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* ~Ir Family Companion, Devoted to Literature., Miscellany News, A$YNrTt,a V oL. X , W E D N E D A M O N N , J N U A R Y 7, 18 .N A? ~THE HERA.LD 13 PUBLISRED EVERY WEDNESDAY MOUNIG Al N?ewberry C. U.9 BY M'H9 GRNEE Invariably In Avce 35?- the pae sstopped at the expirationD 01 4Tboo,t 4ark $tei' expiration Vt sub T i Z*w4;ILTr-F-AFTEft, CHRISTMAS. AMOMCO2ION rOXWT?O "TUE W40UT -S& Folz Cul1t"J"IS. T.~t~ nilz~ hrismas,wben-all t6ro6gb the house E~ onI~~~-l~4and"As SOBl as a mouse; \ The stoekWin ('(OLtefy St. NMAhl-i' caire), 4'Were emptied of all that was eatable there. The darUings bad duly been tucked in their SWitb Tery full stomachs and palas in their r was d"zng away in toy new COttOn Cap, Ad,XaLcy was rather far gone In a nap, Whea out in the nursery theie arose suc&a LspmVa~ from. my. sleep, cring "What Is Aib& mtter! TOMe U an n tT* __!he "-Wble he igh Qf& cndl sevedclearly to show But the little pile face of each sick little dear, F&"&~c -eeitn 'rmmed itself as fjM -as atick, I knew in a HL-tfsar eItiOld Sick. Their palhes wer tr~i ilr lotgs the What tULkteslts ro)eeted I'll mention by sow T"ry nDow Stuffng. Plumb Pudding Ar.d Ciia ~AraCillers, and Cranberry a large easy chair. He was very pale. In the now dim light of the exhausted fire, his counte- I he.A4. His whole air and figure de ChLred Ihe repose,which a Christian resignation had secured ;-all was rest, except the ever watchful, flashig eyes, that were reserved and lighted up, as the portals, through which the soul was to make its. exit;-and then death was to shut them upon himself, and reign-alone. No'Lwithstand ing this general languor, there were moments, when Herman was. aroused by strange excitements. He craved subjects, upon which to xereise a sympathy-, which, in his days of health and acLivity, hatd been an aiinless generosity. From his friends, he received many little narratives, to which he litened with eagerness; and, in the solitude of his.chlanber, his imagination furnished him with :ases of distress, over which he would weep like a girl. Arid then, whlen these paroxysins ealmed lown, lie %iould sometimes give itterance. to rmfctions, which af ectedhis heai-rs with astoni*h nent. On his left sat a young mai, xhom thirty years ha I net and )assed with friendly greeting. rhey called him Frederie. His lealth was so robust, and his hu nor so exhilirating, that he .was ieknowldedged everywhere to be a >erfect Mercutio. When Herman ias married, the sallies of Fred iric lighted up the joy of his: lousehold. When,-five years af erwvirds,-consumption seizedap >a is wife; Frederie knew how ;o shield his friend from sri-o %v. 5til again, when the child was ieeded for an angel,-this merry achelor sustaired the grief strick med father. rd now, once nore, when consuu>ption was dis atched to execute the decree, Jhat "a fani!y should be entire i eaven,'' his .mirthfuiress often nade the sick man 'pause in- his urry towards the grave, and ae nowledge, by a smile, that with inh u 'fiend, in the midst of leath we areL in lifi:-alas! that he ruddy eheek,-. the engaging e-theg elpstic step -shoaild bt .hat in the midst of life xe are in leath ;-for I think, Herman, thy atest tears in this w>rld were youred dut upon the grave of' rederie. Tihe last personage, in this trio f friends, requires but little no .ie. He was a young physician, whose name was Ernest. Hie had ately returned f r o an Europe, whre he had been prosecuting us studies. at the School of Medi :ine, in Paris. Eager to hear an recounat of his travels, Herm-in ad written to him as soon as his rrival was ascertained, and claim ithte privil,ege of being the first ev elcome him.- Poor Hermaua! rhinking his own wretched ap pearanee would shoek his long ab ent friend, he had caused Frad arie to be present ; nor was lie iware of'the eruel contrast he had hus effecte-l, until Ernest, after receiving the feeble grasp, let f:dl te emaaciated hand, and exclaim d with much feeling "My dear erman is it possible !" * * * * * It was late in the night. 11er. man, with' his ferehead resting in the palm of his right hand, was in deep meditation. Frederic was relining with his elbow upon one chair, while his feet were extend ed upon another ; and he seemed to be amnusing himself with the grotesque fi.ures, into which the smoke of his eigar was con tinual ly changing. Ernest was leaning against the wall. He had dis oursed of his travels, and answer ed every question permitted by a close intimacy, or varied by the opposite temperaments o f his friends. Affected by the silence that pervaded the room, or, per haps, saddened by the retrospeec ion he had just given, in which there were passages of disappoin t ment, that could not be counter baanced by visions of prosperity dimly defined in the future, he had listlessly thrown bac k his head, and, now and then, mnechama cally struck the e bords of a gui tar, which was lying across his lap. Gradually his impr)1ovisations assumed the form of an accom paniment, until, alter trying his voice, he at length hummed an air, the first strain of which was so stirring, and the second so plaintive that the attention of his companions was instantly attrac' "Why Ernest"-xclaimed Frderi,-"where did you get that-is it your composition ?" "Oh no !'' return ed Ernest, "it is not mine." "Who then is the composer ?" asked Herman. I do not know-L give it mere ly from recollection as I heard at." "Well then." continue man, "whoever wa- the com1poser and whatever might have been his emotions when he composed that melody, the expression you give it prove-4 that you received it from some one in dibtrosS. The first strain represents an effort to ar rest attention. The .very, first note or the second part is an ap peal for help, an.1 tho supplica Lion is continne,1, by a refrain des. .-endiig through several bars, U!I til at the end theWton leaps up -xpressive of thanks. The story ::onnceted with it must be a mel ancholy one. I tell you Fred erie, if Ernest will relate it to us, it. will certainly prove a sad his tory. Yes, those sounds are an xil*al, which is 'esorded in Heav en, and will ring i. fearful evi dence against uncharitableness, if or nothing else. because it was tuade in the language of mu sie-a laniguage which no Ba bel has ever shattered-which hias only to be uttered by the UI enl to be understood by the Dhristian. I must hear this story, E .rnest, or I cannot sleep to Ernest put. away the guitar fromn ii m, and drawing his chair near r to ~his friend, looked at him xith astonishment. "Iermnan"-said he, "tell me is t so-is it really so!-do you pos ;ess a power of penetration which loes not belong to mortals? I ask, Cezause I have read, or di eam pt,or heorized, that, in cerlain advane d conditions of disease, this mor al bends with immortality, and :e mind, half freed from matter, 3ecomes imbued with divination. fou have, several times, this right given expressions to ideas, xhich filled me with awe, and what you have just said, is really 1he commencement of the story I ,ould tell you! It is so! 1er, nan-do ye know what I have .o relate-do you know aught of he Music Girl of the Rue do ]a Iarpe ?" "A ha! Ernest !"--interrupted Frederic, as he tossed ' up the tamp of' bis cigar, and kicked it. 'ia-eaigrit rsfont here is a girl in the case is there? Eon rascal, out with the facts,-! am all attention." But the young physician heeded uim not. IIe continued bis gaze, nd urged his inquiry upon Her nan, with a superstitious intent ass, that called forth the derision f Frederie. "I do not know how to answer tour question Ernest"'-said Her nan --I cannot say whether there s really a sep)aration of' my mind 'rom mny body ; or whether it is >nly goaded to an effort at separa ion, by mortal suffering. But this [ do know-I ami conscious of a ental elevation, which I did not ossess in my days of health.' T his as enabled mec (and, 'no doubt, it s a gift from. a merciful Creator . all in my extreme situation, 'or this very purpose) to secure ha:t resignation, which is but a :Omphlact of amity between the in calid and death. A calm submnis sion to the inevitable, is a sure in tietion of the change. whieb y ou, n your theory, consider an at ainmient of divination ; while the Jesrton, to .w hich remnorse -ligs, is the mark of a mental de basement, that does not even ex -te pity. Ah gentlemen, when I :ontraIst my situation with yours, aid think how many, who are now radiant'- in health, will be in their grav s, while I am yet loiter about mine, it is this same intel lectual exaltation, resulting, you may say, from prolonged bodily suffering, that enables the con su mptive to acknow~iledge the pro riety of the prayer, which begs for preservation f r o m sudden death." The solemnity with which these last words were pronounced, im posd slence upon the friends. Ierman., at length, repeated his request for-a history of the meo dv that int erested him so much, and Ernest began as follows: "My story is a short and simple one. You remember, I told you to-night that w~hile residing in Paris, I lodged in the Rue de la IIe1rpe. Yes-Rue de la IIarpe, No 101, ini a strip of rooms that ran up to six stories, anid bore the name of the Hotel de Provence. tt was a dismal abode in a dis mal street. After entering by an arched door, I had to pass along a dark, dank tunnel to reach the place, wv h e r e the stairs commenced, and ran up by twelve zigzags to the top. The light came down this stair-way, not in rays, but it settled heavily like a vapor, revealed a glistening little stream of fllth,that resembled a bruised snake, as it :dragged its slow length long' the slippery L to-the street. tory IThe windows w ere guarded by iron.i iar,, to prevent persons from filing. Here would I often sit, and bend over to Contemplate the Rue de la Harpe. The tall houses, grim with age, at one place leaning over from either side, until high up, they almost met, and, at another, staggering back, presented in per:pective the appeairance of a craggy cleft through a range of granite, left by an earthquake. At night I sometimes looked :dong this chasmn, and fixed my attention upon the lamps. They were old-fashioned oil lamps, sus pended over the middle of the street, by ropes passing across from one house to another. They looked like huge venomous spid et'mes-they shoneo red through tl*e foggy datkncs, affording just light enodgh for the assassin, to make equally sure of his blow,. and his retreat. Ah, the Rue de la Harpe was terrible by night !-Th-re was no silence-no repose. Thous ,ands mingled themseLves with the ever moving host, act in obedience to the muttered precept, work while it i3 yet dark! -for the day light cometh when ye cannot work. There was no silence in Rue de la! IIarpe-no sound of ord,-r,. save the periodiea tramp of the Muni cipal Guard. Sometimes I looked downi.and mused upon the human tide, that flowed along this rugged street. What a busy seene, when viewed as a crowd-what solitude, when I selected any orc individnal, and watched his -movements! There -was no sympathy, than amn-Q,g the drops of water constituting a torrent. Once I noticed an -ob-. struction far down towards the Seine. It was occasioned by thi inability of two large wagons to pass each other. Then I was amazed to soe how this rushing multitude -da-mied up -agaiftst these wagon, like a s t r e a i against a raft. And when the ob sticle gave Way what. a-rush !'' "Come, Frnest," said Frederic, "this will do very well in blank .4evorea t vr in prose." ? "Well, well," continued Ernest, somewhat embarrassed by the in terruption, "I was going to--" "Te1xll yourstory in your own way, and pay no attention to Frederic's insensibility," ,exelaimned IIerman. "I wa going to say," resumed Ernest, "that among the various sounds which reached mec from the street, some were pleasing. There were, for instance, the street musicians. One, a venera ble sexagenarian, played- upon the bassoon. He displayed no great skill in his performance, and his airs were the simnplest;-:butL he attraeted notice by his sauvity and evenness of temper. Mlany a coin wais thrown to him, merely for the pleasure of witnessing the graeo w'ith wyhIvh he rnecived it. There was another-a hunchback -who -astounished everybiody by theo brillianey of his execurtion up on the vio>lin. lIe was not only deform ed, Dut be was ,a cripplde. A.s he crawled alon!g the gutters, with his violin looped around his hump, his appearance a 1i ne would hrave-enlisted charity, had his features been less forbidding, and his demeanor more thankful; bat he received .ec donaition with a scowl, and every jerk of his elbo w was expressive oftpetu lance and discontent. There was yet anot hir-a girl; and itis of her 1 wish to speaIt. She also played upon01 the violin, and, if not with the skill of the hum'ehback, she gave to her style an expres sion of plaintiveness, that won the regard of all who heard her. She was tall, with a firm attitude, and possessed a figure, thait rebelled triump)han tly against the disg~uise which poverty would have thrown around it. 11er eyes were black. and so was her hair, which, to gther with her darlk complexion, told that she came from the South." "Pshaw ! E r n e s t," exclaimed Frederic, "her tongue-you mean that her tongue told you where she came from ?" "I never exchanged a word with her," answered Ernest. "Come, Ernest," repeated Fred erie, "none of your flso modesty. Confess that-" "How, Fritz, am I to gratify Herman with accurate descrip tions, if you interrup)t me thus ?" I"Frederic." said Herman, with some severity, "there are segars upon the mautle-piece, and in that drawer you will find a bottle of excellent sherry-" "Thank you, that will do very well aifter Ernest has finished his story. Proceed." "WVell, then," continued Ernest, "she was beautiful. But what most excited my admiration, and d~~xedtho~ in my memory, was the smile she besto ved upon all who took no tice of her. It was a smile that caus'ed one to louk confidently from the lips to the eyes for as surance of siacerity. SoUetimiles, when she pressed her cheek down upon the violin, to keep it firm, while her left hand glided through the positions onthe finger-board, there was ..an archness given to ,he express.ion4-t hat was positive ly enchanting..E It was a Stitry aft:-rnoon in July. I had been watehing the su go down over the Luxemburg garden, and wiihed as he approach ed the west6j horison, that I could make a messenger to my,friends at me. Suddenly I head,peformne in a masterry manner,the air have just repeat. ed to you. I pped -to the win dow, and saw 's girl on the op posite side o2- ic street. There was with her*a old woman, bent with age, whos business it was to turn the handl of one of those portabAle orgars, so common in ei-ery large city. The girl played upon her violin the same pieces the old woman. turned off from her organ, anndmust have spent years of nightly practiee, before sho learned them. The old wo man seldom looked up ; but the girl's resless -yes were busy searching along the different nto. ries, fur somne friendly face. Sever al times she fiy4 them upon ie but, seeing that 1 occupied the fifth windowfrom the ground, she, no doubt, coneldded there was no thing to. be obtained from me. They played through* their pro gramwe,and were moving off, when I dre%w from mgpocket all the cop per coins I bad, and, wrapping them in a piece of paper, threw them iuto the street. I recolleet well there were si-x sous-more, no doubt, than, she had received from :vdozen streAts put together. I saw her tap the old woman up on the shoulder with the bow of her violin, and point to the win dow, where I was yet standing. In anote ^moment. they were carrietir rad view' by: the crowd. The next evening, they came again. When I made my appearance at the window, t,he girl greeted me with a smile, which remained upon her features throughout her performance, and her eyes ns era3 riveted upon me. I never sa.w her afterwards, t.hat shae did not intently regard me, with that same smile playing about her lips. WVhen she -com menced my fav-orite air. I made known my satisfaction, by nod dong my head. It made no change in her posture. There was the same fixed look-the sarne perma nent smile ; but she showed that she understood my preference, by playing the air twice as long as she played the others, and re peating it befo,re she left. Every afternoon, thaey' made their appearance, arid I felt a live ly interest~in them. I had been in the habit of disburdeninag myself oi the sous, accumulat ed in myv restau rant tranactions, by tossizhg them to the first beggar I encountered, without regar-d to merit, or inmpo sition. But now I would hoard them like a miser, and place them in the cornier of my window, ready for the pretty music girl. Sometimes I would remain in miy chair, and refuse to show myself un til she had nearly finished play ing. I could perceive her anxiety, by the length of time she devoted to my favorite piece, and the per severance with whlich she repeated it. r'hen, 1 would step slowly for ward and mischievously peep over the bars of the grating, but I i.e pent me now of such playfulness, when I recolleet the melancholy that dimmed her smile, as if she would have said, "be it so, if it please you, but it is cruel." "Ah, Ernest,'' exclaimed Her man, "you did not act well. You should have sought this poor girl, and relieved her." "H o w!" answered ZE rne st, "WXas niot the little 1 did for her, mjustice to thousands of others in the same situation ? Or shall man presume to have his elect, uponi whom to exercise mer-cy ? But listen :Winter came ; snow whitened the pavement of the Rue d.e Ia Harpe, and muffled the tread of the multitude. It was the sea son, when the blessings of wealth, and the miseries of poverty, are increased; when ease urges mirth to banter the howling of the storm, and want thinks starva tion and freezing are too slow, for men seek death in the waters of the Seine. Still my music girl came with her steadfast gaze and smile. One day, the old woman was absent. " There came a man witTi the gir-l to turn the handle of the organ. I,saw, at once, wh'at the mat fo froni p- '~ N. -~- ~ pocket a two franc piece. Long be fore it fell at her feet, she perceiv Jtd that it was a silver coin ; for she instantly stopped playing, and watched its desent. She marked where it disappeared in the snow, and when she found it, and knew how much it was, she threw the violin to her companlion, and start ed off at a rapid pace. But sud donly stopped, turned round, and, plaeiig the tips of her fingers to her 'mouth; pressed them to- her ] lips, and waved her hand to me. It was fire days before -I saw her again, and then thf old woman came also. She lo-kod feeble. As seon as I iiade my alpeararice at the window, the girl tapped her with the violin bow. She looked 1 uip, and simply bowing her head, resumed her monotonous task; while the maiden watched and smiled upon me as earnestly as ever." "It. was a pittance well bestow ed," remarked Herman. ",Do you think so," asked Er nest. 'iJas blame, however, to be attached to any one, for withhold ing a siniliar alms from the hunch back and the bassoon player ? for the former suddenly disappear ed from the Rue de Ia Harpe, and I saw the body of the latter one morning exposed in the Morgue for recognition, with his white i 'locks stiffened in ice." "Most surely," answered Her ma ~irk my 9:d,, Qeupa tion was the first right granted to man; and, to secure it to him, it was bestowed il the form of a curse. Let no man, then strive to be rich, if U4 thereby deprive any one of the right to "earn his breadi by the sweat of his brow." Wealth must carry with .it a heavy re-i sponsibility. It is a concen-tration I of means for the distribution of la bor to the needy; and every man, who starves, as did your hunch back violinist, in his cellar, or is forced, by hunger, to commit sui cide, like th'e- venerable bassoon player, drowned in the Seine, helps to diminish the eye of the needie, through which the camel has to pass. Well,. Ernes.t, go on." . "The first of February was the day I had fixed upon to leave-Pa ris. On the afternoon of the day preceding, I wais sitting in myj room, thinking of the contemplat-! c,. journey. 'rho regi-et I felt at abandoning the'gaieties of Paris, was lost in my romantic expeta-i tions of Germnany. Suddenly, 1 heard the music girl playing in the street. I rose up with a start; for I had not linked her in the chain< of my regrets-chiefly confined before to the Garden of Plants, I the Gallery of the Louvre, and the Elysian Fields. But as I stood at my' window, and looked down up- 1 on her for the last time, it was more than a regret-it was a pang that I felt: for I had encouraged in her a dependence-a reliance upon me for assistance---which, perhaps, she thought would never be withdrawn. In her ignorance of' my intention. sha regaf'ded me.J with her' usual earnestness, anid I dwelt long upon my favorite air. I threw her a five frane plece. t She looked at it, and seemed puz zled; but before she disappeared - from me forever, she signidd her gatitude, by frequently bowingr her head, and kissing her hand. r The next day I was in the rotonde I of a Diligence, on my way to j Strasbou rg. For miles, I watched t the city of Paris receding from my view, until a mountain, grounid the base .of which the road sud- 1 denly turned, shut out the en hanting sight-the domes of the I Pantheon, the invalides, and the Val de Grace, the columns anid the monuments of Pere Ia Chaise." 1 "Well done, Ernest!" exclaim- I ed Frederic, "to get rid of your I heroine, you destroy the magnifi cent city of Paris! Mon Dieu!-Re bespierre, in his bloodiest temper, 1 could not have wished for more. Arid so noiseless, .too!-why an earthquake couldn't have done it without a crash. Ah, Ernest, you have brought your story to a fine conclusion !" "Stop !" said HEerman, "holding up his pale hand, "Ernest has not y et finished. Go on. I know you have more to relate." "Yes," replied Ernest. "I have more to tell; but the sequel is en tirely inferential. However, from the pictures of Parisian life whiebh I have sketcbed for you to.night, I I think you will both agree, that my continuation, although -not based upori actual observation, is I entirely reliable. In the evenng of the day of my departure, my thoughts returned to the Music Girl and her mother, for Isukppose I such a relationship must have existed between her and the old ] woman. I fancied-they were stand in at that very moment, before t inwhich I had lodged, < V -. ~ Flie girl looks up to the windoiv, where she had so often-seen me. She plays through her list of~airs, Id dwells long upon my favorite; but I do not appear. 'Let Us Play then over aiaiif,' she st*s -he icems in a mood to tewse us.' But still I ant not to be seen, and they move off slowly, and frequently look back. A week-pertiaps a mnith, rolls by, aid every .day they take their stand at the usgal )lace. A strange face-perlaps in tnkiiil one-is seen at the n in low. The Musie Girl taps her other with the violin bow, and. Irooping her head. niurmirs 'he s gone!' The mystery of the five frane piece is explain'd. Well, miy story has been a sad one,-it. s now become hbrrible. You can )asily suppose that the old woman 5otn died-no matter hoi'. Say ;he tottered like the bassoon play -r from the Petit Pont into the weine. The girl was then left lone. 11er violin ha.s -procured aer the last loaf-in the last way that it can; and s'he is drawn into the wide vortex of dishonor and isery, which, after whirling its Vitnis to the centre of its blaek aelstrom , disgorges them upon the great thoroughfalfe, that leids to the hospital or the guillotine. I 6vill suppose the poor girl has done io crime"; but sick-heart-broken -feeble-she turns for relief to the hospital. She stands at the DeCtral Bureau, begging for a card f admission. The Secretary's ex >erienced' eye is satisfied at one ylaunce ;- the humility of sickness s easy to distinguish from the Impudence of drunkenness-an (1 he card of admission is given her. She stagge'rs across the open pace in front of Notre Dame, and s about to enter the Hotel Dieu. But the spirit of music holds her back for awhile; a voluntary wells forth from the 'organ at the near extremity of the grand aisle in the Cathedral. She holds her breath, and the fiush upon her .heek is deepened. Her eye >rows, contracted into a frown Frmt pain, 'arch once more, and te wol~Prsgvs .~e h.c ~arting returo of joy. But the >rgan is silent. It is ansivered by another at the farther e?ti!emity of he aisle, of equal tone, though melowed into sooth~idg~ softness by the distance. I'hon there is a aant of children's voices, high up n the Cathedral. The Music Girl -gards it as a representation of mgeIic response, add, in con ormity with faith, she signs the ross upon heri throbbing bosom. mad enters the hospital. The iurses gather about her, remove er rags, and put on the habili nents -of the patie-nt. She ih laced in 'her bed, and the-eurtains i'e closed. Tears of gratitude 'or such 'unexpected kindness tream over her cheeks, and she is, ~rdually lulled into a feverish leep by the busy but softly fall ng steps of the sisters ot charity. 'he~' physician makes his round. Eis questions are few-the case is oo plain-and she is labelled' 'Ty-' d1oid Fecer. Why dwell upon de ails? It might have been six lays, or six weeks; her constitu ion 'might have' beern too much hattered, or the physician, it may e, chose to make an heroic expe. iment. Delirium comes on-the >atient clutches at. imaginary ob ets. In her phirenay, she sees he face of one perliaps *ho hould have been' repentingly iear,,and an expression of feroei y overspreads her features. A ister of charity approaches, and olds a eup of wine to her lips. Ce smile comes back once more, Lnd the look of gr'atitude. It is he last time. Death presses with is signet, and the smnile is petri ied into the hideous Sardonic grin, nd the gaze-oh tell me, Her nan; if you can, what is it that he dead'gaze at ?" "You would know" - replied Eerman musingly-"you would snow what the dead gaze at? I will tell you, though you may not elieve mec. I know that what [ am going to .disclose to you is ~rue ;-and I.know it through that ame intellectual refinement, which as already excited your astonish neunt. Listen. There is a fact, riot et perceived, but whzich. will, ome day, give rise to strange peculations. It is this. The last mage, defined upon the retina of he dying, remains impressed here for some time after death. Not only objects in nature, but .he creations of dreams and phren ies are left upon this membrane. do not a!hude to the ,possibility >f detecting .numibers ;-for the 'aet I have' just mentioned will to doubt,-be applied to thia pur >ose;-ba~t"ny mind is impressed vith the belief that the gaze .of he dead einugeveal to us ume.se:se drt ftefttr ol.Vno wata nf tha fafare world, Cannot dYg reasn And consciousness -cannot a dying man, a l ir"wkupered word Lenore ?" receive for his wateiling friend an irprs sion from the "distant Aidenn" of one "nPameless here forever more 9" or cannot the least effort of the imagi-nation leave recorded -tbe monosyllAble5yes,' or 'no,'- in3 an swer to some well-timed momen tous question ? B6 it -so or not, I niake this .prophecy: Many an enthusiast wil- inger long, in Cestaef, over a view of Ieaven rading froin- an infant's eye; or sthrU back-appalled-at the terri fying spectacle.of Hell: sill blaz. ing upon the retina of the un righteous'dead. .o~uAwould know what it i the <ead g upon? I hav answered you. BiAt Ern est, you have yet sonething more to tell." The young p5ysician, after a pause, duiing which hie regarded the clairvoyant with astonishment, pr6ceeded with his narration. "You must know ihat these hos pitals.are institutions.for the liv ing. They do not- bury the dead. Notice is therefore griven that the occupahtof No. 80.is dead, and her body is at the disposal of her friends. But she has uo friends. The hospital girmen is stripped from her, and, Shroudiuss,' she i, placed in a covered, cart. The driver rattles alotig the streets. He enters a court-yard in front ot the School of Medicifie, and the Music Girl is dragged forlh by the hair, and tossed hea.dlong upon the floor of the dissecting room. Ah gentlemen, the scenes in a French dissectingiooni! where the student searches in death for tho explana tion of life. Does he 4eeome un feeling, as, day after day, he looks upon that. aceumulating. hes that *hrrible Tower of Bable, composed of the fragmets of hu man bodies of all lapguagesandma tions ?" "Stop! E r-n e s t,"--exclaimod Frederic, "that is too revolting. No more of that I.beg of yon." "1 have but a.few rpore :words to say,":conagnupd Ernest.' "Sci enee is inisatiste. There, is yet another.eart and driver." "For what?" "To carry off this heap." "Where-to the cemetery ?" ",No.' "In Heaxen's n>ame,--where then ?". "To Montfaaeon. There to be mingled ,with .the carcasses ,of horses, for .the manufacture of the mariate of ammonia." "What !" cried Frederie, relaps ing in to levity, 'Sal armerdse for shame, Ernest, ,to degenecrate, after all, into.such.a eonclusiorr." "Ny, said Herman,, "let mue convince you of. the, contrary. The burial .of the dead results from cowardice. In the dread Ot death, we have created an object quite as terrible-the grave, is it to conceal the .horrors of decompo sition ? It cannot be done. We are endowed with a faculty, which forces use to~ look deep-doia down-r.tbte mass, that was once a human being. Why not permit the dead to instruct the living? They can reveal to us: seerets, which can. be applied to the relief of suffering. Biehold the wisdom. and goodness of.God, displayed by the hand of a desterz.us anatomist, and th'eontemplate the unskill ed butcher of the worm. And which is the more Aautiful illus tration of the resurrection un to purification the corpse-light which hovers over a.grave, or the eryg talline substance produced in the laboratories of Mon tfaucon ?" There was a pause in the con versation. Frederic was the first to re-comnmence it. "Ernest, .1 can propose a~ better use for the imagination than Her man has done. The chances are only a ..qsdrillion to one, that a given piece of .sal, ammoniae has not been iblaborated from the muns ecles of your Miasie Girl, why n ft select a lump and cosjare ~up her image?" "I thank you, Frederic, for the hirt," exclaimed the young phy sician, imbaed. with a sort of zspir ituality by the unearthly notions of IIerman-'I thank you, Fred erie, for the hint. I will- do it She shall appear ta me, and.[ will look up to her, as she once looked up to me, and rejoice in the pos session of a power, be it reason or imagination, that can win for me one more smile from the Music Gi l of the Rae de la Harpe !" Here we have a good exapnple of French wit: "A doctor, like ev erybody else at this season, went oat for a day's sport, and complain ed of having kjilled nothing, 'That's the consequence of hav ing neglected your business,' ob served his wife." dctIem ninti N pdotices lAcetim ob! per line. AdvertIxewnts uot imAid-vila-~eu ber of.ins6~tiws will be keptJIa fi anadtharged accordingey., Special contracts -m2de with Janvez' tUsers, with libea dedec ako*esbv rates Dowe wfthzstnmpd4Dspj* Terms"Cah an -applicanft for obituary edit9ri' for the 6rtution, i of his abiliif -':e * Our P1-4-vats'-MO poor; but wo-.-an liveon" oi.-0z litt4 bebaod Mari" havo made o WaeI WC and Imy at -re"aifF_t- whahwak" Mayb%O fi A Y - you ife&f ' to do 'Yoar &an Wr 't you engage me-I wiU-4o0-4 ~ \ in' tho' o0bita.rian,,,.iW-.', suit our feelings dt:v 1ki Annzi4- I hav'e been i ~io diied once befomei Whei--_'bewA-_ 96, bidt Wust after a*-he was, rjd oiil she seemed to remembersoih~ ttmt she -had forgett,60 WAoQ&io*w& stocking forher_yo .bzoy who was T4 years.of, agpi s0 "Ad came 'too~ azaim and-a ' - was coining on and'-so mejki ting to -be dn;sa OiI~& keep on for twenty .years -orso Th6 aoCtor t12k;f bI~~ disturbed, she, 'Is - g6oe f goal,, this'__ .ie .on ,hr Anns ed. 1{oma~riodagain;'a>wea~aU with no beanty,'bu~t z~ ~ -~ goodness-a woman w tie, blamed seldom, all the tact and address~WJiich the most careful thoughtfulness could