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Image provided by: Rochester Regional Library Council
J 'Multum in Parvo/ Vol. 2. No. 10. RUSH N. Y. Thursday April 21,1881. 35 cents e Year. Voices of the Night. When bed-time comes and curtains fall And 'round I go, the doors to lock, Ere lamps go out my wife doth call: \Remember dear, to wind the clock.\ When boots are off, and for the day All earthly cares seem put to rout, I hear wife's voice from dreamland say: \Be sure you put the kitten out.\ When stretched between the sheets I lie, . And heavy lids have ceased to wink ; From trundle-bed there comes a cry: \I want a dwink! I want a dwink !\ -—««»-^~-»».... ,—_ Traveling Without Seeing In the carriage with me were two Amer- ican girls with their father and mother— people of the class which has made so much money suddenly, and does not know what to do with it; and these two girls, about fifteen and eighteen, had evidently indulg- ed in everything that Western civilization could imagine. And here they were, speci- mens of the utmost which money and in- vention of the nineteenth century could pro- duce in maidenhood, children of its most progressive race, enjoying full political lib- erty, enlightened philosophical education, cheap pilfered literature, and luxury at any cost. Whatever money, machinery, or f ' vvdom of thought could do for these two yUdren, had been done. ISTo superstition la I deceived, no restraint degraded them— types they could not but be, of maidenly fe- licity and wisdom, as conceived by the for- wardest intellects of our time. And they were traveling through a dis- trict which, if any in the world, should de- light the eyes and teach the hearts of young girls. Between Yenice and Verona! Por- tia's villa perhaps in sight upon the Brenta, Juliet's tomb to be visited in the evening- blue against thh southern sky, the hills of Petrarch's home. Exquisite midsummer sunshine, with low rays, glanced through the vine leaves ; All the Alps were visible from the Lake Garcia to Cadore, and to the farthest Tyrol. What a princess's chamber this if these are princesses, and what dreams might they not dream therein ? But the two American girls were neither princesses,nor seers, nor dreamers. By infi- nite self-indulgence they had reduced them- selves simply to two pieces of white putty that could feel pain. The flies and the dust stuck to them as to the clay, and they per- ceived between Yenice and Verona, noth- ing but the flies and the dust. They pulled down the blinds the moment they entered the carriage, and then sprawled and writhed and tossed among the cushions of it, in vain contest; during the W T hole fifty miles, with every miserable sensation of bodily afflic- tion that could make time intolerable. They were dressed in thin white frocks, coining vaguely open at the backs as they stretched or wriggled ; They had French novels,lem- •ons, and lumps of sugar, to beguile their state with ; the novels hanging together by the ends of a string that had once stitched them, or adhering at the corners in densely bruised dog's ears, out of which the girls, wetting their fingers, occasionally extract- ed a gluey leaf. From time to time they
