But the poet had not indulged in any vain regrets. Manifestly he revealed somewhat his own purpose when, in closing his poem on that occasion, he said, "Something remains for us to do or dare; For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away, The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day." Aye, let universities seat you In temples of honors and arts; The people of England, sir, greet you, And open the doors of their hearts. ANECDOTE OF JUDGE STORY. — The following anecdote about the famous jurist, Story, is in private circulation, but is good enough for the public eye. It was prepared That opportunity Mr. Longfellow faithfully for Story's biography by his son, but Charles used. Sumner, who edited the work, struck it out. The narrative runs like this: In his younger days Story lived in the aristocratic old town of Salem, in Massachusetts. His great ability was not then tempered by as much wisdom as he afterward displayed, and he was looked upon with disfavor by some of the old families. One day Mrs. A called upon Mrs. B, and in the course of their conversation, there being a seamstress present, Mrs. A asked Mrs. B if her daughter was going to the party that evening. “No,” was the short reply; "I don't propose to let my daughter go to any place which is frequented by that insignificant young puppy, Story." Years afterward, when Story was a judge on the Supreme Bench, he visited Salem, and was warmly welcomed by those who had known him formerly. Among his best friends apparently was Mrs. B, and he accepted her pressing invitation to dinner. Now in the years which had elapsed, the seamstress had become possessed of a home of her own, to which was attached a garden, with a peartree, which was just then loaded with fine fruit. After the invitation to dinner had been accepted, the seamstress received a call from Mrs. B's servant, asking her to send up a basket of her excellent pears for dinner, as "Mr. Justice Story, of the Supreme Court of the United States, was to be present." The good-natured seamstress sent the pears at once, and with them this message: "Tell your mistress that I am glad that the insignificant young puppy, Story, has grown to be so fine a dog." - Harper's Magazine. STATUE OF HARRIET She was a great traveller, an indefatigable worker (in spite of ill health), and a profound and original thinker. In all reforms she took ON Saturday morning, May 13, 1882, a few a deep and active interest, and her philanfavored persons had an opportunity of see-thropy was both practical and far-reaching. ing Miss Anne Whitney's plaster cast for a statue of Harriet Martineau, before the shipment of the work to Florence, where it is to be executed in marble. The statue will cost between twelve and fifteen thousand dollars, and has been, in its inception, and from beginning to end, the work of women, the money (only fifteen hundred dollars is still lacking) having been subscribed entirely by women, and a female sculptor having performed the artistic task. The marble figure when completed will come to this city, and will find a permanent home here, though the exact locality where it will be placed is not known with certainty as yet. The project of erecting a statue of Miss Martineau in Boston has been cherished for some time by a few women who appreciate the importance of her labors in the direction of ameliorating the condition and advancing the interests of their sex, and it seems eminently appropriate that Miss Whitney should have been chosen to construct the memorial. The literary works of Miss Martineau at the time of her death numbered over one hundred published volumes, including books upon an extraordinarily wide range of subjects, from religion, ethics, philosophy, and reform, to fiction and travel. On grave practical questions of the utmost importance, her published opinions attracted the greatest attention among thoughtful people, and won for her a permanent and distinguished place in literature. Her visit to this city in 183435 was the occasion of a very cordial welcome on the part of the most respected portion of the community; but when she took the unpopular part of the Abolitionists, "Society" at the West End turned its back upon her. She was a loyal friend to Garrison and the little band of anti-slavery agitators, and promulgated her radical views on the social condition of the United States in a volume published soon after her return to England. The effigy of such an earnest and gifted woman in a public place will do honor to the city of Boston, and especially to the women through whose endeavors the memorial is to be consummated. This statue is the most important work Miss Whitney has ever undertaken, and — whether the result is due to the congenial character of the subject or to the artist's progress alone - it is unquestionably the most successful. The figure is somewhat larger than life-size, and is seated in a straight-backed garden-chair, such a one as Miss Martineau habitually occupied on a terrace in the pretty grounds of her English home at Ambleside. She is represented as having just finished the reading of a manuscript which lies in her lap, and upon which her hands are crossed, while she looks directly in front of her, as though lost in meditation. The position, though dignified, appears natural to the somewhat serious and austere character of the individual. There may be a trace of stiffness in the straight, erect, unbending rigidity of the form, but it is likely enough that it belongs to the character of one in whom inflexibility of purpose was so marked a trait. The expression of the face is genuinely thoughtful, and in this regard the sculptor has achieved a triumph of which she may well be proud. Miss Martineau, at the age of thirty-five or forty, in her prime, had a sweet, matronly, and superior face, with regular, well harmonized and proportioned features, as is shown by the portraits of her, one of which forms the frontispiece to the London edition of her Autobiography (1877). So far as can be judged, the statue bears a close resemblance to her, though the portrait is of course an ideal rather than a literal presentment. The hair is dressed in the mode of forty years ago, being brought down low on the temples, and terminating in a simple knot just above the nape of the neck. The head is covered by a lace head-dress like a kerchief, which hangs to the shoulders on either side. The gown is very plain in its pattern, and is ornamented only by a lace ruffle about the neck. One foot is crossed over the other. The head is slightly turned toward the right, and is remarkably well poised upon a strong, firmly-modelled neck. designed by John Adams, in 1782, from a suggestion of Sir John Prestwich, an English antiquary. The obverse is too well known to call for description. It shows the spread eagle (the emblem of strength) bearing upon its breast an escutcheon with thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, like the national flag. In its right talon is the olive branch, and in its left the thirteen arrows. In its beak is a ribbon with the motto, E pluribus unum. Over the head of the eagle is a golden light MEMORIAL TABLET TO GARFIELD. breaking through a cloud surrounding thirteen VISITORS to Elberon this summer will find among the places of interest, not only the cosey Francklyn cottage, from which President Garfield "passed to where beyond these voices there is peace," but they will have pointed out to them the quaint little Queen Anne church, across the drive, St. James's Chapel, where prayers were repeatedly offered last summer for the sufferer's recovery, and in which the Bishop of New Jersey preached his funeral sermon. That those who come after may have no opportunity to forget the fame which the place and the chapel have thus gained, a number of ladies, many of them from this city, who have summer residences at Elberon, decided to have erected a tablet to the memory of the dead President. The order was given about a month ago, and it is expected that the memorial will be in place before the season opens. The tablet is to be of polished brass, engraved and richly ornamented in colored enamel. It will be fifty-six inches long and twenty-three inches wide, and will occupy the wall-space on the south of the chancel, facing the congregation. The design is a free treatment of the Gothic. There are conventionalized columns on either side, surmounted by a trefoiled arched canopy, surrounded by intricate tracery. Running almost the entire length of the tablet is the sword of the General, about the hilt of which is twined a laurel-wreath. In the spaces on either side of the arch are medallions, bearing representations of the obverse and reverse of the great seal of the United States, stars, forming a constellation on a blue field. The reverse of the seal is not so common. The principal feature is an unfinished pyramid, emblematic of the unfinished Republic, the building of which is still going on. In the zenith is an All-Seeing eye, surrounded by light, and over the eye the words, Annuit cœptis. On the base of the pyramid, in Roman numerals, is the date, 1776, and below this the motto, Novus ordo seclorum. Midway down the tablet, one on each side of the sword-blade, are two heraldic shields, one bearing a correct facsimile of the arms of the State of Ohio, and the other of the arms of the State of New Jersey. These were furnished by the Governors of the respective States, and are therefore official. The lower portion of the tablet is devoted to the inscription, which is in Old English text, of red and black enamel, and reads as follows, — To the memory of The text from which Bishop Scarborough preached the memorable funeral sermon, runs about the two sides, "Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?" — 2 Samuel iii. 38. The design was adapted by Mr. John Henry Buck, the New York agent for the manufacturers, Cox, Sons, Buckley, and Co, of London, and the tablet was ordered through the New York agency, 13, Bible House. A PUZZLE. IN me the music of the sea is hid, - For wicked men abounding. Behead again, of five and forty parts I am, A WHALER. A RHYMED yarn, which, unhappily, is not all a yarn, reaches us from Hawaii. It only hints at the cruelties that are practised by tyrannical shipmasters, some of whom, it is said, will not permit sailors to spend a holiday on shore in far-off climes, except under the surveillance of half-civilized native police, who are paid to club the tars for offences of very slight importance. The correspondent who sends the rhymes says that not long ago an American whaler came in at Hawaii with all the seamen sick with scurvy, and nothing was done for their relief, and the ship sailed away in as bad condition as she came. Another ship lost thirteen of her men, who deserted in consequence of cruelties suffered by them, five of the number swimming to shore, preferring to risk encounter with sharks to longer endurance of the captain's tyranny. As a bit of literary flotsam, the genuine work of a sailor, the ballad is peculiarly interesting. is : I, a sailor in a whaler, Suffered much in every way; So with others, my two brothers, I determined to run away. Since we started, weary-hearted, From New Bedford, months ago, All our earning, every turning, Into other hands did go. Here it LINCOLN AND BUTLER. [From Schuyler Colfax's Lecture.] LINCOLN'S well-known disposition to be merciful, which prevented his signing the death-warrants found by courts-martial, was aptly illustrated by several stories, and the fact is stated that it was for this reason Congress so modified the law toward the close of the war, that death-warrants from the courtsmartial could be executed by the mere order of a commanding general in the field. An instance of this trait was found in the pardon of one of Butler's command. When the condemned man's father called at the White House to beg his son's life, the President had just received a telegram from General Butler, which read, When this despatch was read to the old petitioner, he fell at the President's feet heartbroken. Lincoln looked down at him a moment, and then, grasping a pencil and paper, he said: "Ben Butler or no Ben Butler, here goes;" and he wrote a note and handed it to the old man, whose face was now beaming with hope. His countenance again became sad, however, when he read the words: "GENERAL BUTLER, - John Blank is not to be put to death until further orders from me. "A. LINCOLN." "Ah, Mr. President," said the man, "I thought you were writing a pardon. You might order his execution to-morrow." "My man," rejoined the President, "you are not very well acquainted with me, I see. If you were, you would know that if your son never died until put to death by my orders, he would live to be a great deal older than Methusaleh." THE YEAR WITHOUT A SUMMER. [From the Hartford Times.] WE continue to receive occasional inquiries concerning the "year in which there was no summer." Some persons appear to have a wrong idea of the time. It was the year 1816. It has been called the "year without a summer," for there was sharp frost in every month. There are old farmers still living in Connecticut who remember it well. It was known as the "year without a summer." The farmers used to refer to it as "eighteen hundred and starve to death." January was mild, as was also February, with the exception of a few days. The greater part of March was cold and boisterous. April opened warm, but grew colder as it advanced, ending with snow and ice and winter cold. In May, ice formed half an inch thick, buds and flowers were frozen, and corn was killed. Frost, ice, and snow were common in June. Almost every green thing was killed, and the fruit was nearly all destroyed. Snow fell to the depth of three inches in New York and Massachusetts, and ten inches in Maine. July was accompanied with frost and ice. On the fifth, ice was formed of the thickness of window-glass in New York, in New England, and in Pennsylvania, and corn was nearly all destroyed in certain sections. August, ice formed half an inch thick. A cold northerly wind prevailed all summer. Corn was so frozen that a great deal was cut down and dried for fodder. Very little ripened in New England, or even here in Connecticut, and scarcely any in the Middle States. Farmers were obliged to pay four or five dollars a bushel for corn of 1815 for seed for the next spring's planting. The first two weeks of September were mild, and the rest of the month was cold, with frost, and ice formed a quarter of an inch thick. October was more than usually cold, with frost and ice. November was cold and blustering, with snow enough for good sleighing. December was quite mild and comfortable. |