Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, May 31, 1874, Page 11

| | THE CIHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, MAY 31, 1874. ii LIVING IN LONDOX gperiences of a Chicago Lady Who vept There on the Scoro of Econony, foms Good Advice to Thoss Who Think of Doing Likewise. Righteous Indignation at the Manifold DPevices for Picking Your Packet. A Good Many Things the Britishers Onght to Be Ashamed of. Currerpondence of The Chicano 2mitnene, TLoxpox, Mzy 12, 1874, Ap American. snd erpecislly an American wom- 19, upon the first introduction to this marvel- e, g o6 comsletely overshelmed by the B aaitide cf tho purpote which eoemod g0 sim- e at home,—the putpose of kmowing London, s is tho veriest neophyte among the stars who 1ecks to enter tho magnificent temple of Astron- s, or tho stombler in tho Ralo of Thros when “onteonted with the Differential Calculus. ] fapey thes the discourngement which smote e hip aod thigh for tho first fow waeks of my fojourn, nesails every new-comer at first. I ¢hink every one, after driving abont inhansoms, o dodgiug about tho beviildering thoroughfares in omuibuses, fust enough to learn that London is slmost like Eternity, inasmuch as it seems without beginning and without end, is beset by {hesame temptation to give it up as a subject toocomplex for the finite understanding, and {0 be content with a very cursory and superficial- on. But by degrees this feeling of en- tire vanguishment by the Fates who deluded you with fancies of knowing London WEARS AWAY der tho persistent attrition with map and guide-book. And when, at last, fceble glim- mers of light illumine the density of your igno- reaco, and you begin to understand where the ftrsod ceses to be the Strand and becomes Flest strect; where Holborn loges itself and pover again is known a3 Holkorn, but Oxford eireat; when you learn that Stable Yard fe o patrician precinct, and Queen's Road a plcbeian oze; that the body of the National Gallery is in Trafalgar Equare, and the Lead at South Ken- gington ; that Westminster Abbey is nof the daily Meoea of every Loudoner, or St. Paul's the cen- tre of a periphiery of perpetuaily-adoring Drit- ons,—yon begin {o feel rewarded for having re- guced yourxelf, duriug 80 many davs of your carthl5 existoace, to tho position of & human in- terrogation-point. Tenally the American who reaches London from Liverpool gives the first few days to re- cuperztion. In my case, twenty-one days wers Zevoted exclusivelv to forming & new lining to iy enfferiog stomach, to clotling anew my al- most-denuded skeleton, to finding sight for my Gimmed eves aud hearing for my dezdened ears, 1o rebiabilitsting my character in its normal self- respect, after tho blight of soul and body that tad smitten ms on that dreadful sea. Does an untraveled reader here say, ** I undarstand that ono can lose flesh, sight, Liearing, on the ocean, bat ‘WHY DOES ONY LOEE HIS FELF-RESPECT 2" Ihave only to refer that unsophisticsted ques- tioner to the first-steamer-load of Europesn traveters who disembark on American shores. Yerhaps one among them will declars that hers took flight the third day ont, when ghe found hands and face frescoed with e, aod neck farrowed with black creascs, Tecanse stesmer ablutions, for obvious reasons, ¢ldom sre carried beyond a feable mop with & &amp comner of & towel. Perhaps another will svow that hers died on the fourth day, when she reached the desolating concluion that her back bair would never zgain know civiltzing tonch of brosh or comb till the ship's centre of gravity ceasod to bob abont from stem to stern, from lar- board to starboard, with the periodicity of balf- . mingtes, off Sandy Hook or by Doston Outer | Light. Perhups snother will” say that hers drooped under » fatal languor, with the sights, acd sounds, and emells of her stateroom, where el her vistas were closed in with _crockery-basins, i whose depths she gazod, preparod for but torpid surprise if she B o bits of her oeseous structure, pieces of ber mocous membrane, or even her boot-hecls. With mortification I confess that mine was hope- lossly ronted the first morning out, when the stevardess drageed me from my berth, and pro- ceeded to peel mo of water-proof, furs, watch and chain, cuffs, giotes, boots, and rubbers, lioh 1 bad not tarried to remove when I fled intc my conch, as if from following tionds, the sfternoon before. And so sbandoned was I by cvery feeling of personal dignity, that, when ghe darted between the curtains and unearthed from smong the blankets 3 deplorsbly-battered object, smashed fiat as one’s portemonnusie af ter o Faropean tour, 1 had not self-respect enongh 1eft to ntter a lie, aad repudiate hor suggestion that Thad 5 LAIX ALL XIGHT WITH MY HAT ON. Alss ! my charming hat, trimmed so_daintily, a0d worn with such exquisite grace, a3 its owner Xigsed tho last dear ones good-by, as the little tng enorted and_steamed besids our leviathan craft in the placid waters of Boston Harbor ! Ah me ! my costly bat, made of somany greenbacks and adorned with 60 many clusters of fractional noter, never will Idon your like again on ship- .tourd till T have gained self-respect enough to Xeap my head level all across the sea! Moral: Guls, when you go to ses, wear your shabbiost hats; for verily I say unto you, yo know not in whitday or what hour ye may uso them for bight-caps. During all theso days of phyeical re-creation, oy sight-geeing, of courso, was limited. ) 'WESTAINSTER ABBEY, eTer gincs that immatare period whon I pored over * The Children of tho Abbey,” and dream- +d that T should ono day find that Abbey in Lon- oo, 31 the foot of Parliament street, bad been o principal material object of my soul's quest. krd, Ister in life, lnnlg' after my childish faucies vare faded, and I kunow fhat the Abbey of the children existed but in the radiant telm thst we call Imaginntion, I bad EToD into that passion of longing which so Iy cultured Americans know 6o well, to be- Eold the burial-place of 80 many whose Lives are ermtallized intp history, so many Whose names sreeflnlgent lights in thehorizon of literature, 5o many whose memory the world holds sacred be- :fll_fi they tanght the grandeur of lives devoted high purpoges. I didp't check my g_flmfl!e Canard wharf jo Boston directly to 1 ‘cetminstar Abbey, as I desired to do, because Ead sundry emall doubts ns to whethor the Conard Compaoy's authority extended o far. I did mentnlly resolve, as the of my npative land grew s Pgte and upreal in my sight 88 the fatasies of » doze after the broakfast- bell bies rung, tnat T would seo Westminster % ibe very first day that I saw Loodon. Ah, Jos! The woman propored; but sea-sickness ;'and the disorganized Americen who :cbefl Londog twelve duys after, cadaverous 80 Adersonville prisouer, sombre-hued as a ving orange, planged wto sabject squalor as ead-gear, drooping a3 if under maledictions irits, had but oue earthly desiro : to ges. b that was not rotary, and to stay there A‘er summons came o join, etc. a2 Teat by my window in the days that fol- med, watching the human current that swept 7 B intelligsnce was beset by many perplex- ‘geonundrums. Why it is that among thess pano¥e of women drifting by,—some to the Brks, some to the gallerios, somo to the shops, e ot one who possesses that ineffabile es- ez of fascination which ie subject to no_ for- ' and fs independent of all analysis, which iR women possesa 8o largely. bepc 18 it that English women seem born to a t2ge of mammoth feot and thick aniles, 23 y 85 & baby-clephant? WLy is it that s the femule Brit inoxtingai on Las such an inextingaish- e st for wiito, Inco tnat ehe herself with it, even in the $ieet, 22 lavishly as the boilsd limb of dofanct er i3 decorated with white tiesne-pa o JE0quet of the City Fatbers? Why fors the werz feathers in & mourning-hat, crown- %l the crape ymboliem of woo, aa bridal fa- !,’e'rnmdmum a hearse ? Why does she wear 180 low that Ler ankles_bulge over the English middle class grace? Why hesn't she boauty ? Why hasn’t sho taste? Why hasn'tshe the dimmest shadow of shado of that je ne aaia uoi. that serial dantinesa of charm, of the French and American women which is as elusive to the searchier after the secrol &3 ia the mystery of life to the phvaiologist ? Ous of the firet things an Ameriesn in Lon- don has to do is to sym himself or herself with a huge fomahawlk of fact,und to deal general hiavoo amang certain of his or her preconceived idens. And, in the first place, smashed into everlasting ruin goes the ouo with which we all cumo abroad—the oue thut thio expenso of Liv- ing is LISS IS ENOLAND THAN IN AMERICA: Less!! O yo hostsa of victimized school- ma'ams who liave come to Europe on the scanty avings for vears, deluded by tho thought that penury at home i8 aflluence abroad, and who are wandering yet in tho drearieat and cheapest by- ways of Europe, upable to pay.your passage homo to America, why do younot ugito in onevo- ciferous howl of warning to your sisters over the sea ! O yo impoverished widows who havo gatherod your mites together, and havo toiled over that' dreary wasto of waters, to mopo and pine in lonely bamleta or _in lonelier lodging- housos, all osor Europe,— bocanss - one can livo clegantly at so little ex- penso In Europs, you kno¥w,”—why don't you utter & united wail that shall echo trom Boston to San Francixco, and warn your eister- widows not to chase the_ignis-fatuus of chesp Living scross the Atlantic ? Board in a London establishment is . HIGHER IN PEICE AND POORER IN QUALITY than iz the rule in New York, Boston, or Chicago. During tho mozthe that I have boon here, I bave. paid £20 a week for accommodations less satis- factory than those I left in Boston zt $12. In our cilies, s etipulated swn & week pays for board with furnace-heat and gas. In Loudon, tho terms include neither beat nor light; and, in eddition to the 8§20 per week, sy 25 cents a box, or 30 cents & ay, for coals, and go anziously groping my wiy to bed every night by the flicker of a solitary candle. If any of my lady-readers will try to dress for the opera, or for Madame Dela- creme's “* At Home," by the glimmer of one can- dle, she will know what I have suffered all winter, in adherence to my original determin- ation not to invest money in & lamp that would - suffocate me with evil fumes of kerozene. Houses in London, being built more substantial- 1y than with- us, are not torn to, pieces for im- Provements overy few years. ~Consequently, buildings ereoted before gas was ganerally in use in dwellings, are still without that luxury, ex- cept. in the lower rooms, and are likoly to remain 8o till T.ord Macaulay's New Zealander shall sit upon the fragments of London Bridge snd soliloquize over the ruins of a forgotten city. In addition to the ordinary expenses of bed and board_in London must be reckoned a large n-‘ibube paid fo tne iniquitous European system o bl PR, It is strange enouch to an American, wonted to the lavish lioorality of our theatrical man- agers, to be oblized to pay for the programmo Do usts at thoatre or opera. Andalso 50 sirangs that probably he will not at first comprehend it is the daughter-of-the-horae-leech look which the usher who shows him his seat at the opera or theatre gives him if he docs not voluntarily- slip sixpence into said usher’s patm. You can- ot inquire your Way in the stroot, that, in all probability, the interrogated will not roply, “I can't describe the way, bus I'm just going thers snd will show you.” That moaus o shilling,— 30 cents in American currency, although only 24 in American coin. You ses ome can take & cab almost as economically as to in- quire the way. The waiter who brings me s single cup of chocolate in a cake-snop hangs about my presence’as if rasponsiblo for the one spoon with which I eip the beversge, till I be- think myeelf that I am in the Land of Leeches, and give him his expected *tip.” 1f I oross the street, » filthy wretch darts before me with 8 stump of broom, sud, stirring up all the dirt possibla in 80 sbort & time, to make my passage a triumphal march of dirtiness, and my raiment like unto the raiment of the Confederate army in color, stands whining for his tip. I cannot call 2 cab that snother loafer does not dart for-" ward to open the door for me, and stand with & mouthful of curses ready it I fail to render him tribate of & penny or two. One cannot go into wany of the city-churches on week-days, that some one, verger or psw-opener, does not foroe companionship upon you, to the tuneof mix- ence. v T was wandering sbout the region of Bmith- field, a tow daya ago, sceking the spot that I might drop & figurative tear whero the nine- small-children-and-one-at-the-breast wers mar- sbaled at the funeral pyre of John Rogers. T wus directed to find it in front of the old ¥ of her boots, Like 4 it e the capitals of Dorio pil- L3 ¥y does she drapo those pillars in din- Ky, instead of the pure white that her focrican sisters consider s prime essential of fower? Why do oven young girls, richly Tued in volvet, looved and puffed over auted gatin petticoats, encase their % ;l cet in ‘thess eame gray stockings? han’t the ayerage womsn of the CHURCH OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW THE GREATER, which I was advised, at the same time, to ox- amine if possible, a# it is ans of the finest speci- mens of oarly Norman architecturo in London, and dates—ite original portion—from the reign of Henry I, in 1102. After shedding my figu- rative tears (shonld they bave been .nine tears or ‘ten for that ambiguously-ennum- erated hmuy?? I turned up a marrow alley (called Cloth Fair, becanse of the grant from Henry L. to the pricst= of St. Bartholomew to hold yeerly faira for the sale of cloth), intoa narrow, dingy passage. I found: that I wasat the very thieshold of the rear entrance of the majestic old church. Neithor verger mor pew- opener was in sight: o, exulting that I had somehow evaded the she-Cerberus who gancrally lies in wait at church-entrances, I began to ex- 2mine at my leisure the tombs and mopuments, tho massive columas, and the graceful arches of the choir. I confess that I felt like s truant acholar; for the conviction was stroug within me that, had_mortal oye noted my entering the church, I shonld not be left to iy own sweet will in deliberate surveys. And I was right; for I had made just half the circuit of the church, when s beldame, toothless and wrinkled as ope of the witches who brewa hell-broth in the playof *‘Alacbeth,” eamo Tushing down the entrance-steps and arcund tho church after me, half-dressed, ss if hurried from her toilet, jingling her keys, as if rounding an alaram to the world for my impu- Jenee. i What do you want 7" she agked pant- ingly, although my attitude and position pat my intention beyond hypothesis. “To see the chureh.” I spswered, with intense disgust that I must sce the remainder of it to the donblo- quick of her desire, not tho tardy movement of mine, Soshe galloped me .throngh with such rapidity of step and mumbling incoherence of statement that Iconld neither read inecriptions for myself or gather information from her; and then she tumed up ber time- vatoished .mose so contemptuously st the fourpence which I gave ber for her four minates’ amble, that, in very cowardice, I asked her to get. me chango for a soveroign, that I might reduce the altitude of that beery feature with a sixpence. And I thought, “You bhave in- deed made the house of tuo Lord the donof & thiet.” It is sstonishing that even tho low-born Britisher (and he1s smong the very droga of civilized bumanity), is not ashiamed of this ever- lasting lying in wait for ‘‘tips,” like a mangy cur ncaking after every waylarer to snap up what- ever may fall from his store. It is depressing to ohe's optimustio views of tho dignity of buman pature—quenching to one's faith that all char- actor is the evolution of a Divine ides, to livo weeksin this mighty Babylon, and to be bled at every pore as ouly the base-born Briton knows how to bleed oue. i THE CAD-EYBLEM OF LONDOX 4 is quoted abroad as the very climax and acme o,( public vehicular perfection. But ono doesn’t realize, till he tries -the system, that these quotations doo’t o far enough to exhaust the Subjoct. It seoua oxceedingly reasonabls to be charged but !h.illing‘ & mile for cab-faro ; but it must be borne in mind that, for every ‘English ebilling that we Americans _possess, conts of our' cur- rency ; and, moreover, that an English cabby's miles, when cr American ishis er, meas- Ore several folongs less than & surveyor's. And, moreover, the London cabman will never touch Dis finger fo your bsggage, and you are com- pelled to pay one poxter sixpence (15 cents), or a shilling, if youn have mora than one piece. for putting it on the cab, and another the same for taking it off, while cabby, liko a smect little chernb, sits up aloft, severely indifferent to your pangs 'as you pay out your money for what sn American Jebu would consider & part of his ob- ligetion. no leaves a Louss in which ho hasbeen either guost or bosrder, the servants gather sbout Lis exit as valtor 5 sbos carrion, that 20 miss probable * tips. an ll;:‘v{a in m}fi ‘mindat this moment ono of thess same impecunious widows, who had gathered her boy-mite and her girl-mite to her m.ltar‘nnl bosom, and crossed the sea sfter that will-o'-the-wisp, ¢ cheap living.” She removed from ihe house where she had boarded for some weeks, driven by her stringent need to seck & moro sconomical siode. Becanse she had two mites, becanse eho was throe instead of one, Decanse the & cns‘uma{ tho country ” was made go apparent to her tha she coald not evade the extortion of ‘tips without being forever mmmortalized in that cs tablisbment as * that mean American,” sho falt obliged to pay this unjust tax to the extent of FIVE DOLLARS. 3 And she is wearing her winter's ‘bonnst during all *heso opaloscent days of May, because five dollar coing are ss infrequent b her parse as hens’ teeth: the mito-masculine grieves that Faia dooms him to boots of temperaments &0 we have paid 80 indecently hilarions that they grin carelessly at the toes, whils the mito-fominine sorrows as one without hope_ that the bounteons harvest of pretty spring raiment sbout her can only be reaped with the golden mickles that men call sovereigns, 1f, after this warning, any readers of Tme TRILUNE persist in coming Lo Loudon on smail means, wy advica is, that they eschew boarding- houses aud go into 16dgiogs. For a temporary so- journ, orfor even a long one. if one isnot espacial- I5.enxions about tho aristocratie character of the district e inhabits, thera are many streata whero ove can live at_less exponsa than I have indi- cated above. In som of those leading from the Btrand to the river, Norfolk, Arundel, or Surroy streets, or some of the lodging-house streots of Bloomsbury, near the British Museum, Bedford strest, Wobtirn Square, Montaguo street, or even Store stroet, rooms may be found at rcasonable prices. 1can tell yon of an art-student who came from Boston lsat year with ample moans to make her Earopean. experiencs one of luxury mnd costly _elegance, had sho- -chosen " to waste her substance on boarding-house-kespers, milliners, and jow- elers. But to such enticements of the flesh as thoy put forth she was sdamant, though both flesh and spirit wero wax before the tomptations that in London besot tho devotee of Arton every: side. 8o her dollars melted a4 in a far- nacs, whilo hor stors of rare bita of Sovres china, quaint relics of medioval Majolica, dainty medailions and costly cameos, adorabls busts, bronzos, and painticgs, ravishing cabinets and jowelcases of inlaid ivory, aud priceless bits of antiquo seulpture grow to il her rooms to re- pletion. Bo rha weut into lodgings to oconomizo, aud is now living in Millmont streot, whero for. $L.50 & wook eno has two neat, although tiny rooms,—a break!ast-perlor and sléeping-room,— with the food, that shs provides herselt, cooked for her, and excellently served at hor command. - RENTS ARE A TRITLE CHEAPLR, comparatively, in London tban 1n Clicego, such a house sa two voars ago would let on Wost ‘Washington or West Adams stroet for £1,200 8 location of the same degreo of eligibility in London, will let for $700. Thesna houses will be as large ns those in Chicago, aud occupiod by families holding an equally fair position in the mocial scale; but will be invariably Joss conventent, lacking almost always the bath-room and water-conveniences that Americana consider so essential to comfort. Neither will they be s elegant, for the English comprehension is inadequate to the dimension of tho idea that tastefal wall-paper isno mors pensiva than hideous, or that s royally-born artistic thonght in house-fiishing in quite as edonomical as an esthetic abortion. ~ House-rent 50 moderate, servants' wages corming out of tho pockets of the gueat instead of the proprietor (housemaids receive but §5 a month from their employer, sucking twice thet amount from the victims of *tips "), to acquit London boarding- house-keepers of the charge of flescing the pub- lio it must be proved that actusl market ox- ponses are higher than anywhere else on the face of.ths globe. Meat is very expensive ; btter is quoted at 43 cents a pound ; eggs 30 cents & dozen ; milk 10 conts a quart; gardon- produce not varying widely from Chi- cago quotations, =~ 8o it scems, in con- sideration of the fact that the London boarding-house-table is such as would in Chi- eago sink thehouse in ruin in a_menth, bocauss of its abandonment by everybody who objected to fried eggs and bacon, and nothing else, $63 mornings of the yoar, that the London board- ing-houso-keépor is not only & publican, but likewise & sinner, in_his dealings with the pub- lic. Just at this writing I remember an incident in point. Two American ladies hired two rooms —parlor and bedroom—at Margate. One night the invalid siater tossed 8o restlessly upon hor pillow that the other, to get s little sleep hoer- solf, took her own carriage-robe and lay down till morning on the sofa in their parlor. When they camo to sottle their bill, the magnanimous 1andlord obliged them to pay one shilling for that fragment of a night on the sofa, deciaring that the agresment between them only include: the use of the sofs during the day-time. ‘We have beon long enough in London to see all the sights that ** Murray” describos, and many thst he never mentions. We have spent hours in WESTMINSTER ABBEY, drsaming dreams and seoing visions. It was on my first visit that, after having mused a little over Macanlay's tablet, I sat down a moment apon a settes to Test, and to calm the pulses that throbbed 50 rapidly with the realization that at last, after 80 many yesrs of longing, I was permitted in body to ealer the sacred fane whero my spirit bad many, many times preceded me. I was sitting thus wraptin my own thoughts, when I became conscious that a party of Amer- icsns, guide-book in hand, were apparently nuchx;x‘s: for somothing lost. As thay. .ap- proached me, still evidently searching, involun- tarily I glanced downward to see if whafever they had lost might not be at my feot. And thero I eaw— Isaw s white marble zlab sot in the stone pave- et of the Abbey, upon which some worshiper of genina had laid'an ivy wreath gommed with starry white blossoms, and which wes inscribed in gilt lotters, yet undimmed by time—Charles Dickens. Died June, 1870. Did my pulses grow calmer then, do you think ? Did the flush of & joy that was eacred, and of & sorrow 1hat was tenderly huan, fade from my oleeka ? ‘Would it from yours? Often, when tired of shopping in St. Panl's Churchyard (whers, by the by, zoods aro tauta~ lizingly pretty and cheap), we wander into ST, PAUL'S CATREDEAL to reat, and to listen to the majestic organ-music which peals through that grandeur of conse- crated space nearly every forencon. Dut wedo oot admire St. Paul's.as we do the noble Ab- bey; it is too cold, too empty, too void of the soulful expression that speaks from the soulptured walls and inscribed pavements of the Abbey. Wo feel cnilled in the Cathedral, a8 if iu awful remoteness from the God who is worshiped there ; and, whon e go fo pray, our steps will ever turn from St. Y'aul's Cathedral to ‘Wostminster Abbey. We have seen_everything, from the British Musoum to the Wax-Works. e saw THE CLADMANT in efigy at Madame Tussaud's,—florid, portly, and, complacent s a Lord-Mayor at & Guild- ball banquet. We havo secn him since,— poor fellow!—also imitated by art; but the second time ‘he was mneither florig, portly, nor complacent. On the cou- trary, his flosh bung upon his bones as Inx and flacid as drapory ; his oyes wore surrounded by dusky discs that told of agonized vigils and deathlike despair ; his garmonts wore parti- colored, and his once flowing hair and well-kept beard were ehaven close ; for the poor wrotch was photographed in the nrison-livery. AT THE WAX-WORKS,— where we wandered about with an alaré sus- iclon looking out of each oyo that eversbody [t Gurselves was a wazon hoax upon our senaoe, —we saw D outrageous caricature of our mar- tyred Prosident. It made our cheaks flame with srage that wes both ficrce and rightcous, and our fongues to_ wag with an alscnty that was both zoalons and confusing. Lo seo such coarse, awkward, stolid-festurod, and heavy-oyed bur- lesques s sre _ the rea which repro- pont -Grant and Lincoln. Nature gave noither of them the beauty of Antinous, and therefore e resented the more Joquaclonsly that represen- tatives of our American dogma of Popular Bov- ereignty shonld be defranded by Madame Tus- sand’s artist of tho little loveliness Nature gave them. Heorv M. Stanley is thers, mounted upon a lofty platform, as if to’ clsim the plsudita of the throng; whils Livingstone stands bumbly on the floor beside him. ~We songht for Ruche- fort, whose name is in tho catalogue; but, find- ing bim not, concluded that he had boen melted dowa for e motempsychosis, and lived again in the figure of Sir Garnot Wolseley, the Ashantee hero of the day, who occupies the place desig- nated as Rochefort’s. Bach fs immortality—in wax. Braria DAYSE. T THE AMBUSCADE. & tiny Cupld pass—ed by, One Summor’s dsy, &ith laughter in each roguish eye, Thatseemed to say: Beware! boware! 1 the darta I bear “Erer touch thy heart, *twill ever sigh, As through the vale bo lightly stept, 71 blooming flowers, He came to where 3 maiden slopt “The flesting hours Of Summer's night, While roses bright And whito-faced lilies round her crept. He hid within the velvet leaves, Like bird in mest, As slyly a4 a prince of thieves Of wealth in quert ; And quietly stayed To wait the maid, With barb whose elightest tonch deceives, The Snn was on his evening-thr cne, Fre going to Test ; With ita departing glory shone The golden Weat,— TWhen throngh thie grove, With airy move, The little maiden tripped slone. Then, stepping closo unto the foe, With fatal dart Ho drew the arrow to h's bow And perced ber heart. That night Love stols Iuto her soul, ‘reigns there atill, though years sgo. JAMES LAVALLIN, CmI0Aa0, A NiGHT IN THE JUNGLE. In the year 18— I was shooting in the Kimidy district with my frieud, Jack Waldron, & sub- sltern io & regiment of Madras Native Infantry. Kimidy is o littio native town in the north of the Madrag Presidoncy, and is situsted among sotme jungly hilla that bave long boen famous for the game to bo found npon them. The inhabitants are a far bandsomer race thun the people to be met with on the plains, and the men havea singular praotice of wearing flowers in thetr hatr, which givea thom & somowhat offominato ap- pearauce, not uulike that notloccable in - the natives of Ceylon. At the time of our visit— which ‘was many years ago—a semi-independent rajah ruled overthe Kimidy country, aud he was supportedin his authority by two companies ¢f our own native infantry, detached from the neighboring military station of Chicacole for the purpose. Although buried alive, as it were, in the jun- gle, the English oflicers of this detachment usually preferred Kimidy to headquartars at Chicacole, for THE SHOOTING WAS EXCELLENT, and at the timo of which I speak tho cost of liv- ing there was absurdly cheap. A whole sheep conld bo purchased for about & shilling ; a fowl tor fourpance ; milk, butter, exge, etc., for the merost tritle ; 8o that the officers thus rusticated oould live very well on 8 small portion of their pay, and lay by tho romaindsr to purchase steps in the regiment, or to pay off their debts, ac- cording to thoir fancies. Then the thick jungle that closely encirclod the placo was full of gama, both great and small. One was often awaked in the morning by the crowing of the wild jungle- cocks and tho scrcams of the pea-fowl in the immediate vicinity of the station: and wild hogs would enter the gardens of the oficers at night, and commit sad havoc with the English vogetables that wore planted there. Bpotted door, and the sambur, or Indian elk, were very numerous npon the jungly hills about the place; sad = Lear could geucrally Le found within ten minutos' walk of the station b{'thcuu who cared to look for him with beaters. lastly, thore were tigers and leopards in these teeming Jungles, but thede enimals were uot often mot with close at hand—thoy preterred to reside at a Little distance from the military. In such s paradise of sport, it might be supposed that the time would pass very plossantly for men fond of shoot- ing; but, uninckily, there was ono great drawt back to the delights of life at Kimidy, and that was 8 very serions one—the sportsman stood more than a fair chance of contraoting A JUNGLE FEVER, This terriblo Indian diseare stalked as gloomily and as steslthily throngh the hot, steaming jun- gles s the tiger himeelf, and fow mon wara so Tortunata s to escape an Acquaintance with the grim distemper, sooaer or later, if their sporting tastos led them conatently into the junugles. Then the victim to fover would be drenched with quinine by the doctor until ho was more than half-desd, and such singings in his oars would arise from ‘the drug aswould remind him of shells placed closo tothe tympanum; but epite of every remedy in the pharmacopesia, the diseaso wonld nsually rotain a tight hold of the patient un- loss he could get o changs of air, aud & noliday &t the ses-side. Pooree, upon the eastern coast of Indis, was the usual place to which invalida from Kilnidy betook themsclves, and & very mis- erable place it was to bocomo convalescent in, bat then it wos the soa-side, and that was every- thing. Let the render picturo to himself a great waste of glaring yollow sand, diversified only with & long line of mounds of the same arid sub- stance along the sea-shoro, and he will have a fair idea of Pooreo. On one of these mounda was perchod that most melancholy looking of architectural erections, on Indian public bunga- low; and some old rickety heaps of brick and mortar in the neighborhood spoke of & time long distant, whon the Lverless and the we: from Calcntts used to vist Poorce occasionally as & gort of senitarium, and bathe and play cards thore by turns tho liveloug day. Along the coast-line northwards, one wees a patch of green, with lofts pagoda towers rising above the treea, and this is THE WORLD-FANOUS JUGGERNATT, at whose shrine pilgrims from sil parts of India come to worship in thousands, carry- ing cholera with them 83 they go, and sproading the plague over everyroad they travel. The grest car of Juggornant no longer crashes the life ont of the devotaes; but for one that the car kiiled in old times, tho sholera glays hnndrodd 1n our own, and one shudders ot the siglt of a place 50 full of wretched memories. Iudeed, I doubtif » more melsncholy spot is to be found upon the globe's surfacs than this same Poores. As if the Iand was not Ingubrious enough, the ocean adds its weight to the depressing inluences of the place, and rolls its great waves withsuch sad and mouotonous music on the shoro that I caunot think of it oven at this distancs of time without sonsation of disquetude. Tho rickety Veuetian biinds of the pablic bungslow, which rattled incoseantly dsy and might with the stroug eea-brecze; tho rosr of _the surf iu the sull hours of tho night; the rheu- matic bungalow sepoy, mho could mever find zuything for breakfast or dinner but fowls and ogus; the ghostly houses of the Calcaita nebobs, devorted end in ruins; tho distant sail upon the far horizon—nn event in one's lifa; the two. or three old tattered books that had been left with the sspoy by some sick Sahib that had died : all come froshiyto my recollection, as I recall the few days that I spent at Pooroe. Well, Jack Waldron aud I got rather tired, after a time, of shooting bears and pea-fowl ; and, beforo our month's leave of absouce from & certain station had exrpired, proposed to VISIT JUGGERNAUT, the opportunity being & good one. Besides this, I waa focling rathor mowoll, snd foarodl an attack of junglo-fever, for Which the seanir was presumed to be an excellent remedy; and as Pooree is mno great dintance—from an Anglo-Indian point of view—from Kimidy, wo scttled to go down thers one night in the palanquins we had brought with us from tho south. It was the Indian cold weather at this time, and the air was sufliciently chilly to makes blanket agreeablo at night; 8o Jack aud I looked forward to & comfortable sleep 25 we got into our respoctive palanquing about 8 o'clock in the ovoning, baving propared ourselves for & good r i00ze, it must be acknowledged, with sundry bottles of pale ale and a doch-an-dorrach in the shepo of gome brandy and sods-water st the Lospitable mess of the detachment above alinded to. Bods-water was & raro arti- clo in Eimidy, for it had to be convey- ed & long distanco in bullock-carts; but the detachmont officers gave ue of their best in the way of duoner sud lignor, 8o that we feit in very gocd humor when the bearers took the pal- anquins on their shoulders, s2d set off for Pooree with that long sling trot peculiar to them, sing- ing as they went in uo dulcot strains. Waldron's palanquin went first and mine followed, It was Ditch-dark, but the moon was expectod to riso sbout midpight, and in the meantime wo wecre provided with two men carrying torches of burn- ing rags, on which they threw oil from time to time. I lay awako for an hour or so, smokiug Trchinopoly cheroots, and watching the curious and pictarcsque effecta of tho light thrown by the torches on our party and on the junglo ekirt- fng tho road-side; but at length I fell asleep, to droam that I was on my way to Englandina steamor which was pitching most tremendously, Just at that moment, inthe very contro of tho Eay of Bisoay. Iwasawaked byachatteringsmongtlie ‘boarers, and looking at my watch, gaw that it was ten minutos past 13, and that tho moon was ris- ing. Wohad stopped ata public bungalow by the rosd-side, aud close to a village, in which thiere seomed to be a_reat deal of lom-toming and noisc gomg on. Waldron nad got out of hia palanquin, and was talking to the bearars, who were greatly excited. Just then, he came tome with a very grave face. * TLisisawkward,” he eaid; 4 TEERE I8 CHOLERA VFRY BAD in the village, and our bearers are in much a precious_funk, that I am afraid they will run Dback to Kimidy. What's to bo done 7" “'{e must get on at auy price,” Ireplied: it would never do to stop_bere all night. Here! Palkee Ootaw, Juldeo Jso " (lift the palanquin, end go on quick), I cried in Hindustani to the mep. Butthe bearers would not lift the palan- quins from ihe ground, in spite of our eats and entreaties, until we conscnted to give them 2 present of one rupee cach, and even then, thire or four of them disappeared, and wero seen no more, leaving us short banded for the mext Btago of the journey. At last, and with no little dxgcnhy‘ we got under way once more, the bearers grumbling greatly all the time, and e dently proceeding very mach against the : We still maintained our old order of march, and whatever my companion's seusations may have ‘been under the circumstances, I know that I, for my part, was very glad indeed when we passed the village, and heard the {ast cf the tom-toma and cholera horns, with which the unfortunate villagers were striving to drive the demon of pestilence ont of their. borders. I am as little afraid of cholers, I hope, 88 any man. In Indis one sets 80 sccustomed to hear of this plague, acd even to witness its ravages, that the {magination becomes dalled to its terrors ; ana as, in England. people live aud amuse themselvea without much thought of diphtheris, 80, in the East, 8 man does not trouble himeelf muchabout the clolera TNTIL T TAS GOT IT. But even the boldest would hardly, from choico, care to remain in a pligie-stricken village, without any medicine nt~ band, and that, ~ too, in the middlo of tho night, and at o time when the neives are per- haps more unstrung than at any other poriod of tho twepty-fonr hours ; consequently, I was glad, Irepeat, to gei away from the pluce, andiita cheroot, fooling it impossible to go tosleep di- recily after the noise and vexatiun of tho dis- turbance with our bearers. 1t was closo vpon 1 o'clock then, and the moon shone brightly at times through tho fleecy clouds, that were ghding swiftly across ita diak, before the force of the northeast monsoon. One of our torch-boarers hed vanislied, and the other had allowed his torch to §o out, from carelers- nesa or fright, but this did not so muchsignify, & there was sufficiont moonlight for the bearers to sce tha road; that is to say, if a rutty track throogh the jungle could with any sense of pro- priety be termed a road. It was a besutifal baraboo jungle that we wero traveling through, 2ud for & long tima I gave myself up to watch- g, with much intorest, the groceful, waving clumps of that gigantic cane, as we pased them slowly; the bearers stumbling and kicking their way over ruts and stones with doleful gromns, and grunts tull of miscry. I thought to myeelf, Waal s fine place for pea-fowl wo must beiu; and then recollacting ibat pea-fowl and tigers are not uncommonly found togetlier, I began to wouder if there were ANY OF THE STRIFED GENTRY prowling iu the forest ; for, sithough the word jungle 18 here used in the common ecceptation of the Indinn torm, which _embraces overything srborescent, from tho mightiest forest to the most insignificant brushwood, it was, in fact, & bamboo forest wo were in, with forest glades to the right and left of the road, and having canes of oxtraordinary girth end loftiness. oven for that part of India. Smoking, and looking out of the palanquin window, 1n ths faint hope of discovering some wild animal crossing the glades in the moonlight, I must Lave ~slmost unconsciously got_ & pretty ggnd idea of the rond, for I remem- red it generally distinctly enough afterwards, whon I had to travel it under less comfortable circumstances. But thers were uo wild auimals to be seen of the kind I was looking for. Jack- als raised their unearthly cry now and thon in the rceosses of the jungle, and the groat horned owl flitted across tho road from omo patch of bamboo to another ; but of tigers there was no sign, which was just as woll, considering that we bad left our gune and nfles at Kimidy, wait- ing our return, and Lad not cven a pistol be- tween us. It vas bard to_get aay information out of the bearers regarding the character of the road, for they spoke Telegu, and had bat a very slight acquaintance with Hindustsni ; and aud besides this, they were sulky, 8o that, having tried io get some intormation from them in vain, I gave it up as a bad job, and throwing awsy the end of my cheroot, composed myselt to slecp ain. *6} o't think I oould have elept moro than halt an bour, when 1 was awaked, this {ime by.the renewed clamor of the bearers, who, crowding about the door of my palanquin, which they had sllowed to fall roughly on the ground, chattored all togethier with surprising volubility and ox- citement. At firat, half-aslcep as I was, I conld not make out what thoy wanted; but-when I gathered that my friend Waldron WAS SRIZED WITH CHOLELA, 1 was alarmed indeed, and crawled cut of the palanquin aa spoedily s I could, to render him easistance. Tho bearers wero all as frightenod and helpless as o flock of hcep with & woll in their midst, and I could see that they were per- fectly panic-stricken. On reaching Waldron's palanquin, which wss s hundred yards or so shead of mine, I found my friend, a3 I thought, very ill, and, sé he faintly assurod me, suffering “fromall the symptous of cholera. What was to bodone? We Liad no medicino but quinine, end it was vain to look for any. Fortunately, we had brandy, without which an Indian_traveler rarely journeys, and of this I male Waldron _swallow a consideratle guautity neal. Then I ran back fo call the besrers to proceed without an instant's delay; but imegine my dismay when I discovered that they had one and all diseppeared! I shouted called withont offect. Thore was no answer. I ran back upon our road for some distance at my best speed, but_conld seo no one; I shouted again aud agsin, threatened and entrented by turns, but only to the trees of the forest, for not 2 banter was to bs scen. At last, I was obliged to own to myelf that we were desorted, and with no little consternation returned to my sick friend, Mo was apparcntly wosea, and oould scarcely speak, and vet I could do uothine for him.-Huddenly, the thought feshed across my mind that I might RETURN TO TIE VILLAGER we had left, and, with the aid of the hoad men and the bungalow peon, conpel another set of bearers to accompany me. I told Waldron of this at once ; and my poor friend, who was by this time so nervous and weak £s scarcoly Lo bo sble to undersiand what I said, silently squeezed my hand; a gesture I sccepted as an assent. There was no time to bs lest; I wrapped a bian- ket round biim, and set off upon my lonsly er- rand by the fickering light of the moon. At first, I waa too mnch engrossed by poor Waldron's piteous state to think much of my surroundings; and I hiad gone over perhaps Linlf the distance that divided us from the lust-staze we had left, when I became painfully aware that Twasina very awkward prodicament mywelf. 1¢ was that part of tho road where the bambcos grow thickly, and 1 was passing & great chuster of canes whosa feathery leavos obscured the light, when I tripped overa stone, sud fell Hat ot the roed 1 was not much hurt—ouly my Enes broised; bnt in getting up aguin to brush the dirt off my clotbes, I happened to look bacl and an indescribablo’ sensation of swe cams overmo 2t what I saw in my tracks: Tiero was A TIGER FOLLOWING MNE. At first T would not belisve it; I reasoned with myself that such a circomstunce was imposeible. WY am nervous, tired, anxious, and have, por- baps, an sttack of fever coming on,” I said to myself; *and that dark thing thcre in tho road thac I fancy is » tiger crouching, is mo tiger at all, but only a shadow or a stoue. It's all nou- sofigo. Think of Waldron, aud stop ont.” Idid g0, encouraging myuclf as I waiked as fast as I ‘could, withont actunlly runnivg, by such Teflections s these, although I felt in » cold perspiration, and my kneos kuocked together, I am 'not ashamed to _say, with pure fright. Remomber, I bad no nflo, gun,or ovens pistol with me, and waa quit at the mercy of tho tiger, if tigerit was. Perhaps for ono hundred yards orso J restrained Iy curiosity to look round again, but at last this overcame my sense of pradence, and I stopped short and faced ronnd. I'keve could be no mistake this time. Not thirty paces from me, standing full in the moonlight, was & large tigor, which crouched to the ground directly I turned. I do mot kuow what snother porsnn would havo done under tho circumstances ; for myeelf, [ felt for the moment mad, with mingled rage and terror. To be follored thus was cruel and irritatiog, and thero mnst boan end to it. ‘This was the prodomiuant thought in my mind,’ though I was at the eame timo cold with fear. 1 carscd the tiger in my heart, s if ho was & reasonable being opposing my wishes, and in tho wilduess of despair, I throw up my arms guddenly, and shomted with sll my strength. I knew it was neck or nothing ; but my joy was greator than I can express whon I saw tho tiger rire nod BLINK INTO THE JUNGLD. He did this 8o silently and smootnly, that T had to look hard at tho place where hie had been, to feel assured ho was really gono ; but thon, over- come by my emotions, I sank down oa tho und, whers I romained & moment or two, Wiping the cold sweat from my brow. Happily, 1 nad my cigar-case and lights in the pocket of my cost; and, to reassure mysclf a littlo, I drew out’a cigar, and, with trembling fingers, succesded in lighting it. In some circumstances thero is notbing hko tobacco to steady tho nerses. 1 sbould like to * propose,” if it wors given me to do Fo, with & cigar in my month ; and I should think that a pipa must bo a great aid to,n person desirous of borrowing mobey from & friend. With the smole, my cour= agze revived, aund I even had thoe tomority to throw s good-sized stono into the .bush wlere my enemy had disappeared. * ife is gone for good," I zaid to myeelf, *end jos go with him,” Yor there was no response to this insalt; and tbo thought lending mo renowed vigor, I stepped out briskly sgaia. Tho bLeast ovidently took me for & deer, or sometking of that gort, and boited whon he heard the human voice divine. ** Hollo! AsIlive, THERE HE IS AGAIN.” The cigar droppod from my month as I mnt- tered these last words undcr my breath ; and I stood transfixed, as it were, gazing at the long, stealthy form of the tiger, 83 ho posscd acroes the glade n tho jungle, walking paral'el with me. i wes much closer_than before—not tweniy ty paces distant, I funcy; and tho hor- nible thought camo icily wmpon me, that he was keeping me compauy until & fa- vorable opportunity offered for 8 Spring. Again 1 shouted sloud, and_sgsin thero was no ro- eponse. 1 summoned all the courage I conld muster, and walked on, keepiog 88 near to the otlor wide of the patli 88 the jungle permitted, 2nd peering cautiously into the bushes as I ad- vanced. Siill no tiger. Ibad got over another bundred yards or sa. all my nerves stryng to the | ‘utmoet tension, when again I behe!ld that same dreadful form 'gliding_ncroes & moonlit glade. This time 1 saw the animal 20 plainly, thst the marks on his skin were clearly discarnible, and though I lost sight of um again in a moment, this sickened me with: a frightful apprehension. 1t was evident the auimal was siatkivg me, and T pansed to cousider what was to be dons. To réturn wes 33 bad as to s:and still, and yet to go on seemed very like tompting fate. was thers a trea I could climb for saf bamboos grow in thick ciumps, wWith €0 much undergrowth abont their stems, 28 to render it hopeless to try to penoirate it without making much noise in tho attempt, and I feit that such noise would be in the highest degree dangerous under the citcumstances. I might run at my best pace abead, and for a second 1 thought of g:;ntng 50; but L!'ian. min. the tiger could easily utsirip me, and would not running encourage him to follow? Thero was & 5 NOTHING FOR IT but to walk on as I had boen dving; and accord- ingly, affecting a courage I was far from fecling, Iwont on my way. 1could hear nothing aa I walked but the sound of my own footsteps and tho faint rustling of the lesves in the bamboos overhead; but this silenco of the uight ouly rendored the occasional glimpsés T caught of my terrible ensmy the more appalling, 28 he slonk like a shadow from bush to bush, but always on & line with me, and, as I fancied, nearer and nearer to tho roadside. 1 do not know how loug this continued. I was m that state of mind to take no connt of timo, and my ouly 1den was to get on as fast a8 possible to- tho villago for zssistance. It was just then, and whon I was plodding aloog over the iuts snd s:ones in the path, that I heard, or fancied 1 Leard, the ronnd of bearers’ voices borue faintly towards me on the night-breeze. “Ifay oh! Hioh! Hayoh! Hioh!” seemed to be wafted to me from afar like a soug of deliverance, and I stopped for a moment to bo sure my ears had not deceived me. At the tme, indecd, I was very doubtfal whether I was swake or asleop, saue or invane. It mightall bes horrible nightmare, and my ghastly companion a wero freak of tho imagination. I pinched my arm, to make certain that wa3 mnot dresm- ing ; but I need not have put my wakefulness to this tost, for there was tho tiger, and this lime 1IN PRONT OF ME, He must have passed ahead while I stopped to liston ; and now he lay cronched iu the very mid- dle of the path, about tweunty paces in front ot me. The moon was shining very brightly at tha momeut,—not & clond nearit, and I coald di tinetly make out evers limb of the animal, %0 his tail, which was moving from side to sido with a rapid whisking motion. Iustinctively I stepped s few paces backward, fally expecting to meo the tiger pounce upon mein oneor two of those great bounds peoubiar to the anunal ; but he did nothing of the sort,—ho only sneaked a litile nearer, his belly upon the ground, end so nmzuhili, that I only could tell that hs had moved by his preserving the same distance from me a8 bofore. Not daring to look round, I stepped back again, half-dead with terror, buteup- orted to some oxtent by tha series of palanqmn carers in the distance, that were now drawing rather closer to ma. 1t was @ palanguin coming along the road from Pooroo, and if it came quickly T mlédn be eaved. This was tha ques- tion : Would the tiger devour me before it could arrive, ornot? 1could not think upon it; my Lrain swam, and I believo for a time I must have been unconacious of anything sbout me. The Inst thing I romembor was an attempt made to shout, althongh whother I did shout or not I caunot gay, and then 1 awoko to find myselt IX THE ARMS OF A STRANOER, who was bending over me, and holding s flask to my lips, Thero was & crond of bearers aud armed peons etanding round, and two palan- quins, one of which was Waldron's. In a few words, the scranger oxplaiued it all. o wasthe head-suxietant to the colloctor of & neighboring district, and was traveling on duty from Pooree, when bio came to the plzco where poor Waldron Iay on the road. Luckiy, ho Lad a medicine- chest with Lim, and was something of a doctor. Ho prescribed for my friend on tie apot, and or- dored & few of his numerous bangers-on to take up tho sick man's palanquin, and follow him. Thoy traveled at their best spced, or I might not bave lived to toll ths tale, The civilian wont on £0 tell me that he was aroused a second timo by his peous, who ran aliead, shonting out : ** Dagli, Dagh! » (Tiger, Tigor!) &nd by the commotion ‘among his bearers, who nearly aliowed the pal- enquin to fall on the ground. He seized his ri- fle, which lay Joaded besida him; but when he jumped out of the palanquin, the tiger was gone and there remained 1o its place, to his great as- tonishment, myself. That a European should be fouud in a faint on such s rozd, zod such a place, was &n enigma to him anul 1 told my atory, when, seoing how fatigued 0d excited Lwan; he wnairled Upon my getting fnto his palenguin, whila e waiked alongsido it. My own pulanquin, I skonld say, wes Leing brought slowly after ns by two or tlixeo of my new friend's numorons retainers. . There is LITTLE MORE TO TELL. We Il thros duls arrived at the bungalow, Wal- dron in a profound sleep. from _which Lo awoke late mext morning much bettor in bhealth. Whether the narcotic he had tuken was a cure for cholers, or bis atiack was a very slight ono I cannot say, but certainly he was 24 fit to travol that dsy as I was myself. Perhaps’ I was the greater invalid of the two, for 1 was suffering much from fever, brought on, | 1o donbt, by the fatigue and excitement of tho provious night. Howerver, this cholera-stricken: villags was no place to stay in, and Waldron and ' 1 determined to go ou to Foorez at once, and this time by daylight. Thanks to the oficial importznce of our civilian friand, we had Lo dif- ficalty this time iu procuring bearors; nad about 1o'clock in tue day we returnod over that ter- rihle road, that must ever loave o vivid impres- wion upon my memory, without [urcher adsen-. ture. The civilian wag bonud in the other direc- tion; but be told me that he would be in that sart'of the country again in a few weels, whon Tie would cortainly beat up my friend the tiger. And long afterwards—after wo had left Poorce, and were busy with the parades and drills of regimental existence—I had s letter from this samo civilian, eonding me a tiger-skin, which be vouched for as THE COAT OF THE IDENTICAL BEAST went £0 uear cating me " up. It wsa the only tiger that hsunted that particular road, Lo raid, and it was kiiled by a native Shikarree, for the ake of the Gov- ernment reward. A woman's “bangle.” or goldon ornament, was eaid to have been found in ils stomach, but this may have been tho_inven- tion of the Sbikarroe. True or not, the skin was and1s & handkome one; but it does not nced to bo spread as & hearthrug conatantly before my eves to rocuil the terriblo 1 of that night I apent in the jungl PERSECUTION OF THE DAAMA. Paritanism has ever been the implacable ene- my of the Drama, and has done its utmost to do- srade the actor. In nothing oxcopt religious in- toleranco has this epirit of persecntion been car- ried 8o far. Scott ays, ** A disposition to this faccineting amusement, considered in ita rudost state, secms to be inherent in human nature.” The ancient Druidical rites contained the ele- monts of the Drama ; and the early Christians dramatized the lives of the Saints, Tho preach- er aud the actor were ofton the same porson. It was only in this way that they could resch tho hearts of tho people. In eome parts of Earops thoy still bave Drama founded upon sacred sub- Jects, and performed at the timo of holy feeti- vals. In Greece, the profession of an actor was an honorable one. and the Drams formed & portion of the religion of the State. The licentious pantomimes and bratal games of corrupt Rome egraded all amusoments, nnd brought tho Theatro into disrepute. The Drama, like all the fine arts, declined in the Dark Agos; butitnever secms to have come under & wholeeale denuncia- tion unttl the rise of Puritaniem ; thero wass dizcriminatiou between what was good aad what wes pernicions in_dramatic performances. Ail- ton approved a *well-trod Stage;" but s writer in 1557 spoke of actors, pocts, aud jesters, as caterpillars of the Commonwealth. o is curious that the fist Prince who was & patron of actors was Richard ITL. whose memory I8 kept so fresh snd groen by cach generation of actors. Oliver Cromwell hated the Drama, and it put him in o rage to hear & lino of Shakspeare; but he cnjoyed the performance of bnffocns and jest- ers. In 1647. aftsr several aitempts to abolish the Theatre, the Puritans finally suppressed the players by a decreo nfurming them that they were “no better than Leathen; and thatther wero vicions offenders, who would now be com- pelled, by whip, stocks, and prisoa-bolt, to obey ordinances,”—a decree that would pleasa somo Chicago clergymen of the presect day. Lut they could ecotch lhul sl:nz)n. :g&::’:fi:" ;J;‘:m t 2% 3 B BT e imovered by (o Purlian wol- Qiory, and dragged to prison. Theso years of o ation did notextingreh thair love for their I ot: andthe first years of the restoration of the Drama produced one of the greatest Euglish . wbo was a4 honorable and Lgmklslon_ Heo was once aeked by Tillotaen, o greatest preacher of the day, * Why do you gxercise mor pover over Luman sympthies ss 20 2oter, than Y can aaa proacher #* Bstiorton said, “You, fn the Pulpit, tell a story; I, on the Stage, show facta?” Tillotson profited by the advice of his friend, and introducod the cus- tom of preaching from notes. In our dsy, Honry Wurd Beectar omes Lis popularits mors use of 4 than hix;vlgsi& amatic powers to en once the popular projudi used sgainst = ciags, they becomes {he c:cl‘;a:::t for everybody's sins. Aluch of the opposition to tho Drama arisos from traditional projudice; people hate it because they hata it. The amusement- hating Puritans were tanght to regard the Stage a3 a sort of infornal contrivance” to drag people down to perdition. As late as 1745, the paogla of Edinburgh had a superstitious horror of the Theatre. One uight whon * Hamlet” waa being played, a riot took placo, and the honsa waa set on fira. The Town Grard was called forth ; and, Chambers eays, though many of thzt corps had faced tho warst at Bienheim and Dottingen, they felt it 84 a totally difforent thing to be brought to action in a piace which they regarded as s peculiar domain of the Father of Evil. When ordered, therafore, by their commander, to advance into the house and scross the stago, the poor fellows fairly stopped short amidst the scenes, the glaring colora of which at ouce surprised and torritied them. Tho indignant Coptain seized s munsket, and, striking an attitude, exclamed, * Now, m lads, Tollow me.” Just thon a trap-door on which he trod gave way, and in 2n instant the heroic leader had sunk ont of righ a3 if by magic, This was too much for tho Guard; they imma- diately vacated tho house, .leaving the Devil to make his own nso of it. P ; Although the Drama has grown to be a powor eecoud only to tho Chureh nsel, there are &till thoso who izaist upon Satau' Laving it all to himeself. They are not as logical as the hnn- mouk, who said a roast duck was wo zood ta egiven up to sinmora. It is carioua that, while the Church Las not ofien bad a good word for tho actor, 1t Des .ad- vaoced, mot gone dowa, in morals. It waz but a fow years ago aa actar's child was danicd admission t0 & Sundar-3ca00l 11 Now Yori. bling in s profes- , nazdsoup, and There must bs somethinz e: sion to make men sndzro pov Bocial oatraciem, for the loveof i a picturo of the strolling player in W Iv; but for could sea the nov:a mau i dering actor : Bo tho poor player’s motley garb, If truth end worth adomn if, 3lay para unchallenge I thro :gh the g2'o, ‘Tho' churls and bigots scorn ii. Perhiapa poverty was as great acrims in thote daysasin onrown; forthe first actor beforo wizem all these prejudices vanisiied liko air was Gartick, who was the first to make s great fortane from bis profession. Even the most projudiced peraons will _allow tlat those who sro at the head of the tentncal profession may be honorable men and women : but tho poor fo.low who goes oh with & banner, or carrios a pike, for 85 a weok, 18 & davgprons momber of so- ciety. Why thet old notion, thet fams and for- tune bring more tcmptstions than poverty and obscurity, ehould be reversed in tho actor's ease, is & mystery. No .ono denics that Chacivite Cushmay is entitled to the highest respoct and conriderntion ; but the actresres with whom rhe Ling been zssocinted diring thirty vears of pro- fosaional ifo aro classed by & Chicsgo clergyman as outcasts. Would such porsons ns Charlotto Cusbman and Edwin Looth remmn in a profession whoto their mssociates wore such low characters? Peopla expose the weakness of thoir nconsations whon they aro compelled to acknowledge that thers are any honorable members who wll stay in such company as they utylo the reat of the theatrical profession. The Drama is not alvars what it should be. Bu! is thero nnything thatis perfeot? Even the Cbristian_Church has its ontgrowths of Mormonism snd other zhominations. No oneis s siupid a8 t0 say thera shonid bs no Church because there are unworthy mambers. Tho intelligent actor has far mora contompt for the low varicty, eensztional, and immoral Drama, than the public has. To him it is degrading his art, which bs regards 83 oue of tho highess. WUy the fashionable Society-Draran shou'd havo au immoral tendency, ia s question for Bocicty to answor, not the actor. Society fosters quite @s much artidciality =a the Stage. Fashion'a idlo votaries, who attend church dresscd in the latest styie, keep Lect, and are prodigal tho restof the year, are far more artificiel, kollow-hearted, and useless, 10 the world, than the hard-working actress, who wears a tinsel-crown and spangled gown to earn aliving. If tho Drama hed becu as grezt an avil as its_enemies have mainteined it was, it would have destroyed Rolf loug ago. TheStige Liaw alwars produced tho best teachiers of orat and elocution. Jui utus Booth could peat the Lord's Prazor as it never has besn dona in the Tulpit. Penpin who will not gn to & play, but will go to hoar & pablic reading, where one actor takos ol the parts, aro not unliko the woman who wout to & bzl in Lent, and kops her ‘boouet on to easo her e e. It is ssid that sn actor losos his in- dividuality by slways Leing momo onme elac. Tois chnrge would not affecs moat actors, for they aronot mpc to forget thcmselves: when they do, howover, the wo:ld asinowlodges thew a3 grent. In most other profossions, 8 maa i3 contined to ouo brauch of knowledzs, and be therefore bocomes iike the cless Le hssocintes bimsolf with, Lat the actor is evor ehanging. “To-night ho i8 a hero, to-uorrow & commonplaca ‘man ; in no other pursnit in £o varied & kuowl edge necessary. A great actor way oncs askod what a man ought to kuow to hope for success in the theatrical vrofession. Ho eaid, “You must know everything; thers is not 3 branch of study but what will be of uss on the Btage Nearly all of thia greatest actors ave been fina scholare. Clarloito Cushinan stulied sustomy. and others Lavs studiel scalpiurs sud painting, to aid them i their The ouly two sctora who leaved ouce into fame were Garrick Hackett, and both were highly educatod. *The groatost 'study of man is man.” Aud, if tho ae- tor is guilty in studywng Aud pertraying tho pase siony, the suthor is aqually s in concelvin them. Dr. Johuson sain David Garrick hi brought the dramatic profession to bo an honor- able one; and he ¢uid of Mru. Sidilons, that shs was unspoilt by praiso or motoy, nnd was mod- est and unassuming. For Kemblo he Lad the greatest respect. People mill be affected by what they g0o of feel,—what is bronght homo to them; Jife the King in “Hamlet,” whko saw in the actor the counteryart of bhimsclf. Bir Waliet Reoft mays “If tho ecutinents exprosscd aro caleniated to rouse our love of what is noble and our contompt of whatis buse or meas; i they unite hundieds in & sympathotie admira- tion of virtno, abhorrenca of vice, or. derikion of 1 it will remain to be mhown how far the in moro criminally angaged thea If bo idlegonsip of so- npoctats : had pasied the evening in the ciaty ; in the fovenwl puisuits of smbition ; or in the ansated and wsatiable sroggle after gain, —the graver employmontsof the preeout ifc, equally uncopuectad with our oxistencn b Woup BraNsox. n- after. et THE MOUNTAIN-SHADOV/, Wher, down the drowry Bammer-rkr. The' Sun through Weatera hazes whasls, O'er rocke, aud siream, 2rd wood, hnd towd, The phadow of the monntain fteals 3 And, feeling up with cool, gray band, It quenchiea all tho golden Ores That giow npon tke-raubling roofs, And burn upen the vilage-apires. And on the restleos monntain-flelds, That break and mend in evcry vreaze, 1t crenps—and all grows cool and atiil, Ax wheu tl aster soothed tho seas : And meadow-Lirds eomo circling down, ‘And drop within soma grasey nest, Sun has * spent fta iron,” from out the naked Weat. And, a» the shade comes creeping on, Tha glootus grow purgle fis the glens And dsiap, dall reathings rise and uzt Frem ot the lanrel's dusky fens: Aud ou, and on, ik comes and steals, With roundices, slow, bat certain feet And gathers in the woods and felds, And overwhelma the valley swoot. mrllow charm fa over all 3 A rea apon yon mountain Tadge rsve lost their frown, 38 though some ban $1:d gently emootked each rugged ed TThie fretful pines their barshreas lode ; ‘And fields where winds in mmany kess, In jarring notes, Tun through and throuz. ‘Are stilied to geatle, hazy sexs. 1 atand within the mountain shads— Sun is fading down the West— ar, ¥ dy Liave circled to thelr homes— 3fy bills have lost their golden crest, Tae shadow wraps the road I'vo come; ‘And slawly, slowly, up the spirs, Tt lcta fts woléma, steady basd, “To quench my soul’s [aat, fecbls fire, 0 tender, death-presaging shade | The rude zad roagh of vanished deys, The bitter wrong, the Yexing bates, ‘Are meliowsd 10 thy dimming haze, 0 lift thy shadow to mize eyos, That, drifting out to dimrzer seas, AT U1i3d to life's harseh, jarring scenes, i foct ease, T somd 37 65, 5 P Conax Laws 8. Jowx. = rienced me;flla ]raponer. ia 1 both of whowe leza wers it R Clroad train, aays: * Ho mill probably aricole fer lifa" aa