which he gazed, for his look passed slowly from end to end of what seemed to be the vacant wall before him, going back and forward with everincreasing delight manifested in his whole aspect. His mother then asked him, if what he saw was some wonderful sight beyond the confines of this world, to give her a token that it was so, by pressing her hand. He at once took her hand, and pressed it meaningly, giving thereby an intelligent affirmative to her question, though unable to speak. As he did so a change passed over his face, his eyes closed, and in a few minutes he was gone. "The third case, which was that of my own brother, was very similar to this last. He was an elderly man, dying of a painful disease, but one which never for a moment obscured his faculties. Although it was known to be incurable, he had been told that he might live some months, when somewhat suddenly the summons came on a dark January morning. It had been seen in the course of the night that he was sinking, but for some time he had been perfectly silent and motionless, apparently in a state of stupor; his eyes closed and his breathing scarcely perceptible. As the tardy dawn of the winter morning revealed the rigid features of the countenance from which life and intelligence seemed to have quite departed, those who watched him felt uncertain whether he still lived; but suddenly, while they bent over him to ascertain the truth, he opened his eyes wide, and gazed eagerly upward with such an unmistakable expression of wonder and joy, that a thrill of awe passed through all who witnessed it. His whole face grew bright with a strange gladness, while the eloquent eyes seemed literally to shine as if reflecting some light on which they gazed; he remained in this attitude of delightful surprise for some minutes, then in a moment the eyelids fell, the head drooped forward, and with one long breath the spirit departed." A different kind of case to those above narrated by my friend was that of a young girl known to me, who had passed through the miserable experiences of a sinful life at Aldershot, and then had tried to drown herself in the river Avon, near Clifton. She was in some way saved from suicide, and placed for a time in a penitentiary; but her health was found to be hopelessly ruined, and she was sent to die in the quaint old workhouse of St. Peter's at Bristol. For many months she lay in the infirmary literally perishing piecemeal of dis ease, but exhibiting patience and sweetness of disposition quite wonderful to witness. She was only eighteen, poor young creature! when all her little round of error and pain had been run; and her innocent, pretty face might have been that of a child. She never used any sort of cant (so common among women who have been in refuges), but had apparently somehow got hold of a very living and real religion, which gave her comfort and courage, and inspired her with the beautiful spirit with which she bore her frightful sufferings. On the wall opposite her bed there hung by chance a print of the lost sheep, and Mary S., looking at it one day, said to me, "That is just what I was, and what happened to me; but I am being brought safe home now." For a long time before her death, her weakness was such that she was quite incapable of lifting herself up in bed, or of supporting herself when lifted, and she, of course, continued to lie with her head on the pillow while life gradually and painfully ebbed away, and she seemingly became nearly unconscious. In this state she had been left one Saturday night by the nurse in attendance. Early at dawn next morning-an Easter morning, as it chanced-the poor old women who occupied the other beds in the ward were startled from their sleep by seeing Mary S. suddenly spring up to a sitting posture in her bed, with her arms outstretched and her face raised, as if in a perfect rapture of joy and welcome. The next instant the body of the poor girl fell fell back a corpse. Her death had taken place in that moment of mysterious ecstasy. A totally different case again was that of a man of high intellectual distinction, well known in the world of letters. When dying peacefully, as became the close of a profoundly religious life, and having already lost the power of speech, he was observed suddenly to look up as if at some spectacle invisible to those around, with an expression of solemn surprise and awe, very characteristic, it is said, of his habitual frame of mind. At that instant, and before the look had time to falter or change, the shadow of death passed over his face, and the end had come. In yet another case I am told that at the last moment so bright a light seemed suddenly to shine from the face of a dying man, that the clergyman and another friend who were attending him actually turned simultaneously to the window to seek for the cause. Another incident of a very striking character occurred in a well-known family, one of whose members narrated it to me. A dying lady, exhibiting the aspect of joyful surprise to which we have so often referred, spoke of seeing, one after another, three of her brothers who had long been dead, and then apparently recognized last of all a fourth brother, who was believed by the bystanders to be still living in India. The coupling of his name with that of his dead brothers excited such awe and horror in the mind of one of the persons present, that she rushed half senseless from the room. In due course of time letters were received announcing the death of the brother in India, which had occurred some time before his dying sister seemed to recognize him. Again, in another case a gentleman who had lost his only son some years previously, and who had never recovered the afflicting event, exclaimed suddenly when dying, with the air of a man making a most rapturous discovery, "I see him! I see him!" Not to multiply such ancedotes too far-anecdotes which certainly possess a uniformity pointing to some similar cause, whether that cause be physiological or psychical-I will now conclude with one authenticated by a near relation of the persons concerned. A late well-known bishop was commonly called by his sisters, "Charlie," " and his eldest sister bore the pet name of "Liz." They had both been dead for some years when their younger sister, Mrs. W., also died, but before her death appeared to behold them both. While lying still and apparently unconscious she suddenly opened her eyes and looked earnestly across the room, as if she saw some one entering. Presently, as if overjoyed, she exclaimed, "Oh Charlie!" and then after a moment's pause, with a new start of delight, as if he had been joined by some one else, she went on, "And Liz!" and then added, "How beautiful you are!" After seeming to gaze at the two beloved forms for a few minutes, she fell back on her pillow and died. Instances like these, might, I believe, be almost indefinitely multiplied were attention directed to them, and the experience of survivors more generally communicated and recorded. Reviewing them, the question seems to press upon us: Why should we not thus catch a glimpse of the spiritual world through that half-open portal wherein our dying brother is passing? If the soul of man exists at all after the extinction of the life of the body, what is more probable than that it should begin, at the very instant when the veil of the flesh is dropping off, to exercise those spiritual powers of perception which we must suppose it to possess (else were its whole after life a blank), and to become conscious of other things than those of which our dim senses can take cognizance? If it be not destined to an eternity of solitude (an absurd hypothesis), its future companions may well be recognized at once, even as it goes forth to meet them. It seems indeed almost a thing to be expected, that some of them should be ready waiting to welcome it on the threshold. Is there not, then, a little margin for hope-if not for any confident belief that our fondest anticipations will be verified, nay, that the actual experience of not a few has verified them? May it not be that when that hour comes for each of us which we have been wont to dread as one of parting and sorrow The last long farewell on the shore Of this rude world, ere we "put off into the unknown dark"-we may find that we only leave, for a little time, the friends of earth, to go straight to the embrace of those who have long been waiting for us to make perfect for them the nobler life beyond the grave? May it not be that our very first dawning sense of that enfranchised existence will be the rapture of reunion with the beloved ones, whom we have mourned as lost, but who have been standing near waiting longingly for our recognition, as a mother may watch beside the bed of a fever-stricken child till reason re-illumines its eyes and with outstretched arms it cries, "Mother?" There are some, alas! to whom it must be very dreadful to think of thus meeting on the threshold of eternity, the wronged, the deceived, the forsaken. But for most of us, God be thanked, no dream of celestial glory has half the ecstasy of the thought that in dying we may meet-and meet at once, before we have had a moment to feel the awful loneliness of death-the parent, wife, husband, child, friend of our life, soul of our soul, whom we consigned long ago with breaking hearts to the grave. Their "beautiful" forms (as that dying lady beheld her brother and sister) entering our chamber, standing beside our bed of death, and come to rejoin us forever-what words can tell the happiness of such a vision? It may be awaiting us all. There is even, perhaps, a certain hope. But, even if it be a dream, the faith reprobability that it is actually the natural destiny of the human soul, and that the affections, which alone of earthly things can survive dissolution, will, like magnets, draw the beloved and loving spirits of the dead around the dying. I can see no reason why we should not indulge so ineffably blessed a mains, built on no such evanescent and shadowy foundation, that there is One Friend-and he the best-in whose arms we shall surely fall asleep, and to whose love we may trust for the re-union, sooner or later, of the severed links of sacred human affection. LEONARDO DA VINCI. THE Castello di LEONARDO DA VINCI. But all that he achieved was surpassed by the exquisite fresco of "The Last Supper," upon which he worked sixteen years. It was painted for the Duke of Milan, Ludovico Sforza, who was his admiring and most appreciative patron, upon the walls of the Dominican monastery of the Church of Santa Maria della Grazia, where what remains of it is still to be seen on the walls of the Refectory. It is sadly decayed and defaced, having been broken away, and sustained much other injury from ill usage during the occupancy of Italy by the French troops, at the close of the last century, although Napoleon gave very explicit directions for its careful treatment. But slight conception can be attained now of its original beauty, before which men bowed in reverent homage and wept. We have called it a fresco; but though this is the popular idea in regard to it, it is not a fresco, but was executed with distilled oils upon the dry plastering of the wall, by a process invented by Leonardo himself. This is the chief cause of its decay, as great pieces of the plastering peel off as from any other wall attacked by damp or other causes. Although "The Last Supper' is the greatest evidence of his surpassing genius which has come down to us, it was the fruit of only one of his many acquirements. He was one of the most accomplished men of his age, remarkable for the beauty of his face, which is described as marked by the most intellectual characteristics; his carriage was exceedingly graceful, and his bearing noble and courtly. His strength was so remarkable he could twist a horseshoe with his fingers and break a coin in two in the palm of his hand. His conversational powers were of the most brilliant sort, and his scholarly attainments were remarkable. He is described as so bright and joyous that his childish friends, of whom he owned an host, almost worshipped him; he used to make all kinds of curious toys with which to entertain them; he even tamed a sort of lizard, for which, by the aid of some preparation of quicksilver, he made wings, which were so real and lifelike when the creature moved as to deceive old as well as young. He made his funny pet, horns, a beard, and painted circles around its eyes, giving it such a terrifically fiendish appearance as to make people fly in fright at sight of it. He was induced to leave Florence and live at Milan, by Ludovico Sforza, whom he charmed in the first place by his wonderful musical ability; he constructed a silver lyre of remarkable and original character, which crowds eagerly assembled for the privilege of hearing him play upon. He sang the loveliest songs-the music and words of which he had himself composed. He extemporized both music and poetry to the delight of all who listened. He excelled in eloquence, and was quoted by the most astute minds of his time as one of the most finished and ornate orators. Some of the most splendid hydraulic engineering done at that period of the world's history was designed by him and executed under his immediate superintendence for the improvement of Milan. He constructed the famous aqueduct which supplies Milan with water, called Mortesana, by which the river Adda is brought over two hundred miles to the city. His most celebrated pieces of sculpture are his San Tommaso in Orsanmichel at Florence; a horse in the Church St. John and St. Paul at Venice; and three statues cast in bronze by Rustici, which he modeled for the Church of St. John at Florence. And this wonderful manpainter, sculptor, architect, poet, man of science, leader in belles-lettres, elegant and accomplished scholar and gentleman, distinguished for his remarkable mechanical knowledge-was equally cele brated for his military acquirements and aptness in all sports and feats of skill. Ludovico of Milan, had coveted him, and won him from Florence by his splendid offers, charmed by his music; and Louis XII. of France, delighted by his unrivaled feats of horsemanship, by the wonderful skill and ease with which he managed and subdued the most ungovernable horses, strove on his visit to Milan, 1479, at which time Leonardo was the chief ornament and attraction in his entertainment by the Duke, to tempt him by every promised offer of honor and advancement to leave Milan and become the chief acquisition of the French court; but in vain. However, though he resisted these offers, in 1520 Leonardo visited France, prevailed upon by the urgency of the then King Francis I., but his health was very frail, and the King came frequently to Fontainebleau to visit him. One day lying upon his couch when the King was announced, Leonardo arose to receive him, but falling forward in a swoon, was caught in the royal arms. And thus pillowed, the soul of this gifted man went out, and Leonardo da Vinci was henceforth but a memory. A DEDICATION. BY ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. THE sea gives her shells to the shingle, Let the wind take the green and the gray leaf, The night shakes them round me in legions, Dead fruits of the fugitive years; NOTES AND QUERIES. Longevity. In your August number you give a case of family longevity. A family in this place excels the one given so greatly that I am induced to send the record for insertion. John Breese, of Barnard's Township, Somerset County, New Jersey, married Dorothy Riggs; died there and was buried at Baskingridge Presbyterian Meeting-House. They had a son Samuel, who moved to Wyoming in 1789, who had nine children. The ages of each of the persons mentioned are as follows: John, died 4th March, 1803, aged.. the great goddess Nerbudda, whose reputed beauty had enraptured him. At first scorning his embassies of love, she at last consents to become his bride, and makes great preparations for the nuptials. As he nears the mountain of Omerc, upon whose summit is her castle, he is met by Jubilla, her slave, a beautiful girl, herself in love with Sona. Attired as a queen she presents herself to him, and he, accepting her, receives her as his wife. But the honeymoon is interrupted by Nerbudda, who prepared to receive him, grows restive at his delay, and goes forth to meet him. Enraged when she discovers them together in a cave in which they have taken up their abode, she tosses Sona over a precipice, and he flows on 80 forever-a river. Then with her own hands she mutilates the beautiful face of the girl, who becomes a tear, and bubbling up in a hollow, grows at last into a well, which overflowing its brim, steals softly down the mountain side, a beautiful silvery rivulet, until springing into the embrace of the Sona, it glides united with that river ever towards the sea. M. F. 90 90 73 82 Mary, died 21st December, 1871, aged 86 81 79 79 82 Lot, died 1st May, 1868, aged. Elizabeth, died 22d October, 1871, aged John, yet living, aged. . . Henry, died 21st October, 1875, aged. Total for twelve persons. Average, 81 years. A Strangely Beautiful Custom.-Do you know the 78 story of the "Diamond Bird," the tiny, crimson-breasted 73 warbler? Well, listen then! Born of the amber-tinted cloudlets of a ruby morn, and of the sea-foam, it is lain in 973 the hearts of the glowing Lotus flower down deep within the solemn glooms of an Eastern forest. And there it lies from moon till moon absorping into itself the perfume of that flower-heart safe within its velvet nest; while overhead the azure dome glows and wanes, now sapphire, crimson, violet, then intensest blue, gemmed everywhere with worlds. The Bulbul singing love-songs to the rose and lily is the harshest sound it hears; until the full time having come, it soars aloft, seeking the duty for which it had its being. Ah! would that to our hearts the meaning of creation was so plain. There are a number of isolated cases of longevity in this vicinity worthy of mention: Charles Harris, died 24th March, 1864, aged 96 years. Henry Courtright, died about same time, aged 97 years. Matthew Phoenix, died 22d August, 1873, aged 107 years, 7 mon.hs and 13 days. Mary Dymond, died 1874, aged 104 years and 3 months. Elizabeth Jacobs, died 6th December, 1843, aged 105 years and 6 months. Margaret Larch, died 1848, aged 104 years. From 80 to 95 is no uncommon age to live to. There are a number of persons in this neighborhood now between these ages, one of whom bids fair to overrun 100. S. JENKINS, Wyoming. A Curious Legend.-The Nerbudda and the Soane, or Sona, are two important rivers of Judea; the former spring ing from a well near a pagoda upon the highest table land of the mountain called Omerc-handace. This temple is devoutly venerated by all faithful Hindoos, and many pilgrimages made to it with offerings for the goddess Bhavȧué, who is worshipped under the symbol of the Ner. budda River. The images in the temple represent her engaged in cutting off the nose, ears, lips, and otherwise disfiguring her slave, Jubilla, while slaves on every hand prepare a marriage feast. The fables which these illustrate form a devout part of the Hindoo belief. The legend is, that Sona, a god, was wild for the love of Sometimes in Russia, amidst the glitter of snowy pinnacles and ice-encrusted homes, it finds its abiding place. They call it the Bird of Paradise and deem it a messenger straight from the celestial realms. When a girl is wedded, her bridegroom gives her, as his earliest nuptial gift, this sparkling Diamond Bird. And forever after it becomes the guardian of her honor, the incorruptible witness to the sanctity of the marriage vow between the man and wife. If into the innermost nature of the young wife there steals so much as a shadowy resemblance of an unloyal or unwise fancy, the song of her birdling falters and fails. If led astray and bewildered by admiration and false vows, the little throat ceases its warbling and its crimson turns to violet. Then as the sin goes on and increases, because not destroyed at first, but left to grow, the little silent throat deepens from violet to purple, through all the gradations, until it is black as the sin it bears witness against. If the wifely faith be assailed, the Diamond Bird pines and languishes with pitiful moans. And if, alas! the lamp of truth lighted at the marriage altar in the name of God is quenched in darkest crime, the sorrowful |