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Wayside Gleanings

THE OLDEST PAINTING IN THE WORLD.-When Napoleon asked a painter for what he was painting the artist replied, "For immortality, sire."

"But how long will a painting last!" inquired the Emperor.

"Three or four hundred years if preserved with care and no accident happens."

"And that is what you call immortality," said the Emperor bitterly.

We were reminded of this the other day on seeing the statement that the oldest painting in the world is a Madonna and child, painted A. D. 886. The oldest in England is said to be the portrait of Chaucer, painted in panel in the early part of the fourteenth century. Such is the immortality of the

artist. Thank heaven that a nobler awaits the Christian!

HOW WE RUN THE MACHINE.-The following is too true a picture of life as it is now lived. It was

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We read from left to right; they from right to left. We uncover the head as a mark of respect; they put on their caps. We black-ball our boots; they whitewash theirs. We compress the waist; they the feet. We give the place of honor on the right; they on the left. We speak of north-west; they of west-north. We say the needle of the compass points north; they to the south. We shake the hand of a friend in salutation; they shake their own. We locate the understanding in the brain; they in the belly. Our officials designate their office or rank by a star on the breast or epaulets on their shoulders; they by a button on the apex of their caps. We page our books on the top; they on the margin. We print on both sides of the leaf; they upon one. We place our foot notes at the bottom; they at the top of the page. We mark the title of a book on the back of the binding; they on the margin of the leaf. In our libraries we set our volumes up; they lay theirs down. We

drawn from the very depths of personal experience, keep our wives in the parlor; they keep theirs in the

the writer being himself a retired business man:

"I am convinced that the machine is run too closely, too intently, and under too high pressure; first to make a living, then to make a position, then

to make an estate, and, alas! then because it is fit for nothing else. The mind is distorted from a natural channel and confined to an unnatural one till both mind and body, like unoiled machinery, run to their own destruction. Each man looks forward to that 'rest' that is in store for him. Toiling on, toiling ever; like the inebriate, he is the slave of his own passion self-created, and when he proposes to strike off the shackles, the music of their rattles is like that of the toy of his childhood, his only joy.

"If in the picture you can see what surrounds you and the features are not attractive, think you the mortality is to be escaped by others who breathe the same atmosphere? Cave tu brute!' While the affections are fresh, the impulses are natural, and the thoughts are not absorbed by commercial pursuits, surround yourself with influences calculated to counteract the centralizing tendencies of trade, to lessen the appetite for accumulation.

'What though he wade in wealth or soar in fame, Earth's highest tribute ends in "here he lies," And "dust to dust" concludes the noblest song."" THE CHINESE AND THE AMERICANS.-We are indebted to a missionary in the land of "tea" for the following contrast between the Chinese and the Americans. We do not recollect ever before reading a chapter of such striking "specific differences:"

"The Chinese parents select the wives for their sons, and decide whom their daughters shall marry. Their badge of mourning is white, and their funeral cards are written with blue ink. They mourn for the dead by proxy, and select a burying-place for the departed by the aid of one who makes that his profession. We read horizontally; they perpendicularly.

kitchen. We put our daughters to school; they put theirs to service. We propel our canal boats by horses and steam; they pull theirs by men. We take our produce to market by railroad; they take theirs on

men's shoulders. We saw lumber and grind flour by steam and water power; they do it by human muscle. We turn a thousand spindles and fly a thousand shuttles without a single hand to propel; they employ a hand for each. We print by a power-press and metal type; they on wooden blocks with a handbrush. We worship God; they offer incense to the devil."

USE OF PAPER IN JAPAN.-Captain Osborn, in his notes of his cruise in the Japanese waters, thus speaks of the uses to which paper is put by those ingenious people:

"It was wonderful to see the thousand useful as well as ornamental purposes to which paper was applicable in the hands of these industrious and tasteful people; papier-maché manufacturers as well as continental ones should go to Yedo to learn what can be done with paper. We saw it made into material so closely resembling Russian and Morocco leather and pig-skin that it is very difficult to detect the difference. With the aid of lacker-varnish and skillful painting, paper made excellent trunks, tobacco-bags, cigar-cases, saddles, telescope-cases, the frames of microscopes, and we even saw and used excellent water-proof coats made of simple paper, which did keep out the rain, and were as supple as the best Mackintosh. The Japanese use neither silk nor cotton handkerchiefs, towels, or dusters; paper in their hands serves as an excellent substitute. It is soft, thin, tough, of a pale yellow color, very plain and very cheap. The inner walls of many a Japanese apartment are formed of paper, being nothing more than painted screens; their windows are covered with a fine translucent description of the same material;

it enters largely into the manufacture of nearly every thing in a Japanese household, and we saw what seemed balls of twine which were nothing but long shreds of tough paper rolled up. If a shopkeeper had a parcel to tie up he would take a strip of paper, roll it quickly between his hands, and use it for the purpose, and it was quite as strong as the ordinary string used at home. In short, without paper all Japan would come to a dead lock, and, indeed, lest by the arbitary exercise of his authority a tyrannical husband should stop his wife's paper, the sage Japanese mothers-in-law invariably stipulate in the marriage settlement that the bride is to have allowed to her a certain quantity of paper."

JACK AT JEDDO.-Jack ashore at Jeddo is very much the same as Jack on "a bender" in New York. He wants his "grog," and, not being well versed in Japanese vernacular, has recourse to signs. The results are thus described by Captain Osborn:

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"Jack was mightily amused with Johnny, as he called the Japanese, and the feeling was mutual, judging from the hearty laughter of the porters, priests, and policemen at the pantomime by which our men strove to make their wants understood. one occasion turning a corner rather abruptly we found a jolly foretopman explaining by signs that he wanted something to pour down his throat that would make him dance, whereupon he cut a double shuffle and reeled about the yard. Johnny perfectly understood and repeated the performance. Jack's broad face beamed with delight. Yes, that's it, grog! Come, bear a hand, my fine fellow,' he exclaimed; and, in anticipation of his wants being quickly supplied, he expressed in the strongest vernacular his high approbation of the Johnnies in general. Happily for the Johnnies we arrived in time to stay further proceedings, and, sending for Yenoske, the interpreter, we made him explain that Jack upon water, or Jack upon tea, was as harmless as a baby, but Jack in a state of grog was simply an infuriated Briton, an animal likely to the domestic happiness of all within the temple inclosure, and very certain to break the peace. Ah,' said Yenoske, 'ah, all the same as drunken Dutch sailor.' Worse, we asserted, than fifty Dutchmen. All the same one tiger!' suggested Yenoske, looking very serious. We told him that tigers the worse for liquor could not be more troublesome. Whereupon Yenoske explained to his countrymen the effects of grog upon our men in such strong terms that neither for love nor money could they get any thing stronger than tea, and we were happy if Jack was not."

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THE PROMISE OF BOYHOOD.-It is remarked by grayhound fanciers that a well-formed, compactshaped puppy never makes a fleet dog. They see more promise in the loose-jointed, awkward, and clumsy ones. So, also, in the days when cock-fighting was a fashionable pastime, game chickens that crowed too soon or too often were condemned to the spit as of no promise or ability. Mothers of 66 smart boys and girls, do not take offense at us if we fail to see any particular promise for the future in

the precocity of childhood. The loose-jointed, awkward, and clumsy boy, if rightly trained, will be likely after all to outstrip them in the race.

ECONOMIC PROVERBS.-Since the days of poor Richard the proverbs that have circulated in almanacs about the country, and which are the most respected by farmers, are those which engender thrift and economy; it is a question whether in a too faithful adherence to proverbial injunctions of this class, people do not become mean rather than economical, close instead of moderate, lean instead of fat. Few farmers eat poultry of their own raising, but sell it and buy salt mackerel, which keeps better and lasts longer. The consequence is, that while the purse fills with the profits of fresh food, the body, for lack of it, becomes scrofulous and wastes away in consumption. Thanks to the researches of physiologists, science is getting to have more moral power than poor Richard's proverbs or an old almanac!

SEEKING A PROFESSORSHIP.-The following has already had wide circulation, but it will bear repeating. Father Sinclair, of the Rock River conference, is a noble living specimen of the old-time Methodist preacher. Heroic to the last degree, yet overflowing with the sunshine of genial humor. Near the close of one of the conference sessions the old man was in the midst of a group of the brethren who were conversing humorously concerning cabinet on dits, etc. "Brother Sinclair," one inquired, "where do you go next year?"

"I have casually learned," said the cheerful old man, with an unusually-serious expression of countenance, which, however, any who knew him would readily interpret as the portent of an infinite joke, "I have just learned that I go to Evanston." Our Biblical Institute is located at Evanston.

"To Evanston!" shouted half a dozen, "why, father Sinclair, what will you do at Evanston?"

"I go there, I understand, as Professor," responded the old gentleman with sphinx-like seriousness. Father Sinclair never betrayed himself in perpetrating a joke by any perturbability of counte

nance.

"As Professor! Professor of what, father Sinclair?" For never before had it entered into the heart of man to conceive that father Sinclair, so plain, so unambitious, was aspiring to a professorship in an institution of the highest grade.

"Professorship of religion," was the bland reply, and the old man walked majestically away, leaving the company convulsed.

INTENTIONS WITHOUT ACTION.-A Scotch proverb warns the weak in will, who are always hoping but never doing, that "hopers go to hell." The German version has it thus: "The way to perdition is paved with good intentions." The same proverb is current among us in a still bolder figure: "Hell is paved with good intentions."

RELIEF BROUGHT BY SATIRE.-There is a relief in ridicule and good-natured satire. Laughing at the misconduct of the world will, in a great measure, ease us of any disagreeable passion about it.

Domestic Economy.

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CUTTING AND DRYING WOOD.-Every one who uses a wood stove has discovered that there is a great difference between the value of wood that is well or poorly dried. Most kinds of wood cut in the winter and left in large logs in the woods become more or less soured and injured. If it must be cut in the winter, let it be split as fine as will be required for use and corded up so as to shelter it. Wood, however, cut in the summer, when it will dry rapidly, is said to be far more valuable.

HAM FOR SUMMER USE.-Cut in slices ready to fry, pack snugly in stone jars, and cover with lard barely warm enough to run. Of course, as the meat is used the layers remaining must be kept covered. E. G.

GREEN CORN FOR WINTER USE.-Cut raw from the cob, pack in any thing convenient, stone or wood, a layer of corn a half an inch in thickness, and a layer of salt not quite so thick, and so on till your dish is full, covering the whole with salt. When wanted for use, soak in clear water twelve or fourteen hours and cook as in summer.

The above you will find always handy and always good. Without the trouble of sealing and unsealing, you can use little or much, and what remains will keep sweet as ever. E. G.

HOW TO MAKE LEMON PIES.-Two lemons, four eggs, two spoonfuls melted butter, eight spoonfuls white sugar. Squeeze the juice and grate the rind of the lemon. Stir together the yolks, sugar, butter, juice, and rind. Cover a plate with pastry, pour the mixture in and bake till the pastry is done. Then beat the whites of the eggs to a stiff froth, stir into it four spoonfuls of sugar, put it on the pie, and place it into the oven till a delicate brown. This quantity makes two common-sized pies. NANCY.

PLUM PUDDING.-Three cups of bread crumbs, one cup of flour, one of brown sugar, one of finely-chopped suet, one of chopped raisins, one of milk, a little salt, one teaspoonful of soda, two of cream of tartar. Boil from three to four hours in a cloth or mold. NANCY.

DELICIOUS CORN-BREAD.-Boil a teacup of rice. While scalding hot pour it on to little less than a quart of corn meal, four eggs well beaten, a tablespoonful of lard, a teaspoonful of soda, a little salt, and enough sour milk to make a thin batter.

NANCY.

HOW TO PRESERVE THE TEETH.-Let every man, woman, and child keep a little pulverized charcoal in their bedrooms, and on their retiring at night, let them put as much as can be laid on a sixpence in their mouths and work it about among the teeth with the tongue, and there will be no decayed teeth for the dentist to fill with amalgam or pure gold either.

So says an exchange, or somebody. A far better way, says another exchange, is, to follow nature, keep the teeth clean by using them in mastication, and not throw such work of assimilation on the stomach; use no hot or cold drinks; preserve the general health, and the teeth will take care of themselves and do a good business in taking care of you.

HOW TO MAKE PASTE.-Too numerous to mention are the little conveniences of having a little flour paste always at hand, as those made of any of the gums impart a glaze to printed matter, and make it rather difficult to read. Dissolve a teaspoonful of alum in a quart of warm water, and when cold stir in as much flour as will give it the consistency of thick cream, being particular to beat up all the lumps, then stir in as much powdered resin as will stand on a dime, then throw in half a dozen cloves, merely to give a pleasant odor. Next, have a vessel on the fire which has a teaeupful or more of boiling water, pour the flour mixture on the boiling water, stir it well all the time; in a very few minutes it will be of the consistency of mush; pour it out into an earthen or china vessel, let it cool, lay a cover on it, and put in a cool place. It will keep for months. When needed for use, take out a portion and soften it with warm water. We keep ours covered an inch or two in water to prevent the surface from drying up. Paste handled in this way will last twelve months.

TO REVIVE GILT FRAMES.-Beat up three ounces of the white of eggs with an ounce of soda; blow the dust from the frames with a bellows, then rub them over with a soft brush dipped in the mixture.

WHITEWASH FOR FENCES.-One ounce of white vitriol-sulphate of zinc-and three ounces of common salt to every three or four pounds of good fresh lime will render it durable where it is exposed to the weather.

TO TEMPER EARTHENWARE.-Boil earthenware that is used for baking-before using it, as it will be less liable to crack-covering it with cold water and then heating it gradually. Let it remain in till the water has cooled.

New

York Literary Correspondence.

Tendency of the Literature of the age-Saxe-His Poetry- | ting—is now very evidently in one of its occasional The Schiller Festival-Quackenbos's English Composition-crises, which, indeed, threatens to bring about wide The Methodist Quarterly.

WHAT is the drift of the literature of the age? is a question often asked, and, perhaps, as often answered quite confidently, but not always with a just appreciation of the subject. What are its characteristics, and what facts are exercising a marked influence upon it? are kindred questions that may be answered equally flippantly by the superficial, but which the thoughtful will ponder well, and then, probably, answer only reservedly and interrogatively. There are times when communities, whether great or small, become oppressed with a pervading sense of some generally-known or suspected fact which nobody ventures to name. The far-gone and still-increasing irregularities of the sole heir of some great family may be patent to all, but is not once named in the household. The fall of a loved daughter may be known beyond question or concealment, but it is not spoken of nor even alluded to in the family. The terrible secret is shut up in each burdened heart, where it corrupts and corrodes with a fearful fatality; all the more fearful because of the vainly-attempted concealment. Now, if I am not mistaken this is just the state of things in the great world in which we are living, that a consciousness, more or less vived, of a dreaded condition of affairs, and of tendencies toward most undesired results, alike fearful and inevitable, oppresses the public mind and casts its shadow upon the literature of the age. The evidence that the frame-work of society as built up in former times is falling into ruins, and that a new order of things is forcing itself into the place of old prescriptions, and wresting the scepter of social dominion from those who have long held it and transferring it to others, is too plain and demonstrative to admit of rational doubt. But people are very slow to be convinced of what they especially desire should not be true, and often when the evidence becomes too strong to admit of further controversy the unwelcome truth is sullenly ignored. Hence our cotemporary literature, which is but the recorded utterances of the times, passes over in silence some of the distinguishing phenomena of the age.

The divinities of modern civilization are also the demons of revolution. These, armed with the great forces of nature, made available by art, with steam and gunpowder and their appliances, and with the printing-press to give ubiquity to thought, and above all with the Bible to give character to thought, are going forth to pull down and to build. Progress is necessarily destructive of the past, and, therefore, all real improvement must be accomplished in spite of "the powers that be." Vested rights are the natural enemies of change, while natural rights, because their claims have never been duly respected, are steadily demanding new adjustments of the social fabric. This conflict-perpetual and self-perpetua

changes. The coming of this phantom has long been seen, and the public mind has become deeply, though in many cases unconsciously, oppressed with the conviction that a social revolution is both inevitable and imminent. But in proportion as this conviction becomes seated is there a reluctance to clothe in words the dreaded idea which all who are not blind must clearly see. Accordingly, the current literature is steadily attempting to ignore the most patent truths, and to present a picture of the age one-sided and deformed by omitting its characteristie feature. But like a reluctant witness who would conceal some great secret, but betrays it by his precautions, so it steadily and surely indicates the recognized but unconfessed presence which it labors not to see. Silence is sometimes a more dangerous telltale than words, and studied silence often suggests much more than words could declare, and both the silence and the utterances of the literature of the times unmistakably indicate the presence of the demon of revolution. In continental Europe it is detected in the diplomacy, and in the movements of armies, and the preparation of warlike appliances, for these means of suppression indicate a sense of danger. It is also seen in the occasional upheaving of the popular volcano, which, after gathering strength by repose, makes its periodical eruptions. Its presence is also indicated by the stifled press, the ubiquitous censorship upon spoken thought, and in literature by the ominous silence or the covert givings out of the "souls under the altar." Even some of the great rulers have sought to harness it to their own chariots, and as the mariner makes the wild ocean do his will, these invoke the aid of the demon of revolution for the accomplishment of their purposes. With us that presence is equally manifest and scarcely less dreaded. Once it was the ruling genius of the land when the car of revolution passed in triumph over its length and breadth. And now from Concord to Savannah there is scarcely a single monument reared to American patriotism that is not also a shrine for the genius of revolution. Upon the escutcheon of Virginia-"mother of states "is a full-length portrait of that power trampling upon the demon of the past, and proclaiming its further purposes by its legend, "sic semper tyrannis." But now we have become a historical nation, and already the nightmare of the past is upon us, and never was national prostration more abject. And while the state bows with alacrity to receive the yoke, and the Church trembles before the mighty presence, literature abandons half its domains and consents to ignore what it dares not to utter. But literature has been a sad rebel in past ages, from the time it began to celebrate the myrtle-wrapped sword of the Athenian youths who slew the tyrant Hippias, and to expunge all its maledictions against

vested wrongs, and its praises of the glories of rebellion would sadly mar its pages and greatly diminish its volume. So too at this time there are still a hardy few who have "not defiled their garments," nor been hushed into inglorious subjection to the spirit of the times. But these are a marked class, who must be either frowned into silence or scouted beyond the circles of good society for their extravagance and outlandishness. Do we then ask for the characteristics of the literature of the age? Take from the pages of "Punch," of some years ago, soon after Louis Napoleon's famous coup d'etat, a picture labeled "France is quiet"-a female figure wrapped in strong cords from head to feet, and a bandage over the mouth, with a soldier's bayonet at her breastand we shall have a pretty fair illustration of its condition-quoad hoc-the enslaving power may not, of course, be named.

Lounging in a bookstore the other day, I took up a thin duodecimo of the "Ticknor & Fields" style of manufacture, and saw under the labeled title on the back the name of "Saxe." I need not tell you, Mr. Editor, why that name attracted my special attention, for you will remember both your wise correspondent and the witty Vermont poet "lang syne" when we smattered Greek and bruised mathematics together at College. Probably you knew less of the then unfledged bard than I did, or less than either he or I knew of you, for grave "seniors" are great affairs in the eyes of freshmen, and not vice

versa.

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he names his "growing waste among the evidences that he is " growing old," though he is yet on the sunny-side of the century. Of the " demonstration he made at the "blackboard" nothing further need be said than that from that day onward, figuratively as well as literally, John G. Saxe was our "tallest" freshman.

There are transition periods in the growth of boys into men as of young Shanghais from chickenhood to roostership, and during this period "gawkiness" is not a cause of reproach. So in college life, the earlier portion of the freshman year is the period of "gawkihood" and transformation; and, of course, the future poet of the "pine-tree state" compassed that period soon after the time just referred to. Those were the days of immense coat-collars, such as you may see pictured in portraits of General Jackson, who was the President, and of "tights" for the covering and adornment of the lower limbs;" but these extravagances had only partially obtained among the yeomanry of the north-country, and so our young collegian made his début in a grizzled frock and broad-legged pantaloons. But as the spring suns loosen the long-worn coats of the serpent race, so did the sun of science operate upon the homely habiliments of our freshman. Before many weeks had gone by he was seen pacing the campus in a swallow-tailed blue, with brass buttons and high collar, and in gray "immentionables," tightly casing his elongated "walkers," strapped "taut to both feet and shoulders, while a glossy silk beaver, set jauntily one-sided, completed the new exterior. The change was alike sudden and complete, as the locust, which first emerges from the earth a plain but sturdy "bug," and then emerges from itself a sprightlywinged insect, vocal with song, so poeta nascitur non fit." I suspect that even you, grave seniors, peeped from your domitories to note his stately steppings as he strode down the broad avenue, casting furtive glances upon himself and then gazing off into vacancy, and occasionally throwing his body at an angle of thirty degrees from the perpendicular, so as to insure a safe ejection of the essence of the savory weed. But a quarter century makes great changes, and with none more than among a body of college boys. We then fought our mimic battles at foot-ball, and settled the affairs of the whole world in the society halls; and now we are fighting them over again, on other areas and with other instruments. But the games are much the same now as then.

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That name, however, and much more the pictured face opposite the title-page of the book, with its curled lips, round chin, prominent nose, subaquiline, and high, retreating forehead, awakened in me a chain of memories reaching back into the dim past, and especially to the time when I first saw the original. That is a memorable day in one's life when, with a crowd of nascent freshmen, he appears in the rooms of the mathematical professor to be examined. Somehow at such a time the animal calorifactors become especially active and unbidden dew-drops tremble upon the lips and moisten the temples. Though neither poets nor novelists have delineated the play of the passions at that great crisis in the histories of young souls, there is in it all the requisite elements of a sublime episode in some still more sublime epic. And it was precisely in that case that this writer first met the poet Saxe. Having by good luck been called up first, I had passed the catechetical ordeal, and, as I trusted, come off alive, when the tall youth from Vermont was called. His figure and bearing were well calculated to attract the notice of strangers. He stood more than six feet high, but not exactly perpendicular, and his longitude was rather disproportionately divided among a pair of very long "walking-beams," a short body, and a lofty cervical column, surmounted by a small but well-set head. His breadth rather poorly compared with his hight-a lack since well supplied; and, as was said of Bennet Lang-book-ay, two books-and all unsought they come ton, he looked for all the world like one of the flamingoes on Raphael's cartoons. The filling of his whole figure to the proportions of his attitude gave occasion for one of his characteristic puns, when he said of himself that his appearance in the streets was like a Colossus of (roads) Rhodes. More recently

What interpretation do you Biblical critics give to that earnestly-expressed desire of the suffering man of Uz, that his "enemy would write a book?" To my fancy it sounds very much as if Job was a professional reviewer and wanted an opportunity to get hold of his enemy in his own specialty, and once for all avenge his multiplied sufferings. But here, not my enemy, but my quondam friend has written a

into my hands and seem to say, Try your pen upon us, if you wish." So challenged, I come forth armed with my trusty steel-pen-to execute a critic on the poetry and genius of John G. Saxe; and, as my preface has been long, the work itself must be short.

It must be granted that, tried by the tests of fair

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