CHAPTER XIII.--ESTHER'S NARRATIVE.

We held many consultations about what Richard was to be; first, without Mr. Jarndyce, as he had requested, and afterward with him; but it was a long time before we seemed to make progress. Richard said he was ready for any thing. When Mr. Jarndyce doubted whether he might not already be too old to enter the Navy, Richard said he had thought of that, and perhaps he was. When Mr. Jarndyce asked him what he thought of the Army, Richard said he had thought of that, too, and it wasn't a bad idea. When Mr. Jarndyce advised him to try and decide within himself, whether his old preference for the sea was an ordinary boyish inclination, or a strong impulse, Richard answered, Well, he really _had_ tried very often, and he couldn't make out.

"How much of this indecision of character," Mr. Jarndyce said to me, "is chargeable on that incomprehensible heap of uncertainty and procrastination on which he has been thrown from his birth, I don't pretend to say; but that Chancery, among its other sins, is responsible for some of it, I can plainly see. It has engendered or confirmed in him a habit of putting off--and trusting to this, that, and the other chance, without knowing what chance--and dismissing every thing as unsettled, uncertain, and confused. The character of much older and steadier people may be even changed by the circumstances surrounding them. It would be too much to expect that a boy's, in its formation, should be the subject of such influences, and escape them."

I felt this to be true; though, if I may venture to mention what I thought besides, I thought it much to be regretted that Richard's education had not counteracted those influences, or directed his character. He had been eight years at a public school, and had learnt, I understood, to make Latin Verses of several sorts, in the most admirable manner. But I never heard that it had been any body's business to find out what his natural bent was, or where his failings lay, or to adapt any kind of knowledge to _him_. _He_ had been adapted to the Verses, and had learnt the art of making them to such perfection, that if he had remained at school until he was of age, I suppose he could only have gone on making them over and over again, unless he had enlarged his education by forgetting how to do it. Still, although I had no doubt that they were very beautiful, and very improving, and very sufficient for a great many purposes of life, and always remembered all through life, I did doubt whether Richard would not have profited by some one studying him a little, instead of his studying them quite so much.

To be sure, I knew nothing of the subject, and do not even now know whether the young gentlemen of classic Rome or Greece made verses to the same extent--or whether the young gentlemen of any country ever did.

"I haven't the least idea," said Richard, musing, "what I had better be. Except that I am quite sure I don't want to go into the Church, it's a toss-up."

"You have no inclination in Mr. Kenge's way?" suggested Mr. Jarndyce.

"I don't know that, sir!" replied Richard. "I am fond of boating. Articled clerks go a good deal on the water. It's a capital profession!"

"Surgeon--" suggested Mr. Jarndyce.

"That's the thing, sir!" cried Richard.

I doubt if he had ever once thought of it before.

"That's the thing, sir!" repeated Richard, with the greatest enthusiasm. "We have got it at last. M.R.C.S.!"

He was not to be laughed out of it, though he laughed at it heartily. He said he had chosen his profession, and the more he thought of it, the more he felt that his destiny was clear; the art of healing was the art of all others for him. Mistrusting that he only came to this conclusion, because, having never had much chance of finding out for himself what he was fitted for, and having never been guided to the discovery, he was taken by the newest idea, and was glad to get rid of the trouble of consideration, I wondered whether the Latin Verses often ended in this, or whether Richard's was a solitary case.

Mr. Jarndyce took great pains to talk with him, seriously, and to put it to his good sense not to deceive himself in so important a matter. Richard was a little grave after these interviews; but invariably told Ada and me "that it was all right," and then began to talk about something else.

"By Heaven!" cried Mr. Boythorn, who interested himself strongly in the subject--though I need not say that, for he could do nothing weakly; "I rejoice to find a young gentleman of spirit and gallantry devoting himself to that noble profession! The more spirit there is in it, the better for mankind, and the worse for those mercenary taskmasters and low tricksters who delight in putting that illustrious art at a disadvantage in the world. By all that is base and despicable," cried Mr. Boythorn, "the treatment of Surgeons aboard ship is such, that I would submit the legs--both legs--of every member of the Admiralty Board to a compound fracture, and render it a transportable offense in any qualified practitioner to set them, if the system were not wholly changed in eight-and-forty hours!"

"Wouldn't you give them a week?" asked Mr. Jarndyce.

"No!" cried Mr. Boythorn, firmly. "Not on any consideration! Eight-and-forty hours! As to Corporations, Parishes, Vestry-Boards, and similar gatherings of jolter-headed clods, who assemble to exchange such speeches that, by Heaven! they ought to be worked in quicksilver mines for the short remainder of their miserable existence, if it were only to prevent their detestable English from contaminating a language spoken in the presence of the Sun--as to those fellows, who meanly take advantage of the ardor of gentlemen in the pursuit of knowledge, to recompense the inestimable services of the best years of their lives, their long study, and their expensive education, with pittances too small for the acceptance of clerks, I would have the necks of every one of them wrung, and their skulls arranged in Surgeons' Hall for the contemplation of the whole profession--in order that its younger members might understand from actual measurement, in early life, _how_ thick skulls may become!"

He wound up this vehement declaration by looking round upon us with a most agreeable smile, and suddenly thundering, Ha, ha, ha! over and over again, until any body else might have been expected to be quite subdued by the exertion.

As Richard still continued to say that he was fixed in his choice, after repeated periods for consideration had been recommended by Mr. Jarndyce, and had expired; and as he still continued to assure Ada and me, in the same final manner that it was "all right;" it became advisable to take Mr. Kenge into council. Mr. Kenge therefore, came down to dinner one day, and leaned back in his chair, and turned his eye-glasses over and over, and spoke in a sonorous voice, and did exactly what I remembered to have seen him do when I was a little girl.

"Ah!" said Mr. Kenge. "Yes. Well? A very good profession, Mr. Jarndyce; a very good profession."

"The course of study and preparation requires to be diligently pursued," observed my Guardian, with a glance at Richard.

"O, no doubt," said Mr. Kenge. "Diligently."

"But that being the case, more or less, with all pursuits that are worth much," said Mr. Jarndyce, "it is not a special consideration which another choice would be likely to escape."

"Truly," said Mr. Kenge. "And Mr. Richard Carstone, who has so meritoriously acquitted himself in the--shall I say the classic shades?--in which his youth had been passed, will, no doubt, apply the habits, if not the principles and practice, of versification in that tongue in which a poet was said (unless I mistake) to be born, not made, to the more eminently practical field of action on which he enters."

"You may rely upon it," said Richard, in his off-hand manner, "that I shall go at it, and do my best."

"Very well, Mr. Jarndyce!" said Mr. Kenge, gently nodding his head. "Really, when we are assured by Mr. Richard that he means to go at it, and to do his best," nodding feelingly and smoothly over those expressions; "I would submit to you, that we have only to inquire into the best mode of carrying out the object of his ambition. Now, with reference to placing Mr. Richard with some sufficiently eminent practitioner. Is there any one in view at present?"

"No one, Rick, I think?" said my Guardian.

"No one, sir," said Richard.

"Quite so!" observed Mr. Kenge. "As to situation, now. Is there any particular feeling on that head?"

"N--no," said Richard.

"Quite so!" observed Mr. Kenge again.

"I should like a little variety," said Richard; "--I mean a good range of experience."

"Very requisite, no doubt," returned Mr. Kenge "I think this may be easily arranged, Mr. Jarndyce? We have only, in the first place, to discover a sufficiently eligible practitioner; and, as soon as we make our want--and, shall I add, our ability to pay a premium?--known, our only difficulty will be in the selection of one from a large number. We have only, in the second place, to observe those little formalities which are rendered necessary by our time of life, and our being under the guardianship of the Court. We shall soon be--shall I say, in Mr. Richard's own light-hearted manner, 'going at it'--to our heart's content. It is a coincidence," said Mr. Kenge, with a tinge of melancholy in his smile, "one of those coincidences which may or may not require an explanation beyond our present limited faculties, that I have a cousin in the medical profession. He might be deemed eligible by you, and might be disposed to respond to this proposal. I can answer for him as little as for you; but he _might_?"

As this was an opening in the prospect, it was arranged that Mr. Kenge should see his cousin. And as Mr. Jarndyce had before proposed to take us to London for a few weeks, it was settled next day that we should make our visit at once, and combine Richard's business with it.

Mr. Boythorn leaving us within a week, we took up our abode at a cheerful lodging near Oxford-street, over an upholsterer's shop. London was a great wonder to us, and we were out for hours and hours at a time, seeing the sights; which appeared to be less capable of exhaustion than we were. We made the round of the principal theatres, too, with great delight, and saw all the plays that were worth seeing. I mention this, because it was at the theatre that I began to be made uncomfortable again, by Mr. Guppy.

I was sitting in front of the box one night with Ada; and Richard was in the place he liked best, behind Ada's chair; when, happening to look down into the pit, I saw Mr. Guppy, with his hair flattened down upon his head, and woe depicted in his face, looking up at me. I felt, all through the performance, that he never looked at the actors, but constantly looked at me, and always with a carefully prepared expression of the deepest misery and the profoundest dejection.

It quite spoiled my pleasure for that night, because it was so very embarrassing and so very ridiculous. But, from that time forth, we never went to the play, without my seeing Mr. Guppy in the pit--always with his hair straight and flat, his shirt-collar turned down, and a general feebleness about him. If he were not there when we went in, and I began to hope he would not come, and yielded myself for a little while to the interest of the scene, I was certain to encounter his languishing eyes when I least expected it, and, from that time, to be quite sure that they were fixed upon me all the evening.

I really can not express how uneasy this made me. If he would only have brushed up his hair, or turned up his collar, it would have been bad enough; but to know that that absurd figure was always gazing at me, and always in that demonstrative state of despondency, put such a constraint upon me that I did not like to laugh at the play, or to cry at it, or to move, or to speak. I seemed able to do nothing naturally. As to escaping Mr. Guppy by going to the back of the box, I could not bear to do that; because I knew Richard and Ada relied on having me next them, and that they could never have talked together so happily if any body else had been in my place. So there I sat, not knowing where to look--for wherever I looked, I knew Mr. Guppy's eyes were following me--and thinking of the dreadful expense to which this young man was putting himself, on my account.

Sometimes I thought of telling Mr. Jarndyce. Then I feared that the young man would lose his situation, and that I might ruin him. Sometimes, I thought of confiding in Richard; but was deterred by the possibility of his fighting Mr. Guppy, and giving him black eyes. Sometimes, I thought, should I frown at him, or shake my head. Then I felt I could not do it. Sometimes, I considered whether I should write to his mother, but that ended in my being convinced that to open a correspondence would be to make the matter worse. I always came to the conclusion, finally, that I could do nothing. Mr. Guppy's perseverance, all this time, not only produced him regularly at any theatre to which we went, but caused him to appear in the crowd as we were coming out, and even to get up behind our fly--where I am sure I saw him, two or three times, struggling among the most dreadful spikes. After we got home, he haunted a post opposite our house. The upholsterer's where we lodged, being at the corner of two streets, and my bedroom window being opposite the post, I was afraid to go near the window when I went up-stairs, lest I should see him (as I did one moonlight night) leaning against the post, and evidently catching cold. If Mr. Guppy had not been, fortunately for me, engaged in the day-time, I really should have had no rest from him.

While we were making this round of gayeties in which Mr. Guppy so extraordinarily participated, the business which had helped to bring us to town was not neglected. Mr. Kenge's cousin was a Mr. Bayham Badger, who had a good practice at Chelsea, and attended a large public Institution besides. He was quite willing to receive Richard into his house, and to superintend his studies; and as it seemed that those could be pursued advantageously under Mr. Badger's roof, and as Mr. Badger liked Richard, and as Richard said he liked Mr. Badger "well enough," an agreement was made, the Lord Chancellor's consent was obtained, and it was all settled.

On the day when matters were concluded between Richard and Mr. Badger, we were all under engagement to dine at Mr. Badger's house. We were to be "merely a family party," Mrs. Badger's note said; and we found no lady there but Mrs. Badger herself. She was surrounded in the drawing-room by various objects, indicative of her painting a little, playing the piano a little, playing the guitar a little, playing the harp a little, singing a little, working a little, reading a little, writing poetry a little, and botanizing a little. She was a lady of about fifty, I should think, youthfully dressed, and of a very fine complexion. If I add, to the little list of her accomplishments, that she rouged a little, I do not mean that there was any harm in it.

Mr. Bayham Badger himself was a pink, fresh-faced, crisp-looking gentleman, with a weak voice, white teeth, light hair, and surprised eyes: some years younger, I should say, than Mrs. Bayham Badger. He admired her exceedingly, but principally, and to begin with, on the curious ground (as it seemed to us) of her having had three husbands. We had barely taken our seats, when he said to Mr. Jarndyce quite triumphantly.

"You would hardly suppose that I am Mrs. Bayham Badger's third!"

"Indeed?" said Mr. Jarndyce.

"Her third!" said Mr. Badger. "Mrs. Bayham Badger has not the appearance, Miss Summerson, of a lady who has had two former husbands?"

I said "Not at all!"

"And most remarkable men!" said Mr. Badger, in a tone of confidence. "Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy, who was Mrs. Badger's first husband, was a very distinguished officer indeed. The name of Professor Dingo, my immediate predecessor, is one of European reputation."

Mrs. Badger overheard him, and smiled.

"Yes, my dear!" Mr. Badger replied to the smile, "I was observing to Mr. Jarndyce and Miss Summerson, that you had had two former husbands--both very distinguished men. And they found it, as people generally do, difficult to believe."

"I was barely twenty," said Mrs. Badger, "when I married Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy. I was in the Mediterranean with him; I am quite a Sailor. On the twelfth anniversary of my wedding-day, I became the wife of Professor Dingo."

("Of European reputation," added Mr. Badger in an under tone.)

"And when Mr. Badger and myself were married," pursued Mrs. Badger, "we were married on the same day of the year. I had become attached to the day."

"So that Mrs. Badger has been married to three husbands--two of them highly distinguished men," said Mr. Badger, summing up the facts; "and, each time, upon the twenty-first of March at Eleven in the forenoon!"

We all expressed our admiration.

"But for Mr. Badger's modesty," said Mr. Jarndyce, "I would take leave to correct him, and say three distinguished men."

"Thank you, Mr. Jarndyce! What I always tell him!" observed Mrs. Badger.

"And, my dear," said Mr. Badger, "what do _I_ always tell you? That without any affectation of disparaging such professional distinction as I may have attained (which our friend Mr. Carstone will have many opportunities of estimating), I am not so weak--no, really," said Mr. Badger to us generally, "so unreasonable--as to put my reputation on the same footing with such first-rate men as Captain Swosser and Professor Dingo. Perhaps you may be interested, Mr. Jarndyce," continued Mr. Bayham Badger, leading the way into the next drawing room, "in this portrait of Captain Swosser. It was taken on his return home from the African Station, where he had suffered from the fever of the country. Mrs. Badger considers it too yellow. But it's a very fine head. A very fine head!"

We all echoed, "A very fine head!"

"I feel when I look at it," said Mr. Badger, "'that's a man I should like to have seen!' It strikingly bespeaks the first-class man that Captain Swosser pre-eminently was. On the other side, Professor Dingo. I knew him well--attended him in his last illness--a speaking likeness! Over the piano, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Swosser. Over the sofa, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Dingo. Of Mrs. Bayham Badger _in esse_, I possess the original, and have no copy."

Dinner was now announced, and we went down stairs. It was a very genteel entertainment, very handsomely served. But the Captain and the Professor still ran in Mr. Badger's head, and, as Ada and I had the honor of being under his particular care, we had the full benefit of them.

"Water, Miss Summerson? Allow me! Not in that tumbler, pray. Bring me the Professor's goblet, James!"

Ada very much admired some artificial flowers, under a glass.

"Astonishing how they keep!" said Mr. Badger. "They were presented to Mrs. Bayham Badger when she was in the Mediterranean."

He invited Mr. Jarndyce to take a glass of claret.

"Not that claret," he said. "Excuse me! This is an occasion, and _on_ an occasion I produce some very special claret I happen to have. (James, Captain Swosser's wine!) Mr. Jarndyce, this is a wine that was imported by the Captain, we will not say how many years ago. You will find it very curious. My dear, I shall be happy to take some of this wine with you. (Captain Swosser's claret to your mistress, James!) My love, your health!"

After dinner when we ladies retired, we took Mrs. Badger's first and second husband with us. Mrs. Badger gave us, in the drawing-room a Biographical sketch of the life and services of Captain Swosser before his marriage, and a more minute account of him dating from the time when he fell in love with her, at a ball on board the Crippler, given to the officers of that ship when she lay in Plymouth harbor.

"The dear old Crippler!" said Mrs. Badger, shaking her head. "She was a noble vessel. Trim, ship-shape, all a taunto, as Captain Swosser used to say. You must excuse me if I occasionally introduce a nautical expression; I was quite a sailor once. Captain Swosser loved that craft for my sake. When she was no longer in commission, he frequently said that if he were rich enough to buy her old hulk, he would have an inscription let into the timbers of the quarter-deck where we stood as partners in the dance, to mark the spot where he fell--raked fore and aft (Captain Swosser used to say) by the fire from my tops. It was his naval way of mentioning my eyes."

Mrs. Badger shook her head, sighed, and looked in the glass.

"It was a great change from Captain Swosser to Professor Dingo," she resumed, with a plaintive smile. "I felt it a good deal at first. Such an entire revolution in my mode of life! But custom, combined with science--particularly science--inured me to it. Being the Professor's sole companion in his botanical excursions, I almost forgot that I had ever been afloat, and became quite learned. It is singular that the Professor was the Antipodes of Captain Swosser, and that Mr. Badger is not in the least like either!"

We then passed into a narrative of the deaths of Captain Swosser and Professor Dingo, both of whom seemed to have had very bad complaints. In the course of it, Mrs. Badger signified to us that she had never madly loved but once; and that the object of that wild affection, never to be recalled in its fresh enthusiasm, was Captain Swosser. The Professor was yet dying by inches in the most dismal manner, and Mrs. Badger was giving us imitations of his way of saying, with great difficulty, "Where is Laura? Let Laura give me my toast and water!" when the entrance of the gentlemen consigned him to the tomb.

Now, I observed that evening, as I had observed for some days past, that Ada and Richard were more than ever attached to each other's society; which was but natural, seeing that they were going to be separated so soon. I was therefore not very much surprised, when we got home, and Ada and I retired up-stairs, to find Ada more silent than usual; though I was not quite prepared for her coming into my arms, and beginning to speak to me, with her face hidden.

"My darling Esther!" murmured Ada. "I have a great secret to tell you!"

A mighty secret, my pretty one, no doubt!

"What is it, Ada?"

"O Esther, you would never guess!"

"Shall I try to guess?" said I.

"O no! Don't! Pray, don't!" cried Ada, very much startled by the idea of my doing so.

"Now, I wonder who it can be about?" said I, pretending to consider.

"It's about," said Ada, in a whisper. "It's about--my cousin Richard!"

"Well, my own!" said I, kissing her bright hair, which was all I could see. "And what about him?"

"O, Esther, you would never guess!"

It was so pretty to have her clinging to me in that way, hiding her face; and to know that she was not crying in sorrow, but in a little glow of joy, and pride, and hope; that I would not help her just yet.

"He says--I know it's very foolish, we are both so young--but he says," with a burst of tears, "that he loves me dearly, Esther."

"Does he indeed?" said I. "I never heard of such a thing! Why, my pet of pets, I could have told you that, weeks and weeks ago!"

To see Ada lift up her flushed face in joyful surprise, and hold me round the neck, and laugh, and cry, and blush, and laugh, was so pleasant!

"Why, my darling!" said I, "what a goose you must take me for! Your cousin Richard has been loving you as plainly as he could, for I don't know how long!"

"And yet you never said a word about it!" cried Ada, kissing me.

"No, my love," said I. "I waited to be told."

"But now I have told you, you don't think it wrong of me; do you?" returned Ada. She might have coaxed me to say No, if I had been the hardest-hearted Duenna in the world. Not being that yet, I said No, very freely.

"And now," said I, "I know the worst of it."

"O, that's not quite the worst of it, Esther dear!" cried Ada, holding me tighter, and laying down her face again upon my breast.

"No?" said I. "Not even that?"

"No, not even that!" said Ada, shaking her head.

"Why, you never mean to say--!" I was beginning in joke.

But Ada looking up, and smiling through her tears, cried. "Yes, I do! You know, you know I do!" and then sobbed out, "With all my heart I do! With all my whole heart, Esther!"

I told her, laughing, why, I had known that, too, just as well as I had known the other! And we sat before the fire, and I had all the talking to myself for a little while (though there was not much of it); and Ada was soon quiet and happy. "Do you think my cousin John knows, dear Dame Durden?" she asked.

"Unless my cousin John is blind, my pet," said I, "I should think my cousin John knows pretty well as much as we know."

"We want to speak to him before Richard goes," said Ada, timidly, "and we wanted you to advise us, and to tell him so. Perhaps you wouldn't mind Richard's coming in, Dame Durden?"

"O! Richard is outside, is he, my dear?" said I.

"I am not quite certain," returned Ada, with a bashful simplicity that would have won my heart, if she had not won it long before; "but I think he's waiting at the door."

There he was, of course. They brought a chair on either side of me, and put me between them, and really seemed to have fallen in love with me, instead of one another; they were so confiding, and so trustful, and so fond of me. They went on in their own wild way for a little while--I never stopped them; I enjoyed it too much myself--and then we gradually fell to considering how young they were, and how there must be a lapse of several years before this early love could come to any thing, and how it could come to happiness only if it were real and lasting, and inspired them with a steady resolution to do their duty to each other, with constancy, fortitude, and perseverance: each always for the other's sake. Well! Richard said that he would work his fingers to the bone for Ada, and Ada said that she would work her fingers to the bone for Richard, and they called me all sorts of endearing and sensible names, and we sat there, advising and talking, half the night. Finally, before we parted, I gave them my promise to speak to their cousin John to-morrow.

So, when to-morrow came, I went to my Guardian after breakfast, in the room that was our town-substitute for the Growlery, and told him that I had it in trust to tell him something.

"Well, little woman," said he, shutting up his book, "if you have accepted the trust, there can be no harm in it."

"I hope not, Guardian," said I. "I can guarantee that there is no secresy in it. For it only happened yesterday."

"Ay? And what is it, Esther?"

"Guardian," said I, "you remember the happy night when we first came down to Bleak House? When Ada was singing in the dark room?"

I wished to recall to his remembrance the look he had given me then. Unless I am much mistaken, I saw that I did so.

"Because," said I, with a little hesitation.

"Yes, my dear!" said he. "Don't hurry."

"Because," said I, "Ada and Richard have fallen in love. And have told each other so."

"Already?" cried my Guardian, quite astonished.

"Yes!" said I, "and to tell you the truth, Guardian, I rather expected it."

"The deuce you did!" said he.

He sat considering for a minute or two; with his smile, at once so handsome and so kind, upon his changing face; and then requested me to let them know that he wished to see them. When they came, he encircled Ada with one arm, in his fatherly way, and addressed himself to Richard with a cheerful gravity.

"Rick," said Mr. Jarndyce, "I am glad to have won your confidence. I hope to preserve it. When I contemplated these relations between us four which have so brightened my life, and so invested it with new interests and pleasures, I certainly did contemplate, afar off, the possibility of you and your pretty cousin here (don't be shy, Ada, don't be shy, my dear!) being in a mind to go through life together. I saw, and do see, many reasons to make it desirable. But that was afar off, Rick, afar off!"

"We look afar off, sir," returned Richard.

"Well!" said Mr. Jarndyce. "That's rational. Now, hear me, my dears! I might tell you that you don't know your own minds yet; that a thousand things may happen to divert you from one another; that it is well this chain of flowers you have taken up is very easily broken, or it might become a chain of lead. But I will not do that. Such wisdom will come soon enough, I dare say, if it is to come at all. I will assume that, a few years hence, you will be in your hearts to one another, what you are to-day. All I say before speaking to you according to that assumption is, if you _do_ change--if you _do_ come to find that you are more commonplace cousins to each other as man and woman, than you were as boy and girl (your manhood will excuse me, Rick!)--don't be ashamed still to confide in me, for there will be nothing monstrous or uncommon in it. I am only your friend and distant kinsman. I have no power over you whatever. But I wish and hope to retain your confidence, if I do nothing to forfeit it."

"I am very sure, sir," returned Richard, "that I speak for Ada, too, when I say that you have the strongest power over us both--rooted in respect, gratitude, and affection, strengthening every day."

"Dear cousin John," said Ada, on his shoulder, "my father's place can never be empty again. All the love and duty I could ever have rendered to him, is transferred to you."

"Come!" said Mr. Jarndyce. "Now for our assumption. Now we lift our eyes up, and look hopefully at the distance! Rick, the world is before you; and it is most probable that as you enter it, so it will receive you. Trust in nothing but in Providence and your own efforts. Never separate the two, like the heathen wagoner. Constancy in love is a good thing; but it means nothing, and is nothing, without constancy in every kind of effort. If you had the abilities of all the great men, past and present, you could do nothing well, without sincerely meaning it, and setting about it. If you entertain the supposition that any real success, in great things or in small, ever was or could be, ever will or can be, wrested from Fortune by fits and starts, leave that wrong idea here, or leave your cousin Ada here."

"I will leave it here, sir," replied Richard, smiling, "if I brought it here just now (but I hope I did not), and will work my way on to my cousin Ada in the hopeful distance."

"Right!" said Mr. Jarndyce. "If you are not to make her happy, why should you pursue her?"

"I wouldn't make her unhappy--no, not even for her love," retorted Richard, proudly.

"Well said!" cried Mr. Jarndyce; "that's well said! She remains here, in her home with me. Love her, Rick, in your active life, no less than in her home when you revisit it, and all will go well. Otherwise, all will go ill. That's the end of my preaching. I think you and Ada had better take a walk."

Ada tenderly embraced him, and Richard heartily shook hands with him, and then the cousins went out of the room--looking back again directly, though, to say that they would wait for me.

The door stood open, and we both followed them with our eyes, as they passed down the adjoining room on which the sun was shining, and out at its farther end. Richard, with his head bent, and her hand drawn through his arm, was talking to her very earnestly; and she looked up in his face, listening, and seemed to see nothing else. So young, so beautiful, so full of hope and promise, they went on lightly through the sunlight, as their own happy thoughts might then be traversing the years to come, and making them all years of brightness. So they passed away into the shadow, and were gone. It was only a burst of light that had been so radiant. The room darkened as they went out, and the sun was clouded over.

"Am I right, Esther?" said my Guardian, when they were gone.

He who was so good and wise, to ask me whether he was right!

"Rick may gain, out of this, the quality he wants. Wants, at the core of so much that is good!" said Mr. Jarndyce, shaking his head. "I have said nothing to Ada, Esther. She has her friend and counselor always near." And he laid his hand lovingly upon my head.

I could not help showing that I was a little moved, though I did all I could to conceal it.

"Tut tut!" said he. "But we must take care, too, that our little woman's life is not all consumed in care for others."

"Care? My dear Guardian, I believe I am the happiest creature in the world!"

"I believe so too," said he. "But some one may find out, what Esther never will--that the little woman is to be held in remembrance above all other people!"

I have omitted to mention in its place, that there was some one else at the family dinner party. It was not a lady. It was a gentleman. It was a gentleman of a dark complexion--a young surgeon. He was rather reserved, but I thought him very sensible and agreeable. At least, Ada asked me if I did not, and I said yes.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

THE COUNTER-STROKE.

Just after breakfast one fine spring morning in 1837, an advertisement in the _Times_ for a curate caught and fixed my attention. The salary was sufficiently remunerative for a bachelor, and the parish, as I personally knew, one of the most pleasantly situated in all Somersetshire. Having said that, the reader will readily understand that it could not have been a hundred miles from Taunton. I instantly wrote, inclosing testimonials, with which the Rev. Mr. Townley, the rector, was so entirely satisfied, that the return-post brought me a positive engagement, unclogged with the slightest objection to one or two subsidiary items I had stipulated for, and accompanied by an invitation to make the rectory my home till I could conveniently suit myself elsewhere. This was both kind and handsome; and the next day but one I took coach, with a light heart, for my new destination. It thus happened that I became acquainted, and in some degree mixed up, with the train of events it is my present purpose to relate.

The rector I found to be a stout, portly gentleman, whose years already reached to between sixty and seventy. So many winters, although they had plentifully besprinkled his hair with gray, shone out with ruddy brightness in his still handsome face, and keen, kindly, bright-hazel eyes; and his voice, hearty and ringing, had not as yet one quaver of age in it. I met him at breakfast on the morning after my arrival, and his reception of me was most friendly. We had spoken together but for a few minutes, when one of the French windows, that led from the breakfast-room into a shrubbery and flower-garden, gently opened and admitted a lady, just then, as I afterward learned, in her nineteenth spring. I use this term almost unconsciously, for I can not even now, in the glowing summer of her life, dissociate her image from that season of youth and joyousness. She was introduced to me, with old-fashioned simplicity, as "My grand-daughter, Agnes Townley." It is difficult to look at beauty through other men's eyes, and, in the present instance, I feel that I should fail miserably in the endeavor to stamp upon this blank, dead paper, any adequate idea of the fresh loveliness, the rose-bud beauty of that young girl. I will merely say, that her perfectly Grecian head, wreathed with wavy _bandeaux_ of bright hair, undulating with golden light, vividly brought to my mind Raphael's halo-tinted portraitures of the Virgin--with this difference, that in place of the holy calm and resignation of the painting, there was in Agnes Townley, a sparkling youth and life, that even amid the heat and glare of a crowded ball-room, or of a theatre, irresistibly suggested and recalled the freshness and perfume of the morning--of a cloudless, rosy morning of May. And, far higher charm than feature-beauty, however exquisite, a sweetness of disposition, a kind gentleness of mind and temper, was evinced in every line of her face, in every accent of the low-pitched, silver voice, that breathed through lips made only to smile.

Let me own, that I was greatly struck by so remarkable a combination of rare endowments; and this, I think, the sharp-eyed rector must have perceived, or he might not, perhaps, have been so immediately communicative with respect to the near prospects of his idolized grand-child, as he was the moment the young lady, after presiding at the breakfast-table, had withdrawn.

"We shall have gay doings, Mr. Tyrrel, at the rectory shortly," he said. "Next Monday three weeks will, with the blessing of God, be Agnes Townley's wedding-day."

"Wedding-day!"

"Yes," rejoined the rector, turning toward and examining some flowers which Miss Townley had brought in and placed on the table. "Yes, it has been for some time settled that Agnes shall on that day be united in holy wedlock to Mr. Arbuthnot."

"Mr. Arbuthnot, of Elm Park?"

"A great match, is it not, in a worldly point of view?" replied Mr. Townley, with a pleasant smile at the tone of my exclamation. "And much better than that: Robert Arbuthnot is a young man of a high and noble nature, as well as devotedly attached to Agnes. He will, I doubt not, prove in every respect a husband deserving and worthy of her; and that from the lips of a doting old grandpapa must be esteemed high praise. You will see him presently."

I did see him often, and quite agreed in the rector's estimate of his future grandson-in-law. I have not frequently seen a finer-looking young man--his age was twenty-six; and certainly one of a more honorable and kindly spirit, of a more genial temper than he, has never come within my observation. He had drawn a great prize in the matrimonial lottery, and, I felt, deserved his high fortune.

They were married at the time agreed upon, and the day was kept not only at Elm Park, and in its neighborhood, but throughout "our" parish, as a general holiday. And, strangely enough--at least I have never met with another instance of the kind--it was held by our entire female community, high as well as low, that the match was a perfectly equal one, notwithstanding that wealth and high worldly position were entirely on the bridegroom's side. In fact, that nobody less in the social scale than the representative of an old territorial family ought, in the nature of things, to have aspired to the hand of Agnes Townley, appeared to have been a foregone conclusion with every body. This will give the reader a truer and more vivid impression of the bride, than any words or colors I might use.

The days, weeks, months of wedded life flew over Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot without a cloud, save a few dark but transitory ones which I saw now and then flit over the husband's countenance as the time when he should become a father drew near, and came to be more and more spoken of. "I should not survive her," said Mr. Arbuthnot, one day in reply to a chance observation of the rector's, "nor indeed desire to do so." The gray-headed man seized and warmly pressed the husband's hand, and tears of sympathy filled his eyes; yet did he, nevertheless, as in duty bound, utter grave words on the sinfulness of despair under any circumstances, and the duty, in all trials, however heavy, of patient submission to the will of God. But the venerable gentleman spoke in a hoarse and broken voice, and it was easy to see he _felt_ with Mr. Arbuthnot that the reality of an event, the bare possibility of which shook them so terribly, were a cross too heavy for human strength to bear and live.

It was of course decided that the expected heir or heiress should be intrusted to a wet-nurse, and a Mrs. Danby, the wife of a miller living not very far from the rectory, was engaged for that purpose. I had frequently seen the woman; and her name, as the rector and I were one evening gossiping over our tea, on some subject or other that I forgot, came up.

"A likely person," I remarked; "healthy, very good-looking, and one might make oath, a true-hearted creature. But there is withal a timidity; a frightenedness in her manner at times, which, if I may hazard a perhaps uncharitable conjecture, speaks ill for that smart husband of hers."

"You have hit the mark precisely, my dear sir. Danby is a sorry fellow, and a domestic tyrant to boot. His wife, who is really a good, but meek-hearted person, lived with us once. How old do you suppose her to be?"

"Five-and-twenty perhaps."

"Six years more than that. She has a son of the name of Harper by a former marriage, who is in his tenth year. Anne wasn't a widow long. Danby was caught by her good looks, and she by the bait of a well-provided home. Unless, however, her husband gives up his corn speculations, she will not, I think, have that much longer."

"Corn speculations! Surely Danby has no means adequate to indulgence in such a game as that?"

"Not he. But about two years ago he bought, on credit, I believe, a considerable quantity of wheat, and prices happening to fly suddenly up just then, he made a large profit. This has quite turned his head, which, by-the-by, was never, as Cockneys say, quite rightly screwed on." The announcement of a visitor interrupted any thing further the rector might have had to say, and I soon afterward went home.

A sad accident occurred about a month subsequent to the foregoing conversation. The rector was out riding upon a usually quiet horse, which all at once took it into its head to shy at a scarecrow it must have seen a score of times, and thereby threw its rider. Help was fortunately at hand, and the reverend gentleman was instantly conveyed home, when it was found that his left thigh was broken. Thanks, however, to his temperate habits, it was before long authoritatively pronounced that, although it would be a considerable time before he was released from confinement, it was not probable that the lusty winter of his life would be shortened by what had happened. Unfortunately, the accident threatened to have evil consequences in another quarter. Immediately after it occurred, one Matthews, a busy, thick-headed lout of a butcher, rode furiously off to Elm Park with the news. Mrs. Arbuthnot, who daily looked to be confined, was walking with her husband upon the lawn in front of the house, when the great burly blockhead rode up, and blurted out that the rector had been thrown from his horse, and it was feared killed!

The shock of such an announcement was of course overwhelming. A few hours afterward, Mrs. Arbuthnot gave birth to a healthy male-child; but the young mother's life, assailed by fever, was for many days utterly despaired of--for weeks held to tremble so evenly in the balance, that the slightest adverse circumstance might in a moment turn the scale deathward. At length the black horizon that seemed to encompass us so hopelessly, lightened, and afforded the lover-husband a glimpse and hope of his vanished and well-nigh despaired of Eden. The promise was fulfilled. I was in the library with Mr. Arbuthnot, awaiting the physician's morning report, very anxiously expected at the rectory, when Dr. Lindley entered the apartment in evidently cheerful mood.

"You have been causelessly alarmed," he said. "There is no fear whatever of a relapse. Weakness only remains, and that we shall slowly, perhaps, but certainly remove."

A gleam of lightning seemed to flash over Mr. Arbuthnot's expressive countenance. "Blessed be God!" he exclaimed. "And how," he added, "shall we manage respecting the child? She asks for it incessantly."

Mr. Arbuthnot's infant son, I should state, had been consigned immediately after its birth to the care of Mrs. Danby, who had herself been confined, also with a boy, about a fortnight previously. Scarlatina being prevalent in the neighborhood, Mrs. Danby was hurried away with the two children to a place near Bath, almost before she was able to bear the journey. Mr. Arbuthnot had not left his wife for an hour, and consequently had only seen his child for a few minutes just after it was born.

"With respect to the child," replied Dr. Lindley, "I am of opinion that Mrs. Arbuthnot may see it in a day or two. Say the third day from this, if all goes well. I think we may venture so far; but I will be present, for any untoward agitation might be perhaps instantly fatal." This point provisionally settled, we all three went our several ways: I to cheer the still suffering rector with the good news.

The next day but one, Mr. Arbuthnot was in exuberant spirits. "Dr. Lindley's report is even more favorable than we had anticipated," he said; "and I start to-morrow morning, to bring Mrs. Danby and the child--" The postman's subdued but unmistakable knock interrupted him. "The nurse," he added, "is very attentive and punctual. She writes almost every day." A servant entered with a salver heaped with letters. Mr. Arbuthnot tossed them over eagerly, and seizing one, after glancing at the post-mark, tore it eagerly open, muttering as he did so, "It is not the usual handwriting; but from her, no doubt--" "Merciful God!" I impulsively exclaimed, as I suddenly lifted my eyes to his. "What is the matter?" A mortal pallor had spread over Mr. Arbuthnot's before animated features, and he was glaring at the letter in his hand as if a basilisk had suddenly confronted him. Another moment, and the muscles of his frame appeared to give way suddenly, and he dropped heavily into the easy-chair from which he had risen to take the letters. I was terribly alarmed, and first loosening his neckerchief, for he seemed choking, I said: "Let me call some one;" and I turned to reach the bell, when he instantly seized my arms, and held me with a grip of iron. "No--no--no!" he hoarsely gasped; "water--water!" There was fortunately some on a side table. I handed it to him, and he drank eagerly. It appeared to revive him a little. He thrust the crumpled letter into his pocket, and said in a low, quick whisper: "There is some one coming! Not a word, remember--not a word!" At the same time, he wheeled his chair half round, so that his back should be toward the servant we heard approaching.

"I am sent, sir," said Mrs. Arbuthnot's maid, "to ask if the post has arrived?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Arbuthnot, with wonderful mastery of his voice. "Tell your mistress I shall be with her almost immediately, and that her--her son is quite well."

"Mr. Tyrrel," he continued, as soon as the servant was out of hearing, "there is, I think a liqueur-stand on the sideboard in the large dining-room. Would you have the kindness to bring it me, unobserved--mind that--unobserved by any one?"

I did as he requested; and the instant I placed the liqueur-frame before him, he seized the brandy _carafe_, and drank with fierce eagerness. "For goodness' sake," I exclaimed, "consider what you are about, Mr. Arbuthnot; you will make yourself ill."

"No, no," he answered, after finishing his draught. "It seems scarcely stronger than water. But I--I am better now. It was a sudden spasm of the heart; that's all. The letter," he added, after a long and painful pause, during which he eyed me, I thought, with a kind of suspicion--"the letter you saw me open just now, comes from a relative, an aunt, who is ill, very ill, and wishes to see me instantly. You understand?"

I _did_ understand, or at least I feared that I did too well. I, however, bowed acquiescence; and he presently rose from his chair, and strode about the apartment in great agitation, until his wife's bedroom bell rang. He then stopped suddenly short, shook himself, and looked anxiously at the reflection of his flushed and varying countenance in the magnificent chimney-glass.

"I do not look, I think--or, at least shall not, in a darkened room--odder, more out of the way--that is, more agitated--than one might, that one _must_ appear after hearing of the dangerous illness of--of--an aunt?"

"You look better, sir, than you did a while since."

"Yes, yes; much better, much better. I am glad to hear you say so. That was my wife's bell. She is anxious, no doubt, to see me."

He left the apartment; was gone perhaps ten minutes; and when he returned, was a thought less nervous than before. I rose to go. "Give my respects," he said, "to the good rector; and as an especial favor," he added, with strong emphasis, "let me ask of you not to mention to a living soul that you saw me so unmanned as I was just now; that I swallowed brandy. It would appear so strange, so weak, so ridiculous."

I promised not to do so, and almost immediately left the house, very painfully affected. His son was, I concluded, either dead or dying, and he was thus bewilderedly casting about for means of keeping the terrible, perhaps fatal tidings, from his wife. I afterward heard that he left Elm Park in a post-chaise, about two hours after I came away, unattended by a single servant!

He was gone three clear days only, at the end of which he returned with Mrs. Danby and--his son--in florid health, too, and one of the finest babies of its age--about nine weeks only--I had ever seen. Thus vanished the air-drawn Doubting Castle and Giant Despair which I had so hastily conjured up! The cause assigned by Mr. Arbuthnot for the agitation I had witnessed, was doubtless the true one; and yet, and the thought haunted me for months, years afterward, he opened only _one_ letter that morning, and had sent a message to his wife that the child was well.

Mrs. Danby remained at the Park till the little Robert was weaned, and was then dismissed very munificently rewarded. Year after year rolled away without bringing Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot any additional little ones, and no one, therefore, could feel surprised at the enthusiastic love of the delighted mother for her handsome, nobly-promising boy. But that which did astonish me, though no one else, for it seemed that I alone noticed it, was a strange defect of character which began to develop itself in Mr. Arbuthnot. He was positively jealous of his wife's affection for their own child! Many and many a time have I remarked, when he thought himself unobserved, an expression of intense pain flash from his fine, expressive eyes, at any more than usually fervent manifestation of the young mother's gushing love for her first and only born! It was altogether a mystery to me, and I as much as possible forbore to dwell upon the subject.

Nine years passed away without bringing any material change to the parties involved in this narrative, except those which time brings ordinarily in his train. Young Robert Arbuthnot was a healthy, tall, fine-looking lad of his age; and his great-grandpapa, the rector, though not suffering under any actual physical or mental infirmity, had reached a time of life when the announcement that the golden bowl is broken, or the silver cord is loosed, may indeed be quick and sudden, but scarcely unexpected. Things had gone well, too, with the nurse, Mrs. Danby, and her husband; well, at least, after a fashion. The speculative miller must have made good use of the gift to his wife for her care of little Arbuthnot, for he had built a genteel house near the mill, always rode a valuable horse, kept, it was said, a capital table; and all this, as it seemed, by his clever speculations in corn and flour, for the ordinary business of the mill was almost entirely neglected. He had no children of his own, but he had apparently taken, with much cordiality, to his step-son, a fine lad, now about eighteen years of age. This greatly grieved the boy's mother, who dreaded above all things that her son should contract the evil, dissolute habits of his father-in-law. Latterly, she had become extremely solicitous to procure the lad a permanent situation abroad, and this Mr. Arbuthnot had promised should be effected at the earliest opportunity.

Thus stood affairs on the 16th of October, 1846. Mr Arbuthnot was temporarily absent in Ireland, where he possessed large property, and was making personal inquiries as to the extent of the potato-rot, not long before announced. The morning's post had brought a letter to his wife, with the intelligence that he should reach home that very evening; and as the rectory was on the direct road to Elm Park, and her husband would be sure to pull up there, Mrs. Arbuthnot came with her son to pass the afternoon there, and in some slight degree anticipate her husband's arrival.

About three o'clock, a chief-clerk of one of the Taunton banks rode up in a gig to the rectory, and asked to see the Rev. Mr. Townley, on pressing and important business. He was ushered into the library, where the rector and I were at the moment rather busily engaged. The clerk said he had been to Elm Park, but not finding either Mr. Arbuthnot or his lady there, he had thought that perhaps the Rev. Mr. Townley might be able to pronounce upon the genuineness of a check for £300, purporting to be drawn on the Taunton Bank by Mr. Arbuthnot, and which Danby the miller had obtained cash for at Bath. He further added, that the bank had refused payment and detained the check, believing it to be a forgery.

"A forgery!" exclaimed the rector, after merely glancing at the document. "No question that it is, and a very clumsily executed one, too. Besides, Mr. Arbuthnot is not yet returned from Ireland."

This was sufficient; and the messenger, with many apologies for his intrusion, withdrew, and hastened back to Taunton. We were still talking over this sad affair, although some hours had elapsed since the clerk's departure--in fact, candles had been brought in, and we were every moment expecting Mr. Arbuthnot--when the sound of a horse at a hasty gallop was heard approaching, and presently the pale and haggard face of Danby shot by the window at which the rector and myself were standing. The gate-bell was rung almost immediately afterward, and but a brief interval passed before "Mr. Danby" was announced to be in waiting. The servant had hardly gained the passage with leave to show him in, when the impatient visitor rushed rudely into the room in a state of great, and it seemed angry excitement.

"What, sir, is the meaning of this ill-mannered intrusion?" demanded the rector, sternly.

"You have pronounced the check I paid away at Bath to be a forgery; and the officers are, I am told, already at my heels. Mr. Arbuthnot, unfortunately, is not at home, and I am come, therefore, to seek shelter with you."

"Shelter with me, sir!" exclaimed the indignant rector, moving, as he spoke, toward the bell. "Out of my house you shall go this instant."

The fellow placed his hand upon the reverend gentleman's arm, and looked with his bloodshot eyes keenly in his face.

"Don't!" said Danby; "don't, for the sake of yourself and yours! Don't! I warn you; or, if you like the phrase better, don't, for the sake of me and _mine_."

"Yours, fellow! Your wife, whom you have so long held in cruel bondage through her fears for her son, has at last shaken off that chain. James Harper sailed two days ago from Portsmouth for Bombay. I sent her the news two hours since."

"Ha! is that indeed so?" cried Danby, with an irrepressible start of alarm. "Why, then--But no matter: here, luckily, comes Mrs. Arbuthnot _and her son_. All's right! She will, I know, stand bail for me, and, if need be, acknowledge the genuineness of her husband's check."

The fellow's insolence was becoming unbearable, and I was about to seize and thrust him forcibly from the apartment, when the sound of wheels was heard outside. "Hold! one moment," he cried with fierce vehemence. "That is probably the officers: I must be brief, then, and to the purpose. Pray, madam, do not leave the room for your own sake: as for you, young sir, I _command_ you to remain!"

"What! what does he mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Arbuthnot bewilderedly, and at the same time clasping her son--who gazed on Danby with kindled eyes, and angry boyish defiance--tightly to her side. Did the man's strange words give form and significance to some dark, shadowy, indistinct doubt that had previously haunted her at times? I judged so. The rector appeared similarly confused and shaken, and had sunk nerveless and terrified upon a sofa.

"You guess dimly, I see, at what I have to say," resumed Danby with a malignant sneer. "Well, hear it, then, once for all, and then, if you will, give me up to the officers. Some years ago," he continued, coldly and steadily--"some years ago, a woman, a nurse, was placed in charge of two infant children, both boys: one of these was her own; the other was the son of rich, proud parents. The woman's husband was a gay, jolly fellow, who much preferred spending money to earning it, and just then it happened that he was more than usually hard up. One afternoon, on visiting his wife, who had removed to a distance, he found that the rich man's child had sickened of the small-pox, and that there was no chance of its recovery. A letter containing the sad news was on a table, which he, the husband, took the liberty to open and read. After some reflection, suggested by what he had heard of the lady-mother's state of mind, he re-copied the letter, for the sake of embodying in it a certain suggestion. That letter was duly posted, and the next day brought the rich man almost in a state of distraction; but his chief and mastering terror was lest the mother of the already dead infant should hear, in her then precarious state, of what had happened. The tidings, he was sure, would kill her. Seeing this, the cunning husband of the nurse suggested that, for the present, his--the cunning one's--child might be taken to the lady as her own, and that the truth could be revealed when she was strong enough to bear it. The rich man fell into the artful trap, and that which the husband of the nurse had speculated upon, came to pass even beyond his hopes. The lady grew to idolize her fancied child--she has, fortunately, had no other--and now, I think, it would really kill her to part with him. The rich man could not find it in his heart to undeceive his wife--every year it became more difficult, more impossible to do so; and very generously, I must say, has he paid in purse for the forbearance of the nurse's husband. Well now, then, to sum up: the nurse was Mrs. Danby; the rich, weak husband, Mr. Arbuthnot; the substituted child, that handsome boy, _my son_!"

A wild scream from Mrs. Arbuthnot broke the dread silence which had accompanied this frightful revelation, echoed by an agonized cry, half tenderness, half rage, from her husband, who had entered the room unobserved, and now clasped her passionately in his arms. The carriage-wheels we had heard were his. It was long before I could recall with calmness the tumult, terror, and confusion of that scene. Mr Arbuthnot strove to bear his wife from the apartment, but she would not be forced away, and kept imploring with frenzied vehemence that Robert--that her boy should not be taken from her.

"I have no wish to do so--far from it," said Danby, with gleeful exultation. "Only folk must be reasonable, and not threaten their friends with the hulks--"

"Give him any thing, any thing!" broke in the unhappy lady. "O Robert! Robert!" she added with a renewed burst of hysterical grief, "how could you deceive me so?"

"I have been punished, Agnes," he answered in a husky, broken voice, "for my well-intending but criminal weakness; cruelly punished by the ever-present consciousness that this discovery must one day or other be surely made. What do you want?" he after awhile added with recovering firmness, addressing Danby.

"The acknowledgment of the little bit of paper in dispute, of course; and say a genuine one to the same amount."

"Yes, yes," exclaimed Mrs. Arbuthnot, still wildly sobbing, and holding the terrified boy still strained in her embrace, as if she feared he might be wrenched from her by force. "Any thing--pay him any thing!"

At this moment, chancing to look toward the door of the apartment, I saw that it was partially opened, and that Danby's wife was listening there. What might that mean? But what of helpful meaning in such a case could it have?

"Be it so, love," said Mr. Arbuthnot, soothingly. "Danby, call to-morrow at the Park. And now, begone at once."

"I was thinking," resumed the rascal with swelling audacity, "that we might as well at the same time come to some permanent arrangement upon black and white. But never mind: I can always put the screw on; unless, indeed, you get tired of the young gentleman, and in that case, I doubt not, he will prove a dutiful and affectionate son--Ah, devil! What do you here? Begone, or I'll murder you! Begone, do you hear?"

His wife had entered, and silently confronted him. "Your threats, evil man," replied the woman quietly, "have no terrors for me now. My son is beyond your reach. Oh, Mrs. Arbuthnot," she added, turning toward and addressing that lady, "believe not--"

Her husband sprang at her with the bound of a panther. "Silence! Go home, or I'll strangle--" His own utterance was arrested by the fierce grasp of Mr. Arbuthnot, who seized him by the throat, and hurled him to the further end of the room. "Speak on, woman; and quick! quick! What have you to say?"

"That your son, dearest lady," she answered, throwing herself at Mrs. Arbuthnot's feet, "is as truly your own child as ever son born of woman!"

That shout of half-fearful triumph seems even now as I write to ring in my ears! I _felt_ that the woman's words were words of truth, but I could not see distinctly: the room whirled round, and the lights danced before my eyes, but I could hear through all the choking ecstasy of the mother, and the fury of the baffled felon.

"The letter," continued Mrs. Danby, "which my husband found and opened, would have informed you, sir, of the swiftly approaching death of _my_ child, and that yours had been carefully kept beyond the reach of contagion. The letter you received was written without my knowledge or consent. True it is that, terrified by my husband's threats, and in some measure reconciled to the wicked imposition by knowing that, after all, the right child would be in his right place, I afterward lent myself to Danby's evil purposes. But I chiefly feared for my son, whom I fully believed he would not have scrupled to make away with in revenge for my exposing his profitable fraud. I have sinned; I can hardly hope to be forgiven, but I have now told the sacred truth."

All this was uttered by the repentant woman, but at the time it was almost wholly unheard by those most interested in the statement. They only comprehended that they were saved--that the child was theirs in very truth. Great, abundant, but for the moment, bewildering joy! Mr. Arbuthnot--his beautiful young wife--her own true boy (how could she for a moment have doubted that he was her own true boy!--you might read that thought through all her tears, thickly as they fell)--the aged and half-stunned rector, while yet Mrs. Danby was speaking, were exclaiming, sobbing in each other's arms, ay, and praising God too, with broken voices and incoherent words it may be, but certainly with fervent, pious, grateful hearts.

When we had time to look about us, it was found that the felon had disappeared--escaped. It was well, perhaps, that he had; better, that he has not been heard of since.

PHILOSOPHY OF LAUGHTER.

From the time of King Solomon downward, laughter has been the subject of pretty general abuse. Even the laughers themselves sometimes vituperate the cachinnation they indulge in, and many of them

"Laugh in such a sort, As if they mocked themselves, and scorned the spirit That could be moved to laugh at any thing."

The general notion is, that laughter is childish, and unworthy the gravity of adult life. Grown men, we say, have more to do than to laugh; and the wiser sort of them leave such an unseemly contortion of the muscles to babes and blockheads.

We have a suspicion that there is something wrong here--that the world is mistaken not only in its reasonings, but its facts. To assign laughter to an early period of life, is to go contrary to observation and experience. There is not so grave an animal in this world as the human baby. It will weep, when it has got the length of tears, by the pailful; it will clench its fists, distort its face into a hideous expression of anguish, and scream itself into convulsions. It has not yet come up to a laugh. The little savage must be educated by circumstances, and tamed by the contact of civilization, before it rises to the greater functions of its being. Nay, we have sometimes received the idea from its choked and tuneless screams, that _they_ were imperfect attempts at laughter. It feels enjoyment as well as pain, but has only one way of expressing both.

Then, look at the baby, when it has turned into a little boy or girl, and come up in some degree to the cachinnation. The laughter is still only rudimental: it is not genuine laughter. It expresses triumph, scorn, passion--anything but a feeling of natural amusement. It is provoked by misfortune, by bodily infirmities, by the writhings of agonized animals; and it indicates either a sense of power or a selfish feeling of exemption from suffering. The "light-hearted laugh of children!" What a mistake! Observe the gravity of their sports. They are masters or mistresses, with the care of a family upon their hands; and they take especial delight in correcting their children with severity. They are washerwomen, housemaids, cooks, soldiers, policemen, postmen; coach, horsemen, and horses, by turns; and in all these characters they scour, sweep, fry, fight, pursue, carry, whirl, ride, and are ridden, without changing a muscle.

At the games of the young people there is much shouting, argument, vituperation--but no laughter. A game is a serious business with a boy, and he derives from it excitement, but no amusement. If he laughs at all, it is at something quite distinct from the purpose of the sport; for instance, when one of his comrades has his nose broken by the ball, or when the feet of another make off from him on the ice, and he comes down upon his back like a thunderbolt. On such occasions, the laugh of a boy puts us in mind of the laugh of a hyæna: it is, in fact, the broken, asthmatic roar of a beast of prey.

It would thus appear that the common charge brought against laughter, of being something babyish, or childish, or boyish--something properly appertaining to early life--is unfounded. But we of course must not be understood to speak of what is technically called giggling, which proceeds more from a looseness of the structures than from any sensation of amusement. Many young persons are continually on the giggle till their muscles strengthen; and indeed, when a company of them are met together, the affection aggravated by emulation, acquires the loudness of laughter, when it may be likened, in Scripture phrase, to the crackling of thorns. What we mean is a regular guffaw; that explosion of high spirits, and the feeling of joyous excitement, which is commonly written ha! ha! ha! This is altogether unknown in babyhood; in boyhood, it exists only in its rudiments; and it does not reach its full development till adolescence ripens into manhood.

This train of thought was suggested to us a few evenings ago, by the conduct of a party of eight or ten individuals, who meet periodically for the purpose of philosophical inquiry. Their subject is a very grave one. Their object is to mould into a science that which as yet is only a vague, formless, and obscure department of knowledge; and they proceed in the most cautious manner from point to point, from axiom to axiom--debating at every step, and coming to no decision without unanimous conviction. Some are professors of the university, devoted to abstruse studies; some are clergymen; and some authors and artists. Now, at the meeting in question--which we take merely as an example, for all are alike--when the hour struck which terminates their proceedings for the evening, the jaded philosophers retired to the refreshment-room; and here a scene of remarkable contrast occurred. Instead of a single deep, low, earnest voice, alternating with a profound silence, an absolute roar of merriment began, with the suddenness of an explosion of gunpowder. Jests, bon-mots, anecdotes, barbarous plays upon words--the more atrocious the better--flew round the table; and a joyous and almost continuous ha! ha! ha! made the ceiling ring. This, we venture to say it, _was_ laughter--genuine, unmistakable laughter, proceeding from no sense of triumph, from no self-gratulation, and mingled with no bad feeling of any kind. It was a spontaneous effort of nature coming from the head as well as the heart; an unbending of the bow, a reaction from study, which study alone could occasion, and which could occur only in adult life.

There are some people who can not laugh, but these are not necessarily either morose or stupid. They may laugh in their heart, and with their eyes, although by some unlucky fatality, they have not the gift of oral cachinnation. Such persons are to be pitied; for laughter in grown people is a substitute devised by nature for the screams and shouts of boyhood, by which the lungs are strengthened and the health preserved. As the intellect ripens, that shouting ceases, and we learn to laugh as we learn to reason. The society we have mentioned studied the harder the more they laughed, and they laughed the more the harder they studied. Each, of course, to be of use, must be in its own place. A laugh in the midst of the study would have been a profanation; a grave look in the midst of the merriment would have been an insult to the good sense of the company.

If there are some people who can not laugh, there are others who will not. It is not, however, that they are ashamed of being grown men, and want to go back to babyhood, for by some extraordinary perversity, they fancy unalterable gravity to be the distinguishing characteristic of wisdom. In a merry company, they present the appearance of a Red Indian whitewashed, and look on at the strange ways of their neighbors without betraying even the faintest spark of sympathy or intelligence. These are children of a larger growth, and have not yet acquired sense enough to laugh. Like the savage, they are afraid of compromising their dignity, or, to use their own words, of making fools of themselves. For our part, we never see a man afraid of making a fool of himself at the right season, without setting him down as a fool ready made.

A woman has no natural grace more bewitching than a sweet laugh. It is like the sound of flutes on the water. It leaps from her heart in a clear, sparkling rill; and the heart that hears it feels as if bathed in the cool, exhilarating spring. Have you ever pursued an unseen fugitive through the trees, led on by her fairy laugh; now here, now there--now lost, now found? We have. And we are pursuing that wandering voice to this day. Sometimes it comes to us in the midst of care, or sorrow, or irksome business; and then we turn away, and listen, and hear it ringing through the room like a silver bell, with power to scare away the ill-spirits of the mind. How much we owe to that sweet laugh! It turns the prose of our life into poetry; it flings showers of sunshine over the darksome wood in which we are traveling; it touches with light even our sleep, which is no more the image of death, but gemmed with dreams that are the shadows of immortality.

But our song, like Dibdin's, "means more than it says;" for a man, as we have stated, may laugh, and yet the cachinnation be wanting. His heart laughs, and his eyes are filled with that kindly, sympathetic smile which inspires friendship and confidence. On the sympathy within, these external phenomena depend; and this sympathy it is which keeps societies of men together, and is the true freemasonry of the good and wise. It is an imperfect sympathy that grants only sympathetic tears: we must join in the mirth as well as melancholy of our neighbors. If our countrymen laughed more, they would not only be happier, but better, and if philanthropists would provide amusements for the people, they would be saved the trouble and expense of their fruitless war against public-houses. This is an indisputable proposition. The French and Italians, with wine growing at their doors, and spirits almost as cheap as beer in England, are sober nations. How comes this? The laugh will answer that leaps up from group after group--the dance on the village-green--the family dinner under the trees--the thousand merry-meetings that invigorate industry, by serving as a relief to the business of life. Without these, business is care; and it is from care, not from amusement, men fly to the bottle.

The common mistake is to associate the idea of amusement with error of every kind; and this piece of moral asceticism is given forth as true wisdom, and, from sheer want of examination, is very generally received as such. A place of amusement concentrates a crowd, and whatever excesses may be committed, being confined to a small space, stand more prominently forward than at other times. This is all. The excesses are really fewer--far fewer--in proportion to the number assembled, than if no gathering had taken place How can it be otherwise? The amusement is itself the excitement which the wearied heart longs for; it is the reaction which nature seeks; and in the comparatively few instances of a grosser intoxication being superadded, we see only the craving of depraved habit--a habit engendered, in all probability, by the _want_ of amusement.

No, good friends, let us laugh sometimes, if you love us. A dangerous character is of another kidney, as Cæsar knew to his cost:

"He loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he laughs;"

and when he does, it is on the wrong side of his mouth.

Let us be wiser. Let us laugh in fitting time and place, silently or aloud, each after his nature. Let us enjoy an innocent reaction rather than a guilty one, since reaction there must be. The bow that is always bent loses its elasticity, and becomes useless.

Monthly Record of Current Events.

THE UNITED STATES.

The past month has been one of unusual activity. The proceedings of Congress have not been without importance:--political Conventions have been held, shaping to a certain extent public movements for the coming season: and numerous religious and benevolent associations, as well as ecclesiastical assemblies for business purposes, have held their annual meetings.

In the United States Senate, the debate upon an amendment to the Deficiency Bill, by which it was proposed to grant a large increase of pay annually to the Collins line of Atlantic steamers, continued for several days. On the 30th of May, Senator Rusk spoke in favor of it, and on the 6th, Senator James made an argument upon the same side. Senator Jones, of Tennessee, opposed so large a grant as that suggested, though he declared himself desirous of sustaining the line. He moved to strike out $33,000, and insert $25,000, as the increase each trip. On the 7th, Mr. Cass spoke at length in favor of the appropriation. The amendment of Mr. Jones was then rejected, by a vote of 20 to 28. Senator Brooke moved an amendment, granting the whole amount of postages received in place of all other compensation: this was rejected by 9 to 38. Mr. Rusk moved that Congress shall have the power at any time after December, 1854, to discontinue the extra allowance, on giving six months' notice. This was agreed to. Mr. Mallory moved, that the contract be transferred from the Naval to the Post Office Department: this was lost, 18 to 19. On the 13th, Senator Borland spoke in opposition to the increased grant. On the 19th, the amendment, giving the line $33,000 additional pay for each trip, was agreed to, by a vote of 23 ayes to 21 noes: and on the 21st, upon a motion to agree to this amendment, as reported by the Committee of the whole, it was decided in the affirmative by an increased vote.

In the House of Representatives the only action taken, worthy of special record, was the passage, on the 12th, of the Bill granting to each head of a family, who may be a native citizen of the United States or naturalized previous to January, 1852, the right to enter upon and cultivate one quarter-section of the Public Lands, and directing the issue to him of a patent for such land after five years of actual residence and cultivation. The Bill was passed by a vote of 107 to 56.----The other debates of the House have turned so exclusively upon unimportant topics, or upon temporary matters relating to the approaching Presidential election, as to render further reference to them here unnecessary.

In reply to the call of the Senate, the closing correspondence of Chevalier Hulsemann, Austrian Chargé, with the State Department, has been published. Under date of April 29, Mr. H. writes to the Secretary, stating that the time had arrived for carrying into effect the intentions of his government in regard to his official connection with that of the United States. He complains that the Secretary had not answered his communication of December 13, in regard to the public reception given to Kossuth, and that, in spite of verbal encouragements given him to expect different treatment, his movements had been derisively commented on by the public journals. He had deemed it his duty on the 21st of November, to complain of these annoyances, and on the 28th the Secretary had thereupon notified him that no further communication would be held with him except in writing. On the 7th of January, the Secretary of State had seen fit to mate a speech encouraging revolution in Hungary. This demonstration he considered so strange that he immediately inquired of the President whether it was to be considered an expression of the sentiments of the government of the United States. The Austrian government had expressed itself satisfied with the assurances given in return by the President on the 12th of April, and had instructed him no longer to continue official relations with the "principal promoter of the Kossuth episode." He closed his letter by stating that Mr. A. Belmont, Consul-general of Austria at New York, would continue in the exercise of his functions. Under date of May 3, Mr. Hunter, acting Secretary of State, acknowledged the receipt of this communication, and informed Chevalier Hulsemann that, "as Mr. Belmont is well known to the Secretary of State as a gentleman of much respectability, any communication which it may be proper for him to address to the department in his official character, will be received with entire respect."

The Democratic National Convention, for the nomination of candidates for the coming canvass, met at Baltimore on the 1st of June, and was organized by the election of Hon. JOHN W. DAVIS, of Indiana, President. The number of delegates present was 288, and a rule was adopted requiring a vote of two-thirds (192) for a nomination. Unsuccessful ballotings were had for four days, and it was not until the forty-ninth ballot that General FRANKLIN PIERCE, of New Hampshire, received the nomination. Upon the forty-eighth ballot he received 55 votes, the remainder being divided among Messrs. Cass, Buchanan, Douglass, and Marcy:--upon the next trial he received 282 votes. Hon. WILLIAM R. KING, of Alabama, was then nominated for Vice President. A series of resolutions was adopted, rehearsing the leading principles of the Democratic party, and declaring resistance to "all attempts at renewing in Congress, or out of it, the agitation of the slavery question under whatever shape or color the attempt may be made"--and also a determination to "abide by, and adhere to, a faithful execution of the acts known as the Compromise measures settled by the last Congress--the act reclaiming fugitives from service or labor included." The Convention adjourned on the 5th.

Mr. Webster, being upon a brief visit to his place of residence, accepted an invitation of the citizens of Boston to meet them at Faneuil Hall, on the 22d of May, when he made a brief address. He spoke of the pleasure which it always gave him to meet the people of Boston--of the astonishing progress and prosperity of that city, and of the many motives her citizens had to labor strenuously for her advancement. He spoke also of the general nature and functions of government, and of the many causes which the people of this country have to reverence and cherish the institutions bequeathed to them by their fathers.

In the State of New York, the Court of Appeals has decided against the constitutionality of the law of 1851, for the more speedy completion of the State canals. It will be recollected that the Constitution of the State directs that the surplus revenues of the Canals shall in each fiscal year be applied to these works, in such manner as the Legislature may direct; and it also forbids the contracting of any debt against the State, except by an act to be submitted to the people, and providing for a direct tax sufficient to pay the interest and redeem within eighteen years the principal of the debt thus contracted. The Bill in question provided for the issue of certificates to the amount of nine millions of dollars, to be paid exclusively out of the surplus revenues thus set apart, and stating on their face that the State was to be in no degree responsible for their redemption; and for the application of moneys that might be raised from the sale of these certificates, to the completion of the Canals. Under the law contracts had been made for the whole work, which were pronounced valid by the last Legislature. The Court of Appeals decides that the law conflicts with that clause of the Constitution which requires the application of the revenues in each fiscal year, as also with that which forbids the incurring of a debt except in the mode specified. The decision was concurred in by five out of the eight judges of that Court.

In South Carolina the State Convention of delegates elected to take such measures as they might deem expedient against the encroachments and aggressions of the Federal Government, met at Columbia on the 29th of April. It adopted a resolution, declaring that the wrongs sustained by the State, especially in regard to slavery, amply "justify that State, so far as any duty or obligation to her confederates is involved, in dissolving at once all political connection with her co-States, and that she forbears the exercise of that manifest right of self-government, from considerations of expediency only." This resolution was accompanied by an ordinance asserting the right of secession, and declaring that for the sufficiency of the causes which may impel her to such a step, she is responsible solely to God and to the tribunal of public opinion among the nations of the earth. The resolution was adopted by a vote of 135 to 20.

A bill has been passed by the Legislature of Massachusetts, forbidding the sale of intoxicating liquors within the limits of the State. As originally passed, it provided for its submission to the popular vote, and was vetoed by the Governor, because it did not provide for taking that vote by secret, instead of by an open ballot. The Legislature then enacted the law without any clause submitting it to the people; and in this form it received the assent of the Governor. A similar law, has been enacted in Rhode Island.

During the second week in May all the Missionary, Bible, and other benevolent associations connected with the several religious denominations having their centres of operation in the city of New York, held their anniversary celebrations in that city. They were so numerous, and their proceedings, except as given in detail, would prove so uninstructive, that it would be useless to make any extended mention of them here. They were attended with even more than the ordinary degree of public interest: very able and eloquent addresses were made by distinguished gentlemen, clergymen and others, from various parts of the country; and reports of their proceedings--of results accomplished and agencies employed--were spread before the public. The history of their labors during the year has been highly encouraging. Largely increased contributions of money have augmented their resources and their ability to prosecute their labors which have been attended with marked success.----During the week succeeding, similar meetings were held in Boston of all the associations which have their head-quarters in that city.----The two General Assemblies, which constitute the government of the two divisions of the Presbyterian Church in the United States, have held their sessions during the month. That representing the Old School met at Charleston, S.C., on the 20th of May. Rev. John C. Lord, of Buffalo, N.Y., was chosen Moderator. That of the New School met at Washington on the same day, and Rev. Dr. Adams, of New York, was elected Moderator. Both were engaged for several days in business relating to the government and organization of their respective organizations.----The General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church (North) met at Boston on the 1st of May, and held a protracted session--extending through the whole month. Most of the business transacted related of course to matters of temporary or local interest. Special reports were made and action taken upon the interests of the Church in various sections of the country, and in the fields of missionary labor. It was decided that the next General Conference should meet at Indianapolis. Steps were taken to organize a Methodist Episcopal Tract Society. On the 25th of May the four new bishops were elected by ballot--Rev. Drs. Levi Scott, Matthew Simpson, Osmond C. Baker, and Edward R. Ames being chosen. Dr. T. E. Bond was elected editor of the Christian Advocate and Journal, the recognized organ of the Church; Dr. J. M'Clintock, editor of the Quarterly Review; D. P. Kidder, of the Sunday School publications; W. Nast, of the Christian Apologist; and Rev. Dr. Charles Elliott, of the Western Christian Advocate. Rev. Dr. J. P. Durbin was chosen Missionary Secretary.

Kossuth, after visiting the principal towns in Massachusetts, had a public reception at Albany, and spent a week in visiting Buffalo, Niagara, Syracuse, Troy, and other cities. He was expected at New York when our Record closed.----Thomas Francis Meagher, Esq., one of the Irish State prisoners, effected his escape from Van Dieman's Land in February, and arrived, in an American vessel, at New York on the 1st of June. He was very warmly welcomed by the public, especially by his countrymen.

From CALIFORNIA we have intelligence to the 6th of May. The total shipments of gold for April were $3,419,817; for March, $2,549,704. Great numbers of Chinese continued to arrive, and they had become so numerous in the country as to excite serious disaffection, and to lead to various propositions for their exclusion. The Governor sent in a special message to the Legislature, urging the necessity of restricting emigration from China, to enhance the prosperity and preserve the tranquillity of the State. He objects especially to those who come under contracts for a limited time--returning to China with the products of their labor after their term is out, and adding nothing to the resources or industry of the country. He says that they are not good American citizens, and can not be; and that their immigration is not desirable. By a reference to statistics he shows that China can pour in upon our coast millions of her population without feeling their loss; that they live upon the merest pittance; and that while they spend comparatively nothing in the country, the tendency of their presence is to create an unhealthy competition with our own people, and reduce the price of labor far below our American living standard. Governor Bigler also expresses a doubt, whether the Celestials are entitled to the benefit of the naturalization laws. He proposes as a remedy--1st. Such an exercise of the taxing power by the State as will check the present system of indiscriminate and unlimited Asiatic emigration. 2d. A demand by the State of California for the prompt interposition of Congress, by the passage of an Act prohibiting "Coolies," shipped to California under contracts, from laboring in the mines of this State. Measures have been taken in several of the mining localities to exclude the Chinese from them.----The Legislature adjourned on the 4th; the bill proposing a Convention to revise the Constitution of the State was defeated in the Senate by a vote of 11 to 9.----Serious Indian difficulties have occurred again in the interior. In Trinity County a company of armed citizens went in pursuit of a band of Indians who were supposed to have been concerned in the murder of one of their fellow-citizens. On the 22d of April they overtook them, encamped on the south fork of Trinity river, and taking them by surprise, shot not less than a hundred and fifty of them in cold blood. Men, women, and children were alike destroyed.----Accounts of murders, accidents, &c., abound. The accounts from the mining districts continue to be encouraging.

From the SANDWICH ISLANDS, we have news to the 10th of April. Parliament was opened on the 7th. In the Society group, the people of Raiatea have rebelled against the authority of Queen Pomare. She had just appointed one of her sons to the government of Raiatea, but before his arrival the inhabitants had assembled, as those of the others had previously done, elected a Governor of their own choice for two years, and formed a Republic of confederated States, each island to constitute a separate State. Military preparations had been made to resist any attempt on the part of the Queen to regain her authority. It was said that she had applied ineffectually for assistance to the French, English, and American authorities at Tahiti. There seemed to be little doubt that all the Leeward islands would establish their independence.

MEXICO.

We have news from the city of Mexico to the 10th of May. The news of the rejection of the Tehuantepec treaty is fully confirmed. The vote was almost unanimous against it, and is fully sustained by the press and public sentiment. The Government, however, has appointed Mr. Larrainzas a special envoy to the United States, and has given him, it is said, instructions for arranging this difficulty upon some mutually-satisfactory basis. It is reported that Mexico is not unwilling to grant a right of way across the Isthmus, but that the very large grants of land embraced in the original treaty led to its rejection. Upon this point, however, nothing definite is known.----A difficulty has arisen between the Legislature of the State of Vera Cruz and the Mexican Congress. The former insists upon a greater reduction of the tariff of 1845 than the ten per cent. allowed by the National Senate. The Senate will allow this reduction of ten per cent., but refuses to do away with any of the duties. The Lower House of Congress, on the contrary, is in favor of abolishing some of the duties. Zacatecas and Durango, besides being ravaged by the savages, are suffering from the visitation of a general famine.

SOUTH AMERICA.

From BUENOS AYRES we have news to the 5th of April. The upper provinces have sent in felicitations to General Urquiza upon his accession to power. It is thought that the provinces will unite in a General Confederacy, under a Central Government, framed upon the model of that of the United States: and it is suggested that General Urquiza will probably aspire to the position of President. He is conducting affairs firmly and successfully, though against great difficulties in the province, and has issued several proclamations calling upon the people to sustain him in maintaining order and tranquillity. It is said that a rupture has occurred between the Brazilian authorities and the Oriental government, in regard to the execution of late treaties made and ratified by President Suarez. Negotiations had been suspended.

From CHILI we hear of the execution, at Valparaiso, on the 4th of April, of Cambiaso, the brigand leader of the convict insurrection at the Straits of Magellan, together with six of his accomplices. They all belonged to the army, Cambiaso being a lieutenant, and were stationed at the garrison. The insurrection which he headed resulted in the seizure of two American vessels, and the murder of all on board. Several others connected with him were convicted, but pardoned on proof that they had been forced to join him.

From RIO JANEIRO the only news of interest, is that of the ravages of the yellow-fever, which has been very severe, especially among the shipping. At the middle of April, there were great numbers of American ships in port, unable to muster hands enough to get out of port.

In PERU the Government has issued a decree against Gen. Flores's expedition, dated the 14th of March, and stated that having received repeated information of the warlike preparations taking place in Peru, they have ordered the Prefects of the different provinces to take all possible measures to put a stop to them; that government will not afford protection to any Peruvian citizen who should embark on this expedition, or take any part in it, and that all Peruvian vessels engaged in the expedition, would no longer be considered as bearing the national flag.

From NEW GRENADA we learn that the President has issued a Message concerning the Flores expedition against Ecuador. From this it appears that, according to a treaty of peace, amity, and alliance, established between the Government and that of Ecuador, in December, 1832, the one power is at all times bound to render aid to the other, both military and pecuniary, in case of foreign invasion. To this end, the President has proclaimed that there be raised in this country, either by loan or force, the sum of sixteen millions of reals, or two millions dollars; and further, that twenty thousand men be called to serve under arms, in order to assist the sister republic. The President declares his intention to oppose Flores and all countries rendering him aid, and accuses Peru of fitting out two vessels, and Valparaiso one, to assist in his expedition; he also demands authority to confiscate the property of all natives and foreigners residing in New Grenada, who may be found to have aided or abetted Flores in any way in his present revolutionary movement. He further states his belief that Flores is merely endeavoring to carry out his revolutionary movement of 1846, in which he was defeated by the British Government, and that the object of the present revolution is to re-establish a monarchical government on the South Pacific coast, under the old Spanish rule. He also expresses his fears that Flores, if successful in Ecuador, will immediately come into New Grenada, and therefore deems it not only a matter of honor, but also of policy, to assist Ecuador. Among the documents submitted, is an official letter to the Ecuadorian Government, from the United States Chargé d'Affairs at Guayaquil, the Hon. C. CUSHING; in which he says that "he believes himself sufficiently authorized to state that the Government of the United States will not look with indifference at any warlike movements against Ecuador, likely to effect its independence or present government." At the latest dates, the 27th of April, Flores was still at Puna, delaying his attack upon that place until the war he had endeavored to excite between Peru and Ecuador, should break out. He then expected sufficient aid from Peru to render his capture of the place easy. Other accounts represent his forces as being rapidly diminished by desertion; but these can scarcely be deemed authentic. Reliable intelligence had reached Guayaquil that Peru had sent reinforcements to the fleet of Flores, and this had created so great an excitement that the residence of the Peruvian Consul was attacked and demolished by a mob.

GREAT BRITAIN.

The intelligence from England extends from the 19th of April to the 22d of May, and embraces several items of more than ordinary interest. Parliament re-assembled on the day first named, after the holiday recess. In the House of Commons a committee was appointed, to inquire into the condition of the British Empire in India,--after a speech upon that subject from the President of the Board of Control, who took occasion to say that the affairs of that country had never before stood upon so good a footing, or in a position so well calculated to develop its resources. There were now 2846 natives employed in administrative offices, and forty educational establishments had been endowed, in which the instruction given was of the highest character.----On the 22d, Mr. Milner Gibson submitted a motion adverse to continuing the duty upon paper, the stamp duties upon newspapers, and the advertisement taxes. The proposition gave rise to a protracted discussion, in which the injurious character of these duties, in restricting the general diffusion of knowledge among the poorer classes of the English people, was very generally admitted, and a wish was expressed on all sides to have them removed. But the Chancellor of the Exchequer feared the effect of such a step upon the revenue of the kingdom--which the proposal would sacrifice to the extent of a million and a half of pounds. Upon his motion the debate was adjourned until the 12th of May, when it was renewed. Mr. Gladstone spoke earnestly in exposition of the depressing influence of these taxes upon the production and sale of books, but conceded full weight to the financial reasons which had been urged against their removal. The vote was then taken, first, upon the motion to abolish the paper duty as soon as it could be done with safety to the revenue: which received ayes, 107--noes, 195; being lost by a majority of 88; next, upon the abolition of the stamp duty on newspapers; for which there were ayes, 100--noes, 199: majority against it, 99; and lastly, upon the motion to abolish the tax upon advertisements, for which there were 116 ayes, and 181 noes, and which was thus rejected by a majority of 65.----On the 23d of April, the Militia Bill came up; and was supported by the Ministerial party, and opposed by the late Ministers. Lord John Russell opposed it, because he deemed it inadequate to the emergency. The 41,000 infantry which it proposed to raise, he deemed insufficient, and the character of the force provided, he feared would make it unreliable. Lord Palmerston vindicated the bill against Lord John's objections, and thought it at once less expensive and more efficient than the one submitted by the late government. On the 26th, to which the debate was adjourned, after further discussion, the second reading of the bill was carried by 315 to 105.----The bill came up again on the 6th, when Mr. Disraeli declared that its main object was to habituate the people of Great Britain to the use of arms, and thus to lay the foundation of a constitutional system of national defense. He did not claim that the bill would at once produce a disciplined army, able to encounter the veteran legions of the world; but it would be a step in the right direction. After the debate, an amendment, moved by Mr. Gibson, that the words 80,000 should not form part of the bill, was rejected, 106 to 207. On the 13th, the debate was renewed, and several other amendments, designed to embarrass the bill, were rejected. But up to our latest dates, the vote on its final passage had not been taken.----On the 10th of May, the Ministry was defeated, upon a motion of the Chancellor of the Exchequer for leave to bring in a bill to assign the four seats in Parliament, which would be vacated if the bill for the disfranchisement of the borough of St. Albans should pass. He proposed to assign two of these seats to the West-Riding of Yorkshire, and the other two to the southern division of the county of Lancaster. The motion was lost: receiving 148 votes in favor, and 234 against it--being an anti-Ministerial majority of 86.----The Tenant Right Bill, intended to meliorate the condition of land cultivators in Ireland, was rejected on the 5th, by a vote of 57 to 167, upon the second reading.----The Court of Exchequer having decided against the right of Alderman Salomons to take his seat in Parliament, Lord Lyndhurst has introduced a bill to remove Jewish disabilities.----The Duke of Argyle called attention, on the 17th, to the case of Mr. Murray, an Englishman, who was said to have been imprisoned for several years in Rome, without a trial, and to be now lying under sentence of death. The Earl of Malmesbury said that strenuous efforts had been made to procure reliable information upon this case; but that great difficulty had been experienced, in consequence of the very defective and unworthy provisions which existed for diplomatic intercourse with the Roman government. The Duke of Argyle thought that the English government owed to its own dignity some energetic action upon this case. The correspondence upon this subject, as also that with Austria upon the expulsion of Protestant missionaries from that country, was promised at an early day. On the 27th of April, Mr. Disraeli, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, made the annual statement of the financial condition and necessities of the kingdom, which had been awaited with great interest, as an official announcement of the intended course of the new Ministry upon the subject of taxation. He discussed, in succession, the three modes of deriving income--from duties on imports, duties on domestic manufactures, and direct taxation. During the last ten years, under the policy established in 1842 by Sir Robert Peel, the duties upon corn and other articles of import, have been reduced, in the aggregate, upward of nine million pounds sterling; and this reduction had been so steadily and regularly made every year, that any proposition to restore them would now have very slight chances of success. In the excise duties, also, there had been reductions to the amount of a million and a half; and it was clear that the Minister who should propose to increase the revenue by adding to the duties on domestic manufactures, could not expect to be sustained by the House or the country. The income tax had been very unpopular, and could only be renewed last year, for a single year, and then with very considerable modifications. Comparing the actual income of the past year, with that which had been estimated, Mr. Disraeli said that, while it had been estimated at £52,140,000, the actual income had been £52,468,317, notwithstanding the loss of £640,000 by the change of the house tax for the window duty, and the reduction in the coffee, timber, and sugar duties. The customs had been estimated to produce £20,000,000. After deducting the anticipated loss, £400,000, on account of the three last-named duties, they had produced £20,673,000; and the consumption of the articles on which the duties had been reduced had increased--foreign coffee by 3,448,000 lbs., as compared with 1851, when the higher and differential duty prevailed; and colonial coffee from 28,216,000 lbs. to 29,130,000 lbs. Foreign sugar had increased in the last year by 412,000 cwts., and since 1846 (when the first reduction took place) by 1,900,000 cwts. a year; British colonial sugar, by upward of 114,000 in 1852, as compared with 1851; and during the last six years the consumption had increased 95,000 tons, or 33 per cent. on the consumption of 1846; and in timber the result was the same. The other heads of revenue had been thus estimated: Excise, £14,543,000; stamps, £6,310,000; taxes, £4,348,000; property tax, £5,380,000; Post-office, £830,000; Woods and Forests, £160,000; miscellaneous, £262,000; old stores, £450,000; and had produced respectively £14,543,000, £6,346,000, £3,691,000, £5,283,000, £1,056,000, £150,000, £287,000, and £395,000. The expenditure of the year, estimated at £50,247,000, had been £50,291,000, and the surplus in hand was £2,176,988. The expenditure for the current year he estimated at £51,163,979, including an additional vote to be proposed of £200,000 for the Kaffir war, and another of £350,000 for the expenses of the militia. The income, which in some items had been increased by the Exhibition last year, was estimated for the next year thus--Customs, £20,572,000; Excise, £14,604,000; stamps, £6,339,000; taxes, £3,090,000; property tax (the half-year), £2,641,500; Post-office, £938,000; Woods and Forests, £235,000; miscellaneous, £260,000; old stores, £400,000; total, £48,983,000, exhibiting a deficiency of £2,180,479, which would be increased in the next year by the total loss of the income tax, supposing it not to be renewed, to £4,400,000. If, however, that tax were re-imposed, he calculated it would produce net £5,187,000, which would give a gross income, from all sources, of £51,625,000, the surplus would then be £461,021. And though it would give him great pleasure to re-adjust the burdens of taxation fairly and equally on all classes, and all interests, yet, seeing the position of the finances, and the difficulty, if not impossibility, of dealing with the subject in the present state of feeling in the House and the country, he felt bound to propose the re-imposition of the property and income tax for a further limited period of one year. This statement was received by the House, as by the whole country, as embodying a substantial tribute from the Protectionist Ministry to the soundness of the Free Trade policy and to the necessity of leaving it undisturbed.

The annual dinner of the Royal Academy was attended on the 1st with more than usual eclat. Sir Charles Eastlake presided, and proposed the health of the Duke of Wellington, who duly acknowledged the compliment. The Earl of Derby was present, and spoke encouragingly of the prospect of having a better building soon erected for the accommodation of the Academy's works. Pleasant compliments were exchanged between Disraeli and Lord John Russell, and speeches were made by sundry other dignitaries who were in attendance.----At the Lord Mayor's dinner, on the 8th, the festivities partook more of a political character. The Earl of Derby spoke long and eloquently of the nature of the British Government, urging that in all its various departments it was a compromise between conflicting expedients and a system of mutual concessions between apparently conflicting interests. Count Walewski, the French Minister, congratulated the company on the good understanding which prevailed between France and England, and Mr. Disraeli spoke of the House of Commons as a true republic--"the only republic, indeed, that exists founded upon the principles of liberty, equality, and fraternity; but liberty there was maintained by order--equality is mitigated by good taste, and fraternity takes the shape of cordial brotherhood."----The anniversary dinner of the Royal Literary Fund took place on the 12th, and was chiefly distinguished by an amusing speech from Thackeray.

An important collision has occurred between the book publishers in London and the retail booksellers, which has engrossed attention to no inconsiderable extent. The publishers, it seems, have been in the habit of fixing a retail price upon their books, and then selling them to dealers at a deduction of twenty-five per cent. Some of the latter, thinking to increase their sales thereby, have contented themselves with a smaller rate of profit, and have sold their books at less than the price fixed by the publishers. Against this the latter have taken active measures of remonstrance, having formed an association among themselves, and agreed to refuse to deal with booksellers who should thus undersell the regular trade. On the other hand the retail dealers have held meetings to assert their rights, and one of them, held on the 4th, was attended by a very large number of the authors and men of letters interested in the question. Mr. Dickens presided, and a characteristic letter was read from Mr. Carlyle, who was warmly in favor of the objects of the meeting, though he thought many other things necessary to give authors their proper position in society. The rights of the case were submitted to Lord Campbell, Mr. Grote, and Dr. Milman, who heard both sides argued, and gave a decision on the 18th, on all points _against_ the regulations for which the publishers contended.

Very sad intelligence has reached England of the fate of a party of seven missionaries, who were sent out by the Protestant Missionary Society, in 1850, to Patagonia. Captain Gardiner was at the head of the band. The vessel that took them out landed at Picton Island, off the southern coast of Terra del Fuego, on the 6th of December, 1850, and kept hovering about to see how they were likely to be received. The natives seemed menacing: but on the 18th of December the missionaries left the ship, and with their stores of provisions, Bibles, &c., embarked in two boats, meaning to make for the coast of Terra del Fuego. On the 19th the ship sailed; and no news of them having reached England, the ship _Dido_ was ordered by the Admiralty in October, 1850, to touch there, and ascertain their fate. The _Dido_ reached the coast in January, and after ten or twelve days of search, on a rock near where they first landed on Picton Island, a writing was found directing them to go to Spaniard Harbor, on the opposite Fuegan coast. Here were found, near a large cavern, the unburied bodies of Captain Gardiner and another of the party; and the next day the bodies of three others were found. A manuscript journal, kept by Captain Gardiner, down to the last day when, only two or three days before his death, he became too weak to write, was also found, from which it appeared that the parties were driven off by the natives whenever they attempted to land; that they were thus compelled to go backward and forward in their boats, and at last took refuge in Spaniard harbor, as the only spot where they could be safe; that they lived there eight months, partly in a cavern and partly under shelter of one of the boats, and that three of them died by sickness, and the others by literal and lingering starvation. Four months elapsed between the death of the last of the party and the discovery of their bodies. The publication of the journal of Captain Gardiner, in which profound piety is shown mingled with his agonizing grief, has excited a deep sensation throughout England.----An explosion occurred in a coal pit in the Aberdare valley, South Wales, on the 10th, by which sixty-four lives were lost; another pit near Pembrey filled with water the same night, and twenty-seven men were drowned.----The fate of the Crystal Palace was sealed by a vote in the House of Commons of 103 to 221 on a proposition to provide for its preservation. It has been sold, and is to be forthwith taken down, and re-erected out of town, for a winter garden.----A memorial numerously and most respectably signed, was presented to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, on the 17th of May, praying that the Queen would extend clemency to the Irish State prisoners now in exile at Van Dieman's Land. The Lord Lieutenant, in a brief and direct speech, declined to lay the memorial before her Majesty, on the ground that the exiles in question deserved no further clemency at her hands. He noticed, with censure, the fact that one of them had effected his escape.

FRANCE.

The _fêtes_ of May 10th, were attended with great splendor and eclat; but the non-proclamation of the Empire on that occasion is the feature most remarked upon by the foreign press. The number of troops present is estimated at 80,000. The whole Champ de Mars had been prepared especially for the occasion. The President was received with loud applause. After distributing the eagles among the various regiments, he addressed them briefly, saying that the history of nations was, in a great measure, the history of armies--that on their success or reverse depends the fate of civilization and of the country; that the Roman eagle adopted by the Emperor Napoleon at the commencement of the century was the most striking signification of the regeneration and the grandeur of France; and that it should now be resumed, not as a menace against foreign powers, but as the symbol of independence, the souvenir of an heroic epoch, and as the sign of the nobleness of each regiment. After this address the standards were taken to the chapel and blessed by the Archbishop. The ceremonies were protracted and attended by an immense concourse of spectators.----General Changarnier has addressed a remarkable letter to the Minister of the Interior in reply to his demand that he should take the oath of allegiance to Louis Napoleon. He says that the President had repeatedly endeavored to seduce him to his support--that he had offered not only to make him Marshal but to confer upon him another military dignity unknown since the Empire, and to attach to it immense pecuniary rewards; that when he perceived that personal ambition had no effect upon him, he endeavored to gain him over, by pretending a design to prepare the way for the restoration of the Monarchy to which he supposed him to be attached. All these attempts had been without effect. He had never ceased to be ready to defend with energy the legal powers of Louis Napoleon, and to give every opposition to the illegal prolongation of those powers. The exile he had undergone in solitude and silence had not changed his opinion of the duties he owed to France. He would hasten to her defense should she be attacked, but he refused the oath exacted by the perjured man who had failed to corrupt him. In reply to this letter, M. Cassagnac, editor of the _Constitutionnel_, brought against General Changarnier specific charges--that in March, 1849, he demanded from Louis Napoleon written authority to throw the Constituent Assembly out of the window--that he subsequently urged him in the strongest manner to make a _coup d'etat_; and that in November, 1850, he assembled a number of political personages, and proposed to them to arrest Louis Napoleon and send him to prison, to prorogue the Assembly for six months, and to make him Dictator. It was further alleged that one of the persons present at this meeting was M. Molé, who refused to sanction the scheme and immediately disclosed it to the President. Count Molé immediately published an indignant denial of the whole story, so far as his name had been connected with it.----General Lamoriciere has, also, in a published letter, refused to take the oath required; he declares his readiness to defend France against foreign foes whenever she shall be attacked, but he will not take the oath of fidelity to a perjured chief.----The venerable astronomer, Arago, has also refused to take the oath of allegiance required of all connected in any way with the government. He wrote a firm and dignified letter to the Minister notifying him of his purpose, and calling on him to designate the day when it would be necessary for him to quit the Bureau of Longitude with which he had been so closely connected for half a century. He also informed him that he should address a circular letter to scientific men throughout the world, explaining the necessity which drove him from an establishment with which his name had been so long associated, and to vindicate his motives from suspicion. The Minister informed him that, in consideration of his eminent services to the cause of science, the government had decided not to exact the oath, and that he could therefore retain his post.----These examples of non-concurrence in the new policy of the President have been followed by inferior magistrates in various parts of France. In several of the departments members of the local councils have refused to take the oaths of allegiance, and in the towns of Havre, Thiers, and Evreux the tribunals of commerce have done likewise. The civil courts of Paris have also, in one or two instances, asserted their independence by deciding against the government in prosecutions commenced against the press. On the 23d of April, moreover, the civil tribunal gave judgment on the demand made by the Princes of the Orleans family to declare illegal the seizure by the Prefect of the Seine, of the estates of Neuilly and Monceaux, under the decree of the 22d of January, relative to the property of the late king, Louis Philippe. In answer to this demand, the Prefect of the Seine, in the name of the government, called on the tribunal to declare that the decree of 22d January was a legislative act, and the seizure of the property an administrative act, and that consequently the tribunal had no jurisdiction. The case was pleaded at great length; and the court pronounced a judgment declaring itself competent, keeping the case before it, fixing a day for discussing it on its merits, and condemning the Prefect in costs. These movements indicate a certain degree of reaction in the public mind, and have prepared the way for the favorable reception of a letter which the Bourbon pretender, the Count de Chambord, has issued to the partisans of monarchy throughout France. This letter is dated at Venice, April 27, and is designed as an official declaration of his wishes to all who wish still to remain faithful to the principles which he represents. He declares it to be the first duty of royalists to do no act, to enter into no engagement, in opposition to their political faith. They must not hesitate, therefore, to refuse all offices where promises are required from them contrary to their principles, and which would not permit them to do in all circumstances what their convictions impose upon them. Still, important and active duties are devolved upon them. They should reside as much as possible in the midst of the population on whom they can exercise influence, and should try, by rendering themselves useful to them, to acquire, each day, still greater claims to their gratitude and confidence. They ought also to aid the government in its struggles against anarchy and socialism, and to show themselves in all emergencies the most courageous defenders of social order. Even in case of an attempt to re-establish the Empire, they are exhorted to abstain from doing any thing to endanger the repose of the country, but to protest formally against any change which can endanger the destinies of France, and expose it once more to catastrophes and perils from which the legitimate monarchy alone can save it. He urges them to be unalterable on matters of principle, but at the same time calm, patient, and ever moderate and conciliating toward persons. "Let your ranks, your hearts," he says, "like mine, remain continually open to all. We are all thrown on times of trials and of sacrifices; and my friends will not forget that it is from the land of exile that I make this new appeal to their constancy and their devotedness. Happier days are yet in store for France and for us. I am certain of the fact. It is in my ardent love for my country--it is in the hope of serving it--of being able to serve it--that I gather the strength and the courage necessary for me to accomplish the great duties which have been imposed on me by Providence."----Additional importance is ascribed to this proclamation from the fact that it was made just after a visit from the Grand Dukes of Russia and Venice, and just before the arrival of the Emperor Nicholas at Vienna. The death of Prince Schwarzenberg is supposed to have led to a still closer union of interest and of policy between Austria and Russia, as the personal leanings both of the Austrian Emperor, and the new prime Minister are known to be in that direction.

Some further developments have been made of the sentiments of the three allied powers, Austria, Russia, and Prussia, concerning the re-establishment of the Empire in France. It is represented that the late Minister of Austria was in favor of encouraging such a step, but that both the other powers concurred in saying that the accomplishment of it would be a "violation of the treaties of 1814 and 1815, inasmuch as those treaties have excluded for ever the family of Bonaparte from the government of France." Now, those treaties form the basis of the whole policy of Europe; and it is the duty of the powers to demand that they shall be respected by the President of the Republic himself in all their provisions, and particularly not to permit any infraction of them as to the point in question, which has reference to him personally. Nevertheless, the sovereigns of Prussia and Russia would not perhaps be disposed to refuse to recognize Louis Napoleon Bonaparte as Emperor of the French Republic--if that title were conferred on him by a new plébiscite--as had been spoken of but they should only recognize him as an elective Emperor, and for life, with only a status analogous to that of the former kings of Poland. If the two cabinets of St. Petersburg and Berlin consented to such a recognition, it was the utmost that it was possible to do; but, most certainly, beyond that point they should never go. At the same time, the cabinets formally declare, that they would only recognize the Emperor of the French Republic on the condition of his election being the result of the mode already announced (the plébiscite). They will not admit any other manner of re-establishing in France an imperial throne, even were it but for life; the two sovereigns being firmly resolved never to accept in the person of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, any other than the supreme elective chief of the Republic, and to oppose by all the means in their power the pretension of establishing the actual President of the French Republic as Emperor, in the sense of an hereditary transmitter or founder of a Napoleonian dynasty. They add, that Louis Napoleon Bonaparte not being the issue of a sovereign or reigning family, can not become a real sovereign, or assimilate himself to reigning houses.----The pictures belonging to the late Marshal Soult were sold at auction on the 19th. The collection consisted of 157 paintings, and among them were many of the master-pieces of the old masters. The most celebrated was Murillo's 'Conception of the Virgin,' for which the chief competitors were the Emperor of Russia, the Queen of Spain, and the Director of the Louvre. It was bought by the latter at the enormous price of 586,000 francs,--or about $117,200.

EASTERN AND SOUTHERN EUROPE.

In PRUSSIA, a communication was made on the 28th of April by the King to the Chambers, transmitting a bill to abolish the articles of the Constitution and regulate the organization of the peerage. In the First Chamber it was referred to the existing committee on the constitution of the body concerned. In the Second Chamber a committee was appointed to consider the measure. The minister desired that the matter might be quickly dispatched. In the same sitting of the 28th, the Second Chamber came to two other important votes. It rejected, by a majority of 186 to 82, the resolution of the First Chamber, and which, dividing the budget of ordinary and extraordinary expenses, decided that the first should be no longer fixed annually, but once for all, and that no future modification should take place, except by a law. It also rejected, by 225 to 57, another decision of the First Chamber, by which it had declared, in opposition to the Constitution, that it could vote the budget, article by article, like the Second Chamber.

In TUSCANY a decree of the Grand Duke has abolished the Constitution and Civic Guard, and constituted the government on the same basis as before 1848. The ministers are henceforward responsible to the Grand Duke; the Council of State is separated from that of the Ministers; the communal law of 1849 and the law on the press are to be revised.

The DANISH question has been settled in London, by conferences of the representatives of the several powers concerned. Prince Christian of Glucksberg is to succeed to the crown on the death of the present King and his brother, both of whom are childless.

In TURKEY all differences with Egypt have been adjusted. Fuad-Effendi, it is announced by the Paris _Presse_, justifying all the hopes which his mission had given birth to, has come to a complete understanding with the Egyptian government, whose good intentions and perfect fair dealing he admits. The Viceroy accepts the code with the modifications called for by the state of the country, and which the Turco-Egyptian Commissioners had already fixed in their conferences at Constantinople. On its side, the Porte accords to the Viceroy the right of applying the punishment of death during seven years, without reference to the divan.

Editor's Table.

The birth-day of a nation is not merely a figurative expression. Nations are _born_ as well as men. The very etymology of the word implies as much. Social compacts may be _declarative of their independence_, or definitive of their existence, but do not create them. In truth, all such compacts and conventions do in themselves imply a previous natural growth or organization lying necessarily still farther back, as the ground of any legitimacy they may possess. There can be no _con-vening_ unless there is something to determine, _a priori_, who shall _come together_, and how they shall come together--as _representatives_ of what _principals_--as _parts_ of what ascertained _whole_--with what powers, on what terms, and for what ends. There can no more be an artificial nation than an artificial language. Aside from other influences, all attempts of the kind must be as abortive in politics as they have ever been in philology. Nations are not manufactured, either to order or otherwise, but born--born of other nations, and nurtured in those peculiar arrangements of God's providence which are expressly adapted to such a result. The analogy between them and individuals may be traced to almost any extent. They have, in general, some one event in which there may be discovered the conceptive principle, or _principium_, of their national life. They have their embryo or formative period. They have their _birth_, or the time of their complete separation from the maternal nationality to which they were most nearly and dependently united. They have their struggling infancy--their youth--their growth--_their heroic period_--their iron age of hardship and utility--their manhood--their silver age of luxury and refinement--their golden age of art and science and literature--their acme--their decline--their decay--their final extinction, or else their dissolution into those fragmentary organisms from which spring up again the elements or seeds of future nationalities.

We need not trace our own history through each of these periods. The incipient stages have all been ours, although, in consequence of a more healthy and vigorous maternity, we have passed through them with a rapidity of which the previous annals of the world present no examples. Less than a century has elapsed since that birth, whose festive natal day is presented in the calendar of the present month, and yet we are already approaching the season of manhood. We have passed that proud period which never comes but once in a nation's life, although it may be succeeded by others far surpassing it in what may be esteemed the more substantial elements of national wealth and national prosperity. Almost every state has had its HEROIC AGE. We too have had ours, and we may justly boast of it as one equaling in interest and grandeur any similar period in the annals of Greece and Rome--as one which would not shrink from a comparison with the chivalrous youth of any of the nations of modern Europe. It is the unselfish age, or rather, the time when the self-consciousness, both individual and national, is lost in some strong and all-absorbing emotion--when a strange elevation of feeling and dignity of action are imparted to human nature, and men act from motives which seem unnatural and incredible to the more calculating and selfish temperaments of succeeding times. It is a period which seems designed by Providence, not for itself only, or the great effects of which it is the immediate cause, but for its influence upon the whole after-current of the national existence. The strong remembrance of it becomes a part of the national life; it enters into its most common and constant thinking, gives a peculiar direction to its feeling; it imparts a peculiar character to its subsequent action; it makes its whole historical being very different from what it would have been had there been no such epic commencement, no such superhuman or _heroic birth_. It furnishes a treasury of glorious reminiscences wherewith to reinvigorate from time to time the national virtue when impaired, as it ever is, by the factious, and selfish, and unheroic temper produced by subsequent days of merely economical or utilitarian prosperity.

This heroic age must pass away. It is sustained, while it lasts, by special influences which can not have place in the common life and ordinary work of humanity. Its continuance, therefore, would be inconsistent with other benefits and other improvements of a more sober or less exciting kind, but which, nevertheless, belong to the proper development of the state. The deep effects, however, still remain. It inspires the poet and the orator. It furnishes the historian with his richest page. It tinges the whole current of the national literature. In fact, there can be no such thing as a national literature, in its truest sense--there can be no national poetry, no true national art, no national music, except as more or less intimately connected with the spirit of such a period.

It was not the genius of democracy simply, as Grote and some other historians maintain, but the heroic remembrances of the Persian invasion, that roused the Grecian mind, and created the brilliant period of the Grecian civilization. The new energy that came from this period was felt in every department--of song, of eloquence, of art, and even of philosophy. Marathon and Salamis still sustained the national life when it was waning under the mere political wisdom of Pericles, the factious recklessness of Alcibiades, and the still more debasing influence of the venal demagogues of later times. When this old spirit had gone out, there was nothing in the mere forms of her free institutions that could prevent Athens from sinking down into insignificance, or from being absorbed in the growth of new and rising powers.

Rome would never have been the mistress of the world, had it not been for the heroic impetus generated in the events which marked her earliest annals. Even if we are driven to regard these as in a great measure mythical, they still, in the highest and most valid sense, belong to Roman history, and all the efforts of Niebuhr and of Arnold have failed, and ever will fail, to divest them of the rank they have heretofore maintained among the formative influences in the Roman character. They entered into the national memory. They formed for ages the richest and most suggestive part of the national thinking. They became thus more really and vitally incorporated into the national being than many events whose historical authenticity no critic has ever called in question. But we can not believe them wholly or even mainly mythical. Some of the more modern theories on this subject will have to be re-examined. With all their plausibility they are open to the objection of presenting the mightiest effects without adequate or corresponding causes. Twelve hundred years of empire, such as that of Rome, could not well have had its origin in any period marked by events less strangely grand and chivalrous than those that Livy has recorded. Brutus, and Cincinnatus, and Fabricius, must have been as real as the splendid reality which could only have grown out of so heroic an ancestry. The spirit of Numa more truly ruled, even in the later Roman empire, than did ever that of Augustus. It was yet powerful in the days of Constantine. It was still present in that desperate struggle which made it difficult, even for a Christian senate, to cast out the last vestiges of the old religion, and to banish the Goddess of Victory from the altars and temples she had so long occupied.

A similar view, drawn from the Jewish history, must commend itself to every one who has even an ordinary knowledge of the Scriptures. The glorious deliverances from Egyptian bondage, the sublime reminiscences of Sinai, the heroic, as exhibited in Moses, and Joshua, and Jephthah, and Gideon, are ever reappearing in the Hebrew prophetic and lyrical poetry. These proud recollections cheer them in the long years of the captivity. Even in the latest and most debasing periods of their history, they impart an almost superhuman energy to their struggle with Rome; and what is more than all, after having sustained the Jewish song, and the Jewish eloquence, during ages of depressing conflict, their influence is still felt in all the noblest departments of Christian art and Christian literature.

No, we may almost say it, there can not truly be a nation without something that may be called its heroic age; or if there have been such, the want of this necessary fountain of political vitality has been the very reason why they have perished from the pages of history. We, too, have had such a period in our annals, and we are all the better for it, and shall be all the better for it, as long as our political existence shall endure. Some such chapter in our history seems necessary to legitimate our claim to the appellation; and however extravagant it may seem, the assertion may, nevertheless, be hazarded, that one borrowed from the maternal nationality, or from a foreign source, or even altogether mythical, would be better than none at all. If we had not had our Pilgrim Fathers, our Mayflower band, our Plymouth Rock, our Bunker Hill, our Saratoga, our Washingtons, our Warrens, our Putnams, our Montgomerys, our heroic martyr-Congresses, voting with the executioner and the ax before their eyes, we might better have drawn upon the epic imagination for some such introduction to our political existence, than regard it as commencing merely with prosaic paper compacts, or such artificial gatherings as are presented in your unheroic, though very respectable Baltimore and Harrisburg Conventions.

Some such chivalrous commencement is, moreover, absolutely essential to that great idea of national _continuity_, so necessary for the highest ends of political organization; and yet so liable to be impaired or wholly lost in the strife of those ephemeral parties, those ever-gathering, ever-dissolving factions, which, ignoring both the future and the past, are absorbed solely in the magnified interests of the present hour. For this purpose, we want an antiquity of some kind--even though it may not be a distant one--something parted from us by events so grand, so unselfish, so unlike the common, every-day acts of the current years, as to have the appearance at least of a sacred and memory-hallowed remoteness. We need to have our store of glorious olden chronicles, over which time has thrown his robe of reverence--a reverence which no profane criticism of after days shall be allowed to call in question, no subsequent statistics be permitted to impair. We need to have our proud remembrances for all parties, for all interests, for all ages--our common fund of heroic thought, affording a constant supply for the common mind of the state, thus ever living in the national history, connecting each present not only with such a heroic commencement, but, through it, with all the past that intervenes, and in this way furnishing a historical bond of union stronger than can be found in any amount of compromises or paper constitutions.

If we would be truly a State, we must have "_the Fathers_," and the revered "olden time." It is in some such veneration for a common glorious ancestry that a political organization finds its deepest root. Instead of being absurd, it is the most rational, as well as the most conservative of all feelings in which we can indulge. The more we are under its influence, the higher do we rise in the scale of being above the mere animal state, and that individualism which is its chief characteristic. It is a "good and holy thought" thus to regard the dead as still present with us, and past generations as still having an interest in our history--still justly claiming some voice in the administration of that _inheritance_ they have transmitted to us, and in respect to which our influence over the ages to come will be in proportion to our reverential remembrance of those that have preceded. Such a feeling is the opposite of that banefully radical and disorganizing view which regards the state as a mere aggregation of individual local fragments in space, and a succession of separately-flowing drops in time--which looks upon the present majority of the present generation as representing the whole national existence, and which is, of course, not only inconsistent with any true historical life, but with any thing which is really entitled to the name of fundamental or constitutional law. It is the opposite, both in its nature and its effects, of that contemptible cant now so common in both political parties, and which is ever talking of "Young America" as some new development, unconnected with any thing that has ever gone before it. The heroic men of our revolution, they were "Young America;" the gambling managers of modern political caucuses, to whatever party they may belong, or whatever may be their age or standing, are the real and veritable "old fogies."

We can not attach too much importance to this idea of _inheritance_, so deeply grounded in the human mind. The _Sancti Patres_ are indispensable to a true historical nationality. Hence the classical name for country--_Patria a patribus_--_The Father-land_. We love it, not simply for its present enjoyments and present associations, but for its past recollections--

Land of the Pilgrims' pride, Land where our fathers died.

Without some such thought of transmitted interest continually carrying the past into the present, and both into the future, patriotism is but the cant of the demagogue. Our country is our country, not only in space, but in time--not only territorially, but historically; and it is in this latter aspect it must ever present its most intense and vital interest. Where such an interest is excluded, or unappreciated, there is nothing elevated, nothing heroic, to which the name of patriotism can be given. There is nothing but the most momentary selfishness which can bind our affections to one spot on earth more than to any other.

Opposed to this is a species of cosmopolitanism, which sometimes claims the Scriptures as being on its side. The opinion, however, will not stand the test of fair interpretation. The Bible, it is true, enjoins love to all mankind, but not as a blind and abstract philanthropy which would pass over all the intermediate gradations that Infinite Wisdom has appointed. Love of "the fathers," love of family, love of kindred, love of "our own people"--"our own, our _native_ land"--our "own Zion," nationally, as well as ecclesiastically, are commended, not only as good in themselves, but as the foundation of all the other social virtues, as the appointed means, in fact, by which the circle of the affections is legitimately expanded, and, at the same time, with a preservation of that intensity of feeling which is never found in any inflating abstract cosmopolitan benevolence.

In no book, too, do we find more distinctly set forth that idea which we have styled the root of all true patriotism--the idea of the national continuance from generation to generation, as a living, responsible whole--as one ever-flowing stream, in which the individual parts are passing away, it is true but evermore passing to that "congregation of the fathers" which still lives in the present organic life. It is presented, too, not as any difficult or transcendental or mystical conception, but as a thought belonging everywhere to the common mind, and necessarily underlying all those dread views the Scripture so often give us of national accountability and national retribution.

Every country distinguished for great deeds has ever been proud of its ancestors; has ever gloried in the facts of its early history; has ever connected them with whatever was glorious in its later annals has ever made them the boast of its eloquence, the themes of its poetry, and the subjects of festal rejoicings. In the preservation of such feelings and such ideas, our annual Fourth of July celebrations instead of being useless, and worse than useless periods of noisy declamation, as some would contend, are, in fact, doing more to preserve our union than the strongest legislative acts. This may hold when every other cable in the vessel has parted. The bare thought that our glorious old Fourth of July could never more be celebrated in its true spirit (and it would be equally gone for each and every sundered fragment) is enough to check the wildest faction, and to stay the hand of the most reckless disunionist.

It was in view of such an effect, that one of our wisest statesmen, one the farthest removed from the demagogue, and himself a participator in our heroic struggle, is represented as so enthusiastically commending this annual festival to the perpetual observation of posterity, "Through the thick gloom of the present," he exclaims, "I see the brightness of the future as the sun in heaven. We shall make this _a glorious, an immortal day_. When we are in our graves our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears of exultation of gratitude, and of joy." "And so that day _shall_ be honored," continues his eloquent eulogist--"And so that day shall be honored, illustrious prophet and patriot! so that day shall be honored, and as often as it returns thy renown shall come along with it, and the glory of thy life, like the day of thy death, shall not fail from the remembrance of men!"

The highest reason, then, as well as the purest feeling, bid us not be ashamed of glorying in our forefathers. Scripture is in unison here with patriotism in commending the sacred sentiment. There is a religious element in the true love of race and country. "The God of our Fathers" becomes a prime article of the national as well as of the ecclesiastical creed, and without the feeling inspired by it, nationality may turn out to be a mere figment, which all political bandages will fail to sustain against the disorganizing influence of factious or sectional interests. It is not absurd, too, to cherish the belief that our ancestors were better men than ourselves, if we ourselves are truly made better by thus believing.

As we have remarked before, there may be mythical exaggeration attending such tradition, but if so, this very exaggeration must have had its ground in something really transcending what takes place in the ordinary course of a nation's life. Some late German scholars have been hunting out depreciating charges against the hero of Marathon, and, for this purpose, have subjected his very ashes to the most searching critical analysis. Truth, it may be said, is always sacred. We would not wish to undervalue the importance of the sentiment. But Miltiades the patriot is the real element that exerted so heroic an effect upon the subsequent Grecian history. Miltiades charged with political offenses lives only as the subject of antiquarian research, or a humiliating example of the common depravity appearing among the most lauded of mankind. And so, in our own case, what political utility can there be in discovering, even if it were so, that Washington was not so wise, or Warren so brave, or Putnam so adventurous, or Bunker Hill so heroically contested, as has been believed? Away with such skepticism, we say, and the mousing criticism by which it is sometimes attempted to be supported. Such beliefs have at all events become real for us by entering into the very soul of our history, and forming the staple of our national thought. To take them away would now be a baneful disorganizing of the national mind. Their influence has been felt in every subsequent event. Saratoga and Monmouth have reappeared in Chippewa, and New Orleans, and Buena Vista. May it not be hoped, too, that something of the men who convened in Philadelphia on the 4th of July, 1776, or of that earlier band on whom Burke pronounced his splendid eulogy, may still live, even in the worst and poorest of our modern Congresses!

Again, this reverence for "the fathers" is the most healthfully conservative of all influences, because it presents the common sacred ground on which all political parties, all sectional divisions, and all religious denominations can heartily unite. Every such difference ought to give way, and, in general, does give way, in the presence of the healing spirit that comes to us from the remembrance of those old heroic times. The right thinking Episcopalian not only acquiesces, but rejoices cordially in the praises of the Pilgrim Fathers. He can glory even in their stern puritanism, without losing a particle of reverence or respect for his own cherished views. The Presbyterian glows with pride at the mention of the cavaliers of Virginia, and sees in their ancient loyalty the strength and consistency of their modern republicanism. The most rigid Churchman of either school--whether of Canterbury or Geneva--finds his soul refreshed by the thought of that more than martial heroism which distinguished the followers of Penn and the first colonists of Pennsylvania.

Our rapid editorial view has been suggested by the great festal period of the current month; but we can not close it without the expression of one thought which we deem of the highest importance. If the influences coming from this heroic age of our history are so very precious, we should be careful not to diminish their true conservative power, by associating them with every wretched imitation for which there may be claimed the same or a similar name. The memory of our revolution (to which we could show, if time permitted, there should be given a truer and a nobler epithet) is greatly lowered by being compared continually with every miserable Cuban expedition and Canadian invasion, or every European _émeute_, without any reference to the grounds on which they are attempted, or the characters and motives of those by whom they are commenced. We may indeed sympathize with every true effort to burst the hard bonds of irresponsible power; but we should carefully see to it that our own sacred deposit of glorious national reminiscences lose not all its reverence by being brought out for too common uses, or profaned by too frequent comparison with that which is really far below it, if not altogether of a different kind. When Washington and Greene and Franklin are thus placed side by side with Lopez, and Ledru-Rollin, and Louis Blanc, or a profane parallel is run between the Pilgrim colonists and modern Socialists and St. Simonians, there is only an inevitable degradation on the one side without any true corresponding elevation on the other. They are the enemies of our revolution, and of its true spirit, who are thus for making it subservient to all purposes that may be supposed to bear the least resemblance. Our fathers' struggle, be it ever remembered, was not for the subversion but the conservation of constitutional law, and, therefore, even its most turbulent and seemingly lawless acts acquire a dignity placing them above all vulgar reference, and all vulgar imitation. He is neither a patriot nor a philanthropist who would compare the destruction of the tea in the harbor of Boston with every abolition riot, or every resistance to our own solemnly enacted laws, or every lynching mob that chooses to caricature the forms of justice, or every French _émeute_, or revolutionary movement with its mock heroics--its burlesque travestie of institutions it can not comprehend, and of a liberty for which it so soon shows itself utterly unqualified. It is our mission to redeem and elevate mankind, by showing that the spirit of our heroic times lives constantly in the political institutions to which they gave birth, and that republican forms are perfectly consistent, not only with personal liberty, but with all those higher ideas that are connected with the conservation of law, of reverence, of loyalty, of rational submission to right authority--in a word, of true _self-government_, as the positive antithesis to that animal and counterfeit thing--the _government of self_. It is not the conservative who is staying the true progress of mankind. A licentious press, a corrupt and gambling spirit of faction in our political parties, and, above all, frequent exhibitions of vulgar demagoguism in our legislative bodies, may do more to strengthen and perpetuate the European monarchies, than all the ignorance of their subjects, and all the power of their armies.

Editor's Easy Chair.

An Easy Chair for July, and specially for such hot July, as we doubt not is just now ripening over our readers' heads, should be a cool chair, with a lining of leather, rather than the soft plushes which beguile the winter of its iciness. Just so, we should be on the look-out in these hap-hazard pages, that close our monthly labors, for what may be cooling in the way of talk; and should make our periods wear such shadows as will be grateful to our sun-beaten readers.

If by a touch of the pen, we could, for instance, build up a grove of leaf-covered trees, with some pebble-bottomed brook fretting below--idly, carelessly, impetuously--even as our pen goes fretting over this Paris _feuille_; and if we could steep our type in that summer fragrance which lends itself to the country groves of July; and if we could superadd--like so many fragmentary sparkles of verse--the songs of July birds--what a claimant of your thanks we should become?

Much as a man may be street-ridden, after long city experience--even as the old and rheumatic become bed-ridden--yet the far-off shores of Hoboken, and the tree-whispers of St. John's and Grammercy Parks, do keep alive somewhat of the Eden longings, which are born into the world with us, and which can only die when our hearts are dead.

And hence it is that we find it a loving duty to linger much and often as we may in this sunny season of the year (alas, that it should be only in imagination!) around rural haunts--plucking flowers with broad-bonneted girls--studying shadows with artist eye--brushing the dews away with farmers' boys--lolling in pools with sleek-limbed cattle--dropping worms or minnow with artist anglers, and humming to ourselves, in the soft and genial spirit of the scene, such old-time pleasant verses as these:

The lofty woods, the forests wide and long, Adorned with leaves and branches fresh and green, In whose cool bowers the birds with many a song Do welcome with their quire the summer's queen; The meadows fair, where Flora's gifts among Are intermixed with verdant grass between; The silver-scaled fish that softly swim Within the sweet brook's crystal watery stream.

All these and many more of His creation That made the Heavens, the angler oft doth see; Taking therein no little delectation, To think how strange, how wonderful they be; Framing, thereof, an inward contemplation, To set his heart from other fancies free; And while he looks on these with joyful eye, His mind is rapt above the starry sky.

And since we are thus in the humor of old and rural-imaged verse--notwithstanding the puff and creak of the printing enginery is coming up from the caverns below us (a very Vulcan to the Venus of our thought) we shall ask your thanks for yet another triad of verses, which will (if you be not utterly barren) breed daisies on your vision.

The poet has spoken of such omnibus drives and Perrine pavements as offended good sense two or three hundred years ago:

Let them that list these pleasures then pursue, And on their foolish fancies feed their fill; So I the fields and meadows green may view, And by the rivers fresh may walk at will, Among the daizies and the violets blue, Red hyacinth, and yellow daffodil, Purple narcissus like the morning rayes, Pale ganderglas, and azure culverkayes.

I count it better pleasure to behold The goodly compass of the loftie skie; And in the midst thereof, like burning gold, The flaming chariot of the world's great eye; The wat'ry clouds that in the ayre up rolled With sundry kinds of painted colors flie; And faire Aurora lifting up her head, All blushing rise from old Tithonus' bed.

The hills and mountains raised from the plains, The plains extended level with the ground, The ground divided into sundry vaines, The vaines enclosed with running rivers round, The rivers making way through Nature's chaines, With headlong course into the sea profound; The surging sea beneath the vallies low, The vallies sweet, and lakes that gently flow.

The reader may thank us for a seasonable bouquet--tied up with old ribbon indeed, and in the old free and easy way--but the perfume is richer than the artificial scents of your modern verse.

* * * * *

We do not know who first gave the epithet "leafy June;" but the goodness of the term was never so plain, as through that twelfthlet of the year which has just shadowed our paths. Whether it be the heavy rains of the early spring, or an over-luxurious outburst from the over-stiff chains of the last winter--certain it is, that the trees never bore up such heaviness of green, or the grass promised such height and "bottom." And we can not forbear the hope, that the exceeding beauty of the summer will stimulate the activity and benevolence of those guardians of our city joy, in whose hands lies the fate of the "Up-town Park."

* * * * *

And as we speak of parks, comes up a thought of that very elegant monument to the memory of Washington, which has risen out of the brains of imaginative and venturesome people, any time during the last fifty years. The affair seems to have a periodic and somewhat whimsical growth. We suffer a kind of intermittent Washingtonianism, which now and then shows a very fever of drawings, and of small subscriptions; and anon, the chill takes us, and shakes the whole fabric to the ground.

We can not but regard it as a very unfavorable symptom, that a corner-stone should have been laid some two or three years ago in a quarter called Hamilton Square, and that extraordinary energy should have pushed forward the monumental design to the height of a few feet.

Since that period a debility has prevailed. The Washington sentiment has languished painfully--proving to our mind most satisfactorily, that the true Washington enthusiasm is periodic in its growth; and that to secure healthful alternations of recruit and exuberance, it should--like asparagus--be cut off below ground.

Meantime, the strangers and office-seekers of our great capital, are doing somewhat toward redeeming the fame of the country. In connection with their design, a suggestion is just now bruited of calling upon clergymen, this coming Fourth of July (three days hence, bear in mind) to drop a hint to the memory of the hero who has made that day the Sunday of our political year, and furthermore, to drop such pennies, as his parishioners will bestow, into the Washington monumental fund.

We should be untrue to the chit-chat of the hour--as well as to our Washington fervor--if we did not give the suggestion a record, and the purpose a benison!

* * * * *

It is fortunate for all minor matters--such as Jenny Lind, Kossuth, green-peas, strawberries, and Lola Montez--that our President-making comes only by quartettes of years. It is painful to think of the monotone of talk which would overtake the world, if Baltimore Conventions were held monthly or even yearly.

We are writing now in the eye of the time; and can give no guess as to what candidates will emerge from the Baltimore ballot-boxes; but when this shall come under our reader's eye, two names only will form the foci of his political fears and hopes. Without any predilections whatever, we most ardently wish that our reader may not be disappointed--however his hopes may tend: and if any editor in the land can "trim" to his readers' humor, with greater sincerity, and larger latitude, we should like to know it.

* * * * *

Ole Bull has been delighting the musical world, in his way, for the month last gone, and has made more converts to the violin, by the fullness of his faith, and the fervor of his action, than many preachers can win over, by like qualities, to any labor of love.

The truth is, there lies in this Scandinavian a heartiness of impulse, and an exuberance of soul, which makes the better part of what men call genius. You have a conviction--as you listen--that you are dependent for your delight upon no nice conformity with rules--no precision of compliance--no formulary excellence, but only and solely upon the spirit of the man, creeping over him to the very finger-tips, and making music and melody of very necessity.

There is a freshness, a wildness, a _fierté_ in the harmonies that Ole Bull creates, which appeal not alone to your nice students of flats and sharps, but to every ear that ever heard a river flowing, or the soughing of pine woods. It is a make-piece--not of Donizetti's arias--but of that unceasing and musical hum which is going up every summer's day in the way of bee-chants, and bird-anthems, and which the soul-wakened Scandinavian has caught, and wrought and strung upon five bits of thread!

The papers (they are accountable for whatever may not be true in our stories) have told us strange, sad things of the musical hero's life. First, that he has been a great patron of the arts--nor is it easy to believe that he could be otherwise. Next, they have told us, that he is an earnest lover of such liberty as makes men think, and read, and till their own lands--nor is this hard to believe. Again they tell us that he has sometimes rendered himself obnoxious to the powers that be--that his estates, once very large, have been confiscated, and that he has come hitherward only for the sake of repairing his altered fortunes.

If the truth lie indeed so hardly upon him, we wish him even more success than his merit will be sure to win.

Among the _on dits_ of the time, we must not pass by the good and ill-natured comments upon the new-passed Liquor Laws of Massachusetts and of Rhode Island. When the reader remembers that Nahant and Newport are within the limits of these two States, and that summer visitors to the favorite watering places are not unapt to call for a wine-card, and to moisten their roast lamb and peas (especially after an exhilarating sea-bath) with a cup of Heidseck, or of Longworth's sparkling Catawba, they may readily imagine the consternation that has crept over certain portions of the visiting world. We (meaning we as Editors) are of course without any preferences either for watering places or--for that matter--liquoring places. Yet we are curious to see how far the new system will favor the fullness and the gayety of the old summer resorts.

Persistent Newport visitors, who have grown old with their sherry and their port, are arranging for the transportation of "small stores," as a portion of their luggage; and are negotiating with the landlords their rates of "corkage." Whether this side-tax on the matter will not render host and guest obnoxious to the new-started laws, is a matter we commend to the serious attention of the hopeful lawyers of Newport.

What the reformatory legal enactments may do with the wine-growers of Ohio, and with the distillers of Pennsylvania and Indiana, we are curious to see. As for the latter, we can not say (speaking now in our individual capacity) that we should greatly regret the downfall of those huge distillery pig-yards, which spend their odors over the Ohio river; but as for the Cincinnati wines and vineyards, we must confess that we have a lurking fondness that way--first, because the grape culture is Scriptural, beautiful, healthful; and next, because it is clothing the hill-sides of our West with a purple and bountiful product, that develops nobly the agricultural resources of the country, and throws the gauntlet in the very face of Burgundy. Still again, we have a fancy--perhaps a wrong one--that pure wines, well made, and cheapened to the wants of the humblest laborer, will outgrow and overshadow that feverish passion for stronger drink which vitiates so sadly our whole working population: and yet once again, we have charity for western vineyards, for a very love of their products; and have felt ourselves, after a wee bit of the quiet hock which Zimmermann presses out of the ripe Catawba--a better feeling toward our fellows, and a richer relish for such labor of the office as now hampers our pen.

* * * * *

Under story of pleasure-seeking for the summer, some Journalists record the intent of a southern party to broach--in the August that now lies thirty days into the sunshine--the passage of the Rocky Mountains, skirting by the way the miniature valley of the Missouri--wearing weapons of defense and offense--carrying parlors upon wheels, and kitchens in their carts--shooting rabbits and Indians as the seasons vary, and dining upon buffalo and corn bread _à volanté_.

We wish them much pleasure of the trip--meaning good roads, few Indians, and musquito bars.

Seriously, however, when shall we see the valley of the Missouri form a pleasant tangent to summer travel, and the sportsman who now camps it by Long Lake, or shoots coot by Moniment Point--oiling his rifle for a range at the stalking varmint by St. Joseph's, and along the thousand forked branches of the Missouri waters?

At Minnessota, they say (the doubtful newspapers again,) people have discovered a gem of a lake,--so still, that the bordering trees seem growing root upward, and the islands are all _Siamesed_ where they float; and so clear that you count your fish before you throw them the bait, and make such selections among the eager patrons of your hook, as you would do at the City market on the corner of Spring-street.

When Professor Page's Galvanic Railroad will take us there in a day, we will wash the ink from our fingers in the lake of Minnessota; and if the fates favor us, will stew a trout in Longworth's Catawba; meantime, we wait hopefully feeding upon Devoe's, moderately fatted mutton, and great plenty of imaginative diet.

* * * * *

Among the rest, old Markham's "Summer Contentments" has furnished us with rare meals, and inveigled us into trying with inapt hands the _metier_ of the rod and angle. We flatter ourselves that we have won upon the _character_ of the angler, however little we may win upon his fish.

"He must," says pleasant old Markham, "neither be amazed with storms, nor frighted with thunder; and if he is not temperate, but has a gnawing stomach, that will not endure much fasting, and must observe hours, it troubleth the mind and body, and loseth that delight which only maketh pastime pleasing.

"He must be of a well-settled and constant belief, to enjoy the benefit of his expectation; for than to despair, it were better never to be put in practice: and he must ever think, when the waters are pleasant, and any thing likely, that there the Creator of all good things, hath stored up much of plenty; and though your satisfaction be not as ready as your wishes, yet you must hope still, that with perseverance you shall reap the fullness of your harvest with contentment. Then he must be full of love both to his pleasure, and his neighbor--to his pleasure, which will otherwise be irksome and tedious--and to his neighbor, that he never give offense in any particular, nor be guilty of any general destruction; then he must be exceeding patient, and neither vex nor excruciate himself with any losses or mischances, as in losing the prey when it is almost in hand, or by breaking his tools by ignorance or negligence; but with pleased sufferance amend errors, and think mischances instructions to better carefulness."

We commend all this to the trout fishers among the musquitos, and black flies of Hamilton County--for even into that dim, and barbarian region, our monthly budget finds its way.

* * * * *

Among other things of the hour, we must spare a note for those pleasant statistics of author-and-bookdom, which the international discussion of Copyright has called into print.

Heretofore, the man of books has been reckoned as a liver, for the most part, upon such manna as rained down from time to time, from a very imaginative heaven; he has lived, by a certain charitable courtesy of the world, (which is coy of ferreting out its injustices) beyond the tongue of talk, and his pride and poverty have suffered an amiable reprieve.

The time, it seems, is now gone by; and we find Prescott and Irving submitted to the same fiscal measurement, as are the brokers upon 'Change. We wish the whole author fraternity might come as bravely out of it as the two we have named: and should it ever come to pass, that the fraternity were altogether rich, we hope they will not neglect the foundation of some quiet hospital for the poor fellows (like ourselves) who record their progress, and chronicle their honors.

In old times a fancy held men's minds, that the payment for poetry came only from Heaven: and that so soon as the Divine fingers which caught the minstrelsy of the angel world, touched upon gold, they palsied, and lost their power. Under the present flattering condition of the author world (of which, alas, we only read!) it may be well to revive the caution: the poor may, at the least, console themselves thereby; and as for the rich--they need no consolation.

Time and time again, we believe, spicy authors have threatened to take the publisher's business off his hands; and in lieu of half the profits, to measure them all with themselves. But, unfortunately for the credit of the calling, authors are, in the general way, blessed with very moderate financial capacity; and from Scott to Lamartine, they have in such venture, to the best of our observation, worked very hard--for very little pay.

* * * * *

Speaking of Lamartine, reminds us of a little episode of French life, which has latterly crept into the French papers, and which would have made (as the publishers say) a "companion volume" to Lamartine's Raphael--always provided it were as well written out. The episode is dismissed in two or three lines of the journals, and is headed in very attracting way--"Died of Love."

Such a kind of death being mostly unheard of--especially in New York--it will be necessary to justify the title by a somewhat fuller _résumé_ of the story, than the journalist favors us with.

Marie of Montauban was as pretty a girl as the traveler might see in going through all of southern France; and a pretty girl of southern France, is more than pretty in any other quarter of France.

Her father had been a small _propriétaire_, and had married a descendant of an old family, under circumstances of that vague and wild romance which grew up a little after the old Revolution. Both the parents, however, died early in life: she inherited from the mother exceeding delicacy, and a refinement, which agreed very poorly with the poverty to which her father's improvidence had left her an heir.

Admired and beloved, and sometimes courted by those about her, she resolutely determined to secure her own support. She commenced in a romantic way--by quitting secretly her home, and throwing herself upon a very broad and a very wicked world. Fortune guided her to the home of a worthy baker; she here learned the smaller mysteries of his craft, and made such show in the front shop of her new-found patron, as bewitched the provincial _gailliards_, and made its tale upon the heart of the baker's son.

In short, the son wooed in earnest; the baker protested: and whether it was the protest (which is sure to kindle higher flame) or the honest heart of the wooer himself, Marie forgot the earnest longings, which her mother's nature had planted in her, and became the runaway wife of the runaway baker's son.

All French runaways (except from Government) go to Paris: therefore it was, that in a year's time, you might have seen the humble sign of the baker's son upon a modest shop of the Boulevard Beaumarchais. Beauty is always found out in Paris, and it is generally admired. Therefore it was, that the baker's son prospered, and the Café de Paris heard mention of the beautiful baker's wife of the Beaumarchais.

But, with the sight of the Louvre, the Tuileries, and all the elegancies of metropolitan life, the old longings of the motherly nature came back to the humiliated Marie. She stole hours for reading and for music, and quieted her riotous ambition with the ambition of knowledge.

Still, however, her admirers besieged her; but thanks to her birth, besieged in vain. From month to month she attended her shop; and from month to month beguiled her mission with reading of old stories, and with the music of her guitar.

Now, it happened that in this time, a certain Jacques Arago (well known to fame) chanced upon a day to visit the baker's shop of the Boulevard Beaumarchais; and it further happened, that as the customer was a traveler and a savant, that he fell into talk with the beautiful Marie, who even then held in her fingers some work of the visitor himself.

Talk ripened into conversation, and conversation into interest. The heart of Marie--always dutiful at home--now went wandering under the guide of her mind. She admired the distinguished traveler, and from admiring, she came presently--in virtue of his kind offices and of his instructions continued day after day--to love him.

Therefore it was that Jacques Arago, when he came to depart upon new voyages (and here we follow his own story, rather than probability), did not whisper of his leave to the beautiful Marie, who still held her place in the baker's shop upon the Boulevard Beaumarchais.

But she found her liking too strong to resist; and when she heard of his departure, she hurried away to Havre--only to see the sails of his out-bound ship glimmering on the horizon.

She bore the matter stoutly as she could--cherishing his letters each one as so many parts of the mind that had enslaved her; and, finally, years after, met him calmly, on his return. "I have lived," she said, "to see you again."

But in a little while, Arago, sitting one day in his bureau, receives a letter from Marie of Beaumarchais.

"You deceived me when you went away over the sea; I forgive you for it! Will you forgive me now another deception? I was not well when you saw me last; I am now in the Hospital Beaujon; I shall die before tomorrow. But I die faithful to my religion--God--you! Adieu!

MARIE."

Jacques Arago himself writes so much of the story as has served to make the back-bone for this; and we appeal to the ninety thousand readers of our gossip if Jacques Arago needed any thing more than the _finesse_ of Lamartine, and a touch of his poetic nature, to weave the story of poor Marie into another Raphael?

AN OLD GENTLEMAN'S LETTER.

"THE STORY OF THE BRIDE OF LANDECK."

DEAR SIR--I now resume the very interesting tale I wished to tell you; but from which, in my last, I was diverted in a manner requiring some apology.

You know, however, that this failing of being carried away to collaterals, is frequent in old gentlemen and nurses; and you must make excuses for my age and infirmity. Now, however, you shall have the story of "The Bride of Landeck." A bride is always interesting, and therefore I trust that my bride will not be less so than others. There is something so touching in the confidence with which she bestows the care of her whole fate and happiness on another, something so strangely perilous, even in her very joy, such a misty darkness over that new world into which she plunges, that even the coarsest and most vulgar are moved by it.

I recollect an almost amusing instance of this. The very words employed by the speakers will show you that they were persons of inferior condition; and yet they were uttered with a sigh, and with every appearance of real feeling.

I was one day walking along through the streets of a great city, where it is the custom, in almost all instances, for marriages to take place in church. My way lay by the vestry of a fashionable church, and I was prevented for a minute or two from passing by a great throng of carriages, and a little crowd gathered to see a bride and bridegroom set out upon their wedding tour. There were two mechanics immediately before me--carpenters apparently--and, being in haste, I tried to force my way on. One of the men looked round, saying quietly, "There's no use pushing, you can't get by;" and in a moment after, the bridal party came forth. The bridegroom was a tall, fine-looking, grave young man; and the bride a very beautiful, interesting creature, hardly twenty. They both seemed somewhat annoyed by the crowd, and hurried into their carriage and drove away.

When the people dispersed, the two carpenters walked on before me, commenting upon the occurrence. "Well," said the one, "she's as pretty a creature as ever I saw; and he's a handsome man; but he looks a little sternish, to my mind. I hope he'll treat her well."

"Ah, poor thing," said the other, "she has tied a knot with her tongue, that she can not untie with her teeth."

It is not, however, only sentiment which is occasionally elicited at weddings. I have known some of the most ludicrous scenes in the world occur on these solemn occasions. One, especially, will never pass from my mind, and I must try to give you an account of it, although the task will be somewhat difficult.

Some fifty years ago, in the good city of Edinburgh, many of the conveniences, and even necessaries of household comfort were arranged in a very primitive manner. It was about this time, or a little before it, that a gentleman, whom I afterward knew well, Mr. J---- F----, wooed and won a very beautiful girl of the best society in the city. His doing so was, indeed, a marvel to all; for, though young, witty, and well-looking, he was perhaps the most absent man upon the face of the earth; and the wonder was that he could ever recollect himself sufficiently to make love to one woman for two days consecutively. However, so it was; and a vast number of mistakes and blunders having been got over, the wedding day was appointed and came. The ceremony was to be performed in the house of the bride's father; and a large and fashionable company was assembled at the hour appointed. The bridegroom was known to have been in the house some time; but he did not appear; and minister, parents, bride, bridesmaids, and bridesmen, all full dressed, the ladies in court lappets, and the gentlemen with _chapeaux bras_ under their arms, began to look very grave.

The bride's brother, however, knew his friend's infirmity, and was also aware that he had an exceedingly bad habit of reading classical authors in places the least fitted for such purposes. He stole out of the room, then, hurried to the place where he expected his future brother-in-law might be found; and a minute after, in spite of doors and staircases, his voice was heard exclaiming, "Jimmy--Jimmy; you forget you are going to be married, man. Every one is waiting for you."

"I will come directly--I will come directly," cried another voice--"I quite forgot--go and keep them amused."

The young gentleman returned, with a smile upon his face; but announced that the bridegroom would be there in an instant; and the whole party arranged themselves in a formidable semi-circle. This was just complete, when the door opened, and the bridegroom appeared. All eyes fixed upon him--all eyes turned toward his left arm, where his _chapeau bras_ should have been; and a universal titter burst from all lips. Poor F---- stood confounded, perceived the direction of their looks, and turned his own eyes to his left arm also. Close pressed beneath it, appeared, instead of a neat black _chapeau bras_, a thin, flat, round piece of oak, with a small brass knob rising from the centre of one side. In horror, consciousness, and confusion, he suddenly lifted his arm. Down dropped the obnoxious implement, lighted on its edge, rolled forward into the midst of the circle, whirled round and round, as if paying its compliments to every body, and settled itself with a flounder at the bride's feet. A roar, which might have shook St. Andrews, burst from the whole party.

The bride married him notwithstanding, and practiced through life the same forbearance--the first of matrimonial virtues--which she showed on the present occasion.

Poor F----, notwithstanding the sobering effects of matrimony, continued always the most absent man in the world; and one instance occurred, some fifteen or sixteen years after his marriage, which his wife used to tell with great glee. She was a very notable woman, and good housekeeper. Originally a Presbyterian, she had conformed to the views of her husband, and regularly frequented the Episcopal church. One Sunday, just before the carriage came to the door to take her and her husband to the morning service, she went down to the kitchen, as was her custom, in mercantile parlance, to take stock, and give her orders. She happened to be somewhat longer than usual: the carriage was announced, and poor F----, probably knowing that if he gave himself a moment to pause, he should forget himself, and his wife, and the church, and all other holy and venerable things, went down after her, with the usual, "My dear, the carriage is waiting; we shall be very late."

Mrs. F---- went through her orders with customary precision, took up her prayer-book, entered the carriage with her husband, and rolled away toward the church.

"My dear, what an extraordinary smell of bacon there is in the carriage," said Mr. F----.

"I do not smell it, my dear," said Mrs. F----.

"I do," said Mr. F----, expanding his nostrils emphatically.

"I think I smell it too, now," said Mrs. F----, taking a sniff.

"Well, I hope those untidy servants of ours do not smoke bacon in the carriage," said Mr. F----.

"Oh, dear, no," replied his wife, with a hearty laugh. "No fear of that, my dear."

Shortly after, the carriage stopped at the church door; and Mr. and Mrs. F---- mounted the stairs to their pew, which was in the gallery, and conspicuous to the whole congregation. The lady seated herself, and laid her prayer-book on the velvet cushion before her. Mr. F---- put his hand into his pocket, in search of his own prayer-book, and pulled out a long parallelogram, which was not a prayer-book, but which he laid on the cushion likewise.

"I don't wonder there was a smell of bacon in the carriage, my dear," whispered Mrs. F----; and, to his horror, he perceived lying before him, in the eyes of a thousand persons, a very fine piece of red-and-white streaky bacon, which he had taken up in the kitchen, thinking it was his prayer-book.

On only one subject could Mr. F---- concentrate his thoughts, and that was the law, in the profession of which he obtained considerable success, although occasionally, an awful blunder was committed; but, strange to say, never in the strictly legal part of his doings. He would forget his own name, and write that of some friend of whom he was thinking instead. He would confound plaintiff with defendant, and witnesses with counsel; but he never made a mistake in an abstract legal argument. There, where no collateral, and, as he imagined, immaterial circumstances were concerned--such as, who was the man to be hanged, and who was not--the reasoning was clear, acute, and connected; and for all little infirmities of mind, judges and jurors, who generally knew him well, made due allowance.

Other people had to make allowance also; and especially when, between terms, he would go out to pay a morning visit to a friend, Mrs. F---- never counted, with any certainty, upon his return for a month. He would go into the house where his call was to be made, talk for a few minutes, take up a book, and read till dinner time--dine--and lucky if he did not fancy himself in his own house, and take the head of the table. Toward night he might find out his delusion, and the next morning proceed upon his way, borrowing a clean shirt, and leaving his dirty one behind him. Thus it happened, that at the end of a twelvemonth, his wardrobe comprised a vast collection of shirts, of various sorts and patterns, with his own name on very few of them.

The stories of poor Jimmy F----'s eccentricities in Edinburgh were innumerable. On one occasion, seeing a lady, on his return home, coming away from his own door, he handed her politely into her carriage, expressing his regret that she had not found Mrs F---- at home.

"I am not surprised, my dear," said the lady, who was in reality his own wife, "that you forget me, when you so often forget yourself."

"God bless me," cried Jimmy, with the most innocent air in the world. "I was quite sure I had seen you somewhere before; but could not tell where it was."

Dear old Edinburgh, what a city thou wert when I first visited thee, now more than forty years ago! How full of strange nooks and corners, and, above all, how full of that racy and original character which the world in general is so rapidly losing! Warm hearted hospitality was one of the great characteristics of Auld Reekie in those times, and it must be admitted that social intercourse was sometimes a little too jovial. This did not indeed prevent occasional instances of miserly closeness, and well laughed at were they when they were discovered. There was a lady of good station and ample means in the city, somewhat celebrated for the not unusual combination of a niggard spirit, and a tendency to ostentatious display. Large supper parties were then in vogue; and I was invited to more than one of these entertainments at the house of Lady C---- G----, where I remarked that, though the table was well covered, the guests were not very strenuously pressed to their food. She had two old servants, a butler and a foot-man, trained to all her ways, and apparently participating in her economical feelings. These men, with the familiarity then customary in Scotch servants, did not scruple to give their mistress any little hints at the supper table in furtherance of her saving propensities, and as the old lady was somewhat deaf, these _asides_ were pretty much public property. On one occasion, the butler was seen to bend over his mistress's chair, saying, in a loud whisper, and good broad Scotch, "Press the jeelies, my leddy--press the jeelies. They'll no keep."

Lady C---- G---- did not exactly catch his words, and looked up inquiringly in his face, and the man repeated, "Press the jeelies, my leddy: they're getting mouldy."

"Shave them, John--shave them," said Lady C---- G----, in a solemn tone.

"They've been shaved already, my leedy," roared John; and the company of course exploded.

But to return to my tale. The small village of Landeck, is situated in the heart of the Tyrol, and in that peculiar district, called the Vorarlberg. It is as lovely a spot as the eye of man can rest upon, and the whole drive, in fact, from Innspruck is full of picturesque beauty. But--

But I find this is the last page of the sheet, when I fondly fancied that I had another whole page, which I think would be sufficient to conclude the tale. I had probably better, therefore, reserve the story of The Bride of Landeck for another letter, and only beg you to believe me

Yours faithfully,

P.

Editor's Drawer.

It is not a very long time ago, that "bustles" formed a very essential part of a fashionable lady's dress; nor has this singular branch of the fine arts altogether fallen into decadence at the present day. And, as apropos of this, we find in the "Drawer" a description of the uses of this article in Africa, which we think will awaken a smile upon the fair lips of our lady-readers. "The most remarkable article of dress," says the African traveler, from whom our extract is quoted, "that I have seen, is one which I have vaguely understood to constitute a part of the equipment of my fair countrywomen; in a word, the veritable '_Bustle!_' Among the belles here, there is a reason for the excrescence which does not exist elsewhere; for the little children ride astride the maternal bustle, which thus becomes as useful as it is an ornamental protuberance. Fashion, however, has evidently more to do with the matter than convenience; for old wrinkled grandmothers wear these beautiful anomalies, and little girls of eight years old display protuberances that might excite the envy of a Broadway belle. Indeed, Fashion may be said to have its perfect triumph and utmost refinement in this article; it being a positive fact that some of the girls hereabout wear _merely_ the bustle, without so much as the shadow of a garment! Its native name is "_Tarb-Koshe_.""

* * * * *

Here is a formula for all who can couple "love" and "dove," by which they may rush into print as "poets" of the common "water." The skeleton may be called any thing--"Nature," "Poesy," "Woman," or what not:

Stream.....mountain.....straying, Breeze.....gentle.....playing; Bowers.....beauty.....bloom, Rose.....jessamine.....perfume. Twilight.....moon.....mellow ray, Tint.....glories.....parting day. Poet.....stars.....truth.....delight, Joy.....sunshine.....silence.....night; Voice.....frown.....affection.....love, Lion.....anger.....taméd dove. Lovely.....innocent.....beguile, Terror.....frown.....conquer.....smile; Loved one.....horror.....haste.....delay, Past.....thorns.....meet.....gay. Sweetness.....life.....weary.....prose, Love.....hate.....bramble.....rose; Absence.....presence.....glory.....bright, Life.....halo.....beauty.....light.

* * * * *

Not long since a young English merchant took his youthful wife with him to Hong-Kong, China, where the couple were visited by a wealthy Mandarin. The latter regarded the lady very attentively, and seemed to dwell with delight upon her movements. When she at length left the apartment, he said to the husband, in broken English (worse than broken China):

"What you give for that wifey-wife yours?"

"Oh," replied the husband, laughing at the singular error of his visitor, "two thousand dollars."

This the merchant thought would appear to the Chinese rather a high figure; but he was mistaken.

"Well," said the Mandarin, taking out his book with an air of business, "s'pose you give her to me; give you _five_ thousand dollar!"

It is difficult to say whether the young merchant was more amazed than amused; but the very grave and solemn air of the Chinaman convinced him that he was in sober earnest; and he was compelled, therefore, to refuse the offer with as much placidity as he could assume. The Mandarin, however, continued to press his bargain:

"I give you seven thousand dollar," said he: "You _take_ 'em?"

The merchant, who had no previous notion of the value of the commodity which he had taken out with him, was compelled, at length, to inform his visitor that Englishmen were not in the habit of selling their wives after they once came in their possession--an assertion which the Chinaman was very slow to believe. The merchant afterward had a hearty laugh with his young and pretty wife, and told her that he had just discovered her full value, as he had that moment been offered seven thousand dollars for her; a very high figure, "as wives were going" in China at that time!

Nothing astonishes a Chinaman so much, who may chance to visit our merchants at Hong-Kong, as the deference which is paid by our countrymen to their ladies, and the position which the latter are permitted to hold in society. The very servants express their disgust at seeing American or English ladies permitted to sit at table with their lords, and wonder why men can so far forget their dignity!

* * * * *

We have seen the thought contained in the following Persian fable, before, in the shape of a scrap of "Proverbial Philosophy," by an eastern sage; but the sentiment is so admirably versified in the lines, that we can not resist presenting them to the reader:

"A little particle of rain, That from a passing cloud descended, Was heard thus idly to complain: 'My brief existence now is ended. Outcast alike of earth and sky, Useless to live--unknown to die.'

"It chanced to fall into the sea, And then an open shell received it, And, after-years, how rich was he Who from its prison-house relieved it! That drop of rain had formed a gem, To deck a monarch's diadem."

* * * * *

There is a certain London cockneyism that begins to obtain among _some_ persons even here--and that is, the substitution of the word "gent," for gentleman. It is a gross vulgarism. In England, however, the terms are more distinctive, it seems. A waiting-maid at a provincial inn, on being asked how many "gents" there were in the house, replied, "Three gents and four gentlemen." "Why do you make a distinction, Betty?" said her interrogator. "Oh, why, the gents are only _half_ gentlemen, people from the country, who come on horseback; the others have their carriages, and are _real_ gentlemen!"

* * * * *

Most readers will remember the ill-favored fraternity mentioned by Addison, known as "_The Ugly Club_," into which no person was admitted without a visible queerity in his aspect, or peculiar cast of countenance. The club-room was decorated with the heads of eminent ogres; in short, every thing was in keeping with the deformed objects of the association. They have a practice at the West of giving to the ugliest man in all the "diggins" round about, a jack-knife, which he carries until he meets with a man uglier than himself, when the new customer "takes the knife," with all its honors. A certain notorious "beauty" had carried the knife for a long time, with no prospect of ever being called upon to "stand and deliver" it. He had an under-lip, which hung down like a motherless colt's, bending into a sort of pouch for a permanent chew of tobacco his eyes had a diabolical squint _each_ way; his nose was like a ripe warty tomato; his complexion like that of an old saddle-flap; his person and limbs a miracle of ungainliness, and his gait a cross between the slouch of an elephant and the scrambling movement of a kangaroo. Yet this man was compelled to give up the knife. It happened in this wise: _He was kicked in the face by a horse!_ His "mug," as the English cockney would call it, was smashed into an almost shapeless mass. But so _very_ ugly was he _before_ the accident, that, when his face got well, it was found to be so much improved that he was obliged to surrender up the knife to a successful competitor! He must have been a handsome man, whom a kick in the face by a horse would "improve!"

* * * * *

Some years ago the Queen of England lost a favorite female dog. It was last seen, before its death, poking its nose into a dish of sweet-breads on the pantry-dresser. Foul play was suspected; the scullery-maid was examined; the royal dog-doctor was summoned; a "crowner's quest" was held upon the body; and the surgeon, after the evidence was "all in," assuming the office of coroner, proceeded to "sum up" as follows:

"This affair was involved, apparently, in a good deal of doubt until this inquisition was held. The deceased might have been poisoned, or might not; and here the difficulty comes in, to determine whether he was or wasn't. On a post-mortem examination, there was a good deal of vascular inflammation about the coats of the nose; and I have no doubt the affair of the sweet-bread, which was possibly very highly peppered, had something to do with these appearances. The pulse had, of course, stopped; but, as far as I could judge from appearances, I should say it had been pretty regular. The ears were perfectly healthy, and the tail appeared to have been recently wagged; showing that there could have been nothing very wrong in that quarter. The conclusion at which, after careful consideration, I have arrived, is, that the royal favorite came to his death from old age, or rather from the lapse of time; and a _deodand_ is therefore imposed on the kitchen-clock, which was rather fast on the day of the dog's death, and very possibly might have accelerated his demise!"

* * * * *

It is no small thing to be called on suddenly to address a public meeting, of any sort, and to find all your wits gone a-wool-gathering, when you most require their services. "Such being the case," and "standing admitted," as it will be, by numerous readers, we commend the following speech of a compulsory orator at the opening of a free hospital:

"GENTLEMEN--Ahem!--I--I--I rise to say--that is, I wish to propose a toast--wish to propose a toast. Gentlemen, I think that you'll all say--ahem--I think, at least, that this toast is, as you'll say, the toast of the evening--toast of the evening. Gentlemen, I belong to a good many of these things--and I say, gentlemen, that this hospital requires no patronage--at least, you don't want any recommendation. You've only got to be ill--got to be ill. Another thing--they are all locked up--I mean they are shut up separate--that is, they've all got separate beds--separate beds. Now, gentlemen, I find by the report (_turning over the leaves in a fidgety manner_), I find, gentlemen, that from the year seventeen--no, eighteen--no, ah, yes, I'm right--eighteen hundred and fifty--No! it's a 3, thirty-six--eighteen hundred and thirty-six, no less than one hundred and ninety-three millions--no! ah! (_to a committee-man at his side_,) Eh?--what?--oh, yes--thank you!--thank you, yes--one hundred and ninety-three thousand--two millions--no (_looking through his eye-glass_), two hundred and thirty-one--one hundred and ninety-three thousand, two hundred and thirty-one! Gentlemen, I beg to propose--

"_Success to this Institution!_"

Intelligible as Egyptian hieroglyphics, and "clear as mud" to the "most superficial observer!"

* * * * *

That was a touch of delicate sarcasm which is recorded of Charles Lamb's brother, "James Elia." He was out at Eton one day, with his brother and some other friends; and upon seeing some of the Eton boys, students of the college, at play upon the green, he gave vent to his forebodings, with a sigh and solemn shake of the head: "Ah!" said he, "what a pity to think that these fine ingenuous lads in a few years will all be changed into frivolous members of parliament!"

* * * * *

Some spendthrifts belonging to "_The Blues_" having been obliged to submit their "very superior long-tailed troop horses" to the arbitrament of a London auctioneer's hammer, a wag "improves the occasion" by inditing the following touching parody:

"Upon the ground he stood, To take a last fond look At the troopers, as he entered them In the horse-buyer's book. He listened to the neigh, So familiar to his ear; But the soldier thought of bills to pay, And wiped away a tear.

"Beside the stable-door, A mare fell on her knees; She cocked aloft her crow-black tail, That fluttered in the breeze, She seemed to breathe a prayer-- A prayer he could not hear-- For the soldier felt his pockets bare, And wiped away a tear.

"The soldier blew his nose-- Oh! do not deem him weak! To meet his creditors, he knows He's not sufficient 'cheek.' Go read the writ-book through, And 'mid the names, I fear, You're sure to find the very Blue Who wiped away the tear!"

* * * * *

We believe it is Dryden who says, "It needs all we know to make things _plain_." We wonder what he would have thought of this highly intelligible account of blowing up a ship by a submarine battery, as Monsieur Maillefert blew up the rocks in Hellgate:

"There is no doubt that all submarine salts, acting in coalition with a pure phosphate, and coagulating chemically with the sublimate of marine potash, _will_ create combustion in nitrous bodies. It is a remarkable fact in physics, that sulphurous acids, held in solution by glutinous compounds, will create igneous action in aquiferous bodies; and hence it is, therefore, that the pure carbonates of any given quantity of bituminous or ligneous solids will of themselves create the explosions in question."

We have heard men listen to such lucid, _pellucid_ "expositions" as this, with staring eyes:

"And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew."

* * * * *

He was a keen observer and a rare discriminator of children, who drew this little picture, in a work upon "Childhood and its Reminiscences:"

"See those two little girls! You hardly know which is the elder, so closely do they follow each other. They were born to the same routine, and will be bred in it for years, perhaps, side by side, in unequal fellowship; one pulling back, the other dragging forward. Watch them for a few moments as they play together, each dragging her doll about in a little cart. Their names are Cecilia and Constance, and they manage their dolls always as differently as they will their children. You ask Cecilia where she is going to drive her doll to, and she will tell you, 'Through the dining-room into the hall, and then back into the dining-room,' which is all literally true. You ask Constance, and with a grave, important air, and a loud whisper, for Doll is not to hear on any account, she answers, 'I am going to take her to London, and then to Brighton, to see her little cousin: the hall is Brighton, you know,' she adds, with a condescending look. Cecilia laments over a dirty frock, with a slit at the knee, and thinks that Mary, the maid, will never give her the new one she promised. Constance's doll is somewhat in the costume of the king of the Sandwich Islands; top-boots and a cocked-hat, having only a skein of worsted tied round her head, and a strip of colored calico or her shoulders; but she is perfectly satisfied that it is a wreath of flowers and a fine scarf; bids you smell of the "rose-oil" in her hair, and then whips herself, to jump over the mat.

"In other matters, the case is reversed. When fear is concerned, Cecilia's imagination becomes active, and Constance's remains perfectly passive. A bluff old gentleman passes through that same hall. The children stop their carts and stare at him, upon which he threatens to put them in his pocket. Poor Cecilia runs away, in the greatest alarm; but Constance coolly says: "You _can't_ put us in your pocket; it isn't half big enough!"

It strikes us that there is an important lesson to parents in this last passage. Because _one_ child has no fear to go to bed in the dark, how many poor trembling children, differently constituted, have passed the night in an agony of fear!

* * * * *

There are few more striking things in verse, in the English Language, than "_The Execution of Montrose_." The author has not, to our knowledge, been named, and the lines appeared for the first time many years ago. The illustrious head of the great house of GRAHAME in Scotland was condemned to be hung, drawn, and quartered; his head to be affixed on an iron pin and set on the pinnacle of the Tolbooth in Edinburgh; one hand to be set on the port of Perth, the other on the port of Stirling; one leg and foot on the port of Aberdeen, the other on the port of Glasgow. In the hour of his defeat and of his death he showed the greatness of his soul, by exhibiting the most noble magnanimity and Christian heroism. The few verses which follow will enable the reader to judge of the spirit which pervades the poem:

"'Twas I that led the Highland host Through wild Lochaber's snows, What time the plaided clans came down To battle with Montrose: I've told thee how the Southrons fell Beneath the broad claymore, And how we smote the CAMPBELL clan By Inverlochy's shore: I've told thee how we swept Dundee, And tamed the LINDSAY'S pride! But never have I told thee yet, How the Great Marquis died!

"A traitor sold him to his foes; Oh, deed of deathless shame! I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet With one of ASSYNT'S name-- Be it upon the mountain side, Or yet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, Or backed by armed men-- Face him, as thou would'st face the man Who wronged thy sire's renown; Remember of what blood thou art, And strike the caitiff down!"

The poet goes on to describe his riding to the place of execution in a cart, with hands tied behind him, and amidst the jeers and taunts of his enemies; but his noble bearing subdued the hearts of many even of his bitter foes. Arrived at the place of execution, the "Great Marquis" looks up to the scaffold, and exclaims:

"Now by my faith as belted knight, And by the name I bear, And by the red St. Andrew's cross That waves above us there-- Ay, by a greater, mightier oath, And oh! that such should be!-- By that dark stream of royal blood That lies 'twixt you and me-- I have not sought on battle-field A wreath of such renown, Nor dared I hope, on my dying day, To win a martyr's crown!

"There is a chamber far away, Where sleep the good and brave, But a better place ye have named for me Than by my father's grave. For truth and right 'gainst treason's might, This hand has always striven, And ye raise it up for a witness still In the eye of earth and heaven. Then raise my head on yonder tower, Give every town a limb, And GOD who made, shall gather them; I go from you to HIM!"

We know of few sublimer deaths than this, in which the poet has taken no liberties with historical facts.

* * * * *

A cunning old fox is Rothschild, the greatest banker in the world. He said, on one occasion, to Sir Thomas Buxton, in England, "My success has always turned upon one maxim. I said, '_I_ can do what _another_ man can;' and so I am a match for all the rest of 'em. Another advantage I had: I was always an off-hand man. I made a bargain at once. When I was settled in London, the East India Company had eight hundred thousand pounds in gold to sell. I went to the sale, and bought the whole of it. I knew the Duke of Wellington _must_ have it. I had bought a great many of his bills at a discount. The Government sent for me, and _said_ they must have it. When they had got it, they didn't know how to get it to Portugal, where they wanted it. I undertook all that, and I sent it through France; and that was the best business I ever did in my life.

"It requires a great deal of boldness and a great deal of caution to make a great fortune, and when you have got it, it requires ten times as much wit to keep it. If I were to listen to one half the projects proposed to me, I should ruin myself very soon.

"One of my neighbors is a very ill-tempered man. He tries to vex me, and has built a great place for swine close to my walk. So when I go out, I hear first, 'Grunt, grunt,' then 'Squeak, squeak.' But this does me no harm. I am always in good-humor. Sometimes, to amuse myself, I give a beggar a guinea. He thinks it is a mistake, and for fear I should find it out, he runs away as hard as he can. I advise you to give a beggar a guinea sometimes--it is very amusing."

* * * * *

Travelers by railroad, who stop at the "eating stations," and are hurried away by the supernatural shriek of the locomotive before they have begun their repast, will appreciate and laugh at the following:

"We have sometimes seen in a pastry-cook's window, the announcement of 'Soups hot till eleven at night,' and we have thought how very hot the said soups must be at ten o'clock in the morning; but we defy any soup to be so red-hot, so scorchingly and so intensely scarifying to the roof of the mouth, as the soup you are allowed just three minutes to swallow at the railway stations. In the course of our perigrinations, a day or two ago, we had occasion to stop at a distant station. A smiling gentleman, with an enormous ladle, said insinuatingly:

"'Soup, sir?'

"'Thank you--yes.'

"Then the gigantic ladle was plunged into a caldron, which hissed with hot fury at the intrusion of the ladle.

"We were put in possession of a plateful of a colored liquid, that actually took the skin off our face by mere steam. Having paid for the soup, we were just about to put a spoonful to our lips when a bell was rung, and the gentleman who had suggested the soup, ladled out the soup, and got the money for the soup, blandly remarked:

"'Sir, the train is just off!'

"We made a desperate thrust of a spoonful into our mouth, but the skin peeled off our lips, tongue, and palate, like the 'jacket' from a hot potato."

Probably the same soup was served out to the passengers by the next train. Meanwhile the "soup-vendor smiled pleasantly, and evidently enjoyed the fun!"

* * * * *

One of the best of the minor things of Thackeray's--thrown off, doubtless before his temporarily-suspended cigar had gone out--is the following. It is a satire upon the circumstance of some fifty deer being penned into the narrow wood of some English nobleman, for Prince ALBERT to "_hunt_" in those confined limits. The lines are by "Jeems, cousin-german on the Scotch side," to "Chawls Yellowplush, Igsquire":

"SONNICK.

"SEJESTED BY PRINCE HALBERT GRATIOUSLY KILLING THE STAGS AT JACKS COBUG GOTHY.

"Some forty Ed of sleak and hantlered dear, In Cobug (where such hanimels abound) Was shot, as by the newspaper I 'ear, By Halbert, Usband of the British crownd. Britannia's Queen let fall the pretty tear, Seeing them butchered in their sylvan prisns; Igspecially when the keepers standing round, Came up and cut their pretty innocent whizns. Suppose, instead of this pore Germing sport, This Saxon wenison wich he shoots and bags, Our Prins should take a turn in Capel Court, And make a massyker of Henglish stags. Poor stags of Hengland! were the Untsman at you, What havoc he would make, and what a tremenjus battu. JEEMS."

* * * * *

What is pleasure? It is an extremely difficult thing to say what "pleasure" means. Pleasure bears a different scale to every person. Pleasure to a country girl may mean a village ball, and "so many partners that she danced till she could scarcely stand." Pleasure to a school-boy means tying a string to his school-fellow's toe when he is asleep, and pulling it till he wakens him. Pleasure to a "man of inquiring mind" means, "a toad inside of a stone," or a beetle running around with his head off. Pleasure to a hard-laboring man means doing nothing; pleasure to a fashionable lady means, "having something to do to drive away the time." Pleasure to an antiquary means, an "illegible inscription." Pleasure to a connoisseur means, a "dark, invisible, very fine picture." Pleasure to the social, the "human face divine." Pleasure to the morose, "Thank Heaven, I shan't see a soul for the next six months!"

* * * * *

"Why don't you wash and dress yourself when you come into a court of justice?" asked a pompous London judge of a chimney-sweep, who was being examined as a witness. "Dress myself, my lord," said the sweep: "I _am_ dressed as much as your lordship: you are in your _working_-clothes, and so am I!"

* * * * *

A good while ago that inimitable wag, PUNCH had some very amusing "_Legal Maxims_," with comments upon them; a few of which found their way into the "Drawer," and a portion of which we subjoin:

"_A personal action dies with the person._"--This maxim is clear enough; and means that an action brought against a man, when he dies in the middle of it, can not be continued. Thus, though the law sometimes, and very often, pursues a man to the grave, his rest there is not likely to be disturbed by the lawyers. If a soldier dies in action, the action does not necessarily cease, but is often continued with considerable vigor afterward.

"_Things of a higher nature determine things of a lower nature._"--Thus a written agreement determines one in words; although if the words are of a very high nature, they put an end to all kinds of agreement between the parties.

"_The greater contains the less._"--Thus, if a man tenders more money than he ought to pay, he tenders what he owes: for the greater contains the less; but a quart wine-bottle, which is greater than a pint and a half, does not always contain a pint and a half; so that, in this instance, the less is not contained in the greater.

"_Deceit and fraud shall be remedied on all occasions._"--It may be very true, that deceit and fraud _ought_ to be remedied, but whether they _are_, is quite another question. It is much to be feared, that in law, as well as in other matters, _ought_ sometimes stands for nothing.

"_The law compels no one to impossibilities._"--This is extremely considerate on the part of the law; but if it does not compel a man to impossibilities, it sometimes drives him to attempt them. The law, however, occasionally acts upon the principle of two negatives making an affirmative; thus treating two impossibilities as if they amounted to a possibility. As, when a man can not pay a debt, law-expenses are added, which he can not pay either; but the latter being added to the former, it is presumed, perhaps, that the two negatives, or impossibilities may constitute one affirmative or possibility, and the debtor is accordingly thrown into prison, if he fails to accomplish it.

* * * * *

Some country readers of the "Drawer," unacquainted with the dance called the "_Mazurka_," may like to know how to accomplish that elaborate and fashionable species of saltation. Here follows a practical explanation of the figures:

Get a pair of dress-boats, high heels are the best, And a partner; then stand with six more in a ring; Skip thrice to the right, take two stamps and a rest, Hop thrice to the left, give a kick and a fling; Be careful in stamping some neighbor don't rue it, Though people with corns had better not do it.

Your partner you next circumnavigate; that Is, dance all the way round her, unless she's too fat; Make a very long stride, then two hops for _poussette_; Lastly, back to your place, if you can, you must get. A general mêlée here always ensues, Begun by the loss of a few ladies' shoes; A faint and a scream--"Oh, dear, I shall fall!" "How stupid you are!"--"We are all wrong!" and that's all.

Truly to appreciate such a dancing scene as this, one should see it through a closed window, at a fashionable watering-place, without being able to hear a note of the music, the "moving cause" of all the frisking.

CONTRIBUTIONS TO OUR DRAWER.

MISS TREPHINA and MISS TREPHOSA, two ancient ladies of virgin fame, formerly kept a boarding-house in the immediate neighborhood of the Crosby-street Medical College. They _took in_ students, did their washing, and to the best of their abilities mended their shirts and their morals. Miss Trephina, in spite of the numerous landmarks which time had set up upon her person, was still of the sentimental order. She always dressed "_de rigueur_" in cerulean blue, and wore false ringlets, and teeth (_miserabile dictu!_) of exceedingly doubtful _extraction_. Miss Trephosa, her sister, was on the contrary an uncommonly "strong-minded" woman. Her appearance would have been positively majestic, had it not been for an unfortunate squint, which went far to upset the dignified expression of her countenance. She wore a fillet upon her brows "_à la Grecque_," and people _did_ say that her temper was as cross as her eyes. Bob Turner was a whole-souled Kentuckian, for whom his professorial guardian obtained lodgings in the establishment presided over by these two fascinating damsels. Somehow or other, Bob and his hostesses did not keep upon the best of terms very long. Bob had no notion of having his minutest actions submitted to a surveillance as rigid as (in his opinion) it was impertinent. One morning a fellow-student passing by at an early hour, saw the Kentuckian, who was standing upon the steps of the dragons' castle, from which he had just emerged, take from his pocket a slip of paper, and proceed to affix the same, with the aid of wafers, to the street door. The student skulked about the premises until Bob was out of sight, and he could read without observation the inscription placarded upon the panel. It was as follows--we do not vouch for its originality, although we know nothing to the contrary:

"To let or to lease, for the term of her life, A scolding old maid, in the way of a wife; She's old and she's ugly--ill-natured and thin; For further particulars, inquire within!"

An hour afterward the paper had disappeared from the door. Whether Bob was ever detected or not we can not tell, but he changed his lodgings the next term.

* * * * *

The Spaniards have a talent for self-glorification which throws that of all other nations, even our own, into the shade. Some allowance should be made, perhaps, for conventional hyperbolism of style, but vanity has as much to do with it as rhetoric. A traveled friend saw performed at Barcelona a play called "Españoles sobre todos"--"Spaniards before all"--in which the hero, a Spanish knight, and a perfect paladin in prowess, overthrows more English and French knights with his single arm than would constitute the entire regular army of this country. All these absurdities were received by the audience with a grave enthusiasm marvelous enough to witness. The play had a great run in all the cities of Spain, until it reached Madrid, where its first representation scandalized the French embassador to such a degree, that, like a true Gaul as he was, he made it a national question, interfered diplomatically, and the Government suppressed the performance.

There is a light-house at Cadiz--a very good light-house--but in no respect an extraordinary production of art. There is an inscription carved upon it, well peppered with notes of exclamation, and which translated reads as follows:

"This light-house was erected upon Spanish soil, of Spanish stone, by Spanish hands."

* * * * *

An old farmer from one of the rural districts--we may be allowed to say, from one of the very rural districts--recently came to town to see the sights, leaving his better-half at home, with the cattle and the poultry. Among various little keepsakes which he brought back to his wife, on his return to his Penates, was his own daguerreotype. "Oh! these men, these men! what creturs they are!" exclaimed the old lady, on receiving it; "just to think that he should fetch a picture of himself all the way from York, and be so selfish as not to fetch one of me at the same time!"

* * * * *

The following good story is told of George Hogarth, the author of musical history, biography, and criticism, and of "Memoirs of the Musical Drama." It seems that Mr. Hogarth is an intimate friend of Charles Dickens. Upon one occasion, Mr. Dickens had a party at his house, at which were present, among other notabilities, Miss ----, the famous singer, and her mother, a most worthy lady, but not one of the "illuminated." Mr. Hogarth's engagement as musical critic for some of the leading London Journals kept him busy until quite late in the evening; and to Mrs. ----'s reiterated inquiries as to when Mr. Hogarth might be expected, Mr. Dickens replied that he could not venture to hope that he would come in before eleven o'clock. At about that hour the old gentleman, who is represented as being one of the mildest and most modest of men, entered the rooms, and the excited Mrs. ---- solicited an immediate introduction. When the consecrated words had been spoken by the amused host, fancy the effect of Mrs. ----'s bursting out with the hearty exclamation, "Oh, Mr. Hogarth, how shall I express to you the honor which I feel on making the acquaintance of the author of the 'Rake's Progress!'"

We wish it had been our privilege to see Dickens' face at that moment.

* * * * *

DR. DIONYSIUS LARDNER married an Irish lady, of the city of Dublin, we believe, whose name was Cicily. The Doctor is represented not to have treated her with all conceivable marital tenderness. Among the University wags, he went by the name of "Dionysius, the _Tyrant of Cicily_" (_Sicily._)

* * * * *

The late Pope of Rome, Gregory XVI., was once placed in an extremely awkward dilemma, in consequence of his co-existing authority as temporal and spiritual prince. A child of Jewish parentage was stolen from its home in early infancy. Every possible effort was made to discover the place of its concealment, but for many years without any success. At length, after a long lapse of time, it was accidentally ascertained that the boy, who had now almost grown a man, was residing in a Christian family, in a section of the town far removed from the "Ghetto," or Jews' quarter. The delighted parents eagerly sought to take their child home at once, but his Christian guardians refused to give him up; and the Pope was applied to by both parties, to decide upon the rival claims. On the one hand it was urged, that, as the head of the State, his Holiness could never think of countenancing the kidnapping of a child, and the detaining him from his natural friends. On the other hand it was contended, that, as head of the Church, it was impossible for him to give back to infidelity one who had been brought up a true believer. The case was a most difficult one to pass upon, and what might have been the result it would be hard to tell, had not the voice of habit been stronger than the voice of blood, and the subject of the dispute expressed an earnest desire to cling to the Church rather than be handed over to the Synagogue.

* * * * *

The famous humorist, Horne Tooke, once stood for Parliament in the Liberal interest. His election was contested by a person who had made a large fortune as a public contractor. This gentleman, in his speech from the hustings, exhorted the constituency not to elect a man who had no stake in the country. Mr. Tooke, in reply, said that he must confess, with all humility, that there was, at least, one stake in the country which he did not possess, and that was a _stake taken from the public fence_.

Upon another occasion, the blank form for the income-tax return was sent in to Mr. Tooke to be filled up. He inserted the word "Nil," signed it, and returned it to the board of county magistrates. Shortly afterward he was called before this honorable body of gentlemen to make an explanation. "What do you mean by 'Nil,' sir?" asked the most ponderous of the gentlemen upon the bench. "I mean literally 'Nil,'" answered the wag.

"We perfectly understand the meaning of the Latin word _Nil_--nothing," rejoined the magistrate, with an air of self-congratulation upon his learning. "But do you mean to say, sir, that you live without any income at all--that you live upon nothing?"

"Upon nothing but my brains, gentlemen," was Tooke's answer.

"Upon nothing but his brains!" exclaimed the presiding dignitary to his associates. "It seems to me that this is a novel source of income."

"Ah, gentlemen," retorted the humorist, "it is not every man that _has brains to mortgage_."

* * * * *

In nothing is the irregularity of our orthography shown more than in the pronunciation of certain proper names. The English noble names of Beauchamp, Beauvoir, and Cholmondeley are pronounced respectively Beechum, Beaver, and Chumley.

One of the "Anglo-Saxun" reformers, meeting Lord Cholmondeley one day coming out of his own house, and not being acquainted with his Lordship's person, asked him if Lord Chol-mon-de-ley (pronouncing each syllable distinctly), was at home? "No," replied the Peer, without hesitation, "nor any of his pe-o-ple."

* * * * *

Before commons were abolished at Yale College, it used to be customary for the steward to provide turkeys for the Thanksgiving dinner. As visits of poultry to the "Hall" table were "few and far between," this feast was looked forward to with anxious interest by all the students. The birds, divested of their feathers, were ordinarily deposited over-night in some place of safety--not unfrequently in the Treasurer's office.

Upon one occasion a Vandal-like irruption, by some unknown parties, was made in the dead of night upon the place of deposit. By the next morning the birds had all flown--been spirited away, or carried off--we give the reader his choice. A single venerable specimen of antiquity, the stateliest of the flock, was found tied by the legs to the knocker of the steward's door. And, as if to add insult to injury (or injury to insult, as you please), a paper was pinned upon his breast with the significant motto written upon it: _E pluribus unum_--"One out of many."

* * * * *

At one corner of the Palazzo Braschi, the last monument of Papal nepotism, near the Piazza Navona, in Rome, stands the famous mutilated torso known as the Statue of Pasquin. It is the remains of a work of art of considerable merit, found at this spot in the sixteenth century, and supposed to represent Ajax supporting Menelaus. It derives its modern name, as Murray tells us, from the tailor Pasquin, who kept a shop opposite, which was the rendezvous of all the gossips in the city, and from which their satirical witticisms on the manners and follies of the day obtained a ready circulation. The fame of Pasquin is perpetuated in the term _pasquinade_, and has thus become European; but Rome is the only place in which he flourishes. The statue of Marforio, which stood near the arch of Septimus Severus, in the Forum, was made the vehicle for replying to the attacks of Pasquin; and for many years they kept up an incessant fire of wit and repartee. When Marforio was removed to the Museum of the Capitol, the Pope wished to remove Pasquin also; but the Duke di Braschi, to whom he belongs, would not permit it. Adrian VI. attempted to arrest his career by ordering the statue to be burnt and thrown into the Tiber, but one of the Pope's friends, Ludovico Sussano, saved him, by suggesting that his ashes would turn into frogs, and croak more terribly than before. It is said that his owner is compelled to pay a fine whenever he is found guilty of exhibiting any scandalous placards. The modern Romans seem to regard Pasquin as part of their social system; in the absence of a free press, he has become in some measure the organ of public opinion, and there is scarcely an event upon which he does not pronounce judgment. Some of his sayings are extremely broad for the atmosphere of Rome, but many of them are very witty, and fully maintain the character of his fellow-citizens for satirical epigrams and repartee. When Mezzofante, the great linguist, was made a Cardinal, Pasquin declared that it was a very proper appointment, for there could be no doubt that the "Tower of Babel," "_Il torre di Babel_," required an interpreter. At the time of the first French occupation of Italy, Pasquin gave out the following satirical dialogue:

"I Francesi son tutti ladri, "Non tutti--ma Buonaparte." "The French are all robbers. "Not all, but a _good part_;" or, "Not all--but Buonaparte."

Another remarkable saying is recorded in connection with the celebrated Bull of Urban VIII., excommunicating all persons who took snuff in the Cathedral of Seville. On the publication of this decree, Pasquin appropriately quoted the beautiful passage in Job--"Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro? and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?"

Literary Notices.

_The Naval Dry Docks of the United States._ By CHARLES B. STUART.--This elegant volume, by the Engineer-in-Chief of the United States Navy, is dedicated with great propriety to President Fillmore. It is an important national work, presenting a forcible illustration of the scientific and industrial resources of this country, and of the successful application of the practical arts to constructions of great public utility. The Dry Docks at the principal Navy Yards in the United States are described in detail--copious notices are given of the labor and expense employed in their building--with a variety of estimates, tables, and plans, affording valuable materials for reference to the contractor and engineer. Gen. Stuart has devoted the toil of many years to the preparation of this volume, which forms the first of a series, intended to give a history and description of the leading public works in the United States. He has accomplished his task with admirable success. Every page bears the marks of fidelity, diligence, and skill. The historical portions are written in a popular style, and as few professional technicalities have been employed as were consistent with scientific precision. In its external appearance, this publication is highly creditable to American typography; a more splendid specimen of the art has rarely, if ever been issued from the press in this country. The type, paper, and binding are all of a superior character, and worthy of the valuable contents of the volume. The scientific descriptions are illustrated by twenty-four fine steel engravings, representing the most prominent features of the Dry Docks at different stages of their construction. We trust that this superb volume, in which every American may well take an honest pride, will not only attract the attention of scientific men, but find its way generally into our public and private libraries.

A unique work on the manners of gentlemen in society has been issued by Harper and Brothers, entitled, _The Principles of Courtesy_. The author, GEORGE WINFRED HERVEY, whom we now meet for the first time in the domain of authorship, seems to have made a specialty of his subject, judging from the completeness of detail and earnestness of tone which he has brought to its elucidation. It is clearly his mission to "catch the living manners as they rise" to submit them to a stringent search for any thing contraband of good feeling or good taste. He is an observer of no common acuteness. While he unfolds with clearness the great principles of courtesy, few trifles of detail are too unimportant to escape his notice. He watches the social bearing of men in almost every imaginable relation of life--detects the slight shades of impropriety which mar the general comfort--points out the thousand little habits which diminish the facility and grace of friendly intercourse--and spares no words to train up the aspirants for decency of behavior in the way they should go. We must own that we have usually little patience with works of this description. The manners of a gentleman are not formed by the study of Chesterfield. A formal adherence to written rules may make dancing-masters, or Sir Charles Grandisons; but the untaught grace of life does not come from previous intent. This volume, however, somewhat modifies our opinion. It is no stupid collection of stereotype precepts, but a bold, lively discussion of the moralities of society, interspersed with frequent dashes of caustic humor, and occasional sketches of character in the style of La Bruyere. Whatever effect it may have in mending the manners of our social circles, it is certainly a shrewd, pungent book, and may be read for amusement as well as edification.

_An Exposition of some of the Laws of the Latin Grammar_, by GESSNER HARRISON, M.D. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) This is a treatise on several nice topics of Latin philology, which are discussed with great sagacity and analytic skill. It is not intended to take the place of any of the practical grammars now in use, but aims rather to supply some of their deficiencies, by presenting a philosophical explanation of the inflections and syntax of the language. Although the subtle distinctions set forth by the author may prove too strong meat for the digestion of the beginner, we can assure the adept in verbal analogies, that he will find in this volume a treasure of rare learning and profound suggestion. While professedly devoted to the Latin language, it abounds with instructive hints and conclusions on general philology. It is one of those books which, under a difficult exterior, conceals a sweet and wholesome nutriment. Whoever will crack the nut, will find good meat.

An excellent aid in the acquisition of the French language may be found in Professor FASQUELLE'S _New Method_, published by Newman and Ivison. It is on the plan of Woodbury's admirable German Grammar, and for simplicity, copiousness, clearness, and accuracy, is not surpassed by any manual with which we are acquainted.

_The Two Families_ is the title of a new novel by the author of "Rose Douglas," republished by Harper and Brothers. Pervaded by a spirit of refined gentleness and pathos, the story is devoted to the description of humble domestic life in Scotland, perpetually appealing to the heart by its sweet and natural simplicity. The moral tendency of this admirable tale is pure and elevated, while the style is a model of unpretending beauty.

_A Greek Reader_, by Professor JOHN J. OWEN (published by Leavitt and Allen), is another valuable contribution of the Editor to the interests of classical education. It comprises selections from the fables of Æsop, the Jests of Hierocles, the Apophthegms of Plutarch, the Dialogues of Lucian, Xenophon's Anabasis and Cyropædia, Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, and the Odes of Anacreon. With the brief Lexicon and judicious Notes by the Editor, it forms a highly convenient text-book for the use of beginners.

The Second Volume of LAMARTINE'S _History of the Restoration_ (issued by Harper and Brothers), continues the narrative of events from the departure of Napoleon from Fontainebleau to his escape from Elba, his defeat at Waterloo, and his final abdication. The tone of this volume is more chaste and subdued, than that of the previous portions of the work. The waning fortunes of the Emperor are described with calmness and general impartiality, though the author's want of sympathy with the fallen conqueror can not be concealed. Many fine portraitures of character occur in these pages. In this department of composition, Lamartine is always graphic and felicitous. We do not admit the charge that he sacrifices accuracy of delineation to his love of effect. His sketches will bear the test of examination. Among others, Murat, Talleyrand, and Benjamin Constant are hit off with masterly boldness of touch. In fact, whatever criticisms may be passed upon this work as a history, no one can deny its singular fascinations as a picture-gallery.

_Clifton_, by ARTHUR TOWNLEY (published by A. Hart, Philadelphia), is an American novel, chiefly remarkable for its lively portraitures of fashionable and political life in this country. The plot has no special interest, and is in fact subservient to the taste for dissertation, in which the writer freely indulges. His sketches of manoeuvres and intrigues in society and politics are often quite piquant, betraying a sharp observer and a nimble satirist. We do not know the position of the author, but he is evidently familiar with the sinuosities of Washington and New York society.

The Fourth Volume of _Cosmos_ by HUMBOLDT (republished by Harper and Brothers), continues the Uranological portion of the Physical Description of the Universe, completing the subject of Fixed Stars, and presenting a thorough survey of the Solar Region, including the Sun as the central body, the planets, the comets, the ring of the zodiacal light, shooting stars, fireballs, and meteoric stones. This volume, like those already published, is distinguished for its profuse detail of physical facts and phenomena, its lucid exhibition of scientific laws, and the breadth and profoundness of view with which the unitary principles of the Universe are detected in the midst of its vast and bewildering variety. Nor is Humboldt less remarkable for the impressive eloquence of his style, than for the extent of his researches, and the systematic accuracy of his knowledge. The sublime facts of physical science are inspired with a fresh vitality as they are presented in his glowing pages. He awakens new conceptions of the grandeur of the Universe and the glories of the Creator. No one can pursue the study of his luminous and fruitful generalizations, without a deep sense of the wonderful laws of the divine harmony, and hence, his writings are no less admirable in a moral point of view, than they are for the boldness and magnificence of their scientific expositions.

_Dollars and Cents_, by AMY LOTHROP (published by G. P. Putnam), is a new novel of the "Queechy" school, in many respects bearing such a marked resemblance to those productions, that it might almost be ascribed to the same pen. Like the writings of Miss Wetherell, its principal merit consists in its faithful descriptions of nature, and its insight into the workings of the human heart in common life. The dialogue is drawn out to a wearisome tenuity, while the general character of the plot is also fatiguing by its monotonous and sombre cast. The story hinges on the reverses of fortune in a wealthy family, by whom all sorts of possible and impossible perplexities are endured in their low estate, till finally the prevailing darkness is relieved by a ray of light, when the curtain rather abruptly falls. In the progress of the narrative, the writer frequently displays an uncommon power of expression; brief, pointed sentences flash along the page; but the construction of the plot, as a whole, is awkward; and the repeated introduction of improbable scenes betrays a want of invention, which finally marks the work as a failure in spite of the talent which it occasionally reveals.

The _Study of Words_ by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH (Published by Redfield.) A reprint of a curious, but not very profound English work on the derivation of words. The author presents a variety of specimens of ingenious verbal analysis; always suggestive; but not seldom fanciful; relying on subtle hypotheses, rather than on sound authority. Still his book is not without a certain utility. It enforces the importance of a nice use of language as an instrument of thought. The hidden meaning wrapped up in the derivation of terms is shown to be more significant than is usually supposed; and the numerous instances of cunning etymology which it brings forward tend to create a habit of tracing words to their origin, which directed by good sense, rather than fancy, can not fail to exert a wholesome influence in the pursuit of truth.

_Life and Correspondence of Lord Jeffrey_, by Lord COCKBURN. (Published by Lippincott, Grambo, and Co.) The best part of this book is that in which Jeffrey is made to speak for himself. Except on the ground of intimate friendship, Lord Cockburn had no special vocation for the present task. He exhibits little skill in the arrangement of his materials, and none of the graces of composition. His narrative is extremely inartificial, and fails to present the subject in its most commanding and attractive aspects. He often dwells upon trifles with a zeal quite disproportioned to their importance. These defects, however, are in some degree compensated by the thorough sincerity and earnestness of the whole performance. It is altogether free from pretension and exaggeration. Lord Cockburn writes like a plain, hard-headed, common-sense Scotchman. He tells a straightforward story, leaving it to produce its own effect, without superfluous embellishment. His relations with Jeffrey were of the most familiar character. Their friendship commenced early in life, and was continued without interruption to the last hour. The difference in their pursuits seemed only to cement their intimacy. Hence, on the whole, the biography was placed in the right hands. We thus have a more transparent record of the character of Jeffrey, than if the work had been prepared in a more ambitious literary spirit. In fact, his letters reveal to us the best parts of his nature, far more than could have been done by any labored eulogy. The light they throw on his affections is a perpetual surprise. His reputation in literature depends so much on the keenness and severity of his critical judgments, that we have learned to identify them with the personal character of the writer. We think of him almost as a wild beast, lurking in the jungles of literature, eager, with blood-thirsty appetite, to pounce upon his prey. He seems to roll the most poignant satire "as a sweet morsel under his tongue." But, in truth, this was not his innate disposition. When prompted by a sense of critical justice to slay the unhappy victim, "dividing asunder the joints and the marrow," he does not spare the steel. No compunctuous visitings of nature are permitted to stay the hand, when raised to strike. But, really, there never was a kinder, a more truly soft-hearted man. He often displays a woman's gentleness and wealth of feeling. The contrast between this and his sharp, alert, positive, intellectual nature is truly admirable. With his confidential friends, he lays aside all reserve. He unbosoms himself with the frank artlessness of a child. His letters to Charles Dickens are among the most remarkable in these volumes. He early detected the genius of the young aspirant to literary distinction. His passion for the writings of Dickens soon ripened into a devoted friendship for the author, which was cordially returned. Never was more enthusiastic attachment expressed by one man for another than is found in this correspondence. It speaks well for the head and heart of both parties. Incidental notices of the progress of English literature during the last half-century are, of course, profusely scattered throughout these volumes. The exceeding interest of that period, the variety and splendor of its intellectual productions, and the personal traits of its celebrities, furnish materials of rare value for an attractive work. With all its defects of execution, we must welcome this as one of the most delightful publications of the season.

_Eleven Weeks in Europe_, by JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. (Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields.) We never should be surfeited with books of travels, if they all evinced the frankness, intelligence, and cultivated taste which characterize this readable volume. Mr. Clarke shows how much can be done in a short time on a European tour. His book is valuable as a guide to the selection of objects, no less than for its excellent descriptions and criticisms. Without claiming any great degree of novelty, it has an original air from the freedom with which the author uses his own eyes and forms his own judgments. He speaks altogether from personal impressions, and does not aim to echo the opinions of others, however wise or well-informed. His volume is, accordingly, a rarity in these days, when every body travels, and all copy.

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Messrs. Lippincott, Grambo, and Co., of Philadelphia, are now publishing a library edition of the WAVERLEY NOVELS, to be complete in 12 monthly volumes, neatly bound in cloth, with illustrations, at one dollar per volume. They also issue the work in semi-monthly parts, at fifty cents, each part embracing a complete novel. The above will take the place of the edition recently proposed by Harper and Brothers.

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The third volume of DOUGLAS JERROLD'S writings contains some of his most popular and remarkable pieces. The "Curtain Lectures, as suffered by the late Job Caudle," and "The Story of a Feather" appeared originally in _Punch_--and they have since been repeatedly reprinted, the former in several editions. The thousands of readers who have profited by the lectures of Mrs. Caudle may be glad to learn Mr. Jerrold's characteristic account of the manner in which that household oracle first addressed herself to his own mind. "It was a thick, black wintry afternoon, when the writer stopt in the front of the play-ground of a suburban school. The ground swarmed with boys full of the Saturday's holiday. The earth seemed roofed with the oldest lead; and the wind came, sharp as Shylock's knife, from the Minories. But those happy boys ran and jumped, and hopped, and shouted, and--unconscious men in miniature!--in their own world of frolic, had no thought of the full-length men they would some day become; drawn out into grave citizenship; formal, respectable, responsible. To them the sky was of any or all colors; and for that keen east-wind--if it was called the east-wind--cutting the shoulder-blades of old, old men of forty--they in their immortality of boyhood had the redder faces, and the nimbler blood for it. And the writer, looking dreamily into that play-ground, still mused on the robust jollity of those little fellows, to whom the tax-gatherer was as yet a rarer animal than baby hippopotamus. Heroic boyhood, so ignorant of the future in the knowing enjoyment of the present! And the writer, still dreaming and musing, and still following no distinct line of thought, there struck upon him, like notes of sudden household music, these words--CURTAIN LECTURES. One moment there was no living object save those racing, shouting boys; and the next, as though a white dove had alighted on the pen-hand of the writer, there was--MRS. CAUDLE. Ladies of the jury, are there not, then, some subjects of letters that mysteriously assert an effect without any discoverable cause? Otherwise, wherefore should the thought of CURTAIN LECTURES grow from a school-ground?--wherefore, among a crowd of holiday schoolboys should appear MRS. CAUDLE? For the LECTURES themselves, it is feared they must be given up as a farcical desecration of a solemn time-honored privilege; it may be exercised once in a life-time--and that once having the effect of a hundred repetitions; as Job lectured his wife. And Job's wife, a certain Mohammedan writer delivers, having committed a fault in her love to her husband, he swore that on his recovery he would deal her a hundred stripes. Job got well, and his heart was touched and taught by the tenderness to keep his vow, and still to chastise his helpmate; for he smote her once with a palm-branch having a hundred leaves." To the "Curtain Lectures" and the "Story of a Feather" Mr. Jerrold has added a very beautiful and characteristic "tale of faëry," entitled, "The Sick Giant and the Doctor Dwarf."

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A new edition of Professor ANTHON'S _Anabasis of Xenophon_, with English notes, is published in London, under the revision of Dr. John Doran. "Dr. Anthon," says the _Athenæum_, "has edited, and elucidated by notes, several of the ancient classics, and whatever he has undertaken he has performed in a scholarly style. At the same time his books are entirely free from pedantry, and the notes and comments are so plain and useful, that they are as popular with boys as they are convenient for teachers."

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The same Journal has rather a left-handed compliment to American literature in general, to which, however, it is half inclined to make our popular IK. MARVEL an exception.

"There is no very startling vitality in any other of Mr. Marvel's 'daydreams.' Still, at the present period, when the writers of American _belles-lettres_, biography and criticism, show such a tendency to mould themselves into those affected forms by which vagueness of thought and short-sightedness of view are disguised, and to use a jargon which is neither English nor German--a writer unpretending in his manner and simple in his matter is not to be dismissed without a kind word; and therefore we have advisedly loitered for a page or two with Ik. Marvel."

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At a meeting of the Edinburgh Town Council, the following letter, addressed to the Lord Provost, magistrates, and council, was read from Professor Wilson, resigning the Professorship of Moral Philosophy in the University: "My Lord and Gentlemen--When the kindness of the patrons, on occasion of my sudden and severe illness in September last, induced, and the great goodness of the learned Principal Lee enabled them to grant me leave of absence till the close of the ensuing session now about to terminate, the benefit to my health from that arrangement was so great as to seem to justify my humble hopes of its entire and speedy restoration; but, as the year advances, these hopes decay, and I feel that it is now my duty to resign the chair which I have occupied for so long a period, that the patrons may have ample time for the election of my successor."

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Among the candidates for the chair of Moral Philosophy in Edinburgh, vacant by the resignation of Professor Wilson, are Professor Ferrier, of St. Andrews; Professor Macdougall, of New College, Edinburgh; Professor M'Cosh, of Belfast; Mr. J. D. Morell; Mr. George Ramsay, late of Trin. Col., Cam., now of Rugby; and Dr. W. L. Alexander, of Edinburgh.

* * * * *

Dr. MACLURE, one of the masters of the Edinburgh Academy, has been appointed by the Crown to the Professorship of Humanity in Marischal College, Aberdeen, vacant by the translation of Mr. Blackie to the Greek chair at Edinburgh.

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The motion for abolishing tests in regard to the non-theological chairs of the Scottish universities has been thrown out, on the second reading in the House of Commons, by 172 to 157.

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Mr. W. JERDAN, late editor of _The Literary Gazette_, is to become editor of "_The London Weekly Paper_," an "organ of the middle classes."

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The department of MSS. in the British Museum has been lately enriched with a document of peculiar interest to English literature--namely, the original covenant of indenture between John Milton, gent., and Samuel Symons, printer, for the sale and publication of _Paradise Lost_, dated the 27th of April, 1667. By the terms of agreement, Milton was to receive £5 at once, and an additional £5 after the sale of 1300 copies of each of the first, the second, and the third "impressions" or editions--making in all the sum of £20 to be received for the copy of the work and the sale of 3900 copies.

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The _Athenæum_ thus notices the death of a late traveler in this country. "The world of literature has to mourn the untimely closing of a career full of promise--and which, short as it has been, was not without the illustration of performance. Mr. ALEXANDER MACKAY, known to our readers as the author of 'The Western World,' has been snatched from life at the early age of thirty-two. Besides the work which bears his name before the world, Mr. Mackay had already performed much of that kind of labor which, known for the time only to the scientific few, lays the ground for future publicity and distinction. Connected as a special correspondent with the _Morning Chronicle_ he had been employed by that journal in those collections of facts and figures on the aggregate and comparison of which many of the great social and statist questions of the day are made to depend. In 1850 Mr. Mackay was commissioned by the Manchester Chamber of Commerce to visit India for the purpose of ascertaining by minute inquiries on the spot what obstacles exist to prevent an ample supply of good cotton being obtained from its fields, and devising the means of extending the growth of that important plant in our Eastern empire."

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GRANIER DE CASSAGNAC, long known to France as an impudent, unveracious, reckless journalist and critic, has published some critical Essays, written in his obscurer days. He calls them _Oeuvres Litéraires_. The volume contains articles on Chateaubriand, Lamennais, Lacordaire, Corneille, Racine, Dumas, Hugo, &c.

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The readers of the _Débats_ will remember a series of violent, bigoted, conceited, but not unimportant articles in the _feuilleton_, signed CUVILLIER FLEURY, devoted principally to the men and books of the Revolutions of '89 and '48. Written with asperity and passion, they have the force and vivacity of passion, although their intense conceit and personality very much abates the reader's pleasure. M. FLEURY has collected them in two volumes, under the title, _Portraits Politiques et Révolutionnaires_. Politicians will be attracted toward the articles on Louis-Philippe, Guizot, the Duchess of Orleans, the Revolution of 1848, &c.; men of letters will turn to the articles on Lamartine, Sue, Louis Blanc, Daniel Stern, Proudhon, and Victor Hugo, or to those on Rousseau, St. Just, Barère, and Camille Desmoulins.

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Baron de WALKAENER, Perpetual Secretary of the Academy of Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, of Paris, died April 27. In addition to eminence in what the French call the Moral and Political Sciences, he was a very laborious _homme de lettres_, and has given to the world interesting biographies of La Fontaine and other French writers, together with correct editions of their works. He was a member of the Institute, and was one of the principals of the Bibliothèque Nationale.

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The first number of JACOB and WILHELM GRIMM'S _German Dictionary_ is just out. It would be premature to criticise the work in its present stage; it seems, however, to be most carefully and accurately compiled. It is printed in large octavo form, in double columns, on good paper, and in a clear print. Some idea may be formed of the labor which has been expended on this work, from the fact that all the leisure time of a learned professor has been devoted for the last three years to reading through the works of Goethe alone in connection with it. The first number consists of one hundred and twenty pages, and contains about half the letter A. It is announced to us that 7000 copies had been subscribed for up to the 20th of April. This is a result almost unparalleled in the German book-trade, and not often surpassed in England.

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The library of the convent at Gaesdorf, in Germany, is in possession of a most interesting MS. of REMPEN'S _De Successione Christi_. It contains the whole of the four books, and its completion dates from the year 1427. This MS. is therefore the oldest one extant of this work, for the copy in the library of the Jesuits at Antwerp, which has generally been mistaken for the oldest MS., is of the year 1440. The publication of this circumstance also settles the question as to the age of the fourth book of Rempen's work, which some erroneously assumed had not been written previous to 1440.

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The new Catalogue of the Leipzig Easter Book-Fair contains, according to the German papers, 700 titles more than the previous Catalogue for the half year ending with the Fair of St. Michael. The latter included 3860 titles of published books, and 1130 of forthcoming publications. The present Catalogue enumerates 4527 published works and 1163 in preparation. These 5690 books represent 903 publishers. A single house in Vienna contributes 113 publications. That of Brockhaus figures for 95.

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From Kiel it is stated that Germany has lost one of her most celebrated natural philosophers in the person of Dr. PFAFF, senior of the Professors of the Royal University of Kiel--who has died at the age of seventy-nine. M. Pfaff is the author of a variety of well-known scientific works--and of others on Greek and Latin archæology. Since his death, his correspondence with Cuvier, Volta, Kielmayer, and and other celebrated men, has been found among his papers.

Comicalities, Original and Selected.

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RULES FOR HEALTH.

BY A SCOTCH PHILOSOPHER WHO HAS TRIED THEM ALL.

Never drink any thing but water.

Never eat any thing but oatmeal.

Wear the thickest boots.

Walk fifteen miles regularly every day.

Avoid all excitement; consequently it is best to remain single, for then you will be free from all household cares and matrimonial troubles, and you will have no children to worry you.

The same rule applies to smoking, taking snuff, playing at cards, and arguing with an Irishman. They are all strong excitements, which must be rigidly avoided, if you value in the least your health.

By attending carefully to the above rules, there is every probability that you may live to a hundred years, and that you will enjoy your hundredth year fully as much as your twenty-first.

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FINANCE FOR YOUNG LADIES.

Taxes on knowledge are objected to, and taxes on food are objected to; in fact, there is so much objection to every species of taxation, that it is very difficult to determine what to tax. The least unpopular of imposts, it has been suggested, would be a tax on vanity and folly, and accordingly a proposition has been made to lay a tax upon stays; but this is opposed by political economists on the ground that such a duty would have a tendency to check consumption.

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The following letter has been sent to our office, evidently in mistake:

"_Matrimonial Office, Union Court, Love Lane._

"(STRICTLY PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.)

"SIR--Your esteemed favor of the 10th ult. came duly to hand, and, agreeably to your desire, we have the honor to forward to you our quarterly sheet of photographic likenesses of our Female Clients. We were very sorry that the Ladies you fixed upon in our last year's sheets were all engaged before your duly honored application arrived at our Office; but we hope to be more fortunate in our present sheet, which we flatter ourselves contains some highly eligibles. We should, however, recommend as early an application as possible, as, this being leap-year, Ladies are looking up, and considerably risen in the Market, and shares in their affections and fortunes are now much above par. Should you not be particular to a shade, we should respectfully beg leave to recommend No. 7, her father having very large estates near Timbuctoo, to which she will be sole heiress in case of her twenty-seven brothers dying without issue. And should the Great African East and West Railway be carried forward, the value of the Estates would be prodigiously increased. No. 8 is a sweet poetess, whose 'Remains' would probably be a fortune to any Literary Gent. to publish after her decease. No. 9 has been much approved by Gents., having buried eight dear partners, and is an eighth time inconsolable.

"Further particulars may be had on application at our Office.

"We beg also, respectfully, to inform you that your esteemed portrait was duly received and appeared in our last Gent.'s sheet of Clients; but we are sorry to say as yet no inquiries respecting it have come to hand.

"Permit us further to remind you that a year's subscription was due on the 1st of January, which, with arrears amounting to £4 4_s._, we shall be greatly obliged by your remitting by return of post.

"With most respectful impatience, awaiting a renewal of your ever-esteemed applications, and assuring you that they shall be duly attended to with all dispatch, secrecy, and punctuality.

"We have the honor to be, esteemed Sir,

"Your most obedient Servants,

"HOOKHAM AND SPLICER,

"_Sole Matrimonial Agents for Great Britain_.

"P.S.--We find our female clients run much on mustaches. Would you allow us humbly to suggest the addition of them to your portrait in our next Quarterly Sheet? It could be done at a slight expense, and would probably insure your being one of our fortunate clients."

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THE AMERICAN CRUSADERS.

AIR--"_Dunois the Brave_."

OLD HERMIT PETER was a goose To preach the first Crusade, And skase e'en GODFREY of Bouillon The speculation paid; They rose the banner of the Cross Upon a foolish plan-- Not like we hists the Stars and Stripes, To go agin Japan.

All to protect our mariners The gallant PERRY sails, Our free, enlightened citizens A-cruisin' arter whales; Who, bein' toss'd upon their shores By stormy winds and seas, Is wus than niggers used by them Tarnation Japanese.

Our war-cries they are Breadstuffs, Silks. With Silver, Copper, Gold, And Camphor, too, and Ambergris, All by them crittars sold: And also Sugar, Tin, and Lead, Black Pepper, Cloves likewise. And Woolen Cloths and Cotton Thread, Which articles they buys.

We shan't sing out to pattern saints Nor gals, afore we fights, Like, when they charged the Saracens, Did them benighted knights: But "Exports to the rescue, ho!" And "Imports!" we will cry; Then pitch the shell, or draw the bead Upon the ene--my.

We'll soon teach them unsocial coon Exclusiveness to drop; And stick the hand of welcome out, And open wide their shop; And fust, I hope we shant be forced To whip 'em into fits, And chaw the savage loafers right Up into little bits.

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POETICAL COOKERY BOOK.

STEWED DUCK AND PEAS.

AIR--"_My Heart and Lute_."

I give thee all my kitchen lore, Though poor the offering be; I'll tell thee how 'tis cooked, before You come to dine with me: The Duck is truss'd from head to heels, Then stew'd with butter well; And streaky bacon, which reveals A most delicious smell.

When Duck and Bacon in a mass You in a stewpan lay, A spoon around the vessel pass, And gently stir away: A table-spoon of flour bring, A quart of water plain, Then in it twenty onions fling, And gently stir again.

A bunch of parsley, and a leaf Of ever-verdant bay, Two cloves--I make my language brief-- Then add your Peas you may! And let it simmer till it sings In a delicious strain: Then take your Duck, nor let the string For trussing it remain.

The parsley fail not to remove, Also the leaf of bay; Dish up your Duck--the sauce improve In the accustom'd way, With pepper, salt, and other things, I need not here explain: And, if the dish contentment brings, You'll dine with me again.

Fashions for Summer.

Novelty is the distinguishing characteristic of the prevailing fashions. Give us something new in material, is the cry to the manufacturer. Give us something new in form, is the demand made upon the modiste. Both do their best to meet this demand; and both have succeeded. For the present, whatever is new, fantastic, striking, and odd, is admired and adopted. It will doubtless be a work of time to return to simplicity again.

The costumes which we present for the present month, combine originality enough to meet even the present demand, with good taste and elegance--a union not always attainable.

FIG. 1.--Dress of white taffeta with colored figures, a particular pattern for each part of the dress. The ground of the skirt and body is sprinkled with small Pompadour bouquets _en jardinière_, that is to say, with flowers of different colors in graduated shades. The flounces have scolloped edges; the ground is white, and over each scollop is a rich bouquet of various flowers. The body is very high behind; it opens square in front, and the middle of the opening is even a little wider than the top (this cut is more graceful than the straight one). The waist is very long, especially at the sides; the front ends in a rounded point not very long. The bottom of the body is trimmed with a _ruche_, composed of small white ribbons mixed with others. This _ruche_ is continued on the waist, and meets at the bottom of the point. There are three bows of _chiné_ ribbon on the middle of the body. The upper one has double bows and ends; the other two gradually smaller. The sleeves are rather wide, and open a little behind at the side. The opening is rounded; the edge is trimmed with a _ruche_, like the body. There is a small lace at the edge of the body. The lace sleeves are the same form as those of the stuff, but they are longer. Coiffure, _à la jeune Femme_--the parting on the left side; the hair lying in close curls on each side.

FIG. 2.--Redingote of _moire antique_; body high, with six lozenge-shaped openings in front, diminishing in size toward the waist. The edges of these lozenges are trimmed with velvet; the points meet like bands under a button. Through these lozenge openings there appears a white muslin habit-shirt, gathered in small flutes (this muslin, however close, always projects through the openings, under the pressure of the body). The habit-shirt is finished at the neck by two rows of lace. The sleeve, which increases in size toward the bottom, has also lozenge openings, confined by buttons, and through the opening is seen a muslin under-sleeve, puffing a little, plaited length-wise in small flutes and held at the wrist by an embroidered band with lace at the edge. The skirt has nine graduated openings down the front from top to bottom, buttoned like the others, through which is seen a nansouk petticoat, worked with wheels linked together, small at top and larger at bottom. Drawn bonnet of blond and satin. The brim is very open at the sides and lowered a little in front. It is transparent for a depth of four inches, and consists of five rows of gathered blond, on each of which is sewed a narrow white terry velvet ribbon, No. 1. The brim, made of Lyons tulle, is edged with a white satin roll. The band of the crown is Tuscan straw on which are five drawings of white satin. The top of the crown is round, and of white satin; it is puffed in _crevés_. The curtain is blond, like the brim. The ornament consists of a white satin bow, placed quite at the side of the brim and near the edge.--The inside of the brim is trimmed with four rows of blond, each having a narrow pink terry velvet, and a wreath of roses, small near the forehead, larger near the cheeks. Blond is likewise mixed with the flowers.

FIG. 3.--BONNET. Foundation of crèpe; trimming of blond and satin; the curtain of crèpe, edged with narrow blond.

FIG. 4.--Dress of white muslin, the skirt with three deep flounces, richly embroidered. The body, _à basquine_, is lined with pale blue silk; it has a small pattern embroidered round the edge; which is finished by a broad lace set on full. The sleeves have three rows of lace, the bottom one forming a deep ruffle.--Waistcoat of pale blue silk, buttoning high at the throat, then left open, about half way, to show the chemisette; the waist is long, and has small lappets. White lace bonnet, the crown covered with a _fanchonnette_ of lace; rows of lace, about two inches wide, form the front. The bonnet is appropriately trimmed with light and extremely elegant flowers.

FIG. 5.--_Fanchon_ of India muslin, trimmed with pink silk ribbons, forming tufts near the cheek, and a knot on the head.

FIG. 6.--_Pagoda sleeve_ of jaconet, with under-sleeves; trimming relieved with small plaits.

The new materials of the season include some elegant printed cashmeres, bareges, and broche silks, in endless variety as to pattern, and combination of color. There are some beautiful dresses of _lampas, broché_, with wreaths and bouquets in white, on a blue, green, or straw-colored ground. Among the lighter textures, adapted for both day and evening wear, are some very pretty mousselines de soie, and grenadines. The new bareges are in every variety of color and pattern.

Transcriber's Notes:

Words surrounded by _ are italicized.

Obvious printer's errors have been repaired, other inconsistent spellings have been kept, including: - use of accent (e.g. "Notre" and "Nôtre"); - use of hyphen (e.g. "bed-room" and "bedroom").

Pg 198, word "was" removed from sentence "He was [was] the first..."

Pg 248, sentence "(TO BE CONTINUED.)" added to the end of article.

Pg 279, word "or" changed into "of" in sentence "...election of my successor..."