She ffvitvcUt 
Written for Moore’s Raval New-Yorker. 
AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. — No. II, 
WHEN I AM A MAN.” 
Rosy little dreamer 1 
To your childish eyes 
All the woudrous future 
Shines iu rainbow dyes; 
And the golden distance 
Fairy arches span, 
While the red lips murmur, 
“ When I am a man." 
How your dark eyes kindle 
With a hidden Are, 
While your busy fancy 
Builds the eastle higher; 
Never knight was braver, 
Noble deeds to plan. 
Waiting for their doing 
“ TUI lam a man." 
Rosy, little dreamer, 
Build upon the rock t 
Though your castles crumble, 
That will bear the shock; 
In your simple childhood 
Serving as you can; 
Grander work awaits you 
“ When you are a man." 
ASCENDING MOUNT WASHINGTON. 
Only a few years ago the ascent of Washington 
was not made without considerable sacrifice of 
bodily comfort. Sometimes it was attended ^th 
real danger. If the stem old mountain could speak 
to us in language simpler and plainer than its ma¬ 
jestic utterances, we might hear many gad stories 
of poor, lost wanderers who toiled upward, be¬ 
wildered and chilled, and never came down, — for 
whom friendly rocks became the only shelter,—who 
perished, at last, in the fierce, pitiless storm. The 
foot-paths were not always readily traced, and many 
ambitious climbers strayed away from them, never 
reaching a mountain summit, or if they did, not' 
Washington’s, but oue of 
“ —the Beautiful Hills, 
Where the weary shall toil no more.” 
It is far different now. The bridle path and mule 
did away, mainly, with the danger and discomfort; 
but even they are superseded. Yankee engineering 
skill and perseverance wrought out a better way. 
A Carriage Road was projected, and, in the face of 
obstacles such as none who have never passed over 
it can appreciate, completed. On the 8th Of Aug., 
1861, Mr. George W. Lane drove the first 
up to the very summit of the mountain, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
SUSIE’S PRAYER. 
coach 
Sixteen 
passengers rode up with him, and in acknowledg¬ 
ment of his Bervices as Jehu presented him with a 
substantial whip, suitably inscribed. George drives 
up the Carriage Road yet, and still flourishes the 
same whip-stock, — the lash, I dare say, has been 
replaced. He is a Bturdy New Hampshire boy, on 
whom the up3 and downs of life (which he sees 
literally every day) seem to have little efiect. 
The road is a splendid specimen of engineering. 
Moreover, it is a splendid road,—broad enough any¬ 
where to allow the passage of teams, and smoothly 
macadamized. It ,zig-zags up the mountain, with 
the guard wall, which serves as a protection on the 
lower aide, being now on the left hand, and now on 
the right, starting with it on the left. It was built 
by the Mount Washington Carriage Rold Company, 
at a cost of nearly $100,000, and will prove a good 
investment unless the railroad, now in process of 
construction on the opposite side, decreases its 
patronage. Possibly this may be the case, though 
if ever the railroad is completed half the beauty of 
the ascent will be lost to those who go np by it. 
Throughout the first four miles the grade is mod¬ 
erate, and your six-horse team averages two miles 
an hour. A luxuriant forest growth extends along 
both sides of the way, composed mostly of spruce, 
prettily sprinkled with wild cherry and other trees 
of such lighter green foliage. As you go upward 
there is a marked change in vegetation. What was 
luxuriant becomes >parse and stunted; the birch 
and maple disappear entirely, and in their stead are 
seen but dwarfed firs and spruces. At the Half 
Way House,—a small, rough affair, where the work¬ 
men lodge who are employed upon the road,—even 
these latter are seldom found. 
The Silver Forest marks the close of nearly all 
vegetation. It covers the descent on the right, 
near the Half Way, and is felicitously named. 
Here the dwarf firs are scattered about like ghosts 
of trees long since departed, every one bare of bark, 
bleached to a straDge whiteness in the storms of 
centuries, and reaching out its arms as though it 
were indeed a specter. The rocks which dispute 
the right of possession with these spectral trees are 
almost as strangely white as they. Perhaps a fire 
swept over this part of the mountain years agone; 
perhaps the severe cold has produced .the very pe¬ 
culiar effect here so apparent. There are traditions 
of a fire, I believe, but the chronicles do not fully 
substantiate them. 
HALF WAY UP. 
Before leaving the Half Way House you will put 
on an extra overcoat, or shawl. Just above this 
point the ascent is more rugged, and the road 
winds around the Ledge, a sharp spur of rock rising 
high up at the left. Ah, how the keen wind cuts 
your face like a knife, and pierces to your very 
vitals! You draw your shawl closer around you, 
and pass on. Another turn, and the silver forest 
shines below you on the left, and off on the right 
is the abrupt and fearful gorge known as the Great 
Gulf, down which you can tumble a rock full two 
thousand feet, its dull thuds echoing back as it 
bounds far out of sight. The base of Clay forms 
the opposite side of this gorge, and the view of 
that and of Jefferson and Adams, from this point, 
is grand and sublime. Better than elsewhere, the 
eye here takes in their awful immenseness, for they 
are seen from the foot to the topmost crag. Look¬ 
ing backward from here, too, the prospect is ex¬ 
ceedingly fine, including nearly all the winding 
way traversed from the Glen House, which 6eems 
only a white speck away beneath, and the pretty 
little Peabody valley. 
Half a mile farther on another prospect opens, 
more extensive, and magnificently beautiful. Far 
to the southward reaches the- fertile Valley of the 
Saco, flowing through one corner of Maine mto the 
sea; eastward winds the rapid Androscoggin, like a 
thread of fretted silver; and here and there a 
mouutaiu peak looks up to the blue heaven, with 
the shifting shadows chasing each other over it. 
But it is growing colder, and the afternoon is wan¬ 
ing. With a chill that sets your teeth chattering 
you draw your wrappings still more closely round 
you, —George cracks his whip,—you turn your 
back on all this beauty of distance,—the guard wall 
is once more on the right, — the scene is shifted. 
And thus it shifts again and again. The panorama 
before you is an ever-changing one, gvowiug more 
comprehensive and sublime at every turn, 
Huge boulders lie thickly strewn about; there is 
little sign of soil anywhere. Moss, lichenB, and an 
occasional fir shrub, scarcely more than a foot high, 
. The road 
It was a half holiday. The children were gath¬ 
ered on the green aud a right merry time they were 
having. I think children always do enjoy them¬ 
selves on such occasions. 
“ Come, girls and boys,” called out Ned Graham, 
“let’s play hunt the squirrel.” 
All assented eagerly, and a large circle was formed 
with Ned Graham for leader because he was the 
largest. 
“Come, Susie,” said one of the boys, to a little 
girl who stood on one side, and seemed to shrink 
from joining them. 
“Oh, never mind her!" said Ned, with a little 
toss of his head, “she’s nobody, anyhow. Her 
father drinks.” 
A quick flush crept over the child’s pale face as 
she heard the cruel, thoaghtlesa words. She was 
very sensitive, and the arrow had touched her heart 
in its tenderest place. Her father was a drunkard, 
she knew, but to be taunted with it before so many 
was more than she could bear; and with great sobs 
heaving her bosom, and hot tears filling her eyes, 
she turned and ran away from the play-ground. 
Her mother was sitting by the window when she 
reached home and the tearful face of the little girl 
told that something had happened to disturb her. 
“ What is the matter, Susie?” she asked, kindly. 
“Oh, mother,” Susie said, with the tears drop¬ 
ping down her cheeks, as she hid her face in her 
mother’s lap, “ Ned Graham said such a cruel thing 
about me,” aud here the sobs choked her voice so 
that she could hardly speak; “ he said I wasn’t any¬ 
body, and that father drinks.” 
“ My poor little girl,” Mrs. Ellet said, very 
sadly. There were tears in her eyes, too. Such 
taunts as this were nothing new. 
“Oh, mother,” Susie said, as she lifted her face, 
wet with tears, from her mother’s lap, “I can’t 
bear to have them say so, and act just as if 1 had 
done something wicked. 1 wish father wouldn’t 
drink! Do you suppose he’ll ever leave it off ?” 
“ I hope so,” Mrs. Ellet answered, as she kissed 
Susie’s face where the tears clung like di-ops of dew 
on a rose. “ I pray that he may break off the habit, 
and I can do nothing but pray, and leave the rest 
to God.” 
That night Mr. Ellet came home to supper, as 
usual. He was a hard-working man, and a good 
neighbor. 8o everybody said, but he had the habit 
of intemperance so firmly fixed upon him that every¬ 
body thought he would end his days in the drunk¬ 
ard’s grave. Susie kissed him when he came 
through the gate, as she always did, but there was 
something in her face that went to his heart. A 
look so sad, and full of touching sorrow for one so 
young as she! 
“ What ails my little girl ?" he asked, as he patted 
her curly head. 
“ I can’t tell you, father,” she answered, slowly. 
“W r hy?” he -asked. 
“Because it would make you feel bad,” Susie 
replied. 
“ I guess not,” he said, as they walked up to the 
door together. “ What is it, Susie ?” 
“Oh, father,” and Susie burst into tears again 
as the memory of Ned Graham’s words came up 
freshly in her mind, “I wish you wouldn’t drink 
any more for the boys and girls don’t like to play 
with me, ’cause you do.” 
Mr. Ellet made no reply. But something stirred 
in his heart that made him ashamed of himself; 
ashamed that lie was the cause of so much sorrow 
and misery. 
After supper he took his hat, and Mrs. Ellet 
knew only too well where he was going. At first 
he had resolved to stay at home that evening, but 
the force of habit was so strong that he could not 
resist, aud he yielded, promising himself, that he 
would not drink more than once or twice. 
Susie had left the table before he finished his sup¬ 
per, and as he passed the great clump of lilacs, by 
the path, on his way to the gate, he beard her voice 
and stopped to listen to what she was saying. 
“Oh, good Jesus, please don’t let father drink 
any more. Make him just as he used to be when 1 
was a baby, and then the boys and girls can’t call 
me a drunkard’s child, or say such bad things about 
me. Please, dear Jesus, for mother’s sake and 
mine.” 
Susie’s father listened to her simple prayer with 
a great lamp swelling in his throat. And when it 
was ended he went up to her, and knelt down by 
her side, and put his arm around her, oh, so 
lovingly! 
“God in Heaven,” he said, very solemnly, “I 
promise to-night, never to touch another drop of 
liquor as long as I live. Give me strength to keep 
my pledge, and help me to be a better man.” 
“Oh, father,” Susie cried, her arms about his 
neck, aud her head upon his breast, “I'm so glad! 
I shan’t care about anything they say to me now, for 
I know you won’t be a drunkard any more.” 
“ God helping me, I will be a man!" he answered, 
as, with Susie in his arms, he went back into the 
house where his wife was sitting with the old patient 
look of sorrow on her face,— the look that had be¬ 
come so habitual. 
I cannot tell you of the joy and thanksgiving 
that went up from that hearthstone that night. I 
wish I could, but it was too deep a joy which filled 
the hearts of Susie and her mother to be described. 
Was uot Susie’ s prayer answered ? 
Our engraving illustrates one of the handsomest 
of the species of rapacious birds. The Sparrow- 
Hawk is the smallest of the hawk family, being 
generally about ten inches long, and twenty in ex¬ 
panse of wing. Its head Is of a bluish ash color, 
bordered with white, in which are black spots; 
crown of the head reddish; back also reddish, 
barred with black; under side of the body yellow¬ 
ish - white, streaked with brown; quill feathers 
black, mottled with white; tail feathers quite vari¬ 
egated. The bird builds its nest in .a hollow tree, 
choosing a hole pretty high np. It inhabits almost 
every part of the United States, bur is hard?# as 
common now as formerly. 
The habits of the Sparrow-Hawk are quite inter¬ 
esting. It flies very irregularly, now suspending 
itself motionless in the air, now shooting wildly off 
at an angle, now plunging at random, as it seems, 
into a thicket. But as a hunter it is indefatigable, 
and its movements are so quick that it seldom fails 
to secure the coveted game. Mice, Lizards, snvikee, 
young chickens, all kinds of small birds, and even 
birds nearly as large as itself, it despatches unmer¬ 
cifully. The blue jay and king-bird are its special 
enemies, and appear to find a peculiar pleasure in 
tormenting it. Whole flocks of the former may 
sometimes be seen attacking one. 
gent oyster growers declare that they can take oys¬ 
ters in embryo from a given location and plant them 
in any other locality, and produce an oyster crop 
having all the apparent or real peculiarities which 
mark the species and define it in that locality. 
They assert, with all confidence, that it is circum¬ 
stances which give the oyster, at any locality, the 
discoverable differences which mark it from the 
oysters of any other localities, and that upon the 
whole North American coast there is but one oyster. 
This is their claim, and by it they array themselves 
against the statements of scientific men, based, as 
the latter admit, on the difficulty “ to describe the 
species” aud “ define the limits of the species.” 
SEX. 
In regard to sex, the doctors themselves disagree. 
A part of them maintain that this mollusk is her¬ 
maphrodite, and that from this fact each oyster is 
capable of producing itself. To this opinion Leen- 
wenhock and Poli hold. Others declare that the 
oyster has a distinct sex, and that, like most all or¬ 
ders of creation, it is either male or female, and that 
fecundation is effected through the medium of the 
water. To this class of naturalists belongs Sleeold. 
fecundity. 
No one questions the fact that the oyster has the 
capacity of reproducing itself to a wonderful extent. 
With the astonishing quantities eatei aunually by 
the human family, it will be seen ttut without al¬ 
most unlimited power of fecundation the supply 
would soon be exhausted, and even bucome extinct. 
A single adult oyster will produce yJD0,Uoo eggs. 
With but few exceptions naturalists assume that it 
is ovoviparous (hatching its eggs within the shell 
and its mantle.) The young are termed, inter¬ 
changeably, spawn, spats, and flatsutts, and are so 
small at birth that it is estimated that 1,000,000 can 
be packed in a cubic inch. l. s. a. 
glass-works in Turin, three in Genoa, five in Milan, 
thirteen in Florence, eleven in Naples, and twenty 
in Venice. These fifty-eight works produce articles 
of the annual value of 10,376,735 francs. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ALL ABOUT THE OYSTER.—NO. I 
WHAT IT IS — WHERE FOUND. 
The oyster is a marine, (and in the language of 
the naturalists) acephalous (headless) mollusk, of 
the lameilibrancate (plated gills) order, and of the 
genus ostrea. It presents about the simplest form 
of life In the animal kingdom. As an article of food 
it may be ranked among the luxuries, and yet, as 
such, it finds its way into more families and upon 
more tables in this country than any other one 
coming under such designation. More words, 
therefore, to identify the oyster may be deemed 
unnecessary. 
It is found in all oceans in the temperate and 
torrid zones, and, as is implied, in all salt waters. 
It produces itself in and is indigenous to both zones 
named. It is found as far north as the St. Lawrence. 
SPECIES. 
We are told by naturalists that there are to be 
found fossil remains of 200 different species of oys¬ 
ters. These scientific gentlemen inform us that 
there are now some 60 species of oysters known, 
and at the same time they state that “ it would be 
difficult to describe them, even if it were neces¬ 
sary,” and that “it Is almost impossible strictly to 
define the limits of the species.” In general culti¬ 
vation, however, these same authorities reduce the 
species to two in number, and in general terms these 
two are described as follows:—One ha 3 a long, nar¬ 
row shell, growing, iu some instances, to be 12 to 
15 inches long, with a width of only about three 
inches. The other grows, in its greatest perfection, 
to be about L3Jjinches long and about six inches 
wide. There are an abundance of names given to 
oysters, and there are, perhaps, a greater variety of 
these in vogue.at New York than at any other oys¬ 
ter locality. For example, on that market may be 
seen these oyster names:—Lynn Havens, East Riv¬ 
ers, Sounds, Rockaways, York Rivers, Rappahan- 
nocks, Delawares, Key Ports, Cherry Stones, Mill 
Ponds, Blue Points, City Islands, Strawberries, 
White Falls, Prime Bass, Seasides, &c., the list em¬ 
bracing sundry others uot readily brought to mind. 
It will be perceived,—if not, it is a fact,—that the 
oysters take the name, usually, of the locality 
whence they are taken from the water. There are 
the famous Saddle Rocks; but the reader should 
understand that this name is not given to any oyster 
from any particular locality, but to the largest se¬ 
lected oysters, come whence they may. 
But if we are to credit the observation and judg¬ 
ment of oystermen, the matter of a variety of 
species disappears at once. They controvert‘the 
idea and the statement flatly, and deny that there 
are a multiplicity of species among oysters, espe¬ 
cially in the same latitude. The writer, let it be 
understood, does not undertake to decide this ques¬ 
tion of many species between the naturalists and 
the oy6termen and growers. He expresses no opin¬ 
ion, but only undertakes to give the opinions of 
each party and let them stand on their respective 
merits. Old and experienced, observing and intelli- 
This world of ours is filled with wonders. The 
microscope reveals them not less than the telescope, 
each at either extreme of creation. In the insect 
creation particularly, there is much to know that 
has never been dreamed of—wheels within wheels, 
without computation or number. Let us take a 
rapid glance at the proofs of this statement. 
The polypus, it is said, like the fabled hydres, re¬ 
ceives new life from the knife which is lifted to des¬ 
troy it. The fly-spider lays an egg as large as itself. 
There are four thousand and forty-one muscles in 
the caterpillar. Hooke discovered fourteen thou¬ 
sand mirrors in the eye of a drone; and to effect the 
respiration of a carp, thirteen thousand three hun¬ 
dred arteries, vessels, veins, bones, &c., are neces¬ 
sary. The body of every spider contains four little 
masses pierced with a multitude of imperceptible 
holes, each hole permitting the passage of a single 
thread; all the threads, to the amount of a thousand 
to each mass, join together when they come out, 
and make the 6ingle thread with which the spider 
spins its web, so that what we call a spider’s thread 
consists of more than four thousand united. Leu- 
whenock, by means of microscopes, observed spiders 
no bigger than the grain of sand, and which spun 
threads so fine that it took four thousand of them to 
equal in magnitude a single hair. 
And thus we might go on until the mind would 
almost weary of the details of the wonders of nature. 
Settle While You are Young.— Think of this, 
my good friend, and as you have kind affections to 
make some good girl happy, settle yourself in life 
while you are young, and lay up, by so doing, a 
stock of domestic happiness, against age or bodily 
decay. There are many good things in life, what¬ 
ever satirists and misanthropes may say to the con¬ 
trary; bat probably the best of all, nextjto a con¬ 
science void of offence (but without which, by the 
by, they can hardly exist,) are the quiet exercise 
aud enjoyment of the social feelings, in which we 
are at once happy in ourselves, and the cause of 
happiness to those who are dearest to us.— Scott. 
are the only remnants of vegetable life, 
has a grade of one foot in eight, and you begin to 
realize what an accomplishment the building or it 
truly was. An angry cloud roll6 down upon you; 
it envelops you in its dampness; it pierces; you 
through and through. Another shawl is a neces¬ 
sity. You wrap it about you, covering your head 
as well; and George shouts only to the horses, 
while you say not a word. 
It is a very “upish” way. Yet you go on—on— 
and up—up. 
Through the wild howling of the blasts which 
threaten'to carry you all down the mountain side, 
at last you hear the driver shouting a word of en¬ 
couragement. 
“ We’re almost there!” 
You feel a thrill of joy as you ask— 
“How much further?” 
“Only a mile”’ 
“Almost!” And your spirits suddenly sink be¬ 
low zero as you think of that dreary mile. But 
. | when half of it is passed over you come to a level 
ai reach. Crack! crack! goes the whip again, and 
'->K the homes dash along at a speed that is re-assuring, 
jy The cloud has kindly lifted or floated downward, 
t*y and before you are aware of it you have made an- 
other ascent, and are having a sunset view on the 
^ I famed summit itself! 
•~f‘ I cannot describe it. It is a baptism of glory. It 
is poetry beyond all words, — grandeur more grand 
S!?' than pen or pencil can tell, —sublimity more sub- 
ip lime than can be expressed. The heavens above 
rft you are as far away as ever, but the Gates of the 
yYu West are only just over on the other mountain top, 
w© yonder,—let ns go through them and dwell with 
the blest forever! A. Drift. 
As the art of glass-making was introduced into 
modern Europe by the Venetians, Mr. Herriee, Her 
Majesty’s Secretary of Embassy ani| Legation at 
Florence, in his report just issued, has furnished 
some statistics relating to the production of Vene¬ 
tian glass. He states that, besides dueovering the 
art of rendering glass colorless by mems of manga¬ 
nese, the Venetians enjoyed ihe mompoly ®f mir¬ 
rors, the silvering of which was a secret long kept 
from other countries. These mirrors, Lowever, have 
now lost their reputation, as foreign competitors 
produce larger plates. Glass beads are still made in 
considerable quantities for exportation Venetian 
enamels have always been famous, ani among the 
peculiar productions of Venice may be reckoned 
the beautiful composition called avmturine, the 
secret of which is said to be iu the possession of a 
single manufacturer. The great glass works are at 
Murano, one of the islands of the Lagoon. The 
number of persons employed in gltes-making at 
Murano and Venice is 5,000, of whom one-third are 
men, and two-thirds women and children. The 
annual cost of the substances employed in the man¬ 
ufacture is estimated at about 7,00(.,000f. In the 
East there is a constant demand for beads and 
other articles known as ll conterie." There are six 
Artificial Marble. —Machinery has been put iu 
operation in SL Louis, by which white artificial mar¬ 
ble is being manufactured, which is said to be equal 
in durability and texture to what would be called an 
excellent article of quarried marble. The process 
requires only a few hours to complete it, and the 
material can be furnished, molded in a desirable 
form, and much cheaper than it can be cut from the 
quarry, even in the plainest finished style. 
Addison says 
With patience and time the plain mulberry leaf 
becomes a beautiful silk gown. 
