The following incidents are narrated in the life of Rev. Dr. Wayland, just published, of his own mother:

One or two circumstances in the life of Mrs. Wayland were sufficiently remarkable to merit recital. No explanation of them is attempted. At the time of their removal to America, it was the design of Mr. Wayland and his wife to return in a few years to visit the relatives whom they had left behind, especially the mother of Mrs. W. This purpose they often spoke of to each other. But one morning, after they had been some years in the country, she said to him on waking, “I do not wish to return to England. My mother is dead.” No previous intimation of her ill health had been received. He, unknown to her, made a minute of the time of her declaration; and a subsequent arrival brought the news of the event, which had occurred at about the time at which her mind was thus impressed.

When her son–the subject of this memoir–was expected home from New York, after attending medical lectures there, during the winter of 1814-15, Mrs. W., who was sitting with her husband, suddenly walked the room in great agitation, saying “Pray for my son; Francis is in danger.” So urgent was her request that her husband joined her in prayer for his deliverance from peril. At the expected time he returned. His mother at once asked, “What has taken place?” It appeared that while coming up the North River, on a sloop, he had fallen overboard, and the sloop had passed over him. He was an athletic swimmer, and readily kept himself afloat till he could be rescued. Was it the unspeakable power of a mother’s love that imparted a vision more than natural?

A curiosity which astonishes scientists and puzzles them to account for is now on exhibition in Gould’s cabinet at Mill City. It is a perfectly formed hand, which apparently belonged to a boy about fourteen years of age. The hand is open, the fingers being slightly bent toward the palm, on which the thumb rests. The back of the hand seems to have been crushed or decomposed before it was petrified, but the palm, thumb and fingers are perfect. We were informed it was found at the sulphur beds near Rabbit Hole, by one of the men employed in shoveling crude sulphur into the refining retort, and is supposed to have been imbedded in the sulphur bank for ages. The fingers are comparatively short, a fact which indicates that it did not belong to an Indian, as the red men’s fingers are generally longer than those of whites; but the thumb is rather longer than the average. To what race the owner of the hand belongs, and how and when it was imbedded in the sulphur, will probably ever remain unknown, unless some eminent scientists should investigate the hand and the sulphur bank where it was found and explain these mysteries.–Winnemucca (Nev.) Silver State.

A brief review:

The farce of “False and True” is a wretched thing. To speak Johnsonically it is a congeries of inexplicable nonsense.

And another:

The Lady of the Rock is the production of Holcroft. Had he not himself given it to the world as his own, we should have thought it a libel upon his understanding to ascribe it to his pen.

From a longer review of Thomas Morton’s Speed the Plough:

We do not think that love at first sight, which is in reality nothing more than Forwardness indulging itself in the airs of Romance, and Prurience calling in Fate to sanction its indelicacy, ought to be clothed in such a respectable and captivating dress as our author has bestowed upon it in this play.

We group under this heading a pile of leaves that seem, as they lie upon
the desk, to be constantly quivering with horror lest some form of tobacco
might be used in their vicinity. We are quite safe critics in this respect,
as the weed does not flatter and tone down feelings of the highest propriety,
and we write at a pinch, but not in consequence of one. Perhaps it would
be presumptuous to hint that we ruminate only “the cud of sweet and bitter fancies.” There was a period in our college career — if considerable
careering may be thus strictly designated — when a cloud seemed to us, as
to Ixion, loveable: but, profiting by the disappointments of that unenlightened heathen who did not appear to smoke his error, we tried to learn
to blow our own cloud. How we used to recline, with eyes half shut in a
surmise of pleasure, to wink out of consciousness our one-armed and stiff-runged family rocking-chair, and a much stiffer exercise of differential calculus: for in those days we could not ride to the pure mathematics on a pony or with a coach; and the only “joker” we knew was the instructor who
pretended that calculus was learnable. But our efforts at narcotizing the
entire absence of cushions to our chair and rank to our course, were always
closed suddenly by searing the lips or extinguishing the right eye: we
could never learn to shift our cigar along the “hedge of the teeth” with
that Olympic abandon of the born smoker; it had to be held with great circumspection, the drift of the curls to be narrowly watched, all talk suspended on pain of choking, all thought centred upon each judicious whiff.
We remember faintly that occasionally our delicious repose was marred
by a revulsion of feeling that expected to find something timely in the
closet: that day we smoked no more, nor read, for that matter, either. On
the whole, we never fought our way through the jungly belt of Terai up to
the cloud-land where your predestined smoker lies pillowed upon his fatuity, “careless of mankind.” Indeed, it became with us a question whether the
pituitary glands would continue to moisten Mrs. Scrimpflint’s otherwise
unboltable rations, or whether we should grow up capable of spitting upon
any politics or theology we might despise.

We are ready, therefore, to take high ground upon the matter of tobacco,
and to declare its essential incompatibility with the moral sense. Here we have “an appeal to Lord Renfrew, the Prince of Wales, on the
pernicious eiiects ot his cigar and pipe.” He is addressed as “a prospective monarch,” whose “likeness is among us in daguerreotypes by thousands:” he is told that his habit may not only disable him, but, through
him, future kings on his throne, — “we desire no extinction of this royal
line” — drop therefore “your meerschaum and its affinities.” If we knew
what effect this appeal has had upon the Prince, we should feel more competent to recommend the series of papers to untitled smokers.

Wood-cuts are also pressed into the service of Mr. Trask’s crusade.
Here is a picture of a “boy who first smoked a paper cigar, then a grape-vine, then the real article,” — favored child, in these days of oak-leaves and
fillings: he is confessing at his mother’s knee, but he does not look haggard enough to satisfy our own vindictive recollections of the vice.

Here are “Twenty Reasons why ministers of the everlasting gospel
should not use Tobacco.” And we are told that “dying saints, well nigh
suffocated with the poisonous odor, have, with trembling hands, waved
pastors from their bedsides.” Alas, Mr. Trask, if dying saints would only
wave from their bedsides the suffocating doctrines that their pastors bring,
we should be inclined to waive the matter of a smoke whose torment does
not ascend forever and ever.

Well might a saint say to his pastor,—

“O, search beyond this earth — search regions of the blest;
Can ye not find some place where we unsmoked may rest?”

But clergymen are warned upon one point of considerable importance.
”Many tobacco-users fall dead suddenly. You may fall dead in your pulpits. Some preachers have.” Yes, how many, and they stay stone-dead,
not knowing it, but without having used tobacco! It occurs to us to ask
whether in such cases the use of tobacco might not act, as ammoniacal
salts, or burnt feathers, and wake the preacher from his deathly swoon. It
would be certainly legitimate to try a post-mortem experiment of this
nature. Several kinds of Siberian and Flat-head wizards prophesy under
fumigation. Let it be tried, as a last resort before sepulture, wherever
there is a pulpit whose recumbent has ceased to breathe the breath of
life. Goethe has a verse, in his West-Easterly Divan, that hints how the
original process of informing bodies with souls, might be cheaply imitated
by us with a pinch of snuff alone:

“The Elohim into his nose
With best of spirit breezing,
Some sign of life the creature shows
By hearty fit of sneezing.”

The subject is however too grave for jesting. Wherever under the present condition of the clerical profession, we could find a live minister, we
should be tempted, notwithstanding our old grudge at honest smokers, to
attribute some etherial influence to his cigar.

But let us not be misunderstood. We like clean and healthy ways. And
we like to see a tract upon some pernicious habit written without cant and
coarseness, so that laughter might not come in to half betray the cause.
These little papers are too evangelical for us, and are pitched to the senses
which cannot appreciate “the real article” of tobacco or theology. What
benefit, for instance, will the Republic reap from such a verse as this,
thrust into the hand on every railroad, and proffered at the street-corners?

“The jaws then give a flirt,
The tongue, too, takes a tuck;
The pucker lets a squirt,
That drains it of the truck.”

      J. W.

The Mining Journal says that Indiana resurrectionists pack cadavers in barrels of potatoes, and send to Ann Arbor, where the bodies are taken to the college and the potatoes sold to the grocers. This is true, except the potatoes are shipped to Marquette where they bring high prices, owing to their rich gamey flavor.

As this is the season to make up our list of papers and magazines for the ensuing year, I will take a glance around my own cosy room set apart for a library.

It is here that I do the most of my reading, writing, and planning; and although I pretend to be deeply engaged while ensconced in the large willow rocker, strictly forbidding entrance to my farmer office, yet the children and “Spot,” my Gordon setter, will intrude, making things lively for awhile, driving my thoughts wool-gathering and breaking many a thread of thought that I had fondly hoped would place my name high on the roll of scribblers. It is a good thing to have the little innocent children and the dog to blame for these shortcomings, as they can not take issue with us on the question.

But I started to talk about a farmer’s library; and taking my own for a small sample, let us see how it looks….

On glancing up from the stand on which I am writing, the first objects that attract my notice are my breach loader, cartridge belt, and game-bag hanging on the wall; then by the side of the stove hangs the file of The Prairie Farmer, within easy reach of my left hand; next it swings the Country Gentleman, then comes the Forest and Stream, then Colman’s Rural World, then the Drainage Journal; next Harper’s Weekly, then Harper’s Bazar. This is my wife’s paper and she persists in hanging it among mine. Then comes Harper’s Monthly and the Century, not forgetting the Sanitary Journal. On the other side of the room we find the Inter Ocean, Democrat, and several other political papers fairly representing both sides, also some standard books of valuable information; and last but not least, the Prairie Farmer Map which you sent for my club.

Now, this may be considered a pretty large outlay for a common farmer to make, but outside of life insurance, I consider it my best investment.

In this selection I get the cream of all matters of practical importance to the farmer….

Alex Ross.
Cape Girardeau, Mo.

The Atlantic Monthly, January, 1862. Number 51. A 300+ line poem in dialect, a story about skating, and the index to the volume.

Mr. Zadock Deddrick, a Newark machinist, has invented a man; one that, moved by steam, will perform some of the most important functions of humanity; that will, standing upright, walk or run as he is bid, in any direction, and at almost any rate of speed, drawing after him a load whose weight would tax the strength of three draught horses. The history of this curious invention is as follows: Six years ago Mr. Deddrick, the inventor, who is at present but twenty-two years of age, conceived the novel idea of constructing a man that should receive its vitality from a perpetual motion machine. The idea was based on the well-known mechanical principle that, if a heavy weight be placed at the top of an upright slightly inclined from vertical, gravitation will tend to produce a horizontal as well as vertical motion. The idea was unsuccessful. However, by observing carefully the cause of failure, persevering and perfecting the man-form, and by substituting steam in place of the perpetual motion machine, the present success was attained.

The man stands seven feet and nine inches high, the other dimensions of the body being correctly proportioned, making him a second Daniel Lambert, by which name he is facetiously spoken of among the workmen. He weighs five hundred pounds. Steam is generated in the body or trunk, which is nothing but a three-horse power engine, like those used in our steam fire engines. The legs which support it are complicated and wonderful. The steps are taken very naturally and quite easily. As the body is thrown forward upon the advanced foot the other is lifted from the ground with a spring and thrown forward by the steam. Each step or pace advances the body two feet, and every revolution of the engine produces four paces. As the engine is capable of making more than a thousand evolutions a minute, it would get over the ground, on this calculation, at the rate of a little over a mile a minute. As this would be working the legs faster than would be safe on uneven ground or on broad street cobble stones, it is proposed to run the engine at the rate of five hundred revolutions per minute, which would walk the man at the modest speed of half a mile a minute.

The fellow is attached to a common rockaway carriage, the shafts of which support him in a vertical position. These shafts are two bars of iron, fastened in the usual manner to the front of the carriage, and are curved so as to be joined to a circular sustaining bar, which passes around the waist, like a girth, and in which the man moves so as to be faced in any direction. Besides these motions, machinery has been arranged by which the figure can be thrown backward or forward from a vertical nearly forty-five degrees. This is done in order to enable it to ascend or descend all grades. To the soles of the feet spikes or corks are fixed, which effectually prevent slipping. The whole affair is so firmly sustained by the shafts and has so excellent a foot-hold, that two men are unable to push it over, or in any way throw it down. In order to enable it to stop quickly it is provided with two appliances, one of which will, as before stated, throw it backward from the vertical, while the other bends the knees in a direction opposite to the natural position.

An upright post, which is arranged in front of the dash-board, and within easy reach of the front seats, sustains two miniature pilot wheels, by the turning of which these various motions and evolutions are directed. It is expected that a sufficiently large amount of coal can be stowed away under the back seat of the carriage to work the engine for a day, and enough water in the tank under the front seat to last half a day.

In order to prevent the “giant” from frightening horses by its wonderful appearance Mr. Deddrick intends to clothe it and give it as nearly as possible a likeness to the rest of humanity. The boiler, and such parts as are necessarily heated, will be encased in felt and woolen undergarments. Pantaloons, coat and vest, of the latest styles, are provided. Whenever the fire needs coaling, which is every two or three hours, the driver stops the machine, descends from his seat, unbuttons “Daniel’s” vest, opens a door, shovels in the fuel, buttons up the vest and drives on. On the back, between the shoulders the steam cocks and gauges are placed. As these would cause the coat to set awkwardly, a knapsack has been provided that completely covers them. A blanket, neatly rolled up and placed on top the knapsack, perfects the delusion¹. The face is molded into a cheerful countenance of white enamel, which contrasts well with the dark hair and mustache. A sheet iron hat with a gauge top acts as a smoke stack.

The cost of this “first man” is $2,000,² thought the makers, Messrs. Deddrick & Grass, expect to manufacture succeeding ones, warranted to run a year without repair, for $300. The same parties expect to construct, on the same principle, horses which will do the duty of twelve ordinary animals of the same species. These, it is confidently believed, can be used alike before carriages, street cars and plows. The man now constructed can make his way without difficulty over any irregular surface whose ruts and stones are not more than nine inches below or above the level of the road.