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Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A BACHELOR'S DRIFTING. 
III.— A Nod at Cincinnati. 
lt •Friend” aud <l Friendship” arc words used 
very slightingly sometimes, and the realities 
which they represent treated often just as indif¬ 
ferently. They always signified to me some¬ 
thing truly precious. Something which is not 
to be put on or thrown aside like a garment, but 
like a talisman, to be worn close to the heart, 
and which may glisten radiantly even in death. 
I once saw a letter from George Lippard, 
whose “Legends of the Revolution” are full 
of the must beautithl word-pictures. It com¬ 
menced simply, “ My friend,” and theclose was 
“your friend.” There was no attempt at the 
needless epithets, “dear,” or “sincerely” or 
“truly.” Needless, I say, for the sincerity was 
In their hearts, the truth wrapped up in their 
love. We speak of misunderstandings separa¬ 
ting friends, of thoughtless words terminating 
friendships, of harsh Jests sundering the ties of 
years. It cannot be. True friendship, like true 
love, is never thus undone, hut rock-like, en¬ 
dures everlastingly. A little poem Miss Mulock 
once wrote, expresses the idea, as 1 think, ex¬ 
actly. The last stanza sings thus,— 
“So Heaven mend na! we*ll together once again 
take council sweet; 
Thojigh. this hand of mine drops empty, that blank 
wall my blank eyes meet: 
Life may flow on; men be faithless,—ay forsooth, 
and women too !— 
One is true; and as He iiveth, I believe in truth— 
andyoM.” 
We may hear of one’s having “ hosts of 
friends,” hut Frank Tatlor gives us the true 
thought: “ He is passing rich who can number 
friends enough for a jury, rich indeed who can 
lose two or three and not be bankrupt.” 
Do we not remember Poe’s sketch, “The 
Man of the Crowd?" He seemed to have no 
friend or acquaintance, but to find his life only 
In the bustling multitude that filled the city’s ' 
streets. True, there was a Nemesis ever present ' 
with him, and yet a city, with all its roar and { 
surge and dash, may be a man’s beat, because ' 
only, friend. It is always cold, so he never ex- ' 
peets it to warm towards him: it is always un- ‘ 
feeling, so he looks for no love from it. And 1 
when at last, gray and withered, he finds some 
quiet spot for which he may so long have been ' 
aching, slipping out of the ranks In the great ' 
fierce fight, uumlssed, unmourned, unremem- \ 
bered, “after life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well.” 
I have come hack after so long an absence to 1 
this great city, with all its joy and sorrow, its 1 
grandness and littleness, as to an old friend; for 1 
I used to see so much of that externality, hard 
and stern though it be, that is, never fickle,— ' 
that grows old so much more slowly than any ' 
of the breathing, animated life which clusters 1 
about the stony pillars. I am glad to be a con- ! 
firmed bachelor, If it were only for standing on 
the outside of the ring of life’s amphitheater,— 
as much of a mere spectator as one who Is an 
actor himself may be,—as little of an actor as 
one who lounges at the play,—where are all the 
tragedy and comedy that make up the show: 
all the gleeful jests of the painted clown, whose 
heart has well nigh turned to stone in his blighted 
life; ail the antics of the fearless horseman, who 
cannot help remembering some one at home, 
who will never see another sun; all the tossing 
and tumbling of the Wonderful Brothers, whose 
souls are knit together by ties closer than 
brotherhood; all the glare and glitter of tinsel 
that make up the trappings of the performance, 
wherein the world’s men and women are the 
actors,—acting,—yet how few feel It,—for 
eternity. 
Jim looks at me as if I were a ghost, and had 
made a nameless journey direct, but auon, com¬ 
ing to a realizing sense of bodily presence, we 
“shake,” heartily. How many qnestions are 
asked and answered, appointments made, and 
smiles exchanged. I have forgotten that busi¬ 
ness men’s time is valuable, and that it never 
answers to take up too much of it for what is 
not pecuniarily profitable. 
Like oases in the desert are these meetings 
with those we have known so well in the days 
“lang syne;” it may be but a word,—a hand¬ 
clasp, with which we greet them, and then part, 
perhaps never to he together again till we all 
stand upon the 
-“silent shore, 
Where never billows break, nor tempests roar.” 
I findCuAP.LEY expecting soon to be murdered_ 
married, I should say, but with a great many it 
amounts to the same thing. His “ Dulcinea” 
happens to be out of town, or I might expect 
to get never a sight at him “ after hours.” And 
Dwight is lounging in an arm chair, looking as 
if he took things in general just as easy as he 
does. 
We all know that when everything seems 
drear aud beautiless to us, much of the feeling 
is due to our own physical or mental state. 
True, the world in one aspect is pretty much as 
we make it ourselves; in another it is 
“-all np-hill when we would do, 
All down-hill when we suffer.” 
But when life and its surroundings appear tan¬ 
gled and knotted, it is only the mists that come 
over our eyes and our hearts, and the tears may 
be thick,—but through them the sua will send 
his glorious rainbow. 
The same kindly face, the same earnest heart, 
1 the same old Walter Snowden looks at me 
over his books in the little three-by-four office, 
k Over them just half a second, and then he is in 
7 Aout of them aud me,—exactly room enough 
I, for us to laugh quietly without growing fat. He 
£ suggests the very pious idea that a ride will do 
1 neither of us much harm, and orders his fast 
A uag around to the door. We go on the Cum- 
PINNATKD OROT7SE, 
A M PI RIG A. IN" PPiAIRIPl CHICKEN. 
The above beautiful and spirited illustration j 
of a group or flock of Prairie Chickens, is ap¬ 
propriate at the present season, and will be re¬ 
cognized as life-like by many of our readers, 
especially by those residing iu or who have 
often visited the prairie regions of the West. 
Among the latter are quite a number of gentle¬ 
men hereaway, who go West and become more 
than amateur sportsmen at the season when this 
choice game bird i3 in prime condition. To one 
of these—L otus Chapin, Esq., of this city—wc 
have been indebted, on several occasions, for 
kind and very palatable tokens of his success as 
a marksman during annual raids upon the game 
of the Western prairies. May the shadows of 
all such friends continue to increase! 
Wilkes’ Spirit, (In which our illustration 
originally appeared) says that “the pinnated 
grouse, prairie chicken commonly called, may 
soon be seen In many a field of the great West, 
as thick as the artist has here grouped them. 
These beautiful game birds are uncommonly 
less,) passing with a rush everything on the road 
in the shape of a horse, making the round trip 
over the hill, among the dusty trees and the 
shady houses all about us. 
One of the boys is keeping Bachelor’s Hall 
with a vengeance. All his “ extra baggage and 
encumbrances” are out of town, and he Is en¬ 
joying a glorious “ Independence Day” till they 
come back. Still as wo loiter in to a re-union 
one noisy evening, he seems to feel just as well 
as if his wife had only now been giving him 
parting touches—of scolding and warning. Ah, 
his wife and mine are together. We haven’t 
married them yet,—we still float and drift 
whither we will on the great sea of existence. 
Charley i3 the only one of us her? who i3 get¬ 
ting ready for the slaughter. 
I think men like to take irrevocable steps be¬ 
cause they are irrevocable,—women simply be¬ 
cause they arc steps. And when, a man and a 
woman together take that step which unalter¬ 
ably leads to “better or worse,” the distance 
marks itself upon their brows and on their 
hearts, to be forgotten, to be erased,—never¬ 
more. 0. von K. 
ami 
abundant in the prairie regions of Illinois aud long, lanceolate feathers on each side of the 
the States west of the Mississippi. In the sea- neck, covering a bare space capable of conslder- 
son a vast quantity of them are shot and shipped able inflation. The plumage is covered with 
from Chicago to Now York and other eastern . transverse bauds of white on a brown ground, the 
marts. Tho pinnated grouse of the plains is tot latter nearly black, and the former with a rufous 
near as wild and shy a bird as the beautiful i tiuge, above; long feathers of the throat black; 
mffed grouse of our woodlands. On a frosty different^ specimens vary much in color. The 
morning, lu the West, the former may some- j length fa about 11 inches, with an extent of 
times be seen sitting in long rows upon the rail wings ol 23, and a weight of three lbs. This 
fences, and some fellows of the baser sort seize species, once common in the Atlantic States, is 
that opportunity, sometimes, to commit ‘ mur- now mostly confined to the western prairies and 
der.’ The pinnated grouse, when young, fat, plains; the old name In New York was heath 
and properly cooked and served, Is a delicious ( hen. l'he food U acorns, buds, leaves, berries, 
dish. We know of to brown bird, uuless it be i and grains, ihey do not migrate, but remain 
the canvass-baek duck, that beats him in Iris ! all the year in their favorite aud barren grounds; 
prime, for the table.” ia tbe s P ,io £ tbe males ar(J bablt ot ' “»*ct- 
In its article on Guoi.se, the New American ing at break of day in what are called ‘scratch- 
Cyclopaedia thus describes the subject of our Ing places,’ where they swell aud strut with 
illustration: — “ The pinnated grouse, prairie great pomp, and engago in fierco contests, utter- 
hen or chicken ( T. aupido , Linn.; genus, cupi-. ing a peculiar sound, rendered more intense by 
donia, Reich.,) has a tail of 18 feathers, short, the large inflated sacs on the sides of the neck. 
tpnn/»iif.* orm m.iM. and a tuft of Their flesh is excellent food.” 
uad upon the Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
-“silent shore, PROGRESS. 
Where never billows break, nor tempests roar.” _ 
find Cuap-ley expecting soon to be murdered— The most casual observer cannot fail to 
larried, I should say, but with a great many it notice the constant changes that are taking 
mounts to the same thing. His “Dulcinea” place in the world around him. Day and night, 
appens to be out of town, or I might expect the vicissitudes of the seasons, life and death, 
5 get never a sight at him “ after hours.” And growth and decay, are palpably evident to all. 
iwight is lounging in an arm chair, looking as Geology teaches that the earth has been subject 
he took things iu general just as easy as he to prodigious changes during the vast period of 
oes. past duration. But m all the changes which 
We all know that when everything seems Geology reveals, there are unmistakable evi- 
rear aud beautiless to us, much of the feeling dences of progress from the less to the more 
3 due to our own physical or mental state, perfect forms of development. In Indelible 
.‘rue, the world in one aspect is pretty much as characters, written in the rocks, are the records 
re make it onrselves; in another it is of the successive orders of organized beings 
“-all np-hill when we would do, that have been created and have passed away, 
All down-hill when we suffer.” to be succeeded by others of a "higher and more 
Jut when life and its surroundings appear tan- perfect form, until the ehtf d'aeuvre of creation, 
;led and knotted, it is only the mists that come Man, was brought forth—made a little lower 
>vcr our eyes and our hearts, and the tears may than the angels—for whom all preceding erea- 
>e thick,—but through them tho sun will send tions were preparatory, and to whom all things 
Liis glorious rainbow. arc subservient. 
The same kindly face, the same earnest heart, Progress is no less observable in the intel- 
ihe same old V. alter Snowden looks at me lectual than in the physical world. The very 
over his books in the little three-by-four office, conditions of Intellectual life are growth and 
Over them just half a second, and then he is in improvement; and when it ceases to improvu it 
iront of them and me, exactly room enough suffers the only form of death to which its nature 
lur us to laugh quietly without growing fat. He is liable. It must be admitted that each genera- 
suggests the very pious idea that a ride will do tion is far in advance of the preceding, when we 
neither of us much harm, aud orders his fast reflect for a moment on the many and important 
nag around to the door. Me go on the Cum- improvements that are constantly being made in 
minsvihe avenue 2:40 ou the trot, (very little! the Arts and Sciences. Yet in the face of the 
prime, for the table." 
In its article on Guoi.se, the New American 
Cyclopa'dia thus describes the subject of our 
illustration: —“The pinnated grouse, prairie 
hen or chicken ( T. aupido, Linn.; genus, cupi-. 
donia, Reich.,) has a tail of IS feathers, shorty 
truncate, and much graduated, and a tuft ot 
vast number of facts of this character, there are 
individuals who maintain that thu human race 
are degenerating. We heard it announced from 
the pulpit, recently, by a minister who claims to 
be an educated man, that man was created per¬ 
fect and had oyer since been degenerating, and 
would eventually become pigmies, both men¬ 
tally and physically. Ha then indulged iu a 
pauagyric on the mighty intellect of Socrates 
and other ancient philosophers. Wu would not 
detract anything from merits of the philosophers 
of the Socratic age; they were undoubtedly far in 
advance of any who preceded them. It is no less 
true, however, that they were far behind suc¬ 
ceeding generations, and bear no more compari¬ 
son with modern philosophers than ulght with 
noonday. 
It Is only within the last few centuries that 
the most rapid and unparalleled progress has 
been made in the Arts and Sciences. It is true 
wc are Indebted to the ancients for some of the 
first rudiments of Mathematics, Physics and 
some other sciences: but of the improvement 
they have undergone in modern times the an¬ 
cients had no conception. How vague and 
unsatisfactory was their knowledge of Astron¬ 
omy, Geography, Geology, Botany and other 
natural sciences. Chemistry has been almost 
entirely developed within the memory of man. 
The only electrical fact known to the ancients, 
was, that amber, when rubbed, attracts light 
and dry bodies, which Is stated by Thales about 
600 years before Christ. The science properly 
begins it 3 date in modem times. And through 
the investigation and development of its princi¬ 
ples and laws was discovered the telegraph, 
within our own memory. The first telegraph 
was constructed between Washington and Balti¬ 
more in L>44, and in the short time since its 
introduction it has been wonderfully improved— 
until the two Continents are bound together; 
and though separated y thousands of miles arc 
within speaking distance of each other. Another 
grand achievement has been accomplished within 
a few years—the discovery of the composition of 
the sun by means of the spectroscope and the 
Fraunhofer lines. 
The foregoing facts ere all results of intellect¬ 
ual research and investigation, and are only a 
very limited number of the vast fimouut which 
HOW WINES 
MADE. 
Hiram Cox, M. D., of Cincinnati, has made 
the following statement:—“ During the summer 
of 1850,1 analyzed a lot of liquors for some con¬ 
scientious gentlemen of our own city, who would 
not permit me to take samples to my office, but 
insisted on my brloglng my chemicals and appa¬ 
ratus to their store that they might see tbe ope¬ 
rations. I accordingly repaired to their store 
and analyzed samples of sixteen different lots. 
Among them were port wine, sherry wine, aud 
Madeira wine. The distilled liquors were some 
pure, and some vile and pernicious Imitations; 
bat the wines had not one drop of the juice of 
the grape. The basis of the port wine wo,3 di¬ 
luted sulphuric acid, colored with elderberry 
juice, with alum, sugar, and neutral spirits. The 
basis of the sherry wine was a sort of pale malt, 
sulphuric acid, flavored from the bitter almond 
oil, with a percentage of alcoholic spirits. Tho 
basis of tho Madeira was a decoction of hops, 
with sulphuric acid, honey, spirits from -Jamai¬ 
ca rum, etc. The same week, after analyzing 
the above, and exhibiting the character and 
quality of the liquors to the proprietors, a sex¬ 
ton of one of our churches informed me that he 
had purchased a gallon of the above port wine 
to be used in bis church the next Sabbath for 
saerameutal purposes, and that for this mixture 
of sulphuric acid, alum and elderberry juice, he 
paid $3.75 a gallon.” 
LOVE-BIRDS. 
The beautiful little Love Birds arc so called 
because of the great affection they show each 
other. They belong to the parrot tribe, though 
scarcely larger than a sparrow, and are natives 
of Guinea, in Africa. 
The bird is much prized as a cage bird, its con¬ 
finement being usually relieved by the company 
of Its mate, (for they are generally sold in pairs,) 
to which it always shows the warmest attach¬ 
ment. It is very interesting to see them dress 
each other’s plumage, caress each other, and by 
various actions indicate their mutual happiness. 
WHAT THE BOYS WOULD BE. , 
_ i 
Four or five good little boys were talking one 
evening, as boys often do, of the future. One 
asked the tallest of the group : 
“ What are you going to be when you are a 
man, Willie?” 
“A lawyer," answered Willie. “It is very 
important to have justice done in courts.” 
“ Yes; but I guess lawyers don’t always look 
out for Justice. I've heard that most of them 
will plead a ease ou cither side, right or wrong, 
for money,” replied Charlie. 
“Well, that may be so; butthat’anot the kind 
of a lawyer I’m going to be. I’ll always take 
the right side whether I get paid for it or not. 
I’ll look out for all the widows and orphans, 
to see that nobody cheats them," said Willie. 
“ What will you be, Charlie ? ” 
“O, I’m going to be a doctor, so that I can 
ride day and uight. I’ll keep four horses and 
change them often, and always have a fresh one. 
, I’ll not go pokiug along with a worn-out horse 
aud spattered gig, like Dr. Grey.” 
At this, little Jimmy sprang up andjeried very 
earnestly, as if already in the business, “ Please, 
Brother Charlie, let me shoe all your horses, for 
I’m going to he a blacksmith.” 
His brothers laughed, and Willie said,*,“ I shall 
never be ashamed of you, Jimmy, iff you’re a 
good, honest blacksmith; but you must always 
wash your face aud hands before you come to 
my office." 
“ Yes, t will, and put on my Sunday clothes,” 
replied the good uatured little fellow. 
“ Well, that Is settled, then, that father is to 
have a lawyer, a doctor, aud a blacksmith lu lus 
family,” said Willie. 
Grandma sat all this time In her arm-chair 
knitting away very fast on a little striped stock¬ 
ing. At her feet sat the family pet, Harry, 
sticking pins into grandma’s ball of yam. 
Ah, It was for Ms tiny, plump feet that tho 
yarn was flying over the dear old lady’s needles. 
“ Boys,” said grandma, “here is ouejwho has 
not told what he la going to be when a man.” 
“O no," cried tall Willie, stooping down and 
taking dear Harry in Ul3 arms. “ What are you 
going to be when you’re a big man like papa?” 
Harry put bis little arm around Willie’s nock, 
and said, “ When I am A great, high man I’U be— 
“I’ll be kind to my mother.” 
“You darling boy,” cried grandma, “ that is a 
sweet little vision of your future. I would rather 
see you a humble working man, with tMs same 
affectionate heart, than sec you cold and selfish 
In the President’s chair, or In the seat of a judge. 
Willie and Charlie might be great and wise men 
iu their professions, and yet be no comfort to 
their parents in old age, unless they.were atjthe 
same time loving and kiud. Greatness alone 
makes no one happy; but goodness, like the 
sun, sheds light and joy everywhere. Whenever 
after this, dear boys, you’re laying plans for 
coming life, always add to your; plans and 
promises sweet Harry’s words, ‘When I’m a 
man I’ll be kind to my mother! ’ ” — Child at 
! Horne. 
A LESSON OF TRU3T. 
Some time ago a boy was discovered in the 
street, evidently bright and intelligent, but Biek. 
A man, who had the feeling of kindness strongly 
developed, went to ask him what' ho was doing 
there. 
“ WaltiDg for God to come for me,” said he. 
“What do you mean?” said the gentleman, 
touehed by tbe pathetic tone of the answer, and 
the condition of tho boy, iu whose eye and 
flused face he saw the evidence of fever. 
“God sent for mother, and father, and little 
brother," said he, “and took them away to his 
home up in the sky; and mother told me when 
she was sick that God would take care of me. 
I have no home, nobody to give me anything, 
and so I came out here, and have been looking 
so long in the sky for God to come and take 
care of me, as mother said he would. He will 
come, won’t he? Mother never told a lie.” 
“Yes, my lad,” said the gentleman, overcome 
with emotion, “ He has sent me to take’eare of 
you.” 
You should have seen his eyes flash, and the 
smile of triumph break over his face as he said: 
“ Mother never told a lie, sir; but you have been 
so long on the way.” 
What a lesson of truth, and how this Incident 
shows the effect of never deceiving children 
with tales. 
THE TEACHER TAUGHT. 
“Mother,” said Henry, “I can't make Mary 
put her figures as I tell her.” 
“ You must be patient, my dear child.” 
“ But she won’t let mo tell her how to put the 
figures, and she does not know how to do it her¬ 
self,” said Henry, very pettishly. 
“ Well, my dear, if Mary won’t leam a lesson 
in figures, suppose you try to teach yourself one 
iu patience. This is harder to teach and harder 
They sleep suspended with the head downwards, to learn than a lesson in figures; and perhaps 
_ . . ■ « ... _ 5 .« tit A At trtlll VtD 
clinging by one foot alone. Their color Is £reen, 
the outer webs of the quill-feathers being bine, 
and the tall being banded with a bar of Mae. 
might be adduced to prove the successive and Parrots are, ol all birds, the most easily marie 
• ...___r. tnm« *nri familiar. Thev disnlav great affection 
progressive triumphs of mind over matter. It 
is really astonishing how any person, with such 
an abundance of evidence of the progressive de¬ 
velopment and expanding growth of mind before 
him, can think the human race retrograding — 
degenerating into pigmies. 
Rome, Mich., ISflfj. P. H. Dowling. 
Grammar is learned from language more 
easily than language from grammar; criticism 
from works of art more easily than works of art 
from criticism. 
tame and familiar. They display great affection 
towards their protectors, and are delighted at 
being noticed and caressed. They are said to be 
the most intelligent of the feathered tribe. 
During a late shock of an earthquake at Los 
when you have learned this, tlve other will be 
easier to both of you.” 
Henry hung bis head, for he felt it was a shame 
to any little boy to be fretted by such a little 
thing, or indeed by anything; and he began to 
think that perhaps he deserved to be blamed as 
much 03 Mary. 
Children very often complain of their play¬ 
mates, or brothers and sisters, when they are 
very much In fault themselves. A fretful, im- 
An 'clos California, a squaw, an Inmate of one 1 patient child makes himself and all about him 
> vL dwellings. exclaimed. “Oh. very unhappy. Will you all try to learn ale-s¬ 
ol the vibrating dwellings, exclaimed, “Oh, 
Isn’t that delightful ? ” “ What do you mean ? ” 
asked her mistress; are you not frightened?" “No, 
ma’am; why 6hould I be frightened when the 
Great Spirit rocks his cradle ? ” 
very unhappy. ill you all try to team a les¬ 
son of patience ?— Young Reaper. 
He, whom love alone does not satisfy, cannot 
have been filled with it. 
% * 
