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friends with the natives. We were fortu- gradually sank so low that not even the nate once in finding a friend in our sole free gift of one hundred days’ indulgence travelling companion on the diligence from each, from a snuffy old priest who had

got Geneva. It was a drenching downpour, in at Annemasse, could succeed in raising and “the gates of the hills” were swathed them. But at the inn a blazing fire, a good in cruel grey rolls of mist. But a cheery dinner, and Mr. King's engrossing book of voice soon came from a tall, somewhat travels, contented us for that night, and bent, middle-aged man, wearing a peasant's next day the fine weather set in and reblouse, who astonished us by greeting us mained. And what a paradise we enjoyed ! in English, with a fine American twang. If there are days on which “ the heavens He was very communicative, and we soon seem brought down to the earth,” it was discovered that he was a native of the val. surely those. We seldom made very long ley who had just returned from fifteen excursions; we often started walking with. years' work in San Francisco, having out an idea in the world as to whither we " made his pile.” He was now prepared were going; and yet we always in the end to seek a wife, buy a little homestead, and found ourselves at some foaming cascade, settle down for good in the old country. glacier, or point of view. Sometimes we Accustomed to American go-ahead farm- spent whole days on the mountaio, fragrant ing operations, he groaned terribly over with aromatic scents, without meeting the archaic methods in vogue in the valley: even a peasant in our wanderings. Only “Ah!” he said regretfully, as we passed the scattered sheep and goats occasionally one humble homestead after another came up and rubbed their noses affectioneach with its rough wooden balcony, its ately against us. Often close under the pile of manure heaped up against the "eternal silences” of the glaciers, we house, and its poor garden plot - Igazed up to where could teach them a thing or two!”. He

For a great sign the icy stair doth go was a knowing hand, this Savoyard-Yan

Between the heights to heaven, kee. Long residence in America had not dimmed his remembrance of his country- and it seemed almost sacrilege to break men's ways. At Geneva, he told us with the stillness. Even the poets have not pride, he had purchased his cotton blouse, broken silence before Mont Blanc quite for otherwise they would have imposed successfully. Coleridge has, perhaps, upon him as on a stranger; "and,” he come nearest to the grandeur of his theme added, " I shall save the price of it many in the “Hymn before Sunrise,” but he, times before I get to Chamonix.” And so too, is inadequate. it proved ; for, on comparing our respec- You can make no “grand ascents," of tive diligence fares, we found that, though course, in May; but you will be unwise if we alloccupied precisely the same seats you do not make friends with a guide or in that ramshackle old vehicle, he had two — they are the pick of the peasants, paid only one-third of what we had. At and all the Savoyard peasants are worth Sallanches he avoided the table d'hôte koowing. They are much pleasanter than and lunched on his own account in a sep- the Swiss of the Rhone valley; and, in. arate room. "Ah!” he said, on coming deed, the first thing that strikes one on out, “ what did you pay? Four francs ! passing over the Tête Noire to Martigny Why, I had exactly the same food as you is the curt grunt- or, oftener, stony glare had, but I got it for half the price.” What that takes the place of the pleasant a pity that we, too, had not invested in bon voyage on the French side of the blue cotton blouses at Geneva ! for, obvi- pass. It is wonderful, too, how simple ously, it is but the blouse that makes the and unspoiled the Chamonix people still peasant- and commands peasant prices. are, considering the demoralizing tendency Our friend bore otherwise no resemblance of the tourist crowd. In May, before the to a rustic; he was a distinct fraud; his season” sets in, they all seem unaffectclothes were beyond reproach, he wore edly glad to see you, and have plenty of gold rings, his shirt was fine, and he fin. time to talk about themselves. Our chief gered his napoleons with the ease of a friend was one Séraphin Simond, of the millionaire. He was very fond of the village of La Tour; he is considered a hills; “I loved them,” he said, “when I man of property, for he keeps three cows. was a boy, but I hardly dared to speak of As a gentleman of property should be, them. • Damn the mountains !' my father Simond is a decided Conservative. He would say; "they give us no food.'would have driven our Savoyard-Yankee

We parted company with him at Les friend of the diligence to utter despair, for Ouches, and the rain increasing, our spirits I to Simond every custom of the country

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as the law of the Medes and Per- | any one any old gentleman or lady – sians, which altereth not." Walking one up Mont Blanc.” This was not so flatterI day up the valley, en route for the Flégère, ing. • It is a mere nothing of an expedi3 we wondered why every cow or goat pas- tion,” added Simond. “ It

may

affect turing in the meadows required a special madame unpleasantly at first; she will be ü attendant - either man, woman, or child a little sick — le mal de montagne — that

- set apart for its own use; no animal is all; or she may turn a little black in the being ever seen without its caretaker. We face. But we will get her up to the top remarked to Simond that this seemed nicely."

rather a waste of time and energy. “C'est Certainement, car madame a de bonnes : bien possible !” gravely replied the owner jambes,” concluded Bertrand earnestly – i of three cows;

"mais" - and this refrain and critically. et constantly came “ c'est une habitude du A propos of the ascent of Mont Blanc, <? pays.”

Simond was never surprised by Simood pointed out to us a fine house with anything we said; he listened respectfully, green shutters, situated high up the valley, but always remained of his own opinion. near Argentière. This, he said, was inHowever, this particular instance of ap- habited by the well-known English lady parent waste of time is no doubt due to wbo had married her guide after an ascent

the communal system. The peasant pays of Mont Blanc in mid-winter. Jean Chari so much per cow for the right of common let, the husband, was “un pauvre garçon,”.

pasturage; therefore his object is that his added Simond, and she was “très riche.” cow should get as much as possible from Jean had been her guide for fourteen

the common land and not feed on his own, years, and they were both middle-aged – si nor, of course, trespass on his neighbor's. nearly forty — when they married, and

And tending cows is not by any means that was now about ten or twelve years

such waste of time as would appear, for ago. “Had they ever ascended Mont ? we discovered that you can do three things Blanc since?” we asked. “Non, jamais.

at a time — mend stockings, carry a load Elle fait le ménage, elle élève ses deux of wood, and tend a cow. Many women garçons; c'est une personne très convena. knitted beside their cow; one we

saw ble."

“ Are they happy?” we inquired. reading a book. Often small children are “ Yes, very," Simond asseverated. “ She told off to tend cows and goats, and a must have been very strong to have gone pretty handful they seem to find them. up in winter.” Oui, c'est une dame très At Martigny once we saw a lame old man forte, très robuste; elle a de bonnes whose cow was just like a pet dog, turn. jambes." Bertrand no doubt imagined ing round to be patted, and even sniffing when he delivered the critical opinion at his coat pockets for bread. Although above mentioned that all English ladies we embarked on no very arduous excur. were built on the same pattern. sions, Simond expressed great admiration Our favorite halting place on many ex. of the powers of walking displayed by cursions was a humble little auberge at “madame.” One day, as we were cross- the hamlet of Les Ouches, where they ing the Mer de Glace from Montanvert, he never had any kind of meat, but always exclaimed approvingly, “ Madame grimpe excellent bread, milk, eggs, and red wine. comme un chamois." Madame felt flat-The landlady and her husband were tered at this till she remembered that all strong, bustling people, who had a good the guides always said as much, on princi- deal of " custom” in a small way. We ple, to everybody. Like the children of noticed once a little heap of something Heine's ballad, they have probably sitting on a high chair at the door. On Made the very same speeches

looking closer we imagined it to be a To many an old cat since.

sickly baby; but it was the couple's only

son, and it turned out that he was over Simond and another guide Bertrand, ac- twenty. It seemed that he had had a bad companied us to the Jardin one cloudless fever at nine years old, and in consequence day. Bertrand, a tall, silent young fellow, of this he was all wizened and deformed, also pretended to be lost in amazement at and sat all day at the door or in the chimmadame's walking. Yes, monsieur and ney-corner, propped up on tiny crutches; madame ought certainly to ascend Mont it was a sad sight. The waiter at Cha. Blanc,” said Simond. “ Madame would monix, who was sympathetic and conversa. do it capitally.” This seemed to require tional, told us asierwards that the parents confirmation. Bertrand was appealed to. were gens de bien, and that last year, when He grinned, then spoke gravely: "Two the "conscription" came, the father was good guides," he said, “can safely take obliged, according to the regulations, to

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bring the boy up to be examined “pour bread, but we did our best, so as not to être soldat," and that “le père avait pleuré | hurt his feelings. He really seemed teren l'amenant."

ribly ashamed to have nothing better to The story brought tears to our own offer us. Poor simple paysan! alone in eyes.

his solitary cabin on the far away Alp with This little ion at Les Ouches was a real no wife, no child, only a few goats for bis comfort, for the one drawback - if draw.companions. Two or three of the comback must be confessed to Chamonix in mon green glazed pots of the valley stood May was that when on many of our ex. in the windows of his hut, gay with trailcursions, thirsty and tired, we longed for ing plants. The old peasant was evidently a refreshing drink, we were apt to find the a lover of flowers; perhaps they were the Alpine ion on which our hopes had long sole brighteners of his solitude. been set all deserted and boarded up for But happy, after all, is he who can conthe winter. Most of these high-lying inns fess to so few wants ! Our Savoyarddo not open until at least the first of June, Yankee, with all his latest improvements and only a disconsolate goat or two wan in the way of civilization, is probably the dered about their inhospitable doors. But less happy man of the two. We met bim on one occasion, when returning sad and again at Les Ouches, just before leaviog. weary, cheated of a meal, from the de. He was still loafing about in his blouse, serted inn on the Col de Voza, we met an and apparently teaching the rustics a thing old peasant toiling up the steep hill slope or two, for he was followed about by a to his poor little châlet, under a heavy crate crowd of admiring little boys. He seemed filled with faggots, we told him how hun. less bent than before on coming back to gry we were, and begged him to direct us settle in his native valley. He was so to the nearest inn. Instantly he led the disgusted, he said, with the poor way in way to his poor hut, brought out his rough which they lived, and with the old-world wooden stools, placing them for us on the style of agriculture. “ But you will wake grassy Alp outside, and fetched all his them up a bit, as you proposed to do,” we provisions. Alas! they were only black remarked a little unkindly. “Oh, no!" bread, and an almost uneatable cheese he replied gloomily; “it's hopeless. ! made from goats' milk. No wine, no milk can't get them to pick up any new notion." did he possess. “Je suis honteux,” he so they will remain simples paysans still. said sadly,

d'apporter cela pour une The chance of learning something of these dame, mais je suis simple paysan.” We simple peasants is not the least of the could hardly manage to bite the black charms of Chamonix in May.

THE SOLDIER OF 1854 AND 1891. - In generally in all arms, and along the line the 1854 the soldier was tightly buttoned, tightly colors marked the centre of each regiment. I stocked, and closely shaved, till, in conse confess that it seems to my eye as if the days quence of comments " in those horrible news of smartness have fled from the army, with papers,” the torture was relaxed by orders the exception of the cavalry and some special from home; but I am bound to say that the corps; but it matters little if the spirit, of infantry of that day, if they suffered for it in which that smartness was taken to be a sol. the flesh, looked far better than the men of dierly indication, still beats under the shape1891. The shako (or “ Albert hat," as it was less sack in which the frame of the warrior is called), heavily as it weighed upon the head, encased at present. was prettier if less martial, with all its show Dr. W. H. Russell, in Army and Nady Gazette. of brass ornament and tuft, than the pickelhaube worn by the 32nd and other Russian regiments on the Alma, recently copied by our army from the all-conquering Prussian. The WARMING RAILWAY CARRIAGES, - Tbe uniforms fitted better to the men, and were of new steam-heating wagons for the Prussian finer-looking cloth than they are now. The State Railways have just been put for the first officer was epauletted and bestrapped, and his time on the line from Berlin to Potsdam. blue frock-coat or double-breasted swallow-tail They are built in the form of a luggage van, are sat closely to his figure. The Guards loomed painted brown, and are marked " Heizwagen." larger and taller than they do now. They and One of these wagons is placed in the middle the Fusilier regiments sported far loftier bear of the train, the steam for warming the car. skins, and there were many distinctive regimen- riages being conveyed to the latter through tal badges on shako and button. The line flexible tubing from each end of the wagon. cavalry were much more brilliant. Hussars A low chimney through the roof is provided and horse artillery wore pelisses, and there for the smoke from the boiler furnace. was a brilliant display of lace and feathers

Iadastries

Fifth Series, Volume LXXIV.

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No. 2452. — June 27, 1891.

From Beginning,
Vol. OLXXXIX.

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CONTENTS. I. SIR WALTER SCOTT,

Church Quarterly Review, II. AN INDIAN RING,

Blackwood's Magazine,
III. RUSSIA AND NORTHERN ASIA.

By А.
Vambéry,

Asiatic Quarterly Review,
IV. WILL SIMPSON'S FUNERAL,

Longman's Magazine, . V. BORES AND BORED,

Temple Bar, VI. COMET LORE,

Gentleman's Magazine, VII. SOME EVILS OF ACCLIMATIZATION,

Field, . * Title and Index to Volume CLXXXIX.

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TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For Eight DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co.

Single Numbers of The LIVING AGB, 18 cents.

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THE VOICE OF SPRING.

But suddenly for me

The grey mists lift, the gathered shadows BY LEWIS MORRIS.

pass,

The undying past once more begins to be. WHEN birds salute the loitering dawn The daisy and the lamb upon the field And faint warm sunbeams wake the bee,

Are wonders new-revealed; From the dim fields of memory

Youth's long strange thoughts return, the The veil is year by year withdrawn.

world grows gay, The dear dead Springs revive once more, And with the increasing day And I grow young again;

The tide of time ebbs refluent, and I seem Sweet is the world again as 'twas of yore; To hear again the hurrying, high-voiced The thought of parted joys is precious pain.

stream Woo the pale flowers, blithe bee, sing, rip- Laugh by life's founts; for whom long since pling voice,

the deep, Rejoice, be glad, and I too will rejoice! Slow-footed, rolls asleep

Through grey Autumnal marshes to the silent When the white pear-bloom lights the wall,

sea. And gilly-flowers embalm the air; When shining chestnut-cases fall

Then wake, oh world, again, And lilacs cluster fair;

Dear vanished springs, revive for young and When ʼmid the bursting coverts show

old, The blue-eyed violets and the wind-flowers' Shine morning-years with scarce-abated gold;

Return, oh sweet half-pain, snow, Or starry celandines with shining gold,

That comest of remembrance of years done. The old dead Springs, forgot by all but me,

A little while we tarry 'neath the sun; Their vanished blooms unfold.

Let us not all forget Can I forget the buried years?

The treasure of long hope redoubled by reNot then, not then, shall I forget

gret: Life's fresh dawns dewy-wet.

The springtides of the soul, which in that Sing, thrush, fute, starling, hover, wanton strange new birth bee,

Shall blossom once again, if nezer else on And let me feel a rapture dimmed by happy

earth. tears.

English Illustrated Magazine.

NIGHT AND MORNING.
SLEEP, baby, sleep!
The greeny glow-worms creep,

The pigeons to their cote are gone,
And to their fold the sheep.

What gives the youngling Spring a tongue to

call ? Till with swift step the ghostly past draws

nigh.
Our Midsummers are dumb;
No voice is theirs nor spell which can en-

thrall;
Their painted garden-glories high and sweet
Blow silently and fleet unheeded by;
No message brings the white rose or the red
From Junes remote and dead.
Nay, even the cloistered lilies virginal
Awake no stirrings of unrest divine.
The autumnal glories fine,
From ripeness to decay
Are mute, and pass away.

Rest, baby, rest,
The sun sinks in the west;

The daisies all have gone to sleep,
The birds are in the nest.

The reddening orchards and the yellowing

wheat
Steal by with noiseless feet.
The glowing pageant marching voicelessly
On its appointed way till Winter come.
These Aower within the present, or bear

fruit;
But all their past is mute,
And the dead days of winter speak no word
Of years long done, nor touch an answering

Sleep, baby, sleep!
The sky grows dark and deep,

The stars watch over all the world;
God's angels guard thy sleep.
Wake, baby, dear!
The good glad morning's here.

The dove is cooing soft and low,
The lark sings loud and clear.

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Wake, baby, wake!
Long since the day did break;

The daisy buds are all uncurled,
The sun laughs in the lake.
Wake, baby, dear!
Thy mother's waiting near,

chord.

And love and flowers and birds and sun
And all things bright and dear!
Leisure Hour.

E. NESBIT.

But not a snowdrop lights the wintry gloom,
And not a crocus flames from out the grass,
And not a primrose smiles on bank or lea,
And not a cherry hides its sprays in bloom;

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