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story in the gay life of Voltaire and his congenial associates.

We have made here the acquaintance of a very pleasant gentleman and his accomplished wife, by the name of Saltzman. He is a retired watch manufacturer. In company with Mr. Consul Upton, wife, and sister, we had the honor one day of dining with them. We mention this for the purpose of introducing a touching personal incident of the occasion. We will premise by saying that when the writer was at Geneva in 1867, Mr. Upton had two interesting daughters, Lucie and Estella, both young ladies grown. The latter, however, was then a suffering invalid, and died not very long afterward. Lucie subsequently married a Greek gentleman of fine character and went with him to reside in Greece, where they were blessed by the birth of a son, and, sorrowful to tell, the mother soon thereafter followed her sister to the spirit-land. At the dinner table Mr. Upton was led to speak of a melancholy pilgrimage he had not long before made to the home and grave of this cherished daughter; and he repeated, in a tone and with a pathos we shall never forget, some lines he had written in allusion to this sad journey over the sea. At our special request he sent us the next day a copy of those lines, and we give them as they appear before us in his own plain hand:

A CONCEIT.

Float me safely, dark blue waves,
O'er the Mediterranean sea —
A living tie between two graves,
I go, their spirit-tie to be.

From where Estella lies in gloom,
A rose, an autumn rose, I bear,

To softly lay on Lucie's tomb,
Whose leaves would else have perished there.

*

Now tell me, tea-rose, whisper low!
Have the dear sister-spirits met ?
And are they where bright flowers grow ?
And are they where no cheeks are wet?

Be still, my heart! I cannot hear
What the fluttering leaves would say.
Oh, coward heart! you doubt, I fear,
And I, in anguish turn away.*

CHAPTER XXXII.

U NOVEMBER 4.–We have now fairly en

tered upon what we undertook not without some apprehension of sickness -a trip to Italy. We have heard a great deal about the deadly malaria of the Campagna, and of the debilitating and often fatal Roman fever, and we should leave a

itself a gem.

* We should not have ventured thus to raise the vail which concealed this sacred reminiscence from the public eye, but that we are obliged to record here, as we do in deep sorrow, the death of our dear friend, the author of this little poem

He died suddenly, supposed from heart disease, on the night of June 17, 1877. Mr. Upton had held the office of United States Consul at Geneva since his appointment by President Lincoln in the spring of 1861. In addition to this, he was from time to time called on to perform the duties of United States Minister for Switzerland during the absence of that officer; and on the 23d of January, 1877, after the Swiss mission had been reduced to that of a Charge d'Affaires and Mr. Rublee had resigned, Secretary Fish gave him the appointment, outside of his consulship, of Charge d'Affaires ad interim, and he held this office until his death. Admirably qualified by his ability, education, and courtesy of demeanor for any such position, he was ever most faithful to his trust.

truth unspoken did we not frankly admit this apprehension. It was this concern of mind, no doubt, that superinduced this child's prayer one night as we lay more asleep than awake:

Great Father, guide us on our way,

And keep us safe from every harm;
We crave Thy care from day to day,

To cheer and keep from false alarm. Oftener than otherwise when one in sleep or in a dreamy state thinks he has said a wise or witty thing, on awakening he is surprised to find it the very opposite; but those lines appeared so fully to express our feelings and desires that, simple as they are, we put them in our note book, without, however, the remotest idea of their ever going further. If any apology is needed for copying them here, it may be found in the patent fact that we started out and have continued on a somewhat familiar plane with our readers in all that we have had to say.

Much of the time while we have been in Geneva the weather has been rainy, and it rained when we left there at half-past six on the morning of the 2d instant. We at first thought of taking Cook's tour tickets, which were offered at only about half the regular fare; but we were obliged to decline them because they were limited to ninety days— the length of time Mr. Seward said it would take to put down the rebellion. Before starting, on the day before, we procured from a restaurant a plump roast chicken, some nice bread, and a bottle of vin ordinaire, for our next day's lunch on the train-preferring to take our meal quietly in our compartment to running the chance of “a hasty plate of soup” at a restaurant outside. Knowing that we were to have the company of Mr. and Mrs. J. S. Stickney and

Rev. Mr. Sumner, a young Congregational preacher from Chicago, they, on our advice, in like manner, secured the requisite materials for “internal improvement.” Rev. Mr. Frazier, from Philadelphia, on his way to Egypt, and a German gentleman were the only other occupants in our compartment. Wet as it was when we left Geneva, before we reached Culoz, two and a half hours' ride, we came out into fair weather, such as we had seldom seen for a month. The road runs along the slopes of the Jura mountains on the right bank of the Rhone, which flows through a narrow rocky valley between the Jura and Mont Vouache, where it is commanded by a French fort high up on the right. As the clouds overhead broke away, they settled down for many miles on the top and side of the Jura mountains, presenting, as the sun shone upon them, one of the most beautiful pictures of the kind we ever beheld. They were fleecy like cotton, and as from our elevated position we could see the top as well as the side of the clouds—the sky beyond forming the background -- we could hardly find words to express our admiration of the tableau. Our special companion remarked that “the mountains seemed to be reluctant to lose their soft enveloping curtain so gently obscuring their peaks.” The scenery all the way between Geneva and the Mont Cenis Tunnel - there must be at least twenty other tunnels on the whole route-is strikingly interesting, some of it being almost as fine as is to be seen anywhere in Switzerland. There was an examination of baggage at the French frontier, and then again at Modane, just before entering the great tunnel, near the eastern end of which, but some two hundred feet below in the valley, is a small village, where there is

a railroad junction. Our track led along the side of the mountain and directly above this village, where we had to pass over a bridge, which had evidently just been destroyed by a flood and temporarily reconstructed sufficiently to allow the train to pass. As we were on a curve, and moved very slowly, we could see the danger to which we were exposed, since, had this temporary structure given way, we should inevitably have been precipitated to the bottom of the valley. Just before reaching this bridge, we saw the guard and one or two passengers alight and run ahead as though they were apprehensive of danger, and we think it was wrong not to have allowed all the passengers to do the same. The entrance to the tunnel does not differ from those of other railroad tunnels. There is a double track, and at short intervals lamps on high posts mostly between the tracks, but occasionally at the side; and if our eyes did not deceive us, there is a narrow foot way, also at one side. We were on the left track, and passed a lighted hand car with several roadmen on it in one part of the tunnel. We were not in the least disturbed by either smoke or gas, nor did we observe any unusual closeness in the air. While passing through, all in our compartment, except the German gentleman, united in singing the “Rock of Ages," "Nearer my God to Thee,' “Shall we Gather at the River," and "The Morning Dawn is Breaking," the last at Mrs. Stickney's suggestion, just as the twilight began to pierce the darkness at the further end of the tunnel. We entered the tunnel, which is eight miles long, precisely at five minutes past five and emerged from it at twenty-eight minutes past five, thus occupying twenty-three minutes in the passage. On the as

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