Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science - Volume 11, No. 27, June, 1873

Various

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• Publié par: erkya
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 32
• Langue: English
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature
and Science, by Various
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Title: Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science
Vol. XI, No. 27, June, 1873
Author: Various
Release Date: August 16, 2004 [EBook #13195]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ***
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
Transcriber's Note: The Table of Contents and the
list of illustrations were added by the transcriber.
LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE
OF
POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.
June, 1873.
Vol. XI., No. 27.
TABLE OF CONTENTSILLUSTRATIONS
A NEW ATLANTIS.609
THE ROUMI IN KABYLIA.
CONCLUDING PAPER. 621
A REMINISCENCE OF THE EXPOSITION OF 1867 by ITA ANIOL
PROKOP.636
SLAINS CASTLE by LADY BLANCHE MURPHY. 646
OUR HOME IN THE TYROL by MARGARET HOWITT.
CHAPTER III.654
CHAPTER IV. 659
SAINT ROMUALDO by EMMA LAZARUS.663
A PRINCESS OF THULE by WILLIAM BLACK
CHAPTER VIII. "O TERQUE QUATERQUE BEATE!"669
CHAPTER IX. "FAREWELL, MACKRIMMON!"679
THE EMERALD by A.C. HAMLIN, M.D. 688
BERRYTOWN by REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.
CHAPTER VIII. 697
CHAPTER IX. 699
CHAPTER X. 704
BOWERY ENGLAND by WIRT SIKES. 708
DAY-DREAM by KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD. 716
OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.
THE GLADSTONE FAMILY. 717
WHITSUNTIDE AMONG THE MENNISTS. 721
THE RAW AMERICAN by PRENTICE MULFORD. 722
FAREWELL by LUCY H. HOOPER 722
NOTES. 723
LITERATURE OF THE DAY. 725
Books Received. 728
ILLUSTRATIONS
ATLANTIC CITY FROM THE LIGHTHOUSE.
UP THE INLET.
LANDING-PLACE ON THE INLET.
CONGRESS HALL.
MR. RICHARD WRIGHT'S COTTAGE.
THE SENATE HOUSE.
ON THE SHINING SANDS.
MR. THOMAS C. HAND'S COTTAGE.
THE THOROUGHFARE.
THE EXCURSION HOUSE.
A SCENE IN FRONT OF SCHAUFLER'S HOTEL.
ABD-EL-KADER IN KABYLIA.AN AGHA OF KABYLIA HUNTING WITH THE FALCON.
THE DISCIPLES OF TOFAIL.
A KOUBBA, OR MARABOUT'S TOMB.
KABYLE MEN.
KABYLE WOMEN.
DEFILE OF THIFILKOULT.
AN ARAB MARKET.
POVERTY AND JEWELS.
GEORGE CHRISTY IN AFRICA.
[pg 609]
A NEW ATLANTIS.
The New Year's debts are paid, the May-day moving is over and settled, and
still a remnant of money is found sticking to the bottom of the old marmalade
pot. Where shall we go?
There is nothing like the sea. Shall it be Newport?But Newport is no longer the ocean pure and deep, in the rich severity of its
sangre azul. We want to admire the waves, and they drag us off to inspect the
last new villa: we like the beach, and they bid us enjoy the gardens, brought
every spring in lace-paper out of the florist's shop. We like to stroll on the shore,
[pg 610] barefooted if we choose, and Newport is become an affair of toilette and gold-
mounted harness, a bathing-place where people do everything but bathe.
UP THE INLET.
Well, Nahant, then, or Long Branch?
Too slow and too fast. Besides, we have seen them.
Suppose we try the Isles of Shoals? Appledore and Duck Island and White
Island, now? Or Nantucket, or Marblehead?
Too stony, and nothing in particular to eat. You ask for fish, and they give you a
rock.
In truth, under that moral and physical dyspepsia to which we bring ourselves
regularly every summer, the fine crags of the north become just the least bit of a
bore. They necessitate an amount of heroic climbing under the command of a
sort of romantic and do-nothing Girls of the Period, who sit about on soft shawls
in the lee of the rocks, and gather their shells and anemones vicariously at the
expense of your tendon achilles. We know it, for we have suffered. We
calculate, and are prepared to prove, that the successful collection of a single
ribbon of ruffled seaweed, procured in a slimy haystack of red dulse at the beck
of one inconsiderate girl, who is keeping her brass heels dry on a safe and
sunny ledge of the Purgatory at Newport, may require more mental calculation,
involve more anguish of equilibrium, and encourage more heartfelt secret
profanity than the making of a steam-engine or the writing of a proposal.
No, no, we would admire nothing, dare nothing, do nothing, but only suck in
rosy health at every pore, pin our souls out on the holly hedge to sweeten, and
forget what we had for breakfast. Uneasy daemons that we are all winter, toiling
gnomes of the mine and the forge—"O spent ones of a workday age"—can we
[pg 611] not for one brief month in our year be Turks?LANDING-PLACE ON THE INLET.
Our doctors, slowly acquiring a little sense, are changing their remedies. Where
the cry used to be "drugs," it now is "hygiene." But hygiene itself might be
changed for the better. We can imagine a few improvements in the materia
medica of the future. Where the physician used to order a tonic for a feeble
pulse, he will simply hold his watch thoughtfully for sixty seconds and prescribe
"Paris." Where he was wont to recommend a strong emetic, he will in future
advise a week's study of the works of art at our National Capital. For lassitude,
a donkey-ride up Vesuvius. For color-blindness, a course of sunrises from the
Rigi. For deafness, Wachtel in his song of "Di quella Pira." For melancolia,
Naples. For fever, driving an ice-cart. But when the doctor's most remunerative
patient comes along, the pursy manufacturer able to afford the luxury of a bad
liver, let him consult the knob of his cane a moment and order "Atlantic City."
—Because it is lazy, yet stimulating. Because it is unspoilt, yet luxurious.
Because the air there is filled with iodine and the sea with chloride of sodium.
Because, with a whole universe of water, Atlantic City is dry. Because of its
perfect rest and its infinite horizons.
But where and what is Atlantic City? It is a refuge thrown up by the continent-
building sea. Fashion took a caprice, and shook it out of a fold of her flounce. A
railroad laid a wager to find the shortest distance from Penn's treaty-elm to the
Atlantic Ocean: it dashed into the water, and a City emerged from its freight-
cars as a consequence of the manoeuvre. Almost any kind of a parent-age will
[pg 612] account for Atlantis. It is beneath shoddy and above mediocrity. It is below Long
Branch and higher up than Cape May. It is different from any watering-place in
the world, yet its strong individuality might have been planted in any other spot;
and a few years ago it was nowhere. Its success is due to its having nothing
importunate about it. It promises endless sea, sky, liberty and privacy, and,
having made you at home, it leaves you to your devices.CONGRESS HALL.
Two of our best marine painters in their works offer us a choice of coast-
landscape. Kensett paints the bare stiff crags, whitened with salt, standing out
of his foregrounds like the clean and hungry teeth of a wild animal, and looking
hard enough to have worn out the painter's brush with their implacable enamel.
From their treeless waste extends the sea, a bath of deep, pure color. All seems
keen, fresh, beautiful and severe: it would take a pair of stout New England
lungs to breathe enjoyably in such an air. That is the northern coast. Mr. William
Richards gives us the southern—the landscape, in fact, of Atlantic City. In his
scenes we have the infinitude of soft silver beach, the rolling tumultuousness of
a boundless sea, and twisted cedars mounted like toiling ships on the crests of
undulating sand-hills. It is the charm, the dream, the power and the peace of the
Desert.
And here let us be indulged with a few words about a section of our great
continent which has never been sung in rhyme, and which it is almost a matter
of course to treat disparagingly. A cheap and threadbare popular joke assigns
the Delaware River as the eastern boundary of the United States of America,
and defines the out-landers whose homes lie between that current and the
Atlantic Ocean as foreigners, Iberians, and we know not what. Scarcely more of
an exile was Victor Hugo, sitting on the shores of Old Jersey, than is the
denizen of New Jersey when he brings his half-sailor costume and his beach-
learned manners into contrast with the thrift and hardness of the neighboring
commonwealth. The native of the alluvium is another being from the native of
[pg 613] the great mineral State. But, by the very reason of this difference, there is a
strange soft charm that comes over our thoughts of the younger Jersey when
we have done laughing at it. That broad, pale peninsula, built of shells and
crystal-dust, which droops toward the south like some vast tropical leaf, and
spreads its two edges toward the fresh and salt waters, enervated with drought
and sunshine—that flat leaf of land has characteristics that are almost Oriental.
To make it the sea heaved up her breast, and showed the whitened sides
against which her tides were beating. To walk upon it is in a sense to walk
upon the bottom of the ocean. Here are strange marls, the relics of i