MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER; AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER, 
aMe/ jUrt-JUio. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
I WAIT FOR THEE. 
The hearth is swept—the fire is bright, 
The kettle sings for tea ; 
The cloth is spread—the lamps are light, 
The hot cakes smoke in napkins white, 
And now I wait for thee. 
Come home, love, home, thy task is done ; 
The clock ticks listingly, 
Tho blinds are shut, the curtain down, 
The warm chair to the fireside drawn, 
The boy is on my knee. 
Come home, love, home, his deep, fond eye 
Looks round him wistfully ; 
And when tho whispering winds go by, 
As if thy welcome step we re nigh, 
He crows exultingly. 
In vain—he finds the welcome vain ; 
And turns his glance on mine, 
So earnestly, that yet again 
His form unto my heart I strain, 
That glance is so like thine. 
Thy task is done, we mi3S thee hero ; 
Where’er thy footsteps roam, 
No heart will spread such kindly cheer, 
No beating heart, no list’ning ear, 
Like these will wait the homo. 
Ah, along the crisp walks fast, 
That well-known step doth come, 
The bolt is drawn—the gate is past, 
The babo is wild with joy at last, 
A thousand welcomes home. 
TRANS-ATLANTIC EPISTLES, 
TO COUSIH KATEY. 
OoK«trsicaxi.T> through Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NEW SERIES-EPISTLE NINTH. 
Decision to return homo—Spring in Paris— Mi-careme — 
Shopping—Dry-goods stores — Eloquence of Clerks— 
Fashions—Trimmings—Emperor and Empress. 
Deap. Kathy :—Amid the hurry of sight¬ 
seeing, and the bustle of preparation for leav¬ 
ing the old world and commencing our return 
voyage, I snatch a few moments to devote to 
you. We have at length decided to go home 
at once, without waitiag for the famous Expo¬ 
sition which is to commence here the first of 
May, and I am about equally balanced between 
a feeling of disappointment at not being able 
to b^ present on this occasion, and delight at 
the idea of seeing home and friends two 
months sooner than I otherwise should. It is 
under the influence of these mingled emotions 
that I am taking my last look at the lions of 
Paris, and assisting as a quiet spectator at its 
gaieties and follies. 
The lovely spring is already here, and the 
gardens and pleasure grounds are beginning to 
array themselves in their gay attire. In the 
“Jarclindes Plantes ” snow drops and crocuses 
peep up here and there, and at every corner of 
the streets flower-women offer you boquets of 
fragrant violets and other delicate spring 
blossoms. There is, in the garden of the 
Tuillerie3, an immense horse-chestnut tree, 
famous for always having leaves out the 20th 
of March. We were in the gardens on that 
day, and searched it out, to see if it would 
justify its reputation this year. We found its 
branches covered with half-opened buds, the 
tender green leaves just peering forth from 
their envelope, while a younger and more 
vigorous rival by its side, displayed them in a 
still more advanced state of development.— 
Thursday, the fifteenth, wa3 a gr. at fete, Mi- 
careme, it is called, because it is the middle of 
Lent. The lively Parisians, it seem3, cannot 
sustain the long forty days of Lent without 
interposing at least one fete-day; so they 
divide the prescribed period of mourning and 
penance into two equal parts, and indulge 
themselves with a day of rejoicing and merri¬ 
ment between the two. Masks circulate in 
the streets, as during Carnival, and at night 
there are masked balls at many of the public 
places of amusement. It is especially a fete of 
the lower classes; the washerwomen, the 
carriers of water and the wine merchants cele¬ 
brate it after a manner peculiar to themselves. 
In every washing establishment a queen is 
chosen, dressed in a fantastic, but often a very 
graceful aud pretty costume, and then her 
majesty, attended by her companions, proceeds 
first to mass, and afterwards, in carriages 
hired for tho occasion, around the public 
promenades of the city. The Boulevards were 
lined the whole day with crowds of spectators, 
and from our windows we looked down upon 
the gay scene. There were masks on foot, 
masks in carriages, young, old, and even 
children; some richly and tastefully attired, 
others presenting the most ridiculous carica¬ 
tures imaginable ; some walking quietly along, 
as if they were merely seeking their own 
amusement; others, preceded by a trumpet 
blown to attract the attention of the crowd, 
and indulging themselves in all manner of 
absurd antics. Every now and then a large 
open carriage swept past, containing one of 
the washerwomen queens, throned in slate, 
surrounded by her pages and ladies of honor, 
and responding by gracious bows and waves 
of the hand to the noisy acclamations of the 
crowd. It was a motley sight, I assure you. 
Katey, but amid all this turbulent gaiety and 
merry-making, tho most perfect order was 
preserved. Large numbers of gens d’armes 
were stationed in all the principal streets, who 
regulated the course of the carriages, and did 
not allow the slightest deviation from the 1 
prescribed order. There is the advantage of a 
rigid system of police; its restrictions are 
often annoying and troublesome, but in days 
of popular excitement and rejoicing, one feels 
much safer than where the individual will is 
paramount. 
The important business of shopping has 
occupied no small portion of my time since 
reaching this city, where the goddess of fashion 
has so long taken up her head-quarters. Is it 
not a shame, Katey, that this matter of ar¬ 
ranging the outer man should absorb so much 
valuable time? Many a precious morning 
hour have I spent in passing in review the 
shop windows, with their rich displays of mer¬ 
chandise, (one does not need to enter theshops 
themselves till the last moment, for prices are 
almost universally marked in the most legible 
characters,) or in weighty consultations with 
the dress-maker. A gentleman’s toilette is 
sooner despatched than a lady’s, but even thb 
is carried to a point of perfection unknown 
with us. The lords of creation do not escape 
here with the mere ceremony of allowing a 
tailor to take their measure; after the coat is 
cut and basted, it must be tried on, and the 
fit corrected wherever it may prove to be 
faulty. This process is an additional tax upon 
the time and patience of the customer, but it 
secures a much more perfect fit. While I am 
upon this subject, perhaps you will be inter¬ 
ested in the opinion which one of the Parisian 
tailors pronounced in my hearing, respecting 
(he comparative claims of different cities of the 
United States to consideration in the world of 
style and fashion. “At New Orleans,” said 
he, in a magisterial tone, “ they dress perfectly, 
as at Paris;” and then he proceed to explain 
the reason of this, namely, that the New Or¬ 
leans tailors spend three months of the year at 
Paris, aud carry back with them the best 
workmen they can find. Iiis opinion of New 
York was far from being as favorable, and I 
doubt not he feels a sincere pity for the poor 
Gothamites, who are not allowed the privilege 
of dressing “ perfectly, as at Paris!” 
There are many immense dry-goods stores 
in Paris, but I have seen none where the in¬ 
ternal arrangements, as a whole, are on as 
splendid a scale as in Stewart’s Marble 
Palace. The windows are magnificent, and 
the articles arranged in them in the most 
tasteful and tempting manner, but the pro¬ 
portions of the interior are not as colossal, or 
the decorations and fittings up as elegant as in 
many of our stores. I made some purchases 
the other day in one of these immense estab¬ 
lishments, called “La Ville de Paris,” and I 
was not a little amused by the peculiar talents 
for their business, which some of the clerks 
exhibited. Not content with enlarging on the 
excellence and cheapness of the goods they had 
to sell, they launched out into long disserta¬ 
tions on the art of dress in general, and on the 
adaptation of this or that article to a given 
style of toilette. All this was delivered with 
the utmost volubility, and a nonchalant air, as 
if it were a lesson learned by rote, and, with 
my imperfect knowledge of the French, it was 
some moments before I comprehended the drift 
of the long discourse which wa3 being addressed 
to me. I fancy a course of lessons in rhetoric 
must form part of the preparations of every 
aspirant for the office of clerk at “La Ville de 
Paris.” 
You are no true woman, cousin Katey, or 
you will wish me to tell you something about 
the Parisiau fashions, and I will accordingly 
endeavor to give you some general ideas re¬ 
specting them, as far as my observation has 
extended. Ilats seem as little designed for a 
protection to the face as ever, beiDg perched, 
or rather hung on the back of the head, 
where they are retained by some invisible and 
unaccountable power. The crowns are exces¬ 
sively drooping, the brims small, but flaring. 
Striped dress-goods are taking the place of 
plaids quite extensively. The skirts of dresses 
are made so long as to trail on the ground an 
inch or two, and extremely bouffant, as the 
French say, which means that they are so 
buoyed up by stiff linings and under skirts, 
that a lady in full dress resembles a walking 
balloon as much as anything, and if two 
fashionables should encounter each other on a 
narrow side-walk, one of them would be 
obliged to step into the middle of the street to 
allow the other to pass. Basques, or jackets, 
continue much in favor, but the corsage is now 
buttoned to the throat, instead of being left 
open as formerly. A new mode of trimming 
the waist has been invented, by means of an 
appendage called bretelles, which resembles 
shoulder-straps, crossed at the bottom of the 
waist behind, with long ends. It is quite 
pretty, aud decidedly becoming to those whose 
shoulders require a slight addition to their 
breadth. I think I will Dot enlarge further 
on the fashions, for I very much doubt whether 
what I have already written will be intelligible. 
One thing which the stranger cannot fail to 
notice in the dress of the Parisian ladies, is the 
amount of trimming which every article dis¬ 
plays. Such a thing as what we call elegant 
simplicity is hardly to be seen, but every gar¬ 
ment is trimmed and decorated to an extent 
actually overpowering. It is nothing uncom¬ 
mon for the trimmings of a dress to cost more 
than the material itself, nor is this considered 
as at all contrary to propriety or the fitness of 
things. Yet, it must lie confessed that this 
excess of ornament does not sin against the 
laws of good taste as much as might be ex¬ 
pected. The French have a peculiar genius 
for inventing and applying decorations, and 
there is seldom any incongruity or glaring 
fault to be seen in their arrangement. But, 
for my part, I must acknowledge that my eyes 
are weary of waudering through these laby¬ 
rinths of trimming, and when among the gay 
crowd, I occasionally discover a lady more 
plainly and simply attired, I fasten my view 
upon her with a sensation of relief and repose, 
like that experienced when one turns from the 
contemplation of a bed of gaudy tulips, to the 
fresh, green lawn. 
No one must visit Paris without seeing the 
Emperor and Empress. We have had that 
honor several times, in their daily drives to the 
Bois de Bordogne. and recently in a grand re¬ 
view at the Tuilleries. They both resemble 
extremely the pictures and busts of their maj¬ 
esties, so that no one who had seen these 
would have any difficulty in recognising them. 
The Empress has a pretty face, with delicate 
features, and an expression of haughty pride, 
which might answer for a veritable daughter 
of the Caesars, but seems hardly fitting for a 
parvenue, like herself. The Emperor has a 
countenance by no means prepossessing, but 
makes a fine figure on horseback, as he is an 
accomplished cavalier. 
My time and my sheet are at an end, and I 
must bid you good bye. My next letter will 
proably be written on ship board, and if wind 
and waves are propitious, or to speak less 
poetically and more truly, if the steam engine 
performs its office well, and a kind Providence 
preserves us from accident, but a short space 
of time will elapse before our feet will be press¬ 
ing the soil of “ our own, our native land.” 
Your Affectionate Cousin, MINNIE. 
MYSTERIES. 
The world is full of mysteries. The cham¬ 
ber in which the iufant opens its eyes is a uni¬ 
verse of mysteries. The father’s voice, the 
mother's smile, reveal to it slowly the mysteri¬ 
ous world of the affections. The child solves 
many of these mysteries ; but as the circle of 
knowledge is enlarged, its vision is always 
bound by a veil of mystery. The sun that 
wakens it at morning, and again at night 
looks in at its window to bid it farewell, the 
tree that shades its home, and in whose 
branches the birds sing before the dews are 
dry, the clouds with shining edges that move 
across the sky, calm and stately, like the char¬ 
iot of an angel, all are mysteries. Nay, to 
the grown up man there is not a thing which 
the hand touches, or on which the eye rests, 
which is not enveloped in mystery. The flow¬ 
er that springs at your reet—who has revealed 
the wonderful secret of its organization? Its 
roots shoot down, and leaf and flower rise up 
and expand into the infinite abyss of mystery. 
We are like emigrants traveling through an 
unknown wilderness ; they stop at night by a 
flowing stream ; they feed their horses, set up 
their tent, and build a fire; and as the 
flames rise up, all within the circle of a few 
rods around is distinct and clear in its light. 
But beyond aud bounding this, are rocks dim¬ 
ly seen, aud trees with vague outline stoop 
forward to the blaze; and beyond the branch¬ 
es creak, and the waters murmur over their 
beds, and wild, uuknown animals howl in the 
dark realms of night aud silence. Such is the 
light of man s knowledge, aud so it is bounded 
by the iufiuite realms of mystery.— Westchester 
Ntws. 
The Duchess of Orleans. —The manner in 
which the Duchess d’Orleatis mourned her hus¬ 
band is well known. Dr. \ r eron tells us in 
his new volumes, that after his death she 
would not a low his apartment to be entered 
by any one except herself. From 1842 to 
1848, when its sanctiiy was violated by the 
republican conquerors, “ Not a piece of fur¬ 
niture changed its place—not an object, even 
the most trivial, was touched. Near the win¬ 
dow of the bedroom was the toilette of the 
Prince. Even the water iu which he hud 
washed his hands before leaving was left un¬ 
touched, but had evaporated in time; and the 
towel which he had used was lying beside it. 
Near the chimney was a large arm chair ; the 
Prince had thrown the Journal des Debats 
opeu into it, and it had not been touched for 
six years.” 
Thus is Life. —It we die to-day, the sun 
will shine as brightly, and the birds sing as 
sweetly to-morrow. Business will not be sus¬ 
pended for a moment, and the great mass will 
not bestow a thought to our memories. “ Is 
he dead ?” will be the solemn inquiry of a few, 
as they pass to their work. But no one will 
miss us except our immediate connections ; 
and in a short time they will forget us, and 
laugh as merrily as when we sat beside them. 
Thus shall we all, now active in life, pass away. 
In a few yeare not a living being can say, “ I 
remember him!” We live in another age, and 
did business with those who slumber in the 
tomb. Thus is life. How rapidly it passes ! 
0. blessed are they who are held iu everlasting 
remembrance. 
A sound econony is a souud understanding 
brought into action. It is calculation reali¬ 
zed. It is the doctrine of proportion reduced 
to practice. It is the foreseeing contingen¬ 
cies aud providing against them.— Hannah 
More. 
Life, as common as it looks, as readily as it 
seems to settle down into the common-place 
aud quotidian, still cherishes in secret higher 
aims, and is ever quietly looking around for 
the means of attaining them. 
Cjwia jpsallanjL 
A HOME PICTURE. 
A moth hit sat one afternoon 
Among her children sewing, 
And softly through the open door 
A fresh, cool breeze was blowing : 
One little darling at her side 
With a blue-eyed doll was playing, 
While brightly o’er her sunny face 
The truant smiles were straying. 
Her elder sister on a chair 
Was very quietly sitting, 
And her tongue with her needles kept good time 
While all so busily knitting. 
A breeze blew in and a breeze blew out 
With the breath of roses laden, 
And whispered of butterflies and flower* 
In the ear of the pretty maiden. 
A little hoy with golden curls 
Aud cheeks like a rosy apple, 
Was merrily swinging to and fro 
Beneath the sugar maple. 
Now high, now low, now up, now down, 
He swung with a constant motion, 
And ho called himself a sailor, rocked 
By the waves of a stormy ocean ! 
A little dog with a curly head 
In the shade of the tree was lying, 
And the busy bees, with a drowsy hum, 
To their hive3, close by, were flying. 
The snow-white apple-blossoms, borne 
On the breeze so freshly blowing, 
Fell round the boy so thick and fast, 
He almost thought ’twas snowing 1 
A t9ar.of joy and love, rolled down 
The cheek of the happy mother, 
As she said, “ Go now, my daughters dear, 
And play awhile with brother.” 
They swung and played till the sun went down, 
And the cool night dews descended, 
Then bade good night to the stars and flowers, 
Nor sighed that their sport was ended. 
[Cleveland Herald. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“ HOW DO THEY COME ON AT HA’YARD ?” 
We were in at “June’s.” Don’t remember 
what sort of a day it was—beautiful, doubt 
less. “ Hy” dropped in—(by the way, “IIy” 
is one of Nature's Noblemen, “ friendly and 
frank,” and his name should be immortalized 
in the Rural,) —wanted a “job” and a—hat. 
June had some “superb”—just the thing— 
nothing better or cheaper in town.” Boxes 
were opened—“would give him a ‘job’ and 
let him have a hat—happy to do it.” That 
was too high crowned—too nice altogether for 
“ Hy.” “ But try it on ; let’s see how it 
looks.” No; “ Hy” couldn’t wear such a 
hat—would be met with, “ Fay me that thou 
owest”—would be in a fix. “ But the econo¬ 
my is as great in buying a good hat, as a poor 
one—and who would buy an unfashionable 
one?—it’s nobody’s business.” The hat was 
tried on—examined in the mirror. “ Is that 
‘ Hy,”’ asked June, “ or somebody else—ab¬ 
solutely galvanized—splendid,” &c. “ Hy ” 
eyed himself iu the glass—gave his head a 
nervous scratch—then an emphatic “ No— 
they’d ask me hoio they came on at Ha’vard ; 
then a question in the multiplication table, aud 
I should be ‘ down /’ ” We didn’Un/ to laugh 
—it came up spontaneously, uproariously ! 
It impressed our impressible nature. 
Now, “ How do they come on at Ha’vard?” 
Met a youngster with swallow-tail coat, 
tights, stubs, big bow, high collar, “ superb 
hat,” gold fob, gloves, cane and—cigar! 
Couldn’t see us— belonged in second or third 
sphere above us—above all our aspirations. 
Was in court room — a special Judge on the 
bench—perfect gormandizer—literal Know- 
Nothing. Money enough — but no ideas; 
money placed him there — swollen with pom¬ 
posity—felt dignified. Couldn’t tell anything 
of “ Ha’vard”—was “down” when questioned 
in the multiplication table. 
Introduced to a young lady—bejeweled, 
bemusked, and besmeared with rouge ; very 
delicate “ appearing” — didn’t know anything 
about “hasty pudding” or “Johnny-cake 
recipes”—didn’t trouble her head. Had trav¬ 
eled—visited Niawgawrow—verwy wonderful 
—could hawv gazed and gazed! Been to 
Sawatogaw—chawming !—delightful! Visit¬ 
ed New York city, but didn’t see Gotham— 
believed he was not iu town—was verwy much 
disappointed — always pawfectly abhorred 
mathematics—never had seen Euclid, but had 
heard a great deal of him. Did I know him ? 
“ How do they come on at Ha’vard?” None 
of your Book farming ; know how now bet¬ 
ter than I can do—may talk about acids and 
alkalies, proximate3 and gase3— sheer nonsense! 
Is a prominent man—200 acres of land — no 
road commss ion—attends all caucuses—drives 
Jehu-like after voters and after — office!— 
Knows all about politics, and the country 
generally—didn’t remember which State Sew¬ 
ard was from, North Carolina or Nebraska 
—thought the latter—believed him a North¬ 
ern man. Didn’t know the exact difference 
between a square foot and a foot square— 
could tell by reference to a book he had. 
Would I vote for a Catholic Know-Nothing ? 
—they would ruin the country ! 
“ How do they come on at Ila’vard!” 
Reader, this is a significant question. False 
pretensions render us ridiculous. False colors 
soon fade, leaving the real exposed. What¬ 
ever is appropriate to our position and means 
—not vain and unwarrantable ambition, or 
servile mimicry, leading us astray, and render¬ 
ing us objects of derision — but that peculiar 
adaptedness to our circumstances, which will 
enable us to meet the just claims of all, render 
to each his due, aDd reveal to each our true 
position. Nothing more despicable than de¬ 
ceit. Charlie Chestnut. 
THE OLD PATHS. 
The old—the past—has a charm for most 
minds, that is not easily dispelled. The deeds 
of old heroes, in the civil or in the moral 
world, the places of old renown, in sacred or 
in profane geography, the homes of our ances¬ 
tors, and our father’s graves have a sacredness 
in their very antiquity. We rise up and do 
them reverence by a settled principle of our 
nature. On the same principle we revere old 
men, and ask for their counsel in matters in 
which their experience out-reaches our own.— 
Hence every assault upon men or upon insti¬ 
tutions, venerable by age, is regarded with dis¬ 
pleasure by ingenious minds, unless such men 
or such institutions are proved beyond all 
doubt, to be unworthy of the respect to which 
their age would entitle them. 
And this regard for things ancient, this 
tendency of men to walk in the ways of their 
fathers, is worthy to be fostered. The old 
paths,—the long tried ways in which wisdom 
and the fathers have trodden, should be asked 
a’ter by the children. 
But we should at the same time bear in 
mind that age does not sanctify, and that a 
path may be old and yet not safe nor worthy 
to be trodden. In science, in politics and in 
things morally related—not to say in morals 
themselves—new and better paths have been 
discovered than the old ways in which the 
fathers walked. In Euclid, certain old meth¬ 
ods of demonstration are pursued which mod¬ 
ern geometry has abandoned for better. The 
old way of governing men—the divine right 
of kings, and the authority of few over many, 
are giving place to new, and we in our repub¬ 
lican simplicity suppose, to better principles 
and better methods. 
With just veneration for antiquity, then, we 
are disposed nevertheless to ask after the right 
paths rather than the old. There is a possibil¬ 
ity that the moss of age may have grown over 
some decayed and unsound usage that needs to 
perish. We should penetrate beneath the sur 
face of fair seeming and ask for the soundness 
i unsoundness of that which lies under.— 
There i3 a possibility of reaching a higher 
staudard iu all excellence, than has been reach¬ 
ed before. Else, where is the advantage of 
past experience ? Else, what shall we think 
of the tractability of our race ? Are we inca¬ 
pable of learning? Is there no such thiDg as 
human advancement—true and substantial 
progress ? We believe in such a progress ; a 
progress attainable by asking after the old 
paths and scrutinizing them with all care, 
while we give ourselves the liberty to abandon 
them, when reason and judgment aud con¬ 
science point out a better way.— Portland 
Transcript. 
HOME AND WIFE ON SATURDAY. 
Happy is the man who has a little home 
and a little wife in it, on a Saturday night. 
A house no matter how little, provided it will 
hold two or so—no matter how furnished, 
provided there is hope in it, let the wind blow 
—close the curtains!—What if they are calico, 
or plain without border or tassel, or any such 
thing? Let the rain come down; heap up 
the fire. No matter if you haven’t a candle to 
bless yourself with, for what, a beautitul light 
glowing coals make, reddening, clouding, 
shedding sunset radiance through the little 
room ; just enough to talk by ; not so loud as 
in the highways ; not rapid, as in the hurry¬ 
ing world—but sofily, slowly, whisperingly, 
wi li pauses between them, for the storm with¬ 
out and the thoughts within, to fill up. 
Then wheel the sofa round before the fire ; 
no matter if the sofa is a settee, uncushioned 
at that; if so, may it be just long enough fur 
two, or say two and a half in it. How sweet¬ 
ly the music of silver bells from time to time 
falls on the listening ear then. How mourn¬ 
fully swells the chime3 of the “days that are 
no more.” 
Uuder these circumstances, and at such a 
time, one can get at least sixty-nine aud a 
half statute miles nearer “ kingdom come,” 
than at any other point iu this world laid 
down in “ Malte Brun!” 
May be you smile at this picture; but 
there is a secret between us, viz : it is a copy 
of a picture, rudely drawn, but true as the 
Pentateuch of an original iu every human 
heart. 
Old Age.— It is not well that a man 
should always labor. His temporal as well 
as spiritual interest demand a cessation iu the 
decline of life. Some years of quiet and re¬ 
flection are necessary after a life of industry 
and activity. There is more to concern him 
in life than incessant occupation, and its pro¬ 
duct—wealth. He who has beeu a drudge all 
his days to one monotonous mechanical pur¬ 
suit can hardly be fit for another world. The 
release from toil in old age most men have the 
prospective pleasure of; and-, in the reality, it 
is as pleasing as it is useful and salutary to 
the mind. Such advantages, however, can 
only be gained by prudence and economy in 
youth ; we must save, like the ant., before we 
can hope to have any rest iu the winter of our 
days. 
Adjectives.— In the leading article of Put¬ 
nam’s Monthly for April, the following pro¬ 
fusely decorated paragraph occurs: 
The huge bell of the cathedral rang out 
midnight. Like cleur crystal drops fell the 
transparent silver notes from the bright sky, 
as if ihey were echoes of angels’ voices. Be¬ 
hind the dusky mountains rose the full orb of 
the moon in golden splendor, and poured its 
fairy light over the vast plain. Faint, hazy 
mists swept across the valley, and slowly the 
pale gossamer light sank deeper into the dark, 
narrow streets of the city. Like a gigantic 
church-yard lay the silent town at the feet of 
the mysterious globe in the high heavens. 
