The first impulse of the Malay was to state that they had only three hundred dollars; but the lady's tone and manner, and a something working in her own bosom, made her declare the true sum-three thousand dollars.

"You are sure you tell me the truth," said the lady; "but do you know what truth is ?"

"It is little known among my countrymen or countrywomen," said the Malay.

"Or among mine," sighed the lady. "But," resumed the Malay, "I have learned something of truth from the distributers of books like that which you hold in your hand."

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“Ah!” said the lady, "is it so? Then am I more than ever disposed to serve you. My lord is a kind husband to me; he is not a bad man, but he is a mandarin. Something you will have to pay on these three thousand crowns; but fear not for the rest of your treasure, or for your husband's liberty and safety, or for your own. These old laws are infringed every day, and no one knows it better than the master of this house. Wait here while I go speak with him."

She was not gone long, although it seemed a very long time to the impatient wife. On her return, she re-entered the pavilion with a smiling countenance, and said: 66 Stranger, be comforted; all has gone well; that wicked opium-smoker shall rue his malice, and Fanpi shall go forth from the prison not very much the worse for having been in it. Keep the children silent, and follow me."

She led her into the presence of her husband, who received her more courteously than she believed he would, and directed her to tell him the truth, and how much money her husband really possessed. She told him her sorrowing tale, which so much impressed him that he ordered Fanpi's liberation, and immediately had the Fokien man arrested, whom he had severely whipped, and afterward cast into prison.

THE COPPERAS WORKS OF VERMONT. ПНЕ

ten sulphate of iron is used very extensively in manufactures, especially in dying black, making ink, and also in medicine as a tonic. It sometimes goes by the name of green vitriol, but more commonly by that of copperas. The latter name would seem to indicate that copperas was a principal ingredient in it, the word itself properly meaning copperrust. But there is no copper at all in it, The name probably arose from the fact that there are three vitriols, the green, blue, and white, the bases of which respectively are iron, copper, and zinc. The common term for the second became in time a synonym for vitriol, and by one of the strange freaks of language is now confined to the most abundant of the vitriols, the sulphate of iron. The copperas of commerce is obtained principally from iron pyrites, a very abundant mineral, and very easily worked. A great deal of our copperas is manufactured in Great Britain, where it is obtained at a cheap rate, and brought over sometimes as ballast in ships.

The only place in America where this article is at present manufactured is in the town of Strafford, Orange County, Vermont. The deposite is a vast ridge called

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Copperas Hill," situated in the southwestern corner of the town, and is apparently inexhaustible. The rock contains, besides sulphuret of iron, considerable quantities of the sulphuret of copper, (from which excellent copper is obtained,) also smoky quartz, hornblende, garnet, etc. The solid rock has a "cop," as the miners call it, of petrified vegetable substances, extending to various depths, and furnishing some curious fossils.

The process of obtaining the copperas is somewhat as follows: The rock is first blasted with powder, great fragments being thus loosened and thrown up. The large pieces are then broken up with sledges and drawn off to convenient places. It is now further broken. Then comes the "sorting," the mineral containing the copperas being thrown into one pile, that con

which contains neither is wholly rejected. This is attended to by men and boys with small stone hammers, examining the ores carefully, and being themselves examined in turn, as it is a very easy thing to slight

the work. The sulphuret of copper is conveyed away in carts to be smelted, roasted, etc. The sulphuret of iron is pulverized and thrown into large heaps. Water is conveyed to it, and combustion takes place, usually spontaneously by the avidity with which the mineral, when moist, absorbs oxygen from the air; sometimes, however, it is necessary to set it on fire. In this way it burns for several weeks, a great chemical change being produced, the oxygen of the atmosphere uniting with the sulphur of the mineral forming sulphuric acid, which uniting with the iron forms the sulphate of iron or copperas. Considerable sulphur is driven off during the oxydation, impregnating the air with its peculiar odor sometimes for miles round. I do not know that it is particularly unhealthy, and people soon become accustomed to it, though very unpleasant at first. Formerly the atmosphere was so thoroughly impregnated with sulphur that it destroyed vegetation, and scarcely any green thing grew in the immediate vicinity; but I learn that the combustion is at present allowed to proceed more naturally and moderately, and the unpleasant odor is in consequence very much diminished.

At the cessation of the combustion the heaps consist of crude sulphate of iron, mixed, of course, with many impurities. This salt, however, is soluble in water, and hence is now subjected to the leaching process. Springs abound all over the hill; the water is easily conveyed to the heaps, and, percolating through every part, carries along with it the substance sought. The liquor thus obtained is collected in spouts and gutters, and conveyed to reservoirs near the "factories," large buildings provided with all the facilities for evaporation. On the way to the factories there are some very simple and efficient arrangements to induce a natural evaporation. These consist of several tall wooden frames, each supporting several galleries of brush, so situated, the declivity of the hill favoring it, that the liquor can be conveyed to the top of the frames and made to pass over and through all the galleries of brush, and thus to cover a large surface exposed to the action of the atmosphere, and to present itself at the factories in a much more concentrated condition than it otherwise would. The apparatus in the factories for

evaporation consists of large shallow lead boilers set in fire ranges or arches, (as they are sometimes called,) and coolers or crystallizers of the same material. The reason why lead is used is because it is the available metal which will withstand the action of the liquid. A moderate fire is kept up under the boiler till the liquor reaches the proper consistency, when it is drawn off into the coolers, where the sulphate crystallizes and is separated from the liquor, the latter being pumped back to undergo further evaporation. The salt attaches itself to the sides and bottom of the cooler, and also to sundry wooden slats which are let down from joists resting on top of the vat. crystals when first formed are of a beautiful sea-green color, and in the shape of delicate rhomboidal prisms. The color and shape, however, soon become changed by exposure to the air.

The

I am not positively informed as to the time when this deposit first began to be worked, but I think it was more than fifty years ago. It was discovered by accident. Some of the farmers engaged in the rude process of manufacturing maple sugar, saw, where a sap trough had been overturned, an appearance of fire, the moisture having produced spontaneous combustion in the slight pulverization on the top of the rock, resulting in a vitriol-like formation. The attention of scientific men was called to the spot. The nature of the deposit was ascertained, and the manufacture soon after commenced by individual enterprise. The business, however, was not very profitable till taken hold of by some gentlemen in Boston and a company formed. Great improvements have been made from time to time, so that at present the same amount of copperas can be obtained by the labor of ten or fifteen hands as was formerly produced by forty or fifty. For the last few years from twelve to fifteen hundred tons have been made annually. The supply is apparently inexhaustible, and if there were no other deposit in the world, this would probably be all-sufficient for ages to come.

The copper mine is now worked to some profit, though when first commenced it was a losing operation. Both the copperas and copper works are under the superintendence of John Reynolds, Esq., to whom I am indebted for information respecting the subject of this paper.

She started up, and burst into tears. He had answered her in the language of her childhood, the language she had not heard for fifty weary years, since she was a girl of twelve, and was stolen away from her French home by English pirates. Yes, it was the old French tongue, forgotten now in France itself. But it was not forgotten then by her. In the deep recesses of her heart it lay like a shrined treasure, the sole thing till now she had worshiped. She flung her arms around the child, for she saw he was no angel, and in his own tongue implored him to speak again.

It was nearly her own story he told. A French and English ship had met and fought fiercely. The French ship was taken, and the innocent child was the only creature allowed to live. The sailors had landed that day for water, and he, wandering away from them, had lost himself in the woods. The ship was his home, and, in artless words, he asked her to take him back to it. He was from her own country, he spoke her own tongue, and she had seen him come before to her dwelling as an angel; no wonder she was unwilling to let him go, and gazed wistfully at the sea, as, carrying him in her arms, she journeyed toward it.

The beach lay five weary miles off; but she said nothing, though the child was heavy and the way was long. And it was

with a joyful heart that she pointed to the white sail far out at sea, and thanked the Providence that made the child her

own.

She comforted him as he wept for the loss of his rough home; and, with his little arms around her neck, and his soft face pressed against her withered cheek, she turned back to the wood. But not to go straight home; many a mile she went out of her way to beg for milk and bread for her new charge. The rough peasants gave it willingly, with wondering eyes gazing at the child's beauty and the changed look in the old woman's face.

The sun was sinking when she laid him on the bed of leaves in her cave, and busied herself to make a fire to warm his bread and milk. She sat rocking herself to and fro, watching him as he ate, while he prattled to her in her own tongue till the tears swelled into her eyes, and trickling one by one over the withered cheeks, fell slowly into the fire.

The child seeing that, put down his porringer and asked, softly:

"Was your father killed at sea, granny?" "No, my child.”

"Did the sailors take you away?" "Yes, my child," said the old woman, her lip shaking.

"Were you a little child like me?" "I was a bigger child than you, woe is me," said the old woman. There was agony in her voice.

The child looked at her with earnest eyes, and then slid his little hand softly into hers.

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Granny," said he, we will forget it together."

When she felt the clasp of those tiny fingers, soft and warm, holding her bony wicked hand, she trembled, and cried that "God was too good to her, wicked as she had been all her life."

Then the child, to comfort her, smoothed her cheek with his hand, and whispered: "You'll be good now, granny, and God will forgive you.”

He knew not what wickedness was, and he had no loathing for her sin, her age, or her withered ugliness; tender and caressing, and forgiving to all, he whispered to her that he would have her for a mother, because his own mother was now so far away; he climbed on her knee, showing her his swelled foot, and asking her to "make it well."

Carefully she bathed and bandaged it; and then taking him in her arms again, he talked of the sea-fight and his dead father in a sad tone; but then, remembering his little sister at home, and the rabbit she had promised to tend in his absence, he laughed again, and said, “He would soon go back to France to see her, and take old granny with him."

Thus talking he fell asleep; and she laid him gently on the bed of leaves, and watched him as he slept.

The moonlight, as it glanced in between the honeysuckle branches, made the child look pale, and then she gazed at him, sighing; but the red fire, as it rose and fell on the rude hearth, lent a ruddy glow to his fair cheek, and then she smiled.

joyfully as he made the old woman reach him the highest branches of honeysuckle and the wild clematis that hung from the trees. They took home such bunches of flowers every night that the cavern was strewn with them. And in remembrance of the French rabbit, he soon had a little English one, for whom the old woman never forgot to gather the fresh leaves it liked.

By her own labor, too, in collecting wood for the peasants and herbs for the sick, she earned enough to buy a goat; and all the milk was for the child. The coarsest food had served for her; but now she made a rude oven in the rock to bake him better bread than the peasants could give. And she spun and knitted for him for hours, as he played on the sands, and she sat on the rocks near him. The beach was his favorite spot, and the five miles were nothing to her when she carried him.

And so the summer passed away, and the autumn, with its rich berries, its wild fruits, and showers of hazel-nuts, and then the winter came.

The child was still the little bird of her 'dwelling, singing in the snow as he had sung in the sunshine. He went everywhere with her in her long walks to fetch meal to bake, and wool to spin, sometimes sitting on her shoulder, or lying in her arms, and sometimes running by her side, and always bright with happiness.

He saw a thousand things the old woman had never seen before. Sometimes it was a new flower, a curiously twisted leaf, a shining pebble, or a broken shell; but whatever it was his earnest eyes had fastened on, he would have it, whether it were high up on a thorny bank, or deep below on the rocks and shingles. Those little nimble feet surmounted all difficulties, and the eager hands, that made the old woman laugh-they were so small-seized the treasure, and held it fast, examining it curiously.

How she watched him with glistening eyes! And in places he could not reach, she put down her basket and went for him, often over the sharp jutting rocks, where some white pebble glistened in the sun, while his little hand outstretched pointed anxiously to it, and the childish voice, in eager accents, cried, "There, there, dear granny, that's it."

Alas! she could not bring the sunshine with her; and when it lay dull and dark

in the tiny palm, his blue eyes fell on it wistfully, and he would ask, "Where all the sheen was gone?"

Pointing upward to the sun, she would tell how he had lent some of his glory to it for a time, making a worthless pebble seem a gem; and he, holding it in his rosy fingers, turning and twisting it about with curious, inquisitive eye, would gaze upward at the dazzling beams, and again at the dull stone, with looks of wonder and of love.

The summer came again; and the child, the old woman thought, must be five years old, and should be stronger now than last year; but it was not so. He no longer laughed so merrily when she shook down the June roses on him, or threw the honeysuckles into his lap. And on the seashore, instead of building his mimic castles and forts, he would come and rest his head on her knee, and gaze with fixed eyes over the blue waters.

"Why look over the sea so earnestly, my child?" asked the old woman one day. "France is there, and my little sister," he said, shading his eyes with his hand to gaze out further still.

She caught him up in her arms, and hurried away; but glancing at his blue eyes, she saw they looked steadfastly at the sea, till the tall hedges hid it from his sight; then, with a deep sigh, he laid his head on her shoulder, and fell asleep.

He did not ask to go to the shore again for a long time.

When the autumn came he was very pale. "It was the heat," she said; and she carried him oftener than before. When the winter came he was paler still, and then she said "it was the cold." And she heaped wood on the red fire, and made his bed at the back of the cave, far away from the frosty air.

At last the time came when she could deceive herself no more. The child lay on the yellow leaves, white and wasted, fast dying.

It was an agony to her to be obliged to leave him while she went to fetch the needful food and other things; but, coming home, she never forgot to gather the flowers he loved; and bringing them to his bed, she would put them into the little wasted hand held out for them.

One day in February, she was on her knees in the wood, searching anxiously and two outlaws passed.