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Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A BACHELOR’S DEIPTIG. - 
VI.— Dashes of Spray. 
Windsor ! 
—It is a generous slice of Canada I am having 
this mellow June day, cut between the tracks 
of the Great Western Railway, a slice buttered 
with the gloriousness of existence and enjoy¬ 
ment, and for sauce the spiciness of multl-lla- 
vorcd humanity. What phases of life do these 
tedious journeys evolve, sometimes all too amus¬ 
ing, often almost sacred, leaving, as it were the 
Golden Milestone in the Roman forum, ft mark 
to which dusty paths lead back, like a remem¬ 
brance of beauty or of love, that only seems 
dearer for being ever further behind, more than 
human as the mists of the traveled years wrap it 
around more and more closely. 
There is a family party just across the car—an 
elderly gentleman, a young lady, a little curly- 
pate, and the matronly mother. But the golden 
heart of the group, playing the most laughable 
pranks, pitching heart first over the seat-back, 
out of one lap into another, so restlessly un¬ 
quiet, and anon making love in the most Inno¬ 
cent way with a boy friend from a little way 
beyond, causes not a few of the languid hours 
to pass most pleasantly. At St. Catharines they 
leave us, drearily desolate, and I know that 
more than one tired heart has felt like blessing 
little Susie, Well, yes, as Astj.ey Baldwin 
sings: 
‘ ’Tis little fingers mould ns all, 
’Tis little voices heavenward call, 
’Tie little hearts that heaven prepare, 
And little angels lead ns there.” 
“ Clifton! ” somebody balls out, “ keep your 
seats for the American side.” And slowly out 
of the Queen’s dominions, over the great Sus¬ 
pension Bridge, wo reach the Empire State once 
more. 
It is only a step from the Great Hotel, down 
a country-like street, round a corner, then 
through a winding, heavily-follaged road,— and 
I am listening to the grand, unfinished story of 
Nature’s own, which speaks of God in every 
whisper, echoing, like far-off reverberations, 
the infinite voice of His majesty. Can human¬ 
ity add anything to this poem of everlasting 
beauty— in all our greatness can we feel but the 
humblest awe, as almost iu the presence’of 
Divinity itself? 
“ The writer of these lines," says a rinalnt 
author, “ was lately standing upon a limb tower 
upon a rock, looking upon the falls of Niagara, 
and he did ask unthinkingly, and like a fool as 
ne was, of the negro who was his guide, wheth¬ 
er the rush of water was always In that wise: 
whereon the black man answered him not accor¬ 
ding to his folly, but. In simple wisdom, * I 
’spect, raas’r, It’s gwlnc on so for ebber and 
ebber.’ ” Ah, yes, forever aud ever. 
Moonlight over Niagara! And I stand above 
the rushing water below the quiet moon, and 
almost Imagine that-earth Is passing away with 
the roar of the torrent, that time Is to be no 
longer. In truth there Is Jnst a step between 
me, on this frail standpoint, and the land that Is 
very far off, a step into the dashing shadow 
would be the last on earth. And then? llow 
would it be hereafter? What Is behind the 
dread veil of mistiness that limits sight and 
sometimes almost faith ? In that 
11 -undiscovered country from whoso bourne 
No traveler returns,” 
the realm of which we dream so doubtfully, 
only to the border of which mortality can come, 
we do hat trust that all this roaring, rushing 
torrent of corthlinoss will be stilled forever, and 
the peace which passoth understanding, thereat 
that retnalneth, settle like a soothing hand on 
the fevered brow, on the unsatisfied heart, on 
the yearning soul. It may be — God knows. 
He only con know who through what to us 
seem the infinite littlenesses of our mortal exist¬ 
ence. is educating us into the infinate greatness 
of His and our immortality. 
— I like to roam quite alone over Niagara's 
adjuncts. There is too much grandeur, too 
much infinity, to talk amidst. To be sure It, is a 
break-neck sortof jonrney—those long, winding 
stairs down to the rapids,—but you can stop when 
you please,— you can throw a pebble or two far 
out into the glistening sunlight, till it is lost to 
sight,—you can feel the exhlleratlon of a morn¬ 
ing in early summer quickening every pulse. 
The whirlpool doesn't amount to very much, 
but it is a plensant loiter through the woods, 
down to the water’s edge; there are resting pla¬ 
ces where so many bright hearted oues have sat, 
some of them gone away from all the beauty 
and the glory of earth to where It is golden 
summer all the year long. And somehow there 
seems to me over these few square miles of 
ground, a nearer Heaven, a closer Father, a 
clearer light for the dull road which leads to 
immortality and God, than over any other spot 
where I have ever been. 
Homeward bound at last. It Is a common¬ 
place sort oi journpy, Dn a dreadfully slow train, 
which seems anxious to stop at almost every 
cross-road, lumbering along like the tortoise 
which set out to run the race with Achilles, No, 
let me not wrong the tortoise; he did the best he 
could, and no one can outdo the best; but this 
load of funeral-paced cars I do not charitably 
think arc energetic enough for anything. But 
Lark! there is music somewhere. I find it in 
the next car ahead — a party of earnest-seeming 
men and women are singing some of the songs 
of Zion,— some of those grand old Methodist 
hymns, that thrill the soul as with echoes from 
the strains beyond the River. It la almost sun¬ 
down,—almost the beginning of the old Puritan 
Sabbath — pure indeed It was — pity us for our 
degeneracy from the truth and the holiness of 
Old New England! 
—Back again ! And the homeness nods me a 
welcome, and there is no scolding to meet me 
because I have come at hardly the exact time 
set—nothing but the whispering of the hanging 
curtains as they gently sway to the admitted air! 
Back again! And now the day Is past, and the 
night comes on: aud as the shadows about me 
grow bigger and darker, I think of other shad¬ 
ows that will sometime fold us all iu a dear 
sweet, loving embrace, till we awake to that 
dawniDg which no shadows may ever dim. 
—So l have drifted on the shore of the last of 
my holidays, with the end of another week 
An, to bow many will it be the end of the little 
week of life, and then Sunday to-morrow and 
to-morrow. Borne day, when the present and 
near may seem afar olY, aud that which has dis¬ 
appeared become the only reality, perhaps with 
the same heartfulness, the same thankfulness 
the some noiseless friends, I shall drift down 
that stream w hich leads to the Horne Country 
where there is rest for all the dear departed— 
the fair, far Silent Land. 0 . vox K. 
CHARLES DICKENS, TUB CELEBRATED NOVELIST. 
CHAELES DICKENS AT HOME. 
[.Translated for Every Saturrlayfrom Le Grand Journal.] 
I RAD long felt an ardent desire to make the 
acquaintance of the eminent author whose works, 
and especially whose David Copperfield, I had 
read and re-read. Informed of this desire, my 
old neighbor Paul Feval (who is the most oblig¬ 
ing fellow hi Christendom) offered me a letter of 
introduction to Charles Dickens, which I ac¬ 
cepted with alacrity. 
The moment I readied London I asked for the 
celebrated novelist’8 .address. I was told that 
“ Charles Dickens lives atGadshill, about twenty- 
four miles from London by rail.” I wrote to 
Mr. Dickens the next day. 
The following morning I received a note, in 
very good French, and In a fine, regular hand, 
which formed a marked contrast with the terri¬ 
ble scrawl of your humble servant. Mr. Dickens 
informed me in this note that he was scarcely 
ever absent from home except on Saturdays, 
(when he went to London to superintend the 
publication of his last novels, which appeared in 
numbere,)and Invited me to come out to see h im. 
The railway from London to Gadshill is built 
on the right bank of the Thames, and runs par¬ 
allel with the river almost the whole way; 
consequently the jaunt. Is a jery pleasant one. 
The trains take about an ho^r to run the dis¬ 
tance, so at the end of sixty minutes I got out of 
the railway carriage at Gadshill station; and, as 
1 had not informed him of my coming, I had to 
walk up the hill on whose summit lies the vil¬ 
lage In whieh Is Mr. Dickens’ residence. 
As I drew near tho first houses of the village, 
and was about to aslc my way, I saw a gentleman 
coming up the hill behind me with a firm and 
rapid step. He was a man about fifty years old, 
of average height, good shape, straight as an 
arrow, with moustaches and goatee turning 
slightly gray, and haviog the energetic look and 
decisive air of our officers of the Chasseurs 
d’Afrique. I asked him in execrable Euglish, 
“ Will you please tell me which is Mr, Dickens’ 
house?” 
The gentleman replied, in very good French, 
“Allow me to show you the way there. I am 
Charles Dickens.” 
On the way he talked in the most friendly 
manner about Paul Feval, whose talents he 
esteems very highly, and about Fechter, with 
whom he is extremely intimate. I noticed that 
he had a very sympathetic tone of voice, and a 
clear and abrupt way of talking, which added to 
his military manners. 
We reached his house, situated at an aDgle of 
the village. Infront ofit lay a lawn stretching to 
the road. A large garden, likewise belonging to 
Mr. Dickens, Ilea on the other side of the road; 
it is reached by a subterranean passage under 
the road. The stahle-yard, the stables and car¬ 
riage-houses are on the right of the house. 
Like most English cottages, Mr. Dickens’ is 
plainly built and kept up with the most perfect 
order. It is not more than two stories high. 
As you enter, there is a small drawing-room on 
the right, containing ^fr. Dickens’ library; next 
is Mr. Dickens’ study, whieh is very plainly 
furnished, and has no ornament except two or 
three bronzes. The windows open on a sort of 
garden surrounding the house, and, as the 
house stands on a high piece of ground, an ex¬ 
tensive view of the neighboring country may be 
enjoyed from them. On the left is a large draw¬ 
ing-room, filled with everything to make one 
comfortable, and decorated with great luxury, 
but with nfr attempt at show. Perfect taste 
reigns over everything. The drawing-room 
opens iuto the dining-room ; under the dining¬ 
room is the kitchen. Above these rooms are 
tho bed-chambers, which are irregularly distrib¬ 
uted, but they are exceedingly comfortable and 
profusely furnished with those numerous and 
vast utensils which are Indispensable to the 
toilette of every Englishman, r ■» 
After talking for a few minutes in his study, 
Mr. Dickens introduced me to his family. It 
consisted that day of his daughter and sister-in- 
law. lie has several other children, as many as 
six Or eight, 1 believe; but hid sons, kept ju 
London by their profession, rarely come out to 
see him except on Sundays. Another of his 
daughters is married to a cousin of Wilkie Col¬ 
lins, the author of “The Woman in White.” 
The daughter I had the honor to meet at Gadshill 
is a young urid beautiful lady ol twenty, whose 
courteous and kind features are a good deal like 
those of her father. Both of the ladies spoko 
French, and their conversation had a French 
tnrn, whieh was probably due to the omiual 
visit they make to Paris. Dickens is very fond 
of France and the French. 
Whatever may be the popularity he enjoys iu 
his own country, he has too vigorously attacked 
hypocrites, pseudo-Christians, and humbug phi¬ 
lanthropists, to be free from enemies. lie gives 
them uo thought, and none the less continues 
his crusade against abuses. I need scarcely say, 
that, while attentively reading his works, with¬ 
out being carried away by the charm of the 
events he unrolls before one’s eyes, one may 
discover a great many philosophical views and 
observations upon social economy. While wri¬ 
ting iu a tone of raillery, he sometimes advances 
very practical ideas, which would be esteemed 
very highly, were they suggested by the official 
pen of a pollllcal writer. 
Dickens’ favorite time for working Is in the 
morning. He rises very early and sets to work 
at once. He lightly breakfasts at about half past 
nine and continues to work until twelve o’clock. 
At this hour he lunches. After lunch he goes 
out into the fields, and does not return home 
until half past six o’clock, lie walks every 
day some eight er ten miles. Ho walks rapidly. 
Dickens’ writing Is, as I have said, fine and 
regular. It is not unlike Paul Feval’s hand. 
Hu keeps and has had bound the manuscript of 
some of his works. It seems to me his favorite 
novel is “David Coppbrfield.” However, he 
rarely speaks of hts works; but when he is 
driven to talk of them, he talks about himself 
with rare Impartiality, without vanity and with¬ 
out false modesty. HI? conversation is striking 
by its vivacity, natural tone, and the absence of 
everything like humbug and studied attitude. 
In England, where okl abuses are more diffi¬ 
cult to uproot than anywhere else, and where 
custom acquires the force of law, a foreigner 
can scarcely conceive What talents and energy 
are required to overthrow a defective institution 
by attacking it openly. Ditkens has never as¬ 
sumed the airs of a reformer, either in his con¬ 
versation or writings; nevertheless, few men 
have exercised so much influence as himself on 
the national mind. The reform^ which are just 
beginning to be introduced into the incredible 
Intricacy of English pleadings and legal practice 
were prepared, so to say, furtively, several years 
ago tn his works by calling public attention, aud 
by stigmatizing the rapacity of pettifoggers. 
His raillery has none of the brutality of English 
sarcasm, neither does it consist of a cutting 
word or a biting phrase, as is the case with some 
of our French writers. It is felt everywhere in 
the aggregate of the events and persons he 
group? and makes act against the enemy whom 
he incCfsautlv attacks. 
Born at I.aodport, Portsmouth, in February, 
181“, Mv Dickens U now fifty-three years old. 
Judging by hi- gait, aud appearaneo, the vivacity 
of ills conversation, and the luster of his gray- 
blue eyes, one would scarcely think he was forty 
years old. Nevertheless, his hair, which still 
curls, is beginning to silver. His family wished 
to educate him for the bar. The two years ho 
passed in u solicitor’s office (tills solicitor was an 
intimate friend ot his father) made him familiar 
with the intricacies of Euglish Law, and proved 
of signal service to him afterwards iu more than 
one of his novels. To escape the bar, and at the 
same time earn a livelihood, he reported for the 
True Sun and afterwards for the Morning Chroni¬ 
cle. It was in this latter uewspaper he wrote 
some short, detached articles, which were attrjr- 
wards collected and published under the title of 
“Sketches by Boz.” In 1SJ7he began to pub¬ 
lish tho “Posthumous Papers of Hie Pickwick 
Club;” it was published iu numbers, had an 
immense success, and established hi? reputation 
at once. 
Charles Dickens possesses a remarkable talent 
for reading. He reads admirably and with won¬ 
derful spirit. I have been told by several per¬ 
sons that he acts comedy with rare perfection, 
and that It was formerly one of his favorite 
amusements. He is, as I have already said, on 
an Intimate footing with Fechter, who has ob¬ 
tained an immense success in the part of Hamlet, 
and who is now the manager and one of the chief 
actors of the Lyceum Theater. 
After my first excursion to Gadshill I returned 
therewith M. and Mnfte. Fechter, and stayed two 
or three days with him. It is impossible for 
anybody to be more amiable and kind to guests 
than are Mr. Dickens and his family. 
There are two enormous Newfoundland dogs 
in the yard, which visitors are warned not to 
approach too near, and two small dogs of more 
friendly humor. There is very little seen of the 
servants in his or In any other English house. 
The service is performed rapidly and noiselessly, 
and nobody seems to pay it attention. Dickens’ 
favorite wine is Bordeaux. Dickens is ex¬ 
tremely hospitable. He is fond of receiving 
company Informally and intimately every day of 
the week, and especially Suuduy, despite the 
English custom, which is beginning to be modi¬ 
fied somewhat on this subject. A happy and 
kindly nature, his eminently sympathetic influ¬ 
ence is a charm which works on every one 
brought in contact with him. 
ANECDOTE OF SCOTT. 
In the Museum at Abbotsford there is a small 
Roman patum, or goblet, in showing which Sir 
Walter Scott told the following story : — “ T pur¬ 
chased this (said he) at a nobleman's roup near 
by, at the enormous sum of t wenty five guineas. 
1 would have got it for twenty pence if an anti¬ 
quary, who knew its value had not been there 
and opposed me. However, I was almost con 
soled for the bitter price it cost by the amuse¬ 
ment I derived from an old woman who had 
evidently come from a distance to purchase 
some trifling culinary articles, aud who had no 
taste for the antique. Every successive guinea 
which we badn for tho patera this good old lady’s 
mouth grew wider and wider with unsophistica¬ 
ted astonishment, until at lust I heard her mut¬ 
ter to herself in a tone whieh T shall never forget 
—‘ Five and twenty guineaa! If the parrllch-pat 
gangs at that, what will the kail-pat gang lor ?’ ” 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WHO SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT LENOXf” 
A large Mississippi steamer was plowing 
•its way along up towards one of the large towns 
in the North-West. Tho passengers wore at 
dinner, and were very social and friendly, as wo 
think travelers in the west are more apt to be 
than in other sections. Some one speaking to 
his next neighbor, in answer to the question, 
said, “ I am from Lenox,” mentioning the State 
also. 
Immediately a young man, across the table, 
reached out his hand, saying, eagerly, “ Who 
says anything about Lenox ?— that’s my native 
town, too.” A brisk comparison of notes fol¬ 
lowed, and the young men learned that they had 
been fellow townsmen all their lives, and very 
much delighted were they, to learn the fact. 
Each had known the other’s family by reputa¬ 
tion, but they had never happened to meet. An 
agreeable friendship at once sprung up between 
them, and I thought, as I saw them walk away 
together that there must be a great deal of good 
in both of them or they would not cherish their 
early associations so strongly. b. c. d. 
DIRT EATERS. 
Humboldt fouud the tribe of Otomac 3 on the 
Orinoco, eating a soft, uutritious clay of yellow 
grey color. 
1 hey kneaded it into balls five or six inches 
in diameter, baked them, and wet them again 
when about to be eaten. These balls are stacked 
up in their huts and]eaten iu the rainy season 
when fishing in the river is difficult. Tho OtO- 
maes will eat from three-fourths to one and one- 
fourth pounds per day, and thrive on it. It 13 
taken also as a dainty. Women shaping earthen 
vessels, too, eat large lumps. Even young chil¬ 
dren cry for it. 
8o, too, iu Sava, a reddish clay is eaten; cakes 
of It arc sold in tho village. In Sammarang an 
edible is used, which is an Infusorial deposit, 
and is rolled up iu tubes like cinnamon. In 
New Caledonia the natives luxuriate on a soft 
kind of soap-stone, which contains traces of 
copper. In Peru a calcareous earth is sold in 
the streets as an eatable for Indians. In tho 
north ot Sweden aud Finland, clayj is occasion¬ 
ally mixed with bread, as a matter of choice 
rather than necessity. 
WHAT IS AMBER. 
That extensively employed material known as 
amber, used for the mouth-pieces of meerschaum 
pipes and cigar holders, is believed to be a fossil¬ 
ized vegetable gum. It is uingularly electrical 
when rubbed, developing negative electricity to 
such a degree that In manufacturing it into the 
forms in which it is Bold, the workmen are some¬ 
times affected with nervous tremors and they are 
frequently obliged to change the pieces which 
they haudle. Amber is found on the Baltic coast 
of Prussia, entangled in masses of sea-weed. It 
Is always obtained in greater quantities after a 
sea-storm, which leads to the belief that it is 
washed ashore. It Is fouud in this country at 
Amboy, N. .T.; at Gay Head, Martha’s Vineyard, 
and at Cape Bable, iu Maryland. Leaves of fos¬ 
sil plants and insects are sometimes fouud im¬ 
bedded in it, a fact that, lias given rise to some 
pretty poetical conceits. In the East it is high¬ 
ly valued, and has been used as a form of con¬ 
centrated wealth, as are diamonds and other 
precious stones. 
LIGHTNING RODS. 
Prof. Stillman says that to render a light¬ 
ning rod effective it should be carried to a water 
cistern, a well or a ccas-pool, or to permanent 
water in tho earth when near the surface, mak¬ 
ing sure that St goes to the bottom, and if possi¬ 
ble is colled on the bottom of these, so as in 
any case to remain always immersed in the 
water. In case this is not practicable, the end 
of the rod should be foiled inu^good quantity 
of recently ignited charcoal.' Common charcoal 
is not a conductor of electricity, or is so very 
imperfectly. But chmrcoW which has been 
heated to full redness, by being kindled In a 
heap, and is then quenched by water, is an ex¬ 
cellent conductor of electricity, and remains so 
indefinitely, the absorbent nature of the coal 
securiug also in perpetuity an adequate degree 
of moisture. The tips or points of lightning 
rods ought to be gilded by electricity — electro¬ 
plated with gold—the ordinary mode of gilding 
with gold leaf, put on with gilders’ size, being 
worthless, as It all washes off In a few weeks. 
SUGAR AND FAT. 
Alderman Mecqi, in support of Banting’s 
theory of anti-obesity, writes that he waxes and 
wanes in aldermanle proportions by the use or 
disuse of sugar, lie says he lost fourteen 
pounds of flesh in six weeks by leaving off an 
ounce and a half of sugar a day. As the con¬ 
sumption of sugar for the six week^ would have 
been only sixty-three ounces, or less than four 
pounds, the alderman’s statement may be re¬ 
garded as extraordinary. He recoinn^nds agri¬ 
culturists to supply their cattle with saccharine 
matter. The etymologists tell us that a certain 
substance fed upon by swine made them very 
fat, whereupon certain monks, desirous of com¬ 
bining the pious and the adipoge, fed upon this 
substance aud were killed. Hence the name an¬ 
timony , or a dead shot for monks ;Ja fresh proof 
that what is swine’s meat may be priest’s bane. 
Water, when converted into steam, increases 
its bulk eighteen hundred times. When frozen 
it has an expansive force of twenty-eight thou¬ 
sand pounds to the square inch. 
