CHAPTER X.--THE LAW-WRITER.

On the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, that is to say, more particularly, in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby, Law Stationer, pursues his lawful calling. In the shade of Cook's Court, at most times a shady place, Mr. Snagsby has dealt in all sorts of blank forms of legal process; in skins and rolls of parchment; in paper--foolscap, brief, draft, brown, white, whitey-brown, and blotting; in stamps; in office-quills, pens, ink, India-rubber, pounce, pins, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers; in red-tape, and green ferret; in pocket-books, almanacs, diaries, and law lists; in string boxes, rulers, inkstands--glass and leaden, penknives, scissors, bodkins, and other small office-cutlery; in short, in articles too numerous to mention; ever since he was out of his time, and went into partnership with Peffer. On that occasion, Cook's Court was in a manner revolutionized by the new inscription in fresh paint, PEFFER and SNAGSBY, displacing the time-honored and not easily to be deciphered legend, PEFFER, only. For smoke, which is the London ivy, had so wreathed itself round Peffer's name, and clung to his dwelling-place, that the affectionate parasite quite overpowered the parent tree.

Peffer is never seen in Cook's Court now. He is not expected there, for he has been recumbent this quarter of a century in the church-yard of St. Andrew's, Holborn, with the wagons and hackney-coaches roaring past him, all the day and half the night, like one great dragon. If he ever steal forth when the dragon is at rest, to air himself again in Cook's Court, until admonished to return by the crowing of the sanguine cock in the cellar at the little dairy in Cursitor Street, whose ideas of daylight it would be curious to ascertain, since he knows from his personal observation next to nothing about it--if Peffer ever do revisit the pale glimpses of Cook's Court, which no law-stationer in the trade can positively deny, he comes invisibly, and no one is the worse or wiser.

In his life-time, and likewise in the period of Snagsby's "time" of seven long years, there dwelt with Peffer, in the same law-stationering premises, a niece--a short, shrewd niece, something too violently compressed about the waist, and with a sharp nose like a sharp autumn evening, inclining to be frosty toward the end. The Cook's-Courtiers had a rumor flying among them, that the mother of this niece did, in her daughter's childhood, moved by too jealous a solicitude that her figure should approach perfection, lace her up every morning with her maternal foot against the bed-post for a stronger hold and purchase; and further, that she exhibited internally pints of vinegar and lemon-juice: which acids, they held, had mounted to the nose and temper of the patient. With whichsoever of the many tongues of Rumour this frothy report originated, it either never reached, or never influenced, the ears of young Snagsby; who, having wooed and won its fair subject, on his arrival at man's estate, entered into two partnerships at once. So now, in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby and the niece are one; and the niece still cherishes her figure--which, however tastes may differ, is unquestionably so far precious, that there is mighty little of it.

Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one bone and one flesh, but, to the neighbors' thinking, one voice too. That voice, appearing to proceed from Mrs. Snagsby alone, is heard in Cook's Court very often. Mr. Snagsby, otherwise than as he finds expression through these dulcet tones, is rarely heard. He is a mild, bald, timid man, with a shining head, and a scrubby clump of black hair sticking out at the back. He tends to meekness and obesity. As he stands at his door in Cook's Court, in his gray shop-coat and black calico sleeves, looking up at the clouds; or stands behind a desk in his dark shop, with a heavy flat ruler, snipping and slicing at sheepskin, in company with his two 'Prentices; he is emphatically a retiring and unassuming man. From beneath his feet, at such times, as from a shrill ghost unquiet in its grave, there frequently arise complainings and lamentations in the voice already mentioned; and, haply on some occasions, when these reach a sharper pitch than usual, Mr. Snagsby mentions to the 'Prentices, "I think my little woman is a-giving it to Guster!"

This proper name, so used by Mr. Snagsby, has before now sharpened the wit of the Cook's-Courtiers to remark that it ought to be the name of Mrs. Snagsby; seeing that she might with great force and expression be termed a Guster, in compliment to her stormy character. It is, however, the possession, and the only possession, except fifty shillings per annum and a very small box indifferently filled with clothing, of a lean young woman from a workhouse (by some supposed to have been christened Augusta); who, although she was farmed or contracted for, during her growing time, by an amiable benefactor of his species resident at Tooting, and can not fail to have been developed under the most favorable circumstances, "has fits"--which the parish can't account for.

Guster, really aged three or four and twenty, but looking a round ten years older, goes cheap with this unaccountable drawback of fits; and is so apprehensive of being returned on the hands of her patron Saint, that except when she is found with her head in the pail, or the sink, or the copper, or the dinner, or any thing else that happens to be near her at the time of her seizure, she is always at work. She is a satisfaction to the parents and guardians of the 'Prentices, who feel that there is little danger of her inspiring tender emotions in the breast of youth; she is a satisfaction to Mrs. Snagsby, who can always find fault with her; she is a satisfaction to Mr. Snagsby, who thinks it a charity to keep her. The Law-stationer's establishment is, in Guster's eyes, a temple of plenty and splendor. She believes the little drawing-room up-stairs, always kept, as one may say, with its hair in papers and its pinafore on, to be the most elegant apartment in Christendom. The view it commands of Cook's Court, at one end (not to mention a squint into Cursitor Street), and of Coavins's the Sheriff's Officer's backyard at the other, she regards as a prospect of unequaled beauty. The portraits it displays in oil--and plenty of it too--of Mr. Snagsby looking at Mrs. Snagsby, and of Mrs. Snagsby looking at Mr. Snagsby, are in her eyes as achievements of Raphael or Titian. Guster has some recompense for her many privations.

Mr. Snagsby refers every thing not in the practical mysteries of the business, to Mrs. Snagsby. She manages the money, reproaches the Tax-gatherers, appoints the times and places of devotion on Sundays, licenses Mr. Snagsby's entertainments, and acknowledges no responsibility as to what she thinks fit to provide for dinner; insomuch that she is the high standard of comparison among the neighboring wives, a long way down Chancery Lane on both sides, and even out in Holborn, who, in any domestic passages of arms, habitually call upon their husbands to look at the difference between their (the wives') position and Mrs. Snagsby's, and their (the husbands') behavior and Mr. Snagsby's. Rumor, always flying, bat-like, about Cook's Court, and skimming in and out at every body's windows, does say that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and inquisitive; and that Mr. Snagsby is sometimes worried out of house and home, and if he had the spirit of a mouse he wouldn't stand it. It is even observed that the wives who quote him to their self-willed husbands as a shining example, in reality look down upon him; and that nobody does so with greater superciliousness than one particular lady, whose lord is more than suspected of laying his umbrella on her as an instrument of correction. But these vague whisperings may arise from Mr. Snagsby's being, in his way, rather a meditative and poetical man; loving to walk in Staple Inn in the summer time, and to observe how countrified the sparrows and the leaves are: also to lounge about the Rolls Yard of a Sunday afternoon, and to remark (if in good spirits) that there were old times once, and that you'd find a stone coffin or two, now under that chapel, he'll be bound, if you was to dig for it. He solaces his imagination, too, by thinking of the many Chancellors and Vices and Masters of the Rolls, who are deceased, and he gets such a flavor of the country out of telling the two 'Prentices how he has heard say that a brook "as clear as crystal" once ran down the middle of Holborn, when Turnstile really was a turnstile leading slap away into the meadows--gets such a flavor of the country out of this, that he never wants to go there.

The day is closing in and the gas is lighted, but is not yet fully effective, for it is not quite dark. Mr. Snagsby, standing at his shop-door, looking up at the clouds, sees a crow, who is out late, skim westward over the leaden slice of sky belonging to Cook's Court. The crow flies straight across Chancery Lane and Lincoln's Inn Garden, into Lincoln's Inn Fields.

Here, in a large house, formerly a house of state, lives Mr. Tulkinghorn. It is let off in sets of chambers now; and in those shrunken fragment of its greatness, lawyers lie like maggots in nuts. But its roomy staircases, passages, and ante-chambers still remain; and even its painted ceilings, where Allegory, in Roman helmet and celestial linen, sprawls among balustrades and pillars, flowers, clouds, and big-legged boys, and makes the head ache--as would seem to be Allegory's object always, more or less. Here, among his many boxes labeled with transcendent names, lives Mr. Tulkinghorn, when not speechlessly at home in country-houses where the great ones of the earth are bored to death. Here he is to-day, quiet at his table. An Oyster of the old school, whom nobody can open.

Like as he is to look at, so is his apartment in the dusk of the present afternoon. Rusty, out of date, withdrawing from attention, able to afford it. Heavy, broad-backed, old-fashioned mahogany and horse-hair chairs, not easily lifted, obsolete tables with spindle-legs and dusty baize covers, presentation prints of the holders of great titles in the last generation, or the last but one, environ him. A thick and dingy Turkey-carpet muffles the floor where he sits, attended by two candles in old-fashioned silver candlesticks, that give a very insufficient light to his large room. The titles on the backs of his books have retired into the binding; every thing that can have a lock has got one; no key is visible. Very few loose papers are about. He has some manuscript near him, but is not referring to it. With the round top of an inkstand, and two broken bits of sealing-wax, he is silently and slowly working out whatever train of indecision is in his mind. Now, the inkstand top is in the middle: now, the red bit of sealing-wax, now the black bit. That's not it. Mr. Tulkinghorn must gather them all up, and begin again.

Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with foreshortened Allegory staring down at his intrusion as if it meant to swoop upon him, and he cutting it dead, Mr. Tulkinghorn has at once his house and office. He keeps no staff; only one middle-aged man usually a little out at elbows, who sits in a high Pew in the hall, and is rarely overburdened with business. Mr. Tulkinghorn is not in a common way. He wants no clerks. He is a great reservoir of confidences, not to be so tapped. His clients want _him_; he is all in all. Drafts that he requires to be drawn, are drawn by special pleaders in the Temple on mysterious instructions; fair copies that he requires to be made, are made at the stationer's, expense being no consideration. The middle-aged man in the Pew knows scarcely more of the affairs of the Peerage, than any crossing-sweeper in Holborn.

The red bit, the black bit, the inkstand top, the other inkstand top, the little sand-box. So! You to the middle, you to the right, you to the left. This train of indecision must surely be worked out now or never. Now! Mr. Tulkinghorn gets up, adjusts his spectacles, puts on his hat, puts the manuscript in his pocket, goes out, tells the middle-aged man out at elbows, "I shall be back presently." Very rarely tells him any thing more explicit.

Mr. Tulkinghorn goes, as the crow came--not quite so straight, but nearly--to Cook's Court, Cursitor Street. To Snagsby's, Law Stationer's, Deeds engrossed and copied, Law-Writing executed in all its branches, &c., &c., &c.

It is somewhere about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and a balmy fragrance of warm tea hovers in Cook's Court. It hovers about Snagsby's door. The hours are early there; dinner at half-past one, and supper at half past nine. Mr Snagsby was about to descend into the subterranean regions to take tea, when he looked out of his door just now, and saw the crow who was out late.

"Master at home?"

Guster is minding the shop, for the 'Prentices take tea in the kitchen, with Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby; consequently, the robe-maker's two daughters, combing their curls at the two glasses in the two second-floor windows of the opposite house are not driving the two 'Prentices to distraction, as they fondly suppose, but are merely awakening the unprofitable admiration of Guster, whose hair won't grow and never would, and, it is confidently thought, never will.

"Master at home?" says Mr. Tulkinghorn.

Master is at home, and Guster will fetch him. Guster disappears, glad to get out of the shop, which she regards with mingled dread and veneration, as a storehouse of awful implements of the great torture of the law: a place not to be entered after the gas is turned off.

Mr. Snagsby appears: greasy, warm, herbaceous, and chewing. Bolts a bit of bread and butter. Says, "Bless my soul, sir! Mr. Tulkinghorn!"

"I want half a word with you, Snagsby."

"Certainly, sir! Dear me, sir, why didn't you send your young man round for me? Pray walk into the back shop, sir!" Snagsby has brightened in a moment.

The confined room, strong of parchment-grease is warehouse, counting-house, and copying-office. Mr. Tulkinghorn sits, facing round, on a stool at the desk.

"Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Snagsby."

"Yes, sir." Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas, and coughs behind his hand, modestly anticipating profit. Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, is accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, and so to save words.

"You copied some affidavits in that cause for me lately."

"Yes sir, we did."

"There was one of them," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, carelessly feeling--tight, unopenable oyster of the old school!--in the wrong coat-pocket, "the handwriting of which is peculiar, and I rather like. As I happened to be passing, and thought I had it about me, I looked in to ask you--but I haven't got it. No matter, any other time will do--Ah! here it is!--I looked in to ask you who copied this?"

"Who copied this, sir?" says Mr. Snagsby, taking it, laying it flat on the desk, and separating all the sheets at once with a twirl and a twist of the left hand peculiar to law-stationers. "We gave this out, sir. We were giving out rather a large quantity of work just at that time. I can tell you in a moment who copied it, sir, by referring to my book."

Mr. Snagsby takes his book down from the safe, makes another bolt of the bit of bread and butter which seems to have stopped short, eyes the affidavit aside, and brings his right forefinger traveling down a page of the book. "Jewby--Packer--Jarndyce."

"Jarndyce! Here we are, sir," says Mr. Snagsby. "To be sure! I might have remembered it. This was given out, sir, to a writer who lodges just over on the opposite side of the lane."

Mr. Tulkinghorn has seen the entry, found it before the law-stationer, read it while the forefinger was coming down the hill.

"_What_ do you call him? Nemo?" says Mr. Tulkinghorn.

"Nemo, sir. Here it is. Forty-two folio. Given out on the Wednesday night, at eight o'clock; brought in on the Thursday morning, at half after nine."

"Nemo!" repeats Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Nemo is Latin for no one."

"It must be English for some one, sir, I think," Mr. Snagsby submits, with his deferential cough. "It is a person's name. Here it is, you see, sir! Forty-two folio. Given out, Wednesday night, eight o'clock; brought in, Thursday morning, half after nine."

The tail of Mr. Snagsby's eye becomes conscious of the head of Mrs. Snagsby looking in at the shop-door to know what he means by deserting his tea. Mr. Snagsby addresses an explanatory cough to Mrs. Snagsby, as who should say, "My dear, a customer!"

"Half after nine, sir," repeats Mr. Snagsby. "Our law-writers, who live by job-work, are a queer lot; and this may not be his name, but it's the name he goes by. I remember now, sir, that he gives it in a written advertisement he sticks up down at the Rule Office, and the King's Bench Office, and the Judges' Chambers, and so forth. You know the kind of document, sir--wanting employ?"

Mr. Tulkinghorn glances through the little window at the back of Coavins's, the sheriff's officer's, where lights shine into Coavins's windows. Coavins's coffee-room is at the back, and the shadows of several gentlemen under a cloud loom cloudily upon the blinds. Mr. Snagsby takes the opportunity of slightly turning his head, to glance over his shoulder at his little woman, and to make apologetic motions with his mouth to this effect: "Tul-king-horn--rich--in-flu-en-tial!"

"Have you given this man work before?" asks Mr. Tulkinghorn.

"O dear, yes, sir! Work of yours."

"Thinking of more important matters, I forget where you said he lived!"

"Across the lane, sir. In fact, he lodges at a--" Mr. Snagsby makes another bolt, as if the bit of bread and butter were insurmountable--"at a rag and bottle shop."

"Can you show me the place as I go back?"

"With the greatest pleasure, sir!"

Mr. Snagsby pulls off his sleeves and his gray coat, pulls on his black coat, takes his hat from its peg. "Oh! here is my little woman!" he says aloud. "My dear, will you be so kind as to tell one of the lads to look after the shop, while I step across the lane with Mr. Tulkinghorn? Mrs. Snagsby, sir--I shan't be two minutes, my love!"

Mrs. Snagsby bends to the lawyer, retires behind the counter, peeps at them through the window-blind, goes softly into the back office, refers to the entries in the book still lying open. Is evidently curious.

"You will find that the place is rough, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, walking deferentially in the road, and leaving the narrow pavement to the lawyer; "and the party is very rough. But they're a wild lot in general, sir. The advantage of this particular man is, that he never wants sleep. He'll go it right on end, if you want him to, as long as ever you like."

It is quite dark now, and the gas-lamps have acquired their full effect. Jostling against clerks going to post the day's letters, and against counsel and attorneys going home to dinner, and against plaintiffs and defendants, and suitors of all sorts, and against the general crowd, in whose way the forensic wisdom of ages has interposed a million of obstacles to the transaction of the commonest business of life--diving through law and equity, and through that kindred mystery, the street mud, which is made of nobody knows what, and collects about us nobody knows whence or how: we only knowing in general that when there is too much of it, we find it necessary to shovel it away--the lawyer and the law-stationer come to a Rag and Bottle Shop, and general emporium of much disregarded merchandise, lying and being in the shadow of the wall of Lincoln's Inn, and kept, as is announced in paint to all whom it may concern, by one Krook.

"This is where he lives, sir," says the law-stationer.

"This is where he lives, is it?" says the lawyer unconcernedly. "Thank you."

"Are you not going in, sir?"

"No, thank you, no; I am going on to the Fields at present. Good evening. Thank you!" Mr. Snagsby lifts his hat, and returns to his little woman and his tea.

But, Mr. Tulkinghorn does not go on to the Fields at present. He goes a short way, turns back, comes again to the shop of Mr. Krook, and enters it straight. It is dim enough, with a blot-headed candle or so in the windows, and an old man and a cat sitting in the back part by a fire. The old man rises and comes forward, with another blot-headed candle in his hand.

"Pray, is your lodger within?"

"Male or female, sir?" says Mr. Krook.

"Male. The person who does copying."

Mr. Krook has eyed his man narrowly. Knows him by sight. Has an indistinct impression of his aristocratic repute.

"Did you wish to see him, sir?"

"Yes."

"It's what I seldom do myself," says Mr. Krook with a grin. "Shall I call him down? But it's a weak chance if he'd come, sir!"

"I'll go up to him, then," says Mr. Tulkinghorn.

"Second floor, sir. Take the candle. Up there!" Mr. Krook, with his cat beside him, stands at the bottom of the staircase, looking after Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Hi--hi!" he says, when Mr. Tulkinghorn has nearly disappeared. The lawyer looks down over the hand-rail. The cat expands her wicked mouth, and snarls at him.

"Order, Lady Jane! Behave yourself to visitors, my lady! You know what they say of my lodger?" whispers Krook, going up a step or two.

"What do they say of him?"

"They say he has sold himself to the Enemy; but you and I know better--he don't buy. I'll tell you what, though; my lodger is so black-humored and gloomy, that I believe he'd as soon make that bargain as any other. Don't put him out, sir. That's my advice!"

Mr. Tulkinghorn with a nod goes on his way. He comes to the dark door on the second floor. He knocks, receives no answer, opens it, and accidentally extinguishes his candle in doing so.

The air of the room is almost bad enough to have extinguished it, if he had not. It is a small room, nearly black with soot, and grease, and dirt. In the rusty skeleton of a grate, pinched at the middle as if Poverty had griped it, a red coke fire burns low. In the corner, by the chimney, stand a deal table and a broken desk: a wilderness marked with a rain of ink. In another corner, a ragged old portmanteau on one of the two chairs, serves for cabinet or wardrobe; no larger one is needed, for it collapses like the cheeks of a starved man. The floor is bare; except that one old mat, trodden to shreds of rope-yarn, lies perishing upon the hearth. No curtain vails the darkness of the night, but the discolored shutters are drawn together; and through the two gaunt holes pierced in them, famine might be staring in--the Banshee of the man upon the bed.

For, on a low bed opposite the fire, a confusion of dirty patchwork, lean-ribbed ticking, and coarse sacking, the lawyer, hesitating just within the doorway sees a man. He lies there, dressed in shirt and trowsers, with bare feet. He has a yellow look, in the spectral darkness of a candle that has guttered down, until the whole length of its wick (still burning) has doubled over, and left a tower of winding-sheet above it. His hair is ragged, mingling with his whiskers and his beard--the latter, ragged too, and grown, like the scum and mist around him, in neglect. Foul and filthy as the room is, foul and filthy as the air, it is not easy to perceive what fumes those are which most oppress the senses in it; but through the general sickliness and faintness, and the odor of stale tobacco, there comes into the lawyer's mouth the bitter, vapid taste of opium.

"Hallo, my friend!" he cries, and strikes his iron candlestick against the door.

He thinks he has awakened his friend. He lies a little turned away, but his eyes are surely open.

"Hallo, my friend!" he cries again. "Hallo! Hallo!"

As he rattles on the door, the candle which has drooped so long, goes out, and leaves him in the dark; with the gaunt eyes in the shutters staring down upon the bed.

THE GHOST-RAISER.

My Uncle Beagley, who commenced his commercial career very early in the present century as a bagman, _will_ tell stories. Among them, he tells his Single Ghost story so often, that I am heartily tired of it. In self-defense, therefore, I publish the tale, in order that when next the good, kind old gentleman offers to bore us with it, every body may say they know it. I remember every word of it.

One fine autumn evening, about forty years ago, I was traveling on horseback from Shrewsbury to Chester. I felt tolerably tired, and was beginning to look out for some snug wayside inn, where I might pass the night, when a sudden and violent thunder-storm came on. My horse, terrified by the lightning, fairly took the bridle between his teeth, and started off with me at full gallop through lanes and cross-roads, until at length I managed to pull him up just near the door of a neat-looking country inn.

"Well," thought I, "there was wit in your madness, old boy, since it brought us to this comfortable refuge." And alighting, I gave him in charge to the stout farmer's boy who acted as hostler. The inn-kitchen, which was also the guest-room, was large, clean, neat, and comfortable, very like the pleasant hostelry described by Izaak Walton. There were several travelers already in the room--probably, like myself, driven there for shelter--and they were all warming themselves by the blazing fire while waiting for supper. I joined the party. Presently, being summoned by the hostess, we all sat down, twelve in number, to a smoking repast of bacon and eggs, corned beef and carrots, and stewed hare.

The conversation naturally turned on the mishaps occasioned by the storm, of which every one seemed to have had his full share. One had been thrown off his horse; another, driving in a gig, had been upset into a muddy dyke; all had got a thorough wetting, and agreed unanimously that it was dreadful weather--a regular witches' sabbath!

"Witches and ghosts prefer for their sabbath a fine moonlight night to such weather as this!"

These words were uttered in a solemn tone, and with strange emphasis, by one of the company. He was a tall, dark-looking man, and I had set him down in my own mind as a traveling merchant or peddler. My next neighbor was a gay, well-looking, fashionably-dressed young man, who, bursting into a peal of laughter, said:

"You must know the manners and customs of ghosts very well, to be able to tell that they dislike getting wet or muddy."

The first speaker, giving him a dark fierce look, said:

"Young man, speak not so lightly of things above your comprehension."

"Do you mean to imply that there are such things as ghosts?"

"Perhaps there are, if you had courage to look at them."

The young man stood up, flushed with anger. But presently resuming his seat, he said, calmly:

"That taunt should cost you dear, if it were not such a foolish one."

"A foolish one!" exclaimed the merchant, throwing on the table a heavy leathern purse. "There are fifty guineas. I am content to lose them, if, before the hour is ended, I do not succeed in showing you, who are so obstinately prejudiced, the form of any one of your deceased friends; and if, after you have recognized him, you allow him to kiss your lips."

We all looked at each other, but my young neighbor, still in the same mocking manner, replied:

"You will do that, will you?"

"Yes," said the other--"I will stake these fifty guineas, on condition that you will pay a similar sum if you lose."

After a short silence, the young man said, gayly:

"Fifty guineas, my worthy sorcerer, are more than a poor college sizar ever possessed; but here are five, which, if you are satisfied, I shall be most willing to wager."

The other took up his purse, saying, in a contemptuous tone:

"Young gentleman, you wish to draw back?"

"_I_ draw back!" exclaimed the student.--"Well! if I had the fifty guineas, you should see whether I wish to draw back!"

"Here," said I, "are four guineas, which I will stake on your wager."

No sooner had I made this proposition than the rest of the company, attracted by the singularity of the affair, came forward to lay down their money; and in a minute or two the fifty guineas were subscribed. The merchant appeared so sure of winning, that he placed all the stakes in the student's hands, and prepared for his experiment. We selected for the purpose a small summer-house in the garden, perfectly isolated, and having no means of exit but a window and a door, which we carefully fastened, after placing the young man within. We put writing materials on a small table in the summer-house, and took away the candles. We remained outside, with the peddler among us. In a low solemn voice he began to chant the following lines:

"What riseth slow from the ocean caves And the stormy surf? The phantom pale sets his blackened foot On the fresh green turf."

Then, raising his voice solemnly, he said:

"You asked to see your friend, Francis Villiers, who was drowned, three years ago, off the coast of South America--what do you see?"

"I see," replied the student, "a white light arising near the window; but it has no form; it is like an uncertain cloud."

We--the spectators--remained profoundly silent.

"Are you afraid?" asked the merchant, in a loud voice.

"I am not," replied the student, firmly.

After a moment's silence, the peddler stamped three times on the ground, and sang:

"And the phantom white, whose clay-cold face Was once so fair, Dries with his shroud his clinging vest And his sea-tossed hair."

Once more the solemn question:

"You, who would see revealed the mysteries of the tomb--what do you see now?"

The student answered, in a calm voice, but like that of a man describing things as they pass before him:

"I see the cloud taking the form of a phantom; its head is covered with a long vail--it stands still."

"Are you afraid?"

"I am not."

We looked at each other in horror-stricken silence, while the merchant, raising his arms above his head, chanted, in a sepulchral voice:

"And the phantom said, as he rose from the wave, He shall know me in sooth! I will go to my friend, gay, smiling, and fond, As in our first youth!"

"What do you see?" said he.

"I see the phantom advance; he lifts his vail--'tis Francis Villiers!--he approaches the table--he writes!--'tis his signature!"

"Are you afraid?"

A fearful moment of silence ensued; then the student replied, but in an altered voice:

"I am not."

With strange and frantic gestures, the merchant then sang:

"And the phantom said to the mocking seer, I come from the South; Put thy hand on my hand--thy heart on my heart-- Thy mouth on my mouth!"

"What do you see?"

"He comes--he approaches--he pursues me--he is stretching out his arms--he will have me! Help! help! Save me!"

"Are you afraid _now_?" asked the merchant, in a mocking voice.

A piercing cry, and then a stifled groan, were the only reply to this terrible question.

"Help that rash youth!" said the merchant, bitterly. "I have, I think, won the wager; but it is sufficient for me to have given him a lesson. Let him keep his money, and be wiser for the future."

He walked rapidly away. We opened the door of the summer-house, and found the student in convulsions. A paper, signed with the name "Francis Villiers," was on the table. As soon as the student's senses were restored, he asked vehemently where was the vile sorcerer who had subjected him to such a horrible ordeal--he would kill him! He sought him throughout the inn in vain; then, with the speed of a madman, he dashed off across the fields in pursuit of him--and we never saw either of them again. That, children, is my Ghost Story!

"And how is it, uncle, that after _that_, you don't believe in ghosts?" said I, the first time I heard it.

"Because, my boy," replied my uncle, "neither the student nor the merchant ever returned; and the forty-five guineas, belonging to me and the other travelers, continued equally invisible. Those two swindlers carried them off, after having acted a farce, which we, like ninnies, believed to be real."

THE THREE VISITORS OF BERNARDIN DE SAINT PIERRE.

One morning while Bernardin de Saint Pierre was admiring, through one of the windows of his apartment, the glowing radiance of the rising sun, and thinking, perhaps, of transferring its bright tints, and the fragrance of early dawn, and the glittering dew-drops, to the pages of his _Harmonies de la Nature_, a stranger entered with noiseless step; he saluted the poet with deep reverence, respectfully apologizing for so early an intrusion, and it was not until after repeated invitations that he was prevailed upon to take a seat beside him. The young man's face bore the dark olive hue of the southern sun, his black hair fell in waves from his temples, over the collar of his military coat. His look was at once pensive and modest, yet proud. The fashion of his dress, his high boots, the white and fringed gloves, proclaimed him an officer of the French Republic, whom the close of the campaign in Italy had allowed to return home. And such indeed he was, as he took care to inform Bernardin, when his excitement at finding himself in the presence of the celebrated author had a little subsided.

"I congratulate you, sir," said Saint Pierre, "on having served under the great captain, who has so gloriously terminated this campaign. I can enter into such triumphs, for I, too, have been a soldier."

"Would that I were one no longer," exclaimed the young officer--"that I had never been one. War is hateful to me! I know neither enmity nor ambition--the conqueror and the conquered are alike to me. This soft, lovely, morning, with its dewy freshness, passed in tranquil conversation or lonely musings, has more charms for me than all the pomp and circumstance of war. Then, what an avenue to fame! by slaughter!--butchery! Laurels have been strewn in my path. I see nothing but the blood through which I have been wading."

The poet extended his hand to the young soldier, who respectfully kissed it. "Yours," he said, "is true glory. The names of Paul and Virginia will live forever in the memories and heads of men. Ah, sir! this is the brightest day of my life. I asked of fortune only that I might live to see you, to tell you as man, the delightful hours my youth owed to you, and now my bright hope is realized. Behold the treasure of my boyhood, the delight of my manhood, my companion in the college--on the fields of Montenotte and Lodi"--and the stranger took from his pocket a well-worn copy of _Paul and Virginia_, the leaves kept together only by a few threads.

With all Saint Pierre's modesty, he could not but be deeply moved by the enthusiasm of the young officer. At a time like this, when war was raging both at home and abroad, it was rather unusual to find a soldier warmly interested in an Indian idyl, and busying himself about a poet, in his obscure retreat on the banks of a pretty stream.

"I am delighted," he said, "not so much with your too indulgent estimate of an ephemeral book, but with the sympathy between us--that bond of common love for mankind and for nature, a love of whose inspirations my book is but a feeble utterance of. It is only in some such obscure corner as this, that we dare now own that we love God and Heaven, the dewy morning and peace on earth. Discord still reigns at Paris. Is it not so?"

The young officer looked up with a sad expression in his dark eyes. "Alas, yes! it is reigning more furiously than ever; but it is too painful a subject; let us change it. Are you at present engaged in any work? and are these its first sheets?"

Bernardin smiled as he answered--"They are old memorials to the Directory at Paris. I was once the secretary, the literary man of the revolutionary club of Essoune, the republicans of that town having more warmth of patriotism than power of style, employed me to draw up their memorials, and I escaped the guillotine by accepting the office."

"The author of _Paul and Virginia_ secretary to a village revolutionary club!"

"Neither more nor less. It was not very poetical; but so it was. However, during that time I have had some hours of leisure which I have devoted to a work that has been the dream of my life, and the thought of which has cheered me, in the forests of Sweden, and under the burning skies of the Isle of France. My object is to reveal the divine intelligence to the human race, through the universal relation between all beings. From physical order I elicit physical good; from the good, the moral, and from the moral, God. And the title of the book is to be the _Harmonies of Nature_. I was working at it when you came in, and meditating on the wise providence which, while giving to different beings different organs, has supplied the apparent inequality by special qualities and counterbalancing advantages. I intend also to treat of the harmonies of the stars. Oh! how beautiful are our nights in France!"

"And I, too, thought so, till I had seen the nights in Italy," exclaimed the young stranger. "There every star is a living token of friendship or of love. Two friends parted by long exile each pledge themselves to look at the same star at the same hour, and the light thus shared is a link between them. The young girl gives to the bright stars of the summer nights her own name and that of her lover, till the whole firmament is full of Bettinas and Ciprianas, Francescas and Giottos. Should one of these tender links be severed by death, the still remaining one is comforted in her sorrow by seeing the bright memorial of her beloved still shining on the borders of that heavenly horizon, where their meeting will be forever."

"This is indeed a tender harmony. Yes, love is every where. But," continued Bernardin, delighted at being understood; "but tell me, do you yourself write? With mental energies such as yours, why should you not cast upon the troubled waters of this age some thought that may yet be the fructifying seed to be found after many days. All soldiers write well."

"I do write a little, sir," and the young officer blushed as he answered; "since your kind encouragement has anticipated my request, and thus emboldened me to make it, I venture to ask you to cast your eye over a few pages written to beguile the hours of a lonely midnight watch. You will remember it is the book of a soldier, and one almost a foreigner."

"I thank you for the confidence reposed in me," said Saint Pierre, "and I am persuaded the friend will have no need to bias the judge in the impartial opinion that you have a right to claim from me."

The young officer now rose, and with a request to be allowed to repeat his visit, and a cordial, though respectful pressure of Saint Pierre's hand, took his leave, and long after the garden-gate had closed behind him, Bernardin stood watching the cloud of dust in which had disappeared his young visitor, and the steed on which he galloped back to Paris.

"So, then," thought the philosopher, as he re-entered his cottage, "there still exist some few minds free from the consuming toils of ambition. Who would ever have expected to find a lover of nature with a republican epaulet? There is a simplicity in this youth most attractive; how modestly did he speak of himself; how bitterly lament the horrors of war; and his enjoyment of this lovely, dewy morning, was that of a sage no less than of a poet. Doubtless the manuscript is some learned treatise on the art of war--the subject not his choice but the necessity of his position. The art of war!--art indeed--the art of killing the arts!"

Bernardin de Saint Pierre was mistaken. The manuscript was a pastoral romance--conceive his delight--A Pastoral Romance! "Yes!" he said, "the noble mind must let fly the falcon imagination to cater for it. It can not feed on the garbage around."

Day after day now elapsed without bringing his young visitor; but some months after, Bernardin, seated at a table placed under the shade of trees of his own planting, and covered with flowers gathered to serve as models for his word-paintings, was enjoying the soft evening breeze, when the visit of an officer was announced; and to his great surprise, instead of him whom he was eagerly advancing to welcome, he beheld a stranger. He had, indeed, the same black hair falling from his temples, the same dark eyes, the same olive hue of the man of the sun and the Mediterranean. But he saw not the same person; his new visitor was at least ten years older than the first.

"I am the elder brother, sir, of an officer who, some months since, did himself the honor of calling upon you."

"His visit still lives in my memory as one most pleasant. He confided to me a manuscript which I would be glad to take this opportunity of returning, with my assurances of entire sympathy in his love of nature, and still more in his noble indignation against tyrants, his eloquent invectives against ambition. Tell him, too, from me, how much I admire his style; its rich imagery--its--"

"I must not let you go on, sir, for such praise has already rendered it difficult to avow myself the author of the book. I had not courage to submit it to you myself, but my younger and more adventurous brother gladly availed himself of it as a plea for his intrusion."

After some courteous words interchanged between the new visitor and Bernardin, the latter pointed to the flowers and said, "I was at that moment thinking of your brother; he had told me of the names given by loving hearts in Italy to the stars, and I was reflecting that our associations with flowers were still trammeled by such a rugged nomenclature; it is enough to make the science of botany detestable."

"Ah, sir, you will teach all to love it; already has your _Etudes de la Nature_ made it popular throughout Europe. I myself had formed a floral dial at a villa at Florence where my regiment was quartered; every hour of the night and of the day was marked by the opening of different flowers. I am passionately fond of them, and can well understand the Dutchman lavishing a fortune upon a tulip, and spending a life in giving it some new variety of tint."

"What a simple-minded family!" thought Bernardin. "One brother worships the starry splendor of the heavens, and the other luxuriates in flowers, and spends his idle garrison hours in watching them as they bud forth at every hour of the day; and these two young men are soldiers! War has not hardened their hearts, nor conquest made them despise simple pleasures." And now, Saint Pierre, leaning on his new friend, proceeded to show him his flowers, "which," he said, "though not like the lovely products of the fertile Italy you have conquered, yet, as my own planting are not without their fragrance for the old man;" and as they walked along, he repeated to himself rather than to his companion,

"Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus strepitumque Acherontis avari"

And in as low a voice, the officer went on--"Yes! happy the wise man who penetrates the arcana of nature, and who tramples under foot the world's prejudices." And as he stooped to pluck a daisy, he added, "who the calm votary of the silvan deities beholds with unenvious eye the consular pomp and the glittering diadem. Ah, sir! you, too, like Virgil--do you know he is my poet of all poets?" And before they had gone the round of the garden, the sage and the soldier had repeated almost the whole of the second book of the Georgics; and now, having begged and obtained a flower as a memento of his visit, the officer took his leave, with the promise of soon returning and bringing with him his brother.

"If all republicans," said Bernardin, "were like these two brothers, the republic would be heaven, and I need not so long to die."

And with fresh impulse, and an interest increased by the sympathy of his visitor in his love of flowers, Saint Pierre turned to his labors. The second part of his _Harmonies de la Nature_ was finished, and he was now engaged upon the last division of his great work--"The Harmonies of Human Nature," when one day a knock at the door of his library made him raise his head to see, as he believed, the face of one of his two friends in the Italian army, though whether the elder or the younger he could not at once distinguish. On nearer survey, he discovered, to his great perplexity, that neither the one nor the other stood before him. The uniform of this third officer was exactly the same, he had the same masses of black hair, the same eyes, but though a little older than the first, and younger than the second of his former visitors, he seemed to bear more traces than either of the struggle and the vigil; and his brow was graver and more thoughtful. Still the triple resemblance was most striking, and for a moment Bernardin scarcely knew whether he was to greet him as a stranger; but before he could speak, the visitor introduced himself as the brother of the two officers, the kindness of whose reception had encouraged him to pay his respects to the friend of Jean Jacques Rousseau, to the illustrious author of the _Etudes de la Nature_, and to venture to offer the admiring homage of a blunt soldier.

Was it those lips with their Attic cut, and firm grace, which smile and threat seemed alike to become, or was it the deep voice, the piercing eagle glance, or his already high reputation as the greatest captain of the age, that riveted the attention of the philosopher upon this last of the three brothers, and indelibly impressed upon his memory every word of the conversation which now ensued?

But this third brother and the poet spoke not of scenery, nor stars, nor sun, nor streams, nor flowers. They spoke of human nature, of the universal brotherhood of mankind, of philosophy, and patriotism. They spoke, too, of the present evil days--the old man with some little bitterness and much indulgence, the young man with hopes aspiring and daring as his conquests; and while laying open future prospects with almost prophetic clearness, he showed the certain and impending destruction of all parties by each other, and the consequent and near approach of peace.

"God grant it;" cried Bernardin de Saint Pierre.

"God grants all to the firm will and the determined purpose," was the answer.

Some expressive pauses made breaks in a conversation which was less an interchange of words than of thoughts. Vainly did Bernardin several times attempt to introduce the subject of the campaigns in Italy, as an opening for some complimentary tribute to the courage, the presence of mind, the clear mental vision, the resolute powers of action, of his visitor; the latter as constantly evaded the subject, for with all the exquisite tact which was his great characteristic through life, he guessed the philosopher could accord but a reluctant homage to any triumph of the sword, even when not drawn in the service of ambition. He felt, too, that the warrior should be like a fortress, from whose strong, silent walls, is heard only in time of war the booming of its artillery.

Thus, therefore, ran the dialogue:

"Italy is on fire with your name."

"I have founded chairs of philosophy, of history, and oratory, in most of the conquered cities."

"Montenotte will ever be one of the most glorious monuments of French valor."

"I have pensioned all the _savants_ of Bologna, Florence, and Milan."

"You have rivaled the renown of the immortal generals of antiquity."

"Whenever a city was taken, my first care was to command public monuments and private property to be respected, and to prohibit under pain of death all outrage to women, and before I allowed guards to be planted at my own door, I took care sentinels were at the gates of every church and hospital."

"How you must have longed for repose, were it only to indulge the bright dreams of the future."

"The actual and the real for me. I like best to shut myself up in my quarters to pursue my favorite studies of mathematics and history."

Struck with enthusiastic admiration of such simplicity, and such wise moderation, Bernardin ceased any longer to pay forced compliments to the military prowess with which he had no sympathy, and now poured out his whole heart in homage to his noble qualities as a legislator and as a man. Could he do less than read to him some few pages of his "Harmonies"--the winding-up of his "Harmonies of Nature." To one of the three brothers, worthy to comprehend the sublimity of the science of Heaven, he had shown the stars; to another, tender as Rousseau, the flowers; and now the graver pages of his book to a third--graver, wiser than either--as wise as Marcus Aurelius; "nay, wiser," said Bernardin, "for I am sure he never would consent to be made emperor."

And now, who were these three officers of the Italian army?

The first officer, who wooed the stars and the dewy morning, and who had no ambition, was Louis Bonaparte, afterward King of Holland.

The second officer, who delighted in flowers, and in floral dials, was Joseph Bonaparte, afterward King of the two Spains and of the Indies.

The third officer--the brother of the two others--who was a republican, a philosopher, a philanthropist, a lover of peace, and who had no ambition, was Napoleon Bonaparte, afterward Emperor of the French, and King of Italy!

What an eclogue for Bernardin de Saint Pierre--Two Kings and an Emperor!

A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.

The history of Transylvania is, perhaps, one of the wildest and most romantic that ever told the story of a nation. It describes a people perfectly primitive and pastoral, and living under institutions as patriarchal as those existing at the time of Lot or Abraham. Transylvania, long annexed to the Austrian monarchy, was in old times looked upon as the rightful prize of the strong hand; and was, by turns, seized and plundered by Turks, Austrians, and Hungarians. For a short time it chose its own princes, who aspired to be kings of Hungary. Their presumption met with the penalty of utter annihilation.

To understand these peasants properly, the reader may, perhaps, be allowed to compare them to the Highland clansmen of Scotland at the same period. Far before any authentic records, a people have dwelt in Transylvania, who knew nothing beyond the deep valleys in which they lived; they held no intercourse with the rest of the world, or even with their neighbors, the other inhabitants of the country; and they formed as many little separate republics as there were valleys. Each clan had, and even still has, its chief, who generally fills, also, the functions of judge and priest. In the morning and the evening they have public prayers; but, although like their lords, they belong to the reformed religion, they have no one among them specially intrusted with the cure of souls. When they marry their daughters, they make great ceremony and feasting, to which all comers are welcome. On these occasions, too, they sometimes pay a visit to the lord of the valley, that he may share in their simple rejoicing; but, at other times, they are shy of strangers, and few of them wander far beyond their native place. The agent, or the lord himself, usually visits them once a year; or, perhaps, more frequently the patriarch of the tribe goes to the lord and tells him of the number of his cattle, and of their increase, of what must be sold and what must be kept. Certain of the peasants leave the depths of their valley toward the end of summer, and drive their flocks and herds into Wallachia, along the banks of the mighty Danube. Here are found immense forests; and here, in spite of winter, the sheep may glean fresh and plentiful pasturage. The owners of the woods are paid, in return, a certain sum yearly. In the spring, merchants and cattle-dealers come down from Constantinople, who buy their sheep and goats; and it is to this sale that the lords of Transylvania look for the greatest part of their incomes.

Immediately after the shepherds have effected a sale, they dispatch a messenger to their lord who, in his turn, sends a trusty servant to receive the money. There are no bankers, no bills, no checks, no first and second of exchange, no post-office orders; the purchases are paid for in solid and very dirty silver, and it is carried through floods, rain, wind, and weather, to the lord with pastoral honesty and simplicity. All takes place with a good faith and punctuality, and an earnestness of purpose very touching to witness.

Besides this source of revenue, no sooner have the flocks and herds returned to the valley, than the lord sends in wagons to return laden with cheese, the produce of the year. These cheeses are some of them formed like loaves; and some, the most delicate, are pressed into the skins of young lambs, carefully prepared for the purpose by some primitive art. The third, and remaining portion, of a Transylvanian gentleman's income is derived from wool, which is as faithfully and punctually delivered to him as his cheeses, or the cash for his flocks.

There is neither corn nor wine in these valleys, and the dwellers in them live chiefly on a kind of thin paste and a fermented drink, in both of which the milk of sheep forms a very important ingredient. Sometimes they regale themselves with a lamb or a kid; but this is a rare festival. They make their own garments from the wool of their flocks, which they fashion into coarse thick cloths, mighty against snow, and rain, and sun, and wind, but not pretty. Their caps, too, are made of wool; and, with long, shaggy tufts hanging to them, look like weird, uncouth wigs. Their women and children are clothed in the same way, and all live together in caves cut in the mountain side, or formed by nature in the solid rocks.

I paid some of these people a visit, and found, in one of these cavern houses, an Englishman's hat and umbrella. These things interested me, because their possessors had a legend that they had been received from a demon, and I could not help fancying it more likely that they had belonged to some luckless wight, who might have wandered thither and been lost. Into the hat they had forced a cheese; but I fancied I detected a sort of superstitious reverence for the umbrella, and they evidently looked upon its mechanism with great wonder and respect. They asked eagerly for information upon the mysterious subject, and, after I had explained it (which I am now almost sorry I did), I fancy they looked upon me as we, in England, looked upon people who had a tendency for explaining things in the middle ages--as an unbeliever, a student in dark arts, a magician, in league with the Evil One. But I had an object to answer, and I entered into negotiations for getting the cheese out of the hat, and offered, what Mr. Trapbois calls a "con-si-de-ra-tion," to be allowed to examine both hat and umbrella nearer, to see if I could find any mark or initials, giving a clew to their former owner. For a long time my efforts were useless; the cheese in the hat was intended for the lord, and they were afraid of offending the umbrella by allowing me to take any liberty with it; but a good-temper, and a cheery way, gets on wonderfully with simple folk, and at length they listened to my wish, but refused my gift. I could not, however, find any thing to reward my search.

On returning to Vienna the mystery was cleared up. It appears, that an English traveler making a tour in those parts on foot, had been overtaken by a gaunt man in a strange costume. The uncouth figure addressed him in an unknown tongue; and all presence of mind, for a moment, deserted him. Without pausing to reflect if the greeting were friendly or hostile, he thought to conciliate his gigantic acquaintance (having no money about him) by offering the only things he could dispose of; so, taking off his hat, and resigning his umbrella with it into the hands stretched out in wonder to receive them, the English traveler took to his heels.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE BARDI.

A TRUE OLD TALE.

The Via Dei Bardi is one of the most ancient streets of Florence. Long, dark, and narrow, it reaches from the extremity of the Ponte Rubaconte to the right of the Ponte Vecchio. Its old houses look decayed and squalid now; but in former days they were magnificent and orderly, full of all the state of those times, being the residences of many of the Florentine nobility. How many struggles of faction, how many scenes of civil war, have these old houses witnessed! for in the period of their splendor, Florence was torn by intestine feuds; from generation to generation, Guelfs and Ghibelines, Bianchi, and Neri, handed down their bitter quarrels, private and personal animosity mingling with public or party spirit, and ending in many a dark and violent deed. These combatants are all sleeping now: the patriot, the banished citizen, the timid, the cruel--all, all are gone, and have left us only tales to read, or lessons to learn if we can but use them. But we are not skilled to teach a lesson; we would rather tell a legend of those times, recalled to mind, especially at present, because it has been chosen as the subject of a fine picture recently finished by a Florentine artist, Benedetto Servolini.

In the Via dei Bardi stood, probably still stands, the house inhabited by the chief of the great and noble family from whom it takes its name--we write of the period of the fiercest struggles between the Guelfs and Ghibelines; and the Bardi were powerful partisans of the latter party. In that house dwelt a young girl of uncommon beauty, and yet more uncommon character. An old writer thus describes her: "To look on her was enchantment; her eyes called you to love her; her smile was like heaven; if you heard her speak, you were conquered. Her whole person was a miracle of beauty, and her deportment had a certain maidenly pride, springing from a pure heart and conscious integrity."

From the troubled scenes she had witnessed, her mind had acquired composure and courage unusual with her sex, and it was of that high stamp that is prone to admire with enthusiasm all generous and self-devoting deeds. Such a being, however apt to inspire love, was not likely to be easily won; accordingly, the crowd of lovers who at first surrounded Dianora gradually dropped off, for they gained no favor. All were received with the same bright and beautiful smile, and a gay, charming grace, which flattered no man's vanity; so they carried their homage to other shrines where it might be more prized, though by an inferior idol. And what felt Dianora when her votaries left her? We are not told; but not long after, you might see, if you walked along the street of the Bardi toward evening, a beautiful woman siting near a balcony: a frame of embroidery is before her; but her eyes are oftener turned to the street than to the lilies she is working. It is Dianora. But surely it is not idle curiosity that bends her noble brow so often this way, and beams in her bright, speaking eyes, and sweet, kind smile. On whom is it turned, and why does her cheek flush so quickly? A youth of graceful and manly appearance is passing her window; his name is Hyppolito: he has long cherished the image of Dianora as Dante did that of his Beatrice. In loving her, he loved more ardently every thing that is good and noble in the world; he shunned folly and idleness, and strove to make himself worthy of what he believed Dianora to be. At length, one of Cupid's emissaries--whether nurse or friend the chronicle does not tell--aided Hyppolito in meeting Dianora. One meeting succeeded another, till she gave him her heart, as such a true, young heart is given, with entire confidence, and a strength of feeling peculiar to herself. But what could they hope? Hyppolito's family were of the opposite party, and they knew it was vain to expect from them even a patient hearing; nor were the Bardi behind in proper feelings of hatred. What was to be done? There was but one Dianora--but one Hyppolito in the world; so have many wise young people thought of each other both before and since the days of the Ghibelines; but these two might be excused for thinking so, for many who saw them were of the same opinion. To part--what was the world to them if they were parted? Their station, their years, their tastes--so removed from noisy and frivolous pleasures--their virtuous characters, seemed to point out that they were born for each other. What divided them? One only point the adverse political feelings of their families. Shall they sacrifice themselves to these? No. Thus reasoned Hyppolito; but we think the chronicles exaggerate the virtues of Dianora's character; for how many a girl unchronicled by fame has, before the still tribunal of her own sense of duty to God and her parents, sacrificed her dearest hopes rather than offend them; and this, with all her heroism, Dianora did not, but gave up all these dear early claims for her new love.

Delays were needless, for time could do nothing to smooth their path; so it was determined that Hyppolito should bring a ladder to Dianora's window, and, aided by their friend, they should find their way to a priest prepared to give them his blessing. The night appointed came--still and beautiful as heart could wish; the stars sparkling in the deep blue sky, bright as they may now be seen in that fair clime. Hyppolito has reached the house; he has fixed the ladder of ropes; there is no moon to betray him; in a minute, his light step will have reached the balcony. But there is a noise in the street, and lights approaching; the night-guard is passing; they have seen the ladder, for the street is narrow. Hyppolito is down, and tries to escape--in vain. They seize and drag him to prison. What was he doing there? What can he reply? That he meant to enter the house, to carry something from it, or commit some bad deed, can not be denied. He will not betray Dianora; it would only be to separate them forever, and leave her with a stained name. He yields to his fate; the proofs are irresistible, and, by the severe law of Florence at that period, Hyppolito must die. All Florence is in amazement. So estimable a youth, to all outward appearance, to be in reality addicted to the basest crimes! Who could have believed it? But he confesses; there is no room for doubt. Pardon is implored by his afflicted friends; but no pardon can be granted for so flagrant a crime.

Hyppolito had one consolation--his father never doubted him; if he had, one glance of his son's clear, though sad eye, and candid, open brow, would have reassured him. He saw there was a mystery, but he was sure it involved no guilt on Hyppolito's part. Hyppolito also believed that his good name would one day be cleared, and that his noble Dianora would in due time remove the stain that clouded it. He consented to die, rather than live separated from her. Yet poor Hyppolito was sorry to leave the world so young; and sadly, though calmly, he arranged his small possessions, for the benefit of those he loved, and of the poor, to whom he had always been a friend.

He slept quietly the night preceding the time fixed for his execution, and was early ready to take his place in the sad procession. Did no thought cross Hyppolito's clear mind, that he was throwing away, in weak passion, a life given to him by God for noble ends? We know not; but there he was--calm, firm, and serious. His only request was, that the procession might pass through the street of the Bardi, which some thought was a sign of penitence, an act of humiliation. The sad train moves on. An old man sitting at a door rises, strains his eyes to catch a last glimpse of Hyppolito, and then covers them in anguish, and sinks down again. This is an old man he had saved from misery and death. Two youths, hand-in-hand, are gazing with sad faces, and tears run down their cheeks. They are orphans: he had clothed and fed them. Hyppolito sees them, and even in that moment remembers it is he who deprives them of a protector: but it is too late to think now; for he is approaching the scene of his fault and the place of his punishment, and other feelings swell in his heart. His brows are contracted; his eyes bent on the house of the Bardi, as if they would pierce the stones of its walls; and now they are cast down, as though he would raise them no more on earth. But he starts, for he hears a loud shriek, a rushing, and an opening of the crowd: they seem to be awed by something that approaches. It is a woman, whose violent gestures defy opposition; she looks like a maniac just escaped from her keepers; she has reached Hyppolito; his fettered arms move as if they would receive her, but in vain. She turns to the crowd, and some among them recognize the modest and beautiful daughter of Bardi. She calls out: "He is innocent of every crime but having loved me. To save me from shame, he has borne all this disgrace. And he is going to death; but you can not kill him now. I tell you he is guiltless; and if he dies, I die with him."

The people stand amazed. At last there is a shout: "It must be true! he is innocent!" The execution is stopped til the truth is ascertained, and Dianora's statement is fully confirmed. And who shall paint the return from death to life of poor Hyppolito? and to such a life! for blazoned as the story of her love had been, Dianora's parents, considering also her firm character, subjected even the spirit of party to the voice of affection and reason; and Hyppolito's family, softened by sorrow, gladly embraced their Ghibelline daughter. Whether in after-life Hyppolito and Dianora were distinguished by the qualities they had shown in youth, and whether the promise of affection was realized by time and intimate acquaintance, no chronicle remains to tell. This short glimpse of both is all that is snatched from oblivion--this alone stands out in bright relief, to show us they once were; the rest is lost in the darkness of time.

The moment chosen by the artist is when Dianora rushes from her house into the midst of the crowd, and reaches Hyppolito, surrounded by priests and soldiers. It is easy to see to what a varied expression of passion and action this point of the story gives rise.

A CURIOSITY IN NATURAL HISTORY.

The crustacean class of animals, of which the lobster, crab, and shrimp are familiar examples, have this peculiarity of structure--that their soft bodies are inclosed within a coat-of-mail formed of carbonate and phosphate of lime. In fact, they carry their skeleton outside their bodies, both for defense of the vital parts within, and for the attachment of the muscles which move their limbs, and every part of their frame. No warrior of old was ever more completely enveloped in his hard coat-of-mail, with its jointed greaves and overlapping scales, than is the lobster in its crustaceous covering; with this exception, that the warrior could at pleasure unbuckle himself from his armor, whereas the body and limbs of the crustacea are completely incased in hollow cylinders, firmly and accurately jointed, from which there is no such ready release. Now, as this shelly integument envelops them from their earliest youth, and as it does not expand and grow, the natural growth of the soft body beneath would be entirely prevented did not nature supply a remedy of a very curious kind--the exuviation, or periodical throwing off of the external crust, and the formation of a larger shell-covering fitted for the increasing growth of the animal. This is a circumstance which has long been familiar to naturalists, and indeed the most ordinary observer must have often remarked in the crabs and lobsters brought to table, appearances indicative of their change of external coverings. In the back of the edible crab, may often be noticed a red membrane lining the inner side of the shell, but so loose as to be readily detached. Along the greater part of its course this membrane has already assumed a half-crustaceous consistence, and is just the preparatory process to the old shell being thrown off by the animal. There is another curious circumstance which has also been long known--that crabs and lobsters can renew lost limbs. Some misconception, however, had existed regarding the manner in which this was effected, until the observations of the late Sir John Dalyell have thrown more accurate light upon the subject.

This most amiable and eminent zoologist, who was lost to science last year, afforded a pleasing illustration of the solace and delight which the pursuit of the study of nature yields to the diligent inquirer into her mysteries. With a feeble constitution and frame of body, which precluded his mingling in the more active pursuits of every day life, this sedentary philosopher collected around him examples of minute and curious being from the depths of the ocean, from lake and river, and for many long years found the delight of his leisure hours in watching the habits of the animals, and in discovering and describing many singular circumstances in the constitution of their bodies, and the peculiar adaptations of their structure and instincts to their modes of existence. One of his last communications to the public, imparted with all the modesty and simplicity of true genius, at the last meeting of the British Association in Edinburgh, was on this subject of the exuviation of the crustacea.

It appears from Sir John's observations that crustaceans begin to throw off their shells at a very early period of their life, even in that embryo state in which they first appear after having left the egg, and before they have yet assumed that real form of their mature state. During every successive exuviation in this embryo state they assume more and more of their perfect and established form. While the crab is young and rapidly growing, frequent exuviations take place at short intervals, from three to five times in the course of one year. Previous to the change, the animal almost ceases to feed, and becomes rather inactive; the proper time having at length arrived, exuviation is effected in the course of a few hours, body and limbs being alike relieved from their hard covering. Until the new shell acquires firmness and strength, the creature is very shy, and in the state of nature, retires into cavities below rocks or heaps of protecting sea-weed. Sir John had kept for some time one of our smaller species of shore-crabs (_Carcinus monas_), of medium size, of a brown color, with one white limb. One summer evening it was put outside the window in a capacious glass-vessel of sea-water. In the morning a form exactly resembling its own, only somewhat larger, lay in the vessel. This was the same animal, which had performed exuviation, and extricated itself from the old shell during the night. The resemblance between both forms was complete--every thing was the same, even the white limb was seen in both. Another specimen kept was of smaller size, the opposite extremities of the limbs being only thirteen lines asunder; its color was green, with three white patches on the back. In the course of little more than a year five exuviations took place at irregular intervals, the new shell and animal becoming larger each time. The third shell came on uniformly green, the white spots being entirely obliterated. On the fourth exuviation, the limbs expanded two inches and a half. From the long slender form of the limbs of crustacea, they are very liable to mutilation. Crabs are also a very pugnacious family, and in their battles limbs are often snapped off. These mutilations, however, are readily repaired; although, contrary to what was the common belief, the restoration takes place only at the next regular period of exuviation.

The full-grown common crab (_Cancer pagurus_) is of a reddish-brown color, the claws tipped black; but some of the young are naturally of the purest white, which remains long unsullied. This does not arise from confinement, which, according to Sir John, has no influence on color. "A young white specimen of the common crab was subjected to observation on 29th September. The body might have been circumscribed in a circle three-quarters of an inch in diameter, and the extended limbs by one and a half inch in diameter. Its first exuviation ensued on 8th November, the second on the 30th of April following, and the shell then produced subsisted till 12th September, when another exuviation took place, introducing a new shell of such transparent white that the interior almost shone through it. All the shells were white, and increased somewhat in size successively. This last shell of 12th September subsisted until 29th March, being 197 days, when it was thrown off during another exuviation."

But what was remarkable, the animal now had only the two large claws, the other eight limbs were deficient. "Resting on its breast as it was, I did not at first discover the fact, that the creature presented a strange and very uncouth aspect. However, it fed readily, and proved very tame, though helpless; often falling on its back, and not being able to recover itself from the deficiency of its limbs. I preserved this mutilated object with uncommon care, watching it almost incessantly day and night: expecting another exuviation which might be attended with interesting consequences, I felt much anxiety for its survivance. My solicitude was not vain. After the defective shell had subsisted eighty-six days, its tenant meantime feeding readily, the desired event took place in a new exuviation on 23d June. On this occasion a new animal came forth, and in the highest perfection, quite entire and symmetrical, with all the ten limbs peculiar to its race, and of the purest and most beautiful white. I could not contemplate such a specimen of nature's energies restoring perfection, and through a process so extraordinary, without admiration. Something yet remained to be established: was this perfection permanent, or was it only temporary? Like its precursor, this specimen was quite tame, healthy and vigorous. In 102 days it underwent exuviation, when it appeared again, perfect as before, with a shell of snowy white, and little red speckling on the limbs. Finally, its shell having subsisted 189 days, was succeeded by another of equal beauty and perfection, the speckling on the legs somewhat increased. As all the shells had gradually augmented, so was this larger than the others. The extended limbs would have occupied a circle of four inches diameter. About a month after this exuviation the animal perished accidentally, having been two years and eight months under examination. It was an interesting specimen, extremely tame and tranquil, always coming to the side of the vessel as I approached, and holding up its little claws as if supplicating food."

The shrimp when in confinement becomes very tame, and readily exuviates. The process is frequent, the integument separates entire, and is almost colorless. In female crustaceans the roe is placed outside the shell to which it adheres. During the period of such adherence, the female crab, so far as observation goes, does not change its shell--a marked provision of nature to preserve the spawn.

We may remark that other classes of animals exuviate in a similar manner to the crustaceans. Thus serpents throw off in entire masses their scaly coverings, even a slough from the eyes; and various insects in their larva state are continually throwing off and renewing their skins.

FROM GOLD TO GRAY.

Golden curls, profusely shed O'er the lovely childish head-- Sunshine, caught from summer skies, Surely here entangled lies: Tossing to the light winds free, Radiant clusters, what are ye?

Types of Time that ripples now In bright wavelets o'er the brow-- Of the hopes and feelings blest Dancing in the guileless breast, Beautiful in their unrest: Sparkling joys and willing faith Rising to love's lightest breath;-- Of the future, seeming fair, That may darken with the hair.

What are ye, dark waving bands That, beneath the maiden's hands, Sweep around her graceful head? Fold o'er fold of changeful shade Touch the cheek's contrasted bloom With the poetry of gloom.

Offerings for a lover's eye; Emblems of Love's witchery, Round her heart that richly lies-- Shadows, while it beautifies; Keepsakes Love delights to give. Did each friend one tress receive, Every shining tress were lost, For the maiden had a host. Ay! but trouble, stories say, Locks as rich hath worn away. What of this? But _friends_ grew spare As the scant and falling hair!

Wherefore send your pallid ray, Streaks of cold, untimely gray, Through the locks whose burnish'd hue Hath but seen of years a few? Autumn leaves on summer trees Were less sorrowful than these.

Portions of life's travel-soil; Footprints left by Grief and Toil; Relics, too, of watchings late, When one curl was too much weight On the hot brows, bending o'er Some grave book of ancient lore. 'Tis the mourning Nature wears For the hopes of younger years; And the scorching breath of care Thus can fade the brightest hair.

Hail to thee, thou glistening snow! Full of placid beauty, flow O'er the furrowed brows that bear Life's long story, written fair. 'Tis the white foam, cast aside After Time's receding tide.

Yea, and pleasant types are ye Of each moonlight memory; Shining from his far-off prime To the old man's evening time. More--ye are reflections shed From the heaven above his head; Pale, but still assuring ray, Of his nearly risen day. Mortal! may thy hoary hair E'en such glorious meaning bear, That its silver threads may be Messengers of light to thee!

Monthly Record of Current Events.

THE UNITED STATES.

The increased activity of political parties has to some extent supplied the place of the usual interest in public affairs, though it has added little to the record of the events of the month. The meeting of the Democratic Convention for the nomination of candidates for the Presidency and Vice Presidency, has been fixed for the 1st of June, at Baltimore. A meeting of the Whig members of Congress was held at the capital on the 20th of April, to make similar arrangements for the Whig Convention. Senator Mangum, pursuant to a previous election, presided. Resolutions were offered by Mr. Marshall of Kentucky, declaring that the Whig party would maintain the finality of the Compromise Measures. Mr. Stanley of N. C. objected that they were out of order, the meeting having been called for the sole purpose of fixing a time and place for the National Convention. The Chair sustained the objection, and ruled the resolutions out of order. An appeal was taken, and after an animated debate the decision of the Chair was sustained by a vote of 46 to 18. Ten of the Southern Whigs then withdrew. A resolution had been previously adopted calling the National Convention at Baltimore, on the 16th of June. The Southern Whigs who withdrew from the meeting have since published an Address, in which they seek to vindicate their course, on the ground that the decision of Senator Mangum was improper, and that the action they took was necessary to the vindication of Southern rights. They deny that they have any wish to divide or disturb the Whig party, but assert that they can not sustain any candidate, except with the distinct avowal that he is in favor of the Compromise Measures. They express a hope that such ground will be taken at the Whig National Convention.

The debates of Congress have been of considerable interest. In the _Senate_ the resolutions on the subject of Non-intervention have been further discussed, but no vote has been taken upon them. On the 5th of April, Senator Mason of Va. spoke against any declaration upon the subject by the Government of the United States, upon the ground that it would be a violation of the policy of neutrality which the country has always adopted and would tend to involve us in the wars of Europe. On the 13th, Senator Bell spoke upon the subject--saying that he attached very little importance to the resolutions, inasmuch as in his judgment their adoption would have no effect upon European affairs. But the present state of Europe involved considerations of great importance in regard to the United States, and to these his speech was wholly devoted. He referred to the condition of the several countries of Europe, to show that absolute power has become more firmly established than ever, and he ascribed this fact to the fears inspired by the movements of Socialists and fanatical reformers. He thought there was great reason to believe that when the Absolute powers of Europe shall have firmly established their authority at home, they will turn their united arms against the United States, and gave at length his reasons for this apprehension. In any such contest he thought England would become the enemy instead of the ally of this country. Any new disturbance in Europe, he thought, would inevitably involve the United States, as opportunities would be constantly sought to bring them into the contest. The reception already give to Kossuth was as marked an insult to Austria and Russia as one nation could possibly give to another. From these various considerations, he urged the duty of immediately putting our national defenses in such a condition as should enable us to defy the hostility of the world. We ought at once to attend to our financial system, to establish an overland communication with the Pacific, to take measures to secure a revenue in case of war and the consequent stoppage of foreign trade, to allay all sectional strife, and to make very large additions to our military marine. He expressed deep regret that while the future seemed so full of danger, the whole attention of the country should be so absorbed in the strife of contending parties. ---- On the 6th of April, a petition was presented from Mr. Henry O'Reilley, asking the protection of the Government, by the establishment of military posts, for the establishment of a line of telegraph from the Mississippi to the Pacific. Detached posts of twenty men, at points twenty miles apart, would be quite sufficient. ---- A communication was also received from the Secretary of the Navy, in reply to a resolution of the Senate, stating that a reconnaissance of the Chinese Seas could be conducted by the American vessels already in the service, at small expense, and to the obvious promotion of important public interests. ---- An amendment to the apportionment bill, fixing the number of members of the House of Representatives at 234, in order to give California one more member, was adopted in the Senate on the 8th, by a vote of 23 to 15. ---- On the 14th, a bill granting to the State of Ohio the unsold and the unappropriated public lands within her limits, was ordered to be engrossed, by a vote of 28 to 13. ---- On the 19th, Senator Gwin introduced a bill to establish a monthly mail between Shanghai, China, and San Francisco, by way of the Sandwich Islands. ---- A bill which has excited a good deal of interest, making an appropriation of five millions of dollars for the payment of French Spoliation claims, was passed by a vote of 26 to 13. These claims have been pressed upon the attention of Congress for many years. ---- A bill to supply deficiencies in the appropriations for government service during the last year, having been several days under consideration, Senator Seward on the 27th, spoke in favor of inserting a clause granting further aid to the Collins line of steamers between New York and Liverpool. Under the existing contract with the Government these steamers are to make twenty voyages, out and back, annually, for which they are to receive $380,000--which is about $19,000 for each voyage. It is proposed to increase the number of trips to 26, and the pay to $33,000 each. Mr. Seward urged the passage of the bill mainly on the ground that the maintenance of this line of steamers is essential to the retention by the United States of the commercial supremacy they have already gained. He gave somewhat in detail a sketch of the measures taken by England to secure the control of the seas, and insisted upon the policy of our continuing the effort to gain for ourselves our share of the postal communication of the world, in which we have hitherto been so successful. No vote upon the subject had been taken when our Record closed.

In the _House of Representatives_ discussion has mainly turned upon the partisan preparations for the Presidential election. On the 5th of April, Mr. Jackson of Georgia called up a resolution he had offered a fortnight before, upon the subject of the Compromise Measures. It was as follows:

"_Resolved_, That we recognize the binding efficacy of the Compromises of the Constitution--and we believe it to be the determination of the people generally, as we hereby declare it to be ours individually, to abide by such Compromises, and to sustain the laws necessary to carry them out--the provision for the delivery of fugitive slaves, and the act of the last Congress for that purpose, included; and that we deprecate all further agitation of the questions growing out of that act of the last Congress, known as the Compromise Act--and, of questions generally connected with the institution of slavery, as useless and dangerous."

To this resolution Mr. Hillyer, also of Georgia, offered the following as an addition:

"_Resolved_, That the series of acts passed during the first session of the thirty-first Congress, known as Compromises, are regarded as a final adjustment, and a permanent settlement of the questions therein embraced, and should be maintained and executed as such."

Upon the latter the vote stood, ayes 103, noes 74. The first resolution was then also adopted by a vote of 101 to 74--divided as follows:

YEAS.

Northern Whigs 7 Northern Democrats 35 Southern Whigs 20 Southern Democrats 39 -- -- Whigs 27 Democrats 74 Total 101.

NAYS.

Northern Whigs 29 Northern Democrats 21 Southern Whigs 1 Southern Democrats 10 -- -- Whigs 30 Democrats 31 Free-Soilers 3 Total 64.

The bill in regard to naval discipline and the one giving a lot of the public lands to each actual settler, have been debated from day to day, but without result. Warm political discussions in regard to Presidential platforms and candidates have been held, while the last bill has been before the House, but they have been too exclusively of personal and temporary interest to merit notice here.

The letter of instructions from the Secretary of State to Com. Aulick, in regard to the Japanese Expedition, has been published. Mr. Webster states that in the opinion of the government, steps should be at once taken to enable our merchants to supply the last link in that great chain of oceanic steam navigation which unites all the nations of the world, by the establishment of a line of steamers between California and China. To facilitate this endeavor, it is desirable that we should obtain, from the Emperor of Japan permission to purchase from his subjects supplies of coal which our steamers may require. The interests of our commerce require that we should make one more effort to obtain from the Japanese Emperor the right of thus purchasing, "not the manufactures of his artisans, or the results of the toil of his husbandmen--but a gift of Providence, deposited by the Creator of all things, in the depth of the Japanese Islands, for the benefit of the human family." Mr. Webster therefore incloses to Commodore Aulick, a letter from the President to the Emperor, which he is to carry to Jeddo, the capital of Japan, in his flag-ship, accompanied by as many vessels under his command as may conveniently be employed in the service. He is also to take with him a number of shipwrecked Japanese sailors recently picked up at sea by an American bark, and to deliver them over to the Emperor, with the assurance that the American government will always treat with kindness, any of the natives of Japan whom misfortune may bring to the shores of the United States, and that it expects similar treatment of such of its own citizens as may be driven on the coasts of Japan. The Commodore is instructed, if possible, to secure one of the eastern ports of Niphon for purchasing supplies of coal; but if this can not be done, it is suggested that the government may be willing to transport the coal by their own vessels to some neighboring island, whence it may be procured by the American steamers. He is also to impress upon the authorities that the American government has no power over the religion of its own citizens, and that there is, therefore, no cause to apprehend that it will seek to interfere with the religion of other countries. He is empowered to sign a treaty of amity and commerce, and is advised to fix the period for the exchange of ratifications at three years. The expedition promises to be one of no inconsiderable interest and importance.

The New York Legislature adjourned on the 16th of April, after a session of a hundred days, the limit of the term during which, according to the Constitution, the members can draw pay for their services. The most important act of the session was a bill confirming the contracts made under the law of 1851, for the completion of the State canals. Doubt had been thrown upon their validity from the fact that they had not been formally approved by the Canal Board, although they were made under its direction. This law obviates that objection. Their validity is now contested on the ground that the law of 1851 is unconstitutional. The question has been ably argued before the Court of Appeals, but the decision has not yet been pronounced. ---- A bill forbidding the sale of intoxicating drinks within the limits of the State was lost in the Assembly, the vote standing yeas 45, nays 69.

A Whig Stale Convention in _Virginia_ was held at Richmond on the 19th of April, at which resolutions were adopted endorsing the Compromise measures, approving of the Administration of President Fillmore, and expressing their preference for him as a candidate over all others named--desiring an equitable division of the public lands among all the States--sustaining a moderate protective tariff, and appropriations for internal improvement, and declaring in favor of maintaining the policy adopted by Washington for the guidance of our foreign relations. Delegates were appointed from all the Districts to the Whig National Convention.

A State Election was held in Connecticut during the month, which resulted in the election of Seymour, Democrat, Governor, by a majority of 459. He received 31,574 votes: Kendrick, Whig, 28,312; Scattering, 2803. In the Senate are 15 Democrats and 5 Whigs: in the House the Democratic majority is 41. ---- In Rhode Island, the election resulted in the success of Philip Allen, Democratic candidate, for Governor, by about 400 majority: S. G. Arnold, Whig, has been chosen Lieutenant-Governor. In the House there have been 41 Whigs and 28 Democrats elected; three vacancies to fill. In the Senate, 16 Whigs and 13 Democrats have been chosen, and there are two seats vacant.

Mr. WEBSTER has written a letter to G. A. Travenner, Esq., of Virginia, in reply to inquiries as to the proceedings in Congress on the resolution of Mr. Jackson, noticed under our Congressional summary. Mr. Webster reiterates his own entire approbation of the Compromise measures, as necessary and expedient, and of the Fugitive Slave Law, as "entirely constitutional, highly proper, and absolutely essential to the peace of the country." He thinks that the public mind, both North and South, will eventually come right upon this subject, and does not believe that further agitation can make any considerable progress in the North. He had noticed with regret the proceedings in Congress referred to, and in regard to them, he had only to say, "that gentlemen may not think it necessary or proper that they should be called upon to affirm by resolution that which is already the existing law of the land." He did not believe that any positive movement, to repeal or alter any or all the Compromise measures, would meet with any general encouragement or support. At all events, he adds, "my own sentiments remain, and are likely to remain, quite unchanged. I am in favor of upholding the Constitution in the general, and all its particulars. I am in favor of respecting its authority and obeying its injunctions; and to the end of life shall do all in my power to fulfill, honestly and faithfully, all its provisions. I look upon the Compromise measures as a proper, fair, and final adjustment of the questions to which they relate, and no re-agitation of those questions, no new opening of them, will ever receive from me the least countenance or support, concurrence or approval, at any time, or under any circumstances."

A meeting of the Whig members of the New York Legislature was held at the capital on the 7th, at which resolutions were passed expressing a preference for General Scott as Whig candidate for the Presidency, by a vote of 50 yeas and 1 nay. ---- The birthday of Henry Clay was celebrated by a public dinner at New York. Senator Jones of Tennessee was present, and made the principal speech. ---- The Whigs of North Carolina met in State Convention on the 19th of April, and adopted resolutions expressing a decided preference for Mr. Fillmore as candidate for the Presidency, but avowing their willingness to support any nominee of the National Convention who was "beyond doubt in favor of sustaining the Compromise measures." They also opposed the doctrine of intervention, and disapproved the action of Congress by which so large a portion of the public lands is given to new States, or to railroad companies.

Very heavy floods have been experienced in various parts of the country. At Pittsburgh, on the 19th of April, the water in the Ohio began to rise, and on the 21st it had risen thirty feet--submerging a large portion of the lower parts of the city and adjoining villages. Seven lives were reported to have been lost, and property to the amount of very nearly half a million of dollars had been destroyed. Great damage was also done to the Chesapeake and Ohio canal. In Western Virginia and Maryland, in parts of Ohio, and in Central Massachusetts, there have been very extensive and destructive freshets. ---- The month has been marked by numerous and disastrous steam-boat explosions and casualties at sea. The steamer _Saluda_, bound for Council Bluffs, burst her boilers at Lexington, Mo., on the 9th of April, and nearly one hundred lives were lost. All her officers, except the first clerk and mate, were killed; many of her passengers were Mormon emigrants, on their way to the Great Salt Lake.--The _Glencoe_ burst two of her boilers on the 2d, while attempting to effect a landing at St. Louis, and being driven into the stream by the force of the explosion, immediately took fire. The number of persons killed and missing was sixty-five, and thirty-five more were severely wounded. She had just arrived from New Orleans, and had about a hundred and fifty passengers on board.--On the 3d, the steamer _Redstone_, from Madison, Indiana, for Cincinnati, burst her boilers while backing out from a landing near Carrollton. Ten or twelve persons were killed.--The steamer _Independence_, from New Orleans, was wrecked on the bar of Matagorda Bay on the 26th of March, with a loss of seven lives.--The steamer _Prairie State_, at Pekin, Ill., on the 25th of March, collapsed her flues while leaving the wharf, scalding and wounding some twenty persons, mostly of the crew or deck passengers.--An English bark, the _Josepha_, from Bristol, went ashore on the 19th of April, off Provincetown, Mass., thirteen of her crew, with two persons who attempted to go from the shore to their rescue, perished.--The schooner _Trumlett_, of Nova Scotia, went ashore on Squam Beach, N. J., on the 28th, three persons being drowned; and the schooner _San Luis_ was wrecked on the same beach on the 21st, with the loss of all on board.--This is a fearful list of disasters for a single month. ---- A letter from Mr. Clay has been published, stating that he had given Governor Kossuth no cause of offense by his remarks at their interview in Washington, and denying that the meeting could properly be considered private or confidential.

Governor Kossuth has returned from his Southern tour, and, having visited New Haven, Hartford, and Springfield, was at Boston at the date of our Record. He had a public reception from the Legislature, and on the 31st was honored by a Legislative banquet in Faneuil Hall. His speeches have been devoted to an exposition of the duty of nations to aid each other in their struggles for freedom, and to urging the claims of Hungary upon the people of the United States.

JOHN YOUNG, ex-Governor of the State of New-York, died in this City on the 30th of April, in his fiftieth year. He was born in Vermont in 1802, and removed to Livingston County, New York, while very young. He was admitted to the bar in 1829, and was elected a Member of Assembly in 1830. In 1849 he was elected Member of Congress, and in 1844 went again to the Assembly, where he took a prominent part in promoting the call of a Convention to revise the State Constitution. In 1846 he was elected Governor, and was appointed to the office which he held at the date of his death by President Taylor in 1849. He was a man of great energy of character, of good intellectual faculties, and of amiable disposition and manners. Hon. Luther Bradish has been appointed to succeed him.

Professor B. B. EDWARDS, distinguished as a scholar and a divine, died on the 26th of April at Athens, Georgia, whither he had gone for his health. He was a native of Northampton, Mass., a graduate of Amherst College and Andover Theological Seminary, and first became known as Editor of the Quarterly Register and Biblical Repository. He subsequently became Professor of Biblical Interpretation and Literature at Andover, and conducted the Bibliotheca Sacra. He has also written several works of marked merit upon religious topics, as well as classical books intended for the use of students. He was a scholar of large acquirements, a most estimable man and a devoted Christian.

Gen. SOLOMON VAN RENSSELAER, of New York, distinguished in the last war with England, died at his residence near Albany on the 23d of April, at the age of 78.--Hon. JAMES A. MERIWETHER, of Georgia, died at his residence in that State on the 19th April. Although in the prime of life, he had been a prominent man in the State, and had filled many distinguished stations with credit to himself and honor to the State. He had filled the several offices of State Legislator, Representative in Congress, Judge of the Superior Court, and Speaker of the House of Representatives of Georgia, in all of which he evinced a high order of talent, and a zeal and energy of character which pre-eminently distinguished him among his associates.--Rev. Dr. ELIJAH HEDDING, the senior Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church, died at Poughkeepsie, after a long and painful illness. He has been distinguished for over half a century for extensive learning, for great purity and simplicity of character, and the fervent admiration which he inspired in all who came within his influence.

From CALIFORNIA we have intelligence to the 5th of April. The aggregate shipments of gold at San Francisco, from the 1st of January to the 1st of April, amounted to $7,710,932; and two or three millions more were sent out in steamers of the 2d and 5th of April. The Legislature was still in session. The bill allowing long contracts to be made for Coolie labor from China, and for calling a Convention to revise the State Constitution, were still pending. The prevalent floods had entirely subsided, and spring had fully opened. Great activity prevailed at the mines, and their returns continued to be large. New discoveries were constantly made, and every thing promised a season of remarkable success. It would be useless to attempt to give here any detailed notice of the several locations at which rich deposits have been recently found; but from the Nevada placers, the Southern mines, on the Yuba and Feather rivers and their branches, and in the Sonora region, the reports are all in the highest degree encouraging.--At San Francisco matters were quiet, the threatened action of the Vigilance Committee having thoroughly alarmed the rogues. At Mokelumne Hill a Mexican named Eslava was executed for robbery, under sentence of the Vigilance Committee. It is stated that great numbers of Chinese are on their way to California, and that over three thousand were already located in the country. They are industrious, peaceable, and generally successful. The projected establishment of a line of steamers between San Francisco and the coast of China can not fail to exert a most important influence on the affairs of Eastern Asia. The gentlemen attached to the Boundary Commission had left San Francisco for San Diego, preparatory to starting across the plains by the way of the Gila and the Rio Grande, with a view to the completion of their work. The winter in California has been very severe, and business of all kinds in the country districts has been obstructed by heavy falls of snow. Further Indian difficulties have occurred on the Klamath river. An Indian was shot at Happy Camp for stealing a knife, and, in revenge, a miner who was supposed to have killed him, was shot by the Indians. The whites soon after collected a large company, and on the 12th surrounded all the Indian lodges at the Indian ferry, and shot all the men, with several squaws, and destroyed the rancho. A similar scene occurred two miles above. About thirty or forty Indians were killed.

SANDWICH ISLANDS.

We have news from Honolulu to the 13th of March. An act has been passed by the Hawaiian Parliament admitting all flour, fish, coal, lumber, staves and heading from the United States, into the Islands free of all duty, provided the government of the United States will admit the sugar, syrup, molasses, and coffee of the Hawaiian Kingdom into all United States ports on the same terms. The volcano of Mauna Loa is in a state of renewed activity. The eruption is described as one of the finest ever witnessed. A jet of molten lava, a hundred feet in diameter, is hurled five hundred feet into the air, and on falling, sweeps its fiery course toward the sea. The stream has filled up ravines, and swept away forests. The altitude of the present eruption is about ten thousand feet above the level of the sea.

SOUTH AMERICA.

The news of the downfall of Rosas is fully confirmed, and the dethroned despot had reached Great Britain. We have further details of the decisive battle at Santos Lugares, which was far less bloody than was originally represented. Rosas had collected in the intrenched camp there about 20,000 men, of whom the great majority were entirely inefficient, and none were under proper organization. The vanguard composed of 5000 men under General Pacheco was dispersed and driven back by Urquiza upon the intrenchments, and three days after, the whole army of Urquiza offered battle in front of the fortifications. The two armies were about equal in numbers--the attack being general throughout the whole line, which extended over six miles. Rosas, finding that there was very great disaffection among his own troops, seems to have abandoned the contest at an early stage, and to have sought personal safety in flight. He left the centre of his line, composed of picked infantry and artillery, under the command of Chilavert, a deserter from Urquiza's army, but a man of undaunted courage. This was the only part of Rosas' army which maintained the fight. When it was routed, Chilavert was taken prisoner and immediately shot as a deserter. The news of the result had been received with unusual satisfaction. One of the earliest acts of the new Government was to appoint new justices of the peace, both for Buenos Ayres and for the country districts. A general amnesty had been proclaimed. Decrees had been issued restoring to their owners, houses and other property which Rosas had confiscated. Passports, which Rosas had required for traveling from one part of Buenos Ayres to another, had been abolished. The property of Rosas had been declared to belong to the State. Public affairs wore an appearance of encouraging tranquillity.

From ECUADOR we have news of the progress of the invading force under Gen. Flores. He had reached the Island of Puna, in the river a few miles below the city of Guayaquil, and had taken possession of it. He had under his command a large man-of-war and three other vessels, transports, for conveying his troops. He had anchored off the island, waiting for expected reinforcements. The Government of Ecuador had a force of about 4000, with which it was preparing to resist his invasion. It had addressed a circular to all the representatives of foreign powers, threatening to treat as pirates all who should aid him. The pretext for his attack grows out of proceedings while he was President of Ecuador, an office which he held for two years. He then packed a convention, caused a new constitution to be adopted, and had himself proclaimed President for eight years longer. These proceedings caused a revolution which drove him out of the country, first making an agreement with the leaders of the revolution that they should pay him $70,000 and an annual salary, with military pensions for his officers, as the condition of his leaving. The present Government does not feel bound to fulfill these stipulations, and has refused to pay him his salary. The ostensible object of his expedition is to enforce its payment; but its success would of course place the government in his hands. He has no party of adherents in the country. It is stated that the American ship _Lyons_ had left Valparaiso with 350 men and large supplies of ammunition to join him.

MEXICO.

The Tehuantepec treaty with the United States has been rejected by the Mexican Congress. The details of this action, which can not fail to be considered as highly important to this country, have not reached us. ---- From the city of Mexico we have dates directly only to the 5th of March. The embassadors of Great Britain, France, Spain, and the United States have addressed a remonstrance to the Mexican government against the unfairness of the custom-house regulations in Mexico. The Mexican Secretary has replied, that the matter is before Congress, and that it does not call for any interference on the part of foreign ministers. Tuspan has been made a port of entry. ---- A contract has been entered into by the King of Belgium and the Mexican Government, for transporting 50,000 Belgians to the interior of Mexico, where they are to receive lands to settle on, or work for Mexican landholders, on certain stipulated conditions. ---- A bill has been introduced into Congress repealing the stringent laws concerning foreigners, and imposing the penalty of banishment on any foreigner who may be judicially convicted of taking part in any revolutionary government, of having abused the liberty of the press, or of smuggling. At present foreigners may be expelled simply on suspicion, and without any judicial inquiry whatever. ---- A letter from Louis Napoleon, announcing the change in the government of France, to his "great and good friend," the President of the Mexican Republic, is published in the Mexican papers. ---- Complaints are constantly made against the Mexican authorities at Acapulco, of maltreatment of Americans, and insults to the American flag. Great numbers of emigrants to California have been driven into Acapulco by wreck and other causes, and they very frequently come into conflict with the local officers. Two or three instances are mentioned in which Americans have been imprisoned on the most frivolous pretexts, and the remonstrances of the U. S. consul treated with contempt.

GREAT BRITAIN.

The news of the month from England, as from all parts of Europe, is unusually destitute of interest and importance. The new Ministers resist every endeavor to elicit from them any definite information as to the policy they intend to pursue. In the House of Commons repeated attempts have been made to procure some declaration of the intentions of Government upon the financial policy of the country, but without effect. Ministers avow their readiness to go to the people, but upon what issues they do not distinctly state. The Earl of Derby denies that there is any more necessity for settling the corn question now than there has been hitherto, but declares his readiness to meet it whenever it shall come up. Lord Brougham has introduced a bill to shorten the time within which Parliament may meet after a dissolution, fixing it at not less than thirty-five nor more than fifty days. The general expectation is that the dissolution will take place in July or August. Preparations, meantime, are made in various parts of the kingdom, for new elections, and no inconsiderable share of the public attention is absorbed in the various movements which these respective events involve. The new Ministers, who resigned their seats in Parliament upon taking office, have all been re-elected without opposition by their previous constituencies, except Lord Naas, who has been succeeded in the county of Kildare by a stanch supporter of Free Trade. This result might seem like an indication of popularity on the part of the new Cabinet, but for the fact that eight of its members have been re-elected by constituencies numbering in the aggregate only 4,804 electors, which is only a fifth of the number represented by Lord John Russell, and an eighth of that represented by Mr. Cobden. In the House of Lords, on the 12th, Lord Lyndhurst protested warmly against the agitation which was carried on to force an early dissolution of Parliament, as injurious to the country; and he took occasion to pledge the new Ministry to carry out nearly all the measures of law reform of which the late administration had given notice. His assurances on this subject were pronounced satisfactory by Lord Brougham. On the 15th, Lord Beaumont asked Lord Derby to declare distinctly whether it was, or was not, the intention of the Government to recommend an alteration of the present policy in regard to the importation of corn, at the opening of the new Parliament. In reply, Lord Derby denied that there was any greater necessity for the solution of the free-trade question now than before the accession to power of the present Government. He thought that the appeal to the people should be made as speedily as was consistent with the great interests of the country, but said that "neither taunts, nor calumnies, nor mortifications would induce him to recommend a dissolution one moment sooner than he thought it expedient." He denounced the operations of the anti-corn-law league, and complained warmly of the attempts which recently had been made by Lord John Russell to organize an opposition to his government, and thus force a dissolution. He denied the right of Parliament to put, and declined to answer categorical questions as to the precise future course of the Government; but he would say that he would never attempt, by a mere majority of votes, to force upon the country a measure distasteful to the great body of the people. Similar questions in the House of Commons have been met by similar answers from the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and other members of the Government. Mr. Disraeli announced the intention of Government to advise a dissolution so soon as measures deemed necessary for the security of the country should be passed. In a debate upon the Army Estimates, Lord John Russell contended very earnestly that it was unconstitutional and entirely unprecedented for a Government, which was notoriously in a minority in the House of Commons, to set up a claim to administer the affairs of the country for a period of many months, without any declaration of its policy, and without bringing forward any of the measures it had advocated while in opposition, and without an immediate appeal to the country. Subsequently Lord John said that the declarations of Lord Derby concerning the intended dissolution were so far satisfactory, that he should make no further opposition to immediate action upon necessary measures. ---- On the 5th of April, during an incidental discussion on the Austrian dispatches concerning political refugees in England, the Earl of Malmsbury declared that Great Britain would continue to be an asylum for all exiles who wished to avail themselves of it. In the Commons, a proposition to establish voting by ballot was rejected--there being in its favor 89 votes, and against it 244. On the 6th, in reply to inquiries, the Chancellor of the Exchequer announced that Sir C. Hotham would immediately proceed to Rio Janeiro on a mission, in connection with a French ambassador, to place the commercial relations of France and England with the countries on the River Plate, on a more satisfactory footing.--Parliament adjourned over the Easter holidays until April 19th.

The usual Mansion House banquet, given on Easter Monday, was signalized by a speech from Lord Derby, in which he urged the great importance of the confidence of the country to any Ministry which hoped to administer its affairs with success. Mr. F. Peel, on the 12th, addressed a large meeting of the electors of Bury, in Lancashire, and took occasion to insist very strongly on the necessity of resisting to the utmost every attempt to restore high duties upon articles which, enter largely into the consumption of the masses of the people. Considerable importance has been attached to a declaration made by Sir R. Inglis, the new Solicitor-General for Scotland, who said, in a recent address to his constituents, that he was not prepared to vote for any measure calculated to promote mere class interests, at the expense of the general welfare of the country; and that while he was "very sensible of the great pressure under which agriculture was suffering, he was satisfied that the evil might be greatly lessened, if not removed, without the necessity of reimposing a tax on the people's food." ---- A most painful sensation has been produced by the wreck of the steam troop-ship Birkenhead, on her way to the Cape of Good Hope, on the night of the 26th of February, attended by an immense loss of life. In order to save distance, the captain had run very close in to shore; and at a few minutes past midnight, while running eight and a half knots an hour, off Point Danger, the steamer struck a sunken rock, which penetrated her bottom just aft the foremast, and in less than half an hour the steamer had thoroughly gone to pieces. Out of 638 persons on board, only 184 survived. The rush of water into the ship was so sudden that most of the men were drowned in their hammocks. The rest of the men were called upon deck, and marshaled under their proper officers. The cutter was launched with the women and children. The large boat in the centre of the ship could not be got at. Very soon after, the ship broke in two in the middle, and two or three hundred persons struggling upon drift wood in the water were all that remained. They were then a mile or two from the shore--the water between was full of sea-weed and sharks, and but few reached the land. Nine officers and 349 men perished. The good order and discipline maintained on board after the wreck are spoken of in the highest terms of admiration. Just as the vessel was going down, the commander called out for all that could swim to jump overboard and make for the boats. Two or three of the officers urged them not to do so, as it would inevitably swamp the boats, in which were the women and children: it is added that only three made the attempt. ---- Strenuous efforts are still made to prevent the Crystal Palace from being removed, but with slight prospects of success. On the 3d of April it was thrown open for a grand promenade, and was visited by over 80,000 people. A public meeting was subsequently held to urge upon Parliament the propriety of taking steps to preserve it. ---- The penny subscription for a monument to Sir Robert Peel has been closed, and is found to have yielded over £1737, which has been placed in the hands of trustees. ---- A good deal of interest has been excited by the report that on the 20th of April, 1851, the captain, mate, and others on board the ship Renovation, on her way from Shields to Quebec, saw _two vessels_ imbedded in a large iceberg, about thirty miles from Cape Race, the southern point of Newfoundland. The captain of the ship has not been heard from in regard to it; but two or three persons distinctly testify to having heard him relate the facts; while the mate, a sailor who was at the helm, and a passenger on board, concur in saying that they saw the ships. Mr. Simpson, the mate, examined them with a glass, and describes them as having been three-masted ships, with their masts struck and yards down, and all made snug. They were near each other--one upright, and the other with a slight inclination. The captain was sick at the time, and no pains were taken to examine the ships more closely. The Admiralty has pursued its inquiries into the accuracy of the statement, under the supposition that the vessels seen may have been the ships of Sir John Franklin; but no reliable conclusion can as yet be formed upon the subject. ---- A new and well-appointed searching Expedition, under Captain Belcher, set out for the Arctic Seas on the 15th of April.

Very remarkable accounts reach England of the abundance of gold in Australia. According to a careful return, compiled from reliable sources, it is stated that from the 29th of September, the date of the discovery of the gold field, to the 17th of December, there had been taken out gold valued at £730,242. The papers report that the field seems to be unlimited--the indications of gold extending over scores of miles, and each new deposit apparently surpassing all others in richness.

FRANCE.

The opening of the new Senate and Legislative body took place on the 29th of March. In his speech on that occasion the President briefly rehearses the reasons which made his usurpation necessary, and cites the readiness with which the people have submitted to a temporary abridgment of their liberties as proof of their conviction that they had been abused. He says, with regard to the rumors that he intends to make himself Emperor, that he has had the opportunity to do so on three occasions if he had been so disposed, and he refers to his forbearance then as evidence of the falsehood of the reports. He declares that he is firmly resolved to maintain the government in its present form, unless the machinations of the disaffected shall compel him to claim greater powers. He repeats his assurances of peace, and declares that he will restore popular freedom and rights as rapidly as the security of the country will permit. ---- The ceremony of opening the chambers was brilliant and imposing. General Cavaignac refused to take his seat, as he could not take the oath required. Previous to the opening of the session the President issued a decree regulating the mode of doing business in the Senate, Council of State, and the Legislative Corps. No member of the latter can publish his speech without having obtained the authority of the Assembly, and any unauthorized publication subjects the offender to heavy fines. ---- It was generally supposed that fixing the budget, or making appropriations for the civil list, for the current year, would be left to the Legislature; but just before the meeting of that body the President established this also by a simple decree. The expenses of the year are estimated 1,503,398,861 francs--the receipts at 1,449,413,404. There are some extra resources from the reduction of interest on the national debt, from the Paris and Lyons railroad, and from the alienation of the national forests. The salaries of the Ministers are to be 100,000 francs a year, except the Minister of War and of Foreign Affairs, who will have each 130,000. The President's civil list has been fixed at twelve millions. ---- On the evening of April 4th, the highest judicial authorities of the state attended at the Elysée to take the oaths prescribed by the Constitution in presence of Louis Napoleon, who received them surrounded by his Ministers. A complimentary speech was made to him on behalf of the judges. In his reply the President used strong expressions concerning the basis of his right to the office he holds. He said: "Since the day on which the doctrine of the sovereignty of the people replaced that of divine right, it may be affirmed with truth that no government has been as legitimate as mine. In 1804, four millions of votes, in proclaiming the power to be _hereditary in my family_, designated me as heir to the empire. In 1848, nearly six millions called me to the head of the Republic. In 1851 nearly eight millions maintained me there. Consequently, in taking the oath to me, it is not merely to a man that you swear to be faithful, but to a principle--to a cause--to the national will itself." These expressions have been generally considered as indicative of hereditary imperial pretensions, to be made good at the earliest convenient opportunity. Public rumor, indeed, had assigned the 5th of May, the occasion of a grand review of troops, as the day when the Empire would be proclaimed. ---- A circular had been addressed by the Minister of the Interior to the prefects of the departments, concerning the organization of the new National Guard. Its chief peculiarities are that the Government is to determine the exact number of citizens which is to compose the service, and on what occasions they are to be called out; and that they are to be selected (by a special committee appointed by the Government in each district) from those persons between the ages of 25 and 50, who are best known for their devotedness to the cause of order, as understood by Louis Napoleon.

A decree has appeared reconstituting the University of France. In accordance with its provisions MM. Michelet, Quinet, and Mickiewitz are deprived of their professorships. Both MM. Michelet and Quinet had been suspended by the Government of Louis Philippe, but it is only since the decree of the 9th of March that the Government has the power of depriving professors of their honorary rank. They are dismissed, asserts the Government, for having abused their chairs to infuse violent political sentiments into the minds of the rising youth, and for having converted their lectures into violent Republican harangues. ---- The estates of Neuilly and Monceaux, formerly belonging to the Orleans family, and confiscated to the state by the decree of January 22, have been taken possession of by the administration of the domain of the state.

The Swiss question has received further elucidation. In our last Record we gave the text of a French note dated January 24, and demanding in peremptory terms the right of designating refugees in Switzerland obnoxious to the French Government, and requiring their immediate expulsion. The Paris _Debats_ publishes the reply of the Swiss Government to this demand. It is dated the 9th of February, and after declaring that the Swiss Government had hitherto exerted, and would continue to exert all legal means at its disposal to suppress or prevent all hostile movement among the refugees within its borders against the peace of neighboring nations, it positively refuses to accede to the demands of the French Minister to be allowed to point out for instant expulsion from Switzerland such refugees as he in his discretion might consider most dangerous to France. The honor and independence of the Swiss Confederation permit no other answer to be given to the French note. The law of nations sustains Switzerland in the position taken, and from this position, declares the Council, in conclusion, the threats of France will not avail to drive her. The reply to this note has not been published; but it is generally understood that the assurances which it contains of increased vigilance against attempts among the refugees against the peace of other powers, had been accepted as satisfactory.

EASTERN AND SOUTHERN EUROPE.

In AUSTRIA the sudden death of the Prime Minister, Prince Schwarzenberg, which occurred from apoplexy on the 7th of April, is the only event of interest during the month. The Prince was a man of energy, ability, and political hardihood, and was the author of the severe policy which Austria has lately pursued toward Hungary. He is succeeded by Count Buol Schauenstein, who has been for some time Austrian Minister in England. An official announcement has been made by the Austrian Government that no change in policy will follow this change of Ministry. ---- Count Batthyani's estates have been seized by the High Court of Hungary.

In PRUSSIA public attention is largely absorbed in measures for relief to the inhabitants of the eastern districts, who are suffering from famine. The corn harvest and potato crop have almost entirely failed in Eastern Prussia and Silesia. ---- The first Chamber has ratified a resolution in favor of voting the supplies for the ordinary budget of the State for a period of three years, instead of annually, as at present. Another resolution enables the Chamber to discuss the items of the budget, which now can only be accepted or rejected as a whole. The Prince of Prussia congratulated a deputation from the first Chamber upon their recent reactionary votes, and impressed on them the necessity of increasing the army.

In SPAIN the summary dismissal of Gen. Concha as Captain-General of Cuba, excites a good deal of interest. The Government has given no reasons for the act. His brother declares that he had fallen a victim to his desire to reform certain inveterate abuses in the administration. General Caredo left Cadiz, March 20th, as his successor. ---- Severe measures have been taken by the Government to restrain the freedom of the press. Very heavy fines have been imposed upon several journals for their strictures on the Government. ---- A squadron is to be fitted out to cruise in the Mediterranean as a practical school for Spanish sailors.

In TURKEY Reshid Pascha has been reinstated as Prime Minister. His dismissal was the result of a court intrigue, and did not indicate any abandonment of the reform policy which he has established. ---- A new tax has been decreed--not upon foreign imports, but upon the domestic productions of the country. ---- Gen. Perczel, who distinguished himself during the Hungarian war, and subsequently was detained in Turkey, has left for the United States.

In GREECE a good deal of interest has been excited by the trial, conviction, and banishment of Rev. Dr. King, who has been for several years a zealous American Missionary at Athens. He was accused of reproaching the established religion, tried by the Areopagus, and, without being allowed to speak in his own defense, adjudged guilty. He was allowed fourteen days to leave the country.

Editor's Table.

WHAT IS EDUCATION? On this question every man feels at home, and we know not, therefore, why it may not be made the subject of some brief remarks in our Editorial Table. The answers are almost innumerable--education is useful knowledge--it is practical training for all pursuits in life--it is culture--it is growth--it is discipline--it is learning to think--it is learning to act--it is _educing_ the statue from the block of marble--it is development--the development of the mind--the development of the mind and body--the development of the whole man, physically, mentally, morally--it is a preparation for business, for success in life, for working out the problem of humanity, &c., &c., &c. May we not find one term that will embrace whatever of truth there is in these metaphors, and yet exclude the error which may be regarded as attaching, more or less, to each one of them. Perhaps the safest guide here to right thinking may be found in following out that analogy which Providence has established between our spiritual and our material organization. What is the highest good of the body considered in itself, and without reference to any more ultimate bearing upon the well-being of the soul. HEALTH, is at once the answer. If man were all body (could such a case be conceivable), that state or organization of it we call its _health_, would be the highest end of human existence.

We need not stop to define this prime excellence or _well-being_ of our corporeal organism. It is sufficient for our argument that there is such a state, better than all others, and therefore most desirable. The necessary assumption of the fact is enough to show the absurdity of that view which would regard this state as a _means_ to bodily utilities lower than itself, or to any thing else as an end which is not the transcending good of the spirit. Why is bodily health desirable? What is the measure of its value? Suppose the answer to be--We want it, and we take care of it, as an excellent help to making money, or to fit us for business, or in general, as a _means_ of acquiring the _means_ for the gratification of those ends which are not only lower than the good of health, but, in many cases, actually destructive of it when attained. Would not the least reflecting mind be struck with the absurdity. It is making that which is itself an _end_, a _means_ to other things having all their value from their relation to that very thing whose position is so irrationally reversed.

In how much higher a sense does the analogy hold good in respect to our spiritual organization? Education, then, aims at the HEALTH OF THE SOUL, the production of a _sound mind_. Without now going into any analysis of that in which this health consists, it is enough for us at present that there is such a state, most real as well as most desirable. There is such a _sound mind_--a good thing in itself, irrespective of any use to which it may be applied. The certainty of its reality furnishes the true answer to our question, lifting it, at once, above those views which would regard education solely as a means to some other and lower thing than could be rationally included in this essential idea of the spiritual hygieia.

Let us make clear our meaning by a well-known popular illustration. The famous pugilists, Hyer and Sullivan, as we were told by the Newspapers, went through a course of most careful training or education of the body. Its appetites, its affections, its faculties were all brought under proper regulation. They were made to practice the strictest temperance, the nicest discrimination was employed in respect to healthful and strengthening nourishment--in a word, the utmost attention was paid to the development of their corporeal powers. Now, had all this been for the promotion of the bodily health as an end (even in itself considered), it would have commanded respect as a noble, though not the noblest motive. But how are the reason and the conscience both shocked at the thought, that all this seeming care of the bodily well-being was intended only as a _means_ to the brutal contests of the ring, and these a _means_ to the still more beastly ends of the vile gamblers who had superintended this whole course of corporeal education. Do we not feel, instinctively, that the lowest intemperance is less degrading than such a use of the body and the body's health? And why should not even a deeper condemnation be visited on that kindred view which would regard the spiritual training in a similar light--which would look upon the soul's education only, or mainly, as subservient to what is called success in business, or the ends of political ambition, oft-times as deeply defiled with the base gambling spirit as any of the parties on the race course or the boxing ground, or, in short, to any object which, though better than these has no value in itself except as a means to that very thing which is so degraded from its proper ultimate rank.

Let this then be our general answer to the question--What is education? We would carry it through all departments, the nursery, the family, the common school, the high school, the academy, the college, the university. It is every where the _spirit's health_, as a good _per se_, as something even higher, and better, and, therefore, more desirable than happiness, or "pleasing sensations"--as, in fact, a true end in itself, irrespective of any thing else to which it may contribute any incidental aid or utility. Take away wholly this idea, and its incidental benefits must ultimately perish. It will cease to be useful, it will, in the end, cease to stimulate thought, or to call out that enthusiasm which quickens invention, when it is degraded from the high position that gives it all its truly useful power. Its intrinsic beauty is the source of its utility, its dignity of its value, its glory of its strength.

When we have settled what this health of the soul is, both intellectually and morally, then whatever contributes to such an end is education. Whatever tends to some other end is not education. It may be very useful as a means of training to certain particular pursuits, but it is not education. In any other use of the term we not only burst the bounds of any practicable definition, but are estopped from denying the claim of any other profession, trade, or business, to a like inclusion.

The true idea, then, of education is catholic, in distinction from what is partial in human pursuit. It is that which pertains to man, _as man_, in distinction from what belongs to him as a farmer, a mechanic, a lawyer, an engineer, or a merchant. It embraces not the trades, the businesses, but the _humanities_. Let the word be properly qualified, and there is then no serious objection to applying it in this partial and sectional way. We may thus have mercantile education, mechanical education, professional education. To prevent confusion, some other word would doubtless be better here, such as training, or apprenticeship, but when we speak of education in general, and of the schools in which it is to be obtained, the catholic idea must be preserved, or all ideas are lost, and we are declaiming on a matter to which there are no possible bounds except such as are imposed by each man's arbitrary conception.

We may at some other time follow out this idea into some of its particular modifications. At present, however, we would take it, in its most general aspect, as the guiding thought in the exposition of some of the more common fallacies. Tried by this test, all education is the same in idea, the same in quality, and differing only in the quantity, or the extent to which that idea is carried out. There is a unity pervading all, from the common school to the university. The philology, the mathematics, the belles-lettres, the philosophy of the one, are the expansion of the grammar, the arithmetic, the reading lesson, the catechism of the other. In the light of this thought we see at once the hollowness of that declamation which would represent these departments as opposed to each other--which would set forth the support of the one as the peculiar duty of the State, while all aid given to the other is denounced as aristocratic, impolitic, and unjust.

It is sometimes dangerous reasoning from a metaphor. It frequently presents but one aspect of a truth, and the changing or inverting that aspect may invert the whole argument built upon it. It is very common, for example, to compare knowledge to heat. We lately read what the speaker doubtless regarded as a very imposing argument, grounded wholly upon such a simile. He was contending, with the greatest moral courage, that our common schools should receive the most liberal patronage of the State, while the colleges should be "left to themselves." "Knowledge," says the undaunted advocate of this very unpopular doctrine, "knowledge will no more descend than heat will descend. If you wished to warm the lower stratum of air, would you heat the upper stratum first? No, sir! Warm the lower stratum, and then you can not keep the upper cold." We know not which to admire most here, the science or the logic. A pretty good argument in favor of a higher education for legislators might be deduced from it, but not in such a way, perhaps, as the orator imagined. Knowledge then is heat. Heat ascends. Ergo, the common schools are the foundation and, therefore, keeping the stove well supplied below is certainly the best means of warming the dummy above.

Admirably argued. But let us now change the metaphor. Knowledge is _light_. This must strike most minds as being, to say the least, quite as appropriate a simile as the other. Knowledge is light, and light comes down. Its native seat is in the upper region. Where now is our metaphorical argument? Turned upside down, and every inference pointed like a battery against the very positions it was intended to support. With the change of a very few terms all that follows becomes a parody on the former meaning. "If you wish to _enlighten_ the lower stratum, keep clear the atmosphere above, and thus will the colleges give the common schools their clearest support. Take care of the former, and they will take care of the latter," &c., &c. This is hardly better than another argument, employed by the same reasoner in favor of what he calls "practical knowledge." "Our five later Presidents," he says, "were men who were never taught to chop logic _secundum artem_, nor to play shuttlecock with abstractions in college halls." Now it is well known that the four early Presidents who preceded them were not only men of liberal education, but eminent for learning and the highest mental culture. They _had_ learned to deal with abstractions, and to reason _secundum artem_ in college halls. To which side of the scale the real force of this argument inclines, we believe our intelligent readers of all parties may well be trusted to decide.

If we must have a metaphor, the common school, we may say, is the digging for the foundation, but not the foundation itself. It is the gathering of some of the materials, but is neither the main, nor the supporting part, of the great structure of national education. We have no wish to underrate its importance--its very great importance--and for this very reason do we attempt to expose those fallacies which, in aiming at the depreciation of the higher, would infallibly injure the lower and dependent interest. The best argument is simply an appeal to facts. All this inane declamation flies at once before it. In what States of our Union are common schools most flourishing? Precisely those, we answer, in which the best support is given to the higher institutions of learning. Who will venture to charge the Pilgrim Fathers with anti-popular tendencies? and yet, in laying the foundation of a system of national education, they began with the college. The leading institution of the kind was founded before the birth of one generation, and only eighteen years after they first broke the silence of the wilderness. How much of that leaven of a _sound mind_ which has characterized New England may be traced to this one source?

Again--let any thoughtful man look over the face of our own State of New York. Millions and millions have been given for the cause of popular education; and this is as it should be, as far as money is concerned. But will such means alone secure the desired result? No man at all acquainted with the facts can fail to see, that just in proportion as there is to be found in any town or locality in our State that higher intelligence which is the offspring of the higher institutions of learning, there the common school has ever had its best support, its best teachers, its most sound, and elevated, and healthful system of instruction. From thence, too, have been sent forth in return the best candidates for our colleges, or, to get up our metaphor again, the best supplies for those distributing reservoirs, of whose light and heat they had so liberally partaken. Wherever, on the other hand, there has been no such leaven of a higher intelligence, the funds so lavishly bestowed have left the common mind very much as they found it. The stream has failed to rise above its fountain. Light has failed to act contrary to its own law, in ascending out of darkness; and if there has been any "_heat_," it has only been the fermentation of ignorance, or of crude smatterings of knowledge, more mischievous, perhaps, than ignorance itself. Any process, or public provision, by which our best colleges (and by such we mean those which have the least lowered their own standard in obedience to popular clamor) should be enabled to plant each year one of its most intelligent graduates in every county in the State, would do more to promote common school education than all the money that has been thrown broadcast over the land for the past quarter of a century.

Some seem to think that the only thing necessary is to distribute money over a certain space, and the work is done. "The great object," says the authority we have quoted, "is to endow the masses with sound minds and discriminating judgments." A most noble undertaking, truly! But how is it to be done? Will the mere insertion of an item in the supply-bill create this magical power? It is very plain to one who thinks at all, that this "endowment of the masses with sound minds, &c.," must be somehow under the management of those who already possess "sound minds and discriminating intelligence," and this is something far more than a knowledge barely on a level with the instruction itself to be imparted within the walls of a district school. Something higher, too, is required than Normal institutions, supplying candidates more or less thoroughly instructed in the particular branches they are to teach, and thus placing them just in advance of their future pupils. No man is qualified to teach at all, unless his knowledge is much beyond that range of science to which his actual teaching is confined. There must be something higher than this--something more, even, than an acquaintance with particular branches far transcending that line. There must be an initiation, at least, into what we have called the _science of sciences_--the knowledge of knowledges. All this is necessary to make "_sound minds_ and discriminating judgments," capable of distinguishing in respect not only to the _quantity_ but the _quality_ of different kinds of knowledge--of determining what truly enter into the idea of education, and what belong to the partial, the sectional, or the ephemeral. Thus viewed as leavening the community with minds of broad and liberal culture, the college becomes not only the "foundation," but the elevator of the common school. It is just such a class of minds as are now most, needed in this country--a class of _thinkers_ in distinction from your men of _action_, your noisy demagogues, your self-styled _practical men_, of whom we have at present so great an overstock. We want a class of minds who shall gradually create a philosophical and learned interest, thus causing, if we may use here the language of political economy, a steadily increasing demand for the article they represent--elevating the profession of the teacher, and in this way the whole national mind, to react again in a more liberal and fraternal support of all our institutions, the highest as well as the lowest.

But our present editorial musings must be confined mainly to education in connection with the common school. And here there is one application of our leading thought on which we would briefly dwell. There are those who might admit the general correctness of our principle, and yet contend for some deviation from it in these primary departments. Here, they would say, knowledge should be practical, predominantly physical, mainly connected with the outer world, and those partial pursuits that are afterward to occupy the active every-day life. The other view may belong, more or less, to the college and the university; but this brief period should not be wasted upon any thing except immediate practical utilities. We can not think so. The question still remains--What is the truest utility? and a proper settlement of this may lead to the conclusion that education in the common school should be even more catholic, in its idea, than that of the higher institutions. In some of the later periods of the college course, there may be some propriety in giving the studies a direction toward professional or partial pursuits. In the earlier stages this can only be done at the expense of that which is of far more value in itself, and which, if not then attained, can never afterward be secured.

This thought is so practical that it is wonderful how it escapes the notice of those who claim to be pre-eminently our practical men. Professional knowledge, mechanical knowledge, almost any branch of natural history, almost any modern language, may be obtained in after life. One who has laid a good foundation may at any time stoop down and pick them up when he has need of them. But there are other branches (although we can not now stop to specify them) in respect to which this is not the case. There is the knowledge, or the culture through which all other knowledge is acquired. It is the knowledge which, to a greater or less extent, is for all men, as men, for all ages, yea, for all _worlds_ of rational beings. Each particular world in the universe may be supposed to have its own botany, its own geology, its own mineralogy, its own natural history; but a spiritual necessity, a behest of the reason compels us to say, that in all worlds there _must_ be the same logic, the same grammar or universal laws of language, whether by sounds or signs, the same laws of thinking, the same geometry, the same pure mathematics, the same ultimate rules of taste, the same principles of art, the same elements of the beautiful, the same æsthetic and moral philosophy. In other words, the good, the beautiful, the true in themselves must be essentially the same for all rational souls, and can not even be conceived of as having a diversity for different parts of the universe.

Now, we contend that that is the most truly practical view of education which makes this the pervading idea even for the common school. Any youth of good ordinary intelligence may be made to understand its practical application to what we have called the spirit's health; and when once truly seen, this single idea may be of more practical value in guiding and elevating all his after thinking, than all the smattering of mineralogy, and zoology, and French, and agricultural chemistry, and civil engineering, and phrenology, too, which are now so much the rage. There are branches of natural science exceedingly valuable, even in connection with that idea of education which we are maintaining. We would underrate none of them when they can be pursued as they ought to be. But this can only be in one of two ways. It must be either _philosophically_, that is, in their seen connections with every other department of thought--and here we have the ground on which they would come into the general college course--or _scientifically_, that is, as they are studied by those whose minds have been peculiarly drawn to them, and from whom they exact the enthusiastic devotion of a life. If neither can be done, it is the most really practical and useful way to be content with giving, as empirical knowledge, those _results_ which have been elaborated by the truly scientific, rather than foolishly attempt to render each boy in our schools his own chemist, his own botanist, and his own engineer, anymore than his own clergyman, his own lawyer, or his own physician.

And here comes up a distinction proceeding directly from that wise providential analogy of soul and body to which we first alluded. Our bodily food maybe divided into two classes. One kind, besides pleasing the palate, may be useful in giving a temporary refreshment, or a temporary stimulus, which may be employed for various practical ends. But this is all of it. It passes off, leaving the system as it was, if not sometimes in a worse condition than it found it. Again, there is other food which not only imparts vigor for a time, and for a particular purpose, but actually enters into the physical system, and becomes a part of it, constituting the elements of its growth, yea, of its very life. So it is with knowledge. Some kinds lodge only in the memory; they have their abode on the surface of the soul; they have no inward hold. Hence they are easily effaced, and when their outward scientific details are lost from the memory, they are lost entirely. There are other kinds that not only become assimilated to, but enter into the soul itself, into its very spiritual constitution. When the outward facts are forgotten, they still remain. The soul has grown by them, and out of them. In one sense it may be said to be made of them.

If there be good grounds for this, how important the distinction! It is but little we can know at the utmost. It becomes, therefore, even in the highest and widest education, a question of selection and discrimination. How important, then, the choice in respect to the shorter period of common school instruction. If this precious season is so very brief, if so little can be learned, surely that small _quantity_ should be of the choicest _quality_, and the highest considerations connected with the soul, intellectual and moral health, should be taken into the estimate of its nature and its value. In making such estimate more regard should be had to what enters into the future _thinking_, than to what will enter into the future _action_, to the knowledge that assimilates itself to the very being of the soul rather than to that which belongs to particular and ever-changing circumstances. In other words, the preference should be given to that instruction which forms the law of the thoughts, which refines the taste, which elevates the affections, which gives a stock of ideas, precious though small, and ever in demand as the spirit's daily food amid the drudgery and worldliness of the coming life, rather than to those outward facts of science which must be to a great extent empirical for the brief primary school, and, in their best form for the college or the university, have but little hold upon the inner life.

To make the practical application of this, let us suppose that two or three years are all that can be given, in some places, to common-school education. A part of this time is necessarily occupied with the very elements of knowledge, reading, writing, and numbers. How shall we best employ the residue? One plan is to give it up wholly to practical knowledge, as it is called, or what is supposed to have an immediate connection with the active business of life, although greatly overrated even in this respect. Another would devote it to as good an acquaintance as can be formed with the best things in the best English classics--and this by a course of well-directed reading, or, as the Greek boys were required to do in respect to their poets, by committing largely to memory. It would be well if time could be given to both. But this, we will suppose, can not be done, and we are to decide between the rival claims. Can there be a doubt as to who is likely to be the useful man, the healthy-souled man, the _sound_ man, in the best sense of the terms? Can we doubt as to who will have the richest store laid up for that future thinking and future feeling which is the true life of the soul--the boy whose precious time has been given to a little physiology, a little natural history, a little of that trash which sometimes goes under the name of meteorology, all forgotten as soon as learned, because never learned either philosophically or scientifically--or he whose mind has been brought in as close communion as possible with the richest, the most elevated, the most beautiful thinking in English literature--with Milton, with Shakspeare, with Young, with Addison, with Johnson, with Cowper, with Irving, with Wordsworth, and, above all, that "well of English undefined," as well as mine of thought unfathomable--The Holy Scriptures?

But we can not pursue this train of thought farther at present. At some other period we may attempt to fill up these outline ideas with some more particular and varied illustrations. We should like, especially, to call attention to the subject of school-books for our primary institutions. It may strike some as rather a humble theme, and yet there are but few of higher practical importance.

Editor's Easy Chair.

If ever, in the chronicle of any year, the old Georgic averment of "_semper imbres_" might be written truthfully, it certainly must belong to that weeping April which made the middle of our slow-coming spring.

Forty days of rain were once reckoned a drowning punishment for a sinning world; and if equal dampness is any test of our present demerit, there was never a wickeder world than ours.

It is easy, in our office-chair, to talk humorsomely of the floods which, since our last writing, have carried off the last white stains of winter. But a bitterer truthfulness lies in the woes and losses that the rains have showered upon thousands of the poor than we are wont to take cognizance of.

It is a pretty thing to see--as we have seen--the mountain rivulets growing white and angry, and swelling into great torrents that run writhing around the heel of mossy rocks, and start the mouldering logs that bridged them, into sharp-flung javelins that twist and dash along the growing tide; and it is grand to see the lithe saplings that border such maddened streamlet, dipping their sappy limbs, and struggling, and torn away by the chafing waters; and it is like a poem--richer than any tame pastoral--to listen to the rush and whirl bearing down scathed tree-trunks, and mossy boulders, and loitering with a hissing laziness in some spreading eddy at the foot of a mountain-slope: but it is terrible, when the rush of a thousand such streams has doubled the volume of a river, and drowned the sweet spring banks, and borne off struggling flocks, and rose to the level of firesides--deluging gardens and families--spreading through the streets of a town like a reeling monster of a thousand heads, lifting its yellow ghastliness into chambers, and rocking from their foundations rural homes, and swaying the topmost limbs of fruit trees that shadow the roof.

All this, it has been our lot, once in our life to see;--when panic seized the strongest-minded, and fathers crowded their crying households into tottering skiffs that went rocking and doubtful over the swift eddies among bent forest trees--bearing within them the poor remnant of the husbandman's estate. And just such scenes, if report speak true, have startled the men and women of Western Pennsylvania, and have made this year of 1852 a sad epoch in their history.

But we turn from this gladly to the bursting summer, which, with Minerva's suddenness, has leaped from the cleft skull of winter. In a week the flower-trees have put on bloom, and the grass caught its cloak of greenness. Why is it, that thus far we have no Virgil, or no prose pastoral to tell of the wondrous things which adorn the American spring and summer? If quick and gorgeous contrasts be any item in the sum of what makes up the beauty of a country, we have no rivals in the world; and we can show the gorgeous glassiness of ice, as wondrous in its adornments as are the silvan graces of our prairie wood. The time will come, by-and-by when the ocean-crossing shall be a matter counted by hours instead of days, when the searchers after the wonderful will gaze upon the ice-beauties of Niagara as they now feast on its summer.

Schaffhausen, and Handel, and Terni, and the Clyde never wear those crystal robes and trimmings which deck, bridally, the bass-toned pipes of our great organ of Erie. The gush and the flow of sparkling water are all that lend grandeur or beauty to the great cataracts of Europe. And if summertime do not steep them in warm mists that catch the sunshine in "bounteous colors three," the autumn only hangs heavy and cold--spitting catarrhal spray, and no winter is keen enough to set the edge of the torrents in sharpened icicles, and to sheet the near-lying wood with silver.

But Niagara--in such winter as has hung its lengthened pall upon our hoping hearts--dresses itself bridally; the rocks, loosened from the base, are sheathed in pearly casements, that rise with every morning's light, and comb over right and left, and climb in the very eye of the waters--breasting the spray, that clings ever, with new-added pearls, and cumulates into a mounded miracle of beauty.

The near trees, too, catch the dampened air, day after day, and wear it in fleecy vestments, that bow them down, till their limbs touch the icy ground, and the visitor roams in fairy bowers of ice, and looks upon the spanning bow from the interstices of a crystal forest. Far away along shore the dripping boughs wear silvery coats, and glisten in the January sun, like trees of glass. The eddies below whirl crashing fragments, that come over the sounding precipice, like atoms playing in the sunbeams; the foam plays round the ice-cakes, like whipt cream around transparent jellies; and the blue of the unfathomed depths gleams to the light, like a sky, relieving the sparkle of a starry "milky way."

Beyond this, streaming from bank to bank, like the gossamer web, which a dewy morning of June shows--stretching from grass-tip to grass-tip--the wire bridge spans the fretted chasm, and shakes, as summer webs shake, in the growing breath of a summer's day.

Nor is foliage wanting; for firs, green as those of Norway, lie black against the carpeting snows, and black against the light clouds that the spray drifts along the wintry sky. And from amid the iciness, and the clearness, and the silvered woods the roar raises its organ-notes, pealing through the ice-haunted boughs, and dying upon the stillness of winter!

But we are forgetting ourselves and our season. The violets are up and fragrant; the butter-cups are lying golden upon the hills, where we may not go; and the sweet haze of summer is stretching toward us from the country its alluring spell. Happy the man who can cast off the city dust, and loiter by pleasant streams with books of old rhyme, or with rod and angle! A murrain on those who laugh at such enjoyment as this; and who cluster their withered comforts, from year's end to year's end, within the close-pent alleys of our city!

And this mood of speech, into which the soft sun slanting upon our window has decoyed us easily, tempts us to lift a pleading voice, once more, for that park and wood, which seems to drift before our scheming lawgivers like a good thing--never to be caught. If only, when this Easy-Chair-writing were done, we could wear the hope of a stroll under trees, where country silence reigned, and where wayside flowers lifted their mild eyes, to wean us from the perplexities of toil, with what richer relish would we not pursue our task; and with what heartier prayer would we not thank God for our daily walk--as for our "daily bread!"

Look to it, you scheming rulers of our city, that you do not worry tender-heartedness into city hardness, and cramp, by your misplaced economy, the better instincts of our nature, into that careless and wiry spirit, which acts without love, and which works without feeling.

That charity which honors wealth can find no better play than in spreading before the eyes, and the weakened feet of the poor, those paths of greenness, which bless with Heaven's own refreshment.

* * * * *

Two arrivals of the spring are in people's mouths--Kossuth and Jenny Lind Goldschmidt.

KOSSUTH comes pleading with his old eloquence, not a whit diminished by the labors of his long journeyings, and even sharpened by the approaching farewell into a more plaintive earnestness. Reformers of every creed would do well to study, and emulate the sincerity and fervor with which he presses his claims. The same devotion, and the same tongue--tuned to such harmony as belongs to this extraordinary Hungarian, would carry triumphantly to their issues a hundred halting causes of philanthropy, and of Christian endeavor.

It is not our province to speak of the weight of the Hungarian claim, or to rebuke or foster the spirit which his ardor must enkindle. Only be it said--in our easy way--that whatever national action may be, as a government, national sympathy will lie largely on the side of such struggling nation; and the redemption of Hungary from Austrian bonds would be welcomed with such heartfelt greeting, as no other nation would bestow.

But, as we have hinted in our former careless _on dits_, sympathy is but a flimsy weapon to parry bayonet thrusts; and the destiny of suffering European nations lies more nearly (under Providence) in their own resolve, and steadfastness, and manly growth, than in the pleas of demagogues, or the contributed thousands of well-wishing Americans.

As for JENNY--(we write before her farewell song is sung)--she will have a grouping at her bridal concert, that may well add to her bridal joy. But we warn the fortunate bridegroom that he will meet critical and captious gazers; and that the world which has so long cherished his Jenny, as a bride of its own, will not give up its claim without a sparkling of jealousy. Let him wear his honor modestly, or he will kindle these sparkles into a blaze of burning rebuke.

Poor Jenny!--that she should have gone the way of all the world, is not a little saddening! That her angel habit of song and charity should not have lifted her forever into a sphere, above the weaknesses of human attachments, may point the moral of a ditty! The issue only shows how human are the best; and that life, however lorded over by triumphant souls, yet drags us down to the bonds of that frail mortality, which lives and thrives by propping on mortality as frail as we, and which in its best estate is strong--not alone of ourselves--but through the aids and sympathies of others!

* * * * *

As usual at this season, the talk of the town is running upon the prospective enjoyments of the summer. And it is not a little curious to note, how, as the means of communication multiply and extend, our summer rambles take in a wider and wider circumference.

Years ago, and a sight of those mountain glories, which in grim stateliness, and darkened shadows, frown upon the Hudson, was the limit of a summer jaunt. But now, even a trip beyond the Alleghenies is not a thing of moment; and there are families who plot a season's festivity upon the upper Mississippi.

Indeed, if beauty of scenery is the attracting cause, we know of no more glowing outline of shore and mountain than hems the summer traveler, over the Alleghenies and along the rich wooded banks of the Ohio. Western Pennsylvania, with its Juniata, and its heavy-forested mountains, has no rival in the world of silvan beauty. The heights are sharp, and bold; the torrents are foamy, and wreathed into combing waterfalls, that drip, to the eye, through bowers of green. You see below you tops of woods, and forests that seem bandlets of shrubbery, and great rivers that are ribbons of silver. You see around you climbing heights, in all the sullenness of undisturbed nature--rich with every tree that grows, and echoing the shrill sounds of wild birds, and catching, with four-fold echoes, the sharp whistle of your groaning and puffing engine. You run along the edge of cliffs, with a nearness and a speed that would shock you to fear, did not the amazing grandeur sublime all sense of danger, and hand over your admiring sense into the guardianship of that Providence which rears the mountains, and plumbs the depths.

And when the mountains are past, there is no low-lying fat Bedford level, to fatigue the eye; but the country is rounded into sweeping, irregular hillocks of green, whose sides are hoary with old wood, or verdant with the richest of springing grain crops. And in the bosoms of such hills, where the flow of water finds outlet, bright brooks silver the rounded mountains, and cover the earth into fragmentary lapses of meadow that tax the mower with the luxuriance of their grasses.

If the reader has ever loitered among the green hill-slopes of Northern Devonshire, he may form therefrom a just, though a miniature idea of those green billows of land, which drop the Allegheny heights to the borders of the Ohio.

And as for that far-western stream, which the French called, with a fitness of calling which we rarely cherish, _la belle rivière_--its banks are all a wonder, and its islands floating wonders. The time is not far away when the loiterers of the civilized world who have not drank in the beauties that hedge the Ohio banks, and mirror themselves in the placid Ohio water, will be behind their profession.

The Rhine and the Hudson have each their beauties; and so has Lake George, with its black mountain lying gaunt upon the water: but the Ohio, with its bordering hills, fat and fertile to their very summits--various in outline as are summer shadows--and with its rich drooping foliage, touching the water, and its islands seeming to float in the stillness--and its bordering towns of modest houses sprinkling the banks and dotting the alluvial edge, and all mirrored, as clearly as your face in your morning glass, upon the bright steel surface that shines through a thousand miles of country--is worthy of as honorable mention as any river that flows.

We see, in no very distant future, the time when Pittsburgh packets will show companies of pleasure-seekers, who will luxuriate in the picturesqueness of the Kentucky and Ohio shores, as they now luxuriate along the Hudson or the Rhine.

The time is coming, too--gliding now upon our clairvoyant vision, as we sit in our office solitude--when legends of early war, and Indian chieftain, and poor Blennerhasset, and border settlements, shall spring up under artist pen, and crown the graceful mountains, that swoop right and left from the Ohio voyager, with charming historic beauty.

* * * * *

We have forgotten thus far that foreign chit-chat which has usually fallen under our pen. Yet, with what spirit, can we speak of foreign gayety when the scheming tyrant of the day is forcing even festivity under the prick of his army bayonets, and winning willingness to his power, by debauching thought, and making joy drunk with lewdness?

The honest American is no way bound to keep temper with such action as assails the principles he holds most dear--least of all at the hands of a man who gains his force by no poor right of prescription or inheritance, but only by usurpation.

Belgium, they tell us, is full of runaways from the autocrat of the army; and a poor exiled gayety makes glad the hearts of thousands of refugees.

Among these, in this day of proscription, is the man of a hundred romances--Alexandre Dumas. Busy, as in the old time, he now gleans from the outcasts around him, the material for his versatile pen.

Madame Hugo, he tells us, has latterly contrived a scheme for the relief of the neediest of suffering exiles, which does equal honor to her heart and to her cleverness. It was nothing more than the sale of valuable autographs, which were furnished at the mere cost of a few pen-strokes by well-wishers to the scheme.

Dumas tells us that the collection was most rich, not consisting merely of simple names, but such bits of thought added, as seemed to belong to the occasion, and as gave value to the writing. It is, we believe, the first instance on record where the barbarous hunt for autographs has been turned to a profitable and charitable account.

We hope the hint will not be lost upon the benevolent intentioned of our own city; and when next some Hague-street catastrophe shall call for deeds of kindness, let those whose "handwriting" is worth a dime, contribute their mite to the hospitable fund.

Who would not bid high for some kind and sympathetic expression in the ink, and from the pen of Henry Clay? What up-town lady, spending her eagles for Peyser's crewels, would not willingly transmute a few of them for the purchase of some benevolent thought, set down in the ink-lines of an Irving or a Bryant? At least, the hint is worthy of consideration, and we dash it down for what it may count.

* * * * *

DUMAS always finds incident, let him go where he will; and it was to record something of the sort, that he has introduced his mention of Madame Hugo's autograph lottery. The assemblage, he says, was the gayest possible; the distinguished men of Belgium, of France, and of England, honored the occasion.

But, continues our romancer (and we only hope to catch an outline of his story), I was compelled to leave the charming scene at an early hour. The night was stormy, the streets wet, and the sky dismally dark. I congratulated myself on having secured a cabriolet--a thing, by-the-by, which I always do. Every cabman of Paris knows me; every cabman of Brussels _will_ know me shortly. (By way of parenthesis, we must interpolate the fear, that the cabmen may possibly know Dumas as a bad paymaster.)

Well, continues our veteran romancer, I made my way to my coach. At the moment a gentleman was claiming possession. I remonstrated. He represented that a young lady, his sister, had been promised attendance at a ball in the neighborhood. He desired the coach for her conveyance. None other was to be had. It was her first ball.

In short, says he, I was constrained to allow him the carriage, bargaining only that I should be set down at the Embassador's of ----.

The face of the young man struck me familiarly. I had seen him before. We compared notes. I had met him in Italy, and again in Algiers. He was involved in the affair of May, 1848. He was an earnest worthy young fellow of fortune. He was in high favor at the Revolution of 1848, and by singular good luck, saved his property from the great commercial wreck of that period. Afterward he lost ground was subject to constant espionage--was driven from the country, and on his return was imprisoned.

He had no relatives in the world, save only this younger sister. One day, as he mused despondingly in his casemate, he was told that a lady desired to speak with him. It was his sister. She had learned of his imprisonment, and desired to share his solitude. Her request was granted.

After some months he was offered freedom, provided he should quit France with his sister forever. He accepted the conditions, and emaciated, impoverished, despairing, he repaired to Brussels. A few friends contributed to his support. His sister, a most estimable young girl, had won her way, by her attractions, no less than by her many virtues.

It was at this epoch I met him; he confided his griefs to me. I gave him what encouragement I could.

A week after I met him again; his face was glowing with satisfaction. He put in my hands a letter from a distinguished gentleman of the country, of large fortune and of high character. It ran thus:

"Sir--I have seen and love your sister, and have the honor to ask your assent to my continued and serious attentions, Yours, &c.

"And your sister?" said I.

"Is as happy as I."

Fortune comes in a flood, continues Dumas, for the next day my young friend found an advantageous place, with fifteen thousand francs a year.

The story shows how French fortunes are the matter of the hour; it shows how marriage is a thing of French anxiety, and of commercial importance; it shows how fate plays pranks with French mortality, and it shows how Dumas can twist a story out of trifles, and weave a tender romance from a quarrel at a cab-stand!

And here we bid Dumas, and French trifles, and Ohio scenery, and the bursting season of new-come summer, our monthly adieu!

AN OLD GENTLEMAN'S LETTER.

"THE BRIDE OF LANDECK."

Indeed, my dear sir, I can not write any thing worth reading. You are very kind--very flattering, when you would persuade me that, at the end of a long life, I can amuse the public, through the pages of your New Monthly Magazine, preoccupied as the great literary stage is with writers of reputation. If I attempt a tale, there are Bulwer, and James, and Dickens, and Hawthorne. If I write a History, there is Macaulay; if an essay, there is Legion. However, I will do my best, and tell you the story of "The Bride of Landeck," that you may make the experiment. Only remember it is none of my seeking. I am like, in one respect, the great statesman of whom my friend, Judge R----, in the character of a cockney, wrote:

"He never sought for no prefarment, Instead of that, He turned a rat, To prove that he died varmint."

The great difficulty with an inexperienced person is where to begin--whether, with Horace, in the middle--with Count Antoine Hamilton, at the beginning--or, with the late Lord Stowell, at the end? The latter gentleman, by the way, was one of the most extraordinary men I ever met with--full of something more than talent--of genius of the highest order, and, to my mind, far superior in intellect to his more celebrated brother, the Earl of Eldon. His judgments are more elaborately beautiful and eloquent than any that I know, and when interested in a subject, his language was rich, flowing, and easy, beyond that of any man I ever heard speak. Yet I remember his telling me once, that he would rather deliver a judgment, which occupied three whole days--such as that in the Iron Coffin case--than speak five sentences to return thanks for his health being drank after dinner. I will go on with my tale in a moment; but one point in Sir William Scott's (Lord Stowell's) character is interesting. With all his vast erudition and powers of intellect, he was in some respects as simple as a child, and had an uncontrollable passion for curious sights. I remember quite well, when I was in London, more than thirty years ago, walking down the Strand, and seeing the carriage of Lord Stowell, then Sir William Scott, dashing rapidly up toward Charing Cross. I bowed to him, and, on perceiving me, he stretched out his hand, and pulled what is called the check-string, vehemently, as an indication for his coachman to stop. The man pulled up, and he beckoned to me eagerly, as if he had something of the utmost importance to communicate. I went up at once to the window, when to my surprise and disappointment, I must acknowledge, he inquired, "Have you seen the Bonassus?"--"No!"--"See him--see him! He is right in your way by Exeter Change. A very curious fellow, a very curious fellow indeed!"

Some years afterward, it so happened, his papers were placed in my hands for examination. In the top of each of the multitudinous tin cases which contained them, was written an injunction in his own hand, to take no copies of any of the documents within. I do not, however, think it any violation of his injunction, to show how far back this passion for any thing that is curious or extraordinary could be traced. Among other papers was the memorandum-book of his expenses, when studying at Oxford, and two of the items were curious. One was, "Paid one shilling to see Mr. ---- conjure" (I forget the man's name). Then followed the observation, "Very marvelous indeed!" Some way down on the succeeding page was written, "Paid one guinea to Mr. ---- for teaching me to conjure."

He conjured, indeed, to some purpose; for he left a very large fortune; and that brings to my mind an anecdote regarding his brother John, which may have been told over and over again, for aught I know; but I myself had it from a near relation of both brothers. While John Scott, Lord Eldon, was Chancellor, his brother, Lord Stowell, proposed to purchase an estate with some one or two hundred thousand pounds which he had saved. Some delay occurred in perfecting the title, and Lord Stowell, uneasy at having so large a sum in the house, was hurrying to deposit it with a banker of good reputation, when he was met in the street by his brother, who asked him to come into his chambers and breakfast with him. The great civilian declined, telling his errand, and alleging the importance of disencumbering his person of the large amount he carried about him. The Chancellor persisted, and almost dragged his brother into his chambers by main force. He then argued with the other most vehemently upon the imprudence of trusting his whole fortune to any private banking-house, urging him to lodge the sum in the Bank of England. Lord Stowell was obstinate, and the dispute lasted till ten o'clock, when some papers were brought in for the Chancellor's signature. He took a pen and wrote his name, and then, for the first time, informed his brother that the house with whom he had been about to trust his money was bankrupt. He had that moment signed the fiat.

I must not quit the subject of the memorandum-book, however, without mentioning that it contained many a proof of kindness of heart and generosity of character, which showed that Lord Stowell possessed other, and perhaps higher qualities than those which recommended him to high station, or led him to wealth.

Among many interesting papers which those tin cases contained, were various records of his life at the University of Oxford; and one packet I especially noticed, containing his lectures, famous at the time, but never printed, upon the civil polity of the Athenians. His situation in life when he matriculated at the University, was not very brilliant, and the early history both of himself and his brother was rendered the more obscure by a curious mistake. His name, I was told by his daughter, appears upon the books of the College, as the son of a fiddler, which he certainly was not. She explained the error thus: When he arrived at Oxford, William Scott spoke with a somewhat strong Northumbrian accent, and after having given his own name, and that of his father, was asked what his father's occupation was, to which he replied, "Oh, just a Fitter." The recording angel of the University had no conception of what a Fitter was; and between his own want of knowledge, and the young man's indistinctness of speech, wrote the word "Fiddler" after the father's name. Now, a Fitter, in Northumbrian parlance, means a sort of intermediate merchant, or middle-man, between the owner of a coal mine and the shipper of the coals.

It is well known that Sir William Scott was for many years greatly neglected by government, and his abilities even underrated by men very much inferior to himself. The cause of this was probably his reluctance to mingle much in political affairs, and the absence of political position. A well known pun of the celebrated Jekyll, having reference to Lord Stowell, loses half its point as it is usually told. The real circumstances were these. On the very day that saw Sir William Scott created Lord Stowell, after long years of arduous services, he was invited to dine with a lady who had a house in Hamilton Place, London, and a house also at Richmond. When the note of invitation was written, the family were at Richmond, and Sir William did not remark, or did not remember, amidst the hurry of events and of honors conferred upon him, that the place appointed for the dinner, was London. He was usually exceedingly punctual, often before his time; and he drove down to Richmond so as to arrive there a few minutes before the dinner hour. To his surprise, he found the family had removed to Hamilton Place, but good-humoredly observing, "I dare say, I shall be in time, after all," he drove back with all speed to London. The whole party had waited for him, and some jesting observations had passed in regard to his giving himself airs upon his new title, though nobody really believed such a thing for a moment.

"Say something smart to him, Mr. Jekyll," said the lady of the house, as soon as the doors were thrown open to give Lord Stowell admission; and Jekyll instantly advancing, took his friend by the hand, exclaiming, "I am glad to see the late

Sir William Scott {appear} at last." {a peer}

I have been told, but upon no very good authority, that Lord Stowell used to account for the difference between his own rapid and unhesitating decision of cases brought before him, and his brother's slow and doubtful habits, by saying, "I try to see every side of a question at once; John likes to look at them all in turn--and then to begin again."

Even after his death, some men, themselves of considerable abilities, were inclined, without denying his merit, to place him, I think mistakenly, far below his brother. I remember once at the house of the late Sir Robert Peel, conversing with that gentleman on the characters of the two brothers, as we stood before their pictures. He differed greatly in his views from myself, and expressed his opinion of the superiority of Lord Eldon in a very decisive, perhaps, I might say, somewhat dogmatical manner. My own views, however, were afterward approved and confirmed by a greater man than any of the three. I had the good fortune, however, to agree with Sir Robert upon the merits of pictures better than upon the merits of men. After looking at the pictures of Eldon and Stowell, we turned to the full length portrait of Canning, by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and he asked me what I thought of it--mark, of the picture, not of the statesman. It represents Canning with the right arm raised, declaiming violently.

"I do not like it," I said.

"Nor I either," replied Peel.

"He looks like an actor," I added.

I shall never forget the tone in which he answered. "And so he does." There was a cutting bitterness in it which seemed to imply more than he thought fit to utter.

I have remarked through life that all men of cold and unimpassioned natures, imagine that those who show any touch of enthusiasm, are acting; yet every man has enthusiasm of some kind, and though but very slightly acquainted with Sir Robert Peel, one of the least impassioned men that ever lived, I have remarked him display, when speaking on subjects of art, a spark of that light divine, which, to be really serviceable to man, should be merely as a lamp in the hand of Reason.

I am truly ashamed to find how far I have wandered from the point. I intended to write of quite different matters, and have been led into a number of collateral anecdotes by merely having mentioned Lord Stowell's name, in order to show the difficulty of choosing among the different ways, of beginning either to write, or read a story. I believe I did not even finish my illustration; so let me say, before I proceed farther, that the noble Judge, I have alluded to, was accustomed always to begin a romance at the end; justifying it on legal grounds. He seemed to consider an author as an offender; and said that, as it was absolutely necessary act should be committed, before a man could be tried for it, the only way of arriving at truth, was, to begin at the catastrophe, and trace it back to its causes. There was a quiet, pleasant smile upon his face when he assigned this motive for his way of reading a book of interest, which indicated a good-humored jest at himself and at the public. But there can be no doubt that he always liked to begin a romance at the latter end. I find myself now at the close of my sheet, and therefore must put off to another occasion, the extraordinary story I set out to tell you, of "The Bride of Landeck." I dare say, I can finish it in one letter, if my mind can ever be brought to pursue one straightforward course, without being called off into collateral paths. But the proverbial garrulity of old age would not be half so bad without its discursiveness. The child hunts every butterfly, and turns aside to catch every wild flower; the second child pursues the butterflies, and culls the weeds of the mind. I recollect being in company for an hour with Coleridge, a few years before his death, and in that short period, he discoursed upon seven-and-thirty different subjects. But, on my life, I am beginning to tell you another anecdote; and yet I have only space to say,

I am yours truly,

P.

P.S. I will send you the story of "The Bride of Landeck," in my next. It will not occupy more than ten lines; but it is wonderfully interesting. I remember once--. But I can not begin another sheet, so good-by.

Editor's Drawer.

Some years ago an English wag thus quizzed the style of Legal Examinations. The questions, it must be understood, open with "leading" or "introductory" queries, and then go on to "bankruptcy."

_Question._--"Have you attended any, and, if any, what Law Lectures?"

_Answer._--"I have attended to many legal lectures, where I have been admonished by police-magistrates for kicking up rows in the streets, pulling off handles of door-bells, knockers, &c."

COMMON LAW.

_Question._--"What is a real action?"

_Answer._--"An action brought in earnest, and not by way of a joke."

_Question._--"What are original writs?"

_Answer._--"Pot-hooks, hangers, and trammels."

EQUITY AND CONVEYANCING.

_Question._--"What are a Bill and Answer?"

_Answer._--"Ask my tailor."

_Question._--"How would you file a Bill?"

_Answer._--"I don't know; but I would lay a case before a blacksmith."

_Question._--"What steps would you take to dissolve an injunction?"

_Answer._--"I should put it into some very hot water, and let it remain there until it had melted."

_Question._--"What are post-nuptial articles?"

_Answer._--"Children."

CRIMINAL LAW AND BANKRUPTCY.

_Question._--"What is Simple Larceny?"

_Answer._--"Picking a pocket of a handkerchief, and leaving a purse of money behind."

_Question._--"What is Grand Larceny?"

_Answer._--"The Income Tax."

_Question._--"How would you proceed to make a man a bankrupt?"

_Answer._--"Induce him to take one of the theatres."

_Question._--"How is the property of a bankrupt disposed of?"

_Answer._--"The solicitors and other legal functionaries divide it among themselves!"

There is not only a good deal of humor, but some salutary satire in this burlesque examination. Many a victim can testify, for example, to the truth of the last answer. After all he was not so far wrong who said, that "LAW was like a magical stream; once wet your foot in it, and you must needs walk on, until you are overwhelmed in the endless stormy waters."

* * * * *

The history of BEAU BRUMMELL is a fruitful one. There can hardly be a better lesson taught of the consequences of a _useless life_, than is taught by his brilliant yet melancholy career. His impudence was inimitable--it was appalling. His sayings were delivered in a way that was so deliberate, so imperturbably cool, that no person could do justice to it. And yet people of the first class, nobles of the realm, nay, royalty itself, "put up" with his sarcastic says, his impudent comments, without either retort or remonstrance. Here are a couple of specimens of his impudence, recorded by one who knew him well:

"Dining one day at a gentleman's house in Hampshire, where the Champagne was far from being good, he waited for a pause in the conversation, and then condemned it by raising his glass, and saying, in a voice loud enough to be heard by every one at the table:

"'John, bring me some more of that wild cider.'

"'Brummell,' said one of his club friends, on one occasion, 'you were not here yesterday; where did you dine?

"'Dine!' he replied; 'why, with a person of the name of R----. I believe he wishes me to notice him; hence the dinner: but to give the devil his due he desired that I would make up the party myself, so I asked A----, M----, P----, and a few others, and I assure you, the affair turned off quite uniquely. There was every delicacy in or out of season. The Sillery was perfect; and not a wish remained ungratified. But my dear fellow,' continued Brummell, musing, 'conceive my astonishment, when I tell you that R---- _himself_ had the assurance to sit down and dine with us!'"

The nonchalance, the total indifference which he could at any time assume, is well illustrated in the following anecdote:

"An acquaintance having, in a morning call, bored him dreadfully about some tour he had made in the north of England, inquired with great pertinacity of his impatient listener, which of the lakes he preferred?

"Brummell, quite tired of the man's tedious raptures, turned his head imploringly toward his valet, who was arranging something in the room, and said,

"'Robinson!'

"'Sir."

"'Which of the lakes do I admire?'

"'Windermere, sir,' replied that distinguished individual.

"'Ah, yes--Windermere,' replied Brummell; so it is--yes; Windermere!'"

An anecdote of him which is somewhat more familiar, but which possesses the same characteristics with the above, is one which represents him as saying, in reply to the remark of a lady, who, observing that at a dinner where they met, the great beau took no vegetables, asked him whether such was his general habit, and if he _never_ ate any.

"Yes, my dear madam," he replied, "I once ate _a pea_!"

But the best thing told of Brummell, in this kind, is one which does not appear in Captain Jesse's "Life" of him, nor, to our knowledge, has it appeared in print. But it is undoubtedly authentic. It runs in this wise.

Being one day seated at one of the tables of his favorite club-house, near the fire-place, he was enjoying the perusal of the _Times_ newspaper, when a stout, burly member entered, and walking up to the fire-place, turned his back to the grateful warmth, parted his coat-tails, and stood before the beau in the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes. Presently he began to sneeze. Brummell looked up imploringly and with a gesture indicating great annoyance, removed a little further off.

Scarcely had he taken his new seat, before another burst of sneezing, louder than before, startled him from his temporary repose. He was looking reproachfully, but "more in sorrow than in anger," when a third explosion of sternutation, "mist" from the effects of which reached to where he sat, brought him to his feet: "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed; "we can't stand this! Waiter, it is raining! Bring us an umbrella!"

But this man, who was the very pattern in manners and dress of his time, who could even bully and satirize princes of the royal line with impunity, this example of an aimless life, met with a sad fate at last. His dissolute habits and enormous debts compelled him to flee from England, in the night, to a small town on the French coast, where, after being appointed, for a time, to the indifferent British consulate, he became again involved, by reason of his expensive habits and over-delicate tastes, and was at last confined in prison for debt. Just before he was incarcerated, the following anecdote is related of him:

"While promenading one day on the pier, an old associate of his, who had just arrived by the packet from England, met him unexpectedly in the street, and cordially shaking hands with him, said:

"'My dear Brummell, I am delighted to see you! Do you know we thought in London that you were dead! The report, I assure you, was in very general circulation when I left.'

"'Mere _stock-jobbing_, mere stock-jobbing!' was the beau's reply."

Stock-jobbing on such a profitless subject as a decayed, penniless dandy! The farce of brazen impudence and assurance could no farther go.

Not long after this, Brummell became partially insane; and the great inventor of STARCH was last seen shrieking from between his prison bars in the asylum, complaining that the pigeon given him for his dinner was "a skeleton;" that his mutton chops were "not larger than a penny-piece;" that his biscuits were "like a bad half-penny;" that he had "but six potatoes;" and that the cherries sent for his dessert were "positively unripe."

And so he continued to the very last. He had a horror of sealing his insane notes with a wafer; he babbled of primrose-colored gloves, eau-de-Cologne, and oil for his wigs, and patent-blacking for his boots.

But at last he died. Some charitable Englishman tried to get him into a private asylum, but no such institution would receive him. This good Samaritan was obliged to pay a person to be with him night and day; but still he, the refined, the _recherché_ Beau Brummell, the "glass of fashion and the mould of form," the "observed of all observers," the companion and pet of royalty and the nobility, could not even be kept clean. He drew his last breath upon a straw mattress, rising occasionally from his humble pallet to welcome an imaginary prince, or noble earl, or stately duchess, to his wretched apartment, with no diminution of his mocking grace and studied courtesy of manner. Dandled, dreaded, deserted, doomed, demented, dying dandy!

* * * * *

"Many men of many minds," is a proverb somewhat musty, as many a youngster learning to write can bear witness; and for and against the "use of the weed" it is perhaps more applicable than to any one thing else. Many a reader of the "Drawer" will take a high-flavored Havana between his lips, press and draw it satisfactorily, while he peruses the following--while many a staid matron and careful housekeeper will regard the lines with great favor; bearing in mind all the time the smell of tobacco-smoke in the curtains, and in the clothes of their husbands, or their husbands' friends. But whether for or against, read

THE DISGUSTED WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.

"You promised to leave off your smoking, The day I consented to wed; How little I thought you were joking, How fondly believed what you said! Then alas! how completely you sold me, With blandishments artful and vain; When you emptied your snuff-box, and told me You never would fill it again!

"Those fumes so oppressive from puffing, Say, what is the solace that flows? And whence the enjoyment of stuffing A parcel of dust in your nose? By the habits you thus are pursuing, There _can_ be no pleasure conferred, How irrational, then, is so doing-- Now, _isn't_ it very absurd?

"Cigars come to threepence each, nearly, And sixpence an ounce is your snuff; Consider how much, then, you yearly Must waste on that horrible stuff! Why the sums in tobacco you spend, love, The wealth in your snuff-box you sink, Would procure me of dresses no end, love, And keep me in gloves--only think!

"What's worse, for your person I tremble-- 'Tis going as fast as it can; Oh! how should you like to resemble A smoky and snuffy old man? Then resign, at the call of affection, The habits I can not endure; Or you'll spoil both your nose and complexion, And ruin your teeth, I am sure!"

Whatever may be said of smoking, it must be admitted to have been the cause of much pleasant writing; nor has it failed to be turned to profitable instruction in verse; as witness the lines on a pipe:

"The pipe that is so lily white, In which so many take delight, 'Tis broke by the touch, Man's life is but such-- Think of this when you're smoking tobacco!"

How admirably was this verse sung by the poor soldier in "St. Patrick's Eve," when he supposes he is smoking his last pipe!

* * * * *

There was an amusing account given some twenty years ago in an English periodical, of a footman to a gentleman in a provincial town (which was crowded with strangers on some week of rejoicing, or of some convention or other), being sent, as a favor, to cut the hair of a friend of his master's, who had "put up" at a neighboring inn. He had tried to shave a person once before, on an emergency, and cut his own thumb half-off through his cheek. His experience in hair-cutting was not much more fortunate; but let him tell his own story:

"The first sight of my new 'patient' set my nerves dancing in all directions. He was a large, tall, brawny, red-hot Irishman, with a head of hair bright orange, and curly as the wool of a negro.

"'Cut my hair!' he said, in a voice like the grating of wagon-wheels; 'and, you spalpeen, be handy wid ye, for it's these twenty-four hours that I'm after waiting for ye.'

"The stranger's hair was stiff as wire; of an inveterate tight round curl; and bushy to absolute frightfulness from excess of luxuriant growth. He had started from London with it rather too long; worn it uncombed on a three months' journey through Wales; and was waiting until he could arrive at some town where he could have it cut in the fashion.

"'_Cut my hair!_ I say, you devil's baby!' said the rollicking, roystering Irishman, imbibing at the same time a large draught from a tumbler of brandy-and-water, which he was consuming while he dressed, and recommencing, in a horrible voice, to sing 'The Lads of Shillelagh,' a measure which my entrance had for a moment interrupted.

"I obeyed, but with a trembling hand. The very first sight of his head had discomposed all my faculties. I plunged into the operation of adjusting it as into a voyage over sea, without rudder or compass. I cut a bit here and a bit there, taking off very little at a time, for fear of losing my way; but the detestable round curl, rolling itself up at the very moment I let go the end, defeated every hope, every chance of regularity.

"'_Thin the rest!_' blasphemed the sufferer, 'for I'll not wait. Thin, it, and _leave_ it.'

"This command put the finishing stroke to my perplexity. 'Thinning' was a process entirely beyond my skill; but a fresh execration, interrupting, 'The Lads of Shillelagh,' left me no longer any power of thought. I had seen the business of 'thinning' performed, although I did not at all comprehend it. I knew that the scissors were to be run through the hair from one side to another with a sort of snip--snip--snip, all the way, so I dashed on; snip--snip--snip--through the close, round, red curls, quite surprised at my own dexterity, for about a minute and a half; and then, taking up my comb, to collect the proceeds of the operation, more than three-fourths of the man's hair came off in my hands!

"What followed I have never exactly been clear in remembering. I think my victim must have felt the sudden chill occasioned by the departure of the thick-set hedge that constituted his head-gear. At all events, he put his hand to his head, and motioned as if he 'did address himself to rise.' I made a rush for the door, muttering something about being obliged to 'go for the heating-irons;' but as I turned round for a parting glance 'at that misguided man,' I saw _discovery_ in his eye. Indeed, I see him in my mind's eye even now, with a countenance more in amazement than in anger, standing paralyzed, beside the chair upon, which he had been sitting, and rubbing his head with the left hand, as if doubting whether his right hand had not misinformed him; but at the moment when the thing occurred, I thought only of escape."

That extempore friseur was never caught afterward with a pair of "thinning-scissors" in his hand!

* * * * *

As we are nigh upon the season of immature fruits, it may not be amiss to give, as a "solemn warning," the following touching

SONNET

ON A YOUTH WHO DIED OF EXCESSIVE FRUIT-PIE.

Currants have checked the current of my blood, And berries brought me to be buried here; Pears have pared off my body's hardihood, And plums and plumbers spare not one so spare. Fain would I feign my fall; so fair a fare Lessens not fate, but 'tis a lesson good: Gilt will not long hide guilt; such thin-washed ware Wears quickly, and its rude touch soon is rued. Grave on my grave some sentence grave and terse, That lies not, as it lies upon my clay; But in a gentle strain of unstrained verse, Prays all to pity a poor patty's prey; Rehearses I was fruit-full to my hearse, Tells that my days are told, and soon I'm toll'd away!

It will make any "Christian" laugh to read the account which follows, of the manner in which Eastern superstition was, on one occasion, overcome by a stubborn, matter-of-fact clockmaker, who was employed to repair the great clock in the tower of the Mosque at Tangier. He was from Genoa, and a Christian. How could the faithful followers of the Prophet manage to employ him? The clock was fixed in the wall of the tower, and it was of course a thing impossible to allow the "Kaffer" to defile GOD'S house of prayer by his sacrilegious steps. One proposed to abandon the clock altogether; another suggested the laying down of boards, over which the infidel might pass, without touching the sacred floor; but this was not held to be a sufficient safeguard; and it was finally decided to pull up that part of the pavement on which the "Kaffer" trod, and whitewash the walls over which he passed.

The Christian was now sent for, and was told what was required of him; and he was expressly commanded to take off his shoes and stockings, on entering the mosque.

"I shan't do it!" said the stout little watch-maker; "I never take them off when I enter the chapel of the most Holy Virgin, and I won't take them off in the house of your Prophet!"

They cursed in their hearts the watch-maker and all his race, and were in a state of vast perplexity. The "wise men" had met early in the morning: it was already noon, and yet, so far from having got over their difficulty, they were, in fact, exactly where they had been before breakfast; when a gray-haired muezzin, or priest, who had hitherto been silent, claimed permission to speak:

"If," said the venerable priest, "the mosque be out of repair, and lime and bricks have to be conveyed into the interior, for the use of the masons, do not asses carry those loads, and do they not enter with their shoes on?"

"You speak truly," was the general reply.

"And does the donkey," resumed the muezzin, "believe in the One GOD, or in Mohammed, the Prophet of GOD?"

"No, in truth--no," all replied.

"Then," said the muezzin, "_let the Christian go in shod, as a donkey would do, and come out as a donkey!_"

The argument of the muezzin was unanimously applauded. In the character of a donkey, therefore, did the Christian enter the great Mohammedan temple!

* * * * *

That was a capital burlesque which appeared in "Punch," about the time that Prince de Joinville bombarded Algiers, in the shape of a letter from a French soldier to his mother in Paris. It is brim full of good puns:

"Your kind letter, strange to say, found me alive. You ask me to send you an account of our Model Farm. The farm is surrounded by a stockade, and we mount not less than fifty forty-two pounders. These are constantly double-loaded with grape of the very best vintage. Thus our guns bear upon our fields, if nothing else does. Indeed, every thing about us may be said to be shooting, except the crops. Still, I do not despair. Two months ago we plowed two hundred Arabs into a field of four acres, and now find that they are coming up very nicely in turnips. The agricultural glory there is rotting like bone-dust.

"It is amazing to see how glory blesses us in this country. We feed the Gallic cock upon small-shot; and, strange to say, the hens lay nothing but bullets. Indeed, such is the violence of the Arabs, that we are compelled to stand to our guns at milking-time and feed the pigs with fixed bayonets. We are, however, exercising the milk-maids in platoon-firing, and trust they are quite able to take the field with the cows, now that the guns, which they are to carry, have been provided us.

"We yesterday held a court-martial on the sentinel who mounted guard at the ducks' house; a party of the enemy having scaled the wall at night, and carried off our only brood of ducklings. The drake and duck were found with their throats cut! Were there ever such barbarous villains as these Arabs? The sentinel was shot at six this morning, with all the honors. Although the villains stole our ducks, they fortunately missed the onions: I say fortunately, for they might have found at least a rope apiece.

"We are, however, preparing for a grand operation. We have deposited an immense quantity of gunpowder under the dunghill. We purpose to appear off our guard--shall suffer the enemy to scale our stockade, plant their banners on our dunghill, and then--as they think, in the moment of victory--blow them to atoms! Thus may true glory be obtained, like mushrooms, even from a dunghill!

"You will, from the above, judge of the delightful employment of cultivating beet-root and laurels in the same field.

"But I am called away. Our shepherd has returned without his nose and ears. Our two sheep are carried off! We hasten to make a _sortie_, to avenge the honor of outraged France! '_Vive la France!_'"

* * * * *

They are building a railroad in Egypt; and late accounts from Alexandria tell us that nine or ten thousand workmen are actively engaged upon it. Think of that! Crossing the desert after a locomotive! Good-by to camels and dromedaries! Farewell to tents beneath the spacious blue firmament overhead! A "long farewell" to Arab guides and Arab extortions! Railroads and steamboats will yet thread through Palestine, and paddle the sluggish waters of the Dead Sea! Now look for trade in "pots and pearls," made from the "ash-apples" on "the Dead Sea's shore." Sing the following, on the twenty-sixth page, "irregular metre." Air: "Go ahead!"

Over the billows and over the brine, Over the water to Palestine! Am I awake, or do I dream? Over the ocean to Syria by steam! My say is sooth, by this right hand, A steamer brave Is on the wave, Bound positively for the Holy Land! Godfrey of Boulogne and thou Richard, Lion-hearted King, Candidly inform us now, Did you ever No, you never Could have fancied such a thing. Never such vociferations Entered your imaginations As the ensuing: ----"Ease her! stop her!" "Any gentleman for Joppa?" "'Mascus, 'Mascus?" "Ticket, please, sir;" "Tyre or Sidon?" "Stop her! ease her!" "Jerusalem, 'lem, 'lem!"--"Shur! Shur!" "Do you go on to Egypt, sir?" "Captain, is this the land of Pharaoh?" "Now look alive there! Who's for Cairo!" "Back her! stand clear, I say, old file!" "What gent or lady's for the Nile? Or Pyramids?" "Thebes, Thebes, sir, steady!" "Now. Where's that party for Engeddi?" Pilgrims, holy Red-Cross knights, Had you e'er the least idea, Even in your wildest flights, Of a steam-trip to Judea? What next marvel Time will show, It is difficult to say: "Omnibus to Jericho, Only sixpence all the way?" Cabs in Jerusalem may ply: 'Tis not an unlikely tale; And from Dan the tourist hie Unto Beersheba by rail.

* * * * *

A distinguished traveler mentions that in some instances in China, the "outside barbarians," are sometimes looked upon as gods, and at others as devils; and he mentions an absurd and very amusing story which goes to show the fear with which strangers are looked upon by this superstitious race:

"After my friend had visited the Porcelain Tower, being somewhat fatigued, he stepped into a barber's shop, and by way of employing his time, he desired the barber to shave his head. The gentleman wore a wig, but which, for the sake of coolness, he had placed in his pocket. This operation of shaving, so common in China, was speedily and skillfully executed, the barber seeming to be delighted with the honor of shaving one of the illustrious strangers. Previously to his leaving the shop, and while the man's attention was called in some other direction, my friend replaced his wig upon his head, little thinking of the result of his simple process. No sooner, however, had the barber turned round, and observed him whom he had so lately cleaned of every vestige of hair, suddenly covered with a most luxuriant growth, than taking one steady gaze at him. To make sure that he was not deceived, he let fall the razor, cleared his counter at a bound, and running madly through the crowd which was speedily collected, cried out that he was visited by the devil!

"No entreaties could induce him to return, until every 'outside barbarian' had left the neighborhood; so palpable a miracle as this being, in his opinion, quite beyond the powers of all the gods and demons in the Buddhist calendar!"

* * * * *

Here are a few "_Hints on Popping the Question_," which may be commended to the bashful, the hesitating, and the ignorant, as well as to the "instruction" of the lady-readers of "The Drawer:"

"If you call on the 'loved one,' and observe that she blushes as you approach, give her hand a gentle squeeze, and if she returns it, 'all right.' 'Get the parents out of the room; sit down on the sofa beside the most adorable of her sex,' and talk of the 'joys of wedded life.' If she appears pleased, rise, seem excited, and at once ask her to say the important, the life-or-death-deciding, the suicide-or-happiness-settling question. If she pulls out her cambric, be sure you are accepted. Call her 'My darling Fanny,' and 'my own dear creature,' and this completes the scene. Ask her to name the blessed day, and fancy yourself already in Paradise.

"A good plan is, to call on the 'object of your affections' in the forenoon; propose a walk; mamma consents, in the hope you will declare your intentions. Wander through the green fields; talk of 'love in a cottage,' 'requited attachment,' and 'rural felicity.' If a child happens to pass, of course intimate your fondness for the 'dear little creatures': this will be a splendid hit. If the coast is clear down you must fall on your knee, right or left, for there is no rule as to this, and swear never to rise till she agrees to take you 'for better or for worse.' If, however, the grass is wet, and you have white pantaloons on, or if your trowsers are tightly made, of course you must pursue another plan: say, vow, you will blow your brains out, or swallow arsenic, or drown yourself, if she won't say yes.

"If you are at a ball, and your charmer is there, captivating all around her, get her into a corner, and 'pop the question.' Some delay until after supper, but 'Delays are dangerous'--Round-hand copy.

"A young lady's 'tears,' when accepting you, mean only, 'I am too happy to speak.' The dumb-show of staring into each other's faces, squeezing fingers, and sighing, originated, we have reason to believe, with the ancient Romans. It is much practiced nowadays, as saving breath, and being much more lover-like than talking."

CONTRIBUTIONS TO OUR DRAWER.

Our city readers will doubtless recollect the public exhibition, at Niblo's Garden, a few years since, of a magnificent specimen of the American Century Plant in full bloom.

A certain worthy citizen, of considerable social distinction, but not remarkably famous for clearness or strength of intellectual vision, happened to be one morning at the period in question, describing to a fellow passenger in an omnibus "downward bound" the marvelous production of nature, which he had just been visiting. The description, although more immediately addressed to his companion, was (omnibus orators are not uncommon) leveled at the ten additional sixpences whom fate had thrown together in the same vehicle. Among the most earnest listeners, was a meek little man, who ventured, at the conclusion of our friend's account, to inquire mildly, "if the plant belonged to the family of the cactuses?"

"Not at all," replied the dignified narrator, with evident compassion for the ignorance of the questioner, "it belongs to the family of the Van Renssellaers!"

* * * * *

Shortly after the French Revolution of 1848, at a diplomatic party in London, the conversation happened to turn upon the extraordinary inconsistencies of Lamartine's political career, and more particularly upon the singularity of the conservative position he then occupied, when contrasted with his revolutionary activity a short time before.

"How does it strike you, Lady M----?" inquired in French an attaché from one of the continental courts, of a lady not less known as a literary celebrity, than as a witty conversationalist.

"Monsieur," she replied, without a moment's hesitation, "_il me fait l'effet d'un incendiaire devenu pompier_"--"Sir, he reminds me of an incendiary turned fireman."

* * * * *

Speaking of Lamartine, reminds us of a bitter taunt of M. Guizot's addressed to that gentleman some years before the last overthrow of the monarchy. It is well known that Lamartine entered public life as a stanch conservative, and gradually became almost an ultra-radical, changing, step by step, his seat in the Chamber of Deputies, from the extreme right to the extreme left. It is equally well known that many years ago, he made a sort of princely pilgrimage through certain sections of the East, and published an account of his travels, the statements in which are reputed to be more or less apocryphal.

Upon the occasion to which we allude, M. Guizot in reply to a violent attack upon the government by the poetical orator, addressed him ironically as "_l'illustre voyageur_," _the illustrious traveler_, a title indifferently applicable to his adversary's Oriental wanderings, or to his more limited Bedouinism within the four walls of the hall of legislation.

* * * * *

We should be unwilling to particularize how long since, but at a time when we were considerably more verdant than at present, we happened to be traveling in Ireland, that land whence so many travelers come, but to which so few go. Having one day an invitation to dine with a gentleman who lived a few miles from one of the second-rate towns, we engaged a nondescript vehicle and an equally nondescript driver, to take us to the residence of our friend. Paddy, with an independence as decided as if it had been nurtured under the stars and stripes, continued for a good part of the journey smoking villainous tobacco through a blackened pipe-stump, occasionally relieving his feelings by howling out some catch of a native melody _not_ idealized by Moore. To us he did not condescend to address any conversation whatsoever, until suddenly at a turn of the road we found ourselves passing a grave-yard, _i.e. Anglice_, church-yard, thickly studded with monuments.

Jehu, turning toward us, rather startled us by the statement that "only the blind were buried in that spot." Noticing a fine mansion a short distance beyond, on the same side of the road, we modestly suggested that probably the imposing building before us was an institution for the blind.

"Not at all, yer honor," answered Paddy.

"But how then does it happen," we replied, "that this burying-ground is exclusively for the blind?"

"Why, d'ye see, yer honor," quickly answered the malicious Milesian (we were a nice young man then, and thought all jokes at our expense malicious), "we're not in the habit in Ireland of burying people _until they can no longer see_!"

We had no pipe of our own, not even a stump--so that we could not, if requested, have put _that_ into it and smoked it.

* * * * *

Some time last summer, a gentleman of Massachusetts, who takes great interest in the subject of public instruction, and who, if we mistake not, has some official connection with the public schools of that State, visited, with an English friend, the Shaker settlement at New Lebanon. The worthy fraternity have a school of their own, which during the summer months is open for girls only, the boys taking their turn in the winter. Strangers are courteously permitted to visit the establishment, and to examine the scholars. Our two excursionists accordingly made the school the special object of their first visit to the village. At the instance of the head instructress our Eastern friend called out a little girl who possessed a face indicative of more than ordinary intelligence, to go through her paces in spelling.

"Will you oblige me by spelling the word _feeling_?" was the first question.

"_F-two-e-l-i-n-g_," replied the child, without a moment's hesitation.

"Try again, my dear," answered the examiner, with a shake of the head.

The pupil spelled the word over again, in precisely the same manner as at first.

With a dissatisfied expression of countenance the disappointed visitor was about calling for the "next," when, before he could do so, the instructress interposed with,

"Nay, friend, perhaps our system of spelling is not familiar to thee. Under no circumstances do we consent to _doubling any thing here_."

It is a singular sensation when on going abroad one for the first time finds oneself a foreigner. This is perhaps peculiarly the case with Americans, for several reasons which we will not trouble the reader with developing. We get into the habit at home of considering our national type the standard, a variation from which in any respect is an evidence of oddness and eccentricity. In ourselves we find nothing peculiar, and we can not conceive for a moment that in a strange land, our nationality can at once be detected by signs palpable and impalpable, but always appreciable to an intelligent eye and ear.

An American freshly arrived in Paris, whether Yankee or Southron, is certainly occasionally guilty of a class of absurdities, into which none but a citizen of the Great Republic, would by any accident fall. The lumber-room of our memory supplies us with an instance in point.

In one of the early years of the last decade, a friend of ours, an old "_flaneur_" in the Boulevards, met accidentally at Meurice's Hotel, an acquaintance just come over from one of the great commercial emporiums of the Union. "The acquaintance" was a personage of standing "on Change," but not over practiced in some of the conventionalities of artificial life. After a cordial greeting on both sides, the new comer put himself into the hands of his more experienced companion, to be initiated into the mysteries of Paris. Now the first wants that an American feels in the great metropolis are material wants; the right place to dine, before the Louvre; a tailor, before Notre-Dame; and a boot-maker, before the Palais de Justice. It is no small matter to carry a man through these necessities satisfactorily, and after all this had been done in the case in question, another want presented itself; some "_lingerie_" must be procured, such as pocket-handkerchiefs, &c.

Our man about town at once directed his steps to Doucet's magnificent establishment in the Rue de la Paix. When they entered the shop, M. Doucet was in a back room, and the two friends had ample time to examine and admire various marvelous dressing-gowns, cravats, &c., which lay broadcast upon the counters and chairs. Among the articles, was a lot of superlative pocket-handkerchiefs embroidered in the corner with a ducal coronet, and the initials of the owner underneath.

"These are uncommonly pretty," exclaimed our novice to his companion, "I should like wonderfully well to have some for myself embroidered in the same way."

"But, my dear fellow," replied the other, "these belong to some man of rank, and of course you would never think of having a coronet upon your handkerchiefs."

"And why not?" resumed his friend. "I take it, that it is only an ornament, I don't believe it means any thing, and I don't see why I should not make use of the same thing, if I like it."

Just then, to the horror of the man of the world, M. Doucet entered, all smiles and salutations.

"To whom do these pocket-handkerchiefs belong?" inquired our would-be fashionable friend of M. Doucet, who, by-the-bye, understood and spoke English.

"To the Duke d'O----, a Spanish nobleman," answered the shopkeeper.

"Could I not have a half-dozen, the exact counterpart of these, excepting the initials?" asked the customer.

"Undoubtedly, sir," answered Doucet, without the slightest indication of a smile upon his features.

At this point the unfortunate friend and introducer, who had already fidgeted his gloves on and off several times during the progress of the above short dialogue, interposed, and, in the most positive terms, protested against his companion's being guilty of such an absurdity.

The companion after a moment's dejection in consequence of the decided manner in which his Mentor had interposed to defeat the little gratification which he proposed to his vanity, suddenly turning once more to the expectant master of the establishment, exclaimed,

"But, M. Doucet, at least you can embroider an _American Eagle_ in the corner of my handkerchiefs?"

This time, M. Doucet _did_ smile, but after an instant he replied, with perfect seriousness,

"There can be no difficulty, sir, in embroidering an _Eagle_, but I am quite ignorant of the distinguishing peculiarities of your national bird."

"Oh, I can soon remedy that," rejoined the now well-pleased customer, and taking a half-dollar from his pocket, he handed it over as a sample of what he desired.

In due time, the handkerchiefs were embroidered and delivered. We are quite sure, however, that our friend, who was up to the proprieties of Paris life, never again voluntarily placed himself in a position in which his national pride could be mortified by the ignorance and vanity of a fellow-countryman.

* * * * *

Some time ago, there flourished, in one of the northern counties of this State, a Scotch divine who rejoiced in the name of "Caw," and who was particularly eager to ingratiate himself into the good opinions of his parishioners and his neighbors. As one means of accomplishing this, he became violently patriotic in his feelings toward his adopted country, and never omitted upon every possible occasion to throw overboard the Scotchman and to assume the American as much as possible.

In the process of time, the worthy doctor built him a house. The contractor was a shrewd Yankee, who had more respect for the doctor's dollars than he had for his theology or his transferred patriotism. One day as the two stood together in front of the nearly finished parsonage, the minister, turning to his companion, asked,

"Dinna ye think, Mister Doolittle, it would produce an uncommonly good effect, if ye should put up a carved eagle with spread wings over the entrance door?"

"You had better put a _crow_ there, Mister _Caw_," was the prompt but not very civil reply.

* * * * *

We recollect a Scotch blacksmith who used to live, and very likely continues to do so, on the west side of Church-street in this city. His establishment was at the farther extremity of an alley-way, and over the street entrance the following sign attracted the eye of the passer by:

"Sinclair Lithgow, horse-shoeing smith, Warks up this close wi' a' his pith; He does his wark baith weel and soon, But likes the siller when 'tis done!"

How thoroughly _canny_ is this, particularly the allusion to the "siller."

Mr. Lithgow, however, deserves a fortune for his wit.

Literary Notices.

One of the most valuable publications of the month is _The Life and Correspondence of Niebuhr_, the celebrated Roman historian, containing a sketch of his biography, with copious selections from his familiar letters on a great variety of literary and personal topics. The character of Niebuhr is adapted to awaken a deep interest. He reveals his inner being with remarkable frankness in this correspondence. His private feelings, his studies, his literary projects, his plans of life, are all described without reserve. Rugged, unyielding, opinionated, but singularly honest and benevolent withal, with a decided infusion of the domestic and friendly element, Niebuhr was a fine model of Teutonic integrity. His writings are in keeping with his character. These volumes, moreover, are rich in sketches of contemporary literary men and politicians, presenting, in fact, a lucid commentary on the development of German culture during the last half century. (Harper and Brothers.)

_Romance of Natural History_, by C. W. WEBBER (published by Lippincott, Grambo, and Co.), is the title of a recent contribution to the illustration of American forest life, from the pen of a writer admirably qualified to do justice to the subject, both by his wide personal experience of romantic adventures on the frontier, and his uncommon power of bold and graphic description. The volume is composed of studies in natural history, narratives of remarkable incidents, pictures of silvan scenery, and sketches of the biography of celebrated pioneers and woodsmen. In addition to the personal reminiscences of the author, the work contains numerous striking selections from other writers, who have described the habits of animals, and scenes in the hunter's life. Books of this character must always be read with avidity. They bring us near to the heart of nature. Their influence, though singularly exciting, is pure and wholesome. The scenes which they depict present a refreshing contrast to the artificial life of cities, and open an impressive view of the wonders and glories of creation. Mr. Webber has won a high rank as a descriptive writer, by his previous productions. In this department of composition, he exhibits no less vigor than facility. The present volume is not unworthy of his reputation. Although occasionally prolix, its narratives, for the most part, are distinguished for their vivacity, reproducing the strange experiences of the wilderness with great freshness and brilliancy of coloring.

_Ivar: or, The Skjuts-Boy_, by Miss CARLEN. (Harper and Brothers.) A translation of a Swedish novel, by Professor KRAUSE. The writer, Miss Carlen, is a universal favorite in her native country, where she is said to sustain even a higher literary reputation than her gifted contemporary, Fredrika Bremer. She is not only known in the higher walks of society; but has won a cherished place in the cottages of the peasantry. She excels in the delineation of female character; her sketches in this kind combining an exquisite grace and beauty, with sculpture-like fidelity to nature. Her warmest sympathies are with the people, and in Sweden, her name is only spoken by their lips with grateful reverence. The present story abounds in pictures of Swedish social life--with a great variety of character and incident--embodied in a cordial, racy style, to which the translator seems to have done eminent justice.

A new venture in fictitious composition, by the successful authoress of "The Wide, Wide World," is issued by G. P. Putnam, bearing the harsh guttural appellation of _Queechy_. It is similar in construction and tone to the former work, presenting a series of lively portraitures of country life, and a fine specimen of character-drawing in the person of its heroine. Without claiming a conspicuous rank as a work of literary art, this novel shows great freshness of feeling, a high religious aim, and a genuine love of nature, combined with a quiet lurking humor, which serves to explain, in part, at least, the wide popularity of the young authoress. She has the elements of a still more enviable success, and if she would cherish a greater loyalty to the principles of dramatic harmony, and bear in mind the old dictum of Hesiod, that "the half is better than the whole," she would be able to leave this production quite in the back-ground.

_The Daltons_, by CHARLES LEVER (published by Harper and Brothers), is the last novel of that popular author, displaying his usual dramatic force of representation with an unwonted vein of earnest reflection. In brilliancy of portraiture and vivacity of dialogue, it is not surpassed by any of his former productions, while in vigor of thought and high moral purpose it is greatly their superior.

_Hungary_ in 1851, by C. L. BRACE (published by Charles Scribner), records the adventures of the author in a tour through Hungary, after the Revolution, where, among other novelties, he gets a taste of the inside of an Austrian prison. The volume describes the domestic manners of the Hungarians, in a simple and unpretending narrative, giving us a highly favorable impression of the Magyar character, and of the excellent heart and modest enthusiasm of the author as well.

_Pequinillo_ is the title of another story (published by Harper and Brothers), by G. P. R. JAMES, written in a style of playful gayety, with frequent touches of sarcastic humor, and many felicitous delineations of character. We find no shadow of falling off in the productions of this inexhaustible author, and we trust he will live to see as many native Americans among the offspring of his genius, as he has before counted legitimate subjects of the "fast-anchored isle."

A new edition of _English Synonyms_, edited by Archbishop Whately, has been published by James Munroe and Co. It will be welcome to the lovers of nice philological distinctions. Without dealing in hair-splitting subtleties of discussion, it presents a variety of acute verbal analyses, which are no less adapted to promote accuracy of thought, than correctness of diction. It may be said that the noblest operations of the mind refuse to submit to such minute verbal legislation; and if we admit that the language of passion and imagination must ever be a law to itself, it is also certain that the processes of pure thought can not be served by too refined and delicate instruments; and accordingly, every successful attempt to fix and distinguish the meaning of words is a valuable service to clearness and efficiency of intellect. The definitions in this little volume may not always be accepted; in some instances, they would seem to rest on an arbitrary basis; but, as a whole, they are marked by good sense, as well as by critical acumen; and, rich, as they are in suggestions, even to the most accomplished word-fancier, they can not be studied without advantage.

Thomas, Cowperthwait, and Co. have published _The Standard Speaker_, by EPES SARGENT, containing a selection of pieces adapted to declamation, from the great masters of American and British eloquence and poetry. It is also enriched with a number of original translations from the classics, and from eminent modern orators in France. The work is arranged in a convenient and natural order; excellent taste is displayed in the selection of matter; and the translations are spirited and faithful. It will undoubtedly prove a favorite manual of elocution for the use of schools. Nor is this its only merit. The editor is a poet himself, and a man of various accomplishments. His fine culture is every where betrayed in his volume, making it, in fact, a choice collection of the gems of elegant literature. Hence, it is no less adapted for family reading, than for seminaries of learning. Mr. Sargent is entitled to the thanks of all friends of good letters for the zeal, fidelity, and judgment with which he has performed his task.

_The Glory of Christ_, by Rev. GARDINER SPRING, published in two volumes by M. W. Dodd, is a profound theological treatise, combining extensive research, great knowledge of the Scriptures, and practised skill in argument, with a chaste and animated style, which often rises into the sphere of vigorous popular eloquence. Dr. Spring discusses the principal offices in the mission of the Saviour, the glories of his divine and human natures, and the certain ultimate triumphs of his kingdom on earth. He treats the subject in an exhaustive method--leaving little to be said on the same topics--and blending the austere fervors of the Puritanic age, with the freer and more practical tendencies of modern times.

_A Manual of Grecian Antiquities_, by Professor CHARLES ANTHON, is issued by Harper and Brothers, forming a companion volume to the recent work on Roman Antiquities by the same author. It is prepared chiefly from materials furnished by Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, Bojesen's Hand-Book, and Hase's admirable treatise on the Public and Private Life of the Greeks. The convenience of the arrangement, the completeness of the information, and the condensation of space in this volume make it a most valuable work of reference, and it will soon be found on the table of every student of Greek History or Literature.

_The Works of the late President Olin_, in two volumes, have been published by Harper and Brothers, comprising a selection from his pulpit Discourses, his Lectures on Christian and University Education, and a variety of Missionary and other Addresses and Essays. This work is a valuable gift to the Christian community in general, and will be received with a grateful welcome especially by the religious connection, of which the author was a prominent and beloved member. Those who knew and honored Dr. Olin in life will cherish these volumes as an appropriate and expressive memorial of his admirable character and his abundant labors. The Sermons here given to the public, though not intended for the press, are models of profound religious thought, and present numerous specimens of chaste and effective pulpit eloquence. The Lectures on Education are filled with weighty suggestions; they exhibit the results of ripened wisdom; showing an equal knowledge of human nature and sound learning; and in a style of remarkable sobriety, force, directness, and point.

_Thorpe, A Quiet English Town_, by WILLIAM MOUNTFORD, is a Vague, Dreamy Story of Humble English Life, mystical in its tone, and languid in its movement--with little interest in its plot, though presenting some delicate portraitures of character--displaying less strength than beauty--and pervaded with a streak of tender sentiment, which sometimes borders on effeminacy. As an imaginative work, it has slight pretensions; its lady-like softness and grace are not relieved by any masculine energy; but its purity of tone and its frequent exquisite beauty of language reveal a refined and elegant mind, and will recommend it to cultivated readers. (Boston; Ticknor, Reed, and Fields.)

Harper and Brothers have just issued the second volume of _The Life of Burns_, by ROBERT CHAMBERS. The correspondence in this volume increases in interest, showing the character of the impulsive poet in some of its most extraordinary phases of strength and weakness. His letters, to Clorinda especially, present an odd experience in the life of a fair devotee of Scotch Presbyterianism. The circumstances connected with Burns' marriage to Jean Armour are detailed at length by the biographer.

_Fancies of a Whimsical Man_, by the author of "Musings of an Invalid." (Published by John S. Taylor.) There is meat in this book--not always strong, nor savory--but often spiced with piquant provocatives, and seldom insipid or flat. The tone of satire prevails throughout the volume; no one can complain of the author for taking things too easy; he is a grumbler by profession; he lays about him on the right hand and left with a certain spasmodic violence; but his weapons lack the curious temper and polished keenness of edge, without which satire is a mere bludgeon. It may serve to fell an ox, but it can not take off a man's head so deftly that the beguiled victim is for the moment unconscious of his loss. Still, this book is out of the common track, and is well worth reading. It indicates the possession of more power than was used in its composition.

_Lyra and other Poems_, by ALICE CAREY (published by Redfield), is a neat volume, containing a selection from the author's poetical writings, which have been already widely circulated in the public journals. They include her most characteristic productions, and are well suited to legitimate her claims to a high rank among our native poets. Though not distinguished for striking originality, or deep bursts of passion, they display a rare susceptibility to poetical impressions, and a flowing sweetness of versification which give them a peculiar charm, in spite of the uniform sadness of their tone. Several of the pieces are effusions of melting pathos, clothed in language of great terseness and simplicity--but the same theme too often recurs, producing the effect of a long-drawn plaintive wail. Miss Carey has a quick and accurate eye for nature; her fancy swarms with a profusion of rural images; the humblest forms of domestic life supply her with the materials of poetry; and with uncommon facility of expression, she finds the way to the heart by the true feeling and quiet tenderness of her verse. The most elaborate piece in this volume is entitled "Lyra, a Lament," and we presume is a favorite with Miss Carey's more enthusiastic admirers. It displays a rich luxuriance of imagery; all the flowers of the seasons are woven into the elegiac wreath; but it is too artificial, too curiously wrought for the subject; it seems more like an experiment in poetry, than the sincere outpouring of grief; it has an antique Miltonic flavor, instead of the freshness of native fruit; and, for our part, we much prefer the more simple poems, "Jessie Carol," "Annie Clayville," "Lily Lee," "Annuaries," "The Shepherdess," and the like, which are tender and tearful without pretension.

_Hand-Book of Wines_, by THOMAS MCMULLEN (Published by Appleton and Co.) Some will regard this work as a Natural History of Poisons, under a different name; others, as a Treatise on one of the branches of the Art of Enjoying Life. Both will find it to be a complete mine of knowledge on the subjects of which it treats. That portion of its contents which addresses itself to practical men, whether as physicians, dealers, or judicious consumers, is carefully and critically compiled from the most distinguished foreign authors, to whose observations Mr. McMullen's own long and extensive experience gives weight and sanction. His chapter on the "Purchasing of Wines" is replete with good sense and will open the eyes of many who think themselves connoisseurs. We believe that the conclusion at which he arrives is the true one, namely, that "the only security against being imposed upon, and the secret of procuring good wine, is to purchase from honorable and respectable merchants, whose character and judgment can be relied upon, and to whom a reputation for selling fine wines is of ten times more importance than any thing they could expect to make by adulteration."

Another chapter, entitled "Of the Art of Drinking Wine," appears to us likely to prove highly useful to such youthful or inexperienced hosts as may wish to dispense the bounties of their hospitality with the most approved elegance, yet somewhat doubt their own judgment on such points, or their acquaintance with established precedent.

To ourselves, Rechabites in principle if not in name, the work was attractive chiefly from its descriptions of the lands whence "the sweet poison of misused wine" is procured.

Having ourselves wandered through most of them, we could the better test the accuracy of our author, and we can assure our readers, both those who have trodden those fertile soils, where the amber and the purple grape yield such goodly produce, and those fireside travelers who would fain learn what Nature has done for other lands, that under Mr. McMullen's guidance they will make a pleasant and profitable tour, and on their return find themselves in their easy chairs, edified in mind and not fatigued in body.

* * * * *

A book which will delight many readers, the life of the veteran entomologist and Christian philosopher, Mr. KIRBY, is announced for publication. It is drawn up chiefly from his own letters and journals, by the Rev. John Freeman, M.A., clergyman of a parish not far from that of which Mr. Kirby was long the rector. William Spence, whose name is ever associated with the subject of the memoir, supplies a "sketch of the history of his forty-five years' friendship with Mr. Kirby, and of the origin and progress of the 'Introduction to Entomology,' with numerous extracts from Mr. Kirby's letters to him." This will be not the least valuable portion of a volume to which we look forward with much interest.

* * * * *

Among other works announced for speedy publication by Messrs. Longman and Co. we observe a new book of travels, by Mr. SAMUEL LAING, _Notes on the Political and Social State of Denmark and the Duchies of Holstein and Sleswick_; also, _Count Arenberg_, a story of the times of Martin Luther, by Mr. SORTAINE, whose tale of _Hildebrand and the Emperor_ was favorably received by the public. In the Traveler's Library, a translation is to appear from the German, of an _Expedition from Sennar to Taka, Basa, and Beni-Ameer_, by FREDERIC WERNE, author of the 'Expedition to the Sources of the White Nile.'

The _Life and Correspondence of the late Lord Langdale_, is in progress, and will be published by Mr. Bentley, who announces likewise two series of biographies that promise ample material of interest--1. Lives of the Archbishops of Canterbury; 2. Lives of the Prime Ministers of England.

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The Duke of WELLINGTON, it recently transpired, has appointed the well known historical writer, Lord MAHON, to be his literary executor, and as his Lordship stands in the same relation to the late Sir ROBERT PEEL, he will have enough to do.

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A Memoir of the late Rev. Dr. PYE SMITH is in preparation: also the publication, nearly ready, of the course of lectures on Christian Theology, prepared by that divine for the students in Homerton College; they have undergone revision, and will be edited by the Rev. WILLIAM FARREN, Librarian of New College.

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MARY HOWITT, who has already endeared herself to the hearts of all children by her many fascinating and interesting publications for the young, is about to undertake the editorship of a new juvenile magazine the first number of which was expected to appear in June.

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The lectures of NIEBUHR on Ancient History, translated from the German, with additions and corrections, by Dr. L. SCHMITZ, once a pupil of the historian, will shortly be published. The work consists of three volumes, comprising the history of all the nations of antiquity, with the exception of that of Rome. In his account of the Asiatic Empires and of Egypt, Niebuhr is reported to have foretold, more than twenty years ago, the splendid discoveries which have been made in our days by Mr. Layard and by others. By far the greater portion of the work is devoted to the history of the Greeks and Macedonians.

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A translation has appeared, by LEONORA and JOANNA HORNER, of HANS CHRISTIAN OERSTED'S _Soul of Nature_. Professor Oersted died last year at the age of seventy-four, a few months after a jubilee was held in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of his eminent services at the University of Copenhagen. In 1836 he attended the British Association at Southampton, at the closing general meeting of which Sir John Herschel pronounced a high eulogy of the Danish philosopher, and described the new fields of research which he had opened up, including that important discovery which has led to the invention of the electric telegraph. A brief memoir of Oersted's life and labors is prefixed to the volume. Few men have so combined the patience and labor of experimental research with the genius and boldness of philosophical speculation. The writings of Oersted are eminently suggestive as well as instructive; and with the researches on electricity, magnetism, and other branches of natural science, there are interspersed many wonderful discourses on the relation of the material and the spiritual, of the body and "the soul in nature."

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Of English literary gossip we have two or three stray fragments worth setting down. The one is, that TENNYSON is busy with a new poem, of a totally different order from any he has yet published, unless the fragment of the _Morte d'Arthur_ be counted; another is, that the gay and brilliant author of _The Bachelor of the Albany_ has nearly completed a new novel of a philosophical and satirical turn. THACKERAY, whose historical novel was to have been published last Christmas, has not finished much more than half of his work.

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JOHANNES RONGE, resident in England, announces as in preparation, a new work, to be published by subscription, on _The Reformation of the Nineteenth Century, or the Religion of Humanity_--a subject, tasking the highest powers.

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The London journals announce the resignation of his chair of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh by Prof. WILSON. The cause assigned by the veteran poet and critic is ill health.

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The Americans, says _The London Athenæum_, are becoming a race of book-buyers. Every purchaser of old books--the literature of the period between Gower and Milton--has found by experience how much the demand which has sprung up within these dozen years across the Atlantic for such works has tended to enhance their value in this country. Every few days, too, we hear of some famous library, museum, or historical collection being swept off to the "New World." This week supplies two notable examples:--the Prince of Canino's valuable museum of natural history, his library, and his gallery of Art have all been purchased by a private American gentleman; and the library of Neander has been bought by the Senate of Rochester University in the State of New York. Neander's books constitute one of the best collections on theology in Germany.

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Our cousin John across the water is "nothing if not critical." His notices of American books are exceedingly curious specimens in their kind, usually remarkable for their self-complacent insolence. "The Howadji in Syria," however, seems to have won golden opinions, as witness the following from _The Morning Herald_:

"Even those of our readers who have taken up Mr. Curtis's 'Nile Notes,' and have been unable to lay them down again till the last page too soon presented itself, can hardly conceive the fascination which his 'Wanderings in Syria,' just published, will be sure to exercise over their senses. Arabian poets have celebrated the beauty of Cairo and of Damascus, 'the pearl of the East,' and modern travelers have put forth all their powers of description, and have invoked fancy to aid them in their praise; but none of these latter have ever caught and been kindled by the Oriental charm in an equal degree with Mr. Curtis. His work is a perfect gem--a luxury of beauty, and grace, and poetry, which all must read, and none can ever forget."

The notice of the same work in _The Examiner_, bestows reluctant praise:

"Another book has also appeared on the East by a lively foreign visitor, an American, who sought only pleasure and adventure there, and of course found both. 'The Wanderer in Syria,' by Mr. George William Curtis, is a volume supplementary to his 'Nile Notes,' formerly published. The subjects are the Desert, Jerusalem, and Damascus; but the writer's manner and intention are less to describe what any other person may see in those places, and in eastern circumstances, than to tell us what thoughts and fancies, whimsical, poetical, fanciful, they suggested to him, the writer. His fault is to betray something too much of an effort both in his gravities and gayeties; but on the other hand the effort is not always unsuccessful. He is often undeniably gay, and as often says grave things worth listening to. We do not like him the worse for his love of America and occasional supercilious sneers at Cockneyism."

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The following passage from a letter written recently by LEIGH HUNT will excite much sympathy and regret:--"I have not been out of my house (by medical advice) for these two months; for a considerable time past, I have not been able to visit my nearest connections, even by day; and last year I was not able to indulge myself with a sight of what all the world were seeing, though for the greater part of its existence I was living not a mile from the spot. To complete this piece of confidence, into which your making me of so much importance to myself has led me, and not leave my friends with a more serious impression of the state of my health than I can help, I have reason to believe that the coming spring will be more gracious to me than the last; and many are the apparent overthrows from which I have recovered in the course of my life. But age warns me that I must take no more liberties with times and seasons."

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Lady MORGAN has addressed a letter to one of the auditors of the Benevolent Society of St. Patrick, proposing that a monument to MOORE should be raised in the poet's native city. She says: "The name of Ireland's greatest poet suggests an idea which perhaps is already more ably anticipated, that some monumental testimony to his honor should be raised in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin; for Westminster might well deny such a distinction to the Irish bard as was refused to the remains of England's greatest poet since the time of Shakspeare and Milton--Byron. Nowhere could the monument of Moore be more appropriately placed than near that of Swift."

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THOMAS HICKS, the artist, exhibits this year at the National Academy, a full-length portrait of ex-Governor FISH, which is _the_ picture of the exhibition. Mr. HICKS is the first of our artists. In just conception--splendor of color--vigor and accuracy of drawing--poetic imagination and living reality of impression, he has no master this side the sea.

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A portion of Mr. RALPH WALDO EMERSON'S Essays has been translated and published in Paris, by M. Emile Montegut. An interesting review of this volume has appeared in the _Pays_. The writer says that, "by a strange anomaly, in the classic land of daring and of novelty, all literary productions bear the same evidences of imitation; all are more or less remarkable for their close adherence to the style of some foreign model." Then he declares Cooper to be a disciple of Walter Scott, but at the same time, much more American than Washington Irving, who is the faithful copier of Robertson and Addison.

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M. de Bacourt, one of the executors of the late Prince de Talleyrand, has written a letter to the public journals stating that frauds similar to those lately discovered in England relative to Shelley's letters, have been attempted in France with letters falsely stated to have been written by the late prince. "I have in my possession at present," says M. de Bacourt, "a certain number of those letters, imitating exceedingly well the writing of the deceased Prince--but which have been declared by the persons intimate with the deceased, such as M. Guizot, the Duke de Broglie, Count Molé, Duke Pasquier, &c., to be forgeries."

Fashions for Early Summer.

We confine our illustrations of the Fashions for the month of June to in-door costumes, since, in our variable and uncertain climate, the general out-door costumes appropriate to the closing month of spring are equally adopted for the opening summer month. The three styles of coiffure, which we present, though very different in general effect, as well as in detail, are each strikingly elegant and beautiful.

FIGURE 1 represents a very elegant BALL DRESS. Two _pattes_ spring from the top of the head to the right and the left of the parting; they descend to the broad bandeaux, and are each entwined with a lock of the hair. The _coiffure_ is ornamented with a wreath of reed-leaves, in velvet and gold, with here and there small golden reeds. The leaves, small in the middle, increase in size at the sides, where they are intermingled with two white plumes, gracefully curved. The robe is of taffeta, trimmed with velvet. The body is low in the neck, having two _berthes_ of taffeta, which form the point in front, and rise to the shoulders, so as to form the _châle_ behind. These _berthes_ are not gathered. They are fastened to the body in front by three jeweled clasps. The body is somewhat pointed at the waist. The sleeves are close and short. The skirt is double. The lower one has two flounces; the upper one is held up on the left side by a bunch of white feathers, with a cordon of reed-leaves, similar to those of the _coiffure_. The lower flounce, of twelve inches in depth, has a ruby-colored velvet of three inches; the upper flounce, of ten inches, has a velvet of two and a half inches; and the tunic, one of two inches. These are all placed about an inch from the edge. The velvet upon the _berthe_ and sleeves is not more than an inch and a quarter.

FIGURE 2.--_Coiffure à la Jolie Femme._--The hair is knotted somewhat low behind, and retained by a jeweled comb; the bandeaux are very much waved; the hair, from the front parting, is somewhat raised. The robe is low, with very short sleeves; the skirt very elegant, with large folds. The body is sown with little bouquets of variegated roses, small at the waist, but growing larger toward the bottom. These flowers, which are painted, are apparently fastened by a rich ribbon which ties them together, and which is embroidered upon the silk in shaded white. The flowers are apparently suspended by strings of pearls, also produced by embroidering. This robe, of _moir antique_, is very rich. A lace pelerine, forming the circle behind, ornaments the body. This lace has a very light pattern upon the edge. It forms the point in front, and is ornamented all around with a lace _volant_, very slightly gathered. Lace sleeves, straight and rather short, leave the whole arm visible through them. A bunch of rose-leaves and rose-buds adorns the whole front of the body. This bunch is flattened at the bottom so as not to enlarge the waist. A long and elegant chain of gold, flung over the shoulders, falls down upon the skirt.

The hair is ornamented with diamonds. Two plats beginning at each side of the centre parting of the forehead, are raised, and tied in the middle; they then descend at the sides, where they are enveloped by curls thrown backward. Behind, the hair twisted in a cord, forms four circles. The _torsades_ are fastened by a jeweled comb. In that part which constitutes the bandeaux are three mounted _agrafes_ on each side. The skirt is of white taffeta, with a lace flounce, of twelve inches in depth. Tunic-robe of white _moire antique_. The body is open in front, and trimmed with a pointed _berthe_, slit up at the shoulders. This _berthe_ is decorated, at a distance of about half an inch from the edge, with a gold band of nearly an inch in width, fastened by a gold cord, passing through seven eyelet-holes. It is the same at the slit on the shoulders, only in these places the cords terminate in gold tassels hanging down. The edge of the tunic is ornamented with gold galloon, the lower galloon is one and a quarter inches wide, the second three-fourths of an inch, the third three-eighths. The first of these galloons is three-fourths of an inch from the edge, and the distance between them is half an inch, so that from the edge to the top of the last galloon the depth is about four inches. Each opening of the tunic has a conical shape; the corners are rounded. The sleeves are round, and edged with galloon. The chemisette, which reaches above the low front of the body, is composed of lace like the flounce, and forms fan-shaped fluted plaits, confined by a thread passing through, and supported by the lacing of the front.

The two following out-door costumes are decidedly pretty:

CARRIAGE COSTUME.--_Jupe_ of lilac silk, with three deep flounces; there is a figured band at the edge of each flounce woven in the material; body _à la veste_ of purple velvet fitting close; it is open in the front, and has a small collar and lapel. The sleeves are wide; they have a broad cuff which turns back _à mousquetaire_. Waistcoat of white _moire antique_: it is closed at the throat and waist, it is then left open to show the frill of the habit-shirt. Transparent bonnet of light green _crèpe_, trimmed with white _blonde_: the brim is lined with a broad _blonde_ with a deep vandyked edge, the points of which come to the edge of the brim: inside trimmings and strings of shaded ribbon, long shaded feather drooping on the right side.

PROMENADE COSTUME.--Silk dress, the skirt with three flounces: a rich _chinée_ pattern is woven at the edge of each flounce, the last being headed by a band of the same. The body is plain, opens in the front nearly to the waist; the sleeves are wide, three-quarter length, and like the _corsage_, are finished to correspond with the flounces. _Manteau à la valerie_, this _manteau_ takes the form of the waist, and is rounded gracefully at the back; it is embroidered and trimmed with a rich fringe _en groupes_: the fringe with which the cape is trimmed, reaches nearly to the waist: the ends, which are square in front, have a double row of fringe and embroidery. The bonnet is a mixture of white _crèpe_ and fine straw; the strings shaded, to correspond: placed low at each side are feather rosettes shaded pink and white.

In the materials, we must call the attention of our fair readers to the _unique_ and beautiful silks for dresses; besides the elegant designs woven at the edge of the flounce, there are patterns woven for each part of the dress--the sleeves, corsage, and _basquire_.

We give plates of two very elegant caps, which have made their appearance. Figure 4 is a dress cap, of _tulle_ and blonde, trimmed with ribbon and small banches of flowers. Figure 5 is a morning cap, entirely of lace insertion, and between each row is a narrow gauze ribbon, rolled or twisted. The borders of rich lace.

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Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.

Italics words are denoted by _underscores_.

Bold words are denoted by =equals=.