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munity of Outcasts, Illustrated, 324.

Concerning Dress, 47.

CONTEMPORARY PORTRAITS:

King and Queen of Spain, 419.

M. Lefranc and M. de Goulard, 447.

Mary Somerville. 532.

Leopold II., King of Belgium, 588.

Franz Abt, 671.

Anton Rubinstein, 699.

Coolies, In Quest of, Illustrated, 493.

Cooper, J. Fenimore, with Portrait, 549.

Copyright, International (O. B. Bunce), 441.

Cornwall, Duchy of (R. Lewin), 665.

Correspondence, 107, 219, 358, 695.

Cost of Living (C. Carroll), 300.
Count de Paris, The (E. de Leon), 129.
Court-ball in Egypt (Louisa Mühlbach), 628.
Cryptography (J. H. Snively), 627.

Cumberland Gap, Illustrated (T. G. de Fontaine), 281.
Curiosities of Advertising (Jean Chiffon), 153.
Customs of the House of Commons (G. M. Towle),
378.

Czar Alexander II. (G. M. Towle), 658.

Dangerous Neighbors (Schele de Vere), 271.

Dante and Shakespeare (Eugene Benson), 468.

D'Aumale, Duke, with Portrait (G. M. Towle), 97.

Deluge, The Next, 104.

Denver to Gray's Peak, From, Illustrated (George H.
Smillie), 253.

Disraeli, Mr. (T. W. Reid), 712.

Dramatic Notes, 135.

Dress, Concerning, 47.

Duchy of Cornwall, The (R. Lewin), 665.

Eating Gravel (John Burroughs), 539.

Eau de Cologne (J. H. Snively), 210.

Economizing Vitality, 210.

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coe), 70.

474673

Margaret Morris (Constance F. Woolson), 394.
Mauritius, 14.

Mazarin, Cardinal (Sainte-Beuve), 599.
Means of Locomotion (N. S. Dodge), 596.

Minister's Oath, The, with Illustration (Julian Haw-
thorne), 701.

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The Conquest of America. Hindoo Cleanliness.
Condition of Ireland. A Woman-Fair. Live
Jewels. Japanese Manners and Customs. Anæs-
thesia. Brompton Hospital. Parliamentary Tele-
grams, 671.

The Mikado. Libel-Case. Land in England.
Dolly Varden. Walt Whitman in Killarney.
Diabolical Duality. Seward. Cook of the Pe-
riod. Rev. H. Bellairs. English Families. Plan-
tomour's Comet. A Modern Miracle, 697.
Poisonous Paper. Lord Pembroke. James Brooks
in Japan. Singing Mice. Exorcism, 725.
Mistaken Identity (Alex. Young), 497.
Miss Inglesby's Sister-in-Law (Author of "Valerie
Aylmer"), 617, 649, 676.

Monaco, Passion Procession of (N. S. Dodge), 403.
Montesquieu (Sainte-Beuve), 297.

Monument Mountain, with Illustration, 708.

Morris, Wm., with Portrait (R. H. Stoddard), 673.
Morse, Artist Life of (E. Spencer), 516.
Motion by Rail, with Illustrations, 632.

Mrs. Suffrin's Smelling-Bottle, with Illustration (Ju-
lian Hawthorne), 449.

Museum, The, Illustrated, 83, 168, 252, 280, 303, 336,
364, 504, 560, 618, 643, 727.

Mystic Societies of the Gulf Cities, 6.

National Academy, Spring Exhibition, 578.
New-York Artists Fifty Years ago, with Illustration

(T. B. Thorpe), 572.

New York to Boston, 173.

Nimbus, 322.

Notes of Boston, 717.

Oceanic Circulation (J. Proffatt), 321.

Old Virginia Manners, Illustrated (J. Esten Cooke),

437.

"Original John Smith's," Illustrated, 292.
Outcasts, Community of, Illustrated, 324.
Paris Journalism, 266.

Paris Post-Office, The (G. B. Miles), 209.

Parsons, Theophilus, with Portrait (G. M. Towle),

236.

212.

Rivals, The (Caroline Chesebro), 261.
Rossel, the Communist, 602.

Rubinstein, Anton, with Portrait, 699.

Rugby, Day at (Henry Ware), 245.

Saigon, A Visit to, with Illustration (W. A. Rose),
487.

Scare at Shirkshire, The Great (Ralph Keeler), 725.

Science and the Spirits (R. R. Bowker), 67.

Scientific Notes, 24, 52, 80, 164, 276, 360, 500, 584, 724.

Schenectady, Illustrated, 100.

Sea-Serpent, The (A. S. Packard), 459.

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Southern Country Life (Paul H. Hayne), 284.

Speaking out in Meeting, 133.

Spouting Cave, The, Newport, with Illustration, 491.
Starucca Viaduct, The, with Illustration, 457.
Story of a Scar, The, with Illustration (Author of
"Morton House"), 309.

Street-Corner Studies (Ralph Keeler), 636.

TABLE-TALK:

Nilsson as Mignon. Flora Macdonald. Winter Life

in New York. Entertaining Imperial Visitors. The

"Fire-fiend." Purchase of New-York Post-Office

Site, 22.

George Hill and Theodore Tuckerman. The Inter-

nationals. The Japanese. The Palette Club.

The Prince of Wales, 50.

"Julius Cæsar" at Booth's. Talleyrand's Memoirs.
Byron and Tennyson. Forster's "Life of Dick-
ens." The Opening of the Year, 78.

Miss Stride. The London Telegraph on the City

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British Newspapers. A Boston Charity. Interest-
ing Murders. Victor Hugo. The Battery. Hu-
mors of the Presidential Campaign, 666.
Industrial Schools. Woman Suffrage. Immigra-
tion. The Shakespeare Statue. 'Tips," 694.
Trial by Jury in England. Massachusetts Educa-
tional Reform. Servants in Old Times, 722.

Taine, M. (W. F. Rae), 542.

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Unstoried Dead, The (Daniel Connolly), 289.

Up the Guyandotte, Illustrated (Gilbert Burling), 645,

688.

Van Rensselaer House, Greenbush, with an Illustra-

tion, 428.

Varieties, 27, 55, 81, 111, 139, 167, 195, 223, 251, 279,

307, 335, 363, 391, 419, 447, 475, 503, 531, 559,

587, 615, 643, 671, 699, 727.

Venus, the Morning-star (Emma M. Converse), 434-
Verdi, Giuseppe (George B. Miles), 316.
Verona (Mary E. W. Sherwood), 130.
Vienna Press, The, 319.

Vinnie Ream at Home (E. Kilham), 663.
Violets (Emma M. Converse), 571.

Virginia Manners, Old, Illustrated (J. E. Cooke),
437.

Visit to Saigon, with Illustration (W. A. Rose), 487.
Visit to Volcano of Colima, with Illustration (A. S.
Evans), 544.

Wagner, Richard (G. B. Miles), 661.

Washington-Market Characters, with Illustrations,
604.

Water-color Exhibition, The (Susan N. Carter), 235-
Weighed in the Balance, with Illustration (Constance
F. Woolson), 589.

Wells in the Desert (W. R. Hooper), 580.
Western River-race, A (T. C. De Leon), 370.
White Lady, The, 4.

Winter-sports on Jersey Coast, Illustrated (T. B.

Thorpe), 238.

Afraid (Howard Glyndon), 217.

A Mother's Wish (Edgar Fawcett), 693.
Arbuti Carmen (W. C. Richards), 435.
Bloodroot, The (W. W. Bailey), 357.
Bryant's Iliad, 155.

Down the River, with Illustration (George Cooper),
366.

Dying Model, The (H. T. Tuckerman), 70.

Fall of the Pines, The, with Illustration (George

Cooper), 548.

Fisherman's Light-house (J. J. Piatt), 631.
Footsteps (Laura D. Nichols), 105.
Glimpsed Pictures (Eugene Tyson), 323.
Good-by (W. C. Richards), 659.
Granted Prayer, A (Lucy H. Hooper), 462.
Guardian Angel, A (Henry Abbey), 329.
Idle Words (Julia C. R. Dorr), 127.

"In a King Cambyses Vein" (Barton Grey), 407.

King's Daughter, A (Mary E. Bradley), 295.

Late Snow, A, with Illustration (George Cooper),

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Thinking of Home, with Illustration (George Coop-

er), 461.

Thistle-down (Sallie A. Brock), 491.

Troubadour's Song, A (Henry Abbey), 523.

Two Sides of a Window (J. J. Piatt), 267.
Unconquered (Joel Benton), 291.

Waiting, with Illustration (George Cooper), 181.

Twenty-five-pound Weight, A (Louise E. Furniss), Will (Paul H. Hayne), 43.

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ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by D. APPLETON & Co., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

No. 145.-VOL. VII.]

SATURDAY, JANUARY 6, 1872.

RAFTING ON THE GUYANDOTTE.

WHO at danger never laughed,

Let him ride upon a raft
Down Guyan, when from the drains
Pours the flood of many rains,
And a stream no plummet gauges
In a furious freshet rages.
Rising to a joyous scream

O'er the roar of the raging stream.
Never horsemen bold who stride
Mettled steeds in headlong ride,
With a loose and flowing rein
On a bare and boundless plain-
With a strange and rapturous fear,
Rushing water he will hear;
Woods and cliff-sides darting by,
These shall terribly glad his eye.

He shall find his life-blood leaping
Faster with the current's sweeping;
Feel his brain with frenzy swell;
Hear his voice in sudden yell
Never soldiers in a fight,

When the strife has reached its height,
Charging through the slippery gore
Mid bayonet-gleam and cannon-roar-
Never sailors, helms in hand,
Out of sight of dangerous land,
With the storm-winds driving clouds
And howling through the spars and shrouds
Never these three,

Nor any others that could be,
Feel such wild delight as he
On the June rise riding free.

[PRICE TEN CENTS.

Thrice a hundred logs together
Float as lightly as a feather;
On the freshet's foaming flow,
Swift as arrows shoot, they go
Past the overhanging trees,
Jutting rocks-beware of these!
Over rapids, round the crooks,
Over eddies that fill the nooks,
Swirling, whirling, hard to steer,
Manned by those who have no fear.
Tough-armed raftsmen guide each oar,
Keeping off the mass from shore,
While between the toiling hands
Mid-raft there the pilot stands,

Watching the course of the rushing sluice

From the top of the dirt-floored, rough caboose.

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Well it is, in the seething hiss

Of a boiling, foaming flood like this,
That the oars are stoutly boarded,
And each log so safely corded,
That we might ride on the salt-sea tide,
Or over a cataract safely glide.
If the pins from hickory riven
Were not stout and firmly driven.
Were the cross-ties weak and limber,
Woe befall your raft of timber!
If the withes and staples start
And the logs asunder part,

Off each raftsman then would go
In the seething, turbid flow,

And the torrent quick would bear him
To a place where they could spare him.
Brawny though he be of limb,
Full of life, and nerve, and vim—
Like a merman though he swim,
Little hope would be for him.

Hither the logs would go, and thither;
But the jolly raftsman-whither ?

Now we pass the hills that throw
Glassy shadows far below-
Pass the leaping, trembling rills,
Ploughing channels in the hills-
Pass the cornfields green that glide
(We seem moveless on the tide)
In a belt of verdure wide,
Skirting us on either side-
Now a cabin meets us here,
Coming but to disappear-
Now a lean and russet deer
Perks his neck and pricks his ear;
Then as we rise up before him
Feels some danger looming o'er him,
Thinks the dark mass bodes him ill,
Turns and scurries up the hill-
Now some cattle at the brink
Stooping of the flood to drink,
Lift their heads awhile to gaze
In a sleepy, dull amaze;

Then they, lest we leap among them,
Start as though a gadfly stung them.
Past us in a moment fly

Fields of maize, and wheat, and rye;
Dells, and forest-mounds, and meadows,
Float away like fleeting shadows;
But the raftsmen see not these-
Sharp they look for sunken trees,
Stumps with surface rough and ragged,
Sandstone reefs with edges jagged,
Hidden rocks at the rapids' head,
New-made shoals in the river's bed;
Steering straight as they pass the comb
Of the sunken dam and its cradle of foam.
Now through narrow channel darting,
Now upon a wide reach starting,
Now they turn with shake and quiver
In a short bend of the river,
Tasking strength to turn the oar
That averts them from the shore.
Ah! they strike? No! missed it barely,
They have won their safety fairly.
Now they're in the strait chute's centre;
Now the rapids wild they enter.
Whoop! that last quick run has brought her
To the eddying, wide back-water.
There's the saw-mill! now for landing,
Now to bring her up all standing!
Steady! brace yourselves! a jar
Thrills her, stranded on the bar.

Out with lines, make fast, and rest On the broad Ohio's breast.

Where's the fiddle? Boys, be gay!
Eighty miles in half a day-
Never a pin or cross-tie started,
Never a saw-log from us parted,
Never a better journey run
From the noon to set of sun.
Oh, what pleasure! how inviting!
Oh, what rapture! how exciting!
If among your friends there be
One who something rare would see,
One who dulness seeks to change
For a feeling new and strange,
To the loggers' camp-ground send him,
To a ride like this commend him—
Ride that pain and sorrow dulces,
Stirring brains and quickening pulses,
Making him a happier man
Who has coursed the fierce Guyan
When the June rain freshet swells it,
And to yellow rage impels it.

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

LADY SWEETAPPLE; OR, THREE TO ONE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "ANNALS OF AN EVENTFUL LIFE."

CHAPTER XI.

FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA AT HIGH BEECH.

it is only persons of very serene and happy dispositions who can, at any rate in after-life, drink tea except at breakfast. And so far do we carry this conviction that we never ask if So-and-so is happy with his family, or his family with him, but simply, "Do they drink tea regularly every night?" and, if the answer is "Yes," we ask nothing more, for nothing more is needed to prove that they must be a most happy and united family. So that you see there may be morality in a tea-pot, after all.

Yes, there Mrs. Barker sat, so sleek and smooth in her black silk, and her hair-her own hair-so nicely braided over her brow, all wrinkled though it was, looking straight at Colonel Barker, and devouring him just as much as, according to Florry Carlton, widows were wont to devour young men by their eyes. No doubt, what was passing in her mind was, that there never was such an onslaught since the siege of Troy as that escalade of the Ram Chowdah's hill-fort, nor any such warrior, Achilles himself not excepted, as Colonel Barker. In this faith she was profoundly happy, because it admitted to her mind no manner of doubt. Colonel Barker was her ideal. He filled up the measure of her imagination and ran over, and there was no room in it for any other idol. Happy Colonel Barker! and still more happy Mrs. Barker!

WHEN the young ladies went down, they found the whole party, except the missing Marjorams, assembled round a five-o'clock tea-table, though it was nearer six. Lady Sweetapple was talking in an animated way to Sir Thomas on the beauties of High Beech, and expatiating on the lovely view to be seen from the Butterfly-room. Mr. Beeswing was relating some London gossip to Lady Carlton, with which we will not trouble our readers. Harry Fortescue and Edward Vernon were listening to one of Colonel Barker's long stories; for he had already before tea-time, on the terrace, led the forlorn hope against the inevitable Ram Chowdah, and had not half sacked his hill-fort when they were summoned in to tea. Mrs. Barker sat bolt upright at the table, enjoying her tea much more than the rest; for she was one of those good and even-minded people who can drink tea at all hours with impunity. And here let us remark that it is only very good people who can drink tea for a continuance in the afternoon or at night. We have the greatest respect for the temperance movement, as is well known; but we say boldly that no one with a bad conscience can drink tea at night. Even those with good consciences know what it is to toss all night through because they have had a cup of green tea insidiously given to them; but add a bad conscience and an uneasy mind to a cup of green tea, or, to express it more neatly, only pour a cup of green tea on an aching heart, and you shall have such a succession of nightmares and little apoplexies all through the night as will make you pray most devoutly for the morning. No,

Perhaps some of you may think it ridiculous that a woman past fifty should adoreyes, adore, that is the word—a man over sixty. That only shows what silly young folk some of you are, at least. Do you not see that it is enough for the human heart, that if a thing should have been once loved, to love it forever? With perfect affection like that which existed between Colonel and Mrs. Barker, there was no room for any change. They had loved one another young, and they loved one another now; and time, if it brought any alteration, merely increased their affection, for it made them rely more and more on each other for moral support.

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They may chaff me," said Colonel Barker to himself when young men mocked at him, as rude young men sometimes would do for his stories, and even for that sacred one of the Ram Chowdah, "they may chaff me, but Mrs. Barker likes to hear them. That's quite enough for me."

"There are no stories like Colonel Barker's, my dear," Mrs. Barker used to say to her gossips over cup after cup of that tea which it was her pride and privilege to be able to drink. "No, really none; so full of point and fire, and quite different from the silly stories in which the rising generation delight."

It mattered not that Colonel Barker was rather short, fat, and pursy; that it was some time since he had seen his knees; that his head was bald, his nose red, and his features generally rubicund; that is to say, it mattered not in the least to Mrs. Barker, for she remembered the days when he was as slim and neat an officer as any in the service. Nor did it matter in the least to Colonel Barker that Mrs. Barker's face was wrinkled, that her figure was very bad, that her hands were red, and her neck withered; for he had still in his eye the day when the daughter of the Com

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