THE BUBAL HEW-YORKER. 
for IDomrit. 
CONDUCTED BY MIS.'. BAY CLARK. 
SKETCHES OF GERMAN LIFE. 
BERTHA A. ZEDI WINKLER. 
A FUNERAL. 
From grave to Ray, 1 ’ is the general plirat-e; 
but, as the chief natural events of life lead 
from gay to grave, we follow it in holding up 
the ruueral wreath after bridal blossoms. 
Much, indeed, worthy of record, is crowded 
between those two stages which hold the ob¬ 
ject and the results of life; but the actors 
have withdrawn, as it were, into a little world 
of their own, sacred even to curious eyes. We 
have glimpses of tbern toiling and feasting, 
and plodding on through life's great problem 
in tie ir own peculiar way; but the intervals 
of the drama, ‘‘when the curtain’s down,” 
may well be filled with our own speculative 
train of thought. All too surely do they lead 
us into the deeps of their tribulations, and to 
the flights of their heroic endurance. All too 
vividly do they image the thousand and one 
incidents, unvoiced and unpictured, which 
heaps the measure of their care-fraught life. 
The felicity of love succeeded by the joys of 
maternity and the care of it; the waning 
honeymoon, the business of broad-winning 
conveniently absorbing and excusing “even¬ 
ings from home.” followed by the first cloud 
of dissension mid coldness, pierced here and 
there by the smile of children; then individual 
sorrows of which no pen dare write; increas¬ 
ing responsibility aud decreasing strength; 
tear-voiced auguish and loud-voiced duties; 
fulling courage, and faint monitors of disso¬ 
lution in weariness and meek resignation, all 
passes before our mind like shadows of the 
coming eveut—death. 
Life’s innermost, with all its questioned, 
untold mysteries, is gone. The curtain is 
raised, and once more we may behold—what 
is left. Not much, surely. An empty shell 
adorned tor its lust parade. White lips that 
have ceased to sigh, “it might have been:” 
closed eyes whose lustre has dimmed, looking 
always “too far:" deal ears that, have dulled, 
listening for “light footsteps;” a still heart 
that has ceased throbbingfor unwooublo joys; 
uud cold hands that have wearied toiling for 
mere leave to live. Such is, particularly here, 
the lesson of mortality’s tiuul spectacle; as 
every remark of the spectator*, every rile of 
the funeral indicates. “She is better off, poor 
thing.” This general whisper of the women 
keeping the dead-watch, is the relative’s con¬ 
dolence, the burden of the funeral hymn and 
the sermon. That it could or should have been 
otherwise, never euters the minds of those 
whose life is shaped in the same narrow 
groove. That 
Away Beyond Mirlr hill*, some fairer things may be- 
Away beyond t Uelr foreitB, some hearts throb glad 
anti free 
is only accepted in a sense ol infinitude, uot 
the great earth beyond their village valley. 
And so the funeral preparations go on with 
less sadness than bustle. The house will soon 
be filled with hungry sympathizers, uud it is 
baking aud brewing, sweeping aud dusting- 
very like a wedditig—while death’s bride lies 
in state, aud an aged crony keeps her ghostly, 
solitary vigil by the dim light ot a candle. 
The dawning of the huriat-day is announced 
by the solemn tolling of the church bolls. Few 
then, but what will find a scrap of black to 
don. and some flowers to bring to the house of 
mourning. There, the final leave-taking has 
been by the flicker of the midnight candle. 
The coffin, followed by the relatives who 
station themselves along the walls of the house, 
is borne Outside, and t here, in full view of the 
concourse, with face turned heavenward anil 
hands meekly folded, the corps* receives those 
last abundant tokens ol atfection tor which 
she, perhaps, vainly sighed in life. When lips 
no longer smile or fret, their muteness is 
Other’s eloquence. Neglectful friends, remorse¬ 
ful toes, awed childhood, trembling ago, strew 
dowu their floral offerings aud whisper peace 
and blessings. Then the school children, led 
by their teacher, surround the bier and sing 
the dead one’s favorite by ran. Finally, a 
prayer by the pastor, another funeral knell, 
aud the facets hid from view forever. The 
nearest relative of the dead then approaches 
his next of kin, clasps his hand and, as if to 
conciliate heaven for his rebellious grief by 
acknowledging the wisdom of God’s myste¬ 
rious dispensations, murmurs: “Brother, God 
the Lord, be praised!’’ 
“Amen 1” is the low response from each as 
he clusps their hands in turn and repeats the 
words. The coffin is then borne up n the 
shoulders of six pall-bearers, each carrying a 
lemon and a box twig in Ins white gloved 
hand, and the funeral train, preceded by the 
pastor and the school-children, headed by the 
teacher, moves slowly towards the church¬ 
yard. 
.Never will we forget the scene as it present¬ 
ed itself to us one fair spring morning. Joy¬ 
ous brilliancy flooded the whole region. Birds 
sang, trees blossomed, flowers mottled earth’s 
rich, green carpet, and dew-drops glistened 
over it like millions and millions of tiny stars. 
Everything wore its festal robe of new born 
life. But yonder gleamed the white head¬ 
stones of the dead The church yard gates 
stood wide open, and in the distance was the 
funeral cortege moving to the slow tolling of 
the bell. Anon it halted, the coffin was low¬ 
ered from the bearers’ shoulders for a few 
minutes’ rest, while children’s voices bushed 
the song of birds with funeral hymns, aud 
every head is bared and bowed in reverence or 
grief. Then again the mar h is resumed, and 
the awful contrast of life and death continues. 
There, still, solemn, peaceful all around, 
glad, gay, carolling. Nature’* thousand voices 
denying death’s victory. They passed the last 
gate through which mortality’s burden can 
go; the sexton stood ready with his spade, and 
the body was lowered to its mother earth- 
The pastor’s lust tender words floated over the 
grave; and with his solemn “ashes to ashes, 
dust to dust,” started anew that incorporeal 
mystery of anguish which is never quite lifted 
by that Anal, “sure and CO' tain hope of resur¬ 
rection in Christ Jesus ” But. close by, a lark 
arose from the ground and, circling for a mo¬ 
ment. near the open grave, as if lingering to 
liear a way the immortal fruits of the tomb, 
swung her way heavenward with such a thril¬ 
ling, triumphant song of gladness that we no 
longer heard the dull thuds of falling earth, 
hut followed that glorious song of promise 
winging its way higher and higher into infini¬ 
tude, and wo too turned away murmuring, 
“The Lord, God, be praised!” 
-- 
ALONE. 
“ How awfully desolate you must be.” Bo 
said a dear old school and class mate, whom I 
had not seen before for more than a quarter of 
a century. Once, agai n, we stood together, in 
the same lovely village where first we met, 
and where, side by side, we sat full many a 
day in the class-room, until, ns she laughiug- 
jy said, “her very best bow had been made.” 
She had “graduated and knew everything.” 
Then, we returned to our respective homes 
and the loving hearts awaiting us. A corre¬ 
spondence was kept up fora few years; but 
she had been borne to a western city, to build 
a home nest of her own; while I, the youngest 
ot the flock, remained to help, and cheer the 
hearts of the dear father and mother, who 
had, but a short time before this meeting, laid 
down the weapon* of earthly warfare, and en¬ 
tered the rest beyond. 
Now, Bhe had come from her distant home 
to watch over the wasting, dying mother, 
who “had been such a good mother,” and, 
through her tear dimmed eyes, she saw only a 
dreary, desolate future for me. Yes, I am 
alone, and only those who thus stand, their 
interest aud happiness identified with none, 
can fully understand wffiat it is. But. would 
1 have the sun refuse to shine, the flowers to 
bloom, the birds to sing, or the innoceut laugh 
of a joyous heart, hushed in my presence? 
Would "I close rnv eyea aud ears to every¬ 
thing glad and lovely, fold mv hands pensive¬ 
ly sit down, and ask to die? Would 1 not hear 
t he Father's voice whispering unto me. as to 
Elijah. “What doe*t thou hereHuman 
sympathy and love are sweet, and priceless, 
hut though they mny gush like living springs 
iu our pathway, vet. are there not times when 
every heart, feels t. at earth is empty. Mint 
there is not a satisfying portion in It? God 
never invented a greater panacea fora sorrow- 
stricken soul, than work. Then, let the earn¬ 
est. spirit, and ready hand, sow wherever t heir 
lot may he, questioning not who shall bo the 
reaper, or w ho shall gu' her the harvest. W hen 
a cloud is in the West, Mrs usually light iu the 
East, and when eastern skies are darkened. I 
turn again to the West lu the stillest, lone- 
host. hours, sweet memories come, and 1 live 
over the pleasant past, and see each dear face 
again Even 111* meeting with that, early 
friend, has carried me back and made me a 
youthful school-girl again It lias stirred my 
soul anew, until 1 tee) like takiug up the long 
idle, rusty pen, and writing, not a lament, but 
a response. 
Summer flowers have drooped aud faded. 
Autumn wind* disrobed the trees- 
Hills art snow clad, windows frosted— 
Winter’s here, with chilling breeze. 
Aud I’ll kindly give him greeting. 
Though severe hi* relgti may be: 
Dearer far, will be the spring time, 
When rills aud birds ngn u are free. 
’Tl* quite the same lei life’s experience— 
Clouds will conic, false friends deceive; 
Thankless tasks perplex aud sadden, 
Unkind words the spirit grieve. 
But as Spring succeeds the Winter, 
Summer gale* the piercing blast, 
So genial skies dispel the shadows 
Which the path of life oVrcast. 
Come, then, every change and season. 
Every good aud every ill: 
Ye may tuach me needed wisdom 
To perform the Master’s will. 
And I’ll keep my trust lit heaven, 
’Till I be storm-clouds shall depart; 
And pray good angels to protectute 
JS'toni the “Winter ot the heart.' 1 
* MALTHEA. 
COOPER INSTITUTE EXHIBITION. 
Cooper Institute hardly needed an added 
attraction; but it has one now in the Per¬ 
manent Free Exhibition of Water Colors. 
The room is situated in the center of the many 
large rooms, and through the recesses yon caa 
see models, small and large, of almost, every¬ 
thing that was ever invented The plea-ant 
face of Peter Cooper greets you from the first 
page of the catalogue, which is the best one 
gotten up this season. It is large, has an 
attractive cover, and. more than all, is illus¬ 
trated. There are 130 pictures hung, and 
very tastefully too, but. as will always hap¬ 
pen. some rare bits are very near the ceiling. 
The artists represented are amotij. the best, 
and it will lie noticed that as to stlbioctg the 
artists have been more fortunate than usual. 
Among the exquisite pictures may lie men¬ 
tioned: “After Sundown,” C. Vv Eaton; 
“Early Morning,” liinseman Van Ellen: “An 
Autumn Sketch.” Harry Fcun; “Winter.” 
K. Shut Jeff; “Twilight Flirtation.” C. Cur¬ 
ran; “Church where Shakespeare lies buried,” 
Stratford on-Avon, J Alden Weir: “Helen.” 
Frank Fowler: “Patience,” J. W. Champney; 
“Missing a Prize. 1 ’ Ilenrv Plumb (this is one 
of the bast humorous pictures shown); 
“Talking to the Point,” T. W. v - ood. is an 
excellent picture. But what “point” is the 
old gent talking to or at? One would imagine 
he was talking te> tin* point of his awl which he 
bolds In his hand, but doubtless it is to some 
imaginary'person. “Berkshire Hills’ is one 
of the finest little pictures on the walls, by 
Lucy Poe. 
The present exhibition is free, the pictures 
having been loaned by the artists, who are 
not among the scholars or members of the 
Institute. 
There is a reudiug-room up stairs, which 
will well repay any owe to visit. Ail the 
magazines, both American and foreign, with 
papers representing the entire reading w'orld, 
are hero to be found. 
VIVIAN WHITEFIELD. 
Domestic Ccononu} 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
CONCERNING POTTERY. 
MARY WAGER-FISHER. 
As we were to pass through Trenton, N. J., 
the other day, I suggested to Anaximander 
that we “stop off” for a couple of hours and 
visit ono of the potteries; for with much 
sight-seeing, 1 had never witnessed uny of the 
processes by r which table-ware is made from 
clay. 1 once spent a part of the day at Sevres, 
in France, where the exquisite and costly china 
of that name is manufactured, but I only vis¬ 
ited the sample rooms, to see dinner sets that 
cost anywhere from $1,000 to $30,000. 
The potter’s w heel is ouc of the most ancient 
inventions, uud Palissy's efforts to glaze pot¬ 
tery are w'ell known to readers of history. 
Accustomed, as we are, to the conveniences 
and the luxuries of civilization, we make use 
of the commonest implements with rarely a 
thought of what they have cost, and drink 
from an ordinary' cup of white granite-ware, 
maybe, without realizing the tremendous 
struggle that, covered lb years of starvation 
aud contumely, which resulted in the gluze, 
the glass-like finish that covers the simplest 
aud cheapest ware that does service in our 
kitchens, as well as the fiuest that graces the 
dimng-tablo. 
Trenton is more distinguished for its manu¬ 
factories than for being the capital of the 
State. Four million of dollars, it is esti¬ 
mated, are invested in its 20 potteries, in each 
of which an average of !>U0 person* or more 
are employed. But one of the Trenton potter¬ 
ies manufactures the famous Belloek, or egg¬ 
shell china, and, indeed, 1 think it is the only 
pottery in this country that has attempted to 
make this ware, which is the most exquisite, 
dainty, and altogether fairy-like china made 
in the w'hole world; so in discussing which 
pottery we should visit, I cast my vote for the 
one where Bel leek was made; and then too, 
the man in the ticket office at Trenton, said 
“Young Mr. Brewer, one of the firm, is very 
ourteous to visitors.” So hiring a carriage, 
we were quickly driven to our destination, 
where we were kindly shown through the 
great pottery ami witnessed the processes of 
china making, although visitors cauuot fail, 
at all times, to be a “nuisance'’ and hindrance. 
Most of the clay used iu the Ti'enton potter¬ 
ies is obtained near the city, aud after it is 
ground, it goes through a process of being 
mixed with water, run through pipes aud 
rolled out into corrugated sheets—all this 
being accomplished by machinery not unlike 
in appearance that used in the manufacture of 
paper. The sheets of soft clay are rolled into 
bundles aud distributed throughout the va¬ 
rious work-room?, where they are kneaded by 
boy?, much as a woman kneads bread. W hen 
sufficiently kneaded, a man takes the mass, 
cuts off a piece and with a heavy implement, 
in shape like a stove griddle with a knob on 
the top, flattens it out to the thickness of a 
crust for a pot-pie, and lines the mold of what¬ 
ever he is to make—cup, saucer, pitcher or 
platter—after which it is manipulated on the 
wheel, and quickly brought into the desired 
shape Of course, the machinery which drives 
the wheels is operated by engines, but the 
larger part of the work is hand-work. 
Pitchers are usually made in halves, and the 
two halves are then put together. The han¬ 
dles for them, ns well as for cups, are molded, 
and put on by a separate class of workers. 
The material with which the handles arestuck 
on. as well as that which holds the pitcher 
halves together, is the same clay of which the 
vessels are made, but diluted to greater thin¬ 
ness. After the clay vessels are sufficiently 
dried—which requires a few hours—thev are 
dipped in a huge tub of glazing material, 
which is practically glass—the materials of 
glass—iu solution, or held in suspense in water. 
The dipping is rapidly done, a Her which the 
vessels are put into clay pots, which are made 
air tight by putting a roll of soft clay under 
the rim of the cover, which is well pressed 
down, and the cover is the bottom of the next 
pot It is then ready for the firing process, 
and a great tall, round chimney or oven, is 
filled with hundreds of 'these sealed pots, then 
closed, and the heat is turned into it. Before 
the articles are dipped in the glaze, they are 
carefully examined, and gone over with a 
sponge, that they may be quite smooth. After 
they are removed from the chimney aud taken 
from the pots, they pass through the hands of 
girls or women, who, w ith an iron in shape 
like a chisel, knock off all excresences such os 
have been produced by drops of gltze or other 
causes, and it was a concert of this ding-dong¬ 
ing that greeted our ears upon first entering 
the pottery. The girls become very expert in 
the "kuoeking”businesB, and handle the crock¬ 
ery with as much fearlessness as so many 
pieces of wool. The crockery is then assorted, 
and is ready for >he market, which is alto¬ 
gether another branch of the business. 
In decorating china, there are various meth¬ 
ods. Iu the cheaper decoratlous, the designs 
and color are stamped on. In decoration of a 
more expensive c haracter, the design is stamp¬ 
ed on, and the colors laid in by hand, while iu 
the finest decoration, the work is done entire¬ 
ly by hand, and is said to be “hand-painted.” 
Another firing is necessary to burn iu the col¬ 
ors, so that it requires considerable experience 
in applying colors to foresee what the result 
will be after the colors have been subjected to 
great beat. 
Of course, the thinness and translucency of 
pottery depend both upon the fineness of the 
clay, and the way in which it is manipulated. 
The Bollock ware is of the fiuest clay, and so 
thinly cast in the moulds, as to be as light as 
an egg-shell, while the glazing has the 
smoothness, finish and brilliancy of polished 
glass. It is tinted with exquisite colors, aud 
then as exquisitely painted. A tea set, con¬ 
sisting of a dozen cups and saucers, teapot, 
sugar bowl, creamer and slop bowl, will cost 
$120, probably. Although so fragile in appear 
ance, it is really quite strong and bears the 
action of hot water perfectly. Reople who 
can afford to have it, buy it for ornament, and 
sometimes use it at luncheon. It is an Irish 
ware, originally manufactured iu Ireland, 
and Irish workmen were imported to make it 
in Treutou 1 have been told by intelligent 
dealers in it, that t he Trenton “Belleek” is the 
finest anywhere made, and 1 am ready to be 
lieve it, as it is “lovely" enough for the use of 
saints and angels, if celestial beings have need 
of such things. For china painting, where the 
entire surface is to be laid iu color and orna¬ 
mented, it does not matter about the fineness 
of the dish, if it be quite smooth. The most 
beautifully painted Dresden plaeque* are of 
ordinary stone china. 
We found “young Mr. Brewer” to be all 
that he had been mentioned as being, aud 
more—a youug man abounding in Yankee 
cleverness, modest, and shrewdly holding 
much in reserve—a man of resources, artistic 
and suggestive iu nature, who can draw a pat¬ 
tern for a dish, or a design for its decoration. 
If it were not for American aptness, and clev¬ 
erness, American potteries would uot be what 
they are to-day, rivals of the best iu England 
aud Continental Europe, and turning out 
wares fine enough to please the most fastidi 
ous. Mr. Brewer said that women as decora¬ 
tors had uot succeeded as well as men in that 
pottery, that they were slower and less prac¬ 
tical! He also said that less profit was derived 
from plain w hite ware than from the decora¬ 
ted. Most of the employes are paid by the 
piece One apprentice told us that he could 
mold aud finish for the firing four dozen 
pitchers in a day. A good workman 
earns about the wages of a carpenter. But it 
is what may well be called a “driving” busi¬ 
ness, no chance for loitering work. It is a vast 
lesson in manipulation, the quickness and the 
unerring accuracy of the movement of the 
hands of the workers. In this respect the pot¬ 
tery does not differ from any great workshop, 
where there must be expedition and perfect 
method, and continuous noise arid half alive 
air to breat he. It is very different from work 
‘ on the farm, where, with all tlio “drive” at 
