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few traces. A poor stricken widow, a lonely castlo in Austria, an autograph in a Derbyshire scrap-book, bitter memories among the Mexicans, and a few beautiful and well-finished coins in a United States museum are all that remain of the founder of an empire in Mexico. Poor Maximilian! The late Confederate States of America are represented here by promises to pay which they could never redeem. A large scrap-book is filled with notes like the following:—“The Confederate States of America promise to pay the Bearer One hundred dollars, two years after the ratification of a peace with the United States."
There are specimens of quartz from the gold mines of Nova Scotia, of pare copper from Lake Superior, and most curious of all is a bird's nest, a perfect nest, incrusted with carbonate of lime in a wonderful manner. I left the mint and its museum with the feeling that I had never spent an hour in sightseeing more profitably and enjoyably.
Perhaps you will nowhere find an establishment more self-contained as to all its departments of labour than the Continental Hotel. Two stories below the level of the street are workshops, in which the artificers of the concern are busily engaged. Gas-lights flaring fiercely, along with a consciousness that we are below the ground, suggest to the lively imagination of an American companion that the scene bears a resemblance to Dante's Inferno.
Of course we visited Fairmount Park and Waterworks. Passing over the river Schuylkill, the conductor pointed out the dwellings along its banks as being the homes of the poorer and more turbulent population; for we are sorry to say there are such Arabs even in great and good Philadelphia, and streets in which a man's life is not safe after dark. The waterworks uphold the renown of the
city. Never-failing supplies are pumped up from the "river, and the clear sparkling stream sent circling through
twelve miles of streets and dwellings. A dam is built across the river, and through a race cut in the solid rock the current is brought to play upon the waterwheels, and • there supply the power for pumping. The whistle-call of a tiny steamer summons us on board, and we ascend the river to the pretty falls. Near here are the beautiful cemeteries of Mount Vernon and Laurel Hill, the former entered by a simple gateway guarded by an Italian campanile; the latter through a many pillared portico. Within the gates at Laurel Hill we come upon the monument, or rather the sculptured group known as “Old Mortality,” and cut in the solid rock, overlooking the Schuylkill, is the tomb of Dr. Kane, the Arctic traveller. The cemetery is a triumph of landscape gardening, and is bright and gay with blooming flowers, and green with cedars of Labanon and the weeping ash. Further
up the river, and along the banks of Wissahickon Creek, many a ferny dingle and many a dimpled flume unknown to fame will gladden the eye of the rambler, and perhaps he will come upon spots which are known to fame and name like “ Fairy Dam” and “Poet's Haunt."
In American parks you see much green and few flowers. In this respect Fairmount is no exception. It has groves of chesnut and maple, but you miss the pansies, the roses, the primroses and violets, the heaths and rhododendrons, the geraniums and the trumpet-flower which flourish so bravely just over the southern line. The river Schuylkill is its lake or fringe of silver, anå among its artificial attractions are a finely chiseled monument to Frederick Graeff, the man who originated the plan for laying out the park; and the wooden hut or cabin in which General Grant lived during his campaigns in Virginia.
I found the old park-keeper quite a learned man in his way. He could tell me the names of trees growing in the the city squares which puzzled me sadly to make out and classify. There was the Chinese catulph with its clusters of thimble-shaped blossoms like bunches of grapes, and leaves three times the size of a man's hand; the analanthus, or tree of heaven, with its long tine-like leaves ; the silver and red-stem maples, with the chestnut, Spanish and over-cup oaks. The linden trees have served other purposes besides forming street-parasols, according to the following, which is taken from the London “Telegraph” of April 23rd, 1869 :
The streets of Philadelphia, like those of most American cities, have their pavements bordered by limes, planes, elms, and other “shade” trees, the value of which is incalculable during the summer heats.
For many years past, the trees have been infested by countless swarms of insects, known as measuring"
“span" worms, which hang from the branches by their long silken cords, adhere to ladies' dresses, crawl over gentlemen's hats, alight on parasols, and otherwise obtrude their disagreeable presence on the passers-by. The City Fathers determined on applying to old Mother England for a cure ; and an agent was sent over to procure 1,000 sparrows. They were brought to Philadelphia, tended with great care until the beginning of Spring, and a few days since they were liberated in the heart of the city, to fly whithersoever they chose. The sparrows have since been building nests in belfries and under the caves of buildings, and have also taken possession of the boxes set up for them in the parks and squares. Thus settled in their new home, they are expected to multiply rapidly, and be in good condition for fighting the “measuring worms” when they make their abhorrent appearance about the end of May. The sparrows have experienced the warmest welcome in Philadelphia. The Mayor, at the time of the liberation, issued a special proclamation, requesting the public to protect the little strangers, and prohibiting all persons from injuring them.
At home one occasionally sees ladies who adopt the quiet garb of the Quakers, and here one meets cousins of theirs in the same dress of drab and silver-grey. It feels strange however, when from under the large “cottage bonnet” peors forth the swarthy face of a negress, who scorning the gay bandana, chooses to follow the Friends in fashions. The dress is strictly adhered to only by the orthodox section of Quakers,—the other section, the Hecites are not so formal in the matter of the "othee" and "thou" and the dress. My kind friend Lewis Cooper tells me that the largest meeting-house” in the city belongs to members of the old régime. Next to the Swedes' buryingground, its grave-yard is the oldest in the city. It is said that William Penn spoke over the grave of the first person interred there. During the Revolution and also during the late Rebellion, some of the good Quakers laid aside their peace principles, and fought bravely for a cause which they valued more even than peace.
Lewis Cooper himself is one of the Hecite sectiop. His definition of the use of speech or language is simple enough—"Use the words by which you can best be understood,”—and of dress, “ use that material which is most comfortable, healthy and warm.” Why therefore be bound by any rule of speech or dress ? I told him the story of Alexander and Diogenes,-the conqueror of the world came to the philosopher and asked him how to be happy ; “Be humble minded” said the stoic, and taking
*This conduct was not approved by “Friends” in England. A lady thus eloquently pleads in favour of the non-fighting Quakers. “No community has had the cause of freedom so near at heart as our Society. Therefore it was not necessary to add to the real help they did afford, by taking up the sword. Many Friends refused to join the army, and were persecuted for so doing... But they were in a remarkable manner preserved from evil."
the rich mantle of the king, he trampled upon it saying, “thus I trample upon the pride of Alexander.”
6. With greater pride, Diogenes,” said the Macedonian king. This story took the good Friend's fancy, and pleased him immensely.
I had looked upon Franklin as a father of the American people, and expected to find in this city traces of him as numerous as his own cardinal points of morality. The last evening of my stay had come, and as yet I had seen nothing to remind me of him, except the Square called by his name, when “I drew a bow at a venture," and asked a Quaker gentleman to show me the printer's house and grave. With ready courtesy he at once volunteered to go with me. The house stood in Franklin Square, near Hudson-Street. No traces of either home or printing shop now remain, but the spot can be pretty well identified. The present owner of the ground told me that when he came to build his mansion, he filled up an old well, and discovered a strong arched cave at the back of the wall. The old market-house in which Franklin used to address the citizens, is still standing, and is now a stable. His grave is in a church-yard at the corner of Arch and Fifth streets. The wall has been remored, and a railing put up in its place, so that people may see the plain grave-stone which simply records the name and age of him whose remains lie beneath. Some relatives of the name of Bache still live in Philadelphia, but the great man's name is extinct. By Americans, says my guide, Franklin is little known, and little enquired after. It is the old story of a prophet without honor in his own country.” Dilapidated Mount Vernon also prores this. The busy selfish world goes on, and in this city of Philadelphia, each one for himself, cares little or naught for the past. When thanking my guide for his courtesy, be remarked that his countrymen are not very ready to show