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pipe, a vase, or a statue that may have been removed or destroyed; to execute in rapid succession any number of solderings; to repair in a few minutes all dents, cracks, and flaws in sheets, or pipes of new lead; to remove entirely the enormous edges or knots left by the oldfashioned joints, and that without weakening them; to give, in short, to works of lead a precision of execution, and a solidity, unattainable up to this time.
Autogenous soldering will also be of great assistance to several chemical manufactures, where it is so important to have large vessels of lead without alloy. By uniting a number of sheets into one, vessels of pure lead of any size may be formed for the process of acidification and concentration of saline solutions; for the formation of scouring vats employed by so many artisans who work metals; for vessels of every kind used to contain liquids which act upon tin solder.
In the repair of leaden vessels exposed to the action of heat, peculiar advantages are offered by autogenous soldering. By the old method the holes which are so often caused in the bottoms of these vessels, either by the action of sudden flames, or by deposits that form on their surface, can be stopped only, when they are not of too large dimensions, by making what are called weldings of pure lead. The cases in which this mode of repair is available, are very limited, and whenever it is impracticable the boilers must be taken down, the lead changed, and then re-set; thus occasioning considerable expense and an interruption to business. By the new method nothing is easier than to apply pieces to the bottom or sides of the vessels, whatever be the size of the holes, and thus the whole of a boiler may be renewed piecemeal. By this plan, too, the old lead remains uncomtaminated with solder, and consequently will yield a pure metal to the melting-pot.
The great ductility of lead, which, in many cases, is one of its most valuable qualities, is, however, an inconvenience when instruments or utensils are required of considerable strength. At the same time there are circumstances where this metal alone can be employed, on account of the manner in which it resists chemical action. By constructing vessels or instruments of iron, zinc, or wood, and covering them with lead, utensils can be formed that will resist pressure and blows, and most chemical agents, as well as if they were made of solid lead. Such vessels are required in the preparation of soda, and other gaseous waters; in the distillation or evaporation of acid or alkaline solutions, and for many other purposes.
Another application that deserves especial notice is that of lining common barrels with thin sheet-lead. These vessels would be of great utility in chemical factories, more particularly in the construction of Woulf's apparatus, and other pneumatic instruments, to which greater dimensions could be given by this means; but they could be employed with singular advantage in the transport of acid and alkaline liquids by sea and land. Sulphuric and muriatic acids are transported in stone bottles, or glass carboys placed in baskets, which, however carefully packed, are liable to be broken, not only with the loss of the acids, but with danger to surrounding bodies. We are told of two French ships that perished at sea on a voyage to the colonies, in consequence of the breaking of some bottles of sulphuric acid.
In the manufacture of sulphuric acid the use of ordinary solder is impracticable, since it would soon be corroded. The following method was introduced some years ago for forming sulphuric acid chambers, and the concentration pans. Two edges of lead being placed in contact, were flattened down into a long wooden groove, and secured in their situation by a few brass pins driven into the wood. The surfaces were next brightened by a triangular scraper, rubbed over with candle-grease, and then covered with a stream of hot melted lead. The riband of lead thus applied, was finally equalized by
being brought into partial fusion with the plumber's conical iron heated to redness; the contact of air being prevented by sprinkling rosin over the surface. The autogenous soldering apparatus will greatly simplify the above method.
The advantages to be derived from the new process are by no means confined to lead: the apparatus may be employed in using for solder either the common alloys, or pure lead, to unite zinc, and iron, and lead, with iron, copper, and zinc. It may be substituted also with advantage for the common blow-pipe and lamp of the enameller in all their applications to the soldering anà joining performed by the aid of these instruments by jewellers, goldsmiths, tinmen, manufacturers of plated goods, of buttons, &c.
The flame produced by the combustion of the gas may be most economically employed for heating soldering irons. A few seconds suffice to bring the iron to the desired temperature, and it can be kept at that temperature for many hours without being liable to burn, nothing more being necessary than to regulate the flame by means of cocks, and the workman need not be obliged to change his iron, or even to leave it for a single moment. Hence there is not only a considerable saving in manual labour, but also in fuel, which in most cases, is of greater consequence.
Such are a few only of the advantages of this simple and beautiful invention, which is now very extensively adopted in France, and will doubtless get into extensive use in this country, when its merits are more generally known.
Since the publication of our former article on this subject we have been informed, that previously to the year 1833, a Mr. Mallet had employed an apparatus constructed on the same principle, and used in a similar manner, as that already described as the invention of M. de Richemont. Our correspondent quotes the following passage from LoUDON'S Encyclopædia of Cottage Architecture, published in 1833:
Mr. Daniel, of King's College, London, has since published the same thing as new, and of his invention; however, I can establish priority by my laboratory journal.
Our correspondent, in consequence of having seen this account, pointed out the method to two mechanics employed by him. "I should think, therefore," he says,
"that neither is M. de Richemont entitled to the credit of the invention, nor the patent good, in this country at least: although it may be perfectly possible that he invented it without being aware of its having been not only previously known, but even employed, in this country."
THE soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
LINES WRITTEN BY LORD MELCOMBE TO DR. YOUNG, NOT LONG
SKETCHES OF IRISH MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
THE indifference to their own interests in some of these Patlanders is very curious: in general, their anxiety for their money is quite tormenting, as they cannot give twopence of change, and we are obliged to keep small change and copper as if we had a shop; but sometimes the national indolence is too strong for the national poverty. One of our many butchers, dwelling in the glens, clad in fragments, but with one of the best faces I have seen in the country, frank, cheerful, honest and intelligent, and very well featured, sent us by his wife half a sheep we had ordered, but not the bill, which was also ordered: so I went to speak to the woman about it, a short, fat, rosy lump of a woman, and looking as good-humoured as she was fat. "Why have you not brought the bill ?" "Faith then I was too lazy; if the man had been in, it may be I'd have brought it." "You must bring the bill and half a sheep on Friday without fail." "Well, I cannot say; may be the man will be up the mountain, and it may not be convenient to me. "But indeed it must be convenient to you; your husband will not be up the mountain the next four days; tell him to make it out the first time he comes home, and do you bring it on Friday." She looked very doubtfully, so I said, "If you do not bring the bill weekly as I desire, I really will not take your mutton; so you must take your choice." "Well, I suppose I must try if I can bring it," and so she departed, got half up the drive to the road, and came back to ask, if my honor would be plased to buy a pennyworth of eggs, which she had brought four or five miles.
The accounts we read of the kindness of the Irish poor to each other are quite correct. I have just seen a strong instance. Having visited a sick man in his little bed-room, I went back to the kitchen to give the wife some further directions; there were several women helping or hindering as might be, and in the corner, on the ground, something dark which I supposed to be a sack till it rustled. I suppose I looked surprised, for the wife immediately told me that it was "a poor body quite simple and innocent, just come in to rest a little." I found they had let her sleep there the night before, though the man was very seriously ill, and had given her breakfast. She then went away, and in the evening she went to the next cottage, and told the woman she was come to her for her supper; the people at the first cottage had been so kind to her, that she did not like to go to them; she got her supper at once, though the woman had a very large young family, and then she went to her first friends to beg a rest on the floor where I saw her; at night the wife wished to send her away, the man being so ill, but he would not allow it, and the poor creature talked the whole night, which did him no good. She had been a schoolmistress, and showed a politeness and good breedlag, of which the cottagers were very sensible. How she lost her senses, they could not make out, but she fancied herself an engineer of the tides, and that the government were defrauding her of her pay. Some calico was given to her, and the kind cottagers pressed her to stay and cut the things out; but she went away no one knew where, and returned in a day or two to show her work, and take up her quarters again with her good friends, when I again saw her eating oat cake. Her being "quite simple and so polite," seemed to make a great impression upon them; indeed I could not for some time make out that she was not in her right mind.
I think the Irish cottagers are more alive to manner than the same class are in England, and their own manners are much better: in the children, the difference is marvellous. Ask an English child a question, it stares, ponts, cries, runs away, but never thinks of answering; ask an Irish child of the same age the same question, it
will look steadily at you with a clear bright eye, and give a distinct answer in a moment.
Instead of the dogged looks of our country people, there is generally a very pleasant, cheerful expression of countenance, and a kindly manner, and a consideration for the comfort of strangers that surprised me very much at first. There was a very bad bit of road between us and the town, newly made and laid with horrid little stones as sharp as saws. I certainly could not help looking out for a smooth place that would hold half a foot; though rather ashamed of appearing to mind with my strong shoes, what so many bare feet were paddling upon; but the people saw that it was uneasy to me, and every day several kind voices said as I passed, "Coorse walking for ye, Mem," upon which, if I liked the face of the speaker, began a little chat; their readiness to speak without presumption pleases me very much.
There is a neat little old woman of 104, who walks from the town, a long hilly half a mile, very often, for a little help. She and the master are great friends, and as he had given her money to buy a shift, at her particular request, she came up to thank him, and afford him ocular demonstration that she was wearing it, and was quite surprised at his walking off, and at the horror of the English servants. Sometimes her visits are too frequent, and she gets a denial which she does not like, and still worse, she was passed without notice on the road quite inadvertently. Soon after she saw us coming, and began, "Here comes the amiable and honourable Mr. E.; you passed by me the other day and never spoke to me," &c., and regularly scolded him for his neglect, but allowed herself to be chatted and laughed into good humour.
Every one has heard of the strange manner in which the Irish return thanks. A man employed on some small job for us, was I fancy rewarded rather beyond his expectations, for he exclaimed, "Thank ye, offisher, may your purse never be light, and may your life be long." We found this man one day making a gutter all round his cabin, and paving it with the large smooth stones of the shore, as neatly as possible; he seemed to enjoy the idea of making the house so dry, and was pleased at our admiring his work, and praising his industry.
They have generally a strange indifference to the way in which they finish their work. A man was desired to put a moveable handle to a cast-iron plate; he let the plate fall and broke it, and was obliged to screw on the handle most clumsily. When he was rebuked for his carelessness, he maintained that he "had done no harm; the plate was just the same, barring the disfigurement.' Another man finishing an expensive job, was asked if he was sure it would answer well; "It will do well enough," said he, "but there will be a bother:" and bother there surely was.
The phrases "How do you do?" or "Good morning," seem quite unknown; the invariable salutation of the lower orders, amongst themselves, and to their superiors, is, "A fine day;" which means, anything not desperately bad: "A soft day;" which is anything from a mist to a perfect pour of rain: or "A coorse day;" which ranges from a breeze to a hurricane. I have never yet heard an Irish man or woman, who did not begin their talk with one of these sentences, and I have taken some pains to try if I could get any reply to my Good morning or evening, besides one of these everlasting remarks. I do not think I have heard Yes, or No, direct, since I have been in the country; and what sounds strange, is that their idiom gives an impression of greater accuracy and decision. Will it rain to day? It will not. Did you go to the shoemaker? I did. Does this water boil? It does. Has the mail passed? It has: and so on through everything.
I am daily struck with the imperfect idea that the very best of our writers nave given of the brogue; the
last of the last syllable of most of their words is so sunk, that to give a notion of it in writing it should be represented by an apostrophe: as for children it is childr', not at all childer, as is often written; nor even childre, as we sometimes see, but quite shortened to the r. Blayntyre, Blaynt'; potatoes, prat's; stockings, stock's.
They speak much faster than our people, and much better. I am frequently astonished at the pithy fluency and variety of their expressions: they like talking to their superiors if they meet a kind manner, and begin to talk in a way that would be impertinent in England, but which the simplicity and heartiness of their manner makes very agreeable. Our servant, whilst waiting at dinner, will frequently begin giving his thoughts upon the most advantageous manner of laying out our garden, or the best mode of bargaining for potatoes, or hay, or oats; showing that he has been occupied about our interests, and so sometimes there is a long dialogue which with us could not be endured, but here it is done in such a way that it would be the height of pride and ill nature to check the old man.
Sometimes, if they want a little money in a hurry, they set about selling some of their property in a very odd way. A rosy, well-featured woman, with lively mtelligent eyes, and teeth and cap as white as snow, pounced upon me at our own gate the other day, with "May I be spaking to ye, Mem?" and proceeded to enquire, should I be buying geese? for she had fine ones to sell," that is, not me, but the brother in law of me; he was wanting a thrifle to make up the rint at onst; and the wife is just gone, and so he thought to sell the geese; had she lived she would not have parted them, but she deceased, an' if ye choose to lave the geese a few days for the benefit of the stubble, ye can have them when ye will; and I'd give ye security for them :there's James M'Alister, do ye know him?" "No." May be ye'd know Aleck Kenne ?" "Yes." "Well, he'll be security that the geese will be safe, though indeed, no dacent body would be selling fowl and denying them." "What colour are they?" "Well, they'll just be grey, some, and white:" (laughing, as if she thought the question very simple). "I ask because the all-grey, or the allwhite, are much better than the parti-coloured." "Are they? Well, there's many that rears them and sells them, and knows no more about them; the quality knows best for that, but it's all God's will; He gives to some, and not to others; we must just all be thankful." She took great pains to explain where we were to send to see the geese, and the shortest and best way; but to be sure it was intricate enough. The Irish names of the towns I vainly endeavoured to pronounce; she repeated and repeated, and at last, in a little pet, she gave the English names, and the meaning, and said, "Sure it was as asy to say one as the other;" and then she apologised for her gibberish which to be sure must trouble us to understand, but she could not help it. The gentlemen she said was great for the divarsion, and he had an Irish tongue too, but she could hear that I was an English lady. She had fifteen acres of good land, and was content, the brother-in-law had forty-five acres of bad land, and she thought her own bargain much the best. We parted, agreeing to pay for the geese the next day, and have them home in a fortnight. I hope the foxes will not make a feast upon any of them. Foxes are so abundant in the glens that they are killed at half a crown a head,-a proceeding which, being accustomed to fox-hunting counties, appeared to me quite outrageous.
"The towns' mean but the cottage: it cannot apply distinctly to cottages built upon one particular townland, because in a little circle of half a mile there will be twenty cottages quite detached, or some two or three clustered together, as may be; but each single cottage, as well as each cluster, is a town, and they speak indifferently of "my town," or "my place." They have a
queer custom of generally standing in their carts as they drive along, and a still queerer of calling it sailing; and Jack M'Aulay's history of a fall he had as he was sailing along, by which there was a contact between his hard head and the hard stones, in which his head was cracked entirely, would have been worthy of Mathews. The practice is so common, that seeing a cart building, and making some observation on its structure, the man, who was a very decent, nice-looking person, told us “it was intended just for sailing."-I was amused one day with seeing a man sailing along just on the front bar of a very small cart, in which were nine children, who sat, stood, scrambled, chattered, screamed, and fought, in the most restless confusion, and with the greatest danger of falling overboard. The man pursuing his way wholly regardless of the clamour and pranks of his crew, which were so very absurd that we laughed heartily; though we expected an accident every moment, they passed safely out of sight, and I suppose had any mischief occurred, we should have heard of it.
A gentleman of our acquaintance bought a horse from one of the small farmers in the neighbourhood, and we asked the man what Mr. - had bought the horse for, as he was so very small; " Oh, he's just bought him for the servant to ride after the ladies when they go out sailing in a fine summer evening;"—when, as the gentleman's residence was close to the sea, and we were not then aware what sailing Hibernicè meant, we were greatly astonished at the services man and horse were to perform.
In all ages and all countries, man, through the disposition he inherits from our first parents, is more desirous of a quiet and approving, than of a vigilant and tender conscience; desirous of security instead of safety; studious to escape the thought of spiritual danger more than the danger itself; and to induce, at any price, some one to assure him confidently that he is safe, to prophesy unto him smooth things, "and to speak peace, even when there is no peace."-ARCHBISHOP WHATELY.
THE EFFECTS OF POLITICAL CONTROVERSY.
THERE are pursuits in life, high in their character and eminently useful, which nevertheless have something in them that almost inevitably tends to take from the human disposition that amiableness of temper which is so essential to happiness. Prominent among these pursuits is that of politics. Whether a man be an actor in the political affairs of his country, or merely an attentive looker-on and a commentator, there is so much of misrepresentation, so much of effrontery, so much of injustice in all its forms, to be remarked upon, to be excused, or to be resented, that, in a man of quick sensibility, a bitter indifference or a passionate partisanship is almost sure to be the result. Both of these are unfavourable to virtue and happiness, and the first is and violence, and he may subside into philosophy; but he the worse of the two. Time may wear out a man's passion who acquires a habit of bitter contempt for the conduct of men, even in their most important concerns, and who thus despairs of any permanent triumph of justice or establishment of good, is likely to go to his grave a sneerer and a misanthrope. If indeed he be of a retiring and meditative disposition, this hopeless view of human affairs may resolve itself into mere melancholy and pity; but this will not be Every day will afford them fresh evidence of folly and fresh the result with such as continue to belong to active life. food for contempt; and they go upon their way with a bitter smile upon their lips, while cold scorn sits triumphant upon their hardened hearts.-The Table Talker.
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COGGESHALL is a market town, partly situated on low ground near the north side of the river Blackwater, in Essex, and partly on the acclivity of a pleasant hill rising on the same side. On this latter account it is supposed to have been named in Saxon Loggerhall, i. e., Sunny Bank, and in the old deeds, Sunnendon. It is fortyfour miles from London and ten from Colchester. According to one authority Coggeshall owes its existence to the abbey, whose foundation attracted towards it a number of dependants and inhabitants: but some antiquaries suppose it to have been of Roman origin, and, Mr. Drake argues strongly in favour of its being the Canonium of Antoninus. Its distance, he observes, exactly answers to the numbers of the Itinerary, which places Canonium between Camulodunum and Cæsaromagus: the latter he supposes to be Dunmow, from which a military way runs in a direct line to Colchester. The opinion that Coggeshall is identical with the station Canonium, he endeavours to corroborate by mentioning some Roman coins and other antiquities, that have been found in this vicinity. Among the latter was an "arched vault of bricke, and therein a burning lampe of glasse, covered with a Roman tyle some fourteen inches square, and one urn with ashes and bones; besides two sacrificing dishes of polished red earth, having the bottom of one of them with faire Roman letters, inscribed COCCILI M." This inscription is supposed by Mr. Burton to be intended for "Coccili Manibus;" . e., to the Manes of Coccilus. Others affirm it to be only a potter's mark found on many vessels that have been
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dug up in England and elsewhere. In a place called Westfield, belonging to the abbey, and situated about three-quarters of a mile from Coggeshall, was also found, says Weever, "by touching with a plough, a great brazen pot. The ploughman supposing it to have been hid treasure, sent for the abbot to see it taken up. The mouth of the pot was closed with a white substance like paste or clay, as hard as burnt brick; and when that was removed, another pot inclosed a third, which would hold about a gallon; and this was covered with a velvet-like substance, fastened with a silken lace; within this were found whole bones, and many pieces of small bones, wrapped up in fine silk of fresh colour, which the abbot took for the relics of some saint, and laid up in his vestiary; but it was more probably a Roman urn." This and the former discovery seem certainly insufficient to prove that Coggeshall is the actual site of a Roman station; although some think they afford evidence of its having been a Roman villa.
In the reign of Edward the Confessor this lordship belonged to Čolo, a Saxon; but at the time of the Domesday survey it was held by Eustace, earl of Boulogne, whose heiress, Maud, conveyed it to the crown by her marriage with Stephen, earl of Blois, afterwards king of England. In the year 1142 Stephen and his queen founded an abbey here, near the river, for Cistercian or white monks; and having dedicated it to the Virgin Mary, endowed it with this and other manors. In 1203 King John granted the abbot and his convent permission to inclose and impark their wood at Cogges
hall; and in 1247 they obtained a license from King Henry the Third to inclose and impark extensive woodlands in Tolleshunt, Inworth, and other places: the king also invested them with the privileges of holding a market weekly, and an eight days' annual fair. monastery was largely endowed by succeeding benefactors; and a chantry was founded in the church to pray daily for King Edward the Third, Philippa his queen, and their children; for which the sovereign, on the 11th of January, 1344, made them a grant of a hogshead of red wine, to be delivered in London by the king's gentlemen of the wine-cellar, every year at Easter. A second chantry was founded here in 1407, by Joan de Bohun, countess of Hereford, and others, who bestowed some valuable estates upon the monks for its support. On the surrender of the abbey, 5th of February, 1538, its annual revenues were, according to Speed, valued at 2981. 85. In the same year Henry the Eighth granted the manor of Coggeshall and other estates to Sir Thomas Seymour, brother of Edward, duke of Somerset, who in 1541 exchanged them with the king. Since that period this manor has been divided, and passed through various families. Only a small part of the abbey is now remaining near it is a bridge of three arches, originally built by King Stephen, over a channel that was cut to convey the water of the river nearer tɔ the abbey.
ANECDOTE OF AN AMERICAN INDIAN.
A FEW years ago, a Pawnee warrior, son of "Old Knife," knowing that his tribe, according to their custom, were going to torture a Panduca woman whom they had taken in war, resolutely determined, at all hazards, to rescue her from so cruel a fate. The poor creature, far from her family and tribe, and surrounded only by the eager attitudes and anxious faces of her enemies, had been actually fastened to the stake, her funeral pile was about to be kindled, and every eye was mercilessly directed upon her, when the young chieftain, mounted on one horse, and according to the habit of his country leading another, was seen approaching the ceremony at full gallop. To the astonishment of every one, he rode straight up to the pile, extricated the victim from the stake, threw her on the loose horse, and then vaulting on the back of the other, he carried her off in triumph!
Sh is won! we are goue,-over bank, bush, and scanr: "They'll have fleet ste ds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar. The deed, however, was so sudden and unexpected, and being mysterious, it was at the moment so generally considered as nothing less than the act of the Great Spirit, that no efforts were made to resist it, and the captive, after three days' travelling, was thus safely transported to her nation, and to her friends. On the return of her liberator to his own people, no censure was passed upon his extraordinary conduct-it was allowed to pass unnoticed.
On the publication of this glorious love-story at Washington, the boarding-school girls of Miss White's seminary were so sensibly touched by it, that they very prettily subscribed to purchase a silver medal, bearing a suitable inscription, which they presented to the young Red-skin as a token of the admiration of White-skins at the chivalrous act he had performed, in having rescued one of their sex from so unnatural a fate. Their address closed as follows:
"Brother! accept this token of our esteem; always wear it for our sakes: and when again you have the power to save a poor woman from death, think of this, and of us, and fly to her relief."
The young Pawnee had been unconscious of his merit, but he was not ungrateful. "Brothers and sisters!" he exclaimed, extending towards them the medal which had been hanging on his naked breast, "this will give me ease more than I ever had, and I will listen more than I ever did to white men.
"I am glad that my brothers and sisters have heard of the good act I have done. My brothers and sisters think that I did it in ignorance; but I now know what I have done.
"I did it in ignorance, and did not know that I did good; but by giving me this medal I KNOW IT!"-Quarterly
THE BRANDY PEST
We had listened to Justine's narration with deep emotion; we all surrounded the good child, pressed her in our arms, Justine was right; if her father had been able to foresee the and tried to comfort her by the assurance of our love. consequences of his habit of drinking spirits, he would certainly have shunned the snare. And how many people are still living, who, with the brandy-glass in their hand, smile carelessly at the slowly-approaching ruin of their body, of their mind, and of their whole family.
I consulted my wife, and we determined to take care of Justine, whatever might happen. We could easily perceive that her heart was still attached to the playmate of her youth, although without hope. But the question was whether Fridolin Walter was stil! thinking of the poor deserted Justine, or whether he was already married, and whether he still lived in his native home, or had returned to England? Nay, we did not even know whether he was still alive. I repented having neglected my correspondence with him, and I resolved to undertake a journey in order to see him, and to ascertain his circumstances. Justine was not to be informed of what I was about to do. 1 seated myself in my carriage, and left home, and the next day reached the native village of Fridolin and Justine.
It was a fine summer's evening, and the people were still working in the fields. I left the carriage at a little distance from the village, and walked thither on foot, in order to satisfy my impatient curiosity by inquiry. I met a ragged peasant, who stood leaning on a dung fork, staring idly about him. Upon my inquiring whether Dr. Walter still lived in the village, the pale-faced fellow looked at me stu- * pidly for a while, repeated my question slowly, and added, "Yes, sir, the devil has not yet carried away the peopleflayer." I was somewhat shocked at this answer, and continued my questions; but I got nothing but still more confused, and less agreeable news of the doctor. extremely sorry for it. How could Fridolin possibly have changed in so few years? and yet I had often seen similar changes in mankind. Poor Justine! thought I. I went on, and on the way joined an old woman, with a basket on her head. At the repetition of my question about Fridolin, she said, "You mean our mayor? Certainly, he is at home." "Is he your mayor? Is he liked by the people?"
"To be sure," replied the old woman, "he is a very worthy and a wise man, and has done a great deal of good to our village."
This encouraged me again. I learned now from my talkative companion that Dr. Walter lived in the house of his mother, that he was unmarried, that he possessed a large fortune, that he assisted many poor families, that he was t true friend to the widow and the orphan, and that he there fore enjoyed the universal esteem of the neighbourhood and had been chosen member of the Great Council of the Canton; but that he refused the office, because he would no be separated from his patients. At the entrance of the villag she showed me one of the most beautiful houses on the right hand side of the road, in the midst of a garden, and said it was the mayor's house. I entered without ceremony
An old lady, distinguished by manners full of dignity received me in the hall: she was Fridolin's mother. Sh conducted me to her son, who was sitting at his writing desk, but came towards me, and soon recognised me. H received me cordially. I allowed him to suppose that had availed myself of a journey on business to renew ou old acquaintance; and both he and his mother insiste upon my spending a few days with them. My luggag was then fetched from the inn.
Fridolin was still the same hale, vigorous man; b melancholy was not yet quite banished from his feature "I divert myself as well as I can," said he, "and I ha opportunity enough to do so, for I have plenty of occup
He shrugged his shoulders; but said quietly, in almost indifferent tone, "I know not where she may She took too much to heart the death of her father, w after having deceived widows and orphans, as well as best friends, committed suicide. Not half his debts co be paid out of the money he left behind him, so the ho and ground were sold; but the accursed house afterwards destroyed by fire. All my inquiries, all