HYDROPHOBIA.

the person to "get out of the way." He may take his road across a field in which there is a Ir is no pleasure to a dog to go mad. Quite flock of sheep. Could these creatures only make the reverse. Dreadful as hydrophobia may be room for him, and stand motionless, the dog to the human being, rabies is worse to the dog. would pass on and leave them behind uninjured. It makes its approach more gradually. It lasts But they begin to run, and at the sound the dog longer, and it is more intense while it endures. pricks up his ears. The dog that is going mad feels unwell for a Rage takes possession of him. His entire aspect changes. What made long time prior to the full development of the that noise? He pursues it with all the energy disease. He is very ill, but he does not know of madness. He flies at one, then another. He what ails him. He feels dissatisfied with every does not mangle, nor is his bite, simply considerthing; vexed without a reason; and greatly ed, terrible. He cannot pause to tear the crea against his better nature, very snappish. Feeling thus, he longs to avoid all annoyance by onward, till fairly exhausted and unable longer ture he has caught. He snaps and then rushes being alone. This makes him seem strange to to follow, he sinks down, and the sheep pass forthose who are most accustomed to him. The ward, to be no more molested. He may have sensation induces him to seek solitude. But there is another reason which decides his choice have worried more, had his strength lasted; for bitten 20 or 30 in his mad onslaught, and would of a resting place. The light inflicts upon him the furor of madness then had possession of intense agony. The sun is to him an instru- him. He may be slain while on these excurment of torture, which he therefore studies to sions; but if he escapes, he returns home and avoid-for his brain aches, and feels as if it were seeks the darkness and quiet of his former abode. a trembling jelly. This induces the poor brute is thirst increases, but with it comes the swellto find out the holes and corners, where he is least likely to be noticed, and into which the ing of the throat. He will plunge his head into light is unable to enter. In solitude and dark-water, so ravenous is his desire; but not a drop ness he passes his day. If his retreat be dis-is covered with bubbles in consequence of the of the liquid can he swallow, though its surface covered and the master's voice bid him come efforts he makes to gulp the smallest quantity. forth, the affectionate creature's countenance The throat is enlarged to that extent which will brightens, his tail beats the ground, and he leaves his hiding place, anxious to obey the loved aupermit nothing to pass. He is the victim of the thority; but before he has gone half the distance, the most intense inflammation of the bowels. most horrible inflammation of the stomach, and a kind of sensation comes over him, which pro- His state of suffering is most pitiable. He has duces an instantaneous change in his whole ap- lost all self-reliance; even feeling is gone. He pearance. He seems to say to himself: Why flies at and pulls to pieces any thing that is cannot you let me alone? Go away!-Do go within his reach. One animal in this condition away! You trouble-pain me!" And thereupon he suddenly turns tail, and back he goes mass, pulled out the live coals, and in his fury, being confined near a fire, flew at the burning into his dark corner. If let alone, there he will remain; perhaps frothing a little at the mouth, cries. The noise he makes is incessant and pecuand drinking a great deal of water, but not issu- liar. It begins as a bark, which sound, being too ing from his hiding place to seek after food. Ile torturing to be continued, is quickly changed to is more anxious for liquids. He is now altogether changed. Still he does not desire to bite a howl, which is suddenly cut short in the midmankind; he rather undeavors to avoid society; dle; and so the poor wretch at last falls, fairly he takes long journeys of thirty or forty miles in worn out by a terrible disease.-Mayhew's Dogs. extent, and lengthened by all kinds of accidents, to vent his restless desire for motion. .

scrunched them. He emits the most hideous

From the Home Journal. PHILIP FRENEAU.

When on these journeys, he does not walk. This would be too formal and measured a pace At the last meeting of the Historical for an animal whose whole frame quivers with Society, Mr. Evert A. Duyckinck read a disexcitement. He does not run. That would be criminating and masterly paper on the poetical too great an exertion for an animal whose body works of Philip Freneau, who died on the eightis the abode of a deadly sickness He proceeds eenth of December, 1832. The circumstances in a slouching manner, in a kind of trot-a move-of his death were thus announced in the Monment neither run nor walk-and his aspect is dejected. His eyes do not glare and stare, but they are dull and retracted. His appearance is very characteristic, and, if once seen, can never afterwards be mistaken. In this state he will travel the most dusty roads, his tongue hanging dry from his mouth, from which, however, there drops no foam. His course is not straight. How could it be since it is doubtful whether at this period he sees at all? His desire is to journey unnoticed. If no one notices him, he gladly passes by them. He is very ill; he cannot stay to bite. If, nevertheless, any thing opposes his progress, he will, as if by impulse, snap-as a man in a similar state might strike-and tell

mouth (New Jersey) Inquirer:-" Mr. Freneau was in the village, and started, towards evening, to go home, about two miles. In attempting to go across, he appears to have got lost and mired in a bog-meadow, where his lifeless corpse was discovered yesterday morning. Captain Freneau was a staunch whig in the time of the Revolution, a good soldier and a warm patriot. The productions of his pen animated his countrymen in the darkest days of '76, and the effusions of his muse cheered the desponding soldier as he fought the battles of freedom." While the Mirror was under our editorial direction, we published a biographical account of this popular revolutionary poet, from the pen of the

late John Pintard, who knew him well and inti- collegiate career with Madison, next. His story mately. The Evening Post is mistaken in sup- of many of his occasional poeins was quite roposing that there is no portrait of Freneau mantic. I told him what I had heard Jeffrey, extant. We saw a striking likeness of him in the Scotch reviewer, say of his writings, that the oil, from the pencil of the late Mr. Jarvis; but time would arrive when his poetry, like that of what became of it, or in whose possession it Hudibras, would command a commentator like remains, we have no means, at present, of ascer- Grey." taining. Dr. Francis is one of the few remaining friends of Freneau, and he furnished Mr. Duyckinck with the following pleasing reminiscences, which we take great pleasure in presenting to the reader :

MR. DONN PIATT, the Secretary of the American Legation at Paris, has written a letter to his friends in Cincinnati, Ohio, urging them to raise $2.000 by subscription, for the purchase of an original portrait of General Washington, which is now offered for sale in Paris, and which he thinks would adorn the new State House in Ohio:

"It was painted by the celebrated Wert Muller, in 1795, at Philadelphia, who went to the United States for that express purpose; and has not only the merit of being a magnificent painting, but the only portrait of him taken at that period-at a time before age had left its marks,

Sisters of Charity, Catholic and Protestant, Abroad and at Home. By Mrs. Jameson.

"It were easy," says Dr. Francis, to record a long list of eminent citizens who ever gave him a cordial welcome. He was received with the warmest greetings by the old soldier, Governor George Clinton. He, also, in the intimacy of kindred feeling, found an agreeable pastime with the learned provost of the American Protestant Episcopate, who himself had shouldered a musket in the Revolution, and hence was sometimes called the fighting bishop. They were allied by classical tastes, indeed, in the prime and vigor of his life. The a love of natural science, and ardor in the picture was at one time taken to Washington, cause of liberty. With Gates he compared when the price was held at $10.000, while now it the achievements of Monmouth with those at can be had for $2,000. I should think a subSaratoga. With Colonel Fish he reviewed scription, fixed at $1,00 each subscriber, would the Capture of Yorktown; with Dr. Mitchell he be soon taken up, and this valuable painting rehearsed, from his own sad experience, the secured to our State. The Government of physical sufferings and various diseases of the Russia has, through its Minister at Brussels, incarcerated patriots of the Jersey prison-ship; made an offer; but I have got the owners to and descanted on Italian poetry and the pisca-hold on until I can hear from the patriotism of tory eclogues of Sannazarius. He doubtless my native State." furnished Dr. Benjamin Dewitt with data for his funeral discourse on the remains of the eleven thousand five hundred American martyrs. With Pintard he could laud Horace and talk largely of Paul Jones. With Major Fairlie he discussed the tactics and chivalry of Baron Steuben. With Sylvanus Miller he compared notes on the political clubs of 1795-1810. He shared Paine's visions of an ideal democracy. With De Witt Clinton and Cadwallader D. Čolden he debated the projects of internal improvement and artificial navigation, based on the famous precedent of the Languedoc canal. I had, when very young," continues Dr. Francis, "read the poetry of Freneau, and as we instinctively become at tached to the writers who first captivate our imaginations, it was with much zest that I formed a personal acquaintance with the revolutionary bard. He was at that time about seventy-six years old, when he first introduced himself to me, in my library. I gave him an earnest welcome. He was somewhat below the ordinary height; in person thin, yet muscular, with a firm step, though a little inclined to THE NEWSPAPER PRESS IN PARIS.-The folstoop; his countenance wore traces of care, yet lowing return of the numbers daily printed by lightened with intelligence as he spoke; he was the principal Paris journals is taken from M. mild in enunciation, neither rapid nor slow, but Didot's pamplet on the fabrication of paper; it clear, distinct and emphatic. His forehead was may be regarded as official: Presse, 40,000; rather beyond the medium elevation, his eyes a Siècle, 35,000; Constitutionel, 25,000; Moniteur dark gray, occupying a socket deeper than com- 24,000; Patrie, 18,000; Pays, 14,000; Débats, mon; his hair must have once been beautiful-it 9,000; Assemblée Nationale, 5,000; Univers, 3,was now thinned and of an iron gray. He was 500; Union, 3,500; Gazette de France; 2.500; Gafree of all ambitious displays; his habitual ex-zettes de Tribunaux, 2,500. These journals are pression was pensive. His dress might have all printed in five offices, and the quantity of passed for that of a farmer. New-York, the city paper they annually consume amounts to more of his birth, was his most interesting theme; his than four millions of pounds.

private lecture intended to urge the propriety of The publication, with some additions, of a opening up a wider field of exertion for women. The branch of her subject brought forward by Mrs. Jameson is the one now prominently in the public eye, the great advantage of women as attendants on the sick. The wish of the lecturer is supported by an historical view of "Sisters of Charity," Romanist as well as Protestant; by authorities philosophical, medical, and philan thropical; by her own arguments,—perhaps deeper and better than anything she adduces at second hand, from the long thought she has given to the depressed position of the larger portion of her sex. The book, notwithstanding, is by no means the best specimen of Mrs. Jameson's writings. There is a want of sufficient purpose in the plan. and some deficiency of warmth and power in the exposition.-Spectator.

From the Gem.

THE MINING CURATE: A TALE.

BY JOHN CARNE, ESQ.

article, need not be ruined, with economy, even on forty pounds a year: but the Curate had a mother and sister to maintain; and they took a little house on the slope of a hill, and lived together in it. How they lived; how they lodged; what they ate and drank,—are mysteries that have never yet been sufficiently explained.

A WIDE and a wild parish is that of Calartha. Its aspect is strange and unusual; for the mines with which it abounds are situated on the brink of precipices, and even carried out into the sea. The edifices attached to Now, the Curate was no economist: had the them are seen fixed on isolated rocks, in the money found its way entire into his hands, it midst of the wave; while the rich produce would have all melted away like the mists on drawn from the bowels of the deep, far be- one of the neighboring hills: he would often neath, is conveyed, with singular ingenuity, give, and wished always to give, to the poor: over the lofty cliffs that tower behind. If any he loved, but not to excess, a cheerful glsss, one is satiated with luxurious scenery (and it and sometimes would cast his eye on his will sometimes satiate); if he would exchange threadbare coat, with a determined purpose groves, meadows, and fertile fields, for some to have a new one. All these indulgences new aspect of the ever-varied and impressive would quickly have made frightful invasions face of nature, let him come to this territory. on the income, if the mother and sister had The miner thrives, so does the farmer who lives not received the quarterly ten pounds with in the few cultivated and romantic valleys; an eager grasp, and watched over its little, the fisherman, also, plies his trade with great gradual ebbings, with a lynx eye and an iron success off the coast; but the clergyman has hand: the money had as well been at the scarcely enough to keep soul and body to- bottom of the tin shaft in the vale below, for gether. Notwithstanding the numerous popu- any indulgence it brought to him who toiled lation of the parish, he has only forty pounds for it. It was in vain that the son sometimes a year. Now, the man who, at the time of appealed to the parent in moving terms, when, our acquaintance with the affairs of Calartha, returned from a hot and dusty walk in the was the appointed religious instructor of its midst of summer, he begged hard for a few inhabitants, was, in every respect, admirably | shillings: "James," said the old lady, "resuited to his office. His form was spare and member the dignity of the cloth. "Would fitted for activity; his features aquiline; and you lower yourself by drinking, may be, more his large gray eye for ever restless. Had he than you can bear? Go and finish the disdoffed the cassock, and assumed the broad- course you've been writing, bit by bit all the brimmed hat, and the coarse woollen jacket and trowsers of the miner, and descended every day into the earth, he would have found there a better return for his labor than the marble hearts of his parishioners were disposed to give him. But then his profession made him a gentleman; he had received a good education, and had lived, for some time at least, among scholars and men of taste,-having been maintained at the University by one It might be thought that the imagination of the foundation societies, who often send would freeze, and the power of composition there candidates for holy orders. Poor man! be arrested by the hourly pressure of petty from the moment he set his foot in Calartha, sacrifices and denials, the uncertainty, when his daily and nightly study seemed to be, how he rose in the morning, whether any sufficient to supply the wants of nature in a comfort-refection would be that day given to the outable and sufficient manner: it would be pro- ward man: but it did not seem so; at least, fane to say luxurious-for what had he to do his public discourses were oftentimes very with luxury? He was acutely sensible he had nothing to do with it.

week: 'tis a beautiful piece o' writin', and there's no doubt the squire will ask ye to dinner after hearin' of it." The son looked down at the sound of dignity of the cloth: both his elbows were struggling through the time-worn vestment; yet he rose with a sigh, took down his manuscript, drew the table near the window, and was soon plunged in the very depths of his subject.

good, and even eloquent, and had evidently been the work of care and time. One reason Men's minds soon grow submissive to their of this perhaps was, that Sunday was his day situations; and after a vain and ineffectual of triumph; and he felt it to be so. After struggle of a few weeks to keep up appear- sinking, in temporal things, below his parishances, to vie in many things with his neigh- ioners during the whole of the week; after bors, to be thought to have a decent table, to pining for comforts which they enjoyed to the be seen to wear a decent dress, he gave it full, he found himself, on this day, elevated up in despair, just in time to save himself from total ruin. It may be said that a bachelor, in so distant a province, where there was no competition to enhance the price of a single DLXXV. LIVING AGE. VOL. IX. 36

above them,-was their instructor, their pastor, looked on by them as a man of learning and of power. He was far better adorned, also, than on week days: the gown left by his

predecessor was in very good condition, and Tantalus; but as much, and with equal jushis appearance, on the whole, was respectable tice, might be said of the sufferings of this and impressive. Then, after the service, the thirsty, poor, and much desiring man, who hand was held out more freely and respect- sat, from hour to hour, in a partial gloom, in fully the squire stopped in the aisle, and the which all the senses are more vividly awake, rich farmer without the door, to exchange kind listening to the ringing of glasses, and the and friendly words with him: and an invita- calls, continually repeated, for more supplies tion to dinner, from some one or other, some- of some refreshing beverage, of new and old times followed. There was a singular differ- ale, and even wine. Oft did he retire to rest ence in all his demeanor, and tone, and with a spirit tried to the very core. Alas! it bearing, on this day: his look was no longer needs not a guilty conscience to embitter life: restless and depressed, nor his attitude stoop- salt tears will stream down blameless cheeks. ing, nor his air soft and cringing: he spoke Thus passed away two or three years; when fast and free, sat at the friendly table as a one morning saw him summoned to a differgentleman should, and thought no more of his ent scene,-to attend one of his parishioners, forty pounds a year. The privations of the whose dwelling was at some distance. The whole week rendered the now loaded board man was dying, and over his bed bent a form an exquisite luxury. Perhaps, for his own and face that the eye would hardly look for peace, he had better never have sat there; within such walls: his condition in life was for, on his return at night, he was beset with only that of a peasant, yet the daughter, who the fruitless remarks and desires of his mother was his only child, was, in all opinions, the and sister, who were hardly ever asked out loveliest girl in the parish. Often, with suron these occasions; and during the ensuing prise, had the Curate marked her beauty from week, the daily and frugal meal was often the pulpit; and, in his few visits to the cotembittered with their repinings. To enter-tage, he had entered into conversation with tain a friend in his own house, was a thing her, and found, by the words that fell gently that never entered his head: had he dared to from her lips, that she had treasured his sermake the attempt, he might as well have faced mons in her memory and heart-the sweetest two hungry harpies, as met the looks and flattery, perhaps, that woman can pay to a words of his rigid relatives. He was often to youthful minister. He thought little of these be seen of an evening seated in the little win- things at this moment, however, but drew nigh dow seat, overlooking the road; and there he to the side of his parishioner, and spoke to feasted his eyes on the joyous groups that him in earnest and heartfelt tones: the man returned from the market of the neighboring raised his hand in token of satisfaction, and town, where they had ate and drunk, and seemed to devour every word he heard; but were now returning, in the fulness of their his eye, on which the world was now closing, hearts, to a comfortable home-to their own was not lifted to heaven, but bent on the girl warm hearth. And then a knot of farmers who hung over him. She was to be an orwould jog merrily by, talking, in loud voices, phan; and it seemed to be more than he could of the current prices, the coming harvest, and bear: he strove to man his spirit and call faith of their own well stored barns and yards. to his aid. But it might not be: the dread "And why should so great a gulf be fixed reality of the moment would not yield to the between the pastor and his flock? was a hope of future protection, which the minister question he might well ask himself. Even strove to inculcate. The parishioner, a man when twilight had spread its dimness over of strong but untutored mind, listened in seemdwelling and path, the form of the Curate ing calmness for some time; but when death might still be seen seated there: for candle- drew near, he struggled against the stern sumlight was spared, with infinite care and skill, mons, laid one hand firmly on his daughter's within the walls; and not till the middle of form, and when he felt that hand loose its November, was any fire allowed. So he loved hold, he turned his glazing eye on his pastor, to linger over the last gleams of light, rather and said, "Man, if there's a love stronger than turn to the void of his cheerless habi- than death, 'tis that for a desolate daughter: tation. To defend himself from the increas- watch over mine, if you hope for mercy; for ing cold, he used to put on his ancient and she is an orphan." The tears of the girl did rusty great coat, and fold it tightly round him. not fall alone; for the feelings of the Curate The want of light was supplied from the pub- were moved to the uttermost. Deaths and lic house of the village, which was directly funerals had, from habit, become to him familopposite, and only a few yards distant; for, iar things; but a death like this assailed every the rooms being as usual profusely lighted, avenue of his heart and memory. The sun a partial glare was received from them through was yet rising, and his red beams fell through the windows of the Curate's apartments. But the cottage window on the face of the dead, this was more to his annoyance than his com- whose thin hand was still extended towards fort. Much has been said of the torments of his child, as if he miserably mocked the king

:

of terrors; and on the features of that child a man to whom the command of a few shilwas utter friendlessness. The Minister stood, ings at a time had been an object of desire, with folded arms, on the other side of the the possession of so much wealth was exquibed his earnest aspect, and compressed lips, site. showed him to be no passionless spectator: he But there was a deeper cause also, and one bent forward, and taking the trembling hand of longer standing. The extensive parish of of the girl, led her from the apartment. He which he was the Curate, offered a beautiful hastened to his home; and thither the scene and enticing field of speculation, in which any followed him, the dying charge still thrilling sum, vast or minute, might be quickly employin his ear. On the next Sunday his eye wan- ed. The soil was in many parts covered with dered unconsciously to the people who enter- mines, whose piles of ore, worthless as well as ed: and when the orphan girl came in her valuable, were strewed over the surface. The mourning, the looks of the whole congrega- Curate had often fallen in company with the tion were instantly turned on her; for utter miners, who formed, indeed, no small part of desolation ever commands interest and pity. his parishioners; and the shrewdness and intelA stronger feeling was excited in the Curate's ligence of these men had not failed to interest mind, as he often sought the cottage, and gazed him. Then he had loved to linger, during his on her beauty, and loved it. But what had various walks, on the brink of these tempting he to do with love, when poverty, like an scenes, to survey the various and valuable proarmed man, stood in his path, and sternly duce, and watch the iron-bound vessel that warned the resistless stranger away? Could rose every moment to the surface and poured he, for a moment, think of introducing another its fresh treasures from the deep caverns of the to share the small pittance of his household? earth. It had never entered his mind, that he If he did, the delusive hope flitted in a moment away, like a cloud from the bosom of the rocky hill on which his dwelling stood: yet, in spite of fate, he continued to love, and in the meantime, exerted all his little influence in the parish to improve the condition of the orphan.

ly been subdued and submissive,-looked her full in the face, and met her glance of authority with one of equal command. The unhappy woman sank into a chair, wrung her hands, and said that a curse would come on the money thus awfully risked.

could partake in the mighty adventure, that he could ever blend his own destiny with that of the mine that spread around; but now the face of things was altered, and he resolved to adventure boldly and skilfully the property that had been left him. It was in vain that his parent, and Rachel, his sister, implored Thus passed away a year, at the end of him to pause, ere he committed so perilous and which a change came over his fortunes, a fearful a deed, for they never could survive, sudden and a great change. An old sister of they said, the loss of this treasure: the nature his mother's died, and left to her nephew the of the man was changed; and there never was property which had been the reward of a a more striking proof of the sudden influence whole life of griping and saving. They were of money on a disposition hitherto untried by all at their scanty breakfast when a letter, it. He returned brief and stern answers to with a black seal, was delivered: the son took the mother before whom his voice had formerand opened it; a sudden light came to his eyes that had long been a stranger there, and a deep flush passed over his cheek; for it was the letter containing the account of the bequest. The strong emotions that seized every one were some time in subsiding. There was now a delightful certainty that poverty would But there was another and more youthful dwell with them no more: life had never eye and tone, that he dared not thus to meet. brought an hour so elevating; they shed tears, In the evening he hastened to the cottage and then they laughed loud and long, in the where the daughter of the peasant still lived: fulness of their hearts; for the bequest amount- his feelings were delightful as he entered; and ed to nearly a thousand pounds. As it was he grasped her hand fervently, and looked long all left to the son, he had, of course, the en- and earnestly in her lovely face. His own featire disposal of every farthing; and while the tures were full of pride mingled with tendermother and sister naturally wished to sur- ness: for he felt that she was his own; and, to round their little household with comforts and his ardent imagination, there seemed someenjoyments, and extend their consequence thing exquisite in rescuing her from desertion, among the neighbors, he was occupied with and executing the trust of her dying father: different thoughts. The use he made of the for poverty had crushed hitherto the spirit of money affords an instance of the strange way- the Curate, and shrouded every thing that was wardness of the human heart. He no soon- noble and generous in it. The girl spoke low er received the sum, than the insatiable de- and passionately, and there was hope in her sire of increasing it, like a demon, entered his voice and eye, as she wished him joy of his heart. The strong and sudden novelty of good fortune; for she had begun to love the the event had its share, perhaps in this: to kind-hearted Minister, who had been a faithful