(Jenlle. 
VOWS 
I 
^Ea&iag lot % Soatig. 
ROSES LIE ALONG THE WAY 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
UP THE SAGUENAY-No. I 
BY OUL1ELMUH. 
The river scenery of America is not surpassed 
by any other in the world. A broad statement, 
but we think facte will substantiate It. Go 
through the whole catalogue of rivers, as you 
used to do in your school days, and those whose 
beauties are the most famous, and really the 
most fascinating, flow through some part of this 
American continent. 
Where can be foaud another trio equal to the 
Hudson, the St. Lawrence and the Saguenay? 
Each has its distinctive features; each, alone 
considered, would satisfy as to the truth ot my 
first assertion. Of the three, the Hudson is the 
best known. It is the most poetical, the most 
dreamy and classical. Along its shores lor many 
miles Art has added its charms to those of Na¬ 
ture, and the sweep of silver waters is bordered 
with lovely villas, embowered in richly wooded 
recesses. No more beautiful reach of woodland 
and lawn, vale and hill, sloping field and culti¬ 
vated garden, than the oast bank, up as far as 
Tarrytown, can anywhere be found. Oppo¬ 
site, during a portion of the distance, the Pali¬ 
sades give a touch of wild pictnresqueness to the 
scene. But there is nothing of grandeur along 
the river save at the Highlands. And there the 
beautiful detracts somewhat from the grand effect. 
The 8t. Lawrence is the noblest stream; there 
* 
i3 the moat majesty m its flow. Beariug the 
waters of the great, lakes out to sea — sweeping 
on in Btatoly rhythm or in madly leaping rapids 
a distance of nearly eight hundred miles — it as 
well deserves the title of “Father of Waters ” as 
does the Mississippi. Ithasabreadth ofgrandcur, 
if grandeur may be said to have breadth, which 
is not possessed by either of the others. Nor 
does it hick for beauty. It is the most varied of 
the trio, and the last to be wearied of. Its 
myriad channels among the Thousand Islands 
are beautiful as the mazes of the most tranquil 
dream. Luke St. Francis — its broad nud placid 
reach of forty miles — is as serenely fair as any 
summer sea that ever glistened Ln the sunlight. 
Its Rapids have their own peculiar charm — a 
charm of almost terrible wildness ; and its lower 
extent, lake-llke ln hreadth, seems to bear upon 
its bosom the memories of all the beauty it has 
seen and been a part of. 
The Saguenay is the most wonderful, and has 
the most remarkable scenery. Art*.lends noth¬ 
ing to it. Its beauties are wholly those of Na¬ 
ture. And where beauty ceases to fascinate, 
sublimity begins to awe the beholder. But 
though it is the most wonderful. It is the least 
known of the three. Flowing from Lake 8t. 
John — a body of water about forty miles iu 
length, into which a number of large rivers 
flow, and or which It is the only outlet—about 
one hundred and twenty miles through the wild¬ 
est and most barren portion of Northern Canada, 
and emptying into the St. Lawrence far down 
towards the ocean, it Is remote from all the com¬ 
mon avenues of travel, and is visited only us a 
speciality. A majority of tourists having seen 
the upper St. Lawrence, proceed from Quebec 
directly to the White Mountains, thereby leav¬ 
ing out one of the most delightful'experiences 
which rambling affords. Very many, however, 
are coming to know that Quebec—the “ Walled 
City” — is not the ultima tkulr. in that direction 
for the pleasure seeker, and the number who go 
thence up the Saenenay is yearly on the increase. 
During the three months of the summer a 
steamer makes semi-weekly trips from Quebec to 
the Saguenay, and return. The “ Magnet” is a 
fine, staunch iron boat, of good size, and sup¬ 
plied with everything necessary to comfort and 
convenience. The two days and nights which 
the trip occupies can be spent pleasantly od 
board, and Captain Fairgiueves— her com¬ 
mander— seems to delight in doing all in his 
power to enhance the enjeymeut of those who 
sail with him. 
A LOVELY DAY’S SAIL. 
At seven o’clock of a beautiful morning we 
passed without the walls of Quebec, through St. 
John’s Gate, and adown the steep descent lead¬ 
ing to the Lower Town. There, at the wharf, 
lay the “ Magnet," and going on board we were 
soon steaming the St. Lawrence. Throughout 
the long summer day wc glided down the broad- | 
reaching river. The frowning Citadel, perched 
on the rocky cliff, and the bright liu roofs of the 
quaint old city, receded behind us; and away 
before gleamed the ever-widening belt of silver. 
Montmorenei’s airy curtain of whitest lace, 
fringed with glistening pearls, hung over the 
giddy precipice at our left, as it has hang, bleach¬ 
ing there, for ages. Viewed iu the shimmering 
sunlight of the early morning, as wc flouted by, 
the lovely waterfall appeared more lovely than 
ever. I pen-sketched Montmorenci last year, 
for Rural readers. Since then I have visited it 
again, and have found it bewitching as ever. 
Just opposite Montmorenci —about nine miles 
below Quebec — the Isle of Orleans commences, 
dividing the St. Lawrence iuto two channels. It 
is twenty miles in length, and contains much 
good, arable land, which is quite productive. 
The little farms of the habitant with their 
neatly kept cottages, present au aspect of thrift, 
scattered, as they are, along much of its extent. 
Below Orleans the river grows more broad, and 
the adjacent country more rugged and unim¬ 
proved. There are other islands, but they are 
mainly without inhabitants, and rather sterile in 
appearance. The farther down we proceed, the 
more marked is this sterility. If the fir tree did 
not light up the landscape with its attractive 
green, the barrenness would be almost without 
) relief. 
| The steamer makes it first landing at Murray’s 
Bay, ninety miles from Quebec. Here the width 
l of the river is probably ten miles, and the leftr 
Ro - see lie 
Fortune sends 
a - long the way, Which our feet are trend - ing, ) 
a transient day, Free from aught we’re dread-ing ; ( 
X ■ ■ U i 
Now the youth, on pleasure's wave. Light and gay is 
0 j Full of hope, the blush-ing bride, Now the youth is wed - ding ; ) 
*" ( But how soon the ebb-iug tide Blight o’er all is shed - ding ; ) 
# — 0—0 — 0 — 0 — 0 0 * -— i —— i#- 1 — 
Pleasure’s day Is quickly past, Good to mortals 
flow - ing; Now how soon, a - cross his grave, Win-try winds are blow - ing. 
fall - ing. Chilled like flowers by win-ter’s blast, Fate is soon 
8. Yet, while spring-time’s lovely light 
I •Sheds its cheerful beaming, 
jl —rf~ Be by day each pleasure bright, 
—-L_-Jt_ Sweet by night our dreaming: 
Every joy that chimes with earth 
blow - ing. Let us gladly cherish: 
So shall smile our age and youth, 
, ■ Till our life shall perish. 
pj- J J--- 1-1 4. Nature’s high and guardian Friend 
~ w %0~ * Loves to sco our pleasure ; 
,, . Yes, delights his smiles to send, 
Fro.e and rich in measure: 
- 1 — Lot us, then, in grateful cheer, 
0 • $ • 11 Pass our earthly being, 
Till, ’mid lif/lit forever clear, 
Every ill is fleeing. 
[From the Young Shawm , published by Mason Brothers. 
hand shore rises up in bold headlands of consid¬ 
erable height. From the lauding only one build¬ 
ing can be seen, aud this is in the foreground of 
a picture made up of barren rocky landscape, 
and a bald, dreary looking bluff. A bit of a vil¬ 
lage lies around the point, on the curve of the 
bay. The place is somewhat frequented, as a 
gri mm er resort, but it is rather too dreary to 
possess many attractions. 
Below Murray’s the river widens out more 
rapidly than before, until at the next landing, 
thirty-five miles farther on, its width is twenty- 
two miles. The intervening distance is a noble 
expanse of water, affording scope enough to op¬ 
erate a goodly-sized storm in. Sometimes they 
are favored with such there, and then the voya¬ 
gers get a touch of rough 
“Life on the ocean wave.’” 
For the water is as salt, after getting twenty 
miles below Quebec, as the sea itself. But only 
a slight breeze rippled the surface on that won¬ 
derfully clear afternoon which, in our memory, 
is set like a brilliant amethyst, amid the circlet 
of perfect summer days. Wo sat upon the for¬ 
ward deck hour after hour, breathing the pure 
air so full of invigorating life—looking awuy 
over the shining ripples to the bluffs liniug the 
water's edge, which were set out boldly in relief 
against the blue sky; or now and then watching, 
with the curiosity of inland voyagers, the sport¬ 
ive white porpoises that showed their glistening 
sides here and there on all sides of us. These 
are abundant on this portion of the river, and 
grow to a large size, not unfrequently attaining 
a length of eighteen or twenty feet. Catching 
them Is one of the amusements peculiar to the 
section. Barnum'h famous “ white whales," 
which were roasted before their time, when his 
Museum burned, were specimens of the same, 
and were caught just below Murray’s Bay, and 
taken up the river on the “ Magnet.” 
Rivere du Loup, the next landing, on the 
right hand shore, is a little town numbering 
two or three thousand inhabitants, and looking 
very Frenchy. It stands upon the upland, about 
three miles from the long wharf to which our 
boat makes fast, aud presents a eurioua ap¬ 
pearance. Cocouua, six miles distant from the 
landing, is celebrated throughout Lower Canada 
as a watering place. It is to Montreal and Que¬ 
bec people what Newport is to dwellers in New 
York and Boston, rather ranking Tadousac as a 
fashionable resort. There Is a liquidness about 
the name,—it ought to be a very pretty watering 
place. 
From Rivere du Loup we steamed across the 
river, a little diagonally, twenty-four miles, to 
Tadousac Bay, a beautiful little haven situate 
! at the confluence of the famed Saguenay with 
the St. Lawrence. It was 9ix P. M. when we 
reached this point, and landed at the wharf. 
Here our steamer would lie to until midnight, 
before proceeding up the river whose beauties we 
were to see oa our downward voyage, uext day. 
Therefore we hud amide opportunity to go 
ashore, and look about the rival of Cocouna — 
Tadousac — the most curious, the most quaint, 
to me the most unlooked for, and really the 
most fascinating little watering place that ever I 
saw. Who would dream of such a charming 
j locality so far up in the Canadian wilderness ? 
| Niagara by Moonlight. —People going to 
Niugaru Falls should time their visits so as to be 
there when the moon is full. A more romantic¬ 
ally beautiful sight there is not In the world, 
perhaps. At night, too, everything but the wa¬ 
ter is hushed aud still. The mills are not iu op¬ 
eration; the quiet is not disturbed by the noise 
of hackmen or their carriage wheels; and last, 
but not least, you can stand and enjoy the awful 
magnificence of God’s wonder, and take in, as it 
were, the poetry of the picture without being 
elbowed and pestered by the hucksters and ped¬ 
dlers, who, in mid-day, follow you everywhere, 
importuning you to purchase their kuiek-knacks 
and so-called "curiosities." 
Santiago, Chili, ha3 a principal street, 350 
1 feet wide, with a mountain stream running 
through in two brooks. The street is adorned 
with statues, made comfortable by seats, and 
boasts the modem improvement of a railway. 
aciotta 
DOG DAYS. 
The mercury stands almost at 90° in the shade 
beside our desk; how high It would go in the 
sun one can guess. Once we saw a man try the 
heat by seating himself in a sandbank, thermom¬ 
eter in hand, and sweating patiently iu the blazing 
sunshine until he cried out “ Its up to 128°.’’ He 
wasu’t any kin to ns, and we flhant try it. Prob¬ 
ably the mercury would go up as high as the 
length of the tube would allow. Jack Downing 
iu one of his famous letters, telling of a cold 
time, said “ it would have been colder if there 
had been room in the tube for the mercury to go 
down lower;" and its a poor rule that wont 
work both ways. 
Learned men, after studying Ethnology, Arch¬ 
aeology, Psychology, Ac., and History also, have 
decided that greatness, especially intellectual, 
culminates in the temperate zones, and is rare in 
the tropics. We agree with them, without any 
study; for the torrid zone 1ms emigrated for to¬ 
day, arid is right here, makiimental greatness 
impossible, now can one v '.' learned, or pro¬ 
found, or intuitive, qr philosophical in a furnace? 
By-and-by, when dog days ire over, and cool 
breezes come, and the air gets full of electricity 
and oxygen, something full of power and genius 
may appear in about this same part, of the Rural, 
hut don’t look for it now. Wc mention tills to 
save trouble and disappointment. To be sure a 
good deal of work of any kind can bo done even 
in dog days, by just putting in with firm pur¬ 
pose to keep all moving. That’s the way we 
have to do in this working world, and it’s a 
blessed privilege *to have will aud strength for 
these daily labors; bnt it’s only a head pull, and 
a little lag with the best, when we are in the 
Desert of Sahara, or Uiudoston, or the heated 
pampas of Brazil,—and if we are not exactly 
there, the burning air of those arid regions has 
reached us and closed all in, as by a wall of fire. 
Are not all the literati away in some cool se¬ 
questered shades ? On Lake George, or breath¬ 
ing the pure air and floating on the chrystal 
waters of Lake Superior, or on the noble St. 
Lawrence, or in the welcome shade of granite 
roeks six hundred fyet high along the wonderful 
Saguenay, or inhaling the sharp air, salt as sea 
spray, and tumbliug about like "mermen bold ” 
In gold spectacles, in the surf at Newport or 
Nahaut, will you find these “knights of the 
quill,” we were going to say—but being strictly 
truthful must substitute, scribblers with the 
steel or gold pen. Aud all the grave College 
Professors*, too, are in such places—all the heavy 
artillery of the learned world, who discharge 
" words of ponderous length and thundering 
sound ” at their pupils and at, the general public, 
with as much noise and confusion us though 
they were " Paixhans,” and "Armstrongs," aud 
120 pound rifled guns. (In some eases, good 
reader, let us confidentially inform you, the 
result of both iron and wordy missiles is noise 
and nothiug more.) 
But we hold on, and pull through uutil cool 
weather comes, right at our post, for an editor 
must be tongh and persistent. As for literature 
and learning is not a Rural editor a walking 
encyclopedia ? Roots, herbs, grains, cattle, sci¬ 
ence, art, classic lore, polite life and behavior, 
history, from the days of which the question was 
asked, 
u When Adam delved and Eve span, 
Who was then the gentleman ?” 
down to Sado wa, and the Paris Exposition, and the 
sailors used to follow the track of the offal 
thrown overboard and reach port without use of 
compass, and called those marine regions " the 
horse latitudes.” Wc are iu the horse latitude; 
a great "agricultural boss trot,” as Josa Bil¬ 
lings calls these affairs, is goiug on at the Fair 
Grounds, and where the horses are there will the 
Humans gather together in multitudes. It’s 
worth seeing, but we cant describe it, for the 
effort would be dangerous. 
Burns began one of his effusions by honestly | 
saying he know not what it was to be. 
“ Perhaps it may turn oat a sang, 1 
Perhaps torn out a sermon," 
said the bard. i 
When lie finished he knew what it was, but we 
don’t know what or which this is, or where it | 
belougs. Lucky thought! It’s various enough, i 
and so we put it in the " various topics ” depart- 1 
nient. One serious, fact to close with: its hot — 
mercury at 90°. 
A Fact not Generally Known. —The origin 
of the portrait for the Goddess of Liberty upon 
our coins Is of great interest. Mr. Spencer, the 
inventor of Spencer’s lathe, used by the Amer¬ 
ican Bank-note Company, was the artist who cut 
the first die for our American coin. He cut au 
exact medallion of Mrs. Washington, the wife 
of Gen. Washington, and the first few coins 
were struck with her portrait. When Gen. 
Washington saw them he wae displeased. Mr. 
Spencer altered the features a little, and putting 
a cap upon its head culled it the Goddess of Lib¬ 
erty. If future artists will hear this in mind, 
they will always take Mrs. Washington’s por¬ 
trait for their guide when wishing to produce 
the goddess. 
---» «♦ - -— 
A Pleasant Scene in a Newspaper Office. 
— A short time ago the employes of the Public 
Ledger establishment, Philadelphia, waited upon 
the proprietor, Mr. Geo. W. Childs, and present* 
od him a memorial setting forth the high estima¬ 
tion In which he was held by the donors, and ex¬ 
pressing heartfelt thanks for his innumerable 
kindnesses toward them during a period of ‘25 
or 30 years. The document was signed by the 
foreman of each of the eleven departments into 
which the establishment is divided. Many of 
the employes have been connected with the es¬ 
tablishment from 20 to 25 years and most of 
them have been connected with it for several 
years,—all long enough to appreciate the kind¬ 
ness of Mr. Childs, as they state. 
Night Workers. —New York never sleeps, it 
is said, and there Is much truth in the remark. 
Nine hundred thousand of its population sleep 
o’ nights, but the other one hundred thousand, 
about oue-tenth of the population, must be hard 
at work. So that while nine hundred thousand 
are pushing through the cares aud business of 
life by day, one bnndrod thousand are equally 
active by night. So there is one continued rush, 
stir aud bustle ; no cessation; one continued 
scene of activities. What a strange, curious 
picture does New York life present! It is 
humanity in active motion, and that all the 
time. s 
Cure for the Bite of a Mad Dog.—A writer 
in the National Intelligencer says:—“Spirits of 
hartshorn is a certain remedy for the bite of a 
mad dog. The wound should be bathed con¬ 
stantly with it, and three or four doses taken in¬ 
wardly during the day. The hartshoru decom¬ 
poses chemically the virus Insinuated into the 
wound, and immediately alters and destroys its 
medals there given to American reapers, all these .deleteriousness.” Hie gentleman who left this 
he must know of. So be patient, until the west recipe with the Intelligencer vouches for its 
wind is shar]), and the white frost sparkles, and efficacy. It is simple, to say the least, 
the chestnut burrs open, and the corn is yellow, 
and the said encyclopedia shall reveal Its riches, A large number oi monks and priests in Italy 
and meanwhile, even in the heated summer, have taken advantage of the privileges conferred 
there shall be 6omcthiug. upon them by the uew law for civil marriages, 
Strange as it may be, there is one realm of life and have rushed iuto wedlock with unexpected 
intensely active to-day. In old times—when alacrity. Even the nuns have caught the infec- 
Now Haven drove a brisk trade with Jamaica in tlon, and the matrimonial mania threatens to 
horse flesh, sugar, rum, and molasses, sending complete the abolition of the convents begun 
out horses to grind in the cane mills, (before by the civil law. Human nature will stick out, 
mules were invented probably) aud bringing even in nuns and priests, despite all laws and 
back the useful commodities above named — 
WEIGHING THE BABY. 
“How many pounds does the baby weigh— 
Baby, who came but a month ago ? 
How many pounds from the crowning curl 
To the rosy point of the restless toe?” 
Grandfather ties the ’kerchief’s knot, 
Tenderly guides the swinging weight, 
And carsfully over his glasses peers 
To read the record, “only eight." 
Softly the echo goes nrotind: 
The father laughs at the tiny girl; 
The fair young mother sings the words, 
While grandmother smooths the golden carl. 
And stooping above the precious thing, 
Nestles a kiss within a prayer, 
Murmuring softly, “ little one, 
Grandfather did not weigh yon fair.” 
Nobody weighed the baby’s smile, 
Or the love t.lwt came with the holpless one; 
Nobody weighed the threads of care 
From which a woman’s life is spun. 
No index tells the mighty worth 
Of a little baby’s qnlet breath— 
A soft., unceasing metronome. 
Patient and fUUhftu until death. 
Nobody weighed the baby’s soul, 
For here on earth no weights there bo 
That could avail; God only knows 
Its value ln eternity. 
Only eight pounds to hold a soul 
That seeks no angel’s silver wing, 
Bat shrines it iu tills human guise, 
Within so frail and small a thing I 
Oh! mother, laugh your merry note; 
Be gay and glad, but don’t forget 
From baby’s eyes looks out a soul 
That claims a home la Eden yet. 
[Boston Keening Gazette. 
- — ■ - ♦ -■ — ■ — — 
Written for Mooro‘» Ratal New*Y©rker. 
SPEAK KINDLY. 
Much of the unhappiness i» this world arises 
from giving utterance to hasty, unkind words. 
Many a sorrowful hour and sleepless night have 
been spent brooding o’er some harsh or angry 
word, which has dropped from the lips, in a mo¬ 
ment of unguarded passion. How much pain 
wc would save ourselves and others, if we would 
guard all our ways and actions. Kind wonts, 
spoken in the right time and place, do more to 
heal the wounded tqffrit than all the gold which 
this world can give. They cost nothing while 
they enrich the heart and scatter sunshine all 
around, winning many true and faithful friends. 
A little word in kindness spoken, 
A smile, perhaps a tear, 
“ Has often healed a heart that’s broken, 
And made a friend sincere." 
How indelibly doeB a little aet of kindness, per¬ 
formed at the right moment, impress itself upou 
the mind. 
Many years ago a little child stopped to ad¬ 
mire the ilowers iu a beautiful garden. It was 
an orphan, and already had felt the hard and 
bitter pangs of an orphans’ lot. The owner of 
the garden noticed the child aud spoke kindly 
to him. 
" Do you love flowers ?” said he. 
"O, yes. We used to have beautiful Ilowers 
in our garden.” 
The man gathered some aud handed them to 
the boy, saying as he did so, "here is a nice 
little bunch for you.” The child took the 
flowers In a manner that plainly told his grati¬ 
tude. It was an act of spontaneous kindness, 
and scarcely thought of ugaiu. YSkrs went by, 
and throxigh toil and poverty the child grew to 
manhood. It is said from ordeals like this 
sometimes come our best men. So it proved In 
the ease of this orphan. We now find him re¬ 
spected and beloved by all who know him. 
Through all these years he has never forgotten 
the man who so long ago spoke that kind word. 
When ho again met him it was not iu the beau¬ 
tiful garden, cultivating the fragrant flowers, 
but in the cold and dismal abode of poverty. 
Then his was the hand stretched forth to help 
the white haired old man in his hour of need. 
Thus the little act of kindness was doubly re¬ 
paid, bringing to our mind the words of the 
beautiful hymn, “Kind words can never die.” 
Empire, Wis., July, 1867. Jkannie. 
AN ELEPHANT STORY. 
A gentleman who had been for many years a 
resident in India had a very fine elephant of uo- 
ble size, which we will call Indra. It was under 
the care of two keepers, named Selim and Saadi, 
who alternately took care of it- During the 
month that it was under the wire oi Selim, the 
younger keeper, Indra had plenty of food and was 
kindly treated. On the other hand, Saadi, the 
other keeper was a drinking man, and spent the 
money allowed for Indra' b food in arrack and 
bang, a spirit extracted, I believe, from hemp. 
The elephant was of course neglected during 
the month that he was under the charge of Saadi. 
One day both the keepers happened to be upou 
his back when he was taken to the river; before 
he left the water he suddenly turned up his 
trunk, and passing Selim, who was seated nearest 
to his ears, be seized Saadi round the waist, and 
plungiug the wretched man into the river, hold 
him under the water till he was drowned. Selim 
trembled, for he thought he also should be a 
victim to the animal’s auger, but Indra knew 
who had been kind to him, and quietly suffered 
himself to be led home apparently satisfied with 
the vengeance he.had taken. 
This account shows how sensible to kindness 
is the poor half-reasoning elephant. 
Usually, tjje worst of men have most of ail - 
outward things, and the best of men have least 
of earth, though moat of heaven. 
