And thousands, too, who never heard Thy voice, have kindled o'er the page On which thy brave and lucid word Went forth to move and mould the age. The pulpit was thy "joy and throne;" And breathed its blessed influence there. To-day, O loved and honored one, [From the Transcript.] THE GIFT TO EX-PRESIDENT REV. JAMES WALKER, D. D., spoken of in the "Transcript," yesterday, is thus described: A cup and plate in silver, relieved with gold, are made to tell the lesson of his life, and the good wishes of his old parishioners and friends. The cup is nearly a foot high, with a pedestal bordered with gold, with ivy and lilies in wrought silver upon the stem, and with rich designs and inscriptions upon the bowl, which is lined with gold. Upon one side of the bowl the seal of Harvard University is given in bold relief, with the motto, "Christo et Ecclesiæ,” in raised letters, and with blades of wheat on one side, richly chased, and a vine branch on the other. Upon the opposite side of the bowl is the name of Dr. Walker, with the chief dates of his life enclosed within branches of olive and oak. Around the rim of the cup is the inscription in church letter, "The Cup of Blessing which we Bless." Hunt scription did not read "upon the eightieth [From the New York Evening Post.] GIFT TO KING'S CHAPEL. The late Rev. The The minister and wardens of King's Chapel signified to Dr. Osgood their grateful acceptance of the beautiful memorial, and the intention of the congregation to keep it with their communion plate and use The plate is a foot in diameter, with a gold the cup and plate at Christmas, Easter, and border of ecclesiastical pattern, and a wreath, Whit Sunday at Holy Communion. vine and berries engraved around the inside. formal presentation of the gift was made in The name is in the centre, surrounded by the Chapel on Sunday morning, Feb. 28, by the words, in antique letters, "Thine old the minister, Rev. Henry W. Foote, and the age shall be clearer than the noonday; thou correspondence concerning it was then read. shalt be as the morning." Both the cup The only condition attached by Dr. Osgood and plate are inscribed, after name, "From was that it should go to Harvard University old parishioners and friends, upon his eigh-in case the Chapel should ever cease to hold tieth birthday" (it is a pity that the in- it." IN Visited John Brown's grave at North Elba, half a mile across the fields from Hanmer's tavern, two miles by the road. His house, unpainted, small, one story and a half, with a small addition behind, is on a cleared plateau of five or eight acres : Whiteface," in full sight on the north and a fine view for a full semicircle or more, all round to the east and south of the Adirondack ranges; on the west and south, woods. The chief point about the place is the cleared, level plateau, laid down to grass, with scattered stumps now old and growing small; on this the house stands; my companion admires the taste that chose such a spot, — the finest site, he thinks, that we have seen. The grave is in a little enclosure, fifty feet square or so, close by the house, at the northeast; a huge boulder, of a flat rather than high shape (it is about eight feet high), occupies a full third of the enclosure; it seems bedded deep in the earth; steps lead to the top of it, and there, where the side of the rock rises a little from its general slope, one reads these words, cut into the solid stone and facing the east: JOHN BROWN. 1859. The grave lies at the side of this boulder and has at the head of it a slab, — an old one removed from some other place, with an antique inscription to the memory of Captain John Brown, who died in 1776; under this is another one to "John Brown, born 1800, executed at Charlestown, Va., Dec. 2, 1859;" | other inscriptions to his sons crowd the stone. This little enclosure is in grass, with a rose-bush or two; off at the east corner is a small maple. The rugged, massive rock is a fit companion at the grave; it is to be hoped that no other monument will be set up. . . . . It comes over one here that this man, more than any other one person, must be thought of as the victim of slavery, and that in him-whether it be true or not that his mind grew disordered are shown the revulsion and the protest of human nature itself at the horrid system. The nobly simple inscription upon the rock at John Brown's grave was placed there by a citizen of Boston. TO A LADY, [Whose ring bore the motto Dieu est ma Roche.] What went ye forth in that fair wilderness To look on, lady? - fawns of mottled skin, Or trembling does driven to unwonted deeps, Or the wild Saranac, half its glory gone Of grace obscure and lovely loneliness, And woods unconscious of the tourists' din, Where now no torrent unregarded leaps? Or to see Autumn his red mantle don, And the free forest in imperial dress? Lady! thy legend should have graven been There in the Adirondacks, where he sleeps Whose soul, the song saith, still is marching on. God was his rock, and fitly in the shade GENERAL SCHENCK, U. S. Minister to England, has been using an old American anecdote to good advantage. To the wife of a British cabinet officer, who assured him that "England made America all that she is," he said: "Pardon, madam, you remind me of an answer of the Iowa lad in his teens, who, attending Sunday school for the first time, was asked by his teacher, 'Who made you?' He replied, 'God made me so long (holding his hands about ten inches apart), but I growed the rest.'” MARY BOOTH. BY THOMAS W. PARSONS. WHAT shall we do now, Mary being dead, What can we do, but pillow that fair head, As it will soon, in snowdrop, violet, Each letter of that pretty alphabet writer is in error; for, so far from "Mother Goose" being a creature of fancy, she was, we beg to assure him, a veritable personage. The mother-in-law of Thomas Fleet, the editor, in 1731, of the “Boston Weekly Rehearsal," was none other than the original Mother Goose, the Mother Goose of the world-famous Melodies. Mother Goose belonged to a wealthy family in Boston, where her eldest daughter, Elizabeth Goose, was married by Cotton Mather, in 1715, to Fleet, and in due time gave birth to a son. Like most mothers-in-law in our own day, the That spells in flowers the pageant of the importance of Mrs. Goose increased with year? She was a maiden for a man to love; the appearance of her grandchild, and poor Mr. Fleet, half distracted with her endless nursery ditties, finding all other means fail, tried what ridicule could effect, and actually printed a book with the title, "Songs for The name of Love the sacred name of the Nursery; or, Mother Goose's Melodies Wife. She hath fulfilled her promise, and hath Let her down gently at the iron door! MOTHER GOOSE NOT A MYTH. MR. WILLIAM L. STONE, of this city, writes as follows to the "Providence Journal: ". for Children, printed by T. Fleet, at his printing house, Pudding Lane, Boston. Price ten coppers." Mother Goose was the mother of nineteen children, and hence we may easily trace the origin of that famous classic, "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, ABOUT THE AGE OF HORSES. A short time ago we met a gentleman who gave information in regard to ascertaining the age of horses after they have passed the ninth year, new to us, and will be, we are sure, to most of our readers. It is this: After the horse is nine years old, a wrinkle comes on the upper corner of the lower lid, and every year thereafter he has one well-defined In the January number of the "Brauno-wrinkle for every year over nine. If a horse nian" appears a well-written and interesting has three wrinkles, he is twelve; if he has paper entitled "Mother Goose's Melodies." four, he is thirteen. Add the number of In the first paragraph is this sentence: wrinkles to nine, and you will get it. So "Here the traditional bard is Mother Goose, says the gentleman, and he is sure it will of whom nothing certain is known. . . . . not fail. But more than the name history does not horses over nine, it is easily tried. As a good many people have In this statement, however, the the horse dentist must give up his trade. reveal." If true, surgery. This uncultured woman, born with an instinctive knowledge of anatomy, lives in a handsome villa about twelve miles distant. She is sought by people from all parts of the world, and, though she sometimes attempts to straighten limbs that have been distorted from birth and to correct the blunders of unskilful professionals, her specialty is the setting of hip dislocations, and I believe in this line she is without a living rival. I had been recommended to visit Regina, as she is familiarly called in this neighborhood, to see if she might not be able to regulate an arm that has troubled me somewhat since an accident I met with a year ago near Rome. The marvellous stories I had heard of her skill, the flattering tributes paid to her character by people of all professions, nationalities, and creeds, encouraged me to believe that my salvation rested in her hands, and I sought her this morning with my heart in my throat and my arm in a state of suspense. I went on alone to the villa of Regina, with its broad, cream-colored walls shining brightly on the hillside. A maid held the door open as I approached the villa, and I was at once ushered into a small drawing-room tastefully furnished. A portrait of Pope Pius IX. hangs conspicuously on one wall; a life-size photograph of Regina is on the opposite side of the room; a smaller photograph of the famous lady stood on the étagère in an elaborate frame, while a third was set in the cover of a large volume which ornamented the centre-table. This book, presented by the city of Trieste to Regina when she removed to her present villa, contains four thousand autographs of the best-known citizens of that place. There was also a large album, containing the photographs of many who have been successfully treated for deformities of various kinds by that lady whom I had come to see. While I was looking at this album she entered, a very plain woman of forty or more; short, stout, untidily dressed. The lower hooks of her waist were bursted, and there was nothing attractive in her personal appearance. Two of her front teeth were gone, der that she has never attempted to write her hair was rolled into a small wad at the Dr. Temple preached in this city and I |