gaunt limbs shaking in the winds, and moaning like perturbed spirits. How pand a scene! Here comes a bird from the snows above, sailing down toward the lowlands and pleasant water-courses. Tired, perhaps, of Ike mighty grandeur of the Cordillera, it seeks “>* peaceful valleys of the Sweetwater, there to nestle amid the hushes and spring-flowers, *duch are jnst beginning to peep forth. It is ™ango that little birds should haunt these towering heights, which seem only fitted for the bowers .of eagles; but they evidently like it, and chatter away as merrily as possible, while scaling the dizzy pinnaoles. This morning two of the dogs come in who BW been having a mi with a rousa pobcppike ; tosir noses and months are filled with porcupine 'jhffis, and they are altogether in a wretched con dition. The Doctor goes at the dogs with his "Sfpd.dtid tweezers, and the poor ammals howl S™ pam as the quills are drawn ont of them. of their months are fairly covered the barbed points, and their wretchedness Pptsrs complete. Porcupines are quite com *aon, and. the Indiana use the quills as oma- Sor their clothing. They are exceedingly in their dispositions, and stand on tho, slit—ell times and under ail circnm jSfJSr popular belief is that these earn"” .“f. throw their quills into an • *¥ a “ a mistake. They can It-I-„ ~B° of. their quills when touched, thfwL m “ticking in the skin, whence fiiS. T?? A tteir wa 7 upward into the v®?® 8 Bee m to leam nothing try 1 eager to attack, even nerfr«;L ey are fiUeti trtth quills. Their zeal In er A omoß . judgment, and they nadnM—V^ 1 ™ 8 * with as much vim as if they f«en a porcupine in all their the fooWrilk l i? ppear 101x5 Plentiful near taicr tfaeWmd range of monn of suypdsaible use, could «pturea in-considerable nnmbers. - 40 dot ani>6ar T Sft^ I ? E ? HEEEAEOtrT IWaa&'Si 0 domg very weU. Bad man ™Bn*illlol6 Anything else, is the cause | of the failure. No doubt there is an immense deal of gold in the mountains, and some of the 1 • diggings and leads that. have been struck are .very rich indeed. To an unprejudiced mind the fact remains'that this ridge of mountains is rich in mineral deposits, which, in a few-years, will yield fine returns. It is true that the sea-: sons are short, and that in summer time, there is a scarcity of water. Tliose draw backs will bo overcome,—as miners know how to get along,—provided there is a good prospect of a fair return for the labor bestowed. ‘ln winter many of them dig. out a great deal of dirt and; gray.el, and commence washing as soon as the. warm weather makes its appearance, so that they j • can get water from the melting snows. The miners work with a will, though they are au im provident race of people, and'nearly all of them, are addicted to gambling. ■ A day or two ago, a miner discovered some fine placer-diggings, and took out one nugget oyer an ounce m weight,and worth about 620.* It, i will nos do to say those mines are worked out, for the truth probably is, that they have never yet been properly worked, and that hereafter they will prove better than ever.,. At this altitude on the mountains, TEE STOBH-KINO seems to reign over everything, and storms burst furiously in every direction. No bouse seems sufficiently well built to keep out the blasts; and snow, even as late as ibis oatej sifts . through the cracks and crannies, and covers, the mines. It would he difficult to tell how much gold has been token out thus far, but it is fair to ■ say that no great fortunes have bcemmode, nor haa anybody wended his way to* the lowlands | with a satisfactory amount of gold. 1 THE SIOUX INDIANS occasionally make Uieir appearance hereabouts, and, after committing some dastardly murders, make their way to the eastward, to thoir-own lands, along tho Big Horn and Yellowstone Bivors, where they toll great stories of their achievements. To take a scalp is a great thing in their opinion, and for days and .days they wander about alone, hoping to . fall in with some person, totally unprepared to meet them, whom they murder, and then wend their way to their lodges,—sometimes hundreds of miles distant, —where they show their bloody trophy, and stroll -about tho village, beating their war-drums and boasting of their , great prowess in war. No boaster on earth can exceed an Indian “brave,” as ho considers himself not only tho handsomest man in tho world, but tho bravest being on the planet. No popinjay can put on more airs, and, when they‘are roaming about, singing and glorifying themselves, in their own Tillages, no dandies ever looked upon themselves with greater complacency. Tney have a kind of white earth, which they smear over their faces, as ladies do pearl-powder, and then consider themselves the most beautiful of created beings. Such alarming' self-complacen cy and.inborn foppishness do not exist else where. The ** curled darlings of fashion ” think a great deal of themselves, out Indian dandies can beat thorn a hundred to one. Miners have a great. contempt, and at the same time a wholesome fear, of the Indians. One of them told me he had rather “ HAISE THE LINT ** on one of them than perform any feat in the world. He said his time had been equally divided between hunting Indians and mining, and that both pursuits were exciting and hedged in with pleasure. To “knock the filling out of a red-skin ” was added, in his opinion, worthy of ail praise; and he carried a rifle with him on all occasions, so as to be ready to carry out so laudable an ambition. To boar him tell it, yon would have supposed he hod waded knee deep in the gore of the savages, and kept a pri vate grave-yard especially for his own victims. of South Pass City, Atlantic City, and Miners* Delight are all in a semi-circle around the base of the mountain-range, and about four miles apart. Between the two latter there is a small military post. Three years ago, South Pass City and Atlantic City were flourishing settlements, but now seem to be gone pretty much to decay. The promise at that time was good, but, like many another fair prospect, it has turned to nothings The Shoshonee Indians have & reserva tion, and Miners* Delight is located thereon. The Indians are not anxious to have the white men moved from their lands, as they are too well aware of their value, and know that they are the best protection tney can have against the incursions of the Sioux. This was once a great country for game, and may yet be properly so considered. In winter the red-skins m the valley below MU a great many animals, and reap a suitable reward. There is nothing of any great interest connected with the land, and hut little can at present be said in its favor. Were it not for the furious storms that prevaU almost aU the time, it would be pleasant enough; but, when these storms aro once started, they seem never to come to on end. Por days and days together, the wind howls about, and sheet and snow cover up*the landscape. Nothing is in a very flourishing con dition. The spring is backward, the weather raw, and the storms threatening. AT anSEBS* DELIGHT there is a fine mine, and great returns will be received from it. The mining camp at this place is, in fact, the most lively place in this section of country. No doubt exists as to the fact of there being good paying ore in this local ity, and a mill is at work aQ the time. X saw some fine specimens of gold, or nuggets, which had been taken out in Spring Gulch, along which the log-cabins composing the camp are built. The ground has been dug np all about, and already a good deal of gold has boon found. Here is a camp In full glory, and bearded miners are seen on all sides. It reminds one of old California days, when every man had his pockets well lined with the yellow metal, and every man was doing well in a pecuniary point of view. I saw a bright-eyed and beautiful little girl in this place, whose father was killed near by, by Indians, last fall. A pretty heavy game of draw-poker was being played m the back part of (he store, and the miners were enjoying themselves in their pecu liar way as well as they could desire. On the .east end of the ridge there are two good mills, where the gold quartz is crushed,— one of which is in operation all the time, as her fore mentioned. The camp is.not a picturesque place by any means, in this snowy, muddy time ; but it possesses vitality, which is the one thing to be desired. Largo growths of cottonwood extend up the mountain-gorges; and along the bold rocky barriers, near the top, there are many pine-trees. HEBE YOU FCTD PROSPECTORS who hay© spent years among the Sierras, and found gold alone many of. the mountain-streams. They are a peculiar class of people, and no dan ger seems to daunt them in the least. I met one man who discovered the gold in this locality three years ago. Ho seems to bo getting along well, and has great faith in the future of Miners* Delight. I must say I share in his belief, and have little doubt but some of the best leads in the Rocky Mountains will be discovered here abouts. This mining region has been badly managed, and some, capitalists have been in duced to invest their money In mines which have proved to be absolutely,wort bless; bnt this does not alter the case at all; there are some very rich mines near here, and the fact will become well known within tne next two or three years. Kow Totes are Counted In Paris* The correspondent of the London Telegravh thus minutely describes the method of making up the election returns in Paris: 5 ‘‘Paris la divided into twenty arrondiesemento, J and in each of these larger divisions are various l sections, varying from ten to twenty, where vot* 1 be carried on. In the Department of > the Seme—which, by the by-includes very little , more than the city of Paris—there were three hundred and twenty of these so • called sections. The voting lasted from 6 » o clock in the morning till 6 p. m.. and the proccdtu-e iraa mvariabry the same at every seo i turn all through tho day. la the voting-room, three gentlemen are seated at a table, on which i a square deal-box is placed, secured by padlock, and having a hole like that of a money-box. At a side table close by sits a fourth individual, who has long hats spread out before him. To this last official, each elector exhibits his card attest ing his right to a vote; he then, hi name having been noted passes on to the other table, slips his bulletin into the box and his dnty is done. The voting-room— gen erally the largest apartment in the ilauie or other building appointed for the pm> pose—is open to everybody. For my own part, at all event, I walked into a great many bringing home my pockets full of bnßetins which had been forced upon me, and nobody onco asked me a question. I happened to be at the Maine in the Hotel Dronot at 6 o’clock, the hour fixed for the.opening of tbs ballot-boxes, and I was thus enabled to watch the whole process of sorting the tickets The arrangement was began In this wise: A balloting box having been opened, and turned npside down, coram populo, to show that no tickets bad been left inside, sorter No. 1 takes up one folded paper from the heap before him, opening it fiat, and passes it to his neigh bor, who,- ae soon as be. has ten together - un sorted, passes, the little bundle on farther. Sorter No. 8, aftoreonrriing the tickets, pins the ten together, and transfers them to. sorter No; 4, who, when he has got ten of these bundles, or 100 tickets in all; pits them' inside ‘ a large envelope, which he hands to the Presi dent ; and I happened to be next to one table, and I can certify to the scrupulous care exhib ited by all concerned in the counting. This pro ' cess it was announced that 2,23G papers ■had been collected, representing that number .voters out of 3,Booinscribed. TheProsideut stated however, that the number of persons who had voted was 2,225, although 2,23 C bulletins had been counted, adding that the error would cer tainly ho discovered in the process of sorting. He then begged any four gentlemen in the room to seat themselves attach of the tables. Two of the sorters at each table had laid before them a printed form, headed * Depoufllemcnt ’des Votes,’, and- marked jvith dots, arranged in lines of ton, each lino being denoted by its corresponding number. Another gen tleman, opening-' one of the envelopes of 100 tickets, took out a bundle of ten and slowly road out the names written on each bulletin. His companions writing tbo name of each candidate .above a column, marked a . dot every time the name was called; while amateur-sorter No. 4 -arranged the bulletins according to candidates. Errors wore all but impossibilities, and tho dis crepancy alluded to by tho chairman was discov ered in the very first bundle opened. The room was crowded; yet so intent was everybody on business that there was no noise. Indeed, the lamps with green shades on every table, the quiet, serious-looking galerie of overlookers round each, the huissiers' gliding noiselessly about, and the monotonous voices of tho tellers, as unchanging as though they were croupiers, reminded me irresistibly of a gambling-house. At times a question arose. For instance, one elector had written Garibaldi on his bulletin,' and another Napoleon IV.—on which latter incident the President remarked 1 that the Prince was not of ago. Usually, how over, there was nothing to disturb tho monotony of the slow iteration of Bemusat! Bemusat'! Barodefc I tfith an occasional Stoffch” Say, what Is love, —a simple sound By letters four expressed 2 A thing in man but seldom found,— It lives not in his breast. ' If such a gem on earth we trace, ms woman claims the whole; You read it in her gentle face That there portrays her soul. Bui man’s frail vows will not endure ; He masks each subtle thought; One knows not when his love is pure. Nor is it when it ought. Ah ! woman loves with all her soul, With purity, and faith; No trial can its strength 1 control,— It lasteth unto death. - It is an all-absorbing thing, That fills her every thought, And steals unbidden to her heart, Unasked for and unsought; A voice that whispers day by day With eloquence divine: From Paradise a destined ray Upon her path to shine; A holy, hallowed thing of Heaven, That’s banded down to earth; A sacred trust onto us given. Of pure and spotless birib, Tho proudest heart will humbly bead Before its mighty spell; Tho closest ties ’twill rudely rend. And stormiest passions quell; Once launched upon its magic tide, Oar lives seem but s dream. Girt in the rosiest tints of hope, Upon earth’s flowing stream. The heart awakes and gushes forth In strains unheard before. Like music from some fairy spot, Some undiscovered shore. And one by one sweet flowerets bloom Upon-Life’s desert-plain: But oh! if blighted once, they ne'er Can blossom there again. Then you who love and are beloved, Retain Love’s frailest stem. Nor idly cast aside the charm That won you such a gem. Ms true tho poet sings of love, It’s oft his favorite theme And many speak and write of it, And many of it dream; But none can feel that love, true love. Unchanging, deep, and pure. That dwells within a woman’s heart, In constancy secure. She thinks, she dreams, of one dear form. And sees reflected there A thousand charms in bright display, And virtues rich and rare, — Like one who, with some magic glass, In Heaven’s blue vault descries A host of bright and glittering things Unseen by other eyes. . And this, oh! this, is what I thtnV Love’S attributes to be. May you believe tho same, and drink Life’s cup of Joy with mo. FASHION. From the Sew York Evening MaU. English thorn is the fashionable wood for sticks and umbrella-handles. —Very pretty chatelaines and their attach ments are now mode of vulcanized India rubber, ornamented with gold. —A new fabric, made of woven glass, has been Invented for ladies 1 dross material. It can’t be stained, and is incombustible. —Dog-carts seem to have gone suddenly out of favor; very few are to bo seen on the avenue or in the park. —Plain white note-paper, very thick and heavy, with a crest in black outline, is now de clared to be the proper thing. —ltalian -kids are beginning to be worn very extensively here, on account of their cheap ness. —Low shoes and stockings of gorgeous colors and pattern are to be worn by gentlemen this summer. —Ladies 1 water-proof cloaks, so light that they can easily bo folded into a parcel small enough to be carried in the droas-pocuet, are now soldi ’ * —The mania for flashy imitation jewelry has broken out among our holies again with groat virulence. There most bo a trace of semi-bar borism in American society, to acconnt-for thin Hottentotiah taste. —For full-dress, gentlemen wear, instead of a watch-chain, a foo-ribbon," after the fashion of their grandfathers, with a seal attached, the older-looking the better. This taste for old Jewelry is in opposition to shoddyiam, the object being f o show that the wearer is not the first of the family who ever possessed any jewelry. A I>anbnry Man’s Adventure* From the Danbury yeica. A Danbury man started for Greenwich, Fri day, to see an iron fence. What he wanted to see an iron fence for wo don't know, and it really makes no difference. He went. He wonted to go off on the 9:60 train, so he hurried home to get ready. His wife and a vicious outside woman were cleaning house, and it was some little time before he could get his society suit ready. In the meantime he opened fire on the largest half of a custard pie, holding it in his hand, and dancing around and yelling for his things. When she brought his overcoat, he set the pie in a chair, to put on the coat, but in his neirousneas'stepped on the end of a long-handled whitewash brush which was balanced across a pail, and the other end flew .up and discharged about a pint of the awful mixture over the sofa, wall-paper, and his panting and indignant wife. She made a remark and he contradicted it. Then he sat down in the chair where the pie was, and got up with a howl that would have melted the stoutest heart. She wanted him to wait while she scraped off the surplus, but he was too mad to converse in words of more than one syllablo t and started for the depot, and boarded the tram, and in the seclusion of the baggage-car removed the offen sive lunch. He got to Greenwich all right, and looked at the fence. We hope he admired it. Then he started for home but missed the train, and as the next was an express and didn't stop at Greeuwichrhe was obliged to walk to the draw bridge at Cos Cob or stay in Greenwich all-night. So he walked up there in the rain, bnt didn't mind it mnch, as he had an umbrella and the pie was pretty well dried in. When he got to Cos Cob he stood up on a fence to look at the scenery, and swear, when a sharp gust of wind took off his hat and carried it across a bog lot. Then he stepped down on the other side, too amazed to express himself, and another gust of wind came along, and turned the umbrella inside out. A •brief conversation here ensued between himself and the umbrella, which he still held, and he again started for the hat. When he got to it, he kicked it around several times and then jammed it down on his head, and started once more. through the bogs as the train drew up at the bridge. It was a terrible struggle, as the bogs were uncertain, but ha strained, and. coughed, and spit, and howled, and swore, and it did seem as if he would catch it after all. What he thought as he stood on that fence and watched the train sail across the bridge, no human being can telL An hour later be appeared in Stamford, wet through to the akin, splashed with mud, and with an expression on his face that would have scared a hydrant. Backing himself against the depot he stood there until near, midnight, and then went up oo the owl train to Norwalk, fall ing asleep in the meantime, and narrowly es caping being carried by the depot. Here he took the freight for Danbury, home just before daylight. His wife was abed but not Bleeping. She lay there tom by forebodings and harassed by suspense. Perhaps he was dead and lying on the cold ground in the rain. . Then she thought of his lifeless body, and groaned; and thought of the pie and groaned again. She knew his knock the moment it and, rushing ; down-stairs ‘ in the costume* appropriate "to * that hour, she threw herself into- his hair and hysterically shouted, lt Oh,you old rascal! Come in here.” ( AtyiKimA, THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE; SUNDAY, JUNE 8, 1873 LCVF. Daisy. THE EXCAVATIONS IN POMPEII. Progress and Classification of tlio IVorlc. SapUi Correspondence cfthe Boston Advertiser, Guisoppe Fiorelli, Senator and Director of the • National Museum in Naples and of the works of excavation and restoration at Pompeii, is one of those who deserve well not only of their own day arid generation, but of many others yet to como. He is a man who at first sight would not impress a stranger j’ of medium height, smoothly shaven simply dressed, quiet in manner, and' simple in speech. Yon might pass him a hundred limes passing through the alleys of the villa, smoking his cigar, and think him bat a plain, middle-aged bourgeois. But bis face bos its peculiar charac ter, which is none the less emphatic because it does not float upon tho surface. Regarded in profile, the head and the cleanly-ont features re call to you at once tho busts of the first Napo leon ; in the expression you find steadiness as well as blandness; and tho bright eyes, that look a little distant at times, have in their depths glances that pierce and search, and will not be denied. And the face well indicates the man—naturally pleasant, calm, patient, intelli gent, and resolute; in a word, & man to resolve problems, to clear up perplexed questions, and to do much with little. Whoever remembers tho state iu which Pom peii and the museum wore under tho Bourbons a dozen years ago, and sees them now, counts their orderly and logical arrangement and main tenance almost miraculous, and hogins to calcu late what great sums must have been expended and. what numbers of assistants employed. Tot' very small allowances have been made by the Government—the entry fees being absorbed | d>y tho payment of the attendants—and only ordinary- custodians and a handful of tech nical people being at , the disposition, of. the director. To his extensive plans,, hia careful distribution and lucid explanation of their duties to his subordinates, ana to lu's own ceaseless labor, are the results principally due; others have furnished hands, but ho has been called upon to supply nearly all the brains, . . In, the Museum the greatest part of the work is done. The vast halls and corridors have been cleansed and polished; now pavemonta in stone or cement have been laid, and the ceilings have been decorated with ornaments in stncco, copied from the best Pompeiian models; the walls have been tinted, and incrosted with the inscriptions, mural tablets and sculptured fragments which had been hidden away in storehouses and cellars; spacious cabinets have been put np, and tho articles of minor size which they contain have been classified, so that among the Pompeiian bronzes, forlnstance, one no longer secs sauce pans, personal ornaments,'' and household gods , cheek-oy-jowl, in a dirty rack, covered by a I coarse wire screen ; the historic and ideal basts { have been sorted and brought into groups; marble figures of like character have been gath ered into the same chamber, and tho splendid bronzes, mounted upon new pedestals, have been set where they can be examined on all sides. Nor is this all At tho same time, Fiorelli has had in progress a complete catalogue of tho museum, of which some portions have been already printed. In tho room where are the ancient arms, musical instruments, theatrical counters, etc., already are hung proof copies of tho relative pages, giving an idea of the minute ness and exactness of the work. One numis matic volume is complete and published. When Fiorelli began his labors the collection of coins and medals was stowed away in bags and boxes, the former direction of tho museum having shrunk from tho task of arrangement, although the Government would have assigned a largo sum therefor. With the help of hia regular staff, Fiorelli has cata logued and described every coin, medal, and counter, and carried through tho press this vol ume which records and illustrates tho medieval and modem coinages, and includes an appendix devoted to seals, bulls, and tessera. The former management of Pompeii was no leas blameworthy than that of tho museum. Tracts once excavated were left neglected, or even filled np with tho debris taken from other sections, and what was portable had been car ried away; little pains was token to pre serve the aspect of tho locality and to cre ate a comprehensive idea of the charac ter of the city. A few streets and edifices wore kept in tolerable order to attract public in terest, and give a semblance of management, while in reality only a very slight supervision was maintained. What was loft of the walls and pavements was rapidly deteriorating, and through surreptitious excavations many articles of interest found their way abroad, while the conscientious artist or student, on the other hand, found many obstacles thrown in the way of his investigations. Fiorelli has changed all this; and, whilo he prosecutes tho excavations with exact formality and under an almost military oversight, ho gives welcome and liberty to the painter, the architect, or tho historian who comes to portray, to study, or to describe. Under the direction oi the Min ister of Public Instruction, he has prepared a report for tho Exposition at Vienna, which gives a resume of ins work from its incep tion to the end of June, 1872, which is itself a little marvel of learning and of faithful ness to the smallest detail. But a small edition of the volume has been printed, and this is chiefly intended for the libraries of the chief scientific societies of the world. I have been so fortunate as to obtain one of the few extra copies at the disposition of the Minis ter, and to it I am indebted for the substance of the following paragraphs. The book itself is a handsome quarto, illustrated with a number of plates in diromo-lithographyj and a series of to pographic plans which give the details, on tho scale of 1-400, of every edifice and of every street uncovered at tho end of June last. - Between 1743 ahd 1860 there had been uncov ered in the territory-of Pompeii 110,526 square meters. As I have intimated above, the excava tions had not-been continuously prosecuted, but only in such sections of tho city as, promised, upon superficial investigation, to repay in ma terial objects a farther search. The first thing in FloreUi’s mind naturally was to clear away all the intervening sections to establish a sketch-plan of tho city, and to con tinue the future work regularly from point to point, holding tho v&lne and interest on tho uncovered region as a whole to be greater than those of isolated quarters, however at tractive in themselves. Accordingly, on the 2d of January, 1861, this system was adopted and work began, the Government having assigned for the excavations, and for the care of their relative museum in Naples, an annual sum of 110,000 francs. To this amount are to be added the entrance fees of visitors—which at Pompeii averages abont 30,000 franca per year—and oc casional small gifts from the royal purse, or from the incidental expenses account of some Ministry. Tne visitors’ fees, however, scarcely more than equal the salaries of the technical staff and custodians, the latter of whom ore now more than forty in number, receiving a daily stipend of two francs, their pay having been raised in 1862 from a franc and a half, to com pensate them for the loss of gratuities from visi tors, which are not allowed to be given. To indicate the material results obtained by j Fiorolli, I may say that the excavated tract of Pompeii has been increased by 110,857 square meters ; more than 400,000 cubic meters of earth and rubbish have been dug np and carried & mean distance of nearly 87.18 meters upon the heads or shoulders of the laborers, and pushed upon little railway cars no less than 534.62 • me ters. As fast as the excavation proceeds all re parable damage is mode good, so that at least the walls of each building may remain to indi cate its own character and that of the neighbor hood. To this end, masons have to do near ly 30,000 cubic meters of building, and 86,000 of superficial restoration. Tho railway by which tho overlaying material is removed beyond the city limits has been built; a Pompeiian library and archaeological school have been founded, and a complete miniature museum has been estab lished near the sea-gate of the city, containing specimens of all classes of objects which the great museum in this city can show. Yet for all this, Fiorelli had spent but 1,118,651.66 franca up to the 30th of June, 1872! Pompeii is now divided into regions and iinsulte t and every building has its number. The plan will be understood if I call the area between Tremont, Park, and Beacon streets a reyione; then the Tremont House, park Street Cnnrch, the AthoDceuzn. and each other mass of building, would constitute an insula. : FioreDi’a report de scribes, as his plans display, the architectural details of every edifice gives the monumental inscriptions, and the epigraphs painted upon the outer walls of houses shops, and personal inscriptions recorded in colored chalk here and there, and all the internal evidence which he has acted upon in attributing to various buildings their ownership or occupancy by particular per- sons. It gives.* classified list of all the mural paint ings which have recognizable subjects, and of all works of plaster artthe principal gems are noted.* and nndarjrarions are enum erated all the minor articles for domestic service, for the’toilette; the surgery*, and for ornament ing the person or the apartment, which have been found. These last classes include the enormona number of 19,834 separata articles, all perfect or. capable of repair, without tho intro* auction of no w parts or the alteration of old ones, ’iri ’ fragments are absolutely countless. Tlicro seems to have been no lack of glass- among tno Pompeiians ; as an instance. I not© that of 530 unguent-holders, 609 were of that material. P/pTOions and vegetables, water, oil* and dye stuffs all find their place in those interesting liHts, and there is no lack of bones of hore«fr cattlo, and other animals. Eigbty-scvon bnm™ skeletons havo been found, and casts in plaster havo been made of dx entire bodies, using the impression left by them in the earth as a mold. , Entertaining and instructive are tho accompa nying dissertations upon tho number and char acter of the Pompeiian population; tho disposi tion of their dwellings and laud, and their occu pations at different periods; the various styles of buildings how to bo recognized,-and the causes .-which led to their adoption. Put of theao I have now no room to speak and do them justice. I must,-however, take the space to add that there yet remains to excavate within the city walls a space of 425,000 square yards, to which must be added something for the area occupied by the tombs, which, it is not unreasonable to expect, will bo found beyond tho unexcavated gates. At the average rate of progress daring Piorelli’s direction, there will be required for this work no less than seventy-four years and three months, employing an average force of eighty-one work ers on 300 days per annum, and the expense will be about 5.U00,000 francs—unices the value of manual labor. shall rise more rapidly in Italy than it seems like to do. ANCIENT ART. Tfco JBronzo fßenil of the Castellan! Collection—An Etrurian Prince in Mis Coffin* : From the Few York Evening Poet , After a long discussion the British Museum has at last become proprietor of the famous Castellan! collection, which antiquarians rank as one of the most valuable made in modem times. and silver ornaments exhumed by the Italian goldsmith form a unique series illustrative of the best ancient jewelry, particu larly of Etrunan and Southern Italian. If England did well in old times to buy the fibula in grained gold from' Tnscanella, which is exquisite, and the sceptre found in a tomb at Tarentum, which shows a delicate network of gold thread, it'has done equally well in ac cepting the offer of Signor Castellan! and trans ferring his collection to national ownership. The collection consists mostly of bronzes, marble, patera?, Etrurian vases, and many other objects in metal, ivory, and amber. There is, for example, an Umbrian drinking-cup, of sphinx fashion, with a human face, crowned with a cap of scarlet and gold. The enp pre sents & dark ground, withered figure and ara besques interposed between the white wings of the sphinx, which forms the ground of the de sign. Another marvel of beauty is a bronze strigil, the handle of which, for art, is scarcely to bo equaled in any existing collection. A marble head of Css&r is fall of singular skill and deli cate perception of the artistic. Of Etruscan vases there are a number of examples of such novelty of design, with curious fancies in high relief, as to acquaint critics with a new school of Oscan ceramic handiwork. The famous ivory carving of tigers fighting, which set all the con noisseurs of Naples agog when it was discover ed, has in this collection oecome the property of the British Museum; and there is*a bear in bronze, no bigger than a fancy box for bon-bons, which is so vivid and spirited in its modeling as to stand unsurpassed. As a catalogue raisonneo is not within the scope of newspaper discussion, it is proposed hero to describe the two pieces de resistance of the collection—the one a bronze bead, possibly of Aphrodite, found in Thessaly; the other a rare terra-cotta of native Etruscan work ex humed at Cervetri, the ancient Ctsre, which is one of the most elaborate sarcophagi ever dis covered, and bears an inscription recording apparently the names of the person buried in the cist and of the artist who modeled it. The former is a fragment weighing rather less than ten pounds. The back part of the head is gone, and the mutilation of the throat begins at the first curve of the shoulder. Con tinental critics have lavished a land of pas sionate praise on this relio of ancient art, which costs the British Mnsenm, it is whispered, 640,000—an extremely moderate price. None of those Italian rhapsodies have been misplaced; An English expert pronounces it to be “ beyond doubt ttio finest and loveliest piece of human creative labor which the world possesses/ 1 There are, perhaps, one or two bronzes at Naples which compare favorably with this lately-resuscitated goddess. Three others in the British Museum—the well-known bead of Ho mer, the famous portrait bead from Cyrcno, and the wonderful ideal figure of Hypnos—are no doubt of as high a typo. The last—the alombor fod of the ancients — will be remembered y frequenters of the British Museum as wrought- with exceeding wealth of poetic suggestion, having . soft and slumberous owls 1 wings commingled dreamily with a silken flow of hair. An expression of tender dreaminess rests upon the countenance—a sweet but untranslata ble beanty/liko that which Homer indicates in his oft-repeated epithet of nedumos—half deep, half pleasing. This head is not of the early Greek art, and has not its majestic severity. Equally alien is its spirituality to the merely human loveliness affected by Scopas and Praxiteles. It is not of tho first ages of the ideal in Greece, nor is it of the degenerate age of insipid realism that came later, but rather seems to belong to the most interesting period of Athenian sculpture, when, to pervert Dryden. art no longer sought to raise a mortal to the skies, and had tamed sweetly content with drawing an angel down. It is not likely that this head is on Aphrodite, as generally believed. Indeed, its presence in Thessaly suggests that it may have belonged to a statue of Themis, the queen of Thessalian di vinities. Tho hair is wrought with such wonder ful grace os to make the gazer fairly forget the material. A band of gold binds back nppllng tresses, which else would fall about the face. The best of view is that of the three-quarter face, froin the right side, which best brings out the rippling curves of the outline, and the soft and elastic masses of hair. Tho Daily News notes a comparatively new point in its description of tho Caatcllani head. “It is most notable, 11 says the writer, “that there is no exact symmetry in tho face. The right brow is a trifio lower than the left; the right nostril a little more elevated than the other. 11 Whether this is to be attributed to higher artistic intelligence and knowledge of shadow, or to the perception of dualism in the human face, which rescues beauty from incipidi ty by a slight difference of outline between the sides, is a point that will probably never be de termined, unless some patient German evolves it from his inner consciousness; but it is none the less an important step in artistic perception— the seeing of the beautiful. Tho Times has a criticaTacconnt of the Etrus can coffin, which is worth quoting: The floor is hollowed out, or rather marked, by a raised border which takes the general form of a human figure. It rests upon four claw feet project ing beyond the angles, and terminating above in the bead and breasts of a winged siren. At the angles are peculiar lotos-formed carvings, representing the legs in rather stunted proportions, as seen in numberless instances on Greek vases, and ss found sculptured in the Macedonian tombs explored by Messrs. Daumet and Heuzoy. Between these lie the walls of the dst. surmounted by a sort of cornice, adorned with that pattern of upright blunted leaflets which formed so favorable a border in all works of Etruscan art. Above this border fits on the lid, itself forming a mattress, upon which recline, supported by pillows, two human figures, male and female. The work represents a kune, such as the andents lay upon at their banquets, —only here the panels connecting the legs form the walls of the dst or coffin. Upon these four panels is presented In relief what seems to be one con nected history, probably mythical. On the short panel at the foot are two warriors in panoply, their features showing grimly through their vlsored hel mets, and who seem to bo parting with their relatives and friends. The long panel in front exhibits the «nm« pair of warriors engaged In mortal combat; the one is already vanquished, and, sinking on one knee, endeavors to ward off the fatal thrust which the victor Is dealing with his lance, while the leg of the victim is furthermore assailed fiercely by a lion. Figures on either side, most of them female, utter shouts of tri umph or despair. To the extreme left, the victorious Bide, a small winged creature seems to bo in the act of stepping upon the scene from a portal; while, on the opposite side, a rfmilar shape flits rapidly forth in the air, his bead turned backwards towards the com batants as in- terror. A small portion of the panel which contained one leg of this figure has been lost, but the action may be guessed at with tolerable cer tainty from dmilar figures on veryandent vaso-paint- Ings,—as, for instance, in the Etrurian bydria figured by Gerhardt. Vases ct Coupes, T»f. XVL, where Po lyzena is led forth to be sacrificed at the mound, and where the shade of the hero, as a small-winged figure, fully armed, is seen flitting rapidly through the air around his tomb. The upper end gives four Bitting figures in opposing pairs, plunged In deep sorrow. The thrones upon which they Bit are of great and each pair is covered by one loose mantle, a most Angular mark of mourning. The second long side is occupied by a banquet scene, in which one who is presumably the victor is being served by various friends or attendants as he reclines upon his kline in a ball adorned with splendid furniture. All these figures are repetitions of types which occur on Greek and Etruaco-Greek vases of the second period—rather abort forms, exaggerated in the muscular development of the limbs, and almost caricatured in the prominent futures and the, small crania. Th* action, thiwgh constrained, is suggested by nature, and in strenuous morements is full of vehemence.” Any comparison of the value of this collection with our own SI Cosnola would be put of place hero, even were there sufficient matter for the work. The bronze bead described is undoubted ly one of the finest (if not the finest) existing, "bnt of its general features it is impossible, even by catalogue, to speak definitely. THE STORY OF RODGERS. From the .Veto York Tribune . One of our family papers preaches a strong temperance sermon, by simply*telllng the story of a woman who, after struggling with the pre ternatural strength of a loving wife and mother for years against the demon of drink that pos sessed her husband, conquered it, and madw him once again a freeman. In his last illness, brandy was proscribed, which ho was strong enough to use only as a medicine ; but after his death she “turned to it in her grief, and died, not many months later, a hopeless, helpless drunkard.” Let us tell a companion, story as true as this but of as different a complexion as daylight to night. A few years ago, on any sunny morning, a heap of filthy rags might be seen stretched bn some of the bales of a paper warehouse in a neighboring city, with a strong. smell of stale tobacco and whisky banging about it. Turning It oror (winch you could do as were a log, any time after 10 o'clock in the morning), you wonld find the swollen purple face of what hod once been a handsome young man, but there was little hope that the bleared eyes or thick tongue would give an intelligent answer. The porters passing by would push him aside, but not. roughly. The time had been when he hod been a Jolly, generous young fellow, and a favorite in the office. “Youngßodgers:” some ono would give you his history in five minutes : “ Taken to rum—no chance—poor donh “Stokes " (the proprietor) “ could not turn him out to starve, bo still gave him a nominal salary and suffered him to hang about the house, lest ho should take to worse courses than drinking.” There were hints, too, of a widowed mother, away off in the country, who had been depend* ent on him, and a sweetheart, a pretty, clinging little girL both of whom long ago he had aban doned. Bat there was nothing to be done. The end, through the usual horrors of delirium tremens, was apparently not far off. One day, as Rodgers was creeping to the near* eat bar for his morning bitters, a man, whom ho barely knew by sight, took him by the elbow and walked with him into a quieter street. “They tell me you are Richard Rodgers* son,” he said. “ Dick Rodgers was the only friend I bad for years, and for his sake Fd like to save his boy. Are you willing for me to try ?” . “ Oh* you can try, muttered the lad with an imbecile laugh. Tins nameless friend, nothing daimted, took him to a chamber in his own house and put him to bed. There he and his sons kept watch and guarded this poor wretch for months, like a prisoner, keeping liquor from him, and trying to supply it by medical treatment. A physician he employed, but he was cot able to pay for a nurse. Any one who has had to deal with a victim of mania-a-potu can guess how difficult and loathsome a task he had sec himself. ; Ungrateful enough it was at first, for Rodgers struggled against his tormentors with the fero city of—just what he wae—a starving animal. As reason began to return and his unnatural strength to vanish, be would beg them in his intervals of reason not to fail him, but to work out the ex- E criment either to success or death. “It is my ist chance,” he would cry; “for God's sake be patient.” This friend, with his son, did work it out through all the foul, unmentionable details, and the end was not death, but success. “ How soon," asked a friend of Rodgers afterwards, “were you trusted alone?” “Not for two years,” bo answered, laughing. “ 1 was out of jail, but in jail bounds. Do you remember that lank, muscular young fellow who had a desk beside me in the office ? He took it with the condition that he could leave it to dog me night and day, to my meals and to my bed. That was the son of the man who saved me. He was taken from a lucra tive situation in order that he might become my jailer. God bless him! How Fused to curse him! ‘Can't you trust my honor?* I would cry. ‘Tm no convinced that your honor has not the consumption,* the Scotch-Irishman would say. * We'll put no burdens on it until it has regained its health.* ” Your friend was a wealthy man, no doubt, and so able to give both time and money to your ca?o?** “On the contrary, heis but the owner of a small hat store, and supports his family out of that. He is rich or noble only in the deed and spirit of friendship.” AH this was years ago. Rodgers is now an industrious, honorable man. married to his old love, with his gray-haired mother by his hearth, bringing to it the perpetu al benediction of benignant old age. His friend sells hats—makes no speeches nor bruit of any sort in the world. Nobody has recognized in him a hero. Yet, who for the sake of a dead or living friend wonld go and do likewise ? THE SUICIDE. Oat in the night, with its driving sleet; Oat and alone in the dark, cold street; Oat in the night, in the mist and rain. With bursting sigh and with groan of pain, She speeds along in her wild career. The night is dork and the river is near. The storm is wild, but she does not heed; The angry wind cannot stay her speed. For wilder far than the storm’s unrest The swelling tempest that rends her breast. The bridge at last. Ah! she pauses now. The rain still beats on her fevered brow. Her cheek is blanched; and her long, dark hair Streams wildly back on tho chill night-air. Her glassy eyes are unwet with tears. But m them lie the pent griefs of years; They tell of wrong and of passion’s strife,— The sad, sad tale of a blighted life. She looks aloft with a frenzied gaze; No ray of light throngh the darkness strays— She looks below I The river is deep, And swiftly on its dark waters sweep. She gazes down with a grief-fraught air; Her fingers play with her tangled hair, As from her brow she dashes away The gtah’ring drops of the stormy spray. Along the river, many a light Shines dimly out on the murky night. Bright homes there are where those dim lights glow, And hearts untaught in the ways of woe. Who golly chase the swift hours slong With thoughtless mirth aud with merry song. There, brothers, sisters, and lovers meet, — Ah I what to them are the storm and sleet 7 At home, secure in the warmth and light. Ah I what to them is the wretch’s plight Who, homeless, friendless, cold, and alone, Stands hopeless there while the wild winds moan? Oh, God I in pity, some aid Impart To that sore-bruised, that poor, broken heart 1 Ob I is there notin that driving rain One soothing drop for her bosom’s pain 7 In Earth or Heaven Is nothing near To bid her panze in her mad career 7 Ah, no 1 deserted by aD, she’s there; E’en Heaven frowns on her wild despair. Well, let it be. The last plunge is o’er I The river rolls as it rolled before. The moaning winds load around it roll The lost sad dirge of the sinner’s eonL Oh! blame her not; she was fair and frail, And pity weeps o’er her lifers sod talc. She rushed to death; but can mortal dare To sound the depths of God’s mercy there 7 Milo. A Caucasian Drinking Boat. The serious business of the feast appeared on ly to begin when a good-sized cup was brought in and handed to the toolambatch, who “ crown ed it with wine ” —it held nearly a bottle—and drank the pamper off to the health of the ladies. He then refilled it and passed it to his left-hand neighbor, by whom it was emptied and then re turned to the toolambatch, to be again filled by him and passed to the second person on his left, and so on all round the company. The psalm chanting had become by this time mnch less doleful, and if the time was not so good as at the commencement, and the general swing a trifia irregular, it must be said that the whole effect was more lively and inspiriting. In deed, the repeated toasts were beginning to tell in many instances, and the ladies, who bad be? hared most admirably, and had viewed the scene with a kindly interest, begotten no doubt of habit, now rose to depart. Prince Musky, who by his position bad tbo privilege of exempting himself from the stringent law which allows no man to quit the table so long as the toolambatch is erect, accompanied them. One of bis aides-de-camp, who knew what was coming, managed to sneak out unobserved, and could not do found till just before we went away. The other remained, and begged on behalf of himself and the two other strangers that they might be allowed to sit there merely as spectators. The request, however, was politely, but firmly, refused, until it was urged that two of ua had been, and still were, very unwell. The plea was accepted. But, alas, for my bad luck, no available excuse could be found for me, and, to my horror, I saw myself, without hope of escape, let in for a carouse to which anything I had ‘hitherto witnessed was but a joke. - : Toast now succeeded toast in quick .succes sion : but all was done with a gravity and staid ness befitting so important a proceeding; - The wine was of the same - kind as at first, hut the quality, was, if anything, rather belter. TCie manner of drinking continued -as before, the toolambatch first filling the cup and drinking himself, and then refilling it for each one from left to right. After two or three rounds bnt of one cap, another of some what larger size was brought, and thus progress ively we got on to goblets of most formidable capacity. What need to tell how the scene progressed, what toasts were drunk, what victims consigned to forgetfulness ? Suffice it that our members were at length reduced to four, the toolambatch. myself, and two others, one the only remnant of the chorus, which had long ceased to celebrato the toasts, leaving, I suspect, the psalms un finished. Was the end ‘ approaching, and what was that end to .be? I asked myself with ircreasing horror when I saw brought in a huge bowl, wide-mouthed, doep-bot tomod, and two-handled, into which the toolam batch with unfaltering hand emptied three and a-half-hotfles, and then with much emphasis proposed to drink to the health of the “dead men.” With fascinated eyes I watched him as slowly, but. without a pause, he drained the monstrous cup, literally u Pleno sa proluifc auro,” and longed that ho might be numbered with, those whose health ho was drinking. But no, he finished, and holding the edge on his. thumb* nail, showed that only the ruby drop was left. Defections had left* mo immediately on his right, so that my tnra came last. The first on his left accomplished the task, though with many a * pause. The next began well, stopped, tned again with faltering hands, again, paused, once more tried, and. then, placing the cup on the table, sank among the dead. I was partially saved, for it was the law. that when any one succumbed in the act of. drinking the person next to him should finish what was left. J\fypredecessor had almost completed his task, • and I managed, to finish it without accident. We three remaining ones now sat eyeing one another like gladiators in a ring, and measuring one another’s strength and endurance. A min ute or two elapsed, and then the toolambatch, to whom the cap bad been returned, rose once more, and calling for more wine, pro* posod to drink to the health of the *• living.” It was a desperate emergency. To face again the chance of having to swallow that awful, magnum seemed out of the question. What was to be done—feign de feat, and fall among tho dead, and bo avoid the impending fate ? 1 thought of the words Horace pats in tho mouth of Yibidias. “ Noe nisi dsnmose hfblmaa, moriemnr multi ; v and then as the beginning of the following line “ Et calicee poscit majoreo ” came mechanically to mind, a sudden thought seized mo. “ What I” I exclaimed, starting up. “ do you propose to drink to tho victors out of the| same cup as to the vanquished ? Not so, £ demand a larger one: “ Capadorca affer hue, puer, ecyphos.” The toolambatch, though his face, when the meaning or this outburst had been explained to him, showed slight symptoms of astonishment, lost nono of his equanimity, but turned to the servants and asked for a bigger cup. There was none. “Never mind,” 1 said,*my classical memories now thoroughly aroused. “ bring that here.” pointing to & large earthen pitcher which had been used as a wiuo-cooler. and which must have held over two gallons, c * we will drink out of that.” With one look of blank amazement at the proposed flagon, the toolambatch quietly de clined the task, which would have fallen to Liar first, of trying to empty it. “Then,” said I, “we drink no more.” Such was the law, and there was no appeal. My artifice had succeed ed, the toolambatch was no Socrates, and our symposium at once broke ■ up. —Macm ilia n's Magazine , Sacred Birds* Extraordinary honors were paid to the goose in ancient times ; and it is still held in great ven eration by some of the Eastern nations, The figure that occurs so frequently on Buddhist monuments is the Brahman ee goose. The an cient Britons, according to Cssar, held it impi ous to eat the flesh of geese. The ibis was another bird held in the highest sanctity by tho old Egyptians. There are still numerous pits con taming ibis mummies in that country. The largest of them, a little to tho westward of tho pyramid of Aboutir. is about twenty feet deep. The floor of thin pit, for probably a depth of many feet, is covered with heaps on heaps, and layers on layers, of coarse earthen jars, tho lids cemented down, containing each the body of an ibis, preserved with bitumen, and inclosed with numerous folds of narrow cloth bandages. “ Some of tho mummies are found.” says hol'd Nugent, in his Lands Classical and Sacred, *‘ in a state of great preservation—black and charred, and incapable of being taken wholo out of tho bandages, but ail the bones, tho beads, and al tho feathers entire. Whether these animals were thus embalmed and brought to this place of burial whenever found dead, or whether col lected hero only as objects of worship, is a creation of which no ancient authority assists in the solution.’' Dr. Shsw states that tho Mahometans have a great veneration and esteem for tho stork. It is almost as sacred with them as the ibis was with the Egyptians; and they would look upon a person as profane who should kill or even barm one. So precious were these birds held in Thessaly, which country they are said to havo cleared of serpents, that the slayer of a stork was punished with death. They were thought much of at Borne, for when a person from a freak of luxury, ordered one to be placed on his dinner-table, he drew upon himself tho direful obloquy of tne whole city. The robin is considered in several countries a sacred bird ; to kill one is little less than sac rilege ; and its eggs are free from the hand of the bird-nester. It is asserted that tho respect shown to it by man is joined in by the animals of the wood. The weasel and wild-cat ; it is said, will neither molest it nor eat it when killed. One cause for the veneration in which it is held may be the superstition which represents it as the medium through which mankind are warned of approaching death. Before tho decease of & person, a robin is believed, in many instances, to tap thrice at the window of the room in which the sick person is lying. Grimm says that tho peculiar veneration with which this bird is treated has been shown by the whole German race from remote times; and bo refers to the bird’s color and its name as evidences that it was sacred to Thor, the God of light ning. The swallow, too, in Germany, is deemed a sa cred bird, lake the stork, it preserves the house on which it builds its nest from fire and light ning. The Spanish peasants have a tradition that it was a swallow that tried to pluck the thorns out of the crown of Christ as he hnng upon the cross; hence they havo a great rever ence for this bird, and Trill never destroy it. In France,' in the Pays de Cauz, the wren is a sacred bird. To kill it, or rob its nest, is deemed an atrocity which will bring down the lightning on the cnlprit’s dwelling. Such an act was also regarded with horror in Scotland. Bobert Cun ningham mentions the following popular male diction upon those who rob the nest of the wren: Malisons, malisons, mair than ten. That harry the lodge of Heaven’s hen! —Belgravia, XJso of the Eustachian Tube. The chief use of the Eustachian tube is to allow a f. po interchange of air between the cor and the throat, and this is exceedingly impor tant ; and it is very important also that its use in this respect should be understood. Persona who go down in diving-bells soon begin to feel a great pressure in the ears, and, if the depth is great, the feeling becomes extremely painful. This arises from tbo fact that in the diving-bell the pressure of the air is very much increased, in order to balance the weight of the water above; and thus it presses with great force upon the membrane of the dram, which, if the Eus tachian tube has been kept closed, has only the ordinary uncompressed air on tbo inner side to sustain it. It is therefore forced inward and put upon the stretch, and might bo even .broken. Many cases, indeed, have occurred of injury to the ear, producing permanent deafness, from descents in diving-bells undertaken by persona ignorant of the way in which the ear is made; though the simple precaution of frequent swal lowing suffices to ward off all mischief. For, if the Eustachian tube is thus opened, again and again, as the pressure of the outside air in creases, the same compressed air that exists outside passes also into the inside of the dram, and the membrane is equally pressed upon from both sides by the air, and so is free from strain. The same precaution is necessary in ascending mountains that are lofty, for then there is the same effect of stretching produced upon the membrane, though in .the opposite way. The outside air becoming less and less candensed oa a greater height is gained, the ordinary air con tamed within the dram presses, upon the mem brane, which is thus insufficiently supported on tbo outeidc t and a similar feeling of weight and stretching is produced. The conjurer’s trick of breaking a vase by a word rests on the same principle. The air is exhausted from within, and the thin, though massive looking sides of the vase collapse by the pressure of the air out-, side; and, just as ever so small a hole, made at the right moment in the side of the vase, would prevent the whole . effect, so does which makes a little hole, as it were, for the moment in the dram of the prevent the izh pressing or out-pressing of the membrane. Mr. Tyndall, in his interesting book “OnSound,” teQs ns how he employed this precaution ol swallowing, and with entire success, when, in one of his mountain excursions, the pressure on bin ears became severely painful.— J*opula) Science Monthly, 7

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