Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, June 15, 1873, Page 7

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated June 15, 1873 Page 7
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A WESTERN TRIP. prom Chicago to the Rocky Mountains. Tie Plains and Their Inhabitants— How Mr. Mudeater Proved. Himself a Wolf. people cn the Train—Emigrants, Con sumptives, and Newly-Mar ried People. Penrer and Its Peculiarities—Health- Seekers —Pike’s Peak and the Specimen-Hunters. Special Correspondence of The Chicago Tribune. Denver, Cob, May, 1873. X came out here as one of an excursion party, —and, if the Lord permits, I won’t fcsvel with a party again,—barring my wife and ftmtiy, of course. We came from Illinois, —a pod place to come from, and a better place to pt back to. We came by rail, mostly. Some of the party suggested an emigrant-wagon; but life is too short, so we took a Pullman drawing pom car. There is more poetry about the oigrant-wagon; but, on the whole, Pullman’s institution is preferable. We left Illinois on the other side of the Mississippi, homed through thfl sombre and ancient city of St. Louis (in jßssonri), and followed the setting sun (this rijrase been used before) over the St. Louis, Eanfita City & Northern Railway, over the St. Charles bridge, aud past numerous station houses, farms, and trees. The people along the line had theib hands in pockets. * Xh© ability and patience with which they keep four hands in their pockets is surprising, cou ntering they have a fertile country which they pffit be cultivating; but cultivation involves plowing, and plowing is hard work, as I found cat once when I sat down behind a plow, while the point was going towards the centre of the phnet, and the horses were running away with the harness. That was my first and lost attempt at fanning. I discharged my employer, paid him «f, and forsook the agricultural profession. In the meantime we reached Kansas City. M«ut this time the party was joyous. Two ■or toe of them, with noses of extraordinary in telligence and of immense range, wero con vinced that they smelt the Bocky Mountains, 600 TniVa away; and the asthmatic young man as serted that he felt relieved in the vicinity of his ifommid breast-pin. We got aboard the Kansas pacific train, and woke up in the morning ON THE PLAINS. There is a great deal of land out-doors on the plains. It rolls in billows like the ocean,, and is monotonous and tiresome.- Look out of the plite-glass window in the morning, and you see plains covered with sage-brush and stunted gnss; look out every five minutes during the diy, and you see stunted grass and sage-brush ; and you go to bed at night wearied with the eight, to dream of the vast, unfenced expanse, md wonder where it ends. The only scenery on the route is occasional herds of buffalo, a squad of antelope, or a colony of prairie-dogs. The stations are few and far between. A lady on tbe train was running up the road to call on a neigh bor 120 miles away, and most of her neighbors were farther off. The inhabitants are few, and not eelect. There are half-breed Indians and _ the Utter 4 ferocious set. '.Familiar with the eight of blood, butchery being their trade, when they cannot trill bo Halo they hill oach other, and occasionally, by way of variety, somebody else. Hr. Mudeater, for instance, went into a saloon, and observed, * 4 Fm a wolf! ” An unsophisticat ed youth replied that ho did not see anything very wolfish about him. Mudeater responded by drawing a navy revolver, and, without warn ing, lodged a bullet in the young man's heart. In that climate, a bullet in a man’s heart pro duces death. The victim never stirred, and the amiable Mudeater still roams unhung, and will SuVaUj u/uttuuo tv loaui tmitl - Joim is 3 tracks. X made up my mind that, if a man took me into his confidence and informed me that ho was a wolf, I should entirely agree with him; that I should indorse the proposition, and, if necessary, subscribe an affidavit to that effect. Under such circumstances, I am the most accommodating person in the world. It is cot that lam afraid, —not a bit, —but I like to accommodate people. Society on the Plains' is highly educated in the use of fire-arms. And yet it is a great country. All it needs is water and good society, which would make Hades itself inhabitable. I went through the train to boo what knn> OP PEOPLE were going out to star and enjoy the amenities o! life. There were emigrants from Europe, dirty and haggard alter their journey toward the Land of Promise, —the men smoking their misery away; the women attending to the wants of children, —sometimes their only wealth. They dropped off hare there, - at some colony to which they were consigned. There were con enmptrveß,the hectic banner of death hanging out on their cheeks, and the traces of disease in their weak forms and attenuated limbs. Many of them were going to graves under the shadow of the mountains. Many of them were alone. Their friends in all kindness sent them out, sever to return. The palace-cars were full of tourists. A young couple were on their wed ding-tour. *That was easily seen; they were so Toy attentive to each other, and each was so particularly afraid the other would catch cokL He insisted upon her putting on her shawl twen ty times a day, and in the interval she pressed turn to put on bis overcoat. “ Dear, you’ll catch cold!” was the plaintive burden of their song. They will get over all that in good time. Then there were gentlemen with shot-guns and dogs in the baggage-car. They had murderous inten tions toward buffalo at a distance. There were three ladies, representing three generations,—* grandmother, mother, and daughter,—cultivated and wealthy, with a streak of . beauty in form and feature running through them aIL The grandmother, bom in New Eng land, migrated to Illinois; the mother, bom m IQinoifi, was migrating to Colorado; and the daughter will thus become the founder of an other generation, which may migrate to the Pa cific Slope. According to this, it takes four gen erations to cross the Continent. The measure ment is not mathematically exact, but is as near aa I can get at it. There was a colored gentle man on the car, one of Mr. Pullman’s proteges. I don’t think be owned the car, but sometimes I thought he did. • The party—to which lam unhappily attached —behaved themselves throughout with BECOMIKO MPBOFBIBTY. Tafywere looking out of the windows for the Jwciy Mountains and for buffalo. They greeted a .ame buffalo-calf at one of the stations with cbAos. One of them took a sketch of the beast; another telegraphed to his wife that buffalo were JJ eight; a thud offered $5 for the little pet; aaa another started in on a poem beginning 0 Buffalo I mighty monarch of the Plain! nhen, 0 when, shall we meet again 7 In the morning an idiotic excursionist appeared Jf ay berth, accompanied by a snow-balk ®*ud he, ** is snow I” 44 what do I want z* "JJ snow!” said he. 44 I don’t dispute 3?? wcnu at all; I concur in your opinion as to J&wbeing snow,” said I. 14 Tea, but there’s roowouWoors I” saidhe. 41 That’s the proper EJf 6 * or A” said L 44 But won’t you get up to* see it gaid he. 44 What for?” said I. « ( i? *V* saidhe. 44 Not much I” saidL he. 44 My friend,” said I, im » you’re enthusiastic. I won’t get foriv such purpose. I have seen snow be iSSw n ® B6Bn ft in Illinois. There was a for several months last winter, and .. 68 hue a qualify of snow in Ulinioa WSSI c ° Illinois don’t knuckle under Jz 1 * a cent on snow, young man! Now, for ®S OQt and gaze .on .that..snow, im going to sleep.” Ho. soon tiS? e ? et m ® know the sun was ft. V him it wasn’t my fault; I couldn’t * c °uldu*t stop it from rising. X never in mJ v. 8 ®® 11 rise; I never saw it rise but twice ho •ivi?’ an( * then it made me hungry.l had to t«vT l , n whatever to see it rise.. 1 told him t °* ft* rising; that would satisfy. the sketch during the day. content. Then he wanted no * 680 the morning. I told hitn it WsUn'tSSi’ Iwaa no j nd S<> of mornings; I k l€il one morning from another, except by the day of the month; there was a sameness about mornings that-confused me ; I wanted no morning in mine. He could take a sketch of that, too, if he liked. In an hour after, he woke me again to say we were within ten minutes of the breadfast-station. I was the first of the jiarty at the table/—the artist and the poet the .Before leaving the Plains,—before watering their arid surface with a farewell tear, —let me remark that I have great expectations of these Plains, and have no doubt that, IN THE COURSE OF CENTURIES, when the buffalo, and you and I, gentle reader, are extinct, and when the soil is nourished by artesian-wells, what is now a comparative desert will bloom like a rose-bush. And now I am in DENVER, — at least so I have been informed. I would not know Denver from Adam, but for the kindness of a friend who told mo. None of the party were ever here before, unless when they were goats, as the Darwinian gentleman remarked. I am not going to write up Denver. Volumes have been devoted to this frontier city at the foot of the mountains, with its wonderful enterprise and Western energy and pluck; its curi ous ' cosmopolitan population, congregated from all quarters of ■ the globe; its queer opposites,—its roughness and refine ment,—its consumptive culture from the East in search of health, its rough mining votaries of wealth, its savage visitors from the home of the red-man near by, and 'its Mongolian residents, with their pig-tails, almond-shaped eyes, and petite forms, who wash clothes (not themselves) for a living. Civilization predominates, of course. There are a fair share of churches and a four-story school-building; women shapely and tall, the ratified atmosphere allow ing them to shoot up to an immense altitude { — their heads laden with hair in cbevauz do fnse etyle,—their hats as email, their gloves as tight, their dresses, laces, and shawls as costly, and as fashionable, as those worn by their sisters in the East who are supposed to reside within the yery precincts of Fashion. The piano sounds where the war-whoop was heard a score of years ago, and the steam-whistle has frightened the native citizens of the forest and plain—the bear, the buffalo, the antelope, and the coyote—from the ancient homes of their progenitors. . The Bocky Mountain range in the distance furnishes ever-changing scenery for the inhabitants. There is the making of a fine city right here. It will grow with the mines on which its growth depends ; and, though I am not much of a seer, I will venture to predict that the next generation will find 50,000 inhabitants around this very spot, , There are spots on the sun and on the finest shirt-front, freckles on the fairest sKin, and this town HAS ITS FAULTS, like all human things. Some persons would think it was too high up, and the atmos phere.altogether too thin. The effects are rather curious. On account of' the rarefied air, the hotels are execrable in cleanliness, accommoda tion, and general comfort. Their unpunctuality is another result of a rarefied atmosphere. Their charges, however, are first-class, being all of 6,006 feet above the level of the sea in propor tion to what Is given for the money. Perhaps Denver is not much worse off for hotels than Cleveland, Indianapolis, Cairo, Bloomington, or Peoria; hut in none of these places would a really first-class hotel return as l arge profit on the capital. Shaving in this thin air costs 25 cents. If there is a consumptive barber in Chicago who desires to make money aud recuperate his health, let him come out aud start a tonsorial emporium. Other trifling matters might be al luded to, and blamed on the thin air and the altitude; but what’s the use ? There arc boarding-houses for INVALIDS, where visitors in all stages of nnhealth eat their meals and converse on consumption, coffins, grave-yards, and other exhilarating topics. They are always discussing death. The conversa tion is enough to reduce a healthy person to either insanity or Bright’s disease. X cannot think that tbe associating of sick persons to gether has a beneficial effect on the general health. So far as I can learn, people do die once in a while in Colorado; and there are two cemeteries near the city, well “planted,” as they say out here. - Persons do die here, especially persons who come out in the last stages of the complaint they hope to cure. X am informed that persons who come hero when the first symp toms of consumption appear grow strong and healthy. I came here by the advice of my family physicians; I keep five. I have been here two days, and perceive no perceptible improvement. I weighed 200 when I left home, and weigh no more to-day. A great many come, . and, because they do not increase ten .pounds . a week, pronounce the climate a fraud,—an unwarranted inference. Consumptives, with means to procure all the comforts of life, with pleasant company and happy surroundings, can breathe easier, if not longer, here; hut, for those whose lives are already circumscribed, to come bore is folly; they had bettor die at home, among their frio**da, jmii- hfl laid tn - XAfi±- iKooo tßoy love. We went out TO THE MOUNTAINS on a 14 baby,” or. narrow-gauge railroad, up Clear Creek Canon. The mountains rose thou sands of feet on either side of the track, which followed the meauderings of a noisy mountain stream. Everywhere we stopped, two of the party jumped off to. pick up specimens, and they have enough now to grade a railroad. Wo went to Floyd Station, thence to Idaho Springs by stage, and thence over the mountain to Central City by the same conveyance. Stage-riding on Wabash avenue is bearable; hut, in the mountains, ; it is otherwise. There is a certain excitement in traveling down a hill eloping at an angle of 45 degrees, at a gallop, sometimes on the edge of a precipice. The ex citement consists in knowing that, at any mo ment, your neck may be broken, and your earth ly troubles ended; but. for my part, I longed with an earnest desire for the dirty level of the prairie. It’s all over now, and I know I was a fool; but there were ten of us, —a mighty con solation. We also made a pilgrimage to Colo rado Springs, by the Denver & Rio Grande Rail way, the scenery along the route being ouite grand. From Colorado City we went to Mani tou, at the base of Pike’s Peak, near the mouth of the Pass. On our route we passed through the “Garden of the Gods,” so called; and the' - specimen-hunters picked up another stock .of stones. . They insisted upon feeling every mountain, putting their hands oh it to as sure themselves it was not an optical delusion. At Manitou Springs we drank the waters until a native warned us that 41 our hack-teeth would be afloat ” if we did not holdup. was duly admired, aud one of the party—an en thusiast on mountains —insisted on sleeping in a room where he could see it if he woke in the night. It is a very fine mountain, indeed, and Mr. Pike deserves a great deal of credit for find ing it. Its weak points are, that it obstructs the view beyond, and Is too far from Chicago. It is wasting, the specimen-hunters are carrying it away bit by hit; and soon it will be scattered far and wide over the United States. I did not load myself with pieces of Pike’s Peak. I prefer the stones I can pick np on the lake ahore near Chicago. As Pike’s Peak is intended for pur children as well as for ns, this genera tion should not carry it all away. The moun tain and the mountain-air had a strange influ ence upon some of our party. They leaped for joy, threw up their hats, took sketches of every peak, and began poetry they never finished. One of them telegraphed to his wife as follows: One thousand above yon; 8.000 feet from home; Pike’s Peak in view. Kiss Haggle and Johnnie. Another, who must have_been an Irishman, telegraphed: If I had to live here a year, Fd die In three weeks. Excellent mountains, bat monotonous. We traveled through several of those grand canons, and I was sorry to find that these moun tains, which should have been dedicated to the nation forever, wore pre-empted; and presump tuous y»* n , in one place, had posted a notice that no carriages were to drive up the canon. I noticed also that all the land worth having is in the HANDS OF MONOPOLIES, railroad companies, colony associations, or, other speculators, who stand at the receipt of custom, and collect toll from the poor emigrant and settler. Very often, by pure misrepresenta tion, they are induced to come to Kansas or Colorado, to find, when too late, that they have been taken in and done for. And still there is “ample room and verge enough” for an immense immigration. For men of nerve and endurance, with lota of work in them, tiiere is a nice country, and a future for their children, if not for them. If just as convenient as not, from §IO,OOO to $20,000 would be a good thing to bring along. It will be found a consolation betimes, and here, as everywhere else, nothing produces money like money. Eloquent Profanity of a Steamboat mate* The Danbury JPetcs man has been traveling. He describes a profane scone at a Mississippi landing: * 4 All was bustle at the dock when I got there. The boat was taking on . its freight, and about thirty liyo negroes and one very excited ana awfully profane white man were doing toe business. That white man was * study. He was the mate of the vessel, and what he dian t know about rhetoric could be held on the point THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, JUNE 15, 1873. of a knife-blade by a nervous man. The thirty negroes had. all they could well attend to to keep up with his new oaths and roll on the casks. Without any cessation they bobbed from the boat to the shore, and from the shore back to the boat, and all the while that Mississippi elocutionist danced around and swore. When I got on the boat I sat down -on my baggage and watched that man. ' “ Being a resident of New England, I thought 'X'knew something of-wickedness, but! wasmis takeu. . The negroes were uniformly dressed in pants, shirt, and hat. Some of the hats were ornamented with different - colored - ribbons; others again contained but a simple brass plate —the trademark of a retired fruit can. Beauty unadorned is adorned the most. They were driven like sheep, first to the shore, then back to the boat. The least hesitation, the slightest misstep, was noted by the orator and promptly incorporated into his discourse. He couldn’t have been more familiar were they his own fathers, which it is not likely they were. “ After getting through at the dock, the boat moved up to the com yard. The coal was brought on in boxes with handles at each end. Each box contained two and a half bushels, and was carried by two men. Six hundred bushels were thus taken on. • The same amount of bustle and vehemence occurred in this transaction. The men sweat like April, and appeared to be ready to drop at every trip, but the Mate hurled, tonics at them, and kept them. up. When his throat got tired he used his boot, aud used it in that whole-soled way peculiar to the Missis sippi boatmen. . 41 The negroes receive $1 a day and their vic tuals. I should think they would g 6 to some city, and get into a store.” JOHN STUART MILL. A Discussion of Cabs and Cab-Fares— ITlr. mil as a JPedesirlan—mis toy. ally to Bill Friends* London Correspondence of the Nation. ■ I have a lively recollection of a few appari tions of Mr. Mill some ton or twelve years ago, when he was first beginning to emerge from his retirement. Nothing could have been imagined more contrary to my preconceived notions than the slight, fragile man, trembling with ill-sup pressed nervousness and, at times, blushing like a girl for some inappreciable cause. I had ex pected—foolishly enough—to see an ideal phil osopher, not perhaps in the flowing robes, but at least with the dignified mein of one of Rapha el’s apostles, and my surprise was not less than would be the surprise of most people If the por trait of the ideal Bt. Paul were suddenly replaced by a faithful likeness of the man as he appeared to his contemporaries. If Mr. Mill’s presence was not dignified in the conventional sense, it revealed at once that emotional side of his nature which b** been made prominent in his later works. The author of 44 The Subjection of Women ” seemed to take the place of the expounder of Malthusian princi ples. But in a few minutes there was. no difficulty in constructing a more complete image of the whole man. It was at a meeting of the Political Economy Club that I first had the honor of being in Mr. Mill’s company, and the subject, not at first sight a very attractive one, was the propriety of allowing cab-fares to be regulated by free competition instead of fixed by a tariff. Unpromising subjects often branch out into unexpected variety of suggestion. On this occasion, however, I do not remember, and perhaps it would be a breach of confidence to reveal, the opinions expressed by the other philosophers present.. The arguments used hare slipped through my mind, though I have a vague recollection of having chewed many dry husks of statistical information. But I do remember very distinctly the impression produced upon me by Mr. Mill. His nervous and agitat ed manner disappeared with the first sentence; the statistical aud economical magnates around mo listened with rapt atten tion, whilst a flow of sentences fell from Mr. Mill’s lips, as perfectly formed as though he was reading the proof-sheet of a carefully-prepared essay, **>< l arranged with the. most* lucidity. How much attention Mr. Mill had given to the subject of cabs it is of course impossible for me to say; but I could never Have imagined that to so barren a text there could have been appended such a mass of interesting reflections. Some how or other, he kept to his subject, and yet forced one to think of cabs, not as a mere iso lated phenomenon, but as part of the general system of things. Always dwelling upon topics vrlthin the comprehension of police officials and town councils, ne yet brought into the discussion such a wealth of thought and knowledge that cabe hare boon oxer since raieod in my opinion. Coleridge would doubtless have been more poetical and more metaphysical, if started on one of hia flights into. the. infinite from a cab-stand; aud Mr. Carlyle would probably show a more vivid insight into the phases of human character connected with cabs, but as an exposition of practical philosophy in its bearings upon cabs, Mr. Mill’s discussion ap peared to me to bo as near to perfection as pos sible. In fact, Mr. Mill could talk like a book, and, what is far rarer, like a very excellent book. His conversation was frequently like a chapter out of the “Liberty.” it was his habit,.l be lieve, to have everything closely arranged in his. head before putting anything on paper. The actual writing therefore was extremely rapid. I am almost afraid to say, merely from recollec tion, what was the period employed in the ac tual composition of the 44 Logic.” My memory tells me that he had written the whole in three months. That would imply over ten octavo pages a day; and considering the extreme com plexity of the subject, and the difficulty of steer ing the way safely through all manner of logical intricacies, such a 'speed of ex ecution would be something astonish ing. Of course it implies that the whole sub stance was already carefully prepared. Like' some other distinguished writers, he was fond of taking long walks, during which his reflections were gradually molded into a form fit for ex pression. Within the last year or two, he was still equal to doing thirty or forty miles in.a day without excessive fatigue, though from his ap pearance no one wobld have imagined that ne possessed great pedestrian powers.; Mr. Mill’s speeches were very much injured in their effect by the weakness of his voice,’ but as compositions thev were as perfect as anything that he wrote. When be first appeared in Par liament, he was apparently very nervous, and had a curious habit of occasionally stopping and shutting his eyes for many seconds between two consecutive sentences.. To his hearers it ap peared at first that a break down was imminent, but he always caught the thread of his argument, and proceed ed anew with a uniform flow of disquisi tion. Hia least satisfactory performances were at moments when strong feeling was carrying him away. The’ disproportion between the passion and the physical power of utterance was too marked; fora genuine orator requires an organ of corresponding powers and volume to give effect to the expression of strong emotion. Arid jet the genuine strength of Mr. Mill’s feel ings, and the generous breadth of his sympathies, ces as it him to the memory of many friends who do not implicitly adopt hie theories. No warmer-hearted man ever lived. His loyalty to his friends was touching in a high degree, though it doubtless betrayed him into occasional weaknesses. Everybody remembers the dedica tion to the memory of hia wife of the book on “ Liberty,” in which, to say the truth, it is im possible not to suspect that his judgment had been considerably biassed by his feelings. Something of the same tendency appears in several of hia later works. Mr. Mill beHeved in his friends with something like vehemence. He believed * not merely in their moral worth but in their intellectual power. The feeling was amiable and generous in a high de gree ; for most of us are perhaps conscious that Siere is something not altogether displeasing to us in the weakness as well as in the misfortune of our friends. Some little grain of jealousy perhaps mingles with most human friendships, or possibly we fear to trust our judgments when they apply to those in whom we are deeply in terested. From any such defect of cordiality Mr. Mill was most honorably free; but I fancy that some allowance must be made for this un conscious bias before we can accept the very warm eulogies which he has passed upon the orists whose merits are • -not so con spicuous to the outside world. In losing Mr. Mill, we have not only lost the most thoroughly trained intellect amongst English philosophers and politicians, though one whose powers of assimilation perhaps rather exceeded nfn powers of origination, but we have also lost one whose generous warmth of feeling gave a higher tone to contemporary politics, and leaves many tender memories behind him. There is no one ready to take his place, though we may cod* sole ourselves with the reflection that ho had. fre tty well delivered hifl message to the world, t is said that he has left many remains, and among other,writingann autobiography contin ued to a recent date. A few years ago he sua that he had finished some writings for which he thought the time of publication had not arrived; but I know not whether the observation referred to “The Subjection of Women/' which has since appeared, or to some works which have not yet seen the light. THE DOCTRINE OF MALTHUS. Hook's Point, Hamilton Co., la., Jane 6, 1673. To the Editor of .The' Chicago Tribune::- Sib : In The Xbibuse of the 2d inst. you favor us with an interesting and suggestive editorial essay on “Over-Population,” which is, practically, of eqtial value with ‘the many speculations wo see concerning the termination, at some indefinite time, of all terrestrial life. * The law of modification, which is so unerring ly traced in the physical conditions of sublunary existence, points as intelligibly .to the future as the past.' The mysterious prophecies of future dissolution, that issue from the caverns of the deep, the fissures of the earth, the pestilences of the air, and the celestial phenomena of the skies, are in wonderful sympathy with our instinctive forebodings of future annihilation. Nor are they the less solemn and impressive'because they are in harmony with the warnings that claim a Divine inspiration through the Bible. In short, every faculty:of humanity, is ab sorbed in the dreadful conviction that death is sooner or later Inevitable. But shall we cease to build cities and habitations upon the plains, because the geologist tells us they shall be overwhelmed-by a future convul sion of the earth, or a submersion of the ocean ? Shall we refrain from breathing, because.- the - astronomer predicts a period to come when the life-sustaining elements of the air shall undergo a fatal change through celestial modifications? And, finally, shall we rebel against another in stinct, because Malthas tolls us of & future limit to population? Practically, then, the Malthusian doctrine is no more significant than that fireside theory of the kind old maid, who, as she indulged in it, wept over the imaginary death of an imaginary offspring. ' There are not wanting men who! in all ages, have striven to make a sensation or some kind: and it is, unfortunately, too often the case that they have been the most successful when they have appealed, through the imagination, to the fears of mankind. Facts and figures are so in geniously interwoven with their theories that, Oke the doctrine of “ Protection to American industry,” they make a most imposing and de ceptive fabric, which the'celebrated point of “itburiel's spear” is not always able to rend. And so this sensational - theory of Malthas comes down to us, —more interesting from its novelty and nature ; than its utility and truth. Let us see wnat, if any, sense there is in it: ..His proposition is, that “ Over-population is an evil;” and his whole argument goes to “ en force moral restraint” as its only admissible remedy. That the proposition is true, has never yet been demonstrated by its author or its friends. .Nor is it to be accepted as. a funda mental law of economic science, because of its dogmatic assertion on the one hand, or that, on the other, it has been feebly opposed. The sta tistics to establish the one or to confirm the other, are equally wanting. None of the figures and illustrations upon which the propo sition rests are conclusive and satisfactory to a reasoning mind.' Bat, on the contrary, if the common instincts and conclusions of the world have any force, beside, the repeated and em phatic encouragement of Divine authority to “ increase and multiply,” that force is directly against the proposition. Every legislative act in the history of the world has been friendly to the growth of population as a de sirable attainment. Not one has been aimed, directly or indirectly, against it as an evil. Gan the instipets and experiences of all the world be delusive, and only Malthas a prophet ? Bat, if an overgrowth of population be an evil, it follows that a scarcity, or none at all, must be a blessing,—a conclusion, like the proposition, equally embarrassing to disprove, bat, in the mind of common sense, equally absurd and irra tional. We wbaii be told, however, that a mean exists, which, if it can be secured, will insure a millennium, only to be disturbed by those con tumacious members of society who will not re spect the artificial law of “ moral restraint.” When that happy equilibrium shall have been reached, through other than natural influences, we shall, without doubt, see “ The lion and the lamb lie down together, and a little child lead them.” Now, as for the argument, what reception can it obtain but one of indignation and contempt ? Talk about “moral restraint” as a power to check population! This is no place lor face tiousnesa, nor will the gravity of the subject permit light jokes, or Mr. Malthus, who was, perhaps, like St. Paul in one respect, could be pleasantly dismissed. Aside from its pueril ity, ' his argument merits ' attention on ' account of its serious tenden cy and consequences. Its tendency is to destroy the happiness, if not the sanctity and usefulness, of marriage ~ and its direct conse quences are polygamy, concubinage, and promis cuous commerce of the sexes, —resulting, of course, in a check to population. The idea of “morsd.restraint” interfering to prevent such an abuormous condition of society, of which it is itself the cause, may be a monkish, but it is certainly not a worldly, one. We might pursue this “ moral restraint ” remedy to consequences still more criminal and debasing, including, aa the least of them, those practices already too

prevalent, we are told from the pulpit, amongst the women of the day, who, perhaps, have as vivid and correct an idea of “ moral restraint ” aa any human beings can be expected to receive from the religious and moral teachings of the hour. We are told in-Holy Writ that “ Of little chil dren'such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” Surely the “moral restraint” thatwonld diminish that angelic population cannot receive the Divine □auction! “ Moral restraint ” ia not altogether a new idea. Stimulated by the. atronger spir itual desire to save the soul, rather than the body, it was practised by those winn Irish communities which existed in large numbers at an early period of Christian history. The revolting cranes that ensued form a record familiar to the classical student, and need only be referred to here as an illustration of our theme. Those who, like Min, write so glibly in favor of restraining over-population by moral power, do, possibly, combine the two essential elements of character described by the poet: “ Though I think as a sage, I feel as a man." Perhaps so, but 'Us doubtful. It is not improbable that, in some one of the extraordinary phases of life, each a man may attempt to force his convictions of “ moral re straint ” upon a community under his sway; but, as a lost resort against defeat, art must nec essarily be called to ms aid. But it is equally probable that the present progressive movement in favor of woman will have triumphed about the same period; and man has every reason to hope, from the memorable precedent furnished nshy Gibbon, in his “ Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” that her voice will again eft factually prevent so extreme a measure. Chables WHITAKCIi. JUNE. “ Give ms a month,” said the Bummer, Demanding of Nature a boon, “ That shall make surly Winter forgotten. And be with all sweet things in tune. “ The skies must he blue—the sun golden— Love must light the white lamp of the moon.” The great Mother smiled and she kissed her, And the smile and the kiss were—June, —A Idine Jot June, How to Prevent Sunstroke. .As we are soon to experience a heated term, the following specific against sunstroke may sare from illness and death many whose occupa tion obliges them to he in the field or oat upon the streets: . “ About a year since I saw in' a newspaper an account of a case of sunstroke, written by the party himself. After suffering a long time from the attack, and having to a considerable degree recovered, he experienced suffering even from tbe rays of the moon. This led him to the re flection that it was not altogether the heat of the sun that produced prostration: After mach research, he discovered that the injury came from the chemical ray, and not from the beat ray. He' was guided to this by observing the fact that a photograph could not be taken through a hollow glass. Accordingly, he lined his hat with two linings—one of orange yellow to arrest the chemical ray, and one of green to arrest the heat ray. Thus prepared, he went.where the rays of tbe son were most in tense with perfect impunity. It is well known that tbe negro is seldom or never suns truck. The color of hiq skin over the *dmll being of the orange-yellow may assist in accounting for the fact I practiced upon this suggestion all last summer, lined my hat with green and orange yellow paper, ana bad confidence enough in the troth-of the 'theory to neglect my-umbrella, which I had never done-before. 1 mentioned it to many, who tried it also, and in many cases that came under my observation they uniformly asserted .that ..the. oppressive heat of the son upon the head was much relieved.” WHAT'S IN A NAME ? Derivations of Surnames* i/n. A. E. Barr, in the Golden Age, ‘ 1 What's in a name ?” Much every way. Who. would like to call his daughter Herodias, or his son Judos ? For a name is what its associations make it, and therefore we seek for our children such as represent poems and histories, or are hallowed by the veneration of ages, or linked with the light of genius, or charmed with the spoil of beauty. Our Christian names are mostly Jewish or heathen names; but this is not to be quarreled with, since it puts in the regular succession of kings and priests, heroes and sages, and gives to the children of to-day the pedigree and pres tige of centuries. The point mostly to be deprecated is the giv ing of more than one personal name to - a child. Imagine Christopher Columbus, - George; Wash ington, Charles Dickens, or Horace Greeley with an intermediate name. Of all the fifty-six pa triots who signed the I Declaration of Independ ence,only three had middle names \ and this pro portion, I believe; would be a very fair one in .arms, art, science, theology, and literature. Ap parently Fame counts her syllables and is nig gardly of space. The imposition of the personal name has al ways been attended with religious ceremonies. The Jews used circumcision, the Greeks and Homans ofieririgd and sacrifices. The Ma hometan, after many prayers, . solemnly chooses the name by lottery on the: Koran; the Christian sanctifies the rite by baptism; Its importance thereafter asserts itself in all the most tender and solemn acta of life—in religious consecration—in love's most perfect contract, and in that supreme hour when we must resign every mortal thing but the name we shall carry into the grave, and peradventure beyond if;-* Surnames, though neither so important noruni versal as the personal name, have undoubtedly a very high antiquity. The first form was most likely the patronymic, as Joshua the son of Nun, David the son of Jesse. Its fitness has also given it permanence, for we use the same form at the present day—that, is with the patronymic affixed—as Williamson, Jackson, Robertson. Ac. William the Conqueror is generally supposed to have introduced surnames into England, but Doomsday Book affords sufficient evidence that they were far from*.uncommon among the Sax ons. In that record “Cane "and “Elfech” are the names attached to the manors of Ripe and Newtimber in Sussex; and at the present day Elfech is a common surname in that country, while a family called “Cane" still live on the lands of Ripe, as they have done for perhaps a thousand years. Locality, afterpatronymic denomination, prob ably suggested surnames. These are sometimes of country, as “France,” “Scott;” of towns, as “York,” “Durham;” or of natural features, as Hill, Forest, Dale, Wood, Ac. The particle do or d' was dropped from sur names in the reign of Henry YL, and the title of “ esquire ” was given to the head of the family, and “gentlemen” to younger sons; thus John de Alchorue became John Alchorue of AJchorue, Esq.; and his younger son William Al chorue of Alchorue, “gent.” This practice of taking the name from the estate was common in England until the tenth century, and is even yet a source of pride in Scotland. Americans have exactly reversed tnis order, they build cities and call them after their own names. After locality, occupations augmented English surnames. “Baker,” “Butler,” “Miller,” “Pot ter,” etc., are of this class, but pre-eminent among them is “ Smith.” This is easily account ed for—Smith comes from the Saxon “ suntan ” to smite; and the name was applied to black smiths, wheelrights, carpenters, and “smiters” of all kinds; even soldiers were not unfrequent ly called “ war-smiths,” This assumption of a trade as a family name had then a decided propriety, for certain occupa tions were often hereditary for centuries. Thus the Oxleys, of Sussex, were iron-founders for 250 years, and the Webbs (weavers) of the same county, exercise to this day the industry which gave them their name in the thirteenth century. A still more remarkable instance was afforded by the Hampshire family, of Purkeas: When William Bufus was killed, one of this family, who was a charcoal-burner, loaned his cart to carry the dead body of tne King to Win chester. In return he received an acre or two of land in the Hew Forest, and there his descend ants lived and burnt charcoal until the last of them died about twenty years ago. “ Bishop.” “Abbott, “ Parsons,” “ Monk,” “ Priest,” Ac., suggest an ecclesiastical origin; but, as most of them existed before tho Befor mation, some themselves be tween legitimacy and clerical canons and vows. Other names from offices will, however; bear a closer scrutiny, as “ Spencer,” from Le Deapen cer, a steward; “ Großvenor,” frnm Hma Venur, the great huntsman; or “ Sumner,” Xrum tuo Saxon oompuoure, one who cited delin quents to ecclesiastical conns. With the decline of feudalism, and the recog nition of a man’s right to his own personality, names of natural qualities arose. Complexion and color suggested some, as “Blackman,” “Bedman,” “Fairchild,” “Brown,” “White,” “Gray,” etc. Size gave others, as “Longfel low.” “Small,” “Strong,” “High,” “Lowe ; ” “Little,” etc. Mental qualities supplied a still larger number: “Hardy,” “Wild,” “Noble,” “Moody,” “Trueman,” “Wiseman,” “Merry man,” “ Goodenough,” “Toogood,” “ Dolittle,” are examples of this class. The word “ Cock,” so profusely used in Eng lish surnames, is one of the three favorite Saxon diminutives —“cock,” “kew,” and “ot”—thus “Wilcox,” “Willkew,” and “ Willmot” all sig nify “ Little WilL” in the north of England a little fussy person is still called a. “ cockmarall or cock-o-my-thumband a petty land-owner in Scotland is a “cocklaird.” This explanation vindicates the wisdom of the famous nursery rhyme: Bide a cock-horse To Banbury Cross. The names of animals have always been favor ite cognomens of men. We have living examples of this fact in the Indian tribes within our own borders. The “Wolf ” seems to have been the preferred of this class, and under its German form of Guelph it ia the surname of the royal family of England. But birds, fish, insects, vegetables, and dowers have numerous human representatives. Respectable for their derivation, if not for their number, is that sympathetic class of which “ Brotherson,” “ Cousins,” “Batchelor,” “ Neighbors,” “ Childs,” Ac., may be taken as examples; and equally suggestive are the names for which Time has stood sponsor, such as “ Spring,” “ Winter," “ Day,” “Double day,” “ Weeks," “ Easter,” “ Paschal,” " Holi day,” etc. A small but interesting order of English names are derived from historical events: thus, the Fortescues (from Le Forte the Strong) won their name in the battle of Hastings, where the founder of the family, by his enormous strength, saved the life of William. The Flantagencts, from the Genesis or Broome, which the first of of them wore in bis bonnet as a token of humility for his enormous crimes. The Lockharts assumed their name and arms—a padlock inclosing a heart— because one of their family was entrusted with the sacred charge of ernvoying the heart of Eobert Brace to the Holy Land, etc. These are the most natural and fitting of names, and our civilization has only quickened the facility with which wo re-christen the people brought promi nently before us. ...... Five very common names have undoubtedly come from oaths. “Bigod or Bigot” from “By God! ” the constant ejaculation of the Normans of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, 1 ‘ Pardoe,” from Par-Dieu, “ Purcell," from Par-oiel, and “ God-sall,” and “ Qodbody,” from Edward the Third’s favorite oath, “ By the soul and body of God.” There is a class of names—unfortunately rather a large one—which perpetuate faults, failings, or peculiarities, such as “ Hussey,” “ Trollope,” “SHliman,” “ Lawless,” etc. But even such have a very respectable antiquity, for Chambers assures us that many of the most fa mous Greek and Eoman names would not bear translation. The compensation is, that the in heritors of names, given in contempt or scorn, may lift them as Bratus did his,—making the by word of his enemies the watchword of humanity for more than twenty centuries. For any name, however mean in origin, will be honorable in the sight of humanity if only there bo written after it “ Benefactor.” Dentistry In Japan* An American dentist living in Yokohama sends to the Denial Cosmos an account of the Japanese habits in regard to their teeth. He says that as the young women have very fine teeth it is re markable tnat they should keep up the practice of blacking them after marriage. The Japanese, as a race, possess good teeth, but they lose tnem very early in life. “Their tooth-brashes consist of tough wood, pounded at one end to loosen* the fibres. They resemble paint-brushes, and owing to their shape it is impossible to get one behind the teeth. As might be'expected, there is an ac cumulation of tartar which frequently draws the teeth of old people. Their process of manufacturing false teeth is very crude. The plates art mad© of wood, and the teeth consist of driven up from under the side. A piece of wax is heated and pressed into the roof of the mouth. It is then taken cut and hardened by Entting it into cold water. Another piece of eated wax is applied to the impression* and, after being pressed into shape, is hardened; A piece of wood is then roughly cut into the desir ed fonn, and the model, having been smeared with' red paint, is applied to ’it. Where they touch each other a mark is left by the paint. This is cut away till they touch evenly all over. Shark's teeth* bits of ivory, or stone, for teeth, are set into the wood and re tained in position by being strung on a thread which is secured on each end by a peg driven into the hole where the thread mokes its exit from the base. Iron or copper tacks are driven into the ridge to serve for masticating purposes, the unequal wear of the wood and metal keeping up the desired roughness. Their fall seta answer admirably for the mastication of food, but, as they do not Improve the looks, they are Worn but little for ornament. The or dinary service of a set of teeth is about five years, but they frequently lost much longer. All fall upper sets are retained by atmospheric pressure. This principle is coeval with theart. In Japan dentistry exists only as a mechanical trade, and the Status of those who practice it is not very high. It is, in fact, graded with car penters—their word hadyikfsan meaning tooth carpenter.” • WRECKED, When the ship’s atfrts dottn, I trow. We little care whateref Wind mayblow.- You think 1 am too sad,; Ton say I should be glad, And write in lighter strain. Bear heart! I grant It so; , And, saving One, none know How fierce the fight with pain. But, though my words are weak, I cannot make them speak Otter than dreary truth; That I have hopeless grown J Standing alone, —alone,— In desolated youth* June roses will not blow In January snow; Much leas could there be bloom On days that have not bad. For yean, a sunbeam glad* To streak with Joy this gloom* The bpping months have brought Vo one thing which.! thought To fondly call my own; And now 1 hardly care That to each sobbing pray *t For bread, has come a stone* Ob, eyes! so true, so dear,— Oh, friend Iso far,—yet near * To one heart grief-oppress'd; Thank God 1 there comes at last A day when, anguish past, , Sad brows are crowned with rent. KjbHASD, Aw Erenin; TVlth itin« Somerville* I was fortunate to hare an introduction to Mra. Somerville and her family when I visited Naples in the winter of 1870. They were living in the top story of a. great palazzo on the riviera di Obiaja ; a suite of spacious rooms, facing the hay, and approached by a great stair case, that seemed, as is always the case in Italy, to get cleaner and more sumptuous the higher you ascend; You pissed through two or three ante-rooma, gathering as you went a truly Italian impression of marble and space, and then found yourself at the door of the great drawing-room. It was only m the evening that Mrs. Somerville received, and it is an evening impression that the room has left; great dim distances, a few lights at the farther end, barely distinguishing the plates of Baffaelle majolica on the walls, and the antique bronzes on the marble tables; and in the far comer two ladies working, and a third lady, old and small, sitting, watchful and dignified, in her low arm-chair. This was Mrs. Somerville; it was her 90th birthday when I saw her first. She put down the English newspaper as I approached, and, af ter her kind greeting, settled down for a gossip. Her 90 years seemed to have withered her frame; but it was wiry and firm stfli, her eyes were keen, her voice clear, only her hearing was im paired. Still it was quite possible to talk with her if you raised your voice; and it was easy to make her talk more than listen. Of course, the war was our first subject; she had forseen it, fifty years before, at the Restoration. She was military and commiserating, critic and woman, by turns ; now ah&king her head over the dead and dying, now speculating about the fall of Paris. You had but to dose your eyes, and'to fancy a clover modem Englishwoman talking ; the words and thoughts were as fresh and cur rent as those of a clever young wife of a clever young member in a Parliament of to-day. It was the same in the other subjects which we dis cussed; Italy and the Italian character, the latest changes at Oxford, and what not. But, of course, she was most interesting when she came to talk of herself. “I do not apolo gize for talking of myseir,-sue saia,~ ~fortti» always good for the young to hear that old age is not so terrible as they fear. My life is a very placid one. I have my coffee early; from Bto 121 read or write in bed; then I rise and paint in my studio for an hour—that is all I can man age now! The afternoon is mytime for rest; then comes dinner-time,and after that I ait here, and 1 am glad to see any kind friends who may like to visit me.” Then she would explain what was the reading and writing she was engaged npon. She was correcting and add ing to the first edition of * ‘ Molecular and Microscopic Science;" “only putting it in order for my daughters to publish when a second edition is called for after my death! Oh. they are quite competent to do it/* she would say, with a smile; “ I took care that they should be much better educated than I was. lam read ing a good deal now, —reading Herodotus. I took him down from my shelves the other day—it was the first time I had tried Greek for fifty years—to see if I had forgotten the character. To my delight, I found 1 could read him and un derstand mm quite easily. 'What a charming writer Herodotus is I w All this was without the slightest pedantry; the utterance of a perfectly natural, simple mind, that dwelt upon subjects which interested it when it saw that they inter ested its neighbor. The impression which Mrs. Somerville left upon me from this evening, and .several like it spent in her company, was that of a thoroughly harmonious character, widely sympathetic and intensely individual. She had developed these two sides of her nature in the most complete way, and the result was a perfectly calm old age. The extraordinary power of abstraction which enabled her to work out a mathematical prob lem amid the buzz of conversation was typical, of her whole mind. She was greatl because she was so perfectly self-contained. Yet her sym pathies, as has been said, were wide and warm. Such balance of character is a rare spectacle at any time; is, perhaps, rarest in extreme old age. and is precious in proportion to its rarity.— People's Magazine, Dickens Not an Educated Man, There are ho facta in Mr. Forster's narrative to prove that Mr. Dickons over was an educated man, and all the testimony of his works is against the supposition. No trait of his genius is more salient than its entire self-dependence; no defects of it are more marked than his intol erance of subjects which he did not understand, and his high-handed dogmatic treatment of mat ters which ho regarded with the facile contempt of ignorance. This unfortunate tendency was fostered by the atmosphere of flattery in which he lived; a life whicn, in the truly educational sense, was singularly narrow : and, though he was not entirely to blame for the extent, it af fected his later works very much to their disad vantage. As a novelist, he is distinguished; as a humorist, ho is unrivaled in this age; but when ho deals with the larger spheres of morals, with politics, and with the mechanism of State and oflldal life, he is absurd. He announces truisms and tritenesses with an air of discovery in possi ble to a well-read mao, and he propounds with an air of conviction, hardly provoking, it is so simply foolish, flourishing solutions of problems which have long perplexed the gravest and ablest minds in the higher ranges of thought. We hear of his ex tensive and varied reading. Where is the evidence that he ever read anything bevond Action, and some of the essayists ? Certainly not in his books, which might be the only books in the world, for any indication of study or book knowledge in them. Not a little of their charm, not a little of their wide-spread miscellaneous popularity, is referable to that very thing. Every one can understand them; they are not for educated people only; they do not suggest comparisons, or require explana tions, or imply associations; they stand alone, self-existent, delightful facta. A slight refer ence to Fielding and, Smollett, a fine rendering of one chapter in English history—the Gordon riots—very finely done, and a clever adap tion of Mr. Carlyle’s “Scarecrows to his own stage, in “A Tale of Cities," are positively the only traces of books to be found in the. long series of his w 9Jks. His “Pictures from Italy " is specially curious, as an illustration of the poßaibility of a znan a Uvine bo long in a country with an old and fa mouahiatory! without discovering that he might possibly understand the country better if ho knew something about the history. Ho always caught the sentimental and humorous elements in everything ; the traditional, spiritual, philo- sophic, or Esthetic, not St all- Hxs prejudices Were the prejudices, not of one-sided opinion and conviction, but of ignorance ail ro^* A His mind held no clew to- the character of peoples of foreign countries, and their arts, add creed were ludicrous mysteries to him. His vividness of mind, freshness, and fun, constitute the chief charm of his stones, ana their entire originality is the note which pleases moat; but when he writes “ pictures of aland of the great past of poetry, art, and politics with as much satisfied flippancy as when ho describes the common objects of the London streets (for which he yearned in the midst of all tno mediaeval glories of Italy), he makes it evident that he had never been educated, and had not educated himself. —Temple Bar (.London). A GREAT RUSSIAN PAINTER. From AvpUtoru' Journal* All the national pndo of the Bussians, espec ially those of the educated classes, says the Baltic Gazette, seems at present to concentrate itself upon the great artist who has, quite recent ly, and, it might be said, very suddenly, revealed himself to his highly gratified countrymen ? for if there is a country where people art proud or their great fmen, Russia deserves to bd tioned above all others. We allude to Vogisny Tatkeleff, whose great paintings, at the Art Exposition in Moscow, attract daily large crowds of delighted and, it might be, said, almost astonished spectators. The two paints, ings are of very large size, and rep resent battle-scenes in the Crimean, war. The impression which they produce on the beholder is almost overwhelming. Such terrible reality, such wonderful grouping, such superb coloring—truly, Horace Vornet never painted anything better in his palmiest days, if hie productions are at all worthy to be mentioned side by side with those of the Russian, whose two pointings have suddenly made him famous, and raised him from poverty and obscurity to ■wealth i for the paintings were instantly pur chased /ortho Imperial gallery of Uio St.Be tersbnrg winter palace, for the sum of rubles, and every Bussian who has that sum considers himself a very Craans. , “Bat who is Vogisny Tatkeleff? aakod every body on the opening day of the Moscow expo aition. No one had ever hoard of him, and yet he was a great master. All that the managers knew about him was, that he lived at a small village near Boriaaov, and that he bad sent the two paintings in old-fashioned, decidedly clumsy cases, with frames of eonally factors, to Moscow. M. Kattkoff, the editor of the Moscow Gazette, found a remedy in the em ergency. He sent two of his most accomplished assistants in search of M. Vogisny Tatkeleff ; and not only did they ascertain all about the past history of the great painter,—to whom, m their report, they gave the proud name of the Bnssian Eaphaet-bnt they brought him per sonally with them to Moscow. V> ben, on thß 6th of March, Count Baranowics, the President of the Art Exhibition, presented M. Tatkeleff at an impromptu meeting, attended by many members of the elite of Busman society, thoap pearance of the man excited as muoh surprise as his works had done. ' ... Imagine a little, slender man of 60, With the head of a child, almost beardless, only a_few tufts of eilvar-gray hair on his scalp, mtb small, elegant hands and feet, plamly dad in t * B tional costume of the middle classes, with .-no timid manners of a little girl, «nd yon e be fore your eyes the man who henceforth will ran* with the greatest painter of modem time*. , His history is equally singular. His father. Ivan Tatkeleff, was the a erf of a humane and onlighted nobleman in the Bonasov Government. Vogisny Tatkeleff, when a httle boy, one day drewa crude charcoal-sketch on a board-fence. The proprietor of his father and himself acci dently passed by, and was struck by the close resemblance which some of the facea traced by the boy bore to well-known reridanfa of too Ullage. In consequence, he inquired pf htUe Votrianv Tatkeleff where he had obtained 80 much proficiency as a limner. The boy wa3 unable to tell him. Ha could neither road nor* write. The nobleman promised to have him educated. He received lessons from severs! good teachers, and displayed, from too first, as tonishing talents in drawmg portraits. In his Uth year he painted a portrait in oil, and it was pronounced an excellent, nroductiOD. The nobleman intended to eman ctoatehto; but he lost his whole fortune when Voeisnv was •19 years old, and, in oonee qnSice* the latter met with a number otmißior rime and sufferings, such as were possiblo only in Russia prior to the liberation of the sens. The new owner of toe estate was a sordid, grasp ing man, destitute of Esthetic feelings; and totoe horror of young Vogisny, ho forced the latter into toe regular army, where, incredible to eay, he had to servo fifteen long years as a pri vate aoldier. His superiors, aa B 8?“““ wore brutal and ignorant nan ; and hence toe latent talents of poor Tatkeleff remained un known and undeveloped, and toe only manner in which bo could ehow them was during toe two last years of his service m toe amT> when he was stationed at Tiflis, and when he obtained exemption from active duty by bmn g generously permitted to fresco too walla of toe dining-room fa toe house qf a relative of toe Colonel of toe infantry regiment to which no belonged. . Daring toewhole of this time toe unfortunate man was so poor that he was but rarely able to purchase drawing-paper and pencils, with which, in his few spare horns, he gave vent to nia Kcniua. To bay canvas and colors ho conld not FhirTir of. At length, fa 1849, ho was discharged.’ and returned to his native village, only to find hie parents and too rest of his relatives dead. What was ho to do ? Ha was too feeble to do too hard work of a Bnsoian peasant; and so he went to the widow of too owner of the estate, and asked her for toe hnmble position of.village teacher. To his j ovful snmriae, he fon -dm her a cultivated and litoral lady. She was not long fa discovering his talents, and furnished Tatkeleff with ample means to complete m* artistic studies. But one thing she refused to let nim do. He was not allowed to leave Eussia; and, moreover, fa return for her assistance, no was to let her have-too first choice m <»se ho should paint anything on a largo scale. Tatke loff had no idea that his productions were vary valuable. He led an easy, quietlife at too cha teau of too lady, and enriched the walla of too mansion with some very fine paintings, mostly of scenes from the War fa toe Caucasus, in which he had taken an active part. In 1854,’ he accompanied toe son of ms pro tectress to too Crimean War, and there had toe misfortune of being “truck with partial blindness. This compelled him to let his art rest for years; and. after ho had regained his eyesight, in with toe advice of his physicians, he had to abstain from looking fixedly at an object for any length of time. In 1855 his benefactress died. Her son, a soldier, was sent to a distant garrison; and ho do anything for Tatkeleff. So too latter was thrown upon his own resources for » living, and he eked ont a few hundred mbl» * year ny getting up drawing-books for a publish ing firm at Kiev. One day, two years ago, a tourist happened to meet Tatkeleff at Boris boy, and, after a conversation with him, asked him to show him some of his productions. The artist had his sketch-book with him, and showed it to the stranger. The latter expressed his surprise st toe beauty of too designs, and asked Tatke leff why he did not send anything to toe exposi tions in St. Petersburg and Moscow. Tatkeleff promised to do so, but—a singular fact for months ho was too poor to buy too necessary materials. At length, toe two paintings wore completed and eent to Moscow. Tatkeleff a neighbors fa toe village thought toe poor man had gone mad for sending his works to the old city of the Czars, and predicted that toe sum he had spent for them was thrown away. Fortu nately for Tatkeleff and for Eussia, tooir pre dictions were not verified by the result. The Bremen mummies* The cathedral, erected in the twelfth century, is the only interesting church of which Bremen can boast. It is now a Protestant church, and contains the finest organ in Germany. Its great est attraction to strangers is the exhibition of several mummies, the oldest having been 400 years, and the most recent 60 years, m an unde cayed condition. The vault in which they repos? possesses the property of preventing decomposi tion, in proof of which poultry is frequently sus pended m it, and a venerable turkey, 100 years old, being at the present time hanging on the wall. The corpses bear no evidences of decay as in the case of the Egyptian mummy, but car rv on their countenance the appearance of re cent death, except that the dust of ages has somewhat colored them, There are about a dozen bodies laid out m their coffins. The flesh feels like parchment, and the cheeks of an old Countess, who baa lain here 400 years, look quite plump. One is the re mains of an English officer, shot in a duel nine ty years ago, with a bullet-hole in his breast and a shattered shoulder. A corpulent old General is still corpulent, and a dozen chicken., hung up ninety years ago, have their feathers all intact. The vault in which they lav is about thirty feot long and fifteen feot wide, and is above ground, in oue of the crypts of the church. Thera is nothing peculiar about it, and there seems no reason way it should preserve bodies from decay more than any other room iu Bre men. The exhibition of these curiosities gives ah income to the church of about S2O per day. and is quite a valuable source of revenue. It is not everybody who can expect to bo so remcuiei ative after'they have given up the ghost. 7

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